13138	----	THE FORGOTTEN THRESHOLD A Journal of Arthur Middleton TO W.S.B. FOR SUBSTANTIAL EMBODIMENT PREFATORY NOTE Before Arthur Middleton died he gave me this record among others in the belief that it would help to tell me what he had always known in the silences, yet could never in life transmute into the friendly counters of speech. During the last years of his all too brief experience of his friends, more than once he shyly sought to tell what he knew, yet always silence claimed him, and nothing but the wonder of his eyes revealed the dream that consumed his heart. Because beauty claims these words in a deeper knowledge than we had before, I have transcribed this fragment of them here, confident that in these white intuitions of his youth there is a revelation of the Light behind beauty beyond our poor knowledge and still poorer faith. I have omitted only what was most sacred to the privacies of his heart and our affection. He was of the old faith and would have wished had he published these pages to have expressed his entire and passionate loyalty to the Roman Catholic Church in faith and deed, and to have disclaimed any word therein which conflicted with the intimacies of its truth. I can do no more than to echo his wish, and mourn the unhappy chance which took him from us on an April tide, though it befell on the Easter that he loved and at that hour when the flaming symbol of the Divine Sacrifice was setting in the west. So the passion of the sun and tide which reflected his belief witnessed the consummation of his great desire.--THE EDITOR. THE FORGOTTEN THRESHOLD THE JOURNAL (N.B.--On the opening pages of the blank book in which this journal is contained there is a short fragment which bears no relation that I can discover to the entries that follow, and I am inclined to believe that it is the beginning of an autobiography which Middleton never continued. In my uncertainty, however, I print it, and accordingly it is transcribed below.--THE EDITOR.) _Fragment_.--I was not more than three years old when the sunlight first made me happy as it stole through the curtains and over the coverlet till it kissed my lips and wrapped me in its warm embrace. Then I would fall asleep again and my dreams, if I dreamed at all, were white and faintly stirred me to a smile. I never tried to catch the sunbeams, for I felt their gold in my heart, nor could they have been nearer than they were, being associated with my mother's watchfulness as she stole in to smile upon my slumbers and claim the second silent unconscious kiss. On Sunday morning they would be freighted with a quiet whiter light, more peaceful and hushed to the feeling of the day, and somehow the peace was guarded with finger on lip throughout the house, so that it was implicit in my nest of images long before reason took note of it or sought to explain it to my consciousness. Once again as a boy of fifteen I knew it with a catch of delighted and almost tearful surprise when I stroked the breast of a wounded pigeon who found shelter in my room. The world is not as quiet in these days, nor is the hum of traffic in the mart attuned so kindly to the flow of light as when it ran so gently by the bedside of the dreaming boy. ... (The journal now follows, written in a small cramped hand, without paragraphing or division. I omit the first few entries as purely personal. Middleton had gone to a group of remote western islands, and these notes are the fruit of his sojourn there.)--THE EDITOR. July 5. Yesterday found me on the island with its silences, and last night the host was red and sacrificial and rode on a thunder cloud. This afternoon the planets go singing through my flesh and my song of praise has widened to the arches of the sun. The sea is moaning slowly on the sand. I stripped to the cool salt air for the first time. ... Walking I found my way out on the long gray dunes. July 6. On the dunes today with my mother. My hand swept idly over the soft white sand, shifting the order of many thousands of starry worlds. What a chord of music if one could but hear it in its entirety! As it was, I caught wonderful echoes that would light the beauties of many a sunrise. The silent man reminds me of Synge in his drifting life and the fires glowing in his eyes. Today I saw the-beauty of a flower. ... Some day I shall write a play about the stars. The action will burn in their seedtime and blow on the winds of Fate with all its ironies. ... Tonight in the sitting room I heard in my heart the singing of the sands. It is on the shifting desert, I feel, that we shall discover the secret origin of language. How the infinitely aspiring music must sound tonight along the dunes! July 7. The night before last after I retired I felt that lifted feeling physically which represents the beating of the tides. Last night it coalesced with the singing of the sands. At Mass this morning the voices at the Credo thundered out _Et Homo factus est_ in a torrent of living sound. At the elevation I saw a thin white flame rise from the uplifted chalice and disappear. It takes a beam of light one hundred and eight years to travel from Arcturus to the earth. Are we similar traveling beams, and is death merely our arrival on another planet which we illumine? Today I read aloud on the cliffs from the glories of Plato's _Phaedrus_. July 8. In the morning I wandered onto the dunes leading out toward Wonder Island, but was driven off by the terns who were nesting. ... The billows of the wind today mingled in me with the sands and the tide, so that I experienced from a new angle Landor's "We are what suns and winds and waters make us." ... July 9. My life will see much traveling. July 10. Morning on the dunes. A cold clear bath while mists drove over the sands. Returning home, as I came to the deep sand on the road, I perceived the mystery of the resurrection of the body. In death there is no physical decay. The singing planets of the human body merely part to combine in other songs, recurring again in the end to their old disposal and song, exchanging other worlds for their own once more, and recurring to the first motif of the symphony. I was sad this afternoon for the will failed me in my work. Sitting on the sand this morning the singing dunes had attained to the harmony of silence. All at once a little wisp of seaweed--hardly more than a thread--started to beat time upon the sands. And then I knew and saw it to be in its happy beating the pulse that governed the music of the stars. Can the heart conduct the symphony of the body? Tonight the sun set, borne away--a Grail--by angels from the questing Galahad. There was a great silence in my heart as I sat in the crowded room. July 11. A day of northeast wind and upward thunder. The joy of the wind was in me, and I lost the sense of space. The air was so buoyant that it was closely kin to the sea. ... Today I succeeded a little better with my will. I had a strange sensation this afternoon, which told me that bare lonely places are the only places to write drama, since there only can we find the pure dynamic forces of life disentangled from the subtle and complicated web of human ambitions and interests. The air was very thin and clear at twilight, but the sun was hidden in the clouds. ... July 12. ... There was a great silence this evening in the crowded room. Closing my eyes, I raised the upper lids as far as possible without seeing material things, and so saw myself in fearful wonder elevating the host and chalice on high. I know now the inner meaning of "Domine, non sum dignus _ut intres sub tecta mea_." Under these two arched roofs of the eyes hidden from all light save Light, there is a secret dwelling. ... A day of close-shrouded palling fog--a chrism confirming the strength of beauty. July 13. This morning the wind blew through the fields of grass like countless angels in the courts of heaven. Shadow and color and light and movement dancing before the first syllable of the Name. A gull flew down almost to my hand, and the sunlight thundered in my ears. Last night the sea was sadly purifying the earth. I now understand the Washer of the Ford. Majesty lies in darkness, and grief is only the privilege of seeing Majesty. Today on the porch with closed eyes buried in my hands the winds swept over me in a torrent of living light. A symphony is a wonderful symbol. In the first place, it is music. In the second place, it is a name of praise with four syllables. Then it completes a cycle, and returns on a higher plane to the motif with which it began. It is the history of a soul, and in its last movement typifies the resurrection of the body, by means of this very return,--a return to the order and disposal in which it was created and which it now reassumes to praise its Creator for all eternity by the harmony of the original Thought. I looked at twilight into the tiny white heart of a flower that grew among the grasses, and out of the heart pulsed the Sacred Body in wounds all glorified, with Hands outstretched conducting the music of the worlds. I know now that the flower was a chalice. The sadness of it cannot die as the Man can, and I know that it is with me ready to be shared. As I write this, there is a mist within my room. I always sleep now like one ready to soar. In the crowded room tonight I felt myself making the movements of swimming, as if the air were water and I an expert swimmer. July 14. _Views of the unveiled heavens alone forth bring Prophets who cannot sing_. A day of tempestuous wind and rain with all the keen dynamic life of time poised 'mid eternities. The happiest of my days battling with the elements in wonderful silences. At Mass with wonder the shining of the Host. My eyes were veiled from the chalice, but I felt two angels --guarding the acolytes. Again at the Credo the thunder of _Et Homo factus est_. With Shelley in the afternoon and a perilous walk on the cliffs. ... I am gaining in detachment. The desire and passion for solitude grows and I meditate a winter on the islands. How unworthy I am to partake of mysteries! They fill me with fear, for it is hard for the body to live in eternity. In the evening with Gordon Craig. Is he right about masks? A mask is a symbol, but a face may be a sacrament. The Mass, after all, is the supreme dream and drama of the world. Sadness is majesty, as I found the other night, and majesty is always impenetrable, for it is a secret full of awe and mysterious silence. Tonight I see that great drama, whether it be a tragedy or no, must reveal time poised in infinity. Beauty, I think, contains everything save the human will, and it is the ideal of the will to be thus contained and of beauty to be the container. ... In the supreme drama of Gethsemane and Calvary, Christ used the human body as the supreme visible instrument of drama. July 15. ... Tonight the fog broke through the sunset and scattered gold across the sea. Clouds hung over the cliffs. ... I prayed through the sunset, and won a victory for the will. July 16. Last night in the darkness I learned many things. The human will is the unit, the core of flame which binds all elements together. It is sad because it is the force of impact tearing things from their detached and comfortable places and placing them in new relations. It is the magnet, the summoning voice, our own conscience, the expression of Majesty. It disposes reluctant and conflicting notes in harmony. And we have control of it given into our hands. And then, too, I learnt that words are worlds. At every breath, nay, by the slightest thought, we create planets. Pray that they harmonize! They have power. Are they angels? They convey our messages, but their harmony of inter-woven song and meaning was lost at Babel to our ears. Yet by them if our will is strong and we do not fail in deeds we may take our part in the symphony as truly as life itself. And so we must not use them idly. How can anyone dare to tell a lie? One begins to see how God is a Name. I felt before how the secret of language was to be found among the sands. It is because the sands are the nearest and most visible planets we possess. Words are planets. But planets are sands on the shore of eternity. Words are sands. We are little words made flesh, little echoes in the image of the great Word made Flesh. His creation is the complete echo made flesh, His Image and likeness which He contemplates. And so we are in our measure part of the song made flesh, and the little common words that we use are our brothers. July 17. The sunset tonight was a glorious crucifixion after the day of clouds. It was human in its beckoning. I cannot find the secret of the moon, but it reminds me of Lionel's phrase, if it be his, "golden mediocrities." Is it the astral embodiment of "They also serve who only stand and wait"? Why is it that the little human beauties of Nature pass me by as entities, and that I seek bare places? Is there a parallel in my personal attitude toward all but those who are specially dear to me? I thought of how I looked down on the city from the mountain in May, and felt the whole city to be my prayer. It had been given into my control for a few minutes, and the only worthy use to which I could put it was to offer it up with a prayer for my people and all the desire of my heart that the prayer would be answered. The half-million souls with all their dreams were under my care then, and their acts were mine. So little are cities, and so little I found my worthiness that I could not hide my tears. Later I crossed to the height looking down on the cemetery, the world was silent save for the flaming heart of the city pulsing below, and reflecting the Flaming Heart above as the sun set. The woodpeckers did not fear me, and I sank slowly and deeply into God. I think that some day I shall know His wounds. I cannot understand why I was delivered from temptation at the moment that the city was put into my hands. July 18. ... I bathed on the dunes on Wonder Island. The sun set tonight sacramentally just as it set that night at ---- when I failed to speak. Never had I felt stronger, but something held me back from telling him how the dearest wish of my life was that he should participate in the Holy Eucharist. The flame was in my hands to lay upon his heart, but something bade me wait. I distrusted it, and asked him to walk with me on the shore. The thunder of the tide and the moon were too strong. Why could I not have told him? We were silent for hours while his heart lay with the _Titanic_, and even his little daughter was quiet in the room. July 19. The stars are the dust rubbed off from human souls. "Dust unto dust thou shalt return." At the last judgment, they will fly together in an angelic hosting, and clothe once more the souls which moved in them, and our souls will rule their songs. Human suffering is the friction of angels making stars. ... I know now that the end of one's forty days is not complete knowledge, but only a clear indication of the road. The joy is in that, and also the sorrow. It is the direction given to the will, orders to be so carefully obeyed. This is the greatest discovery of all. Words do not reveal it. It is absolutely prosaic, though it is eternal beauty. But what I have written does not reflect it even faintly as it seems to me. Read Hello this afternoon. The freedom of the dunes this morning seemed to extend more than is usual. Later I read from Plato's "Symposium." July 20. ... The proverbial symbol of impermanence is writing upon sand. What could be more gloriously permanent? To have one's message spelled out by singing planets, to write upon the stars. It is so that our songs have immortality. "Verba scripta manent" takes on a majestic significance. Are not joy and sadness the same? The only difference is one of rapidity. Sadness is made up of the long, slow, majestic chords of the song. It seems to me that when a wheel seems to cease motion, and finally attains a state of motionlessness, it is perhaps merely turning into a terrible speed which we cannot perceive. It is the turning of an hour-glass. When I am dead, I wish only my faults to be chronicled, for these alone have any value for the world. I have dreamt always of cycles of infinities. As a decimal always tends by evolution towards a number, so also we evolve toward an infinity. Yet at that goal another infinity starts, as another infinity starts in numbers,--the symbol of patience after all. "Unto the man of yearning thought And aspiration, to do nought Is in itself almost an act,-- Being chasm-fire and cataract Of the soul's utter depths unseal'd. Yet woe to thee if once thou yield Unto the act of doing nought!" Read Hello and Elia. I am learning how to see in crowds. These past few days I have succeeded in withdrawing into life for long periods in the midst of a general conversation, yet my absence was not noted in the least. Out of it I hope will develop the ability to be with life always in the tangle and confusion of city circumstance. This afternoon I read _Phaedrus_ aloud on a sunny cliff, and in the evening read aloud Keats' "I stood tiptoe" on the green heights in the wind and the rain. Rossetti's lines do not forbid a life of contemplation, but rather encourage it as distinguished from quietism. ... Through the summer I am to see the Crucifixion. How I envy St. Francis the Stigmata! Even as a little boy I desired them--but I shall never be able perhaps to love passionately enough. The nights that I cried as a little fellow without knowing why, just because I loved, were nearer than I shall ever be again. July 21. At Benediction after Mass today I saw the Wonder in all Humanity with Light surrounding It, and I shook with an awful thunder of sound. ... Today I have been happy to tears, and in the blue afternoon on the cliffs with my mother, I shared "Endymion" and "Epipsychidion." ... I do not understand why silence is spoken of as a precept. To me it is the living attribute of God. ... How nobly scornful is Sir Aubrey De Vere's phrase, "witless ecstasies"! July 22. Simply a day of hard work. But I was happy in it. In an odd way I felt as I wrote all day on the smooth white paper that I was stroking the sleek breasts of doves. Tonight the steady patter of the rain upon the eaves. July 23. A day of hard routine work. ... Tonight in the inky darkness I walked to the postoffice in the thundering wind and rain and surf, and learned how the deeps can praise the Lord. I have always felt the wonder of that psalm. July 24. Rose at 4:30 and saw the sun rise a pure and shimmering symbol of the Host above the silver outline of Wonder Island. The day was dumb. A little boy has come whose face is his sacrament. What a song he must sing! I look forward to the morrow as a day of special grace and wonder. ... July 25. It is evident to me that music is wrong before a play or during intermissions. But it is necessary until our dramatists provide some other prelude. That prelude must be a beautiful setting of silence for a few moments showing the protagonist under the light of eternity. In the beginning all words contained a spiritual "import,"--were angels. At Babel many fell. Now all our spiritual words are material words grown out of their meanings. When expression becomes passion, it is the passion of creation, clothing itself in images as God does through eternity in the Passion of Creation. This is near the heart of life's most awful secret, but words conceal it except from experience. For Passion proceeds from Creation as Preservation proceeds from both, though they are all from Eternity in the Unity of the Godhead. All my planets at the contemplation of This are dancing before the throne. The thunderous rhythm of their music is shaking me physically like the engines of a steamer in shallow water. Every atom struggles against the law of cohesion. God loves the beautiful boy. His name is Henry R----. The Greeks, Emerson says, called the world _Cosmos_, Beauty. Reading this on the veranda this afternoon, I closed my eyes and sank contentedly into life. When I returned the faces were foreign, and even my mother never knew. On the dunes this morning I heard the silence of Eternity on the edge of time. I think it is a pine forest. Babel took away the Word, until It came to earth, and in material form took on supreme Spirit coming from the Father. ... July 26. I wish I could raise a singing altar of planets by some great sacrifice. My fingers drummed upon the sands this morning a crude and simple rhythm. I thought of its influence in displacing planets, and of the almost infinite musical variations that were set in motion, and then I compared my crude thrumming with the majestic thunders of the sea, and realized the insupportable beauty of absolute music. A dog talks by smell. There are vibrations of smell, as well as of sound or of heat or of light. And the blind reveal vibration of touch, the holiest of the senses. We talk now by sound, but are learning to talk by heat and light. When shall we learn to talk by smell and touch? Flowers, too, talk by smell. There is nothing but vibration in the image of God, for LIFE IS NOTHING MORE THAN THE TREMBLING OF HIS BEAUTY. The awful speed of Truth hardens into fact. Words must not say more. A dog taught me this,--Prince, the companion of the silent man. One should be a priest when he marries two ideas. In any one of the planets within the singing tissue of my flesh are Dantes and St. Francises. Creation requires of us infinite crucifixions which we shall never be able to consummate alone. When I lie on my breasts on the sand and bury my face in my hands, all Nature receives me as a human bridegroom, and I sink through time to eternity _creating_ space around me, that widens and narrows to the reaches of immortality. It is always on the sands that I find the friendliest depths, or in the snow drift of cold planets upon a winter day or else within in the terrible energy of my body, as my heart beats time to the universal spheral rhythm. Think of the literal meaning of "universal!" Tonight in the silence I read _Prometheus Bound_. I love the grace of the boy's eyes. I pray to be guarded from the pride of humility. July 27. [Illustration: Circle with a cross through it.] ... It was a day of silences. I traced this figure idly on the sand today, and suddenly understood the symbolism of the scarab. But did the Egyptians anticipate the Redemption? As men are impressed by the face of the world, so is the world impressed by their faces. The face, as mirror of the soul, shines forth with electricity and makes an impression on life, altering the song of those it acts upon as the violin sound alters the formation of sands resting on a tightened drum. By what ancient intuition does the Latin word "malum" mean both "apple" and "evil"? Music creates substance through the speed of gaiety, and God in His Creation is a cosmic humorist. (Cosmic means beautiful.) To distinguish between fascination and sympathy is a counsel of perfection for critics which has its spiritual analogies. ... Angels ran in hosts through the grasses. July 28. "His soul's most secret thought, Eternal Light declares." I read Lionel's poems on the cliffs, and almost discovered the secret of the blue. Today for the first time I realized the remoteness of these islands, and it was a great joy. It was a golden day of sunshine on the cliffs with blue cloudless sky over quiet waters. Life is turning inward to the heart of silence, and out of it will come the beauty of my dream if life is willing. July 29. ... I met a man today who knew beauty. He was a French country lawyer. ... The sunset tonight revealed all the sadness of the Burning Babe. I failed today. July 30. Another sadder failure of the will. Yet beauty came in the evening. The love of man, far more the love of God, is God in heaven descended upon earth, eternity made time in beauty, "majestic instancy," the Word made Flesh. The soul is the pool wherein God and we see our images, and Heaven will be the mutual contemplation of our souls. So that human love is the adoration of God in human flesh, and therein may the beloved be seen as the image of God in time. The praise of Our Lady should then be the praise of God. Was this Patmore's secret? Or Dante's and Petrarch's? "My lady was desired in the high heaven." ... I see now how in Heaven there is no marriage or giving in marriage. Far flowing ramparts of a starry world! The _flammantia moenia mundi_ of Lucretius. To contemplate Beauty FACE TO FACE! What a wonderful proof of the beauty of our souls. Twin mirrors of a single singing thought, the face of man looking into the Face of God, soul mingling with Soul in immortal music, bathed in the cool wind of Our Lady's eyes. Today I lost a nation in the cycle of my soul. What is the blood but the history of my planets as engraved upon the constellations of my flesh? It is the book of the angel of judgment for the first syllable of my song, as the emotions, the intellect, and, alas, the will, for the second, third, and fourth. The flesh is the ebb tide from God, as the emotions are the flood. The intellect is the second ebb, and in the will pray God that it may be flood! The other is Hell.... July 31. ... A victory for the will this morning. ... Tomorrow is the first of August, and I shall enter upon my forty days. The ringing in my ears is the ringing of my fleshly stars "toned all in Time." I have commenced an anthology of high imaginings more worthy than a book of essays of that title I have loved and desired to use for years,--_Flame and Dew_. If rightly done, it may do poetry one of the greatest of services by assisting it to praise Beauty on many lips in naked Light. I wish to consecrate my work on it to that end. Today I have been influenced by Frederick Tennyson, Traherne, and Patmore. In agony lies the highest music. The key is struck by circumstance, Time's organist, and the stars tremble with music. For the full thundering silence of Absolute Beauty a Divine Agony was necessary, so that all Heaven and its choirs and Hell trembled in the majesty of this _stricken_ Doom. Death is the final chord, the passage of our full song from time to the silence of eternity. Sleep next to death is the most terrible life that soul and body knows. It is the center of the wheel radiating high powers to the circumference. The speed there is terrific, so fast that it hardens, again that "majestic instancy." The tiniest flame is the friction of conflicting "universes." Beauty is alike the center and circumference of infinity, the silent wheel of omnipresent omnipotence, wherein all thoughts are not timed but eternal. From eternity we were nothing: to eternity we are Beauty's image. Is it strange that in sleep we are often given sight? August 1. Art is the exhibition of life in the light of eternity. I can conceive of no other adequate critical formula. This applies to painting, sculpture, literature and music. Such too is the art of life,--the exhibition to God and man of life in the light of eternity. I have been startled to find a kinship between Wordsworth and Millet. I found it today in a stooped old man who was traveling the roads with a walking stick and a heavy bundle of driftwood. He was worthy of a great painter or a great poet. By the sign of the cross one draws a magic circle round the soul which evil may not penetrate. It places one "in the name." On the seashore one should lie parallel with the waves facing inland. Then only may one advance onward with their prayer. August 2. It is absolutely true that only music may shape woods and fountains and the beauty of souls, for it is the only medium of expression which is pure. Pure music is the true white magic, as black magic is music mixed with clay by human hands. Naked Beauty alone may mix music with clay in Its own image and likeness. Even poetry fails save in so far as it echoes the pure natural truths of music. And all creation may flow from a flute if the player breathes a prayer. Some day we shall have the great opera of the Incarnation and Redemption. It is the ideal goal of music, and so of all art. But it demands the poet, the painter, and the sculptor, too, for its actors shall be immortal statues and a living chorus singing the passion of the race against the supreme dawn and the supreme sunset. But its greatest moments will be silence. Christ and His Mother will live this silence in the glory of transfigured stone, and the drama will be played in the open with the stars above as orchestra, to which the human music will be but a beautiful echo. To this Wagner and Craig point the way. I read Patmore's _Two Infinities_ today with bewilderment and emphatic disagreement. It seems absolutely lacking in vision, provincial, almost challenging Creation. And yet it is essentially true. Christ was a man of golden mediocrities. He speaks of the lilies of the field, but never of stars or of planets. And St. Francis perhaps hints at the solution. To him brother Wind and brother Fire and brother Worm are alike and equal, for he sees them in the light of infinity. But all are wonderful, and we must not sneer at the stars. ... Today writing as a means of expression has seemed to be absolutely futile. Silence is the only active way of praise that I can find, provided that it informs some daily action. My will won again today. Horizons are wonderful. S---- told me that Lionel invited him into his Oxford rooms one evening at sunset and led him to a seat from which nothing lower than the horizon was to be seen. "There," he said, "nothing matters that is below that line." You see he knew that our souls in their beauty are always above it. August 3. To watch a grass-blade tapping will teach you wonderful music--the language of the wind. The sunlight running through my flesh in-flames the song of the will. I lost myself tonight in the crowded silences. Joy stays with me now, and if I can only join it to sorrow, the will can then sing simply and freely a continuous song. The turning of the tide is soon to come, and my homesickness for G----ville is transforming itself into a different nostalgia. My planets are rising in song like little candle flames. I wish I possessed their humility. Within me tonight are quiet moonlit waters very full and rich with silent promises of rest. August 4. At Mass today Mr. C---- showed a fine courtesy serving with the high humility of a punctilious gentleman. ... Today I saw the body of Christ, "infinite riches in a little room." The human body of Christ in its passion is the sum of all our bodies, and it is this truth to which pantheism in its blindness dimly beckons. The saints and pure poets and those who have died for friends are the image of the Sacred Heart, and in them at moments of pure _reflection_ there is naked light and the vision which is insupportable. Hence in the greatest saints the stigmata. All God's lonely ones are the reflections of His pain when they attain to sanctity. And holy priests are the reflections of His Hands. Little children and saints may look into His Eyes and see their own. And repentant sinners may reflect His Feet in their tears. All the births and lives of the earth go to form His Human Body, which is vast as Eternity and radiating with Light from all points and inward to the Heart of Light. To some saints it has been permitted to be the spouse of this body and soul. Magic is white or black. White magic is the offspring of spiritual marriage and is a sacrament. Black magic is the offspring of unauthorized spiritual contacts. My frame tonight is possessed by angels dancing before the throne in a fearfully rapid rhythm. The secret of spiritual achievement is unremitting labor urged without ceasing by a fearful joy. No drama is more vast than that of the crucifixion, and yet I have seen it all in the heart of a strawberry blossom with wounds all glorified in an ecstasy of living trembling light, and heard the beating of His Sacred Heart while universe called out to universe in the anguish of His surrender and all the stars died into the Light of Eternity. The tide has turned. August 5. Today looking into a narrow dome I saw the seeded planets banded by circles of light whereon they turned. And color changed into silence at the bidding of the central suns. And these were the eyes of happy innocence wherein all others died to the Living Light, God being in them by their childishness. The tide turned yesterday, and today I have spent entirely in eternity surrounded by a host of fair-winged Possibilities, God's angels to humanity. Death is glorified by their passage from the future to the past, and we respond by plunging our lights into the Light wherein it dies. _Abt Vogler_ is the musical philosophy of it all. At my first symphony concert as a little boy, I saw the face of the dying Christ through the wall, and in it the music of the seventh Symphony sang through the naked eyes calling me inward to the Sacred Heart. This morning and noon at table I smiled at white horizons and in the evening I swam through the Host on my future wings. We love earth, air, fire, and water now, but the eternal joy of swimming through the Light of God and reflecting His Light in song and silence is the infinity of all poets' dreams incarnate in the awful speed of Absolute Music. It is the privilege of laughing into the Eyes of God, those Eyes before which the angels veil their faces. It is the privilege of smelling the blossom of the Living Rose, of tasting and consuming forever the Body and Blood, of touching the Sacred Knees, and of hearing the Divinity who is Music. Priests and poets shall swim in the song of his heart, and those who have died for friends will reflect its resolving rhythm. How I pity Blake his pride, though he was preserved from the pride of humility. God will let me see more of Him in this life than Blake did, though it is of the most trifling significance to anticipate eternity in poor time, the crippled heir of original sin. Since it is to be, I wish with all my blood that my will were worthier. August 6. A day of happy drudgery reading proofs. I rode through them in the winds of eternity. That is the secret of it all,--to teach us joy. The human symbol of it is a martyr's ecstasy, which is in no way sensuous or voluptuous since it has completely forgotten the body. The Sacred Heart is the Mystical Rose spreading its petals over the Cross of Time. In _Flame and Dew_ is the first application of an idea and belief that the day will come when anthologies will be books containing the wisdom of the poets on special sciences, such as the science of childhood, the science of love, the science of death, and the science of silence. August 7. Imagination being Eternal Life, it shows the blind instinct of language that the word should mean the creation of images. Imagination is the instrument of God's creation in his own _image_ and likeness. Today I came to Petrarch and Dante--the mystics of the supreme elements. To contrast their serenity with Blake's wrath shows the whiter heights. All height is inward through narrow circles to the Central Fire of Silent Love from which the angels shrink in spiral messages of inspiring flame, and toward which humanity aspires in narrowing and advancing circles of expiring flesh. But depth is outward to the hearts of men. Sirius sings to my living stars tonight its light in the music of the ancient winds, telling me of the crucifixion in burning colors of a dying world. Why am I unworthy of an equal death? The blood runs toward it in a passion of harmony. The day is near when my morning stars shall sing their lives out together in praise of their Creator, though it is futile to measure it in terms of time. One is not curious of time if one lives in eternity. Death is then only the fulfilment of our operative desires. I wish that I were one of the tears of God. Joy is for those _of good will_. August 8. I met one of Wordsworth's old men today gathering faggots on the shore. "I have been to all places and cities and I found no one happy on the world, and now I wish me to be dead." ... Tonight I bowed in silence under the vault of stars. To be holy is to lose the knowledge of good and evil through "clinging Heaven by the hems." To refuse evil is to refuse the apple _(malum)_ of the Tree of Knowledge. There is no possibility of finding the ideal unless we look passionately for nothing but the beauty of souls, seeing therein God's image and refusing to perceive the clouds of evil. Circles lead to Heaven, but straight lines to Hell. Straight lines are the tangents that "err" from the sphere of the ideal. Miss C---- told me about a little boy who was visiting Italy with his mother. He fell down hill, and stopped before a roadside crucifix. And then he forgot his fall. They found him crying as if his heart would break, and he told them that it was because he was so sorry for that sad Man whom everybody had made suffer so. The angels drop seed into our souls which make them invisible to other men, and we also may plant seed with modesty and humility. It is God's fernseed to mortals. How strange it is that we measure time by moons, cold satellites, and thus the symbol of death. But after all time is the dark night of the soul. I realized for the first time today that I was born in December, the month of creation, when the flame turns in upon itself in the hard cold earth and gives birth to high hopes whose fulfilment are in eternity. It is the month of Christmas on that account. I have begun to perceive what awful wings my thoughts have, and know that they are given them by God through me to carry them humbly into the most secret circle of the Sacred Breast. We must do the labor of God with human hands, yet the Labor of God is the Creation of Beauty. As the vegetable kingdom renews its life once a year through time and so preserves its secret, our souls must renew themselves in infinite recurrence through eternity. Our life differs only in ardor which is speed. The greatest speed lies in submission, for submission is the greatest strength. At high moments it is Atlas supporting the earth. At the supreme moment, it becomes the mystery of the Redemption. August 9. Singing through the universal stars that were woven into His Flesh, I saw the Son of God tonight glorified in the joy of a living Smile. And all the angels bowed laughing toward Him and clapped and danced before His Name, though the sum of their song was silence. And then every living star was scourged by the sins of men, and died into the darkness, saying "Thy Will be done," and it was morning with the Eucharist in the sky. Only Redemption trembled through the air. The stars are the eternal reflections of God's patience, for they endure His Human Passion, since together they form the shadow of the Word made Flesh. They are the singing echo in time of God's speechless patience, as we are destined to be if we conquer our wills. But patience is suffering, and Alpha must submit to the yoke of Omega. Since God is the Alpha and Omega he caused the Incarnation and Passion. THE IDEAL OF HUMAN LIFE IS THE PASSIONATE REDEMPTION OF THE WILL. This is life's darkest secret, _unless_ we live in the Eucharist. We are to be the silent reflections of speechless patience in the still waters of eternity. The evil came when Lucifer stole fire from heaven and brought it down to men. Conquer fire, and we conquer the will. Then heaven is ours. My body and blood ache with my prayer for it. August 10. The angels weave what God creates, according to their functions. His archangels are the weavers of time, and all the others of material nature, uninformed by a soul. This is a branch of the heavenly song. To weave God's image is the function of the saints and of all those on earth. It is the wonder of incarnate Music that saved the world, Absolute Silence born into Sound, and dying with all Sound into Silence. The archangels are God's messengers of life and death, for they control the days. But they are sent from Him to His Image, and our weaving is made out of their materials as we adapt them to our song. All outer powers and forces are brought us by the angels, and among the dearest to God's heart are his flame-winged Possibilities that hover on the borderline between today and tomorrow, Time and Eternity. They alone may not enter time unless we beckon them. The starry heaven is the heaven of the body; the crystal sphere, of the intellect; and the empyrean, of the pure soul. We may live in the starry heaven in this life, if God gives us the grace. But it is then a heaven of desire. But the weaving of the angels is the whole philosophy of nature. Their music explains its sympathies and sorrows, its deaths and resurrections, and above all its solemn silences of night and noon. And the song of their weaving becomes nature's love of wisdom, that is to say, adoration of the Word. The saints are the only complete philosophers. The object of asceticism is generally misunderstood, particularly in one phase of its endeavors,--to forget the body. The truth of the matter is that the flesh and blood in their highest song toward which we should strive are so occupied with praising God that they completely lack self-consciousness, and do not distract the intellect or the will. God is with them in naked purity. It is His simplest and dearest starry music. He demands that our life should be a programme of infinite proportions. And yet I wonder if a saint can ever be both a great prophet and a great apostle. I do not believe a great prophet can be tender enough to persuade. That is why prophets are scorned or ignored by their generation. Gentleness is the absolute breath of music, which alone can penetrate the soul or even the material body of nature. The supreme gentleness of St. Francis of Assisi made the birds listen to his music, for his breath ran dancing in a cool breeze through all their singing stars. We need a St. Francis at present burningly. Is it possible to form a religious order of the poets? Here is an ideal. But it must be Franciscan: a gown, a girdle, and sandals, poverty, chastity, and obedience. Where is the wise man to obey? I can believe that jewels are potent for good or evil, since they are condensed flame and a secret word lies hidden in each of their hearts. A day of tempestuous wind and rain. August 11. Today I found myself progressing slowly to a triumphant rhythm round the circumference of a vast musical plane. The celestial earth is flat but progresses upwards to its central point, the cone of aspiration and song. And then I remembered the vision of St. Frances of Rome wherein she saw the Supreme Godhead as a vast Circle of Light in the midst of which was a Pillar, the Cone of Redemption and Silence. Death is the point of meeting. Perhaps the Zodiac is the merry-go-round of the stars. A second day of tempest. The great message of future poetry will be to proclaim that nature is the expression of man, rather than man of nature, and thus to reveal the essential nobility of man as the image of God rather than the image of nature. Suns and winds and waters are what we make them. Pantheism confuses the image of the image with the face. Nature is the mirror of man as man is the mirror of God. Nay more, nature is the mirror in time of man's eternity, as man is the image in time and eternity of God. It is for this reason that the stars are the open book of the future, though they are not to be read by men aloud. Astrology is forbidden because it violates the precept of silence, which is the courtesy we pay as gentlemen to God. We may only read the stars in little children's eyes, wherein their future is concealed. The breast of Mary is the fountain of the stars, and round it fly the seraphim in flaming adoration of the blessed womb. Her eyes are God's dew, wherein the secret of His Light is whispered by the thrones. I felt through the morning His human Presence graciously walking the roads, and I was resting on His left Arm that brought me to His Heart, the country wherein the dreams of my will are born. August 12. I have been sick today. Rain and tempest, but God was on the wind, and I am happy. August 13. Still ill. Rain and fog with intermittent sunshine. But I am as happy as I have ever been. August 14. Still ill. Fog in the morning breaking into a wonderful pearl day of summer haze. Our bodily senses are instruments in our orchestra. August 15. Today I sank into Beauty several times in the sunlight. August 16. Read through the last proofs and on the dunes with my mother in the afternoon I lived in the light of God. The sun I caused to smile and I wrapped myself in the blue of the Virgin's sky. I found myself causing a shower twice by failing in humility. But the laughing Light of God's eyes in my soul is eternal, and when I submit it controls the tides of my body and mind. Tonight a woodpecker alighted on Father K----'s shoulder and stayed with him nearby. The Brahmin may attain to the shadow of the first syllable of the Word. He does not believe that there are others. _Om_ is simply the symbol of inward breath, inspiration. I heard myself today very near to the Heart of Silence, whose systole and diastole is the ebb and flow of Love from Eternity to Eternity. Time is the sound of silence and is dead to all eternity. It is the only beautiful death that the angels do not mourn, for in the death of Time is the Redemption of the World. It takes the circle of eternity to unite the four points of the cross, and a crucifixion to unite two parallel lines. August 17. Out of the summer I am weaving the pattern web of the future in threads of desire. Every resurrection of a body is the last judgment of infinite planets, which fly to or flee from the human song of God's first syllable. Yet those that flee may be purchased by an infinite Redemption. This opens a terrible possibility of mercy. Is God continually becoming man for the love of His image? This is the joyful secret of God's sad fourth syllable. I clothe it in words to guard it from my intellect. Infinite incarnations prove time an illusion, since they make it eternity. God's Sacred Heart is the silent ocean beyond the universe. It reflects. The Incarnation is its flood. The Host tonight was more white than shining silver in a lonely pearl sky. It was Absolute Music unveiled to the human eye. Tonight I stood out for long alone with the stars, and watched a thunderstorm come over the sea. We must guard our dreams and intuitions not only from the intellects of others but most of all from our own. Yet our faith must be precisely bounded, although this boundary is to be none other than the infinite succession of points where time and eternity meet and bow down before God. This morning I saw His Beauty in a daisy. ... I do not believe that God will reveal His mysteries if we seek to know them, without inflicting a penalty. The way of knowledge is the way of silent patience, which lies quietly dreaming of Love till the flood washes it with Living Light. August 18. Every time we look into another's soul we may enter Paradise. There is an indescribable grace in the air this first day of prescient autumn. The summer has taught me the secret of loneliness and the infinite way of satisfying its desire. To be alone with God we must be intimate with the beauty in the eyes of every face, and yet absolutely detached save from one's family and friend. Life's ideal is to see the end in the beginning, and act the road between. This is no other than the eternal life of the Alpha and Omega. But the essence of it in time is that the whole tide of humanity should ebb and flow in our breast. It requires a crucifixion to drink in all its saltness. I found the dunes beyond the lagoon this morning and sank into God in the wind of the sunlit blue. When I returned, the people were coming from Church. Tonight the Host was quivering gold, and as I write the planets are ringing in my ears. I pray that at the end I may come to the Heart of Eternal Silence. August 19. On the dunes this morning toward Wonder Island ... Eternity is infinite speed. Time is the dragwheel, nothing more. Hence the significance of "when eternity reaffirms the conception of an hour." Flame is the symbol of time as dew is the symbol of eternity. They meet in Christ and through Him in the human race. The moon properly loved is the kindness of time, as the sun is the reflected love of Eternity made Flesh in the Host on the altar. ... Tonight I desire only silence to love. August 20. On the dunes toward Wonder Island this morning I lost space and walked upon the blue ringing a cycle of stars in either hand. But I felt no sense of distance and the seed of the sands blew on the wind which carried me. It taught me how to walk softly through life, and coming home I had the sand in my hair. I know now what clouds are, softer than the breasts of doves. God's flying sorrows are the sandals of the soul. They make us His angels, Mercuries of Light. The sun has not bled for many a night, but has slowly descended in silver splendor, always a second dawn with its fresh, keen, cool surprises. Today was the grace of last night's desire. The wonder of it this morning was my complete surrender, the assurance with which I moved on the singing skies as my native element. I know that only the appearances remained, as in the Eucharist after the Consecration we seem to see the bread and wine. Life was the poise of infinity, and I knew of no horizon, for I could look down upon the dawn. It came two weeks ago Sunday in my heart. I see the mystery of the Resurrection in its beauty, and why white lilies are its deepest symbol. How can there be a prison or a cage? Every twilight is a white horizon. The gulls know that and the sea tonight has lost its sorrow. August 21. By sailboat to P---- and G---- with the silent man, returning with the stars. Their hosting was like the flocking of wild geese, and they followed St. Francis of Assisi as a leader, the captain of the morning stars. In the silence I heard the operation of the divine mathematics. I loved those Chaldean seers to whom God talked directly and wrote His message upon the stars. I lay prone on the deck looking upwards and fell into the Divine Ocean slowly. The moon rode serenely to the southwest, and humanity was with me in the boat. Navigators are now the only men left wise enough to follow the stars. The sunpath was Jacob's ladder, and the Aran islanders know its secret when they see Tir-n'an-Og in the west on calm sunset evenings. The sea had my trust, eternal through yesterday's experience, and I believe that if faith and good works required it of me, I could walk softly over it. If the soul is to control the body, surely spiritual gravity should be able to overcome material gravity. Certainly it would take more than the sea to quench my flame, if God made me worthy. August 22. I looked down from great heights today on all the little smiling intimacies. They are like happy babies to me, and my speech should play with them, if I can ever become worthy of their simplicity. The rhythm of all music is the systole and diastole of the Sacred Heart, which is the ebb and flow of an infinite ocean. This is the meaning, I think, of the old Gaelic rune, _Ri tragadh s'ri lionadh, mar a bha, mar a tha, mar a bhitheas gu bragh ri traghadh s'ri lionadh_. (The ebb and the flow, as it was, as it is, as it ever shall be, the ebb and the flow.) The resolute gaze of the soul toward this in love constitutes prayer in its only form. It shows blood to be the most rich and beautiful of human things, and its salt waves purify the flesh, as the salt waves of Gethsemane and Calvary redeemed the soul and its singing stars. August 23. My life so far has been a word, and not a deed. But the world was not redeemed until the Word BECAME FLESH--AND DWELT AMONGST US. Mary S---- met us on the roads today and said, "I hope that we'll be meeting in Heaven, we seem to meet so often now." I sleep at night in a cruciform position adoring beauty with every faculty save my will, the most necessary of all. August 24. In the open today amid a hurricane of wind ... I walked with a childish old man with a pleasant soul. The wind brought meteor showers of beauty to the body. It rained grace in the sky of noon. I could carry overflowing happiness now even to New York. Today reminded me of the sunlight on the roar of Broadway. God is on the wind tonight, and is beating down my will with his wings. August 25. I lay through a night of tempestuous wind with the open window at my head. I awoke and saw myself face to face in my weakness. It rained all day. ... I can hardly bear my love today. It is a terrific dynamo of silence. But it will be very long before I shall fulfill my worthiness. If one could always remember that he is a saviour, and carry humanity with him, his will would be inflexible and every act an exulting humility. All nature is but a mantle which the wind of my spirit disposes in folds about me, and humanity is the chalice in which I may communicate with God,--a chalice woven of our singing flesh and heart and brain and will, wherein the will is its depth, the Atlas which bears the Sacred Body and Blood when it is given to us. August 26. Sorrow has come at last. Full moon, and life is at the flood. The precept of all adversity is of course that the ebb tide of fortune is our flood toward God. Even the lamp tonight is singing in the room. August 27. The experience still turns inward to the heart of life. I now see the core of it. It burns, of course, but think of the wheel it carries. A few days ago I was on the circumference. Now I have found the center. A day of rain and wind and exterior disturbances. But I have found my cenacle. August 28. A victory for the will. ... It is strange that every vital lesson that experience teaches can never be expressed in words. The past few days have taught me more than the rest of the summer. There will always be a secrecy of the soul, and what this contains constitutes God's image and likeness. Life sings tonight in every atom its marvelous chemistry of change and prophecy. Nature knows no elegies, since it may never triumph over aught but dust. But the highest dream is less worthy than the simplest deed, and we must forget the knowledge of good and evil. I would exchange all the knowledge I have gained for the grace to perform the slightest act of St. Francis. God has made our opportunity infinite by giving us an eternal standard of values,--that is all. August 29. I am afraid to write further for fear that I shall soon become self-conscious. ... It is strange that the will did not come home to me as a complete experience before. I simply had the foreboding of it. This summer on the 9th of August I heard the Fourth Syllable in its awfulness for the first time, and understood the mystery of the Redemption. The time has now come to close this book, for the record is complete, and may not be reopened until I redeem my will. _They departed into their own country another way_. 
1146	----	THE JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO LISBON by Henry Fielding CONTENTS INTRODUCTION TO SEVERAL WORKS PREFACE DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC INTRODUCTION TO THE VOYAGE TO LISBON THE VOYAGE INTRODUCTION TO SEVERAL WORKS When it was determined to extend the present edition of Fielding, not merely by the addition of Jonathan Wild to the three universally popular novels, but by two volumes of Miscellanies, there could be no doubt about at least one of the contents of these latter. The Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, if it does not rank in my estimation anywhere near to Jonathan Wild as an example of our author's genius, is an invaluable and delightful document for his character and memory. It is indeed, as has been pointed out in the General Introduction to this series, our main source of indisputable information as to Fielding dans son naturel, and its value, so far as it goes, is of the very highest. The gentle and unaffected stoicism which the author displays under a disease which he knew well was probably, if not certainly, mortal, and which, whether mortal or not, must cause him much actual pain and discomfort of a kind more intolerable than pain itself; his affectionate care for his family; even little personal touches, less admirable, but hardly less pleasant than these, showing an Englishman's dislike to be "done" and an Englishman's determination to be treated with proper respect, are scarcely less noticeable and important on the biographical side than the unimpaired brilliancy of his satiric and yet kindly observation of life and character is on the side of literature. There is, as is now well known since Mr. Dobson's separate edition of the Voyage, a little bibliographical problem about the first appearance of this Journal in 1755. The best known issue of that year is much shorter than the version inserted by Murphy and reprinted here, the passages omitted being chiefly those reflecting on the captain, etc., and so likely to seem invidious in a book published just after the author's death, and for the benefit, as was expressly announced, of his family. But the curious thing is that there is ANOTHER edition, of date so early that some argument is necessary to determine the priority, which does give these passages and is identical with the later or standard version. For satisfaction on this point, however, I must refer readers to Mr. Dobson himself. There might have been a little, but not much, doubt as to a companion piece for the Journal; for indeed, after we close this (with or without its "Fragment on Bolingbroke"), the remainder of Fielding's work lies on a distinctly lower level of interest. It is still interesting, or it would not be given here. It still has--at least that part which here appears seems to its editor to have--interest intrinsic and "simple of itself." But it is impossible for anybody who speaks critically to deny that we now get into the region where work is more interesting because of its authorship than it would be if its authorship were different or unknown. To put the same thing in a sharper antithesis, Fielding is interesting, first of all, because he is the author of Joseph Andrews, of Tom Jones, of Amelia, of Jonathan Wild, of the Journal. His plays, his essays, his miscellanies generally are interesting, first of all, because they were written by Fielding. Yet of these works, the Journey from this World to the Next (which, by a grim trick of fortune, might have served as a title for the more interesting Voyage with which we have yoked it) stands clearly first both in scale and merit. It is indeed very unequal, and as the author was to leave it unfinished, it is a pity that he did not leave it unfinished much sooner than he actually did. The first ten chapters, if of a kind of satire which has now grown rather obsolete for the nonce, are of a good kind and good in their kind; the history of the metempsychoses of Julian is of a less good kind, and less good in that kind. The date of composition of the piece is not known, but it appeared in the Miscellanies of 1743, and may represent almost any period of its author's development prior to that year. Its form was a very common form at the time, and continued to be so. I do not know that it is necessary to assign any very special origin to it, though Lucian, its chief practitioner, was evidently and almost avowedly a favorite study of Fielding's. The Spanish romancers, whether borrowing it from Lucian or not, had been fond of it; their French followers, of whom the chief were Fontenelle and Le Sage, had carried it northwards; the English essayists had almost from the beginning continued the process of acclimatization. Fielding therefore found it ready to his hand, though the present condition of this example would lead us to suppose that he did not find his hand quite ready to it. Still, in the actual "journey," there are touches enough of the master--not yet quite in his stage of mastery. It seemed particularly desirable not to close the series without some representation of the work to which Fielding gave the prime of his manhood, and from which, had he not, fortunately for English literature, been driven decidedly against his will, we had had in all probability no Joseph Andrews, and pretty certainly no Tom Jones. Fielding's periodical and dramatic work has been comparatively seldom reprinted, and has never yet been reprinted as a whole. The dramas indeed are open to two objections--the first, that they are not very "proper;" the second, and much more serious, that they do not redeem this want of propriety by the possession of any remarkable literary merit. Three (or two and part of a third) seemed to escape this double censure--the first two acts of the Author's Farce (practically a piece to themselves, for the Puppet Show which follows is almost entirely independent); the famous burlesque of Tom Thumb, which stands between the Rehearsal and the Critic, but nearer to the former; and Pasquin, the maturest example of Fielding's satiric work in drama. These accordingly have been selected; the rest I have read, and he who likes may read. I have read many worse things than even the worst of them, but not often worse things by so good a writer as Henry Fielding. The next question concerned the selection of writings more miscellaneous still, so as to give in little a complete idea of Fielding's various powers and experiments. Two difficulties beset this part of the task--want of space and the absence of anything so markedly good as absolutely to insist on inclusion. The Essay on Conversation, however, seemed pretty peremptorily to challenge a place. It is in a style which Fielding was very slow to abandon, which indeed has left strong traces even on his great novels; and if its mannerism is not now very attractive, the separate traits in it are often sharp and well-drawn. The book would not have been complete without a specimen or two of Fielding's journalism. The Champion, his first attempt of this kind, has not been drawn upon in consequence of the extreme difficulty of fixing with absolute certainty on Fielding's part in it. I do not know whether political prejudice interferes, more than I have usually found it interfere, with my judgment of the two Hanoverian-partisan papers of the '45 time. But they certainly seem to me to fail in redeeming their dose of rancor and misrepresentation by any sufficient evidence of genius such as, to my taste, saves not only the party journalism in verse and prose of Swift and Canning and Praed on one side, but that of Wolcot and Moore and Sydney Smith on the other. Even the often-quoted journal of events in London under the Chevalier is overwrought and tedious. The best thing in the True Patriot seems to me to be Parson Adams' letter describing his adventure with a young "bowe" of his day; and this I select, together with one or two numbers of the Covent Garden Journal. I have not found in this latter anything more characteristic than Murphy's selection, though Mr. Dobson, with his unfailing kindness, lent me an original and unusually complete set of the Journal itself. It is to the same kindness that I owe the opportunity of presenting the reader with something indisputably Fielding's and very characteristic of him, which Murphy did not print, and which has not, so far as I know, ever appeared either in a collection or a selection of Fielding's work. After the success of David Simple, Fielding gave his sister, for whom he had already written a preface to that novel, another preface for a set of Familiar Letters between the characters of David Simple and others. This preface Murphy reprinted; but he either did not notice, or did not choose to attend to, a note towards the end of the book attributing certain of the letters to the author of the preface, the attribution being accompanied by an agreeably warm and sisterly denunciation of those who ascribed to Fielding matter unworthy of him. From these the letter which I have chosen, describing a row on the Thames, seems to me not only characteristic, but, like all this miscellaneous work, interesting no less for its weakness than for its strength. In hardly any other instance known to me can we trace so clearly the influence of a suitable medium and form on the genius of the artist. There are some writers--Dryden is perhaps the greatest of them--to whom form and medium seem almost indifferent, their all-round craftsmanship being such that they can turn any kind and every style to their purpose. There are others, of whom I think our present author is the chief, who are never really at home but in one kind. In Fielding's case that kind was narrative of a peculiar sort, half-sentimental, half-satirical, and almost wholly sympathetic--narrative which has the singular gift of portraying the liveliest character and yet of admitting the widest disgression and soliloquy. Until comparatively late in his too short life, when he found this special path of his (and it is impossible to say whether the actual finding was in the case of Jonathan or in the case of Joseph), he did but flounder and slip. When he had found it, and was content to walk in it, he strode with as sure and steady a step as any other, even the greatest, of those who carry and hand on the torch of literature through the ages. But it is impossible to derive full satisfaction from his feats in this part of the race without some notion of his performances elsewhere; and I believe that such a notion will be supplied to the readers of his novels by the following volumes, in a very large number of cases, for the first time. THE JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO LISBON DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC Your candor is desired on the perusal of the following sheets, as they are the product of a genius that has long been your delight and entertainment. It must be acknowledged that a lamp almost burnt out does not give so steady and uniform a light as when it blazes in its full vigor; but yet it is well known that by its wavering, as if struggling against its own dissolution, it sometimes darts a ray as bright as ever. In like manner, a strong and lively genius will, in its last struggles, sometimes mount aloft, and throw forth the most striking marks of its original luster. Wherever these are to be found, do you, the genuine patrons of extraordinary capacities, be as liberal in your applauses of him who is now no more as you were of him whilst he was yet amongst you. And, on the other hand, if in this little work there should appear any traces of a weakened and decayed life, let your own imaginations place before your eyes a true picture in that of a hand trembling in almost its latest hour, of a body emaciated with pains, yet struggling for your entertainment; and let this affecting picture open each tender heart, and call forth a melting tear, to blot out whatever failings may be found in a work begun in pain, and finished almost at the same period with life. It was thought proper by the friends of the deceased that this little piece should come into your hands as it came from the hands of the author, it being judged that you would be better pleased to have an opportunity of observing the faintest traces of a genius you have long admired, than have it patched by a different hand, by which means the marks of its true author might have been effaced. That the success of the last written, though first published, volume of the author's posthumous pieces may be attended with some convenience to those innocents he hath left behind, will no doubt be a motive to encourage its circulation through the kingdom, which will engage every future genius to exert itself for your pleasure. The principles and spirit which breathe in every line of the small fragment begun in answer to Lord Bolingbroke will unquestionably be a sufficient apology for its publication, although vital strength was wanting to finish a work so happily begun and so well designed. PREFACE THERE would not, perhaps, be a more pleasant or profitable study, among those which have their principal end in amusement, than that of travels or voyages, if they were wrote as they might be and ought to be, with a joint view to the entertainment and information of mankind. If the conversation of travelers be so eagerly sought after as it is, we may believe their books will be still more agreeable company, as they will in general be more instructive and more entertaining. But when I say the conversation of travelers is usually so welcome, I must be understood to mean that only of such as have had good sense enough to apply their peregrinations to a proper use, so as to acquire from them a real and valuable knowledge of men and things, both which are best known by comparison. If the customs and manners of men were everywhere the same, there would be no office so dull as that of a traveler, for the difference of hills, valleys, rivers, in short, the various views of which we may see the face of the earth, would scarce afford him a pleasure worthy of his labor; and surely it would give him very little opportunity of communicating any kind of entertainment or improvement to others. To make a traveler an agreeable companion to a man of sense, it is necessary, not only that he should have seen much, but that he should have overlooked much of what he hath seen. Nature is not, any more than a great genius, always admirable in her productions, and therefore the traveler, who may be called her commentator, should not expect to find everywhere subjects worthy of his notice. It is certain, indeed, that one may be guilty of omission, as well as of the opposite extreme; but a fault on that side will be more easily pardoned, as it is better to be hungry than surfeited; and to miss your dessert at the table of a man whose gardens abound with the choicest fruits, than to have your taste affronted with every sort of trash that can be picked up at the green-stall or the wheel-barrow. If we should carry on the analogy between the traveler and the commentator, it is impossible to keep one's eye a moment off from the laborious much-read doctor Zachary Gray, of whose redundant notes on Hudibras I shall only say that it is, I am confident, the single book extant in which above five hundred authors are quoted, not one of which could be found in the collection of the late doctor Mead. As there are few things which a traveler is to record, there are fewer on which he is to offer his observations: this is the office of the reader; and it is so pleasant a one, that he seldom chooses to have it taken from him, under the pretense of lending him assistance. Some occasions, indeed, there are, when proper observations are pertinent, and others when they are necessary; but good sense alone must point them out. I shall lay down only one general rule; which I believe to be of universal truth between relator and hearer, as it is between author and reader; this is, that the latter never forgive any observation of the former which doth not convey some knowledge that they are sensible they could not possibly have attained of themselves. But all his pains in collecting knowledge, all his judgment in selecting, and all his art in communicating it, will not suffice, unless he can make himself, in some degree, an agreeable as well as an instructive companion. The highest instruction we can derive from the tedious tale of a dull fellow scarce ever pays us for our attention. There is nothing, I think, half so valuable as knowledge, and yet there is nothing which men will give themselves so little trouble to attain; unless it be, perhaps, that lowest degree of it which is the object of curiosity, and which hath therefore that active passion constantly employed in its service. This, indeed, it is in the power of every traveler to gratify; but it is the leading principle in weak minds only. To render his relation agreeable to the man of sense, it is therefore necessary that the voyager should possess several eminent and rare talents; so rare indeed, that it is almost wonderful to see them ever united in the same person. And if all these talents must concur in the relator, they are certainly in a more eminent degree necessary to the writer; for here the narration admits of higher ornaments of style, and every fact and sentiment offers itself to the fullest and most deliberate examination. It would appear, therefore, I think, somewhat strange if such writers as these should be found extremely common; since nature hath been a most parsimonious distributor of her richest talents, and hath seldom bestowed many on the same person. But, on the other hand, why there should scarce exist a single writer of this kind worthy our regard; and, whilst there is no other branch of history (for this is history) which hath not exercised the greatest pens, why this alone should be overlooked by all men of great genius and erudition, and delivered up to the Goths and Vandals as their lawful property, is altogether as difficult to determine. And yet that this is the case, with some very few exceptions, is most manifest. Of these I shall willingly admit Burnet and Addison; if the former was not, perhaps, to be considered as a political essayist, and the latter as a commentator on the classics, rather than as a writer of travels; which last title, perhaps, they would both of them have been least ambitious to affect. Indeed, if these two and two or three more should be removed from the mass, there would remain such a heap of dullness behind, that the appellation of voyage-writer would not appear very desirable. I am not here unapprised that old Homer himself is by some considered as a voyage-writer; and, indeed, the beginning of his Odyssey may be urged to countenance that opinion, which I shall not controvert. But, whatever species of writing the Odyssey is of, it is surely at the head of that species, as much as the Iliad is of another; and so far the excellent Longinus would allow, I believe, at this day. But, in reality, the Odyssey, the Telemachus, and all of that kind, are to the voyage-writing I here intend, what romance is to true history, the former being the confounder and corrupter of the latter. I am far from supposing that Homer, Hesiod, and the other ancient poets and mythologists, had any settled design to pervert and confuse the records of antiquity; but it is certain they have effected it; and for my part I must confess I should have honored and loved Homer more had he written a true history of his own times in humble prose, than those noble poems that have so justly collected the praise of all ages; for, though I read these with more admiration and astonishment, I still read Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon with more amusement and more satisfaction. The original poets were not, however, without excuse. They found the limits of nature too straight for the immensity of their genius, which they had not room to exert without extending fact by fiction: and that especially at a time when the manners of men were too simple to afford that variety which they have since offered in vain to the choice of the meanest writers. In doing this they are again excusable for the manner in which they have done it. Ut speciosa dehine miracula promant. They are not, indeed, so properly said to turn reality into fiction, as fiction into reality. Their paintings are so bold, their colors so strong, that everything they touch seems to exist in the very manner they represent it; their portraits are so just, and their landscapes so beautiful, that we acknowledge the strokes of nature in both, without inquiring whether Nature herself, or her journeyman the poet, formed the first pattern of the piece. But other writers (I will put Pliny at their head) have no such pretensions to indulgence; they lie for lying sake, or in order insolently to impose the most monstrous improbabilities and absurdities upon their readers on their own authority; treating them as some fathers treat children, and as other fathers do laymen, exacting their belief of whatever they relate, on no other foundation than their own authority, without ever taking the pains or adapting their lies to human credulity, and of calculating them for the meridian of a common understanding; but, with as much weakness as wickedness, and with more impudence often than either, they assert facts contrary to the honor of God, to the visible order of the creation, to the known laws of nature, to the histories of former ages, and to the experience of our own, and which no man can at once understand and believe. If it should be objected (and it can nowhere be objected better than where I now write, [12] as there is nowhere more pomp of bigotry) that whole nations have been firm believers in such most absurd suppositions, I reply, the fact is not true. They have known nothing of the matter, and have believed they knew not what. It is, indeed, with me no matter of doubt but that the pope and his clergy might teach any of those Christian heterodoxies, the tenets of which are the most diametrically opposite to their own; nay, all the doctrines of Zoroaster, Confucius, and Mahomet, not only with certain and immediate success, but without one Catholic in a thousand knowing he had changed his religion. [Footnote 12: At Lisbon.] What motive a man can have to sit down, and to draw forth a list of stupid, senseless, incredible lies upon paper, would be difficult to determine, did not Vanity present herself so immediately as the adequate cause. The vanity of knowing more than other men is, perhaps, besides hunger, the only inducement to writing, at least to publishing, at all. Why then should not the voyage-writer be inflamed with the glory of having seen what no man ever did or will see but himself? This is the true source of the wonderful in the discourse and writings, and sometimes, I believe, in the actions of men. There is another fault, of a kind directly opposite to this, to which these writers are sometimes liable, when, instead of filling their pages with monsters which nobody hath ever seen, and with adventures which never have, nor could possibly have, happened to them, waste their time and paper with recording things and facts of so common a kind, that they challenge no other right of being remembered than as they had the honor of having happened to the author, to whom nothing seems trivial that in any manner happens to himself. Of such consequence do his own actions appear to one of this kind, that he would probably think himself guilty of infidelity should he omit the minutest thing in the detail of his journal. That the fact is true is sufficient to give it a place there, without any consideration whether it is capable of pleasing or surprising, of diverting or informing, the reader. I have seen a play (if I mistake not it is one of Mrs. Behn's or of Mrs. Centlivre's) where this vice in a voyage-writer is finely ridiculed. An ignorant pedant, to whose government, for I know not what reason, the conduct of a young nobleman in his travels is committed, and who is sent abroad to show my lord the world, of which he knows nothing himself, before his departure from a town, calls for his Journal to record the goodness of the wine and tobacco, with other articles of the same importance, which are to furnish the materials of a voyage at his return home. The humor, it is true, is here carried very far; and yet, perhaps, very little beyond what is to be found in writers who profess no intention of dealing in humor at all. Of one or other, or both of these kinds, are, I conceive, all that vast pile of books which pass under the names of voyages, travels, adventures, lives, memoirs, histories, etc., some of which a single traveler sends into the world in many volumes, and others are, by judicious booksellers, collected into vast bodies in folio, and inscribed with their own names, as if they were indeed their own travels: thus unjustly attributing to themselves the merit of others. Now, from both these faults we have endeavored to steer clear in the following narrative; which, however the contrary may be insinuated by ignorant, unlearned, and fresh-water critics, who have never traveled either in books or ships, I do solemnly declare doth, in my own impartial opinion, deviate less from truth than any other voyage extant; my lord Anson's alone being, perhaps, excepted. Some few embellishments must be allowed to every historian; for we are not to conceive that the speeches in Livy, Sallust, or Thucydides, were literally spoken in the very words in which we now read them. It is sufficient that every fact hath its foundation in truth, as I do seriously aver is the ease in the ensuing pages; and when it is so, a good critic will be so far from denying all kind of ornament of style or diction, or even of circumstance, to his author, that he would be rather sorry if he omitted it; for he could hence derive no other advantage than the loss of an additional pleasure in the perusal. Again, if any merely common incident should appear in this journal, which will seldom I apprehend be the case, the candid reader will easily perceive it is not introduced for its own sake, but for some observations and reflections naturally resulting from it; and which, if but little to his amusement, tend directly to the instruction of the reader or to the information of the public; to whom if I choose to convey such instruction or information with an air of joke and laughter, none but the dullest of fellows will, I believe, censure it; but if they should, I have the authority of more than one passage in Horace to allege in my defense. Having thus endeavored to obviate some censures, to which a man without the gift of foresight, or any fear of the imputation of being a conjurer, might conceive this work would be liable, I might now undertake a more pleasing task, and fall at once to the direct and positive praises of the work itself; of which indeed, I could say a thousand good things; but the task is so very pleasant that I shall leave it wholly to the reader, and it is all the task that I impose on him. A moderation for which he may think himself obliged to me when he compares it with the conduct of authors, who often fill a whole sheet with their own praises, to which they sometimes set their own real names, and sometimes a fictitious one. One hint, however, I must give the kind reader; which is, that if he should be able to find no sort of amusement in the book, he will be pleased to remember the public utility which will arise from it. If entertainment, as Mr. Richardson observes, be but a secondary consideration in a romance; with which Mr. Addison, I think, agrees, affirming the use of the pastry cook to be the first; if this, I say, be true of a mere work of invention, sure it may well be so considered in a work founded, like this, on truth; and where the political reflections form so distinguishing a part. But perhaps I may hear, from some critic of the most saturnine complexion, that my vanity must have made a horrid dupe of my judgment, if it hath flattered me with an expectation of having anything here seen in a grave light, or of conveying any useful instruction to the public, or to their guardians. I answer, with the great man whom I just now quoted, that my purpose is to convey instruction in the vehicle of entertainment; and so to bring about at once, like the revolution in the Rehearsal, a perfect reformation of the laws relating to our maritime affairs: an undertaking, I will not say more modest, but surely more feasible, than that of reforming a whole people, by making use of a vehicular story, to wheel in among them worse manners than their own. INTRODUCTION In the beginning of August, 1753, when I had taken the duke of Portland's medicine, as it is called, near a year, the effects of which had been the carrying off the symptoms of a lingering imperfect gout, I was persuaded by Mr. Ranby, the king's premier sergeant-surgeon, and the ablest advice, I believe, in all branches of the physical profession, to go immediately to Bath. I accordingly wrote that very night to Mrs. Bowden, who, by the next post, informed me she had taken me a lodging for a month certain. Within a few days after this, whilst I was preparing for my journey, and when I was almost fatigued to death with several long examinations, relating to five different murders, all committed within the space of a week, by different gangs of street-robbers, I received a message from his grace the duke of Newcastle, by Mr. Carrington, the king's messenger, to attend his grace the next morning, in Lincoln's-inn-fields, upon some business of importance; but I excused myself from complying with the message, as, besides being lame, I was very ill with the great fatigues I had lately undergone added to my distemper. His grace, however, sent Mr. Carrington, the very next morning, with another summons; with which, though in the utmost distress, I immediately complied; but the duke, happening, unfortunately for me, to be then particularly engaged, after I had waited some time, sent a gentleman to discourse with me on the best plan which could be invented for putting an immediate end to those murders and robberies which were every day committed in the streets; upon which I promised to transmit my opinion, in writing, to his grace, who, as the gentleman informed me, intended to lay it before the privy council. Though this visit cost me a severe cold, I, notwithstanding, set myself down to work; and in about four days sent the duke as regular a plan as I could form, with all the reasons and arguments I could bring to support it, drawn out in several sheets of paper; and soon received a message from the duke by Mr. Carrington, acquainting me that my plan was highly approved of, and that all the terms of it would be complied with. The principal and most material of those terms was the immediately depositing six hundred pound in my hands; at which small charge I undertook to demolish the then reigning gangs, and to put the civil policy into such order, that no such gangs should ever be able, for the future, to form themselves into bodies, or at least to remain any time formidable to the public. I had delayed my Bath journey for some time, contrary to the repeated advice of my physical acquaintance, and to the ardent desire of my warmest friends, though my distemper was now turned to a deep jaundice; in which case the Bath waters are generally reputed to be almost infallible. But I had the most eager desire of demolishing this gang of villains and cut-throats, which I was sure of accomplishing the moment I was enabled to pay a fellow who had undertaken, for a small sum, to betray them into the hands of a set of thief-takers whom I had enlisted into the service, all men of known and approved fidelity and intrepidity. After some weeks the money was paid at the treasury, and within a few days after two hundred pounds of it had come to my hands, the whole gang of cut-throats was entirely dispersed, seven of them were in actual custody, and the rest driven, some out of the town, and others out of the kingdom. Though my health was now reduced to the last extremity, I continued to act with the utmost vigor against these villains; in examining whom, and in taking the depositions against them, I have often spent whole days, nay, sometimes whole nights, especially when there was any difficulty in procuring sufficient evidence to convict them; which is a very common case in street-robberies, even when the guilt of the party is sufficiently apparent to satisfy the most tender conscience. But courts of justice know nothing of a cause more than what is told them on oath by a witness; and the most flagitious villain upon earth is tried in the same manner as a man of the best character who is accused of the same crime. Meanwhile, amidst all my fatigues and distresses, I had the satisfaction to find my endeavors had been attended with such success that this hellish society were almost utterly extirpated, and that, instead of reading of murders and street-robberies in the news almost every morning, there was, in the remaining part of the month of November, and in all December, not only no such thing as a murder, but not even a street-robbery committed. Some such, indeed, were mentioned in the public papers; but they were all found on the strictest inquiry, to be false. In this entire freedom from street-robberies, during the dark months, no man will, I believe, scruple to acknowledge that the winter of 1753 stands unrivaled, during a course of many years; and this may possibly appear the more extraordinary to those who recollect the outrages with which it began. Having thus fully accomplished my undertaking, I went into the country, in a very weak and deplorable condition, with no fewer or less diseases than a jaundice, a dropsy, and an asthma, altogether uniting their forces in the destruction of a body so entirely emaciated that it had lost all its muscular flesh. Mine was now no longer what was called a Bath case; nor, if it had been so, had I strength remaining sufficient to go thither, a ride of six miles only being attended with an intolerable fatigue. I now discharged my lodgings at Bath, which I had hitherto kept. I began in earnest to look on my case as desperate, and I had vanity enough to rank myself with those heroes who, of old times, became voluntary sacrifices to the good of the public. But, lest the reader should be too eager to catch at the word VANITY, and should be unwilling to indulge me with so sublime a gratification, for I think he is not too apt to gratify me, I will take my key a pitch lower, and will frankly own that I had a stronger motive than the love of the public to push me on: I will therefore confess to him that my private affairs at the beginning of the winter had but a gloomy aspect; for I had not plundered the public or the poor of those sums which men, who are always ready to plunder both as much as they can, have been pleased to suspect me of taking: on the contrary, by composing, instead of inflaming the quarrels of porters and beggars (which I blush when I say hath not been universally practiced), and by refusing to take a shilling from a man who most undoubtedly would not have had another left, I had reduced an income of about five hundred pounds [13] a-year of the dirtiest money upon earth to little more than three hundred pounds; a considerable proportion of which remained with my clerk; and, indeed, if the whole had done so, as it ought, he would be but ill paid for sitting almost sixteen hours in the twenty-four in the most unwholesome, as well as nauseous air in the universe, and which hath in his case corrupted a good constitution without contaminating his morals. [Footnote 13: A predecessor of mine used to boast that he made one thousand pounds a-year in his office; but how he did this (if indeed he did it) is to me a secret. His clerk, now mine, told me I had more business than he had ever known there; I am sure I had as much as any man could do. The truth is, the fees are so very low, when any are due, and so much is done for nothing, that, if a single justice of peace had business enough to employ twenty clerks, neither he nor they would get much by their labor.] The public will not, therefore, I hope, think I betray a secret when I inform them that I received from the Government a yearly pension out of the public service money; which, I believe, indeed, would have been larger had my great patron been convinced of an error, which I have heard him utter more than once, that he could not indeed say that the acting as a principal justice of peace in Westminster was on all accounts very desirable, but that all the world knew it was a very lucrative office. Now, to have shown him plainly that a man must be a rogue to make a very little this way, and that he could not make much by being as great a rogue as he could be, would have required more confidence than, I believe, he had in me, and more of his conversation than he chose to allow me; I therefore resigned the office and the farther execution of my plan to my brother, who had long been my assistant. And now, lest the case between me and the reader should be the same in both instances as it was between me and the great man, I will not add another word on the subject. But, not to trouble the reader with anecdotes, contrary to my own rule laid down in my preface, I assure him I thought my family was very slenderly provided for; and that my health began to decline so fast that I had very little more of life left to accomplish what I had thought of too late. I rejoiced therefore greatly in seeing an opportunity, as I apprehended, of gaining such merit in the eye of the public, that, if my life were the sacrifice to it, my friends might think they did a popular act in putting my family at least beyond the reach of necessity, which I myself began to despair of doing. And though I disclaim all pretense to that Spartan or Roman patriotism which loved the public so well that it was always ready to become a voluntary sacrifice to the public good, I do solemnly declare I have that love for my family. After this confession therefore, that the public was not the principal deity to which my life was offered a sacrifice, and when it is farther considered what a poor sacrifice this was, being indeed no other than the giving up what I saw little likelihood of being able to hold much longer, and which, upon the terms I held it, nothing but the weakness of human nature could represent to me as worth holding at all; the world may, I believe, without envy, allow me all the praise to which I have any title. My aim, in fact, was not praise, which is the last gift they care to bestow; at least, this was not my aim as an end, but rather as a means of purchasing some moderate provision for my family, which, though it should exceed my merit, must fall infinitely short of my service, if I succeeded in my attempt. To say the truth, the public never act more wisely than when they act most liberally in the distribution of their rewards; and here the good they receive is often more to be considered than the motive from which they receive it. Example alone is the end of all public punishments and rewards. Laws never inflict disgrace in resentment, nor confer honor from gratitude. "For it is very hard, my lord," said a convicted felon at the bar to the late excellent judge Burnet, "to hang a poor man for stealing a horse." "You are not to be hanged sir," answered my ever-honored and beloved friend, "for stealing a horse, but you are to be hanged that horses may not be stolen." In like manner it might have been said to the late duke of Marlborough, when the parliament was so deservedly liberal to him, after the battle of Blenheim, "You receive not these honors and bounties on account of a victory past, but that other victories may be obtained." I was now, in the opinion of all men, dying of a complication of disorders; and, were I desirous of playing the advocate, I have an occasion fair enough; but I disdain such an attempt. I relate facts plainly and simply as they are; and let the world draw from them what conclusions they please, taking with them the following facts for their instruction: the one is, that the proclamation offering one hundred pounds for the apprehending felons for certain felonies committed in certain places, which I prevented from being revived, had formerly cost the government several thousand pounds within a single year. Secondly, that all such proclamations, instead of curing the evil, had actually increased it; had multiplied the number of robberies; had propagated the worst and wickedest of perjuries; had laid snares for youth and ignorance, which, by the temptation of these rewards, had been sometimes drawn into guilt; and sometimes, which cannot be thought on without the highest horror, had destroyed them without it. Thirdly, that my plan had not put the government to more than three hundred pound expense, and had produced none of the ill consequences above mentioned; but, lastly, had actually suppressed the evil for a time, and had plainly pointed out the means of suppressing it for ever. This I would myself have undertaken, had my health permitted, at the annual expense of the above-mentioned sum. After having stood the terrible six weeks which succeeded last Christmas, and put a lucky end, if they had known their own interests, to such numbers of aged and infirm valetudinarians, who might have gasped through two or three mild winters more, I returned to town in February, in a condition less despaired of by myself than by any of my friends. I now became the patient of Dr. Ward, who wished I had taken his advice earlier. By his advice I was tapped, and fourteen quarts of water drawn from my belly. The sudden relaxation which this caused, added to my enervate, emaciated habit of body, so weakened me that within two days I was thought to be falling into the agonies of death. I was at the worst on that memorable day when the public lost Mr. Pelham. From that day I began slowly, as it were, to draw my feet out of the grave; till in two months' time I had again acquired some little degree of strength, but was again full of water. During this whole time I took Mr. Ward's medicines, which had seldom any perceptible operation. Those in particular of the diaphoretic kind, the working of which is thought to require a great strength of constitution to support, had so little effect on me, that Mr. Ward declared it was as vain to attempt sweating me as a deal board. In this situation I was tapped a second time. I had one quart of water less taken from me now than before; but I bore all the consequences of the operation much better. This I attributed greatly to a dose of laudanum prescribed by my surgeon. It first gave me the most delicious flow of spirits, and afterwards as comfortable a nap. The month of May, which was now begun, it seemed reasonable to expect would introduce the spring, and drive of that winter which yet maintained its footing on the stage. I resolved therefore to visit a little house of mine in the country, which stands at Ealing, in the county of Middlesex, in the best air, I believe, in the whole kingdom, and far superior to that of Kensington Gravel-pits; for the gravel is here much wider and deeper, the place higher and more open towards the south, whilst it is guarded from the north wind by a ridge of hills, and from the smells and smoke of London by its distance; which last is not the fate of Kensington, when the wind blows from any corner of the east. Obligations to Mr. Ward I shall always confess; for I am convinced that he omitted no care in endeavoring to serve me, without any expectation or desire of fee or reward. The powers of Mr. Ward's remedies want indeed no unfair puffs of mine to give them credit; and though this distemper of the dropsy stands, I believe, first in the list of those over which he is always certain of triumphing, yet, possibly, there might be something particular in my case capable of eluding that radical force which had healed so many thousands. The same distemper, in different constitutions, may possibly be attended with such different symptoms, that to find an infallible nostrum for the curing any one distemper in every patient may be almost as difficult as to find a panacea for the cure of all. But even such a panacea one of the greatest scholars and best of men did lately apprehend he had discovered. It is true, indeed, he was no physician; that is, he had not by the forms of his education acquired a right of applying his skill in the art of physic to his own private advantage; and yet, perhaps, it may be truly asserted that no other modern hath contributed so much to make his physical skill useful to the public; at least, that none hath undergone the pains of communicating this discovery in writing to the world. The reader, I think, will scarce need to be informed that the writer I mean is the late bishop of Cloyne, in Ireland, and the discovery that of the virtues of tar-water. I then happened to recollect, upon a hint given me by the inimitable and shamefully-distressed author of the Female Quixote, that I had many years before, from curiosity only, taken a cursory view of bishop Berkeley's treatise on the virtues of tar-water, which I had formerly observed he strongly contends to be that real panacea which Sydenham supposes to have an existence in nature, though it yet remains undiscovered, and perhaps will always remain so. Upon the reperusal of this book I found the bishop only asserting his opinion that tar-water might be useful in the dropsy, since he had known it to have a surprising success in the cure of a most stubborn anasarca, which is indeed no other than, as the word implies, the dropsy of the flesh; and this was, at that time, a large part of my complaint. After a short trial, therefore, of a milk diet, which I presently found did not suit with my case, I betook myself to the bishop's prescription, and dosed myself every morning and evening with half a pint of tar-water. It was no more than three weeks since my last tapping, and my belly and limbs were distended with water. This did not give me the worse opinion of tar-water; for I never supposed there could be any such virtue in tar-water as immediately to carry off a quantity of water already collected. For my delivery from this I well knew I must be again obliged to the trochar; and that if the tar-water did me any good at all it must be only by the slowest degrees; and that if it should ever get the better of my distemper it must be by the tedious operation of undermining, and not by a sudden attack and storm. Some visible effects, however, and far beyond what my most sanguine hopes could with any modesty expect, I very soon experienced; the tar-water having, from the very first, lessened my illness, increased my appetite, and added, though in a very slow proportion, to my bodily strength. But if my strength had increased a little my water daily increased much more. So that, by the end of May, my belly became again ripe for the trochar, and I was a third time tapped; upon which, two very favorable symptoms appeared. I had three quarts of water taken from me less than had been taken the last time; and I bore the relaxation with much less (indeed with scarce any) faintness. Those of my physical friends on whose judgment I chiefly depended seemed to think my only chance of life consisted in having the whole summer before me; in which I might hope to gather sufficient strength to encounter the inclemencies of the ensuing winter. But this chance began daily to lessen. I saw the summer mouldering away, or rather, indeed, the year passing away without intending to bring on any summer at all. In the whole month of May the sun scarce appeared three times. So that the early fruits came to the fullness of their growth, and to some appearance of ripeness, without acquiring any real maturity; having wanted the heat of the sun to soften and meliorate their juices. I saw the dropsy gaining rather than losing ground; the distance growing still shorter between the tappings. I saw the asthma likewise beginning again to become more troublesome. I saw the midsummer quarter drawing towards a close. So that I conceived, if the Michaelmas quarter should steal off in the same manner, as it was, in my opinion, very much to be apprehended it would, I should be delivered up to the attacks of winter before I recruited my forces, so as to be anywise able to withstand them. I now began to recall an intention, which from the first dawnings of my recovery I had conceived, of removing to a warmer climate; and, finding this to be approved of by a very eminent physician, I resolved to put it into immediate execution. Aix in Provence was the place first thought on; but the difficulties of getting thither were insuperable. The Journey by land, beside the expense of it, was infinitely too long and fatiguing; and I could hear of no ship that was likely to set out from London, within any reasonable time, for Marseilles, or any other port in that part of the Mediterranean. Lisbon was presently fixed on in its room. The air here, as it was near four degrees to the south of Aix, must be more mild and warm, and the winter shorter and less piercing. It was not difficult to find a ship bound to a place with which we carry on so immense a trade. Accordingly, my brother soon informed me of the excellent accommodations for passengers which were to be found on board a ship that was obliged to sail for Lisbon in three days. I eagerly embraced the offer, notwithstanding the shortness of the time; and, having given my brother full power to contract for our passage, I began to prepare my family for the voyage with the utmost expedition. But our great haste was needless; for the captain having twice put off his sailing, I at length invited him to dinner with me at Fordhook, a full week after the time on which he had declared, and that with many asseverations, he must and would weigh anchor. He dined with me according to his appointment; and when all matters were settled between us, left me with positive orders to be on board the Wednesday following, when he declared he would fall down the river to Gravesend, and would not stay a moment for the greatest man in the world. He advised me to go to Gravesend by land, and there wait the arrival of his ship, assigning many reasons for this, every one of which was, as I well remember, among those that had before determined me to go on board near the Tower. THE VOYAGE WEDNESDAY, June 26, 1754.--On this day the most melancholy sun I had ever beheld arose, and found me awake at my house at Fordhook. By the light of this sun I was, in my own opinion, last to behold and take leave of some of those creatures on whom I doted with a mother-like fondness, guided by nature and passion, and uncured and unhardened by all the doctrine of that philosophical school where I had learned to bear pains and to despise death. In this situation, as I could not conquer Nature, I submitted entirely to her, and she made as great a fool of me as she had ever done of any woman whatsoever; under pretense of giving me leave to enjoy, she drew me in to suffer, the company of my little ones during eight hours; and I doubt not whether, in that time, I did not undergo more than in all my distemper. At twelve precisely my coach was at the door, which was no sooner told me than I kissed my children round, and went into it with some little resolution. My wife, who behaved more like a heroine and philosopher, though at the same time the tenderest mother in the world, and my eldest daughter, followed me; some friends went with us, and others here took their leave; and I heard my behavior applauded, with many murmurs and praises to which I well knew I had no title; as all other such philosophers may, if they have any modesty, confess on the like occasions. In two hours we arrived in Rotherhithe, and immediately went on board, and were to have sailed the next morning; but, as this was the king's proclamation-day, and consequently a holiday at the custom-house, the captain could not clear his vessel till the Thursday; for these holidays are as strictly observed as those in the popish calendar, and are almost as numerous. I might add that both are opposite to the genius of trade, and consequently contra bonum publicum. To go on board the ship it was necessary first to go into a boat; a matter of no small difficulty, as I had no use of my limbs, and was to be carried by men who, though sufficiently strong for their burden, were, like Archimedes, puzzled to find a steady footing. Of this, as few of my readers have not gone into wherries on the Thames, they will easily be able to form to themselves an idea. However, by the assistance of my friend, Mr. Welch, whom I never think or speak of but with love and esteem, I conquered this difficulty, as I did afterwards that of ascending the ship, into which I was hoisted with more ease by a chair lifted with pulleys. I was soon seated in a great chair in the cabin, to refresh myself after a fatigue which had been more intolerable, in a quarter of a mile's passage from my coach to the ship, than I had before undergone in a land-journey of twelve miles, which I had traveled with the utmost expedition. This latter fatigue was, perhaps, somewhat heightened by an indignation which I could not prevent arising in my mind. I think, upon my entrance into the boat, I presented a spectacle of the highest horror. The total loss of limbs was apparent to all who saw me, and my face contained marks of a most diseased state, if not of death itself. Indeed, so ghastly was my countenance, that timorous women with child had abstained from my house, for fear of the ill consequences of looking at me. In this condition I ran the gauntlope (so I think I may justly call it) through rows of sailors and watermen, few of whom failed of paying their compliments to me by all manner of insults and jests on my misery. No man who knew me will think I conceived any personal resentment at this behavior; but it was a lively picture of that cruelty and inhumanity in the nature of men which I have often contemplated with concern, and which leads the mind into a train of very uncomfortable and melancholy thoughts. It may be said that this barbarous custom is peculiar to the English, and of them only to the lowest degree; that it is an excrescence of an uncontrolled licentiousness mistaken for liberty, and never shows itself in men who are polished and refined in such manner as human nature requires to produce that perfection of which it is susceptible, and to purge away that malevolence of disposition of which, at our birth, we partake in common with the savage creation. This may be said, and this is all that can be said; and it is, I am afraid, but little satisfactory to account for the inhumanity of those who, while they boast of being made after God's own image, seem to bear in their minds a resemblance of the vilest species of brutes; or rather, indeed, of our idea of devils; for I don't know that any brutes can be taxed with such malevolence. A sirloin of beef was now placed on the table, for which, though little better than carrion, as much was charged by the master of the little paltry ale-house who dressed it as would have been demanded for all the elegance of the King's Arms, or any other polite tavern or eating-house! for, indeed, the difference between the best house and the worst is, that at the former you pay largely for luxury, at the latter for nothing. Thursday, June 27.--This morning the captain, who lay on shore at his own house, paid us a visit in the cabin, and behaved like an angry bashaw, declaring that, had he known we were not to be pleased, he would not have carried us for five hundred pounds. He added many asseverations that he was a gentleman, and despised money; not forgetting several hints of the presents which had been made him for his cabin, of twenty, thirty, and forty guineas, by several gentlemen, over and above the sum for which they had contracted. This behavior greatly surprised me, as I knew not how to account for it, nothing having happened since we parted from the captain the evening before in perfect good humor; and all this broke forth on the first moment of his arrival this morning. He did not, however, suffer my amazement to have any long continuance before he clearly showed me that all this was meant only as an apology to introduce another procrastination (being the fifth) of his weighing anchor, which was now postponed till Saturday, for such was his will and pleasure. Besides the disagreeable situation in which we then lay, in the confines of Wapping and Rotherhithe, tasting a delicious mixture of the air of both these sweet places, and enjoying the concord of sweet sounds of seamen, watermen, fish-women, oyster-women, and of all the vociferous inhabitants of both shores, composing altogether a greater variety of harmony than Hogarth's imagination hath brought together in that print of his, which is enough to make a man deaf to look at--I had a more urgent cause to press our departure, which was, that the dropsy, for which I had undergone three tappings, seemed to threaten me with a fourth discharge before I should reach Lisbon, and when I should have nobody on board capable of performing the operation; but I was obliged to hearken to the voice of reason, if I may use the captain's own words, and to rest myself contented. Indeed, there was no alternative within my reach but what would have cost me much too dear. There are many evils in society from which people of the highest rank are so entirely exempt, that they have not the least knowledge or idea of them; nor indeed of the characters which are formed by them. Such, for instance, is the conveyance of goods and passengers from one place to another. Now there is no such thing as any kind of knowledge contemptible in itself; and, as the particular knowledge I here mean is entirely necessary to the well understanding and well enjoying this journal; and, lastly, as in this case the most ignorant will be those very readers whose amusement we chiefly consult, and to whom we wish to be supposed principally to write, we will here enter somewhat largely into the discussion of this matter; the rather, for that no ancient or modern author (if we can trust the catalogue of doctor Mead's library) hath ever undertaken it, but that it seems (in the style of Don Quixote) a task reserved for my pen alone. When I first conceived this intention I began to entertain thoughts of inquiring into the antiquity of traveling; and, as many persons have performed in this way (I mean have traveled) at the expense of the public, I flattered myself that the spirit of improving arts and sciences, and of advancing useful and substantial learning, which so eminently distinguishes this age, and hath given rise to more speculative societies in Europe than I at present can recollect the names of--perhaps, indeed, than I or any other, besides their very near neighbors, ever heard mentioned--would assist in promoting so curious a work; a work begun with the same views, calculated for the same purposes, and fitted for the same uses, with the labors which those right honorable societies have so cheerfully undertaken themselves, and encouraged in others; sometimes with the highest honors, even with admission into their colleges, and with enrollment among their members. From these societies I promised myself all assistance in their power, particularly the communication of such valuable manuscripts and records as they must be supposed to have collected from those obscure ages of antiquity when history yields us such imperfect accounts of the residence, and much more imperfect of the travels, of the human race; unless, perhaps, as a curious and learned member of the young Society of Antiquarians is said to have hinted his conjectures, that their residence and their travels were one and the same; and this discovery (for such it seems to be) he is said to have owed to the lighting by accident on a book, which we shall have occasion to mention presently, the contents of which were then little known to the society. The king of Prussia, moreover, who, from a degree of benevolence and taste which in either case is a rare production in so northern a climate, is the great encourager of art and science, I was well assured would promote so useful a design, and order his archives to be searched on my behalf. But after well weighing all these advantages, and much meditation on the order of my work, my whole design was subverted in a moment by hearing of the discovery just mentioned to have been made by the young antiquarian, who, from the most ancient record in the world (though I don't find the society are all agreed on this point), one long preceding the date of the earliest modern collections, either of books or butterflies, none of which pretend to go beyond the flood, shows us that the first man was a traveler, and that he and his family were scarce settled in Paradise before they disliked their own home, and became passengers to another place. Hence it appears that the humor of traveling is as old as the human race, and that it was their curse from the beginning. By this discovery my plan became much shortened, and I found it only necessary to treat of the conveyance of goods and passengers from place to place; which, not being universally known, seemed proper to be explained before we examined into its original. There are indeed two different ways of tracing all things used by the historian and the antiquary; these are upwards and downwards. The former shows you how things are, and leaves to others to discover when they began to be so. The latter shows you how things were, and leaves their present existence to be examined by others. Hence the former is more useful, the latter more curious. The former receives the thanks of mankind; the latter of that valuable part, the virtuosi. In explaining, therefore, this mystery of carrying goods and passengers from one place to another, hitherto so profound a secret to the very best of our readers, we shall pursue the historical method, and endeavor to show by what means it is at present performed, referring the more curious inquiry either to some other pen or to some other opportunity. Now there are two general ways of performing (if God permit) this conveyance, viz., by land and water, both of which have much variety; that by land being performed in different vehicles, such as coaches, caravans, wagons, etc.; and that by water in ships, barges, and boats, of various sizes and denominations. But, as all these methods of conveyance are formed on the same principles, they agree so well together, that it is fully sufficient to comprehend them all in the general view, without descending to such minute particulars as would distinguish one method from another. Common to all of these is one general principle that, as the goods to be conveyed are usually the larger, so they are to be chiefly considered in the conveyance; the owner being indeed little more than an appendage to his trunk, or box, or bale, or at best a small part of his own baggage, very little care is to be taken in stowing or packing them up with convenience to himself; for the conveyance is not of passengers and goods, but of goods and passengers. Secondly, from this conveyance arises a new kind of relation, or rather of subjection, in the society, by which the passenger becomes bound in allegiance to his conveyer. This allegiance is indeed only temporary and local, but the most absolute during its continuance of any known in Great Britain, and, to say truth, scarce consistent with the liberties of a free people, nor could it be reconciled with them, did it not move downwards; a circumstance universally apprehended to be incompatible to all kinds of slavery; for Aristotle in his Politics hath proved abundantly to my satisfaction that no men are born to be slaves, except barbarians; and these only to such as are not themselves barbarians; and indeed Mr. Montesquieu hath carried it very little farther in the case of the Africans; the real truth being that no man is born to be a slave, unless to him who is able to make him so. Thirdly, this subjection is absolute, and consists of a perfect resignation both of body and soul to the disposal of another; after which resignation, during a certain time, his subject retains no more power over his own will than an Asiatic slave, or an English wife, by the laws of both countries, and by the customs of one of them. If I should mention the instance of a stage-coachman, many of my readers would recognize the truth of what I have here observed; all, indeed, that ever have been under the dominion of that tyrant, who in this free country is as absolute as a Turkish bashaw. In two particulars only his power is defective; he cannot press you into his service, and if you enter yourself at one place, on condition of being discharged at a certain time at another, he is obliged to perform his agreement, if God permit, but all the intermediate time you are absolutely under his government; he carries you how he will, when he will, and whither he will, provided it be not much out of the road; you have nothing to eat or to drink, but what, and when, and where he pleases. Nay, you cannot sleep unless he pleases you should; for he will order you sometimes out of bed at midnight and hurry you away at a moment's warning: indeed, if you can sleep in his vehicle he cannot prevent it; nay, indeed, to give him his due, this he is ordinarily disposed to encourage: for the earlier he forces you to rise in the morning, the more time he will give you in the heat of the day, sometimes even six hours at an ale-house, or at their doors, where he always gives you the same indulgence which he allows himself; and for this he is generally very moderate in his demands. I have known a whole bundle of passengers charged no more than half-a-crown for being suffered to remain quiet at an ale-house door for above a whole hour, and that even in the hottest day in summer. But as this kind of tyranny, though it hath escaped our political writers, hath been I think touched by our dramatic, and is more trite among the generality of readers; and as this and all other kinds of such subjection are alike unknown to my friends, I will quit the passengers by land, and treat of those who travel by water; for whatever is said on this subject is applicable to both alike, and we may bring them together as closely as they are brought in the liturgy, when they are recommended to the prayers of all Christian congregations; and (which I have often thought very remarkable) where they are joined with other miserable wretches, such as women in labor, people in sickness, infants just born, prisoners and captives. Goods and passengers are conveyed by water in divers vehicles, the principal of which being a ship, it shall suffice to mention that alone. Here the tyrant doth not derive his title, as the stage-coachman doth, from the vehicle itself in which he stows his goods and passengers, but he is called the captain--a word of such various use and uncertain signification, that it seems very difficult to fix any positive idea to it: if, indeed, there be any general meaning which may comprehend all its different uses, that of the head or chief of any body of men seems to be most capable of this comprehension; for whether they be a company of soldiers, a crew of sailors, or a gang of rogues, he who is at the head of them is always styled the captain. The particular tyrant whose fortune it was to stow us aboard laid a farther claim to this appellation than the bare command of a vehicle of conveyance. He had been the captain of a privateer, which he chose to call being in the king's service, and thence derived a right of hoisting the military ornament of a cockade over the button of his hat. He likewise wore a sword of no ordinary length by his side, with which he swaggered in his cabin, among the wretches his passengers, whom he had stowed in cupboards on each side. He was a person of a very singular character. He had taken it into his head that he was a gentleman, from those very reasons that proved he was not one; and to show himself a fine gentleman, by a behavior which seemed to insinuate he had never seen one. He was, moreover, a man of gallantry; at the age of seventy he had the finicalness of Sir Courtly Nice, with the roughness of Surly; and, while he was deaf himself, had a voice capable of deafening all others. Now, as I saw myself in danger by the delays of the captain, who was, in reality, waiting for more freight, and as the wind had been long nested, as it were, in the southwest, where it constantly blew hurricanes, I began with great reason to apprehend that our voyage might be long, and that my belly, which began already to be much extended, would require the water to be let out at a time when no assistance was at hand; though, indeed, the captain comforted me with assurances that he had a pretty young fellow on board who acted as his surgeon, as I found he likewise did as steward, cook, butler, sailor. In short, he had as many offices as Scrub in the play, and went through them all with great dexterity; this of surgeon was, perhaps, the only one in which his skill was somewhat deficient, at least that branch of tapping for the dropsy; for he very ingenuously and modestly confessed he had never seen the operation performed, nor was possessed of that chirurgical instrument with which it is performed. Friday, June 28.--By way of prevention, therefore, I this day sent for my friend, Mr. Hunter, the great surgeon and anatomist of Covent-garden; and, though my belly was not yet very full and tight, let out ten quarts of water; the young sea-surgeon attended the operation, not as a performer, but as a student. I was now eased of the greatest apprehension which I had from the length of the passage; and I told the captain I was become indifferent as to the time of his sailing. He expressed much satisfaction in this declaration, and at hearing from me that I found myself, since my tapping, much lighter and better. In this, I believe, he was sincere; for he was, as we shall have occasion to observe more than once, a very good-natured man; and, as he was a very brave one too, I found that the heroic constancy with which I had borne an operation that is attended with scarce any degree of pain had not a little raised me in his esteem. That he might adhere, therefore, in the most religious and rigorous manner to his word, when he had no longer any temptation from interest to break it, as he had no longer any hopes of more goods or passengers, he ordered his ship to fall down to Gravesend on Sunday morning, and there to wait his arrival. Sunday, June 30.--Nothing worth notice passed till that morning, when my poor wife, after passing a night in the utmost torments of the toothache, resolved to have it drawn. I despatched therefore a servant into Wapping to bring in haste the best tooth-drawer he could find. He soon found out a female of great eminence in the art; but when he brought her to the boat, at the waterside, they were informed that the ship was gone; for indeed she had set out a few minutes after his quitting her; nor did the pilot, who well knew the errand on which I had sent my servant, think fit to wait a moment for his return, or to give me any notice of his setting out, though I had very patiently attended the delays of the captain four days, after many solemn promises of weighing anchor every one of the three last. But of all the petty bashaws or turbulent tyrants I ever beheld, this sour-faced pilot was the worst tempered; for, during the time that he had the guidance of the ship, which was till we arrived in the Downs, he complied with no one's desires, nor did he give a civil word, or indeed a civil look, to any on board. The tooth-drawer, who, as I said before, was one of great eminence among her neighbors, refused to follow the ship; so that my man made himself the best of his way, and with some difficulty came up with us before we were got under full sail; for after that, as we had both wind and tide with us, he would have found it impossible to overtake the ship till she was come to an anchor at Gravesend. The morning was fair and bright, and we had a passage thither, I think, as pleasant as can be conceived: for, take it with all its advantages, particularly the number of fine ships you are always sure of seeing by the way, there is nothing to equal it in all the rivers of the world. The yards of Deptford and of Woolwich are noble sights, and give us a just idea of the great perfection to which we are arrived in building those floating castles, and the figure which we may always make in Europe among the other maritime powers. That of Woolwich, at least, very strongly imprinted this idea on my mind; for there was now on the stocks there the Royal Anne, supposed to be the largest ship ever built, and which contains ten carriage-guns more than had ever yet equipped a first-rate. It is true, perhaps, that there is more of ostentation than of real utility in ships of this vast and unwieldy burden, which are rarely capable of acting against an enemy; but if the building such contributes to preserve, among other nations, the notion of the British superiority in naval affairs, the expense, though very great, is well incurred, and the ostentation is laudable and truly political. Indeed, I should be sorry to allow that Holland, France, or Spain, possessed a vessel larger and more beautiful than the largest and most beautiful of ours; for this honor I would always administer to the pride of our sailors, who should challenge it from all their neighbors with truth and success. And sure I am that not our honest tars alone, but every inhabitant of this island, may exult in the comparison, when he considers the king of Great Britain as a maritime prince, in opposition to any other prince in Europe; but I am not so certain that the same idea of superiority will result from comparing our land forces with those of many other crowned heads. In numbers they all far exceed us, and in the goodness and splendor of their troops many nations, particularly the Germans and French, and perhaps the Dutch, cast us at a distance; for, however we may flatter ourselves with the Edwards and Henrys of former ages, the change of the whole art of war since those days, by which the advantage of personal strength is in a manner entirely lost, hath produced a change in military affairs to the advantage of our enemies. As for our successes in later days, if they were not entirely owing to the superior genius of our general, they were not a little due to the superior force of his money. Indeed, if we should arraign marshal Saxe of ostentation when he showed his army, drawn up, to our captive general, the day after the battle of La Val, we cannot say that the ostentation was entirely vain; since he certainly showed him an army which had not been often equaled, either in the number or goodness of the troops, and which, in those respects, so far exceeded ours, that none can ever cast any reflection on the brave young prince who could not reap the laurels of conquest in that day; but his retreat will be always mentioned as an addition to his glory. In our marine the case is entirely the reverse, and it must be our own fault if it doth not continue so; for continue so it will as long as the flourishing state of our trade shall support it, and this support it can never want till our legislature shall cease to give sufficient attention to the protection of our trade, and our magistrates want sufficient power, ability, and honesty, to execute the laws; a circumstance not to be apprehended, as it cannot happen till our senates and our benches shall be filled with the blindest ignorance, or with the blackest corruption. Besides the ships in the docks, we saw many on the water: the yachts are sights of great parade, and the king's body yacht is, I believe, unequaled in any country for convenience as well as magnificence; both which are consulted in building and equipping her with the most exquisite art and workmanship. We saw likewise several Indiamen just returned from their voyage. These are, I believe, the largest and finest vessels which are anywhere employed in commercial affairs. The colliers, likewise, which are very numerous, and even assemble in fleets, are ships of great bulk; and if we descend to those used in the American, African, and European trades, and pass through those which visit our own coasts, to the small craft that lie between Chatham and the Tower, the whole forms a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as highly warming to the heart of an Englishman who has any degree of love for his country, or can recognize any effect of the patriot in his constitution. Lastly, the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, which presents so delightful a front to the water, and doth such honor at once to its builder and the nation, to the great skill and ingenuity of the one, and to the no less sensible gratitude of the other, very properly closes the account of this scene; which may well appear romantic to those who have not themselves seen that, in this one instance, truth and reality are capable, perhaps, of exceeding the power of fiction. When we had passed by Greenwich we saw only two or three gentlemen's houses, all of very moderate account, till we reached Gravesend: these are all on the Kentish shore, which affords a much dryer, wholesomer, and pleasanter situation, than doth that of its opposite, Essex. This circumstance, I own, is somewhat surprising to me, when I reflect on the numerous villas that crowd the river from Chelsea upwards as far as Shepperton, where the narrower channel affords not half so noble a prospect, and where the continual succession of the small craft, like the frequent repetition of all things, which have nothing in them great, beautiful, or admirable, tire the eye, and give us distaste and aversion, instead of pleasure. With some of these situations, such as Barnes, Mortlake, etc., even the shore of Essex might contend, not upon very unequal terms; but on the Kentish borders there are many spots to be chosen by the builder which might justly claim the preference over almost the very finest of those in Middlesex and Surrey. How shall we account for this depravity in taste? for surely there are none so very mean and contemptible as to bring the pleasure of seeing a number of little wherries, gliding along after one another, in competition with what we enjoy in viewing a succession of ships, with all their sails expanded to the winds, bounding over the waves before us. And here I cannot pass by another observation on the deplorable want of taste in our enjoyments, which we show by almost totally neglecting the pursuit of what seems to me the highest degree of amusement; this is, the sailing ourselves in little vessels of our own, contrived only for our ease and accommodation, to which such situations of our villas as I have recommended would be so convenient, and even necessary. This amusement, I confess, if enjoyed in any perfection, would be of the expensive kind; but such expense would not exceed the reach of a moderate fortune, and would fall very short of the prices which are daily paid for pleasures of a far inferior rate. The truth, I believe, is, that sailing in the manner I have just mentioned is a pleasure rather unknown, or unthought of, than rejected by those who have experienced it; unless, perhaps, the apprehension of danger or seasickness may be supposed, by the timorous and delicate, to make too large deductions--insisting that all their enjoyments shall come to them pure and unmixed, and being ever ready to cry out, ----Nocet empta dolore voluptas. This, however, was my present case; for the ease and lightness which I felt from my tapping, the gayety of the morning, the pleasant sailing with wind and tide, and the many agreeable objects with which I was constantly entertained during the whole way, were all suppressed and overcome by the single consideration of my wife's pain, which continued incessantly to torment her till we came to an anchor, when I dispatched a messenger in great haste for the best reputed operator in Gravesend. A surgeon of some eminence now appeared, who did not decline tooth-drawing, though he certainly would have been offended with the appellation of tooth-drawer no less than his brethren, the members of that venerable body, would be with that of barber, since the late separation between those long-united companies, by which, if the surgeons have gained much, the barbers are supposed to have lost very little. This able and careful person (for so I sincerely believe he is) after examining the guilty tooth, declared that it was such a rotten shell, and so placed at the very remotest end of the upper jaw, where it was in a manner covered and secured by a large fine firm tooth, that he despaired of his power of drawing it. He said, indeed, more to my wife, and used more rhetoric to dissuade her from having it drawn, than is generally employed to persuade young ladies to prefer a pain of three moments to one of three months' continuance, especially if those young ladies happen to be past forty and fifty years of age, when, by submitting to support a racking torment, the only good circumstance attending which is, it is so short that scarce one in a thousand can cry out "I feel it," they are to do a violence to their charms, and lose one of those beautiful holders with which alone Sir Courtly Nice declares a lady can ever lay hold of his heart. He said at last so much, and seemed to reason so justly, that I came over to his side, and assisted him in prevailing on my wife (for it was no easy matter) to resolve on keeping her tooth a little longer, and to apply palliatives only for relief. These were opium applied to the tooth, and blisters behind the ears. Whilst we were at dinner this day in the cabin, on a sudden the window on one side was beat into the room with a crash as if a twenty-pounder had been discharged among us. We were all alarmed at the suddenness of the accident, for which, however, we were soon able to account, for the sash, which was shivered all to pieces, was pursued into the middle of the cabin by the bowsprit of a little ship called a cod-smack, the master of which made us amends for running (carelessly at best) against us, and injuring the ship, in the sea-way; that is to say, by damning us all to hell, and uttering several pious wishes that it had done us much more mischief. All which were answered in their own kind and phrase by our men, between whom and the other crew a dialogue of oaths and scurrility was carried on as long as they continued in each other's hearing. It is difficult, I think, to assign a satisfactory reason why sailors in general should, of all others, think themselves entirely discharged from the common bands of humanity, and should seem to glory in the language and behavior of savages! They see more of the world, and have, most of them, a more erudite education than is the portion of landmen of their degree. Nor do I believe that in any country they visit (Holland itself not excepted) they can ever find a parallel to what daily passes on the river Thames. Is it that they think true courage (for they are the bravest fellows upon earth) inconsistent with all the gentleness of a humane carriage, and that the contempt of civil order springs up in minds but little cultivated, at the same time and from the same principles with the contempt of danger and death? Is it--? in short, it is so; and how it comes to be so I leave to form a question in the Robin Hood Society, or to be propounded for solution among the enigmas in the Woman's Almanac for the next year. Monday, July 1.--This day Mr. Welch took his leave of me after dinner, as did a young lady of her sister, who was proceeding with my wife to Lisbon. They both set out together in a post-chaise for London. Soon after their departure our cabin, where my wife and I were sitting together, was visited by two ruffians, whose appearance greatly corresponded with that of the sheriffs, or rather the knight-marshal's bailiffs. One of these especially, who seemed to affect a more than ordinary degree of rudeness and insolence, came in without any kind of ceremony, with a broad gold lace on his hat, which was cocked with much military fierceness on his head. An inkhorn at his buttonhole and some papers in his hand sufficiently assured me what he was, and I asked him if he and his companion were not custom-house officers: he answered with sufficient dignity that they were, as an information which he seemed to conclude would strike the hearer with awe, and suppress all further inquiry; but, on the contrary, I proceeded to ask of what rank he was in the custom-house, and, receiving an answer from his companion, as I remember, that the gentleman was a riding surveyor, I replied that he might be a riding surveyor, but could be no gentleman, for that none who had any title to that denomination would break into the presence of a lady without an apology or even moving his hat. He then took his covering from his head and laid it on the table, saying, he asked pardon, and blamed the mate, who should, he said, have informed him if any persons of distinction were below. I told him he might guess by our appearance (which, perhaps, was rather more than could be said with the strictest adherence to truth) that he was before a gentleman and lady, which should teach him to be very civil in his behavior, though we should not happen to be of that number whom the world calls people of fashion and distinction. However, I said, that as he seemed sensible of his error, and had asked pardon, the lady would permit him to put his hat on again if he chose it. This he refused with some degree of surliness, and failed not to convince me that, if I should condescend to become more gentle, he would soon grow more rude. I now renewed a reflection, which I have often seen occasion to make, that there is nothing so incongruous in nature as any kind of power with lowness of mind and of ability, and that there is nothing more deplorable than the want of truth in the whimsical notion of Plato, who tells us that "Saturn, well knowing the state of human affairs, gave us kings and rulers, not of human but divine original; for, as we make not shepherds of sheep, nor oxherds of oxen, nor goatherds of goats, but place some of our own kind over all as being better and fitter to govern them; in the same manner were demons by the divine love set over us as a race of beings of a superior order to men, and who, with great ease to themselves, might regulate our affairs and establish peace, modesty, freedom, and justice, and, totally destroying all sedition, might complete the happiness of the human race. So far, at least, may even now be said with truth, that in all states which are under the government of mere man, without any divine assistance, there is nothing but labor and misery to be found. From what I have said, therefore, we may at least learn, with our utmost endeavors, to imitate the Saturnian institution; borrowing all assistance from our immortal part, while we pay to this the strictest obedience, we should form both our private economy and public policy from its dictates. By this dispensation of our immortal minds we are to establish a law and to call it by that name. But if any government be in the hands of a single person, of the few, or of the many, and such governor or governors shall abandon himself or themselves to the unbridled pursuit of the wildest pleasures or desires, unable to restrain any passion, but possessed with an insatiable bad disease; if such shall attempt to govern, and at the same time to trample on all laws, there can be no means of preservation left for the wretched people." Plato de Leg., lib. iv. p. 713, c. 714, edit. Serrani. It is true that Plato is here treating of the highest or sovereign power in a state, but it is as true that his observations are general and may be applied to all inferior powers; and, indeed, every subordinate degree is immediately derived from the highest; and, as it is equally protected by the same force and sanctified by the same authority, is alike dangerous to the well-being of the subject. Of all powers, perhaps, there is none so sanctified and protected as this which is under our present consideration. So numerous, indeed, and strong, are the sanctions given to it by many acts of parliament, that, having once established the laws of customs on merchandise, it seems to have been the sole view of the legislature to strengthen the hands and to protect the persons of the officers who became established by those laws, many of whom are so far from bearing any resemblance to the Saturnian institution, and to be chosen from a degree of beings superior to the rest of human race, that they sometimes seem industriously picked out of the lowest and vilest orders of mankind. There is, indeed, nothing, so useful to man in general, nor so beneficial to particular societies and individuals, as trade. This is that alma mater at whose plentiful breast all mankind are nourished. It is true, like other parents, she is not always equally indulgent to all her children, but, though she gives to her favorites a vast proportion of redundancy and superfluity, there are very few whom she refuses to supply with the conveniences, and none with the necessaries, of life. Such a benefactress as this must naturally be beloved by mankind in general; it would be wonderful, therefore, if her interest was not considered by them, and protected from the fraud and violence of some of her rebellious offspring, who, coveting more than their share or more than she thinks proper to allow them, are daily employed in meditating mischief against her, and in endeavoring to steal from their brethren those shares which this great alma mater had allowed them. At length our governor came on board, and about six in the evening we weighed anchor, and fell down to the Nore, whither our passage was extremely pleasant, the evening being very delightful, the moon just past the full, and both wind and tide favorable to us. Tuesday, July 2.--This morning we again set sail, under all the advantages we had enjoyed the evening before. This day we left the shore of Essex and coasted along Kent, passing by the pleasant island of Thanet, which is an island, and that of Sheppy, which is not an island, and about three o 'clock, the wind being now full in our teeth, we came to an anchor in the Downs, within two miles of Deal.--My wife, having suffered intolerable pain from her tooth, again renewed her resolution of having it drawn, and another surgeon was sent for from Deal, but with no better success than the former. He likewise declined the operation, for the same reason which had been assigned by the former: however, such was her resolution, backed with pain, that he was obliged to make the attempt, which concluded more in honor of his judgment than of his operation; for, after having put my poor wife to inexpressible torment, he was obliged to leave her tooth in statu quo; and she had now the comfortable prospect of a long fit of pain, which might have lasted her whole voyage, without any possibility of relief. In these pleasing sensations, of which I had my just share, nature, overcome with fatigue, about eight in the evening resigned her to rest--a circumstance which would have given me some happiness, could I have known how to employ those spirits which were raised by it; but, unfortunately for me, I was left in a disposition of enjoying an agreeable hour without the assistance of a companion, which has always appeared to me necessary to such enjoyment; my daughter and her companion were both retired sea-sick to bed; the other passengers were a rude school-boy of fourteen years old and an illiterate Portuguese friar, who understood no language but his own, in which I had not the least smattering. The captain was the only person left in whose conversation I might indulge myself; but unluckily, besides a total ignorance of everything in the world but a ship, he had the misfortune of being so deaf, that to make him hear, I will not say understand, my words, I must run the risk of conveying them to the ears of my wife, who, though in another room (called, I think, the state-room--being, indeed, a most stately apartment, capable of containing one human body in length, if not very tall, and three bodies in breadth), lay asleep within a yard of me. In this situation necessity and choice were one and the same thing; the captain and I sat down together to a small bowl of punch, over which we both soon fell fast asleep, and so concluded the evening. Wednesday, July 3.--This morning I awaked at four o'clock for my distemper seldom suffered me to sleep later. I presently got up, and had the pleasure of enjoying the sight of a tempestuous sea for four hours before the captain was stirring; for he loved to indulge himself in morning slumbers, which were attended with a wind-music, much more agreeable to the performers than to the hearers, especially such as have, as I had, the privilege of sitting in the orchestra. At eight o 'clock the captain rose, and sent his boat on shore. I ordered my man likewise to go in it, as my distemper was not of that kind which entirely deprives us of appetite. Now, though the captain had well victualled his ship with all manner of salt provisions for the voyage, and had added great quantities of fresh stores, particularly of vegetables, at Gravesend, such as beans and peas, which had been on board only two days, and had possibly not been gathered above two more, I apprehended I could provide better for myself at Deal than the ship's ordinary seemed to promise. I accordingly sent for fresh provisions of all kinds from the shore, in order to put off the evil day of starving as long as possible. My man returned with most of the articles I sent for, and I now thought myself in a condition of living a week on my own provisions. I therefore ordered my own dinner, which I wanted nothing but a cook to dress and a proper fire to dress it at; but those were not to be had, nor indeed any addition to my roast mutton, except the pleasure of the captain's company, with that of the other passengers; for my wife continued the whole day in a state of dozing, and my other females, whose sickness did not abate by the rolling of the ship at anchor, seemed more inclined to empty their stomachs than to fill them. Thus I passed the whole day (except about an hour at dinner) by myself, and the evening concluded with the captain as the preceding one had done; one comfortable piece of news he communicated to me, which was, that he had no doubt of a prosperous wind in the morning; but as he did not divulge the reasons of this confidence, and as I saw none myself besides the wind being directly opposite, my faith in this prophecy was not strong enough to build any great hopes upon. Thursday, July 4.--This morning, however, the captain seemed resolved to fulfill his own predictions, whether the wind would or no; he accordingly weighed anchor, and, taking the advantage of the tide when the wind was not very boisterous, he hoisted his sails; and, as if his power had been no less absolute over Aeolus than it was over Neptune, he forced the wind to blow him on in its own despite. But as all men who have ever been at sea well know how weak such attempts are, and want no authorities of Scripture to prove that the most absolute power of a captain of a ship is very contemptible in the wind's eye, so did it befall our noble commander, who, having struggled with the wind three or four hours, was obliged to give over, and lost in a few minutes all that he had been so long a-gaining; in short, we returned to our former station, and once more cast anchor in the neighborhood of Deal. Here, though we lay near the shore, that we might promise ourselves all the emolument which could be derived from it, we found ourselves deceived; and that we might with as much conveniency be out of the sight of land; for, except when the captain launched forth his own boat, which he did always with great reluctance, we were incapable of procuring anything from Deal, but at a price too exorbitant, and beyond the reach even of modern luxury--the fare of a boat from Deal, which lay at two miles' distance, being at least three half-crowns, and, if we had been in any distress for it, as many half-guineas; for these good people consider the sea as a large common appendant to their manor; in which when they find any of their fellow-creatures impounded, they conclude that they have a full right of making them pay at their own discretion for their deliverance: to say the truth, whether it be that men who live on the sea-shore are of an amphibious kind, and do not entirely partake of human nature, or whatever else may be the reason, they are so far from taking any share in the distresses of mankind, or of being moved with any compassion for them, that they look upon them as blessings showered down from above, and which the more they improve to their own use, the greater is their gratitude and piety. Thus at Gravesend a sculler requires a shilling for going less way than he would row in London for threepence; and at Deal a boat often brings more profit in a day than it can produce in London in a week, or perhaps in a month; in both places the owner of the boat founds his demand on the necessity and distress of one who stands more or less in absolute want of his assistance, and with the urgency of these always rises in the exorbitancy of his demand, without ever considering that, from these very circumstances, the power or ease of gratifying such demand is in like proportion lessened. Now, as I am unwilling that some conclusions, which may be, I am aware, too justly drawn from these observations, should be imputed to human nature in general, I have endeavored to account for them in a way more consistent with the goodness and dignity of that nature. However it be, it seems a little to reflect on the governors of such monsters that they do not take some means to restrain these impositions, and prevent them from triumphing any longer in the miseries of those who are, in many circumstances at least, their fellow-creatures, and considering the distresses of a wretched seaman, from his being wrecked to his being barely windbound, as a blessing sent among them from above, and calling it by that blasphemous name. Friday, July 5.--This day I sent a servant on board a man-of-war that was stationed here, with my compliments to the captain, to represent to him the distress of the ladies, and to desire the favor of his long-boat to conduct us to Dover, at about seven miles' distance; and at the same time presumed to make use of a great lady's name, the wife of the first lord commissioner of the admiralty, who would, I told him, be pleased with any kindness shown by him towards us in our miserable condition. And this I am convinced was true, from the humanity of the lady, though she was entirely unknown to me. The captain returned a verbal answer to a long letter acquainting me that what I desired could not be complied with, it being a favor not in his power to grant. This might be, and I suppose was, true; but it is as true that, if he was able to write, and had pen, ink, and paper on board, he might have sent a written answer, and that it was the part of a gentleman so to have done; but this is a character seldom maintained on the watery element, especially by those who exercise any power on it. Every commander of a vessel here seems to think himself entirely free from all those rules of decency and civility which direct and restrain the conduct of the members of a society on shore; and each, claiming absolute dominion in his little wooden world, rules by his own laws and his own discretion. I do not, indeed, know so pregnant an instance of the dangerous consequences of absolute power, and its aptness to intoxicate the mind, as that of those petty tyrants, who become such in a moment, from very well-disposed and social members of that communion in which they affect no superiority, but live in an orderly state of legal subjection with their fellow-citizens. Saturday, July 6.--This morning our commander, declaring he was sure the wind would change, took the advantage of an ebbing tide, and weighed his anchor. His assurance, however, had the same completion, and his endeavors the same success, with his formal trial; and he was soon obliged to return once more to his old quarters. Just before we let go our anchor, a small sloop, rather than submit to yield us an inch of way, ran foul of our ship, and carried off her bowsprit. This obstinate frolic would have cost those aboard the sloop very dear, if our steersman had not been too generous to exert his superiority, the certain consequence of which would have been the immediate sinking of the other. This contention of the inferior with a might capable of crushing it in an instant may seem to argue no small share of folly or madness, as well as of impudence; but I am convinced there is very little danger in it: contempt is a port to which the pride of man submits to fly with reluctance, but those who are within it are always in a place of the most assured security; for whosoever throws away his sword prefers, indeed, a less honorable but much safer means of avoiding danger than he who defends himself with it. And here we shall offer another distinction, of the truth of which much reading and experience have well convinced us, that as in the most absolute governments there is a regular progression of slavery downwards, from the top to the bottom, the mischief of which is seldom felt with any great force and bitterness but by the next immediate degree; so in the most dissolute and anarchical states there is as regular an ascent of what is called rank or condition, which is always laying hold of the head of him who is advanced but one step higher on the ladder, who might, if he did not too much despise such efforts, kick his pursuer headlong to the bottom. We will conclude this digression with one general and short observation, which will, perhaps, set the whole matter in a clearer light than the longest and most labored harangue. Whereas envy of all things most exposes us to danger from others, so contempt of all things best secures us from them. And thus, while the dung-cart and the sloop are always meditating mischief against the coach and the ship, and throwing themselves designedly in their way, the latter consider only their own security, and are not ashamed to break the road and let the other pass by them. Monday, July 8.--Having passed our Sunday without anything remarkable, unless the catching a great number of whitings in the afternoon may be thought so, we now set sail on Monday at six o'clock, with a little variation of wind; but this was so very little, and the breeze itself so small, but the tide was our best and indeed almost our only friend. This conducted us along the short remainder of the Kentish shore. Here we passed that cliff of Dover which makes so tremendous a figure in Shakespeare, and which whoever reads without being giddy, must, according to Mr. Addison's observation, have either a very good head or a very bad, one; but which, whoever contracts any such ideas from the sight of, must have at least a poetic if not a Shakesperian genius. In truth, mountains, rivers, heroes, and gods owe great part of their existence to the poets; and Greece and Italy do so plentifully abound in the former, because they furnish so glorious a number of the latter; who, while they bestowed immortality on every little hillock and blind stream, left the noblest rivers and mountains in the world to share the same obscurity with the eastern and western poets, in which they are celebrated. This evening we beat the sea of Sussex in sight of Dungeness, with much more pleasure than progress; for the weather was almost a perfect calm, and the moon, which was almost at the full, scarce suffered a single cloud to veil her from our sight. Tuesday, Wednesday, July 9, 10.--These two days we had much the same fine weather, and made much the same way; but in the evening of the latter day a pretty fresh gale sprung up at N.N.W., which brought us by the morning in sight of the Isle of Wight. Thursday, July 11.--This gale continued till towards noon; when the east end of the island bore but little ahead of us. The captain swaggered and declared he would keep the sea; but the wind got the better of him, so that about three he gave up the victory, and making a sudden tack stood in for the shore, passed by Spithead and Portsmouth, and came to an anchor at a place called Ryde on the island. A most tragical incident fell out this day at sea. While the ship was under sail, but making as will appear no great way, a kitten, one of four of the feline inhabitants of the cabin, fell from the window into the water: an alarm was immediately given to the captain, who was then upon deck, and received it with the utmost concern and many bitter oaths. He immediately gave orders to the steersman in favor of the poor thing, as he called it; the sails were instantly slackened, and all hands, as the phrase is, employed to recover the poor animal. I was, I own, extremely surprised at all this; less indeed at the captain's extreme tenderness than at his conceiving any possibility of success; for if puss had had nine thousand instead of nine lives, I concluded they had been all lost. The boatswain, however, had more sanguine hopes, for, having stripped himself of his jacket, breeches, and shirt, he leaped boldly into the water, and to my great astonishment in a few minutes returned to the ship, bearing the motionless animal in his mouth. Nor was this, I observed, a matter of such great difficulty as it appeared to my ignorance, and possibly may seem to that of my fresh-water reader. The kitten was now exposed to air and sun on the deck, where its life, of which it retained no symptoms, was despaired of by all. The captain's humanity, if I may so call it, did not so totally destroy his philosophy as to make him yield himself up to affliction on this melancholy occasion. Having felt his loss like a man, he resolved to show he could bear it like one; and, having declared he had rather have lost a cask of rum or brandy, betook himself to threshing at backgammon with the Portuguese friar, in which innocent amusement they had passed about two-thirds of their time. But as I have, perhaps, a little too wantonly endeavored to raise the tender passions of my readers in this narrative, I should think myself unpardonable if I concluded it without giving them the satisfaction of hearing that the kitten at last recovered, to the great joy of the good captain, but to the great disappointment of some of the sailors, who asserted that the drowning a cat was the very surest way of raising a favorable wind; a supposition of which, though we have heard several plausible accounts, we will not presume to assign the true original reason. Friday, July 12.--This day our ladies went ashore at Ryde, and drank their afternoon tea at an ale-house there with great satisfaction: here they were regaled with fresh cream, to which they had been strangers since they left the Downs. Saturday, July 13.--The wind seeming likely to continue in the same corner where it had been almost constantly for two months together, I was persuaded by my wife to go ashore and stay at Ryde till we sailed. I approved the motion much; for though I am a great lover of the sea, I now fancied there was more pleasure in breathing the fresh air of the land; but how to get thither was the question; for, being really that dead luggage which I considered all passengers to be in the beginning of this narrative, and incapable of any bodily motion without external impulse, it was in vain to leave the ship, or to determine to do it, without the assistance of others. In one instance, perhaps, the living, luggage is more difficult to be moved or removed than an equal or much superior weight of dead matter; which, if of the brittle kind, may indeed be liable to be broken through negligence; but this, by proper care, may be almost certainly prevented; whereas the fractures to which the living lumps are exposed are sometimes by no caution avoidable, and often by no art to be amended. I was deliberating on the means of conveyance, not so much out of the ship to the boat as out of a little tottering boat to the land; a matter which, as I had already experienced in the Thames, was not extremely easy, when to be performed by any other limbs than your own. Whilst I weighed all that could suggest itself on this head, without strictly examining the merit of the several schemes which were advanced by the captain and sailors, and, indeed, giving no very deep attention even to my wife, who, as well as her friend and my daughter, were exerting their tender concern for my ease and safety, Fortune, for I am convinced she had a hand in it, sent me a present of a buck; a present welcome enough of itself, but more welcome on account of the vessel in which it came, being a large hoy, which in some places would pass for a ship, and many people would go some miles to see the sight. I was pretty easily conveyed on board this hoy; but to get from hence to the shore was not so easy a task; for, however strange it may appear, the water itself did not extend so far; an instance which seems to explain those lines of Ovid, Omnia pontus erant, deerant quoque littora ponto, in a less tautological sense than hath generally been imputed to them. In fact, between the sea and the shore there was, at low water, an impassable gulf, if I may so call it, of deep mud, which could neither be traversed by walking nor swimming; so that for near one half of the twenty-four hours Ryde was inaccessible by friend or foe. But as the magistrates of this place seemed more to desire the company of the former than to fear that of the latter, they had begun to make a small causeway to the low-water mark, so that foot passengers might land whenever they pleased; but as this work was of a public kind, and would have cost a large sum of money, at least ten pounds, and the magistrates, that is to say, the churchwardens, the overseers, constable, and tithingman, and the principal inhabitants, had every one of them some separate scheme of private interest to advance at the expense of the public, they fell out among themselves; and, after having thrown away one half of the requisite sum, resolved at least to save the other half, and rather be contented to sit down losers themselves than to enjoy any benefit which might bring in a greater profit to another. Thus that unanimity which is so necessary in all public affairs became wanting, and every man, from the fear of being a bubble to another, was, in reality, a bubble to himself. However, as there is scarce any difficulty to which the strength of men, assisted with the cunning of art, is not equal, I was at last hoisted into a small boat, and being rowed pretty near the shore, was taken up by two sailors, who waded with me through the mud, and placed me in a chair on the land, whence they afterwards conveyed me a quarter of a mile farther, and brought me to a house which seemed to bid the fairest for hospitality of any in Ryde. We brought with us our provisions from the ship, so that we wanted nothing but a fire to dress our dinner, and a room in which we might eat it. In neither of these had we any reason to apprehend a disappointment, our dinner consisting only of beans and bacon; and the worst apartment in his majesty's dominions, either at home or abroad, being fully sufficient to answer our present ideas of delicacy. Unluckily, however, we were disappointed in both; for when we arrived about four at our inn, exulting in the hopes of immediately seeing our beans smoking on the table, we had the mortification of seeing them on the table indeed, but without that circumstance which would have made the sight agreeable, being in the same state in which we had dispatched them from our ship. In excuse for this delay, though we had exceeded, almost purposely, the time appointed, and our provision had arrived three hours before, the mistress of the house acquainted us that it was not for want of time to dress them that they were not ready, but for fear of their being cold or over-done before we should come; which she assured us was much worse than waiting a few minutes for our dinner; an observation so very just, that it is impossible to find any objection in it; but, indeed, it was not altogether so proper at this time, for we had given the most absolute orders to have them ready at four, and had been ourselves, not without much care and difficulty, most exactly punctual in keeping to the very minute of our appointment. But tradesmen, inn-keepers, and servants, never care to indulge us in matters contrary to our true interest, which they always know better than ourselves; nor can any bribes corrupt them to go out of their way while they are consulting our good in our own despite. Our disappointment in the other particular, in defiance of our humility, as it was more extraordinary, was more provoking. In short, Mrs. Francis (for that was the name of the good woman of the house) no sooner received the news of our intended arrival than she considered more the gentility than the humanity of her guests, and applied herself not to that which kindles but to that which extinguishes fire, and, forgetting to put on her pot, fell to washing her house. As the messenger who had brought my venison was impatient to be dispatched, I ordered it to be brought and laid on the table in the room where I was seated; and the table not being large enough, one side, and that a very bloody one, was laid on the brick floor. I then ordered Mrs. Francis to be called in, in order to give her instructions concerning it; in particular, what I would have roasted and what baked; concluding that she would be highly pleased with the prospect of so much money being spent in her house as she might have now reason to expect, if the wind continued only a few days longer to blow from the same points whence it had blown for several weeks past. I soon saw good cause, I must confess, to despise my own sagacity. Mrs. Francis, having received her orders, without making any answer, snatched the side from the floor, which remained stained with blood, and, bidding a servant to take up that on the table, left the room with no pleasant countenance, muttering to herself that, "had she known the litter which was to have been made, she would not have taken such pains to wash her house that morning. If this was gentility, much good may it do such gentlefolks; for her part she had no notion of it." From these murmurs I received two hints. The one, that it was not from a mistake of our inclination that the good woman had starved us, but from wisely consulting her own dignity, or rather perhaps her vanity, to which our hunger was offered up as a sacrifice. The other, that I was now sitting in a damp room, a circumstance, though it had hitherto escaped my notice from the color of the bricks, which was by no means to be neglected in a valetudinary state. My wife, who, besides discharging excellently well her own and all the tender offices becoming the female character; who, besides being a faithful friend, an amiable companion, and a tender nurse, could likewise supply the wants of a decrepit husband, and occasionally perform his part, had, before this, discovered the immoderate attention to neatness in Mrs. Francis, and provided against its ill consequences. She had found, though not under the same roof, a very snug apartment belonging to Mr. Francis, and which had escaped the mop by his wife's being satisfied it could not possibly be visited by gentle-folks. This was a dry, warm, oaken-floored barn, lined on both sides with wheaten straw, and opening at one end into a green field and a beautiful prospect. Here, without hesitation, she ordered the cloth to be laid, and came hastily to snatch me from worse perils by water than the common dangers of the sea. Mrs. Francis, who could not trust her own ears, or could not believe a footman in so extraordinary a phenomenon, followed my wife, and asked her if she had indeed ordered the cloth to be laid in the barn? She answered in the affirmative; upon which Mrs. Francis declared she would not dispute her pleasure, but it was the first time she believed that quality had ever preferred a barn to a house. She showed at the same time the most pregnant marks of contempt, and again lamented the labor she had undergone, through her ignorance of the absurd taste of her guests. At length we were seated in one of the most pleasant spots I believe in the kingdom, and were regaled with our beans and bacon, in which there was nothing deficient but the quantity. This defect was however so deplorable that we had consumed our whole dish before we had visibly lessened our hunger. We now waited with impatience the arrival of our second course, which necessity, and not luxury, had dictated. This was a joint of mutton which Mrs. Francis had been ordered to provide; but when, being tired with expectation, we ordered our servants TO SEE FOR SOMETHING ELSE, we were informed that there was nothing else; on which Mrs. Francis, being summoned, declared there was no such thing as mutton to be had at Ryde. When I expressed some astonishment at their having no butcher in a village so situated, she answered they had a very good one, and one that killed all sorts of meat in season, beef two or three times a year, and mutton the whole year round; but that, it being then beans and peas time, he killed no meat, by reason he was not sure of selling it. This she had not thought worthy of communication, any more than that there lived a fisherman at next door, who was then provided with plenty of soles, and whitings, and lobsters, far superior to those which adorn a city feast. This discovery being made by accident, we completed the best, the pleasantest, and the merriest meal, with more appetite, more real solid luxury, and more festivity, than was ever seen in an entertainment at White's. It may be wondered at, perhaps, that Mrs. Francis should be so negligent of providing for her guests, as she may seem to be thus inattentive to her own interest; but this was not the case; for, having clapped a poll-tax on our heads at our arrival, and determined at what price to discharge our bodies from her house, the less she suffered any other to share in the levy the clearer it came into her own pocket; and that it was better to get twelve pence in a shilling than ten pence, which latter would be the case if she afforded us fish at any rate. Thus we passed a most agreeable day owing to good appetites and good humor; two hearty feeders which will devour with satisfaction whatever food you place before them; whereas, without these, the elegance of St. James's, the charde, the perigord-pie, or the ortolan, the venison, the turtle, or the custard, may titillate the throat, but will never convey happiness to the heart or cheerfulness to the countenance. As the wind appeared still immovable, my wife proposed my lying on shore. I presently agreed, though in defiance of an act of parliament, by which persons wandering abroad and lodging in ale-houses are decreed to be rogues and vagabonds; and this too after having been very singularly officious in putting that law in execution. My wife, having reconnoitered the house, reported that there was one room in which were two beds. It was concluded, therefore, that she and Harriot should occupy one and myself take possession of the other. She added likewise an ingenious recommendation of this room to one who had so long been in a cabin, which it exactly resembled, as it was sunk down with age on one side, and was in the form of a ship with gunwales too. For my own part, I make little doubt but this apartment was an ancient temple, built with the materials of a wreck, and probably dedicated to Neptune in honor of THE BLESSING sent by him to the inhabitants; such blessings having in all ages been very common to them. The timber employed in it confirms this opinion, being such as is seldom used by ally but ship-builders. I do not find indeed any mention of this matter in Hearn; but perhaps its antiquity was too modern to deserve his notice. Certain it is that this island of Wight was not an early convert to Christianity; nay, there is some reason to doubt whether it was ever entirely converted. But I have only time to touch slightly on things of this kind, which, luckily for us, we have a society whose peculiar profession it is to discuss and develop. Sunday, July 19.--This morning early I summoned Mrs. Francis, in order to pay her the preceding day's account. As I could recollect only two or three articles I thought there was no necessity of pen and ink. In a single instance only we had exceeded what the law allows gratis to a foot-soldier on his march, viz., vinegar, salt, etc., and dressing his meat. I found, however, I was mistaken in my calculation; for when the good woman attended with her bill it contained as follows:-- L. s. d. Bread and beer 0 2 4 Wind 0 2 0 Rum 0 2 0 Dressing dinner 0 3 0 Tea 0 1 6 Firing 0 1 0 Lodging 0 1 6 Servants' lodging 0 0 6 ----------------- L 0 13 10 Now that five people and two servants should live a day and night at a public-house for so small a sum will appear incredible to any person in London above the degree of a chimney-sweeper; but more astonishing will it seem that these people should remain so long at such a house without tasting any other delicacy than bread, small beer, a teacupful of milk called cream, a glass of rum converted into punch by their own materials, and one bottle of wind, of which we only tasted a single glass though possibly, indeed, our servants drank the remainder of the bottle. This wind is a liquor of English manufacture, and its flavor is thought very delicious by the generality of the English, who drink it in great quantities. Every seventh year is thought to produce as much as the other six. It is then drank so plentifully that the whole nation are in a manner intoxicated by it; and consequently very little business is carried on at that season. It resembles in color the red wine which is imported from Portugal, as it doth in its intoxicating quality; hence, and from this agreement in the orthography, the one is often confounded with the other, though both are seldom esteemed by the same person. It is to be had in every parish of the kingdom, and a pretty large quantity is consumed in the metropolis, where several taverns are set apart solely for the vendition of this liquor, the masters never dealing in any other. The disagreement in our computation produced some small remonstrance to Mrs. Francis on my side; but this received an immediate answer: "She scorned to overcharge gentlemen; her house had been always frequented by the very best gentry of the island; and she had never had a bill found fault with in her life, though she had lived upwards of forty years in the house, and within that time the greatest gentry in Hampshire had been at it; and that lawyer Willis never went to any other when he came to those parts. That for her part she did not get her livelihood by travelers, who were gone and away, and she never expected to see them more, but that her neighbors might come again; wherefore, to be sure, they had the only right to complain." She was proceeding thus, and from her volubility of tongue seemed likely to stretch the discourse to an immoderate length, when I suddenly cut all short by paying the bill. This morning our ladies went to church, more, I fear, from curiosity than religion; they were attended by the captain in a most military attire, with his cockade in his hat and his sword by his side. So unusual an appearance in this little chapel drew the attention of all present, and probably disconcerted the women, who were in dishabille, and wished themselves dressed, for the sake of the curate, who was the greatest of their beholders. While I was left alone I received a visit from Mr. Francis himself, who was much more considerable as a farmer than as an inn-holder. Indeed, he left the latter entirely to the care of his wife, and he acted wisely, I believe, in so doing. As nothing more remarkable passed on this day I will close it with the account of these two characters, as far as a few days' residence could inform me of them. If they should appear as new to the reader as they did to me, he will not be displeased at finding them here. This amiable couple seemed to border hard on their grand climacteric; nor indeed were they shy of owning enough to fix their ages within a year or two of that time. They appeared to be rather proud of having employed their time well than ashamed of having lived so long; the only reason which I could ever assign why some fine ladies, and fine gentlemen too, should desire to be thought younger than they really are by the contemporaries of their grandchildren. Some, indeed, who too hastily credit appearances, might doubt whether they had made so good a use of their time as I would insinuate, since there was no appearance of anything but poverty, want, and wretchedness, about their house; nor could they produce anything to a customer in exchange for his money but a few bottles of wind, and spirituous liquors, and some very bad ale, to drink; with rusty bacon and worse cheese to eat. But then it should be considered, on the other side, that whatever they received was almost as entirely clear profit as the blessing of a wreck itself; such an inn being the very reverse of a coffee-house; for here you can neither sit for nothing nor have anything for your money. Again, as many marks of want abounded everywhere, so were the marks of antiquity visible. Scarce anything was to be seen which had not some scar upon it, made by the hand of Time; not an utensil, it was manifest, had been purchased within a dozen years last past; so that whatever money had come into the house during that period at least must have remained in it, unless it had been sent abroad for food, or other perishable commodities; but these were supplied by a small portion of the fruits of the farm, in which the farmer allowed he had a very good bargain. In fact, it is inconceivable what sums may be collected by starving only, and how easy it is for a man to die rich if he will but be contented to live miserable. Nor is there in this kind of starving anything so terrible as some apprehend. It neither wastes a man's flesh nor robs him of his cheerfulness. The famous Cornaro's case well proves the contrary; and so did farmer Francis, who was of a round stature, had a plump, round face, with a kind of smile on it, and seemed to borrow an air of wretchedness rather from his coat's age than from his own. The truth is, there is a certain diet which emaciates men more than any possible degree of abstinence; though I do not remember to have seen any caution against it, either in Cheney, Arbuthnot, or in any other modern writer or regimen. Nay, the very name is not, I believe, in the learned Dr. James's Dictionary; all which is the more extraordinary as it is a very common food in this kingdom, and the college themselves were not long since very liberally entertained with it by the present attorney and other eminent lawyers in Lincoln's-inn-hall, and were all made horribly sick by it. But though it should not be found among our English physical writers, we may be assured of meeting with it among the Greeks; for nothing considerable in nature escapes their notice, though many things considerable in them, it is to be feared, have escaped the notice of their readers. The Greeks, then, to all such as feed too voraciously on this diet, give the name of HEAUTOFAGI, which our physicians will, I suppose, translate MEN THAT EAT THEMSELVES. As nothing is so destructive to the body as this kind of food, so nothing is so plentiful and cheap; but it was perhaps the only cheap thing the farmer disliked. Probably living much on fish might produce this disgust; for Diodorus Siculus attributes the same aversion in a people of Ethiopia to the same cause; he calls them the fish-eaters, and asserts that they cannot be brought to eat a single meal with the Heautofagi by any persuasion, threat, or violence whatever, not even though they should kill their children before their faces. What hath puzzled our physicians, and prevented them from setting this matter in the clearest light, is possibly one simple mistake, arising from a very excusable ignorance; that the passions of men are capable of swallowing food as well as their appetites; that the former, in feeding, resemble the state of those animals who chew the cud; and therefore, such men, in some sense, may be said to prey on themselves, and as it were to devour their own entrails. And hence ensues a meager aspect and thin habit of body, as surely as from what is called a consumption. Our farmer was one of these. He had no more passion than an Ichthuofagus or Ethiopian fisher. He wished not for anything, thought not of anything; indeed, he scarce did anything or said anything. Here I cannot be understood strictly; for then I must describe a nonentity, whereas I would rob him of nothing but that free agency which is the cause of all the corruption and of all the misery of human nature. No man, indeed, ever did more than the farmer, for he was an absolute slave to labor all the week; but in truth, as my sagacious reader must have at first apprehended, when I said he resigned the care of the house to his wife, I meant more than I then expressed, even the house and all that belonged to it; for he was really a farmer only under the direction of his wife. In a word, so composed, so serene, so placid a countenance, I never saw; and he satisfied himself by answering to every question he was asked, "I don't know anything about it, sir; I leaves all that to my wife." Now, as a couple of this kind would, like two vessels of oil, have made no composition in life, and for want of all savor must have palled every taste; nature or fortune, or both of them, took care to provide a proper quantity of acid in the materials that formed the wife, and to render her a perfect helpmate for so tranquil a husband. She abounded in whatsoever he was defective; that is to say, in almost everything. She was indeed as vinegar to oil, or a brisk wind to a standing-pool, and preserved all from stagnation and corruption. Quin the player, on taking a nice and severe survey of a fellow-comedian, burst forth into this exclamation:--"If that fellow be not a rogue, God Almighty doth not write a legible hand." Whether he guessed right or no is not worth my while to examine; certain it is that the latter, having wrought his features into a proper harmony to become the characters of Iago, Shylock, and others of the same cast, gave us a semblance of truth to the observation that was sufficient to confirm the wit of it. Indeed, we may remark, in favor of the physiognomist, though the law has made him a rogue and vagabond, that Nature is seldom curious in her works within, without employing some little pains on the outside; and this more particularly in mischievous characters, in forming which, as Mr. Derham observes, in venomous insects, as the sting or saw of a wasp, she is sometimes wonderfully industrious. Now, when she hath thus completely armed our hero to carry on a war with man, she never fails of furnishing that innocent lambkin with some means of knowing his enemy, and foreseeing his designs. Thus she hath been observed to act in the case of a rattlesnake, which never meditates a human prey without giving warning of his approach. This observation will, I am convinced, hold most true, if applied to the most venomous individuals of human insects. A tyrant, a trickster, and a bully, generally wear the marks of their several dispositions in their countenances; so do the vixen, the shrew, the scold, and all other females of the like kind. But, perhaps, nature hath never afforded a stronger example of all this than in the case of Mrs. Francis. She was a short, squat woman; her head was closely joined to her shoulders, where it was fixed somewhat awry; every feature of her countenance was sharp and pointed; her face was furrowed with the smallpox; and her complexion, which seemed to be able to turn milk to curds, not a little resembled in color such milk as had already undergone that operation. She appeared, indeed, to have many symptoms of a deep jaundice in her look; but the strength and firmness of her voice overbalanced them all; the tone of this was a sharp treble at a distance, for I seldom heard it on the same floor, but was usually waked with it in the morning, and entertained with it almost continually through the whole day. Though vocal be usually put in opposition to instrumental music, I question whether this might not be thought to partake of the nature of both; for she played on two instruments, which she seemed to keep for no other use from morning till night; these were two maids, or rather scolding-stocks, who, I suppose, by some means or other, earned their board, and she gave them their lodging gratis, or for no other service than to keep her lungs in constant exercise. She differed, as I have said, in every particular from her husband; but very remarkably in this, that, as it was impossible to displease him, so it was as impossible to please her; and as no art could remove a smile from his countenance, so could no art carry it into hers. If her bills were remonstrated against she was offended with the tacit censure of her fair-dealing; if they were not, she seemed to regard it as a tacit sarcasm on her folly, which might have set down larger prices with the same success. On this lather hint she did indeed improve, for she daily raised some of her articles. A pennyworth of fire was to-day rated at a shilling, to-morrow at eighteen-pence; and if she dressed us two dishes for two shillings on the Saturday, we paid half-a-crown for the cookery of one on the Sunday; and, whenever she was paid, she never left the room without lamenting the small amount of her bill, saying, "she knew not how it was that others got their money by gentle-folks, but for her part she had not the art of it." When she was asked why she complained, when she was paid all she demanded, she answered, "she could not deny that, nor did she know she had omitted anything; but that it was but a poor bill for gentle-folks to pay." I accounted for all this by her having heard, that it is a maxim with the principal inn-holders on the continent, to levy considerable sums on their guests, who travel with many horses and servants, though such guests should eat little or nothing in their houses; the method being, I believe, in such cases, to lay a capitation on the horses, and not on their masters. But she did not consider that in most of these inns a very great degree of hunger, without any degree of delicacy, may be satisfied; and that in all such inns there is some appearance, at least, of provision, as well as of a man-cook to dress it, one of the hostlers being always furnished with a cook's cap, waistcoat, and apron, ready to attend gentlemen and ladies on their summons; that the case therefore of such inns differed from hers, where there was nothing to eat or to drink, and in reality no house to inhabit, no chair to sit upon, nor any bed to lie in; that one third or fourth part therefore of the levy imposed at inns was, in truth, a higher tax than the whole was when laid on in the other, where, in order to raise a small sum, a man is obliged to submit to pay as many various ways for the same thing as he doth to the government for the light which enters through his own window into his own house, from his own estate; such are the articles of bread and beer, firing, eating and dressing dinner. The foregoing is a very imperfect sketch of this extraordinary couple; for everything is here lowered instead of being heightened. Those who would see them set forth in more lively colors, and with the proper ornaments, may read the descriptions of the Furies in some of the classical poets, or of the Stoic philosophers in the works of Lucian. Monday, July 20.--This day nothing remarkable passed; Mrs. Francis levied a tax of fourteen shillings for the Sunday. We regaled ourselves at dinner with venison and good claret of our own; and in the afternoon, the women, attended by the captain, walked to see a delightful scene two miles distant, with the beauties of which they declared themselves most highly charmed at their return, as well as with the goodness of the lady of the mansion, who had slipped out of the way that my wife and their company might refresh themselves with the flowers and fruits with which her garden abounded. Tuesday, July 21.--This day, having paid our taxes of yesterday, we were permitted to regale ourselves with more venison. Some of this we would willingly have exchanged for mutton; but no such flesh was to be had nearer than Portsmouth, from whence it would have cost more to convey a joint to us than the freight of a Portugal ham from Lisbon to London amounts to; for though the water-carriage be somewhat cheaper here than at Deal, yet can you find no waterman who will go on board his boat, unless by two or three hours' rowing he can get drunk for the residue of the week. And here I have an opportunity, which possibly may not offer again, of publishing some observations on that political economy of this nation, which, as it concerns only the regulation of the mob, is below the notice of our great men; though on the due regulation of this order depend many emoluments, which the great men themselves, or at least many who tread close on their heels, may enjoy, as well as some dangers which may some time or other arise from introducing a pure state of anarchy among them. I will represent the case, as it appears to me, very fairly and impartially between the mob and their betters. The whole mischief which infects this part of our economy arises from the vague and uncertain use of a word called liberty, of which, as scarce any two men with whom I have ever conversed seem to have one and the same idea, I am inclined to doubt whether there be any simple universal notion represented by this word, or whether it conveys any clearer or more determinate idea than some of those old Punic compositions of syllables preserved in one of the comedies of Plautus, but at present, as I conceive, not supposed to be understood by any one. By liberty, however, I apprehend, is commonly understood the power of doing what we please; not absolutely, for then it would be inconsistent with law, by whose control the liberty of the freest people, except only the Hottentots and wild Indians, must always be restrained. But, indeed, however largely we extend, or however moderately we confine, the sense of the word, no politician will, I presume, contend that it is to pervade in an equal degree, and be, with the same extent, enjoyed by, every member of society; no such polity having been ever found, unless among those vile people just before commemorated. Among the Greeks and Romans the servile and free conditions were opposed to each other; and no man who had the misfortune to be enrolled under the former could lay any claim to liberty till the right was conveyed to him by that master whose slave he was, either by the means of conquest, of purchase, or of birth. This was the state of all the free nations in the world; and this, till very lately, was understood to be the case of our own. I will not indeed say this is the case at present, the lowest class of our people having shaken off all the shackles of their superiors, and become not only as free, but even freer, than most of their superiors. I believe it cannot be doubted, though perhaps we have no recent instance of it, that the personal attendance of every man who hath three hundred pounds per annum, in parliament, is indispensably his duty; and that, if the citizens and burgesses of any city or borough shall choose such a one, however reluctant he appear, he may be obliged to attend, and be forcibly brought to his duty by the sergeant-at-arms. Again, there are numbers of subordinate offices, some of which are of burden, and others of expense, in the civil government--all of which persons who are qualified are liable to have imposed on them, may be obliged to undertake and properly execute, notwithstanding any bodily labor, or even danger, to which they may subject themselves, under the penalty of fines and imprisonment; nay, and what may appear somewhat hard, may be compelled to satisfy the losses which are eventually incident, to that of sheriff in particular, out of their own private fortunes; and though this should prove the ruin of a family, yet the public, to whom the price is due, incurs no debt or obligation to preserve its officer harmless, let his innocence appear ever so clearly. I purposely omit the mention of those military or military duties which our old constitution laid upon its greatest members. These might, indeed, supply their posts with some other able-bodied men; but if no such could have been found, the obligation nevertheless remained, and they were compellable to serve in their own proper persons. The only one, therefore, who is possessed of absolute liberty is the lowest member of the society, who, if he prefers hunger, or the wild product of the fields, hedges, lanes, and rivers, with the indulgence of ease and laziness, to a food a little more delicate, but purchased at the expense of labor, may lay himself under a shade; nor can be forced to take the other alternative from that which he hath, I will not affirm whether wisely or foolishly, chosen. Here I may, perhaps, be reminded of the last Vagrant Act, where all such persons are compellable to work for the usual and accustomed wages allowed in the place; but this is a clause little known to the justices of the peace, and least likely to be executed by those who do know it, as they know likewise that it is formed on the ancient power of the justices to fix and settle these wages every year, making proper allowances for the scarcity and plenty of the times, the cheapness and dearness of the place; and that THE USUAL AND ACCUSTOMED WAGES are words without any force or meaning, when there are no such; but every man spunges and raps whatever he can get; and will haggle as long and struggle as hard to cheat his employer of twopence in a day's labor as an honest tradesman will to cheat his customers of the same sum in a yard of cloth or silk. It is a great pity then that this power, or rather this practice, was not revived; but, this having been so long omitted that it is become obsolete, will be best done by a new law, in which this power, as well as the consequent power of forcing the poor to labor at a moderate and reasonable rate, should be well considered and their execution facilitated; for gentlemen who give their time and labor gratis, and even voluntarily, to the public, have a right to expect that all their business be made as easy as possible; and to enact laws without doing this is to fill our statute-books, much too full already, still fuller with dead letter, of no use but to the printer of the acts of parliament. That the evil which I have here pointed at is of itself worth redressing, is, I apprehend, no subject of dispute; for why should any persons in distress be deprived of the assistance of their fellow-subjects, when they are willing amply to reward them for their labor? or, why should the lowest of the people be permitted to exact ten times the value of their work? For those exactions increase with the degrees of necessity in their object, insomuch that on the former side many are horribly imposed upon, and that often in no trifling matters. I was very well assured that at Deal no less than ten guineas was required, and paid by the supercargo of an Indiaman, for carrying him on board two miles from the shore when she was just ready to sail; so that his necessity, as his pillager well understood, was absolute. Again, many others, whose indignation will not submit to such plunder, are forced to refuse the assistance, though they are often great sufferers by so doing. On the latter side, the lowest of the people are encouraged in laziness and idleness; while they live by a twentieth part of the labor that ought to maintain them, which is diametrically opposite to the interest of the public; for that requires a great deal to be done, not to be paid, for a little. And moreover, they are confirmed in habits of exaction, and are taught to consider the distresses of their superiors as their own fair emolument. But enough of this matter, of which I at first intended only to convey a hint to those who are alone capable of applying the remedy, though they are the last to whom the notice of those evils would occur, without some such monitor as myself, who am forced to travel about the world in the form of a passenger. I cannot but say I heartily wish our governors would attentively consider this method of fixing the price of labor, and by that means of compelling the poor to work, since the due execution of such powers will, I apprehend, be found the true and only means of making them useful, and of advancing trade from its present visibly declining state to the height to which Sir William Petty, in his Political Arithmetic, thinks it capable of being carried. In the afternoon the lady of the above-mentioned mansion called at our inn, and left her compliments to us with Mrs. Francis, with an assurance that while we continued wind-bound in that place, where she feared we could be but indifferently accommodated, we were extremely welcome to the use of anything which her garden or her house afforded. So polite a message convinced us, in spite of some arguments to the contrary, that we were not on the coast of Africa, or on some island where the few savage inhabitants have little of human in them besides their form. And here I mean nothing less than to derogate from the merit of this lady, who is not only extremely polite in her behavior to strangers of her own rank, but so extremely good and charitable to all her poor neighbors who stand in need of her assistance, that she hath the universal love and praises of all who live near her. But, in reality, how little doth the acquisition of so valuable a character, and the full indulgence of so worthy a disposition, cost those who possess it! Both are accomplished by the very offals which fall from a table moderately plentiful. That they are enjoyed therefore by so few arises truly from there being so few who have any such disposition to gratify, or who aim at any such character. Wednesday, July 22.--This morning, after having been mulcted as usual, we dispatched a servant with proper acknowledgments of the lady's goodness; but confined our wants entirely to the productions of her garden. He soon returned, in company with the gardener, both richly laden with almost every particular which a garden at this most fruitful season of the year produces. While we were regaling ourselves with these, towards the close of our dinner, we received orders from our commander, who had dined that day with some inferior officers on board a man-of-war, to return instantly to the ship; for that the wind was become favorable and he should weigh that evening. These orders were soon followed by the captain himself, who was still in the utmost hurry, though the occasion of it had long since ceased; for the wind had, indeed, a little shifted that afternoon, but was before this very quietly set down in its old quarters. This last was a lucky hit for me; for, as the captain, to whose orders we resolved to pay no obedience, unless delivered by himself, did not return till past six, so much time seemed requisite to put up the furniture of our bed-chamber or dining-room, for almost every article, even to some of the chairs, were either our own or the captain's property; so much more in conveying it as well as myself, as dead a luggage as any, to the shore, and thence to the ship, that the night threatened first to overtake us. A terrible circumstance to me, in my decayed condition; especially as very heavy showers of rain, attended with a high wind, continued to fall incessantly; the being carried through which two miles in the dark, in a wet and open boat, seemed little less than certain death. However, as my commander was absolute, his orders peremptory, and my obedience necessary, I resolved to avail myself of a philosophy which hath been of notable use to me in the latter part of my life, and which is contained in this hemistich of Virgil:-- ----Superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est. The meaning of which, if Virgil had any, I think I rightly understood, and rightly applied. As I was therefore to be entirely passive in my motion, I resolved to abandon myself to the conduct of those who were to carry me into a cart when it returned from unloading the goods. But before this, the captain, perceiving what had happened in the clouds, and that the wind remained as much his enemy as ever, came upstairs to me with a reprieve till the morning. This was, I own, very agreeable news, and I little regretted the trouble of refurnishing my apartment, by sending back for the goods. Mrs. Francis was not well pleased with this. As she understood the reprieve to be only till the morning, she saw nothing but lodging to be possibly added, out of which she was to deduct fire and candle, and the remainder, she thought, would scarce pay her for her trouble. She exerted therefore all the ill-humor of which she was mistress, and did all she could to thwart and perplex everything during the whole evening. Thursday, July 23.--Early in the morning the captain, who had remained on shore all night, came to visit us, and to press us to make haste on board. "I am resolved," says he, "not to lose a moment now the wind is coming about fair: for my own part, I never was surer of a wind in all my life." I use his very words; nor will I presume to interpret or comment upon them farther than by observing that they were spoke in the utmost hurry. We promised to be ready as soon as breakfast was over, but this was not so soon as was expected; for, in removing our goods the evening before, the tea-chest was unhappily lost. Every place was immediately searched, and many where it was impossible for it to be; for this was a loss of much greater consequence than it may at first seem to many of my readers. Ladies and valetudinarians do not easily dispense with the use of this sovereign cordial in a single instance; but to undertake a long voyage, without any probability of being supplied with it the whole way, was above the reach of patience. And yet, dreadful as this calamity was, it seemed unavoidable. The whole town of Ryde could not supply a single leaf; for, as to what Mrs. Francis and the shop called by that name, it was not of Chinese growth. It did not indeed in the least resemble tea, either in smell or taste, or in any particular, unless in being a leaf; for it was in truth no other than a tobacco of the mundungus species. And as for the hopes of relief in any other port, they were not to be depended upon, for the captain had positively declared he was sure of a wind, and would let go his anchor no more till he arrived in the Tajo. When a good deal of time had been spent, most of it indeed wasted on this occasion, a thought occurred which every one wondered at its not having presented itself the first moment. This was to apply to the good lady, who could not fail of pitying and relieving such distress. A messenger was immediately despatched with an account of our misfortune, till whose return we employed ourselves in preparatives for our departure, that we might have nothing to do but to swallow our breakfast when it arrived. The tea-chest, though of no less consequence to us than the military-chest to a general, was given up as lost, or rather as stolen, for though I would not, for the world, mention any particular name, it is certain we had suspicions, and all, I am afraid, fell on the same person. The man returned from the worthy lady with much expedition, and brought with him a canister of tea, despatched with so true a generosity, as well as politeness, that if our voyage had been as long again we should have incurred no danger of being brought to a short allowance in this most important article. At the very same instant likewise arrived William the footman with our own tea-chest. It had been, indeed, left in the hoy, when the other goods were re-landed, as William, when he first heard it was missing, had suspected; and whence, had not the owner of the hoy been unluckily out of the way, he had retrieved it soon enough to have prevented our giving the lady an opportunity of displaying some part of her goodness. To search the hoy was, indeed, too natural a suggestion to have escaped any one, nor did it escape being mentioned by many of us; but we were dissuaded from it by my wife's maid, who perfectly well remembered she had left the chest in the bed-chamber; for that she had never given it out of her hand in her way to or from the hoy; but William perhaps knew the maid better, and best understood how far she was to be believed; for otherwise he would hardly of his own accord, after hearing her declaration, have hunted out the hoy-man, with much pains and difficulty. Thus ended this scene, which began with such appearance of distress, and ended with becoming the subject of mirth and laughter. Nothing now remained but to pay our taxes, which were indeed laid with inconceivable severity. Lodging was raised sixpence, fire in the same proportion, and even candles, which had hitherto escaped, were charged with a wantonness of imposition, from the beginning, and placed under the style of oversight. We were raised a whole pound, whereas we had only burned ten, in five nights, and the pound consisted of twenty-four. Lastly, an attempt was made which almost as far exceeds human credulity to believe as it did human patience to submit to. This was to make us pay as much for existing an hour or two as for existing a whole day; and dressing dinner was introduced as an article, though we left the house before either pot or spit had approached the fire. Here I own my patience failed me, and I became an example of the truth of the observation, "That all tyranny and oppression may be carried too far, and that a yoke may be made too intolerable for the neck of the tamest slave." When I remonstrated, with some warmth, against this grievance, Mrs. Francis gave me a look, and left the room without making any answer. She returned in a minute, running to me with pen, ink, and paper, in her hand, and desired me to make my own bill; "for she hoped," she said "I did not expect that her house was to be dirtied, and her goods spoiled and consumed for nothing. The whole is but thirteen shillings. Can gentlefolks lie a whole night at a public-house for less? If they can I am sure it is time to give off being a landlady: but pay me what you please; I would have people know that I value money as little as other folks. But I was always a fool, as I says to my husband, and never knows which side my bread is buttered of. And yet, to be sure, your honor shall be my warning not to be bit so again. Some folks knows better than other some how to make their bills. Candles! why yes, to be sure; why should not travelers pay for candles? I am sure I pays for my candles, and the chandler pays the king's majesty for them; and if he did not I must, so as it comes to the same thing in the end. To be sure I am out of sixteens at present, but these burn as white and as clear, though not quite so large. I expects my chandler here soon, or I would send to Portsmouth, if your honor was to stay any time longer. But when folks stays only for a wind, you knows there can be no dependence on such!" Here she put on a little slyness of aspect, and seemed willing to submit to interruption. I interrupted her accordingly by throwing down half a guinea, and declared I had no more English money, which was indeed true; and, as she could not immediately change the thirty-six shilling pieces, it put a final end to the dispute. Mrs. Francis soon left the room, and we soon after left the house; nor would this good woman see us or wish us a good voyage. I must not, however, quit this place, where we had been so ill-treated, without doing it impartial justice, and recording what may, with the strictest truth, be said in its favor. First, then, as to its situation, it is, I think, most delightful, and in the most pleasant spot in the whole island. It is true it wants the advantage of that beautiful river which leads from Newport to Cowes; but the prospect here extending to the sea, and taking in Portsmouth, Spithead, and St. Helen's, would be more than a recompense for the loss of the Thames itself, even in the most delightful part of Berkshire or Buckinghamshire, though another Denham, or another Pope, should unite in celebrating it. For my own part, I confess myself so entirely fond of a sea prospect, that I think nothing on the land can equal it; and if it be set off with shipping, I desire to borrow no ornament from the terra firma. A fleet of ships is, in my opinion, the noblest object which the art of man hath ever produced; and far beyond the power of those architects who deal in brick, in stone, or in marble. When the late Sir Robert Walpole, one of the best of men and of ministers, used to equip us a yearly fleet at Spithead, his enemies of taste must have allowed that he, at least, treated the nation with a fine sight for their money. A much finer, indeed, than the same expense in an encampment could have produced. For what indeed is the best idea which the prospect of a number of huts can furnish to the mind, but of a number of men forming themselves into a society before the art of building more substantial houses was known? This, perhaps, would be agreeable enough; but, in truth, there is a much worse idea ready to step in before it, and that is of a body of cut-throats, the supports of tyranny, the invaders of the just liberties and properties of mankind, the plunderers of the industrious, the ravishers of the chaste, the murderers of the innocent, and, in a word, the destroyers of the plenty, the peace, and the safety, of their fellow-creatures. And what, it may be said, are these men-of-war which seem so delightful an object to our eyes? Are they not alike the support of tyranny and oppression of innocence, carrying with them desolation and ruin wherever their masters please to send them? This is indeed too true; and however the ship of war may, in its bulk and equipment, exceed the honest merchantman, I heartily wish there was no necessity for it; for, though I must own the superior beauty of the object on one side, I am more pleased with the superior excellence of the idea which I can raise in my mind on the other, while I reflect on the art and industry of mankind engaged in the daily improvements of commerce to the mutual benefit of all countries, and to the establishment and happiness of social life. This pleasant village is situated on a gentle ascent from the water, whence it affords that charming prospect I have above described. Its soil is a gravel, which, assisted with its declivity, preserves it always so dry that immediately after the most violent rain a fine lady may walk without wetting her silken shoes. The fertility of the place is apparent from its extraordinary verdure, and it is so shaded with large and flourishing elms, that its narrow lanes are a natural grove or walk, which, in the regularity of its plantation, vies with the power of art, and in its wanton exuberancy greatly exceeds it. In a field in the ascent of this hill, about a quarter of a mile from the sea, stands a neat little chapel. It is very small, but adequate to the number of inhabitants; for the parish doth not seem to contain above thirty houses. At about two miles distant from this parish lives that polite and good lady to whose kindness we were so much obliged. It is placed on a hill whose bottom is washed by the sea, and which from its eminence at top, commands a view of great part of the island as well as it does that of the opposite shore. This house was formerly built by one Boyce, who, from a blacksmith at Gosport, became possessed, by great success in smuggling, of forty thousand pound. With part of this he purchased an estate here, and, by chance probably, fixed on this spot for building a large house. Perhaps the convenience of carrying on his business, to which it is so well adapted, might dictate the situation to him. We can hardly, at least, attribute it to the same taste with which he furnished his house, or at least his library, by sending an order to a bookseller in London to pack him up five hundred pounds' worth of his handsomest books. They tell here several almost incredible stories of the ignorance, the folly, and the pride, which this poor man and his wife discovered during the short continuance of his prosperity; for he did not long escape the sharp eyes of the revenue solicitors, and was, by extents from the court of Exchequer, soon reduced below his original state to that of confinement in the Fleet. All his effects were sold, and among the rest his books, by an auction at Portsmouth, for a very small price; for the bookseller was now discovered to have been perfectly a master of his trade, and, relying on Mr. Boyce's finding little time to read, had sent him not only the most lasting wares of his shop, but duplicates of the same, under different titles. His estate and house were purchased by a gentleman of these parts, whose widow now enjoys them, and who hath improved them, particularly her gardens, with so elegant a taste, that the painter who would assist his imagination in the composition of a most exquisite landscape, or the poet who would describe an earthly paradise, could nowhere furnish themselves with a richer pattern. We left this place about eleven in the morning, and were again conveyed, with more sunshine than wind, aboard our ship. Whence our captain had acquired his power of prophecy, when he promised us and himself a prosperous wind, I will not determine; it is sufficient to observe that he was a false prophet, and that the weathercocks continued to point as before. He would not, however, so easily give up his skill in prediction. He persevered in asserting that the wind was changed, and, having weighed his anchor, fell down that afternoon to St. Helen's, which was at about the distance of five miles; and whither his friend the tide, in defiance of the wind, which was most manifestly against him, softly wafted him in as many hours. Here, about seven in the evening, before which time we could not procure it, we sat down to regale ourselves with some roasted venison, which was much better dressed than we imagined it would be, and an excellent cold pasty which my wife had made at Ryde, and which we had reserved uncut to eat on board our ship, whither we all cheerfully exulted in being returned from the presence of Mrs. Francis, who, by the exact resemblance she bore to a fury, seemed to have been with no great propriety settled in paradise. Friday, July 24.--As we passed by Spithead on the preceding evening we saw the two regiments of soldiers who were just returned from Gibraltar and Minorca; and this day a lieutenant belonging to one of them, who was the captain's nephew, came to pay a visit to his uncle. He was what is called by some a very pretty fellow; indeed, much too pretty a fellow at his years; for he was turned of thirty-four, though his address and conversation would have become him more before he had reached twenty. In his conversation, it is true, there was something military enough, as it consisted chiefly of oaths, and of the great actions and wise sayings of Jack, and Will, and Tom of our regiment, a phrase eternally in his mouth; and he seemed to conclude that it conveyed to all the officers such a degree of public notoriety and importance that it entitled him like the head of a profession, or a first minister, to be the subject of conversation among those who had not the least personal acquaintance with him. This did not much surprise me, as I have seen several examples of the same; but the defects in his address, especially to the women, were so great that they seemed absolutely inconsistent with the behavior of a pretty fellow, much less of one in a red coat; and yet, besides having been eleven years in the army, he had had, as his uncle informed me, an education in France. This, I own, would have appeared to have been absolutely thrown away had not his animal spirits, which were likewise thrown away upon him in great abundance, borne the visible stamp of the growth of that country. The character to which he had an indisputable title was that of a merry fellow; so very merry was he that he laughed at everything he said, and always before he spoke. Possibly, indeed, he often laughed at what he did not utter, for every speech begun with a laugh, though it did not always end with a jest. There was no great analogy between the characters of the uncle and the nephew, and yet they seemed entirely to agree in enjoying the honor which the red-coat did to his family. This the uncle expressed with great pleasure in his countenance, and seemed desirous of showing all present the honor which he had for his nephew, who, on his side, was at some pains to convince us of his concurring in this opinion, and at the same time of displaying the contempt he had for the parts, as well as the occupation of his uncle, which he seemed to think reflected some disgrace on himself, who was a member of that profession which makes every man a gentleman. Not that I would be understood to insinuate that the nephew endeavored to shake off or disown his uncle, or indeed to keep him at any distance. On the contrary, he treated him with the utmost familiarity, often calling him Dick, and dear Dick, and old Dick, and frequently beginning an oration with D--n me, Dick. All this condescension on the part of the young man was received with suitable marks of complaisance and obligation by the old one; especially when it was attended with evidences of the same familiarity with general officers and other persons of rank; one of whom, in particular, I know to have the pride and insolence of the devil himself, and who, without some strong bias of interest, is no more liable to converse familiarly with a lieutenant than of being mistaken in his judgment of a fool; which was not, perhaps, so certainly the case of the worthy lieutenant, who, in declaring to us the qualifications which recommended men to his countenance and conversation, as well as what effectually set a bar to all hopes of that honor, exclaimed, "No, sir, by the d-- I hate all fools-- No, d--n me, excuse me for that. That's a little too much, old Dick. There are two or three officers of our regiment whom I know to be fools; but d--n me if I am ever seen in their company. If a man hath a fool of a relation, Dick, you know he can't help that, old boy." Such jokes as these the old man not only tools in good part, but glibly gulped down the whole narrative of his nephew; nor did he, I am convinced, in the least doubt of our as readily swallowing the same. This made him so charmed with the lieutenant, that it is probable we should have been pestered with him the whole evening, had not the north wind, dearer to our sea-captain even than this glory of his family, sprung suddenly up, and called aloud to him to weigh his anchor. While this ceremony was performing, the sea-captain ordered out his boat to row the land-captain to shore; not indeed on an uninhabited island, but one which, in this part, looked but little better, not presenting us the view of a single house. Indeed, our old friend, when his boat returned on shore, perhaps being no longer able to stifle his envy of the superiority of his nephew, told us with a smile that the young man had a good five mile to walk before he could be accommodated with a passage to Portsmouth. It appeared now that the captain had been only mistaken in the date of his prediction, by placing the event a day earlier than it happened; for the wind which now arose was not only favorable but brisk, and was no sooner in reach of our sails than it swept us away by the back of the Isle of Wight, and, having in the night carried us by Christchurch and Peveral-point, brought us the next noon, Saturday, July 25, oft the island of Portland, so famous for the smallness and sweetness of its mutton, of which a leg seldom weighs four pounds. We would have bought a sheep, but our captain would not permit it; though he needed not have been in such a hurry, for presently the wind, I will not positively assert in resentment of his surliness, showed him a dog's trick, and slyly slipped back again to his summer-house in the south-west. The captain now grew outrageous, and, declaring open war with the wind, took a resolution, rather more bold than wise, of sailing in defiance of it, and in its teeth. He swore he would let go his anchor no more, but would beat the sea while he had either yard or sail left. He accordingly stood from the shore, and made so large a tack that before night, though he seemed to advance but little on his way, he was got out of sight of land. Towards evening the wind began, in the captain's own language, and indeed it freshened so much, that before ten it blew a perfect hurricane. The captain having got, as he supposed, to a safe distance, tacked again towards the English shore; and now the wind veered a point only in his favor, and continued to blow with such violence, that the ship ran above eight knots or miles an hour during this whole day and tempestuous night till bed-time. I was obliged to betake myself once more to my solitude, for my women were again all down in their sea-sickness, and the captain was busy on deck; for he began to grow uneasy, chiefly, I believe, because he did not well know where he was, and would, I am convinced, have been very glad to have been in Portland-road, eating some sheep's-head broth. Having contracted no great degree of good-humor by living a whole day alone, without a single soul to converse with, I took but ill physic to purge it off, by a bed-conversation with the captain, who, amongst many bitter lamentations of his fate, and protesting he had more patience than a Job, frequently intermixed summons to the commanding officer on the deck, who now happened to be one Morrison, a carpenter, the only fellow that had either common sense or common civility in the ship. Of Morrison he inquired every quarter of an hour concerning the state of affairs: the wind, the care of the ship, and other matters of navigation. The frequency of these summons, as well as the solicitude with which they were made, sufficiently testified the state of the captain's mind; he endeavored to conceal it, and would have given no small alarm to a man who had either not learned what it is to die, or known what it is to be miserable. And my dear wife and child must pardon me, if what I did not conceive to be any great evil to myself I was not much terrified with the thoughts of happening to them; in truth, I have often thought they are both too good and too gentle to be trusted to the power of any man I know, to whom they could possibly be so trusted. Can I say then I had no fear? indeed I cannot. Reader, I was afraid for thee, lest thou shouldst have been deprived of that pleasure thou art now enjoying; and that I should not live to draw out on paper that military character which thou didst peruse in the journal of yesterday. From all these fears we were relieved, at six in the morning, by the arrival of Mr. Morrison, who acquainted us that he was sure he beheld land very near; for he could not see half a mile, by reason of the haziness of the weather. This land he said was, he believed, the Berry-head, which forms one side of Torbay: the captain declared that it was impossible, and swore, on condition he was right, he would give him his mother for a maid. A forfeit which became afterwards strictly due and payable; for the captain, whipping on his night-gown, ran up without his breeches, and within half an hour returning into the cabin, wished me joy of our lying safe at anchor in the bay. Sunday, July 26.--Things now began to put on an aspect very different from what they had lately worn; the news that the ship had almost lost its mizzen, and that we had procured very fine clouted cream and fresh bread and butter from the shore, restored health and spirits to our women, and we all sat down to a very cheerful breakfast. But, however pleasant our stay promised to be here, we were all desirous it should be short: I resolved immediately to despatch my man into the country to purchase a present of cider, for my friends of that which is called Southam, as well as to take with me a hogshead of it to Lisbon; for it is, in my opinion, much more delicious than that which is the growth of Herefordshire. I purchased three hogsheads for five pounds ten shillings, all which I should have scarce thought worth mentioning, had I not believed it might be of equal service to the honest farmer who sold it me, and who is by the neighboring gentlemen reputed to deal in the very best; and to the reader, who, from ignorance of the means of providing better for himself, swallows at a dearer rate the juice of Middlesex turnip, instead of that Vinum Pomonae which Mr. Giles Leverance of Cheeshurst, near Dartmouth in Devon, will, at the price of forty shillings per hogshead, send in double casks to any part of the world. Had the wind been very sudden in shifting, I had lost my cider by an attempt of a boatman to exact, according to custom. He required five shillings for conveying my man a mile and a half to the shore, and four more if he stayed to bring him back. This I thought to be such insufferable impudence that I ordered him to be immediately chased from the ship, without any answer. Indeed, there are few inconveniences that I would not rather encounter than encourage the insolent demands of these wretches, at the expense of my own indignation, of which I own they are not the only objects, but rather those who purchase a paltry convenience by encouraging them. But of this I have already spoken very largely. I shall conclude, therefore, with the leave which this fellow took of our ship; saying he should know it again, and would not put off from the shore to relieve it in any distress whatever. It will, doubtless, surprise many of my readers to hear that, when we lay at anchor within a mile or two of a town several days together, and even in the most temperate weather, we should frequently want fresh provisions and herbage, and other emoluments of the shore, as much as if we had been a hundred leagues from land. And this too while numbers of boats were in our sight, whose owners get their livelihood by rowing people up and down, and could be at any time summoned by a signal to our assistance, and while the captain had a little boat of his own, with men always ready to row it at his command. This, however, hath been partly accounted for already by the imposing disposition of the people, who asked so much more than the proper price of their labor. And as to the usefulness of the captain's boat, it requires to be a little expatiated upon, as it will tend to lay open some of the grievances which demand the utmost regard of our legislature, as they affect the most valuable part of the king's subjects--those by whom the commerce of the nation is carried into execution. Our captain then, who was a very good and experienced seaman, having been above thirty years the master of a vessel, part of which he had served, so he phrased it, as commander of a privateer, and had discharged himself with great courage and conduct, and with as great success, discovered the utmost aversion to the sending his boat ashore whenever we lay wind-bound in any of our harbors. This aversion did not arise from any fear of wearing out his boat by using it, but was, in truth, the result of experience, that it was easier to send his men on shore than to recall them. They acknowledged him to be their master while they remained on shipboard, but did not allow his power to extend to the shores, where they had no sooner set their foot than every man became sui juris, and thought himself at full liberty to return when he pleased. Now it is not any delight that these fellows have in the fresh air or verdant fields on the land. Every one of them would prefer his ship and his hammock to all the sweets of Arabia the Happy; but, unluckily for them, there are in every seaport in England certain houses whose chief livelihood depends on providing entertainment for the gentlemen of the jacket. For this purpose they are always well furnished with those cordial liquors which do immediately inspire the heart with gladness, banishing all careful thoughts, and indeed all others, from the mind, and opening the mouth with songs of cheerfulness and thanksgiving for the many wonderful blessings with which a seafaring life overflows. For my own part, however whimsical it may appear, I confess I have thought the strange story of Circe in the Odyssey no other than an ingenious allegory, in which Homer intended to convey to his countrymen the same kind of instruction which we intend to communicate to our own in this digression. As teaching the art of war to the Greeks was the plain design of the Iliad, so was teaching them the art of navigation the no less manifest intention of the Odyssey. For the improvement of this, their situation was most excellently adapted; and accordingly we find Thucydides, in the beginning of his history, considers the Greeks as a set of pirates or privateers, plundering each other by sea. This being probably the first institution of commerce before the Ars Cauponaria was invented, and merchants, instead of robbing, began to cheat and outwit each other, and by degrees changed the Metabletic, the only kind of traffic allowed by Aristotle in his Politics, into the Chrematistic. By this allegory then I suppose Ulysses to have been the captain of a merchant-ship, and Circe some good ale-wife, who made his crew drunk with the spirituous liquors of those days. With this the transformation into swine, as well as all other incidents of the fable, will notably agree; and thus a key will be found out for unlocking the whole mystery, and forging at least some meaning to a story which, at present, appears very strange and absurd. Hence, moreover, will appear the very near resemblance between the sea-faring men of all ages and nations; and here perhaps may be established the truth and justice of that observation, which will occur oftener than once in this voyage, that all human flesh is not the same flesh, but that there is one kind of flesh of landmen, and another of seamen. Philosophers, divines, and others, who have treated the gratification of human appetites with contempt, have, among other instances, insisted very strongly on that satiety which is so apt to overtake them even in the very act of enjoyment. And here they more particularly deserve our attention, as most of them may be supposed to speak from their own experience, and very probably gave us their lessons with a full stomach. Thus hunger and thirst, whatever delight they may afford while we are eating and drinking, pass both away from us with the plate and the cup; and though we should imitate the Romans, if, indeed, they were such dull beasts, which I can scarce believe, to unload the belly like a dung-pot, in order to fill it again with another load, yet would the pleasure be so considerably lessened that it would scarce repay us the trouble of purchasing it with swallowing a basin of camomile tea. A second haunch of venison, or a second dose of turtle, would hardly allure a city glutton with its smell. Even the celebrated Jew himself, when well filled with calipash and calipee, goes contentedly home to tell his money, and expects no more pleasure from his throat during the next twenty-four hours. Hence I suppose Dr. South took that elegant comparison of the joys of a speculative man to the solemn silence of an Archimedes over a problem, and those of a glutton to the stillness of a sow at her wash. A simile which, if it became the pulpit at all, could only become it in the afternoon. Whereas in those potations which the mind seems to enjoy, rather than the bodily appetite, there is happily no such satiety; but the more a man drinks, the more he desires; as if, like Mark Anthony in Dryden, his appetite increased with feeding, and this to such an immoderate degree, ut nullus sit desiderio aut pudor aut modus. Hence, as with the gang of Captain Ulysses, ensues so total a transformation, that the man no more continues what he was. Perhaps he ceases for a time to be at all; or, though he may retain the same outward form and figure he had before, yet is his nobler part, as we are taught to call it, so changed, that, instead of being the same man, he scarce remembers what he was a few hours before. And this transformation, being once obtained, is so easily preserved by the same potations, which induced no satiety, that the captain in vain sends or goes in quest of his crew. They know him no longer; or, if they do, they acknowledge not his power, having indeed as entirely forgotten themselves as if they had taken a large draught of the river of Lethe. Nor is the captain always sure of even finding out the place to which Circe hath conveyed them. There are many of those houses in every port-town. Nay, there are some where the sorceress doth not trust only to her drugs; but hath instruments of a different kind to execute her purposes, by whose means the tar is effectually secreted from the knowledge and pursuit of his captain. This would, indeed, be very fatal, was it not for one circumstance; that the sailor is seldom provided with the proper bait for these harpies. However, the contrary sometimes happens, as these harpies will bite at almost anything, and will snap at a pair of silver buttons, or buckles, as surely as at the specie itself. Nay, sometimes they are so voracious, that the very naked hook will go down, and the jolly young sailor is sacrificed for his own sake. In vain, at such a season as this, would the vows of a pious heathen have prevailed over Neptune, Aeolus, or any other marine deity. In vain would the prayers of a Christian captain be attended with the like success. The wind may change how it pleases while all hands are on shore; the anchor would remain firm in the ground, and the ship would continue in durance, unless, like other forcible prison-breakers, it forcibly got loose for no good purpose. Now, as the favor of winds and courts, and such like, is always to be laid hold on at the very first motion, for within twenty-four hours all may be changed again; so, in the former case, the loss of a day may be the loss of a voyage: for, though it may appear to persons not well skilled in navigation, who see ships meet and sail by each other, that the wind blows sometimes east and west, north and south, backwards and forwards, at the same instant; yet, certain it is that the land is so contrived, that even the same wind will not, like the same horse, always bring a man to the end of his journey; but, that the gale which the mariner prayed heartily for yesterday, he may as heartily deprecate to-morrow; while all use and benefit which would have arisen to him from the westerly wind of to-morrow may be totally lost and thrown away by neglecting the offer of the easterly blast which blows to-day. Hence ensues grief and disreputation to the innocent captain, loss and disappointment to the worthy merchant, and not seldom great prejudice to the trade of a nation whose manufactures are thus liable to lie unsold in a foreign warehouse the market being forestalled by some rival whose sailors are under a better discipline. To guard against these inconveniences the prudent captain takes every precaution in his power; he makes the strongest contracts with his crew, and thereby binds them so firmly, that none but the greatest or least of men can break through them with impunity; but for one of these two reasons, which I will not determine, the sailor, like his brother fish the eel, is too slippery to be held, and plunges into his element with perfect impunity. To speak a plain truth, there is no trusting to any contract with one whom the wise citizens of London call a bad man; for, with such a one, though your bond be ever so strong, it will prove in the end good for nothing. What then is to be done in this case? What, indeed, but to call in the assistance of that tremendous magistrate, the justice of peace, who can, and often doth, lay good and bad men in equal durance; and, though he seldom cares to stretch his bonds to what is great, never finds anything too minute for their detention, but will hold the smallest reptile alive so fast in his noose, that he can never get out till he is let drop through it. Why, therefore, upon the breach of those contracts, should not an immediate application be made to the nearest magistrate of this order, who should be empowered to convey the delinquent either to ship or to prison, at the election of the captain, to be fettered by the leg in either place? But, as the case now stands, the condition of this poor captain without any commission, and of this absolute commander without any power, is much worse than we have hitherto shown it to be; for, notwithstanding all the aforesaid contracts to sail in the good ship the Elizabeth, if the sailor should, for better wages, find it more his interest to go on board the better ship the Mary, either before their setting out or on their speedy meeting in some port, he may prefer the latter without any other danger than that of "doing what he ought not to have done," contrary to a rule which he is seldom Christian enough to have much at heart, while the captain is generally too good a Christian to punish a man out of revenge only, when he is to be at a considerable expense for so doing. There are many other deficiencies in our laws relating to maritime affairs, and which would probably have been long since corrected, had we any seamen in the House of Commons. Not that I would insinuate that the legislature wants a supply of many gentlemen in the sea-service; but, as these gentlemen are by their attendance in the house unfortunately prevented from ever going to sea, and there learning what they might communicate to their landed brethren, these latter remain as ignorant in that branch of knowledge as they would be if none but courtiers and fox-hunters had been elected into parliament, without a single fish among them. The following seems to me to be an effect of this kind, and it strikes me the stronger as I remember the case to have happened, and remember it to have been dispunishable. A captain of a trading vessel, of which he was part owner, took in a large freight of oats at Liverpool, consigned to the market at Bearkey: this he carried to a port in Hampshire, and there sold it as his own, and, freighting his vessel with wheat for the port of Cadiz, in Spain, dropped it at Oporto in his way; and there, selling it for his own use, took in a lading of wine, with which he sailed again, and, having converted it in the same manner, together with a large sum of money with which he was intrusted, for the benefit of certain merchants, sold the ship and cargo in another port, and then wisely sat down contented with the fortune he had made, and returned to London to enjoy the remainder of his days, with the fruits of his former labors and a good conscience. The sum he brought home with him consisted of near six thousand pounds, all in specie, and most of it in that coin which Portugal distributes so liberally over Europe. He was not yet old enough to be past all sense of pleasure, nor so puffed up with the pride of his good fortune as to overlook his old acquaintances the journeymen tailors, from among whom he had been formerly pressed into the sea-service, and, having there laid the foundation of his future success by his shares in prizes, had afterwards become captain of a trading vessel, in which he purchased an interest, and had soon begun to trade in the honorable manner above mentioned. The captain now took up his residence at an ale-house in Drury-lane, where, having all his money by him in a trunk, he spent about five pounds a day among his old friends the gentlemen and ladies of those parts. The merchant of Liverpool, having luckily had notice from a friend during the blaze of his fortune, did, by the assistance of a justice of peace, without the assistance of the law, recover his whole loss. The captain, however, wisely chose to refund no more; but, perceiving with what hasty strides Envy was pursuing his fortune, he took speedy means to retire out of her reach, and to enjoy the rest of his wealth in an inglorious obscurity; nor could the same justice overtake him time enough to assist a second merchant as he had done the first. This was a very extraordinary case, and the more so as the ingenious gentleman had steered entirely clear of all crimes in our law. Now, how it comes about that a robbery so very easy to be committed, and to which there is such immediate temptation always before the eyes of these fellows, should receive the encouragement of impunity, is to be accounted for only from the oversight of the legislature, as that oversight can only be, I think, derived from the reasons I have assigned for it. But I will dwell no longer on this subject. If what I have here said should seem of sufficient consequence to engage the attention of any man in power, and should thus be the means of applying any remedy to the most inveterate evils, at least, I have obtained my whole desire, and shall have lain so long wind-bound in the ports of this kingdom to some purpose. I would, indeed, have this work--which, if I should live to finish it, a matter of no great certainty, if indeed of any great hope to me, will be probably the last I shall ever undertake--to produce some better end than the mere diversion of the reader. Monday.--This day our captain went ashore, to dine with a gentleman who lives in these parts, and who so exactly resembles the character given by Homer of Axylus, that the only difference I can trace between them is, the one, living by the highway, erected his hospitality chiefly in favor of land-travelers; and the other, living by the water-side, gratified his humanity by accommodating the wants of the mariner. In the evening our commander received a visit from a brother bashaw, who lay wind-bound in the same harbor. This latter captain was a Swiss. He was then master of a vessel bound to Guinea, and had formerly been a privateering, when our own hero was employed in the same laudable service. The honesty and freedom of the Switzer, his vivacity, in which he was in no respect inferior to his near neighbors the French, the awkward and affected politeness, which was likewise of French extraction, mixed with the brutal roughness of the English tar--for he had served under the colors of this nation and his crew had been of the same--made such an odd variety, such a hotch-potch of character, that I should have been much diverted with him, had not his voice, which was as loud as a speaking-trumpet, unfortunately made my head ache. The noise which he conveyed into the deaf ears of his brother captain, who sat on one side of him, the soft addresses with which, mixed with awkward bows, he saluted the ladies on the other, were so agreeably contrasted, that a man must not only have been void of all taste of humor, and insensible of mirth, but duller than Cibber is represented in the Dunciad, who could be unentertained with him a little while; for, I confess, such entertainments should always be very short, as they are very liable to pall. But he suffered not this to happen at present; for, having given us his company a quarter of an hour only, he retired, after many apologies for the shortness of his visit. Tuesday.--The wind being less boisterous than it had hitherto been since our arrival here, several fishing-boats, which the tempestuous weather yesterday had prevented from working, came on board us with fish. This was so fresh, so good in kind, and so very cheap, that we supplied ourselves in great numbers, among which were very large soles at fourpence a pair, and whitings of almost a preposterous size at ninepence a score. The only fish which bore any price was a john doree, as it is called. I bought one of at least four pounds weight for as many shillings. It resembles a turbot in shape, but exceeds it in firmness and flavor. The price had the appearance of being considerable when opposed to the extraordinary cheapness of others of value, but was, in truth, so very reasonable when estimated by its goodness, that it left me under no other surprise than how the gentlemen of this country, not greatly eminent for the delicacy of their taste, had discovered the preference of the doree to all other fish: but I was informed that Mr. Quin, whose distinguishing tooth hath been so justly celebrated, had lately visited Plymouth, and had done those honors to the doree which are so justly due to it from that sect of modern philosophers who, with Sir Epicure Mammon, or Sir Epicure Quin, their head, seem more to delight in a fish-pond than in a garden, as the old Epicureans are said to have done. Unfortunately for the fishmongers of London, the doree resides only in those seas; for, could any of this company but convey one to the temple of luxury under the Piazza, where Macklin the high-priest daily serves up his rich offerings to that goddess, great would be the reward of that fishmonger, in blessings poured down upon him from the goddess, as great would his merit be towards the high-priest, who could never be thought to overrate such valuable incense. And here, having mentioned the extreme cheapness of fish in the Devonshire sea, and given some little hint of the extreme dearness with which this commodity is dispensed by those who deal in it in London, I cannot pass on without throwing forth an observation or two, with the same view with which I have scattered my several remarks through this voyage, sufficiently satisfied in having finished my life, as I have probably lost it, in the service of my country, from the best of motives, though it should be attended with the worst of success. Means are always in our power; ends are very seldom so. Of all the animal foods with which man is furnished, there are none so plenty as fish. A little rivulet, that glides almost unperceived through a vast tract of rich land, will support more hundreds with the flesh of its inhabitants than the meadow will nourish individuals. But if this be true of rivers, it is much truer of the sea-shores, which abound with such immense variety of fish that the curious fisherman, after he hath made his draught, often culls only the daintiest part and leaves the rest of his prey to perish on the shore. If this be true it would appear, I think, that there is nothing which might be had in such abundance, and consequently so cheap, as fish, of which Nature seems to have provided such inexhaustible stores with some peculiar design. In the production of terrestrial animals she proceeds with such slowness, that in the larger kind a single female seldom produces more than one a-year, and this again requires three, for, or five years more to bring it to perfection. And though the lesser quadrupeds, those of the wild kind particularly, with the birds, do multiply much faster, yet can none of these bear any proportion with the aquatic animals, of whom every female matrix is furnished with an annual offspring almost exceeding the power of numbers, and which, in many instances at least, a single year is capable of bringing to some degree of maturity. What then ought in general to be so plentiful, what so cheap, as fish? What then so properly the food of the poor? So in many places they are, and so might they always be in great cities, which are always situated near the sea, or on the conflux of large rivers. How comes it then, to look no farther abroad for instances, that in our city of London the case is so far otherwise that, except that of sprats, there is not one poor palate in a hundred that knows the taste of fish? It is true indeed that this taste is generally of such excellent flavor that it exceeds the power of French cookery to treat the palates of the rich with anything more exquisitely delicate; so that was fish the common food of the poor it might put them too much upon an equality with their betters in the great article of eating, in which, at present, in the opinion of some, the great difference in happiness between man and man consists. But this argument I shall treat with the utmost disdain: for if ortolans were as big as buzzards, and at the same time as plenty as sparrows, I should hold it yet reasonable to indulge the poor with the dainty, and that for this cause especially, that the rich would soon find a sparrow, if as scarce as an ortolan, to be much the greater, as it would certainly be the rarer, dainty of the two. Vanity or scarcity will be always the favorite of luxury; but honest hunger will be satisfied with plenty. Not to search deeper into the cause of the evil, I should think it abundantly sufficient to propose the remedies of it. And, first, I humbly submit the absolute necessity of immediately hanging all the fishmongers within the bills of mortality; and, however it might have been some time ago the opinion of mild and temporizing men that the evil complained of might be removed by gentler methods, I suppose at this day there are none who do not see the impossibility of using such with any effect. Cuncta prius tentanda might have been formerly urged with some plausibility, but cuncta prius tentata may now be replied: for surely, if a few monopolizing fishmongers could defeat that excellent scheme of the Westminster market, to the erecting which so many justices of peace, as well as other wise and learned men, did so vehemently apply themselves, that they might be truly said not only to have laid the whole strength of their heads, but of their shoulders too, to the business, it would be a vain endeavor for any other body of men to attempt to remove so stubborn a nuisance. If it should be doubted whether we can bring this case within the letter of any capital law now subsisting, I am ashamed to own it cannot; for surely no crime better deserves such punishment; but the remedy may, nevertheless, be immediate; and if a law was made at the beginning of next session, to take place immediately, by which the starving thousands of poor was declared to be felony, without benefit of clergy, the fishmongers would be hanged before the end of the session. A second method of filling the mouths of the poor, if not with loaves at least with fishes, is to desire the magistrates to carry into execution one at least out of near a hundred acts of parliament, for preserving the small fry of the river of Thames, by which means as few fish would satisfy thousands as may now be devoured by a small number of individuals. But while a fisherman can break through the strongest meshes of an act of parliament, we may be assured he will learn so to contrive his own meshes that the smallest fry will not be able to swim through them. Other methods may, we doubt not, he suggested by those who shall attentively consider the evil here hinted at; but we have dwelt too long on it already, and shall conclude with observing that it is difficult to affirm whether the atrocity of the evil itself, the facility of curing it, or the shameful neglect of the cure, be the more scandalous or more astonishing. After having, however, gloriously regaled myself with this food, I was washing it down with some good claret with my wife and her friend, in the cabin, when the captain's valet-de-chambre, head cook, house and ship steward, footman in livery and out on't, secretary and fore-mast man, all burst into the cabin at once, being, indeed, all but one person, and, without saying, by your leave, began to pack half a hogshead of small beer in bottles, the necessary consequence of which must have been either a total stop to conversation at that cheerful season when it is most agreeable, or the admitting that polyonymous officer aforesaid to the participation of it. I desired him therefore to delay his purpose a little longer, but he refused to grant my request; nor was he prevailed on to quit the room till he was threatened with having one bottle to pack more than his number, which then happened to stand empty within my reach. With these menaces he retired at last, but not without muttering some menaces on his side, and which, to our great terror, he failed not to put into immediate execution. Our captain was gone to dinner this day with his Swiss brother; and, though he was a very sober man, was a little elevated with some champagne, which, as it cost the Swiss little or nothing, he dispensed at his table more liberally than our hospitable English noblemen put about those bottles, which the ingenious Peter Taylor teaches a led captain to avoid by distinguishing by the name of that generous liquor, which all humble companions are taught to postpone to the flavor of methuen, or honest port. While our two captains were thus regaling themselves, and celebrating their own heroic exploits with all the inspiration which the liquor, at least, of wit could afford them, the polyonymous officer arrived, and, being saluted by the name of Honest Tom, was ordered to sit down and take his glass before he delivered his message; for every sailor is by turns his captain's mate over a cann, except only that captain bashaw who presides in a man-of-war, and who upon earth has no other mate, unless it be another of the same bashaws. Tom had no sooner swallowed his draught than he hastily began his narrative, and faithfully related what had happened on board our ship; we say faithfully, though from what happened it may be suspected that Tom chose to add perhaps only five or six immaterial circumstances, as is always I believe the case, and may possibly have been done by me in relating this very story, though it happened not many hours ago. No sooner was the captain informed of the interruption which had been given to his officer, and indeed to his orders, for he thought no time so convenient as that of his absence for causing any confusion in the cabin, than he leaped with such haste from his chair that he had like to have broke his sword, with which he always begirt himself when he walked out of his ship, and sometimes when he walked about in it; at the same time, grasping eagerly that other implement called a cockade, which modern soldiers wear on their helmets with the same view as the ancients did their crests--to terrify the enemy he muttered something, but so inarticulately that the word DAMN was only intelligible; he then hastily took leave of the Swiss captain, who was too well bred to press his stay on such an occasion, and leaped first from the ship to his boat, and then from his boat to his own ship, with as much fierceness in his looks as he had ever expressed on boarding his defenseless prey in the honorable calling of a privateer. Having regained the middle deck, he paused a moment while Tom and others loaded themselves with bottles, and then descending into the cabin exclaimed with a thundering voice, "D--n me, why arn't the bottles stowed in, according to my orders?" I answered him very mildly that I had prevented his man from doing it, as it was at an inconvenient time to me, and as in his absence, at least, I esteemed the cabin to be my own. "Your cabin!" repeated he many times; "no, d--n me! 'tis my cabin. Your cabin! d--n me! I have brought my hogs to a fair market. I suppose indeed you think it your cabin, and your ship, by your commanding in it; but I will command in it, d--n me! I will show the world I am the commander, and nobody but I! Did you think I sold you the command of my ship for that pitiful thirty pounds? I wish I had not seen you nor your thirty pounds aboard of her." He then repeated the words thirty pounds often, with great disdain, and with a contempt which I own the sum did not seem to deserve in my eye, either in itself or on the present occasion; being, indeed, paid for the freight of ---- weight of human flesh, which is above fifty per cent dearer than the freight of any other luggage, whilst in reality it takes up less room; in fact, no room at all. In truth, the sum was paid for nothing more than for a liberty to six persons (two of them servants) to stay on board a ship while she sails from one port to another, every shilling of which comes clear into the captain's pocket. Ignorant people may perhaps imagine, especially when they are told that the captain is obliged to sustain them, that their diet at least is worth something, which may probably be now and then so far the case as to deduct a tenth part from the net profits on this account; but it was otherwise at present; for when I had contracted with the captain at a price which I by no means thought moderate, I had some content in thinking I should have no more to pay for my voyage; but I was whispered that it was expected the passengers should find themselves in several things; such as tea, wine, and such like; and particularly that gentlemen should stow of the latter a much larger quantity than they could use, in order to leave the remainder as a present to the captain at the end of the voyage; and it was expected likewise that gentlemen should put aboard some fresh stores, and the more of such things were put aboard the welcomer they would be to the captain. I was prevailed with by these hints to follow the advice proposed; and accordingly, besides tea and a large hamper of wine, with several hams and tongues, I caused a number of live chickens and sheep to be conveyed aboard; in truth, treble the quantity of provisions which would have supported the persons I took with me, had the voyage continued three weeks, as it was supposed, with a bare possibility, it might. Indeed it continued much longer; but as this was occasioned by our being wind-bound in our own ports, it was by no means of any ill consequence to the captain, as the additional stores of fish, fresh meat, butter, bread, &c., which I constantly laid in, greatly exceeded the consumption, and went some way in maintaining the ship's crew. It is true I was not obliged to do this; but it seemed to be expected; for the captain did not think himself obliged to do it, and I can truly say I soon ceased to expect it of him. He had, I confess, on board a number of fowls and ducks sufficient for a West India voyage; all of them, as he often said, "Very fine birds, and of the largest breed." This I believe was really the fact, and I can add that they were all arrived at the full perfection of their size. Nor was there, I am convinced, any want of provisions of a more substantial kind; such as dried beef, pork, and fish; so that the captain seemed ready to perform his contract, and amply to provide for his passengers. What I did then was not from necessity, but, perhaps, from a less excusable motive, and was by no means chargeable to the account of the captain. But, let the motive have been what it would, the consequence was still the same; and this was such that I am firmly persuaded the whole pitiful thirty pounds came pure and neat into the captain's pocket, and not only so, but attended with the value of ten pound more in sundries into the bargain. I must confess myself therefore at a loss how the epithet PITIFUL came to be annexed to the above sum; for, not being a pitiful price for what it was given, I cannot conceive it to be pitiful in itself; nor do I believe it is thought by the greatest men in the kingdom; none of whom would scruple to search for it in the dirtiest kennel, where they had only a reasonable hope of success. How, therefore, such a sum should acquire the idea of pitiful in the eyes of the master of a ship seems not easy to be accounted for; since it appears more likely to produce in him ideas of a different kind. Some men, perhaps, are no more sincere in the contempt for it which they express than others in their contempt of money in general; and I am the rather inclined to this persuasion, as I have seldom heard of either who have refused or refunded this their despised object. Besides, it is sometimes impossible to believe these professions, as every action of the man's life is a contradiction to it. Who can believe a tradesman who says he would not tell his name for the profit he gets by the selling such a parcel of goods, when he hath told a thousand lies in order to get it? Pitiful, indeed, is often applied to an object not absolutely, but comparatively with our expectations, or with a greater object: in which sense it is not easy to set any bounds to the use of the word. Thus, a handful of halfpence daily appear pitiful to a porter, and a handful of silver to a drawer. The latter, I am convinced, at a polite tavern, will not tell his name (for he will not give you any answer) under the price of gold. And in this sense thirty pound may be accounted pitiful by the lowest mechanic. One difficulty only seems to occur, and that is this: how comes it that, if the profits of the meanest arts are so considerable, the professors of them are not richer than we generally see them? One answer to this shall suffice. Men do not become rich by what they get, but by what they keep. He who is worth no more than his annual wages or salary, spends the whole; he will be always a beggar let his income be what it will, and so will be his family when he dies. This we see daily to be the case of ecclesiastics, who, during their lives, are extremely well provided for, only because they desire to maintain the honor of the cloth by living like gentlemen, which would, perhaps, be better maintained by living unlike them. But, to return from so long a digression, to which the use of so improper an epithet gave occasion, and to which the novelty of the subject allured, I will make the reader amends by concisely telling him that the captain poured forth such a torrent of abuse that I very hastily and very foolishly resolved to quit the ship. I gave immediate orders to summon a hoy to carry me that evening to Dartmouth, without considering any consequence. Those orders I gave in no very low voice, so that those above stairs might possibly conceive there was more than one master in the cabin. In the same tone I likewise threatened the captain with that which, he afterwards said, he feared more than any rock or quicksand. Nor can we wonder at this when we are told he had been twice obliged to bring to and cast anchor there before, and had neither time escaped without the loss of almost his whole cargo. The most distant sound of law thus frightened a man who had often, I am convinced, heard numbers of cannon roar round him with intrepidity. Nor did he sooner see the hoy approaching the vessel than he ran down again into the cabin, and, his rage being perfectly subsided, he tumbled on his knees, and a little too abjectly implored for mercy. I did not suffer a brave man and an old man to remain a moment in this posture, but I immediately forgave him. And here, that I may not be thought the sly trumpeter of my own praises, I do utterly disclaim all praise on the occasion. Neither did the greatness of my mind dictate, nor the force of my Christianity exact, this forgiveness. To speak truth, I forgave him from a motive which would make men much more forgiving if they were much wiser than they are, because it was convenient for me so to do. Wednesday.--This morning the captain dressed himself in scarlet in order to pay a visit to a Devonshire squire, to whom a captain of a ship is a guest of no ordinary consequence, as he is a stranger and a gentleman, who hath seen a great deal of the world in foreign parts, and knows all the news of the times. The squire, therefore, was to send his boat for the captain, but a most unfortunate accident happened; for, as the wind was extremely rough and against the hoy, while this was endeavoring to avail itself of great seamanship in hauling up against the wind, a sudden squall carried off sail and yard, or at least so disabled them that they were no longer of any use and unable to reach the ship; but the captain, from the deck, saw his hopes of venison disappointed, and was forced either to stay on board his ship, or to hoist forth his own long-boat, which he could not prevail with himself to think of, though the smell of the venison had had twenty times its attraction. He did, indeed, love his ship as his wife, and his boats as children, and never willingly trusted the latter, poor things! to the dangers of the sea. To say truth, notwithstanding the strict rigor with which he preserved the dignity of his stations and the hasty impatience with which he resented any affront to his person or orders, disobedience to which he could in no instance brook in any person on board, he was one of the best natured fellows alive. He acted the part of a father to his sailors; he expressed great tenderness for any of them when ill, and never suffered any the least work of supererogation to go unrewarded by a glass of gin. He even extended his humanity, if I may so call it, to animals, and even his cats and kittens had large shares in his affections. An instance of which we saw this evening, when the cat, which had shown it could not be drowned, was found suffocated under a feather-bed in the cabin. I will not endeavor to describe his lamentations with more prolixity than barely by saying they were grievous, and seemed to have some mixture of the Irish howl in them. Nay, he carried his fondness even to inanimate objects, of which we have above set down a pregnant example in his demonstration of love and tenderness towards his boats and ship. He spoke of a ship which he had commanded formerly, and which was long since no more, which he had called the Princess of Brazil, as a widower of a deceased wife. This ship, after having followed the honest business of carrying goods and passengers for hire many years, did at last take to evil courses and turn privateer, in which service, to use his own words, she received many dreadful wounds, which he himself had felt as if they had been his own. Thursday.--As the wind did not yesterday discover any purpose of shifting, and the water in my belly grew troublesome and rendered me short-breathed, I began a second time to have apprehensions of wanting the assistance of a trochar when none was to be found; I therefore concluded to be tapped again by way of precaution, and accordingly I this morning summoned on board a surgeon from a neighboring parish, one whom the captain greatly recommended, and who did indeed perform his office with much dexterity. He was, I believe, likewise a man of great judgment and knowledge in the profession; but of this I cannot speak with perfect certainty, for, when he was going to open on the dropsy at large and on the particular degree of the distemper under which I labored, I was obliged to stop him short, for the wind was changed, and the captain in the utmost hurry to depart; and to desire him, instead of his opinion, to assist me with his execution. I was now once more delivered from my burden, which was not indeed so great as I had apprehended, wanting two quarts of what was let out at the last operation. While the surgeon was drawing away my water the sailors were drawing up the anchor; both were finished at the same time; we unfurled our sails and soon passed the Berry-head, which forms the mouth of the bay. We had not however sailed far when the wind, which, had though with a slow pace, kept us company about six miles, suddenly turned about, and offered to conduct us back again; a favor which, though sorely against the grain, we were obliged to accept. Nothing remarkable happened this day; for as to the firm persuasion of the captain that he was under the spell of witchcraft, I would not repeat it too often, though indeed he repeated it an hundred times every day; in truth, he talked of nothing else, and seemed not only to be satisfied in general of his being bewitched, but actually to have fixed with good certainty on the person of the witch, whom, had he lived in the days of Sir Matthew Hale, he would have infallibly indicted, and very possibly have hanged, for the detestable sin of witchcraft; but that law, and the whole doctrine that supported it, are now out of fashion; and witches, as a learned divine once chose to express himself, are put down by act of parliament. This witch, in the captain's opinion, was no other than Mrs. Francis of Ryde, who, as he insinuated, out of anger to me for not spending more money in her house than she could produce anything to exchange for, or ally pretense to charge for, had laid this spell on his ship. Though we were again got near our harbor by three in the afternoon, yet it seemed to require a full hour or more before we could come to our former place of anchoring, or berth, as the captain called it. On this occasion we exemplified one of the few advantages which the travelers by water have over the travelers by land. What would the latter often give for the sight of one of those hospitable mansions where he is assured THAT THERE IS GOOD ENTERTAINMENT FOR MAN AND HORSE; and where both may consequently promise themselves to assuage that hunger which exercise is so sure to raise in a healthy constitution. At their arrival at this mansion how much happier is the state of the horse than that of the master! The former is immediately led to his repast, such as it is, and, whatever it is, he falls to it with appetite. But the latter is in a much worse situation. His hunger, however violent, is always in some degree delicate, and his food must have some kind of ornament, or, as the more usual phrase is, of dressing, to recommend it. Now all dressing requires time, and therefore, though perhaps the sheep might be just killed before you came to the inn, yet in cutting him up, fetching the joint, which the landlord by mistake said he had in the house, from the butcher at two miles' distance, and afterwards warming it a little by the fire, two hours at least must be consumed, while hunger, for want of better food, preys all the time on the vitals of the man. How different was the case with us! we carried our provision, our kitchen, and our cook with us, and we were at one and the same time traveling on our road, and sitting down to a repast of fish, with which the greatest table in London can scarce at any rate be supplied. Friday.--As we were disappointed of our wind, and obliged to return back the preceding evening, we resolved to extract all the good we could out of our misfortune, and to add considerably to our fresh stores of meat and bread, with which we were very indifferently provided when we hurried away yesterday. By the captain's advice we likewise laid in some stores of butter, which we salted and potted ourselves, for our use at Lisbon, and we had great reason afterwards to thank him for his advice. In the afternoon I persuaded my wife whom it was no easy matter for me to force from my side, to take a walk on shore, whither the gallant captain declared he was ready to attend her. Accordingly the ladies set out, and left me to enjoy a sweet and comfortable nap after the operation of the preceding day. Thus we enjoyed our separate pleasures full three hours, when we met again, and my wife gave the foregoing account of the gentleman whom I have before compared to Axylus, and of his habitation, to both which she had been introduced by the captain, in the style of an old friend and acquaintance, though this foundation of intimacy seemed to her to be no deeper laid than in an accidental dinner, eaten many years before, at this temple of hospitality, when the captain lay wind-bound in the same bay. Saturday.--Early this morning the wind seemed inclined to change in our favor. Our alert captain snatched its very first motion, and got under sail with so very gentle a breeze that, as the tide was against him, he recommended to a fishing boy to bring after him a vast salmon and some other provisions which lay ready for him on shore. Our anchor was up at six, and before nine in the morning we had doubled the Berry-head, and were arrived off Dartmouth, having gone full three miles in as many hours, in direct opposition to the tide, which only befriended us out of our harbor; and though the wind was perhaps our friend, it was so very silent, and exerted itself so little in our favor, that, like some cool partisans, it was difficult to say whether it was with us or against us. The captain, however, declared the former to be the case during the whole three hours; but at last he perceived his error, or rather, perhaps, this friend, which had hitherto wavered in choosing his side, became now more determined. The captain then suddenly tacked about, and, asserting that he was bewitched, submitted to return to the place from whence he came. Now, though I am as free from superstition as any man breathing, and never did believe in witches, notwithstanding all the excellent arguments of my lord chief-justice Hale in their favor, and long before they were put down by act of parliament, yet by what power a ship of burden should sail three miles against both wind and tide, I cannot conceive, unless there was some supernatural interposition in the case; nay, could we admit that the wind stood neuter, the difficulty would still remain. So that we must of necessity conclude that the ship was either bewinded or bewitched. The captain, perhaps, had another meaning. He imagined himself, I believe, bewitched, because the wind, instead of persevering in its change in his favor, for change it certainly did that morning, should suddenly return to its favorite station, and blow him back towards the bay. But, if this was his opinion, he soon saw cause to alter; for he had not measured half the way back when the wind again declared in his favor, and so loudly, that there was no possibility of being mistaken. The orders for the second tack were given, and obeyed with much more alacrity than those had been for the first. We were all of us indeed in high spirits on the occasion; though some of us a little regretted the good things we were likely to leave behind us by the fisherman's neglect; I might give it a worse name, for he faithfully promised to execute the commission, which he had had abundant opportunity to do; but nautica fides deserves as much to be proverbial as ever Punica fides could formerly have done. Nay, when we consider that the Carthaginians came from the Phoenicians who are supposed to have produced the first mariners, we may probably see the true reason of the adage, and it may open a field of very curious discoveries to the antiquarian. We were, however, too eager to pursue our voyage to suffer anything we left behind us to interrupt our happiness, which, indeed, many agreeable circumstances conspired to advance. The weather was inexpressibly pleasant, and we were all seated on the deck, when our canvas began to swell with the wind. We had likewise in our view above thirty other sail around us, all in the same situation. Here an observation occurred to me, which, perhaps, though extremely obvious, did not offer itself to every individual in our little fleet: when I perceived with what different success we proceeded under the influence of a superior power which, while we lay almost idle ourselves, pushed us forward on our intended voyage, and compared this with the slow progress which we had made in the morning, of ourselves, and without any such assistance, I could not help reflecting how often the greatest abilities lie wind-bound as it were in life; or, if they venture out and attempt to beat the seas, they struggle in vain against wind and tide, and, if they have not sufficient prudence to put back, are most probably cast away on the rocks and quicksands which are every day ready to devour them. It was now our fortune to set out melioribus avibus. The wind freshened so briskly in our poop that the shore appeared to move from us as fast as we did from the shore. The captain declared he was sure of a wind, meaning its continuance; but he had disappointed us so often that he had lost all credit. However, he kept his word a little better now, and we lost sight of our native land as joyfully, at least, as it is usual to regain it. Sunday.--The next morning the captain told me he thought himself thirty miles to the westward of Plymouth, and before evening declared that the Lizard Point, which is the extremity of Cornwall, bore several leagues to leeward. Nothing remarkable passed this day, except the captain's devotion, who, in his own phrase, summoned all hands to prayers, which were read by a common sailor upon deck, with more devout force and address than they are commonly read by a country curate, and received with more decency and attention by the sailors than are usually preserved in city congregations. I am indeed assured, that if any such affected disregard of the solemn office in which they were engaged, as I have seen practiced by fine gentlemen and ladies, expressing a kind of apprehension lest they should be suspected of being really in earnest in their devotion, had been shown here, they would have contracted the contempt of the whole audience. To say the truth, from what I observed in the behavior of the sailors in this voyage, and on comparing it with what I have formerly seen of them at sea and on shore, I am convinced that on land there is nothing more idle and dissolute; in their own element there are no persons near the level of their degree who live in the constant practice of half so many good qualities. They are, for much the greater part, perfect masters of their business, and always extremely alert, and ready in executing it, without any regard to fatigue or hazard. The soldiers themselves are not better disciplined nor more obedient to orders than these whilst aboard; they submit to every difficulty which attends their calling with cheerfulness, and no less virtues and patience and fortitude are exercised by them every day of their lives. All these good qualities, however, they always leave behind them on shipboard; the sailor out of water is, indeed, as wretched an animal as the fish out of water; for though the former hath, in common with amphibious animals, the bare power of existing on the land, yet if he be kept there any time he never fails to become a nuisance. The ship having had a good deal of motion since she was last under sail, our women returned to their sickness, and I to my solitude; having, for twenty-four hours together, scarce opened my lips to a single person. This circumstance of being shut up within the circumference of a few yards, with a score of human creatures, with not one of whom it was possible to converse, was perhaps so rare as scarce ever to have happened before, nor could it ever happen to one who disliked it more than myself, or to myself at a season when I wanted more food for my social disposition, or could converse less wholesomely and happily with my own thoughts. To this accident, which fortune opened to me in the Downs, was owing the first serious thought which I ever entertained of enrolling myself among the voyage-writers; some of the most amusing pages, if, indeed, there be any which deserve that name, were possibly the production of the most disagreeable hours which ever haunted the author. Monday.--At noon the captain took an observation, by which it appeared that Ushant bore some leagues northward of us, and that we were just entering the bay of Biscay. We had advanced a very few miles in this bay before we were entirely becalmed: we furled our sails, as being of no use to us while we lay in this most disagreeable situation, more detested by the sailors than the most violent tempest: we were alarmed with the loss of a fine piece of salt beef, which had been hung in the sea to freshen it; this being, it seems, the strange property of salt-water. The thief was immediately suspected, and presently afterwards taken by the sailors. He was, indeed, no other than a huge shark, who, not knowing when he was well off, swallowed another piece of beef, together with a great iron crook on which it was hung, and by which he was dragged into the ship. I should scarce have mentioned the catching this shark, though so exactly conformable to the rules and practice of voyage-writing, had it not been for a strange circumstance that attended it. This was the recovery of the stolen beef out of the shark's maw, where it lay unchewed and undigested, and whence, being conveyed into the pot, the flesh, and the thief that had stolen it, joined together in furnishing variety to the ship's crew. During this calm we likewise found the mast of a large vessel, which the captain thought had lain at least three years in the sea. It was stuck all over with a little shell-fish or reptile, called a barnacle, and which probably are the prey of the rockfish, as our captain calls it, asserting that it is the finest fish in the world; for which we are obliged to confide entirely to his taste; for, though he struck the fish with a kind of harping-iron, and wounded him, I am convinced, to death, yet he could not possess himself of his body; but the poor wretch escaped to linger out a few hours with probably great torments. In the evening our wind returned, and so briskly, that we ran upwards of twenty leagues before the next day's [Tuesday's] observation, which brought us to lat. 47 degrees 42'. The captain promised us a very speedy passage through the bay; but he deceived us, or the wind deceived him, for it so slackened at sunset, that it scarce carried us a mile in an hour during the whole succeeding night. Wednesday.--A gale struck up a little after sunrising, which carried us between three and four knots or miles an hour. We were this day at noon about the middle of the bay of Biscay, when the wind once more deserted us, and we were so entirely becalmed, that we did not advance a mile in many hours. My fresh-water reader will perhaps conceive no unpleasant idea from this calm; but it affected us much more than a storm could have done; for, as the irascible passions of men are apt to swell with indignation long after the injury which first raised them is over, so fared it with the sea. It rose mountains high, and lifted our poor ship up and down, backwards and forwards, with so violent an emotion, that there was scarce a man in the ship better able to stand than myself. Every utensil in our cabin rolled up and down, as we should have rolled ourselves, had not our chairs been fast lashed to the floor. In this situation, with our tables likewise fastened by ropes, the captain and myself took our meal with some difficulty, and swallowed a little of our broth, for we spilt much the greater part. The remainder of our dinner being an old, lean, tame duck roasted, I regretted but little the loss of, my teeth not being good enough to have chewed it. Our women, who began to creep out of their holes in the morning, retired again within the cabin to their beds, and were no more heard of this day, in which my whole comfort was to find by the captain's relation that the swelling was sometimes much worse; he did, indeed, take this occasion to be more communicative than ever, and informed me of such misadventures that had befallen him within forty-six years at sea as might frighten a very bold spirit from undertaking even the shortest voyage. Were these, indeed, but universally known, our matrons of quality would possibly be deterred from venturing their tender offspring at sea; by which means our navy would lose the honor of many a young commodore, who at twenty-two is better versed in maritime affairs than real seamen are made by experience at sixty. And this may, perhaps, appear the more extraordinary, as the education of both seems to be pretty much the same; neither of them having had their courage tried by Virgil's description of a storm, in which, inspired as he was, I doubt whether our captain doth not exceed him. In the evening the wind, which continued in the N.W., again freshened, and that so briskly that Cape Finisterre appeared by this day's observation to bear a few miles to the southward. We now indeed sailed, or rather flew, near ten knots an hour; and the captain, in the redundancy of his good-humor, declared he would go to church at Lisbon on Sunday next, for that he was sure of a wind; and, indeed, we all firmly believed him. But the event again contradicted him; for we were again visited by a calm in the evening. But here, though our voyage was retarded, we were entertained with a scene, which as no one can behold without going to sea, so no one can form an idea of anything equal to it on shore. We were seated on the deck, women and all, in the serenest evening that can be imagined. Not a single cloud presented itself to our view, and the sun himself was the only object which engrossed our whole attention. He did indeed set with a majesty which is incapable of description, with which, while the horizon was yet blazing with glory, our eyes were called off to the opposite part to survey the moon, which was then at full, and which in rising presented us with the second object that this world hath offered to our vision. Compared to these the pageantry of theaters, or splendor of courts, are sights almost below the regard of children. We did not return from the deck till late in the evening; the weather being inexpressibly pleasant, and so warm that even my old distemper perceived the alteration of the climate. There was indeed a swell, but nothing comparable to what we had felt before, and it affected us on the deck much less than in the cabin. Friday.--The calm continued till sun-rising, when the wind likewise arose, but unluckily for us it came from a wrong quarter; it was S.S.E., which is that very wind which Juno would have solicited of Aeolus, had Gneas been in our latitude bound for Lisbon. The captain now put on his most melancholy aspect, and resumed his former opinion that he was bewitched. He declared with great solemnity that this was worse and worse, for that a wind directly in his teeth was worse than no wind at all. Had we pursued the course which the wind persuaded us to take we had gone directly for Newfoundland, if we had not fallen in with Ireland in our way. Two ways remained to avoid this; one was to put into a port of Galicia; the other, to beat to the westward with as little sail as possible: and this was our captain's election. As for us, poor passengers, any port would have been welcome to us; especially, as not only our fresh provisions, except a great number of old ducks and fowls, but even our bread was come to an end, and nothing but sea-biscuit remained, which I could not chew. So that now for the first time in my life I saw what it was to want a bit of bread. The wind however was not so unkind as we had apprehended; but, having declined with the sun, it changed at the approach of the moon, and became again favorable to us, though so gentle that the next day's observation carried us very little to the southward of Cape Finisterre. This evening at six the wind, which had been very quiet all day, rose very high, and continuing in our favor drove us seven knots an hour. This day we saw a sail, the only one, as I heard of, we had seen in our whole passage through the bay. I mention this on account of what appeared to me somewhat extraordinary. Though she was at such a distance that I could only perceive she was a ship, the sailors discovered that she was a snow, bound to a port in Galicia. Sunday.--After prayers, which our good captain read on the deck with an audible voice, and with but one mistake, of a lion for Elias, in the second lesson for this day, we found ourselves far advanced in 42 degrees, and the captain declared we should sup off Porte. We had not much wind this day; but, as this was directly in our favor, we made it up with sail, of which we crowded all we had. We went only at the rate of four miles an hour, but with so uneasy a motion, continuing rolling from side to side, that I suffered more than I had done in our whole voyage; my bowels being almost twisted out of my belly. However, the day was very serene and bright, and the captain, who was in high spirits, affirmed he had never passed a pleasanter at sea. The wind continued so brisk that we ran upward of six knots an hour the whole night. Monday.--In the morning our captain concluded that he was got into lat. 40 degrees, and was very little short of the Burlings, as they are called in the charts. We came up with them at five in the afternoon, being the first land we had distinctly seen since we left Devonshire. They consist of abundance of little rocky islands, a little distant from the shore, three of them only showing themselves above the water. Here the Portuguese maintain a kind of garrison, if we may allow it that name. It consists of malefactors, who are banished hither for a term, for divers small offenses--a policy which they may have copied from the Egyptians, as we may read in Diodorus Siculus. That wise people, to prevent the corruption of good manners by evil communication, built a town on the Red Sea, whither they transported a great number of their criminals, having first set an indelible mark on them, to prevent their returning and mixing with the sober part of their citizens. These rocks lie about fifteen leagues northwest of Cape Roxent, or, as it is commonly called, the Rock of Lisbon, which we passed early the next morning. The wind, indeed, would have carried us thither sooner; but the captain was not in a hurry, as he was to lose nothing by his delay. Tuesday.--This is a very high mountain, situated on the northern side of the mouth of the river Tajo, which, rising about Madrid, in Spain, and soon becoming navigable for small craft, empties itself, after a long course, into the sea, about four leagues below Lisbon. On the summit of the rock stands a hermitage, which is now in the possession of an Englishman, who was formerly master of a vessel trading to Lisbon; and, having changed his religion and his manners, the latter of which, at least, were none of the best, betook himself to this place, in order to do penance for his sins. He is now very old, and hath inhabited this hermitage for a great number of years, during which he hath received some countenance from the royal family, and particularly from the present queen dowager, whose piety refuses no trouble or expense by which she may make a proselyte, being used to say that the saving one soul would repay all the endeavors of her life. Here we waited for the tide, and had the pleasure of surveying the face of the country, the soil of which, at this season, exactly resembles an old brick-kiln, or a field where the green sward is pared up and set a-burning, or rather a smoking, in little heaps to manure the land. This sight will, perhaps, of all others, make an Englishman proud of, and pleased with, his own country, which in verdure excels, I believe, every other country. Another deficiency here is the want of large trees, nothing above a shrub being here to be discovered in the circumference of many miles. At this place we took a pilot on board, who, being the first Portuguese we spoke to, gave us an instance of that religious observance which is paid by all nations to their laws; for, whereas it is here a capital offense to assist any person in going on shore from a foreign vessel before it hath been examined, and every person in it viewed by the magistrates of health, as they are called, this worthy pilot, for a very small reward, rowed the Portuguese priest to shore at this place, beyond which he did not dare to advance, and in venturing whither he had given sufficient testimony of love for his native country. We did not enter the Tajo till noon, when, after passing several old castles and other buildings which had greatly the aspect of ruins, we came to the castle of Bellisle, where we had a full prospect of Lisbon, and were, indeed, within three miles of it. Here we were saluted with a gun, which was a signal to pass no farther till we had complied with certain ceremonies which the laws of this country require to be observed by all ships which arrive in this port. We were obliged then to cast anchor, and expect the arrival of the officers of the customs, without whose passport no ship must proceed farther than this place. Here likewise we received a visit from one of those magistrates of health before mentioned. He refused to come on board the ship till every person in her had been drawn up on deck and personally viewed by him. This occasioned some delay on my part, as it was not the work of a minute to lift me from the cabin to the deck. The captain thought my particular case might have been excused from this ceremony, and that it would be abundantly sufficient if the magistrate, who was obliged afterwards to visit the cabin, surveyed me there. But this did not satisfy the magistrate's strict regard to his duty. When he was told of my lameness, he called out, with a voice of authority, "Let him be brought up," and his orders were presently complied with. He was, indeed, a person of great dignity, as well as of the most exact fidelity in the discharge of his trust. Both which are the more admirable as his salary is less than thirty pounds English per annum. Before a ship hath been visited by one of those magistrates no person can lawfully go on board her, nor can any on board depart from her. This I saw exemplified in a remarkable instance. The young lad whom I have mentioned as one of our passengers was here met by his father, who, on the first news of the captain's arrival, came from Lisbon to Bellisle in a boat, being eager to embrace a son whom he had not seen for many years. But when he came alongside our ship neither did the father dare ascend nor the son descend, as the magistrate of health had not yet been on board. Some of our readers will, perhaps, admire the great caution of this policy, so nicely calculated for the preservation of this country from all pestilential distempers. Others will as probably regard it as too exact and formal to be constantly persisted in, in seasons of the utmost safety, as well as in times of danger. I will not decide either way, but will content myself with observing that I never yet saw or heard of a place where a traveler had so much trouble given him at his landing as here. The only use of which, as all such matters begin and end in form only, is to put it into the power of low and mean fellows to be either rudely officious or grossly corrupt, as they shall see occasion to prefer the gratification of their pride or of their avarice. Of this kind, likewise, is that power which is lodged with other officers here, of taking away every grain of snuff and every leaf of tobacco brought hither from other countries, though only for the temporary use of the person during his residence here. This is executed with great insolence, and, as it is in the hands of the dregs of the people, very scandalously; for, under pretense of searching for tobacco and snuff, they are sure to steal whatever they can find, insomuch that when they came on board our sailors addressed us in the Covent-garden language: "Pray, gentlemen and ladies, take care of your swords and watches." Indeed, I never yet saw anything equal to the contempt and hatred which our honest tars every moment expressed for these Portuguese officers. At Bellisle lies buried Catharine of Arragon, widow of prince Arthur, eldest son of our Henry VII, afterwards married to, and divorced from Henry VIII. Close by the church where her remains are deposited is a large convent of Geronymites, one of the most beautiful piles of building in all Portugal. In the evening, at twelve, our ship, having received previous visits from all the necessary parties, took the advantage of the tide, and having sailed up to Lisbon cast anchor there, in a calm and moonshiny night, which made the passage incredibly pleasant to the women, who remained three hours enjoying it, whilst I was left to the cooler transports of enjoying their pleasures at second-hand; and yet, cooler as they may be, whoever is totally ignorant of such sensation is, at the same time, void of all ideas of friendship. Wednesday.--Lisbon, before which we now lay at anchor, is said to be built on the same number of hills with old Rome; but these do not all appear to the water; on the contrary, one sees from thence one vast high hill and rock, with buildings arising above one another, and that in so steep and almost perpendicular a manner, that they all seem to have but one foundation. As the houses, convents, churches, &c., are large, and all built with white stone, they look very beautiful at a distance; but as you approach nearer, and find them to want every kind of ornament, all idea of beauty vanishes at once. While I was surveying the prospect of this city, which bears so little resemblance to any other that I have ever seen, a reflection occurred to me that, if a man was suddenly to be removed from Palmyra hither, and should take a view of no other city, in how glorious a light would the ancient architecture appear to him! and what desolation and destruction of arts and sciences would he conclude had happened between the several eras of these cities! I had now waited full three hours upon deck for the return of my man, whom I had sent to bespeak a good dinner (a thing which had been long unknown to me) on shore, and then to bring a Lisbon chaise with him to the seashore; but it seems the impertinence of the providore was not yet brought to a conclusion. At three o'clock, when I was from emptiness, rather faint than hungry, my man returned, and told me there was a new law lately made that no passenger should set his foot on shore without a special order from the providore, and that he himself would have been sent to prison for disobeying it, had he not been protected as the servant of the captain. He informed me likewise that the captain had been very industrious to get this order, but that it was then the providore's hour of sleep, a time when no man, except the king himself, durst disturb him. To avoid prolixity, though in a part of my narrative which may be more agreeable to my reader than it was to me, the providore, having at last finished his nap, dispatched this absurd matter of form, and gave me leave to come, or rather to be carried, on shore. What it was that gave the first hint of this strange law is not easy to guess. Possibly, in the infancy of their defection, and before their government could be well established, they were willing to guard against the bare possibility of surprise, of the success of which bare possibility the Trojan horse will remain for ever on record, as a great and memorable example. Now the Portuguese have no walls to secure them, and a vessel of two or three hundred tons will contain a much larger body of troops than could be concealed in that famous machine, though Virgil tells us (somewhat hyperbolically, I believe) that it was as big as a mountain. About seven in the evening I got into a chaise on shore, and was driven through the nastiest city in the world, though at the same time one of the most populous, to a kind of coffee-house, which is very pleasantly situated on the brow of a hill, about a mile from the city, and hath a very fine prospect of the river Tajo from Lisbon to the sea. Here we regaled ourselves with a good supper, for which we were as well charged as if the bill had been made on the Bath-road, between Newbury and London. And now we could joyfully say, Egressi optata Troes potiuntur arena. Therefore, in the words of Horace, --hie Finis chartaeque viaeque. 
11145	----	THE DISCOVERY OF YELLOWSTONE PARK _Journal of the Washburn Expedition to the Yellowstone and Firehole Rivers in the Year 1870_ by Nathaniel Pitt Langford 1905 CONTENTS Foreword (not included) Introduction Journal Index (not included) INTRODUCTION When the rumored discovery in the year 1861 of extensive gold placers on Salmon river was confirmed, the intelligence spread through the states like wild fire. Hundreds of men with dependent families, who had been thrown out of employment by the depressed industrial condition of the country and by the Civil War, and still others actuated by a thirst for gain, utilized their available resources in providing means for an immediate migration to the land of promise. Before midsummer they had started on the long and perilous journey. How little did they know of its exposures! The deserts, destitute of water and grass, the alkaline plains where food and drink were alike affected by the poisonous dust, the roving bands of hostile Indians, the treacherous quicksands of river fords, the danger and difficulty of the mountain passes, the death of their companions, their cattle and their horses, breakage of their vehicles, angry and often violent personal altercations--all these fled in the light of the summer sun, the vernal beauty of the plains and the delightfully pure atmosphere which wooed them day by day farther away from the abode of civilization and the protection of law. The most fortunate of this army of adventurers suffered from some of these fruitful causes of disaster. So certain were they to occur in some form that a successful completion of the journey was simply an escape from death. The story of the Indian murders and cruelties alone, which befell hundreds of these hapless emigrants, would fill volumes. Every mile of the several routes across the continent was marked by the decaying carcasses of oxen and horses, which had perished during the period of this hegira to the gold mines. Three months with mules and four with oxen were necessary to make the journey--a journey now completed in five days from ocean to ocean by the railroad. Some of these expeditions, after entering the unexplored region which afterwards became Montana, were arrested by the information that it would be impossible to cross with wagon teams the several mountain ranges between them and the mines. In the summer of 1862 a company of 130 persons left St. Paul for the Salmon river mines. This Northern overland expedition was confided to the leadership of Captain James L. Fisk, whose previous frontier experience and unquestionable personal courage admirably fitted him for the command of an expedition which owed so much of its final success, as well as its safety during a hazardous journey through a region occupied by hostile Indians, to the vigilance and discipline of its commanding officer. E.H. Burritt was first assistant, the writer was second assistant and commissary, and Samuel R. Bond was secretary. Among those who were selected for guard duty were David E. Folsom, Patrick Doherty (Baptiste), Robert C. Knox, Patrick Bray, Cornelius Bray, Ard Godfrey, and many other well known pioneers of Montana. We started with ox teams on this journey on the 16th day of June, traveling by the way of Fort Abercrombie, old Fort Union, Milk river and Fort Benton, bridging all the streams not fordable on the entire route. Fort Union and Fort Benton were not United States military forts, but were the old trading posts of the American Fur Company. This Northern overland route of over 1,600 miles, lay for most of the distance through a partially explored region, filled with numerous bands of the hostile Sioux Indians. It was the year of the Sioux Indian massacre in Minnesota. After a continuous journey of upwards of eighteen weeks we reached Grasshopper creek near the head of the Missouri on the 23d day of October, with our supply of provisions nearly exhausted, and with cattle sore-footed and too much worn out to continue the journey. There we camped for the winter in the midst of the wilderness, 400 miles from the nearest settlement or postoffice, from which we were separated by a region of mountainous country, rendered nearly impassable in the winter by deep snows, and beset for the entire distance by hostile Indians. Disheartening as the prospect was, we felt that it would not do to give way to discouragement. A few venturesome prospectors from the west side of the Rocky Mountains had found gold in small quantities on the bars bordering the stream, and a few traders had followed in their wake with a limited supply of the bare necessaries of life, risking the dangers of Indian attack by the way to obtain large profits as a rightful reward for their temerity. Flour was worth 75 cents per pound in greenbacks, and prices of other commodities were in like proportion, and the placer unpromising; and many of the unemployed started out, some on foot, and some bestride their worn-out animals, into the bleak mountain wilderness, in search of gold. With the certainty of death in its most horrid form if they fell into the hands of a band of prowling Blackfeet Indians, and the thought uppermost in their minds that they could scarcely escape freezing, surely the hope which sustained this little band of wanderers lacked none of those grand elements which sustained the early settlers of our country in their days of disaster and suffering. Men who cavil with Providence and attribute to luck or chance or accident the escape from massacre and starvation of a company of destitute men, under circumstances like these, are either wanting in gratitude or have never been overtaken by calamity. My recollection of those gloomy days is all the more vivid because I was among the indigent ones. This region was then the rendezvous of the Bannack Indians, and we named the settlement "Bannack," not the Scotch name "Bannock," now often given to it. Montana was organized as a territory on the 26th day of May, 1864, and I continued to reside in that territory until the year 1876, being engaged chiefly in official business of a character which made it necessary, from time to time, for me to visit all portions of the territory. It is a beautiful country. Nature displays her wonders there upon the most magnificent scale. Lofty ranges of mountains, broad and fertile valleys, streams broken into torrents are the scenery of every-day life. These are rendered enjoyable by clear skies, pure atmosphere and invigorating climate. Ever since the first year of my residence there I had frequently heard rumors of the existence of wonderful phenomena in the region where the Yellowstone, Wind, Snake and other large rivers take their rise, and as often had determined to improve the first opportunity to visit and explore it, but had been deterred by the presence of unusual and insurmountable dangers. It was at that time inhabited only by wild beasts and roving bands of hostile Indians. An occasional trapper or old mountaineer were the only white persons who had ever seen even those portions of it nearest to civilization, previous to the visit of David E. Folsom and C.W. Cook in the year 1869. Of these some had seen one, some another object of interest; but as they were all believed to be romancers their stories were received with great distrust. [Illustration: JAMES BRIDGER.] The old mountaineers of Montana were generally regarded as great fabricators. I have met with many, but never one who was not fond of practicing upon the credulity of those who listened to the recital of his adventures. James Bridger, the discoverer of Great Salt lake, who had a large experience in wild mountain life, wove so much of romance around his Indian adventures that his narrations were generally received with many grains of allowance by his listeners. Probably no man ever had a more varied and interesting experience during a long period of sojourning on the western plains and in the Rocky Mountains than Bridger, and he did not hesitate, if a favorable occasion offered, to "guy" the unsophisticated. At one time when in camp near "Pumpkin Butte," a well-known landmark near Fort Laramie, rising a thousand feet or more above the surrounding plain, a young attache of the party approached Mr. Bridger, and in a rather patronizing manner said: "Mr. Bridger, they tell me that you have lived a long time on these plains and in the mountains." Mr. Bridger, pointing toward "Pumpkin Butte," replied: "Young man, you see that butte over there! Well, that mountain _was a hole in the ground_ when I came here." Bridger's long sojourn in the Rocky Mountains commenced as early as the year 1820, and in 1832 we find him a resident partner in the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. He frequently spent periods of time varying from three months to two years, so far removed from any settlement or trading post, that neither flour nor bread stuffs in any form could be obtained, the only available substitute for bread being the various roots found in the Rocky Mountain region. I first became acquainted with Bridger in the year 1866. He was then employed by a wagon road company, of which I was president, to conduct the emigration from the states to Montana, by way of Fort Laramie, the Big Horn river and Emigrant gulch. He told me in Virginia City, Mont., at that time, of the existence of hot spouting springs in the vicinity of the source of the Yellowstone and Madison rivers, and said that he had seen a column of water as large as his body, spout as high as the flag pole in Virginia City, which was about sixty (60) feet high. The more I pondered upon this statement, the more I was impressed with the probability of its truth. If he had told me of the existence of falls one thousand feet high, I should have considered his story an exaggeration of a phenomenon he had really beheld; but I did not think that his imagination was sufficiently fertile to originate the story of the existence of a spouting geyser, unless he had really seen one, and I therefore was inclined to give credence to his statement, and to believe that such a wonder did really exist. I was the more disposed to credit his statement, because of what I had previously read in the report of Captain John Mullan, made to the war department. From my present examination of that report, which was made Feb. 14, 1863, and a copy of which I still have in my possession, I find that Captain Mullan says: I learned from the Indians, and afterwards confirmed by my own explorations, the fact of the existence of an infinite number of hot springs at the headwaters of the Missouri, Columbia and Yellowstone rivers, and that hot geysers, similar to those of California, exist at the head of the Yellowstone. Again he speaks of the isochimenal line (a line of even winter temperature), which he says reaches from Fort Laramie to the headwaters of the Yellowstone, at the hot spring and geysers of that stream, and continues thence to the Beaver Head valley, and he adds: This is as true as it is strange, and shows unerringly that there exists in this zone an atmospheric river of heat, flowing through this region, varying in width from one to one hundred miles, according to the physical face of the country. [Illustration: Very much yours D.G. Folsom] As early as the year 1866 I first considered the possibility of organizing an expedition for the purpose of exploring the Upper Yellowstone to its source. The first move which I made looking to this end was in 1867 and the next in 1868; but these efforts ended in nothing more than a general discussion of the subject of an exploration, the most potent factor in the abandonment of the enterprise being the threatened outbreaks of the Indians in Gallatin valley. The following year (1869) the project was again revived, and plans formed for an expedition; but again the hostility of the Indians prevented the accomplishment of our purpose of exploration. Hon. David E. Folsom was enrolled as one of the members of this expedition, and when it was found that no large party could be organized, Mr. Folsom and his partner, C.W. Cook, and Mr. Peterson (a helper on the Folsom ranch), in the face of the threatened dangers from Indians, visited the Grand Cañon, the falls of the Yellowstone and Yellowstone lake, and then turned in a northwesterly direction, emerging into the Lower Geyser basin, where they found a geyser in action, the water of which, says Mr. Folsom in his record of the expedition, "came rushing up and shot into the air at least eighty feet, causing us to stampede for higher ground." Mr. Folsom, in speaking of the various efforts made to organize an expedition for exploration of the Yellowstone says: In 1867, an exploring expedition from Virginia City, Montana Territory, was talked of, but for some unknown reason, probably for the want of a sufficient number to engage in it, it was abandoned. The next year another was planned, which ended like the first--in talk. Early in the summer of 1869 the newspapers throughout the Territory announced that a party of citizens from Helena, Virginia City and Bozeman, accompanied by some of the officers stationed at Fort Ellis, with an escort of soldiers, would leave Bozeman about the fifth of September for the Yellowstone country, with the intention of making a thorough examination of all the wonders with which the region was said to abound. The party was expected to be limited in numbers and to be composed of some of the most prominent men in the Territory, and the writer felt extremely flattered when his earnest request to have his name added to the list was granted. He joined with two personal friends in getting an outfit, and then waited patiently for the other members of the party to perfect their arrangements. About a month before the day fixed for starting, some of the members began to discover that pressing business engagements would prevent their going. Then came news from Fort Ellis that, owing to some changes made in the disposition of troops stationed in the Territory, the military portion of the party would be unable to join the expedition; and our party, which had now dwindled down to ten or twelve persons, thinking it would be unsafe for so small a number to venture where there was a strong probability of meeting with hostile Indians, also abandoned the undertaking. But the writer and his two friends before mentioned, believing that the dangers to be encountered had been magnified, and trusting by vigilance and good luck to avoid them, resolved to attempt the journey at all hazards. We provided ourselves with five horses--three of them for the saddle, and the other two for carrying our cooking utensils, ammunition, fishing tackle, blankets and buffalo robes, a pick, and a pan, a shovel, an axe, and provisions necessary for a six weeks' trip. We were all well armed with repeating rifles, Colt's six-shooters and sheath-knives, and had besides a double barreled shotgun for small game. We also had a good field glass, a pocket compass and a thermometer. [Illustration: C.W. Cook] Mr. Folsom followed the Yellowstone to the lake and crossed over to the Firehole, which he followed up as far as the Excelsior geyser (not then named), but did not visit the Upper Geyser basin. On his return to Helena he related to a few of his intimate friends many of the incidents of his journey, and Mr. Samuel T. Hauser and I invited him to meet a number of the citizens of Helena at the directors' room of the First National Bank in Helena; but on assembling there were so many present who were unknown to Mr. Folsom that he was unwilling to risk his reputation for veracity, by a full recital, in the presence of strangers, of the wonders he had seen. He said that he did not wish to be regarded as a liar by those who were unacquainted with his reputation. But the accounts which he gave to Hauser Gillette and myself renewed in us our determination to visit that region during the following year. Mr. Folsom, however, sent to the Western Monthly of Chicago a carefully prepared account of his expedition, which that magazine published in July, 1870, after cutting out some of the most interesting portions of the story, thus destroying in some measure the continuity of the narrative. The office of the Western Monthly was destroyed by fire before the copies of the magazine containing Mr. Folsom's article were distributed, and the single copy which Mr. Folsom possessed and which he presented to the Historical Society of Montana met a like fate in the great Helena fire. The copy which I possessed and which I afterwards presented to that Society is doubtless the only original copy now in existence; and, for the purpose of preserving the history of the initial step which eventuated in the creation of the Yellowstone National Park, I re-published, in the year 1894, 500 copies of Mr. Folsom's narrative, for distribution among those most interested in that exploration. In the spring of 1870, while in St. Paul, I had an interview with Major General Winfield S. Hancock, during which he showed great interest in the plan of exploration which I outlined to him, and expressed a desire to obtain additional information concerning the Yellowstone country which would be of service to him in the disposition of troops for frontier defense, and he assured me that, unless some unforeseen exigency prevented, he would, when the time arrived, give a favorable response to our application for a military escort, if one were needed. Mr. Hauser also had a conference with General Hancock about the same time, and received from him like assurances. About the 1st of August, 1870, our plans took definite shape, and some twenty men were enrolled as members of the exploring party. About this time the Crow Indians again "broke loose," and a raid of the Gallatin and Yellowstone valleys was threatened, and a majority of those who had enrolled their names, experiencing that decline of courage so aptly illustrated by Bob Acres, suddenly found excuse for withdrawal in various emergent occupations. After a few days of suspense and doubt, Samuel T. Hauser told me that if he could find two men whom he knew, who would accompany him, he would attempt the journey; and he asked me to join him in a letter to James Stuart, living at Deer Lodge, proposing that he should go with us. Benjamin Stickney, one of the most enthusiastic of our number, also wrote to Mr. Stuart that there were eight persons who would go at all hazards and asked him (Stuart) to be a member of the party. Stuart replied to Hauser and myself as follows: Deer Lodge City, M.T., Aug. 9th, 1870. Dear Sam and Langford: Stickney wrote me that the Yellow Stone party had dwindled down to eight persons. That is not enough to stand guard, and I won't go into that country without having a guard every night. From present news it is probable that the Crows will be scattered on all the headwaters of the Yellow Stone, and if that is the case, they would not want any better fun than to clean up a party of eight (that does not stand guard) and say that the Sioux did it, as they said when they went through us on the Big Horn. It will not be safe to go into that country with less than fifteen men, and not very safe with that number. I would like it better if it was fight from the start; we would then kill every Crow that we saw, and take the chances of their rubbing us out. As it is, we will have to let them alone until they will get the best of us by stealing our horses or killing some of us; then we will be so crippled that we can't do them any damage. At the commencement of this letter I said I would not go unless the party stood guard. I will take that back, for I am just d----d fool enough to go anywhere that anybody else is willing to go, only I want it understood that very likely some of us will lose our hair. I will be on hand Sunday evening, unless I hear that the trip is postponed. Fraternally yours, JAS. STUART. Since writing the above, I have received a telegram saying, "twelve of us going certain." Glad to hear it--the more the better. Will bring two pack horses and one pack saddle. I have preserved this letter of James Stuart for the thirty-five years since it was received. It was written with a lead pencil on both sides of a sheet of paper, and I insert here a photograph of a half-tone reproduction of it. It has become somewhat illegible and obscure from repeated folding and unfolding. [Illustration: A letter.] [Illustration: A letter, continued.] Mr. Stuart was a man of large experience in such enterprises as that in which we were about to engage, and was familiar with all the tricks of Indian craft and sagacity; and our subsequent experience in meeting the Indians on the second day of our journey after leaving Fort Ellis, and their evident hostile intentions, justified in the fullest degree Stuart's apprehensions. About this time Gen. Henry D. Washburn, the surveyor general of Montana, joined with Mr. Hauser in a telegram to General Hancock, at St. Paul, requesting him to provide the promised escort of a company of cavalry. General Hancock immediately responded, and on August 14th telegraphed an order on the commandant at Fort Ellis, near Bozeman, for such escort as would be deemed necessary to insure the safety of our party. Just at this critical time I received a letter from Stuart announcing that he had been drawn as a juryman to serve at the term of court then about to open, and that as the federal judge declined to excuse him, he would not be able to join our party. This was a sore and discouraging disappointment both to Hauser and myself, for we felt that in case we had trouble with the Indians Stuart's services to the party would be worth those of half a dozen ordinary men. A new roster was made up, and I question if there was ever a body of men organized for an exploring expedition, more intelligent or more keenly alive to the risks to be encountered than those then enrolled; and it seems proper that I here speak more specifically of them. Gen. Henry D. Washburn was the surveyor general of Montana and had been brevetted a major general for services in the Civil War, and had served two terms in the Congress of the United States. Judge Cornelius Hedges was a distinguished and highly esteemed member of the Montana bar. Samuel T. Hauser was a civil engineer, and was president of the First National Bank of Helena. He was afterwards appointed governor of Montana by Grover Cleveland. Warren C. Gillette and Benjamin Stickney were pioneer merchants in Montana. Walter Trumbull was assistant assessor of internal revenue, and a son of United States Senator Lyman Trumbull of Illinois. Truman C. Everts was assessor of internal revenue for Montana, and Nathaniel P. Langford (the writer) had been for nearly five years the United States collector of internal revenue for Montana, and had been appointed governor of Montana by Andrew Johnson, but, owing to the imbroglio of the Senate with Johnson, his appointment was not confirmed. [Illustration: James Stuart.] While we were disappointed in our expectation of having James Stuart for our commander and adviser, General Washburn was chosen captain of the party, and Mr. Stickney was appointed commissary and instructed to put up in proper form a supply of provisions sufficient for thirty (30) days, though we had contemplated a limit of twenty-five (25) days for our absence. Each man promptly paid to Mr. Stickney his share of the estimated expense. When all these preparations had been made, Jake Smith requested permission to be enrolled as a member of our company. Jake was constitutionally unfitted to be a member of such a party of exploration, where vigilance and alertness were essential to safety and success. He was too inconsequent and easy going to command our confidence or to be of much assistance. He seemed to think that his good-natured nonsense would always be a passport to favor and be accepted in the stead of real service, and in my association with him I was frequently reminded of the youth who announced in a newspaper advertisement that he was a poor but pious young man, who desired board in a family where there were small children, and where his Christian example would be considered a sufficient compensation. Jake did not share the view of the other members of our company, that in standing guard, the sentry should resist his inclination to slumber. Mr. Hedges, in his diary, published in Volume V. of the Montana Historical Society publications, on September 13th, thus records an instance of insubordination in standing guard: Jake made a fuss about his turn, and Washburn stood in his place. Now that this and like incidents of our journey are in the dim past, let us inscribe for his epitaph what was his own adopted motto while doing guard duty when menaced by the Indians on the Yellowstone: "REQUIESCAT IN PACE." Of our number, five--General Washburn, Walter Trumbull, Truman C. Everts, Jacob Smith and Lieutenant Doane--have died. The five members now surviving are Cornelius Hedges, Samuel T. Hauser, Warren C. Gillette, Benjamin Stickney and myself. I have not been able to ascertain the date of death of either Walter Trumbull or Jacob Smith. Lieutenant Doane died at Bozeman, Montana, May 5, 1892. His report to the War Department of our exploration is a classic. Major Chittenden says: His fine descriptions have never been surpassed by any subsequent writer. Although suffering intense physical torture during the greater portion of the trip, it did not extinguish in him the truly poetic ardor with which those strange phenomena seem to have inspired him. Dr. Hayden, who first visited this region the year following that of our exploration, says of Lieutenant Doane's report: I venture to state as my opinion, that for graphic description and thrilling interest, it has not been surpassed by any official report made to our government since the times of Lewis and Clark. Mr. Everts died at Hyattsville, Md., on the 16th day of February, 1901, at the age of eighty-five, survived by his daughter, Elizabeth Everts Verrill, and a young widow, and also a son nine years old, born when Everts was seventy-six years of age,--a living monument to bear testimony to that physical vigor and vitality which carried him through the "Thirty-seven days of peril," when he was lost from our party in the dense forest on the southwest shore of Yellowstone lake. General Washburn died on January 26, 1871, his death being doubtless hastened by the hardships and exposures of our journey, from which many of our party suffered in greater or less degree. In an eloquent eulogistic address delivered in Helena January 29, 1871, Judge Cornelius Hedges said concerning the naming of Mount Washburn: On the west bank of the Yellowstone, between Tower Fall and Hell-broth springs, opposite the profoundest chasm of that marvelous river cañon, a mighty sentinel overlooking that region of wonders, rises in its serene and solitary grandeur,--Mount Washburn,--pointing the way his enfranchised spirit was so soon to soar. He was the first to climb its bare, bald summit, and thence reported to us the welcome news that he saw the beautiful lake that had been the proposed object of our journey. By unanimous voice, unsolicited by him, we gave the mountain a name that through coming years shall bear onward the memory of our gallant, generous leader. How little we then thought that he would be the first to live only in memory. * * * The deep forests of evergreen pine that embosom that lake shall typify the ever green spot in our memory where shall cluster the pleasant recollections of our varied experiences on that expedition. The question is frequently asked, "Who originated the plan of setting apart this region as a National Park?" I answer that Judge Cornelius Hedges of Helena wrote the first articles ever published by the press urging the dedication of this region as a park. The Helena Herald of Nov. 9, 1870, contains a letter of Mr. Hedges, in which he advocated the scheme, and in my lectures delivered in Washington and New York in January, 1871, I directed attention to Mr. Hedges' suggestion, and urged the passage by Congress of an act setting apart that region as a public park. All this was several months prior to the first exploration by the U.S. Geological Survey, in charge of Dr. Hayden. The suggestion that the region should be made into a National Park was first broached to the members of our party on September 19, 1870, by Mr. Hedges, while we were in camp at the confluence of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers, as is related in this diary. After the return home of our party, I was informed by General Washburn that on the eve of the departure of our expedition from Helena, David E. Folsom had suggested to him the desirability of creating a park at the grand cañon and falls of the Yellowstone. This fact was unknown to Mr. Hedges,--and the boundary lines of the proposed park were extended by him so as to be commensurate with the wider range of our explorations. The bill for the creation of the park was introduced in the House of Representatives by Hon. William H. Clagett, delegate from Montana Territory. On July 9, 1894, William R. Marshall, Secretary of the Minnesota Historical Society, wrote to Mr. Clagett, asking him the question: "Who are entitled to the principal credit for the passage of the act of Congress establishing the Yellowstone National Park?" Mr. Clagett replied as follows: Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, July 14th, 1894. Wm. R. Marshall, Secretary Minnesota Historical Society, St. Paul, Minn. Dear Sir: Your favor of July 9th is just received. I am glad that you have called my attention to the question, "Who are entitled to the principal credit for the passage of the act of Congress establishing the Yellowstone National Park?" The history of that measure, as far as known to me, is as follows, to-wit: In the fall of 1870, soon after the return of the Washburn-Langford party, two printers at Deer Lodge City, Montana, went into the Firehole basin and cut a large number of poles, intending to come back the next summer and fence in the tract of land containing the principal geysers, and hold possession for speculative purposes, as the Hutchins family so long held the Yosemite valley. One of these men was named Harry Norton. He subsequently wrote a book on the park. The other one was named Brown. He now lives in Spokane, Wash., and both of them in the summer of 1871 worked in the New Northwest office at Deer Lodge. When I learned from them in the late fall of 1870 or spring of 1871 what they intended to do, I remonstrated with them and stated that from the description given by them and by members of Mr. Langford's party, the whole region should be made into a National Park and no private proprietorship be allowed. I was elected Delegate to Congress from Montana in August, 1871, and after the election, Nathaniel P. Langford, Cornelius Hedges and myself had a consultation in Helena, and agreed that every effort should be made to establish the Park as soon as possible, and before any person had got a serious foot-hold--Mr. McCartney, at the Mammoth Hot Springs, being the only one who at that time had any improvements made. In December, 1871, Mr. Langford came to Washington and remained there for some time, and we two counseled together about the Park project. I drew the bill to establish the Park, and never knew Professor Hayden in connection with that bill, except that I requested Mr. Langford to get from him a description of the boundaries of the proposed Park. There was some delay in getting the description, and my recollection is that Langford brought me the description after consultation with Professor Hayden. I then filled the blank in the bill with the description, and the bill passed both Houses of Congress just as it was drawn and without any change or amendment whatsoever. After the bill was drawn, Langford stated to me that Senator Pomeroy of Kansas was very anxious to have the honor of introducing the bill in the Senate; and as he (Pomeroy) was the chairman of the Senate committee on Public Lands, in order to facilitate its passage, I had a clean copy made of the bill and on the first call day in the House, introduced the original there, and then went over to the Senate Chamber and handed the copy to Senator Pomeroy, who immediately introduced it in the Senate. The bill passed the Senate first and came to the House, and passed the House without amendment, at a time when I happened to be at the other end of the Capitol, and hence I was not present when it actually passed the House. Since the passage of this bill there have been so many men who have claimed the exclusive credit for its passage, that I have lived for twenty years, suffering from a chronic feeling of disgust whenever the subject was mentioned. So far as my personal knowledge goes, the first idea of making it a public park occurred to myself; but from information received from Langford and others, it has always been my opinion that Hedges, Langford, and myself formed the same idea about the same time, and we all three acted together in Montana, and afterwards Langford and I acted with Professor Hayden in Washington, in the winter of 1871-2. The fact is that the matter was well under way before Professor Hayden was ever heard of in connection with that measure. When he returned to Washington in 1871, he brought with him a large number of specimens from different parts of the Park, which were on exhibition in one of the rooms of the Capitol or in the Smithsonian Institute (one or the other), while Congress was in session, and he rendered valuable services, in exhibiting these specimens and explaining the geological and other features of the proposed Park, and between him, Langford and myself, I believe there was not a single member of Congress in either House who was not fully posted by one or the other of us in personal interviews; so much so, that the bill practically passed both Houses without objection. It has always been a pleasure to me to give to Professor Hayden and to Senator Pomeroy, and Mr. Dawes of Mass, all of the credit which they deserve in connection with the passage of that measure, but the truth of the matter is that the origin of the movement which created the Park was with Hedges, Langford and myself; and after Congress met, Langford and I probably did two-thirds, if not three-fourths of all the work connected with its passage. I think that the foregoing letter contains a full statement of what you wish, and I hope that you will be able to correct, at least to some extent, the misconceptions which the selfish vanity of some people has occasioned on the subject. Very truly yours, Wm. H. Clagett. [Illustration: Wm. H. Clagett] It is true that Professor Hayden joined with Mr. Clagett and myself in working for the passage of the act of dedication, but no person can divide with Cornelius Hedges and David E. Folsom the honor of _originating the idea_ of creating the Yellowstone Park. By direction of Major Hiram M. Chittenden there has been erected at the junction of the Firehole and Gibbon rivers a large slab upon which is inscribed the following legend: JUNCTION OF THE GIBBON AND FIREHOLE RIVERS, FORMING THE MADISON FORK OF THE MISSOURI. * * * * * ON THE POINT OF LAND BETWEEN THE TRIBUTARY STREAMS, SEPTEMBER 19, 1870, THE CELEBRATED WASHBURN EXPEDITION, WHICH FIRST MADE KNOWN TO THE WORLD THE WONDERS OF THE YELLOWSTONE, WAS ENCAMPED, AND HERE WAS FIRST SUGGESTED THE IDEA OF SETTING APART THIS REGION AS A NATIONAL PARK. On the south bank of the Madison, just below the junction of these two streams, and overlooking this memorable camping ground, is a lofty escarpment to which has appropriately been given the name "National Park mountain." I take occasion here to refer to my personal connection with the Park. Upon the passage by Congress, on March 1, 1872, of the act of dedication, I was appointed superintendent of the Park. I discharged the duties of the office for more than five years, without compensation of any kind, and paying my own expenses. Soon after the creation of the Park the Secretary of the Interior received many applications for leases to run for a long term of years, of tracts of land in the vicinity of the principal marvels of that region, such as the Grand Cañon and Falls, the Upper Geyser basin, etc. These applications were invariably referred to me by the Assistant Secretary of the Interior, Hon. B.R. Cowen. It was apparent from an examination of these applications that the purpose of the applicants was to enclose with fences their holdings, and charge visitors an admission fee. To have permitted this would have defeated the purpose of the act of dedication. In many instances the applicants made earnest pleas, both personally and through their members in Congress, to the Interior Department and to myself for an approval of their applications, offering to speedily make improvements of a value ranging from $100,000 to $500,000. I invariably reported unfavorably upon these alluring propositions, and in no instance was my recommendation overruled by Secretary Cowen, to whom Secretary Delano had given the charge of the whole matter, and to Judge Cowen's firmness in resisting the political and other influences that were brought to bear is largely due the fact that these early applications for concessions were not granted. A time should never come when the American people will have forgotten the services, a generation ago, of Judge Cowen, in resisting the designs of unscrupulous men in their efforts to secure possession of the most important localities in the Park, nor the later services of George Bird Grinnell, William Hallett Phillips and U.S. Senator George Graham Vest, in the preservation of the wild game of the Park and of the Park itself from the more determined encroachments of private greed. [Illustration: Hiram M. Chittenden] The second year of my services as superintendent, some of my friends in Congress proposed to give me a salary sufficiently large to pay actual expenses. I requested them to make no effort in this behalf, saying that I feared that some successful applicant for such a salaried position, giving little thought to the matter, would approve the applications for leases; and that as long as I could prevent the granting of any exclusive concessions I would be willing to serve as superintendent without compensation. Apropos of my official connection with the Park a third of a century ago, is the following letter to me, written by George Bird Grinnell. This personal tribute from one who himself has done so much in behalf of the Park was very gratifying to me. New York, April 29th, 1903. _Mr. N.P. Langford St. Paul, Minn_., Dear Sir: I am glad to read the newspaper cutting from the Pioneer Press of April 19th, which you so kindly sent me. In these days of hurry and bustle, when events of importance crowd so fast on each other that the memory of each is necessarily short lived, it is gratifying to be reminded from time to time of important services rendered to the nation in a past which, though really recent, seems to the younger generation far away. The service which you performed for the United States, and indeed for the world, in describing the Yellowstone Park, and in setting on foot and persistently advocating the plan to make it a national pleasure ground, will always be remembered; and it is well that public acknowledgment should be made of it occasionally, so that the men of this generation may not forget what they owe to those of the past. Yours very truly, GEO. BIRD GRINNELL. The Act of Congress creating the Park provided that this region should be "set apart for a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people," but this end has not been accomplished except as the result of untiring vigilance and labor on the part of a very few persons who have never wavered in their loyalty to the Park. It may never be known how nearly the purposes of the Act of Dedication have escaped defeat; but a letter written to me by George Bird Grinnell and an editorial from _Forest and Stream_ may reveal to visitors who now enjoy without let or hindrance the wonders of that region, how narrowly this "Temple of the living God," as it has been termed, has escaped desecration at the hands of avaricious money-getters, and becoming a "Den of Thieves." New York, July 25, 1905. _Mr. N.P. Langford_. Dear Sir: I am very glad that your diary is to be published. It is something that I have long hoped that we might see. It is true, as you say, that I have for a good many years done what I could toward protecting the game in the Yellowstone Park; but what seems to me more important than that is that _Forest and Stream_ for a dozen years carried on, almost single handed, a fight for the integrity of the National Park. If you remember, all through from 1881 or thereabouts to 1890 continued efforts were being made to gain control of the park by one syndicate and another, or to run a railroad through it, or to put an elevator down the side of the cañon--in short, to use this public pleasure ground as a means for private gain. There were half a dozen of us who, being very enthusiastic about the park, and, being in a position to watch legislation at Washington, and also to know what was going on in the Interior Department, kept ourselves very much alive to the situation and succeeded in choking off half a dozen of these projects before they grew large enough to be made public. One of these men was William Hallett Phillips, a dear friend of mine, a resident of Washington, a Supreme Court lawyer with a large acquaintance there, and a delightful fellow. He was the best co-worker that any one could have had who wanted to keep things straight and as they ought to be. At rare intervals I get out old volumes of the _Forest and Stream_ and look over the editorials written in those days with a mingling of amusement and sadness as I recall how excited we used to get, and think of the true fellows who used to help, but who have since crossed over to the other side. Yours sincerely, GEO. BIRD GRINNELL. [Illustration: NATIONAL PARK MOUNTAIN. AT JUNCTION OF FIREHOLE AND GIBBON RIVERS.] [Illustration: Geo. Bird Grinnell] From _Forest and Stream_, August 20, 1904. SENATOR VEST AND THE NATIONAL PARK. In no one of all the editorials and obituaries written last week on the death of Senator Vest did we see mention made of one great service performed by him for the American people, and for which they and their descendants should always remember him. It is a bit of ancient history now, and largely forgotten by all except those who took an active part in the fight. More than twenty years ago strong efforts were made by a private corporation to secure a monopoly of the Yellowstone National Park by obtaining from the government, contracts giving them exclusive privileges within the Park. This corporation secured an agreement from the Interior Department by which six different plots in the Yellowstone Park, each one covering about one section of land--a square mile--were to be leased to it for a period of ten years. It was also to have a monopoly of hotel, stage and telegraph rights, and there was a privilege of renewal of the concession at the end of the ten years. The rate to be paid for the concession was $2 an acre. When the question of this lease came before Congress, it was referred to a sub-committee of the Committee on Territories, of which Senator Vest was chairman. He investigated the question, and in the report made on it used these words: "Nothing but absolute necessity, however, should permit the Great National Park to be used for money-making by private persons, and, in our judgment, no such necessity exists. The purpose to which this region, matchless in wonders and grandeur, was dedicated--'a public park and a pleasure ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people'--is worthy the highest patriotism and statesmanship." The persons interested in this lease came from many sections of the country, and were ably represented by active agents in Washington. The pressure brought to bear on Congress was very great, and the more effectively applied, since few men knew much about conditions in the Yellowstone Park, or even where the Yellowstone Park was. But pressure and influence could not move Senator Vest when he knew he was right. He stood like a rock in Congress, resisting this pressure, making a noble fight in behalf of the interests of the people, and at last winning his battle. For years the issue seemed doubtful, and for years it was true that the sole hope of those who were devoted to the interests of the Park, and who were fighting the battle of the public, lay in Senator Vest. So after years of struggle the right triumphed, and the contract intended to be made between the Interior Department and the corporation was never consummated. This long fight made evident the dangers to which the Park was exposed, and showed the necessity of additional legislation. A bill to protect the Park was drawn by Senator Vest and passed by Congress, and from that time on, until the day of his retirement from public life, Senator Vest was ever a firm and watchful guardian of the Yellowstone National Park, showing in this matter, as in many others, "the highest patriotism and statesmanship." For many years, from 1882 to 1894, Senator Vest remained the chief defender of a National possession that self-seeking persons in many parts of the country were trying to use for their own profit. [Illustration: W. Hallett Phillips] [Illustration: GEORGE GRAHAM VEST.] If we were asked to mention the two men who did more than any other two men to save the National Park for the American people, we should name George Graham Vest and William Hallett Phillips, co-workers in this good cause. There were other men who helped them, but these two easily stand foremost. In the light of the present glorious development of the Park it can be said of each one who has taken part in the work of preserving for all time this great national pleasuring ground for the enjoyment of the American people, "He builded better than he knew." An amusing feature of the identity of my name with the Park was that my friends, with a play upon my initials, frequently addressed letters to me in the following style: [Illustration: National Park Langford] The fame of the Yellowstone National Park, combining the most extensive aggregation of wonders in the world--wonders unexcelled because nowhere else existing--is now world-wide. The "Wonderland" publications issued by the Northern Pacific Railway, prepared under the careful supervision of their author, Olin D. Wheeler, with their superb illustrations of the natural scenery of the park, and the illustrated volume, "The Yellowstone," by Major Hiram M. Chittenden, U.S. Engineers, under whose direction the roads and bridges throughout the Park are being constructed, have so confirmed the first accounts of these wonders that there remains now little of the incredulity with which the narrations of the members of our company were first received. The articles written by me on my return from the trip described in this diary, and published in Scribner's (now Century) Magazine for May and June, 1871, were regarded more as the amiable exaggerations of an enthusiastic Munchausen, who is disposed to tell the whole truth, and as much more as is necessary to make an undoubted sensation, than as the story of a sober, matter-of-fact observer who tells what he has seen with his own eyes, and exaggerates nothing. Dr. Holland, one of the editors of that magazine, sent to me a number of uncomplimentary criticisms of my article. One reviewer said: "This Langford must be the champion liar of the Northwest." Resting for a time under this imputation, I confess to a feeling of satisfaction in reading from a published letter, written later in the summer of 1871 from the Upper Geyser basin by a member of the U.S. Geological Survey, the words: "Langford did not dare tell one-half of what he saw." Mr. Charles T. Whitmell, of Cardiff, Wales, a distinguished scholar and astronomer, who has done much to bring to the notice of our English brothers the wonders of the Park--which he visited in 1883--in a lecture delivered before the Cardiff Naturalists' Society on Nov. 12, 1885, sought to impress upon the minds of his audience the full significance of the above characterization. He said: "This quite unique description means a great deal, I can assure you; for Western American lying is not to be measured by any of our puny European standards of untruthfulness." But the writings of Wheeler and others, running through a long series of years and covering an extended range of new discoveries, have vindicated the truthfulness of the early explorers, and even the stories of Bridger are not now regarded as exaggerations, and we no longer write for his epitaph, Here LIES Bridger. As I recall the events of this exploration, made thirty-five years ago, it is a pleasure to bear testimony that there was never a more unselfish or generous company of men associated for such an expedition; and, notwithstanding the importance of our discoveries, in the honor of which each desired to have his just share, there was absolutely neither jealousy nor ungenerous rivalry, and the various magazine and newspaper articles first published clearly show how the members of our party were "In honor preferring one another." In reviewing my diary, preparatory to its publication, I have occasionally eliminated an expression that seemed to be too personal,--a sprinkling of pepper from the caster of my impatience,--and I have also here and there added an explanatory annotation or illustration. With this exception I here present the original notes just as they were penned under the inspiration of the overwhelming wonders which everywhere revealed themselves to our astonished vision; and as I again review and read the entries made in the field and around the campfire, in the journal that for nearly thirty years has been lost to my sight, I feel all the thrilling sensations of my first impressions, and with them is mingled the deep regret that our beloved Washburn did not live to see the triumphant accomplishment of what was dear to his heart, the setting apart at the headwaters of the Yellowstone, of a National "public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people." NATHANIEL PITT LANGFORD. St. Paul, Minn., August 9, 1905. [Illustration: The Author] JOURNAL Wednesday, August 17, 1870.--In accordance with the arrangements made last night, the different members of our party met at the agreed rendezvous--the office of General Washburn--at 9 o'clock a.m., to complete our arrangements for the journey and get under way. Our party consisted of Gen. Henry D. Washburn, Cornelius Hedges, Samuel T. Hauser, Warren C. Gillette, Benjamin Stickney, Truman C. Everts, Walter Trumbull, Jacob Smith and Nathaniel P. Langford. General Washburn has been chosen the leader of our party. For assistants we have Mr.---- Reynolds and Elwyn Bean, western slope packers, and two African boys as cooks. Each man has a saddle horse fully rigged with California saddle, cantinas, holsters, etc., and has furnished a pack horse for transportation of provisions, ammunition and blankets. There are but few of our party who are adepts in the art of packing, for verily it is an art acquired by long practice, and we look with admiration upon our packers as they "throw the rope" with such precision, and with great skill and rapidity tighten the cinch and gird the load securely upon the back of the broncho. Our ponies have not all been tried of late with the pack saddle, but most of them quietly submit to the loading. But now comes one that does not yield itself to the manipulations of the packer. He stands quiet till the pack saddle is adjusted, but the moment he feels the tightening of the cinch he asserts his independence of all restraint and commences bucking. This animal in question belongs to Gillette, who says that if he does not stand the pack he will use him for a saddle horse. If so, God save Gillette! [Illustration: PACKING A RECALCITRANT MULE.] Thursday, August 18.--I rode on ahead of the party from Mr. Hartzell's ranch, stopping at Radersburg for dinner and riding through a snow storm to Gallatin City, where I remained over night with Major Campbell. General Washburn thought that it would be well for some members of the company to have a conference, as early as possible, with the commanding officer at Fort Ellis, concerning an escort of soldiers. I also desired to confer with some of the members of the Bozeman Masonic Lodge concerning the lodge troubles; and it was for these reasons that I rode on to Bozeman in advance of the party. [Illustration: THE START. PRICKLY PEAR VALLEY.] Friday, August 19.--Rode over to the East Gallatin river with Lieutenants Batchelor and Wright, crossing at Blakeley's bridge and reaching Bozeman at 7 o'clock p.m. Saturday, August 20.--Spent the day at Bozeman and at Fort Ellis. I met the commanding officer, Major Baker, of the Second U.S. Cavalry, who informs me that nearly all the men of his command are in the field fighting the Indians. I informed him that we had an order for an escort of soldiers, and he said that the garrison was so weakened that he could not spare more than half a dozen men. I told him that six men added to our own roster would enable us to do good guard duty. The rest of the party and the pack train came into Bozeman at night. This evening I visited Gallatin Lodge No. 6, and after a full consultation with its principal officers and members, I reluctantly decided to exercise my prerogative as Grand Master and arrest the charter of the lodge as the only means of bringing to a close a grievous state of dissension. In justice to my own convictions of duty, I could not have adopted any milder remedy than the one I applied. Sunday, August 21.--We moved into camp about one-half mile from Fort Ellis on the East Gallatin. General Washburn presented the order of Major General Hancock (recommended by General Baird, Inspector General, as an important military necessity) for an escort. Major Baker repeated what he said to me yesterday, and he will detail for our service five soldiers under the command of a lieutenant, and we are satisfied. General Lester Willson entertained us at a bounteous supper last night. His wife is a charming musician. Monday, August 22.--We left Fort Ellis at 11 o'clock this forenoon with an escort consisting of five men under command of Lieut. Gustavus C. Doane of the Second U.S. Cavalry. Lieutenant Doane has kindly allowed me to copy the special order detailing him for this service. It is as follows: Headquarters Fort Ellis, Montana Territory, August 21; 1870. In accordance with instructions from Headquarters District of Montana, Lieutenant G.C. Doane, Second Cavalry, will proceed with one sergeant and four privates of Company F. Second Cavalry, to escort the Surveyor General of [Illustration: Olin D. Wheeler.] Montana to the falls and lakes of the Yellowstone, and return. They will be supplied with thirty days' rations, and one hundred rounds of ammunition per man. The acting assistant quarter-master will furnish them with the necessary transportation. By order of Major Baker. J.G. MacADAMS, First Lieutenant Second Cavalry. Acting Post Adjutant. The names of the soldiers are Sergeant William Baker and Privates John Williamson, George W. McConnell, William Leipler and Charles Moore. This number, added to our own company of nine, will give us fourteen men for guard duty, a sufficient number to maintain a guard of two at all times, with two reliefs each night, each man serving half of a night twice each week. Our entire number, including the packers and cooks, is nineteen (19). Along the trail, after leaving Fort Ellis, we found large quantities of the "service" berry, called by the Snake Indians "Tee-amp." Our ascent of the Belt range was somewhat irregular, leading us up several sharp acclivities, until we attained at the summit an elevation of nearly two thousand feet above the valley we had left. The scene from this point is excelled in grandeur only by extent and variety. An amphitheatre of mountains 200 miles in circumference, enclosing a valley nearly as large as the State of Rhode Island, with all its details of pinnacle, peak, dome, rock and river, is comprehended at a glance. In front of us at a distance of twenty miles, in sullen magnificence, rose the picturesque range of the Madison, with the insulated rock, Mount Washington, and the sharp pinnacle of Ward's Peak prominently in the foreground. Following the range to the right for the distance of twenty-five miles, the eye rests upon that singular depression where, formed by the confluent streams of the Madison, Jefferson and Gallatin, the mighty Missouri commences its meanderings to the Gulf. Far beyond these, in full blue outline, are defined the round knobs of the Boulder mountains, stretching away and imperceptibly commingling with the distant horizon. At the left, towering a thousand feet above the circumjacent ranges, are the glowering peaks of the Yellowstone, their summits half enveloped in clouds, or glittering with perpetual snow. At our feet, apparently within jumping distance, cleft centrally by its arrowy river, carpeted with verdure, is the magnificent valley of the Gallatin, like a rich emerald in its gorgeous mountain setting. Fascinating as was this scene we gave it but a glance, and turned our horses' heads towards the vast unknown. Descending the range to the east, we reached Trail creek, a tributary of the Yellowstone, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, where we are now camped for the night. We are now fairly launched upon our expedition without the possibility of obtaining outside assistance in case we need it, and means for our protection have been fully considered since we camped, and our plans for guard duty throughout the trip have been arranged. Hedges is to be my comrade-in-arms in this service. He has expressed to me his great satisfaction that he is to be associated with me throughout the trip in this night guard duty, and I am especially pleased at being assigned to duty with so reliable a coadjutor as Hedges, a man who can be depended upon to neglect no duty. We two are to stand guard the first half of this first night--that is, until 1 o'clock to-morrow morning; then Washburn and Hauser take our places. Fresh Indian signs indicate that the red-skins are lurking near us, and justify the apprehensions expressed in the letter which Hauser and I received from James Stuart, that we will be attacked by the Crow Indians.[A] I am not entirely free from anxiety. Our safety will depend upon our vigilance. We are all well armed with long range repeating rifles and needle guns, though there are but few of our party who are experts at off-hand shooting with a revolver. [Illustration: TAKING A SHOT AT JAKE SMITH'S HAT.] In the course of our discussion Jake Smith expressed his doubt whether any member of our party except Hauser (who is an expert pistol shot) is sufficiently skilled in the use of the revolver to hit an Indian at even a close range, and he offered to put the matter to a test by setting up his hat at a distance of twenty yards for the boys to shoot at with their revolvers, without a rest, at twenty-five cents a shot. While several members of our party were blazing away with indifferent success, with the result that Jake was adding to his exchequer without damage to his hat, I could not resist the inclination to quietly drop out of sight behind a clump of bushes, where from my place of concealment I sent from my breech-loading Ballard repeating rifle four bullets in rapid succession, through the hat, badly riddling it. Jake inquired, "Whose revolver is it that makes that loud report?" He did not discover the true state of the case, but removed the target with the ready acknowledgment that there were members of our party whose aim with a revolver was more accurate than he had thought. I think that I will make confession to him in a few days. I now wish that I had brought with me an extra hat. My own is not large enough for Jake's head. Notwithstanding the serious problems which we must deal with in making this journey, it is well to have a little amusement while we may. Tuesday, August 23.--Last night was the first that we were on guard. The first relief was Hedges and Langford, the second Washburn and Hauser. Everything went well. At 8 a.m. to-day we broke camp. Some delay occurring in packing our horses, Lieutenant Doane and the escort went ahead, and we did not again see them until we reached our night camp. We traveled down Trail creek and over a spur of the mountain to the valley of the Yellowstone, which we followed up eight miles to our present camp. Along on our right in passing up the valley was a vast natural pile of basaltic rock, perpendicular, a part of which had been overthrown, showing transverse seams in the rock. Away at the right in the highest range bordering the valley was Pyramid mountain, itself a snow-capped peak; and further up the range was a long ridge covered with deep snow. As we passed Pyramid mountain a cloud descended upon it, casting its gloomy shadow over the adjacent peaks and bursting in a grand storm. These magnificent changes in mountain scenery occasioned by light and shade during one of these terrific tempests, with all the incidental accompaniments of thunder, lightning, rain, snow and hail, afford the most awe-inspiring exhibition in nature. As I write, another grand storm, which does not extend to our camp, has broken out on Emigrant peak, which at one moment is completely obscured in darkness; at the next, perhaps, brilliant with light; all its gorges, recesses, seams and cañons illuminated; these fade away into dim twilight, broken by a terrific flash, and, echoing to successive peals, "* * * the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder" in innumerable reverberations. On the left of the valley the foot hills were mottled with a carpet of beautiful, maroon-colored, delicately-tinted verdure, and towering above all rose peak on peak of the snow-capped mountains. To-day we saw our first Indians as we descended into the valley of the Yellowstone. They came down from the east side of the valley, over the foot hills, to the edge of the plateau overlooking the bottom lands of the river, and there conspicuously displayed themselves for a time to engage our attention. As we passed by them up the valley they moved down to where their ponies were hobbled. Two of our party, Hauser and Stickney, had dropped behind and passed towards the north to get a shot at an antelope; and when they came up they reported that, while we were observing the Indians on the plateau across the river, there were one hundred or more of them watching us from behind a high butte as our pack-train passed up the valley. As soon as they observed Hauser and Stickney coming up nearly behind them, they wheeled their horses and disappeared down the other side of the butte.[B] This early admonition of our exposure to hostile attack, and liability to be robbed of everything, and compelled on foot and without provisions to retrace our steps, has been the subject of discussion in our camp to-night, and has renewed in our party the determination to abate nothing of our vigilance, and keep in a condition of constant preparation. [Illustration: ON GUARD. VALLEY OF THE YELLOWSTONE.] With our long-range rifles and plenty of ammunition, we can stand off 200 or 300 of them, with their less efficient weapons, if we don't let them sneak up upon us in the night. If we encounter more than that number, then what? The odds will be against us that they will "rub us out," as Jim Stuart says. Jake Smith has sent the first demoralizing shot into the camp by announcing that he doesn't think there is any necessity for standing guard. Jake is the only one of our party who shows some sign of baldness, and he probably thinks that his own scalp is not worth the taking by the Indians. Did we act wisely in permitting him to join our party at the last moment before leaving Helena? One careless man, no less than one who is easily discouraged by difficulties, will frequently demoralize an entire company. I think we have now taken all possible precautions for our safety, but our numbers are few; and for me to say that I am not in hourly dread of the Indians when they appear in large force, would be a braggart boast. Mr. Everts was taken sick this afternoon. All day we have had a cool breeze and a few light showers, clearing off from time to time, revealing the mountains opposite us covered from their summits half way down with the newly fallen snow, and light clouds floating just below over the foot hills. Until we reached the open valley of the Yellowstone our route was over a narrow trail, from which the stream, Trail creek, takes its name. The mountains opposite the point where we entered the valley are rugged, grand, picturesque and immense by turns, and colored by nature with a thousand gorgeous hues. We have traveled all this day amid this stupendous variety of landscape until we have at length reached the western shore of that vast and solitary river which is to guide us to the theatre of our explorations. From the "lay of the land" I should judge that our camp to-night is thirty-five to forty miles above the point where Captain William Clark, of the famous Lewis and Clark expedition, embarked with his party in July, 1806, in two cottonwood canoes bound together with buffalo thongs, on his return to the states. It was from that point also that some six hundred residents of Montana embarked for a trip to the states, in forty-two flat boats, in the autumn of 1865.[C] We learn from Mr. Boteler that there are some twenty-five lodges of Crow Indians up the valley.[D] Wednesday, August 24.--It rained nearly all of last night, but Lieutenant Doane pitched his large tent, which was sufficiently capacious to accommodate us all by lying "heads and tails," and we were very comfortable. Throughout the forenoon we had occasional showers, but about noon it cleared away, and, after getting a lunch, we got under way. During the forenoon some of the escort were very successful in fishing for trout. Mr. Everts was not well enough to accompany us, and it was arranged that he should remain at Boteler's ranch, and that we would move about twelve miles up the river, and there await his arrival. Our preparations for departure being completed, General Washburn detailed a guard of four men to accompany the pack train, while the rest of the party rode on ahead. We broke camp at 2:30 p.m. with the pack train and moved up the valley. At about six miles from our camp we crossed a spur of the mountain which came down boldly to the river, and from the top we had a beautiful view of the valley stretched out below us, the stream fringed with a thin bordering of trees, the foot hills rising into a level plateau covered with rich bunch grass, and towering above all, the snow-covered summits of the distant mountains rising majestically, seemingly just out of the plateau, though they were many miles away. Above us the valley opened out wide, and from the overlooking rock on which we stood we could see the long train of pack horses winding their way along the narrow trail, the whole presenting a picturesque scene. The rock on which we stood was a coarse conglomerate, or pudding stone. Five miles farther on we crossed a small stream bordered with black cherry trees, many of the smaller ones broken down by bears, of which animal we found many signs. One mile farther on we made our camp about a mile below the middle cañon. To-night we have antelope, rabbit, duck, grouse and the finest of large trout for supper. As I write, General Washburn, Hedges and Hauser are engaged in an animated discussion of the differences between France and Germany, and the probabilities of the outcome of the war. The three gentlemen are not agreed in determining where the responsibility for the trouble lies, and I fear that I will have to check their profanity. However, neither Washburn nor Hedges swears. Thursday, August 25.--Last night was very cold, the thermometer marking 40 degrees at 8 o'clock a.m. At one mile of travel we came to the middle cañon, which we passed on a very narrow trail running over a high spur of the mountain overlooking the river, which at this point is forced through a narrow gorge, surging and boiling and tumbling over the rocks, the water having a dark green color. After passing the cañon we again left the valley, passing over the mountain, on the top of which at an elevation of several hundred feet above the river is a beautiful lake. Descending the mountain again, we entered the valley, which here is about one and a half to two miles wide. At nineteen miles from our morning camp we came to Gardiner's river, at the mouth of which we camped. We are near the southern boundary of Montana, and still in the limestone and granite formations. Mr. Everts came into camp just at night, nearly recovered, but very tired from his long and tedious ride over a rugged road, making our two days' travel in one. We passed to-day a singular formation which we named "The Devil's Slide," From the top of the mountain to the valley, a distance of about 800 feet, the trap rock projected from 75 to 125 feet, the intermediate layers of friable rock having been washed out. The trap formation is about twenty-five feet wide, and covered with stunted pine trees. Opposite our camp is a high drift formation of granite boulders, gravel and clay. The boulders are the regular gray Quincy granite, and those in the middle of the river are hollowed out by the action of the water into many curious shapes. We have here found our first specimens of petrifactions and obsidian, or volcanic glass. From the top of the mountain back of our camp we can see to-night a smoke rising from another peak, which some of our party think is a signal from one band of the Indians to another, conveying intelligence of our progress. Along our trail of to-day are plenty of Indian "signs," and marks of the lodge poles dragging in the sand on either side of the trail.[E] Jake Smith stood guard last night, or ought to have done so, and but for the fact that Gillette was also on guard, I should not have had an undisturbed sleep. We know that the Indians are near us, and sleep is more refreshing to me when I feel assured that I will not be joined in my slumbers by those who are assigned for watchful guard duty. [Illustration: S.T. Hauser] Friday, August 26.--For some reason we did not leave camp till 11 o'clock a.m. We forded Gardiner's river with some difficulty, several of our pack animals being nearly carried off their feet by the torrent. We passed over several rocky ridges or points coming down from the mountain, and at one and a half miles came down again into the valley, which one of our party called the "Valley of desolation." Taking the trail upon the left, we followed it until it led us to the mouth of a cañon, through which ran an old Indian or game trail, which was hardly discernible, and had evidently been long abandoned. Retracing our steps for a quarter of a mile, and taking a cut-off through the sage brush, we followed another trail upon our right up through a steep, dry coulee. From the head of the coulee we went through fallen timber over a burnt and rocky road, our progress being very slow. A great many of the packs came off our horses or became loosened, necessitating frequent haltings for their readjustment. Upon the summit we found a great many shells. Descending the divide we found upon the trail the carcass of an antelope which the advance party had killed, and which we packed on our horses and carried to our night camp. In the morning Lieutenant Doane and one of his men, together with Mr. Everts, had started out ahead of the party to search out the best trail. At 3 o'clock p.m. we arrived at Antelope creek, only six miles from our morning camp, where we concluded to halt. On the trail which we were following there were no tracks except those of unshod ponies; and, as our horses were all shod, it was evident that Lieutenant Doane and the advance party had descended the mountain by some other trail than that which we were following. Neither were there any marks of dragging lodge poles. There are seemingly two trails across the mountain,--a circuitous one by as easy a grade as can be found, over which the Indians send their families with their heavily laden pack horses; and a more direct, though more difficult, route which the war parties use in making their rapid rides. This last is the one we have taken, and the advance party has doubtless taken the other. Our camp to-night is on Antelope creek, about five miles from the Yellowstone river. After our arrival in camp, in company with Stickney and Gillette, I made a scout of eight or ten miles through the country east of our trail, and between it and the river, in search of some sign of Lieutenant Doane, but we found no trace of him. Parting from Stickney and Gillette, I followed down the stream through a narrow gorge by a game trail, hoping if I could reach the Yellowstone, to find a good trail along its banks up to the foot of the Grand cañon; but I found the route impracticable for the passage of our pack train. After supper Mr. Hauser and I went out in search of our other party, and found the tracks of their horses, which we followed about four miles to the brow of a mountain overlooking the country for miles in advance of us. Here we remained an hour, firing our guns as a signal, and carefully scanning the whole country with our field glasses. We could discern the trail for many miles on its tortuous course, but could see no sign of a camp, or of horses feeding, and we returned to our camp. Saturday, August 27.--Lieutenant Doane and those who were with him did not return to camp last night. At change of guard Gillette's pack horse became alarmed at something in the bushes bordering upon the creek on the bank of which he was tied, and, breaking loose, dashed through the camp, rousing all of us. Some wild animal--snake, fox or something of the kind--was probably the cause of the alarm. In its flight I became entangled in the lariat and was dragged head first for three or four rods, my head striking a log, which proved to be very rotten, and offered little resistance to a hard head, and did me very little damage. Towards morning a slight shower of rain fell, continuing at intervals till 8 o'clock. We left camp about 9 o'clock, the pack train following about 11 o'clock, and soon struck the trail of Lieutenant Doane, which proved to be the route traveled by the Indians. The marks of their lodge poles were plainly visible. At about four miles from our morning camp we discovered at some distance ahead of us what first appeared to be a young elk, but which proved to be a colt that had become separated from the camp of Indians to which it belonged. We think the Indians cannot be far from us at this time. Following the trail up the ascent leading from Antelope creek, we entered a deep cut, the sides of which rise at an angle of 45 degrees, and are covered with a luxuriant growth of grass. Through this cut we ascended by a grade entirely practicable for a wagon road to the summit of the divide separating the waters of Antelope creek from those of [F]---- creek, and from the summit descended through a beautiful gorge to a small tributary of the Yellowstone, a distance of two miles, dismounting and leading our horses almost the entire distance, the descent being too precipitous for the rider's comfort or for ease to the horse. We were now within four miles of[F]---- creek, and within two miles of the Yellowstone. On the right of the trail, two miles farther on, we found a small hot sulphur spring, the water of which was at a temperature a little below the boiling point, which at this elevation is about 195 degrees. Ascending a high ridge we had a commanding view of a basaltic formation of palisades, about thirty feet in height, on the opposite bank of the Yellowstone, overlooking a stratum of cement and gravel nearly two hundred feet thick, beneath which is another formation of the basaltic rock, and beneath this another body of cement and gravel. We named this formation "Column Rock." The upper formation, from which the rock takes its name, consists of basaltic columns about thirty feet high, closely touching each other, the columns being from three to five feet in diameter. A little farther on we descended the sides of the cañon, through which runs a large creek. We crossed this creek and camped on the south side. Our camp is about four hundred feet in elevation above the Yellowstone, which is not more than two miles distant. The creek is full of granite boulders, varying in size from six inches to ten feet in diameter. General Washburn was on guard last night, and to-night he seems somewhat fatigued. Mr. Hedges has improvised a writing stool from a sack of flour, and I have appropriated a sack of beans for a like use; and, as we have been writing, there has been a lively game of cards played near my left side, which Hedges, who has just closed his diary, says is a game of poker. I doubt if Deacon Hedges is sufficiently posted in the game to know to a certainty that poker is the game which is being played; but, putting what Hedges tells me with what I see and hear, I find that these infatuated players have put a valuation of five (5) cents per bean, on beans that did not cost more than $1 quart in Helena, and Jake Smith exhibits a marvelous lack of veneration for his kinswoman, by referring to each bean, as he places it before him upon the table, as his "aunt," or, more flippantly, his "auntie." Walter Trumbull has been styled the "Banker," and he says that at the commencement of the game he sold forty of these beans to each of the players, himself included (200 in all), at five (5) cents each, and that he has already redeemed the entire 200 at that rate; and now Jake Smith has a half-pint cup nearly full of beans, and is demanding of Trumbull that he redeem them also; that is, pay five (5) cents per bean for the contents of the cup. Trumbull objects. Jake persists. Reflecting upon their disagreement I recall that about an hour ago Jake, with an apologetic "Excuse me!" disturbed me while I was writing and untied the bean sack on which I am now sitting, and took from it a double handful of beans. It seems to me that a game of cards which admits of such latitude as this, with a practically unlimited draft upon outside resources, is hardly fair to all parties, and especially to "The Banker." Sunday, August 28.--To-day being Sunday, we remained all day in our camp, which Washburn and Everts have named "Camp Comfort," as we have an abundance of venison and trout. We visited the falls of the creek, the waters of which tumble over the rocks and boulders for the distance of 200 yards from our camp, and then fall a distance of 110 feet, as triangulated by Mr. Hauser. Stickney ventured to the verge of the fall, and, with a stone attached to a strong cord, measured its height, which he gives as 105 feet. The stream, in its descent to the brink of the fall, is separated into half a dozen distorted channels which have zig-zagged their passage through the cement formation, working it into spires, pinnacles, towers and many other capricious objects. Many of these are of faultless symmetry, resembling the minaret of a mosque; others are so grotesque as to provoke merriment as well as wonder. One of this latter character we named "The Devil's Hoof," from its supposed similarity to the proverbial foot of his Satanic majesty. The height of this rock from its base is about fifty feet. [Illustration: DEVIL'S HOOF.] The friable rock forming the spires and towers and pinnacles crumbles away under a slight pressure. I climbed one of these tall spires on the brink of the chasm overlooking the fall, and from the top had a beautiful view, though it was one not unmixed with terror. Directly beneath my feet, but probably about one hundred feet below me, was the verge of the fall, and still below that the deep gorge through which the creek went bounding and roaring over the boulders to its union with the Yellowstone. The scenery here cannot be called grand or magnificent, but it is most beautiful and picturesque. The spires are from 75 to 100 feet in height. The volume of water is about six or eight times that of Minnehaha fall, and I think that a month ago, while the snows were still melting, the creek could not easily have been forded. The route to the foot of the fall is by a well worn Indian trail running to the mouth of the creek over boulders and fallen pines, and through thickets of raspberry bushes. At the mouth of the creek on the Yellowstone is a hot sulphur spring, the odor from which is perceptible in our camp to-day. At the base of the fall we found a large petrifaction of wood imbedded in the debris of the falling cement and slate rock. There are several sulphur springs at the mouth of the creek, three of them boiling, others nearly as hot as boiling water. There is also a milky white sulphur spring. Within one yard of a spring, the temperature of which is little below the boiling point, is a sulphur spring with water nearly as cold as ice water, or not more than ten degrees removed from it. I went around and almost under the fall, or as far as the rocks gave a foot-hold, the rising spray thoroughly wetting and nearly blinding me. Some two hundred yards below the fall is a huge granite boulder about thirty feet in diameter. Where did it come from? In camp to-day several names were proposed for the creek and fall, and after much discussion the name "Minaret" was selected. Later, this evening, this decision has been reconsidered, and we have decided to substitute the name "Tower" for "Minaret," and call it "Tower Fall."[G] General Washburn rode out to make a _reconnaissance_ for a route to the river, and returned about 3 o'clock in the afternoon with the intelligence that from the summit of a high mountain he had seen Yellowstone lake, the proposed object of our visit; and with his compass he had noted its direction from our camp. This intelligence has greatly relieved our anxiety concerning the course we are to pursue, and has quieted the dread apprehensions of some of our number, lest we become inextricably involved in the wooded labyrinth by which we are surrounded; and in violation of our agreement that we would not give the name of any member of our party to any object of interest, we have spontaneously and by unanimous vote given the mountain the name by which it will hereafter and forever be known, "Mount Washburn." In addition to our saddle horses and pack horses, we have another four-footed animal in our outfit--a large black dog of seeming little intelligence, to which we have given the name of "Booby." He is owned by "Nute," one of our colored boys, who avers that he is a very knowing dog, and will prove himself so before our journey is ended. The poor beast is becoming sore-footed, and his sufferings excite our sympathy, and we are trying to devise some kind of shoe or moccasin for him. The rest to-day in camp will benefit him. Lieutenant Doane is suffering greatly with a felon on his thumb. It ought to be opened, but he is unwilling to submit to a thorough operation. His sufferings kept him awake nearly all of last night. Monday, August 29.--We broke camp about 8 o'clock, leaving the trail, which runs down to the mouth of the creek, and passed over a succession of high ridges, and part of the time through fallen timber. The trail of the Indians leads off to the left, to the brink of the Yellowstone, which it follows up about three-fourths of a mile, and then crosses to the east side. Hauser, Gillette, Stickney, Trumbull and myself rode out to the summit of Mount Washburn, which is probably the highest peak on the west side of the river. Having an aneroid barometer with us, we ascertained the elevation of the mountain to be about 9,800 feet. The summit is about 500 feet above the snow line. Descending the mountain on the southwest side, we came upon the trail of the pack train, which we followed to our camp at the head of a small stream running into the Yellowstone, which is about five miles distant. As we came into camp a black bear kindly vacated the premises. After supper some of our party followed down the creek to its mouth. At about one mile below our camp the creek runs through a bed of volcanic ashes, which extends for a hundred yards on either side. Toiling on our course down this creek to the river we came suddenly upon a basin of boiling sulphur springs, exhibiting signs of activity and points of difference so wonderful as to fully absorb our curiosity. The largest of these, about twenty feet in diameter, is boiling like a cauldron, throwing water and fearful volumes of sulphurous vapor higher than our heads. Its color is a disagreeable greenish yellow. The central spring of the group, of dark leaden hue, is in the most violent agitation, its convulsive spasms frequently projecting large masses of water to the height of seven or eight feet. The spring lying to the east of this, more diabolical in appearance, filled with a hot brownish substance of the consistency of mucilage, is in constant noisy ebullition, emitting fumes of villainous odor. Its surface is covered with bubbles, which are constantly rising and bursting, and emitting sulphurous gases from various parts of its surface. Its appearance has suggested the name, which Hedges has given, of "Hell-Broth springs;" for, as we gazed upon the infernal mixture and inhaled the pungent sickening vapors, we were impressed with the idea that this was a most perfect realization of Shakespeare's image in Macbeth. It needed but the presence of Hecate and her weird band to realize that horrible creation of poetic fancy, and I fancied the "black and midnight hags" concocting a charm around this horrible cauldron. We ventured near enough to this spring to dip the end of a pine pole into it, which, upon removal, was covered an eighth of an inch thick with lead-colored sulphury slime. There are five large springs and half a dozen smaller ones in this basin, all of them strongly impregnated with sulphur, alum and arsenic. The water from all the larger springs is dark brown or nearly black. The largest spring is fifteen to eighteen feet in diameter, and the water boils up like a cauldron from 18 to 30 inches, and one instinctively draws back from the edge as the hot sulphur steam rises around him. Another of the larger springs is intermittent. The smaller springs are farther up on the bank than the larger ones. The deposit of sinter bordering one of them, with the emission of steam and smoke combined, gives it a resemblance to a chimney of a miner's cabin. Around them all is an incrustation formed from the bases of the spring deposits, arsenic, alum, sulphur, etc. This incrustation is sufficiently strong in many places to bear the weight of a man, but more frequently it gave way, and from the apertures thus created hot steam issued, showing it to be dangerous to approach the edge of the springs; and it was with the greatest difficulty that I obtained specimens of the incrustation. This I finally accomplished by lying at full length upon that portion of the incrustation which yielded the least, but which was not sufficiently strong to bear my weight while I stood upright, and at imminent risk of sinking in the infernal mixture, I rolled over and over to the edge of the opening; and, with the crust slowly bending and sinking beneath me, hurriedly secured the coveted prize of black sulphur, and rolled back to a place of safety. [Illustration: SECURING A SPECIMEN AT HELL-BROTH SPRINGS.] From the springs to the mouth of the creek we followed along the bank, the bed or bottom being too rough and precipitous for us to travel in it, the total fall in the creek for the three miles being about fifteen hundred feet. Standing upon the high point at the junction of the creek with the Yellowstone, one first gets some idea of the depth of the cañon through which the river runs. From this height the sound of the waters of the Yellowstone, tumbling over tremendous rocks and boulders, could not be heard. Everything around us--mountains, valleys, cañon and trees, heights and depths--all are in such keeping and proportion that all our estimates of distances are far below the real truth. To-day we passed the mouth of Hell-Roaring river on the opposite side of the Yellowstone. It was again Jake Smith's turn for guard duty last night, but this morning Jake's countenance wore a peculiar expression, which indicated that he possessed some knowledge not shared by the rest of the party. He spoke never a word, and was as serene as a Methodist minister behind four aces. My interpretation of this self-satisfied serenity is that his guard duty did not deprive him of much sleep. When it comes to considering the question of danger in this Indian country, Jake thinks that he knows more than the veteran Jim Stuart, whom we expected to join us on this trip, and who has given us some salutary words of caution. In a matter in which the safety of our whole party is involved, it is unfortunate that there are no "articles of war" to aid in the enforcement of discipline, in faithful guard duty. Tuesday, August 30.--We broke camp about 9 o'clock a.m., traveling in a southerly direction over the hills adjoining our camp, and then descended the ridge in a southwesterly direction, heading off several ravines, till we came into a small valley; thence we crossed over a succession of ridges of fallen timber to a creek, where we halted about ten miles from our morning camp and about a mile from the upper fall of the Yellowstone. Mr. Hedges gave the name "Cascade creek" to this stream. When we left our camp this morning at Hell-Broth springs, I remarked to Mr. Hedges and General Washburn that the wonders of which we were in pursuit had not disappointed us in their first exhibitions, and that I was encouraged in the faith that greater curiosities lay before us. We believed that the great cataracts of the Yellowstone were within two days', or at most three days', travel. So when we reached Cascade creek, on which we are now encamped, after a short day of journeying, it was with much astonishment as well as delight that we found ourselves in the immediate presence of the falls. Their roar, smothered by the vast depth of the cañon into which they plunge, was not heard until they were before us. With remarkable deliberation we unsaddled and lariated our horses, and even refreshed ourselves with such creature comforts as our larder readily afforded, before we deigned a survey of these great wonders of nature. On our walk down the creek to the river, struck with the beauty of its cascades, we even neglected the greater, to admire the lesser wonders. Bushing with great celerity through a deep defile of lava and obsidian, worn into caverns and fissures, the stream, one-fourth of a mile from its debouchure, breaks into a continuous cascade of remarkable beauty, consisting of a fall of five feet, succeeded by another of fifteen into a grotto formed by proximate rocks imperfectly arching it, whence from a crystal pool of unfathomable depth at their base, it lingers as if half reluctant to continue its course, or as if to renew its power, and then glides gracefully over a descending, almost perpendicular, ledge, veiling the rocks for the distance of eighty feet. Mr. Hedges gave to this succession of cascades the name "Crystal fall." It is very beautiful; but the broken and cavernous gorge through which it passes, worn into a thousand fantastic shapes, bearing along its margin the tracks of grizzly bears and lesser wild animals, scattered throughout with huge masses of obsidian and other volcanic matter--the whole suggestive of nothing earthly nor heavenly--received at our hands, and not inaptly as I conceive, the name of "The Devil's Den." I presume that many persons will question the taste evinced by our company in the selection of names for the various objects of interest we have thus far met with; but they are all so different from any of Nature's works that we have ever seen or heard of, so entirely out of range of human experience, and withal so full of exhibitions which can suggest no other fancy than that which our good grandmothers have painted on our boyish imaginations as a destined future abode, that we are likely, almost involuntarily, to pursue the system with which we have commenced, to the end of our journey. A similar imagination has possessed travelers and visitors to other volcanic regions. We have decided to remain at this point through the entire day to-morrow, and examine the cañon and falls. From the brief survey of the cañon I was enabled to make before darkness set in, I am impressed with its awful grandeur, and I realize the impossibility of giving to any one who has not seen a gorge similar in character, any idea of it. [Illustration: Cornelius Hedges.] It is getting late, and it is already past our usual bedtime, and Jake Smith is calling to me to "turn in" and give him a chance to sleep. There is in what I have already seen so much of novelty to fill the mind and burden the memory, that unless I write down in detail the events of each day, and indeed almost of each hour as it passes, I shall not be able to prepare for publication on my return home any clear or satisfactory account of these wonders. So Jake may go to. I will write until my candle burns out. Jacob is indolent and fond of slumber, and I think that he resents my remark to him the other day, that he could burn more and gather less wood than any man I ever camped with. He has dubbed me "The Yellowstone sharp." Good! I am not ashamed to have the title. Lieutenant Doane has crawled out of his blankets, and is just outside the tent with his hand and fore-arm immersed in water nearly as cold as ice. I am afraid that lock-jaw will set in if he does not consent to have the felon lanced. Wednesday, August 31.--This has been a "red-letter" day with me, and one which I shall not soon forget, for my mind is clogged and my memory confused by what I have to-day seen. General Washburn and Mr. Hedges are sitting near me, writing, and we have an understanding that we will compare our notes when finished. We are all overwhelmed with astonishment and wonder at what we have seen, and we feel that we have been near the very presence of the Almighty. General Washburn has just quoted from the psalm: "When I behold the work of Thy hands, what is man that Thou art mindful of him!" My own mind is so confused that I hardly know where to commence in making a clear record of what is at this moment floating past my mental vision. I cannot confine myself to a bare description of the falls of the Yellowstone alone, for these two great cataracts are but one feature in a scene composed of so many of the elements of grandeur and sublimity, that I almost despair of giving to those who on our return home will listen to a recital of our adventures, the faintest conception of it. The immense cañon or gorge of rocks through which the river descends, perhaps more than the falls, is calculated to fill the observer with feelings of mingled awe and terror. This chasm is seemingly about thirty miles in length. Commencing above the upper fall, it attains a depth of two hundred feet where that takes its plunge, and in the distance of half a mile from that point to the verge of the lower fall, it rapidly descends with the river between walls of rock nearly six hundred feet in vertical height, to which three hundred and twenty feet are added by the fall. Below this the wall lines marked by the descent of the river grow in height with incredible distinctness, until they are probably two thousand feet above the water. There is a difference of nearly three thousand feet in altitude between the surface of the river at the upper fall and the foot of the cañon. Opposite Mount Washburn the cañon must be more than half a vertical mile in depth. As it is impossible to explore the entire cañon, we are unable to tell whether the course of the river through it is broken by other and larger cataracts than the two we have seen, or whether its continuous descent alone has produced the enormous depth to which it has attained. Rumors of falls a thousand feet in height have often reached us before we made this visit. At all points where we approached the edge of the cañon the river was descending with fearful momentum through it, and the rapids and foam from the dizzy summit of the rock overhanging the lower fall, and especially from points farther down the cañon, were so terrible to behold, that none of our company could venture the experiment in any other manner than by lying prone upon the rock, to gaze into its awful depths; depths so amazing that the sound of the rapids in their course over immense boulders, and lashing in fury the base of the rocks on which we were lying, could not be heard. The stillness is horrible, and the solemn grandeur of the scene surpasses conception. You feel the absence of sound--the oppression of absolute silence. Down, down, down, you see the river attenuated to a thread. If you could only hear that gurgling river, lashing with puny strength the massive walls that imprison it and hold it in their dismal shadow, if you could but see a living thing in the depth beneath you, if a bird would but fly past you, if the wind would move any object in that awful chasm, to break for a moment the solemn silence which reigns there, it would relieve that tension of the nerves which the scene has excited, and with a grateful heart you would thank God that he had permitted you to gaze unharmed upon this majestic display of his handiwork. But as it is, the spirit of man sympathizes with the deep gloom of the scene, and the brain reels as you gaze into this profound and solemn solitude. [Illustration: GRAND CAÑON.] The place where I obtained the best and most terrible view of the cañon was a narrow projecting point situated two or three miles below the lower fall.[H] Standing there or rather lying there for greater safety, I thought how utterly impossible it would be to describe to another the sensations inspired by such a presence. As I took in this scene, I realized my own littleness, my helplessness, my dread exposure to destruction, my inability to cope with or even comprehend the mighty architecture of nature. More than all this I felt as never before my entire dependence upon that Almighty Power who had wrought these wonders. A sense of danger, lest the rock should crumble away, almost overpowered me. My knees trembled, and I experienced the terror which causes, men to turn pale and their countenances to blanch with fear, and I recoiled from the vision I had seen, glad to feel the solid earth beneath me and to realize the assurance of returning safety. The scenery surrounding the cañon and falls on both banks of the Yellowstone is enlivened by all the hues of abundant vegetation. The foot-hills approach the river, crowned with a vesture of evergreen pines. Meadows verdant with grasses and shrubbery stretch away to the base of the distant mountains, which, rolling into ridges, rising into peaks, and breaking into chains, are defined in the deepest blue upon the horizon. To render the scene still more imposing, remarkable volcanic deposits, wonderful boiling springs, jets of heated vapor, large collections of sulphur, immense rocks and petrifications abound in great profusion in this immediate vicinity. The river is filled with trout, and bear, elk, deer, mountain lions and lesser game roam the plains, forests and mountain fastnesses. The two grand falls of the Yellowstone form a fitting completion to this stupendous climax of wonders. They impart life, power, light and majesty to an assemblage of elements, which without them would be the most gloomy and horrible solitude in nature. Their eternal anthem, echoing from cañon, mountain, rock and woodland, thrills you with delight, and you gaze with rapture at the iris-crowned curtains of fleecy foam as they plunge into gulfs enveloped in mist and spray. The stillness which held your senses spellbound, as you peered into the dismal depths of the cañon below, is now broken by the uproar of waters; the terror it inspired is superseded by admiration and astonishment, and the scene, late so painful from its silence and gloom, is now animate with joy and revelry. The upper fall, as determined by the rude means of measurement at our command, is one hundred and fifteen feet in height. The river approaches it through a passage of rocks which rise one hundred feet on either side above its surface. Until within half a mile of the brink of the fall the river is peaceful and unbroken by a ripple. Suddenly, as if aware of impending danger, it becomes lashed into foam, circled with eddies, and soon leaps into fearful rapids. The rocky jaws confining it gradually converge as it approaches the edge of the fall, bending its course by their projections, and apparently crowding back the water, which struggles and leaps against their bases, warring with its bounds in the impatience of restraint, and madly leaping from its confines, a liquid emerald wreathed with foam, into the abyss beneath. The sentinel rocks, a hundred feet asunder, could easily be spanned by a bridge directly over and in front of the fall, and fancy led me forward to no distant period when such an effort of airy architecture would be crowded with happy gazers from all portions of our country. A quarter of the way between the verge and the base of the fall a rocky table projects from the west bank, in front of and almost within reaching distance of it, furnishing a point of observation where the finest view can be obtained. In order to get a more perfect view of the cataract, Mr. Hedges and I made our way down to this table rock, where we sat for a long time. As from this spot we looked up at the descending waters, we insensibly felt that the slightest protrusion in them would hurl us backwards into the gulf below. A thousand arrows of foam, apparently _aimed at us_, leaped from the verge, and passed rapidly down the sheet. But as the view grew upon us, and we comprehended the power, majesty and beauty of the scene, we became insensible to danger and gave ourselves up to the full enjoyment of it. Very beautiful as is this fall, it is greatly excelled in grandeur and magnificence by the cataract half a mile below it, where the river takes another perpendicular plunge of three hundred and twenty feet into the most gloomy cavern that ever received so majestic a visitant. Between the two falls, the river, though bordered by lofty precipices, expands in width and flows gently over a nearly level surface until its near approach to the verge. Here a sudden convergence in the rocks compresses its channel, and with a gurgling, choking struggle, it leaps with a single bound, sheer from an even level shelf, into the tremendous chasm. The sheet could not be more perfect if wrought by art. The Almighty has vouchsafed no grander scene to human eyes. Every object that meets the vision increases its sublimity. There is a majestic harmony in the whole, which I have never seen before in nature's grandest works. The fall itself takes its leap between the jaws of rocks whose vertical height above it is more than six hundred feet, and more than nine hundred feet above the chasm into which it falls. Long before it reaches the base it is enveloped in spray, which is woven by the sun's rays into bows radiant with all the colors of the prism, and arching the face of the cataract with their glories. Five hundred feet below the edge of the cañon, and one hundred and sixty feet above the verge of the cataract, and overlooking the deep gorge beneath, on the flattened summit of a projecting crag, I lay with my face turned into the boiling chasm, and with a stone suspended by a large cord measured its profoundest depths. Three times in its descent the cord was parted by abrasion, but at last, securing the weight with a leather band, I was enabled to ascertain by a measurement which I think quite exact, the height of the fall. It is a little more than three hundred and twenty feet; while the perpendicular wall down which I suspended the weight was five hundred and ten feet. [Illustration: LOWER FALL OF THE YELLOWSTONE.] Looking down from this lofty eminence through the cañon below the falls, the scene is full of grandeur. The descent of the river for more than a mile is marked by continuous cascades varying in height from five to twenty feet, and huge rapids breaking over the rocks, and lashing with foam the precipitous sides of the gorge. A similar descent through the entire cañon (thirty miles), is probable, as in no other way except by distinct cataracts of enormous height can the difference in altitude between this point and its outlet be explained. The colors of the rock, which is shaly in character, are variegated with yellow, gray and brown, and the action of the water in its rapid passage down the sides of the cañon has worn the fragments of shale into countless capricious forms. Jets of steam issue from the sides of the cañon at frequent intervals, marking the presence of thermal springs and active volcanic forces. The evidence of a recession of the river through the cañon is designated by the ridges apparent on its sides, and it is not improbable that at no distant day the lower fall will become blended by this process with the upper, forming a single cataract nearly five hundred feet in height. There are but few places where the sides of the Grand cañon can be descended with safety. Hauser and Stickney made the descent at a point where the river was 1,050 feet below the edge of the cañon, as determined by triangulation by Mr. Hauser. Lieutenant Doane, accompanied by his orderly, went down the river several miles, and following down the bed of a lateral stream reached its junction with the Yellowstone at a point where the cañon was about 1,500 feet in depth--the surface of the ground rising the farther he went down the river. Mr. Hedges and I sat on the table-rock to which I have referred, opposite the upper fall, as long as our limited time would permit; and as we reluctantly left it and climbed to the top, I expressed my regret at leaving so fascinating a spot, quoting the familiar line: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Mr. Hedges asked me who was the author of the line, but I could not tell. I will look it up on my return.[I] Yes! This stupendous display of nature's handiwork will be to me "a joy forever." It lingers in my memory like the faintly defined outlines of a dream. I can scarcely realize that in the unbroken solitude of this majestic range of rocks, away from civilization and almost inaccessible to human approach, the Almighty has placed so many of the most wonderful and magnificent objects of His creation, and that I am to be one of the few first to bring them to the notice of the world. Truly has it been said, that we live to learn how little may be known, and of what we see, how much surpasses comprehension. Thursday, September 1.--We did not break camp till nearly ten o'clock this morning, the pack-train crossing Cascade creek at its head, and coming into the river trail about two miles above the upper fall. The more direct trail--shorter by one and a half miles--runs along the bank of the river. If we had not decided, last night, that we would move on to-day, I think that every member of the party would have been glad to stay another day at the cañon and falls. I will, however, except out of the number our comrade Jake Smith. The afternoon of our arrival at the cañon (day before yesterday), after half an hour of inspection of the falls and cañon, he said: "Well, boys, I have seen all there is, and I am ready to move on." However, the perceptible decline in our larder, and the uncertainty of the time to be occupied in further explorations, forbid more than these two days' stay at the falls and cañon. The sun this morning shone brightly, and its rays were reflected upon the sides of the dismal cañon--so dark, and gray, and still--enlivening and brightening it. To-day has been warm, and nature this morning seemed determined that our last look should be the brightest, for the beauties of the entire landscape invited us to make a longer stay, and we lingered till the last moment, that the final impression might not be lost. Pursuing our journey, at two miles above the falls we crossed a small stream which we named "Alum" creek, as it is strongly impregnated with alum. [Illustration: W.C. Gillette.] Six miles above the upper fall we entered upon a region remarkable for the number and variety of its hot springs and craters. The principal spring, and the one that first meets the eye as you approach from the north, is a hot sulphur spring, of oval shape, the water of which is constantly boiling and is thrown up to the height of from three to seven feet. Its two diameters are about twelve feet and twenty feet, and it has an indented border of seemingly pure sulphur, about two feet wide and extending down into the spring or cauldron to the edge of the water, which at the time of our visit, if it had been at rest, would have been fifteen or eighteen inches below the rim of the spring. This spring is situated at the base of a low mountain, and the gentle slope below and around the spring for the distance of two hundred or three hundred feet is covered to the depth of from three to ten inches with the sulphurous deposit from the overflow of the spring. The moistened bed of a dried-up rivulet, leading from the edge of the spring down inside through this deposit, showed us that the spring had but recently been overflowing. Farther along the base of this mountain is a sulphurous cavern about twenty feet deep, and seven or eight feet in diameter at its mouth, out of which the steam is thrown in jets with a sound resembling the puffing of a steam-boat when laboring over a sand-bar, and with as much uniformity and intonation as if emitted by a high-pressure engine. From hundreds of fissures in the adjoining mountain from base to summit, issue hot sulphur vapors, the apertures through which they escape being encased in thick incrustations of sulphur, which in many instances is perfectly pure. There are nearby a number of small sulphur springs, not especially remarkable in appearance. About one hundred yards from these springs is a large hot spring of irregular shape, but averaging forty feet long by twenty-five wide, the water of which is of a dark muddy color. Still farther on are twenty or thirty springs of boiling mud of different degrees of consistency and color, and of sizes varying from two to eight feet in diameter, and of depths below the surface varying from three to eight feet. The mud in these springs is in most cases a little thinner than mortar prepared for plastering, and, as it is thrown up from one to two feet, I can liken its appearance to nothing so much as Indian meal hasty pudding when the process of boiling is nearly completed, except that the puffing, bloated bubbles are greatly magnified, being from a few inches to two feet in diameter. In some of the springs the mud is of dark brown color, in others nearly pink, and in one it was almost yellow. Springs four or five feet in diameter and not over six feet apart, have no connection one with another either above or beneath the surface, the mud in them being of different colors. In some instances there is a difference of three feet in the height to which the mud in adjoining springs attains. There may be in some instances two or more springs which receive their supply of mud and their underground pressure from the same general source, but these instances are rare, nor can we determine positively that such is the case. This mud having been worked over and over for many years is as soft as the finest pigments. All of these springs are embraced within a circle the radius of which is from a thousand to twelve hundred feet, and the whole of this surface seems to be a smothered crater covered over with an incrustation of sufficient strength and thickness to bear usually a very heavy weight, but which in several instances yielded and even broke through under the weight of our horses as we rode over it. We quickly dismounted, and as we were making some examinations, the crust broke through several times in some thin places through which vapor was issuing. Under the whole of this incrustation the hottest fires seem to be raging, and the heat issuing from the vents or from the crevices caused from the breaking in of the surface is too intense to be borne by the gloved hand for an instant. Surrounding the natural vents are deposits of pure sulphur, portions of which in many instances we broke off, and after allowing them to cool, brought them away with us. On the top of the mountain overlooking the large sulphur spring is a small living crater about six inches in diameter, out of which issue hot vapor and smoke. On the slope adjoining the mud spring is another crater of irregular shape, but embracing about one hundred square inches, out of which issues hot vapor, the rocks adjoining changing color under the intense heat with every breath blown upon them. The tramp of our horses' feet as we rode over the incrustation at the base of the mountain returned a hollow sound; yet while some of our party were not disposed to venture upon it with their horses, still I think with care in selecting a route there is very little danger in riding over it. On the mountain, large quantities of sulphur formed by the condensation of the vapor issuing from the crevices, now closed, but once in activity in the incrusted covering, have been deposited, and we collected many specimens of pure and crystallized sulphur. Thousands of pounds of pure and nearly pure sulphur are now lying on the top and sides of the mountain, all of which can be easily gathered with the aid of a spade to detach it from the mountain side incrustations to which it adheres in the process of condensation. We gave to this mountain the name "Crater hill." Five miles further on we camped near the "Mud geyser." Our course to-day has been for the greater part over a level valley, which was plainly visible from the top of Mount Washburn. The water of the river at this point is strongly impregnated with the mineral bases of the springs surrounding our camp, and that empty into the river above it. Friday, September 2.--To-day we have occupied ourselves in examining the springs and other wonders at this point. At the base of the foot-hills adjoining our camp are three large springs of thick boiling mud, the largest of which resembles an immense cauldron. It is about thirty feet in diameter, bordered by a rim several feet wide, upon which one can stand within reach of the boiling mass of mud, the surface of which is four or five feet below the rim enclosing it, the rim being a little raised above the surrounding level. Some twelve or fifteen rods from this spring are two other springs from ten to twelve feet in diameter. Near by is a hot (not boiling) spring of sulphur, fifteen to eighteen feet in diameter, too hot to bathe in. From these we passed over the timbered hill at the base of which these springs are situated. In the timber along the brow of the hill and near its summit, and immediately under the living trees, the hot sulphur vapor and steam issue from several fissures or craters, showing that the hottest fires are raging at some point beneath the surface crust, which in a great many places gives forth a hollow sound as we pass over it. Through a little coulee on the other side of the hill runs a small stream of greenish water, which issues from a small cavern, the mouth of which is about five feet high and the same dimension in width. From the mouth, the roof of the cavern descends at an angle of about fifteen degrees, till at the distance of twenty feet from the entrance it joins the surface of the water. The bottom of the cavern under the water seems to descend at about the same angle, but as the water is in constant ebullition, we cannot determine this fact accurately. The water is thrown out in regular spasmodic jets, the pulsations occurring once in ten or twelve seconds. The sides and mouth of this cavern are covered with a dark green deposit, some of which we have taken with us for analysis. About two hundred yards farther on is another geyser, the flow of which occurs about every six hours, and when the crater is full the diameter of the surface is about fourteen feet, the sides of the crater being of an irregular funnelshape, and descending at an angle of about forty-five degrees. At the lowest point at which we saw the water it was about seven feet in diameter on the surface. One or another of our party watched the gradual rise of the water for four or five hours. The boiling commenced when the water had risen half way to the surface, occasionally breaking forth with great violence. When the water had reached its full height in the basin, the stream was thrown up with great force to a height of from twenty to thirty feet, the column being from seven to ten feet in diameter at the midway height of the column, from bottom to top. The water was of a dark lead color, and those portions of the sides of the crater that were overflowed and then exposed by the rise and fall of the water were covered with stalagmites formed by the deposit from the geyser. While surveying these wonders, our ears were constantly saluted by dull, thundering, booming sounds, resembling the reports of distant artillery. As we approached the spot whence they proceeded, the ground beneath us shook and trembled as from successive shocks of an earthquake. Ascending a small hillock, the cause of the uproar was found to be a mud volcano--the greatest marvel we have yet met with. It is about midway up a gentle pine-covered slope, above which on the lower side its crater, thirty feet in diameter, rises to a height of about thirty-five feet. Dense masses of steam issue with explosive force from this crater, into whose tapering mouth, as they are momentarily dispelled by the wind, we can see at a depth of about forty feet the regurgitating contents. The explosions are not uniform in force or time, varying from three to eight seconds, and occasionally with perfect regularity occurring every five seconds. They are very distinctly heard at the distance of half a mile, and the massive jets of vapor which accompany them burst forth like the smoke of burning gunpowder. Some of these pulsations are much more violent than others, but each one is accompanied by the discharge of an immense volume of steam, which at once shuts off all view of the inside of the crater; but sometimes, during the few seconds intervening between the pulsations, or when a breeze for a moment carries the steam to one side of the crater, we can see to the depth of thirty feet into the volcano, but cannot often discover the boiling mud; though occasionally, when there occurs an unusually violent spasm or concussion, a mass of mud as large in bulk as a hogshead is thrown up as high as our heads, emitting blinding clouds of steam in all directions, and crowding all observers back from the edge of the crater. We were led to believe that this volcano has not been long in existence; but that it burst forth the present summer but a few months ago. The green leaves and the limbs of the surrounding forest trees are covered with fresh clay or mud, as is also the newly grown grass for the distance of 180 feet from the crater. On the top branches of some of the trees near by--trees 150 feet high--we found particles of dried mud that had fallen upon the high branches in their descent just after this first outburst, which must have thrown the contents of the volcano as high as 250 or 300 feet. Mr. Hauser, whose experience as an engineer and with projectile forces entitles his opinion to credit, estimates from the particles of mud upon the high trees, and the distance to which they were thrown, that the mud had been thrown, in this explosion, to the height of between 300 and 400 feet. By actual measurement we found particles of this mud 186 feet from the edge of the crater. We did not dare to stand upon the leeward side of the crater and withstand the force of the steam; and Mr. Hedges, having ventured too near the rim on that side, endangered his life by his temerity, and was thrown violently down the exterior side of the crater by the force of the volume of steam emitted during one of these fearful convulsions. General Washburn and I, who saw him fall, were greatly concerned lest while regaining his feet, being blinded by the steam, and not knowing in which direction to turn, he should fall into the crater. Between the volcano, the mud geyser and the cavern spring are a number of hot sulphur and mud springs, of sizes varying from two to twenty feet in diameter, and many openings or crevices from which issue hot vapor or steam, the mouths of which are covered with sulphur deposits or other incrustations. From the mud volcano we moved up the valley about four miles to our camp on the river, passing several mud puffs on the way. One of the soldiers brought in a large string of river trout, but the water of the river is strongly impregnated with the overflow from springs near its bank, and is not palatable. Some of our party who have drank the water are feeling nauseated. Others think that their illness is caused by partaking too freely of one of the luxuries of our larder, canned peaches. I assuaged my thirst with the peaches, and have not partaken of the water, and there is no one in our camp in finer condition than I am. Lieutenant Doane's felon has caused him great suffering to-day, and I have appealed to him to allow me to lance it. I have for many years carried a lancet in my pocketbook, but I find that I have inadvertently left it at home. So all this day, while on horseback, I have been preparing for the surgical operation by sharpening my penknife on the leathern pommel of my saddle as I rode along. I have in my seamless sack a few simple medicines, including a vial of chloroform. Lieutenant Doane has almost agreed to let me open the felon, provided I put him to sleep with the chloroform; but I feel that I am too much of a novice in the business to administer it. However, I have told him that I would do so if he demanded it. Our elevation to-day is about 7,500 feet above sea level. Saturday, September 3.--This morning General Washburn and I left camp immediately after breakfast and returned four miles on our track of September 1st to Crater Hill and the mud springs, for the purpose of making farther examinations. We found the sulphur boiling spring to be full to overflowing, the water running down the inclined surface of the crust in two different directions. It was also boiling with greater force than it was when we first saw it, the water being occasionally thrown up to the height of ten feet. About 80 or 100 yards from this spring we found what we had not before discovered, a boiling spring of tartaric acid in solution, with deposits around the edge of the spring, of which we gathered a considerable quantity. In the basin where we had found so many mud springs we to-day found a hot boiling spring containing a substance of deep yellow color, the precise nature of which we could not readily ascertain. We accordingly brought away some of it in a bottle (as is our usual custom in such cases of uncertainty), and we will have an analysis of it made on our return home. In the same basin we also found some specimens of black lava. A half mile south of these springs we found an alum spring yielding but little water and surrounded with beautiful alum crystals. From its border we obtained a great many curiously shaped deposits of alum slightly impregnated with iron. The border of this spring below the surface had been undermined in many places by the violent boiling of the water, to the distance of several feet from the margin, so that it was unsafe to stand near the edge of the spring. This, however, I did not at first perceive; and, as I was unconcernedly passing by the spring, my weight made the border suddenly slough off beneath my feet. General Washburn noticed the sudden cracking of the incrustation before I did, and I was aroused to a sense of my peril by his shout of alarm, and had sufficient presence of mind to fall suddenly backwards at full length upon the sound crust, whence, with my feet and legs extended over the spring, I rolled to a place of safety. But for General Washburn's shout of alarm, in another instant I would have been precipitated into this boiling pool of alum. We endeavored to sound the depth of this spring with a pole twenty-five feet long, but we found no bottom. Everything around us--air, earth, water--is impregnated with sulphur. We feel it in every drop of water we drink, and in every breath of air we inhale. Our silver watches have turned to the color of poor brass, tarnished. General Washburn and I again visited the mud vulcano to-day. I especially desired to see it again for the one especial purpose, among others of a general nature, of assuring myself that the notes made in my diary a few days ago are not exaggerated. No! they are not! The sensations inspired in me to-day, on again witnessing its convulsions, and the dense clouds of vapor expelled in rapid succession from its crater, amid the jarring of the earth, and the ominous intonations from beneath, were those of mingled dread and wonder. At war with all former experience it was so novel, so unnaturally natural, that I feel while now writing and thinking of it, as if my own senses might have deceived me with a mere figment of the imagination. But it is not so. The wonder, than which this continent, teeming with nature's grandest exhibitions, contains nothing more marvelous, still stands amid the solitary fastnesses of the Yellowstone, to excite the astonishment of the thousands who in coming years shall visit that remarkable locality.[J] Returning to the camp we had left in the morning, we found the train had crossed the river, and we forded at the same place, visiting, however, on our way another large cauldron of boiling mud lying nearly opposite our camp. Soon after fording the river we discovered some evidence that trappers had long ago visited this region. Here we found that the earth had been thrown up two feet high, presenting an angle to the river, quite ingeniously concealed by willows, and forming a sort of rifle-pit, from which a hunter without disclosing his hiding place could bring down swans, geese, ducks, pelicans, and even the furred animals that made their homes along the river bank. We followed the trail of the advance party along the bank of the river, and most of the way through a dense forest of pine timber and over a broad swampy lowland, when we came into their camp on the Yellowstone lake two miles from where it empties into the river, and about ten miles from our morning camp. We passed Brimstone basin on our left, and saw jets of steam rising from the hills back of it. From all appearances the Yellowstone can be forded at almost any point between the rapids just above the upper fall and the lake, unless there are quicksands and crevices which must be avoided. Yellowstone lake, as seen from our camp to-night, seems to me to be the most beautiful body of water in the world. In front of our camp it has a wide sandy beach like that of the ocean, which extends for miles and as far as the eye can reach, save that occasionally there is to be found a sharp projection of rocks. The overlooking bench rises from the water's edge about eight feet, forming a bank of sand or natural levee, which serves to prevent the overflow of the land adjoining, which, when the lake is receiving the water from the mountain streams that empty into it while the snows are melting, is several feet below the surface of the lake. On the shore of the lake, within three or four miles of our camp, are to be found specimens of sandstone, resembling clay, of sizes varying from that of a walnut to a flour barrel, and of every odd shape imaginable. Fire and water have been at work here together--fire to throw out the deposit in a rough shape, and water to polish it. From our camp we can see several islands from five to ten miles distant in a direct line. Two of the three "Tetons," which are so plainly visible to travelers going to Montana from Eagle Rock bridge on Snake river, and which are such well-known and prominent landmarks on that stage route, we notice to-night in the direction of south 25 degrees west from our camp. We shall be nearer to them on our journey around the lake. Sunday, September 4.--This morning at breakfast time Lieutenant Doane was sleeping soundly and snoring sonorously, and we decided that we would not waken him, but would remain in camp till the afternoon and perhaps until morning. Walter Trumbull suggested that a proper deference to Jake Smith's religious sentiments ought to be a sufficient reason for not traveling on Sunday, whereupon Jake immediately exclaimed, "If we're going to remain in camp, let's have a game of draw." Last evening Lieutenant Doane's sufferings were so intense that General Washburn and I insisted that he submit to an operation, and have the felon opened, and he consented provided I would administer chloroform. Preparations were accordingly made after supper. A box containing army cartridges was improvised as an operating table, and I engaged Mr. Bean, one of our packers, and Mr. Hedges as assistant surgeons. Hedges was to take his position at Doarte's elbow, and was to watch my motion as I thrust in the knife blade, and hold the elbow and fore-arm firmly to prevent any involuntary drawing back of the arm by Lieutenant Doane, at the critical moment. When Doane was told that we were ready, he asked, "Where is the chloroform?" I replied that I had never administered it, and that after thinking the matter over I was afraid to assume the responsibility of giving it. He swallowed his disappointment, and turned his thumb over on the cartridge box, with the nail down. Hedges and Bean were on hand to steady the arm, and before one could say "Jack Robinson," I had inserted the point of my penknife, thrusting it down to the bone, and had ripped it out to the end of the thumb. Doane gave one shriek as the released corruption flew out in all directions upon surgeon and assistants, and then with a broad smile on his face he exclaimed, "That was elegant!" We then applied a poultice of bread and water, which we renewed a half hour later, and Doane at about eight o'clock last night dropped off into a seemingly peaceful sleep, which has been continuous up to the time of this writing, two o'clock p.m.[K] Evening of September 4.--I have been glad to have this rest to-day, for with the time spent in writing up a detailed diary in addition to the work about camp, I have been putting in about sixteen hours work each day. So this afternoon a nap of two or three hours was a pleasant rest. I strolled for a long distance down the shore, the sand of which abounds in small crystals, which some of our party think may possess some value. Craters emitting steam through the water are frequently seen beneath the surface, at a distance of from forty to fifty feet from its margin, the water in which is very hot, while that of the lake surrounding them I found to be too cool for a pleasant bath. In some places the lake water is strongly impregnated with sulphur. One crater emits a jet of steam with a hissing noise as loud as that usually heard at the blowing off of the safety valve of a steam-boat. In the clear light of the setting sun, we can see the three Tetons in a southwesterly direction. [Illustration: GRAND TETON.] Some member of our party has asked what is the meaning of the word "Teton" given to these mountains.[L] Lieutenant Doane says it is a French word signifying "Woman's Breast," and that it was given to these mountains by the early French explorers, because of their peculiar shape. I think that the man who gave them this name must have seen them from a great distance; for as we approach them, the graceful curvilinear lines which obtained for them this delicate appellation appear angular and ragged. From our present point of view the name seems a misnomer. If there were twelve of them instead of three, they might better be called the "Titans," to illustrate their relation to the surrounding country. He indeed must have been of a most susceptible nature, and, I would fain believe, long a dweller amid these solitudes, who could trace in these cold and barren peaks any resemblance to the gentle bosom of woman. Monday, September 5.--Lieutenant Doane continued to sleep all last night, making a thirty-six hours nap, and after dressing his thumb and taking an observation to determine our elevation, which we found to be 7714 feet above the ocean, we broke camp at nine o'clock. After the train had got under way, I asked Mr. Hedges to remain behind and assist me in measuring, by a rude system of triangulation, the distance across the lake as well as to the Tetons; but owing to the difficulty we encountered in laying out a base line of sufficient length, we abandoned the scheme after some two hours of useless labor. [Illustration: SLATE SPECIMENS FROM CURIOSITY POINT. SLATE CUP. LEG AND FOOT.] Following the trail of the advance party, we traveled along the lake beach for about six miles, passing a number of small hot sulphur springs and lukewarm sulphur ponds, and three hot steam jets surrounded by sulphur incrustations. After six miles, we left the beach, and traveled on the plateau overlooking the lake. This plateau was covered with a luxuriant growth of standing pine and a great deal of fallen timber, through which at times considerable difficulty was experienced in passing. A little way from the trail is an alkaline spring about six feet in diameter. We came to camp on the shore of the lake, after having marched fifteen miles in a southerly direction. We have a most beautiful view of the lake from our camp. Yesterday it lay before us calm and unruffled, save by the waves which gently broke upon the shore. To-day the winds lash it into a raging sea, covering its surface with foam, while the sparkling sand along the shore seems to form for it a jeweled setting, and the long promontories stretching out into it, with their dense covering of pines, lend a charming feature to the scene. Water never seemed so beautiful before. Waves four feet high are rolling in, and there appear to be six or seven large islands; but we cannot be certain about this number until we reach the south shore. From this point we cannot tell whether the wooded hills before us are islands or promontories. On the shore are to be found large numbers of carnelians or crystallized quartz, agates, specimens of petrified wood, and lava pebbles or globules. We have found also many curious objects of slate formation, resembling hollowed-out cups, discs, and two well formed resemblances of a leg and foot, and many other curious objects which Nature in her most capricious mood has scattered over this watery solitude. All these seem to be the joint production of fire and water; the fire forming and baking them, and the water polishing them. We called this place "Curiosity Point." If Mount Washington were set in the lake, its summit would be two thousand feet below the surface of the water. To-night a conference of the party was held, to decide whether we would continue our journey around the lake, or retrace our steps and pass along the north side of the lake over to the Madison. By a vote of six to three we have decided to go around the lake. Mr. Hauser voted in favor of returning by way of the north side. My vote was cast for going around the lake. As we passed along the shore to-day, we could see the steam rising from a large group of hot springs on the opposite shore of the lake bordering on what seems to be the most westerly bay or estuary.[M] We will have an opportunity to examine them at short range, when we have completed our journey around the lake. Tuesday, September 6.--We broke camp at ten thirty this morning, bearing well to the southeast for an hour and then turning nearly due south, our trail running through the woods, and for a large part of our route throughout the day, through fallen timber, which greatly impeded our progress. We did not make over ten miles in our day's travel. Frequently we were obliged to leave the trail running through the woods, and return to the lake, and follow the beach for some distance. We passed along the base of a brimstone basin, the mountains forming a semi-circle half way around it, the lake completing the circle. In company with Lieutenant Doane I went up the side of the mountain, which for the distance of three or four miles and about half way to the summit is covered with what appears to be sulphate (?) of lime and flowers of sulphur mixed. Exhalations are rising from all parts of the ground at times, the odor of brimstone being quite strong; but the volcanic action in this vicinity is evidently decreasing. About half way up the deposit on the mountain side a number of small rivulets take their rise, having sulphur in solution, and farther down the mountain and near the base are the dry beds of several streams from ten to twenty feet in width which bear evidence of having at some time been full to the banks (two or three feet deep) with sulphur water. The small streams now running are warm. The side of the mountain over which we rode, seems for the most part to be hollow, giving forth a rumbling sound beneath the feet, as we rode upon the crust, which is very strong. In no instance did it give way as did the crust at "Crater hill," under which the fires were raging, though the incrustation appears to be very similar, abounding in vents and fissures and emitting suffocating exhalations of sulphur vapor. On the sides of the mountain were old fissures, surrounded by rusty looking sulphur incrustations, now nearly washed away. The whole mountain gives evidence of having been, a long time ago, in just the same condition of conflagration as that in which we found "Crater hill;" but all outward trace of fire has now disappeared, save what is found in the warm water of the small streams running down the sides. Our course for the past two days has been in nearly a south-southeast direction, or about parallel with the Wind river mountains. We have to-day seen an abundance of the tracks of elk and bears, and occasionally the track of a mountain lion. Wednesday, September 7.--Last night when all but the guards were asleep, we were startled by a mountain lion's shrill scream, sounding so like the human voice that for a moment I was deceived by it into believing that some traveler in distress was hailing our camp. The stream near the bank of which our camp lay, flows into the southeast arm of Yellowstone lake, and for which the name "Upper Yellowstone" has been suggested by some of our party; but Lieutenant Doane says that he thinks he has seen on an old map the name "Bridger" given to some body of water near the Yellowstone. We tried to cross the river near its mouth, but found the mud in the bed of the stream and in the bottom lands adjoining too deep; our horses miring down to their bellies. In accordance with plans agreed upon last night, General Washburn and a few of the party started out this morning in advance of the others to search for a practicable crossing of the river and marshes, leaving the pack train in camp. In company with Lieutenant Doane I went out upon a reconnaissance for the purpose of determining the elevation of the mountains opposite our camp, as well as the shape of the lake as far as we could see the shore, and also to determine as far as possible our locality and the best line of travel to follow in passing around the lake. There is just enough excitement attending these scouting expeditions to make them a real pleasure, overbalancing the labor attendant upon them. There is very little probability that any large band of Indians will be met with on this side of the lake, owing to the superstitions which originate in the volcanic forces here found. We followed along the high bank adjacent to the bottom through which the river runs in a direction a little south of east for the distance of about three miles, when we entered a heavily timbered ravine, which we followed through the underbrush for some three miles, being frequently obliged to dismount and lead our horses over the projecting rocks, or plunging through bushes and fallen timber. At the end of two hours we reached a point in the ascent where we could no longer ride in safety, nor could our horses climb the mountain side with the weight of our bodies on their backs. Dismounting, we took the bridle reins in our hands, and for the space of an hour we led our horses up the steep mountain side, when we again mounted and slowly climbed on our way, occasionally stopping to give our horses a chance to breathe. Arriving at the limit of timber and of vegetation, we tied our horses, and then commenced the ascent of the steepest part of the mountain, over the broken granite, great care being necessary to avoid sliding down the mountain side with the loose granite. The ascent occupied us a little more than four hours, and all along the mountain side, even to near the summit, we saw the tracks of mountain sheep. The view from the summit of this mountain, for wild and rugged grandeur, is surpassed by none I ever before saw. The Yellowstone basin and the Wind river mountains were spread out before us like a map. On the south the eye followed the source of the Yellowstone above the lake, until, twenty-five miles away, it was lost in an immense cañon, beyond which two immense jets of vapor rose to a height of probably three hundred feet, indicating that there were other and perhaps greater wonders than those embraced in our prescribed limit of exploration. On the north the outlet of the lake and the steam from the mud geyser and mud volcano were distinctly visible, while on the southeast the view followed to the horizon a succession of lofty peaks and ridges at least thirty miles in width, whose jagged slopes were filled with yawning caverns, pine-embowered recesses and beetling precipices, some hundreds and some thousands of feet in height. This is the range which Captain Raynolds, approaching from the east, found impassable while on his exploring tour to the Yellowstone in the year 1860. I shall, upon my return home, read Captain Raynolds' report with renewed interest.[N] The mountain on which we stood was the most westerly peak of a range which, in long extended volume, swept to the southeastern horizon, exhibiting a continuous elevation more than thirty miles in width, its central line broken into countless points, knobs, glens and defiles, all on the most colossal scale of grandeur and magnificence. Outside of these, on either border, along the entire range, lofty peaks rose at intervals, seemingly vying with each other in the varied splendors they presented to the beholder. The scene was full of majesty. The valley at the base of this range was dotted with small lakes. Lakes abound everywhere--in the valleys, on the mountains and farther down on their slopes, at all elevations. The appearance of the whole range was suggestive of the existence, ages since, of a high plateau on a level with these peaks (which seemed to be all of the same elevation), which by the action of the water had been cut down in the intervals between the peaks into deep gorges and cañons. The sides of the mountains formed in many places a perpendicular wall from 600 to 1,000 feet in height. This range of mountains has a marvelous history. As it is the loftiest, so it is probably the most remarkable lateral ridge of the Rocky range. In the expedition sent across the continent by Mr. Astor, in 1811, under command of Captain Wilson P. Hunt, that gentleman met with the first serious obstacle to his progress at the eastern base of this range. After numerous efforts to scale it, he turned away and followed the valley of Snake river, encountering the most discouraging disasters until he arrived at Astoria.[O] I have read somewhere (I think in Washington Irving's "Astoria" or "Bonneville's Adventures") that the Indians regard this ridge of mountains as the crest of the world, and that among the Blackfeet there is a fable that he who attains its summit catches a view of the "Land of Souls" and beholds the "Happy Hunting Grounds" spread out below him, brightening with the abodes of the free and generous spirits. Lieutenant Doane and I were somewhat fatigued with our climb of four hours' duration, and we refreshed ourselves with such creature comforts as we found on the summit; but, although we attained the "crest," we did not discern any "free and generous spirit," save that which we saw "through a glass darkly." At the point where we left our horses there was, on the east slope of the mountain, a body of snow, the surface of which was nearly horizontal, and the outer edge of which was thirty feet in perpendicular height. This body of snow is perpetual. At this point the elevation, as indicated by our aneroid barometer, was 9,476 feet, while at the summit it was 10,327 feet, a difference of 581 feet, which was the broken granite summit. The descent occupied an hour and a quarter, when we struck the trail of the pack train near the base of the mountain, which we followed until we found three poles placed in the form of a tripod, the longer pole pointing to the right to indicate that at this point the party had changed its course. [Illustration: Marker made of sticks.] Obeying this Indian sign, we descended the bank bordering the valley and traversed the bottom lands to the river, which we forded at a point where it was about ninety feet wide and three feet deep, with a current of about six miles an hour. This was about six or seven miles from the mouth of the river. We followed the trail of the advance party through a beautiful pine forest, free from underbrush, for the distance of two miles, passing two beautiful lakes. By this time night had overtaken us, and it was with difficulty that we could follow the trail, the tracks of the horses' shoes, which were our sole guide, being hardly discernible. But we pressed on, following the dark, serpentine line of freshly disturbed earth till it turned up the side of the mountain, where we followed it for upwards of a mile. Fearing lest we were not upon the right trail, we dismounted, and, placing our faces close to the ground, examined it carefully, but could not discover the impression of a single horseshoe. Gathering a few dry branches of pine, we kindled a fire upon the trail, when we discovered that we had been following, from the base of the mountain, the trail of a band of elk that had crossed the line of travel of the pack train at a point near the base of the mountain, and in the dim twilight we had not discovered the mistake. [Illustration: MAP OF YELLOWSTONE LAKE, AS KNOWN BETWEEN 1860 AND 1870. FROM THE MAP OF RAYNOLDS' EXPEDITION OF 1860.] The prospect for a night on the mountain, without blankets or supper, seemed now very good; but we retraced our steps as rapidly as possible, and on reaching the base of the mountain, struck out for the lake, resolving to follow the beach, trusting that our party had made their camp on the shore of the lake, in which case we should find them; but if camped at any considerable distance from the shore, we should not find them. Our ride over fallen timber and through morass for the distance of about two miles to the shore of the lake was probably performed more skillfully in the darkness of the night than if we had seen the obstacles in our path, and as we rounded a point on the smooth beach we saw at a distance of a little over a mile the welcome watch fire of our comrades. When we arrived within hailing distance we gave a loud halloo, and the ready response by a dozen sympathetic voices of our companions-in-arms showed that our own anxiety had been shared by them. Our camp to-night is on the westerly side of the most southeasterly bay of the lake. These bays are separated by long points of land extending far out into the lake. From our camp of two days ago some of these points seemed to be islands. From the top of the mountain, which Doane and I ascended to-day, I made an outline map of the north and east sides of the lake and part of the south side; but on account of the heavy timber on the promontories I could not make a correct outline of the south and west shores. General Washburn and Hauser, as well as myself, have thus far made outlines of the lake shore as best we could from points on a level with the lake, but these have been unsatisfactory and have lacked completeness, and Washburn and Hauser have both expressed their satisfaction with the sketch of the lake shore I made to-day from the top of the mountain; and Washburn has just told me that Lieutenant Doane has suggested that, as I was the first to reach the summit of the mountain, the peak should be named for me. I shall be gratified if this is done.[P] [Illustration: MAP OF YELLOWSTONE LAKE. COPY OF THE ORIGINAL OUTLINE SKETCHED BY NATHANIEL P. LANGFORD FROM THE TOP OF MOUNT LANGFORD, SEPT. 7, 1870, AND COMPLETED SEPT. 10 AND 13.] We have traveled from our morning camp about twelve miles, but we are not more than four miles from it in a straight line. Thursday, September 8.--Travel to-day has led us in zigzag directions over fallen timber some twelve miles. We have halted on a small creek about one mile from the most southerly arm of the lake and about seven miles in a straight line from our morning camp. This has been a terrible day for both men and horses. The standing trees are so thick that we often found it impossible to find a space wide enough for the pack animals to squeeze through, and we were frequently separated from each other in a search for a route. Hedges and Stickney, in this way, became separated from the rest of the party, and after suffering all the feelings of desolation at being lost in this wilderness, accidentally stumbled upon our camp, and they freely expressed their joy at their good fortune in being restored to the party. I fully sympathized with them, for, speaking from a personal experience of a similar character which I had in 1862, I can say that a man can have no more complete sense of utter desolation than that which overwhelms him when he realizes that he is lost. At one point while they were seeking some sign of the trail made by the rest of the party, a huge grizzly bear dashed by them, frightening Hedges' horse, which broke his bridle and ran away. After supper Washburn and Hauser went up on the ridge back of the camp to reconnoiter and ran across a she grizzly and her two cubs. Being unarmed, they hastily returned to camp for their guns, and five or six of us joined them in a bear hunt. The members of this hunting party were all elated at the thought of bagging a fine grizzly, which seemed an easy prey. What could one grizzly do against six hunters when her instinctive duty would lead her to hurry her little ones to a place of safety! While putting our guns in order and making other preparations for the attack, an animated discussion took place concerning a proper disposition of the two cubs which were to be captured alive. Some of our party thought that they ought to be carried home to Helena, but Bean and Reynolds, our packers, being appealed to, thought the plan not feasible unless they could be utilized as pack animals. When we reached the spot where Washburn and Hauser had last seen the bear, we traced her into a dense thicket, which, owing to the darkness, we did not care to penetrate, for not one of us felt that we had lost that particular bear. Jake Smith, with more of good sense than usual, but with his usual lack of scriptural accuracy, remarked, "I always considered Daniel a great fool to go into a den of bears."[Q] Our journey for the entire day has been most trying, leading us through a trackless forest of pines encumbered on all sides by prostrate trunks of trees. The difficulty of urging forward our pack train, making choice of routes, extricating the horses when wedged between the trees, and re-adjusting the packs so that they would not project beyond the sides of the horses, required constant patience and untiring toil, and the struggle between our own docility and the obstacles in our way, not unfrequently resulted in fits of sullenness or explosions of wrath which bore no slight resemblance to the volcanic forces of the country itself. [Illustration: Benj. Stickney] On one of these occasions when we were in a vast net of down timber and brush, and each man was insisting upon his own particular mode of extrication, and when our tempers had been sorely tried and we were in the most unsocial of humors, speaking only in half angry expletives, I recalled that beautiful line in Byron's "Childe Harold," "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods," which I recited with all the "ore rotundo" I could command, which struck the ludicrous vein of the company and produced an instantaneous response of uproarious laughter, which, so sudden is the transition between extremes, had the effect to restore harmony and sociability, and, in fact, to create a pleasure in the pathless wilderness we were traveling. One of our pack horses is at once a source of anxiety and amusement to us all. He is a remarkable animal owned by Judge Hedges, who, however, makes no pretentious to being a good judge of horses. Mr. Hedges says that the man from whom he purchased the animal, in descanting upon his many excellent qualities, said: "He is that kind of an animal that drives the whole herd before him." The man spoke truly, but Mr. Hedges did not properly interpret the encomium, nor did he realize that the seller meant to declare that the animal, from sheer exhaustion, would always be lagging behind the others of the herd. From the start, and especially during our journey through the forest, this pony, by his acrobatic performances and mishaps, has furnished much amusement for us all. Progress to-day could only be accomplished by leaping our animals over the fallen trunks of trees. Our little broncho, with all the spirit necessary, lacks oftentimes the power to scale the tree trunks. As a consequence, he is frequently found resting upon his midriff with his fore and hind feet suspended over the opposite sides of some huge log. "The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." He has an ambitious spirit, which is exceeded only by his patience. He has had many mishaps, any one of which would have permanently disabled a larger animal, and we have dubbed him "Little Invulnerable." One of the soldiers of our escort, Private Moore, has made a sketch of him as he appeared to-day lying across a log, of which I am to have a copy. [Illustration: LITTLE INVULNERABLE.] I growled at Hauser and scolded him a little in camp to-night because of some exasperating action of his. I here record the fact without going into details. I think that I must try to be more patient. But I am feeling somewhat the fatigue of our journey. However, there is something to be said on the other hand, and that is that there is no one of the party better able to bear its labors and anxieties than I, and therefore I should be the last man to lose my patience. I know of nothing that can try one's patience more than a trip of any considerable length by wagon train or pack train through an uninhabited region, and the most amiable of our race cannot pass this ordeal entirely unscathed. Persons who are not blessed with uncommon equanimity never get through such a journey without frequent explosions of temper, and seldom without violence. Even education, gentle training and the sharpest of mental discipline do not always so effectually subdue the passions that they may not be aroused into unwonted fury during a long journey through a country filled with obstructions. Philosophy has never found a fitter subject for its exercise than that afforded by the journey we are now making, which obliges the members of our party to strive to relieve each other's burdens. Friday, September 9.--Last night there occurred an incident which I would gladly blot from these pages, but a faithful record of all the events of camp life in connection with this expedition demands that I omit nothing of interest, nor set down "aught in malice." Mr. Hedges and I were on guard during the last relief of the night, which extends from the "Wee sma' hours ayont the twal" to daybreak. The night was wearing on when Hedges, being tempted of one of the Devils which doubtless roam around this sulphurous region, or that perhaps followed Lieutenant Doane and myself down from that "high mountain apart" where the spirits roam, asked me if I was hungry. I replied that such had been my normal condition ever since our larder had perceptibly declined. Mr. Hedges then suggested that, as there was no food already cooked in the camp, we take each a wing of one of the partridges and broil it over our small fire. It was a "beautiful thought," as Judge Bradford of Colorado used to say from the bench when some knotty legal problem relating to a case he was trying had been solved, and was speedily acted upon by both of us. But I was disappointed in finding so little meat on a partridge wing, and believed that Hedges would have chosen a leg instead of a wing, if he had pondered a moment, so I remedied the omission, and, as a result, each roasted a leg of the bird. Soon increase of appetite grew by what it fed on, and the breast of the bird was soon on the broiler. In the meantime our consciences were not idle, and we were "pricked in our hearts." The result was that we had a vision of the disappointment of our comrades, as each should receive at our morning breakfast his small allotment of but one partridge distributed among so many, and it did not take us long to send the remaining bird to join its mate. Taking into consideration the welfare of our comrades, it seemed the best thing for us to do, and we debated between ourselves whether the birds would be missed in the morning, Hedges taking the affirmative and I the negative side of the question. This morning when our breakfast was well nigh finished, Mr. Hauser asked "Newt," the head cook, why he had not prepared the partridges for breakfast. "Newt" answered that when he opened the pan this morning the birds had "done gone," and he thought that "Booby" (the dog) had eaten them. Whereupon Hauser pelted the dog with stones and sticks. Hedges and I, nearly bursting with our suppressed laughter, quietly exchanged glances across the table, and the situation became quite intense for us, as we strove to restrain our risibles while listening to the comments of the party on the utter worthlessness of "that dog Booby." Suddenly the camp was electrified by Gillette asking, "Who was on guard last night?" "That's it," said one. "That's where the birds went," said another. This denouement was too much for Hedges and myself, and amid uproarious laughter we made confession, and "Booby" was relieved from his disgrace and called back into the camp, and patted on the head as a "good dog," and he has now more friends in camp than ever before. Mr. Hauser, who brought down the birds with two well directed shots with his revolver, made from the back of his horse without halting the animal, had expected to have a dainty breakfast, but he is himself too fond of a practical joke to express any disappointment, and no one in the party is more unconcerned at the outcome than he. He is a philosopher, and, as I know from eight years' association with him, does not worry over the evils which he can remedy, nor those which he cannot remedy. There can be found no better man than he for such a trip as we are making. "Booby" is taking more kindly, day by day, to the buckskin moccasins which "Newt" made and tied on his feet a few days ago. When he was first shod with them he rebelled and tore them off with his teeth, but I think he has discovered that they lessen his sufferings, which shows that he has some good dog sense left, and that probably his name "Booby" is a misnomer. I think there is a great deal of good in the animal. He is ever on the alert for unusual noises or sounds, and the assurance which I have that he will give the alarm in case any thieving Indians shall approach our camp in the night is a great relief to my anxiety lest some straggling band of the Crows may "set us afoot." Jake Smith was on guard three nights ago, and he was so indifferent to the question of safety from attack that he enjoyed a comfortable nap while doing guard duty, and I have asked our artist, Private Moore, to make for me a sketch of Smith as I found him sound asleep with his saddle for a pillow. Jake might well adopt as a motto suitable for his guidance while doing guard duty, "Requieseat in pace." Doubtless Jake thought, "Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" I say _thought_ for I doubt if Jake can give a correct verbal rendering of the sentence. A few evenings ago he jocosely thought to establish, by a quotation from Shakespeare, the unreliability of a member of our party who was telling what seemed a "fish story," and he clinched his argument by adding that he would apply to the case the words of the immortal Shakespeare, "Othello's _reputation's_ gone." [Illustration: JAKE SMITH, GUARDING THE CAMP FROM HOSTILE INDIAN ATTACK. "REQUIESCAT IN PACE."] We broke camp this morning with the pack train at 10 o'clock, traveling in a westerly course for about two miles, when we gradually veered around to a nearly easterly direction, through fallen timber almost impassable in the estimation of pilgrims, and indeed pretty severe on our pack horses, for there was no trail, and, while our saddle horses with their riders could manage to force their way through between the trees, the packs on the pack animals would frequently strike the trees, holding the animals fast or compelling them to seek some other passage. Frequently, we were obliged to re-arrange the packs and narrow them, so as to admit of their passage between the standing trees. At one point the pack animals became separated, and with the riding animals of a portion of the party were confronted with a prostrate trunk of a huge tree, about four feet in diameter, around which it was impossible to pass because of the obstructions of fallen timber. Yet pass it we must; and the animals, one after another, were brought up to the log, their breasts touching it, when Williamson and I, the two strongest men of the party, on either side of an animal, stooped down, and, placing each a shoulder back of a fore leg of a horse, rose to an erect position, while others of the party placed his fore feet over the log, which he was thus enabled to scale. In this way we lifted fifteen or twenty of our animals over the log. Soon after leaving our camp this morning our "Little Invulnerable," while climbing a steep rocky ascent, missed his footing and turned three back summersaults down into the bottom of the ravine. We assisted him to his feet without removing his pack, and he seemed none the worse for his adventure, and quickly regained the ridge from which he had fallen and joined the rest of the herd. At 3 o'clock in the afternoon we halted for the day, having traveled about six miles, but our camp to-night is not more than three miles from our morning camp. Mr. Hedges' pack horse, "Little Invulnerable," was missing when we camped; and, as I was one of the four men detailed for the day to take charge of the pack train, I returned two miles on our trail with the two packers, Reynolds and Bean, in search of him. We found him wedged between two trees, evidently enjoying a rest, which he sorely needed after his remarkable acrobatic feat of the morning. We are camped in a basin not far from the lake, which surrounds us on three sides--east, north and west. Mr. Everts has not yet come into camp, and we fear that he is lost. About noon we crossed a small stream that flows towards the southwest arm of the lake, but which, I think, is one of the headwater streams of Snake river. I think that we have crossed the main divide of the Rocky Mountains twice to-day. We have certainly crossed it once, and if we have not crossed it twice we are now camped on the western slope of the main divide. If the creek we crossed about noon to-day continues to flow in the direction it was running at the point where we crossed it, it must discharge into the southwest arm of the lake, and it seems probable that Mr. Everts has followed down this stream. I have just had a little talk with Lieutenant Doane. He thinks that our camp to-night is on the Snake river side of the main divide, and there are many things that incline me to believe that he is correct in his opinion.[R] Last night we had a discussion, growing out of the fact that Hedges and Stickney, for a brief time, were lost, for the purpose of deciding what course we would adopt in case any other member of the party were lost, and we agreed that in such case we would all move on as rapidly as possible to the southwest arm of the lake, where there are hot springs (the vapor of which we noticed from our camp of September 5th), and there remain until all the party were united. Everts thought a better way for a lost man would be to strike out nearly due west, hoping to reach the headwaters of the Madison river, and follow that stream as his guide to the settlements; but he finally abandoned this idea and adopted that which has been approved by the rest of the party. So if Mr. Everts does not come into camp to-night, we will to-morrow start for the appointed rendezvous. Saturday, September 10.--We broke camp about 10 o'clock this morning, taking a course of about ten degrees north of west, traveling seven miles, and coming to camp on the lake shore at about five miles in a direct line from our morning camp at half past two p.m. No sign of Mr. Everts has been seen to-day, and on our arrival in camp, Gillette and Trumbull took the return track upon the shore of the lake, hoping to find him, or discover some sign of him. A large fire was built on a high ridge commanding all points on the beach, and we fired signal guns from time to time throughout the night. Mr. Hauser and I ascended a high point overlooking our camp, and about eight hundred feet above it, where from the top of a tall tree I had a fairly good view of the shore outline of the west and south shores of the lake, with all the inlets, points and islands. We were also enabled to mark out our course of travel which it would be necessary to follow in order to reach the most southwesterly arm of the lake and take advantage of openings in the timber to facilitate travel. On this high point we built a large fire which could be seen for many miles in all directions by any one not under the bank of the lake, and which we hoped Mr. Everts might see, and so be directed to our camp. In going to the summit we traveled several hundred feet on a rocky ridge not wide enough for safe travel by a man on horseback. At an elevation of about eight hundred feet above Yellowstone lake we found two small lakes nestled in a deep recess in the mountain and surrounded by the overturned rocks. Our route to-day has been entirely through fallen timber, and it has been a hard day of travel on our horses, necessitating jumping over logs and dead branches of trees, and thus we have made very slow progress. The map of Yellowstone lake which we will be enabled to complete from the observations made to-day will show that its shape is very different from that shown on Captain Raynolds' map. The lake has but three islands. We are more than ever anxious about Mr. Everts. We had hoped, this morning, to make our camp to-night on the southwest arm of the lake, but the fallen timber has delayed us in our travel and prevented our doing so. The southwest arm of the lake has been our objective point for the past three days, and we feel assured that Mr. Everts, finding himself lost, will press on for that point, and, as he will not be hindered by the care of a pack train, he can travel twice as far in one day as we can, and we are therefore the more anxious to reach our destination. We have carefully considered all the points in the case, and have unanimously decided that it will be utter folly to remain in camp here, and equally so to have remained in this morning's camp, hoping that he would overtake us. On the evening that Mr. Hedges was lost, Mr. Everts told him that he ought to have struck out for the lake, as he (Everts) would do if lost. So we will move on to the southwest arm of the lake and remain three or four days. If Mr. Everts overtakes us at all he will do so by that time. [Illustration: Truman C. Everts] Sunday, September 11.--Gillette and Trumbull returned to camp this morning, having traversed the shore of the lake to a point east of our camp of September 9th, without discovering any sign of Mr. Everts. We have arrived at the conclusion that he has either struck out for the lake on the west, or followed down the stream which we crossed the day he was lost, or that he is possibly following us. The latter, however, is not very probable. Mr. Hauser, Lieutenant Doane and I saddled up immediately after breakfast, and, with a supply of provisions for Mr. Everts, pressed forward in advance of the rest of the party, marking a trail for the pack animals through the openings in the dense woods, and avoiding, as far as possible, the fallen timber. We rode through with all possible dispatch, watching carefully for the tracks of a horse, but found no sign of Mr. Everts. We followed both the beach and the trail on the bank for several miles in either direction, but we saw neither sign nor track. The small stream which we crossed on the 9th does not flow into this arm of the lake as we thought it might, and it is evidently a tributary of the Snake river. The pack train arrived early in the afternoon with the rest of the party, and all were astonished and saddened that no trace of Mr. Everts had been found. We shall to-night mature a plan for a systematic search for him. It is probable that we will make this camp the base of operations, and remain here several days. Everts has with him a supply of matches, ammunition and fishing tackle, and if he will but travel in a direct line and not veer around to the right or left in a circle, he will yet be all right. Directly west of our camp on the further side of this arm of the lake, and about four miles distant, are several hot springs which we shall visit before leaving the lake. We were roused this morning about 2 o'clock by the shrill howl of a mountain lion, and again while we were at breakfast we heard another yell. As we stood around our campfire to-night, our ears were saluted with a shriek so terribly human, that for a moment we believed it to be a call from Mr. Everts, and we hallooed in response, and several of our party started in the direction whence the sounds came, and would have instituted a search for our comrade but for an admonitory growl of a mountain lion. We have traveled to-day about seven miles. On leaving our camps yesterday and to-day, we posted conspicuously at each a placard, stating clearly the direction we had taken and where provisions could be found. The country through which we have passed for the past five days is like that facetiously described by Bridger as being so desolate and impassable and barren of resources, that even the crows flying over it were obliged to carry along with them supplies of provisions. Monday, September 12.--In accordance with our pre-arranged programme, three parties were sent out this morning in search of Mr. Everts. Smith and Trumbull were to follow the take shore until they came in sight of our last camp. Hauser and Gillette were to return on our trail through the woods, taking with them their blankets and two days' rations. General Washburn and myself were to take a southerly direction towards what we called "Brown Mountain," some twelve miles away. Smith and Trumbull returned early in the afternoon and reported having seen in the sand the tracks of a man's foot, and Smith thought that he saw several Indians, who disappeared in the woods as they approached; but Trumbull, who was with him, did not see them, and Smith says it was because he was short-sighted. For some reason they did not pursue their investigations farther, and soon returned in good order to camp. The reconnaissance made by General Washburn and myself resulted in no discovery of any trace of Everts. We traveled about eleven miles directly south, nearly to the base of Brown mountain, carefully examining the ground the whole of the way, to see if any horseshoe tracks could be discovered. We crossed no stream between the lake and the mountain, and if Mr. Everts followed the stream which we crossed on the 9th, he is south of Brown mountain, for it is evident that he did not pass westward between Brown mountain and Yellowstone lake; otherwise we would have discovered the tracks of his horse. It is now night, and Hauser and Gillette have not yet returned. Two miles on this side (the north side) of Brown mountain, Washburn and I passed over a low divide, which, I think, must be the main range of the Rocky Mountains, just beyond which is another brimstone basin containing forty or fifty boiling sulphur and mud springs, and any number of small steam jets. A small creek runs through the basin, and the slopes of the mountains on either side to the height of several hundred feet showed unmistakable signs of volcanic action beneath the crust over which we were traveling. A considerable portion of the slope of the mountain was covered with a hollow incrustation of sulphur and lime, or silica, from which issued in many places hot steam, and we found many small craters from six to twelve inches in diameter, from which issued the sound of the boiling sulphur or mud, and in many instances we could see the mud or sulphur water. There are many other springs of water slightly impregnated with sulphur, in which the water was too hot for us to bear the hand more than two or three seconds, and which overflowed the green spaces between the incrustations, completely saturating the ground, and over which in many places the grass had grown, forming a turf compact and solid enough to bear the weight of a man ordinarily; but when it once gave way the underlying deposit was so thin that it afforded no support. While crossing, heedless of General Washburn's warning, one of these green places, my horse broke through and sank to his body as if in a bed of quicksand. I was off his back in an instant and succeeded in extricating the struggling animal, the turf being strong enough to bear his body alone, without the addition of the weight of a man. The fore legs of my horse, however, had gone through the turf into the hot, thin mud beneath. General Washburn, who was a few yards behind me on an incrusted mound of lime and sulphur (which bore us in all cases), and who had just before called to me to keep off the grassy place, as there was danger beneath it, inquired of me if the deposit beneath the turf was hot. Without making examination I answered that I thought it might be warm. Shortly afterwards the turf again gave way, and my horse plunged more violently than before, throwing me over his head, and, as I fell, my right arm was thrust violently through the treacherous surface into the scalding morass, and it was with difficulty that I rescued my poor horse, and I found it necessary to instantly remove my glove to avoid blistering my hand. The frenzied floundering of my horse had in the first instance suggested to General Washburn the idea that the under stratum was hot enough to scald him. General Washburn was right in his conjecture. It is a fortunate circumstance that I to-day rode my light-weight pack horse; for, if I had ridden my heavy saddle horse, I think that the additional weight of his body would have broken the turf which held up the lighter animal, and that he would have disappeared in the hot boiling mud, taking me with him. At the base of Brown mountain is a lake, the size of which we could not very accurately ascertain, but which was probably about two miles long by three-quarters of a mile wide. On the south end appeared to be an outlet, and it seems to be near the head of the Snake river. Owing to the difficulty of reaching the beach, growing out of the mishaps arising from the giving way of the turf, as I have described, our nearest approach to the lake was about one-half of a mile. During the absence of Washburn and myself Mr. Hedges has spent the day in fishing, catching forty of the fine trout with which the lake abounds. Mr. Stickney has to-day made an inventory of our larder, and we find that our luxuries, such as coffee, sugar and flour, are nearly used up, and that we have barely enough of necessary provisions--salt, pepper, etc., to last us ten days longer with economy in their use. We will remain at the lake probably three or four days longer with the hope of finding some trace of Everts, when it will be necessary to turn our faces homewards to avoid general disaster, and in the meantime we will dry a few hundred pounds of trout, and carry them with us as a precautionary measure against starvation. At all of our camps for the past three days, and along the line of travel between them, we have blazed the trees as a guide for Mr. Everts, and have left a small supply of provisions at each place, securely cached, with notices directing Mr. Everts to the places of concealment. The soldiers' rations issued for thirty days' service will barely hold out for their own use, and we have little chance of borrowing from them. We left Helena with thirty days' rations, expecting to be absent but twenty-five days. We have already been journeying twenty-seven days, and are still a long way from home. A few nights ago I became ravenously hungry while on guard, and ate a small loaf of bread, one of five loaves that I found in a pan by the campfire. I was not aware at the time that these loaves were a part of the soldiers' breakfast rations, nor did I know that in the army service each soldier has his own particular ration of bread. So the next morning, with one ration of bread missing, one soldier would have been short in his allowance if the others had not shared their loaves with him. I supposed at the time of my discovery of the five loaves that they belonged to the larder of the Washburn branch of the party--not to the escort--and I apologized to the soldiers when I learned the truth, and we are now as good friends as ever; but, from an occasional remark which they drop in my presence, I perceive that they think they have the laugh on me. Unfortunately for them, we will part company before we reach the settlements, and I will have no opportunity to _liquidate_ my obligations. Hard work and plain living have already reduced my superfluous flesh, and "my clothes like a lady's loose gown hang about me," as the old song runs. Day before yesterday Mr. Gillette and I discussed the question of the probability of a man being able to sustain life in this region, by depending for his subsistence upon whatever roots or berries are to be found here. We have once before to-day referred to the fact that we have seen none of the roots which are to be found in other parts of the Rocky Mountain region, and especially in the elevated valleys. We have not noticed on this trip a single growing plant or specimen of the camas, the cowse, or yamph. If Mr. Everts has followed the stream on which we were camped the day he was lost down into the Snake river valley, he will find an abundance of the camas root, which is most nutritions, and which will sustain his life if he has sufficient knowledge of the root to distinguish the edible from the poisonous plant. I have been told by James Stuart that in the valley of the Snake river the "camas" and the "cowse" roots are to be found in great abundance, and are much prized as food by the Indians. "Cowse" is a Nez Perce word, the Snake Indians give the name "thoig" to the same root. It grows in great abundance in the country of the Nez Perce Indians, who eat great quantities of it, and these Indians are called by the Snake Indians the "Thoig A-rik-ka," or "Cowse-eaters." The camas is both flour and potatoes for several wandering nations, and it is found in the most barren and desolate regions in greatest quantity. The camas is a small round root, not unlike an onion in appearance. It is sweet to the taste, full of gluten, and very satisfying to a hungry man. The Indians have a mode of preparing it which makes it very relishable. In a hole a foot in depth, and six feet in diameter, from which the turf has been carefully removed, they build a fire for the purpose of heating the exposed earth surface, while in another fire they heat at the same time a sufficient number of flat rocks to serve as a cover. After the heating process is completed, the roots are spread over the bottom of the hole, covered with the turf with the grass side down, the heated rocks spread above, and a fire built upon them, and the process of cooking produces about the same change in the camas that is produced in coffee by roasting. It also preserves it in a suitable form for ready use. The yamph has a longer and smaller bulb than the camas, though not quite as nutritious, and may be eaten raw. Either of these roots contains nutriment sufficient to support life, and often in the experience of the tribes of the mountains winters have been passed with no other food. There is a poisonous camas, which is sometimes mistaken for the genuine root, but which cannot be eaten in large quantities without fatal results. It always grows where the true camas is found, and much care is necessary to avoid mixing the two while gathering the roots in any considerable quantity. So great is the esteem in which the camas is held that many of the important localities of the country in which it is found are named for it.[S] [Illustration: SECTION OF FUNNEL-SHAPED SPRING. SHOWING HOW BRANCHES AND TWIGS LODGE AT THE POINT OF CONVERGENCE SO AS TO MAKE A FOUNDATION FOR GRASS AND EARTH UNTIL THE SPRING IS FILLED TO THE TOP AND THE SURFACE IS COVERED WITH A LIVING TURF STRONG ENOUGH TO BEAR A CONSIDERABLE WEIGHT.] Lieutenant Doane was much amazed at the appearance of my horse's legs, upon our return from Brown mountain, and has asked General Washburn and myself what can be the nature of the ground where such a mishap could occur. My theory of the matter is this: We frequently found springs of hot water--though not boiling--some fifteen or twenty feet in diameter at the top, the sides of which were funnel-shaped, and converged to a narrow opening of say three feet diameter at a depth of twelve or fifteen feet, and which below the point of convergence opened out like an hour glass. In some of these springs at the point of convergence we found tree branches that had fallen into the spring and had become impregnated with the silica or lime of the water; water-soaked we call it. I saw a number of such springs in which several branches of trees were lying across the small opening at the point of convergence. When once these are firmly lodged, they form a support for smaller branches and twigs, and thus the tufts of grass which the spring floods or melting snows bring down from the sides of the mountain will, after a few years, made a sufficiently strong foundation for the earth, which will also wash down the slopes into the spring. Once a firm footing is established, it is only a question of time when the spring will be filled to the brim with earth. Then gradually the seed blown over the surface of the spring from the weeds and grass near by will take root, and, in the course of a few years, a strong turf will be formed, through which the water may percolate in many places, though giving to the unsuspecting traveler no sign of its treacherous character. I think that it was through such a turf as this that the fore legs of my horse and my right hand were plunged.[T] [Illustration: BREAKING THROUGH THE TURF, FORMED OVER THE SURFACE OF SUCH A SPRING AS THAT SHOWN ABOVE.] My pack horse which I rode to-day, a buckskin colored broncho, which is docile under the pack saddle, "bucked" as I mounted him this morning; but I kept my seat in the saddle without difficulty. Walter Trumbull, however, on my return to-night, presented me with a sketch which he says is a faithful portrayal of both horse and rider in the acrobatic act. I think the sketch is an exaggeration, and that I hugged the saddle in better form than it indicates. [Illustration: MY BUCKING BRONCHO.] Tuesday, September 13.--It was Jake Smith's turn to stand guard last night, but he refused to do so, and Washburn took his place. We have remained in camp all day. At about 9 o'clock this morning it began to rain and hail, and we have had a little snow, which continued to fall at intervals all day. At about 6 o'clock this evening Hauser and Gillette arrived in camp, having returned on the trail to within three miles of the place where we camped on the night of September 7th. They examined the trail and the beach with the utmost care, but without discovering any trace of Mr. Everts. They say that the trail over which our train passed, or, rather, the path which our train made, was hardly plain enough to be followed, and in many places where the pine leaves had fallen thick upon the ground, it was totally invisible, so that no one could have followed it with certainty except by dismounting and closely observing the ground at every step. They made the journey very well, from the fact that they had traveled the route once before, and their horses instinctively followed the back path for a great part of the distance without any special guidance. On their near approach to camp, when the trail was no longer discernible, their dog "Booby" took the lead when they were at fault, and brought them into camp all right. They think they might have been forced to lie out all night but for the sagacity of "Booby." They made on each of the two days nearly as great a distance as our train traveled in four days. Their report has fully set at rest the question of Mr. Everts having followed us. It settles as a fact that he did not again strike our trail, and that had he done so he could not have followed it, owing to his short-sightedness. Hauser and Gillette are probably the two best trailers and woodsmen in our party, and their report of the condition of the trail and the difficulty experienced in following it has satisfied us that Mr. Everts has either struck off in a southerly direction, following perhaps the headwaters of the Snake river, or that he has made an effort to reach the head of the lake with a view of returning by our trail to Boteler's ranch. It is snowing hard to-night, and the prospect for a day or two more in this camp is very good. The murky atmosphere to-night brings to view a number of springs on the opposite shore of this arm of the lake and farther back in the hills which we have not heretofore seen, and the steam is rising from fifty craters in the timbered ridge, giving it the appearance of a New England factory village. After holding a council this evening we have resolved to remain at this place two days more, hoping that Mr. Everts may overtake us, this arm of the lake being the _objective point_ of our travel, fixed on the day before that on which Mr. Everts was lost. Wednesday, September 14.--We have remained in camp all day, as it is next to impossible to move. The snow is nearly two feet deep, and is very wet and heavy, and our horses are pawing in it for forage. Our large army tent is doing us good service, and, as there is an abundance of dry wood close by our camp, we are extremely comfortable. I am the only one of the party who has a pair of water-proof boots, and I was up and out of the tent this morning before daylight cutting into cordwood a pine log, and before noon I had more than a half cord at the tent door. Washburn and Hauser offered to do some of this work if I would loan them my water-proof boots; but, as they are of a full size for me, and would probably drop off of their feet, I told them that I would get the wood. Lieutenant Doane to-day requested me to loan him this diary from which to write up his records, as the condition of his thumb has interfered with his use of a pen or pencil. I have accordingly loaned it to him, and Private Moore has been busy the greater part of the day copying portions of it. For myself, I am very glad to have a day of rest, for I have felt much wearied for several days. I think that I am certainly within bounds when I say that I have put in sixteen hours a day of pretty hard work, attending to camp duties, and writing each day till late at night, and I realize that this journal of travel is becoming ponderous. Yet there is daily crowded upon my vision so much of novelty and wonder, which should be brought to the notice of the world, and which, so far as my individual effort is concerned, will be lost to it if I do not record the incidents of each day's travel, that I am determined to make my journal as full as possible, and to purposely omit no details. It is a lifetime opportunity for publishing to all who may be interested a complete record of the discoveries of an expedition which in coming time will rank among the first and most important of American explorations. It is cold to-night, and the water in a pail standing at our tent door was frozen at 7 o'clock in the evening. The water fowl are more abundant at this point than they have been elsewhere on the lake on our journey around it, and we could see to-day hundreds of swans, geese and ducks, and many pelicans and gulls. Thursday, September 15.--This forenoon the weather moderated, and one-half the snow has melted, so that it is but about ten inches deep to-night. Still, our horses are becoming restless for want of sufficient food. The patches of grass which may be found under the snow are very limited in extent, and as the animals are confined to the length of their lariats, foraging is much more difficult than if they were running loose. We have seen no signs of Indians following us since we made our first camp upon the lake, and but little evidence that they have ever been here, except some few logs piled so as to conceal from view a hunter who may be attempting to bring down some of the game swimming on the lake. We feel convinced that Jake Smith drew upon both his imagination and his fears three days ago, when he reported that he had seen Indians on the beach of the lake. [Illustration: LIEUT. GUSTAVUS C. DOANE.] Each night that we have been camped here we have heard the shrill cries of the mountain lions, and under a momentary illusion I have each time been half convinced that it was a human being in distress. Because of the mountain lions we are keeping close watch upon our horses. They are very fond of horse flesh, and oftentimes will follow a horseman a long distance, more to make a meal upon the flesh of the horse than for the purpose of attacking the rider. [Illustration: JACK BARONETTE.] During the three days we have spent in this camp, I have been enabled to complete my diary for September 8th, 9th and 10th, which were red letter days--days of great anxiety. I had a good nap this afternoon while my diary was being used for Lieutenant Doane, and I feel greatly refreshed. My first thought on awakening was for poor Everts. I wonder where he can be throughout all this fierce storm and deep snow! Perhaps the snow did not reach him, for I noticed to-night that the ground was quite bare on the opposite side of this arm of the lake, while the snow is eight or ten inches deep here at our camp. Hauser is not feeling very well to-night. Friday, September 16.--We this morning resolved to move over to the vicinity of the hot springs on the opposite side of this arm of the lake, from which point we will leave the Yellowstone for the Madison river or some one of its branches. We followed up the beach for half a mile, and then journeyed along the bank of the lake through the woods for a mile to avoid the quicksands on the lake shore; then, taking the beach again, we followed it to the springs where we are now camped.[U] These springs surpass in extent, variety and beauty any which we have heretofore seen. They extend for the distance of nearly a mile along the shore of the lake, and back from the beach about one hundred yards. They number between ninety and one hundred springs, of all imaginable varieties. Farthest from the beach are the springs of boiling mud, in some of which the mud is very thin, in others of such a consistency that it is heaped up as it boils over, gradually spreading under its own weight until it covers quite a large surface. The mud or clay is of different colors. That in some of the springs is nearly as white as white marble; in others it is of a lavender color; in others it is of a rich pink, of different shades. I have taken specimens of each, which I will have analyzed on my return home.[V] In close proximity to these are springs discharging water nearly clear and apparently odorless, the bottoms and sides of which, as well as of the channels of the streams running from them, are covered with soft deposits of some substance they contain in solution. These deposits and the hard incrustations around the edges of the springs are of various colors, in some cases being dark red, in others scarlet, in others yellow, and in still others green. Along the shore of the lake are several boiling springs situated in the top of incrusted craters, but which do not boil over, the sediment which has been deposited around them forming a wall or embankment, holding back the water. But the most remarkable of all the springs at this point are six or seven of a character differing from any of the rest. The water in them is of a dark blue or ultra-marine hue, but it is wonderfully clear and transparent. Two of these springs are quite large; the remaining five are smaller, their diameters ranging from eight to fifteen feet. The water in one of these latter is thrown up to the height of two feet. The largest two of these springs are irregular in their general outline of nearly an oval shape, the larger of the two being about twenty-five feet wide by forty long, and the smaller about twenty by thirty feet. The discharge from each of them is about one gallon per minute. The sides of the springs are funnel-shaped, and converge until at the depth of thirty feet, the opening is about eight feet in diameter. From the surface or rim down to the lowest point of convergence where the opening enlarges, the sides of the funnel (which are corrugated and very uneven and irregular) are covered with a white deposit or incrustation which contrasts vividly with the dark opening at its base, which is distinctly visible at the depth of forty feet. These two springs are distant from each other about twenty yards, and there is a difference of about four feet in the elevation or level of the water. One peculiar feature of all these springs is that they seem to have no connection with each other beneath the surface. We find springs situated five or six feet apart, of the same general appearance but of different temperatures, and with the water upon different levels. The overflow from these springs for a great number of years has formed an incrusted bank overlooking the border of the lake, rising to the height of six feet; and, as the streams running from the springs are bordered with incrustations of various hues, depending upon the nature of the deposit or substance in solution, so the incrusted bank, which has been in process of formation for ages, exhibits all of these varied colors. In a number of places along the bank of the lake, this incrusted deposit is broken down and has crumbled into small pieces, upon which the waves have dashed until they have been moulded into many curious shapes, and having all the colors of the deposits in the springs--white, red and white blended, yellow and green. Cavernous hollows which fill the shore incrustation respond in weird and melancholy echoes to the dash of the billows. The bottoms of the streams flowing from the deeper springs have for some distance a pure white incrustation; farther down the slope the deposit is white in the center with sides of red, and still farther down the white deposit is hidden entirely by the red combined with yellow. From nearly all these springs we obtained specimens of the adjoining incrustations, all of which were too hot to be held for more than a moment even with the gloved hand. Between the springs all along the border of the lake were small craters from which issued hot steam or vapor, besides which there were many cold craters. Along the edge of the lake, out in the water from ten to thirty feet from the shore are to be found springs with the water bubbling up a few inches above the surface. None of the springs in this locality appeared to be very strongly impregnated with sulphur. Some of the incrustations on the beach are as white and delicate as alabaster. These are the springs which we observed on September 5th from our camp on the eastern shore of the lake. Our explorations of the Yellowstone will cease at this point, and to-morrow we start in our search for Firehole Basin. Our journey around Yellowstone lake in close proximity to the beach is doubtless the first ever attempted; and, although it has been attended with difficulty and distress, these have been to me as nothing compared with the enjoyment the journey has afforded, and it is with the greatest regret that I turn my face from it homewards. How can I sum up its wonderful attractions! It is dotted with islands of great beauty, as yet unvisited by man, but which at no remote period will be adorned with villas and the ornaments of civilized life. The winds from the mountain gorges roll its placid waters into a furious sea, and crest its billows with foam. Forests of pine, deep, dark and almost impenetrable, are scattered at random along its banks, and its beautiful margin presents every variety of sand and pebbly beach, glittering with crystals, carnelians and chalcedony. The Indians approach it under the fear of a superstition originating in the volcanic forces surrounding it, which amounts almost to entire exclusion. It possesses adaptabilities for the highest display of artificial culture, amid the greatest wonders of Nature that the world affords, and is beautified by the grandeur of the most extensive mountain scenery, and not many years can elapse before the march of civil improvement will reclaim this delightful solitude, and garnish it with all the attractions of cultivated taste and refinement. Strange and interesting as are the various objects which we have met with in this vast field of natural wonders, no camp or place of rest on our journey has afforded our party greater satisfaction than the one we are now occupying, which is our first camp since emerging from the dense forest. Filled with gloom at the loss of our comrade, tired, tattered, browned by exposure and reduced in flesh by our labors, we resemble more a party of organized mendicants than of men in pursuit of Nature's greatest novelties. But from this point we hope that our journey will be comparatively free from difficulties of travel. Mr. Hauser's experience as a civil engineer has been an invaluable aid in judging of the "lay of the land," and so in giving direction to our party in its zig-zag journeying around the lake. In speaking of this, Hauser says that he thinks that I have a more correct idea of mountain heights, distances and directions, and can follow a direct course through dense timber more unerringly than any man he knows, except James Stuart--a compliment which I accept most graciously. Some of our party declare that they would have had no expectation of finding their way back to camp, if they had ventured into the forest in search of Mr. Everts. I recited to Washburn and Hauser to-night an extract from "The Task," by the poet Cowper, which, in my younger days, I memorized for declamation, and which, I think, is at once expressive of our experience in the journey around the lake and of our present relief. "As one who long in thickets and in brakes Entangled, winds now this way and now that, His devious course uncertain, seeking home, Or having long in miry ways been foiled And sore discomfited, from slough to slough Plunging, and half despairing of escape, If chance at length he finds a green-sward Smooth and faithful to the foot, his spirits rise. He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, And winds his way with pleasure and with ease." It is a source of great regret to us all that we must leave this place and abandon the search for Mr. Everts; but our provisions are rapidly diminishing, and force of circumstances obliges us to move forward. We still indulge the hope that he may have found and followed down some branch of the Madison river and reached Virginia City, or down Snake river and reached some settlement in that valley; and but for our anxiety to reach home and prove or disprove our expectations, we might have devoted much more time to visiting the objects of interest we have seen, and which we have been obliged to pass by. Mr. Hauser has eaten nothing to-day, and this evening he told me that he felt sick. Such an acknowledgment from him means far more than it would coming from many another man, for I know from intimate association with him for eight years that there is no man in our party who will more uncomplainingly reconcile himself to the hardships and privations of such a journey as this, and if he is too ill to travel to-morrow morning, and if the rest of our party think that they ought to take up the journey homeward, I will remain with him here for a day, and as the others will have to search out a path through the fallen timber, we can make their two days' journey in one by following their beaten trail without obstacles, and overtake them by the time they reach the Firehole river, if they find it at all. Saturday, September 17, morning.--We were awakened before daylight this morning by loud roaring sounds proceeding from the hot springs close by our camp, some of which were in violent action, though entirely quiescent yesterday. Some of them in which the surface of the water, last night, was several feet below the rim, are now overflowing. My saddle horse broke his lariat, frightened by the roaring of the springs, and plunged along too near one of them, when the surrounding incrustation gave way and he sank down to his body, but frantically extricated himself without standing upon the order of his extrication;--but he has cut his foot so badly that I do not think it will be prudent to ride him to-day. In his stead I will ride my smaller pack horse, who has nearly recovered from the effects of the scalding he received on my trip to Brown mountain. The hair has come off his legs in several places as the result of that mishap, yet his wonderful vitality always leaves him in a cheerful frame of mind and ready for any duty. This has been a gloomy morning in our camp, for we all have been depressed at the thought of leaving the lake and abandoning the search for Mr. Everts. We have discussed the situation from every point of view, and have tried to put ourselves in his place and have considered all the possibilities of fate that may befall him. At one moment he may be buoyed up with hope, however faint--at another weighed down by despair and fear, with all their mental terrors. Has he met death by accident, or may he be injured and unable to move, and be suffering the horrors of starvation and fever? Has he wandered aimlessly hither and thither until bereft of reason? As I contemplate all these possibilities, it is a relief to think that he may have lost his life at the hand of some vagabond Indian. As the result of this conference we have decided upon a final plan of action. We will give to Gillette from our remnant of provisions, ten days' rations, and Lieutenant Doane will detail Privates Moore and Williamson, with ten days' rations, and the three will continue the search from this point. Mr. Gillette says that with the ten days' rations they can devote five days to a continuous search, and the remaining five days will be sufficient, with forced traveling, for them to overtake us. Hauser has endeavored to throw a little cheer into the conference by saying to Gillette: "I think that I should be willing to take the risk of spending ten days more in this wilderness, if I thought that by so doing I could find a father-in-law." This provoked an uproarious shout of laughter, for we well understood that Hauser alluded to the many social courtesies which Gillette, in Helena, had extended to Miss Bessie Everts, the charming daughter of our lost comrade, and one of the most attractive of Montana belles. This sally of Mr. Hauser gives to me the assurance of his own convalescence; and, if it so happens that Gillette finds Mr. Everts, we will have the realization of another image in "Childe Harold," "A rapture on the lonely shore."[W] Saturday, September 17, evening.--Gillette, Moore and Williamson left us this morning about 9 o'clock on their final quest for Mr. Everts, and the rest of our party soon resumed our journey. We have traveled about twelve miles to-day, about one-half of the distance being through open timber, and the other half over prostrate pines unmarked by any trail, and through which we found it difficult to make our way, although the obstructions were not so formidable as those on the south shore of Yellowstone lake.[X] About noon we crossed a high ridge which we had reached by a steep ascent, and on descending the opposite side we saw upon our left a large lake which Lieutenant Doane and some others of our party think is at the head of Firehole river, and they suggested that we make our way to this lake and take as a guide to the Firehole the stream which they believe will be found flowing from it. They argued that by so doing we would be relieved from all uncertainty concerning the course to be pursued in order to reach the Firehole river; but they were easily persuaded that if the Firehole does take its rise in that lake, we can as certainly strike that river by pursuing our present westwardly direction as if we followed the plan suggested by them. Hauser and I feel sure that this large lake is the head of Snake river. In the afternoon we passed another ridge and descended into a small open valley where we found a spring of good water, and where we are now camped, near a very small creek, which runs in a direction a little north of west, and which I believe flows to the Firehole or the Madison river. Our direction of travel to-day has been governed somewhat by our compasses, but we have neglected to make allowance for the variation of the magnetic needle, which I think is about twenty degrees east of the true meridian. Therefore in trying to follow a westerly course, we have in reality taken a course about twenty degrees north of west. As we passed the large lake on our left to-day, I observed that there was no ridge of land between us and the lake; therefore I believe that it is in the Snake river valley, and that we have to-day twice crossed the main range of the Rocky Mountains. The fact that the Snake river valley is so readily accessible from Yellowstone lake, gives me hope to-night that Mr. Everts may have made his way out of the forest to some settlement in the Snake river valley. There is still four or five inches of snow on the ground, but there is plenty of long grass under it, and our horses are faring tolerably well, and will soon fill themselves with either grass or snow. There is no clear space large enough for us to pitch our tent. We have had our supper--an indifferent and scanty meal--and each man is now seeking with varied success a dry spot beneath the sheltering branches of the pines whereon to spread his blankets. Some of our party seem terribly fatigued, and others mentally depressed. The question of our present locality is still unsolved in their minds, and has been intensified by the discussions in camp to-night as to whether or not the large lake we saw discharges its waters into the Snake river, and they ask: "If it does so, have we re-crossed the main range to the eastern slope?" For myself I do not know of any day since we left home when I have been in better spirits. I am sure we are on the right course and feel no anxiety. The sky to-night is clear and cloudless, but the snow is melting fast, and there is a peculiar odor in the air that gives assurance of rain before morning. Hedges (my bed fellow) and I have selected our sleeping place, and I have placed over it a ridge-pole, supported by branches of a tree, and have erected a "wickiup" of green pine boughs overlapping like a thatched roof, which will turn off the rain if it comes, and I have advised the others of our party to make similar preparations for a rain. Hedges says that he feels worried and very much discouraged. Sunday, September 18, 8 o'clock a.m.--There occurred a half hour ago the first serious mishap affecting the welfare of the entire party; and while the packers, Bean and Reynolds, are repairing the damage resulting therefrom, I will go back a few hours and chronicle in the order of their occurrence the events of the early morning. Mr. Hedges and I, sleeping securely under the sheltering roof of our pine-thatched wickiup, were aroused from our sweet dreams of home about 4 o'clock this morning by several members of our party, who sought shelter from the rain which came down abundantly, or, as a Westmoreland deacon used to say, "in cupious perfusion." The rain storm broke about 3 o'clock in the morning, and all of the party except Hedges and myself were well drenched, as their only protection from the rain was their blankets. An effort had been made by some of the party to kindle a fire under the shelter of a large standing tree, but with indifferent success. Hedges and I crawled out of our dry blankets, and sat upright, so as to make as much room as possible for the others, and we welcomed all our comrades to our dry shelter. General Washburn, who is suffering somewhat from a cold, was especially grateful for the protection from the storm, which continued until about 7 o'clock. The roof of our wickiup had completely protected Hedges and myself from the rain except at one spot directly over Hedges' exposed ear, where a displacement of the pine leaves allowed a small stream to trickle through the roof, filling his ear with water, much to his discomfort. Some members of our party, at our early breakfast this morning, sitting upon logs at various distances from our camp fire in their half-dried clothing, and eating their scanty meal in silence, presented a sorry appearance. Some are disappointed that we did not, last night, reach the Firehole river, or some large branch of the Madison, which may guide us homeward, and are wondering if we are moving in the right direction. I feel so perfectly confident that we are traveling the right course that I am in the best of spirits. It may be that my cheerfulness is owing, in some degree, to my having dry clothing and a dry skin, which few of my comrades have, but I see no reason for discouragement. I think that Mr. Hauser is the best and most accurate judge of distances, of heights of mountains, and direction of travel, of any man I know, and he does not doubt that we are moving in the right direction. It is a satisfaction to have my opinion confirmed by his judgment. [Illustration: Nathaniel P. Langford] We had just finished our breakfast a half hour ago when something--some wild animal, or, perhaps, a snake--moving in the brush near where our horses were picketed, frightened three of them, and in their violent plunging they pulled up the iron picket pins attached to their lariats, and dashed at a gallop directly through our camp, over the campfire, and upsetting and scattering hither and thither our cooking utensils. The iron picket pins flying through the air at the lariat ends narrowly missed several of our party, but became entangled with the only two sound pack saddles remaining of the entire number with which we started, and dashed them against the adjacent trees, tearing off the side pieces of the saddletrees, and rendering them useless. Our first thought was that the damage done was beyond repair. We had, however, a few thin boards, the remnants of our canned goods boxes, and from my seamless sack of personal baggage I produced two gimlets, a screwdriver, a pair of nippers, some wrought nails and two dozens of screws of various sizes. When all these things were laid out, my comrades expressed great surprise, for not one of them or the packers had any idea that there were any tools or screws in our "outfit." On the other hand, it is a matter of surprise to me that I am the only member of our party who has a rubber coat, or a pair of oil-tanned water-proof boots, or who has brought with him any medicines, tools, screws, etc.; and, except myself, there is but one member of our party (whom I will not "give away" by here recording his name) who had the foresight to bring with him a flask of whiskey. I think we will be known among those who will hereafter visit this marvelous region as "The Temperance Party," though some of our number who lacked the foresight to provide, before leaving Helena, a needed remedy for snake bites, have not lacked the hindsight required in using it. Bean and Reynolds have just announced that the pack saddles have been repaired, and that preparations are being made for the start, so on this hint I suspend my record until night. Sunday, September 18, evening.--We left our morning camp about 9 o'clock, pursuing our uncertain course through fallen timber for a distance of about three miles, when we had all our fears of misdirection relieved by coming suddenly upon the banks of the Firehole river, the largest fork of the Madison, down which we followed five miles, passing several groups of boiling springs and a beautiful cascade[Y] (to which we gave no name), when we emerged from the dense forest into a sequestered basin two miles above the union of the Firehole river with a stream which comes in from the southwest, the basin extending to the width of a mile, and traversing the river until contracted between proximate ranges two miles below our camp. I have spent the entire afternoon and part of this evening in examining the geysers and springs, but will not further record the explorations of to-day until we are ready to leave the basin. Monday, September 19.--When we left Yellowstone lake two days ago, the desire for home had superceeded all thought of further explorations. Five days of rapid travel would, we believed, bring us to the upper valley of the Madison, and within twenty-five miles of Virginia City, and we indulged the remote hope that we might there find some trace of Mr. Everts. We had within a distance of fifty miles seen what we believed to be the greatest wonders on the continent. We were convinced that there was not on the globe another region where within the same limits Nature had crowded so much of grandeur and majesty with so much of novelty and wonder. Judge, then, of our astonishment on entering this basin, to see at no great distance before us an immense body of sparkling water, projected suddenly and with terrific force into the air to the height of over one hundred feet. We had found a real geyser. In the valley before us were a thousand hot springs of various sizes and character, and five hundred craters jetting forth vapor. In one place the eye followed through crevices in the crust a stream of hot water of considerable size, running at nearly right angles with the river, and in a direction, not towards, but away from the stream. We traced the course of this stream by the crevices in the surface for twenty or thirty yards. It is probable that it eventually flows into the Firehole, but there is nothing on the surface to indicate to the beholder the course of its underground passage to the river. On the summit of a cone twenty-five feet high was a boiling spring seven feet in diameter, surrounded with beautiful incrustations, on the slope of which we gathered twigs encased in a crust a quarter of an inch in thickness. On an incrusted hill opposite our camp are four craters from three to five feet in diameter, sending forth steam jets and water to the height of four or five feet. But the marvelous features of this wonderful basin are its spouting geysers, of which during our brief stay of twenty-two hours we have seen twelve in action. Six of these threw water to the height of from fifteen to twenty feet, but in the presence of others of immense dimensions they soon ceased to attract attention. Of the latter six, the one we saw in action on entering the basin ejected from a crevice of irregular form, and about four feet long by three wide, a column of water of corresponding magnitude to the height of one hundred feet. Around this crevice or mouth the sediment is piled in many capricious shapes, chiefly indented globules from six inches to two feet in diameter. Little hollows in the crust filled with water contained small white spheres of tufa, of the size of a nutmeg, formed as it seemed to me around some nuclei.[Z] We gave such names to those of the geysers which we saw in action as we think will best illustrate their peculiarities. The one I have just described General Washburn has named "Old Faithful," because of the regularity of its eruptions, the intervals between which being from sixty to sixty-five minutes, the column of water being thrown at each eruption to the height of from eighty to one hundred feet. The "Fan" has a distorted pipe from which are projected two radiating sheets of water to the height of sixty feet, resembling a feather fan. Forty feet from this geyser is a vent connected with it, two feet in diameter, which, during the eruption, expels with loud reports dense volumes of vapor to the height of fifty feet. [Illustration: OLD FAITHFUL. NAMED BY GENERAL WASHBURN.] The "Grotto," so named from the singularly winding apertures penetrating the sinter surrounding it, was at rest when we first discovered it. Externally it presented few indications of its character as a geyser. Private Williamson, one of our escort, crawled through an aperture and looked into the discharging orifice. When afterwards, he saw it belching forth a column of boiling water two feet in diameter to the height of sixty feet, and a scalding stream of two hundred square inches flowing from the cavern he had entered a short time before, he said that he felt like one who had narrowly escaped being summarily cooked. The "Castle" is on the summit of an incrusted elevation. This name was given because of its resemblance to the ruins of some old tower with its broken down turrets. The silicious sinter composing the formation surrounding it takes the form of small globules, resembling a ripe cauliflower, and the massive nodules indicate that at some former period the flow of water must have been much larger than at present. The jet is sixty feet high by four feet in diameter, and the vent near it, which is in angry ebullition during the eruption, constantly flows with boiling water. One of the most wonderful of the springs in this basin is that of ultra-marine hue directly in front of the "Castle" geyser. It is nearly round, having diameters of about twenty and twenty-five feet, the sides being corrugated and funnel-shaped, and at the depth of thirty feet opening out into a cavern of unfathomable depth, the rim of the spring having beautifully escalloped edges. It does not boil over, but a very small stream of water flows from it, and it is not affected in its appearance by the spouting of the geyser in its immediate proximity. There is evidently no connection between this spring and the geyser. The "Giant" is a rugged deposit presenting in form a miniature model of the Colosseum. It has an opening three feet in diameter. A remarkable characteristic of this geyser is the duration of its discharges, which yesterday afternoon continued for more than an hour in a steady stream about three feet in diameter and one hundred and forty feet high. Opposite our camp, on the east side of the Firehole river, is a symmetrical cone resembling an old-fashioned straw beehive with the top cut off. It is about five feet in diameter at its base, with an irregular oval-shaped orifice having escalloped edges, and of twenty-four by thirty-six inches interior diameter. No one supposed that it was a geyser, and until this morning, among so many wonders, it had escaped a second notice. Suddenly, while we were at breakfast this morning, a column of water shot from it, which by quite accurate triangular measurement proved to be two hundred and nineteen feet in height. Our method of triangulation was as follows: A point on the surface of the ground was marked, which was in a direct line with a branch of a tree near by, and of the top of the column of water when at its greatest height. Having obtained the perpendicular height of the branch of the tree from the ground, and the distance from this perpendicular to the point of observation and to the geyser cone, we were enabled to make a very accurate calculation of the height of the column of water. We named this geyser the "Bee Hive." Near by is situated the "Giantess," the largest of all the geysers we saw in eruption. Ascending a gentle slope for a distance of sixty yards we came to a sink or well of an irregular oval shape, fifteen by twenty feet across, into which we could see to the depth of fifty feet or more, but could discover no water, though we could distinctly hear it gurgling and boiling at a fearful rate afar down this vertical cavern. Suddenly it commenced spluttering and rising with incredible rapidity, causing a general stampede among our company, who all moved around to the windward side of the geyser. When the water had risen within about twenty-five feet of the surface, it became stationary, and we returned to look down upon the foaming water, which occasionally emitted hot jets nearly to the mouth of the orifice. As if tired of this sport the water began to ascend at the rate of five feet in a second, and when near the top it was expelled with terrific momentum in a column the full size of the immense aperture to a height of sixty feet. The column remained at this height for the space of about a minute, when from the apex of this vast aqueous mass five lesser jets or round columns of water varying in size from six to fifteen inches in diameter shot up into the atmosphere to the amazing height of two hundred and fifty feet. This was without exception the most magnificent phenomenon I ever beheld. We were standing on the side of the geyser exposed to the sun, whose sparkling rays filled the ponderous column with what appeared to be the clippings of a thousand rainbows. These prismatic illusions disappeared, only to be succeeded by myriads of others which continually fluttered and sparkled through the spray during the twenty minutes the eruption lasted. These lesser jets, thrown so much higher than the main column and shooting through it, doubtless proceed from auxiliary pipes leading into the principal orifice near the bottom, where the explosive force is greater. The minute globules into which the spent column was diffused when falling sparkled like a shower of diamonds, and around every shadow produced by the column of steam hiding the sun was the halo so often represented in paintings as encircling the head of the Savior We unhesitatingly agreed that this was the greatest wonder of our trip. Mr. Hedges and I forded the Firehole river a short distance below our camp. The current, as it dashed over the boulders, was swift, and, taking off our boots and stockings, we selected for our place of crossing what seemed to be a smooth rock surface in the bottom of the stream, extending from shore to shore. When I reached the middle of the stream I paused a moment and turned around to speak to Mr. Hedges, who was about entering the stream, when I discovered from the sensation of warmth under my feet that I was standing upon an incrustation formed over a hot spring that had its vent in the bed of the stream. I exclaimed to Hedges: "Here is the river which Bridger said was _hot at the bottom_."[AA] How many more geysers than those we saw in eruption there are in this remarkable basin, it is impossible to determine. We will be compelled reluctantly to leave it before it can be half explored. At least a thousand pipes rise to the plain, one or two hundred of which, to all appearances, are as likely to be geysers as any we have seen. This entire country is seemingly under a constant and active internal pressure from volcanic forces, which seek relief through the numberless springs, jets, volcanoes and geysers exhibited on its surface, and which but for these vents might burst forth in one terrific eruption and form a volcano of vast dimensions. It is undoubtedly true that many of the objects we see are of recent formation, and that many of the extinguished craters recently ceased their condition of activity. They are constantly breaking forth, often assuming new forms, and attesting to the active presence of volcanic force. The water in some of the springs presents to the eye the colors of all the precious gems known to commerce. In one spring the hue is like that of an emerald, in another like that of the turquoise, another has the ultra-marine hue of the sapphire, another has the color of the topaz; and the suggestion has been made that the names of these jewels may very properly be given to many of these springs. The packers with the pack train and several of our party broke camp at 9:30 this morning, a few of us remaining for an hour, hoping to have another view of an eruption of the "Giantess;" but in this we were disappointed, for it gave no sign of an eruption, save that the water, visible generally at a depth of about twenty feet, would rise suddenly eight or ten feet in the well, and as suddenly fall again. We moved down the river on the east bank, part of the way through an open valley and part through fallen timber. At about eight miles we came upon an enormous spring of dark blue water, the largest we have seen. Mr. Hauser measured it, and says it is four hundred feet in diameter. The mineral solution has been deposited by the overflow on all sides for two hundred yards, the spring itself being thirty feet above the general level of the valley. Out near the center of the lake the water boils up a few feet, but without any especial violent action. The lake has no well-defined outlet, but overflows on many sides, the water flowing down the slopes of the incrusted mound about one-quarter of an inch deep. As we stood on the margin of this immense lake a small flock of ducks came sailing down as if to alight; but as they skimmed the water a few inches above the surface, they seemed to scent danger, and with rapid flapping of their wings, all except one rose into the air. This one, in his descent, had gained too great an impetus to check his progress, and came down into the water, and his frantic efforts to rise again were futile, and with one or two loud squawks of distress, which were responded to by his mates who had escaped, he was in a moment "a dead duck." We gave no name to this lake.[AB] About one hundred yards from the lake on the side towards the river, the incrustation breaks off perpendicularly, and another large lake is formed, the surface of which is about fifteen feet below the upper and larger lake. There are a few other springs near the river farther down the stream. Jake Smith, for the first time on this trip, selected at this large lake a curious specimen of tufa. It was a circumstance so unusual that Hedges called our attention to it, but as Smith was riding along holding his treasure carefully in his hand, his horse stumbled, and he accidentally dropped his specimen, and with a remark which I will not here record, and which is at variance with his own Bible instruction, he denounced as worthless all the specimens of the party which he had seen, and inveighed against the folly of spending any time in gathering them. From this point we passed down the valley close by the bank of the river. The valley on our right was very marshy, and we saw at a considerable distance one very large fountain of water spouting into the atmosphere to a considerable height, and many steam jets, but, owing to the swampy character of the ground, we did not visit them.[AC] When we left Helena on August 17th, we believed that twenty-five days would be the limit of time which would be consumed before our return; but to meet all exigencies we laid in a thirty days' supply of provisions. We have now been absent thirty-four days, and as we cached some of our supply on Yellowstone lake for Mr. Everts' relief, we are now on short rations, but the fish we dried while camped on Yellowstone lake are doing good service. While riding to-day alongside of Stickney and bemoaning the lack in our larder of many articles of food, such as sugar, coffee and tea, the supply of which has become exhausted, I asked him if he was fond of maple sugar, and would like a lump of it. He requested me not to tantalize him by mentioning the subject, whereupon I astonished him by producing a goodly sized cake which I had brought with me from Helena, and which for five weeks I had preserved untouched in my seamless sack. It was enjoyed by all who shared it, but Stickney was especially grateful for his division of the sweet morsel, and received it gratefully and gracefully, and seemingly without reluctance, at the same time remarking, "You are always doing something to make me laugh!" and added, "You always seem to have another card up your sleeve when an emergency arises." By this last figure of speech he delicately suggested to me the methods adopted by Jake Smith in playing poker.[AD] We have traveled to-day about eighteen miles, crossing just before the day closed a timbered ridge, and we are now camped at the junction of the Firehole river with a stream coming into it from the east nearly as large as the Firehole, but to which we have given no name.[AE] Tuesday, September 20.--We broke camp at half past nine o'clock, traveling along the rocky edge of the river bank by the rapids, passing thence through a beautiful pine wood and over a long stretch of fallen timber, blackened by fire, for about four miles, when we again reached the river, which here bends in a westerly direction. Lieutenant Doane and I climbed to the top of one of the two prominent hills on our course, and had a fine view of the country for the distance of thirty miles. Last night, and also this morning in camp, the entire party had a rather unusual discussion. The proposition was made by some member that we utilize the result of our exploration by taking up quarter sections of land at the most prominent points of interest, and a general discussion followed. One member of our party suggested that if there could be secured by pre-emption a good title to two or three quarter sections of land opposite the lower fall of the Yellowstone and extending down the river along the cañon, they would eventually become a source of great profit to the owners. Another member of the party thought that it would be more desirable to take up a quarter section of land at the Upper Geyser Basin, for the reason that that locality could be more easily reached by tourists and pleasure seekers. A third suggestion was that each member of the party pre-empt a claim, and in order that no one should have an advantage over the others, the whole should be thrown into a common pool for the benefit of the entire party. Mr. Hedges then said that he did not approve of any of these plans--that there ought to be no private ownership of any portion of that region, but that the whole of it ought to be set apart as a great National Park, and that each one of us ought to make an effort to have this accomplished. His suggestion met with an instantaneous and favorable response from all--except one--of the members of our party, and each hour since the matter was first broached, our enthusiasm has increased. It has been the main theme of our conversation to-day as we journeyed. I lay awake half of last night thinking about it;--and if my wakefulness deprived my bed-fellow (Hedges) of any sleep, he has only himself and his disturbing National Park proposition to answer for it. Our purpose to create a park can only be accomplished by untiring work and concerted action in a warfare against the incredulity and unbelief of our National legislators when our proposal shall be presented for their approval. Nevertheless, I believe we can win the battle. I do not know of any portion of our country where a national park can be established furnishing to visitors more wonderful attractions than here. These wonders are so different from anything we have ever seen--they are so various, so extensive--that the feeling in my mind from the moment they began to appear until we left them has been one of intense surprise and of incredulity. Every day spent in surveying them has revealed to me some new beauty, and now that I have left them, I begin to feel a skepticism which clothes them in a memory clouded by doubt. Wednesday, September 21.--We broke camp soon after 9 o'clock, traveling northwesterly down the stream, which at six miles entered a cañon extending ten miles in a very tortuous course, the stream gradually bending to the west. The sides of the cañon are steep, and a great many small lateral streams flow into it, forming cascades of remarkable beauty. There are also many springs gushing out from the sides of the cañon afar up. Below the cañon we traveled over a high ridge for the distance of ten miles, and camped in a deep coulee, where we found good water and an abundance of wood and grass. Mr. Hauser and Mr. Stickney all through the day were a few miles in advance of the rest of the party, and just below the mouth of the cañon they met two men who manifested some alarm at sight of them. They had a supply of provisions packed on riding saddles, and were walking beside their horses. Mr. Hauser told them that they would meet a large party up the cañon, but we did not see them, and they evidently cached themselves as we went by. The Upper Madison in this vicinity is said to be a rendezvous for horse thieves. We have traveled about twenty-five miles to-day. As the outcome of a general conversation to-night, I will leave the party to-morrow morning, and start for Virginia City, where I have a forlorn hope that some tidings may be had of Mr. Everts. We think that Virginia City is not more than thirty miles distant; but, as we are not now on any trail leading to it, I shall have to take my chances of finding it. Jake Smith to-day asked me if I expected that the readers of my diary would believe what I had written. He said that he had kept no diary for the reason that our discoveries had been of such a novel character, that if he were to write an account of them he would not be believed by those who read his record, and he would be set down as a liar. He said that he did not mind being called a liar by those who had known him well for many years, but he would not allow strangers that privilege. This ambiguous remark indicates that Jake has more wit and philosophy than I have given him the credit of possessing. Thursday, September 22, Virginia City.--With a small supply of needed creature comforts (lunch, etc.), I left the party early this morning, uncertain as to the time which would be required to take me to Virginia City. About noon I met a horseman who had left Virginia City this morning, who directed me to the trail leading to the town. He paused long enough to let me scan a newspaper which he had, from which I learned of the capitulation of the French at Sedan. I asked him to hand the newspaper to General Washburn, whose party he would meet in the Madison valley. He said that he would stop at the cabin of "Bannack George." The distance from our morning camp to this place is much farther than we thought, and it was 9 o'clock this evening before I reached Virginia City. Nothing has been heard of Mr. Everts, and his friends are shocked at the intelligence of his loss from our party. Owing to the late hour of my arrival I have met but few of my old acquaintances, but these are greatly interested in the result of our explorations, and I have promised to remain here another day before starting for Helena, and give them a further description of what I have seen. I have enjoyed one good square meal. Tuesday, September 27, Helena.--I reached Helena last night. The intelligence of my arrival in Virginia City, and of the loss of Mr. Everts from our party, had been telegraphed to Helena from Virginia City, and on my arrival I was besieged by many of the friends of Mr. Everts for information concerning the manner in which he became separated from our party. I have spent the larger part of this day in describing the many wonders which we found on our trip, and I shall be most glad to have a few days' rest and put on some of my lost flesh. At the outset of this journey I tipped the beam of the scales at a little over one hundred and ninety (190) pounds, and to-day I weigh but one hundred and fifty-five (155) pounds, a loss of thirty-five (35) pounds. One of my friends says that I may consider myself fortunate in bringing back to civilization as much of my body as I did. I have already received several invitations from householders to meet their families and friends at their homes, and tell them of our trip, but the present dilapidated condition of my toilet renders it necessary for me to decline their hospitalities until some future period. My first duty to myself and my fellow citizens is to seek a tailor and replenish my wardrobe. Jake Smith is the only one of our party who has returned with a garment fit to wear in the society of ladies. My narrations to-day have excited great wonder, and I cannot resist the conviction that many of my auditors believe that I have "drawn a long bow" in my descriptions. I am perfectly free to acknowledge that this does not surprise me. It seems a most natural thing for them to do so; for, in the midst of my narrations, I find myself almost as ready to doubt the reality of the scenes I have attempted to describe as the most skeptical of my listeners. They pass along my memory like the faintly defined outlines of a dream. And when I dwell upon their strange peculiarities, their vastness, their variety, and the distinctive features of novelty which mark them all, so entirely out of the range of all objects that compose the natural scenery and wonders of this continent, I who have seen them can scarcely realize that in those far-off recesses of the mountains they have existed so long in impenetrable seclusion, and that hereafter they will stand foremost among the natural attractions of the world. Astonishment and wonder become so firmly impressed upon the mind in the presence of these objects, that belief stands appalled, and incredulity is dumb. You can see Niagara, comprehend its beauties, and carry from it a memory ever ready to summon before you all its grandeur. You can stand in the valley of the Yosemite, and look up its mile of vertical granite, and distinctly recall its minutest feature; but amid the cañon and falls, the boiling springs and sulphur mountain, and, above all, the mud volcano and the geysers of the Yellowstone, your memory becomes filled and clogged with objects new in experience, wonderful in extent, and possessing unlimited grandeur and beauty. It is a new phase in the natural world; a fresh exhibition of the handiwork of the Great Architect; and, while you see and wonder, you seem to need an additional sense, fully to comprehend and believe. * * * * * FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: In his diary under date of August 22d General Washburn wrote: "Stood guard. Quite cold. Crows (Indians) near."] [Footnote B: On August 23d General Washburn wrote: "Indians of the Crow tribe."] [Footnote C: Near where Livingston is now located.] [Footnote D: Lieutenant Doane in his report to the War Department under date of August 24th writes: "Guards were established here during the night, as there were signs of a party of Indians on the trail ahead of us, all the members of the party taking their tours of this duty, and using in addition the various precautions of lariats, hobbles, etc., not to be neglected while traveling through this country."] [Footnote E: Under date of August 25th Lieutenant Doane writes: "From this camp was seen the smoke of fires on the mountains in front, while Indian signs became more numerous and distinct." Under date of August 25th General Washburn wrote in his diary: "Have been following Indian trails, fresh ones, all the way. They are about two days ahead of us."] [Footnote F: These blanks were left in my diary with the intention of filling them, upon the selection by our party of a name for the creek; but after going into camp at Tower fall, the matter of selecting a name was forgotten. A few years later the stream was named Lost creek.] [Footnote G: In making a copy of my original diary, it is proper at this point to interpolate an account of the circumstances under which the name "Tower" was bestowed upon the creek and fall. At the outset of our journey we had agreed that we would not give to any object of interest which we might discover the name of any of our party nor of our friends. This rule was to be religiously observed. While in camp on Sunday, August 28th, on the bank of this creek, it was suggested that we select a name for the creek and fall. Walter Trumbull suggested "Minaret Creek" and "Minaret Fall." Mr. Hauser suggested "Tower Creek" and "Tower Fall." After some discussion a vote was taken, and by a small majority the name "Minaret" was decided upon. During the following evening Mr. Hauser stated with great seriousness that we had violated the agreement made relative to naming objects for our friends. He said that the well known Southern family--the Rhetts--lived in St. Louis, and that they had a most charming and accomplished daughter named "Minnie." He said that this daughter was a sweetheart of Trumbull, who had proposed the name--her name--"Minnie Rhett"--and that we had unwittingly given to the fall and creek the name of this sweetheart of Mr. Trumbull. Mr. Trumbull indignantly denied the truth of Hauser's statement, and Hauser as determinedly insisted that it was the truth, and the vote was therefore reconsidered, and by a substantial majority it was decided to substitute the name "Tower" for "Minaret." Later, and when it was too late to recall or reverse the action of our party, it was surmised that Hauser himself had a sweetheart in St. Louis, a Miss Tower. Some of our party, Walter Trumbull especially, always insisted that such was the case. The weight of testimony was so evenly balanced that I shall hesitate long before I believe either side of this part of the story. N.P. LANGFORD.] [Footnote H: Now Called Inspiration Point.] [Footnote I: The above quotation is from a poem by John Keats.] [Footnote J: Dr. P.V. Hayden, geologist in charge of the U.S. Geological Survey, first visited this region in the summer of 1871--the year following the visit of the Washburn party, whose discoveries and explorations are recorded in this diary. Dr. Hayden, on his return, graphically described the various wonders which he saw, but had very little to say concerning the mud volcano. This fact was the more inexplicable to me for the reason that the Washburn party thought it one of the most remarkable curiosities to be found in that region, and I was greatly surprised to find that Dr. Hayden made so little allusion to it. In 1872, the year following Dr. Hayden's first visit, I again visited the volcano, and the omission by Hayden was explained as soon as I saw the volcano in its changed condition. The loud detonations which resembled the discharges of a gun-boat mortar were no longer heard, and the upper part of the crater and cone had in a great measure disappeared, leaving a shapeless and unsightly hole much larger than the former crater, in which large tree-tops were swaying to and fro in the gurgling mass, forty feet below--the whole appearance bearing testimony to the terrible nature of the convulsion which wrought such destruction. Lieutenant Doane, in his official report to the War Department, thus describes the volcano as it appeared in 1870: "A few hundred yards from here is an object of the greatest interest. On the slope of a small and steep wooded ravine is the crater of a mud volcano, 30 feet in diameter at the rim, which is elevated a few feet above the surface on the lower side, and bounded by the slope of the hill on the upper, converging, as it deepens, to the diameter of 15 feet at the lowest visible point, about 40 feet down. Heavy volumes of steam escape from this opening, ascending to the height of 300 feet. From far down in the earth came a jarring sound, in regular beats of five seconds, with a concussion that shook the ground at 200 yards' distance. After each concussion came a splash of mud, as if thrown to a great height; sometimes it could be seen from the edge of the crater, but none was entirely ejected while we were there. Occasionally an explosion was heard like the bursting of heavy guns behind an embankment, and causing the earth to tremble for a mile around. The distance to which this mud had been thrown is truly astonishing. The ground and falling trees near by were splashed at a horizontal distance of 200 feet. The trees below were either broken down or their branches festooned with dry mud, which appeared in the tops of the trees growing on the side hill from the same level with the crater, 50 feet in height, and at a distance of 180 feet from the volcano. The mud, to produce such effects, must have been thrown to a perpendicular elevation of at least 300 feet. It was with difficulty we could believe the evidence of our senses, and only after the most careful measurements could we realize the immensity of this wonderful phenomenon." The visitor to the Park who has read the description given by Washburn, Hedges, Doane or myself, of the mud volcano as it appeared in 1870, will readily perceive that it has undergone a great change since the time of its first discovery. In my account of my trip made in 1872, published in Scribner's (now Century) Magazine for June, 1873, I say, concerning this change: "A large excavation remained; and a seething, bubbling mass of mud, with several tree-tops swaying to and fro in the midst, told how terrible and how effectual must have been the explosions which produced such devastation. I could not realize that in this unsightly hole I beheld all that was left of those physical wonders which filled this extraordinary region. * * * Great trees that then decorated the hillside were now completely submerged in the boiling mass that remained." The trees with their green tops, which were visible in 1872, have now entirely disappeared. Can any one conjecture what has become of them?] [Footnote K: Lieutenant Doane, on page 19 of his report to the War Department, says with reference to this surgical operation: "I had on the previous evening been nine days and nights without sleep or rest, and was becoming very much reduced. My hand was enormously swelled, and even ice water ceased to relieve the pain. I could scarcely walk at all, from excessive weakness. The most powerful opiates had ceased to have any effect. A consultation was held, which resulted in having the thumb split open. Mr. Langford performed the operation in a masterly manner, dividing thumb, bone, and all. An explosion ensued, followed by immediate relief. I slept through the night, all day, and the next night, and felt much better. To Mr. Langford, General Washburn, Mr. Stickney and the others of the party I owe a lasting debt for their uniform kindness and attention in the hour of need."] [Footnote L: Repeated efforts to ascend the Grand Teton, made prior to the year 1872, all terminated in failure. On the 29th day of July of that year the summit was reached by James Stevenson, of the U.S. Geological Survey, and Nathaniel P. Langford, the writer of this diary. An account of this ascent was published in Scribner's (now Century) Magazine for June, 1873. The next ascent was made in 1898 by Rev. Frank S. Spalding, of Erie, Pennsylvania, and W.O. Owen, of Wyoming, and two assistants. This ascent was accomplished after two failures of Mr. Owen in previous years to reach the summit. Mr. Owen then asserted that the summit of the mountain was not reached in 1872 by Stevenson and Langford. His efforts--in which Mr. Spalding had no part--to impeach the statement of these gentlemen failed utterly. Mr. Spalding, who was the first member of his party to reach the summit, writes: "I believe that Mr. Langford reached the summit because he says he did, and because the difficulties of the ascent were not great enough to have prevented any good climber from having successfully scaled the peak, * * * and I cannot understand why Mr. Owen failed so many times before he succeeded."] [Footnote M: The bay here referred to is at the "Thumb" Station.] [Footnote N: Captain Raynolds wrote on May 10, 1860: "To our front and upon the right the mountains towered above us to the height of from 2,000 to 3,000 feet in the shape of bold, craggy peaks of basaltic formation, their summits crowned with glistening snow. * * * It was my original desire to go from the head of Wind river to the head of the Yellowstone, keeping on the Atlantic slope, thence down the Yellowstone, passing the lake, and across by the Gallatin to the Three forks of the Missouri. Bridger said, at the outset, that this would be impossible, and that it would be necessary to pass over to the head waters of the Columbia, and back again to the Yellowstone. I had not previously believed that crossing the main crest twice would be more easily accomplished than the travel over what in effect is only a spur; but the view from our present camp settled the question adversely to my opinion at once. Directly across our route lies a basaltic ridge, rising not less than 5,000 feet above us, the walls apparently vertical, with no visible pass nor even cañon. On the opposite side of this are the head waters of the Yellowstone."] [Footnote O: Later, in 1833, the indomitable Captain Bonneville was lost in this mountain labyrinth, and, after devising various modes of escape, finally determined to ascend the range. Washington Irving, in his charming history, "Bonneville's Adventures," thus describes the efforts of General Bonneville and one of his comrades to reach the summit of this range: "After much toil he reached the summit of a lofty cliff, but it was only to behold gigantic peaks rising all around, and towering far into the snowy regions of the atmosphere. He soon found that he had undertaken a tremendous task; but the pride of man is never more obstinate than when climbing mountains. The ascent was so steep and rugged that he and his companion were frequently obliged to clamber on hands and knees, with their guns slung upon their backs. Frequently, exhausted with fatigue and dripping with perspiration, they threw themselves upon the snow, and took handfuls of it to allay their parching thirst. At one place they even stripped off their coats and hung them upon the bushes, and thus lightly clad proceeded to scramble over these eternal snows. As they ascended still higher there were cool breezes that refreshed and braced them, and, springing with new ardor to their task, they at length attained the summit."] [Footnote P: Soon after the return of our party to Helena, General Washburn, then surveyor-general of Montana, made in his office for the Interior Department at Washington, a map of the Yellowstone region, a copy of which he gave to me. He told me that in recognition of the assistance I had rendered him in making a fair outline of Yellowstone lake, with its indented shore and promontories, he had named for me the mountain on the top of which I stood when I made the sketch of the south shore of the lake. I called his attention to the fact that Lieutenant Doane had been my comrade in making the ascent, and suggested that Doane's name be given to the adjoining peak on the north. He approved of this suggestion, and the map, with these mountains so named, was transmitted to the Interior Department. Dr. Hayden, the geologist in charge of the United States geological survey, made his first visit to this region the following year (1871), and on the map which he issued in connection with his 1871 report, the name "Mount Langford" was given to another mountain far to the northeast. Since that time my name has again been transferred to a mountain on the southeast. I think that Dr. Hayden must have been aware at that time that this mountain bore my name; for he had read the account of the Washburn exploration, which was published in Scribner's Magazine for May, 1871, accompanied by a copy of the map made by General Washburn. The significance of connecting my name with this mountain is centered in the circumstance that it was intended to mark or commemorate an important event--that of giving to the public a very correct outline map of Yellowstone lake. In confirmation of the fact that the first outline of the lake approximating any degree of accuracy was made from the mountain-top, I here quote from page 21 of Lieutenant Doane's report to the War Department. "The view from this peak commanded completely the lake, enabling us to sketch a map of its inlets and bearings with considerable accuracy." On page 23 of this report Lieutenant Doane speaks of this mountain as "Mount Langford." The map last published previous to that made by General Washburn was that of Captain Raynolds, of which I here present a copy, as well as a copy of the map made by me.] [Footnote Q: On our return to Helena, Walter Trumbull published, in the Helena Gazette, some incidents of our trip, and from his narrative I copy the following account of our hunt for the grizzly: "Some of the party who had gone a short distance ahead to find out the best course to take the next day, soon returned and reported a grizzly and her two cubs about a quarter of a mile from camp. Six of the party decorated themselves as walking armories, and at once started in pursuit. Each individual was sandwiched between two revolvers and a knife, was supported around the middle by a belt of cartridges, and carried in his hand a needle carbine. Each one was particularly anxious to be the first to catch the bear, and an exciting foot-race ensued until the party got within 300 yards of the place where the bear was supposed to be concealed. The foremost man then suddenly got out of breath, and, in fact, they all got out of breath. It was an epidemic. A halt was made, and the brute loudly dared to come out and show itself, while a spirited discussion took place as to what was best to do with the cubs. The location was a mountain side, thickly timbered with tall straight pines having no limbs within thirty feet of the ground. It was decided to advance more cautiously to avoid frightening the animal, and every tree which there was any chance of climbing was watched with religious care, in order to intercept her should she attempt to take refuge in its branches. An hour was passed in vain search for the sneaking beast, which had evidently taken to flight. Then this formidable war party returned to camp, having a big disgust at the cowardly conduct of the bear, but, as the darkie said, 'not having it bad.' Just before getting in sight of camp, the six invincibles discharged their firearms simultaneously, in order to show those remaining behind just how they would have slaughtered the bear, but more particularly just how they did not. This was called the 'Bear Camp.'" Mr. Trumbull was one of the party of hunters whose efforts to capture the bear he so well describes.] [Footnote R: Our subsequent journeying showed that Lieutenant Doane was right in his conjecture.] [Footnote S: The Honorable Granville Stuart, of Montana, in his book "Montana as It Is," published in 1865, says that there is another root found in portions of Montana which I have never seen. Mr. Stuart says: "Thistle-root is the root of the common thistle, which is very abundant in the bottoms along nearly all the streams in the mountain. They grow to about the size of a large radish, and taste very much like turnips, and are good either raw or cooked with meat." Captain William Clark, of the famous Lewis and Clark expedition, dropped the final _e_ from the word cowse, spelling it c-o-w-s. Unless this error is noticed by the reader, he will not understand what Captain Clark meant when he said that members of his party were searching for the _cows_.] [Footnote T: Lieutenant Doane, in his official report to the War Department, says, concerning this episode: "Washburn and Langford * * * became entangled in an immense swampy brimstone basin, abounding in sulphur springs. * * * Mr. Langford's horse broke through several times, coming back plastered with the white substance and badly scalded."] [Footnote U: The location of this camp is what is now called the "Thumb" station on the stage route.] [Footnote V: Analyses of the various specimens of mud taken from the springs in this locality, made on our return to Helena, gave the following results: White Sediment. Lavender Sediment. Pink Sediment. Silica......... 42.2 Silica ........ 28.2 Silica ........ 32.6 Magnesia....... 33.4 Alumina........ 58.6 Alumina........ 52.4 Lime........... 17.8 Boracic acid.... 3.2 Oxide of calcium 8.3 Alkalis......... 6.6 Oxide of iron... 0.6 Soda and potassa 4.2 ------ Oxide of calcium 4.2 Water and loss.. 2.5 100.0 Water and loss.. 5.2 ----- ----- 100.0 100.0 These analyses were made by Professor Augustus Steitz, assayer of the First National Bank of Helena, Mont.] [Footnote W: On our return home, finding that no tidings of Mr. Everts had been received, Jack Baronette and George A. Prichett, two experienced trappers and old mountaineers, were provided with thirty days' provisions and dispatched in search of him, and by them Mr. Everts was found on October 16th, after wandering in the forest for thirty-seven days from the time he was lost. From the letter of Mr. Prichett addressed to Mr. Gillette, myself and others, I quote: "We found him on the 16th inst. on the summit of the first big mountain beyond Warm Spring creek, about seventy-five miles from Fort Ellis. He says he subsisted all this time on one snow bird, two small minnows and the wing of a bird which he found and mashed between two stones, and made some broth of in a yeast powder can. This was all, with the exception of thistle roots, he had subsisted on." The narrative of Mr. Everts, of his thirty-seven days' sojourn in the wilderness (published in Scribner's Magazine for November, 1871, and in volume V. of the Montana Historical Society publications), furnishes a chapter in the history of human endurance, exposure, and escape, almost as incredible as it is painfully instructive and entertaining.] [Footnote X: Our general line of travel from the southwest estuary of the lake (Thumb) to the Firehole river was about one mile south of the present stage route. The tourist who to-day makes the rapid and comfortable tour of the park by stage, looking south from Shoshone Point, may catch a glimpse of a portion of the prostrate forest through and over which we struggled, and thus form some idea of the difficulties which beset us on our journey from the lake to the Firehole river.] [Footnote Y: Called now Kepler's cascade.] [Footnote Z: An incident of so amusing a character occurred soon after my return to Helena, that I cannot forbear narrating it here. Among the specimens of silica which I brought home were several dark globules about the size of nutmegs. I exhibited these to a noted physician of Helena, Dr. Hovaker, and soon after the return of Mr. Gillette from his search for Mr. Everts, I called upon him at his store and exhibited to him these specimens of silica. At the same time I took a nutmeg from a box upon the store counter, and playfully asked Gillette, in the presence of Dr. Hovaker, if he had found any of those singular incrustations. Dr. Hovaker, believing of course that the specimen I held in my hand came from the Yellowstone, took the nutmeg, and with wonder exhibited in every feature, proceeded to give it a critical examination, frequently exclaiming: "How very like it is to a nutmeg." He finally took a nutmeg from a box near by, and balanced the supposed incrustation with it, declaring the former to be the lighter. Asking my permission to do so, he took the nutmeg (which he supposed to be an incrustation) to a jeweler in the vicinity, and broke it. The aroma left him no doubt as to its character, but he was still deceived as to its origin. When I saw him returning to the store, in anticipation of the reproof I should receive, I started for the rear door; but the Doctor, entering before I reached it, called me back, and in a most excited manner declared that we had discovered real nutmegs, and nutmegs of a very superior quality. He had no doubt that Yellowstone lake was surrounded by nutmeg trees, and that each of our incrustations contained a veritable nutmeg. In his excitement he even proposed to organize a small party to go immediately to the locality to gather nutmegs, and had an interview with Charley Curtis on the subject of furnishing pack animals for purposes of transportation. When, on the following day, he ascertained the truth, after giving me a characteristic lecture, he revenged himself by good naturedly conferring upon the members of our party the title, by which he always called them thereafter, of "Nutmegs." N.P. LANGFORD.] [Footnote AA: James Bridger was famous for the marvelous stories he was accustomed to relate of his mountain life and experiences. He once told me that he had seen a river which flowed so rapidly over the smooth surface of a descending rock ledge in the bottom of the stream, that the water was "hot at the bottom." My experience in crossing the Firehole river that day, leads me to believe that Bridger had had, at some time, a similar experience. He well knew that heat and fire could be produced by friction. Like other mountain men, he had doubtless, many a time, produced a fire by friction; and he could not account for the existence of a hot rock in the bed of a cold stream, except upon the theory that the rapid flow of water over the smooth surface evolved the heat, by friction. N.P. LANGFORD.] [Footnote AB: This lake is now called "Hell's Half-acre;" and from the lower lake the "Excelsior" geyser has burst forth.] [Footnote AC: The fountain and jets here referred to are those of the Lower Geyser Basin, and the larger column of water which we saw is undoubtedly the "Fountain" geyser, named by Dr. Hayden in 1871.] [Footnote AD: In the course of a recent correspondence with Mr. Stickney, I asked him if he recalled this incident. Under date of May 20, 1905, he wrote me from Sarasota, Florida: "The maple sugar incident had almost faded from my memory, but like a spark of fire smouldering under rubbish it needed but a breath to make it live, and I recall my reflections, after my astonishment, that you did so many quaint things, that it was quite in accordance with them that you should produce maple sugar in a sulphurous region." N.P. LANGFORD.] [Footnote AE: This stream was afterwards named "Gibbon river."] APPENDIX. It is much to be regretted that our expedition was not accompanied by an expert photographer; but at the time of our departure from Helena, no one skilled in the art could be found with whom the hazards of the journey did not outweigh any seeming advantage or compensation which the undertaking promised. The accompanying sketches of the two falls of the Yellowstone, and of the cones of the Grand and Castle geysers, were made by Walter Trumbull and Private Moore. They are the very first ever made of these objects. Through an inadvertence in the preparation of the electroyped plates for the printer, they did not appear in their proper places in this diary. Major Hiram M. Chittenden, in his volume "The Yellowstone Park," says of the two sketches made by Private Moore: "His quaint sketches of the falls forcibly remind one of the original picture of Niagara, made by Father Hennepin, in 1697." 
14213	----	[Transcriber's Note: At the conclusion of this diary, the author writes: "If these notes should ever be written out by my relations after my death--for I am now like to die, let me beg that the many mistakes in spelling, consequent upon the hurry and roughness of the writing, may by corrected and not set down to ignorance." The relations may indeed have corrected many errors, but many remain, and they have been left as in the original.] THREE MONTHS OF MY LIFE. A DIARY OF THE LATE J.F. FOSTER, ASSISTANT-SURGEON, HER MAJESTY'S 36TH FOOT. _Edited by LIZZIE A. FREETH._ GUERNSEY: LE LIEVRE, PRINTER, STAR-OFFICE, 10, BORDAGE STREET. LONDON: SIMPKIN & MARSHALL 1873. I DEDICATE, _Firstly,_ MY GRATITUDE TO GOD-- FOR HIS MERCY IN PRESERVING ME THUS FAR, AND BRINGING ME SAFELY HOME AFTER SEVERAL YEARS SERVICE IN INDIA, TO MEET AGAIN ALL (SAVE ONE) THOSE MOST DEAR TO ME. _And Secondly,_ MY BOOK TO MY PARENTS, WITH THE CERTAIN AND HAPPY KNOWLEDGE THAT THEY WILL READ WITHOUT CRITICISM AND ONLY WITH AFFECTIONATE INTEREST, THE ACCOUNT OF MY THOUGHTS AND EXPERIENCES WHILE WANDERING IN A REMOTE AND LOVELY CORNER OF THE EARTH. EDITOR'S PREFACE. In laying the following pages before the public, I do so with a feeling that they will be read with interest, not only by those who knew the writer, but those to whom the scenes described therein are known, and also those who appreciate a true description of a country which they may never have the good fortune to see. We are all familiar with Kashmir in the "fanciful imagery of Lalla Rookh," at the same time may not object to reading an account--with a ring of truth in it--of that lovely land, lovely and grand, beyond the power of poets to describe as it really is, so travellers say. Readers will see that Mr. Foster intended to have published this Diary himself had he been spared to reach England, he has offered any apology that is necessary, so I will say nothing further than to state, the daily entries were kept in a pocket-book written in pencil, occasionally a word is not quite legible, that will account for any little inaccuracy. After being two years at Elizabeth College, Guernsey, under the Rev. A. Corfe, Mr. Foster entered St. George's Hospital, as Student of Medicine, he received there in his last year the "Ten Guinea Prize" for General Proficiency. From St. George's he went to Netley, and on leaving that he served for a short time in Jersey, with the 2nd Battallion 1st Royals, and 1st Battallion 6th Royals, after which he embarked for India, where from February, 1868, to the beginning of 1869, he served with the following Regiments, &c., 91st Highlanders, at Dum Dum; F Battery C. Brigade Royal Horse Artillery, at Benares; 27th Inniskillings, at Hazareebagh, Bengal Depôt, Chinsurah; Detachment 58th Regiment, at Sahibgunge; Head-Quarters 58th Regiment, at Sinchal, again at the Bengal Depôt Chinsurah; Head-Quarters 107th Regiment, at Allahabad; Detachment 107th Regiment, at Fort Allahabad; G Battery 11th Brigade Royal Artillery, at Cawnpore; Left Wing 36th Regiment, Moradabad; Head-Quarters 36th Regiment, Peshawur, from whence ultimately we find he started for Kashmir in the hope of regaining his health, a vain hope as events proved, as he died on the passage home at Malta. During the course of publication I have received many letters from people who were personally acquainted with Mr. Foster who had met him at home and abroad, from the tone of which letters I gather he was held in the highest possible estimation as a friend, a medical man, and an officer. I am indebted to the kindness of his father, Dr. John L. Foster, of this island, for being allowed to publish these interesting memorials of one who had now passed "To where beyond these voices there is peace." LIZZIE A. FREETH. Montpellier, Guernsey, Nov. 1873. AUTHOR'S PREFACE. This Work requires few prefatory remarks. I have transcribed without alteration, the Diary that I kept during my visit to Kashmir. It may seem a strange jumble of description and sentiment, jocularity and seriousness. During the greater part of each day I enjoyed perfect rest, smoking and thinking--sometimes soberly, often I fear idly--and for mere occupation sake, my thoughts were written as they arose. My mind as influenced by scene or incident, is fully exposed in these pages, and while I have concealed nothing, neither have I added to that which I originally indited. I am necessarily, and indeed intentionally egotistical, because I write for those who will chiefly value a personal narrative. Still, I am not ashamed if others see my book, although I would deprecate their criticism by begging them to remember that I only offer it for the perusal of those near and dear to me. INTRODUCTION. In the early morning of Midsummer's-day, 1868, I might have been seen slowly wending my way towards the office of the Deputy Inspector General of Hospitals, at Peshawur--for the purpose of appearing before the standing Medical Committee of the station, and having an enquiry made concerning the state of my health. A Dooley followed me lest my strength should prove inadequate to the task of walking a quarter of a mile. But let me make my description as short as the Committee did their enquiry. My face, as white as the clothes I wore, told more than my words could, and I was hardly required to recount how that one burning May-day I was called at noon to visit a sick woman, and that while all other Europeans were in their closed and darkened bungalows with punkahs swinging, and thermautidotes blowing cool breezes, I went forth alone on my medical mission to encounter the fierce gaze of the baneful sun, and was overpowered by its fiery influence, or how that I laid a weary month on the sick bed, tormented by day with a never ceasing headache, and by night with a terrible dread, worse than any pain, or to conclude, how the deadly climate of that notoriously evil station afforded me no prospect of improvement. This relation was scarcely needed to procure me a certificate, stating that three months leave of absence to Murree was absolutely essential for my recovery, and a recommendation that I might be allowed to proceed immediately in anticipation of the leave being granted. So the next evening saw me start from Peshawur for Rawul Pindee, in a Dâk Gharie, accompanied by my dog "Silly" and my Madrapee servant or "Boy." Onwards we sped at a gallop, the horses being changed every six miles, through Nowshera, the furnace; over the rapid and icy cold Indus by boat; past Fort Attock, the oven in which our soldiers are done to death; and Hussan Aboul of Lallah Rooke celebrity; arriving at the French Hotel at Pinder, ten miles from Peshawur the following morning. That day I called upon the Officers of the 6th Foot, with whom I had served in Jersey, and was persuaded to dine at mess. A melancholy dinner it was for me, meeting old friends whom I had not seen for so long. Yet not possessing energy enough for conversation or feeling the spirit of "Hail fellows, well met." I felt that my moody silence and ghostlike appearance (for I was dressed in black) threw a gloom over them. This was no doubt a morbid fancy as also was perhaps the idea that they looked at me with pitying eyes. But these feelings seized me, and increased till they became unbearable, and I was glad to escape to my Hotel. "THREE MONTHS OF MY LIFE." A DIARY. JULY 4th, 1868.--Started from Murree for Kashmir at 5.30 a.m. Bell, Surgeon 36th Regt. [Since deceased] came with me four miles. Walked on expecting the dandy to overtake me, but it did not, and I marched all the way, nine miles up a steep hill to Khaira Gullee, where I halted and put up in one of the old sheds formerly used by the working party when the road was being made. I am not tired, though my left heel is blistered, which is fair considering I have not walked half a mile for more than a month. The road is excellent and the scenery fine, the Khuds being sometimes deep, but nothing like the eastern Himalayas. The forest too is quite different, fir trees predominating here. Saw many beautiful birds, and regretted I had not brought my gun. In the evening a thunderstorm came on with a cold wind from the north, so I made a good fire with a few fir logs. In the middle of the night the storm became very violent, and large hailstones fell. JULY 5th.--Got away at sunrise, the rain having quite cleared off, and marched on to Doonga Gullee, up a hill to an elevation of 9,000 feet, and then down again to about 7,000; then up a final steep to Doonga Gullee, 8,000 feet above the sea. The Khuds much grander very deep and precipitous, sometimes falling one or two thousand feet from the edge of the road almost perpendicularly. But the hills are too close together to allow the valleys to be termed magnificent. Reached Doonga Gullee at 10 a.m. The length of last march, eleven miles--the road, a good military one, has been cut in the face of the mountain. Put up at the Dâk Bungalow, and dined with the officers of the working party; among them Heath, of the 88th, and Leggatt and Lyons, of the 77th, whom I knew. A number of tents are pitched here for the working parties from the 19th and 77th Regiments (road making). I was carried part of the march in my dandy--a piece of carpet gathered at each end and hooked to a pole,--the pole being carried on the shoulders of two men. I swung below it just off the ground, and could often look down a vast depth between my knees. My first pickled tongue, cooked the day before yesterday was fly-blown at breakfast this morning. This may seem a trifling note, but it is ominous I fear for the whole of my salted stores. JULY 6th.--Got up at 4 o'clock and marched on to Bugnoota, a distance of thirteen miles. The first four miles a slight rise, and then a rapid descent all the rest of the way. The road is much narrower, only a mule track in fact, I walked twelve miles, and then felt tired, and had a headache afterwards. Pitched my tent in a tope, (a grove of trees) in company with Dr. and Mrs. Holmes, of Rohat, whom I did not know. Slight rain in the middle of the day, but it cleared off towards evening. Felt all right after an hour's sleep and took a stroll before dinner. Scenery grand, tent pitched on the edge of a deep gorge at the bottom of which is a mountain stream, the hills rising abruptly on the opposite side. JULY 7th.--Marched on to Abbottabad at sunrise, down hill to the river, and then along its course for two miles over very rough and fatiguing ground, the river having to be forded twice. In rainy weather this is very dangerous as its rush is so impetuous. Up hill again then down into the plain of Abbottabad, 4,000 feet above the sea. Distance twelve miles though only put down eight in the route. Met the General at the bottom of the hill. Put up at the Dâk Bungalow, and met Ford, 88th, and De Marylski, R.A., returning from Kashmir, got some hints from them. Abbottabad is a small cantonment on a large plain surrounded by bare mountains, a notice is posted in my room warning travellers not to go unarmed; so I'll gird on my Kookery to-morrow. A Kookery is a formidable native knife, about eighteen inches long and over two inches wide, carried in a peculiar way, sheep and goats heads come off very easily at a single blow from it. Much hotter down here, the sun powerful after 10 o'clock, but Punkahs not necessary. This is the Head-Quarters of the Punjab Frontier force. A pity they do not have an English Regiment stationed here as it is a very pleasant place as regards climate. Snow in winter, and this the warmest time of the year quite bearable. Brigadier gone to the _hills_ for the _hot weather._ Took in supplies of bread and butter and purchased a pair of chuplus or sandals for marching in, as boots hurt my feet. JULY 8th.--A long tedious march of nearly fifteen miles to Mansera, put down in the guide as a level plain road, but having a good many ups and downs. One of my sandals broke, and I was obliged to ride in the dandy about half way. Some difficulty occurred in getting my baggage off as the Coolies did not come. Left my boy to manage it, he came in about noon with two ponies, I shall not pay for them yet, and then they will come on with me. A warmer day than yesterday. Mountains rising up in front, which I shall begin to ascend to-morrow if I make the whole march of twenty miles. Snow visible above all. The real work of the trip will now soon commence. The marches hitherto have been child's play compared with those to come. Mansera is only a native village, but there is a Dâk Bungalow, in which I am now. Met Captain Ellis, of the 4th Hussars, returning from Kashmir, and had a talk with him. There are _two_ routes open to me, he advises the one which yesterday I was warned against by the other fellows. They have been over both roads, yet do not agree as to which is the best. Ellis was disappointed with Kashmir, but he has only been a few months in India, and has not yet forgotten England, for I expect that Kashmir after all, is only so very pleasant, by contrast with the plains of India. JULY 9th.--Started an hour before sunrise and did the whole march to Ghuri, distance nineteen miles. Walked the greater part of the way in sandals and socks, which I find the most comfortable way of getting on. First half of the march along the level to the foot of the hill, then an undulating road through a pine forest, the latter half easy walking owing to the ground being covered with fallen fir leaves which made it as soft as a carpet. A fine view from the top of hill, looking down to Ghuri. The river Ghuri, a mountain torrent seen for a long distance rushing with a great roar over its rocky bed, bounded on each side by high hills, and above by mountains covered with snow, from the melting of which it arises. The water is consequently icy cold, and my tub at the end of the march was highly invigorating. Put up at the Dâk Bungalow, a neat, clean, furnished building, standing on the right bank of the river, which is crossed just in front by a very fair suspension bridge. I can trace my route for to-morrow, for several miles, and I look at it with dismay as it ascends a terribly steep hill. There are two other men in the Bungalow, but I do not know who they are. I have not mentioned my equipment. It is so simple that a few lines will tell all. Two suits of old clothes, three flannel shirts, two warm under flannels, two pair of boots, "a light pair and a heavy pair of ammunitions," socks, handkerchiefs, &c., Mackintosh, warm bedding, a small tent called a "shildaree," a two-rolled ridge tent, about eight feet square, a dressing bag containing toilet requisites, a metal basin, salted tongues and humps, potatoes, tea, sugar, flour, mustard, &c., one bottle of brandy, to be reserved for medicinal use, a portable charpoy or bedstead, cane stool, a little crockery, knives and forks, cooking utensils, brass drinking cup for every purpose, a gingham umbrella with white cover, a dandy (previously described), solar topee, and light cap, tobacco, soap, and candles, a kookery, a stout alpen stock, a pass into Kashmir, and bag of money, and "voilà tout." For carrying this baggage, I require two mules, and two Coolies, or when mules are not procurable, seven Coolies. Four other Coolies man my dandy, and these men are going all the way with me. Each Coolie receives four annas, or sixpence a day, and a mule costs eight annas. Stopped under a "pepel tree" and sent some Coolies up it for the fruit, which was ripe. This tree is the Indian fig, and the fruit is very small, not larger than marbles; and without much flavor. The river is running a few yards from me, with a sound as of the surf on a rocky beach. I hope ere long to hear the same pleasant music seated on the cliffs of the south coast of Guernsey. Now my time in India is drawing to a close, I begin to think that it has not been altogether wasted, though I would not prolong it a day. All I have seen and done within a period of three years (so much falls to the lot of few men to perform) must have had some effect upon my mind; at any rate, when safe at home again, I shall have much to talk of, many experiences to relate. My dog Silly who accompanies me, was awfully done up towards the end of the march. At last we came to a running stream in which he laid down and was much refreshed, before that his panting had become gasping though he kept up with us bravely, only lying down for a moment when we came to a little bit of shade--not often met with, the last three or four miles. For the last day or two, I have been almost continually in a cool, gentle perspiration, this is a great contrast to my state when at Peshawur, where my skin was always as dry as a bone, and I look upon that as a healthy symptom, I have had no headache since I left Bugnostan. JULY 10th.--To Mozufferabad nine miles, but apparently much more, such a bad fatiguing march. I got away with the first grey of the dawn and after a mile's tramp began the ascent of the Doabbuller pass, three and a half miles long and very steep, so steep that I could often touch the ground with my hands without stooping much. This was terribly exhausting and I had to make many halts to recover my breath. Then began a rough descent along the side of a mountain torrent and afterwards over its bed, which is a narrow gorge between high hills. This walking was very rough and difficult; the path being covered with great stones and often undistinguishable. Indeed it was no path at all, only the ground occasionally a little trodden. Through the stream, backwards and forwards _innumerable_ times we went. I found that my feet, though naked except where covered by the straps of the sandals, were able to take care of themselves, and avoid contusion almost without the help of my eyes. Then I came to a large and rapid river called the Kishun-gunga crossed by a rope bridge. Let me describe the bridge. Three or four leather ropes about one inch in diameter tied into a bundle to walk upon, three feet above this, a couple of ropes, two feet apart, the upper ropes connected to the lower one at intervals of four or five yards by stakes. This formed a V shape, and you walk on the point of the V and hold on by the two sides. The breadth of the river is sixty yards, and the bridge which is high above the water forms a considerable curve. The description of the bridge is easy enough, but how shall I describe my feelings, when I had gone a few yards and found myself poised in mid-air like a spider on a web, oscillating, swaying backwards and forwards over a foaming and roaring torrent, the rush of the water if I looked at my feet, made me feel as if I was being violently carried in the opposite direction; the bridge swayed and jumped with the weight of half a dozen natives coming from the opposite side whom I had to pass, the whole thing seemed so weak and the danger so terrible that I turned giddy, lost my head, and cried out to be held. A firm hand at once grasped me behind and another in front. I shut my eyes and so proceeded a few yards. Then those dreadful men had to be passed. Imagine meeting a man on a rope fifty feet above a torrent and requiring him to "give you the wall." However they were passed by a mysterious interlacing of feet; and when half way over I regained confidence, and bid the men "chando" or release me, and so gained the opposite bank, where I sat down and roared with laughter at my "boy" who was then coming over, and who evidently was much more affected than I was. However he arrived safely with his black face _pale_, dripping with perspiration and saying he was sick. What was most amusing was to see him hooking his legs one in front of the other on his way over, but I dare say I was equally laughable to anyone on terra firma. He told me afterwards "water all go down, and I go up and get sick and giddy." Another two miles over a low ridge and I got to Mozufferabad and put up at the Barahduree provided by the Maharajah for the convenience of English travellers free of charge, for we are now in Kashmerian territory. This is an unfurnished bungalow built of mud and pine logs, and there is one at every stage. This saves the trouble of pitching a tent, and is of course much better in wet weather. I have not had a drop of rain though yet. Met Watson, of Fane's Horse, at the bungalow going back to Peshawur. Got Incis's Guide from him for the day, and made some notes at the other end of this book. There is a picturesque fort on this bank of the river commanding the bridge, built by the Pathans, apparently of bright red stone or brick. It was interesting to see mules and ponies swimming across the stream. Holding on by the tail of each was a man supported by two inflated Mussaks or goat skins which are ordinarily used by the Bheisties for carrying water. Though both man and horse struck out vigorously they were carried down many hundred yards before reaching the opposite side. To look at them in the foam and rush of the river, and see their impetuous career down the current, they appeared to be doomed to certain destruction. I saw about twenty cross in this way. I walked the whole of this march, though often tired, as I preferred trusting my own legs to being carried in the dandy over such bad ground. Curran, Assistant-Surgeon, 88th Connaught Rangers, is one march in front of me. He has left his pony here till he returns. I suppose the last march was too much for him. I am very glad I did not bring my horse with me; I was strongly advised to do so, but I am afraid advice has not much weight with me; in this instance anyhow, my own opinion has proved the best. All the men I meet coming back have horses with them, but they are nearly all shoeless, lame and sick, and have not been ridden for weeks. JULY 11th.--Marched on Hultian, distant seventeen miles. Much better road than yesterday, but many ups and downs and short rough bits. Started two hours before sunrise, by the light of the moon. The road soon reached the right bank of the Jhelum and continued the whole distance alongside of that river. It is a rapid river apparently not so deep and often not so wide as the Kishun-gunga, its bed strewn with huge boulders over which the water breaks in great waves of foam. It runs in a narrow rocky channel the precipitous sides of which are a great height. How many ages must it have taken to cut this channel in the solid rock? The valley is bounded by high hills, very narrow, the road so bare of trees, that the latter half of the march became hot and wearying, so I had recourse to the dandy for four or five miles. But it was rare gymnastic exercise as swinging from my pole I had to dodge the great stones on either side of me and keep a sharp look out to avoid hard bumps. My dog was again very much fatigued. His tail is a good token of his state, for when fresh it is stiff along his back, and gradually drops as he goes along until he is quite exhausted, when it hangs straight down. Stopped at a Barahduree (not so good a one as the last) a few feet above the Jhelum in which I bathed. There is a rope bridge opposite, a much older one than the other I crossed, but not more than half as long, and not high above the water, some of the ropes are broken, and it seems very shaky. However, I must cross it to-morrow and get into the Murree road, which runs parallel to this one, on the other bank, and is on the shady side and much cooler. It has been very hot all day. The reason I could not come the direct road from Murree is because the ferry over the Jhelum lower down, was recently carried away and twenty-six natives drowned. Sir G. Larpent's (of the 88th) baggage was in the boat, and he lost it all. He had not crossed and had to go back to Murree minus everything including servants. There is excellent Mahseer fishing in this river, the fish attain the enormous size of 80lbs. weight and afford exciting sport; but I have no tackle with me, and did not even bring a gun, as I thought I should be too seedy to do anything but moon about. I did not then know the great exertion necessary to reach Kashmir, an exertion which any man with bodily infirmity would hardly venture on without first providing himself with an undertaker. Upon making enquiries I find that all the Coolies and supplies on the other road, have been sent over to this side, so I must keep to it and not cross as I intended. In the evening a slim young native came to me and offered to swim across the river for Bakhshish, "a present." I promised it to him, and he ran a quarter of a mile up, and plunged into the torrent, landing on the opposite side a little below the bungalow. He then went up the river again, and swam down to this side, no mean feat in turbulent water running as it did with tremendous velocity. I gave him eight annas for it. JULY 12th, "Sunday."--In the middle of last night a storm came on, I was sleeping in the open air, and the lightning awoke me, it was beginning to rain, and I had to move into the house. It was broad daylight when I was called, and I felt disinclined to proceed. I said it would rain, and I would halt. My boy said, "No Sir, no rain." I said the sun would come out and it would be burning hot. He said, "No Sir, no sun." I felt it was useless continuing the argument, so I got up and marched to Kunda, eighteen miles, walking all the way. A hard march, nothing but steep rough ascents, and corresponding descents, still keeping along the river, but two or three hundred feet above it. My Coolies pointed out to me a herd of "chiken" on a very high hill, at least four miles away. I saw nothing, for even big trees at that distance were diminished to very small objects, but did not dispute with them. They say uncivilized man has wonderful sight, and if deer were there, he certainly has far higher powers of vision even, than I had been led to expect. Met three men leaving Kashmir, and exchanged remarks with them. Don't know who they were. Caught sight of my destination from the top of one hill, and was delighted to see it was quite close to me. But alas! several weary miles of up and down and in and out had to be traversed before it could be reached. This has several times happened to me, and I shall in future put no faith in appearances. The Barahduree here is a two storied one, standing I should think five hundred feet above the river, which is here confined in a very narrow channel. I took the upper room which has three sides and a roof, there being no wall facing the river, over which there is a fine and rather extended view, the more distant mountains being crowned with pine forests. Had neither sun nor rain while marching, but soon afterwards the sun shone out, though heavy and threatening clouds continued to hang about the horizon. As I write this I hear the first roll of thunder, there will be another storm to-night. The Maharajah's officials come to me at every stage to enquire my wants and provide for the same. Other natives also come with an insane request,--a medical prescription for a sick Bhai (or brother) who always has fever, and is at a great distance. What possible use a prescription could be to them I cannot decide. The storm came up just before dinner, 6 p.m., and was rather sharp but soon over. I came up the valley of the Jhelum, and I watched its course for some time before it arrived. It subsequently struck the edge of the house and I was all right; had it come down the valley which runs at right angles to the Jhelum just opposite here I should have been blown out. I again noticed that to which my attention has often been directed, viz.: that when in or near the storm clouds, the thunder is of quite a different character to that heard below. It is a continuous low muttering growl without any claps or peals. I have stood in the storm cloud at Sinchal, 9,000 feet high, with the lightning originating around me and affording the sublimest spectacle of dazzling brilliancy, and varying in colour from the purest white light to delicious rose and blue tints. I have seen it intensified and focussed as it were within a few feet of me, and from this centre angled lines and balls of fire like strings of beads radiated in all directions. Yet the thunder which in the plains was heard pealing and roaring its loudest, was up there barely audible. JULY 13th.--From Kunda to Kuthin twelve miles of hard toiling over a similar road to that of the last march, finishing with a long, steep, and very rough ascent to the high plateau on which Kuthin stands. On the top of this I took to my dandy and was carried a mile along the level to the Barahduree, where I slept upon the charpoy which is provided at every bungalow for the weary travellers to rest upon pending the arrival of his baggage. These plateaus or table lands exist at intervals all the way up the valley, sometimes on one side sometimes on the other and occasionally on both the river in the middle. They are quite flat, very small, and highly productive, and vary from fifty to three or four hundred feet in height, above the river. The valley which widens where they exist, is narrowed again at either extremity. I can only account for their formation by supposing that at a former time, a chain of lakes existed, of which they are the beds, and that the water subsequently burst through and formed the channel of the present Jhelum, leaving these beds dry as we now see them. Came across a number of large tailed butterflies of a lovely green and blue metallic lustre. Secured an un-injured specimen, and for want of a better place stuck it inside my topee, where I expect to carry it safely until my return to Peshawur. Another storm came on earlier than yesterday. I have been very lucky hitherto, not having had a drop of rain while marching. This morning was cloudy till within a mile or two of Kuthin when the sun shone and made the last ascent doubly trying. This is a very small village (at Kunda there was only one hut) but there is a mud fort with bastions at each corner but no guns. The walls are loop-holed for musketry, but there does not seem to be any garrison. On making enquiries, I find there is a garrison of seven men. It is getting dusk and mosquitoes are coming out by hundreds, they have not annoyed me before, but I think I must use my net to-night. I lie on my bed after dinner smoking with a lighted candle by my side. A hornet flies in and settles on my hand, then a large beetle comes with a buzz and a thud against me, making me start. Sundry moths, small flies, and beetles, are playing innocently round the flame. In half an hour I shall be able to make a fair entomological collection but as I neither (Ha! I've killed the hornet) desire them in my hat dead, nor in my bed alive, I must put out the light, give up writing, and smoke in darkness. JULY 14th.--To Shadera, twelve miles walked all the way. The road worse than ever, and for the last mile actually dangerous, as it passed along the edge of a deep precipice, and was only a foot wide and considerably out of the horizontal, so that a single false step would have been fatal. Road continued same character all the way along, though much above the tortuous and noisy Jhelum, and its ups and downs were the roughest, longest, and most trying, I have yet experienced. I am pleased to know that the remaining two marches will be, in the words of my Coolies over "uch'-cha rasta," a good road. It remained cloudy and threatening the greater part of the way, and a little rain fell, but eventually the sun shone, though great masses of "cumuli" continue to hang about. This is a small village completely shut in by three huge hills standing very close together. Between the sides of the two in front, the summit of a fourth is visible, a magnificent towering mountain, covered with a dense pine forest. I have not seen the snows since I crossed the Doobbullee pass, as we have been ascending the valley of the Jhelum ever since, and the view is confined by its lofty sides. I have eaten my last loaf for breakfast this morning, and now one of the greatest privations of the journey will begin. No bread, nothing but flour and water made into a kind of pancake, which the natives call "chepattie." I have not tasted fresh meat since I left Abbottabad, but that one can do very well without. I live upon fowls, eggs, milk, butter and rice, with a tongue or hump, cooked when necessary. Two or three miles from Kuthai, we passed a very pretty waterfall. The slender stream fell over a smooth perpendicular rock, of a rich brown colour, 100 feet high, like a thread of silver. Both sides of the gorge covered with a variety of beautifully green trees, shrubs and ferns, altogether constituting a delightful picture, the tints mingled so harmoniously, yet with strong contrasts. Stopped at the Barahduree as usual, this one surrounded with wild fig, plum, peach, pomegranate, and mulberry trees. The mulberries only ripe, and like all wild fruit, small and comparatively tasteless. JULY 15th.--Started as soon as it was light for Gingle, fourteen miles distant. Road greatly improved, hilly of course, but tolerably smooth so that one could get on without clambering. About half way passed Dorie on the left bank of the river, where there is another fort and a strong rope bridge, it is one of the halts on the Murree road, farther on came to an old ruin, four thick walls perforated by arches enclosing an open square in the middle of two of the sides, large masses of masonry formed archways or entrances. It is built of the rough stones and boulders with which the surface of the ground is covered, yet the arches are of very good shape. On the opposite bank of the Jhelum there are forests of Deodar, but though they grow down to the waters edge, there is not one on this side. (Larix Deodora, called by the Hindoos, "the God Tree" is a stately pine, growing to a great height, and of a very gradual and elegant taper. Its foliage is of the darkest green colour, and it gives the mountains a very sombre appearance.) The hills have become much more rugged and abrupt. I know of no single condition which gives a scene so great an aspect of wildness and desolation, as dead fir trees. There they stand on the most barren and inaccessible places, rearing their gaunt and whitened forms erect as ever, and though lifeless yet not decayed. Seared and blasted by a thousand storms, they stand stern and silent, ghostlike and immoveable, scorning the elements. No wind murmurs pleasantly through their dead and shrunken branches, the howling tempest alone can make them speak, and then with wild straining shriek and harsh rattle, they do battle with the whirlwind. It was getting hot and I was thinking of my dandy, when a storm passed over with heavy rain. This was a mitigated evil (if an evil at all for my bed remained dry, and a wet bed is the worst result of a shower) as it rendered walking cool and pleasant. It cleared up again, and I rode the last half mile. The cleanest and best bungalow here I have been in since I left Ghuri. The view down the valley is extremely pretty, hills rising one above the other, but shut in on all other sides by high mountains. Gingle, which is only one or two huts, stands on a small plateau a quarter of a mile long by one hundred and fifty yards wide, fifty feet above the Jhelum. The ground is laid out in paddy fields irrigated by a stream of the coolest and purest water. It is a great satisfaction to be able to drink water freely without fear. In the plains of India the water is so contaminated as to be almost poisonous, and I do not think that previous to this march I had drank a gallon of it since I landed in Calcutta. JULY 16th.--Left Gingle with the earliest streak of dawn for Baramula, an eighteen mile march. Road very much more level, never ascending high above the river whose erratic course we continued to follow. Passed through groves of hazel overrun by wild vines, but both grapes and nuts as yet green. The plateaus become gradually larger and almost continuous, and the hills separated and diminished in size, those on the right being covered with the lank deodar, while those on the left possessed only a bright green mantle of grass, far away in front they altogether ended, and the open sky above the valley was alone visible. And now an unusual occurrence presented itself. We were following the stream upwards towards its source, yet at every mile it increased in width and became more placid, till at length its surface was unbroken, and it assumed the form of a magnificent river, wider than the Thames at Richmond. The hills continued provokingly to overlap one another as though anxious to shut in and hide the happy valley from sight. But at length I discerned a far distant white cloud which I guessed betokened the summit of a mountain, and a few yards further revealed a faint glistening opaque line which the inexperienced eye would have certainly taken for a portion of the cloud, but which could not be mistaken by one who had before seen the snows. About half a mile from Buramula we obtain the first view of the Vale of Kashmir, but not an extensive one, as it is obstructed on either side by low hills. However, what is seen is very pretty. A large level plain traversed by a broad smooth river which has now lost its tortuous zig-zag course and bounded by the everlasting snows covering the main backbone of the Himalayas. At the head of the valley stands the quaint looking town of Baramula surrounded by hills on all sides but one, embowered in trees and intersected by the Jhelum, across which there is a good wooden bridge. The houses have mostly an upper story, and are built of wood with gabled roofs. The streets are narrow and roughly paved, and I regret to say are not more pleasant to the nostrils than are those of other Indian towns. The bridge built of deodar wood, beams of which are driven into the bed of the river, and then others laid horizontally upon them, each row at right angles to and projecting beyond the layer beneath, till a sufficient height has been reached, six of these and two stone piers form the buttresses of the bridge and a broad pathway of planks connects them. The march was a fatiguing one on account of its length, and I used the dandy freely. I shall however discard it altogether for the future. I went to the Barahduree but found it occupied by a man whose name I was told was "----," had been there five days. His Coolies had taken possession of all the rooms, and though I was very angry and inclined to turn them out, I thought my tent would be preferable to a room just vacated by the uncleanly native, so I went to an orchard close by, surrounded by a row of fine poplars, and patiently awaited the arrival of my baggage which was a long time coming. The gate was guarded by the Maharajah's sepoys who endeavoured to prevent my entrance. The Thikadar told me he had no authority for this, but had done it "Zubbur-dustee." They also say that the occupant of the Barahduree has just come from England. He is a being shrouded in mystery, and I shall endeavour to unravel it. My first step will be to report the occurrence to the officials at S---- when I get there. I took a swim in the Jhelum, whose course I have now followed for eighty-four crooked miles, and on whose bosom I shall to-morrow continue my journey. JULY 17th.--By boat up the river, the day so bright, the view so glorious, the breeze so balmy and delicious, and the motion so gentle and pleasant, that lying on my bed I devote myself to lazy listlessness, to a perfect sense of the "dolce far niente" and can hardly prevail on myself to disturb my tranquillity by writing these few notes. The contrast to my thirteen heavy marches is so great that I am content to remain for the present without thought or action, enjoying absolute rest. Evening--We halt at Sopoor, and now let me endeavour to continue the diary. Got up at seven this morning and sent for a boat, one of the larger kind about thirty feet long, and six feet broad in the middle, the centre portion covered with an awning made of grass matting. The crew consisting of an entire family, from the elderly parents to quite young children--9 in all. I was towed up the still widening river by all of them in turns, one wee girl not three feet high being most energetic, though I should think of little real service. Boat flat bottomed, and alike at both ends, they use paddles instead of oars. But the scene! I am unable now to do justice to it, so I will only give the outlines to be elaborated hereafter. Splendid river--verdant plain covered with many varieties of trees, poplar and chenar or tulip tree the most conspicuous, extending as far as the eye can reach and enclosed by lofty snow capped mountains, on which rest the clouds of heaven. Bright blue King-fishers darting like flashes of light or hovering hawk-like before the plunge after fish and the many hued dragon flies upon the water weeds. Among the several varieties of the weeds, I noticed a great quantity of "Anacharis." Got fresh mutton and apple-pie for dinner. Swarms of very minute flies came to the candle dancing their dance of death. Many thousands were destroyed, and their bodies darkened the board which serves me for a table. Sopoor like Baramula, river bridged, and grass growing on the roofs of the houses. JULY 18th.--In the night we moved on, and at five in the morning I was awoke at the foot of Shukuroodeen Hill, 700 feet high, which I intended to ascend, and get a _coup d'oeil_ of the valley. Instead of being on a river, the water now spread out into a great lake (Lake Wulloor) the largest in Kashmir. Got up and began to ascend the hill, but when half way up, the strap of one of my sandals gave way, and as I could not mend it, I was obliged to descend; however, I got an extensive view of the valley lying spread out at my feet, the lake occupying a great portion of the view. Went on to Alsoo (about three hours) from whence I shall march to Lalpore the other side of a range of high hills which rise very near the water. We are thirty miles from Baramula. The lake is in many parts covered with a carpet of elegant water weeds which makes it look like a green meadow, among them the Singara or water nut, a curiously growing plant which bears spiny pods enclosing a soft delicately flavoured kernel--heart-shaped, as big as a filbert. Mosquitoes by thousands, and very annoying, red and distended with their crimson feast. Alsoo--a rather uninteresting place, grand mountains. Huramuk to the East, and great expanse of water. JULY 19th, Sunday.--On the march again to Lalpore, twelve miles. I left my heavy baggage and dandy in the boat (which here awaits my return) and only took my tent and bedding with one week's stores, the whole only four coolie loads, and now began my first taste of real mountain work. For nearly four hours I was ascending the steep range which rises above Alsoo, and hard toiling it was. Half way up we met some men with butter-milk, of which my boy made me drink a quantity, saying it would "keep master cool." As we rose--the vale spread out magnificently beneath us, and the large lake was seen to full advantage shining under the morning sun, which appeared from behind a grand snow-clad mountain. Near the top we came to the prettiest stream I have seen, its banks covered with maiden hair and other ferns, fruit trees and firs, and its surface skimmed by gorgeous flies. The summit gained, I was well rewarded by a view of the whole of the Solab an off-shoot of the main valley. A bright gem in a dark setting of deodar covered mountains, spurs from which radiated into the valley so fair and verdant with its many villages, its meandering streams, and frequent orchards, the air laden with the perfume of many flowers. My Bheisties even exclaimed "bahut ach chtu." I gazed entranced. The descent was long but a much better path. Going down I came to wild raspberries which I must say were as large and well flavoured as any garden grown ones, there was also a small yellow plum which was very nice. Arrived at Lalpore the principal village, I encamped under a large walnut tree (very fine trees and very common) covered with its nuts. This valley abounds with bears, I was certainly cooler after taking the butter-milk, but I attributed it to the ascent being less steep and the path shady. Saw a magnificent butterfly of a specimen I did not recognise; attempted to catch it, but like many other desirable objects in this world, it eluded my grasp at the very moment I thought I had secured it. Got a fine one of a commoner sort which I placed in my hat, where the other remains uninjured. JULY 20th.--I halt at Salpore, awaiting the arrival of my Sirdar dandy coolie, an intelligent, useful, Kashmiree man, whom I engaged to continue with me as a servant at Baramula, and gave him four days leave to visit his home, arranging that he should rejoin me here. I lie under the shade of the wide spreading walnut trees, inhaling the fragrant breeze, and enjoying perfect quietude and repose. All is so grand and peaceful, that my heart swells with holy thoughts of praise and gratitude to the Almighty Creator, and while gazing on one of the fairest portions of his great work I find myself unconsciously repeating the glorious psalm "O come let us sing unto the Lord." It would indeed be a hard heart and a dull spirit that did not rejoice in the scene, and acknowledge the power and magnificence of its maker. I see around me this garden of Kashmir where every tree bears fruit for the use of man, and every shrub, bright flowers for his enjoyment. Enclosed and guarded by "the strength of the hills" (a noble sentence which never never before so forcibly impressed me) and covered by the purest of blue skies. All nature seems to say to me "To-day if ye hear his voice, harden not your hearts," and surely the "still small voice" is speaking, and can be heard by those who will heed it, and have the heart to feel and the soul to rejoice in the strength of their salvation. The memory of the beautiful duett in "Haydn's Creation," when newly made Adam and Eve unite in praising God and extolling his wonderful works comes freshly before me. Now, something akin to this must have crossed the mental vision of the grand old Maestro when he wrote; and its calm glorious music well accords with my present state of mind. JULY 21st.--A pleasant stroll of ten miles before breakfast to Koomerial along the level valley, through shady groves of apple, pear, green-gage, peach, and mulberry trees, and forests of cherry trees drooping with the weight of their golden blushing fruit. I have not seen any vines in the Solab. Koomerial is a very small place, and I had a little difficulty in getting supplies. I ought to have gone three miles further to a large village; but I'll go there to-morrow, and then return to Alsoo in two marches. A native came to me with the toothache, begging assistance, but the tooth required extracting and I could do nothing for him. Pitched under a walnut tope--the climate delicious, like a warm English summer, but it is rather hot in my small tent in the middle of the day; so I have my Charpoy put outside in the shade and lie there smoking my pipe and thinking. I have spoken of the beauties and pleasures of the Solab, but I must not omit mention of its annoyances, flies and mosquitoes, by day the flies abound and cause much irritation to any exposed part of the body. I do hate tame flies, flies that though driven away twenty times elude capture, and will pertinaciously return to the same spot--say your nose--until one is driven nearly mad with vexation. At dusk the flies return to roost, and then myriads of mosquitoes emerge from their hiding places, and make night hideous with their monotonous hum and blood-thirsty propensities. I do not find chepatties so bad as I expected, indeed I rather like them, but then my boy makes them excellently well, using soda in their composition. The process of manufacture is not pleasant--the flour is made into a paste, and then flattened and consolidated by being thrown backwards and forwards from one hand to the other, though one may avoid seeing this, it is difficult to escape hearing the pit-pat of the soft dough as it passes rapidly between the Khitmutgars extended, and I fear not always clean fingers, it is then toasted, brought in hot, and you may eat it dirt and all. But travellers must not be too particular, and so long as your food is wholesome, eat and be thankful. But here comes my dinner, with the chepatties I have just seen prepared, and which sight suggested the foregoing lines. Chicken for breakfast, chicken for dinner, chicken yesterday, chicken to-morrow, _toujours_ chicken, sometimes curried, sometimes roasted, torn asunder and made into soup, stew or cutlets, or with extended wing forming the elegant spatchcock, it is still chicken; the greatest and rarest change being that it is occasionally rather tender. I have had chicken soup and roast fowl for dinner, the chicken in the soup as stringy as hemp, the fowl as tough as my sandal, and with so large a liver that I doubted whether the bird had not met with a violent death. I like fowl's liver, it is my one _bonne bouche_ during the day, but these startled me, and after straining my teeth on the carcase, I gladly swallow the soft mouthful. Oh! English readers, you who have never wandered far from your native shores and who esteem chickens a luxury to put on your supper table at your festive gatherings, come to India and surfeit on your dainties, you will see it calmly collecting its daily food unsuspicious of danger, then comes the rush and loud clacking as it flies pursued by the ferocious native, ending with cries of despair and the fluttering and hoarse gurgle of its death throes, in half an hour Murghi will be placed before you hot and tempting to the eye but hard as nails to the touch; they are cheap in this part of the world. I pay one anna (or three halfpence) for a chicken, or two annas for a full grown fowl. JULY 22nd.--A little march of three miles to Koopwaddie. I am glad I came here for one or two reasons. In the first place the walk afforded me a nearer and finer view of the head of the valley, surmounted by its high and rugged snow peaks; and secondly, I find I can return from here to Sopoor in two marches instead of going back over the old road. From Sopoor I shall boat to Alsoo. The range which at Lalpore was on the further side of the valley has gradually approached the other hills until now they are only a quarter of a mile apart, and are connected by short low spurs which I crossed this morning. My road to-morrow will be behind the first mentioned range, where another portion of the valley lies. The valley is in fact fork-shaped, intersected by a mountainous ridge which runs from its lower end for about fifteen miles. The two portions then unite and form one valley up to the snows, and Koopwaddie is situated at their junction. The Solab proper is only the eastern arm which is formed into a _cul de sac_ by the mountains, and in which Lalpore stands. JULY 23rd.--To Chargle ten miles down the western fork of a valley rough and uncultivated by comparison with the Solab. Over a low range of hills with a very steep descent to Chargle standing on the left bank of the Pohroo river. Not finding a good place on that side I forded the river, which is not more than two feet deep, and encamped on smooth green sward under a walnut tope on the other bank. Fine view from the top of the hill of the level valley through which the Pohroo runs, with the broad Jhelum shining like silver in the distance. This plain is laid out in open fields, and lacks trees except round the numerous villages. The surrounding hills too are comparatively bare, and their summits are to-day obscured by the low-lying clouds. JULY 24th.--A hot and uncomfortable walk of twelve miles on the exposed and uninteresting road to Sopoor. There were but few trees to afford any shade, but there were mulberries bearing ripe fruit, under which you know it is impossible to sit down. From Sopoor to Alsoo (sixteen miles) by boat, slowly driving all day through the tangled weeds and water lilies. At Soopoor I waited for my boy to get what he wanted for my breakfast (which he would prepare on board) and while waiting, a procession of natives came with bells and flags, and something surrounded by curtains and carried under a canopy, but I could not see what it was. It was being fanned vigorously by several men and was no doubt very holy. A large number of men (Mahometans) followed, shouting loudly when the bells were rung, and some of them chanted a slow but not unpleasing melody. They were praying for rain which is rare in this country, and which is now required for the crops. My boy returned bringing with him to my joy a fore quarter of mutton. Stopped at Shukuroodeen for the evening, the wind being too strong to proceed. Those flat bottomed boats with their large heavy awnings are very cranky. JULY 25th.--Started early for Alsoo. Found my old boat where I had left it, but brought my baggage on board of this one, which I mean to keep to, as the boatman is a much more useful fellow than the other man. He acts as a servant, knows all the places I am going to, including Ummernath, and has many excellent characters from those who have employed him. There was such a scene when my intentions were made known to the other crew, at first with tears and folded hands they supplicated, but when that proved useless they took to cursing and gesticulating, which they continued as their boat moved away and so long as they were within hearing, screaming across the water, making faces, and shaking their fists aloft; the old man was especially violent, it was very laughable. My present crew consists of the man I have mentioned, three good looking young woman, one of whom has the hooping cough, and a variety of children I have not yet made out the different relations to each other. There was lightning and some heavy rain last night (the result no doubt of yesterday's ceremony) and the sky is still gloomy and overcast. On from Alsoo after Chota Hazree or first breakfast to Lunka, a small island, which is only fifty yards square, is thickly covered with pine trees, with trailing grape vines clinging around their boughs, on it stands an old ruin, and fallen pillars and carved stones litter the ground. From a distance it looked very lovely, floating as it were on the bosom of the open waters, but as we neared it an unpleasant odour became perceptible, rapidly increasing to a horrid stench. This proceeded from a colony of natives who were in temporary habitation of the island, and were engaged in catching and drying the fish with which the lake abounds. I landed however, but was soon forced to beat a rapid retreat. Such a mass of all kinds of filth crowded in so small a space, I have never before witnessed. Man is ever the plague spot of the world, where he is not, all is peace, and beauty, with his presence comes contamination and discord. Saw many a whistling seal in one part of the lake. The water soon became contracted into a narrow channel, with a low bank on either side, after travelling a few miles more we reached the broad Jhelum above its entrance into the lake. Remained for the night at Hajun. JULY 26th, Sunday.--Moved on in the morning to Manusbul, a small lake connected with the river by a canal. This lake is about three miles long and one mile wide, it is very deep in the middle, and said by the natives to be unfathomable. In one of the Hindoo Legends we are told a story of a holy man who spent all his life endeavouring to make a rope long enough to reach to the bottom, and failing, at length threw himself in and was never seen again. My boatman to give me an idea of its depth, dropped in white pebbles which could be seen for a long time sinking in the clear green water, until they gradually disappeared from sight. I longed to take a plunge into the cool fluid, and Ungoo evidently read my wish in my looks, for he proposed that I should gussul or bathe. The presence of three women however proved too much for my modesty, and I refrained, although I have no doubt that had I not done so their feelings would not have been in the least outraged. Very handsome water lilies (lotus) on the surface of the lake, the flowers being of a delicate pink colour with a yellow centre, and as large as the crown of a man's hat. At the further extremity, a high hill rises from the edge of the water. A stream is artificially conducted along its face at a height of about fifty feet, and the surplus water escapes in several pretty little cascades, by the side of one of them grow some noble chenars. The bottom of the lake around the edges is very uneven, and covered with a dense growth of mynophillum spicatum, on which planorbus and other molluces graze and tiny fry pick their invisible atoms of food. The elegant shape of this plant with its branching and finely cut leaves, and the inequalities of the ground remind me of the pine-clad hills in miniature. A brilliant king-fisher took the gunwale of the boat as the "base of his operations," and I amused myself all the morning, by watching him catch fish; when one approached the surface he descended with a splash which I imagined would have driven every fish far away, emerging quickly and very seldom without a capture, which he turned head downwards and swallowed alive and whole, then looked round with a laughable air of self-satisfaction. When the fish was a size too large to be trifled with, he first polished it off by rapping its head on the boards. It is now sunset, and that bird is still feeding, and probably the day will end without deciding whether his appetite or his capacity is the larger. A native brought me a dish of excellent apricots and mulberries--the mulberries especially good, and my garden is celebrated for the best peaches in Kashmir. JULY 27th.--Up the Jhelum again, past Sumbul with its deodar bridge (similar to the others described with this exception, that the footway appears to be built in imitation of the roof of a house sloping on either side from a high central ridge, not the best form of bridge I have seen, but variety is charming) to the entrance of the Scind river, where a chenar stands in the middle of the stream, protected by a square block of masonry. Tradition says this tree never grows. Near it is a small island over grown with trees. Here we left the Jhelum and pursued the course of the Scind which soon contracted into a narrow and rapidly flowing river, its water derived from the snows, being very cold. It was slow work rowing against the strong current, but we presently emerged into a great lake entirely covered with high rushes except where a winding channel was cut for the boats, and here progression was slower still as the rope had to be abandoned, and the pole called into requisition, so that it was nearly dark when we reached Ganderbul. Passed a number of men wading in the water up to their necks, and spearing the ground with poles armed with a single barbed spike. Although this seems an insane way of attempting to catch fish, their boat was well laden with a small species of trout, and I saw several drawn from the water impaled and wriggling upon the sharp point. Sreenuggur seen in the distance at the extremity of a mountainous spur, with the Fort and Soloman's Throne, standing upon two elevated rocks. Within a few miles of Ganderbul the lake became clear, and presented a fine expanse of water, but with so many shallows, that our course was very tortuous. Having travelled twenty miles, we are now only five miles from Manusbul. Ganderbul stands at the opening of the Scind valley, but it was too late to take any observations when I arrived; so I must wait until my return. JULY 28th.--A march of nine miles up the valley to Kungan, taking with me as before only four coolie loads of baggage; my boatman accompanies me. Met Scott, of the 88th, three or four miles from Ganderbul, the first European I have seen since the 12th. This is a narrow and beautiful valley, down which the Scind river rushes foaming and roaring. Its waters are icy cold and its colour also seems to partake of its snowy origin, for it is white, not only with foam, but the water itself in small quantities is as though it had come out of a milky jug. Grand hills stand on either side, and up the valley I occasionally got glimpses of high and rugged snow peaks. Several natives came to me with different ailments, I gave them rough directions whereby to benefit, but what they wanted was a gift of medicine (of which I have none.) They fancy every Englishman is an adept in the art of healing, and that English physic especially Tyrnhill's Pills, possesses magical powers. JULY 29th.--To Toomoo, six miles, a shorter march than I intended, for they told me at Kungan that Toomoo was twelve miles distant. However, when I arrived, the temptation to stop was too strong to be resisted. In marching one gets very weary about the sixth or seventh mile, but this passes off, and you can then go on comfortably for almost any distance, provided you resist the first feelings of fatigue, and do not give way to it, as I have done to-day. The mountains are now huge towering masses, rising thousands of feet above the valley; they have lost all smoothness of outline, and their upper portions are bare and rough, cragged, and pine clad. Instead of having merely whitened peaks, snow fields extend down the sides. The scene is one of wild majestic grandeur. What tremendous agonies in past ages must have been employed to produce such vast upheavals. One cannot help contemplating with awe the possibility of the world again becoming violently rent and shaken to its foundations by the forces which though now comparatively inert, still exist beneath us and occasionally give sad proof of their undiminished power. In the present day the slow but continued action of this subterranean power is in some parts perceptible (as in South America) and we have no guarantee that it may not suddenly acquire increased energy, and overwhelm our fairest lands with a run too terrible to be imagined. Stinging nettles abound here, of the tall sort that grow so rankly on old earth heaps and in dry ditches. I placed my hand among them, delighted to be stung again by English friends; the sensation is so far preferable to mosquito bites. Besides it took me back to "childhood's happy hours," when with bramble torn breeches and urticarious shin, I forced the hedges, apple stealing--I have stolen apples to-day for a tart which is now baking--robbed the trees of them for they are no man's property. Just above here on the other side of the valley is a very perfect crater (of course extinct) for there are now no volcanoes in the Himalayas. Its lips are rugged and serrated like the teeth of a saw, and form a very perfect circle I cannot tell the depth of the basin, but on the further side I can see that the edge rises perpendicularly to a considerable height, and at the bottom of it I just got a glimpse of a steeply sloping floor. On its exterior are deep grooves containing strong blocks, which at this distance appear to show by contrast of colour their igneous origin, but I cannot speak positively on this point. My Bheistie to whom I gave three days leave to visit his family, came in saying he had walked one hundred miles. He does not look any the worse for it. JULY 30th.--Another short march of five miles to Soorapra, a small village around which stand several enormous hills, half obscured by clouds, for it is a thoroughly wet day, drizzling rain having fallen ever since my arrival. It is very cool and pleasant, but I have got up too far and am now in the rainy region, so to-morrow I shall retrace my steps, three or four marches would take me over the Himalayas into Ladâk. This would be an interesting trip, but there still remains much for me to see in Kashmir, and I have not time to do both. Passed another, but smaller and less perfect crater. Some natives brought a young black bear, which they had just caught to show me. It was no larger than a good-sized dog, but had very long sharp claws; its expression was anything but ferocious. A dense pine and walnut forest extends down one of the hills to the verge of the village. I was strolling in that direction, not a hundred yards from the huts--before the arrival of my baggage--when two men ran after me and begged me to come back on account of the number of tigers there. I imagined they meant leopards, but on making enquiries I find cows are carried away, which could not be done by leopards. This would be a good ground for the sportsman, but no Europeans come here as it is off the regular track up the valley. I crossed the river this morning by a ricketty bridge built of a couple of firs, on which logs were loosely laid, leaving the main road which runs along the other or right bank. Just behind my tent a stream of deliciously cold and transparent water issues from the hill side; a rough sort of shed is erected over it, and the water is conducted a short distance in a wooden trough, from the end of which it falls to the ground. It is the custom in Kashmir to build over the springs and esteem them holy. No mosquitoes up here, delightful prospect of a good night's rest. JULY 31st.--Back to Kungan in one march, but did not encamp on the same ground as before, as I found a better place by the side of the river. I have been thinking all the morning about my future career, whether I shall obtain the appointment in the Guards that I have applied for, (my application has by this time reached England) if not, what will they do with me when I get home, or shall I remain in the army? These questions have been running in my head and occasionally a more delicate one obtruded. Shall I marry, and if so, when and whom, and here, where all my thoughts are revealed, I must needs confess that now at twenty-nine years of age, I begin to weary of single blessedness, and long for a fair, loving, and loveable companion. Now my gentle lady reader, here is a chance for you, if you are content with honest love without adoration, faithfulness without romance; for my romantic days have passed. I have learnt the sober realities of life, and among them the truth of God's declaration that it is not good for man to be alone. The _Saturday Review_ in recent articles, "The Girl of the Period, &c.," holds out a poor prospect for the would be benedict, and I fear there is much truth in the assertion that the majority of our young women are husband hunting, that they make matrimony their one great object, and will condescend to any means whereby to attain the personal independance given them by that position, that these marriages without love, only prompted by selfish considerations, are followed by a total neglect of all wifely duties--nay more, that even maternal care and tenderness have nearly ceased to exist. It is a sad picture, and sternly drawn. The well-known power of the paper is put forth in its highest degree, and withering sarcasm, and bitter contempt accompany its stern reproofs. Yet there is a final wail of despair at the unlikelihood of any change for good being effected. This evil like most others is of our own making. We men no longer marry while young, but when middle-aged or with grey hairs beginning to show, a man desires a wife, he will most likely choose one five and twenty years his junior. The girl often marry thus because she cannot get a husband of her own age, and a very few years lost will doom her to perpetual spinsterhood. It is necessarily a marriage without love, a lucky one if there be respect. Girls have learnt that it is useless to bestow their affections where nature would have them, and and it is scarcely a matter for surprise that they should in consequence endeavour to repress them altogether. Moral for my own use. Marry while I am young, or not at all. AUGUST 1st.--To Wangut nine miles rough and hilly walking. I lost the path once, and had a long scramble before I regained it. Though not a pleasant march the scenery is very fine and picturesque. Wangut lies up a short and contracted valley, an offshoot of the Scind which is a much larger one, and the mountains around it are very grand especially at the head of the valley, I put up large coveys of grey partridge on the road. I have come here for the purpose of visiting some mines two miles further on, and I intend to halt to-morrow and walk to see them. There is a great row going on while I write this, the natives appear unwilling to furnish supplies (milk, eggs, &c.,) and my boatman who has accompanied me is applying his stick freely by way of persuasion. There is of course a Babel of tongues and I sit within a few yards, quietly ignoring the proceeding, though if necessary, I shall get up and add some lusty whacks as my share of the argument. A mountain torrent--a tributary of the Scind runs down the valley with the usual noise and hurly burly. A travelling native carpenter is here, and all the village are bringing their ploughs to be mended, he is very clever with his hoe-shaped hatchet fashioning the hard walnut wood so correctly with it, that the chisel is hardly necessary for the few finishing touches. I have seen him make some wooden ladles very rapidly, and he has provided me with a new set of tent pegs and mallet and a wooden roller, by means of which I hope to avoid the digital process in the manufacture of my chepatties. AUGUST 2nd, Sunday.--Sitting having my feet washed by a servant (delightful sensation) after my return from the ruin of Rajdainbul and Nagbul. I meditate on the mutability of all things human. I have taken a walk before breakfast this Sabbath morning to witness the overthrow of former magnificence and the destruction of man's crafty handiwork. These two temples erected many long years ago in honour of a Hindoo Deity named Naranay, now stand desolate piles in the dense jungle. Fallen stones cover the ground and great trees grow from the interstices of those that still hold together and retain a semblance of their original shape. Confusion reigns supreme and the place that was once the scene of mistaken worship, is now only the haunt of the wild beast and deadly reptile. The thoughts which such a sight suggest, have been the theme of many a moralist, but the great lesson it teaches cannot lose any of its importance by repetition. Yet a consideration of the littleness of man and the utter vanity of his proudest works is, I fear, distasteful to most of us; we cannot bear to be forced to admit our own insignificance. We go to church and cry "what is man that Thou art mindful of him," but the words are but empty sounds. Our preachers may tell us that life is but a shadow, but they speak to unwilling and heedless ears, and we go on ignoring the fact, crying peace, and stifling our conscience by a form of religion without godliness. We are arrogant, high-minded, puffed up in our own conceit, and though there are many that would wish to be considered holy, how few there are that are humble men of heart, and time continues to repeat the old, old story, filling our grave-yards, destroying our works; creation alone remaining stable, waiting for the end. These ruins are small in size, and their architecture rude, though the individual blocks are certainly large and well though not elaborately carved. But they produce a strange impression of awe by the dreary solitude and wildness of their position which is perhaps peculiar to themselves, although they lack both the fairy elegance of Netley Abbey, and the massive grandeur of a Pevensey Castle. The men who accompanied me advanced very cautiously through the thick underwood, beating with their sticks in order to drive away the Iguana Lizards, which they call the "bis cobra" and hold in deadly fear, believing its bite to be most surely fatal. This belief is universal among the natives of India, but there is no proof of its truth, and I need hardly say that the dental arrangement of Bactrachian reptiles is incompatible with the possession of poisonous qualities. But though science will not admit it, it is strange that the idea is so widely spread, especially as the natives do not fear any other species of lizard, while they believe that every snake is armed with the fatal fang. AUGUST 3rd.--Heavy rain prevented my departure from Wangut, at the usual early hour, but about 9 o'clock it cleared up, and I marched on Arric eight miles distant down a path on the right bank of the river, (I ascended the valley on the other side.) The rain has made it very slippery, and it was a fatiguing walk the road not being good, and occasionally dangerous; one part fairly beat me, I was expected to pass round a smooth rock by means of several ledges one inch wide and four or five long, cut on its surface. The precipice below was deep, and when I had taken one step, and found myself hanging over it; I determined to go back and try another way. The other way is bad enough, but all I object to is having my safety depending upon a single foothold. I like to have at least one chance of recovering myself if I slip. My walnut tree to-day is covered with mistletoe and my mind is directed to Christmas time, and all its (to us) sad associations. Three Christmases have I spent away from England, and a fourth is now approaching, one of them on the ocean, and two in the tented field, the next will I fancy also find me under canvass, but I trust on my way homewards. Westward Ho! is my cry; let the gorgeous East with its money bags, its luxuries, and its many hours of idleness, remain for those who are content to exchange home-ties and the enjoyment of life for dreary exile and too often untimely death, who will sell their minds and bodies for the price of rupees. AUGUST 4th.--Marched back to Ganderbul, nine miles. Ganderbul is a very small place, and the only object of interest I noticed, was a very old bridge built of rough stones, standing now upon dry land, for the Scind has left its former channel and runs one hundred yards to to the south of it, three of the arches remain entire and connected, and at least twelve others are either decayed or destroyed. This bridge is evidently of very ancient date. On emerging from the Scind valley, I got a better view of the vale than I have before had. It was a clear but cloudy morning--one of those grey days when rays abound, and photographic efforts are most successful--and every distant object was seen with great distinctness. The snowy Pin Punjaul range, in its southern boundary looked magnificent, rising abruptly from the level and beautiful plain. On board the boat again, I continued the journey towards Srenuggur. We had not been long afloat before a sudden squall came down from the hills and blew the roof of the boat off; it took a long time to repair the mischief, but fortunately all the matting was blown on to the bank, it was eventually replaced and we proceeded onwards in a tolerably direct line to the capital, ten miles distant. But near sunset the wind increased again, and compelled us to take refuge in a sheltered nook within a mile or two of Srenuggur, the fort standing above us on the summit of a hill--imposing from its apparently impregnable position--and there we remained all night. AUGUST 5th.--Starting early, I soon arrived at the outskirts of the town, and the boat entered a canal with houses on both sides. There was some delay at a lock and great excitement in pushing over the fall caused by the rash of the water. Passed through the city which is a large one, and encamped under chenars on the banks of the canal on the other side. The Baboo-Mohu Chundee, an officer appointed by the Maharajah to attend to the many and varying wants of European visitors--called upon me and afterwards sent "russud" or a present from the Maharajah consisting of tea, sugar, flour, butter, rice, salt, spice, vegetables, a chicken, and a live sheep. Some cloth merchants also came and I was led into extravagance in purchasing some of their goods. In the afternoon I got a small boat, a miniature of the larger one, propelled by six men with paddles. They took me along very quickly, and I went down the canal which opens into the Jhelum--the main thoroughfare of Suenaggur opposite to the palace and the adjoining temple, whose dome is covered with plates of pure gold. It is a very strange sight, the broad river covered with boats, and lined by houses built in the curious Kashmirian style. Seven fine bridges cross it, and on two of them stand rows of shops like our Old London Bridge. I first went to the Post-office and got a satisfactory communication from our Paymaster, and also a letter from Bill, giving me the sad tidings of poor Tyrwhitt's death, which took place at Murree a fortnight after my departure. It is a selfish consideration, but I cannot help feeling grateful that he was prevented by an attack of ague from accompanying me, as he intended. I then went to Sumnad Sha's, the great shawl merchant, and turned some of the Paymaster's paper into silver currency. He showed me his stock, and I wished that I possessed the means of purchasing his goods. But even here a good shawl costs thirty or forty pounds, very magnificent they are, but I need not describe that which every English lady knows and longs for, if she has not it. Hewson, the Paymaster at Chinsurah, is encamped within one hundred yards of me. Passing in his boat he recognised me, and we went and had a swim and talked over old times at the Depôt. AUGUST 6th.--Bought some tackle and went fishing, but the hooks were rotten and the fish broke several. I only succeeded in landing one trout of nearly two pounds weight. The spoon bait is a favourite one here. Bought a variety of stones and pebbles. Ladûk, Yarkund, Opals, Garnets, &c., for making brooches, bracelets, and studs. I was a long while making the selection and a long while bargaining, but I seem to have got them cheap; at all events for less money than Hewson has paid for his. This, and fishing, occupied the whole day--which was consequently an uneventful one. In the evening I borrowed writing materials from Hewson, and wrote a letter to Bell. AUGUST 7th.--Went out spearing fish, but found it difficult in consequence of the allowance necessary for the refraction of the water and the movement of the fish. There is a great temptation to strike in an apparently direct line with the fish, which I need hardly say, even if the fish be stationary does not go near it. I only succeeded in piercing two. But I afterwards went out with a spoon and very soon landed a couple of trout of two and four pounds weight. I have found out who was at Baramula ---- travelling quietly like a private gentleman, still, notwithstanding the paucity of his retinue, the unmistakeable stamp of nobility about him made it plain that he was more than he appeared to be, obtaining for him the attention which he had wished to ignore. As a contrast to him we have here X----, Y----, and Z----, noticeable like many other Englishmen, when travelling in foreign countries for the prodigality of their expenditure, one of whom got a thrashing the other day from ----. Rather a disreputable affair for him, if all I hear be true. I dare say many a poor native wishes that a small portion of the money these three men waste was given to them instead. AUGUST 8th.--I have done nothing to-day except go to Sumnad Shas for some more money, as I intend to leave Sreenugger to-morrow for the eastern part of Kashmir. There are two reasons for my idleness; in the first place Hewson gave me some books he had done with, and I got interested in James' "Heidelberg" and was reading it all this morning; and secondly, Hewson left this afternoon and sat a long time with me before his departure. To lengthen my notes for the day I ought to write a sermon, or secular discourse, (as I have done before) but I don't feel inclined to do so. This diary only gets my thoughts when they arise spontaneously and require no further labour than the mere putting of them into words. To-day my mind is a blank, and I am not going to search in hidden recesses for thoughts that may possibly be secreted there. Perhaps after dinner something may occur to me worth writing about. AUGUST 9th, Sunday.--On again by the big boat up the Jhelum stopping at Pampur for two hours fishing under the bridge (the reputed haunt of large fish) but without success, so continued the journey gliding slowly along the beautiful river until dark, when the boat was run ashore and secured. So it has been an uneventful day with no new scenery to describe and no musings to record. AUGUST 10th.--Another day passed on the river. From early dawn till dusk we continued towing against the stream, and then halted for the night at Kitheryteen (I spell the word from my boatman's pronunciation of it) a small village on the right bank. AUGUST 11th.--Started again at daybreak but soon stopped at Bigbikara, where there is another bridge. All these bridges are alike and similar to the one described at Baramula, but this one is particularly pretty from the fact of large trees having grown from the lower part of every pier. These trees green and flourishing are high above the footway, between which and the water there is a distant vista of fine mountains. Fished here, but only hooked one, which I judged from its run to be large, and lost it. Above the bridge the river narrowed to about half its former width. We are approaching a very grand range of mountains which seems to be the boundary of the valley. Before mid-day we reached Kunbul and completed the trip of forty miles by water. At Kunbul is the first bridge over the Jhelum, the river here diminishes to a breadth of only thirty or forty yards, and soon breaks up into a number of small streams which mostly rise from the water, then along the foot of the hills. AUGUST 12th.--Marched to Buroen, six miles, on arriving found the camping ground occupied by numerous "Fakirs" who had lately returned from Ummernath. These men are horrible looking objects, most of them being painted white and nearly naked. Ummernath is a mountain 1,600 feet high, and at the top of it is a cave sacred to the Hindoo Deity. In July pilgrims assemble there for a great religious festival, and these are some of them on their way back. I intended to visit this cave, but I have not time now, and I have thought that it may be a trifle too cold up there. At Burven is a very holy spring. Two tanks are formed where the water escapes from the ground, and these tanks swarm with tame fish, some of them of large size. It was a great sight feeding them. They all rushed to the place struggling and fighting for the food. The bright green water was black with them, and a space yards wide and long, and several feet thick, was occupied by a block of fish packed as closely as if they were pickled herrings. These fish are also very sacred, and to catch them is prohibited. Soon after leaving Kunbul I passed through Islamabad, a large town of which I may have more to say hereafter. There are two other men encamped here with me, but they don't seem very sociable, and I don't care much for the society of strangers; we have exchanged "good mornings" and that is all, and now sit staring at each other at a distance of twenty yards. How different it would have been if we were Frenchmen instead of cold-blooded Englishmen. After dark the fakirs had a "tomasha." Singing, bell ringing, tambourine-beating, and the blowing of discordant horns all at the same time, constituted a delightful music--to them at least--and was continued for hours, interrupted by shouting and yelling, and with this din going on I now hope to sleep. AUGUST 13th.--Marched back to Islamabad, seven miles, by another road, as I first visited the ruins of Martund, a temple built (so the legend goes) ages ago by "gin men" or demons of gigantic stature. These are really grand ruins, whether position, site, or architecture be considered. They stand on an open plain, on the summit of a ridge, from which is a fine view of the surrounding mountains, which are much higher than in the western part of Kashmir. In the centre is a large block, containing several rooms, the huge stones of which it is built being elaborately carved. There are many niches containing figures, but the defacing hand of time has sadly marred them. On two sides of this building and only a few feet distant from it rise a couple of wings, and the whole is enclosed by a stone screen, perforated by trefoil arches, and having on its inner side a row of fluted columns. In the middle of the south side of the screens is the main entrance, the pillars of which are very tall. Vigne, classes these ruins among the finest in the world, and perhaps he is right. At Islamabad there are several bungalows provided for visitors, and I went into one of them, having first cleared it of the "fakirs"--who are here too. These bungalows stand by tanks in which are tame fish, as at Burven. A spring issues from the hill side, just above them. Two men of the 7th Hussars, Walker and Verschoyle, occupied another, and I breakfasted with them. Adjoining the tanks is a small pleasure garden, with some buildings which are inhabited by the Maharajah when he visits Islamabad. The place reminds me more of a tea garden in the New Road, than the resort of Royalty. The water from the tanks escapes under the front bungalow forming a pretty cascade. Dined and passed the evening with the other fellows. AUGUST 14th.--To Atchebul, six miles. This is a charming spot. It is a pavilion and garden built--if my memory serves me--by the Emperor Shah Jehan, for his wife; at its upper end rises a hill covered with small deodars and other trees, and from the foot of this hill four springs gush forth from crevices in the rock. The volume of water is very large, and it is conveyed into three tanks at different levels. These tanks are connected by broad canals lined with stone, and at the extremity of each canal is a fine waterfall. There are also two lateral canals which run through the whole length of the gardens, from the boundary of which the water escapes in three cascades, the centre one from the tanks being the largest. In the middle tank are twenty-five fountains, which were turned on for my benefit; only seventeen of them play, and the best jets are not more than six feet high. In the centre of this tank stands a pavilion which I now inhabit. Its walls are of wooden trellis work, and the ceiling is divided into panels on which are painted in many colours the everlasting shawl pattern; it looks as though the floor-cloth had been placed on the ceiling by mistake. Along the foot of the hill is a ruined terrace built of bricks, with arches and alcoves crumbling to pieces. There is also an arch over the canal, between the second and third tanks. The whole garden was originally laid out in several terraces faced with masonry, and having wide flights of stone steps from one to the other; but all is now much decayed, and the garden itself is quite uncultivated, except a small portion, and is but a wilderness of fruit trees and fine chenars. On the left of it is the old Human or bath, a series of domed and arched rooms containing baths and marble seats. The interior is in a fair state of preservation, and the various pipes which conveyed the water to it still exist. The whole ground is enclosed by a wall, and if it was properly looked after, might be converted into a very pleasant retreat. In the afternoon Walker and Verschoyle, rode over from Islamabad and sat some time with me, after a few hours five other pipes began to squirt--rendered patulous I suppose by the pressure of the water--so that three only now remain occluded. I had a great loss last night; the dogs broke open the basket containing my provisions, and carried away half a large sized cake, and a hump of beef that had been cooked but was uncut. AUGUST 15th.--Marched to Nowboog, fifteen miles, this long march was quite unexpected as Ince in his book puts it down eight miles. It was up hill nearly all the way--this combined with the sun's heat--for I did not start so early as I would have done if I had known the distance--and the vexation of having to go on, long after I considered the march ought to have been finished, made it very fatiguing. Nowboog is situated in a small and pretty valley separated by hills from the rest of Kashmir. I intend to halt here to-morrow, so will reserve further description until I feel fresh again. It was one or two o'clock before I arrived, and I have worn a hole in my left heel which will, I fear, render the next marches painful. Umjoo--the boatman--is now shampooing my legs and feet. This process consists of violent squeezes and pinches which make me inclined to cry out, but I am bearing it bravely without flinching and endeavouring to look happy, and to persuade myself that it is pleasant--now my toes are being pulled with a strength fit to tear them off. Oh! ----. There's a cry on paper. He does not hear that, and it is some sort of relief. AUGUST 16th, Sunday.--The valley of Nowboog is small but very picturesque. The surrounding hills are comparatively low, and are covered with pasture on the open places, while the deodar and many other trees occupy the ravines and gullies. The large amount of grass and the grouping of the trees give it a park-like appearance, and the gentle slopes of the verdant mountains remove all wildness from the scene. It is a pleasant spot to halt at. A little nook which while it charms the eye, only suggests peaceful laziness. My coolies sit at a short distance, singing through their noses Kashmirian songs. There is much more melody in their music than in that of their brethren of Hindoostan. Indeed some of the tunes admit of being written, and I have copied a few of the more rythmical, as they sang them. The principal objection to them is that they are rather too short to bear repetition for half an hour as is the custom, there is another music going on--a music that cannot be written and will be difficult to describe--I mean the song of the "Cicada Stridulantia" in walnut trees above me. This insect--the balm cricket--is in appearance a burlesque, just such a house fly as you might imagine would be introduced in a pantomime; and its cry is as loud and incessant as it is peculiar. To describe it, fancy to begin with a number of strange chirps, and that every few seconds, one of those cogged wheels and spring toys that you buy at fairs to delude people into the belief that their coats are being torn--is passed rapidly down the back, with occasionally momentary interruption in the middle of its course, while between each scratch you hear a mew of a distant cat--another cat purring loudly all the time, and any number of grasshoppers chirping to conclude with a running down of the most impetuous and noisy alarum, and then silence--a silence almost painful by contrast--until it begins again. Such is the song of the Cicada in the Himalayan forests. I wonder every Sunday if they miss me at Peshawur; for I was organist to the church before I left, and I doubt if there is anybody to take my place. I wish I had the instrument here now to peal forth to the hills and the wondering Kashmirians Handel's sublime "Hallelujah Chorus" or "The Marvellous Works" of Haydn. What can be more inspiring than the grand old church music we possess, bequeathed to us by composers of immortal memory. Though much opposed to the present Ritualistic tendencies I do delight in a musical service. It seems to elevate the mind and give a greater depth to our devotion. Go into any of our cathedrals and hear the solemn tones of the Liturgy echoing through the vaulted roof, and your heart must needs join in the supplication, "And when the glorious burst of music calls to praise and rejoicing, will not your own soul fly heavenward with the sound and find unaccustomed fervency in its thanksgivings." There is perhaps one thing necessary, and that is, that you should know the music you hear, otherwise the first admiration of its beauty may eclipse all other considerations. But if you have studied it, if it is as familiar to you as it ought to be, and is intimately connected in your mind with the words to which it is set, you will understand its spirit, and see that however beautiful it may be it is only the means whereby higher thoughts and nobler feelings are sought to be expressed. I bought here a very fine pair of Antlers of the "Bara sing"--a large deer found on these hills. AUGUST 17th.--To Kookur Nag, twelve miles. I am now convinced I came the wrong road from Atchibul to Nowboog, as I had to march back over a great portion of it this morning; however, with the exception of a mile or two, it was all down hill, and as I knew when I started that I had twelve miles to go, I was not tired. Stopped at the village on the way where there are iron works, and saw them smelting the ore which is obtained from the neighbouring mountains, this ore is a yellow powder, and appears to be almost pure oxide. Their method of working is very rude; a small furnace, such as a blacksmith uses at home, supplied with a pair of leather bellows constitutes the whole of the foundry, and is of course, only capable of smelting a very small quantity of ore at a time. Kookur Nag is the name of some springs about two miles from the village I have encamped at, and I walked over this afternoon to see them. It was scarcely worth the trouble. There are a great number of them close together and they issue from the ground, as usual, at the foot of a prettily wooded hill. The water is very pure and cold, and of sufficient quantity to form immediately a large and rapid stream. This place lies near the mouth of a wide gorge or valley which leads right up to the snows, and down which there must have been at one time, either a mighty rush of water or a vast glacier, as the ground is thickly strewn with huge boulders. The stratification of one mountain against which it is evident the flood impinged--is very clearly and beautifully shown. AUGUST 18th.--To Vernag, ten miles, crossing a range of hills, the descent being the steepest I have experienced. From the top of the range there was a fine view of the two valleys of Kookur Nag and Vernag. They are very similar and down the middle of each is a layer of loose rounded stones. The springs of Vernag occupy the same position in the valley as those of Kookur Nag do in the other, but around them is a good sized village, and their point of exit has been converted into a large and very deep octagonal tank, which is perfectly crowded with sacred fish. Surrounding the tank is a series of arches, and on the side from which the stream escapes is a bungalow for the use of visitors. Six days ago a Hindoo was drowned here, and his body has not been recovered--so deep is the water, it is probable that ere this the fish have removed all but his bones, one hundred yards below the tank is another spring, which is the finest I believe in Kashmir. It comes straight up on level ground, and forms a mound of water eighteen inches high, and more than a foot in diameter. The morning cloudy and very gloomy on account of the eclipse of the sun of which I saw nothing. This is my birthday and my thoughts have been running over my past life and speculating upon the future before me. "But fear not dear reader!" I will not bore you with all my musings over those twenty-nine unfruitful, if not absolutely mis-spent evil years, or show you how my "talent" lies carefully folded up and hidden away, in order that I may have it to return to its "owner". "Oh! fool, fool that I am." Knowing better things and with a half a lifetime gone, "I find myself still plodding along the old road paved with good intentions." The springs of grace indeed surround me, but I am in the shallows and the water is muddy. The very "Tree of Life" is by my side, but it is a dwarfed and stunted shrub, whose shoots wither before they put forth leaves. When will this change? Will my resolutions ever become deeds? "Will grace abound: or will faith ever give such impetus to my "Tree of Life," that it may grow up into heaven?" I put to myself the question that was asked Ezekiel. "Can these dry bones live," and have no other answer than his to make. These are some of my birthday thoughts. Pray, forgive, excuse me if I have wearied you. AUGUST 19th.--Back to Atchibul, twelve miles, the road for the most part level, but there was one mile of very hard work, over the ridge I crossed yesterday. I approached Atchibul from the hill I mentioned as standing at the head of the garden, and from the top of it a very pretty view of the place is obtained. I found the pavilion unoccupied, and again took possession of it, set the fountains playing, and imagined myself the Great Mogul. Just out of Vernag, I caught a small black and yellow bird, which my boatman calls a "bulbul" (though I think he is wrong in the name) and says it sings very well. I have had a cage made for it, and it is now feeding at my side, and is apparently very happy. I'll try and take it to England. I believe it is only one of the shrike family, but it is too young to identify at present. However, it is my fancy to keep it, so why should I not. The old gardener here is very attentive, constantly bringing me fruit. Shall I do him injustice, by saying that he probably has expectation of a reward? I think not indeed, is it not the same expectation or its allied motive, the desire to escape punishment, which prompts the actions of all of us? We do good, I fear, more for the sake of the promised recompense, than for any love of the thing itself. Light rain has fallen all day. AUGUST 20th.--I halt at Atchibul. I have now completed my wanderings in Kashmir, and have seen all I intended except one portion, which I shall visit on my road home. My next move will be to ----, but as I do not care to spend more than seven or eight days there, I am in no hurry to get back. My bird died in the night, and by its death has put an end to a rather violent controversy between my Bheistie and boatman. The boatman stoutly maintained his opinion of its value and the Bheistie with a more correct appreciation, and while explaining to me that it was a jungle bird and would never sing, appeared to look upon my conduct with a mixture of compassion and disgust, and then they quarrelled over it. Was my fancy a foolish one? Some men will spend years in the pursuit and classification of butterflies, while others go into ecstasy over a farthing of the reign of Queen Anne. My common jungle bird was a pretty one, and if I had got it home and put it in a gilt cage, it would surely have possessed some value for its antecedents, even if it had proved as mute as a fish, or as discordant as a Hindoo festival. AUGUST 21st.--Marched back to Kunbul, seven miles, and took up my quarters again on board the boat, fifteen or twenty other boats are here, a good many visitors having recently arrived in this part of Kashmir. I remained at Kunbul all day waiting for the completion of a pair of chuplus which I ordered of a shoemaker ten days ago. I have occupied the time by reading Marryat's "Newton Forster" (one of Hewson's gifts) and I find that when I read I can't write, so that must be my excuse for the shortness of my notes. My head is full of ships, sea fights, and love making to the exclusion of everything else. I heard you--you said it was a good job, as it prevented me writing more nonsense. AUGUST 22nd.--Slowly drifting all day down the stream towards Sreenuggur. Past Bijbehara with its fine bridge, stopping there a short time to procure milk and eggs for breakfast. Past Awuntipoor--the former capital--but now only a very small village, where stands on the rivers bank the ruins of two ancient Hindoo temples, square blocks, built indeed of enormous stones, but without sufficient architectural embellishment to require a closer inspection than I obtained from the boat. Another of those charming lazy days on the water, nothing to think about, but the time for meals, nothing to do, but to eat them when prepared. The eastern part of Kashmir is covered with high isolated mounds called Kuraywahs, composed of Alluvium, presenting perfectly flat summits and precipitous sides. The top of these was doubtless the original bed of the lake at the time when the whole valley was submerged, and the present channels between them (though now dry land) were cut by the rush of the water, when the Jhelum burst through the opening at Baramula and drained the valley. This rush then is shown to have been impetuous (and the high banks of the river also bear evidence to it) but it seems to me that the mere breaking through of the stream sixty or seventy miles away is not enough to account for it. No doubt that occurrence was attended, I may say produced by violent subterranean phenomena; and I imagine that this portion of the vale--which is much higher than the western half--then underwent a sudden upheaval, the result of which if only a few feet would be to throw its waters with terrific force into the lower portion and afford an easy explanation of the formation of both the Kuraqwahs and the Jhelum. I noticed in my course up the Jhelum, that it appeared to have originally consisted of a chain of small lakes, this would be the the natural effect of such a cause as I have supposed. The bulk of water, at first, would only have been sufficient to produce a few of them, perhaps only the large one between Gingle and Baramula. But as its quantity and measure continually increased by the flow from the higher level so would lake after lake have been formed among the crowded hills until the plains were reached. Then the drainage of these small lakes would follow as a matter of course, and the channel of the river be reduced to a size proportionate to its constant supply. Dear reader, you are very difficult to please. My descriptions you call slow, my imaginings frivolous, science dry. Jokes are feeble and personalities tedious morality is stale, religion is cant. What, how can I write? You have had a taste of all and if you are not content the fault is--well, let me be on the safe side--either yours or mine. AUGUST 23rd, Sunday.--We continued to progress last night by moonlight long after the sun had set, and started again very early this morning, so that the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Soloman's Throne) and Fort are now visible, and I expect to reach Sreenuggur before noon. It is faster work floating down the current than towing against it. At Sreenuggur I found several letters waiting for me, and amongst them a large "Official," which I tore open with eager haste; thinking it might be a reply to my application to be sent home. It was ----. Well, you will never guess--an urgent enquiry as to what language I could speak and write fluently beside English. I have answered this question some half dozen times since I have been in the service, but they never get tired of asking it. The date of my arrival in India is another favourite and constantly recurring enquiry, and this might lead me to give you a dissertation upon the theory and practice of Red-tapeism, with a special consideration of the amount of stationery thereby wasted, and its probable cost to the Government. It would perhaps, be very interesting to you, but to any one who is at all connected with it, the subject is only one of weariness and disgust--weariness at the unproductive labour entailed--disgust at the utter folly of the proceedings. So I pass it by, leaving some one who is willing to sacrifice his feelings, or more probably some one who knows nothing whatever about it to furnish the much needed exposé; it is customary to cry it down but it is an acknowledged evil, the custom has never been fully and fairly explained to outsiders or it must have given way before the burst of public indignation which such an explanation would have created. I have again encamped in the Chinar Bugh, but not quite in the old position as a better place was unoccupied. Indeed I had my pick of the whole, for there is now nobody here but myself. I received news (in my letters) that a field force had left Pindee to operate against some of the hill tribes between Peshawur and Abbottabad--ruffians who are always giving trouble, and who occasioned the inglorious Umbeylla campaign a few years ago. I informed my "boy" that there was going to be some hard fighting, and his reply was "With our troops, Sir?" Our troops! good heavens! a black man speaking to me of "our troops." It is customary I know to call these Asiatics our fellow subjects, but I never before had the fact so forcibly brought before me. AUGUST 24th.--I got up early this morning and have spent half the day on the "Dul" or "City Lake"--a large sheet of water which lies at the foot of the hill behind Sreenuggur. Besides the excessive beauty of the lake itself there are many objects of interest to be seen on its banks. I visited in succession the Mussul Bagh, Rupa Lank or Silver Isle, Shaliman Bagh, Suetoo Causeway, Nishat Bagh, Souee Lank or Golden Isle, and floating gardens. A word or two of description for each. The Mussul Bagh is a large grove of fine chenars planted in lines so as to form avenues at right angles to each other. There must be several hundred of these noble trees upon the ground, I do not mean fallen but erect and vigorous. The Shaliman Bagh is an extensive and well cultivated pleasure garden with pavilions, tanks, canals and fountains, in true oriental style. The upper pavilion is especially worthy of notice having a verandah built of magnificent black marble veined with quartz containing gold. It is surrounded by a large tank possessing one hundred and fifty-nine fountains, and its exterior is grandly if not artistically painted. The Nishat Bagh is smaller but scarcely less attractive. It is arranged in a series of fifteen terraces, from which a splendid view is obtained of the lake and adjacent country. Down its centre runs a canal, expanding at intervals into tanks and having a waterfall for each terrace, with a single straight row of fountains numbering more than one hundred and sixty. Grand hills rise immediately above it. It contains pavilions of fruit trees, and as a flower garden, is superior to the Shaliman Bagh. The Suetoo Causeway, is a series of old bridges and embankments which formerly crossed the lake, and was two or three miles long, but only portions of it now remain. The two islands are small and covered with trees, having no interest of themselves, but adding greatly to the appearance of the lake. They are I believe artificially constructed. The celebrated floating gardens are very curious; they were formed by dividing the stalks of the water weeds near their roots, and sprinkling the surface of them with earth, which sinking a little way was entangled in the fibres and retained; Fresh soil was then added, until the whole was consolidated, and capable of bearing a considerable weight. The ground is now about nine inches thick, floating upon the surface of the water, and the stalks of the weeds below it having disappeared. It is exceedingly porous and is used for the cultivation of water melons, when walking upon it a peculiar elasticity is perceived, accompanied with a tremulous or jelly like motion. It is divided into long stripes pierced by a stake at each end, which secures them in their position and allows of their rising or falling with the height of the water. An unlucky day for Silly. In the first place he was _sea-sick_. The use of the broad paddle in a small boat caused a good deal of shaking, and every stroke is attended with a sharp jerk forwards--secondly, he mistook a collection of weeds for dry land and jumped out into the water. This puzzled him immensely, and after he was recovered he sat for a long time gazing with a bewildered air upon the surface of the lake. Paid a visit in the afternoon to Sumnud Shah for the purpose of replenishing my exchequer, but found his shop better calculated to exhaust it. I'll not go there again. AUGUST 25th.--Lying down inside my tent I just now heard two crows chuckling and laughing in their way and saying to one another "here's a joke" or caws to that effect. You need not laugh at this statement or think that my mind has suddenly become deranged, I merely state a fact. The language of animals--dumb creatures as fools call them--is far more expressive than you imagine, and if you had spent the same time and the same attention that I have in listening to birds notes, you would be able to understand much of their meaning. Here a conversation carried on in a foreign tongue, one to which you a perfect stranger, will you be able to distinguish words? No! you will only hear a confusion of sounds possessing apparently but little variety. But as you become accustomed to it the words and syllables will start out into clear relief; so with birds songs--at first they will appear to you to be always the same, but they have really different tones and meanings, which you may learn to appreciate by studying them in connection with their acts. However I heard the crows say "here's a joke" and guessing I was to be the victim of it, I immediately jumped up and rushed out. They flew away loudly exulting and I found my match box,--which I had left on the table broken to pieces and the matches carefully distributed so as to cover as large a space of ground as possible; there is a crow's joke for you--there is not much in it as a joke,--but I introduce it principally to show that birds talk and that I (clever I) can understand them. I wrote the foregoing to eke out my notes for the day, not having anything particular to record. When the Baboo called upon me with the startling intelligence, all officers from the Peshawur division ordered immediately to rejoin their respective regiments; this has taken away the greater number of the visitors and very few are now left in Kashmir. Why don't I pack up and start? Well, I forgot to mention a short sentence in the order "except those on medical certificate" which saves me the trouble and annoyance of hurrying back before the expiration of my leave. It is on account, I suppose, of the little war we have entered on with those hill tribes, and I may be missing honour and glory, wounds and death, neither of which I care to earn from barbarians on the black mountains. I am sorry for the affair as I fear that from the inaccessibility of the country the best result will barely escape disaster. This is a strange day. You see me, one moment trifling with my thoughts for the sake of occupation and then having matters and subjects for the deepest consideration suddenly thrust upon me. Ought I to rejoin? I am indeed protected from the necessity of doing so, but my health is now fully established and such being the case, is it my duty to waive my right and return to my regiment. I think not, for the reason it is not likely that they will weaken the garrison at Peshawur by sending any of its troops into the field. Its strength is maintained for the purpose of defence against the Cabulese and other powerful Pathan tribes immediately surrounding it, who are deadly enemies, and would be eager to avail themselves of any opportunity for offence. Therefore I imagine that my regiment will remain in quarter, and do just as well without me as with me; and therefore have I determined to adhere to my original plans. AUGUST 26th.--There was a great fire in the town last night; three hundred houses have been destroyed. I went early to the scene of the disaster, which is on the left bank of the river adjoining the first bridge. The embers were still smouldering, and among the ruins the heat was intense, owing to the houses having been built almost entirely of wood, little but ashes and charred logs remained of them. Here and there a few hot bricks retained the semblance of a wall, but the destruction has been as complete as it is excessive. The bridge has also suffered, the bank pier having been attacked by the flames, and half the railing on either side of the foot-way has been torn off and precipitated into the water. The latter injury was caused I imagine, by the rush of the crowd over it at the time of the fire. No lives lost I believe. AUGUST 27th.--At six o'clock this morning a Jemindar or military officer made his appearance, sent by the Baboo, for the purpose of conducting me over the fort. A row of a mile down the river, and half a mile walk through the narrow rough crowded and stinking streets of the town brought us to the outworks, at the foot of the hill on which it is built. This hill is very steep and several hundred feet high, (I do not know the exact height, but I think it is between six and seven hundred feet) and the climb up it was fatiguing. From the top there is an extensive view, but the morning was misty and the greater part of the valley indiscernible. In front lies the town, intersected by the Jhelum; a great desert of mud-covered roofs presenting anything but the green carpet-like appearance described in books. On the left long lines of poplars, enclosing the Moonshi Bagh and the various encamping grounds, with the Tukh-t-i-Suliman rising high above them. Behind, the Dul, spread out like a sheet of silver with the back ground of mountains, and many canals radiating and glistening in the sun-light. Of the fort I have but little to say. From below, its position renders it imposing, but a nearer inspection dispels the illusion. Inside it there is a Hindoo temple, two or three tanks filled with green, slimy water, and some wretched hovels for the occupation of the garrison. The ramparts though high are weak and a few shells dropped within them would blow the whole place to pieces. The ordnance consists of four ancient brass guns; two of them about 9-pounders and the others 32-pounders, but I did not see a spot from which either of them could be safely fired; and even if there were bastions strong enough, I doubt if cannon could be depressed sufficiently to sweep the precipitous sides of the hill. On my way back to the boat, I turned aside to visit the Jumma Musjid, or chief Mosque, a large quadrangular wooden building, the roof of which is supported by deodar columns of great height, each pillar being cut out of a single tree, but I cannot waste more time over it, the name recalls to my memory the magnificent Jumma Musjid of Delhi--but comparisons are odious. When parting with my attendant I felt uncertain whether or no he would be offended by the offer of a remuneration for his trouble, so I left him to ask for it, as natives usually do not scruple to request "bucksheesh" for the most trifling service, but either his orders or his dignity prevented him from soliciting it, and he went away unrewarded and I doubt not dissatisfied. After noon I went and selected a lot of papier maché articles, and gave monograms to be painted upon them. Their papier maché is fairly made, elaborately painted and moderate in price. At this shop they prepared some ladâk tea for me, a most delicious beverage possessing a delicate flavour such as I have never before tasted in any tea. It was sweetened with a sort of sweet-meat in lieu of plain sugar. AUGUST 28th.--A blank day, I have done nothing but fish and only caught one of moderate size. Early in the morning there was a storm attended with high wind and heavy rain; it cleared up before sun-rise, but its effect has been to make the day very pleasantly cool. AUGUST 29th.--Went up to the Tukh-t-i-Suliman (Solomon's Throne) before breakfast. It stands one thousand one hundred feet above the town, and the ascent is effected by means of unhewn stones arranged in the form of a rough flight of steps built by the Gins, I should fancy for their own private use and without any consideration for the puny race of mankind that was destined to follow them. I am a tall man and gifted with a considerable length of _understanding_ but the strides I was obliged to take--sometimes almost bounds--if calculated to improve my muscles, were certainly very trying to my wind. However all things have an end, and so had that long flight of steps, and at the summit I had leisure to recover my breath and enjoy the magnificent view. I took care to have a clear day for this excursion, and the whole valley was seen stretched out like a map, and spreading far away to the feet of its stupendous mountain boundaries. The lakes like huge mirrors reflecting a dazzling radiance. The Jhelum twisting like a "gilded snake" and forming at the foot of the hill the original of the well-known shawl pattern; miles upon miles of bright and verdant fields, divided and marked out by the banks and hedges; clumps and groves of lofty trees diminished by distance to the appearance of mere dark green bushy excrescences; the poplar avenue looking like two long and paralleled lines drawn upon the ground; the fort and hill but a pigmy now; the city of sombre colour, with its houses closely huddled together and presenting an expanse of mud--unworthy stone for such a setting! The high and rugged mountains on every side piercing the clouds, out of which the everlasting snow and ice rock regions untrod by mortal foot gleam and glisten coldly in the scene below; these are the constituent parts of a view which taken altogether ranks among the finest (if indeed it be not itself the finest) in the world. But I have no description for it as a whole, words would fail me if I attempted to reproduce it on paper, so you must take the items and arrange them to your own satisfaction, and wish you had the opportunity of seeing the glorious original. I am no antiquarian, but I believe the building itself possesses great interest for those who indulge in that musty study, on account of its vast antiquity and uncertain history. To me it is only a Hindoo temple of quaint architecture and unwholesome smell. Inside it is a small marble idol in the form of a pillar with a snake carved round it. AUGUST 30th, Sunday.--The beginning of a fresh week which will at its conclusion find me on my way homewards, my back turned on the lovely valley and all the beauties that I have witnessed existing only in my memory like a pleasant dream that has passed. So wags the world, joys giving place to sorrows, and sorrows in their turn effaced by fresh happiness or oblivion. For a little while each one of us plays his ever varying part in the great drama of life. Now bewailing with bursting heart, and scalding tears the light affliction which is but for a moment; now with ringing laugh and reckless gaiety he enjoys the present, forgetful alike of past and future, now with stormy passions raging he "like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep;" and then is his short act over, then the curtain falls and then will he be called before it to receive approbation? Who can tell, I judge not one individually; but I may generalize and say, that while as a rule we give a terrible earnestness to the performance of the _business_ connected with our parts, we too often fail to appreciate and interpret the _spirit_ of the character, without which it is of course but a sorry exhibition and one that will be deservedly damned. As I sit under the shade of the chenars writing, a young native swell is passing along the opposite bank of the canal--a mere boy, with gold turban, lofty plume and embroidered clothing, riding a horse led by two grooms, followed by attendants also mounted, but sitting two on a horse and preceded by a band consisting only of some six drummers. He is playing his part doubtless very much to his own satisfaction, and little thinking that there is one "taking notes" and laughing at his proceedings. But so it is, we can always see, and ridicule the faults and foibles of others, would to God we could as easily perceive and weep over those of our own. The Baboo Mohes Chund called to pay his farewell visit to me and shortly afterwards sent a second edition of "russud" including as before--a live sheep. AUGUST 31st.--My last day in Sreenuggur--and now let me make a few observations on a topic which I dare say you are surprised has not been mentioned before, I mean the women; the far-famed beauties of Kashmir. I am not ungallant, while I have been silent, I have been observing, and have delayed my remarks in order that they might have the benefit of the largest experience I could command. I did this the more willingly, because to tell the truth, I was disappointed at first, and I hoped that by waiting I might eventually have reason to change my unfavourable opinion. This however has not been the case, and while I intend to do full justice to their charms I must commence by saying that they have been grossly exaggerated. I do not of course allude to the higher classes. They are invisible; they _may_ be very beautiful, but are never seen by Europeans. But the middle and lower classes go about with the face uncovered, exposing themselves to the criticism of some and the admiration of others, and it is of them I speak. The slim elegant figure of the Hindoo is seldom seen; they are large, plump, round women. Their complexion has been absurdly compared to that of our brunettes (may they feel complimented thereby) but veracity compels me to say that they are _very dark_. Fair indeed by comparison with the Hindoos, but actually and unmistakeably copper-coloured not to say _black_. In their features we find a great improvement; a well-shaped nose replaces the expanded nostrils, compressed lips, the thick pouting ones, their teeth are of marvellous whiteness and regularity as are those of all Asiatics. Their cheeks may sometimes have a tinge of pink, but this is usually veiled by the darker tint of the "rete mucosum." Their eyes--oh! their eyes!--here lies their beauty, almond-shaped eyes, that when not in anger cannot help throwing the sweetest and most captivating glances. None of your trained disciplined eyes, taught to express feelings that do not exist; but still eyes that equally deceive, eyes that nature in some strange freak determined should ever look love. Unconsciously and unintentionally they dart upon you the brightest, the most tender, nay, even passionate glances. When looking at a young face, you only see the eyes; eyes so voluptuous, so maddening, that you exclaim "good heavens what a beautiful creature," and unless you are a calm and cool analyst like myself, you may not discover that there is really no beauty save in them. They dress their hair in a peculiar manner. It is plaited in a number of small plaits joining two larger ones which fall over the shoulders and unite in the middle of the back to form a long tail terminating with a tassel. The larger plaits are mixed with wool, this adds to their bulk, and increase the length of the tail, which often extends below the knees. They wear a single loose gown, reaching in ample folds nearly to the feet. On the head a small red skull cap, over which is thrown the white (too often dirty) "chudder"--a light cloth which hangs down the back and is used for veiling the face. The boatwomen are renowned for their beauty. I have seen but little of it. The Punditanees are said to be more beautiful than the boatwomen. I consider them even less so. But among the Nautch girls I have seen both grace and beauty, and as a class, I certainly think far better looking than the others. Respect to age is a noble feeling--though one that is unfortunately at a low ebb now-a-days--but truth, compels me and I must pronounce all the elderly women to be positively ugly, and a woman is elderly in Kashmir when in England she still might be called young. The men are a fine race, regular features, broad shouldered and muscular, wearing their bushy black beards on their faces, but shaving the head, which is covered with a small coloured skull cap and white turban. Two other men have pitched their tents under this tope. To-morrow I shall leave them in undisturbed possession of the whole. They are friends and have been travelling in Kashmir. I have had a conversation with one of them, but I don't like strangers and am glad they did not come before. SEPTEMBER 1st.--Up and away, taking a last look at the town and bridges, a last look at the Tukh-t-i-Suliman while floating down the river. I am on my way to Baramula, having given up my intended visit to Gulmurg, so that I may get a week at Murree, and see more of the place than I did when I was last there. Adieu to Sreenuggur, adieu to the Scind, adieu to Manusbul; gently onwards we go towards lake Wulloor. It is a bright clear day, one of the brightest among the many bright ones, and the valley seems smiling upon me an affectionate farewell in order that the last recollections and parting scene may be a joyful memory to me in days and years to come. I thank thee for it. When I am gone let rain-tears fall and clouds of care bewail my absence, but gladden my departing moments with the full radiance of thy glorious countenance. Oh! Kashmir, loveliest spot on earth, I owe thee a deep debt of gratitude, I came to thee weak in body; thou hast restored my strength, I was poor in thought; thou hast filled my heart with good things, I was proud in conceit; thou hast shown me nature's grandeur and my own littleness. With a voiceless tongue thou hast spoken and my spirit has heard the unuttered words. Tales of the creation when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy; tales of man and his works perished in the endless roll of ages; tales of the future when heaven and earth shall have passed away amid the dread terror of the great tribulation. Aye, and one more tale, a tale of love, mercy, and forgiveness; the tale of an Asiatic--who, not far from here, was once "bruised for our transgressions," who took upon Himself the iniquities of us all and made up for us a mighty deliverance, and to this tale there is a refrain that echoes from hill to hill, and spreads along the plain in endless repetition, "believe only and thou shalt be saved," but though the command is so simple, its eager passionate tone as it swells around me, and an earnest mournful cadence as it dies away in the distance, seems to imply that it is neither easily nor commonly obeyed. SEPTEMBER 2nd.--Awoke early and found myself in the broad waters of the lake, the full moon shining brightly in the west, and yet unpaled by the rosy dawn that was rapidly illuminating the east. Stopped at Sopoor for breakfast, and Macnamara, surgeon of the 60th Rifles, and his wife, arrived soon after me, also bound for Murree. Macnamara was at Peshawur with me, and was one of the committee that sent me away. We passed the morning in conversation, and at mid-day continued our journey to Baramula. He told me that he had heard that I was going home this winter with troops; but I do not know whether his information is reliable. I trust it may prove to be so, but it has not raised my hopes to a certainty. It is a good rule never to reckon confidently upon the achievement of our desires. It never assists to realise them and only renders the disappointment more bitter in case of failure. I have a great hope, but I do not forget that obstacles may arise, that while man proposes God disposes, and often find myself forming plans for next year under the supposition that I shall still remain in India. I have written the dedication of this volume and have written it as if I had already returned to England, and this may appear to indicate that I rely strongly upon the fulfilment of my expectation. But not so, I can alter or destroy it if need be, and shall do so with regret indeed, but without despair. About halfway between Sopoor and Baramula the wind increased to a gale and obliged me to take refuge under the bank. I dined with Macnamara and his wife at 8 o'clock, the weather moderated and we proceeded to Baramula. SEPTEMBER 3rd.--At sunrise I obtained coolies, and turned my back on the happy valley for ever. It was a beautiful morning with a golden haze rising from the ground, the mountains appearing blue and purple against the eastern halo; but before I had gone a mile a dark cloud gathered around me, and wept passionate rain. I marched to Naoshera, ten miles, followed in an hour by Dr. and Mrs. Macnamara who will be my fellow travellers as far as Murree. The Rohale ferry is re-opened and I am returning by the direct road on the left bank of the Jhelum. There is a barahduree at every stage, so I sold my tent at Sreenuggur to render my baggage lighter. I am travelling with only six coolies. The river is much lower and less rapid than when I came up it, the excess of water caused by the melting of the snow during the summer having been carried off. It is still however a noisy turbulent torrent. SEPTEMBER 4th.--A long march of fourteen miles to Ooree. The road is becoming very hilly, but is not as yet nearly so rough and difficult as on the other side. Passed two ruins; one of then very similar to those at Wangut, but much smaller. SEPTEMBER 5th.--To Chukoti, sixteen miles, a severe and fatiguing march, the hills being intersected by ravines--the beds of streams--to all of which there was a steep descent and corresponding ascent. This is the worst march on the Murree road, but though bad, it is much better than five or six that I described on my journey from Abbottabad. These long marches are very detrimental to my diary, for at the conclusion I have no energy either to think or write. I am not using my dandy now, and have to walk every inch of the way. SEPTEMBER 6th.--Fifteen weary miles to Huttian, low down on a level with the river where I found a number of tents belonging to the Lord Bishop of Calcutta and his Chaplain, who are here with a large retinue of servants, and are on their way into Kashmir. They had very considerately and unlike a certain ---- ---- left the bungalow empty for the use of other travellers. Macnamara sprained his knee yesterday, and used my dandy to day. One of my coolies stumbled on the road and the Kitta he was carrying--containing my stores and cooking utensils, went over the Rhudd and burst open in the fall. Macnamara was behind fortunately (for me) and superintended the collection of the articles so that my only loss of any moment is that of my big cooking pot, which from its weight probably rolled all the way down to the Jhelum--the long grass growing on the hill, stopped the other things. The six remaining marches are I am glad to say short. The three last have been a severe trial on account of the numerous and rough ups and downs, and for the last mile or two this morning, the soles of my feet were in great pain; Silly too was very exhausted even to the dropping of his tail. SEPTEMBER 7th.--Got up at daybreak and marched on Chikar, distance ten miles. For three miles the road continued along the valley of the Jhelum, and then turned to the south, and crossed several ranges of hills, each range rising higher than the one before, very hard work it was, the ascents being so steep and long--I can't keep my breath going up hill; it is far more fatiguing than any roughness of road. Chikar is a good sized village with a fort and is situated on the summit of a mountain at least two thousand feet above the Jhelum. There is a fine view of the surrounding hills from the Barahduree. Shortly after our arrival it began to rain, and has turned out a wet day. I had half my crockery broken by the coolie dropping the basket instead of putting it carefully down at the conclusion of the march. SEPTEMBER 8th.--To Meira, seven and a half miles, a toilsome hill for half the distance, and then a descent the rest of the way. Scenery very pretty, the valleys being much larger and the mountains higher. The Murree ridge is now visible. From this bungalow we can see the next halting place, half way up a hill on the opposite side of an extensive valley deeply cut by ravines. The view is really very grand--much the finest on this road--in some parts it slightly resembles the scenery around Darjeeling with, of course, pine trees taking the place of magnolias and rhododendrons. The mere mention of those trees--magnolias and rhododendrons I mean--will only give you a misconception of the Sikin forests, because your ideas will be turned to the stunted shrubs of our northern latitudes. The magnolias and rhododendrons I speak of, are huge towering trees, taller than the largest oaks. How well I remember the magnificent spectacle they presented when in blossom! I have never seen mountains or forests that could compare in grandeur with those of the eastern Himalayas. Can you imagine Kishun-gunga twenty-nine thousand feet high? No! it is impossible; it is a sight that produces the most intense awe, and when I first looked upon it I did not know how to contain my feelings; but enough, or I shall be giving you a chapter quite irrevelant to my journey from Kashmir. By the side of this bungalow stands a large cypress; a very beautiful and by no means a common tree. There is something peculiarly rich in its dark green foliage, and withal, melancholy look, but that is doubtless owing to its tomb--stone associations. Ince in his "Guide," calls it a _sycamore_. He could hardly have named a tree more widely different. SEPTEMBER 9th.--To Dunee, eight and a half miles; first half, down hill, second up: both very steep and rough. A bad fatiguing march. The barahduree here has been lately white-washed and looks quite refreshing after the other dirty ones; but the rooms are ridiculously small. This is the last halt in Kashmirian territory; to-morrow we shall be in a dâk bungalow. I had a lesson to-day. The same lesson that the spider taught Bruce--never to cease striving to obtain any desired object; and not despair even if frequent failures attend the attempt. Ever since I left Baramula I have been endeavouring to catch another of the green butterflies, as beetles had eaten my first specimen. But they are very alert on the wing, and I could not get near one. The last two or three marches I had not seen any, having got out of their locality, but to-day a solitary one flew by me and I knocked it down, caught it, and secured it in my toper. Success will eventually crown all constant endeavours, it is a slight peg on which to hang a moral, but let it pass. Life is made up of trifles, and I desire my book to represent my life. A number of people--ladies, men, and children--came into the bungalow at 2 o'clock, having made a double march and overtaken us; so we are very closely packed, even the verandah being occupied. SEPTEMBER 10th.--To Kohala, six miles, nearly all the way down a terribly steep and rough hill to the banks of the Jhelum--which river has taken a great bend among the mountains and now runs at right angles to its former course. A ferry boat crosses the torrent at this spot and the passage during the summer is attended with considerable danger, as the stream runs at the rate of twenty miles an hour. I got my baggage in it and landed upon British soil at the other side. The Dâk bungalow is just above, but we were very much crowded as all the other people remained for the night. After dinner a great thunderstorm took place accompanied with very heavy rain. SEPTEMBER 11th.--Marched to Dargwal, twelve miles, up hill all the way, but the road is broad and smooth, so that the march was quickly and easily accomplished. M---- and his wife did not come in till the middle of the day as they could not get coolies in time to start early. There is a good furnished bungalow here, our other fellow travellers have gone on to Murree, so we have the house to ourselves. SEPTEMBER 12th.--To Murree, ten miles, road the same as yesterday. Went to Woodcot, and found Spurgeon, Gordon, and Egerton, of the 36th; Hensma and Beadnell, 77th; and Dalrymple, 88th. Put up with them sharing Spurgeon's room. Spent a pleasant time at Murree, doing very little--a long rest of ten days after my labours--and on the 22nd, at 1 o'clock, I took my seat in the mail cart with Redan Massy for my companion, and started on my journey to Peshawur. Arrived at Rawul Birder at 6 in the evening, and went on at once by the Government van. Had no time for food. Got to Peshawur at 7 o'clock next morning, and thus ended my three months sick leave. And now I go back to the din and bustle of life, the empty conventionalities of society, the noise and glitter of mess; to the re-pursuit of my profession, and to learn again by the bedside of many a dying man how weak and powerless is that profession to combat the ills that flesh is heir to. I sometimes wish I could exchange my present calling. Terrible thoughts often assail me, after the death of any of my patients. Questions as to whether I am at all responsible for the fatal issue. Whether by lack of knowledge that I should possess or by careless observation during the progress of the disease, I have allowed a man to die who might have been saved, or pushed into the grave one who was only trembling with uncertainty upon its brink. Yet as a set off against these feelings there is the satisfaction experienced when sufferings are relieved or health restored by the interposition of my aid. The profession of medicine is potent for good and evil. For good in the hands of him who makes it his lifelong study; for evil in his hands who adopts it merely as a respectable means of obtaining his livelihood. It is noble in the one case; detestable in the other. You do not know how detestable. If the vail could be raised, if you could see the vast amount of misery and suffering caused, the many hearts broken that God would not have made sad; and the many unprepared souls hurried out of this life into eternity by the ignorance of men who are "licensed to kill," you would cry out against the whole body of the profession with a bitter hatred, that even the army of noble and devoted minds amongst us would be unable to appease. Am I too severe? I fear not. There are charlatans and know nothings in every pursuit, but in mine they effect so seriously the temporal and may be eternal welfare of mankind that their existence is awful to contemplate. Shall I, in conclusion, write an apology for having nothing better than the foregoing to offer for your perusal "devil a bit." If I have written folly and you have read it all, why, you are the greater simpleton. To me it was an occupation when I had nothing better to do, on your part it was a foolish waste of time, which might have been more profitably employed. If I have written folly and you have _not_ read it, what necessity is there for me to apologize to you? If I have written sense and you consider it nonsense, you owe me an apology for your erroneous opinion. But if I have written sense and you have derived pleasure from the perusal of it, then we are both content, and I need neither forefend your criticism nor beg your excuses. Thus then I have proved that though it may possibly be necessary for you to apologize to me, it cannot under any circumstance be needful for me to apologize to you. But there is a small class to whom the above remarks do not apply. I mean those few who I delight to think will read my book diligently and admiringly, merely because _I_ wrote it. Whose judgment is warped by their affection, and who will be unconscious of the weary yawn my pages may often produce. Shall I apologize to them? No! let them read, let them yawn; T'is a labour of love on their part, a labour which _love_ has prepared for them--and for them alone--or mine. And now farewell. May your shadow _never_ grow less! May you live for a thousand years. HAZOR SALAAM. JANUARY 16th, 1869.--If these notes should ever be written out by my relations after my death--for I am now like to die, let me beg that the many mistakes in spelling, consequent upon the hurry and roughness of the writing, may by corrected and not set down to ignorance. LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. Prince Frederic of Schleswig Holstein. His Excellency Lieut.-General E. Frome, R.E., Governor of Guernsey. Sir P. Stafford Carey, Bailiff of Guernsey. Edgar MacCulloch, Esq., Lieutenant-Bailiff. William Wallace Armstrong, Esq., San Francisco. A.B. Mrs. Boucaut, Guernsey. General Sir George Brooke, K.C.B., R.H.A. Lieut.-Col. H.J. Buchanan, 2-9th Regiment. Major Henry L. Brownrigg, 84th Regiment. Henry S.R. Bagenal, Esq., Control Department. Captain George P. Beamish, 36th Regiment. Mr. George Beedle, Quarter-Master 6th Regiment. A. Brown, Esq., National Provincial Bank of England. J. P. Bainbrigge, Esq., Bank of England, Liverpool. J. Banckes, Esq., Shipwrecked Mariners' Society. Mrs. Crawford, Guernsey. Mrs. Cunnynghame, Edinburgh. W. Collins, Esq., M.D., Scots Fusilier Guards. Mrs. Cave, Hartley Whitney, Hants. Captain G. Collis, 6th Regiment. Colonel Conran, Fitzroy, Melbourne. H. Couling, Esq., Brighton. H. Cuppaidge, Esq. Miss Dugdale, 75, Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park, W. Miss E. Donne, Grove Terrace Highgate. Miss Donne, Salisbury. James D'Altera, Esq., M.D. James Deane, Esq., Queenstown, Cork. W.G. Don, Esq., M.D. Dr. Drewitt, Wimborne, Dorset. Dr. Dudfield, 8, Upper Phillimore Place, Kensington, W. B. De Marylski, Esq., Royal Artillery. Captain P. De Saumarez, Guernsey. Captain D.K. Evans, 6th Regiment. Mrs. W. Foster, 7, Lower Berkeley Street, London. Mrs. E. Foster, 10, Chester Terrace, Regent's Park. Mrs. Feilden, Isle of Herm. Major-Gen. Sampson Freeth, late Royal Engineers. Major-Gen. James H. Freeth, late Royal Engineers. Colonel Foster, late 16th Lancers. The Rev. W. Foran, Guernsey. Walter Freeth Esq., Croydon. Henry Foster Esq., Victoria Road, Kensington. Patterson Foster, Esq. Kingsly, O. Foster, Esq. Mrs. F.W. Gosselin, Guernsey. Rev. F. Giffard, The Vicarage, Hartley Wintney. John C. Guerin, Esq., Guernsey. S.M. Gully, Esq., 9th Regiment. F.L. Grundy, Esq., 6th Regiment. M. Garnier, Guernsey. Mrs. Horridge. Lieut.-Col. Fitzwilliam Hunter, 36th Regiment. T. Holmes, Esq., 18, Great Cumberland Place, Hyde Park. Captain J.B. Hopkins, 6th Regiment. Reginald Hollingworth, Esq., late 77th Regiment. T. Husband, Esq., 34, Argyle Road, Kensington. Charles Hogge, Esq., 6th Regiment. In Memoriam. Miss B.S.H. Coventry Jeffery. Captain A.H. Josselyn, 9th Regiment. J.W. Jones, Esq., 5th Dragoon Guards. The Rev. Charles Kingsley, M.A. Mr. J. Kenwood, Hartley Wintney. Mrs. Le Marchant Thomas Le Marchant, Guernsey. Miss Lefebvre, Guernsey. Mrs. La Serre, Guernsey. Sir T. Galbraith Logan, K.C.B., Director General. Thomas Lacy, Esq., Guernsey. Major R.B. Lloyd, 36th Regiment. "Library," Officers, 36th Regiment. Mr. Thomas Lenfestey, Guernsey. Mrs. MacPherson, Guernsey. Mrs. Mogg, Clifton. Mrs. Peter Martin, Guernsey. Mrs. Myers, Guernsey. A.D. MacGregor, Esq., Guernsey. Capt. A.E. Morgan, late 71st Highland Lt. Inf. Captain J.W. Massey, 9th Regiment. J.W. Morgan, Esq., 6th Regiment. James E. Macdonnel, Esq., 9th Regiment. W.H. Marriot, Esq., 36th Regiment. S.M. Maxwell, Esq., 36th Regiment. A. Morgan, Esq., Treasurer, S.W. Railway. The Mess, 36th Regiment. W. Moullin, Esq., Clifton. Miss A.M. Newman, Cheltenham. The Rev. E.J. Ozanne, M.A., Guernsey. Captain J. Osmer, 36th Regiment. E.F. O'Leary, Esq., 6th Regiment. Mrs. Joshua Priaulx, Guernsey. Mr. Charles Palmer, Hartley Wintney. Miss M. Pittard Guernsey. Colonel Priaulx, Guernsey. Colonel Lewis Peyton. G. Pollock, Esq., 36, Grosvenor Street, London, W. C.W. Poulton, Esq., 35th Regiment. G. Pound; Esq., Odiham, Hants. Mrs. Ramsay, Isle of Sark. John Roberts, Esq., M.D., Guernsey. George M. Richmond, Esq., 36th Regiment. J.L. Rose, Esq., 36th Regiment. Mrs. Sandes, St. John's Hill, London, S.W. Mrs. R. Smith, Guernsey. Lieut.-Col. R. Scott, Fort George, Aberdeen. Major Charles Stirling, late Royal Artillery. Dr. Fowler Smith, District Recruiting Office, Peterborough. Capt. C. Spurgeon, 36th Regiment. Capt. H. Stopford, 36th Regiment. W. Smail, Esq., 36th Regiment. R.B. Smyth, Esq., M.B. 102d Regiment. Mrs. Threllfall, Ferryside, South Wales. Capt. C. Townsend, Royal Artillery. D. Thorburn, Esq., M.D., 8th Hussars. Mrs. Wren, 3 Paris Square, Bayswater. Charles Williams, Esq., Guernsey. Watkin S. Whylock, Esq., M.D., Assist.-Surgeon. Capt. H. Webb, 36th Regiment. Mr Wetheral, Oak Lodge, Winchfield. Netley Library. And "Others received too late for publication." LE LIEVRE, PRINTER, STAR-OFFICE, BORDAGE-STREET. 
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13235	----	[Illustration: _Photo by Arthur Weston, 16, Poultry, London._] IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V. A NARRATIVE AND DIARY OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES WITH THE C.I.V. BATTERY (HONOURABLE ARTILLERY COMPANY) IN SOUTH AFRICA BY DRIVER ERSKINE CHILDERS CLERK IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS _WITH A FRONTISPIECE_ 1900 DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND AND COMRADE GUNNER BASIL WILLIAMS CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE "MONTFORT" II. CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH III. PIQUETBERG ROAD IV. BLOEMFONTEIN V. LINDLEY VI. BETHLEHEM VII. BULTFONTEIN VIII. SLABBERT'S NEK AND FOURIESBERG IX. TO PRETORIA X. WARMBAD XI. HOSPITAL XII. A DETAIL XIII. SOUTH AGAIN XIV. CONCLUSION IN THE RANKS OF THE C.I.V. CHAPTER I. THE "MONTFORT." A wintry ride--Retrospect--Embarkation--A typical day--"Stables" in rough weather--Las Palmas--The tropics--Inoculation--Journalism-- Fashions--"Intelligent anticipation"--Stable-guard--Arrival. With some who left for the War it was "roses, roses, all the way." For us, the scene was the square of St. John's Wood Barracks at 2 A.M. on the 3rd of February, a stormy winter's morning, with three inches of snow on the ground, and driving gusts of melting flakes lashing our faces. In utter silence the long lines of horses and cloaked riders filed out through the dimly-lit gateway and into the empty streets, and we were off at last on this long, strange journey to distant Africa. Six crowded weeks were behind us since the disastrous one of Colenso, and with it the news of the formation of the C.I.V., and the incorporation in that regiment of a battery to be supplied by the Honourable Artillery Company, with four quick-firing Vickers-Maxim guns. Then came the hurried run over from Ireland, the application for service, as a driver, the week of suspense, the joy of success, the brilliant scene of enlistment before the Lord Mayor, and the abrupt change one raw January morning from the ease and freedom of civilian life, to the rigours and serfdom of a soldier's. There followed a month of constant hard work, riding-drill, gun-drill, stable work, and every sort of manual labour, until the last details of the mobilization were complete, uniforms and kit received, the guns packed and despatched; and all that remained was to ride our horses to the Albert Docks; for our ship, the _Montfort_, was to sail at mid-day. Hardships had begun in earnest, for we had thirteen miles to ride in the falling snow, and our hands and feet were frozen. As we filed through the silent streets, an occasional knot of night-birds gave us a thin cheer, and once a policeman rushed at me, and wrung my hand, with a fervent "Safe home again!" Whitechapel was reached soon enough, but the Commercial Road, and the line of docks, seemed infinite. However, at six we had reached the ship, and lined up into a great shed, where we took off and gave up saddles and head-collars, put on canvas head-stalls, and then enjoyed an excellent breakfast, provided by some unknown benefactor. Next we embarked the horses by matted gangways (it took six men to heave my roan on board), and ranged them down below in their narrow stalls on the stable-deck. Thence we crowded still further down to the troop-deck--one large low-roofed room, edged with rows of mess-tables. My entire personal accommodation was a single iron hook in a beam. This was my wardrobe, chest of drawers, and an integral part of my bed; for from it swung the hammock. We were packed almost as thickly as the horses; and that is saying a great deal. The morning was spent in fatigue duties of all sorts, from which we snatched furtive moments with our friends on the crowded quay. For hours a stream of horses and mules poured up the gangways; for two other corps were to share the ship with us, the Oxfordshire Yeomanry and the Irish Hospital. At two the last farewells had been said, and we narrowed our thoughts once more to all the minutiæ of routine. As it turned out, we missed that tide, and did not start till two in the next morning; but I was oblivious of such a detail, having been made one of the two "stablemen" of my sub-division, a post which was to last for a week, and kept me in constant attendance on the horses down below; so that I might just as well have been in a very stuffy stable on shore, for all I saw of the run down Channel. My duty was to draw forage from the forward hold (a gloomy, giddy operation), be responsible with my mate for the watering of all the horses in my sub-division--thirty in number, for preparing their feeds and "haying up" three times a day, and for keeping our section of the stable-deck swept and clean. We started with very fine weather, and soon fell into our new life, with, for me at least, a strange absence of any sense of transition. The sea-life joined naturally on to the barrack-life. Both are a constant round of engrossing duties, in which one has no time to feel new departures. The transition had come earlier, with the first day in barracks, and, indeed, was as great and sudden a change, mentally and physically, as one could possibly conceive. On the material side it was sharp enough; but the mental change was stranger still. There was no perspective left; no planning of the future, no questioning of the present; none of that free play of mind and will with which we order our lives at home; instead, utter abandonment to superior wills, one's only concern the present point of time and the moment's duty, whatever it might be. This is how we spent the day. The trumpet blew reveillé at six, and called us to early "stables," when the horses were fed and watered, and forage drawn. Breakfast was at seven: the food rough, but generally good. We were split up into messes of about fourteen, each of which elected two "mess orderlies," who drew the rations, washed up, swept the troop-deck, and were excused all other duties. I, and my friend Gunner Basil Williams, a colleague in my office at home, were together in the same mess. Coffee, bread and butter, and something of a dubious, hashy nature, were generally the fare at breakfast. I, as stableman, was constantly with the horses, but for the rest the next event was morning stables, about nine o'clock, which was a long and tedious business. The horses would be taken out of their stalls, and half of us would lead them round the stable-deck for exercise, while the rest took out the partitions and cleaned the stalls. Then ensued exciting scenes in getting them back again, an operation that most would not agree to without violent compulsion--and small blame to the poor brutes. It used to take our whole sub-division to shove my roan in. Each driver has two horses. My dun was a peaceful beast, but the roan was a by-word in the sub-division. When all was finished, and the horses fed and watered, it would be near 12.30, which was the dinner-hour. Some afternoons were free, but generally there would be more exercising and stall-cleaning, followed by the afternoon feeds and watering. At six came tea, and then all hands, including us stablemen, were free. Hammocks were slung about seven, and it was one of the nightly problems to secure a place. I generally found under the hatchway, where it was airy, but in rainy weather moist. Then we were free to talk and smoke on deck till any hour. Before going to bed, I used to write my diary, down below, at a mess-table, where the lights shot dim rays through vistas of serried hammocks, while overhead the horses fidgeted and trampled in their stalls, making a distracting thunder on the iron decks. It was often writing under difficulties, crouching down with a hammock pressing on the top of one's head--the occupant protesting at the head with no excess of civility; a quality which, by the way, was very rare with us. Soon after leaving the Bay, we had some rough weather. "Stables" used to be a comical function. My diary for the first rough day says:--"About six of us were there out of about thirty in my sub-division; our sergeant, usually an awesome personage to me, helpless as a babe, and white as a corpse, standing rigid. The lieutenant feebly told me to report when all horses were watered and feeds made up. It was a long job, and at the end I found him leaning limply against a stall. 'Horses all watered, and feeds ready, sir.' He turned on me a glazed eye, which saw nothing; then a glimmer of recollection flickered, and the lips framed the word 'feed,' no doubt through habit; but to pronounce that word at all under the circumstances was an effort of heroism for which I respected him. Rather a lonely day. My co-stableman curled in a pathetic ball all day, among the hay, in our forage recess. My only view of the outer world is from a big port in this recess, which frames a square of heaving blue sea; but now and then one can get breathing-spaces on deck. In the afternoon--the ship rolling heavily--I went, by an order of the day before, to be vaccinated. Found the doctor on the saloon deck, in a long chair, very still. Thought he was dead, but saluted, and said what I had come for. With marvellous presence of mind, he collected himself, and said: 'I ordered six to come; it is waste of lymph to do one only: get the other five.' After a short absence, I was back, reporting the other five not in a condition to do anything, even to be vaccinated. The ghost of a weary smile lit up the wan face. I saluted and left." Our busy days passed quickly, and on the ninth of the month a lovely, still blue day, I ran up to look at the Grand Canary in sight on the starboard bow, and far to the westward the Peak of Teneriffe, its snowy cone flushed pink in the morning sun, above a bank of cloud. All was blotted out in two hours of stable squalors, but at midday we were anchored off Las Palmas (white houses backed by arid hills), the ill-fated _Denton Grange_ lying stranded on the rocks, coal barges alongside, donkey engines chattering on deck, and a swarm of bum-boats round our sides, filled with tempting heaps of fruit, cigars, and tobacco. Baskets were slung up on deck, and they drove a roaring trade. A little vague news filtered down to the troop-deck; Ladysmith unrelieved, but Buller across the Tugela, and some foggy rumour about 120,000 more men being wanted. The Battery also received a four-footed recruit in the shape of a little grey monkey, the gift of the Oxfordshire Yeomanry. He was at once invested with the rank of Bombardier, and followed all our fortunes in camp and march and action till our return home. That day was a pleasant break in the monotony, and also signalized my release from the office of stableman. We were off again at six; an exquisite night it was, a big moon in the zenith, the evening star burning steadily over the dim, receding island. We finished with a sing-song on deck, a crooning, desultory performance, with sleepy choruses, and a homely beer-bottle passing from mouth to mouth. Then came the tropics and the heat, and the steamy doldrums, when the stable-deck was an "Inferno," and exercising the horses like a tread-mill in a Turkish bath, and stall-cleaning an unspeakable business. Yet the hard work kept us in fit condition, and gave zest to the intervals of rest. At this time many of us used to sling our hammocks on deck, for down in the teeming troop-deck it was suffocating. It was delicious to lie in the cool night air, with only the stars above, and your feet almost overhanging the heaving sea, where it rustled away from the vessel's sides. At dawn you would see through sleepy eyes an exquisite sky, colouring for sunrise, and just at reveillé the golden rim would rise out of a still sea swimming and shimmering in pink and opal. Here is the diary of a Sunday:-- "_February 11._--Reveillé at six. Delicious bathe in the sail-bath. Church parade at ten; great cleaning and brushing up for it. Short service, read by the Major, and two hymns. Then a long lazy lie on deck with Williams, learning Dutch from a distracting grammar by a pompous old pedant. Pronunciation maddening, and the explanations made it worse. Long afternoon, too, doing the same. No exercising; just water, feed, and a little grooming at 4.30, then work over for the day. Kept the ship lively combing my roan's mane; thought he would jump into the engine-room. By the way, yesterday, when waiting for his hay coming down the line, his impatience caused him to jump half over the breast-bar, bursting one head rope; an extraordinary feat in view of the narrowness and lowness of his stall. He hung in a nasty position for a minute, and then we got him to struggle back. Another horse died in the night, and another very sick. "Inoculation for enteric began to-day with a dozen fellows. Results rather alarming, as they all are collapsed already in hammocks, and one fainted on deck. It certainly is no trifle, and I shall watch their progress carefully. I can't be done myself for some days, as I was vaccinated two days ago (after the first unsuccessful attempt), in company with Williams. We went to the doctor's cabin on the upper deck, and afterwards sat on the deck in the sun to let our arms dry. After some consultation we decided to light a furtive cigarette, but were ignominiously caught by the doctor and rebuked. 'Back at school again,' I thought; 'caught smoking!' It seemed very funny, and we had a good laugh at it. "It is a gorgeous, tropical night, not a cloud or feather of one; a big moon, and dead-calm sea; just a slight, even roll; we have sat over pipes after tea, chatting of old days, and present things, and the mysterious future, sitting right aft on the poop, with the moonlit wake creaming astern." Inoculation was general, and I was turned off one morning with a joyous band of comrades, retired to hammocks, and awaited the worst with firmness. It was nothing more than a splitting headache and shivering for about an hour, during which time I wished Kruger, Roberts, and the war at the bottom of the sea. A painful stiffness then ensued, and that was all. My only grievance was that two dying horses were brought up and tied just below me, and dosed--lucky beasts--with champagne by their officer-owners! Also we had the hose turned on us by some sailors, who were washing the boat-bridge above, and jeered at our impotent remonstrances. In two days we were fit for duty, and took our turn in ministering to other sufferers. We were a merry ship, for the men of our three corps got on capitally together, and concerts and amusements were frequent. They were held _al fresco_ on the forward deck, with the hammocks of inoculates swinging above and around, so that these unfortunates, some of whom were pretty bad, had to take this strange musical medicine whether they liked it or no, and the mouth-organ band which attended on these occasions was by no means calculated to act as an opiate. Of course we had sports, both aquatic and athletic, and on the 18th Williams and I conceived the idea of publishing a newspaper; and without delay wrote, and posted up, an extravagant prospectus of the same. Helpers came, and ideas were plentiful. A most prolific poet knocked off poems "while you wait," and we soon had plenty of "copy." The difficulty lay in printing our paper. All we could do was to make four copies in manuscript, and that was labour enough. I am sure no paper ever went to press under such distracting conditions. The editorial room was a donkey engine, and the last sheets were copied one night among overhanging hammocks, card-parties, supper-parties, and a braying concert by the Irish just overhead, by the light of an inch of candle. We pasted up two copies on deck, sent one bound copy to the officers, and the _Montfort Express_ was a great success. It was afterwards printed at Capetown. Here is an extract which will throw some light on our dress on board in the tropics:-- THE FEBRUARY FASHIONS. _By our Lady Correspondent._ "DEAR MAUDE, "I don't often write to you about gentlemen's fashions, because, as a rule, they are monstrously dull, but this season the stronger sex seem really to be developing some originality. Here are a few notes taken on the troopship _Montfort_, where of course you know every one is smart. (_Tout ce qu'il y a de plus Montfort_ has become quite a proverb, dear.) Generally speaking, piquancy and coolness are the main features. For instance, a neat costume for stables is a pair of strong boots. To make this rather more dressy for the dinner-table, a pair of close-fitting pants may be added, but this is optional. Shirts, if worn, are neutral in tint; white ones are quite _démodé_. Vests are cut low in the neck and with merely a suggestion of sleeve. Trousers (I blush to write it, dear) are worn baggy at the knee and very varied in pattern and colour, according to the tastes and occupation of the wearer. Caps _à la convict_ are _de rigueur_. I believe this to spring from a delicate sense of sympathy with the many members of the aristocracy now in prison. The same chivalrous instinct shows itself in the fashion of close-cropped hair. "There is a great latitude for individual taste; one tall, handsome man (known to his friends, I believe, under the sobriquet of 'Kipper') is always seen in a delicious confection of some gauzy pink and blue material, which enhances rather than conceals the Apollo-like grace of his lissome limbs. "At the Gymkhana the other day (a _very_ smart affair), I saw Mr. 'Pat' Duffy, looking charmingly fresh and cool in a suit of blue tattooing, which I hear was made for him in Japan by a native lady. "In Yeomanry circles, a single gold-rimmed eye-glass is excessively _chic_, and, by the way, in the same set a pleasant folly is to wear a different coat every day. "The saloon-deck is less interesting, because less variegated; but here is a note or too. Caps are usually _cerise_, trimmed with blue _passementerie_. To be really smart, the moustache must be waxed and curled upwards in corkscrew fashion. In the best Irish circles beards are occasionally worn, but it requires much individual distinction to carry off this daring innovation. And now, dear, I must say good-bye; but before I close my letter, here is a novel and piquant recipe for _Breakfast curry_: Catch some of yesterday's Irish stew, thoroughly disinfect, and dye to a warm khaki colour. Smoke slowly for six hours, and serve to taste. "Your affectionate, "NESTA." * * * * * Here is Williams on the wings of prophecy:-- OUR ARRIVAL IN CAPETOWN. _(With Apologies to "Ouida.")_ "It was sunset in Table Bay--Phoebus' last lingering rays were empurpling the beetling crags of Table Mountain's snowy peak--the great ship _Montfort_, big with the hopes of an Empire (on which the sun never sets), was gliding majestically to her moorings. Countless craft, manned by lissome blacks or tawny Hottentots, instantly shot forth from the crowded quays, and surged in picturesque disorder round the great hull, scarred by the ordure of ten score pure Arab chargers. 'Who goes there?' cried the ever-watchful sentry on the ship, as he ran out the ready-primed Vickers-Maxim from the port-hole. 'Speak, or I fire ten shots a minute.' 'God save the Queen,' was the ready response sent up from a thousand throats. 'Pass, friends,' said the sentry, as he unhitched the port companion-ladder. In a twinkling the snowy deck of the great transport was swarming with the dusky figures of the native bearers, who swiftly transferred the cargo from the groaning hold into the nimble bum-boats, and carried the large-limbed Anglo-Saxon heroes into luxurious barges, stuffed with cushions soft enough to satisfy the most jaded voluptuary. At shore, a sight awaited them calculated to stir every instinct of patriotism in their noble bosoms. On a richly chased ebon throne sat the viceroy in person, clad in all the panoply of power. A delicate edge of starched white linen, a sight which had not met their eyes for many a weary week, peeped from beneath his gaudier accoutrements; the vice-regal diadem, blazing with the recovered Kimberley diamond, encircled his brow, while his finely chiselled hand grasped the great sword of state. Around him were gathered a dazzling bevy of all the wit and beauty of South Africa; great chieftains from the fabled East, Zulus, Matabeles, Limpopos and Umslopogaas, clad in gorgeous scarlet feathers gave piquancy to the proud throng. Most of England's wit and manhood scintillated in the sunlight, while British matrons and England's fairest maids lit up with looks of proud affection; bosoms heaved in sympathetic unison with the measured tramp of the ammunition boots; bright eyes caught a sympathetic fire from the clanking spurs of the corporal rough-rider, while the bombardier in command of the composite squadron of artillery, horse-marines, and ambulance, could hardly pick his way through the heaps of rose leaves scattered before him by lily-white hands. But the scene was quickly changed, as if by enchantment. At a touch of the button by the viceroy's youngest child, an urchin of three, thousands of Boer prisoners, heavily laden with chains, brought forward tables groaning with every conceivable dainty. The heroes set to with famished jaws, and after the coffee, each negligently lit up his priceless cigar with a bank-note, with the careless and open-handed improvidence so charming and so characteristic of their profession. But suddenly their ease was rudely broken. A single drum-tap made known to all that the enemy was at the gates. In a moment the commander had thrown away three parts of his costly cigar, had sprung to his feet, and with the heart of a lion and the voice of a dove, had shouted the magical battle-cry, 'Attention!' Then with a yell of stern resolve, and the answering cry of 'Stand easy, boys,' the whole squadron, gunners and adjutants, ambulance and bombardiers, yeomen and gentlemen farmers, marched forth into the night. "That very night the bloody battle was fought which sealed the fate of the Transvaal--and the dashing colour-sergeant nailed England's proud banner on the citadel of Pretoria." * * * * * About once every week, it was my turn for stable-guard at night, consisting of two-hour spells, separated by four hours' rest. The drivers did this duty, while the gunners mounted guard over the magazines. On this subject I quote some nocturnal reflections from my diary:--"Horses at night get very hungry, and have an annoying habit of eating one another's head-ropes reciprocally. When this happens you find chains if you can, and then they eat the framework of the stall. If you come up to protest, they pretend to be asleep, and eat your arm as you pass. They also have a playful way of untying their breast-pads and standing on them, and if you are conscientious, you can amuse yourself by rescuing these articles from under their hind feet." The days were never very monotonous; variety was given by revolver practice, harness cleaning, and lectures on first aid to the wounded. At the same time it came as a great relief to hear that we were at last close to the Cape. From my diary:-- "_February 26._--Heavy day at stables. Land reported at eleven; saw through forage-port a distant line of mountains on port beam, edged by a dazzling line of what looked like chalk cliffs, but I suppose is sand. I am on stable-guard for the night (writing this in the guard-room), so when stables were over at four I had to pack hard, and only got up for a glimpse of things at five, then approaching Table Bay, guarded by the splendid Table Mountain, with the tablecloth of white clouds spread on it in the otherwise cloudless sky. I always imagined it a smooth, dull mountain, but in fact it rises in precipitous crags and ravines. A lovely scene as we steamed up through a crowd of shipping--transports, I suppose--and anchored some way from shore. Blowing hard to-night. I have been on deck for a few minutes. The sea is like molten silver with phosphorescence under the lash of the wind. "_February 27._--Tiresome day of waiting. Gradually got known that we shan't land to-day, though it is possible still we may to-night. Torrid, windless day, and very hot work 'mucking out' and tramping round with the horses, which we did all the morning, and some of the afternoon. News sent round that we had captured Cronje and 5000 prisoners; all the ships dressed with flags, and whistles blowing; rockets in evening, banging off over my head now, and horses jumping in unison. Shall we be wanted? is the great question. We are packed ready to land any minute." CHAPTER II. CAPETOWN AND STELLENBOSCH. Landing--Green Point Camp--Getting into trim--My horses--Interlude-- Orders to march--Sorrows of a spare driver--March to Stellenbosch-- First bivouac--A week of dust and drill--The road to water--Off again. "_March 4._--_Sunday._--_Green Point Camp._--This is the first moment I have had to write in since last Tuesday. I am on picket, and writing in the guard-tent by a guttery lantern. "To go back:--On Wednesday morning, the 28th of February, we steamed slowly up to a great deserted quay. The silence struck me curiously. I had imagined a scene of tumult and bustle on the spot where troops in thousands had been landing continuously for so long. We soon realized that _we_ were to supply all the bustle, and that practical work had at last begun, civilian assistance dispensed with, and the Battery a self-sufficient unit. There was not even a crane to help us, and we spent the day in shoving, levering, and lifting on to trucks and waggons our guns, carriages, limbers, ammunition, and other stores, all packed as they were in huge wooden cases. It was splendid exercise as a change from stable-work. Weather melting hot; but every one was in the highest spirits; though we blundered tediously through the job, for we had no experience in the fine art of moving heavy weights by hand. I forgot to take note of my sensations on first setting foot on African soil, as I was groaning under a case of something terribly heavy at the time. "We worked till long after dark, slept like logs in the dismantled troop-deck, rose early, and went on until the afternoon of the next day, when we landed the horses--of which, by the way, we had only lost four on the voyage--harnessed up some waggons to carry stores, and were ready. While waiting to start, some charming damsels in white muslin brought us grapes. At about four we started for Green Point Camp, which is on a big plain, between the sea and Table Mountain, and is composed of soft white sand, from which the grass has long disappeared. "Directly we reached it, the horses all flung themselves down, and rolled in it. We passed through several camps, and halted at our allotted site, where we formed our lines and picketed our horses heel and head. Then the fun began, as they went wild, and tied themselves in strangulation knots, and kept it up all night, as the sleepless pickets reported. "After feeding and watering, we unloaded the trucks which had begun to come in, ate some bully-beef and bread, and then fell asleep anyhow, in a confused heap in our tents. Mine had thirteen in it, and once we were packed no movement was possible." For two more days we were busily employed in unpacking stores, and putting the _materiel_ of battery into shape, while, at the same time, we were receiving our complement of mules and Kaffir drivers for our transport waggons. Then came our first parades and drills. Rough we were no doubt at first. The mobilization of a volunteer battery cannot be carried out in an instant, and presents numberless difficulties from which infantry are free. Our horses were new to the work, and a few of us men, including my humble self, were only recent recruits. The guns, too, were of a new pattern. The H.A.C. at home is armed with the 15-pounder guns in use in the Regular Field Artillery. But for the campaign, as the C.I.V. Battery, we had taken out new weapons (presented by the City of London), in the shape of four 12-1/2-pounder Vickers-Maxim field guns, taking fixed ammunition, having practically no recoil, and with a much improved breech-mechanism. They turned out very good, but of course, being experimental, required practice in handling, which could not have been obtained in the few weeks in the London barracks. On the other hand, the large majority of us were old hands, our senior officers and N.C.O.'s were from the Regular Horse Artillery, and all ranks were animated by an intense desire to reach the utmost efficiency at the earliest possible moment. My impressions of the next ten days are of grooming, feeding, and exercising in the cool twilight of dawn, sweltering dusty drills, often in sand-storms, under a blazing mid-day sun, of "fatigues" of all sorts, when we harnessed ourselves in teams to things, or made and un-made mountains of ammunition boxes--a constant round of sultry work, tempered by cool bathes on white sand, grapes from peripatetic baskets, and brief intervals of languid leisure, with _al fresco_ meals of bully-beef and dry bread outside our tents. Time was marked by the three daily stable hours, each with their triple duty of grooming, feeding, and watering, the "trivial round" which makes up so much of the life of a driver. As a very humble representative of that class, my horses were two "spares," that is, not allotted to any team. Much to my disgust, I was not even provided with a saddle, and had to do my work bareback, which filled me with indignation at the time, but only makes me smile now. My roan was always a sort of a pariah among the sub-division horses, an incorrigible kicker and outcast, having to be picketed on a peg outside the lines for his misdeeds. Many a kick did I get from him; and yet I always had a certain affection for him in all his troubled, unloved life, till the day when, nine months later, he trotted off to the re-mount depot at Pretoria, to vex some strange driver in a strange battery. My other horse, a dun, was soon taken as a sergeant's mount, and I had to take on an Argentine re-mount, a rough, stupid little mare, with kicking and biting propensities which quite threw the roan's into the shade. She also had a peg of ignominy, and three times a day I had to dance perilously round my precious pair with a tentative body-brush and hoof-pick. The scene generally ended in the pegs coming away from the loose sand, and a perspiring chase through the lines. I had some practice, too, in driving in a team, for one of our drivers "went sick," and I took his place in the team of an ammunition-waggon for several days. Abrupt contrasts to the rough camp life were some evenings spent with Williams in Capetown, where it already felt very strange to be dining at a table, and sitting on a chair, and using more than one plate. Once it was at the invitation of Amery of the _Times_, in the palatial splendour of the Mount Nelson Hotel, where I felt strangely incongruous in my by no means immaculate driver's uniform. But _how_ I enjoyed that dinner! Had there been many drivers present, the management would have been seriously embarrassed that evening. Wildly varying rumours of our future used to abound, but on March 14, a sudden order came to raise camp, and march to Stellenbosch. Teams were harnessed and hooked in, stores packed in the buck waggons, tents struck, and at twelve we were ready. Before starting Major McMicking addressed us, and said we were going to a disaffected district, and must be very careful. We took ourselves very seriously in those days, and instantly felt a sense of heightened importance. Then we started on the road which by slow, _very_ slow, degrees was to bring us to Pretoria in August. My preparations had been very simple, merely the securing of a blanket over the roan's distressingly bony spine, and putting a bit in his refractory mouth. As I anticipated, there had been a crisis over my lack of a saddle at the last moment, various officers and N.C.O.'s laying the blame, first on me (of all people), and then on each other, but chiefly on me, because it was safest. Not having yet learnt the unquestioning attitude of a soldier, I felt a great martyr at the time. The infinite insignificance of the comfort on horseback of one spare driver had not yet dawned upon me; later on, I learnt that indispensable philosophy whose gist is, "Take what comes, and don't worry." We passed through Capetown and its interminable suburbs, came out on to open rolling country, mostly covered with green scrub, and, in the afternoon, formed our first regular marching camp, on a bit of green sward, which was a delicious contrast after Green Point Sand. Guns and waggons were marshalled, picket-ropes stretched between them, the horses tied up, and the routine of "stables" begun again. It was our first bivouac in the open, and very well I slept, with my blanket and waterproof sheet, though it turned very cold about two with a heavy dew. A bare-backed ride of thirteen miles had made me pretty tired. The next day we were up at five, for a march of eighteen miles to Stellenbosch. At mid-day we passed hundreds of re-mount ponies, travelling in droves, with Indian drivers in turbans and loose white linen. Half-way we watered our horses and had a fearful jostle with a Yeomanry corps (who were on the march with us), the Indians, and a whole tribe of mules which turned up from somewhere. In the afternoon we arrived at our camp, a bare, dusty hill, parching under the sun. We passed a week here, drilling and harness cleaning, in an atmosphere of dust and never-ending rumours. Here are two days from my diary:-- "_March 18._--Still here. Yesterday we rose early, struck tents, harnessed horses, and waited for orders to go to the station. Nothing happened: the day wore on, and in the evening we bivouacked as we were in the open. The night before we had great excitement about some mysterious signalling on the hills: supposed to be rebels, and the Yeomanry detachment (who are our escort) sent out patrols, who found nothing. To-day we are still awaiting orders, ready to start in half an hour, but they let us have a fine slack day, and we had a great bathe in the afternoon. Ostriches roam about this camp, eating empty soda-water bottles and any bridoon bits they can find. Three times a day we ride bareback to water horses at the re-mount depot, passing picturesque Indian camps. Williams and I are sitting under our ammunition waggon, where we are going to sleep: it is sunset and the hills are violet. A most gorgeous range of them fronts this camp. "_March 19._--Worse than ever. No orders to start, but orders to re-pitch tents. Delays seem hopeless, and now we may be any time here. Cooler weather and some rain to-day: much pleasanter. Only two tents to a sub-division, and there are sixteen in mine, a frightful squash. Long bareback ride for the whole battery before breakfast; enjoyed it very much. Marching-order parade later. Argentine very troublesome: bites like a mad dog and kicks like a cow: can't be groomed. To-day she tried to bite me in the stomach, but as I had on a vest, shirt, body belt, money belt, and waistcoat, she didn't do much damage, and only got a waistcoat button and a bit of pocket!" We were uncommonly glad to receive definite orders on the 20th to move up country. The Battery was to be divided. The right section to go to Matjesfontein, and the left section, which was mine, to Piquetberg Road. Nobody knew where these places were, but we vaguely gathered that they were somewhere on the line of communications, which, rightly or wrongly, we thought very disappointing. For two more days we stood in readiness to start, chafing under countermanding orders, and pitching and re-pitching of tents, so little did we know then of the common lot of a soldier on active service. We were to go by train, and the right section under the Major started about midnight on the 20th, and we on the next day, at four o'clock. Guns, horses, and waggons were entrained very quickly, and just at dark I found myself in a second-class carriage, one of a merry party of eight, sitting knee-deep in belts, haversacks, blankets, cloaks, and water-bottles. We travelled on till midnight, and then stopped somewhere, posted guards, and slept in the carriages till dawn. CHAPTER III. PIQUETBERG ROAD. Piquetberg Road--A fire--Kitless--A typical day--A bed--"Stableman"-- Picket--A rebel--Orders for the front, with a proviso--Rain--An ungrateful patient--"Bazing"--Swimming horses--My work--The weather--A blue letter. When I woke up on the morning of the 22nd of March, the legend "Piquetberg Road" was just visible on a big white board opposite the carriage. So this was our destination. There was a chill sense in every one of not having got very far towards the seat of war--indeed, we were scarcely eighty miles from Capetown; but our spirits were soon raised by the advent of some Tommies of the Middlesex Militia, who spoke largely of formidable bodies of rebels in the neighbourhood, of an important pass to guard, and of mysterious strategical movements in the near future; so that we felt cheerful enough as we detrained our guns and horses, harnessed up, and marched over a mile and a half of scrub-clothed _veldt_, to the base of some steep hills, where we pitched our camp, and set to work to clear the ground of undergrowth. We were at the edge of a great valley, through which ran the line of railway, disappearing behind us in a deep gorge in the hills, where a little river ran. This was the pass we were to help to guard. Below in the valley lay a few white houses round the station, a farm or two dotted the distant slopes, and the rest was desert scrub and veldt. Now that the right section had parted from us, we had two officers, Captain Budworth commanding, and Lieutenant Bailey; about sixty men, two guns, two ammunition waggons, and two transport waggons, with their mules and Kaffir drivers, under a conductor. Our little square camp was only a spot upon the hill-side, the guns and horse-lines in the middle, a tent for the officers on one side, and a tent at each corner for the men. Here we settled down to the business-like routine of camp life, with great hopes of soon being thought worthy to join a brigade in the field. The work was hard enough, but to any one with healthy instincts the splendid open-air life was very pleasant. Here are some days from my diary:-- "_March 23._--Marching order parade. Drove centres of our sub-division waggon. "I have got a saddle for my own horse at last, and feel happier. Where it came from I don't know. "I am 'stableman' for three days, and so missed a bathing parade to-day, which is a nuisance, as there is no means of washing here nearer than a river some distance off, to which the others rode. While they were away there was an alarm of fire in the lines of the Middlesex Militia, next to ours. Bugles blew the 'alarm.' The scrub had caught fire quite near the tents, and to windward of us. There were only four of us in camp, one a bombardier, who took command and lost his head, and after some wildly contradictory orders, said to me, 'Take that gun to a place of safety.' How he expected me to take the gun by myself I don't know. However, the fire went out, and all was well. "I forgot to say that on the day we left Stellenbosch, a mail at last came in, and I got my first letters. They came by the last mail, and we have evidently missed a lot. Also a telegram, weeks old, saying Henry (my brother) had joined Strathcona's Horse in Ottawa and was coming out here. Delighted to hear it, but I shall probably never see him. "By the way, I am parted from all my kit at present. Having had no saddle, I have been used to put it on the transport waggon of our sub-division, but this went with the other section for some inscrutable reason, or rather didn't go, for it was wrecked by a train when crossing the line. I heard vaguely that the contents were saved and sent on with the right section, but am quite prepared to find it is lost. Not that I miss it much. One wants very little really, in this sort of life. Fortunately I kept back my cloak and blanket. A lovely night to-night: Williams and I have given up tents as too crowded, and sleep under the gun; to-night we have built a rampart of scrub round it, as there is a fresh wind. "_March 28._--Marching order parade at eight. I was told to turn out as a mounted gunner, which is a very jolly job. You have a single mount and ride about as ground-scout, advance-guard, rear-guard, etc. We had a route-march over the pass through the mountains, a lovely ride, reminding me of the Dordogne. We came out into a beautiful valley the other side, with a camp of some Highlanders: here we fed and watered ourselves and horses and then marched home. My kit turned up from Matjesfontein. "It strikes me that I have given very few actual details of our life and work, so, as I have got two hours to myself, I will try and do it more exactly. "Reveillé sounds at 5.30, and 'stables' at six, with the first gleam of dawn; horses are now fed, and then groomed for half an hour. From this point the days differ. Here is the sketch of a marching order day, from a driver's point of view. To resume, then:--From 6.30 we have half an hour to pack kits, that is to say, to roll the cloak and strap it on the riding saddle, pack the off saddle with spare boots and rolls made up of a waterproof sheet, blanket, harness-sheets, spare breeches, muzzles, hay-nets, etc., and finally to buckle on filled nose-bags and our mess-tins, and strap horse-blankets under the saddles. His stable-kit and the rest of a driver's personal belongings are carried in four wallets, two on each saddle. "At seven, breakfast--porridge, coffee, and bread, and sometimes jam. Our tent has a mess-subscription, and adds any extras required from the canteen. But we always fare well enough without this, for the Captain thinks as much of the men as of the horses, and is often to be seen tasting and criticizing at the cooks' fire. "At 7.30 'boot and saddle' sounds, and in half an hour your horses have to be ready-harnessed and yourself dressed in 'marching order,' that is to say, wearing helmet, gaiters, belt, revolver, haversack, water-bottle, and leg-guard. "At eight 'hook in' is ordered; teams are hooked together and into the guns and waggons. 'Mount the detachment' and gunners take their seats. 'Prepare to mount' (to the drivers) followed by 'Mount,' 'Walk March,' and you are off. We always go first to the watering-place, a sandy pool in the river, unhook and water the horses. Then we either march away, and drill and exercise over the veldt, or go for a route-march to some distance. The weather is always hot, and often there is a dust-storm raging, filling eyes, ears, and mouth, and trying the temper sorely. "We are back at camp about 1.30, form our lines again, between the guns and waggons, unharness, rub down horses, and then have dinner. There is fresh beef generally (that unlovely soldiers' stew), and either rice, duff, or, now and then, stewed quinces, which are very common in the country. We can buy beer at a canteen, or, better still, draught ginger-beer, which is a grand drink. At three 'stables' sounds, with grooming first, and then (I am choosing a full day) harness cleaning; that is to say, soaping all leather-work, and scouring steel-work. Harness-cleaning is irksome work, and, as far as appearances go, is a heart-breaking task, for the eternal dust is always obliterating every trace of one's labour. I have none of my own to look after yet, but help the others. "At 4.30 or five 'Prepare for water' sounds. You put a bridoon on one horse, and, if you are luxurious, a blanket and surcingle to sit on, lead the other, and form up in a line; then 'file right' is the order, and you march off to the watering place, wearing any sort of costume you please. And very slight and _negligé_ some of them are. In the cool of the evening, this is a very pleasant three quarters of an hour. After watering comes the evening feed, followed by tea at six o'clock, and then the day's work is done." The evenings in that climate are delicious; we could sit in our shirt-sleeves until any hour, without any perceptible chill in the air, playing cards, or smoking and talking, or reading by a lantern. Williams and I found picket a great resource; and many a good game of whist have I had sitting in a crowded quartette in our ramshackle battery Cape-cart, with an inch of candle guttering among the cards. Most of us slept in the tents, but I preferred the open, even in dust-storms, when choosing a site required some skill. The composition of a bed was a question of sacks. There was one very large variety of chaff-sack, which was a sleeping-bag in itself; with this and your blanket and cloak, and under the lee of some forage or scrub, you could defy anything. The only peril was that of a loose horse walking on you. On some afternoons we were quite free till the stable-hour at four. Till then we could bask in camp, or go for a bathe in the river, where there was one splendid deep-water pool, whence you could hear the baboons barking on the hill-sides, and see the supply trains for the front grinding heavily up the pass. Rumours of a move never lost their charm. At first we used to take them seriously, but gradually the sense of permanence began to pervade our camp. Solid tin shelters rose for the guard and the sergeants; a substantial tin canteen was erected close to the lines by cynical provision-dealers. Those visionary rebels declined to show themselves; nobody attacked our precious pass; and, in short, we had to concentrate our minds upon the narrow circle of our daily life. A recurring duty for drivers was that of "stableman." There were two of these for each sub-division, who were on duty for the whole day in the lines. Their function, in addition to the usual duties, was to draw forage, watch the horses, and prepare all the feeds in the nose-bags, ready for the drivers. The post was no sinecure, for in addition to the three standard oat feeds, there was oat straw to be put down after dinner, and, at eight o'clock at night, a final supper of chaff, except for invalids, who got special feeds. A list of these was given you generally at the last moment, and it was a test for your temper to go round the lines on a windy night, lighting many futile matches, in order to see the number on the off fore hoof, so as to hit off the right ones. There was generally a nose-bag missing at this stage, which was ultimately found on a C horse (my sub-division was D), and then there was a lively five minutes of polite recrimination. At 8.30 the nose-bags had to be taken off, and muzzles put on--canvas affairs with a leather bottom, strapped on by the head collar--as a preventive against disease from the chill morning air. Every man, after evening stables, was supposed to leave his muzzles on the jowl-piece of his horses, but a stableman was quite sure to find two missing, and then he would have to scour the tents, and drive the offender to the lines to repair his neglect; then he could go to bed. Another extra duty was that of picket at night, which came round to gunners and drivers alike, about every ten days. "Two hours on and four hours off" was the rule, as on all sentry-duty. I rarely found the night watches long. There was plenty to do in watching the horses, which are marvellously ingenious at untying knots, and in patrolling the camp on the look-out for imaginary rebels. By the way, the only live rebel I ever saw was the owner of a farm, near which we halted during one sultry dusty route-march. He refused to allow us to water our horses and ourselves at his pond, defying us with Lord Kitchener's proclamation enjoining "kind treatment" of the Dutch! As the days passed without orders for the front, impatience and disappointment grew. We were fit and well, and were not long in reaching the standard of efficiency which carried us successfully through our campaigning later. We used to "grouse" vigorously over our bad luck, with what justice I do not pretend to say; but no one who has not experienced it, can understand the bitterness of inaction, while the stream of reinforcements is pouring to the front. Scraps of news used to come in of the victorious march of the army northward, and of the gallant behaviour of the C.I.V. Infantry. Companies of Yeomanry used to arrive, and leave for destinations with enticing names that smelt of war, and night after night rollicking snatches of "Soldiers of the Queen" would float across the valley from the troop-trains, as they climbed the pass northward. As early as April 15th, the word went round that we were under orders to go to Bloemfontein--"as soon as transport could be ready for us." "_April 15._--Amid great delight the Captain to-day read a telegram saying we are to go to Bloemfontein as soon as the railway can take us. We had just come in from the ride to water in drenching rain and ankle deep in mud, but a great cheer went up. The railway limitation is a rather serious one, as I believe the line is in a hopeless state of block; but we'll hope for the best. The rainy season has begun in the most unmistakable fashion. It has poured so far in buckets for twenty-four hours; I slept out last night, but daren't to-night; outlying parts of me got wet, in spite of the waterproof over me. Thank goodness, we have good boots, gaiters, and cloaks. We rode to water at eleven in various queer costumes, and mostly bare legs, and afterwards dug trenches through the lines. The rest of the day we have been huddled in a heap in our tent, a merry crowd, taking our meals in horrible discomfort, but uproarious spirits. "I still have the roan, but have lost the Argentine and got a bay mare instead; it's not a bad animal. There was a false alarm of glanders the other day. One of the gun-team had a swollen throat, but it turns out to be something else. I was told off to help foment him with hot water the night it was discovered. He kicked us all, and completely floored me with a kick in the chest, which didn't hurt happily. Yesterday I had to take him down to the station and foment him from the kitchen boiler of the station-master's wife. I enjoyed it, as I had plenty of rests, and the station-master's wife made me delicious tea, served to me by a sweet little white-frocked girl. By the way, on the road to water the other day a caravan full of people stopped us, and small maidens went down the line, giving us apples and cigarettes and cakes." Little we understood that ironical "railway" proviso of a harassed general staff. We had been reviewed the day before, and the good practice of our guns had been praised by the inspecting officer. Now was our chance, we thought. Nevertheless, we had to live on that guarded "order" for another month. But in spite of our disappointment I believe all of us will look back with real pleasure to that time. There was no monotony in the life, thanks to our officers, who continually introduced variety into our work. "Marching order" days were the commonest; but there were others of a lighter sort. On one day we would go for a long expedition in drill-order with the guns, taking cooks and our dinner with us, and have what we used to call a picnic by some pleasant river-side. On another the guns would be left at home, and we would ride out for exercise, often through the pass, which led through a lovely ravine to a pretty little place called Tulbagh, where there was another small camp of troops. Sometimes "bazing" was the order, a portmanteau-word describing a morning spent in grazing the horses, and bathing ourselves. My diary of April 8th says, "Yesterday about twenty of us went out to practice swimming with horses. We rode about seven miles to a deepish river, stripped, off-saddled, and swam them across. Some wouldn't do it at all, but most of them swam across and back. You buckle the rein up short and leave him alone. It's a very queer motion at first. One of those I took declined to go in, in spite of half a dozen chaps goading him on in various ways, and finally bolted away over the veldt, carrying me naked. He soon came back though. The horses have got the habit now of sticking together, and if they get loose in camp never leave the lines. It is a nuisance sometimes, if you have to act as a single mount, and ride away on some errand. My Argentine greatly resents such a move, and tries to circle like a clockwork mouse. She has grown as fat as a pig, though some horses are doing poorly. The oats are of a very bad quality." That brings me to my horses and my own work. We all of us changed horses a good deal in those days, and I and the roan had several partings and re-unitings. As a spare driver, my own work was very varied, now of driving in a team, now of riding spare horses, and occasionally of acting as a mounted gunner. Williams was a regular mounted gunner, his mount being a wicked, disreputable-looking little Argentine (called "Pussy" (with a lisp) for her qualities), to whom he owed three days in hospital at one time from a bad kick, but whom he ended by transforming into as smart and peaceable a little mount as you could find. My own chance came at last; and when about the end of April one of our drivers was sent home sick, I took his place as centre driver of an ammunition waggon, and kept it permanently. I said good-bye to the roan and Argentine, and took over a fine pair of bays. My chief impression of the weather is that of heat and dust, but there were times when we thought the dreaded rainy season had begun; when the camp was a running morass, and we crouched in our tents, watching pools of water soaking under our harness sheets, and counting the labour over rusted steel. But it used to pass off, leaving a wonderful effect; every waste oat seed about the camp sprouted; little green lawns sprang up in a single night round the places where the forage was heaped, and the whole veldt put on a delicate pink dress, a powder of tiny pink flowers. By the middle of May we began to think we had been forgotten altogether, but at last, on the morning of the 17th of May, as we were marching out to drill, an orderly galloped up, and put a long blue letter into the Captain's hand. We had seen this happen before, and our discussions of the circumstance, as we rode along, were sceptical, but this time we were wrong. CHAPTER IV. BLOEMFONTEIN. The railway north--Yesterday's start--Travelling made easy--Feeding horses--A menu--De Aar--A new climate--Naauwport--Over the frontier-- Bloemfontein--A fiasco--To camp again--The right section--Diary days-- Riding exercise--A bit of history--Longman's Hospital--The watering-place--Artillery at drill--A review--A camp rumour--A taste of freedom--A tent scene. From my diary:-- "_May 20._--_Sunday._--I write this on the train, on the way up north, somewhere near Beaufort West; for the long-wished day has come at last, and we are being sent to Kroonstadt, which anyway is pretty near to, if not actually at, the front. Our only fear is now that it will be too late. All day the train has been traversing the Karoo, a desert seamed by bare rocky mountains, and without a sign of life on it, only vast stretches of pebbly soil, dotted sparsely with dusty-green dwarf scrub. But to go back. We started yesterday. All went smoothly and simply. At eight, kit was inspected; in the morning, bareback exercise; at twelve, tents struck; at 12.30 dinner; at one, 'boot and saddle.' When we were hooked in and mounted, the Captain made a splendid little speech in the incisive forcible voice we had learned to know so well, saying we had had for long the most trying experience that can befall a soldier, that of standing fast, while he sees his comrades passing him up to the front. He congratulated us on the way we had met that experience. There had been no complaining or slackness in our work on that account. He hoped we would have the luck to go into action, and his last advice to us was 'to keep our stomachs full and our bellies warm!' "Then we marched to the station, unharnessed, packed harness, boxed the horses, put the guns and waggons on the trucks, and were ready. But the train didn't start till about eight o'clock in the evening. One box was reserved for kickers, and you should have seen their disgust when they found nothing to bully! We had, and have, a vague idea that the journey was to last about a week, so Williams and I bought a large box of provisions and a small paraffin stove. Accustomed to delays, we quite expected no engine to turn up or something like that, but finally a whistle blew and we were off, and a delirious shout went up, and then we all sighed with relief, and then got doubly merry, shouting vain things over a long untasted beverage, whisky and water. One hears so much about the horrors of war that I scarcely dare to describe the men's accommodation on board this train. It is strange, but true, that I have never travelled more comfortably in my life, and probably never shall. Most compartments have only four men to them, and by great good luck, and a little diplomacy, Williams and I have one to ourselves, though we form our mess with the four chaps in the next one. Now the beauty of it is that no one can get into our train, so, if you get out at a station, you need have no fear of finding a nurse with twins in your special corner seat. You live without these terrors, and have room to stretch, and sleep, and read, and have meals, with no one to ask you to show your ticket. In fact, things are reversed; we are not herded and led, and snubbed by porters and officials, but the train belongs to us, and we ignore them. "We sat up late last night, and then Williams and I slept in great comfort, though it felt quite odd to have something between one and the stars. It's true there was a slight break, caused by the door being flung open, and sacks of bread being hustled in from the outside. But a soldier's training takes no account of these things, and you instinctively jump out half-dressed, and help to shovel more sacks in, you don't know why, or what they are. Being woken up, we got on to the platform over an intervening train, and sent cables home from an office standing invitingly open. Then to bed again. Later, in my dreams, I was aware of a sergeant and an irascible little station-master coming into the carriage with lanterns and throwing most of the sacks out again, which it seemed had been annexed feloniously by our Captain, at the last station, in his zeal to keep our 'stomachs full.' I was glad to get rid of the sacks, as they filled our carriage up completely. The train has to stop for about three-quarters of an hour or less, three times a day, for feeding and watering the horses. The first stop to-day was about 6.30 A.M. We tumbled out in the delicious fresh air, and formed into pre-arranged feeding and watering parties. I am on the feed party of our subdivision, and we climbed like beetles up the sides of the trucks, which are open, and strap on the nose-bags. Then we washed at a friendly tap, and had our own breakfast which the cooks had cooked--coffee and porridge. Then we climbed back and took off nose-bags, and then the train went on. At this station we 'commandeered' a splendid table in the shape of a large square tin advertisement of a certain Scotch whisky, and played whist on it after breakfast. The train wound slowly through a barren stretch of brown plain and rocky wild. Stations happened now and then, little silent spots in the wilderness, their _raison d'être_ a mystery, no houses, roads, or living things near, except a white tent or two, and some sunburnt men in khaki looking curiously at us. There are troops in small bodies all up the line in this 'loyal' colony. At one station the Kimberley mail caught us up, and the people threw us magazines and biscuits from the windows. All engines and stations were decorated with flags in honour of the relief of Mafeking, the news of which came through yesterday. A hospital train bound to Capetown also passed, with some pale faces and bandaged limbs in evidence. "At 1.30 we stopped again for feed and water, and when we went on our mess sat down to the following lunch, which I think does credit to our catering powers. MENU. R.B.S. Emergency Soup. Cold Roast Fowl, with Stuffing. Bully Beef, with Mustard. Whiskied Biscuits. Desserts Variés. Chocolate. Ginger. Bonbons. Oranges. German Beer. Cigars. Cigarettes. "I wrote the _menu_ out in French first, but it seemed not to suit. "All the afternoon the same desolation, like pictures one sees of the moon's surface. About six, water and feed at Beaufort West, and horses led out, trucks mucked out, and tea served out. "The night was very cold; in fact, the climate is quite different on these high table-lands. I woke up about six, looked out, and saw, just opposite, the legend DE AAR, which for the first time seemed to connect us with the war. We stopped a moment, and then moved on through lines of tents, loaded waggons, mountains of ammunition, etc. Then I saw a strange sight, in the shape of ice on puddles and white hoarfrost. Soon out on the broad, brown veldt, far-distant hills showing finely cut in the exquisitely clear air. Such an atmosphere I have never seen for purity. The sun was rising into a cloudless sky from behind a kopje. The flat-topped kopje is now the regular feature. They are just like miniature Table-mountains, and it is easy to see how hard to capture they must be. Water, feed, and breakfast at a tiny roadside place, with the inevitable couple of tents and khaki men. We were at whist when we steamed up to a big, busy camp-station, the Red Cross flying over a dozen big marquee tents, and a couple of hundred sorry-looking remounts (by the look of them) picketed near. This was Naauwport. We stopped alongside a Red Cross train full of white, unshaven faces--enterics and wounded going back to the base. They were cheerful enough, and we shouted inquiries about one another. They were unanimous in saying we were too late, which was very depressing news, but I don't suppose they knew much about it. We washed ourselves in big buckets here. As we were steaming out I saw a long unfamiliar sight, in the shape of a wholesome, sunburnt English girl, dressed in short-skirted blue serge, stepping out as only an English girl can. She was steering for the Red Cross over the tents, and, I daresay, was nursing there. Off again, over the same country, but looking more inhabited; passed several ostrich farms, with groups of the big, graceful birds walking delicately about; also some herds of cattle, and a distant farm or two, white against the blue hill-shadows. Soon came the first visible signs of war--graves, and long lines of trenches here and there. At a stop at a shanty (can't call it a station) a man described a fight for a kopje just by the railway. Coleskop was in view, a tall, flat-topped mountain, and later we steamed into the oft-taken and retaken Colesberg Junction, and were shown the hill where the Suffolks were cut up. All was now barren veldt again, and the strangeness of the whole thing struck me curiously. Why should men be fighting here? There seemed to be nothing to fight for, and nothing behind to get to when you had fought. "_May 22._--_Tuesday._--As I write we are standing just outside Bloemfontein; cold, sunny morning; the Kaffir quarter just on our right, a hideous collection of mud houses with tin roofs; camps and stores on the left; boundless breadth of veldt beyond; the town in front under a long, low kopje, a quiet, pretty little place. "We reached the frontier--Norval's Pont--at 6 P.M. yesterday, and after a long delay, moved slowly out in the dark, till the shimmer of water between iron girders told us we were crossing the Orange river. Once off the bridge, a shout went up for our first step on the enemy's country. Then all went on the same. We made ourselves comfortable, and brewed hot cocoa, for all the world as though we were travelling from Boulogne to Geneva. The only signs of hostility were the shrill execrations of a crowd of infant aborigines. "We woke up to a changed country. The distances were still greater, low hills only occasionally breaking the monotony of flat plain, but the scrub had given way to grass, not verdant Irish grass, but sparse, yellow herbage. Ant-hills and dead horses were the only objects in the foreground, except eternal wreaths and tangles of telegraph wire along the tracks, and piles of sleepers, showing the damage done, and now repaired, to line and wire. The same pure crisp air and gentle sunlight. "_May 24._--_Thursday._--I write in our tent on the plateau above Bloemfontein, and will go on where I left off on the 22nd. To our utter disgust, after standing for hours in a siding of the station, chatting to all sorts and conditions of the species soldier, the order came to detrain. We drivers took the horses first to water, and then picketed them on an arid patch of ground near the station, where the gunners had meantime brought the guns and waggons. It was now dark, and there were no rations served out; very cold, too, and we had no kit, but it wasn't these things we minded, but the getting out instead of training on. 'Kroonstadt' is redolent of war, but, 'Bloemfontein' spells inaction. However, there was no help for it. We slept on the ground, and precious cold this new climate was. I hadn't my Stohwasser blanket, and spent most of the night stamping about and smoking. At reveillé next day rations were still lacking, but we all trooped off to a tin hut and had tea, given by an unseen angel, named Sister Bagot. 'Boot and saddle' sounded at nine, and we marched off to the camp, about two miles away. There was a very nasty ravine to cross, and we had to have drag ropes on behind, with the gunners on them, to steady us down the descent. I was driving centres as usual, and saw the leaders almost disappear in front of me. At the bottom we crossed a stream, and then galloped them up the other side. Soon after we passed through Bloemfontein, a quiet, dull-looking place, like a suburb of Cape Town, mounted a long hill, and came out on to another broad plain, kopjes in the distance, and tents dotted far and wide. The first moving thing I saw was a funeral,--slow music, a group of khaki figures, and the bright colours of a Union Jack glinting between. "Our right section, that is, the other half of the Battery, from which we had been separated ever since Stellenbosch, had trained on a day ahead of us, and were now already encamped, so we marched up and joined our lines to theirs, pitched our tents, and once more the Battery was united. And what a curious meeting it was! Half of them were unrecognizable with beards and sunburn, as were many of us, I suppose. What yarns we had! All that day, in the intervals between fatigues, and far into the night, in the humming tents. Jacko was with them. He had been lost on the journey, but came on by a later train very independently." We all had a presentiment of evil, and, as it turned out, we were kept nearly a month at Bloemfontein, while still reports of victories came in. Yet news was very scarce, and had we known it, the period was only just beginning, of that long, irregular warfare, by which the two provinces had to be conquered, when the brilliancy of Roberts's meteoric march to Pretoria was past. We were to take our small share in work as necessary and arduous as any in these latter stages of the war. Meanwhile we were now a complete battery, and worked hard at our drill as such, though there was very little to learn after our long training in Cape Colony. We kept our spirits up, though the time was a depressing one. Mortality was high in Bloemfontein at that time, in spite of the healthy, exhilarating climate. A good many of us had to go into hospital, but we were fortunate enough to lose no lives through illness. Here are some extracts from my diary:-- "_May 24._--_Queen's Birthday._--The guns went to a review, and got high praise for their turn out. The rest of us exercised on stripped saddles, trotting over bare flat ground, with sparse grass on it, the greatest contrast to the Piquetberg Road country. "In the evening Williams and I and some others wandered off to try and get a wash. We prowled over the plain and among the camps asking the way to water, and carrying our towels and soap, and finally stumbled over a trough and a tap. The water here is unfit for drinking, and we are forbidden to drink it except boiled. "_May 28._--Riding exercise again; a long and jolly ride round the country. Half-way we did cavalry exercises for some time, which, when every man has a led horse, and many two of them, is rather a rough game. I was riding Williams's Argentine, Pussy, a game little beast, but she got very worried and annoyed over wheeling and forming fours and sections. Directly we got back and had off-saddled we fell in, and one out of four was allowed to go down to town and see the Proclamation of Annexation read. I was lucky enough to be picked, tumbled into proper dress, and hurried down just in time. The usual sight as I passed the cemetery, thirteen still forms on stretchers in front of the gate, wrapped in the rough service blanket, waiting to be buried. I found the Market Square full of troops drawn up, and a flag-staff in the middle, with a rolled-up flag on it. Soon a band heralded the arrival of the Governor, Colonel Pretyman, and the Staff-officers. Then a distant voice began the Proclamation, of which I couldn't hear a word except 'colony' at the end, at which every one cheered. Then the flag was unrolled, and hung dead for a minute, till a breeze came and blew out 'that haughty scroll of gold,' the Royal Standard. Bands struck up 'God save the Queen,' a battery on a hill above the town thundered out a royal salute, everybody cheered, and I was standing on British soil. I saw not a single native Dutchman about, only crowds of the khakied of all ranks and sorts. After this little bit of history-making I hurried back to the commonplace task of clipping my mare's heels, an operation requiring great agility on the part of the clipper. "For a 'stableman,' as I am now, the evening is rather a busy one. At seven you have to make up the feeds for the last feed; at 7.45 put them round the harness-sets behind the horses; at eight feed, for which all hands turn out; at 8.30 take off nose-bags and put on muzzles; and after that make up another feed ready for early next morning. You can't finish before 'lights out,' and have to go to bed in the dark, to the loudly expressed annoyance of your neighbours in the tent (I sleep in a tent these nights), on whose bodies you place the various articles of your kit while you arrange your bed, and whose limbs you sometimes mistake for materials for a pillow, when you are composing that important piece of upholstery. "_May 30._--_Wednesday._--In the afternoon Williams and I went to visit a friend in Langman's Hospital. Bloemfontein is a town of hospitals, red crosses flying at every turn. The mortality is high, even, I was surprised to hear from our friend, among sisters and hospital orderlies. Out of six sisters in his hospital, which seemed a very good one, four had enteric at the time, and one had died of it. I was on picket duty this night, and had a lively time chasing loose horses in the dark. A new sort of head-rope we are using seems very palatable to the horses, as they mostly eat it for supper, and then get loose. "_May 31._--Out at riding exercise we came to a fortified kopje, where we dismounted, and were allowed to examine a beautifully made trench running round the top, very deep, and edged by a wall of stones arranged to give loopholes. Some one found a Boer diary in the dust, the entries in which seemed to alternate between beer and bible reading. We always water at the common trough, the last thing before return. Such varieties of the horse species you could see no where else; thick, obstinate little Argentines, all with the same Roman noses and broad, ugly heads; squab little Basuto ponies, angular skeletonesque Cape horses, mules of every nationality, Texan, Italian, Illyrian, Spanish; here and there a beautiful Arab belonging to some officer; and dominating all, our own honest, substantial 'bus and tram horses, almost the only representatives of English horseflesh. There are always a few detached horses stampeding round ownerless, or limping feebly down with a lost, hopeless look in their eyes, tripping at every step over a tattered head-rope, and seeming to belong to nobody and care for nothing. We always ride down in strict order, each man leading one or two. "_June 3._--Marching-order parade. We had a good morning drill over what is perfect artillery country, with just the right amount of excitement in the shape of ditches to jump, and anthills, which are legion, and holes to avoid. I am delighted with my pair, which are both very fit now; and our waggon team has been going very well. "_June 4._--Riding exercise and sham-fight; an enemy supposed to be attacking a convoy. Being in the convoy, I haven't a clear idea of what happened, but only know we were kept dodging about kopjes, and bolting across open places uncaptured. "_June 5._--Another field-day, with guns and waggons, before Colonel Davidson, the Brigadier of Artillery here. We went out to some distant kopjes, and went into action at two different points. I believe the shooting was very good; they had targets of biscuit-tins stuck up on the kopjes. Some of you who read this at home may not know how artillery work, so I may as well roughly sketch what happens on these occasions. There are four guns and five waggons. A waggon is built on the same plan as a gun, that is, in two parts, the waggon-body and the waggon-limber, the limber being in front, and having the pole for draught, just as the gun-carriage and the gun-limber form the two parts of the 'gun.' Both waggon-body and waggon-limber carry ammunition, as does the gun-limber. There are four gunners on the gun, and four on the waggon. When suitable ground has been selected by the Major, and thoroughly scouted first by the mounted gunners, the order is given to advance into action. The guns trot up in line; 'Action front, right about wheel' is given, and each swings round, thus bringing the muzzle of the gun to the front. The limber is then unhooked from the trail of the gun, and the teams trot back with the limbers to the rear, leaving the guns to be worked by the gunners. At the same time the signal is sent back to the waggons, who, meanwhile, have been halted in the rear, if possible under cover, to send up two waggons. Two are told off, and they trot up to the firing line. 'Halt,' 'Unhook!' The wheelers are rapidly unhooked, the team trots back again to the rear. Presently two more are called up with more ammunition. These do the same thing, but after unhooking trot round and hook into the other two (now empty) waggons, and trot them back. The empty waggons are refilled from the mule-waggons, which follow the battery with the reserve shells, and their black crews and all. 'Limber-supply,' that is, use of the shells in the _gun_-limber, is only ordered in the last resort or in exceptional cases. Finally, when the firing position is to be changed, the gun-limbers trot up; 'Limber up' is given. The gun is hooked to the limber, and the re-united machines trot away to the new position, followed by the waggons. In some cases, too, when the waggons come up to the firing-line, they only leave the waggon-body there, trot away with the limber, and come back and 'limber up' later, in the same way as the gun. It all depends on how much ammunition is wanted. Of course, there are many variations of movement, but this is an average specimen. "_June 10._--_Sunday._--I and Williams are stablemen, and the rest have gone to church parade. We have just had an icy wash with far-fetched water in an old ammunition box. The weather has turned very cold again at nights, with considerable frost. I have been sleeping out again though since the first week of our coming here, finding snug lairs under the quartermaster's stores. We have marching order parades most days now, and are pretty hard-worked. Yesterday we were reviewed by General Pretyman, together with another field-battery and a pom-pom battery. We trotted about in various formations, and the guns went into action once; and that was all. Our guns got into action quicker than either of the regular batteries. A message was communicated to us by the General from Lord Roberts, saying we must not be disappointed at not having gone to the front; that there was plenty more work to be done, and that meanwhile we were doing very useful work in helping to guard this place. I am afraid we are not very sanguine, but we never entirely lose hope, and a wild idea that this review and the other day's inspection might be preliminary to an order to go up, cheered us up a lot for the time. Camp rumours, too, are just as prolific and as easily swallowed as before. Latterly there have been all sorts of mysterious reports about the Boers having got behind Roberts, re-taken Kroonstadt and cut the railway, massacring various regiments, whose names change hourly. A camp rumour is a wonderful thing. Generally speaking, there are two varieties, cook-shop rumours and officers' servants' rumours. Both are always false, but there is a slightly more respectable mendacity about the latter than the former. The cooks are always supposed to know if we are changing camp by getting orders about rations in advance. Having this slight advantage, they go out of their way to make rumours on every sort of subject. How many scores of times the cooks have sent us to the front I shouldn't like to say. Officers' servants of course pick up scraps of information from their masters' tents; in the process of transmission to the battery at large the original gets wide variations. We are often just like kitchenmaids and footmen discussing their betters. You will hear heated arguments going on as to the meaning of some overheard remarks, and the odd thing is that it no longer seems strange. "_June 13._--... The moon was full this day, and to see it rising sheer out of the level veldt was a thing to remember. For ten minutes before there is a red glow on the horizon, which intensifies till a burning orange rim shows above, and soon the whole circle is flaming clear of the earth, only not a circle, but seemingly almost square with rounded corners. Round its path on the veldt there is a broad wash of dusty gold. A lot of us came out of the tents, and were spell-bound by the sight. Every evening the sun goes down plumb into the veldt out of a cloudless sky, and comes up just so in the morning. While he is gone it is bitterly cold now, always with hard frost, but in the middle of the day often very hot. I have never known such extremes of temperature before. "_June 16._--Yesterday was a red-letter day for me and Williams. We got leave off afternoon stables, getting gunners to water and groom our horses, and had from after dinner till 8.30 P.M. to ourselves. That was the first time I have ever missed duty from any cause whatever since I enlisted on January 3rd, so I think I deserved it. We started off, feeling strangely free, and hardly knowing how to use our freedom, for two hours is the longest interval from work one usually gets. We determined to visit the Irish Hospital Camp, where four of our chaps were sick. The Irish Hospital came out with us in the _Montfort_, so we knew them all. We hired a carriage in the town(!) and drove the rest of the way feeling like lords. We had a long talk with the invalids, who were mostly doing well, in most comfortable quarters, large roomy tents, with comfortable beds, and clean white nurses going about. Pat Duffy turned up as a hospital orderly, looking strangely clean. The air was heavy with rich brogue. Later we strolled off, and shopped and shaved in the town, had afternoon tea, and then went to a hotel and wrote letters till 6.30, when we dined in magnificent style, and then sauntered back, feeling as if an eternity had passed, and lay down in the dust to sleep. "_June 17._--_Sunday._--A night and day of rain, in spite of the fact that everybody was clear hitherto that the rainy season was over months ago. Exercise at eight, and a smart trot round the country warmed horses and men, for it is very cold. Meanwhile, the horse lines had been shifted, for they were ankle-deep in mud. Once or twice in the day we were called out to rub legs, ears, and backs of the horses. "I am now lying on my back in our tent on a carefully constructed couch of sacks, rugs, and haversacks, with a candle stuck in a Worcester sauce bottle to light me. Most of us are doing the same, so the view is that of the soles of muddy boots against strong light, the tentpole in the middle hung thick with water-bottles, helmets, and haversacks, spurs strung up round the brailing, faces (dirty) seen dimly in the gloom beneath. Some write, some sew, some read. One is muttering maledictions over a tin of treacle he has spilt on his bed (he thought it was empty and stuck a candle on the bottom); one is telling stories (which nobody listens to) of happy sprees in far-off London. The air is thick with tobacco-smoke. Outside there is a murmur of stablemen trying to fit shrunk nose-bags on to restive horses, varied by the squeal and thump of an Argentine, as he gets home in the ribs of a neighbour who has been fed before him." On the day after this was written our long period of waiting came to an end with orders to go at once to Kroonstadt. CHAPTER V. LINDLEY. We were off for the front at last, and I shall now, making a few necessary alterations, transcribe my diary, as I wrote it from day to day and often hour to hour, under all sorts of varying conditions. _June 21._--_7 A.M._--I am writing this on the seat of a gun in an open truck on the way by rail to Kroonstadt. I have been trying to sleep on the floor, but it wasn't a success, owing to frozen feet. Now the sun is up and banishing the hoar-frost from the veldt, and the great lonely pasture-plain we are travelling slowly through looks wonderfully pleasant. But I must go back. Yesterday afternoon things looked profoundly settled. I walked down to town with a lot of clothes, and left them to be washed by a nigger, and also left my watch to be mended. But when I got back to "stables" it was announced that we were to leave for Kroonstadt that night. There was great joy, though I fear it means nothing. It's true De Wet and some rebels have been giving trouble round there, and even held up a train, and captured a battalion of militia not long ago; but I believe it's all over now. It was soon dark, and camp had to be struck and horses harnessed in the dark. I got leave, ran down to town and fetched up my unwashed clothes, and put most of them on there and then. There was the usual busy scene of packing kit, striking tents, drawing rations, filling water-bottles; the whole scene lit up by blazing bonfires of rubbish. In leaving a camp no litter may be left; it has to be left as clean as the surrounding veldt. At nine hot coffee was served out, and at 9.45 "boot and saddle" went. Harnessing in pitch dark is not very easy, unless you have everything exactly where you can lay your hand on it. We marched down to the station, and unharnessed near the platform in a deposit of thick mud. Entraining lasted all night, the mules and buck-waggons giving a lot of trouble. Some exciting loose-mule-hunts round the station in the dark. Hours of shoving, hauling, lifting, slamming. At last all was in but ourselves. There were evidently no carriages, so we hurriedly shovelled our kit and ourselves into the open gun-trucks, squirming into cracks and corners; and at 6.30 A.M. to-day, with the sun just topping the distant veldt, the whistle blew, and we started. It was a piercing frosty morning; but we were all so tired that we slept just as we were. I found myself nestling on the floor of a truck (very dirty), between a gun-wheel and the three foot high side with feed-bags for pillows. Cold feet soon roused me, and I got up on to the gun in the sun, and saw we were slowly climbing a long incline through the usual veldt and kopjes, only more inhabited looking, with a tree and a farm or two. A lovely scene with the sun reddening the veldt in the pure crisp air. I smoked a cigarette in great content of mind. Soon shapeless heaps of blankets began to move down the trucks, muffled heads blinked out from odd corners, and gradually the Battery woke, and thawed, and breakfasted on biscuit and bully beef. We have said good-bye to bread. We rumbled slowly on all the morning, past the same sort of country, with dead horses and broken bridges marking Roberts's track, and at Brandfort stopped to feed horses, which, by the way, is a nasty dangerous game when you are dealing with closed horse-boxes. You have to climb through a small window, get in among the horses, and put the feeds on as they are handed up. The horses are not tied up, and are wild with hunger. You have simply to fight to avoid being crushed or kicked in that reeking interior, for they are packed as thick as possible. At Vet River we got the first news of fighting. Boers under De Wet had been breaking bridges, and cutting wires. A very seedy-looking Guardsman gave us the news, and said they were cold and starving; and they looked it. What regiment was there? "Oh, we're all details 'ere," he said, with a gloomy shrug. At Zand River infantry were in trenches expecting attack. A fine bridge had been blown up, and we crossed the river, which runs in a deep ravine, by a temporary bridge built low down, the track to it most ingeniously engineered in a spiral way. An engineer told us they had had hard fighting there a day or two ago. We reached Kroonstadt about dark; but remained outside all night, supperless and freezing. _June 22._--I walked about most of the night, and got an engine driver to squirt some hot water into a mess-tin to make tea with out of tablets. In early morning a train disgorged a crowd of men who had been prisoners with the Boers at Pretoria, some ever since the first battle. When Roberts came they all escaped, under shell-fire from the Boers as a final _congé_. They were a most motley crew, dressed in all manner of odd clothes. At 7 P.M. coffee and porridge, and at 7.30 orders came to detrain and harness up sharp, the sections to separate again. Then followed a whole series of contrary orders, but we ultimately harnessed up and hooked in; the right section marched away, and soon after we of the left section did so too, about two o'clock. About three miles off, after climbing a long hill, we unlimbered the guns in a commanding position, and remained there till dark, in the close and fragrant neighbourhood of about twenty dead horses. I believe we had something to do with some possible or probable fight, but what, I don't know. A very dull battle. We marched back at dark, and bivouacked near the town, close to some Lancers. Of course tents are said good-bye to now. I slept by my harness, very cold. _June 23._--I woke early and chatted to the Lancers' cook over a roaring wood fire till reveillé. Orders came to start at two, as part of the escort of a convoy going to Lindley, distant about fifty miles east. Something real to do at last. Quiet morning; sewed buttons on. At one "boot and saddle," and at two we started and joined the convoy, a long train of ox-waggons, with some traction engines drawing trucks. Our officers are Captain Budworth (in command) and Lieutenant Bailey, just as at Piquetberg Road. The troops with us are some Buffs Militia, Yorkshire Light Infantry, Australian Mounted Infantry (Imperial Bushmen Contingent), and some Middlesex Yeomanry. Went through the rambling white desolate town, forded a broad river, mounted a steep hill, and came out on the open, rolling veldt. Here we halted till near sunset, waiting for some waggons, and many and eager were our speculations on what was in store for us on this first step into the field of war. For the first time we saw and talked to infantry on the march. Our escort (there is always an escort for guns) is a company of Buffs, lean, stained, ragged, and very _blasé_ about this journey which they have made twice before. They are short of most things, and pitifully clad. I saw two with no breeches, only under-pants. All say they are "fed up," a phrase always used out here to mean "sick and tired of the war." The Bushmen seem a pleasant set of fellows. It is their first campaign too. When the truant waggons came up we marched on a few miles, following the road, which is just a hard track across the veldt, and bivouacked for the night, the out-spanned waggons ranged in rows in a rough square, as far as I could see, but it was very dark, and we had plenty to do ourselves. After unhooking, we drivers had a long ride over the veldt to a watering-place, losing the way in the dark two or three times. It was late when we got back to camp, guided by the fires. We unharnessed, fed the horses, swallowed some tea and biscuit, and laid down as we were to sleep. _June 24_--_Sunday._--Up at 3.45 A.M. and harnessed; very cold. We started at five, in the dark, and marched over rolling switchback veldt till 9.30, and then halted to let the convoy oxen get their day's graze and chew. Unharnessed our horses. Coffee and porridge. I went on fatigue to fill water-bottles at a filthy pond, and afterwards laboriously filtered some in a rather useless filter, which is carried on the gun. The water was so foul that the filter had to be opened and cleaned every four strokes. At 12.45 we harnessed up and started again. I am writing now at one of the periodical halts, when every one dismounts. A soft, mild sunset is laying changing tints of colour on the veldt, rose, amber, fawn, with deep blue shadows. When I speak of _veldt_ I mean simply grass-land, but not a hint of green in it. The natural colour at this season is buff, with a warm red undertone. When the setting or rising sun catches this the effect is exquisite. There is a rumour that a Boer patrol has been sighted, and a prisoner captured. I believe there is no doubt that De Wet and his force are between us and Lindley, and will have a shot at this convoy. We were warned that we might be attacked to-night. At dark we bivouacked, and, soon after, our right section, under the Major, whom we parted from at Kroonstadt, marched in. They had been sent out with a relief column to Honing Spruit, where a train had been attacked and the troops in it hard pressed. The Boers cleared off just before the Battery came up, which then had followed and overtaken us. Another bothersome hunt after water for the horses in the dark. All we could find was a stagnant pool, which ought to poison those that drank of it. Some more troops also joined the column. Colonel Brookfield (M.P.) is in command of the whole force. _June 25_--_(My birthday)._--Up at 4.15 A.M. Off at 5.15, as part of the advance guard of the column, the Bushmen and Yeomanry scouting far ahead, and the infantry on either flank in a widely extended line. We all admired the steady regularity of their marching, heavily weighted as they were. Our own gunners also have a good deal of walking to do. "Dismount the detachment" is the order at all up-grades, and at difficult bits of the road. Drivers dismount at every halt, however short, but on the move are always safe in the saddle. We marched over the same undulating land, with occasional drifts and _spruits_, which are very hard on the horses. The convoy behind looked like a long sinuous serpent. Watered at seven at a farm. Williams was sent out to forage, and bought a sheep for 15s., chickens at 1s. 6d., and a turkey. Gunners were sent out to pillage a maize field. Then we marched on some miles to the top of a steep ridge looking down upon a lower plain, the road crossing a deep ravine at the bottom by a big steel bridge. We took up a commanding position at the top, overlooking the bridge, so as to cover the convoy while it descended and crossed. An attack seems likely,--a curious birthday treat!--4 P.M.--Nothing has happened. An interminable procession of ox and mule-waggons files down the pass; it is a much larger convoy than I thought, and must have received additions since we started. At this rate we shall be ages getting to Lindley. One no longer wonders at the slowness of an army's movement out here. The standard of speed is the trek-ox, lurching pensively along under his yoke, very exacting about his mealtimes, and with no high notions about supreme efforts, when he has to get his waggon out of a bad drift. He often prefers to die, and while he is making up his ponderous mind he may be blocking up a column, miles in length, of other waggons in single file. We talk of the superior mobility of the Boers; but it puzzles me to know how they got it, for oxen and mules are their standards of speed too, I suppose. At dark, when all had passed, we followed ourselves down an abominably dangerous road, and over the bridge to camp, which looked and sounded like a big busy town, scintillating with fires and resonant with the yells of black drivers packing their waggons. _June 26_--_Eight A.M._--We are in action, my waggon at present halted in the rear. We harnessed up at 3.45 this morning, and marched some miles to the top of another hill, overlooking another plain, a crescent of steep kopjes on the left, occupied by Boers. The convoy halted just as a spattering rifle-fire ahead struck on the still morning air (it was just dawn), and the chatter of a Maxim on the left flank. We were all rather silent. A staff-officer galloped up, "Walk,--March," "Trot," rang out to the Battery, and we trotted ahead down the hill, plunged down a villainous spruit, and came up on to the level, under a pretty heavy fire from the kopje on our left. For my part, I was absorbed for these moments in a threatened mishap to my harness, and the dread of disgrace at such an epoch. My off horse had lost flesh in the last few days, and the girth, though buckled up in the last hole, was slightly too loose. We had to gallop up a steep bit of ascent out of the drift, and to my horror, the pack-saddle on him began to slip and turn, so I had to go into action holding on his saddle with my right hand, in a fever of anxiety, and at first oblivious of anything else. Then I noticed the whing of bullets, and dust spots knocked up, and felt the same sort of feeling that one has while waiting to start for a race, only with an added chill and thrill. The guns unlimbered, and came into action against the kopje, and we and the limbers trotted about 300 yards back, and are waiting there now. A gunner and a driver slightly wounded, and some horses hit. One bullet broke our wheel-driver's whip. Our shrapnel are bursting beautifully over the Boer lines. _(Later.)_--We have just taken our waggon up to the firing line, and brought back an empty one with our team. _(Later.)_--We have been back to the convoy, and refilled the empty waggon from the reserve, and are back again. The Boers seem to be dislodged from the ridge, and infantry have occupied it. I hear some Boers made for a farm, but we plumped a shell right into it, and they fled. The convoy is now coming on, and crossing the drift with discordant yells. Infantry and mounted infantry pressing on both flanks. Our guns have taken up another position farther on. The Captain asked after the broken whip, and told us we could not have gone into action better. He has been riding about all day on his stumpy little Argentine, radiant and beaming, with his eternal pipe in his mouth! _(Later.)_--We marched on a few miles, and bivouacked, while the whole convoy slowly trailed in, and formed up in laager. This operation, and the business of posting the troops for the night, is horribly tedious. It has to be done in the dark, and one is continually mounting and dismounting, and moving on a bit, and making impossible wheels round mules and waggons. Probably we get too small a space allotted, and the horses are all jammed together in the picket-lines, causing a vast loss of temper at unharnessing. After unharnessing and feeding horses, which you have to look sharp about, or you will miss coffee, every one crowds round the cook's fire, and looks with hungry eyes at the pots. Coffee or tea, biscuits and tinned meat, are served out. You are ravenous, as you have lived on chance scraps during the day. Then you make your bed, stretching your blankets behind your harness, standing a saddle on end, and putting a feed-bag behind it for a pillow. Next morning's feeds have first to be made up, and then you sleep like a log, if you can, that is. I generally have to get up at least once, and walk about for the cold. Fellows who are lucky enough to have fuel make small fires (an anthill provides a natural stove), and cook soup, but it's hard to spare the water, which is as precious as gold in this country. Besides, drivers are badly placed for such luxuries; their work is only begun when camp is reached, while gunners can go off and find beds under waggons, etc. It is the same all day, except, of course, in action, when the gunners have all the work. At all halts we have to be watching a pair of horses, which have manifold ways of tormenting one. To begin with, they are always hungry, because they get little oats and no hay. One of mine amuses himself by chewing all leather-work in his reach, especially that on the traces, and has to be incessantly worried out of it. The poor brutes are standing all the time on rich pasture, and try vainly to graze. They are not allowed to, as it involves taking out big bits, undoing wither straps, etc., and you have to be ready to start at a moment's notice. There are thousands of acres of rich pasture all about, vast undeveloped wealth. Farms are very few and far between; mostly dismal-looking stone houses, without a trace of garden or adornment of any sort. There was a load off all our minds this night, for the H.A.C. had at last been in action and under fire. All went well and steadily. My friend Ramsey, the lead-driver of our team, brushed his teeth at the usual intervals. I don't believe anything on earth would interfere with him in this most admirable duty. He does it with miraculous dexterity and rapidity at the oddest moments, saying it rests him! _June 27._--Up at 3.45 and harnessed, but it was almost dawn before our unwieldy convoy creaked and groaned into motion. We are rearguard to-day, with some Yeomanry, Australians, and Buffs, but just now we were ordered up to the front, trotted past the whole convoy, and are now in action; limbers and waggons halted behind a rise. The Boers have guns in action to-day, and a shell of theirs has just burst about 400 yards to our right, and others are falling somewhere near the guns ahead. It seems to be chiefly an artillery duel so far, but a crackling rifle fire is going on in the distance. _(Midday.)_--The convoy is closing up and getting into a sort of square. We have changed positions several times. Shells have fallen pretty close, but have done no damage. Some of them burst, others only raise a cloud of dust. We are already getting used to them, but the first that fell made us all very silent, and me, at any rate, very uncomfortable. Later we relieved ourselves by a rather overstrained interest in their probable direction and point of impact. We were standing waiting, of course, with no excitement to distract our minds. _(2 P.M.)_--A curious feature in the scene is the presence of veldt fires all over the place, long lines of dry grass blazing. Possibly the Boers start them to hide their movements. The Boers evidently want this convoy; they are right round our rear and on both flanks; all our troops are engaged. The convoy is being moved on, and my section is left as rear-guard. The smoke of burning grass has blotted out the sun, and it is cold. The sun is a red ball, as on a foggy day in London. Shells have ceased to fall here, but a hill on the left is being heavily shelled by the enemy, and the infantry on it are in retreat. _(4 P.M.)_--We are slowly getting on, covering the convoy's rear, the enemy pressing hard. Our guns are now firing over our dismounted troops. Williams has just ridden up. He has been orderly to the Captain; a shell fell just by his horse without bursting. I have been fearfully sleepy, and have snatched a few minutes of oblivion, during halts, on the ground by my horses, who are as tired as I am, poor beasts. _(Written later.)_--The Boers, as it seemed to me (but what does one know?), had us in a very tight place, but they never pressed home their attack, and the convoy was rushed through the remaining seven miles to Lindley. We covered its retirement till dark, and then followed it with all speed. I shan't forget those seven miles. They included the worst drifts of the whole journey, and getting up and down them in pitch-dark was unpleasant work and a pretty severe test of driving. Three mule-waggons of the convoy had to be abandoned at one place, but the rest of it reached Lindley safely, as did we. It was rather like making a port after a storm when the lights appeared and a bugle blowing "first post" was heard. We passed some silent houses, groped into an open space, picketed horses, chucked off harness, and slept by it, dog-tired. We had hoped for a good night's rest, but, the last thing, orders went round for reveillé at four. _June 28._--It was icy cold at 4 A.M., and one's fingers could hardly cope with straps and links. I had done one horse, when welcome orders came that my waggon was not wanted. So I sat by the cook's fire and cooked in the lid of my mess-tin a slice of meat I had hastily hacked from an ox's carcase at our last camp. Also some Maggi soup. About sunrise the limbers returned, having left the guns and gunners in position on a hill somewhere, where they shot at any Boers they saw, and were sniped at themselves. A slack day for the rest of us, and I had a good sleep. Of course we are all delighted that the days of waiting are over, and that we have had fighting and been of use. Everything has gone well, and without a single hitch, and we were congratulated by the Brigadier. As for De Wet, the plucky Boer who is fighting down here, now that his cause is hopeless, we have sworn to get him to London and give him a dinner and a testimonial for giving us the chance of a fight. Of course the whole affair was trivial enough, and I don't suppose will ever figure in the papers, though it was interesting enough to us. I should be sorry to have to describe what went on as a whole. I just wrote what was under my eye during halts, and to grasp the plan of the thing, when distances are so great and the enemy so invisible, is impossible. But, as far as I could see, it was pretty well managed. We had no casualties yesterday, chiefly owing to shells not bursting. The Infantry and Yeomanry had some killed and wounded, but I don't know the numbers. Some of the Boer practice was excellent. Once we watched them shell some Infantry on a kopje, every shell falling clean and true on the top and reverse edge of it. The Infantry had to quit. But on the whole I was at a loss to understand their artillery tactics, which seemed desultory and irresolute. They would get our range or that of the convoy and then cease firing, never concentrating their fire on a definite point. Their ammunition too was evidently of an inferior quality. I saw no shrapnel fired. It is all very novel, laborious, exciting, hungry work, and perhaps the strangest sensation of all is one's passive ignorance of all that is happening beyond one's own narrow sphere of duty. An odd discovery is that one has so much leisure, as a driver, when in action. There is plenty of time to write one's diary when waiting with the teams. One pleasant thing is the change felt in the relaxation of the hard-and-fast regulations of a standing camp. Anything savouring of show or ceremonial, all needless _minutiæ_ of routine, disappear naturally. It is business now, and everything is judged by the standard of common-sense. The change of life since we left Bloemfontein has been complete; no tents, no washing, no undressing, only biscuit and tinned-meat for food, and not too much of that, very little sleep, etc.; but we have all enjoyed it, for it is the real thing at last. The lack of water was the only really trying thing, and the cold at night. We had fresh meat for supper this night from a sheep commandeered on the march, and weren't we ravenous! Another very cold night, but the joyful orders for reveillé at 7 A.M. _June 29._--"Stables" and harness-cleaning all the morning. In the afternoon we were sent to graze our horses outside the town with a warning to look out for sniping. As I write I am sitting under a rock, the reins secured to one of my legs, which accounts for bad writing. Lindley is below, a mere little village with a few stores, which nevertheless was for a proud week the capital of the Free State. For some time past it has been closely besieged by the Boers, and entirely dependent on one or two armed convoys like ours. The Boers have been shelling the town most days, and fighting goes on outside nearly every day. The day before we relieved it the Boers made an effort to take it, and our Infantry lost heavily. There was a garrison of about a thousand, I think, before we came. There is nothing eatable to be bought at any price, and no communication with the outside world, except by despatch-riders. I was talking yesterday to two Yeomanry fellows who had escaped from one of the Boer commandos. They had lived entirely on fresh meat, and were devouring dog-biscuit by our cook's fire like famished terriers. They said they had been well treated. _June 30._--Not much rest was allowed us. Reveillé was at 4 A.M., with orders for our section, under Lieutenant Bailey, to march half-way to Kroonstadt again, as part of an escort for a return convoy carrying sick and wounded. Started at five with Yeomanry, Bushmen, and Buffs, as before, but were delayed two hours outside town, waiting for some traction-engines, which puffed asthmatically at the bottom of a drift, unable to get up. Marched rapidly for sixteen miles (most of the country burnt by veldt fires), over the same difficult road, and (for a luxury) encamped while it was still light. Washed in a river with great zest. Fresh mutton for supper. Turned in with orders for reveillé at 4 A.M. But at 11.30 P.M. we were all awakened by "Come on, get up and harness up." "Why, what's the time?" "11.30." However, up we got, not knowing why, tossed on harness, and started straight away back for Lindley, supposing they were being attacked. It was a hard march over those detestable drifts, in pitch dark and freezing cold, with one halt only of ten minutes. The centre driver has a trying time in bad places of the road, for at steep bits on the down grade, if the wheelers get at all out of control, he has the pole bearing down on him, either punching his horses and making them kick, or probing for vulnerable places in his own person. He has the responsibility of keeping his traces just so that they are not slack, and yet that the horses are not in draught and pulling the gun or waggon down. The lead-driver has to pick the road and, with one eye on the gun just ahead, to judge a pace which will suit the wheel-driver, who at such moments must have a fairly free hand. All three live always in a fierce glare of criticism from the gunners riding behind, who in their nasty moments are apt to draw abusive comparisons between the relative dangers of shell-fire and riding on a waggon. By the way, there is always a healthy antagonism between gunners and drivers. When one class speaks of the other there is generally an adjective prefixed. _July 1._--_Sunday._--We marched into camp before dawn blear-eyed and hungry, to find to our disgust that there was no hurry after all. It seems an order had been received for the whole Battery to march away this morning, to join some column or other, so they sent a messenger to recall us. Meanwhile a countermanding order came to "Stand fast." So here I am, at 8 A.M., sitting against my harness in the blessed sunlight, warm, fed, sleepy, and rather irritated. What is going to happen I don't know. It's no use writing the rumours. _(Later.)_--A sudden order to harness up. Did so, and were all ready, when we were told to take it off again. It seems General Clements has come up near here with a division, and they want to finish off De Wet at once. A quiet day. I foraged in the town in the afternoon, but got nothing, though I heard of mealy biscuits at one cottage. Later on we found a cottage kept by an Englishwoman, who gave us delicious tea at 6d. a cup, and again in the evening porridge at 6d. a plate. There was a number of mixed soldiers in there, all packed round the room, which was dark and smoky, and full also of squalling children. The way she kept her temper and fed us was wonderful. It is safe to say that nowadays one can always eat any amount at any time of day. The service biscuit is the best of its kind, I daresay, but not very satisfying, and meat is not plentiful. We have never yet been on full rations. Five is the full number of biscuits. We generally get three or four. Sometimes the meat-ration is a "Maconochie," which is a tin of preserved meat and vegetables of a very juicy and fatty nature, most fascinating when you first know it, but apt to grow tinny and chemical to the palate. CHAPTER VI. BETHLEHEM. _July 2._--Reveillé 5 A.M. Harnessed up, and afterwards marched out and joined a column of troops under General Paget. We have with us some Yorkshire Light Infantry, Munster Fusiliers, Yeomanry, Bushmen, and the 38th Field Battery. Where we are going we don't know, but I suppose after De Wet.[A] [Footnote A: Without knowing it at the time, we were joining in General Hunter's big enveloping movement, by which all the scattered commandos in this part of the Free State were to be driven into the mountains on the Basuto border and there surrounded. Paget's brigade (the 20th) was part of the cordon, which was gradually drawn closer by the concentric marches of columns under him, and General Clements, Rundle, Boyes, Bruce Hamilton, and Hunter himself. The climax was the surrender of about 5000 Boers under Prinsloo at Fouriesberg on July 29, a success much impaired by the escape of De Wet from the fast-closing trap. For the sake of clearness I append this note; but I leave my diary as I wrote it, when our knowledge of events rarely went beyond a foggy speculation.] _(8.30 A.M.)_--We have marched for about two hours to the top of a range of hills which surrounds the town; there is firing on the right and left, and the Infantry are advancing in extended order. Our right section has just gone into action. A big drove of wild-looking Boer ponies has come stampeding up to the column with some of our mounted men vainly trying to corner them. _(1.30 P.M.)_--The battle is, as usual, unintelligible to the humble unit, but the force is advancing slowly, the Yorkshire Light Infantry and Munster Fusiliers on either hand of us. Our section is in action now. We have just taken our waggon to the firing line and brought back the team. The corporal's horse stepped in a hole just as we were reaching the guns and turned a complete somersault. He is all right, but his was our second mishap, as the near wheeler fell earlier in the day, and the driver was dragged some yards before we could stop. The ground is very dangerous, full of holes, some of them deep and half-covered with grass. Another driver is up, but the former is only a bit shaken, I think. Our section has silenced a Boer gun in three shots, at 4200 yards, a good bit of work, and a credit to Lieutenant Bailey as a judge of range. The right section also cleared the kopje they fired at, but had a narrow escape afterwards, coming suddenly, when on the move, under the fire of Boer guns, of whose presence they were ignorant, the shells falling thick but not bursting. Bivouacked at four on the veldt. The Boers had retired from the line they held. A long ride to water after unharnessing; nothing much to eat. Williams and I have taken to ending the day by boiling tea (from tablets) over the embers of the cook's fire, or on one of our own if we have any fuel, which is very seldom. How the cooks get their wood is a mystery to me. The Kaffir drivers always have it, too, though there are no visible trees. We always seem to sit up late, short though our nights are. A chilly little group gathers sleepily round the embers, watching mess-tins full of nondescript concoctions balanced cunningly in the hot corners, and gossiping of small camp affairs or large strategical movements of which we know nothing. The brigade camp-fires twinkle faintly through the gloom. A line of veldt-fire is sure to be glowing in the distance, looking like the lights of a sea-side town as seen from the sea. The only sound is of mules shuffling and jingling round the waggons. The "cook-house" is still the source of rumours, which are wonderfully varied. There is much vague talk now of General Clements and a brigade being connected somehow with our operations. But we know as little of the game we are playing as pawns on the chessboard. Our tea is strong, milkless, and sugarless, but I always go to sleep the instant I lie down, even if I am restless with the cold later. _July 3._--Reveillé at 4.30. Our section, under Lieutenant Bailey, started at once for a steep kopje looming dimly about three miles away. The right section, with the Major and Captain, left us and went to another one. We had a tough job getting our guns and waggons up. _(8 A.M.)_--Just opening fire now. A Boer gun is searching the valley on our left, but they can't see the limbers and waggons. _(8.30.)_--The Boers seem to have some special dislike to our waggon. They have just placed two shells, one fifty yards in front of it, and the other fifty yards behind; one of them burst on impact, the other didn't. The progress of a shell sounds far off like the hum of a mosquito, rising as it nears to a hoarse screech, and then "plump." We mind them very little now. There is great competition for the fragments, as "curios." It is cold, grey, and sunless today. Last night there was heavy rain, and our blankets are wet still. It seems the Boers are firing a Krupp at 7000 yards; our guns are only sighted up to 5000 yards, but we have managed to reach them by sinking the trail in the ground, and other devices. _(12.30 P.M.)_--A long halt here, with nothing doing. The Boer gun has ceased to fire, and we call it "silenced," possibly with truth, but the causes of silence are never quite certain. As far as I can make out, it was on the extreme left of their position, while our main attack is threatening their centre. It is raining hard, but we have made a roaring fire of what is the chief fuel in this country, dry cow-dung, and have made cocoa in our mess-tins, from a tin sent me a month ago; also soup, out of the scrapings of Maconochie tins. ----. What seemed likely to be a dull day turned out very exciting. About two a staff officer came up with orders, and we marched down from our kopje and attacked another one[A] (which I made out to be their centre), taking up several positions in quick succession. The Boers had a gun on the kopje, which we dislodged, and the infantry took the position. (About 2.30 it began to rain again and poured all the afternoon in cold, slashing torrents.) We finally went up the kopje ourselves, over a shocking bit of rocky ground near the top, fired on the retreating Boers from there, and then came down on the other side. Soon afterwards came an old story. It was about five, and had cleared up. A staff officer had said that there were no Boers anywhere near now, and that we were to march on and bivouac. We and the Munsters and some Yeomanry were marching down a valley, whose flanks were supposed to have been scouted, the infantry in column of companies, that is, in close formation, and all in apparent security. Suddenly a storm of rifle-fire broke out from a ridge on our right front and showed us we were ambushed. The Munsters were nearest to the ridge, about 600 yards, I should say. We were a bit further off. I heard a sort of hoarse murmur go up from the close mass of infantry, and saw it boil, so to speak, and spread out. Our section checked for a moment, in a sort of bewilderment (my waggon was close behind our gun at the time), but the next, and almost without orders, guns were unlimbered and whisked round, a waggon unhooked, teams trotting away, and shrapnel bursting over the top of the ridge in quick succession. All this time the air was full of a sound like the moaning of wind from the bullets flying across the valley, but strange to say, not a man of us was hit. Some of them were explosive bullets. The whole thing was soon over. Our guns peppered their quickest, and it was a treat to see the shrapnel bursting clean and true along the ridge. The infantry extended and lay down; some Yeomanry made a flank move, and that episode was over. It might have been serious, though. If they had held their fire undiscovered for ten minutes longer we might have been badly cut up, for we were steadily nearing the spur which they occupied. It is right to say, though, that our Lieutenant, having doubts about the safety of the place, had shortly before sent forward ground-scouts, of whom Williams was one, who would possibly have been able to warn us in time. Needless to say, it was not our duty to scout for the column. [Footnote A: The name of this kopje was Barking Kop, I believe, and we have since always applied it generally to the fighting on this day.] It was nearly dark now, a burning farm ahead making a hot glow in the sky, and we moved off to join the rest of the column with its unwieldy baggage-train and convoy, and all camped together, after the usual tedious ride to water horses at a muddy pool. They had had a very hard day and had done well, but were very tired. On days like this they often get no water till evening. A feed is ordered when a free interval seems likely, but the chances are that it is snatched off, and their bits thrust in again, half-way through. When we got in and rejoined our right section, all were full of a serious mishap to the 38th Field Battery, with which they had been acting on the left flank. Both were in action in adjoining fields, when a party of Boers crept up unseen and got within fifty yards of the 38th guns, shooting down men and horses. The 38th behaved splendidly, but all their officers were killed or wounded, a number of gunners, and many horses. Two guns were for a time in the hands of the Boers, who, I believe, removed the tangent sights. It appears that the M.I. escort of the Battery, owing, I suppose, to some misunderstanding, retreated. The situation was saved by Captain Budworth, of our Battery, who collected and brought up some mounted infantry, whether Yeomanry or Bushmen I am not clear about. They beat the Boers off, and our teams helped to take the guns out of action. We came off all right, with only one gunner slightly wounded. I was desperately hungry, and only coffee was issued, but later a sheep's carcase turned up from somewhere, and I secured a leg, and Williams some chops, which we promptly laid as they were on one of the niggers' wood fires and ate in our fingers ravenously. The leg I also cooked and kept for to-day (I am writing on the morning of the 4th), and it is hanging on my saddle. I was rather sleepless last night, owing to cramp from a drenched blanket, and got up about midnight and walked over to the remains of one of our niggers' fires. Crouching over the embers I found a bearded figure, which hoarsely denounced me for coming to its fire. I explained that it was _our_ fire, but that he was welcome, and settled down to thaw. It turned out to be a sergeant of the 38th Battery. I asked something, and he began a long rambling soliloquy about things in general, in a thick voice, with his beard almost in the fire, scarcely aware of my presence. I can't reproduce it faithfully, because of the language, but it dealt with the war, which he thought would end next February, and the difference between Boer and British methods, and how our cavalry go along, heels down, toes in, arms close to side, eyes front, all according to regulation, keeping distance regardless of ground, while the Boer cares nothing as long as he gets there and does his work. He finished with the gloomy prophecy that if we didn't join Clements to-morrow we should never "get out of this." Not knowing who or where Clements was, I asked him about the affair of that day, and produced a growling storm of expletives; then he muttered something about the Victoria Cross and driving a team out of action, asked the way to his lines, to which I carefully directed him, and drifted off in the opposite direction. By the way, this General Clements seems to be a myth, and the talk now is of Rundle and Ian Hamilton, who are supposed to be getting round De Wet from other quarters, while we drive him up this way into their arms. It is said we are going to Bethlehem. I forgot an important event of the evening in the arrival of a bag of mails, parcels only, brought by a convoy from Kroonstadt, which has just come in. To my delight I got one with a shirt and socks (which I at once put on over the others), cigarettes (a long exhausted luxury), Liebig, precious for evening soup, and chocolate, almost too good to eat for fear of getting discontented. We are on half rations of biscuit, which means three, and a tin of Maconochie each, a supply about enough to whet your appetite for one meal in a life like this, but it has to last the day of about seventeen hours. The ration is issued the night before, to eat as we please, and, of course, there is coffee soon after reveillé, and tea in the evening. There is a cupful of porridge also with the coffee, paid for by deduction from our pay, so that one starts in good fettle. I don't know why the whole column shouldn't get fresh meat every day, for the country is teeming with cattle, which are collected and driven along with the column in huge herds. Many of the farmhouses are smoking ruins, the enemy, after annexation, being rebels according to law, and not belligerents; but it seems to me that such a policy is to use a legal fiction for an oppressive end, for it is quite clear that this part of the Orange River Colony has never been conquered.[A] [Footnote A: I leave this as I wrote it, but drivers are not politicians, and doubtless there were special circumstances, such as treachery, concealed arms or sniping, to justify what at the best must be a doubtful policy; for a burnt farm means a desperate farmer.] _July 4._--_Wednesday._--Up at five after a bitterly cold night, but there was a long delay before starting. We are rear-guard to-day. Just before leaving an infantry man shot himself while cleaning his rifle. There was a little buzz and stir, and then all was quiet again. He was buried in half an hour. A dull day's marching. After about ten miles we halted to water horses and rest. While watering, the Boers sent over a futile shell from a big gun. On return we unhooked and grazed the horses. Things looked peaceful, and there was a warm sun, so I ventured to unstrap my kit-roll and spread my blankets out to dry. They were still wet from the rain of two nights ago. I had scarcely spread them out when "Hook in" was shouted, and back they had to go, half-folded, in a perilously loose bundle. (You can never count on five minutes, but it's worth trying.) At about 4.30 we and the 38th Battery trotted ahead about a mile and a half, and began shelling a ridge; but I think it was soon abandoned, for shortly after we limbered up and camped with the rest of the brigade, which had followed us. I am "stableman" to-day for three days. On the march this involves drawing sacks of forage from the Quartermaster Sergeant in the early morning and late evening, and serving out the oats to the drivers of the sub-division. It is not so irksome a duty as in a standing camp, but has its trying moments; for instance, when drivers are busied with bed-making or cocoa-cooking in the evening, and are deaf to your shouts of "D drivers, roll up for your feeds!" a camp-cry which has not half the effect of "Roll up for your coffee!" or, more electrical still, "Roll up for your rum!" _July 5._--We were up at 4.30, but as usual had to stand by our horses for over an hour, freezing our feet in the frosty grass before starting. Harnessing up with numbed fingers in the dark was a trying job. My harness sheets were stiff as boards with frozen dew, and I had to stamp them into shape for packing. I had a warm night, though. My bed is made thus: I place the two saddles on end, at the right distance for the length of my body, and facing inwards, that is, with the seats outwards; I leave the horse-blankets strapped on underneath them, as there is not much time to re-fold and re-strap them in the morning, and my head (pillowed on two feed-bags filled overnight for the early morning feed) goes in the hollow of one saddle, between the folds of the blanket, and my feet in the hollow of the other. The rest of each set of harness is heaped behind each saddle, and when the harness-sheets are spread over each set there is enough for the ends to lap over and make a roof for the head, and also for the feet. Then I wrap myself in my two blankets, and if an oatsack is obtainable, first get my feet into that. My waterproof sheet serves as counterpane. It is not wanted as a mattress, as no dew falls till the morning, and the ground is dry at bed-time. After rain, of course, it has to go beneath one. The great point is to keep your blankets as dry as you can, for, once wet with dew or rain, they remain wet, since we both start and arrive in the dark, and thus cannot count on drying them. It is a good plan before turning in to see that the horses in the lines near you are securely tied up, as it is vexatious to be walked on in the night by a heavy artillery horse; also to have all your kit and belongings exactly where you can lay hands on them in the dark. At reveillé, which, by the way, takes the shape of a rude shake from the picket of the night (there is no trumpet used in campaigning), you shiver out of your nest, the Sergeant-Major's whistle blows, and you at once feed your horses. Then you pack your off-saddle, rolling the ground-sheet, blankets, and harness-sheet, with the muzzles, surcingle-pads, hay-nets, etc., and strapping the roll on the saddle. Then you harness as fast as you can (generally helped by a gunner), make up two fresh feeds and tie them up in nose-bags on the saddle, and put on your belt, haversack, water-bottle, and other accoutrements. In the middle of this there will be a cry of "D coffee up!" and you drop everything and run with the crowd for your life to get that precious fluid, and the porridge, if there is any. You bolt them in thirty seconds, and run back to strap your mess-tin on your saddle, put the last touches to your harness, and hook in the team. Of course we sleep in our cloaks, and wear them till about eight, when the sun gets strength. Then we seize a chance to roll them at a halt, and strap them in front of the riding saddle. To return to to-day. It has been very inconclusive and unsatisfactory. We have marched about twelve miles, I think, with some long halts, in one of which we unhooked and rode to a pool some distance off to water horses. I have been fearfully sleepy all day. Two guns of the 38th Battery have joined us, and we march as a six-gun battery under Major McMicking. They have no officers fit for duty, and our Captain looks after them. In the evening some shrapnel began bursting on a ridge ahead, and we went up and fired a bit; but I suppose the Boers decamped, for we soon after halted for the night. It is said that the mythical Clements is now one march behind us, our scouts having met to-day, and that Bethlehem is three miles ahead, strongly held by De Wet. Other mythical generals are in the air. I am getting used to the state of blank ignorance in which we live. Perfect sunset in a clear sky. One of the charms of Africa is the long settled periods of pure unclouded sky, in which the sun rises and sets with no flaming splashes of vivid colours, but by gentle, imperceptible gradations of pure light, waning or waxing. And as for rain, when it is once over it is thoroughly over (at this season, at any rate). This night the darkness was soon lit up by a flaming farm. All desperately hungry, when it was announced that an extra ration of raw meat was to be served out. If I can't cook it, shall I eat it raw? To-morrow's ration is a pound of fresh cooked meat, instead of the eternal Maconochie. It was drawn to-night, and looked so good that I ate half of it at once, thus yielding to an oft-recurring temptation. Orders for reveillé at seven. Great joy. _July 6._--Reveillé was marked by a Boer shell coming over the camp, followed by others in quick succession, real good bursting shrapnel, a rare thing for the Boers to possess, but they came from a long range and burst too high. Nobody took the least notice, and we went on harnessing and breakfasting as usual. It is strange how soon one gets a contempt for shells. In about half an hour the firing stopped. We hooked in, but unhooked again, and rode to water. There is some delay; waiting for Clements, perhaps. I write this sitting by my horses in a hot sun, with the water frozen to a solid lump in the bottle at my back, through the felt cover, and after being under a harness sheet all the night. Had a jolly talk with some Paddies of the Munster Fusiliers, about Ireland, etc. They were miserable, "fed up," but merry; that strange combination one sees so much of out here. They talked about the revels they would have when they got home, the beef, bacon, and stout, but chiefly stout. We have already learnt to respect and admire the infantry of our brigade, and I think the confidence is mutual. (Starting.) _(4.30)._--We have had a hard day's marching a long distance out on the right flank. There is a biggish battle proceeding. I think Clements's brigade has joined ours, for our front is some miles in length, with the wavy lines of khaki figures advancing slowly and steadily, covered by artillery fire. The 38th are with us. We have been in action several times in successive positions, but the chief attack seems to be on a steep conical kopje in the centre, behind and below which lies Bethlehem, I believe. It is just dark, but heavy rifle-firing is still going on in front. One of our gunners has been shot in the knee. We camped near our last firing position, but waited a long time for our transport and its precious freight of cooks and "dickseys" (camp-kettles). Williams and I ruthlessly chopped down parts of a very good fence, and made a fire with the wood and a lot of dry mealy stalks, which burn furiously. Then we and Ramsey cooked our meat in our mess-tin lids, and made cocoa with water which Ramsey fetched from some distance. It was a thick brown fluid, and froze while we were waiting to put it on, but it tasted excellent. _July 7._--Reveillé at 3.45. We marched out about a mile and waited for the dawn. _7 A.M._--At first dawn firing began, and we went into action at once, as did the whole line of infantry. A tremendous fusillade of shells and bullets is now being poured upon the position in front, and chiefly on the central conical kopje. My waggon is halted, waiting to go up. The sun is just getting strength, warming our numbed feet, and spiriting away the white frost-mantle that the land always wears at dawn. _(3 P.M.)._--Guns, Maxims, and rifles hailed lead into the Boer trenches for a long time, and then the infantry seized them, and the Boers retired. The practice of the 38th and our guns seemed to me to be very good. We have also a five-inch lyddite gun (Clements brought it), which sent up huge clouds of brown dust where the shell struck. We have now advanced over very heavy ground to the late Boer position, halted, and ridden some way to water down a precipitous slope, into a long, rocky hollow. From this point the country seems to change entirely to steep, rocky hills and hollows, rising and increasing to the whole Drakensberg range, which is blue and craggy on the sky-line. They say the Boers have evacuated Bethlehem with a baggage train three miles long. I don't know why we are not following them up. Perhaps the mounted infantry are. Our horses are done up. It was cruel work spurring and lashing them over heavy ploughed land to-day. _July 8._--Rest at last. It is Sunday morning, and we are all lying or sitting about, bathed in warm sunshine, waiting for orders, but it seems we shan't move to-day. My blankets are all spread out, getting a much-wanted drying, but what I chiefly want is a wash. I have had three imperfect ones since leaving Bloemfontein and one shave, and my boots off for about ten minutes now and then. _(3 P.M.)._--Nothing on to-day. I have had a wash in a thimbleful of water, and shaved, and feel another man. They gave us an hour of stables, but the horses certainly needed it, as they never get groomed now, and are a shaggy, scraggy-looking lot. I'm glad to say mine are quite free from galls and sore backs. As one never sees their backs by daylight, it is interesting to get a good look at them at last. They are very liable to sore backs (partly owing to the weight of the military saddle), if there is any carelessness in folding the blanket beneath the saddle. It has been a real hot day, and yet there was thick ice on the pool we watered at this morning. As to yesterday, it appears that De Wet and his army effected a safe retreat, but our General was pleased with the day's work, and congratulated us and the 38th. We put one Boer gun at least completely out of action, and it was captured by the infantry. The infantry lost but few that day, but rather heavily the day before, especially the Munsters. Paget is already very popular with us. We trust his generalship and we like the man, for he seems to be one of us, a frank, simple soldier, who thinks of every man in his brigade as a comrade. I understand now what an enormous difference this makes to men in the ranks. A chance word of praise dropped in our hearing, a joking remark during a hot fight (repeated affectionately over every camp-fire at night), any little touch of nature that obliterates rank, and makes man and general "chums" for the moment; such trifles have an effect on one's spirits which I could never have believed possible, if I had not felt their charm. I wonder if officers know it, but it takes nothing for them to endear themselves to men. It seems to be beyond doubt that our guns are a success, but their special ammunition is a source of great difficulty. We have stacks of it at Bloemfontein, but cannot carry much about with us, and of course the ammunition column with its fifteen-pounder shells is of no use to us. We have been short after every action, and have to depend on precarious waggonfuls, coming by convoy from somewhere on the railway. They say General Hunter and a division is concentrating here too, and a large force is visible in the valley, marching up. They are flooding us with fresh meat to-day, by way of a change. It is said that Paget has ordered a certain number of sheep and cattle to be slaughtered daily for the brigade. _(Later)._--I had scarcely written the above lines when the order came to harness up at once. We did so, and were soon off; the sections separated, ours making for a steep hill about three miles away, on which we were ordered to take post. It was an awkward climb in the gathering darkness, with drag-ropes on the upper wheels, when moving along a very steep slope. A final rush of frantic collar work, and we were on a flat plateau, where we unlimbered the guns, so as to command the valley, and camped near them. I was on picket duty this night, and quite enjoyed it, though I had one three-hour spell at a go. It was warmer than usual, with a bonnie moon in a clear sky, a dozen veldt-fires reddening in the distance, mysterious mists wreathing about the valley beneath, and the glowing embers of a good wood-fire on which to cook myself some Maggi soup. CHAPTER VII. BULTFONTEIN. _July 9._--A delicious, warm day. Reveillé at six. I am afraid it looks as if we were to be kept on this lonely hill-top for some time. It's true we deserve a rest, for we have been on the move for some time; but I would much prefer to march on and see the last of De Wet. After campaigning, the routine of a standing camp seems dull and irksome. We have just shifted our camp a few hundred yards, bringing it to the very brow of the hill, which drops straight down into the valley. In fact, it is below the brow, and the horses are on a most awkward slant. The Munsters are camped just above us. Below, and about two miles away, lies Bethlehem, with hills behind it, and the mountain range mistily seen behind all. Unlike Lindley, this is the first time Bethlehem has been occupied by the British. Williams has just come in from a foraging expedition he was sent on. He got mealy flour for the battery, and a chicken for ourselves, and had had cigarettes and marmalade with the Lifeguards, who, with the whole of Hunter's division, are camped near here. He also got some Kaffir bread from a kraal, a damp, heavy composition, which, however, is very good when fried in fat in thin slices. We ate our tea sitting on rocks overlooking the valley, and at dark a marvellous spectacle began for our entertainment, a sight which Crystal-Palace-goers would give half-a-crown for a front place to see. As I have said, all day long there are casual veldt-fires springing up in this country. Just now two or three began down in the valley, tracing fine golden lines in spirals and circles. The grass is short, so that there is no great blaze, but the effect is that of some great unseen hand writing cabalistic sentences (perhaps the "Mene, Mene" of De Wet!), with a pen dipped in fire. This night there was scarcely a breath of wind to determine the track of the fires, or quicken their speed, and they wound and intersected at their own caprice, describing fantastic arcs and curves from which one could imagine pictures and letters. The valley gradually became full of a dull, soft glow, and overhung with red, murky smoke, through which the moon shone down with the strangest mingling of diverse lights. Very suddenly a faint breeze began to blow in from the valley directly towards our camp. At once the aimless traceries of fine flame seemed to concentrate into a long resolute line, and a wave of fire, roaring as it approached, gained the foot of the hill, and began to climb it towards us. Watchful eyes had been on the lookout. "Drivers, stand to your horses," was shouted. "Out with your blankets, men," to our gunners and the infantry behind, and in an instant the chosen sons of Cork were bounding out of their lines and down the hill, and belabouring the fire with blankets and ground-sheets and sacks. They seemed to think it a fine joke, and raised a pæan of triumph when it was got under. "Wan more victory," I heard one say. _July 10._--Slack day, most of it spent in grazing the horses. For this duty each man takes four horses, so that only half of us need go; but on the other hand, if you stay, you may come in for a "fatigue," which it requires some insight to predict. Beyond that, our whole energies were concentrated on cooking our meals, raw meat only being served out. Williams and I borrowed a camp-kettle from the Munsters, and cooked our mutton with a pumpkin which we had commandeered. The weather is a good deal warmer. We are camped near the scene of a hard stand made by the Boers, dotted with trenches and little heaps of cartridge-cases, and also unused cartridges. I found one complete packet sewn up in canvas roughly and numbered. In most cases they are Lee-Metfords, and not Mausers. The Boers have, of course, captured quantities of our rifles and ammunition in convoy "mishaps" of various dates. Spent the evening in trying cooking experiments with mealy flour and some Neave's Food, which one of us had. One longs for a change of diet from biscuit and plain meat, which, without vegetables, never seem to satisfy. Even salt has been lacking till to-day, and porridge has ceased. It was announced that a convoy was to leave for Kroonstadt the same night, taking wounded and mails, and I hurriedly wrote two notes. I am afraid we are here for some time. I wish I could hear from Henry. _July 11._--Reveillé at 6.30. Stables, grazing, exercise, and more stables, till 1.30, and grazing again in the afternoon. Sat up late at night over embers of cook's fire, talking to a Munster sergeant about the last two days' fighting and other experiences of his. They had thirty-two casualties on the second day, including four officers wounded. All sorts of rumours to-day: that we stop a month on this hill; that we go to Capetown on Friday; that we march to Harrismith and Durban in a few days, etc., etc. _July 12._--At breakfast, mealy porridge was served out with the coffee. It is eatable, but not pleasant without sugar. Williams and I got leave to spend the morning out, and walked to Bethlehem over the veldt. A rather nice little town, but all the stores shut, and looking like a dead place. It was full of troops. Some stores had sentries over them, for there had been a great deal of looting. We hammered at a store door, and at last a man came out and said he had nothing to sell. However, he gave us leave to look round, which we did with an exhaustive scrutiny which amused him. At first there seemed to be nothing but linseed meal and mouth-organs, but by ferreting round, climbing to shelves, and opening countless drawers, we discovered some mealy flour, and reproached him for his insincerity. He protested that it was all he had to live on, but at last consented to sell us some, and some mixed spices, the only other eatable he had, besides a knife and fork, braces and sponges. Then we tried another store. A crusty, suspicious old fellow let us grudgingly in, locked the door, and made the same protests. We were just going when I descried some bottles on a distant shelf. He sourly brought them down. They were Mellin's Food for Infants, and we bought six at half a crown each; also some mixed herbs, and essence of vanilla. Then we made a house-to-house visitation, but only got some milk from an Englishwoman, who was so full of stories of Boer rapacity that she forgot our wants, and stood, cup in hand, complaining about eight ponies they had taken, while we were deaf and thirsty. The whole town had an English appearance. They all abused De Wet. No fresh supplies had come in for nine months, and the whole place was stripped. On the whole, we thought we had done pretty well, as we had half a sack of things, and another one full of fuel laboriously collected on the way back. Rumours in the town were rife. All agreed we could do nothing till a supply-convoy comes in, now expected from Kroonstadt. We are fifty-four miles, across mountains, from Harrismith on the east, and seventy or eighty from Kroonstadt on the west. All supplies from the latter must come by ox-waggons over dozens of bad drifts, with raiding Boers about, and it is easy to see how an army might be starved before it knew it. We are very short now, I believe. It seems De Wet is ten miles off in the mountains, being watched by Broadwood's cavalry, and as soon as we can move I expect we shall go for him. Grazing in the afternoon. Williams and I played picquet, lying by our horses. This is always rather a precarious amusement, as the horses have a way of starting off suddenly to seek "pastures new," and you look up and find them gone, and have to climb rocks and view them out. We tie them all four close together, but there is generally one predominant partner who personally conducts the rest. In the evening we baked cakes of our mealy flour, adding Mellin's Food, mixed herbs, vanilla, and fat, and fried it in a fatty dish. It was very good, and was followed by meat fried in mealy crumbs, and later on, some mealy porridge and Mellin mixed. We tried Mellin alone first, but it seemed thin. We read the directions carefully, and used the proportions laid down for infants _over_ three months. I dare say it would have been all right had we been four months old, but being rather more mature, it seemed unsubstantial. Its main advantage is its sweetness. In this hungry life, one misses sugar more than anything. _July 13._--Reveillé 6.30, and grooming, while the infantry chaps sat up in their beds and watched us sarcastically. At nine, harness-cleaning for drivers, and grazing for gunners, but I have got a gunner who dislikes bare-back riding to do my harness while I graze. I am writing on the veldt; warm sunny day, pale blue sky--very pale.--Back to finish harness-cleaning. We always "grouse" at this occupation, as I believe all drivers do on active service. We don't polish steel, but there is a wonderful lot of hard work in rubbing dubbin into all the leather. It is absolutely necessary to keep it supple, especially such parts as the collar, girths, stirrup-leathers, reins, etc. Grazing again all the afternoon. The horses have been on half rations of oats since we came here, so I suppose it is necessary. I was sitting writing by my horses, when a cart rattled by. Some one shouted, "Anything to sell?" It stopped, and there was a rush. In it was a farmer and a rascally old Yeomanry sergeant who had been buying bread for his men, and now sold us a loaf and a half for six shillings. There was no doubt about paying, and I got a third of one loaf, which we ate luxuriously in the evening. It was of mealy flour, and tasted velvety and delicious after eternal biscuit. We also organized a large bake of mealy cakes, which were a distressing failure, as the pan got red-hot. I am afraid food and eating have become very prominent in my diary. My only excuse is that they really are not disproportionately so, seeing their absorbing importance in the life of a soldier on active service, especially when he is far from a base and rations are short. Some Boer tobacco was kindly sent to us by the Major, and was very welcome, for 'baccy has been very scarce, and you see fellows picking the wet dottels out of the bottoms of their pipes and drying them in the sun for future use. Matches also are very precious; there are none to be got, and they are counted and cared for like sovereigns. The striking of a match is a public event, of which the striker gives previous notice in a loud voice. Pipes are filled, and every second in the life of the match is utilized. _July 14._--We came back to camp after the last spell to find that the gunners had shifted the lines to the bottom of the hill, on a dismal patch of burnt veldt. We dragged and carried our harness and kit down the rocks, and settled down again, after the usual fatigues connected with change of camp. Everybody very irritable, for this looked like a long stay, but after tea the word went round that we were off next day, to our great delight. We are sick of this place. _July 15._--We harnessed up at 6.30, and at 9.30 climbed to the top of the hill again, a hard pull for the horses. Then marched off with an escort of Highlanders, and halted on what it seems is the Senekal road, near to the site of our last camp after the battle. Here we joined our own right section and a large convoy with sick and wounded, besides the transport for our own brigade, which had mustered there too. They say we are going with the convoy to Senekal, which is quite unexpected, and a doubtful prospect. It seems to be taking us away from De Wet, and promises only hard marching and a dull time. We marched about ten miles entirely over burnt veldt, a most dismal country. There was a high cold wind, which drove black dust over us till we were all like Christy Minstrels. Camped at five. _July 16._--Reveillé at six. There was a deficiency in the meat ration, and at the last moment a sheep's carcase for each sub-division was thrown down to be divided. Ours was hacked to bits pretty soon, but raw meat on the march is a great nuisance, as there is no convenient place to pack it, and very likely much difficulty in cooking it. _1.15._--Marched from eight till one over very hilly country, mostly burnt. It seems there are Boers about; their laager was seen last night, and I believe our scouts are now in touch with them. The pet of the left section, a black and white terrier named Tiny, has been having a fine hunt after a hare, to the amusement of the whole brigade. She is a game little beast, and follows us everywhere. Jacko, of the right section, rides on a gun-limber. We passed a farm just now which was being looted. Three horsemen have just passed with a chair each, also picture-frames (all for fuel, of course), and one man carrying a huge feather mattress, also fowls and flour. Artillery don't get much chance at this sort of game. _(2 P.M.)._--Firing began on the right, and we were trotted up a long steep hill into action, bullets dropping round, but no one hit. In front are two remarkable kopjes, squat, steep, and flat-topped. We are shelling one of them.[A] [Footnote A: We were (as we heard long after) in action against De Wet's rear-guard. He had escaped from the cordon just before it was drawn tight, with a small and mobile force, and was now in retreat towards Lindley. Broadwood's cavalry pursued him, but in vain.] _(4.30 P.M.)._--This is the warmest work we have had yet. Our waggon is with the guns, unhooked, and we and the team are with the limbers in rear. There is no shelter, for the ground is level. Boer guns on a kopje have got our range, and at one time seemed much interested in our team, for four shells fell in a circle round us, from thirty to forty yards off. It was very unpleasant to sit waiting for the bull's-eye. _(4.35 P.M.)._--We have shifted the teams a bit, and got out of the music. To go back: we have been in action all the afternoon, shelling a kopje where the Boers have several guns. It is a wooded one, and they are very difficult to locate. They have a great advantage, as we are on the open level ground below, and they have been fairly raining shells round us. Fortunately most of them burst only on impact, and are harmless, owing to the soft ground, outside a very small radius; they seem to be chiefly segment shell, but I saw a good many shrapnel, bursting high and erratically. The aim was excellent, and well-timed shrapnel would have been very damaging. Still, we have been very lucky even so, only one man wounded, and no guns, waggons or horses touched. Once, when trotting out of action, a shell burst just beside our team--an excellent running shot for the sportsman who fired it! It made a deafening noise, but only resulted in chipping a scratch on my mare's nose with a splinter. She thought she was killed, and made a great fuss, kicking over the traces, etc.; so that we had to halt to put things straight. In this case, again, the veldt was alight everywhere, but it was only short grass, and we could trot safely through the thin lambent line of flame. I'm afraid we shall be short of ammunition soon. We started yesterday with only one hundred rounds per gun. Can it be that De Wet has got round here, and that we are up against his main position? What is happening elsewhere I don't know. There are a lot of cavalry, Yeomanry, infantry, etc., about somewhere, but here we seem alone with a small infantry escort, and no sound but the opposing guns. It shows how little a single Tommy sees or knows of a fight. At dark we marched away about a mile, and bivouacked. Williams and I minced our meat in one of the battery mincing machines, and made a grand dish of it over the cook's fire. There was a red glare over half the sky to-night, as though a Babylon were burning. It was only a veldt-fire. _July 17._--_Tuesday._--Reveillé at six. Our horses are grazing, harnessed. We are waiting for the Staff to say if this is a good position. It appears that De Wet retreated in the night, and went towards Lindley, which will complete the circle of the hunt. Our sections are separated again. The right, under Lieutenant Lowe, has gone on with the convoy to Senekal, and we and the 38th Battery (who have now fresh officers), and most of the brigade, have taken up a position just under one of the remarkable kopjes I spoke of, and are told we shall stay here four days. I suppose we are part of some endeavour to surround De Wet, but the whole operations seem to get more obscure. He has played this game for months in this part of the Free State, and is no nearer capture. Thinking over it, one's mental state during a fight is a strange paradox. I suppose it arises from the nature of my work, but, speaking for myself at least, I feel no animosity to any one. Infantry, no doubt, get the lust of battle, but I don't for my part experience anything like it, though gunners tell me they do, which is natural. One feels one is taking part in a game of skill at a dignified distance, and any feeling of hostility is very impersonal and detached, even when concrete signs of an enemy's ill-will are paying us noisy visits. The fact is--and I fancy this applies to all sorts and conditions of private soldiers--in our life in the field, fighting plays a relatively small part. I doubt if people at home realize how much in the background are its dangers and difficulties. The really absorbing things are questions of material welfare--sordid, physical, unromantic details, which touch you at every turn. Shall we camp in time to dry my blankets? Biscuit ration raised from three to three and a half! How can I fill my water-bottle? Rum to-night! Is there time for a snooze at this halt? Dare I take my boots off to-night? Is it going to rain? There are always the thousand little details connected with the care of horses and harness, and all along the ever-present problem of the next meal, and how to make it meet the demands of your hunger. I don't mean that one is always _worrying_ about such things. They generally have a most humorous side, and are a source of great amusement; on the other hand, they sometimes seem overwhelmingly important. Chiefly one realizes the enormous importance of food to a soldier. Shortage of sleep, over-marching, severe fighting, sink into insignificance beside an empty stomach. Any infantry soldier will tell you this; and it is on them, who form the bulk of a field force, that the strain really tells. Mounted men are better able to fend for themselves. (I should say, that an artillery _driver_ has in the field the least tiring work of all, physically; at home, probably the heaviest.) It is the foot-soldier who is the measure of all things out here. In the field he is always at the extreme strain, and any defect of organization tells acutely and directly on him. Knowing what it is to be hungry and tired myself, I can't sufficiently admire these Cork and Yorkshire comrades of ours, in their cheerful, steady marching. By the way, the General was giving orders close to me this morning. He said to our Major, "Your guns are the best--longest range; go up there." So the Lord Mayor is justified; but the special ammunition is a great difficulty. This, however, is only a matter of organization. As to the guns themselves, we have always understood that the pattern was refused by the War Office some years ago; it would be interesting to know on what grounds. They are very simple, and have some features which are obvious improvements on the 15-pr. There was a serious alarm of fire just now. There is a high wind, and the grass is unusually long. A fire started due to windward, and came rushing and roaring towards us. We drivers took the horses out of reach, and the gunners and infantry attacked it with sacks, etc. But nothing could stop it, though by great efforts they confined its width, so that it only reached one of our waggons and the watercart, which I don't think are damaged. No sooner well past than fellows began cooking on the hot embers.--Stayed here all day, and unharnessed and picketed in the evening. _July 18._--Reveillé at six, and harnessed up; but did nothing all the morning but graze the horses, and at twelve unharness and groom them. I believe we have to take it in turn with the 38th to be in readiness for instant departure. Firing is heard at intervals. We are, I believe, about twenty miles from Senekal, eighteen from Bethlehem, and thirty from Lindley. We call the place Bultfontein, from a big farm near, where the General has his head-quarters. Water is bad here; a thick, muddy pool, used also by cattle and horses. There has been some to-do about the sugar, and we now draw it separately ourselves, two ounces, and find it goes further. There is enough for the morning mealy porridge, which is very nasty without it. _July 19._--Reveillé at six. Harnessed up. Cleaning lines, and grazing all the morning. Grazing is now practically a standing order in all spare time. I believe it is necessary for the horses; but it acts as an irksome restraint on the men. When not on the move, we have the three stable-hours as in a standing camp, and often "grouse" over them a good deal; but the horses are certainly in wonderfully good condition with the care taken of them. The weather is warmer. Frost at night, but no dew; and a hot sun all the windless, cloudless day. Visited a pile of loot taken by some 38th men, and got a lump of home-made Boer soap, in exchange for some English tobacco. It has a fatty smell, but makes a beautiful white lather. They had all sorts of household things, and a wag was wearing a very _piquante_ piece of female head-gear. In the afternoon I got leave away, and washed in the muddy pool aforesaid. It seems odd that it can clean one; but it does. On the way back found a nigger killing a sheep, and bought some fat, which is indispensable in our cooking; if there is any over, we boil it and use it as butter. We cooked excellent mealy cakes in it in the evening. "We don't know where we are" to-day; we had mutton, rice, and cheese for dinner! _July 20._--Harnessed up as usual at dawn, and "stood by" all the morning. The rumour now is that De Wet never went to Lindley at all, but only a small commando, and that he is at Ficksburg, fifty miles away on the Basuto border. What an eel of a man! Clements's brigade arrived to-day from somewhere, and is just visible, camped a few miles away. The biscuit ration was raised from three to four and a half to-day. Five is the full number. Rations are good now. Cooked mutton is served out at night, and also a portion of raw mutton. Drawing rations is an amusing scene. It is always done in the dark, and the corporal stands at the pot doling out chunks. It is a thrilling moment when you investigate by touch the nature of the greasy, sodden lump put into your hand; it may be all bone, with frills of gristle on it, or it may be good meat. Complaints are useless; a ruthless hand sweeps you away, and the _queue_ closes up. Later on, a sheep's carcass (very thin) is thrown down and hewed up with a bill-hook. There is great competition for the legs and shoulders, which are good and tender. If you come off with only ribs, you take them sadly to the public mincing machine, and imagine they were legs when you eat the result. A rather absurd little modicum of jam is also served out, but it serves to sweeten a biscuit. There is rum once a week (in theory). Duff at midday the last few days. It is difficult to say anything general about rations, because they vary from day to day, often with startling suddenness, according to the conditions of the campaign. I was on picket this night, a duty which is far less irksome when in the field than when in a standing camp. Vigilance is of course not relaxed, but many petty rules and regulations are. There is no guard-tent, of course, in which you must stay when not on watch; as long as it is known where you can be found at a moment's notice, you are free in the off hours. You can be dressed as you like as long as you carry your revolver. By the way, I have lost my C.I.V. slouch hat long ago. It came of wearing a very unnecessary helmet, merely because it was served out. That involved carrying the hat in my kit, and it is wonderful how one loses things on the march, in the hurried nocturnal packings and unpackings, when every strap and article of kit must be to your hand in the dark, or you will be late with your horses and cause trouble. My great comfort is a Tam-o'-Shanter, which I wear whenever we are not in marching order. As for the revolver, I got into trouble with the Sergeant-Major this night for parading for picket without it. It was not worth while to explain that I had no ammunition for it; to take your "choking-off," and say nothing, is always the simplest plan. I once had one cartridge given me, but lost this precious possession. I suppose there was some hitch in the arrangements, for our revolvers are only cumbrous ornaments. There are three pickets and a corporal in charge; each of the three takes two hours on and four off, which works out at about four hours on watch for each, but less if reveillé is early. Personally I don't mind the duty much, even after a long day's march. On a fine still night two hours pass quickly in the lines, especially if one or two picket ropes break, and the horses get tied up in knots. If there is a lack of incident, you can meditate. Your head is strangely clear, and for a brief interval your horizon widens. In the sordid day it is often narrowed to a cow's. _July 21._--The same old game; harnessed up and remained ready. There was a sudden alarm about three, and we jumped into our kit, hooked in, and moved off, only to return in a few minutes. The General possibly gave the order to see if we were ready. He reviewed us before we went back, and seemed pleased. I heard him admiring the horses, and saying there was plenty of work in them. "You've been very lucky after that shell-fire the other day," he said. A much-needed convoy turned up from Bethlehem to-day with ammunition for us. We took our waggon down in the morning and filled it. A box of matches per man was also served out. In the evening came the joyful news that we were to start tomorrow, two days' fighting expected. Williams and I made a roaring fire of an ammunition box in honour of the occasion, and a grand supper of mealy-cakes and tea, and smoked and talked till late. Summing up our experiences, we agreed that we enjoyed the life thoroughly, but much preferred marching to sitting still. Both thoroughly fit and well, as nearly all have been since campaigning began. In numbers, I hear, we are twenty-two short of our full complement. One thing that makes a great difference is that campaigning has become routine. One doesn't worry over little things, as one did in early days, when one dreamt of nose-bags, bridoons, muzzles, etc., and the awful prospect of losing something important or unimportant, and when one harnessed-up in a fever of anxiety, dreading that the order "hook in" would find one still fumbling for a strap in the dark, in oblivion of the hot coffee which would be missed cruelly later. In a score of little ways one learns to simplify things, save time, and increase comfort. Not that one ever gets rid of a strong sense of responsibility. Entire charge, day and night, of two horses and two sets of harness, is no light thing. _July 22._--_Sunday._--Reveillé at six. Boot and saddle at 7.30; started at 8.30--a lovely day. Marched out about three miles with the brigade, and are now halted. An officer has just explained to the non-coms, what is going to happen. The Boer forces are in the mountains east of us, whence there are only three outlets, that is, passes (or neks, as the Dutch call them), one at each corner of a rough triangle. British columns are watching all these, Hunter, Paget, Clements, and Bruce Hamilton. Ours is called Slabbert's Nek, and to-day's move is a reconnaissance in force towards it, without likelihood of fighting. The delay here has been to allow every column to get into position, so that when an attack is made there may be no escape from the trap. The trap, of course, is a very big one, one corner, I believe, being at the Basuto border. Something like a whole army corps is engaged. It is most novel and unusual to know anything about what one is doing. It makes a marvellous difference to one's interest in everything, and I have often wondered why we are not told more. But I suppose the fact is that very few people know. We halted while the mounted troops made a long reconnaissance, and then came back to camp. It clouded up in the evening, and about eight began to rain, and suddenly, with no warning, to blow a hurricane. I rushed to my harness, covered up my kit in it, seized my blankets and bolted for a transport-waggon, dived under it, tripping over the bodies of the Collar-maker sergeant and his allies, breathlessly apologized, and disposed myself as best I could. But the rain drove in, and there seemed always to be mules on my feet; so, when fairly wet through, I crept out and joined a circle at a great fire which similar unfortunates had built, where we cooked two camp-kettles full of mysteriously commandeered tea and porridge, and made very merry till reveillé at 4.30 in the morning. CHAPTER VIII. SLABBERT'S NEK AND FOURIESBERG. _July 23._--Harnessed up at 4.30, and marched out in a raw, cold fog, all wet, but very cheerful. While halting at the _rendezvous_ to await our escort, there were great stories of the night, especially of a tempestuous scene under a big waggon-sheet crowded with irreconcilable interests. We marched straight towards the mountains, ten or twelve miles, I suppose, till we were pretty close up, and then Clements's two great lyddite five-inch guns came into position and fired at long range. They are called "Weary Willie" and "Tired Tim," and each is dragged by twenty-two splendid oxen. We soon moved on a mile or two farther, crossed one of the worst spruits I remember, climbed a very steep hill, and came into action just on its brow, firing at a distant ridge. All this time the infantry had been advancing on either flank in extended order. _(3.30 P.M.)_--We and the 38th and the cow-guns, as they are called, have been raining shell on the Boer positions and on their guns. The situation, as I see it, is this: we are exactly opposite the mouth of the nek, stretching back into the mountains like a great grass road, bordered with battlements of precipitous rock, which at this end--the gate we are knocking at--swell out on either side into a great natural bastion of bare rock. On these are the Boer trenches, tier above tier, while their guns are posted on the lower ground between. It looks an impregnable position. The Royal Irish, I hear, are attacking the right hand bastion; the Munsters, I think, the left, and there is a continuous rattle of rifle-fire from both. Our teams, waggons, and limbers, have been shell-dodging under the brow of the hill. They have fallen all around us, but never on us. One, which I saw fall, killed five horses straight off, and wounded the Yeomanry chap who was holding them. We have shifted position two or three times; it is windy, and very cold. A new and unpleasant experience in the shape of a pom-pom has come upon the scene. Far off you hear pom-pom-pom-pom-pom, five times, and directly afterwards, like an echo, pom-pom-pom-pom-pom in your neighbourhood, five little shells bursting over an area of about eighty yards, for all the world like a gigantic schoolboy's cracker. The new captain of the unlucky 38th has been hit in two places by one. At the close the day was undecided; the infantry had taken some trenches, but were still face to face with others, and fire was hottest at sunset. But I believe the pom-pom was smashed up, and a big gun silenced, if not smashed. We bivouacked where we were, but desultory rifle-fire went on long after dark. _July 24._--Reveillé at five. Directly after breakfast we took our waggon back to the convoy to fill up with shells from the reserve. All the artillery, including ours, took position again, and began hammering away, but not for long, as the Boers had been evacuating the whole position in the night, and the last of their trenches was now occupied. I believe the Royal Irish have lost heavily, the Munsters only a few. We got away, and marched through the nek, up and down steep grassy slopes, and through the site of the Boer laager. I was struck by its remarkable cleanliness; I thought that was not a Boer virtue. We halted close to the emplacement where one of the Boer guns had been yesterday. There was a rush to see some horrible human _débris_ found in it. I was contented with the word-pictures of enthusiastic gunners, and didn't go myself. From the brow, a glorious view opened out. The nek, flanked by its frowning crags, opened out into an immense amphitheatre of rich undulating pasture-land, with a white farm here and there, half hidden in trees. Beyond rose tier on tier of hills, ending on the skyline in snow-clad mountain peaks. You could just conjecture that a "happy valley" ran right and left. After the scorched monotony of the veldt it was a wonderful contrast. We camped just where the nek ends, near an empty farm, which produced a fine supply of turkeys, geese, and chickens. The Captain, who has charge of our commissariat, never misses a chance of supplementing our rations. Williams was sent to forage, and for personal loot got some coffee and a file of Boer newspapers, or rather war-bulletins, published in Bethlehem, and roughly lithographed, chiefly lies, I expect.[A] The Boers have retired south, deeper into the trap. Poultry was issued, and the gunners and drivers of our waggon drew by lot the most amazing turkey I have ever seen. It had been found installed in a special little enclosure of its own, and I fear was being fattened for some domestic gala-day which never dawned. It was prodigiously plump. [Footnote A: Here is an extract, since translated, from one of these precious "newspapers," which ought to be one day edited in full. It is a telegram from General Snyman at the Boer laager at Mafeking, dated March 2, 1900, when the famous siege had been going on for five months and a half. After some trivial padding about camp details, it concludes: "The bombardment _by the British_ (sic) is diminishing considerably. Our burghers are still full of courage. _Their sole desire is to meet the enemy!_" This is only a mild specimen of the sort of intelligence that was allowed to penetrate to a remote farm like this at Slabbert's Nek, whose owner was now fighting us, probably, to judge from these documents, in utter ignorance of the hopelessness of his cause.] _July 25._--_Wednesday._--Reveillé at six. Started at 8.30, at the outset crossing a very awkward drift. It was a sort of full dress crossing, so to speak, when all the officers collect and watch the passage. We dived down a little chasm, charged through a river, and galloped up the side of a wall. One waggon stuck, and we had to lend it our leaders. There was a strong, cold wind, and we kept on our cloaks all day; a bright sun, though, in which I thought the brigade made a very pretty spectacle in its advance, with long streamers of mounted troops and extended infantry on either flank. About one, our section was ordered to march back some miles and meet the rearguard. On the way we passed Hunter and his staff, and his whole brigade, followed by miles of waggons, which we halted to allow to pass, and then followed. They might have discovered they wanted the rearguard strengthening a little sooner, for the road was very bad, and our horses had a hard job. The united brigades camped at sunset. Rumours rife, and one, that De Wet has cut the line near Kroonstadt, seems really true. Very cold. _July 26._--Reveillé at 6.30. We waited for orders all the morning, with the horses hooked in ready. While sitting by my team I had my hair cut by a Munster, and an excruciating shave. Rumour is that the Boers have been given till two to surrender. Rumour that they have surrendered. Stated as a fact. Rumour reduced to story that the town of Fouriesberg (five miles on) has surrendered. Anyway, some British prisoners have escaped and come in. Grazing in harness for the rest of the day. _July 27._--Reveillé at 5.15. Hooked in and waited for the whole convoy to file by, as we are to be rearguard. It took several hours, and must be five or six miles long. It was a heavy, misty day, and some rain fell. Started at last and marched up the valley, which narrowed considerably here, under the shadow of beetling cliffs, for about eight miles, with incessant momentary halts, as always happens in the rear of a column. Suddenly the valley opened out to another noble circle bounded by mountains on all sides, some wearing a sprinkling of snow still. Here we came to the pretty little town of Fouriesberg, and joined the general camp, which stretched as far as you could see, thousands of beasts grazing between the various lines, and interminable rows of outspanned waggons. At night camp fires twinkled far into the distance, and signals kept flashing from high peaks all round. An officer has been telling us the situation, which is that the trap is closed, the Boers being surrounded on all sides; that they are expected to surrender; that it will be a Paardeberg on a bigger scale--the biggest haul of prisoners in the war. Some commandeered ham was served out, and we fried ours over the cook's fire with great success. I may say that the service mess-tin is our one cooking utensil, and the work it stands is amazing; it is a flat round tin with a handle and a lid. It is used indiscriminately for boiling, frying, and baking, besides its normal purpose of holding rations. _July 28._--Reveillé at six. After waiting in uncertainty for some time we were left, with the Staffords from Hunter's column, to guard the town, while the other troops moved off. We camped just outside the town, and there was a rush for loot directly, of course only from unoccupied houses, whose rebel owners are fighting. Unhappily others had been there before us, and the place was skinned. But we got a Kaffir cooking-pot, and a lot of fuel, by chopping up a manger in a stable. My only domestic loot was a baby's hat, which I eventually abandoned, and a table and looking-glass which served for fuel. But we found a nice Scotch family in a house, and bought a cabbage from them. There was a dear old lady and two daughters. Williams dropped two leaves of the cabbage, and got a playful rebuke from her. She said he must not waste them, as they were good and tender. By the way, we bought this cabbage with our last three-penny bit. We had sovereigns, but they are useless in this country, for there is no change. These people told us that they had been ten months prisoners (at large) of the Boers. Their men had gone to Basutoland, like many more. They had been well treated, and suffered little loss, till the advent of the conquering British, when forty or fifty hens were taken by Highlanders at night. A lovely warm afternoon, and for a wonder freedom till four, the first spell of it for weeks. Went to a puddle some way off, near a Kaffir kraal, and washed. Some women came with calabashes for water, and I tried to buy the bead bangles and waist-lace off a baby child, but failed. Then I invaded the kraal for meal and chickens, but failed again. I never thought, when I visited Earl's Court a year ago, that I should look on the African original so soon. Round mud hovels, with a tall plaited-straw portico in front. Most of the men look like worthless loafers; the women finely-built, capable creatures. Heavy firing has been going on all day, mostly with lyddite, on our side, by the sound. You can see the shells bursting on the top of a big kopje. This is a funny little place: pleasant cottages dotted round in desultory fashion, as though the town had been brought up in waggons and just tipped out anyhow. Half the houses are empty and gutted; we are all going to sleep in houses to-night. There has been a row about looting a chemist's shop; our fellows thought he was away with the Boers, but he turned up in the middle. There were some curious bits of plunder. We are much disappointed at being left out of the fighting to-day, but it's only natural. We are only half a battery, and have no reserve ammunition, actual or prospective, for some time. I have struck my last match. I have now to rely on cordite, which, however, only acts as a spill. You get a rifle cartridge (there are plenty to be got, the infantry seem to drop them about by hundreds), wrench out the bullet and wad, and find the cordite in long slender threads like vermicelli. You dip this in another man's lighted pipe, when it flares up, and you can light your own. In the evening Williams and I made a fire, and cooked our cabbage in our Kaffir pot, a round iron one on three legs, putting in meat and some (looted) vinegar. How good it was! It was the first fresh green food we had eaten since leaving England, and it is what one misses most. Two escaped prisoners of the Canadian Mounted Infantry came to our fire, and we had a most interesting chat with them till very late. They spoke highly of the way they had been treated. In food they always fared just as the Boers did, and were under no needlessly irksome restrictions. They said that in this sort of warfare the Boers could always give us points. They laugh at our feeble scouting a mile or two ahead, while their own men are ranging round in twos and threes, often fifteen miles from their commando, and at night venturing right up to our camps. In speed of movement, too, they can beat us; in spite of their heavy bullock transport they can travel at least a third quicker than we. Their discipline was good enough for its purpose. A man would obey a direct order whatever it was. They only wanted a stiffening of our own class of military discipline to make them invulnerable. They sang hymns every night in groups round their fires, "but are hypocrites." (On this point, however, my informants differed a little.) They said the leader of this force was Prinsloo, and that we had not been fighting De Wet at all. It seems there are two De Wets, Piet and Christian. There was a rumour yesterday that Piet had been captured near Kroonstadt, though Christian seems to be the important one. But the whole thing is distracting, like constructing history out of myths and legends. _July 29._--_Sunday._--Church parade at eleven. It is reported, and is probably true, that the whole Boer force has surrendered. If so we have missed little or nothing. About twenty prisoners came in in the morning, quaint, rough people, shambling along on diminutive ponies. In the afternoon Williams went foraging for the officers, and I visited our Scotch friends, the donors of the cabbage, who were very kind, and asked me in. The married son had just come in from Basutoland, where he had been hiding, a great red, strapping giant, with his wife and babies by him. He had originally been given a passport to allow him to remain neutral, but later they had tried to make him fight, so he ran away, and had been with a missionary over the border, whose house he repaired. It was pleasant to see this joyful home-coming. Rations to-day, one biscuit and a pound of flour. How to cook it? Some went to houses, some made dough-nuts (with deadly properties, I believe). No fat and no baking-powder. Fortunately, Williams brought back from his expedition, besides fowls, etc., for the officers, some bread and, king of luxuries, a big pot of marmalade, which he bought from a pretty little Boer girl, the temporary mistress of a fine farm. Her father, she proudly explained, was away fighting us, "as was his duty." Williams was quite sentimental over this episode. The Canadians came round to our fire again, and we had another long talk. They said there were very few Transvaalers in this army. The Free Staters hate them. The remains we found in the gun-emplacement at Slabbert's Nek were those of Lieutenant Muller, a German artillerist. The Boers always had plenty of our harness, stores, ammunition, etc. _July 30._--After stables Williams and I went foraging in the town and secured scones, a fowl (for a shilling), another cabbage, and best of all, some change, a commodity for which one has to scheme and plot. We managed it by first getting into a store and buying towels, spoons, note-books, etc., up to ten shillings, and then cajoling and bluffing a ten-shilling bit out of the unwilling store-keeper. This was changed by the lady who sold us the fowl, an Englishwoman. On our return there was harness-cleaning, interrupted by a sudden order to move, but only to shift camp about a mile. This is always annoying, because at halts you always collect things such as fuel and meal and pots, which are impossible to carry with you. Of course this is no matter, if regular marching and fighting are on hand, but just for shifting camp it is a nuisance. However, much may be done by determination. I induced the Collar-maker to take our flour on his waggon; marmalade, meal, etc., were hastily decanted into small tins, and stuffed into wallets, and just before starting Williams furtively tossed the fuel-sack into a buck-waggon, and hitched up the Kaffir pot somewhere underneath. I strung a jug on my saddle, which, what with feed-bags (contents by no means confined to oats), and muzzles, with meat and things in them, is rather Christmas-tree-like. We marched through the town, and to the base of a kopje about a mile away, where preparations for a big camp had been made. It is confirmed that the Boers have surrendered _en masse_, and they are to be brought here. After we had unharnessed, I got leave to go back to town and send a joint telegram home from a dozen of us. The battery has a telegraphic address at home from which wires are forwarded to our relations. The charge for soldiers is only 2s. a word, so a dozen of us can say "quite well" to our relations for about 2s. 8d. The official at the office said the wire was now open, but that he had no change. However, he produced 5s. when I gave him £2. It was a little short, but the change was valuable. He said that to pass the censor it must be signed by an officer, so I had to look for one. After some dusty tramping, I found a captain of the Staffords, saluted, and made my request. We were, I suppose, about equal in social station, but I suddenly--I don't know why--felt what a gulf the service put between us. He was sleek and clean, and talking about the hour of his dinner to another one, just as if he were at a club. I was dirty, unshaven, out at knees, and was carrying half a sack of fuel--a mission like this has to serve subsidiary purposes--and felt like an abject rag-and-bone-picking ruffian. He took the paper, signed it, and went on about his confounded dinner. However, I expect mine rivalled his for once in a way, for when I got back one of the "boys" (nigger drivers) had cooked our chicken and cabbage, and we ate it, followed by scones and marmalade, and, to wind up with, black coffee, made from some rye coffee given us by one of our Canadian prisoner friends. I had met one of them near the telegraph office, and visited his quarters. Rye makes remarkably good strong coffee, with a pleasant burnt taste in it. The camp had filled up a bit, the Manchesters, Staffords and 2nd Field Battery, of Rundle's division, having come in. We also played with flour and fat over our fire, and made some chupatties. The Captain had sent a foraging party out to secure fat at any price. Quite a warm night. A deep furrow passed near my harness, and I had a most comfortable bed in it. _July 31._--The first batch of 250 prisoners have come in, and are herded near. They are of all ages from sixty to fifteen, dressed in all varieties of rough plain clothes, with some ominous exceptions in the shape of a khaki tunic, a service overcoat, etc. Some seemed depressed, some jocular, the boys quite careless. All were lusty and well fed. Close by were their ponies, tiny little rats of things, dead-tired and very thin. Their saddles were mostly very old, with canvas or leather saddle-bags, containing cups, etc. I saw also one or two horses with our regimental brands on them. Some had bright-coloured rugs on them, and all the men had the same, which lent vivid colour to the otherwise sombre throng. We watered and grazed near an outlying picket, and saw many prisoners coming in in twos and threes, and giving up their rifles. What will they do with them? They are nominally rebels since the 15th of June; but I doubt if a tenth of them ever heard of Roberts's proclamation. Communications are few in this big, wild country; and their leaders systematically deceive them. Besides, to call the country conquered when Bloemfontein was taken, is absurd. The real fighting had not begun then, and whole districts such as this were unaffected. It seems to me that morally, if not legally, these people are fair-and-square civilized belligerents, who have fought honestly for their homes, and treated our prisoners humanely. Deportation over-sea and confiscation of farms seem hard measures, and I hope more lenience will be shown. In the evening Doctor Moon, of the Hampshire Yeomanry, a great friend of Williams, turned up, and had supper with us. We had no fatted calf to kill; but fortunately could show a tolerable _menu_, including beef and marmalade. I was on picket this night. About midnight a lot of Boer prisoners, and a long train of their ox-waggons, began coming in. It was very dark, and they blundered along, knocking down telegraph posts, and invading regimental lines, amidst a frightful din from the black drivers, and a profane antiphony between two officers, of the camp and the convoy respectively. In my second watch, in the small hours, a Tommy with a water-cart strayed into our lines, asking for the Boer prisoners, for whom he had been sent to get water. He swore copiously at the nature of his job in particular, and at war in general. I showed him the way, and consoled him with tobacco. _August 1._--Grazing and harness-cleaning all day. More prisoners came in, and also our old friends the Munsters, and General Paget. Rumours galore. We are going to Cape Town with the prisoners; to Harrismith; to Winberg; to the Transvaal on another campaign, etc. Definite orders came to move the next morning. In the evening an unusual flood of odds and ends of rations was poured on us; flour, a little biscuit, a little fat for cooking, diminutive hot potatoes, a taste of goose, commandeered the same day by the mounted gunners, a little butter from the same source, besides the usual sugar, cooked meat, and tea. Drawing from this _cornucopia_ was a hard evening's work. We also got hold of some dried fruit-chips, and as a desperate experiment tried to make a fruit pudding, wrapping the fruit in a jacket of dough and baking it in fat in our pot. The result, seen in the dark, was a formless black mass, very doughy and fatty; but with oases of palatable matter. CHAPTER IX. TO PRETORIA. _August 2._--Reveillé at six. Harnessed up, and started out to join the brigade and its long column of prisoners, mounted on their ponies, and each leading another with a pack on it. We only went about seven miles (back towards the Nek), and camped at midday. I had been suffering from toothache for some days, and was goaded into asking the doctor to remove the offender. He borrowed a forceps from the R.A.M.C. and had it out in a minute. The most simple and satisfactory visit to the dentist I have ever had. No gloomy fingering of the illustrated papers, while you wait your turn with the other doomed wretches, no horrible accessories of padded chair and ominous professional plant; just the open sunny veldt, and a waggon pole to sit on! In the evening I got some 38th fellows to cook us some chupatties of our flour. They treated me to fried liver over their fire, and we had a jolly talk. It is said that we are to take the prisoners to Winberg, and then go to the Transvaal. Cold night; hard frost. _August 3._--Reveillé at six. Sunrise this day was peculiarly beautiful; a milky-blue haze lay in festoons along the hills, and through this the sun shot a delicate flush on the rocks and grassy slopes, till the farther side of the valley looked unreal as a dream. Started at nine; marched as far as the inward end of the Nek, and camped. I got a splendid wash, almost a bath, in a large pond, in the company of many Boer prisoners, who, I am bound to say, seemed as anxious for cleanliness as we were. I talked to two most charming young men, who discussed the war with me with perfect freedom and urbanity. They dated their _débâcle_ from Roberts's arrival, and the use of flanking movements with large numbers of mounted men. They made very light of lyddite, and laughed at the legend that the fumes are dangerous. In action they leave all their horses in the rear, unwatched, or with a man or two. (Our mounted infantry leave a man to every four horses.) I asked if a small boy, who was sitting near, fought. They said, "Yes: a very small stone suffices to shelter him." They talked very good English. The right section have turned up and, I hear, are camped about two miles away. They have been a fortnight away doing convoy work, to Senekal, Winberg, and back. They brought us no mails, to our great disappointment. We have had no letters now since June 15th. Strange rumours come in about 40,000 troops going to China. A very cold night; I should say 15 degrees of frost. _August 4._--Did a rapid five hours' march through the Nek, and back to Bultfontein, as part of the advance-guard. On the way we picked up the right section, and exchanged our experiences. They had had no fighting, but a very good time. They had distractingly luscious stones of duff, rum, and jam at Winberg, and all looked very fat and well. We camped, unharnessed, and watered at the same old muddy pool, muddier than ever. I visited an interesting trio of guns which were near us, in charge of Brabant's Horse; one was German, one French, one British. The German was a Boer gun captured the other day, a 9-pr. Krupp, whose bark we have often heard. It has a very long range, 8000 yards, but otherwise seemed clumsy compared with ours, with a cumbersome breech action and elevating gear. The French one was a Hotchkiss, made by the French company, belonging to Brabant's Horse--a smart little weapon, but not so handy, I should say, as ours. The British one was a 15-pr. field gun, of the 77th Field Battery, lost at Stormberg and recaptured the other day. It had evidently had hard and incessant use, and was much worn. Brabant's Horse were our escort to-day, a fine, seasoned body of rough, wild-looking fellows, wearing a very noticeable red puggaree round their slouch hats. They are fine scouts, and accomplished marauders, for which the Boers hate them. Jam for tea, and milk in the tea--long unknown luxuries, which the right section brought with them. In the evening I went to a sing-song the 38th gave round their camp fire. It was very pleasant, and they were most hospitable to us. _August 5._--Reveillé at five. Harnessed up; but some hitch ahead occurred, and we unhooked, watered, and grazed. Finally started about 8.30, and made a rapid march as advance guard, of about fourteen miles, with only momentary halts. Country very hilly; steep, squat, flat-topped kopjes and several bad drifts. We camped about 1.30 near five small houses in a row, with the novel accessory of some big trees--probably a town in large letters on the map. It appears the convoy has halted some way back for the four midday hours dear to the oxen. The rest of the column came in at dusk. A warm night. Every night in camp you may hear deep-throated choruses swelling up from the prisoners' laager. The first time I heard it I was puzzled to know what they were singing; the tune was strangely familiar, but I could not fix it. It was not till the third night that I recognized the tune of "O God, our help," but chanted so slowly as to be difficult to catch, with long, luxurious rests on the high notes, and mighty, booming crescendos. Coming from hundreds of voices, the effect was sometimes very fine. At other times smaller groups sang independently, and the result was a hideous noise. I wonder if the words correspond to our tune. If so, every night these prisoners, who have staked and lost all in a hopeless struggle, sing, "O God, our help in ages past." This is faith indeed. _August 6._--_Bank Holiday._--At 6.45 we started as advance-guard again, and marched for five and a half hours, with only a halt or two of a few minutes, to Senekal. The country gradually became flatter, the kopjes fewer and lower, till at last it was a great stretch of arid, dusty plain. It seemed quite strange to be driving on level ground, after endless hills and precipitous drifts. We and Brabant's Horse were advance guard, and clattered down in a pall of blinding white dust into a substantial little tin-roofed town, many stores open, and people walking about in peace (the ladies all in black). Full of soldiers, of course, but still it was our first hint for months of peace and civilization, and seemed home-like. One of the first things I saw was a jar of Osborne biscuits in a window, and it gave me a strange thrill! The convoy and prisoners follow this evening. The column is miles long, as besides our own transport, there are all the Boer waggons, long red ones, each with some prisoners on it and a soldier. Also scores of Cape carts, with a fat farmer in each. There was a wild rush for provisions in the town by our orderlies and Brabant's. They got bread, and I bought some eggs and jam on commission. After camping and unharnessing, I had a good wash in the river, an orange-coloured puddle. I wonder how it is that by some fatality there is always a dead quadruped, mule, horse, or bullock, near our washing places. We don't mind them on the march; they are dotted along every road in South Africa now, I should think; but when making a refreshing toilette they jar painfully. Kipling somewhere describes a subtle and complex odour, which, he says, is the smell of the great Indian Empire. That of the great African Empire in this year of grace is the direct and simple one which I have indicated. In the evening we had a grand supper of fried eggs, jam, chupatties, and cocoa. This meal immediately followed tea. We made our fire in the best place for one, an ant-hill, about two feet high. The plan is to hack two holes, one in the top, another on the windward side, and to connect the two passages. There is then a fine draught, and you can cook both on the top and at the side. Inside, the substance of the hill itself gets red-hot and keeps a sustained heat. _Recipe for jam chupatties._--Take some suet and melt rapidly in a mess-tin, over a quick fire (because you are hungry and can't wait); meanwhile make a tough dry dough of flour and water and salt; cut into rounds to fit the mess-tin, spread with jam, double over and place in the boiling fat; turn them frequently. Cook for about ten minutes. A residual product of this dish is a sort of hard-bake toffee, formed by the leakage of jam from the chupatties. Brabant's Horse left in the night. _August 7._--A bitterly cold, windy day. Marched for several hours over a yellow, undulating plain and camped, near nothing, about 12.30. After dinner I walked over to a Kaffir kraal and bought fuel, and two infants' copper bangles. I was done over the bangles, so I made it up over the fuel (hard round cakes of prepared cow's dung), filling a sack brim-full, in spite of the loud expostulations of the black lady. They were a most amusing crowd, and the children quite pretty. I also tasted Kaffir beer for the first, and last, time. Kaffir bangles abound in the Battery. In fact, you will scarcely see a soldier anywhere without them. The fashion is to wear them on the wrist as bracelets. They are of copper and brass, and often of beautiful workmanship. The difficulty about collecting curios is that there is nowhere to carry them, though some fellows have a genius for finding room for several heavy bits of shell, etc. Empty pom-pom shells, which are small and portable, are much sought after; and our own brass cartridge, if one could take an old one along, would make a beautiful lamp-stand at home. Rum to-night. _August 8._--Reveillé at six. Off at 7.30. Another march over the same bare, undulating plain. About eleven we passed a spruit where there was a camp of infantry and the 9th Field Battery, who told us they came out when we did, but had only fired four rounds since! Near here there was a pathetic incident. A number of Boer women met us on the road, all wearing big white linen hoods; they stood in sad groups, or walked up and down, scanning the faces of the prisoners (we were with the main body today) for husbands, brothers, sweethearts. Many must have looked in vain. The Boers have systematically concealed losses even from the relatives themselves; and one of the saddest things in this war must be the long torture of uncertainty suffered by the womenfolk at home. We camped at twelve near a big dam, and unharnessed, but only for a rest, resuming the march at about three, and halting for the night about ten miles farther on. A profligate issue of rations--five biscuits, four ounces of sugar (instead of two or three), duff and rum again. A lovely, frosty night, the moon full, delicate mists wreathing the veldt, hundreds of twinkling camp-fires, and the sound of psalms from the prisoners' laager. _August 9._--In to-day's march the character of the country changed, with long, low, flat-topped kopjes on either side of us, and the road in a sharp-cut hollow between them, covered with loose round stones--a parched and desolate scene. After about ten miles we descended through a long ravine into Winberg, with its red-brick, tin-roofed houses baking in the sun. We skirted the town, passing through long lines of soldiers come to see the prisoners arrive, and out about a mile on to a dusty, dreary plain, where we camped. We were all thrilling with hopes of letters. (Winberg is at the end of a branch of railway, and we are now in touch with the world again.) Soon bags of letters arrived, but not nearly all we expected. I only got those of one mail, but they numbered thirteen, besides three numbers of the _Weekly Times_, and a delightful parcel from home. I sat by my harness in the sun, and read letters luxuriously. It was strange to get news again, and strike suddenly into this extraordinary Chinese _imbroglio_. It appears the war is still going on in the Transvaal, and the rumour is that we shall be sent there straight. Among other news it seems that the H.A.C. are sending the Battery a draft of twenty men from home, to bring us up to strength. I heard from my brother at Standerton, dated July 21. He was with Buller; had not done much fighting yet; was fit and well. There was a disturbance just at dusk, caused by a big drove of Boer ponies, which were being driven into town, getting out of hand and running amok in the lines of the 38th. Wrote a letter home by moonlight. Very cold, after a hot day. I should think the temperature often varies fifty degrees in the twenty-four hours. Some clothing served out; I got breeches and boots. I wish I could get into the town. There are several things I badly want, though, as usual, the home parcel supplied some. _August 10._--We were rather surprised to hear we might move that day, and must hold ourselves in readiness. We all much wanted to buy things, but there was no help for it. Had a field-day at button-sewing and letter-writing. At eleven there was harness-cleaning, and I was sadly regarding a small remnant of dubbin and my dusty girths and leathers, when the order came for "boot and saddle," and that little job was off. In the end we did not start till three, and marched with the whole brigade nine miles, with one five-minute halt, through easy country, with an unusual number of clumps of trees, and camped just at dusk, near a pool, unharnessed and watered. There was a curious and beautiful sight just before, the sun sinking red into the veldt straight ahead, and the moon rising golden out of it straight behind us. It seems we are bound to Smalldeel, a station on the main line, now eleven miles off. We left all the prisoners at Winberg. Some chaps bought schamboks, saddle-bags, and spurs from them, but being stableman, I hadn't time. I write this by moonlight, crouching close to a fine wood fire, 10 P.M. Well, I shall turn in now. _August 11._--Reveillé at 5.45. We started at eight, and marched the remaining eleven miles in a blinding dust-storm, blown by a gale of cutting wind right in our faces. My eyes were sometimes so bunged up that I couldn't see at all, and thanked my stars I was not driving leads. The worst march we have had yet. About 11.30 we came to the railway, and groped through a dreary little tin village round a station, built on dust, and surrounded by bare, dusty veldt. This was Smalldeel. There was a general rush to the stores after dinner, as we hear we are to entrain for Pretoria to-morrow. To-day we revolutionized our harness by giving up our off-saddles, our kit to be carried on a waggon. Some time before centre and lead horses had been relieved of breeching and breast-strap, which of course are only needed for wheelers. In the ordinary way all artillery horses are so harnessed that they can be used as wheelers at any moment. The off horse is now very light therefore, having only collar, traces, and crupper, with an improvised strap across the back to support the traces. Of course there are always "spare wheelers," ready-harnessed, following each subdivision in case of casualties. As far back as Bethlehem we discarded big bits also and side-reins, which are quite useless, and waste time in taking in and out when you want to water rapidly, or graze for a few moments. The harness is much simplified now, and takes half the time to put on. The mystery is why it is ever considered necessary to have so much on active service, or even at home, unless to keep drivers from getting too much leisure. Several houses in this place have been wrecked, and many fellows slept under the shells. In one of them a man was selling hot coffee in the evening, at 6d. a cup. It was a striking scene, which I shall always remember--a large building, floorless and gutted inside, and full of heaps of rubble, very dimly lit by a couple of lanterns, in the light of which cloaked and helmeted figures moved. I thought of sleeping in a house, for it was the coldest night I remember; but habit prevailed, and I turned in as usual by my harness. The horses have got a head-rope-eating epidemic, and seemed to be loose all night. _August 12._--_Sunday._--Reveillé at six. Harnessed up, and waited for orders to entrain for Pretoria. The 38th Battery have gone already, and the Wilts Yeomanry. A draft of twenty new men from England came in by train. They looked strangely pale and clean and tidy beside our patched and soiled and sunburnt selves. Marched down to station, and were entraining guns, waggons, horses, etc., till about four. The usual exciting scenes with mules, but it all seems routine now. Our subdivision of thirty men were packed like herrings into an open truck, also occupied by a gun and limber. _August 13._--I write sitting wedged among my comrades on the floor of the truck, warm sun bathing us after an Arctic night, and up to my knees in kit, letters, newspapers, parcels, boxes of cigarettes, chocolate, etc., for all our over-due mails have been caught up in a lump somewhere, and the result of months of affection and thoughtful care in distant England are heaped on us all at once. I have about thirty letters. It is an orgie, and I feel drunk with pleasure. All the time the train rolls through the wilderness, with its myriad ant-hills, its ribbon of empty biscuit tins and dead horses, its broken bridges, its tiny outpost camps, like frail islands in the ocean, its lonely stations of three tin houses, and nothing else beyond, no trees, fields, houses, cattle, signs of human life. We stopped all last night at Zand River. All trains stop at night now, for the ubiquitous De Wet is a terror on the line. To-day we passed the charred and twisted remains of another train he had burnt; graves, in a row, close to it. Williams and I slept on the ground outside the truck, after feeding and watering horses and having tea. It was an uneasy slumber, on dust and rubble, interrupted once by the train quietly steaming away from beside us. But it came back. We were off again at 4.30 A.M., a merry crowd heaped together under blankets on the floor of the truck. We ground slowly on all day, and halted for the night at Viljoen's Drift, the frontier station. _August 14._--Sleepy heads rose from a sea of blankets, and blinked out to see the crossing of the Vaal river, and a thin, sleepy cheer hailed this event; then we relapsed and waited for the sun. When it came, and we thawed and looked about, we saw an entire change of country; hills on both sides, trees here and there, and many farms. Soon the upper works of a mine showed, and then more, and all at once we were in a great industrial district. At Elandsfontein, the junction for Johannesburg, we had a long halt, and a good breakfast, getting free coffee from a huge boiling vat. _(9 P.M.)_--We reached Pretoria just at dusk, the last five miles or so being a very pretty run through a beautiful pass, with woods and real _green_ fields in the valley, a refreshing contrast to the outside veldt. We detrained by electric light, and bivouacked in an open place just outside the station. I write this in the station bar, where some of us have been having a cup of tea. Paget's Brigade are all here, and I hear Roberts is to review us to-morrow. A Dublin Fusilier, who had been a prisoner since the armoured-train affair at Estcourt until Roberts reached Pretoria, told us we "had a good name here," for Bethlehem, etc. He vaguely talked of Botha and Delarey "dodging round" near here. We have heard nothing of the outside world for a long time, and as far as I can make out, the Transvaal has still to be conquered, just as the Free State has had to be, long after the capture of both capitals. _August 15._--I had gone to sleep in splendid isolation under the verandah of an empty house, but awoke among some Munsters, who greeted dawn with ribald songs. Harnessed up after breakfast, and marched off through the town, past the head-quarters, where Roberts reviewed us and the 38th. He was standing with a large Staff at the foot of the steps. The order "eyes right" gave us a good view of him, and very small, fit, and alert he looked. "'E's little, but 'e's wise, 'E's a terror for 'is size." I liked what we saw of the town, broad boulevards edged with trees, and houses set back deep in gardens; the men all in khaki uniforms, or niggers, but a good many English ladies and nurses. We marched to a camp on the top of a hill outside the town, and joined the rest of the brigade. A lovely view of the town from here, in a hollow of encircling hills, half-buried in trees, looking something like Florence in the distance. I can hardly believe we are really here when I think of the hopeless depression of June and May at Bloemfontein. Much to our disgust, we weren't allowed to go down to the town in the afternoon. However, we visited a reservoir instead, where a pipe took away the overflow, and here we got a real cold bath in limpid water, on a shingly bottom, a delicious experience. After evening stables Williams and I got leave to go down to town. We passed through broad tree-bordered streets, the central ones having fine shops and buildings, but all looking dark and dead, and came to the Central Square, where we made for the Grand Hotel, and soon found ourselves dining like gentlemen at tables with table-cloths and glasses and forks, and clean plates for every course. The complexity of civilized paraphernalia after the simplicity of a pocket-knife and mess-tin, was quite bewildering. The room was full of men in khaki. Heavens! how hungry that dinner made me! We ordered a bottle of claret, the cheapest being seven shillings. The waiter when he brought it up paused mysteriously, and then, in a discreet whisper to Williams, said he supposed we were sergeant-majors, as none under that rank could be served with wine. Gunner Williams smilingly reassured him, and Driver Childers did his best to look like a sergeant-major, with, I fear, indifferent success. Anyway the waiter was easily satisfied, and left us the claret, which, as there were three officers at the table, was creditable to him. We walked home about 8.30, the streets all silent as death, till we were challenged by a sentry near the outskirts of the town, and asked for the countersign, which we didn't know. There were muttered objections, into which a bottle of whisky mysteriously entered, and we bluffed it out. I have never found ignorance of a countersign a serious obstacle. _August 16._--Grazing most of the morning, during which I have managed to get some letters written, but I have great arrears to make up. Several orders countermanding one another have been coming in, to the general effect that we are probably to start somewhere to-day. The usual crop of diverse rumours as to our future. One says we go to Middelberg, another Lydenberg, another Petersberg. There seem to be several forces of Boers still about, and De Wet, who ought to become historic as a guerilla warrior, is still at large, nobody knows where. I only trust our ammunition-supply will be better managed this time. Anyway, we are all fit and well, and ready for anything, and the horses in first-class order. I forgot to say that I had to part with one of my pair, the riding-horse, a few days before we reached Smalldeel. He was taken for a wheeler in our team. I now ride the mare and lead my new horse, which is my old friend the Argentine, whose acquaintance I first made at Capetown. Hard work has knocked most of the vice out of her, though she still is a terror to the other horses in the lines. She looks ridiculously small in artillery harness, but works her hardest, and is very fit, though she declines to oats unless I mix them with mealies, which I can't always do. CHAPTER X. WARMBAD.[A] [Footnote A: In this new campaign Paget's Brigade was, in conjunction with the forces of Baden-Powell, Plumer, and Hickman, to scour the district whose backbone is the railway line running due north from Pretoria to Petersberg. He was to occupy strategic points, isolate and round up stray commandos, and generally to engage the attention of the enemy here, while the grand advance under Roberts and Buller was taking place eastward.] _August 16, continued._--We started at 4 P.M., and had a most tedious march for about four miles only, with incessant checks, owing to the badness of the ground, so that we arrived long after dark at the camping-ground in indifferent humour. We had followed a narrow valley in a northerly direction. Most of the transport waggons, including our own, stuck in a drift some way back, so that we had no tea, and the drivers no blankets to sleep in (gunners carry their kit on the gun-carriages and limbers and ammunition-waggons). However, I got up at midnight and found the kit-waggon had arrived, and got mine; also some tea from a friendly cook of the 38th, so I did well. _August 17._--Reveillé at 4.15. Started at five, and to our surprise marched back about a mile and a half. Picked up the rest of our buck waggons on the way, and halted for a hurried breakfast at dawn. Then marched through what I hear is called Wonderboom Port, a narrow nek between two hills, leading due north, to judge by the sun. We forded a girth-deep river on the way. The nek led out on to a long, broad valley, about six miles in width, bordered on the Pretoria side with a line of steep kopjes, and on the north by low brown hills. Long yellow grass, low scrub, and thorny trees, about the size of hawthorns; no road, and the ground very heavy. _(2 P.M.)_--We are halted to feed. There is some firing on the left front. Had a good sleep for an hour. Later on we went into action, but never fired, and in the evening marched away behind a hill and camped. The Wilts and Montgomery Yeomanry are with us, and at the common watering-place, a villainous little pool, with a steep, slippery descent to it, I recognized Alexander Lafone, of the latter corps. I walked to their lines after tea, found him sergeant of the guard, and we talked over a fire. We had last seen one another as actors in some amateur theatricals in a country town at home. They had been in action for the first time that day, and had reported 500 Boers close by. A warm night. Quite a change of season has set in. _August 18._--A big gun was booming not far off, during breakfast. A hot, cloudless day. Started about 8.30, and marched till twelve, crossing the valley diagonally, till we reached some kopjes on the other side. A pom-pom of ours is now popping away just ahead, and there is a good deal of rifle-fire. _(3.15.)_--The old music has begun, a shell coming screeching overhead and bursting behind us. We and the convoy were at once moved to a position close under a kopje between us and the enemy. Shells are coming over pretty fast, but I don't see how they can reach us here. A most curious one has just come sailing very slowly overhead, and growling and hiccoughing in the strangest way. I believe it was a ricochet, having first hit the top of the kopje. When it fell there was a rush of gunners to pick up the fragments. I secured one, and it turned out to be part of a huge forty-pounder siege-gun shell. Such a gun would far out-range ours, and I believe the scouts have not located it yet, which explains our inactivity. _(3.30.)_--Our right section has gone into action, and is firing now. Some wounded Yeomen just brought in. One of them, I'm sorry to say, is Lafone, with a glancing wound under the eye, sight uninjured. We camped at five, and unharnessed. It seems the Yeomanry lost ten men prisoners, but the Boers released them after taking their rifles. _August 19._--_Sunday._--Reveillé at four. Some days are very irritating to the soldier, and this was a typical one. We harnessed up and stood about waiting for orders for five hours. At last we moved off, only to return again immediately; again moved off, and after a few minutes halted; finally got more or less started, and marched five or six miles, with incessant short halts, at each of which the order is to unbuckle wither-straps and let horses graze. This sounds simple, but is a horrible nuisance, as the team soon gets all over the place, feet over traces, collars over ears, and so on, if not continually watched and pulled about. When it is very hot and you are tired, it is very trying to the temper. At one halt you think you will lunch. You get out a Maconochie, open it, and take a spoonful, when you find the centres tying themselves up in a knot with the leaders. Up you get, straighten them out, and sit down again. After two more spoonfuls, you find the wheelers playing cat's-cradle with the centres' traces. Perhaps the wheel-driver is asleep, and you get up and put them right. Then the grazing operations of the leaders bring them round in a circle to the wheelers. Up you get, and finally, as the fifth spoonful is comforting a very empty stomach, you hear, "Stand to your horses!" "Mount!" You hurriedly stuff the tin into a muzzle hanging from the saddle, where you have leisure to observe its fragrant juices trickling out, stick the spoon under a wallet-strap, buckle up wither-straps, and mount. At the next halt you begin again, and the same thing happens. It is a positive relief to hear the shriek of a shell, and have something definite to do or interest you. About two the 38th fired a few shots at some Boers on the sky-line, and then we came to Waterval, where we camped and watered. The Petersberg railway runs up here, and this was a station on it, with a few houses besides. Its only interest is the cage in which several thousand English prisoners were kept, till released by Roberts' arrival. I visited it on the way to a delicious bathe in the river after tea. It is a large enclosure, full of the remains of mud huts, and fitted with close rows of tall iron posts for the electric light, which must have turned night into day. It is surrounded by an elaborate barbed-wire entanglement. In one place was a tunnel made by some prisoners to escape by. It began at a hole inside a hut, and ran underground for quite forty yards, to a point about five yards outside the enclosure. Some of our chaps passed through it. In a large tin shed near the enclosure was a fine electric-lighting plant for lighting this strange prison on the open veldt. This morning the Captain came back, to our great delight. He had been away since Winberg, getting stores for us at Bloemfontein. He brought a waggon full of clothing and tobacco, which was distributed after we had come in. There were thick corduroy uniforms for winter use. If they had reached us in the cold weather they would have been more useful. It is hot weather now; but a light drill tunic was also served out, and a sign of the times was stewed dry fruit for tea. The ration now is five biscuits (the full ration) and a Maconochie, or bully beef. Only extreme hunger can make me stomach Maconochies now. They are quite sound and good, but one gets to taste nothing but the chemical preservative, whatever it is. We have had no fresh meat for a long time back, but one manages with an occasional change of bully beef or a commandeered chicken. The camp is a big one, for infantry reinforcements have come in, and two cow-guns. _August 20._--There was no hour appointed for reveillé overnight, but we were wakened by the pickets at 2.30 A.M. At once harnessed up, and marched off without breakfast. Went north still, as yesterday, following the railway. Dawn came slow, silent, and majestic into the cloudless sky, where a thin sickle of waning moon hung. It was a typical African dawn, and I watched every phase of it to-day with care. Its chief feature is its gentle unobtrusiveness. About an hour before sunrise, the east grows faintly luminous; then just one arc of it gradually and imperceptibly turns to faint yellow, and then delicate green; but just before the sun tops the veldt there is a curious moment, when all colour fades out except the steel blue of a twilight sky, and the whole firmament is equally lighted, so that it would be hard to say where the sun was going to rise. The next moment, a sharp rim of dazzling gold cuts the veldt, and in an instant it is broad day. The same applies to sunset. There are no "fine sunsets" here, worthy of Ruskinian rhapsodies; they are just exquisitely subtle transitions from day to night. But, of course, directly the sun is below the horizon, night follows quickly, as in all countries in these latitudes. There is very little twilight. _(9.30 A.M.)_--The country we cross is studded thickly with small trees. About 6.30 the enemy's rifle-fire began on our front. Our side at first answered with pom-poms, Maxims, and rifle-fire, but our guns have just come into action. The enemy's position appears to be a low ridge ahead covered with bush.--I fancy they were only a skirmishing rear-guard, for after a bit of shrapnel-practice we moved on, and had a long, tiring day of slow marching and halting, with scattered firing going on in front and on the flanks. The country must demand great caution, for the bush is thick now, and whole commandos might be concealed anywhere. The Wilts Regiment (some companies of which are brigaded with us) lost several men and an officer. We camped on an open space just at dark. Watering was a long, tiresome business, from buckets, at a deep, rocky pool. There were snipers about, and a shot now and then during the evening. _August 21._--We harnessed up at four; but waited till seven to move off. This is always tiresome, as drivers have to stay by their horses all the time; but of course it is necessary that in such a camp, with the enemy in the bush near, all the force should be ready to move at an early hour. The nights are warm now, but there is a very chilly time in the small hours. We marched through the same undulating, wooded country, crossing a brute of a drift over a river, where we hooked in an extra pair of horses to our team. In the summer this must be a lovely region, when the trees and grass are green; very like the New Forest, I should think. We had a long halt in the middle of the day, and then marched on till five, when we camped. We waited till eight for tea, as the buck-waggons had stuck somewhere; but I made some cocoa on a fire of mealy-stalks. I forgot to say that Baden-Powell has joined the column with a mounted force and the Elswick Battery, and is now pushing on ahead. I hear that Paget's object is to prevent De Wet from joining Botha, and that Baden-Powell has seized some drift ahead over which he must pass. Fancy De Wet up here! An alternative to Maconochie was issued to-day, in the shape of an excellent brand of pressed beef. _August 22._--Reveillé at 3 A.M. for the right section, who moved off at once, and at 3.45 for my section. We started at 5.30, and marched pretty quickly all the morning to Pynaar's River, which consists of a station on the railway, and a few gutted houses. A fine iron bridge over the river had been blown up, and was lying with its back broken in the water. We camped here about one, and thought we were in for a decent rest, after several very short nights. I ate something, and was soon fast asleep by my saddle; but at three "harness up" was ordered, and off we went, but only for a few hundred yards, when the column halted, and after wasting two hours in the same place, moved back to camp again. One would like to know the Staff secrets now and then in _contretemps_ like this; but no doubt one cause is the thick bush, which makes the enemy's movements difficult to follow. Rum to-night. We went to bed without any orders for reveillé, which came with vexatious suddenness at 10.45 P.M. I had had about two hours' sleep. Up we got, harnessed up, hooked in, and groped in the worst of tempers to where the column was collecting, wondering what was up now. We soon started--no moon and very dark--on a road composed of fine, deep dust, which raised a kind of fog all round, through which I could barely see the lead-driver's back. The order was no talking, no smoking, no lights, and we moved silently along under the stars, wrapped in darkness and dust. Happily the road was level, but night marching is always rather trying work for a driver. One's nerves are continually on edge with the constant little checks that occur. The pair in front of you seem to swim as you strain your eyes to watch the traces, and keep the team in even draught; but, do what you can, there is a good deal of jerking into the collar, and narrow shades of getting legs over traces. Once I saw the General's white horse come glimmering by and melt into the darkness. About 3.30 A.M. lights and fires appeared ahead, and we came on the camp of some other force of ours, all ready to start; soldiers' figures seen silhouetted against the dancing light of camp fires, and teams of oxen in the gloom beyond. A little farther on the column stopped, and we were told we should be there two hours. We fed the horses, and then lit fires of mealy-stalks, and cooked cocoa, and drowsed. At six our transport-waggons came up, and we got our regular breakfast. Then we rode to water, and now (August 23) I am sitting in the dust by the team, writing this. There was a stir and general move just now. I got up and looked where all eyes were looking, and saw a solitary Boer horseman issuing from the bush, holding a white flag. An orderly galloped up to him, and the two went into a hut where the General is. The rumour is that a thousand Boers want to surrender.--Rumour reduces number to one Boer. In the end we stopped here all day, and what in the world our forced march was for, is one of the inexplicable things that so often confront the tired unit, and which he doesn't attempt to solve. The camp was the most unpleasant I ever remember, on a deep layer of fine dust, of a dark, dirty colour. A high wind rose, and eyes, ears, mouth, food, and kit, were soon full of it. Roasting hot too. There was a long ride to water, and then I got some sleep behind my upturned saddle, waking with my eyes glued up. To watering again and evening stables. The wind went down about six and things were better. None of us drivers had blankets, though, for the kit-waggon had for some reason been left at Pynaar's River. However, I shared a bed with another chap, and was all right. _August 24._--I am now cursing my luck in an ambulance waggon. For several days I have had a nasty place coming on the sole of my foot, a veldt-sore, as it is called. To-day the doctor said I must go off duty, and I was told to ride on one of our transport-waggons. This sounds simple; but I knew better, and made up my mind for some few migrations, before I found a resting place. With the help of Williams I first put myself and my kit on one of our waggons. Then the Major came up, and was very sympathetic, but said he was sending back one waggon to Pynaar's River, and I had better go on that, and not follow the Battery. So I migrated there and waited for the next move. It came in a general order from the Staff that nothing was to go back. I was to seek an asylum in an R.A.M.C. ambulance waggon. So we trudged over to an officer, who looked at my foot and said it was all very well, but he had no rations for me. However, rations were sent for, and I got into a covered waggon, with seats to hold about eight men, sat down with six others, Munsters and Wilts men, and am now waiting for the next move. It is 11 A.M. and we have not inspanned yet, though the battery and most of the brigade have started. I hear the whole column is to go to Warm Baths, sixteen miles farther on. We didn't start till 1.30, and halted about five. They are very pleasant chaps in the waggon, and we had great yarns about our experiences. They were in a thorough "grousing" mood. To "grouse" is soldiers' slang for to "complain." They were down on their scanty rations, their hot brown water, miscalled coffee, their incessant marching, the futility of chasing De Wet, everything. Most soldiers out here are like that. To the men-calculators and battle-thinkers it doesn't matter very much, for Tommy is tough, patient, and plucky. He may "grouse," but he is dependable. It came out accidentally that they had been on half-rations of biscuit for the last two days, and that day had had no meat issued to them, and only a biscuit and a half. By a most lucky hap, Williams and I had the night before bought a leg of fresh pig from a Yeomanry chap, and had it cooked by a nigger. In the morning, when we separated, I had hastily hacked off a chunk for him, and kept the rest, and we now had a merry meal over the national animal of the Munsters. It was pleasant to hear the rich Cork brogue in the air. It seems impossible to believe that these are the men whom Irish patriots incite to mutiny. They are loyal, keen, and simple soldiers, as proud of the flag as any Britisher. At five we outspanned, with orders to trek again at the uncomfortable hour of 1 A.M. The Orderly-corporal left me and a Sergeant Smith of the Munsters to sleep on the floor of the waggon, and the rest slept in a tent. They gave us tea, and later beef-tea. The sergeant and I sat up till late, yarning. He is a married reservist with two children, and is more than sick of the war. They gave us three blankets between us, and we lay on the cushions placed on the floor, and used the rugs to cover us both. After some months of mother earth this unusual bed gave me a nightmare, and I woke the sergeant to tell him that the mules were trampling on us, which much amused him. These worthy but tactless animals were tethered to the waggon, and pulling and straining on it all the time, which I suppose accounted for my delusion. _August 25._--_Saturday._--At 1 A.M. the rest tumbled in on us, and we started off for the most abominable jolt over the country. For a wonder it was a very cold night, and of course we were all sitting up, so there was no more sleep to be got. At sunrise we arrived at Warm Baths, which turns out to be really a health-resort with hot springs. The chief feature in this peculiar place is a long row of tin houses, containing baths, I hear; also an hotel and a railway station, then the bush-covered veldt, abrupt and limitless. Baden-Powell and his troops are here, and I believe the Boers are behind some low hills which lie north of us, and run east and west. Our cart halted by a stream of water, which I washed in, and found quite warm. Coffee and biscuits were served out. A lovely day, hot, but still, so no dust. The column stops here a day or so, I hear. We have been transferred to a marquee tent, where fifteen of us lie pretty close. The Battery is quite near, and Williams has been round bringing my blankets, for it appears the drivers' kits have come on from Pynaar's River. Several fellows came round to see me, and Williams brought some duff, and Ramsey some light literature; Williams also brought a _Times_, in which I read about the massacre in China. I'm afraid the polyglot avengers will quarrel among themselves. Restless night. I believe I shall never sleep well under a roof again. A roof in London will be a bit smutty, though. _August 26._--Breakfast at seven. Told we were going to shift. Packed up and shifted camp about a mile to some trees; the other site was horribly smelly. Installed again in a tent. I have a hardened old shell-back of a Tommy (Yorkshire Light Infantry) on my right, and a very nice sergeant of the Wilts Regiment on my left. Some of the former's yarns are very entertaining, but too richly encrusted with words not in the dictionary to reproduce. How Kipling does it I can't think. The sergeant is a fine type of the best sort of reservist. He astonished me by telling me he had been a deserter, long ago, when a lad, after two years in the Rifle Brigade, where he was sickened by tyranny of some sort. He confessed, after re-enlistment, and was pardoned. He had been fourteen years in his present corps, and had got on well. Opposite is a young scamp of Roberts's Horse. Looks eighteen, but calls it twenty-two: his career being that he was put in the Navy, ran away, was apprenticed to the merchant service, ran away (so forfeiting the premium his parents had paid), shipped to the Cape, and joined Roberts's Horse. I asked him what he would do next. "Go home," he said, "and do nothing." If I were his father I'd kick him out. He's a nice boy, though. There are several Munsters, jolly chaps, and a Tasmanian of the Bush contingent, tall, hollow-eyed, sallow-faced fellow, with dysentery--a gentleman, and an interesting one. Williams has been here a good deal. He made some tea for the two of us in the evening, and we talked till late. I am on ordinary "camp diet," which means tea, biscuit, and bully-beef or stew. They give us tea at four, and nothing after, so one gets pretty hungry. Some men are on milk diet. _August 27._--_Monday._--My foot gets on very slowly. Veldt-sores, as they are called, are very common out here, as though you may be perfectly well, as I am, the absence of fresh food makes any scratch fester. Most entertaining talks with the other chaps in the tent. The Captain has been several times, and brought papers. _August 28._--This is a very free-and-easy field hospital; no irksome regulations, and restrictions, and inspections. A doctor comes round in the morning and looks at each of us. The dressings are done once in twenty-four hours by an orderly. He is a very good chap, but you have to keep a watchful eye on him, and see that he doesn't put the same piece of lint on twice; yet you must be very tactful in suggestions, for an orderly is independent, and has the whip-hand. An officer walks round again in the evening, pretty late, and says he supposes each of us feels better. This very much amused me at first, but, after all, it roughly hit off the truth. We are nearly all slight cases. Meals come three times a day, and otherwise we are left to ourselves. The food might, I think, be better and more plentiful. I have had the privilege of hearing Tommy's opinions on R.A.M.C. orderlies, and also those of an R.A.M.C. orderly on Tommy, or perhaps rather on his own status and grievances in general. Inside the tent Tommy was free and unequivocal about the whole tribe of orderlies, the criticism culminating in a ghoulish story from my right-hand neighbour, told in broadest Yorkshire, about one in Malta, "who stole the ---- boots off the ---- corpse in the ---- dead-'ouse." Outside the tent a communicative orderly poured into my ear the tale of Paardeberg, and its unspeakable horrors, the overwork and exhaustion of a short-handed medical corps, the disease and death in the corps itself, etc. I conclude that in such times of stress the orderly has a very bad time, but that with a column having few casualties and little enteric, like this, he is uncommonly well off. His class has done some splendid work, which Tommy sometimes forgets, but it must be remembered that it had to be suddenly and hurriedly recruited with untrained men from many outside sources, some of them not too suitable. My impression is that they want more supervision by the officers. The latter, in this hospital, are, when we see them, very kind, and certainly show the utmost indulgence in keeping off duty men who are not feeling fit for work. CHAPTER XI. HOSPITAL. _August 29._--Suddenly told we were all to go to Pretoria by train, railway being just open, it seems. I am disgusted with the slowness of my foot, and at being separated from the Battery. It goes to-morrow back to Pynaar's River, and then joins a flying column of some sort. _August 30._--I write lying luxuriously on a real spring-mattress bed, between real sheets, having just had my fill of real bread and real butter, besides every comfort, in a large marquee tent, with a wooden floor, belonging to the Imperial Yeomanry Hospital, Pretoria. I landed in this haven at four o'clock this morning, after a nightmare of a journey from Warm Baths. We left there about 2.30 P.M. yesterday, after long delays, and then a sudden rush. Williams came over to say good-bye, and the Captain, Lieutenant Bailey and Dr. Thorne; also other fellows with letters, and four of our empty cartridges as presents for officers of the Irish Hospital in Pretoria. We were put into a truck already full of miscellaneous baggage, and wedged ourselves into crannies. It was rather a lively scene, as the General was going down by the same train, and also Baden-Powell on his way home to England. The latter first had a farewell muster of his men, and we heard their cheers. Then he came up to the officers' carriage with the General. I had not seen him before, and was chiefly struck by his walk, which had a sort of boyish devil-may-care swing in it, while in dress he looked like an ordinary trooper, a homely-looking service jersey showing below his tunic. As the train steamed out we passed his troops, drawn up in three sides of a square facing inwards, in their shirt-sleeves. They sent up cheer after cheer, waving their hats to Baden-Powell standing on the gangway. Then the train glided past camps and piles of stores, till the last little outpost with its wood fire was past, and on into the lonely bush. It was dark soon, and I lay on my back among sacks, rifles, kit-bags, etc., looking at the stars, and wondering how long this new move would keep me from the front. We stopped many times, and at Hamman's Kraal took aboard some companies of infantry. At intervals down the line we passed little posts of a few men, sentries moving up and down, and a figure or two poring over a pot on a fire. About midnight, after a rather uneasy slumber, I woke in Pretoria. Raining. With the patient, sheep-like passivity that the private soldier learns, we dragged ourselves and our kit from place to place according to successive orders. A friendly corporal carried my kit-sack, and being very slow on my feet, we finally got lost, and found ourselves sitting forlornly on our belongings in the middle of an empty, silent square outside the station (just where we bivouacked a fortnight ago). However, the corporal made a reconnaissance, while I smoked philosophical cigarettes. He found the rest in a house near by, and soon we were sitting on the floor of a room, in a dense crowd, drinking hot milk, and in our right minds; sick or wounded men of many regiments talking, sleeping, smoking, sighing, and all waiting passively. A benevolent little Scotch officer, with a shrewd, inscrutable face, and smoking endless cigarettes, moved quietly about, counting us reflectively, as though we were a valuable flock of sheep. We sat here till about 2.30 A.M., when several waggons drove up, into which we crowded, among a jumble of kit and things. We drove about three miles, and were turned out at last on a road-side, where lanterns and some red-shawled phantoms were glimmering about. We sat in rows for some time, while officers took our names, and sorted us into medical and surgical classes. Then a friendly orderly shouldered my kit and led me into this tent. Here I stripped off everything, packed all my kit in a bundle, washed, put on a clean suit of pyjamas, and at about 4 A.M. was lying in this delicious bed, dead-beat, but blissfully comfortable. Oddly, I couldn't sleep, but lay in a dreamy trance, smoking cigarettes, with a beatific red-caped vision hovering about in the half light. Dawn and the morning stir came, with fat soft slices of fresh bread and butter and tea. I have been reading and writing all day with every comfort. The utter relaxation of mind and limb is a strange sensation, after roughing it on the veldt and being tied eternally to two horses. There are twelve beds in this tent, and many regiments are represented among the patients; there is an Imperial Light Horse man, who has been in most of the big fights, a mercurial Argyll and Sutherland Highlander, with a witty and voluble tongue; men of the Wilts, Berks, and Yorks regiments, and in the next bed a trooper of the 18th Hussars, who was captured at Talana Hill in the first fight of the war, had spent seven months at Waterval in the barbed-wire cage which we saw, and two since at the front. It was under his bed that the escape-tunnel was started. He gave me an enthusiastic account of the one "crowded hour of glorious life" his squadron had had before they were captured. They got fairly home with the steel among a party of Boers in the hills at the back of Dundee, and had a grand time; but soon after found themselves surrounded, and after a desperate fight against heavy odds the survivors had to surrender. _September 2._--Getting very hot. Foot slow. The reaction has run its course, and I am getting bored. _September 4._--_Monday._--In the evening got a cable from "London," apparently meant for Henry (my brother), saying "How are you?" and addressed to "Hospital, Pretoria." Is he really here, sick or wounded? Or is it a mistake for me, my name having been seen in a newspaper and mistaken for his? I have heard nothing from him lately, but gather that his corps, Strathcona's Horse, is having a good deal to do in the pursuit of Botha, Belfast way. _September 5._--Got the mounted orderly to try and find out about Henry from the other hospitals (there are many here), but, after saying he would, he has never turned up and can't be found. There are moments when one is exasperated by one's helplessness as a private soldier, dependent on the good-nature of an orderly for a thing like this. _September 6._--_Wednesday._--A man came in yesterday who had been a prisoner of De Wet for seven weeks, having been released at Warm Baths the day I left. He said De Wet had left that force a week before, taking three hundred men, and had gone south for his latest raid. He thought that De Wet himself was a man of fair ability, but that the soul of all his daring enterprises was a foreigner named Theron. This man has a picked body of thirty skilled scouts, riding on picked horses, armed only with revolvers, and ranging seven or eight miles from the main body. De Wet always rode a white horse, and wore a covert coat. By his side rode ex-President Steyn, unarmed. The prisoners were fed as well as the Boers themselves, but that was badly, for they were nearly always short of food, and generally had only Kaffir corn, with occasional meat. One day a prisoner asked a field-cornet when they were going to get something to eat. "I don't care if you're a brass band," he said, "but give us some food." "Well, I'm very sorry," was the apologetic reply, "we've been trying for a week to get one of your convoys; it will be all right when we get it." De Wet himself was very pleasant to them, and took good care they got their proper rations. They rode always on waggons, and he spoke feelingly of the horrible monotony of the jolt, jolt, jolt, from morning to night. They nearly always had a British force close on their heels, and no sooner had they outspanned for a rest than it would be "Inspan--trek." "Up you get, Khakis; the British are coming!" Then pom-pom-pom, whew-w-w-w, as shells came singing over the rear-guard. At these interesting moments they used to put the prisoners in the extreme rear, so that the British if they saw them, could not fire. He accounted for the superior speed of the Boers by their skill in managing their convoy; every Boer is a born driver (in fact, most of their black drivers had deserted), and they take waggons over ground we should shudder at, leaving the roads if need be, and surmounting impossible ascents. Again they confine their transport to the limits of strict necessity, and are not cumbered with all the waggon-loads of officers' kit which our generals choose to allow. Their rapidity in inspanning is marvellous; all the cattle may be scattered about grazing, but in five minutes from the word "Trek!" they are inspanned and ready. Their horses, he said, were wretched, and many rode donkeys; how they managed to get about so well he never could understand, but supposed the secret of their success was this body of well-mounted, reliable scouts, who saved all unnecessary travelling to the main body. A very large proportion of the Boer force were foreigners--French, Germans, Dutch, Russians, Norwegians. The soul of this tent is Jock, an Argyll and Sutherland Highlander. He was wounded at Modder River, and is now nominally suffering from the old wound, but there is nothing really the matter with him; and as soon as the Sister's back is turned, he turns catherine wheels up the ward on his hands. His great topic is the glory and valour of the Highland Brigade, discoursing on which he becomes in his enthusiasm unintelligibly Scotch. It is the great amusement of the rest of us to get rises out of him on the subject, and furious arguments rage on the merits of various regiments. He is as simple as a child, and really seems to believe that the Highland Brigade has won the war single-handed. He is no hand at argument, and gets crushing controversial defeats from the others, especially some Berks men, but he always takes refuge at last "in the thun rred line," as his last entrenchment. "Had ye ever a thun rred line?" he asks, and they quail. The matter came to a crisis yesterday, when one of them produced a handbook on British regiments and their histories. The number of "honours" owned by each regiment had been a hotly contested point, and they now sat down and counted them. The Royal Berks had so many--Minden, Waterloo, Salamanca, Vittoria, Sevastopol, etc. In breathless silence those accredited to the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were counted. There were fewer, and Jock was stunned at first. "Ah, but ye ha' not counted the thun rred line," he shouted. "Ga'rn, what battle's that?" they scoffed. "The battle of the thun rred line," he persisted. Balaclava was on his list, but he didn't even know it was there that his gallant regiment formed the thin red line. Yet he had his revenge, for, by a laborious calculation, lasting several hours, it was found that the united honours of the Scotch regiments were greater than the united English or Irish. _September 6._--_Thursday._--I am allowed to go to a chair outside the tent, a long, luxurious canvas lounge. In the valley below and to the right lies Pretoria, half buried in trees, and looking very pretty. Behind it rises a range of hills, with a couple of forts on the sky-line. Across the valley lies quite a town of tents, mostly hospitals. We all of us live in pyjamas; some wear also a long coat of bright blue. Sisters flit about, dressed in light blue, with white aprons and veils, and brilliant scarlet capes, so that there is no lack of vivid colour. A road runs in front of the tent; an occasional orderly gallops past, or a carriage passes with officers. _September 7._--To my delight this afternoon, I heard a voice at my tent door, saying, "Is Childers here?" It turned out to be Bagenal, one of the released Irish Yeomanry, and a friend of Henry's, who had come from him to look for me. Henry is wounded in the foot, but now "right as rain." He is in the Convalescent Camp, which is plainly visible from here, about a mile off. It seems that by another lucky coincidence he received letters meant for me, and so knew I was in Pretoria. The whole affair abounds in coincidences, for had I answered the cable home I should have said "foot slight," or something like it, and he would have said the same. It would have done for either. We are lucky to have found one another, for the Secretary's inquiries led to nothing. I have been reading in the _Bloemfontein Post_ a report of the Hospital Commission. I have no experience of General Hospitals, but some of the evidence brings out a point which is heightened by contrast with a hospital like this, and that is the importance of close supervision of orderlies, on whom most of the comfort of a patient depends. To take one instance only; if a man here is ordered port wine, it is given him personally by the Sister. To give orderlies control of wine and spirits is tempting them most unfairly. On the whole, I should say this hospital was pretty well perfect. The Sisters are kindness itself. The orderlies are well-trained, obliging, and strictly supervised. The Civil Surgeon, Dr. Williams, is both skilful and warm-hearted. There is plenty of everything, and absolute cleanliness and order. _The Strange Story of the Occupation and Surrender of Klerksdorp, as told by a Trooper of the Kimberley Light Horse, taken Prisoner about July 10, by De Wet, released at Warm Baths on August 28, and now in this ward._ Early in June, twenty-one men and four officers of the Kimberley Light Horse rode out thirty miles from Potchefstroom, and summoned the town of Klerksdorp to surrender. It is a town of fair size, predominantly Dutch, of course, but with a minority of English residents. The audacious demand of the Liliputian force was acceded to. They rode in, and the British flag was hoisted. With charming effrontery it was represented that the twenty-one were only the forerunners of an overwhelming force, and that resistance was useless. The Dutch were cowed or acquiescent, and a splendid reception was given to the army of occupation; cheering, flag-waving, and refreshments galore. Their commanding officer mounts the Town Hall steps, and addresses the townspeople, congratulating them on their loyalty, announcing the speedy end of the war, hinting at the hosts of British soon to be expected, and praising the Mayor, a brother of General Cronje, for his wise foresight in submitting; in return for which he said he would try to obtain the release of the General from Lord Roberts. The troop is then escorted by a frantic populace to their camping ground; willing hands off-saddle the horses, while others ply the tired heroes with refreshments. The town is in transports of joy. Days pass. The news spreads, and burghers come in from all sides to deliver up their arms to the Captain. He soon has no fewer than twelve hundred rifles, of which he makes a glorious bonfire, thus disarming at one stroke a number of Boers fifty times greater than his own force. There is no sign of the overwhelming forces of the British, but their early arrival is daily predicted, and the delay explained away. Meanwhile, the twenty-one live in clover, eating and drinking the best of everything, and overwhelmed with offers of marriage from adoring maidens. Luxury threatens to sap their manhood. Guards and patrols are unsteady in their gait; vigilance slackens. A grand concert is given one night, during which the whole army of occupation is inside one room. Two guards are outside, but these are Dutch police. At this moment a handful of determined enemies could have ended the occupation, and re-hoisted the Boer flag. Weeks pass, still the British do not come, but the twenty-one hold sway, no doubt by virtue of the moral superiority of the dominant race. But at last their whole edifice of empire tumbles into ruin with the same dramatic suddenness with which it rose. The ubiquitous De Wet marches up and surrounds the town with an overwhelming force; the inevitable surrender is made, and the Boer flag flies again over Klerksdorp after six glorious weeks of British rule by a score or so of audacious troopers. _September 8._--Henry turned up in a carriage and pair, and we spent all the afternoon together. It is a strange place to meet in after seventeen months, he coming from British Columbia, I from London. A fancy strikes me that it is symbolic of the way in which the whole empire has rallied together for a common end on African soil. He is still very lame, though called convalescent, and we are trying to work his transfer over here. The day-sister has very kindly written a letter to the commanding officer at his camp about it. We compared notes, and found we had enough money to luxuriously watch his carriage standing outside at five shillings an hour. It cost a pound, but it was worth it. We had so much to talk about, that we didn't know where to begin. A band was playing all the afternoon, and a tea-party going on somewhere, to which Miss Roberts came. She came round the tents also and talked to the men. It turns out that Henry and I both came down from the front on the same day from widely different places, for he was wounded at Belfast, under Buller. _September 9._--Jock gave us a complete concert last night, songs, interspersed with the maddest, most whimsical patter, step-dances, ventriloquism, recitations. He kept us in roars for a long time. Blended with the simplicity of a baby, he has the wisdom of the serpent, and has the knack of getting hold of odd delicacies, with which he regales the ward. He is perfectly well, by the way, but when the doctor comes round he assumes a convincing air of semi-convalescence, and refers darkly to his old wound. The doctor is not in the least taken in, but is indulgent, and not too curious. As soon as his back is turned, Jock is executing a reel in the middle of the ward. The I.L.H. man is very interesting. Like most of his corps, which was recruited from the Rand, he has a position on a mine there, and must be well over forty. He had been through the Zulu war too. His squadron was with Buller all through the terrible struggle from Colenso to Ladysmith, which they were the first to enter. They were shipped off to the Cape and sent up to relieve Mafeking with Mahon. He has been in scores of fights without a scratch, but now has veldt sores. He says Colenso was by far the worst battle, and the last fortnight before the relief of Ladysmith was a terrible strain. But he spoke very highly of the way Buller fed his men. The harder work they did, the better they fared. (The converse is usually the case.) I have heard the same thing from other fellows; there seem to have been very good commissariat arrangements on that side of the country. From first to last all men who served under Buller seemed to have liked and trusted him. Curiously enough, he says that Ladysmith was in far worse case than Mafeking when relieved. The latter could have held out months longer, he thinks, and they all looked well. In Ladysmith you could have blown any of them over with a puff of air, and the defence was nearly broken down. Judging from this casual intercourse, he represents a type very common among colonial volunteers, but not encouraged by our own military system--I mean that of the independent, intelligent, resourceful unit. If there are many like him in his corps, it accounts amply for the splendid work they have done. He told me that not one of them had been taken prisoner, which, looking at the history of the war, and at the kind of work such a corps has to do, speaks volumes for the standard of ability in all ranks. But what I don't like, and can't altogether understand, is the intense and implacable bitterness against the Boers, which all South Africans such as him show. Nothing is too bad for the Boers. "Boiling oil" is far too good. Deportation to Ceylon is pitiful leniency. Any suggestion that the civilized customs of war should be kept up with such an enemy, is scouted. Making all allowances for the natural resentment of those who have known what it is to be an Uitlander, allowing too for "white flag" episodes and so on, I yet fail to understand this excess of animosity, which goes out of its way even to deny any ability to Boer statesmen and soldiers, regardless of the slur such a denial casts on British arms and statesmanship. After all, we have lost ten thousand or more prisoners to the Boers, and, for my part, the fact that I have never heard a complaint of bad treatment (unnecessarily bad, I mean) from an ex-prisoner, tells more strongly than anything with me in forming a friendly impression of the enemy we are fighting. Many a hot argument have we had about Boer and Briton; and I'm afraid he thinks me but a knock-kneed imperialist. _September 10._--_Monday._--To my great delight, Henry turned up as an inmate here, the commanding officer at the convalescent camp having most kindly managed his transference, with some difficulty. The state of his foot didn't enter into the question at all, but official "etiquette" was in danger of being outraged. The commanding officer was a very good chap, though, and Henry seems to have escaped somehow in the tumult, unpursued. He had to walk over here. A wounded man from Warm Baths came in to-day, and said they had had two days' fighting there; camp heavily shelled by Grobelaar. _September 13._--_Thursday._--Foot nearly well, but am not allowed to walk, and very jealous of Henry, who has been given a crutch, and makes rapid kangaroo-like progress with it. There are a good many in his case, and we think of getting up a cripples' race, which Henry would certainly win. Letters from Williams and Ramsey at the front. It seems Warm Baths is evacuated, and the Brigade has returned to Waterval. Why? However, it's nearer here, and will give me a chance of rejoining earlier. A splendid parcel arrived from home. A Jäger coat, chocolate, ginger, plums, cigarettes. Old Daddy opposite revels in the ginger; he is the father of the ward, being forty-seven, a pathetic, time-worn, veldt-worn old reservist, utterly done up by the fatigues of the campaign. He has had a bad operation, and suffers a lot, but he is always "first-rate, couldn't be more comfortable," when the Sisters or doctors ask him; "as long as I never cross that there veldt no more," he adds. A locust-storm passed over the hospital to-day--a cloud of fluttering insects, with dull red bodies and khaki wings. _September 15._--_Saturday._--My foot is well, at any rate for moderate use, and I am to go out on Monday. What I should like, would be to rejoin at once, but unfortunately one has first to go through the intermediate stages of the Convalescent camp, and the Rest camp, where "details" collect, to be forwarded to their regiments. I don't look forward to being a detail at all. Henry's foot is much better, and he is to go out on Monday too. He is still rather lame, though. It has been most delightful having him here. The evenings are deliciously cool, and you can sit outside in pyjamas till 8.30, when you are turned in. We sat out for long last night, talking over plans. A staff officer has twice been in here, and seemed much amused by us two brothers having fore-gathered. I asked him about Paget's brigade, and he seemed to think they were still at or near Waterval. _September 16._--_Sunday._--We went to church in the evening; a tent pleasantly filled up, a Sister at the harmonium, hymns, a few prayers, the Psalms, and a short sermon; a strange parti-coloured congregation we were, in pyjamas, slippers and blue coats, some on crutches; Sisters in their bright uniforms. Chairs were scarce, and Henry and I sat on the floor. It was dark before the end, and in the dim light of two candles at the harmonium we looked a motley throng. Both bound for the Convalescent camp tomorrow. _September 17._--_Monday._--What we actually did to-day, seeing the commandant, regaining our kit, drawing new kit, might have been done in half an hour; but we took from nine till three doing it, most of which time we were standing waiting. However, about three we found ourselves in a covered cart with five others and our kits, bound for the Convalescent camp. We had said good-bye to the Sisters and our mates. Old Daddy, I am glad to say, had "worked it," as they say, and was radiant, having been marked up for home. No more of "that there veldt" for him. Jock had already been sent out and given a post as hospital orderly, and was now spreading the fame of the Highland Brigade in new fields. We both felt, on the whole, that we had been looked after very well in a very good hospital. The mules jolted us across the valley, and landed us at a big block of tents, and we took places in one; mother earth again. Tea, the milkless variety again, at 4.30, and then we went to Henry's old tent in the General Hospital, which adjoins this camp, and talked to a friend of his there, a man in the Rifle Brigade, with a bad splintered knee. He was shot about the same time as Henry in a fine charge made by his battalion, which I remember reading about. Both much depressed to-night; the atmosphere of this camp is like a convict settlement. The food and arrangements are all right, but nobody knows any one else; all are casual details from every possible regiment and volunteer corps in the Empire. Nearly all are "fed up;" nearly all want to get home. A vein of bitter pessimism runs through all conversations; there is a general air of languor and depression. Fatigues are the only occupation. I should go melancholy mad here, if I stayed; but I shall apply to return to the Battery. Even then there is another stage--the Rest camp--to be gone through. We sat up late this night outside the lines, talking of this strange coincidence of our meeting, and trying to plan future ones. He feels the same about this place, but is still too lame to rejoin his corps. _September 18._--We washed in a stream some distance off, and then had breakfast. Then general parade. There must be some two or three hundred of us, and a wretched, slipshod lot we looked. A voice said, "Those who want to rejoin their regiments, two paces to the front." A few accepted the invitation. I gave in my name, and was told to parade again at two, with kit packed. The next moment we were being split up into fatigue parties. Fatigues are always a nuisance, but I don't mind them under my own folk, with a definite necessary job to be done. A fatigue under strange masters and with strange mates is very irksome, especially when, as in this case, there is little really to be done, but they don't want to leave you idle. This was a typical case. I and a dozen others slouched off under a corporal, who showed us to a sergeant, who gave us to a sergeant-major, who pointed to a line of tents (Langman's Hospital), and bade us clean up the lines. To the ordinary eye there was nothing to clean up, but to the trained eye there were some minute fragments of paper and cigarette ends. Now the great thing in a fatigue of this kind is: (1) To make it last. No good hurrying, as fresh futilities will be devised for you. (2) To appear to be doing something at all costs. (3) To escape unobtrusively at the first opportunity. There are some past-masters in the theory and practice of fatigues who will disregard No. 1, and carry on No. 2 till the golden moment when, with inspired audacity, they achieve No. 3, and vanish from the scene. This requires genius. The less confident ploddingly fulfil Nos. 1 and 2, and don't attempt No. 3. Well, we loitered up and down, and collected a few handfuls, and when we had eked out the job to the uttermost, stood together in a listless knot and waited. "What shall we do?" we asked the corporal. "Do any ---- thing," he despairingly cried, "but do some ---- thing!" By this time the sergeant-major too was at his wits' end as he looked round his spotless lines. But you can't easily baffle a sergeant-major. There was a pump, with a big tub by it, to catch the waste, I suppose. The artistic possibilities of these simple objects flashed across him. In his mind's eye he saw this prosaic tub sublimed into a romantic pool, and girdled by a rockery, in whose mossy crannies errant trickles of water might lose themselves, and perhaps fertilize exotic flora yet unborn. At this moment I espied a wheelbarrow in the distance, and went for it with that purposeful briskness, which may sometimes be used in fatigues of this sort to disguise your real intentions. For it is of the greatest importance in a fatigue to have an implement; it is the outward symbol of labour; if observation falls on you, you can wipe your brow and lean on it; you can even use it for a few minutes if necessary. Without some stage property of this sort only a consummate actor can seem to be busy. Well, I got to the barrow just in time. There were two; a Grenadier Guardsman got the other, and amid envious looks we wheeled them off towards a heap of rubble in the offing, "conveniently low." Then, with a simultaneous sigh of relief, we mechanically produced our pipes and tobacco, found comfortable seats against the pile of rubble, and had a good chat, lazily watching the genesis of the naiad's grotto in the distance. When we had had a good smoke, and fought our battles over again, we got up and saw signs that the fatigue was guttering out; so we put a few stones in each of the barrows, and, well content, journeyed back to the scene of operations, and laid our stones round the base of the tub, more because we knew nowhere else to lay them than for any other reason, for the sergeant-major had apparently forgotten his grandiose designs in other schemes, and had disappeared. The fatigue party was thinning. The corporal said what may be freely translated as "disappear quietly," and we made off to our camp, where I found Henry, who had doctor's leave to be excused fatigues, being lame. CHAPTER XII. A DETAIL. _September 18, continued._--At two we paraded again with our kits, and about a dozen of us marched off to the Rest camp, which is the next stage. Everything was very hurried, but Henry had just time to tell me that he was ordered to Bloemfontein, when I had to start. We said good-bye, and I don't suppose will meet again till London. The Rest camp was about four miles off, on the other side of Pretoria. Arrived very hot and dusty. Waited some time, and then was told that I must go to the Artillery Barracks, another two miles in quite a different direction. I might just as well have gone there direct. However, I was lucky enough to get a lift for my kit and myself most of the way, and landed about 5.30 at a collection of big, red-brick buildings outside the town, was handed from person to person for some time, and finally found a resting-place on the floor of a huge bare room in a sort of a tin outbuilding, where some 150 R.A. men of all batteries were sitting or lying on their kit round the walls and down the centre; like lost souls, I pictured them, sitting round one of Dante's purgatorial retreats. I felt exactly like going to school again for the first time, though, of course, I soon found them all very friendly. I learned that there was no food to be got till to-morrow, but I foraged about till I found a sort of canteen-tent, where they sold buns, and, having some tea of my own, got water boiled over a friendly fire, and now feel happier; but I fervently hope I shall get back to the Battery soon. When I heard last from Williams, they had returned to Waterval after some hard forced marching. _September 19._--Loafed away last evening somehow. A wan electric light half lit the room after dark; the souls "twittered" like Homer's in dejected knots. "Fatigues all day, and a pass into town once a week," seem to be the prospect. Reveillé to-day at six. At parade, after breakfast, I was told off to act as an office orderly to Captain Davies, the Inspector of Ordnance, an all-day job, but otherwise with possibilities in it, I judged. Found the office, swept it out, and dusted and tidied things. Parlour-maid's work is nearly new to me (I have only cleaned windows before, in barracks at St. John's Wood), and I found myself trying to remember what I used to see Mary doing in the flat. I fancy my predecessor must have been a "slattern," for everything was thick with dust. I wish the Captain would leave his matches behind; there is not a match to be got in Pretoria now for the ordinary mortal. I'm afraid there are no perquisites in this situation. Also I wish he would get a waste-paper basket. I have made a humane resolve never to be without one myself, at home. Captain rode up about 9.30; I tied up his pony, and then sat on a stone step outside, feeling rather like a corner-boy trying to pick up a job. Found a friendly collar-maker in a room near. He also is a "detail," or "excess number," but a philosopher withal. He told me that from his observation I had a "soft job."--Nothing happened, so I have adjourned to some tarpaulins in the back yard. A shout of "Ord'ly" from the office interrupted me, and I was sent with a blue letter to the Chief Ordnance Officer in a camp about a mile away. Again to the same place in the afternoon, and one or two other little errands, but between whiles I had plenty of time to write. The Captain rode off about five, and I somehow got attached to the collar-maker, who was extremely friendly, and we spent the evening together. Looked in at a S.C.A. tent, and found a service going on. The Chaplain of the Bushmen was speaking. _September 20._--I got a pass and walked to Pretoria in the evening; saw the place by daylight, and was rather disillusioned. The good buildings and the best shops are in a very small compass, and are nothing much at the best, though the Palace of Justice and the Government buildings are tolerably dignified. All this part seems quite new. There is very little to be bought. Indeed, the wonder is that there is anything, for no trade supplies have come in since the war began. By way of testing prices, I took a cup of tea and some cake in a pleasant little shop; half a crown; worth it though, for the tea had fresh milk in it. Groceries seem unobtainable, but I made a valuable haul at a chemist's, in the shape of tea-tablets, which I think are the most useful things one can have out here. Matches can't be bought at all, but if you buy other things, and then are very polite, they will throw in a box for love; at least, a tobacconist did so for me. They used to be a shilling a box, but the authorities limited the price to a penny, a futile proceeding. The charm of Pretoria lies in its outlying roads, with its cool little villas peeping out of green. The place is very quiet, and every one is in khaki. _September 12._--Can't get sent to the Battery yet. Our tin room grows fuller. At night it is much too crowded, and is horribly stuffy; for the nights are very hot. But I am quite at home now, and enjoy the society, mixed though it is. I have literary arguments with a field-battery bombardier. We both rather pity one another, for he can't appreciate Thackeray and I can't understand Marie Corelli, whose works, with their deep spiritual meaning, he speaks of reverently. He hopes to educate me up to "Ardath," and I have offered him the reversion of "Esmond," which I bought yesterday. Went down to town in the evening and visited the Irish Hospital, which has commandeered the Palace of Justice, and turned it to better uses than Kruger's venial judges ever put it to. The patients dwell "in marble halls," spacious, lofty rooms. Had a pleasant chat with Dr. Stokes. (The I.H. were shipmates of ours on the _Montfort_.) Also, to my great delight, found two men of our Battery there; it was a great treat to see familiar faces again. They said the Battery or part of it was at Waterval. I don't see why I shouldn't rejoin at once if they will only let me. I joined them in an excellent tea. They spoke most highly of the hospital. I had no pass to get back with, and didn't know the countersign, but I bluffed through all right. _September 22._--No prospect of getting away, though I apply daily to rejoin. Sent down to Pretoria with a letter in the middle of the day, so took the opportunity of visiting the Soldiers' Home, where you can get mild drinks, read the papers, and write. Visited the Battery chaps again in the evening. I have grown quite reckless about the lack of a pass; "Orderly to Captain Davies," said in a very off-hand tone I found an excellent form of reply to sentries. I have an "Esmond," and am enjoying it for about the fiftieth time. It serves to pass away the late evenings. A great amusement in the barrack-room after dark is gambling. The amounts won and lost rather astonish me. Happily it is done in silence, with grim intensity. But I have only an inch of candle, and can't buy any more. Next me on the floor is a gunner of the 14th Battery, which lost its guns at Colenso. He has just given me a graphic account of that disastrous day, and how they fought the guns till ammunition failed and then sat (what was left of them) in a donga close behind, with no teams with which to get more ammunition or retire the guns. I have also had the story of Sanna's Post from a U Battery man who was captured there. He described how they were marching through a drift one morning, with no thought of Boers in their heads, when they suddenly attacked at close range, and were helpless. I may mention a thing that strikes me about all such stories (and one hears a good many out here) from soldiers who have been "given away" by bad leadership. There is criticism, jesting and satirical generally, but very little bitterness. Bravery is always admired, but it is so universal as to be taken for granted. The popularity of officers depends far more on the interest they show in the daily welfare of the men, in personal good-fellowship, in consideration for them in times of privation and exhaustion, when a physical strain which tells heavily on the man may tell lightly on the officers. It is a big subject and a delicate one, but rightly or wrongly, I have got the impression that more might be done in the army to lower the rigid caste-barrier which separates the ranks. No doubt it is inevitable and harmless at home, but in the bloody, toilsome business of war it is apt to have bad results. Of course is only part of the larger question of our general military system, deep-rooted as that is in our whole national life, and now placed, with all its defects and advantages, in vivid contrast with an almost exactly opposite system. _September 23._--_Sunday._--Ammunition fatigue for most of us, while I attended as office-boy as usual, and was walking about with letters most of the day. There are farriers and wheelers also at work in this yard, so that one can always light one's pipe or make a cup of tea at the forge fire. Just outside are ranged a row of antiquated Boer guns of obsolete types; I expect they are the lot they used to show to our diplomatic representative when he asked vexatious questions about the "increasing armaments." I believe the Boers also left quantities of good stores here when Pretoria was abandoned. These are fine new barracks scarcely finished. They enclose a big quadrangle. Three or four batteries, horse and field, are quartered in them now. Tried to get to Pretoria after hours, but was stopped by a conscientious sentry, who wanted my pass. I wished to get to the station, with a vague idea of finding when there would be a train to Waterval, and then running away. _September 24._--Worried the Sergeant-Major again, and was told that I might get away to-morrow. Meanwhile, I am getting deeper in the toils. I was sitting on my tarpaulins writing, and feeling rather grateful for the "softness" of my job, when a shout of "Ord'ly!" sent me into the office. The Captain, who is a good-natured, pleasant chap, asked me if I could do clerk's work. I said I was a clerk at home, and thought I could. He said he thought I must find it irksome and lonely to be sitting outside, and I might just as well pass the time between errands in writing up ledgers inside. I was soon being initiated into Ordnance accounts, which are things of the most diabolical complexity. Ordnance comprises practically everything; from a gun-carriage to a nail; from a tent, a waggon, a binocular, a blanket, a saddle, to an ounce of grease and all the thousand constituents which go to make up everything. These are tabulated in a book which is a nightmare of subsections, and makes you dizzy to peruse. But no human brain can tabulate Ordnance exhaustively, so half the book is blank columns, in which you for ever multiply new subsections, new atoms of Ordnance which nobody has thought of before. The task has a certain morbid fascination about it, which I believe would become a disease if you pursued it long enough, and leave you an analyticomaniac, or some such horror. Myriad bits of ordnance are continually pouring in and pouring out, and the object is to track them, and balance them, and pursue every elusive atom from start to finish. It may be expendible, like paint, or non-expendible, like an anvil. You feel despairingly that a pound of paint, born at Kimberley, and now at Mafeking, is disappearing somewhere and somehow; but you have to endow it with a fictitious immortality. An anvil you feel safer about, but then you have to use it somewhere, and account for its surplus, if there is any. Any one with a turn for metaphysics would be at home in Ordnance; Aristotle would have revelled in it. It has just struck me that 1s. 5d. a day for a charwoman, a messenger and an accountant, to say nothing of a metaphysician, all rolled into one, is low pay. In London you would have to give such a being at least a pound a week. _September 25._--Ledgers, vouchers, errands, most of the day. Melting hot, with a hot wind. Good news from the Sergeant-major that he is putting in an application for a railway pass for me to Waterval, without waiting for the other formalities. _September 26._--_Wednesday._--Hopes dashed to the ground. Commandant won't sign the application till some other officer does something or other, which there seems little chance of his doing. CHAPTER XIII. SOUTH AGAIN. Ordered home--Back to the Battery--Good-bye to the horses--The charm of the veldt--Recent work of the Battery--Paget's farewell speech-- Hard-won curios--The last bivouac--Roberts's farewell--The southward train--De Wet?--Mirages--A glimpse of Piquetberg road--The _Aurania_-- Embarkation scenes--The last of Africa--A pleasant night. September 27 was a red-letter day. News came that all the C.I.V. were going home on the following Monday. I was overwhelmed with congratulations in the barrack-room. I exercised the Captain's Argentine in the afternoon, and visited the station, where I learnt that the Battery had been wired for, and had arrived, but was camped somewhere outside. On the next day I got another charwoman-clerk appointed, said good-bye to my R.A. friends and the Captain, who congratulated me too, and was free to find the Battery and rejoin. After some difficulty, I found them camped about four miles out, close to the C.I.V. Infantry. It was delightful to walk into the lines, and to see the old familiar scenes, and horses, and faces. Every one looked more weather-beaten and sunburnt, and the horses very shaggy and hard-worked, but strong and fit. My mare had lost flesh, but was still in fine condition. The Argentine was lashing out at the others in the same old way. Tiny, the terrier, looked very weary and travel-stained after much forced marching, which she had loyally undergone to the last. Jacko had not turned a hair. Williams turned up with "Pussy" in a lather, having been hunting for me all round Pretoria. We ate bully-beef and biscuit together in the old style. I took my pair down to water for the last time, "for auld lang syne," and noticed that the mare's spine was not the comfortable seat it used to be. Then the last "boot and saddle" went, and they were driven away with the guns and waggons to the station, and thence to the remount depôt, to be drafted later into new batteries. Ninety-four horses were handed over, out of a hundred and fourteen originally brought from England, a most creditable record. The camp looked very strange without the horses, and it was odder still to have no watering or grooming to do. In the evening, the change from barrack-room to veldt was most delightful. We made a fire and cooked tea in the old way, and talked and smoked under the soft night sky and crescent moon. Then what a comfortable bed afterwards! Pure air to breathe, and plenty of room. I felt I had hardly realized before how pleasant the veldt life had been. The Battery had done a great deal of hard work since I left; forced marches by night and day between Warmbad, Pynaar's River, Waterval, Hebron, Crocodile River, and Eland's River; generally with Paget, once under Colonel Plumer, and once under Hickman. They had shared in capturing several Boer laagers, and quantities of cattle. When they left the brigade, a commando under Erasmus was negotiating for a surrender, which was made a day or two later, as we afterwards heard. Altogether, they had done very good work, though not a round was fired. I only wish I could have been with them. One thing I deeply regret missing, and that was Paget's farewell speech to us, when all agree that he spoke with real and deep feeling. One of our gunners took it down in shorthand, and here it is:-- "Major McMicking, Officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of the C.I.V. Battery,-- "Lord Roberts has decided to send you home, and I have come to say good-bye and to express my regret at having to part with you. We have been together now for some months, and have had rough times, but in its many engagements the C.I.V. Battery has always done its work well. Before my promotion I commanded a battalion, and I know what a heart-breaking it is to lead gallant fellows up to a strong position unsupported by artillery; and I made up my mind that, if ever I had a separate command, I would never advance infantry without an artillery support. I was fortunate enough to have your Battery with me, and it is very gratifying to know that everything we attempted has been successful. Owing to the excellent practice made by your guns, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you have been the cause of great saving of lives to the Infantry, and at times the Cavalry. I am sorry to lose you, and I shall miss you very much. There is more hard work to be done; and you cannot realize what it is to me to lose a body of men whom I knew I could always rely upon. There are many episodes, some of which will remain a lasting memory to me. One in particular I might refer to, when, two days after leaving Lindley, two companies of Munster Fusiliers came unexpectedly under heavy rifle-fire at short range; your guns coming smartly into action, dispersed the enemy with a few well-directed shrapnel. It was one of the smartest pieces of work I have ever seen. On another occasion, outside Bethlehem (I forget the name of the place),[A] when in a rear-guard action with De Wet, you advanced under a heavy cross-fire of shrapnel, when you rendered splendid service, and saved Roberts' Horse by silencing two guns and smashing a third. On that day not a single life was lost on our side. On still another occasion, outside Bethlehem, under heavy shell-fire from five guns in a strong position, the steadiness with which your guns were served would have done credit to the finest troops in the Empire. There are other incidents that I might mention, but these three occur to me specially at the moment. You are returning home, to receive a hearty welcome, which you undoubtedly deserve, and I hope you will sometimes think of me, as I certainly shall of you; and now you can tell your friends what I think of you. I wish you a safe and pleasant voyage. Good-bye." [Footnote A: Bultfontein.] We shall also tell them what we thought of him. There was not a man of us but liked, admired, and trusted him--as I know did his whole brigade. And that he trusted us, is an honour we shall not forget. It was good to be going home again; but I think every one felt half sorry that we were not to share in finishing the work before his brigade. The whole C.I.V. regiment was being sent home together; but the Infantry, of course, had done the bulk of their work when we began ours. It was curious that this was the first occasion on which the three arms of the C.I.V., Infantry, Mounted Infantry, and Artillery, had been united under one command. We spent the next two days in preparations for departure, in sorting of harness, sifting and packing of kit, and great burnings of discarded rubbish. On the first of October, Williams and I walked into Pretoria to do some business, and try and pick up some curios. We had an exhausting conflict with a crusty old Jew, with whom we bargained for scjamboks and knobkerries. It was with great difficulty we got him to treat with us at all, or even show us his wares. He had been humbugged so often by khakis that he would not believe we were serious customers, and treated our advances with violence and disdain. We had to be conciliatory, as we wanted his wares, though we felt inclined to loot his shop, and leave him for dead. After some most extraordinary bargaining and after tempting him with solid, visible gold, we each secured a scjambok and a knobkerry at exorbitant prices, and left him even then grumbling and growling. Scjamboks are whips made of rhinoceros' hide. They take a beautiful polish, and a good one is indestructible. A knobkerry is a stick with a heavy round knob for a head, overlaid, head and stem, with copper and steel wire, in ingenious spirals and patterns. The Kaffirs make them. I also wired to my brother to meet our train at Elandsfontein. He had written me, saying he had been sent there from the Convalescent Camp, having the luck to find as his commandant Major Paul Burn-Murdoch, of the Royal Engineers, who was a mutual friend of ours. I was on picket duty that night--my last on the veldt. The camp looked very strange with only the four lines of men sleeping by their kits, and a few officers' horses and a little knot of ten mules for the last buck-waggon. It was an utterly still moonlight night, only broken by the distant chirruping of frogs and the occasional tinkle of a mule's chain. At seven the next morning we met the C.I.V. Infantry and Mounted Infantry, and were all reviewed by Lord Roberts, who rode out with his Staff to say good-bye to us. He made us a speech we were proud to hear, referring particularly to the fine marching of the Infantry, and adding that he hoped we would carry home to the heart of the country a high opinion of the regular British soldier, alongside whom we had fought. That we certainly shall do. He prophesied a warm reception at home, and said he hoped when it was going on we would remember one man, our Honorary Colonel, who would have liked to be there to march at our head into the city of London; "good-bye and God speed." Then we cheered him and marched away. At half-past twelve we were at the station, where the guns had already been entrained by a fatigue party. Ours was the first of three trains, and was to carry the Battery, and two companies of Infantry. Williams and I secured a small lair underneath a limber in an open truck, and bundled in our kit. The platform was crowded with officers and Tommies, and many and envious were the farewells we had. Kilsby, of T Battery, whom I had made friends with at the barracks, was there to see me off. At 4.30, amidst great cheering, we steamed out and began the thousand mile run to Capetown, slowly climbing the long wooded pass, under an angry, lowering sky. At the top a stormy sun was setting in a glowing furnace of rose-red. We hastily rigged some tarpaulins over our limber, and escaped a wetting from a heavy shower. We had managed to distribute and compress our kit so as to leave room to lie down in, and after dark we lit a lantern and played picquet. About eight we came to Elandsfontein, and there on the platform were my brother and Major Burn-Murdoch. The latter hurried us off to the restaurant--forbidden ground to us men as a rule, sat us down among the officers, and gave us a rattling good dinner, while our comrades munched their biscuits outside. De Wet, we heard, was ahead, having crossed the line with 1000 men, two nights ago, further south. We agreed that it would be a happy irony if he held up our train, the first to carry troops homeward--the herald of peace, in fact; and just the sort of enterprise that would tickle his fancy. Suddenly the train jerked off, and I jumped into my lair and left them. It was a warm night, and we sat under the stars on the seats of the limber, enjoying the motion and the cool air. About ten we pulled up at a station, and just after we had stopped, four rifle-shots rapped out in quick succession not far ahead. De Wet, we at once conjectured. In the darkness on our left we heard an impatient corporal turning out his sleepy guard, and a stir and clatter of arms. One of our companies of infantry was also turned out, and a party formed to patrol the line, outposts having reported some Boers tampering with the rails. The rest of the train was sound asleep, but we, being awake, got leave to go with the patrol. Williams borrowed a rifle from somewhere, but I could not find a weapon. They made us connecting files between the advance party and main body, and we tramped up the line and over the veldt for about an hour, but nothing happened, and we came back and turned in. De Wet let us alone, and for five days we travelled peaceably through the well-known places, sometimes in the pure, clear air of true African weather, but further south through storms of cold rain, when Scotch mists shrouded everything, and we lay in the bottom of our truck, on carefully constructed islands of kit and blankets, among pools of water, passing the time with books and cards. Signs of war had not disappeared, and at every station down to Bloemfontein were the same vigilant camps (often with parties posted in trenches), more charred remains of trains, and ever-present rumours of raiding commandos. One novel sight I saw in the interminable monotony of desert veldt. For a whole afternoon there were mirages all along the horizon, a chain of enchanted lakes on either side, on which you could imagine piers, and boats, and wooded islands. At Beaufort West we dropped our "boys," the Kaffir mule-drivers; they left us in a great hubbub of laughing and shouting, with visions before them, I expect, of a golden age, based on their accumulated wealth of high pay. We passed Piquetberg Road about midnight of October 6th. Plumbley, the store-keeper, was there, and the belle of the village was holding a moonlight levée at the end of the train. There was a temporary clear from the rain here, but it soon thickened down again. When we steamed away I climbed out on the buffers (the only way of getting a view), and had a last look at the valley, which our wheels had scored in so many directions. Tulbagh Pass, Bushman's Rock, and the hills behind it were looking ghostly through a humid, luminous mist; but my posture was not conducive to sentimentality, as any one who tries it will agree; so I climbed back to my island, and read myself to sleep by a candle, while we clattered and jolted on into the night. When I woke at dawn on October 7th we were standing in a siding at the Capetown docks, the rain coming down in torrents, and Table Mountain blotted out in clouds. Collecting our kit from sopping crannies and corners, we packed it and paraded at six, and marched off to the quay, where the _Aurania_, our homeward transport, lay. Here we gave in revolvers, carbines, blankets, etc., were split up into messes, and, after much waiting, filed off into the fore part of the ship, descended a noisome-smelling funnel by an iron staircase, and found ourselves on the troop-deck, very similar to that of the _Montfort_, only likely to be much more crowded; the same low ceiling, with cross-rafters for kit and hooks for hammocks, and close-packed tables on either side. More C.I.V. had arrived, and the quays were swarming with soldiers and civilians. Williams had decided to stay and see something of Capetown, and was now to get his discharge. There were a few others doing so also. He was discharged in form, and drove away to the Mount Nelson Hotel, returning later disguised as a civilian, in a long mackintosh (over his uniform), a scarf, and a villainous-looking cap; looking, as he said, like a seedy Johannesburg refugee. But he was free! The Manager of his hotel, which, I believe, is the smartest in South Africa, had looked askance at his luggage, which consisted of an oat-sack, bulging with things, and a disreputable-looking bundle. At about three there was a great shouting and heaving of the crowd, and the High Commissioner came on the scene, and walked down the quay through a guard of honour which we and the Infantry had contributed to form, industriously kinematographed on his progress by a fat Jew. Several staff-officers were with Milner, and a grey-bearded gentleman, whom we guessed to be Sir Gordon Sprigg. Milner, I heard, made a speech somewhere. Then a band was playing, and we were allowed half an hour off the ship. Williams and I had our last talk on the quay, in a surging crowd of khaki and civilian grey, mingled with the bright hats and dresses of ladies. Then bells began to ring, the siren to bellow mournfully, and the band to play valedictory tunes ("Say _au revoir_ and not goodbye," I thought rather an ominous pleasantry). We two said good-bye, and I squeezed myself up the gangway. Every inch of standing room aboard was already packed, but I got a commanding position by clambering high up, with some others, on to a derrick-boom. The pilot appeared on the bridge, shore-ropes were cast off, "Auld Lang Syne" was played, then "God save the Queen." Every hat on board and ashore was waving, and every voice cheering, and so we backed off, and steamed out of the basin. Sober facts had now to be considered. There were signs of a heavy swell outside, and something about "the lift of the great Cape combers" came into my head. We all jostled down to tea, and made the best of our time. There was no mistake about the swell, and a terrific rolling soon began, which first caused unnatural merriment, and then havoc. I escaped from the inferno below, and found a pandemonium on deck. The limited space allotted to the troops was crammed, and at every roll figures were propelled to and fro like high-velocity projectiles. Shell-fire was nothing to it for danger. I got hold of something and smoked, while darkness came on with rain, and the horrors intensified. I bolted down the pit to get some blankets. One glance around was enough, and having seized the blankets, up I came again. Where to make a bed? Every yard, sheltered and unsheltered, seemed to be carpeted with human figures. Amidships, on either side of the ship, there was a covered gallery, running beneath the saloon deck (a palatial empty space, with a few officers strolling about it). In the gallery on the weather side there was not an inch of lying room, though at every roll the water lapped softly up to and round the prostrate, indifferent bodies. On the lee side, which was dry, they seemed to be lying two deep. At last, on the open space of the main deck aft, I found one narrow strip of wet, but empty space, laid my blankets down, earnestly wishing it was the dusty veldt, and was soon asleep. It was raining, but, like the rest, misery made me indifferent. _Montfort_ experience ought to have reminded me that the decks are always washed by the night watch. I was reminded of this about 2 A.M. by an unsympathetic seaman, who was pointing the nozzle of a hose threateningly at me. The awakened crowd was drifting away, goodness knows where, trailing their wet blankets. I happened to be near the ladder leading to the sacred precincts of the saloon deck. Its clean, empty, sheltered spaces were irresistibly tempting, and I lawlessly mounted the ladder with my bed, lay down, and went to sleep again. CHAPTER XIV. CONCLUSION. Impressions of the voyage--Sentry-go--Troopship--Limitations-- Retrospect--St. Vincent--Forecasts--The Start--The Needles-- Southampton Water--Landing--Paddington--A dream. I am not going to describe the voyage in detail. Africa, with all it meant, was behind us, England was before, and the intervening time, monotonous though it was, passed quickly with that absorbing thought. My chief impression is that of living in an eternal jostle; forming interminable _queues_ outside canteens, washing-places, and stuffy hammock-rooms in narrow alleys, and of leisure hours spent on deck among a human carpet of khaki, playing euchre, or reading the advertisement columns of ancient halfpenny papers. There was physical exercise, and a parade every day, but the chief duty was that of sentry-go, which recurred to each of us every five days, and lasted for twenty-four hours. The ship teemed with sentries. To look out for fire was our principal function, and a very important one it was, but I have also vivid recollections of lonely vigils over water-tight doors in stifling little alley-ways, of directing streams of traffic up troop-deck ladders, and of drowsy sinecures, in the midnight hours, over deserted water-taps and empty wash-houses. These latter, which contained fourteen basins between fourteen hundred men, are a good illustration of the struggle for life in those days. That a sentry should guard them at night was not unreasonable on the face of it, since I calculated that if every man was to appear washed at the ten o'clock parade, the first would have had to begin washing about six o'clock the night before, allowing ten minutes for a toilet, but unfortunately for this theory, the basins were always locked up at night. Another grim pleasantry was an order that all should appear shaved at the morning parade. Luckily this cynical regulation was leniently interpreted, for the spectacle of fourteen hundred razors flashing together in those narrow limits of time and space was a prospect no humane person could view with anything but horror. There was plenty of time to reflect over our experiences in the last nine months. Summing mine up, I found, and thinking over it at home find still, little but good in the retrospect. Physically and mentally, I, like many others, have found this short excursion into strict military life of enormous value. To those who have been lucky enough to escape sickness, the combination of open air and hard work will act as a lasting tonic against the less healthy conditions of town-life. It is something, bred up as we have been in a complex civilization, to have reduced living to its simplest terms and to have realized how little one really wants. It is much to have learnt the discipline, self-restraint, endurance and patience which soldiering demands. (For a driver, it is a liberal education in itself to have lived with and for two horses day and night for eight months!) Perhaps the best of all is to have given up newspaper reading for a time and have stepped one's self into the region of open-air facts where history is made and the empire is moulded; to have met and mixed with on that ground, where all classes are fused, not only men of our blood from every quarter of the globe, but men of our own regular army who had fought that desperate struggle in the early stages of the war before we were thought of; to have lived their life, heard their grievances, sympathized with their needs, and admired their splendid qualities. As to the Battery, it is not for a driver in the ranks to generalize on its work. But this one can say, that after a long and trying probation on the line of communications we did at length do a good deal of work and earn the confidence of our Brigadier. We have been fortunate enough to lose no lives through wounds and only one from sickness, a fact which speaks highly for our handling in the field by our officers, and for their general management of the Battery. Incidentally, we can fairly claim to have proved, or helped to prove, that Volunteer Artillery can be of use in war; though how much skill and labour is involved in its sudden mobilization only the few able men who organized ours in January last can know. To return to the _Aurania_. On the 19th of October we were anchored at St. Vincent, with the fruit-laden bum-boats swarming alongside, and the donkey-engines chattering, derricks clacking, and coal-dust pervading everything. Here we read laconic telegrams from London, speaking of a great reception before us on Saturday the 27th, and thenceforward the talk was all of runs, and qualities of coal, and technical mysteries of the toiling engines, which were straining to bring us home by Friday night. Every steward, stoker, and cabin boy had his circle of disciples, who quoted and betted on his predictions as though they were the utterings of an oracle; but the pessimists gradually prevailed, for we met bad weather and heavy head-seas on entering the bay. It was not till sunrise on Friday itself that we sighted land, a white spur of cliff, with a faint suggestion of that long unseen colour, green, behind it, seen across some miles of wind-whipped foaming blue. The optimists said it was the Needles, the pessimists the Start; the latter were right, and we guessed we should have to wait till Monday before landing; but that did not lessen the delight of watching the familiar shores slide by till the Needles were reached, and then of feasting our eyes, long accustomed to the parched plains of Africa, on fields and hedges, and familiar signs of homely, peaceful life. It was four o'clock when we dropped anchor in Southampton Water, and were shouting a thousand questions at the occupants of a tug which lay alongside, and learnt with wonder, emotion, and a strange sense of unworthiness, of the magnificent welcome that London had prepared for us. The interminable day of waiting; the landing on the quay, with its cheering crowds; that wonderful journey to London, with its growing tumult of feelings, as station after station, with their ribboned and shouting throngs, flashed by; the meeting at Paddington with our comrades of the Honourable Artillery Company, bringing us their guns and horses; the mounting of a glossy, smartly-equipped steed, which made me laughingly recall my shaggy old pair, with their dusty, travel-worn harness; all this I see clearly enough. The rest seems a dream; a dream of miles of upturned faces, of dancing colours, of roaring voices, of a sudden dim hush in the great Cathedral, of more miles of faces under gaslight, of a voice in a packed hall saying, "London is proud of her--," of disconnected confidences with policemen, work-people, street-arabs, and finally of the entry once more through the old grey gateway of the Armoury House. I expect the feelings of all of us were much the same; some honest pride in having helped to earn such a welcome; a sort of stunned bewilderment at its touching and passionate intensity; a deep wave of affection for our countrymen; and a thought in the background all the time of a dusty khaki figure still plodding the distant veldt--our friend and comrade, Atkins, who has done more and bloodier work than we, and who is not at the end of it yet. THE END. 
20765	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 20765-h.htm or 20765-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/7/6/20765/20765-h/20765-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/7/6/20765/20765-h.zip) Transcriber's Note: Spelling, punctuation and capitalization are as in the original. This includes the writer's various spellings of her own name. Ordinals such as "1st", "2d", "4th" were consistently written in superscript. They are shown here as unmarked text. Other superscript abbreviations are shown with caret as M^rs, Hon^d. The printed book included a facsimile image of a typical diary page. A transcription of this passage appears immediately before the diary proper. DIARY OF ANNA GREEN WINSLOW A Boston School Girl of 1771 Edited by ALICE MORSE EARLE [Illustration: ANNA GREEN WINSLOW] [Publisher's Device: Tout bien ou rien] Boston and New York Houghton, Mifflin and Company The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1895 Copyright, 1894, By Alice Morse Earle. All rights reserved. Third Edition. The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. This Book _Is Dedicated_ _To_ _The Kinsfolk Of_ _ANNA GREEN WINSLOW_ _FOREWORD._ _In the year 1770, a bright little girl ten years of age, Anna Green Winslow, was sent from her far away home in Nova Scotia to Boston, the birthplace of her parents, to be "finished" at Boston schools by Boston teachers. She wrote, with evident eagerness and loving care, for the edification of her parents and her own practice in penmanship, this interesting and quaint diary, which forms a most sprightly record, not only of the life of a young girl at that time, but of the prim and narrow round of daily occurrences in provincial Boston. It thus assumes a positive value as an historical picture of the domestic life of that day; a value of which the little girl who wrote it, or her kinsfolk who affectionately preserved it to our own day, never could have dreamed. To many New England families it is specially interesting as a complete rendering, a perfect presentment, of the childish life of their great grandmothers, her companions._ _It is an even chance which ruling thought in the clever little writer, a love of religion or a love of dress, shows most plainly its influence on this diary. On the whole, I think that youthful vanity, albeit of a very natural and innocent sort, is more pervasive of the pages. And it is fortunate that this is the case; for, from the frankly frivolous though far from self-conscious entries we gain a very exact notion, a very valuable picture, of the dress of a young girl at that day. We know all the details of her toilet, from the "pompedore" shoes and the shifts (which she had never worn till she lived in Boston), to the absurd and top-heavy head-decoration of "black feathers, my past comb & all my past garnet marquasett and jet pins, together with my silver plume." If this fantastic assemblage of ornament were set upon the "Heddus roll," so graphically described, it is easy to understand the denunciations of the time upon women's headgear. In no contemporary record or account, no matter who the writer, can be found such a vivacious and witty description of the modish hairdressing of that day as in the pages of this diary._ _But there are many entries in the journal of this vain little Puritan devotee to show an almost equal attention to religion; records of sermons which she had heard, and of religious conversations in which she had taken a self-possessed part; and her frequent use of Biblical expressions and comparisons shows that she also remembered fully what she read. Her ambitious theological sermon-notes were evidently somewhat curtailed by the sensible advice of the aunt with whom she resided, who thereby checked also the consequent injudicious praise of her pastor, the Old South minister. For Anna and her kinsfolk were of the congregation of the Old South church; and this diary is in effect a record of the life of Old South church attendants. Many were what Anna terms "sisters of the Old South," and nine tenths of the names of her companions and friends may be found on the baptismal and membership records of that church._ _Anna was an industrious little wight, active in all housewifely labors and domestic accomplishments, and attentive to her lessons. She could make "pyes," and fine network; she could knit lace, and spin linen thread and woolen yarn; she could make purses, and embroider pocket-books, and weave watch strings, and piece patchwork. She learned "dansing, or danceing I should say," from one Master Turner; she attended a sewing school, to become a neat and deft little sempstress, and above all, she attended a writing school to learn that most indispensable and most appreciated of eighteenth century accomplishments--fine writing. Her handwriting, of which a fac-simile is here shown, was far better than that of most girls of twelve to-day; with truth and justice could Anna say, "Aunt says I can write pretily." Her orthography was quite equal to that of grown persons of her time, and her English as good as that of Mercy Warren, her older contemporary writer._ _And let me speak also of the condition of her diary. It covers seventy-two pages of paper about eight inches long by six and a half inches wide. The writing is uniform in size, every letter is perfectly formed; it is as legible as print, and in the entire diary but three blots can be seen, and these are very small. A few pages were ruled by the writer, the others are unruled. The old paper, though heavy and good, is yellow with age, and the water marks C.F.R. and the crown stand out distinctly. The sheets are sewed in a little book, on which a marbled paper cover has been placed, probably by a later hand than Anna's. Altogether it is a remarkably creditable production for a girl of twelve._ _It is well also to compare her constant diligence and industry displayed to us through her records of a day's work--and at another time, of a week's work--with that of any girl of her age in a corresponding station of life nowadays. We learn that physical pain or disability were no excuse for slothfulness; Anna was not always well--had heavy colds, and was feverish; but well or ill was always employed. Even with painful local afflictions such as a "whitloe," she still was industrious, "improving it to perfect myself in learning to spin flax." She read much--the Bible constantly--and also found amusement in reading "a variety of composures."_ _She was a friendly little soul, eager to be loved; resenting deeply that her Aunt Storer let "either one of her chaises, her chariot or babyhutt," pass the door every day, without sending for her; going cheerfully tea-drinking from house to house of her friends; delighting even in the catechising and the sober Thursday Lecture. She had few amusements and holidays compared with the manifold pleasures that children have nowadays, though she had one holiday which the Revolution struck from our calendar--the King's Coronation Day. She saw the Artillery Company drill, and she visited brides and babies and old folks, and attended some funerals. When she was twelve years old she "came out"--became a "miss in her teens"--and went to a succession of prim little routs or parties, which she called "constitutions." To these decorous assemblies girls only were invited,--no rough Boston boys. She has left to us more than one clear, perfect picture of these formal little routs in the great low-raftered chamber, softly alight with candles on mantel-tree and in sconces; with Lucinda, the black maid, "shrilly piping;" and rows of demure little girls of Boston Brahmin blood, in high rolls and feathers, discreetly partaking of hot and cold punch, and soberly walking and curtsying through the minuet; fantastic in costume, but proper and seemly in demeanor, models of correct deportment as were their elegant mammas._ _But Anna was not solemn; she was always happy, and often merry--full of life and wit. She jested about getting a "fresh seasoning with Globe salt," and wrote some labored jokes and some unconscious ones home to her mother. She was subject to "egregious fits of laughterre," and fully proved the statement, "Aunt says I am a whimsical child." She was not beautiful. Her miniature is now owned by Miss Elizabeth C. Trott of Niagara Falls, the great grand-daughter of General John Winslow, and a copy is shown in the frontispiece. It displays a gentle, winning little face, delicate in outline, as is also the figure, and showing some hint also of delicacy of constitution. It may be imagination to think that it is plainly the face of one who could never live to be old--a face typical of youth._ _Let us glance at the stock from whence sprung this tender and engaging little blossom. When the weary Pilgrims landed at Cape Cod before they made their memorable landing at Plymouth, a sprightly young girl jumped on shore, and was the first English woman to set foot on the soil of New England. Her name was Mary Chilton. She married John Winslow, the brother of Governor Edward Winslow. Anna Green Winslow was Mary Chilton's direct descendant in the sixth generation._ _Anna's grandfather, John Winslow the fourth, was born in Boston. His son Joshua wrote thus in the Winslow Family Bible: "Jno Winslow my Honor'd Father was born ye 31 Dec. at 6 o'c. in the morning on the Lords Day, 1693, and was baptized by Mr. Willard the next day & dyed att sea Octo. 13, 1731 aged 38 years." A curious attitude was assumed by certain Puritan ministers, of reluctance and even decided objection and refusal to baptize children who were unlucky enough to be born on the Lord's Day; but Samuel Willard, the pastor of the "South Church" evidently did not concur in that extraordinary notion, for on the day following "Jno's" birth--on New Year's Day--he was baptized. He was married on September 21, 1721, to Sarah Pierce, and in their ten years of married life they had three children._ _Joshua Winslow, Anna's father, was the second child. He was born January 23, 1727, and was baptized at the Old South. He was "published" with his cousin Anna Green on December 7, 1758, and married to her four weeks later, January 3, 1759. An old piece of embroidered tapestry herein shown gives a good portrayal of a Boston wedding-party at that date; the costumes, coach, and cut of the horses' mane and tail are very curious and interesting to note. Mrs. Winslow's mother was Anna Pierce (sister of Sarah), and her father was Joseph Green, the fourth generation from Percival Green, whose descendants have been enumerated by Dr. Samuel Abbott Green, the president of the Massachusetts Historical Society, in his book entitled "Account of Percival and Ellen Green and some of their descendants."_ _Mrs. Joshua Winslow was the oldest of twelve Green children, hence the vast array of uncles and aunts and cousins in little Anna's diary._ _Joseph Green, Anna's maternal grandfather, was born December 12, 1703, and was baptised on the same day. He died July 11, 1765. He was a wealthy man for his time, being able to pay Governor Belcher £3,600 for a tract of land on Hanover Street. His firm name was Green & Walker. A fine portrait of him by Copley still exists._ _Thus Anna came of good stock in all lines of descent. The Pierces were of the New Hampshire provincial gentry, to which the Wentworths and Langdons also belonged._ _Before Joshua Winslow was married, when he was but eighteen years of age, he began his soldierly career. He was a Lieutenant in Captain Light's company in the regiment of Colonel Moore at the taking of Louisburg in 1745. He was then appointed Commissary-General of the British forces in Nova Scotia, and an account-book of his daily movements there still exists. Upon his return to New England he went to live at Marshfield, Massachusetts, in the house afterwards occupied by Daniel Webster. But troublous times were now approaching for the faithful servants of the King. Strange notions of liberty filled the heads of many Massachusetts men and women; and soon the Revolution became more than a dream. Joshua Winslow in that crisis, with many of his Marshfield friends and neighbors, sided with his King._ _He was in Marshfield certainly in June, 1775, for I have a letter before me written to him there by Mrs. Deming at that date. One clause of this letter is so amusing that I cannot resist quoting it. We must remember that it was written in Connecticut, whence Mrs. Deming had fled in fright and dismay at the siege of Boston; and that she had lost her home and all her possessions. She writes in answer to her brother's urgent invitation to return to Marshfield._ _"We have no household stuff. Neither could I live in the terror of constant alarms and the din of war. Besides I know not how to look you in the face, unless I could restore to you your family Expositer, which together with my Henry on the Bible & Harveys Meditations which are your daughter's (the gift of her grandmother) I pack'd in a Trunk that exactly held them, some days before I made my escape, and did my utmost to git to you, but which I am told are still in Boston. It is not, nor ever will be in my power to make you Satisfaction for this Error--I should not have coveted to keep 'em so long--I am heartily sorry now that I had more than one book at a time; in that case I might have thot to have bro't it away with me, tho' I forgot my own Bible & almost every other necessary. But who can tell whether you may not git your Valuable Books. I should feel comparatively easy if you had these your Valuable property."_ _Her painful solicitude over the loss of a borrowed book is indeed refreshing, as well as her surprising covetousness of the Family Expositor and Harvey's Meditations. And I wish to add to the posthumous rehabilitation of the damaged credit of this conscientious aunt, that Anna's book--Harvey's Meditations--was recovered and restored to the owner, and was lost at sea in 1840 by another Winslow._ _Joshua Winslow, when exiled, went to England, and thence to Quebec, where he retained throughout his life his office as Royal Paymaster. He was separated many years from his wife and daughter, and doubtless Anna died while her father was far from her; for in a letter dated Quebec, December 26, 1783, and written to his wife, he says,_ _"The Visiting Season is come on, a great practice here about Christmas and the New Year; on the return of which I congratulate my Dearest Anna and Friends with you, it being the fifth and I hope the last I shall be obliged to see the return of in a Separation from each other while we may continue upon the same Globe."_ _She shortly after joined him in Quebec. His letters show careful preparations for her comfort on the voyage. They then were childless; Anna's brothers, George Scott and John Henry, died in early youth. It is interesting to note that Joshua Winslow was the first of the Winslows to give his children more than one baptismal name._ _Joshua Winslow was a man of much dignity and of handsome person, if we can trust the Copley portrait and miniature of him which still exist. The portrait is owned by Mr. James F. Trott of Niagara Falls, New York, the miniature by Mrs. J. F. Lindsey of Yorkville, South Carolina, both grandchildren of General John Winslow. His letters display much intelligence. His spelling is unusually correct; his penmanship elegant--as was that of all the Winslows; his forms of expression scholarly and careful. He sometimes could joke a little, as when he began his letters to his wife Anna thus--2. N. A.--though it is possible that the "Obstructions to a free Correspondence, and the Circumspection we are obliged to practice in our Converse with each other" arising from his exiled condition, may have made him thus use a rebus in the address of his letter._ _He died in Quebec in 1801. His wife returned to New England and died in Medford in 1810. Her funeral was at General John Winslow's house on Purchase Street, Fort Hill, Boston; she was buried in the Winslow tomb in King's Chapel burial ground._ _We know little of the last years of Anna Green Winslow's life. A journal written by her mother in 1773 during their life in Marshfield is now owned by Miss Sarah Thomas of Marshfield, Mass. It is filled chiefly with pious sermon notes and religious thoughts, and sad and anxious reflections over absent loved ones, one of whom (in the sentimental fashion of the times) she calls "my Myron"--her husband._ _Through this journal we see "Nanny Green's" simple and monotonous daily life; her little tea-drinkings; her spinning and reeling and knitting; her frequent catechisings, her country walks. We find her mother's testimony to the "appearance of reason that is in my children and for the readiness with which they seem to learn what is taught them." And though she repeatedly thanks God for living in a warm house, she notes that "my bason of water froze on the hearth with as good a fire as we could make in the chimney." This rigor of climate and discomfort of residence, and Anna's evident delicacy shown through the records of her fainting, account for her failing health. The last definite glimpse which we have of our gentle little Nanny is in the shape of a letter written to her by "Aunt Deming." It is dated Boston, April 21, 1779, and is so characteristic of the day and so amusing also that I quote it in full._ _Dear Neice_, _I receivd your favor of 6th instant by nephew Jack, who with the Col. his trav'ling companion, perform'd an easy journey from you to us, and arriv'd before sunset. I thank you for the beads, the wire, and the beugles, I fancy I shall never execute the plan of the head dress to which you allude--if I should, some of your largest corn stalks, dril'd of the pith and painted might be more proportionable. I rejoice that your cloths came off so much better than my fears--a troublesome journey, I expected you would have; and very much did I fear for your bones. I was always unhappy in anticipating trouble--it is my constitution, I believe--and when matters have been better than my fears--I have never been so dutifully thankful as my bountiful Benefactor had a right to expect. This, also, I believe, is the constitution of all my fellow race._ _Mr. Deming had a Letter from your Papa yesterday; he mention'd your Mama & you as indispos'd & Flavia as sick in bed. I'm at too great a distance to render you the least service, and were I near, too much out of health to--some part of the time--even speak to you. I am seiz'd with exceeding weakness at the very seat of life, and to a greater degree than I ever before knew. Could I ride, it might help me, but that is an exercise my income will not permit. I walk out whenever I can. The day will surely come, when I must quit this frail tabernacle, and it may be soon--I certainly know, I am not of importance eno' in this world, for any one to wish my stay--rather am I, and so I consider myself as a cumberground. However I shall abide my appointed time & I desire to be found waiting for my change._ _Our family are well--had I time and spirits I could acquaint you of an expedition two sisters made to Dorchester, a walk begun at sunrise last thursday morning--dress'd in their dammasks, padusoy, gauze, ribbins, flapets, flowers, new white hats, white shades, and black leather shoes, (Pudingtons make) and finished journey, & garments, orniments, and all quite finish'd on Saturday, before noon, (mud over shoes) never did I behold such destruction in so short a space--bottom of padusoy coat fring'd quite round, besides places worn entire to floss, & besides frays, dammask, from shoulders to bottom, not lightly soil'd, but as if every part had rub'd tables and chairs that had long been us'd to wax mingl'd with grease. I could have cry'd, for I really pitied 'em--nothing left fit to be seen--They had leave to go, but it never entered any ones tho'ts but their own to be dressd in all (even to loading) of their best--their all, as you know. What signifies it to worry ones selves about beings that are, and will be, just so? I can, and do pity and advise, but I shall git no credit by such like. The eldest talks much of learning dancing, musick (the spinet & guitar), embroidry, dresden, the French tongue &c &c. The younger with an air of her own, advis'd the elder when she first mention'd French, to learn first to read English, and was answered "law, so I can well eno' a'ready." You've heard her do what she calls reading, I believe. Poor creature! Well! we have a time of it!_ _If any one at Marshfield speaks of me remember me to them. Nobody knows I'm writing, each being gone their different ways, & all from home except the little one who is above stairs. Farewell my dear, I've wrote eno' I find for this siting._ _Yr affect_ _Sarah Deming._ _It does not need great acuteness to read between the lines of this letter an affectionate desire to amuse a delicate girl whom the writer loved. The tradition in the Winslow family is that Anna Green Winslow died of consumption at Marshfield in the fall of 1779. There is no town or church record of her death, no known grave or headstone to mark her last resting-place. And to us she is not dead, but lives and speaks--always a loving, endearing little child; not so passionate and gifted and rare a creature as that star among children--Marjorie Fleming--but a natural and homely little flower of New England life; fated never to grow old or feeble or dull or sad, but to live forever and laugh in the glamour of eternal happy youth through the few pages of her time-stained diary._ _Alice Morse Earle._ _Brooklyn Heights, September, 1894._ LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE ANNA GREEN WINSLOW. From miniature now owned by Miss Elizabeth C. Trott, Niagara Falls, N.Y. _Frontispiece._ FACSIMILE OF WRITING OF ANNA GREEN WINSLOW. From original diary 1 WEDDING PARTY IN BOSTON IN 1756. From tapestry now owned by American Antiquarian Society 20 GENERAL JOSHUA WINSLOW. From miniature painted by Copley, 1755, and now owned by Mrs. John F. Lindsey, Yorkville, S.C. 34 EBENEZER STORER. From portrait painted by Copley, now owned by Mrs. Lewis C. Popham, Scarsdale, N.Y. 45 HANNAH GREEN STORER. From portrait painted by Copley, now owned by Mrs. Lewis C. Popham, Scarsdale, N.Y. 65 CUT-PAPER PICTURE. Cut by Mrs. Sarah Winslow Deming, now owned by James F. Trott, Esq., Niagara Falls, N.Y. 74 [Transcriber's Note: In this transcription of Anna Green Winslow's handwriting, line breaks follow the original. The postscript ("N.B.") is in smaller writing, almost surrounding the signature.] [Handwriting:] I hope aunt wont let me wear the black hatt with the red Dominie--for the people will ask me what I have got to sell as I go along street if I do. or, how the folk at Newgui nie do? Dear mamma, you dont know the fation here--I beg to look like other folk. You dont kno what a stir would be made in Sudbury Street were I to make my appearance there in my red Domi nie & black Hatt. But the old cloak & bonnett together will make me a decent Bonnet for common ocation (I like that) aunt says, its a pitty some of the ribbin you sent wont do for the Bonnet--I must now close up this Journal. With Duty, Love & Compli ments as due, perticularly to my Dear little brother, (I long to see him) & M.^rs Law, I will write to her soon I am, Hon.^d Papa & mama, Y.^r ever Dutiful Daughter Anna Green Winslow. N.B. my aunt Deming dont approve of my English. & has not the fear that you will think her concernd in the Diction DIARY OF ANNA GREEN WINSLOW. 1771-1773. . . . . . Lady, by which means I had a bit of the wedding cake. I guess I shall have but little time for journalising till after thanksgiving. My aunt Deming[1] says I shall make one pye myself at least. I hope somebody beside myself will like to eat a bit of my Boston pye thou' my papa and you did not (I remember) chuse to partake of my Cumberland[2] performance. I think I have been writing my own Praises this morning. Poor Job was forced to praise himself when no _man_ would do him that justice. I am not as he was. I have made two shirts for unkle since I finish'd mamma's shifts. Nov^r 18th, 1771.--Mr. Beacons[3] text yesterday was Psalm cxlix. 4. For the Lord taketh pleasure in his people; he will beautify the meek with salvation. His Doctrine was something like this, viz: That the Salvation of Gods people mainly consists in Holiness. The name _Jesus_ signifies _a Savior_. Jesus saves his people _from their Sins_. He renews them in the spirit of their minds--writes his Law in their hearts. Mr. Beacon ask'd a question. What is beauty--or, wherein does true beauty consist? He answer'd, in holiness--and said a great deal about it that I can't remember, & as aunt says she hant leisure now to help me any further--so I may just tell you a little that I remember without her assistance, and that I repeated to her yesterday at Tea--He said he would lastly address himself to the young people: My dear young friends, you are pleased with beauty, & like to be tho't beautifull--but let me tell ye, you'l never be truly beautifull till you are like the King's daughter, all glorious within, all the orniments you can put on while your souls are unholy make you the more like white sepulchres garnish'd without, but full of deformyty within. You think me very unpolite no doubt to address you in this manner, but I must go a little further and tell you, how cource soever it may sound to your delicacy, that while you are without holiness, your beauty is deformity--you are all over black & defil'd, ugly and loathsome to all holy beings, the wrath of th' great God lie's upon you, & if you die in this condition, you will be turn'd into hell, with ugly devils, to eternity. Nov. 27th.--We are very glad to see Mr. Gannett, because of him "we hear of your affairs & how you do"--as the apostle Paul once wrote. My unkle & aunt however, say they are sorry he is to be absent, so long as this whole winter, I _think_. I long now to have you come up--I want to see papa, mama, & brother, all most, for I cannot make any distinction which most--I should like to see Harry too. Mr. Gannett tells me he keeps a journal--I do want to see that--especially as Mr. Gannett has given me some specimens, as I may say of his "I and Aunt &c." I am glad Miss Jane is with you, I will write to her soon--Last monday I went with my aunt to visit Mrs. Beacon. I was exceedingly pleased with the visit, & so I _ought_ to be, my aunt says, for there was much notice taken of me, particylarly by Mr. Beacon. I think I like him better every time I see him. I suppose he takes the kinder notice of me, because last thursday evening he was here, & when I was out of the room, aunt told him that I minded his preaching & could repeat what he said--I might have told you that notwithstanding the stir about the Proclamatien, we had an agreable Thanksgiven. Mr. Hunt's[4] text was Psa. xcvii. 1. The LORD reigneth,--let the earth rejoice. Mr. Beacon's text P M Psa. xxiv. 1. The earth is the LORD's & the fulness thereof. My unkle & aunt Winslow[5] of Boston, their son & daughter, Master Daniel Mason (Aunt Winslows nephew from Newport, Rhode Island) & Miss Soley[6] spent the evening with us. We young folk had a room with a fire in it to ourselves. Mr Beacon gave us his company for one hour. I spent Fryday with my friends in Sudbury Street. I saw Mrs. Whitwell[7] very well yesterday, she was very glad of your Letter. Nov. 28th.--I have your favor Hon^d Mamma, by Mr. Gannett, & heartily thank you for the broad cloath, bags, ribbin & hat. The cloath & bags are both at work upon, & my aunt has bought a beautifull ermin trimming for my cloak. AC stands for Abigail Church. PF for Polly Frazior. I have presented one piece of ribbin to my aunt as you directed. She gives her love to you, & thanks you for it. I intend to send Nancy Mackky a pair of lace mittens, & the fag end of Harry's watch string. I hope Carolus (as papa us'd to call him) will think his daughter very smart with them. I am glad Hon^d madam, that you think my writing is better than it us'd to be--you see it is mended just here. I dont know what you mean by _terrible margins vaze_. I will endeavor to make my letters even for the future. Has Mary brought me any Lozong Mamma? I want to know whether I may give my old black quilt to Mrs Kuhn, for aunt sais, it is never worth while to take the pains to mend it again. Papa has wrote me a longer letter this time than you have Mad^m. November the 29th.--My aunt Deming gives her love to you and says it is this morning 12 years since she had the pleasure of congratulating papa and you on the birth of your scribling daughter. She hopes if I live 12 years longer that I shall write and do everything better than can be expected in the _past_ 12. I should be obliged to you, you will dismiss me for company. 30th Nov.--My company yesterday were Miss Polly Deming,[8] Miss Polly Glover,[9] Miss Peggy Draper, Miss Bessy Winslow,[10] Miss Nancy Glover,[11] Miss Sally Winslow[12] Miss Polly Atwood, Miss Han^h Soley. Miss Attwood as well as Miss Winslow are of this family. And Miss N. Glover did me honor by her presence, for she is older than cousin Sally and of her acquaintance. We made four couple at country dansing; danceing I mean. In the evening young Mr. Waters[13] hearing of my assembly, put his flute in his pocket and played several minuets and other tunes, to which we danced mighty cleverly. But Lucinda[14] was our principal piper. Miss Church and Miss Chaloner would have been here if sickness,--and the Miss Sheafs,[15] if the death of their father had not prevented. The black Hatt I gratefully receive as your present, but if Captain Jarvise had arrived here with it about the time he sail'd from this place for Cumberland it would have been of more service to me, for I have been oblig'd to borrow. I wore Miss Griswold's[16] Bonnet on my journey to Portsmouth, & my cousin Sallys Hatt ever since I came home, & now I am to leave off my black ribbins tomorrow, & am to put on my red cloak & black hatt--I hope aunt wont let me wear the black hatt with the red Dominie--for the people will ask me what I have got to sell as I go along street if I do, or, how the folk at New guinie do? Dear mamma, you dont know the fation here--I beg to look like other folk. You dont know what a stir would be made in sudbury street, were I to make my appearance there in my red Dominie & black Hatt. But the old cloak & bonnett together will make me a decent bonnett for common ocation (I like that) aunt says, its a pitty some of the ribbins you sent wont do for the Bonnet.--I must now close up this Journal. With Duty, Love, & Compliments as due, perticularly to my Dear little brother (I long to see him) & Mrs. Law, I will write to her soon. I am Hon^d Papa & mama, Yr ever Dutiful Daughter ANNE GREEN WINSLOW. N.B. My aunt Deming dont approve of my English & has not the fear that you will think her concernd in the Diction. Dec^br. 6th.--Yesterday I was prevented dining at unkle Joshua's[17] by a snow storm which lasted till 12 o'clock today, I spent some part of yesterday afternoon and evening at Mr. Glovers. When I came home, the snow being so deep I was bro't home in arms. My aunt got Mr. Soley's Charlstown to fetch me. The snow is up to the peoples wast in some places in the street. Dec 14th.--The weather and walking have been very winter like since the above hotch-potch, pothooks & trammels. I went to Mrs. Whitwell's last wednessday--you taught me to spell the 4 day of the week, but my aunt says that it should be spelt wednesday. My aunt also says, that till I come out of an egregious fit of laughterre that is apt to sieze me & the violence of which I am at this present under, neither English sense, nor anything rational may be expected of me. I ment to say, that, I went to Mrs. Whitwell's to see Mad^m Storers[18] funeral, the walking was very bad except on the sides of the street which was the reason I did not make a part of the procession. I should have dined with Mrs. Whitwell on thursday if a grand storm had not prevented, As she invited me. I saw Miss Caty Vans[19] at lecture last evening. I had a visit this morning from Mrs Dixon of Horton & Miss Polly Huston. Mrs Dixon is dissipointed at not finding her sister here. Dec^r 24th.--Elder Whitwell told my aunt, that this winter began as did the Winter of 1740. How that was I dont remember but this I know, that to-day is by far the coldest we have had since I have been in New England. (N.B. All run that are abroad.) Last sabbath being rainy I went to & from meeting in Mr. Soley's chaise. I dined at unkle Winslow's, the walking being so bad I rode there & back to meeting. Every drop that fell froze, so that from yesterday morning to this time the appearance has been similar to the discription I sent you last winter. The walking is so slippery & the air so cold, that aunt chuses to have me for her scoller these two days. And as tomorrow will be a holiday, so the pope and his associates have ordained,[20] my aunt thinks not to trouble Mrs Smith with me this week. I began a shift at home yesterday for myself, it is pretty forward. Last Saturday was seven-night my aunt Suky[21] was delivered of a pretty little son, who was baptiz'd by Dr. Cooper[22] the next day by the name of Charles. I knew nothing of it till noonday, when I went there a visiting. Last Thursday I din'd & spent the afternoon at unkle Joshua's I should have gone to lecture with my aunt & heard our Mr Hunt preach, but she would not wait till I came from writing school. Miss Atwood, the last of our boarders, went off the same day. Miss Griswold & Miss Meriam, having departed some time agone, I forget whether I mention'd the recept of Nancy's present. I am oblig'd to her for it. The Dolphin is still whole. And like to remain so. Dec^r 27th.--This day, the extremity of the cold is somewhat abated. I keept Christmas at home this year, & did a very good day's work, aunt says so. How notable I have been this week I shall tell you by & by. I spent the most part of Tuesday evening with my favorite, Miss Soley, & as she is confined by a cold & the weather still so severe that I cannot git farther, I am to visit her again before I sleep, & consult with her (or rather she with me) upon a perticular matter, which you shall know in its place. How _strangely industrious_ I have been this week, I will inform you with my own hand--at present, I am so dilligent, that I am oblig'd to use the hand & pen of my old friend, who being _near by_ is better than a brother _far off_. I dont forgit dear little John Henry so pray mamma, dont mistake me. Dec^r 28th.--Last evening a little after 5 o'clock I finished my shift. I spent the evening at Mr. Soley's. I began my shift at 12 o'clock last monday, have read my bible every day this week & wrote every day save one. Dec^r 30th.--I return'd to my sewing school after a weeks absence, I have also paid my compliments to Master Holbrook.[23] Yesterday between meetings my aunt was call'd to Mrs. Water's[13] & about 8 in the evening Dr. Lloyd[24] brought little master to town (N.B. As a memorandum for myself. My aunt stuck a white sattan pincushin[25] for Mrs Waters.[13] On one side, is a planthorn with flowers, on the reverse, just under the border are, on one side stuck these words, Josiah Waters, then follows on the end, Dec^r 1771, on the next side & end are the words, Welcome little Stranger.) Unkle has just come in & bro't one from me. I mean, unkle is just come in with a letter from Papa in his hand (& none for me) by way of Newbury. I am glad to hear that all was well the 26 Nov^r ult. I am told my Papa has not mention'd me in this Letter. Out of sight, out of mind. My aunt gives her love to papa, & says that she will make the necessary enquieries for my brother and send you via. Halifax what directions and wormseed she can collect. 1st Jan^y 1772.--I wish my Papa, Mama, brother John Henry, & cousin Avery & all the rest of my acquaintance at Cumberland, Fortlaurence, Barronsfield, Greenland, Amherst &c. a Happy New Year, I have bestow'd no new year's gift,[26] as yet. But have received one very handsome one, viz. the History of Joseph Andrews abreviated. In nice Guilt and flowers covers. This afternoon being a holiday I am going to pay my compliments in Sudbury Street. Jan^y 4th 1772--I was dress'd in my yellow coat, my black bib & apron, my pompedore[27] shoes, the cap my aunt Storer[28] sometime since presented me with (blue ribbins on it) & a very handsome loket in the shape of a hart she gave me--the past pin my Hon^d Papa presented me with in my cap, My new cloak & bonnet on, my pompedore gloves, &c, &c. And I would tell you, that _for the first time, they all lik'd my dress very much_. My cloak & bonnett are really very handsome, & so they had need be. For they cost an amasing sight of money, not quite £45[29] tho' Aunt Suky said, that she suppos'd Aunt Deming would be frighted out of her Wits at the money it cost. I have got _one_ covering, by the cost, that is genteel, & I like it much myself. On thursday I attended my aunt to Lecture & heard Dr Chauncey[30] preach a third sermon from Acts ii. 42. They continued stedfastly--in breaking of bread. I din'd & spent the afternoon at Mr. Whitwell's. Miss Caty Vans was one of our company. Dr. Pemberton[31] & Dr Cooper had on gowns, In the form of the Episcopal cassock we hear, the Doct^s design to distinguish themselves from the inferior clergy by these strange habits [at a time too when the good people of N.E. are threaten'd with & dreading the comeing of an episcopal bishop][32] N.B. I dont know whether one sleeve would make a full trimm'd negligee[33] as the fashion is at present, tho' I cant say but it might make one of the frugal sort, with but scant triming. Unkle says, they all have popes in their bellys. Contrary to I. Peter v. 2. 3. Aunt says, when she saw Dr P. roll up the pulpit stairs, the figure of Parson Trulliber, recorded by Mr Fielding occur'd to her mind & she was really sorry a congregational divine, should, by any instance whatever, give her so unpleasing an idea. Jan^y 11th.--I have attended my schools every day this week except wednesday afternoon. When I made a setting up visit to aunt Suky, & was dress'd just as I was to go to the ball. It cost me a pistoreen[34] to nurse Eaton for tow cakes, which I took care to eat before I paid for them.[35] I heard Mr Thacher preach our Lecture last evening Heb. 11. 3. I remember a great deal of the sermon, but a'nt time to put it down. It is one year last Sep^r since he was ordain'd & he will be 20 years of age next May if he lives so long. I forgot that the weather want fit for me to go to school last thursday. I work'd at home. Jan^y 17th.--I told you the 27th Ult that I was going to a constitation with miss Soley. I have now the pleasure to give you the result, viz. a very genteel well regulated assembly which we had at Mr Soley's last evening, miss Soley being mistress of the ceremony. Mrs Soley desired me to assist Miss Hannah in making out a list of guests which I did some time since, I wrote all the invitation cards. There was a large company assembled in a handsome, large, upper room in the new end of the house. We had two fiddles, & I had the honor to open the diversion of the evening in a minuet with miss Soley.--Here follows a list of the company as we form'd for country dancing. Miss Soley & Miss Anna Greene Winslow Miss Calif Miss Scott Miss Williams Miss McCarthy Miss Codman Miss Winslow Miss Ives Miss Coffin Miss Scolley[36] Miss Bella Coffin[37] Miss Waldow Miss Quinsy[38] Miss Glover Miss Draper Miss Hubbard Miss Cregur (usually pronounced Kicker) & two Miss Sheafs were invited but were sick or sorry & beg'd to be excus'd. There was a little Miss Russell & the little ones of the family present who could not dance. As spectators, there were Mr & Mrs Deming, Mr. & Mrs Sweetser Mr & Mrs Soley, Mr & Miss Cary, Mrs Draper, Miss Oriac, Miss Hannah--our treat was nuts, rasins, Cakes, Wine, punch,[39] hot & cold, all in great plenty. We had a very agreeable evening from 5 to 10 o'clock. For variety we woo'd a widow, hunted the whistle, threaded the needle, & while the company was collecting, we diverted ourselves with playing of pawns, no rudeness Mamma I assure you. Aunt Deming desires you would _perticulary observe_, that the elderly part of the company were _spectators only_, they mix'd not in either of the above describ'd scenes. I was dress'd in my yellow coat, black bib & apron, black feathers on my head, my past comb, & all my past[40] garnet marquesett[41] & jet pins, together with my silver plume--my loket, rings, black collar round my neck, black mitts & 2 or 3 yards of blue ribbin, (black & blue is high tast) striped tucker and ruffels (not my best) & my silk shoes compleated my dress. Jan^y 18th.--Yesterday I had an invitation to celebrate Miss Caty's birth-day with her. She gave it me the night before. Miss is 10 years old. The best dancer in Mr Turners[42] school, she has been his scoller these 3 years. My aunt thought it proper (as our family had a invitation) that I should attend a neighbor's funeral yesterday P.M. I went directly from it to Miss Caty's Rout & arriv'd ex . . . . . . BOSTON January 25 1772. Hon^'d Mamma, My Hon^'d Papa has never signified to me his approbation of my journals, from whence I infer, that he either never reads them, or does not give himself the trouble to remember any of their contents, tho' some part has been address'd to him, so, for the future, I shall trouble only you with this part of my scribble--Last thursday I din'd at Unkle Storer's & spent the afternoon in that neighborhood. I met with some adventures in my way viz. As I was going, I was overtaken by a lady who was quite a stranger to me. She accosted me with "how do you do miss?" I answer'd her, but told her I had not the pleasure of knowing her. She then ask'd "what is your name miss? I believe you think 'tis a very strange questian to ask, but have a mind to know." Nanny Green--She interrupted me with "not Mrs. Winslow of Cumberland's daughter." Yes madam I am. When did you hear from your Mamma? how do's she do? When shall you write to her? When you do, tell her that you was overtaken in the street by her old friend Mrs Login, give my love to her & tell her she must come up soon & live on Jamaca plain. we have got a nice meeting-house, & a charming minister, & all so cleaver. She told me she had ask'd Unkle Harry to bring me to see her, & he said he would. Her minister is Mr Gordon. I have heard him preach several times at the O. South. In the course of my peregrination, as aunt calls it, I happen'd in to a house where D---- was attending the Lady of the family. How long she was at his opperation, I know not. I saw him twist & tug & pick & cut off whole locks of grey hair at a slice (the lady telling him she would have no hair to dress next time) for the space of a hour & a half, when I left them, he seeming not to be near done. This lady is not a grandmother tho' she is both old enough & grey enough to be one. Jan^y 31--I spent yesterday with Aunt Storer, except a little while I was at Aunt Sukey's with Mrs Barrett dress'd in a white brocade, & cousin Betsey dress'd in a red lutestring, both adorn'd with past, perls marquesett &c. They were after tea escorted by Mr. Newton & Mr Barrett to ye assembly at Concert Hall. This is a snowy day, & I am prevented going to school. [Illustration: WEDDING PARTY IN BOSTON IN 1756] Feb. 9th.--My honored Mamma will be so good as to excuse my useing the pen of my old friend just here, because I am disabled by a whitloe on my fourth finger & something like one on my middle finger, from using my own pen; but altho' my right hand is in bondage, my left is free; & my aunt says, it will be a nice oppertunity if I do but improve it, to perfect myself in learning to spin flax. I am pleased with the proposal & am at this present, exerting myself for this purpose. I hope, when two, or at most three months are past, to give you occular demonstration of my proficiency in _this art_, as well as several others. My fingers are not the only part of me that has suffer'd with sores within this fortnight, for I have had an ugly great boil upon my right hip & about a dozen small ones--I am at present swath'd hip & thigh, as Samson smote the Philistines, but my soreness is near over. My aunt thought it highly proper to give me some cooling physick, so last tuesday I took 1-2 oz Globe Salt (a disagreeable potion) & kept chamber. Since which, there has been no new erruption, & a great alteration for the better in those I had before. I have read my bible to my aunt this morning (as is the daily custom) & sometimes I read other books to her. So you may perceive, I _have the use of my tongue_ & I tell her it is a good thing to have the use of my tongue. Unkle Ned[43] called here just now--all well--by the way he is come to live in Boston again, & till he can be better accomodated, is at housekeeping where Mad^m Storer lately lived, he is looking for a less house. I tell my Aunt I feel a disposician to be a good girl, & she pleases herself that she shall have much comfort of me to-day, which as cousin Sally is ironing we expect to have to ourselves. Feb. 10th.--This day I paid my respects to Master Holbrook, after a week's absence, my finger is still in limbo as you may see by the writeing. I have not paid my compliments to Madam Smith,[44] for, altho' I can drive the goos quill a bit, I cannot so well manage the needle. So I will lay my hand to the distaff, as the virtuous woman did of old--Yesterday was very bad weather, neither aunt, nor niece at publick worship. Feb. 12th.--Yesterday afternoon I spent at unkle Joshuas. Aunt Green gave me a plaister for my fingure that has near cur'd it, but I have a new boil, which is under poultice, & tomorrow I am to undergo another seasoning with globe Salt. The following lines Aunt Deming found in grandmama Sargent's[45] pocket-book & gives me leave to copy 'em here.-- Dim eyes, deaf ears, cold stomach shew, My dissolution is in view The shuttle's thrown, my race is run, My sun is set, my work is done; My span is out, my tale is told, My flower's decay'd, & stock grows old, The dream is past, the shadows fled, My soul now longs for Christ my head, I've lived to seventy six or nigh, GOD calls at last, & now I'll die.[46] My honor'd Grandma departed this vale of tears 1-4 before 4 o'clock wednesday morning August 21, 1771. Aged 74 years, 2 months & ten days. Feb. 13th.--Everybody says that this is a bitter cold day, but I know nothing about it but hearsay for I am in aunt's chamber (which is very warm always) with a nice fire, a stove, sitting in Aunt's easy chair, with a tall three leav'd screen at my back, & I am very comfortable. I took my second (& I hope last) potion of Globe salts this morning. I went to see Aunt Storer yesterday afternoon, & by the way Unkle Storer is so ill that he keeps chamber. As I went down I call'd at Mrs Whitwell's & must tell you Mr & Mrs Whitwell are both ill. Mrs. Whitwell with the rheumatism. I saw Mad^m Harris, Mrs Mason and Miss Polly Vans[47] there, they all give their love to you--Last evening I went to catechizing with Aunt. Our ministers have agreed during the long evenings to discourse upon the questions or some of 'em in the assembly's shorter catechism, taking 'em in their order at the house of Mrs Rogers in School Street, every wednesday evening. Mr. Hunt began with the first question and shew'd what it is to glorify GOD. Mr Bacon then took the second, what rule &c. which he has spent three evenings upon, & now finished. Mr Hunt having taken his turn to show what the Scriptures principly teach, & what is GOD. I remember he said that there was nothing properly done without a rule, & he said that the rule God had given us to glorify him by was the bible. How miraculously (said he) has God preserv'd this blessed book. It was once in the reign of a heathen emperor condemn'd to be burnt, at which time it was death to have a bible & conceal it, but God's providence was wonderful in preserving it when so much human policy had been exerted to bury it in Oblivion--but for all that, here we have it as pure & uncorrupted as ever--many books of human composure have had much pains taken to preserve 'em, notwithstanding they are buried in Oblivion. He considered who was the author of the bible, he prov'd that GOD was the author, for no _good_ man could be the author, because such a one would not be guilty of imposition, & an evil man could not unless we suppose a house divided against itself. he said a great deal more to prove the bible is certainly the word of God from the matter it contains &c, but the best evidence of the truth of divine revelation, every true believer has in his own heart. This he said, the natural man had no idea of. I did not understand all he said about the external and internal evidence, but this I can say, that I understand him better than any body else that I hear preach. Aunt has been down stairs all the time I have been recolecting & writeing this. Therefore, all this of own head, of consequence. Valentine day.[48]--My cousin Sally reeled off a 10 knot skane of yarn today. My valentine was an old country plow-joger. The yarn was of my spinning. Aunt says it will do for filling. Aunt also says niece is a whimsical child. Feb. 17.--Since Wednesday evening, I have not been abroad since yesterday afternoon. I went to meeting & back in Mr. Soley's chaise. Mr. Hunt preached. He said that human nature is as opposite to God as darkness to light. That our sin is only bounded by the narrowness of our capacity. His text was Isa. xli. 14. 18. The mountains &c. He said were unbelief, pride, covetousness, enmity, &c. &c. &c. This morning I took a walk for Aunt as far as Mr. Soley's. I called at Mrs Whitwell's & found the good man & lady both better than when I saw them last. On my return I found Mr. Hunt on a visit to aunt. After the usual salutations & when did you hear from your papa &c. I ask'd him if the blessing pronounced by the minister before the congregation is dismissed, is not a part of the publick worship? "Yes." "Why then, do you Sir, say, let us conclude the publick worship by singing?" "Because singing is the last act in which the whole congregation is unanimously to join. The minister in Gods name blesses his i.e. Gods people agreeable to the practice of the apostles, who generally close the epistles with a benediction in the name of the Trinity, to which, Amen is subjoined, which, tho' pronounc'd by the minister, is, or ought to be the sentiment & prayer of the whole assembly, the meaning whereof is, So be it." Feb. 18th.--Another ten knot skane of my yarn was reel'd off today. Aunt says it is very good. My boils & whitloes are growing well apace, so that I can knit a little in the evening. Transcribed from the Boston Evening Post: Sep. 18, 1771. Under the head of London news, you may find that last Thursday was married at Worcester the Widow Biddle of Wellsburn in the county of Warwick, to her grandson John Biddle of the same place, aged twenty three years. It is very remarkable. the widdow had one son & one daughter; 18 grandchildren & 5 great grandchildren; her present husband has one daughter, who was her great granddaughter but is now become her daughter; her other great grandchildren are become her cousins; her grandchildren her brothers & sisters; her son & daughter her father & mother. I think! tis the most extraordinary account I ever read in a News-Paper. It will serve to puzzel Harry Dering with. [Transcriber's Note: "I think! tis" may be a typographical error for "I think 'tis".] Monday Feb. 18th--Bitter cold. I am just come from writing school. Last Wednesday P.M. while I was at school Aunt Storer called in to see Aunt Deming in her way to Mr Inches's. She walk'd all that long way. Thursday last I din'd & spent the afternoon with Aunt Sukey. I attended both my schools in the morning of that day. I cal'd at unkle Joshua's as I went along, as I generally do, when I go in town, it being all in my way. Saterday I din'd at Unkle Storer's, drank tea at Cousin Barrel's, was entertain'd in the afternoon with scating. Unkle Henry was there. Yesterday by the help of neighbor Soley's Chaise, I was at meeting all day, tho' it snow'd in the afternoon. I might have say'd I was at Unkle Winslow's last Thursday Eve^g & when I inform you that my needle work at school, & knitting at home, went on _as usual_, I think I have laid before you a pretty full account of the last week. You see how I improve in my writing, but I drive on as fast as I can. Feb. 21, Thursday.--This day Jack Frost bites very hard, so hard aunt won't let me go to any school. I have this morning made part of a coppy with the very pen I have now in my hand, writting this with. Yesterday was so cold there was a very thick vapor upon the water, but I attended my schools all day. My unkle says yesterday was 10 degrees colder than any day we have had before this winter. And my aunt says she believes this day is 10 degrees colder than it was yesterday; & moreover, that she would not put a dog out of doors. The sun gives forth his rays through a vapor like that which was upon the water yesterday. But Aunt bids me give her love to pappa & all the family & tell them that she should be glad of their company in her warm parlour, indeed there is not one room in this house but is very warm when there is a good fire in them. As there is in this at present. Yesterday I got leave (by my aunt's desire) to go from school at 4 o'clock to see my unkle Ned who has had the misfortune to break his leg. I call'd in to warm myself at unkle Joshua's. Aunt Hannah told me I had better not go any further for she could tell me all about him, so I say'd as it is so cold I believe aunt won't be angry so I will stay, I therefore took off my things, aunt gave me leave to call at Unkle Joshua's & was very glad I went no further. Aunt Hannah told me he was as well as could be expected for one that has a broken bone. He was coming from Watertown in a chaise the horse fell down on the Hill, this side Mr Brindley's. he was afraid if he fell out, the wheel would run over him, he therefore gave a start & fell out & broke his leg, the horse strugled to get up, but could not. unkle Ned was affraid if he did get up the chaise wheels would run over him, so he went on his two hands and his other foot drawing his lame leg after him & got behind the chaise, (so he was safe) & there lay in the snow for some time, nobody being near. at last 2 genteelmen came, they tho't the horse was dead when they first saw him at a distance, but hearing somebody hollow, went up to it. By this time there was a countraman come along, the person that hollow'd was unkle Ned. They got a slay and put him in it with some hay and a blanket, wrapt him up well as they could & brought him to Deacon Smith's in town. Now Papa & Mamma, this hill is in Brookline. And now again, I have been better inform'd for the hill is in Roxbury & poor Unkle Ned was alone in the chaise. Both bones of his leg are broke, but they did not come thro' the skin, which is a happy circumstance. It is his right leg that is broke. My Grandmamma sent Miss Deming, Miss Winslow & I one eight^th of a Dollar a piece for a New Years gift. My Aunt Deming & Miss Deming had letters from Grandmamma. She was pretty well, she wrote aunt that Mrs Marting was brought to bed with a son Joshua about a month since, & is with her son very well. Grandmamma was very well last week. I have made the purchase I told you of a few pages agone, that is, last Thursday I purchas'd with my aunt Deming's leave, a very beautiful white feather hat, that is, the out side, which is a bit of white hollond with the feathers sew'd on in a most curious manner white & unsullyed as the falling snow, this hat I have long been saving my money to procure for which I have let your kind allowance, Papa, lay in my aunt's hands till this hat which I spoke for was brought home. As I am (as we say) a daughter of liberty[49] I chuse to wear as much of our own manufactory as pocible. But my aunt says, I have wrote this account very badly. I will go on to save my money for a chip & a lineing &c. Papa I rec'd your letter dated Jan. 11, for which I thank you, Sir, & thank you greatly for the money I received therewith. I am very glad to hear that Brother John papa & mamma & cousin are well. I'll answer your letter papa and yours mamma and cousin Harry's too. I am very glad mamma your eyes are better. I hope by the time I have the pleasure of hearing from Cumberland again your eyes will be so well that you will favor me with one from you. Feb. 22d.--Since about the middle of December, ult. we have had till this week, a series of cold and stormy weather--every snow storm (of which we have had abundance) except the first, ended with rain, by which means the snow was so hardened that strong gales at NW soon turned it, & all above ground to ice, which this day seven-night was from one to three, four & they say, in some places, five feet thick, in the streets of this town. Last saturday morning we had a snow storm come on, which continued till four o'clock P.M. when it turned to rain, since which we have had a warm air, with many showers of rain, one this morning a little before day attended with thunder. The streets have been very wet, the water running like rivers all this week, so that I could not possibly go to school, neither have I yet got the bandage off my fingure. Since I have been writing now, the wind suddenly sprung up at NW and blew with violence so that we may get to meeting to-morrow, perhaps on dry ground. Unkle Ned was here just now & has fairly or unfairly carried off aunt's cut paper pictures,[50] tho' she told him she had given them to papa some years ago. It has been a very sickly time here, not one person that I know of but has been under heavy colds--(all laid up at unkle Storer's) in general got abroad again. Aunt Suky had not been down stairs since her lying in, when I last saw her, but I hear she is got down. She has had a broken breast. I have spun 30 knots of linning yarn, and (partly) new footed a pair of stockings for Lucinda, read a part of the pilgrim's progress, coppied part of my text journal (that if I live a few years longer, I may be able to understand it, for aunt sais, that to her, the contents as I first mark'd them, were an impenetrable secret) play'd some, tuck'd a great deal (Aunt Deming says it is very true) laugh'd enough, & I tell aunt it is all human _nature_, if not human reason. And now, I wish my honored mamma a very good night. Saturday noon Feb. 23d--Dear Pappa, do's the winter continue as pleasant at Cumberland as when you wrote to me last? We had but very little winter here, till February came in, but we have little else since. The cold still continues tho' not so extreme as it was last Thursday. I have attended my schools all this week except one day, and am going as soon as I have din'd to see how Unkle Ned does. I was thinking, Sir, to lay up a piece of money you sent me, but as you sent it to me to lay out I have a mind to buy a chip & linning for my feather hatt. But my aunt says she will think of it. My aunt says if I behave myself very well indeed, not else, she will give me a garland of flowers to orniment it, tho' she has layd aside the biziness of flower making.[51] [Illustration: GENERAL JOSHUA WINSLOW] Feb. 25th.--This is a very stormy day of snow, hail & rain, so that I cannot get to Master Holbrook's, therefore I will here copy something I lately transcribed on a loose paper from Dr. Owen's sermon on Hab. iii, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. "I have heard that a full wind behind the ship drives her not so fast forward, as a side wind, that seems almost as much against her as with her; & the reason they say is, because a full wind fills but some of her sails. Wednesday.--Very cold, but this morning I was at sewing and writing school, this afternoon all sewing, for Master Holbrook does not in the winter keep school of afternoons. Unkle Henrys feet are so much better that he wears shoos now. Monday noon Feb. 25th. I have been to writing school this morning and Sewing. The day being very pleasant, very little wind stirring. Jemima called to see me last evening. She lives at Master Jimmy Lovel's.[52] Dear mamma, I suppose that you would be glad to hear that Betty Smith who has given you so much trouble, is well & behaves herself well & I should be glad if I could write you so. But the truth is, no sooner was the 29th Regiment encamp'd upon the common but miss Betty took herself among them (as the Irish say) & there she stay'd with Bill Pinchion & awhile. The next news of her was, that she was got into gaol for stealing: from whence she was taken to the publick whipping post.[53] The next adventure was to the Castle, after the soldier's were remov'd there, for the murder of the 5th March last.[54] When they turn'd her away from there, she came up to town again, and soon got into the workhouse for new misdemeanours, she soon ran away from there and sit up her old trade of pilfering again, for which she was put a second time into gaol, there she still remains. About two months agone (as well as I can remember) she & a number of her wretched companions set the gaol on fire, in order to get out, but the fire was timely discovered & extinguished, & there, as I said she still remains till this day, in order to be tried for her crimes. I heard somebody say that as she has some connections with the army no doubt but she would be cleared, and perhaps, have a pension into the bargain. Mr. Henry says the way of sin is down hill, when persons get into that way they are not easily stopped. Feb. 27.--This day being too stormy for me to go to any school, and nothing as yet having happen'd that is worth your notice, my aunt gives me leave to communicate to you something that much pleas'd her when she heard of it, & which I hope will please you my Papa and Mamma. I believe I may have inform'd you that since I have been in Boston, Dr. Byles[55] has pretty frequently preached & sometimes administer'd the sacrament, when our Candidates have preached to the O.S. Church, because they are not tho't qualified to administer Gospel Ordinance, till they be settled Pastours. About two months ago a brother of the church sent Dr Byles a Card which contain'd after the usual introduction, the following words, Mr W---- dont set up for an Expositor of Scripture, yet ventures to send Dr. Byles a short comment on 1 Cor. ix. 11. which he thinks agreeable to the genuine import of the text, & hopes the Dr will not disapprove it. The comment was a dozen pounds of Chocolate &c.--To which the D^r return'd the following very pretty answer. D^r Byles returns respects to Mr W & most heartily thanks him for his judicious practical Familie Expositor, which is in Tast. My aunt Deming gives her love to you mamma, and bids me tell you, as a matter you will be very glad to know, that D^r Byles & his lady & family, have enjoy'd a good share of health & perfect harmony for several years past. Mr Beacon is come home. My unkle Neddy is very comfortable, has very little pain, & know fever with his broken bone. My Unkle Harry[56] was here yesterday & is very well. Poor Mrs Inches is dangerously ill of a fever. We have not heard how she does today. March 4th.--Poor Mrs Inches is dead. Gone from a world of trouble, as she has left this to her poor mother. Aunt says she heartyly pities Mrs Jackson. Mr Nat. Bethune died this morning, Mrs Inches last night. We had the greatest fall of snow yesterday we have had this winter. Yet cousin Sally, miss Polly, & I rode to & from meeting in Mr Soley's chaise both forenoon & afternoon, & with a stove[57] was very comfortable there. If brother John is as well and hearty as cousin Frank, he is a clever boy. Unkle Neddy continues very comfortable. I saw him last saturday. I have just now been writing four lines in my Book almost as well as the copy. But all the intreaties in the world will not prevail upon me to do always as well as I can, which is not the least trouble to me, tho' its a great grief to aunt Deming. And she says by writing so frightfully above. March 6.--I think the appearance this morning is as winterish as any I can remember, earth, houses, trees, all covered with snow, which began to fall yesterday morning & continued falling all last night. The Sun now shines very bright, the N.W. wind blows very fresh. Mr Gannett din'd here yesterday, from him, my unkle, aunt & cousin Sally, I had an account of yesterday's publick performances,[58] & exhibitions, but aunt says I need not write about 'em because, no doubt there will be printed accounts. I should have been glad if I could have seen & heard for myselfe. My face is better, but I have got a heavy cold yet. March 9th.--After being confined a week, I rode yesterday afternoon to & from meeting in Mr Soley's chaise. I got no cold and am pretty well today. This has been a very snowy day today. Any body that sees this may see that I have wrote nonsense but Aunt says, I have been a very good girl to day about my work however--I think this day's work may be called a piece meal for in the first place I sew'd on the bosom of unkle's shirt, mended two pair of gloves, mended for the wash two handkerchiefs, (one cambrick) sewed on half a border of a lawn apron of aunts, read part of the xxi^st chapter of Exodous, & a story in the Mother's gift. Now, Hon^d Mamma, I must tell you of something that happened to me to-day, that has not happen'd before this great while, viz My Unkle & Aunt both told me, I was a very good girl. Mr Gannett gave us the favour of his company a little while this morning (our head). I have been writing all the above gibberish while aunt has been looking after her family--now she is out of the room--now she is in--& takes up my pen in _my_ absence to observe, I am a little simpleton for informing my mamma, that it is _a great while_ since I was prais'd because she will conclude that it is _a great while_ since I deserv'd to be prais'd. I will henceforth try to observe their praise & yours too. I mean deserve. It's now tea time--as soon as that is over, I shall spend the rest of the evening in reading to my aunt. It is near candle lighting. March 10, 5 o'clock P.M.--I have finish'd my stent of sewing work for this day & wrote a billet to Miss Caty Vans, a copy of which I shall write on the next page. To-morrow if the weather is fit I am to visit. I have again been told I was a good girl. My Billet to Miss Vans was in the following words. Miss Green gives her compliments to Miss Vans, and informs her that her aunt Deming quite misunderstood the matter about the queen's night-Cap.[59] Mrs. Deming thou't that it was a black skull cap linn'd with red that Miss Vans ment which she thou't would not be becoming to Miss Green's light complexion. Miss Green now takes the liberty to send the materials for the Cap Miss Vans was so kind as to say she would make for her, which, when done, she engages to take special care of for Miss Vans' sake. Mrs. Deming joins her compliments with Miss Green's--they both wish for the pleasure of a visit from Miss Vans. Miss Soley is just come in to visit me & 'tis near dark. March 11.--Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth. Thus king Solomon, inspired by the Holy Ghost, cautions, Pro. xxvii. 1. My aunt says, this is a most necessary lesson to be learn'd & laid up in the heart. I am quite of her mind. I have met with a disappointment to day, & aunt says, I may look for them every day--we live in a changing world--in scripture call'd a vale of tears. Uncle said yesterday that there had not been so much snow on the ground this winter as there was then--it has been vastly added to since then, & is now 7 feet deep in some places round this house; it is above the fence in the coart & thick snow began to fall and condtinu'd till about 5 o'clock P.M. (it is about 1-4 past 8 o'clock) since which there has been a steady rain--so no visiting as I hoped this day, & this is the disappointment I mentioned on t'other page. Last saturday I sent my cousin Betsy Storer a Billet of which the following is a copy. Miss Green gives her love to Miss Storer & informs her that she is very _sensible_ of the effects of a bad cold, not only in the pain she has had in her throat, neck and face, which have been much swell'd & which she is not quite clear of, but that she has also been by the same depriv'd of the pleasure of seeing Miss Storer & her other friends in Sudbury Street. She begs, her Duty, Love & Compliments, may be presented as due & that she may be inform'd if they be in health. To this I have receiv'd no answer. I suppose she don't think I am worth an answer. But I have finished my stent, and wrote all under this date, & now I have just daylight eno' to add, my love and duty to dear friends at _Cumberland_. [Illustration: EBENEZER STORER] March 14.--Mr. Stephen March, at whose house I was treated so kindly last fall, departed this life last week, after languishing several months under a complication of disorders--we have not had perticulars, therefore cannot inform you, whether he engag'd the King of terrors with Christian fortitude, or otherwise. "Stoop down my Thoughts, that use to rise, Converse a while with Death; Think how a gasping Mortal lies, And pants away his Breath." Last Thursday I din'd with unkle Storer, & family at aunt Sukey's--all well except Charles Storer who was not so ill but what, _that_ I mean, he din'd with us. Aunt Suky's Charles is a pretty little boy & grows nicely. We were diverted in the afternoon with an account of a queer Feast that had been made that day in a certain Court of this town for the Entertainment of a number of Tories--perhaps seventeen. One contain'd three calves heads (skin off) with their appurtinencies anciently call'd pluck--Their other dish (for they had but two) contain'd a number of roast fowls--half a dozen, we suppose,[A] & all roosters at this season no doubt. Yesterday, soon after I came from writing school we had another snow storm begun, which continued till after I went to bed. This morning the sun shines clear (so it did yesterday morning till 10 o'clock.) It is now bitter cold, & such a quantity of snow upon the ground, as the Old people don't remember ever to have seen before at this time of the year. My aunt Deming says, when she first look'd abroad this morning she felt anxious for her brother, & his family at Cumberland, fearing lest they were covered up in snow. It is now 1-2 after 12 o'clock noon. The sun has been shineing in his full strength for full 6 hours, & the snow not melted enough anywhere in sight of this house, to cause one drop of water. [Footnote A: There was six as I have since heard.] March 17.--Yesterday, I went to see aunt Polly, & finding her going out, I spent the afternoon with aunt Hannah. While I was out, a snow storm overtook me. This being a fine sun shine (tho' cold) day I have been to writing school, & wrote two pieces, one I presented to aunt Deming, and the other I design for my Honor'd Papa, I hope he will approve of it. I sent a piece of my writing to you Hon'd Mamma last fall, which I hope you receiv'd. When my aunt Deming was a little girl my Grandmamma Sargent told her the following story viz. One Mr. Calf who had three times enjoy'd the Mayorality of the city of London, had after his decease, a monoment erected to his memory with the following inscription on it. Here lies buried the body of Sir Richard Calf, Thrice Lord Mayor of London. Honor, Honor, Honor. A drol gentleman passing by with a bit of chalk in his hand underwrote thus-- O cruel death! more subtle than a Fox That would not let this Calf become an Ox, That he might browze among the briers & thorns And with his brethren wear, Horns. Horns. Horns. My aunt told me the foregoing some time since & today I ask'd her leave to insert it in my journal. My aunt gives her love to you & directs me to tell you that she tho't my piece of linnin would have made me a dozen of shifts but she could cut no more than ten out of it. There is some left, but not enough for another. Nine of them are finish'd wash'd & iron'd; & the other would have been long since done if my fingers had not been sore. My cousin Sally made three of them for me, but then I made two shirts & part of another for unkle to help her. I believe unless something remarkable should happen, such as a _warm day_, my mamma will consent that I dedicate a few of my next essays to papa. I think the second thing I said to aunt this morning was, that I intended to be _very good all day_. To make this out, "Next unto _God_, dear Parents I address Myself to you in humble Thankfulness, For all your Care & Charge on me bestow'd; The means of Learning unto me allow'd, Go on I pray, & let me still pursue Those Golden ARTS the Vulgar never knew." Yr Dutifull Daughter ANNA GREEN WINSLOW. The poetry I transcrib'd from my Copy Book. March 19.--Thursday last I spent at home, except a quarter of an hour between sunset and dark, I stepped over the way to Mr. Glover's with aunt. Yesterday I spent at Unkle Neddy's & stitched wristbands for aunt Polly. By the way, I must inform you, (pray dont let papa see this) that yesterday I put on No 1 of my new shifts, & indeed it is very comfortable. It is _long_ since I had a shift to my _back_. I dont know if I ever had till now--It seem'd so strange too, to have any linen below my waist--I am going to dine at Mrs. Whitwell's to day, by invitation. I spent last evening at Mrs Rogers. Mr Hunt discoursed upon the doctrine of the Trinity--it was the second time that he spoke upon the subject at that place. I did not hear him the first time. His business last eve^g was to prove the divinity of the Son, & holy Ghost, & their equality with the Father. My aunt Deming says, it is a grief to her, that I don't always write as well as I can, _I can write pretily_. March 21.--I din'd & spent the afternoon of Thursday last, at Mrs Whitwell's. Mrs Lathrop, & Mrs Carpenter din'd there also. The latter said she was formerly acquainted with mamma, ask'd how she did, & when I heard from her,--said, I look'd much like her. Madam Harris & Miss P. Vans were also of the company. While I was abroad the snow melted to such a degree, that my aunt was oblig'd to get Mr Soley's chaise to bring me home. Yesterday, we had by far the gratest storm of wind & snow that there has been this winter. It began to fall yesterday morning & continued falling till after our family were in bed. (P.M.) Mr. Hunt call'd in to visit us just after we rose from diner; he ask'd me, whether I had heard from my papa & mamma, since I wrote 'em. He was answer'd, no sir, it would be strange if I had, because I had been writing to 'em today, & indeed so I did every day. Aunt told him that _his name_ went frequently into my journals together with broken & some times whole sentences of his sermons, conversations &c. He laugh'd & call'd me Newsmonger, & said I was a daily advertiser. He added, that he did not doubt but my journals afforded much entertainment & would be a future benefit &c. Here is a fine compliment for me mamma. March 26.--Yesterday at 6 o'clock, I went to Unkle Winslow's, their neighbor Greenleaf was their. She said she knew Mamma, & that I look like her. Speaking about papa & you occation'd Unkle Winslow to tell me that he had kiss'd you long before papa knew you. From thence we went to Miss Rogers's where, to a full assembly Mr Bacon read his 3d sermon on R. iv. 6, I can remember he said, that, before we all sinned in Adam our father, Christ loved us. He said the Son of God always did as his father gave him commandment, & to prove this, he said, that above 17 hundred years ago he left the bosom of the Father, & came & took up his abode with men, & bore all the scourgings & buffetings which the vile Jews inflicted on him, & then was hung upon the accursed tree--he died, was buried, & in three days rose again--ascended up to heaven & there took his seat at the right hand of the Majesty on high from whence he will come to be the supream and impartial judge of quick & dead--and when his poor Mother & her poor husband went to Jerusalem to keep the passover & he went with them, he disputed among the doctors, & when his Mother ask'd him about it he said "wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business,"--all this he said was a part of that wrighteousness for the sake of which a sinner is justafied--Aunt has been up stairs all the time I have been writeing & recollecting this--so no help from her. She is come down now & I have been reading this over to her. She sais, she is glad I remember so much, but I have not done the subject justice. She sais I have blended things somewhat improperly--an interuption by company. March 28.--Unkle Harry was here last evening & inform'd us that by a vessel from Halifax which arriv'd yesterday, Mr H Newton, inform'd his brother Mr J Newton of the sudden death of their brother Hibbert in your family 21 January ult. (Just five months to a day since Grandmamma Sargent's death.) With all the circumstances relating to it. My aunt Deming gives her love to Mamma & wishes her a sanctified improvement of all God's dealings with her, & that it would please him to bring her & all the family safe to Boston. Jarvis is put up for Cumberland, we hope he will be there by or before Mayday. This minute I have receiv'd my queen's night cap from Miss Caty Vans--we like it. Aunt says, that if the materials it is made of were more substantial than gauze, it might serve occationally to hold any thing mesur'd by an 1-2 peck, but it is just as it should be, & very decent, & she wishes my writing was _as_ decent. But I got into one of my frolicks, upon sight of the Cap. April 1st.--Will you be offended mamma, if I ask you, if you remember the flock of wild Geese that papa call'd you to see flying over the Blacksmith's shop this day three years? I hope not; I only mean to divert you. The snow is near gone in the street before us, & mud supplys the place thereof; After a week's absence, I this day attended Master Holbrook with some difficulty, what was last week a pond is to-day a quag, thro' which I got safe however, & if aunt[A] had known it was so bad, she sais she would not have sent me, but I neither wet my feet, nor drabled my clothes, indeed I have but one garment that I could contrive to drabble. N.B. It is 1 April. [Footnote A: Miss Green tells her aunt, that the word refer'd to begins with a dipthong.] April 3.--Yesterday was the annual Fast, & I was at meeting all day. Mr Hunt preach'd A.M. from Zac. vii. 4, 5, 6, 7. He said, that if we did not mean as we said in pray's it was only a compliment put upon God, which was a high affront to his divine Majesty. Mr Bacon, P.M. from James v. 17. He said, "pray's, effectual & fervent, might be, where there were no words, but there might be elegant words where there is no prayr's. The essence of pray's consists in offering up holy desires to God agreeable to his will,--it is the flowing out of gracious affections--what then are the pray'rs of an unrenewed heart that is full of enmity to God? doubtless they are an abomination to him. What then, must not unregenerate men pray? I answer, it is their duty to breathe out holy desires to God in pray's. Prayer is a natural duty. Hannah pour'd out her soul before the Lord, yet her voice was not heard, only her lips moved. Some grieve and complain that their pray's are not answered, but if _thy will be done is_, as it ought to be, in every prayer; their prayers are answer'd." The wind was high at N.E. all day yesterday, but nothing fell from the dark clouds that overspread the heavens, till 8 o'clock last evening, when a snow began which has continued falling ever since. The bell being now ringing for 1 o'clock P.M. & no sign of abatement. My aunt Deming says, that if my memory had been equal to the memory of some of my ancestors, I might have done better justice to Mr. Bacon's good sermon, & that if hers had been better than mine she would have helped me. Mr Bacon _did_ say what is here recorded, but in other method. April 6.--I made a shift to walk to meeting yesterday morning. But there was so much water in the streets when I came home from meeting that I got a seat in Mr Waleses chaise. My aunt walk'd home & she sais thro' more difaculty than ever she did in her life before. Indeed had the stream get up from our meeting house as it did down, we might have taken boat as we have talk'd some times of doing to cross the street to our oposite neighbor _Soley's_ chaise. I remember some of Mr Hunts sermon, how much will appear in my text journal. April 7.--I visited yesterday P.M. with my aunt at Mr Waldron's. This afternoon I am going with my aunt to visit Mrs Salisbury who is Dr Sewall's granddaughter, I expect Miss Patty Waldow will meet me there. It is but a little way & we can now thro' favour cross the street without the help of a boat. I saw Miss Polly Vans this morning. She gives her love to you. As she always does whenever I see her. Aunt Deming is this minute come into the room, & from what her niece has wrote last, takes the liberty to remind you, that Miss Vans is a sister of the Old South Church, a society remarkable for Love. Aunt Deming is sorry she has spoil'd the look of this page by her carelessness & hopes her niece will mend its appearance in what follows. She wishes my English had been better, but has not time to correct more than one word. April 9.--We made the visit refer'd to above. The company was old Mrs Salisbury,[60] Mrs Hill, (Mrs Salisbury's sister she was Miss Hannah Sewall & is married to young Mr James Hill that us'd to live in this house) Miss Sally Hill, Miss Polly Belcher Lyde, Miss Caty Sewall, My Aunt & myself. Yesterday afternoon I visited Miss Polly Deming & took her with me to Mr Rogers' in the evening where Mr Hunt discours'd upon the 7th question of the catechism viz what are the decrees of God? I remember a good many of his observations, which I have got set down on a loose paper. But my aunt says that a Miss of 12 year's old cant possibly do justice to the nicest subject in Divinity, & therefore had better not attempt a repetition of perticulars, that she finds lie (as may be easily concluded) somewhat confused in my young mind. She also says, that in her poor judgment, Mr Hunt discours'd soundly as well as ingeniously upon the subject, & very much to her instruction & satisfaction. My Papa inform'd me in his last letter that he had done me the honor to read my journals & that he approv'd of some part of them, I suppose he means that he likes some parts better than other, indeed it would be wonderful, as aunt says, if a gentleman of papa's understanding & judgment cou'd be highly entertain'd with _every little_ saying or observation that came from a girl of my years & that I ought to esteem it a great favour that he notices any of my simple matter with his _approbation_. April 13th.--Yesterday I walk'd to meeting all day, the ground very dry, & when I came home from meeting in the afternoon the Dust blew so that it almost put my eyes out. What a difference in the space of a week. I was just going out to writing school, but a slight rain prevented so aunt says I must make up by writing well at home. Since I have been writing the rain is turn'd to snow, which is now falling in a thick shower. I have now before me, hon^d. Mamma, your favor dated January 3. I am glad you alter'd your mind when you at first thought not to write to me. I am glad my brother made an essay for a Post Script to your Letter. I must get him to read it to me, when he comes up, for two reasons, the one is because I may have the pleasure of hearing his voice, the other because I don't understand his characters. I observe that he is mamma's "Ducky Darling." I never again shall believe that Mrs Huston will come up to Boston till I see her here. I shall be very glad to see Mrs Law here & I have some hopes of it. Mr Gannett and the things you sent by him we safely receiv'd before I got your Letter--you say "you see I am still a great housekeeper," I think more so than when I was with you. Truly I answer'd Mr Law's letter as soon as I found opportunity therefor. I shall be very glad to see Miss Jenny here & I wish she could live with me. I hope you will answer this "viva vosa" as you say you intend to. Pray mamma who larnt you lattan? It now rains fast, but the sun shines, & I am glad to see it, because if it continues I am going abroad with aunt this afternoon. April 14th.--I went a visiting yesterday to Col. Gridley's with my aunt. After tea Miss Becky Gridley sung a minuet. Miss Polly Deming & I danced to her musick, which when perform'd was approv'd of by Mrs Gridley, Mrs Deming, Mrs Thompson, Mrs Avery,[61] Miss Sally Hill, Miss Becky Gridley, Miss Polly Gridley & Miss Sally Winslow. Col^n Gridley was out o' the room. Col^n brought in the talk of Whigs & Tories & taught me the difference between them. I spent last evening at home. I should have gone a visiting to day in sudbury street, but Unkle Harry told me last night that they would be full of company. I had the pleasure of hearing by him, that they were all well. I believe I shall go somewhere this afternoon for I have acquaintances enough that would be very glad to see me, as well as my sudbury street friends. April 15th.--Yesterday I din'd at Mrs. Whitwell's & she being going abroad, I spent the afternoon at Mad^m Harris's & the evening at home, Unkle Harry gave us his company some part of it. I am going to Aunt Storer's as soon as writing school is done. I shall dine with her, if she is not engaged. It is a long time since I was there, & indeed it is a long time since I have been able to get there. For tho' the walking has been pretty tolerable at the South End, it has been intolerable down in town. And indeed till yesterday, it has been such bad walking, that I could not get there on my feet. If she had wanted much to have seen me, she might have sent either one of her chaises, her chariot, or her babyhutt,[62] one of which I see going by the door almost every day. April 16th.--I dined with Aunt Storer yesterday & spent the afternoon very agreeably at Aunt Suky's. Aunt Storer is not very well, but she drank tea with us, & went down to Mr Stillman's lecture in the evening. I spent the evening with Unkle & Aunt at Mrs Rogers's. Mr Bacon preach'd his fourth sermon from Romans iv. 6. My cousin Charles Storer lent me Gulliver's Travels abreviated, which aunt says I may read for the sake of perfecting myself in reading a variety of composures. she sais farther that the piece was desin'd as a burlesque upon the times in which it was wrote,--& Martimas Scriblensis & Pope Dunciad were wrote with the same design & as parts of the same work, tho' wrote by three several hands. April 17th.--You see, Mamma, I comply with your orders (or at least have done father's some time past) of writing in my journal every day tho' my matters are of little importance & I have nothing at present to communicate except that I spent yesterday afternoon & evening at Mr Soley's. The day was very rainy. I hope I shall at least learn to spell the word _yesterday_, it having occur'd so frequently in these pages! (The bell is ringing for good friday.) Last evening aunt had a letter from Unkle Pierce, he informs her, that last Lords day morning Mrs Martin was deliver'd of a daughter. She had been siezed the Monday before with a violent pluritick fever, which continued when my Unkle's letter was dated 13th instant. My Aunt Deming is affraid that poor Mrs Martin is no more. She hopes she is reconcil'd to her father--but is affraid whether that was so--She had try'd what was to be done that way on her late visits to Portsmouth, & found my unkle was placably dispos'd, poor Mrs Martin, she could not then be brought to make any acknowledgements as she ought to have done. April 18th.--Some time since I exchang'd a piece of patchwork, which had been wrought in my leisure intervals, with Miss Peggy Phillips,[63] my schoolmate, for a pair of curious lace mitts with blue flaps which I shall send, with a yard of white ribbin edg'd with green to Miss Nancy Macky for a present. I had intended that the patchwork should have grown large enough to have cover'd a bed when that same live stock which you wrote me about some time since, should be increas'd to that portion you intend to bestow upon me, should a certain event take place. I have just now finish'd my Letter to Papa. I had wrote to my other correspondents at Cumberland, some time ago, all which with this I wish safe to your & their hand. I have been carefull not to repeat in my journal any thing that I had wrote in a Letter either to papa, you, &c. Else I should have inform'd you of some of Bet Smith's abominations with the deserv'd punishment she is soon to meet with. But I have wrote it to papa, so need not repeat. I guess when this reaches you, you will be too much engag'd in preparing to quit your present habitation, & will have too much upon your head & hands, to pay much attention to this scrowl. But it may be an amusement to you on your voyage--therefore I send it. Pray mamma, be so kind as to bring up all my journal with you. My Papa has promised me, he will bring up my baby house with him. I shall send you a droll figure of a young lady,[64] in or under, which you please, a tasty head Dress. It was taken from a print that came over in one of the last ships from London. After you have sufficiently amused yourself with it I am willing . . . Boston April 20, 1772.--Last Saterday I seal'd up 45 pages of Journal for Cumberland. This is a very stormy day--no going to school. I am learning to knit lace. April 21.--Visited at uncle Joshua Green's. I saw three funerals from their window, poor Cap^n Turner's was one. April 22d.--I spent this evening at Miss Rogers as usual. Mr. Hunt continued his discourse upon the 7th question of the catechism & finish'd what he had to say upon it. April 23d.--This morn^g early our Mr Bacon set out upon a tour to Maryland, he proposed to be absent 8 weeks. He told the Church that brother Hunt would supply the pulpit till his return. I made a visit this afternoon with cousin Sally at Dr. Phillip's. April 24th.--I drank tea at Aunt Suky's. Aunt Storer was there, she seemed to be in charming good health & spirits. My cousin Charles Green seems to grow a little fat pritty boy but he is very light. My aunt Storer lent me 3 of cousin Charles' books to read, viz.--The puzzeling cap, the female Oraters & the history of Gaffer too-shoes.[65] April 25th.--I learn't three stitches upon net work to-day. April 27th.--I din'd at Aunt Storer's & spent the P.M. at aunt Suky's. April 28th.--This P.M. I am visited by Miss Glover, Miss Draper & Miss Soley. My aunt abroad. April 29th.--Tomorrow, if the weather be good, I am to set out for Marshfield. [Illustration: MRS. EBENEZER STORER] May 11.--The morning after I wrote above, I sat out for Marshfield. I had the pleasure of drinking tea with aunt Thomas the same day, the family all well, but Mr G who seems to be near the end of the journey of life. I visited General Winslow[66] & his son, the Dr., spent 8 days very agreeably with my friends at Marshfield, & returned on saterday last in good health & gay spirits which I still enjoy. The 2 first days I was at Marshfield, the heat was extream & uncommon for the season. It ended on saterday evening with a great thunder storm. The air has been very cool ever since. My aunt Deming observ'd a great deal of lightning in the south, but there was neither thunder, rain nor clouds in Boston. May 16.--Last Wednesday Bet Smith was set upon the gallows. She behav'd with great impudence. Thursday I danc'd a minuet & country dances at school, after which I drank tea with aunt Storer. To day I am somewhat out of sorts, a little sick at my stomach. 23d.--I followed my schools every day this week, thursday I din'd at aunt Storer's & spent the P.M. there. 25.--I was not at meeting yesterday, Unkle & Aunt say they had very good Fish at the O.S. I have got very sore eyes. June 1st.--All last week till saterday was very cold & rainy. Aunt Deming kept me within doors, there were no schools on account of the Election of Councellers,[67] & other public doings; with one eye (for t'other was bound up) I saw the governer & his train of life guard &c. ride by in state to Cambridge. I form'd Letters last week to suit cousin Sally & aunt Thomas, but my eyes were so bad aunt would not let me coppy but one of them. Monday being Artillery Election[68] I went to see the hall, din'd at aunt Storer's, took a walk in the P.M. Unkle laid down the commission he took up last year. Mr Handcock invited the whole company into his house in the afternoon & treated them very genteelly & generously, with cake, wine, &c. There were 10 corn baskets of the feast (at the Hall) sent to the prison & almshouse. 4th.--From June 1 when I wrote last there has nothing extraordinary happen'd till today the whole regiment muster'd upon the common. Mr Gannett, aunt & myself went up into the common, & there saw Cap^t Water's, Cap^t Paddock's, Cap^t Peirce's, Cap^t Eliot's, Cap^t Barret's, Cap^t Gay's, Cap^t May's, Cap^t Borington's & Cap^t Stimpson's company's exercise. From there, we went into King street to Col Marshal's[69] where we saw all of them prettily exercise & fire. Mr. Gannett din'd with us. On Sabbath-day evening 7 June My Hon^d Papa, Mamma, little Brother, cousin H. D. Thomas, Miss Jenny Allen, & Mrs Huston arriv'd here from Cumberland, all in good health, to the great joy of all their friends, myself in particular--they sail'd from Cumberland the 1st instant, in the evening. Aug. 18.--Many avocations have prevented my keeping my journal so exactly as heretofore, by which means a pleasant visit to the peacock, my Papa's & mamma's journey to Marshfield &c. have been omitted. The 6 instant Mr Sam^l Jarvis was married to Miss Suky Peirce, & on the 13th I made her a visit in company with mamma & many others. The bride was dress'd in a white satin night gound.[70] 27.--Yesterday I heard an account of a cat of 17 years old, that has just recovered of the meazels. This same cat it is said had the small pox 8 years ago! 28.--I spent the P.M. & eve at aunt Suky's very agreeably with aunt Pierce's young ladies viz. Miss Johnson, Miss Walker, Miss Polly & Miss Betsey Warton, (of Newport) Miss Betsey is just a fortnight wanting 1 day older than I am, who I became acquainted with that P.M. Papa, Mamma, Unkle & aunt Storer, Aunt Pierce & Mr & Mrs Jarvis was there. There were 18 at supper besides a great many did not eat any. Mrs Jarvis sang after supper. My brother Johny has got over the measels. Sept. 1.--Last evening after meeting, Mrs Bacon was brought to bed of a fine daughter. But was very ill. She had fits. September 7.--Yesterday afternoon Mr Bacon baptiz'd his daughter by the name of Elizabeth Lewis. It is a pretty looking child. Mrs Whitwell is like to loose her Henry Harris. He is very ill. 8.--I visited with mamma at cousin Rogers'. There was a good many. 14.--Very busy all day, went into the common in the afternoon to see training. It was very prettyly perform'd. 18.--My Papa, aunt Deming, cousin Rogers, & Miss Betsey Gould set out for Portsmouth. I went over to Charlestown with them, after they were gone, I came back, & rode up from the ferry in Mrs Rogers' chaise; it drop'd me at Unkle Storer's gate, where I spent the day. My brother was very sick. Sep^r 17. 18.--Spent the days at aunt Storer's, the nights at home. 19.--Went down in the morn^g & spent the day & night there. My brother better than he was. 20.--Sabbath day. I went to hear Mr Stilman[71] all day, I like him very much. I don't wonder so many go to hear him. 21st.--Mr. Sawyer, Mr Parks, & Mrs Chatbourn, din'd at aunt Storer's. I went to dancing in the afternoon. Miss Winslow & Miss Allen visited there. 22d.--The king's coronation day. In the evening I went with mamma to Col^n Marshal's in King Street to see the fireworks. 23d.--I din'd at aunt Suky's with Mr & Mrs Hooper[72] of Marblehead. In the afternoon I went over to see Miss Betsy Winslow. When I came back I had the pleasure to meet papa. I came home in the evening to see aunt Deming. Unkle Winslow sup'd here. 24.--Papa cal'd here in the morn^g. Nothing else worth noticeing. 25.--Very pleasant. Unkle Ned cal'd here. Little Henry Harris was buried this afternoon. 26. 27.--Nothing extraordinary yesterday & to day. 28.--My papa & unkle Winslow spent the evening here. 29. 30.--Very stormy. Miss Winslow & I read out the Generous Inconstant, & have begun Sir Charles Grandison. . . . May 25.--Nothing remarkable since the preceding date. Whenever I have omited a school my aunt has directed me to sit it down here, so when you dont see a memorandum of that kind, you may conclude that I have paid my compliments to mess^rs Holbrook & Turner (to the former you see to very little purpose) & mrs Smith as usual. The Miss Waldow's I mentioned in a former are Mr. Danl Waldo's daughters (very pretty misses) their mamma was Miss Becca Salisbury.[73] After making a short visit with my Aunt at Mrs Green's, over the way, yesterday towards evening, I took a walk with cousin Sally to see the good folks in Sudbury Street, & found them all well. I had my HEDDUS roll on, aunt Storer said it ought to be made less, Aunt Deming said it ought not to be made at all. It makes my head itch, & ach, & burn like anything Mamma. This famous roll is not made _wholly_ of a red _Cow Tail_, but is a mixture of that, & horsehair (very course) & a little human hair of yellow hue, that I suppose was taken out of the back part of an old wig. But D---- made it (our head) all carded together and twisted up. When it first came home, aunt put it on, & my new cap on it, she then took up her apron & mesur'd me, & from the roots of my hair on my forehead to the top of my notions, I mesur'd above an inch longer than I did downwards from the roots of my hair to the end of my chin. Nothing renders a young person more amiable than virtue & modesty without the help of fals hair, red _Cow tail_, or D---- (the barber).[74] Now all this mamma, I have just been reading over to my aunt. She is pleas'd with my whimsical description & grave (half grave) improvement, & hopes a little fals English will not spoil the whole with Mamma. Rome was not built in a day. 31st May.--Monday last I was at the factory to see a piece of cloth cousin Sally spun for a summer coat for unkle. After viewing the work we recollected the room we sat down in was Libberty Assembly Hall, otherwise called factory hall, so Miss Gridley & I did ourselves the Honour of dancing a minuet in it. On tuesday I made Mrs Smith my morning & p.m. visits as usual, neither Mr. Holbrook nor Turner have any school this week, nor till tuesday next. I spent yesterday with my friends in sudbury St. Cousin Frank has got a fever, aunt Storer took an emmetick while I was there, cousin Betsy had violent pains almost all the forenoon. Last tuesday Miss Ursula Griswold, daughter of the right Hon. Matthew Griswold Esq governer of one of his Majesty's provinces, was made one of our family, & I have the honor of being her chambermade. I have just been reading over what I wrote to the company present, & have got myself laughed at for my ignorance. It seems I should have said the daughter of the Hon Lieu^t. Governor of Connecticutt. Mrs Dixon lodg'd at Capn Mitchell's. She is gone to Connecticutt long since. 31 May.--I spent the afternoon at unkle Joshua's. yesterday, after tea I went to see how aunt Storer did. I found her well at Unkle Frank's. Mr Gerrish & wife of Halifax I had the pleasure to meet there, the latter sends love to you. Indeed Mamma, till I receiv'd your last favour, I never heard a word about the little basket &c. which I sent to brother Johny last fall. I suppose Harry had so much to write about cotton, that he forgot what was of more consequence. Dear Mamma, what name has Mr Bent given his Son? something like Nehemiah, or Jehoshaphat, I suppose, it must be an odd name (our head indeed, Mamma.) Aunt says she hopes it a'nt Baal Gad, & she also says that I am a little simpleton for making my note within the brackets above, because, when I omit to do it, Mamma will think I have the help of somebody else's head but, N.B. for herself she utterly disclames having either her head or hand concern'd in this curious journal, except where the writing makes it manifest. So much for this matter. [Illustration: CUT-PAPER PICTURE] NOTES. NOTE 1. Aunt Deming was Sarah, the oldest child of John Winslow and Sarah Peirce, and therefore sister of Joshua Winslow, Anna Green Winslow's father. She was born August 2, 1722, died March 10, 1788. She married John West, and after his death married, on February 27, 1752, John Deming. He was a respectable and intelligent Boston citizen, but not a wealthy man. He was an ensign in the Ancient and Honorable Artillery in 1771, and a deacon of the Old South Church in 1769, both of which offices were patents of nobility in provincial Boston. They lived in Central Court, leading out of Washington Street, just south of Summer Street. Aunt Deming eked out a limited income in a manner dear to Boston gentlewomen in those and in later days; she took young ladies to board while they attended Boston schools. Advertisements in colonial newspapers of "Board and half-board for young ladies" were not rare, and many good old New England names are seen in these advertisements. Aunt Deming was a woman of much judgment, as is shown in the pages of this diary; of much power of graphic description, as is proved by a short journal written for her niece, Sally Coverly, and letters of hers which are still preserved. She died childless. NOTE 2. Cumberland was the home in Nova Scotia of Anna Green Winslow's parents, where her father held the position of commissary to the British regiments stationed there. George Green, Anna's uncle, writing to Joseph Green, at Paramaribo, on July 23, 1770, said: "Mr. Winslow & wife still remain at Cumberland, have one son & one daughter, the last now at Boston for schooling, &c." So, at the date of the first entry in the diary, Anna had been in Boston probably about a year and a half. NOTE 3. Anna Green Winslow had doubtless heard much talk about this Rev. John Bacon, the new minister at the Old South Church, for much had been said about him in the weekly press: whether he should have an ordination dinner or not, and he did not; accounts of his ordination; and then notice of the sale of his sermons in the _Boston Gazette_. All Mr. Bacon's parishioners did not share Anna's liking for him; he found himself at the Old South in sorely troubled waters. He made a most unpropitious and trying entrance at best, through succeeding the beloved Joseph Sewall, who had preached to Old South listeners for fifty-six years. He came to town a stranger. When, a month later, Governor Hutchinson issued his annual Thanksgiving Proclamation, there was placed therein an "exceptionable clause" that was very offensive to Boston patriots, relating to the continuance of civil and religious liberties. It had always been the custom to have the Proclamation read by the ministers in the Boston churches for the two Sundays previous to Thanksgiving Day, but the ruling governor very cannily managed to get two Boston clergymen to read his proclamation the third Sunday before the appointed day, when all the church members, being unsuspectingly present, had to listen to the unwelcome words. One of these clerical instruments of gubernatorial diplomacy and craft was John Bacon. Samuel Adams wrote bitterly of him, saying, "He performed this servile task a week before the time, when the people were not aware of it." The _Boston Gazette_ of November 11 commented severely on Mr. Bacon's action, and many of his congregation were disgusted with him, and remained after the service to talk the Proclamation and their unfortunate new minister over. It might have been offered, one might think, as some excuse, that he had so recently come from Maryland, and was probably unacquainted with the intenseness of Massachusetts politics; and that he had also been a somewhat busy and preoccupied man during his six weeks' presence in Boston, for he had been marrying a wife,--or rather a widow. In the _Boston Evening Post_ of November 11, 1771, I read this notice: "Married, the Rev'd John Bacon to Mrs. Elizabeth Cummings, daughter of Ezekiel Goldthwait, Esq." He retained his pastorate, however, in spite of his early mistake, through anxious tea-party excitement and forlorn war-threatened days, till 1775, with but scant popularity and slight happiness, with bitter differences of opinion with his people over atonement and imputation, and that ever-present stumbling-block to New England divines,--baptism under the Half Covenant,--till he was asked to resign. Nor did he get on over smoothly with his fellow minister, John Hunt. In a curious poem of the day, called "Boston Ministers" (which is reprinted in the _New England Historical and Genealogical Register_ of April, 1859), these verses appear:-- At Old South there's a jarring pair, If I am not mistaken, One may descry with half an eye That Hunt is far from Bacon. Wise Hunt can trace out means of grace As leading to conversion, But Hopkins scheme is Bacons theme, And strange is his assertion. It mattered little, however, that Parson Bacon had to leave the Old South, for that was soon no longer a church, but a riding school for the British troops. Mr. Bacon retired, after his dismissal, to Canterbury, Conn., his birthplace. His friendly intimacy with Mrs. Deming proved of value to her, for when she left Boston, in April, 1775, at the time of the closing of the city gates, she met Mr. Bacon in Providence. She says in her journal:-- "Towards evening Mr & M^rs Bacon, with their daughter, came into town. M^r Bacon came to see me. Enquir'd into my designs, &c. I told him truely I did not know what to do. That I had thot of giting farther into the country. Of trying to place Sally in some family where she might earn her board, & to do something like it for Lucinda, or put her out upon wages. That when I left the plain I had some faint hope I might hear from Mr Deming while I continued at Providence, but that I had little of that hope remaining. M^r Bacon advised me to go into Connecticutt, the very thing I was desirous of. Mr Bacon sd that he would advise me for the present to go to Canterbury, his native place. That he would give me a Letter to his Sister, who would receive me kindly & treat me tenderly, & that he would follow me there in a few days." This advice Mrs. Deming took, and made Canterbury her temporary home. Mr. Bacon did not again take charge of a parish. After the Revolution he became a magistrate, went to the legislature, became judge of the court of common pleas, and a member of congress. He did not wholly give up his disputatious ways, if we can judge from the books written by and to him, one of the latter being, "A Droll, a Deist, and a John Bacon, Master of Arts, Gently Reprimanded." His wife, who was born in 1733, and died in Stockbridge in 1821, was the daughter of Ezekiel Goldthwait, a Tory citizen of Boston, a register of deeds, and a wealthy merchant. A portrait of Mrs. Bacon, painted by Copley, is remarkable for its brilliant eyes and beautiful hands and arms. NOTE 4. Rev. John Hunt was born in Northampton, November 20, 1744. He was a Harvard graduate in the class of 1764, a classmate of Caleb Strong and John Scollay. He was installed colleague-pastor of the Old South Church with John Bacon in 1771. He found it a most trying position. He was of an amiable and gentle disposition, and the poem on "Boston Ministers" asserted that he "most friends with sisters made." Another Boston rhymester called him "puny John from Northampton, a meek-mouth moderate man." When the gates of Boston were closed in 1775, after the battle of Lexington, he returned to Northampton, and died there of consumption, December 20, 1775. A full account of his life is given in _Sprague's Annals of the American Pulpit_. See also Note 3. NOTE 5. "Unkle and Aunt Winslow" were Mr. and Mrs. John Winslow. He was the brother of Joshua Winslow, was born March, 1725-26, died September 29, 1773, in Boston. He was married, on March 12, 1752, to Elizabeth Mason (born September, 1723, died January, 1780). They had five children: I. Gen. John Winslow, born September 26, 1753, married Ann Gardner, May 21, 1782, died November 29, 1819. II. Sarah, born April 12, 1755, married Deacon Samuel Coverly, of Boston, on November 27, 1787, died April 3, 1804. See Note 13. III. Henry, born January 11, 1757, died October 13, 1766. IV. Elizabeth, born November 28, 1759, died September 8, 1760. V. Elizabeth, born September 14, 1760, married John Holland, died November 21, 1795. Gen. John Winslow was the favorite nephew of Joshua Winslow and of his wife, and largely inherited their property. He remained in Boston through the siege, and preserved the communion plate of the Old South Church by burying it in his uncle Mason's cellar. He was an ardent patriot, and it is said that his uncle Joshua threatened to hang him if he caught him during the Revolutionary War. The nephew answered, "No catchee--no hangee, Uncle;" but did have the contrary fortune of capturing the uncle, whom he released on parole. He was the sixth signer and first treasurer of the Society of the Cincinnati. General Winslow's daughter, Mary Ann Winslow, born in 1790, lived till 1882, and from her were obtained many of the facts given in these notes. NOTE 6. Miss Soley was Hannah Soley, daughter of John Soley and Hannah Carey, who were married October 11, 1759. Hannah Soley was born June 5, 1762, and married W. G. McCarty. NOTE 7. William and Samuel Whitwell and their families were members of the Old South Church, and all were friends of the Winslows and Demings. William Whitwell was born September 3, 1714, died April 10, 1795. He was a prosperous merchant, an estimable and useful citizen, and church member. His first wife was Rebecca Keayne, his second Elizabeth Scott (or Swett), who died May 13, 1771; his third, the widow of Royal Tyler. The Mrs. Whitwell here referred to must have been Mrs. Samuel Whitwell, for William Whitwell just at that interval was a widower. Samuel Whitwell was born December 17, O.S. 1717, died June 8, 1801. His first wife was Elizabeth Kelsey; his second, Sarah Wood; his third, Mary Smith. NOTE 8. Polly Deming was a niece of John Deming. NOTE 9. Miss Polly Glover was Mary Glover, born in Boston, October 12, 1758, baptized at the Old South Church, married to Deacon James Morrell, of the Old South, on April 23, 1778, and died April 3, 1842. She was the daughter of Nathaniel Glover (who was born May 16, 1704, in Dorchester; died December, 1773), and his wife, Anne Simpson. They were married in 1750. Nathaniel Glover was a graduate of Harvard, and a wealthy man; partner first of Thomas Hancock, and then of John Hancock. NOTE 10. Miss Bessy Winslow was Elizabeth, Anna's cousin, who was then about ten years old. See Note 5. NOTE 11. Miss Nancy or Anne Glover was Mary Glover's sister. See Note 9. She was born in Boston, March 28, 1753, baptized in the Old South Church, died in Roxbury, August, 1797. She married Samuel Whitwell, Jr., son of Samuel Whitwell, a prominent Boston merchant. See Note 7. NOTE 12. Miss Sally Winslow was Sarah, daughter of John Winslow (see Note 5), and was, therefore, Anna's cousin. She was born April 12, 1755, died April 3, 1804. She married, November 27, 1787, Samuel Coverly, deacon of the Old South Church. She was the Sally Coverly for whom Mrs. Deming's journal was written. Several of Sally Coverly's letters still exist, and are models of elegant penmanship and correct spelling, and redound to the credit of her writing teacher, Master Holbrook. All the d's and y's and t's end with elaborately twisted little curls. A careful margin of an inch is left on every side. The letters speak so plainly of the formal honor and respect paid by all well-bred persons of the day to their elders, even though familiar kinsfolk, that I quote one, which contains much family news:-- BOSTON, Feb. 17th, 1780. I thank you my dear Aunt for your kind Epistles of April 9th & Nov'r 10th, the kind interestedness you yet continue to take in my concerns merits the warmest returns of Gratitude. The Particular circumstances you wish to know I shall with pleasure inform you of--Mr. Coverly is the youngest son of a Worthy Citizen late of this town but his Parents are now no more. His age is thirty-five. His Occupation a Shopkeeper who imports his own goods. And if you should wish to know who of your acquaintance he resembles, Madam, I would answer He has been taken for our Minister Mr Eckley, by whom we were married in my Aunt Demings sick chamber the 27th of Nov'r last twelve months since. He has two Brothers who both reside in town. I have been remarkably favor'd the last year as to my health & we are blest likewise with a fine little Daughter between 4 & 5 months old, very healthy, which we have named Elizabeth for its Grandmamas and an Aunt of each side. My Brother call'd today & inform'd me that M^r Powell intended setting out tomorrow for Quebeck & left a Letter for you which I shall send with this. He is almost if not quite as big as my uncle was last time I saw him--he was well & his family, he has three sons, the youngest about eleven months old, he has buried one. In your last you mention both my Uncle & yourself as not enjoying so great a share of health. I hope by this time you have each regain'd that blessing more perfectly. Be pleased with him My Dear Aunt to accept My Duty in which Mr Coverly joins me. My Sister was very well last week & her son John who is a fine child about 3 months old. Capt. Holland has purchas'd a house near fort hill which has remov'd her to a greater distance from me. She is now gone to the West-indies, she is connected in a family that are all very fond of her. We expect soon to remove. M^r Coverly has taken a lease of a house for some years belonging to M^r John Amory, you will please to direct your next for us in Cornhill N^o 10, I shall have the pleasure of your friend M^rs Whitwell for my next neighbor there. I had not the pleasure of seeing M^r Freeman whiles here altho' I expected it, as his brother promis'd to wait on him here. In one of your kind Epistles, Madam, you mention'd some of your Movables which you would wish me to take possession of which were at my Uncle Demings. The Memorandum you did not send me & my Uncle Deming has none nor knows of any thing but a great wheel. He is now maried to the Widow Sebry who is very much lik'd and appears to be a Gentlewoman, they were very well today. My Aunt Mason was to see me a few weeks since with M^rs Coburn M^rs Scolly & Miss Becky Scolly from Middleborough. M^rs Scolly has since married her youngest daughter to M^r Prentice, Minister of Medfield. Please to give my Love to Cousin Sally Deming if she is yet with you I hope she has regain'd her usual health. I should be very glad to be inform'd how her Mamma is & where & her family. Be pleased to continue your Indulgence, as your Epistles My Dear Aunt will at all times be most gratefully receiv'd by Y^r Oblidg'd Niece Sarah Coverly. NOTE 13. Josiah Waters, Jr., was the son of Josiah and Abigail Dawes Waters. The latter lived to be ninety-five years old. Josiah Sr. was a captain in the Artillery Company in 1769, and Josiah Jr. in 1791. The latter married, on March 14, 1771, Mary, daughter of William and Elizabeth Whitwell. See Note 7. Their child, Josiah Waters, tertius, born December 29, 1771, lived till August 4, 1818. He was a Latin School boy, and in the class with Josiah Quincy at Harvard. NOTE 14. The life of this slave-girl Lucinda was a fair example of the gentle form of slavery which existed till this century in our New England States. From an old paper written by a daughter of Gen. John Winslow, I quote her description of this girl:-- "Lucinda was born in Africa and purchased by M^rs Deming when she was about seven years of age. She was cherished with care and affection by the family, and at Mrs. Demings death was 'given her freedom.' From that time she chose to make her home with 'Master John' (the late Gen. John Winslow, of Boston), a nephew of M^rs Demings--at his house she died after some years. The friends of the Winslow family attended her funeral; her pastor the Rev D^r Eckley of the Old South and Gen. W. walking next the hearse as chief mourners. A few articles belonging to her are preserved in the family as memorials of one who was a beloved member of the household in the olden time." Lucinda figures in Mrs. Deming's account of her escape from besieged Boston in 1775, and was treated with as much consideration as was Sally, the niece; for her mistress remained behind for a time at Wrentham; rather than to allow Lucinda to ride outside the coach in the rain. In a letter written by Sally Coverly, August 6, 1795, to Mrs. Joshua Winslow, at Quebec, she says: "You enquire about Lucinda, she is very much gratified by it. She has lived with my Brother this ten years and is very good help in their family." NOTE 15. The "Miss Sheafs" were Nancy and Mary Sheaffe, youngest daughters of William Sheaffe, who had recently died, leaving a family of four sons and six daughters. He had been deputy collector of customs under Joseph Harrison, the last royal collector of the port. He left his family penniless, and a small shop was stocked by friends for Mrs Sheaffe. I have often seen her advertisements in Boston newspapers. Mrs. Sheaffe was Susanna Child, daughter of Thomas Child, an Englishman, one of the founders of Trinity Church. She lived till 1811. The ten children grew up to fill dignified positions in life. One son was Sir Roger Hale Sheaffe. Susanna, at the age of fifteen, made a most romantic runaway match with an English officer, Capt. Ponsonby Molesworth. Margaret married John R. Livingstone; she was a great beauty. Lafayette, on his return to France, sent her a satin cardinal lined with ermine, and an elegant gown. Helen married James Lovell. (See Note 52.) Nancy, or Anne Sheaffe, married, in September, 1786, John Erving, Jr., a nephew of Governor Shirley, and died young, leaving three children,--Maria, Frances, and Major John Erving. Mary married Benj. Cutler, high sheriff of Boston, and died December 8, 1784, leaving no children. These Sheaffes were nearly all buried in the Child tomb in Trinity Church. NOTE 16. Governor Matthew Griswold was born March 25, 1714, died April 28, 1799. He married, on Nov. 10, 1743, his second cousin, Ursula Wolcott, daughter of Gov. Roger Wolcott. A very amusing story is told of their courtship. Governor Griswold in early life wished to marry a young lady in Durham, Conn. She was in love with a physician, whom she hoped would propose to her, and in the mean time was unwilling to give up her hold upon her assured lover. At last the governor, tired of being held in an uncertainty, pressed her for a definite answer. She pleaded that she wished for more time, when he rose with dignity and answered her, "I will give you a lifetime." This experience made him extremely shy, and when thrown with his cousin Ursula he made no advance towards love-making. At last when she was nineteen and he ten years older she began asking him on every occasion, "What did you say, Cousin Matthew?" and he would answer her quietly, "Nothing." At last she asked him impatiently, "What did you say, Cousin Matthew?" and when he answered again "Nothing," she replied sharply, "Well, it's time you did,"--and _he did_. Their daughter Ursula, the visitor at Mrs. Deming's, was born April 13, 1754, and was a great beauty. She married, in November 22, 1777, her third cousin, Lynde McCurdy, of Norwich, Conn. NOTE 17. "Unkle Joshua" was Joshua Green, born in Boston, May 17, 1731, "Monday 1/2 past 9 oclock in the morn^g" and died in Wendell, Mass., on September 2, 1811. He attended the Boston Latin School in 1738, and was in the class of 1749 at Harvard. He married, as did his brother and sister, a Storer--Hannah, daughter of Ebenezer and Mary Edwards Storer--on October 7, 1762. After his marriage he lived in Court Street, the third house south of Hanover Street. His wife Hannah was for many years before and after her marriage--as was her mother--the intimate friend and correspondent of Abigail Adams, wife of John Adams. Some of their letters may be found in the _Account of Percival and Ellen Green and Some of their Descendants_, written by Hon. Samuel Abbott Green, who is a great-grandson of Joshua and Hannah Green. NOTE 18. Madam Storer was Mary Edwards Storer, the widow of Ebenezer Storer, a Boston merchant. She was the mother of Anna's uncle Ebenezer Storer, of her aunt Hannah Storer Green, and of her aunt Mary Storer Green. See Notes 19, 32, 59. NOTE 19. Miss Caty Vans was the granddaughter of Hugh Vans, a merchant of Boston, who became a member of the Old South Church in 1728. He was born in Ayr, Scotland, in 1699. He married Mary Pemberton, daughter of Rev. Ebenezer Pemberton, and died in Boston in 1763. They had four sons, John, Ebenezer, Samuel, and William. One of the first three was the father of Caty Vans, who was born January 18, 1770. There are frequent references to her throughout the diary, but I know nothing of her life. William Vans married Mary Clarke, of Salem, and had one son, William, and one daughter, Rebecca, who married Captain Jonathan Carnes. The Vans family Bible is in the library of the Essex Institute. NOTE 20. In the cordial hatred of the Puritans for Christmas Anna heartily joined. It was not till this century that in New England cheerful merriment and the universal exchange of gifts marked the day as a real holiday. NOTE 21. "Aunt Sukey" was Susanna Green, born July 26, 1744, died November 10, 1775. She married, on October 18, 1769, her cousin, Francis Green. The little child Charles, of whom Anna writes, proved to be a deaf-mute, and was drowned near Halifax in 1787. Francis Green had two deaf-mute children by a second wife, and became prominent afterwards in Massachusetts for his interest in and promotion of methods in instructing the deaf. In a letter of George Green's, dated Boston, July 23, 1770, we read: "Frank Green was married to Sukey in October last and they live next house to Mrs Storers." From another, dated December 5, 1770: "Frank keeps a ship going between here & London, but I believe understands little of the matter, having never been bred to business wch was one great objection with my father to his courting Sukey." I think he must have developed into a capable business man, for I have frequently seen his business advertisements in Boston newspapers of his day. Anna's mother bequeathed seven hundred and fifty dollars to Francis Green in her will. He was a man universally esteemed in the community. NOTE 22. Dr. Samuel Cooper was born March 28, 1725; died December 29, 1783. He graduated at Harvard in 1743, and became pastor of the Brattle Street Congregational Church, of Boston. He was a brilliant preacher, an ardent patriot, the intimate friend of John Adams and Benjamin Franklin, and a very handsome man. NOTE 23. Master Holbrook was Samuel Holbrook, Anna's writing-master, one of a highly honored family of Boston writing teachers. Perhaps the best known of this family was Abiah Holbrook. In the _Boston Gazette_ of January 30, 1769, I find this notice:-- "Last Friday morning died Mr Abiah Holbrook in the 51st year of his Age, Master of the South Writing School in this Town. He was looked upon by the Best Judges as the Greatest Master of the Pen we have ever had among us, of which he has left a most beautiful Demonstration. He was indefatigable in his labours, successful in his Instructions, an Honour to the Town and to crown all an Ornament to the Religion of Jesus. His Funeral is to be Attended Tomorrow Afternoon at Four Oclock." The "beautiful Demonstration" of his penmanship which he left behind him was a most intricate piece of what was known as "fine knotting" or "knot work." It was written in "all the known hands of Great Britain." This work occupied every moment of what Abiah Holbrook called his "spare time" for seven years. It was valued at £100. It was bequeathed to Harvard College, unless his wife should need the money which could be obtained from selling it. If this were so, she was to offer it first for purchase to John Hancock. Abiah was a stanch patriot. Samuel Holbrook was a brother of Abiah. He began teaching in 1745, when about eighteen years old. A petition of Abiah, dated March 10, 1745-46, sets forth that his school had two hundred and twenty scholars (Well may his funeral notice say that he was indefatigable in his labors!), that finding it impossible to properly instruct such a great number, he had appointed his brother to teach part of them and had paid his board for seven months, else some of the scholars must have been turned off without any instruction. He therefore prayed the town to grant him assistance. Think of one master for such a great school! In 1750 Samuel Holbrook's salary as usher of the South Writing School was fifty pounds per annum. After serving as writing-master of the school in Queen Street, and also keeping a private school, he was chosen master of the South Writing School in March, 1769, to supply the place of his brother Abiah deceased. His salary was one hundred pounds. In 1776, and again in 1777, he received eighty pounds in addition to his salary. He also was a patriot. He was one of the "Sons of Liberty" who dined at the Liberty Tree, Dorchester, on August 14, 1769; and he was a member of Captain John Haskin's company in 1773. He was a member of the Old South Church, and he died July 24, 1784. In his later years he kept a school at West Street, where afterwards was Amos Lawrence's garden. Abiah and Samuel left behind them better demonstrations of their capacity than pieces of "knot-work"--in the handwriting of their scholars. They taught what Jonathan Snelling described as "Boston Style of Wri^ting," and loudly do the elegant letters and signatures of their scholars, Boston patriots, clergy, and statesmen, redound to the credit of the Masters Holbrook. Other Holbrooks taught in Boston. From the Selectmen's Minutes of that little town, we find that on November 10, 1773,-- "Mr Holbrook, Master of the Writing School in the Common, and Mr Carter the Master Elect of the school in Queen St having recommended Mr Abiah Holbrook, a young man near of age, as a suitable person to be usher at Mr Carters school--the Selectmen sent for him, and upon discoursing with the young man thought proper to appoint him usher of said school." And from the _Boston Gazette_, of April 17, 1769, we learn that Mr. Joseph Ward "Opened an English Grammar School in King St where Mr Joseph Holbrook hath for many years kept a Writing School." These entries of Anna's relating to her attending Master Holbrook's school have an additional value in that they prove that both boys and girls attended these public writing schools,--a fact which has been disputed. NOTE 24. Dr. James Lloyd, born March 14, 1728, died March 14, 1810. He began his medical practice in 1752. He was appointed surgeon of the garrison at Boston, and was a close friend of Sir William Howe and Earl Percy, who for a time lived in his house. He was an Episcopalian, and one of the indignant protesters against the alteration of the liturgy at King's Chapel. Though a warm Tory and Loyalist, he was never molested by the American government. He was one of Boston's most skilful and popular physicians for many years. While other city doctors got but a shilling and sixpence for their regular fee, he charged and received the exorbitant sum of half a dollar a visit; and for "bringing little master to town," in which function he was a specialist, he charged a guinea. NOTE 25. A pincushion was for many years, and indeed is still, in some parts of New England, a highly conventional gift to a mother with a young babe. Mrs. Deming must have made many of these cushions. One of her manufacture still exists. It is about five inches long and three inches wide; one side is of white silk stuck around the edge with old-fashioned clumsy pins, with the words, "John Winslow March 1783. Welcome Little Stranger." The other side is of gray satin with green spots, with a cluster of pins in the centre, and other pins winding around in a vine and forming a row round the edge. NOTE 26. Though the exchange of Christmas gifts was rare in New England, a certain observance of New Year's Day by gifts seems to have obtained. And we find in Judge Sewall's diary that he was greeted on New Year's morn with a levet, or blast of trumpets, under his window; and he celebrated the opening of the eighteenth century with a very poor poem of his own composition, which he caused to be recited through Boston streets by the town-crier. NOTE 27. The word "pompedore" or Pompadour was in constant use in that day. We read of pompedore shoes, laces, capes, aprons, sacques, stockings, and head-dresses. NOTE 28. Aunt Storer was Mrs. Ebenezer Storer. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Green. She was a sister of Mrs. Joshua Winslow. She was born October 12, 1734, died December 8, 1774; was married July 17, 1751, to Ebenezer Storer, who was born January 27, 1729-30, died January 6, 1807. He was a Harvard graduate, and was for many years treasurer of that college. He was one of Boston's most intellectual and respected citizens. His library was large. His name constantly appears on the lists of subscribers to new books. After his death his astronomical instruments became the property of Harvard College, and as late as 1843 his comet-finder was used there. As Anna Green Winslow spent so much of her time in her "Aunt Storers" home in Sudbury Street, it is interesting to know that a very correct picture of this elegant Boston home of colonial days has been preserved through the account given in the _Memoir of Eliza Susan Morton Quincy_,--though many persons still living remember the house:-- "The mansion of Ebenezer Storer, an extensive edifice of wood three stories in height, was erected in 1700. It was situated on Sudbury Street between two trees of great size and antiquity. An old English elm of uncommon height and circumference grew in the sidewalk of the street before the mansion, and behind it was a sycamore tree of almost equal age and dimensions. It fronted to the south with one end toward the street. From the gate a broad walk of red sandstone separated it from a grass-plot which formed the courtyard, and passed the front door to the office of Mr. Storer. The vestibule of the house, from which a staircase ascended, opened on either side into the dining and drawing rooms. Both had windows towards the courtyard and also opened by glazed doors into a garden behind the house. They were long low apartments; the walls wainscoted and panelled; the furniture of carved mahogany. The ceilings were traversed through the length of the rooms by a large beam cased and finished like the walls; and from the centre of each depended a glass globe which reflected as in a convex mirror all surrounding objects. There was a rich Persian carpet in the drawing-room, the colors crimson and green. The curtains and the cushions of the window-seat were of green damask; and oval mirrors and girandoles and a teaset of rich china completed the furniture of that apartment. The wide chimney-place in the dining room was lined and ornamented with Dutch tiles; and on each side stood capacious armchairs cushioned and covered with green damask, for the master and mistress of the family. On the walls were portraits in crayon by Copley, and valuable engravings representing Franklin with his lightning rod, Washington, and other eminent men of the last century. Between the windows hung a long mirror in a mahogany frame; and opposite the fireplace was a buffet ornamented with porcelain statuettes and a set of rich china. A large apartment in the second story was devoted to a valuable library, a philosophical apparatus, a collection of engravings, a solar microscope, a camera, etc." As I read this description I seem to see the figure of our happy little diary-writer reflected in the great glass globes that hung from the summer-trees, while she danced on the Persian carpet, or sat curled up reading on the cushioned window-seat. NOTE 29. As this was in the time of depreciated currency, £45 was not so large a sum to spend for a young girl's outfit as would at first sight appear. NOTE 30. Dr. Charles Chauncey was born January 1, 1705; died February 10, 1787. He graduated at Harvard in 1721, and soon became pastor of the First Church in Boston. He was an equally active opponent of Whitefield and of Episcopacy. He was an ardent and romantic patriot, yet so plain in his ways and views that he wished _Paradise Lost_ might be turned into prose that he might understand it. NOTE 31. Rev. Ebenezer Pemberton was pastor of the New Brick Church. He had a congregation of stanch Whigs; but unluckily, the Tory Governor Hutchinson also attended his church. Dr. Pemberton was the other minister of the two who sprung the Governor's hated Thanksgiving proclamation of 1771 on their parishes a week ahead of time, as told in Note 3, and the astounded and disgusted New Brick hearers, more violent than the Old South attendants, walked out of meeting while it was being read. Dr. Pemberton's troubled and unhappy pastorate came to an end by the closing of his church in war times in 1775. He was of the 1721 class of Harvard College. He died September 9, 1777. NOTE 32. We find frequent references in the writings and newspapers of the times to this truly Puritanical dread of bishops. To the descendants of the Pilgrims the very name smacked of incense, stole, and monkish jargon. A writer, signing himself "America," gives in the _Boston Evening Post_, of October 14, 1771, a communication thoroughly characteristic of the spirit of the community against the establishment of bishops, the persistent determination to "beate down every sprout of episcopacie." NOTE 33. A negligée was a loose gown or sacque open in front, to be worn over a handsome petticoat; and in spite of its name, was not only in high fashion for many years, but was worn for full dress. Abigail Adams, writing to Mrs. Storer, on January 20, 1785, says: "Trimming is reserved for full dress only, when very large hoops and negligées with trains three yards long are worn." I find advertised in the _Boston Evening Post_, as early as November, 1755: "Horse-hair Quilted Coats to wear with Negligees." A poem printed in New York in 1756 has these lines:-- "Put on her a Shepherdee A Short Sack or Negligee Ruffled high to keep her warm Eight or ten about an arm." NOTE 34. A pistareen was a Spanish coin worth about seventeen cents. NOTE 35. There exists in New England a tradition of "groaning cake," made and baked in honor of a mother and babe. These cakes which Anna bought of the nurse may have been "groaning cakes." It was always customary at that time to give "vails" to the nurse when visiting a new-born child; sometimes gifts of money, often of trinkets and articles of clothing. NOTE 36. Miss "Scolley" was Mary Scollay, youngest of the thirteen children of John Scollay (who was born in 1712, died October, 1799), and his wife Mary. Mary was born in 1759. She married Rev. Thomas Prentiss on February 9, 1798, had nine children, and lived to be eighty-two years old--dying in 1841. Her sister Mercy was engaged to be married to General Warren, but he fell at Bunker Hill: and his betrothed devoted herself afterwards to the care and education of his orphaned children whom he had by his first wife. NOTE 37. Miss Bella Coffin was probably Isabella, daughter of John Coffin and Isabella Child, who were married in 1750. She married Major MacMurde, and their sons were officers in India. NOTE 38. This Miss "Quinsey" was Ann Quincy, the daughter of Col. Josiah Quincy (who was born 1710, died 1784), and his third wife, Ann Marsh. Ann was born December 8, 1763, and thus would have been in her ninth year at the time of the little rout. She married the Rev. Asa Packard, of Marlborough, Mass., in 1790. NOTE 39. In the universal use of wines and strong liquors in New England at that date children took unrestrainedly their proportionate part. It seems strange to think of this girl assembly of little Bostonians drinking wine and hot or cold punch as part of their "treat," yet no doubt they were well accustomed to such fare. I know of a little girl of still tenderer years who was sent at that same time from the Barbadoes to her grandmother's house in Boston to be "finished" in Boston schools, as was Anna, and who left her relative's abode in high dudgeon because she was not permitted to have wine at her meals; and her parents upheld her, saying Missy must be treated like a lady and have all the wine she wished. Cobbett, who thought liquor drinking the national disease of America, said that "at all hours of the day little boys at or under twelve years of age go into stores and tip off their drams." Thus it does not seem strange for little maids also to drink at a party. The temperance awakening of this century came none too soon. NOTE 40. Paste ornaments were universally worn by both men and women, as well as by little girls, and formed the decoration of much of the headgear of fashionable dames. Many advertisements appear in New England newspapers, which show how large and varied was the importation of hair ornaments at that date. We find advertised in the _Boston Evening Post_, of 1768: "Double and single row knotted Paste Combs, Paste Hair Sprigs & Pins all prices. Marcasite and Pearl Hair Sprigs, Garnet & Pearl Hair Sprigs." In the _Salem Gazette_ and various Boston papers I read of "black & coloured plumes & feathers." Other hair ornaments advertised in the _Boston News Letter_, of December, 1768, were "Long and small Tail Garnets, Mock Garland of all sorts and Ladies Poll Combs." Steel plumes, pompons, aigrettes, and rosettes all were worn on the head, and artificial flowers, wreaths of gauze, and silk ribbons. NOTE 41. Marcasite, spelled also marcassite, marchasite, marquesett, or marquaset, was a mineral, the crystallized form of iron pyrites. It was largely used in the eighteenth century for various ornamental purposes, chiefly in the decoration of the person. It took a good polish, and when cut in facets like a rose-diamond, formed a pretty material for shoe and knee-buckles, earrings, rings, pins, and hair ornaments. Scarce a single advertisement of wares of milliner or mantua maker can he found in eighteenth century newspapers that does not contain in some form of spelling the word marcasite, and scarce a rich gown or headdress was seen without some ornament of marcasite. NOTE 42. Master Turner was William Turner, a fashionable dancing master of Boston, who afterward resided in Salem, and married Judith, daughter of Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke, of Salem, who died in 1829, aged one hundred and one years. It was recalled by an old lady that the scholars in the school of her youth marched through Boston streets, to the music of the fiddle played by "Black Henry," to Concert Hall, corner Tremont and Bromfield streets, to practice dancing; and that Mr. Turner walked at the head of the school. His advertisements may be seen in Boston and Salem papers, thus:-- "Mr. Turner informs the Ladies and Gentlemen in Town and Country that he has reduced his price for teaching from Six Dollars Entrance to One Guinea, and from Four Dollars per month to Three. Those ladies and Gentlemen who propose sending their children to be taught will notice no books will be kept as Mr. T. has suffered much by Booking. The pupils must pay monthly if they are desirous the School should continue." NOTE 43. "Unkle Ned" was Edward Green, born September 18, 1733; died July 29, 1790. He married, on April 14, 1757, Mary Storer (sister of Ebenezer Storer and of Hannah Storer Green). They had no children. He was, in 1780, one of the enlisting officers for Suffolk County. In a letter of George Green's, written July 25, 1770, we read: "Ned still lives gentleman-like at Southwacks Court without doing any business tho' obliged to haul in his horns;" and from another of December 5, 1770: "Ned after having shown off as long as he you'd with his yell^o damask window curtains &c is (the last month) retired into the country and lives w^th his wife at Parson Storers at Watertown. How long that will hold I cant say." NOTE 44. Madam Smith was evidently Anna's teacher in sewing. The duties pertaining to a sewing school were, in those days, no light matter. From an advertisement of one I learn that there were taught at these schools:-- "All kinds of Needleworks viz: point, Brussels, Dresden Gold, Silver, and silk Embroidery of every kind. Tambour Feather, India & Darning, Spriggings with a Variety of Open-work to each. Tapestry plain, lined, and drawn. Catgut, black & white, with a number of beautiful Stitches. Diaper and Plain Darnings. French Quiltings, Knitting, Various Sorts of marking with the Embellishments of Royal cross, Plain cross, Queen, Irish, and Tent Stitches." Can any nineteenth century woman read this list of feminine accomplishments without looking abashed upon her idle hands, and ceasing to wonder at the delicate heirlooms of lace and embroidery that have come down to us! NOTE 45. Grandmamma Sargent was Joshua Winslow's mother. Her maiden name was Sarah Pierce. She was born April 30, 1697, died August 2, 1771. She married on September 21, 1721, John Winslow, who lived to be thirty-eight years old. After his death she married Dr. Nathaniel Sargent in 1749. NOTE 46. These lines were a part of the epitaph said to be composed by Governor Thomas Dudley, who died at Andover, Mass., in 1653. They were found after his death and preserved in Morton's _New England's Memorial_. They run thus:-- Dim eyes, deaf ears, cold stomach show My dissolution is in view; Eleven times seven near lived have I, And now God calls, I willing die; My shuttle's shot, my race is run, My sun is set, my deed is done; My span is measur'd, tale is told, My flower is faded and grown old, My dream is vanish'd, shadow's fled, My soul with Christ, my body dead; Farewell dear wife, children and friends, Hate heresy, make blessed ends; Bear poverty, live with good men, So shall we meet with joy again. Let men of God in courts and churches watch O'er such as do a toleration hatch; Lest that ill egg bring forth a cockatrice, To prison all with heresy and vice. If men be left, and other wise combine My epitaph's, I dy'd no libertine. NOTE 47. Miss Polly Vans was Mary Vans, daughter of Hugh and Mary Pemberton Vans, and aunt of Caty Vans. She was born in 1733. We have some scattered glimpses of her life. She joined the Old South in 1755. In the _Boston Gazette_, of April 9, 1770, we read, "Fan Mounts mounted by Mary Vans at the house of Deacon Williams, in Cornhill." We hear of her at Attleborough with Samuel Whitwell's wife when the gates of Boston were closed, and we know she married Deacon Jonathan Mason on Sunday evening, December 20, 1778. She was his second wife. His first wife was Miriam Clark, and was probably the Mrs. Mason who was present at Mrs. Whitwell's, and died June 5, 1774. Mary Vans Mason lived till 1820, having witnessed the termination of eight of the pastorates of the Old South Church. Well might Anna term her "a Sister of the Old South." She was in 1817 the President of the Old South Charity School, and is described as a "disinterested friend, a judicious adviser, an affectionate counsellor, a mild but faithful reprover, a humble, self-denying, fervent, active, cheerful Christian." Jonathan Mason was not only a deacon, but a prosperous merchant and citizen. He helped to found the first bank in New England. His son was United States Senator. Two other daughters of Hugh Vans were a Mrs. Langdon, of Wiscasset, Maine, and Mrs. John Coburn. NOTE 48. St. Valentine's Day was one of the few English holidays observed in New England. We find even Governor Winthrop writing to his wife about "challenging a valentine." In England at that date, and for a century previous, the first person of the opposite sex seen in the morning was the observer's valentine. We find Madam Pepys lying in bed for a long time one St. Valentine's morning with eyes tightly closed, lest she see one of the painters who was gilding her new mantelpiece, and be forced to have him for her valentine. Anna means, doubtless, that the first person she chanced to see that morning was "an old country plow-joger." NOTE 49. Boston was at that date pervaded by the spirit of Liberty. Sons of Liberty held meetings every day and every night. Daughters of Liberty held spinning and weaving bees, and gathered in bands pledging themselves to drink no tea till the obnoxious revenue act was repealed. Young unmarried girls joined in an association with the proud declaration, "We, the daughters of those Patriots who have appeared for the public interest, do now with pleasure engage with them in denying ourselves the drinking of foreign tea." Even the children felt the thrill of revolt and joined in patriotic demonstrations--and a year or two later the entire graduating class at Harvard, to encourage home manufactures, took their degrees in homespun. NOTE 50. The cut-paper pictures referred to are the ones which are reproduced in this book, and which are still preserved. Anna's father finally received them. Mrs. Deming and other members of the Winslow family seem to have excelled in this art, and are remembered as usually bringing paper and scissors when at a tea-drinking, and assiduously cutting these pictures with great skill and swiftness and with apparently but slight attention to the work. This form of decorative art was very fashionable in colonial days, and was taught under the ambitious title of Papyrotamia. NOTE 51. The "biziness of making flowers" was a thriving one in Boston. We read frequently in newspapers of the day such notices as that of Anne Dacray, of Pudding Lane, in the _Boston Evening Post_, of 1769, who advertises that she "makes and sells Head-flowers: Ladies may be supplied with single buds for trimming Stomachers or sticking in the Hair." Advertisements of teachers in the art of flower-making also are frequent. I note one from the _Boston Gazette_, of October 19, 1767:-- "To the young Ladies of Boston. Elizabeth Courtney as several Ladies has signified of having a desire to learn that most ingenious art of Painting on Gauze & Catgut, proposes to open a School, and that her business may be a public good, designs to teach the making of all sorts of French Trimmings, Flowers, and Feather Muffs and Tippets. And as these Arts above mentioned (the Flowers excepted) are entirely unknown on the Continent, she flatters herself to meet with all due encouragement; and more so, as every Lady may have a power of serving herself of what she is now obliged to send to England for, as the whole process is attended with little or no expence. The Conditions are Five Dollars at entrance; to be confin'd to no particular hours or time: And if they apply Constant may be Compleat in six weeks. And when she has fifty subscribers school will be opened, &c, &c." NOTE 52. This was James Lovell, the famous Boston schoolmaster, orator, and patriot. He was born in Boston October 31, 1737. He graduated at Harvard in 1756, then became a Latin School usher. He married Miss Helen Sheaffe, older sister of the "two Miss Sheafs" named herein; and their daughter married Henry Loring, of Brookline. He was a famous patriot: he delivered the oration in 1771 commemorative of the Boston Massacre. He was imprisoned by the British as a spy on the evidence of letters found on General Warren's dead body after the battle of Bunker Hill. He died in Windham, Maine, July 14, 1814. A full account of his life and writings is given in Loring's _Hundred Boston Orators_. NOTE 53. Nothing seems more revolting to our modern notions of decency than the inhuman custom of punishing criminals in the open streets. From the earliest days of the colonies the greatest publicity was given to the crime, to its punishment, and to the criminal. Anna shows, in her acquaintance with the vices of Bet Smith, a painful familiarity with evil unknown in any well-bred child of to-day. Samuel Breck wrote thus of the Boston of 1771:-- "The large whipping-post painted red stood conspicuously and prominently in the most public street in the town. It was placed in State Street directly under the windows of a great writing school which I frequented, and from them the scholars were indulged in the spectacle of all kinds of punishment suited to harden their hearts and brutalize their feelings. Here women were taken in a huge cage, in which they were dragged on wheels from prison, and tied to the post with bare backs on which thirty or forty lashes were bestowed among the screams of the culprit and the uproar of the mob. A little further in the street was to be seen the pillory with three or four fellows fastened by the head and hands, and standing for an hour in that helpless posture, exposed to gross and cruel jeers from the multitude, who pelted them incessantly with rotten eggs and every repulsive kind of garbage that could be collected." There was a pillory in State Street in Boston as late as 1803, and men stood in it for the crime of sinking a vessel at sea and defrauding the underwriters. In 1771 the pillory was in constant use in Newport. NOTE 54. In 1770 British troops were quartered in Boston, to the intense annoyance and indignation of Boston inhabitants. Disturbances between citizens and soldiers were frequent, and many quarrels arose. On the night of March 5 in that year the disturbance became so great that the troops, at that time under command of Captain Preston, fired upon the unarmed citizens in King (now State) street, causing the death of Crispus Attucks, a colored man, Samuel Gray and James Caldwell, who died on the spot, and mortally wounding Patrick Carr and Samuel Maverick. At the burial of these slaughtered men the greatest concourse ever known in the colonies flocked to the grave in the Granary Burying Ground. All traffic ceased. The stores and manufactories were closed. The bells were tolled in all the neighboring towns. Daniel Webster said, that from the moment the blood of these men stained the pavements of Boston streets, we may date the severance of the colony from the British empire. The citizens demanded the removal of the troops, and the request was complied with. For many years the anniversary of this day was a solemn holiday in Boston, and religious and patriotic services were publicly held. NOTE 55. Mather Byles was born March 15, 1707; died July 5, 1788. He was ordained pastor of the Hollis Street Congregational Church, of Boston, in 1733. He was a staunch Loyalist till the end of his days, as were his daughters, who lived till 1837. His chief fame does not rest on his name as a clergyman or an author, but as an inveterate and unmerciful jester. NOTE 56. Henry Green, the brother of Anna's mother, was born June 2, 1738. He was a Latin School boy, was in business in Nova Scotia, and died in 1774. NOTE 57. This stove was a foot-stove,--a small metal box, usually of sheet tin or iron, enclosed in a wooden frame or standing on little legs, and with a handle or bail for comfortable carriage. In it were placed hot coals from a glowing wood fire, and from it came a welcome warmth to make endurable the freezing floors of the otherwise unwarmed meeting-house. Foot-stoves were much used in the Old South. In the records of the church, under date of January 16, 1771, may be read:-- "Whereas, danger is apprehended from the stoves that are frequently left in the meeting-house after the publick worship is over; Voted that the Saxton make diligent search on the Lords Day evening and in the evening after a Lecture, to see if any stoves are left in the house, and that if he find any there he take them to his house; and it is expected that the owners of such stoves make reasonable satisfaction to the Saxton for his trouble before they take them away." The Old South did not have a stove set in the church for heating till 1783. NOTE 58. The first anniversary of the Boston Massacre was celebrated throughout the city, and a mass-meeting was held at the Old South Church, where James Lovell made a stirring address. See Notes 52 and 54. NOTE 59. The Queen's night-cap was a very large full cap with plaited ruffles, which is made familiar to us through the portraits of Martha Washington. NOTE 60. "Old Mrs. Sallisbury" was Mrs. Nicholas Salisbury, who was married in 1729, and was mother of Rebecca Salisbury, who became Mrs. Daniel Waldo, and of Samuel Salisbury, who married Elizabeth Sewall. See Note 73. NOTE 61. Mrs. John Avery. Her husband was Secretary of the Commonwealth and nephew of John Deming, who in his will left his house to John Avery, Jr. NOTE 62. A baby hutt was a booby-hutch, a clumsy, ill-contrived covered carriage. The word is still used in some parts of England, and a curious survival of it in New England is the word booby-hut applied to a hooded sleigh; and booby to the body of a hackney coach set on runners. Mr. Howells uses the word booby in the latter signification, and it may be heard frequently in eastern Massachusetts, particularly in Boston. NOTE 63. Peggy Phillips was Margaret Phillips, daughter of William and Margaret Wendell Phillips. She was born May 26, 1762, married Judge Samuel Cooper, and died February 19, 1844. She was aunt of Wendell Phillips. NOTE 64. This "droll figure" may have been a drawing, or a dressed doll, or "baby," as such were called--a doll that displayed in careful miniature the reigning modes of the English court. In the _New England Weekly Journal_, of July 2, 1733, appears this notice:-- "To be seen at Mrs. Hannah Teatts Mantua Maker at the Head of Summer Street Boston a Baby drest after the Newest Fashion of Mantuas and Night Gowns & everything belonging to a dress. Latily arrived on Capt. White from London, any Ladies that desire it may either come or send, she will be ready to wait on 'em if they come to the House it is Five Shilling, & if she waits on 'em it is Seven Shilling." These models of fashion were employed until this century. NOTE 65. We can have a very exact notion of the books imported and printed for and read by children at that time, from the advertisements in the papers. In the _Boston Gazette and Country Journal_, of January 20, 1772, the booksellers, Cox and Berry, have this notice:-- The following Little Books for the Instruction & Amusement of all good Boys and Girls. The Brother Gift or the Naughty Girl Reformed. The Sister Gift, or the Naughty Boy Reformed. Hobby Horse or Christian Companion. Robin Good-Fellow, A Fairy Tale. Puzzling Cap, A Collection of Riddles. The Cries of London as exhibited in the Streets. Royal Guide or Early Introduction to Reading English. Mr Winloves Collection of Stories. " " Moral Lectures. History of Tom Jones abridg'd from the works of " " Joseph Andrews H. Fielding. " " Pamela abridg'd from the works of " " Grandison S. Richardson, Esq. " " Clarissa NOTE 66. General John Winslow was but a distant kinsman of Anna's, for he was descended from Edward Winslow. He was born May 27, 1702; died April 17, 1774. He was a soldier and jurist, but his most prominent position (though now of painful notoriety) was as commander of that tragic disgrace in American history, the expedition against the Acadians. It is told in extenuation of his action that before the annihilation and dispersion of that unfortunate community he addressed them, saying that his duty was "very disagreeable to his natural make and temper as it must be grievous to them," but that he must obey orders,--and of course what he said was true. NOTE 67. The exercises attending this election of counsellors must indeed have been an impressive sight. The Governor, attended by a troop of horse, rode from the Province House to Cambridge, where religious services were held. An Election Sermon was preached. Volleys and salutes were fired at the Battery and Castle. A protest was made in the public press, as on the previous year, against holding this election in Cambridge instead of in the "Town House in Boston, the accustomed Ancient Place," and also directly to the Governor, which was answered by him in the newspapers; and at this election a most significant event occurred--John Hancock declined to accept a seat among the counsellors, to which he had been elected. The newspapers--the _Massachusetts Spy_ and the _Boston Gazette and Country Journal_--commented on his action thus:-- "Mr Hancocks declining a seat in the Council Board is very satisfactory to the Friends of Liberty among his constituents. This Gentleman has stood five years successively and as often Negativ'd. Whatever may have been the Motive of his being approbated at last his own Determination now shows that he had rather be a Representative of the People since he has had so repeatedly their Election and Confidence." NOTE 68. Boston had two election days. On Artillery Election the Ancient and Honorable Artillery had a dress parade on the Common. The new officers were chosen and received their new commissions from the new Governor. No negroes were then allowed on the Common. The other day was called "Nigger Lection," because the blacks were permitted to throng the Common and buy gingerbread and drink beer, as did their betters at Artillery Election. NOTE 69. Col. Thomas Marshall was a Revolutionary officer. He commanded the Tenth Massachusetts Regiment at Valley Forge. He was Captain of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery from 1763 to 1767, and at one time commanded Castle Island, now Fort Independence. He was one of the Selectmen of Boston at the time when the town was invested by troops under Washington. He died at Weston, Mass., on November 18, 1800. NOTE 70. A night gown was not in those days a garment for wear when sleeping, but resembled what we now call a tea-gown. The night attire was called a rail. Both men and women wore in public loose robes which they called night gowns. Men often wore these gowns in their offices. NOTE 71. Many Boston people agreed with Anna in her estimate of Rev. Samuel Stillman. He was called to the First Baptist Church in 1765, and soon became one of Boston's most popular and sensational preachers. Crowds thronged his obscure little church at the North End, and he took an active part in Revolutionary politics. Many were pleased with his patriotism who did not agree with him in doctrine. In the curious poem on Boston Ministers, already quoted, we read:-- Last in my list is a Baptist, A real saint, I wot. Though named Stillman much noise he can Make when in pulpit got. The multitude, both grave and rude, As drove by wind and tide, After him hie, when he doth try To gain them to his side. NOTE 72. Mr. and Mrs. Hooper were "King" Hooper and his wife of Marblehead. He was so called on account of his magnificent style of living. He was one of the Harvard Class of 1763; was a refugee in 1775, and died insolvent in 1790. The beautiful mansion which he built at Danvers, Mass., is still standing in perfect condition, and is the home of Francis Peabody, Esq. It is one of the finest examples of eighteenth century architecture in New England. NOTE 73. This "Miss Becca" was Rebecca Salisbury, born April 7, 1731, died September 25, 1811. She was a fine, high-spirited young woman, and upon being taunted by a rejected lover with, "The proverb old--you know it well, That women dying maids, lead apes in hell," (a belief referred to in _Taming of the Shrew_, Act II. Scene 1), she made this clever rhyming answer:-- "Lead apes in hell--tis no such thing; The story's told to fool us. But better there to hold a string, Than here let monkeys lead us." She married Daniel Waldo May 3, 1757. The "very pretty Misses" were their daughters; Elizabeth, born November 24, 1765, died unmarried in Worcester, August 28, 1845; and Martha (who in this diary is called Patty), born September 14, 1761, died November 25, 1828. She married Levi Lincoln, Lieutenant-Governor of Massachusetts, and became the mother of Levi Lincoln, Governor of Massachusetts, Enoch Lincoln, Governor of Maine, and Col. John Lincoln. NOTE 74. The fashion of the roll was of much importance in those days. A roll frequently weighed fourteen ounces. We can well believe such a heavy mass made poor Anna's head "ach and itch like anything." That same year the _Boston Gazette_ had a laughable account of an accident to a young woman on Boston streets. She was knocked down by a runaway, and her headdress received the most serious damage. The outer covering of hair was thrust aside, and cotton, tow, and false hair were disgorged to the delight of jeering boys, who kicked the various stuffings around the street. A Salem hair-dresser advertised that he would "attend to the polite construction of rolls to raise ladies heads to any pitch desired." The Abbé Robin, traveling through Boston a few years later, found the hair of ladies' heads "raised and supported upon rolls to an extravagant height." 
15546	----	THE LAST OF THE PETERKINS, With Others of their kin. BY LUCRETIA P. HALE. * * * * * BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 1906. _Copyright, 1886_, BY ROBERTS BROTHERS. Printers S.J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A. TO THE LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA, BELOVED BY THE PETERKIN FAMILY, This Book is Dedicated. * * * * * PREFACE. The following Papers contain the last records of the Peterkin Family, who unhappily ventured to leave their native land and have never returned. Elizabeth Eliza's Commonplace Book has been found among the family papers, and will be published here for the first time. It is evident that she foresaw that the family were ill able to contend with the commonplace struggle of life; and we may not wonder that they could not survive the unprecedented, far away from the genial advice of friends, especially that of the Lady from Philadelphia. It is feared that Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin lost their lives after leaving Tobolsk, perhaps in some vast conflagration. Agamemnon and Solomon John were probably sacrificed in some effort to join in or control the disturbances which arose in the distant places where they had established themselves,--Agamemnon in Madagascar, Solomon John in Rustchuk. The little boys have merged into men in some German university, while Elizabeth Eliza must have been lost in the mazes of the Russian language. * * * * * CONTENTS. The Last of the Peterkins. CHAPTER I. ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER II. ELIZABETH ELIZA'S COMMONPLACE-BOOK III. THE PETERKINS PRACTISE TRAVELLING IV. THE PETERKINS' EXCURSION FOR MAPLE SUGAR V. THE PETERKINS "AT HOME" VI. MRS. PETERKIN IN EGYPT VII. MRS. PETERKIN FAINTS ON THE GREAT PYRAMID VIII. THE LAST OF THE PETERKINS Others of their Kin. IX. LUCILLA'S DIARY X. JEDIDIAH'S NOAH'S ARK XI. CARRIE'S THREE WISHES XII. "WHERE CAN THOSE BOYS BE?" XIII. A PLACE FOR OSCAR XIV. THE FIRST NEEDLE * * * * * THE LAST OF THE PETERKINS. I. ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER. Elizabeth Eliza joined the Circumambient Club with the idea that it would be a long time before she, a new member, would have to read a paper. She would have time to hear the other papers read, and to see how it was done; and she would find it easy when her turn came. By that time she would have some ideas; and long before she would be called upon, she would have leisure to sit down and write out something. But a year passed away, and the time was drawing near. She had, meanwhile, devoted herself to her studies, and had tried to inform herself on all subjects by way of preparation. She had consulted one of the old members of the Club as to the choice of a subject. "Oh, write about anything," was the answer,--"anything you have been thinking of." Elizabeth Eliza was forced to say she had not been thinking lately. She had not had time. The family had moved, and there was always an excitement about something, that prevented her sitting down to think. "Why not write out your family adventures?" asked the old member. Elizabeth Eliza was sure her mother would think it made them too public; and most of the Club papers, she observed, had some thought in them. She preferred to find an idea. [Illustration: Elizabeth Eliza writes a paper.] So she set herself to the occupation of thinking. She went out on the piazza to think; she stayed in the house to think. She tried a corner of the china-closet. She tried thinking in the cars, and lost her pocket-book; she tried it in the garden, and walked into the strawberry bed. In the house and out of the house, it seemed to be the same,--she could not think of anything to think of. For many weeks she was seen sitting on the sofa or in the window, and nobody disturbed her. "She is thinking about her paper," the family would say, but she only knew that she could not think of anything. Agamemnon told her that many writers waited till the last moment, when inspiration came which was much finer than anything studied. Elizabeth Eliza thought it would be terrible to wait till the last moment, if the inspiration should not come! She might combine the two ways,--wait till a few days before the last, and then sit down and write anyhow. This would give a chance for inspiration, while she would not run the risk of writing nothing. She was much discouraged. Perhaps she had better give it up? But, no; everybody wrote a paper: if not now, she would have to do it sometime! And at last the idea of a subject came to her! But it was as hard to find a moment to write as to think. The morning was noisy, till the little boys had gone to school; for they had begun again upon their regular course, with the plan of taking up the study of cider in October. And after the little boys had gone to school, now it was one thing, now it was another,--the china-closet to be cleaned, or one of the neighbors in to look at the sewing-machine. She tried after dinner, but would fall asleep. She felt that evening would be the true time, after the cares of day were over. The Peterkins had wire mosquito-nets all over the house,--at every door and every window. They were as eager to keep out the flies as the mosquitoes. The doors were all furnished with strong springs, that pulled the doors to as soon as they were opened. The little boys had practised running in and out of each door, and slamming it after them. This made a good deal of noise, for they had gained great success in making one door slam directly after another, and at times would keep up a running volley of artillery, as they called it, with the slamming of the doors. Mr. Peterkin, however, preferred it to flies. So Elizabeth Eliza felt she would venture to write of a summer evening with all the windows open. She seated herself one evening in the library, between two large kerosene lamps, with paper, pen, and ink before her. It was a beautiful night, with the smell of the roses coming in through the mosquito-nets, and just the faintest odor of kerosene by her side. She began upon her work. But what was her dismay! She found herself immediately surrounded with mosquitoes. They attacked her at every point. They fell upon her hand as she moved it to the inkstand; they hovered, buzzing, over her head; they planted themselves under the lace of her sleeve. If she moved her left hand to frighten them off from one point, another band fixed themselves upon her right hand. Not only did they flutter and sting, but they sang in a heathenish manner, distracting her attention as she tried to write, as she tried to waft them off. Nor was this all. Myriads of June-bugs and millers hovered round, flung themselves into the lamps, and made disagreeable funeral-pyres of themselves, tumbling noisily on her paper in their last unpleasant agonies. Occasionally one darted with a rush toward Elizabeth Eliza's head. If there was anything Elizabeth Eliza had a terror of, it was a June-bug. She had heard that they had a tendency to get into the hair. One had been caught in the hair of a friend of hers, who had long luxuriant hair. But the legs of the June-bug were caught in it like fish-hooks, and it had to be cut out, and the June-bug was only extricated by sacrificing large masses of the flowing locks. Elizabeth Eliza flung her handkerchief over her head. Could she sacrifice what hair she had to the claims of literature? She gave a cry of dismay. The little boys rushed in a moment to the rescue. They flapped newspapers, flung sofa-cushions; they offered to stand by her side with fly-whisks, that she might be free to write. But the struggle was too exciting for her, and the flying insects seemed to increase. Moths of every description--large brown moths, small, delicate white millers--whirled about her, while the irritating hum of the mosquito kept on more than ever. Mr. Peterkin and the rest of the family came in to inquire about the trouble. It was discovered that each of the little boys had been standing in the opening of a wire door for some time, watching to see when Elizabeth Eliza would have made her preparations and would begin to write. Countless numbers of dorbugs and winged creatures of every description had taken occasion to come in. It was found that they were in every part of the house. "We might open all the blinds and screens," suggested Agamemnon, "and make a vigorous onslaught and drive them all out at once." "I do believe there are more inside than out now," said Solomon John. "The wire nets, of course," said Agamemnon, "keep them in now." "We might go outside," proposed Solomon John, "and drive in all that are left. Then to-morrow morning, when they are all torpid, kill them and make collections of them." Agamemnon had a tent which he had provided in case he should ever go to the Adirondacks, and he proposed using it for the night. The little boys were wild for this. Mrs. Peterkin thought she and Elizabeth Eliza would prefer trying to sleep in the house. But perhaps Elizabeth Eliza would go on with her paper with more comfort out of doors. A student's lamp was carried out, and she was established on the steps of the back piazza, while screens were all carefully closed to prevent the mosquitoes and insects from flying out. But it was of no use. There were outside still swarms of winged creatures that plunged themselves about her, and she had not been there long before a huge miller flung himself into the lamp and put it out. She gave up for the evening. Still the paper went on. "How fortunate," exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza, "that I did not put it off till the last evening!" Having once begun, she persevered in it at every odd moment of the day. Agamemnon presented her with a volume of "Synonymes," which was of great service to her. She read her paper, in its various stages, to Agamemnon first, for his criticism, then to her father in the library, then to Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin together, next to Solomon John, and afterward to the whole family assembled. She was almost glad that the lady from Philadelphia was not in town, as she wished it to be her own unaided production. She declined all invitations for the week before the night of the club, and on the very day she kept her room with _eau sucrée_, that she might save her voice. Solomon John provided her with Brown's Bronchial Troches when the evening came, and Mrs. Peterkin advised a handkerchief over her head, in case of June-bugs. It was, however, a cool night. Agamemnon escorted her to the house. The Club met at Ann Maria Bromwick's. No gentlemen were admitted to the regular meetings. There were what Solomon John called "occasional annual meetings," to which they were invited, when all the choicest papers of the year were re-read. Elizabeth Eliza was placed at the head of the room, at a small table, with a brilliant gas-jet on one side. It was so cool the windows could be closed. Mrs. Peterkin, as a guest, sat in the front row. This was her paper, as Elizabeth Eliza read it, for she frequently inserted fresh expressions:-- THE SUN. It is impossible that much can be known about it. This is why we have taken it up as a subject. We mean the sun that lights us by day and leaves us by night. In the first place, it is so far off. No measuring-tapes could reach it; and both the earth and the sun are moving about so, that it would be difficult to adjust ladders to reach it, if we could. Of course, people have written about it, and there are those who have told us how many miles off it is. But it is a very large number, with a great many figures in it; and though it is taught in most if not all of our public schools, it is a chance if any one of the scholars remembers exactly how much it is. It is the same with its size. We cannot, as we have said, reach it by ladders to measure it; and if we did reach it, we should have no measuring-tapes large enough, and those that shut up with springs are difficult to use in a high place. We are told, it is true, in a great many of the school-books, the size of the sun; but, again, very few of those who have learned the number have been able to remember it after they have recited it, even if they remembered it then. And almost all of the scholars have lost their school-books, or have neglected to carry them home, and so they are not able to refer to them,--I mean, after leaving school. I must say that is the case with me, I should say with us, though it was different. The older ones gave their school-books to the younger ones, who took them back to school to lose them, or who have destroyed them when there were no younger ones to go to school. I should say there are such families. What I mean is, the fact that in some families there are no younger children to take off the school-books. But even then they are put away on upper shelves, in closets or in attics, and seldom found if wanted,--if then, dusty. Of course, we all know of a class of persons called astronomers, who might be able to give us information on the subject in hand, and who probably do furnish what information is found in school-books. It should be observed, however, that these astronomers carry on their observations always in the night. Now, it is well known that the sun does not shine in the night. Indeed, that is one of the peculiarities of the night, that there is no sun to light us, so we have to go to bed as long as there is nothing else we can do without its light, unless we use lamps, gas, or kerosene, which is very well for the evening, but would be expensive all night long; the same with candles. How, then, can we depend upon their statements, if not made from their own observation?--I mean, if they never saw the sun? We cannot expect that astronomers should give us any valuable information with regard to the sun, which they never see, their occupation compelling them to be up at night. It is quite likely that they never see it; for we should not expect them to sit up all day as well as all night, as, under such circumstances, their lives would not last long. Indeed, we are told that their name is taken from the word _aster_, which means "star;" the word is "aster--know--more." This, doubtless, means that they know more about the stars than other things. We see, therefore, that their knowledge is confined to the stars, and we cannot trust what they have to tell us of the sun. There are other asters which should not be mixed up with these,--we mean those growing by the wayside in the fall of the year. The astronomers, from their nocturnal habits, can scarcely be acquainted with them; but as it does not come within our province, we will not inquire. We are left, then, to seek our own information about the sun. But we are met with a difficulty. To know a thing, we must look at it. How can we look at the sun? It is so very bright that our eyes are dazzled in gazing upon it. We have to turn away, or they would be put out,--the sight, I mean. It is true, we might use smoked glass, but that is apt to come off on the nose. How, then, if we cannot look at it, can we find out about it? The noonday would seem to be the better hour, when it is the sunniest; but, besides injuring the eyes, it is painful to the neck to look up for a long time. It is easy to say that our examination of this heavenly body should take place at sunrise, when we could look at it more on a level, without having to endanger the spine. But how many people are up at sunrise? Those who get up early do it because they are compelled to, and have something else to do than look at the sun. The milkman goes forth to carry the daily milk, the ice-man to leave the daily ice. But either of these would be afraid of exposing their vehicles to the heating orb of day,--the milkman afraid of turning the milk, the ice-man timorous of melting his ice,--and they probably avoid those directions where they shall meet the sun's rays. The student, who might inform us, has been burning the midnight oil. The student is not in the mood to consider the early sun. There remains to us the evening, also,--the leisure hour of the day. But, alas! our houses are not built with an adaptation to this subject. They are seldom made to look toward the sunset. A careful inquiry and close observation, such as have been called for in preparation of this paper, have developed the fact that not a single house in this town faces the sunset! There may be windows looking that way, but in such a case there is always a barn between. I can testify to this from personal observations, because, with my brothers, we have walked through the several streets of this town with notebooks, carefully noting every house looking upon the sunset, and have found none from which the sunset could be studied. Sometimes it was the next house, sometimes a row of houses, or its own wood-house, that stood in the way. Of course, a study of the sun might be pursued out of doors. But in summer, sunstroke would be likely to follow; in winter, neuralgia and cold. And how could you consult your books, your dictionaries, your encyclopædias? There seems to be no hour of the day for studying the sun. You might go to the East to see it at its rising, or to the West to gaze upon its setting, but--you don't. * * * * * Here Elizabeth Eliza came to a pause. She had written five different endings, and had brought them all, thinking, when the moment came, she would choose one of them. She was pausing to select one, and inadvertently said, to close the phrase, "you don't." She had not meant to use the expression, which she would not have thought sufficiently imposing,--it dropped out unconsciously,--but it was received as a close with rapturous applause. She had read slowly, and now that the audience applauded at such a length, she had time to feel she was much exhausted and glad of an end. Why not stop there, though there were some pages more? Applause, too, was heard from the outside. Some of the gentlemen had come,--Mr. Peterkin, Agamemnon, and Solomon John, with others,--and demanded admission. "Since it is all over, let them in," said Ann Maria Bromwick. Elizabeth Eliza assented, and rose to shake hands with her applauding friends. II. ELIZABETH ELIZA'S COMMONPLACE-BOOK. I am going to jot down, from time to time, any suggestions that occur to me that will be of use in writing another paper, in case I am called upon. I might be asked unexpectedly for certain occasions, if anybody happened to be prevented from coming to a meeting. I have not yet thought of a subject, but I think that is not of as much consequence as to gather the ideas. It seems as if the ideas might suggest the subject, even if the subject does not suggest the ideas. Now, often a thought occurs to me in the midst, perhaps, of conversation with others; but I forget it afterwards, and spend a great deal of time in trying to think what it was I was thinking of, which might have been very valuable. I have indeed, of late, been in the habit of writing such thoughts on scraps of paper, and have often left the table to record some idea that occurred to me; but, looking up the paper and getting ready to write it, the thought has escaped me. Then again, when I have written it, it has been on the backs of envelopes or the off sheet of a note, and it has been lost, perhaps thrown into the scrap-basket. Amanda is a little careless about such things; and, indeed, I have before encouraged her in throwing away old envelopes, which do not seem of much use otherwise, so perhaps she is not to blame. * * * * * The more I think of it, the more does it seem to me there would be an advantage if everybody should have the same number to their houses,--of course not everybody, but everybody acquainted. It is so hard to remember all the numbers; the streets you are not so likely to forget. Friends might combine to have the same number. What made me think of it was that we do have the same number as the Easterlys. To be sure, we are out of town, and they are in Boston; but it makes it so convenient, when I go into town to see the Easterlys, to remember that their number is the same as ours. * * * * * Agamemnon has lost his new silk umbrella. Yet the case was marked with his name in full, and the street address and the town. Of course he left the case at home, going out in the rain. He might have carried it with the address in his pocket, yet this would not have helped after losing the umbrella. Why not have a pocket for the case in the umbrella? * * * * * In shaking the dust from a dress, walk slowly backwards. This prevents the dust from falling directly on the dress again. * * * * * On Carving Duck.--It is singular that I can never get so much off the breast as other people do. Perhaps I have it set on wrong side up. * * * * * I wonder why they never have catalogues for libraries arranged from the last letter of the name instead of the first. There is our Italian teacher whose name ends with a "j," which I should remember much easier than the first letter, being so odd. * * * * * I cannot understand why a man should want to marry his wife's deceased sister. If she is dead, indeed, how can he? And if he has a wife, how wrong! I am very glad there is a law against it. * * * * * It is well, in prosperity, to be brought up as though you were living in adversity; then, if you have to go back to adversity, it is all the same. On the other hand, it might be as well, in adversity, to act as though you were living in prosperity; otherwise, you would seem to lose the prosperity either way. * * * * * Solomon John has invented a new extinguisher. It is to represent a Turk smoking a pipe, which is to be hollow, and lets the smoke out. A very pretty idea! * * * * * A bee came stumbling into my room this morning, as it has done every spring since we moved here,--perhaps not the same bee. I think there must have been a family bee-line across this place before ever a house was built here, and the bees are trying for it every year. Perhaps we ought to cut a window opposite. There's room enough in the world for me and thee; go thou and trouble some one else,--as the man said when he put the fly out of the window. * * * * * Ann Maria thinks it would be better to fix upon a subject first; but then she has never yet written a paper herself, so she does not realize that you have to have some thoughts before you can write them. She should think, she says, that I would write about something that I see. But of what use is it for me to write about what everybody is seeing, as long as they can see it as well as I do? * * * * * The paper about emergencies read last week was one of the best I ever heard; but, of course, it would not be worth while for me to write the same, even if I knew enough. * * * * * My commonplace-book ought to show me what to do for common things; and then I can go to lectures, or read the "Rules of Emergencies" for the uncommon ones. Because, as a family, I think we are more troubled about what to do on the common occasions than on the unusual ones. Perhaps because the unusual things don't happen to us, or very seldom; and for the uncommon things, there is generally some one you can ask. I suppose there really is not as much danger about these uncommon things as there is in the small things, because they don't happen so often, and because you are more afraid of them. I never saw it counted up, but I conclude that more children tumble into mud-puddles than into the ocean or Niagara Falls, for instance. It was so, at least, with our little boys; but that may have been partly because they never saw the ocean till last summer, and have never been to Niagara. To be sure, they had seen the harbor from the top of Bunker Hill Monument, but there they could not fall in. They might have fallen off from the top of the monument, but did not. I am sure, for our little boys, they have never had the remarkable things happen to them. I suppose because they were so dangerous that they did not try them, like firing at marks and rowing boats. If they had used guns, they might have shot themselves or others; but guns have never been allowed in the house. My father thinks it is dangerous to have them. They might go off unexpected. They would require us to have gunpowder and shot in the house, which would be dangerous. Amanda, too, is a little careless. And we never shall forget the terrible time when the "fulminating paste" went off one Fourth of July. It showed what might happen even if you did not keep gunpowder in the house. To be sure, Agamemnon and Solomon John are older now, and might learn the use of fire-arms; but even then they might shoot the wrong person--the policeman or some friends coming into the house--instead of the burglar. And I have read of safe burglars going about. I don't know whether it means that it is safe for them or for us; I hope it is the latter. Perhaps it means that they go without fire-arms, making it safer for them. * * * * * I have the "Printed Rules for Emergencies," which will be of great use, as I should be apt to forget which to do for which. I mean I should be quite likely to do for burns and scalds what I ought to do for cramp. And when a person is choking, I might sponge from head to foot, which is what I ought to do to prevent a cold. But I hope I shall not have a chance to practise. We have never had the case of a broken leg, and it would hardly be worth while to break one on purpose. Then we have had no cases of taking poison, or bites from mad dogs, perhaps partly because we don't keep either poison or dogs; but then our neighbors might, and we ought to be prepared. We do keep cats, so that we do not need to have poison for the rats; and in this way we avoid both dangers,--from the dogs going mad, and from eating the poison by mistake instead of the rats. To be sure, we don't quite get rid of the rats, and need a trap for the mice; but if you have a good family cat it is safer. * * * * * About window-curtains--I mean the drapery ones--we have the same trouble in deciding every year. We did not put any in the parlor windows when we moved, only window-shades, because there were so many things to be done, and we wanted time to make up our minds as to what we would have. But that was years ago, and we have not decided yet, though we consider the subject every spring and fall. The trouble is, if we should have heavy damask ones like the Bromwicks', it would be very dark in the winter, on account of the new, high building opposite. Now, we like as much light as we can get in the winter, so we have always waited till summer, thinking we would have some light muslin ones, or else of the new laces. But in summer we like to have the room dark, and the sun does get round in the morning quite dazzling on the white shades. (We might have dark-colored shades, but there would be the same trouble of its being too dark in the winter.) We seem to need the heavy curtains in summer and the light curtains in winter, which would look odd. Besides, in winter we do need the heavy curtains to shut out the draughts, while in summer we like all the air we can get. I have been looking for a material that shall shut out the air and yet let in the light, or else shut out the light and let in the air; or else let in the light when you want it, and not when you don't. I have not found it yet; but there are so many new inventions that I dare say I shall come across it in time. They seem to have invented everything except a steamer that won't go up and down as well as across. * * * * * I never could understand about averages. I can't think why people are so fond of taking them,--men generally. It seems to me they tell anything but the truth. They try to tell what happens every evening, and they don't tell one evening right. There was our Free Evening Cooking-school. We had a class of fourteen girls; and they admired it, and liked nothing better, and attended regularly. But Ann Maria made out the report according to the average of attendance on the whole number of nights in the ten weeks of the school, one evening a week; so she gave the numbers 12-3/5 each night. Now the fact was, they all came every night except one, when there was such a storm, nobody went,--not even the teacher, nor Ann Maria, nor any of us. It snowed and it hailed and the wind blew, and our steps were so slippery Amanda could not go out to put on ashes; ice even on the upper steps. The janitor, who makes the fire, set out to go; but she was blown across the street, into the gutter. She did succeed in getting in to Ann Maria's, who said it was foolish to attempt it, and that nobody would go; and I am not sure but she spent the night there,--at Ann Maria's, I mean. Still, Ann Maria had to make up the account of the number of evenings of the whole course. But it looks, in the report, as though there were never the whole fourteen there, and as though 1-2/5 of a girl stayed away every night, when the facts are we did not have a single absence, and the whole fourteen were there every night, except the night there was no school; and I have been told they all had on their things to come that night, but their mothers would not let them,--those that had mothers,--and they would have been blown away if they had come. It seems to me the report does not present the case right, on account of the averages. I think it is indeed the common things that trouble one to decide about, as I have said, since for the remarkable ones one can have advice. The way we do on such occasions is to ask our friends, especially the lady from Philadelphia. Whatever we should have done without her, I am sure I cannot tell, for her advice is always inestimable. To be sure, she is not always here; but there is the daily mail (twice from here to Boston), and the telegraph, and to some places the telephone. But for some common things there is not time for even the telephone. * * * * * Yesterday morning, for instance, going into Boston in the early train, I took the right side for a seat, as is natural, though I noticed that most of the passengers were crowding into the seats on the other side. I found, as we left the station, that I was on the sunny side, which was very uncomfortable. So I made up my mind to change sides, coming out. But, unexpectedly, I stayed in till afternoon at Mrs. Easterly's. It seems she had sent a note to ask me (which I found at night all right, when I got home), as Mr. Easterly was away. So I did not go out till afternoon. I did remember my determination to change sides in going out, and as I took the right going in, not to take the right going out. But then I remembered, as it was afternoon, the sun would have changed; so if the right side was wrong in the morning, it would be right in the afternoon. At any rate, it would be safe to take the other side. I did observe that most of the people took the opposite side, the left side; but I supposed they had not stopped to calculate. When we came out of the station and from under the bridges, I found I was sitting in the sun again, the same way as in the morning, in spite of all my reasoning. Ann Maria, who had come late and taken the last seat on the other side, turned round and called across to me, "Why do you always take the sunny side? Do you prefer it?" I was sorry not to explain it to her, but she was too far off. It might be safe to do what most of the other people do, when you cannot stop to inquire; but you cannot always tell, since very likely they may be mistaken. And then if they have taken all the seats, there is not room left for you. Still, this time, in coming out, I had reached the train in plenty of season, and might have picked out my seat, but then there was nobody there to show where most of the people would go. I might have changed when I saw where most would go; but I hate changing, and the best seats were all taken. * * * * * My father thinks it would be a good plan for Amanda to go to the Lectures on Physics. She has lived with us a great many years, and she still breaks as many things as she did at the beginning. Dr. Murtrie, who was here the other night, said he learned when quite a boy, from some book on Physics, that if he placed some cold water in the bottom of a pitcher, before pouring in boiling-hot water, it would not break. Also, that in washing a glass or china pitcher in very hot water, the outside and inside should be in the hot water, or, as he said, should feel the hot water at the same time. I don't quite understand exactly how, unless the pitcher has a large mouth, when it might be put in sideways. He told the reasons, which, being scientific, I cannot remember or understand. If Amanda had known about this, she might have saved a great deal of valuable glass and china. Though it has not always been from hot water, the breaking, for I often think she has not the water hot enough; but often from a whole tray-full sliding out of her hand, as she was coming up-stairs, and everything on it broke. But Dr. Murtrie said if she had learned more of the Laws of Physics she would not probably so often tip over the waiter. The trouble is, however, remembering at the right time. She might have known the law perfectly well, and forgotten it just on the moment, or her dress coming in the way may have prevented. Still, I should like very well myself to go to the Lectures on Physics. Perhaps I could find out something about scissors,--why it is they do always tumble down, and usually, though so heavy, without any noise, so that you do not know that they have fallen. I should say they had no law, because sometimes they are far under the sofa in one direction, or hidden behind the leg of the table in another, or perhaps not even on the floor, but buried in the groove at the back of the easy-chair, and you never find them till you have the chair covered again. I do feel always in the back of the chair now; but Amanda found mine, yesterday, in the groove of the sofa. * * * * * It is possible Elizabeth Eliza may have taken the remaining sheets of her commonplace-book abroad with her. We have not been able to recover them. III. THE PETERKINS PRACTISE TRAVELLING. Long ago Mrs. Peterkin had been afraid of the Mohammedans, and would have dreaded to travel among them; but since the little boys had taken lessons of the Turk, and she had become familiar with his costume and method of sitting, she had felt less fear of them as a nation. To be sure, the Turk had given but few lessons, as, soon after making his engagement, he had been obliged to go to New York to join a tobacconist's firm. Mr. Peterkin had not regretted his payment for instruction in advance; for the Turk had been very urbane in his manners, and had always assented to whatever the little boys or any of the family had said to him. Mrs. Peterkin had expressed a desire to see the famous Cleopatra's Needle which had been brought from Egypt. She had heard it was something gigantic for a needle, and it would be worth a journey to New York. She wondered at their bringing it such a distance, and would have supposed that some of Cleopatra's family would have objected to it if they were living now. Agamemnon said that was the truth; there was no one left to object; they were all mummies under ground, with such heavy pyramids over them that they would not easily rise to object. Mr. Peterkin feared that all the pyramids would be brought away in time. Agamemnon said there were a great many remaining in Egypt. Still, he thought it would be well to visit Egypt soon, before they were all brought away, and nothing but the sand left. Mrs. Peterkin said she would be almost as willing to travel to Egypt as to New York, and it would seem more worth while to go so far to see a great many than to go to New York only for one needle. "That would certainly be a needless expense," suggested Solomon John. Elizabeth Eliza was anxious to see the Sphinx. Perhaps it would answer some of the family questions that troubled them day after day. Agamemnon felt it would be a great thing for the education of the little boys. If they could have begun with the Egyptian hieroglyphics before they had learned their alphabet, they would have begun at the right end. Perhaps it was not too late now to take them to Egypt, and let them begin upon its old learning. The little boys declared it was none too late. They could not say the alphabet backward now, and could never remember whether _u_ came before _v_; and the voyage would be a long one, and before they reached Egypt, very likely they would have forgotten all. It was about this voyage that Mrs. Peterkin had much doubt. What she was afraid of was getting in and out of the ships and boats. She was afraid of tumbling into the water between, when she left the wharf. Elizabeth Eliza agreed with her mother in this, and began to calculate how many times they would have to change between Boston and Egypt. There was the ferry-boat across to East Boston would make two changes; one more to get on board the steamer; then Liverpool--no, to land at Queenstown would make two more,--four, five changes; Liverpool, six. Solomon John brought the map, and they counted up. Dover, seven; Calais, eight; Marseilles, nine; Malta, if they landed, ten, eleven; and Alexandria, twelve changes. Mrs. Peterkin shuddered at the possibilities, not merely for herself, but for the family. She could fall in but once, but by the time they should reach Egypt, how many would be left out of a family of eight? Agamemnon began to count up the contingencies. Eight times twelve would make ninety-six chances (8 × 12 = 96). Mrs. Peterkin felt as if all might be swept off before the end could be reached. Solomon John said it was not usual to allow more than one chance in a hundred. People always said "one in a hundred," as though that were the usual thing expected. It was not at all likely that the whole family would be swept off. Mrs. Peterkin was sure they would not want to lose one; they could hardly pick out which they could spare, she felt certain. Agamemnon declared there was no necessity for such risks. They might go directly by some vessel from Boston to Egypt. Solomon John thought they might give up Egypt, and content themselves with Rome. "All roads lead to Rome;" so it would not be difficult to find their way. But Mrs. Peterkin was afraid to go. She had heard you must do as the Romans did if you went to Rome; and there were some things she certainly should not like to do that they did. There was that brute who killed Cæsar! And she should not object to the long voyage. It would give them time to think it all over. Mr. Peterkin thought they ought to have more practice in travelling, to accustom themselves to emergencies. It would be fatal to start on so long a voyage and to find they were not prepared. Why not make their proposed excursion to the cousins at Gooseberry Beach, which they had been planning all summer? There they could practise getting in and out of a boat, and accustom themselves to the air of the sea. To be sure, the cousins were just moving up from the seashore, but they could take down a basket of luncheon, in order to give no trouble, and they need not go into the house. Elizabeth Eliza had learned by heart, early in the summer, the list of trains, as she was sure they would lose the slip their cousins had sent them; and you never could find the paper that had the trains in when you wanted it. They must take the 7 A.M. train into Boston in time to go across to the station for the Gooseberry train at 7.45, and they would have to return from Gooseberry Beach by a 3.30 train. The cousins would order the "barge" to meet them on their arrival, and to come for them at 3 P.M., in time for the return train, if they were informed the day before. Elizabeth Eliza wrote them a postal card, giving them the information that they would take the early train. The "barge" was the name of the omnibus that took passengers to and from the Gooseberry station. Mrs. Peterkin felt that its very name was propitious to this Egyptian undertaking. The day proved a fine one. On reaching Boston, Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza were put into a carriage with the luncheon-basket to drive directly to the station. Elizabeth Eliza was able to check the basket at the baggage-station, and to buy their "go-and-return" tickets before the arrival of the rest of the party, which appeared, however, some minutes before a quarter of eight. Mrs. Peterkin counted the little boys. All were there. This promised well for Egypt. But their joy was of short duration. On presenting their tickets at the gate of entrance, they were stopped. The Gooseberry train had gone at 7.35! The Mattapan train was now awaiting its passengers. Impossible! Elizabeth Eliza had repeated 7.45 every morning through the summer. It must be the Gooseberry train. But the conductor would not yield. If they wished to go to Mattapan they could go; if to Gooseberry, they must wait till the 5 P.M. train. Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. Their return train was 3.30; how could 5 P.M. help them? Mr. Peterkin, with instant decision, proposed they should try something else. Why should not they take their luncheon-basket across some ferry? This would give them practice. The family hastily agreed to this. What could be better? They went to the baggage-office, but found their basket had gone in the 7.35 train! They had arrived in time, and could have gone too. "If we had only been checked!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. The baggage-master, showing a tender interest, suggested that there was a train for Plymouth at eight, which would take them within twelve miles of Gooseberry Beach, and they might find "a team" there to take them across. Solomon John and the little boys were delighted with the suggestion. "We could see Plymouth Rock," said Agamemnon. But hasty action would be necessary. Mr. Peterkin quickly procured tickets for Plymouth, and no official objected to their taking the 8 A.M. train. They were all safely in the train. This had been a test expedition; and each of the party had taken something, to see what would be the proportion of things lost to those remembered. Mr. Peterkin had two umbrellas, Agamemnon an atlas and spyglass, and the little boys were taking down two cats in a basket. All were safe. "I am glad we have decided upon Plymouth," said Mr. Peterkin. "Before seeing the pyramids of Egypt we certainly ought to know something of Plymouth Rock. I should certainly be quite ashamed, when looking at their great obelisks, to confess that I had never seen our own Rock." The conductor was attracted by this interesting party. When Mr. Peterkin told him of their mistake of the morning, and that they were bound for Gooseberry Beach, he advised them to stop at Kingston, a station nearer the beach. They would have but four miles to drive, and a reduction could be effected on their tickets. The family demurred. Were they ready now to give up Plymouth? They would lose time in going there. Solomon John, too, suggested it would be better, chronologically, to visit Plymouth on their return from Egypt, after they had seen the earliest things. This decided them to stop at Kingston. But they found here no omnibus nor carriage to take them to Gooseberry. The station-master was eager to assist them, and went far and near in search of some sort of wagon. Hour after hour passed away, the little boys had shared their last peanut, and gloom was gathering over the family, when Solomon John came into the station to say there was a photographer's cart on the other side of the road. Would not this be a good chance to have their photographs taken for their friends before leaving for Egypt? The idea reanimated the whole party, and they made their way to the cart, and into it, as the door was open. There was, however, no photographer there. Agamemnon tried to remember what he had read of photography. As all the materials were there, he might take the family's picture. There would indeed be a difficulty in introducing his own. Solomon John suggested they might arrange the family group, leaving a place for him. Then, when all was ready, he could put the curtain over the box, take his place hastily, then pull away the curtain by means of a string. And Solomon John began to look around for a string while the little boys felt in their pockets. Agamemnon did not exactly see how they could get the curtain back. Mr. Peterkin thought this of little importance. They would all be glad to sit some time after travelling so long. And the longer they sat the better for the picture, and perhaps somebody would come along in time to put back the curtain. They began to arrange the group. Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were placed in the middle, sitting down. Elizabeth Eliza stood behind them, and the little boys knelt in front with the basket of cats. Solomon John and Agamemnon were also to stand behind, Agamemnon leaning over his father's shoulder. Solomon John was still looking around for a string when the photographer himself appeared. He was much surprised to find a group all ready for him. He had gone off that morning for a short holiday, but was not unwilling to take the family, especially when he heard they were soon going to Egypt. He approved of the grouping made by the family, but suggested that their eyes should not all be fixed upon the same spot. Before the pictures were finished, the station-master came to announce that two carriages were found to take the party to Gooseberry Beach. "There is no hurry," said Mr. Peterkin, "Let the pictures be finished; they have made us wait, we can keep them waiting as long as we please." The result, indeed, was very satisfactory. The photographer pronounced it a remarkably fine group. Elizabeth Eliza's eyes were lifted to the heavens perhaps a little too high. It gave her a rapt expression not customary with her; but Mr. Peterkin thought she might look in that way in the presence of the Sphinx. It was necessary to have a number of copies, to satisfy all the friends left behind when they should go to Egypt; and it certainly would not be worth while to come again so great a distance for more. It was therefore a late hour when they left Kingston. It took some time to arrange the party in two carriages. Mr. Peterkin ought to be in one, Mrs. Peterkin in the other; but it was difficult to divide the little boys, as all wished to take charge of the cats. The drive, too, proved longer than was expected,--six miles instead of four. When they reached their cousin's door, the "barge" was already standing there. "It has brought our luncheon-basket!" exclaimed Solomon John. "I am glad of it," said Agamemnon, "for I feel hungry enough for it." He pulled out his watch. It was three o'clock! This was indeed the "barge," but it had come for their return. The Gooseberry cousins, much bewildered that the family did not arrive at the time expected, had forgotten to send to countermand it. And the "barge" driver, supposing the family had arrived by the other station, had taken occasion to bring up the lunch-basket, as it was addressed to the Gooseberry cousins. The cousins flocked out to meet them. "What had happened? What had delayed them? They were glad to see them at last." Mrs. Peterkin, when she understood the state of the case, insisted upon getting directly into the "barge" to return, although the driver said there would be a few moments to spare. Some of the cousins busied themselves in opening the luncheon-basket, and a part led the little boys and Agamemnon and Solomon John down upon the beach in front of the house; there would be a few moments for a glance at the sea. Indeed, the little boys ventured in their India-rubber boots to wade in a little way, as the tide was low. And Agamemnon and Solomon John walked to look at a boat that was drawn up on the beach, and got into it and out of it for practice, till they were all summoned back to the house. It was indeed time to go. The Gooseberry cousins had got out the luncheon, and had tried to persuade the family to spend the night. Mrs. Peterkin declared this would be impossible. They never had done such a thing. So they went off, eating their luncheon as they went, the little boys each with a sandwich in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. Mrs. Peterkin was sure they should miss the train or lose some of the party. No, it was a great success; for all, and more than all, were found in the train: slung over the arm of one of the little boys was found the basket containing the cats. They were to have left the cats, but in their haste had brought them away again. This discovery was made in a search for the tickets which Elizabeth Eliza had bought, early in the morning, to go and return; they were needed now for return. She was sure she had given them to her father. Mrs. Peterkin supposed that Mr. Peterkin must have changed them for the Kingston tickets. The little boys felt in their pockets, Agamemnon and Solomon John in theirs. In the excitement, Mrs. Peterkin insisted upon giving up her copy of their new photograph, and could not be satisfied till the conductor had punched it. At last the tickets were found in the outer lappet of Elizabeth Eliza's hand-bag. She had looked for them in the inner part. It was after this that Mr. Peterkin ventured to pronounce the whole expedition a success. To be sure, they had not passed the day at the beach, and had scarcely seen their cousins; but their object had been to practise travelling, and surely they had been travelling all day. Elizabeth Eliza had seen the sea, or thought she had. She was not sure--she had been so busy explaining to the cousins and showing the photographs. Agamemnon was sorry she had not walked with them to the beach, and tried getting in and out of the boat. Elizabeth Eliza regretted this. Of course it was not the same as getting into a boat on the sea, where it would be wobbling more, but the step must have been higher from the sand. Solomon John said there was some difficulty. He had jumped in, but was obliged to take hold of the side in getting out. The little boys were much encouraged by their wade into the tide. They had been a little frightened at first when the splash came, but the tide had been low. On the whole, Mr. Peterkin continued, things had gone well. Even the bringing back of the cats might be considered a good omen. Cats were worshipped in Egypt, and they ought not to have tried to part with them. He was glad they had brought the cats. They gave the little boys an interest in feeding them while they were waiting at the Kingston station. Their adventures were not quite over, as the station was crowded when they reached Boston. A military company had arrived from the South and was received by a procession. A number of distinguished guests also were expected, and the Peterkins found it difficult to procure a carriage. They had determined to take a carriage, so that they might be sure to reach their own evening train in season. At last Mr. Peterkin discovered one that was empty, standing at the end of a long line. There would be room for Mrs. Peterkin, Elizabeth Eliza, himself, and the little boys, and Agamemnon and Solomon John agreed to walk behind in order to keep the carriage in sight. But they were much disturbed when they found they were going at so slow a pace. Mr. Peterkin called to the coachman in vain. He soon found that they had fallen into the line of the procession, and the coachman was driving slowly on behind the other carriages. In vain Mr. Peterkin tried to attract the driver's attention. He put his head out of one window after another, but only to receive the cheers of the populace ranged along the sidewalk. He opened the window behind the coachman and pulled his coat. But the cheering was so loud that he could not make himself heard. He tried to motion to the coachman to turn down one of the side streets, but in answer the driver pointed out with his whip the crowds of people. Mr. Peterkin, indeed, saw it would be impossible to make their way through the throng that filled every side street which they crossed. Mrs. Peterkin looked out of the back window for Agamemnon and Solomon John. They were walking side by side, behind the carriage, taking off their hats, and bowing to the people cheering on either side. "They are at the head of a long row of men, walking two by two," said Mrs. Peterkin. "They are part of the procession," said Elizabeth Eliza. "We are part of the procession," Mr. Peterkin answered. "I rather like it," said Mrs. Peterkin, with a calm smile, as she looked out of the window and bowed in answer to a cheer. "Where do you suppose we shall go?" asked Elizabeth Eliza. "I have often wondered what became of a procession," said Mr. Peterkin. "They are always going somewhere, but I never could tell where they went to." "We shall find out!" exclaimed the little boys, who were filled with delight, looking now out of one window, now out of the other. "Perhaps we shall go to the armory," said one. This alarmed Mrs. Peterkin. Sounds of martial music were now heard, and the noise of the crowd grew louder. "I think you ought to ask where we are going," she said to Mr. Peterkin. "It is not for us to decide," he answered calmly. "They have taken us into the procession. I suppose they will show us the principal streets, and will then leave us at our station." This, indeed, seemed to be the plan. For two hours more the Peterkins, in their carriage, and Agamemnon and Solomon John, afoot, followed on. Mrs. Peterkin looked out upon rows and rows of cheering people. The little boys waved their caps. "It begins to be a little monotonous," said Mrs. Peterkin, at last. "I am afraid we have missed all the trains," said Elizabeth Eliza, gloomily. But Mr. Peterkin's faith held to the last, and was rewarded. The carriage reached the square in which stood the railroad station. Mr. Peterkin again seized the lapels of the coachman's coat and pointed to the station, and he was able to turn his horses in that direction. As they left the crowd, they received a parting cheer. It was with difficulty that Agamemnon and Solomon John broke from the ranks. "That was a magnificent reception!" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, wiping his brow, after paying the coachman twice his fee. But Elizabeth Eliza said,-- "But we have lost all the trains, I am sure." They had lost all but one. It was the last. "And we have lost the cats!" the little boys suddenly exclaimed. But Mrs. Peterkin would not allow them to turn back in search of them. IV. THE PETERKINS' EXCURSION FOR MAPLE SUGAR. It was, to be sure, a change of plan to determine to go to Grandfather's for a maple-sugaring instead of going to Egypt! But it seemed best. Egypt was not given up,--only postponed. "It has lasted so many centuries," sighed Mr. Peterkin, "that I suppose it will not crumble much in one summer more." The Peterkins had determined to start for Egypt in June, and Elizabeth Eliza had engaged her dressmaker for January; but after all their plans were made, they were told that June was the worst month of all to go to Egypt in,--that they would arrive in midsummer, and find the climate altogether too hot,--that people who were not used to it died of it. Nobody thought of going to Egypt in summer; on the contrary, everybody came away. And what was worse, Agamemnon learned that not only the summers were unbearably hot, but there really was no Egypt in summer,--nothing to speak of,--nothing but water; for there was a great inundation of the river Nile every summer, which completely covered the country, and it would be difficult to get about except in boats. Mr. Peterkin remembered he had heard something of the sort, but he did not suppose it had been kept up with the modern improvements. Mrs. Peterkin felt that the thing must be very much exaggerated. She could not believe the whole country would be covered, or that everybody would leave; as summer was surely the usual time for travel, there must be strangers there, even if the natives left. She would not be sorry if there were fewer of the savages. As for the boats, she supposed after their long voyage they would all be used to going about in boats; and she had thought seriously of practising, by getting in and out of the rocking-chair from the sofa. The family, however, wrote to the lady from Philadelphia, who had travelled in Egypt, and whose husband knew everything about Egypt that could be known,--that is, everything that had already been dug up, though he could only guess at what might be brought to light next. The result was a very earnest recommendation not to leave for Egypt till the autumn. Travellers did not usually reach there before December, though October might be pleasant on account of the fresh dates. So the Egypt plan was reluctantly postponed; and, to make amends for the disappointment to the little boys, an excursion for maple syrup was proposed instead. Mr. Peterkin considered it almost a necessity. They ought to acquaint themselves with the manufactures of their own new country before studying those of the oldest in the world. He had been inquiring into the products of Egypt at the present time, and had found sugar to be one of their staples. They ought, then, to understand the American methods and compare them with those of Egypt. It would be a pretty attention, indeed, to carry some of the maple sugar to the principal dignitaries of Egypt. But the difficulties in arranging an excursion proved almost as great as for going to Egypt. Sugar-making could not come off until it was warm enough for the sun to set the sap stirring. On the other hand, it must be cold enough for snow, as you could only reach the woods on snow-sleds. Now, if there were sun enough for the sap to rise, it would melt the snow; and if it were cold enough for sledding, it must be too cold for the syrup. There seemed an impossibility about the whole thing. The little boys, however, said there always had been maple sugar every spring,--they had eaten it; why shouldn't there be this spring? Elizabeth Eliza insisted gloomily that this was probably old sugar they had eaten,--you never could tell in the shops. Mrs. Peterkin thought there must be fresh sugar occasionally, as the old would have been eaten up. She felt the same about chickens. She never could understand why there were only the old, tough ones in the market, when there were certainly fresh young broods to be seen around the farm-houses every year. She supposed the market-men had begun with the old, tough fowls, and so they had to go on so. She wished they had begun the other way; and she had done her best to have the family eat up the old fowls, hoping they might, some day, get down to the young ones. As to the uncertainty about the weather, she suggested they should go to Grandfather's the day before. But how can you go the day before, when you don't yet know the day? All were much delighted, therefore, when Hiram appeared with the wood-sled, one evening, to take them, as early as possible the next day, to their grandfather's. He reported that the sap had started, the kettles had been on some time, there had been a light snow for sleighing, and to-morrow promised to be a fine day. It was decided that he should take the little boys and Elizabeth Eliza early, in the wood-sled; the others would follow later, in the carry-all. Mrs. Peterkin thought it would be safer to have some of the party go on wheels, in case of a general thaw the next day. A brilliant sun awoke them in the morning. The wood-sled was filled with hay, to make it warm and comfortable, and an arm-chair was tied in for Elizabeth Eliza. But she was obliged to go first to visit the secretary of the Circumambient Society, to explain that she should not be present at their evening meeting. One of the rules of this society was to take always a winding road when going upon society business, as the word "circumambient" means "compassing about." It was one of its laws to copy Nature as far as possible, and a straight line is never seen in Nature. Therefore she could not send a direct note to say she should not be present; she could only hint it in general conversation with the secretary; and she was obliged to take a roundabout way to reach the secretary's house, where the little boys called for her in her wood-sled. What was her surprise to find eight little boys instead of three! In passing the school-house they had picked up five of their friends, who had reached the school door a full hour before the time. Elizabeth Eliza thought they ought to inquire if their parents would be willing they should go, as they all expected to spend the night at Grandfather's. Hiram thought it would require too much time to stop for the consent of ten parents; if the sun kept on at this rate, the snow would be gone before they should reach the woods. But the little boys said most of the little boys lived in a row, and Elizabeth Eliza felt she ought not to take the boys away for all night without their parents' knowledge. The consent of two mothers and two fathers was gained, and Mr. Dobson was met in the street, who said he would tell the other mother. But at each place they were obliged to stop for additional tippets and great-coats and India-rubber boots for the little boys. At the Harrimans', too, the Harriman girls insisted on dressing up the wood-sled with evergreens, and made one of the boys bring their last Christmas-tree, that was leaning up against the barn, to set it up in the back of the sled, over Elizabeth Eliza. All this made considerable delay; and when they reached the high-road again, the snow was indeed fast melting. Elizabeth Eliza was inclined to turn back, but Hiram said they would find the sleighing better farther up among the hills. The armchair joggled about a good deal, and the Christmas-tree creaked behind her; and Hiram was obliged to stop occasionally and tie in the chair and the tree more firmly. But the warm sun was very pleasant, the eight little boys were very lively, and the sleigh-bells jingled gayly as they went on. It was so late when they reached the wood-road that Hiram decided they had better not go up the hill to their grandfather's, but turn off into the woods. "Your grandfather will be there by this time," he declared. Elizabeth Eliza was afraid the carry-all would miss them, and thought they had better wait. Hiram did not like to wait longer, and proposed that one or two of the little boys should stop to show the way. But it was so difficult to decide which little boys should stay that he gave it up. Even to draw lots would take time. So he explained that there was a lunch hidden somewhere in the straw; and the little boys thought it an admirable time to look it up, and it was decided to stop in the sun at the corner of the road. Elizabeth Eliza felt a little jounced in the armchair, and was glad of a rest; and the little boys soon discovered an ample lunch,--just what might have been expected from Grandfather's,--apple-pie and doughnuts, and plenty of them! "Lucky we brought so many little boys!" they exclaimed. Hiram, however, began to grow impatient. "There 'll be no snow left," he exclaimed, "and no afternoon for the syrup!" But far in the distance the Peterkin carry-all was seen slowly approaching through the snow, Solomon John waving a red handkerchief. The little boys waved back, and Hiram ventured to enter upon the wood-road, but at a slow pace, as Elizabeth Eliza still feared that by some accident the family might miss them. It was with difficulty that the carry-all followed in the deep but soft snow, in among the trunks of the trees and over piles of leaves hidden in the snow. They reached at last the edge of a meadow; and on the high bank above it stood a row of maples, a little shanty by the side, a slow smoke proceeding from its chimney. The little boys screamed with delight, but there was no reply. Nobody there! "The folks all gone!" exclaimed Hiram; "then we must be late." And he proceeded to pull out a large silver watch from a side pocket. It was so large that he seldom was at the pains to pull it out, as it took time; but when he had succeeded at last, and looked at it, he started. "Late, indeed! It is four o'clock, and we were to have been here by eleven; they have given you up." The little boys wanted to force in the door; but Hiram said it was no use,--they wouldn't understand what to do, and he should have to see to the horses,--and it was too late, and it was likely they had carried off all the syrup. But he thought a minute, as they all stood in silence and gloom; and then he guessed they might find some sugar at Deacon Spear's, close by, on the back road, and that would be better than nothing. Mrs. Peterkin was pretty cold, and glad not to wait in the darkening wood; so the eight little boys walked through the wood-path, Hiram leading the way; and slowly the carry-all followed. They reached Deacon Spear's at length; but only Mrs. Spear was at home. She was very deaf, but could explain that the family had taken all their syrup to the annual festival. "We might go to the festival," exclaimed the little boys. "It would be very well," said Mrs. Peterkin, "to eat our fresh syrup there." But Mrs. Spear could not tell where the festival was to be, as she had not heard; perhaps they might know at Squire Ramsay's. Squire Ramsay's was on their way to Grandfather's, so they stopped there; but they learned that the "Squire's folks had all gone with their syrup to the festival," but the man who was chopping wood did not know where the festival was to be. "They 'll know at your grandfather's," said Mrs. Peterkin, from the carry-all. "Yes, go on to your grandfather's," advised Mr. Peterkin, "for I think I felt a drop of rain." So they made the best of their way to Grandfather's. At the moment they reached the door of the house, a party of young people whom Elizabeth Eliza knew came by in sleighs. She had met them all when visiting at her grandfather's. "Come along with us," they shouted; "we are all going down to the sugar festival." "That is what we have come for," said Mr. Peterkin. "Where is it?" asked Solomon John. "It is down your way," was the reply. "It is in your own New Hall," said another. "We have sent down all our syrup. The Spears and Ramsays and Doolittles have gone on with theirs. No time to stop; there's good sleighing on the old road." There was a little consultation with the grandfather. Hiram said that he could take them back with the wood-sled, when he heard there was sleighing on the old road; and it was decided that the whole party should go in the wood-sled, with the exception of Mr. Peterkin, who would follow on with the carry-all. Mrs. Peterkin would take the arm-chair, and cushions were put in for Elizabeth Eliza, and more apple-pie for all. No more drops of rain appeared, though the clouds were thickening over the setting sun. "All the way back again," sighed Mrs. Peterkin, "when we might have stayed at home all day, and gone quietly out to the New Hall!" But the little boys thought the sledding all day was great fun,--and the apple-pie! "And we did see the kettle through the cracks of the shanty!" "It is odd the festival should be held at the New Hall," said Elizabeth Eliza; "for the secretary did say something about the society meeting there to-night, being so far from the centre of the town." This hall was so called because it was once a new hall, built to be used for lectures, assemblies, and entertainments of this sort, for the convenience of the inhabitants who had collected about some flourishing factories. "You can go to your own Circumambient Society, then!" exclaimed Solomon John. "And in a truly circumambient manner," said Agamemnon; and he explained to the little boys that they could now understand the full meaning of the word, for surely Elizabeth Eliza had taken the most circumambient way of reaching the place by coming away from it. "We little thought, when we passed it early this morning," said Elizabeth Eliza, "that we should come back to it for our maple sugar." "It is odd the secretary did not tell you they were going to join the sugar festival," said Mrs. Peterkin. "It is one of the rules of the society," said Elizabeth Eliza, "that the secretary never tells anything directly. She only hinted at the plan of the New Hall." "I don't see how you can find enough to talk about," said Solomon John. "We can tell of things that never have happened," said Elizabeth Eliza, "or that are not likely to happen, and wonder what would have happened if they had happened." They arrived at the festival at last, but very late, and glad to find a place that was warm. There was a stove at each end of the hall, and an encouraging sound and smell from the simmering syrup. There were long tables down the hall, on which were placed, in a row, first a bowl of snow, then a pile of saucers and spoons, then a plate of pickles, intended to whet the appetite for more syrup; another of bread, then another bowl of snow, and so on. Hot syrup was to be poured on the snow and eaten as candy. The Peterkin family were received at this late hour with a wild enthusiasm. Elizabeth Eliza was an especial heroine, and was made directly the president of the evening. Everybody said that she had best earned the distinction; for had she not come to the meeting by the longest way possible, by going away from it? The secretary declared that the principles of the society had been completely carried out. She had always believed that if left to itself, information would spread itself in a natural instead of a forced way. "Now, in this case, if I had written twenty-nine notifications to this meeting, I should have wasted just so much of my time. But the information has disseminated naturally. Ann Maria said what a good plan it would be to have the Circumambients go to the sugaring at the New Hall. Everybody said it would be a good plan. Elizabeth Eliza came and spoke of the sugaring, and I spoke of the New Hall." "But if you had told Elizabeth Eliza that all the maple syrup was to be brought here--" began Mrs. Peterkin. "We should have lost our excursion for maple syrup," said Mr. Peterkin. Later, as they reached home in the carry-all (Hiram having gone back with the wood-sled), Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, after leaving little boys at their homes all along the route, found none of their own to get out at their own door. They must have joined Elizabeth Eliza, Agamemnon, and Solomon John in taking a circuitous route home with the rest of the Circumambients. "The little boys will not be at home till midnight," said Mrs. Peterkin, anxiously. "I do think this is carrying the thing too far, after such a day!" "Elizabeth Eliza will feel that she has acted up to the principles of the society," said Mr. Peterkin, "and we have done our best; for, as the little boys said, 'we did see the kettle.'" V. THE PETERKINS "AT HOME." Might not something be done by way of farewell before leaving for Egypt? They did not want to give another tea-party, and could not get in all at dinner. They had had charades and a picnic. Elizabeth Eliza wished for something unusual, that should be remembered after they had left for Egypt. Why should it not be a fancy ball? There never had been one in the place. Mrs. Peterkin hesitated. Perhaps for that reason they ought not to attempt it. She liked to have things that other people had. She however objected most to the "ball" part. She could indeed still dance a minuet, but she was not sure she could get on in the "Boston dip." The little boys said they would like the "fancy" part and "dressing up." They remembered their delight when they browned their faces for Hindus, at their charades, just for a few minutes; and what fun it would be to wear their costumes through a whole evening! Mrs. Peterkin shook her head; it was days and days before the brown had washed out of their complexions. Still, she too was interested in the "dressing up." If they should wear costumes, they could make them of things that might be left behind, that they had done wearing, if they could only think of the right kind of things. Mrs. Peterkin, indeed, had already packed up, although they were not to leave for two months, for she did not want to be hurried at the last. She and Elizabeth Eliza went on different principles in packing. Elizabeth Eliza had been told that you really needed very little to travel with,--merely your travelling dress and a black silk. Mrs. Peterkin, on the contrary, had heard it was best to take everything you had, and then you need not spend your time shopping in Paris. So they had decided upon adopting both ways. Mrs. Peterkin was to take her "everything," and already had all the shoes and stockings she should need for a year or two. Elizabeth Eliza, on the other hand, prepared a small valise. She consoled herself with the thought that if she should meet anything that would not go into it, she could put it in one of her mother's trunks. It was resolved to give the fancy ball. Mr. Peterkin early determined upon a character. He decided to be Julius Cæsar. He had a bald place on the top of his head, which he was told resembled that of the great Roman; and he concluded that the dress would be a simple one to get up, requiring only a sheet for a toga. Agamemnon was inclined to take the part which his own name represented, and he looked up the costume of the Greek king of men. But he was dissatisfied with the representation given of him in Dr. Schliemann's "Mykenæ." There was a picture of Agamemnon's mask, but very much battered. He might get a mask made in that pattern, indeed, and the little boys were delighted with the idea of battering it. Agamemnon would like to wear a mask, then he would have no trouble in keeping up his expression. But Elizabeth Eliza objected to the picture in Dr. Schliemann's book; she did not like it for Agamemnon,--it was too slanting in the eyes. So it was decided he should take the part of Nick Bottom, in "Midsummer Night's Dream." He could then wear the ass's head, which would have the same advantage as a mask, and would conceal his own face entirely. Then he could be making up any face he pleased in the ass's head, and would look like an ass without any difficulty, while his feet would show he was not one. Solomon John thought that they might make an ass's head if they could get a pattern, or could see the real animal and form an idea of the shape. Barnum's Circus would be along in a few weeks, and they could go on purpose to study the donkeys, as there usually was more than one donkey in the circus. Agamemnon, however, in going with a friend to a costumer's in Boston, found an ass's head already made. The little boys found in an illustrated paper an accurate description of the Hindu snake-charmer's costume, and were so successful in their practice of shades of brown for the complexion, that Solomon John decided to take the part of Othello, and use some of their staining fluid. There was some discussion as to consulting the lady from Philadelphia, who was in town. Solomon John thought they ought to practise getting on by themselves, for soon the Atlantic would lie between her and them. Mrs. Peterkin thought they could telegraph. Elizabeth Eliza wanted to submit to her two or three questions about the supper, and whether, if her mother were Queen Elizabeth, they could have Chinese lanterns. Was China invented at that time? Agamemnon was sure China was one of the oldest countries in the world and did exist, though perhaps Queen Elizabeth did not know it. Elizabeth Eliza was relieved to find that the lady from Philadelphia thought the question not important. It would be impossible to have everything in the house to correspond with all the different characters, unless they selected some period to represent, such as the age of Queen Elizabeth. Of course, Elizabeth Eliza would not wish to do this when her father was to be Julius Cæsar. The lady from Philadelphia advised Mrs. Peterkin to send for Jones the "caterer" to take charge of the supper. But his first question staggered her. How many did she expect? They had not the slightest idea. They had sent invitations to everybody. The little boys proposed getting the directory of the place, and marking out the people they didn't know and counting up the rest. But even if this would give the number of invitations, it would not show how many would accept; and then there was no such directory. They could not expect answers, as their invitations were cards with "At Home" on them. One answer had come from a lady, that she too would be "at home" with rheumatism. So they only knew there was one person who would not come. Elizabeth Eliza had sent in Circumambient ways to all the members of that society,--by the little boys, for instance, who were sure to stop at the base-ball grounds, or somewhere, so a note was always delayed by them. One Circumambient note she sent by mail, purposely omitting the "Mass.," so that it went to the Dead-Letter Office, and came back six weeks after the party. But the Peterkin family were not alone in commotion. The whole town was in excitement, for "everybody" had been invited. Ann Maria Bromwick had a book of costumes that she lent to a few friends, and everybody borrowed dresses or lent them, or went into town to the costumer's. Weeks passed in preparation. "What are you going to wear?" was the only question exchanged; and nobody answered, as nobody would tell. At length the evening came,--a beautiful night in late summer, warm enough to have had the party out-of-doors; but the whole house was lighted up and thrown open, and Chinese lanterns hung in the portico and on the pillars of the piazzas. At an early hour the Peterkins were arrayed in their costumes. The little boys had their legs and arms and faces browned early in the day, and wore dazzlingly white full trousers and white turbans. Elizabeth Eliza had prepared a dress as Queen Elizabeth; but Solomon John was desirous that she should be Desdemona, and she gave up her costume to her mother. Mrs. Peterkin therefore wore a red wig which Ann Maria had found at a costumer's, a high ruff, and an old-fashioned brocade. She was not sure that it was proper for Queen Elizabeth to wear spectacles; but Queen Elizabeth must have been old enough, as she lived to be seventy. As for Elizabeth Eliza, in recalling the fact that Desdemona was smothered by pillows, she was so impressed by it that she decided she could wear the costume of a sheet-and-pillow-case party. So she wore a white figured silk that had been her mother's wedding-dress, and over it draped a sheet as a large mantle, and put a pillow-case upon her head, and could represent Desdemona not quite smothered. But Solomon John wished to carry out the whole scene at the end. As they stood together, all ready to receive, in the parlor at the appointed hour, Mr. Peterkin suddenly exclaimed,-- "This will never do! We are not the Peterkins,--we are distinguished guests! We cannot receive." "We shall have to give up the party," said Mrs. Peterkin. "Or our costumes," groaned Agamemnon from his ass's head. "We must go out, and come in as guests," said Elizabeth Eliza, leading the way to a back door, for guests were already thronging in, and up the front stairs. They passed out by a piazza, through the hedge of hollyhocks, toward the front of the house. Through the side windows of the library they could see the company pouring in. The black attendant was showing them upstairs; some were coming down, in doubt whether to enter the parlors, as no one was there. The wide middle entrance hall was lighted brilliantly; so were the parlors on one side and the library on the other. But nobody was there to receive! A flock of guests was assembling,--peasant girls, Italian, German, and Norman; Turks, Greeks, Persians, fish-wives, brigands, chocolate-women, Lady Washington, Penelope, Red Riding-hood, Joan of Arc, nuns, Amy Robsart, Leicester, two or three Mary Stuarts, Neapolitan fisher-boys, pirates of Penzance and elsewhere,--all lingering, some on the stairs, some going up, some coming down. Charles I. without his head was entering the front door (a short gentleman, with a broad ruff drawn neatly together on top of his own head, which was concealed in his doublet below). Three Hindu snake-charmers leaped wildly in and out among the throng, flinging about dark, crooked sticks for snakes. There began to be a strange, deserted air about the house. Nobody knew what to do, where to go! "Can anything have happened to the family?" "Have they gone to Egypt?" whispered one. No ushers came to show them in. A shudder ran through the whole assembly, the house seemed so uninhabited; and some of the guests were inclined to go away. The Peterkins saw it all through the long library-windows. "What shall we do?" said Mr. Peterkin. "We have said _we_ should be 'At Home.'" "And here we are, all out-of-doors among the hollyhocks," said Elizabeth Eliza. "There are no Peterkins to 'receive,'" said Mr. Peterkin, gloomily. "We might go in and change our costumes," said Mrs. Peterkin, who already found her Elizabethan ruff somewhat stiff; "but, alas! I could not get at my best dress." "The company is filling all the upper rooms," said Elizabeth Eliza; "we cannot go back." At this moment the little boys returned from the front door, and in a subdued whisper explained that the lady from Philadelphia was arriving. "Oh, bring her here!" said Mrs. Peterkin. And Solomon John hastened to meet her. She came, to find a strange group half lighted by the Chinese lanterns. Mr. Peterkin, in his white toga, with a green wreath upon his head, came forward to address her in a noble manner, while she was terrified by the appearance of Agamemnon's ass's head, half hidden among the leaves. "What shall we do?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin. "There are no Peterkins; yet we have sent cards to everybody that they are 'At Home'!" The lady from Philadelphia, who had been allowed to come without costume, considered for a moment. She looked through the windows to the seething mass now crowding the entrance hall. The Hindu snake-charmers gambolled about her. "_We_ will receive as the Peterkin family!" she exclaimed. She inquired for a cap of Mrs. Peterkin's, with a purple satin bow, such as she had worn that very morning. Amanda was found by a Hindu, and sent for it and for a purple cross-over shawl that Mrs. Peterkin was wont to wear. The daughters of the lady from Philadelphia put on some hats of the little boys and their India-rubber boots. Hastily they went in through the back door and presented themselves, just as some of the wavering guests had decided to leave the house, it seeming so quiet and sepulchral. The crowd now flocked into the parlors. The Peterkins themselves left the hollyhocks and joined the company that was entering; Mr. Peterkin, as Julius Cæsar, leading in Mrs. Peterkin, as Queen Elizabeth. Mrs. Peterkin hardly knew what to do, as she passed the parlor door; for one of the Osbornes, as Sir Walter Raleigh, flung a velvet cloak before her. She was uncertain whether she ought to step on it, especially as she discovered at that moment that she had forgotten to take off her rubber overshoes, which she had put on to go through the garden. But as she stood hesitating, the lady from Philadelphia, as Mrs. Peterkin, beckoned her forward, and she walked over the ruby velvet as though it were a door-mat. For another surprise stunned her,--there were three Mrs. Peterkins! Not only Mrs. Bromwick, but their opposite neighbor, had induced Amanda to take dresses of Mrs. Peterkin's from the top of the trunks, and had come in at the same moment with the lady from Philadelphia, ready to receive. She stood in the middle of the bow-window at the back of the room, the two others in the corners. Ann Maria Bromwick had the part of Elizabeth Eliza, and Agamemnon too was represented; and there were many sets of "little boys" in India-rubber boots, going in and out with the Hindu snake-charmers. Mr. Peterkin had studied up his Latin grammar a little, in preparation for his part of Julius Cæsar. Agamemnon had reminded him that it was unnecessary, as Julius Cæsar in Shakspeare spoke in English. Still he now found himself using with wonderful ease Latin phrases such as "E pluribus unum," "lapsus linguæ," and "sine qua non," where they seemed to be appropriate. Solomon John looked well as Othello, although by some he was mistaken for an older snake-charmer, with his brown complexion, glaring white trousers, and white shirt. He wore a white lawn turban that had belonged to his great-grandmother. His part, however, was more understood when he was with Elizabeth Eliza as Desdemona; for they occasionally formed a tableau, in which he pulled the pillow-case completely over her head. Agamemnon was greeted with applause as Nick Bottom. He sang the song of the "ousel cock," but he could not make himself heard. At last he found a "Titania" who listened to him. But none of the company attempted to carry out the parts represented by their costumes. Charles I. soon conversed with Oliver Cromwell and with the different Mary Stuarts, who chatted gayly, as though executions were every-day occurrences. At first there was a little awkwardness. Nuns stood as quiet as if in their convent cells, and brave brigands hid themselves behind the doors; but as the different guests began to surprise each other, the sounds of laughter and talking increased. Every new-comer was led up to each several Mrs. Peterkin. Then came a great surprise,--a band of music sounded from the piazza. Some of the neighbors had sent in the town band, as a farewell tribute. This added to the excitement of the occasion. Strains of dance-music were heard, and dancing was begun. Sir Walter Raleigh led out Penelope, and Red Riding-hood without fear took the arm of the fiercest brigand for a round dance. The various groups wandered in and out. Elizabeth Eliza studied the costumes of her friends, and wished she had tried each one of them. The members of the Circumambient Society agreed that it would be always well to wear costumes at their meetings. As the principles of the society enforced a sort of uncertainty, if you always went in a different costume you would never have to keep up your own character. Elizabeth Eliza thought she should enjoy this. She had all her life been troubled with uncertainties and questions as to her own part of "Elizabeth Eliza," wondering always if she were doing the right thing. It did not seem to her that other people had such a bother. Perhaps they had simpler parts. They always seemed to know when to speak and when to be silent, while she was always puzzled as to what she should do as Elizabeth Eliza. Now, behind her pillow-case, she could look on and do nothing; all that was expected of her was to be smothered now and then. She breathed freely and enjoyed herself, because for the evening she could forget the difficult role of Elizabeth Eliza. Mrs. Peterkin was bewildered. She thought it a good occasion to study how Mrs. Peterkin should act; but there were three Mrs. Peterkins. She found herself gazing first at one, then at another. Often she was herself called Mrs. Peterkin. [Illustration: The ass's head proved hot and heavy, and Agamemnon was forced to hang it over his arm.] At supper-time the bewilderment increased. She was led in by the Earl of Leicester, as principal guest. Yet it was to her own dining-room, and she recognized her own forks and spoons among the borrowed ones, although the china was different (because their own set was not large enough to go round for so much company). It was all very confusing. The dance-music floated through the air. Three Mrs. Peterkins hovered before her, and two Agamemnons; for the ass's head proved hot and heavy, and Agamemnon was forced to hang it over his arm as he offered coffee to Titania. There seemed to be two Elizabeth Elizas, for Elizabeth Eliza had thrown back her pillow-case in order to eat her fruit-ice. Mr. Peterkin was wondering how Julius Cæsar would have managed to eat his salad with his fork, before forks were invented, and then he fell into a fit of abstraction, planning to say "Vale" to the guests as they left, but anxious that the word should not slip out before the time. Eight little boys and three Hindu snake-charmers were eating copiously of frozen pudding. Two Joans of Arc were talking to Charles I., who had found his head. All things seemed double to Mrs. Peterkin as they floated before her. "Was she eating her own supper or somebody's else? Were they Peterkins, or were they not?" Strains of dance-music sounded from the library. Yes, they were giving a fancy ball! The Peterkins were "At Home" for the last time before leaving for Egypt! VI. MRS. PETERKIN IN EGYPT. The family had taken passage in the new line for Bordeaux. They supposed they had; but would they ever reach the vessel in New York? The last moments were terrific. In spite of all their careful arrangements, their planning and packing of the last year, it seemed, after all, as if everything were left for the very last day. There were presents for the family to be packed, six steamer-bags for Mrs. Peterkin, half a dozen satchels of salts-bottles for Elizabeth Eliza, Apollinaris water, lunch-baskets. All these must be disposed of. On the very last day Elizabeth Eliza went into Boston to buy a bird, as she had been told she would be less likely to be sea-sick if she had a bird in a cage in her stateroom. Both she and her mother disliked the singing of caged birds, especially of canaries; but Mrs. Peterkin argued that they would be less likely to be homesick, as they never had birds at home. After long moments of indecision, Elizabeth Eliza determined upon two canary-birds, thinking she might let them fly as they approached the shore of Portugal, and they would then reach their native islands. This matter detained her till the latest train, so that on her return from Boston to their quiet suburban home, she found the whole family assembled in the station, ready to take the through express train to New York. She did not have time, therefore, to go back to the house for her own things. It was now locked up and the key intrusted to the Bromwicks; and all the Bromwicks and the rest of the neighbors were at the station, ready to bid them good-by. The family had done their best to collect all her scattered bits of baggage; but all through her travels, afterward, she was continually missing something she had left behind, that she would have packed and had intended to bring. They reached New York with half a day on their hands; and during this time Agamemnon fell in with some old college friends, who were going with a party to Greece to look up the new excavations. They were to leave the next day in a steamer for Gibraltar. Agamemnon felt that here was the place for him, and hastened to consult his family. Perhaps he could persuade them to change their plans and take passage with the party for Gibraltar. But he reached the pier just as the steamer for Bordeaux was leaving the shore. He was too late, and was left behind! Too late to consult them, too late even to join them! He examined his map, however,--one of his latest purchases, which he carried in his pocket,--and consoled himself with the fact that on reaching Gibraltar he could soon communicate with his family at Bordeaux, and he was easily reconciled to his fate. It was not till the family landed at Bordeaux that they discovered the absence of Agamemnon. Every day there had been some of the family unable to come on deck,--sea-sick below. Mrs. Peterkin never left her berth, and constantly sent messages to the others to follow her example, as she was afraid some one of them would be lost overboard. Those who were on deck from time to time were always different ones, and the passage was remarkably quick; while, from the tossing of the ship, as they met rough weather, they were all too miserable to compare notes or count their numbers. Elizabeth Eliza especially had been exhausted by the voyage. She had not been many days seasick, but the incessant singing of the birds had deprived her of sleep. Then the necessity of talking French had been a great tax upon her. The other passengers were mostly French, and the rest of the family constantly appealed to her to interpret their wants, and explain them to the _garçon_ once every day at dinner. She felt as if she never wished to speak another word in French; and the necessity of being interpreter at the hotel at Bordeaux, on their arrival, seemed almost too much for her. She had even forgotten to let her canary-birds fly when off shore in the Bay of Biscay, and they were still with her, singing incessantly, as if they were rejoicing over an approach to their native shores. She thought now she must keep them till their return, which they were already planning. The little boys, indeed, would like to have gone back on the return trip of the steamer. A son of the steward told them that the return cargo consisted of dried fruits and raisins; that every stateroom, except those occupied with passengers, would be filled with boxes of raisins and jars of grapes; that these often broke open in the passage, giving a great opportunity for boys. But the family held to their Egypt plan, and were cheered by making the acquaintance of an English party. At the _table d'hôte_ Elizabeth Eliza by chance dropped her fork into her neighbor's lap. She apologized in French; her neighbor answered in the same language, which Elizabeth Eliza understood so well that she concluded she had at last met with a true Parisian, and ventured on more conversation, when suddenly they both found they were talking in English, and Elizabeth Eliza exclaimed, "I am so glad to meet an American," at the moment that her companion was saying, "Then you are an Englishwoman!" From this moment Elizabeth Eliza was at ease, and indeed both parties were mutually pleased. Elizabeth Eliza's new friend was one of a large party, and she was delighted to find that they too were planning a winter in Egypt. They were waiting till a friend should have completed her "cure" at Pau, and the Peterkins were glad also to wait for the appearance of Agamemnon, who might arrive in the next steamer. One of the little boys was sure he had heard Agamemnon's voice the morning after they left New York, and was certain he must have been on board the vessel. Mr. Peterkin was not so sure. He now remembered that Agamemnon had not been at the dinner-table the very first evening; but then neither Mrs. Peterkin nor Solomon John was able to be present, as the vessel was tossing in a most uncomfortable manner, and nothing but dinner could have kept the little boys at table. Solomon John knew that Agamemnon had not been in his own stateroom during the passage, but he himself had seldom left it, and it had been always planned that Agamemnon should share that of a fellow-passenger. However this might be, it would be best to leave Marseilles with the English party by the "P. & O." steamer. This was one of the English "Peninsular and Oriental" line, that left Marseilles for Alexandria, Egypt, and made a return trip directly to Southampton, England. Mr. Peterkin thought it might be advisable to take "go-and-return" tickets, coming back to Southampton; and Mrs. Peterkin liked the idea of no change of baggage, though she dreaded the longer voyage. Elizabeth Eliza approved of this return trip in the P. & O. steamer, and decided it would give a good opportunity to dispose of her canary-birds on her return. The family therefore consoled themselves at Marseilles with the belief that Agamemnon would appear somehow. If not, Mr. Peterkin thought he could telegraph him from Marseilles, if he only knew where to telegraph to. But at Marseilles there was great confusion at the Hôtel de Noailles; for the English party met other friends, who persuaded them to take route together by Brindisi. Elizabeth Eliza was anxious to continue with her new English friend, and Solomon John was delighted with the idea of passing through the whole length of Italy. But the sight of the long journey, as she saw it on the map in the guide-book, terrified Mrs. Peterkin. And Mr. Peterkin had taken their tickets for the Marseilles line. Elizabeth Eliza still dwelt upon the charm of crossing under the Alps, while this very idea alarmed Mrs. Peterkin. On the last morning the matter was still undecided. On leaving the hotel, it was necessary for the party to divide and take two omnibuses. Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin reached the steamer at the moment of departure, and suddenly Mrs. Peterkin found they were leaving the shore. As they crossed the broad gangway to reach the deck, she had not noticed they had left the pier; indeed, she had supposed that the steamer was one she saw out in the offing, and that they would be obliged to take a boat to reach it. She hurried from the group of travellers whom she had followed to find Mr. Peterkin reading from his guide-book to the little boys an explanation that they were passing the Château d'If, from which the celebrated historical character the Count of Monte Cristo had escaped by flinging himself into the sea. "Where is Elizabeth Eliza? Where is Solomon John?" Mrs. Peterkin exclaimed, seizing Mr. Peterkin's arm. Where indeed? There was a pile of the hand-baggage of the family, but not that of Elizabeth Eliza, not even the bird-cage. "It was on the top of the other omnibus," exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. Yes, one of the little boys had seen it on the pavement of the court-yard of the hotel, and had carried it to the omnibus in which Elizabeth Eliza was sitting. He had seen her through the window. "Where is that other omnibus?" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, looking vaguely over the deck, as they were fast retreating from the shore. "Ask somebody what became of that other omnibus!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps they have gone with the English people," suggested Mr. Peterkin; but he went to the officers of the boat, and attempted to explain in French that one half of his family had been left behind. He was relieved to find that the officers could understand his French, though they did not talk English. They declared, however, it was utterly impossible to turn back. They were already two minutes and a half behind time on account of waiting for a party who had been very long in crossing the gangway. Mr. Peterkin returned gloomily with the little boys to Mrs. Peterkin. "We cannot go back," he said, "we must content ourselves with going on; but I conclude we can telegraph from Malta. We can send a message to Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John, telling them that they can take the next Marseilles P. & O. steamer in ten days, or that they can go back to Southampton for the next boat, which leaves at the end of this week. And Elizabeth Eliza may decide upon this," Mr. Peterkin concluded, "on account of passing so near the Canary Isles." "She will be glad to be rid of the birds," said Mrs. Peterkin, calming herself. These anxieties, however, were swallowed up in new trials. Mrs. Peterkin found that she must share her cabin (she found it was called "cabin," and not "stateroom," which bothered her and made her feel like Robinson Crusoe),--her cabin she must share with some strange ladies, while Mr. Peterkin and the little boys were carried to another part of the ship. Mrs. Peterkin remonstrated, delighted to find that her English was understood, though it was not listened to. It was explained to her that every family was divided in this way, and that she would meet Mr. Peterkin and the little boys at meal-times in the large _salon_--on which all the cabins opened--and on deck; and she was obliged to content herself with this. Whenever they met their time was spent in concocting a form of telegram to send from Malta. It would be difficult to bring it into the required number of words, as it would be necessary to suggest three different plans to Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John. Besides the two they had already discussed, there was to be considered the possibility of their having joined the English party. But Mrs. Peterkin was sure they must have gone back first to the Hôtel de Noailles, to which they could address their telegram. She found, meanwhile, the ladies in her cabin very kind and agreeable. They were mothers returning to India, who had been home to England to leave their children, as they were afraid to expose them longer to the climate of India. Mrs. Peterkin could have sympathetic talks with them over their family photographs. Mrs. Peterkin's family-book was, alas! in Elizabeth Eliza's hand-bag. It contained the family photographs, from early childhood upward, and was a large volume, representing the children at every age. At Malta, as he supposed, Mr. Peterkin and the little boys landed, in order to send their telegram. Indeed, all of the gentlemen among the passengers, and some of the ladies, gladly went on shore to visit the points of interest that could be seen in the time allotted. The steamer was to take in coal, and would not leave till early the next morning. Mrs. Peterkin did not accompany them. She still had her fears about leaving the ship and returning to it, although it had been so quietly accomplished at Marseilles. The party returned late at night, after Mrs. Peterkin had gone to her cabin. The next morning, she found the ship was in motion, but she did not find Mr. Peterkin and the little boys at the breakfast-table as usual. She was told that the party who went on shore had all been to the opera, and had returned at a late hour to the steamer, and would naturally be late at breakfast. Mrs. Peterkin went on deck to await them, and look for Malta as it seemed to retreat in the distance. But the day passed on, and neither Mr. Peterkin nor either of the little boys appeared! She tried to calm herself with the thought that they must need sleep; but all the rest of the passengers appeared, relating their different adventures. At last she sent the steward to inquire for them. He came back with one of the officers of the boat, much disturbed, to say that they could not be found; they must have been left behind. There was great excitement, and deep interest expressed for Mrs. Peterkin. One of the officers was very surly, and declared he could not be responsible for the inanity of passengers. Another was more courteous. Mrs. Peterkin asked if they could not go back,--if, at least, she could not be put back. He explained how this would be impossible, but that the company would telegraph when they reached Alexandria. Mrs. Peterkin calmed herself as well as she could, though indeed she was bewildered by her position. She was to land in Alexandria alone, and the landing she was told would be especially difficult. The steamer would not be able to approach the shore; the passengers would go down the sides of the ship, and be lifted off the steps, by Arabs, into a felucca (whatever that was) below. She shuddered at the prospect. It was darker than her gloomiest fancies had pictured. Would it not be better to remain in the ship, go back to Southampton, perhaps meet Elizabeth Eliza there, picking up Mr. Peterkin at Malta on the way? But at this moment she discovered that she was not on a "P. & O." steamer,--it was a French steamer of the "Messagerie" line; they had stopped at Messina, and not at Malta. She could not go back to Southampton, so she was told by an English colonel on his way to India. He indeed was very courteous, and advised her to "go to an hotel" at Alexandria with some of the ladies, and send her telegrams from there. To whom, however, would she wish to send a telegram? "Who is Mr. Peterkin's banker?" asked the Colonel. Alas! Mrs. Peterkin did not know. He had at first selected a banker in London, but had afterward changed his mind and talked of a banker in Paris; and she was not sure what was his final decision. She had known the name of the London banker, but had forgotten it, because she had written it down, and she never did remember the things she wrote down in her book. That was her old memorandum-book, and she had left it at home because she had brought a new one for her travels. She was sorry now she had not kept the old book. This, however, was not of so much importance, as it did not contain the name of the Paris banker; and this she had never heard. "Elizabeth Eliza would know;" but how could she reach Elizabeth Eliza? Some one asked if there were not some friend in America to whom she could appeal, if she did not object to using the ocean telegraph. "There is a friend in America," said Mrs. Peterkin, "to whom we all of us do go for advice, and who always does help us. She lives in Philadelphia." "Why not telegraph to her for advice?" asked her friends. Mrs. Peterkin gladly agreed that it would be the best plan. The expense of the cablegram would be nothing in comparison with the assistance the answer would bring. Her new friends then invited her to accompany them to their hotel in Alexandria, from which she could send her despatch. The thought of thus being able to reach her hand across the sea to the lady from Philadelphia gave Mrs. Peterkin fresh courage,--courage even to make the landing. As she descended the side of the ship and was guided down the steps, she closed her eyes that she might not see herself lifted into the many-oared boat by the wild-looking Arabs, of whom she had caught a glimpse from above. But she could not close her ears; and as they approached the shore, strange sounds almost deafened her. She closed her eyes again, as she was lifted from the boat and heard the wild yells and shrieks around her. There was a clashing of brass, a jingling of bells, and the screams grew more and more terrific. If she did open her eyes, she saw wild figures gesticulating, dark faces, gay costumes, crowds of men and boys, donkeys, horses, even camels, in the distance. She closed her eyes once more as she was again lifted. Should she now find herself on the back of one of those high camels? Perhaps for this she came to Egypt. But when she looked round again, she found she was leaning back in a comfortable open carriage, with a bottle of salts at her nose. She was in the midst of a strange whirl of excitement; but all the party were bewildered, and she had scarcely recovered her composure when they reached the hotel. Here a comfortable meal and rest somewhat restored them. By the next day a messenger from the boat brought her the return telegram from Messina. Mr. Peterkin and family, left behind by the "Messagerie" steamer, had embarked the next day by steamer, probably for Naples. More anxious than ever was Mrs. Peterkin to send her despatch. It was too late the day of their arrival; but at an early hour next day it was sent, and after a day had elapsed, the answer came:-- "All meet at the Sphinx." Everything now seemed plain. The words were few but clear. Her English friends were going directly to Cairo, and she accompanied them. After reaching Cairo, the whole party were obliged to rest awhile. They would indeed go with Mrs. Peterkin on her first visit to the Sphinx, as to see the Sphinx and ascend the pyramid formed part of their programme. But many delays occurred to detain them, and Mrs. Peterkin had resolved to carry out completely the advice of the telegram. She would sit every day before the Sphinx. She found that as yet there was no hotel exactly in front of the Sphinx, nor indeed on that side of the river, and she would be obliged to make the excursion of nine miles there and nine miles back, each day. But there would always be a party of travellers whom she could accompany. Each day she grew more and more accustomed to the bewildering sights and sounds about her, and more and more willing to intrust herself to the dark-colored guides. At last, chafing at so many delays, she decided to make the expedition without her new friends. She had made some experiments in riding upon a donkey, and found she was seldom thrown, and could not be hurt by the slight fall. And so, one day, Mrs. Peterkin sat alone in front of the Sphinx,--alone, as far as her own family and friends were concerned, and yet not alone indeed. A large crowd of guides sat around this strange lady who proposed to spend the day in front of the Sphinx. Clad in long white robes, with white turbans crowning their dark faces, they gazed into her eyes with something of the questioning expression with which she herself was looking into the eyes of the Sphinx. There were other travellers wandering about. Just now her own party had collected to eat their lunch together; but they were scattered again, and she sat with a circle of Arabs about her, the watchful dragoman lingering near. Somehow the Eastern languor must have stolen upon her, or she could not have sat so calmly, not knowing where a single member of her family was at that moment. And she had dreaded Egypt so; had feared separation; had even been a little afraid of the Sphinx, upon which she was now looking as at a protecting angel. But they all were to meet at the Sphinx! If only she could have seen where the different members of the family were at that moment, she could not have sat so quietly. She little knew that a tall form, not far away (following some guides down into the lower halls of a lately excavated temple), with a blue veil wrapped about a face shielded with smoke-colored spectacles, was that of Elizabeth Eliza herself, from whom she had been separated two weeks before. She little knew that at this moment Solomon John was standing looking over the edge of the Matterhorn, wishing he had not come up so high. But such a gay young party had set off that morning from the hotel that he had supposed it an easy thing to join them; and now he would fain go back, but was tied to the rest of his party with their guide preceding them, and he must keep on and crawl up behind them, still farther, on hands and knees. Agamemnon was at Mycenæ, looking down into an open pit. Two of the little boys were roasting eggs in the crater of Mount Vesuvius. And she would have seen Mr. Peterkin comfortably reclining in a gondola, with one of the little boys, in front of the palaces of Venice. But none of this she saw; she only looked into the eyes of the Sphinx. VII. MRS. PETERKIN FAINTS ON THE GREAT PYRAMID. "Meet at the Sphinx!" Yes; these were the words that the lady from Philadelphia had sent in answer to the several telegrams that had reached her from each member of the Peterkin family. She had received these messages while staying in a remote country town, but she could communicate with the cable line by means of the telegraph office at a railway station. The intelligent operator, seeing the same date affixed at the close of each message, "took in," as she afterward expressed it, that it was the date of the day on which the message was sent; and as this was always prefixed to every despatch, she did not add it to the several messages. She afterward expressed herself as sorry for the mistake, and declared it should not occur another time. Elizabeth Eliza was the first at the appointed spot, as her route had been somewhat shorter than the one her mother had taken. A wild joy had seized her when she landed in Egypt, and saw the frequent and happy use of the donkey as a beast of travel. She had never ventured to ride at home, and had always shuddered at the daring of the women who rode at the circuses, and closed her eyes at their performances. But as soon as she saw the little Egyptian donkeys, a mania for riding possessed her. She was so tall that she could scarcely, under any circumstances, fall from them, while she could mount them with as much ease as she could the arm of the sofa at home, and most of the animals seemed as harmless. It is true, the donkey-boys gave her the wrong word to use when she might wish to check the pace of her donkey, and mischievously taught her to avoid the soothing phrase of _beschwesch_, giving her instead one that should goad the beast she rode to its highest speed; but Elizabeth Eliza was so delighted with the quick pace that she was continually urging her donkey onward, to the surprise and delight of each fresh attendant donkey-boy. He would run at a swift pace after her, stopping sometimes to pick up a loose slipper, if it were shuffled off from his foot in his quick run, but always bringing up even in the end. Elizabeth Eliza's party had made a quick journey by the route from Brindisi, and proceeding directly to Cairo, had stopped at a small French hotel not very far from Mrs. Peterkin and her party. Every morning at an early hour Elizabeth Eliza made her visit to the Sphinx, arriving there always the first one of her own party, and spending the rest of the day in explorations about the neighborhood. [Illustration: Every morning at an early hour Elizabeth Eliza made her visit to the Sphinx.] Mrs. Peterkin, meanwhile, set out each day at a later hour, arriving in time to take her noon lunch in front of the Sphinx, after which she indulged in a comfortable nap and returned to the hotel before sunset. A week--indeed, ten days--passed in this way. One morning, Mrs. Peterkin and her party had taken the ferry-boat to cross the Nile. As they were leaving the boat on the other side, in the usual crowd, Mrs. Peterkin's attention was arrested by a familiar voice. She turned, to see a tall young man who, though he wore a red fez upon his head and a scarlet wrap around his neck, certainly resembled Agamemnon. But this Agamemnon was talking Greek, with gesticulations. She was so excited that she turned to follow him through the crowd, thus separating herself from the rest of her party. At once she found herself surrounded by a mob of Arabs, in every kind of costume, all screaming and yelling in the manner to which she was becoming accustomed. Poor Mrs. Peterkin plaintively protested in English, exclaiming, "I should prefer a donkey!" but the Arabs could not understand her strange words. They had, however, struck the ear of the young man in the red fez whom she had been following. He turned, and she gazed at him. It was Agamemnon! He, meanwhile, was separated from his party, and hardly knew how to grapple with the urgent Arabs. His recently acquired Greek did not assist him, and he was advising his mother to yield and mount one of the steeds, while he followed on another, when, happily, the dragoman of her party appeared. He administered a volley of rebukes to the persistent Arabs, and bore Mrs. Peterkin to her donkey. She was thus carried away from Agamemnon, who was also mounted upon a donkey by his companions. But their destination was the same; and though they could hold no conversation on the way, Agamemnon could join his mother as they approached the Sphinx. But he and his party were to ascend the pyramid before going on to the Sphinx, and he advised his mother to do the same. He explained that it was a perfectly easy thing to do. You had only to lift one of your feet up quite high, as though you were going to step on the mantelpiece, and an Arab on each side would lift you to the next step. Mrs. Peterkin was sure she could not step up on their mantelpieces at home. She never had done it,--she never had even tried to. But Agamemnon reminded her that those in their own house were very high,--"old colonial;" and meanwhile she found herself carried along with the rest of the party. At first the ascent was delightful to her. It seemed as if she were flying. The powerful Nubian guides, one on each side, lifted her jauntily up, without her being conscious of motion. Having seen them daily for some time past, she was now not much afraid of these handsome athletes, with their polished black skins, set off by dazzling white garments. She called out to Agamemnon, who had preceded her, that it was charming; she was not at all afraid. Every now and then she stopped to rest on the broad cornice made by each retreating step. Suddenly, when she was about half-way up, as she leaned back against the step above, she found herself panting and exhausted. A strange faintness came over her. She was looking off over a beautiful scene: through the wide Libyan desert the blue Nile wound between borders of green edging, while the picturesque minarets of Cairo, on the opposite side of the river, and the sand in the distance beyond, gleamed with a red and yellow light beneath the rays of the noonday sun. But the picture danced and wavered before her dizzy sight. She sat there alone; for Agamemnon and the rest had passed on, thinking she was stopping to rest. She seemed deserted, save by the speechless black statues, one on either side, who, as she seemed to be fainting before their eyes, were looking at her in some anxiety. She saw dimly these wild men gazing at her. She thought of Mungo Park, dying with the African women singing about him. How little she had ever dreamed, when she read that account in her youth, and gazed at the savage African faces in the picture, that she might be left to die in the same way alone, in a strange land--and on the side of a pyramid! Her guides were kindly. One of them took her shawl to wrap about her, as she seemed to be shivering; and as a party coming down from the top had a jar of water, one of her Nubians moistened a handkerchief with water and laid it upon her head. Mrs. Peterkin had closed her eyes, but she opened them again, to see the black figures in their white draperies still standing by her. The travellers coming down paused a few minutes to wonder and give counsel, then passed on, to make way for another party following them. Again Mrs. Peterkin closed her eyes, but once more opened them at hearing a well-known shout,--such a shout as only one of the Peterkin family could give,--one of the little boys! Yes, he stood before her, and Agamemnon was behind; they had met on top of the pyramid. The sight was indeed a welcome one to Mrs. Peterkin, and revived her so that she even began to ask questions: "Where had he come from? Where were the other little boys? Where was Mr. Peterkin?" No one could tell where the other little boys were. And the sloping side of the pyramid, with a fresh party waiting to pass up and the guides eager to go down, was not just the place to explain the long, confused story. All that Mrs. Peterkin could understand was that Mr. Peterkin was now, probably, inside the pyramid, beneath her very feet! Agamemnon had found this solitary "little boy" on top of the pyramid, accompanied by a guide and one of the party that he and his father had joined on leaving Venice. At the foot of the pyramid there had been some dispute in the party as to whether they should first go up the pyramid, or down inside, and in the altercation the party was divided; the little boy had been sure that his father meant to go up first, and so he had joined the guide who went up. But where was Mr. Peterkin? Probably in the innermost depths of the pyramid below. As soon as Mrs. Peterkin understood this, she was eager to go down, in spite of her late faintness; even to tumble down would help her to meet Mr. Peterkin the sooner. She was lifted from stone to stone by the careful Nubians. Agamemnon had already emptied his pocket of coins, in supplying backsheesh to his guide, and all were anxious to reach the foot of the pyramid and find the dragoman, who could answer the demands of the others. Breathless as she was, as soon as she had descended, Mrs. Peterkin was anxious to make for the entrance to the inside. Before, she had declared that nothing would induce her to go into the pyramid. She was afraid of being lost in its stairways and shut up forever as a mummy. But now she forgot all her terrors; she must find Mr. Peterkin at once! She was the first to plunge down the narrow stairway after the guide, and was grateful to find the steps so easy to descend. But they presently came out into a large, open room, where no stairway was to be seen. On the contrary, she was invited to mount the shoulders of a burly Nubian, to reach a large hole half-way up the side-wall (higher than any mantelpiece), and to crawl through this hole along the passage till she should reach another stairway. Mrs. Peterkin paused. Could she trust these men? Was not this a snare to entice her into one of these narrow passages? Agamemnon was far behind. Could Mr. Peterkin have ventured into this treacherous place? At this moment a head appeared through the opening above, followed by a body. It was that of one of the native guides. Voices were heard coming through the passage: one voice had a twang to it that surely Mrs. Peterkin had heard before. Another head appeared now, bound with a blue veil, while the eyes were hidden by green goggles. Yet Mrs. Peterkin could not be mistaken,--it was--yes, it was the head of Elizabeth Eliza! It seemed as though that were all, it was so difficult to bring forward any more of her. Mrs. Peterkin was screaming from below, asking if it were indeed Elizabeth Eliza, while excitement at recognizing her mother made it more difficult for Elizabeth Eliza to extricate herself. But travellers below and behind urged her on, and with the assistance of the guides, she pushed forward and almost fell into the arms of her mother. Mrs. Peterkin was wild with joy as Agamemnon and his brother joined them. "But Mr. Peterkin!" at last exclaimed their mother. "Did you see anything of your father?" "He is behind," said Elizabeth Eliza. "I was looking for the body of Chufu, the founder of the pyramid,--for I have longed to be the discoverer of his mummy,--and I found instead--my father!" Mrs. Peterkin looked up, and at that moment saw Mr. Peterkin emerging from the passage above. He was carefully planting one foot on the shoulder of a stalwart Nubian guide. He was very red in the face, from recent exertion, but he was indeed Mr. Peterkin. On hearing the cry of Mrs. Peterkin, he tottered, and would have fallen but for the support of the faithful guide. The narrow place was scarcely large enough to hold their joy. Mrs. Peterkin was ready to faint again with her great excitement. She wanted to know what had become of the other little boys, and if Mr. Peterkin had heard from Solomon John. But the small space was becoming more and more crowded. The dragomans from the different parties with which the Peterkins were connected came to announce their several luncheons, and insisted upon their leaving the pyramid. Mrs. Peterkin's dragoman wanted her to go on directly to the Sphinx, and she still clung to the belief that only then would there be a complete reunion of the family. Yet she could not separate herself from the rest. They could not let her go, and they were all hungry, and she herself felt the need of food. But with the confusion of so many luncheons, and so much explanation to be gone through with, it was difficult to get an answer to her questions. Elizabeth and her father were involved in a discussion as to whether they should have met if he had not gone into the queen's chamber in the pyramid. For if he had not gone to the queen's chamber he would have left the inside of the pyramid before Mrs. Peterkin reached it, and would have missed her, as he was too fatigued to make the ascent. And Elizabeth Eliza, if she had not met her father, had planned going back to the king's chamber in another search for the body of Chufu, in which case she would have been too late to meet her mother. Mrs. Peterkin was not much interested in this discussion; it was enough that they had met. But she could not get answers to what she considered more important questions; while Elizabeth Eliza, though delighted to meet again her father and mother and brothers, and though interested in the fate of the missing ones, was absorbed in the Egyptian question; and the mingling of all their interests made satisfactory intercourse impracticable. Where was Solomon John? What had become of the body of Chufu? Had Solomon John been telegraphed to? When had Elizabeth Eliza seen him last? Was he Chufu or Shufu, and why Cheops? and where were the other little boys? Mr. Peterkin attempted to explain that he had taken a steamer from Messina to the south of Italy, and a southern route to Brindisi. By mistake he had taken the steamer from Alexandria, on its way to Venice, instead of the one that was leaving Brindisi for Alexandria at the same hour. Indeed, just as he had discovered his mistake, and had seen the other boat steaming off by his side in the other direction, too late he fancied he saw the form of Elizabeth Eliza on deck, leaning over the taffrail (if it was a taffrail). It was a tall lady, with a blue veil wound around her hat. Was it possible? Could he have been in time to reach Elizabeth Eliza? His explanation only served to increase the number of questions. Mrs. Peterkin had many more. How had Agamemnon reached them? Had he come to Bordeaux with them? But Agamemnon and Elizabeth Eliza were now discussing with others the number of feet that the Great Pyramid measured. The remaining members of all the parties, too, whose hunger and thirst were now fully satisfied, were ready to proceed to the Sphinx, which only Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza had visited. Side by side on their donkeys, Mrs. Peterkin attempted to learn something from Mr. Peterkin about the other little boys. But his donkey proved restive: now it bore him on in swift flight from Mrs. Peterkin; now it would linger behind. His words were jerked out only at intervals. All that could be said was that they were separated; the little boys wanted to go to Vesuvius, but Mr. Peterkin felt they must hurry to Brindisi. At a station where the two trains parted--one for Naples, the other for Brindisi--he found suddenly, too late, that they were not with him; they must have gone on to Naples. But where were they now? VIII. THE LAST OF THE PETERKINS. The expedition up the Nile had taken place successfully. The Peterkin family had reached Cairo again,--at least, its scattered remnant was there, and they were now to consider what next. Mrs. Peterkin would like to spend her life in the dahabieh,[1] though she could not pronounce its name, and she still felt the strangeness of the scenes about her. However, she had only to look out upon the mud villages on the bank to see that she was in the veritable "Africa" she had seen pictured in the geography of her childhood. If further corroboration were required, had she not, only the day before, when accompanied by no one but a little donkey-boy, shuddered to meet a strange Nubian, attired principally in hair that stood out from his savage face in frizzes at least half a yard long? [Footnote 1: A boat used for transportation on the Nile.] But oh the comforts of no trouble in housekeeping on board the dahabieh! Never to know what they were to have for dinner, nor to be asked what they would like, and yet always to have a dinner you could ask chance friends to, knowing all would be perfectly served! Some of the party with whom they had engaged their dahabieh had even brought canned baked beans from New England, which seemed to make their happiness complete. "Though we see beans here," said Mrs. Peterkin, "they are not 'Boston beans'!" She had fancied she would have to live on stuffed ostrich (ostrich stuffed with iron filings, that the books tell of), or fried hippopotamus, or boiled rhinoceros. But she met with none of these, and day after day was rejoiced to find her native turkey appearing on the table, with pigeons and chickens (though the chickens, to be sure, were scarcely larger than the pigeons), and lamb that was really not more tough than that of New Hampshire and the White Mountains. If they dined with the Arabs, there was indeed a kind of dark molasses-gingerbread-looking cake, with curds in it, that she found it hard to eat. "But _they_ like it," she said complacently. The remaining little boy, too, smiled over his pile of ripe bananas, as he thought of the quarter-of-a-dollar-a-half-dozen green ones at that moment waiting at the corners of the streets at home. Indeed, it was a land for boys. There were the dates, both fresh and dried,--far more juicy than those learned at school; and there was the gingerbread-nut tree, the dôm palm, that bore a nut tasting "like baker's gingerbread that has been kept a few days in the shop," as the remaining little boy remarked. And he wished for his brothers when the live dinner came on board their boat, at the stopping-places, in the form of good-sized sheep struggling on the shoulders of stout Arabs, or an armful of live hens and pigeons. All the family (or as much of it as was present) agreed with Mrs. Peterkin's views. Amanda at home had seemed quite a blessing, but at this distance her services, compared with the attentions of their Maltese dragoman and the devotion of their Arab servants, seemed of doubtful value, and even Mrs. Peterkin dreaded returning to her tender mercies. "Just imagine inviting the Russian Count to dinner at home--and Amanda!" exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza. "And he came to dinner at least three times a week on board the boat," said the remaining little boy. "The Arabs are so convenient about carrying one's umbrellas and shawls," said Elizabeth Eliza. "How I should miss Hassan in picking up my blue veil!" The family recalled many anecdotes of the shortcomings of Amanda, as Mrs. Peterkin leaned back upon her divan and wafted a fly-whisk. Mr. Peterkin had expended large sums in telegrams from every point where he found the telegraph in operation; but there was no reply from Solomon John, and none from the two little boys. By a succession of telegrams they had learned that no one had fallen into the crater of Vesuvius in the course of the last six months, not even a little boy. This was consoling. By letters from the lady from Philadelphia, they learned that she had received Solomon John's telegram from Geneva at the time she heard from the rest of the family, and one signed "L. Boys" from Naples. But neither of these telegrams gave an address for return answers, which she had, however, sent to Geneva and Naples, with the fatal omission by the operator (as she afterward learned) of the date, as in the other telegrams. Mrs. Peterkin therefore disliked to be long away from the Sphinx, and their excursion up the Nile had been shortened on this account. All the Nubian guides near the pyramids had been furnished with additional backsheesh and elaborate explanations from Mr. Peterkin as to how they should send him information if Solomon John and the little boys should turn up at the Sphinx,--for all the family agreed they would probably appear in Egypt together. Mrs. Peterkin regretted not having any photographs to leave with the guides; but Elizabeth Eliza, alas! had lost at Brindisi the hand-bag that contained the family photograph-book. Mrs. Peterkin would have liked to take up her residence near the Sphinx for the rest of the year. But every one warned her that the heat of an Egyptian summer would not allow her to stay at Cairo,--scarcely even on the sea-shore, at Alexandria. How thankful was Mrs. Peterkin, a few months after, when the war in Egypt broke out, that her wishes had not been yielded to! For many nights she could not sleep, picturing how they all might have been massacred by the terrible mob in Alexandria. Intelligence of Solomon John led them to take their departure. One day, they were discussing at the _table d'hôte_ their letters from the lady from Philadelphia, and how they showed that Solomon John had been at Geneva. "Ah, there was his mistake!" said Elizabeth Eliza. "The Doolittles left Marseilles with us, and were to branch off for Geneva, and we kept on to Genoa, and Solomon John was always mistaking Genoa for Geneva, as we planned our route. I remember there was a great confusion when they got off." "I always mix up Geneva and Genoa," said Mrs. Peterkin. "I feel as if they were the same." "They are quite different," said Elizabeth Eliza; "and Genoa lay in our route, while Geneva took him into Switzerland." An English gentleman, on the opposite side of the table, then spoke to Mr. Peterkin. "I beg pardon," he said. "I think I met one of your name in Athens. He attracted our attention because he went every day to the same spot, and he told us he expected to meet his family there,--that he had an appointment by telegraph--" "In Athens!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. "Was his name Solomon John?" asked Elizabeth Eliza. "Were there two little boys?" inquired Mrs. Peterkin. "His initials were the same as mine," replied the Englishman,--"S.J.P.,--for some of his luggage came by mistake into my room, and that is why I spoke of it." "Is there a Sphinx in Athens?" Mrs. Peterkin inquired. "There used to be one there," said Agamemnon. "I beg your pardon," said the Englishman, "but that Sphinx never was in Athens." "But Solomon John may have made the mistake,--we all make our mistakes," said Mrs. Peterkin, tying her bonnet-strings, as if ready to go to meet Solomon John at that moment. "The Sphinx was at Thebes in the days of OEdipus," said the Englishman. "No one would expect to find it anywhere in Greece at the present day." "But was Solomon John inquiring for it?" asked Mr. Peterkin. "Indeed, no!" answered the Englishman; "he went every day to the Pnyx, a famous hill in Athens, where his telegram had warned him he should meet his friends." "The Pnyx!" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin; "and how do you spell it?" "P-n-y-x!" cried Agamemnon,--"the same letters as in Sphinx!" "All but the _s_ and the _h_ and the _y_" said Elizabeth Eliza. "I often spell Sphinx with a _y_ myself," said Mr. Peterkin. "And a telegraph-operator makes such mistakes!" said Agamemnon. "His telegram had been forwarded to him from Switzerland," said the Englishman; "it had followed him into the dolomite region, and must have been translated many timed." "And of course they could not all have been expected to keep the letters in the right order," said Elizabeth Eliza. "And were there two little boys with him?" repeated Mrs. Peterkin. No; there were no little boys. But further inquiries satisfied the family that Solomon John must be awaiting them in Athens. And how natural the mistake! Mrs. Peterkin said that if she had known of a Pnyx, she should surely have looked for the family there. Should they then meet Solomon John at the Pnyx, or summon him to Egypt? It seemed safer to go directly to Athens, especially as Mr. Peterkin and Agamemnon were anxious to visit that city. It was found that a steamer would leave Alexandria next day for Athens, by way of Smyrna and Constantinople. This was a roundabout course; but Mr. Peterkin was impatient to leave, and was glad to gain more acquaintance with the world. Meanwhile they could telegraph their plans to Solomon John, as the English gentleman could give them the address of his hotel. And Mrs. Peterkin did not now shrink from another voyage. Her experience on the Nile had made her forget her sufferings in crossing the Atlantic, and she no longer dreaded entering another steamboat. Their delight in river navigation, indeed, had been so great that the whole family had listened with interest to the descriptions given by their Russian fellow-traveller of steamboat navigation on the Volga--"the most beautiful river in the world," as he declared. Elizabeth Eliza and Mr. Peterkin were eager to try it, and Agamemnon remarked that such a trip would give them an opportunity to visit the renowned fair at Nijninovgorod. Even Mrs. Peterkin had consented to this expedition, provided they should meet Solomon John and the other little boys. She started, therefore, on a fresh voyage without any dread, forgetting that the Mediterranean, if not so wide as the Atlantic, is still a sea, and often as tempestuous and uncomfortably "choppy." Alas! she was soon to be awakened from her forgetfulness: the sea was the same old enemy. As they passed up among the Ionian Isles, and she heard Agamemnon and Elizabeth Eliza and their Russian friend (who was accompanying them to Constantinople) talking of the old gods of Greece, she fancied that they were living still, and that Neptune and the classic waves were wreaking their vengeance on them, and pounding and punishing them for venturing to rule them with steam. She was fairly terrified. As they entered Smyrna she declared she would never enter any kind of a boat again, and that Mr. Peterkin must find some way by which they could reach home by land. How delightful it was to draw near the shore, on a calm afternoon,--even to trust herself to the charge of the boatmen in leaving the ship, and to reach land once more and meet the tumult of voices and people! Here were the screaming and shouting usual in the East, and the same bright array of turbans and costumes in the crowd awaiting them. But a well-known voice reached them, and from the crowd rose a well-known face. Even before they reached the land they had recognized its owner. With his American dress, he looked almost foreign in contrast to the otherwise universal Eastern color. A tall figure on either side seemed, also, each to have a familiar air. Were there three Solomon Johns? No; it was Solomon John and the two other little boys--but grown so that they were no longer little boys. Even Mrs. Peterkin was unable to recognize them at first. But the tones of their voices, their ways, were as natural as ever. Each had a banana in his hand, and pockets stuffed with oranges. Questions and answers interrupted each other in a most confusing manner:-- "Are you the little boys?" "Where have you been?" "Did you go to Vesuvius?" "How did you get away?" "Why didn't you come sooner?" "Our India-rubber boots stuck in the hot lava." "Have you been there all this time?" "No; we left them there." "Have you had fresh dates?" "They are all gone now, but the dried ones are better than those squeezed ones we have at home." "How you have grown!" "Why didn't you telegraph?" "Why did you go to Vesuvius, when Papa said he couldn't?" "Did you, too, think it was Pnyx?" "Where have you been all winter?" "Did you roast eggs in the crater?" "When did you begin to grow?" The little boys could not yet thoroughly explain themselves; they always talked together and in foreign languages, interrupting each other, and never agreeing as to dates. Solomon John accounted for his appearance in Smyrna by explaining that when he received his father's telegram in Athens, he decided to meet them at Smyrna. He was tired of waiting at the Pnyx. He had but just landed, and came near missing his family, and the little boys too, who had reached Athens just as he was leaving it. None of the family wished now to continue their journey to Athens, but they had the advice and assistance of their Russian friend in planning to leave the steamer at Constantinople; they would, by adopting this plan, be _en route_ for the proposed excursion to the Volga. Mrs. Peterkin was overwhelmed with joy at having all her family together once more; but with it a wave of homesickness surged over her. They were all together; why not go home? It was found that there was a sailing-vessel bound absolutely for Maine, in which they might take passage. No more separation; no more mistakes; no more tedious study of guide-books; no more weighing of baggage. Every trunk and bag, every Peterkin, could be placed in the boat, and safely landed on the shores of home. It was a temptation, and at one time Mrs. Peterkin actually pleaded for it. But there came a throbbing in her head, a swimming in her eyes, a swaying of the very floor of the hotel. Could she bear it, day after day, week after week? Would any of them be alive? And Constantinople not seen, nor steam-navigation on the Volga! And so new plans arose, and wonderful discoveries were made, and the future of the Peterkin family was changed forever. In the first place a strange stout gentleman in spectacles had followed the Peterkin family to the hotel, had joined in the family councils, and had rendered valuable service in negotiating with the officers of the steamer for the cancellation of their through tickets to Athens. He dined at the same table, and was consulted by the (formerly) little boys. Who was he? They explained that he was their "preceptor." It appeared that after they parted from their father, the little boys had become mixed up with some pupils who were being taken by their preceptor to Vesuvius. For some time he had not noticed that his party (consisting of boys of their own age) had been enlarged; and after finding this out, he had concluded they were the sons of an English family with whom he had been corresponding. He was surprised that no further intelligence came with them, and no extra baggage. They had, however, their hand-bags; and after sending their telegram to the lady from Philadelphia, they assured him that all would be right. But they were obliged to leave Naples the very day of despatching the telegram, and left no address to which an answer could be sent. The preceptor took them, with his pupils, directly back to his institution in Gratz, Austria, from which he had taken them on this little excursion. It was not till the end of the winter that he discovered that his youthful charges--whom he had been faithfully instructing, and who had found the gymnasium and invigorating atmosphere so favorable to growth--were not the sons of his English correspondent, whom he had supposed, from their explanations, to be travelling in America. He was, however, intending to take his pupils to Athens in the spring, and by this time the little boys were able to explain themselves better in his native language. They assured him they should meet their family in the East, and the preceptor felt it safe to take them upon the track proposed. It was now that Mr. Peterkin prided himself upon the plan he had insisted upon before leaving home. "Was it not well," he exclaimed, "that I provided each of you with a bag of gold, for use in case of emergency, hidden in the lining of your hand-bags?" This had worked badly for Elizabeth Eliza, to be sure, who had left hers at Brindisi; but the little boys had been able to pay some of their expenses, which encouraged the preceptor to believe he might trust them for the rest. So much pleased were all the family with the preceptor that they decided that all three of the little boys should continue under his instructions, and return with him to Gratz. This decision made more easy the other plans of the family. Both Agamemnon and Solomon John had decided they would like to be foreign consuls. They did not much care where, and they would accept any appointment; and both, it appeared, had written on the subject to the Department at Washington. Agamemnon had put in a plea for a vacancy at Madagascar, and Solomon John hoped for an opening at Rustchuk, Turkey; if not there, at Aintab, Syria. Answers were expected, which were now telegraphed for, to meet them in Constantinople. Meanwhile Mr. Peterkin had been consulting the preceptor and the Russian Count about a land-journey home. More and more Mrs. Peterkin determined she could not and would not trust herself to another voyage, though she consented to travel by steamer to Constantinople. If they went as far as Nijninovgorod, which was now decided upon, why could they not persevere through "Russia in Asia"? Their Russian friend at first shook his head at this, but at last agreed that it might be possible to go on from Novgorod comfortably to Tobolsk, perhaps even from there to Yakoutsk, and then to Kamtschatka. "And cross at Behring's Strait!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. "It looks so narrow on the map." "And then we are in Alaska," said Mr. Peterkin. "And at home," exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, "and no more voyages." But Elizabeth Eliza doubted about Kamtschatka and Behring's Strait, and thought it would be very cold. "But we can buy furs on our way," insisted Mrs. Peterkin. "And if you do not find the journey agreeable," said their Russian friend, "you can turn back from Yakoutsk, even from Tobolsk, and come to visit us." Yes--_us_! For Elizabeth Eliza was to marry the Russian Count! He had been in a boat that was behind them on the Nile, had met them often, had climbed the ruins with them, joined their excursions, and had finally proposed at Edfu. Elizabeth Eliza had then just written to consult the lady from Philadelphia with regard to the offer of a German professor they had met, and she could give no reply to the Count. Now, however, it was necessary to make a decision. She had meanwhile learned a few words of Russian. The Count spoke English moderately well, made himself understood better than the Professor, and could understand Elizabeth Eliza's French. Also the Count knew how to decide questions readily, while the Professor had to consider both sides before he could make up his mind. Mrs. Peterkin objected strongly at first. She could not even pronounce the Russian's name. "How should she be able to speak to him, or tell anybody whom Elizabeth Eliza had married?" But finally the family all gave their consent, won by the attention and devotion of Elizabeth Eliza's last admirer. The marriage took place in Constantinople, not at Santa Sophia, as Elizabeth Eliza would have wished, as that was under a Mohammedan dispensation. A number of American residents were present, and the preceptor sent for his other pupils in Athens. Elizabeth Eliza wished there was time to invite the lady from Philadelphia to be present, and Ann Maria Bromwick. Would the name be spelled right in the newspapers? All that could be done was to spell it by telegraph as accurately as possible, as far as they themselves knew how, and then leave the papers to do their best (or their worst) in their announcements of the wedding "at the American Consulate, Constantinople, Turkey. No cards." The last that was ever heard of the Peterkins, Agamemnon was on his way to Madagascar, Solomon John was at Rustchuk, and the little boys at Gratz; Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin, in a comfortable sledge, were on their way from Tobolsk to Yakoutsk; and Elizabeth Eliza was passing her honeymoon in the neighborhood of Moscow. * * * * * OTHERS OF THEIR KIN. * * * * * IX. LUCILLA'S DIARY. MONDAY.--I spent some time this morning watching for the rag-man. I wish I had taken down a note which day it was I saw him before. I remember it was washing-day, for I had to take my hands out of the tub and wipe the suds off when Johnnie came to tell me that the rag-man was on the street. He was just turning the corner by the Wylies when I got to the front gate. But whether we washed on Monday I can't think. It rained that Monday, or the week before, and we had to wait till Tuesday; but which it was I couldn't say. I was in such a whirl fitting Artemas off, and much as ever I made him hear; and he wasn't the right man after all, for he wouldn't give more than a cent and a half a pound for the papers, and Mrs. Carruthers got two cents. She could not remember what was his day for coming, but agreed to send him if she should see him again. * * * * * Mrs. Carruthers sent the rag-man to-day; but I can't say much for the bargain, though he was a different man from the one that came Monday, and it seems it was Monday. He agreed to give me the same he gave Mrs. Carruthers,--two cents a pound. And I had a lot of newspapers,--all the papers Artemas has been taking through the winter; for he doesn't like me to take them for kindlings, says he would rather pay separate for kindlings, as I might burn the wrong one. And there were the papers that came around his underclothes and inside the packing boxes he has taken away. So I expected to make something; but he gave me no more than forty-five cents! He weighed them, and said himself there were thirty pounds. That ought to have come to sixty cents at least, according to my arithmetic. But he made out it was all right, and had them all packed up, and went off, though I followed him out to the gate and told him that it didn't amount to no more than I might have got from the other man at a cent and a half. He said it was all they were worth; that he wished he could get as much for them. Then I asked him why he took the trouble to come for them, under the circumstances. But by that time he was off and down the street. * * * * * I was just sitting at the window this morning, and there were Mr. and Mrs. Peebles walking down the street,--he on one side and she on the other. I do wonder why they didn't go on the same side! If they hadn't got so far past the gate, I'd have asked them. I never heard there was any quarrel between them, and it was just as muddy this side of the street as that. They have been spending their winters in the city lately, and perhaps it's some new fashion. I declare it's worth while to sit at the window now and then, and see what is going on. I'm usually so busy at the back of the house, I don't know. But now Lavinia has taken to going to school with the boys, and they are willing to take care of her, half my work seems taken out of my hands. Not that she was much in the way for a girl of four, but she might slip out of the gate at any time, as there are so many of those grinding organs around with their monkeys. * * * * * Mrs. Carruthers was in yesterday afternoon, and she said the Peebles were looking up the numbers on the doors to find the Wylies. They got puzzled because the numbers go up one side of the street and down the other, and they haven't but just been put on. And it seems that up in the city they have them go across. It does appear to me shiftless in our town officers, when they undertook to have the streets numbered as they do elsewhere, that they didn't number them the same way. But I can't see but our way is as good, and more sensible than having to cross a muddy street to look up the next number. * * * * * Artemas has been gone a whole week. I told him I would put down the most important things in a diary, and then he can look at it, if he has time, when he comes home. He thinks it is a more sensible way than writing letters every week. He expects to be up and down in Texas, and perhaps across the mountains; and in those lawless countries letters would not stand much chance,--maybe they wouldn't ever reach him, after I'd had the trouble of writing them. There's the expense of stamps too,--not so very much for one letter, but it counts up. Nothing worries me more than getting a letter, unless it's having a telegraph come,--and that does give one a start. But even that's sooner over and quicker read; while for a letter, it's long, and it takes a good while to get to the end. I feel it might be a kind of waste of time to write in my diary; but not more than writing letters, and it saves the envelopes and hunting them up. I'm not likely to find much time for either, for the boys are fairly through their winter suits; if I can only keep them along while the spring hangs off so. * * * * * Mrs. Norris was in yesterday, just as I was writing about the boys' suits, to know if I would let Martha off to work for her after the washing is over. I told her I didn't like to disoblige, but I couldn't see my way clear to get along without Martha. The boys ought to be having their spring suits this very minute, and Martha was calculating to make them this week; and they'd have to have their first wear of them Sundays for a while before they start on them for school. I never was so behindhand; but what with fitting off Artemas and the spring cleaning being delayed, I didn't seem to know how to manage. Martha is good at making over, and there are two very good coats of Artemas's that she would do the right thing by; while there was a good many who could scrub and clean as well as she,--there was that Nora that used to live at Patty's. But Mrs. Norris did not take to Nora. The Wylies tried her, but could make nothing out of her. I said I thought it would be hard to find the person Mrs. Wylie could get on with. Not that I ever knew anything about her till she came to live on our street last winter, but they do say she's just as hard on her own family; for there's a story that she won't let that pretty daughter of hers, Clara, marry Bob Prince's son, Larkin. Mrs. Norris said she didn't wonder, for Larkin Prince hadn't found anything to do since he came home. I thought there was enough to live upon in the Wylie family, even if Larkin didn't find something the first minute he'd got his education. * * * * * I can see that Mrs. Norris didn't take it well that I was not willing to give up Martha; but I don't really see why I should be the one to give up. But I must say I haven't got on as well with the work as I had hoped, Lavinia's going with the boys so much keeps her clothes half torn off her back, and I can't seem to see how to make her tidy. I was real ashamed when I went to lift her out of a mud-puddle yesterday outside the gate; and there was Clara Wylie looking as clean as a white lily, and she stopped to help her out. It seemed that Lavinia had left her boot in the last mud-puddle, and I would have liked to have gone through the ground. I hope it will be a lesson to Lavinia, for Miss Wylie oughtn't to have touched her with her hand. But she did, yellow gloves and all, and said it was dreadful walking now, the frost so late coming out of the ground, and she had quite envied Lavinia running across the fields after the boys. But Lavinia has taken to envying Miss Wylie, and wishes she could wear that kind of boots she has, with high heels that keep her out of the mud-puddles. * * * * * I am thinking of having my ruby cashmere colored over. I don't seem to feel like ripping it all up, pleatings and all; but Mrs. Peebles says it can be dipped just as well made up, and I needn't take out a seam. I might have it a kind of dark olive, like Mrs. Carruthers' dress. * * * * * I have had a start! It is a letter from Artemas; nothing particular about himself, only I should say he was well. But he wants to take out a young man farther west with him,--somebody with something of an education, who understands chemicals or engineering, and he wants me to pick out somebody. There's my brother Sam, of course. I thought of him the first thing. But Artemas never took to Sam, though he is my brother. Still, I dare say he would do right by him. And Sam don't seem to find the work here that suits, and I hate to have him hanging round. But he don't know more than I about chemicals, as much as even what they are, though I dare say he could find out, for Sam is smart and always could make out if he chose to lay his hands to anything. And I dare say Artemas thought of Sam, and that is why he sent to me to give him a chance. From what he says it must be a pretty good chance, exactly what Sam would like if he knew anything about the business. I dare say he'd do quite as well as half the fellows who might go. He can be steady if he's a mind to. But I can't but think of Larkin Prince; how he's taken all the pains to get an education, and his father for him laying up money for the very purpose, and that pretty Clara Wylie waiting to be married till he should get something fit to do, and maybe her father wanting to marry her off to some rich man while she's waiting, when her heart is set on Larkin. And he'd be just the man for Artemas, seeing as he's been studying just such things. * * * * * It wasn't no use taking up the time writing in my diary, as Artemas must have a telegraph before night, and the boys home from school to know if they might go to the swamp after checkerberries, and Lavinia with them, and I let her go, clean apron and all, and I put on my bonnet to go over to Mrs. Prince's. It made my heart bump to think how much Sam would set on having the situation, and Artemas kind of expecting him; but I said to myself, if Larkin should be out of town, or anything, that would settle the matter for Sam. As it happened, who should I meet but Larkin just at the gate! and I asked him if he would turn back and step in with me for a minute. He looked kind of provoked, and I shouldn't wonder if he hadn't expected to meet Clara Wylie coming out of her gate just below, as it's natural she should at this time. But he came in, and I gave him Artemas's letter to read, for there wasn't anything in it except particulars of the work. He quite started as he read it, and then he looked at me inquiring, and I asked him if he had the kind of knowledge Artemas wanted. I supposed he might have it, as he'd been to the new schools. It told in the letter about the expenses, and what the pay would be, and where he would find the free pass, and that he'd have to telegraph right off, and perhaps he noticed he'd have to start to-night. Well, I guess he needn't care even to thank me; for that look in his face was enough, and I shan't forget it. He wanted to know was it Artemas thought of him. But before I could answer, he saw somebody out in the street, and went to rushing out, only he gave me another of those looks as he went, and said he'd see me before he sent the telegraph, and would take any message from me to Artemas. * * * * * I hadn't more than time to write this yesterday, when Mrs. Norris came in to inquire about some garden seeds, but I guess she expected to find out what Larkin Prince had been in for, for she was calling over at Mrs. Carruthers'. I offered her some squash seeds, and took her out the back way, through the garden, to show her how the squashes were likely to spread. Last summer they were all over the garden. It seems the only thing the boys let to grow. She hadn't more than gone when Larkin came in. It was all settled, and other things seemed to be settled too; for who should come in with him but Clara Wylie, crying and smiling all at once. She had to come and help Larkin to thank me because he had got the place. After he was gone she came back for a little cry. She didn't seem to wonder that Larkin was the one chosen, and supposed Artemas must have known all about him, she said, as well as the company he is working for. They probably had seen his name in the papers, she thought, when he graduated so honorably from the school. I didn't tell her that there wasn't any company; that Artemas never had time to read that kind of thing in the newspapers, and would not have noticed it if he had; and that he'd left it all to me. I can't but say after it was all settled I had a kind of a turn myself, to think that Sam might have gone just as well, and I had been standing in his way. * * * * * I shall have to let down Lavinia's gowns full two inches this summer. Lucky I put tucks in them all last year. Mrs. Carruthers wanted me to finish them off with a frill; lucky I didn't, it would have been up to her ears this summer. As for the boys, I can take them in turn,--last year's clothes for the next boy all the way down, and Cyrus can have his father's. But it seems harder to fit out Lavinia. The ruby cashmere is as good for me as new; it is dipped. * * * * * I'm real sorry about the Jones's losing their cow; it comes hard for them. It's better for our potato patch, particularly if they do not have another. Cyrus ought to fence it in. Sam came in last night. He had heard that Larkin Prince was summoned off by a company out West, for work that would pay, and would set him up for years, and he had a free pass, and old Wylie had given his consent to his marrying Clara. Some people, he said, had luck come to them without trying for it, just standing round. There was he himself had been looking for just such work last year, and nobody had thought of him. * * * * * I hope I wasn't hard on Sam. I couldn't help telling him if he'd gone up to the schools, as Larkin Prince did, and he might have done, he could have made himself fit for an engineer or a chemical agent. Well, it took him kind of surprised, and I agreed to go round this evening, when father is at home, and talk to father and mother about Sam's going to some of them schools. At least he might try; and, anyhow, it would get him out of the kind of company he's taken a fancy to. I must say I didn't think of how he'd feel about Clara Wylie; but, of course, her father would never have given Sam any encouragement more than Larkin. And as for Clara Wylie--well, I saw her look at Larkin that night. * * * * * I don't know but I made a mistake in sending so many of his woollen socks to Artemas by Larkin Prince. Perhaps I had better have sent more of the cotton ones. Larkin said he would tell him we were all well, and how he found us. Lavinia had gone up to bed, and was hollering to me to come up to her, and Cyrus slung Silas's cap into the window, and it most hit Larkin; Silas came in after it through the window, and the rest of the boys were pounding on the barn door, where they were having a militia meeting, or some kind of a parade, with half the boys in town. So Artemas will know things goes on about as usual. * * * * * An excellent sermon from Mr. Jenkins today. I can't seem to think what it was about, to put it down; but we are all of us more and more pleased with him as a minister. You can't expect all things of any man; and if a minister preaches a good sermon twice a Sunday and perhaps at evening meeting, and goes around among the people as much as Mr. Jenkins, and holds meetings through the week, and Bible class every Friday evening, and sits by the bedside of the sick and the dying, and gives a hand in his own farming or a neighbor's, and stands on the committee for the schools, I don't know as you can expect much more of him. Mrs. Carruthers says there's a talk of the Peebles moving up to the city for good and all. I should think they might as well go as careening back and forth, spring and fall; though she says they will still go down to the seashore or up to the mountains, summers. When I had a home, I will say, I liked to stay in it. There, now! I do believe that I have not mentioned in my diary that our house is burned down, and much as ever we all got out alive, coming in the night so. I suppose I ought to have put it in as being one of the principal events; but somehow I have been so unsettled since the fire, I haven't seemed to think to write it down. And, of course, Artemas would see from the depot, the minute he arrived, that the house wasn't there, and he wouldn't need to wait and read about it in my diary; and I have been pretty busy getting set to rights again. Everything being burnt, there 's all the summer clothes to be made over again, except a few things I brought off in a bundle along with the diary. Still, it might have been better than writing about my neighbors, as I did about the Peebles. * * * * * Mr. Jenkins came in as I was writing. He says that diaries are good things, and if you didn't put in only your thoughts in a sentimental kind of way, they'd be useful for posterity. I told him I didn't write for posterity, but for Artemas, instead of a letter. He was surprised I hadn't written him about the fire, as the news might reach him exaggerated. I could not help from laughing, for I don't see how it could be made out much worse,--the house burnt down, and the barn with the horse in it, and Cyrus's crop of squashes. Much as ever we got out alive, and I had to come to rooms--two pair, back. I did bring the diary out in my apron. Mr. Jenkins spoke of the insurance, and maybe Artemas might have something to say about that; but we talked it all over the night before he went away, and he spoke of the insurance being out, and he didn't think it worth while to renew; there never had been a fire, and it wasn't likely there would be. * * * * * Mrs. Carruthers came in to inquire when was a good time to try out soap. I told her I managed generally to do it when Artemas wasn't at home, as he was not partial to the smell in the house. But Mr. Carruthers never does go away, and she doesn't believe he'd notice it. I don't know but I'd rather have my husband coming and going like Artemas, instead of sticking around not noticing, especially if he was Mr. Carruthers. * * * * * Clara Wylie has been with letters in her hands, and it seems she wrote to Larkin Prince all about our fire; how our boys dropped matches in the hay, and the fire spread to the house from the barn, and how we were waked up, and had to hurry out just as we were. I don't believe she told how the Wylies took us in that night, and found us these rooms at their aunt Marshall's till Artemas comes home. But it seems that Artemas has told Larkin it ain't no kind of consequence, the house burning down, because he never liked it facing the depot, and he'll be glad to build again, and has money enough for it, and can satisfy the neighbors if there's a complaint that our boys burned down all that side of the street, with being careless with their matches. And there was a note inclosed to me from Artemas. He says he'd had a kind of depressed time, when things were going wrong, but matters began to look up when Larkin Prince came, who had just the information needed. So it's just as well I didn't write about the fire. I hope Artemas don't talk too large about his earning so much; anyhow, I shall try to get along spending next to nothing, and earning what I can making buttonholes. * * * * * I've made over my ruby cashmere for Lavinia, and I'm sorry now that I had it dyed over so dark, the olive is kind of dull for her; but I can't seem to lay my hand on anything else for her, and she must have something. Lucky it was lying on the chair, close by the door, so I brought it off from the fire. * * * * * Artemas has come home. X. JEDIDIAH'S NOAH'S ARK. I. "I don't see how we can ever get them back again," said Mr. Dyer. "Why should not we ask the 'grateful people'?" asked Jedidiah. To explain what Jedidiah and his father meant, I shall have to tell how it was Jedidiah came to have a Noah's Ark, and all about it, for it was a little odd. Jedidiah was the son of poor parents. His father lived in a small, neat house, and owned a little farm. It was not much of a place; but he worked hard, and raised vegetables upon it, mostly potatoes. But Mrs. Dyer liked string-beans and peas; so they had a few of these, and pumpkins, when the time came; but we have nothing to do with them at present. If I began to tell you what Mrs. Dyer liked, it would take a great while, because there are marrow-squashes and cranberry-beans, though she did not care so much for tomatoes; but vegetables do help out, and don't cost as much as butcher's meat, if you don't keep sheep; but hens Mrs. Dyer did keep. It was the potatoes that were most successful, for it was one summer when everybody's potatoes had failed. They had all kinds of diseases, especially at Spinville, near which Mr. Dyer lived. Some were rotten in the middle, some had specks outside; some were very large and bad, some were small and worse; and in many fields there were none at all. But Mr. Dyer's patch flourished marvellously. So, after he had taken in all he wanted for himself, he told his wife he was going to ask the people of Spinville to come and get what they wanted. "Now, Mr. Dyer!" said his wife. She did not say much else; but what she meant was, that if he had any potatoes to spare, he had better sell them than give them away. Mr. Dyer was a poor man; why should not he make a little money? But Mr. Dyer replied that he had no cart and horse to take the potatoes to Spinville with, and no time either. He had agreed to mow the deacon's off-lot, and he was not going to disappoint the deacon, even if he should get a couple of dollars by it; and he wasn't going to let his potatoes rot, when all Spinville was in want of potatoes. So Mr. Dyer set to work, and printed in large letters on a sheet of paper these words: "All persons in want of potatoes, apply to J. Dyer, Cranberry Lane, Wednesday, the fifteenth, after seven o'clock, A.M. Gratis." The last word was added after Mr. Dyer had pasted the notice against the town hall of Spinville; for so many people came up to bother him with questions as to how much he was going to ask for his potatoes, that he was obliged to add this by way of explanation, or he would never have got to the deacon's off-lot Tuesday morning. Wednesday morning, Mrs. Dyer sat by the front window, with her darning. She had persuaded Mr. Dyer to wait till Wednesday; for as for having all the people tramping through the yard when the clean clothes were out, she couldn't think of it; and she might as well get through the ironing, then she could have an eye on them. And how provoked they'd all be to come down all that way to Cranberry Hollow, to find only a bin of potatoes to divide among them all. The little shed was full of potatoes, Mr. Dyer answered. And he had no idea many people would come, just the poorer ones; and as long as he had any potatoes to spare, he was willing they should take them. But, sure enough, as Mrs. Dyer said, what a procession came! Poor Mrs. Jones's little girl, with a bag; Tom Scraggs, with two baskets; the minister's son, with a wheelbarrow; and even rich Mr. Jones, the selectman, with a horse and cart. Boys and girls, and old women, and middle-sized men, and every kind of a vehicle, from a tin tipcart to Mrs. Stubbs's carry-all. Well, let them come, thought Mrs. Dyer. It would just show Mr. Dyer she was right, and he didn't often find that out. She should be disturbed by them soon enough when they found out that there was not more than half a potato apiece, and like enough, not that. Pretty business of Mr. Dyer, to take to giving away, when he had not more than enough to put into his own mouth, to say nothing of Jedidiah's! So she went on darning and thinking. What was her surprise, all of a sudden, to hear only shouts of joy as the people returned round the corner of the house! Poor Mrs. Jones's little girl gave a scream of delight as she held up her bag full of potatoes; the minister's son had hard work to push along his full wheelbarrow; rich Mr. Jones was laughing from the top of his piled-up cart; Tom Scraggs was trying to get help in carrying his baskets. Such a laughing, such fun, was never heard in Spinville, which is a sober place. And they all nodded to Mrs. Dyer, and gave shouts for Mr. Dyer, and offered Jedidiah rides in all their carts, those that had them, and asked Mrs. Dyer what they could do for her in Spinville. And Jedidiah tried to tell his mother, through the open window, how the more they took the potatoes out of the bin, the more there were left in it; and how everybody had enough, and went away satisfied, and had filled their pockets; and even one of the boys was planning a quill popgun for sliced potato, such as the worst boys had not dreamed of all summer. He was a bad boy from the Meadow. "Well, Mr. Dyer!" said Mrs. Dyer, all day, and again when he came home at night. Of course the Spinville people thought a great deal from this time of Mr. Dyer; and there was a town council held to consider what they should do to express their feelings to him. He had declined six times being made selectman, and he did not want to ring the bell as sexton. There did not seem to be anything in the way of an office they could offer him that he would accept. At last Mr. Jones suggested that the best way to please the father was to give something to the son. "Something for Jedidiah!" exclaimed Mr. Jones. "The next time I go to New York, I'll go to a toy-shop; I'll buy something for Jedidiah." So he did. He came home with the Noah's Ark. It was a moderate-sized ark, painted blue, as usual, with red streaks, and a slanting roof, held down with a crooked wire. It was brought to Jedidiah, one evening, just as he was going to bed; so the crooked wire was not lifted, for Mrs. Dyer thought he had better go to bed at his time and get up early and look at his ark. But he could not sleep well, thinking of his ark. It stood by his bedside, and all night long he heard a great racket inside of it. There was a roaring and a grunting and a squeaking,--all kinds of strange noises. In the moonlight he thought he saw the roof move; if the wire had not been so crooked it surely would have opened. But it didn't, not till he took it downstairs, and Mrs. Dyer had got out her ironing-board, that the animals might be spread out upon it; then Jedidiah lifted the roof. What a commotion there was then! The elephant on the top, and his trunk stretched out; in a minute or two he would have unfastened the wire; the giraffe's long neck was stretched out; one dove flew away directly, and some crows sat on the eaves. Mr. and Mrs. Dyer and Jedidiah started back, while the elephant with his trunk helped out some of the smaller animals, who stepped into rows on the ironing-board as fast as they were taken out. The cows were mooing, the cats mewing, the dogs barking, the pigs grunting. Presently Noah's head appeared, and he looked round for his wife; and then came Shem and Ham and Japheth with their wives. They helped out some of the birds,--white, with brown spots,--geese, and ducks. It took the elephant and Noah and all his sons to get the horses out, plunging and curvetting as they were. Some sly foxes got out of themselves, leaping from the roof to the back of a kneeling camel. Jedidiah's eyes sparkled with joy. Mrs. Dyer sat with folded hands, and said, "Why, Mr. Dyer!" And Mr. Dyer occasionally helped a stray donkey, whose legs were caught, or a turkey fluttering on the edge. At last a great roaring and growling was heard at the bottom of the ark. The elephant nodded his trunk to the giraffe; the camel was evidently displeased; Noah and his sons stood together looking up at the roof. "It's the wild animals," said Jedidiah. "If they should get out," thought Mrs. Dyer; "all the wild tigers and the lions loose in the house!" And she looked round to see if the closet door were open for a place of retreat. Mr. Dyer stepped up and shut the roof of the ark. It was in time; for a large bear was standing on his hind legs on the back of a lion, and was looking out. Noah and his family looked much pleased; the elephants waved their trunks with joy; the camels stopped growling. "I don't wonder they are glad to get out," said Jedidiah. "I do believe they have been treading down those wild animals all night." Mrs. Dyer wondered what they should do with the rest. Come Tuesday she would want her ironing-board,--perhaps baking-day, to set the pies on. "They ought to have some houses to live in, and barns," said Jedidiah. Then it was Mr. Dyer had said they could never get them back into the ark; and Jedidiah had said, "We might ask the 'grateful people,'"--for this was the name the inhabitants of Spinville went by in the Dyer family ever since the time of the potatoes. The story of their coming for the potatoes had been told over and over again; then how the "people" felt so grateful to Mr. Dyer. Mr. Dyer said he was tired of hearing about it. Mrs. Dyer thought if they meant to do anything to let Mr. Dyer see they were grateful, they had better not talk so much about it. But Jedidiah called them the "grateful people;" and it was he that caught the first glimpse of the procession when it came up with the ark, Mr. Jones at the head. He had some faith in them; so it was he that thought there ought to be a village built for Noah and his family; and when Mr. Dyer had some doubts about building it he suggested, "Let's ask the 'grateful people.'" What they did will be told in another chapter. II. ABOUT THE GRATEFUL PEOPLE AND THE WILD BEASTS. That very afternoon there was a great rush to see Jedidiah's Noah's Ark, and there was immense enthusiasm about it. Some brave ones opened the roof and looked in upon the growling wild animals. The girls liked the lambs the best; the boys were delighted with the foxes that jumped on the edge of the boat that formed the ark. In a day or two there was a flourishing little village built on a smooth place on the other side of Mr. Dyer's house. The minister's daughter had brought a little toy village she had with red roofs, and one of the men scooped out the houses, which were made of one block of wood, but could now accommodate Noah and his family, and each one picked out a house to match the color of his garments. Tom Stubbs built a barn of wooden bricks for the larger animals, and Lucy Miles brought a pewter bird-cage, with a door that would open and shut, for the birds. The elephant knocked out a brick with his trunk as soon as he went into the barn, but that made a good window for him to look out of. Jedidiah himself made the loveliest coop for the hen; and the boys had a nice time over a pond they dug in the mud, for the ducks. Indeed, it occupied Spinville for some time; and Noah, Shem, and Ham did not sit down much, but looked very busy. There was a fence built round the whole village, high enough to keep in the elephants and the giraffes, though they could look over. There was a bit of pasture-land shut in for the cows, who fell to nibbling as soon as they were put in it. A clover-leaf lasted one of the sheep two days. The tinman sent some little tin dippers no bigger than a thimble, and the children were delighted to see the animals drink. The boys handed one of the dippers into the ark for the tigers. The giraffes found a bush just high enough for them to eat from. The doves sat on the eaves of the ark, and Agamemnon brought some pickled olives, as he had no olive-branch for them. The children were never tired of seeing the camels kneel and rise. They made them carry little burdens,--stones that were to be cleared from the field, chips from the henhouse. Sometimes the camels growled; then the children took off a chip or two from their burdens,--the last ounce, they thought. The "grateful people" sent a large umbrella, used by the umbrella-maker for a sign, that could be opened over the whole village in case of a rain; and the toy-shop man sent a tin teapot, though Mrs. Dyer did not venture to give Noah and his family any real tea; but it was a very pretty teapot, with a red flower upon it. Mrs. Noah liked it, though it was almost large enough for the whole family to get into. All this was not the work of a day, by any means. First, all Spinville had to come and look at the things, and then it had to discuss the whole affair. Mrs. Dyer's knitting got on bravely, for so many of her friends came in to sit in her best parlor, and talk it all over. Mrs. Dyer agreed with them; she thought it was all very strange. She should be thankful if only the tigers would never get out. She did not like having tigers running in and out of the house, even if they were no bigger than your thimble. She thought it quite likely some of the boys would let them out some day; but it was no use looking forward. So, day by day, the people came to look at the wonderful village. There was always something new to see. At last, one of the deacons declared Jedidiah ought to charge so much a sight. It was as good a show as the menagerie, any day; and everybody was willing to give ten cents for that, children half-price. This made great talk. Should Jedidiah charge for the show, or not? Mr. Dyer would have nothing to say about it. Mrs. Dyer thought they might as well; then there would be fewer children in her front yard picking at the currants. At last it was settled that Spinville should pay two cents a sight, children half-price, and strangers could see the village for nothing; but all those who had contributed anything towards the ark should have a right to visit it with their families, without paying. There was a great rush after this to see who was going to pay. It turned out only the schoolmaster's and doctor's families had to buy tickets; and when it came to that, Mr. Dyer said he would not let them pay anything. So Jedidiah did not gain much by it; but he and a few of his friends made some tickets, all the same, printing on them "Noah's Ark. Admittance, two cents; children, half-price;" and a good many children bought tickets for the fun of it. At last there came a crash. One afternoon, Tim Stubbs, in setting up a new pump, gave a knock to the ark, and sent the whole thing over. The roof snapped open, and out came all the wild beasts. The hyenas laughed, the lions roared, the bears growled, and the tigers leaped about to see whom they could devour; Noah jumped up on top of the pump; the elephant knocked out a side of the barn, to see what was the matter; all the wives ran for the houses, and there was a general confusion. A leopard seized a young chicken. Mrs. Dyer came out with a rolling-pin in her hand. Tim and Tom Stubbs declared they would catch the animals, if Jedidiah would only find something safe to put them in. "If we only had a cave!" exclaimed Lucy Miles, who had hidden behind the kitchen door. Tim and Tom Stubbs caught one of the tigers, just as Jedidiah appeared with his mother's bandbox. He had thrown his mother's caps and her Sunday bonnet on the spare-room floor. They shut the tiger up in the bandbox, then found one of the bears climbing up the pump after Noah. Jedidiah brought a strong string, and tied him to a post. All the rest of the boys ran away at first, but ventured to come back and join in the search for the rest of the beasts. The hunt grew quite exciting. One of the boys, who had read African travels, prepared a leash of twine, and made a lasso, and with this he succeeded in catching the two hyenas. Then no one knew if all the beasts were caught or no. The boy who had read the travels could tell a long list of wild animals that ought to be in the ark. There was the rhinoceros, the hippopotamus, the jaguar; there was the leopard, the panther, the ocelot. Mrs. Dyer put her hands up to her ears in dismay. She could not bear to hear any more of their names; and to think she might meet them any day, coming in at the wood-house door, or running off with one of the chickens! But the Stubbses thought very likely all these animals never were in this ark at all, though they might have been in the original Noah's Ark. This was only a play ark, after all, and you could not expect to find every animal in it. The minister's wife said she did not know what you should expect. The ark was quite a different one from any she had seen. She had bought them for her children, year in and year out, and she had never seen anything of the sort. You might expect a hippopotamus, or any kind of beast. Those she had bought were always of wood, and the legs broke off easily. You could mend them with Spalding's Glue; but even Spalding was not as good as it used to be, and you could not depend upon it. Meanwhile the hunt went on. The Spinville people began to be sorry they had ever bought a Noah's Ark. They had expected nothing of the sort. At last the two leopards were found,--beautiful creatures, who lashed their tails wildly; and before long, two hippopotami were discovered in the duck-pond, wallowing in their native element. They were very fierce and wild, and were caught with great difficulty. These were put in the bandbox with the others. It was a strong, old-fashioned box; but it was feared it would not last long for the wild beasts. Jedidiah tied it up with some twine, and it was put for the present in the spare-room closet. Mrs. Dyer did not sleep well that night, though her doors had been shut all day. She dreamed she heard lions all the night long, and was sure a rhinoceros could get in at the window. Why had Mr. Dyer ever been so generous with his potatoes? Why had he invited all the people to come? Of what use had the Noah's Ark been? Jedidiah had got along without toys before; now his head was turned. Better for him to amuse himself digging potatoes, or seeing to the squashes, than meddling with the beasts. And there were the Spinville boys round before breakfast. They were there, indeed, and began again their search for the beasts. The girls sat at the chamber windows, watching the chase. Under a cabbage-leaf, fast asleep, the stray tiger was found. The boy learned in Natural History went over the terrible list of all the fierce animals. "Yes, there were ocelots and cougars and jaguars, peculiarly shy and stealthy in approaching their prey," so the book said. "There was the chibiguasu----" But Jedidiah said he didn't believe _his_ Noah cared for such out-of-the-way beasts; they must have come in since his ark. They had enough to do to catch the regular wild animals, and these at last they found in some number. They were all seized, and with difficulty put into a wooden lozenge-box. There was great delight; there must be all; the ark surely could have held no more. Lions, tigers, leopards, panthers, lynxes, wildcats,--all the animals necessary for a respectable ark, all in twos. But, oh horror! a jaguar was discovered, also, at the last moment just before school. One jaguar, and there must be another somewhere. The one found answered the description completely: "the body yellow, marked with open black figures, considerable variety in the marking." A stray jaguar in Spinville! so fierce a beast! No one could be sure of his footsteps. Noah, his sons and their wives, had not been unmoved. Their satisfaction had been great. They had carried water to the bears, and had looked much pleased; and now they shook their heads at seeing only one jaguar. "I think they must be all caught but that one jaguar," said Jedidiah. "They look satisfied, and are going about their daily work; and it is time we found some place for the wild beasts. They will come through mother's bandbox before long." The boys went to school. There was great consultation all that day, which ended in Tom Stubbs bringing a squirrel-cage. It was just the thing, for the wires were near enough to keep the animals in, and everybody could have a look at them. But how were they to be got into the squirrel-cage? There came a new question. Tim Stubbs remembered he had often caught a butterfly under his hat, and a very handsome butterfly, too, and he was sure he had him; but just as he lifted the brim of the hat to show the other fellows that he was really there, the butterfly would be off. Happily there was no afternoon school, and a grand council of the boys was held, assisted by some of the selectmen. The beasts in the lozenge-box were easily disposed of, for it had a sliding cover, which was dexterously raised high enough to let the beasts all into the squirrel-cage. Then handy Tim Stubbs punched a hole in the bandbox opposite to the entrance of the squirrel-cage, and one by one the leopards and the rest were allowed to make their way into the wiry prison. The tiger made a dash, but in vain; he was imprisoned like the rest. This is our last news from Spinville. It is more than a month since the Spinville stage set out on its weekly trip for that place. It was an old stage; the horses were old, the harness was old, the driver was old. It is not then to be wondered at that in crossing the bridge on the old road, which is so little travelled that it is never kept in repair, the old wheel was caught in a chink between the boards, the old coach tumbled over, the driver was thrown from his seat and broke his leg, the horses fell on their knees, and the whole concern was made a complete wreck. Now, the stage-driver was the owner of the old coach and team. He had always said the thing did not pay; he would give it all up. Indeed, he only had driven to Spinville once a week to see the folks himself. Nobody ever went there, and nobody ever came away, except once a year Mr. Jones, and he had a team of his own. So there is no communication with Spinville. That a jaguar is loose is the latest news. XI. CARRIE'S THREE WISHES. Carrie Fraser was a great trouble to her mother, because she was always wishing for something she had not got. "The other girls always have things that I don't," she complained to her mother. Her mother tried to explain to Carrie that she had a great many things the other girls didn't have. "But they are not always wishing for my things, just as I wish for theirs." "That is because they are not such 'teasers' as you are," her mother would reply. "You do not hear them from morning till night teasing for things they have not got." Another thing in Carrie troubled her mother very much. She used a great many extravagant phrases. She was not satisfied with saying even "perfectly lovely," "splendid," "excruciatingly jolly." Her mother might have permitted these terms, and was used to hearing the other girls use them; but Carrie got hold of the strangest expressions and phrases, I am afraid to put them into this story; for every boy and girl is perhaps already too familiar with such, and I might only spread the use of them. I will mention that "bang-up" and "bumptious," and that class of expressions were her favorites, and the best-educated boy or girl will be able to imagine the rest. This story will show how a careless use of words brought Carrie to grief, and taught her a severe lesson. One day, as usual, she had been complaining, and wishing she could have everything she wanted. Her mother said: "You remember the old story of the old couple who had their three wishes granted, and how they never got any good from it." "But that was because they acted like such geese," exclaimed Carrie. "I could never have been so elephantinely idiotic! First, they wasted one wish, for a black pudding." "That is a sausage," said her mother. "Yes, they asked for a common, every-day sausage to come down the chimney; then they got into a fight, and wished it would settle on one of their noses; and then they had to waste their last wish, by wishing it off again! It is too bad to have such luck come to such out-and-out idiots." Mrs. Fraser was just setting out for the village street, to order the dinner. The Governor was expected to pass through the place, and was to be met at the Town Hall. Jimmy, the only son in the family, had gone off to see the show. "Now, if he were a real, genuine governor," said Carrie, "like a prince in a fairytale, you would go and beseech him to grant your wishes. You would fall on your knees, or something, and he would beg you to rise, and your lovely daughter should have all that she wished." "I am afraid you are very foolish," sighed Mrs. Fraser; "but I will see the Governor. Perhaps he can advise what is best." It seemed to Carrie as if her mother were gone a great while. "She might have got six dinners!" she exclaimed to herself. "How tiresome! I wish I had gone down myself, anyway. All the girls and boys have gone, and I might have seen the Governor." But she passed the time in rocking backward and forward in a rocking-chair; for to her other faults Carrie added that of laziness, and when the other girls had gone down town, and had urged her to go with them, she had been quite too lazy to go for her hat or to hunt up her boot button-hook. "It seems as if Jimmy might have come back to tell about things," she went on. "Oh dear me! if I had only a chariot and four to go down with, and somebody to dress me and find my boots and my hat and my gloves, then it would have been worth while to go. I mean to make out a list of wishes, in case somebody should grant me the power to have them." She took out a little blank-book from her pocket, and began to write down:-- "1. A chariot and four, man to drive, striped afghan, etc. "2. Maid to find and put on hat, boots, etc. "3. Plenty of hats, boots, and gloves for the maid to put on, and so that they could be found when wanted." "That would be bully!" said Carrie, interrupting herself. "If I had gloves in every drawer and on every shelf, I should not have to be looking for them. I might have a hat on every peg in the house except what Jimmy uses. I might have a sack over the back of every chair, and gloves in the pockets of each. The boots could be in each corner of the room and on all the top shelves. But boot-hooks! there's the stunner! Where could one find boot-buttoners enough? They do get out of the way so! I should have six in every drawer, one in each pocket, half a dozen in Mamma's basket, a row on the mantelpiece--on all the mantelpieces. Then perhaps I could do without a maid; at least, save her up till I grow older. Let's see. That makes three wishes. They generally have three. If I strike out the maid, I can think of something else. Suppose I say something to eat, then. Chocolate creams! I never had enough yet." At this moment Mrs. Fraser returned, looking quite heated and breathless. She had to fling herself into a chair by the window to recover strength enough to speak, and then her words came out in gasps. Carrie did leave her rocking-chair and tried fanning her mother, for she saw she had something to say. "What is it? What have you seen? Have you got something slam-bang for me? Is the Governor coming here? Couldn't you raise any dinner?" Carrie's questions came out so fast that her mother never could have answered them, even with the breath of a Corliss engine; much less, panting as she was now. "Yes, I saw him; I managed to see him," she gasped out. "The guns were firing, the cannon were booming, the bells were ringing----" "Oh! I dare say! I dare say!" cried Carrie, eager to hear more. "I could hear them up here. That was not worth going to town for. What did the Governor say?" "My dear! my dear!" panted Mrs. Fraser, "he said you could have your three wishes." "What! The chariot and four (that means horses), the maid, and the boot-hooks,--no, the maid was scratched out,--not the chocolates?" asked Carrie, in wonder. "No, no! I don't know what you mean!" said Mrs. Fraser; "but you can have three wishes; and I have hurried home, for they are to be told as the clock strikes twelve,--one to-day, one to-morrow, one the next day,--the moment the clock strikes, and I am only just in time. You are to wish, and you will have just what you wish." Both Carrie and her mother looked at the clock. The hand was just approaching twelve. Carrie could hear a little "click" that always came from inside the clock before it struck. "I have written out my wishes," she hurried to say; "but I don't want the chariot yet, because everybody is coming back from town. And I don't want any more hats and boots just now. But, oh! I do want some chocolate creams, and I wish this room was 'chock full of them.'" As she spoke the clock struck; and when it stopped she could speak no more, for the room was as full of chocolate creams as it could hold. They came rattling down upon her head, filling in all the crannies of the room. They crowded into her half-open mouth; they filled her clutching hands. Luckily, Mrs. Fraser was sitting near the open window, and the chocolate creams pushed her forward upon the sill. There were two windows looking upon the piazza. One was made of glass doors that were shut; the other, fortunately, was quite low; and Mrs. Fraser seated herself on the edge, and succeeded in passing her feet over to the other side, a torrent of chocolate creams following her as she came. She then turned to see if she could help Carrie. Carrie was trying to eat her way toward the window, and stretched out her arms to her mother, who seized her, and with all her strength pulled her through the window. "They are bully!" exclaimed Carrie, as soon as she was free. "They are the freshest I ever ate. Golumptious!" "Oh, Carrie," said her mother, mournfully, "how can you use such expressions now, when you have wasted your opportunity in such an extravagant wish?" "What! A whole roomful of chocolate creams do you consider a waste?" exclaimed Carrie. "Why, we shall be envied of all our neighbors; and, Mamma, you have been sighing over our expenses, and wishing that Jimmy and I could support you. Do not you see that we can make our fortune with chocolate creams? First, let us eat all we want before telling anybody; then let us give some to choice friends, and we will sell the rest." All the time she was talking Carrie was putting in her hand for chocolate creams and cramming one after another. Mrs. Fraser, too, did not refuse to taste them. How could they ever get into the parlor again, unless they were eaten up? "I am sure we can make quite a fortune," Carrie went on. "As soon as Jimmy comes home we can calculate how much it will be. The last time I was in Boston I gave fifteen cents for a quarter of a pound, and there were just thirteen chocolate creams. Now, see. In my two hands I can hold fourteen; now, how many times that do you suppose there are in the room?" Mrs. Fraser could not think. Carrie was triumphant. "Jimmy will know how to calculate, for he knows how many feet and inches there are in the room. If not, he can measure by the piazza; and we can row the chocolate creams out, and see how many go to a foot, and then we can easily find out. Of course, we shall sell them cheaper than they do in Boston, and so there will be a rush for them. It will be bully!" "I am glad we happened to take this rocking-chair out on the piazza this morning," said Mrs. Fraser, languidly seating herself. "I don't see how we shall ever get into the parlor again." "Jimmy and I will eat our way in fast enough," said Carrie, laughing; and Jimmy at that moment appeared with two boy friends, whom he had brought home to dinner. They were all delighted when they understood the situation, and had soon eaten a little place by the window, inside the room. "I quite forgot to buy any dinner," exclaimed Mrs. Fraser, starting up. "I meant to have ordered a leg of mutton as I went down, and now it is too late; and eggs for a pudding. Jimmy will have to go down----" "Oh, the chocolate creams will do!" exclaimed Carrie. "Don't you see, there's our first saving, and my wish does not turn out so extravagant, after all. The boys will be glad to have chocolate creams for dinner, I'm sure." The boys all said they would, as far as they could, when their mouths were so full. "We must put out an advertisement," said Carrie, at last, as soon as she could stop to speak: "'Chocolate creams sold cheap!' I guess we won't give any away. We may as well make all we can. It will be geminy! Suppose we look up some boxes and baskets, Jimmy, to sell them in; and you boys can go to the gate and tell people there are chocolate creams for sale." But all the boxes and baskets were soon filled, and only a little space made in the room. Jimmy pulled out the other rocking-chair that Carrie had been sitting in, and she rested herself for a while. "I declare, I never thought before I could eat enough chocolate creams; but they are a trifle cloying." "My dear," said Mrs. Fraser, "if you had not said 'chock full;' if you had said 'a great many,' or 'a trunkful,' or something of that sort." "But I meant 'chock full,'" insisted Carrie. "I did not mean quite up to the ceiling. I didn't suppose that was what 'chock' meant. Now we know." A great shouting was heard. All the boys of the town were gathering, and quite a crowd of people seemed coming near. Mrs. Fraser was a widow, and there was no man in the house. Jimmy was the nearest approach to a man that she could depend upon; and here he was, leading a band of boys! She sent one of the boys she knew the best for Mr. Stetson, the neighboring policeman, who came quickly, having already seen the crowd of boys flocking to the house. Carrie was trying to sell off her boxes for fifteen, ten, even five cents; but the crowd could not be easily appeased, for the boys could see across the windows the chocolate creams closely packed. "The room is chock full!" they exclaimed. Mr. Stetson examined the premises. "You'll find it hard work to get them chocolates out in a week, even if you set all the boys on them. I'd advise letting them in one by one to fill their pockets, each to pay a cent." Even Carrie assented to this, and a line was formed, and boys let in through the window. They ate a way to the door that led into the entry, so that it could be opened and the room could be entered that way. The boys now went in at the window and came out at the door, eating as they went and filling their pockets. Carrie could not but sigh at thought of the Boston chocolates, more than a cent apiece! But the boys ate, and then the girls came and ate; but with night all had to leave, at last. It was possible to shut the window and lock it, and shut the door for the night, after they had gone. "I don't see why the chocolates should not stay on there weeks and weeks," said Carrie to her mother. "Of course, they won't be so fresh, day after day; but they will be fresher than some in the shops. I'm awfully tired of eating them now, and feel as if I never wanted to see a chocolate cream again; but I suppose I shall feel different after a night's sleep, and I think Mr. Stetson is wrong in advising us to sell them so low." Mrs. Fraser suggested she should like to go in the parlor to sit. "But to-morrow is the day of the picnic," said Carrie, "and we shall be out-of-doors anyhow. I will take chocolate creams for my share. But, dear me! my dress is on the sofa,--my best dress. You were putting the ruffles in!" "I told you, my dear, one of the last things, to take it upstairs," said Mrs. Fraser. "And there it is, in the furthest corner of the room," exclaimed Carrie, "with all those chocolates scrouching on it. I'll tell you. I'll get Ben Sykes in early. He eats faster than any of the other boys, and he shall eat up toward my dress. He made a great hole in the chocolates this afternoon. I will have him come in early, and we don't go to the picnic till after twelve o'clock." "And at twelve o'clock you have your second wish," said Mrs. Fraser. "Yes, Mamma," said Carrie; "and I have already decided what it shall be,--a chariot and four. It will come just in time to take me to the picnic." "Oh, my dear Carrie," said her mother, "do think what you are planning! Where would you keep your chariot and the four horses?" "Oh! there will be a man to take care of them," said Carrie; "but I will think about it all night carefully----" At that very moment she went to sleep. The next morning early, Carrie was downstairs. She found she could eat a few more chocolate creams, and Jimmy was in the same condition. She proposed to him her plan of keeping the chocolates still for sale, but eating a way to the sofa in the corner, to her best dress. Ben Sykes came early, and a few of the other boys. The rest were kept at home, because it turned out they had eaten too many and their parents would not let them come. A good many of the older people came with baskets and boxes, and bought some to carry away, they were so delicious and fresh. Meanwhile Ben Sykes was eating his way toward the corner. It was very hard making any passage, for as fast as he ate out a place others came tumbling in from the top. Carrie and Jimmy invented "a kind of a tunnel" of chairs and ironing-boards, to keep open the passage; and other boys helped eat, as they were not expected to pay. But the morning passed on. Mrs. Fraser tried to persuade Carrie to wear another dress; but she had set her mind on this. She had a broad blue sash to wear with it, and the sash would not go with any other dress. She watched the clock, she watched Ben; she went in under the ironing-boards, to help him eat, although she had begun to loathe the taste of the chocolate creams. Ben was splendid. He seemed to enjoy more the more he ate. Carrie watched him, as he licked them and ate with glowing eyes. "Oh, Ben," Carrie suddenly exclaimed, "you can't seem to eat them fast enough. I wish your throat were as long as from one end of this room to the other." At this moment the clock was striking. Carrie was ready to scream out her second wish; but she felt herself pushed in a strange way. Ben was on all fours in front of her, and now he pushed her back, back. His neck was so long that while his head was still among the chocolates, at the far corner of the room, his feet were now out of the door. Carrie stood speechless. She had lost her wish by her foolish exclamation. The faithful Ben, meanwhile, was flinging something through the opening. It was her dress, and she hurried away to put it on. When she came down, everybody was looking at Ben. At first he enjoyed his long neck very much. He could stand on the doorstep and put his head far out up in the cherry trees and nip off cherries, which pleased both the boys and himself. [Illustration: He enjoyed his long neck very much.] Instead of a chariot and four, Carrie went off in an open wagon, with the rest of the girls. It made her feel so to see Ben, with his long neck, that she got her mother's permission to spend the night with the friend in whose grounds the picnic was to be held. She carried baskets of chocolate creams, and she found numbers of the girls, who had not eaten any, who were delighted with them, and promised to come the next day, to buy and carry away any amount of them. She began to grow more cheerful, though she felt no appetite, and instead of eating everything, as she always did at picnics, she could not even touch Mattie Somers's cream-pie nor Julia Dale's doughnuts. She stayed as late as she could at her friend Mattie's; but she felt she must get home in time for her third wish, at twelve o'clock. Would it be necessary for her to wish that Ben Sykes's neck should be made shorter? She hoped she might find that it had grown shorter in the night; then she could do as she pleased about her third wish. She still clung to the desire for the chariot and four. If she had it, she and her mother and Jimmy could get into it and drive far away from everybody,--from Ben Sykes and his long neck, if he still had it,--and never see any of them any more. Still, she would like to show the chariot and four to her friends; and perhaps Ben Sykes would not mind his long neck, and would be glad to keep it and earn money by showing himself at a circus. So she reached home in the middle of the morning, and found the whole Sykes family there, and Ben, still with his long neck. It seems it had given him great trouble in the night. He had to sleep with his head in the opposite house, because there was not room enough on one floor at home. Mrs. Sykes had not slept a wink, and her husband had been up watching, to see that nobody stepped on Ben's neck. Ben himself appeared in good spirits; but was glad to sit in a high room, where he could support his head. Carrie suggested her plan that Ben should exhibit himself. He, no doubt, could earn a large sum. But his mother broke out against this. He never could earn enough to pay for what he ate, now his throat was so long. Even before this he could swallow more oatmeal than all the rest of the family put together, and she was sure that now even Mr. Barnum himself could not supply him with food enough. Then she burst into a flood of tears, and said she had always hoped Ben would be her stay and support; and now he could never sleep at home, and everybody looking after him when he went out, and the breakfast he had eaten that very morning was enough for six peoples' dinners. They were all in the parlor, where the chocolate creams were partially cleared away. They were in a serried mass on two sides of the room, meeting near the centre, with the underground passage, through which Ben had worked his way to Carrie's dress. Mrs. Fraser had organized a band to fill pasteboard boxes, which she had obtained from the village, and she and her friends were filling them, to send away to be sold, as all the inhabitants of the town were now glutted with chocolate creams. At this moment Carrie heard a click in the clock. She looked at her mother, and as the clock struck she said steadily, "I wish that Ben's neck was all right again." Nobody heard her, for at that moment Ben Sykes started up, saying: "I'm all right, and I have had enough. Come along home!" And he dragged his family away with him. Carrie fell into her mother's arms. "I'll never say 'chock full' again!" she cried; "and I'll always be satisfied with what I have got, for I can never forget what I suffered in seeing Ben's long neck!" XII. "WHERE CAN THOSE BOYS BE?" This was the cry in the Wilson family as they sat down to dinner. "It is odd," said Aunt Harriet. "I have noticed they are usually ready for their dinner. They may be out of the way at other times, but they always turn up at their meals." "They were here at breakfast," said Jane, the eldest daughter. "I helped Jack about his Latin before he went to school," said the mother of the family. "They are probably at the Pentzes'," said Gertrude. "If our boys are not there, the Pentzes are here; and as long as the Pentzes are not here, I suppose our boys are there." "I should say they were not likely to get so good a dinner at the Pentzes' as we have here," said Aunt Harriet, as a plate was set before her containing her special choice of rare-done beef, mashed potato, stewed celery, and apple-sauce. "Who are the Pentzes?" said Mr. Wilson, looking round the table to see if everybody was helped. "He is a painter and glazier," said Aunt Harriet, "and the mother takes in washing." "They are good boys," said Mrs. Wilson. "Jonas Pentz stands high in his class, and is a great help to our Sam. Don't you remember him? He is the boy that came and spent a night with Sam a week ago. They have their first lesson in 'Cæsar' this afternoon; perhaps they are studying up." "Jack always has to go where Sam does," said Gertrude. This was the talk at the Wilsons' table. The subject was much the same at the Pentzes'. There was a large family at the Wilsons'; so there was at the Pentzes'. Mrs. Pentz was ladling out some boiled apple-pudding to a hungry circle round her. But she missed two. "Where are Jonas and Dick?" she asked. A clamor of answers came up. "I saw Jonas and Dick go off with Sam Wilson after school, and Jack Wilson, and John Stebbins," said Will, one of the small boys. "You don't think Jonas and Dick both went to dine at the Wilsons'?" said Mrs. Pentz. "I should not like that." "I dare say they did," said Mary Pentz. "You know the Wilson boys are here half the time, and the other half our boys are at the Wilsons'." "Still, I don't like their going there for meal-times," said Mrs. Pentz, anxiously. "Jonas had a new lesson in 'Cæsar,'" said Mary Pentz. "I don't believe they planned to spend much time at dinner." But at supper-time no boys appeared at the Wilsons'. Mrs. Wilson was anxious. George, the youngest boy of all, said the boys had been home since afternoon school; he had seen Jack in the kitchen with John Stebbins. "Jack came to me for gingerbread," said Jane, "and I asked him where they had been, and John Stebbins said, with the Pentz boys. He said something about to-morrow being a holiday, and preparing for a lark." "I don't like their getting all their meals at the Pentzes'," said Mrs. Wilson, "and I don't much like John Stebbins." Again at the Pentzes' the talk was much the same. Mary Pentz reported the boys went through their 'Cæsar' recitation well; she had a nod of triumph from Jonas as he walked off with Sam Wilson. "They had their books, so I suppose they are off for study again." "I don't like their taking two meals a day at the Wilsons'," said Mrs. Pentz. "There's no school to-morrow," said Mary, "because the new furnace is to be put in. But I dare say the boys, Sam and Jonas, will be studying all the same." "I hope he won't be out late," said Mrs. Pentz. "He's more likely to spend the night at the Wilsons'," said Mary. "You know he did a week ago." "The boys were round here for a candle," said Will. "Then they do mean to study late," said Mrs. Pentz. "I shall tell him never to do it again; and with Dick, too!" Mr. Wilson came hurrying home for a late supper, and announced he must go to New York by a late train. "A good chance for you," he said to his wife, "to go and see your sister. You won't have more than a day with her, for I shall have to take the night train back, but it will give you a day's talk." Mrs. Wilson would like to go, but she felt anxious about the boys. "They have not been home for dinner or supper." "But they came home for gingerbread," said Aunt Harriet. "I suppose they didn't have too hearty a dinner at the Pentzes'." "Joanna says they went off with a basket packed up for to-morrow," said Gertrude. "If the Pentzes did not live so far off, I would send up," said Mrs. Wilson. "They will be in by the time we are off, or soon after," said Mr. Wilson. "It looks like rain, but it won't hurt us." Mrs. Wilson and he went, but no boys appeared all the evening. Aunt Harriet, who had not been long in the family, concluded this was the way boys acted. Jane sat up some time finishing a novel, and hurried off to bed, startled to find it so late, and waking up Gertrude to say, "It is odd those boys have not come home!" Why hadn't they? They couldn't. This is what happened. Wednesday afternoon, after school, the younger boys had gone to play at the old Wilson house, far away at the other end of the Main Street, beyond the Pentzes'. This was an old deserted mansion, where the Wilsons themselves had lived once upon a time. But it had taken a fortune and two furnaces to warm it in winter, and half a dozen men to keep the garden in order in summer, and it had grown now more fashionable to live at the other end of the town; so the Wilson family had moved down years ago, where the girls could see "the passing" and Mr. Wilson would be near his business. Of late years he had not been able to let the house, and it had been closely shut to keep it from the tramps. The boys had often begged the keys of their father, for they thought it would be such fun to take possession of the old house. But Mr. Wilson said, "No; if a parcel of boys found their way in, all the tramps in the neighborhood would learn how to get in too." Still, it continued the object of the boys' ambition to get into the house, and they were fond of going up to play in the broad grassy space by the side of the house; and they kept good oversight of the apple crop there. On this Wednesday afternoon they were playing ball there, and lost the ball. It had gone through a ventilation hole into the cellar part of the house. Now, everybody knows that if a boy loses a ball it must be recovered, especially if he knows where it is. There is not even a woman so stony-hearted but she will let in a troop of muddy-shoed boys through her entry (just washed) if they come to look for a ball, even if it has broken a pane of glass on its way. So the boys got a ladder from the Pentzes', and put it up at one of the windows where the blind was broken. Jack went up the ladder. The slat was off, but not in the right place to open the window. There could not be any harm in breaking off another; then he could reach the middle of the sash and pull up the window. No; it was fastened inside. John Stebbins tried, but it was of no use. "It would not help if we broke the window by the fastening," said John; "for the shutters are closed inside with old-fashioned inside shutters." Here was the time to ask for the key. They must have the key to find that ball, and the boys trudged back to meet Sam just going home from the Pentzes'. But Sam refused to ask for the key again, He didn't want to bother his father so soon, and he didn't want the bother himself. He had his new "Cæsar" lesson to study; to-morrow, after school, he and Jonas would look round at the house, and find some way to recover the ball, for even the stern and studious Sam knew the value of a ball. So Thursday noon the boys all hurried up to the Wilson house,--Sam, Jonas, and all. They examined it on every side. They came back to the hole where the ball was lost. "There's the cold-air box," said Jonas. "Could not Dick crawl in?" Now, Dick was a very small pattern of a boy, indeed, to be still a boy. Really he might crawl into the cold-air box. He tried it! He did get in! He had to squeeze through one part, but worked his way down fairly into the cellar, and screamed out with triumph that he had found the ball close by the hole! But how was Dick to get out again? He declared he could never scramble up. He slipped back as fast as he tried. He would look for the cellar stairs, only it was awful dark except just by the hole. He had a match in his pocket. Jack ran to the Pentzes' and got a candle, and they rolled it in to Dick, and waited anxiously to see where he would turn up next. They heard him, before long, pounding at a door round the corner of the house. He had found the cellar stairs, and a door with bolts and a great rusty key, which he succeeded in turning. The boys pulled at the door and it opened; and there stood Dick with the ball in one hand, picking up the candle with the other! What a chance to enter the house! Down the cellar stairs, up into the attics! Strange echoes in the great halls, and dark inside; for all the windows were closed and barred,--all but in one room upstairs that opened on a back veranda. It was a warm late-autumn day, and the sun poured down pleasantly upon a seat in the corner of the veranda, where a creeper was shedding its last gay leaves. "What a place to study!" exclaimed Sam. "Let's come and spend to-morrow," said John Stebbins; "there's no school." "No school Friday, on account of the furnace!" exclaimed Jack. "Let's bring a lot of provisions and stay the whole day here." "We might lay it in to-night," said John Stebbins; "we'll come up after school this afternoon!" "And I'll tell father about the key this evening," said Sam; "he won't mind, if he finds we have got one." "Jack and I will see to the provisions," said John Stebbins, "if the rest of you boys will come here as soon as school is over." It was all so interesting that they were too late for dinners, and had to content themselves with gingerbread as they hurried to school. "Be sure you tell mother," was Sam's last warning to Jack and John Stebbins, as they parted for their separate schoolrooms. After school the party hastened to the old house. Sam took the entry key from his pocket and opened the door, leaving Dick to wait for Jack and John Stebbins. They appeared before long with a basket of provisions, and were ready for a feast directly, but delayed for a further examination of the house. It was dark soon, and Sam would not let them stay long in any one room. They must just take a look, and then go home,--no waiting for a feast. "I'll talk to father this evening, and ask him if we may have it if we keep the whole thing secret." They fumbled their way down to the lower back door, but could not get it open. It was locked! "We left the key in the door outside," said Dick, in a low whisper. "You ninnies!" exclaimed Sam, "somebody saw you and has locked us in." "Some of the boys, to plague us," said John Stebbins. "Mighty great secrecy, now," said Sam, "if half the boys in town know we are here. It all comes of that great basket of provisions you saw fit to bring round." "You'll be glad enough of it," said John Stebbins, "if we have to spend the night here." "Let's have it now," said Jack. "We may as well occupy ourselves that way," said Sam, in a resigned tone, "till they choose to let us out." "Suppose we go up to the room with the bed and the sofa," said John Stebbins; "and we've got a surprise for you. There's a pie,--let's eat that." They stumbled their way back. The provident John Stebbins had laid in more candles, and they found an old table and had a merry feast. Sam and Jonas had their books. When Sam had hold of a fresh Latin book he could not keep away from it. Jonas's mind was busy with a new invention. The boys thought he would make his fortune by it. He was determined to invent some use for coal ashes. They were the only things that were not put to some use by his mother in their establishment. He thought he should render a service to mankind if he could do something useful with coal ashes. So he had studied all the chemistry books, and had one or two in his pockets now, and drew out a paper with H O, and other strange letters and figures on it. The other boys after supper busied themselves with arranging the room for a night's sleep. "It's awful jolly," said Dick. "This bed will hold four of us. I'll sleep across the foot, and Sam shall have the sofa." But Sam rose up from his study. "I've no notion of spending the night here. The door must be open by this time." He went to the window that looked out on the veranda. There was a heavy rain-storm; it was pouring hard. It was hard work getting down to the door in the dark. The candle kept going out; and they found the door still locked when they reached it. "Why not spend the night?" said Jonas. "They'll have got over their worries at home by this time." "Nobody could come up here to see after us in this rain," said Sam. "I suppose they think that as we have made our bed we may as well sleep in it." Sleep they did until a late hour in the morning. All the windows but the one upon the veranda closed with shutters. They woke up to find snow and rain together. They went all over the house to find some way of getting out, but doors and windows were well closed. "It's no use, boys," said Sam. "We've tried it often enough from outside to get in, and now it is as hard to get out. I was always disgusted that the windows were so high from the ground. Anyhow, father or some of the folks will be after us sometime. What was it you told mother?" Sam asked. John Stebbins had to confess that he had not seen Mrs. Wilson, and indeed had been vague with the information he had left with Jane. "I told them we were with the Pentz boys," he said; "I thought it just as well to keep dark." "Mighty dark we all of us are!" said Sam, in a rage. He was so angry that John Stebbins began to think he had made Jane understand where they were, and he tried to calm Sam down. Jonas proposed that Dick should be put through the cold-air box again. With a little squeezing from behind he must be able to get through. Everybody but Dick thought it such a nice plan that he was obliged to agree. But what was their horror when they reached the place to find some boards nailed across the outside! "A regular siege!" said Sam. "Well, if they can stand it I guess we can." His mettle was up. "We'll stay till relief forces come. It is some trick of the boys. Lucky there's no school. They can't hold out long." "A state of siege! What fun!" cried the boys. "I only wish we had brought two pies," said John Stebbins. "But there's plenty of gingerbread." Now they would ransack the house at their leisure. There was light enough in the attics to explore the treasures hidden there. They found old coal-hods for helmets, and warming-pans for fiery steeds, and they had tournaments in the huge halls. They piled up carpets for their comfort in their bedroom,--bits of old carpet,--and Jonas and Sam discovered a pile of old worm-eaten books. The day seemed too short, and the provender lasted well. The night, however, was not so happy. The candles were growing short and matches fewer. Sam and Jonas had to economize in reading, and told stories instead, and the stories had a tendency to ghosts. Dick and Jack murmured to John Stebbins it was not such fun after all; when, lo! their own talk was interrupted by noises below! A sound of quarrelling voices came from the rooms beneath. Voices of men! They went on tiptoe to the head of the stairs to listen. Tramps, indeed! How had they got in? Was it they who had locked the door? Did they come in that way? "Suppose we go down," said Sam, in a whisper. But John Stebbins and the little boys would not think of it. The men were swearing at each other; there was a jingle of bottles and sound of drinking. "It's my opinion we had better keep quiet," said Jonas. "It is a poor set, and I don't know what they would do to us if they saw we had found them out and would be likely to tell of them." So they crept back noiselessly. In a state of siege, indeed! John Stebbins, with help of the others, lifted the sofa across the door and begged Sam to sleep on it. But that night there was not much sleep! The storm continued, snow, hail, and rain, and wind howling against the windows. Toward morning they did fall asleep. It was at a late hour they waked up and went to peer out from the veranda window. There was a policeman passing round the house! * * * * * Meanwhile there had been great anxiety at the Wilsons'. "If it were not for the storm," said Aunt Harriet, "I should send up to the Pentzes' to inquire about those boys." "I suppose it's the storm that keeps them," said Jane. "If it were not for the storm," Mrs. Pentz was saying to Mary, "I should like you to go down to the Wilsons' and see what those boys are about." As to Mrs. Stebbins, John was so seldom at home it did not occur to her to wonder where he was. But when Saturday morning came, and no boys, Aunt Harriet said, "There's a little lull in the storm. I can't stand it any longer, Jane. I am going to put on my waterproof and go up to the Pentzes'." "I will go too," said Jane; and Gertrude and George joined the party. Half-way up the long street they met the Pentz family coming down to make the same inquiries,--Mr. and Mrs. Pentz, Mary, Sophy, Will, and the rest. "Where are the boys?" was the exclamation as they met half-way between the two houses. Mr. Johnson, one of the leading men of the town, crossed the street to ask what was the commotion in the two families. "Our boys are missing," said Mr. Pentz. "Five boys!" "We haven't seen them since Thursday morning," said Aunt Harriet. "They were at home Thursday afternoon," said Mary Pentz. "I must speak to the police," said Mr. Pentz. "He is up at the Wilson House," said Mr. Johnson. "There were tramps in the house there last night, and the police came very near catching them. He found the door unlocked night before last. The tramps kept off that night, but turned up last night in the storm. They have got off, however. There is only one policeman, but we've sworn in a special to keep guard on the house." "I'll go up and see him," said Mr. Pentz. "We'll all go up," said Harriet. "Perhaps the tramps have gone off with the boys," said Gertrude. Quite a crowd had collected with the party as they moved up the street, and all together came to the front of the house. The policeman was just disappearing round the other side. They turned to the back to meet him, and reached the corner where the veranda looked down upon the yard. At this moment Mr. and Mrs. Wilson appeared. They had arrived at the station from New York, and heard there the story of the disappearance of the boys, and of tramps in the house. They hastened to the scene, Mrs. Wilson almost distracted, and now stood with the rest of the Wilsons and the Pentzes awaiting the policeman. They heard a cry from above, and looked up to the veranda. There were all the boys in a row. XIII. A PLACE FOR OSCAR. "I don't like tiresome fables," said Jack, throwing down an old book in which he had been trying to read; "it is so ridiculous making the beasts talk. Of course they never do talk that way, and if they did talk, they would not be giving that kind of advice But then they never did talk. Did you ever hear of a beast talking, Ernest, except in a fable?" Ernest looked up from his book. "Why, yes," he said decidedly; "the horses of Achilles talked, don't you remember?" "Well, that was a kind of fable," said Jack. "Our horses never talked. Bruno comes near it sometimes. But, Hester, don't you think fables are tiresome? They always have a moral tagged on!" he continued, appealing to his older sister; for Ernest proved a poor listener, and was deep in his book again. "I will tell you a fable about a boy," said Hester, sitting down with her work, "and you shall see." "But don't let the beasts speak," said Jack, "and don't let the boy give advice!" "He won't even think of it," said Hester; and she went on. "Once there was a boy, and his name was Oscar, and he went to a very good school, where he learned to spell and read very well, and do a few sums. But when he had learned about as much as that, he took up a new accomplishment. This was to fling up balls, two at a time, and catch them in his hands. This he could do wonderfully well; but then a great many other boys could. He, however, did it at home; he did it on the sidewalk; he could do it sitting on the very top of a board fence; but he was most proud of doing it in school hours while the teacher was not looking. This grew to be his great ambition. He succeeded once or twice, when she was very busy with a younger class, and once while her back was turned, and she was at the door receiving a visitor. "But that did not satisfy him: he wanted to be able to do it when she was sitting on her regular seat in front of the platform; and every day he practised, sometimes with one ball and sometimes with another. It took a great deal of his time and all of his attention; and often some of the other boys were marked for laughing when he succeeded. And he had succeeded so well that the teacher had not the slightest idea what they were laughing at. "All this was very satisfactory to him; but it was not so well for him at the end of the year, because it turned out he was behind-hand in all his studies, and he had to be put down into a lower room. But coming into another room with a fresh teacher, he had to learn his favorite accomplishment all over again. It was difficult, for she was a very rigid teacher, and seemed to have eyes in every hair of her head; and he sat at the other side of the room, so that he had to change hands somehow in throwing the balls and getting them into his desk quick without being seen. But there were a number of younger boys in the room who enjoyed it all very much, so that he was a real hero, and felt himself quite a favorite. He did manage to keep up better in his arithmetic, too, in spite of his having so little time for his books. Perhaps from having to watch the teacher so much, he did learn the things that he heard her repeat over and over again; and then he picked up some knowledge from the other boys. Still, all through his school term, he was sent about more or less from one room to another. The teachers could not quite understand why such a bright-looking boy, who seemed to be always busy with his lessons, was not farther on in his studies. "So it happened, when they all left school, Oscar was himself surprised to find that the boys of his age were ahead of him in various ways. A large class went on to the high school; but Oscar, as it proved, was not at all fitted. "And his father took him round from one place to another to try to get some occupation for him. He looked so bright that he was taken for an office-boy here and there; but he never stayed. The fact was, the only thing he could do well was to fling balls up in the air and catch them in turn, without letting them drop to the ground; and this he could only do best on the sly, behind somebody's back. Now this, though entertaining to those who saw it for a little while, did not help on his employers, who wondered why they did not get more work out of Oscar. "A certain Mr. Spenser, a friend of Oscar's father, asked him to bring his boy round to his office, and he would employ him. 'He will have to do a little drudgery at first, but I think we can promote him soon, if he is faithful.' "So Oscar went with his father to Mr. Spenser's office. Mr. Spenser started a little when he saw Oscar; but after talking awhile, he went to his table, and took from a drawer two balls. 'My little boy left these here this morning,' he said. 'How long do you think,' turning to Oscar, 'you could keep them up in the air without letting them drop?' "Oscar was much pleased. Here was his chance; at this office the kind of thing he could do was wanted. So he dexterously took the balls, and flung them up and down, and might have kept at it all the morning but that Mr. Spenser said at last, 'That will do, and it is more than enough.' He said, turning to Oscar's father: 'As soon as I saw your boy I thought I recognized him as a boy I saw one day in the school flinging balls up in the air on the sly behind his teacher's back. I'm sorry to see that he keeps up the art still. But I felt pretty sure that day that he couldn't have learned much else. I should be afraid to take him into my office with a propensity to do things on the sly, for I have other boys that must learn to be busy. Perhaps you can find some other place for Oscar.' "But Oscar could not find the kind of place. "His friend, Seth Clayton, had been fond of collecting insects all through his school years. Oscar used to laugh at his boxes full of bugs. But Seth used to study them over, and talk about them with his teacher, who told him all she knew, and helped him to find books about them. And it was when she was leaning over a beautiful specimen of a night-moth that Oscar had performed his most remarkable feat of keeping three balls in the air for a second and a half. This was in their last school year. "And now, after some years more of study, Seth was appointed to join an expedition to go to South America and look up insects along the Amazon and in Brazil. "'Just what I should like to do,' said Oscar; for he had studied a little about the geography of South America, and thought it would be fun catching cocoanuts with the help of the monkeys, and have a salary too. 'That is something I really could do,' said Oscar to Seth. But Seth went, and Oscar was left behind. "Will Leigh had the best chance, perhaps. He used to be a great crony of Oscar. He went through the Latin School, and then to Harvard College. 'He was always burrowing into Latin and Greek,' said Oscar; 'much as ever you could do to get an English word out of him.' "Well, he was wanted as professor in a Western college; so they sent him for three years to a German university to study up his Hebrew. But he was to travel about Europe first. "'I wish they would send me,' said Oscar. 'Travelling about Europe is just what I should like, and just what I could do. It is a queer thing that just these fellows that can work hard, and like to work too, get the easiest places, where they have only to lie back and do nothing!' "Even some of the boys who were behind him in school and below him in lower classes came out ahead. Sol Smith, whom Oscar always thought a stupid dunce, had the place in Mr. Spenser's office that he would have liked. "'Mr. Spenser took Sol out to his country place in the mountains,' Oscar complained, 'where he has boats and plenty of fishing. I know I could have caught a lot of trout. It is just what I can do. But that stupid Sol, if he looked at a trout, he probably frightened it away.' "It was just so all along through life. Oscar could not find exactly the place he was fitted for. One of his friends, Tracy, went out West as engineer. 'I could have done that,' said Oscar; 'I could have carried the chain as easy as not. It is a little hard that all the rest of the fellows tumble into these easy places. There's Tracy making money hand over hand.' "The next he heard of him Tracy was in the legislature. 'That I could do,' said Oscar. 'It is easy enough to go and sit in the legislature, with your hands in your pockets, and vote when your turn comes; or you needn't be there all the time if you don't choose.' "So they put Oscar up for the legislature; but he lost the vote, because he forgot to sign his name to an important note, in answer to one of his 'constituents.' He tried for Congress, too, but without success. He talked round among his friends about running for President. There was the great White House to live in. He would be willing to stay all summer. He felt he should be the right person, as he had never done anything, and would offend no party. "But even for President something more is needed than catching half-a-dozen balls without letting them fall to the ground. "Once, indeed, he had thought of joining a circus; but he could not equal the Chinese juggler with the balls, and it tired him to jump up and down. His father got him the place of janitor at an art building; but he made mistakes in making change for tickets, and put wrong checks on the umbrellas and parasols, so that nobody got the right umbrella. He was really glad when they dismissed him, it tired him so. It was harder work than flinging balls----" "Look at here, you need not go on," said Jack, interrupting his sister. "I never did it but just once in school, and that was when you happened to come in and speak to Miss Eaton. I was real ashamed that you caught me at it then, and I have never had the balls at school since, or thought of them." "The beast has spoken," said Ernest, looking up from his book. Jack made a rush at his brother. "Oh! stop," said Ernest; "let us find out what became of Oscar." "He has married," said Hester, "and his wife supports him." XIV. THE FIRST NEEDLE. "Have you heard the new invention, my dears, That a man has invented?" said she. "It's a stick with an eye, Through which you can tie A thread so long, it acts like a thong; And the men have such fun To see the thing run! A firm, strong thread, through that eye at the head, Is pulled over the edges most craftily, And makes a beautiful seam to see!" "What! instead of those wearisome thorns, my dear, Those wearisome thorns?" cried they. "The seam we pin, Driving them in; But where are they, by the end of the day, With dancing and jumping and leaps by the sea? For wintry weather They won't hold together, Seal-skins and bear-skins all dropping round, Off from our shoulders down to the ground. The thorns, the tiresome thorns, will prick, But none of them ever consented to stick! Oh, won't the men let us this new thing use? If we mend their clothes, they can't refuse. Ah, to sew up a seam for them to see,-- What a treat, a delightful treat, 't will be!" "Yes, a nice thing, too, for the babies, my dears,-- But, alas, there is but one!" cried she. "I saw them passing it round, and then They said it was only fit for men! What woman would know How to make the thing go? There was not a man so foolish to dream That any woman could sew up a seam!" Oh, then there was babbling and screaming, my dears! "At least they might let us do that!" cried they. "Let them shout and fight And kill bears day and night; We'll leave them their spears and hatchets of stone If they'll give us this thing for our very own. It will be like a joy above all we could scheme, To sit up all night and sew such a seam!" "Beware! take care!" cried an aged old crone, "Take care what you promise!" said she. "At first 't will be fun, But, in the long run, You'll wish that the men had let the thing be. Through this stick with an eye I look and espy That for ages and ages you'll sit and you'll sew, And longer and longer the seams will grow, And you'll wish you never had asked to sew. But nought that I say. Can keep back the day; For the men will return to their hunting and rowing. And leave to the women forever the sewing." Ah! what are the words of an aged crone, For all have left her muttering alone; And the needle and thread they got with such pains. They forever must keep as dagger and chains. 
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30114	----	* * * * * +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | | been preserved. | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For | | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | | | | The erratum inserted between page xx and page xxi has | | been incorporated into the text. Erratum text moved to | | the bottom of the e-text. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * THE JOURNAL OF SUBMARINE COMMANDER VON FORSTNER [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ PASSENGERS AND CREW LEAVING A SINKING LINER TORPEDOED BY A GERMAN SUBMARINE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN] THE JOURNAL OF SUBMARINE COMMANDER VON FORSTNER TRANSLATED BY MRS. RUSSELL CODMAN WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY JOHN HAYS HAMMOND, JR. [Illustration] BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge 1917 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY JOHN HAYS HAMMOND, JR. AND ANNA CRAFTS CODMAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED _Published November 1917_ CONTENTS FOREWORD BY THE TRANSLATOR vii INTRODUCTION BY JOHN HAYS HAMMOND, JR.: THE CHALLENGE TO NAVAL SUPREMACY xi I. ORDERED TO COMMAND A SUBMARINE 1 II. BREATHING AND LIVING CONDITIONS UNDER WATER 6 III. SUBMERSION AND TORPEDO FIRE 17 IV. MOBILIZATION AND THE BEGINNING OF THE COMMERCIAL WAR 39 V. OUR OWN PART IN THE COMMERCIAL WAR AND OUR FIRST CAPTURED STEAMER 53 VI. THE CAPTURE OF TWO PRIZE STEAMERS 74 VII. OFF THE COAST OF ENGLAND 97 VIII. THE METHOD OF SINKING AND RAISING SHIPS 122 ILLUSTRATIONS PASSENGERS AND CREW LEAVING A SINKING LINER TORPEDOED BY A GERMAN SUBMARINE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN _Frontispiece_ INTERIOR OF A SUBMARINE xliv A TORPEDOED SCHOONER 36 GERMAN SUBMARINES U 13, U 5, U 11, U 3, AND U 16 IN KIEL HARBOR 40 VON FORSTNER'S SUBMARINE (U 28) IN ACTION IN THE NORTH SEA: A SERIES OF PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN FROM THE DECK OF ONE OF HER VICTIMS 78 From the London _Graphic_, March 27, 1915 LIFEBOAT LEAVING THE SINKING P. AND O. LINER ARABIA 98 BRITISH HOSPITAL SHIP GLOUCESTER CASTLE, SHOWING RED CROSS ON BOW, SUNK IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL BY A GERMAN SUBMARINE 126 FOREWORD The following pages form an abridged translation of a book published in 1916 by Freiherrn von Forstner, commander of the first German U-boat. It was written with the somewhat careless haste of a man who took advantage of disconnected moments of leisure, and these moments were evidently subject to abrupt and prolonged interruptions. Many repetitions and trivial incidents have been omitted in this translation; but, in order to express the personality of the Author, the rendering has been as literal as possible, and it shows the strange mixture of sentimentality and ferocity peculiar to the psychology of the Germans. Part of the book gives a technical description,--not so much of the construction of a submarine as of the nature of its activities,--which presents us an unusual opportunity to glean a few valuable facts from this personal and intimate account of a German U-boat. We are inclined to a certain grim humor in borrowing the candid information given to us Americans so unconsciously by Freiherrn von Forstner, for he could hardly suppose it would fall into the hands of those who would join the fighting ranks of the _hated enemy_, as, in his bitter animosity, he invariably calls the English whenever he refers to them. Several chapters in this book are simple narratives of the commander's own adventures during the present naval warfare waged against commerce. His attempts at a lighter vein often provoke a smile at the quality of his wit, but he is not lacking in fine and manly virtues. He is a loyal comrade; a good officer concerned for the welfare of his crew. He is even kindly to his captives when he finds they are docile victims. He is also willing to credit his adversary with pluck and courage. He is never sparing of his own person, and shows admirable endurance under pressure of intense work and great responsibility. He is full of enthusiastic love for his profession, and in describing a storm at sea his rather monotonous style of writing suddenly rises to eloquence. But in his exalted devotion to the Almighty War Lord, and to the Fatherland, he openly reveals his fanatical joy in the nefarious work he has to perform. It is difficult to realize that this ardent worship of detail, and this marvelous efficiency in the conservation of every resource, are applied to a weapon of destruction which directs its indiscriminate attacks against women and children, hospital transports, and relief ships. Nothing at the present day has aroused such fear as this invisible enemy, nor has anything outraged the civilized world like the tragedies caused by the German submarines. This small volume may offer new suggestions to those familiar with the science of submarine construction, and it may also shed a little light, even for lay readers, on a subject which for the last three years has taken a preëminent place in the history of the War. INTRODUCTION THE CHALLENGE TO NAVAL SUPREMACY I In a letter to William Pitt, of January 6, 1806, relating to his invention of a submersible boat, Robert Fulton wrote prophetically, "Now, in this business, I will not disguise that I have full confidence in the power which I possess, which is no less than to be the means, should I think proper, of giving to the world a system which must of necessity sweep all military marines from the ocean, by giving the weaker maritime powers advantages over the stronger, which the stronger cannot prevent." It is interesting to note that, about a hundred years later, Vice-Admiral Fournier of the French Navy stated before a Parliamentary committee of investigation that, if France had possessed a sufficient number of submersibles, and had disposed them strategically about her coasts and the coasts of her possessions, these vessels could have controlled the trade routes of the world. He said also that the fighting value of a sufficient number of submersibles would reëstablish the balance of power between England and France. The history of naval warfare during the last few months has confirmed the opinions of these two authorities, although in a manner which they in no way anticipated. Direct comparison is the usual method by which the human mind estimates values. We would measure the strength of two men by pitting them against each other in physical encounter; in the same way, we are prone to measure the combative effect of weapons by pitting them in conflict against other weapons. But modern warfare is of so complex a nature that direct comparisons fail, and only a careful analysis of military experience determines the potentiality of a weapon and its influence on warfare. Robert Fulton and Admiral Fournier both indicated that they believed in the submersible's supremacy in actual encounter with capital ships. The war, so far, has shown that, in action between fleets, the submersible has played a negative part. In the Jutland Bank battle, the submersible, handicapped in speed and eyesight, took as active a part, as a Jack Tar humorously put it, "as a turtle might in a cat fight." Not even under the extraordinary conditions of the bombardment in the Dardanelles, when the circumstances were such as lent themselves strikingly to submarine attack, did these vessels score against the fleet in action.[1] It is easy to understand why the submersible did not take a vital part in any of the major naval actions. In the naval battle of to-day we have a number of very high-speed armored craft fighting against one another over ranges extending up to 17,000 yards. There is a constant evolution in the position of the ships which it is impossible to follow from the low point of vantage of a periscope, for the different formations of ships mean nothing to the submersible commander. He is so placed that his range of vision is extremely limited, and, on account of the low speed of his boat while submerged, he can operate over only a very limited area of water while the other vessels are moving many miles. Then, too, he is extremely vulnerable to the effect of enemy shells and to the ramming of enemy ships. Under these conditions the submersible commander is more or less forced to a policy of lying ambushed to surprise his enemy. It is said that the "Lusitania" was decoyed into a nest of submersibles. There was but little chance of torpedoing her in any other way. There is also the statement that Admiral Beatty passed with his battle-cruisers through a flotilla of enemy submersibles without being touched. Submersibles cannot attack their target in definite formations as do surface vessels, and therefore they cannot operate in numbers with the same effectiveness as do the latter. They must maneuver more or less singly, and at random. Being limited to the torpedo, which, when they are submerged, is their sole weapon of attack, they have an uncertain means of striking their armed enemy. The eccentricities of the automobile torpedo are well known; but, even eliminating the fact that this missile is unreliable, the important question of accuracy in the estimate of range and speed which the submersible commander has to make before firing the torpedo must be considered. There is usually a large percentage of error in his calculations unless the submersible is extremely close to its target. Realizing these limitations, the German submersibles are equipped with small torpedoes, which are generally fired at ranges not exceeding eight hundred to two thousand yards. The necessity of approaching the target so closely is, of course, a tremendous handicap in the general operation of these boats. In view of these facts, it is not surprising that the submersible should not have been able to sweep the capital ship from the seas, as was predicted by certain experts before the war. II Admiral Sir Cyprian Bridge regards the functions of defense by a navy as divisible into three main classifications. He says, "The above-mentioned three divisions are called in common speech, coast defense, colonial defense, and defense of commerce." From this classification we are given a hint as to what a sailor means by "naval supremacy," "freedom of the seas," and other terms so misused that to-day they mean nothing. "Coast defense" means defense against invasion; "colonial defense" means the safeguarding of distant possessions against enemy forces; the "defense of commerce" means such supremacy on the seas as will insure absolute safety of the mercantile marine from enemy commerce-destroyers. To-day every great nation is waging a trade war. The industrial competition of peace is as keen as the competition of war. All the great Powers realized years ago that, to gain and keep their "place in the sun," it was necessary for them to construct navies that would insure to them a certain control of the seas for the protection of their commerce. In this way began the abnormal naval construction in which the Powers have vied with one another for supremacy. A simple way of looking at the question, what constitutes the power of a fleet, is to consider the warship as merely a floating gun-platform. Even though this floating platform is the most complex piece of mechanism that was ever contrived by man, nevertheless its general function is simple. The war has given us enough experience to convince us that the backbone of a navy is, after all, the heavily armored ship of moderately high speed, carrying a very heavy armament. This floating gun-platform is the structure best fitted to carry large guns into battle, and to withstand the terrific punishment of the enemy's fire. The battleship is to-day, notwithstanding the development of other types, queen of the seas. It is therefore not difficult to estimate the relative power of the fleets of different nations. In fact, a purely engineering estimate of this kind can be made, and the respective ranks of the world's naval powers ascertained. Germany has shown all through the war that she thoroughly appreciated the British naval supremacy. Her fleet has ventured little more than sporadic operations from the well-fortified bases behind Heligoland. It was probably the pressure of public opinion, and not the expectation that she would achieve anything of military advantage, that forced her to send her high-sea fleet into conflict with the British squadrons off Jutland. If one should examine the course of this battle, which has been represented by lines graphically showing the paths of the British and German fleets, one could easily see how the British imposed their will upon the Germans in every turn that these lines make. It reminds one very much of the herding of sheep, for the German fleet was literally herded on May 31, 1916, from 5:36 in the afternoon until 9 o'clock that night. Admiral von Scheer, however, fought the only action which it was possible for him to fight. It was a losing action, and one which he knew, from a purely mathematical consideration, could not be successful. Through the very definiteness of this understanding of what constitutes naval strength, Great Britain's navy until recently has remained a great potential force, becoming dynamic for only a few hours at Jutland, after which it returned to that mysterious northern base whence it seems to dominate the seas. Because of the potentiality of these hidden warships, thousands of vessels have traversed the ocean, freighted with countless tons of cargoes and millions of men for the Allies. Even at that psychological moment when the first hundred thousand were being transported to France, Germany refrained from a naval attack which might have turned the whole land campaign in her favor. To-day, however, the world is awakening to a new idea of sea-power, to a new conception that will have a far-reaching influence on the future development of naval machinery. Sir Cyprian Bridge has stated that one of the functions of a fleet is the defense of commerce. There is no more important function for a fleet than this. A nation may be subjugated by direct invasion, or it may be isolated from the world by blockade. If the blockade be sufficiently long, and effectively maintained, it will ruin the nation as effectually as direct invasion. Thus, in the maintenance of a nation's merchant marine on the high seas, its navy exercises one of its most vital functions. There can, therefore, be no naval supremacy for a nation unless its commerce is assured of immunity from considerable losses through the attack of its enemy. It is idle for us to speak of our naval supremacy over Germany, when our navies are failing in one of their most important functions, and when our commerce is suffering such serious losses. The persons best qualified to judge are those who are most anxious regarding the present losses in mercantile tonnage. While it has been shown that the submersible of to-day, as a fighting machine, is considerably limited, and in no sense endangers the existence of the capital ship, nevertheless in the new huge submersible it seems that the ideal commerce-destroyer has been found. This vessel possesses the necessary cruising radius to operate over sufficient distances to control important routes; it makes a surface speed great enough to run down cargo steamers, and has a superstructure to mount guns of considerable power (up to six-inch). It embodies almost all the qualifications of the light surface cruiser, with the additional tremendous advantage of being able to hide by submergence. To be completely successful, it must operate in flotillas of hundreds in waters that are opaque to aërial observation. Germany has but a limited number of these submersibles, otherwise she would be able to crush the Allied commerce. The ideal submersible commerce-raider should be a vessel of such displacement that she could carry a sufficient number of large guns in her superstructure to enable her to fight off the attack of surface destroyers and the smaller patrol craft.[2] She should be capable of cruising over a large radius at high speed, both on the surface and submerged. The supersubmersible flotillas should comprise fifty or sixty of these units. The attack on the trade routes should be made by a number of flotillas operating at different points at unexpected times. To-day Germany has concentrated her submarine war particularly in the constricted waters about England. It is here that the shipping is most congested, and therefore the harvest is richest, but it is also easier to protect the trade routes over these limited areas of water by patrols, nets, etc., than it would be to protect the entire trans-oceanic length of the steamship lanes. If the submersible were capable of dealing directly with the destroyer in gun-fighting, a tremendous revolution would take place in the tactics of "submarine swatting." Then it would be difficult to see how the submersible could be dealt with. Improvement in motive machinery is the vital necessity in the development of the submersible. The next few years may see unexpected strides taken in this direction. A great deal will also be accomplished in perfecting methods of receiving sounds under water, particularly in relation to ascertaining the direction of these sounds. When this is done, it will be possible for the submersible commander to tell a great deal about the positions of the vessels above him, and thus his artificial ears will compensate to a great extent for his blindness. By the addition of a greater number of torpedo-tubes, and the improvement of their centralized control in the hand of the commander at the periscope, along lines which we are now developing, it will be possible for the submersible to achieve a greater effectiveness in its torpedo fire. Probably torpedoes will then be used only against the more important enemy units, such as battleships, cruisers, and the like. To be certain of striking these valuable targets would be worth expending a number of torpedoes in salvo fire. Whether the German U-boat campaign succeeds or not will be largely a question of the number of submersibles that the Central Powers can put into service, and to what extent the submersible will be developed during the present war. III German submarines have sunk over 7,250,000 tons of the Allied shipping. In December, 1916, it was stated in the British Parliament that the merchant marine of Great Britain had at that time over 20,000,000 tons. Within the first three months of the unrestricted submarine warfare, 1,100,000 tons of British shipping went to the bottom. At this rate, England would lose 25 per cent of her merchant marine per annum. It is for this reason that the attention of the entire world is concentrated upon the vital problem of the submarine menace. On land, the Central Powers are still holding their ground, but there is a continuous increase of the forces of the Allies which should lead finally to such a preponderance of power as will overwhelm the forces opposed to them. The Allied armies, however, depend for their sustenance and supplies upon the freedom of the seas. The trade routes of the world constitute the arteries which feed the muscles of these armies. Germany is endeavoring to cut these arteries by the submarine. Should she even appreciably limit the supplies that cross the ocean to the Allies, she will bring about a condition that will make it impossible to augment their armies. In this way there will inevitably be a deadlock, which, from the German standpoint, would be a highly desirable consummation. Obviously, the first method of handling the submarine problem would be to bottle the German undersea craft in their bases. There has been a number of proposals as to how best to accomplish this. It has been stated that the English Navy has planted mines in channels leading from Zeebrugge and other submarine bases; but it is necessary only to recall the exploits of the E-11 and the E-14 of the British Navy at the Dardanelles, to see that it would not be impossible for the Germans to pass in their U-boats through these mine-fields into the open sea. It will be remembered that the E-11 and the E-14 passed through five or more mine-fields, thence through the Dardanelles into the Sea of Marmora, and even into the Bosphorus under seemingly impossible conditions. Yet, in spite of the tremendous risks that they ran, these boats continued their operations for some time, passing up as far as Constantinople, actually shelling the city, sinking transports, and accomplishing other feats which have been graphically described in the stories of Rudyard Kipling. And again, if the mine-fields were placed in close proximity to their bases, it would be comparatively easy for German submersibles of the Lake type, possessing appliances to enable divers to pass outboard when the vessel is submerged, to go out and cut away the mines and thus render them ineffective. Nets are also used to hinder the outward passage of the submarine. These nets can likewise be attacked and easily cut by devices with which modern U-boats are equipped. The problem of placing these obstacles is a difficult one, in view of the fact that the ships so engaged are harassed by German destroyers and other enemy craft. Outside of Zeebrugge, shallow water extends to a distance of about five miles from the coast, and it has been suggested that a large number of aircraft, carrying bombs and torpedoes, should be used to patrol systematically the channel leading from that port to deep water, with the intent of attacking the submersibles as they emerge from this base. It is ridiculous to suppose that the Germans would not be able to concentrate an equally large number of aircraft, to be supported also by anti-aircraft guns on the decks of destroyers and by the coast defenses. We have not yet won the supremacy of the air, and it must inevitably be misleading to base any proposition on the assumption that we are masters of that element. The problem of bottling up the submersibles is enormously difficult, because it necessitates operations in the enemy's territory, where he would possess the superiority of power. I believe that the question of operations against the submarine bases is not a naval but a military one, and one which would be best solved by the advance of the Western left flank of the Allied armies. The second method is to attack the submarines with every appliance that science can produce. In order to attack the submarine directly with any weapon, it is necessary first to locate it. This is a problem presenting the greatest difficulty, for it is by their elusiveness that the submarines have gained such importance in their war on trade. They attack the more or less helpless merchant ships, and vanish before the armed patrols appear on the scene. Almost every suitable appliance known to physics has been proposed for the solution of the problem of submarine location and detection. As the submarine is a huge vessel built of metal, it might be supposed that such a contrivance as the Hughes induction balance might be employed to locate it. The Hughes balance is a device which is extremely sensitive to the presence of minute metallic masses in relatively close proximity to certain parts of the apparatus. Unfortunately, on account of the presence of the saline sea-water, the submersible is practically shielded by a conducting medium in which are set up eddy currents. Although the sea-water may lack somewhat in conductivity, it compensates for this by its volume. For this reason, the induction balance has proved a failure. But another method of detecting the position of a metallic mass is by the use of the magnetometer. This device operates on the principle of magnetic attraction, and in laboratories on stable foundations it is extremely sensitive. But the instability of the ship on which it would be necessary to carry this instrument would render it impossible to obtain a sufficient degree of sensitiveness in the apparatus to give it any value. The fact that the submersible is propelled under water by powerful electric motors begets the idea that the electrical disturbances therein might be detected by highly sensitive detectors of feeble electrical oscillations. The sea-water, in this case, will be found to absorb to a tremendous extent the effects of the electrical disturbance. Moreover, the metallic hull of the submersible forms in itself an almost ideal shield to screen the outgoing effect of these motors. Considerable and important development has been made in the creation of sensitive sound-receiving devices, to hear the propeller vibrations and the mechanical vibrations that are present in a submersible, both of which are transmitted through the water. There are three principal obstacles to the successful use of such a device: when the submersible is submerged, she employs rotary and not reciprocating prime-movers, being in consequence relatively quiet when running under water, and inaudible at any considerable distance; the noises of the vessel carrying the listening devices are difficult to exclude, as are also the noises of the sea, which are multitudinous; finally, the sound-receiving instruments are not highly directive, hence are not of great assistance in determining the position of the object from which they are receiving sounds.[3] To locate the submersible, aërial observation has been found useful. It is particularly so when the waters are clear enough to observe the vessel when submerged to some depth, but its value is less than might be supposed in the waters about the British Isles and Northern Europe, where there is a great deal of matter in suspension which makes the sea unusually opaque. The submersible, however, when running along the surface with only its periscope showing, is more easily detected by aircraft than by a surface vessel. Behind the periscope, there is a characteristic small wake, which is distinguishable from above, but practically invisible from a low level of observation. Many sea-planes are operating on the other side for the purpose of locating enemy submersibles and reporting their presence to the surface patrol craft. In order to overcome the disadvantages of creating the periscope wake which I have mentioned, it is reported that the Germans have developed special means to allow the U-boats, when raiding, to submerge to a fixed depth without moving. To maintain any body in a fluid medium in a static position is a difficult matter, as is shown in the instability of aircraft. One of the great problems of the submersible has been to master the difficulties of its control while maintaining a desired depth. The modern submersible usually forces itself under water, while still in a slightly buoyant condition, by its propellers and by the action of two sets of rudders, or hydroplanes, which are arranged along its superstructure and which tend to force it below the surface when they are given a certain inclination; but should the engines stop, the diving rudders, or hydroplanes, would become ineffective, and, because of the reserve buoyancy in the hull, the vessel would come to the surface. In order to maintain the vessel in a state of suspension under water without moving, it would be necessary to hold an extremely delicate balance between the weight of the submarine and that of the water which it displaces. Variations in weights are so important to the submersible that, as fuel is used, water is allowed to enter certain tanks to compensate exactly for the loss of the weight of the fuel. To obtain such an equilibrium, an automatic device controlled by the pressure of the water, which, of course, varies with the depth, is used. This device controls the pumps which fill or empty the ballast-tanks, so as to keep the relation of the submersible to the water which it displaces constant, under which condition the vessel maintains a fixed depth. The principle of this mechanism is, of course, old, and was first embodied in the Whitehead torpedo, which has a device that can be set so as to maintain the depth at which it will run practically constant. With the addition of a telescopic periscope, which can be shortened or extended at will, it will be possible for the U-boat to lie motionless with only the minute surface of the periscope revealing her position. IV To attack the submersible is a matter of opportunity. It is only when one is caught operating on the surface, or is forced to the surface by becoming entangled in nets, that the patrol has the chance to fire upon it. Against this method of attack, modern submersibles have been improving their defenses. To-day, they are shielded with armor of some weight on the superstructure and over part of the hull. They are also equipped with guns up to five inches in diameter, and, affording, as they do, a fairly steady base, they can outmatch in gun-play any of the lighter patrol boats which they may encounter. One of the important improvements which have been made has resulted in the increased speed with which they now submerge from the condition of surface trim. A submersible of a thousand tons displacement will carry about five hundred tons of water ballast. The problem of submerging is mainly that of being able rapidly to fill the tanks. On account of the necessity of dealing with large quantities of water in the ballast system, the European submersibles are equipped with pumps which can handle eight tons of water per minute. Again, the speed which the electrical propulsion system gives the vessel on the surface greatly increases the pressure which the diving rudders can exert in forcing the submersible under water. This effect may be so marked that it becomes excessive, and Sueter emphasizes the point that vessels at high speed, when moving under water, may, on account of the momentum attained, submerge to excessive depths. To eliminate this tendency, there is a hydrostatic safety system which automatically causes the discharge of water from the ballast-tank when dangerous pressures are reached, thus bringing the submersible to a higher level where the pressure on the hull will not be so severe. From this it follows that the opportunity of ramming a submersible, or of sinking it by gunfire, is greatly minimized, since the vessel can disappear so rapidly. [Illustration: _Photograph from Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ INTERIOR OF A SUBMARINE] A great deal has been attempted with nets. Fixed nets extend across many of the bodies of water around the British Isles. Their positions, doubtless, are now very well known to the Germans. The problem of cutting through them is not a difficult one. Moreover, the hull of the submersible has been modified so that the propellers are almost entirely shielded and incased in such a way that they will not foul the lines of a net. There has also been a steel hawser strung from the bow across the highest point of the vessel to the stern, so that the submersible can underrun a net without entangling the superstructure. Some nets are towed by surface vessels. The process is necessarily slow, and to be effective the surface vessel must know the exact location of the submersible. Towing torpedoes or high explosive charges behind moving vessels has been developed by the Italian Navy, but the chances of hitting a submersible with such devices are not very great. Bomb-dropping from aëroplanes can be practiced successfully under exceptional conditions only. In view of the fact that such bomb-dropping is exceedingly inaccurate, and that the charges carried are relatively small, this form of attack ordinarily would not be very dangerous for the submersible. Surface craft have also employed large charges of high explosives, which are caused to detonate by hydrostatic pistons upon reaching a certain depth. Patrol boats carry such charges in order to overrun the submersible, drop the charges in its vicinity, and by the pressure of the underwater explosion crush its hull. Since the pressure of an underwater explosion diminishes rapidly as the distance increases from the point of detonation, it would be necessary to place the explosive charge fairly close to the hull of the submersible to be certain of its destruction. To accomplish this, it would seem that the ideal combination would be the control of an explosive carrier by radio energy directly from an aëroplane. Thus we would have a large explosive charge under water where it can most effectively injure the submersible, controlled by the guidance of an observer in the position best suited to watch the movements of the submerged target. The third method by which to frustrate the attack of the submersible is to give better protection to the merchant marine itself. While a great deal of ingenuity is being concentrated on the problem of thwarting the submersible, but little common sense has been used. While endeavoring to devise intricate and ingenious mechanisms to sink the submersible, we overlook the simplest safeguards for our merchant vessels. To-day, the construction of the average ship is designed to conform to the insurance requirements. This does not mean in any way that the ship is so constructed as to be truly safe. Thousands of vessels that are plying the seas to-day are equipped with bulkheads that are absolutely useless because they do not extend high enough to prevent the water from running from one part of the ship to another when the ship is partially submerged. Then again, the pumping system is so arranged as to reach the water in the lower part of the hull when the ship is up by the head. Should the ship be injured in the forward part and sink by the head, these pumps would be unable to reach the incoming water before her condition had become desperate. There is a vessel operating from New York to-day worth approximately a million dollars, and if she were equipped with suitable pumps, which would cost about a thousand dollars, her safety would be increased about forty per cent. Her owners, however, prefer running the risk of losing her to expending a thousand dollars! If the merchant vessels were made more torpedo-proof, it would be an important discouragement to the U-boat commander. During the past two years of the war, nineteen battleships have been torpedoed, and out of this number only three have been sunk, showing that it is possible by proper construction to improve the hull of a ship to such an extent that it is almost torpedo-proof. While it may not be practicable, on account of the cost, to build merchant vessels along the lines of armed ships, nevertheless much could be done to improve their structural strength and safety; and since speed is an essential factor in circumventing torpedo attack, new cargo-carriers should be constructed to be as fast as is feasible. So radically have conditions changed that to-day we have a superabundance of useless dreadnaught power. The smaller guns of some of these vessels, and their gun crews, would be far more useful on the merchant vessels than awaiting the far-off day when the German fleet shall venture forth again. The submersible must be driven below the surface by a superiority of gunfire on the part of the merchant marine and its patrols. In this way the submersible would be dependent upon the torpedo alone, a weapon of distinct limitations. In order to use it effectively, the submersible must be not more than from eight hundred to two thousand yards from its target, and must run submerged at reduced speed, thus greatly lessening its potentiality for destruction. To-day, submersibles are actually running down and destroying merchant vessels by gunfire. If merchant vessels carried two high-speed patrol launches equipped with three-inch guns of the Davis non-recoil type, and these vessels were lowered in the danger zone as a convoy to the ship, such a scheme would greatly lessen the enormous task of the present patrol. In the event of gunfire attack by a submersible, three vessels would be on the alert to answer her fire instead of one: an important factor in discouraging submersibles from surface attack! The future of the submarine campaign is of vital importance. The prospect is not very cheerful. Laubeuf states that at the beginning of the war Germany had not over thirty-eight submersibles. This statement may be taken with a grain of salt; the Germans do not advertise what they have. It is probable, however, that to-day they have not more than two hundred submersibles in operation. Over four thousand patrol boats are operating against this relatively small number, and yet sinkings continue at an alarming rate. It is estimated that Germany will be able to produce a thousand submersibles in the coming year and man these vessels with crews from her blockaded ships. This will be a tremendous addition to the number she has now in operation. The greater the number of submersibles she has in action, the greater the area the submarine campaign will cover. The number of patrol vessels will have to be increased in direct proportion to the area of the submarine zone. Since a large number of patrol boats has to operate against each submersible, it will be seen that a tremendous fleet will have to be placed in commission to offset a thousand submersibles. Thus the problem becomes increasingly difficult, and the protection of the trade route will be no more thoroughly effected than it is to-day--unless we overwhelm the enemy by a tremendous fleet of destroyers. FOOTNOTES: [1] The "Majestic" was torpedoed at the Dardanelles, while at anchor. The "Triumph" was torpedoed while moving slowly; both warships had out their torpedo nets. [2] The Germans have in operation submersibles of 2000 tons displacement. [3] Big strides, however, have been made lately in overcoming these shortcomings, and it would appear that the principle of sound-detection is the most hopeful one for us to follow. THE JOURNAL OF SUBMARINE COMMANDER VON FORSTNER I ORDERED TO COMMAND A SUBMARINE Every year about the first of October, at the time of the great army maneuvers, new appointments are also made in the navy; but, unlike our army brothers, who from beginning to end remain permanently either in the artillery, cavalry, or infantry, we officers of the navy are shifted from cruiser to torpedo boat, from the ship of the line to the hated office desk on land at the Admiralty, in order to fit us to serve our Almighty War Lord in every capacity and to the best advantage. The commander of a torpedo boat must be familiar with the service on board a dreadnaught or on any other large ship, for only those who are intimately acquainted with the kind of ship they are going to attack possess sufficient skill to destroy it. For the first time in the autumn of 190- some of us were surprised at the announcement: "Ordered on board a submarine." This order naturally met with an immediate response, but it brought a new outlook on the possibilities of our career, for we had not yet been trained to this branch of the service which our Almighty War Lord had only recently added to the Imperial Navy. The question was, should we be able to perform this new duty? It is well known that the French were the first to complete a type of submarine navigable underseas, and the English unwillingly, but with a sly anticipation of coming events, copied this type of boat. To all outward appearance we kept aloof from following the example of our neighbors, and our chiefs of the Admiralty were beset with expostulations on the subject, but they were silently biding their time while our enemies of to-day were bragging about their successful experiments with their newly constructed submarines. To the dismay and astonishment of our opponents it was only when the right hour had struck that our navy revealed that it had similar weapons at its command; it therefore prepared for them some disagreeable surprises, and set its special seal from the very beginning on the maritime warfare. I remember a talk I had with an old army officer a few years ago, when I had just received my appointment to a submarine. We were speaking of U-boats and aëroplanes, and he exclaimed: "Ach! my dear Forstner, give it up! The bottom of the ocean is for fishes, and the sky is for birds." What would have happened to us in this war had we not so proudly excelled above the earth and beneath the sea? At first a mystery still veiled our knowledge concerning our submarines; we were told that the dear, good, old U-boat No. 1 had splendidly stood every test, and shortly after, in October, 190-, I went on board, and had the honor later to command her for two years. But during this period, for several years, the greatest secrecy surrounded this new weapon of our navy; strictest orders were given to admit no one on board, not even high officers; only admirals were allowed to penetrate within, and on every matter concerning our U-boats we had to maintain absolute silence. Now, however, that our usefulness has been so fully justified, the veil of discretion can be somewhat lifted, and I can describe within certain limits the life and activities on board a submarine. II BREATHING AND LIVING CONDITIONS UNDER WATER A submarine conceals within its small compass the most concentrated technical disposition known in the art of mechanical construction, especially so in the spaces reserved for the steering gear of the boat and for the manipulation of its weapons. The life on board becomes such a matter of habit that we can peacefully sleep at great depths under the sea, while the noise is distinctly heard of the propellers of the enemy's ships, hunting for us overhead; for water is an excellent sound conductor, and conveys from a long distance the approach of a steamer. We are often asked, "How can you breathe under water?" The health of our crew is the best proof that this is fully possible. We possessed as fellow passengers a dozen guinea pigs, the gift of a kindly and anxious friend, who had been told these little creatures were very sensitive to the ill effects of a vitiated atmosphere. They flourished in our midst and proved amusing companions. It is essential before a U-boat submerges to drive out the exhausted air through powerful ventilating machines, and to suck in the purest air obtainable; but often in war time one is obliged to dive with the emanations of cooking, machine oil, and the breath of the crew still permeating the atmosphere, for it is of the utmost importance to the success of a submarine attack that the enemy should not detect our presence; therefore, it is impossible at such short notice to clear the air within the boat. These conditions, however, are bearable, although one must be constantly on the watch to supply in time fresh ventilation. Notwithstanding certain assertions in the press of alleged discoveries to supply new sources of air, the actual amount remains unchanged from the moment of submersion, and there is no possibility, either through ventilators or any other device so far known in U-boat construction, to draw in fresh air under water; this air, however, can be purified from the carbonic acid gas exhalations by releasing the necessary proportion of oxygen. If the carbonic acid gas increases in excess proportion then it produces well-known symptoms, in a different degree, in different individuals, such as extreme fatigue and violent headaches. Under such conditions the crew would be unable to perform the strenuous maneuver demanded of it, and the carbonic acid must be withdrawn and oxygen admitted. The ventilation system of the entire submarine is connected with certain chemicals, through which the air circulates, whose property is to absorb and retain the carbonic acid. Preparations of potassium are usually employed for this purpose. Simultaneously, cylinders of oxygen, under fairly high pressure, spray oxygen into the ventilation system, which is released in a measure proportionate to the number of the crew; there is a meter in the distributing section of the oxygen tubes, which is set to act automatically at a certain ratio per man. The ordinary atmosphere is bearable for a long time and this costly method of cleansing the air is used only as a last resort; the moment at which it must be employed is closely calculated to correspond, not only with the atmospheric conditions at the time of submersion, but also to the cubic quantity of air apportioned to each man according to his activities and according to the size of the boat. It is unnecessary to clear the air artificially during a short submersion, but during prolonged ones it is advisable to begin doing so at an early hour to prevent the carbonic acid gas from gaining a disproportionate percentage, as it becomes then more difficult to control, and it is obvious that it is impossible to dissipate the fumes of cooking, the odors of the machine oil, and the breath of the crew. Taken altogether one can live comfortably underseas, although there is a certain discomfort from the ever-increasing warmth produced by the working of the electrical machinery, and from the condensation created by the high temperature on the surface of the boat plunged in cold water, which is more noticeable in winter and in colder regions. It is interesting to observe that the occupations of the crew determine the atmospheric conditions: the quantity of air required by a human body depends entirely on its activity. A man working hard absorbs in an hour eighty-five liters of air. Besides the commander, who is vigorously engaged in the turret,--as will be hereafter described,--the men, employed on the lateral and depth steering, and those handling the torpedo tubes, are doing hard physical work. The inactive men use up a far smaller quantity of air, and it is ascertained that a man asleep requires hourly only fifteen liters of air. A well-drilled crew, off duty, is therefore expected to sleep at once, undisturbed by the noise around them, and their efficiency is all the greater when the time comes to relieve their weary comrades. We had a wireless operator on board whose duties ceased after submersion, and he had so well perfected the art of sleeping that he never cost us more than fifteen liters of air, hourly, underseas. The length of time that a U-boat can remain under water depends, as we stated above, on the atmospheric conditions at the moment of plunging, and on the amount of oxygen and chemicals taken on board. We can stay submerged for several days, and a longer period will probably never be necessary. The distance of vision varies somewhat under water, as we look out from the side windows cut into the steel armor of the commander's conning tower. We can naturally see farther in the clear water of the deep ocean than in the turbid, dirty water at the mouth of a river, and the surface of the water-bottom has a direct influence on the sight, which is far more distinct over a light sand than over dark seaweed or black rocks, and at an upper level the sunshine is noticeable many meters under water. But in any case, the vision underseas is of the shortest, and does not extend beyond a few meters; light objects and even the stem and stern of our own boat are invisible from the turret. We are unaware, therefore, of advancing ships, derelicts, or projecting rocks, and no lookout can preserve us from these dangers. The crew is entirely ignorant of their surroundings. Only the commander in his turret surveys through the periscope now and then a small sector of the horizon; and in turning round the periscope he gradually perceives the entire horizon. But this survey demands great physical exertion, which on a long cruise is most fatiguing. The periscopes erected through the upper cover of the turret must not be too easily turned in their sockets, and the latter are very tightly screwed in, for otherwise they would not be able to resist the water pressure at a great depth. The effort of simply turning the periscope is so exhausting that casual observations of the horizon are made by the officer of the watch; but during naval maneuvers or in time of war, the commander alone manipulates the periscope. It is essential in this case that the periscope should not arise needlessly above water and betray the presence of the U-boat. The commander must possess the absolute confidence of his crew, for their lives are in his hands. In this small and carefully selected company, each man, from the commanding officer down to the sailor boy and down to the stoker, knows that each one is serving in his own appointed place, and they perform their duties serenely and efficiently. I have always allowed every man on board once, in turn, to have a look through the periscope; it is their highest ambition, and the result is excellent, for it reassures them and they feel more confident as to their own safety after the granting of this small favor. As we advance underseas, unless passing through a school of fish, we seldom see any fish, for the noise of the propellers frightens them away; but when we lie at rest on the bottom of the ocean, the electric lights allure them, and they come and stare at us with goggling eyes close to the windows in the turret. The life, therefore, in our "cylinder" as we call it, offers a good deal of variety. The term "cylinder" is exact, for the inner conformation of a submarine is necessarily rounded, so that relatively thin partitions can successfully resist the greatest pressure of water. III SUBMERSION AND TORPEDO FIRE A new passenger, for the first time in a submarine, has often professed to be unaware that he was fathoms deep under water and has been quite unconscious that the boat had been diving. Of course his astonishment indicates that he was not in the compartment where these maneuvers take place, for it is in the commander's turret that the whole apparatus is centralized for submersion, for steering to the right depth, and also for emersion. At this juncture every man must be at his post, and each one of the thirty members of the crew must feel individually responsible for the safety of the whole in the difficult and rapid maneuver of plunging, for the slightest mistake may endanger the security of the boat. The central control, situated in the commander's turret, is in reality the brain of the boat. When the alarm signal is heard to change the course from surface navigation to subsurface navigation, several previously designated members of the crew take their post of duty in the commander's turret. The commander, himself, is on duty during the whole of the expedition in time of war, and he seldom gets a chance for rest in his tiny little cabin. Day and night, if there is the slightest suspicion of the approach of the enemy, he watches on the exposed bridge on the top of the turret; for a few seconds' delay in submerging might forfeit the taking of a much coveted prize. So he learns to do without sleep, or to catch a few brief seconds of repose by lying down in his wet clothes, and he is at once ready to respond to the alarm signal of the officer of the watch. In one bound he is once more surveying the horizon through the periscope, or mounts to the bridge to determine with his powerful field glass whether friend or foe is in sight. His observations must be taken in the space of a few seconds, for the enemy is also constantly on the lookout, and continual practice enables the sailor in the crow's nest to detect the slender stem of a periscope, although the hull of the boat is scarcely visible on the face of the waters. The commander must come to a prompt decision as soon as he locates the adversary's exact position. Not only may a retarded submersion spoil our plan of attack, but we are exposed to being rammed by a rapidly advancing steamer; our haste must be all the greater if the conditions of visibility are impaired, as is often the case on the high seas, for it takes time for the U-boat to submerge completely, and during this process it is helplessly exposed to the fire of long distance guns. Calmly, but with great decision, the commander gives the general orders to submerge. The internal combustion engines, the oil motors which, during surface navigation are used to accelerate the speed of the boat, are immediately disconnected, as they consume too much air underseas, and electric motors are now quickly attached and set in motion. They are supplied by a large storage battery, which consumes no air and forms the motive power during subsurface navigation. Of course electricity might be employed above water, but it uses up much current which is far more expensive than oil, and would be wasted too rapidly if not economized with care. It would be convenient to employ the same oil motor for underseas navigation, but such a machine has not yet been constructed, although various futile attempts of this kind have been made. With only one system of propulsion we should gain much coveted space and a more evenly distributed weight; within the same dimensions new weapons of attack could be inserted, and also effective weapons of defense. The inventor of such a device would earn a large reward. Let him who wants it, try for it! Quickly, with deft hands, the outboard connections, which served as exhausts for the oil motors, must be closed in such a way as to resist at once the high water pressure. It is well known that for every ten meters under water we oppose the pressure of one atmosphere--one kilogram to the square centimeter--and we must be prepared to dive to far greater depths. When all these openings have been carefully closed and fastened, then begins the maneuver of submersion. The sea water is admitted into big open tanks. Powerful suction engines, in the central control of the boat, draw out the air from these tanks so as to increase the rapid inrush of the water. The chief engineer notifies the captain as soon as the tanks are sufficiently filled and an even weight is established so as to steer the boat to the proper depth for attack. Notwithstanding the noise of the machinery, large, wide-open speaking tubes facilitate the delivery of orders between the commander's turret and the Central, and now is the moment the commander gives the order to submerge. All this may sound very simple and yet there are a great many things to consider. In the same manner in which an airplane is carefully balanced before taking wing into the high regions of the sky, a submarine must be accurately weighed and measured before it descends into the watery depths of the ocean. The briny water of the North Sea weighs far more than the less salty water of the Baltic Sea, whose western basin is composed of practically fresh water. A boat floats higher in the heavily salted waters of the North Sea and lies deeper and plunges farther down in the waters of the Baltic. The same U-boat, therefore, must take into its tanks a greater quantity of water ballast in the North Sea, to be properly weighted, than when diving into fresher waters. Even with small submarines of 400 tons displacement, there is the enormous difference of 10 tons between 1.025 specific weight in the intake of North Sea water and 1.000 specific weight of fresh water. On the other hand, if too much water is admitted into the tanks, the submarine may plunge with great velocity deeper and deeper beyond its appointed depth, and in such a case it might even happen that the hull of the boat could not withstand the overpowering pressure and would be crushed beneath the mass of water. And yet again if too small a quantity of water ballast is admitted into the tanks, the boat may not sink sufficiently below the surface, and thus we could not obtain an invisible attack which is positively necessary for our success. How much water then must we take in? The answer to this question is a matter of instinct, education, and experience and we must also depend on the cleverly devised apparatus made for this purpose. The submarine like the airplane must be always maintained at the proper level. The weight of the boat varies continually during a prolonged voyage. Food is devoured and the diving material of the machinery is consumed. The water in which the boat swims continually changes weight and the boat is imperceptibly raised or lowered in a way very difficult to ascertain. The officer responsible for the flooding of the submarine must painstakingly keep its weight under control during the entire navigation. The weight of a meal eaten by each man of the crew, the remains of the food and the boxes in which it was contained, which have been thrown overboard, must be calculated as well as the weight of the water, and the officer employs delicate apparatus for these measurements. On the open seas these alterations in weight do not occur very rapidly; but whenever a boat approaches the mouth of a river, then the transition from salt to fresh water happens very suddenly and may provoke the undesirable disturbances to which we have already alluded. Also warm and cold currents at different depths produce thermotic conditions, which surprisingly change the weight of the water. Peculiar as it may appear, a submarine must be lightened to descend to a very great depth, whereas, in steering to a higher level, more water must be admitted into the tanks to prevent our emerging to the surface with too great suddenness. This demands careful attention, skill, and experience. The principal condition for the success of a submarine attack is to steer to the exact depth required. The periscope must not rise too far above water, for it might easily be observed by the enemy; but if, by clumsy steering, the top of the periscope descends below the waves, then it becomes impossible to take aim to fire the torpedo. The commander therefore must be able to depend on the two men who control the vertical and horizontal rudders, whom another officer constantly directs and supervises. When the boat has reached the prescribed depth a close examination is made of all the outward-leading pipes, to see if they can properly resist the water pressure; if any tiny leak has been sprung, every cap must be tightly screwed down; for it is evident it would be very undesirable if any leak should occur and increase the heaviness of the submarine. Absolute silence must prevail so that any dripping or greater influx in the tanks can be observed. Quietly and silently the boat advances against the enemy; the only audible sounds are the purring of the electric motors and the unavoidable noise made by the manipulation of the vertical and horizontal rudders. Alert and speechless, every man on board awaits a sign from the commander, who is watching in the turret; but some time may elapse--now that the periscope is lowered and nearly on the level of the waters--before the adversary becomes visible again. The ship may have changed her course and have taken an opposite direction to the one she was following at the moment we submerged. In that case she would be out of reach and all our preparations prove useless. At various intervals, the commander presses an electric button and raises and lowers the periscope as quickly as possible, so as to take his own observation without, if possible, being observed himself; for he knows that any injury to the periscope--his most priceless jewel--would, as it were, render the boat blind and rob him of the much coveted laurel leaves. During these short glimpses the commander only perceives a little sky and the wide, round plate of the reflected sea with its dancing waves, while the nervous tension of the expectant crew increases every minute. At last is heard a joyous outcry from the commander, "The fellows are coming!"--and after one quick glance, to locate the enemy exactly, the periscope is lowered. Now every heart beats with happy anticipation and every nerve quivers with excitement. The captain quickly issues his orders for the course to be steered and for the necessary navigation. The officer in charge of the torpedoes receives the command to clear the loaded torpedo for firing, while the captain quietly calculates, first, the relative position of his boat to the enemy's ship, according to the course she has taken; secondly, at which point he must aim the torpedo to take surest effect, and--in the same way as in hunting a hare--he withholds the shot to correspond to his victim's gait. Many thoughts fly through his brain. Here, among his companions, the annihilation of the enemy will cause joyful enthusiasm, while among them their downfall will cause overwhelming sorrow. But without doubt they must vanish from the seas, and only a man, who has experienced these sensations, knows how many secondary matters occur to him at such a time. With lowered periscope, he sees nothing that goes on above him on the sea, and like a blind man the boat feels its way through the green flood. Every possible event becomes a subject of conjecture. Will the fellow continue on the same course? Has he seen our periscope in the second it was exposed, and is he running away from us? Or, on the contrary, having seen us, will he put on full steam and try to run us down with a fatal death stroke from his prow? At such an instant of high nervous tension, I have caught myself giving superfluous orders to let myself relax, and yet I knew that every man was at his post, fully conscious that his own safety, the safety of the whole boat, and the honor of the Fatherland were all at stake, and dependent on his individual effort. I knew, of course, that each fine fellow, down in the machinery room or at the torpedo tubes, had done his very best, and that all his thoughts were centered like mine in keen expectancy on the firing of our first torpedo--the eel as we call it, guarded with so much love and care--which would speed along accompanied by our warmest wishes. We give nicknames to our torpedoes, mostly feminine names: side by side below lie "the fat Bertha," "the yellow Mary," and "the shining Emma," and these ladies expected to be treated, like all ladies, with the tenderest care and courtesy. Now comes the announcement from the torpedo officer, "The torpedoes are cleared for firing." He stands with a firm hand awaiting the signal from his commander to permit the torpedo to drive ahead against the hated, but unconscious adversary, and to bore its way with a loud report deep into the great steel flank. Once again the periscope springs for an instant to the surface and then glides back into the protecting body of the turret. The captain exclaims, "We are at them!" and the news spreads like wildfire through the crew. He gives a last rapid order to straighten the course of the boat. The torpedo officer announces, "Torpedo ready"--and the captain, after one quick glance through the periscope, as it slides back into its sheath, immediately shouts, "Fire!" Even without the prescribed announcement from the torpedo officer that the torpedo had been set off, every one knows that it is speeding ahead, and for a few seconds we remain in anxious suspense, until a dull report provokes throughout our boat loud cheers for Kaiser and for Empire, and by this report we know that "the fat Bertha" has reached unhindered her destination. Radiant with joy, the commander breathes a sigh of relief, and he does not check the young sailor at the wheel, who seeks to grasp his hand and murmur his fervent congratulations. But congratulations must be postponed until we ascertain that our success is complete. And once again the periscope runs up towards the laughing daylight, while the commander in happy but earnest tones utters the reassuring words, "The ship is sinking, further torpedoes can be spared." He then permits the gratified torpedo officer, who stands by his side, a quick glance through the periscope to verify the result of his own efficiency. It is chiefly owing to the care of the personnel of the torpedo squad, that the torpedoes are maintained in such perfect condition and that their aim is so correct; and to them is due in great part the success of our attack. The commander and his officer exchange a knowing look, for they have seen the enemy's ship heavily listing to one side, where the water is rushing into the gaping wound, and soon she must capsize. They see her crew hastily lowering the life boats--their only means of escape--and this is a sufficient proof of our victory. We can depart now in all security. Concealing our presence, we plunge and vanish beneath the waters; having reached a certain distance, we stop to make sure that our victim lies at the bottom of the ocean. We behold the waves playing gently and smoothly as before over the cold, watery grave of the once proud ship and we hasten away from the scene of our triumph. [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ A TORPEDOED SCHOONER] There is no need of our going to the help of the enemy's crew struggling in the sea, for already their own torpedo boats are hurrying to the succor of their comrades, and for us there is further work to be done. Imagine the enthusiasm our dear fallen comrade, Weddingen, and his crew must have felt as the loud report of their last torpedo announced the destruction of their third English armed cruiser! IV MOBILIZATION AND THE BEGINNING OF THE COMMERCIAL WAR After long and agitated waiting, we received in the last days of July, 1914, the command to mobilize. Joyful expectation was visible on every face, and the only fear that prevailed was that those of us who were awaiting our orders on land might be too late to take part in the naval battle we were all looking forward to so eagerly. A few years ago, one of the Lords of the English Admiralty had predicted that in the first naval battle fought between Germany and England, the German fleet would be entirely annihilated. We naturally only smiled in derision at these boastful words. The English newspapers, besides, had for many years announced that whenever German officers met together they drank a toast "To the Day." Although of course this was untrue, yet we were all burning to prove in battle what our great Navy had learned in long, hard-working years of peace. A mighty engagement at sea seemed to us imminent during these first days of war, and we all longed to be in it. I was, however, at the moment, among those unfortunates who were strapped down to a desk in the Admiralty, and with envy I beheld my comrades rushing to active service, for I had always hoped to lead my old beloved U-boat victoriously against the enemy. We had all placed strong hopes in the part our submarines would eventually play in a great crisis, but we never dreamed that they would so successfully take the first rôle as our most effective weapon in naval warfare. [Illustration: _Photograph by Brown & Dawson, Stamford, Conn._ _From Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ GERMAN SUBMARINES U 13, U 5, U 11, U 3, AND U 16 IN KIEL HARBOR] With a happiness that can hardly be described, I suddenly received the order to take over the command of a fine, new U-boat which had just been built at Kiel. Never before was a pen more quickly thrown aside and a desk closed than when I handed over my duties in the Admiralty to my successor, and shortly afterwards I took possession of my new, splendid boat, to which I was going to confide all my luck and all I was humanly capable of doing. I addressed my crew in a short speech, and told them we could best serve our Almighty War Lord in bringing this new weapon of attack, confided to our care, to the highest state of efficiency, and my words were greeted with loud cheers. There was much work to be done in putting the finishing touches to our submarine, which had only just come off the ways. The auxiliary machines had to be tested and certain inner arrangements made; but, thanks to the untiring zeal of the crew and to the eager help we received from the Imperial Navy Yard, our task was soon accomplished. After a few short trial trips and firing tests, I was able to declare our boat ready for sea and for war, and after everything had been formally surveyed by the inspector we left our home port before the middle of August. Departing at a high speed, we bade farewell to the big ships still at their moorings, and we soon joined our fellow submarines, who had already in the first fortnight of war, according to an announcement of the Admiralty Staff, made a dash as far as the English coast; and here is the proud record of what they further accomplished: At the beginning of September, 1914, the English cruiser "Pathfinder" was torpedoed by Lieutenant-Captain Hersing, who later sunk the two ships of the line, "Triumph" and "Majestic," in the Dardanelles and was rewarded with our highest order, _Pour le Mérite_. This initial success proclaimed our submarines to be our greatest weapon of offense and their importance became of world-wide renown, for we claim the honor of having fired the first successful torpedo shot from a submarine. It opened a new era in maritime warfare and was the answer to many questions, which had puzzled the men of our profession the whole world over. Above all, we had proved that a German U-boat, after a long and difficult voyage, could reach the enemy's coast; and after penetrating their line of defense was able to send one of their ships to the bottom of the sea with one well-aimed torpedo shot. The age of the submarine had truly begun. Other victories followed in prompt succession. Weddingen's wonderful prowess off the Hoek of Holland, on September 22, 1914, will never be forgotten. In the space of an hour he sunk the three English armored cruisers, "Cressy," "Hague," and "Aboukir," and shortly afterwards dispatched their comrade "Hawke" to keep them company at the bottom of the North Sea. Let me add to this list the English cruiser "Hermes" near Dover, the "Niger" off the Downs of the English coast; the Russian cruiser "Pallada" in the Baltic; and a great number of other English torpedo boats, torpedo boat destroyers, as well as auxiliary cruisers and transports. All this was achieved before the end of 1914. Unfortunately I am not at liberty, for obvious reasons, to describe my own part in the beginning of the War, but hope to be able to do so after we achieve a victorious peace. Our dear cousins on the other side of the Channel must have been rather disquieted by the loss of so much shipping at the hands of our boats or of our mines; and they must have realized that a new method of warfare had begun, for their fleet no longer paraded in the North Sea or in any of the waters in the war zone. Their great, valuable ships were withdrawn, and the patrol of their coast was confided only to smaller craft and to the mine-layers, in order that their people might supposedly sleep in peace. Our adversary was concealed by day, and only ventured forth at night, confident that darkness would insure his safety. This was then the hour for us to lie in watch for our prey, and no more glorious clarion call could have heralded in the New Year than the torpedo shot, which, on the New Year's Eve of 1915, sent the mighty ship of the line "Formidable" to the bottom of the Channel. This was our first triumphant victory, which showed that not even darkness could circumvent our plans, and which dispelled all further doubts as to our efficiency. A few days after the sinking of the "Formidable" a piece of one of the row boats was washed ashore at Zeebrugge, and now adorns our Sea Museum as the only reminder left of the great ship. We stood at last on the same footing as our dear old sister, the torpedo boat, to whom we in reality owed our present development, and from now on, in proud independence, we were justified in considering ourselves a separate branch of the Navy. Now that England felt obliged to withhold the activities of her fleet, she instigated against us the commercial blockade and hunger-war; she obliged neutrals to follow a prescribed route; and, by subjecting their vessels to search, she prevented them from selling us any of their wares. In this manner, she sought to redeem herself from the paralysis we had brought on her fleet, and her unscrupulous treatment of the right of nations and her interpretation of the so-called "freedom of the seas" are only too well known. We retaliated on February 4, 1915, by prescribing a certain danger zone, which extended around Great Britain and Ireland and along the north coast of France. By this interdict, public opinion was enlightened as to the part our U-boats were going to perform in this new commercial warfare, a part, I must admit, that few people had anticipated before the commencement of hostilities. Of course, new demands were to be made upon us; we should have to make long undersea trips, and remain for some time in the enemy's waters, after which we should have to return unperceived. The English called it German bluff, but their tone soon changed after we had made our first raid in the heart of the Irish Channel, and few of them now ventured abroad except when forced by the most imperative obligations. At the end of October, 1914, the first English steamer "Glitra" was sunk off the Norwegian coast. It carried a cargo of sewing machines, whisky, and steel from Leith. The captain was wise enough to stop at the first signal of the commander of the U-boat, and he thereby saved the lives of his crew, who escaped with their belongings after the steamer was peacefully sunk. If others later had likewise followed his example, innocent passengers and crew would not have been drowned; and after all, people are fond of their own lives; but these English captains were following the orders of their Government to save their ships through flight. The English authorities even went so far as to inaugurate a sharp-shooting system at sea by offering a reward to any captain who rammed or destroyed a German submarine, although the latter could only obey this command at the risk of their lives; but what cared the rulers in England for the existence of men belonging to the lower classes of the Nation? They offered tempting rewards for these exploits in the shape of gold watches, and bribed the captains of the merchant marine with the promise of being raised to the rank of officers in the Reserve. Therefore, the British newspapers were filled with the account of the destruction of German U-boats, and of the generous rewards given for these fine deeds. It was jolly for us on our return to port to read the record of our own doom, and scarcely would there be a submarine afloat if these records had been true. I should like to tell a short story in connection with these assertions of English prowess. One of their small steamers had actually contrived in misty weather to ram the turret of one of our submarines while it was in the act of submerging. The English captain was loudly praised in all the newspapers and received the promised rewards for having sunk, as he declared, a German U-boat; he had distinctly felt, he said, the shock of the collision. His statement was certainly accurate, for the submarine was also conscious of the shock, but it was fortunately followed with no evil results, and our commander had the joyful surprise, shortly afterwards, when he emerged, to find the blade of the foe's propeller stuck in the wall of the turret, whose excellent material had preserved it from serious injury. We happily hope that the German Empire will never run so short of bronze that it will be obliged to appropriate, for the melting pot, this fine propeller blade, which is one of the many interesting trophies preserved in our Submarine Museum. V OUR OWN PART IN THE COMMERCIAL WAR AND OUR FIRST CAPTURED STEAMER As we have said above, our war against the merchant marine of the Allied Nations began in February, 1915, throughout the war zone established around the English and French coasts. Day after day, the number increased of steamers and sail boats that we had sunk, and commercial relations between all countries were seriously menaced. The English were forced to believe in our threats and even the shipping trade of the neutrals had greatly diminished. The mighty British fleet no longer dared to patrol the seas, and the merchantmen were told to look out for themselves and were even armed for the purpose. While the winter lasted, there was not much for us to do, and we awaited fine weather with lively impatience. During this period, our victorious armies had occupied Belgium and Serbia, and conquered the Russian girdle of fortifications. The subsequent participation of Italy produced but little impression on the fortunate current of events, whereas Turkey's entrance at our side in the war, opened a new field of operation for our U-boats in the Mediterranean. At last, I, myself, was ordered to prepare for a long voyage, which I welcomed most joyfully after several months of comparative inaction. We were to remain in the enemy's waters for several weeks, which, of course, involved the most elaborate preparations. Every portion of the boat was again minutely inspected, every machine repaired and thoroughly tested. Like a well-groomed horse we must be in perfect condition for the coming race. Each man in the crew holds a responsible position and knows that the slightest neglect endangers the welfare of the whole boat. The commander must be certain that everything is completed according to the highest standard. The boat is frequently submerged and performs various exercises underseas, while it is still safe in the friendly waters off our own coast. We are always abundantly provisioned; for the thirty men must be given the most nourishing food to be fit for their arduous tasks. I have often laughed to see the quantity of provisions placed on deck,--for the dealers, of course, are never allowed to penetrate the inner shrine of the boat,--and yet we have often returned from a long cruise because our food was coming to an end. Every available corner and space is filled with provisions. The cook--a sailor specially trained for the job--must hunt below in every conceivable place for his vegetables and meats. The latter are stored in the coolest quarters, next to the munitions. The sausages are put close to the red grenades, the butter lies beneath one of the sailor's bunks, and the salt and spice have been known to stray into the commander's cabin, below his berth. When everything is in readiness, the crew is given a short leave on land, to go and take the much coveted hot bath. This is the most important ceremony before and after a cruise, especially when the men return, for when they have remained unwashed for weeks, soaked with machine oil, and saturated with salt spray, their first thought is--a hot bath. At sea, we must be very sparing of our fresh-water supply, and its use for washing must be carefully restricted. The commander usually spends the eve of his departure in the circle of his comrades, but it is a solemn moment for him as soon as he sails from his native shore. He becomes responsible for every action which is taken, and for many weeks no orders reach him from his superiors. He is unable to ask any one's advice, or to consult with his inferiors, and he stands alone in the solitude of his higher rank. Even the common sailor is conscious of the seriousness of the task ahead and of the adventures which may occur below seas. No loud farewells, no jolly hand, no beckoning girls are there to bid us Godspeed. Quietly and silently do we take our departure. Neither wife nor child, nor our nearest and dearest, know whither we go, if we remain in home waters, or if we go forth to encounter the foe. We can bid no one farewell. It is through the absence of news that they know that we have gone, and no one is aware, except the special high officer in this department of the Admiralty who gives the commander his orders, on what errand we are bound or when we shall return, for the slightest indiscretion might forfeit the success of our mission. Before dawn, on the day of our departure, the last pieces of equipment and of armament are put on board, and the machinery is once more tested; then, at the appointed hour, the chief engineer informs the commander that everything is ready. A shrill whistle bids the crew cast loose the moorings, and at the sound of the signal bell the boat begins to move. As we glide rapidly out of port, we exchange by mutual signs a few last greetings with our less favored comrades on the decks of the ships we leave behind, who no doubt also long to go forth and meet the enemy. The land begins to disappear in the distance, and as we gaze at the bobbing buoys that vanish in our wake, we hope that after a successful journey they will again be our guides as we return to our dear German homes. After gliding along smoothly at first, we soon feel the boat tossing among the bigger waves; but we laugh, as they heave and dip around us, for we know everything is shipshape on board, and that they can do us no harm. The wild seas are bearing us onward towards the hated foe, and after all--in the end they lull so peacefully to sleep the sailor in his eternal rest. In this manner, on a fine March morning, we steered our course to the English coast, to take an active part in the commercial war. Gently the waves splashed around the prow and glided over the lower deck. Our duty was to examine every merchantman we met with the object of destroying those of the enemy. The essential thing was to ascertain the nationality of the ships we stopped. On the following morning, we were given several opportunities to fulfill our task. It is well known that the English merchantmen were ordered by their Government to fly a neutral flag, so as to avoid being captured by our warships. We all remember how, on one of her earlier trips through the war zone, the gigantic "Lusitania" received a wireless message to conceal the Union Jack and to fly the Stars and Stripes of the United States, but destiny after all overtook her at a later date. All of us U-boat commanders were told not to trust to the nationality of any flag we saw, and to stop every steamer on our path and to examine her papers thoroughly. Even these might be falsified, and we must therefore judge for ourselves, according to the appearance of the crew and the way in which the ship was built, whether she were in reality a neutral. Of course many neutrals had to suffer from the deceptions practiced by the English, and although their colors were painted on their sides and they were lighted at night by electricity, yet this device could also be copied. Therefore, we were obliged to detain and examine all the ships we encountered, greatly to the inconvenience of the innocent ones. I will describe the manner in which a warship undertakes the search of a merchantman: Through flag signals the merchantman is bidden to stop immediately; if he does not obey, the warship makes his orders more imperative by firing blank shot as a warning. If then the merchantman tries to escape, the warship is justified in hitting the runaway. On the other hand, if the steamer or sailboat obeys the summons, then the warship puts out a boat with an armed prize crew and an officer to look over the ship's papers. These consist in certificates of nationality, of the sailing port, and port of destination, and they contain a bill of lading as to the nature of the cargo, also the names of the crew and a passenger list if it is a passenger steamer. If the ship is a neutral and her papers are satisfactory, she is allowed to proceed, whereas an enemy's ship is either captured or sunk. If a neutral ship carries contraband of war, this is either confiscated or destroyed, but if it exceeds half the total cargo, then this ship is also condemned. It is nearly impossible for a submarine to send a prize crew on board a big ship, therefore neutral States have given their captains the order to go in a ship's boat and deliver their papers themselves on board the submarine; but they often annoyed us by a long parley and delay, and it was always with a feeling of disappointment that we were obliged to leave inactive our cannons and torpedoes, the crew sadly exclaiming, "After all, they were only neutrals!" One sunny afternoon, we were in the act of examining the papers of a Dutch steamer that we had stopped in the neighborhood of the Meuse Lightship, when we perceived on the horizon another steamer coming rapidly towards us, and we judged by its outline that it was of English construction. The steamer we were examining proved to be unobjectionable in every respect, and sailing only between neutral ports, so we dismissed it, and just as it was departing, the English steamer, evidently apprehending our presence, turned about in great haste in hope to escape from us, and steered with full steam ahead towards the English shores, to seek the protection of the ships on the watch patroling the English coast. The English captain well knew what fate awaited him if he fell into the hands of a wicked German U-boat. Mighty clouds of smoke rose from her funnels, giving evidence of the active endeavors of the stokers in the boiler-room to bring the engines up to their highest speed, and before we had time to give the signal to stop, the steamer was in flight. Meanwhile we had also put on all steam in pursuit, and drove our engines to their utmost capacity. The English ship was going at a great pace, and we had many knots to cover before we could catch up with her to impose our commands, for she paid no heed to the international flag-signal we had hoisted--"Stop at once or we fire!"--and she was striving her uttermost to reach a zone of safety. Our prow plunged into the surging seas, and showered boat and crew alike with silvery, sparkling foam. The engines were being urged to their greatest power, and the whir of the propeller proved that below, at the motor valves, each man was doing his very best. Anxiously, we measured the distance that still separated us from our prey. Was it diminishing? Or would they get away from us before our guns could take effect? Joyfully we saw the interval lessening between us, and before long our first warning shot, across her bow, raised a high, threatening column of water. But still the Englishman hoped to escape from us, and the thick smoke belching from the funnels showed that the stokers were shoveling more and more coal into the glowing furnace; they well knew what risk they had to run. Even after two well-aimed shots were discharged from the steel mouths of our cannons, right and left on either side of the fugitive, which must have warned the captain that the next shot would undoubtedly strike the stern, he was still resolved neither to stop nor surrender. Nothing now remained for us but to use our last means to enforce our will. With a whistling sound, a shell flew from the muzzle of our cannon and a few seconds later fell with a loud crash in a cloud of smoke on the rear deck of the steamer. This produced the desired effect. Immediately the steamer stopped and informed us by three quick blasts from the steam whistle (the international signal) that the engines would be reversed and the ship stopped. The captain had given up his wild race. Huge white clouds from the uselessly accumulated steam rose from the funnels, and to our signal, "Abandon the ship at once," the Englishman replied with a heavy heart by hoisting a white and red striped pennon, the preconcerted international sign that our order had been understood and was being obeyed. This small striped pennon has a deep significance: it means that a captain accepts this most painful necessity knowing that his dear old boat will soon lie at the bottom of the sea; truly a difficult decision for the captain of a proud ship to make. The crew were by this time reconciled to their fate and, as we drew near to parley with the captain, the life boats were launched; the men tossed in their belongings and, jumping in, took their places at the oars. It need hardly be said that we, on the other hand, were pleased with our capture. I have often shaken hands with the gunner who had fired the last deadly shot, for we waste no emotion over our adversary's fate. With every enemy's ship sent to the bottom, one hope of the hated foe is annihilated. We simply pay off our account against their criminal wish to starve all our people, our women, and our children, as they are unable to beat us in open fight with polished steel. Ought we not therefore to rejoice in our justifiable satisfaction? After the crew had left in two boats the blazing hull of the "Leuwarden" of Harwich, a well-directed shot was aimed at the water line. Mighty jets of water poured into the rear storeroom, and the heavy listing of the ship showed that her last hour had struck. We beckoned to the captain to row up beside us and deliver his papers; he stepped silently on board, and we exchanged salutes. As I saw that the two boat-loads of twenty-five men were lying off within hearing, on either side of us, I took this opportunity to admonish the captain about his foolhardy attempt to escape, and how he thereby had endangered the lives of his crew. The latter, realizing the justice of my remarks, thanked us for having saved them by respectfully lifting their caps. The captain awkwardly excused himself by saying he had simply hoped to get away. I then notified these people whom we had saved that we would take them in tow to the Meuse Lightship; at this, the fine-looking old captain realized to what useless dangers he had exposed his men, and what cause he had to be grateful to us. With tears in his eyes, he seized my hand and murmured his thanks. I willingly took his outstretched hand.... At that instant a Dutch pilot steamboat, which had been attracted to the spot by the sound of firing, hove in sight, and I committed the Englishmen to its care. We all desired, before departing in opposite directions, to witness the final sinking of the steamer, for apparently the English also wanted to see the last of their fine ship, and we awaited the great moment in silence. We had not long to wait. The stern of the ship sank deeper and deeper, whereas the bow rose sharply in the air, till at last with a loud gurgle the whole steamer was drawn down, and the waters bubbled and roared over the sunken wreck. There was now one less fine ship of the English merchant marine afloat on the ocean! We had all seen enough, and each one went his way. Our course was pointed westward towards new endeavors, while the Dutchman steered for the nearest port in order to land the shipwrecked crew. I think it was our English friends who waved a friendly farewell from the deck of the pilot steamboat in grateful recognition for our having saved their lives, although they may not actually have wished us "_aufwiedersehn_." We read in the Dutch papers a few days later an accurate description of the sinking of the "Leuwarden," and the English captain was fain to acknowledge how well we had treated him; every captain of an English steamer might have been treated in like manner had not the English Government wished it otherwise. VI THE CAPTURE OF TWO PRIZE STEAMERS The next day an opportunity offered itself to us which opened to submarines a new field of activity in the commercial war. It was a gray, misty morning, the sea was becalmed, and over the still waters a heavy vapor hung low like a veil before the rising sun. But little could be seen, and we had to keep a sharper lookout than usual to avoid running unawares into a hostile ship, and we also had to be ready for a sudden submersion. We strained all the more an attentive ear to every sound; for it is well known that in a fog, during a calm, we sailors can perceive the most distant noise that comes over the water. In time of peace fog horns and whistles give warning of any approaching vessel, but in time of war, on the contrary, no vessel wishes to betray its presence. It is essential for us to have two men down below, at listening posts, with their ears glued to the sides of the boat, to catch the throbbing of a propeller, or the rush of waves dashing against the prow of a ship, or any suspicious vibrations, for these noises are easily discernible under sea, water being an excellent sound conductor. On this March morning we were all keenly intent on the approach of some ship; many times already as we stood on the bridge we had been deceived by some unreal vision or some delusive sound; our overstrained nerves transformed our too lively fancy into seeming reality; and in a thick fog objects are strangely magnified and distorted: a floating board may assume the shape of a boat, or a motor launch be taken for a steamer. I remember a little story about a man-of-war seeking to enter a harbor in a heavy fog; every one on board was looking in vain for a buoy to indicate the channel when the captain himself called out, "It is for me then to point out the buoy; there it is!" but as they drew near, the buoy floating on the water spread but a pair of wings and flew away in the shape of a gull, and many a gull in a fog may have deceived other experienced seamen. But to return to our own adventures on this misty morning; we not only saw gulls rising from the sea, and boards floating on the water, but we also encountered English mines adrift, which had parted from their moorings, and to these we thought it safer to give a wide berth. At last the fog lifted, and we discovered in the distance, a few knots away, a steamer; we immediately went in pursuit. Rapidly it steamed ahead, but we caught up with it, and found it belonged to the Dutch-Batavian Line, but as it was steering for the English coast, towards the mouth of the Thames, we took for granted it carried a contraband cargo. We signaled for it to stop, but the steamer refused to obey our command and increased its speed. Having ascertained that we could easily overtake it, we spared our shot, which must be carefully preserved for more useful purposes. After a chase which lasted about three quarters of an hour only a thousand meters remained between us. The Dutch captain wisely gave up a further attempt to escape, and awaited our orders. In compliance with my signal he sent his first officer in a boat with the ship's papers. While we lay alongside the steamer, gently rocking to and fro, the crew and passengers flocked on deck to gaze at us with wondering eyes, and we in return tried to discover to what nationality they belonged. On reading the papers the officer handed me, I saw the steamer was the "Batavian IV," destined for London, carrying a cargo of provisions, which is contraband of war. I had to make a rapid decision as to the fate of the steamer, and I resolved to bring the "Batavian" into one of the Belgian ports now in our possession. No U-boat had ever attempted such a feat before, but why not try? Of course we had to cover a long distance with the imminent threat of being overtaken by English warships, but if we did succeed, it was a very fine catch, and after all,--nothing venture, nothing have. Besides the misty weather was in our favor, and it would only take a few hours to reach the protection of our batteries on the Flemish coast. [Illustration: THE START: TAKING IN OIL FROM HER TENDER THE CHASE: FOLLOWING IN THE WAKE OF A DUTCH STEAMER OVERHAULING HER PREY: ROUNDING THE BOW OF THE BATAVIER IV THE SUMMONS TO SURRENDER: CALLING UPON THE STEAMER TO HEAVE TO ABOUT TO BOARD THE PRIZE: THE PILOT LEAVING THE TENDER FOR THE STEAMER THE TRIUMPH: THE SUBMARINE LEADING THE WAY THROUGH MINE-FIELDS INTO ZEEBRÜGGE VON FORSTNER'S SUBMARINE (U 28) IN ACTION IN THE NORTH SEA A Series of Photographs taken from the Deck of One of her Victims] The Dutch officer was notified that a prize crew would be at once sent on board his steamer to conduct it to the port of Zeebrugge. He opened wondering eyes, but made no protest, for he was fully aware of our cannons turned on his ship and of the loaded pistols of our crew. The crew and passengers on board the Dutchman were no less astounded when our prize command, consisting of one officer and one sailor, climbed up on deck. I could not well dispense, myself, with more men, and in case my prize was released by the English, it would be better they had so few prisoners of ours to take. The Dutch captain raised several objections at being led away captive in this manner; above all he was afraid of the German mines strewn before the entrance of Zeebrugge, but my officer reassured him by telling him we should lead the way and he would therefore run no risk. He finally had to resign himself to his fate. So we proceeded towards the shores of Flanders; we, in the proud consciousness of a new achievement, and the Dutchman lamenting over the seizure of his valuable cargo. The passengers must have wondered what was in store for them. Many of the ladies were lightly clad, having been roused in fright from their morning slumbers, and their anxious eyes stared at us, while we merrily looked back at them. Our officer on board exchanged continual signals with us, and we were soon conscious, with a feeling of envy, as we gazed through our field glasses, that he was getting on very friendly terms with the fair sex on board our prize. We had feared at first that he might have some disagreeable experiences, but his first message spelled, "There are a great many ladies on board," and the second, "We are having a delicious breakfast," and the third, "The captain speaks excellent German," so after this we were quite reassured concerning him. An hour may have elapsed when a cloud of smoke on the eastern horizon announced the approach of another steamer, and the idea that we might perhaps capture a second prize ship was very alluring. The wisdom of abandoning for a while our first captive was considered somewhat doubtful; if we delayed it might escape after darkness set in, but when I heard my officers exclaim "What a fine steamer!" I decided to try for it. The "Batavian" was ordered to proceed slowly on the same course, and we would catch up with it later; then turning my attention to steamer No. 2, I made quickly in her direction to intercept her on her way to England. After half an hour's pursuit we signaled for her to stop, and we discovered she was also Dutch. The captain, seeing it was useless to try and escape, put out a boat and came on board with the ship's papers; he seemed thoroughly displeased at the meeting, and hoped no doubt by coming himself to get away more easily, but of this expectation he was to be sadly disabused. On discovering that he was also carrying contraband of war--cases of eggs for London--I ordered him to follow us to Zeebrugge. One officer and a stoker, for I could not spare another sailor, accompanied him as our prize command on board his ship, the "Zaanstroom," and after a lapse of an hour and a half, followed by No. 2, we caught up with No. 1. The difficulty of my task can be easily imagined, for I was obliged to make the two steamers follow each other at a given interval and at the same speed; like a shepherd dog herding his flock I had to cruise round my two captives and force them to steer a straight and even course, for one tried occasionally to outdistance the other, probably with the desire to escape in the foggy weather, which increased my fear of not reaching the Flemish coast before dark. But finally I got the steamers into line, and where persuasion might have failed the menace of my cannons was doubtless my surest reason for success. My second officer on the "Zaanstroom" signaled that everything was going to his liking and that they were just sitting down to a savory meal of dropped eggs. This was reassuring news, and I could also feel tranquil on his behalf; besides in a few hours we should be safely under cover of our coast artillery. We notified the Pilot Depot by wireless to send us a pilot for each ship, and our messages having been acknowledged we were certain of being warmly welcomed, and that every preparation would be made for the reception of our two prizes. The closer we got to the coast the heavier the fog lay upon the water, a not unusual experience at sea. We had to advance with the greatest caution; our U-boat led the way to confirm anew the assurance we had given our two steamers that they were in no danger of mines. We had to measure the depth of water repeatedly with the lead, and so doing we had to stop very often; otherwise the lead being dragged by the current draws the line to an inaccurate length. It is but too easy a matter to run aground off the coast of Flanders, as submerged sandbanks are everywhere to be encountered, and this would have been in our present case a most unfortunate occurrence. This continual stopping rather disturbed the order of our march, for steamers are more unwieldy and less accustomed to rapid maneuvering than war vessels. Luckily all went well with us, for after a fine trip of several hours we gladly greeted our German guard-ships lying off the port of Zeebrugge, and the lighthouse on the mole beckoned to us from afar through the thin afternoon mist. We quickly surrendered our two captive's to the patrol of the port authorities, into whose care and surveillance they were now entrusted. Our job for the day was over, and we could joyfully hurry to our berth within the harbor. We passed along the tremendous stone quay of the artificial port of Zeebrugge; it extends several kilometers, and was built by Leopold II with English money; it had cost many, many millions, and was intended to serve quite another purpose than its present one. We could look with defiance at the mouth of our German cannons that gaped over the highest edge of the jetty towards the sea, as if awaiting the foe. Farther on up the mole, instead of English troops that the King would so gladly have sent over in transports to march through neutral Belgium and pay us an uninvited visit, stood, side by side, our own brave fellows of the Army and of the Navy. Men from every branch of the service, in their different uniforms, were visible, as they crowded on the pier to witness our arrival with our two prize boats, for the news of this unusual capture had already spread far and wide, and they all wanted to satisfy their curiosity. Their enthusiasm would have been even greater had they guessed that concealed within the hull of our two vessels an Easter feast of undreamed-of dainties lay in store for them. But even without this incentive a tremendous cheer from a thousand throats hailed our appearance as we rounded the mole, and our thirty voices returned as hearty, if not as loud, a three times repeated cheer for the garrison of Zeebrugge. Our tow lines were caught by the eager hands of the sailors, and in a jiffy we were lying securely alongside the quay, safe in port to rest in peace a day or two after a many days' cruise enlivened by such exciting events. Our friends of the Navy, whom we had not seen since the beginning of the war, came to visit us at once; much gay news was exchanged and also sad regrets expressed at the loss of dear fallen comrades. Shortly afterwards one of the Dutch captains, escorted by two guards, asked me to grant him an interview, and I was glad to make his personal acquaintance; we discussed over a little glass of port wine, which we were both surely entitled to, the incidents of the day, and he gave vent to his affliction at being thus seized, by ejaculating: "A great steamer like mine to be captured by a little beast like yours!" I could sympathize with his feelings, for he had sustained a severe pecuniary loss, and he well knew what would become of his ship and cargo according to prize law, but I suspected he found some consolation in having a companion in misfortune, for the other Dutch captain had to submit to the same conditions. We shook hands and parted excellent friends, knowing that each one of us had only accomplished his duty. Before making my official report I inspected my two prizes that were docked just behind us; a chain parted them from the rest of the quay, with sentries placed on guard. I gave the preference of my first visit, naturally, as a polite man should, to the steamer with so many of the fair sex on board. I hoped that by appearing surrounded by my officers I should dispel their fear of the "German barbarians." I was told the ladies belonged to a variety troupe that was to give a performance the next evening in London. Poor London, to be deprived by our fault of an enjoyable evening! Among the other passengers were Belgians and French, who had waited six weeks in Holland for a chance to get across, and also an American reporter of the Hearst newspaper. He had a camera for taking moving pictures, and we discovered later that he had photographed the whole occurrence of the capture of the ship by our submarine. A few days later the _Graphic_ of March 27, 1915, published several of his pictures, which eventually found their way to many American papers. I was ordered that evening to dine with the Commanding Admiral of the Marine Corps, Excellency von Schröder, and a motor called for me and took me to Brügge where he resided. The peaceful landscape and the ploughed fields betrayed but few signs of war, and I saw Belgian peasants and German soldiers planting together the seed for the coming harvest. While the authorities were passing judgment on my two prizes I had a chance to visit the surrounding country. The English had destroyed in their retreat everything in Zeebrugge, except the new Palace Hotel, the new Post Office, and the Belgian Bank. I made the most of this short opportunity to observe the doings of our men in this conquered land paid for with German blood. I was interested to note how our Marines had been incorporated in every branch of the Army service, and how easily they adapted themselves to this new life. They served as infantry in the trenches, as artillery behind the great coast guns, and also as cavalry mounted on big Flemish mares. They had even been transformed into car conductors on the electric line that runs behind the dunes between Zeebrugge and Ostend. In fact they filled every kind of position, and few Belgians were to be seen. We had created here a second German fatherland and home, notwithstanding the enemy's reports that we had acted like Huns and barbarians, but as neither the country nor the people were of great interest to me my attention was centered on the study of our own troops. Meantime the unloading of our steamers had begun and I had to supervise it myself. As the cargoes were composed of perishable foodstuffs the usual delays were overcome, and hundreds of sailors and soldiers were ordered to unload the ships. Out of the hold rose newly slaughtered pigs, and sheep, and ducks, which were at once distributed among the various regiments. Two hundred barrels of the best Munich beer were rolled over the quays, and two barrels found their way on board our little boat, which no one could begrudge us. On the "Zaanstroom" there were 4,400 boxes of fresh eggs, each box containing 1,800 eggs, and I was told by an Army officer that every man of the Northern Army received eight eggs for the Easter festival. On the following afternoon the nationality of the crew and of the passengers was recorded; a number of them were sent as prisoners of war to concentration camps, and many touching farewells ensued between the men and the women who were left behind. The others were taken on a special train under military guard to the Dutch frontier. The German sailors on whom this mission devolved looked very jolly as they sat armed to the teeth in the railway carriages, by twos, watching over two pretty variety actresses, and I think they would willingly have prolonged the journey farther. I walked along the train to say goodbye to the passengers, who had so unwillingly made our acquaintance, and I was warmly thanked by an old American, to whom I personally had done a small favor, for my courteous treatment; he spoke in the name of all the passengers who had experienced also the greatest civility at the hands of the port authorities. I declined these words of thanks, for they had only received the treatment that was their proper due. After the train had left, the hour of our own departure had struck; we cast off the lines that had kept us bound for two such memorable days on the Flemish coast. In passing by, I waved a farewell to the two Dutch captains, and away we went--westward ho! VII OFF THE COAST OF ENGLAND Our boat carried us speedily away farther and farther towards the west, and soon the lighthouse on the mole and the outline of the country we had conquered faded away in the evening twilight. Before long we should be surrounded by only hostile shores. We first sighted the French port of Boulogne where the imposing bronze statue of Napoleon I stands on a marble column fifty-three meters high, with eyes turned towards the English coast. It was built to commemorate the expedition planned by Napoleon in 1803 against the sons of Albion, whose descendants have so recently landed on French soil, and as they lie there encamped, they may wonder, when gazing at the statue of the great Emperor, if he would have welcomed them with the same enthusiasm with which they have been received by the present rulers of France. On our very first day in the French Channel we were able to sink several steamers, after the crews had left in their lifeboats, and on general lines a similar picture was traced at every sinking. We were now granted our first opportunity to steer a submarine above and below the waters of the North Atlantic. The ocean seemed to rejoice at our coming, and revealed itself to us in all the glory of a March storm. Only those who have seen such a storm can realize its proud majesty. The gigantic, blue-black waves, with their shining crests lashed by the west wind, came rushing onwards into the open mouth of the Channel, and the hemmed-in waters, roaring and surging, dashed themselves against the sharp, rocky points of the French coast, or broke less violently but in ceaseless unrest on the chalk cliffs of England which glimmered white in the rays of the sun. [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ LIFEBOAT LEAVING THE SINKING P. AND O. LINER ARABIA] It is a splendid sight to watch this great spectacle from the high deck of a steamer as it ploughs its way through the foaming flood, or to be borne aloft on the top of the waves with a ship under full sail, but it is still more wonderful to behold Nature's great display from the half submerged conning-tower of a U-boat, and to dive through the mountainous breakers until they close gurgling over our heads and hide us from all curious glances. Our little nutshell, in perpetual motion, is drawn down into the deep valleys of the ocean waves, or tossed upwards on the comb of the following breaker. We are soaked to the skin, and the spray covers us like a silvery veil; our boat as well as ourselves is daubed with a salt crust, our eyes smart and our lips have a briny tang, but to us sailors it's a joy to be the sport of the wild waves, and even those few unfortunates who always suffer from sea-sickness never lose their love of the sea. We were thus, in the midst of a strong southwesterly gale, lying in wait for our prey at the entrance of the English Channel, but no ship was to be seen; most of them took the northerly course beyond the war zone, around the Shetland Islands, and it was not until the next morning, north of the Scilly Isles, in the Bristol Channel, that we caught sight behind us of a big steamer, running before the wind, like ourselves. The wind had somewhat fallen and the March sun was shining bright and warm; the steamer was heading for Cardiff, and we judged by her course that she had sailed from some port in South America. Turning about and breasting the waves we faced the oncoming steamer and signaled to her to stop; but hardly had she espied us than she also turned about in the hope to escape. She showed no flag to indicate her nationality, so surely we had sighted an English vessel. Even after we had fired a warning shot, she tried by rapid and tortuous curves to return to her former course, and endeavor thereby to reach her home port. Meantime she sent up rockets as signals of distress in quick succession, to draw the attention of British patrol ships that must be hovering in the neighborhood. This obliged us to fire a decisive shot, and with a loud report our first shell struck the ship close to the captain's bridge. Instead of resigning himself to his fate, the Englishman sent up more signals and hoisted the British flag. This showed us he was game, and the fight began in dead earnest. All honor to the pluck of these English captains!--but how reckless to expose in this manner the lives of their passengers and crew, as we shall see in the present instance. Circling around us he tried to ram us with his prow, and we naturally avoided him by also turning in the same direction. Every time he veered about he offered us his broadside for a shot; with well-directed aim we took advantage of this target, and our successful fire gave him full proof of the skill of our gunners. The latter had a hard time of it; the high seas poured over the low deck, and they continually stood up to their necks in the cold salt water. They were often dragged off the deck by the great receding waves, but as they were tied by strong ropes to the cannons we were able to pull them up again, and fortunately no lives were lost. On seeing our gunners struggling in the seas, our foe hoped to make good his escape, but with each telling shot our own fighting blood was aroused and the wild chase continued. A well-aimed shell tore off the English flagstaff at the stern, but the Union Jack was quickly hoisted again on the foretop. This was also shot down, and a third time the flag flew from a line of the yard of the foretop, but the flag had been raised too hastily and it hung reversed, with the Union Jack upside down, and in this manner it continued to fly until it sank with the brave ship. The fight had lasted four hours without our being able to deliver the death stroke. Several fires had started on the steamer, but the crew had been able to keep them under control; big holes gaped open in the ship's side, but there were none as yet below the water line, and the pumps still sufficed to expel the water. It often occurred that in the act of firing the waves choked our cannons, and the shot went hissing through tremendous sheets of water, while we were blinded by a deluge of foam. Of course we were all wet, through and through, but that was of no importance, for we had already been wet for days. It was now essential for us to put an end to this deadly combat, for English torpedo-boat destroyers were hurrying on to the calls of distress of the steamer. Big clouds of smoke against the sky showed they were coming towards us under full steam. The ship was by this time listing so heavily that it was evident we need waste no more of our ammunition, and besides the appearance of another big steamer on the southern horizon was an enticing inducement to quit the battle scene and seek another victim. We cast a last look on our courageous adversary who was gradually sinking, and I must add it was the first and last prey whose end we did not have the satisfaction to witness. We had been truly impressed by the captain's brave endurance, notwithstanding his lack of wisdom, and we knew that the men-of-war were coming to his rescue. We read in the papers, on our return to a German port, that the "Vosges" had sunk soon after we had departed, and what remained of the passengers and crew were picked up by the English ships. The captain was rewarded for his temerity by being raised to the rank of Reserve officer, and the crew were given sums of money; but all the other officers had perished, as well as several sailors and a few passengers, who had been forced to help the stokers in order to increase the speed of the flying steamer. We hurried away, therefore, in the direction of the other ship, and as we approached we soon recognized the Spanish colors flying from her flagstaff and painted on her sides. The captain willingly stopped at our bidding and dispatched an officer to us bearing the ship's papers. The stormy waves had somewhat subsided, and although the occupants of the boat got very wet, yet they were able, without danger, to come alongside our submarine. There was no contraband on board the Spanish steamer, and before dismissing the officer I admonished him always to stop at the first signal from a U-boat; he assured me that since the English were constantly hoisting the Spanish flag he had lost all desire to navigate again in the dangerous waters of the war zone. Much relieved at getting away so easily he went on board his own steamer, which resumed its voyage towards the lovely city of Santander on the Spanish coast. I read an account later of our encounter with the "Agustina" in a number of the _Matin_ of April 1, 1915. It was entitled "_Toujours l'U_" and spoke of our undesirable presence in French waters; a following number did us the honor to represent a large picture of our boat with the officers standing on the bridge, taken probably by a passenger on board the Spanish vessel. An arrow pointed to us with the inscription, "_Voila l'équipage de bandits_." The English usually refer to us as "the pirates," and in their rage describe our activities as those of the "German submarine pest." We are accustomed to these flattering allusions, and it amused me to preserve and frame our picture from the _Matin_. In the next few days we stopped and searched several neutral steamers, and sank many English ones. The captains were occasionally stubborn and refused to obey our signals, so a few accidents occurred; in one case, for instance, a stray shot struck some passengers in a lifeboat, which collapsed; but as a rule passengers and crews were picked up by the many sailboats and fishing boats which circulate in the Irish Sea and in St. George's Channel, and it was we who generally summoned these fishermen to go to the rescue of their shipwrecked countrymen. The method of capture was always the same, and now, our ammunition being nearly exhausted, we steered a homeward course, with the hope of securing a few more steamers on the way. We were again favored by good luck, for at the entrance of the English Channel we ran across a large steamer, coming from America and heading for a French port, heavily laden with all the fine things that the Americans at present so willingly export. The chase began in the usual fashion as we followed closely in the enemy's wake. Although the captain made an effort to escape, yet he evidently felt certain from the beginning that he would be unable to do so, for he immediately swung out the lifeboats, ready to be lowered. We were economizing our ammunition and did not, according to our custom, fire a warning shot, but as we drew near the steamer we suddenly saw dark, round objects thrown overboard. The man at the helm beside me exclaimed: "They are throwing mines," but I was not of the same opinion. We proceeded quietly to examine these suspicious objects more closely, and we discovered they were simply bundles of clothes the sailors were trying to save. In pitching them into the lifeboats they had missed the mark and the bundles had fallen into the sea. A report had apparently spread through the English seaports that the men had but scant time to save their belongings when they were sighted by one of our submarines, and since that time their clothes were strapped together ready for a sudden emergency. The steamer stopped and the crew on this occasion took to the boats with a perfect discipline we were little accustomed to witness; the "Flaminian" was sent to the bottom of the sea with one of our last torpedoes. The following morning, before bidding the west coast of England a temporary farewell, we made another good catch. We sighted a broad-bottomed, four-masted steamer, also coming from America, laden down, as we soon ascertained, with 5,000 tons of oats, and making its way to Havre. We started after it, and as usual it tried to escape, but a well-directed shot through the bridge and chart house brought it to a stop, and it signaled that the engines were being reversed. The boats were lowered, and on drawing near we perceived the captain with others on the bridge holding up their hands as a token of surrender. As soon as those on board had taken their places in the lifeboats they rowed towards us and showed the liveliest interest in the final torpedoing of their steamer. They looked upon it as a new kind of sport, and under the present conditions they could watch the performance in the most comfortable way. The sea was like a mirror, and reflected the smiling spring sunshine whose warming rays were most agreeably felt. The English captain had scarcely been on board my submarine a moment when he begged that we might go together and verify the excellent aim of our first shot through the forward part of his ship, which he told me had nearly grazed his ear. I consented to go on his lifeboat and admire with him, to our mutual enjoyment, the irreproachable marksmanship of my gunner, although I did not accept a drink of whisky one of the English officers offered me. On seeing the gaping hole in the forecastle, the captain and his men clapped their hands and cried out, "A very good shot!" The captain congratulated me for securing, as he asserted, the richest prize I had ever made, but I assured him we had sunk even more valuable cargoes than the present one. I decided, as the sea was calm and no ship was in sight, to spare our torpedoes and shells and to put an end to the steamer with little hand grenades. The Englishmen took a sportsmanlike interest in the proceedings, and one of the officers even volunteered to show me the most effective position for the explosive. I naturally did not gratify his wish to place it there himself, for I knew myself very accurately the most vulnerable spot in the ship. In a very few moments a big hole was torn in the side of the "Crown of Castille" and with a gurgling sound the waters rushed in. At the same time long, yellow threads of the finest oats floated far out on the sea and, glistening with a golden shimmer, gave proof long after the steamer had sunk of the precious cargo which had lain within its flanks. You poor French army horses, I fear your rations were cut short for a while! I had made an interesting study of the manner in which the English crews of the present day were composed. Apart from the British officers there were but few experienced seamen on board. This was made evident by the awkward way the men usually handled the lifeboats. Even with the enormous increase of wages, sailors could not be found to risk their lives in the danger zone, and a lot of untrained fellows, negroes and Chinamen, revealed by their clumsy rowing that they had only recently been pressed into service. Various other interesting incidents occurred on our return trip, which I shall not mention now, but having safely reached our newly conquered port of Ostend, we read to our amusement in a French paper that our U-boat had been sunk in the Channel by a fleet of six fishing steamers. We were again warmly welcomed by our comrades from the Army and Navy, all anxious to hear the news we had to tell, and we had the special honor of a visit from H.R.H. the Crown Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria, who, after inspecting our boat, permitted me to give him a detailed account of our recent splendid cruise. We had many other experiences during the quiet, warm, summer months, with their long, clear nights, which enabled us to achieve the further destruction of a large number of steamers. It was glorious to work in fine weather on our U-boat on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, so peaceful at this season of the year, and so doing we indulged in much friendly intercourse with the various fishermen we met. Fishing steamers have replaced the old sailboats to a great extent, and they represent an enormous fishing industry. Our larder was daily replenished with fresh fish, which was a greatly appreciated item on our monotonous bill of fare. One windy evening in August, we captured a Belgian steamer bringing home coal from Cardiff; the crew having left the ship, the latter was rapidly sinking, when to our astonishment a man sprang on deck from below. He had evidently been forgotten and our shot going through the steamer had warned him of his danger. He hesitated to obey my repeated orders to jump overboard, until finally encased in two life belts he plunged into the water and began to swim; but the screw was still slowly revolving, and he was drawn deep down by the suction of the water. We had given him up as lost, when we were amazed to see him reappear on the other side of the ship. The screw, which had slowly pulled him down, had thrown him up again, and he swam towards us. A big wave having tossed him onto our low deck, we were glad to find he was unhurt, and we gave him the best of care. He was a Dutchman, and after a fortnight spent in our midst, he was so happy he no longer wished to leave us. When it came to our sinking of the "Midland Queen" a similar incident occurred. A negro had been forgotten by his white fellow-countrymen, and on finding himself abandoned and alone he was so greatly scared that he did not dare to leave the sinking ship; we watched him, and beckoned to him to come to us; but he refused, and swore at us furiously. Presently the "Midland Queen" pitched violently forward, and stood nearly erect with her nose in the water; then with a shrill whistling sound she dived below the surface of the waves. The negro's black head vanished in the turmoil of the waters; then suddenly a loud detonation occurred; an explosion of compressed air within the ship threw up, sky-high, barrels and boards, and among them, to our unbelieving eyes, we saw the wriggling body of the negro. He was projected into the sea, and swam towards us, apparently none the worse after this strange and violent experience. We rescued him and handed him over to his mates, who had rowed back to his assistance. On our return voyage through the North Sea we met a large sailboat, with the Swedish flag flying from the topmast. She lay completely becalmed, and signaled for us to draw near. We saw a large crowd gathered on her deck, and we approached cautiously, fearing some trap; when to our joyful surprise we found she had 150 German officers and sailors on board. They belonged to one of our auxiliary cruisers, the "Meteor." Her captain after many exploits had been pursued by several English cruisers, and to save his little vessel from being captured he had deliberately sent her to the bottom of the sea, and the Swedish sailboat had picked up the crew. Our shipwrecked comrades told us they were desperately hungry, but our own provisions were exhausted; so we took them in tow, for not a breath of wind stirred the sails. By clear sunshine we merrily covered the short distance to our nearest port, and towards midday the sailing ship and ourselves let down our anchors once more off the German coast. VIII THE METHOD OF SINKING AND RAISING SHIPS During the present naval warfare we have had the opportunity to watch the sinking of ships of every type and size; shortly after receiving their death wound the vessels usually disappear totally beneath the surface. It takes even big steamers only between four and ten minutes to sink, after being hit by a torpedo or shell beneath the water line, and yet occasionally a ship may float several hours before going down to the bottom of the sea. It is clearly evident that the slow or rapid sinking of a ship depends on the distribution of its bulkheads and water-tight compartments. A man-of-war, built on the latest models, has a great many small water-tight compartments, for she is meant to be able to continue fighting even after several of these compartments have been destroyed; whereas, an ocean steamer is so constructed that she will remain afloat only a short time after a collision with another ship, or if she runs into an iceberg or a derelict, she can endure a certain intake of water, and lists at a moderate angle far more readily than a warship, whose guns are rendered nearly useless if the ship is heavily canting. A warship must be built so as to withstand, without sinking, the injury caused by a number of gun holes even beneath the water line, where the inner part of the ship must necessarily be subdivided into many parts. A warship is built at great cost, but so is an ocean steamer. The sunken "Lusitania" was worth 35,000,000 marks (nearly $9,000,000) and the mammoth steamers of the Hamburg-American Line, the "Imperator," the "Vaterland," were still more expensive to build. The ordinary commercial steamer often has in her inner construction only athwartship bulkheads through the double bottom that run from one side to another and form large partitions; and in proportion to her height a steamer is again subdivided horizontally into several decks. But these are not usually water-tight, and the cross bulkheads already mentioned form the only water-tight divisions in the hold. In the big cargo spaces, these divisions practically do not exist, and the ship, throughout almost its whole interior, is open from keel to deck. This arrangement, of course, facilitates the rapid loading and unloading of the cargo; therefore, in this type of ship the engine rooms and boilers, surrounded and protected by coal bunkers, are the only really water-tight portions of the ship. Whoever has gazed down into the capacious hold of such a steamer will readily understand that if the water should pour into one of these spaces, at either end of the ship, the other end of the vessel would rise steadily upwards. In nearly every case, even the largest steamer, just before sinking, tilts abruptly its bow or stern straight up out of the sea, until the water rushing into the hold draws the vessel downwards, and with a mighty roar it plunges forever into the deep. We have repeatedly noticed at this moment that the air within the boat escapes with a shrill whistle from every possible aperture, and the sound resembles the shriek of a steam siren. This is a wonderful spectacle to behold! The velocity with which a ship sinks depends on the size of the hold, and its distance from the ship's center of gravity, for the suction occurs more rapidly if the ship is struck at either end than if the blow is delivered amidships. We are seldom concerned with ships having empty holds; those we pursue usually carry heavy cargoes, and therefore the water can only penetrate within, where space and air exist; whatever air is left around loosely packed bales and boxes must be driven out before the water can stream in; certain exceptional cargoes, like wool and cereals, absorb a given amount of water, but these can be discounted. [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._ BRITISH HOSPITAL SHIP GLOUCESTER CASTLE, SHOWING RED CROSS ON BOW, SUNK IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL BY A GERMAN SUBMARINE] Accordingly the air must escape through existing holes, as the water pouring in drives the air into the hold; the pressure with which the water comes in is equal to the air pressure in the hold. It is quite conceivable that a cargo may be so closely packed that there will be no space left for air to escape, but this is hardly ever the case; frequently, however, the cross-sections of the air vents are so small that the air escapes only very slowly, and the water enters very slowly in the same ratio; under these conditions it would take a long time for a ship to sink. This undoubtedly is very desirable in peace time, but in time of war this is not at all agreeable to our purpose; first, if the foundering of the vessel is prolonged we are prevented from accomplishing other work, and secondly, warships may come to the assistance of a sinking steamer. Whenever possible we found it expedient to break open with an axe big holes in the lockers in case the hatch could not be quickly enough removed; or, if circumstances did not permit of our doing this, we shot holes with our cannon into the upper part of the steamer, above the hold, so that the air might conveniently escape and the water rush in. We employed, with excellent results, this method in the sinking of many steamers which otherwise would have settled too slowly. It happens sometimes that a ship may carry a cargo that floats and that is not porous, such as wood. It is impossible to sink a vessel with such a cargo by admitting water into the hold. Shots therefore must be fired at the engine and boiler rooms to force this kind of a steamer to sink. In general this is a safe rule to follow, for these are always the most vulnerable portions of every heavily laden vessel, and this mode of attack is nearly invariably successful. A warship is usually equipped with cross or lateral bulkheads, in addition to the longitudinal bulkhead that runs from stem to stern through the middle of the ship, dividing it into halves, and other bulkheads separate these two longitudinal sections into further subdivisions. With the exception of the great fast passenger steamers, these divisions by means of longitudinal bulkheads seldom exist on vessels of commerce, although exceptions are to be found. The sinking of a steamer with a multitude of partitions is effected by its gradually listing more and more on the side in which the water is penetrating, until it capsizes completely and founders with the keel uppermost. A ship can also roll over on its side as it plunges downwards with stem or stern erect. Theoretically a vessel might sink on a parallel keel, descending horizontally deeper and deeper into the sea; but it never occurs in reality. This hypothesis assumes that a ship has taken in at the bow exactly the same amount of water as at the stern, at exactly the same distance from the center of gravity; this, of course, is impossible; besides the holes through which the water is pouring in must also be at precisely the same level, or else the water pressure would be greater at one end than at the other, and the slightest alteration of level would occasion a greater intake of water and upset the equilibrium of the boat. There is one other point I will touch upon; it has often been asserted, especially in romances of the ocean, that as a ship sinks the suction creates a tremendous whirlpool which engulfs all things in its vicinity. This statement is naturally very much exaggerated. People swimming about may be drawn down by the suction of the foundering ship, but in my opinion no lifeboat which is well manned is in danger of this whirlpool. Even old sailors, deluded by this superstition, have rowed away in haste from a sinking ship, when they might have stood by and saved many lives. The question is now often being put, whether it will be possible to raise the vessels that have been sunk during the war. The raising of a ship depends above all upon whether the depth at which it lies is so great that it precludes the work of a diver. I have already stated that the water pressure augments at the rate of one atmosphere (one kilogram to the square centimeter) to ten meters' increase of depth. If a diver working at ten meters' depth is under a pressure of one atmosphere, at fifty meters he will be under the tremendous pressure of five atmospheres. This is the greatest depth to which a diver can attain, and if by chance a diver has gone a few meters beyond fifty meters, no man to my knowledge has attained sixty meters. The work of divers at a depth of forty or fifty meters is even then not very effective, as they are unable to perform heavy tasks, nor can they remain more than half an hour at a time under such a pressure, and I am speaking now only of experts; therefore only light and easy work can be performed by most divers at a great depth and the appliance of ponderous chains for lifting purposes can only be accomplished under unusually favorable conditions. To raise any ship at a depth above thirty meters must be considered as a very efficient job, whereas if this is attempted at a depth below thirty meters it can be done only by salvage companies where neither unfavorable bottom obstacles nor currents intervene. A strong current renders a diver's work impossible, for it carries him off his feet. On the high seas the currents change with the ebb and flood. At the precise moment of the turn of the tide the undercurrent is supposed to be nil, and the diver must take advantage of this moment to perform his task. Another difficulty arises from the sand being shifted by the currents, and settling on the prominent parts of a wreck; it often envelops them to such a degree that the ship becomes so deeply embedded in the sand that it is no longer salvable. According to my estimation eighty per cent of our enemy's sunken ships lie from fifty to a hundred meters below the surface of the sea, so that all possibility of their being raised is excluded. The largest ships nowadays have a draft of less than ten meters, and as the vessels sunk lie at far greater depths they are no source of danger to shipping in time of peace. Of the remaining twenty per cent of sunken ships half of them are unreclaimable, either owing to their position, or owing to the high cost of salvage, or because it is not even known where they lie. The other half or last ten per cent have probably for the greater part been sunk in channels where the currents are so swift that they are covered with sand, and diving enterprises are out of the question. In time of war such work cannot be thought of; after the war the ships will long since have been completely buried by the sand. Maybe off the east coast of England one or two ships may be raised, for they lie at a lesser depth and are exposed to slighter currents than on the south coast of England, but in that district only the smaller and more insignificant vessels have been sunk, and it would hardly pay to raise them, especially as they are so damaged by torpedoes and mines that they would probably fall apart on being raised to the surface. Therefore hardly a single ship will be salvaged, and the sea will retain all those ships it has swallowed in the course of this war carried on by all the nations of the earth. THE END The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A * * * * * +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 1: VAN FORSTNER replaced with VON FORSTNER | | | | Unusual words: | | | | Page 134: salvable (adj.) means that can be salvaged | | or saved | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * ERRATUM In Introduction, page xxi, line 6 from the bottom, for "1915" read "1916." * * * * * 
12422	----	Proofreading Team. With thanks to the Ryan Memorial Library of the St. Charles Borromeo Seminary. _In the press, by the same Author, complete in One Volume_, AN ENGLISH TRAGEDY: A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS. MARY STUART. TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER. A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS. MLLE. DE BELLISLE. TRANSLATED FROM DUMAS. A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS. JOURNAL OF A RESIDENCE ON A GEORGIAN PLANTATION 1838-1839. By FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. * * * * * SLAVERY THE CHIEF CORNER STONE. 'This stone (Slavery), which was rejected by the first builders, is become the chief stone of the corner in our new edifice.'--_Speech of_ ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS _Vice-president of the Confederate States; delivered March 21, 1861._ * * * * * 1863 TO ELIZABETH DWIGHT SEDGWICK THIS JOURNAL, ORIGINALLY KEPT FOR HER, IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. PREFACE. The following diary was kept in the winter and spring of 1838-9, on an estate consisting of rice and cotton plantations, in the islands at the entrance of the Altamaha, on the coast of Georgia. The slaves in whom I then had an unfortunate interest were sold some years ago. The islands themselves are at present in the power of the Northern troops. The record contained in the following pages is a picture of conditions of human existence which I hope and believe have passed away. LONDON: _January 16, 1863._ JOURNAL. Philadelphia: December 1838. My Dear E----. I return you Mr. ----'s letter. I do not think it answers any of the questions debated in our last conversation at all satisfactorily: the _right_ one man has to enslave another, he has not the hardihood to assert; but in the reasons he adduces to defend that act of injustice, the contradictory statements he makes appear to me to refute each other. He says, that to the continental European protesting against the abstract iniquity of slavery, his answer would be, 'the slaves are infinitely better off than half the continental peasantry.' To the Englishman, 'they are happy compared with the miserable Irish.' But supposing that this answered the question of original injustice, which it does not, it is not a true reply. Though the negroes are fed, clothed, and housed, and though the Irish peasant is starved, naked, and roofless, the bare name of freeman--the lordship over his own person, the power to choose and will--are blessings beyond food, raiment, or shelter; possessing which, the want of every comfort of life is yet more tolerable than their fullest enjoyment without them. Ask the thousands of ragged destitutes who yearly land upon these shores to seek the means of existence--ask the friendless, penniless foreign emigrant, if he will give up his present misery, his future uncertainty, his doubtful and difficult struggle for life, at once, for the secure, and as it is called, fortunate dependance of the slave: the indignation with which he would spurn the offer will prove that he possesses one good beyond all others, and that his birthright as a man is more precious to him yet than the mess of pottage for which he is told to exchange it because he is starving. Of course the reverse alternative cannot be offered to the slaves, for at the very word the riches of those who own them would make themselves wings and flee away. But I do not admit the comparison between your slaves and even the lowest class of European free labourers, for the former are _allowed_ the exercise of no faculties but those which they enjoy in common with the brutes that perish. The just comparison is between the slaves and the useful animals to whose level your laws reduce them; and I will acknowledge that the slaves of a kind owner may be as well cared for, and as happy, as the dogs and horses of a merciful master; but the latter condition--i.e. that of happiness--must again depend upon the complete perfection of their moral and mental degradation. Mr. ----, in his letter, maintains that they _are_ an inferior race, and, compared with the whites, '_animals_, incapable of mental culture and moral improvement:' to this I can only reply, that if they are incapable of profiting by instruction, I do not see the necessity for laws inflicting heavy penalties on those who offer it to them. If they really are brutish, witless, dull, and devoid of capacity for progress, where lies the _danger_ which is constantly insisted upon of offering them that of which they are incapable. We have no laws forbidding us to teach our dogs and horses as much as they can comprehend; nobody is fined or imprisoned for reasoning upon knowledge, and liberty, to the beasts of the field, for they are incapable of such truths. But these themes are forbidden to slaves, not because they cannot, but because they can and would seize on them with avidity--receive them gladly, comprehend them quickly; and the masters' power over them would be annihilated at once and for ever. But I have more frequently heard, not that they were incapable of receiving instruction, but something much nearer the truth--that knowledge only makes them miserable: the moment they are in any degree enlightened, they become unhappy. In the letter I return to you Mr. ---- says that the very slightest amount of education, merely teaching them to read, 'impairs their value as slaves, for it instantly destroys their contentedness, and since you do not contemplate changing their condition, it is surely doing them an ill service to destroy their acquiescence in it;' but this is a very different ground of argument from the other. The discontent they evince upon the mere dawn of an advance in intelligence proves not only that they can acquire but combine ideas, a process to which it is very difficult to assign a limit; and there indeed the whole question lies, and there and nowhere else the shoe really pinches. A slave is ignorant; he eats, drinks, sleeps, labours, and is happy. He learns to read; he feels, thinks, reflects, and becomes miserable. He discovers himself to be one of a debased and degraded race, deprived of the elementary rights which God has granted to all men alike; every action is controlled, every word noted; he may not stir beyond his appointed bounds, to the right hand or to the left, at his own will, but at the will of another he may be sent miles and miles of weary journeying--tethered, yoked, collared, and fettered--away from whatever he may know as home, severed from all those ties of blood and affection which he alone of all human, of all living creatures on the face of the earth may neither enjoy in peace nor defend when they are outraged. If he is well treated, if his master be tolerably humane or even understand his own interest tolerably, this is probably _all_ he may have to endure: it is only to the consciousness of these evils that knowledge and reflection awaken him. But how is it if his master be severe, harsh, cruel--or even only careless--leaving his creatures to the delegated dominion of some overseer, or agent, whose love of power, or other evil dispositions, are checked by no considerations of personal interest? Imagination shrinks from the possible result of such a state of things; nor must you, or Mr. ----, tell me that the horrors thus suggested exist only in imagination. The Southern newspapers, with their advertisements of negro sales and personal descriptions of fugitive slaves, supply details of misery that it would be difficult for imagination to exceed. Scorn, derision, insult, menace--the handcuff, the lash--the tearing away of children from parents, of husbands from wives--the weary trudging in droves along the common highways, the labour of body, the despair of mind, the sickness of heart--these are the realities which belong to the system, and form the rule, rather than the exception, in the slave's experience. And this system exists here in this country of your's, which boasts itself the asylum of the oppressed, the home of freedom, the one place in all the world where all men may find enfranchisement from all thraldoms of mind, soul, or body--the land elect of liberty. Mr. ---- lays great stress, as a proof of the natural inferiority of the blacks, on the little comparative progress they have made in those States where they enjoy their freedom, and the fact that, whatever quickness of parts they may exhibit while very young, on attaining maturity they invariably sink again into inferiority, or at least mediocrity, and indolence. But surely there are other causes to account for this besides natural deficiency, which must, I think, be obvious to any unprejudiced person observing the condition of the free blacks in your Northern communities. If, in the early portion of their life, they escape the contempt and derision of their white associates--if the blessed unconsciousness and ignorance of childhood keeps them for a few years unaware of the conventional proscription under which their whole race is placed (and it is difficult to walk your streets, and mark the tone of insolent superiority assumed by even the gutter-urchins over their dusky cotemporaries, and imagine this possible)--as soon as they acquire the first rudiments of knowledge, as soon as they begin to grow up and pass from infancy to youth, as soon as they cast the first observing glance upon the world by which they are surrounded, and the society of which, they are members, they must become conscious that they are marked as the Hebrew lepers of old, and are condemned to sit, like those unfortunates, without the gates of every human and social sympathy. From their own sable colour, a pall falls over the whole of God's universe to them, and they find themselves stamped with a badge of infamy of Nature's own devising, at sight of which all natural kindliness of man to man seems to recoil from them. They are not slaves indeed, but they are pariahs; debarred from all fellowship save with their own despised race--scorned by the lowest white ruffian in your streets, not tolerated as companions even by the foreign menials in your kitchen. They are free certainly, but they are also degraded, rejected, the offscum and the offscouring of the very dregs of your society; they are free from the chain, the whip, the enforced task and unpaid toil of slavery; but they are not the less under a ban. Their kinship with slaves for ever bars them from a full share of the freeman's inheritance of equal rights, and equal consideration and respect. All hands are extended to thrust them out, all fingers point at their dusky skin, all tongues--the most vulgar, as well as the self-styled most refined--have learnt to turn the very name of their race into an insult and a reproach. How, in the name of all that is natural, probable, possible, should the spirit and energy of any human creature support itself under such an accumulation of injustice and obloquy? Where shall any mass of men be found with power of character and mind sufficient to bear up against such a weight of prejudice? Why, if one individual rarely gifted by heaven were to raise himself out of such a slough of despond, he would be a miracle; and what would be his reward? Would he be admitted to an equal share in your political rights?--would he ever be allowed to cross the threshold of your doors?--would any of you give your daughter to his son, or your son to his daughter?--would you, in any one particular, admit him to the footing of equality which any man with a white skin would claim, whose ability and worth had so raised him from the lower degrees of the social scale. You would turn from such propositions with abhorrence, and the servants in your kitchen and stable--the ignorant and boorish refuse of foreign populations, in whose countries no such prejudice exists, imbibing it with the very air they breathe here--would shrink from eating at the same table with such a man, or holding out the hand of common fellowship to him. Under the species of social proscription in which the blacks in your Northern cities exist, if they preserved energy of mind, enterprise of spirit, or any of the best attributes and powers of free men, they would prove themselves, instead of the lowest and least of human races, the highest and first, not only of all that do exist, but of all that ever have existed; for they alone would seek and cultivate knowledge, goodness, truth, science, art, refinement, and all improvement, purely for the sake of their own excellence, and without one of those incentives of honour, power, and fortune, which are found to be the chief, too often the only, inducements which lead white men to the pursuit of the same objects. You know very well dear E----, that in speaking of the free blacks of the North I here state nothing but what is true and of daily experience. Only last week I heard, in this very town of Philadelphia, of a family of strict probity and honour, highly principled, intelligent, well-educated, and accomplished, and (to speak the world's language) respectable in every way--i.e. _rich_. Upon an English lady's stating it to be her intention to visit these persons when she came to Philadelphia, she was told that if she did nobody else would visit _her_; and she probably would excite a malevolent feeling, which might find vent in some violent demonstration against this family. All that I have now said of course bears only upon the condition of the free coloured population of the North, with which I am familiar enough to speak confidently of it. As for the slaves, and their capacity for progress, I can say nothing, for I have never been among them to judge what faculties their unhappy social position leaves to them unimpaired. But it seems to me, that no experiment on a sufficiently large scale can have been tried for a sufficient length of time to determine the question of their incurable inferiority. Physiologists say that three successive generations appear to be necessary to produce an effectual change of constitution (bodily and mental), be it for health or disease. There are positive physical defects which produce positive mental ones; the diseases of the muscular and nervous systems descend from father to son. Upon the agency of one corporal power how much that is not corporal depends; from generation to generation internal disease and external deformity, vices, virtues, talents, and deficiencies are transmitted, and by the action of the same law it must be long indeed before the offspring of slaves--creatures begotten of a race debased and degraded to the lowest degree, themselves born in slavery, and whose progenitors have eaten the bread and drawn the breath of slavery for years--can be measured, with any show of justice, by even the least favoured descendants of European nations, whose qualities have been for centuries developing themselves under the beneficent influence of freedom, and the progress it inspires. I am rather surprised at the outbreak of violent disgust which Mr. ---- indulges in on the subject of amalgamation; as that formed no part of our discussion, and seems to me a curious subject for abstract argument. I should think the intermarrying between blacks and whites a matter to be as little insisted upon if repugnant, as prevented if agreeable to the majority of the two races. At the same time, I cannot help being astonished at the furious and ungoverned execration which all reference to the possibility of a fusion of the races draws down upon those who suggest it; because nobody pretends to deny that, throughout the South, a large proportion of the population is the offspring of white men and coloured women. In New Orleans, a class of unhappy females exists whose mingled blood does not prevent their being remarkable for their beauty, and with whom no man, no _gentleman_, in that city shrinks from associating; and while the slaveowners of the Southern States insist vehemently upon the mental and physical inferiority of the blacks, they are benevolently doing their best, in one way at least, to raise and improve the degraded race, and the bastard population which forms so ominous an element in the social safety of their cities certainly exhibit in their forms and features the benefit they derive from their white progenitors. It is hard to conceive that some mental improvement does not accompany this physical change. Already the finer forms of the European races are cast in these dusky moulds: the outward configuration can hardly thus improve without corresponding progress in the inward capacities. The white man's blood and bones have begotten this bronze race, and bequeathed to it in some degree qualities, tendencies, capabilities, such as are the inheritance of the highest order of human animals. Mr. ---- (and many others) speaks as if there were a natural repugnance in all whites to any alliance with the black race; and yet it is notorious, that almost every Southern planter has a family more or less numerous of illegitimate coloured children. Most certainly, few people would like to assert that such connections are formed because it is the _interest_ of these planters to increase the number of their human property, and that they add to their revenue by the closest intimacy with creatures that they loathe, in order to reckon among their wealth the children of their body. Surely that is a monstrous and unnatural supposition, and utterly unworthy of belief. That such connections exist commonly, is a sufficient proof that they are not abhorrent to nature; but it seems, indeed, as if marriage (and not concubinage) was the horrible enormity which cannot be tolerated, and against which, moreover, it has been deemed expedient to enact laws. Now it appears very evident that there is no law in the white man's nature which prevents him from making a coloured woman the mother of his children, but there _is_ a law on his statute books forbidding him to make her his wife; and if we are to admit the theory that the mixing of the races is a monstrosity, it seems almost as curious that laws should be enacted to prevent men marrying women towards whom they have an invincible natural repugnance, as that education should by law be prohibited to creatures incapable of receiving it. As for the exhortation with which Mr. ---- closes his letter, that I will not 'go down to my husband's plantation prejudiced against what I am to find there,' I know not well how to answer it. Assuredly I _am_ going prejudiced against slavery, for I am an Englishwoman, in whom the absence of such a prejudice would be disgraceful. Nevertheless, I go prepared to find many mitigations in the practice to the general injustice and cruelty of the system--much kindness on the part of the masters, much content on that of the slaves; and I feel very sure that you may rely upon the carefulness of my observation, and the accuracy of my report, of every detail of the working of the thing that comes under my notice; and certainly, on the plantation to which I am going, it will be more likely that I should some things extenuate, than set down aught in malice. Yours ever faithfully. * * * * * Darien, Georgia. Dear E----. Minuteness of detail, and fidelity in the account of my daily doings, will hardly, I fear, render my letters very interesting to you now; but cut off as I am here from all the usual resources and amusements of civilised existence, I shall find but little to communicate to you that is not furnished by my observations on the novel appearance of external nature, and the moral and physical condition of Mr. ----'s people. The latter subject is, I know, one sufficiently interesting in itself to you, and I shall not scruple to impart all the reflections which may occur to me relative to their state during my stay here, where enquiry into their mode of existence will form my chief occupation, and, necessarily also, the staple commodity of my letters. I purpose, while I reside here, keeping a sort of journal, such as Monk Lewis wrote during his visit to his West India plantations. I wish I had any prospect of rendering my diary as interesting and amusing to you as his was to me. In taking my first walk on the island, I directed my steps towards the rice mill, a large building on the banks of the river, within a few yards of the house we occupy. Is it not rather curious that Miss Martineau should have mentioned the erection of a steam mill for threshing rice somewhere in the vicinity of Charleston as a singular novelty, likely to form an era in Southern agriculture, and to produce the most desirable changes in the system of labour by which it is carried on? Now, on this estate alone, there are three threshing mills--one worked by steam, one by the tide, and one by horses; there are two private steam mills on plantations adjacent to ours, and a public one at Savannah, where the planters who have none on their own estates are in the habit of sending their rice to be threshed at a certain percentage; these have all been in operation for some years, and I therefore am at a loss to understand what made her hail the erection of the one at Charleston as likely to produce such immediate and happy results. By the bye--of the misstatements, or rather mistakes, for they are such, in her books, with regard to certain facts--her only disadvantage in acquiring information was not by any means that natural infirmity on which the periodical press, both here and in England, has commented with so much brutality. She had the misfortune to possess, too, that unsuspecting reliance upon the truth of others which they are apt to feel who themselves hold truth most sacred: and this was a sore disadvantage to her in a country where I have heard it myself repeatedly asserted--and, what is more, much gloried in--that she was purposely misled by the persons to whom she addressed her enquiries, who did not scruple to disgrace themselves by imposing in the grossest manner upon her credulity and anxiety to obtain information. It is a knowledge of this very shameful proceeding, which has made me most especially anxious to avoid _fact hunting_. I might fill my letters to you with accounts received from others, but as I am aware of the risk which I run in so doing, I shall furnish you with no details but those which come under my own immediate observation. To return to the rice mill: it is worked by a steam-engine of thirty horse power, and besides threshing great part of our own rice, is kept constantly employed by the neighbouring planters, who send their grain to it in preference to the more distant mill at Savannah, paying, of course, the same percentage, which makes it a very profitable addition to the estate. Immediately opposite to this building is a small shed, which they call the cook's shop, and where the daily allowance of rice and corn grits of the people is boiled and distributed to them by an old woman, whose special business this is. There are four settlements or villages (or, as the negroes call them, camps) on the island, consisting of from ten to twenty houses, and to each settlement is annexed a cook's shop with capacious cauldrons, and the oldest wife of the settlement for officiating priestess. Pursuing my walk along the river's bank, upon an artificial dyke, sufficiently high and broad to protect the fields from inundation by the ordinary rising of the tide--for the whole island is below high water mark--I passed the blacksmith's and cooper's shops. At the first all the common iron implements of husbandry or household use for the estate are made, and at the latter all the rice barrels necessary for the crop, besides tubs and buckets large and small for the use of the people, and cedar tubs of noble dimensions and exceedingly neat workmanship, for our own household purposes. The fragrance of these when they are first made, as well as their ample size, renders them preferable as dressing-room furniture, in my opinion, to all the china foot-tubs that ever came out of Staffordshire. After this I got out of the vicinity of the settlement, and pursued my way along a narrow dyke--the river on one hand, and on the other a slimy, poisonous-looking swamp, all rattling with sedges of enormous height, in which one might lose one's way as effectually as in a forest of oaks. Beyond this, the low rice-fields, all clothed in their rugged stubble, divided by dykes into monotonous squares, a species of prospect by no means beautiful to the mere lover of the picturesque. The only thing that I met with to attract my attention was a most beautiful species of ivy, the leaf longer and more graceful than that of the common English creeper, glittering with the highest varnish, delicately veined, and of a rich brown green, growing in profuse garlands from branch to branch of some stunted evergreen bushes which border the dyke, and which the people call salt-water bush. My walks are rather circumscribed, inasmuch as the dykes are the only promenades. On all sides of these lie either the marshy rice-fields, the brimming river, or the swampy patches of yet unreclaimed forest, where the huge cypress trees and exquisite evergreen undergrowth spring up from a stagnant sweltering pool, that effectually forbids the foot of the explorer. As I skirted one of these thickets to-day, I stood still to admire the beauty of the shrubbery. Every shade of green, every variety of form, every degree of varnish, and all in full leaf and beauty in the very depth of winter. The stunted dark-coloured oak; the magnolia bay (like our own culinary and fragrant bay), which grows to a very great size; the wild myrtle, a beautiful and profuse shrub, rising to a height of six, eight, and ten feet, and branching on all sides in luxuriant tufted fullness; most beautiful of all, that pride of the South, the magnolia grandiflora, whose lustrous dark green perfect foliage would alone render it an object of admiration, without the queenly blossom whose colour, size, and perfume are unrivalled in the whole vegetable kingdom. This last magnificent creature grows to the size of a forest tree in these swamps, but seldom adorns a high or dry soil, or suffers itself to be successfully transplanted. Under all these the spiked palmetto forms an impenetrable covert, and from glittering graceful branch to branch hang garlands of evergreen creepers, on which the mocking-birds are swinging and singing even now; while I, bethinking me of the pinching cold that is at this hour tyrannising over your region, look round on this strange scene--on these green woods, this unfettered river, and sunny sky--and feel very much like one in another planet from yourself. The profusion of birds here is one thing that strikes me as curious, coming from the vicinity of Philadelphia, where even the robin redbreast, held sacred by the humanity of all other Christian people, is not safe from the _gunning_ prowess of the unlicensed sportsmen of your free country. The negroes (of course) are not allowed the use of firearms, and their very simply constructed traps do not do much havoc among the feathered hordes that haunt their rice-fields. Their case is rather a hard one, as partridges, snipes, and the most delicious wild ducks abound here, and their allowance of rice and Indian meal would not be the worse for such additions. No day passes that I do not, in the course of my walk, put up a number of the land birds, and startle from among the gigantic sedges the long-necked water-fowl by dozens. It arouses the killing propensity in me most dreadfully, and I really entertain serious thoughts of learning to use a gun, for the mere pleasure of destroying these pretty birds as they whirr from their secret coverts close beside my path. How strong an instinct of animal _humanity_ this is, and how strange if one be more strange than another. Reflection rebukes it almost instantaneously, and yet for the life of me I cannot help wishing I had a fowling-piece whenever I put up a covey of these creatures; though I suppose, if one were brought bleeding and maimed to me, I should begin to cry, and be very pathetic, after the fashion of Jacques. However, one must live, you know; and here our living consists very mainly of wild ducks, wild geese, wild turkeys, and venison. Nor, perhaps, can one imagine the universal doom overtaking a creature with less misery than in the case of the bird who, in the very moment of his triumphant soaring, is brought dead to the ground. I should like to bargain for such a finis myself, amazingly, I know; and have always thought that the death I should prefer would be to break my neck off the back of my horse at a full gallop on a fine day. Of course a bad shot should be hung--a man who shatters his birds' wings and legs; if I undertook the trade, I would learn of some Southern duellist, and always shoot my bird through the head or heart--as an expert murderer knows how. Besides these birds of which we make our prey, there are others that prey upon their own fraternity. Hawks of every sort and size wheel their steady rounds above the rice-fields; and the great turkey buzzards--those most unsightly carrion birds--spread their broad black wings, and soar over the river like so many mock eagles. I do not know that I ever saw any winged creature of so forbidding an aspect as these same turkey buzzards; their heavy flight, their awkward gait, their bald-looking head and neck, and their devotion to every species of foul and detestable food, render them almost abhorrent to me. They abound in the South, and in Charleston are held in especial veneration for their scavenger-like propensities, killing one of them being, I believe, a fineable offence by the city police regulations. Among the Brobdignagian sedges that in some parts of the island fringe the Altamaha, the nightshade (apparently the same as the European creeper) weaves a perfect matting of its poisonous garlands, and my remembrance of its prevalence in the woods and hedges of England did not reconcile me to its appearance here. How much of this is mere association I cannot tell; but whether the wild duck makes its nest under its green arches, or the alligators and snakes of the Altamaha have their secret bowers there, it is an evil-looking weed, and I shall have every leaf of it cleared away. I must inform you of a curious conversation which took place between my little girl and the woman who performs for us the offices of chambermaid here--of course one of Mr. ----'s slaves. What suggested it to the child, or whence indeed she gathered her information, I know not; but children are made of eyes and ears, and nothing, however minute, escapes their microscopic observation. She suddenly began addressing this woman. 'Mary, some persons are free and some are not (the woman made no reply). I am a free person (of a little more than three years old). I say, I am a free person, Mary--do you know that?' 'Yes, missis.' 'Some persons are free and some are not--do you know that, Mary?' 'Yes, missis, _here_,' was the reply; 'I know it is so here, in this world.' Here my child's white nurse, my dear Margery, who had hitherto been silent, interfered, saying, 'Oh, then you think it will not always be so?' 'Me hope not, missis.' I am afraid, E----, this woman actually imagines that there will be no slaves in Heaven; isn't that preposterous now? when by the account of most of the Southerners slavery itself must be Heaven, or something uncommonly like it. Oh, if you could imagine how this title 'Missis,' addressed to me and to my children, shocks all my feelings! Several times I have exclaimed, 'For God's sake do not call me that!' and only been awakened, by the stupid amazement of the poor creatures I was addressing, to the perfect uselessness of my thus expostulating with them; once or twice indeed I have done more--I have explained to them, and they appeared to comprehend me well, that I had no ownership over them, for that I held such ownership sinful, and that, though I was the wife of the man who pretends to own them, I was in truth no more their mistress than they were mine. Some of them I know understood me, more of them did not. Our servants--those who have been selected to wait upon us in the house--consist of a man, who is quite a tolerable cook (I believe this is a natural gift with them, as with Frenchmen); a dairywoman, who churns for us; a laundrywoman; her daughter, our housemaid, the aforesaid Mary; and two young lads of from fifteen to twenty, who wait upon us in the capacity of footmen. As, however, the latter are perfectly filthy in their persons and clothes--their faces, hands, and naked feet being literally encrusted with dirt--their attendance at our meals is not, as you may suppose, particularly agreeable to me, and I dispense with it as often as possible. Mary, too, is so intolerably offensive in her person that it is impossible to endure her proximity, and the consequence is that, amongst Mr. ----'s slaves, I wait upon myself more than I have ever done in my life before. About this same personal offensiveness, the Southerners you know insist that it is inherent with the race, and it is one of their most cogent reasons for keeping them as slaves. But as this very disagreeable peculiarity does not prevent Southern women from hanging their infants at the breasts of negresses, nor almost every planter's wife and daughter from having one or more little pet blacks sleeping like puppy dogs in their very bedchamber, nor almost every planter from admitting one or several of his female slaves to the still closer intimacy of his bed--it seems to me that this objection to doing them right is not very valid. I cannot imagine that they would smell much worse if they were free, or come in much closer contact with the delicate organs of their white, fellow countrymen; indeed, inasmuch as good deeds are spoken of as having a sweet savour before God, it might be supposed that the freeing of the blacks might prove rather an odoriferous process than the contrary. However this may be, I must tell you that this potent reason for enslaving a whole race of people is no more potent with me than most of the others adduced to support the system, inasmuch as, from observation and some experience, I am strongly inclined to believe that peculiar ignorance of the laws of health and the habits of decent cleanliness are the real and only causes of this disagreeable characteristic of the race--thorough ablutions and change of linen, when tried, having been perfectly successful in removing all such objections; and if ever you have come into anything like neighbourly proximity with a low Irishman or woman, I think you will allow that the same causes produce very nearly the same effects. The stench in an Irish, Scotch, Italian, or French hovel are quite as intolerable as any I ever found in our negro houses, and the filth and vermin which abound about the clothes and persons of the lower peasantry of any of those countries as abominable as the same conditions in the black population of the United States. A total absence of self-respect begets these hateful physical results, and in proportion as moral influences are remote, physical evils will abound. Well-being, freedom, and industry induce self-respect, self-respect induces cleanliness and personal attention, so that slavery is answerable for all the evils that exhibit themselves where it exists--from lying, thieving, and adultery, to dirty houses, ragged clothes, and foul smells. But to return to our Ganymedes. One of them--the eldest son of our laundrywoman, and Mary's brother, a boy of the name of Aleck (Alexander)--is uncommonly bright and intelligent; he performs all the offices of a well-instructed waiter with great efficiency, and anywhere out of slave land would be able to earn fourteen or fifteen dollars a month for himself; he is remarkably good tempered and well disposed. The other poor boy is so stupid that he appears sullen from absolute darkness of intellect; instead of being a little lower than the angels, he is scarcely a little higher than the brutes, and to this condition are reduced the majority of his kind by the institutions under which they live. I should tell you that Aleck's parents and kindred have always been about the house of the overseer, and in daily habits of intercourse with him and his wife; and wherever this is the case the effect of involuntary education is evident in the improved intelligence of the degraded race. In a conversation which Mr. ---- had this evening with Mr. O----, the overseer, the latter mentioned that two of our carpenters had in their leisure time made a boat, which they had disposed of to some neighbouring planter for sixty dollars. Now, E----, I have no intention of telling you a one-sided story, or concealing from you what are cited as the advantages which these poor people possess; you, who know that no indulgence is worth simple justice, either to him who gives or him who receives, will not thence conclude that their situation thus mitigated is, therefore, what it should be. On this matter of the sixty dollars earned by Mr. ----'s two men much stress was laid by him and his overseer. I look at it thus: if these men were industrious enough out of their scanty leisure to earn sixty dollars, how much more of remuneration, of comfort, of improvement might they not have achieved were the price of their daily labour duly paid them, instead of being unjustly withheld to support an idle young man and his idle family--i.e. myself and my children. And here it may be well to inform you that the slaves on this plantation are divided into field hands and mechanics or artisans. The former, the great majority, are the more stupid and brutish of the tribe; the others, who are regularly taught their trades, are not only exceedingly expert at them, but exhibit a greater general activity of intellect, which must necessarily result from even a partial degree of cultivation. There are here a gang (for that is the honourable term) of coopers, of blacksmiths, of bricklayers, of carpenters--all well acquainted with their peculiar trades. The latter constructed the wash-hand stands, clothes presses, sofas, tables, &c, with which our house is furnished, and they are very neat pieces of workmanship--neither veneered or polished indeed, nor of very costly materials, but of the white pine wood planed as smooth as marble--a species of furniture not very luxurious perhaps, but all the better adapted therefore to the house itself, which is certainly rather more devoid of the conveniences and adornments of modern existence than anything I ever took up my abode in before. It consists of three small rooms, and three still smaller, which would be more appropriately designated as closets, a wooden recess by way of pantry, and a kitchen detached from the dwelling--a mere wooden outhouse, with no floor but the bare earth, and for furniture a congregation of filthy negroes, who lounge in and out of it like hungry hounds at all hours of the day and night, picking up such scraps of food as they can find about, which they discuss squatting down upon their hams, in which interesting position and occupation I generally find a number of them whenever I have sufficient hardihood to venture within those precincts, the sight of which and its tenants is enough to slacken the appetite of the hungriest hunter that ever lost all nice regards in the mere animal desire for food. Of our three apartments, one is our sitting, eating, and _living_ room, and is sixteen feet by fifteen. The walls are plastered indeed, but neither painted nor papered; it is divided from our bed-room (a similarly elegant and comfortable chamber) by a dingy wooden partition covered all over with hooks, pegs, and nails, to which hats, caps, keys, &c. &c., are suspended in graceful irregularity. The doors open by wooden latches, raised by means of small bits of packthread--I imagine, the same primitive order of fastening celebrated in the touching chronicle of Red Riding Hood; how they shut I will not pretend to describe, as the shutting of a door is a process of extremely rare occurrence throughout the whole Southern country. The third room, a chamber with sloping ceiling, immediately over our sitting-room and under the roof, is appropriated to the nurse and my two babies. Of the closets, one is Mr. ---- the overseer's bed-room, the other his office or place of business; and the third, adjoining our bed-room, and opening immediately out of doors, is Mr. ----'s dressing room and cabinet d'affaires, where he gives audiences to the negroes, redresses grievances, distributes red woollen caps (a singular gratification to a slave), shaves himself, and performs the other offices of his toilet. Such being our abode, I think you will allow there is little danger of my being dazzled by the luxurious splendours of a Southern slave residence. Our sole mode of summoning our attendants is by a packthread bell-rope suspended in the sitting-room. From the bed-rooms we have to raise the windows and our voices, and bring them by power of lungs, or help ourselves--which, I thank God, was never yet a hardship to me. I mentioned to you just now that two of the carpenters had made a boat in their leisure time. I must explain this to you, and this will involve the mention of another of Miss Martineau's mistakes with regard to slave labour, at least in many parts of the Southern States. She mentions that on one estate of which she knew, the proprietor had made the experiment, and very successfully, of appointing to each of his slaves a certain task to be performed in the day, which once accomplished, no matter how early, the rest of the four and twenty hours were allowed to the labourer to employ as he pleased. She mentions this as a single experiment, and rejoices over it as a decided amelioration in the condition of the slave, and one deserving of general adoption. But in the part of Georgia where this estate is situated, the custom of task labour is universal, and it prevails, I believe, throughout Georgia, South Carolina, and parts of North Carolina; in other parts of the latter State, however--as I was informed by our overseer, who is a native of that State--the estates are small, rather deserving the name of farms, and the labourers are much upon the same footing as the labouring men at the North, working from sunrise to sunset in the fields with the farmer and his sons, and coming in with them to their meals, which they take immediately after the rest of the family. In Louisiana and the new South-western Slave States, I believe, task labour does not prevail; but it is in those that the condition of the poor human cattle is most deplorable, as you know it was there that the humane calculation was not only made, but openly and unhesitatingly avowed, that the planters found it upon the whole their most profitable plan to work off (kill with labour) their whole number of slaves about once in seven years, and renew the whole stock. By the bye, the Jewish institution of slavery is much insisted upon by the Southern upholders of the system; perhaps this is their notion of the Jewish jubilee, when the slaves were by Moses' strict enactment to be all set free. Well, this task system is pursued on this estate; and thus it is that the two carpenters were enabled to make the boat they sold for sixty dollars. These tasks, of course, profess to be graduated according to the sex, age, and strength of the labourer; but in many instances this is not the case, as I think you will agree when I tell you that on Mr. ----'s first visit to his estates he found that the men and the women who laboured in the fields had the same task to perform. This was a noble admission of female equality, was it not?--and thus it had been on the estate for many years past. Mr. ----, of course, altered the distribution of the work, diminishing the quantity done by the women. I had a most ludicrous visit this morning from the midwife of the estate--rather an important personage both to master and slave, as to her unassisted skill and science the ushering of all the young negroes into their existence of bondage is entrusted. I heard a great deal of conversation in the dressing-room adjoining mine, while performing my own toilet, and presently Mr. ---- opened my room-door, ushering in a dirty fat good-humoured looking old negress, saying, 'The midwife, Rose, wants to make your acquaintance.' 'Oh massa!' shrieked out the old creature in a paroxysm of admiration, 'where you get this lilly alablaster baby!' For a moment I looked round to see if she was speaking of my baby; but no, my dear, this superlative apostrophe was elicited by the fairness of _my skin_--so much for degrees of comparison. Now, I suppose that if I chose to walk arm in arm with the dingiest mulatto through the streets of Philadelphia, nobody could possibly tell by my complexion that I was not his sister, so that the mere quality of mistress must have had a most miraculous effect upon my skin in the eyes of poor Rose. But this species of outrageous flattery is as usual with these people as with the low Irish, and arises from the ignorant desire, common to both the races, of propitiating at all costs the fellow-creature who is to them as a Providence--or rather, I should say, a fate--for 't is a heathen and no Christian relationship. Soon after this visit, I was summoned into the wooden porch or piazza of the house, to see a poor woman who desired to speak to me. This was none other than the tall emaciated-looking negress who, on the day of our arrival, had embraced me and my nurse with such irresistible zeal. She appeared very ill to-day, and presently unfolded to me a most distressing history of bodily afflictions. She was the mother of a very large family, and complained to me that, what with child-bearing and hard field labour, her back was almost broken in two. With an almost savage vehemence of gesticulation she suddenly tore up her scanty clothing, and exhibited a spectacle with which I was inconceivably shocked and sickened. The facts, without any of her corroborating statements, bore tolerable witness to the hardships of her existence. I promised to attend to her ailments and give her proper remedies; but these are natural results, inevitable and irremediable ones, of improper treatment of the female frame--and though there may be alleviation, there cannot be any cure when once the beautiful and wonderful structure has been thus made the victim of ignorance, folly, and wickedness. After the departure of this poor woman, I walked down the settlement towards the infirmary or hospital, calling in at one or two of the houses along the row. These cabins consist of one room about twelve feet by fifteen, with a couple of closets smaller and closer than the state-rooms of a ship, divided off from the main room and each other by rough wooden partitions in which the inhabitants sleep. They have almost all of them a rude bedstead, with the grey moss of the forests for mattress, and filthy, pestilential-looking blankets, for covering. Two families (sometimes eight and ten in number) reside in one of these huts, which are mere wooden frames pinned, as it were, to the earth by a brick chimney outside, whose enormous aperture within pours down a flood of air, but little counteracted by the miserable spark of fire, which hardly sends an attenuated thread of lingering smoke up its huge throat. A wide ditch runs immediately at the back of these dwellings, which is filled and emptied daily by the tide. Attached to each hovel is a small scrap of ground for a garden, which, however, is for the most part untended and uncultivated. Such of these dwellings as I visited to-day were filthy and wretched in the extreme, and exhibited that most deplorable consequence of ignorance and an abject condition, the inability of the inhabitants to secure and improve even such pitiful comfort as might yet be achieved by them. Instead of the order, neatness, and ingenuity which might convert even these miserable hovels into tolerable residences, there was the careless, reckless, filthy indolence which even the brutes do not exhibit in their lairs and nests, and which seemed incapable of applying to the uses of existence the few miserable means of comfort yet within their reach. Firewood and shavings lay littered about the floors, while the half-naked children were cowering round two or three smouldering cinders. The moss with which the chinks and crannies of their ill-protecting dwellings might have been stuffed, was trailing in dirt and dust about the ground, while the back-door of the huts, opening upon a most unsightly ditch, was left wide open for the fowls and ducks, which they are allowed to raise, to travel in and out, increasing the filth of the cabin, by what they brought and left in every direction. In the midst of the floor, or squatting round the cold hearth, would be four or five little children from four to ten years old, the latter all with babies in their arms, the care of the infants being taken from the mothers (who are driven a-field as soon as they recover from child labour), and devolved upon these poor little nurses, as they are called, whose business it is to watch the infant, and carry it to its mother whenever it may require nourishment. To these hardly human little beings, I addressed my remonstrances about the filth, cold, and unnecessary wretchedness of their room, bidding the elder boys and girls kindle up the fire, sweep the floor, and expel the poultry. For a long time my very words seemed unintelligible to them, till when I began to sweep and make up the fire, &c., they first fell to laughing, and then imitating me. The encrustations of dirt on their hands, feet, and faces, were my next object of attack, and the stupid negro practice (by the bye, but a short time since nearly universal in enlightened Europe), of keeping the babies with their feet bare, and their heads, already well capped by nature with their woolly hair, wrapped in half-a-dozen hot filthy coverings. Thus I travelled down the 'street,' in every dwelling endeavouring to awaken a new perception, that of cleanliness, sighing, as I went, over the futility of my own exertions, for how can slaves be improved? Nathless, thought I, let what can be done; for it may be, that, the two being incompatible, improvement may yet expel slavery--and so it might, and surely would, if, instead of beginning at the end, I could but begin at the beginning of my task. If the mind and soul were awakened, instead of mere physical good attempted, the physical good would result, and the great curse vanish away; but my hands are tied fast, and this corner of the work is all that I may do. Yet it cannot be but, from my words and actions, some revelations should reach these poor people; and going in and out amongst them perpetually, I shall teach, and they learn involuntarily a thousand things of deepest import. They must learn, and who can tell the fruit of that knowledge alone, that there are beings in the world, even with skins of a different colour from their own, who have sympathy for their misfortunes, love for their virtues, and respect for their common nature--but oh! my heart is full almost to bursting, as I walk among these most poor creatures. The infirmary is a large two-story building, terminating the broad orange-planted space between the two rows of houses which form the first settlement; it is built of white washed wood, and contains four large-sized rooms. But how shall I describe to you the spectacle which was presented to me, on my entering the first of these? But half the casements, of which there were six, were glazed, and these were obscured with dirt, almost as much as the other windowless ones were darkened by the dingy shutters, which the shivering inmates had fastened to, in order to protect themselves from the cold. In the enormous chimney glimmered the powerless embers of a few sticks of wood, round which, however, as many of the sick women as could approach, were cowering; some on wooden settles, most of them on the ground, excluding those who were too ill to rise; and these last poor wretches lay prostrate on the floor, without bed, mattress, or pillow, buried in tattered and filthy blankets, which, huddled round them as they lay strewed about, left hardly space to move upon the floor. And here, in their hour of sickness and suffering, lay those whose health and strength are spent in unrequited labour for us--those who, perhaps even yesterday, were being urged onto their unpaid task--those whose husbands, fathers, brothers and sons, were even at that hour sweating over the earth, whose produce was to buy for us all the luxuries which health can revel in, all the comforts which can alleviate sickness. I stood in the midst of them, perfectly unable to speak, the tears pouring from my eyes at this sad spectacle of their misery, myself and my emotion alike strange and incomprehensible to them. Here lay women expecting every hour the terrors and agonies of child-birth, others who had just brought their doomed offspring into the world, others who were groaning over the anguish and bitter disappointment of miscarriages--here lay some burning with fever, others chilled with cold and aching with rheumatism, upon the hard cold ground, the draughts and dampness of the atmosphere increasing their sufferings, and dirt, noise, and stench, and every aggravation of which sickness is capable, combined in their condition--here they lay like brute beasts, absorbed in physical suffering; unvisited by any of those Divine influences which may ennoble the dispensations of pain and illness, forsaken, as it seemed to me, of all good; and yet, O God, Thou surely hadst not forsaken them! Now, pray take notice, that this is the hospital of an estate, where the owners are supposed to be humane, the overseer efficient and kind, and the negroes, remarkably well cared for and comfortable. As soon as I recovered from my dismay, I addressed old Rose, the midwife, who had charge of this room, bidding her open the shutters of such windows as were glazed, and let in the light. I next proceeded to make up the fire, but upon my lifting a log for that purpose, there was one universal outcry of horror, and old Rose, attempting to snatch it from me, exclaimed, 'Let alone, missis--let be--what for you lift wood--you have nigger enough, missis, to do it!' I hereupon had to explain to them my view of the purposes for which hands and arms were appended to our bodies, and forthwith began making Rose tidy up the miserable apartment, removing all the filth and rubbish from the floor that could be removed, folding up in piles the blankets of the patients who were not using them, and placing, in rather more sheltered and comfortable positions, those who were unable to rise. It was all that I could do, and having enforced upon them all my earnest desire that they should keep their room swept, and as tidy as possible, I passed on to the other room on the ground floor, and to the two above, one of which is appropriated to the use of the men who are ill. They were all in the same deplorable condition, the upper rooms being rather the more miserable, inasmuch as none of the windows were glazed at all, and they had, therefore, only the alternative of utter darkness, or killing draughts of air, from the unsheltered casements. In all, filth, disorder and misery abounded; the floor was the only bed, and scanty begrimed rags of blankets the only covering. I left this refuge for Mr. ----'s sick dependants, with my clothes covered with dust, and full of vermin, and with a heart heavy enough, as you will well believe. My morning's work had fatigued me not a little, and I was glad to return to the house, where I gave vent to my indignation and regret at the scene I had just witnessed, to Mr. ---- and his overseer, who, here, is a member of our family. The latter told me that the condition of the hospital had appeared to him, from his first entering upon his situation (only within the last year), to require a reform, and that he had proposed it to the former manager, Mr. K----, and Mr. ----'s brother, who is part proprietor of the estate, but receiving no encouragement from them, had supposed that it was a matter of indifference to the owners, and had left it in the condition in which he had found it, in which condition it has been for the last nineteen years and upwards. This new overseer of ours has lived fourteen years with an old Scotch gentleman, who owns an estate adjoining Mr. ----'s, on the island of St. Simons, upon which estate, from everything I can gather, and from what I know of the proprietor's character, the slaves are probably treated with as much humanity as is consistent with slavery at all, and where the management and comfort of the hospital, in particular, had been most carefully and judiciously attended to. With regard to the indifference of our former manager upon the subject of the accommodation for the sick, he was an excellent overseer, _videlicet_, the estate returned a full income under his management, and such men have nothing to do with sick slaves--they are tools, to be mended only if they can be made available again,--if not, to be flung by as useless, without further expense of money, time, or trouble. I am learning to row here, for, circumscribed as my walks necessarily are, impossible as it is to resort to my favourite exercise on horseback upon these narrow dykes, I must do something to prevent my blood from stagnating; and this broad brimming river, and the beautiful light canoes which lie moored, at the steps, are very inviting persuaders to this species of exercise. My first attempt was confined to pulling an oar across the stream, for which I rejoiced in sundry aches and pains altogether novel, letting alone a delightful row of blisters on each of my hands. I forgot to tell you that in the hospital were several sick babies, whose mothers were permitted to suspend their field labour, in order to nurse them. Upon addressing some remonstrances to one of these, who, besides having a sick child, was ill herself, about the horribly dirty condition of her baby, she assured me that it was impossible for them to keep their children clean, that they went out to work at daybreak, and did not get their tasks done till evening, and that then they were too tired and worn out to do anything but throw themselves down and sleep. This statement of hers I mentioned on my return from the hospital, and the overseer appeared extremely annoyed by it, and assured me repeatedly that it was not true. In the evening Mr. ----, who had been over to Darien, mentioned that one of the storekeepers there had told him that, in the course of a few years, he had paid the negroes of this estate several thousand dollars for moss, which is a very profitable article of traffic with them--they collect it from the trees, dry and pick it, and then sell it to the people in Darien for mattresses, sofas, and all sorts of stuffing purposes,--which, in my opinion, it answers better than any other material whatever that I am acquainted with, being as light as horse hair, as springy and elastic, and a great deal less harsh and rigid. It is now bed-time, dear E----, and I doubt not it has been sleepy time with you over this letter, long ere you came thus far. There is a preliminary to my repose, however, in this agreeable residence, which I rather dread, namely, the hunting for, or discovering without hunting, in fine relief upon the white-washed walls of my bed-room, a most hideous and detestable species of _reptile_, called centipedes, which come out of the cracks and crevices of the walls, and fill my very heart with dismay. They are from an inch to two inches long, and appear to have not a hundred, but a thousand legs. I cannot ascertain very certainly from the negroes whether they sting or not, but they look exceedingly as if they might, and I visit my babies every night, in fear and tremblings lest I should find one or more of these hateful creatures mounting guard over them. Good night; you are well to be free from centipedes--better to be free from slaves. * * * * * Dear E----. This morning I paid my second visit to the infirmary, and found there had been some faint attempt at sweeping and cleaning, in compliance with my entreaties. The poor woman Harriet, however, whose statement, with regard to the impossibility of their attending properly to their children, had been so vehemently denied by the overseer, was crying bitterly. I asked her what ailed her, when, more by signs and dumb show than words, she and old Rose informed me that Mr. O---- had flogged her that morning, for having told me that the women had not time to keep their children clean. It is part of the regular duty of every overseer to visit the infirmary at least once a day, which he generally does in the morning, and Mr. O----'s visit had preceded mine but a short time only, or I might have been edified by seeing a man horsewhip a woman. I again and again made her repeat her story, and she again and again affirmed that she had been flogged for what she told me, none of the whole company in the room denying it, or contradicting her. I left the room, because I was so disgusted and indignant, that I could hardly restrain my feelings, and to express them could have produced no single good result. In the next ward, stretched upon the ground, apparently either asleep or so overcome with sickness as to be incapable of moving, lay an immense woman,--her stature, as she cumbered the earth, must have been, I should think, five feet seven or eight, and her bulk enormous. She was wrapped in filthy rags, and lay with her face on the floor. As I approached, and stooped to see what ailed her, she suddenly threw out her arms, and, seized with violent convulsions, rolled over and over upon the floor, beating her head violently upon the ground, and throwing her enormous limbs about in a horrible manner. Immediately upon the occurrence of this fit, four or five women threw themselves literally upon her, and held her down by main force; they even proceeded to bind her legs and arms together, to prevent her dashing herself about; but this violent coercion and tight bandaging seemed to me, in my profound ignorance, more likely to increase her illness, by impeding her breathing, and the circulation of her blood, and I bade them desist, and unfasten all the strings and ligatures, not only that they had put round her limbs, but which, by tightening her clothes round her body, caused any obstruction. How much I wished that, instead of music and dancing and such stuff, I had learned something of sickness and health, of the conditions and liabilities of the human body, that I might have known how to assist this poor creature, and to direct her ignorant and helpless nurses! The fit presently subsided, and was succeeded by the most deplorable prostration and weakness of nerves, the tears streaming down the poor woman's cheeks in showers, without, however, her uttering a single word, though she moaned incessantly. After bathing her forehead, hands, and chest with vinegar, we raised her up, and I sent to the house for a chair with a back (there was no such thing in the hospital,) and we contrived to place her in it. I have seldom seen finer women than this poor creature and her younger sister, an immense strapping lass, called Chloe--tall, straight, and extremely well made--who was assisting her sister, and whom I had remarked, for the extreme delight and merriment which my cleansing propensities seemed to give her, on my last visit to the hospital. She was here taking care of a sick baby, and helping to nurse her sister Molly, who, it seems, is subject to those fits, about which I spoke to our physician here--an intelligent man, residing in Darien, who visits the estate whenever medical assistance is required. He seemed to attribute them to nervous disorder, brought on by frequent child bearing. This woman is young, I suppose at the outside not thirty, and her sister informed me that she had had ten children--ten children, E----! Fits and hard labour in the fields, unpaid labour, labour exacted with stripes--how do you fancy that? I wonder if my mere narration can make your blood boil, as the facts did mine? Among the patients in this room was a young girl, apparently from fourteen to fifteen, whose hands and feet were literally rotting away piecemeal, from the effect of a horrible disease, to which the negroes are subject here, and I believe in the West Indies, and when it attacks the joints of the toes and fingers, the pieces absolutely decay and come off, leaving the limb a maimed and horrible stump! I believe no cure is known for this disgusting malady, which seems confined to these poor creatures. Another disease, of which they complained much, and which, of course, I was utterly incapable of accounting for, was a species of lock-jaw, to which their babies very frequently fall victims, in the first or second week after their birth, refusing the breast, and the mouth gradually losing the power of opening itself. The horrible diseased state of head, common among their babies, is a mere result of filth and confinement, and therefore, though I never anywhere saw such distressing and disgusting objects as some of these poor little woolly skulls presented, the cause was sufficiently obvious. Pleurisy, or a tendency to it, seems very common among them; also peri-pneumonia, or inflammation of the lungs, which is terribly prevalent, and generally fatal. Rheumatism is almost universal; and as it proceeds from exposure, and want of knowledge and care, attacks indiscriminately the young and old. A great number of the women are victims to falling of the womb and weakness in the spine; but these are necessary results of their laborious existence, and do not belong either to climate or constitution. I have ingeniously contrived to introduce bribery, corruption, and pauperism, all in a breath, upon this island, which, until my advent, was as innocent of these pollutions, I suppose, as Prospero's isle of refuge. Wishing, however, to appeal to some perception, perhaps a little less dim in their minds than the abstract loveliness of cleanliness, I have proclaimed to all the little baby nurses, that I will give a cent to every little boy or girl whose baby's face shall be clean, and one to every individual with clean face and hands of their own. My appeal was fully comprehended by the majority, it seems, for this morning I was surrounded, as soon as I came out, by a swarm of children carrying their little charges on their backs and in their arms, the shining, and, in many instances, wet faces and hands of the latter, bearing ample testimony to the ablutions which had been inflicted upon them. How they will curse me and the copper cause of all their woes, in their baby bosoms! Do you know that little as grown negroes are admirable for their personal beauty (in my opinion, at least), the black babies of a year or two old are very pretty; they have for the most part beautiful eyes and eyelashes, the pearly perfect teeth, which they retain after their other juvenile graces have left them; their skins are all (I mean of blacks generally) infinitely finer and softer than the skins of white people. Perhaps you are not aware that among the white race the _finest grained_ skins generally belong to persons of dark complexion. This, as a characteristic of the black race, I think might be accepted as some compensation for the coarse woolly hair. The nose and mouth, which are so peculiarly displeasing in their conformation in the face of a negro man or woman, being the features least developed in a baby's countenance, do not at first present the ugliness which they assume as they become more marked; and when the very unusual operation of washing has been performed, the blood shines through the fine texture of the skin, giving life and richness to the dingy colour, and displaying a species of beauty which I think scarcely any body who observed it would fail to acknowledge. I have seen many babies on this plantation, who were quite as pretty as white children, and this very day stooped to kiss a little sleeping creature, that lay on its mother's knees in the infirmary--as beautiful a specimen of a sleeping infant as I ever saw. The caress excited the irrepressible delight of all the women present--poor creatures! who seemed to forget that I was a woman, and had children myself, and bore a woman's and a mother's heart towards them and theirs; but, indeed, the Honourable Mr. Slumkey could not have achieved more popularity by his performances in that line than I, by this exhibition of feeling; and had the question been my election, I am very sure nobody else would have had a chance of a vote through the island. But wisely is it said, that use is second nature; and the contempt and neglect to which these poor people are used, make the commonest expression of human sympathy appear a boon and gracious condescension. While I am speaking of the negro countenance, there is another beauty which is not at all unfrequent among those I see here--a finely shaped oval face--and those who know (as all painters and sculptors, all who understand beauty do) how much expression there is in the outline of the head, and how very rare it is to see a well-formed face, will be apt to consider this a higher matter than any colouring of which, indeed, the red and white one so often admired is by no means the most rich, picturesque, or expressive. At first the dark colour confounded all features to my eye, and I could hardly tell one face from another. Becoming, however, accustomed to the complexion, I now perceive all the variety among these black countenances that there is among our own race, and as much difference in features and in expression as among the same number of whites. There is another peculiarity which I have remarked among the women here--very considerable beauty in the make of the hands; their feet are very generally ill made, which must be a natural, and not an acquired defect, as they seldom injure their feet by wearing shoes. The figures of some of the women are handsome, and their carriage, from the absence of any confining or tightening clothing, and the habit they have of balancing great weights on their heads, erect and good. At the upper end of the row of houses, and nearest to our overseer's residence, is the hut of the head driver. Let me explain, by the way, his office. The negroes, as I before told you, are divided into troops or gangs, as they are called; at the head of each gang is a driver, who stands over them, whip in hand, while they perform their daily task, who renders an account of each individual slave and his work every evening to the overseer, and receives from him directions for their next day's tasks. Each driver is allowed to inflict a dozen lashes upon any refractory slave in the field, and at the time of the offence; they may not, however, extend the chastisement, and if it is found ineffectual, their remedy lies in reporting the unmanageable individual either to the head driver or the overseer; the former of whom has power to inflict three dozen lashes at his own discretion, and the latter as many as he himself sees fit, within the number of fifty; which limit, however, I must tell you, is an arbitrary one on this plantation, appointed by the founder of the estate, Major ----, Mr. ----'s grandfather, many of whose regulations, indeed I believe most of them, are still observed in the government of the plantation. Limits of this sort, however, to the power of either driver, head driver, or overseer, may or may not exist elsewhere; they are, to a certain degree, a check upon the power of these individuals; but in the absence of the master, the overseer may confine himself within the limit or not, as he chooses--and as for the master himself, where is his limit? He may, if he likes, flog a slave to death, for the laws which pretend that he may not are a mere pretence--inasmuch as the testimony of a black is never taken against a white; and upon this plantation of ours, and a thousand more, the overseer is the _only_ white man, so whence should come the testimony to any crime of his? With regard to the oft-repeated statement, that it is not the owner's interest to destroy his human property, it answers nothing--the instances in which men, to gratify the immediate impulse of passion, sacrifice not only their eternal, but their evident, palpable, positive worldly interest, are infinite. Nothing is commoner than for a man under the transient influence of anger to disregard his worldly advantage; and the black slave, whose preservation is indeed supposed to be his owner's interest, may be, will be, and is occasionally sacrificed to the blind impulse of passion. To return to our head driver, or, as he is familiarly called, head man, Frank--he is second in authority only to the overseer, and exercises rule alike over the drivers and the gangs, in the absence of the sovereign white man from the estate, which happens whenever Mr. O---- visits the other two plantations at Woodville and St. Simons. He is sole master and governor of the island, appoints the work, pronounces punishments, gives permission to the men to leave the island (without it they never may do so), and exercises all functions of undisputed mastery over his fellow slaves, for you will observe that all this while he is just as much a slave as any of the rest. Trustworthy, upright, intelligent, he may be flogged to-morrow if Mr. O---- or Mr. ---- so please it, and sold the next day like a cart horse, at the will of the latter. Besides his various other responsibilities, he has the key of all the stores, and gives out the people's rations weekly; nor is it only the people's provisions that are put under his charge--meat, which is only given out to them occasionally, and provisions for the use of the family are also entrusted to his care. Thus you see, among these _inferior_ creatures, their own masters yet look to find, surviving all their best efforts to destroy them--good sense, honesty, self-denial, and all the qualities, mental and moral, that make one man worthy to be trusted by another. From the imperceptible, but inevitable effect of the sympathies and influences of human creatures towards and over each other, Frank's intelligence has become uncommonly developed by intimate communion in the discharge of his duty with the former overseer, a very intelligent man, who has only just left the estate, after managing it for nineteen years; the effect of this intercourse, and of the trust and responsibility laid upon the man, are that he is clear-headed, well judging, active, intelligent, extremely well mannered, and, being respected, he respects himself. He is as ignorant as the rest of the slaves; but he is always clean and tidy in his person, with a courteousness of demeanour far removed from servility, and exhibits a strong instance of the intolerable and wicked injustice of the system under which he lives, having advanced thus far towards improvement, in spite of all the bars it puts to progress; and here being arrested, not by want of energy, want of sense, or any want of his own, but by being held as another man's property, who can only thus hold him by forbidding him further improvement. When I see that man, who keeps himself a good deal aloof from the rest, in his leisure hours looking, with a countenance of deep thought, as I did to-day, over the broad river, which is to him as a prison wall, to the fields and forest beyond, not one inch or branch of which his utmost industry can conquer as his own, or acquire and leave an independent heritage to his children, I marvel what the thoughts of such a man may be. I was in his house to-day, and the same superiority in cleanliness, comfort, and propriety exhibited itself in his dwelling, as in his own personal appearance, and that of his wife--a most active, trustworthy, excellent woman, daughter of the oldest, and probably most highly respected of all Mr. ----'s slaves. To the excellent conduct of this woman, and indeed every member of her family, both the present and the last overseer bear unqualified testimony. As I was returning towards the house, after my long morning's lounge, a man rushed out of the blacksmith's shop, and catching me by the skirt of my gown, poured forth a torrent of self-gratulations on having at length found the 'right missis.' They have no idea, of course, of a white person performing any of the offices of a servant, and as throughout the whole Southern country the owner's children are nursed and tended, and sometimes _suckled_ by their slaves (I wonder how this inferior milk agrees with the lordly _white_ babies?) the appearance of M---- with my two children had immediately suggested the idea that she must be the missis. Many of the poor negroes flocked to her, paying their profound homage under this impression; and when she explained to them that she was not their owner's wife, the confusion in their minds seemed very great--Heaven only knows whether they did not conclude that they had two mistresses, and Mr. ---- two wives; for the privileged race must seem, in their eyes, to have such absolute masterdom on earth, that perhaps they thought polygamy might be one of the sovereign white men's numerous indulgences. The ecstacy of the blacksmith on discovering the 'right missis' at last was very funny, and was expressed with such extraordinary grimaces, contortions, and gesticulations, that I thought I should have died of laughing at this rapturous identification of my most melancholy relation to the poor fellow. Having at length extricated myself from the group which forms round me whenever I stop but for a few minutes, I pursued my voyage of discovery by peeping into the kitchen garden. I dared do no more; the aspect of the place would have rejoiced the very soul of Solomon's sluggard of old--a few cabbages and weeds innumerable filled the neglected looking enclosure, and I ventured no further than the entrance into its most uninviting precincts. You are to understand that upon this swamp island of ours we have quite a large stock of cattle, cows, sheep, pigs, and poultry in the most enormous and inconvenient abundance. The cows are pretty miserably off for pasture, the banks and pathways of the dykes being their only grazing ground, which the sheep perambulate also, in earnest search of a nibble of fresh herbage; both the cows and sheep are fed with rice flour in great abundance, and are pretty often carried down for change of air and more sufficient grazing to Hampton, Mr. ----'s estate, on the island of St. Simons, fifteen miles from this place, further down the river--or rather, indeed, I should say in the sea, for 'tis salt water all round, and one end of the island has a noble beach open to the vast Atlantic. The pigs thrive admirably here, and attain very great perfection of size and flavour; the rice flour, upon which they are chiefly fed, tending to make them very delicate. As for the poultry, it being one of the few privileges of the poor blacks to raise as many as they can, their abundance is literally a nuisance--ducks, fowls, pigeons, turkeys (the two latter species, by the bye, are exclusively the master's property), cluck, scream, gabble, gobble, crow, cackle, fight, fly, and flutter in all directions, and to their immense concourse, and the perfect freedom with which they intrude themselves even into the piazza of the house, the pantry, and kitchen, I partly attribute the swarms of fleas, and other still less agreeable vermin, with which we are most horribly pestered. My walk lay to-day along the bank of a canal, which has been dug through nearly the whole length of the island, to render more direct and easy the transportation of the rice from one end of the estate to another, or from the various distant fields to the principal mill at Settlement No. 1. It is of considerable width and depth, and opens by various locks into the river. It has, unfortunately, no trees on its banks, but a good footpath renders it, in spite of that deficiency, about the best walk on the island. I passed again to-day one of those beautiful evergreen thickets, which I described to you in my last letter; it is called a reserve, and is kept uncleared and uncultivated in its natural swampy condition, to allow of the people's procuring their firewood from it. I cannot get accustomed, so as to be indifferent to this exquisite natural ornamental growth, and think, as I contemplate the various and beautiful foliage of these watery woods, how many of our finest English parks and gardens owe their chiefest adornments to plantations of these shrubs, procured at immense cost, reared with infinite pains and care, which are here basking in the winter's sunshine, waiting to be cut down for firewood! These little groves are peopled with wild pigeons and birds, which they designate here as blackbirds. These sometimes rise from the rice fields with a whirr of multitudinous wings, that is almost startling, and positively overshadow the ground beneath like a cloud. I had a conversation that interested me a good deal, during my walk to-day, with my peculiar slave Jack. This lad, whom Mr. ---- has appointed to attend me in my roamings about the island, and rowing expeditions on the river, is the son of the last head driver, a man of very extraordinary intelligence and faithfulness--such, at least, is the account given of him by his employers (in the burial-ground of the negroes is a stone dedicated to his memory, a mark of distinction accorded by his masters, which his son never failed to point out to me, when we passed that way). Jack appears to inherit his quickness of apprehension; his questions, like those of an intelligent child, are absolutely inexhaustible; his curiosity about all things beyond this island, the prison-house of his existence, is perfectly intense; his countenance is very pleasing, mild, and not otherwise than thoughtful; he is, in common with the rest of them, a stupendous flatterer, and, like the rest of them, also seems devoid of physical and moral courage. To-day, in the midst of his torrent of enquiries about places and things, I suddenly asked him if he would like to be free. A gleam of light absolutely shot over his whole countenance, like the vivid and instantaneous lightning--he stammered, hesitated, became excessively confused, and at length replied--'Free, missis? what for me wish to be free? Oh! no, missis, me no wish to be free, if massa only let we keep pig.' The fear of offending, by uttering that forbidden wish--the dread of admitting, by its expression, the slightest discontent with his present situation--the desire to conciliate my favour, even at the expense of strangling the intense natural longing that absolutely glowed in his every feature--it was a sad spectacle, and I repented my question. As for the pitiful request which he reiterated several times adding, 'No, missis, me no want to be free--me work till me die for missis and massa,' with increased emphasis; it amounted only to this, that the negroes once were, but no longer are, permitted to keep pigs. The increase of filth and foul smells, consequent upon their being raised, is, of course, very great; and, moreover, Mr. ---- told me, when I preferred poor Jack's request to him, that their allowance was no more than would suffice their own necessity, and that they had not the means of feeding the animals. With a little good management they might very easily obtain them, however; their little 'kail-yard' alone would suffice to it, and the pork and bacon would prove a most welcome addition to their farinaceous diet. You perceive at once (or if you could have seen the boy's face, you would have perceived at once), that his situation was no mystery to him, that his value to Mr. ----, and, as he supposed, to me, was perfectly well known to him, and that he comprehended immediately that his expressing even the desire to be free, might be construed by me into an offence, and sought by eager protestations of his delighted acquiescence in slavery, to conceal his soul's natural yearning, lest I should resent it. 'T was a sad passage between us, and sent me home full of the most painful thoughts. I told Mr. ----, with much indignation, of poor Harriet's flogging, and represented that if the people were to be chastised for anything they said to me, I must leave the place, as I could not but hear their complaints, and endeavour, by all my miserable limited means, to better their condition while I was here. He said he would ask Mr. O---- about it, assuring me, at the same time, that it was impossible to believe a single word any of these people said. At dinner, accordingly, the enquiry was made as to the cause of her punishment, and Mr. O---- then said it was not at all for what she had told me, that he had flogged her, but for having answered him impertinently, that he had ordered her into the field, whereupon she had said she was ill and could not work, that he retorted he knew better, and bade her get up and go to work; she replied, 'Very well, I'll go, but I shall just come back again!' meaning, that when in the field, she would be unable to work, and obliged, to return to the hospital. 'For this reply,' Mr. O---- said, 'I gave her a good lashing; it was her business to have gone into the field without answering me, and then we should have soon seen whether she could work or not; I gave it to Chloe too, for some such impudence.' I give you the words of the conversation, which was prolonged to a great length, the overseer complaining of sham sicknesses of the slaves, and detailing the most disgusting struggle which is going on the whole time, on the one hand to inflict, and on the other, to evade oppression and injustice. With this sauce I ate my dinner, and truly it tasted bitter. Towards sunset I went on the river to take my rowing lesson. A darling little canoe which carries two oars and a steersman, and rejoices in the appropriate title of the 'Dolphin,' is my especial vessel; and with Jack's help and instructions, I contrived this evening to row upwards of half a mile, coasting the reed-crowned edge of the island to another very large rice mill, the enormous wheel of which is turned by the tide. A small bank of mud and sand covered with reedy coarse grass divides the river into two arms on this side of the island; the deep channel is on the outside of this bank, and as we rowed home this evening, the tide having fallen, we scraped sand almost the whole way. Mr. ----'s domain, it seems to me, will presently fill up this shallow stream, and join itself to the above-mentioned mud-bank. The whole course of this most noble river is full of shoals, banks, mud, and sand-bars, and the navigation, which is difficult to those who know it well, is utterly baffling to the inexperienced. The fact is, that the two elements are so fused hereabouts, that there are hardly such things as earth or water proper; that which styles itself the former, is a fat, muddy, slimy sponge, that, floating half under the turbid river, looks yet saturated with the thick waves which every now and then reclaim their late dominion, and cover it almost entirely; the water, again, cloudy and yellow, like pea-soup, seems but a solution of such islands, rolling turbid and thick with alluvium, which it both gathers and deposits as it sweeps along with a swollen, smooth rapidity, that almost deceives the eye. Amphibious creatures, alligators, serpents, and wild fowl, haunt these yet but half-formed regions, where land and water are of the consistency of hasty-pudding--the one seeming too unstable to walk on, the other almost too thick to float in. But then, the sky, if no human chisel ever yet cut breath, neither did any human pen ever write light; if it did, mine should spread out before you the unspeakable glories of these southern heavens, the saffron brightness of morning, the blue intense brilliancy of noon, the golden splendour and the rosy softness of sunset. Italy and Claude Lorraine may go hang themselves together! Heaven itself does not seem brighter or more beautiful to the imagination, than these surpassing pageants of fiery rays, and piled-up beds of orange, golden clouds, with edges too bright to look on, scattered wreaths of faintest rosy bloom, amber streaks and pale green lakes between, and amid sky all mingled blue and rose tints, a spectacle to make one fall over the boat's side, with one's head broken off, with looking adoringly upwards, but which, on paper, means nothing. At six o'clock our little canoe grazed the steps at the landing. These were covered with young women, and boys, and girls, drawing water for their various household purposes. A very small cedar pail--a piggin, as they termed it--serves to scoop up the river water, and having, by this means, filled a large bucket, they transfer this to their heads, and thus laden, march home with the purifying element--what to do with it, I cannot imagine, for evidence of its ever having been introduced into their dwellings, I saw none. As I ascended the stairs, they surrounded me with shrieks and yells of joy, uttering exclamations of delight and amazement at my rowing. Considering that they dig, delve, carry burthens, and perform many more athletic exercises than pulling a light oar, I was rather amused at this; but it was the singular fact of seeing a white woman stretch her sinews in any toilsome exercise which astounded them, accustomed as they are to see both men and women of the privileged skin eschew the slightest shadow of labour, as a thing not only painful but degrading. They will learn another lesson from me, however, whose idea of Heaven was pronounced by a friend of mine, to whom I once communicated it, to be 'devilish hard work'! It was only just six o'clock, and these women had all done their tasks. I exhorted them to go home and wash their children, and clean their houses and themselves, which they professed themselves ready to do, but said they had no soap. Then began a chorus of mingled requests for soap, for summer clothing, and a variety of things, which, if 'Missis only give we, we be so clean for ever!' This request for summer clothing, by the by, I think a very reasonable one. The allowance of clothes made yearly to each slave by the present regulations of the estate, is a certain number of yards of flannel, and as much more of what they call plains--an extremely stout, thick, heavy woollen cloth, of a dark grey or blue colour, which resembles the species of carpet we call drugget. This, and two pair of shoes, is the regular ration of clothing; but these plains would be intolerable to any but negroes, even in winter, in this climate, and are intolerable to them in the summer. A far better arrangement, in my opinion, would be to increase their allowance of flannel and under clothing, and give them dark chintzes instead of these thick carpets, which are very often the only covering they wear at all. I did not impart all this to my petitioners, but disengaging myself from them, for they held my hands and clothes, I conjured them to offer us some encouragement to better their condition, by bettering it as much as they could themselves,--enforced the virtue of washing themselves and all belonging to them, and at length made good my retreat. As there is no particular reason why such a letter as this should ever come to an end, I had better spare you for the present. You shall have a faithful journal, I promise you, henceforward, as hitherto, from your's ever. * * * * * Dear E----. We had a species of fish this morning for our breakfast, which deserves more glory than I can bestow upon it. Had I been the ingenious man who wrote a poem upon fish, the white mullet of the Altamaha should have been at least my heroine's cousin. 'Tis the heavenliest creature that goes upon fins. I took a long walk this morning to Settlement No. 3, the third village on the island. My way lay along the side of the canal, beyond which, and only divided from it by a raised narrow causeway, rolled the brimming river with its girdle of glittering evergreens, while on my other hand a deep trench marked the line of the rice fields. It really seemed as if the increase of merely a shower of rain might join all these waters together, and lay the island under its original covering again. I visited the people and houses here. I found nothing in any respect different from what I have described to you at Settlement No. 1. During the course of my walk, I startled from its repose in one of the rice-fields, a huge blue heron. You must have seen, as I often have, these creatures stuffed in museums; but 't is another matter, and far more curious, to meet them stalking on their stilts of legs over a rice-field, and then on your near approach, see them spread their wide heavy wings, and throw themselves upon the air, with their long shanks flying after them in a most grotesque and laughable manner. They fly as if they did not know how to do it very well; but standing still, their height (between four and five feet) and peculiar colour, a dusky, greyish blue, with black about the head, render their appearance very beautiful and striking. In the afternoon, I and Jack rowed ourselves over to Darien. It is Saturday--the day of the week on which the slaves from the island are permitted to come over to the town, to purchase such things as they may require and can afford, and to dispose, to the best advantage, of their poultry, moss, and eggs. I met many of them paddling themselves singly in their slight canoes, scooped out of the trunk of a tree, and parties of three and four rowing boats of their own building, laden with their purchases, singing, laughing, talking, and apparently enjoying their holiday to the utmost. They all hailed me with shouts of delight, as I pulled past them, and many were the injunctions bawled after Jack, to 'mind and take good care of Missis!' We returned home through the glory of a sunset all amber-coloured and rosy, and found that one of the slaves, a young lad for whom Mr. ---- has a particular regard, was dangerously ill. Dr. H---- was sent for; and there is every probability that he, Mr. ----and Mr. O---- will be up all night with the poor fellow. I shall write more to-morrow. To-day being Sunday, dear E----, a large boat full of Mr. ----'s people from Hampton came up, to go to church at Darien, and to pay their respects to their master, and see their new 'Missis.' The same scene was acted over again that occurred on our first arrival. A crowd clustered round the house door, to whom I and my babies were produced, and with every individual of whom we had to shake hands some half-a-dozen times. They brought us up presents of eggs (their only wealth), beseeching us to take them, and one young lad, the son of head-man Frank, had a beautiful pair of chickens, which he offered most earnestly to S----. We took one of them, not to mortify the poor fellow, and a green ribbon being tied round its leg, it became a sacred fowl, 'little missis's chicken.' By the by, this young man had so light a complexion, and such regular straight features, that, had I seen him anywhere else, I should have taken him for a southern European, or, perhaps, in favour of his tatters, a gipsy; but certainly it never would have occurred to me that he was the son of negro parents. I observed this to Mr. ----, who merely replied, 'He is the son of head-man Frank and his wife Betty, and they are both black enough, as you see.' The expressions of devotion and delight of these poor people are the most fervent you can imagine. One of them, speaking to me of Mr. ----, and saying that they had heard that he had not been well, added, 'Oh! we hear so, missis, and we not know what to do. Oh! missis, massa sick, all him people _broken_!' Dr. H---- came again to-day to see the poor sick boy, who is doing much better, and bidding fair to recover. He entertained me with an account of the Darien society, its aristocracies and democracies, its little grandeurs and smaller pettinesses, its circles higher and lower, its social jealousies, fine invisible lines of demarcation, imperceptible shades of different respectability, and delicate divisions of genteel, genteeler, genteelest. 'For me,' added the worthy doctor, 'I cannot well enter into the spirit of these nice distinctions; it suits neither my taste nor my interest, and my house is, perhaps, the only one in Darien, where you would find all these opposite and contending elements combined.' The doctor is connected with the aristocracy of the place, and, like a wise man, remembers, notwithstanding, that those who are not, are quite as liable to be ill, and call in medical assistance, as those who are. He is a shrewd, intelligent man, with an excellent knowledge of his profession, much kindness of heart, and apparent cheerful good temper. I have already severely tried the latter, by the unequivocal expression of my opinions on the subject of slavery, and, though I perceived that it required all his self-command to listen with anything like patience to my highly incendiary and inflammatory doctrines, he yet did so, and though he was, I have no doubt, perfectly horror-stricken at the discovery, lost nothing of his courtesy or good-humour. By the by, I must tell you, that at an early period of the conversation, upon my saying, 'I put all other considerations out of the question, and first propose to you the injustice of the system alone,' 'Oh!' replied my friend, the Doctor, 'if you put it upon that ground, you _stump_ the question at once; I have nothing to say to that whatever, but,' and then followed the usual train of pleadings--happiness, tenderness, care, indulgence, &c., &c., &c.--all the substitutes that may or may not be put in the place of _justice_, and which these slaveholders attempt to persuade others, and perhaps themselves, effectually supply its want. After church hours the people came back from Darien. They are only permitted to go to Darien to church once a month. On the intermediate Sundays they assemble in the house of London, Mr. ----'s head cooper, an excellent and pious man, who, Heaven alone knows how, has obtained some little knowledge of reading, and who reads prayers and the Bible to his fellow slaves, and addresses them with extemporaneous exhortations. I have the greatest desire to attend one of these religious meetings, but fear to put the people under any, the slightest restraint. However, I shall see, by and by, how they feel about it themselves. You have heard, of course, many and contradictory statements as to the degree of religious instruction afforded to the negroes of the South, and their opportunities of worship, &c. Until the late abolition movement, the spiritual interests of the slaves were about as little regarded as their physical necessities. The outcry which has been raised with threefold force within the last few years against the whole system, has induced its upholders and defenders to adopt, as measures of personal extenuation, some appearance of religious instruction (such as it is), and some pretence at physical indulgences (such as they are), bestowed apparently voluntarily upon their dependants. At Darien, a church is appropriated to the especial use of the slaves, who are almost all of them Baptists here; and a gentleman officiates in it (of course white), who, I understand, is very zealous in the cause of their spiritual well-being. He, like most Southern men, clergy or others, jump the present life in their charities to the slaves, and go on to furnish them with all requisite conveniences for the next. There were a short time ago two free black preachers in this neighbourhood, but they have lately been ejected from the place. I could not clearly learn, but one may possibly imagine, upon what grounds. I do not think that a residence on a slave plantation is likely to be peculiarly advantageous to a child like my eldest. I was observing her to-day among her swarthy worshippers, for they follow her as such, and saw, with dismay, the universal eagerness with which they sprang to obey her little gestures of command. She said something about a swing, and in less than five minutes head-man Frank had erected it for her, and a dozen young slaves were ready to swing little 'missis.' ----, think of learning to rule despotically your fellow creatures before the first lesson of self-government has been well spelt over! It makes me tremble; but I shall find a remedy, or remove myself and the child from this misery and ruin. You cannot conceive anything more grotesque than the Sunday trim of the poor people; their ideality, as Mr. Combe would say, being, I should think, twice as big as any rational bump in their head. Their Sabbath toilet really presents the most ludicrous combination of incongruities that you can conceive--frills, flounces, ribbands, combs stuck in their woolly heads, as if they held up any portion of the stiff and ungovernable hair, filthy finery, every colour in the rainbow, and the deepest possible shades blended in fierce companionship round one dusky visage, head handkerchiefs, that put one's very eyes out from a mile off, chintzes with sprawling patterns, that might be seen if the clouds were printed with them--beads, bugles, flaring sashes, and above all, little fanciful aprons, which finish these incongruous toilets with a sort of airy grace, which I assure you is perfectly indescribable. One young man, the eldest son and heir of our washerwoman Hannah, came to pay his respects to me in a magnificent black satin waistcoat, shirt gills which absolutely engulphed his black visage, and neither shoes nor stockings on his feet. Among our visitors from St. Simons to-day was Hannah's mother (it seems to me that there is not a girl of sixteen on the plantations but has children, nor a woman of thirty but has grandchildren). Old House Molly, as she is called, from the circumstance of her having been one of the slaves employed in domestic offices during Major ----'s residence on the island, is one of the oldest and most respected slaves on the estate, and was introduced to me by Mr. ---- with especial marks of attention and regard; she absolutely embraced him, and seemed unable sufficiently to express her ecstacy at seeing him again. Her dress, like that of her daughter, and all the servants who have at any time been employed about the family, bore witness to a far more improved taste than the half savage adornment of the other poor blacks, and upon my observing to her how agreeable her neat and cleanly appearance was to me, she replied, that her old master (Major ----) was extremely particular in this respect, and that in his time all the house servants were obliged to be very nice and careful about their persons. She named to me all her children, an immense tribe; and, by the by, E----, it has occurred to me that whereas the increase of this ill-fated race is frequently adduced as a proof of their good treatment and well being, it really and truly is no such thing, and springs from quite other causes than the peace and plenty which a rapidly increasing population are supposed to indicate. If you will reflect for a moment upon the overgrown families of the half-starved Irish peasantry and English manufacturers, you will agree with me that these prolific shoots by no means necessarily spring from a rich or healthy soil. Peace and plenty are certainly causes of human increase, and so is recklessness; and this, I take it, is the impulse in the instance of the English manufacturer, the Irish peasant, and the negro slave. Indeed here it is more than recklessness, for there are certain indirect premiums held out to obey the early commandment of replenishing the earth, which do not fail to have their full effect. In the first place, none of the cares, those noble cares, that holy thoughtfulness which lifts the human above the brute parent, are ever incurred here by either father or mother. The relation indeed resembles, as far as circumstances can possibly make it do so, the short-lived connection between the animal and its young. The father, having neither authority, power, responsibility, or charge in his children, is of course, as among brutes, the least attached to his offspring; the mother, by the natural law which renders the infant dependent on her for its first year's nourishment, is more so; but as neither of them is bound to educate or to support their children, all the unspeakable tenderness and solemnity, all the rational, and all the spiritual grace and glory of the connection is lost, and it becomes mere breeding, bearing, suckling, and there an end. But it is not only the absence of the conditions which God has affixed to the relation, which tends to encourage the reckless increase of the race; they enjoy, by means of numerous children, certain positive advantages. In the first place, every woman who is pregnant, as soon as she chooses to make the fact known to the overseer, is relieved of a certain portion of her work in the field, which lightening of labour continues, of course, as long as she is so burthened. On the birth of a child certain additions of clothing and an additional weekly ration are bestowed on the family; and these matters, small as they may seem, act as powerful inducements to creatures who have none of the restraining influences actuating them which belong to the parental relation among all other people, whether civilised or savage. Moreover, they have all of them a most distinct and perfect knowledge of their value to their owners as property; and a woman thinks, and not much amiss, that the more frequently she adds to the number of her master's live stock by bringing new slaves into the world, the more claims she will have upon his consideration and goodwill. This was perfectly evident to me from the meritorious air with which the women always made haste to inform me of the number of children they had borne, and the frequent occasions on which the older slaves would direct my attention to their children, exclaiming, 'Look, missis! little niggers for you and massa, plenty little niggers for you and little missis!' A very agreeable apostrophe to me indeed, as you will believe. I have let this letter lie for a day or two, dear, E---- from press of more immediate avocations. I have nothing very particular to add to it. On Monday evening I rowed over to Darien with Mr. ---- to fetch over the doctor, who was coming to visit some of our people. As I sat waiting in the boat for the return of the gentlemen, the sun went down, or rather seemed to dissolve bodily into the glowing clouds, which appeared but a fusion of the great orb of light; the stars twinkled out in the rose-coloured sky, and the evening air, as it fanned the earth to sleep, was as soft as a summer's evening breeze in the north. A sort of dreamy stillness seemed creeping over the world and into my spirit, as the canoe just tilted against the steps that led to the wharf, raised by the scarce perceptible heaving of the water. A melancholy, monotonous boat-horn sounded from a distance up the stream, and presently, floating slowly down with the current, huge, shapeless, black relieved against the sky, came one of those rough barges piled with cotton, called, hereabouts, Ocone boxes. The vessel itself is really nothing but a monstrous square box, made of rough planks, put together in the roughest manner possible to attain the necessary object of keeping the cotton dry. Upon this great tray are piled the swollen apoplectic looking cotton bags, to the height of ten, twelve, and fourteen feet. This huge water-waggon floats lazily down the river, from the upper country to Darien. They are flat bottomed, and, of course, draw little water. The stream from whence they are named is an up country river, which, by its junction with the Ocmulgee, forms the Altamaha. Here at least, you perceive the Indian names remain, and long may they do so, for they seem to me to become the very character of the streams and mountains they indicate, and are indeed significant to the learned in savage tongues, which is more than can be said of such titles as Jones's Creek, Onion Creek, &c. These Ocone boxes are broken up at Darien, where the cotton is shipped either for the Savannah, Charleston or Liverpool markets, and the timber, of which they are constructed, sold. We rowed the doctor over to see some of his patients on the island, and before his departure a most animated discussion took place upon the subject of the President of the United States, his talents, qualifications, opinions, above all, his views with regard to the slave system. Mr. ----, who you know is no abolitionist, and is a very devoted Van Buren man, maintained with great warmth the President's straight-forwardness, and his evident and expressed intention of protecting the rights of the South. The doctor, on the other hand, quoted a certain speech of the President's, upon the question of abolishing slavery in the district of Columbia, which his fears interpreted into a mere evasion of the matter, and an indication that, at some future period, he (Mr. Van Buren), might take a different view of the subject. I confess, for my own part, that if the doctor quoted the speech right, and if the President is not an honest man, and if I were a Southern slave holder, I should not feel altogether secure of Mr. Van Buren's present opinions or future conduct upon this subject. These three _ifs_, however, are material points of consideration. Our friend the doctor inclined vehemently to Mr. Clay, as one on whom the slave holders could depend. Georgia, however, as a state, is perhaps the most democratic in the Union; though here, as well as in other places, that you and I know of, a certain class, calling themselves the first, and honestly believing themselves the best, set their faces against the modern fashioned republicanism, professing, and, I have no doubt, with great sincerity, that their ideas of democracy are altogether of a different kind. I went again to-day to the Infirmary, and was happy to perceive that there really was an evident desire to conform to my instructions, and keep the place in a better condition than formerly. Among the sick I found a poor woman suffering dreadfully from the ear-ache. She had done nothing to alleviate her pain but apply some leaves, of what tree or plant I could not ascertain, and tie up her head in a variety of dirty cloths, till it was as large as her whole body. I removed all these, and found one side of her face and neck very much swollen, but so begrimed with filth that it was really no very agreeable task to examine it. The first process, of course, was washing, which, however, appeared to her so very unusual an operation, that I had to perform it for her myself. Sweet oil and laudanum, and raw cotton, being then applied to her ear and neck, she professed herself much relieved, but I believe in my heart that the warm water sponging had done her more good than anything else. I was sorry not to ascertain what leaves she had applied to her ear. These simple remedies resorted to by savages, and people as ignorant, are generally approved by experience, and sometimes condescendingly adopted by science. I remember once, when Mr. ---- was suffering from a severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism, Doctor C---- desired him to bind round his knee the leaves of the tulip-tree--poplar, I believe you call it--saying that he had learnt that remedy from the negroes in Virginia, and found it a most effectual one. My next agreeable office in the Infirmary this morning was superintending the washing of two little babies, whose mothers were nursing them with quite as much ignorance as zeal. Having ordered a large tub of water, I desired Rose to undress the little creatures and give them a warm bath; the mothers looked on in unutterable dismay, and one of them, just as her child was going to be put into the tub, threw into it all the clothes she had just taken off it, as she said, to break the unusual shock of the warm water. I immediately rescued them, not but what they were quite as much in want of washing as the baby, but it appeared, upon enquiry, that the woman had none others to dress the child in, when it should have taken its bath; they were immediately wrung and hung by the fire to dry, and the poor little patients having undergone this novel operation were taken out and given to their mothers. Anything, however, much more helpless and inefficient than these poor ignorant creatures you cannot conceive; they actually seemed incapable of drying or dressing their own babies, and I had to finish their toilet myself. As it is only a very few years since the most absurd and disgusting customs have become exploded among ourselves, you will not, of course, wonder that these poor people pin up the lower part of their infants, bodies, legs and all, in red flannel as soon as they are born, and keep them in the selfsame envelope till it literally falls off. In the next room I found a woman lying on the floor in a fit of epilepsy, barking most violently. She seemed to excite no particular attention or compassion; the women said she was subject to these fits, and took little or no notice of her, as she lay barking like some enraged animal on the ground. Again I stood in profound ignorance, sickening with the sight of suffering, which I knew not how to alleviate, and which seemed to excite no commiseration, merely from the sad fact of its frequent occurrence. Returning to the house, I passed up the 'street.' It was between eleven o'clock and noon, and the people were taking their first meal in the day. By the by, E----, how do you think Berkshire county farmers would relish labouring hard all day upon _two meals_ of Indian corn or hominy? Such is the regulation on this plantation, however, and I beg you to bear in mind that the negroes on Mr. ----'s estate, are generally considered well off. They go to the fields at daybreak, carrying with them their allowance of food for the day, which towards noon, _and not till then_, they eat, cooking it over a fire, which they kindle as best they can, where they are working. Their second meal in the day is at night, after their labour is over, having worked, at the _very least_, six hours without intermission of rest or refreshment since their noon-day meal (properly so called, for 'tis meal, and nothing else). Those that I passed to-day, sitting on their doorsteps, or on the ground round them eating, were the people employed at the mill and threshing-floor. As these are near to the settlement, they had time to get their food from the cook-shop. Chairs, tables, plates, knives, forks, they had none; they sat, as I before said, on the earth or doorsteps, and ate either out of their little cedar tubs, or an iron pot, some few with broken iron spoons, more with pieces of wood, and all the children with their fingers. A more complete sample of savage feeding, I never beheld. At one of the doors I saw three young girls standing, who might be between sixteen and seventeen years old; they had evidently done eatings and were rudely playing and romping with each other, laughing and shouting like wild things. I went into the house, and such another spectacle of filthy disorder I never beheld. I then addressed the girls most solemnly, showing them that they were wasting in idle riot the time in which they might be rendering their abode decent, and told them that it was a shame for any woman to live in so dirty a place, and so beastly a condition. They said they had seen buckree (white) women's houses just as dirty, and they could not be expected to be cleaner than white women. I then told them that the only difference between themselves and buckree women was, that the latter were generally better informed, and, for that reason alone, it was more disgraceful to them to be disorderly and dirty. They seemed to listen to me attentively, and one of them exclaimed, with great satisfaction, that they saw I made no difference between them and white girls, and that they never had been so treated before. I do not know anything which strikes me as a more melancholy illustration of the degradation of these people, than the animal nature of their recreations in their short seasons of respite from labour. You see them, boys and girls, from the youngest age to seventeen and eighteen, rolling, tumbling, kicking, and wallowing in the dust, regardless alike of decency, and incapable of any more rational amusement; or, lolling, with half-closed eyes, like so many cats and dogs, against a wall, or upon a bank in the sun, dozing away their short leisure hour, until called to resume their labours in the field or the mill. After this description of the meals of our labourers, you will, perhaps, be curious to know how it fares with our house servants in this respect. Precisely in the same manner, as far as regards allowance, with the exception of what is left from our table, but, if possible, with even less comfort, in one respect, inasmuch as no time whatever is set apart for their meals, which they snatch at any hour, and in any way that they can--generally, however, standing, or squatting on their hams round the kitchen fire. They have no sleeping-rooms in the house, but when their work is over, retire, like the rest, to their hovels, the discomfort of which has to them all the addition of comparison with our mode of living. Now, in all establishments whatever, of course some disparity exists between the comforts of the drawing-room and best bed-rooms, and the servant's hall and attics, but here it is no longer a matter of degree. The young woman who performs the office of lady's-maid, and the lads who wait upon us at table, have neither table to feed at nor chair to sit down upon themselves. The boys sleep at night on the hearth by the kitchen fire, and the women upon a rough board bedstead, strewed with a little tree moss. All this shows how very torpid the sense of justice is apt to lie in the breasts of those who have it not awakened by the peremptory demands of others. In the north we could not hope to keep the worst and poorest servant for a single day in the wretched discomfort in which our negro servants are forced habitually to live. I received a visit this morning from some of the Darien people. Among them was a most interesting young person, from whose acquaintance, if I have any opportunity of cultivating it, I promise myself much pleasure. The ladies that I have seen since I crossed the southern line, have all seemed to me extremely sickly in their appearance--delicate in the refined term, but unfortunately sickly in the truer one. They are languid in their deportment and speech, and seem to give themselves up, without an effort to counteract it, to the enervating effect of their warm climate. It is undoubtedly a most relaxing and unhealthy one, and therefore requires the more imperatively to be met by energetic and invigorating habits both of body and mind. Of these, however, the southern ladies appear to have, at present, no very positive idea. Doctor ---- told us to-day of a comical application which his negro man had made to him for the coat he was then wearing. I forget whether the fellow wanted the loan, or the absolute gift of it, but his argument was (it might have been an Irishman's) that he knew his master intended to give it to him by and by, and that he thought he might as well let him have it at once, as keep him waiting any longer for it. This story the Doctor related with great glee, and it furnishes a very good sample of what the Southerners are fond of exhibiting, the degree of licence to which they capriciously permit their favourite slaves occasionally to carry their familiarity. They seem to consider it as an undeniable proof of the general kindness with which their dependents are treated. It is as good a proof of it as the maudlin tenderness of a fine lady to her lap-dog is of her humane treatment of animals in general. Servants whose claims to respect are properly understood by themselves and their employers, are not made pets, playthings, jesters, or companions of, and it is only the degradation of the many that admits of this favouritism to the few--a system of favouritism which, as it is perfectly consistent with the profoundest contempt and injustice, degrades the object of it quite as much, though it oppresses him less, than the cruelty practised upon his fellows. I had several of these favourite slaves presented to me, and one or two little negro children, who their owners assured me were quite pets. The only real service which this arbitrary goodwill did to the objects of it was quite involuntary and unconscious on the part of their kind masters--I mean the inevitable improvement in intelligence, which resulted to them from being more constantly admitted to the intercourse of the favoured white race. I must not forget to tell you of a magnificent bald-headed eagle which Mr. ---- called me to look at early this morning. I had never before seen alive one of these national types of yours, and stood entranced as the noble creature swept, like a black cloud, over the river, his bald white head bent forward and shining in the sun, and his fierce eyes and beak directed towards one of the beautiful wild ducks on the water, which he had evidently marked for his prey. The poor little duck, who was not ambitious of such a glorification, dived, and the eagle hovered above the spot. After a short interval, its victim rose to the surface several yards nearer shore. The great king of birds stooped nearer, and again the watery shield was interposed. This went on until the poor water-fowl, driven by excess of fear into unwonted boldness, rose, after repeatedly diving, within a short distance of where we stood. The eagle, who, I presume, had read how we were to have dominion over the fowls of the air (bald-headed eagles included), hovered sulkily awhile over the river, and then sailing slowly towards the woods on the opposite shore, alighted and furled his great wings on a huge cypress limb, that stretched itself out against the blue sky, like the arm of a giant, for the giant bird to perch upon. I am amusing myself by attempting to beautify, in some sort, this residence of ours. Immediately at the back of it runs a ditch, about three feet wide, which empties and fills twice a day with the tide. This lies like a moat on two sides of the house. The opposite bank is a steep dyke, with a footpath along the top. One or two willows droop over this very interesting ditch, and I thought I would add to their company some magnolias and myrtles, and so make a little evergreen plantation round the house. I went to the swamp reserves I have before mentioned to you, and chose some beautiful bushes--among others, a very fine young pine, at which our overseer and all the negroes expressed much contemptuous surprise; for though the tree is beautiful, it is also common, and with them, as with wiser folk 'tis 'nothing pleases but rare accidents.' In spite of their disparaging remarks, however, I persisted in having my pine tree planted; and I assure you it formed a very pleasing variety among the broad smooth leaved evergreens about it. While forming my plantation I had a brand thrown into a bed of tall yellow sedges which screen the brimming waters of the noble river from our parlour window, and which I therefore wished removed. The small sample of a southern conflagration which ensued was very picturesque, the flames devouring the light growth, absolutely licking it off the ground, while the curling smoke drew off in misty wreaths across the river. The heat was intense, and I thought how exceedingly and unpleasantly warm one must feel in the midst of such a forest burning, as Cooper describes. Having worked my appointed task in the garden, I rowed over to Darien and back, the rosy sunset changing meantime to starry evening, as beautiful as the first the sky ever was arrayed in. I saw an advertisement this morning in the paper, which occasioned me much thought. Mr. J---- C---- and a Mr. N----, two planters of this neighbourhood, have contracted to dig a canal, called the Brunswick canal, and not having hands enough for the work, advertise at the same time for negroes on hires and for Irish labourers. Now the Irishmen are to have twenty dollars a month wages, and to be 'found' (to use the technical phrase,) which finding means abundant food, and the best accommodations which can be procured for them. The negroes are hired from their masters, who will be paid of course as high a price as they can obtain for them--probably a very high one, as the demand for them is urgent--they, in the meantime, receiving no wages, and nothing more than the miserable negro fare of rice and corn grits. Of course the Irishmen and these slaves are not allowed to work together, but are kept at separate stations on the canal. This is every way politic, for the low Irish seem to have the same sort of hatred of negroes which sects, differing but little in their tenets, have for each other. The fact is, that a condition in their own country nearly similar, has made the poor Irish almost as degraded a class of beings as the negroes are here, and their insolence towards them, and hatred of them, are precisely in proportion to the resemblance between them. This hiring out of negroes is a horrid aggravation of the miseries of their condition, for, if on the plantations, and under the masters to whom they belong, their labour is severe, and their food inadequate, think what it must be when they are hired out for a stipulated sum to a temporary employer, who has not even the interest which it is pretended an owner may feel in the welfare of his slaves, but whose chief aim it must necessarily be to get as much out of them, and expend as little on them, as possible. Ponder this new form of iniquity, and believe me ever your most sincerely attached. * * * * * Dearest E----. After finishing my last letter to you, I went out into the clear starlight to breathe the delicious mildness of the air, and was surprised to hear rising from one of the houses of the settlement a hymn sung apparently by a number of voices. The next morning I enquired the meaning of this, and was informed that those negroes on the plantation who were members of the Church, were holding a prayer-meeting. There is an immensely strong devotional feeling among these poor people. The worst of it is, that it is zeal without understanding, and profits them but little; yet light is light, even that poor portion that may stream through a key-hole, and I welcome this most ignorant profession of religion in Mr. ----'s dependents, as the herald of better and brighter things for them. Some of the planters are entirely inimical to any such proceedings, and neither allow their negroes to attend worship, or to congregate together for religious purposes, and truly I think they are wise in their own generation. On other plantations, again, the same rigid discipline is not observed; and some planters and overseers go even farther than toleration; and encourage these devotional exercises and professions of religion, having actually discovered that a man may become more faithful and trustworthy even as a slave, who acknowledges the higher influences of Christianity, no matter in how small a degree. Slave-holding clergymen, and certain piously inclined planters, undertake, accordingly, to enlighten these poor creatures upon these matters, with a safe understanding, however, of what truth is to be given to them, and what is not; how much they may learn to become better slaves, and how much they may not learn, lest they cease to be slaves at all. The process is a very ticklish one, and but for the northern public opinion, which is now pressing the slaveholders close, I dare say would not be attempted at all. As it is, they are putting their own throats and their own souls in jeopardy by this very endeavour to serve God and Mammon. The light that they are letting in between their fingers will presently strike them blind, and the mighty flood of truth which they are straining through a sieve to the thirsty lips of their slaves, sweep them away like straws from their cautious moorings, and overwhelm them in its great deeps, to the waters of which man may in nowise say, thus far shall ye come and no farther. The community I now speak of, the white population of Darien, should be a religious one, to judge by the number of Churches it maintains. However, we know the old proverb, and, at that rate, it may not be so godly after all. Mr. ---- and his brother have been called upon at various times to subscribe to them all; and I saw this morning a most fervent appeal, extremely ill-spelled, from a gentleman living in the neighbourhood of the town, and whose slaves are notoriously ill-treated; reminding Mr. ---- of the precious souls of his human cattle, and requesting a further donation for the Baptist Church, of which most of the people here are members. Now this man is known to be a hard master; his negro houses are sheds, not fit to stable beasts in, his slaves are ragged, half-naked and miserable--yet he is urgent for their religious comforts, and writes to Mr. ---- about 'their souls, their precious souls.' He was over here a few days ago, and pressed me very much to attend his church. I told him I would not go to a church where the people who worked for us were parted off from us, as if they had the pest, and we should catch it of them. I asked him, for I was curious to know, how they managed to administer the Sacrament to a mixed congregation? He replied, Oh! very easily; that the white portion of the assembly received it first, and the blacks afterwards. 'A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another, even as I have loved you.' Oh, what a shocking mockery! However, they show their faith at all events, in the declaration that God is no respecter of persons, since they do not pretend to exclude from His table those whom they most certainly would not admit to their own. I have as usual allowed this letter to lie by, dear E----, not in the hope of the occurrence of any event--for that is hopeless--but until my daily avocations allowed me leisure to resume it, and afforded me, at the same time, matter wherewith to do so. I really never was so busy in all my life, as I am here. I sit at the receipt of custom (involuntarily enough) from morning till night--no time, no place, affords me a respite from my innumerable petitioners, and whether I be asleep or awake, reading, eating, or walking; in the kitchen, my bed-room, or the parlour, they flock in with urgent entreaties, and pitiful stories, and my conscience forbids my ever postponing their business for any other matter; for, with shame and grief of heart I say it, by their unpaid labour I live--their nakedness clothes me, and their heavy toil maintains me in luxurious idleness. Surely the least I can do is to hear these, my most injured benefactors; and, indeed, so intense in me is the sense of the injury they receive from me and mine, that I should scarce dare refuse them the very clothes from my back, or food from my plate, if they asked me for it. In taking my daily walk round the banks yesterday, I found that I was walking over violet roots. The season is too little advanced for them to be in bloom, and I could not find out whether they were the fragrant violet or not. Mr. ---- has been much gratified to-day by the arrival of Mr. K----, who, with his father, for nineteen years was the sole manager of these estates, and discharged his laborious task with great ability and fidelity towards his employers. How far he understood his duties to the slaves, or whether indeed an overseer can, in the nature of things, acknowledge any duty to them, is another question. He is a remarkable man and is much respected for his integrity and honourable dealing by everybody here. His activity and energy are wonderful, and the mere fact of his having charge of for nineteen years, and personally governing, without any assistance whatever, seven hundred people scattered over three large tracts of land, at a considerable distance from each other, certainly bespeaks efficiency and energy of a very uncommon order. The character I had heard of him from Mr. ---- had excited a great deal of interest in me, and I was very glad of this opportunity of seeing a man who, for so many years, had been sovereign over the poor people here. I met him walking on the banks with Mr. ----, as I returned from my own ramble, during which nothing occurred or appeared to interest me--except, by the by, my unexpectedly coming quite close to one of those magnificent scarlet birds which abound here, and which dart across your path, like a winged flame. Nothing can surpass the beauty of their plumage, and their voice is excellently melodious--they are lovely. My companions, when I do not request the attendance of my friend Jack, are a couple of little terriers, who are endowed to perfection with the ugliness and the intelligence of their race--they are of infinite service on the plantation, as, owing to the immense quantity of grain, and chaff, and such matters, rats and mice abound in the mills and storehouses. I crossed the threshing floor to-day--a very large square, perfectly level, raised by artificial means, about half a foot from the ground, and covered equally all over, so as to lie quite smooth, with some preparation of tar. It lies immediately between the house and the steam mill, and on it much of the negroes' work is done--the first threshing is given to the rice, and other labours are carried on. As I walked across it to-day, passing through the busy groups, chiefly of women, that covered it, I came opposite to one of the drivers, who held in his hand his whip, the odious insignia of his office. I took it from him; it was a short stick of moderate size, with a thick square leather thong attached to it. As I held it in my hand, I did not utter a word; but I conclude, as is often the case, my face spoke what my tongue did not, for the driver said, 'Oh! Missis, me use it for measure--me seldom strike nigger with it.' For one moment I thought I must carry the hateful implement into the house with me. An instant's reflection, however, served to show me how useless such a proceeding would be. The people are not mine, nor their drivers, nor their whips. I should but have impeded, for a few hours, the man's customary office, and a new scourge would have been easily provided, and I should have done nothing, perhaps worse than nothing. After dinner I had a most interesting conversation with Mr. K----. Among other subjects, he gave me a lively and curious description of the Yeomanry of Georgia--more properly termed pine-landers. Have you visions now of well-to-do farmers with comfortable homesteads, decent habits, industrious, intelligent, cheerful, and thrifty? Such, however, is not the Yeomanry of Georgia. Labour being here the especial portion of slaves, it is thenceforth degraded, and considered unworthy of all but slaves. No white man, therefore, of any class puts hand to work of any kind soever. This is an exceedingly dignified way of proving their gentility, for the lazy planters who prefer an idle life of semi-starvation and barbarism to the degradation of doing anything themselves; but the effect on the poorer whites of the country is terrible. I speak now of the scattered white population, who, too poor to possess land or slaves, and having no means of living in the towns, squat (most appropriately is it so termed) either on other men's land or government districts--always here swamp or pine barren--and claim masterdom over the place they invade, till ejected by the rightful proprietors. These wretched creatures will not, for they are whites (and labour belongs to blacks and slaves alone here), labour for their own subsistence. They are hardly protected from the weather by the rude shelters they frame for themselves in the midst of these dreary woods. Their food is chiefly supplied by shooting the wild fowl and venison, and stealing from the cultivated patches of the plantations nearest at hand. Their clothes hang about them in filthy tatters, and the combined squalor and fierceness of their appearance is really frightful. This population is the direct growth of slavery. The planters are loud in their execrations of these miserable vagabonds; yet they do not see that, so long as labour is considered the disgraceful portion of slaves, these free men will hold it nobler to starve or steal than till the earth with none but the despised blacks for fellow-labourers. The blacks themselves--such is the infinite power of custom--acquiesce in this notion, and, as I have told you, consider it the lowest degradation in a white to use any exertion. I wonder, considering the burthens they have seen me lift, the digging, the planting, the rowing, and the walking I do, that they do not utterly contemn me, and indeed they seem lost in amazement at it. Talking of these pine-landers--gypsies, without any of the romantic associations that belong to the latter people--led us to the origin of such a population, slavery; and you may be sure I listened with infinite interest to the opinions of a man of uncommon shrewdness and sagacity, who was born in the very bosom of it, and has passed his whole life among slaves. If any one is competent to judge of its effects, such a man is the one; and this was his verdict, 'I hate slavery with all my heart; I consider it an absolute curse wherever it exists. It will keep those states where it does exist fifty years behind the others in improvement and prosperity.' Further on in the conversation, he made this most remarkable observation, 'As for its being an irremediable evil--a thing not to be helped or got rid of--that's all nonsense; for as soon as people become convinced that it is their interest to get rid of it, they will soon find the means to do so, depend upon it.' And undoubtedly this is true. This is not an age, nor yours a country, where a large mass of people will long endure what they perceive to be injurious to their fortunes and advancement. Blind as people often are to their highest and truest interests, your country folk have generally shown remarkable acuteness in finding out where their worldly progress suffered let or hindrance, and have removed it with laudable alacrity. Now, the fact is not at all as we at the north are sometimes told, that the southern slaveholders deprecate the evils of slavery quite as much as we do; that they see all its miseries; that, moreover, they are most anxious to get rid of the whole thing, but want the means to do so, and submit most unwillingly to a necessity from which they cannot extricate themselves. All this I thought might be true, before I went to the south, and often has the charitable supposition checked the condemnation which was indignantly rising to my lips against these murderers of their brethren's peace. A little reflection, however, even without personal observation, might have convinced me that this could not be the case. If the majority of Southerners were satisfied that slavery was contrary to their worldly fortunes, slavery would be at an end from that very moment; but the fact is--and I have it not only from observation of my own, but from the distinct statement of some of the most intelligent southern men that I have conversed with--the only obstacle to immediate abolition throughout the south is the immense value of the human property, and, to use the words of a very distinguished Carolinian, who thus ended a long discussion we had on the subject, 'I'll tell you why abolition is impossible: because every healthy negro can fetch a thousand dollars in the Charleston market at this moment.' And this opinion, you see, tallies perfectly with the testimony of Mr. K----. He went on to speak of several of the slaves on this estate, as persons quite remarkable for their fidelity and intelligence, instancing old Molly, Ned the engineer, who has the superintendence of the steam-engine in the rice-mill, and head-man Frank, of whom indeed, he wound up the eulogium by saying, he had quite the principles of a white man--which I thought most equivocal praise, but he did not intend it as such. As I was complaining to Mr. ---- of the terribly neglected condition of the dykes, which are in some parts so overgrown with gigantic briars that 'tis really impossible to walk over them, and the trench on one hand, and river on the other, afford one extremely disagreeable alternatives. Mr. K---- cautioned me to be particularly on my guard not to step on the thorns of the orange tree. These, indeed, are formidable spikes, and he assured me, were peculiarly poisonous to the flesh. Some of the most painful and tedious wounds he had ever seen, he said, were incurred by the negroes running these large green thorns into their feet. This led him to speak of the glory and beauty of the orange trees on the island, before a certain uncommonly severe winter, a few years ago, destroyed them all. For five miles round the banks grew a double row of noble orange trees, as large as our orchard apple trees, covered with golden fruit, and silver flowers. It must have been a most magnificent spectacle, and Captain F----, too, told me, in speaking of it, that he had brought Basil Hall here in the season of the trees blossoming, and he had said it was as well worth crossing the Atlantic to see that, as to see the Niagara. Of all these noble trees nothing now remains but the roots, which bear witness to their size, and some young sprouts shooting up, affording some hope that, in the course of years, the island may wear its bridal garland again. One huge stump close to the door is all that remains of an enormous tree that overtopped the house, from the upper windows of which oranges have been gathered from off its branches, and which, one year, bore the incredible number of 8,542 oranges. Mr. K---- assured me of this as a positive fact, of which he had at the time made the entry in his journal, considering such a crop from a single tree well worthy of record. Mr. ---- was called out this evening to listen to a complaint of over work, from a gang of pregnant women. I did not stay to listen to the details of their petition, for I am unable to command myself on such occasions, and Mr. ---- seemed positively degraded in my eyes, as he stood enforcing upon these women the necessity of their fulfilling their appointed tasks. How honorable he would have appeared to me begrimed with the sweat and soil of the coarsest manual labour, to what he then seemed, setting forth to these wretched, ignorant women, as a duty, their unpaid exacted labour! I turned away in bitter disgust. I hope this sojourn among Mr. ----'s slaves may not lessen my respect for him, but I fear it; for the details of slave holding are so unmanly, letting alone every other consideration, that I know not how anyone, with the spirit of a man, can condescend to them. I have been out again on the river, rowing. I find nothing new. Swamps crowned with perfect evergreens are the only land (that's Irish!) about here, and, of course, turn which way I will, the natural features of river and shore are the same. I do not weary of these most exquisite watery woods, but you will of my mention of them, I fear. Adieu. * * * * * Dearest E----. Since I last wrote to you I have been actually engaged in receiving and returning visits; for even to this _ultima thule_ of all civilisation do these polite usages extend. I have been called upon by several families residing in and about Darien, and rowed over in due form to acknowledge the honour. How shall I describe Darien to you? The abomination of desolation is but a poor type of its forlorn appearance, as, half buried in sand, its straggling, tumble-down wooden houses peer over the muddy bank of the thick slimy river. The whole town lies in a bed of sand--side walks, or mid walks, there be none distinct from each other; at every step I took my feet were ankle deep in the soil, and I had cause to rejoice that I was booted for the occasion. Our worthy doctor, whose lady I was going to visit, did nothing but regret that I had not allowed him to provide me a carriage, though the distance between his house and the landing is not a quarter of a mile. The magnitude of the exertion seemed to fill him with amazement, and he over and over again repeated how impossible it would be to prevail on any of the ladies there to take such a walk. The houses seemed scattered about here and there, apparently without any design, and looked, for the most part, either unfinished or ruinous. One feature of the scene alone recalled the villages of New England--the magnificent oaks, which seemed to add to the meanness and insignificance of the human dwellings they overshadowed by their enormous size and grotesque forms. They reminded me of the elms of Newhaven and Stockbridge. They are quite as large, and more picturesque, from their sombre foliage and the infinite variety of their forms--a beauty wanting in the New England elm, which invariably rises and spreads in a way which, though the most graceful in the world, at length palls on the capricious human eye, which seeks, above all other beauties, variety. Our doctor's wife is a New England woman; how can she live here? She had the fair eyes and hair and fresh complexion of your part of the country, and its dearly beloved snuffle, which seemed actually dearly beloved when I heard it down here. She gave me some violets and narcissus, already blossoming profusely--in January--and expressed, like her husband, a thousand regrets at my having walked so far. A transaction of the most amusing nature occurred to-day with regard to the resources of the Darien Bank, and the mode of carrying on business in that liberal and enlightened institution, the funds of which I should think quite incalculable--impalpable, certainly, they appeared by our experience this morning. The river, as we came home, was covered with Ocone boxes. It is well for them they are so shallow-bottomed, for we rasped sand all the way home through the cut, and in the shallows of the river. I have been over the rice-mill, under the guidance of the overseer and head-man Frank, and have been made acquainted with the whole process of threshing the rice, which is extremely curious; and here I may again mention another statement of Miss Martineau's, which I am told is, and I should suppose from what I see here must be, a mistake. She states that the chaff of the husks of the rice is used as a manure for the fields; whereas the people have to-day assured me that it is of so hard, stony, and untractable a nature, as to be literally good for nothing. Here I know it is thrown away by cart-loads into the river, where its only use appears to be to act like ground bait, and attract a vast quantity of small fish to its vicinity. The number of hands employed in this threshing-mill is very considerable, and the whole establishment, comprising the fires and boilers and machinery of a powerful steam engine, are all under negro superintendence and direction. After this survey, I occupied myself with my infant plantation of evergreens round the dyke, in the midst of which interesting pursuit I was interrupted by a visit from Mr. B----, a neighbouring planter, who came to transact some business with Mr. ---- about rice which he had sent to our mill to have threshed, and the price to be paid for such threshing. The negroes have presented a petition to-day that they may be allowed to have a ball in honour of our arrival, which demand has been acceded to, and furious preparations are being set on foot. On visiting the Infirmary to-day, I was extremely pleased with the increased cleanliness and order observable in all the rooms. Two little filthy children, however, seemed to be still under the _ancien régime_ of non-ablution; but upon my saying to the old nurse Molly, in whose ward they were, 'Why, Molly, I don't believe you have bathed those children to-day,' she answered, with infinite dignity, 'Missis no b'lieve me wash um piccaninny! and yet she tress me wid all um niggar when 'em sick.' The injured innocence and lofty conscious integrity of this speech silenced and abashed me; and yet I can't help it, but I don't believe to this present hour that those children had had any experience of water, at least not washing water, since they first came into the world. I rowed over to Darien again, to make some purchases, yesterday; and enquiring the price of various articles, could not but wonder to find them at least three times as dear as in your northern villages. The profits of these southern shopkeepers (who, for the most part, are thoroughbred Yankees, with the true Yankee propensity to trade, no matter on how dirty a counter, or in what manner of wares) are enormous. The prices they ask for everything, from coloured calicoes for negro dresses to pianofortes (one of which, for curiosity sake, I enquired the value of), are fabulous, and such as none but the laziest and most reckless people in the world would consent to afford. On our return we found the water in the cut so extremely low that we were obliged to push the boat through it, and did not accomplish it without difficulty. The banks of this canal, when they are thus laid bare, present a singular appearance enough,--two walls of solid mud, through which matted, twisted, twined, and tangled, like the natural veins of wood, runs an everlasting net of indestructible roots, the thousand toes of huge cypress feet. The trees have been cut down long ago from the soil, but these fangs remain in the earth without decaying for an incredible space of time. This long endurance of immersion is one of the valuable properties of these cypress roots; but though excellent binding stuff for the sides of a canal, they must be pernicious growth in any land used for cultivation that requires deep tillage. On entering the Altamaha, we found the tide so low that we were much obstructed by the sand banks, which, but for their constant shifting, would presently take entire possession of this noble stream, and render it utterly impassable from shore to shore, as it already is in several parts of the channel at certain seasons of the tide. On landing, I was seized hold of by a hideous old negress, named Sinda, who had come to pay me a visit, and of whom Mr. ---- told me a strange anecdote. She passed at one time for a prophetess among her fellow slaves on the plantation, and had acquired such an ascendancy over them that, having given out, after the fashion of Mr. Miller, that the world was to come to an end at a certain time, and that not a very remote one, the belief in her assertion took such possession of the people on the estate, that they refused to work; and the rice and cotton fields were threatened with an indefinite fallow, in consequence of this strike on the part of the cultivators. Mr. K----, who was then overseer of the property, perceived the impossibility of arguing, remonstrating, or even flogging this solemn panic out of the minds of the slaves. The great final emancipation which they believed at hand had stripped even the lash of its prevailing authority, and the terrors of an overseer for once were as nothing, in the terrible expectation of the advent of the universal Judge of men. They were utterly impracticable--so, like a very shrewd man as he was, he acquiesced in their determination not to work; but he expressed to them his belief that Sinda was mistaken, and he warned her that if, at the appointed time, it proved so, she would be severely punished. I do not know whether he confided to the slaves what he thought likely to be the result if she was in the right; but poor Sinda was in the wrong. Her day of judgement came indeed, and a severe one it proved, for Mr. K---- had her tremendously flogged, and her end of things ended much like Mr. Miller's; but whereas he escaped unhanged, in spite of his atrocious practices upon the fanaticism and credulity of his country people, the spirit of false prophecy was mercilessly scourged out of her, and the faith of her people of course reverted from her to the omnipotent lash again. Think what a dream that must have been while it lasted, for those infinitely oppressed people,--freedom without entering it by the grim gate of death, brought down to them at once by the second coming of Christ, whose first advent has left them yet so far from it! Farewell; it makes me giddy to think of having been a slave while that delusion lasted, and after it vanished. * * * * * Dearest E----. I received early this morning a visit from a young negro, called Morris, who came to request permission to be baptised. The master's leave is necessary for this ceremony of acceptance into the bosom of the Christian Church; so all that can be said is, that it is to be hoped the rite itself may _not_ be indispensable for salvation, as if Mr. ---- had thought proper to refuse Morris' petition, he must infallibly have been lost, in spite of his own best wishes to the contrary. I could not, in discoursing with him, perceive that he had any very distinct ideas of the advantages he expected to derive from the ceremony; but perhaps they appeared all the greater for being a little vague. I have seldom seen a more pleasing appearance than that of this young man; his figure was tall and straight, and his face, which was of a perfect oval, rejoiced in the grace, very unusual among his people, of a fine high forehead, and the much more frequent one of a remarkably gentle and sweet expression. He was, however, jet black, and certainly did not owe these personal advantages to any mixture in his blood. There is a certain African tribe from which the West Indian slave market is chiefly recruited, who have these same characteristic features, and do not at all present the ignoble and ugly negro type, so much more commonly seen here. They are a tall, powerful people, with remarkably fine figures, regular features, and a singularly warlike and fierce disposition, in which respect they also differ from the race of negroes existing on the American plantations. I do not think Morris, however, could have belonged to this tribe, though perhaps Othello did, which would at once settle the difficulties of those commentators who, abiding by Iago's very disagreeable suggestions as to his purely African appearance, are painfully compelled to forego the mitigation of supposing him a Moor and not a negro. Did I ever tell you of my dining in Boston, at the H----'s, on my first visit to that city, and sitting by Mr. John Quincy Adams, who, talking to me about Desdemona, assured me, with a most serious expression of sincere disgust, that he considered all her misfortunes as a very just judgement upon her for having married a 'nigger?' I think if some ingenious American actor of the present day, bent upon realising Shakespeare's finest conceptions, with all the advantages of modern enlightenment, could contrive to slip in that opprobrious title, with a true South-Carolinian anti-Abolitionist expression, it might really be made quite a point for Iago, as, for instance, in his first soliloquy--'I hate the nigger,' given in proper Charleston or Savannah fashion, I am sure would tell far better than 'I hate the Moor.' Only think, E----, what a very new order of interest the whole tragedy might receive, acted throughout from this standpoint, as the Germans call it in this country, and called 'Amalgamation, or the Black Bridal.' On their return from their walk this afternoon, the children brought home some pieces of sugar-cane, of which a small quantity grows on the island. When I am most inclined to deplore the condition of the poor slaves on these cotton and rice plantations, the far more intolerable existence and harder labour of those employed on the sugar estates occurs to me, sometimes producing the effect of a lower circle in Dante's 'Hell of Horrors,' opening beneath the one where he seems to have reached the climax of infernal punishment. You may have seen this vegetable, and must, at any rate, I should think, be familiar with it by description. It is a long green reed, like the stalk of the maize, or Indian corn, only it shoots up to a much more considerable height, and has a consistent pith, which, together with the rind itself, is extremely sweet. The principal peculiarity of this growth, as perhaps you know, is that they are laid horizontally in the earth when they are planted for propagation, and from each of the notches or joints of the recumbent cane a young shoot is produced at the germinating season. A very curious and interesting circumstance to me just now in the neighbourhood is the projection of a canal, to be called the Brunswick Canal, which, by cutting through the lower part of the mainland, towards the southern extremity of Great St. Simon's Island, is contemplated as a probable and powerful means of improving the prosperity of the town of Brunswick, by bringing it into immediate communication with the Atlantic. The scheme, which I think I have mentioned to you before, is, I believe, chiefly patronised by your States' folk--Yankee enterprise and funds being very essential elements, it appears to me, in all southern projects and achievements. This speculation, however, from all I hear of the difficulties of the undertaking, from the nature of the soil, and the impossibility almost of obtaining efficient labour, is not very likely to arrive at any very satisfactory result; and, indeed, I find it hard to conceive how this part of Georgia can possibly produce a town which can be worth the digging of a canal, even to Yankee speculators. There is one feature of the undertaking, however, which more than all the others excites my admiration, namely, that Irish labourers have been advertised for to work upon the canal, and the terms offered them are twenty dollars a month per man and their board. Now these men will have for fellow labourers negroes who not only will receive nothing at all for their work, but who will be hired by the contractors and directors of the works from their masters, to whom they will hand over the price of their slaves' labour; while it will be the interest of the person hiring them not only to get as much work as possible out of them, but also to provide them as economically with food, combining the two praiseworthy endeavours exactly in such judicious proportions as not to let them neutralize each other. You will observe that this case of a master hiring out his slaves to another employer, from whom he receives their rightful wages, is a form of slavery which, though extremely common, is very seldom adverted to in those arguments for the system which are chiefly founded upon the master's presumed regard for his human property. People who have ever let a favourite house to the temporary occupation of strangers, can form a tolerable idea of the difference between one's own regard and care of one's goods and chattels and that of the most conscientious tenant; and whereas I have not yet observed that ownership is a very effectual protection to the slaves against ill usage and neglect, I am quite prepared to admit that it is a vastly better one than the temporary interest which a lessee can feel in the live stock he hires, out of whom it is his manifest interest to get as much, and into whom to put as little, as possible. Yet thousands of slaves throughout the southern states are thus handed over by the masters who own them to masters who do not; and it does not require much demonstration to prove that their estate is not always the more gracious. Now you must not suppose that these same Irish free labourers and negro slaves will be permitted to work together at this Brunswick Canal. They say that this would be utterly impossible; for why?--there would be tumults, and risings, and broken heads, and bloody bones, and all the natural results of Irish intercommunion with their fellow creatures, no doubt--perhaps even a little more riot and violence than merely comports with their usual habits of Milesian good fellowship; for, say the masters, the Irish hate the negroes more even than the Americans do, and there would be no bound to their murderous animosity if they were brought in contact with them on the same portion of the works of the Brunswick Canal. Doubtless there is some truth in this--the Irish labourers who might come hither, would be apt enough, according to a universal moral law, to visit upon others the injuries they had received from others. They have been oppressed enough themselves, to be oppressive whenever they have a chance; and the despised and degraded condition of the blacks, presenting to them a very ugly resemblance of their own home, circumstances naturally excite in them the exercise of the disgust and contempt of which they themselves are very habitually the objects; and that such circular distribution of wrongs may not only be pleasant, but have something like the air of retributive right to very ignorant folks, is not much to be wondered at. Certain is the fact, however, that the worst of all tyrants is the one who has been a slave; and for that matter (and I wonder if the southern slaveholders hear it with the same ear that I do, and ponder it with the same mind?) the command of one slave to another is altogether the most uncompromising utterance of insolent truculent despotism that it ever fell to my lot to witness or listen to. 'You nigger--I say, you black nigger,--you no hear me call you--what for you no run quick?' All this, dear E----, is certainly reasonably in favour of division of labour on the Brunswick Canal; but the Irish are not only quarrelers, and rioters, and fighters, and drinkers, and despisers of niggers--they are a passionate, impulsive, warm-hearted, generous people, much given to powerful indignations, which break out suddenly when they are not compelled to smoulder sullenly--pestilent sympathisers too, and with a sufficient dose of American atmospheric air in their lungs, properly mixed with a right proportion of ardent spirits, there is no saying but what they might actually take to sympathy with the slaves, and I leave you to judge of the possible consequences. You perceive, I am sure, that they can by no means be allowed to work together on the Brunswick Canal. I have been taking my daily walk round the island, and visited the sugar mill and the threshing mill again. Mr. ---- has received another letter from Parson S---- upon the subject of more church building in Darien. It seems that there has been a very general panic in this part of the slave states lately, occasioned by some injudicious missionary preaching, which was pronounced to be of a decidedly abolitionist tendency. The offensive preachers, after sowing, God only knows what seed in this tremendous soil, where one grain of knowledge may spring up a gigantic upas tree to the prosperity of its most unfortunate possessors, were summarily and ignominiously expulsed; and now some short sighted, uncomfortable Christians in these parts, among others this said Parson S----, are possessed with the notion that something had better be done to supply the want created by the cessation of these dangerous exhortations, to which the negroes have listened, it seems, with complacency. Parson S---- seems to think that, having driven out two preachers, it might be well to build one church where, at any rate, the negroes might be exhorted in a safe and salutary manner, 'qui ne leur donnerait point d'idées,' as the French would say. Upon my word, E----, I used to pity the slaves, and I do pity them with all my soul; but oh dear! oh dear! their case is a bed of roses to that of their owners, and I would go to the slave block in Charleston to-morrow cheerfully to be purchased, if my only option was to go thither as a purchaser. I was looking over this morning, with a most indescribable mixture of feelings, a pamphlet published in the south upon the subject of the religious instruction of the slaves; and the difficulty of the task undertaken by these reconcilers of God and Mammon really seems to me nothing short of piteous. 'We must give our involuntary servants,' (they seldom call them slaves, for it is an ugly word in an American mouth, you know,) 'Christian enlightenment,' say they; and where shall they begin? 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also unto them?' No--but, 'Servants, obey your masters;' and there, I think, they naturally come to a full stop. This pamphlet forcibly suggested to me the necessity for a slave church catechism, and also, indeed, if it were possible, a slave Bible. If these heaven-blinded negro enlighteners persist in their pernicious plan of making Christians of their cattle, something of the sort must be done, or they will infallibly cut their own throats with this two-edged sword of truth, to which they should in no wise have laid their hand, and would not, doubtless, but that it is now thrust at them so threateningly that they have no choice. Again and again, how much I do pity them! I have been walking to another cluster of negro huts, known as Number Two, and here we took a boat and rowed across the broad brimming Altamaha to a place called Woodville, on a part of the estate named Hammersmith, though why that very thriving suburb of the great city of London should have been selected as the name of the lonely plank house in the midst of the pine woods which here enjoys that title I cannot conceive, unless it was suggested by the contrast. This settlement is on the mainland, and consists apparently merely of this house, (to which the overseer retires when the poisonous malaria of the rice plantations compels him to withdraw from it,) and a few deplorably miserable hovels, which appeared to me to be chiefly occupied by the most decrepid and infirm samples of humanity it was ever my melancholy lot to behold. The air of this pine barren is salubrious compared with that of the rice islands, and here some of the oldest slaves who will not die yet, and cannot work any more, are sent, to go, as it were, out of the way. Remote recollections of former dealings with civilised human beings, in the shape of masters and overseers, seemed to me to be the only idea not purely idiotic in the minds of the poor old tottering creatures that gathered to stare with dim and blear eyes at me and my children. There were two very aged women, who had seen different, and to their faded recollections better, times, who spoke to me of Mr. ----'s grandfather, and of the early days of the plantation, when they were young and strong, and worked as their children and grandchildren were now working, neither for love nor yet for money. One of these old crones, a hideous, withered, wrinkled piece of womanhood, said that she had worked as long as her strength had lasted, and that then she had still been worth her keep, for, said she, 'Missus, tho' we no able to work, we make little niggers for massa.' Her joy at seeing her present owner was unbounded, and she kept clapping her horny hands together and exclaiming, 'while there is life there is hope; we seen massa before we die.' These demonstrations of regard were followed up by piteous complaints of hunger and rheumatism, and their usual requests for pittances of food and clothing, to which we responded by promises of additions in both kinds; and I was extricating myself as well as I could from my petitioners, with the assurance that I would come by-and-bye and visit them again, when I felt my dress suddenly feebly jerked, and a shrill cracked voice on the other side of me exclaimed, 'Missus, no go yet--no go away yet; you no see me, missus, when you come by-and-bye; but,' added the voice in a sort of wail, which seemed to me as if the thought was full of misery, 'you see many, many of my offspring.' These melancholy words, particularly the rather unusual one at the end of the address, struck me very much. They were uttered by a creature which _was_ a woman, but looked like a crooked ill-built figure set up in a field to scare crows, with a face infinitely more like a mere animal's than any human countenance I ever beheld, and with that peculiar wild restless look of indefinite and, at the same time, intense sadness that is so remarkable in the countenance of some monkeys. It was almost with an effort that I commanded myself so as not to withdraw my dress from the yellow crumpled filthy claws that griped it, and it was not at last without the authoritative voice of the overseer that the poor creature released her hold of me. We returned home certainly in the very strangest vehicle that ever civilised gentlewoman travelled in--a huge sort of cart, made only of some loose boards, on which I lay supporting myself against one of the four posts which indicated the sides of my carriage; six horned creatures, cows or bulls, drew this singular equipage, and a yelping, howling, screaming, leaping company of half-naked negroes ran all round them, goading them with sharp sticks, frantically seizing hold of their tails, and inciting them by every conceivable and inconceivable encouragement to quick motion: thus, like one of the ancient Merovingian monarchs, I was dragged through the deep sand from the settlement back to the river, where we reembarked for the island. As we crossed the broad flood, whose turbid waters always look swollen as if by a series of freshets, a flight of birds sprang from the low swamp we were approaching, and literally, as it rose in the air, cast a shadow like that of a cloud, which might be said, with but little exaggeration, to darken the sun for a few seconds. How well I remember my poor aunt Whitelock describing such phenomena as of frequent occurrence in America, and the scornful incredulity with which we heard without accepting these legends of her Western experience! how little I then thought that I should have to cry peccavi to her memory from the bottom of such ruts, and under the shadow of such flights of winged creatures as she used to describe from the muddy ways of Pennsylvania and the muddy waters of Georgia! The vegetation is already in an active state of demonstration, sprouting into lovely pale green and vivid red-brown buds and leaflets, though 'tis yet early in January. After our return home we had a visit from Mr. C----, one of our neighbours, an intelligent and humane man, to whose account of the qualities and characteristics of the slaves, as he had observed and experienced them, I listened with great interest. The Brunswick Canal was again the subject of conversation, and again the impossibility of allowing the negroes and Irish to work in proximity was stated, and admitted as an indisputable fact. It strikes me with amazement to hear the hopeless doom of incapacity for progress pronounced upon these wretched slaves, when in my own country the very same order of language is perpetually applied to these very Irish, here spoken of as a sort of race of demigods, by negro comparison. And it is most true that in Ireland nothing can be more savage, brutish, filthy, idle, and incorrigibly and hopelessly helpless and incapable, than the Irish appear; and yet, transplanted to your northern states, freed from the evil influences which surround them at home, they and their children become industrious, thrifty, willing to learn, able to improve, and forming, in the course of two generations, a most valuable accession to your labouring population. How is it that it never occurs to these emphatical denouncers of the whole negro race that the Irish at home are esteemed much as they esteem their slaves, and that the sentence pronounced against their whole country by one of the greatest men of our age, an Irishman, was precisely, that nothing could save, redeem, or regenerate Ireland unless, as a preparatory measure, the island were submerged and all its inhabitants drowned off? I have had several women at the house to-day asking for advice and help for their sick children: they all came from No. 2, as they call it, that is, the settlement or cluster of negro huts nearest to the main one, where we may be said to reside. In the afternoon I went thither, and found a great many of the little children ailing; there had been an unusual mortality among them at this particular settlement this winter. In one miserable hut I heard that the baby was just dead; it was one of thirteen, many of whom had been, like itself, mercifully removed from the life of degradation and misery to which their birth appointed them: and whether it was the frequent repetition of similar losses, or an instinctive consciousness that death was indeed better than life for such children as theirs, I know not, but the father and mother, and old Rose, the nurse, who was their little baby's grandmother, all seemed apathetic, and apparently indifferent to the event. The mother merely repeated over and over again, 'I've lost a many, they all goes so;' and the father, without word or comment, went out to his enforced labour. As I left the cabin, rejoicing for them at the deliverance out of slavery of their poor child, I found myself suddenly surrounded by a swarm of young ragamuffins in every stage of partial nudity, clamouring from out of their filthy remnants of rags for donations of scarlet ribbon for the ball, which was to take place that evening. The melancholy scene I had just witnessed, and the still sadder reflection it had given rise to, had quite driven all thoughts of the approaching festivity from my mind; but the sudden demand for these graceful luxuries by Mr. ----'s half-naked dependants reminded me of the grotesque mask which life wears on one of its mysterious faces; and with as much sympathy for rejoicing as my late sympathy for sorrow had left me capable of, I procured the desired ornaments. I have considerable fellow-feeling for the passion for all shades of red, which prevails among these dusky fellow-creatures of mine--a savage propensity for that same colour in all its modifications being a tendency of my own. At our own settlement (No. 1) I found everything in a high fever of preparation for the ball. A huge boat had just arrived from the cotton plantation at St. Simons, laden with the youth and beauty of that portion of the estate who had been invited to join the party; and the greetings among the arrivers and welcomers, and the heaven-defying combinations of colour in the gala attire of both, surpass all my powers of description. The ball, to which of course we went, took place in one of the rooms of the Infirmary. As the room had, fortunately, but few occupants, they were removed to another apartment, and, without any very tender consideration for their not very remote, though invisible, sufferings, the dancing commenced, and was continued. Oh, my dear E----! I have seen Jim Crow--the veritable James: all the contortions, and springs, and flings, and kicks, and capers you have been beguiled into accepting as indicative of him are spurious, faint, feeble, impotent--in a word, pale northern reproductions of that ineffable black conception. It is impossible for words to describe the things these people did with their bodies, and, above all, with their faces, the whites of their eyes, and the whites of their teeth, and certain outlines which either naturally and by the grace of heaven, or by the practice of some peculiar artistic dexterity, they bring into prominent and most ludicrous display. The languishing elegance of some, the painstaking laboriousness of others, above all, the feats of a certain enthusiastic banjo-player, who seemed to me to thump his instrument with every part of his body at once, at last so utterly overcame any attempt at decorous gravity on my part that I was obliged to secede; and, considering what the atmosphere was that we inhaled during the exhibition, it is only wonderful to me that we were not made ill by the double effort not to laugh, and, if possible, not to breathe. * * * * * Monday, 20th. My Dearest E----. A rather longer interval than usual has elapsed since I last wrote to you, but I must beg you to excuse it. I have had more than a usual amount of small daily occupations to fill my time; and, as a mere enumeration of these would not be very interesting to you, I will tell you a story which has just formed an admirable illustration for my observation of all the miseries of which this accursed system of slavery is the cause, even under the best and most humane administration of its laws and usages. Pray note it, my dear friend, for you will find, in the absence of all voluntary or even conscious cruelty on the part of the master, the best possible comment on a state of things which, without the slightest desire to injure and oppress, produces such intolerable results of injury and oppression. We have, as a sort of under nursemaid and assistant of my dear M----, whose white complexion, as I wrote you, occasioned such indignation to my southern fellow-travellers, and such extreme perplexity to the poor slaves on our arrival here, a much more orthodox servant for these parts, a young woman named Psyche, but commonly called Sack, not a very graceful abbreviation of the divine heathen appellation: she cannot be much over twenty, has a very pretty figure, a graceful gentle deportment, and a face which, but for its colour (she is a dingy mulatto), would be pretty, and is extremely pleasing, from the perfect sweetness of its expression; she is always serious, not to say sad and silent, and has altogether an air of melancholy and timidity, that has frequently struck me very much, and would have made me think some special anxiety or sorrow must occasion it, but that God knows the whole condition of these wretched people naturally produces such a deportment, and there is no necessity to seek for special or peculiar causes to account for it. Just in proportion as I have found the slaves on this plantation intelligent and advanced beyond the general brutish level of the majority, I have observed this pathetic expression of countenance in them, a mixture of sadness and fear, the involuntary exhibition of the two feelings, which I suppose must be the predominant experience of their whole lives, regret and apprehension, not the less heavy, either of them, for being, in some degree, vague and indefinite--a sense of incalculable past loss and injury, and a dread of incalculable future loss and injury. I have never questioned Psyche as to her sadness, because, in the first place, as I tell you, it appears to me most natural, and is observable in all the slaves, whose superior natural or acquired intelligence allows of their filling situations of trust or service about the house and family; and, though I cannot and will not refuse to hear any and every tale of suffering which these unfortunates bring to me, I am anxious to spare both myself and them the pain of vain appeals to me for redress and help, which, alas! it is too often utterly out of my power to give them. It is useless, and indeed worse than useless, that they should see my impotent indignation and unavailing pity, and hear expressions of compassion for them, and horror at their condition, which might only prove incentives to a hopeless resistance on their part to a system, under the hideous weight of whose oppression any individual or partial revolt must be annihilated and ground into the dust. Therefore, as I tell you, I asked Psyche no questions, but, to my great astonishment, the other day M---- asked me if I knew to whom Psyche belonged, as the poor woman had enquired of her with much hesitation and anguish if she could tell her who owned her and her children. She has two nice little children under six years old, whom she keeps as clean and tidy, and who are sad and as silent, as herself. My astonishment at this question was, as you will readily believe, not small, and I forthwith sought out Psyche for an explanation. She was thrown into extreme perturbation at finding that her question had been referred to me, and it was some time before I could sufficiently reassure her to be able to comprehend, in the midst of her reiterated entreaties for pardon, and hopes that she had not offended me, that she did not know herself who owned her. She was, at one time, the property of Mr. K----, the former overseer, of whom I have already spoken to you, and who has just been paying Mr. ---- a visit. He, like several of his predecessors in the management, has contrived to make a fortune upon it (though it yearly decreases in value to the owners, but this is the inevitable course of things in the southern states), and has purchased a plantation of his own in Alabama, I believe, or one of the south-western states. Whether she still belonged to Mr. K---- or not she did not know, and entreated me if she did to endeavour to persuade Mr. ---- to buy her. Now, you must know that this poor woman is the wife of one of Mr. B----'s slaves, a fine, intelligent, active, excellent young man, whose whole family are among some of the very best specimens of character and capacity on the estate. I was so astonished at the (to me) extraordinary state of things revealed by poor Sack's petition, that I could only tell her that I had supposed all the negroes on the plantation were Mr. ----'s property, but that I would certainly enquire, and find out for her if I could to whom she belonged, and if I could, endeavour to get Mr. ---- to purchase her, if she really was not his. Now, E----, just conceive for one moment the state of mind of this woman, believing herself to belong to a man who, in a few days, was going down to one of those abhorred and dreaded south-western states, and who would then compel her, with her poor little children, to leave her husband and the only home she had ever known, and all the ties of affection, relationship, and association of her former life, to follow him thither, in all human probability never again to behold any living creature that she had seen before; and this was so completely a matter of course that it was not even thought necessary to apprise her positively of the fact, and the only thing that interposed between her and this most miserable fate was the faint hope that Mr. ---- _might have_ purchased her and her children. But if he had, if this great deliverance had been vouchsafed to her, the knowledge of it was not thought necessary; and with this deadly dread at her heart she was living day after day, waiting upon me and seeing me, with my husband beside me, and my children in my arms in blessed security, safe from all separation but the one reserved in God's great providence for all His creatures. Do you think I wondered any more at the woe-begone expression of her countenance, or do you think it was easy for me to restrain within prudent and proper limits the expression of my feelings at such a state of things? And she had gone on from day to day enduring this agony, till I suppose its own intolerable pressure and M----'s sweet countenance and gentle sympathising voice and manner had constrained her to lay down this great burden of sorrow at our feet. I did not see Mr. ---- until the evening; but in the meantime, meeting Mr. O----, the overseer, with whom, as I believe I have already told you, we are living here, I asked him about Psyche, and who was her proprietor, when to my infinite surprise he told me that _he_ had bought her and her children from Mr. K----, who had offered them to him, saying that they would be rather troublesome to him than otherwise down where he was going; 'and so,' said Mr. O----, 'as I had no objection to investing a little money that way, I bought them.' With a heart much lightened I flew to tell poor Psyche the news, so that at any rate she might be relieved from the dread of any immediate separation from her husband. You can imagine better than I can tell you what her sensations were; but she still renewed her prayer that I would, if possible, induce Mr. ---- to purchase her, and I promised to do so. Early the next morning, while I was still dressing, I was suddenly startled by hearing voices in loud tones in Mr. ----'s dressing-room, which adjoins my bed-room, and the noise increasing until there was an absolute cry of despair uttered by some man. I could restrain myself no longer, but opened the door of communication, and saw Joe, the young man, poor Psyche's husband, raving almost in a state of frenzy, and in a voice broken with sobs and almost inarticulate with passion, reiterating his determination never to leave this plantation, never to go to Alabama, never to leave his old father and mother, his poor wife and children, and dashing his hat, which he was wringing like a cloth in his hands, upon the ground, he declared he would kill himself if he was compelled to follow Mr. K----. I glanced from the poor wretch to Mr. ----, who was standing, leaning against a table with his arms folded, occasionally uttering a few words of counsel to his slave to be quiet and not fret, and not make a fuss about what there was no help for. I retreated immediately from the horrid scene, breathless with surprise and dismay, and stood for some time in my own room, with my heart and temples throbbing to such a degree that I could hardly support myself. As soon as I recovered myself I again sought Mr. O----, and enquired of him if he knew the cause of poor Joe's distress. He then told me that Mr. ----, who is highly pleased with Mr. K----'s past administration of his property, wished, on his departure for his newly-acquired slave plantation, to give him some token of his satisfaction, and _had made him a present_ of the man Joe, who had just received the intelligence that he was to go down to Alabama with his new owner the next day, leaving father, mother, wife, and children behind. You will not wonder that the man required a little judicious soothing under such circumstances, and you will also, I hope, admire the humanity of the sale of his wife and children by the owner who was going to take him to Alabama, because _they_ would be incumbrances rather than otherwise down there. If Mr. K---- did not do this after he knew that the man was his, then Mr. ---- gave him to be carried down to the South after his wife and children were sold to remain in Georgia. I do not know which was the real transaction, for I have not had the heart to ask; but you will easily imagine which of the two cases I prefer believing. When I saw Mr. ---- after this most wretched story became known to me in all its details, I appealed to him for his own soul's sake not to commit so great a cruelty. Poor Joe's agony while remonstrating with his master was hardly greater than mine while arguing with him upon this bitter piece of inhumanity--how I cried, and how I adjured, and how all my sense of justice and of mercy and of pity for the poor wretch, and of wretchedness at finding myself implicated in such a state of things, broke in torrents of words from my lips and tears from my eyes! God knows such a sorrow at seeing anyone I belonged to commit such an act was indeed a new and terrible experience to me, and it seemed to me that I was imploring Mr. ---- to save himself, more than to spare these wretches. He gave me no answer whatever, and I have since thought that the intemperate vehemence of my entreaties and expostulations perhaps deserved that he should leave me as he did without one single word of reply; and miserable enough I remained. Towards evening, as I was sitting alone, my children having gone to bed, Mr. O---- came into the room. I had but one subject in my mind; I had not been able to eat for it. I could hardly sit still for the nervous distress which every thought of these poor people filled me with. As he sat down looking over some accounts, I said to him, 'Have you seen Joe this afternoon, Mr. O----?' (I give you our conversation as it took place.) 'Yes, ma'am; he is a great deal happier than he was this morning.' 'Why, how is that?' asked I eagerly. 'Oh, he is not going to Alabama. Mr. K---- heard that he had kicked up a fuss about it (being in despair at being torn from one's wife and children is called _kicking up a fuss_; this is a sample of overseer appreciation of human feelings), and said that if the fellow wasn't willing to go with him, he did not wish to be bothered with any niggers down there who were to be troublesome, so he might stay behind.' 'And does Psyche know this?' 'Yes, ma'am, I suppose so.' I drew a long breath; and whereas my needle had stumbled through the stuff I was sewing for an hour before, as if my fingers could not guide it, the regularity and rapidity of its evolutions were now quite edifying. The man was for the present safe, and I remained silently pondering his deliverance and the whole proceeding, and the conduct of everyone engaged in it, and above all Mr. ----'s share in the transaction, and I think for the first time almost a sense of horrible personal responsibility and implication took hold of my mind, and I felt the weight of an unimagined guilt upon my conscience; and yet God knows this feeling of self-condemnation is very gratuitous on my part, since when I married Mr. ---- I knew nothing of these dreadful possessions of his, and even if I had, I should have been much puzzled to have formed any idea of the state of things in which I now find myself plunged, together with those whose well-doing is as vital to me almost as my own. With these agreeable reflections I went to bed. Mr. ---- said not a word to me upon the subject of these poor people all the next day, and in the meantime I became very impatient of this reserve on his part, because I was dying to prefer my request that he would purchase Psyche and her children, and so prevent any future separation between her and her husband, as I supposed he would not again attempt to make a present of Joe, at least to anyone who did not wish to be _bothered_ with his wife and children. In the evening I was again with Mr. O---- alone in the strange bare wooden-walled sort of shanty which is our sitting-room, and revolving in my mind the means of rescuing Psyche from her miserable suspense, a long chain of all my possessions, in the shape of bracelets, necklaces, brooches, ear-rings, &c., wound in glittering procession through my brain, with many hypothetical calculations of the value of each separate ornament, and the very doubtful probability of the amount of the whole being equal to the price of this poor creature and her children; and then the great power and privilege I had foregone of earning money by my own labour occurred to me; and I think, for the first time in my life, my past profession assumed an aspect that arrested my thoughts most seriously. For the last four years of my life that preceded my marriage, I literally coined money; and never until this moment, I think, did I reflect on the great means of good, to myself and others, that I so gladly agreed to give up for ever, for a maintenance by the unpaid labour of slaves--people toiling not only unpaid, but under the bitter conditions the bare contemplation of which was then wringing my heart. You will not wonder that, when in the midst of such cogitations I suddenly accosted Mr. O----, it was to this effect. 'Mr. O----, I have a particular favour to beg of you. Promise me that you will never sell Psyche and her children without first letting me know of your intention to do so, and giving me the option of buying them.' Mr. O---- is a remarkably deliberate man, and squints, so that, when he has taken a little time in directing his eyes to you, you are still unpleasantly unaware of any result in which you are concerned; he laid down a book he was reading, and directed his head and one of his eyes towards me and answered, 'Dear me, ma'am, I am very sorry--I have sold them.' My work fell down on the ground, and my mouth opened wide, but I could utter no sound, I was so dismayed and surprised; and he deliberately proceeded: 'I didn't know, ma'am, you see, at all, that you entertained any idea of making an investment of that nature; for I'm sure, if I had, I would willingly have sold the woman to you; but I sold her and her children this morning to Mr. ----.' My dear E----, though ---- had resented my unmeasured upbraidings, you see they had not been without some good effect, and though he had, perhaps justly, punished my violent outbreak of indignation about the miserable scene I witnessed by not telling me of his humane purpose, he had bought these poor creatures, and so, I trust, secured them from any such misery in future. I jumped up and left Mr. O---- still speaking, and ran to find Mr. ----, to thank him for what he had done, and with that will now bid you good bye. Think, E----, how it fares with slaves on plantations where there is no crazy Englishwoman to weep and entreat and implore and upbraid for them, and no master willing to listen to such appeals. Dear E----. There is one privilege which I enjoy here which I think few cockneyesses have ever had experience of, that of hearing my own extemporaneous praises chaunted bard-fashion by our negroes, in rhymes as rude and to measures as simple as ever any illustrious female of the days of King Brian Boroihme listened to. Rowing yesterday evening through a beautiful sunset into a more beautiful moonrise, my two sable boatmen entertained themselves and me with alternate strophe and anti-strophe of poetical description of my personal attractions, in which my 'wire waist' recurred repeatedly, to my intense amusement. This is a charm for the possession of which M---- (my white nursemaid) is also invariably celebrated; and I suppose that the fine round natural proportions of the uncompressed waists of the sable beauties of these regions appear less symmetrical to eyes accustomed to them than our stay-cased figures, since 'nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.' Occasionally I am celebrated in these rowing chants as 'Massa's darling,' and S---- comes in for endless glorification on account of the brilliant beauty of her complexion; the other day, however, our poets made a diversion from the personal to the moral qualities of their small mistress, and after the usual tribute to her roses and lilies came the following rather significant couplet:-- Little Missis Sally, That's a ruling lady. At which all the white teeth simultaneously lightened from the black visages, while the subject of this equivocal commendation sat with infantine solemnity (the profoundest, I think, that the human countenance is capable of), surveying her sable dependants with imperturbable gravity. Yesterday morning I amused myself with an exercise of a talent I once possessed, but have so neglected that my performance might almost be called an experiment. I cut out a dress for one of the women. My education in France--where, in some important respects, I think girls are better trained than with us--had sent me home to England, at sixteen, an adept in the female mystery of needlework. Not only owing to the Saturday's discipline of clothes mending by all the classes--while l'Abbé Millot's history (of blessed, boring memory) was being read aloud, to prevent 'vain babblings,' and ensure wholesome mental occupation the while--was I an expert patcher and mender, darner and piecer (darning and marking were my specialities), but the white cotton embroidery of which every French woman has always a piece under her hand _pour les momens perdus_, which are thus anything but _perdus_, was as familiar to us as to the Irish cottagers of the present day, and cutting out and making my dresses was among the more advanced branches of _the_ female accomplishment to which I attained.[1] The luxury of a lady's maid of my own, indulged in ever since the days of my 'coming out,' has naturally enough caused my right hand to forget its cunning, and regret and shame at having lost any useful lore in my life made me accede, for my own sake, to the request of one of our multitudinous Dianas and innumerable Chloes to cut out dresses for each of them, especially as they (wonderful to relate) declared themselves able to stitch them if I would do the cutting. Since I have been on the plantation I have already spent considerable time in what the French call 'confectioning' baby bundles, i.e. the rough and very simple tiny habiliments of coarse cotton and scarlet flannel which form a baby's layette here, and of which I have run up some scores; but my present task was far more difficult. Chloe was an ordinary mortal negress enough, but Diana might have been the Huntress of the Woods herself, done into the African type. Tall, large, straight, well-made, profoundly serious, she stood like a bronze statue, while I, mounted on a stool, (the only way in which I could attain to the noble shoulders and bust of my lay figure), pinned and measured, and cut and shaped, under the superintendence of M----, and had the satisfaction of seeing the fine proportions of my black goddess quite becomingly clothed in a high tight fitting body of the gayest chintz, which she really contrived to put together quite creditably. [Footnote 1: Some of our great English ladies are, I know, exquisite needlewomen; but I do not think, in spite of these exceptional examples, that young English ladies of the higher classes are much skilled in this respect at the present day; and as for the democratic daughters of America, who for many reasons might be supposed likely to be well up in such housewifely lore, they are for the most part so ignorant of it that I have heard the most eloquent preacher of the city of New York advert to their incapacity in this respect, as an impediment to their assistance of the poor; and ascribe to the fact that the daughters of his own parishioners did not know how to sew, the impossibility of their giving the most valuable species of help to the women of the needier classes, whose condition could hardly be more effectually improved than by acquiring such useful knowledge. I have known young American school girls, duly instructed in the nature of the parallaxes of the stars, but, as a rule, they do not know how to darn their stockings. Les Dames du Sacré Coeur do better for their high-born and well-bred pupils than this.] I was so elated with my own part of this performance that I then and there determined to put into execution a plan I had long formed of endowing the little boat in which I take what the French call my walks on the water, with cushions for the back and seat of the benches usually occupied by myself and Mr. ----; so putting on my large straw hat, and plucking up a paper of pins, scissors, and my brown holland, I walked to the steps, and jumping into the little canoe, began piecing, and measuring, and cutting the cushions, which were to be stuffed with the tree moss by some of the people who understand making a rough kind of mattress. My inanimate subject, however, proved far more troublesome to fit than my living lay figure, for the little cockle-shell ducked, and dived, and rocked, and tipped, and curtseyed, and tilted, as I knelt first on one side and then on the other fitting her, till I was almost in despair; however, I got a sort of pattern at last, and by dint of some pertinacious efforts--which, in their incompleteness, did not escape some sarcastic remarks from Mr. ---- on the capabilities of 'women of genius' applied to common-place objects--the matter was accomplished, and the little Dolphin rejoiced in very tidy back and seat cushions, covered with brown holland, and bound with green serge. My ambition then began to contemplate an awning, but the boat being of the nature of a canoe--though not a real one, inasmuch as it is not made of a single log--does not admit of supports for such an edifice. I had rather a fright the other day in that same small craft, into which I had taken S----, with the intention of paddling myself a little way down the river and back. I used to row tolerably well, and was very fond of it, and frequently here take an oar, when the men are rowing me in the long boat, as some sort of equivalent for my riding, of which, of course, I am entirely deprived on this little dykeland of ours; but paddling is a perfectly different process, and one that I was very anxious to achieve. My first strokes answered the purpose of sending the boat off from shore, and for a few minutes I got on pretty well; but presently I got tired of shifting the paddle from side to side, a manoeuvre which I accomplished very clumsily and slowly, and yet, with all my precautions, not without making the boat tip perilously. The immense breadth and volume of the river suddenly seized my eyes and imagination as it were, and I began to fancy that if I got into the middle of the stream I should not be able to paddle myself back against it--which, indeed, might very well have proved the case. Then I became nervous, and paddled all on one side, by which means, of course, I only turned the boat round. S---- began to fidget about, getting up from where I had placed her, and terrifying me with her unsteady motions and the rocking of the canoe. I was now very much frightened, and saw that I _must_ get back to shore before I became more helpless than I was beginning to feel; so laying S---- down in the bottom of the boat as a preliminary precaution, I said to her with infinite emphasis, 'Now lie still there, and don't stir, or you'll be drowned,' to which, with her clear grey eyes fixed on me, and no sign whatever of emotion, she replied deliberately, 'I shall lie still here, and won't stir, for I should not like to be drowned,' which, for an atom not four years old, was rather philosophical. Then I looked about me, and of course having drifted, set steadily to work and paddled home, with my heart in my mouth almost till we grazed the steps, and I got my precious freight safe on shore again, since which I have taken no more paddling lessons without my slave and master, Jack. We have had a death among the people since I last wrote to you. A very valuable slave called Shadrach was seized with a disease which is frequent, and very apt to be fatal here--peri-pneumonia; and in spite of all that could be done to save him, sank rapidly, and died after an acute illness of only three days. The doctor came repeatedly from Darien, and the last night of the poor fellow's life ---- himself watched with him. I suppose the general low diet of the negroes must produce some want of stamina in them; certainly, either from natural constitution or the effect of their habits of existence, or both, it is astonishing how much less power of resistance to disease they seem to possess than we do. If they are ill, the vital energy seems to sink immediately. This rice cultivation, too, although it does not affect them as it would whites--to whom, indeed, residence on the rice plantation after a certain season is impossible--is still, to a certain degree, deleterious even to the negroes. The proportion of sick is always greater here than on the cotton plantation, and the invalids of this place are not unfrequently sent down to St. Simon's to recover their strength, under the more favourable influences of the sea air and dry sandy soil of Hampton Point. Yesterday afternoon the tepid warmth of the air and glassy stillness of the river seemed to me highly suggestive of fishing, and I determined, not having yet discovered what I could catch with what in these unknown waters, to try a little innocent paste bait--a mystery his initiation into which caused Jack much wonderment. The only hooks I had with me, however, had been bought in Darien--made, I should think, at the North expressly for this market; and so villanously bad were they that, after trying them and my patience a reasonable time, I gave up the attempt and took a lesson in paddling instead. Amongst other items Jack told me of his own fishing experience was, that he had more than once caught those most excellent creatures Altamaha shad by the fish themselves leaping out of the water and _landing_, as Jack expressed it, to escape from the porpoises, which come in large schools up the river to a considerable distance, occasioning, evidently, much emotion in the bosoms of the legitimate inhabitants of these muddy waters. Coasting the island on our return home we found a trap, which the last time we examined it was tenanted by a creature called a mink, now occupied by an otter. The poor beast did not seem pleased with his predicament; but the trap had been set by one of the drivers, and, of course, Jack would not have meddled with it except upon my express order, which, in spite of some pangs of pity for the otter, I did not like to give him, as in the extremely few resources of either profit or pleasure possessed by the slaves I could not tell at all what might be the value of an otter to his captor. Yesterday evening the burial of the poor man Shadrach took place. I had been applied to for a sufficient quantity of cotton cloth to make a winding-sheet for him, and just as the twilight was thickening into darkness I went with Mr. ---- to the cottage of one of the slaves whom I may have mentioned to you before--a cooper of the name of London, the head of the religious party of the inhabitants of the island, a methodist preacher of no small intelligence and influence among the people--who was to perform the burial service. The coffin was laid on trestles in front of the cooper's cottage, and a large assemblage of the people had gathered round, many of the men carrying pine-wood torches, the fitful glare of which glanced over the strange assembly, where every pair of large white-rimmed eyes turned upon ---- and myself; we two poor creatures on this more solemn occasion, as well as on every other when these people encounter us, being the objects of admiration and wonderment, on which their gaze is immovably riveted. Presently the whole congregation uplifted their voices in a hymn, the first high wailing notes of which--sung all in unison, in the midst of these unwonted surroundings--sent a thrill through all my nerves. When the chant ceased, cooper London began a prayer, and all the people knelt down in the sand, as I did also. Mr. ---- alone remained standing in the presence of the dead man, and of the living God to whom his slaves were now appealing. I cannot tell you how profoundly the whole ceremony, if such it could be called, affected me, and there was nothing in the simple and pathetic supplication of the poor black artisan to check or interfere with the solemn influences of the whole scene. It was a sort of conventional methodist prayer, and probably quite as conventional as all the rest was the closing invocation of God's blessing upon their master, their mistress, and our children; but this fairly overcame my composure, and I began to cry very bitterly; for these same individuals, whose implication in the state of things in the midst of which we are living, seemed to me as legitimate a cause for tears as for prayers. When the prayer was concluded we all rose, and the coffin being taken up, proceeded to the people's burial-ground, when London read aloud portions of the funeral service from the prayer-book--I presume the American episcopal version of our Church service, for what he read appeared to be merely a selection from what was perfectly familiar to me; but whether he himself extracted what he uttered I did not enquire. Indeed I was too much absorbed in the whole scene, and the many mingled emotions it excited of awe and pity, and an indescribable sensation of wonder at finding myself on this slave soil, surrounded by MY slaves, among whom again I knelt while the words proclaiming to the living and the dead the everlasting covenant of freedom, 'I am the resurrection and the life,' sounded over the prostrate throng, and mingled with the heavy flowing of the vast river sweeping, not far from where we stood, through the darkness by which we were now encompassed (beyond the immediate circle of our torch-bearers). There was something painful to me in ----'s standing while we all knelt on the earth, for though in any church in Philadelphia he would have stood during the praying of any minister, here I wished he would have knelt, to have given his slaves some token of his belief that--at least in the sight of that Master to whom we were addressing our worship--all men are equal. The service ended with a short address from London upon the subject of Lazarus, and the confirmation which the story of his resurrection afforded our hopes. The words were simple and rustic, and of course uttered in the peculiar sort of jargon which is the habitual negro speech; but there was nothing in the slightest degree incongruous or grotesque in the matter or manner, and the exhortations not to steal, or lie, or neglect to work well for massa, with which the glorious hope of immortality was blended in the poor slave preacher's closing address, was a moral adaptation, as wholesome as it was touching, of the great Christian theory to the capacities and consciences of his hearers. When the coffin was lowered the grave was found to be partially filled with water--naturally enough, for the whole island is a mere swamp, off which the Altamaha is only kept from sweeping by the high dykes all round it. This seemed to shock and distress the people, and for the first time during the whole ceremony there were sounds of crying and exclamations of grief heard among them. Their chief expression of sorrow, however, when Mr. ---- and myself bade them good night at the conclusion of the service, was on account of my crying, which appeared to affect them very much, many of them mingling with their 'Farewell, good night, massa and missis,' affectionate exclamations of 'God bless you, missis; don't cry!' 'Lor, missis, don't you cry so!' Mr. ---- declined the assistance of any of the torch-bearers home, and bade them all go quietly to their quarters; and as soon as they had dispersed, and we had got beyond the fitful and unequal glaring of the torches, we found the shining of the stars in the deep blue lovely night sky quite sufficient to light our way along the dykes. I could not speak to ----, but continued to cry as we walked silently home; and whatever his cogitations were, they did not take the unusual form with him of wordy demonstration, and so we returned from one of the most striking religious ceremonies at which I ever assisted. Arrived at the door of the house we perceived that we had been followed the whole way by the naked noiseless feet of a poor half-witted creature, a female idiot, whose mental incapacity, of course, in no respect unfits her for the life of toil, little more intellectual than that of any beast of burthen, which is her allotted portion here. Some small gratification was given to her, and she departed gibbering and muttering in high glee. Think, E----, of that man London--who, in spite of all the bitter barriers in his way, has learnt to read, has read his Bible, teaches it to his unfortunate fellows, and is used by his owner and his owner's agents, for all these causes, as an effectual influence for good over the slaves of whom he is himself the despised and injured companion. Like them, subject to the driver's lash; like them, the helpless creature of his master's despotic will, without a right or a hope in this dreary world. But though the light he has attained must show him the terrible aspects of his fate hidden by blessed ignorance from his companions, it reveals to him also other rights, and other hopes--another world, another life--towards which he leads, according to the grace vouchsafed him, his poor fellow-slaves. How can we keep this man in such a condition? How is such a cruel sin of injustice to be answered? Mr. ----, of course, sees and feels none of this as I do, and I should think must regret that he ever brought me here, to have my abhorrence of the theory of slavery deepened, and strengthened every hour of my life, by what I see of its practice. This morning I went over to Darien upon the very female errands of returning visits and shopping. In one respect (assuredly in none other) our life here resembles existence in Venice; we can never leave home for any purpose or in any direction but by boat--not, indeed, by gondola, but the sharp cut, well made, light craft in which we take our walks on the water is a very agreeable species of conveyance. One of my visits this morning was to a certain Miss ----, whose rather grandiloquent name and very striking style of beauty exceedingly well became the daughter of an ex-governor of Georgia. As for the residence of this princess, it was like all the planters' residences that I have seen, and such as a well-to-do English farmer would certainly not inhabit. Occasional marks of former elegance or splendour survive sometimes in the size of the rooms, sometimes in a little carved wood-work about the mantelpieces or wainscoatings of these mansions; but all things have a Castle Rackrent air of neglect, and dreary careless untidiness, with which the dirty bare-footed negro servants are in excellent keeping. Occasionally a huge pair of dazzling shirt gills, out of which a black visage grins as out of some vast white paper cornet, adorns the sable footman of the establishment, but unfortunately without at all necessarily indicating any downward prolongation of the garment; and the perfect tulip bed of a head handkerchief with which the female attendants of these 'great families' love to bedizen themselves, frequently stands them instead of every other most indispensable article of female attire. As for my shopping, the goods or rather 'bads,' at which I used to grumble, in your village emporium at Lenox, are what may be termed 'first rate,' both in excellence and elegance, compared with the vile products of every sort which we wretched southerners are expected to accept as the conveniences of life in exchange for current coin of the realm. I regret to say, moreover, that all these infamous articles are Yankee made--expressly for this market, where every species of _thing_ (to use the most general term I can think of), from list shoes to pianofortes, is procured from the North--almost always New England, utterly worthless of its kind, and dearer than the most perfect specimens of the same articles would be anywhere else. The incredible variety and ludicrous combinations of goods to be met with in one of these southern shops beats the stock of your village omnium-gatherum hollow to be sure, one class of articles, and that probably the most in demand here, is not sold over any counter in Massachussetts--cow-hides, and man-traps, of which a large assortment enters necessarily into the furniture of every southern shop. In passing to-day along the deep sand road, calling itself the street of Darien, my notice was attracted by an extremely handsome and intelligent-looking poodle, standing by a little wizen-looking knife-grinder, whose features were evidently European, though he was nearly as black as a negro who, strange to say, was discoursing with him in very tolerable French. The impulse of curiosity led me to accost the man at the grindstone, when his companion immediately made off. The itinerant artisan was from Aix in Provence; think of wandering thence to Darien in Georgia! I asked him about the negro who was talking to him; he said he knew nothing of him, but that he was a slave belonging to somebody in the town. And upon my expressing surprise at his having left his own beautiful and pleasant country for this dreary distant region, he answered, with a shrug and a smile, 'Oui, madame, c'est vrai; c'est un joli pays, mais dans ce pays-là, quand un homme n'a rien, c'est rien pour toujours.' A property which many no doubt have come hither, like the little French knife-grinder, to increase, without succeeding in the struggle much better than he appeared to have done. * * * * * Dear E----, Having made a fresh and, as I thought, more promising purchase of fishing-tackle, Jack and I betook ourselves to the river, and succeeded in securing some immense cat-fish, of which, to tell you the truth, I am most horribly afraid when I have caught them. The dexterity necessary for taking them off the hook so as to avoid the spikes on their backs, and the spikes on each side of their gills, the former having to be pressed down, and the two others pressed up, before you can get any purchase on the slimy beast (for it is smooth skinned and without scales, to add to the difficulty)--these conditions, I say, make the catching of cat-fish questionable sport. Then too, they hiss, and spit, and swear at one, and are altogether devilish in their aspect and demeanour; nor are they good for food, except, as Jack with much humility said this morning, for coloured folks--'Good for coloured folks, missis; me 'spect not good enough for white people.' That 'spect, meaning _ex_pect, has sometimes a possible meaning of _sus_pect, which would give the sentence in which it occurs a very humorous turn, and I always take the benefit of that interpretation. After exhausting the charms of our occupation, finding that cat-fish were likely to be our principal haul, I left the river and went my rounds to the hospitals. On my way I encountered two batches of small black fry, Hannah's children and poor Psyche's children, looking really as neat and tidy as children of the bettermost class of artisans among ourselves. These people are so quick and so imitative that it would be the easiest thing in the world to improve their physical condition by appealing to their emulative propensities. Their passion for what is _genteel_ might be used most advantageously in the same direction; and indeed, I think it would be difficult to find people who offered such a fair purchase by so many of their characteristics to the hand of the reformer. Returning from the hospital I was accosted by poor old Teresa, the wretched negress who had complained to me so grievously of her back being broken by hard work and child-bearing. She was in a dreadful state of excitement, which she partly presently communicated to me, because she said Mr. O---- had ordered her to be flogged for having complained to me as she did. It seems to me that I have come down here to be tortured, for this punishing these wretched creatures for crying out to me for help is really converting me into a source of increased misery to them. It is almost more than I can endure to hear these horrid stories of lashings inflicted because I have been invoked; and though I dare say Mr. ----, thanks to my passionate appeals to him, gives me little credit for prudence or self-command, I have some, and I exercise it too when I listen to such tales as these with my teeth set fast and my lips closed. Whatever I may do to the master, I hold my tongue to the slaves, and I wonder how I do it. In the afternoon I rowed with Mr. ---- to another island in the broad waters of the Altamaha, called Tunno's Island, to return the visit of a certain Dr. T----, the proprietor of the island, named after him, as our rice swamp is after Major ----. I here saw growing in the open air the most beautiful gardinias I ever beheld; the branches were as high and as thick as the largest clumps of Kalmia, that grow in your woods, but whereas the tough, stringy, fibrous branches of these gives them a straggling appearance, these magnificent masses of dark shiny glossy green leaves were quite compact; and I cannot conceive anything lovelier or more delightful than they would be starred all over with their thick-leaved cream-white odoriferous blossoms. In the course of our visit a discussion arose as to the credibility of any negro assertion, though, indeed, that could hardly be called a discussion that was simply a chorus of assenting opinions. No negro was to be believed on any occasion or any subject. No doubt they are habitual liars, for they are slaves, but there are some thrice honourable exceptions who, being slaves, are yet not liars; and certainly the vice results much more from the circumstances in which they are placed than from any natural tendency to untruth in their case. The truth is that they are always considered as false and deceitful, and it is very seldom that any special investigation of the facts of any particular case is resorted to in their behalf. They are always prejudged on their supposed general characteristics, and never judged after the fact on the merit of any special instance. A question which was discussed in the real sense of the term, was that of ploughing the land instead of having it turned with the spade or hoe. I listened to this with great interest, for Jack and I had had some talk upon this subject, which began in his ardently expressed wish that massa would allow his land to be ploughed, and his despairing conclusion that he never would, ''cause horses more costly to keep than coloured folks,' and ploughing, therefore, dearer than hoeing or digging. I had ventured to suggest to Mr. ----- the possibility of ploughing some of the fields on the island, and his reply was that the whole land was too moist and too much interrupted with the huge masses of the Cypress yam roots, which would turn the share of any plough. Yet there is land belonging to our neighbour Mr. G----, on the other side of the river, where the conditions of the soil must be precisely the same, and yet which is being ploughed before our faces. On Mr. ----'s adjacent plantation the plough is also used extensively and successfully. On my return to our own island I visited another of the hospitals, and the settlements to which it belonged. The condition of these places and of their inhabitants is, of course, the same all over the plantation, and if I were to describe them I should but weary you with a repetition of identical phenomena: filthy, wretched, almost naked, always bare-legged and bare-footed children; negligent, ignorant, wretched mothers, whose apparent indifference to the plight of their offspring, and utter incapacity to alter it, are the inevitable result of their slavery. It is hopeless to attempt to reform their habits or improve their condition while the women are condemned to field labour; nor is it possible to overestimate the bad moral effect of the system as regards the women entailing this enforced separation from their children and neglect of all the cares and duties of mother, nurse, and even house-wife, which are all merged in the mere physical toil of a human hoeing machine. It seems to me too--but upon this point I cannot, of course, judge as well as the persons accustomed to and acquainted with the physical capacities of their slaves--that the labour is not judiciously distributed in many cases; at least, not as far as the women are concerned. It is true that every able-bodied woman is made the most of in being driven a-field as long as under all and any circumstances she is able to wield a hoe; but on the other hand, stout, hale, hearty girls and boys, of from eight to twelve and older, are allowed to lounge about filthy and idle, with no pretence of an occupation but what they call 'tend baby,' i.e. see to the life and limbs of the little slave infants, to whose mothers, working in distant fields, they carry them during the day to be suckled, and for the rest of the time leave them to crawl and kick in the filthy cabins or on the broiling sand which surrounds them, in which industry, excellent enough for the poor babies, these big lazy youths and lasses emulate them. Again, I find many women who have borne from five to ten children rated as workers, precisely as young women in the prime of their strength who have had none; this seems a cruel carelessness. To be sure, while the women are pregnant their task is diminished, and this is one of the many indirect inducements held out to reckless propagation, which has a sort of premium offered to it in the consideration of less work and more food, counterbalanced by none of the sacred responsibilities which hallow and ennoble the relation of parent and child; in short, as their lives are for the most part those of mere animals, their increase is literally mere animal breeding, to which every encouragement is given, for it adds to the master's live stock, and the value of his estate. * * * * * Dear E----. To-day, I have the pleasure of announcing to you a variety of improvements about to be made in the infirmary of the island. There is to be a third story--a mere loft indeed--added to the buildings, but by affording more room for the least distressing cases of sickness to be drafted off into, it will leave the ground-floor and room above it comparatively free for the most miserable of these unfortunates. To my unspeakable satisfaction these destitute apartments are to be furnished with bedsteads, mattresses, pillows, and blankets; and I feel a little comforted for the many heart-aches my life here inflicts upon me: at least some of my twinges will have wrought this poor alleviation of their wretchedness for the slaves, when prostrated by disease or pain. I had hardly time to return from the hospital home this morning before one of the most tremendous storms I ever saw burst over the island. Your northern hills, with their solemn pine woods, and fresh streams and lakes, telling of a cold rather than a warm climate, always seem to me as if undergoing some strange and unnatural visitation, when one of your heavy summer thunder-storms bursts over them. Snow and frost, hail and, above all, wind, trailing rain clouds and brilliant northern lights, are your appropriate sky phenomena; here, thunder and lightning seem as if they might have been invented. Even in winter (remember, we are now in February) they appear neither astonishing nor unseasonable, and I should think in summer (but Heaven defend me from ever making good my supposition) lightning must be as familiar to these sweltering lands and slimy waters as sunlight itself. The afternoon cleared off most beautifully, and Jack and I went out on the river to catch what might be caught. Jack's joyful excitement was extreme at my announcing to him the fact that Mr. ---- had consented to try ploughing on some of the driest portions of the island instead of the slow and laborious process of hoeing the fields; this is a disinterested exultation on his part, for at any rate as long as I am here, he will certainly be nothing but 'my boy Jack,' and I should think after my departure will never be degraded to the rank of a field-hand or common labourer. Indeed the delicacy of his health, to which his slight slender figure and languid face bear witness, and which was one reason of his appointment to the eminence of being 'my slave,' would, I should think, prevent the poor fellow's ever being a very robust or useful working animal. On my return from the river I had a long and painful conversation with Mr. ---- upon the subject of the flogging which had been inflicted on the wretched Teresa. These discussions are terrible: they throw me into perfect agonies of distress for the slaves, whose position is utterly hopeless; for myself, whose intervention in their behalf sometimes seems to me worse than useless; for Mr. ----, whose share in this horrible system fills me by turns with indignation and pity. But, after all, what can he do? how can he help it all? Moreover, born and bred in America, how should he care or wish to help it? and of course he does not; and I am in despair that he does not: et voilà, it is a happy and hopeful plight for us both. He maintained that there had been neither hardship nor injustice in the case of Teresa's flogging; and that, moreover, she had not been flogged at all for complaining to me, but simply because her allotted task was not done at the appointed time. Of course this was the result of her having come to appeal to me, instead of going to her labour; and as she knew perfectly well the penalty she was incurring, he maintained that there was neither hardship nor injustice in the case; the whole thing was a regularly established law, with which all the slaves were perfectly well acquainted; and this case was no exception whatever. The circumstance of my being on the island could not of course be allowed to overthrow the whole system of discipline established to secure the labour and obedience of the slaves; and if they chose to try experiments as to that fact, they and I must take the consequences. At the end of the day, the driver of the gang to which Teresa belongs reported her work not done, and Mr. O---- ordered him to give her the usual number of stripes; which order the driver of course obeyed, without knowing how Teresa had employed her time instead of hoeing. But Mr. O---- knew well enough, for the wretched woman told me that she had herself told him she should appeal to me about her weakness and suffering and inability to do the work exacted from her. He did not, however, think proper to exceed in her punishment the usual number of stripes allotted to the non-performance of the appointed daily task, and Mr. ---- pronounced the whole transaction perfectly satisfactory and _en règle_. The common drivers are limited in their powers of chastisement, not being allowed to administer more than a certain number of lashes to their fellow slaves. Head man Frank, as he is called, has alone the privilege of exceeding this limit; and the overseer's latitude of infliction is only curtailed by the necessity of avoiding injury to life or limb. The master's irresponsible power has no such bound. When I was thus silenced on the particular case under discussion, I resorted in my distress and indignation to the abstract question, as I never can refrain from doing; and to Mr. ----'s assertion of the justice of poor Teresa's punishment, I retorted the manifest injustice of unpaid and enforced labour; the brutal inhumanity of allowing a man to strip and lash a woman, the mother of ten children; to exact from her toil which was to maintain in luxury two idle young men, the owners of the plantation. I said I thought female labour of the sort exacted from these slaves, and corporal chastisement such as they endure, must be abhorrent to any manly or humane man. Mr. ---- said he thought it was _disagreeable_, and left me to my reflections with that concession. My letter has been interrupted for the last three days; by nothing special, however. My occupations and interests here of course know no change; but Mr. ---- has been anxious for a little while past that we should go down to St. Simon's, the cotton plantation. We shall suffer less from the heat, which I am beginning to find oppressive on this swamp island; and he himself wished to visit that part of his property, whither he had not yet been since our arrival in Georgia. So the day before yesterday he departed to make the necessary arrangements for our removal thither; and my time in the meanwhile has been taken up in fitting him out for his departure. In the morning Jack and I took our usual paddle, and having the tackle on board, tried fishing. I was absorbed in many sad and serious considerations, and wonderful to relate (for you know ---- how keen an angler I am), had lost all consciousness of my occupation, until after I know not how long a time elapsing without the shadow of a nibble, I was recalled to a most ludicrous perception of my ill-success by Jack's sudden observation, 'Missis, fishing berry good fun when um fish bite.' This settled the fishing for that morning, and I let Jack paddle me down the broad turbid stream, endeavouring to answer in the most comprehensible manner to his keen but utterly undeveloped intellects the innumerable questions with which he plied me about Philadelphia, about England, about the Atlantic, &c. He dilated much upon the charms of St. Simon's, to which he appeared very glad that we were going; and among other items of description mentioned, what I was very glad to hear, that it was a beautiful place for riding, and that I should be able to indulge to my heart's content in my favourite exercise, from which I have, of course, been utterly debarred in this small dykeland of ours. He insinuated more than once his hope and desire that he might be allowed to accompany me, but as I knew nothing at all about his capacity for equestrian exercises, or any of the arrangements that might or might not interfere with such a plan, I was discreetly silent, and took no notice of his most comically turned hints on the subject. In our row we started a quantity of wild duck, and he told me that there was a great deal of game at St. Simon's, but that the people did not contrive to catch much, though they laid traps constantly for it. Of course their possessing firearms is quite out of the question; but this abundance of what must be to them such especially desirable prey, makes the fact a great hardship. I almost wonder they don't learn to shoot like savages with bows and arrows, but these would be weapons, and equally forbidden them. In the afternoon I saw Mr. ---- off for St. Simon's; it is fifteen miles lower down the river, and a large island at the very mouth of the Altamaha. The boat he went in was a large, broad, rather heavy, though well-built craft, by no means as swift or elegant as the narrow eight-oared long boat in which he generally takes his walks on the water, but well adapted for the traffic between the two plantations, where it serves the purpose of a sort of omnibus or stage-coach for the transfer of the people from one to the other, and of a baggage waggon or cart for the conveyance of all sorts of household goods, chattels, and necessaries. Mr. ---- sat in the middle of a perfect chaos of such freight; and as the boat pushed off, and the steersman took her into the stream, the men at the oars set up a chorus, which they continued to chaunt in unison with each other, and in time with their stroke, till the voices and oars were heard no more from the distance. I believe I have mentioned to you before the peculiar characteristics of this veritable negro minstrelsy--how they all sing in unison, having never, it appears, attempted or heard anything like part-singing. Their voices seem oftener tenor than any other quality, and the tune and time they keep something quite wonderful; such truth of intonation and accent would make almost any music agreeable. That which I have heard these people sing is often plaintive and pretty, but almost always has some resemblance to tunes with which they must have become acquainted through the instrumentality of white men; their overseers or masters whistling Scotch or Irish airs, of which they have produced by ear these _rifacciamenti_. The note for note reproduction of 'Ah! vous dirai-je, maman?' in one of the most popular of the so-called Negro melodies with which all America and England are familiar, is an example of this very transparent plagiarism; and the tune with which Mr. ----'s rowers started him down the Altamaha, as I stood at the steps to see him off, was a very distinct descendant of 'Coming through the Rye.' The words, however, were astonishingly primitive, especially the first line, which, when it burst from their eight throats in high unison, sent me into fits of laughter. Jenny shake her toe at me, Jenny gone away; Jenny shake her toe at me, Jenny gone away. Hurrah! Miss Susy, oh! Jenny gone away; Hurrah! Miss Susy, oh! Jenny gone away. What the obnoxious Jenny meant by shaking her toe, whether defiance or mere departure, I never could ascertain, but her going away was an unmistakable subject of satisfaction; and the pause made on the last 'oh!' before the final announcement of her departure, had really a good deal of dramatic and musical effect. Except the extemporaneous chaunts in our honour, of which I have written to you before, I have never heard the negroes on Mr. ----'s plantation sing any words that could be said to have any sense. To one, an extremely pretty, plaintive, and original air, there was but one line, which was repeated with a sort of wailing chorus-- Oh! my massa told me, there's no grass in Georgia. Upon enquiring the meaning of which, I was told it was supposed to be the lamentation of a slave from one of the more northerly states, Virginia or Carolina, where the labour of hoeing the weeds, or grass as they call it, is not nearly so severe as here, in the rice and cotton lands of Georgia. Another very pretty and pathetic tune began with words that seemed to promise something sentimental-- Fare you well, and good-bye, oh, oh! I'm goin' away to leave you, oh, oh! but immediately went off into nonsense verses about gentlemen in the parlour drinking wine and cordial, and ladies in the drawing-room drinking tea and coffee, &c. I have heard that many of the masters and overseers on these plantations prohibit melancholy tunes or words, and encourage nothing but cheerful music and senseless words, deprecating the effect of sadder strains upon the slaves, whose peculiar musical sensibility might be expected to make them especially excitable by any songs of a plaintive character, and having any reference to their particular hardships. If it is true, I think it a judicious precaution enough--these poor slaves are just the sort of people over whom a popular musical appeal to their feelings and passions would have an immense power. In the evening, Mr. ----'s departure left me to the pleasures of an uninterrupted _tête-à-tête_ with his crosseyed overseer, and I endeavoured, as I generally do, to atone by my conversibleness and civility for the additional trouble which, no doubt, all my outlandish ways and notions are causing the worthy man. So suggestive (to use the new-fangled jargon about books) a woman as myself is, I suspect, an intolerable nuisance in these parts; and poor Mr. O---- cannot very well desire Mr. ---- to send me away, however much he may wish that he would; so that figuratively, as well as literally, I fear the worthy master _me voit d'un mauvais oeil_, as the French say. I asked him several questions about some of the slaves who had managed to learn to read, and by what means they had been able to do so. As teaching them is strictly prohibited by the laws, they who instructed them, and such of them as acquired the knowledge, must have been not a little determined and persevering. This was my view of the case, of course, and of course it was not the overseer's. I asked him if many of Mr. ----'s slaves could read. He said 'No; very few, he was happy to say, but those few were just so many too many.' 'Why, had he observed any insubordination in those who did?' And I reminded him of Cooper London, the methodist preacher, whose performance of the burial service had struck me so much some time ago--to whose exemplary conduct and character there is but one concurrent testimony all over the plantation. No; he had no special complaint to bring against the lettered members of his subject community, but he spoke by anticipation. Every step they take towards intelligence and enlightenment lessens the probability of their acquiescing in their condition. Their condition is not to be changed--ergo, they had better not learn to read; a very succinct and satisfactory argument as far as it goes, no doubt, and one to which I had not a word to reply, at any rate, to Mr. O----, as I did not feel called upon to discuss the abstract justice or equity of the matter with him; indeed he, to a certain degree, gave up that part of the position, starting with 'I don't say whether it's right or wrong;' and in all conversations that I have had with the southerners upon these subjects, whether out of civility to what may be supposed to be an Englishwoman's prejudices, or a forlorn respect to their own convictions, the question of the fundamental wrong of slavery is generally admitted, or at any rate certainly never denied. That part of the subject is summarily dismissed, and all its other aspects vindicated, excused, and even lauded, with untiring eloquence. Of course, of the abstract question I could judge before I came here, but I confess I had not the remotest idea how absolutely my observation of every detail of the system, as a practical iniquity, would go to confirm my opinion of its abomination. Mr. O---- went on to condemn and utterly denounce all the preaching and teaching and moral instruction upon religious subjects, which people in the south, pressed upon by northern opinion, are endeavouring to give their slaves. The kinder and the more cowardly masters are anxious to evade the charge of keeping their negroes in brutish ignorance, and so they crumble what they suppose and hope may prove a little harmless, religious enlightenment, which, mixed up with much religious authority on the subject of submission and fidelity to masters, they trust their slaves may swallow without its doing them any harm--i.e., that they may be better Christians and better slaves--and so, indeed, no doubt they are; but it is a very dangerous experiment, and from Mr. O----'s point of view I quite agree with him. The letting out of water, or the letting in of light, in infinitesimal quantities, is not always easy. The half-wicked of the earth are the leaks through which wickedness is eventually swamped; compromises forerun absolute surrender in most matters, and fools and cowards are, in such cases, the instruments of Providence for their own defeat. Mr. O---- stated unequivocally his opinion that free labour would be more profitable on the plantations than the work of slaves, which, being compulsory, was of the worst possible quality and the smallest possible quantity; then the charge of them before and after they are able to work is onerous, the cost of feeding and clothing them very considerable, and upon the whole he, a southern overseer, pronounced himself decidedly in favour of free labour, upon grounds of expediency. Having at the beginning of our conversation declined discussing the moral aspect of slavery, evidently not thinking that position tenable, I thought I had every right to consider Mr. ----'s slave-driver a decided abolitionist. I had been anxious to enlist his sympathies on behalf of my extreme desire, to have some sort of garden, but did not succeed in inspiring him with my enthusiasm on the subject; he said there was but one garden that he knew of in the whole neighbourhood of Darien, and that was our neighbour, old Mr. C----'s, a Scotchman on St. Simon's. I remembered the splendid gardinias on Tunno's Island, and referred to them as a proof of the material for ornamental gardening. He laughed, and said rice and cotton crops were the ornamental gardening principally admired by the planters, and that, to the best of his belief, there was not another decent kitchen or flower garden in the State, but the one he had mentioned. The next day after this conversation, I walked with my horticultural zeal much damped, and wandered along the dyke by the broad river, looking at some pretty peach trees in blossom, and thinking what a curse of utter stagnation this slavery produces, and how intolerable to me a life passed within its stifling influence would be. Think of peach trees in blossom in the middle of February! It does seem cruel, with such a sun and soil, to be told that a garden is worth nobody's while here; however, Mr. O---- said that he believed the wife of the former overseer had made a 'sort of a garden' at St. Simon's. We shall see 'what sort' it turns out to be. While I was standing on the dyke, ruminating above the river, I saw a beautiful white bird of the crane species alight not far from me. I do not think a little knowledge of natural history would diminish the surprise and admiration with which I regard the, to me, unwonted specimens of animal existence that I encounter every day, and of which I do not even know the names. Ignorance is an odious thing. The birds here are especially beautiful, I think. I saw one the other day, of what species of course I do not know, of a warm and rich brown, with a scarlet hood and crest--a lovely creature, about the size of your northern robin, but more elegantly shaped. This morning, instead of my usual visit to the infirmary, I went to look at the work and workers in the threshing mill--all was going on actively and orderly under the superintendence of head-man Frank, with whom, and a very sagacious clever fellow, who manages the steam power of the mill, and is honourably distinguished as Engineer Ned, I had a small chat. There is one among various drawbacks to the comfort and pleasure of our intercourse with these coloured 'men and brethren,' at least in their slave condition, which certainly exercises my fortitude not a little,--the swarms of fleas that cohabit with these sable dependants of ours are--well--incredible; moreover they are by no means the only or most objectionable companions one borrows from them, and I never go to the infirmary, where I not unfrequently am requested to look at very dirty limbs and bodies in very dirty draperies, without coming away with a strong inclination to throw myself into the water, and my clothes into the fire, which last would be expensive. I do not suppose that these hateful consequences of dirt and disorder are worse here than among the poor and neglected human creatures who swarm in the lower parts of European cities; but my call to visit them has never been such as that which constrains me to go daily among these poor people, and although on one or two occasions I have penetrated into fearfully foul and filthy abodes of misery in London, I have never rendered the same personal services to their inhabitants that I do to Mr. ----'s slaves, and so have not incurred the same amount of entomological inconvenience. After leaving the mill, I prolonged my walk, and came, for the first time, upon one of the 'gangs,' as they are called, in full field work. Upon my appearance and approach there was a momentary suspension of labour, and the usual chorus of screams and ejaculations of welcome, affection, and infinite desires for infinite small indulgences. I was afraid to stop their work, not feeling at all sure that urging a conversation with me would be accepted as any excuse for an uncompleted task, or avert the fatal infliction of the usual award of stripes; so I hurried off and left them to their hoeing. On my way home I was encountered by London, our Methodist preacher, who accosted me with a request for a prayer-book and Bible, and expressed his regret at hearing that we were so soon going to St. Simon's. I promised him his holy books, and asked him how he had learned to read, but found it impossible to get him to tell me. I wonder if he thought he should be putting his teacher, whoever he was, in danger of the penalty of the law against instructing the slaves, if he told me who he was; it was impossible to make him do so, so that, besides his other good qualities, he appears to have that most unusual one of all in an uneducated person--discretion. He certainly is a most remarkable man. After parting with him, I was assailed by a small gang of children, clamouring for the indulgence of some meat, which they besought me to give them. Animal food is only allowed to certain of the harder working men, hedgers and ditchers, and to them only occasionally, and in very moderate rations. My small cannibals clamoured round me for flesh, as if I had had a butcher's cart in my pocket, till I began to laugh and then to run, and away they came, like a pack of little black wolves, at my heels, shrieking, 'Missis, you gib me piece meat, missis, you gib me meat,' till I got home. At the door I found another petitioner, a young woman named Maria, who brought a fine child in her arms, and demanded a present of a piece of flannel. Upon my asking her who her husband was, she replied, without much hesitation, that she did not possess any such appendage. I gave another look at her bonny baby, and went into the house to get the flannel for her. I afterwards heard from Mr. ---- that she and two other girls of her age, about seventeen, were the only instances on the island of women with illegitimate children. After I had been in the house a little while, I was summoned out again to receive the petition of certain poor women in the family-way to have their work lightened. I was, of course, obliged to tell them that I could not interfere in the matter, that their master was away, and that, when he came back, they must present their request to him: they said they had already begged 'massa,' and he had refused, and they thought, perhaps, if 'missis' begged 'massa' for them, he would lighten their task. Poor 'missis,' poor 'massa,' poor woman, that I am to have such prayers addressed to me! I had to tell them, that if they had already spoken to their master, I was afraid my doing so would be of no use, but that when he came back I would try; so, choking with crying, I turned away from them, and re-entered the house, to the chorus of 'Oh, thank you, missis! God bless you, missis!' E----, I think an improvement might be made upon that caricature published a short time ago, called the 'Chivalry of the South.' I think an elegant young Carolinian, or Georgian gentleman, whip in hand, driving a gang of 'lusty women,' as they are called here, would be a pretty version of the 'Chivalry of the South'--a little coarse, I am afraid you will say. Oh! quite horribly coarse, but then so true--a great matter in works of art, which, now-a-days, appear to be thought excellent only in proportion to their lack of ideal elevation. That would be a subject, and a treatment of it, which could not be accused of imaginative exaggeration, at any rate. In the evening I mentioned the petitions of these poor women to Mr. O----, thinking that perhaps he had the power to lessen their tasks. He seemed evidently annoyed at their having appealed to me; said that their work was not a bit too much for them, and that constantly they were _shamming_ themselves in the family-way, in order to obtain a diminution of their labour. Poor creatures! I suppose some of them do; but again, it must be a hard matter for those who do not, not to obtain the mitigation of their toil which their condition requires; for their assertion and their evidence are never received--they can't be believed, even if they were upon oath, say their white taskmasters; why? because they have never been taught the obligations of an oath, to whom made, or wherefore binding; and they are punished both directly and indirectly for their moral ignorance, as if it were a natural and incorrigible element of their character, instead of the inevitable result of their miserable position. The oath of any and every scoundrelly fellow with a white skin is received, but not that of such a man as Frank, Ned, old Jacob, or Cooper London. * * * * * Dearest E----. I think it right to begin this letter with an account of a most prosperous fishing expedition Jack and I achieved the other morning. It is true we still occasionally drew up huge cat-fish, with their detestable beards and spikes, but we also captivated some magnificent perch, and the Altamaha perch are worth one's while both to catch and to eat. On a visit I had to make on the mainland, the same day, I saw a tiny strip of garden ground, rescued from the sandy road, called the street, perfectly filled with hyacinths, double jonquils, and snowdrops, a charming nosegay for February 11. After leaving the boat on my return home, I encountered a curious creature walking all sideways, a small cross between a lobster and a crab. One of the negroes to whom I applied for its denomination informed me that it was a land crab, with which general description of this very peculiar multipede you must be satisfied, for I can tell you no more. I went a little further, as the nursery rhyme says, and met with a snake, and not being able to determine, at ignorant first sight, whether it was a malignant serpent or not, I ingloriously took to my heels, and came home on the full run. It is the first of these exceedingly displeasing animals I have encountered here; but Jack, for my consolation, tells me that they abound on St. Simon's, whither we are going--'rattlesnakes, and all kinds,' says he, with an affluence of promise in his tone that is quite agreeable. Rattlesnakes will be quite enough of a treat, without the vague horrors that may be comprised in the additional 'all kinds.' Jack's account of the game on St. Simon's is really quite tantalising to me, who cannot carry a gun any more than if I were a slave. He says that partridges, woodcocks, snipe, and wild duck abound, so that, at any rate, our table ought to be well supplied. His account of the bears that are still to be found in the woods of the mainland, is not so pleasant, though he says they do no harm to the people, if they are not meddled with, but that they steal the corn from the fields when it is ripe, and actually swim the river to commit their depredations on the islands. It seems difficult to believe this, looking at this wide and heavy stream--though, to be sure, I did once see a young horse swim across the St. Lawrence, between Montreal and Quebec; a feat of natation which much enlarged my belief in what quadrupeds may accomplish when they have no choice between swimming and sinking. You cannot imagine how great a triumph the virtue next to godliness is making under my auspices and a judicious system of small bribery. I can hardly stir now without being assailed with cries of 'Missis, missis me mind chile, me bery clean,' or the additional gratifying fact, 'and chile too, him bery clean.' This virtue, however, if painful to the practisers, as no doubt it is, is expensive, too, to me, and I shall have to try some moral influence equivalent in value to a cent current coin of the realm. What a poor chance, indeed, the poor abstract idea runs! however, it is really a comfort to see the poor little woolly heads, now in most instances stripped of their additional filthy artificial envelopes. In my afternoon's row to-day I passed a huge dead alligator, lying half in and half out of the muddy slime of the river bank--a most hideous object it was, and I was glad to turn my eyes to the beautiful surface of the mid stream, all burnished with sunset glories, and broken with the vivacious gambols of a school of porpoises. It is curious, I think, that these creatures should come fifteen miles from the sea to enliven the waters round our little rice swamp. While rowing this evening, I was led by my conversation with Jack to some of those reflections with which my mind is naturally incessantly filled here, but which I am obliged to be very careful not to give any utterance to. The testimony of no negro is received in a southern court of law, and the reason commonly adduced for this is, that the state of ignorance in which the negroes are necessarily kept, renders them incapable of comprehending the obligations of an oath, and yet with an inconsistency which might be said to border on effrontery, these same people are admitted to the most holy sacrament of the Church, and are certainly thereby supposed to be capable of assuming the highest Christian obligations, and the entire fulfilment of God's commandments--including, of course, the duty of speaking the truth at all times. As we were proceeding down the river, we met the flat, as it is called, a huge sort of clumsy boat, more like a raft than any other species of craft, coming up from St. Simon's with its usual swarthy freight of Mr. ----'s dependants from that place. I made Jack turn our canoe, because the universal outcries and exclamations very distinctly intimated that I should be expected to be at home to receive the homage of this cargo of 'massa's people.' No sooner, indeed, had I disembarked and reached the house, than a dark cloud of black life filled the piazza and swarmed up the steps, and I had to shake hands, like a popular president, till my arm ached at the shoulder-joint. When this tribe had dispersed itself, a very old woman with a remarkably intelligent, nice-looking young girl, came forward and claimed my attention. The old woman, who must, I think, by her appearance, have been near seventy, had been one of the house servants on St. Simon's Island in Major ----'s time, and retained a certain dignified courtesy and respectfulness of manner which is by no means an uncommon attribute of the better class of slaves, whose intercourse with their masters, while tending to expand their intelligence, cultivates, at the same time, the natural turn for good manners which is, I think, a distinctive peculiarity of negroes, if not in the kingdom of Dahomey, certainly in the United States of America. If it can be for a moment attributed to the beneficent influence of slavery on their natures (and I think slaveowners are quite likely to imagine so), it is curious enough that there is hardly any alloy whatever of cringing servility, or even humility, in the good manners of the blacks, but a rather courtly and affable condescension which, combined with their affection for, and misapplication of, long words, produces an exceedingly comical effect. Old-house Molly, after congratulating herself, with many thanks to heaven, for having spared her to see 'massa's' wife and children, drew forward her young companion, and informed me she was one of her numerous grandchildren. The damsel, ycleped Louisa, made rather a shame-faced obeisance, and her old grandmother went on to inform me that she had only lately been forgiven by the overseer for an attempt to run away from the plantation. I enquired the cause of her desire to do so--a 'thrashing' she had got for an unfinished task--'but lor, missis,' explained the old woman, 'taint no use--what use nigger run away?--de swamp all round; dey get in dar, an dey starve to def, or de snakes eat em up--massa's nigger, dey don't neber run away;' and if the good lady's account of their prospects in doing so is correct (which, substituting biting for eating, on the part of the snakes, it undoubtedly is), one does not see exactly what particular merit the institution of slavery as practised on Mr. ----'s plantation derives from the fact that his 'nigger don't neber run away.' After dismissing Molly and her grand-daughter, I was about to re-enter the house, when I was stopped by Betty, head-man Frank's wife, who came with a petition that she might be baptised. As usual with all requests involving anything more than an immediate physical indulgence, I promised to refer the matter to Mr. ----, but expressed some surprise that Betty, now by no means a young woman, should have postponed a ceremony which the religious among the slaves are apt to attach much importance to. She told me she had more than once applied for this permission to Massa K---- (the former overseer), but had never been able to obtain it, but that now she thought she would ask 'de missis.'[2] [Footnote 2: Of this woman's life on the plantation, I subsequently learned the following circumstances:--She was the wife of head-man Frank, the most intelligent and trustworthy of Mr. ----'s slaves; the head driver--second in command to the overseer, and indeed second to none during the pestilential season, when the rice swamps cannot with impunity be inhabited by any white man, and when, therefore, the whole force employed in its cultivation on the island remains entirely under his authority and control. His wife--a tidy, trim, intelligent woman, with a pretty figure, but a decidedly negro face--was taken from him by the overseer left in charge of the plantation by the Messrs. ----, the all-efficient and all-satisfactory Mr. K----, and she had a son by him, whose straight features and diluted colour, no less than his troublesome, discontented and insubmissive disposition, bear witness to his Yankee descent. I do not know how long Mr. K----'s occupation of Frank's wife continued, or how the latter endured the wrong done to him. When I visited the island, Betty was again living with her husband--a grave, sad, thoughtful-looking man, whose admirable moral and mental qualities were extolled to me by no worse a judge of such matters than Mr. K---- himself, during the few days he spent with Mr. ----, while we were on the plantation. This outrage upon this man's rights was perfectly notorious among all the slaves; and his hopeful offspring, Renty, alluding very unmistakably to his superior birth on one occasion when he applied for permission to have a gun, observed that, though the people in general on the plantation were not allowed firearms, he thought he might, _on account of his colour_, and added that he thought Mr. K---- might have left him his. This precious sample of the mode in which the vices of the whites procure the intellectual progress of the blacks to their own endangerment, was, as you will easily believe, a significant chapter to me in the black history of oppression which is laid before my eyes in this place.] Yesterday afternoon I received a visit from the wife of our neighbour Dr. T----. As usual, she exclaimed at my good fortune in having a white woman with my children when she saw M----, and, as usual, went on to expatiate on the utter impossibility of finding a trustworthy nurse anywhere in the South, to whom your children could be safely confided for a day or even an hour; as usual too, the causes of this unworthiness or incapacity for a confidential servant's occupation were ignored, and the fact laid to the natural defects of the negro race. I am sick and weary of this cruel and ignorant folly. This afternoon I went out to refresh myself with a row on the broad Altamaha and the conversation of my slave Jack, which is, I assure you, by no means devoid of interest of various kinds, pathetic and humorous. I do not know that Jack's scientific information is the most valuable in the world, and I sometimes marvel with perhaps unjust incredulity at the facts in natural history which he imparts to me; for instance, to-day he told me as we rowed past certain mud islands, very like children's mud puddings on a rather larger scale than usual, that they were inaccessible, and that it would be quite impossible to land on one of them even for the shortest time. Not understanding why people who did not mind being up to their knees in mud should not land there if they pleased, I demurred to his assertion, when he followed it up by assuring me that there were what he called sand-sinks under the mud, and that whatever was placed on the surface would not only sink through the mud, but also into a mysterious quicksand of unknown depth and extent below it. This may be true, but sounds very strange, although I remember that the frequent occurrence of large patches of quicksand was found to be one of the principal impediments in the way of the canal speculators at Brunswick. I did not, however, hear that these sinks, as Jack called them, were found below a thick stratum of heavy mud. In remonstrating with him upon the want of decent cleanliness generally among the people, and citing to him one among the many evils resulting from it, the intolerable quantity of fleas in all the houses, he met me full with another fact in natural history which, if it be fact and not fiction, certainly gave him the best of the argument: he declared, with the utmost vehemence, that the sand of the pine woods on the mainland across the river literally swarmed with fleas--that in the uninhabited places the sand itself was full of them, and that so far from being a result of human habitation, they were found in less numbers round the negro huts on the mainland than in the lonely woods around them. The ploughing is at length fairly inaugurated, and there is a regular jubilee among the negroes thereat. After discoursing fluently on the improvements likely to result from the measure, Jack wound up by saying he had been afraid it would not be tried on account of the greater scarcity, and consequently greater value, of horses over men in these parts--a modest and slave-like conclusion. * * * * * Dearest E----. I walked up to-day, _February 14th_, to see that land of promise the ploughed field: it did not look to me anything like as heavy soil as the cold wet sour stiff clay I have seen turned up in some of the swampy fields round Lenox; and as for the cypress roots which were urged as so serious an impediment, they are not much more frequent, and certainly not as resisting, as the granite knees and elbows that stick out through the scanty covering of the said clay, which mother earth allows herself as sole garment for her old bones in many a Berkshire patch of corn. After my survey, as I walked home, I came upon a gang of lusty women, as the phrase is here for women in the family-way; they were engaged in burning stubble, and I was nearly choked while receiving the multitudinous complaints and compliments with which they overwhelmed me. After leaving them, I wandered along the river side on the dyke homeward, rejoicing in the buds and green things putting forth their tender shoots on every spray, in the early bees and even the less amiable wasps busy in the sunshine with flowers--(weeds I suppose they should be called), already opening their sweet temptations to them, and giving the earth a spring aspect, such as it does not wear with you in Massachusetts till late in May. In the afternoon I took my accustomed row: there had been a tremendous ebb tide, the consequence of which was to lay bare portions of the banks which I had not seen before. The cypress roots form a most extraordinary mass of intertwined wood-work, so closely matted and joined together, that the separate roots, in spite of their individual peculiarities, appeared only like divisions of a continuous body; they presented the appearance in several places of jagged pieces of splintered rock, with their huge teeth pointing downward into the water. Their decay is so slow that the protection they afford the soft spongy banks against the action of the water, is likely to be prolonged until the gathering and deposit of successive layers of alluvium will remove them from the margin of which they are now most useful supports. On my return home, I was met by a child (as she seemed to me) carrying a baby, in whose behalf she begged me for some clothes. On making some enquiry, I was amazed to find that the child was her own: she said she was married and fourteen years old, she looked much younger even than that, poor creature. Her mother, who came up while I was talking to her, said she did not herself know the girl's age;--how horridly brutish it all did seem, to be sure. The spring is already here with her hands full of flowers. I do not know who planted some straggling pyrus japonica near the house, but it is blessing my eyes with a hundred little flame-like buds, which will presently burst into a blaze; there are clumps of narcissus roots sending up sheaves of ivory blossoms, and I actually found a monthly rose in bloom on the sunny side of one of the dykes; what a delight they are in the slovenly desolation of this abode of mine! what a garden one might have on the banks of these dykes, with the least amount of trouble and care! In the afternoon I rowed over to Darien, and there procuring the most miserable vehicle calling itself a carriage that I had ever seen (the dirtiest and shabbiest London hackney-coach were a chariot of splendour and ease to it), we drove some distance into the sandy wilderness that surrounds the little town, to pay a visit to some of the resident gentry who had called upon us. The road was a deep wearisome sandy track, stretching wearisomely into the wearisome pine forest--a species of wilderness more oppressive a thousand times to the senses and imagination than any extent of monotonous prairie, barren steppe, or boundless desert can be; for the horizon there at least invites and detains the eye, suggesting beyond its limit possible change; the lights and shadows and enchanting colours of the sky afford some variety in their movement and change, and the reflections of their tints; while in this hideous and apparently boundless pine barren, you are deprived alike of horizon before you and heaven above you: nor sun nor star appears through the thick covert, which, in the shabby dinginess of its dark blue-green expanse, looks like a gigantic cotton umbrella stretched immeasurably over you. It is true that over that sandy soil a dark green cotton umbrella is a very welcome protection from the sun, and when the wind makes music in the tall pine-tops and refreshment in the air beneath them. The comparison may seem ungrateful enough: to-day, however, there was neither sound above nor motion below, and the heat was perfectly stifling, as we ploughed our way through the resinous-smelling sand solitudes. From time to time a thicket of exquisite evergreen shrubs broke the monotonous lines of the countless pine shafts rising round us, and still more welcome were the golden garlands of the exquisite wild jasmine, hanging, drooping, trailing, clinging, climbing through the dreary forest, joining to the warm aromatic smell of the fir trees a delicious fragrance as of acres of heliotrope in bloom. I wonder if this delightful creature is very difficult of cultivation out of its natural region; I never remember to have seen it, at least not in blossom, in any collection of plants in the Northern States or in Europe, where it certainly deserves an honourable place for its grace, beauty, and fragrance. On our drive we passed occasionally a tattered man or woman, whose yellow mud complexion, straight features, and singularly sinister countenance bespoke an entirely different race from the negro population in the midst of which they lived. These are the so-called pine-landers of Georgia, I suppose the most degraded race of human beings claiming an Anglo-Saxon origin that can be found on the face of the earth,--filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, penniless savages, without one of the nobler attributes which have been found occasionally allied to the vices of savage nature. They own no slaves, for they are almost without exception abjectly poor; they will not work, for that, as they conceive, would reduce them to an equality with the abhorred negroes; they squat, and steal, and starve, on the outskirts of this lowest of all civilised societies, and their countenances bear witness to the squalor of their condition and the utter degradation of their natures. To the crime of slavery, though they have no profitable part or lot in it, they are fiercely accessory, because it is the barrier that divides the black and white races, at the foot of which they lie wallowing in unspeakable degradation, but immensely proud of the base freedom which still separates them from the lash-driven tillers of the soil.[3] [Footnote 3: Of such is the white family so wonderfully described in Mrs. Stowe's 'Dred'--whose only slave brings up the orphaned children of his masters with such exquisitely grotesque and pathetic tenderness. From such the conscription which has fed the Southern army in the deplorable civil conflict now raging in America has drawn its rank and file. Better 'food for powder' the world could scarcely supply. Fierce and idle, with hardly one of the necessities or amenities that belong to civilised existence, they are hardy endurers of hardship, and reckless to a savage degree of the value of life, whether their own or others. The soldier's pay, received or promised, exceeds in amount per month anything they ever earned before per year, and the war they wage is one that enlists all their proud and ferocious instincts. It is against the Yankees--the northern sons of free soil, free toil and intelligence, the hated abolitionists whose success would sweep away slavery and reduce the southern white men to work--no wonder they are ready to fight to the death against this detestable alternative, especially as they look to victory as the certain promotion of the refuse of the 'poor white' population of the South, of which they are one and all members, to the coveted dignity of slaveholders.] The house at which our call was paid was set down in the midst of the Pine Barren with half-obliterated roads and paths round it, suggesting that it might be visited and was inhabited. It was large and not unhandsome, though curiously dilapidated considering that people were actually living in it; certain remnants of carving on the cornices and paint on the panels bore witness to some former stage of existence less neglected and deteriorated than the present. The old lady mistress of this most forlorn abode amiably enquired if so much exercise did not fatigue me; at first I thought she imagined I must have walked through the pine forest all the way from Darien, but she explained that she considered the drive quite an effort; and it is by no means uncommon to hear people in America talk of being dragged over bad roads in uneasy carriages as exercise, showing how very little they know the meaning of the word, and how completely they identify it with the idea of mere painful fatigue, instead of pleasurable exertion. Returning home, my reflections ran much on the possible future destiny of these vast tracts of sandy soil. It seems to me that the ground capable of supporting the evergreen growth, the luxuriant gardenia bushes, the bay myrtle, the beautiful magnolia grandiflora, and the powerful and gnarled live oaks, that find their sustenance in this earth and under this same sky as the fir trees, must be convertible into a prosperous habitation for other valuable vegetable growth that would add immensely to the wealth of the Southern States. The orange thrives and bears profusely along this part of the sea-board of Georgia; and I cannot conceive that the olive, the mulberry, and the vine might not be acclimated and successfully and profitably cultivated throughout the whole of this region, the swampy lower lands alone remaining as rice plantations. The produce of these already exceeds in value that of the once gold-growing cotton-fields, and I cannot help believing that silk and wine and oil may, and will, hereafter, become, with the present solitary cotton crop, joint possessors of all this now but half-reclaimed wilderness. The soil all round Sorrento is very nearly as light and dry and sandy as this, and vineyards and olive orchards and cocooneries are part of the agricultural wealth there. Our neighbour Mr. C---- has successfully cultivated the date-palm in his garden on the edge of the sea, at St. Simon's, and certainly the ilex, orange, and myrtle abounding here suggest natural affinities between the Italian soil and climate and this. I must tell you something funny which occurred yesterday at dinner, which will give you some idea of the strange mode in which we live. We have now not unfrequently had mutton at table, the flavour of which is quite excellent, as indeed it well may be, for it is raised under all the conditions of the famous _Pré salé_ that the French gourmands especially prize, and which are reproduced on our side of the channel in the peculiar qualities of our best South Down. The mutton we have here grazes on the short sweet grass at St. Simon's within sea-salt influence, and is some of the very best I have ever tasted, but it is invariably brought to table in lumps or chunks of no particular shape or size, and in which it is utterly impossible to recognise any part of the quadruped creature sheep with which my eyes have hitherto become acquainted. Eat it, one may and does thankfully; name it, one could not by any possibility. Having submitted to this for some time, I at length enquired why a decent usual Christian joint of mutton--leg, shoulder, or saddle--was never brought to table: the reply was that the _carpenter_ always cut up the meat, and that he did not know how to do it otherwise than by dividing it into so many thick square pieces, and proceeding to chop it up on that principle; and the consequence of this is that _four lumps_ or _chunks_ are all that a whole sheep ever furnishes to our table by this artistic and economical process. This morning I have been to the hospital to see a poor woman who has just enriched Mr. ---- by _borning_ him another slave. The poor little piccaninny, as they called it, was not one bit uglier than white babies under similarly novel circumstances, except in one particular, that it had a head of hair like a trunk, in spite of which I had all the pains in the world in persuading its mother not to put a cap upon it. I bribed her finally, by the promise of a pair of socks instead, with which I undertook to endow her child, and, moreover, actually prevailed upon her to forego the usual swaddling and swathing process, and let her poor baby be dressed at its first entrance into life as I assured her both mine had been. On leaving the hospital I visited the huts all along the street, confiscating sundry refractory baby caps among shrieks and outcries, partly of laughter and partly of real ignorant alarm for the consequence. I think if this infatuation for hot head-dresses continues, I shall make shaving the children's heads the only condition upon which they shall be allowed to wear caps. On Sunday morning I went over to Darien to church. Our people's church was closed, the minister having gone to officiate elsewhere. With laudable liberality I walked into the opposite church of a different, not to say opposite sect: here I heard a sermon, the opening of which will, probably, edify you as it did me, viz., that if a man was _just in all his dealings_ he was apt to think he did all that could be required of him,--and no wide mistake either one might suppose. But is it not wonderful how such words can be spoken here, with the most absolute unconsciousness of their tremendous bearing upon the existence of every slaveholder who hears them? Certainly the use that is second nature has made the awful injustice in the daily practice of which these people live, a thing of which they are as little aware as you or I of the atmospheric air that we inhale each time we breathe. The bulk of the congregation in this church was white. The negroes are, of course, not allowed to mix with their masters in the house of God, and there is no special place set apart for them. Occasionally one or two are to be seen in the corners of the singing gallery, but any more open pollution by them of their owners' church could not be tolerated. Mr. ----'s people have petitioned very vehemently that he would build a church for them on the island. I doubt, however, his allowing them such a luxury as a place of worship all to themselves. Such a privilege might not be well thought of by the neighbouring planters; indeed, it is almost what one might call a whity-brown idea, dangerous, demoralising, inflammatory, incendiary. I should not wonder if I should be suspected of being the chief corner-stone of it, and yet I am not: it is an old hope and entreaty of these poor people, which am afraid they are not destined to see fulfilled. * * * * * Dearest E----. Passing the rice-mill this morning in my walk, I went in to look at the machinery, the large steam mortars which shell the rice, and which work under the intelligent and reliable supervision of Engineer Ned. I was much surprised, in the course of conversation with him this morning, to find how much older a man he was than he appeared. Indeed his youthful appearance had hitherto puzzled me much in accounting for his very superior intelligence and the important duties confided to him. He is, however, a man upwards of forty years old, although he looks ten years younger. He attributed his own uncommonly youthful appearance to the fact of his never having done what he called field work, or been exposed, as the common gang negroes are, to the hardships of their all but brutish existence. He said his former master had brought him up very kindly, and he had learnt to tend the engines, and had never been put to any other work, but he said this was not the case with his poor wife. He wished she was as well off as he was, but she had to work in the rice-fields and was 'most broke in two' with labour and exposure and hard work while with child, and hard work just directly after child-bearing; he said she could hardly crawl, and he urged me very much to speak a kind word for her to massa. She was almost all the time in hospital, and he thought she could not live long. Now, E----, here is another instance of the horrible injustice of this system of slavery. In my country or in yours, a man endowed with sufficient knowledge and capacity to be an engineer would, of course, be in the receipt of considerable wages; his wife would, together with himself, reap the advantages of his ability, and share the well-being his labour earned; he would be able to procure for her comfort in sickness or in health, and beyond the necessary household work, which the wives of most artisans are inured to, she would have no labour to encounter; in case of sickness even these would be alleviated by the assistance of some stout girl of all work, or kindly neighbour, and the tidy parlour or snug bed-room would be her retreat if unequal to the daily duties of her own kitchen. Think of such a lot compared with that of the head engineer of Mr. ----'s plantation, whose sole wages are his coarse food and raiment and miserable hovel, and whose wife, covered with one filthy garment of ragged texture and dingy colour, bare-footed and bare-headed, is daily driven a-field to labour with aching pain-racked joints, under the lash of a driver, or lies languishing on the earthen floor of the dismal plantation hospital in a condition of utter physical destitution and degradation such as the most miserable dwelling of the poorest inhabitant of your free Northern villages never beheld the like of. Think of the rows of tidy tiny houses in the long suburbs of Boston and Philadelphia, inhabited by artisans of just the same grade as this poor Ned, with their white doors and steps, their hydrants of inexhaustible fresh flowing water, the innumerable appliances for decent comfort of their cheerful rooms, the gay wardrobe of the wife, her cotton prints for daily use, her silk for Sunday church-going; the careful comfort of the children's clothing, the books and newspapers in the little parlour, the daily district school, the weekly parish church: imagine if you can--but you are happy that you cannot--the contrast between such an existence and that of the best mechanic on a Southern plantation. Did you ever read (but I am sure you never did, and no more did I), an epic poem on fresh-water fish? Well, such a one was once written, I have forgotten by whom, but assuredly the heroine of it ought to have been the Altamaha shad--a delicate creature, so superior to the animal you northerners devour with greedy thankfulness when the spring sends back their finny drove to your colder waters, that one would not suppose these were of the same family, instead of being, as they really are, precisely the same fish. Certainly the mud of the Altamaha must have some most peculiar virtues; and, by the by, I have never anywhere tasted such delicious tea as that which we make with this same turbid stream, the water of which duly filtered, of course, has some peculiar softness which affects the tea (and it is the same we always use) in a most curious and agreeable manner. On my return to the house I found a terrible disturbance in consequence of the disappearance from under cook John's safe keeping, of a ham Mr. ----- had committed to his charge. There was no doubt whatever that the unfortunate culinary slave had made away in some inscrutable manner with the joint intended for our table: the very lies he told about it were so curiously shallow, child-like, and transparent, that while they confirmed the fact of his theft quite as much if not more than an absolute confession would have done, they provoked at once my pity and my irrepressible mirth to a most painful degree. Mr. ---- was in a state of towering anger and indignation, and besides a flogging sentenced the unhappy cook to degradation from his high and dignified position (and, alas! all its sweets of comparatively easy labour and good living from the remains of our table) to the hard toil, coarse scanty fare, and despised position of a common field hand. I suppose some punishment was inevitably necessary in such a plain case of deliberate theft as this, but, nevertheless, my whole soul revolts at the injustice of visiting upon these poor wretches a moral darkness which all possible means are taken to increase and perpetuate. In speaking of this and the whole circumstance of John's trespass to Mr. ---- in the evening, I observed that the ignorance of these poor people ought to screen them from punishment. He replied, that they knew well enough what was right and wrong. I asked how they could be expected to know it? He replied, by the means of Cooper London, and the religious instruction he gave them. So that, after all, the appeal is to be made against themselves to that moral and religious instruction which is withheld from them, and which, if they obtain it at all, is the result of their own unaided and unencouraged exertion. The more I hear, and see, and learn, and ponder the whole of this system of slavery, the more impossible I find it to conceive how its practisers and upholders are to justify their deeds before the tribunal of their own conscience or God's law. It is too dreadful to have those whom we love accomplices to this wickedness; it is too intolerable to find myself an involuntary accomplice to it. I had a conversation the next morning with Abraham, cook John's brother, upon the subject of his brother's theft; and only think of the _slave_ saying that 'this action had brought disgrace upon the family.' Does not that sound very like the very best sort of free pride, the pride of character, the honourable pride of honesty, integrity, and fidelity? But this was not all, for this same Abraham, a clever carpenter and much valued _hand_ on the estate, went on, in answer to my questions, to tell me such a story that I declare to you I felt as if I could have howled with helpless indignation and grief when he departed and went to resume his work. His grandfather had been an old slave in Darien, extremely clever as a carpenter, and so highly valued for his skill and good character that his master allowed him to purchase his liberty by money which he earned by working for himself at odd times, when his task work was over. I asked Abraham what sum his grandfather paid for his freedom: he said he did not know, but he supposed a large one, because of his being a 'skilled carpenter,' and so a peculiarly valuable chattel. I presume, from what I remember Major M---- and Dr. H---- saying on the subject of the market value of negroes in Charleston and Savannah, that such a man in the prime of life would have been worth from 1,500 to 2,000 dollars. However, whatever the man paid for his ransom, by his grandson's account, fourteen years after he became free, when he died, he had again amassed money to the amount of 700 dollars, which he left among his wife and children, the former being a slave on Major ----'s estate, where the latter remained by virtue of that fact slaves also. So this man not only bought his own freedom at a cost of _at least_ 1,000 dollars, but left a little fortune of 700 more at his death: and then we are told of the universal idleness, thriftlessness, incorrigible sloth, and brutish incapacity of this inferior race of creatures, whose only fitting and Heaven-appointed condition is that of beasts of burthen to the whites. I do not believe the whole low white population of the state of Georgia could furnish such an instance of energy, industry, and thrift, as the amassing of this laborious little fortune by this poor slave, who left, nevertheless, his children and grandchildren to the lot from which he had so heroically ransomed himself: and yet the white men with whom I live and talk tell me, day after day, that there is neither cruelty nor injustice in this accursed system. About half-past five I went to walk on the dykes, and met a gang of the field-hands going to the tide-mill, as the water served them for working then. I believe I have told you that besides the great steam mill there is this, which is dependent on the rise and fall of the tide in the river, and where the people are therefore obliged to work by day or night at whatever time the water serves to impel the wheel. They greeted me with their usual profusion of exclamations, petitions, and benedictions, and I parted from them to come and oversee my slave Jack, for whom I had bought a spade, and to whom I had entrusted the task of turning up some ground for me, in which I wanted to establish some of the Narcissus and other flowers I had remarked about the ground and the house. Jack, however, was a worse digger than Adam could have been when first he turned his hand to it, after his expulsion from Paradise. I think I could have managed a spade with infinitely more efficiency, or rather less incapacity, than he displayed. Upon my expressing my amazement at his performance, he said the people here never used spades, but performed all their agricultural operations with the hoe. Their soil must be very light and their agriculture very superficial, I should think. However, I was obliged to terminate Jack's spooning process and abandon, for the present, my hopes of a flower-bed created by his industry, being called into the house to receive the return visit of old Mrs. S----. As usual, the appearance, health, vigour, and good management of the children were the theme of wondering admiration; as usual, my possession of a white nurse the theme of envious congratulation; as usual, I had to hear the habitual senseless complaints of the inefficiency of coloured nurses. If you are half as tired of the sameness and stupidity of the conversation of my southern female neighbours as I am, I pity you; but not as much as I pity them for the stupid sameness of their most vapid existence, which would deaden any amount of intelligence, obliterate any amount of instruction, and render torpid and stagnant any amount of natural energy and vivacity. I would rather die--rather a thousand times--than live the lives of these Georgia planters' wives and daughters. Mrs. S---- had brought me some of the delicious wild jasmine that festoons her dreary pine-wood drive, and most grateful I was for the presence of the sweet wild nosegay in my highly unornamental residence. When my visitors had left me, I took the refreshment of a row over to Darien; and as we had the tide against us coming back, the process was not so refreshing for the rowers. The evening was so extremely beautiful, and the rising of the moon so exquisite, that instead of retreating to the house when I reached the island, I got into the Dolphin, my special canoe, and made Jack paddle me down the great river to meet the Lily, which was coming back from St. Simon's with Mr. ---- who has been preparing all things for our advent thither. My letter has been interrupted, dear E----, by the breaking up of our residence on the rice plantation, and our arrival at St. Simon's, whence I now address you. We came down yesterday afternoon, and I was thankful enough of the fifteen miles' row to rest in, from the labour of leave-taking, with which the whole morning was taken up, and which, combined with packing and preparing all our own personalities and those of the children, was no sinecure. At every moment one or other of the poor people rushed in upon me to bid me good-bye; many of their farewells were grotesque enough, some were pathetic, and all of them made me very sad. Poor people! how little I have done, how little I can do for them. I had a long talk with that interesting and excellent man, Cooper London, who made an earnest petition that I would send him from the North a lot of Bibles and Prayer Books; certainly the science of reading must be much more common among the negroes than I supposed, or London must look to a marvellously increased spread of the same hereafter. There is, however, considerable reticence upon this point, or else the poor slaves must consider the mere possession of the holy books as good for salvation and as effectual for spiritual assistance to those who cannot as to those who can comprehend them. Since the news of our departure has spread, I have had repeated eager entreaties for presents of Bibles and Prayer Books, and to my demurrer of 'But you can't read; can you?' have generally received for answer a reluctant acknowledgement of ignorance, which, however, did not always convince me of the fact. In my farewell conversation with London I found it impossible to get him to tell me how he had learned to read: the penalties for teaching them are very severe, heavy fines, increasing in amount for the first and second offence, and imprisonment for the third.[4] Such a man as London is certainly aware that to teach the slaves to read is an illegal act, and he may have been unwilling to betray whoever had been his preceptor even to my knowledge; at any rate, I got no answers from him but 'Well, missis, me learn; well, missis, me try,' and finally, 'Well, missis, me 'spose Heaven help me;' to which I could only reply, that I knew Heaven was helpful, but very hardly to the tune of teaching folks their letters. I got no satisfaction. Old Jacob, the father of Abraham, cook John, and poor Psyche's husband, took a most solemn and sad leave of me, saying he did not expect ever to see me again. I could not exactly tell why, because, though he is aged and infirm, the fifteen miles between the rice plantation and St. Simon's do not appear so insuperable a barrier between the inhabitants of the two places, which I represented to him as a suggestion of consolation. [Footnote 4: These laws have been greatly increased in stringency and severity since these letters were written, and _death_ has not been reckoned too heavy a penalty for those who should venture to offer these unfortunate people the fruit of that forbidden tree of knowledge, their access to which has appeared to their owners the crowning danger of their own precarious existence among their terrible dependents.] I have worked my fingers nearly off with making, for the last day or two, innumerable rolls of coarse little baby clothes, layettes for the use of small new-born slaves; M---- diligently cutting and shaping, and I as diligently stitching. We leave a good supply for the hospitals, and for the individual clients besides who have besieged me ever since my departure became imminent. Our voyage from the rice to the cotton plantation was performed in the Lily, which looked like a soldier's baggage wagon and an emigrant transport combined. Our crew consisted of eight men. Forward in the bow were miscellaneous live stock, pots, pans, household furniture, kitchen utensils, and an indescribable variety of heterogeneous necessaries. Enthroned upon beds, bedding, tables, and other chattels, sat that poor pretty chattel Psyche, with her small chattel children. Midships sat the two tiny free women, and myself, and in the stern Mr. ---- steering. And 'all in the blue unclouded weather' we rowed down the huge stream, the men keeping time and tune to their oars with extemporaneous chaunts of adieu to the rice island and its denizens. Among other poetical and musical comments on our departure recurred the assertion, as a sort of burthen, that we were 'parted in body, but not in mind,' from those we left behind. Having relieved one set of sentiments by this reflection, they very wisely betook themselves to the consideration of the blessings that remained to them, and performed a spirited chaunt in honour of Psyche and our bouncing black housemaid, Mary. At the end of a fifteen miles' row we entered one among a perfect labyrinth of arms or branches, into which the broad river ravels like a fringe as it reaches the sea, a dismal navigation along a dismal tract, called 'Five Pound,' through a narrow cut or channel of water divided from the main stream. The conch was sounded, as at our arrival at the rice island, and we made our descent on the famous long staple cotton island of St. Simon's, where we presently took up our abode in what had all the appearance of an old half-decayed rattling farm-house. This morning, Sunday, I peeped round its immediate neighbourhood, and saw, to my inexpressible delight, within hail, some noble-looking evergreen oaks, and close to the house itself a tiny would-be garden, a plot of ground with one or two peach-trees in full blossom, tufts of silver narcissus and jonquils, a quantity of violets and an exquisite myrtle bush; wherefore I said my prayers with especial gratitude. * * * * * Dearest E----. The fame of my peculiar requisitions has, I find, preceded me here, for the babies that have been presented to my admiring notice have all been without caps; also, however, without socks to their opposite little wretched extremities, but that does not signify quite so much. The people, too, that I saw yesterday were remarkably clean and tidy; to be sure, it was Sunday. The whole day, till quite late in the afternoon, the house was surrounded by a crowd of our poor dependents, waiting to catch a glimpse of Mr. ----, myself, or the children; and until, from sheer weariness, I was obliged to shut the doors, an incessant stream poured in and out, whose various modes of salutation, greeting, and welcome were more grotesque and pathetic at the same time than anything you can imagine. In the afternoon I walked with ---- to see a new house in process of erection, which, when it is finished, is to be the overseer's abode and our residence during any future visits we may pay to the estate. I was horrified at the dismal site selected, and the hideous house erected on it. It is true that the central position is the principal consideration in the overseer's location, but both position and building seemed to me to witness to an inveterate love of ugliness, or at any rate a deadness to every desire of beauty, nothing short of horrible; and for my own part, I think it is intolerable to have to leave the point where the waters meet, and where a few fine picturesque old trees are scattered about, to come to this place even for the very short time I am ever likely to spend here. In every direction our view, as we returned, was bounded by thickets of the most beautiful and various evergreen growth, which beckoned my inexperience most irresistibly. ---- said, to my unutterable horror, that they were perfectly infested with rattlesnakes, and I must on no account go 'beating about the bush' in these latitudes, as the game I should be likely to start would be anything but agreeable to me. We saw quantities of wild plum-trees all silvery with blossoms, and in lovely companionship and contrast with them a beautiful shrub covered with delicate pink bloom like flowering peach-trees. After that life in the rice-swamp, where the Altamaha kept looking over the dyke at me all the time as I sat in the house writing or working, it is pleasant to be on _terra firma_ again, and to know that the river is at the conventional, not to say natural, depth below its banks, and under my feet instead of over my head. The two plantations are of diametrically opposite dispositions--that is all swamp, and this all sand; or to speak more accurately, that is all swamp, and all of this that is not swamp, is sand. On our way home we met a most extraordinary creature of the negro kind, who, coming towards us, halted, and caused us to halt straight in the middle of the path, when bending himself down till his hands almost touched the ground, he exclaimed to Mr. ----, 'Massa ----, your most obedient;' and then, with a kick and a flourish altogether indescribable, he drew to the side of the path to let us pass, which we did perfectly shouting with laughter, which broke out again every time we looked at each other and stopped to take breath--so sudden, grotesque, uncouth, and yet dexterous a gambado never came into the brain or out of the limbs of anything but a 'niggar.' I observed, among the numerous groups that we passed or met, a much larger proportion of mulattoes than at the rice-island; upon asking Mr. ---- why this was so, he said that there no white person could land without his or the overseer's permission, whereas on St. Simon's, which is a large island containing several plantations belonging to different owners, of course the number of whites, both residing on and visiting the place, was much greater, and the opportunity for intercourse between the blacks and whites much more frequent. While we were still on this subject, a horrid-looking filthy woman met us with a little child in her arms, a very light mulatto, whose extraordinary resemblance to Driver Bran (one of the officials, who had been duly presented to me on my arrival, and who was himself a mulatto) struck me directly. I pointed it out to Mr. ----, who merely answered, 'Very likely his child.' 'And,' said I, 'did you never remark that Driver Bran is the exact image of Mr. K----?' 'Very likely his brother,' was the reply: all which rather unpleasant state of relationships seemed accepted as such a complete matter of course, that I felt rather uncomfortable, and said no more about who was like who, but came to certain conclusions in my own mind as to a young lad who had been among our morning visitors, and whose extremely light colour and straight handsome features and striking resemblance to Mr. K----, had suggested suspicions of a rather unpleasant nature to me, and whose sole-acknowledged parent was a very black negress of the name of Minda. I have no doubt at all, now, that he is another son of Mr. K----, Mr. ----'s paragon overseer. As we drew near the house again we were gradually joined by such a numerous escort of Mr. ----'s slaves that it was almost with difficulty we could walk along the path. They buzzed, and hummed, and swarmed round us like flies, and the heat and dust consequent upon this friendly companionship were a most unpleasant addition to the labour of walking in the sandy soil through which we were ploughing. I was not sorry when we entered the house and left our bodyguard outside. In the evening I looked over the plan of the delightful residence I had visited in the morning, and could not help suggesting to Mr. ---- the advantage to be gained in point of picturesqueness by merely turning the house round. It is but a wooden frame one after all, and your folks 'down east' would think no more of inviting it to face about than if it was built of cards; but the fact is, here nothing signifies except the cotton crop, and whether one's nose is in a swamp and one's eyes in a sand-heap, is of no consequence whatever either to oneself (if oneself was not I) or anyone else. I find here an immense proportion of old people; the work and the climate of the rice plantation require the strongest of the able-bodied men and women of the estate. The cotton crop is no longer by any means as paramount in value as it used to be, and the climate, soil, and labour of St. Simon's are better adapted to old, young, and feeble cultivators, than the swamp fields of the rice-island. I wonder if I ever told you of the enormous decrease in value of this same famous sea-island long staple cotton. When Major ----, Mr. ----'s grandfather, first sent the produce of this plantation where we now are to England, it was of so fine a quality that it used to be quoted by itself in the Liverpool cotton market, and was then worth half a guinea a pound; it is now not worth a shilling a pound. This was told me by the gentleman in Liverpool who has been factor for this estate for thirty years. Such a decrease as this in the value of one's crop and the steady increase at the same time of a slave population, now numbering between 700 and 800 bodies to clothe and house,--mouths to feed, while the land is being exhausted by the careless and wasteful nature of the agriculture itself, suggests a pretty serious prospect of declining prosperity; and, indeed, unless these Georgia cotton planters can command more land or lay abundant capital (which they have not, being almost all of them over head and ears in debt) upon that which has already spent its virgin vigour, it is a very obvious thing that they must all very soon be eaten up by their own property. The rice plantations are a great thing to fall back upon under these circumstances, and the rice crop is now quite as valuable, if not more so, than the cotton one on Mr. ----'s estates, once so famous and prosperous through the latter. I find any number of all but superannuated men and women here, whose tales of the former grandeur of the estate and family are like things one reads of in novels. One old woman who crawled to see me, and could hardly lift her poor bowed head high enough to look in my face, had been in Major ----'s establishment in Philadelphia, and told with infinite pride of having waited upon his daughters and grand-daughters, Mr. ----'s sisters. Yet here she is, flung by like an old rag, crippled with age and disease, living, or rather dying by slow degrees in a miserable hovel, such as no decent household servant would at the North, I suppose, ever set their foot in. The poor old creature complained bitterly to me of all her ailments and all her wants. I can do little, alas! for either. I had a visit from another tottering old crone called Dorcas, who all but went on her knees as she wrung and kissed my hands; with her came my friend Molly, the grandmother of the poor runaway girl, Louisa, whose story I wrote you some little time ago. I had to hear it all over again, it being the newest event evidently in Molly's life; and it ended as before with the highly reasonable proposition: 'Me say, missis, what for massa's niggar run away? Snake eat em up, or dey starve to def in a swamp. Massa's niggars dey don't nebbar run away.' If I was 'massa's niggars,' I 'spose' I shouldn't run away either, with only those alternatives, but when I look at these wretches and at the sea that rolls round this island, and think how near the English West Indies and freedom are, it gives me a pretty severe twinge at the heart. * * * * * Dearest E----. I am afraid my letters must be becoming very wearisome to you, for if, as the copy-book runs, 'variety is charming,' they certainly cannot be so, unless monotony is also charming, a thing not impossible to some minds, but of which the copy-book makes no mention. But what will you? as the French say; my days are no more different from one another than peas in a dish, or sands on the shore: 'tis a pleasant enough life to live, for one who, like myself, has a passion for dulness, but it affords small matter for epistolary correspondence. I suppose it is the surfeit of excitement that I had in my youth that has made a life of quiet monotony so extremely agreeable to me; it is like stillness after loud noise, twilight after glare, rest after labour. There is enough strangeness too in everything that surrounds me here to interest and excite me agreeably and sufficiently, and I should like the wild savage loneliness of the far away existence extremely, if it were not for the one small item of 'the slavery.' I had a curious visit this morning from half a dozen of the women, among whom were Driver Morris's wife and Venus (a hideous old goddess she was, to be sure), Driver Bran's mother. They came especially to see the children, who are always eagerly asked for, and hugely admired by their sooty dependents. These poor women went into ecstasies over the little white piccaninnies, and were loud and profuse in their expressions of gratitude to massa ---- for getting married and having children, a matter of thankfulness which, though it always makes me laugh very much, is a most serious one to them; for the continuance of the family keeps the estate and slaves from the hammer, and the poor wretches, besides seeing in every new child born to their owners a security against their own banishment from the only home they know, and separation from all ties of kindred and habit, and dispersion to distant plantations, not unnaturally look for a milder rule from masters who are the children of their fathers' masters. The relation of owner and slave may be expected to lose some of its harsher features, and, no doubt, in some instances, does so, when it is on each side the inheritance of successive generations. And so ----'s slaves laud, and applaud, and thank, and bless him for having married, and endowed their children with two little future mistresses. One of these women, a Diana by name, went down on her knees and uttered in a loud voice a sort of extemporaneous prayer of thanksgiving at our advent, in which the sacred and the profane were most ludicrously mingled; her 'tanks to de good Lord God Almighty that missus had come, what give de poor niggar sugar and flannel,' and dat 'massa ----, him hab brought de missis and de two little misses down among de people,' were really too grotesque; and yet certainly more sincere acts of thanksgiving are not often uttered among the solemn and decorous ones that are offered up to heaven for 'benefits received.' I find the people here much more inclined to talk than those on the rice-island; they have less to do and more leisure, and bestow it very liberally on me; moreover, the poor old women, of whom there are so many turned out to grass here, and of whom I have spoken to you before, though they are past work, are by no means past gossip, and the stories they have to tell of the former government of the estate under old Massa K---- are certainly pretty tremendous illustrations of the merits of slavery as a moral institution. This man, the father of the late owner, Mr. R---- K----, was Major ----'s agent in the management of this property; and a more cruel and unscrupulous one as regards the slaves themselves, whatever he may have been in his dealings with the master, I should think it would be difficult to find, even among the cruel and unscrupulous class to which he belonged. In a conversation with old 'House Molly,' as she is called, to distinguish her from all other Mollies on the estate, she having had the honour of being a servant in Major ----'s house for many years, I asked her if the relation between men and women who are what they call married, i.e., who have agreed to live together as man and wife (the only species of marriage formerly allowed on the estate, I believe now London may read the Marriage Service to them), was considered binding by the people themselves and by the overseer. She said 'not much, formerly,' and that the people couldn't be expected to have much regard to such an engagement, utterly ignored as it was by Mr. K----, whose invariable rule, if he heard of any disagreement between a man and woman calling themselves married, was immediately to bestow them in 'marriage' on other parties, whether they chose it or not, by which summary process the slightest 'incompatibility of temper' received the relief of a divorce more rapid and easy than even Germany could afford, and the estate lost nothing by any prolongation of celibacy on either side. Of course, the misery consequent upon such arbitrary destruction of voluntary and imposition of involuntary ties was nothing to Mr. K----. I was very sorry to hear to-day, that Mr. O----, the overseer at the rice-island, of whom I have made mention to you more than once in my letters, had had one of the men flogged very severely for getting his wife baptised. I was quite unable, from the account I received, to understand what his objection had been to the poor man's desire to make his wife at least a formal Christian; but it does seem dreadful that such an act should be so visited. I almost wish I was back again at the rice-island; for though this is every way the pleasanter residence, I hear so much more that is intolerable of the treatment of the slaves from those I find here, that my life is really made wretched by it. There is not a single natural right that is not taken away from these unfortunate people, and the worst of all is, that their condition does not appear to me, upon further observation of it, to be susceptible of even partial alleviation as long as the fundamental evil, the slavery itself, remains. My letter was interrupted as usual by clamours for my presence at the door, and petitions for sugar, rice, and baby clothes, from a group of women who had done their tasks at three o'clock in the afternoon, and had come to say, 'Ha do missis?' (How do you do?), and beg something on their way to their huts. Observing one among them whose hand was badly maimed, one finger being reduced to a mere stump, she told me it was in consequence of the bite of a rattlesnake, which had attacked and bitten her child, and then struck her as she endeavoured to kill it; her little boy had died, but one of the drivers cut off her finger, and so she had escaped with the loss of that member only. It is yet too early in the season for me to make acquaintance with these delightful animals; but the accounts the negroes give of their abundance is full of agreeable promise for the future. It seems singular, considering how very common they are, that there are not more frequent instances of the slaves being bitten by them; to be sure, they seem to me to have a holy horror of ever setting their feet near either tree or bush, or anywhere but on the open road, and the fields where they labour; and of course the snakes are not so frequent in open and frequented places, as in their proper coverts. The Red Indians are said to use successfully some vegetable cure for the bite, I believe the leaves of the slippery ash or elm; the only infallible remedy, however, is suction, but of this the ignorant negroes are so afraid, that they never can be induced to have recourse to it, being of course immovably persuaded that the poison which is so fatal to the blood, must be equally so to the stomach. They tell me that the cattle wandering into the brakes and bushes are often bitten to death by these deadly creatures; the pigs, whose fat it seems does not accept the venom into its tissues with the same effect, escape unhurt for the most part--so much for the anti-venomous virtue of adipose matter--a consolatory consideration for such of us as are inclined to take on flesh more than we think graceful. _Monday morning, 25th._--This letter has been long on the stocks, dear E----. I have been busy all day, and tired, and lazy in the evening latterly, and, moreover, feel as if such very dull matter was hardly worth sending all the way off to where you are happy to be. However, that is nonsense; I know well enough that you are glad to hear from me, be it what it will, and so I resume my chronicle. Some of my evenings have been spent in reading Mr. Clay's anti-abolition speech, and making notes on it, which I will show you when we meet. What a cruel pity and what a cruel shame it is that such a man should either know no better or do no better for his country than he is doing now! Yesterday I for the first time bethought me of the riding privileges of which Jack used to make such magnificent mention when he was fishing with me at the rice-island; and desiring to visit the remoter parts of the plantation and the other end of the island, I enquired into the resources of the stable. I was told I could have a mare with foal; but I declined adding my weight to what the poor beast already carried, and my only choice then was between one who had just foaled, or a fine stallion used as a plough horse on the plantation. I determined for the latter, and shall probably be handsomely shaken whenever I take my rides abroad. _Tuesday, the 26th._--My dearest E----. I write to you to-day in great depression and distress. I have had a most painful conversation with Mr. ----, who has declined receiving any of the people's petitions through me. Whether he is wearied with the number of these prayers and supplications which he would escape but for me, as they probably would not venture to come so incessantly to him, and I of course feel bound to bring every one confided to me to him; or whether he has been annoyed at the number of pitiful and horrible stories of misery and oppression under the former rule of Mr. K----, which have come to my knowledge since I have been here, and the grief and indignation caused, but which cannot by any means always be done away with, though their expression may be silenced by his angry exclamations of 'Why do you listen to such stuff?' or 'Why do you believe such trash; don't you know the niggers are all d----d liars?' &c. I do not know; but he desired me this morning to bring him no more complaints or requests of any sort, as the people had hitherto had no such advocate, and had done very well without, and I was only kept in an incessant state of excitement with all the falsehoods they 'found they could make me believe.' How well they have done without my advocacy, the conditions which I see with my own eyes even more than their pitiful petitions demonstrate; it is indeed true, that the sufferings of those who come to me for redress, and still more the injustice done to the great majority who cannot, have filled my heart with bitterness and indignation that have overflowed my lips, till, I suppose, ---- is weary of hearing what he has never heard before, the voice of passionate expostulation, and importunate pleading against wrongs that he will not even acknowledge, and for creatures whose common humanity with his own I half think he does not believe;--but I must return to the North, for my condition would be almost worse than theirs--condemned to hear and see so much wretchedness, not only without the means of alleviating it, but without permission even to represent it for alleviation--this is no place for me, since I was not born among slaves, and cannot bear to live among them. Perhaps after all what he says is true: when I am gone they will fall back into the desperate uncomplaining habit of suffering, from which my coming among them, willing to hear and ready to help, has tempted them; he says that bringing their complaints to me, and the sight of my credulous commiseration, only tend to make them discontented and idle, and brings renewed chastisement upon them; and that so, instead of really befriending them, I am only preparing more suffering for them whenever I leave the place, and they can no more cry to me for help. And so I see nothing for it but to go and leave them to their fate; perhaps, too, he is afraid of the mere contagion of freedom which breathes from the very existence of those who are free; my way of speaking to the people, of treating them, of living with them, the appeals I make to their sense of truth, of duty, of self-respect, the infinite compassion and the human consideration I feel for them,--all this of course makes my intercourse with them dangerously suggestive of relations far different from anything they have ever known, and as Mr. O---- once almost hinted to me, my existence among slaves was an element of danger to the 'institution.' If I should go away, the human sympathy that I have felt for them will certainly never come near them again. I was too unhappy to write any more, my dear friend, and you have been spared the rest of my paroxysm, which hereabouts culminated in the blessed refuge of abundant tears. God will provide. He has not forgotten, nor will He forsake these His poor children; and if I may no longer minister to them, they yet are in His hand, who cares for them more and better than I can. Towards the afternoon yesterday, I rowed up the river to the rice-island, by way of refreshment to my spirits, and came back to-day, Wednesday the 27th, through rather a severe storm. Before going to bed last night I finished Mr. Clay's speech, and ground my teeth over it. Before starting this morning I received from head-man Frank a lesson on the various qualities of the various sorts of rice, and should be (at any rate till I forget all he told me, which I 'feel in my bones' will be soon) a competent judge and expert saleswoman. The dead white speck, which shows itself sometimes in rice as it does in teeth, is in the former, as in the latter, a sign of decay; the finest quality of rice is what may be called flinty, clear and unclouded, and a pretty clean sparkling-looking thing it is. I will tell you something curious and pleasant about my row back. The wind was so high and the river so rough when I left the rice-island, that just as I was about to get into the boat I thought it might not be amiss to carry my life-preserver with me, and ran back to the house to fetch it. Having taken that much care for my life, I jumped into the boat, and we pushed off. The fifteen miles' row with a furious wind, and part of the time the tide against us, and the huge broad turbid river broken into a foaming sea of angry waves, was a pretty severe task for the men. They pulled with a will, however, but I had to forego the usual accompaniment of their voices, for the labour was tremendous, especially towards the end of our voyage, where, of course, the nearness of the sea increased the roughness of the water terribly. The men were in great spirits, however (there were eight of them rowing, and one behind was steering); one of them said something which elicited an exclamation of general assent, and I asked what it was; the steerer said they were pleased because there was not another planter's lady in all Georgia who would have gone through the storm all alone with them in a boat; i.e. without the protecting presence of a white man. 'Why,' said I, 'my good fellows, if the boat capsized, or anything happened, I am sure I should have nine chances for my life instead of one;' at this there was one shout of 'So you would, missis! true for dat, missis,' and in great mutual good-humour we reached the landing at Hampton Point. As I walked home I pondered over this compliment of Mr. ----'s slaves to me, and did not feel quite sure that the very absence of the fear which haunts the southern women in their intercourse with these people and prevents them from trusting themselves ever with them out of reach of white companionship and supervision was not one of the circumstances which makes my intercourse with them unsafe and undesirable. The idea of apprehending any mischief from them never yet crossed my brain; and in the perfect confidence with which I go amongst them, they must perceive a curious difference between me and my lady neighbours in these parts; all have expressed unbounded astonishment at my doing so. The spring is fast coming on; and we shall, I suppose, soon leave Georgia. How new and sad a chapter of my life this winter here has been! * * * * * Dear E----. I cannot give way to the bitter impatience I feel at my present position, and come back to the north without leaving my babies; and though I suppose their stay will not in any case be much prolonged in these regions of swamp and slavery, I must, for their sakes, remain where they are, and learn this dreary lesson of human suffering to the end. The record, it seems to me, must be utterly wearisome to you, as the instances themselves I suppose in a given time (thanks to that dreadful reconciler to all that is evil--habit) would become to me. This morning I had a visit from two of the women, Charlotte and Judy, who came to me for help and advice for a complaint, which it really seems to me every other woman on the estate is cursed with, and which is a direct result of the conditions of their existence; the practice of sending women to labour in the fields in the third week after their confinement is a specific for causing this infirmity, and I know no specific for curing it under these circumstances. As soon as these poor things had departed with such comfort as I could give them, and the bandages they especially begged for, three other sable graces introduced themselves, Edie, Louisa, and Diana; the former told me she had had a family of seven children, but had lost them all through 'ill luck,' as she denominated the ignorance and ill treatment which were answerable for the loss of these, as of so many other poor little creatures their fellows. Having dismissed her and Diana with the sugar and rice they came to beg, I detained Louisa, whom I had never seen but in the presence of her old grandmother, whose version of the poor child's escape to, and hiding in the woods, I had a desire to compare with the heroine's own story. She told it very simply, and it was most pathetic. She had not finished her task one day, when she said she felt ill, and unable to do so, and had been severely flogged by Driver Bran, in whose 'gang' she then was. The next day, in spite of this encouragement to labour, she had again been unable to complete her appointed work; and Bran having told her that he'd tie her up and flog her if she did not get it done, she had left the field and run into the swamp. 'Tie you up, Louisa!' said I, 'what is that?' She then described to me that they were fastened up by their wrists to a beam or a branch of a tree, their feet barely touching the ground, so as to allow them no purchase for resistance or evasion of the lash, their clothes turned over their heads, and their backs scored with a leather thong, either by the driver himself, or if he pleases to inflict their punishment by deputy, any of the men he may choose to summon to the office; it might be father, brother, husband, or lover, if the overseer so ordered it. I turned sick, and my blood curdled listening to these details from the slender young slip of a lassie, with her poor piteous face and murmuring pleading voice. 'Oh,' said I, 'Louisa; but the rattlesnakes, the dreadful rattlesnakes in the swamps; were you not afraid of those horrible creatures?' 'Oh, missis,' said the poor child, 'me no tink of dem, me forget all 'bout dem for de fretting.' 'Why did you come home at last?' 'Oh, missis, me starve with hunger, me most dead with hunger before me come back.' 'And were you flogged, Louisa?' said I, with a shudder at what the answer might be. 'No, missis, me go to hospital; me almost dead and sick so long, 'spec Driver Bran him forgot 'bout de flogging.' I am getting perfectly savage over all these doings, E----, and really think I should consider my own throat and those of my children well cut, if some night the people were to take it into their heads to clear off scores in that fashion. The Calibanish wonderment of all my visitors at the exceedingly coarse and simple furniture and rustic means of comfort of my abode is very droll. I have never inhabited any apartment so perfectly devoid of what we should consider the common decencies of life; but to them my rude chintz-covered sofa and common pine-wood table, with its green baize cloth, seem the adornings of a palace; and often in the evening, when my bairns are asleep, and M---- up-stairs keeping watch over them, and I sit writing this daily history for your edification,--the door of the great barn-like room is opened stealthily, and one after another, men and women come trooping silently in, their naked feet falling all but inaudibly on the bare boards as they betake themselves to the hearth, where they squat down on their hams in a circle,--the bright blaze from the huge pine logs, which is the only light of this half of the room, shining on their sooty limbs and faces, and making them look like a ring of ebony idols surrounding my domestic hearth. I have had as many as fourteen at a time squatting silently there for nearly half an hour, watching me writing at the other end of the room. The candles on my table give only light enough for my own occupation, the fire light illuminates the rest of the apartment; and you cannot imagine anything stranger than the effect of all these glassy whites of eyes and grinning white teeth turned towards me, and shining in the flickering light. I very often take no notice of them at all, and they seem perfectly absorbed in contemplating me. My evening dress probably excites their wonder and admiration no less than my rapid and continuous writing, for which they have sometimes expressed compassion, as if they thought it must be more laborious than hoeing; sometimes at the end of my day's journal I look up and say suddenly, 'Well, what do you want?' when each black figure springs up at once, as if moved by machinery, they all answer, 'Me come say ha do (how d'ye do), missis;' and then they troop out as noiselessly as they entered, like a procession of sable dreams, and I go off in search, if possible, of whiter ones. Two days ago I had a visit of great interest to me from several lads from twelve to sixteen years old, who had come to beg me to give them work. To make you understand this you must know, that wishing very much to cut some walks and drives through the very picturesque patches of woodland not far from the house, I announced, through Jack, my desire to give employment in the wood-cutting line, to as many lads as chose, when their unpaid task was done, to come and do some work for me, for which I engaged to pay them. At the risk of producing a most dangerous process of reflection and calculation in their brains, I have persisted in paying what I considered wages to every slave that has been my servant; and these my labourers must, of course, be free to work or no, as they like, and if they work for me must be paid by me. The proposition met with unmingled approbation from my 'gang;' but I think it might be considered dangerously suggestive of the rightful relation between work and wages; in short, very involuntarily no doubt, but, nevertheless, very effectually I am disseminating ideas among Mr. ----'s dependents, the like of which have certainly never before visited their wool-thatched brains. _Friday, March 1._--Last night after writing so much to you I felt weary, and went out into the air to refresh my spirit. The scene just beyond the house was beautiful, the moonlight slept on the broad river which here is almost the sea, and on the masses of foliage of the great southern oaks; the golden stars of German poetry shone in the purple curtains of the night, and the measured rush of the Atlantic unfurling its huge skirts upon the white sands of the beach (the sweetest and most awful lullaby in nature) resounded through the silent air. I have not felt well, and have been much depressed for some days past. I think I should die if I had to live here. This morning, in order not to die yet, I thought I had better take a ride, and accordingly mounted the horse which I told you was one of the equestrian alternatives offered me here; but no sooner did he feel my weight, which, after all, is mere levity and frivolity to him, than he thought proper to rebel, and find the grasshopper a burthen, and rear and otherwise demonstrate his disgust. I have not ridden for a long time now, but Montreal's opposition very presently aroused the Amazon which is both natural and acquired in me, and I made him comprehend that, though I object to slaves, I expect obedient servants; which views of mine being imparted by a due administration of both spur and whip, attended with a judicious combination of coaxing pats on his great crested neck, and endearing commendations of his beauty, produced the desired effect. Montreal accepted me as inevitable, and carried me very wisely and well up the island to another of the slave settlements on the plantation, called Jones's Creek. On my way I passed some magnificent evergreen oaks,[5] and some thickets of exquisite evergreen shrubs, and one or two beautiful sites for a residence, which made me gnash my teeth when I thought of the one we have chosen. To be sure, these charming spots, instead of being conveniently in the middle of the plantation, are at an out of the way end of it, and so hardly eligible for the one quality desired for the overseer's abode, viz. being central. [Footnote 5: The only ilex trees which I have seen comparable in size and beauty with those of the sea-board of Georgia are some to be found in the Roman Campagna, at Passerano, Lunghegna, Castel Fusano, and other of its great princely farms, but especially in the magnificent woody wilderness of Valerano.] All the slaves' huts on St. Simon's are far less solid, comfortable, and habitable than those at the rice-island. I do not know whether the labourer's habitation bespeaks the alteration in the present relative importance of the crops, but certainly the cultivators of the once far-famed long staple sea-island cotton of St. Simon's are far more miserably housed than the rice-raisers of the other plantation. These ruinous shielings, that hardly keep out wind or weather, are deplorable homes for young or aged people, and poor shelters for the hardworking men and women who cultivate the fields in which they stand. Riding home I passed some beautiful woodland with charming pink and white blossoming peach and plum-trees, which seemed to belong to some orchard that had been attempted, and afterwards delivered over to wildness. On enquiry I found that no fruit worth eating was ever gathered from them. What a pity it seems! for in this warm delicious winter climate any and every species of fruit might be cultivated with little pains and to great perfection. As I was cantering along the side of one of the cotton fields I suddenly heard some inarticulate vehement cries, and saw what seemed to be a heap of black limbs tumbling and leaping towards me, renewing the screams at intervals as it approached. I stopped my horse, and the black ball bounded almost into the road before me, and suddenly straightening itself up into a haggard hag of a half-naked negress, exclaimed, with panting eager breathlessness, 'Oh missis, missis! you no hear me cry, you no hear me call. Oh missis! me call, me cry, and me run; make me a gown like dat. Do, for massy's sake, only make me a gown like dat.' This modest request for a riding habit in which to hoe the cotton fields served for an introduction to sundry other petitions for rice and sugar and flannel, all which I promised the petitioner, but not the 'gown like dat;' whereupon I rode off, and she flung herself down in the middle of the road to get her wind and rest. The passion for dress is curiously strong in these people, and seems as though it might be made an instrument in converting them, outwardly at any rate, to something like civilisation; for though their own native taste is decidedly both barbarous and ludicrous, it is astonishing how very soon they mitigate it in imitation of their white models. The fine figures of the mulatto women in Charleston and Savannah are frequently as elegantly and tastefully dressed as those of any of their female superiors; and here on St. Simon's, owing, I suppose, to the influence of the resident lady proprietors of the various plantations, and the propensity to imitation in their black dependents, the people that I see all seem to me much tidier, cleaner, and less fantastically dressed than those on the rice plantation, where no such influences reach them. On my return from my ride I had a visit from Captain F----, the manager of a neighbouring plantation, with whom I had a long conversation about the present and past condition of the estate, the species of feudal magnificence in which its original owner, Major ----, lived, the iron rule of old overseer K---- which succeeded to it, and the subsequent sovereignty of his son, Mr. R---- K----, the man for whom Mr. ---- entertains such a cordial esteem, and of whom every account I receive from the negroes seems to me to indicate a merciless sternness of disposition that may be a virtue in a slave-driver, but is hardly a Christian grace. Captain F---- was one of our earliest visitors at the rice plantation on our arrival, and I think I told you of his mentioning, in speaking to me of the orange trees which formerly grew all round the dykes there, that he had taken Basil Hall there once in their blossoming season, and that he had said the sight was as well worth crossing the Atlantic for as Niagara. To-day he referred to that again. He has resided for a great many years on a plantation here, and is connected with our neighbour, old Mr. C----, whose daughter, I believe, he married. He interested me extremely by his description of the house Major ---- had many years ago on a part of the island called St. Clair. As far as I can understand there must have been an indefinite number of 'masters'' residences on this estate in the old Major's time; for what with the one we are building, and the ruined remains of those not quite improved off the face of the earth, and the tradition of those that have ceased to exist, even as ruins, I make out no fewer than seven. How gladly would I exchange all that remain and all that do not, for the smallest tenement in your blessed Yankee mountain village! Captain F---- told me that at St. Clair General Oglethorpe, the good and brave English governor of the State of Georgia in its colonial days, had his residence, and that among the magnificent live oaks which surround the site of the former settlement, there was one especially venerable and picturesque, which in his recollection always went by the name of General Oglethorpe's Oak. If you remember the history of the colony under his benevolent rule, you must recollect how absolutely he and his friend and counsellor, Wesley, opposed the introduction of slavery in the colony. How wrathfully the old soldier's spirit ought to haunt these cotton fields and rice swamps of his old domain, with their population of wretched slaves! I will ride to St. Clair and see his oak; if I should see him, he cannot have much to say to me on the subject that I should not cry amen to. _Saturday, March 2._--I have made a gain, no doubt, in one respect in coming here, dear E----, for, not being afraid of a rearing stallion, I can ride; but, on the other hand, my aquatic diversions are all likely, I fear, to be much curtailed. Well may you, or any other Northern Abolitionist, consider this a heaven-forsaken region,--why? I cannot even get worms to fish with, and was solemnly assured by Jack this morning that the whole 'point,' i.e. neighbourhood of the house, had been searched in vain for these useful and agreeable animals. I must take to some more sportsman-like species of bait; but in my total ignorance of even the kind of fish that inhabit these waters, it is difficult for me to adapt my temptations to their taste. Yesterday evening I had a visit that made me very sorrowful--if anything connected with these poor people can be called more especially sorrowful than their whole condition; but Mr. ----'s declaration that he will receive no more statements of grievances or petitions for redress through me, makes me as desirous now of shunning the vain appeals of these unfortunates as I used to be of receiving and listening to them. The imploring cry, 'Oh missis!' that greets me whichever way I turn, makes me long to stop my ears now; for what can I say or do any more for them? The poor little favours--the rice, the sugar, the flannel--that they beg for with such eagerness, and receive with such exuberant gratitude, I can, it is true, supply, and words and looks of pity and counsel of patience and such instruction in womanly habits of decency and cleanliness, as may enable them to better, in some degree, their own hard lot; but to the entreaty, 'Oh missis, you speak to massa for us! Oh missis, you beg massa for us! Oh missis, you tell massa for we, he sure do as you say!'--I cannot now answer as formerly, and I turn away choking and with eyes full of tears from the poor creatures, not even daring to promise any more the faithful transmission of their prayers. The women who visited me yesterday evening were all in the family-way, and came to entreat of me to have the sentence (what else can I call it?) modified, which condemns them to resume their labour of hoeing in the fields three weeks after their confinement. They knew, of course, that I cannot interfere with their appointed labour, and therefore their sole entreaty was that I would use my influence with Mr. ---- to obtain for them a month's respite from labour in the field after child-bearing. Their principal spokeswoman, a woman with a bright sweet face, called Mary, and a very sweet voice, which is by no means an uncommon excellence among them, appealed to my own experience; and while she spoke of my babies, and my carefully tended, delicately nursed, and tenderly watched confinement and convalescence, and implored me to have a kind of labour given to them less exhausting during the month after their confinement, I held the table before me so hard in order not to cry that I think my fingers ought to have left a mark on it. At length I told them that Mr. ---- had forbidden me to bring him any more complaints from them, for that he thought the ease with which I received and believed their stories only tended to make them discontented, and that, therefore, I feared I could not promise to take their petitions to him; but that he would be coming down to 'the point' soon, and that they had better come then some time when I was with him, and say what they had just been saying to me: and with this, and various small bounties, I was forced, with a heavy heart, to dismiss them, and when they were gone, with many exclamations of, 'Oh yes, missis, you will, you will speak to massa for we; God bless you, missis, we sure you will!' I had my cry out for them, for myself, for us. All these women had had large families, and _all_ of them had lost half their children, and several of them had lost more. How I do ponder upon the strange fate which has brought me here, from so far away, from surroundings so curiously different--how my own people in that blessed England of my birth would marvel if they could suddenly have a vision of me as I sit here, and how sorry some of them would be for me! I am helped to bear all that is so very painful to me here by my constant enjoyment of the strange wild scenery in the midst of which I live, and which my resumption of my equestrian habits gives me almost daily opportunity of observing. I rode to-day to some new cleared and ploughed ground that was being prepared for the precious cotton crop. I crossed a salt marsh upon a raised causeway that was perfectly alive with land-crabs, whose desperately active endeavours to avoid my horse's hoofs were so ludicrous that I literally laughed alone and aloud at them. The sides of this road across the swamp were covered with a thick and close embroidery of creeping moss or rather lichens of the most vivid green and red: the latter made my horse's path look as if it was edged with an exquisite pattern of coral; it was like a thing in a fairy tale, and delighted me extremely. I suppose, E----, one secret of my being able to suffer as acutely as I do without being made either ill or absolutely miserable, is the childish excitability of my temperament, and the sort of ecstacy which any beautiful thing gives me. No day, almost no hour, passes without some enjoyment of the sort this coral-bordered road gave me, which not only charms my senses completely at the time, but returns again and again before my memory, delighting my fancy, and stimulating my imagination. I sometimes despise myself for what seems to me an inconceivable rapidity of emotion, that almost makes me doubt whether anyone who feels so many things can really be said to feel anything; but I generally recover from this perplexity, by remembering whither invariably every impression of beauty leads my thoughts, and console myself for my contemptible facility of impression by the reflection that it is, upon the whole, a merciful system of compensation by which my whole nature, tortured as it was last night, can be absorbed this morning, in a perfectly pleasurable contemplation of the capers of crabs and the colour of mosses as if nothing else existed in creation. One thing, however, I think, is equally certain, and that is, that I need never expect much sympathy; and perhaps this special endowment will make me, to some degree, independent of it; but I have no doubt that to follow me through half a day with any species of lively participation in my feelings would be a severe breathless moral calisthenic to most of my friends,--what Shakspeare calls 'sweating labour.' As far as I have hitherto had opportunities of observing, children and maniacs are the only creatures who would be capable of sufficiently rapid transitions of thought and feeling to keep pace with me. And so I rode through the crabs and the coral. There is one thing, however, I beg to commend to your serious consideration as a trainer of youth, and that is, the expediency of cultivating in all the young minds you educate an equal love of the good, the beautiful, and the absurd (not an easy task, for the latter is apt in its developement to interfere a little with the two others): doing this, you command all the resources of existence. The love of the good and beautiful of course you are prepared to cultivate--that goes without saying, as the French say; the love of the ludicrous will not appear to you as important, and yet you will be wrong to undervalue it. In the first place, I might tell you that it was almost like cherishing the love of one's fellow-creatures--at which no doubt you shake your head reprovingly; but, leaving aside the enormous provision for the exercise of this natural faculty which we offer to each other, why should crabs scuttle from under my horse's feet in such a way as to make me laugh again every time I think of it, if there is not an inherent propriety in laughter, as the only emotion which certain objects challenge--an emotion wholesome for the soul and body of man? After all, _why_ are we contrived to laugh at all, if laughter is not essentially befitting and beneficial? and most people's lives are too lead-coloured to afford to lose one sparkle on them, even the smallest twinkle of light gathered from a flash of nonsense. Hereafter point out for the 'appreciative' study of your pupils all that is absurd in themselves, others, and the universe in general; 't is an element largely provided, of course, to meet a corresponding and grateful capacity for its enjoyment. After my crab and coral causeway I came to the most exquisite thickets of evergreen shrubbery you can imagine. If I wanted to paint paradise I would copy this undergrowth, passing through which I went on to the settlement at St. Annie's, traversing another swamp on another raised causeway. The thickets through which I next rode were perfectly draped with the beautiful wild jasmine of these woods. Of all the parasitical plants I ever saw, I do think it is the most exquisite in form and colour, and its perfume is like the most delicate heliotrope. I stopped for some time before a thicket of glittering evergreens, over which hung, in every direction, streaming garlands of these fragrant golden cups, fit for Oberon's banqueting service. These beautiful shrubberies were resounding with the songs of mocking birds. I sat there on my horse in a sort of dream of enchantment, looking, listening, and inhaling the delicious atmosphere of those flowers; and suddenly my eyes opened, as if I had been asleep, on some bright red bunches of spring leaves on one of the winter-stripped trees, and I as suddenly thought of the cold northern skies and earth, where the winter was still inflexibly tyrannising over you all, and, in spite of the loveliness of all that was present, and the harshness of all that I seemed to see at that moment, no first tokens of the spring's return were ever more welcome to me than those bright leaves that reminded me how soon I should leave this scene of material beauty and moral degradation, where the beauty itself is of an appropriate character to the human existence it surrounds: above all, loveliness, brightness, and fragrance; but below! it gives one a sort of melusina feeling of horror--all swamp and poisonous stagnation, which the heat will presently make alive with venomous reptiles. I rode on, and the next object that attracted my attention was a very startling and by no means agreeable one--an enormous cypress tree which had been burnt stood charred and blackened, and leaning towards the road so as to threaten a speedy fall across it, and on one of the limbs of this great charcoal giant hung a dead rattlesnake. If I tell you that it looked to me at least six feet long you will say you only wonder I did not say twelve; it was a hideous-looking creature, and some negroes I met soon after told me they had found it in the swamp, and hung it dead on the burning tree. Certainly the two together made a dreadful trophy, and a curious contrast to the lovely bowers of bloom I had just been contemplating with such delight. This settlement at St. Annie's is the remotest on the whole plantation, and I found there the wretchedest huts, and most miserably squalid, filthy and forlorn creatures I had yet seen here--certainly the condition of the slaves on this estate is infinitely more neglected and deplorable than that on the rice plantation. Perhaps it may be that the extremely unhealthy nature of the rice cultivation makes it absolutely necessary that the physical condition of the labourers should be maintained at its best to enable them to abide it; and yet it seems to me that even the process of soaking the rice can hardly create a more dangerous miasma than the poor creatures must inhale who live in the midst of these sweltering swamps, half sea, half river slime. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the climate on St. Simon's is generally considered peculiarly mild and favourable, and so less protection of clothes and shelter is thought necessary here for the poor residents; perhaps, too, it may be because the cotton crop is now, I believe, hardly as valuable as the rice crop, and the plantation here, which was once the chief source of its owner's wealth, is becoming a secondary one, and so not worth so much care or expense in repairing and constructing negro huts and feeding and clothing the slaves. More pitiable objects than some of those I saw at the St. Annie's settlement to-day I hope never to see: there was an old crone called Hannah, a sister, as well as I could understand what she said, of old house Molly, whose face and figure seamed with wrinkles and bowed and twisted with age and infirmity really hardly retained the semblance of those of a human creature, and as she crawled to me almost half her naked body was exposed through the miserable tatters that she held on with one hand, while the other eagerly clutched my hand, and her poor blear eyes wandered all over me as if she was bewildered by the strange aspect of any human being but those whose sight was familiar to her. One or two forlorn creatures like herself, too old or too infirm to be compelled to work, and the half-starved and more than half-naked children apparently left here under their charge, were the only inmates I found in these wretched hovels. I came home without stopping to look at anything, for I had no heart any longer for what had so charmed me on my way to this place. Galloping along the road after leaving the marshes, I scared an ox who was feeding leisurely, and to my great dismay saw the foolish beast betake himself with lumbering speed into the 'bush:' the slaves will have to hunt after him, and perhaps will discover more rattlesnakes six or twelve feet long. After reaching home I went to the house of the overseer to see his wife, a tidy, decent, kind-hearted, little woman, who seems to me to do her duty by the poor people she lives among, as well as her limited intelligence and still more limited freedom allow. The house her husband lives in is the former residence of Major ----, which was the great mansion of the estate. It is now in a most ruinous and tottering condition, and they inhabit but a few rooms in it; the others are gradually mouldering to pieces, and the whole edifice will, I should think, hardly stand long enough to be carried away by the river, which in its yearly inroads on the bank on which it stands has already approached within a perilous proximity to the old dilapidated planter's palace. Old Molly, of whom I have often before spoken to you, who lived here in the days of the prosperity and grandeur of 'Hampton,' still clings to the relics of her old master's former magnificence and with a pride worthy of old Caleb of Ravenswood showed me through the dismantled decaying rooms and over the remains of the dairy, displaying a capacious fish-box or well, where, in the good old days, the master's supply was kept in fresh salt water till required for table. Her prideful lamentations over the departure of all this quondam glory were ludicrous and pathetic; but while listening with some amusement to the jumble of grotesque descriptions through which her impression of the immeasurable grandeur and nobility of the house she served was the predominant feature, I could not help contrasting the present state of the estate with that which she described, and wondering why it should have become, as it undoubtedly must have done, so infinitely less productive a property than in the old Major's time. Before closing this letter, I have a mind to transcribe to you the entries for to-day recorded in a sort of daybook, where I put down very succinctly the number of people who visit me, their petitions and ailments, and also such special particulars concerning them as seem to me worth recording. You will see how miserable the physical condition of many of these poor creatures is; and their physical condition, it is insisted by those who uphold this evil system, is the only part of it which is prosperous, happy, and compares well with that of northern labourers. Judge from the details I now send you; and never forget, while reading them, that the people on this plantation are well off, and consider themselves well off, in comparison with the slaves on some of the neighbouring estates. _Fanny_ has had six children, all dead but one. She came to beg to have her work in the field lightened. _Nanny_ has had three children, two of them are dead; she came to implore that the rule of sending them into the field three weeks after their confinement might be altered. _Leah_, Caesar's wife, has had six children, three are dead. _Sophy_, Lewis' wife, came to beg for some old linen; she is suffering fearfully, has had ten children, five of them are dead. The principal favour she asked was a piece of meat, which I gave her. _Sally_, Scipio's wife, has had two miscarriages and three children born, one of whom is dead. She came complaining of incessant pain and weakness in her back. This woman was a mulatto daughter of a slave called Sophy, by a white man of the name of Walker, who visited the plantation. _Charlotte_, Renty's wife, had had two miscarriages, and was with child again. She was almost crippled with rheumatism, and showed me a pair of poor swollen knees that made my heart ache. I have promised her a pair of flannel trowsers, which I must forthwith set about making. _Sarah_, Stephen's wife,--this woman's case and history were, alike, deplorable, she had had four miscarriages, had brought seven children into the world, five of whom were dead, and was again with child. She complained of dreadful pains in the back, and an internal tumour which swells with the exertion of working in the fields; probably, I think, she is ruptured. She told me she had once been mad and ran into the woods, where she contrived to elude discovery for some time, but was at last tracked and brought back, when she was tied up by the arms and heavy logs fastened to her feet, and was severely flogged. After this she contrived to escape again, and lived for some time skulking in the woods, and she supposes mad, for when she was taken again she was entirely naked. She subsequently recovered from this derangement, and seems now just like all the other poor creatures who come to me for help and pity. I suppose her constant child-bearing and hard labour in the fields at the same time may have produced the temporary insanity. _Sukey_, Bush's wife, only came to pay her respects. She had had four miscarriages, had brought eleven children into the world, five of whom are dead. _Molly_, Quambo's wife, also only came to see me; hers was the best account I have yet received; she had had nine children, and six of them were still alive. This is only the entry for to-day, in my diary, of the people's complaints and visits. Can you conceive a more wretched picture than that which it exhibits of the conditions under which these women live? Their cases are in no respect singular, and though they come with pitiful entreaties that I will help them with some alleviation of their pressing physical distresses, it seems to me marvellous with what desperate patience (I write it advisedly, patience of utter despair) they endure their sorrow-laden existence. Even the poor wretch who told that miserable story of insanity and lonely hiding in the swamps and scourging when she was found, and of her renewed madness and flight, did so in a sort of low, plaintive, monotonous murmur of misery, as if such sufferings were all 'in the day's work.' I ask these questions about their children because I think the number they bear as compared with the number they rear a fair gauge of the effect of the system on their own health and that of their offspring. There was hardly one of these women, as you will see by the details I have noted of their ailments, who might not have been a candidate for a bed in an hospital, and they had come to me after working all day in the fields. * * * * * Dearest E----. When I told you in my last letter of the encroachments which the waters of the Altamaha are daily making on the bank at Hampton Point and immediately in front of the imposing-looking old dwelling of the former master, I had no idea how rapid this crumbling process has been of late years; but to-day, standing there with Mrs. G----, whom I had gone to consult about the assistance we might render to some of the poor creatures whose cases I sent you in my last letter, she told me that within the memory of many of the slaves now living on the plantation, a grove of orange trees had spread its fragrance and beauty between the house and the river. Not a vestige remains of them. The earth that bore them was gradually undermined, slipped, and sank down into the devouring flood, and when she saw the astonished incredulity of my look she led me to the ragged and broken bank, and there, immediately below it and just covered by the turbid waters of the in-rushing tide, were the heads of the poor drowned orange trees, swaying like black twigs in the briny flood which had not yet dislodged all of them from their hold upon the soil which had gone down beneath the water wearing its garland of bridal blossom. As I looked at those trees a wild wish rose in my heart that the river and the sea would swallow up and melt in their salt waves the whole of this accursed property of ours. I am afraid the horror of slavery with which I came down to the south, the general theoretic abhorrence of an Englishwoman for it, has gained, through the intensity it has acquired, a morbid character of mere desire to be delivered from my own share in it. I think so much of these wretches that I see, that I can hardly remember any others, and my zeal for the general emancipation of the slave, has almost narrowed itself to this most painful desire that I and mine were freed from the responsibility of our share in this huge misery,--and so I thought:--'Beat, beat, the crumbling banks and sliding shores, wild waves of the Atlantic and the Altamaha! Sweep down and carry hence this evil earth and these homes of tyranny, and roll above the soil of slavery, and wash my soul and the souls of those I love clean from the blood of our kind!' But I have no idea that Mr. ---- and his brother would cry amen to any such prayer. Sometimes, as I stand and listen to the roll of the great ocean surges on the further side of little St. Simon's Island, a small green screen of tangled wilderness that interposes between this point and the Atlantic, I think how near our West Indian islands and freedom are to these unfortunate people, many of whom are expert and hardy boatmen, as far as the mere mechanical management of a boat goes; but unless Providence were compass and steersman too it avails nothing that they should know how near their freedom might be found, nor have I any right to tell them if they could find it, for the slaves are not mine, they are Mr. ----'s. The mulatto woman, Sally, accosted me again to-day, and begged that she might be put to some other than field labour. Supposing she felt herself unequal to it, I asked her some questions, but the principal reason she urged for her promotion to some less laborious kind of work was, that hoeing in the field was so hard to her on '_account of her colour_,' and she therefore petitions to be allowed to learn a trade. I was much puzzled at this reason for her petition, but was presently made to understand that being a mulatto, she considered field labour a degradation; her white bastardy appearing to her a title to consideration in my eyes. The degradation of these people is very complete, for they have accepted the contempt of their masters to that degree that they profess, and really seem to feel it for themselves, and the faintest admixture of white blood in their black veins appears at once, by common consent of their own race, to raise them in the scale of humanity. I had not much sympathy for this petition. The woman's father had been a white man who was employed for some purpose on the estate. In speaking upon this subject to Mrs. G----, she said that, as far as her observation went, the lower class of white men in the south lived with coloured women precisely as they would at the north with women of their own race; the outcry that one hears against amalgamation appears therefore to be something educated and acquired, rather than intuitive. I cannot perceive in observing my children, that they exhibit the slightest repugnance or dislike to these swarthy dependents of theirs, which they surely would do if, as is so often pretended, there is an inherent, irreconcilable repulsion on the part of the white towards the negro race. All the southern children that I have seen seem to have a special fondness for these good-natured childish human beings, whose mental condition is kin in its simplicity and proneness to impulsive emotion to their own, and I can detect in them no trace of the abhorrence and contempt for their dusky skins which all questions of treating them with common justice is so apt to elicit from American men and women. To-day, for the first time since I left the Rice Island, I went out fishing, but had no manner of luck. Jack rowed me up Jones's Creek, a small stream which separates St. Simon's from the main, on the opposite side from the great waters of the Altamaha. The day was very warm. It is becoming almost too hot to remain here much longer, at least for me, who dread and suffer from heat so much. The whole summer, however, is passed by many members of the Georgia families on their estates by the sea. When the heat is intense, the breeze from the ocean and the salt air, I suppose, prevent it from being intolerable or hurtful. Our neighbour Mr. C---- and his family reside entirely, the year round, on their plantations here without apparently suffering in their health from the effects of the climate. I suppose it is the intermediate region between the sea-board and the mountains that becomes so pestilential when once the warm weather sets in. I remember the Belgian minister, M. de ----, telling me that the mountain country of Georgia was as beautiful as paradise, and that the climate, as far as his experience went, was perfectly delicious. He was, however, only there on an exploring expedition, and, of course, took the most favourable season of the year for the purpose. I have had several women with me this afternoon more or less disabled by chronic rheumatism. Certainly, either their labour or the exposure it entails must be very severe, for this climate is the last that ought to engender rheumatism. This evening I had a visit from a bright young woman, calling herself Minda, who came to beg for a little rice or sugar. I enquired from which of the settlements she had come down, and found that she has to walk three miles every day to and from her work. She made no complaint whatever of this, and seemed to think her laborious tramp down to the Point after her day of labour on the field well-rewarded by the pittance of rice and sugar she obtained. Perhaps she consoled herself for the exertion by the reflection which occurred to me while talking to her, that many women who have borne children, and many women with child, go the same distance to and from their task ground--that seems dreadful! I have let my letter lie from a stress of small interruptions. Yesterday, Sunday 3rd, old Auber, a stooping, halting hag, came to beg for flannel and rice. As usual, of course, I asked various questions concerning her condition, family, &c.; she told me she had never been married, but had had five children, two of whom were dead. She complained of flooding, of intolerable back-ache, and said that with all these ailments, she considered herself quite recovered, having suffered horribly from an abscess in her neck, which was now nearly well. I was surprised to hear of her other complaints, for she seemed to me like quite an old woman; but constant child-bearing, and the life of labour, exposure, and privation which they lead, ages these poor creatures prematurely. Dear E----, how I do defy you to guess the novel accomplishment I have developed within the last two days; what do you say to my turning butcher's boy, and cutting up the carcase of a sheep for the instruction of our butcher and cook, and benefit of our table? You know, I have often written you word, that we have mutton here--thanks to the short salt grass on which it feeds--that compares with the best south down or _pré salé_; but such is the barbarous ignorance of the cook, or rather the butcher who furnishes our kitchen supplies, that I defy the most expert anatomist to pronounce on any piece (joints they cannot be called) of mutton brought to our table to what part of the animal sheep it originally belonged. I have often complained bitterly of this, and in vain implored Abraham the cook to send me some dish of mutton to which I might with safety apply the familiar name of leg, shoulder, or haunch. These remonstrances and expostulations have produced no result whatever, however, but an increase of eccentricity in the _chunks_ of sheeps' flesh placed upon the table; the squares, diamonds, cubes, and rhomboids of mutton have been more ludicrously and hopelessly unlike anything we see in a Christian butcher's shop, with every fresh endeavour Abraham has made to find out 'zackly wot de missis do want;' so the day before yesterday, while I was painfully dragging S---- through the early intellectual science of the alphabet and first reading lesson, Abraham appeared at the door of the room brandishing a very long thin knife, and with many bows, grins, and apologies for disturbing me, begged that I would go and cut up a sheep for him. My first impulse of course was to decline the very unusual task offered me with mingled horror and amusement. Abraham, however, insisted and besought, extolled the fineness of his sheep, declared his misery at being unable to cut it as I wished, and his readiness to conform for the future to whatever _patterns_ of mutton 'de missis would only please to give him.' Upon reflection I thought I might very well contrive to indicate upon the sheep the size and form of the different joints of civilised mutton, and so for the future save much waste of good meat; and moreover the lesson once taught would not require to be repeated, and I have ever held it expedient to accept every opportunity of learning to do anything, no matter how unusual, which presented itself to be done; and so I followed Abraham to the kitchen, when, with a towel closely pinned over my silk dress, and knife in hand, I stood for a minute or two meditating profoundly before the rather unsightly object which Abraham had pronounced 'de beautifullest sheep de missis eber saw.' The sight and smell of raw meat are especially odious to me, and I have often thought that if I had had to be my own cook, I should inevitably become a vegetarian, probably, indeed, return entirely to my green and salad days. Nathless, I screwed my courage to the sticking point, and slowly and delicately traced out with the point of my long carving-knife two shoulders, two legs, a saddle, and a neck of mutton; not probably in the most thoroughly artistic and butcherly style, but as nearly as my memory and the unassisted light of nature would enable me; and having instructed Abraham in the various boundaries, sizes, shapes and names of the several joints, I returned to S---- and her belles-lettres, rather elated upon the whole at the creditable mode in which I flattered myself I had accomplished my unusual task, and the hope of once more seeing roast mutton of my acquaintance. I will confess to you, dear E----, that the _neck_ was not a satisfactory part of the performance, and I have spent some thoughts since in trying to adjust in my own mind its proper shape and proportions. As an accompaniment to 'de beautifullest mutton de missis ever see,' we have just received from my neighbour Mr. C---- the most magnificent supply of fresh vegetables, green peas, salad, &c. He has a garden and a Scotchman's real love for horticulture, and I profit by them in this very agreeable manner. I have been interrupted by several visits, my dear E----, among other, one from a poor creature called Judy, whose sad story and condition affected me most painfully. She had been married, she said, some years ago to one of the men called Temba, who however now has another wife, having left her because she went mad. While out of her mind she escaped into the jungle, and contrived to secrete herself there for some time, but was finally tracked and caught, and brought back and punished by being made to sit, day after day, for hours in the stocks--a severe punishment for a man, but for a woman perfectly barbarous. She complained of chronic rheumatism, and other terrible ailments, and said she suffered such intolerable pain while labouring in the fields, that she had come to entreat me to have her work lightened. She could hardly crawl, and cried bitterly all the time she spoke to me. She told me a miserable story of her former experience on the plantation under Mr. K----'s overseership. It seems that Jem Valiant (an extremely difficult subject, a mulatto lad, whose valour is sufficiently accounted for now by the influence of the mutinous white blood) was her firstborn, the son of Mr. K----, who forced her, flogged her severely for having resisted him, and then sent her off, as a further punishment, to Five Pound--a horrible swamp in a remote corner of the estate, to which the slaves are sometimes banished for such offences as are not sufficiently atoned for by the lash. The dismal loneliness of the place to these poor people, who are as dependent as children upon companionship and sympathy, makes this solitary exile a much-dreaded infliction; and this poor creature said, that bad as the flogging was, she would sooner have taken that again than the dreadful lonely days and nights she spent on the penal swamp of Five Pound. I make no comment on these terrible stories, my dear friend, and tell them to you as nearly as possible in the perfectly plain unvarnished manner in which they are told to me. I do not wish to add to, or perhaps I ought to say take away from, the effect of such narrations by amplifying the simple horror and misery of their bare details. * * * * * My dearest E----. I have had an uninterrupted stream of women and children flowing in the whole morning to say, 'Ha de missis!' Among others, a poor woman called Mile, who could hardly stand for pain and swelling in her limbs; she had had fifteen children and two miscarriages, nine of her children had died; for the last three years she had become almost a cripple with chronic rheumatism, yet she is driven every day to work in the field. She held my hands and stroked them in the most appealing way, while she exclaimed, 'Oh my missis! my missis! me neber sleep till day for de pain,' and with the day her labour must again be resumed. I gave her flannel and sal volatile to rub her poor swelled limbs with; rest I could not give her--rest from her labour and her pain--this mother of fifteen children. Another of my visitors had a still more dismal story to tell; her name was Die; she had had sixteen children, fourteen of whom were dead; she had had four miscarriages, one had been caused by falling down with a very heavy burthen on her head, and one from having her arms strained up to be lashed. I asked her what she meant by having her arms tied up; she said their hands were first tied together, sometimes by the wrists, and sometimes, which was worse, by the thumbs, and they were then drawn up to a tree or post, so as almost to swing them off the ground, and then their clothes rolled round their waist, and a man with a cow-hide stands and stripes them. I give you the woman's words; she did not speak of this as of anything strange, unusual or especially horrid and abominable; and when I said, 'Did they do that to you when you were with child?' she simply replied, 'Yes, missis.' And to all this I listen--I, an English woman, the wife of the man who owns these wretches, and I cannot say, 'That thing shall not be done again; that cruel shame and villany shall never be known here again.' I gave the woman meat and flannel, which were what she came to ask for, and remained choking with indignation and grief long after they had all left me to my most bitter thoughts. I went out to try and walk off some of the weight of horror and depression which I am beginning to feel daily more and more, surrounded by all this misery and degradation that I can neither help nor hinder. The blessed spring is coming very fast, the air is full of delicious wild wood fragrances, and the wonderful songs of southern birds; the wood paths are as tempting as paths into Paradise, but Jack is in such deadly terror about the snakes, which are now beginning to glide about with a freedom and frequency certainly not pleasing, that he will not follow me off the open road, and twice to-day scared me back from charming wood paths I ventured to explore with his exclamations of terrified warning. I gathered some exquisite pink blossoms, of a sort of waxen texture, off a small shrub which was strange to me, and for which Jack's only name was dye-bush; but I could not ascertain from him whether any dyeing substance was found in its leaves, bark, or blossoms. I returned home along the river side, stopping to admire a line of noble live oaks beginning, alas! to be smothered with the treacherous white moss under whose pale trailing masses their verdure gradually succumbs, leaving them, like huge hoary ghosts, perfect mountains of parasitical vegetation, which, strangely enough, appears only to hang upon and swing from their boughs without adhering to them. The mixture of these streams of grey-white filaments with the dark foliage is extremely beautiful as long as the leaves of the tree survive in sufficient masses to produce the rich contrast of colour; but when the moss has literally conquered the whole tree, and after stripping its huge limbs bare, clothed them with its own wan masses, they always looked to me like so many gigantic Druid ghosts, with flowing robes and beards, and locks all of one ghastly grey, and I would not have broken a twig off them for the world, lest a sad voice, like that which reproached Dante, should have moaned out of it to me, Non hai tu spirto di pietade alcuno? A beautiful mass of various woodland skirted the edge of the stream, and mingled in its foliage every shade of green, from the pale stiff spikes and fans of the dwarf palmetto to the dark canopy of the magnificent ilex--bowers and brakes of the loveliest wildness, where one dare not tread three steps for fear--what a tantalisation! it is like some wicked enchantment. * * * * * Dearest E----. I have found growing along the edge of the dreary enclosure where the slaves are buried such a lovely wild flower; it is a little like the euphrasia or eye-bright of the English meadows; but grows quite close to the turf, almost into it, and consists of clusters of tiny white flowers that look as if they were made of the finest porcelain; I took up a root of it yesterday, with a sort of vague idea that I could transplant it to the north--though I cannot say that I should care to transplant anything thither that could renew to me the associations of this place--not even the delicious wild flowers, if I could. The woods here are full of wild plum-trees, the delicate white blossoms of which twinkle among the evergreen copses, and besides illuminating them with a faint starlight, suggest to my mind a possible liqueur like kirsch, which I should think could quite as well be extracted from wild plums as wild cherries, and the trees are so numerous that there ought to be quite a harvest from them. You may, and, doubtless, have seen palmetto plants in northern green and hot houses, but you never saw palmetto roots; and what curious things they are! huge, hard, yellowish-brown stems, as thick as my arm, or thicker, extending and ramifying under the ground in masses that seem hardly justified or accounted for by the elegant, light, spiky fans of dusky green foliage with which they fill the under part of the woods here. They look very tropical and picturesque, but both in shape and colour suggest something metallic rather than vegetable, the bronze green hue and lance-like form of their foliage has an arid hard character that makes one think they could be manufactured quite as well as cultivated. At first I was extremely delighted with the novelty of their appearance; but now I feel thirsty when I look at them, and the same with their kinsfolk the yuccas and their intimate friends, if not relations, the prickly pears, with all of which once strange growth I have grown, contemptuously familiar now. Did it ever occur to you what a strange affinity there is between the texture and colour of the wild vegetables of these sandy southern soils, and the texture and colour of shells? The prickly pear, and especially the round little cactus plants all covered with hairy spikes, are curiously suggestive of a family of round spiked shells, with which you, as well as myself, are, doubtless, familiar; and though the splendid flame colour of some cactus blossoms never suggests any nature but that of flowers, I have seen some of a peculiar shade of yellow pink, that resembles the mingled tint on the inside of some elaborately coloured shell, and the pale white and rose flowers of another kind have the colouring and almost texture of shell, much rather than of any vegetable substance. To-day I walked out without Jack, and in spite of the terror of snakes with which he has contrived slightly to inoculate me, I did make a short exploring journey into the woods. I wished to avoid a ploughed field, to the edge of which my wanderings had brought me; but my dash into the woodland, though unpunished by an encounter with snakes, brought me only into a marsh as full of land-crabs as an ant-hill is of ants, and from which I had to retreat ingloriously, finding my way home at last by the beach. I have had, as usual, a tribe of visitors and petitioners ever since I came home. I will give you an account of those cases which had anything beyond the average of interest in their details. One poor woman, named Molly, came to beg that I would, if possible, get an extension of their exemption from work after child-bearing. The close of her argument was concise and forcible. 'Missis, we hab um piccaninny--tree weeks in de ospital, and den right out upon the hoe again--_can we strong_ dat way, missis? No!' And truly I do not see that they can. This poor creature had had eight children and two miscarriages. All her children were dead but one. Another of my visitors was a divinely named but not otherwise divine Venus; it is a favourite name among these sable folk, but, of course, must have been given originally in derision. The Aphrodite in question was a dirt-coloured (convenient colour I should say for these parts) mulatto. I could not understand how she came on this property, for she was the daughter of a black woman and the overseer of an estate to which her mother formerly belonged, and from which I suppose she was sold, exchanged, or given, as the case may be, to the owners of this plantation. She was terribly crippled with rheumatism, and came to beg for some flannel. She had had eleven children, five of whom had died, and two miscarriages. As she took her departure the vacant space she left on the other side of my writing table was immediately filled by another black figure with a bowed back and piteous face, one of the thousand 'Mollies' on the estate, where the bewildering redundancy of their name is avoided by adding that of their husband; so when the question, 'Well, who are you?' was answered with the usual genuflexion, and 'I'se Molly, missis!' I, of course, went on with 'whose Molly?' and she went on to refer herself to the ownership (under Mr. ---- and heaven) of one Tony, but proceeded to say that he was not her _real_ husband. This appeal to an element of reality in the universally accepted fiction which passes here by the title of marriage surprised me; and on asking her what she meant, she replied that her real husband had been sold from the estate for repeated attempts to run away; he had made his escape several times, and skulked starving in the woods and morasses, but had always been tracked and brought back, and flogged almost to death, and finally sold as an incorrigible runaway. What a spirit of indomitable energy the wretched man must have had to have tried so often that hideously hopeless attempt to fly! I do not write you the poor woman's jargon, which was ludicrous; for I cannot write you the sighs, and tears, and piteous looks, and gestures, that made it pathetic; of course she did not know whither or to whom her _real_ husband had been sold; but in the meantime Mr. K----, that merciful Providence of the estate, had provided her with the above-named Tony, by whom she had had nine children, six of whom were dead; she, too, had miscarried twice. She came to ask me for some flannel for her legs, which are all swollen with constant rheumatism, and to beg me to give her something to cure some bad sores and ulcers, which seemed to me dreadful enough in their present condition, but which she said break out afresh and are twice as bad every summer. I have let my letter lie since the day before yesterday, dear E----, having had no leisure to finish it. Yesterday morning I rode out to St. Clair's, where there used formerly to be another negro settlement and another house of Major ----'s. I had been persuaded to try one of the mares I had formerly told you of, and to be sure a more 'curst' quadruped, and one more worthy of a Petruchio for a rider I did never back. Her temper was furious, her gait intolerable, her mouth, the most obdurate that ever tugged against bit and bridle. It is not wise anywhere--here it is less wise than anywhere else in the world--to say 'Jamais de cette eau je ne boirai;' but I _think_ I will never ride that delightful creature Miss Kate again. I wrote you of my having been to a part of the estate called St. Clair's, where there was formerly another residence of Major ----'s; nothing remains now of it but a ruined chimney of some of the offices, which is standing yet in the middle of what has become a perfect wilderness. At the best of times, with a large house, numerous household, and paths, and drives of approach, and the usual external conditions of civilisation about it, a residence here would have been the loneliest that can well be imagined; now it is the shaggiest desert of beautiful wood that I ever saw. The magnificent old oaks stand round the place in silent solemn grandeur; and among them I had no difficulty in recognising, by the description Captain F---- had given me of it, the crumbling shattered relic of a tree called Oglethorpe's oak. That worthy valiant old governor had a residence here himself in the early days of the colony; when, under the influence of Wesley, he vainly made such strenuous efforts to keep aloof from his infant province the sore curse of slavery. I rode almost the whole way through a grove of perfect evergreen. I had with me one of the men of the name of Hector, who has a good deal to do with the horses, and so had volunteered to accompany me, being one of the few negroes on the estate who can sit a horse. In the course of our conversation, Hector divulged certain opinions relative to the comparative gentility of driving in a carriage, and the vulgarity of walking; which sent me into fits of laughing; at which he grinned sympathetically, and opened his eyes very wide, but certainly without attaining the least insight into what must have appeared to him my very unaccountable and unreasonable merriment. Among various details of the condition of the people on the several estates in the island, he told me that a great number of the men on all the different plantations had _wives_ on the neighbouring estates, as well as on that to which they properly belonged. 'Oh, but,' said I, 'Hector, you know that cannot be, a man has but one lawful wife.' Hector knew this, he said, and yet seemed puzzled himself, and rather puzzled me to account for the fact, that this extensive practice of bigamy was perfectly well known to the masters and overseers, and never in any way found fault with, or interfered with. Perhaps this promiscuous mode of keeping up the slave population finds favour with the owners of creatures who are valued in the market at so much per head. This was a solution which occurred to me, but which I left my Trojan hero to discover, by dint of the profound pondering into which he fell. Not far from the house as I was cantering home, I met S----, and took her up on the saddle before me, an operation which seemed to please her better than the vicious horse I was riding, whose various demonstrations of dislike to the arrangement afforded my small equestrian extreme delight and triumph. My whole afternoon was spent in shifting my bed and bed-room furniture from a room on the ground-floor to one above; in the course of which operation, a brisk discussion took place between M---- and my boy Jack, who was nailing on the vallence of the bed; and whom I suddenly heard exclaim in answer to something she had said--'Well den, I do tink so; and dat's the speech of a man, whether um bond or free.' A very trifling incident, and insignificant speech; and yet it came back to my ears very often afterward--'the speech of a _man_, whether bond or free.' They might be made conscious--some of them are evidently conscious--of an inherent element of manhood superior to the bitter accident of slavery; and to which, even in their degraded condition, they might be made to refer that vital self-respect which can survive all external pressure of mere circumstance, and give their souls to that service of God, which is perfect freedom, in spite of the ignoble and cruel bondage of their bodies. My new apartment is what I should call decidedly airy; the window, unless when styled by courtesy, shut, which means admitting of draught enough to blow a candle out, must be wide open, being incapable of any intermediate condition; the latch of the door, to speak the literal truth, does shut; but it is the only part of it that does; that is, the latch and the hinges; everywhere else its configuration is traced by a distinct line of light and air. If what old Dr. Physic used to say be true, that a draught which will not blow out a candle will blow out a man's life, (a Spanish proverb originally I believe) my life is threatened with extinction in almost every part of this new room of mine, wherein, moreover, I now discover to my dismay, having transported every other article of bed-room furniture to it, it is impossible to introduce the wardrobe for my clothes. Well, our stay here is drawing to a close, and therefore these small items of discomfort cannot afflict me much longer. Among my visitors to-day was a poor woman named Oney, who told me her husband had gone away from her now for four years; it seems he was the property of Mr. K----, and when that gentleman went to slave-driving on his own account, and ceased to be the overseer of this estate, he carried her better half, who was his chattel, away with him, and she never expects to see him again. After her departure I had a most curious visitor, a young lad of the name of Renty, whose very decidedly mulatto tinge accounted, I suppose, for the peculiar disinvoltura of his carriage and manner; he was evidently in his own opinion a very superior creature; and yet, as his conversation with me testified, he was conscious of some flaw in the honour of his 'yellow' complexion. 'Who is your mother, Renty?' said I (I give you our exact dialogue); 'Betty, head-man Frank's wife.' I was rather dismayed at the promptness of this reply, and hesitated a little at my next question, 'Who is your father?' My sprightly young friend, however, answered, without an instant's pause, 'Mr. K----.' Here I came to a halt, and, willing to suggest some doubt to the lad, because for many peculiar reasons this statement seemed to me shocking, I said, 'What, old Mr. K----?' 'No, massa R----.' 'Did your mother tell you so?' 'No, missis, me ashamed to ask her; Mr. C----'s children told me so, and I 'spect they know it.' Renty, you see, did not take Falconbridge's view of such matters; and as I was by no means sorry to find that he considered his relation to Mr. K---- a disgrace to his mother, which is an advance in moral perception not often met with here, I said no more upon the subject. _Tuesday, March 3._--This morning, old House Molly, coming from Mr. G----'s upon some errand to me, I asked her if Renty's statement was true; she confirmed the whole story, and, moreover, added that this connection took place after Betty was married to head-man Frank. Now, he, you know, E----, is the chief man at the Rice Island, second in authority to Mr. O----, and indeed, for a considerable part of the year, absolute master and guardian during the night, of all the people and property at the rice plantation, for, after the early spring, the white overseer himself is obliged to betake himself to the mainland to sleep, out of the influence of the deadly malaria of the rice swamp, and Frank remains sole sovereign of the island, from sunset to sunrise, in short, during the whole period of his absence. Mr. ---- bestowed the highest commendations upon his fidelity and intelligence, and, during the visit Mr. R---- K---- paid us at the island, he was emphatic in his praise of both Frank and his wife, the latter having, as he declared, by way of climax to his eulogies, quite the principles of a white woman. Perhaps she imbibed them from his excellent influence over her. Frank is a serious, sad, sober-looking, very intelligent man; I should think he would not relish having his wife borrowed from him even by the white gentleman, who admired her principles so much; and it is quite clear from poor Renty's speech about his mother, that by some of these people (and if by any, then very certainly by Frank), the disgrace of such an injury is felt and appreciated much after the fashion of white men. This old woman Molly is a wonderfully intelligent, active, energetic creature, though considerably over seventy years old; she was talking to me about her former master, Major ----, and what she was pleased to call the _revelation_ war (i.e. revolution war), during which that gentleman, having embraced the side of the rebellious colonies in their struggle against England, was by no means on a bed of roses. He bore King George's commission, and was a major in the British army, but having married a great Carolina heiress, and become proprietor of these plantations, sided with the country of his adoption, and not that of his birth, in the war between them, and was a special object of animosity on that account to the English officers who attacked the sea-board of Georgia, and sent troops on shore and up the Altamaha, to fetch off the negroes, or incite them to rise against their owners. 'De British,' said Molly 'make old massa run about bery much in de great revelation war.' He ran effectually, however, and contrived to save both his life and property from the invader. Molly's account was full of interest, in spite of the grotesque lingo in which it was delivered, and which once or twice nearly sent me into convulsions of laughing, whereupon she apologized with great gravity for her mispronunciation, modestly suggesting that _white words_ were impossible to the organs of speech of black folks. It is curious how universally any theory, no matter how absurd, is accepted by these people, for anything in which the contemptuous supremacy of the dominant race is admitted, and their acquiescence in the theory of their own incorrigible baseness is so complete, that this, more than any other circumstance in their condition, makes me doubtful of their rising from it. In order to set poor dear old Molly's notions straight with regard to the negro incapacity for speaking plain the noble white words, I called S---- to me and set her talking; and having pointed out to Molly how very imperfect her mode of pronouncing many words was, convinced the worthy old negress that want of training, and not any absolute original impotence, was the reason why she disfigured the _white words_, for which she had such a profound respect. In this matter, as in every other, the slaves pay back to their masters the evil of their own dealings with usury, though unintentionally. No culture, however slight, simple, or elementary, is permitted to these poor creatures, and the utterance of many of them is more like what Prospero describes Caliban's to have been, than the speech of men and women in a Christian and civilised land: the children of their owners, brought up among them, acquire their negro mode of talking;--slavish speech surely it is--and it is distinctly perceptible in the utterances of all southerners, particularly of the women, whose avocations, taking them less from home, are less favourable to their throwing off this ignoble trick of pronunciation, than the more varied occupation, and the more extended and promiscuous business relations of men. The Yankee twang of the regular down Easter is not more easily detected by any ear, nice in enunciation and accent, than the thick negro speech of the southerners: neither is lovely or melodious; but though the Puritan snuffle is the harsher of the two, the slave _slobber_ of the language is the more ignoble, in spite of the softer voices of the pretty southern women who utter it. I rode out to-day upon Miss Kate again, with Jack for my esquire. I made various vain attempts to ride through the woods, following the cattle tracks; they turned round and round into each other, or led out into the sandy pine barren, the eternal frame in which all nature is set here, the inevitable limit to the prospect, turn landward which way you will. The wood paths which I followed between evergreen thickets, though little satisfactory in their ultimate result, were really more beautiful than the most perfect arrangement of artificial planting that I ever saw in an English park; and I thought if I could transplant the region which I was riding through bodily into the midst of some great nobleman's possessions on the other side of the water, how beautiful an accession it would be thought to them. I was particularly struck with the elegant growth of a profuse wild shrub I passed several times to-day, the leaves of which were pale green underneath, and a deep red, varnished brown above. I must give you an idea of the sort of service one is liable to obtain from one's most intelligent and civilised servants hereabouts, and the consequent comfort and luxury of one's daily existence. Yesterday, Aleck, the youth who fulfils the duties of what you call a waiter, and we in England a footman, gave me a salad for dinner, mixed with so large a portion of the soil in which it had grown, that I requested him to-day to be kind enough to wash the lettuce before he brought it to table. M---- later in the day told me that he had applied to her very urgently for soap and a brush 'as missis wished de lettuce scrubbed,' a fate from which my second salad was saved by her refusal of these desired articles, and further instructions upon the subject. * * * * * Dearest E----. I have been long promising poor old House Molly to visit her in her own cabin, and so the day before yesterday I walked round the settlement to her dwelling; and a most wretched hovel I found it. She has often told me of the special directions left by her old master for the comfort and well-being of her old age; and certainly his charge has been but little heeded by his heirs, for the poor faithful old slave is most miserably off in her infirm years. She made no complaint, however, but seemed overjoyed at my coming to see her. She took me to the hut of her brother, Old Jacob, where the same wretched absence of every decency and every comfort prevailed; but neither of them seemed to think the condition that appeared so wretched to me one of peculiar hardship--though Molly's former residence in her master's house might reasonably have made her discontented with the lot of absolute privation to which she was now turned over--but, for the moment, my visit seemed to compensate for all sublunary sorrows, and she and poor old Jacob kept up a duet of rejoicing at my advent, and that I had brought 'de little missis among um people afore they die.' Leaving them, I went on to the house of Jacob's daughter Hannah, with whom Psyche, the heroine of the Rice Island story, and wife of his son Joe, lives. I found their cabin as tidy and comfortable as it could be made, and their children, as usual, neat and clean; they are capital women, both of them, with an innate love of cleanliness and order most uncommon among these people. On my way home, I overtook two of my daily suppliants, who were going to the house in search of me, and meat, flannel, rice, and sugar, as the case might be; they were both old and infirm-looking women, and one of them, called Scylla, was extremely lame, which she accounted for by an accident she had met with while carrying a heavy weight of rice on her head; she had fallen on a sharp stake, or snag, as she called it, and had never recovered the injury she had received. She complained also of falling of the womb. Her companion (who was not Charybdis however, but Phoebe) was a cheery soul who complained of nothing, but begged for flannel. I asked her about her family and children; she had no children left, nothing but grandchildren; she had had nine children, and seven of them died quite young; the only two who grew up left her to join the British when they invaded Georgia in the last war, and their children, whom they left behind, were all her family now. In the afternoon, I made my first visit to the hospital of the estate, and found it, as indeed I find everything else here, in a far worse state even than the wretched establishments on the Rice Island, dignified by that name; so miserable a place for the purpose to which it was dedicated I could not have imagined on a property belonging to Christian owners. The floor (which was not boarded, but merely the damp hard earth itself,) was strewn with wretched women, who, but for their moans of pain and uneasy restless motions, might very well have each been taken for a mere heap of filthy rags; the chimney refusing passage to the smoke from the pine wood fire, it puffed out in clouds through the room, where it circled and hung, only gradually oozing away through the windows, which were so far well adapted to the purpose that there was not a single whole pane of glass in them. My eyes, unaccustomed to the turbid atmosphere, smarted and watered, and refused to distinguish at first the different dismal forms, from which cries and wails assailed me in every corner of the place. By degrees I was able to endure for a few minutes what they were condemned to live their hours and days of suffering and sickness through; and, having given what comfort kind words and promises of help in more substantial forms could convey, I went on to what seemed a yet more wretched abode of wretchedness. This was a room where there was no fire because there was no chimney, and where the holes made for windows had no panes or glasses in them. The shutters being closed, the place was so dark that, on first entering it, I was afraid to stir lest I should fall over some of the deplorable creatures extended upon the floor. As soon as they perceived me, one cry of 'Oh missis!' rang through the darkness; and it really seemed to me as if I was never to exhaust the pity and amazement and disgust which this receptacle of suffering humanity was to excite in me. The poor dingy supplicating sleepers upraised themselves as I cautiously advanced among them; those who could not rear their bodies from the earth held up piteous beseeching hands, and as I passed from one to the other, I felt more than one imploring clasp laid upon my dress to solicit my attention to some new form of misery. One poor woman, called Tressa, who was unable to speak above a whisper from utter weakness and exhaustion, told me she had had nine children, was suffering from incessant flooding, and felt 'as if her back would split open.' There she lay, a mass of filthy tatters, without so much as a blanket under or over her, on the bare earth in this chilly darkness. I promised them help and comfort, beds and blankets, and light and fire--that is, I promised to ask Mr. ---- for all this for them; and, in the very act of doing so, I remembered with a sudden pang of anguish, that I was to urge no more petitions for his slaves to their master. I groped my way out, and emerging on the piazza, all the choking tears and sobs I had controlled broke forth, and I leaned there crying over the lot of these unfortunates, till I heard a feeble voice of 'Missis, you no cry; missis, what for you cry?' and looking up, saw that I had not yet done with this intolerable infliction. A poor crippled old man, lying in the corner of the piazza, unable even to crawl towards me, had uttered this word of consolation, and by his side (apparently too idiotic, as he was too impotent, to move,) sat a young woman, the expression of whose face was the most suffering and at the same time the most horribly repulsive I ever saw. I found she was, as I supposed, half-witted; and on coming nearer to enquire into her ailments and what I could do for her, found her suffering from that horrible disease--I believe some form of scrofula--to which the negroes are subject, which attacks and eats away the joints of their hands and fingers--a more hideous and loathsome object I never beheld; her name was Patty, and she was grand-daughter to the old crippled creature by whose side she was squatting. I wandered home, stumbling with crying as I went, and feeling so utterly miserable that I really hardly saw where I was going, for I as nearly as possible fell over a great heap of oyster shells left in the middle of the path. This is a horrid nuisance, which results from an indulgence which the people here have and value highly; the waters round the island are prolific in shell fish, oysters, and the most magnificent prawns I ever saw. The former are a considerable article of the people's diet, and the shells are allowed to accumulate, as they are used in the composition of which their huts are built, and which is a sort of combination of mud and broken oyster shells, which forms an agglomeration of a kind very solid and durable for such building purposes. But instead of being all carried to some specified place out of the way, these great heaps of oyster shells are allowed to be piled up anywhere and everywhere, forming the most unsightly obstructions in every direction. Of course, the cultivation of order for the sake of its own seemliness and beauty is not likely to be an element of slave existence; and as masters have been scarce on this plantation for many years now, a mere unsightliness is not a matter likely to trouble anybody much; but after my imminent overthrow by one of these disorderly heaps of refuse, I think I may make bold to request that the paths along which I am likely to take my daily walks may be kept free from them. On my arrival at home--at the house--I cannot call any place here my home!--I found Renty waiting to exhibit to me an extremely neatly made leather pouch, which he has made by my order, of fitting size and dimensions, to receive Jack's hatchet and saw. Jack and I have set up a sort of Sir Walter and Tom Purdie companionship of clearing and cutting paths through the woods nearest to the house; thinning the overhanging branches, clearing the small evergreen thickets which here and there close over and across the grassy track. To me this occupation was especially delightful until quite lately, since the weather began to be rather warmer and the snakes to slide about. Jack has contrived to inoculate me with some portion of his terror of them; but I have still a daily hankering after the lovely green wood walks; perhaps when once I have seen a live rattlesnake my enthusiasm for them will be modified to the degree that his is. * * * * * Dear E----. This letter has remained unfinished, and my journal interrupted for more than a week. Mr. ---- has been quite unwell, and I have been travelling to and fro daily between Hampton and the Rice Island in the long boat to visit him; for the last three days I have remained at the latter place, and only returned here this morning early. My daily voyages up and down the river have introduced me to a great variety of new musical performances of our boatmen, who invariably, when the rowing is not too hard, moving up or down with the tide, accompany the stroke of their oars with the sound of their voices. I told you formerly that I thought I could trace distinctly some popular national melody with which I was familiar in almost all their songs; but I have been quite at a loss to discover any such foundation for many that I have heard lately, and which have appeared to me extraordinarily wild and unaccountable. The way in which the chorus strikes in with the burthen, between each phrase of the melody chanted by a single voice, is very curious and effective, especially with the rhythm of the rowlocks for accompaniment. The high voices all in unison, and the admirable time and true accent with which their responses are made, always make me wish that some great musical composer could hear these semi-savage performances. With a very little skilful adaptation and instrumentation, I think one or two barbaric chants and choruses might be evoked from them that would make the fortune of an opera. The only exception that I have met with, yet among our boat voices to the high tenor which they seem all to possess is in the person of an individual named Isaac, a basso profondo of the deepest dye, who nevertheless never attempts to produce with his different register any different effects in the chorus by venturing a second, but sings like the rest in unison, perfect unison, of both time and tune. By-the-by, this individual _does_ speak, and therefore I presume he is not an ape, ourang-outang, chimpanzee, or gorilla; but I could not, I confess, have conceived it possible that the presence of articulate sounds, and the absence of an articulate tail, should make, externally at least, so completely the only appreciable difference between a man and a monkey, as they appear to do in this individual 'black brother.' Such stupendous long thin hands, and long flat feet, I did never see off a large quadruped of the ape species. But, as I said before, Isaac _speaks_, and I am much comforted thereby. You cannot think (to return to the songs of my boatmen) how strange some of their words are: in one, they repeatedly chanted the 'sentiment' that 'God made man, and man makes'--what do you think?--'money!' Is not that a peculiar poetical proposition? Another ditty to which they frequently treat me they call Caesar's song; it is an extremely spirited war-song, beginning 'The trumpets blow, the bugles sound--Oh, stand your ground!' It has puzzled me not a little to determine in my own mind whether this title of Caesar's song has any reference to the great Julius, and if so what may be the negro notion of him, and whence and how derived. One of their songs displeased me not a little, for it embodied the opinion that 'twenty-six black girls not make mulatto yellow girl;' and as I told them I did not like it, they have omitted it since. This desperate tendency to despise and undervalue their own race and colour, which is one of the very worst results of their abject condition, is intolerable to me. While rowing up and down the broad waters of the Altamaha to the music of these curious chants, I have been reading Mr. Moore's speech about the abolition of slavery in the district of Columbia; and I confess I think his the only defensible position yet taken, and the only consistent argument yet used in any of the speeches I have hitherto seen upon the subject. I have now settled down at Hampton again; Mr. ---- is quite recovered, and is coming down here in a day or two for change of air; it is getting too late for him to stay on the rice plantation even in the day, I think. You cannot imagine anything so exquisite as the perfect curtains of yellow jasmine with which this whole island is draped; and as the boat comes sweeping down towards the point, the fragrance from the thickets hung with their golden garlands greets one before one can distinguish them; it is really enchanting. I have now to tell you of my hallowing last Sunday by gathering a congregation of the people into my big sitting-room, and reading prayers to them. I had been wishing very much to do this for some time past, and obtained Mr. ----'s leave while I was with him at the Rice Island, and it was a great pleasure to me. Some of the people are allowed to go up to Darien once a month to church; but, with that exception, they have no religious service on Sunday whatever for them. There is a church on the Island of St. Simon, but they are forbidden to frequent it, as it leads them off their own through neighbouring plantations, and gives opportunities for meetings between the negroes of the different estates, and very likely was made the occasion of abuses and objectionable practices of various kinds; at any rate, Mr. K---- forbade the Hampton slaves resorting to the St. Simon's church; and so, for three Sundays in the month they are utterly without Christian worship or teaching, or any religious observance of God's day whatever. I was very anxious that it should not be thought that I _ordered_ any of the people to come to prayers, as I particularly desired to see if they themselves felt the want of any Sabbath service, and would of their own accord join in any such ceremony; I therefore merely told the house servants that if they would come to the sitting-room at eleven o'clock, I would read prayers to them, and that they might tell any of their friends or any of the people that I should be very glad to see them if they liked to come. Accordingly, most of those who live at the Point, i.e. in the immediate neighbourhood of the house, came, and it was encouraging to see the very decided efforts at cleanliness and decorum of attire which they had all made. I was very much affected and impressed myself by what I was doing, and I suppose must have communicated some of my own feeling to those who heard me. It is an extremely solemn thing to me to read the Scriptures aloud to any one, and there was something in my relation to the poor people by whom I was surrounded that touched me so deeply while thus attempting to share with them the best of my possessions, that I found it difficult to command my voice, and had to stop several times in order to do so. When I had done, they all with one accord uttered the simple words, 'We thank you, missis,' and instead of overwhelming me as usual with petitions and complaints, they rose silently and quietly, in a manner that would have become the most orderly of Christian congregations accustomed to all the impressive decorum of civilised church privileges. Poor people! They are said to have what a very irreligious young English clergyman once informed me I had--a '_turn_ for religion.' They seem to me to have a 'turn' for instinctive good manners too; and certainly their mode of withdrawing from my room after our prayers bespoke either a strong feeling of their own or a keen appreciation of mine. I have resumed my explorations in the woods with renewed enthusiasm, for during my week's absence they have become more lovely and enticing than ever: unluckily, however, Jack seems to think that fresh rattlesnakes have budded together with the tender spring foliage, and I see that I shall either have to give up my wood walks and rides, or go without a guide. Lovely blossoms are springing up everywhere, weeds, of course, wild things, impertinently so called. Nothing is cultivated here but cotton; but in some of the cotton fields, beautiful creatures are peeping into blossom, which I suppose will all be duly hoed off the surface of the soil in proper season: meantime I rejoice in them, and in the splendid magnificent thistles, which would be in flower-gardens in other parts of the world, and in the wonderful, strange, beautiful butterflies that seem to me almost as big as birds, that go zig-zagging in the sun. I saw yesterday a lovely monster, who thought proper, for my greater delectation, to alight on a thistle I was admiring, and as the flower was purple, and he was all black velvet, fringed with gold, I was exceedingly pleased with his good inspiration. This morning I drove up to the settlement at St. Annie's, having various bundles of benefaction to carry in the only equipage my estate here affords,--an exceedingly small, rough, and uncomfortable cart, called the sick house waggon, inasmuch as it is used to convey to the hospital such of the poor people as are too ill to walk there. Its tender mercies must be terrible indeed for the sick, for I who am sound could very hardly abide them; however, I suppose Montreal's pace is moderated for them: to-day he went rollicking along with us behind him, shaking his fine head and mane, as if he thought the more we were jolted the better we should like it. We found, on trying to go on to Cartwright's Point, that the state of the tide would not admit of our getting thither, and so had to return, leaving it unvisited. It seems to me strange that where the labour of so many hands might be commanded, piers, and wharves, and causeways, are not thrown out (wooden ones, of course, I mean), wherever the common traffic to or from different parts of the plantation is thus impeded by the daily rise and fall of the river; the trouble and expense would be nothing, and the gain in convenience very considerable. However, perhaps the nature of the tides, and of the banks and shores themselves, may not be propitious for such constructions, and I rather incline upon reflection to think this may be so, because to go from Hampton to our neighbour Mr. C----'s plantation, it is necessary to consult the tide in order to land conveniently. Driving home to-day by Jones' Creek, we saw an immovable row of white cranes, all standing with imperturbable gravity upon one leg. I thought of Boccaccio's cook, and had a mind to say, Ha! at them to try if they had two. I have been over to Mr. C----, and was very much pleased with my visit, but will tell you of it in my next. * * * * * Dear E----. I promised to tell you of my visit to my neighbour Mr. C----, which pleased and interested me very much. He is an old Glasgow man, who has been settled here many years. It is curious how many of the people round this neighbourhood have Scotch names; it seems strange to find them thus gathered in the vicinity of a new Darien; but those in our immediate neighbourhood seem to have found it a far less fatal region than their countrymen did its namesake of the Isthmus. Mr. C----'s house is a roomy, comfortable, handsomely laid out mansion, to which he received me with very cordial kindness, and where I spent part of a very pleasant morning, talking with him, hearing all he could tell me of the former history of Mr. ----'s plantation. His description of its former master, old Major ----, and of his agent and overseer Mr. K----, and of that gentleman's worthy son and successor the late overseer, interested me very much; of the two latter functionaries his account was terrible, and much what I had supposed any impartial account of them would be; because, let the propensity to lying of the poor wretched slaves be what it will, they could not invent, with a common consent, the things that they one and all tell me with reference to the manner in which they have been treated by the man who has just left the estate, and his father, who for the last nineteen years have been sole sovereigns of their bodies and souls. The crops have satisfied the demands of the owners, who, living in Philadelphia, have been perfectly contented to receive a large income from their estate without apparently caring how it was earned. The stories that the poor people tell me of the cruel tyranny under which they have lived are not complaints, for they are of things past and gone, and very often, horridly as they shock and affect me, they themselves seem hardly more than half conscious of the misery their condition exhibits to me, and they speak of things which I shudder to hear of, almost as if they had been matters of course with them. Old Mr. C---- spoke with extreme kindness of his own people, and had evidently bestowed much humane and benevolent pains upon endeavours to better their condition. I asked him if he did not think the soil and climate of this part of Georgia admirably suited to the cultivation of the mulberry and the rearing of the silk-worm; for it has appeared to me that hereafter, silk may be made one of the most profitable products of this whole region: he said that that had long been his opinion, and he had at one time had it much at heart to try the experiment, and had proposed to Major ---- to join him in it, on a scale large enough to test it satisfactorily; but he said Mr. K---- opposed the scheme so persistently that of course it was impossible to carry it out, as his agency and cooperation were indispensable; and that in like manner he had suggested sowing turnip crops, and planting peach trees for the benefit and use of the people on the Hampton estate, experiments which he had tried with excellent success on his own; but all these plans for the amelioration and progress of the people's physical condition had been obstructed and finally put entirely aside by old Mr. K---- and his son, who, as Mr. C---- said, appeared to give satisfaction to their employers, so it was not his business to find fault with them; he said, however, that the whole condition and treatment of the slaves had changed from the time of Major ----'s death, and that he thought it providential for the poor people that Mr. K---- should have left the estate, and the young gentleman, the present owner, come down to look after the people. He showed me his garden, from whence come the beautiful vegetables he had more than once supplied me with; in the midst of it was a very fine and flourishing date palm tree, which he said bore its fruit as prosperously here as it would in Asia. After the garden, we visited a charming nicely-kept poultry yard, and I returned home much delighted with my visit and the kind good humour of my host. In the afternoon, I sat as usual at the receipt of custom, hearing of aches and pains, till I ached myself sympathetically from head to foot. Yesterday morning, dear E----, I went on horseback to St. Annie's, exploring on my way some beautiful woods, and in the afternoon I returned thither in a wood waggon with Jack to drive and a mule to draw me, Montreal being quite beyond his management; and then and there, the hatchet and saw being in company, I compelled my slave Jack, all the rattlesnakes in creation to the contrary notwithstanding, to cut and clear a way for my chariot through the charming copse. My letter has been lying unfinished for the last three days. I have been extraordinarily busy, having emancipated myself from the trammels of Jack and all his terror, and as I fear no serpents on horseback, have been daily riding through new patches of woodland without any guide, taking my chance of what I might come to in the shape of impediments. Last Tuesday, I rode through a whole wood, of burned and charred trees, cypresses and oaks, that looked as if they had been each of them blasted by a special thunderbolt, and whole thickets of young trees and shrubs perfectly black and brittle from the effect of fire, I suppose the result of some carelessness of the slaves. As this charcoal woodland extended for some distance, I turned out of it, and round the main road through the plantation, as I could not ride through the blackened boughs and branches without getting begrimed. It had a strange wild desolate effect, not without a certain gloomy picturesqueness. In the afternoon, I made Israel drive me through Jack's new-made path to break it down and open it still more, and Montreal's powerful trampling did good service to that effect, though he did not seem to relish the narrow wood road with its grass path by any means as much as the open way of what may be called the high road. After this operation, I went on to visit the people at the Busson Hill settlement. I here found, among other noteworthy individuals, a female named Judy, whose two children belong to an individual called (not Punch) but Joe, who has another wife, called Mary, at the Rice Island. In one of the huts I went to leave some flannel and rice and sugar for a poor old creature called Nancy, to whom I had promised such indulgences: she is exceedingly infirm and miserable, suffering from sore limbs and an ulcerated leg so cruelly that she can hardly find rest in any position from the constant pain she endures, and is quite unable to lie on her hard bed at night. As I bent over her to-day, trying to prop her into some posture where she might find some ease, she took hold of my hand, and with the tears streaming over her face, said, 'I have worked every day through dew and damp, and sand and heat, and done good work; but oh, missis, me old and broken now, no tongue can tell how much I suffer.' In spite of their curious thick utterance and comical jargon, these people sometimes use wonderfully striking and pathetic forms of speech. In the next cabin, which consisted of an enclosure, called by courtesy a room, certainly not ten feet square, and owned by a woman called Dice--that is, not owned, of course, but inhabited by her--three grown up human beings and eight children stow themselves by day and night, which may be called close packing, I think. I presume that they must take turns to be inside and outside the house, but they did not make any complaint about it, though I should think the aspect of my countenance, as I surveyed their abode and heard their numbers, might have given them a hint to that effect; but I really do find these poor creatures patient of so much misery, that it inclines me the more to heed as well as hear their petitions and complaints, when they bring them to me. After my return home, I had my usual evening reception, and, among other pleasant incidents of plantation life, heard the following agreeable anecdote from a woman named Sophy, who came to beg for some rice. In asking her about her husband and children, she said she had never had any husband, that she had had two children by a white man of the name of Walker, who was employed at the mill on the rice island; she was in the hospital after the birth of the second child she bore this man, and at the same time two women, Judy and Sylla, of whose children Mr. K---- was the father, were recovering from their confinements. It was not a month since any of them had been delivered, when Mrs. K---- came to the hospital, had them all three severely flogged, a process which _she_ personally superintended, and then sent them to Five Pound--the swamp Botany Bay of the plantation, of which I have told you--with further orders to the drivers to flog them every day for a week. Now, E----, if I make you sick with these disgusting stories, I cannot help it--they are the life itself here; hitherto I have thought these details intolerable enough, but this apparition of a female fiend in the middle of this hell I confess adds an element of cruelty which seems to me to surpass all the rest. Jealousy is not an uncommon quality in the feminine temperament; and just conceive the fate of these unfortunate women between the passions of their masters and mistresses, each alike armed with power to oppress and torture them. Sophy went on to say that Isaac was her son by driver Morris, who had forced her while she was in her miserable exile at Five Pound. Almost beyond my patience with this string of detestable details, I exclaimed--foolishly enough, heaven knows--'Ah, but don't you know, did nobody ever tell or teach any of you, that it is a sin to live with men who are not your husbands?' Alas, E----, what could the poor creature answer but what she did, seizing me at the same time vehemently by the wrist: 'Oh yes, missis, we know--we know all about dat well enough; but we do anything to get our poor flesh some rest from de whip; when he made me follow him into de bush, what use me tell him no? he have strength to make me.' I have written down the woman's words; I wish I could write down the voice and look of abject misery with which they were spoken. Now, you will observe that the story was not told to me as a complaint; it was a thing long past and over, of which she only spoke in the natural course of accounting for her children to me. I make no comment; what need, or can I add, to such stories? But how is such a state of things to endure?--and again, how is it to end? While I was pondering, as it seemed to me, at the very bottom of the Slough of Despond, on this miserable creature's story, another woman came in (Tema), carrying in her arms a child the image of the mulatto Bran; she came to beg for flannel. I asked her who was her husband. She said she was not married. Her child is the child of bricklayer Temple, who has a wife at the rice island. By this time, what do you think of the moralities, as well as the amenities, of slave life? These are the conditions which can only be known to one who lives among them; flagrant acts of cruelty may be rare, but this ineffable state of utter degradation, this really _beastly_ existence, is the normal condition of these men and women, and of that no one seems to take heed, nor have I ever heard it described so as to form any adequate conception of it, till I found myself plunged into it;--where and how is one to begin the cleansing of this horrid pestilential immondezzio of an existence? It is Wednesday, the 20th of March; we cannot stay here much longer; I wonder if I shall come back again! and whether, when I do, I shall find the trace of one idea of a better life left in these poor people's minds by my sojourn among them. One of my industries this morning has been cutting out another dress for one of our women, who had heard of my tailoring prowess at the rice island. The material, as usual, was a miserable cotton, many-coloured like the scarf of Iris. While shaping it for my client, I ventured to suggest the idea of the possibility of a change of the nethermost as well as the uppermost garment. This, I imagine, is a conception that has never dawned upon the female slave mind on this plantation. They receive twice a year a certain supply of clothing, and wear them (as I have heard some nasty fine ladies do their stays, for fear they should get out of shape), without washing, till they receive the next suit. Under these circumstances I think it is unphilosophical, to say the least of it, to speak of the negroes as a race whose unfragrance is heaven-ordained, and the result of special organisation. I must tell you that I have been delighted, surprised, and the very least perplexed, by the sudden petition on the part of our young waiter, Aleck, that I will teach him to read. He is a very intelligent lad of about sixteen, and preferred his request with an urgent humility that was very touching. I told him I would think about it. I mean to do it. I will do it,--and yet, it is simply breaking the laws of the government under which I am living. Unrighteous laws are made to be broken,--_perhaps_,--but then, you see, I am a woman, and Mr. ---- stands between me and the penalty. If I were a man, I would do that and many a thing besides, and doubtless should be shot some fine day from behind a tree by some good neighbour, who would do the community a service by quietly getting rid of a mischievous incendiary; and I promise you in such a case no questions would be asked, and my lessons would come to a speedy and silent end; but teaching slaves to read is a fineable offence, and I am _feme couverte_, and my fines must be paid by my legal owner, and the first offence of the sort is heavily fined, and the second more heavily fined, and for the third, one is sent to prison. What a pity it is I can't begin with Aleck's third lesson, because going to prison can't be done by proxy, and that penalty would light upon the right shoulders! I certainly intend to teach Aleck to read. I certainly won't tell Mr. ---- anything about it. I'll leave him to find it out, as slaves, and servants and children, and all oppressed, and ignorant, and uneducated and unprincipled people do; then, if he forbids me I can stop--perhaps before then the lad may have learnt his letters. I begin to perceive one most admirable circumstance in this slavery: you are absolute on your own plantation. No slaves' testimony avails against you, and no white testimony exists but such as you choose to admit. Some owners have a fancy for maiming their slaves, some brand them, some pull out their teeth, some shoot them a little here and there (all details gathered from advertisements of runaway slaves in southern papers); now they do all this on their plantations, where nobody comes to see, and I'll teach Aleck to read, for nobody is here to see, at least nobody whose seeing I mind; and I'll teach every other creature that wants to learn. I haven't much more than a week to remain in this blessed purgatory, in that last week perhaps I may teach the boy enough to go on alone when I am gone. _Thursday, 21st._--I took a long ride to-day all through some new woods and fields, and finally came upon a large space sown with corn for the people. Here I was accosted by such a shape as I never beheld in the worst of my dreams; it looked at first, as it came screaming towards me, like a live specimen of the arms of the Isle of Man, which, as you may or may not know, are three legs joined together, and kicking in different directions. This uncouth device is not an invention of the Manxmen, for it is found on some very ancient coins,--Greek, I believe; but at any rate it is now the device of our subject Island of Man, and, like that set in motion, and nothing else, was the object that approached me, only it had a head where the three legs were joined, and a voice came out of the head to this effect, 'Oh missis, you hab to take me out of dis here bird field, me no able to run after birds, and ebery night me lick because me no run after dem.' When this apparition reached me and stood as still as it could, I perceived it consisted of a boy who said his name was 'Jack de bird driver.' I suppose some vague idea of the fitness of things had induced them to send this living scarecrow into the cornfield, and if he had been set up in the midst of it, nobody, I am sure, would have imagined he was anything else; but it seems he was expected to run after the feathered fowl who alighted on the grain field, and I do not wonder that he did not fulfil this expectation. His feet, legs, and knees were all maimed and distorted, his legs were nowhere thicker than my wrist, his feet were a yard apart from each other, and his knees swollen and knocking together. What a creature to ran after birds! He implored me to give him some meat, and have him sent back to Little St. Simon's Island, from which he came, and where he said his poor limbs were stronger and better. Riding home, I passed some sassafras trees, which are putting forth deliciously fragrant tassels of small leaves and blossoms, and other exquisite flowering shrubs, which are new to me, and enchant me perhaps all the more for their strangeness. Before reaching the house, I was stopped by one of our multitudinous Jennies, with a request for some meat, and that I would help her with some clothes for Ben and Daphne, of whom she had the sole charge; these are two extremely pretty and interesting-looking mulatto children, whose resemblance to Mr. K---- had induced me to ask Mr. ----, when first I saw them, if he did not think they must be his children? He said they were certainly like him, but Mr. K---- did not acknowledge the relationship. I asked Jenny who their mother was. 'Minda.' 'Who their father?' 'Mr. K----.' 'What! old Mr. K----?' 'No, Mr. R. K----.' 'Who told you so?' 'Minda, who ought to know.' 'Mr. K---- denies it.' 'That's because he never has looked upon them, nor done a thing for them.' 'Well, but he acknowledged Renty as his son, why should he deny these?' 'Because old master was here then, when Renty was born, and he made Betty tell all about it, and Mr. K---- had to own it; but nobody knows anything about this, and so he denies it'--with which information I rode home. I always give you an exact report of any conversation I may have with any of the people, and you see from this that the people on the plantation themselves are much of my worthy neighbour Mr. C----'s mind, that the death of Major ---- was a great misfortune for the slaves on his estate. I went to the hospital this afternoon, to see if the condition of the poor people was at all improved since I had been last there; but nothing had been done. I suppose Mr. G---- is waiting for Mr. ---- to come down in order to speak to him about it. I found some miserable new cases of women disabled by hard work. One poor thing, called Priscilla, had come out of the fields to-day scarcely able to crawl; she has been losing blood for a whole fortnight without intermission, and, until to-day, was labouring in the fields. Leah, another new face since I visited the hospital last, is lying quite helpless from exhaustion; she is advanced in her pregnancy, and doing task work in the fields at the same time. What piteous existences to be sure! I do wonder, as I walk among them, well fed, well clothed, young, strong, idle, doing nothing but ride and drive about all day, a woman, a creature like themselves, who have borne children too, what sort of feeling they have towards me. I wonder it is not one of murderous hate--that they should lie here almost dying with unrepaid labour for me. I stand and look at them, and these thoughts work in my mind and heart, till I feel as if I must tell them how dreadful and how monstrous it seems to me myself, and how bitterly ashamed and grieved I feel for it all. To-day I rode in the morning round poor Cripple Jack's bird field again, through the sweet spicy-smelling pine land, and home by my new road cut through Jones's wood, of which I am as proud as if I had made instead of found it--the grass, flowering shrubs, and all. In the afternoon, I drove in the wood wagon back to Jones's, and visited Busson Hill on the way, with performances of certain promises of flannel, quarters of dollars, &c. &c. At Jones's, the women to-day had all done their work at a quarter past three, and had swept their huts out very scrupulously for my reception. Their dwellings are shockingly dilapidated and over-crammed--poor creatures!--and it seems hard that, while exhorting them to spend labour in cleaning and making them tidy, I cannot promise them that they shall be repaired and made habitable for them. In driving home through my new wood cut, Jack gave me a terrible account of a flogging that a negro called Glasgow had received yesterday. He seemed awfully impressed with it; so I suppose it must have been an unusually severe punishment; but he either would not or could not tell me what the man had done. On my return to the house, I found Mr. ---- had come down from the rice plantation, whereat I was much delighted on all accounts. I am sure it is getting much too late for him to remain in that pestilential swampy atmosphere; besides I want him to see my improvements in the new wood paths, and I want him to come and hear all these poor people's complaints and petitions himself. They have been flocking in to see him ever since it was known he had arrived. I met coming on that errand Dandy, the husband of the woman for whom I cut out the gown the other day; and asking him how it had answered, he gave a piteous account of its tearing all to pieces the first time she put it on; it had appeared to me perfectly rotten and good for nothing, and, upon questioning him as to where he bought it and what he paid for it, I had to hear a sad account of hardship and injustice. I have told you that the people collect moss from the trees and sell it to the shopkeepers in Darien for the purpose of stuffing furniture; they also raise poultry, and are allowed to dispose of the eggs in the same way. It seems that poor Dandy had taken the miserable material Edie's gown was made of as payment for a quantity of moss and eggs furnished by him at various times to one of the Darien storekeepers, who refused him payment in any other shape, and the poor fellow had no redress; and this, he tells me, is a frequent experience with all the slaves both here and at the rice island. Of course, the rascally shopkeepers can cheat these poor wretches to any extent they please with perfect impunity. Mr. ---- told me of a visit Renty paid him, which was not a little curious in some of its particulars. You know none of the slaves are allowed the use of fire arms; but Renty put up a petition to be allowed Mr. K----'s gun, which it seems that gentleman left behind him. Mr. ---- refused this petition, saying at the same time to the lad that he knew very well that none of the people were allowed guns. Renty expostulated on the score of his _white blood_, and finding his master uninfluenced by that consideration, departed with some severe reflections on Mr. K----, his father, for not having left him his gun as a keepsake, in token of (paternal) affection, when he left the plantation. It is quite late, and I am very tired, though I have not done much more than usual to-day, but the weather is beginning to be oppressive to me, who hate heat; but I find the people, and especially the sick in the hospital, speak of it as cold. I will tell you hereafter of a most comical account Mr. ---- has given me of the prolonged and still protracted pseudo-pregnancy of a woman called Markie, who for many more months than are generally required for the process of continuing the human species, pretended to be what the Germans pathetically and poetically call 'in good hope,' and continued to reap increased rations as the reward of her expectation, till she finally had to disappoint the estate and receive a flogging. He told me too, what interested me very much, of a conspiracy among Mr. C----'s slaves some years ago. I cannot tell you about it now; I will some other time. It is wonderful to me that such attempts are not being made the whole time among these people to regain their liberty; probably because many are made ineffectually, and never known beyond the limits of the plantation where they take place. * * * * * Dear E----. We have been having something like northern March weather--blinding sun, blinding wind, and blinding dust, through all which, the day before yesterday, Mr. ---- and I rode together round most of the fields, and over the greater part of the plantation. It was a detestable process, the more so that he rode Montreal and I Miss Kate, and we had no small difficulty in managing them both. In the afternoon we had an equally detestable drive through the new wood paths to St. Annie's, and having accomplished all my errands among the people there, we crossed over certain sounds, and seas, and separating waters, to pay a neighbourly visit to the wife of one of our adjacent planters. How impossible it would be for you to conceive, even if I could describe, the careless desolation which pervaded the whole place; the shaggy unkempt grounds we passed through to approach the house; the ruinous, rackrent, tumble-down house itself, the untidy, slatternly all but beggarly appearance of the mistress of the mansion herself. The smallest Yankee farmer has a tidier estate, a tidier house, and a tidier wife than this member of the proud southern chivalry, who, however, inasmuch as he has slaves, is undoubtedly a much greater personage in his own estimation than those capital fellows W---- and B----, who walk in glory and in joy behind their ploughs upon your mountain sides. The Brunswick canal project was descanted upon, and pronounced, without a shadow of dissent, a scheme the impracticability of which all but convicted its projectors of insanity. Certainly, if, as I hear the monied men of Boston have gone largely into this speculation, their habitual sagacity must have been seriously at fault; for here on the spot nobody mentions the project but as a subject of utter derision. While the men discussed about this matter, Mrs. B---- favoured me with the congratulations I have heard so many times on the subject of my having a white nursery maid for my children. Of course, she went into the old subject of the utter incompetency of negro women to discharge such an office faithfully; but in spite of her multiplied examples of their utter inefficiency, I believe the discussion ended by simply our both agreeing that ignorant negro girls of twelve years old are not as capable or trustworthy as well-trained white women of thirty. Returning home our route was changed, and Quash the boatman took us all the way round by water to Hampton. I should have told you that our exit was as wild as our entrance to this estate and was made through a broken wooden fence, which we had to climb partly over and partly under, with some risk and some obloquy, in spite of our dexterity, as I tore my dress, and very nearly fell flat on my face in the process. Our row home was perfectly enchanting; for though the morning's wind and (I suppose) the state of the tide had roughened the waters of the great river, and our passage was not as smooth as it might have been, the wind had died away, the evening air was deliciously still, and mild, and soft. A young slip of a moon glimmered just above the horizon, and 'the stars climbed up the sapphire steps of heaven,' while we made our way over the rolling, rushing, foaming waves, and saw to right and left the marsh fires burning in the swampy meadows, adding another coloured light in the landscape to the amber-tinted lower sky and the violet arch above, and giving wild picturesqueness to the whole scene by throwing long flickering rays of flame upon the distant waters. _Sunday, the 14th._--I read service again to-day to the people. You cannot conceive anything more impressive than the silent devotion of their whole demeanour while it lasted, nor more touching than the profound thanks with which they rewarded me when it was over, and they took their leave; and to-day they again left me with the utmost decorum of deportment, and without pressing a single petition or complaint, such as they ordinarily thrust upon me on all other occasions, which seems to me an instinctive feeling of religious respect for the day and the business they have come upon, which does them infinite credit. In the afternoon I took a long walk with the chicks in the woods; long at least for the little legs of S---- and M----, who carried baby. We came home by the shore, and I stopped to look at a jutting point, just below which a small sort of bay would have afforded the most capital position for a bathing house. If we stayed here late in the season, such a refreshment would become almost a necessary of life, and anywhere along the bank just where I stopped to examine it to-day, an establishment for that purpose might be prosperously founded. I am amused, but by no means pleased, at an entirely new mode of pronouncing which S---- has adopted. Apparently the negro jargon has commended itself as euphonious to her infantile ears, and she is now treating me to the most ludicrous and accurate imitations of it every time she opens her mouth. Of course I shall not allow this, comical as it is, to become a habit. This is the way the southern ladies acquire the thick and inelegant pronunciation which distinguishes their utterances from the northern snuffle; and I have no desire that S---- should adorn her mother tongue with either peculiarity. It is a curious and sad enough thing to observe, as I have frequent opportunities of doing, the unbounded insolence and tyranny (of manner, of course it can go no farther), of the slaves towards each other. 'Hi! you boy!' and 'Hi! you girl!' shouted in an imperious scream, is the civillest mode of apostrophising those at a distance from them; more frequently it is 'You niggar, you hear? hi! you niggar!' And I assure you no contemptuous white intonation ever equalled the _prepotenza_ of the despotic insolence of this address of these poor wretches to each other. I have left my letter lying for a couple of days, dear E----. I have been busy and tired; my walking and riding is becoming rather more laborious to me, for, though nobody here appears to do so, I am beginning to feel the relaxing influence of the spring. The day before yesterday I took a disagreeable ride, all through swampy fields and charred blackened thickets, to discover nothing either picturesque or beautiful; the woods in one part of the plantation have been on fire for three days, and a whole tract of exquisite evergreens has been burnt down to the ground. In the afternoon I drove in the wood wagon to visit the people at St. Annie's. There had been rain these last two nights, and their wretched hovels do not keep out the weather; they are really miserable abodes for human beings. I think pigs who were at all particular might object to some of them. There is a woman at this settlement called Sophy, the wife of a driver, Morris, who is so pretty that I often wonder if it is only by contrast that I admire her so much, or if her gentle, sweet, refined face, in spite of its dusky colour, would not approve itself anywhere to any one with an eye for beauty. Her manner and voice too are peculiarly soft and gentle; but, indeed, the voices of all these poor people, men as well as women, are much pleasanter and more melodious than the voices of white people in general. Most of the wretched hovels had been swept and tidied out in expectation of my visit, and many were the consequent petitions for rations of meat, flannel, osnaburgs, etc. Promising all which, in due proportion to the cleanliness of each separate dwelling, I came away. On my way home I called for a moment at Jones' settlement to leave money and presents promised to the people there, for similar improvement in the condition of their huts. I had not time to stay and distribute my benefactions myself; and so appointed a particularly bright intelligent looking woman, called Jenny, pay-mistress in my stead; and her deputed authority was received with the utmost cheerfulness by them all. I have been having a long talk with Mr. ---- about Ben and Daphne, those two young mulatto children of Mr. K----'s, whom I mentioned to you lately. Poor pretty children! they have refined and sensitive faces as well as straight regular features; and the expression of the girl's countenance, as well as the sound of her voice, and the sad humility of her deportment, are indescribably touching. Mr. B---- expressed the strongest interest in and pity for them, _because of their colour_: it seems unjust almost to the rest of their fellow unfortunates that this should be so, and yet it is almost impossible to resist the impression of the unfitness of these two forlorn young creatures, for the life of coarse labour and dreadful degradation to which they are destined. In any of the southern cities the girl would be pretty sure to be reserved for a worse fate; but even here, death seems to me a thousand times preferable to the life that is before her. In the afternoon I rode with Mr. ---- to look at the fire in the woods. We did not approach it, but stood where the great volumes of smoke could be seen rising steadily above the pines, as they have now continued to do for upwards of a week; the destruction of the pine timber must be something enormous. We then went to visit Dr. and Mrs. G----, and wound up these exercises of civilized life by a call on dear old Mr. C----, whose nursery and kitchen garden are a real refreshment to my spirits. How completely the national character of the worthy canny old Scot is stamped on the care and thrift visible in his whole property, the judicious successful culture of which has improved and adorned his dwelling in this remote corner of the earth! The comparison, or rather contrast, between himself and his quondam neighbour Major ----, is curious enough to contemplate. The Scotch tendency of the one to turn everything to good account, the Irish propensity of the other to leave everything to ruin, to disorder, and neglect; the careful economy and prudent management of the mercantile man, the reckless profusion, and careless extravagance of the soldier. The one made a splendid fortune and spent it in Philadelphia, where he built one of the finest houses that existed there, in the old-fashioned days, when fine old family mansions were still to be seen breaking the monotonous uniformity of the Quaker city. The other has resided here on his estate ameliorating the condition of his slaves and his property, a benefactor to the people and the soil alike--a useful and a good existence, an obscure and tranquil one. Last Wednesday we drove to Hamilton--by far the finest estate on St. Simon's Island. The gentleman to whom it belongs lives, I believe, habitually in Paris; but Captain F---- resides on it, and, I suppose, is the real overseer of the plantation. All the way along the road (we traversed nearly the whole length of the island) we found great tracts of wood, all burnt or burning; the destruction had spread in every direction, and against the sky we saw the slow rising of the smoky clouds that showed the pine forest to be on fire still. What an immense quantity of property such a fire must destroy! The negro huts on several of the plantations that we passed through were the most miserable human habitations I ever beheld. The wretched hovels at St. Annie's, on the Hampton estate, that had seemed to me the _ne plus ultra_ of misery, were really palaces to some of the dirty, desolate, dilapidated dog kennels which we passed to-day, and out of which the negroes poured like black ants at our approach, and stood to gaze at us as we drove by. The planters' residences we passed were only three. It makes one ponder seriously when one thinks of the mere handful of white people on this island. In the midst of this large population of slaves, how absolutely helpless they would be if the blacks were to become restive! They could be destroyed to a man before human help could reach them from the main, or the tidings even of what was going on be carried across the surrounding waters. As we approached the southern end of the island, we began to discover the line of the white sea sands beyond the bushes and fields,--and presently, above the sparkling, dazzling line of snowy white,--for the sands were as white as our English chalk cliffs,--stretched the deep blue sea line of the great Atlantic Ocean. We found that there had been a most terrible fire in the Hamilton woods--more extensive than that on our own plantation. It seems as if the whole island had been burning at different points for more than a week. What a cruel pity and shame it does seem to have these beautiful masses of wood so destroyed! I suppose it is impossible to prevent it. The 'field hands' make fires to cook their mid-day food wherever they happen to be working; and sometimes through their careless neglect, but sometimes too undoubtedly on purpose, the woods are set fire to by these means. One benefit they consider that they derive from the process is the destruction of the dreaded rattlesnakes that infest the woodland all over the island; but really the funeral pyre of these hateful reptiles is too costly at this price. Hamilton struck me very much,--I mean the whole appearance of the place; the situation of the house, the noble water prospect it commanded, the magnificent old oaks near it, a luxuriant vine trellis, and a splendid hedge of Yucca gloriosa, were all objects of great delight to me. The latter was most curious to me, who had never seen any but single specimens of the plant, and not many of these. I think our green house at the north boasts but two; but here they were growing close together, and in such a manner as to form a compact and impenetrable hedge, their spiky leaves striking out on all sides like _chevaux de frise_, and the tall slender stems that bear those delicate ivory-coloured bells of blossoms, springing up against the sky in a regular row. I wish I could see that hedge in blossom. It must be wonderfully strange and lovely, and must look by moonlight like a whole range of fairy Chinese pagodas carved in ivory. At dinner we had some delicious green peas, so much in advance of you are we down here with the seasons. Don't you think one might accept the rattlesnakes, or perhaps indeed the slavery, for the sake of the green peas? 'Tis a world of compensations--a life of compromises, you know; and one should learn to set one thing against another if one means to thrive and fare well, i.e. eat green peas on the twenty-eighth of March. After dinner I walked up and down before the house for a long while with Mrs. F----, and had a most interesting conversation with her about the negroes and all the details of their condition. She is a kind-hearted, intelligent woman; but though she seemed to me to acquiesce, as a matter of inevitable necessity, in the social system in the midst of which she was born and lives, she did not appear to me, by several things she said, to be by any means in love with it. She gave me a very sad character of Mr. K----, confirming by her general description of him the impression produced by all the details I have received from our own people. As for any care for the moral or religious training of the slaves, that, she said, was a matter that never troubled his thoughts; indeed, his only notion upon the subject of religion, she said, was, that it was something _not bad_ for white women and children. We drove home by moonlight; and as we came towards the woods in the middle of the island, the fire-flies glittered out from the dusky thickets as if some magical golden veil was every now and then shaken out into the darkness. The air was enchantingly mild and soft, and the whole way through the silvery night delightful. My dear friend, I have at length made acquaintance with a live rattlesnake. Old Scylla had the pleasure of discovering it while hunting for some wood to burn. Israel captured it, and brought it to the house for my edification. I thought it an evil-looking beast, and could not help feeling rather nervous while contemplating it, though the poor thing had a noose round its neck and could by no manner of means have extricated itself. The flat head, and vivid vicious eye, and darting tongue, were none of them lovely to behold; but the sort of threatening whirr produced by its rattle, together with the deepening and fading of the marks on its skin, either with its respiration or the emotions of fear and anger it was enduring, were peculiarly dreadful and fascinating. It was quite a young one, having only two or three rattles in its tail. These, as you probably know, increase in number by one annually; so that you can always tell the age of the amiable serpent you are examining--if it will let you count the number of joints of its rattle. Captain F---- gave me the rattle of one which had as many as twelve joints. He said it had belonged to a very large snake which had crawled from under a fallen tree trunk on which his children were playing. After exhibiting his interesting captive, Israel killed, stuffed, and presented it to me for preservation as a trophy, and made me extremely happy by informing me that there was a nest of them where this one was found. I think with terror of S---- running about with her little socks not reaching half-way up her legs, and her little frocks not reaching half-way down them. However, we shall probably not make acquaintance with many more of these natives of Georgia, as we are to return as soon as possible now to the north. We shall soon be free again. This morning I rode to the burnt district, and attempted to go through it at St. Clair's, but unsuccessfully: it was impossible to penetrate through the charred and blackened thickets. In the afternoon I walked round the point, and visited the houses of the people who are our nearest neighbours. I found poor Edie in sad tribulation at the prospect of resuming her field labour. It is really shameful treatment of a woman just after child labour. She was confined exactly three weeks ago to-day, and she tells me she is ordered out to field work on Monday. She seems to dread the approaching hardships of her task-labour extremely. Her baby was born dead, she thinks in consequence of a fall she had while carrying a heavy weight of water. She is suffering great pain in one of her legs and sides, and seems to me in a condition utterly unfit for any work, much less hoeing in the fields; but I dare not interfere to prevent this cruelty. She says she has already had to go out to work three weeks after her confinement with each of her other children, and does not complain of it as anything special in her case. She says that is now the invariable rule of the whole plantation, though it used not to be so formerly. I have let my letter lie since I wrote the above, dear E----; but as mine is a story without beginning, middle, or end, it matters extremely little where I leave it off or where I take it up; and if you have not, between my wood rides and sick slaves, come to Falstaff's conclusion that I have 'damnable iteration,' you are patient of sameness. But the days are like each other; and the rides and the people, and, alas! their conditions, do not vary. To-day, however, my visit to the infirmary was marked by an event which has not occurred before--the death of one of the poor slaves while I was there. I found on entering the first ward,--to use a most inapplicable term for the dark, filthy, forlorn room I have so christened,--an old negro called Friday lying on the ground. I asked what ailed him, and was told he was dying. I approached him, and perceived, from the glazed eyes and the feeble rattling breath, that he was at the point of expiring. His tattered shirt and trousers barely covered his poor body; his appearance was that of utter exhaustion from age and feebleness; he had nothing under him but a mere handful of straw that did not cover the earth he was stretched on; and under his head, by way of pillow for his dying agony, two or three rough sticks just raising his skull a few inches from the ground. The flies were all gathering around his mouth, and not a creature was near him. There he lay,--the worn-out slave, whose life had been spent in unrequited labour for me and mine,--without one physical alleviation, one Christian solace, one human sympathy, to cheer him in his extremity,--panting out the last breath of his wretched existence, like some forsaken, over-worked, wearied-out beast of burthen, rotting where it falls! I bent over the poor awful human creature in the supreme hour of his mortality; and while my eyes, blinded with tears of unavailing pity and horror, were fixed upon him, there was a sudden quivering of the eyelids and falling of the jaw,--and he was free. I stood up, and remained long lost in the imagination of the change that creature had undergone, and in the tremendous overwhelming consciousness of the deliverance God had granted the soul whose cast-off vesture of decay lay at my feet. How I rejoiced for him--and how, as I turned to the wretches who were calling to me from the inner room, whence they could see me as I stood contemplating the piteous object, I wished they all were gone away with him, the delivered, the freed by death from bitter bitter bondage. In the next room, I found a miserable, decrepid, old negress, called Charity, lying sick, and I should think near too to die; but she did not think her work was over, much as she looked unfit for further work on earth; but with feeble voice and beseeching hands implored me to have her work lightened when she was sent back to it from the hospital. She is one of the oldest slaves on the plantation, and has to walk to her field labour, and back again at night, a distance of nearly four miles. There were an unusual number of sick women in the room to-day; among them quite a young girl, daughter of Boatman Quash's, with a sick baby, who has a father, though she has no husband. Poor thing! she looks like a mere child herself. I returned home so very sad and heart-sick that I could not rouse myself to the effort of going up to St. Annie's with the presents I had promised the people there. I sent M---- up in the wood wagon with them, and remained in the house with my thoughts, which were none of the merriest. * * * * * Dearest E----. On Friday, I rode to where the rattlesnake was found, and where I was informed by the negroes there was a _nest_ of them--a pleasing domestic picture of home and infancy that word suggests, not altogether appropriate to rattlesnakes, I think. On horseback I felt bold to accomplish this adventure, which I certainly should not have attempted on foot; however, I could discover no sign of either snake or nest--(perhaps it is of the nature of a mare's nest, and undiscoverable); but, having done my duty by myself in endeavouring to find it, I rode off and coasted the estate by the side of the marsh, till I came to the causeway. There I found a new cleared field, and stopped to admire the beautiful appearance of the stumps of the trees scattered all about it, and wreathed and garlanded with the most profuse and fantastic growth of various plants--wild roses being among the most abundant. What a lovely aspect one side of nature presents here, and how hideous is the other! In the afternoon, I drove to pay a visit to old Mrs. A----, the lady proprietress whose estate immediately adjoins ours. On my way thither, I passed a woman called Margaret walking rapidly and powerfully along the road. She was returning home from the field, having done her task at three o'clock; and told me, with a merry beaming black face, that she was going 'to clean up de house, to please de missis.' On driving through my neighbour's grounds, I was disgusted more than I can express with the miserable negro huts of her people; they were not fit to shelter cattle--they were not fit to shelter anything, for they were literally in holes, and, as we used to say of our stockings at school, too bad to darn. To be sure, I will say, in excuse for their old mistress, her own habitation was but a very few degrees less ruinous and disgusting. What would one of your Yankee farmers say to such abodes? When I think of the white houses, the green blinds, and the flower plots, of the villages in New England, and look at these dwellings of lazy filth and inert degradation, it does seem amazing to think that physical and moral conditions so widely opposite should be found among people occupying a similar place in the social scale of the same country. The Northern farmer, however, thinks it no shame to work, the Southern planter does; and there begins and ends the difference. Industry, man's crown of honour elsewhere, is here his badge of utter degradation; and so comes all by which I am here surrounded--pride, profligacy, idleness, cruelty, cowardice, ignorance, squalor, dirt, and ineffable abasement. When I returned home, I found that Mrs. F---- had sent me some magnificent prawns. I think of having them served singly, and divided as one does a lobster--their size really suggests no less respect. _Saturday, 31st._--I rode all through the burnt district and the bush to Mrs. W----'s field, in making my way out of which I was very nearly swamped, and, but for the valuable assistance of a certain sable Scipio who came up and extricated me, I might be floundering hopelessly there still. He got me out of my Slough of Despond, and put me in the way to a charming wood ride which runs between Mrs. W----'s and Colonel H----'s grounds. While going along this delightful boundary of these two neighbouring estates, my mind not unnaturally dwelt upon the terms of deadly feud in which the two families owning them are living with each other. A horrible quarrel has occurred quite lately upon the subject of the ownership of this very ground I was skirting, between Dr. H---- and young Mr. W----; they have challenged each other, and what I am going to tell you is a good sample of the sort of spirit which grows up among slaveholders. So read it, for it is curious to people who have not lived habitually among savages. The terms of the challenge that has passed between them have appeared like a sort of advertisement in the local paper, and are to the effect that they are to fight at a certain distance with certain weapons--firearms, of course; that there is to be on the person of each a white paper, or mark, immediately over the region of the heart, as a point for direct aim; and whoever kills the other is to have the privilege of _cutting off his head, and sticking it up on a pole on the piece of land which was the origin of the debate_; so that, some fine day, I might have come hither as I did to-day and found myself riding under the shadow of the gory locks of Dr. H---- or Mr. W----, my peaceful and pleasant neighbours. I came home through our own pine woods, which are actually a wilderness of black desolation. The scorched and charred tree trunks are still smoking and smouldering; the ground is a sort of charcoal pavement, and the fire is still burning on all sides, for the smoke was rapidly rising in several directions on each hand of the path I pursued. Across this dismal scene of strange destruction, bright blue and red birds, like living jewels, darted in the brilliant sunshine. I wonder if the fire has killed and scared away many of these beautiful creatures. In the afternoon I took Jack with me to clear some more of the wood paths; but the weather is what I call hot, and what the people here think warm, and the air was literally thick with little black points of insects, which they call sand flies, and which settle upon one's head and face literally like a black net; you hardly see them or feel them at the time, but the irritation occasioned by them is intolerable, and I had to relinquish my work and fly before this winged plague as fast as I could from my new acquaintance the rattlesnakes. Jack informed me, in the course of our expedition, that the woods on the island were sometimes burnt away in order to leave the ground in grass for fodder for the cattle, and that the very beautiful ones he and I had been clearing paths through were not unlikely to be so doomed, which strikes me as a horrible idea. In the evening, poor Edie came up to the house to see me, with an old negress called Sackey, who has been one of the chief nurses on the island for many years. I suppose she has made some application to Mr. G---- for a respite for Edie, on finding how terribly unfit she is for work; or perhaps Mr. ----, to whom I represented her case, may have ordered her reprieve; but she came with much gratitude to me (who have, as far as I know, had nothing to do with it), to tell me that she is not able to be sent into the field for another week. Old Sackey fully confirmed Edie's account of the terrible hardships the women underwent in being thus driven to labour before they had recovered from child-bearing. She said that old Major ---- allowed the women at the rice island five weeks, and those here four weeks, to recover from a confinement, and then never permitted them for some time after they resumed their work to labour in the fields before sunrise or after sunset; but Mr. K---- had altered that arrangement, allowing the women at the rice island only four weeks, and those here only three weeks, for their recovery; 'and then, missis,' continued the old woman, 'out into the field again, through dew and dry, as if nothing had happened; that is why, missis, so many of the women have falling of the womb, and weakness in the back; and if he had continued on the estate, he would have utterly destroyed all the breeding women.' Sometimes, after sending them back into the field, at the expiration of their three weeks, they would work for a day or two, she said, and then fall down in the field with exhaustion, and be brought to the hospital almost at the point of death. Yesterday, Sunday, I had my last service at home with these poor people; nearly thirty of them came, all clean, neat, and decent, in their dress and appearance. S---- had begged very hard to join the congregation, and upon the most solemn promise of remaining still she was admitted; but in spite of the perfect honour with which she kept her promise, her presence disturbed my thoughts not a little, and added much to the poignancy of the feeling with which I saw her father's poor slaves gathered round me. The child's exquisite complexion, large grey eyes, and solemn and at the same time eager countenance, was such a wonderful piece of contrast to their sable faces, so many of them so uncouth in their outlines and proportions, and yet all of them so pathetic, and some so sublime in their expression of patient suffering and religious fervour; their eyes never wandered from me and my child, who sat close by my knee, their little mistress, their future providence, my poor baby! Dear E----, bless God that you have never reared a child with such an awful expectation: and at the end of the prayers, the tears were streaming over their faces, and one chorus of blessings rose round me and the child--farewell blessings, and prayers that we would return; and thanks so fervent in their incoherency, it was more than I could bear, and I begged them to go away and leave me to recover myself. And then I remained with S----, and for quite a long while even her restless spirit was still in wondering amazement at my bitter crying. I am to go next Sunday to the church on the island, where there is to be service; and so this is my last Sunday with the people. When I had recovered from the emotion of this scene, I walked out with S---- a little way, but meeting M---- and the baby, she turned home with them, and I pursued my walk alone up the road, and home by the shore. They are threatening to burn down all my woods to make grass land for the cattle, and I have terrified them by telling them that I will never come back if they destroy the woods. I went and paid a visit to Mrs. G----; poor little, well-meaning, helpless woman! what can she do for these poor people, where I who am supposed to own them can do nothing? and yet how much may be done, is done, by the brain and heart of one human being in contact with another! We are answerable for incalculable opportunities of good and evil in our daily intercourse with every soul with whom we have to deal; every meeting, every parting, every chance greeting, and every appointed encounter, are occasions open to us for which we are to account. To our children, our servants, our friends, our acquaintances,--to each and all every day, and all day long, we are distributing that which is best or worst in existence,--influence: with every word, with every look, with every gesture, something is given or withheld of great importance it may be to the receiver, of inestimable importance to the giver. Certainly the laws and enacted statutes on which this detestable system is built up are potent enough; the social prejudice that buttresses it is almost more potent still; and yet a few hearts and brains well bent to do the work, would bring within this almost impenetrable dungeon of ignorance, misery, and degradation, in which so many millions of human souls lie buried, that freedom of God which would presently conquer for them their earthly liberty. With some such thoughts I commended the slaves on the plantation to the little overseer's wife; I did not tell my thoughts to her, they would have scared the poor little woman half out of her senses. To begin with, her bread, her husband's occupation, has its root in slavery; it would be difficult for her to think as I do of it. I am afraid her care, even of the bodily habits and sicknesses of the people left in Mrs. G----'s charge, will not be worth much, for nobody treats others better than they do themselves; and she is certainly doing her best to injure herself and her own poor baby, who is two and a-half years old, and whom she is still suckling. This is, I think, the worst case of this extraordinary delusion so prevalent among your women that I have ever met with yet; but they all nurse their children much longer than is good for either baby or mother. The summer heat, particularly when a young baby is cutting teeth, is, I know, considered by young American mothers an exceedingly critical time, and therefore I always hear of babies being nursed till after the second summer; so that a child born in January would be suckled till it was eighteen or nineteen months old, in order that it might not be weaned till its second summer was over. I am sure that nothing can be worse than this system, and I attribute much of the wretched ill health of young American mothers to over nursing; and of course a process that destroys their health and vigour completely must affect most unfavourably the child they are suckling. It is a grievous mistake. I remember my charming friend F---- D---- telling me that she had nursed her first child till her second was born--a miraculous statement, which I can only believe because she told it me herself. Whenever anything seems absolutely impossible, the word of a true person is the only proof of it worth anything. * * * * * Dear E----. I have been riding into the swamp behind the new house; I had a mind to survey the ground all round it before going away, to see what capabilities it afforded for the founding of a garden, but I confess it looked very unpromising. Trying to return by another way, I came to a morass, which, after contemplating, and making my horse try for a few paces, I thought it expedient not to attempt. A woman called Charlotte, who was working in the field, seeing my dilemma and the inglorious retreat I was about to make, shouted to me at the top of her voice, 'You no turn back, missis! if you want to go through, send, missis, send! you hab slave enough, nigger enough, let 'em come, let 'em fetch planks, and make de bridge; what you say dey must do,--send, missis, send, missis!' It seemed to me, from the lady's imperative tone in my behalf, that if she had been in my place, she would presently have had a corduroy road through the swamp of prostrate 'niggers,' as she called her family in Ham, and ridden over the same dry-hoofed; and to be sure, if I pleased, so might I, for, as she very truly said, 'what you say, missis, they must do.' Instead of summoning her sooty tribe, however, I backed my horse out of the swamp, and betook myself to another pretty woodpath, which only wants widening to be quite charming. At the end of this, however, I found swamp the second, and out of this having been helped by a grinning facetious personage, most appropriately named Pun, I returned home in dudgeon, in spite of what dear Miss M---- calls the 'moral suitability' of finding a foul bog at the end of every charming wood path or forest ride in this region. In the afternoon, I drove to Busson Hill, to visit the people there. I found that both the men and women had done their work at half-past three. Saw Jema with her child, that ridiculous image of Driver Bran, in her arms, in spite of whose whitey brown skin she still maintains that its father is a man as black as herself--and she (to use a most extraordinary comparison I heard of a negro girl making with regard to her mother) is as black as 'de hinges of hell.' Query: Did she really mean hinges--or angels? The angels of hell is a polite and pretty paraphrase for devils, certainly. In complimenting a woman, called Joan, upon the tidy condition of her house, she answered, with that cruel humility that is so bad an element in their character, 'Missis no 'spect to find coloured folks' house clean as white folks.' The mode in which they have learned to accept the idea of their own degradation and unalterable inferiority, is the most serious impediment that I see in the way of their progress, since assuredly, 'self-love is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.' In the same way yesterday, Abraham the cook, in speaking of his brother's theft at the rice island, said 'it was a shame even for a coloured man to do such things.' I labour hard, whenever any such observation is made, to explain to them that the question is one of moral and mental culture,--not the colour of an integument,--and assure them, much to my own comfort, whatever it may be to theirs, that white people are as dirty and as dishonest as coloured folks, when they have suffered the same lack of decent training. If I could but find one of these women, on whose mind the idea had dawned that she was neither more nor less than my equal, I think I should embrace her in an ecstacy of hopefulness. In the evening, while I was inditing my journal for your edification, Jema made her appearance with her Bran-brown baby, having walked all the way down from Busson Hill to claim a little sugar I had promised her. She had made her child perfectly clean, and it looked quite pretty. When I asked her what I should give her the sugar in, she snatched her filthy handkerchief off her head; but I declined this sugar basin, and gave it to her in some paper. Hannah came on the same errand. After all, dear E----, we shall not leave Georgia so soon as I expected; we cannot get off for at least another week. You know, our movements are apt to be both tardy and uncertain. I am getting sick in spirit of my stay here; but I think the spring heat is beginning to affect me miserably, and I long for a cooler atmosphere. Here, on St. Simon's, the climate is perfectly healthy, and our neighbours, many of them, never stir from their plantations within reach of the purifying sea influence. But a land that grows magnolias is not fit for me--I was going to say magnolias and rattlesnakes; but I remember K----'s adventure with her friend the rattlesnake of Monument Mountain, and the wild wood-covered hill half-way between Lenox and Stockbridge, which your Berkshire farmers have christened Rattlesnake Mountain. These agreeable serpents seem, like the lovely little humming birds which are found in your northernmost as well as southernmost States, to have an accommodating disposition with regard to climate. Not only is the vicinity of the sea an element of salubrity here; but the great masses of pine wood growing in every direction indicate lightness of soil and purity of air. Wherever these fragrant, dry, aromatic fir forests extend, there can be no inherent malaria, I should think, in either atmosphere or soil. The beauty and profusion of the weeds and wild flowers in the fields now is something, too, enchanting. I wish I could spread one of these enamelled tracts on the side of one of your snow-covered hills now--for I daresay they are snow-covered yet. I must give you an account of Aleck's first reading lesson, which took place at the same time that I gave S---- hers this morning. It was the first time he had had leisure to come, and it went off most successfully. He seems to me by no means stupid. I am very sorry he did not ask me to do this before; however, if he can master his alphabet before I go, he may, if chance favour him with the occasional sight of a book, help himself on by degrees. Perhaps he will have the good inspiration to apply to Cooper London for assistance; I am much mistaken if that worthy does not contrive that Heaven shall help Aleck, as it formerly did him--in the matter of reading. I rode with Jack afterwards, showing him where I wish paths to be cut and brushwood removed. I passed the new house, and again circumvented it meditatingly to discover its available points of possible future comeliness, but remained as convinced as ever that there are absolutely none. Within the last two days, a perfect border of the dark blue Virginicum has burst into blossom on each side of the road, fringing it with purple as far as one can look along it; it is lovely. I must tell you of something which has delighted me greatly. I told Jack yesterday, that if any of the boys liked, when they had done their tasks, to come and clear the paths that I want widened and trimmed, I would pay them a certain small sum per hour for their labour; and behold, three boys have come, having done their tasks early in the afternoon, to apply for _work_ and _wages_: so much for a suggestion not barely twenty-four hours old, and so much for a prospect of compensation! In the evenings I attempted to walk out when the air was cool, but had to run precipitately back into the house to escape from the clouds of sand-flies that had settled on my neck and arms. The weather has suddenly become intensely hot; at least, that is what it appears to me. After I had come in I had a visit from Venus and her daughter, a young girl of ten years old, for whom she begged a larger allowance of food as, she said, what she received for her was totally inadequate to the girl's proper nourishment. I was amazed, upon enquiry, to find that three quarts of grits a week--that is not a pint a day--was considered a sufficient supply for children of her age. The mother said her child was half-famished on it, and it seemed to me terribly little. My little workmen have brought me in from the woods three darling little rabbits which they have contrived to catch. They seemed to me slightly different from our English bunnies; and Captain F----, who called to-day, gave me a long account of how they differed from the same animal in the northern States. I did not like to mortify my small workmen by refusing their present; but the poor little things must be left to run wild again, for we have no conveniences for pets here, besides we are just weighing anchor ourselves. I hope these poor little fluffy things will not meet any rattlesnakes on their way back to the woods. I had a visit for flannel from one of our Dianas to-day,--who had done her task in the middle of the day, yet came to receive her flannel,--the most horribly dirty human creature I ever beheld, unless indeed her child, whom she brought with her, may have been half a degree dirtier. The other day, Psyche (you remember the pretty under nurse, the poor thing whose story I wrote you from the rice plantation) asked me if her mother and brothers might be allowed to come and see her when we are gone away. I asked her some questions about them, and she told me that one of her brothers, who belonged to Mr. K----, was hired by that gentleman to a Mr. G---- of Darien, and that, upon the latter desiring to purchase him, Mr. K---- had sold the man without apprising him or any one member of his family that he had done so--a humane proceeding that makes one's blood boil when one hears of it. He had owned the man ever since he was a boy. Psyche urged me very much to obtain an order permitting her to see her mother and brothers. I will try and obtain it for her, but there seems generally a great objection to the visits of slaves from neighbouring plantations, and, I have no doubt, not without sufficient reason. The more I see of this frightful and perilous social system, the more I feel that those who live in the midst of it must make their whole existence one constant precaution against danger of some sort or other. I have given Aleck a second reading lesson with S----, who takes an extreme interest in his newly acquired alphabetical lore. He is a very quick and attentive scholar, and I should think a very short time would suffice to teach him to read; but, alas! I have not even that short time. When I had done with my class, I rode off with Jack, who has become quite an expert horseman, and rejoices in being lifted out of the immediate region of snakes by the length of his horse's legs. I cantered through the new wood paths, and took a good sloping gallop through the pine land to St. Annie's. The fire is actually still burning in the woods. I came home quite tired with the heat, though my ride was not a long one. Just as I had taken off my habit and was preparing to start off with M----and the chicks for Jones's, in the wood wagon, old Dorcas, one of the most decrepid, rheumatic, and miserable old negresses from the further end of the plantation, called in to beg for some sugar. She had walked the whole way from her own settlement, and seemed absolutely exhausted then, and yet she had to walk all the way back. It was not otherwise than slightly meritorious in me, my dear E----, to take her up in the wagon and endure her abominable dirt and foulness in the closest proximity, rather than let her drag her poor old limbs all that way back; but I was glad when we gained her abode and lost her company. I am mightily reminded occasionally in these parts of Trinculo's soliloquy over Caliban. The people at Jones's had done their work at half-past three. Most of the houses were tidy and clean, so were many of the babies. On visiting the cabin of an exceedingly decent woman called Peggy, I found her, to my surprise, possessed of a fine large bible. She told me her husband, Carpenter John, can read, and that she means to make him teach her. The fame of Aleck's literature has evidently reached Jones's, and they are not afraid to tell me that they can read or wish to learn to do so. This poor woman's health is miserable; I never saw a more weakly sickly looking creature. She says she has been broken down ever since the birth of her last child. I asked her how soon after her confinement she went out into the field to work again. She answered very quietly, but with a deep sigh: 'Three weeks, missis; de usual time.' As I was going away, a man named Martin came up, and with great vehemence besought me to give him a prayer-book. In the evening, he came down to fetch it, and to show me that he can read. I was very much pleased to see that they had taken my hint about nailing wooden slats across the windows of their poor huts, to prevent the constant ingress of the poultry. This in itself will produce an immense difference in the cleanliness and comfort of their wretched abodes. In one of the huts I found a broken looking-glass; it was the only piece of furniture of the sort that I had yet seen among them. The woman who owned it was, I am sorry to say, peculiarly untidy and dirty, and so were her children: so that I felt rather inclined to scoff at the piece of civilized vanity, which I should otherwise have greeted as a promising sign. I drove home, late in the afternoon, through the sweet-smelling woods, that are beginning to hum with the voice of thousands of insects. My troop of volunteer workmen is increased to five; five lads working for my wages after they have done their task work; and this evening, to my no small amazement, Driver Bran came down to join them for an hour, after working all day at Five Pound, which certainly shows zeal and energy. Dear E----, I have been riding through the woods all the morning with Jack, giving him directions about the clearings, which I have some faint hope may be allowed to continue after my departure. I went on an exploring expedition round some distant fields, and then home through the St. Annie's woods. They have almost stripped the trees and thickets along the swamp road since I first came here. I wonder what it is for: not fuel surely, nor to make grass land of, or otherwise cultivate the swamp. I do deplore these pitiless clearings; and as to this once pretty road, it looks 'forlorn,' as a worthy Pennsylvania farmer's wife once said to me of a pretty hill-side from which her husband had ruthlessly felled a beautiful grove of trees. I had another snake encounter in my ride this morning. Just as I had walked my horse through the swamp, and while contemplating ruefully its naked aspect, a huge black snake wriggled rapidly across the path, and I pulled my reins tight and opened my mouth wide with horror. These hideous-looking creatures are, I believe, not poisonous, but they grow to a monstrous size, and have tremendous _constrictive_ power. I have heard stories that sound like the nightmare, of their fighting desperately with those deadly creatures, rattlesnakes. I cannot conceive, if the black snakes are not poisonous, what chance they have against such antagonists, let their squeezing powers be what they will. How horrid it did look, _slithering_ over the road! Perhaps the swamp has been cleared on account of its harbouring these dreadful worms. I rode home very fast, in spite of the exquisite fragrance of the wild cherry blossoms, the carpets and curtains of wild flowers, among which a sort of glorified dandelion glowed conspicuously; dandelions such as I should think grew in the garden of Eden, if there were any at all there. I passed the finest magnolia that I have yet seen; it was magnificent, and I suppose had been spared for its beauty, for it grew in the very middle of a cotton field; it was as large as a fine forest tree, and its huge glittering leaves shone like plates of metal in the sun; what a spectacle that tree must be in blossom, and I should think its perfume must be smelt from one end of the plantation to the other. What a glorious creature! Which do you think ought to weigh most in the scale, the delight of such a vegetable, or the disgust of the black animal I had just met a few minutes before? Would you take the one with the other? Neither would I. I have spent the whole afternoon at home; my 'gang' is busily at work again. Sawney, one of them, came to join it nearly at sun-down, not having got through his day's task before. In watching and listening to these lads, I was constantly struck with the insolent tyranny of their demeanour towards each other. This is almost a universal characteristic of the manner of the negroes among themselves. They are diabolically cruel to animals too, and they seem to me as a rule hardly to know the difference between truth and falsehood. These detestable qualities, which I constantly hear attributed to them as innate and inherent in their race, appear to me the direct result of their condition. The individual exceptions among them are, I think, quite as many as would be found under similar circumstances, among the same number of white people. In considering the whole condition of the people on this plantation, it appears to me that the principal hardships fall to the lot of the women; that is, the principal physical hardships. The very young members of the community are of course idle and neglected; the very very old, idle and neglected too; the middle-aged men do not appear to me over-worked, and lead a mere animal existence, in itself not peculiarly cruel or distressing, but involving a constant element of fear and uncertainty, and the trifling evils of unrequited labour, ignorance the most profound, (to which they are condemned by law); and the unutterable injustice which precludes them from all the merits and all the benefits of voluntary exertion, and the progress that results from it. If they are absolutely unconscious of these evils, then they are not very ill-off brutes, always barring the chance of being given or sold away from their mates or their young--processes which even brutes do not always relish. I am very much struck with the vein of melancholy, which assumes almost a poetical tone in some of the things they say. Did I tell you of that poor old decrepid creature Dorcas, who came to beg some sugar of me the other day? saying as she took up my watch from the table and looked at it, 'Ah? I need not look at this, I have almost done with time!' Was not that striking from such a poor old ignorant crone? * * * * * Dear E----. This is the fourth day that I have had a 'gang' of lads working in the woods for me after their task hours, for pay; you cannot think how zealous and energetic they are; I daresay the novelty of the process pleases them almost as much as the money they earn. I must say they quite deserve their small wages. Last night I received a present from Mrs. F---- of a drum fish, which animal I had never beheld before, and which seemed to me first cousin to the great Leviathan. It is to be eaten, and is certainly the biggest fish food I ever saw; however, everything is in proportion, and the prawns that came with it are upon a similarly extensive scale; this magnificent piscatorial bounty was accompanied by a profusion of Hamilton green peas, really a munificent supply. I went out early after breakfast with Jack hunting for new paths; we rode all along the road by Jones's Creek, and most beautiful it was. We skirted the plantation burial ground, and a dismal place it looked; the cattle trampling over it in every direction--except where Mr. K---- had had an enclosure put up round the graves of two white men who had worked on the estate. They were strangers, and of course utterly indifferent to the people here; but by virtue of their white skins, their resting-place was protected from the hoofs of the cattle, while the parents and children, wives, husbands, brothers and sisters, of the poor slaves, sleeping beside them, might see the graves of those they loved trampled upon and browsed over, desecrated and defiled, from morning till night. There is something intolerably cruel in this disdainful denial of a common humanity pursuing these wretches even when they are hid beneath the earth. The day was exquisitely beautiful, and I explored a new wood path, and found it all strewed with a lovely wild flower not much unlike a primrose. I spent the afternoon at home. I dread going out twice a-day now, on account of the heat and the sand flies. While I was sitting by the window, Abraham, our cook, went by with some most revolting looking 'raw material' (part I think of the interior of the monstrous drum fish of which I have told you). I asked him with considerable disgust what he was going to do with it, he replied, 'Oh! we coloured people eat it, missis;' said I, 'Why do you say we coloured people?' 'Because, missis, white people won't touch what we too glad of.' 'That,' said I, 'is because you are poor, and do not often have meat to eat, not because you are coloured, Abraham; rich white folks will not touch what poor white folks are too glad of; it has nothing in the world to do with colour, and if there were white people here worse off than you (amazing and inconceivable suggestion, I fear), they would be glad to eat what you perhaps would not touch.' Profound pause of meditation on the part of Abraham, wound up by a considerate 'Well, missis, I suppose so.' After which he departed with the horrid looking offal. To-day--Saturday--I took another ride of discovery round the fields by Jones's. I think I shall soon be able to survey this estate, I have ridden so carefully over it in every direction; but my rides are drawing to a close and even were I to remain here this must be the case unless I got up and rode under the stars in the cool of the night. This afternoon I was obliged to drive up to St. Annie's: I had promised the people several times that I would do so. I went after dinner and as late as I could, and found very considerable improvement in the whole condition of the place; the houses had all been swept, and some of them actually scoured. The children were all quite tolerably clean; they had put slats across all their windows, and little chicken gates to the doors to keep out the poultry. There was a poor woman lying in one of the cabins in a wretched condition. She begged for a bandage, but I do not see of what great use that can be to her, as long as she has to hoe in the fields so many hours a day, which I cannot prevent. Returning home, Israel undertook to pilot me across the cotton fields into the pine land; and a more excruciating process than being dragged over that very uneven surface in that wood wagon without springs I did never endure, mitigated and soothed though it was by the literally fascinating account my charioteer gave me of the rattlesnakes with which the place we drove through becomes infested as the heat increases. I cannot say that his description of them, though more demonstrative as far as regarded his own horror of them, was really worse than that which Mr. G---- was giving me of them yesterday. He said they were very numerous, and were found in every direction all over the plantation, but that they did not become really vicious until quite late in the summer; until then, it appears that they generally endeavour to make off if one meets them, but during the intense heats of the latter part of July and August they never think of escaping, but at any sight or sound which they may consider inimical, they instantly coil themselves for a spring. The most intolerable proceeding on their part, however, that he described, was their getting up into the trees, and either coiling themselves in or depending from the branches. There is something too revolting in the idea of serpents looking down upon one from the shade of the trees to which one may betake oneself for shelter in the dreadful heat of the southern midsummer; decidedly I do not think the dog-days would be pleasant here. The mocassin snake, which is nearly as deadly as the rattlesnake, abounds all over the island. In the evening, I had a visit from Mr. C---- and Mr. B----, who officiates to-morrow at our small island church. The conversation I had with these gentlemen was sad enough. They seem good and kind and amiable men, and I have no doubt are conscientious in their capacity of slaveholders; but to one who has lived outside this dreadful atmosphere, the whole tone of their discourse has a morally muffled sound, which one must hear to be able to conceive. Mr. B---- told me that the people on this plantation not going to church was the result of a positive order from Mr. K----, who had peremptorily forbidden their doing so, and of course to have infringed that order would have been to incur severe corporal chastisement. Bishop B----, it seems, had advised that there should be periodical preaching on the plantations, which, said Mr. B----, would have obviated any necessity for the people of different estates congregating at any given point at stated times, which might perhaps be objectionable, and at the same time would meet the reproach which was now beginning to be directed towards the southern planters as a class, of neglecting the eternal interest of their dependents. But Mr. K---- had equally objected to this. He seems to have held religious teaching a mighty dangerous thing--and how right he was! I have met with conventional cowardice of various shades and shapes in various societies that I have lived in; but anything like the pervading timidity of tone which I find here on all subjects, but above all on that of the condition of the slaves, I have never dreamed of. Truly slavery begets slavery, and the perpetual state of suspicion and apprehension of the slaveholders is a very handsome offset, to say the least of it, against the fetters and the lash of the slaves. Poor people, one and all, but especially poor oppressors of the oppressed! The attitude of these men is really pitiable; they profess (perhaps some of them strive to do so indeed) to consult the best interests of their slaves, and yet shrink back terrified from the approach of the slightest intellectual or moral improvement which might modify their degraded and miserable existence. I do pity these deplorable servants of two masters more than any human beings I have ever seen--more than their own slaves a thousand times! To-day is Sunday, and I have been to the little church on the island. It is the second time since I came down to the south that I have been to a place of worship. A curious little incident prefaced my going thither this morning. I had desired Israel to get my horse ready and himself to accompany me, as I meant to ride to church; and you cannot imagine anything droller than his horror and dismay when he at length comprehended that my purpose was to attend divine service in my riding habit. I asked him what was the trouble, for though I saw something was creating a dreadful convulsion in his mind, I had no idea what it was till he told me, adding, that he had never seen such a thing on St. Simon's in his life--as who should say, such a thing was never seen in Hyde Park or the Tuileries before. You may imagine my amusement, but presently I was destined to shock something much more serious than poor Israel's sense of _les convénances et bienséances_, and it was not without something of an effort that I made up my mind to do so. I was standing at the open window speaking to him about the horses, and telling him to get ready to ride with me, when George, another of the men, went by with a shade or visor to his cap exactly the shape of the one I left behind at the north, and for want of which I have been suffering severely from the intense heat and glare of the sun for the last week. I asked him to hand me his cap, saying, 'I want to take the pattern of that shade.' Israel exclaimed, 'Oh missis, not to-day; let him leave the cap with you to-morrow, but don't cut pattern on de Sabbath day!' It seemed to me a much more serious matter to offend this scruple than the prejudice with regard to praying in a riding habit; still it had to be done. 'Do you think it wrong, Israel,' said I, 'to work on Sunday?' 'Yes, missis, parson tell we so.' 'Then, Israel, be sure you never do it. Did your parson never tell you that your conscience was for yourself and not for your neighbours, Israel?' 'Oh yes, missis, he tell we that too.' 'Then mind that too, Israel.' The shade was cut out and stitched upon my cap, and protected my eyes from the fierce glare of the sun and sand as I rode to church. On our way, we came to a field where the young corn was coming up. The children were in the field--little living scarecrows--watching it, of course, as on a weekday, to keep off the birds. I made Israel observe this, who replied, 'Oh missis, if de people's corn left one whole day not watched, not one blade of it remain to-morrow; it must be watched, missis.' 'What, on the Sabbath day, Israel?' 'Yes, missis, or else we lose it all.' I was not sorry to avail myself of this illustration of the nature of works of necessity, and proceeded to enlighten Israel with regard to what I conceive to be the genuine observance of the Sabbath. You cannot imagine anything wilder or more beautiful than the situation of the little rustic temple in the woods where I went to worship to-day, with the magnificent live oaks standing round it and its picturesque burial ground. The disgracefully neglected state of the latter, its broken and ruinous enclosure, and its shaggy weed-grown graves, tell a strange story of the residents of this island, who are content to leave the resting-place of their dead in so shocking a condition. In the tiny little chamber of a church, the grand old litany of the Episcopal Church of England was not a little shorn of its ceremonial stateliness; clerk there was none, nor choir, nor organ, and the clergyman did duty for all, giving out the hymn and then singing it himself, followed as best might be by the uncertain voices of his very small congregation, the smallest I think I ever saw gathered in a Christian place of worship, even counting a few of the negroes who had ventured to place themselves standing at the back of the church--an infringement on their part upon the privileges of their betters--as Mr. B---- generally preaches a second sermon to them after the _white_ service, to which as a rule they are not admitted. On leaving the church, I could not but smile at the quaint and original costumes with which Israel had so much dreaded a comparison for my irreproachable London riding habit. However, the strangeness of it was what inspired him with terror; but, at that rate, I am afraid a Paris gown and bonnet might have been in equal danger of shocking his prejudices. There was quite as little affinity with the one as the other in the curious specimens of the 'art of dressing' that gradually distributed themselves among the two or three indescribable machines (to use the appropriate Scotch title) drawn up under the beautiful oak trees, on which they departed in various directions to the several plantations on the island. I mounted my horse, and resumed my ride and my conversation with Israel. He told me that Mr. K----'s great objection to the people going to church was their meeting with the slaves from the other plantations; and one reason, he added, that he did not wish them to do that was, that they trafficked and bartered away the cooper's wares, tubs, piggins, &c., made on the estate. I think, however, from everything I hear of that gentleman, that the mere fact of the Hampton people coming in contact with the slaves of other plantations would be a thing he would have deprecated. As a severe disciplinarian, he was probably right. In the course of our talk, a reference I made to the Bible, and Israel's answer that he could not read, made me ask him why his father had never taught any of his sons to read; old Jacob, I know, can read. What followed I shall never forget. He began by giving all sorts of childish unmeaning excuses and reasons for never having tried to learn--became confused and quite incoherent,--and then, suddenly stopping, and pulling up his horse, said, with a look and manner that went to my very heart; 'Missis, what for me learn to read? me have no prospect!' I rode on without venturing to speak to him again for a little while. When I had recovered from that remark of his, I explained to him that, though indeed 'without prospect' in some respects, yet reading might avail him much to better his condition, moral, mental, and physical. He listened very attentively, and was silent for a minute; after which he said:--'All you say very true, missis, and me sorry now me let de time pass; but you know what de white man dat goberns de estate him seem to like and favour, dat de people find out bery soon and do it; now, Massa K----, him neber favour our reading, him not like it; likely as not he lick you if he find you reading, or if you wish to teach your children, him always say, "Pooh, teach 'em to read--teach 'em to work." According to dat, we neber paid much attention to it, but now it will be different; it was different in former times. De old folks of my father and mother's time could read more than we can, and I expect de people will dare to give some thought to it again now.' There's a precious sample of what one man's influence may do in his own sphere, dear E----! This man Israel is a remarkably fine fellow in every way, with a frank, open, and most intelligent countenance, which rises before me with its look of quiet sadness whenever I think of those words (and they haunt me), 'I have no prospect.' On my arrival at home, I found that a number of the people, not knowing I had gone to church, had come up to the house, hoping that I would read prayers to them, and had not gone back to their homes, but waited to see me. I could not bear to disappoint them, for many of them had come from the farthest settlements on the estate; and so, though my hot ride had tired me a good deal, and my talk with Israel troubled me profoundly, I took off my habit, and had them all in, and read the afternoon service to them. When it was over, two of the women--Venus and Trussa--asked if they might be permitted to go to the nursery and see the children. Their account of the former condition of the estate was a corroboration of Israel's. They said that the older slaves on the plantation had been far better off than the younger ones of the present day; that Major ---- was considerate and humane to his people; and that the women were especially carefully treated. But they said Mr. K---- had ruined all the young women with working them too soon after their confinements; and as for the elder ones, he would kick them, curse them, turn their clothes over their heads, flog them unmercifully himself, and abuse them shamefully, no matter what condition they were in. They both ended with fervent thanks to God that he had left the estate, and rejoicing that we had come, and, above all, that we 'had made young missis for them.' Venus went down on her knees, exclaiming, 'Oh, missis, I glad now; and when I am dead, I glad in my grave that you come to us and bring us little missis.' * * * * * Dear E----. I still go on exploring, or rather surveying, the estate, the aspect of which is changing every day with the unfolding of the leaves and the wonderful profusion of wild flowers. The cleared ground all round the new building is one sheet of blooming blue of various tints; it is perfectly exquisite. But in the midst of my delight at these new blossoms, I am most sorrowfully bidding adieu to that paragon of parasites, the yellow jasmine; I think I must have gathered the very last blossoms of it to-day. Nothing can be more lovely, nothing so exquisitely fragrant. I was surprised to recognise by their foliage, to-day, some fine mulberry trees, by Jones's Creek; perhaps they are the remains of the silk-worm experiment that Mr. C---- persuaded Major ---- to try so ineffectually. While I was looking at some wild plum and cherry trees that were already swarming with blight in the shape of multitudinous caterpillars' nests, an ingenuous darkie, by name Cudgie, asked me if I could explain to him why the trees blossomed out so fair, and then all 'went off into a kind of dying.' Having directed his vision and attention to the horrid white glistening webs, all lined with their brood of black devourers, I left him to draw his own conclusions. The afternoon was rainy, in spite of which I drove to Busson Hill, and had a talk with Bran about the vile caterpillar blights on the wild plum trees, and asked him if it would not be possible to get some sweet grafts from Mr. C---- for some of the wild fruit trees, of which there are such quantities. Perhaps, however, they are not worth grafting. Bran promised me that the people should not be allowed to encumber the paths and the front of their houses with unsightly and untidy heaps of oyster shells. He promised all sorts of things. I wonder how soon after I am gone they will all return into the condition of brutal filth and disorder in which I found them. The men and women had done their work here by half-past three. The chief labour in the cotton fields, however, is both earlier and later in the season. At present they have little to do but let the crop grow. In the evening I had a visit from the son of a very remarkable man, who had been one of the chief drivers on the estate in Major ----'s time, and his son brought me a silver cup which Major ---- had given his father as a testimonial of approbation, with an inscription on it recording his fidelity and trustworthiness at the time of the invasion of the coast of Georgia by the English troops. Was not that a curious reward for a slave who was supposed not to be able to read his own praises? And yet, from the honourable pride with which his son regarded this relic, I am sure the master did well so to reward his servant, though it seemed hard that the son of such a man should be a slave. Maurice himself came with his father's precious silver cup in his hand, to beg for a small pittance of sugar, and for a prayer-book, and also to know if the privilege of a milch cow for the support of his family, which was among the favours Major ---- allowed his father, might not be continued to him. He told me he had ten children 'working for massa,' and I promised to mention his petition to Mr. ----. On Sunday last, I rode round the woods near St. Annie's and met with a monstrous snake, which Jack called a chicken snake; but whether because it particularly affected poultry as its diet, or for what other reason, he could not tell me. Nearer home, I encountered another gliding creature, that stopped a moment just in front of my horse's feet, as if it was too much afraid of being trampled upon to get out of the way; it was the only snake animal I ever saw that I did not think hideous. It was of a perfectly pure apple green colour, with a delicate line of black like a collar round its throat; it really was an exquisite worm, and Jack said it was harmless. I did not, however, think it expedient to bring it home in my bosom, though if ever I have a pet snake, it shall be such an one. In the afternoon, I drove to Jones's with several supplies of flannel for the rheumatic women and old men. We have ridden over to Hamilton again, to pay another visit to the F----s, and on our way passed an enormous rattlesnake, hanging dead on the bough of a tree. Dead as it was, it turned me perfectly sick with horror, and I wished very much to come back to the north immediately, where these are not the sort of blackberries that grow on every bush. The evening air now, after the heat of the day, is exquisitely mild, and the nights dry and wholesome, the whole atmosphere indescribably fragrant with the perfume of flowers; and as I stood, before going to bed last night, watching the slow revolving light on Sapelo Island, that warns the ships from the dangerous bar at the river's mouth, and heard the measured pulse of the great Atlantic waters on the beach, I thought no more of rattlesnakes--no more, for one short while, of slavery. How still, and sweet, and solemn, it was! We have been paying more friendly and neighbourly visits, or rather returning them; and the recipients of these civilised courtesies on our last calling expedition were the family one member of which was a party concerned in that barbarous challenge I wrote you word about. Hitherto that very brutal and bloodthirsty cartel appears to have had no result. You must not on that account imagine that it will have none. At the north, were it possible for a duel intended to be conducted on such savage terms to be matter of notoriety, the very horror of the thing would create a feeling of grotesqueness, and the antagonists in such a proposed encounter would simply incur an immense amount of ridicule and obloquy. But here nobody is astonished and nobody ashamed of such preliminaries to a mortal combat between two gentlemen, who propose firing at marks over each other's hearts, and cutting off each other's heads; and though this agreeable party of pleasure has not come off yet, there seems to be no reason why it should not at the first convenient season. Reflecting upon all which, I rode not without trepidation through Colonel H----'s grounds, and up to his house. Mr. W----'s head was not stuck upon a pole anywhere within sight, however, and as soon as I became pretty sure of this, I began to look about me, and saw instead a trellis tapestried with the most beautiful roses I ever beheld, another of these exquisite southern flowers--the Cherokee rose. The blossom is very large, composed of four or five pure white petals, as white and as large as those of the finest Camellia with a bright golden eye for a focus; the buds and leaves are long and elegantly slender, like those of some tea roses, and the green of the foliage is dark and at the same time vivid and lustrous; it grew in masses so as to form almost a hedge, all starred with these wonderful white blossoms, which, unfortunately, have no perfume. We rode home through the pine land to Jones's, looked at the new house which is coming on hideously, saw two beautiful kinds of trumpet honeysuckle already lighting up the woods in every direction with gleams of scarlet, and when we reached home found a splendid donation of vegetables, flowers, and mutton from our kind neighbour Mrs. F----, who is a perfect Lady Bountiful to us. This same mutton, however--my heart bleeds to say it--disappeared the day after it was sent to us. Abraham the cook declares that he locked the door of the safe upon it, which I think may be true, but I also think he unlocked it again. I am sorry; but, after all, it is very natural these people should steal a little of our meat from us occasionally, who steal almost all their bread from them habitually. I rode yesterday to St. Annie's with Mr. ----. We found a whole tract of marsh had been set on fire by the facetious negro called Pun, who had helped me out of it some time ago. As he was set to work in it, perhaps it was with a view of making it less damp; at any rate, it was crackling, blazing, and smoking cheerily, and I should think would be insupportable for the snakes. While stopping to look at the conflagration, Mr. ---- was accosted by a three parts naked and one part tattered little she slave--black as ebony, where her skin was discoverable through its perfect incrustation of dirt--with a thick mat of frizzly wool upon her skull, which made the sole request she preferred to him irresistibly ludicrous:--'Massa, massa, you please to buy me a comb to tick in my head?' Mr. ---- promised her this necessary of life, and I promised myself to give her the luxury of one whole garment. Mrs. ---- has sent me the best possible consolation for the lost mutton, some lovely flowers, and these will not be stolen. * * * * * _Saturday, the 13th._--Dear E----, I rode to-day through all my woodpaths for the last time with Jack, and I think I should have felt quite melancholy at taking leave of them and him, but for the apparition of a large black snake, which filled me with disgust and nipped my other sentiments in the bud. Not a day passes now that I do not encounter one or more of these hateful reptiles; it is curious how much more odious they are to me than the alligators that haunt the mud banks of the river round the rice plantation. It is true that there is something very dreadful in the thick shapeless mass, uniform in colour almost to the black slime on which it lies basking, and which you hardly detect till it begins to move. But even those ungainly crocodiles never sickened me as those rapid, lithe, and sinuous serpents do. Did I ever tell you that the people at the rice plantation caught a young alligator and brought it to the house, and it was kept for some time in a tub of water? It was an ill-tempered little monster; it used to set up its back like a cat when it was angry, and open its long jaws in a most vicious manner. After looking at my new path in the pine land, I crossed Pike Bluff, and breaking my way all through the burnt district, returned home by Jones's. In the afternoon, we paid a long visit to Mr. C----. It is extremely interesting to me to talk with him about the negroes; he has spent so much of his life among them, has managed them so humanely, and apparently so successfully, that his experience is worthy of all attention. And yet it seems to me that it is impossible, or rather, perhaps, for those very reasons it is impossible, for him ever to contemplate them in any condition but that of slavery. He thinks them very like the Irish, and instanced their subserviency, their flattering, their lying, and pilfering, as traits common to the character of both peoples. But I cannot persuade myself that in both cases, and certainly in that of the negroes, these qualities are not in great measure the result of their condition. He says that he considers the extremely low diet of the negroes one reason for the absence of crimes of a savage nature among them; most of them do not touch meat the year round. But in this respect they certainly do not resemble the Irish, who contrive upon about as low a national diet as civilisation is acquainted with, to commit the bloodiest and most frequent outrages with which civilisation has to deal. His statement that it is impossible to bribe the negroes to work on their own account with any steadiness may be generally true, but admits of quite exceptions enough to throw doubt upon its being natural supineness in the race rather than the inevitable consequence of denying them the entire right to labour for their own profit. Their laziness seems to me the necessary result of their primary wants being supplied, and all progress denied them. Of course, if the natural spur to exertion, necessity, is removed, you do away with the will to work of a vast proportion of all who do work in the world. It is the law of progress that a man's necessities grow with his exertions to satisfy them, and labour and improvement thus continually act and react upon each other to raise the scale of desire and achievement; and I do not believe that, in the majority of instances among any people on the face of the earth, the will to labour for small indulgences would survive the loss of freedom and the security of food enough to exist upon. Mr. ---- said that he had offered a bribe of twenty dollars apiece, and the use of a pair of oxen, for the clearing of a certain piece of land, to the men on his estate, and found the offer quite ineffectual to procure the desired result; the land was subsequently cleared as usual task work under the lash. Now, certainly, we have among Mr. ----'s people instances of men who have made very considerable sums of money by boat-building in their leisure hours, and the instances of almost life-long persevering stringent labour by which slaves have at length purchased their own freedom and that of their wives and children, are on record in numbers sufficient to prove that they are capable of severe sustained effort of the most patient and heroic kind for that great object, liberty. For my own part, I know no people who doat upon labour for its own sake; and it seems to me quite natural to any absolutely ignorant and nearly brutish man, if you say to him, 'No effort of your own can make you free, but no absence of effort shall starve you,' to decline to work for anything less than mastery over his whole life, and to take up with his mess of porridge as the alternative. One thing that Mr. ---- said seemed to me to prove rather too much. He declared that his son, objecting to the folks on his plantation going about bare-headed, had at one time offered a reward of a dollar to those who should habitually wear hats without being able to induce them to do so, which he attributed to sheer careless indolence; but I think it was merely the force of the habit of going uncovered rather than absolute laziness. The universal testimony of all present at this conversation was in favour of the sweetness of temper and natural gentleness of disposition of the negroes; but these characteristics they seemed to think less inherent than the result of diet and the other lowering influences of their condition; and it must not be forgotten that on the estate of this wise and kind master a formidable conspiracy was organised among his slaves. We rowed home through a world of stars, the stedfast ones set in the still blue sky, and the flashing swathes of phosphoric light turned up by our oars and keel in the smooth blue water. It was lovely. * * * * * _Sunday, 14th._--My dear E----. That horrid tragedy with which we have been threatened, and of which I was writing to you almost jestingly a few days ago, has been accomplished, and apparently without exciting anything but the most passing and superficial sensation in this community. The duel between Dr. H---- and Mr. W---- did not take place, but an accidental encounter in the hotel at Brunswick did, and the former shot the latter dead on the spot. He has been brought home and buried here by the little church close to his mother's plantation; and the murderer, if he is even prosecuted, runs no risk of finding a jury in the whole length and breadth of Georgia who could convict him of anything. It is horrible. I drove to church to-day in the wood wagon, with Jack and Aleck, Hector being our charioteer, in a gilt guard-chain and pair of slippers to match as the Sabbatic part of his attire. The love of dirty finery is not a trait of the Irish in Ireland, but I think it crops out strongly when they come out here; and the proportion of their high wages put upon their backs by the young Irish maid-servants in the north, indicates a strong addiction to the female passion for dress. Here the tendency seems to exist in men and women alike; but I think all savage men rejoice, even more than their women, in personal ornamentation. The negroes certainly show the same strong predilection for finery with their womenkind. I stopped before going into church to look at the new grave that has taken its place among the defaced stones, all overgrown with briers, that lie round it. Poor young W----! poor widowed mother, of whom he was the only son! What a savage horror! And no one seems to think anything of it, more than of a matter of course. My devotions were anything but satisfactory or refreshing to me. My mind was dwelling incessantly upon the new grave under the great oaks outside, and the miserable mother in her home. The air of the church was perfectly thick with sand-flies; and the disgraceful carelessness of the congregation in responding and singing the hymns, and their entire neglect of the prayer-book regulations for kneeling, disturbed and displeased me even more than the last time I was at church; but I think that was because of the total absence of excitement or feeling among the whole population of St. Simon's upon the subject of the bloody outrage with which my mind was full, which has given me a sensation of horror towards the whole community. Just imagine--only it is impossible to imagine--such a thing taking place in a New England village; the dismay, the grief, the shame, the indignation, that would fill the hearts of the whole population. I thought we should surely have some reference to the event from the pulpit, some lesson of Christian command over furious passions. Nothing--nobody looked or spoke as if anything unusual had occurred; and I left the church, rejoicing to think that I was going away from such a dreadful state of society. Mr. B---- remained to preach a second sermon to the negroes--the duty of submission to masters who intermurder each other. I had service at home in the afternoon, and my congregation was much more crowded than usual; for I believe there is no doubt at last that we shall leave Georgia this week. Having given way so much before when I thought I was praying with these poor people for the last time, I suppose I had, so to speak, expended my emotion; and I was much more composed and quiet than when I took leave of them before. But, to tell you the truth, this dreadful act of slaughter done in our neighbourhood by one man of our acquaintance upon another, impresses me to such a degree that I can hardly turn my mind from it, and Mrs. W---- and her poor young murdered son have taken almost complete possession of my thoughts. After prayers I gave my poor people a parting admonition, and many charges to remember me and all I had tried to teach them during my stay. They promised with one voice to mind and do all that 'missis tell we;' and with many a parting benediction, and entreaties to me to return, they went their way. I think I have done what I could for them--I think I have done as well as I could by them; but when the time comes for ending any human relation, who can be without their misgivings? who can be bold to say, I could have done no more, I could have done no better? In the afternoon I walked out, and passed many of the people, who are now beginning, whenever they see me, to say, 'Good bye, missis!' which is rather trying. Many of them were clean and tidy, and decent in their appearance to a degree that certainly bore strong witness to the temporary efficacy of my influence in this respect. There is, however, of course much individual difference even with reference to this, and some take much more kindly and readily to cleanliness, no doubt to godliness too, than some others. I met Abraham, and thought that, in a quiet tête-à-tête, and with the pathetic consideration of my near departure to assist me, I could get him to confess the truth about the disappearance of the mutton; but he persisted in the legend of its departure through the locked door; and as I was only heaping sins on his soul with every lie I caused him to add to the previous ones, I desisted from my enquiries. Dirt and lying are the natural tendencies of humanity, which are especially fostered by slavery. Slaves may be infinitely wrong, and yet it is very hard to blame them. I returned home, finding the heat quite oppressive. Late in the evening, when the sun had gone down a long time, I thought I would try and breathe the fresh sea air, but the atmosphere was thick with sand-flies, which drove me in at last from standing listening to the roar of the Atlantic on Little St. Simon's Island, the wooded belt that fends off the ocean surges from the north side of Great St. Simon's. It is a wild little sand-heap, covered with thick forest growth, and belongs to Mr. ----. I have long had a great desire to visit it. I hope yet to be able to do so before our departure. I have just finished reading, with the utmost interest and admiration, J---- C----'s narrative of his escape from the wreck of the Poolaski: what a brave, and gallant, and unselfish soul he must be! You never read anything more thrilling, in spite of the perfect modesty of this account of his. If I can obtain his permission, and squeeze out the time, I will surely copy it for you. The quiet unassuming character of his usual manners and deportment adds greatly to his prestige as a hero. What a fine thing it must be to be such a man! * * * * * Dear E----. We shall leave this place next Thursday or Friday, and there will be an end to this record; meantime I am fulfilling all sorts of last duties, and especially those of taking leave of my neighbours, by whom the neglect of a farewell visit would be taken much amiss. On Sunday, I rode to a place called Frederica to call on a Mrs. A----, who came to see me some time ago. I rode straight through the island by the main road that leads to the little church. How can I describe to you the exquisite spring beauty that is now adorning these woods, the variety of the fresh new-born foliage, the fragrance of the sweet wild perfumes that fill the air? Honeysuckles twine round every tree; the ground is covered with a low white-blossomed shrub more fragrant than lilies of the valley. The accacuas are swinging their silver censers under the green roof of these wood temples; every stump is like a classical altar to the sylvan gods, garlanded with flowers; every post, or stick, or slight stem, like a Bacchante's thyrsus, twined with wreaths of ivy and wild vine, waving in the tepid wind. Beautiful butterflies flicker like flying flowers among the bushes, and gorgeous birds, like winged jewels, dart from the boughs,--and--and--a huge ground snake slid like a dark ribbon, across the path while I was stopping to enjoy all this deliciousness, and so I became less enthusiastic, and cantered on past the little deserted churchyard, with the new-made grave beneath its grove of noble oaks, and a little farther on reached Mrs. A----'s cottage, half hidden in the midst of ruins and roses. This Frederica is a very strange place; it was once a town, _the_ town, the metropolis of the island. The English, when they landed on the coast of Georgia in the war, destroyed this tiny place, and it has never been built up again. Mrs. A----'s, and one other house, are the only dwellings that remain in this curious wilderness of dismantled crumbling grey walls compassionately cloaked with a thousand profuse and graceful creepers. These are the only ruins properly so called, except those of Fort Putnam, that I have ever seen in this land of contemptuous youth. I hailed these picturesque groups and masses with the feelings of a European, to whom ruins are like a sort of relations. In my country, ruins are like a minor chord in music, here they are like a discord; they are not the relics of time, but the results of violence; they recall no valuable memories of a remote past, and are mere encumbrances to the busy present. Evidently they are out of place in America, except on St. Simon's Island, between this savage selvage of civilisation and the great Atlantic deep. These heaps of rubbish and roses would have made the fortune of a sketcher; but I imagine the snakes have it all to themselves here, and are undisturbed by camp stools, white umbrellas, and ejaculatory young ladies. I sat for a long time with Mrs. A----, and a friend of hers staying with her, a Mrs. A----, lately from Florida. The latter seemed to me a remarkable woman; her conversation was extremely interesting. She had been stopping at Brunswick, at the hotel where Dr. H---- murdered young W----, and said that the mingled ferocity and blackguardism of the men who frequented the house had induced her to cut short her stay there, and come on to her friend Mrs. A----'s. We spoke of that terrible crime which had occurred only the day after she left Brunswick, and both ladies agreed that there was not the slightest chance of Dr. H----'s being punished in any way for the murder he had committed; that shooting down a man who had offended you was part of the morals and manners of the southern gentry, and that the circumstance was one of quite too frequent occurrence to cause any sensation, even in the small community where it obliterated one of the principal members of the society. If the accounts given by these ladies of the character of the planters in this part of the south may be believed, they must be as idle, arrogant, ignorant, dissolute, and ferocious as that mediaeval chivalry to which they are fond of comparing themselves; and these are southern women, and should know the people among whom they live. We had a long discussion on the subject of slavery, and they took as usual the old ground of justifying the system, _where_ it was administered with kindness and indulgence. It is not surprising that women should regard the question from this point of view; they are very seldom _just_, and are generally treated with more indulgence than justice by men. They were very patient of my strong expressions of reprobation of the whole system, and Mrs. A----, bidding me good-bye, said that, for aught she could tell, I might be right, and might have been led down here by Providence to be the means of some great change in the condition of the poor coloured people. I rode home pondering on the strange fate that has brought me to this place so far from where I was born, this existence so different in all its elements from that of my early years and former associations. If I believed Mrs. A----'s parting words, I might perhaps verify them; perhaps I may yet verify although I do not believe them. On my return home, I found a most enchanting bundle of flowers, sent to me by Mrs. G----; pomegranate blossoms, roses, honeysuckle, everything that blooms two months later with us in Pennsylvania. I told you I had a great desire to visit Little St. Simon's, and the day before yesterday I determined to make an exploring expedition thither. I took M---- and the children, little imagining what manner of day's work was before me. Six men rowed us in the 'Lily,' and Israel brought the wood wagon after us in a flat. Our navigation was a very intricate one, all through sea swamps and marshes, mud-banks and sand-banks, with great white shells and bleaching bones stuck upon sticks to mark the channel. We landed on this forest in the sea by Quash's house, the only human residence on the island. It was larger and better, and more substantial than the negro huts in general, and he seemed proud and pleased to do the honours to us. Thence we set off, by my desire, in the wagon through the woods to the beach; road there was none, save the rough clearing that the men cut with their axes before us as we went slowly on. Presently, we came to a deep dry ditch, over which there was no visible means of proceeding. Israel told me if we would sit still he would undertake to drive the wagon into and out of it; and so, indeed, he did, but how he did it is more than I can explain to you now, or could explain to myself then. A less powerful creature than Montreal could never have dragged us through; and when we presently came to a second rather worse edition of the same, I insisted upon getting out and crossing it on foot. I walked half a mile while the wagon was dragged up and down the deep gulley, and lifted bodily over some huge trunks of fallen trees. The wood through which we now drove was all on fire, smoking, flaming, crackling, and burning round us. The sun glared upon us from the cloudless sky, and the air was one cloud of sand-flies and mosquitoes. I covered both my children's faces with veils and handkerchiefs, and repented not a little in my own breast of the rashness of my undertaking. The back of Israel's coat was covered so thick with mosquitoes that one could hardly see the cloth; and I felt as if we should be stifled, if our way lay much longer through this terrible wood. Presently we came to another impassable place, and again got out of the wagon, leaving Israel to manage it as best he could. I walked with the baby in my arms a quarter of a mile, and then was so overcome with the heat that I sat down in the burning wood, on the floor of ashes, till the wagon came up again. I put the children and M---- into it, and continued to walk till we came to a ditch in a tract of salt marsh, over which Israel drove triumphantly, and I partly jumped and was partly hauled over, having declined the entreaties of several of the men to let them lie down and make a bridge with their bodies for me to walk over. At length we reached the skirt of that tremendous wood, to my unspeakable relief, and came upon the white sand hillocks of the beach. The trees were all strained crooked, from the constant influence of the sea-blast. The coast was a fearful-looking stretch of dismal, trackless sand, and the ocean lay boundless and awful beyond the wild and desolate beach, from which we were now only divided by a patch of low coarse-looking bush, growing as thick and tangled as heather, and so stiff and compact that it was hardly possible to drive through it. Yet in spite of this several lads who had joined our train rushed off into it in search of rabbits, though Israel called repeatedly to them, warning them of the danger of rattlesnakes. We drove at last down to the smooth sea sand; and here, outstripping our guides, was barred farther progress by a deep gully, down which it was impossible to take the wagon. Israel, not knowing the beach well, was afraid to drive round the mouth of it; and so it was determined that from this point we should walk home under his guidance. I sat in the wagon while he constructed a rough foot-bridge of bits of wood and broken planks for us, over the narrow chasm, and he then took Montreal out of the wagon and tied him behind it, leaving him for the other men to take charge of when they should arrive at this point. And so, having mightily desired to see the coast of Little St. Simon's Island, I did see it thoroughly; for I walked a mile and a half round it, over beds of sharp shells, through swamps half knee deep, poor little S---- stumping along with dogged heroism, and Israel carrying the baby, except at one deep _mal passo_, when I took the baby and he carried S----; and so, through the wood round Quash's house, where we arrived almost fainting with fatigue and heat, and where we rested but a short time; for we had to start almost immediately to save the tide home. I called at Mr. C----'s on my way back, to return him his son's manuscript, which I had in the boat for that purpose. I sent Jack, who had come to meet me with the horses, home, being too tired to attempt riding; and, covered with mud literally up to my knees I was obliged to lie down ignominiously all the afternoon to rest. And now I will give you a curious illustration of the utter subserviency of slaves. It seems that by taking the tide in proper season, and going by boat, all that horrible wood journey might have been avoided, and we could have reached the beach, with perfect ease in half the time; but because, being of course absolutely ignorant of this, I had expressed a desire to go through the wood, not a syllable of remonstrance was uttered by any one; and the men not only underwent the labour of cutting a path for the wagon and dragging it through and over all the impediments we encountered, but allowed me and the children to traverse that burning wood, rather than tell me that by waiting and taking another way I could get to the sea. When I expressed my astonishment at their not having remonstrated against my order, and explained how I could best achieve the purpose I had in view, the sole answer I got even from Israel was, 'Missis say so, so me do; missis say me go through the wood, me no tell missis go another way.' You see, my dear E----, one had need bethink oneself what orders one gives, when one has the misfortune to be despotic. How sorry I am that I have been obliged to return that narrative of Mr. C----'s without asking permission to copy it, which I did not do because I should not have been able to find the time to do it! We go away the day after to-morrow. All the main incidents of the disaster the newspapers have made you familiar with--the sudden and appalling loss of that fine vessel laden with the very flower of the south. There seems hardly to be a family in Georgia and South Carolina that had not some of its members on board that ill-fated ship. You know it was a sort of party of pleasure more than anything else; the usual annual trip to the north for change of air and scene, for the gaieties of Newport and Saratoga, that all the wealthy southern people invariably take every summer. The weather had been calm and lovely; and dancing, talking, and laughing, as if they were in their own drawing-rooms, they had passed the time away till they all separated for the night. At the first sound of the exploding boiler, Mr. C---- jumped up, and in his shirt and trousers ran on deck. The scene was one of horrible confusion; women screaming, men swearing, the deck strewn with broken fragments of all descriptions, the vessel leaning frightfully to one side, and everybody running hither and thither in the darkness in horror and dismay. He had left Georgia with Mrs. F---- and Mrs. N----, the two children, and one of the female servants of these ladies under his charge. He went immediately to the door of the ladies' cabin and called Mrs. F----; they were all there half-dressed; he bade them dress as quickly as possible and be ready to follow and obey him. He returned almost instantly, and led them to the side of the vessel, where, into the boats, that had already been lowered, desperate men and women were beginning to swarm, throwing themselves out of the sinking ship. He bade Mrs. F---- jump down into one of these boats which was only in the possession of two sailors; she instantly obeyed him, and he threw her little boy to the men after her. He then ordered Mrs. N----, with the negro woman, to throw themselves off the vessel into the boat, and, with Mrs. N----'s baby in his arms, sprang after them. His foot touched the gunwale of the boat, and he fell into the water; but recovering himself instantly, he clambered into the boat, which he then peremptorily ordered the men to set adrift, in spite of the shrieks, and cries, and commands, and entreaties of the frantic crowds who were endeavouring to get into it. The men obeyed him, and rowing while he steered, they presently fell astern of the ship, in the midst of the darkness and tumult and terror. Another boat laden with people was near them. For some time they saw the heartrending spectacle of the sinking vessel, and the sea strewn with mattresses, seats, planks, &c, to which people were clinging, floating, and shrieking for succour, in the dark water all round them. But they gradually pulled further and further out of the horrible chaos of despair, and, with the other boat still consorting with them, rowed on. They watched from a distance the piteous sight of the ill-fated steamer settling down, the gay girdle of light that marked the line of her beautiful saloons and cabins gradually sinking nearer and nearer to the blackness, in which they were presently extinguished; and the ship, with all its precious human freight engulfed--all but the handful left in those two open boats, to brave the dangers of that terrible coast! They were somewhere off the North Carolina shore, which, when the daylight dawned, they could distinctly see, with its ominous line of breakers and inhospitable perilous coast. The men had continued rowing all night, and as the summer sun rose flaming over their heads, the task of pulling the boat became dreadfully severe; still they followed the coast, Mr. C---- looking out for any opening, creek, or small inlet, that might give them a chance of landing in safety. The other boat rowed on at some little distance from them. All the morning, and through the tremendous heat of the middle day, they toiled on without a mouthful of food--without a drop of water. At length, towards the afternoon, the men at the oars said they were utterly exhausted and could row no longer, and that Mr. C---- must steer the boat ashore. With wonderful power of command, he prevailed on them to continue their afflicting labour. The terrible blazing sun pouring on all their unsheltered heads had almost annihilated them; but still there lay between them and the land those fearful foaming ridges, and the women and children, if not the men themselves, seemed doomed to inevitable death in the attempt to surmount them. Suddenly they perceived that the boat that had kept them company was about to adventure itself in the perilous experiment of landing. Mr. C---- kept his boat's head steady, the men rested on their oars, and watched the result of the fearful risk they were themselves about to run. They saw the boat enter the breakers--they saw her whirled round and capsized, and then they watched, slowly emerging and dragging themselves out of the foaming sea, _some_, and only some, of the people that they knew the boat contained. Mr. C----, fortified with this terrible illustration of the peril that awaited them, again besought them to row yet for a little while further along the coast, in search of some possible place to take the boat safely to the beach, promising at sunset to give up the search; and again the poor men resumed their toil, but the line of leaping breakers stretched along the coast as far as eye could see, and at length the men declared they could labour no longer, and insisted that Mr. C---- should steer them to shore. He then said that he would do so, but they must take some rest before encountering the peril which awaited them, and for which they might require whatever remaining strength they could command. He made the men leave the oars and lie down to sleep for a short time, and then, giving the helm to one of them, did the same himself. When they were thus a little refreshed with this short rest, he prepared to take the boat into the breakers. He laid Mrs. N----'s baby on her breast, and wrapped a shawl round and round her body so as to secure the child to it, and said, in the event of the boat capsizing, he would endeavour to save her and her child. Mrs. F---- and her boy he gave in charge to one of the sailors, and the coloured woman who was with her to the other; and they promised solemnly, in case of misadventure to the boat, to do their best to save these helpless creatures; and so they turned, as the sun was going down, the bows of the boat to the terrible shore. They rose two of the breakers safely, but then the oar of one of the men was struck from his hand, and in an instant the boat whirled round and turned over. Mr. C---- instantly struck out to seize Mrs. N----, but she had sunk, and though he dived twice he could not see her; at last, he felt her hair floating loose with his foot, and seizing hold of it, grasped her securely and swam with her to shore. While in the act of doing so, he saw the man who had promised to save the coloured woman making alone for the beach; and even then, in that extremity, he had power of command enough left to drive the fellow back to seek her, which he did, and brought her safe to land. The other man kept his word of taking care of Mrs. F----, and the latter never released her grasp of her child's wrist, which bore the mark of her agony for weeks after their escape. They reached the sands, and Mrs. N----'s shawl having been unwound, her child was found laughing on her bosom. But hardly had they had time to thank God for their deliverance when Mr. C---- fell fainting on the beach; and Mrs. F----, who told me this, said that for one dreadful moment they thought that the preserver of all their lives had lost his own in the terrible exertion and anxiety that he had undergone. He revived, however, and crawling a little further up the beach, they burrowed for warmth and shelter as well as they could in the sand, and lay there till the next morning, when they sought and found succour. You cannot imagine, my dear E----, how strikingly throughout this whole narrative the extraordinary power of Mr. C----'s character makes itself felt,--the immediate obedience that he obtained from women whose terror might have made them unmanageable, and men whose selfishness might have defied his control; the wise though painful firmness, which enabled him to order the boat away from the side of the perishing vessel, in spite of the pity that he felt for the many, in attempting to succour whom he could only have jeopardized the few whom he was bound to save; the wonderful influence he exercised over the poor oarsmen, whose long protracted labour postponed to the last possible moment the terrible risk of their landing. The firmness, courage, humanity, wisdom, and presence of mind, of all his preparations for their final tremendous risk, and the authority which he was able to exercise while struggling in the foaming water for his own life and that of the woman and child he was saving, over the man who was proving false to a similar sacred charge,--all these admirable traits are most miserably transmitted to you by my imperfect account; and when I assure you that his own narrative, full as it necessarily was of the details of his own heroism, was as simple, modest, and unpretending, as it was interesting and touching, I am sure you will agree with me that he must be a very rare man. When I spoke with enthusiasm to his old father of his son's noble conduct, and asked him if he was not proud of it, his sole reply was,--'I am glad, madam, my son was not selfish.' Now, E----, I have often spoken with you and written to you of the disastrous effect of slavery upon the character of the white men implicated in it; many, among themselves, feel and acknowledge it to the fullest extent, and no one more than myself can deplore that any human being I love should be subjected to such baneful influences; but the devil must have his due, and men brought up in habits of peremptory command over their fellow men, and under the constant apprehension of danger, and awful necessity of immediate readiness to meet it, acquire qualities precious to themselves and others in hours of supreme peril such as this man passed through, saving by their exercise himself and all committed to his charge. I know that the southern men are apt to deny the fact that they do live under an habitual sense of danger; but a slave population, coerced into obedience, though unarmed and half fed, _is_ a threatening source of constant insecurity, and every southern _woman_ to whom I have spoken on the subject, has admitted to me that they live in terror of their slaves. Happy are such of them as have protectors like J---- C----. Such men will best avoid and best encounter the perils that may assail them from the abject subject, human element, in the control of which their noble faculties are sadly and unworthily employed. _Wednesday, 17th April._--I rode to-day after breakfast, to Mrs. D----'s, another of my neighbours, who lives full twelve miles off. During the last two miles of my expedition, I had the white sand hillocks and blue line of the Atlantic in view. The house at which I called was a tumble-down barrack of a dwelling in the woods, with a sort of poverty-stricken pretentious air about it, like sundry 'proud planters' dwellings that I have seen. I was received by the sons as well as the lady of the house, and could not but admire the lordly rather than manly indifference, with which these young gentlemen, in gay guard chains and fine attire, played the gallants to me, while filthy, bare-footed half naked negro women brought in refreshments, and stood all the while fanning the cake, and sweetmeats, and their young masters, as if they had been all the same sort of stuff. I felt ashamed for the lads. The conversation turned upon Dr. H----'s trial; for there has been a trial as a matter of form, and an acquittal as a matter of course; and the gentlemen said, upon my expressing some surprise at the latter event, that there could not be found in all Georgia a jury who would convict him, which says but little for the moral sense of 'all Georgia.' From this most painful subject we fell into the Brunswick canal, and thereafter I took my leave and rode home. I met my babies in the wood-wagon, and took S---- up before me, and gave her a good gallop home. Having reached the house with the appetite of a twenty-four miles' ride, I found no preparation for dinner, and not so much as a boiled potato to eat, and the sole reply to my famished and disconsolate exclamations was--'Being that you order none, missis, I not know.' I had forgotten to order my dinner, and my _slaves_, unauthorised, had not ventured to prepare any. Wouldn't a Yankee have said, 'Wal now, you went off so uncommon quick, I kinder guessed you forgot all about dinner,' and have had it all ready for me? But my slaves durst not, and so I fasted till some tea could be got for me. * * * * * This was the last letter I wrote from the plantation, and I never returned there, nor ever saw again any of the poor people among whom I lived during this winter, but Jack, once, under sad circumstances. The poor lad's health failed so completely, that his owners humanely brought him to the north, to try what benefit he might derive from the change; but this was before the passing of the Fugitive Slave Bill, when touching the soil of the northern states, a slave became free; and such was the apprehension felt lest Jack should be enlightened as to this fact by some philanthropic abolitionist, that he was kept shut up in a high upper room of a large empty house, where even I was not allowed to visit him. I heard at length of his being in Philadelphia; and upon my distinct statement that I considered freeing their slaves the business of the Messrs. ---- themselves, and not mine, I was at length permitted to see him. Poor fellow! coming to the north did not prove to him the delight his eager desire had so often anticipated from it; nor under such circumstances is it perhaps much to be wondered at that he benefited but little by the change,--he died not long after. I once heard a conversation between Mr. O---- and Mr. K----, the two overseers of the plantation on which I was living, upon the question of taking slaves, servants, necessary attendants, into the northern states; Mr. O---- urged the danger of their being 'got hold of,' i.e., set free by the abolitionists, to which Mr. K---- very pertinently replied, 'Oh, stuff and nonsense, I take care when my wife goes north with the children, to send Lucy with her; _her children are down here, and I defy all the abolitionists in creation to get her to stay north_.' Mr. K---- was an extremely wise man. APPENDIX I wrote the following letter after reading several leading articles in the _Times_ newspaper, at the time of the great sensation occasioned by Mrs. Beecher Stowe's novel of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' and after the Anti-Slavery Protest which that book induced the women of England to address to those of America, on the subject of the condition of the slaves in the southern states. My dear E----. I have read the articles in the _Times_ to which you refer, on the subject of the inaccuracy of Mrs. Beecher Stowe's book as a picture of slavery in America, and have ascertained who they were written by. Having done so, I do not think it worth while to send my letter for insertion, because, as that is the tone deliberately taken upon the subject by that paper, my counter statement would not, I imagine, be admitted into its columns. I enclose it to you, as I should like you to see how far from true, according to my experience, the statements of the '_Times'_ Correspondent' are. It is impossible of course to know why it erects itself into an advocate for slavery; and the most charitable conjecture I can form upon the subject is, that the Stafford House demonstration may have been thought likely to wound the sensitive national views of America upon this subject; and the statement put forward by the _Times_, contradicting Mrs. Stowe's picture, may be intended to soothe their irritation at the philanthropic zeal of our lady abolitionists. Believe me, dear E----, Yours always truly, F.A.K. * * * * * _Letter to the Editor of the_ 'Times.' Sir,--As it is not to be supposed that you consciously afford the support of your great influence to misstatements, I request your attention to some remarks I wish to make on an article on a book called 'Uncle Tom's Cabin as it is,' contained in your paper of the 11th. In treating Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe's work as an exaggerated picture of the evils of slavery, I beg to assure you that you do her serious injustice:--of the merits of her book as a work of art, I have no desire to speak,--to its power as a most interesting and pathetic story, all England and America can bear witness,--but of its truth and moderation as a representation of the slave system in the United States, I can testify with the experience of an eye witness, having been a resident in the Southern States, and had opportunities of observation such as no one who has not lived on a slave estate can have. It is very true that in reviving the altogether exploded fashion of making the hero of her novel 'the perfect monster that the world ne'er saw,' Mrs. Stowe has laid herself open to fair criticism, and must expect to meet with it from the very opposite taste of the present day; but the ideal excellence of her principal character is no argument at all against the general accuracy of her statements with regard to the evils of slavery;--everything else in her book is not only possible, but probable, and not only probable, but a very faithful representation of the existing facts:--faithful, and not, as you accuse it of being, exaggerated; for, with the exception of the horrible catastrophe, the flogging to death of poor Tom, she has pourtrayed none of the most revolting instances of crime produced by the slave system--with which she might have darkened her picture, without detracting from its perfect truth. Even with respect to the incident of Tom's death, it must not be said that if such an event is possible, it is hardly probable; for this is unfortunately not true. It is not true that the value of the slave as property infallibly protects his life from the passions of his master. It is no new thing for a man's passions to blind him to his most obvious and immediate temporal interests, as well as to his higher and everlasting ones,--in various parts of the world and stages of civilisation, various human passions assume successive prominence, and become developed, to the partial exclusion or deadening of others. In savage existence, and those states of civilisation least removed from it, the animal passions predominate. In highly cultivated modern society, where the complicated machinery of human existence is at once a perpetually renewed cause and effect of certain legal and moral restraints, which, in the shape of government and public opinion, protect the congregated lives and interests of men from the worst outrages of open violence, the natural selfishness of mankind assumes a different development; and the love of power, of pleasure, or of pelf, exhibits different phenomena from those elicited from a savage under the influence of the same passions. The channel in which the energy and activity of modern society inclines more and more to pour itself, is the peaceful one of the pursuit of gain. This is preeminently the case with the two great commercial nations of the earth, England and America;--and in either England or the Northern States of America, the prudential and practical views of life prevail so far, that instances of men sacrificing their money interests at the instigation of rage, revenge, and hatred, will certainly not abound. But the Southern slaveholders are a very different race of men from either Manchester manufacturers or Massachusetts merchants; they are a remnant of barbarism and feudalism, maintaining itself with infinite difficulty and danger by the side of the latest and most powerful developement of commercial civilisation. The inhabitants of Baltimore, Richmond, Charleston, Savannah, and New Orleans, whose estates lie like the suburban retreats of our city magnates in the near neighbourhood of their respective cities, are not now the people I refer to. They are softened and enlightened by many influences,--the action of city life itself, where human sympathy, and human respect, stimulated by neighbourhood, produce salutary social restraint, as well as less salutary social cowardice. They travel to the Northern States, and to Europe; and Europe and the Northern States travel to them; and in spite of themselves, their peculiar conditions receive modifications from foreign intercourse. The influence, too, of commercial enterprise, which, in these latter days, is becoming the agent of civilisation all over the earth, affects even the uncommercial residents of the Southern cities, and however cordially they may dislike or despise the mercantile tendencies of Atlantic Americans, or transatlantic Englishmen, their frequent contact with them breaks down some of the barriers of difference between them, and humanises the slaveholder of the great cities into some relation with the spirit of his own times and country. But these men are but a most inconsiderable portion of the slaveholding population of the South,--a nation, for as such they should be spoken of, of men whose organisation and temperament is that of the southern European; living under the influence of a climate at once enervating and exciting; scattered over trackless wildernesses of arid sand and pestilential swamp; entrenched within their own boundaries; surrounded by creatures absolutely subject to their despotic will; delivered over by hard necessity to the lowest excitements of drinking, gambling, and debauchery for sole recreation; independent of all opinion; ignorant of all progress; isolated from all society--it is impossible to conceive a more savage existence within the pale of any modern civilisation. The South Carolinan gentry have been fond of styling themselves the chivalry of the South, and perhaps might not badly represent, in their relations with their dependents, the nobility of France before the purifying hurricane of the Revolution swept the rights of the suzerain and the wrongs of the serf together into one bloody abyss. The planters of the interior of the Southern and South-Western States, with their furious feuds and slaughterous combats, their stabbings and pistolings, their gross sensuality, brutal ignorance, and despotic cruelty, resemble the chivalry of France before the horrors of the Jacquerie admonished them that there was a limit even to the endurance of slaves. With such men as these, human life, even when it can be bought or sold in the market for so many dollars, is but little protected by considerations of interest from the effects of any violent passion. There is yet, however, another aspect of the question, which is, that it is sometimes clearly _not_ the interest of the owner to prolong the life of his slaves; as in the case of inferior or superannuated labourers, or the very notorious instance in which some of the owners of sugar plantations stated that they found it better worth their while to _work off_ (i.e. kill with labour) a certain proportion, of their force, and replace them by new hands every seven years, than work them less severely and maintain them in diminished efficiency for an indefinite length of time. Here you will observe a precise estimate of the planter's material interest led to a result which you argue passion itself can never be so blind as to adopt. This was a deliberate economical calculation, openly avowed some years ago by a number of sugar planters in Louisiana. If, instead of accusing Mrs. Stowe of exaggeration, you had brought the same charge against the author of the 'White Slave,' I should not have been surprised; for his book presents some of the most revolting instances of atrocity and crime that the miserable abuse of irresponsible power is capable of producing, and it is by no means written in the spirit of universal humanity which pervades Mrs. Stowe's volumes: but it is not liable to the charge of exaggeration, any more than her less disgusting delineation. The scenes described in the 'White Slave' _do_ occur in the slave States of North America; and in two of the most appalling incidents of the book--the burning alive of the captured runaway, and the hanging without trial of the Vicksburg gamblers--the author of the 'White Slave' has very simply related positive facts of notorious occurrence. To which he might have added, had he seen fit to do so, the instance of a slave who perished in the sea swamps, where he was left bound and naked, a prey to the torture inflicted upon him by the venomous mosquito swarms. My purpose, however, in addressing you was not to enter into a disquisition on either of these publications; but I am not sorry to take this opportunity of bearing witness to the truth of Mrs. Stowe's admirable book, and I have seen what few Englishmen can see--the working of the system in the midst of it. In reply to your 'Dispassionate Observer,' who went to the South professedly with the purpose of seeing and judging of the state of things for himself, let me tell you that, little as he may be disposed to believe it, his testimony is worth less than nothing; for it is morally impossible for any Englishman going into the Southern States, except as a _resident_, to know anything whatever of the real condition of the slave population. This was the case some years ago, as I experienced, and it is now likely to be more the case than ever; for the institution is not _yet_ approved divine to the perceptions of Englishmen, and the Southerners are as anxious to hide its uglier features from any note-making observer from this side the water, as to present to his admiration and approval such as can by any possibility be made to wear the most distant approach to comeliness. The gentry of the Southern States are preeminent in their own country for that species of manner which, contrasted with the breeding of the Northerners, would be emphatically pronounced 'good' by Englishmen. Born to inhabit landed property, they are not inevitably made clerks and counting-house men of, but inherit with their estates some of the invariable characteristics of an aristocracy. The shop is not their element; and the eager spirit of speculation and the sordid spirit of gain do not infect their whole existence, even to their very demeanour and appearance, as they too manifestly do those of a large proportion of the inhabitants of the Northern States. Good manners have an undue value for Englishmen, generally speaking; and whatever departs from their peculiar standard of breeding is apt to prejudice them, as whatever approaches it prepossesses them, far more than is reasonable. The Southerners are infinitely better bred men, according to English notions, than the men of the Northern States. The habit of command gives them a certain self-possession, the enjoyment of leisure a certain ease. Their temperament is impulsive and enthusiastic, and their manners have the grace and spirit which seldom belong to the deportment of a Northern people; but upon more familiar acquaintance, the vices of the social system to which they belong will be found to have infected them with their own peculiar taint; and haughty overbearing irritability, effeminate indolence, reckless extravagance, and a union of profligacy and cruelty, which is the immediate result of their irresponsible power over their dependents, are some of the less pleasing traits which acquaintance developes in a Southern character. In spite of all this, there is no manner of doubt that the 'candid English observer' will, for the season of his sojourning among them, greatly prefer their intercourse to that of their Northern brethren. Moreover, without in the least suspecting it, he will be bribed insidiously and incessantly by the extreme desire and endeavour to please and prepossess him which the whole white population of the slave States will exhibit--as long as he goes only as a 'candid observer,' with a mind not _yet_ made up upon the subject of slavery, and open to conviction as to its virtues. Every conciliating demonstration of courtesy and hospitable kindness will be extended to him, and, as I said before, if his observation is permitted (and it may even appear to be courted), it will be to a fairly bound purified edition of the black book of slavery, in which, though the inherent viciousness of the whole story cannot be suppressed, the coarser and more offensive passages will be carefully expunged. And now, permit me to observe, that the remarks of your traveller must derive much of their value from the scene of his enquiry. In Maryland, Kentucky, and Virginia, the outward aspect of slavery has ceased to wear its most deplorable features. The remaining vitality of the system no longer resides in the interests, but in the pride and prejudices of the planters. Their soil and climate are alike favourable to the labours of a white peasantry: the slave cultivation has had time to prove itself there the destructive pest which, in time, it will prove itself wherever it prevails. The vast estates and large fortunes that once maintained, and were maintained by, the serfdom of hundreds of negroes, have dwindled in size and sunk in value, till the slaves have become so heavy a burthen on the resources of the exhausted soil and impoverished owners of it, that they are made themselves objects of traffic in order to ward off the ruin that their increase would otherwise entail. Thus, the plantations of the Northern slave States now present to the traveller very few of the darker and more oppressive peculiarities of the system; and, provided he does not stray too near the precincts where the negroes are sold, or come across gangs of them on their way to Georgia, Louisiana, or Alabama, he may, if he is a very superficial observer, conclude that the most prosperous slavery is not much worse than the most miserable freedom. But of what value will be such conclusions applied to those numerous plantations where no white man ever sets foot without the express permission of the owner? not estates lying close to Baltimore and Charleston, or even Lesington or Savannah, but remote and savage wildernesses like Legree's estate in 'Uncle Tom,' like all the plantations in the interior of Tennessee and Alabama, like the cotton-fields and rice-swamps of the great muddy rivers of Lousiana and Georgia, like the dreary pine barrens and endless woody wastes of north Carolina. These, especially the islands, are like so many fortresses, approachable for 'observers' only at the owners' will. On most of the rice plantations in these pestilential regions, no white man can pass the night at certain seasons of the year without running the risk of his life; and during the day, the master and overseer are as much alone and irresponsible in their dominion over their black cattle, as Robinson Crusoe was over his small family of animals on his desert habitation. Who, on such estates as these, shall witness to any act of tyranny or barbarity, however atrocious? No black man's testimony is allowed against a white, and who on the dismal swampy rice-grounds of the Savannah, or the sugar-brakes of the Mississippi and its tributaries, or the up country cotton lands of the Ocamulgee, shall go to perform the task of candid observation and benevolent enquiry? I passed some time on two such estates--plantations where the negroes esteemed themselves well off, and, compared with the slaves on several of the neighbouring properties, might very well consider themselves so; and I will, with your permission, contrast some of the items of my observation with those of the traveller whose report you find so satisfactory on the subject of the 'consolations' of slavery. And first, for the attachment which he affirms to subsist between the slave and master. I do not deny that certain manifestations on the part of the slave may suggest the idea of such a feeling; but whether upon better examination it will be found to deserve the name, I very much doubt. In the first place, on some of the great Southern estates, the owners are habitual absentees, utterly unknown to their serfs, and enjoying the proceeds of their labour in residences as remote as possible from the sands and swamps where their rice and cotton grow, and their slaves bow themselves under the eye of the white overseer, and the lash of the black driver. Some of these Sybarites prefer living in Paris, that paradise of American republicans, some in the capitals of the middle states of the union, Philadelphia or New York. The air of New England has a keen edge of liberty, which suits few Southern constitutions; and unkindly as abolition has found its native soil and native skies, that is its birthplace, and there it flourishes, in spite of all attempts to root it out and trample it down, and within any atmosphere poisoned by its influence no slaveholder can willingly draw breath. Some travel in Europe, and few, whose means permit the contrary, ever pass the entire year on their plantations. Great intervals of many years pass, and no master ever visits some of these properties: what species of attachment do you think the slave entertains for him? In other cases, the visits made will be of a few days in one of the winter months; the estate and its cultivators remaining for the rest of the year under the absolute control of the overseer, who, provided he contrives to get a good crop of rice or cotton into the market for his employers, is left to the arbitrary exercise of a will seldom uninfluenced for evil, by the combined effects of the grossest ignorance and habitual intemperance. The temptation to the latter vice is almost irresistible to a white man in such a climate, and leading an existence of brutal isolation, among a parcel of human beings as like brutes as they can be made. But the owner who at these distant intervals of months or years revisits his estates, is looked upon as a returning providence by the poor negroes. They have no experience of his character to destroy their hopes in his goodness, and all possible and impossible ameliorations of their condition are anticipated from his advent, less work, more food, fewer stripes, and some of that consideration which the slave hopes may spring from his positive money value to his owner,--a fallacious dependence, as I have already attempted to show, but one which, if it has not always predominating weight with the master, never can have any with the overseer, who has not even the feeling of regard for his own property to mitigate his absolutism over the slaves of another man. There is a very powerful cause which makes the prosperity and well-being (as far as life is concerned) of most masters a subject of solicitude with their slaves. The only stability of their condition, such as it is, hangs upon it. If the owner of a plantation dies, his estates may fall into the market, and his slaves be sold at public auction the next day; and whether this promises a better, or threatens a worse condition, the slaves cannot know, and no human being cares. One thing it inevitably brings, the uprooting of all old associations; the disruption of all the ties of fellowship in misery; the tearing asunder of all relations of blood and affection; the sale into separate and far distant districts of fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, and children. If the estate does not lie in the extreme south, there is the vague dread of being driven thither from Virginia to Georgia, from Carolina to Alabama, or Louisiana, a change which, for reasons I have shown above, implies the passing from a higher into a lower circle of the infernal pit of slavery. I once heard a slave on the plantation of an absentee express the most lively distress at hearing that his master was ill. Before, however, I had recovered from my surprise at this warm 'attachment' to a distant and all but unknown proprietor, the man added, 'massa die, what become of all him people?' On my arrival on the plantation where I resided, I was hailed with the most extravagant demonstrations of delight, and all but lifted off my feet in the arms of people who had never seen me before; but who, knowing me to be connected with their owners, expected from me some of the multitudinous benefits which they always hope to derive from masters. These, until they come to reside among them, are always believed to be sources of beneficence and fountains of redress by the poor people, who have known no rule but the delegated tyranny of the overseer. In these expectations, however, they very soon find themselves cruelly mistaken. Of course, if the absentee planter has received a satisfactory income from his estate, he is inclined to be satisfied with the manager of it, and as subordination to the only white man among hundreds of blacks must be maintained at any and every cost, the overseer is justified and upheld in his whole administration. If the wretched slave ever dared to prefer a complaint of ill-usage the most atrocious, the law which refuses the testimony of a black against a white is not only the law of the land, but of every man's private dealings; and lying being one of the natural results of slavery, and a tendency to shirk compelled and unrequited labour another, the overseer stands on excellent vantage-ground, when he refers to these undoubted characteristics of the system, if called upon to rebut any charge of cruelty or injustice. But pray consider for a moment the probability of any such charge being preferred by a poor creature, who has been for years left to the absolute disposal of this man, and who knows very well that in a few days, or months at furthest, the master will again depart, leaving him again for months, perhaps for years, utterly at the mercy of the man against whom he has dared to prefer a complaint. On the estates which I visited, the owners had been habitually absent, and the 'attachment' of slaves to such masters as these, you will allow, can hardly come under the denomination of a strong personal feeling. Your authority next states that the infirm and superannuated slaves no longer capable of ministering to their masters' luxuries, on the estate that he visited, were ending their lives among all the comforts of home, with kindred and friends around them, in a condition which he contrasts, at least by implication, very favourably with the workhouse, the last refuge provided by the social humanity of England--for the pauper labourer when he has reached that term when 'unregarded age is in corners thrown.' On the plantation where I lived the infirmary was a large room, the walls of which were simply mud and lathes--the floor, the soil itself, damp with perpetual drippings from the holes in the roof, and the open space which served for a window was protected only by a broken shutter, which, in order to exclude the cold, was drawn so near as almost to exclude the light at the same time. Upon this earthen floor, with nothing but its hard damp surface beneath him, no covering but a tattered shirt and trowsers, and a few sticks under his head for a pillow, lay an old man of upwards of seventy, dying. When I first looked at him I thought by the glazed stare of his eyes, and the flies that had gathered round his half open mouth, that he was dead: but on stooping nearer, I perceived that the last faint struggle of life was still going on, but even while I bent over him it ceased; and so, like a worn-out hound, with no creature to comfort or relieve his last agony, with neither Christian solace or human succour near him, with neither wife, nor child, nor even friendly fellow being to lift his head from the knotty sticks on which he had rested it, or drive away the insects that buzzed round his lips and nostrils like those of a fallen beast, died this poor old slave, whose life had been exhausted in unrequited labour, the fruits of which had gone to pamper the pride and feed the luxury of those who knew and cared neither for his life or death, and to whom, if they had heard of the latter, it would have been a matter of absolute though small gain, the saving of a daily pittance of meal, which served to prolong a life no longer available to them. I proceed to the next item in your observer's record. All children below the age of twelve were unemployed, he says, on the estate he visited: this is perhaps a questionable benefit, when, no process of mental cultivation being permitted, the only employment for the leisure thus allowed is that of rolling, like dogs or cats, in the sand and the sun. On all the plantations I visited, and on those where I resided, the infants in arms were committed to the care of these juvenile slaves, who were denominated nurses, and whose sole employment was what they call to 'mind baby.' The poor little negro sucklings were cared for (I leave to your own judgement how efficiently or how tenderly) by these half-savage slips of slavery--carried by them to the fields where their mothers were working under the lash, to receive their needful nourishment, and then carried back again to the 'settlement,' or collection of negro huts, where they wallowed unheeded in utter filth and neglect until the time again returned for their being carried to their mother's breast. Such was the employment of the children of eight or nine years old, and the only supervision exercised over either babies or 'baby minders' was that of the old woman left in charge of the infirmary, where she made her abode all day long and bestowed such samples of her care and skill upon its inmates as I shall have occasion to mention presently. The practice of thus driving the mothers a-field, even while their infants were still dependent upon them for their daily nourishment, is one of which the evil as well as the cruelty is abundantly apparent without comment. The next note of admiration elicited from your 'impartial observer' is bestowed upon the fact that the domestic servants (i.e. house slaves) on the plantation he visited were _allowed_ to live away from the owner's residence, and to marry. But I never was on a southern plantation, and I never heard of one, where any of the slaves were allowed to sleep under the same roof with their owner. With the exception of the women to whose care the children of the planter, if he had any, might be confided, and perhaps a little boy or girl slave, kept as a sort of pet animal and allowed to pass the night on the floor of the sleeping apartment of some member of the family, the residence of _any_ slaves belonging to a plantation night and day in their master's house, like Northern or European servants, is a thing I believe unknown throughout the Southern States. Of course I except the cities, and speak only of the estates, where the house servants are neither better housed or accommodated than the field-hands. Their intolerably dirty habits and offensive persons would indeed render it a severe trial to any family accustomed to habits of decent cleanliness; and, moreover, considerations of safety, and that cautious vigilance which is a hard necessity of the planter's existence, in spite of the supposed attachment of his slaves, would never permit the near proximity, during the unprotected hours of the night, of those whose intimacy with the daily habits and knowledge of the nightly securities resorted to might prove terrible auxiliaries to any attack from without. The city guards, patrols, and night-watches, together with their stringent rules about negroes being abroad after night, and their well fortified lock-up houses for all detected without a pass, afford some security against these attached dependents; but on remote plantations, where the owner and his family and perhaps a white overseer are alone, surrounded by slaves and separated from all succour against them, they do not sleep under the white man's roof, and, for politic reasons, pass the night away from their master's abode. The house servants have no other or better allowance of food than the field labourers, but have the advantage of eking it out by what is left from the master's table,--if possible, with even less comfort in one respect, inasmuch as no time whatever is set apart for their meals, which they snatch at any hour and in any way that they can--generally, however, standing or squatting on their hams round the kitchen fire; the kitchen being a mere outhouse or barn with a fire in it. On the estate where I lived, as I have mentioned, they had no sleeping-rooms in the house; but when their work was over, they retired like the rest to their hovels, the discomfort of which had to them all the additional disadvantage of comparison with their owner's mode of living. In all establishments whatever, of course some disparity exists between the accommodation of the drawing-rooms and best bed-rooms and the servants' kitchen and attics; but on a plantation it is no longer a matter of degree. The young women who performed the offices of waiting and housemaids, and the lads who attended upon the service of their master's table where I lived, had neither table to feed at nor chair to sit down upon themselves; the 'boys' lay all night on the hearth by the kitchen fire, and the women upon the usual slave's bed--a frame of rough boards, strewed with a little moss off the trees, with the addition perhaps of a tattered and filthy blanket. As for the so-called privilege of marrying--surely it is gross mockery to apply such a word to a bond which may be holy in God's sight, but which did not prevent the owner of a plantation where my observations were made from selling and buying men and their so-called wives and children into divided bondage, nor the white overseer from compelling the wife of one of the most excellent and exemplary of his master's slaves to live with him--nor the white wife of another overseer, in her husband's temporary absence from the estate, from barbarously flogging three _married_ slaves within a month of their confinement, their condition being the result of the profligacy of the said overseer, and probably compelled by the very same lash by which it was punished. This is a very disgusting picture of married life on slave estates: but I have undertaken to reply to the statements of your informant, and I regret to be obliged to record the facts by which alone I can do so. 'Work,' continues your authority, 'began at six in the morning, at nine an hour's rest was allowed for breakfast, and by two or three o'clock the day's work was done.' Certainly this was a pattern plantation, and I can only lament that my experience lay amid such far less favourable circumstances. The negroes among whom I lived went to the fields at daybreak, carrying with them their allowance of food, which toward noon, and not till then, they ate, cooking it over a fire which they kindled as best they could where they were working; their _second_ meal in the day was at night after their labour was over, having worked at the _very least_ six hours without rest or refreshment, since their noon-day meal--properly so called, indeed, for it was meal and nothing else, or a preparation something thicker than porridge, which they call hominy. Perhaps the candid observer, whose report of the estate he visited appeared to you so consolatory, would think that this diet contrasted favourably with that of potato and butter-milk fed Irish labourers. But a more just comparison surely would be with the mode of living of the labouring population of the United States, the peasantry of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts, or indeed with the condition of those very potato and butter-milk fed Irishmen when they have exchanged their native soil for the fields of the Northern and North-Western States, and when, as one of them once was heard to say, it was no use writing home that he got meat three times a-day, for nobody in Ireland would believe it. The next item in the list of commendation is the hospital, which your informant also visited, and of which he gives the following account--'It consisted of three separate wards, all clean and well ventilated: one was for lying-in women, who were invariably allowed a month's rest after their confinement.' Permit me to place beside this picture that of a Southern infirmary, such as I saw it, and taken on the spot. In the first room that I entered I found only half of the windows, of which there were six, glazed; these were almost as much obscured with dirt as the other windowless ones were darkened by the dingy shutters which the shivering inmates had closed in order to protect themselves from the cold. In the enormous chimney glimmered the powerless embers of a few chips of wood, round which as many of the sick women as had strength to approach were cowering, some on wooden settles (there was not such a thing as a chair with a back in the whole establishment), most of them on the ground, excluding those who were too ill to rise--and these poor wretches lay prostrate on the earth, without bedstead, bed, mattress, or pillow, with no covering but the clothes they had on and some filthy rags of blanket in which they endeavoured to wrap themselves as they lay literally strewing the floor, so that there was hardly room to pass between them. Here in their hour of sickness and suffering lay those whose health and strength had given way under unrequited labour--some of them, no later than the previous day, had been urged with the lash to their accustomed tasks--and their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons were even at that hour sweating over the earth whose increase was to procure for others all the luxuries which health can enjoy, all the comforts which can alleviate sickness. Here lay women expecting every hour the terror and agonies of child-birth, others who had just brought their doomed offspring into the world, others who were groaning over the anguish and bitter disappointment of miscarriages--here lay some burning with fever, others chilled with cold and aching with rheumatism, upon the hard cold ground, the draughts and damp of the atmosphere increasing their sufferings, and dirt, noise, stench, and every aggravation of which sickness is capable combined in their condition. There had been among them one or two cases of prolonged and terribly hard labour; and the method adopted by the ignorant old negress, who was the sole matron, midwife, nurse, physician, surgeon, and servant of the infirmary, to assist them in their extremity, was to tie a cloth tight round the throats of the agonised women, and by drawing it till she almost suffocated them she produced violent and spasmodic struggles, which she assured me she thought materially assisted the progress of the labour. This was one of the Southern infirmaries with which I was acquainted; and I beg to conclude this chapter of contrasts to your informant's consolatory views of slavery, by assuring you once more very emphatically that they have been one and all drawn from estates where the slaves esteemed themselves well treated, were reputed generally to be so, and undoubtedly, as far as my observation went, were so, compared with those on several of the adjoining plantations. With regard to the statement respecting the sums of money earned by industrious negroes, there is no doubt that it is perfectly correct. I knew of some slaves on a plantation in the extreme South who had received, at various times, large sums of money from a shopkeeper in the small town near their estate, for the grey moss or lichen collected from the evergreen oaks of Carolina and Georgia, upon which it hangs in vast masses, and after some cleaning process becomes an excellent substitute for horse-hair, for bed, chair, and sofa-stuffing. On another estate, some of the slaves were expert boat makers, and had been allowed by their masters to retain the price (no inconsiderable one) for some that they had found time to manufacture after their day's labour was accomplished. These were undoubtedly privileges, but I confess it appears to me that the juster view of the matter would be this--if these men were industrious enough out of their scanty leisure to earn these sums of money, which a mere exercise of arbitrary will on the part of the master allowed them to keep, how much more of remuneration, of comfort, of improvement, physical and mental, might they not have achieved, had the due price of their daily labour merely been paid to them? It seems to me that this is the mode of putting the case to Englishmen, and all who have not agreed to consider uncertain favour an equivalent for common justice in the dealings of man with man. As the slaves are well known to toil for years sometimes to amass the means of rescuing themselves from bondage, the fact of their being able and sometimes allowed to earn considerable sums of money is notorious. But now that I have answered one by one the instances you have produced, with others--I am sure as accurate and I believe as common--of an entirely opposite description, permit me to ask you what this sort of testimony amounts to. I allow you full credit for yours, allow me full credit for mine, and the result is very simply a nullification of the one by the other statement, and a proof that there is as much good as evil in the details of slavery; but now, be pleased to throw into the scale this consideration, that the principle of the whole is unmitigated abominable evil, as by your own acknowledgement you hold it to be, and add, moreover, that the principle being invariably bad beyond the power of the best man acting under it to alter its execrable injustice, the goodness of the detail is a matter absolutely dependent upon the will of each individual slaveholder, so that though the best cannot make the system in the smallest particular better, the bad can make every practical detail of it as atrocious as the principle itself; and then tell me upon what ground you palliate a monstrous iniquity, which is the rule, because of the accidental exceptions which go to prove it. Moreover, if, as you have asserted, good preponderates over evil in the practice, though not in the theory of slavery, or it would not maintain its existence, why do you uphold to us, with so much complacency, the hope that it is surely if not rapidly approaching its abolishment? Why is the preponderating good, which has, as you say, proved sufficient to uphold the institution hitherto, to become (in spite of the spread of civilisation and national progress, and the gradual improvement of the slaves themselves) inadequate to its perpetuation henceforward? Or why, if good really has prevailed in it, do you rejoice that it is speedily to pass away? You say the emancipation of the slaves is inevitable, and that through progressive culture the negro of the Southern States daily approaches more nearly to the recovery of the rights of which he has been robbed. But whence do you draw this happy augury, except from the hope, which all Christian souls must cherish, that God will not permit much longer so great a wickedness to darken the face of the earth? Surely the increased stringency of the Southern slave-laws, the more than ever vigilant precautions against all attempts to enlighten or educate the negroes, the severer restrictions on manumission, the thrusting forth out of certain States of all free persons of colour, the atrocious Fugitive Slave Bill, one of the latest achievements of Congress, and the piratical attempts upon Cuba, avowedly on the part of all Southerners, abetting or justifying it because it will add slave-territory and 600,000 slaves to their possessions;--surely these do not seem indications of the better state of things you anticipate, except, indeed, as the straining of the chain beyond all endurable tightness significantly suggests the probability of its giving way. I do not believe the planters have any disposition to put an end to slavery, nor is it perhaps much to be wondered at that they have not. To do so is, in the opinion of the majority of them, to run the risk of losing their property, perhaps their lives, for a benefit which they profess to think doubtful to the slaves themselves. How far they are right in anticipating ruin from the manumission of their slaves I think questionable, but that they do so is certain, and self-impoverishment for the sake of abstract principle is not a thing to be reasonably expected from any large mass of men. But, besides the natural fact that the slaveholders wish to retain their property, emancipation is, in their view of it, not only a risk of enormous pecuniary loss, and of their entire social status, but involves elements of personal danger, and above all, disgust to inveterate prejudices, which they will assuredly never encounter. The question is not alone one of foregoing great wealth, or the mere means of subsistence (in either case almost equally hard); it is not alone the unbinding the hands of those who have many a bloody debt of hatred and revenge to settle; it is not alone the consenting suddenly to see by their side, upon a footing of free social equality, creatures towards whom their predominant feeling is one of mingled terror and abhorrence, and who, during the whole of their national existence, have been, as the earth, trampled beneath their feet, yet ever threatening to gape and swallow them alive. It is not all this alone which makes it unlikely that the Southern planter should desire to free his slaves: freedom in America is not merely a personal right, it involves a political privilege. Freemen there are legislators. The rulers of the land are the majority of the people, and in many parts of the Southern States the black free citizens would become, if not at once, yet in process of time, inevitably voters, landholders, delegates to state legislatures, members of assembly--who knows?--senators, judges, aspirants to the presidency of the United States. You must be an American, or have lived long among them, to conceive the shout of derisive execration with which such an idea would be hailed from one end of the land to the other. That the emancipation of the negroes need not necessarily put them in possession of the franchise is of course obvious, but as a general consequence the one would follow from the other; and at present certainly the slaveholders are no more ready to grant the political privilege than the natural right of freedom. Under these circumstances, though the utmost commiseration is naturally excited by the slaves, I agree with you that some forbearance is due to the masters. It is difficult to conceive a more awful position than theirs: fettered by laws which impede every movement towards right and justice, and utterly without the desire to repeal them--dogged by the apprehension of nameless retributions--bound beneath a burthen of responsibility for which, whether they acknowledge it or not, they are held accountable by God and men--goaded by the keen consciousness of the growing reprobation of all civilised Christian communities, their existence presents the miserable moral counterpart of the physical condition of their slaves; and it is one compared with which that of the wretchedest slave is, in my judgement, worthy of envy. * * * * * _Letter to C.G., Esq._ Before entering upon my answer to your questions, let me state that I have no claim to be ranked as an abolitionist in the American acceptation of the word, for I have hitherto held the emancipation of the slaves to be exclusively the business and duty of their owners, whose highest moral interest I thought it was to rid themselves of such a responsibility, in spite of the manifold worldly interests almost inextricably bound up with it. This has been my feeling hitherto with regard to the views of the abolitionists, which I now, however, heartily embrace, inasmuch as I think that from the moment the United States Government assumed an attitude of coercion and supremacy towards the Southern States, it was bound with its fleets and armies to introduce its polity with respect to slavery, and wherever it planted the standard of the Union to proclaim the universal freedom which is the recognised law of the Northern United States. That they have not done so has been partly owing to a superstitious, but honourable veneration for the letter of their great charter, the constitution, and still more to the hope they have never ceased to entertain of bringing back the South to its allegiance under the former conditions of the Union, an event which will be rendered impossible by any attempt to interfere with the existence of slavery. The North, with the exception of an inconsiderable minority of its inhabitants, has never been at all desirous of the emancipation of the slaves. The Democratic party which has ruled the United States for many years past has always been friendly to the slaveholders, who have, with few exceptions, been all members of it (for by a strange perversion both of words and ideas, some of the most Democratic States in the Union are Southern slave States, and in the part of Georgia where the slave population is denser than in any other part of the South, a county exists bearing the satirical title of _Liberty County_). And the support of the South has been given to the Northern Democratic politicians, upon the distinct understanding that their 'domestic institution' was to be guaranteed to them. The condition of the free blacks in the Northern States has of course been affected most unfavourably by the slavery of their race throughout the other half of the Union, and indeed it would have been a difficult matter for Northern citizens to maintain towards the blacks an attitude of social and political equality as far as the borders of Delaware, while immediately beyond they were pledged to consider them as the 'chattels' of their owners, animals no more noble or human than the cattle in their masters' fields. How could peace have been maintained if the Southern slaveholders had been compelled to endure the sight of negroes rising to wealth and eminence in the Northern cities, or entering as fellow-members with themselves the halls of that legislature to which all free-born citizens are eligible? they would very certainly have declined with fierce scorn, not the fellowship of the blacks alone, but of those white men who admitted the despised race of their serfs to a footing of such impartial equality. It therefore was the instinctive, and became the deliberate policy of the Northern people, once pledged to maintain slavery in the South, to make their task easy by degrading the blacks in the Northern States to a condition contrasting as little as possible with that of the Southern slaves. The Northern politicians struck hands with the Southern slaveholders, and the great majority of the most enlightened citizens of the Northern States, absorbed in the pursuit of wealth and the extension and consolidation of their admirable and wonderful national prosperity, abandoned the government of their noble country and the preservation of its nobler institutions to the slaveholding aristocracy of the South--to a mob of politicians by trade, the vilest and most venal class of men that ever disgraced and endangered a country--to foreign emigrants, whose brutish ignorance did not prevent the Democratic party from seizing upon them as voters, and bestowing on the Irish and German boors just landed on their shores the same political privileges as those possessed and intelligently exercised by the farmers and mechanics of New England, the most enlightened men of their class to be found in the world. The gradual encroachment of the Southern politicians upon the liberties of the North, by their unrelaxing influence in Congress and over successive cabinets and presidents, was not without its effect in stimulating some resistance on the part of Northern statesmen of sufficient intelligence to perceive the inevitable results towards which this preponderance in the national counsels was steadily tending; and I need not remind you of the rapidity and force with which General Jackson quelled an incipient rebellion in South Carolina, when Mr. Calhoun made the tariff question the pretext for a threatened secession in 1832, of the life-long opposition to Southern pretensions by John Quincy Adams, of the endeavour of Mr. Clay to stem the growing evil by the conditions of the Missouri compromise, and all the occasional attempts of individuals of more conscientious convictions than their fellow-citizens on the subject of the sin of slavery, from Dr. Channing's eloquent protest on the annexation of Texas, to Mr. Charles Sumner's philippic against Mr. Brooks of South Carolina. The disorganisation of the Democratic party, after a cohesion of so many years, at length changed the aspect of affairs; and the North appeared to be about to arouse itself from its apathetic consent to Southern domination. The Republican party, headed by Colonel Fremont, who was known to be an anti-slavery man, nearly carried the presidential election six years ago, and then every preparation had been made in the South for the process of secession, which was only averted by the election of Mr. Buchanan, a pro-slavery Southern sympathiser, though born in Pennsylvania. Under his presidency, the Southern statesmen, resuming their attitude of apparent friendliness with the North, kept in abeyance, maturing and perfecting by every treasonable practice, for which their preponderating share in the cabinet afforded them fatal facilities, the plan of the violent disruption of the Union, upon which they had determined whenever the Republican party should have acquired sufficient strength, to elect a president with Northern views. Before, however, this event occurred, the war in Kansas rang a prophetic peal of warning through the land; and the struggle there begun between New England emigrants bent on founding a free state, and Missouri border ruffians determined to make the new territory a slaveholding addition to the South, might have roused the whole North and West to the imminence of the peril, by which the safety of the Union was threatened. But neither the struggle in Kansas, nor the strange and piteous episode which grew out of it, of John Brown's attempt to excite an insurrection in Virginia, and his execution by the government of that State, did more than startle the North with a nine days' wonder out of its apathetic indifference. The Republican party, it is true, gained adherents, and acquired strength by degrees; and Mr. Buchanan's term of office approaching its expiration, it became apparent that the Democratic party was about to lose its supremacy, and the slaveholders their dominion; and no sooner was this evident than the latter threw off the mask, and renounced their allegiance to the Union. In a day--in an hour almost--those stood face to face as mortal enemies who were citizens of the same country, subjects of the same government, children of the same soil; and the North, incredulous and amazed, found itself suddenly summoned to retrieve its lost power and influence, and assert the dignity of the insulted Union against the rebellious attempt of the South to overthrow it. But it was late for them to take that task in hand. For years the conduct of the government of the United States had been becoming a more desperate and degraded _jobbery_, one from which day by day the Northern gentlemen of intelligence, influence, and education withdrew themselves in greater disgust, devoting their energies to schemes of mere personal advantage, and leaving the commonweal with selfish and contemptuous indifference to the guidance of any hands less nice and less busy than their own. Nor would the Southern planters--a prouder and more aristocratic race than the Northern merchants--have relished the companionship of their fellow-politicians more than the latter, but _their_ personal interests were at stake, and immediately concerned in their maintaining their predominant influence over the government; and while the Boston men wrote and talked transcendentalism, and became the most accomplished of _aestetische_ cotton spinners and railroad speculators, and made the shoes and cow-hides of the Southerners, the latter made their laws; (I believe New Jersey is really the great cow-hide factory); and the New York men, owners of the fastest horses and finest houses in the land, having made a sort of Brummagem Paris of their city, were the bankers and brokers of the Southerners, while the latter were their legislators. The grip the slaveholders had fastened on the helm of the State had been tightening for nearly half a century, till the government of the nation had become literally theirs, and the idea of their relinquishing it was one which the North did not contemplate, and they would not tolerate. If I have said nothing of the grievances which the South has alleged against the North--its tariff, made chiefly in the interest of the north-eastern manufacturing States, or its inconsiderable but enthusiastic Massachusetts and Pennsylvania Abolition party--it is because I do not believe these causes of complaint would have had the same effect upon any but a community of slaveholders, men made impatient (by the life-long habit of despotism), not only of all control, but of any opposition. Thirty years ago Andrew Jackson--a man of keen sagacity as well as determined energy--wrote of them that they were bent upon destroying the Union, and that, whatever was the pretext of their discontent, that was their aim and purpose. 'To-day,' he wrote, 'it is the tariff, by and by it will be slavery.' The event has proved how true a prophet he was. My own conviction is that the national character produced and fostered by slaveholding is incompatible with free institutions, and that the Southern aristocracy, thanks to the pernicious influences by which they are surrounded, are unfit to be members of a Christian republic. It is slavery that has made the Southerners rebels to their government, traitors to their country, and the originators of the bloodiest civil war that ever disgraced humanity and civilisation. It is for their sinful complicity in slavery, and their shameful abandonment of all their duties as citizens, that the Northerners are paying in the blood of their men, the tears of their women, and the treasure which they have till now held more precious than their birthright. They must now not merely impose a wise restriction upon slavery, they must be prepared to extinguish it. They neglected and despised the task of moderating its conditions and checking its growth; they must now suddenly, in the midst of unparalleled difficulties and dangers, be ready to deal summarily with its entire existence. They have loved the pursuit of personal prosperity and pleasure more than their country; and now they must spend life and living to reconquer their great inheritance, and win back at the sword's point what Heaven had forbidden them to lose. Nor are we, here in England, without part in this tremendous sin and sorrow; we have persisted in feeding our looms, and the huge wealth they coin, with the produce of slavery. In vain our vast Indian territory has solicited the advantage of becoming our free cotton plantation; neither our manufacturers nor our government would venture, would wait, would spend or lose, for that purpose; the slave-grown harvest was ready, was abundant, was cheap--and now the thousand arms of our great national industry are folded in deplorable inactivity; the countless hands that wrought from morn till night the wealth that was a world's wonder are stretched unwillingly to beg their bread; and England has never seen a sadder sight than the enforced idleness of her poor operatives, or a nobler one than their patient and heroic endurance. And now you ask me what plan, what scheme, what project the government of the United States has formed for the safe and successful emancipation of four millions of slaves, in the midst of a country distracted with all the horrors of war, and the male population of which is engaged in military service at a distance from their homes? Most assuredly none. Precipitated headlong from a state of apparent profound security and prosperity into a series of calamitous events which have brought the country to the verge of ruin, neither the nation or its governors have had leisure to prepare themselves for any of the disastrous circumstances they have had to encounter, least of all for the momentous change which the President's proclamation announces as imminent: a measure of supreme importance, not deliberately adopted as the result of philanthropic conviction or far-sighted policy, but (if not a mere feint of party politics) the last effort of the incensed spirit of endurance in the North--a punishment threatened against rebels, whom they cannot otherwise subdue, and which a year ago half the Northern population would have condemned upon principle, and more than half revolted from on instinct. The country being in a state of war necessarily complicates everything, and renders the most plausible suggestions for the settlement of the question of emancipation futile: because from first to last now it will be one tremendous chapter of accidents, instead of a carefully considered and wisely prepared measure of government. But supposing the war to have ceased, either by the success of the Northern arms or by the consent of both belligerents, the question of manumission in the Southern States when reduced to the condition of territories or restored to the sway of their own elected governors and legislatures, though difficult, is by no means one of insuperable difficulty; and I do not believe that a great nation of Englishmen, having once the will to rid itself of a danger and a disgrace, will fail to find a way. The thing, therefore, most to be desired now is, that Americans may unanimously embrace the purpose of emancipation, and, though they have been reluctantly driven by the irresistible force of circumstances to contemplate the measure, may henceforward never avert their eyes from it till it is accomplished. When I was in the South many years ago I conversed frequently with two highly intelligent men, both of whom agreed in saying that the immense value of the slaves as property was the only real obstacle to their manumission, and that whenever the Southerners became convinced that it was their interest to free them they would very soon find the means to do it. In some respects the conditions are more favourable than those we had to encounter in freeing our West India slaves. Though the soil and climate of the Southern States are fertile and favourable, they are not tropical, and there is no profuse natural growth of fruits or vegetables to render subsistence possible without labour; the winter temperature is like that of the Roman States; and even as far south as Georgia and the borders of Florida, frosts severe enough to kill the orange trees are sometimes experienced. The inhabitants of the Southern States, throughout by far the largest portion of their extent, must labour to live, and will undoubtedly obey the beneficent law of necessity whenever they are made to feel that their existence depends upon their own exertions. The plan of a gradual emancipation, preceded by a limited apprenticeship of the negroes to white masters, is of course often suggested as less dangerous than their entire and immediate enfranchisement. But when years ago I lived on a Southern plantation, and had opportunities of observing the miserable results of the system on everything connected with it--the souls, minds, bodies, and estates of both races of men, and the very soil on which they existed together--I came to the conclusion that immediate and entire emancipation was not only an act of imperative right, but would be the safest and most profitable course for the interests of both parties. The gradual and inevitable process of ruin which exhibits itself in the long run on every property involving slavery, naturally suggests some element of decay inherent in the system; the reckless habits of extravagance and prodigality in the masters, the ruinous wastefulness and ignorant incapacity of the slaves, the deterioration of the land under the exhausting and thriftless cultivation to which it is subjected, made it evident to me that there were but two means of maintaining a prosperous ownership in Southern plantations: either the possession of considerable capital wherewith to recruit the gradual waste of the energies of the soil, and supply by all the improved and costly methods of modern agriculture the means of profitable cultivation (a process demanding, as English farmers know, an enormous and incessant outlay of both money and skill), or an unlimited command of fresh soil, to which the slaves might be transferred as soon as that already under culture exhibited signs of exhaustion. Now the Southerners are for the most part men whose only wealth is in their land and labourers--a large force of slaves is their most profitable investment. The great capitalists and monied men of the country are Northern men; the planters are men of large estates but restricted means--many of them are deeply involved in debt, and there are very few who do not depend from year to year for their subsistence on the harvest of their fields and the chances of the cotton and rice crops of each season. This makes it of vital importance to them to command an unrestricted extent of territory. The man who can move a 'gang' of able-bodied negroes to a tract of virgin soil is sure of an immense return of wealth; as sure as that he who is circumscribed in this respect, and limited to the cultivation of certain lands with cotton or tobacco by slaves, will in the course of a few years see his estate gradually exhausted and unproductive, refusing its increase, while its black population propagating and multiplying will compel him eventually, under penalty of starvation, to make _them_ his crop, and substitute, as the Virginians have been constrained to do, a traffic in human cattle for the cultivation of vegetable harvests. The steady decrease of the value of the cotton crop, even on the famous sea island plantations of Georgia, often suggested to me the inevitable ruin of the owners within a certain calculable space of time, as the land became worn out, and the negroes continued to increase in number; and had the estate on which I lived been mine, and the laws of Georgia not made such an experiment impossible, I would have emancipated the slaves on it immediately, and turned them into a free tenantry, as the first means of saving my property from impending destruction. I would have paid them wages, and they should have paid me rent. I would have relinquished the charge of feeding and clothing them, and the burthen of their old, young, and infirm; in short, I would have put them at once upon the footing of free hired labourers. Of course such a process would have involved temporary loss, and for a year or two the income of the estate would, I dare say, have suffered considerably; but, in all such diversions of labour or capital from old into new channels and modes of operation, there must be an immediate sacrifice of present to future profit, and I do not doubt that the estate would have recovered from the momentary necessary interruption of its productiveness, to resume it with an upward instead of a downward tendency, and a vigorous impulse towards progress and improvement substituted for the present slow but sure drifting to stagnation and decay. As I have told you, the land affords no spontaneous produce which will sustain life without labour. The negroes therefore must work to eat; they are used to the soil and climate, and accustomed to the agriculture, and there is no reason at all to apprehend--as has been suggested--that a race of people singularly attached to the place of their birth and residence would abandon in any large numbers their own country, just as the conditions of their existence in it were made more favourable, to try the unknown and (to absolute ignorance) forbidding risks of emigration to the sterner climate and harder soil of the Northern States. Of course, in freeing the slaves, it would be necessary to contemplate the possibility of their becoming eventual proprietors of the soil to some extent themselves. There is as little doubt that many of them would soon acquire the means of doing so (men who amass, during hours of daily extra labour, through years of unpaid toil, the means of buying themselves from their masters, would soon justify their freedom by the intelligent improvement of their condition), as that many of the present landholders would be ready and glad to alienate their impoverished estates by parcels, and sell the land which has become comparatively unprofitable to them, to its enfranchised cultivators. This, the future ownership of land by negroes, as well as their admission to those rights of citizenship which everywhere in America such ownership involves, would necessarily be future subjects of legislation; and either or both privileges might be withheld temporarily, indefinitely, or permanently, as might seem expedient, and the progress in civilisation which might justify such an extension of rights. These, and any other modifications of the state of the black population in the South, would require great wisdom to deal with, but their immediate transformation from bondsmen to free might, I think, be accomplished with little danger or difficulty, and with certain increase of prosperity to the Southern States. On the other hand, it is not impossible that, left to the unimpeded action of the natural laws that govern the existence of various races, the black population, no longer directly preserved and propagated for the purposes of slavery, might gradually decrease and dwindle, as it does at the North--where, besides the unfavourable influence of a cold climate on a race originally African, it suffers from its admixture with the whites, and the amalgamation of the two races, as far as it goes, tends evidently to the destruction of the weaker. The Northern mulattoes are an unhealthy feeble population, and it might yet appear that even under the more favourable influence of a Southern climate, whenever the direct stimulus afforded by slavery to the increase of the negroes was removed, their gradual extinction or absorption by the predominant white race would follow in the course of time. But the daily course of events appears to be rendering more and more unlikely the immediate effectual enfranchisement of the slaves: the President's proclamation will reach with but little efficacy beyond the mere borders of the Southern States. The war is assuming an aspect of indefinite duration; and it is difficult to conceive what will be the condition of the blacks, freed _de jure_ but by no means _de facto_, in the vast interior regions of the Southern States, as long as the struggle raging all round their confines does not penetrate within them. Each of the combatants is far too busily absorbed in the furious strife to afford thought, leisure, or means, either effectually to free the slaves or effectually to replace them in bondage; and in the meantime their condition is the worst possible for the future success of either operation. If the North succeeds in subjugating the South, its earliest business will be to make the freedom of the slaves real as well as nominal, and as little injurious to themselves as possible. If, on the other hand, the South makes good its pretensions to a separate national existence, no sooner will the disseverment of the Union be an established fact than the slaveholders will have to consolidate once more the system of their 'peculiar institution,' to reconstruct the prison which has half crumbled to the ground, and rivet afresh the chains which have been all but struck off. This will be difficult: the determination of the North to restrict the area of slavery by forbidding its ingress into future territories and States has been considered by the slaveholders a wrong, and a danger justifying a bloody civil war; inasmuch as, if under those circumstances they did not abolish slavery themselves in a given number of years, it would infallibly abolish them by the increase of the negro population, hemmed with them into a restricted space by this _cordon sanitaire_ drawn round them. But, bad as this prospect has seemed to slaveholders (determined to continue such), and justifying--as it may be conceded that it does from their point of view--not a ferocious civil war, but a peaceable separation from States whose interests were declared absolutely irreconcileable with theirs, the position in which they will find themselves if the contest terminates in favour of Secession will be undoubtedly more difficult and terrible than the one the mere anticipation of which has driven them to the dire resort of civil war. All round the Southern coast, and all along the course of the great Mississippi, and all across the northern frontier of the Slave States, the negroes have already thrown off the trammels of slavery. Whatever their condition may be--and doubtless in many respects it is miserable enough--they are to all intents and purposes free. Vast numbers of them have joined the Northern invading armies, and considerable bodies of them have become organised as soldiers and labourers, under the supervision of Northern officers and employers; most of them have learned the use of arms, and possess them; all of them have exchanged the insufficient slave diet of grits and rice for the abundant supplies of animal food, which the poorest labourer in that favoured land of cheap provisions and high wages indulges in to an extent unknown in any other country. None of these slaves of yesterday will be the same slaves to-morrow. Little essential difference as may yet have been effected by the President's proclamation in the interior of the South in the condition of the blacks, it is undoubtedly known to them, and they are waiting in ominous suspense its accomplishment or defeat by the fortune of the war; they are watching the issue of the contest of which they well know themselves to be the theme, and at its conclusion, end how it will, they must be emancipated or exterminated. With the North not only not friendly to slavery, but henceforward bitterly hostile to slaveholders, and no more to be reckoned upon as heretofore, it might have been infallibly by the Southern white population in any difficulty with the blacks (a fact of which the negroes will be as well aware as their former masters)--with an invisible boundary stretching from ocean to ocean, over which they may fly without fear of a master's claim following them a single inch--with the hope and expectation of liberty suddenly snatched from them at the moment it seemed within their grasp--with the door of their dungeon once more barred between them and the light into which they were in the act of emerging--is it to be conceived, that these four millions of people, many thousands of whom are already free and armed, will submit without a struggle to be again thrust down into the hell of slavery? Hitherto there has been no insurrection among the negroes, and observers friendly and inimical to them have alike drawn from that fact conclusions unfavourable to their appreciation of the freedom apparently within their grasp; but they are waiting to see what the North will really achieve for them. The liberty offered them is hitherto anomalous, and uncertain enough in its conditions; they probably trust it as little as they know it: but slavery they _do_ know--and when once they find themselves again delivered over to _that_ experience, there will not be ONE insurrection in the South; there will be an insurrection in every State, in every county, on every plantation--a struggle as fierce as it will be futile--a hopeless effort of hopeless men, which will baptise in blood the new American nation, and inaugurate its birth among the civilised societies of the earth, not by the manumission but the massacre of every slave within its borders. Perhaps, however, Mr. Jefferson Davis means to free the negroes. Whenever that consummation is attained, the root of bitterness will have perished from the land; and when a few years shall have passed blunting the hatred which has been excited by this fratricidal strife, the Americans of both the Northern and Southern States will perceive that the selfish policy of other nations would not have so rejoiced over their division, had it not seemed, to those who loved them not, the proof of past failure and the prophecy of future weakness. Admonished by its terrible experiences, I believe the nation will reunite itself under one government, remodel its constitution, and again address itself to fulfill its glorious destiny. I believe that the country sprung from ours--of all our just subjects of national pride the greatest--will resume its career of prosperity and power, and become the noblest as well as the mightiest that has existed among the nations of the earth. 
18979	----	file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) Transcriber's notes: There are several inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation in the original. Some corrections have been made for obvious typographical errors; they have been noted individually in the text. All changes made by the transcriber are enumerated in braces, for example {1}; details of corrections and comments are listed at the end of the text. Note that many of the errors were introduced in the third edition, as cross-referencing the second edition has shown. In the original, the "Mc" in Scottish names is given as "M" followed by what looks like a left single quotation mark (Unicode 2018). This has been changed to "Mc" throughout the text; note that the original also contains a few apparently inconsistent uses of "Mac", which have been retained. Specific spellings that differ from their modern versions and have been retained in this text are "Saskatchawan" (modern "Saskatchewan"), "Winipeg" (modern "Winnipeg"), "Esquimaux" (modern "Eskimo") and "musquito" (with one instance of "moscheto", modern "mosquito"). Text in italics in the original is shown between _underlines_. For this text version, the oe-ligature (Unicode 0153) has been rendered as "oe". Footnote 14 in chapter IV contains two transliterations, where [=a] represents Latin small letter a with macron (Unicode 0101) and [=o] stands for Latin small letter o with macron (Unicode 014D). * * * * * NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA, IN THE YEARS 1819-20-21-22. BY JOHN FRANKLIN, CAPT. R.N., F.R.S., M.W.S., AND COMMANDER OF THE EXPEDITION. PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL BATHURST. THIRD EDITION. TWO VOLS.--VOL. I. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. MDCCCXXIV{1}. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, Northumberland-court. [Illustration: The Connected Discoveries of Captains Ross, Parry, and Franklin in the years 1818, 19, 20, 21, 22 & 23.] TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL BATHURST, K.G., ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE, &c. &c. &c. THE FOLLOWING NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY TO THE NORTHERN COAST OF AMERICA, UNDERTAKEN BY ORDER AND UNDER THE AUSPICES OF HIS LORDSHIP, IS BY PERMISSION, INSCRIBED WITH GREAT RESPECT AND GRATITUDE BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. Page INTRODUCTION ix CHAPTER I. Departure from England--Transactions at Stromness--Enter Davis' Straits--Perilous situation on the shore of Resolution Island--Land on the coast of Labrador--Esquimaux of Savage Islands--York Factory--Preparations for the Journey into the Interior 1 CHAPTER II. Passage up Hayes', Steel, and Hill Rivers--Cross Swampy Lake--Jack River--Knee Lake, and Magnetic Islet--Trout River--Holy Lake{2}--Weepinapannis River--Windy Lake--White Fall Lake and River--Echemamis and Sea Rivers--Play-Green Lakes--Lake Winipeg--River Saskatchawan--Cross, Cedar, and Pine Island Lakes--Cumberland House 41 CHAPTER III. Dr. Richardson's residence at Cumberland-House--His account of the Cree Indians 91 CHAPTER IV. Leave Cumberland House--Mode of Travelling in Winter--Arrival at Carlton House--Stone Indians--Visit to a Buffalo Pound--Goitres--Departure from Carlton House--Isle à{3} la Crosse--Arrival at Fort Chipewyan 146 CHAPTER V. Transactions at Fort Chipewyan--Arrival of Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood--Preparations for our Journey to the Northward 221 CHAPTER VI. Mr. Hood's Journey to the Basquiau Hill--Sojourns with an Indian Party--His Journey to Chipewyan 260 CHAPTER VII. Departure from Chipewyan--Difficulties of the various Navigation of the Rivers and Lakes, and of the Portages--Slave Lake and Fort Providence--Scarcity of Provisions, and Discontent of the Canadian Voyagers--Difficulties with regard to the Indian Guides--Refusal to proceed--Visit of Observation to the upper part of Copper-Mine River--Return to the Winter-Quarters of Fort Enterprise 301 * * * * * _Directions to the Binder._ VOL. I. I. The CHART shewing the Connected Discoveries of Captains Ross, Parry, and Franklin, to face the _Title-Page_. VOL. II. II. Route from York Factory } III. Isle à la Crosse } To be placed at the end. IV. Slave Lake } INTRODUCTION. His Majesty's Government having determined upon sending an Expedition from the Shores of Hudson's Bay by land, to explore the Northern Coast of America, from the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River to the eastward, I had the honour to be appointed to this service by Earl Bathurst, on the recommendation of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty; who, at the same time, nominated Doctor John Richardson, a Surgeon in the Royal Navy, Mr. George Back, and Mr. Robert Hood, two Admiralty Midshipmen, to be joined with me in the enterprize. My instructions, in substance, informed me that the main object of the Expedition was that of determining the latitudes and longitudes of the Northern Coast of North America, and the trending of that Coast from the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River to the eastern extremity of that Continent; that it was left for me to determine according to circumstances, whether it might be most advisable to proceed, at once, directly to the northward till I arrived at the sea-coast, and thence westerly towards the Copper-Mine River; or advance, in the first instance, by the usual route to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, and from thence easterly till I should arrive at the eastern extremity of that Continent; that, in the adoption of either of these plans, I was to be guided by the advice and information which I should receive from the wintering servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, who would be instructed by their employers to co-operate cordially in the prosecution of the objects of the Expedition, and who would provide me with the necessary escort of Indians to act as guides, interpreters, game-killers, &c.; and also with such articles of clothing, ammunition, snow-shoes, presents, &c., as should be deemed expedient for me to take. That as another principal object of the Expedition was to amend the very defective geography of the northern part of North America, I was to be very careful to ascertain correctly the latitude and longitude of every remarkable spot upon our route, and of all the bays, harbours, rivers, headlands, &c., that might occur along the Northern Shore of North America. That in proceeding along the coast, I should erect conspicuous marks at places where ships might enter, or to which a boat could be sent; and to deposit information as to the nature of the coast for the use of Lieutenant Parry. That in the journal of our route, I should register the temperature of the air at least three times in every twenty-four hours; together with the state of the wind and weather, and any other meteorological phenomena. That I should not neglect any opportunity of observing and noting down the dip and variation of the magnetic needle, and the intensity of the magnetic force; and should take particular notice whether any, and what kind or degree of, influence the Aurora Borealis might appear to exert on the magnetic needle; and to notice whether that phenomenon were attended with any noise; and to make any other observations that might be likely to tend to the further development of its cause, and the laws by which it is governed. Mr. Back and Mr. Hood were to assist me in all the observations above-mentioned, and to make drawings of the land, of the natives, and of the various objects of natural history; and, particularly, of such as Dr. Richardson, who, to his professional duties, was to add that of naturalist, might consider to be most curious and interesting. I was instructed, on my arrival at, or near, the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River, to make every inquiry as to the situation of the spot whence native copper had been brought down by the Indians to the Hudson's Bay establishment, and to visit and explore the place in question; in order that Dr. Richardson might be enabled to make such observations as might be useful in a commercial point of view, or interesting to the science of mineralogy. From Joseph Berens, Esq., the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and the gentlemen of the Committee, I received all kinds of assistance and information, communicated in the most friendly manner previous to my leaving England; and I had the gratification of perusing the orders to their agents and servants in North America, containing the fullest directions to promote, by every means, the progress of the Expedition. I most cheerfully avail myself of this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to these Gentlemen for their personal kindness to myself and the other officers, as well as for the benefits rendered by them to the Expedition; and the same sentiment is due towards the Gentlemen of the North-West Company, both in England and America, more particularly to Simon McGillivray, Esq., of London, from whom I received much useful information, and cordial letters of recommendation to the partners and agents of that Company, resident on our line of route. A short time before I left London I had the pleasure and advantage of an interview with the late Sir Alexander Mackenzie, who was one of the two persons who had visited the coast we were to explore. He afforded me, in the most open and kind manner, much valuable information and advice. The provisions, instruments, and other articles, of which I had furnished a list, by direction of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, were embarked on board the Hudson's Bay Company's ship Prince of Wales, appointed by the committee to convey the Expedition to York Factory, their principal establishment in Hudson's Bay. It will be seen, in the course of the Narrative how much reason I had to be satisfied with, and how great my obligations are to, all the Gentlemen who were associated with me in the Expedition, whose kindness, good conduct, and cordial co-operation, have made an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. The unfortunate death of Mr. Hood is the only drawback which I feel from the otherwise unalloyed pleasure of reflecting on that cordial unanimity which at all times prevailed among us in the days of sunshine, and in those of "sickness and sorrow." To Dr. Richardson, in particular, the exclusive merit is due of whatever collections and observations have been made in the department of Natural History; and I am indebted to him in no small degree for his friendly advice and assistance in the preparation of the present narrative. The charts and drawings were made by Lieutenant Back, and the late Lieutenant Hood. Both these gentlemen cheerfully and ably assisted me in making the observations and in the daily conduct of the Expedition. The observations made by Mr. Hood, on the various phenomena presented by the Aurora Borealis[1], will, it is presumed, present to the reader some new facts connected with this meteor. Mr. Back was mostly prevented from turning his attention to objects of science by the many severe duties which were required of him, and which obliged him to travel almost constantly every winter that we passed in America; to his personal exertions, indeed, our final safety is mainly to be attributed. And here I must be permitted to pay the tribute, due to the fidelity, exertion and uniform good conduct in the most trying situations, of John Hepburn, an English seaman, and our only attendant, to whom in the latter part of our journey we owe, under Divine Providence, the preservation of the lives of some of the party. [1] Given in the Appendix to the Quarto Edition. I ought, perhaps, to crave the reader's indulgence towards the defective style of this work, which I trust will not be refused when it is considered that mine has been a life of constant employment in my profession from a very early age. I have been prompted to venture upon the task solely by an imperious sense of duty, when called upon to undertake it. In the ensuing Narrative the notices of the moral condition of the Indians as influenced by the conduct of the traders towards them, refer entirely to the state in which it existed during our progress through the country; but lest I should have been mistaken respecting the views of the Hudson's Bay Company on these points, I gladly embrace the opportunity which a Second Edition affords me of stating that the junction of the two Companies has enabled the Directors to put in practice the improvements which I have reason to believe they had long contemplated. They have provided for religious instruction by the appointment of two Clergymen of the established church, under whose direction school-masters and mistresses are to be placed at such stations as afford the means of support for the establishment of schools. The offspring of the voyagers and labourers are to be educated chiefly at the expense of the Company; and such of the Indian children as their parents may wish to send to these schools, are to be instructed, clothed, and maintained at the expense of the Church Missionary Society, which has already allotted a considerable sum for these purposes, and has also sent out teachers who are to act under the superintendence of the Rev. Mr. West, the principal chaplain of the Company. We had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman at York Factory, and witnessed with peculiar delight the great benefit which already marked his zealous and judicious conduct. Many of the traders, and of the servants of the Company, had been induced to marry the women with whom they had cohabited; a material step towards the improvement of the females in that country. Mr. West, under the sanction of the Directors, has also promoted a subscription for the distribution of the Bible in every part of the country where the Company's Fur Trade has extended, and which has met with very general support from the resident chief factors, traders, and clerks. The Directors of the Company are continuing to reduce the distribution of spirits gradually among the Indians, as well as towards their own servants, with a view to the entire disuse of them as soon as this most desirable object can be accomplished. They have likewise issued orders for the cultivation of the ground at each of the posts, by which means the residents will be far less exposed to famine whenever through the scarcity of animals, the sickness of the Indians, or any other cause, their supply of meat may fail. It is to be hoped that intentions, so dear to every humane and pious mind, will, through the blessing of God, meet with the utmost success. JOURNEY TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA. * * * * * CHAPTER I. Departure from England--Transactions at Stromness--Enter Davis' Straits--Perilous Situation on the Shore of Resolution Island--Land on the Coast of Labrador--Esquimaux of Savage Islands--York Factory--Preparations for the Journey into the Interior. 1819. May. On Sunday, the 23d of May, the whole of our party embarked at Gravesend on board the ship Prince of Wales, belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, just as she was in the act of getting under weigh, with her consorts the Eddystone and Wear. The wind being unfavourable, on the ebb tide being finished, the vessels were again anchored; but they weighed in the night and beat down as far as the Warp, where they were detained two days by a strong easterly wind. Having learned from some of the passengers, who were the trading Officers of the Company, that the arrival of the ships at either of the establishments in Hudson's Bay, gives full occupation to all the boatmen in their service, who are required to convey the necessary stores to the different posts in the interior; that it was very probable a sufficient number of men might not be procured from this indispensable duty; and, considering that any delay at York Factory would materially retard our future operations, I wrote to the Under Secretary of State, requesting his permission to provide a few well-qualified steersmen and bowmen, at Stromness, to assist our proceedings in the former part of our journey into the interior. _May 30_.--The easterly wind, which had retarded the ship's progress so much, that we had only reached Hollesley Bay after a week's beating about, changed to W.S.W. soon after that anchorage had been gained. The vessels instantly weighed, and, by carrying all sail, arrived in Yarmouth Roads at seven P.M.; the pilots were landed, and our course was continued through the anchorage. At midnight, the wind became light and variable, and gradually drew round to the N.W.; and, as the sky indicated unsettled weather, and the wind blew from an unfavourable quarter for ships upon that coast, the commander bore up again for Yarmouth, and anchored at eight A.M. This return afforded us, at least, the opportunity of comparing the longitude of Yarmouth church, as shewn by our chronometers, with its position as laid down by the Ordnance Trigonometrical Survey; and, it was satisfactory to find, from the small difference in their results, that the chronometers had not experienced any alteration in their rates, in consequence of their being changed from an horizontal position in a room, to that of being carried in the pocket. An untoward circumstance, while at this anchorage, cast a damp on our party at this early period of the voyage. Emboldened by the decided appearance of the N.W. sky, several of our officers and passengers ventured on shore for a few hours; but, we had not been long in the town before the wind changed suddenly to S.E., which caused instant motion in the large fleet collected at this anchorage. The commander of our ship intimated his intention of proceeding to sea, by firing guns; and the passengers hastened to embark. Mr. Back, however, had unfortunately gone upon some business to a house two or three miles distant from Yarmouth, along the line of the coast; from whence he expected to be able to observe the first symptoms of moving, which the vessels might make. By some accident, however, he did not make his appearance before the captain was obliged to make sail, that he might get the ships through the intricate passage of the Cockle Gat before it was dark. Fortunately, through the kindness of Lieutenant Hewit, of the Protector, I was enabled to convey a note to our missing companion, desiring him to proceed immediately by the coach to the Pentland Firth, and from thence across the passage to Stromness, which appeared to be the only way of proceeding by which he could rejoin the party. _June 3_.--The wind continuing favourable after leaving Yarmouth, about nine this morning we passed the rugged and bold projecting rock, termed Johnny Groat's house, and soon afterwards Duncansby Head, and then entered the Pentland Firth. A pilot came from the main shore of Scotland, and steered the ship in safety between the different islands, to the outer anchorage at Stromness, though the atmosphere was too dense for distinguishing any of the objects on the land. Almost immediately after the ship had anchored, the wind changed to N.W., the rain ceased, and a sight was then first obtained of the neighbouring islands, and of the town of Stromness, the latter of which, from this point of view, and at this distance, presented a pleasing appearance. Mr. Geddes, the agent of the Hudson's Bay Company at this place, undertook to communicate my wish for volunteer boatmen to the different parishes, by a notice on the church-door, which he said was the surest and most direct channel for the conveyance of information to the lower classes in these islands, as they invariably attend divine service there every Sunday. He informed me that the kind of men we were in want of would be difficult to procure, on account of the very increased demand for boatmen for the herring fishery, which had recently been established on the shores of these islands; that last year, sixty boats and four hundred men only were employed in this service, whereas now there were three hundred boats and twelve hundred men engaged; and that owing to this unexpected addition to the fishery, he had been unable to provide the number of persons required for the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. This was unpleasant information, as it increased the apprehension of our being detained at York Factory the whole winter, if boatmen were not taken from hence. I could not therefore hesitate in requesting Mr. Geddes to engage eight or ten men well adapted for our service, on such terms as he could procure them, though the Secretary of State's permission had not yet reached me. Next to a supply of boatmen, our attention was directed towards the procuring of a house conveniently situated for trying the instruments, and examining the rates of the chronometers. Mr. Geddes kindly offered one of his, which, though in an unfinished state, was readily accepted, being well situated for our purpose, as it was placed on an eminence, had a southern aspect, and was at a sufficient distance from the town to secure us from frequent interruption. Another advantage was its proximity to the Manse, the residence of the Rev. Mr. Clouston, the worthy and highly respected minister of Stromness; whose kind hospitality and the polite attention of his family, the party experienced almost daily during their stay. For three days the weather was unsettled, and few observations could be made, except for the dip of the needle, which was ascertained to be 74° 37' 48", on which occasion a difference of eight degrees and a half was perceived between the observations, when the face of the instrument was changed from the east to the west, the amount being the greatest when it was placed with the face to the west. But, on the 8th, a westerly wind caused a cloudless sky, which enabled us to place the transit instrument in the meridian, and to ascertain the variation of the compass, to be 27° 50' west. The sky becoming cloudy in the afternoon, prevented our obtaining the corresponding observations to those gained in the morning; and the next day an impervious fog obscured the sky until noon. On the evening of this day, we had the gratification of welcoming our absent companion, Mr. Back. His return to our society was hailed with sincere pleasure by every one, and removed a weight of anxiety from my mind. It appears that he had come down to the beach at Caistor, just as the ships were passing by, and had applied to some boatmen to convey him on board, which might have been soon accomplished, but they, discovering the emergency of his case, demanded an exorbitant reward which he was not at the instant prepared to satisfy; and, in consequence, they positively refused to assist him. Though he had travelled nine successive days, almost without rest, he could not be prevailed upon to withdraw from the agreeable scene of a ball-room, in which he joined us, until a late hour. On the 10th, the rain having ceased, the observations for ascertaining the dip of the needle were repeated; and the results, compared with the former ones, gave a mean of 74° 33' 20". Nearly the same differences were remarked in reversing the face of the instrument as before. An attempt was also made to ascertain the magnetic force, but the wind blew too strong for procuring the observation to any degree of accuracy. The fineness of the following day induced us to set up the different instruments for examination, and to try how nearly the observations made by each of them would agree; but a squall passed over just before noon, accompanied by heavy rain, and the hoped-for favourable opportunity was entirely lost. In the intervals between the observations, and at every opportunity, my companions were occupied in those pursuits to which their attention had been more particularly directed in my instructions. Whilst Dr. Richardson was collecting and examining the various specimens of marine plants, of which these islands furnish an abundant and diversified supply, Mr. Back and Mr. Hood took views and sketches of the surrounding scenery, which is extremely picturesque in many parts, and wants only the addition of trees to make it beautiful. The hills present the bold character of rugged sterility, whilst the valleys, at this season, are clothed with luxuriant verdure. It was not till the 14th, that, by appointment, the boatmen were to assemble at the house of Mr. Geddes, to engage to accompany the Expedition. Several persons collected, but to my great mortification, I found they were all so strongly possessed with the fearful apprehension, either that great danger would attend the service, or that we should carry them further than they would agree to go, that not a single man would engage with us; some of them, however, said they would consider the subject, and give me an answer on the following day. This indecisive conduct was extremely annoying to me, especially as the next evening was fixed for the departure of the ships. At the appointed time on the following morning, four men only presented themselves, and these, after much hesitation, engaged to accompany the Expedition to Fort Chipewyan, if they should be required so far. The bowmen and steersmen were to receive forty pounds' wages annually, and the middle men thirty-five pounds. They stipulated to be sent back to the Orkney Islands, free of expense, and to receive their pay until the time of arrival. Only these few men could be procured, although our requisition had been sent to almost every island, even as far as the northernmost point of Ronaldsha. I was much amused with the extreme caution these men used before they would sign the agreement; they minutely scanned all our intentions, weighed every circumstance, looked narrowly into the plan of our route, and still more circumspectly to the prospect of return. Such caution on the part of the northern mariners forms a singular contrast with the ready and thoughtless manner in which an English seaman enters upon any enterprise, however hazardous, without inquiring, or desiring to know where he is going, or what he is going about. The brig Harmony, belonging to the Moravian Missionary Society, and bound to their settlement at Nain, on the coast of Labrador, was lying at anchor. With the view of collecting some Esquimaux words and sentences, or gaining any information respecting the manners and habits of that people, Doctor Richardson and myself paid her a visit. We found the passengers, who were going out as Missionaries, extremely disposed to communicate; but as they only spoke the German and Esquimaux languages, of which we were ignorant, our conversation was necessarily much confined: by the aid, however, of an Esquimaux and German Dictionary, some few words were collected, which we considered might be useful. There were on board a very interesting girl, and a young man, who were natives of Disco, in Old Greenland; both of them had fair complexions, rather handsome features, and a lively manner; the former was going to be married to a resident Missionary, and the latter to officiate in that character. The commander of the vessel gave me a translation of the Gospel of St. John in the Esquimaux language, printed by the Moravian Society in London. _June 16_.--The wind being unfavourable for sailing I went on shore with Dr. Richardson, and took several lunar observations at the place of our former residence. The result obtained was latitude 58° 56' 56"{4} N.; longitude 3° 17' 55" W.; variation 27° 50' W.; dip of the magnetic needle, 74° 33' 20". In the afternoon the wind changed in a squall some points towards the north, and the Prince of Wales made the preparatory signal for sea. At three P.M. the ships weighed, an hour too early for the tide; as soon as this served we entered into the passage between Hoy and Pomona, and had to beat through against a very heavy swell, which the meeting of a weather tide and a strong breeze had occasioned. Some dangerous rocks lie near the Pomona shore, and on this side also the tide appeared to run with the greatest strength. On clearing the outward projecting points of Hoy and Pomona, we entered at once into the Atlantic, and commenced our voyage to Hudson's Bay--having the Eddystone, Wear, and Harmony, Missionary brig, in company. The comparisons of the chronometers this day indicated that Arnold's Nos. 2148 and 2147, had slightly changed their rates since they had been brought on board; fortunately the rate of the former seems to have increased nearly in the same ratio as the other has lost, and the mean longitude will not be materially affected. Being now fairly launched into the Atlantic, I issued a general memorandum for the guidance of the officers during the prosecution of the service on which we were engaged, and communicated to them the several points of information that were expected from us by my instructions. I also furnished them with copies of the signals which had been agreed upon between Lieutenant Parry and myself, to be used in the event of our reaching the northern coast of America, and falling in with each other. At the end of the month of June, our progress was found to have been extremely slow, owing to a determined N.W. wind and much sea. We had numerous birds hovering round the ship; principally fulmars (_procellaria glacialis_,) and shearwaters, (_procellaria puffinus_,) and not unfrequently saw shoals of grampusses sporting about, which the Greenland seamen term finners from their large dorsal fin. Some porpoises occasionally appeared, and whenever they did, the crew were sanguine in their expectation of having a speedy change in the wind, which had been so vexatiously contrary, but they were disappointed in every instance. _Thursday, July 1_.--The month of July set in more favourably; and, aided by fresh breezes, we advanced rapidly to the westward, attended daily by numerous fulmars and shearwaters. The Missionary brig had parted company on the 22d of June. We passed directly over that part of the ocean where the "Sunken Land of Buss" is laid down in the old, and continued in the Admiralty charts. Mr. Bell, the commander of the Eddystone, informed me, that the pilot who brought his ship down the Thames told him that he had gained soundings in twelve feet somewhere hereabout; and I am rather inclined to attribute the very unusual and cross sea we had in this neighbourhood to the existence of a bank, than to the effect of a gale of wind which we had just before experienced; and I cannot but regret that the commander of the ship did not try for soundings at frequent intervals. By the 25th July we had opened the entrance of Davis' Straits, and in the afternoon spoke the Andrew Marvell, bound to England with a cargo of fourteen fish. The master informed us that the ice had been heavier this season in Davis' Straits than he had ever recollected, and that it lay particularly close to the westward, being connected with the shore to the northward of Resolution Island, and extending from thence within a short distance of the Greenland coast; that whales had been abundant, but the ice so extremely cross, that few could be killed. His ship, as well as several others, had suffered material injury, and two vessels had been entirely crushed between vast masses of ice in latitude 74° 40' N., but the crews were saved. We inquired anxiously, but in vain, for intelligence respecting Lieutenant Parry, and the ships under his command; but as he mentioned that the wind had been blowing strong from the northward for some time, which would, probably, have cleared Baffin's Bay of ice, we were disposed to hope favourably of his progress. The clouds assumed so much the appearance of icebergs this evening, as to deceive most of the passengers and crew; but their imaginations had been excited by the intelligence we had received from the Andrew Marvell, that she had only parted from a cluster of them two days previous to our meetings. On the 27th, being in latitude 57° 44' 21" N., longitude 47° 31' 14" W., and the weather calm we tried for soundings, but did not reach the bottom. The register thermometer was attached to the line just above the lead, and is supposed to have descended six hundred and fifty fathoms. A well-corked bottle was also fastened to the line, two hundred fathoms above the lead, and went down four hundred and fifty fathoms. The change in temperature, shewn by the register thermometer during the descent, was from 52° to 40.5; and it stood at the latter point, when taken out of the tin case. The temperature of the water brought up in the bottle was 41°, being half a degree higher at four hundred and fifty than at six hundred and fifty fathoms, and four degrees colder than the water at the surface, which was then at 45°, whilst that of the air was 46°. This experiment in shewing the water to be colder at a great depth than at the surface, and in proportion to the increase of the descent, coincides with the observations of Captain Ross and Lieutenant Parry, on their late voyage to these seas, but is contrary to the results obtained by Captain Buchan and myself, on our recent voyage to the north, between Spitzbergen and Greenland, in which sea we invariably found the water brought from any great depth to be warmer than that at the surface. On the 28th we tacked, to avoid an extensive stream of sailing ice. The temperature of the water fell to 39.5°{5}, when we were near it, but was at 41°, when at the distance of half a mile. The thermometer in the air remained steadily at 40°. Thus the proximity of this ice was not so decidedly indicated by the decrease of the temperature of either the air or water, as I have before witnessed, which was probably owing to the recent arrival of the stream at this point, and its passing at too quick a rate for the effectual diffusion of its chilling influence beyond a short distance. Still the decrease in both cases was sufficient to have given timely warning for a ship's performing any evolution that would have prevented the coming in contact with it, had the thickness of the weather precluded a distant view of the danger. The approach to ice would be more evidently pointed out in the Atlantic, or wherever the surface is not so continually chilled by the passing and the melting of ice as in this sea; and I should strongly recommend a strict hourly attention to the thermometrical state of the water at the surface, in all parts where ships are exposed to the dangerous concussion of sailing icebergs, as a principal means of security. The following day our ship came near another stream of ice, and the approach to it was indicated by a decrease of the temperature of the water at the surface from 44° to 42°. A small pine-tree was picked up much shattered by the ice. In the afternoon of the 30th, a very dense fog came on; and, about six P.M., when sailing before a fresh breeze, we were suddenly involved in a heavy stream of ice. Considerable difficulty was experienced in steering through the narrow channels between the different masses in this foggy weather, and the ship received several severe blows. The water, as usual in the centre of the stream, was quite smooth, but we heard the waves beating violently against the outer edge of the ice. There was some earthy matter on several of the pieces, and the whole body bore the appearance of recent separation from the land. In the space of two hours we again got into the open sea, but had left our two consorts far behind; they followed our track by the guns we discharged. The temperature of the surface water was 35° when amongst the ice, 38° when just clear of it, and 41.5° at two miles distant. On the 4th of August, when in latitude 59° 58' N., longitude 59° 53' W., we first fell in with large icebergs; and in the evening were encompassed by several of considerable magnitude, which obliged us to tack the ship in order to prevent our getting entangled amongst them. The estimated distance from the nearest part of the Labrador coast was then eighty-eight miles; here we tried for soundings, without gaining the bottom. The ship passed through some strong riplings, which evidently indicated a current, but its direction was not ascertained. We found, however, by the recent observations, that the ship had been set daily to the southward, since we had opened Davis' Straits. The variation of the compass was observed to be 52° 41' W. At nine P.M., brilliant coruscations of the Aurora Borealis appeared, of a pale ochre colour, with a slight tinge of red, in an arched form, crossing the zenith from N.W. to S.E., but afterwards they assumed various shapes, and had a rapid motion. On the 5th of August, a party of the officers endeavoured to get on one of the larger icebergs, but ineffectually, owing to the steepness and smoothness of its sides, and the swell produced by its undulating motion. This was one of the largest we saw, and Mr. Hood ascertained its height to be one hundred and forty-nine feet; but these masses of ice are frequently magnified to an immense size, through the illusive medium of a hazy atmosphere, and on this account their dimensions have often been exaggerated by voyagers. In the morning of the 7th, the Island of Resolution was indistinctly seen through the haze, but was soon afterwards entirely hidden by a very dense fog. The favourable breeze subsided into a perfect calm, and left the ship surrounded by loose ice. At this time the Eddystone was perceived to be driving with rapidity towards some of the larger masses; the stern-boats of this ship and of the Wear were despatched to assist in towing her clear of them. At ten, a momentary clearness presented the land distinctly at the distance of two miles; the ship was quite unmanageable, and under the sole governance of the currents, which ran in strong eddies between the masses of ice. Our consorts were also seen, the Wear being within hail, and the Eddystone at a short distance from us. Two attempts were ineffectually made to gain soundings, and the extreme density of the fog precluded us from any other means of ascertaining the direction in which we were driving until half past twelve, when we had the alarming view of a barren rugged shore within a few yards, towering over the mast heads. Almost instantly afterwards the ship struck violently on a point of rocks, projecting from the island; and the ship's side was brought so near to the shore, that poles were prepared to push her off. This blow displaced the rudder, and raised it several inches, but it fortunately had been previously confined by tackles. A gentle swell freed the ship from this perilous situation, but the current hurried us along in contact with the rocky shore, and the prospect was most alarming. On the outward bow was perceived a rugged and precipitous cliff, whose summit was hid in the fog, and the Vessel's head was pointed towards the bottom of a small bay, into which we were rapidly driving. There now seemed to be no probability of escaping shipwreck, being without wind, and having the rudder in its present useless state; the only assistance was that of a boat employed in towing, which had been placed in the water between the ship and the shore, at the imminent risk of its being crushed. The ship again struck in passing over a ledge of rocks, and happily the blow replaced the rudder, which enabled us to take advantage of a light breeze, and to direct the ship's head without the projecting cliff. But the breeze was only momentary, and the ship was a third time driven on shore on the rocky termination of the cliff. Here we remained stationary for some seconds, and with little prospect of being removed from this perilous situation; but we were once more extricated by the swell from this ledge also, and carried still farther along the shore. The coast became now more rugged, and our view of it was terminated by another high projecting point on the starboard bow. Happily, before we had reached it, a light breeze enabled us to turn the ship's head to seaward, and we had the gratification to find, when the sails were trimmed, that she drew off the shore. We had made but little progress, however, when she was violently forced by the current against a large iceberg lying aground. Our prospect was now more alarming than at any preceding period; and it would be difficult for me to portray the anxiety and dismay depicted on the countenances of the female passengers and children, who were rushing on deck in spite of the endeavours of the officers to keep them below, out of the danger which was apprehended if the masts should be carried away. After the first concussion, the ship was driven along the steep and rugged side of this iceberg with such amazing rapidity, that the destruction of the masts seemed inevitable, and every one expected we should again be forced on the rocks in the most disabled state; but we providentially escaped this perilous result, which must have been decisive. The dense fog now cleared away for a short time, and we discovered the Eddystone close to some rocks, having three boats employed in towing; but the Wear was not visible. Our ship received water very fast; the pumps were instantly manned and kept in continual use, and signals of distress were made to the Eddystone, whose commander promptly came on board, and then ordered to our assistance his carpenter and all the men he could spare, together with the carpenter and boat's crew of the Wear, who had gone on board the Eddystone in the morning, and were prevented from returning to their own vessel by the fog. As the wind was increasing, and the sky appeared very unsettled, it was determined the Eddystone should take the ship in tow, that the undivided attention of the passengers and crew might be directed to pumping, and clearing the holds to examine whether there was a possibility of stopping the leak. We soon had reason to suppose the principal injury had been received from a blow near the stern-post, and, after cutting away part of the ceiling, the carpenters endeavoured to stop the rushing in of the water, by forcing oakum between the timbers; but this had not the desired effect, and the leak, in spite of all our efforts at the pumps, increased so much, that parties of the officers and passengers were stationed to bail out the water in buckets at different parts of the hold. A heavy gale came on, blowing from the land, as the night advanced; the sails were split, the ship was encompassed by heavy ice, and, in forcing through a closely connected stream, the tow-rope broke, and obliged us to take a portion of the seamen from the pumps, and appoint them to the management of the ship. Fatigue, indeed, had caused us to relax in our exertions at the pumps during a part of the night of the 8th, and on the following morning upwards of five feet water was found in the well. Renewed exertions were now put forth by every person, and before eight A.M. the water was so much reduced as to enable the carpenters to get at other defective places; but the remedies they could apply were insufficient to repress the water from rushing in, and our labours could but just keep the ship in the same state throughout the day, until six P.M.; when the strength of every one began to fail, the expedient of thrusting in felt, as well as oakum, was resorted to, and a plank nailed over all. After this operation a perceptible diminution in the water was made, and being encouraged by the change, we put forth our utmost exertion in bailing and pumping; and before night, to our infinite joy, the leak was so overpowered that the pumps were only required to be used at intervals of ten minutes. A sail, covered with every substance that could be carried into the leaks by the pressure of the water, was drawn under the quarter of the ship, and secured by ropes on each side. As a matter of precaution in the event of having to abandon the ship, which was for some time doubtful, the elderly women and children were removed to the Eddystone when the wind was moderate this afternoon, but the young women remained to assist at the pumps, and their services were highly valuable, both for their personal labour, and for the encouragement their example and perseverance gave to the men. At day-light, on the 9th, every eye was anxiously cast around the horizon in search of the Wear, but in vain; and the recollection of our own recent peril caused us to entertain considerable apprehensions for her safety. This anxiety quickened our efforts to exchange our shattered sails for new ones, that the ship might be got, as speedily as possible, near to the land, which was but just in sight, and a careful search be made for her along the coast. We were rejoiced to find that our leak did not increase by carrying sail, and we ventured in the evening to remove the sail which had been placed under the part where the injury had been received, as it greatly impeded our advance. We passed many icebergs on the 10th, and in the evening we tacked from a level field of ice, which extended northward as far as the eye could reach. Our leak remained in the same state; the pumps discharged in three minutes the quantity of water which had been received in fifteen. The ship could not be got near to the land before the afternoon of the 11th. At four P.M. we hove to, opposite to, and about five miles distant from, the spot on which we had first struck on Saturday. Every glass was directed along the shore (as they had been throughout the day,) to discover any trace of our absent consort; but, as none was seen, our solicitude respecting her was much increased, and we feared the crew might be wrecked on this inhospitable shore. Guns were frequently fired to apprize any who might be near of our approach; but, as no one appeared, and no signal was returned, and the loose ice was setting down towards the ship, we bore up to proceed to the next appointed rendezvous. At eight P.M. we were abreast of the S.W. end of the island called Cape Resolution, which is a low point, but indicated at a distance by a lofty round backed hill that rises above it. We entered Hudson's Straits soon afterwards. The coast of Resolution Island should be approached with caution, as the tides appear to be strong and uncertain in their course. Some dangerous rocks lie above and below the water's edge, at the distance of five or six miles from East Bluff, bearing S. 32° E. _August 12_.--Having had a fresh gale through the night, we reached Saddleback Island by noon--the place of rendezvous; and looked anxiously, but in vain, for the Wear. Several guns were fired, supposing she might be hid from our view by the land; but, as she did not appear, Captain Davidson, having remained two hours, deemed further delay inexpedient, and bore up to keep the advantage of the fair wind. The outline of this island is rugged; the hummock on its northern extremity appeared to me to resemble a decayed martello tower more than a saddle. Azimuths were obtained this evening that gave the variation 58° 45' W., which is greater than is laid down in the charts, or than the officers of the Hudson's Bay ships have been accustomed to allow. We arrived abreast of the Upper Savage Island early in the morning, and as the breeze was moderate, the ship was steered as near to the shore as the wind would permit, to give the Esquimaux inhabitants an opportunity of coming off to barter, which they soon embraced. Their shouts at a distance intimated their approach sometime before we descried the canoes paddling towards us; the headmost of them reached us at eleven; these were quickly followed by others, and before noon about forty canoes, each holding one man, were assembled around the two ships. In the afternoon, when we approached nearer to the shore, five or six larger ones, containing the women and children, came up. The Esquimaux immediately evinced their desire to barter, and displayed no small cunning in making their bargains, taking care not to exhibit too many articles at first. Their principal commodities were, oil, sea-horse teeth, whale-bone, seal-skin dresses, caps and boots, deer-skins and horns, and models of their canoes; and they received in exchange small saws, knives, nails, tin-kettles, and needles. It was pleasing to behold the exultation, and to hear the shouts of the whole party, when an acquisition was made by any one; and not a little ludicrous to behold the eagerness with which the fortunate person licked each article with his tongue, on receiving it, as a finish to the bargain, and an act of appropriation. They in no instance omitted this strange practice, however small the article; the needles even passed individually through the ceremony. The women brought imitations of men, women, animals, and birds, carved with labour and ingenuity out of sea-horse teeth. The dresses and the figures of the animals, were not badly executed, but there was no attempt at the delineation of the countenances; and most of the figures were without eyes, ears, and fingers, the execution of which would, perhaps, have required more delicate instruments than they possess. The men set most value on saws; _kuttee-swa-bak_, the name by which they distinguish them, was a constant cry. Knives were held next in estimation. An old sword was bartered from the Eddystone, and I shall long remember the universal burst of joy on the happy man's receiving it. It was delightful to witness the general interest excited by individual acquisitions. There was no desire shewn by any one to over-reach his neighbour, or to press towards any part of the ship where{6} a bargain was making, until the person in possession of the place had completed his exchange and removed; and, if any article happened to be demanded from the outer canoes, the men nearest assisted willingly in passing the thing across. Supposing the party to belong to one tribe, the total number of the tribe must exceed two hundred persons, as there were, probably, one hundred and fifty around the ships, and few of these were elderly persons, or male children. Their faces were broad and flat, the eyes small. The men were in general stout. Some of the younger women and the children had rather pleasing countenances, but the difference between these and the more aged of that sex, bore strong testimony to the effects which a few years produce in this ungenial climate. Most of the party had sore eyes, all of them appeared of a plethoric habit of body; several were observed bleeding at the nose during their stay near the ship. The men's dresses consisted of a jacket of seal-skin, the trowsers of bear-skin, and several had caps of the white fox-skin. The female dresses were made of the same materials, but differently shaped, having a hood in which the infants were carried. We thought their manner very lively and agreeable. They were fond of mimicking our speech and gestures; but nothing afforded them greater amusement than when we attempted to retaliate by pronouncing any of their words. The canoes were of seal-skin, and similar in every respect to those used by the Esquimaux in Greenland; they were generally new and very complete in their appointments. Those appropriated to the women are of ruder construction, and only calculated for fine weather; they are, however, useful vessels, being capable of containing twenty persons with their luggage. An elderly man officiates as steersman, and the women paddle, but they have also a mast which carries a sail, made of dressed whale-gut. When the women had disposed of all their articles of trade they resorted to entreaty; and the putting in practice many enticing gestures was managed with so much address, as to procure them presents of a variety of beads, needles, and other articles in great demand among females. It is probable these Esquimaux go from this shore to some part of Labrador to pass the winter, as parties of them have been frequently seen by the homeward-bound Hudson's Bay ships in the act of crossing the Strait. They appear to speak the same language as the tribe of Esquimaux, who reside near to the Moravian settlements in Labrador: for we perceived they used several of the words which had been given to us by the Missionaries at Stromness. Towards evening, the Captain, being desirous to get rid of his visitors, took an effectual method by tacking from the shore; our friends then departed apparently in high glee at the harvest they had reaped. They paddled away very swiftly, and would, doubtless, soon reach the shore though it was distant ten or twelve miles. Not having encountered any of the ice, which usually arrests the progress of ships in their outward passage through the Straits, and being consequently deprived of the usual means of replenishing our stock of water, which had become short, the Captain resolved on going to the coast of Labrador for a supply. Dr. Richardson and I gladly embraced this opportunity to land, and examine this part of the coast. I was also desirous to observe the variation on shore, as the azimuths, which had been taken on board both ships since our entrance into the Straits, had shewn a greater amount than we had been led to expect; but, unluckily the sun became obscured. The beach consisted of large rolled stones of gneiss and syenite{7}, amongst which many pieces of ice had grounded, and it was with difficulty that we effected a landing in a small cove under a steep cliff. These stones were worn perfectly smooth; neither in the interstices, nor at the bottom of the water, which was very clear, were there any vestiges of sea-weed. The cliff was from forty to fifty feet high and quite perpendicular, and had at its base a small slip of soil formed of the debris of a bed of clay-slate. From this narrow spot Dr. Richardson collected specimens of thirty different species of plants; and we were about to scramble up a shelving part of the rock, and go into the interior, when we perceived the signal of recall, which the master had caused to be made, in consequence of a sudden change in the appearance of the weather. On the evening of the 19th, we passed Digge's Islands, the termination of Hudson's Strait. Here the Eddystone parted company, being bound to Moose Factory at the bottom of the Bay. A strong north wind came on, which prevented our getting round the north end of Mansfield, and, as it continued to blow with equal strength for the next five days, we were most vexatiously detained in beating along the Labrador coast, and near the dangerous chain of islands, the Sleepers, which are said to extend from the latitude of 60° 10' to 57° 00' N. The press of sail, which of necessity we carried caused the leak to increase and the pumps were kept in constant use. A favouring wind at length enabled us, on the 25th, to shape our course across Hudson's Bay. Nothing worthy of remark occurred during this passage, except the rapid decrease in the variation of the magnetic needle. The few remarks respecting the appearance of the land, which we were able to make in our quick passage through these Straits, were transmitted to the Admiralty; but as they will not be interesting to the general reader, and may not be sufficiently accurate for the guidance of the Navigator, they are omitted in this narrative. On the 28th we discovered the land to the southward of Cape Tatnam, which is so extremely low, that the tops of the trees were first discerned; the soundings at the time were seventeen fathoms, which gradually decreased to five as the shore was approached. Cape Tatnam is not otherwise remarkable than as being the point from which the coast inclines rather more to the westward towards York Factory. The opening of the morning of the 30th presented to our view the anchorage at York Flats, and the gratifying sight of a vessel at anchor, which we recognised, after an anxious examination, to be the Wear. A strong breeze blowing from the direction of the Flats, caused the water to be more shallow than usual on the sandy bar, which lies on the seaward side of the anchorage, and we could not get over it before two P.M., when the tide was nearly at its height. Immediately after our arrival, Mr. Williams, the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts, came{8} on board, accompanied by the Commander of the Wear. The pleasure we felt in welcoming the latter gentleman can easily be imagined, when it is considered what reason we had to apprehend that he and his crew had been numbered with the dead. We learned that one of the larger masses of ice had providentially drifted between the vessel's side and the rocks just at the time he expected to strike, to which he secured it until a breeze sprang up, and enabled him to pursue his voyage. The Governor acquainted me that he had received information from the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company of the equipment of the Expedition, and that the officers would come out in their first ship. In the evening Dr. Richardson, Mr. Hood, and I, accompanied him to York Factory, which we reached after dark; it is distant from the Flats seven miles. Early next morning the honour of a salute was conferred on the members of the Expedition. Having communicated to the Governor the objects of the Expedition, and that I had been directed to consult with him and the senior servants of the Company as to the best mode of proceeding towards the execution of the service, I was gratified by his assurance that his instructions from the Committee directed that every possible assistance should be given to forward our progress, and that he should feel peculiar pleasure in performing this part of his duty. He introduced me at once to Messrs. Charles, Swaine, and Snodie, masters of districts, who, from long residence in the country, were perfectly acquainted with the different modes of travelling, and the obstructions which might be anticipated. At the desire of these gentlemen, I drew up a series of questions respecting the points on which we required information; to which, two days afterwards they had the kindness to return very explicit and satisfactory answers; and on receiving them I requested the Governor to favour me with his sentiments on the same subject in writing, which he delivered to me on the following day. Having learned that Messrs. Shaw, McTavish, and several other partners of the N.W. Company, were under detention at this place, we took the earliest opportunity of visiting them; when having presented the general circular, and other introductory letters, with which I had been furnished by their agent Mr. Simon McGillivray, we received from them the most friendly and full assurance of the cordial endeavours of the wintering partners of their company to promote the interests of the Expedition. The knowledge we had now gained of the state of the violent commercial opposition existing in the country, rendered this assurance highly gratifying; and these gentlemen added to the obligation by freely communicating that information respecting the interior of the country, which their intelligence and long residence so fully qualified them to give. I deemed it expedient to issue a memorandum to the officers of the Expedition, strictly prohibiting any interference whatever in the existing quarrels, or any that might arise, between the two Companies; and on presenting it to the principals of both the parties, they expressed their satisfaction at the step I had taken. The opinions of all the gentlemen were so decidedly in favour of the route by Cumberland House, and through the chain of posts to the Great Slave Lake, that I determined on pursuing it, and immediately communicated my intention to the Governor, with a request that he would furnish me with the means of conveyance for the party as speedily as possible. It was suggested in my instructions that we might probably procure a schooner at this place, to proceed north as far as Wager Bay; but the vessel alluded to was lying at Moose Factory, completely out of repair; independently of which, the route directly to the northward was rendered impracticable by the impossibility of procuring hunters and guides on the coast. I found that as the Esquimaux inhabitants had left Churchill a month previous to our arrival, no interpreter from that quarter could be procured before their return in the following spring. The Governor, however, undertook to forward to us, next season, the only one amongst them who understood English, if he could be induced to go. The governor selected one of the largest of the Company's boats for our use on the journey, and directed the carpenters to commence refitting it immediately; but he was only able to furnish us with a steersman; and we were obliged to make up the rest of the crew with the boatmen brought from Stromness, and our two attendants. York Factory, the principal depôt of the Hudson's Bay Company, stands on the west bank of Hayes' River, about five miles above its mouth, on the marshy peninsula which separates the Hayes and Nelson Rivers. The surrounding country is flat and swampy, and covered with willows, poplars, larch, spruce, and birch-trees; but the requisition for fuel has expended all the wood in the vicinity of the fort, and the residents have now to send for it to a considerable distance. The soil is alluvial clay, and contains imbedded rolled stones. Though the bank of the river is elevated about twenty feet, it is frequently overflown by the spring-floods, and large portions are annually carried away by the disruption of the ice, which grounding in the stream, have formed several muddy islands. These interruptions, together with the various collection of stones that are hid at high water, render the navigation of the river difficult; but vessels of two hundred tons burthen may be brought through the proper channels as high as the Factory. The principal buildings are placed in the form of a square, having an octagonal court in the centre; they are two stories in height, and have flat roofs covered with lead. The officers dwell in one portion of this square, and in the other parts the articles of merchandise are kept: the workshops, storehouses for the furs, and the servants' houses are ranged on the outside of the square, and the whole is surrounded by a stockade twenty feet high. A platform is laid from the house to the pier on the bank for the convenience of transporting the stores and furs, which is the only promenade the residents have on this marshy spot during the summer season. The few Indians who now frequent this establishment, belong to the _Swampy Crees_. There were several of them encamped on the outside of the stockade. Their tents were rudely constructed by tying twenty or thirty poles together at the top, and spreading them out at the base so as to form a cone; these were covered with dressed moose-skins. The fire is placed in the centre, and a hole is left for the escape of the smoke. The inmates had a squalid look, and were suffering under the combined afflictions of hooping-cough and measles; but even these miseries did not keep them from an excessive indulgence in spirits, which they unhappily can procure from the traders with too much facility; and they nightly serenaded us with their monotonous drunken songs. Their sickness at this time, was particularly felt by the traders, this being the season of the year when the exertion of every hunter is required to procure their winter's stock of geese, which resort in immense flocks to the extensive flats in this neighbourhood. These birds, during the summer, retire far to the north, and breed in security; but, when the approach of winter compels them to seek a more southern climate, they generally alight on the marshes of this bay, and fatten there for three weeks or a month, before they take their final departure from the country. They also make a short halt at the same spots in their progress northwards in the spring. Their arrival is welcomed with joy, and the _goose hunt_ is one of the most plentiful seasons of the year. The ducks frequent the swamps all the summer. The weather was extremely unfavourable for celestial observations during our stay, and it was only by watching the momentary appearances of the sun, that we were enabled to obtain fresh rates for the chronometers, and allow for their errors from Greenwich time. The dip of the needle was observed to be 79° 29' 07", and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 11° 3' 40". A succession of fresh breezes prevented our ascertaining the intensity of the magnetic force. The position of York Factory, by our observations, is in latitude 57° 00' 03" N., longitude 92° 26' W. The variation of the compass 6° 00' 21" E. CHAPTER II. Passage up Hayes', Steel, and Hill Rivers--Cross Swampy Lake--Jack River--Knee Lake and Magnetic Islet--Trout River--Holy Lake--Weepinapannis River--Windy Lake--White-Fall Lake and River--Echemamis and Sea Rivers--Play-Green Lakes--Lake Winipeg--River Saskatchawan--Cross, Cedar, and Pine-Island Lakes--Cumberland House. 1819. September. On the 9th of September, our boat being completed, arrangements were made for our departure as soon as the tide should serve. But, when the stores were brought down to the beach, it was found that the boat would not contain them all. The whole, therefore, of the bacon, and part of the flour, rice, tobacco, and ammunition, were returned into the store. The bacon was too bulky an article to be forwarded under any circumstances; but the Governor undertook to forward the rest next season. In making the selection of articles to carry with us, I was guided by the judgment of Governor Williams, who assured me that tobacco, ammunition, and spirits, could be procured in the interior, otherwise I should have been very unwilling to have left these essential articles behind. We embarked at noon, and were honoured with a salute of eight guns and three cheers from the Governor and all the inmates of the fort, who had assembled to witness our departure. We gratefully returned their cheers, and then made sail, much delighted at having now commenced our voyage into the interior of America. The wind and tide failing us at the distance of six miles above the Factory, and the current being too rapid for using oars to advantage, the crew had to commence tracking, or dragging the boat by a line, to which they were harnessed. This operation is extremely laborious in these rivers. Our men were obliged to walk along the steep declivity of a high bank, rendered at this season soft and slippery by frequent rains, and their progress was often further impeded by fallen trees, which, having slipped from the verge of the thick wood above, hung on the face of the bank in a great variety of directions. Notwithstanding these obstacles, we advanced at the rate of two miles an hour, one-half of the crew relieving the other at intervals of an hour and a half. The banks of the river, and its islands, composed of alluvial soil, are well covered with pines, larches, poplars, and willows. The breadth of the stream, some distance above the Factory, is about half a mile, and its depth, during this day's voyage, varied from three to nine feet. At sunset we landed, and pitched the tent for the night, having made a progress of twelve miles. A large fire was quickly kindled, supper speedily prepared, and as readily despatched, when we retired with our buffalo robes on, and enjoyed a night of sound repose. It may here be stated, that the survey of the river was made by taking the bearings of every point with a pocket compass, estimating the distances, and making a connected eye-sketch of the whole. This part of the survey was allotted to Messrs. Back and Hood conjointly: Mr. Hood also protracted the route every evening on a ruled map, after the courses and distances had been corrected by observations for latitude and longitude, taken by myself as often as the weather would allow. The extraordinary talent of this young officer in this line of service proved of the greatest advantage to the Expedition, and he continued to perform that duty until his lamented death, with a degree of zeal and accuracy that characterized all his pursuits. The next morning our camp was in motion at five A.M., and we soon afterwards embarked with the flattering accompaniment of a fair wind: it proved, however, too light to enable us to stem the stream, and we were obliged to resume the fatiguing operation of tracking; sometimes under cliffs so steep that the men could scarcely find a footing, and not unfrequently over spots rendered so miry by the small streams that trickled from above, as to be almost impassable. In the course of the day we passed the scene of a very melancholy accident. Some years ago, two families of Indians, induced by the flatness of a small beach, which lay betwixt the cliff and the river, chose it as the site of their encampment. They retired quietly to rest, not aware that the precipice, detached from the bank, and urged by an accumulation of water in the crevice behind, was tottering to its base. It fell during the night, and the whole party was buried under its ruins. The length of our voyage to-day was, in a direct line, sixteen miles and a quarter, on a S.S.W. course. We encamped soon after sunset, and the tent was scarcely pitched when a heavy rain began, which continued all night. Sixteen miles on the 11th, and five on the following morning, brought us to the commencement of Hayes' River, which is formed by the confluence of the Shamattawa and Steel Rivers. Our observations place this spot in latitude 56° 22' 32" N., longitude 93° 1' 37" W. It is forty-eight miles and a half from York Factory including the windings of the river. Steel River, through which our course lay, is about three hundred yards wide at its mouth; its banks have more elevation than those of Hayes' River, but they shelve more gradually down to the stream, and afford a tolerably good towing path, which compensates, in some degree, for the rapids and frequent shoals that impede its navigation. We succeeded in getting about ten miles above the mouth of the river, before the close of day compelled us to disembark. We made an effort, on the morning of the 13th, to stem the current under sail, but as the course of the river was very serpentine, we found that greater progress could be made by tracking. Steel River presents much beautiful scenery; it winds through a narrow, but well wooded, valley, which at every turn disclosed to us an agreeable variety of prospect, rendered more picturesque by the effect of the season on the foliage, now ready to drop from the trees. The light yellow of the fading poplars formed a fine contrast to the dark evergreen of the spruce, whilst the willows of an intermediate hue, served to shade the two principal masses of colour into each other. The scene was occasionally enlivened by the bright purple tints of the dogwood, blended with the browner shades of the dwarf birch, and frequently intermixed with the gay yellow flowers of the shrubby cinquefoil. With all these charms, the scene appeared desolate from the want of the human species. The stillness was so great, that even the twittering of the _whiskey-johneesh_, or cinereous crow, caused us to start. Our voyage to-day was sixteen miles on a S.W. course. _Sept. 14_.--We had much rain during the night, and also in the morning, which detained us in our encampment later than usual. We set out as soon as the weather cleared up; and in a short time arrived at the head of Steel River, where it is formed by the junction of Fox and Hill Rivers. These two rivers are nearly of equal width, but the latter is the most rapid. Mr. McDonald, on his way to Red River, in a small canoe, manned by two Indians, overtook us at this place. It may be mentioned as a proof of the dexterity of the Indians, and the skill with which they steal upon their game, that they had on the preceding day, with no other arms than a hatchet, killed two deer, a hawk, a curlew, and a sturgeon. Three of the Company's boats joined us in the course of the morning, and we pursued our course up Hill River in company. The water in this river was so low, and the rapids so bad, that we were obliged several times, in the course of the day, to jump into the water, and assist in lifting the boat over the large stones which impeded the navigation. The length of our voyage to-day was only six miles and three quarters. The four boats commenced operations together at five o'clock the following morning; but our boat being overladen, we soon found that we were unable to keep pace with the others; and, therefore, proposed to the gentlemen in charge of the Company's boats, that they should relieve us of part of our cargo. This they declined doing, under the plea of not having received orders to that effect, notwithstanding that the circular, with which I was furnished by Governor Williams, strictly enjoined all the Company's servants to afford us every assistance. In consequence of this refusal we dropt behind, and our steersman, who was inexperienced, being thus deprived of the advantage of observing the route followed by the guide, who was in the foremost boat, frequently took a wrong channel. The tow-line broke twice, and the boat was only prevented from going broadside down the stream, and breaking to pieces against the stones, by the officers and men leaping into the water, and holding her head to the current until the line could be carried again to the shore. It is but justice to say, that in these trying situations, we received much assistance from Mr. Thomas Swaine, who with great kindness waited for us with the boat under his charge at such places as he apprehended would be most difficult to pass. We encamped at sunset, completely jaded with toil. Our distance made good this day was twelve miles and a quarter. The labours of the 16th commenced at half past five, and for some time the difficulty of getting the boats over the rapids was equal to what we experienced the day before. Having passed a small brook, however, termed _Half-way Creek_, the river became deeper, and although rapid, it was smooth enough to be named by our Orkney boatmen _Still-water_. We were further relieved by the Company's clerks consenting to take a few boxes of our stores into their boats. Still we made only eleven miles in the course of the day. The banks of Hill River are higher, and have a more broken outline, than those of Steel or Hayes' Rivers. The cliffs of alluvial clay rose in some places to the height of eighty or ninety feet above the stream, and were surmounted by hills about two hundred feet high, but the thickness of the wood prevented us from seeing far beyond the mere banks of the river. _September 17_.--About half past five in the morning we commenced tracking, and soon came to a ridge of rock which extended across the stream. From this place the boat was dragged up several narrow rocky channels, until we came to the Rock Portage, where the stream, pent in by a range of small islands, forms several cascades. In ascending the river, the boats with their cargoes are carried over one of the islands, but in the descent they are shot down the most shelving of the cascades. Having performed the operations of carrying, launching, and restowing the cargo, we plied the oars for a short distance, and landed at a depôt called Rock House. Here we were informed that the rapids in the upper parts of Hill River were much worse and more numerous than those we had passed, particularly in the present season, owing to the unusual lowness of the water. This intelligence was very mortifying, especially as the gentlemen in charge of the Company's boats declared that they were unable to carry any part of our stores beyond this place; and the traders, guides, and most experienced of the boatmen, were of opinion, that unless our boat was still further lightened, the winter would put a stop to our progress before we could reach Cumberland House, or any eligible post. Sixteen pieces were therefore necessarily left with Mr. Bunn, the gentleman in charge of the post, to be forwarded by the Athabasca canoes next season, this being their place of rendezvous. After this we recommenced our voyage, and having pulled nearly a mile, arrived at Borrowick's Fall, where the boat was dragged up with a line, after part of the cargo had been carried over a small portage. From this place to the Mud Portage, a distance of a mile and three quarters, the boats were pushed on with poles against a very rapid stream. Here we encamped, having come seven miles during the day on a S.W. course. We had several snow showers in the course of the day, and the thermometer at bed-time stood at 30°. On the morning of the 18th, the country was clothed in the livery of winter, a heavy fall of snow having taken place during the night. We embarked at the usual hour, and in the course of the day, crossed the Point of Rocks and Brassa Portages, and dragged the boats through several minor rapids. In this tedious way we only made good about nine miles. On Sunday the 19th we hauled the boats up several short rapids, or, as the boatmen term them, expressively enough, _spouts_, and carried them over the Portages of Lower Burntwood and Morgan's Rocks; on the latter of which we encamped, having proceeded, during the whole day only one mile and three quarters. The upper part of Hill River swells out considerably, and at Morgan's Rocks, where it is three quarters of a mile wide, we were gratified with a more extensive prospect of the country than any we had enjoyed since leaving York Factory. The banks of the river here, consisting of low flat rocks with intermediate swamps, permitted us to obtain views of the interior, the surface of which is broken into a multitude of cone-shaped hills. The highest of these hills, which gives a name to the river, has an elevation not exceeding six hundred feet. From its summit, thirty-six lakes are said to be visible. The beauty of the scenery, dressed in the tints of autumn called forth our admiration, and was the subject of Mr. Hood's accurate pencil. On the 20th we passed Upper Burntwood and Rocky Ledge Portages, besides several strong _spouts_; and in the evening arrived at Smooth Rock Portage, where we encamped, having come three miles and a half. It is not easy for any but an eye-witness to form an adequate idea of the exertions of the Orkney boatmen in the navigation of this river. The necessity they are under of frequently jumping into the water to lift the boats over the rocks, compels them to remain the whole day in wet clothes, at a season when the temperature is far below the freezing point. The immense loads too, which they carry over the portages, is not more a matter of surprise than the alacrity with which they perform these laborious duties. At six on the morning of the 21st, we left our encampment, and soon after arrived at the Mossy Portage, where the cargoes were carried through a deep bog for a quarter of a mile. The river swells out, above this portage, to the breadth of several miles, and as the islands are numerous there are a great variety of channels. Night overtook us before we arrived at the _Second Portage_, so named from its being the second in the passage down the river. Our whole distance this day was one mile and a quarter. On the 22d our route led us amongst many wooded islands, which, lying in long vistas, produced scenes of much beauty. In the course of the day we crossed the Upper Portage, surmounted the Devil's Landing Place, and urged the boat with poles through Groundwater Creek. At the upper end of this creek, our bowman having given the boat too great a sheer, to avoid the rock, it was caught on the broadside by the current, and, in defiance of our utmost exertions, hurried down the rapid. Fortunately, however, it grounded against a rock high enough to prevent the current from oversetting it, and the crews of the other boats having come to our assistance, we succeeded, after several trials, in throwing a rope to them, with which they dragged our almost sinking vessel stern foremost up the stream, and rescued us from our perilous situation. We encamped in the dusk of the evening amidst a heavy thunder-storm, having advanced two miles and three quarters. About ten in the morning of the 23d we arrived at the _Dramstone_, which is hailed with pleasure by the boats' crews, as marking the termination of the laborious ascent of Hill River. We complied with the custom from whence it derives its name, and soon after landing upon Sail Island prepared breakfast. In the mean time our boatmen cut down and rigged a new mast, the old one having been thrown overboard at the mouth of Steel River, where it ceased to be useful. We left Sail Island with a fair wind, and soon afterwards arrived at a depôt situated on Swampy Lake, where we received a supply of mouldy _pemmican_[2]. Mr. Calder and his attendant were the only tenants of this cheerless abode, and their only food was the wretched stuff with which they supplied us, the lake not yielding fish at this season. After a short delay at this post, we sailed through the remainder of Swampy Lake, and slept at the Lower Portage in Jack River; the distance sailed to-day being sixteen miles and a half. [2] Buffalo-meat, dried and pounded, and mixed with melted fat. Jack River is only eight miles long; but being full of bad rapids, it detained us considerably. At seven in the morning of the 24th, we crossed the Long Portage, where the woods, having caught fire in the summer, were still smoking. This is a common accident, owing to the neglect of the Indians and voyagers in not putting out their fires, and in a dry season the woods may be seen blazing to the extent of many miles. We afterwards crossed the Second, or Swampy Portage, and in the evening encamped on the Upper Portage, where we were overtaken by an Indian bringing an answer from Governor Williams to a letter I had written to him on the 15th, in which he renewed his injunctions to the gentlemen of the boats accompanying us, to afford us every assistance in their power. The Aurora Borealis appeared this evening in form of a bright arch, extending across the zenith in a N.W. and S.E. direction. The extent of our voyage to-day was two miles. About noon, on the 25th, we entered Knee Lake, which has a very irregular form, and near its middle takes a sudden turn, from whence it derives its name. It is thickly studded with islands, and its shores are low and well-wooded. The surrounding country, as far as we could see, is flat, being destitute even of the moderate elevations which occur near the upper part of Hill River. The weather was remarkably fine, and the setting sun threw the richest tints over the scene that I remember ever to have witnessed. About half a mile from the bend or _knee_ of the lake, there is a small rocky islet, composed of magnetic iron ore, which affects the magnetic needle at a considerable distance. Having received previous information respecting this circumstance, we watched our compasses carefully, and perceived that they were affected at the distance of three hundred yards, both on the approach to and departure from the rock: on decreasing the distance, they became gradually more and more unsteady, and on landing they were rendered quite useless; and it was evident that the general magnetic influence was totally overpowered by the local attraction of the ore. When Kater's compass was held near to the ground on the N.W. side of the island, the needle dipped so much that the card could not be made to traverse by any adjustment of the hand; but on moving the same compass about thirty yards to the west part of the islet, the needle became horizontal, traversed freely, and pointed to the magnetic north. The dipping needle being landed on the S.W. point of the islet, was adjusted as nearly as possible on the magnetic meridian by the sun's bearings, and found to vibrate freely, when the face of the instrument was directed to the east or west. The mean dip it gave was 80° 37' 50". When the instrument was removed from the N.W. to the S.E. point, about twenty yards distant, and placed on the meridian, the needle ceased to traverse, but remained steady at an angle of 60°. On changing the face of the instrument, so as to give a S.E. and N.W. direction to the needle, it hung vertically. The position of the slaty strata of the magnetic ore is also vertical. Their direction is extremely irregular, being much contorted. Knee Lake towards its upper end becomes narrower, and its rocky shores are broken into conical and rounded eminences, destitute of soil, and of course devoid of trees. We slept at the western extremity of the lake, having come during the day nineteen miles and a half on a S.W. course. We began the ascent of Trout River early in the morning of the 27th, and in the course of the day passed three portages and several rapids. At the first of these portages the river falls between two rocks about sixteen feet, and it is necessary to launch the boat over a precipitous rocky bank. This cascade is named the _Trout-Fall_, and the beauty of the scenery afforded a subject for Mr. Hood's pencil. The rocks which form the bed of this river are slaty, and present sharp fragments, by which the feet of the boatmen are much lacerated. The Second Portage, in particular, obtains the expressive name of _Knife Portage_. The length of our voyage to-day was three miles. On the 28th we passed through the remainder of Trout River; and, at noon, arrived at Oxford House, on Holey Lake. This was formerly a post of some consequence to the Hudson's Bay Company, but at present it exhibits unequivocal signs of decay. The Indians have of late years been gradually deserting the low or swampy country, and ascending the Saskatchawan, where animals are more abundant. A few Crees were at this time encamped in front of the fort. They were suffering under hooping-cough and measles, and looked miserably dejected. We endeavoured in vain to prevail on one of them to accompany us for the purpose of killing ducks, which were numerous, but too shy for our sportsmen. We had the satisfaction, however, of exchanging the mouldy pemmican, obtained at Swampy Lake, for a better kind, and received, moreover, a small, but very acceptable, supply of fish. Holey Lake, viewed from an eminence behind Oxford House, exhibits a pleasing prospect; and its numerous islands, varying much in shape and elevation, contribute to break that uniformity of scenery which proves so palling to a traveller in this country. Trout of a great size, frequently exceeding forty pounds' weight, abound in this lake. We left Oxford House in the afternoon, and encamped on an island about eight miles' distant, having come, during the day, nine miles and a quarter. At noon, on the 29th, after passing through the remainder of Holey Lake, we entered the Weepinapannis, a narrow grassy river, which runs parallel to the lake for a considerable distance, and forms its south bank into a narrow peninsula. In the morning we arrived at the Swampy Portage, where two of the boats were broken against the rocks. The length of the day's voyage was nineteen miles and a half. In consequence of the accident yesterday evening, we were detained a considerable time this morning, until the boats were repaired, when we set out, and, after ascending a strong rapid, arrived at the portage by John Moore's Island. Here the river rushes with irresistible force through the channels formed by two rocky islands; and we learned, that last year a poor man, in hauling a boat up one of these channels, was, by the breaking of the line, precipitated into the stream and hurried down the cascade with such rapidity, that all efforts to save him were ineffectual. His body was afterwards found, and interred near the spot. The Weepinapannis is composed of several branches which separate and unite, again and again, intersecting the country in a great variety of directions. We pursued the principal channel, and having passed the Crooked Spout, with several inferior rapids, and crossed a small piece of water, named Windy Lake, we entered a smooth deep stream about three hundred yards wide, which has got the absurd appellation of the Rabbit Ground. The marshy banks of this river are skirted by low barren rocks, behind which there are some groups of stunted trees{9}. As we advanced, the country becoming flatter, gradually opened to our view, and we at length arrived at a shallow, reedy lake, the direct course through which leads to the Hill Portage. This route has, however, of late years been disused, and we therefore turned towards the north, and crossing a small arm of the lake, arrived at Hill Gates by sunset; having come this day eleven miles. _October 1_.--Hill gates is the name imposed on a romantic defile, whose rocky walls, rising perpendicularly to the height of sixty or eighty feet, hem in the stream for three quarters of a mile, in many places so narrowly, that there is a want of room to ply the oars. In passing through this chasm we were naturally led to contemplate the mighty but, probably, slow and gradual effects of the water in wearing down such vast masses of rock; but in the midst of our speculations, the attention was excited anew to a grand and picturesque rapid, which, surrounded by the most wild and majestic scenery, terminated the defile. The brown fishing-eagle had built its nest on one of the projecting cliffs. In the course of the day we surmounted this and another dangerous portage, called, the Upper and Lower Hill Gate Portages, crossed a small sheet of water, termed the White Fall Lake, and entering the river of the same name, arrived at the White Fall about an hour after sunset, having come fourteen miles on a S.W. course. The whole of the 2d of October was spent in carrying the cargoes over a portage of thirteen hundred yards in length, and in launching the empty boats over three several ridges of rock which obstruct the channel and produce as many cascades. I shall long remember the rude and characteristic wildness of the scenery which surrounded these falls; rocks piled on rocks hung in rude and shapeless masses over the agitated torrents which swept their bases, whilst the bright and variegated tints of the mosses and lichens, that covered the face of the cliffs, contrasting with the dark green of the pines which crowned their summits, added both beauty and grandeur to the scene. Our two companions, Back and Hood, made accurate sketches of these falls. At this place we observed a conspicuous _lop-stick_, a kind of land-mark, which I have not hitherto noticed, notwithstanding its great use in pointing out the frequented routes. It is a pine-tree divested of its lower branches, and having only a small tuft at the top remaining. This operation is usually performed at the instance of some individual emulous of fame. He treats his companions with rum, and they in return strip the tree of its branches, and ever after designate it by his name. In the afternoon, whilst on my way to superintend the operations of the men, a stratum of loose moss gave way under my feet, and I had the misfortune to slip from the summit of a rock into the river betwixt two of the falls. My attempts to regain the bank were, for a time ineffectual, owing to the rocks within my reach having been worn smooth by the action of the water; but, after I had been carried a considerable distance down the stream, I caught hold of a willow, by which I held until two gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company came in a boat to my assistance. The only bad consequence{10} of this accident was an injury sustained by a very valuable chronometer, (No. 1733,) belonging to Daniel Moore, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. One of the gentlemen to whom I delivered it immediately on landing, in his agitation let it fall, whereby the minute-hand was broken, but the works were not in the smallest degree injured, and the loss of the hand was afterwards supplied. During the night the frost was severe; and at sunrise, on the 3d, the thermometer stood at 25°. After leaving our encampment at the White Fall, we passed through several small lakes connected with each other by narrow deep, grassy streams, and at noon arrived at the Painted Stone. Numbers of musk-rats frequent these streams; and we observed, in the course of the morning, many of{11} their mud-houses rising in a conical form to the height of two or three feet above the grass of the swamps in which they were built. The Painted Stone is a low rock, ten or twelve yards across, remarkable for the marshy streams which arise on each side of it, taking different courses. On the one side, the water-course which we had navigated from York Factory commences. This spot may therefore be considered as one of the smaller sources of Hayes' River. On the other side of the stone the Echemamis rises, and taking a westerly direction falls into Nelson River. It is said that there was formerly a stone placed near the centre of this portage on which figures were annually traced, and offerings deposited, by the Indians; but the stone has been removed many years, and the spot has ceased to be held in veneration. Here we were overtaken by Governor Williams, who left York Factory on the 20th of last month in an Indian canoe. He expressed much regret at our having been obliged to leave part of our stores at the Rock depôt, and would have brought them up with him had he been able to procure and man a boat, or a canoe of sufficient size. Having launched the boats over the rock, we commenced the descent of the Echemamis. This small stream has its course through a morass, and in dry seasons its channel contains, instead of water, merely a foot or two of thin mud. On these occasions it is customary to build dams that it may be rendered navigable by the accumulation of its waters. As the beavers perform this operation very effectually, endeavours have been made to encourage them to breed in this place, but it has not hitherto been possible to restrain the Indians from killing that useful animal whenever they discover its retreats. On the present occasion there was no want of water, the principal impediment we experienced being from the narrowness of the channel, which permitted the willows of each bank to meet over our heads, and obstruct the men at the oars. After proceeding down the stream for some time, we came to a recently-constructed beaver-dam through which an opening was made sufficient to admit the boat to pass. We were assured that the breach would be closed by the industrious creature in a single night. We encamped about eight miles from the source of the river, having come during the day seventeen miles and a half. On the 4th we embarked amidst a heavy rain, and pursued our route down the Echemamis. In many parts the morass, by which the river is nourished, and through which it flows, is intersected by ridges of rock which cross the channel, and require the boat to be lifted over them. In the afternoon we passed through a shallow piece of water overgrown with bulrushes, and hence named Hairy Lake; and, in the evening, encamped on the banks of Blackwater Creek, by which this lake empties itself into Sea River; having come during the day twenty miles and three quarters. On the morning of the 5th, we entered Sea River, one of the many branches of Nelson River. It is about four hundred yards wide, and its waters are of a muddy white colour. After ascending the stream for an hour or two, and passing through Carpenter's Lake, which is merely an expansion of the river to about a mile in breadth, we came to the Sea River Portage, where the boat was launched across a smooth rock, to avoid a fall of four or five feet. Re-embarking at the upper end of the portage, we ran before a fresh gale through the remainder of Sea River, the lower part of Play Green Lake, and entering Little Jack River, landed and pitched our tents. Here there is a small log-hut, the residence of a fisherman, who supplies Norway House with trout and sturgeon. He gave us a few of these fish, which afforded an acceptable supper. Our voyage this day was thirty-four miles. _October 6_.--Little Jack River is the name given to a channel that winds among several large islands which separate Upper and Lower Play Green Lakes. At the lower end of this channel, Big Jack River, a stream of considerable magnitude, falls into the lake. Play Green is a translation of the appellation given to that lake by two bands of Indians, who met and held a festival on an island situated near its centre. After leaving our encampment we sailed through Upper Play Green Lake, and arrived at Norway Point in the forenoon. The waters of Lake Winipeg, and of the rivers that run into it, the Saskatchawan in particular, are rendered turbid by the suspension of a large quantity of white clay. Play Green Lake and Nelson River, being the discharges of the Winipeg, are equally opaque, a circumstance that renders the sunken rocks, so frequent in these waters, very dangerous to boats in a fresh breeze. Owing to this, one of the boats that accompanied us, sailing at the rate of seven miles an hour, struck upon one of these rocks. Its mast was carried away by the shock, but fortunately no other damage sustained. The Indians ascribe the muddiness of these lakes to an adventure of one of their deities, a mischievous fellow, a sort of Robin Puck, whom they hold in very little esteem. This deity, who is named Weesakootchaht, possesses considerable power, but makes a capricious use of it, and delights in tormenting the poor Indians. He is not, however, invincible, and was soiled in one of his attempts by the artifice of an old woman, who succeeded in taking him captive. She called in all the women of the tribe to aid in his punishment, and he escaped from their hands in a condition so filthy that it required all the waters of the Great Lake to wash him clean; and ever since that period it has been entitled to the appellation of Winipeg, or Muddy water. Norway Point forms the extremity of a narrow peninsula which separates Play Green and Winipeg Lakes. Buildings were first erected here by a party of Norwegians, who were driven away from the colony at Red River by the commotions which took place some time ago. It is now a trading post belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. On landing at Norway House we met with Lord Selkirk's colonists, who had started from York Factory the day before us.--These poor people were exceedingly pleased at meeting with us again in this wild country; having accompanied them across the Atlantic, they viewed us in the light of old acquaintances. This post was under the charge of Mr. James Sutherland, to whom I am indebted for replacing a minute-hand on the chronometer, which was broken at the White Fall, and I had afterwards the satisfaction of finding that it went with extraordinary regularity. The morning of the 7th October was beautifully clear, and the observations we obtained place Norway House in latitude 53° 41' 38" N., and longitude 98° 1' 24" W.; the variation of the magnetic needle 14° 12' 41" E., and its dip 83° 40' 10". Though our route from York Factory has rather inclined to the S.W., the dip, it will be perceived, has gradually increased. The difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 7° 39'. There was too much wind to admit of our observing, with any degree of accuracy, the quantity of the magnetic force. We left Norway House soon after noon, and the wind being favourable, sailed along the northern shore of Lake Winipeg the whole of the ensuing night; and on the morning of the 8th landed on a narrow ridge of sand, which, running out twenty miles to the westward, separates Limestone Bay from the body of the Lake. When the wind blows hard from the southward, it is customary to carry boats across this isthmus, and to pull up under its lee. From Norwegian Point to Limestone Bay the shore consists of high clay cliffs, against which the waves beat with violence during strong southerly winds. When the wind blows from the land, and the waters of the lake are low, a narrow sandy beach is uncovered, and affords a landing-place for boats. The shores of Limestone Bay are covered with small fragments of calcareous stones. During the night the Aurora Borealis was quick in its motions, and various and vivid in its colours. After breakfasting we re-embarked, and continued our voyage until three P.M., when a strong westerly wind arising, we were obliged to shelter ourselves on a small island, which lies near the extremity of the above-mentioned peninsula. This island is formed of a collection of small rolled pieces of limestone, and was remembered by some of our boatmen to have been formerly covered with water. For the last ten or twelve years the waters of the lake have been low, but our information did not enable us to judge whether the decrease was merely casual, or going on continually, or periodical. The distance of this island from Norway House is thirty-eight miles and a half. The westerly winds detained us all the morning of the 9th, but, at two P.M., the wind chopped round to the eastward; we immediately embarked, and the breeze afterwards freshening, we reached the mouth of the Saskatchawan at midnight, having run thirty-two miles. _Sunday, October 10_.--The whole of this day was occupied in getting the boats from the mouth of the river to the foot of the grand rapid, a distance of two miles. There are several rapids in this short distance, during which the river varies its breadth from five hundred yards to half a mile. Its channel is stony. At the grand rapid, the Saskatchawan forms a sudden bend, from south to east, and works its way through a narrow channel, deeply worn into the limestone strata. The stream, rushing with impetuous force over a rocky and uneven bottom, presents a sheet of foam, and seems to bear with impatience the straitened confinement of its lofty banks. A flock of pelicans, and two or three brown fishing eagles, were fishing in its agitated waters, seemingly with great success. There is a good sturgeon fishery at the foot of the rapid. Several golden plovers, Canadian grosbeaks, cross-bills, wood-peckers, and pin-tailed grouse, were shot to-day; and Mr. Back killed a small striped marmot. This beautiful little animal was busily employed in carrying in its distended pouches the seeds of the American vetch to its winter hoards. The portage is eighteen hundred yards long, and its western extremity was found to be in 53° 08' 25" North latitude, and 99° 28' 02" West longitude. The route from Canada to the Athabasca joins that from York Factory at the mouth of the Saskatchawan, and we saw traces of a recent encampment of the Canadian voyagers. Our companions in the Hudson's Bay boats, dreading an attack from their rivals in trade, were on the alert at this place. They examined minutely the spot of encampment, to form a judgment of the number of canoes that had preceded them; and they advanced, armed, and with great caution, through the woods. Their fears, however, on this occasion, were fortunately groundless. By noon, on the 12th, the boats and their cargoes having been conveyed across the portage, we embarked, and pursued our course. The Saskatchawan becomes wider above the Grand Rapid, and the scenery improves. The banks are high, composed of white clay and limestone, and their summits are richly clothed with a variety of firs, poplars, birches, and willows. The current runs with great rapidity, and the channel is in many places intricate and dangerous, from broken ridges of rock jutting into the stream. We pitched our tents at the entrance of Cross Lake, having advanced only five miles and a half. Cross Lake is extensive, running towards the N.E. it is said, for forty miles. We crossed it at a narrow part, and pulling through several winding channels, formed by a group of islands, entered Cedar Lake, which, next to Lake Winipeg, is the largest sheet of fresh water we had hitherto seen. Ducks and geese resort hither in immense flocks in the spring and autumn. These birds were now beginning to go off, owing to its muddy shores having become quite hard through the nightly frosts. At this place the Aurora Borealis was extremely brilliant in the night, its coruscations darting, at times, over the whole sky, and assuming various prismatic tints, of which the violet and yellow were predominant. After pulling, on the 14th, seven miles and a quarter on the lake, a violent wind drove us for shelter to a small island, or rather a ridge of rolled stones, thrown up by the frequent storms which agitate this lake. The weather did not moderate the whole day, and we were obliged to pass the night on this exposed spot. The delay, however, enabled us to obtain some lunar observations. The wind having subsided, we left our resting-place the following morning, crossed the remainder of the lake, and in the afternoon, arrived at Muddy Lake, which is very appropriately named, as it consists merely of a few channels, winding amongst extensive mud banks, which are overflowed during the spring floods. We landed at an Indian tent, which contained two numerous families, amounting to thirty souls. These poor creatures were badly clothed, and reduced to a miserable condition by the hooping-cough and measles. At the time of our arrival they were busy in preparing a sweating-house for the sick. This is a remedy which they consider, with the addition of singing and drumming, to be the grand specific for all diseases. Our companions having obtained some geese, in exchange for rum and tobacco, we proceeded a few more miles, and encamped on Devil's Drum Island, having come, during the day, twenty miles and a half. A second party of Indians were encamped on an adjoining island, a situation chosen for the purpose of killing geese and ducks. On the 16th we proceeded eighteen miles up the Saskatchawan. Its banks are low, covered with willows, and lined with drift timber. The surrounding country is swampy and intersected by the numerous arms of the river. After passing for twenty or thirty yards through the willow thicket on the banks of the stream, we entered an extensive marsh, varied only by a distant line of willows, which marks the course of a creek or branch of the river. The branch we navigated to-day, is almost five hundred yards wide. The exhalations from the marshy soil produced a low fog, although the sky above was perfectly clear. In the course of the day we passed an Indian encampment of three tents, whose inmates appeared to be in a still more miserable condition than those we saw yesterday. They had just finished the ceremony of conjuration over some of their sick companions; and a dog, which had been recently killed as a sacrifice to some deity, was hanging to a tree where it would be left (I was told) when they moved their encampment. We continued our voyage up the river to the 20th with little variation of scenery or incident, travelling in that time about thirty miles. The near approach of winter was marked by severe frosts, which continued all day unless when the sun chanced to be unusually bright, and the geese and ducks were observed to take a southerly course in large flocks. On the morning of the 20th we came to a party of Indians, encamped behind the bank of the river on the borders of a small marshy lake, for the purpose of killing water-fowl. Here we were gratified with the view of a very large tent. Its length was about forty feet, its breadth eighteen, and its covering was moose deer leather, with apertures for the escape of the smoke from the fires which are placed at each end; a ledge of wood was placed on the ground on both sides the whole length of the tent, within which were the sleeping-places, arranged probably according to families; and the drums and other instruments of enchantment were piled up in the centre. Amongst the Indians there were a great many half-breeds, who led an Indian life. Governor Williams gave a dram and a piece of tobacco to each of the males of the party. On the morning of the 21st a heavy fall of snow took place, which lasted until two in the afternoon. In the evening we left the Saskatchawan, and entered the Little River, one of the two streams by which Pine Island Lake discharges its waters. We advanced to-day fourteen miles and a quarter. On the 22d the weather was extremely cold and stormy, and we had to contend against a strong head wind. The spray froze as it fell, and the oars were so loaded with ice as to be almost unmanageable. The length of our voyage this day was eleven miles. The following morning was very cold; we embarked at day-light, and pulled across a part of Pine Island Lake, about three miles and a half to Cumberland House. The margin of the lake was so incrusted with ice, that we had to break through a considerable space of it to approach the landing-place. When we considered that this was the effect of only a few days' frost at the commencement of winter, we were convinced of the impractibility of advancing further by water this season, and therefore resolved on accepting Governor Williams's kind invitation to remain with him at this post. We immediately visited Mr. Connolly, the resident partner of the North-West Company, and presented to him Mr. Mac Gillivray's circular letter. He assured us that he should be most desirous to forward our progress by every means in his power, and we subsequently had ample proofs of his sincerity and kindness. The unexpected addition of our party to the winter residents at this post, rendered an increase of apartments necessary; and our men were immediately appointed to complete and arrange an unfinished building as speedily as possible. _November 8_.--Some mild weather succeeded to the severe frosts we had at our arrival; and the lake had not been entirely frozen before the 6th; but this morning the ice was sufficiently firm to admit of sledges crossing it. The dogs were harnessed at a very early hour, and the winter operations commenced by sending for a supply of fish from Swampy River, where men had been stationed to collect it, just before the frost set in. Both men and dogs appeared to enjoy the change; they started in full glee, and drove rapidly along. An Indian, who had come to the house on the preceding evening to request some provision for his family, whom he represented to be in a state of starvation, accompanied them. His party had been suffering greatly under the epidemic diseases of hooping-cough and measles; and the hunters were still in too debilitated a state to go out and provide them with meat. A supply was given to him, and the men were directed to bring his father, an old and faithful hunter, to the house, that he might have the comforts of nourishment and warmth. He was brought accordingly, but these attentions were unavailing as he died a few days afterwards. Two days before his death I was surprised to observe him sitting for nearly three hours, in a piercingly sharp day, in the saw-pit, employed in gathering the dust, and throwing it by handfuls over his body, which was naked to the waist. As the man was in possession of his mental faculties, I conceived he was performing some devotional act preparatory to his departure, which he felt to be approaching, and induced by the novelty of the incident, I went twice to observe him more closely; but when he perceived that he was noticed, he immediately ceased his operation, hung down his head, and by his demeanour, intimated that he considered my appearance an intrusion. The residents at the fort could give me no information on the subject, and I could not learn that the Indians in general observe any particular ceremony on the approach of death. _November 15_.--The sky had been overcast during the last week; the sun shone forth once only, and then not sufficiently for the purpose of obtaining observations. Faint coruscations of the Aurora Borealis appeared one evening, but their presence did not in the least affect the electrometer or the compass. The ice daily became thicker in the lake, and the frost had now nearly overpowered the rapid current of the Saskatchawan River; indeed, parties of men who were sent from both the forts to search for the Indians, and procure whatever skins and provisions they might have collected, crossed that stream this day on the ice. The white partridges made their first appearance near the house, which birds are considered as the infallible harbingers of severe weather. _Monday, November 22_.--The Saskatchawan, and every other river, were now completely covered with ice, except a small stream not far from the fort through which the current ran very powerfully. In the course of the week we removed into the house our men had prepared since our arrival. We found it at first extremely cold notwithstanding that a good fire was kept in each apartment, and we frequently experienced the extremes of heat and cold on opposite sides of the body. _November 24_.--We obtained observations for the dip of the needle and intensity of the magnetic force in a spare room. The dip was 83° 9' 45", and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument 13° 3' 6". When the needle was faced to the west it hung nearly perpendicular. The Aurora Borealis had been faintly visible for a short time the preceding evening. Some Indians arrived in search of provision, having been totally incapacitated from hunting by sickness; the poor creatures looked miserably ill, and they represented their distress to have been extreme. Few recitals are more affecting than those of their sufferings during unfavourable seasons, and in bad situations for hunting and fishing. Many assurances have been given me that men and women are yet living who have been reduced to feed upon the bodies of their own family, to prevent actual starvation; and a shocking case was cited to us of a woman who had been principal agent in the destruction of several persons, and amongst the number her husband and nearest relatives, in order to support life. _November 28_.--The atmosphere had been clear every day during the last week, about the end of which snow fell, when the thermometer rose from 20° below to 16° above zero. The Aurora Borealis was twice visible, but faint on both occasions. Its appearance did not affect the electrometer, nor could we perceive the compass to be disturbed. The men brought supplies of moose meat from the hunter's tent, which is pitched near the Basquiau Hill, forty or fifty miles from the house, and whence the greatest part of the meat is procured. The residents have to send nearly the same distance for their fish, and on this service horse-sledges are used. Nets are daily set in Pine Island Lake which occasionally procure some fine sturgeon, tittameg, and trout, but not more than sufficient to supply the officers' table. _December 1_.--This day was so remarkably fine, that we procured another set of observations for the dip of the needle in the open air; the instrument being placed firmly on a rock, the results gave 83° 14' 22".{12} The change produced by reversing the face of the instrument, was 12° 50' 55". There had been a determined thaw during the last three days. The ice on the Saskatchawan River and some parts of the lake, broke up, and the travelling across either became dangerous. On this account the absence of Wilks, one of our men, caused no small anxiety. He had incautiously undertaken the conduct of a sledge and dogs, in company with a person, going to Swampy River for fish. On their return, being unaccustomed to driving, he became fatigued, and seated himself on his sledge, where his companion left him, presuming that he would soon rise and hasten to follow his track. He however returned safe in the morning, and reported that, foreseeing night would set in before he could get across the lake, he prudently retired into the woods before dark, where he remained until day-light; when the men, who had been despatched to look for him, met him returning to the house, shivering with cold, he having been unprovided with the materials for lighting a fire; which an experienced voyager never neglects to carry. We had mild weather until the 20th of December. On the 13th there had been a decided thaw, that caused the Saskatchawan, which had again frozen, to re-open, and the passage across it was interrupted for two days. We now received more agreeable accounts from the Indians, who were recovering strength, and beginning to hunt a little; but it was generally feared that their spirits had been so much depressed by the loss of their children and relatives, that the season would be far advanced before they could be roused to any exertion in searching for animals beyond what might be necessary for their own support. It is much to be regretted that these poor men, during their long intercourse with Europeans, have not been taught how pernicious is the grief which produces total inactivity, and that they have not been furnished with any of the consolations which the Christian religion never fails to afford. This, however, could hardly have been expected from persons who have permitted their own offspring, the half-casts, to remain in lamentable ignorance on a subject of such vital importance. It is probable, however, that an improvement will soon take place among the latter class, as Governor Williams proposes to make the children attend a Sunday school, and has already begun to have divine service performed at his post. The conversations which I had with the gentlemen in charge of these posts, convinced me of the necessity of proceeding during the winter into the Athabasca department, the residents of which are best acquainted with the nature and resources of the country to the north of the Great Slave Lake; and whence only guides, hunters, and interpreters can be procured. I had previously written to the partners of the North-West Company in that quarter, requesting their assistance in forwarding the Expedition, and stating what we should require. But, on reflecting upon the accidents that might delay these letters on the road, I determined on proceeding to the Athabasca as soon as I possibly could, and communicated my intention to Governor Williams and Mr. Connolly, with a request that I might be furnished, by the middle of January, with the means of conveyance for three persons, intending that Mr. Back and Hepburn should accompany me, whilst Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood remained till the spring at Cumberland House. After the 20th of December the weather{13} became cold, the thermometer constantly below zero. Christmas-day was particularly stormy; but the gale did not prevent the full enjoyment of the festivities which are annually given at Cumberland House on this day. All the men who had been despatched to different parts in search of provision or furs returned to the fort on the occasion, and were regaled with a substantial dinner and a dance in the evening. 1820. Jan. 1. The new year was ushered in by repeated discharges of musketry; a ceremony which has been observed by the men of both the trading Companies for many years. Our party dined with Mr. Connolly, and were treated with a beaver, which we found extremely delicate. In the evening his voyagers were entertained with a dance, in which the Canadians exhibited some grace and much agility; and they contrived to infuse some portion of their activity and spirits into the steps of their female companions. The half-breed women are passionately fond of this amusement, but a stranger would imagine the contrary on witnessing their apparent want of animation. On such occasions they affect a sobriety of demeanour which I understand to be very opposite to their general character. _January 10_.--This day I wrote to Governor Williams and Mr. Connolly, requesting them to prepare two canoes, with crews and appointments, for the conveyance of Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, with our stores to Chipewyan as soon as the navigation should open and had the satisfaction of receiving from both these gentlemen renewed assurances of their desire to promote the objects of the Expedition. I conceived it to be necessary, previous to my departure, to make some arrangement respecting the men who were engaged at Stromness. Only one of them was disposed to extend his engagement, and proceed beyond the Athabasca Lake; and, as there was much uncertainty whether the remaining three could get from the Athabasca to York Factory sufficiently early to secure them a passage in the next Hudson's Bay ship, I resolved not to take them forward, unless Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood should fail in procuring other men from these establishments next spring, but to despatch them down to York to bring up our stores to this place: after which they might return to the coast in time to secure their passage in the first ship. I delivered to Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood a memorandum, containing the arrangements which had been made with the two Companies, respecting their being forwarded in the spring, and some other points of instruction for their guidance in my absence; together with directions to forward the map of our route which had been finished, since our arrival, by Mr. Hood, the drawings and the collections of natural history, by the first opportunity to York Factory, for conveyance to England[3]. [3] As Samuel Wilks, who had accompanied the Expedition from England, proved to be quite unequal to the fatigue of the journey, I directed him to be discharged in the spring, and sent to England by the next ship. The houses of the two Companies, at this post are situated close to each other, at the upper extremity of a narrow island, which separates Pine Island Lake from the Saskatchawan River, and are about two miles and three quarters from the latter in a northern direction. They are log-houses, built without much regard to comfort, surrounded by lofty stockades, and flanked with wooden bastions. The difficulty of conveying glass into the interior has precluded its use in the windows, where its place is poorly supplied by parchment, imperfectly made by the native women from the skin of the rein-deer. Should this post, however, continue to be the residence of Governor Williams, it will be much improved in a few years, as he is devoting his attention to that point. The land around Cumberland House is low, but the soil, from having a considerable intermixture of limestone, is good, and capable of producing abundance of corn, and vegetables of every description. Many kinds of pot-herbs have already been brought to some perfection, and the potatoes bid fair to equal those of England. The spontaneous productions of nature would afford ample nourishment for all the European animals. Horses feed extremely well even during the winter, and so would oxen if provided with hay, which might be easily done[4]. Pigs also improve, but require to be kept warm in the winter. Hence it appears, that the residents might easily render themselves far less dependent{14} on the Indians for support, and be relieved from the great anxiety which they too often suffer when the hunters are unsuccessful. The neighbourhood of the houses has been much cleared of wood, from the great demand for fuel; there is, therefore, little to admire in the surrounding scenery, especially in its winter garb; few animated objects occur to enliven the scene; an occasional fox, marten, rabbit, or wolf, and a few birds, contribute the only variety. The birds which remained were ravens, magpies, partridges, cross bills, and woodpeckers. In this universal stillness, the residents at a post feel little disposed to wander abroad, except when called forth by their occupations; and as ours were of a kind best performed in a warm room, we imperceptibly acquired a sedentary habit. In going out, however, we never suffered the slightest inconvenience from the change of temperature, though the thermometer, in the open air, stood occasionally thirty degrees below zero. [4] "The wild buffalo scrapes away the snow with its feet to get at the herbage beneath, and the horse, which was introduced by the Spanish invaders of Mexico, and may be said to have become naturalized, does the same; but it is worthy of remark, that the ox more lately brought from Europe, has not yet acquired an art so necessary for procuring its food."--(Extract from Dr. Richardson's Journal.) The tribe of Indians, who reside in the vicinity, and frequent these establishments, is that of the Crees, or Knisteneaux. They were formerly a powerful and numerous nation, which ranged over a very extensive country, and were very successful in their predatory excursions against their neighbours, particularly the northern Indians, and some tribes on the Saskatchawan and Beaver Rivers; but they have long ceased to be held in any fear, and are now perhaps, the most harmless and inoffensive of the whole Indian race. This change is entirely to be attributed to their intercourse with Europeans; and the vast reduction in their numbers occasioned, I fear, principally, by the injudicious introduction of ardent spirits. They are so passionately fond of this poison, that they will make any sacrifice to obtain it. They are good hunters, and in general active. Having laid the bow and arrow altogether aside, and the use of snares, except for rabbits and partridges, they depend entirely on the Europeans for the means of gaining subsistence, as they require guns, and a constant supply of powder and shot; so that these Indians are probably more completely under the power of the trader than any of the other tribes. As I only saw a few straggling parties of them during short intervals, and under unfavourable circumstances of sickness and famine, I am unable to give, from personal observation, any detail of their manners and customs; and must refer the reader, to Dr. Richardson's account of them, in the following chapter. That gentleman, during his longer residence at the post, had many opportunities of seeing them, and acquiring their language. _January 17_.--This morning the sporting part of our society had rather a novel diversion: intelligence having been brought that a wolf had borne away a steel trap, in which he had been caught, a party went in search of the marauder, and took two English bull dogs and a terrier, which had been brought into the country this season. On the first sight of the animal the dogs became alarmed, and stood barking at a distance, and probably would not have ventured to advance, had they not seen the wolf fall by a shot from one of the gentlemen; they then, however, went up, and behaved courageously, and were enraged by the bites they received. The wolf soon died of its wounds, and the body was brought to the house, where a drawing of it was taken by Mr. Hood, and the skin preserved by Dr. Richardson. Its general features bore a strong resemblance to many of the dogs about the fort, but it was larger and had a more ferocious aspect. Mr. Back and I were too much occupied in preparing for our departure on the following day to join this excursion. The position of Cumberland House, by our observations, is, latitude 53° 56' 40" N.; longitude 102° 16' 41" W., by the chronometers; variations 17° 17' 29" E.; dip of the needle, 83° 12' 50". The whole of the travelling distance between York Factory and Cumberland House is about six hundred and ninety miles. CHAPTER III. Dr. Richardson's Residence at Cumberland House--His Account of the Cree Indians. 1820. January 19. From the departure of Messrs. Franklin and Back, on the 19th of January, for Chipewyan, until the opening of the navigation in the spring, the occurrences connected with the Expedition were so much in the ordinary routine of a winter's residence at Fort Cumberland, that they may be, perhaps, appropriately blended with the following general but brief account of that district and its inhabitants. Cumberland House was originally built by Hearne, a year or two after his return from the Copper-Mine{15} River, and has ever since been considered by the Hudson's Bay Company as a post of considerable importance. Previous to that time, the natives carried their furs down to the shores of Hudson's Bay, or disposed of them nearer home to the French Canadian traders, who visited this part of the country as early as the year 1697. The Cumberland House district, extending about one hundred and fifty miles from east to west along the banks of the Saskatchawan, and about as far from north to south, comprehends, on a rough calculation, upwards of twenty thousand square miles, and is frequented at present by about one hundred and twenty Indian hunters. Of these a few have several wives, but the majority only one; and, as some are unmarried, we shall not err greatly in considering the number of married women as only slightly exceeding that of the hunters. The women marry very young, have a custom of suckling their children for several years, and are besides exposed constantly to fatigue and often to famine; hence they are not prolific, bearing upon an average not more than four children, of whom two may attain the age of puberty. Upon these data, the amount of each family may be stated at five, and the whole Indian population in the district at five hundred. This is but a small population for such an extent of country, yet their mode of life occasionally subjects them to great privations. The winter of our residence at Cumberland House proved extremely severe to the Indians. The hooping-cough made its appearance amongst them in the autumn, and was followed by the measles, which in the course of the winter spread through the tribe. Many died, and most of the survivors were so enfeebled as to be unable to pursue the necessary avocations of hunting and fishing. Even those who experienced only a slight attack, or escaped the sickness altogether, dispirited by the scenes of misery which environed them, were rendered incapable of affording relief to their distressed relations, and spent their time in conjuring and drumming to avert the pestilence. Those who were able came to the fort and received relief, but many who had retired with their families to distant corners, to pursue their winter hunts, experienced all the horrors of famine. One evening, early in the month of January, a poor Indian entered the North-West Company's House, carrying his only child in his arms, and followed by his starving wife. They had been hunting apart from the other bands, had been unsuccessful, and whilst in want were seized with the epidemical disease. An Indian is accustomed to starve, and it is not easy to elicit from him an account of his sufferings. This poor man's story was very brief; as soon as the fever abated, he set out with his wife for Cumberland House, having been previously reduced to feed on the bits of skin and offal, which remained about their encampment. Even this miserable fare was exhausted, and they walked several days without eating, yet exerting themselves far beyond their strength that they might save the life of the infant. It died almost within sight of the house. Mr. Connolly, who was then in charge of the post, received them with the utmost humanity, and instantly placed food before them; but no language can describe the manner in which the miserable father dashed the morsel from his lips and deplored the loss of his child. Misery may harden a disposition naturally bad, but it never fails to soften the heart of a good man. The _origin_ of the Crees, to which nation the Cumberland House Indians belong, is, like that of the other Aborigines of America, involved in obscurity; but the researches now making into the nature and affinities of the languages spoken by the different Indian tribes, may eventually throw some light on the subject. Indeed, the American philologists seem to have succeeded already in classing the known dialects into three languages:--1st. The Floridean, spoken by the Creeks, Chickesaws, Choctaws, Cherokees, Pascagoulas, and some other tribes, who inhabit the southern parts of the United States. 2d. The Iroquois, spoken by the Mengwe, or Six Nations, the Wyandots, the Nadowessies, and Asseeneepoytuck. 3d. The Lenni-lenapè, spoken by a great family more widely spread than the other two, and from which, together with a vast number of other tribes, are sprung our Crees. Mr. Heckewelder, a missionary, who resided long amongst these people, and from whose paper, (published in the _Transactions of the American Philosophical Society_,) the above classification is taken, states that the Lenapè have a tradition amongst them, of their ancestors having come from the westward, and taken possession of the whole country from the Missouri to the Atlantic, after driving away or destroying the original inhabitants of the land, whom they termed Alligewi. In this migration and contest, which endured for a series of years, the Mengwe, or Iroquois, kept pace with them, moving in a parallel but more northerly line, and finally settling on the banks of the St. Lawrence, and the great lakes from whence it flows. The Lenapè, being more numerous, peopled not only the greater part of the country at present occupied by the United States, but also sent detachments to the northward as far as the banks of the River Mississippi{16} and the shores of Hudson's Bay. The principal of their northern tribes are now known under the names of Saulteurs or Chippeways, and Crees; the former inhabiting the country betwixt Lakes Winipeg and Superior, the latter frequenting the shores of Hudson's Bay, from Moose to Churchill, and the country from thence as far to the westward as the plains which lie betwixt the forks of the Saskatchawan. These Crees, formerly known by the French Canadian traders under the appellation of Knisteneaux, generally designate themselves as Eithinyoowuc (_men_), or, when they wish to discriminate themselves from the other Indian nations, as Nathehwy-withinyoowuc (_Southern-men_)[5]. [5] Much confusion has arisen from the great variety of names, applied without discrimination to the various tribes of Saulteurs and Crees. Heckewelder considers the Crees of Moose Factory to be a branch of that tribe of the Lenapè, which is named Minsi, or Wolf Tribe. He has been led to form this opinion, from the similarity of the name given to these people by Monsieur Jeremie, namely, Monsonies; but the truth is, that their real name is Mongsoa-eythinyoowuc, or Moose-deer Indians; hence the name of the factory and river on which it is built. The name Knisteneaux, Kristeneaux, or Killisteneaux, was anciently applied to a tribe of Crees, now termed Maskegons, who inhabit the river Winipeg. This small tribe still retains the peculiarities of customs and dress, for which it was remarkable many years ago, as mentioned by Mr. Henry, in the interesting account of his journeys in these countries. They are said to be great rascals. The great body of the Crees were at that time named Opimmitish Ininiwuc, or Men of the Woods. It would, however, be an endless task to attempt to determine the precise people designated by the early French writers. Every small band, naming itself from its hunting-grounds, was described as a different nation. The Chippeways who frequented the Lake of the Woods were named from a particular act of pillage--Pilliers, or Robbers: and the name Saulteurs, applied to a principal band that frequented the Sault St. Marie, has been by degrees extended to the whole tribe. It is frequently pronounced and written _Sotoos_. The original character of the Crees must have been much modified by their long intercourse with Europeans; hence it is to be understood, that we confine ourselves in the following sketch to their present condition, and more particularly to the Crees of Cumberland House. The moral character of a hunter is acted upon by the nature of the land he inhabits, the abundance or scarcity of food, and we may add, in the present case, his means of access to spirituous liquors. In a country so various in these respects as that inhabited by the Crees, the causes alluded to must operate strongly in producing a considerable difference of character amongst the various hordes. It may be proper to bear in mind also, that we are about to draw the character of a people whose only rule of conduct is public opinion, and to try them by a morality founded on divine revelation, the only standard that can be referred to by those who have been educated in a land to which the blessings of the Gospel have extended. Bearing these considerations in mind then, we may state the Crees to be a vain, fickle, improvident, and indolent race, and not very strict in their adherence to truth, being great boasters; but, on the other hand, they strictly regard the rights of property[6], are susceptible of the kinder affections, capable of friendship, very hospitable, tolerably kind to their women, and withal inclined to peace. [6] This is, perhaps, true of the Cumberland House Crees alone: many of the other tribes of Crees are stated by the traders to be thieves. Much of the faulty part of their character, no doubt, originates in their mode of life; accustomed as a hunter to depend greatly on chance for his subsistence, the Cree takes little thought of to-morrow; and the most offensive part of his behaviour--the habit of boasting--has been probably assumed as a necessary part of his armour, which operates upon the fears of his enemies. They are countenanced, however, in this failing, by the practice of the ancient Greeks, and perhaps by that of every other nation in its ruder state. Every Cree fears the medical or conjuring powers of his neighbour; but at the same time exalts his own attainments to the skies. "I am God-like," is a common expression amongst them, and they prove their divinity-ship by eating live coals, and by various tricks of a similar nature. A medicine bag is an indispensable part of a hunter's equipment. It is generally furnished with a little bit of indigo, blue vitriol, vermilion, or some other showy article; and is, when in the hands of a noted conjurer, such an object of terror to the rest of the tribe, that its possessor is enabled to fatten at his ease upon the labours of his deluded countrymen. A fellow of this description came to Cumberland House in the winter of 1819. Notwithstanding the then miserable state of the Indians, the rapacity of this wretch had been preying upon their necessities, and a poor hunter was actually at the moment pining away under the influence of his threats. The mighty conjurer, immediately on his arrival at the House, began to trumpet forth his powers, boasting, among other things, that although his hands and feet were tied as securely as possible, yet when placed in a conjuring-house, he would speedily disengage himself by the aid of two or three familiar spirits, who were attendant on his call. He was instantly taken at his word; and that his exertions might not be without an aim, a _capot_ or great coat was promised as the reward of his success. A conjuring-house having been erected in the usual form, that is, by sticking four willows in the ground and tying their tops to a hoop at the height of six or eight feet, he was fettered completely by winding several fathoms of rope round his body and extremities, and placed in its narrow apartment, not exceeding two feet in diameter. A moose-skin being then thrown over the frame, secluded him from our view. He forthwith began to chant a kind of hymn in a very monotonous tone. The rest of the Indians, who seemed in some doubt respecting the powers of a devil when put in competition with those of a white man, ranged themselves around and watched the result with anxiety. Nothing remarkable occurred for a long time. The conjurer continued his song at intervals, and it was occasionally taken up by those without. In this manner an hour and a half elapsed; but at length our attention, which had begun to flag, was roused by the violent shaking of the conjuring-house. It was instantly whispered round the circle, that at least one devil had crept under the moose-skin. But it proved to be only the "God-like man" trembling with cold. He had entered the lists, stript to the skin, and the thermometer stood very low that evening. His attempts were continued, however, with considerable resolution for half an hour longer, when he reluctantly gave in. He had found no difficulty in slipping through the noose when it was formed by his countrymen; but, in the present instance, the knot was tied by Governor Williams, who is an expert sailor. After this unsuccessful exhibition his credit sunk amazingly, and he took the earliest opportunity of sneaking away from the fort. About two years ago a conjurer paid more dearly for his temerity. In a quarrel with an Indian he threw out some obscure threats of vengeance which passed unnoticed at the time, but were afterwards remembered. They met in the spring at Carlton House, after passing the winter in different parts of the country, during which the Indian's child died. The conjurer had the folly to boast that he had caused its death, and the enraged father shot him dead on the spot. It may be remarked, however, that both these Indians were inhabitants of the plains, and had been taught, by their intercourse with the turbulent Stone Indians, to set but comparatively little value on the life of a man. It might be thought that the Crees have benefited by their long intercourse with civilized nations. That this is not so much the case as it ought to be, is not entirely their own fault. They are capable of being, and I believe willing to be, taught; but no pains have hitherto been taken to inform their minds[7], and their white acquaintances seem in general to find it easier to descend to the Indian customs, and modes of thinking, particularly with respect to women, than to attempt to raise the Indians to theirs. Indeed such a lamentable want of morality has been displayed by the white traders in their contests for the interests of their respective companies, that it would require a long series of good conduct to efface from the minds of the native population the ideas they have formed of the white character. Notwithstanding the frequent violations of the rights of property they have witnessed, and but too often experienced, in their own persons, these savages, as they are termed, remain strictly honest. During their visits to a post, they are suffered to enter every apartment in the house, without the least restraint, and although articles of value to them are scattered about, nothing is ever missed. They scrupulously avoid moving any thing from its place, although they are often prompted by curiosity to examine it. In some cases, indeed, they carry this principle to a degree of self-denial which would hardly be expected. It often happens that meat, which has been paid for, (if the poisonous draught it procures them can be considered as payment,) is left at their lodges until a convenient opportunity occurs of carrying it away. They will rather pass several days without eating than touch the meat thus intrusted to their charge, even when there exists a prospect of replacing it. [7] Since these remarks were written the union of the rival companies has enabled the gentlemen, who have now the management of the fur trade, to take some decided steps for the religious instruction and improvement of the natives and half-breed Indians, which have been more particularly referred to in the introduction. The hospitality of the Crees is unbounded. They afford a certain asylum to the half-breed children when deserted by their unnatural white fathers; and the infirm, and indeed every individual in an encampment, share the provisions of a successful hunter as long as they last. Fond too as a Cree is of spirituous liquors, he is not happy unless all his neighbours partake with him. It is not easy, however, to say what share ostentation may have in the apparent munificence in the latter article; for when an Indian, by a good hunt, is enabled to treat the others with a keg of rum, he becomes the chief of a night, assumes no little stateliness of manner, and is treated with deference by those who regale at his expense. Prompted also by the desire of gaining a _name_, they lavish away the articles they purchase at the trading posts, and are well satisfied if repaid in praise. Gaming is not uncommon amongst the Crees of all the different districts, but it is pursued to greater lengths by those bands who frequent the plains, and who, from the ease with which they obtain food, have abundant leisure. The game most in use amongst them, termed _puckesann_, is played with the stones of a species of _prunus_ which, from this circumstance, they term _puckesann-meena_. The difficulty lies in guessing the number of stones which are tossed out of a small wooden dish, and the hunters will spend whole nights at the destructive sport, staking their most valuable articles, powder and shot. It has been remarked by some writers that the aboriginal inhabitants of America are deficient in passion for the fair sex. This is by no means the case with the Crees; on the contrary, their practice of seducing each other's wives, proves the most fertile source of their quarrels. When the guilty pair are detected, the woman generally receives a severe beating, but the husband is, for the most part, afraid to reproach the male culprit until they get drunk together at the fort; then the remembrance of the offence is revived, a struggle ensues, and the affair is terminated by the loss of a few handfuls of hair. Some husbands, however, feel more deeply the injury done to their honour, and seek revenge even in their sober moments. In such cases it is not uncommon for the offended party to walk with great gravity up to the other, and deliberately seizing his gun, or some other article of value to break it before his face. The adulterer looks on in silence, afraid to make any attempt to save his property. In this respect, indeed, the Indian character seems to differ from the European, that an Indian, instead of letting his anger increase with that of his antagonist, assumes the utmost coolness, lest he should push him to extremities. Although adultery is sometimes punished amongst the Crees in the manner above described, yet it is no crime, provided the husband receives a valuable consideration for his wife's prostitution. Neither is chastity considered as a virtue in a female before marriage, that is, before she becomes the exclusive property of one hunter. The Cree women are not in general treated harshly by their husbands, and possess considerable influence over them. They often eat, and even get drunk, in consort with the men; a considerable portion of the labour, however, falls to the lot of the wife. She makes the hut, cooks, dresses the skins, and for the most part, carries the heaviest load: but, when she is unable to perform her task, the husband does not consider it beneath his dignity to assist her. In illustration of this remark, I may quote the case of an Indian who visited the fort in winter. This poor man's wife had lost her feet by the frost, and he was compelled, not only to hunt, and do all the menial offices himself, but in winter to drag his wife with their stock of furniture from one encampment to another. In the performance of this duty, as he could not keep pace with the rest of the tribe in their movements, he more than once nearly perished of hunger. These Indians, however, capable as they are of behaving thus kindly, affect in their discourse to despise the softer sex, and on solemn occasions, will not suffer them to eat before them, or even come into their presence. In this they are countenanced by the white residents, most of whom have Indian or half-breed wives, but seem afraid of treating them with the tenderness or attention due to every female, lest they should themselves be despised by the Indians. At least, this is the only reason they assign for their neglect of those whom they make partners of their beds and mothers of their children. Both sexes are fond of, and excessively indulgent to, their children. The father never punishes them, and if the mother, more hasty in her temper, sometimes bestows a blow or two on a troublesome child, her heart is instantly softened by the roar which follows, and she mingles her tears with those that streak the smoky face of her darling. It may be fairly said, then, that restraint or punishment forms no part of the education of an Indian child, nor are they early trained to that command over their temper which they exhibit in after years. The discourse of the parents is never restrained by the presence of their children, every transaction between the sexes being openly talked of before them. The Crees having early obtained arms from the European traders, were enabled to make harassing inroads on the lands of their neighbours, and are known to have made war excursions as far to the westward as the Rocky Mountains, and to the northward as far as Mackenzie's{17} River; but their enemies being now as well armed as themselves, the case is much altered. They shew great fortitude in the endurance of hunger, and the other evils incident to a hunter's life; but any unusual accident dispirits them at once, and they seldom venture to meet their enemies in open warfare, or to attack them even by surprise, unless with the advantage of superiority of numbers. Perhaps they are much deteriorated in this respect by their intercourse with Europeans. Their existence at present hangs upon the supplies of ammunition and clothing they receive from the traders, and they deeply feel their dependent{18} situation. But their character has been still more debased by the passion for spirituous liquors, so assiduously fostered among them. To obtain the noxious beverage, they descend to the most humiliating entreaties, and assume an abjectness of behaviour which does not seem natural to them, and of which not a vestige is to be seen in their intercourse with each other. Their character has sunk among the neighbouring nations. They are no longer the warriors who drove before them the inhabitants of the Saskatchawan, and Missinippi. The Cumberland House Crees, in particular, have been long disused to war. Betwixt them and their ancient enemies, the Slave nations, lie the extensive plains of Saskatchawan, inhabited by the powerful Asseeneepoytuck, or Stone Indians, who having whilst yet a small tribe, entered the country under the patronage of the Crees, now render back the protection they received. The manners and customs of the Crees have, probably since their acquaintance with Europeans, undergone a change, at least, equal to that which has taken place in their moral character; and, although we heard of many practices peculiar to them, yet they appeared to be nearly as much honoured in the breach as the observance. We shall however briefly notice a few of the most remarkable customs. When a hunter marries his first wife, he usually takes up his abode in the tent of his father-in-law, and of course hunts for the family; but when he becomes a father, the families are at liberty to separate, or remain together, as their inclinations prompt them. His second wife is for the most part the sister of the first, but not necessarily so, for an Indian of another family often presses his daughter upon a hunter whom he knows to be capable of maintaining her well. The first wife always remains the mistress of the tent, and assumes an authority over the others, which is not in every case quietly submitted to. It may be remarked, that whilst an Indian resides with his wife's family, it is extremely improper for his mother-in-law to speak, or even look at him; and when she has a communication to make, it is the etiquette that she should turn her back upon him, and address him only through the medium of a third person. This singular custom is not very creditable to the Indians, if it really had its origin in the cause which they at present assign for it, namely, that a woman's speaking to her son-in-law is a sure indication of her having conceived a criminal affection for him. It appears also to have been an ancient practice for an Indian to avoid eating or sitting down in the presence of the father-in-law. We received no account of the origin of this custom, and it is now almost obsolete amongst the Cumberland House Crees, though still partially observed by those who frequent Carlton. Tattooing is almost universal with the Crees. The women are in general content with having one or two lines drawn from the corners of the mouth towards the angles of the lower jaw; but some of the men have their bodies covered with a great variety of lines and figures. It seems to be considered by most rather as a proof of courage than an ornament, the operation being very painful, and, if the figures are numerous and intricate, lasting several days. The lines on the face are formed by dexterously running an awl under the cuticle, and then drawing a cord, dipt in charcoal and water, through the canal thus formed. The punctures on the body are formed by needles of various sizes set in a frame. A number of hawk bells attached to this frame serve by their noise to cover the suppressed groans of the sufferer, and, probably for the same reason, the process is accompanied with singing. An indelible stain is produced by rubbing a little finely-powdered willow-charcoal into the punctures. A half-breed, whose arm I amputated, declared, that tattooing was not only the most painful operation of the two, but rendered infinitely more difficult to bear by its tediousness, having lasted in his case three days. A Cree woman, at certain periods, is laid under considerable restraint. They are far, however, from carrying matters to the extremities mentioned by Hearne in his description of the Chipewyans, or Northern Indians. She lives apart from her husband also for two months if she has borne a boy, and for three if she has given birth to a girl. Many of the Cree hunters are careful to prevent a woman from partaking of the head of a moose-deer, lest it should spoil their future hunts; and for the same reason they avoid bringing it to a fort, fearing lest the white people should give the bones to the dogs. The games or sports of the Crees are various. One termed the game of the mitten, is played with four balls, three of which are plain, and one marked. These being hid under as many mittens, the opposite party is required to fix on that which is marked. He gives or receives a feather according as he guesses right or wrong. When the feathers which are ten in number, have all passed into one hand, a new division is made; but when one of the parties obtains possession of them thrice, he seizes on the stakes. The game of Platter is more intricate, and is played with the claws of a bear, or some other animal, marked with various lines and characters. These dice, which are eight in number, and cut flat at their large end, are shook together in a wooden dish, tossed into the air and caught again. The lines traced on such claws as happen to alight on the platter in an erect position, indicate what number of counters the caster is to receive from his opponent. They have, however, a much more manly amusement termed the _Cross_, although they do not engage even in it without depositing considerable stakes. An extensive meadow is chosen for this sport, and the articles staked are tied to a post, or deposited in the custody of two old men. The combatants being stript and painted, and each provided with a kind of battledore or racket, in shape resembling the letter P, with a handle about two feet long and a head loosely wrought with net-work, so as to form a shallow bag, range themselves on different sides. A ball being now tossed up in the middle, each party endeavours to drive it to their respective goals, and much dexterity and agility is displayed in the contest. When a nimble runner gets the ball in his cross, he sets off towards the goal with the utmost speed, and is followed by the rest, who endeavour to jostle him and shake it out; but, if hard pressed, he discharges it with a jerk, to be forwarded by his own party, or bandied back by their opponents, until the victory is decided by its passing the goal. Of the religious opinions of the Crees, it is difficult to give a correct account, not only because they shew a disinclination to enter upon the subject, but because their ancient traditions are mingled with the information they have more recently obtained, by their intercourse with Europeans. None of them ventured to describe the original formation of the world, but they all spoke of an universal deluge, caused by an attempt of the fish to drown Woesack-ootchacht, a kind of demigod, with whom they had quarrelled. Having constructed a raft, he embarked with his family and all kinds of birds and beasts. After the flood had continued for some time, he ordered several water-fowl to dive to the bottom; they were all drowned: but a musk-rat having been despatched on the same errand, was more successful, and returned with a mouthful of mud, out of which Woesack-ootchacht, imitating the mode in which the rats construct their houses, formed a new earth. First, a small conical hill of mud appeared above the water; by-and-by its base gradually spreading out, it became an extensive bank, which the rays of the sun at length hardened into firm land. Notwithstanding the power that Woesack-ootchacht here displayed, his person is held in very little reverence by the Indians; and, in return, he seizes every opportunity of tormenting them. His conduct is far from being moral, and his amours, and the disguises he assumes in the prosecution of them, are more various and extraordinary than those of the Grecian Jupiter himself; but as his adventures are more remarkable for their eccentricity than their delicacy, it is better to pass them over in silence. Before we quit him, however, we may remark, that he converses with all kinds of birds and beasts in their own languages, constantly addressing them by the title of brother, but through an inherent suspicion of his intentions, they are seldom willing to admit of his claims of relationship. The Indians make no sacrifices to him, not even to avert his wrath. They pay a kind of worship, however, and make offerings to a being, whom they term _Kepoochikawn_. This deity is represented sometimes by rude images of the human figure, but more commonly merely by tying the tops of a few willow bushes together; and the offerings to him consist of every thing that is valuable to an Indian; yet they treat him with considerable familiarity, interlarding their most solemn speeches with expostulations and threats of neglect, if he fails in complying with their requests. As most of their petitions are for plenty of food, they do not trust entirely to the favour of Kepoochikawn, but endeavour, at the same time, to propitiate the _animal_, an imaginary representative of the whole race of larger quadrupeds that are objects of the chase. In the month of May, whilst I was at Carlton House, the Cree hunter engaged to attend that post, resolved upon dedicating several articles to Kepoochikawn, and as I had made some inquiries of him respecting their modes of worship, he gave me an invitation to be present. The ceremony took place in a sweating-house, or as it may be designated from its more important use, a _temple_, which was erected for the occasion by the worshipper's two wives. It was framed of arched willows, interlaced so as to form a vault capable of containing ten or twelve men, ranged closely side by side, and high enough to admit of their sitting erect. It was very similar in shape to an oven or the kraal of a Hottentot, and was closely covered with moose skins, except at the east end, which was left open for a door. Near the centre of the building there was a hole in the ground, which contained ten or twelve red-hot stones, having a few leaves of the _taccokay-menan_, a species of _prunus_, strewed around them. When the women had completed the preparations, the hunter made his appearance, perfectly naked, carrying in his hand an image of Kepoochikawn, rudely carved, and about two feet long. He placed his god at the upper end of the sweating-house, with his face towards the door, and proceeded to tie round its neck his offerings, consisting of a cotton handkerchief, a looking-glass, a tin pan, a piece of riband, and a bit of tobacco, which he had procured the same day, at the expense of fifteen or twenty skins. Whilst he was thus occupied, several other Crees, who were encamped in the neighbourhood, having been informed of what was going on, arrived, and stripping at the door of the temple, entered, and ranged themselves on each side; the hunter himself squatted down at the right hand of Kepoochikawn. The atmosphere of the temple having become so hot that none but zealous worshippers would venture in, the interpreter and myself sat down on the threshold, and the two women remained on the outside as attendants. The hunter, who throughout officiated as high priest, commenced by making a speech to Kepoochikawn, in which he requested him to be propitious, told him of the value of the things now presented, and cautioned him against ingratitude. This oration was delivered in a monotonous tone, and with great rapidity of utterance, and the speaker retained his squatting posture, but turned his face to his god. At its conclusion, the priest began a hymn, of which the burthen was, "I will walk with God, I will go with the animal;" and, at the end of each stanza, the rest joined in an insignificant chorus. He next took up a calumet, filled with a mixture of tobacco and bear-berry leaves, and holding its stem by the middle, in a horizontal position, over the hot stones, turned it slowly in a circular manner, following the course of the sun. Its mouth-piece being then with much formality, held for a few seconds to the face of Kepoochikawn, it was next presented to the earth, having been previously turned a second time over the hot stones; and afterwards, with equal ceremony, pointed in succession to the four quarters of the sky; then drawing a few whiffs from the calumet himself, he handed it to his left-hand neighbour, by whom it was gravely passed round the circle; the interpreter and myself, who were seated at the door, were asked to partake in our turn, but requested to keep the head of the calumet within the threshold of the sweating-house. When the tobacco was exhausted by passing several times round, the hunter made another speech, similar to the former; but was, if possible, still more urgent in his requests. A second hymn followed, and a quantity of water being sprinkled on the hot stones, the attendants were ordered to close the temple, which they did, by very carefully covering it up with moose skins. We had no means of ascertaining the temperature of the sweating-house; but before it was closed, not only those within, but also the spectators without, were perspiring freely. They continued in the vapour bath for thirty-five minutes, during which time a third speech was made, and a hymn was sung, and water occasionally sprinkled on the stones, which still retained much heat, as was evident from the hissing noise they made. The coverings were then thrown off, and the poor half-stewed worshippers exposed freely to the air; but they kept their squatting postures until a fourth speech was made, in which the deity was strongly reminded of the value of the gifts, and exhorted to take an early opportunity of shewing his gratitude. The ceremony concluded by the sweaters scampering down to the river, and plunging into the stream. It may be remarked, that the door of the temple, and, of course, the face of the god, was turned to the rising sun; and the spectators were desired not to block up entirely the front of the building, but to leave a lane for the entrance or exit of some influence of which they could not give me a correct description. Several Indians, who lay on the outside of the sweating-house as spectators, seemed to regard the proceedings with very little awe, and were extremely free in the remarks and jokes they passed upon the condition of the sweaters, and even of Kepoochikawn himself. One of them made a remark, that the shawl would have been much better bestowed upon himself than upon Kepoochikawn, but the same fellow afterwards stripped and joined in the ceremony. I did not learn that the Indians worship any other god by a specific name. They often refer, however, to the Keetchee-Maneeto, or Great Master of Life; and to an evil spirit, or Maatche-Maneeto. They also speak of Weettako, a kind of vampyre or devil, into which those who have fed on human flesh are transformed. Whilst at Carlton, I took an opportunity of asking a communicative old Indian, of the Blackfoot nation, his opinion of a future state; he replied, that they had heard from their fathers, that the souls of the departed have to scramble with great labour up the sides of a steep mountain, upon attaining the summit of which they are rewarded with the prospect of an extensive plain, abounding in all sorts of game, and interspersed here and there with new tents, pitched in agreeable{19} situations. Whilst they are absorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene, they are descried by the inhabitants of the happy land, who, clothed in new skin-dresses, approach and welcome with every demonstration of kindness those Indians who have led good lives; but the bad Indians, who have imbrued their hands in the blood of their countrymen, are told to return from whence they came, and without more ceremony precipitated down the steep sides of the mountain. Women, who have been guilty of infanticide, never reach the mountain at all, but are compelled to hover round the seats of their crimes, with branches of trees tied to their legs. The melancholy sounds, which are heard in the still summer evenings, and which the ignorance of the white people considers as the screams of the goat-sucker, are really, according to my informant, the moanings of these unhappy beings. The Crees have somewhat similar notions, but as they inhabit a country widely different from the mountainous lands of the Blackfoot Indians, the difficulty of their journey lies in walking along a slender and slippery tree, laid as a bridge across a rapid stream of stinking and muddy water. The night owl is regarded by the Crees with the same dread that it has been viewed by other nations. One small species, which is, known to them by its melancholy nocturnal hootings, (for as it never appears in the day, few even of the hunters have ever seen it,) is particularly ominous. They call it the _cheepai-peethees_, or death bird, and never fail to whistle when they hear its note. If it does not reply to the whistle by its hootings, the speedy death of the inquirer is augured. When a Cree dies, that part of his property which he has not given away before his death, is burned with him, and his relations take care to place near the grave little heaps of fire-wood, food, pieces of tobacco, and such things as he is likely to need in his journey. Similar offerings are made when they revisit the grave, and as kettles, and other articles of value, are sometimes offered, they are frequently carried off by passengers, yet the relations are not displeased, provided sufficient respect has been shewn to the dead, by putting some other article, although of inferior value, in the place of that which has been taken away. The Crees are wont to celebrate the returns of the seasons by religious festivals, but we are unable to describe the ceremonial in use on these joyous occasions from personal observation. The following brief notice of a feast, which was given by an old Cree chief, according to his annual custom, on the first croaking of the frogs, is drawn up from the information of one of the guests. A large oblong tent, or lodge, was prepared for the important occasion, by the men of the party, none of the women being suffered to interfere. It faced the setting sun, and great care was taken that every thing about it should be as neat and clean as possible. Three fire-places were raised within it, at equal distances, and little holes were dug in the corners to contain the ashes of their pipes. In a recess, at its upper end, one large image of Kepoochikawn, and many smaller ones, were ranged with their faces towards the door. The food was prepared by the chief's wife, and consisted of _marrow_ pemmican, berries boiled with fat, and various other delicacies that had been preserved for the occasion. The preparations being completed, and a slave, whom the chief had taken in war, having warned the guests to the feast by the mysterious word _peenasheway_, they came, dressed out in their best garments, and ranged themselves according to their seniority, the elders seating themselves next the chief at the upper end, and the young men near the door. The chief commenced by addressing his deities in an appropriate speech, in which he told them, that he had hastened as soon as summer was indicated by the croaking of the frogs to solicit their favour for himself and his young men, and hoped that they would send him a pleasant and plentiful season. His oration was concluded by an invocation to all the animals in the land, and a signal being given to the slave at the door, he invited them severally by their names to come and partake of the feast. The Cree chief having by this very general invitation displayed his unbounded hospitality, next ordered one of the young men to distribute a mess to each of the guests. This was done in new dishes of birch bark, and the utmost diligence was displayed in emptying them, it being considered extremely improper in a man to leave any part of that which is placed before him on such occasions. It is not inconsistent with good manners, however, but rather considered as a piece of politeness, that a guest who has been too liberally supplied, should hand the surplus to his neighbour. When the viands had disappeared, each filled his calumet and began to smoke with great assiduity, and in the course of the evening several songs were sung to the responsive sounds of the drum, and seeseequay, their usual accompaniments. The Cree drum is double-headed, but possessing very little depth, it strongly resembles a tambourine in shape. Its want of depth is compensated, however, by its diameter, which frequently exceeds three feet. It is covered with moose-skin parchment, painted with rude figures of men and beasts, having various fantastic additions, and is beat with a stick. The seeseequay is merely a rattle, formed by enclosing a few grains of shot in a piece of dried hide. These two instruments are used in all their religious ceremonies, except those which take place in a sweating-house. A Cree places great reliance on his drum, and I cannot adduce a stronger instance than that of the poor man who is mentioned in a preceding page, as having lost his only child by famine, almost within sight of the fort. Notwithstanding his exhausted state, he travelled with an enormous drum tied to his back. Many of the Crees make vows to abstain from particular kinds of food, either for a specific time, or for the remainder of their life, esteeming such abstinence to be a certain means of acquiring some supernatural powers, or at least of entailing upon themselves a succession of good fortune. One of the wives of the Carlton hunter, of whom we have already spoken as the worshipper of Kepoochikawn, made a determination not to eat of the flesh of the Wawaskeesh, or American stag; but during our abode at that place, she was induced to feed heartily upon it, through the intentional deceit of her husband, who told her that it was buffalo meat. When she had finished her meal, her husband told her of the trick, and seemed to enjoy the terror with which she contemplated the consequences of the involuntary breach of her vow. Vows of this nature are often made by a Cree before he joins a war party, and they sometimes, like the eastern bonzes, walk for a certain number of days on all fours, or impose upon themselves some other penance, equally ridiculous. By such means the Cree warrior becomes _godlike_; but unless he kills an enemy before his return, his newly-acquired powers are estimated to be productive in future of some direful consequence to himself. As we did not witness any of the Cree dances ourselves, we shall merely mention, that like the other North American nations, they are accustomed to practise that amusement on meeting with strange tribes, before going to war, and on other solemn occasions. The habitual intoxication of the Cumberland House Crees has induced such a disregard of personal appearance, that they are squalid and dirty in the extreme; hence a minute description of their clothing would be by no means interesting. We shall, therefore, only remark in a general manner that the dress of the male consists of a blanket thrown over the shoulders, a leathern shirt or jacket, and a piece of cloth tied round the middle. The women have in addition a long petticoat; and both sexes wear a kind of wide hose, which reaching from the ankle to the middle of the thigh, are suspended by strings to the girdle. These hose, or as they are termed, _Indian stockings_, are commonly ornamented with beads or ribands, and from their convenience, have been universally adopted by the white residents, as an essential part of their winter clothing. Their shoes, or rather short boots, for they tie round the ankle, are made of soft dressed moose-skins, and during the winter they wrap several pieces of blanket round their feet. They are fond of European articles of dress, considering it as mean to be dressed entirely in leather, and the hunters are generally furnished annually with a _capot_ or great coat, and the women with shawls, printed calicoes, and other things very unsuitable to their mode of life, but which they wear in imitation of the wives of the traders; all these articles, however showy they may be at first, are soon reduced to a very filthy condition by the Indian custom of greasing the face and hair with soft fat or marrow, instead of washing them with water. This practice they say preserves the skin soft, and protects it from cold in the winter, and the moschetoes in summer, but it renders their presence disagreeable to the olfactory organs of an European, particularly when they are seated in a close tent and near a hot fire. The only peculiarity which we observed, in their mode of rearing children consists in the use of a sort of cradle, extremely well adapted to their mode of life. The infant is placed in the bag having its lower extremities wrapt up in soft sphagnum or bog-moss, and may be hung up in the tent, or to the branch of a tree, without the least danger of tumbling out; or in a journey suspended on the mother's back, by a band which crosses the forehead, so as to leave her hands perfectly free. It is one of the neatest articles of furniture they possess, being generally ornamented with beads, and bits of scarlet cloth, but it bears a very strong resemblance in its form to a mummy case. The sphagnum in which the child is laid, forms a soft elastic bed, which absorbs moisture very readily, and affords such a protection from the cold of a rigorous winter, that its place would be ill supplied by cloth. The mothers are careful to collect a sufficient quantity in autumn for winter use; but when through accident their stock fails, they have recourse to the soft down of the typha, or reed mace, the dust of rotten wood, or even feathers, although none of these articles are so cleanly, or so easily changed as the sphagnum. The above is a brief sketch of such parts of the manners, character and customs of the Crees, as we could collect from personal observation, or from the information of the most intelligent half-breeds we met with; and we shall merely add a few remarks on the manner in which the trade is conducted at the different inland posts of the Fur Companies. The standard of Exchange in all mercantile transactions with the natives is a beaver skin, the relative value of which, as originally established by the traders, differs considerably from the present worth of the articles it represents; but the Indians are averse to change. Three marten, eight musk-rat, or a single lynx, or wolverene skin, are equivalent to one beaver; a silver fox, white fox, or otter, are reckoned two beavers, and a black fox, or large black bear, are equal to four; a mode of reckoning which has very little connexion with the real value of these different furs in the European market. Neither has any attention been paid to the original cost of European articles, in fixing the tariff by which they are sold to the Indians. A coarse butcher's knife is one skin, a woollen blanket or a fathom of coarse cloth, eight, and a fowling-piece fifteen. The Indians receive their principal outfit of clothing and ammunition on credit in the autumn, to be repaid by their winter hunts; the amount intrusted to each of the hunters, varying with their reputations for industry and skill, from twenty to one hundred and fifty skins. The Indians are generally anxious to pay off the debt thus incurred, but their good intentions are often frustrated by the arts of the rival traders. Each of the Companies keeps men constantly employed travelling over the country during the winter, to collect the furs from the different bands of hunters as fast as they are procured. The poor Indian endeavours to behave honestly, and when he has gathered a few skins sends notice to the post from whence he procured his supplies, but if discovered in the mean time by the opposite party, he is seldom proof against the temptation to which he is exposed. However firm he may be in his denials at first, his resolutions are enfeebled by the sight of a little rum, and when he has tasted the intoxicating beverage, they vanish like smoke, and he brings forth his store of furs, which he has carefully concealed from the scrutinizing eyes of his visitors. This mode of carrying on the trade not only causes the amount of furs, collected by either of the two Companies, to depend more upon the activity of their agents, the knowledge they possess of the motions of the Indians, and the quantity of rum they carry, than upon the liberality of the credits they give, but is also productive of an increasing deterioration of the character of the Indians, and will probably, ultimately prove destructive to the fur trade itself. Indeed the evil has already, in part, recoiled upon the traders; for the Indians, long deceived, have become deceivers in their turn, and not unfrequently after having incurred a heavy debt at one post, move off to another, to play the same game. In some cases the rival posts have entered into a mutual agreement, to trade only with the Indians they have respectively fitted out; but such treaties, being seldom rigidly adhered to, prove a fertile subject for disputes, and the differences have been more than once decided by force of arms. To carry on the contest, the two Companies are obliged to employ a great many servants, whom they maintain often with much difficulty, and always at a considerable expense[8]. [8] As the contending parties have united, the evils mentioned in this and the two preceding pages, are now, in all probability, at an end. There are thirty men belonging to the Hudson's Bay Fort at Cumberland, and nearly as many women and children. The inhabitants of the North West Company's House are still more numerous. These large families are fed during the greatest part of the year on fish, which are principally procured at Beaver Lake, about fifty miles distant. The fishery commencing with the first frosts in autumn, continues abundant, till January, and the produce is dragged over the snow on sledges, each drawn by three dogs, and carrying about two hundred and fifty pounds. The journey to and from the lake occupies five days, and every sledge requires a driver. About three thousand fish, averaging three pounds a piece, were caught by the Hudson's Bay fishermen last season; in addition to which a few sturgeon were occasionally caught in Pine Island Lake; and towards the spring a considerable quantity of moose meat was procured from the Basquiau Hill, sixty or seventy miles distant. The rest of our winter's provision consisted of geese, salted in the autumn, and of dried meats and pemmican, obtained from the provision posts on the plains of the Saskatchawan. A good many potatoes are also raised at this post, and a small supply of tea and sugar is brought from the depôt at York Factory. The provisions obtained from these various sources were amply sufficient in the winter of 1819-20; but through improvidence this post has in former seasons been reduced to great straits. Many of the labourers, and a great majority of the agents and clerks employed by the two Companies, have Indian or half-breed wives, and the mixed offspring thus produced has become extremely numerous. These métifs, or as the Canadians term them, _bois brulés_, are upon the whole a good looking people, and where the experiment has been made, have shewn much aptness in learning, and willingness to be taught; they have, however, been sadly neglected. The example of their fathers has released them from the restraint imposed by the Indian opinions of good and bad behaviour; and generally speaking, no pains have been taken to fill the void with better principles. Hence it is not surprising that the males, trained up in a high opinion of the authority and rights of the Company to which their fathers belonged, and unacquainted with the laws of the civilized world, should be ready to engage in any measure whatever, that they are prompted to believe will forward the interests of the cause they espouse. Nor that the girls, taught a certain degree of refinement by the acquisition of an European language, should be inflamed by the unrestrained discourse of their Indian relations, and very early give up all pretensions to chastity. It is, however, but justice to remark, that there is a very decided difference in the conduct of the children of the Orkney men employed by the Hudson's Bay Company and those of the Canadian voyagers. Some trouble is occasionally bestowed in teaching the former, and it is not thrown away; but all the good that can be said of the latter is, that they are not quite so licentious as their fathers are. Many of the half-breeds, both male and female, are brought up amongst, and intermarry with, the Indians; and there are few tents wherein the paler children of such marriages are not to be seen. It has been remarked, I do not know with what truth, that half-breeds shew more personal courage than the pure Crees[9]. [9] A singular change takes place in the physical constitution of the Indian females who become inmates of a fort; namely, they bear children more frequently and longer, but, at the same time, are rendered liable to indurations of the mammæ and prolapsus of the uterus; evils from which they are, in a great measure, exempt whilst they lead a wandering and laborious life. The girls at the forts, particularly the daughters of Canadians, are given in marriage very young; they are very frequently wives at twelve years of age, and mothers at fourteen. Nay, more than once instance came under our observation of the master of a post having permitted a voyager to take to wife a poor child that had scarcely attained the age of ten years. The masters of posts and wintering partners of the Companies deemed this criminal indulgence to the vices of their servants, necessary to stimulate them to exertion for the interest of their respective concerns. Another practice may also be noticed, as shewing the state of moral feeling on these subjects amongst the white residents of the fur countries. It was not very uncommon, amongst the Canadian voyagers, for one woman to be common to, and maintained at the joint expense of, two men; nor for a voyager to sell his wife, either for a season or altogether, for a sum of money, proportioned to her beauty and good qualities, but always inferior to the price of a team of dogs. The country around Cumberland House is flat and swampy, and is much intersected by small lakes. Limestone is found every where under a thin stratum of soil, and it not unfrequently shows itself above the surface. It lies in strata generally horizontal, but in one spot near the fort, dipping to the northward at an angle of 40°. Some portions of this rock contain very perfect shells. With respect to the vegetable productions of the district the _populus trepida_, or aspen, which thrives in moist situations, is perhaps the most abundant tree on the banks of the Saskatchawan, and is much prized as fire-wood, burning well when cut green. The _populus balsamifera_, or taccamahac, called by the Crees _matheh meteos_, or ugly poplar, in allusion to its rough bark and naked stem, crowned in an aged state with a few distorted branches, is scarcely less plentiful. It is an inferior fire-wood, and does not burn well, unless when cut in the spring, and dried during the summer; but it affords a great quantity of potash. A decoction of its resinous buds has been sometimes used by the Indians with success in cases of _snow-blindness_, but its application to the inflamed eye produces much pain. Of pines, the white spruce is the most common here: the red and black spruce, the balsam of Gilead fir, and Banksian pine, also occur frequently. The larch is found only in swampy spots, and is stunted and unhealthy. The canoe birch attains a considerable size in this latitude, but from the great demand for its wood to make sledges, it has become rare. The alder abounds on the margin of the little grassy lakes, so common in the neighbourhood. A decoction of its inner bark is used as an emetic by the Indians, who also extract from it a yellow dye. A great variety of willows occur on the banks of the streams; and the hazel is met with sparingly in the woods. The sugar maple, elm, ash, and the _arbor vitæ_[10], termed by the Canadian voyagers _cedar_, grow on various parts of the Saskatchawan; but that river seems to form their northern boundary. Two kinds of prunus also grow here, one of which[11], a handsome small tree, produces a black fruit, having a very astringent taste, whence the term _choke-cherry_ applied to it. The Crees call it _tawquoy-meena_, and esteemed it to be when dried and bruised a good addition to pemmican. The other species[12] is a less elegant shrub, but is said to bear a bright red cherry, of a pleasant sweet taste. Its Cree name is _passee-awey-meenan_, and it is known to occur as far north as Great Slave Lake. [10] Thuya occidentalis. [11] Prunus Virginiana. [12] Prunus Pensylvanica. The most esteemed fruit of the country, however, is the produce of the _aronia ovalis_. Under the name of _meesasscootoomeena_ it is a favourite dish at most of the Indian feasts, and mixed with pemmican, it renders that greasy food actually palatable. A great variety of currants and gooseberries are also mentioned by the natives, under the name of _sappoom-meena_, but we only found three species in the neighbourhood of Cumberland House. The strawberry, called by the Crees _otei-meena_, or heart-berry, is found in abundance, and rasps are common on the sandy banks of the rivers. The fruits hitherto mentioned fall in the autumn, but the following berries remained hanging on the bushes in the spring, and are considered as much mellowed by exposure to the colds in winter. The red whortleberry (_vaccinium vitis idea_) is found every where, but is most abundant in rocky places. It is aptly termed by the Crees _weesawgum-meena_, sour berry. The common cranberry (_oxycoccos palustris_,) is distinguished from the preceding by its growing on moist sphagnous spots, and is hence called _maskoego-meena_ swamp-berry. The American guelder rose, whose fruit so strongly resembles the cranberry, is also common. There are two kinds of it, (_viburnum oxycoccos_{20}, and _edule_,) one termed by the natives _peepoon-meena_, winter-berry, and the other _mongsoa-meena_, moose-berry. There is also a berry of a bluish white colour, the produce of the white cornel tree, which is named _musqua-meena_, bear-berry, because these animals are said to fatten on it. The dwarf Canadian cornel, bears a corymb of red berries, which are highly ornamental to the woods throughout the country, but are not otherwise worthy of notice, for they have an insipid farinaceous taste, and are seldom gathered. The Crees extract some beautiful colours from several of their native vegetables. They dye their porcupine quills a beautiful scarlet, with the roots of two species of bed-straw (galium tinctorium, and boreale) which they indiscriminately term _sawoyan_. The roots, after being carefully washed are boiled gently in a clean copper kettle, and a quantity of the juice of the moose-berry, strawberry, cranberry, or arctic raspberry, is added together with a few red tufts of pistils of the larch. The porcupine quills are plunged into the liquor before it becomes quite cold, and are soon tinged of a beautiful scarlet. The process sometimes fails, and produces only a dirty brown, a circumstance which ought probably to be ascribed to the use of an undue quantity of acid. They dye black with an ink made of elder bark, and a little bog-iron-ore, dried and pounded, and they have various modes of producing yellow. The deepest colour is obtained from the dried root of a plant, which from their description appears to be the cow-bane (_cicuta virosa_.) An inferior colour is obtained from the bruised buds of the Dutch myrtle, and they have discovered methods of dyeing with various lichens. The quadrupeds that are hunted for food in this part of the country, are the moose and the rein-deer, the former termed by the Crees, _mongsoa_, or _moosoa_; the latter _attekh_. The buffalo or bison, (_moostoosh_,) the red-deer or American-stag, (_wawaskeeshoo_,) the _apeesee-mongsoos_, or jumping deer, the _kinwaithoos_, or long-tailed deer, and the _apistatchækoos_, a species of antelope; animals that frequent the plains above the forks of the Saskatchawan, are not found in the neighbourhood of Cumberland House. Of fur-bearing animals, various kinds of foxes (_makkeeshewuc_,) are found in the district, distinguished by the traders under the names of _black_, _silver_, _cross_, _red_, and _blue_ foxes. The two former are considered by the Indians to be the same kind, varying accidentally in the colour of the pelt. The black foxes are very rare, and fetch a high price. The cross and red foxes differ from each other only in colour, being of the same shape and size. Their shades of colour are not disposed in any determinate manner, some individuals approaching in that respect very nearly to the silver fox, others exhibiting every link of the chain down to a nearly uniform deep or orange-yellow, the distinguishing colour of a pure red fox. It is reported both by Indians and traders, that all the varieties have been found in the same litter. The blue fox is seldom seen here, and is supposed to come from the southward. The gray wolf (_mahaygan_) is common here. In the month of March the females frequently entice the domestic dog from the forts, although at other seasons a strong antipathy seemed to subsist between them. Some black wolves are occasionally seen. The black and red varieties of the American bear (_musquah_) are also found near Cumberland House, though not frequently; a black bear often has red cubs, and _vice versâ_. The grizzly bear, so much dreaded by the Indians for its strength and ferocity, inhabits a track of country nearer the Rocky Mountains. It is extraordinary that although I made inquiries extensively amongst the Indians, I met with but one who said that he had killed a she-bear with young in the womb. The wolverene, in Cree _okeekoohawgees_, or _ommeethatsees_, is an animal of great strength and cunning, and is much hated by the hunters, on account of the mischief it does to their marten-traps. The Canadian lynx (_peeshew_) is a timid but well-armed animal, which preys upon the American hare. Its fur is esteemed. The marten (_wapeestan_,) is one of the most common furred animals in the country. The fisher, notwithstanding its name, is an inhabitant of the land, living like the common marten principally on mice. It is the _otchoek_ of the Crees, and the _pekan_ of the Canadians. The mink, (_atjackash_,) has been often confounded by writers with the fisher. It is a much smaller animal, inhabits the banks of rivers, and swims well; its prey is fish. The otter, (_neekeek_,) is larger than the English species, and produces a much more valuable fur. The musk rat (_watsuss_, or _musquash_,) is very abundant in all the small grassy lakes. They build small conical houses with a mixture of hay and earth; those which build early raising their houses on the mud of the marshes, and those which build later in the season founding their habitations upon the surface of the ice itself. The house covers a hole in the ice, which permits them to go into the water in search of the roots on which they feed. In severe winters when the small lakes are frozen to the bottom, and these animals cannot procure their usual food, they prey upon each other. In this way great numbers are destroyed. The beaver (_ammisk_) furnish the staple fur of the country. Many surprising stories have been told of the sagacity with which this animal suits the form of its habitation, retreats, and dam, to local circumstances; and I compared the account of its manners, given by Cuvier, in his _Régne Animal_, with the reports of the Indians, and found them to agree exactly. They have been often seen in the act of constructing their houses in the moon-light nights, and the observers agree, that the stones, wood, or other materials, are carried in their teeth, and generally leaning against the shoulder. When they have placed it to their mind, they turn round and give it a smart blow with their flat tail. In the act of diving they give a similar stroke to the surface of the water. They keep their provision of wood under water in front of the house. Their favourite food is the bark of the aspen, birch, and willow; they also eat the alder, but seldom touch any of the pine tribe unless from necessity; they are fond of the large roots of the _nuphar lutea_, and grow fat upon it, but it gives their flesh a strong rancid taste. In the season of love their call resembles a groan, that of the male being the hoarsest, but the voice of the young is exactly like the cry of a child. They are very playful, as the following anecdote will shew:--One day a gentleman, long resident in this country, espied five young beavers sporting in the water, leaping upon the trunk of a tree, pushing one another off, and playing a thousand interesting tricks. He approached softly under cover of the bushes, and prepared to fire on the unsuspecting creatures, but a nearer approach discovered to him such a similitude betwixt their gestures and the infantile caresses of his own children, that he threw aside his gun. This gentleman's feelings are to be envied, but few traders in fur would have acted so feelingly. The musk-rat frequently inhabits the same lodge with the beaver, and the otter also thrusts himself in occasionally; the latter, however, is not always a civil guest, as he sometimes devours his host. These are the animals most interesting in an economical point of view. The American hare, and several kinds of grouse and ptarmigan, also contribute towards the support of the natives; and the geese, in their periodical flights in the spring and autumn, likewise prove a valuable resource both to the Indians and white residents; but the principal article of food, after the moose-deer, is fish; indeed, it forms almost the sole support of the traders at some of the posts. The most esteemed fish is the Coregonus albus, the _attihhawmeg_ of the Crees, and the _white-fish_ of the Americans. Its usual weight is between three and four pounds, but it has been known to reach sixteen or eighteen pounds. Three fish of the ordinary size is the daily allowance to each man at the fort, and is considered as equivalent to two geese, or eight pounds of solid moose-meat. The fishery for the attihhawmeg lasts the whole year, but is most productive in the spawning season, from the middle of September to the middle of October. The _ottonneebees_, (Coregonus Artedi,) closely resembles the last. Three species of carp, (Catastomus Hudsonius, C. Forsterianus, and C. Lesueurii,) are also found abundantly in all the lakes, their Cree names are _namaypeeth_, _meethquawmaypeeth_, and _wapawhawkeeshew_. The _occow_, or river perch, termed also horn-fish, piccarel, or doré, is common, but is not so much esteemed as the attihhawmeg. It attains the length of twenty inches in these lakes. The methy is another common fish; it is the _gadus lota_, or burbot, of Europe. Its length is about two feet, its gullet is capacious, and it preys upon fish large enough to distend its body to nearly twice its proper size. It is never eaten, not even by the dogs unless through necessity, but its liver and roe are considered as delicacies. The pike is also plentiful, and being readily caught in the winter-time with the hook, is so much prized on that account by the natives, as to receive from them the name of _eithinyoo-cannooshoeoo_, or Indian fish. The common trout, or _nammoecous_, grows here to an enormous size, being caught in particular lakes, weighing upwards of sixty pounds; thirty pounds is no uncommon size at Beaver Lake, from whence Cumberland House is supplied. The Hioden clodalis, _oweepeetcheesees_, or gold-eye is a beautiful small fish, which resembles the trout, in its habits. One of the largest fish is the _mathemegh_, catfish, or _barbue_. It belongs to the genus _silurus_. It is rare but is highly prized as food. The sturgeon (Accipenser ruthenus) is also taken in the Saskatchawan, and lakes communicating with it, and furnishes an excellent, but rather rich, article of food. CHAPTER IV. Leave Cumberland House--Mode of Travelling in Winter--Arrival at Carlton House--Stone Indians--Visit to a Buffalo Pound--Goitres--Departure from Carlton House--Isle à la Crosse--Arrival at Fort Chipewyan. 1820. January 18. This day we set out from Cumberland House for Carlton House; but previously to detailing the events of the journey, it may be proper to describe the necessary equipments of a winter traveller in this region, which I cannot do better than by extracting the following brief, but accurate, account of it from Mr. Hood's journal:-- "A snow-shoe is made of two light bars of wood, fastened together at their extremities, and projected into curves by transverse bars. The side bars have been so shaped by a frame, and dried before a fire, that the front part of the shoe turns up, like the prow of a boat, and the part behind terminates in an acute angle; the spaces between the bars are filled up with a fine netting of leathern thongs, except that part behind the main bar, which is occupied by the feet; the netting is there close and strong, and the foot is attached to the main bar by straps passing round the heel but only fixing the toes, so that the heel rises after each step, and the tail of the shoe is dragged on the snow. Between the main bar and another in front of it, a small space is left, permitting the toes to descend a little in the act of raising the heel to make the step forward, which prevents their extremities from chafing. The length of a snow-shoe is from four to six feet and the breadth one foot and a half, or one foot and three quarters, being adapted to the size of the wearer. The motion of walking in them is perfectly natural, for one shoe is level with the snow, when the edge of the other is passing over it. It is not easy to use them among bushes, without frequent overthrows, nor to rise afterwards without help. Each shoe weighs about two pounds when unclogged with snow. The northern Indian snow-shoes differ a little from those of the southern Indians, having a greater curvature on the outside of each shoe; one advantage of which is, that when the foot rises the over-balanced side descends and throws off the snow. All the superiority of European art has been unable to improve the native contrivance of this useful machine. "Sledges are made of two or three flat boards, curving upwards in front, and fastened together by transverse pieces of wood above. They are so thin that, if heavily laden, they bend with the inequalities of the surface over which they pass. The ordinary dog-sledges are eight or ten feet long and very narrow, but the lading is secured to a lacing round the edges. The cariole used by the traders is merely a covering of leather for the lower part of the body, affixed to the common sledge, which is painted and ornamented according to the taste of the proprietor. Besides snow-shoes, each individual carries his blanket, hatchet, steel, flint, and tinder, and generally fire arms." The general dress of the winter traveller, is a _capot_, having a hood to put up under the fur cap in windy weather, or in the woods, to keep the snow from his neck; leathern trowsers and Indian stockings which are closed at the ankles, round the upper part of his _mocassins_, or Indian shoes, to prevent the snow from getting into them. Over these he wears a blanket, or leathern coat, which is secured by a belt round his waist, to which his fire-bag, knife, and hatchet are suspended. Mr. Back and I were accompanied by the seaman, John Hepburn; we were provided with two carioles and two sledges; their drivers and dogs being furnished in equal proportions by the two Companies. Fifteen days' provision so completely filled the sledges, that it was with difficulty we found room for a small sextant, one suit of clothes, and three changes of linen, together with our bedding. Notwithstanding we thus restricted ourselves, and even loaded the carioles with part of the luggage, instead of embarking in them ourselves, we did not set out without considerable grumbling from the voyagers of both Companies, respecting the overlading of their dogs. However, we left the matter to be settled by our friends at the fort, who were more conversant with winter travelling than ourselves. Indeed the loads appeared to us so great that we should have been inclined to listen to the complaints of the drivers. The weight usually placed upon a sledge, drawn by three dogs, cannot, at the commencement of a journey, be estimated at less than three hundred pounds, which, however, suffers a daily diminution from the consumption of provisions. The sledge itself weighs about thirty pounds. When the snow is hard frozen, or the track well trodden, the rate of travelling is about two miles and a half an hour, including rests, or about fifteen miles a day. If the snow be loose the speed is necessarily much less and the fatigue greater. At eight in the morning of the 18th, we quitted the fort, and took leave of our hospitable friend, Governor Williams, whose kindness and attention I shall ever remember with gratitude. Dr. Richardson, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Connolly, accompanied us along the Saskatchawan until the snow became too deep for their walking without snow-shoes. We then parted from our associates, with sincere regret at the prospect of a long separation. Being accompanied by Mr. Mackenzie, of the Hudson's Bay Company, who was going to Isle à la Crosse, with four sledges under his charge, we formed quite a procession, keeping in an Indian file, on the track of the man who preceded the foremost dogs; but, as the snow was deep, we proceeded slowly on the surface of the river, which is about three hundred and fifty yards wide, for the distance of six miles, which we went this day. Its alluvial banks and islands are clothed with willows. At the place of our encampment we could scarcely{21} find sufficient{22} pine branches to floor "the hut," as the Orkney men term the place where travellers rest. Its preparation, however, consists only in clearing away the snow to the ground, and covering that space with pine branches, over which the party spread their blankets and coats, and sleep in warmth and comfort, by keeping a good fire at their feet, without any other canopy than the heaven, even though the thermometer should be far below zero. The arrival at the place of encampment gives immediate occupation to every one of the party; and it is not until the sleeping-place has been arranged, and a sufficiency of wood collected as fuel for the night, that the fire is allowed to be kindled. The dogs alone remain inactive during this busy scene, being kept harnessed to their burdens until the men have leisure to unstow the sledges, and hang upon the trees every species of provision out of their reach. We had ample experience, before morning, of the necessity of this precaution, as they contrived to steal a considerable part of our stores, almost from underneath Hepburn's head, notwithstanding{23} their having been well fed at supper. This evening we found the mercury of our thermometer had sunk into the bulb, and was frozen. It rose again into the tube on being held to the fire, but quickly re-descended into the bulb on being removed into the air; we could not, therefore, ascertain by it the temperature of the atmosphere, either then or during our journey. The weather was perfectly clear. _January 19_.--We arose this morning after the enjoyment of a sound and comfortable repose, and recommenced our journey at sunrise, but made slow progress through the deep snow. The task of beating the track for the dogs was so very fatiguing, that each of the men took the lead in turn, for an hour and a half. The scenery of the banks of the river improved as we advanced to-day; some firs and poplars were intermixed with the willows. We passed through two creeks, formed by islands, and encamped on a pleasant spot on the north shore, having only made six miles and three quarters actual distance. The next day we pursued our course along the river; the dogs had the greatest difficulty in dragging their heavy burdens through the snow. We halted to refresh them at the foot of Sturgeon River, and obtained the latitude 53° 51' 41" N. This is a small stream, which issues from a neighbouring lake. We encamped near to Musquito Point, having walked about nine miles. The termination of the day's journey was a great relief to me, who had been suffering during the greater part of it, in consequence of my feet having been galled by the snow-shoes; this, however, is an evil which few escape on their initiation to winter travelling. It excites no pity from the more experienced companions of the journey, who travel on as fast as they can, regardless of your pain. Mr. Isbester, and an Orkney man, joined us from Cumberland House, and brought some pemmican that we had left behind; a supply which was very seasonable after our recent loss. The general occupation of Mr. Isbester during the winter, is to follow or find out the Indians, and collect their furs, and his present journey will appear adventurous to persons accustomed to the certainty of travelling on a well-known road. He was going in search of a band of Indians, of whom no information had been received since last October, and his only guide for finding them was their promise to hunt in a certain quarter; but he looked at the jaunt with indifference, and calculated on meeting them in six or seven days, for which time only he had provision. Few persons in this country suffer more from want of food than those occasionally do who are employed on this service. They are furnished with a sufficiency of provision to serve until they reach the part where the Indians are expected to be; but it frequently occurs that, on their arrival at the spot, they have gone elsewhere, and that a recent fall of snow has hidden their track, in which case, the voyagers have to wander about in search of them; and it often happens, when they succeed in finding the Indians, that they are unprovided with meat. Mr. Isbester had been placed in this distressing situation only a few weeks ago, and passed four days without either himself or his dogs tasting food. At length, when he had determined on killing one of the dogs to satisfy his hunger, he happily met with a beaten track, which led him to some Indian lodges, where he obtained food. The morning of the 21st was cold, but pleasant for travelling. We left Mr. Isbester and his companion, and crossed the peninsula of Musquito Point, to avoid a detour of several miles which the river makes. Though we put up at an early hour, we gained eleven miles this day. Our encampment was at the lower extremity of Tobin's Falls. The snow being less deep on the rough ice which enclosed this rapid, we proceeded, on the 22d, at a quicker pace than usual, but at the expense of great suffering to Mr. Back, myself, and Hepburn, whose feet were much galled. After passing Tobin's Falls, the river expands to the breadth of five hundred yards, and its banks are well wooded with pines, poplars, birch, and willows. Many tracks of moose-deer and wolves were observed near the encampment. On the 23d the sky was generally overcast, and there were several snow showers.{24} We saw two wolves and some foxes cross the river in the course of the day, and passed many tracks of the moose and red-deer. Soon after we had encamped the snow fell heavily, which was an advantage to us after we had retired to rest, by its affording an additional covering to our blankets. The next morning, at breakfast time, two men arrived from Carlton on their way to Cumberland. Having the benefit of their track, we were enabled, to our great joy, to march at a quick pace without snow-shoes. My only regret was, that the party proceeded too fast to allow of Mr. Back's halting occasionally, to note the bearings of the points, and delineate the course of the river[13], without being left behind. As the provisions were getting short, I could not, therefore, with propriety, check the progress of the party; and, indeed, it appeared to me less necessary, as I understood the river had been carefully surveyed. In the afternoon, we had to resume the incumbrance of the snow-shoes, and to pass over a rugged part where the ice had been piled over a collection of stones. The tracks of animals were very abundant on the river, particularly near the remains of an old establishment, called the Lower Nippéween. [13] This was afterwards done by Dr. Richardson during a voyage to Carlton in the spring. So much snow had fallen on the night of the 24th, that the track we intended to follow was completely covered, and our march to-day was very fatiguing. We passed the remains of two red-deer, lying at the bases of perpendicular cliffs, from the summits of which they had, probably, been forced by the wolves. These voracious animals who are inferior in speed to the moose or red-deer are said frequently to have recourse to this expedient in places where extensive plains are bounded by precipitous cliffs. Whilst the deer are quietly grazing, the wolves assemble in great numbers, and, forming a crescent, creep slowly towards the herd so as not to alarm them much at first, but when they perceive that they have fairly hemmed in the unsuspecting creatures, and cut off their retreat across the plain, they move more quickly and with hideous yells terrify their prey and urge them to flight by the only open way, which is that towards the precipice; appearing to know that when the herd is once at full speed, it is easily driven over the cliff, the rearmost urging on those that are before. The wolves then descend at their leisure, and feast on the mangled carcasses. One of these animals passed close to the person who was beating the track, but did not offer any violence. We encamped at sunset, after walking thirteen miles. On the 26th, we were rejoiced at passing the half-way point, between Cumberland and Carlton. The scenery of the river is less pleasing beyond this point, as there is a scarcity of wood. One of our men was despatched after a red-deer that appeared on the bank. He contrived to approach near enough to fire twice, though without success, before the animal moved away. After a fatiguing march of seventeen miles we put up at the upper Nippéween, a deserted establishment; and performed the comfortable operations of shaving and washing for the first time since our departure from Cumberland, the weather having been hitherto too severe. We passed an uncomfortable and sleepless night, and agreed next morning to encamp in future, in the open air, as preferable to the imperfect shelter of a deserted house without doors or windows. The morning was extremely cold, but fortunately the wind was light, which prevented our feeling it severely; experience indeed had taught us that the sensation of cold depends less upon the state of temperature, than the force of the wind. An attempt was made to obtain the latitude, which failed, in consequence of the screw, that adjusts the telescope of the sextant, being immoveably fixed, from the moisture upon it having frozen. The instrument could not be replaced in its case before the ice was thawed by the fire in the evening. In the course of the day we passed the confluence of the south branch of the Saskatchawan, which rises from the Rocky Mountains near the sources of the northern branch of the Missouri. At Coles Falls, which commence a short distance from the branch, we found the surface of the ice very uneven, and many spots of open water. We passed the ruins of an establishment, which the traders had been compelled to abandon, in consequence of the intractable{25} conduct and pilfering habits of the Assinéboine{26} or Stone Indians; and we learned that all the residents at a post on the south branch, had been cut off{27} by the same tribe some years ago. We travelled twelve miles to-day. The wolves serenaded us through the night with a chorus of their agreeable howling, but none of them ventured near the encampment. But Mr. Back's repose was disturbed by a more serious evil: his buffalo robe caught fire, and the shoes on his feet, being contracted by the heat, gave him such pain, that he jumped up in the cold, and ran into the snow as the only means of obtaining relief. On the 28th we had a strong and piercing wind from N.W. in our faces, and much snow-drift; we were compelled to walk as quick as we could, and to keep constantly rubbing the exposed parts of the skin, to prevent their being frozen, but some of the party suffered in spite of every precaution. We descried three red-deer on the banks of the river, and were about to send the best marksmen after them, when they espied the party, and ran away. A supply of meat would have been very seasonable, as the men's provision had become scanty, and the dogs were without food, except a little burnt leather. Owing to the scarcity of wood, we had to walk until a late hour, before a good spot for an encampment could be found, and had then attained only eleven miles. The night was miserably cold; our tea froze in the tin pots before we could drink it, and even a mixture of spirits and water became quite thick by congelation; yet, after we lay down to rest, we felt no inconvenience, and heeded not the wolves, though they were howling within view. The 29th was also very cold, until the sun burst forth, when the travelling became pleasant. The banks of the river are very scantily supplied with wood through the part we passed to-day. A long track on the south shore, called Holms Plains, is destitute of any thing like a tree, and the opposite bank has only stunted willows; but, after walking sixteen miles, we came to a spot better wooded, and encamped opposite to a remarkable place, called by the voyagers "The Neck of Land." A short distance below our encampment, on the peninsula formed by the confluence of the Net-setting river with the Saskatchawan, there stands a representation of Kepoochikawn, which was formerly held in high veneration by the Indians, and is still looked upon with some respect. It is merely a large willow bush, having its tops bound into a bunch. Many offerings of value such as handsome dresses, hatchets, and kettles, used to be made to it, but of late its votaries have been less liberal. It was mentioned to us as a signal instance of its power, that a sacrilegious moose-deer having ventured to crop a few of its tender twigs was found dead at the distance of a few yards. The bush having now grown old and stunted is exempted from similar violations. On the thirtieth we directed our course round The Neck of Land, which is well clothed with pines and firs; though the opposite or western bank is nearly destitute of wood. This contrast between the two banks continued until we reached the commencement of what our companions called the Barren Grounds, when both the banks were alike bare. Vast plains extend behind the southern bank, which afford excellent pasturage for the buffalo, and other grazing animals. In the evening we saw a herd of the former, but could not get near to them. After walking fifteen miles we encamped. The men's provision having been entirely expended last night, we shared our small stock with them. The poor dogs had been toiling some days on the most scanty fare; their rapacity, in consequence, was unbounded; they forced open a deal box, containing tea, _&c._, to get at a small piece of meat which had been incautiously placed in it. As soon as daylight permitted, the party commenced their march in expectation of reaching Carlton House to breakfast, but we did not arrive before noon, although the track was good. We were received by Mr. Prudens, the gentleman in charge of the post, with that friendly attention which Governor Williams's circular was calculated to ensure at every station; and were soon afterwards regaled with a substantial dish of buffalo steaks, which would have been excellent under any circumstances, but were particularly relished by us, after our travelling fare of dried meat and pemmican, though eaten without either bread or vegetables. After this repast, we had the comfort of changing our travelling dresses, which had been worn for fourteen days; a gratification which can only be truly estimated by those who have been placed under similar circumstances. I was still in too great pain from swellings in the ankles to proceed to La Montée, the North-West Company's establishment, distant about three miles; but Mr. Hallet, the gentleman in charge, came the following morning, and I presented to him the circular from Mr. S. Mac Gillivray. He had already been furnished, however, with a copy of it from Mr. Connolly, and was quite prepared to assist us in our advance to the Athabasca. Mr. Back and I having been very desirous to see some of the Stone Indians, who reside on the plains in this vicinity, learned with regret that a large band of them had left the house on the preceding day; but our curiosity was amply gratified by the appearance of some individuals, on the following and every subsequent day during our stay. The looks of these people would have prepossessed me in their favour, but for the assurances I had received from the gentlemen of the posts, of their gross and habitual treachery. Their countenances are affable and pleasing, their eyes large and expressive, nose aquiline, teeth white and regular, the forehead bold, the cheek-bones rather high. Their figure is usually good, above the middle size, with slender, but well proportioned, limbs. Their colour is a light copper, and they have a profusion of very black hair, which hangs over the ears, and shades the face. Their dress, which I think extremely neat and convenient, consists of a vest and trowsers of leather fitted to the body; over these a buffalo robe is thrown gracefully. These dresses are in general cleaned with _white-mud_, a sort of marl, though some use _red earth_, a kind of bog-iron-ore; but this colour neither looks so light, nor forms such an agreeable contrast as the white with the black hair of the robe. Their quiver hangs behind them, and in the hand is carried the bow, with an arrow always ready for attack or defence, and sometimes they have a gun; they also carry a bag containing materials for making a fire, some tobacco, the calumet or pipe, and whatever valuables they possess. This bag is neatly ornamented with porcupine quills. Thus equipped, the Stone Indian bears himself with an air of perfect independence. The only articles of European commerce they require in exchange for the meat they furnish to the trading post, are tobacco, knives, ammunition, and spirits, and occasionally some beads, but more frequently buttons, which they string in their hair as ornaments. A successful hunter will probably have two or three dozen of them hanging at equal distances on locks of hair, from each side of the forehead. At the end of these locks, small coral bells are sometimes attached, which tingle at every motion of the head, a noise which seems greatly to delight the wearer; sometimes strings of buttons are bound round the head like a tiara; and a bunch of feathers gracefully crowns the head. The Stone Indians steal whatever they can, particularly horses; these animals they maintain are common property, sent by the Almighty for the general use of man, and therefore may be taken wherever met with; still they admit the right of the owners to watch them, and to prevent theft if possible. This avowed disposition on their part calls forth the strictest vigilance at the different posts; notwithstanding which the most daring attacks are often made with success, sometimes on parties of three or four, but oftener on individuals. About two years ago a band of them had the audacity to attempt to take away some horses which were grazing before the gate of the N.W. Company's fort; and, after braving the fire from the few people then at the establishment through the whole day, and returning their shots occasionally, they actually succeeded in their enterprise. One man was killed on each side. They usually strip defenceless persons whom they meet of all their garments, but particularly of those which have buttons, and leave them to travel home in that state, however severe the weather. If resistance be expected, they not unfrequently murder before they attempt to rob. The traders, when they travel, invariably keep some men on guard to prevent surprise, whilst the others sleep; and often practise the stratagem of lighting a fire at sunset, which they leave burning, and move on after dark to a more distant encampment--yet these precautions do not always baffle the depredators. Such is the description of men whom the traders of this river have constantly to guard against. It must require a long residence among them, and much experience of their manners, to overcome the apprehensions their hostility and threats are calculated to excite. Through fear of having their provision and supplies entirely cut off, the traders are often obliged to overlook the grossest offences, even murder, though{28} the delinquents present themselves with unblushing effrontery{29} almost immediately after the fact, and perhaps boast of it. They do not, on detection, consider themselves under any obligation to deliver up what they have stolen without receiving an equivalent. The Stone Indians keep in amity with their neighbours the Crees from motives of interest; and the two tribes unite in determined hostility against the nations dwelling to the westward, which are generally called Slave Indians--a term of reproach applied by the Crees to those tribes against whom they have waged successful wars. The Slave Indians are said greatly to resemble the Stone Indians, being equally desperate and daring in their acts of aggression and dishonesty towards the traders. These parties go to war almost every summer, and sometimes muster three or four hundred horsemen on each side. Their leaders, in approaching the foe, exercise all the caution of the most skilful generals; and whenever either party considers that it has gained the best ground, or finds it can surprise the other, the attack is made. They advance at once to close quarters, and the slaughter is consequently great, though the battle may be short. The prisoners of either sex are seldom spared, but slain on the spot with wanton cruelty. The dead are scalped, and he is considered the bravest person who bears the greatest number of scalps from the field. These are afterwards attached to his war dress, and worn as proofs of his prowess. The victorious party, during a certain time, blacken their faces and every part of their dress in token of joy, and in that state they often come to the establishment, if near, to testify their delight by dancing and singing, bearing all the horrid insignia of war, to display their individual feats. When in mourning, they completely cover their dress and hair with white mud. The Crees in the vicinity of Carlton House have the same cast of countenance as those about Cumberland, but are much superior to them in appearance, living in a more abundant country. These men are more docile, tractable, and industrious, than the Stone Indians, and bring greater supplies of provision and furs to the posts. Their general mode of dress resembles that of the Stone Indians; but sometimes they wear cloth leggins, blankets, and other useful articles, when they can afford to purchase them. They also decorate their hair with buttons. The Crees procure guns from the traders, and use them in preference to the bow and arrow; and from them the Stone Indians often get supplied, either by stealth, gaming, or traffic. Like the rest of their nation, these Crees are remarkably fond of spirits, and would make any sacrifice to obtain them. I regretted to find the demand for this pernicious article had greatly increased within the few last years. The following notice of these Indians is extracted from Dr. Richardson's journal: "The Asseenaboine, termed by the Crees Asseeneepoytuck, or Stone Indians, are a tribe of Sioux, who speak a dialect of the Iroquois, one of the great divisions under which the American philologists have classed the known dialects of the Aborigines of North America. The Stone Indians, or, as they name themselves, _Eascab_, originally entered this part of the country under the protection of the Crees, and in concert with them attacked and drove to the westward the former inhabitants of the banks of the Saskatchawan. They are still the allies of the Crees, but have now become more numerous than their former protectors. They exhibit all the bad qualities ascribed to the Mengwe or Iroquois, the stock whence they are sprung. Of their actual number I could obtain no precise information, but it is very great. The Crees who inhabit the plains, being fur hunters, are better known to the traders. "They are divided into two distinct bands, the Ammisk-watcheéthinyoowuc or Beaver Hill Crees, who have about forty tents, and the Sackaweé-thinyoowuc, or Thick Wood Crees, who have thirty-five. The tents average nearly ten inmates each, which gives a population of seven hundred and fifty to the whole. "The nations who were driven to the westward by the Eascab and Crees are termed, in general, by the latter, Yatcheé-thinyoowuc, which has been translated Slave Indians, but more properly signifies Strangers. "They now inhabit the country around Fort Augustus, and towards the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and have increased in strength until they have become an object of terror to the Eascab themselves. They rear a great number of horses, make use of fire-arms, and are fond of European articles; in order to purchase which they hunt the beaver and other furred animals, but they depend principally on the buffalo for subsistence. "They are divided into five nations:--First, the Pawäustic-eythin-yoowuc, or Fall Indians, so named from their former residence on the falls of the Saskatchawan. They are the Minetarres, with whom Captain Lewis's party had a conflict on their return from the Missouri. They have about four hundred and fifty or five hundred tents; their language is very guttural and difficult. "Second, the Peganoo-eythinyoowuc Pegans, or Muddy River Indians, named in their own language Peganoe`-koon, have four hundred tents. "Third, the Meethco-thinyoowuc, or Blood Indians, named by themselves Kainoe`-koon, have three hundred tents. "Fourth, the Cuskoeteh-waw-thésseetuck, or Blackfoot Indians, in their own language Saxoekoe-koon, have three hundred and fifty tents. "The last three nations, or tribes, the Pegans, Blood Indians, and Black-feet speak the same language. It is pronounced in a slow and distinct tone, has much softness, and is easily acquired by their neighbours. I am assured by the best interpreters in the country, that it bears no affinity to the Cree, Sioux, or Chipewyan languages. "Lastly, the Sassees, or Circees, have one hundred and fifty tents; they speak the same language with their neighbours, the Snare Indians, who are a tribe of the extensive family of the Chipewyans[14]." [14] "As the subjects may be interesting to philologists, I subjoin a few words of the Blackfoot language:-- Peestâh kan, tobacco. Moohksee, an awl. Nappoe-oòhkee, rum. Cook keet, give me. Eeninee, buffalo. Poox[=a]poot, come here. Kat oetsits, none, I have none. Keet st[=a] kee, a beaver. Naum`, a bow. Stoo-an, a knife. Sassoopats, ammunition. Meenee, beads. Poommees, fat. Miss ta poot, keep off. Saw, no. Stwee, cold; it is cold. Penn[=a]k[=o]mit, a horse. Ahseeu, good." On the 6th of February, we accompanied Mr. Prudens on a visit to a Cree encampment and a buffalo pound, about six miles from the house; we found seven tents pitched within a small cluster of pines, which adjoined the pound. The largest, which we entered, belonged to the Chief, who was absent, but came in on learning our arrival. The old man (about sixty) welcomed us with a hearty shake of the hand, and the customary salutation of "What cheer!" an expression which they have gained from the traders. As we had been expected, they had caused the tent to be neatly arranged, fresh grass was spread on the ground, buffalo robes were placed on the side opposite the door for us to sit on, and a kettle was on the fire to boil meat for us. After a few minutes' conversation, an invitation was given to the Chief and his hunters to smoke the calumet with us, as a token of our friendship: this was loudly announced through the camp, and ten men from the other tents immediately joined our party. On their entrance the women and children withdrew, their presence on such occasions being contrary to etiquette. The calumet having been prepared and lighted by Mr. Prudens's clerk, was presented to the Chief, who performed the following ceremony before he commenced smoking:--He first pointed the stem to the south, then to the west, north, and east, and afterwards to the heavens, the earth, and the fire, as an offering to the presiding spirits:--he took three whiffs only, and then passed the pipe to his next companion, who took the same number of whiffs, and so did each person as it went round. After the calumet had been replenished, the person who then commenced repeated only the latter part of the ceremony, pointing the stem to the heaven, the earth, and the fire. Some spirits, mixed with water, were presented to the old man, who, before he drank, demanded a feather, which he dipped into the cup several times, and sprinkled the moisture on the ground, pronouncing each time a prayer. His first address to the Keetchee Manitou, or Great Spirit, was, that buffalo might be abundant every where, and that plenty might come into their pound. He next prayed, that the other animals might be numerous, and particularly those which were valuable for their furs, and then implored that the party present might escape the sickness which was at that time prevalent, and be blessed with constant health. Some other supplications followed, which we could not get interpreted without interrupting the whole proceeding; but at every close, the whole Indian party assented by exclaiming Aha; and when he had finished, the old man drank a little and passed the cup round. After these ceremonies each person smoked at his leisure, and they engaged in a general conversation, which I regretted not understanding, as it seemed to be very humorous, exciting frequent bursts of laughter. The younger men, in particular, appeared to ridicule the abstinence of one of the party, who neither drank{30} nor smoked. He bore their jeering with perfect composure, and assured them, as I was told, they would be better if they would follow his example. I was happy to learn from Mr. Prudens, that this man was not only one of the best hunters, but the most cheerful and contented of the tribe. Four Stone Indians arrived at this time and were invited into the tent, but one only accepted the invitation and partook of the fare. When Mr. Prudens heard the others refuse, he gave immediate directions that our horses should be narrowly watched, as he suspected these fellows wished to carry them off. Having learned that these Crees considered Mr. Back and myself to be war chiefs, possessing great power, and that they expected we should make some address to them, I desired them to be kind to the traders, to be industrious in procuring them provision and furs, and to refrain from stealing their stores and horses; and I assured them, that if I heard of their continuing to behave kindly, I would mention their good conduct in the strongest terms to their Great Father across the sea, (by which appellation they designate the King,) whose favourable consideration they had been taught by the traders to value most highly. They all promised to follow my advice, and assured me it was not they, but the Stone Indians, who robbed and annoyed the traders. The Stone Indian who was present, heard this accusation against his tribe quite unmoved, but he probably did not understand the whole of the communication. We left them to finish their rum, and went to look round the lodges, and examine the pound. The greatest proportion of labour, in savage life, falls to the women; we now saw them employed in dressing skins, and conveying wood, water, and provision. As they have often to fetch the meat from some distance, they are assisted in this duty by their dogs, which are not harnessed in sledges, but carry their burthens in a manner peculiarly adapted to this level country. Two long poles are fastened by a collar to the dog's neck; their ends trail on the ground, and are kept at a proper distance by a hoop, which is lashed between them, immediately behind the dog's tail; the hoop is covered with network, upon which the load is placed. The boys were amusing themselves by shooting arrows at a mark, and thus training to become hunters. The Stone Indians are so expert with the bow and arrow, that they can strike a very small object at a considerable distance, and will shoot with sufficient force to pierce through the body of a buffalo when near. The buffalo pound was a fenced circular space of about a hundred yards in diameter; the entrance was banked up with snow, to a sufficient height to prevent the retreat of the animals that once have entered. For about a mile on each side of the road leading to the pound, stakes were driven into the ground at nearly equal distances of about twenty yards; these were intended to represent men, and to deter the animals from attempting to break out on either side. Within fifty or sixty yards from the pound, branches of trees were placed between these stakes to screen the Indians, who lie down behind them to await the approach of the buffalo. The principal dexterity in this species of chase is shewn by the horsemen, who have to manoeuvre round the herd in the plains so as to urge them to enter the roadway, which is about a quarter of a mile broad. When this has been accomplished, they raise loud shouts, and, pressing close upon the animals, so terrify them that they rush heedlessly forward towards the snare. When they have advanced as far as the men who are lying in ambush, they also rise, and increase the consternation by violent shouting and firing guns. The affrighted beasts having no alternative, run directly to the pound, where they are quickly despatched, either with an arrow or gun. There was a tree in the centre of the pound, on which the Indians had hung strips of buffalo flesh and pieces of cloth as tributary or grateful offerings to the Great Master of Life; and we were told that they occasionally place a man in the tree to sing to the presiding spirit as the buffaloes are advancing, who must keep his station until the whole that have entered are killed. This species of hunting is very similar to that of taking elephants on the Island of Ceylon, but upon a smaller scale. The Crees complained to us of the audacity of a party of Stone Indians, who, two nights before, had stripped their revered tree of many of its offerings, and had injured their pound by setting their stakes out of the proper places. Other modes of killing the buffalo are practised by the Indians with success; of these the hunting them on horseback requires most dexterity. An expert hunter, when well mounted, dashes at the herd, and chooses an individual which he endeavours to separate from the rest. If he succeeds, he contrives to keep him apart by the proper management of his horse, though going at full speed. Whenever he can get sufficiently near for a ball to penetrate the beast's hide, he fires, and seldom fails of bringing the animal down; though of course he cannot rest the piece against the shoulder, nor take a deliberate aim. On this service the hunter is often exposed to considerable danger, from the fall of his horse in the numerous holes which the badgers make in these plains, and also from the rage of the buffalo, which, when closely pressed, often turns suddenly, and, rushing furiously on the horse, frequently succeeds in wounding it, or dismounting the rider. Whenever the animal shews this disposition, which the experienced hunter will readily perceive, he immediately pulls up his horse, and goes off in another direction. When the buffaloes are on their guard, horses cannot be used in approaching them; but the hunter dismounts at some distance, and crawls in the snow towards the herd, pushing his gun before him. If the buffaloes happen to look towards him, he stops, and keeps quite motionless, until their eyes are turned in another direction; by this cautious proceeding a skilful person will get so near as to be able to kill two or three out of the herd. It will easily be imagined this service cannot be very agreeable when the thermometer stands 30° or 40° below zero, as sometimes happens in this country. As we were returning from the tents, the dogs that were harnessed to three sledges, in one of which Mr. Back was seated, set off in pursuit of a buffalo-calf. Mr. Back was speedily thrown from his vehicle, and had to join me in my horse-cariole. Mr. Heriot, having gone to recover the dogs, found them lying exhausted beside the calf, which they had baited until it was as exhausted as themselves. Mr. Heriot, to shew us the mode of hunting on horseback, or, as the traders term it, running of the buffalo, went in chase of a cow, and killed it after firing three shots. The buffalo is a huge and shapeless animal, quite devoid of grace or beauty; particularly awkward in running, but by no means slow; when put to his speed, he plunges through the deep snow very expeditiously; the hair is dark brown, very shaggy, curling about the head, neck, and hump, and almost covering the eye, particularly in the bull, which is larger and more unsightly than the cow. The most esteemed part of the animal is the hump, called by the Canadians _bos_, by the Hudson's Bay people the _wig_; it is merely a strong muscle, on which nature at certain seasons forms a considerable quantity of fat. It is attached to the long spinous processes of the first dorsal vertebræ, and seems to be destined to support the enormous head of the animal. The meat which covers the spinal processes themselves, after the wig is removed, is next in esteem for its flavour and juiciness, and is more exclusively termed the hump by the hunters. The party was prevented from visiting a Stone Indian encampment by a heavy fall of snow, which made it impracticable to go and return the same day. We were dissuaded from sleeping at their tents by the interpreter at the N.W. post, who told us they considered the hooping-cough and measles, under which they were now suffering, to have been introduced by some white people recently arrived in the country, and that he feared those who had lost relatives, imagining we were the persons, might vent their revenge on us. We regretted to learn that these diseases had been so very destructive among the tribes along the Saskatchawan, as to have carried off about three hundred persons, Crees and Asseenaboines, within the trading circle of these establishments. The interpreter also informed us of another bad trait peculiar to the Stone Indians. Though they receive a visitor kindly at their tents, and treat him very hospitably during his stay, yet it is very probable they will despatch some young men to way-lay and rob him in going towards the post: indeed, all the traders assured us it was more necessary to be vigilantly on our guard on the occasion of a visit to them, than at any other time. Carlton House, (which our observations place in latitude 52° 50' 47" N., longitude, 106° 12' 42" W., variation 20° 44' 47" E.) is pleasantly situated about a quarter of a mile from the river's side on the flat ground under the shelter of the high banks that bound the plains. The land is fertile, and produces, with little trouble, ample returns of wheat, barley, oats, and potatoes. The ground is prepared for the reception of these vegetables, about the middle of April, and when Dr. Richardson visited this place on May 10th, the blade of wheat looked strong and healthy. There were only five acres in cultivation at the period of my visit. The prospect from the fort must be pretty in summer, owing to the luxuriant verdure of this fertile soil; but in the uniform and cheerless garb of winter, it has little to gratify the eye. Beyond the steep bank behind the house, commences the vast plain, whose boundaries are but imperfectly known; it extends along the south branch of the Saskatchawan, and towards the sources of the Missouri, and Asseenaboine Rivers, being scarcely interrupted through the whole of this great space by hills, or even rising grounds. The excellent pasturage furnishes food in abundance, to a variety of grazing animals, of which the buffalo, red-deer, and a species of antelope, are the most important. Their presence naturally attracts great hordes of wolves, which are of two kinds, the large, and the small. Many bears prowl about the banks of this river in summer; of these the grizzle bear is the most ferocious, and is held in dread both by Indians and Europeans. The traveller, in crossing these plains, not only suffers from the want of food and water, but is also exposed to hazard from his horse stumbling in the numerous badger-holes. In many large districts, the only fuel is the dried dung of the buffalo; and when a thirsty traveller reaches a spring, he has not unfrequently the mortification to find the water salt. Carlton House, and La Montée, are provision-posts, only an inconsiderable quantity of furs being obtained at either of them. The provisions are procured in the winter season from the Indians, in the form of dried meat and fat, and when converted by mixture into pemmican, furnish the principal support of the voyagers, in their passages to and from the depôts in summer. A considerable quantity of it is also kept for winter use, at most of the fur-posts, as the least bulky article that can be taken on a winter journey. The mode of making pemmican is very simple, the meat is dried by the Indians in the sun, or over a fire, and pounded by beating it with stones when spread on a skin. In this state it is brought to the forts, where the admixture of hair is partially sifted out, and a third part of melted fat incorporated with it, partly by turning the two over with a wooden shovel, partly by kneading them together with the hands. The pemmican is then firmly pressed into leathern bags, each capable of containing eighty-five pounds, and being placed in an airy place to cool, is fit for use. It keeps in this state, if not allowed to get wet, very well for one year, and with great care it may be preserved good for two. Between three and four hundred bags were made here by each of the Companies this year. There were eight men, besides Mr. Prudens and his clerk, belonging to Carlton House. At La Montée there were seventy Canadians and half-breeds, and sixty women and children, who consumed upwards of seven hundred pounds of{31} buffalo meat daily, the allowance per diem for each man being eight pounds: a portion not so extravagant as may at first appear, when allowance is made for bone, and the entire want of farinaceous food or vegetables. There are other provision posts, Fort Augustus and Edmonton farther up the river, from whence some furs are also procured. The Stone Indians have threatened to cut off the supplies in going up to these establishments, to prevent their enemies from obtaining ammunition, and other European articles; but as these menaces have been frequently made without being put in execution{32}, the traders now hear them without any great alarm, though they take every precaution to prevent being surprised. Mr. Back and I were present when an old Cree communicated to Mr. Prudens, that the Indians spoke of killing all the white people in that vicinity this year, which information he received with perfect composure, and was amused, as well as ourselves, with the man's judicious remark which immediately followed, "A pretty state we shall then be in without the goods you bring us." The following remarks on a well-known disease are extracted from Dr. Richardson's Journal:-- "Bronchocele, or Goitre, is a common disorder at Edmonton. I examined several of the individuals afflicted with it, and endeavoured to obtain every information on the subject from the most authentic sources. The following facts may be depended upon. The disorder attacks those only who drink the water of the river. It is indeed in its worst state confined almost entirely to the half-breed women and children, who reside constantly at the fort, and make use of river water, drawn in the winter through a hole cut in the ice. The men, being often from home on journeys through the plain, when their drink is melted snow, are less affected; and, if any of them exhibit during the winter, some incipient symptoms of the complaint, the annual summer voyage to the sea-coast generally effects a cure. The natives who confine themselves to snow water in the winter, and drink of the small rivulets which flow through the plains in the summer, are exempt from the attacks of this disease. "These facts are curious, inasmuch as they militate against the generally-received opinion that the disease is caused by drinking snow-water; an opinion which seems to have originated from bronchocele being endemial to sub-alpine districts. "The Saskatchawan, at Edmonton, is clear in the winter, and also in the summer, except during the May and July floods. The distance from the Rocky Mountains (which I suppose to be of primitive formation,) is upwards of one hundred and thirty miles. The neighbouring plains are alluvial, the soil is calcareous, and contains numerous travelled fragments of limestone. At a considerable distance below Edmonton, the river, continuing its course through the plains, becomes turbid, and acquires a white colour. In this state it is drunk by the inmates of Carlton House, where the disease is known only by name. It is said that the inhabitants of Rocky Mountain House, sixty miles nearer the source of the river are more severely affected than those at Edmonton. The same disease occurs near the sources of the Elk and Peace Rivers; but, in those parts of the country which are distant from the Rocky Mountain Chain, it is unknown, although melted snow forms the only drink of the natives for nine months of the year. "A residence of a single year at Edmonton is sufficient to render a family bronchocelous. Many of the goitres acquire great size. Burnt sponge has been tried, and found to remove the disease, but an exposure to the same cause immediately reproduces it. "A great proportion of the children of women who have goitres, are born idiots, with large heads, and the other distinguishing marks of _cretins_. I could not learn whether it was necessary that both parents should have goitres, to produce cretin children: indeed the want of chastity in the half-breed women would be a bar to the deduction of any inference on this head." _February 8_.--Having recovered from the swellings and pains which our late march from Cumberland had occasioned, we prepared for the commencement of our journey to Isle à la Crosse, and requisitions were made on both the establishments for the means of conveyance, and the necessary supply of provisions for the party, which were readily furnished. On the 9th the carioles and sledges were loaded, and sent off after breakfast; but Mr. Back and I remained till the afternoon, as Mr. Prudens had offered that his horses should convey us to the encampment. At 3 P.M. we parted from our kind host, and in passing through the gate were honoured with a salute of musketry. After riding six miles, we joined the men at their encampment, which was made under the shelter of a few poplars. The dogs had been so much fatigued in wading through the very deep snow with their heavy burdens, having to drag upwards of ninety pounds' weight each, that they could get no farther. Soon after our arrival, the snow began to fall heavily, and it continued through the greater part of the night. Our next day's march was therefore particularly tedious, the snow being deep, and the route lying across an unvarying level, destitute of wood, except one small cluster of willows. In the afternoon we reached the end of the plain, and came to an elevation, on which poplars, willows, and some pines grew, where we encamped; having travelled ten miles. We crossed three small lakes, two of fresh water and one of salt, near the latter of which we encamped, and were, in consequence, obliged to use for our tea, water made from snow, which has always a disagreeable taste. We had scarcely ascended the hill on the following morning, when a large herd of red-deer was perceived grazing at a little distance; and, though we were amply supplied with provision, our Canadian companions could not resist the temptation of endeavouring to add to our stock. A half-breed hunter was therefore sent after them. He succeeded in wounding one, but not so as to prevent its running off with the herd in a direction wide of our course. A couple of rabbits and a brace of wood partridges were shot in the afternoon. There was an agreeable variety of hill and dale in the scenery we passed through to-day; and sufficient wood for ornament, but not enough to crowd the picture. The valleys were intersected by several small lakes and pools, whose snowy covering was happily contrasted with the dark green of the pine-trees which surrounded them. After ascending a moderately high hill by a winding path through a close wood, we opened suddenly upon Lake Iroquois, and had a full view of its picturesque shores. We crossed it and encamped. Though the sky was cloudless, yet the weather was warm. We had the gratification of finding a beaten track soon after we started on the morning of the 12th, and were thus enabled to walk briskly. We crossed at least twenty hills, and found a small lake or pool at the foot of each. The destructive ravages of fire were visible during the greater part of the day. The only wood we saw for miles together consisted of pine-trees stript of their branches and bark by this element: in other parts poplars alone were growing, which we have remarked invariably to succeed the pine after a conflagration. We walked twenty miles to-day, but the direct distance was only sixteen. The remains of an Indian hut were found in a deep glen, and close to it was placed a pile of wood, which our companions supposed to cover a deposit of provision. Our Canadian voyagers, induced by their insatiable desire of procuring food, proceeded to remove the upper pieces, and examine its contents; when, to their surprise{33}, they found the body of a female, clothed in leather, which appeared to have been recently placed there. Her former garments, the materials for making a fire, a fishing-line, a hatchet, and a bark dish, were laid beside the corpse. The wood was carefully replaced. A small owl, perched on a tree near the spot, called forth many singular remarks from our companions, as to its being a good or bad omen. We walked the whole of the 13th over flat meadow-land, which is much resorted to by the buffalo at all seasons. Some herds of them were seen, which our hunters were too unskilful to approach. In the afternoon we reached the Stinking Lake, which is nearly of an oval form. Its shores are very low and swampy, to which circumstances, and not to the bad quality of the waters, it owes its Indian name. Our observations place its western part in latitude 53° 25' 24" N., longitude 107° 18' 58" W., variation 20° 32' 10" E. After a march of fifteen miles and a half, we encamped among a few pines, at the only spot where we saw sufficient wood for making our fire during the day. The next morning, about an hour after we had commenced our march, we came upon a beaten track, and perceived recent marks of snow-shoes. In a short time an Iroquois joined us, who was residing with a party of Cree-Indians, to secure the meat and furs they should collect, for the North-West Company. He accompanied us as far as the stage on which his meat was placed, and then gave us a very pressing invitation to halt for the day and partake of his fare; which, as the hour was too early, we declined, much to the annoyance of our Canadian companions, who had been cherishing the prospect of indulging their amazing appetites at this well-furnished store, ever since the man had been with us. He gave them, however, a small supply previous to our parting. The route now crossed some ranges of hills, on which fir, birch, and poplar, grew so thickly, that we had much difficulty in getting the sledges through the narrow pathway between them. In the evening we descended from the elevated ground, crossed three swampy meadows, and encamped at their northern extremity, within a cluster of large pine-trees, the branches of which were elegantly decorated with abundance of a greenish yellow lichen. Our march was ten miles. The weather was very mild, almost too warm for the exercise we were taking. We had a strong gale from the N.W. during the night, which subsided as the morning opened. One of the sledges had been so much broken the day before in the woods, that we had to divide its cargo among the others. We started after this had been arranged, and finding almost immediately a firm track, soon arrived at some Indian lodges to which it led. The inhabitants were Crees, belonging to the posts on the Saskatchawan, from whence they had come to hunt beaver. We made but a short stay, and proceeded through a Swamp to Pelican Lake. Our view to the right was bounded by a range of lofty hills, which extended for several miles in a north and south direction, which, it may be remarked, was that of all the hilly land we had passed since quitting the plain. Pelican Lake is of an irregular form, about six miles from east to west, and eight from north to south; it decreases to the breadth of a mile towards the northern extremity, and is there terminated by a creek. We went up this creek for a short distance, and then struck into the woods, and encamped among a cluster of the firs, which the Canadians term cyprès{34} (_pinus Banksiana_,) having come fourteen miles and a half. _February 16_.--Shortly after commencing the journey to-day, we met an Indian and his family, who had come from the houses at Green Lake; they informed us the track was well beaten the whole way. We therefore, put forth our utmost speed in the hope of reaching them by night; but were disappointed, and had to halt at dark, about twelve miles from them, in a fisherman's hut, which was unoccupied. Frequent showers of snow fell during the day, and the atmosphere was thick and gloomy. We started at an early hour the following morning, and reached the Hudson's Bay Company's post to breakfast, and were received very kindly by Mr. Mac Farlane, the gentleman in charge. The other establishment, situated on the opposite side of the river, was under the direction of Mr. Dugald Cameron, one of the partners of the North-West Company, on whom Mr. Back and I called soon after our arrival, and were honoured with a salute of musquetry. These establishments are small, but said to be well situated for procuring furs; as the numerous creeks in their vicinity are much resorted to by the beaver, otter, and musquash. The residents usually obtain a superabundant supply of provision. This season, however, they barely had sufficient for their own support, owing to the epidemic which has incapacitated the Indians for hunting. The Green Lake lies nearly north and south, is eighteen miles in length, and does not exceed one mile and a half of breadth in any part. The water is deep, and it is in consequence one of the last lakes in the country that is frozen. Excellent tittameg and trout are caught in it from March to December, but after that time most of the fish remove to some larger lake. We remained two days, awaiting the return of some men who had been sent to the Indian lodges for meat, and who were to go on with us. Mr. Back and I did not need this rest, having completely surmounted the pain occasioned by the snow-shoes. We dined twice with Mr. Cameron, and received from him many useful suggestions respecting our future operations. This gentleman having informed us that provisions would, probably, be very scarce next spring in the Athabasca department, in consequence of the sickness of the Indians during the hunting season, undertook at my request to cause a supply of pemmican to be conveyed from the Saskatchawan to Isle à la Crosse for our use during the winter, and I wrote to apprize Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, that they would find it at the latter post when they passed; and also to desire them to bring as much as the canoes would stow from Cumberland. The atmosphere was clear and cold during our stay; observations were obtained at the Hudson Bay Fort, lat. 54° 16' 10" N., long. 107° 29' 52" W., var. 22° 6' 35" E. _February 20_.--Having been equipped with carioles, sledges, and provisions, from the two posts, we this day recommenced our journey, and were much amused by the novelty of the salute given at our departure, the guns being principally fired by the women in the absence of the men. Our course was directed to the end of the lake, and for a short distance along a small river; we then crossed the woods to the Beaver River, which we found to be narrow and very serpentine, having moderately high banks. We encamped about one mile and a half further up among poplars. The next day we proceeded along the river; it was winding, and about two hundred yards broad. We passed the mouths of two rivers whose waters it receives; the latter one, we were informed, is a channel by which the Indians go to the Lesser Slave Lake. The banks of the river became higher as we advanced, and were adorned with pines, poplars, and willows. Though the weather was very cold, we travelled more comfortably than at any preceding time since our departure from Cumberland, as we had light carioles, which enabled us to ride nearly the whole day, warmly covered up with a buffalo robe. We were joined by Mr. McLeod, of the North-West Company, who had kindly brought some things from Green Lake, which our sledges could not carry. Pursuing our route along the river, we reached at an early hour the upper extremity of the "Grand Rapid," where the ice was so rough that the carioles and sledges had to be conveyed across a point of land. Soon after noon we left the river, inclining N.E., and directed our course N.W., until we reached Long Lake, and encamped at its northern extremity, having come twenty-three miles. This lake is about fourteen miles long, and from three quarters to one mile and a half broad; its shores and islands low, but well wooded. There were frequent snow-showers during the day. _February 23_.--The night was very stormy, but the wind became more moderate in the morning. We passed to-day through several nameless lakes and swamps before we came to Train Lake, which received its name from being the place where the traders procured the birch to make their sledges, or traineaux; but this wood has been all used, and there only remain pines and a few poplars. We met some sledges laden with fish, kindly sent to meet us by Mr. Clark, of the Hudson's Bay Company, on hearing of our approach. Towards the evening the weather became much more unpleasant, and we were exposed to a piercingly cold wind, and much snow-drift, in traversing the Isle à la Crosse Lake; we were, therefore, highly pleased at reaching the Hudson's Bay House by six P.M. We were received in the most friendly manner by Mr. Clark, and honoured by volleys of musketry. Similar marks of attention were shewn to us on the following day by Mr. Bethune, the partner in charge of the North-West Company's Fort. I found here the letters which I had addressed from Cumberland, in November last, to the partners of the North-West Company, in the Athabasca, which circumstance convinced me of the necessity of our present journey. These establishments are situated on the southern side of the lake, and close to each other. They are forts of considerable importance, being placed at a point of communication with the English River, the Athabasca, and Columbia Districts. The country around them is low, and intersected with water, and was formerly much frequented by beavers and otters, which, however, have been so much hunted by the Indians, that their number is greatly decreased. The Indians frequenting these forts are the Crees and some Chipewyans; they scarcely ever come except in the spring and autumn; in the former season to bring their winter's collection of furs, and in the latter to get the stores they require. Three Chipewyan lads came in during our stay, to report what furs the band to which they belonged had collected, and to desire they might be sent for; the Indians having declined bringing either furs or meat themselves, since the opposition between the Companies commenced. Mr. Back drew the portrait of one of the boys. Isle à la Crosse Lake receives its name from an island situated near the forts, on which the Indians formerly assembled annually to amuse themselves at the game of the Cross. It is justly celebrated for abundance of the finest tittameg, which weigh from five to fifteen pounds. The residents live principally upon this most delicious fish, which fortunately can be eaten a long time without disrelish. It is plentifully caught with nets throughout the year, except for two or three months. _March 4_.--We witnessed the Aurora Borealis very brilliant for the second time since our departure from Cumberland. A winter encampment is not a favourable situation for viewing this phenomenon, as the trees in general hide the sky. Arrangements had been made for recommencing our journey to-day, but the wind was stormy, and the snow had drifted too much for travelling with comfort; we therefore stayed and dined with Mr. Bethune, who promised to render every assistance in getting pemmican conveyed to us from the Saskatchawan, to be in readiness for our canoes, when they might arrive in the spring; Mr. Clark also engaged to procure six bags for us, and to furnish our canoes with any other supplies which might be wanted, and could be spared from his post, and to contribute his aid in forwarding the pemmican to the Athabasca, if our canoes could not carry it all. I feel greatly indebted to this gentleman for much valuable information respecting the country and the Indians residing to the north of Slave Lake, and for furnishing me with a list of stores he supposed we should require. He had resided some years on Mackenzie's River, and had been once so far towards its mouth as to meet the Esquimaux in great numbers. But they assumed such a hostile attitude, that he deemed it unadvisable to attempt opening any communication with them, and retreated as speedily as he could. The observations we obtained here shewed that the chronometers had varied their rates a little in consequence of the jolting of the carioles, but their errors and rates were ascertained previous to our departure. We observed the position of this fort to be latitude 55° 25' 35" N., longitude 107° 51' 00" W., by lunars reduced back from Fort Chipewyan, variation 22° 15' 48" W.,{35} dip 84° 13' 35". _March 5_.--We recommenced our journey this morning, having been supplied with the means of conveyance by both the Companies in equal proportions. Mr. Clark accompanied us with the intention of going as far as the boundary of his district. This gentleman was an experienced winter traveller, and we derived much benefit from his suggestions; he caused the men to arrange the encampment with more attention to comfort and shelter than our former companions had done. After marching eighteen miles we put up on Gravel Point, in the Deep River. At nine the next morning, we came to the commencement of Clear Lake. We crossed its southern extremes, and then went over a point of land to Buffalo Lake, and encamped after travelling{36} twenty-six miles. After supper we were entertained till midnight with paddling songs, by our Canadians, who required very little stimulus beyond their natural vivacity, to afford us this diversion. The next morning we arrived at the establishments which are situated on the western side of the lake, near a small stream, called the Beaver River. They were small log buildings, hastily erected last October, for the convenience of the Indians who hunt in the vicinity. Mr. Mac Murray, a partner in the N.W. Company, having sent to Isle à la Crosse an invitation to Mr. Back and I, our carioles were driven to his post, and we experienced the kindest reception. These posts are frequented by only a few Indians, Crees, and Chipewyans. The country round is not sufficiently stocked with animals to afford support to many families, and the traders subsist almost entirely on fish caught in the autumn, prior to the lake being frozen; but the water being shallow, they remove to a deeper part, as soon as the lake is covered with ice. The Aurora Borealis was brilliantly displayed on both the nights we remained here, but particularly on the 7th, when its appearances were most diversified, and the motion extremely rapid. Its coruscations occasionally concealed from sight stars of the first magnitude in passing over them, at other times these were faintly discerned through them; once I perceived a stream of light to illumine the under surface of some clouds as it passed along. There was no perceptible noise. Mr. Mac Murray gave a dance to his voyagers and the women; this is a treat which they expect on the arrival of any stranger at the post. We were presented by this gentleman with the valuable skin of a black fox, which he had entrapped some days before our arrival; it was forwarded to England with other specimens. Our observations place the North-West Company's House in latitude 55° 53' 00" N., longitude 108° 51' 10" W., variation 22° 33' 22" E. The shores of Buffalo Lake are of moderate height, and well wooded, but immediately beyond the bank the country is very swampy and intersected with water in every direction. At some distance from the western side there is a conspicuous hill, which we hailed with much pleasure, as being the first interruption to the tediously uniform scene we had for some time passed through. On the 10th we recommenced our journey after breakfast, and travelled quickly, as we had the advantage of a well-beaten track. At the end of eighteen miles we entered upon the river "Loche," which has a serpentine course, and is confined between alluvial banks that support stunted willows and a few pines; we encamped about three miles further on; and in the course of the next day's march perceived several holes on the ice, and many unsafe places for the sledges. Our companions said the ice of this river is always in the same insecure state, even during the most severe winter, which they attributed to warm springs. Quitting the river, we crossed a portage and came upon the Methye Lake, and soon afterwards arrived at the trading posts on its western side. These were perfect huts, which had been hastily built after the commencement of the last winter. We here saw two hunters who were Chipewyan half-breeds, and made many inquiries of them respecting the countries we expected to visit, but we found them quite ignorant of every part beyond the Athabasca Lake. They spoke of Mr. Hearne and of his companion Matonnabee, but did not add to our stock of information respecting that journey. It had happened before their birth, but they remembered the expedition of Sir Alexander Mackenzie towards the sea. This is a picturesque lake, about ten miles long and six broad, and receives its name from a species of fish caught in it, but not much esteemed; the residents never eat any part but the liver except through necessity, the dogs dislike even that. The tittameg and trout are also caught in the fall of the year. The position of the houses by our observations is latitude 56° 24' 20" N., longitude 109° 23' 06" W., variation 22° 50' 28" E. On the 13th we renewed our journey and parted from Mr. Clark, to whom we were much obliged for his hospitality and kindness. We soon reached the Methye Portage, and had a very pleasant ride across it in our carioles. The track was good and led through groups of pines, so happily placed that it would not have required a great stretch of imagination to fancy ourselves in a well-arranged park. We had now to cross a small lake, and then gradually ascended hills beyond it, until we arrived at the summit of a lofty chain of mountains commanding the most picturesque and romantic prospect we had yet seen in this country. Two ranges of high hills run parallel to each other for several miles, until the faint blue haze hides their particular characters, when they slightly change their course, and are lost to the view. The space between them is occupied by nearly a level plain, through which a river pursues a meandering course, and receives supplies from the creeks and rills issuing from the mountains on each side. The prospect was delightful even amid the snow, and though marked with all the cheerless characters of winter; how much more charming must it be when the trees are in leaf, and the ground is arrayed in summer verdure! Some faint idea of the difference was conveyed to my mind by witnessing the effect of the departing rays of a brilliant sun. The distant prospect, however, is surpassed in grandeur by the wild scenery which appeared immediately below our feet. There the eye penetrates into vast ravines two or three hundred feet in depth, that are clothed with trees, and lie on either side of the narrow pathway descending to the river over eight successive ridges of hills. At one spot termed the Cockscomb, the traveller stands insulated as it were on a small slip, where a false step might precipitate him into the glen. From this place Mr. Back took an interesting and accurate sketch, to allow time for which, we encamped early, having come twenty-one miles. The Methye Portage is about twelve miles in extent, and over this space the canoes and all their cargoes are carried, both in going to and from the Athabasca department. It is part of the range of mountains which separates the waters flowing south from those flowing north. According to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, "this range of hills continues in a S.W. direction until its local height is lost between the Saskatchawan and Elk Rivers, close on the banks of the former, in latitude 53° 36' N., longitude 113° 45' W., when it appears to take its course due north." Observations, taken in the spring by Mr. Hood, place the northside of the portage in latitude 56° 41' 40" N., longitude 109° 52' 15" W., variation 25° 2' 30" E., dip 85° 7' 27". At daylight on the 14th we began to descend the range of hills leading towards the river, and no small care was required to prevent the sledges from being broken in going down these almost perpendicular heights, or being precipitated into the glens on each side. As a precautionary measure the dogs were taken off, and the sledges guided by the men, notwithstanding which they descended with amazing rapidity, and the men were thrown into the most ridiculous attitudes in endeavouring to stop them. When we had arrived at the bottom I could not but feel astonished at the laborious task which the voyagers have twice in the year to encounter at this place, in conveying their stores backwards and forwards. We went across the Clear Water River, which runs at the bases of these hills, and followed an Indian track along its northern bank, by which we avoided the White Mud and Good Portages. We afterwards followed the river as far as the Pine Portage, when we passed through a very romantic defile of rocks, which presented the appearance of Gothic ruins, and their rude characters were happily contrasted with the softness of the snow, and the darker foliage of the pines which crowned their summits. We next crossed the Cascade Portage, which is the last on the way to the Athabasca Lake, and soon afterwards came to some Indian tents, containing five families, belonging to the Chipewyan tribe. We smoked the calumet in the Chiefs tent, whose name was the Thumb, and distributed some tobacco and a weak mixture of spirits and water among the men. They received this civility with much less grace than the Crees, and seemed to consider it a matter of course. There was an utter neglect of cleanliness, and a total want of comfort in their tents; and the poor creatures were miserably clothed. Mr. Frazer, who accompanied us from the Methye Lake, accounted for their being in this forlorn condition by explaining, that this band of Indians had recently destroyed every thing they possessed, as a token of their great grief for the loss of their relatives in the prevailing sickness. It appears that no article is spared by these unhappy men when a near relative dies; their clothes and tents are cut to pieces, their guns broken, and every other weapon rendered useless, if some person do not remove these articles from their sight, which is seldom done.--Mr. Back sketched one of the children, which delighted the father very much, who charged the boy to be very good, since his picture had been drawn by a great chief. We learned that they prize pictures very highly, and esteem any they can get, however badly executed, as efficient charms. They were unable to give us any information respecting the country beyond the Athabasca Lake, which is the boundary of their peregrinations to the northward. Having been apprized of our coming, they had prepared an encampment for us; but we had witnessed too many proofs of their importunity to expect that we could pass the night near them in any comfort, whilst either spirits, tobacco, or sugar remained in our possession; and therefore preferred to go about two miles further along the river, and to encamp among a cluster of fine pine-trees, after a journey of sixteen miles. On the morning of the 15th, in proceeding along the river we perceived a strong smell of sulphur, and on the north shore found a quantity of it scattered, which seemed to have been deposited by some spring in the neighbourhood: it appeared very pure and good. We continued our course the whole day along the river, which is about four hundred yards wide, has some islands, and is confined between low land, extending from the bases of the mountains on each side. We put up at the end of thirteen miles, and were then joined by a Chipewyan, who came, as we supposed, to serve as our guide to Pierre au Calumet, but as none of the party could communicate with our new friend, otherwise than by signs, we waited patiently until the morning to see what he intended to do. The wind blew a gale during the night, and the snow fell heavily. The next day our guide led us to the Pembina River, which comes from the southward, where we found traces of Indians, who appeared to have quitted this station the day before; we had, therefore, the benefit of a good track, which our dogs much required, as they were greatly fatigued, having dragged their loads through very deep snow for the last two days. A moose-deer crossed the river just before the party: this animal is plentiful in the vicinity. We encamped in a pleasant well-sheltered place, having travelled fourteen miles. A short distance on the following morning, brought us to some Indian lodges, which belonged to an old Chipewyan chief, named the Sun, and his family, consisting of five hunters, their wives, and children. They were delighted to see us, and when the object of our expedition had been explained to them, expressed themselves much interested in our progress; but they could not give a particle of information respecting the countries beyond the Athabasca Lake. We smoked with them, and gave each person a glass of mixed spirits and some tobacco. A Canadian servant of the North-West Company, who was residing with them, informed us that this family had lost numerous relatives, and that the destruction of property, which had been made after their deaths, was the only cause for the pitiable condition in which we saw them, as the whole family were industrious hunters, and, therefore, were usually better provided with clothes, and other useful articles, than most of the Indians. We purchased from them a pair of snow-shoes, in exchange for some ammunition. The Chipewyans are celebrated for making them good and easy to walk in; we saw some here upwards of six feet long, and three broad. With these unwieldy clogs an active hunter, in the spring, when there is a crust on the surface of the snow, will run down a moose or red deer. We made very slow progress after leaving this party, on account of the deep snow, but continued along the river until we reached its junction with the Athabasca or Elk River. We obtained observations on an island, a little below the Forks, which gave, longitude 111° 8' 42" W., variation 24° 18' 20" E. Very little wood was seen during this day's march. The western shore, near the Forks, is destitute of trees; it is composed of lofty perpendicular cliffs, which were now covered with snow. The eastern shore supports a few pines. _March 18_.--Soon after our departure from the encampment, we met two men from the establishment at Pierre au Calumet, who gave us correct information of its situation and distance. Having the benefit of their track, we marched at a tolerably quick pace, and made twenty-two miles in the course of the day, though the weather was very disagreeable for travelling, being stormy, with constant snow. We kept along the river the whole time: its breadth is about two miles. The islands appear better furnished with wood than its banks, the summits of which are almost bare. Soon after we had encamped our Indian guide rejoined us; he had remained behind the day before, without consulting us, to accompany a friend on a hunting excursion. On his return he made no endeavour to explain the reason of his absence, but sat down coolly, and began to prepare his supper. This behaviour made us sensible that little dependence is to be placed on the continuance of an Indian guide, when his inclination leads him away. Early the next morning we sent forward the Indian and a Canadian, to apprize the gentleman in charge of Pierre au Calumet of our approach; and, after breakfast, the rest of the party proceeded along the river for that station, which we reached in the afternoon. The senior partner of the North-West Company in the Athabasca department, Mr. John Stuart, was in charge of the post. Though he was quite ignorant until this morning of our being in the country, we found him prepared to receive us with great kindness, and ready to afford every information and assistance, agreeably to the desire conveyed in Mr. Simon McGillivray's circular letter. This gentleman had twice traversed this continent, and reached the Pacific by the Columbia River; he was therefore, fully conversant with the different modes of travelling, and with the obstacles that may be expected in passing through unfrequented countries. His suggestions and advice were consequently very valuable to us, but not having been to the northward of the Great Slave Lake, he had no knowledge of that line of country, except what he had gained from the reports of Indians. He was of opinion, however, that positive information, on which our course of proceedings might safely be determined, could be procured from the Indians that frequent the north side of the lake, when they came to the forts in the Spring. He recommended my writing to the partner in charge of that department, requesting him to collect all the intelligence he could, and to provide guides and hunters from the tribe best acquainted with the country through which we proposed to travel. To our great regret, Mr. Stuart expressed much doubt as to our prevailing upon any experienced Canadian voyagers to accompany us to the sea, in consequence of their dread of the Esquimaux; who, he informed us, had already destroyed the crew of one canoe, which had been sent under Mr. Livingstone, to open a trading communication with those who reside near the mouth of the Mackenzie River; and he also mentioned, that the same tribe had driven away the canoes under Mr. Clark's direction, going to them on a similar object, to which circumstance I have alluded in my remarks at Isle à la Crosse. This was unpleasant information; but we were comforted by Mr. Stuart's assurance that himself and his partners would use every endeavour to remove their fears, as well as to promote our views in every other way; and he undertook, as a necessary part of our equipment in the spring, to prepare the bark and other materials for constructing two canoes at this post. Mr. Stuart informed us that the residents at Fort Chipewyan, from the recent sickness of their Indian hunters, had been reduced to subsist entirely on the produce of their fishing-nets, which did not then yield more than a bare sufficiency for their support; and he kindly proposed to us to remain with him until the spring: but, as we were most desirous to gain all the information we could as early as possible, and Mr. Stuart assured us that the addition of three persons would not be materially felt in their large family at Chipewyan, we determined on proceeding thither, and fixed on the 22d for our departure. Pierre au Calumet receives its name from the place where the stone is procured, of which many of the pipes used by the Canadians and Indians are made. It is a clayey limestone, impregnated with various shells. The house, which is built on the summit of a steep bank, rising almost perpendicular to the height of one hundred and eighty feet, commands an extensive prospect along this fine river, and over the plains which stretch out several miles at the back of it, bounded by hills of considerable height, and apparently better furnished with wood than the neighbourhood of the fort, where the trees grow very scantily. There had been an establishment belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company on the opposite bank of the river, but it was abandoned in December last, the residents not being able to procure provision, from their hunters having been disabled by the epidemic sickness, which has carried off one-third of the Indians in these parts. They belong to the Northern Crees, a name given them from their residing in the Athabasca department. There are now but few families of these men, who, formerly, by their numbers and predatory habits, spread terror among the natives of this part of the country. There are springs of bituminous matter on several of the islands near these houses; and the stones on the river-bank are much impregnated with this useful substance. There is also another place remarkable for the production of a sulphureous salt, which is deposited on the surface of a round-backed hill about half a mile from the beach, and on the marshy ground underneath it. We visited these places at a subsequent period of the journey, and descriptions of them will appear in Dr. Richardson's Mineralogical Notices. The latitude of the North-West Company's House is 57° 24' 06" N., but this was the only observation we could obtain, the atmosphere being cloudy. Mr. Stuart had an excellent thermometer, which indicated the lowest state of temperature to be 43° below zero. He told me 45° was the lowest temperature he had ever witnessed at the Athabasca or Great Slave Lake, after many years' residence. On the 21st it rose above zero, and at noon attained the height of 43°; the atmosphere was sultry, snow fell constantly, and there was quite an appearance of a change in the season. On the 22d we parted from our hospitable friend, and recommenced our journey, but under the expectation of seeing him again in May; at which time the partners of the Company usually assemble at Fort Chipewyan, where we hoped the necessary arrangements for our future proceedings would be completed. We encamped at sunset at the end of fourteen miles, having walked the whole way along the river, which preserves nearly a true north course, and is from four hundred to six hundred yards broad. The banks are high, and well clothed with the liard, spruce, fir, alder, birch-tree, and willows. Having come nineteen miles and a half, on the 23d, we encamped among pines of a great height and girth. Showers of snow fell until noon on the following day, but we continued our journey along the river, whose banks and islands became gradually lower as we advanced, and less abundantly supplied with wood, except willows. We passed an old Canadian, who was resting his wearied dogs during the heat of the sun. He was carrying meat from some Indian lodges to Fort Chipewyan, having a burden exceeding two hundred and fifty pounds on his sledge, which was dragged by two miserable dogs. He came up to our encampment after dark. We were much amused by the altercation that took place between him and our Canadian companions as to the qualifications of their respective dogs. This, however, is such a general topic of conversation among the voyagers in the encampment, that we should not probably have remarked it, had not the old man frequently offered to bet the whole of his wages that his two dogs, poor and lean as they were, would drag their load to the Athabasca Lake in less time than any three of theirs. Having expressed our surprise at his apparent temerity, he coolly said the men from the lower countries did not understand the management of their dogs, and that he depended on his superior skill in driving; and we soon gathered from his remarks, that the voyagers of the Athabasca department consider themselves very superior to any other. The only reasons which he could assign were, that they had borne their burdens across the terrible Methye Portage, and that they were accustomed to live harder and more precariously. _March 25_.--Having now the guidance of the old Canadian, we sent forward the Indian, and one of our men, with letters to the gentleman at the Athabasca Lake. The rest of the party set off afterwards, and kept along the river until ten, when we branched off by portages into the Embarras River, the usual channel of communication in canoes with the lake. It is a narrow and serpentine stream, confined between alluvial banks which support pines, poplars, and willows. We had not advanced far before we overtook the two men despatched by us this morning. The stormy weather had compelled them to encamp, as there was too much drifting of the snow for any attempt to cross the lake. We were obliged, though most reluctantly, to follow their example; but comforted ourselves with the reflection that this was the first time we had been stopped by the weather during our long journey, which was so near at an end. The gale afterwards increased, the squalls at night became very violent, disburthened the trees of the snow, and gave us the benefit of a continual fall of patches from them, in addition to the constant shower. We therefore quickly finished our suppers, and retired under the shelter of our blankets. _March 26_.--The boisterous weather continued through the night, and it was not before six this morning that the wind became apparently moderate, and the snow ceased. Two of the Canadians were immediately sent off with letters to the gentlemen at Fort Chipewyan. After breakfast we also started, but our Indian friend, having a great indisposition to move in such weather, remained by the fire. We soon quitted the river, and after crossing a portage, a small lake, and a point of land, came to the borders of the Mamma-wee Lake. We then found our error as to the strength of the wind; and that the gale still blew violently, and there was so much drifting of the snow as to cover the distant objects by which our course could be directed. We fortunately got a glimpse through this cloud of a cluster of islands in the direction of the houses, and decided on walking towards them; but in doing this we suffered very much from the cold, and were obliged to halt under the shelter of them, and await the arrival of our Indian guide. He conducted us between these islands, over a small lake and by a swampy river, into the Athabasca Lake, from whence the establishments were visible. At four P.M. we had the pleasure of arriving at Fort Chipewyan, and of being received by Messrs. Keith and Black, the partners of the North-West Company in charge, in the most kind and hospitable manner. Thus terminated a winter's journey of eight hundred and fifty-seven miles, in the progress of which there was a great intermixture of agreeable and disagreeable circumstances. Could the amount of each be balanced, I suspect the latter would much preponderate; and amongst these the initiation into walking in snow-shoes must be considered as prominent. The suffering it occasions can be but faintly imagined by a person who thinks upon the inconvenience of marching with a weight of between two and three pounds constantly attached to galled feet, and swelled ankles. Perseverance and practice only will enable the novice to surmount this pain. The next evil is the being constantly exposed to witness the wanton and unnecessary cruelty of the men to their dogs, especially those of the Canadians, who beat them unmercifully, and habitually vent on them the most dreadful and disgusting imprecations. There are other inconveniences which though keenly felt during the day's journey, are speedily forgotten when stretched out in the encampment before a large fire, you enjoy the social mirth of your companions, who usually pass the evening in recounting their former feats in travelling. At this time the Canadians are always cheerful and merry, and the only bar to their comfort arises from the frequent interruption occasioned by the dogs, who are constantly prowling about the circle, and snatching at every kind of food that happens to be within their reach. These useful animals are a comfort to them afterwards, by the warmth they impart when lying down by their side or feet, as they usually do. But the greatest gratifications a traveller in these regions enjoys, are derived from the hospitable welcome he receives at every trading post, however poor the means of the host may be; and from being disrobed even for a short time of the trappings of a voyager, and experiencing the pleasures of cleanliness. The following are the estimated distances, in statute miles, which Mr. Back and I had travelled since our departure from Cumberland: From Cumberland House to Carlton House 263 From Carlton to Isle à la Crosse 230 From Isle à la Crosse to north side of the Methye Portage 124 From the Methye Portage to Fort Chipewyan 240 ---- 857 Miles. CHAPTER V. Transactions at Fort Chipewyan--Arrival of Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood--Preparations for our journey to the Northward. 1820. March 26. On the day after our arrival at Fort Chipewyan we called upon Mr. Mac Donald, the gentleman in charge of the Hudson's Bay Establishment called Fort Wedderburne, and delivered to him Governor Williams's circular Letter, which desired that every assistance should be given to further our progress, and a statement of the requisitions which we should have to make on his post. Our first object was to obtain some certain information respecting our future route; and accordingly we received from one of the North-West Company's interpreters, named Beaulieu, a half-breed, who had been brought up amongst the Dog-ribbed and Copper Indians, some satisfactory information which we afterwards found tolerably correct, respecting the mode of reaching the Copper-Mine{37} River, which he had descended a considerable way, as well as of the course of that river to its mouth. The Copper Indians, however, he said, would be able to give us more accurate information as to the latter part of its course, as they occasionally pursue it to the sea. He sketched on the floor a representation of the river, and a line of coast according to his idea of it. Just as he had finished, an old Chipewyan Indian named Black Meat, unexpectedly came in, and instantly recognised the plan. He then took the charcoal from Beaulieu, and inserted a track along the sea-coast, which he had followed in returning from a war excursion, made by his tribe against the Esquimaux. He detailed several particulars of the coast and the sea, which he represented as studded with well-wooded islands, and free from ice, close to the shore, in the month of July, but not to a great distance. He described two other rivers to the eastward of the Copper-Mine{38} River, which also fall into the Northern Ocean. The Anatessy, which issues from the Contway-to or Rum Lake, and the Thloueea-tessy or Fish River, which rises near the eastern boundary of the Great Slave Lake; but he represented both of them as being shallow, and too much interrupted by barriers for being navigated in any other than small Indian canoes. Having received this satisfactory intelligence, I wrote immediately to Mr. Smith, of the North-West Company, and Mr. McVicar, of the Hudson's Bay Company, the gentlemen in charge of the posts at the Great Slave Lake, to communicate the object of the Expedition, and our proposed route; and to solicit any information they possessed, or could collect, from the Indians, relative to the countries we had to pass through, and the best manner of proceeding. As the Copper Indians frequent the establishment on the north side of the lake, I particularly requested them to explain to that tribe the object of our visit, and to endeavour to procure from them some guides and hunters to accompany our party. Two Canadians were sent by Mr. Keith with these letters. The month of April commenced with fine and clear but extremely cold weather; unfortunately we were still without a thermometer, and could not ascertain the degrees of temperature. The coruscations of the Aurora were very brilliant almost every evening of the first week, and were generally of the most variable kind. On the 3d they were particularly changeable. The first appearance exhibited three illuminated beams issuing from the horizon in the north, east, and west points, and directed towards the zenith; in a few seconds these disappeared, and a complete circle was displayed, bounding the horizon at an elevation of fifteen degrees. There was a quick lateral motion in the attenuated beams of which this zone was composed. Its colour was a pale yellow, with an occasional tinge of red. On the 8th of April the Indians saw some geese in the vicinity of this lake, but none of the migratory birds appeared near the houses before the 15th, when some swans flew over. These are generally the first that arrive; the weather had been very stormy for the four preceding days, and this in all probability kept the birds from venturing farther north than where the Indians had first seen them. In the middle of the month the snow began to waste daily, and by degrees it disappeared from the hills and the surface of the lake. On the 17th and 19th the Aurora appeared very brilliant in patches of light, bearing N.W. An old Cree Indian having found a beaver-lodge near to the fort, Mr. Keith, Back, and I, accompanied him to see the method of breaking into it, and their mode of taking those interesting animals. The lodge was constructed on the side of a rock in a small lake, having the entrance into it beneath the ice. The frames were formed of layers of sticks, the interstices being filled with mud, and the outside was plastered with earth and stones, which the frost had so completely consolidated, that to break through required great labour, with the aid of the ice chisel, and the other iron instruments which the beaver hunters use. The chase however, was unsuccessful, as the beaver had previously vacated the lodge. On the 21st we observed the first geese that flew near the fort, and some were brought to the house on the 30th, but they were very lean. On the 25th flies were seen sporting in the sun, and on the 26th the Athabasca River having broken up, overflowed the lake along its channel; but except where this water spread, there was no appearance of decay in the ice. _May_.--During the first part of this month, the wind blew from the N.W., and the sky was cloudy. It generally thawed during the day, but froze at night. On the 2nd the Aurora faintly gleamed through very dense clouds. We had a long conversation with Mr. Dease of the North-West Company, who had recently arrived from his station at the bottom of the Athabasca Lake. This gentleman, having passed several winters on the Mackenzie's River, and at the posts to the northward of Slave Lake, possessed considerable information respecting the Indians, and those parts of the country to which our inquiries were directed, which he very promptly and kindly communicated. During our conversation, an old Chipewyan Indian, named the Rabbit's Head, entered the room, to whom Mr. Dease referred for information on some point. We found from his answer that he was a step-son of the late Chief Matonnabee, who had accompanied Mr. Hearne on his journey to the sea, and that he had himself been of the party, but being then a mere boy, he had forgotten many of the circumstances. He confirmed however, the leading incidents related by Hearne, and was positive he reached the sea, though he admitted that none of the party had tasted the water. He represented himself to be the only survivor of that party. As he was esteemed a good Indian, I presented him with a medal, which he received gratefully, and concluded a long speech upon the occasion, by assuring me he should preserve it carefully all his life. The old man afterwards became more communicative, and unsolicited began to relate the tradition of his tribe, respecting the discovery of the Copper Mine, which we thought amusing: and as the subject is somewhat connected with our future researches, I will insert the translation of it which was given at the time by Mr. Dease, though a slight mention of it has been made by Hearne. "The Chipewyans suppose the Esquimaux originally inhabited some land to the northward which is separated by the sea from this country; and that in the earliest ages of the world a party of these men came over and stole a woman from their tribe, whom they carried to this distant country and kept in a state of slavery. She was very unhappy in her situation, and effected her escape after many years residence among them. The forlorn creature wandered about, for some days, in a state of uncertainty what direction to take, when she chanced to fall upon a beaten path, which she followed and was led to the sea. At the sight of the ocean her hope of being able to return to her native country vanished, and she sat herself down in despair, and wept. A wolf now advanced to caress her, and having licked the tears from her eyes, walked into the water, and she perceived with joy that it did not reach up to the body of the animal; emboldened by this appearance, she instantly arose, provided two sticks to support herself, and determined on following the wolf. The first and second nights she proceeded on, without finding any increase in the depth of the water, and when fatigued, rested herself on the sticks, whose upper ends she fastened together for the purpose. She was alarmed on the third morning, by arriving at a deeper part, but resolved on going forward at any risk, rather than return; and her daring perseverance was crowned with success, by her attaining her native shore on the fifth day. She fortunately came to a part where there was a beaten path, which she knew to be the track made by the rein-deer in their migrations. Here she halted and prepared some sort of weapon for killing them; as soon as this was completed, she had the gratification to behold several herds advancing along the road, and had the happiness of killing a sufficient number for her winter's subsistence, which she determined to pass at that place, and therefore formed a house for herself, after the manner she had learned from the Esquimaux. When spring came, and she emerged from her subterraneous dwelling, (for such the Chipewyans suppose it to have been,) she was astonished by observing a glittering appearance on a distant hill, which she knew was not produced by the reflection of the sun, and being at a loss to assign any other cause for it she resolved on going up to the shining object, and then found the hill was entirely composed of copper. She broke off several pieces, and finding it yielded so readily to her beating, it occurred to her that this metal would be very serviceable to her countrymen, if she could find them again. While she was meditating on what was to be done, the thought struck her that it would be advisable to attach as many pieces of copper to her dress as she could, and then proceed into the interior, in search of some inhabitants, who, she supposed, would give her a favourable reception, on account of the treasure she had brought. "It happened that she met her own relations, and the young men, elated with the account she had given of the hill, made her instantly return with them; which she was enabled to do, having taken the precaution of putting up marks to indicate the path. The party reached the spot in safety, but the story had a melancholy catastrophe. These youths overcome by excess of joy, gave loose to their passions, and offered the grossest insults to their benefactress. She powerfully resisted them for some time, and when her strength was failing, fled to the point of the mountain, as the only place of security. The moment she had gained the summit, the earth opened and ingulphed both herself and the mountain, to the utter dismay of the men, who were not more astonished at its sudden disappearance, than sorrowful for this just punishment of their wickedness. Ever since this event, the copper has only been found in small detached pieces on the surface of the earth." On the 10th of May we were gratified by the appearance of spring, though the ice remained firm on the lake. The anemone (pulsatilla, pasque flower,) appeared this day in flower, the trees began to put forth their leaves, and the musquitoes visited the warm rooms. On the 17th and 18th there were frequent showers of rain, and much thunder and lightning. This moist weather caused the ice to waste so rapidly, that by the 24th it had entirely disappeared from the lake. The gentlemen belonging to both the Companies quickly arrived from the different posts in this department, bringing their winter's collection of furs, which are forwarded from these establishments to the depôts. I immediately waited on Mr. Colin Robertson, the agent of the Hudson's Company, and communicated to him, as I had done before to the several partners of the North-West Company, our plan, and the requisitions we should have to make on each Company, and I requested of all the gentlemen the favour of their advice and suggestions. As I perceived that the arrangement of their winter accounts, and other business, fully occupied them, I forbore further pressing the subject of our concerns for some days, until there was an appearance of despatching the first brigade of canoes. It then became necessary to urge their attention to them; but it was evident, from the determined commercial opposition, and the total want of intercourse between the two Companies, that we could not expect to receive any cordial advice, or the assurance of the aid of both, without devising some expedient to bring the parties together. I therefore caused a tent to be pitched at a distance from both establishments, and solicited the gentlemen of both Companies to meet Mr. Back and myself there, for the purpose of affording us their combined assistance. With this request they immediately complied; and on May 25th we were joined at the tent by Mr. Stuart and Mr. Grant, of the North-West Company, and Mr. Colin Robertson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, all of whom kindly gave very satisfactory answers to a series of questions which we had drawn up for the occasion, and promised all the aid in their power. Furnished with the information thus obtained, we proceeded to make some arrangements respecting the obtaining of men, and the stores we should require for their equipment, as well as for presents to the Indians; and on the following day a requisition was made on the Companies for eight men each, and whatever useful stores they could supply. We learned with regret, that, in consequence of the recent lavish expenditure of their goods in support of the opposition, their supply to us would, of necessity, be very limited. The men, too, were backward in offering their services, especially those of the Hudson's Bay Company, who demanded a much higher rate of wages than I considered it proper to grant. _June 3_.--Mr. Smith, a partner of the North-West Company, arrived from the Great Slave Lake, bearing the welcome news that the principal Chief of the Copper Indians had received the communication of our arrival with joy, and given all the intelligence he possessed respecting the route to the sea-coast by the Copper-Mine River; and that he and a party of his men, at the instance of Mr. Wentzel, a clerk of the North-West Company, whom they wished might go along with them, had engaged to accompany the Expedition as guides and hunters. They were to wait our arrival at Fort Providence, on the north side of the Slave Lake. Their information coincided with that given by Beaulieu. They had no doubt of our being able to obtain the means of subsistence in travelling to the coast. This agreeable intelligence had a happy effect upon the Canadian voyagers, many of their fears being removed: several of them seemed now disposed to volunteer; and indeed, on the same evening, two men from the North-West Company offered themselves and were accepted. _June 5_.--This day Mr. Back and I went over to Fort Wedderburne, to see Mr. Robertson respecting his quota of men. We learned from him that, notwithstanding his endeavours to persuade them, his most experienced voyagers still declined engaging without very exorbitant wages. After some hesitation, however, six men engaged with us, who were represented to be active and steady; and I also got Mr. Robertson's permission for St. Germain, an interpreter belonging to this Company, to accompany us from Slave Lake if he should choose. The bowmen and steersmen{39} were to receive one thousand six hundred livres Halifax per annum, and the middle men one thousand two hundred, exclusive of their necessary equipments; and they stipulated that their wages should be continued until their arrival in Montreal, or their rejoining the service of their present employers. I delivered to Mr. Robertson an official request, that the stores we had left at York Factory and the Rock Depôt, with some other supplies, might be forwarded to Slave Lake by the first brigade of canoes which should come in. He also took charge of my letters addressed to the Admiralty. Five men were afterwards engaged from the North-West Company for the same wages, and under the same stipulations as the others, besides an interpreter for the Copper Indians; but this man required three thousand livres Halifax currency, which we were obliged to give him, as his services were indispensable. The extreme scarcity of provision at the posts rendered it necessary to despatch all our men to the Mamma-wee{40} Lake, where they might procure their own subsistence by fishing. The women and children resident at the fort were also sent away for the same purpose; and no other families were permitted to remain at the houses after the departure of the canoes, than those belonging to the men who were required to carry on the daily duty. The large party of officers and men, which had assembled here from the different posts in the department, was again quickly dispersed. The first brigade of canoes, laden with furs, was despatched to the depôt on May 30th, and the others followed in two or three days afterwards. Mr. Stuart, the senior partner of the North-West Company, quitted us for the same destination, on June 4th; Mr. Robertson, for his depôt, on the next day; and on the 9th we parted with our friend Mr. Keith, to whose unremitting kindness we felt much indebted. I intrusted to his care a box containing some drawings by Mr. Back, the map of our route from Cumberland House, and the skin of a black beaver, (presented to the Expedition by Mr. Smith,) with my official letters, addressed to the Under Secretary of State. I wrote by each of these gentlemen to inform Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood of the scarcity of stores at these posts, and to request them to procure all they possibly could on their route. Mr. Smith was left in charge of this post during the summer; this gentleman soon evinced his desire to further our progress, by directing a new canoe to be built for our use, which was commenced immediately. _June 21_.--This day an opportunity offered of sending letters to the Great Slave Lake; and I profited by it, to request Mr. Wentzel would accompany the Expedition agreeably to the desire of the Copper Indians, communicating to him that I had received permission for him to do so from the partners of the North-West Company. Should he be disposed to comply with my invitation, I desired that he would go over to Fort Providence, and remain near the Indians whom he had engaged for our service. I feared lest they should become impatient at our unexpected delay, and, with the usual fickleness of the Indian character, remove from the establishment before we could arrive. It had been my intention to go to them myself, could the articles, with which they expected to be presented on my arrival, have been provided at these establishments; but as they could not be procured, I was compelled to defer my visit until our canoes should arrive. Mr. Smith supposed that my appearance amongst them, without the means of satisfying any of their desires, would give them an unfavourable impression respecting the Expedition, which would make them indifferent to exertion, if it did not even cause them to withdraw from their engagements. The establishments at this place, Forts Chipewyan and Wedderburne, the chief posts of the Companies in this department, are conveniently situated for communicating with the Slave and Peace Rivers, from whence the canoes assemble in the spring and autumn; on the first occasion they bring the collection of furs which has been made at the different out-posts during the winter; and at the latter season they receive a supply of stores for the equipment of the Indians in their vicinity. Fort Wedderburne is a small house, which was constructed on Coal Island about five years ago, when the Hudson's Bay Company recommenced trading in this part of the country. Fort Chipewyan has been built many years, and is an establishment of very considerable extent, conspicuously situated on a rocky point of the northern shore; it has a tower which can be seen at a considerable distance. This addition was made about eight years ago, to watch the motions of the Indians, who intended, as it was then reported, to destroy the house and all its inhabitants. They had been instigated to this rash design by the delusive stories of one among them, who had acquired great influence over his companions by his supposed skill in necromancy. This fellow had prophesied that there would soon be a complete change in the face of their country; that fertility and plenty would succeed to the present sterility; and that the present race of white inhabitants, unless they became subservient to the Indians, would be removed, and their place be filled by other traders, who would supply their wants in every possible manner. The poor deluded wretches, imagining they would hasten this happy change by destroying their present traders, of whose submission there was no prospect, threatened to extirpate them. None of these menaces, however, were put in execution. They were probably deterred from the attempt by perceiving that a most vigilant guard was kept against them. The portion of this extensive lake which is near the establishments, is called "The Lake of the Hills," not improperly, as the northern shore and the islands are high and rocky. The south side, however, is quite level, consisting of alluvial land, subject to be flooded, lying betwixt the different mouths of the Elk River, and much intersected by water. The rocks of the northern shore are composed of syenite over which the soil is thinly spread; it is, however, sufficient to support a variety of firs and poplars, and many shrubs, lichens and mosses. The trees were now in full foliage, the plants generally in flower, and the whole scene quite enlivening. There can scarcely be a higher gratification than that which is enjoyed in this country in witnessing the rapid change which takes place in the course of a few days in the spring; scarcely does the snow disappear from the ground, before the trees are clothed with thick foliage, the shrubs open their leaves, and put forth their variegated flowers, and the whole prospect becomes animating. The spaces between the rocky hills, being for the most part swampy, support willows and a few poplars. These spots are the favourite resort of the musquitoes, which incessantly torment the unfortunate persons who have to pass through them. Some of the hills attain an elevation of five or six hundred feet, at the distance of a mile from the house; and from their summits a very picturesque view is commanded of the lake, and of the surrounding country. The land above the Great Point at the confluence of the main stream of the Elk River is six or seven hundred feet high, and stretches in a southern direction behind Pierre au Calumet. Opposite to that establishment, on the west side of the river, at some distance in the interior, the Bark Mountain rises and ranges to the N.W., until it reaches Clear Lake, about thirty miles to the southward of these forts, and then goes to the south-westward. The Cree Indians generally procure from this range their provision, as well as the bark for making their canoes. There is another range of hills on the south shore, which runs towards the Peace River. The residents of these establishments depend for subsistence almost entirely on the fish which this lake affords; they are usually caught in sufficient abundance throughout the winter, though at the distance of eighteen miles from the houses; on the thawing of the ice, the fish remove into some smaller lakes, and the rivers on the south shore. Though they are nearer to the forts than in winter, it frequently happens that high winds prevent the canoes from transporting them thither, and the residents are kept in consequence without a supply of food for two or three days together. The fish caught in the net are the attihhawmegh{41}, trout, carp, methye, and pike[15]. [15] See page 143-4{42}. The traders also get supplied by the hunters with buffalo and moose deer meat, (which animals are found at some distance from the forts,) but the greater part of it is either in a dried state, or pounded ready for making pemmican; and is required for the men whom they keep travelling during the winter to collect the furs from the Indians, and for the crews of the canoes on their outward passage to the depôts in spring. There was a great want of provision this season, and both the Companies had much difficulty to provide a bare sufficiency, for their different brigades of canoes. Mr. Smith assured me that after the canoes had been despatched he had only five hundred pounds of meat remaining for the use of the men who might travel from the post during the summer, and that five years preceding, there had been thirty thousand pounds in store under similar circumstances. He ascribed this amazing difference more to the indolent habits which the Indians had acquired since the commercial struggle commenced, than to their recent sickness, mentioning in confirmation of his opinion that they could now, by the produce of little exertion, obtain whatever they demanded from either establishment. At the opening of the water in spring, the Indians resort to the establishments to settle their accounts with the traders, and to procure the necessaries they require for the summer. This meeting is generally a scene of much riot and confusion, as the hunters receive such quantities of spirits as to keep them in a state of intoxication for several days. This spring, however, owing to the great deficiency of spirits, we had the gratification of seeing them generally sober. They belong to the great family of the Chipewyan, or Northern, Indians; dialects of their language being spoken in the Peace, and Mackenzie's Rivers, and by the populous tribes in New Caledonia, as ascertained by Sir Alexander Mackenzie in his journey to the Pacific. They style themselves generally _Dinneh_ men, or Indians, but each tribe, or horde, adds some distinctive epithet taken from the name of the river, or lake, on which they hunt, or the district from which they last migrated. Those who come to Fort Chipewyan term themselves Saw-eessaw-dinneh, (Indians from the rising sun, or Eastern Indians,) their original hunting grounds being between the Athabasca, and Great Slave Lakes, and Churchill River. This district, more particularly termed the Chipewyan lands, or _barren country_, is frequented by numerous herds of rein-deer, which furnish easy subsistence, and clothing to the Indians; but the traders endeavour to keep them in the parts to the westward where the beavers resort. There are about one hundred and sixty hunters who carry their furs to the Great Slave Lake, forty to Hay River, and two hundred and forty to Fort Chipewyan. A few Northern Indians also resort to the posts at the bottom of the Lake of the Hills, on Red Deer Lake, and to Churchill. The distance, however, of the latter post from their hunting grounds, and the sufferings to which they are exposed in going thither from want of food, have induced those who were formerly accustomed to visit it, to convey their furs to some nearer station. These people are so minutely described by Hearne and Mackenzie, that little can be added by a passing stranger, whose observations were made during short interviews, and when they were at the forts, where they lay aside many of their distinguishing characteristics, and strive to imitate the manners of the voyagers and traders. The Chipewyans are by no means prepossessing in appearance: they have broad faces, projecting cheek-bones and wide nostrils; but they have generally good teeth, and fine eyes. When at the fort they imitate the dress of the Canadians, except that, instead of trowsers, they prefer the Indian stockings, which only reach from the thigh to the ancle, and in place of the waistband they have a piece of cloth round the middle which hangs down loosely before and behind. Their hunting dress consists of a leathern shirt and stockings, over which a blanket is thrown, the head being covered with a fur cap or band. Their manner is reserved, and their habits are selfish; they beg with unceasing importunity for every thing they see. I never saw men who either received or bestowed a gift with such bad grace; they almost snatch the thing from you in the one instance, and throw it at you in the other. It could not be expected that such men should display in their tents, the amiable hospitality which prevails generally amongst the Indians of this country. A stranger may go away hungry from their lodges, unless he possess sufficient impudence to thrust, uninvited, his knife into the kettle, and help himself. The owner, indeed, never deigns to take any notice of such an act of rudeness, except by a frown, it being beneath the dignity of a hunter, to make disturbance about a piece of meat. As some relief to the darker shades of their character it should be stated that instances of theft are extremely rare amongst them. They profess strong affection for their children, and some regard for their relations, who are often numerous, as they trace very far the ties of consanguinity. A curious instance of the former was mentioned to us, and so well authenticated, that I shall venture to give it in the words of Dr. Richardson's Journal. "A young Chipewyan had separated from the rest of his band for the purpose of trenching beaver, when his wife, who was his sole companion, and in her first pregnancy, was seized with the pains of labour. She died on the third day after she had given birth to a boy. The husband was inconsolable, and vowed in his anguish never to take another woman to wife, but his grief was soon in some degree absorbed in anxiety for the fate of his infant son. To preserve its life he descended to the office of nurse, so degrading in the eyes of a Chipewyan, as partaking of the duties of a woman. He swaddled it in soft moss, fed it with broth made from the flesh of the deer, and to still its cries applied it to his breast, praying earnestly to the great Master of Life, to assist his endeavours. The force of the powerful passion by which he was actuated produced the same effect in his case, as it has done in some others which are recorded: a flow of milk actually took place from his breast. He succeeded in rearing his child, taught him to be a hunter, and when he attained the age of manhood, chose him a wife from the tribe. The old man kept his vow in never taking a second wife himself, but he delighted in tending his son's children, and when his daughter-in-law used to interfere, saying, that it was not the occupation of a man, he was wont to reply, that he had promised to the great Master of Life, if his child were spared, never to be proud, like the other Indians. He used to mention, too, as a certain proof of the approbation of Providence, that although he was always obliged to carry his child on his back while hunting, yet that it never roused a moose by its cries, being always particularly still at those times. Our informant[16] added that he had often seen this Indian in his old age, and that his left breast, even then, retained the unusual size it had acquired in his occupation of nurse." [16] Mr. Wentzel. We had proof of their sensibility towards their relations, in their declining to pitch their tents where they had been accustomed for many years, alleging a fear of being reminded of the happy hours they had formerly spent there, in the society of the affectionate relatives whom the sickness had recently carried off. The change of situation, however, had not the effect of relieving them from sorrowful impressions, and they occasionally{43} indulged in very loud lamentations, as they sat in groups, within and without their tents. Unfortunately, the spreading of a severe dysentery amongst them, at this time, gave occasion for the renewal of their grief. The medicinal charms of drumming and singing were plentifully applied, and once they had recourse to conjuring over a sick person. I was informed, however, that the Northern Indians do not make this expedient for the cure of a patient so often as the Crees; but when they do, the conjuror is most assiduous, and suffers great personal fatigue. Particular persons only, are trained in the mysteries of the art of conjuring, to procure the recovery of the sick, or to disclose future events. On extraordinary occasions the man remains in his narrow conjuring tent, for days without eating, before he can determine the matter to his satisfaction. When he is consulted about the sick, the patient is shut up with him; but on other occasions he is alone, and the poor creature often works his mind up to a pitch of illusion that can scarcely be imagined by one who has not witnessed it. His deluded companions seat themselves round his tent, and await his communication with earnest anxiety, yet during the progress of his manoeuvres, they often venture to question him, as to the disposition of the Great Spirit. These artful fellows usually gain complete ascendancy over the minds of their companions. They are supported by voluntary contributions of provision, that their minds may not be diverted by the labour of hunting, from the peculiar duties of their profession. The chiefs among the Chipewyans are now totally without power. The presents of a flag, and a gaudy dress, still bestowed upon them by the traders, do not procure for them any respect or obedience, except from the youths of their own families. This is to be attributed mainly to their living at peace with their neighbours, and to the facility which the young men find in{44} getting their wants supplied independent of the recommendation of the chiefs, which was formerly required. In war excursions, boldness and intrepidity would still command respect and procure authority; but the influence thus acquired would, probably, cease with the occasion that called it forth. The traders, however, endeavour to support their authority by continuing towards them the accustomed marks of respect, hoisting the flag and firing a salute of musketry on their entering the fort. The chief halts at a distance from the house, and despatches one of his young men to announce his approach, and to bring his flag, which is carried before him when he arrives. The messenger carries back to him some vermilion to ornament the faces of his party, together with a looking-glass and comb, some tobacco, and a few rounds of ammunition, that they may return the salute. These men paint round the eyes, the forehead, and the cheek-bones. The Northern Indians evince no little vanity, by assuming to themselves the comprehensive title of "The People," whilst they designate all other nations by the name of their particular country. If men were seen at a distance, and a Chipewyan was asked who those persons were, he would answer, The People, if he recognised them to belong to his tribe, and never Chipewyans; but he would give them their respective names, if they were Europeans, Canadians, or Cree Indians. As they suppose their ancestors to come originally from the east, those who happen to be born in the eastern part of their territory, are considered to be of the purest race. I have been informed, that all the Indians who trade at the different posts in the north-west parts of America, imagine that their forefathers came from the east, except the Dog-ribs, who reside between the Copper Indian Islands and the Mackenzie's River, and who deduce their origin from the west, which is the more remarkable, as they speak a dialect of the Chipewyan language. I could gather no information respecting their religious opinions, except that they have a tradition of the deluge. The Chipewyans are considered to be less expert hunters than the Crees, which probably arises from their residing much on the barren lands, where the rein-deer are so numerous that little skill is requisite. A good hunter, however, is highly esteemed among them. The facility of procuring goods, since the commercial opposition commenced, has given great encouragement to their native indolence of disposition, as is manifested by the difference in the amount of their collections of furs and provision between the late and former years. From six to eight hundred packs of furs used formerly to be sent from this department, now the return seldom exceeds half that amount. The decrease in the provision has been already mentioned. The Northern Indians suppose that they originally sprang from a dog; and about five years ago, a superstitious fanatic so strongly pressed upon their minds the impropriety of employing these animals, to which they were related, for purposes of labour, that they universally resolved against using them any more, and, strange as it may seem, destroyed them. They now have to drag every thing themselves on sledges. This laborious task falls most heavily on the women; nothing can more shock the feelings of a person accustomed to civilized life, than to witness the state of their degradation. When a party is on a march the women have to drag the tent, the meat, and whatever the hunter possesses, whilst he only carries his gun and medicine case. In the evening they form the encampment, cut wood, fetch water, and prepare the supper; and then, perhaps, are not permitted to partake of the fare until the men have finished. A successful hunter sometimes has two or three wives; whoever happens to be the favourite, assumes authority over the others, and has the management of the tent. These men usually treat their wives unkindly, and even with harshness; except, indeed, when they are about to increase the family, and then they shew them much indulgence. Hearne charges the Chipewyans with the dreadful practice of abandoning, in extremity, their aged and sick people. The only instance that came under our personal notice was attended with some palliating circumstances:--An old woman arrived at Fort Chipewyan, during our residence, with her son, a little boy, about ten years old, both of whom had been deserted by their relations, and left in an encampment, when much reduced by sickness: two or three days after their departure the woman gained a little strength, and with the assistance of the boy, was enabled to paddle a canoe to the fishing station of this post, where they were supported for some days, until they were enabled to proceed in search of some other relations, who, they expected, would treat them with more kindness. I learned, that the woman bore an extremely bad character, having even been guilty of infanticide, and that her companions considered her offences merited the desertion. This tribe, since its present intimate connexion with the traders, has discontinued its war excursions against the Esquimaux, but they still speak of that nation in terms of the most inveterate hatred. We have only conversed with four men who have been engaged in any of those expeditions; all these confirm the statements of Black-meat respecting the sea-coast. Our observations concerning the half-breed population in this vicinity, coincided so exactly with those which have been given of similar persons in Dr. Richardson's account of the Crees, that any statement respecting them at this place is unnecessary. Both the Companies have wisely prohibited their servants from intermarrying with pure Indian women, which was formerly the cause of many quarrels with the tribes. The weather was extremely variable during the month of June; we scarcely had two clear days in succession, and the showers of rain were frequent; the winds were often strong, and generally blowing from the north-east quarter. On the evening of the 16th the Aurora Borealis was visible, but after that date the nights were too light for our discerning it. The musquitoes swarmed in great numbers about the house, and tormented us so incessantly by their irritating stings, that we were compelled to keep our rooms constantly filled with smoke, which is the only means of driving them away: the weather indeed was now warm. Having received one of Dollond's eighteen-inch spirit thermometers from Mr. Stuart, which he had the kindness to send us from his post at Pierre au Calumet, after he had learned that ours had been rendered useless, I observed the temperature, at noon, on the 25th of June, to be 63°. On the following morning we made an excursion, accompanied by Mr. Smith, round the fishing stations on the south side of the lake, for the purpose of visiting our men; we passed several groups of women and children belonging to both the forts, posted wherever they could find a sufficiently dry spot for an encampment. At length we came to our men, pitched upon a narrow strip of land, situated between two rivers. Though the portion of dry ground did not exceed fifty yards, yet they appeared to be living very comfortably, having formed huts with the canoe's sail and covering, and were amply supported by the fish their nets daily furnished. They sometimes had a change in their fare, by procuring a few ducks and other water-fowl, which resort in great abundance to the marshes, by which they were surrounded. _July 2_.--The canoe, which was ordered to be built for our use, was finished. As it was constructed after the manner, described by Hearne, and several of the American travellers, a detail of the process will be unnecessary. Its extreme length was thirty two feet six inches, including the bow and stern pieces, its greatest breadth was four feet ten inches, but it was only two feet nine inches forward where the bowman sat, and two feet four inches behind where the steersman was placed; and its depth was one foot eleven and a quarter inches. There were seventy-three hoops of thin cedar, and a layer of slender laths of the same wood within the frame. These feeble vessels of bark will carry twenty-five pieces of goods, each weighing ninety pounds, exclusive of the necessary provision and baggage for the crew of five or six men, amounting in the whole to about three thousand three hundred pounds' weight. This great lading they annually carry between the depôts and the posts, in the interior; and it rarely happens that any accidents occur, if they be managed by experienced bowmen and steersmen, on whose skill the safety of the canoe entirely depends in the rapids and difficult places. When a total portage is made, these two men carry the canoe, and they often run with it, though its weight is estimated at about three hundred pounds, exclusive of the poles and oars, which are occasionally left in where the distance is short. On the 5th, we made an excursion for the purpose of trying our canoe. A heavy gale came on in the evening, which caused a great swell in the lake, and in crossing the waves we had the satisfaction to find that our birchen vessel proved an excellent sea-boat. _July 7_.--This morning some men, and their families, who had been sent off to search for Indians with whom they intended to pass the summer, returned to the fort in consequence of a serious accident having befallen their canoe in the Red Deer River; when they were in the act of hauling up a strong rapid, the line broke, the canoe was overturned, and two of the party narrowly escaped drowning; fortunately the women and children happened to be on shore, or, in all probability, they would have perished in the confusion of the scene. Nearly all their stores, their guns and fishing nets, were lost, and they could not procure any other food for the last four days than some unripe berries. Some gentlemen arrived in the evening with a party of Chipewyan Indians, from Hay River, a post between the Peace River, and the Great Slave Lake. These men gave distressing accounts of sickness among their relatives, and the Indians in general along the Peace River, and they said many of them have died. The disease was described as dysentery. On the 10th and 11th we had very sultry weather, and were dreadfully tormented by musquitoes. The highest temperature was 73°. _July 13_.--This morning Mr. Back and I had the sincere gratification of welcoming our long-separated friends, Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, who arrived in perfect health with two canoes, having made a very expeditious journey from Cumberland, notwithstanding they were detained near three days in consequence of the melancholy loss of one of their bowmen, by the upsetting of a canoe in a strong rapid; but, as the occurrences of this journey, together with the mention of some other circumstances that happened previous to their departure from Cumberland, which have been extracted from Mr. Hood's narrative, will appear in the following chapter, it will be unnecessary to enter farther into these points now. The zeal and talent displayed by Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, in the discharge of their several duties since my separation from them, drew forth my highest approbation. These gentlemen had brought all the stores they could procure from the establishments at Cumberland and Isle à la Crosse; and at the latter place they had received ten bags of pemmican from the North-West Company, which proved to be mouldy, and so totally unfit for use, that it was left at the Methye Portage. They got none from the Hudson's Bay Post. The Voyagers belonging to that Company, being destitute of provision, had eaten what was intended for us. In consequence of these untoward circumstances, the canoes arrived with only one day's supply of this most essential article. The prospect of having to commence our journey from hence, almost destitute of provision, and scantily supplied with stores, was distressing to us, and very discouraging to the men. It was evident, however, that any unnecessary delay here would have been very imprudent, as Fort Chipewyan did not, at the present time, furnish the means of subsistence for so large a party, much less was there a prospect of our receiving any supply to carry us forward. We, therefore, hastened to make the necessary arrangements for our speedy departure. All the stores were demanded that could possibly be spared from both the establishments; and we rejoiced to find, that when this collection was added to the articles that had been brought up by the canoes, we had a sufficient quantity of clothing for the equipment of the men who had been engaged here, as well as to furnish a present to the Indians, besides some few goods for the winter's consumption; but we could not procure any ammunition, which was the most essential article, or spirits, and but little tobacco. We then made a final arrangement respecting the voyagers, who were to accompany the party; and, fortunately, there was no difficulty in doing this, as Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood had taken the very judicious precaution of bringing up ten men from Cumberland, who were engaged to proceed forward if their services were required. The Canadians, whom they brought, were most desirous of being continued, and we felt sincere pleasure in being able to keep men who were so zealous in the cause, and who had given proofs of their activity on their recent passage to this place, by discharging those men who were less willing to undertake the journey; of these, three were Englishmen, one American, and three Canadians. When the numbers were completed, which we had been recommended by the traders to take as a protection against the Esquimaux, we had sixteen Canadian-voyagers, and our worthy and only English attendant John Hepburn, besides the two interpreters whom we were to receive at the Great Slave Lake; we were also accompanied by a Chipewyan woman. An equipment of goods was given to each of the men who had been engaged at this place, similar to what had been furnished to the others at Cumberland; and when this distribution had been made, the remainder were made up into bales, preparatory to our departure, on the following day. We were cheerfully assisted in these and all our occupations by Mr. Smith, who evinced an anxious desire to supply our wants as far as his means permitted. Mr. Hood having brought up the dipping needle from Cumberland House, we ascertained the dip to be 85° 23' 42", and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 6° 2' 10". The intensity of the magnetic force was also observed. Several observations had been procured on both sides of the moon during our residence at Fort Chipewyan, the result of which gave for its longitude 111° 18' 20" W., its latitude was observed to be 58° 42' 38" N., and the variation of the compass 22° 49' 32" E. Fresh rates were procured for the chronometers and their errors determined for Greenwich time, by which the survey to the northward was carried on. CHAPTER VI. Mr. Hood's journey to the Basquiau Hill--Sojourns with an Indian Party--His Journey to Chipewyan. 1820. March. Being desirous of obtaining a drawing of a moose-deer, and also of making some observation on the height of the Aurora, I set out on the 23d, to pass a few days at the Basquiau Hill. Two men accompanied me, with dogs and sledges, who were going to the hill for meat. We found the Saskatchawan open and were obliged to follow it several miles to the eastward. We did not, then, cross it without wading in water, which had overflowed the ice; and our snow-shoes were encumbered with a heavy weight for the remainder of the day. On the south bank of the Saskatchawan were some poplars ten or twelve feet in circumference at the root. Beyond the river, we traversed an extensive swamp, bounded by woods. In the evening we crossed the Swan Lake, about six miles in breadth, and eight in length, and halted on its south side for the night, twenty-four miles S.S.W. of Cumberland House. At four in the morning of the 24th we continued the journey, and crossed some creeks in the woods, and another large swamp. These swamps are covered with water in summer, to the depth of several feet, which arises from the melted snow from the higher grounds. The tracks of foxes, wolves, wolverenes, and martens, were very numerous. The people employed in carrying meat, set traps on their way out, and take possession of their captures at their return, for which they receive a sum from the Company, proportioned to the value of the fur. In the evening we crossed the Goose Lake, which is a little longer than Swan Lake, and afterwards the River Sepanach, a branch of the Saskatchawan, forming an island extending thirty miles above, and forty below Cumberland House. We turned to the westward on the Root River, which enters the Sepanach, and halted on its banks having made in direct distance not more than twenty miles since the 23rd. We passed the Shoal Lake on the 25th, and then marched twelve miles through woods and swamps to a hunting tent of the Indians. It was situated in a grove of large poplars, and would have been no unpleasant residence if we could have avoided the smoke. A heavy gale from the westward, with snow, confined us for several days to this tent. On the 30th two Indians arrived, one of whom named the Warrior, was well known at the house. We endeavoured to prevail upon them to set out in quest of moose, which they agreed to do on receiving some rum. Promises were of no avail; the smallest present gratification is preferred to the certainty of ample reward at another period; an unfailing indication of strong animal passions, and a weak understanding. On our compliance with their demand they departed. The next day, I went to the Warrior's tent, distant about eleven miles. The country was materially changed: the pine had disappeared, and gentle slopes, with clumps of large poplars, formed some pleasing groups: willows were scattered over the swamps. When I entered the tent, the Indians spread a buffalo robe before the fire, and desired me to sit down. Some were eating, others sleeping, many of them without any covering except the breech cloth and a blanket over the shoulders; a state in which they love to indulge themselves till hunger drives them forth to the chase. Besides the Warrior's family, there was that of another hunter named _Long-legs_, whose bad success in hunting had reduced him to the necessity of feeding on moose leather for three weeks when he was compassionately relieved by the Warrior. I was an unwilling witness of the preparation of my dinner by the Indian women. They cut into pieces a portion of fat meat, using for that purpose a knife and their teeth. It was boiled in a kettle, and served in a platter made of birch bark, from which, being dirty, they had peeled the surface. However, the flavour of good moose meat will survive any process that it undergoes in their hands, except smoking. Having provided myself with some drawing materials, I amused the Indians with a sketch of the interior of the tent and its inhabitants. An old woman, who was relating with great volubility an account of some quarrel with the traders at Cumberland House, broke off from her narration when she perceived my design; supposing, perhaps, that I was employing some charm against her; for the Indians have been taught a supernatural dread of particular pictures. One of the young men drew, with a piece of charcoal, a figure resembling a frog, on the side of the tent, and by significantly pointing at me, excited peals of merriment from his companions. The caricature was comic; but I soon fixed their attention, by producing my pocket compass, and affecting it with a knife. They have great curiosity, which might easily be directed to the attainment of useful knowledge. As the dirt accumulated about these people was visibly of a communicative nature, I removed at night into the open air, where the thermometer fell to 15° below zero, although it was the next day 60° above it. In the morning the Warrior and his companion arrived; I found that, instead of hunting, they had passed the whole time in a drunken fit, at a short distance from the tent. In reply to our angry questions, the Warrior held out an empty vessel, as if to demand the payment of a debt, before he entered into any new negotiation. Not being inclined to starve his family, we set out for another Indian tent, ten miles to the southward, but we found only the frame, or tent poles, standing, when we reached the spot. The men, by digging where the fire-place had been, ascertained that the Indians had quitted it the day before; and as their marches are short, when encumbered with the women and baggage, we sought out their track, and followed it. At an abrupt angle of it, which was obscured by trees, the men suddenly disappeared; and hastening forward to discover the cause, I perceived them both still rolling at the foot of a steep cliff, over which they had been dragged while endeavouring to stop the descent of their sledges. The dogs were gazing silently, with the wreck of their harness about them, and the sledges deeply buried in the snow. The effects of this accident did not detain us long, and we proceeded afterwards with greater caution. The air was warm at noon, and the solitary but sweet notes of the jay, the earliest spring bird, were in every wood. Late in the evening we descried the ravens wheeling in circles round a small grove of poplars, and, according to our expectations, found the Indians encamped there. The men were absent hunting, and returned unsuccessful. They had been several days without provisions, and thinking that I could depend upon the continuance of their exertions, I gave them a little rum; the next day they set out, and at midnight they swept by us with their dogs in close pursuit. In the morning we found that a moose had eaten the bark of a tree near our fire. The hunters, however, again failed; and they attributed the extreme difficulty of approaching the chase, to the calmness of the weather, which enabled it to hear them at a great distance. They concluded, as usual, when labouring under any affliction, that they were tormented by the evil spirit; and assembled to beat a large tambourine, and sing an address to the Manito, or deity, praying for relief, according to the explanation which I received; but their prayer consisted of only three words, constantly repeated. One of the hunters yet remained abroad; and as the wind rose at noon, we had hopes that he was successful. In the evening he made his appearance, and announcing that he had killed a large moose, immediately secured the reward which had been promised. The tidings were received with apparent indifference, by people whose lives are alternate changes from the extremity of want to abundance. But as their countenances seldom betray their emotions, it cannot be determined whether their apathy is real or affected. However, the women prepared their sledges and dogs, with the design of dismembering, and bringing home, the carcass: a proceeding to which, in their necessitous condition, I could have had neither reasonable nor available objections, without giving them a substitute. By much solicitation I obtained an audience, and offered them our own provisions, on condition of their suspending the work of destruction till the next day. They agreed to the proposition, and we set out with some Indians for the place where the animal was lying. The night advancing, we were separated by a snow-storm, and not being skilful enough to follow tracks which were so speedily filled up, I was bewildered for several hours in the woods, when I met with an Indian, who led me back at such a pace that I was always in the rear, to his infinite diversion. The Indians are vain of their local knowledge, which is certainly very wonderful. Our companions had taken out the entrails and young of the moose, which they buried in the snow. The Indians then returned to the tents, and one of my men accompanied them; he was the person charged with the management of the trade at the hunting tent; and he observed, that the opportunity of making a bargain with the Indians, while they were drinking, was too advantageous to be lost. It remained for us to prevent the wolves from mangling the moose; for which purpose we wrapped ourselves in blankets between its feet, and placed the hatchets within our reach. The night was stormy, and apprehension kept me long awake; but finding my companion in so deep a sleep, that nothing could have roused him, except the actual gripe of a wolf, I thought it advisable to imitate his example, as much as was in my power, rather than bear the burthen of anxiety alone. At day-light we shook off the snow, which was heaped upon us, and endeavoured to kindle a fire; but the violence of the storm defeated all our attempts. At length two Indians arrived, with whose assistance we succeeded, and they took possession of it, to show their sense of our obligations to them. We were ashamed of the scene before us; the entrails of the moose and its young, which had been buried at our feet, bore testimony to the nocturnal revel of the wolves, during the time we had slept. This was a fresh subject of derision for the Indians, whose appetites, however, would not suffer them to waste long upon us a time so precious. They soon finished what the wolves had begun, and with as little aid from the art of cookery, eating both the young moose, and the contents of the paunch, raw. I had scarcely secured myself by a lodge of branches from the snow, and placed the moose in a position for my sketch, when we were stormed by a troop of women and children, with their sledges and dogs. We obtained another short respite from the Indians, but our blows could not drive, nor their caresses entice, the hungry dogs from the tempting feast before them. I had not finished my sketch, before the impatient crowd tore the moose to pieces, and loaded their sledges with meat. On our way to the tent, a black wolf rushed out upon an Indian, who happened to pass near its den. It was shot; and the Indians carried away three black whelps, to improve the breed of their dogs. I purchased one of them, intending to send it to England, but it perished for want of proper nourishment. The latitude of these tents, was 53° 12' 46" N., and longitude by chronometers 103° 13' 10" W. On the 5th of April we set out for the hunting tent by our former track, and arrived there in the evening. As the increasing warmth of the weather had threatened to interrupt communication by removing the ice, orders had been sent from Cumberland House to the people at the tent, to quit it without delay; which we did on the 7th. Some altitudes of the Aurora were obtained. We had a fine view, at sunrise, of the Basquiau Hill, skirting half the horizon with its white sides, chequered by forests of pine. It is seen from Pine Island Lake, at the distance of fifty miles; and cannot, therefore, be less than three-fourths of a mile in perpendicular height; probably the greatest elevation between the Atlantic Ocean, and the Rocky Mountains. A small stream runs near the hunting tent, strongly impregnated with salt. There are several salt springs about it, which are not frozen during the winter.{45} The surface of the snow, thawing in the sun, and freezing at night, had become a strong crust, which sometimes gave way in a circle round our feet, immersing us in the soft snow beneath. The people were afflicted with snow blindness; a kind of ophthalmia occasioned by the reflection of the sun's rays in the spring. The miseries endured during the first journey of this nature, are so great, that nothing could induce the sufferer to undertake a second, while under the influence of present pain. He feels his frame crushed by unaccountable pressure, he drags a galling and stubborn weight at his feet, and his track is marked with blood. The dazzling scene around him affords no rest to his eye, no object to divert his attention from his own agonizing sensations. When he arises from sleep, half his body seems dead, till quickened into feeling by the irritation of his sores. But fortunately for him, no evil makes an impression so evanescent as pain. It cannot be wholly banished, nor recalled with the force of reality, by any act of the mind, either to affect our determinations, or to sympathize with another. The traveller soon forgets his sufferings, and at every future journey their recurrence is attended with diminished acuteness. It was not before the 10th or 12th of April, that the return of the swans, geese, and ducks, gave certain indications of the advance of spring. The juice of the maple-tree began to flow, and the women repaired to the woods for the purpose of collecting it. This tree which abounds to the southward, is not, I believe found to the northward of the Saskatchawan. The Indians obtain the sap by making incisions into the tree. They boil it down, and evaporate the water, skimming off the impurities. They are so fond of sweets that after this simple process, they set an extravagant price upon it. On the 15th fell the first shower of rain we had seen for six months, and on the 17th the thermometer rose to 77° in the shade. The whole face of the country was deluged by the melted snow. All the nameless heaps of dirt, accumulated in the winter, now floated over the very thresholds, and the long-imprisoned scents dilated into vapours so penetrating, that no retreat was any security from them. The flood descended into the cellar below our house, and destroyed a quantity of powder and tea; a loss irreparable in our situation. The noise made by the frogs which this inundation produced, is almost incredible. There is strong reason to believe that they outlive the severity of winter. They have often been found frozen and revived by warmth, nor is it possible that the multitude which incessantly filled our ears with its discordant notes could have been matured in two or three days. The fishermen at Beaver Lake, and the other detached parties were ordered to return to the post. The expedients to which the poor people were reduced, to cross a country so beset with waters, presented many uncouth spectacles. The inexperienced were glad to compromise, with the loss of property, for the safety of their persons, and astride upon ill-balanced rafts with which they struggled to be uppermost, exhibited a ludicrous picture of distress. Happy were they who could patch up an old canoe, though obliged to bear it half the way on their shoulders, through miry bogs and interwoven willows. But the veteran trader, wedged in a box of skin, with his wife, children, dogs, and furs, wheeled triumphantly through the current, and deposited his heterogeneous cargo safely on the shore. The woods re-echoed with the return of their exiled tenants. An hundred tribes, as gaily dressed as any burnished natives of the south, greeted our eyes in our accustomed walks, and their voices, though unmusical, were the sweetest that ever saluted our ears. From the 19th to the 26th the snow once more blighted the resuscitating verdure, but a single day was sufficient to remove it. On the 28th the Saskatchawan swept away the ice which had adhered to its banks, and on the morrow a boat came down from Carlton House with provisions. We received such accounts of the state of vegetation at that place, that Dr. Richardson determined to visit it, in order to collect botanical specimens, as the period at which the ice was expected to admit of the continuation of our journey was still distant. Accordingly he embarked on the 1st of May. In the course of the month the ice gradually wore away from the south side of the lake, but the great mass of it still hung to the north side with some snow visible on its surface. By the 21st the elevated grounds were perfectly dry, and teeming with the fragrant offspring of the season. When the snow melted, the earth was covered with the fallen leaves of the last year, and already it was green with the strawberry plant, and the bursting buds of the gooseberry, raspberry, and rose bushes, soon variegated by the rose and the blossoms of the choke cherry. The gifts of nature are disregarded and undervalued till they are withdrawn, and in the hideous regions of the Arctic Zone, she would make a convert of him for whom the gardens of Europe had no charms, or the mild beauties of a southern climate had bloomed in vain. Mr. Williams found a delightful occupation in his agricultural pursuits. The horses were brought to the plough, and fields of wheat, barley, and Indian corn, promised to reward his labours. His dairy furnished us with all the luxuries of an English farm. On the 25th the ice departed from Pine Island Lake. We were, however, informed that Beaver Lake, which was likewise in our route, would not afford a passage before the 4th of June. According to directions left by Mr. Franklin, applications were made to the Chiefs of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies' Posts, for two canoes, with their crews, and a supply of stores, for the use of the Expedition. They were not in a condition to comply with this request till the arrival of their respective returns from Isle à la Crosse and the Saskatchawan Departments. Of the six men whom we brought from England, the most serviceable, John Hepburn, had accompanied Mr. Franklin, and only one other desired to prosecute the journey with us. Mr. Franklin had made arrangements with Mr. Williams for the employment of the remaining five men in bringing to Cumberland House the ammunition, tobacco, &c., left at York Fort, which stores were, if possible, to be sent after us in the summer. On the 30th Dr. Richardson returned from Carlton House, and on the 31st the boats arrived belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company's Saskatchawan Department. We obtained a canoe and two more volunteers. On the 1st of June the Saskatchawan, swelled by the melting of the snow near the Rocky Mountains, rose twelve feet, and the current of the little rivers bounding Pine Island ran back into the lake, which it filled with mud. On the 5th the North-West Company's people arrived, and Mr. Conolly{46} furnished us with a canoe and five Canadians. They were engaged to attend us till Mr. Franklin should think fit to discharge them, and bound under the usual penalties in case of disobedience, or other improper conduct. These poor people entertained such dread of a ship of war, that they stipulated not to be embarked in Lieutenant Parry's vessels, if we should find them on the coast; a condition with which they would gladly have dispensed had that desirable event taken place. As we required a Canadian foreman and steersman for the other canoe, we were compelled to wait for the appearance of the Isle à la Crosse canoes under Mr. Clark. On the 8th Mr. Williams embarked for York Fort. He gave us a circular letter addressed to the Chiefs of the Hudson's Bay Company's Posts, directing them to afford us all possible assistance on our route, and he promised to exert every endeavour to forward the Esquimaux interpreter, upon whom the success of our journey so much depended. He was accompanied by eight boats. With him we sent our collections of plants, minerals, charts, and drawings, to be transmitted to England by the Hudson's Bay ships. After this period, our detention, though short, cost us more vexation than the whole time we had passed at Cumberland House, because every hour of the short summer was invaluable to us. On the 11th Mr. Clark arrived, and completed our crews.--He brought letters from Mr. Franklin, dated March 28th, at Fort Chipewyan, where he was engaged procuring hunters and interpreters. A heavy storm of wind and rain from the north-east again delayed us till the morning of the 13th. The account we had received at York Factory of the numerous stores at Cumberland House proved to be very erroneous. The most material stores we received did not amount, in addition to our own, to more than two barrels of powder, a keg of spirits, and two pieces of tobacco, with pemmican for sixteen days. The crew of Dr. Richardson's canoe consisted of three Englishmen and three Canadians, and the other carried five Canadians; both were deeply laden and the waves ran high on the lake. No person in our party being well acquainted with the rivers to the northward, Mr. Conolly{47} gave us a pilot, on condition that we should exchange him when we met with the Athabasca brigade of canoes. At four A.M. we embarked. We soon found that birchen-bark canoes were not calculated to brave rough weather on a large lake, for we were compelled to land on the opposite border, to free them from the water which had already saturated their cargoes. The wind became more moderate, and we were enabled, after traversing a chain of smaller lakes, to enter the mouth of the Sturgeon River, at sunset, where we encamped. The lading of the canoes is always, if possible carried on shore at night, and the canoes taken out of the water. The following evening we reached Beaver Lake, and landed to repair some damages sustained by the canoes. A round stone will displace the lading of a canoe, without doing any injury, but a slight blow against a sharp corner penetrates the bark. For the purpose of repairing it, a small quantity of gum or pitch, bark and pine roots, are embarked, and the business is so expeditiously performed, that the speed of the canoe amply compensates for every delay. The Sturgeon River is justly called by the Canadians La Rivière{48} Maligne, from its numerous and dangerous rapids. Against the strength of a rapid it is impossible to effect any progress by paddling, and the canoes are tracked, or if the bank will not admit of it, propelled with poles, in the management of which the Canadians shew great dexterity. Their simultaneous motions were strongly contrasted with the awkward confusion of the inexperienced Englishmen, deafened by the torrent, who sustained the blame of every accident which occurred. At sunset we encamped on an island in Beaver Lake, and at four A.M., the next morning, passed the first portage in the Ridge River. Beaver Lake is twelve miles in length, and six in breadth. The flat limestone country rises into bold rocks on its banks, and at the mouth of the Ridge River, the limestone discontinues. The lake is very deep, and has already been noticed for the number and excellence of its fish.{49} The Ridge River is rapid and shallow. We had emerged from the muddy channels through an alluvial soil, and the primitive rocks interrupted our way with frequent portages, through the whole route to Isle à la Crosse Lake. At two P.M. we passed the mouth of the Hay river, running from the westward; and the ridge above its confluence takes the name of the Great River, which rises at the height of land called the Frog Portage. The thermometer was this day 100° in the sun, and the heat was extremely oppressive, from our constant exposure to it. We crossed three portages in the Great River, and encamped at the last; here we met the director of the North-West Company's affairs in the north, Mr. Stuart, on his way to Fort William, in a light canoe. He had left the Athabasca Lake only thirteen days, and brought letters from Mr. Franklin, who desired that we would endeavour to collect stores of every kind at Isle à la Crosse, and added a favourable account of the country, to the northward of the Slave Lake. On the 16th, at three A.M., we continued our course, the river increasing to the breadth of half a mile, with many rapids between the rocky islands. The banks were luxuriantly clothed with pines, poplars, and birch trees, of the largest size: but the different shades of green were undistinguishable at a distance, and the glow of autumnal colours was wanting to render the variety beautiful. Having crossed two portages at the different extremities of the Island Lake, we ran under sail through two extensive sheets of water, called the Heron and Pelican Lakes; the former of which is fifteen miles in length, and the latter five; but its extent to the southward has not been explored. An intricate channel, with four small portages, conducted us to the Woody Lake. Its borders were, indeed, walls of pines, hiding the face of steep and high rocks; and we wandered in search of a landing-place till ten P.M., when we were forced to take shelter from an impending storm, on a small island where we wedged ourselves between the trees. But though we secured the canoes, we incurred a personal evil of much greater magnitude, in the torments inflicted by the musquitoes, a plague which had grown upon us since our departure from Cumberland House, and which infested us during the whole summer; we found no relief from their attacks by exposing ourselves to the utmost violence of the wind and rain. Our last resource was to plunge ourselves in the water, and from this uncomfortable situation we gladly escaped at day-light, and hoisted our sails. The Woody Lake is thirteen miles in length, and a small grassy channel at its north-western extremity, leads to the Frog Portage, the source of the waters descending by Beaver Lake to the Saskatchawan. The distance to the Missinippi, or Churchill River, is only three hundred and eighty yards; and as its course crosses the height nearly at right angles to the direction of the Great River, it would be superfluous to compute the elevation at this place. The portage is in latitude 55° 26' 0" N., and longitude 103° 34' 50" W. Its name, according to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, is derived from the Crees having left suspended a stretched frog's skin, in derision of the Northern Indian mode of dressing the beaver. The part of the Missinippi, in which we embarked, we should have mistaken for a lake, had it not been for the rapidity of the current against which we made our way. At four P.M. we passed a long portage occasioned by a ledge of rocks, three hundred yards in length, over which the river falls seven or eight feet. After crossing another portage we encamped. On the 18th we had rain, wind, and thunder, the whole day; but this weather was much preferable to the heat we had borne hitherto. We passed three portages, and, at six P.M., encamped on the north bank. Below the third portage is the mouth of the Rapid River, flowing from a large lake to the southward, on which a post was formerly maintained by the North-West Company. Next morning we found ourselves involved in a confused mass of islands, through the openings of which we could not discern the shore. The guide's knowledge of the river did not extend beyond the last portage, and our perplexity continued, till we observed some foam floating on the water, and took the direction from which it came. The noise of a heavy fall, at the Mountain Portage, reached our ears, at the distance of four miles, and we arrived there at eight A.M. The portage was a difficult ascent over a rocky island, between which and the main shore were two cataracts and a third in sight above them, making another portage. We surprised a large brown bear which immediately retreated into the woods. To the northward of the second portage we again found the channels intricate, but the shores being sometimes visible, we ventured to proceed. The character of the country was new and more interesting than before. The mountainous and strong elevations receded from the banks, and the woods crept through their openings to the valleys behind; the adventurous pine alone ascending their bases, and braving storms unfelt below. At noon we landed at the Otter Portage, where the river ran with great velocity for half a mile, among large stones. Having carried across the principal part of the cargo, the people attempted to track the canoes along the edge of the rapid. With the first they succeeded, but the other, in which were the foreman and steersman, was overset and swept away by the current. An account of this misfortune was speedily conveyed to the upper end of the portage, and the men launched the remaining canoe into the rapid, though wholly unacquainted with the dangers of it. The descent was quickly accomplished, and they perceived the bottom of the lost canoe above water in a little bay, whither it had been whirled by the eddy. One man had reached the bank, but no traces could be found of the foreman, Louis Saint Jean. We saved the canoe, out of which two guns and a case of preserved meats had been thrown into the rapid[17]. So early a disaster deeply affected the spirits of the Canadians, and their natural vivacity gave way to melancholy forebodings, while they erected a wooden cross in the rocks near the spot where their companion perished. [17] Mr. Hood himself was the first to leap into the canoe and incite the men to follow him, and shoot the rapid to save the lives of their companions.--DR. RICHARDSON'S _Journal_. The loss of this man's services, and the necessity of procuring a guide, determined us to wait for the arrival of the North-West Company's people from Fort Chipewyan, and we encamped accordingly. The canoe was much shattered, but as the gunwales were not broken, we easily repaired it. In the evening a N.W. canoe arrived, with two of the partners. They gave us an account of Mr. Franklin's proceedings and referred us to the brigade following them for a guide. During the 20th it rained heavily, and we passed the day in anxious suspense confined to our tents. A black bear came to the bank on the opposite side of the river, and on seeing us glided behind the trees. Late on the 21st, Mr. Robertson, of the Hudson's Bay Company arrived, and furnished us with a guide, but desired that he might be exchanged when we met the northern canoes. We took advantage of the remainder of the day, to cross the next portage, which was three-fourths of a mile in length. On the 22nd we crossed three small portages, and encamped at the fourth. At one of them we passed some of the Hudson's Bay Company's canoes, and our application to them was unsuccessful. We began to suspect that Isle à la Crosse was the nearest place at which we might hope for assistance. However, on the morning of the 23rd, as we were about to embark, we encountered the last brigades of canoes belonging to both the Companies, and obtained a guide and foreman from them. Thus completely equipped, we entered the Black Bear Island Lake, the navigation of which requires a very experienced pilot. Its length is twenty-two miles, and its breadth varies from three to five, yet it is so choked with islands, that no channel is to be found through it, exceeding a mile in breadth. At sunset we landed, and encamped on an island, and at six A.M. on the 24th, left the lake and crossed three portages into another, which has, probably, several communications with the last, as that by which we passed is too narrow to convey the whole body of the Missinippi. At one of these portages called the Pin Portage is a rapid, about ten yards in length, with a descent of ten or twelve feet, and beset with rocks. Light canoes sometimes venture down this fatal gulf, to avoid the portage, unappalled by the warning crosses which overhang the brink, the mournful records of former failures. The Hudson's Bay Company's people whom we passed on the 23rd, going to the rock house with their furs, were badly provided with food, of which we saw distressing proofs at every portage behind them. They had stripped the birch trees of their rind to procure the soft pulpy vessels in contact with the wood, which are sweet, but very insufficient to satisfy a craving appetite. The lake to the westward of the Pin Portage, is called Sandfly Lake; it is seven miles long; and a wide channel connects it with the Serpent Lake, the extent of which to the southward we could not discern. There is nothing remarkable in this chain of lakes, except their shapes, being rocky basins filled by the waters of the Missinippi, insulating the massy eminences, and meandering with almost imperceptible current between them. From the Serpent to the Sandy Lake, it is again confined in a narrow space by the approach of its winding banks, and on the 26th we were some hours employed in traversing a series of shallow rapids, where it was necessary to lighten the canoes. Having missed the path through the woods, we walked two miles in the water upon sharp stones, from which some of us were incessantly slipping into deep holes, and floundering in vain for footing at the bottom; a scene highly diverting, notwithstanding our fatigue. We were detained in Sandy Lake, till one P.M., by a strong gale, when the wind becoming moderate we crossed five miles to the mouth of the river, and at four P.M. left the main branch of it, and entered a little rivulet called the Grassy River, running through an extensive reedy swamp. It is the nest of innumerable ducks, which rear their young, among the long rushes, in security from beasts of prey. At sunset we encamped on the banks of the main branch. At three A.M. June 28th, we embarked in a thick fog occasioned by a fall of the temperature of the air ten degrees below that of the water. Having crossed Knee Lake, which is nine miles in length, and a portage at its western extremity, we entered Primeau Lake, with a strong and favourable wind, by the aid of which we ran nineteen miles through it, and encamped at the river's mouth. It is shaped like the barb of an arrow, with the point towards the north, and its greatest breadth is about four miles. During the night, a torrent of rain washed us from our beds, accompanied with the loudest thunder I ever heard. This weather continued during the 29th, and often compelled us to land, and turn the canoes up, to prevent them from filling. We passed one portage, and the confluence of a river, said to afford, by other rivers beyond a height of land, a shorter but more difficult route to the Athabasca Lake than that which is generally pursued. On the 28th we crossed the last portage, and at ten A.M. entered the Isle à la Crosse Lake. Its long succession of woody points, both banks stretching towards the south, till their forms were lost in the haze of the horizon, was a grateful prospect to us, after our bewildered and interrupted voyage in the Missinippi. The gale wafted us with unusual speed, and as the lake increased in breadth, the waves swelled to a dangerous height. A canoe running before the wind is very liable to burst asunder, when on the top of a wave, so that part of the bottom is out of the water; for there is nothing to support the weight of its heavy cargo but the bark, and the slight gunwales attached to it. On making known our exigencies to the gentlemen in charge of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies' Forts, they made up an assortment of stores, amounting to five bales; for four of which we were indebted to Mr. Mac Leod of the North West Company, who shared with us the ammunition absolutely required for the support of his post; receiving in exchange an order for the same quantity upon the cargo which we expected to follow us from York Factory. We had heard from Mr. Stuart that Fort Chipewyan was too much impoverished to supply the wants of the Expedition, and we found Isle à la Crosse in the same condition; which, indeed, we might have foreseen, from the exhausted state of Cumberland House, but could not have provided against. We never had heard before our departure from York, that the posts in the interior only received annually the stores necessary for the consumption of a single year. It was fortunate for us that Mr. Franklin had desired ten bags of pemmican to be sent from the Saskatchawan across the plains to Isle à la Crosse for our use. This resource was untouched, but we could not embark more than five pieces in our own canoes. However, Mr. Mac Leod agreed to send a canoe after us to the Methye Portage, with the pemmican, and we calculated that the diminution of our provision would there enable us to receive it. The Beaver River enters this lake on the S.E. side, and another river which has not been named, on the S.W. Both these rivers are branches of the Missinippi, as it is the only outlet from the lake. The banks appeared to be rocky, and the beach in many places sandy, but its waters are yellow and muddy. It produces a variety of fish, among which its white-fish are esteemed the best in the country. The only birds visible at this season, are common to every part of the Missinippi; gulls, ducks, pigeons, goatsuckers, and the raven; and geese and swans pay a momentary visit in passing to the north and returning. There was little in the forts differing from the establishments that we had before seen. The ground on which they are erected is sandy, and favourable to cultivation. Curiosity, however, was satisfied by the first experiment, and utility alone has been unable to extend it. Isle à la Crosse is frequented by the Crees and the Chipewyans. It is not the dread of the Indians, but of one another, that has brought the rival Companies so close together at every trading post; each party seeking to prevent the other from engaging the affections of the natives, and monopolizing the trade. Whenever a settlement is made by the one, the other immediately follows, without considering the eligibility of the place; for it may injure its opponent, though it cannot benefit itself, and that advantage which is the first object of all other commercial bodies, becomes but the second with the fur traders. On the evening of the 30th we embarked, and entered a wide channel to the northward of the forts, and extending towards the north-west. It gradually decreased in breadth till it became a river, which is the third fork of the Missinippi, and its current being almost insensible, we entered the Clear Lake at ten A.M. on the 1st of July. Of this lake, which is very large, no part is known except the south border, but its extent would lead us to conclude, that its evaporation must be supplied by another river to the northward, especially as the small channel that communicates with Buffalo Lake is motionless. The existence of such a river is asserted by the Indians, and a shorter passage might be found by it across the height of land to Clear Water River, than the portage from the Methye Lake. In Buffalo Lake, the wind was too strong for us to proceed, and we therefore encamped upon a gravel beach thrown up by the waves. We embarked at three A.M. July 2d, and at four P.M. entered the mouth of the Methye River. The lake is thirty-four miles in length, and fourteen in breadth. It is probably very deep, for we saw no islands on this wide expanse, except at the borders. On the south-west side were two forts, belonging to the Companies, and near them a solitary hill seven or eight hundred feet high. At eight P.M. we encamped in the Methye River, at the confluence of the river Pembina. A route has been explored by it to the Red Willow River, across the height of land, but the difficulties of it were so great, that the ordinary route is preferred. On the 3d we passed through the Methye River, and encamped on the borders of the Methye Lake. The soil from Isle à la Crosse to this place is sandy, with some portion of clay, and the trees numerous; but the Methye River is stony, and so shallow, that to lighten the canoes, we made two portages of five and two miles. The paths were overflowed with cold spring water, and barricadoed by fallen trees; we should have been contented to immerse ourselves wholly had the puddle been sufficiently deep, for the musquitoes devoured every part that was exposed to them. On the 4th we crossed the Methye Lake, and landed at the portage on the north-west side, in one of the sources of the Missinippi. The lake is seventeen miles in length, with a large island in the middle. We proceeded to the north side of the portage with two men, carrying a tent and some instruments, leaving the canoes and cargoes to be transported by daily journeys of two or three miles. The distance is fourteen statute miles, and there are two small lakes about five miles from the north side. Several species of fish were found in them, though they have no known communication with any other body of water, being situated on the elevation of the height. The road was a gentle ascent, miry from the late rainy weather, and shaded by pines, poplars, birches, and cypresses, which terminated our view. On the north side we discovered through an opening in the trees, that we were on a hill eight or nine hundred feet high, and at the edge of a steep descent. We were prepared to expect an extensive prospect, but the magnificent scene before us was so superior to what the nature of the country had promised, that it banished even our sense of suffering from the musquitoes, which hovered in clouds about our heads. Two parallel chains of hills extended towards the setting sun, their various projecting outlines exhibiting the several gradations of distance, and the opposite bases closing at the horizon. On the nearest eminence, the objects were clearly defined by their dark shadows; the yellow rays blended their softening hues with brilliant green on the next, and beyond it all distinction melted into gray and purple. In the long valley between, the smooth and colourless Clear Water River wound its spiral course, broken and shattered by encroaching woods. An exuberance of rich herbage covered the soil, and lofty trees climbed the precipice at our feet, hiding its brink with their summits. Impatient as we were, and blinded with pain, we paid a tribute of admiration, which this beautiful landscape is capable of exciting, unaided by the borrowed charms of a calm atmosphere, glowing with the vivid tints of evening. We descended to the banks of the Clear Water River, and having encamped, the two men returned to assist their companions. We had sometimes before procured a little rest, by closing the tent, and burning wood, or flashing gunpowder within, the smoke driving the musquitoes into the crannies of the ground. But this remedy was now ineffectual, though we employed it so perseveringly, as to hazard suffocation: they swarmed under our blankets, goring us with their envenomed trunks, and steeping our clothes in blood. We rose at daylight in a fever, and our misery was unmitigated during our whole stay. The musquitoes of America resemble, in shape, those of Africa and Europe, but differ essentially in size and other particulars. There are two distinct species, the largest of which is brown, and the smallest black. Where they are bred cannot easily be determined, for they are numerous in every soil. They make their first appearance in May, and the cold destroys them in September; in July they are most voracious; and fortunately for the traders, the journeys from the trading posts to the factories are generally concluded at that period. The food of the musquito is blood, which it can extract by penetrating the hide of a buffalo; and if it is not disturbed, it gorges itself so as to swell its body into a transparent globe. The wound does not swell, like that of the African musquito, but it is infinitely more painful; and when multiplied an hundred fold, and continued for so many successive days, it becomes an evil of such magnitude, that cold, famine, and every other concomitant of an inhospitable climate, must yield the pre-eminence to it. It chases the buffalo to the plains, irritating him to madness; and the rein-deer to the sea-shore, from which they do not return till the scourge has ceased. On the 6th the thermometer was 106° in the sun, and on the 7th 110°. The musquitoes sought the shade in the heat of the day. It was some satisfaction to us to see the havoc made among them by a large and beautiful species of dragon-fly, called the musquito hawk, which wheeled through their retreats, swallowing its prey without a momentary diminution of its speed. But the temporary relief that we had hoped for was only an exchange of tormentors: our new assailant, the horse-fly, or bull-dog, ranged in the hottest glare of the sun, and carried off a portion of flesh at each attack. Another noxious insect, the smallest, but not the least formidable, was the sand-fly known in Canada by the name of the _brulot_. To such annoyance all travellers must submit, and it would be unworthy to complain of that grievance in the pursuit of knowledge, which is endured for the sake of profit. This detail of it has only been as an excuse for the scantiness of our observations on the most interesting part of the country through which we passed. The north side of the Methye Portage is in latitude 56° 41' 40" N. and longitude 109° 52' 0" W. It is, by our course, one hundred and twenty-four miles from Isle à la Crosse, and considered as a branch of the Missinippi, five hundred and ninety-two miles from the Frog Portage. The Clear Water River passing through the valley, described above, evidently rises not far to the eastward. The height, computed by the same mode as that of the Echiamamis{50}, by allowing a foot for each mile of distance, and six feet on an average, for each fall and rapid, is two thousand four hundred and sixty-seven feet above the level of the sea, admitting it to be nine hundred feet above the Clear Water River. The country, in a line between it and the mouth of Mackenzie's River, is a continual descent, although to the eastward of that line, there may be several heights between it and the Arctic Sea. To the eastward, the lands descend to Hudson's Bay; and to the westward also, till the Athabasca River cuts through it, from whence it ascends to the Rocky Mountains. Daring was the spirit of enterprise that first led Commerce, with her cumbrous train, from the waters of Hudson's Bay to those of the Arctic Sea, across an obstacle to navigation so stupendous as this; and persevering has been the industry which drew riches from a source so remote. On the 8th two men arrived, and informed us, that they had brought us our ten bags of pemmican, from Isle à la Crosse, but that they were found to be rotten. Thus were we unexpectedly deprived of the most essential of our stores, for we knew Fort Chipewyan to be destitute of provisions, and that Mr. Franklin depended upon us for a supply, whereas, enough did not remain for our own use. On the 9th, the canoes and cargoes reached the north side of the portage. Our people had selected two bags of pemmican less mouldy than the rest, which they left on the beach. Its decay was caused by some defect in the mode of mixing it. On the 10th, we embarked in the Clear Water River, and proceeded down the current. The hills, the banks, and bed of the river, were composed of fine yellow sand, with some limestone rocks. The surface soil was alluvial. At eight A.M. we passed a portage on which the limestone rocks were singularly scattered through the woods, bearing the appearance of houses and turrets overgrown with moss. The earth emitted a hollow sound, and the river was divided by rocks, into narrow crooked channels, every object indicating that some convulsion had disturbed the general order of nature at this place. We had passed a portage above it, and after two long portages below it we encamped. Near the last was a small stream so strongly impregnated with sulphur, as to taint the air to a great distance around it. We saw two brown bears on the hills in the course of the day. At daylight, on the 11th, we embarked. The hills continued on both sides to the mouth of the river, varying from eight hundred to one thousand feet in height. They declined to the banks in long green slopes, diversified by woody mounds and copses. The pines were not here in thick impenetrable masses, but perched aloft in single groups on the heights, or shrouded by the livelier hues of the poplar and willow. We passed the mouth of the Red Willow River on the south bank, flowing through a deep ravine. It is the continuation of the route by the Pembina, before mentioned. At noon we entered the majestic Athabasca or Elk River. Its junction with the Clear Water River is called the Forks. Its banks were in accessible cliffs, apparently of clay and stones, about two hundred feet high, and its windings in the south were encircled by high mountains. Its breadth exceeded half a mile and was swelled to a mile in many places by long muddy islands in the middle covered with trees. No more portages interrupted our course, but a swift current hurried us towards the quarter in which our anticipated discoveries were to commence. The passing cliffs returned a loud confusion of echoes to the sprightly canoe song, and the dashing paddles; and the eagles, watching with half-closed eyes on the pine-tops, started from their airy rest, and prepared their drowsy pinions for the flight. About twenty miles from the Forks are some salt pits and plains, said to be very extensive. The height of the banks was reduced to twenty or thirty feet, and the hills ranged themselves at an increased distance from the banks in the same variety as those of the Clear Water River. At sunset we encamped on a small sandy island, but the next morning made a speedy retreat to the canoes, the water having nearly overflown our encampment. We passed two deserted settlements of the fur traders on opposite banks, at a place called Pierre au Calumet. Beyond it the hills disappeared, and the banks were no longer visible above the trees. The river carries away yearly large portions of soil, which increases its breadth, and diminishes its depth, rendering the water so muddy as to be scarcely drinkable. Whole forests of timber are drifted down the stream, and choke up the channels between the islands at its mouth. We observed the traces of herds of buffaloes, where they had crossed the river, the trees being trodden down and strewed, as if by a whirlwind. At four P.M. we left the main branch of the Athabasca, entering a small river, called the Embarras. It is narrow and muddy, with pines of an enormous size on its banks. Some of them are two hundred feet high, and three or four feet in diameter. At nine P.M. we landed and encamped; but finding ourselves in a nest of musquitoes, we continued our journey before day-break; and at eight A.M., emerged into the Athabasca Lake. A strong wind agitated this sea of fresh water, which, however, we crossed without any accident, and landed on the north side of it, at Fort Chipewyan; where we had the satisfaction of finding our companions in good health, and of experiencing that sympathy in our anxiety on the state of affairs, which was only to be expected from those who were to share our future fortunes. CHAPTER VII. Departure from Chipewyan--Difficulties of the various Navigations of the Rivers and Lakes, and of the Portages--Slave Lake and Fort Providence--Scarcity of Provisions, and discontent of the Canadian Voyagers--Difficulties with regard to the Indian Guides--Refusal to proceed--Visit of Observation to the Upper part of Copper-Mine River--Return to the Winter-Quarters of Fort Enterprise. 1820. July 18. Early this morning the stores were distributed to the three canoes. Our stock of provision unfortunately did not amount to more than sufficient for one day's consumption, exclusive of two barrels of flour, three cases of preserved meats, some chocolate, arrow-root, and portable soup, which we had brought from England, and intended to reserve for our journey to the coast the next season. Seventy pounds of moose meat and a little barley were all that Mr. Smith was enabled to give us. It was gratifying, however, to perceive that this scarcity of food did not depress the spirits of our Canadian companions, who cheerfully loaded their canoes, and embarked in high glee after they had received the customary dram. At noon we bade farewell to our kind friend Mr. Smith. The crews commenced a lively paddling song on quitting the shore, which was continued until we had lost sight of the houses. We soon reached the western boundary of the lake, and at two entered the Stony River, one of the discharges of the Athabasca Lake into the Slave River, and having a favouring current passed swiftly along. This narrow stream is confined between low swampy banks, which support willows, dwarf birch, and alder. At five we passed its conflux with the Peace River. The Slave River, formed by the union of these streams, is about three quarters of a mile wide. We descended this magnificent river, with much rapidity, and after passing through several narrow channels, formed by an assemblage of islands, crossed a spot where the waters had a violent whirling motion, which, when the river is low, is said to subside into a dangerous rapid; on the present occasion no other inconvenience was felt than the inability of steering the canoes, which were whirled about in every direction by the eddies, until the current carried them beyond their influence. We encamped at seven, on the swampy bank of the river, but had scarcely pitched the tents before we were visited by a terrible thunder-storm; the rain fell in torrents, and the violence of the wind caused the river to overflow its banks, so that we were completely flooded. Swarms of musquitoes succeeded the storm, and their tormenting stings, superadded to other inconveniences, induced us to embark, and, after taking a hasty supper to pursue our voyage down the stream during the night. At six on the following morning we passed the Rein-Deer Islands, and at ten reached the entrance of the Dog River, where we halted to set the fishing nets. These were examined in the evening, but to our mortification we obtained only four small trout, and were compelled to issue part of our preserved meats for supper. The latitude of the mouth of Dog River, was observed 59° 52' 16" N. The nets were taken up at daylight, but they furnished only a solitary pike. We lost no time in embarking, and crossed the crooked channel of the Dog Rapid, when two of the canoes came in such violent contact with each other, that the sternmost had its bow broken off. We were fortunately near the shore or the disabled canoe would have sunk. The injury being repaired in two hours, we again embarked, and having descended another rapid, arrived at the Cassette Portage of four hundred and sixty paces, over which the cargoes and canoes were carried in about twenty-six minutes. We next passed through a narrow channel full of rapids, crossed the Portage d'Embarras of seventy yards; and the portage of the Little Rock, of three hundred yards, at which another accident happened to one of the canoes, by the bowman slipping and letting it fall upon a rock, and breaking it in two. Two hours were occupied in sewing the detached pieces together, and covering the seam with pitch; but this being done it was as effective as before. After leaving this place we soon came to the next portage, of two hundred and seventy-three paces; and shortly afterwards to the Mountain Portage, of one hundred and twenty: which is appropriately named, as the path leads over the summit of a high hill. This elevated situation commands a very grand and picturesque view, for some miles along the river, which at this part is about a mile wide. We next crossed a portage of one hundred and twenty yards; and then the Pelican Portage, of eight hundred paces. Mr. Back took an accurate sketch of the interesting scenery which the river presents at this place. After descending six miles further we came to the last portage on the route to Slave Lake which we crossed, and encamped in its lower end. It is called "_The Portage of the Drowned_," and it received that name from a melancholy accident which took place many years ago. Two canoes arrived at the upper end of the portage, in one of which there was an experienced guide. This man judging from the height of the river, deemed it practicable to shoot the rapid, and determined upon trying it. He accordingly placed himself in the bow of his canoe, having previously agreed, that if the passage was found easy, he should, on reaching the bottom of the rapid, fire a musket, as a signal for the other canoe to follow. The rapid proved dangerous, and called forth all the skill of the guide, and the utmost exertion of his crew, and they narrowly escaped destruction. Just as they were landing, an unfortunate fellow seizing the loaded fowling-piece, fired at a duck which rose at the instant. The guide anticipating the consequences, ran with the utmost haste to the other end of the portage, but he was too late: the other canoe had pushed off, and he arrived only to witness the fate of his comrades. They got alarmed in the middle of the rapid, the canoe was upset, and every man perished. The various rapids we passed this day, are produced by an assemblage of islands and rocky ledges, which obstruct the river, and divide it into many narrow channels. Two of these channels are rendered still more difficult by accumulations of drift timber; a circumstance which has given a name to one of the portages. The rocks which compose the bed of the river, and the numerous islands, belong to the granite formation. The distance made to-day was thirteen miles. _July 21_.--We embarked at four A.M. and pursued our course down the river. The rocks cease at the last portage; and below it the banks are composed of alluvial soil, which is held together by the roots of trees and shrubs that crown their summits. The river is about a mile wide, and the current is greatly diminished. At eight we landed at the mouth of the Salt River, and pitched our tents, intending to remain there that and the next day for the purpose of fishing. After breakfast, which made another inroad on our preserved meats, we proceeded up the river in a light canoe, to visit the salt springs, leaving a party behind to attend the nets. This river is about one hundred yards wide at its mouth. Its waters did not become brackish until we had ascended it seven or eight miles; but when we had passed several rivulets of fresh water which flowed in, the main stream became very salt, at the same time contracting its width to fifteen or twenty yards. At a distance of twenty-two miles, including the windings of the river, the plains commence. Having pitched the tent at this spot, we set out to visit the principal springs, and had walked about three miles when the musquitoes compelled us to give up our project. We did not see the termination of the plains toward the east, but on the north and west they are bounded by an even ridge, about six or seven hundred feet in height. Several salt springs issue from the foot of this ridge, and spread their waters over the plain, which consists of tenacious clay. During the summer much evaporation takes place, and large heaps of salt are left behind crystallized in the form of cubes. Some beds of grayish compact gypsum were exposed on the sides of the hills. The next morning after filling some casks with salt for our use during winter, we embarked to return, and had descended the river a few miles, when turning round a point, we perceived a buffalo plunge into the river before us. Eager to secure so valuable a prize, we instantly opened a fire upon him from four muskets, and in a few minutes he fell, but not before he had received fourteen balls. The carcass was towed to the bank, and the canoe speedily laden with meat. After this piece of good fortune, we descended the stream merrily, our voyagers chanting their liveliest songs. On arrival at the mouth of the river, we found that our nets had not produced more than enough to supply a scanty meal to the men whom we had left behind, but this was now of little importance, as the acquisition of meat we had made would enable us to proceed without more delay to Slave Lake. The _poisson inconnu_ mentioned by Mackenzie, is found here. It is a species of the Genus Salmo, and is said by the Indians to ascend from the Arctic Sea, but being unable to pass the cascade of the Slave River, is not found higher than this place. In the evening a violent thunder-storm came on with heavy rain, thermometer 70°. At a very early hour on the following morning we embarked, and continued to paddle against a very strong wind and high waves, under the shelter of the bank of the rivers, until two P.M., when having arrived at a more exposed part of the stream, the canoes took in so much water that we were obliged to disembark on a small island. The river here is from one mile and a quarter to one mile and three quarters wide. Its banks are of moderate height, sandy, and well wooded. _July 24_.--We made more progress notwithstanding the continuance of the wind. The course of the river is very winding, making in one place a circuit of seven or eight miles round a peninsula, which is joined to the west bank by a narrow isthmus. Near the foot of this elbow, a long island occupies the centre of the river, which it divides into two channels. The longitude was obtained near to it 113° 25' 36", and variation 27° 25' 14" N.,{51} and the latitude 60° 54' 52" N., about four miles farther down. We passed the mouth of a broad channel leading to the north-east, termed La Grande Rivière de Jean, one of the two large branches by which the river pours its waters into the Great Slave Lake; the flooded _delta_ at the mouth of the river is intersected by several smaller channels, through one of which, called the Channel of the Scaffold, we pursued our voyage on the following morning, and by eight A.M. reached the establishment of the North-West Company on Moose-Deer Island. We found letters from Mr. Wentzel, dated Fort Providence, a station on the north side of the lake, which communicated to us, that there was an Indian guide waiting for us at that post; but, that the chief and the hunters, who were to accompany the party, had gone to a short distance to hunt, having become impatient at our delay. Soon after landing, I visited the Hudson's Bay Post on the same island, and engaged Pierre St. Germain, an interpreter for the Copper Indians. We regretted to find the posts of both the Companies extremely bare of provision; but as the gentlemen in charge had despatched men on the preceding evening, to a band of Indians, in search of meat, and they promised to furnish us with whatever should be brought, it was deemed advisable to wait for their return, as the smallest supply was now of importance to us. Advantage was taken of the delay to repair effectually the canoe, which had been broken in the Dog Rapid. On the next evening the men arrived with the meat, and enabled Mr. McCleod{52}, of the North-West Company, to furnish us with four hundred pounds of dried provisions. Mr. McVicar, of the Hudson's Bay Company, also supplied one hundred and fifty pounds. This quantity we considered would be sufficient, until we could join the hunters. We also obtained three fishing-nets, a gun, and a pair of pistols, which were all the stores these posts could furnish, although the gentlemen in charge were much disposed to assist us. Moose-Deer Island is about a mile in diameter, and rises towards the centre about three hundred feet above the lake. Its soil is in general sandy, in some parts swampy. The varieties of the northern berries grow abundantly on it. The North-West Company's Fort is in latitude 61° 11' 8" N.; longitude 113° 51' 37" W., being two hundred and sixty statute miles distant from Fort Chipewyan, by the river course. The variation of the compass is 25° 40' 47" E. The houses of the two Companies are small, and have a bleak northern aspect. There are vast accumulations of drift wood on the shores of the lake, brought down by the river, which afford plenty of fuel. The inhabitants live principally on the fish, which the lake at certain seasons furnishes in great abundance; of these, the white fish, trout, and _poisson inconnu_ are considered the best. They also procure moose, buffalo, and rein-deer meat occasionally from their hunters; but these animals are generally found at the distance of several days' walk from the forts. The Indians who trade here are Chipewyans. Beavers, martens, foxes, and musk-rats, are caught in numbers in the vicinity of this great body of water. The musquitoes here were still a serious annoyance to us, but less numerous than before. They were in some degree replaced by a small sandfly, whose bite is succeeded by a copious flow of blood, and considerable swelling, but is attended with incomparably less irritation, than the puncture of the musquito. On the 27th of July we embarked at four A.M., and proceeded along the south shore of the lake, through a narrow channel, formed by some islands, beyond the confluence of the principal branch of the Slave River; and as far as Stony Island, where we breakfasted. This island is merely a rock of gneiss, that rises forty or fifty feet above the lake, and is precipitous on the north side. As the day was fine, and the lake smooth, we ventured upon paddling across to the Rein-Deer Islands, which were distant about thirteen miles in a northern direction, instead of pursuing the usual track by keeping further along the south shore which inclines to the eastward from this point. These islands are numerous, and consist of granite, rising from one hundred to two hundred feet above the water. They are for the most part naked; but towards the centres of the larger ones, there is a little soil, and a few groves of pines. At seven in the evening we landed upon one of them, and encamped. On the following morning we ran before a strong breeze, and a heavy swell, for some hours, but at length were obliged to seek shelter on a large island adjoining to Isle à la Cache of Mackenzie, where the following observations were obtained: latitude 61° 50' 18" N., longitude 113° 21' 40" W., and variation 31° 2' 06" E. The wind and swell having subsided in the afternoon, we re-embarked and steered towards the western point of the Big-Island of Mackenzie, and when four miles distant from it, had forty-two fathoms soundings. Passing between this island and a promontory of the main shore, termed Big Cape, we entered into a deep bay, which receives the waters from several rivers that come from the northward; and we immediately perceived a decrease in the temperature of the waters from 59° to 48°. We coasted along the eastern side of the bay, its western shore being always visible, but the canoes were exposed to the hazard of being broken by the numerous sunken rocks, which were scattered in our track. We encamped for the night on a rocky island, and by eight A.M. on the following morning, arrived at Fort Providence, which is situated twenty-one miles from the entrance of the bay. The post is exclusively occupied by the North-West Company, the Hudson's Bay Company having no settlement to the northward of Great Slave Lake. We found Mr. Wentzel and our interpreter Jean Baptiste Adam here, with one of the Indian guides: but the chief of the tribe and his hunters were encamped with their families, some miles from the fort, in a good situation for fishing. Our arrival was announced to him by a fire on the top of a hill, and before night a messenger came to communicate his intention of seeing us next morning. The customary present, of tobacco and some other articles, was immediately sent to him. Mr. Wentzel prepared me for the first conference with the Indians by mentioning all the information they had already given to him. The duties allotted to this gentleman were, the management of the Indians, the superintendence of the Canadian voyagers, the obtaining, and the general distribution, of the provision, and the issue of the other stores. These services he was well qualified to perform, having been accustomed to execute similar duties, during a residence of upwards of twenty years in this country. We also deemed Mr. Wentzel to be a great acquisition to our party, as a check on the interpreters, he being one of the few traders who speak the Chipewyan language. As we were informed that external appearances made lasting impressions on the Indians, we prepared for the interview by decorating ourselves in uniform, and suspending a medal round each of our necks. Our tents had been previously pitched and over one them a silken union flag was hoisted. Soon after noon, on July 30th, several Indian canoes were seen advancing in a regular line, and on their approach, the chief was discovered in the headmost, which was paddled by two men. On landing at the fort, the chief assumed a very grave aspect, and walked up to Mr. Wentzel with a measured and dignified step, looking neither to the right nor to the left, at the persons who had assembled on the beach to witness his debarkation, but preserving the same immoveability of countenance until he reached the hall, and was introduced to the officers. When he had smoked his pipe, drank a small portion of spirits and water himself, and issued a glass to each of his companions, who had seated themselves on the floor, he commenced his harangue, by mentioning the circumstances that led to his agreeing to accompany the Expedition, an engagement which he was quite prepared to fulfil. He was rejoiced, he said, to see such great chiefs on his lands; his tribe were poor, but they loved white men who had been their benefactors; and he hoped that our visit would be productive of much good to them. The report which preceded our arrival, he said, had caused much grief to him. It was at first rumoured that a great medicine chief accompanied us, who was able to restore the dead to life; at this he rejoiced; the prospect of again seeing his departed relatives had enlivened his spirits, but his first communication with Mr. Wentzel had removed these vain hopes, and he felt as if his friends had a second time been torn from him. He now wished to be informed exactly of the nature of our expedition. In reply to this speech, which I understood had been prepared for many days, I endeavoured to explain the objects of our mission in a manner best calculated to ensure his exertions in our service. With this view, I told him that we were sent out by the greatest chief in the world, who was the sovereign also of the trading companies in the country; that he was the friend of peace, and had the interest of every nation at heart. Having learned that his children in the north, were much in want of articles of merchandize, in consequence of the extreme length and difficulty of the present route; he had sent us to search for a passage by the sea, which if found, would enable large vessels to transport great quantities of goods more easily to their lands. That we had not come for the purpose of traffic, but solely to make discoveries for their benefit, as well as that of every other people. That we had been directed to inquire into the nature of all the productions of the countries we might pass through, and particularly respecting their inhabitants. That we desired the assistance of the Indians in guiding us, and providing us with food; finally, that we were most positively enjoined by the great chief to recommend that hostilities should cease throughout this country; and especially between the Indians and the Esquimaux, whom he considered his children, in common with other natives; and by way of enforcing the latter point more strongly, I assured him that a forfeiture of all the advantages which might be anticipated from the Expedition would be a certain consequence if any quarrel arose between his party and the Esquimaux. I also communicated to him that owing to the distance we had travelled, we had now few more stores than was necessary for the use of our own party, a part of{53} these, however, should be forthwith presented to him; on his return he and his party, should be remunerated with cloth, ammunition, tobacco, and some useful iron materials, besides having their debts to the North-West Company discharged. The chief, whose name is Akaitcho or Big-foot, replied by a renewal of his assurances, that he and his party would attend us to the end of our journey, and that they would do their utmost to provide us with the means of subsistence. He admitted that his tribe had made war upon the Esquimaux, but said they were now desirous of peace, and unanimous in their opinion as to the necessity of all who accompanied us abstaining from every act of enmity against that nation. He added, however, that the Esquimaux were very treacherous, and therefore recommended that we should advance towards them with caution. The communications which the chief and the guides then gave respecting the route to the Copper-Mine River, and its course to the sea, coincided in every material point with the statements which were made by Boileau and Black-meat at Chipewyan, but they differed in their descriptions of the coast. The information, however, collected from both sources was very vague and unsatisfactory. None of his tribe had been more than three days' march along the sea-coast to the eastward of the river's mouth. As the water was unusually high this season, the Indian guides recommended our going by a shorter route to the Copper-Mine River than that they had first proposed to Mr. Wentzel, and they assigned as a reason for the change, that the rein-deer would be sooner found upon this track. They then drew a chart of the proposed route on the floor with charcoal, exhibiting a chain of twenty-five small lakes extending towards the north, about one half of them connected by a river which flows into Slave Lake, near Fort Providence. One of the guides, named Keskarrah, drew the Copper-Mine River, running through the Upper Lake, in a westerly direction towards the Great Bear Lake, and then northerly to the sea. The other guide drew the river in a straight line to the sea from the above-mentioned place, but, after some dispute, admitted the correctness of the first delineation. The latter was elder brother to Akaitcho, and he said that he had accompanied Mr. Hearne on his journey, and though very young at the time, still remembered many of the circumstances, and particularly the massacre committed by the Indians on the Esquimaux. They pointed out another lake to the southward of the river, about three days' journey distant from it, on which the chief proposed the next winter's establishment should be formed, as the rein-deer would pass there in the autumn and spring. Its waters contained fish, and there was a sufficiency of wood for building as well as for the winter's consumption. These were important considerations, and determined me in pursuing the route they now proposed. They could not inform us what time we should take in reaching the lake, until they saw our manner of travelling in the large canoes, but they supposed we might be about twenty days, in which case I entertained the hope that if we could then procure provision we should have time to descend the Copper-Mine River for a considerable distance if not to the sea itself, and return to the lake before the winter set in. It may here be proper to mention that it had been my original plan to descend the Mackenzie's River, and to cross the Great Bear Lake from the eastern side of which, Boileau informed me, there is a communication with the Copper-Mine River by four small lakes and portages, but, under our present circumstances, this course could not be followed, because it would remove us too far from the establishments at the Great Slave Lake, to receive the supplies of ammunition and some other stores in the winter which were absolutely necessary for the prosecution of our journey, or to get the Esquimaux interpreter, whom we expected. If I had not deemed these circumstances paramount I should have preferred the route by Bear Lake. Akaitcho and the guides having communicated all the information they possessed on the different points to which our questions had been directed, I placed my medal round the neck of the chief, and the officers presented theirs to an elder brother of his and the two guides, communicating to them that these marks of distinction were given as tokens of our friendship and as pledges of the sincerity of our professions. Being conferred in the presence of all the hunters their acquisition was highly gratifying to them, but they studiously avoided any great expression of joy, because such an exposure would have been unbecoming the dignity which the senior Indians assume during a conference. They assured us, however, of their being duly sensible of these tokens of our regard, and that they should be preserved during their lives with the utmost care. The chief evinced much penetration and intelligence during the whole of this conversation, which gave us a favourable opinion of his intellectual powers. He made many inquiries respecting the Discovery ships, under the command of Captain Parry, which had been mentioned to him, and asked why a passage had not been discovered long ago, if one existed. It may be stated that we gave a faithful explanation to all his inquiries, which policy would have prompted us to do if a love of truth had not; for whenever these northern nations detect a falsehood in the dealings of the traders, they make it an unceasing subject of reproach, and their confidence is irrecoverably lost. We presented to the chief, the two guides, and the seven hunters, who had engaged to accompany us, some cloth, blankets, tobacco, knives, daggers, besides other useful iron materials, and a gun to each; also a keg of very weak spirits and water, which they kept until the evening, as they had to try their guns before dark, and make the necessary preparations for commencing the journey on the morrow. They, however, did not leave us so soon, as the chief was desirous of being present, with his party, at the dance, which was given in the evening to our Canadian voyagers. They were highly entertained by the vivacity and agility displayed by our companions in their singing and dancing: and especially by their imitating the gestures of a Canadian, who placed himself in the most ludicrous postures; and, whenever this was done, the gravity of the chief gave way to violent bursts of laughter. In return for the gratification Akaitcho had enjoyed, he desired his young men to exhibit the Dog-Rib Indian dance; and immediately they ranged themselves in a circle, and, keeping their legs widely separated, began to jump simultaneously sideways; their bodies were bent, their hands placed on their hips, and they uttered forcibly the interjection _tsa_ at each jump. Devoid as were their attitudes of grace, and their music of harmony, we were much amused by the novelty of the exhibition. In the midst of this scene an untoward accident occurred, which for a time interrupted our amusements. The tent in which Dr. Richardson and I lodged, having caught fire from some embers that had been placed in it to expel the musquitoes, was entirely burnt. Hepburn, who was sleeping within it, close to some powder, most providentially awoke in time to throw it clear of the flame, and rescue the baggage, before any material injury had been received. We dreaded the consequences of this disaster upon the fickle minds of the Indians, and wished it not to be communicated to them. The chief, however, was soon informed of it by one of his people, and expressed his desire that no future misfortune should be concealed from him. We found he was most concerned to hear that the flag had been burnt, but we removed his anxiety on that point, by the assurance that it could easily be repaired. We were advised by Mr. Wentzel to recommence the dancing after this event, lest the Indians should imagine, by our putting a stop to it, that we considered the circumstance as an unfavourable commencement of our undertaking. We were, however deeply impressed with a grateful sense of the Divine Providence, in averting the threatened destruction of our stores, which would have been fatal to every prospect of proceeding forward this season. _August 1_.--This morning the Indians set out, intending to wait for us at the mouth of the Yellow-Knife River. We remained behind to pack our stores, in bales of eighty pounds each, an operation which could not be done in the presence of these Indians, as they are in the habit of begging for every thing they see. Our stores consisted of two barrels of gunpowder, one hundred and forty pounds of ball and small shot, four fowling-pieces, a few old trading guns, eight pistols, twenty-four Indian daggers, some packages of knives, chisels, axes, nails, and fastenings for a boat; a few yards of cloth, some blankets, needles, looking-glasses, and beads; together with nine fishing-nets, having meshes of different sizes. Our provision was two casks of flour, two hundred dried rein-deer tongues, some dried moose-meat, portable soup, and arrow-root, sufficient in the whole for ten days' consumption, besides two cases of chocolate, and two canisters of tea. We engaged another Canadian voyager at this place, and the Expedition then consisted of twenty-eight persons, including the officers, and the wives of three of our voyagers, who were brought for the purpose of making shoes and clothes for the men at the winter establishment; there were also three children, belonging to two of these women[18]. [18] The following is the list of the officers and men who composed the Expedition on its departure from Fort Providence: John Franklin, Lieutenant of the Royal Navy and Commander. John Richardson, M.D., Surgeon of the Royal Navy. Mr. George Back, of the Royal Navy, Admiralty Midshipman. Mr. Robert Hood, of the Royal Navy, Admiralty Midshipman. Mr. Frederick Wentzel, Clerk to the North-West Company. John Hepburn, English seaman. CANADIAN VOYAGERS. Joseph Peltier, Matthew Pelonquin, dit Crèdit, Solomon Belanger, Joseph Benoit, Joseph Gagné, Pierre Dumas, Joseph Forcier, Ignace Perrault, Francois Samandré, Gabriel Beauparlant, Vincenza Fontano, Registe Vaillant, Jean Baptiste Parent, Jean Baptiste Belanger, Jean Baptiste Belleau, Emanuel Cournoyée, Michel Teroahauté, an Iroquois. INTERPRETERS. Pierre St. Germain, Jean Baptiste Adam, Chipewyan Bois Brulés. Our observations place Fort Providence in latitude 62° 17' 19" N., longitude 114° 9' 28" W.; the variation of the compass is 33° 35' 55" E., and dip of the needle 86° 38' 02". It is distant from Moose-Deer Island sixty-six geographic miles. This is the last establishment of the traders in this direction, but the North-West Company have two to the northward of it, on the Mackenzie River. It has been erected for the convenience of the Copper and Dog-Rib Indians, who generally bring such a quantity of rein-deer meat that the residents are enabled, out of their superabundance, to send annually some provision to the fort at Moose-Deer Island. They also occasionally procure moose and buffalo meat, but these animals are not numerous on this side of the lake. Few furs are collected. _Les poissons inconnus_, trout, pike, carp, and white-fish are very plentiful, and on these the residents principally subsist. Their great supply of fish is procured in the latter part of September and the beginning of October, but there are a few taken daily in the nets during the winter. The surrounding country consists almost entirely of coarse grained granite, frequently enclosing large masses of reddish felspar. These rocks form hills which attain an elevation of three hundred or four hundred feet, about a mile behind the house; their surface is generally naked, but in the valleys between them grow a few spruce, aspen, and birch trees, together with a variety of shrubs and berry-bearing plants. On the afternoon of the 2d of August we commenced our journey, having, in addition to our three canoes, a smaller one to convey the women; we were all in high spirits, being heartily glad that the time had at length arrived when our course was to be directed towards the Copper-Mine River, and through a line of country which had not been previously visited by any European. We proceeded to the northward, along the eastern side of a deep bay of the lake, passing through various channels, formed by an assemblage of rocky islands; and, at sunset, encamped on a projecting point of the north main shore, eight miles from Fort Providence. To the westward of this arm, or bay, of the lake, there is another deep bay, that receives the waters of a river, which communicates with Great Marten Lake, where the North-West Company had once a post established. The eastern shores of the Great Slave Lake are very imperfectly known: none of the traders have visited them, and the Indians give such loose and unsatisfactory accounts, that no estimation can be formed of its extent in that direction. These men say there is a communication from its eastern extremity by a chain of lakes, with a shallow river, which discharges its waters into the sea. This stream they call the Thlouee-tessy{54}, and report it to be navigable for Indian canoes only. The forms of the south and western shores are better known from the survey of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, and in consequence of the canoes having to pass and repass along these borders annually, between Moose-Deer Island and Mackenzie's River. Our observations made the breadth of the lake, between Stony Island, and the north main shore, sixty miles less than it is laid down in Arrowsmith's map; and there is also a considerable difference in the longitude of the eastern side of the bay, which we entered. This lake, owing to its great depth, is seldom completely frozen over before the last week in November, and the ice, which is generally seven feet thick, breaks up about the middle of June, three weeks later than that of the Slave River. The only known outlet to this vast body of water, which receives so many streams on its north and south shores, is the Mackenzie's River. _August 3_.--We embarked at three A.M. and proceeded to the entrance of the Yellow-Knife River of the traders, which is called by the natives Beg-ho-lo-dessy; or, River of the Toothless Fish. We found Akaitcho, and the hunters with their families, encamped here. There were also several other Indians of his tribe, who intended to accompany us some distance into the interior. This party was quickly in motion after our arrival, and we were soon surrounded by a fleet of seventeen Indian canoes. In company with them we paddled up the river, which is one hundred and fifty yards wide, and, in an hour, came to a cascade of five feet, where we were compelled to make a portage of one hundred and fifty-eight yards. We next crossed a dilatation of the river, about six miles in length, upon which the name of Lake Prosperous was bestowed. Its shores, though scantily supplied with wood, are very picturesque. Akaitcho caused himself to be paddled by his slave, a young man, of the Dog-Rib nation, whom he had taken by force from his friends; when he thought himself, however, out of reach of our observation, he laid aside a good deal of his state, and assisted in the labour; and after a few days further acquaintance with us, he did not hesitate to paddle in our presence, or even carry his canoe on the portages. Several of the canoes were managed by women, who proved to be noisy companions, for they quarrelled frequently, and the weakest was generally profuse in her lamentations, which were not at all diminished, when the husband attempted to settle the difference by a few blows with his paddle. An observation, near the centre of the lake, gave 114° 13' 39" W., and 33° 8' 06" E., variation. Leaving the lake, we ascended a very strong rapid, and arrived at a range of three steep cascades, situated in the bend of the river. Here we made a portage of one thousand three hundred yards over a rocky hill, which received the name of the Bowstring Portage, from its shape. We found that the Indians had greatly the advantage of us in this operation; the men carried their small canoes, the women and children the clothes and provisions, and at the end of the portage they were ready to embark; whilst it was necessary for our people to return four times, before they could transport the weighty cargo with which we were burdened. After passing through another expansion of the river, and over the Steep Portage of one hundred and fifteen yards, we encamped on a small rocky isle, just large enough to hold our party, and the Indians took possession of an adjoining rock. We were now thirty miles from Fort Providence. As soon as the tents were pitched, the officers and men were divided into watches for the night; a precaution intended to be taken throughout the journey, not merely to prevent our being surprised by strangers, but also to shew our companions that we were constantly on our guard. The chief who suffered nothing to escape his observation, remarked, "that he should sleep without anxiety among the Esquimaux, for he perceived no enemy could surprise us." After supper we retired to rest, but our sleep was soon interrupted by the Indians joining in loud lamentations over a sick child, whom they supposed to be dying. Dr. Richardson, however, immediately went to the boy, and administered some medicine which relieved his pain, and put a stop to their mourning. The temperatures, this day, were at four A.M., 54°, three P.M. 72°, at seven P.M. 65°. On the 4th we crossed a small lake, and passed in succession over the Blue Berry Cascade, and Double Fall Portages, where the river falls over ridges of rocks that completely obstruct the passage for canoes. We came to three strong rapids beyond these barriers, which were surmounted by the aid of the poles and lines, and then to a bend of the river in which the cascades were so frequent, that to avoid them we carried the canoes into a chain of small lakes. We entered them by a portage of nine hundred and fifty paces, and during the afternoon traversed three other grassy lakes and encamped on the banks of the river, at the end of the Yellow-Knife Portage, of three hundred and fifty paces. This day's work was very laborious to our men. Akaitcho, however, had directed his party to assist them in carrying their burdens on the portages, which they did cheerfully. This morning Mr. Back caught several fish with a fly, a method of fishing entirely new to the Indians; and they were not more delighted than astonished at his skill and success. The extremes of temperature to-day{55} were 54° and 65°. On August 5th we continued the ascent of the river which varied much in breadth as did the current in rapidity. It flows between high rocky banks on which there is sufficient soil to support pines, birch, and poplars. Five portages were crossed, then the Rocky Lake, and we finished our labours at the end of the sixth portage. The issue of dried meat for breakfast this morning had exhausted all our stock; and no other provision remained but the portable soups, and a few pounds of preserved meat. At the recommendation of Akaitcho, the hunters were furnished with ammunition, and desired to go forward as speedily as possible, to the part where the rein-deer were expected to be found; and to return to us with any provision they could procure. He also assured us that in our advance towards them we should come to lakes abounding in fish. Many of the Indians being likewise in distress for food, decided on separating from us, and going on at a quicker pace than we could travel. Akaitcho himself was always furnished with a portion at our meals, as a token of regard which the traders have taught the chiefs to expect, and which we willingly paid. The next morning we crossed a small lake and a portage, before we entered the river; shortly afterwards, the canoes and cargoes were carried a mile along its banks, to avoid three very strong rapids, and over another portage into a narrow lake; we encamped on an island in the middle of it, to set the nets; but they only yielded a few fish, and we had a very scanty supper, as it was necessary to deal out our provision sparingly. The longitude 114° 27' 03" W. and variation{56} 33° 04" E., were observed. We had the mortification of finding the nets entirely empty next morning, an untoward circumstance that discouraged our voyagers very much; and they complained of being unable to support the fatigue to which they were daily exposed, on their present scanty fare. We had seen with regret that the portages were more frequent as we advanced to the northward, and feared that their strength would fail, if provision were not soon obtained. We embarked at six, proceeded to the head of the lake, and crossed a portage of two thousand five hundred paces, leading over ridges of sand-hills, which nourished pines of a larger size than we had lately seen. This conducted us to Mossy Lake, whence we regained the river, after traversing another portage. The Birch and Poplar Portages next followed, and beyond these we came to a part where the river takes a great circuit, and its course is interrupted by several heavy falls. The guide, therefore, advised us to quit it, and proceed through a chain of nine lakes extending to the north-east, which we did, and encamped on Icy Portage, where the nets were set. The bottom of the valley, through which the track across this portage led, was covered with ice four or five feet thick, the remains of a large iceberg, which is annually formed there, by the snow drifting into the valley, and becoming consolidated into ice by the overflowing of some springs that are warm enough to resist the winter's cold. The latitude is 63° 22' 15" N., longitude 114° 15' 30" W. We were alarmed in the night by our fire communicating to the dry moss, which, spreading by the force of a strong wind, encircled the encampment and threatened destruction to our canoes and baggage. The watch immediately aroused all the men, who quickly removed whatever could be injured to a distant part, and afterwards succeeded in extinguishing the flame. _August 8_.--During this day we crossed five portages, passing over a very bad road. The men were quite exhausted with fatigue by five P.M., when we were obliged to encamp on the borders of the fifth lake, in which the fishing nets were set. We began this evening to issue some portable soup and arrow-root, which our companions relished very much; but this food is too unsubstantial to support their vigour under their daily exhausting labour, and we could not furnish them with a sufficient quantity even of this to satisfy their desires. We commenced our labours on the next day in a very wet uncomfortable state, as it had rained through the night until four A.M. The fifth grassy lake was crossed, and four others, with their intervening portages, and we returned to the river by a portage of one thousand four hundred and fifteen paces. The width of the stream here is about one hundred yards, its banks are moderately high and scantily covered with wood. We afterwards twice carried the cargoes along its banks to avoid a very stony rapid, and then crossed the first Carp Portage in longitude 114° 2' 01" W., variation of the compass 32° 30' 40" E., and encamped on the borders of Lower Carp Lake. The chief having told us that this was a good lake for fishing, we determined on halting for a day or two to recruit our men, of whom three were lame, and several others had swelled legs. The chief himself went forward to look after the hunters, and promised to make a fire as a signal if they had killed any rein-deer. All the Indians had left us in the course of yesterday and to-day to seek these animals, except the guide Keskarrah. _August 10_.--The nets furnishing only four carp, we embarked for the purpose of searching for a better spot, and encamped again on the shores of the same lake. The spirits of the men were much revived by seeing some recent traces of rein-deer at this place, which circumstance caused them to cherish the hope of soon getting a supply of meat from the hunters. They were also gratified by finding abundance of blue berries near the encampment, which made an agreeable and substantial addition to their otherwise scanty fare. We were teased by sand-flies this evening, although the thermometer did not rise above 45°. The country through which we had travelled for some days consists principally of granite, intermixed in some spots with mica-slate, often passing into clay-slate. But the borders of Lower Carp Lake, where the gneiss formation prevails, are composed of hills, having less altitude, fewer precipices, and more rounded summits. The valleys are less fertile, containing a gravelly soil and fewer trees; so that the country has throughout a more barren aspect. _August 11_.--Having caught sufficient trout, white-fish, and carp, yesterday and this morning, to afford the party two hearty meals, and the men having recovered their fatigue, we proceeded on our journey, crossed the Upper Carp Portage, and embarked on the lake of that name, where we had the gratification of paddling for ten miles. We put up at its termination to fish, by the advice of our guide, and the following observations were then taken: longitude 113° 46' 35" W., variation of the compass 36° 45' 30" E., dip 87° 11' 48". At this place we first perceived the north end of our dipping-needle to pass the perpendicular line when the instrument was faced to the west. We had scarcely quitted the encampment next day before an Indian met us, with the agreeable communication, that the hunters had made several fires, which were certain indications of their having killed rein-deer. This intelligence inspired our companions with fresh energy, and they quickly traversed the next portage, and paddled through the Rein-Deer Lake; at the north side of it we found the canoes of our hunters, and learned from our guide, that the Indians usually leave their canoes here, as the water communication on their hunting grounds is bad. The Yellow-Knife River had now dwindled into an insignificant rivulet, and we could not trace it beyond the next lake, except as a mere brook. The latitude of its source 64° 1' 30" N., longitude 113° 36' W., and its length is one hundred and fifty-six statute miles. Though this river is of sufficient breadth and depth for navigating in canoes, yet I conceive its course is too much interrupted by cascades and rapids for its ever being used as a channel for the conveyance of merchandise. Whilst the crews were employed in making a portage over the foot of Prospect Hill, we ascended to the top of it, and as it is the highest ground in the neighbourhood, its summit, which is about five hundred feet above the water, commands an extensive view. Akaitcho, who was here with his family, pointed out to us the smoke of the distant fires which the hunters had made. The prospect is agreeably diversified by an intermixture of hill and valley, and the appearance of twelve lakes in different directions. On the borders of these lakes a few thin pine groves occur, but the country in general is destitute of almost every vegetable, except a few berry-bearing shrubs and lichens, and has a very barren aspect. The hills are composed of gneiss, but their acclivities are covered with a coarse gravelly soil. There are many large loose stones both on their sides and summits composed of the same materials as the solid rock. We crossed another lake in the evening, encamped, and set the nets. The chief made a large fire to announce our situation to the hunters. _August 13_.--We caught twenty fish this morning, but they were small, and furnished but a scanty breakfast for the party. Whilst this meal was preparing, our Canadian voyagers, who had been for some days past murmuring at their meagre diet, and striving to get the whole of our little provision to consume at once, broke out into open discontent, and several of them threatened they would not proceed forward unless more food was given to them. This conduct was the more unpardonable, as they saw we were rapidly approaching the fires of the hunters, and that provision might soon be expected. I, therefore, felt the duty incumbent on me to address them in the strongest manner on the danger of insubordination, and to assure them of my determination to inflict the heaviest punishment on any that should persist in their refusal to go on, or in any other way attempt to retard the Expedition. I considered this decisive step necessary, having learned from the gentlemen, most intimately acquainted with the character of the Canadian voyagers, that they invariably try how far they can impose upon every new master, and that they will continue to be disobedient and intractable if they once gain any ascendency over him. I must admit, however, that the present hardships of our companions were of a kind which few could support without murmuring, and no one could witness without a sincere pity for their sufferings. After this discussion we went forward until sunset. In the course of the day we crossed seven lakes and as many portages. Just as we had encamped we were delighted to see four of the hunters arrive with the flesh of two rein-deer. This seasonable supply, though only sufficient for this evening's and the next day's consumption, instantly revived the spirits of our companions, and they immediately forgot all their cares. As we did not, after this period, experience any deficiency of food during this journey, they worked extremely well, and never again reflected upon us as they had done before, for rashly bringing them into an inhospitable country, where the means of subsistence could not be procured. Several blue fish, resembling the grayling, were caught in a stream which flows out of Hunter's Lake. It is remarkable for the largeness of the dorsal fin and the beauty of its colours. _August 14_.--Having crossed the Hunter's Portage, we entered the Lake of the same name, in latitude 64° 6' 47" N., longitude 113° 25' 00" W; but soon quitted it by desire of the Indian guide, and diverged more to the eastward that we might get into the line upon which our hunters had gone. This was the only consideration that could have induced us to remove to a chain of small lakes connected by long portages. We crossed three of these, and then were obliged to encamp to rest the men. The country is bare of wood except a few dwarf birch bushes, which grow near the borders of the lakes, and here and there a few stunted pines; and our fuel principally consisted of the roots of decayed pines, which we had some difficulty to collect in sufficient quantity for cooking. When this material is wanting, the rein-deer lichen and other mosses that grow in profusion on the gravelly acclivities of the hills are used as substitutes. Three more of the hunters arrived with meat this evening, which supply came very opportunely as our nets were unproductive. At eight P.M., a faint Aurora Borealis appeared to the southward, the night was cold, the wind strong from N.W. We were detained some time in the following morning before the fishing-nets, which had sunk in the night, could be recovered. After starting we first crossed the Orkney Lake, then a portage which brought us to Sandy Lake, and here we missed one of our barrels of powder, which the steersman of the canoe then recollected had been left the day before. He and two other men were sent back to search for it, in the small canoe. The rest of the party proceeded to the portage on the north side of the Grizzle-Bear Lake, where the hunters had made a deposit of meat, and there encamped to await their return, which happened at nine P.M., with the powder. We perceived from the direction of this lake, that considerable labour would have been spared if we had continued our course yesterday instead of striking off at the guide's suggestion, as the bottom of this lake cannot be far separated from either Hunter's Lake or the one to the westward of it. The chief and all the Indians went off to hunt, accompanied by Pierre St. Germain, the interpreter. They returned at night, bringing some meat, and reported that they had put the carcases of several rein-deer _en cache_. These were sent for early next morning, and as the weather was unusually warm, the thermometer, at noon, being 77°, we remained stationary all day, that the women might prepare the meat for keeping, by stripping the flesh from the bones and drying it in the sun over a slow fire. The hunters were again successful, and by the evening we had collected the carcases of seventeen deer. As this was a sufficient store to serve us until we arrived at Winter Lake, the chief proposed that he and his hunters should proceed to that place and collect some provision against our arrival. He also requested that we would allow him to be absent ten days to provide his family with clothing, as the skin of the rein-deer is unfit for that purpose after the month of September. We could not refuse to grant such a reasonable request, but caused St. Germain to accompany him, that his absence might not exceed the appointed time. Previous to his departure the chief warned us to be constantly on our guard against the grizzly bears, which he described as being numerous in this vicinity, and very ferocious; one had been seen this day by an Indian, to which circumstance the lake owes its appellation. We afterwards learned that the only bear in this part of the country is the brown bear, and that this by no means possesses the ferocity which the Indians, with their usual love of exaggeration, ascribe to it. The fierce grizzly bear, which frequents the sources of the Missouri, is not found on the barren grounds. The shores of this lake and the neighbouring hills are principally composed of sand and gravel; they are much varied in their outline and present some picturesque scenery. The following observations were taken here: latitude 64° 15' 17" N., longitude 113° 2' 39" W.; variation of the compass 36° 50' 47" E.; and dip of the needle 87° 20' 35". On August the 17th, having finished drying the meat, which had been retarded by the heavy showers of rain that fell in the morning, we embarked at one P.M. and crossed two lakes and two portages. The last of these was two thousand and sixty-six paces long, and very rugged, so that the men were much fatigued. On the next day we received the flesh of four rein-deer by the small canoe which had been sent for it, and heard that the hunters had killed several more deer on our route. We saw many of these animals as we passed along; and our companions, delighted with the prospect of having food in abundance, now began to accompany their paddling with singing, which they had discontinued ever since our provisions became scarce. We passed from one small lake to another over four portages, then crossed a lake about six miles in diameter, and encamped on its border, where, finding pines, we enjoyed the luxury of a good fire, which we had not done for some days. At ten P.M. the Aurora Borealis appeared very brilliant in an arch across the zenith, from north-west to south-east, which afterwards gave place to a beautiful corona borealis. _August 19_.--After crossing a portage of five hundred and ninety-five paces, a small lake and another portage of two thousand paces, which occupied the crews seven hours, we embarked on a small stream, running towards the north-west, which carried us to the lake, where Akaitcho proposed that we should pass the winter. The officers ascended several of the loftiest hills in the course of the day, prompted by a natural anxiety to examine the spot which was to be their residence for many months. The prospect, however, was not then the most agreeable, as the borders of the lake seemed to be scantily furnished with wood, and that of a kind too small for the purposes of building. We perceived the smoke of a distant fire which the Indians suppose had been made by some of the Dog-ribbed tribe, who occasionally visit this part of the country. Embarking at seven next morning, we paddled to the western extremity of the lake, and there found a small river, which flows out of it to the S.W. To avoid a strong rapid at its commencement, we made a portage, and then crossed to the north bank of the river, where the Indians recommended that the winter establishment should be erected, and we soon found that the situation they had chosen possessed all the advantages we could desire. The trees were numerous, and of a far greater size than we had supposed them to be in a distant view, some of the pines being thirty or forty feet high, and two feet in diameter at the root. We determined on placing the house on the summit of the bank, which commands a beautiful prospect of the surrounding country. The view in the front is bounded at the distance of three miles, by round-backed hills; to the eastward and westward lie the Winter and Round-rock Lakes, which are connected by the Winter River, whose banks are well clothed with pines, and ornamented with a profusion of mosses, lichens, and shrubs. In the afternoon we read divine service, and offered our thanksgiving to the Almighty for his goodness in having brought us thus far on our journey; a duty which we never neglected, when stationary on the sabbath. The united length of the portages we had crossed, since leaving Fort Providence, is twenty-one statute miles and a half; and as our men had to traverse each portage four times, with a load of one hundred and eighty pounds, and return three times light, they walked in the whole upwards of one hundred and fifty miles. The total length of our voyage from Chipewyan is five hundred and fifty-three miles[19]. [19] Statute Miles. Stony and Slave Rivers 260 Slave Lake 107 Yellow-Knife River 156.5 Barren country between the source of the Yellow-Knife River and Fort Enterprise 29.5 ----- 553 A fire was made on the south side of the river to inform the chief of our arrival, which spreading before a strong wind, caught the whole wood, and we were completely enveloped in a cloud of smoke for the three following days. On the next morning our voyagers were divided into two parties, the one to cut the wood for the building of a store-house, and the other to fetch the meat as the hunters procured it. An interpreter was sent with Keskarrah, the guide, to search for the Indians who had made the fire seen on Saturday, from whom we might obtain some supplies of provision. An Indian was also despatched to Akaitcho, with directions for him to come to this place directly, and bring whatever provision he had as we were desirous of proceeding, without delay, to the Copper-Mine River. In the evening our men brought in the carcases of seven rein-deer, which two hunters had shot yesterday, and the women commenced drying the meat for our journey. We also obtained a good supply of fish from our nets to-day. A heavy rain, on the 23d, prevented the men from working, either at the building, or going for meat; but on the next day the weather was fine, and they renewed their labours. The thermometer, that day did not rise higher than 42°, and it fell to 31° before midnight. On the morning of the 25th, we were surprised by some early symptoms of the approach of winter; the small pools were frozen over, and a flock of geese passed to the southward. In the afternoon, however, a fog came on, which afterwards changed into rain, and the ice quickly disappeared. We suffered great anxiety all the next day respecting John Hepburn, who had gone to hunt before sunrise on the 25th, and had been absent ever since. About four hours after his departure the wind changed, and a dense fog obscured every mark by which his course to the tents could be directed, and we thought it probable he had been wandering in an opposite direction to our situation, as the two hunters, who had been sent to look for him, returned at sunset without having seen him. Akaitcho arrived with his party, and we were greatly disappointed at finding they had stored up only fifteen rein-deer for us. St. Germain informed us, that having heard of the death of the chief's brother-in-law, they had spent several days in bewailing his loss, instead of hunting. We learned also, that the decease of this man had caused another party of the tribe, who had been sent by Mr. Wentzel to prepare provision for us on the banks of the Copper-Mine River, to remove to the shores of the Great Bear Lake, distant from our proposed route. Mortifying as these circumstances were, they produced less painful sensations than we experienced in the evening, by the refusal of Akaitcho to accompany us in the proposed descent of the Copper-Mine River. When Mr. Wentzel, by my direction, communicated to him my intention of proceeding at once on that service, he desired a conference with me upon the subject, which being immediately granted, he began, by stating, that the very attempt would be rash and dangerous, as the weather was cold, the leaves were falling, some geese had passed to the southward, and the winter would shortly set in; and that, as he considered the lives of all who went on such a journey would be forfeited, he neither would go himself, nor permit his hunters to accompany us. He said there was no wood within eleven days' march, during which time we could not have any fire, as the moss, which the Indians use in their summer excursions, would be too wet for burning, in consequence of the recent rains; that we should be forty days in descending the Copper-Mine River, six of which would be expended in getting to its banks, and that we might be blocked up by the ice in the next moon; and during the whole journey the party must experience great suffering for want of food, as the rein-deer had already left the river. He was now reminded that these statements were very different from the account he had given, both at Fort Providence and on the route hither; and that, up to this moment, we had been encouraged by his conversation to expect that the party might descend the Copper-Mine River, accompanied by the Indians. He replied, that at the former place he had been unacquainted with our slow mode of travelling, and that the alteration in his opinion arose from the advance of winter. We now informed him that we were provided with instruments by which we could ascertain the state of the air and water, and that we did not imagine the winter to be so near as he supposed; however, we promised to return on discovering the first change in the season. He was also told that all the baggage being left behind, our canoes, would now, of course, travel infinitely more expeditiously than any thing he had hitherto witnessed. Akaitcho appeared to feel hurt, that we should continue to press the matter further, and answered with some warmth: "Well, I have said every thing I can urge, to dissuade you from going on this service, on which, it seems, you wish to sacrifice your own lives, as well as the Indians who might attend you: however, if after all I have said, you are determined to go, some of my young men shall join the party, because it shall not be said that we permitted you to die alone after having brought you hither; but from the moment they embark in the canoes, I and my relatives shall lament them as dead." We could only reply to this forcible appeal, by assuring him and the Indians who were seated around him, that we felt the most anxious solicitude for the safety of every individual, and that it was far from our intention to proceed without considering every argument for and against the proposed journey. We next informed him, that it would be very desirable to see the river at any rate, that we might give some positive information about its situation and size, in our next letters to the Great Chief; and that we were very anxious to get on its banks, for the purpose of observing an eclipse of the sun, which we described to him, and said would happen in a few days. He received this communication with more temper than the preceding, though he immediately assigned as a reason for his declining to go, that "the Indians must now procure a sufficient quantity of deer-skins for winter clothing for themselves, and dresses for the Canadians, who would need them if they had to travel in the winter." Finding him so averse to proceed, and feeling at the same time, how essential his continuance with us was, not only to our future success, but even to our existence during the winter, I closed the conversation here, intending to propose to him next morning, some modification of the plan, which might meet his approbation. Soon after we were gone, however, he informed Mr. Wentzel, with whom he was in the habit of speaking confidentially, that as his advice was neglected, his presence was useless, and he should, therefore, return to Fort Providence with his hunters, after he had collected some winter provision for us. Mr. Wentzel having reported this to me, the night was passed in great anxiety, and after weighing all the arguments that presented themselves to my mind, I came reluctantly to the determination of relinquishing the intention of going any distance down the river this season. I had considered, that could we ascertain what were the impediments to the navigation of the Copper-Mine{57} River, what wood grew on its banks, if fit for boat building, and whether drift timber existed where the country was naked, our operations next season would be much facilitated; but we had also cherished the hope of reaching the sea this year, for the Indians in their conversations with us, had only spoken of two great rapids as likely to obstruct us. This was a hope extremely painful to give up; for, in the event of success, we should have ascertained whether the sea was clear of ice, and navigable for canoes; have learned the disposition of the Esquimaux; and might have obtained other information that would have had great influence on our future proceedings. I must confess, however, that my opinion of the probability of our being able to attain so great a desideratum this season had been somewhat altered by the recent changes in the weather, although, had the chief been willing to accompany us with his party, I should have made the attempt; with the intention, however, of returning immediately upon the first decided appearance of winter. On the morning of August 27th, having communicated my sentiments to the officers, on the subject of the conference last evening, they all agreed that the descent to the sea this season could not be attempted, without hazarding a complete rupture with the Indians; but they thought that a party should be sent to ascertain the distance and size of the Copper-Mine River. These opinions, being in conformity with my own, I determined on despatching Messrs. Back and Hood on that service, in a light canoe, as soon as possible. We witnessed this morning an instance of the versatility of our Indian companions, which gave us much uneasiness, as it regarded the safety of our faithful attendant Hepburn. When they heard, on their arrival last night, of his having been so long absent, they expressed the greatest solicitude about him, and the whole party immediately volunteered to go in search of him as soon as daylight permitted. Their resolutions, however, seem to have been changed, in consequence of the subsequent conversation we had with the chief, and we found all of them indisposed to proceed on that errand this morning; and it was only by much entreaty, that three of the hunters and a boy were prevailed upon to go. They fortunately succeeded in their search, and we were infinitely rejoiced to see Hepburn return with them in the afternoon, though much jaded by the fatigue he had undergone. He had got bewildered, as we had conjectured, in the foggy weather on the 25th, and had been wandering about ever since, except during half an hour that he slept yesterday. He had eaten only a partridge and some berries, for his anxiety of mind had deprived him of appetite; and of a deer which he had shot, he took only the tongue, and the skin to protect himself from the wind and rain. This anxiety, we learned from him, was occasioned by the fear that the party which was about to descend the Copper-Mine River, might be detained until he was found, or that it might have departed without him. He did not entertain any dread of the white bears, of whose numbers and ferocious attacks the Indians had been constantly speaking, since we had entered the barren grounds. Our fears for his safety, however, were in a considerable degree excited by the accounts we had received of these animals. Having made a hearty supper he retired to rest, slept soundly, and arose next morning in perfect health. On the 28th of August Akaitcho was informed of our intention to send a party to the river, and of the reasons for doing so, of which he approved, when he found that I had relinquished the idea of going myself, in compliance with the desire which he and the Indians had expressed; and he immediately said two of the hunters should go to provide them with food on the journey, and to serve as guides. During this conversation we gathered from him, for the first time, that there might still be some of his tribe near to the river, from whom the party could get provision. Our next object was to despatch the Indians to their hunting-ground to collect provision for us, and to procure the fat of the deer for our use during the winter, and for making the pemmican we should require in the spring. They were therefore furnished with some ammunition, clothing, and other necessary articles, and directed to take their departure as soon as possible. Akaitcho came into our tent this evening at supper, and made several pertinent inquiries respecting the eclipse, of which we had spoken last night. He desired to know the effect that would be produced, and the cause of it, which we endeavoured to explain; and having gained this information, he sent for several of his companions, that they might also have it repeated to them. They were most astonished at our knowing the time at which this event should happen, and remarked that this knowledge was a striking proof of the superiority of the whites over the Indians. We took advantage of this occasion to speak to them respecting the Supreme Being, who ordered all the operations of nature, and to impress on their minds the necessity of paying strict attention to their moral duties, in obedience to his will. They readily assented to all these points, and Akaitcho assured us that both himself and his young men would exert themselves in obtaining provision for us, in return for the interesting communications we had just made to them. Having received a supply of dried meat from the Indian lodges, we were enabled to equip the party for the Copper-Mine River, and at nine A.M., on the 29th, Mr. Back and Mr. Hood embarked on that service in a light canoe, with St. Germain, eight Canadians and one Indian. We could not furnish them with more than eight days' provision, which, with their blankets, two tents, and a few instruments, composed their lading. Mr. Back, who had charge of the party, was directed to proceed to the river, and if, when he arrived at its banks, the weather should continue to be mild, and the temperature of the water was not lower than 40°, he might embark, and descend the stream for a few days to gain some knowledge of its course, but he was not to go so far as to risk his being able to return to this place in a fortnight with the canoe. But, if the weather should be severe, and the temperature of the water below 40°, he was not to embark, but return immediately, and endeavour to ascertain the best track for our goods to be conveyed thither next spring. We had seen that the water decreases rapidly in temperature at this season, and I feared that, if he embarked to descend the river when it was below 40°, the canoe might be frozen in, and the crew have to walk back in very severe weather. As soon as the canoes had started, Akaitcho and the Indians took their departure also, except two of the hunters, who staid behind to kill deer in our neighbourhood, and old Keskarrah and his family, who remained as our guests. The fishing-nets were this day transferred from the river in which they had been set since our arrival, to Winter Lake, whither the fish had removed, and the fishermen built a log-hut on its borders to reside in, that they might attend more closely to their occupation. The month of September commenced with very disagreeable weather. The temperature of the atmosphere ranged between 39° and 31° during the first three days, and that of the water in the river decreased from 49° to 44°. Several rein-deer and a large flight of white geese passed to the southward. These circumstances led us to fear for the comfort, if not for the safety, of our absent friends. On the 4th of September we commenced building our dwelling-house, having cut sufficient wood for the frame of it. In the afternoon of September the 6th, we removed our tent to the summit of a hill, about three miles distant, for the better observing the eclipse, which was calculated to occur on the next morning. We were prevented, however, from witnessing it by a heavy snow-storm, and the only observation we could then make was to examine whether the temperature of the atmosphere altered during the eclipse, but we found that both the mercurial and spirit thermometers remained steadily at 30° for a quarter of an hour previous to its commencement, during its continuance, and for half an hour subsequent to its termination; we remarked the wind increased very much, and the snow fell in heavier flakes just after the estimated time of its commencement. This boisterous weather continued until three P.M., when the wind abated, and the snow changed to rain. As there was now no immediate occasion for my remaining on the spot, the eclipse being over, and the Indians having removed to their hunting-grounds, Dr. Richardson and I determined on taking a pedestrian excursion to the Copper-Mine River, leaving Mr. Wentzel in charge of the men, and to superintend the buildings. On the morning of September the 9th we commenced our journey, under the guidance of old Keskarrah, and accompanied by John Hepburn and Samandré, who carried our blankets, cooking utensils, hatchets, and a small supply of dried meat. Our guide led us from the top of one hill to the top of another, making as straight a course to the northward as the numerous lakes, with which the country is intersected, would permit. At noon we reached a remarkable hill, with precipitous sides, named by the Copper Indians the Dog-rib Rock, and its latitude, 64° 34' 52" S.{58}, was obtained. The canoe-track passes to the eastward of this rock, but we kept to the westward, as being the more direct course. From the time we quitted the banks of Winter River we saw only a few detached clumps of trees; but after we passed Dog-rib Rock even these disappeared, and we travelled through a naked country. In the course of the afternoon Keskarrah killed a rein-deer, and loaded himself with its head and skin, and our men also carried off a few pounds of its flesh for supper; but their loads were altogether too great to permit them to take much additional weight. Keskarrah offered to us as a great treat the raw marrow from the hind legs of the animal, of which all the party ate except myself, and thought it very good. I was also of the same opinion, when I subsequently conquered my then too fastidious taste. We halted for the night on the borders of a small lake, which washed the base of a ridge of sand-hills, about three hundred feet high, having walked in direct distance sixteen miles. There were four ancient pine-trees here which did not exceed six or seven feet in height, but whose branches spread themselves out for several yards, and we gladly cropped a few twigs to make a bed and to protect us from the frozen ground, still white from a fall of snow which took place in the afternoon. We were about to cut down one of these trees for firewood, but our guide solicited us to spare them, and made us understand by signs that they had been long serviceable to his nation, and that we ought to content ourselves with a few of the smaller branches. As soon as we comprehended his request we complied with it, and our attendants having, with some trouble, grubbed up a sufficient quantity of the roots of the dwarf birch to make a fire, we were enabled to prepare a comfortable supper of rein-deer's meat, which we despatched with the appetites which travelling in this country never fails to ensure. We then stretched ourselves out on the pine brush, and covered by a single blanket, enjoyed a night of sound repose. The small quantity of bed-clothes we carried induced us to sleep without undressing. Old Keskarrah followed a different plan; he stripped himself to the skin, and having toasted his body for a short time over the embers of the fire, he crept under his deer-skin and rags, previously spread out as smoothly as possible, and coiling himself up in a circular form, fell asleep instantly. This custom of undressing to the skin even when lying in the open air is common to all the Indian tribes. The thermometer at sunset stood at 29°. Resuming our journey next morning we pursued a northerly course, but had to make a considerable circuit round the western ends of two lakes whose eastern extremities were hidden from our view. The march was very uncomfortable as the wind was cold, and there was a constant fall of snow until noon; our guide too persisted in taking us over the summit of every hill that lay in the route, so that we had the full benefit of the breeze. We forded two streams in the afternoon flowing between small lakes, and being wet, did not much relish having to halt, whilst Keskarrah pursued a herd of rein-deer; but there was no alternative, as he set off and followed them without consulting our wishes. The old man loaded himself with the skin, and some meat of the animal he killed, in addition to his former burden; but after walking two miles, finding his charge too heavy for his strength, he spread the skin on the rock, and deposited the meat under some stones, intending to pick them up on our return. We put up at sunset on the borders of a large lake, having come twelve miles. A few dwarf birches afforded us but a scanty fire, yet being sheltered from the wind by a sandy bank, we passed the night comfortably, though the temperature was 30°. A number of geese passed over us to the southward. We set off early next morning, and marched at a tolerably quick pace. The atmosphere was quite foggy, and our view was limited to a short distance. At noon, the sun shone forth for a few minutes, and the latitude 64° 57' 7" was observed. The small streams that we had hitherto crossed run uniformly to the southward. At the end of sixteen miles and a half we encamped amongst a few dwarf pines, and were much rejoiced at having a good fire, as the night was very stormy and cold. The thermometer fluctuated this day between 31° and 35°. Though the following morning was foggy and rainy, we were not sorry to quit the cold and uncomfortable beds of rock upon which we had slept, and commence our journey at an early hour. After walking about three miles, we passed over a steep sandy ridge, and found the course of the rivulets running towards the north and north-west. Our progress was slow in the early part of the morning, and we were detained for two hours on the summit of a hill exposed to a very cold wind, whilst our guide went in an unsuccessful pursuit of some rein-deer. After walking a few miles farther, the fog cleared away, and Keskarrah pointed out the Copper-Mine River at a distance, and we pushed towards it with all the speed we could put forth. At noon we arrived at an arm of Point Lake, an extensive expansion of the river, and observed the latitude 65° 9' 06" N. We continued our walk along the south end of this arm for about a mile further, and then halted to breakfast amidst a cluster of pines. Here the longitude, 112° 57' 25", was observed. After breakfast we set out and walked along the east-side of the arm towards the main body of the lake, leaving Samandré to prepare an encampment amongst the pines against our return. We found the main channel deep, its banks high and rocky, and the valleys on its borders interspersed with clusters of spruce-trees. The latter circumstance was a source of much gratification to us. The temperature of its surface water was 41°, that of the air being 43°. Having gained all the information we could collect from our guide and from personal observation, we retraced our steps to the encampment; and on the way back Hepburn and Keskarrah shot several waveys (_anas hyperborea_) which afforded us a seasonable supply, our stock of provision being nearly exhausted. These birds were feeding in large flocks on the crow-berries, which grew plentifully on the sides of the hills. We reached the encampment after dark, found a comfortable hut prepared for our reception, made an excellent supper, and slept soundly though it snowed hard the whole night. The hills in this neighbourhood are higher than those about Fort Enterprise; they stand, however, in the same detached manner, without forming connected ranges; and the bottom of every valley is occupied, either by a small lake or a stony marsh. On the borders of such of these lakes as communicate with the Copper-Mine River, there are a few groves of spruce-trees, generally growing on accumulations of sand, on the acclivities of the hills. We did not quit the encampment on the morning of September 13th until nine o'clock, in consequence of a constant fall of snow; but at that hour we set out on our return to Fort Enterprise, and taking a route somewhat different from the one by which we came, kept to the eastward of a chain of lakes. Soon after noon the weather became extremely disagreeable; a cold northerly gale came on, attended by snow and sleet; and the temperature fell very soon from 43° to 34°. The waveys, alarmed at the sudden change, flew over our heads in great numbers to a milder climate. We walked as quickly as possible to get to a place that would furnish some fuel and shelter; but the fog occasioned us to make frequent halts, from the inability of our guide to trace his way. At length we came to a spot which afforded us plenty of dwarf birches, but they were so much frozen, and the snow fell so thick, that upwards of two hours were wasted in endeavouring to make a fire; during which time our clothes were freezing upon us. At length our efforts were crowned with success, and after a good supper, we laid, or rather sat down to sleep; for the nature of the ground obliged us to pass the night in a demi-erect position, with our backs against a bank of earth. The thermometer was 16° at six P.M. After enjoying a more comfortable night's rest than we had expected, we set off at day-break: the thermometer then standing at 18°. The ground was covered with snow, the small lakes were frozen, and the whole scene had a wintry appearance. We got on but slowly at first, owing to an old sprained ancle, which had been very troublesome to me for the last three days, and was this morning excessively painful. In fording a rivulet, however, the application of cold water gave me immediate relief, and I walked with ease the remainder of the day. In the afternoon we rejoined our track outwards and came to the place where Keskarrah had made his deposit of provision, which proved a very acceptable supply, as our stock was exhausted. We then crossed some sand hills, and encamped amidst a few small pines, having walked thirteen miles. The comfort of a good fire made us soon insensible to the fatigue we had experienced through the day, in marching over the rugged stones, whose surface was rendered slippery by the frost. The thermometer at seven P.M. stood at 27°. We set off at sunrise next morning, and our provision being expended pushed on as fast as we could to Fort Enterprise, where we arrived at eight P.M., almost exhausted by a harassing day's march of twenty-two miles. A substantial supper of rein-deer steaks soon restored our vigour. We had the happiness of meeting our friends Mr. Back and Mr. Hood, who had returned from their excursion on the day succeeding that on which we set out; and I received from them the following account of their journey. They proceeded up the Winter River to the north end of the Little Marten Lake, and then the guide, being unacquainted with the route by water to the Copper-Mine River, proposed that the canoe should be left. Upon this they ascended the loftiest hill in the neighbourhood, to examine whether they could discover any large lakes, or water communication in the direction where the guide described the river to be. They only saw a small rivulet, which was too shallow for the canoe, and also wide of the course; and as they perceived the crew would have to carry it over a rugged hilly track, they judiciously decided on leaving it, and proceeding forward on foot. Having deposited the canoe among a few dwarf birch bushes, they commenced their march, carrying their tents, blankets, cooking utensils, and a part of the dried meat. St. Germain, however, had previously delineated with charcoal, a man and a house on a piece of bark, which he placed over the canoe and the few things that were left, to point out to the Dog-Ribs that they belonged to white people. The party reached the shores of Point Lake, through which the Copper-Mine River runs, on the 1st of September. The next day was too stormy for them to march, but on the 3d, they proceeded along its shores to the westward, round a mountainous promontory, and perceiving the course of the lake extending to the W.N.W., they encamped near some pines, and then enjoyed the luxury of a good fire, for the first time since their departure from us. The temperature of the water in the lake was 35°, and of the air 32°, but the latter fell to 20° in the course of that night. As their principal object was to ascertain whether any arm of the lake branched nearer to Fort Enterprise than the part they had fallen upon, to which the transport of our goods could be more easily made next spring, they returned on its borders to the eastward, being satisfied, by the appearance of the mountains between south and west, that no further examination was necessary in that direction; and they continued their march until the 6th at noon, without finding any part of the lake inclining nearer the fort. They therefore encamped to observe the eclipse, which was to take place on the following morning; but a violent snow storm rendering the observation impossible, they commenced their return, and after a comfortless and laborious march regained their canoe on the 10th, and embarking in it, arrived the same evening at the house. Point Lake varied, as far as they traced, from one to three miles in width. Its main course was nearly east and west, but several arms branched off in different directions. I was much pleased with the able manner in which these officers executed the service they had been despatched upon, and was gratified to learn from them, that their companions had conducted themselves extremely well, and borne the fatigues of their journey most cheerfully. They scarcely ever had more than sufficient fuel to boil the kettle; and were generally obliged to lie down in their wet clothes, and consequently, suffered much from cold. The distance which the parties travelled, in their journey to and from Point Lake, may be estimated at one hundred and ten statute miles, which being added to the distances given in the preceding pages, amount to one thousand five hundred and twenty miles that the Expedition travelled in 1820, up to the time of its residence at Fort Enterprise. END OF VOL. I. * * * * * Transcriber's corrections and comments: 1. Original had a superfluous "C" in the year of publication ("MDCCCCXXIV"); corrected to "MDCCCXXIV" (1824). 2. "Holy Lake" is inconsistent with the three occurrences in the text, which are all spelled "Holey Lake"; same in chapter sub-header. 3. Added "à" missing in original in "Isle à la Crosse". 4. Symbol for seconds in original misprinted (56',); corrected to quotation mark (56"). 5. Original used comma instead of decimal point; corrected to "39.5°". 6. Original had "were"; corrected to "where". 7. Original had "sienite"; changed to "syenite". 8. Original had "come"; corrected to "came". 9. Original had "tress"; corrected to "trees". 10. Original had "cosequence"; corrected to "consequence". 11. Original had "o"; corrected to "of". 12. Original had comma after 83° 14' 22"; corrected to period. 13. Original had "th weeather"; corrected to "the weather". 14. Original had "dependant"; changed to "dependent". 15. Original had "Copper-mine"; changed to "Copper-Mine" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 16. "Mississippi" is most likely a misprint for "Missinippi", i.e. Churchill river. 17. Original had "McKenzie's"; changed to "Mackenzie's" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 18. Original had "dependant"; changed to "dependent". 19. Original had "agreeble"; corrected to "agreeable". 20. Original had "oxycocoos"; corrected to "oxycoccos". 21. Original had "scarely"; corrected to "scarcely". 22. Original had "sufficent"; corrected to "sufficient". 23. Original had "notwithanding"; corrected to "notwithstanding". 24. Original had comma after "showers"; corrected to period. 25. Original had "intractible"; corrected to "intractable". 26. "Assinéboine" is given as "Asseenaboine" elsewhere in the text. 27. Original had "of"; corrected to "off". 28. Original had "thuogh"; corrected to "though". 29. Original had "effrontry"; corrected to "effrontery". 30. Original had "dranked"; corrected to "drank". 31. Original had "o"; corrected to "of". 32. Original had "excution"; corrected to "execution". 33. Original had "suprise"; corrected to "surprise". 34. Deleted superfluous period after "cyprès". 35. "W." in the variation reading is most likely a misprint for "E."; compare previous and next readings. 36. Original had "traveling"; corrected to "travelling". 37. Original had "Copper-mine"; changed to "Copper-Mine" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 38. Original had "Copper-mine"; changed to "Copper-Mine" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 39. Original had "bow-men and steers-men"; changed to "bowmen and steersmen" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 40. Original had "Mammawee"; changed to "Mamma-wee" to be consistent with previous occurrence. 41. The name of the fish "attihhawmegh" is spelled "attihhawmeg" elsewhere. 42. Original reference was to page 92, which contains nothing about fish or fishing; changed to "143-4", where references to fishing can be found. 43. Original had "occasionly"; changed to "occasionally". 44. Original had "it"; corrected to "in". 45. Added period missing in original after "winter". 46. "Conolly" is a possible misprint for "Connolly" (as found earlier in the text). 47. "Conolly" is a possible misprint for "Connolly". 48. Original had "Riviére"; corrected to "Rivière". 49. Original had comma after "fish"; corrected to period. 50. "Echiamamis" is probably the same as "Echemamis" above. 51. "N." is most likely a misprint for "E.", as magnetic variation of the compass can only be East or West. 52. "McCleod" is a possible misprint for "McLeod", as it appears earlier in the text. 53. Original had "or"; corrected to "of". 54. "Thlouee-tessy" is probably the same as "Thloueea-tessy" above. 55. Original had "today"; changed to "to-day" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 56. Original had "varition"; changed to "variation". 57. Original had "Copper-Mine-River"; changed to "Copper-Mine River". 58. "S." in the latitude reading is very unlikely; almost certainly a misprint for "N." 
18985	----	file was produced from images generously made available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) Transcriber's notes: There are several inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation in the original. Some corrections have been made for obvious typographical errors; they have been noted individually in the text. All changes made by the transcriber are enumerated in braces, for example {1}; details of corrections and comments are listed at the end of the text. Note that many of the errors were introduced in the third edition, as cross-referencing the second edition has shown. In the original, the "Mc" in Scottish names is given as "M" followed by what looks like a left single quotation mark (Unicode 2018). This has been changed to "Mc" throughout the text. Specific spellings that differ from their modern versions and have been retained in this text are "Saskatchawan" (modern "Saskatchewan"), "Esquimaux" (modern "Eskimo") and "musquito" (modern "mosquito"). Text in italics in the original is shown between _underlines_. For this text version, the oe-ligature (Unicode 0153) has been rendered as "oe". Footnote 3 in chapter VIII contains several instances of [·0] as a transliteration of the symbol for "Sun" (Unicode 2609). * * * * * NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA, IN THE YEARS 1819-20-21-22. BY JOHN FRANKLIN, Capt. R.N., F.R.S., M.W.S., AND COMMANDER OF THE EXPEDITION. PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL BATHURST. THIRD EDITION. TWO VOLS.--VOL. II. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. MDCCCXXIV. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, Northumberland-Court. CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. CHAPTER VIII. Page Transactions at Fort Enterprise--Mr. Back's Narrative of his Journey to Chipewyan, and Return 1 CHAPTER IX. Continuation of Proceedings at Fort Enterprise--Some Account of the Copper Indians--Preparations for the Journey to the Northward 76 CHAPTER X. Departure from Fort Enterprise--Navigation of the Copper-Mine River--Visit to the Copper Mountain--Interview with the Esquimaux--Departure of the Indian Hunters--Arrangements made with them for our Return 122 CHAPTER XI. Navigation of the Polar Sea, in two Canoes, as far as Cape Turnagain, to the Eastward, a distance exceeding Five Hundred and Fifty Miles--Observations on the probability of a North-West Passage 193 CHAPTER XII. Journey across the barren grounds--Difficulty and delay in crossing Copper-Mine River--Melancholy and fatal Results thereof--Extreme Misery of the whole Party--Murder of Mr. Hood--Death of several of the Canadians--Desolate State of Fort Enterprise--Distress suffered at that Place--Dr. Richardson's Narrative--Mr. Back's Narrative--Conclusion 237 JOURNEY TO THE SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA. * * * * * CHAPTER VIII. Transactions at Fort Enterprise--Mr. Back's Narrative of his Journey to Chipewyan and Return. 1820. September. During our little expedition to the Copper-Mine River, Mr. Wentzel had made great progress in the erection of our winter-house, having nearly roofed it in. But before proceeding to give an account of a ten months' residence at this place, henceforth designated Fort Enterprise, I may premise, that I shall omit many of the ordinary occurrences of a North American winter, as they have been already detailed in so able and interesting a manner by Ellis[1], and confine myself principally to the circumstances which had an influence on our progress in the ensuing summer. The observations on the magnetic needle, the temperature of the atmosphere, the Aurora Borealis, and other meteorological phenomena, together with the mineralogical and botanical notices, being less interesting to the general reader, are omitted in this edition. [1] Voyage to Hudson's Bay in the Dobbs and California. The men continued to work diligently at the house, and by the 30th of September had nearly completed it for our reception, when a heavy fall of rain washed the greater part of the mud off the roof. This rain was remarked by the Indians as unusual, after what they had deemed so decided a commencement of winter in the early part of the month. The mean temperature for the month was 33-3/4°, but the thermometer had sunk as low as 16°, and on one occasion rose to 53°. Besides the party constantly employed at the house, two men were appointed to fish, and others were occasionally sent for meat, as the hunters procured it. This latter employment, although extremely laborious, was always relished by the Canadians, as they never failed to use a prescriptive right of helping themselves to the fattest and most delicate parts of the deer. Towards the end of the month, the rein-deer began to quit the barren grounds, and came into the vicinity of the house, on their way to the woods; and the success of the hunters being consequently great, the necessity of sending for the meat considerably retarded the building of the house. In the mean time we resided in our canvas tents, which proved very cold habitations, although we maintained a fire in front of them, and also endeavoured to protect ourselves from the piercing winds by a barricade of pine branches. On the 6th of October, the house being completed, we struck our tents, and removed into it. It was merely a log-building, fifty feet long, and twenty-four wide, divided into a hall, three bed rooms and a kitchen. The walls and roof were plastered with clay, the floors laid with planks rudely squared with the hatchet, and the windows closed with parchment of deer-skin. The clay, which from the coldness of the weather, required to be tempered before the fire with hot water, froze as it was daubed on, and afterwards cracked in such a manner as to admit the wind from every quarter; yet, compared with the tents, our new habitation appeared comfortable; and having filled our capacious clay-built chimney with fagots, we spent a cheerful evening before the invigorating blaze. The change was peculiarly beneficial to Dr. Richardson, who, having, in one of his excursions, incautiously laid down on the frozen side of a hill when heated with walking, had caught a severe inflammatory sore throat, which became daily worse whilst we remained in the tents, but began to mend soon after he was enabled to confine himself to the more equable warmth of the house. We took up our abode at first on the floor, but our working party, who had shown such skill as house carpenters, soon proved themselves to be, with the same tools, (the hatchet and crooked knife,) excellent cabinet makers, and daily added a table, chair, or bedstead, to the comforts of our establishment. The crooked knife generally made of an old file, bent and tempered by heat, serves an Indian or Canadian voyager for plane, chisel, and auger. With it the snow-shoe and canoe-timbers are fashioned, the deals of their sledges reduced to the requisite thinness and polish, and their wooden bowls and spoons hollowed out. Indeed, though not quite so requisite for existence as the hatchet, yet without its aid there would be little comfort in these wilds. On the 7th we were gratified by a sight of the sun, after it had been obscured for twelve days. On this and several following days the meridian sun melted the light covering of snow or hoar frost on the lichens, which clothe the barren grounds, and rendered them so tender as to attract great herds of rein-deer to our neighbourhood. On the morning of the 10th I estimated the numbers I saw during a short walk, at upwards of two thousand. They form into herds of different sizes, from ten to a hundred, according as their fears or accident induce them to unite or separate. The females being at this time more lean and active, usually lead the van. The haunches of the males are now covered to the depth of two inches or more with fat, which is beginning to get red and high flavoured, and is considered a sure indication of the commencement of the rutting season. Their horns, which in the middle of August were yet tender, have now attained their proper size, and are beginning to lose their hairy covering which hangs from them in ragged filaments. The horns of the rein-deer vary, not only with its sex and age, but are otherwise so uncertain in their growth, that they are never alike in any two individuals. The old males shed their's about the end of December; the females retain them until the disappearance of the snow enables them to frequent the barren grounds, which may be stated to be about the middle or end of May, soon after which period they proceed towards the sea-coast and drop their young. The young males lose their horns about the same time with the females or a little earlier, some of them as early as April. The hair of the rein-deer falls in July, and is succeeded by a short thick coat of mingled clove, deep reddish, and yellowish browns; the belly and under parts of the neck, _&c._, remaining white. As the winter approaches the hair becomes longer, and lighter in its colours, and it begins to loosen in May, being then much worn on the sides, from the animal rubbing itself against trees and stones. It becomes grayish and almost white, before it is completely shed. The Indians form their robes of the skins procured in autumn, when the hair is short. Towards the spring the larvæ of the oestrus attaining a large size, produce so many perforations in the skins, that they are good for nothing. The cicatrices only of these holes are to be seen in August, but a fresh set of _ova_ have in the mean time been deposited[2]. [2] "It is worthy of remark, that in the month of May a very great number of large larvæ exist under the mucous membrane at the root of the tongue, and posterior part of the nares and pharynx. The Indians consider them to belong to the same species with the oestrus, that deposits its ova under the skin: to us the larvæ of the former appeared more flattened than those of the latter. Specimens of both kinds, preserved in spirits, were destroyed by the frequent falls they received on the portages."--DR. RICHARDSON'S _Journal_. The rein-deer retire from the sea-coast in July and August, rut in October on the verge of the barren grounds, and shelter themselves in the woods during the winter. They are often induced by a few fine days in winter, to pay a transitory visit to their favourite pastures in the barren country, but their principal movement to the northward commences generally in the end of April, when the snow first begins to melt on the sides of the hills, and early in May, when large patches of the ground are visible, they are on the banks of the Copper-Mine River. The females take the lead in this spring migration, and bring forth their young on the sea-coast about the end of May or beginning of June. There are certain spots or passes well known to the Indians, through which the deer invariably pass in their migrations to and from the coast, and it has been observed that they always travel against the wind. The principal food of the rein-deer in the barren grounds, consists of the _cetraria nivalis_ and _cucullata_, _cenomyce rangiferina_, _cornicularia ochrileuca_, and other lichens, and they also eat the hay or dry grass which is found in the swamps in autumn. In the woods they feed on the different lichens which hang from the trees. They are accustomed to gnaw their fallen antlers, and are said also to devour mice. The weight of a full grown barren-ground deer, exclusive of the offal, varies from ninety to one hundred and thirty pounds. There is, however, a much larger kind found in the woody parts of the country, whose carcase weighs from two hundred to two hundred and forty pounds. This kind never leaves the woods, but its skin is as much perforated by the gad-fly as that of the others; a presumptive proof that the smaller species are not driven to the sea-coast solely by the attacks of that insect. There are a few rein-deer occasionally killed in the spring, whose skins are entire, and these are always fat, whereas the others are lean at that season. This insect likewise infests the red-deer (_wawaskeesh_,) but its ova are not found in the skin of the moose, or buffalo, nor, as we have been informed, of the sheep and goat that inhabit the Rocky Mountains, although the rein-deer found in those parts, (which are of an unusually large kind,) are as much tormented by them as the barren-ground variety. The herds of rein-deer are attended in their migrations by bands of wolves, which destroy a great many of them. The Copper Indians kill the rein-deer in the summer with the gun, or taking advantage of a favourable disposition of the ground, they enclose a herd upon a neck of land, and drive them into a lake, where they fall an easy prey; but in the rutting season and in the spring, when they are numerous on the skirts of the woods, they catch them in snares. The snares are simple nooses, formed in a rope made of twisted sinew, which are placed in the aperture of a slight hedge, constructed of the branches of trees. This hedge is so disposed as to form several winding compartments, and although it is by no means strong, yet the deer seldom attempt to break through it. The herd is led into the labyrinth by two converging rows of poles, and one is generally caught at each of the openings by the noose placed there. The hunter, too, lying in ambush, stabs some of them with his bayonet as they pass by, and the whole herd frequently becomes his prey. Where wood is scarce, a piece of turf turned up answers the purpose of a pole to conduct them towards the snares. The rein-deer has a quick eye, but the hunter by keeping to leeward and using a little caution, may approach very near; their apprehensions being much more easily roused by the smell than the sight of any unusual object. Indeed their curiosity often causes them to come close up and wheel around the hunter; thus affording him a good opportunity of singling out the fattest of the herd, and upon these occasions they often become so confused by the shouts and gestures of their enemy, that they run backwards and forwards with great rapidity, but without the power of making their escape. The Copper Indians find by experience that a white dress attracts them most readily, and they often succeed in bringing them within shot, by kneeling and vibrating the gun from side to side, in imitation of the motion of a deer's horns when he is in the act of rubbing his head against a stone. The Dog-Rib Indians have a mode of killing these animals, which though simple, is very successful. It was thus described by Mr. Wentzel, who resided long amongst that people. The hunters go in pairs, the foremost man carrying in one hand the horns and part of the skin of the head of a deer, and in the other a small bundle of twigs, against which he, from time to time, rubs the horns, imitating the gestures peculiar to the animal. His comrade follows treading exactly in his footsteps, and holding the guns of both in a horizontal position, so that the muzzles project under the arms of him who carries the head. Both hunters have a fillet of white skin round their foreheads, and the foremost has a strip of the same kind round his wrists. They approach the herd by degrees, raising their legs very slowly, but setting them down somewhat suddenly, after the manner of a deer, and always taking care to lift their right or left feet simultaneously. If any of the herd leave off feeding to gaze upon this extraordinary phenomenon, it instantly stops, and the head begins to play its part by licking its shoulders, and performing other necessary movements. In this way the hunters attain the very centre of the herd without exciting suspicion, and have leisure to single out the fattest. The hindmost man then pushes forward his comrade's gun, the head is dropt, and they both fire nearly at the same instant. The herd scampers off, the hunters trot after them; in a short time the poor animals halt to ascertain the cause of their terror, their foes stop at the same instant, and having loaded as they ran, greet the gazers with a second fatal discharge. The consternation of the deer increases, they run to and fro in the utmost confusion, and sometimes a great part of the herd is destroyed within the space of a few hundred yards. A party who had been sent to Akaitcho returned, bringing three hundred and seventy pounds of dried meat, and two hundred and twenty pounds of suet, together with the unpleasant information, that a still larger quantity of the latter article had been found and carried off, as he supposed, by some Dog-ribs, who had passed that way. The weather becoming daily colder, all the lakes in the neighbourhood of the house were completely, and the river partially, frozen over by the middle of the month. The rein-deer now began to quit us for more southerly and better-sheltered pastures. Indeed, their longer residence in our neighbourhood would have been of little service to us, for our ammunition was almost completely expended, though we had dealt it of late with a very sparing hand to the Indians. We had, however, already secured in the store-house the carcases of one hundred deer, together with one thousand pounds of suet, and some dried meat; and had, moreover, eighty deer stowed up at various distances from the house. The necessity of employing the men to build a house for themselves, before the weather became too severe, obliged us to put the latter _en cache_, as the voyagers term it, instead of adopting the more safe plan of bringing them to the house. Putting a deer _en cache_, means merely protecting it against the wolves, and still more destructive wolverenes, by heavy loads of wood or stones; the latter animal, however, sometimes digs underneath the pile, and renders the precaution abortive. On the 18th, Mr. Back and Mr. Wentzel set out for Fort Providence, accompanied by Beauparlant, Belanger, and two Indians, Akaiyazza and Thoolezzeh, with their wives, the Little Forehead, and the Smiling Marten. Mr. Back had volunteered to go and make the necessary arrangements for transporting the stores we expected from Cumberland House, and to endeavour to obtain some additional supplies from the establishments at Slave Lake. If any accident should have prevented the arrival of our stores, and the establishments at Moose-Deer Island should be unable to supply the deficiency, he was, if he found himself equal to the task, to proceed to Chipewyan. Ammunition was essential to our existence, and a considerable supply of tobacco was also requisite, not only for the comfort of the Canadians, who use it largely, and had stipulated for it in their engagements, but also as a means of preserving the friendship of the Indians. Blankets, cloth, and iron-work, were scarcely less indispensible to equip our men for the advance next season. Mr. Wentzel accompanied Mr. Back, to assist him in obtaining from the traders, on the score of old friendship, that which they might be inclined to deny to our necessities. I forwarded by them letters to the Colonial Office and Admiralty, detailing the proceedings of the Expedition up to this period. On the 22d we were surprised by a visit from a dog; the poor animal was in low condition, and much fatigued. Our Indians discovered, by marks on his ears, that he belonged to the Dog-ribs. This tribe, unlike the Chipewyans and Copper Indians, had preserved that useful associate of man, although from their frequent intercourse with the latter people, they were not ignorant of the prediction alluded to in a former page. One of our interpreters was immediately despatched, with an Indian, to endeavour to trace out the Dog-ribs, whom he supposed might be concealed in the neighbourhood from their dread of the Copper Indians; although we had no doubt of their coming to us, were they aware of our being here. The interpreter, however, returned without having discovered any traces of strange Indians; a circumstance which led us to conclude, that the dog had strayed from his masters a considerable time before. Towards the end of the month the men completed their house, and took up their abode in it. It was thirty-four feet long and eighteen feet wide; was divided into two apartments, and was placed at right angles to the officers' dwelling, and facing the store-house: the three buildings forming three sides of a quadrangle. On the 26th Akaitcho and his party arrived, the hunting in this neighbourhood being terminated for the season, by the deer having retired southward to the shelter of the woods. The arrival of this large party was a serious inconvenience to us, from our being compelled to issue them daily rates of provision from the store. The want of ammunition prevented us from equipping and sending them to the woods to hunt; and although they are accustomed to subsist themselves for a considerable part of the year by fishing, or snaring the deer, without having recourse to fire-arms, yet, on the present occasion, they felt little inclined to do so, and gave scope to their natural love of ease, as long as our store-house seemed to be well stocked. Nevertheless, as they were conscious of impairing our future resources, they did not fail, occasionally, to remind us that it was not their fault, to express an ardent desire to go hunting, and to request a supply of ammunition, although they knew that it was not in our power to give it. The summer birds by this time had entirely deserted us, leaving, for our winter companions, the raven, cinereous crow, ptarmigan, and snow-bird. The last of the water-fowl that quitted us was a species of diver, of the same size with the _colymbus arcticus_, but differing from it in the arrangement of the white spots on its plumage, and in having a yellowish white bill. This bird was occasionally caught in our fishing nets. The thermometer during the month of October, at Fort Enterprise, never rose above 37°, or fell below 5°; the mean temperature for the month was 23°. In the beginning of October a party had been sent to the westward to search for birch to make snow-shoe frames, and the Indian women were afterwards employed in netting the shoes and preparing leather for winter-clothing to the men. Robes of rein-deer skins were also obtained from the Indians, and issued to the men who were to travel, as they are not only a great deal lighter than blankets, but also much warmer, and altogether better adapted for a winter in this climate. They are, however, unfit for summer use, as the least moisture causes the skin to spoil, and lose its hair. It requires the skins of seven deer to make one robe. The finest are made of the skins of young fawns. The fishing, having failed as the weather became more severe, was given up on the 5th. It had procured us about one thousand two hundred _white fish_, from two to three pounds each. There are two other species of _Coregoni_ in Winter Lake, _Back's grayling_ and the _round fish_; and a few _trout_, _pike_, _methye_, and _red carp_, were also occasionally obtained from the nets. It may be worthy of notice here, that the fish froze as they were taken out of the nets, in a short time became a solid mass of ice, and by a blow or two of the hatchet were easily split open, when the intestines might be removed in one lump. If in this completely frozen state they were thawed before the fire, they recovered their animation. This was particularly the case with the carp, and we had occasion to observe it repeatedly, as Dr. Richardson occupied himself in examining the structure of the different species of fish, and was, always in the winter, under the necessity of thawing them before he could cut them. We have seen a carp recover so far as to leap about with much vigour, after it had been frozen for thirty-six hours. From the 12th to the 16th we had fine, and for the season, warm weather; and the deer, which had not been seen since the 26th of October, reappeared in the neighbourhood of the house, to the surprise of the Indians, who attributed their return to the barren grounds to the unusual mildness of the season. On this occasion, by melting some of our pewter cups, we managed to furnish five balls to each of the hunters, but they were all expended unsuccessfully, except by Akaitcho, who killed two deer. By the middle of the month Winter River was firmly frozen over, except the small rapid at its commencement, which remained open all the winter. The ice on the lake was now nearly two feet thick. After the 16th we had a succession of cold, snowy, and windy weather. We had become anxious to hear of the arrival of Mr. Back and his party at Fort Providence. The Indians, who had calculated the period at which a messenger ought to have returned from thence to be already passed, became impatient when it had elapsed, and with their usual love of evil augury tormented us by their melancholy forebodings. At one time they conjectured that the whole party had fallen through{1} the ice; at another, that they had been way-laid and cut off by the Dog-ribs. In vain did we urge the improbability of the former accident, or the peaceable character of the Dog-ribs, so little in conformity with the latter. "The ice at this season was deceitful," they said, "and the Dog-ribs, though unwarlike, were treacherous." These assertions, so often repeated, had some effect upon the spirits of our Canadian voyagers, who seldom weigh any opinion they adopt; but we persisted in treating their fears as chimerical, for had we seemed to listen to them for a moment, it is more than probable that the whole of our Indians would have gone to Fort Providence in search of supplies, and we should have found it extremely difficult to have recovered them. The matter was put to rest by the appearance of Belanger on the morning of the 23d, and the Indians, now running into the opposite extreme, were disposed to give us more credit for our judgment than we deserved. They had had a tedious and fatiguing journey to Fort Providence, and for some days were destitute of provisions. Belanger arrived alone; he had walked constantly for the last six-and-thirty hours, leaving his Indian companions encamped at the last woods, they being unwilling to accompany him across the barren grounds during the storm that had prevailed for several days, and blew with unusual violence on the morning of his arrival. His locks were matted with snow, and he was incrusted with ice from head to foot, so that we scarcely recognised him when he burst in upon us. We welcomed him with the usual shake of the hand, but were unable to give him the glass of rum which every voyager receives on his arrival at a trading post. As soon as his packet was thawed, we eagerly opened it to obtain our English letters. The latest were dated on the preceding April. They came by way of Canada, and were brought up in September to Slave Lake by the North-West Company's canoes. We were not so fortunate with regard to our stores; of ten pieces, or bales of 90lbs. weight, which had been sent from York Factory by Governor Williams, five of the most essential had been left at the Grand Rapid on the Saskatchawan, owing, as far as we could judge from the accounts that reached us, to the misconduct of the officer to whom they were intrusted, and who was ordered to convey them to Cumberland-House. Being overtaken by some of the North-West Company's canoes, he had insisted on their taking half of his charge as it was intended for the service of Government. The North-West gentlemen objected, that their canoes had already got a cargo in, and that they had been requested to convey our stores from Cumberland House only, where they had a canoe waiting for the purpose. The Hudson's-Bay officer upon this deposited our ammunition and tobacco upon the beach, and departed without any regard to the serious consequences that might result to us from the want of them. The Indians, who assembled at the opening of the packet, and sat in silence watching our countenances, were necessarily made acquainted with the non-arrival of our stores, and bore the intelligence with unexpected tranquillity. We took care, however, in our communications with them to dwell upon the more agreeable parts of our intelligence, and they seemed to receive particular pleasure on being informed of the arrival of two Esquimaux interpreters at Slave Lake, on their way to join the party. The circumstance not only quieted their fears of opposition from the Esquimaux on our descent to the sea next season, but also afforded a substantial proof of our influence in being able to bring two people of that nation from such a distance. Akaitcho, who is a man of great penetration and shrewdness, duly appreciated these circumstances; indeed he has often surprised us by his correct judgment of the character of individuals amongst the traders or of our own party, although his knowledge of their opinions was, in most instances, obtained through the imperfect medium of interpretation. He was an attentive observer, however, of every action, and steadily compared their conduct with their pretensions. By the newspapers we learned the demise of our revered and lamented sovereign George III., and the proclamation of George IV. We concealed this intelligence from the Indians, lest the death of their Great Father might lead them to suppose that we should be unable to fulfil our promises to them. The Indians who had left Fort Providence with Belanger arrived the day after him, and, amongst other intelligence, informed Akaitcho of some reports they had heard to our disadvantage. They stated that Mr. Weeks, the gentleman in charge of Fort Providence, had told them, that so far from our being what we represented ourselves to be, the officers of a great King, we were merely a set of dependant wretches, whose only aim was to obtain subsistence for a season in the plentiful country of the Copper Indians; that, out of charity we had been supplied with a portion of goods by the trading Companies, but that there was not the smallest probability of our being able to reward the Indians when their term of service was completed. Akaitcho, with great good sense, instantly came to have the matter explained, stating at the same time, that he could not credit it. I then pointed out to him that Mr. Wentzel, with whom they had long been accustomed to trade, had pledged the credit of his Company for the stipulated rewards to the party that accompanied us, and that the trading debts due by Akaitcho, and his party had already been remitted, which was of itself a sufficient proof of our influence with the North-West Company. I also reminded Akaitcho, that our having caused the Esquimaux to be brought up at a great expense, was evidence of our future intentions, and informed him that I should write to Mr. Smith, the senior trader in the department, on the subject, when I had no doubt that a satisfactory explanation would be given. The Indians retired from the conference apparently satisfied, but this business was in the end productive of much inconvenience to us, and proved very detrimental to the progress of the Expedition. In conjunction also with other intelligence conveyed in Mr. Back's letters respecting the disposition of the traders towards us, particularly a statement of Mr. Weeks, that he had been desired not to assist us with supplies from his post, it was productive of much present uneasiness to me. On the 28th St. Germain, the interpreter, set out with eight Canadian voyagers and four Indian hunters to bring up our stores from Fort Providence. I wrote by him to Mr. Smith, at Moose-Deer Island, and Mr. Keith, at Chipewyan, both of the North-West Company, urging them in the strongest manner to comply with the requisition for stores, which Mr. Back would present. I also informed Mr. Simpson, principal agent in the Athabasca for the Hudson's Bay Company, who had proffered every assistance in his power, that we should gladly avail ourselves of the kind intentions expressed in a letter which I had received from him. We also sent a number of broken axes to Slave Lake to be repaired. The dog that came to us on the 22d of October, and had become very familiar, followed the party. We were in hopes that it might prove of some use in dragging their loads, but we afterwards learned, that on the evening after their departure from the house, they had the cruelty to kill and eat it, although they had no reason to apprehend a scarcity of provision. A dog is considered to be delicate eating by the voyagers. The mean temperature of the air for November was -0°.7. The greatest heat observed was 25° above, and the least 31° below, zero. On the 1st of December the sky was clear, a slight appearance of stratus only being visible near the horizon; but a kind of snow fell at intervals in the forenoon, its particles so minute as to be observed only in the sunshine. Towards noon the snow became more apparent, and the two limbs of a prismatic arch were visible, one on each side of the sun near its place in the heavens, the centre being deficient. We have frequently observed this descent of minute icy spiculæ when the sky appears perfectly clear, and could even perceive that its silent but continued action, added to the snowy covering of the ground. Having received one hundred balls from Fort Providence by Belanger, we distributed them amongst the Indians, informing the leader at the same time, that the residence of so large a party as his at the house, amounting, with women and children, to forty souls, was producing a serious reduction in our stock of provision. He acknowledged the justice of the statement, and promised to remove as soon as his party had prepared snow-shoes and sledges for themselves. Under one pretext or other, however, their departure was delayed until the 10th of the month, when they left us, having previously received one of our fishing-nets, and all the ammunition we possessed. The leader left his aged mother and two female attendants to our care, requesting that if she died during his absence, she might be buried at a distance from the fort, that he might not be reminded of his loss when he visited us. Keskarrah, the guide, also remained behind, with his wife and daughter. The old man has become too feeble to hunt, and his time is almost entirely occupied in attendance upon his wife, who has been long affected with an ulcer on the face, which has nearly destroyed her nose. Lately he made an offering to the water spirits, whose wrath he apprehended to be the cause of her malady. It consisted of a knife, a piece of tobacco, and some other trifling articles, which were tied up in a small bundle, and committed to the rapid with a long prayer. He does not trust entirely, however, to the relenting of the spirits for his wife's cure, but comes daily to Dr. Richardson for medicine. Upon one occasion he received the medicine from the Doctor with such formality, and wrapped it up in his rein-deer robe with such extraordinary carefulness, that it excited the involuntary laughter of Mr. Hood and myself. The old man smiled in his turn, and as he always seemed proud of the familiar way in which we were accustomed to joke with him, we thought no more upon the subject. But he unfortunately mentioned the circumstance to his wife, who imagined in consequence, that the drug was not productive of its usual good effects, and they immediately came to the conclusion that some bad medicine had been intentionally given to them. The distress produced by this idea, was in proportion to their former faith in the potency of the remedy, and the night was spent in singing and groaning. Next morning the whole family were crying in concert, and it was not until the evening of the second day that we succeeded in pacifying them. The old woman began to feel better, and her faith in the medicine was renewed. While speaking of this family, I may remark that the daughter, whom we designated Green-stockings from her dress, is considered by her tribe to be a great beauty. Mr. Hood drew an accurate portrait of her, although her mother was averse to her sitting for it. She was afraid, she said, that her daughter's likeness would induce the Great Chief who resided in England to send for the original. The young lady, however, was undeterred by any such fear. She has already been an object of contest between her countrymen, and although under sixteen years of age, has belonged successively to two husbands, and would probably have been the wife of many more, if her mother had not required her services as a nurse. The weather during this month, was the coldest we experienced during our residence in America. The thermometer sunk on one occasion to 57° below zero, and never rose beyond 6° above it; the mean for the month was -29°.7. During these intense colds, however, the atmosphere was generally calm, and the wood-cutters and others went about their ordinary occupations without using any extraordinary precautions, yet without feeling any bad effects. They had their rein-deer shirts on, leathern mittens lined with blankets, and furred caps; but none of them used any defence for the face, or needed any. Indeed we have already mentioned that the heat is abstracted most rapidly from the body during strong breezes, and most of those who have perished from cold in this country, have fallen a sacrifice to their being overtaken on a lake or other unsheltered place, by a storm of wind. The intense colds, were, however, detrimental to us in another way. The trees froze to their very centres and became as hard as stones, and more difficult to cut. Some of the axes were broken daily, and by the end of the month we had only one left that was fit for felling trees. By intrusting it only to one of the party who had been bred a carpenter, and who could use it with dexterity, it was fortunately preserved until the arrival of our men with others from Fort Providence. A thermometer, hung in our bed-room at the distance of sixteen feet from the fire, but exposed to its direct radiation, stood even in the day-time occasionally at 15° below zero, and was observed more than once previous to the kindling of the fire in the morning, to be as low as 40° below zero. On two of these occasions the chronometers 2149 and 2151, which during the night lay under Mr. Hood's and Dr. Richardson's pillows, stopped while they were dressing themselves. The rapid at the commencement of the river remained open in the severest weather, although it was somewhat contracted in width. Its temperature was 32°, as was the surface of the river opposite the house, about a quarter of a mile lower down, tried at a hole in the ice, through which water was drawn for domestic purposes. The river here was two fathoms and a half deep, and the temperature at its bottom was at least 42° above zero. This fact was ascertained by a spirit thermometer; in which, probably, from some irregularity in the tube, a small portion of the coloured liquor usually remained at 42° when the column was made to descend rapidly. In the present instance the thermometer standing at 47° below zero, with no portion of the fluid in the upper part of the tube, was let down slowly into the water, but drawn cautiously and rapidly up again, when a red drop at +42° indicated that the fluid had risen to that point or above it. At this period the daily visits of the sun were very short, and owing to the obliquity of his rays, afforded us little warmth or light. It is half past eleven before he peeps over a small ridge of hills opposite to the house, and he sinks in the horizon at half past two. On the 28th Mr. Hood, in order to attain an approximation to the quantity of terrestrial refraction, observed the sun's meridian altitude when the thermometer stood at 46° below zero, at the imminent hazard of having his fingers frozen. He found the sextant had changed its error considerably, and that the glasses had lost their parallelism from the contraction of the brass. In measuring the error he perceived that the diameter of the sun's image was considerably short of twice the semi-diameter; a proof of the uncertainty of celestial observations made during these intense frosts. The results of this and another similar observation are given at the bottom of the page[3]. [3] "The observed meridian altitude of [·0] upper limb was 2° 52' 51". Temperature of the air -45° 5'{2}. By comparing this altitude, corrected by the mean refraction and parallax, with that deduced from the latitude which was observed in autumn, the increase of refraction is found to be 6' 50", the whole refraction, therefore, for the altitude 2° 52' 51" is 21' 49". Admitting that the refraction increases in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere at a mean state of temperature, the horizontal refraction will be 47' 22". But the diameter of the sun measured immediately after the observation, was only 27' 7", which shews an increase of refraction at the lower limb of 3' 29". The horizontal refraction calculated with this difference, and the above-mentioned ratio, is 56' 3", at the temperature -45° 5'. So that in the parallel 68° 42', where if there was no refraction, the sun would be invisible for thirty-four days, his upper limb, with the refraction 56' 3", is, in fact, above the horizon at every noon. The wind was from the westward a moderate breeze, and the air perfectly clear. January 1st, 1821. Observed meridian altitude of [·0] lower limb 2° 35' 20". [·0] apparent diameter 29° 20'. For apparent altitude 2° 35' 20", the mean refraction is 16' 5" (Mackay's Tables), and the true, found as detailed above, is 20' 8": which increasing in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere, at a mean state of temperature, is 41' 19" at the horizon. But the difference of refraction at the upper and lower limbs, increasing also in that ratio, gives 55' 16" for the horizontal refraction. Temperature of the air -41°. Wind north, a light breeze, a large halo visible about the sun. January 15th, 1821.--Observed an apparent meridian altitude [·0] lower limb 4° 24' 57". [·0] apparent diameter 31' 5". For apparent altitude 4° 24' 57", the mean refraction is 10' 58" (Mackay's Tables), and the true, found as detailed above, is 14' 39", which, increasing in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere at a mean state of temperature, is 43' 57" at the horizon. But the difference of refraction between the upper and lower limbs increasing also in that ratio, gives 48' 30" for the horizontal refraction. Temperature of the air -35°, a light air from the westward, very clear. The extreme coldness of the weather rendered these operations difficult and dangerous; yet I think the observations may be depended upon within 30", as will appear by their approximate results in calculating the horizontal refraction; for it must be considered that an error of 30", in the refraction in altitude, would make a difference of several minutes in the horizontal refraction."--MR. HOOD'S _Journal_. The aurora appeared with more or less brilliancy on twenty-eight nights in this month, and we were also gratified by the resplendent beauty of the moon, which for many days together performed its circle round the heavens, shining with undiminished lustre, and scarcely disappearing below the horizon during the twenty-four hours. During many nights there was a halo round the moon, although the stars shone brightly, and the atmosphere appeared otherwise clear. The same phenomenon{3} was observed round the candles, even in our bed-rooms; the diameter of the halo increasing as the observer receded from the light. These halos, both round the moon and candles, occasionally exhibited faintly some of the prismatic colours. As it may be interesting to the reader to know how we passed our time at this season of the year, I shall mention briefly, that a considerable portion of it was occupied in writing up our journals. Some newspapers and magazines, that we had received from England with our letters, were read again and again, and commented upon, at our meals; and we often exercised ourselves with conjecturing the changes that might take place in the world before we could hear from it again. The probability of our receiving letters, and the period of their arrival, were calculated to a nicety. We occasionally paid the woodmen a visit, or took a walk for a mile or two on the river. In the evenings we joined the men in the hall, and took a part in their games, which generally continued to a late hour; in short, we never found the time to hang heavy upon our hands; and the peculiar occupations of each of the officers afforded them more employment than might at first be supposed. I re-calculated the observations made on our route; Mr. Hood protracted the charts, and made those drawings of birds, plants, and fishes, which cannot appear in this work, but which have been the admiration of every one who has seen them. Each of the party sedulously and separately recorded their observations on the aurora; and Dr. Richardson contrived to obtain from under the snow, specimens of most of the lichens in the neighbourhood, and to make himself acquainted with the mineralogy of the surrounding country. The Sabbath was always a day of rest with us; the woodmen were required to provide for the exigencies of that day on Saturday, and the party were dressed in their best attire. Divine service was regularly performed, and the Canadians attended, and behaved with great decorum, although they were all Roman Catholics, and but little acquainted with the language in which the prayers were read. I regretted much that we had not a French Prayer-Book, but the Lord's Prayer and Creed were always read to them in their own language. Our diet consisted almost entirely of rein-deer meat, varied twice a week by fish, and occasionally by a little flour, but we had no vegetables of any description. On the Sunday mornings we drank a cup of chocolate, but our greatest luxury was tea (without sugar,) of which we regularly partook twice a-day. With rein-deer's fat, and strips of cotton shirts, we formed candles; and Hepburn acquired considerable skill in the manufacture of soap, from the wood-ashes, fat, and salt. The formation of soap was considered as rather a mysterious operation by our Canadians, and, in their hands, was always supposed to fail if a woman approached the kettle in which the ley{4} was boiling. Such are our simple domestic details. On the 30th, two hunters came from the leader, to convey ammunition to him, as soon as our men should bring it from Fort Providence. The men, at this time, coated the walls of the house on the outside, with a thin mixture of clay and water, which formed a crust of ice, that, for some days, proved impervious to the air; the dryness of the atmosphere, however, was such, that the ice in a short time evaporated, and gave admission to the wind as before. It is a general custom at the forts to give this sort of coating to the walls at Christmas time. When it was gone, we attempted to remedy its defect, by heaping up snow against the walls. 1821, January 1. This morning our men assembled, and greeted us with the customary salutation on the commencement of the new year. That they might enjoy a holiday{5}, they had yesterday collected double the usual quantity of fire-wood, and we anxiously expected the return of the men from Fort Providence, with some additions to their comforts. We had stronger hope of their arrival before the evening, as we knew that every voyager uses his utmost endeavour to reach a post upon, or previous to, the _jour de l'an_, that he may partake of the wonted festivities. It forms, as Christmas is said to have done among our forefathers, the theme of their conversation for months before and after the period of its arrival. On the present occasion we could only treat them with a little flour and fat; these were both considered as great luxuries, but still the feast was defective from the want of rum, although we promised them a little when it should arrive. The early part of January proved mild, the thermometer rose to 20° above zero, and we were surprised by the appearance of a kind of damp fog approaching very nearly to rain. The Indians expressed their astonishment at this circumstance, and declared the present to be one of the warmest winters they had ever experienced. Some of them reported that it had actually rained in the woody parts of the country. In the latter part of the month, however, the thermometer again descended to -49°, and the mean temperature for the month proved to be -15°.6. Owing to the fogs that obscured the sky the aurora was visible only upon eighteen nights in the month. On the 15th seven of our men arrived from Fort Providence with two kegs of rum, one barrel of powder, sixty pounds of ball, two rolls of tobacco, and some clothing. They had been twenty-one days on their march from Slave Lake, and the labour they underwent was sufficiently evinced by their sledge-collars having worn out the shoulders of their coats. Their loads weighed from sixty to ninety pounds each, exclusive of their bedding and provisions, which at starting must have been at least as much more. We were much rejoiced at their arrival, and proceeded forthwith to pierce the spirit cask, and issue to each of the household the portion of rum which had been promised on the first day of the year. The spirits, which were proof, were frozen, but after standing at the fire for some time they flowed out of the consistency of honey. The temperature of the liquid, even in this state, was so low as instantly to convert into ice the moisture which condensed on the surface of the dram-glass. The fingers also adhered to the glass, and would, doubtless, have been speedily frozen had they been kept in contact with it; yet each of the voyagers swallowed his dram without experiencing the slightest inconvenience, or complaining of tooth-ache. After the men had retired, an Indian, who had accompanied them from Fort Providence, informed me that they had broached the cask on their way up and spent two days in drinking. This instance of breach of trust was excessively distressing to me; I felt for their privations and fatigues, and was disposed to seize every opportunity of alleviating them, but this, combined with many instances of petty dishonesty with regard to meat, shewed how little confidence could be put in a Canadian voyager when food or spirits were in question. We had been indeed made acquainted with their character on these points by the traders; but we thought that when they saw their officers living under equal if not greater privations than themselves, they would have been prompted by some degree of generous feeling to abstain from those depredations which, under ordinary circumstances, they would scarcely have blushed to be detected in. As they were pretty well aware that such a circumstance could not long be concealed from us, one of them came the next morning with an artful apology for their conduct. He stated, that as they knew it was my intention to treat them with a dram on the commencement of the new year, they had helped themselves to a small quantity on that day, trusting to my goodness for forgiveness; and being unwilling to act harshly at this period, I did forgive them, after admonishing them to be very circumspect in their future conduct. The ammunition, and a small present of rum, were sent to Akaitcho. On the 18th Vaillant, the woodman, had the misfortune to break his axe. This would have been a serious evil a few weeks sooner, but we had just received some others from Slave Lake. On the 27th Mr. Wentzel and St. Germain arrived with the two Esquimaux, Tattannoeuck and Hoeootoerock, (the belly and the ear.) The English names, which were bestowed upon them at Fort Churchill in commemoration of the months of their arrival there, are Augustus and Junius. The former speaks English. We now learned that Mr. Back proceeded with Beauparlant to Fort Chipewyan, on the 24th of December, to procure stores, having previously discharged J. Belleau from our service at his own request, and according to my directions. I was the more induced to comply with this man's desire of leaving us, as he proved to be too weak to perform the duty of bowman which he had undertaken. Four dogs were brought up by this party, and proved a great relief to our wood-haulers during the remainder of the season. By the arrival of Mr. Wentzel, who is an excellent musician, and assisted us (_con amore_) in our attempts to amuse the men, we were enabled to gratify the whole establishment with an occasional dance. Of this amusement the voyagers were very fond, and not the less so, as it was now and then accompanied by a dram as long as our rum lasted. On the 5th of February, two Canadians came from Akaitcho for fresh supplies of ammunition. We were mortified to learn that he had received some further unpleasant reports concerning us from Fort Providence, and that his faith in our good intentions was somewhat shaken. He expressed himself dissatisfied with the quantity of ammunition we had sent him, accused us of an intention of endeavouring to degrade him in the eyes of his tribe, and informed us that Mr. Weeks had refused to pay some notes for trifling quantities of goods and ammunition that had been given to the hunters who accompanied our men to Slave Lake. Some powder and shot, and a keg of diluted spirits were sent to him with the strongest assurances of our regard. On the 12th, another party of six men was sent to Fort Providence, to bring up the remaining stores. St. Germain went to Akaitcho for the purpose of sending two of his hunters to join this party on its route. On comparing the language of our two Esquimaux with a copy of St. John's Gospel, printed for the use of the Moravian Missionary Settlements on the Labrador coast, it appeared that the Esquimaux who resort to Churchill speak a language essentially the same with those who frequent the Labrador coast. The Red Knives, too, recognise the expression _Teyma_, used by the Esquimaux when they accost strangers in a friendly manner, as similarly pronounced by Augustus, and those of his race who frequent the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. The tribe to which Augustus belongs resides generally a little to the northward of Churchill. In the spring, before the ice quits the shores, they kill seal, but during winter they frequent the borders of the large lakes near the coast, where they obtain fish, rein-deer, and musk-oxen. There are eighty-four grown men in the tribe, only seven of whom are aged. Six Chiefs have each two wives; the rest of the men have only one, so that the number of married people may amount to one hundred and seventy. He could give me no certain data whereby I might estimate the number of children. Two great Chiefs, or _Ackhaiyoot_, have complete authority in directing the movements of the party, and in distributing provisions. The _Attoogawnoeuck_, or lesser Chiefs, are respected principally as senior men. The tribe seldom suffers from want of food, if the Chief moves to the different stations at the proper season. They seem to follow the eastern custom respecting marriage. As soon as a girl is born, the young lad who wishes to have her for a wife goes to her father's tent, and proffers himself. If accepted, a promise is given which is considered binding, and the girl is delivered to her betrothed husband at the proper age. They consider their progenitors to have come from the moon. Augustus has no other idea of a Deity than some confused notions which he has obtained at Churchill. When any of the tribe are dangerously ill, a conjurer is sent for, and the bearer of the message carries a suitable present to induce his attendance. Upon his arrival he encloses himself in the tent with the sick man, and sings over him for days together without tasting food; but Augustus, as well as the rest of the uninitiated, are ignorant of the purport of his songs, and of the nature of the Being to whom they are addressed. The conjurers practise a good deal of jugglery in swallowing knives, firing bullets through their bodies, _&c._, but they are at these times generally secluded from view, and the bystanders believe their assertions, without requiring to be eye-witnesses of the fact. Sixteen men and three women amongst Augustus' tribe are acquainted with the mysteries of the art. The skill of the latter is exerted only on their own sex. Upon the map being spread before Augustus, he soon comprehended it, and recognised Chesterfield Inlet to be "the opening into which salt waters enter at spring tides, and which receives a river at its upper end." He termed it _Kannoeuck Kleenoeuck_. He has never been farther north himself than Marble Island, which he distinguishes as being the spot where the large ships were wrecked, alluding to the disastrous termination of Barlow and Knight's Voyage of Discovery[4]. He says, however, that Esquimaux of three different tribes have traded with his countrymen, and that they described themselves as having come across land from a northern sea. One tribe, who named themselves _Ahwhacknanhelett_, he supposes may come from Repulse Bay; another, designated _Ootkooseek-kalingmoeoot_, or Stone-Kettle Esquimaux, reside more to the westward; and the third, the _Kang-orr-moeoot_, or White Goose Esquimaux, describe themselves as coming from a great distance, and mentioned that a party of Indians had killed several of their tribe on the summer preceding their visit. Upon comparing the dates of this murder with that of the last massacre which the Copper Indians have perpetrated on these harmless and defenceless people, they appear to differ two years; but the lapse of time is so inaccurately recorded, that this difference in their accounts is not sufficient to destroy their identity; besides the Chipewyans, the only other Indians who could possibly have committed the deed, have long since ceased to go to war. If this massacre should be the one mentioned by the Copper Indians, the Kang-orr-moeoot must reside near the mouth of the Anatessy, or River of Strangers. [4] See Introduction to HEARNE'S _Journey_, page xxiv. The winter habitations of the Esquimaux, who visit Churchill are built of snow, and judging from one constructed by Augustus to-day, they are very comfortable dwellings. Having selected a spot on the river, where the snow was about two feet deep, and sufficiently compact, he commenced by tracing out a circle twelve feet in diameter. The snow in the interior of the circle was next divided with a broad knife, having a long handle, into slabs three feet long, six inches thick, and two feet deep, being the thickness of the layer of snow. These slabs were tenacious enough to admit of being moved about without breaking, or even losing the sharpness of their angles, and they had a slight degree of curvature, corresponding with that of the circle from which they were cut. They were piled upon each other exactly like courses of hewn stone around the circle which was traced out, and care was taken to smooth the beds of the different courses with the knife, and to cut them so as to give the wall a slight inclination inwards, by which contrivance the building acquired the properties of a dome. The dome was closed somewhat suddenly and flatly by cutting the upper slabs in a wedge-form, instead of the more rectangular shape of those below. The roof was about eight feet high, and the last aperture was shut up by a small conical piece. The whole was built from within, and each slab was cut so that it retained its position without requiring support until another was placed beside it, the lightness of the slabs greatly facilitating the operation. When the building was covered in, a little loose snow was thrown over it, to close up every chink, and a low door was cut through the walls with a knife. A bed-place was next formed and neatly faced up with slabs of snow, which was then covered with a thin layer of pine branches, to prevent them from melting by the heat of the body. At each end of the bed a pillar of snow was erected to place a lamp upon, and lastly, a porch was built before the door, and a piece of clear ice was placed in an aperture cut in the wall for a window. The purity of the material of which the house was framed, the elegance of its construction, and the translucency of its walls, which transmitted a very pleasant light, gave it an appearance far superior to a marble building, and one might survey it with feelings somewhat akin to those produced by the contemplation of a Grecian temple, reared by Phidias; both are triumphs of art, inimitable in their kinds. Annexed there is a plan of a complete Esquimaux snow-house and kitchen and other apartments, copied from a sketch made by Augustus, with the names of the different places affixed. The only fire-place is in the kitchen, the heat of the lamps sufficing to keep the other apartments warm:-- [Illustration] REFERENCES TO THE PLAN. A. _Ablokeyt_, steps. B. _Pahloeuk_, porch. C. _Wadl-leek_, passage. D. _Haddnoeweek_, for the reception of the sweepings of the house. E. G. _Tokheuook_, antechamber, or passage. F. _Annarroeartoweek._ H. _Eegah_, cooking-house. I. _Eegah-natkah_, passage. K. _Keidgewack_, for piling wood upon. L. _Keek kloweyt_, cooking side. M. _Keek loot_, fire-place built of stone.{6} N. _Eegloo_, house. O. _Kattack_, door. P. _Nattoeuck_, clear space in the apartment. a. d. _Eekput_, a kind of shelf where the candle stands; and b. c. a pit where they throw their bones, and other offal of their provision. Q. _Eegl-luck_, bed-place. R. _Eegleeteoet_, bed-side or sitting-place. S. bed-place, as on the other side.{7} T. _Kietgn-nok_, small pantry. U. _Hoergloack_, store-house{8} for provisions. Several deer were killed near the house, and we received some supplies from Akaitcho. Parties were also employed in bringing in the meat that was placed _en cache_ in the early part of the winter. More than one half of these _caches_, however, had been destroyed by the wolves and wolverenes; a circumstance which, in conjunction with the empty state of our store-house, led us to fear that we should be much straitened for provisions before the arrival of any considerable number of rein-deer in this neighbourhood. A good many ptarmigan were seen at this time, and the women caught some in snares, but not in sufficient quantity to make any further alteration in the rations of deers' meat that were daily issued. They had already been reduced from eight, to the short allowance of five pounds. Many wolves prowled nightly about the house, and even ventured upon the roof of the kitchen, which is a low building, in search of food; Keskarrah shot a very large white one, of which a beautiful and correct drawing was made by Mr. Hood. The temperature in February was considerably lower than in the preceding month, although not so low as in December, the mean being -25°.3. The greatest temperature was 1° above zero, and the lowest 51° below. On the 5th of March the people returned from Slave Lake, bringing the remainder of our stores, consisting of a cask of flour, thirty-six pounds of sugar, a roll of tobacco, and forty pounds of powder. I received a letter from Mr. Weeks, wherein he denied that he had ever circulated any reports to our disadvantage; and stated that he had done every thing in his power to assist us, and even discouraged Akaitcho from leaving us, when he had sent him a message, saying, that he wished to do so, if he was sure of being well received at Fort Providence. We mentioned the contents of the letter to the Indians, who were at the house at the time, when one of the hunters, who had attended the men on their journey, stated, that he had heard many of the reports against us from Mr. Weeks himself, and expressed his surprise that he should venture to deny them. St. Germain soon afterwards arrived from Akaitcho, and informed us, that he left him in good humour, and, apparently, not harbouring the slightest idea of quitting us. On the 12th, we sent four men to Fort Providence; and, on the 17th Mr. Back arrived from Fort Chipewyan, having performed, since he left us, a journey of more than one thousand miles on foot. I had every reason to be much pleased with his conduct on this arduous undertaking; but his exertions may be best estimated by the perusal of the following narrative. "On quitting Fort Enterprise, with Mr. Wentzel and two Canadians, accompanied by two hunters and their wives, our route lay across the barren hills. We saw, during the day, a number of deer, and, occasionally, a solitary white wolf; and in the evening halted near a small knot of pines. Owing to the slow progress made by the wives of the hunters, we only travelled the first day a distance of seven miles and a half. During the night we had a glimpse of the fantastic beauties of the Aurora Borealis, and were somewhat annoyed by the wolves, whose nightly howling interrupted our repose. Early the next morning we continued our march, sometimes crossing small lakes (which were just frozen enough to bear us,) and at other times going large circuits, in order to avoid those which were open. The walking was extremely bad throughout the day; for independent of the general unevenness of the ground, and the numberless large stones which lay scattered in every direction, the unusual warmth of the weather had dissolved the snow, which not only kept us constantly wet, but deprived us of a firm footing, so that the men, with their heavy burdens, were in momentary apprehension of falling. In the afternoon a fine herd of deer was descried, and the Indians, who are always anxious for the chase, and can hardly be restrained from pursuing every animal they see, set out immediately. It was late when they returned, having had good success, and bringing with them five tongues, and the shoulder of a deer. We made about twelve miles this day. The night was fine, and the Aurora Borealis so vivid, that we imagined, more than once, that we heard a rustling noise like that of autumnal leaves stirred by the wind; but after two hours of attentive listening, we were not entirely convinced of the fact. The coruscations were not so bright, nor the transition from one shape and colour to another so rapid, as they sometimes are; otherwise, I have no doubt, from the midnight silence which prevailed, that we should have ascertained this yet undecided point. "The morning of the 20th was so extremely hazy that we could not see ten yards before us; it was, therefore, late when we started, and during our journey the hunters complained of the weather, and feared they should lose the track of our route. Towards the evening it became so thick that we could not proceed; consequently, we halted in a small wood, situated in a valley, having only completed a distance of six miles. "The scenery consisted of high hills, which were almost destitute of trees, and lakes appeared in the valleys. The cracking of the ice was so loud during the night as to resemble thunder, and the wolves howled around us. We were now at the commencement of the woods, and at an early hour, on the 21st, continued our journey over high hills for three miles, when the appearance of some deer caused us to halt, and nearly the remainder of the day was passed in hunting them. In the evening we stopped within sight of Prospect Hill, having killed and concealed six deer. A considerable quantity of snow fell during the night. "The surrounding country was extremely rugged; the hills divided by deep ravines, and the valleys covered with broken masses of rocks and stones; yet the deer fly (as it were,) over these impediments with apparent ease, seldom making a false step, and springing from crag to crag with all the confidence of the mountain goat. After passing Rein-Deer Lake, (where the ice was so thin as to bend at every step for nine miles,) we halted, perfectly satisfied with our escape from sinking into the water. While some of the party were forming the encampment one of the hunters killed a deer, a part of which was concealed to be ready for use on our return. This evening we halted in a wood near the canoe track, after having travelled a distance of nine miles. The wind was S.E. and the night cloudy, with wind and rain. "On the 24th and 25th we underwent some fatigue from being obliged to go round the lakes, which lay across our route, and were not sufficiently frozen to bear us. Several rivulets appeared to empty themselves into the lakes, no animals were killed, and few tracks seen. The scenery consisted of barren rocks and high hills, covered with lofty pine, birch, and larch trees. "_October 26_.--We continued our journey, sometimes on frozen lakes, and at other times on high craggy rocks. When we were on the lakes we were much impeded in our journey by different parts which were unfrozen. There was a visible increase of wood, consisting of birch and larch, as we inclined to the southward. About ten A.M. we passed Icy Portage, where we saw various tracks of the moose, bear, and otter; and after a most harassing march through thick woods and over fallen trees, we halted a mile to the westward of Fishing Lake; our provisions were now almost expended; the weather was cloudy with snow. "On the 27th we crossed two lakes, and performed a circuitous route, frequently crossing high hills to avoid those lakes which were not frozen; during the day one of the women made a hole through the ice, and caught a fine pike, which she gave to us; the Indians would not partake of it, from the idea (as we afterwards learnt,) that we should not have sufficient for ourselves: 'We are accustomed to starvation,' said they, 'but you are not.' In the evening, we halted near Rocky Lake. I accompanied one of the Indians to the summit of a hill, where he shewed me a dark horizontal cloud, extending to a considerable distance along the mountains in the perspective, which he said was occasioned by the Great Slave Lake, and was considered as a good guide to all the hunters in the vicinity. On our return we saw two untenanted bears' dens. "The night was cloudy with heavy snow, yet the following morning we continued our tedious march; many of the lakes remained still open, and the rocks were high and covered with snow, which continued to fall all day, consequently we effected but a trifling distance, and that too with much difficulty. In the evening we halted; having only performed about seven miles. One of the Indians gave us a fish which he had caught, though he had nothing for himself; and it was with much trouble that he could be prevailed upon to partake of it. The night was again cloudy with snow. On the 29th we set out through deep snow and thick woods; and after crossing two small lakes stopped to breakfast, sending the women on before, as they had already complained of lameness, and could not keep pace with the party. It was not long before we overtook them on the banks of a small lake, which though infinitely less in magnitude than many we had passed, yet had not a particle of ice on its surface. It was shoal, had no visible current, and was surrounded by hills. We had nothing to eat, and were not very near an establishment where food could be procured; however, as we proceeded, the lakes were frozen, and we quickened our pace stopping but twice for the hunters to smoke. Nevertheless the distance we completed was but trifling, and at night we halted near a lake, the men being tired, and much bruised from constantly falling amongst thick broken wood and loose stones concealed under the snow. The night was blowing and hazy with snow. "On the 30th we set out with the expectation of gaining the Slave Lake in the evening; but our progress was again impeded by the same causes as before, so that the whole day was spent in forcing our way through thick woods and over snow-covered swamps. We had to walk over pointed and loose rocks, which sliding from under our feet, made our path dangerous, and often threw us down several feet on sharp-edged stones lying beneath the snow. Once we had to climb a towering, and almost perpendicular, rock, which not only detained us, but was the cause of great anxiety for the safety of the women who being heavily laden with furs, and one of them with a child at her back, could not exert themselves with the activity which such a task required. Fortunately nothing serious occurred, though one of them once fell with considerable violence. During the day one of the hunters broke through the ice, but was soon extricated; when it became dark we halted near the Bow String Portage, greatly disappointed at not having reached the lake. The weather was cloudy, accompanied with thick mist and snow. The Indians expected to have found here a bear in its den, and to have made a hearty meal of its flesh: indeed it had been the subject of conversation all day, and they had even gone so far as to divide it, frequently asking me what part I preferred; but when we came to the spot--oh! lamentable! it had already fallen a prey to the devouring appetites of some more fortunate hunters, who had only left sufficient evidence that such a thing had once existed, and we had merely the consolation of realizing an old proverb. One of our men, however, caught a fish which with the assistance of some weed scraped from the rocks, (_tripe de roche_,) which forms a glutinous substance, made us a tolerable supper; it was not of the most choice kind, yet good enough for hungry men. While we were eating it I perceived one of the women busily employed scraping an old skin, the contents of which her husband presented us with. They consisted of pounded meat, fat, and a greater proportion of Indians' and deers' hair than either; and though such a mixture may not appear very alluring to an English stomach, it was thought a great luxury after three days' privation in these cheerless regions of America. Indeed had it not been for the precaution and generosity of the Indians, we must have gone without sustenance until we reached the Fort. "On the 1st of November our men began to make a raft to enable us to cross a river which was not even frozen at the edges. It was soon finished, and three of us embarked, being seated up to the ankles in water. We each took a pine branch for a paddle, and made an effort to gain the opposite shore, in which, after some time, (and not without strong apprehensions of drifting into the Slave Lake,) we succeeded. In two hours the whole party was over, with a comfortable addition to it in the shape of some fine fish, which the Indians had caught: of course we did not forget to take these friends with us, and after passing several lakes, to one of which we saw no termination, we halted within eight miles to the fort. The Great Slave Lake was not frozen. "In crossing a narrow branch of the lake I fell through the ice, but received no injury; and at noon we arrived at Fort Providence, and were received by Mr. Weeks, a clerk of the North-West Company, in charge of the establishment. I found several packets of letters for the officers, which I was desirous of sending to them immediately; but as the Indians and their wives complained of illness and inability to return without rest, a flagon of mixed spirits was given them, and their sorrows were soon forgotten. In a quarter of an hour they pronounced themselves excellent hunters, and capable of going any where; however, their boasting ceased with the last drop of the bottle, when a crying scene took place, which would have continued half the night, had not the magic of an additional quantity of spirits dried their tears, and once more turned their mourning into joy. It was a satisfaction to me to behold these poor creatures enjoying themselves, for they had behaved in the most exemplary and active manner towards the party, and with a generosity and sympathy seldom found even in the more civilized parts of the world: and the attention and affection which they manifested towards their wives, evinced a benevolence of disposition and goodness of nature which could not fail to secure the approbation of the most indifferent observer. "The accounts I here received of our goods were of so unsatisfactory a nature, that I determined to proceed, as soon as the lake was frozen, to Moose-Deer Island, or if necessary to the Athabasca Lake; both to inform myself of the grounds of the unceremonious and negligent manner in which the Expedition had been treated, and to obtain a sufficient supply of ammunition and other stores, to enable it to leave its present situation, and proceed for the attainment of its ultimate object. "_November 9_.--I despatched to Fort Enterprise one of the men, with the letters and a hundred musquet-balls, which Mr. Weeks lent me on condition that they should be returned the first opportunity. An Indian and his wife accompanied the messenger. Lieutenant Franklin was made acquainted with the exact state of things; and I awaited with much impatience the freezing of the lake. "_November 16_.--A band of Slave Indians came to the fort with a few furs and some bear's grease. Though we had not seen any of them, it appeared that they had received information of our being in the country, and knew the precise situation of our house, which they would have visited long ago, but from the fear of being pillaged by the Copper Indians. I questioned the chief about the Great Bear and Marten Lakes, their distance from Fort Enterprise, &c.; but his answers were so vague and unsatisfactory that they were not worth attention; his description of Bouleau's Route, (which he said was the shortest and best, and abundant in animals,) was very defective, though the relative points were sufficiently characteristic, had we not possessed a better route. He had never been at the sea; and knew nothing about the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. In the evening he made his young men dance, and sometimes accompanied them himself. They had four feathers in each hand. One commenced moving in a circular form, lifting both feet at the same time, similar to jumping sideways. After a short time a second and a third joined, and afterwards the whole band was dancing, some in a state of nudity, others half dressed, singing an unmusical wild air with (I suppose,) appropriate words; the particular sounds of which were, ha! ha! ha! uttered vociferously, and with great distortion of countenance, and peculiar attitude of body, the feathers being always kept in a tremulous motion. The ensuing day I made the chief acquainted with the object of our mission, and recommended him to keep at peace with his neighbouring tribes, and to conduct himself with attention and friendship towards the whites. I then gave him a medal, telling him it was the picture of the King, whom they emphatically term 'their Great Father.' "_November 18_.--We observed two mock moons at equal distances from the central one; and the whole were encircled by a halo: the colour of the inner edge of the large circle was a light red, inclining to a faint purple. "_November 20_.--Two parhelia were observable with a halo; the colours of the inner edge of the circle were a bright carmine and red lake, intermingled with a rich yellow, forming a purplish orange; the outer edge was pale gamboge. "_December 5_.--A man was sent some distance on the lake, to see if it was sufficiently frozen for us to cross. I need scarcely mention my satisfaction, when he returned with the pleasing information that it was. "_December 7_.--I quitted Fort Providence, being accompanied by Mr. Wentzel, Beauparlant, and two other Canadians, provided with dogs and sledges. We proceeded along the borders of the lake, occasionally crossing deep bays; and at dusk encamped at the _Gros Cap_, having proceeded twenty-five miles. "_December 8_.--We set out on the lake with an excessively cold north-west wind, and were frequently interrupted by large pieces of ice which had been thrown up by the violence of the waves during the progress of congelation, and at dusk we encamped on the Rein-Deer Islands. "The night was fine, with a faint Aurora Borealis. Next day the wind was so keen, that the men proposed conveying me in a sledge that I might be the less exposed, to which, after some hesitation, I consented. Accordingly a rein-deer skin and a blanket were laid along the sledge, and in these I was wrapped tight up to the chin, and lashed to the vehicle, just leaving sufficient play for my head to perceive when I was about to be upset on some rough projecting piece of ice. Thus equipped, we set off before the wind (a favourable circumstance on a lake), and went on very well until noon; when the ice being driven up in ridges, in such a manner as to obstruct us very much, I was released; and I confess not unwillingly, though I had to walk the remainder of the day. "There are large openings in many parts where the ice had separated; and in attempting to cross one of them, the dogs fell into the water, and were saved with difficulty. The poor animals suffered dreadfully from the cold, and narrowly escaped being frozen to death. We had quickened our pace towards the close of the day, but could not get sight of the land; and it was not till the sun had set that we perceived it about four miles to our left, which obliged us to turn back, and head the wind. It was then so cold, that two of the party were frozen almost immediately about the face and ears. I escaped, from having the good fortune to possess a pair of gloves made of rabbits' skin, with which I kept constantly chafing the places which began to be affected. At six P.M. we arrived at the fishing-huts near Stony Island, and remained the night there. The Canadians were not a little surprised at seeing us whom they had already given up for lost--nor less so at the manner by which we had come--for they all affirmed, that the lake near them was quite free from ice the day before. "_December 10_.--At{9} an early hour we quitted the huts, lashed on sledges as before, with some little addition to our party; and at three hours thirty minutes P.M. arrived at the North-West Fort on Moose-Deer Island, where I was received by Mr. Smith, with whom I had been acquainted at the Athabasca. He said he partly expected me. The same evening I visited Messrs. McVicar and McAuley{10} at Hudson's Bay Fort, when I found the reports concerning our goods were but too true, there being in reality but five packages for us. I also was informed that two Esquimaux, Augustus the chief, and Junius his servant, who had been sent from Fort Churchill by Governor Williams, to serve in the capacity of interpreters to the Expedition, were at the Fort. These men were short of stature but muscular, apparently good-natured, and perfectly acquainted with the purpose for which they were intended. They had built themselves a snow-house on an adjacent island, where they used frequently to sleep. The following day I examined the pieces, and to my great disappointment found them to consist of three kegs of spirits, already adulterated by the voyagers who had brought them; a keg of flour, and thirty-five pounds of sugar, instead of sixty. The ammunition and tobacco,{11} the two greatest requisites, were left behind. "I lost no time in making a demand from both parties; and though their united list did not furnish the half of what was required, yet it is possible that every thing was given by them which could be spared consistently with their separate interests, particularly by Mr. McVicar, who in many articles gave me the whole he had in his possession. These things were sent away immediately for Fort Enterprise, when an interpreter arrived with letters from Lieutenant Franklin, which referred to a series of injurious reports said to have been propagated against us by some one at Fort Providence. "Finding a sufficiency of goods could not be provided at Moose-Deer Island, I determined{12} to proceed to the Athabasca Lake, and ascertain the inclinations of the gentlemen there. With this view I communicated my intentions to both parties; but could only get dogs enough from the North-West Company to carry the necessary provisions for the journey. Indeed Mr. Smith informed me plainly he was of opinion that nothing could be spared at Fort Chipewyan; that goods had never been transported so long a journey in the winter season, and that the same dogs could not possibly go and return; besides, it was very doubtful if I could be provided with dogs there; and finally, that the distance was great, and would take sixteen days to perform it. He added that the provisions would be mouldy and bad, and that from having to walk constantly on snow-shoes, I should suffer a great deal of misery and fatigue. Notwithstanding these assertions, on the 23d of December I left the Fort, with Beauparlant and a Bois-brulé, each having a sledge drawn by dogs, laden with pemmican. We crossed an arm of the lake, and entered the Little Buffalo River, which is connected with the Salt River, and is about fifty yards wide at its junction with the lake--the water is brackish. This route is usually taken in the winter, as it cuts off a large angle in going to the Great Slave River. In the afternoon we passed two empty fishing-huts, and in the evening encamped amongst some high pines on the banks of the river, having had several snow-showers during the day, which considerably{13} impeded the dogs, so that we had not proceeded more than fifteen miles. "_December 24_ and _25_.--We continued along the river, frequently making small portages to avoid going round the points, and passed some small canoes, which the Indians had left for the winter. The snow was so deep that the dogs were obliged to stop every ten minutes to rest; and the cold so excessive, that both the men were badly frozen on both sides of the face and chin. At length, having come to a long meadow, which the dogs could not cross that night, we halted in an adjoining wood, and were presently joined by a Canadian, who was on his return to the fort, and who treated us with some fresh meat in exchange for pemmican. During the latter part of the day we had seen numerous tracks of the moose, buffalo, and marten. "_December 26_.--The weather was so cold that we were compelled to run to prevent ourselves from freezing; our route lay across some large meadows which appeared to abound in animals, though the Indians around Slave Lake are in a state of great want. About noon we passed a sulphur-stream, which ran into the river; it appeared to come from a plain about fifty yards distant. There were no rocks near it, and the soil through which it took its course was composed of a reddish clay. I was much galled by the strings of the snow-shoes during the day, and once got a severe fall, occasioned by the dogs running over one of my feet, and dragging me some distance, my snow-shoe having become entangled with the sledge. In the evening we lost our way, from the great similarity of appearance in the country, and it was dark before we found it again, when we halted in a thick wood, after having come about sixteen miles from the last encampment. Much snow fell during the night. "At an early hour on the 27th of December, we continued our journey over the surface of a long but narrow lake, and then through a wood, which brought us to the _grand detour_ on the Slave River. The weather was extremely cloudy, with occasional falls of snow, which tended greatly to impede our progress, from its gathering in lumps between the dogs' toes; and though they did not go very fast, yet my left knee pained me so much, that I found it difficult to keep up with them. At three P.M. we halted within nine miles of the Salt River, and made a hearty meal of mouldy pemmican. "_December 28_ and _29_.--We had much difficulty in proceeding, owing to the poor dogs being quite worn out, and their feet perfectly raw. We endeavoured to tie shoes on them, to afford them some little relief, but they continually came off when amongst deep snow, so that it occupied one person entirely to look after them. In this state they were hardly of any use among the steep ascents of the portages, when we were obliged to drag the sledges ourselves. We found a few of the rapids entirely frozen. Those that were not had holes and large spaces about them, from whence issued a thick vapour, and in passing this we found it particularly cold; but what appeared most curious was the number of small fountains which rose through the ice, and often rendered it doubtful which way we should take. I was much disappointed at finding several falls (which I had intended to sketch) frozen almost even with the upper and lower parts of the stream; the ice was connected by a thin arch, and the rushing of the water underneath might be heard at a considerable distance. On the banks of these rapids there was a constant overflowing of the water, but in such small quantities as to freeze before it had reached the surface of the central ice, so that we passed between two ridges of icicles, the transparency of which was beautifully contrasted by the flakes of snow and the dark green branches of the over-hanging pine. "Beauparlant complained bitterly of the cold whilst among the rapids, but no sooner had he reached the upper part of the river than he found the change of the temperature so great, that he vented his indignation against the heat.--"Mais c'est terrible," said he, to be frozen and sun-burnt in the same day. The poor fellow, who had been a long time in the country, regarded it as the most severe punishment that could have been inflicted on him, and would willingly have given a part of his wages rather than this disgrace had happened; for there is a pride amongst "Old Voyagers," which makes them consider the state of being frost-bitten as effeminate, and only excusable in a "Pork-eater," or one newly come into the country. I was greatly fatigued, and suffered acute pains in the knees and legs, both of which were much swollen when we halted a little above the Dog River. "_December 30_ and _31_.--Our journey these days was by far the most annoying we had yet experienced; but, independent of the vast masses of ice that were piled on one another, as well as the numerous open places about the rapids (and they did not a little impede us,) there was a strong gale from the north-west, and so dreadfully keen, that our time was occupied in rubbing the frozen parts of the face, and in attempting to warm the hands, in order to be prepared for the next operation. Scarcely was one place cured by constant friction than another was frozen; and though there was nothing pleasant about it, yet it was laughable enough to observe the dexterity which was used in changing the position of the hand from the face to the mitten, and _vice versâ_. One of the men was severely affected, the whole side of his face being nearly raw. Towards sunset I suffered so much in my knee and ankle, from a recent sprain, that it was with difficulty I could proceed with snow-shoes to the encampment on the Stony Islands. But in this point I was not singular: for Beauparlant was almost as bad, and without the same cause. 1821. January 1. "We set out with a quick step, the wind still blowing fresh from the north-west, which seemed in some measure to invigorate the dogs; for towards sunset they left me considerably behind. Indeed my legs and ankles were now so swelled, that it was excessive pain to drag the snow-shoes after me. At night we halted on the banks of Stony River, when I gave the men a glass of grog, to commemorate the new year; and the next day, January 2, we arrived at Fort Chipewyan, after a journey of ten days and four hours--the shortest time in which the distance had been performed at the same season. I found Messrs. G. Keith and S. McGillivray in charge of the fort, who were not a little surprised to see me. The commencement of the new year is the rejoicing season of the Canadians, when they are generally intoxicated for some days. I postponed making any demand till this time of festivity should cease; but on the same day I went over to the Hudson's Bay Fort, and delivered Lieutenant Franklin's letters to Mr. Simpson. If they were astonished on one side to see me, the amazement was still greater on the other; for reports were so far in advance, that we were said to have already fallen by the spears of the Esquimaux. "_January 3_.--I made a demand from both parties for supplies; such as ammunition, gun-flints, axes, files, clothing, tobacco, and spirits. I stated to them our extreme necessity, and that without their assistance the Expedition must be arrested in its progress. The answer from the North-West gentlemen was satisfactory enough; but on the Hudson's Bay side I was told, "that any farther assistance this season entirely depended on the arrival of supplies expected in a few weeks from a distant establishment." I remained at Fort Chipewyan five weeks, during which time some laden sledges did arrive, but I could not obtain any addition to the few articles I had procured at first. A packet of letters for us, from England, having arrived, I made preparations for my return, but not before I had requested both Companies to send next year, from the depôts, a quantity of goods for our use, specified in lists furnished to them. "The weather, during my abode at Chipewyan, was generally mild, with occasional heavy storms, most of which were anticipated by the activity of the Aurora Borealis; and this I observed had been the case between Fort Providence and the Athabasca in December and January, though not invariably so in other parts of the country. One of the partners of the North-West Company related to me the following singular story:--'He was travelling in a canoe in the English River, and had landed near the Kettle Fall, when the coruscations of the Aurora Borealis were so vivid and low, that the Canadians fell on their faces, and began praying and crying, fearing they should be killed; he himself threw away his gun and knife, that they might not attract the flashes, for they were within two feet from the earth, flitting along with incredible swiftness, and moving parallel to its surface. They continued for upwards of five minutes, as near as he could judge, and made a loud rustling noise, like the waving of a flag in a strong breeze. After they had ceased, the sky became clear, with little wind.' "_February 9_.--Having got every thing arranged, and had a hearty breakfast with a _coupe de l'eau de vie_, (a custom amongst the traders,) I took my departure, or rather attempted to do so, for on going to the gate there was a long range of women, who came to bid me farewell. They were all dressed (after the manner of the country) in blue or green cloth, with their hair fresh greased, separated before, and falling down behind, not in careless tresses, but in a good sound tail, fastened with black tape or riband. This was considered a great compliment, and the ceremony consisted in embracing the whole party. "I had with me four sledges, laden with goods for the Expedition, and a fifth belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. We returned exactly by the same route, suffering no other inconvenience but that arising from the chafing of the snow-shoe, and bad weather. Some Indians, whom we met on the banks of the Little Buffalo River, were rather surprised at seeing us, for they had heard that we were on an island, which was surrounded by Esquimaux. The dogs were almost worn out, and their feet raw, when, on February the 20th, we arrived at Moose-Deer Island with our goods all in good order. Towards the end of the month two of our men arrived with letters from Lieutenant Franklin, containing some fresh demands, the major part of which I was fortunate enough to procure without the least trouble. Having arranged the accounts and receipts between the Companies and the Expedition, and sent every thing before me to Fort Providence, I prepared for my departure; and it is but justice to the gentlemen of both parties at Moose-Deer Island to remark, that they afforded the means of forwarding our stores in the most cheerful and pleasant manner. "_March 5_.--I took leave of the gentlemen at the forts, and, in the afternoon, got to the fisheries near Stony Island, where I found Mr. McVicar, who was kind enough to have a house ready for my reception; and I was not a little gratified at perceiving a pleasant-looking girl employed in roasting a fine joint, and afterwards arranging the table with all the dexterity of an accomplished servant. "_March 6_.--We set out at daylight, and breakfasted at the Rein-Deer Islands. As the day advanced, the heat became so oppressive, that each pulled off his coat and ran till sunset, when we halted with two men, who were on their return to Moose-Deer Island. There was a beautiful Aurora Borealis in the night; it rose about N.b.W., and divided into three bars, diverging at equal distances as far as the zenith, and then converging until they met in the opposite horizon; there were some flashes at right angles to the bars. "_March 7_.--We arrived at Fort Providence, and found our stores safe and in good order. There being no certainty when the Indian, who was to accompany me to our house, would arrive, and my impatience to join my companions increasing as I approached it, after making the necessary arrangements with Mr. Weeks respecting our stores, on March the 10th I quitted the fort, with two of our men, who had each a couple of dogs and a sledge laden with provision. On the 13th we met the Indian, near Icy Portage, who was sent to guide me back. On the 14th we killed a deer, and gave the dogs a good feed; and on the 17th, at an early hour, we arrived at Fort Enterprise, having travelled about eighteen miles a-day. I had the pleasure of meeting my friends all in good health, after an absence of nearly five months, during which time I had travelled one thousand one hundred and four miles, on snow-shoes, and had no other covering at night, in the woods, than a blanket and deer-skin, with the thermometer frequently at -40°, and once at -57°; and sometimes passing two or three days without tasting food." CHAPTER IX. Continuation of Proceedings at Fort Enterprise--Some Account of the Copper Indians--Preparations for the Journey to the Northward. 1821. March 18. I shall now give a brief account of the Copper Indians, termed by the Chipewyans, Tantsawhot-dinneh, or Birch-rind Indians. They were originally a tribe of the Chipewyans, and, according to their own account, inhabited the south side of Great Slave Lake, at no very distant period. Their language, traditions, and customs, are essentially the same with those of the Chipewyans, but in personal character they have greatly the advantage of that people; owing, probably, to local causes, or perhaps to their procuring their food more easily and in greater abundance. They hold women in the same low estimation as the Chipewyans do, looking upon them as a kind of property, which the stronger may take from the weaker, whenever there is just reason for quarrelling, if the parties are of their own nation, or whenever they meet, if the weaker party are Dog-ribs or other strangers. They suffer, however, the kinder affections to shew themselves occasionally; they, in general, live happily with their wives, the women are contented with their lot, and we witnessed several instances of strong attachment. Of their kindness to strangers we are fully qualified to speak; their love of property, attention to their interests, and fears for the future, made them occasionally clamorous and unsteady; but their delicate and humane attention to us, in a season of great distress, at a future period, are indelibly engraven on our memories. Of their notions of a Deity, or future state, we never could obtain any satisfactory account; they were unwilling, perhaps, to expose their opinions to the chance of ridicule. Akaitcho generally evaded our questions on these points, but expressed a desire to learn from us, and regularly attended Divine Service during his residence at the fort, behaving with the utmost decorum. This leader, indeed, and many others of his tribe, possess a laudable curiosity, which might easily be directed to the most important ends; and I believe, that a well-conducted Christian mission to this quarter would not fail of producing the happiest effect. Old Keskarrah alone used boldly to express his disbelief of a Supreme Deity, and state that he could not credit the existence of a Being, whose power was said to extend every where, but whom he had not yet seen, although he was now an old man. The aged sceptic is not a little conceited, as the following exordium to one of his speeches evinces: "It is very strange that I never meet with any one who is equal in sense to myself." The same old man, in one of his communicative moods, related to us the following tradition. The earth had been formed, but continued enveloped in total darkness, when a bear and a squirrel met on the shores of a lake; a dispute arose as to their respective powers, which they agreed to settle by running in opposite directions round the lake, and whichever arrived first at the starting point, was to evince his superiority by some signal act of power. The squirrel beat, ran up a tree, and loudly demanded light, which instantly beaming forth, discovered a bird dispelling the gloom with its wings; the bird was afterwards recognised to be a crow. The squirrel next broke a piece of bark from the tree, endowed it with the power of floating, and said, "Behold the material which shall afford the future inhabitants of the earth the means of traversing the waters." The Indians are not the first people who have ascribed the origin of nautics to the ingenuity of the squirrel. The Copper Indians consider the bear, otter, and other animals of prey, or rather some kind of spirits which assume the forms of these creatures, as their constant enemies, and the cause of every misfortune they endure; and in seasons of difficulty or sickness they alternately deprecate and abuse them. Few of this nation have more than one wife at a time, and none but the leaders have more than two. Akaitcho has three, and the mother of his only son is the favourite. They frequently marry two sisters, and there is no prohibition to the intermarriage of cousins, but a man is restricted from marrying his niece. The last war excursion they made against the Esquimaux was ten years ago, when they destroyed about thirty persons, at the mouth of what they term Stony-Point River, not far from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. They now seem desirous of being on friendly terms with that persecuted nation, and hope, through our means, to establish a lucrative commerce with them. Indeed, the Copper Indians are sensible of the advantages that would accrue to them, were they made the carriers of goods between the traders and Esquimaux. At the time of Hearne's visit, the Copper Indians being unsupplied with fire-arms, were oppressed by the Chipewyans; but even that traveller had occasion to praise their kindness of heart. Since they have received arms from the traders, the Chipewyans are fearful of venturing upon their lands; and all of that nation, who frequent the shores of Great Slave Lake, hold the name of Akaitcho in great respect. The Chipewyans have no leader of equal authority amongst themselves. The number of the Copper Indians may be one hundred and ninety souls, _viz._, eighty men and boys, and one hundred and ten women and young children. There are forty-five hunters in the tribe. The adherents of Akaitcho amount to about forty men and boys; the rest follow a number of minor chiefs. For the following notices of the nations on Mackenzie's River, we are principally indebted to Mr. Wentzel, who resided for many years in that quarter. The _Thlingcha-dinneh_, or Dog-ribs, or, as they are sometimes termed after the Crees, who formerly warred against them, _Slaves_, inhabit the country to the westward of the Copper Indians, as far as Mackenzie's River. They are of a mild, hospitable, but rather indolent, disposition; spend much of their time in amusements, and are fond of singing and dancing. In this respect, and in another, they differ very widely from most of the other Aborigines of North America. I allude to their kind treatment of the women. The men do the laborious work, whilst their wives employ themselves in ornamenting their dresses with quill-work, and in other occupations suited to their sex. Mr. Wentzel has often known the young married men to bring specimens of their wives' needle-work to the forts, and exhibit them with much pride. Kind treatment of the fair sex being usually considered as an indication of considerable progress in civilization, it might be worth while to inquire how it happens, that this tribe has stept so far beyond its neighbours. It has had, undoubtedly, the same common origin with the Chipewyans, for their languages differ only in accent, and their mode of life is essentially the same. We have not sufficient data to prosecute the inquiry with any hope of success, but we may recall to the reader's memory what was formerly mentioned, that the Dog-ribs say they came from the westward, whilst the Chipewyans say that they migrated from the eastward. When bands of Dog-ribs meet each other after a long absence, they perform a kind of dance. A piece of ground is cleared for the purpose, if in winter of the snow, or if in summer of the bushes; and the dance frequently lasts for two or three days, the parties relieving each other as they get tired. The two bands commence the dance with their backs turned to each other, the individuals following one another in Indian file, and holding the bow in the left hand, and an arrow in the right. They approach obliquely, after many turns, and when the two lines are closely back to back, they feign to see each other for the first time, and the bow is instantly transferred to the right hand, and the arrow to the left, signifying that it is not their intention to employ them against their friends. At a fort they use feathers instead of bows. The dance is accompanied with a song. These people are the dancing-masters of the country. The Copper Indians have neither dance nor music but what they borrow from them. On our first interview with Akaitcho, at Fort Providence, he treated us, as has already been mentioned, with a representation of the Dog-rib dance; and Mr. Back, during his winter journey, had an opportunity of observing it performed by the Dog-ribs themselves. The chief tribe of the Dog-rib nation, termed Horn Mountain Indians, inhabit the country betwixt Great Bear Lake, and the west end of Great Slave Lake. They muster about two hundred men and boys capable of pursuing the chase. Small detachments of the nation frequent Marten Lake, and hunt during the summer in the neighbourhood of Fort Enterprise. Indeed this part of the country was formerly exclusively theirs, and most of the lakes and remarkable hills bear the names which they imposed upon them. As the Copper Indians generally pillage them of their women and furs when they meet, they endeavour to avoid them, and visit their ancient quarters on the barren grounds only by stealth. Immediately to the northward of the Dog-ribs, on the north side of Bear Lake River, are the _Kawcho-dinneh_, or Hare Indians, who also speak a dialect of the Chipewyan language, and have much of the same manners with the Dog-ribs, but are considered both by them and by the Copper Indians, to be great conjurers. These people report that in their hunting excursions to the northward of Great Bear Lake they meet small parties of Esquimaux. Immediately to the northward of the Hare Indians, on both banks of Mackenzie's River, are the _Tykothee-dinneh_, Loucheux, Squint-Eyes, or Quarrellers. They speak a language distinct from the Chipewyan. They war often with the Esquimaux at the mouth of Mackenzie's River, but have occasionally some peaceable intercourse with them, and it would appear that they find no difficulty in understanding each other, there being considerable similarity in their languages. Their dress also resembles the Esquimaux, and differs from that of the other inhabitants of Mackenzie's River. The Tykothee-dinneh trade with Fort Good-Hope, situated a considerable distance below the confluence of Bear Lake River with Mackenzie's River, and as the traders suppose, within three days' march of the Arctic Sea. It is the most northern establishment of the North-West Company, and some small pieces of Russian copper coin once made their way thither across the continent from the westward. Blue or white beads are almost the only articles of European manufacture coveted by the Loucheux. They perforate the septum of the nose, and insert in the opening three small shells, which they procure at a high price from the Esquimaux. On the west bank of Mackenzie's River there are several tribes who speak dialects of the Chipewyan language, that have not hitherto been mentioned. The first met with, on tracing the river to the southward from Fort Good-Hope, are the _Ambawtawhoot-dinneh_, or Sheep Indians. They inhabit the Rocky Mountains near the sources of the Dawhoot-dinneh River which flows into Mackenzie's, and are but little known to the traders. Some of them have visited Fort Good-Hope. A report of their being cannibals may have originated in an imperfect knowledge of them. Some distance to the southward of this people are the Rocky Mountain Indians, a small tribe which musters about forty men and boys capable of pursuing the chase. They differ but little from the next we are about to mention, the _Edchawtawhoot-dinneh_, Strong-bow, Beaver, or Thick-wood Indians, who frequent the _Rivière aux Liards_, or south branch of Mackenzie's River. The Strong-bows resemble the Dog-ribs somewhat in their disposition; but when they meet they assume a considerable degree of superiority over the latter, who meekly submit to the haughtiness of their neighbours. Until the year 1813, when a small party of them, from some unfortunate provocation, destroyed Fort Nelson on the _Rivière aux Liards_, and murdered its inmates, the Strong-bows were considered to be a friendly and quiet tribe, and esteemed as excellent hunters. They take their names, in the first instance, from their dogs. A young man is the father of a certain dog, but when he is married, and has a son, he styles himself the father of the boy. The women have a habit of reproving the dogs very tenderly when they observe them fighting.--"Are you not ashamed," say they, "are you not ashamed to quarrel with your little brother?" The dogs appear to understand the reproof, and sneak off. The Strong-bows, and Rocky-Mountain Indians, have a tradition in common with the Dog-ribs, that they came originally from the westward, from a level country, where there was no winter, which produced trees, and large fruits, now unknown to them. It was inhabited also by many strange animals, amongst which there was a small one whose visage bore a striking resemblance to the human countenance. During their residence in this land, their ancestors were visited by a man who healed the sick, raised the dead, and performed many other miracles, enjoining them at the same time to lead good lives, and not to eat of the entrails of animals, nor to use the brains for dressing skins until after the third day; and never to leave the skulls of deer upon the ground within the reach of dogs and wolves, but to hang them carefully upon trees. No one knew from whence this good man came, or whither he went. They were driven from that land by the rising of the waters, and following the tracks of animals on the sea-shore, they directed their course to the northward. At length they came to a strait, which they crossed upon a raft, but the sea has since frozen, and they have never been able to return. These traditions are unknown to the Chipewyans. The number of men and boys of the Strong-bow nation who are capable of hunting, may amount to seventy. There are some other tribes who also speak dialects of the Chipewyan, upon the upper branches of the Rivière aux Liards, such as the _Nohhannies_ and the _Tsillawdawhoot-dinneh_, or Brushwood Indians. They are but little known, but the latter are supposed occasionally to visit some of the establishments on Peace River. Having now communicated as briefly as I could the principal facts that came to our knowledge regarding the Indians in this quarter, I shall resume the narrative of events at Fort Enterprise.--The month of March proved fine. The thermometer rose once to 24° above zero, and fell upon another day 49° below zero, but the mean was -11-1/2°. On the 23d the last of our winter's stock of deer's meat was expended, and we were compelled to issue a little pounded meat which we had reserved for making pemmican for summer use. Our nets, which were set under the ice on the 15th, produced only two or three small fish daily. Amongst these was the round fish, a species of Coregonus, which we had not previously seen. On the following day two Indians came with a message from the Hook, the chief next to Akaitcho in authority amongst the Copper Indians. His band was between West Marten and Great Bear Lakes, and he offered to provide a quantity of dried meat for us on the banks of the Copper-Mine River in the beginning of summer, provided we sent him goods and ammunition. It was in his power to do this without inconvenience, as he generally spends the summer months on the banks of the river, near the Copper Mountain; but we had no goods to spare, and I could not venture to send any part of our small stock of ammunition until I saw what the necessities of our own party required. I told them, however, that I would gladly receive either provisions or leather when we met, and would pay for them by notes on the North-West Company's post; but to prevent any misunderstanding with Mr. Weeks, I requested them to take their winter's collection of furs to Fort Providence before they went to the Copper-Mine River. They assured me that the Hook would watch anxiously for our passing, as he was unwell, and wished to consult the doctor. Several circumstances having come lately to my knowledge that led me to suspect the fidelity of our interpreters, they were examined upon this subject. It appeared that in their intercourse with the Indians they had contracted very fearful ideas of the danger of our enterprise, which augmented as the time of our departure drew near, and had not hesitated to express their dislike to the journey in strong terms amongst the Canadians, who are accustomed to pay much deference to the opinions of an interpreter. But this was not all; I had reason to suspect they had endeavoured to damp the exertions of the Indians, with the hope that the want of provision in the spring would put an end to our progress at once. St. Germain, in particular, had behaved in a very equivocal way, since his journey to Slave Lake. He denied the principal parts of the charge in a very dogged manner, but acknowledged he had told the leader that we had not paid him the attention which a chief like him ought to have received; and that we had put a great affront on him in sending him only a small quantity of rum. An artful man like St. Germain, possessing a flow of language, and capable of saying even what he confessed, had the means of poisoning the minds of the Indians without committing himself by any direct assertion; and it is to be remarked, that unless Mr. Wentzel had possessed a knowledge of the Copper Indian language, we should not have learned what we did. Although perfectly convinced of his baseness, I could not dispense with his services; and had no other resource but to give him a serious admonition, and desire him to return to his duty; after endeavouring to work upon his fears by an assurance, that I would certainly convey him to England for trial, if the Expedition should be stopped through his fault. He replied, "It is immaterial to me where I lose my life, whether in England, or in accompanying you to the sea, for the whole party will perish." After this discussion, however, he was more circumspect in his conduct. On the 28th we received a small supply of meat from the Indian lodges. They had now moved into a lake, about twelve miles from us, in expectation of the deer coming soon to the northward. On the 29th Akaitcho arrived at the house, having been sent for to make some arrangements respecting the procuring of provision, and that we might learn what his sentiments were with regard to accompanying us on our future journey. Next morning we had a conference, which I commenced by shewing him the charts and drawings that were prepared to be sent to England, and explaining fully our future intentions. He appeared much pleased at this mark of attention, and, when his curiosity was satisfied, began his speech by saying, that "although a vast number of idle rumours had been floating about the barren grounds during the winter," he was convinced that the representations made to him at Fort Providence regarding the purport of the Expedition were perfectly correct. I next pointed out to him the necessity of our proceeding with as little delay as possible during the short period of the year that was fit for our operations, and that to do so it was requisite we should have a large supply of provisions at starting. He instantly admitted the force of these observations, and promised that he and his young men should do their utmost to comply with our desires: and afterwards, in answer to my questions, informed us that he would accompany the Expedition to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, or, if we did not meet with Esquimaux there, for some distance along the coast; he was anxious, he said, to have an amicable interview with that people; and he further requested, that, in the event of our meeting with Dog-ribs on the Copper-Mine River, we should use our influence to persuade them to live on friendly terms with his tribe. We were highly pleased to find his sentiments so favourable to our views, and, after making some minor arrangements, we parted, mutually content. He left us on the morning of the 31st, accompanied by Augustus, who, at his request, went to reside for a few days at his lodge. On the 4th of April our men arrived with the last supply of goods from Fort Providence, the fruits of Mr. Back's arduous journey to the Athabasca Lake; and on the 17th Belanger _le gros_ and Belanger _le rouge_, for so our men discriminated them, set out for Slave Lake, with a box containing the journals of the officers, charts, drawings, observations, and letters addressed to the Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs. They also conveyed a letter for Governor Williams, in which I requested that he would, if possible, send a schooner to Wager Bay with provisions and clothing to meet the exigencies of the party, should they succeed in reaching that part of the coast. Connoyer, who was much tormented with biliary calculi, and had done little or no duty all the winter, was discharged at the same time, and sent down in company with an Indian named the Belly. The commencement of April was fine, and for several days a considerable thaw took place in the heat of the sun, which laying bare some of the lichens on the sides of the hills, produced a consequent movement of the rein-deer to the northward, and induced the Indians to believe that the spring was already commencing. Many of them, therefore, quitted the woods, and set their snares on the barren grounds near Fort Enterprise. Two or three days of cold weather, however, towards the middle of the month, damped their hopes, and they began to say that another moon must elapse before the arrival of the wished-for season. In the mean time their premature departure from the woods, caused them to suffer from want of food, and we were in some degree involved in their distress. We received no supplies from the hunters, our nets produced but very few fish, and the pounded meat which we had intended to keep for summer use was nearly expended. Our meals at this period were always scanty, and we were occasionally restricted to one in the day. The Indian families about the house, consisting principally of women and children, suffered most. I had often requested them to move to Akaitcho's lodge, where they were more certain of receiving supplies; but as most of them were sick or infirm, they did not like to quit the house, where they daily received medicines from Dr. Richardson, to encounter the fatigue of following the movements of a hunting camp. They cleared away the snow on the site of the autumn encampments to look for bones, deer's feet, bits of hide, and other offal. When we beheld them gnawing the pieces of hide, and pounding the bones, for the purpose of extracting some nourishment from them by boiling, we regretted our inability to relieve them, but little thought that we should ourselves be afterwards driven to the necessity of eagerly collecting these same bones a second time from the dunghill. At this time, to divert the attention of the men from their wants, we encouraged the practice of sliding down the steep bank of the river upon sledges. These vehicles descended the snowy bank with much velocity, and ran a great distance upon the ice. The officers joined in the sport, and the numerous overturns we experienced formed no small share of the amusement of the party; but on one occasion, when I had been thrown from my seat and almost buried in the snow, a fat Indian woman drove her sledge over me, and sprained my knee severely. On the 18th at eight in the evening a beautiful halo appeared round the sun when it was about 8° high. The colours were prismatic, and very bright, the red next the sun. On the 21st the ice in the river was measured and found to be five feet thick, and in setting the nets in Round Rock Lake, it was there ascertained to be six feet and a half thick, the water being six fathoms deep. The stomachs of some fish were at this time opened by Dr. Richardson, and found filled with insects which appear to exist in abundance under the ice during the winter. On the 22nd a moose-deer was killed at the distance of forty-five miles; St. Germain went for it with a dog-sledge, and returned with unusual expedition on the morning of the third day. This supply was soon exhausted, and we passed the 27th without eating, with the prospect of fasting a day or two longer, when old Keskarrah entered with the unexpected intelligence of having killed a deer. It was divided betwixt our own family and the Indians, and during the night a seasonable supply arrived from Akaitcho. Augustus returned with the men who brought it, much pleased with the attention he had received from the Indians during his visit to Akaitcho. Next day Mr. Wentzel set out with every man that we could spare from the fort, for the purpose of bringing meat from the Indians as fast as it could be procured. Dr. Richardson followed them two days afterwards, to collect specimens of the rocks in that part of the country. On the same day the two Belangers arrived from Fort Providence, having been only five days on the march from thence. The highest temperature in April was +40°, the lowest -32°, the mean +4°.6. The temperature of the rapid, examined on the 30th by Messrs. Back and Hood, was 32° at the surface, 33° at the bottom. On the 7th of May, Dr. Richardson returned. He informed me that the rein-deer were again advancing to the northward, but that the leader had been joined by several families of old people, and that the daily consumption of provision at the Indian tents was consequently great. This information excited apprehensions of being very scantily provided when the period of our departure should arrive. The weather in the beginning of May was fine and warm. On the 2nd some patches of sandy ground near the house were cleared of snow. On the 7th the sides of the hills began to appear bare, and on the 8th a large house-fly was seen. This interesting event spread cheerfulness through our residence and formed a topic of conversation for the rest of the day. On the 9th the approach of spring was still more agreeably confirmed by the appearance of a merganser and two gulls, and some loons, or arctic divers, at the rapid. This day, to reduce the labour of dragging meat to the house, the women and children and all the men, except four, were sent to live at the Indian tents. The blue-berries, crow-berries, eye-berries, and cran-berries, which had been covered, and protected by the snow during the winter, might at this time be gathered in abundance, and proved indeed a valuable resource. The ground continued frozen, but the heat of the sun had a visible effect on vegetation; the sap thawed in the pine-trees, and Dr. Richardson informed me that the mosses were beginning to shoot, and the calyptræ of some of the jungermanniæ already visible. On the 11th Mr. Wentzel returned from the Indian lodges, having made the necessary arrangements with Akaitcho for the drying of meat for summer use, the bringing fresh meat to the fort and the procuring a sufficient quantity of the resin of the spruce fir, or as it is termed by the voyagers _gum_, for repairing the canoes previous to starting, and during the voyage. By my desire, he had promised payment to the Indian women who should bring in any of the latter article, and had sent several of our own men to the woods to search for it. At this time I communicated to Mr. Wentzel the mode in which I meant to conduct the journey of the approaching summer. Upon our arrival at the sea, I proposed to reduce the party to what would be sufficient to man two canoes, in order to lessen the consumption of provisions during our voyage, or journey along the coast; and as Mr. Wentzel had expressed a desire of proceeding no farther than the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, which was seconded by the Indians, who wished him to return with them, I readily relieved his anxiety on this subject; the more so as I thought he might render greater service to us by making deposits of provision at certain points, than by accompanying us through a country which was unknown to him, and amongst a people with whom he was totally unacquainted. My intentions were explained to him in detail, but they were of course to be modified by circumstances. On the 14th a robin (_turdus migratorius_) appeared; this bird is hailed by the natives as the infallible precursor of warm weather. Ducks and geese were also seen in numbers, and the rein-deer advanced to the northward. The merganser, (_mergus serrator_,) which preys upon small fish, was the first of the duck tribe that appeared; next came the teal, (_anas crecca_,) which lives upon small insects that abound in the waters at this season; and lastly the goose, which feeds upon berries and herbage. Geese appear at Cumberland House, in latitude 54°, usually about the 12th of April; at Fort Chipewyan, in latitude 59°, on the 25th of April; at Slave Lake, in latitude 61°, on the 1st of May; and at Fort Enterprise, in latitude 64° 28', on the 12th or 14th of the same month. On the 16th a minor chief amongst the Copper Indians, attended by his son, arrived from Fort Providence to consult Dr. Richardson. He was affected with snow-blindness, which was soon relieved by the dropping of a little laudanum into his eyes twice a day. Most of our own men had been lately troubled with this complaint, but it always yielded in twenty or thirty hours to the same remedy. On the 21st all our men returned from the Indians, and Akaitcho was on his way to the fort. In the afternoon two of his young men arrived to announce his visit, and to request that he might be received with a salute and other marks of respect that he had been accustomed to on visiting Fort Providence in the spring. I complied with his desire although I regretted the expenditure of ammunition, and sent the young men away with the customary present of powder to enable him to return the salute, some tobacco, vermilion to paint their faces, a comb and a looking-glass. At eleven Akaitcho arrived; at the first notice of his appearance the flag was hoisted at the fort, and upon his nearer approach, a number of muskets were fired by a party of our people, and returned by his young men. Akaitcho, preceded by his standard-bearer, led the party, and advanced with a slow and stately step to the door where Mr. Wentzel and I received him. The faces of the party were daubed with vermilion, the old men having a spot on the right cheek, the young ones on the left. Akaitcho himself was not painted. On entering he sat down on a chest, the rest placed themselves in a circle on the floor. The pipe was passed once or twice round, and in the mean time a bowl of spirits and water, and a present considerable for our circumstances of cloth, blankets, capots, shirts, _&c._, was placed on the floor for the chief's acceptance, and distribution amongst his people. Akaitcho then commenced his speech, but I regret to say, that it was very discouraging, and indicated that he had parted with his good humour, at least since his March visit. He first inquired, whether, in the event of a passage by sea being discovered, we should come to his lands in any ship that might be sent? And being answered, that it was probable but not quite certain, that some one amongst us might come; he expressed a hope that some suitable present should be forwarded to himself and nation; "for," said he, "the great Chief who commands where all the goods come from, must see from the drawings and descriptions of us and our country that we are a miserable people." I assured him that he would be remembered, provided he faithfully fulfilled his engagement with us. He next complained of the non-payment of my notes by Mr. Weeks, from which he apprehended that his own reward would be withheld. "If," said he, "your notes to such a trifling amount are not accepted, whilst you are within such a short distance, and can hold communication with the fort, it is not probable that the large reward which has been promised to myself and party, will be paid when you are far distant, on your way to your own country. It really appears to me," he continued, "as if both the Companies consider your party as a third company, hostile to their interests, and that neither of them will pay the notes you give to the Indians." Afterwards, in the course of a long conference, he enumerated many other grounds of dissatisfaction; the principal of which were our want of attention to him as chief, the weakness of the rum formerly sent to him, the smallness of the present now offered, and the want of the chief's clothing, which he had been accustomed to receive at Fort Providence every spring. He concluded, by refusing to receive the goods now laid before him. In reply to these complaints it was stated that Mr. Weeks's conduct could not be properly discussed at such a distance from his fort; that no dependence ought to be placed on the vague reports that floated through the Indian territory; that, for our part, although we had heard many stories to his (Akaitcho's) disadvantage, we discredited them all; that the rum we had sent him, being what the great men in England were accustomed to drink, was of a milder kind, but, in fact, stronger than what he had been accustomed to receive; and that the distance we had come, and the speed with which we travelled, precluded us from bringing large quantities of goods like the traders; that this had been fully explained to him when he agreed to accompany us; and that, in consideration of his not receiving his usual spring outfit, his debts to the Company had been cancelled, and a present, much greater than any he had ever received before, ordered to be got ready for his return. He was further informed, that we were much disappointed in not receiving any dried meat from him, an article indispensable for our summer voyage, and which, he had led us to believe there was no difficulty in procuring; and that, in fact, his complaints were so groundless, in comparison with the real injury we sustained from the want of supplies, that we were led to believe they were preferred solely for the purpose of cloaking his own want of attention to the terms of his engagement. He then shifted his ground, and stated, that if we endeavoured to make a voyage along the sea-coast we should inevitably perish; and he advised us strongly against persisting in the attempt. This part of his harangue being an exact transcript of the sentiments formerly expressed by our interpreters, induced us to conclude that they had prompted his present line of conduct, by telling him, that we had goods or rum concealed. He afterwards received a portion of our dinner, in the manner he had been accustomed to do, and seemed inclined to make up matters with us in the course of the evening, provided we added to the present offered to him.{14} Being told, however, that this was impossible,{15} since we had already offered him all the rum we had, and every article of goods we could spare from our own equipment, his obstinacy was a little shaken, and he made some concessions, but deferred giving a final answer, until the arrival of Humpy, his elder brother. The young men, however, did not choose to wait so long, and at night came for the rum, which we judged to be a great step towards a reconciliation. St. Germain, the most intelligent of our two interpreters, and the one who had most influence with the Indians, being informed that their defection was, in a great measure, attributed to the unguarded conversations he had held with them, and which he had in part acknowledged, exerted himself much, on the following day, in bringing about a change in their sentiments, and with some success. The young men, though they declined hunting, conducted themselves with the same good humour and freedom as formerly. Akaitcho being, as he said, ashamed to shew himself, kept close in his tent all day. On the 24th, one of the women who accompanied us from Athabasca, was sent down to Fort Providence, under charge of the old chief, who came some days before for medicine for his eyes. Angelique and Roulante, the other two women, having families, preferred accompanying the Indians during their summer hunt. On the 25th, clothing, and other necessary articles, were issued to the Canadians as their equipment for the ensuing voyage. Two or three blankets, some cloth, iron work, and trinkets were reserved for distribution amongst the Esquimaux on the sea-coast. Laced dresses were given to Augustus and Junius. It is impossible to describe the joy that took possession of the latter on the receipt of this present. The happy little fellow burst into extatic laughter, as he surveyed the different articles of his gay habiliments[5]. [5] These men kept their dresses, and delighted in them. An Indian Chief, on the other hand, only appears once before the donor in the dress of ceremony which he receives, and then transfers it to some favourite in the tribe whom he desires to reward by this "robe of honour." In the afternoon Humpy, the leader's elder brother; Annoethai-yazzeh, another of his brothers; and one of our guides, arrived with the remainder of Akaitcho's band; as also Long-legs, brother to the Hook, with three of his band. There were now in the encampment, thirty hunters, thirty-one women, and sixty children, in all one hundred and twenty-one of the Copper-Indian or Red-Knife tribe. The rest of the nation were with the Hook on the lower part of the Copper-Mine River. Annoethai-yazzeh is remarkable amongst the Indians for the number of his descendants; he has eighteen children living by two wives, of whom sixteen were at the fort at this time. In the evening we had another formidable conference. The former complaints were reiterated, and we parted about midnight, without any satisfactory answer to my questions, as to when Akaitcho would proceed towards the River, and where he meant to make provision for our march. I was somewhat pleased, however, to find, that Humpy and Annoethai-yazzeh censured their brother's conduct, and accused him of avarice. On the 26th the canoes were removed from the places where they had been deposited, as we judged that the heat of the atmosphere was now so great, as to admit of their being repaired, without risk of cracking the bark. We were rejoiced to find that two of them had suffered little injury from the frost during the winter. The bark of the third was considerably rent, but it was still capable of repair. The Indians sat in conference in their tents all the morning; and in the afternoon, came into the house charged with fresh matter for discussion. Soon after they had seated themselves, and the room was filled with the customary volume of smoke from their calumets, the goods which had been laid aside, were again presented to the leader; but he at once refused to distribute so small a quantity amongst his men, and complained that there were neither blankets, kettles, nor daggers, amongst them; and in the warmth of his anger, he charged Mr. Wentzel with having advised the distribution of all our goods to the Canadians, and thus defrauding the Indians of what was intended for them. Mr. Wentzel, of course, immediately repelled this injurious accusation, and reminded Akaitcho again, that he had been told, on engaging to accompany us, that he was not to expect any goods until his return. This he denied with an effrontery that surprised us all, when Humpy, who was present at our first interview at Fort Providence, declared that he heard us say, that no goods could be taken for the supply of the Indians on the voyage; and the first guide added, "I do not expect any thing here, I have promised to accompany the white people to the sea, and I will, therefore, go, confidently relying upon receiving the stipulated reward on my return." Akaitcho did not seem prepared to hear such declarations from his brothers, and instantly changing the subject, began to descant upon the treatment he had received from the traders in his concerns with them, with an asperity of language that bore more the appearance of menace than complaint. I immediately refused to discuss this topic, as foreign to our present business, and desired Akaitcho to recall to memory, that he had told me on our first meeting, that he considered me the father of every person attached to the Expedition, in which character it was surely my duty to provide for the comfort and safety of the Canadians as well as the Indians. The voyagers, he knew, had a long journey to perform, and would in all probability, be exposed to much suffering from cold on a coast destitute of wood; and, therefore, required a greater provision of clothing than was necessary for the Indians, who, by returning immediately from the mouth of the river, would reach Fort Providence in August, and obtain their promised rewards. Most of the Indians appeared to assent to this argument, but Akaitcho said, "I perceive the traders have deceived you; you should have brought more goods, but I do not blame you." I then told him, that I had brought from England only ammunition, tobacco, and spirits; and that being ignorant what other articles the Indians required, we were dependent on the traders for supplies; but he must be aware, that every endeavour had been used on our parts to procure them, as was evinced by Mr. Back's journey to Fort Chipewyan. With respect to the ammunition and tobacco, we had been as much disappointed as themselves in not receiving them, but this was to be attributed to the neglect of those to whom they had been intrusted. This explanation seemed to satisfy him. After some minutes of reflection, his countenance became more cheerful, and he made inquiry, whether his party might go to either of the trading posts they chose on their return, and whether the Hudson's Bay Company were rich, for they had been represented to him as a poor people? I answered him, that we really knew nothing about the wealth of either Company, having never concerned ourselves with trade, but that all the traders appeared to us to be respectable. Our thoughts, I added, are fixed solely on the accomplishment of the objects for which we came to the country. Our success depends much on your furnishing us with provision speedily, that we may have all the summer to work; and if we succeed a ship will soon bring goods in abundance to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. The Indians talked together for a short time after this conversation, and then the leader made an application for two or three kettles and some blankets, to be added to the present to his young men; we were unable to spare him any kettles, but the officers promised to give a blanket each from their own beds. Dinner was now brought in, and relieved us for a time from their importunity. The leading men, as usual, received each a portion from the table. When the conversation was resumed, the chief renewed his solicitations for goods, but it was now too palpable to be mistaken, that he aimed at getting every thing he possibly could, and leaving us without the means of making any presents to the Esquimaux, or other Indians we might meet. I resolved, therefore, on steadily refusing every request; and when he perceived that he could extort nothing more, he rose in an angry manner, and addressing his young men, said: "There are too few goods for me to distribute; those that mean to follow the white people to the sea may take them." This was an incautious speech, as it rendered it necessary for his party to display their sentiments. The guides, and most of the hunters, declared their readiness to go, and came forward to receive a portion of the present, which was no inconsiderable assortment. This relieved a weight of anxiety from my mind, and I did not much regard the leader's retiring in a very dissatisfied mood. The hunters then applied to Mr. Wentzel for ammunition, that they might hunt in the morning, and it was cheerfully given to them. The officers and men amused themselves at prison-bars, and other Canadian games till two o'clock in the morning, and we were happy to observe the Indians sitting in groups enjoying the sport. We were desirous of filling up the leisure moments of the Canadians with amusements, not only for the purpose of enlivening their spirits, but also to prevent them from conversing upon our differences with the Indians, which they must have observed. The exercise was also in a peculiar manner serviceable to Mr. Hood. Ever ardent in his pursuits, he had, through close attention to his drawings and other avocations, confined himself too much to the house in winter, and his health was impaired by his sedentary habits. I could only take the part of a spectator in these amusements, being still lame from the hurt formerly alluded to. The sun now sank for so short a time below the horizon, that there was more light at midnight, than we enjoyed on some days at noon in the winter-time. On the 27th the hunters brought in two rein-deer. Many of the Indians attended divine service this day, and were attentive spectators of our addresses to the Almighty. On the 28th I had a conversation with Long-legs, whose arrival two days before has been mentioned. I acquainted him with the objects of our expedition, and our desire of promoting peace between his nation and the Esquimaux, and learned from him, that his brother the Hook was by this time on the Copper-Mine River with his party; and that, although he had little ammunition, yet it was possible he might have some provision collected before our arrival at his tents. I then decorated him with a{16} medal similar to those given to the other chiefs. He was highly pleased with this mark of our regard, and promised to do every thing for us in his power. Akaitcho came in during the latter part of our conversation, with a very cheerful countenance. Jealousy of the Hook, and a knowledge that the sentiments of the young men differed from his own, with respect to the recent discussions, had combined to produce this change in his conduct, and next morning he took an opportunity of telling me that I must not think the worse of him for his importunities. It was their custom, he said, to do so, however strange it might appear to us, and he, as the leader of his party, had to beg for them all; but as he saw we had not deceived him by concealing any of our goods, and that we really had nothing left, he should ask for no more. He then told me that he would set out for the river as soon as the state of the country admitted of travelling. The snow, he remarked, was still too deep for sledges to the northward, and the moss too wet to make fires. He was seconded in this opinion by Long-legs, whom I was the more inclined to believe, knowing that he was anxious to rejoin his family as soon as possible. Akaitcho now accepted the dress he had formerly refused, and next day clothed himself in another new suit, which he had received from us in the autumn. Ever since his arrival at the fort, he had dressed meanly, and pleaded poverty; but, perceiving that nothing more could be gained by such conduct, he thought proper to shew some of his riches to the strangers who were daily arriving. In the afternoon, however, he made another, though a covert, attack upon us. He informed me that two old men had just arrived at the encampment with a little pounded meat which they wished to barter. It was evident that his intention was merely to discover whether we had any goods remaining or not. I told him that we had nothing at present to give for meat, however much we stood in need of it, but that we would pay for it by notes on the North-West Company, in any kind of goods they pleased. After much artful circumlocution, and repeated assurances of the necessities of the men who owned the meat, he introduced them, and they readily agreed to give us the provision on our own terms. I have deemed it my duty to give the details of these tedious conversations, to point out to future travellers, the art with which these Indians pursue their objects, their avaricious nature, and the little reliance that can be placed upon them when their interests jar with their promises. In these respects they agree with other tribes of northern Indians; but as has been already mentioned, their dispositions are not cruel, and their hearts are readily moved by the cry of distress. The average temperature for May was nearly 32°, the greatest heat was 68°, the lowest 8°. We had constant daylight at the end of the month, and geese and ducks were abundant, indeed rather too much so, for our hunters were apt to waste upon them the ammunition that was given to them for killing deer. Uncertain as to the length of time that it might be required to last, we did not deem a goose of equal value with the charge it cost to procure it. Dr. Richardson and Mr. Back having visited the country to the northward of the Slave Rock, and reported that they thought we might travel over it, I signified my intention of sending the first party off on Monday the 4th of June. I was anxious to get the Indians to move on before, but they lingered about the house, evidently with the intention of picking up such articles as we might deem unnecessary to take. When Akaitcho was made acquainted with my purpose of sending away a party of men, he came to inform me that he would appoint two hunters to accompany them, and at the same time requested that Dr. Richardson, or as he called him, the Medicine Chief, might be sent with his own band. These Indians set a great value upon medicine, and made many demands upon Dr. Richardson on the prospect of his departure. He had to make up little packets, of the different articles in his chest, not only for the leader, but for each of the minor chiefs, who carefully placed them in their medicine bags, noting in their memories the directions he gave for their use. The readiness with which their requests for medical assistance were complied with, was considered by them as a strong mark of our good intentions towards them; and the leader often remarked, that they owed much to our kindness in that respect; that formerly numbers had died every year, but that not a life had been lost since our arrival amongst them. In the present instance, however, the leader's request could not be complied with. Dr. Richardson had volunteered to conduct the first party to the Copper-Mine River, whilst the rest of the officers remained with me to the last moment, to complete our astronomical observations at the house. He, therefore, informed the leader that he would remain stationary at Point Lake until the arrival of the whole party, where he might be easily consulted if any of his people fell sick, as it was in the neighbourhood of their hunting-grounds. On the 2nd the stores were packed up in proper-sized bales for the journey. I had intended to send the canoes by the first party, but they were not yet repaired, the weather not being sufficiently warm for the men to work constantly at them, without the hazard of breaking the bark. This day one of the new trading guns, which we had recently received from Fort Chipewyan, burst in the hands of a young Indian; fortunately, however, without doing him any material injury. This was the sixth accident of the kind which had occurred since our departure from Slave Lake. Surely this deficiency in the quality of the guns, which hazards the lives of so many poor Indians, requires the serious consideration of the principals of the trading Companies. On the 4th, at three in the morning, the party under the charge of Dr. Richardson started. It consisted of fifteen voyagers, three of them conducting dog sledges, Baldhead and Basil, two Indian hunters with their wives, Akaiyazzeh{17} a sick Indian and his wife, together with Angelique and Roulante; so that the party amounted to twenty-three exclusive of children. The burdens of the men were about eighty pounds each, exclusive of their personal baggage, which amounted to nearly as much more. Most of them dragged their loads upon sledges, but a few preferred carrying them on their backs. They set off in high spirits. After breakfast the Indians struck their tents, and the women, the boys, and the old men who had to drag sledges, took their departure. It was three P.M., however, before Akaitcho and the hunters left us. We issued thirty balls to the leader, and twenty to each of the hunters and guides, with a proportionate quantity of powder, and gave them directions to make all the provision they could on their way to Point Lake. I then desired Mr. Wentzel to inform Akaitcho, in the presence of the other Indians, that I wished a deposit of provision to be made at this place previous to next September, as a resource should we return this way. He and the guides not only promised to see this done, but suggested that it would be more secure if placed in the cellar, or in Mr. Wentzel's room. The Dog-ribs, they said, would respect any thing that was in the house, as knowing it to belong to the white people. At the close of this conversation Akaitcho exclaimed with a smile, "I see now that you have really no goods left, (the rooms and stores being completely stripped,) and therefore I shall not trouble you any more, but use my best endeavours to prepare provision for you, and I think if the animals are tolerably numerous, we may get plenty before you can embark on the river." Whilst the Indians were packing up this morning, one of the women absconded. She belongs to the Dog-rib tribe, and had been taken by force from her relations by her present husband, who treated her very harshly. The fellow was in my room when his mother announced the departure of his wife, and received the intelligence with great composure, as well as the seasonable reproof of Akaitcho. "You are rightly served," said the chief to him, "and will now have to carry all your things yourself, instead of having a wife to drag them." One hunter remained after the departure of the other Indians. On the 5th the Dog-rib woman presented herself on a hill at some distance from the house, but was afraid to approach us, until the interpreter went and told her that neither we nor the Indian who remained with us, would prevent her from going where she pleased. Upon this she came to solicit a fire-steel and kettle. She was at first low-spirited, from the non-arrival of a country-woman who had promised to elope with her, but had probably been too narrowly watched. The Indian hunter, however, having given her some directions as to the proper mode of joining her own tribe, she became more composed, and ultimately agreed to adopt his advice of proceeding at once to Fort Providence, instead of wandering about the country all summer in search of them, at the imminent hazard of being starved. On the 7th the wind, shifting to the southward, dispersed the clouds which had obscured the sky for several days, and produced a change of temperature under which the snow rapidly disappeared. The thermometer rose to 73°, many flies came forth, musquitoes shewed themselves for the first time, and one swallow made its appearance. We were the more gratified with these indications of summer, that St. Germain was enabled to commence the repair of the canoes, and before night had completed the two which had received the least injury. Augustus killed two deer to-day. On the 10th the dip of the magnetic needle being observed, shewed a decrease of 22' 44" since last autumn. The repairs of the third canoe were finished this evening. The snow was now confined to the bases of the hills, and our Indian hunter told us the season was early. The operations of nature, however, seemed to us very tardy. We were eager to be gone, and dreaded the lapse of summer, before the Indians would allow it had begun. On the 11th the geese and ducks had left the vicinity of Fort Enterprise, and proceeded to the northward. Some young ravens and whiskey-johns made their appearance at this time. On the 12th Winter River was nearly cleared of ice, and on the 13th the men returned, having left Dr. Richardson on the borders of Point Lake. Dr. Richardson informed me by letter that the snow was deeper in many parts near his encampment than it had been at any time last winter near Fort Enterprise, and that the ice on Point Lake had scarcely begun to decay. Although the voyagers were much fatigued on their arrival, and had eaten nothing for the last twenty-four hours, they were very cheerful, and expressed a desire to start with the remainder of the stores next morning. The Dog-rib woman, who had lingered about the house since the 6th of June, took alarm at the approach of our men, thinking, perhaps, that they were accompanied by Indians, and ran off. She was now provided with a hatchet, kettle, and fire-steel, and would probably go at once to Fort Providence, in the expectation of meeting with some of her countrymen before the end of summer. CHAPTER X[6]. [6] It will be seen hereafter that I had the misfortune to lose my portfolio containing my journals from Fort Enterprise to the 14th of September. But the loss has been amply redeemed by my brother officers' journals, from which the narrative up to that period has been chiefly compiled. Departure from Fort Enterprise--Navigation of the Copper-Mine River--Visit to the Copper Mountain--Interview with the Esquimaux--Departure of the Indian Hunters--Arrangements made with them for our return. 1821. June 14. The trains for the canoes having been finished during the night, the party attached to them commenced their journey at ten this morning. Each canoe was dragged by four men assisted by two dogs. They took the route of Winter Lake, with the intention of following, although more circuitous, the water-course as far as practicable, it being safer for the canoes than travelling over land. After their departure, the remaining stores, the instruments, and our small stock of dried meat, amounting only to eighty pounds, were distributed equally among Hepburn, three Canadians, and the two Esquimaux; with this party and two Indian hunters, we quitted Fort Enterprise, most sincerely rejoicing that the long-wished-for day had arrived, when we were to proceed towards the final object of the Expedition. We left in one of the rooms a box, containing a journal of the occurrences up to this date, the charts and some drawings, which was to be conveyed to Fort Chipewyan by Mr. Wentzel, on his return from the sea, and thence to be sent to England. The room was blocked up, and, by the advice of Mr. Wentzel, a drawing representing a man holding a dagger in a threatening attitude, was affixed to the door, to deter any Indians from breaking it open. We directed our course towards the Dog-rib Rock, but as our companions were loaded with the weight of near one hundred and eighty pounds each, we of necessity proceeded at a slow pace. The day was extremely warm, and the musquitoes, whose attacks had hitherto been feeble, issued forth in swarms from the marshes, and were very tormenting. Having walked five miles we encamped near a small cluster of pines about two miles from the Dog-rib Rock. The canoe party had not been seen since they set out. Our hunters went forward to Marten Lake, intending to wait for us at a place where two deer were deposited. At nine P.M. the temperature of the air was 63°. We resumed our march at an early hour, and crossed several lakes which lay in our course, as the ice enabled the men to drag their burdens on trains formed of sticks and deers' horns, with more ease than they could carry them on their backs. We were kept constantly wet by this operation, as the ice had broken near the shores of the lakes, but this was little regarded as the day was unusually warm: the temperature at two P.M. being at 82-1/2°. At Marten Lake we joined the canoe party, and encamped with them. We had the mortification of learning from our hunters that the meat they had put _en cache_ here, had been destroyed by the wolverenes, and we had in consequence, to furnish the supper from our scanty stock of dried meat. The wind changed from S.E. to N.E. in the evening, and the weather became very cold, the thermometer being at 43° at nine P.M. The few dwarf birches we could collect afforded fire insufficient to keep us warm, and we retired under the covering of our blankets as soon as the supper was despatched. The N.E. breeze rendered the night so extremely cold, that we procured but little sleep, having neither fire nor shelter; for though we carried our tents, we had been forced to leave the tent-poles which we could not now replace; we therefore gladly recommenced the journey at five in the morning, and travelled through the remaining part of the lake on the ice. Its surface being quite smooth, the canoes were dragged along expeditiously by the dogs, and the rest of the party had to walk very quick to keep pace with them, which occasioned many severe falls. By the time we had reached the end of the lake, the wind had increased to a perfect gale, and the atmosphere was so cold that we could not proceed further with the canoes without the risk of breaking the bark, and seriously injuring them: we therefore crossed Winter River in them, and put up in a well-sheltered place on a ridge of sand hills; but as the stock of provision was scanty, we determined on proceeding as quick as possible, and leaving the canoe-party under the charge of Mr. Wentzel. We parted from them in the afternoon, and first directed our course towards a range of hills, where we expected to find Antonio Fontano, who had separated from us in the morning. In crossing towards these hills I fell through the ice into the lake, with my bundle on my shoulders, but was soon extricated without any injury; and Mr. Back, who left us to go in search of the straggler, met with a similar accident in the evening. We put up on a ridge of sand hills, where we found some pines, and made a large fire to apprize Mr. Back and Fontano of our position. St. Germain having killed a deer in the afternoon, we received an acceptable supply of meat. The night was stormy and very cold. At five the next morning, our men were sent in different directions after our absent companions; but as the weather was foggy, we despaired of finding them, unless they should chance to hear the muskets our people were desired to fire. They returned, however, at ten, bringing intelligence of them. I went immediately with Hepburn to join Mr. Back, and directed Mr. Hood to proceed with the Canadians, and halt with them at the spot where the hunters had killed a deer. Though Mr. Back was much fatigued he set off with me immediately, and in the evening we rejoined our friends on the borders of the Big Lake. The Indians informed us that Fontano only remained a few hours with them, and then continued his journey. We had to oppose a violent gale and frequent snow-storms through the day, which unseasonable weather caused the temperature to descend below the freezing point this evening. The situation of our encampment being bleak, and our fuel stunted green willows, we passed a very cold and uncomfortable night. _June 18_.--Though the breeze was moderate this morning, the air was piercingly keen. When on the point of starting, we perceived Mr. Wentzel's party coming, and awaited his arrival to learn whether the canoes had received any injury during the severe weather of yesterday. Finding they had not, we proceeded to get upon the ice on the lake, which could not be effected without walking up to the waist in water, for some distance from its borders. We had not the command of our feet in this situation, and the men fell often; poor Junius broke through the ice with his heavy burden on his back, but fortunately was not hurt. This lake is extensive, and large arms branch from its main course in different directions. At these parts we crossed the projecting points of land, and on each occasion had to wade as before, which so wearied every one, that we rejoiced when we reached its north side and encamped, though our resting-place was a bare rock. We had the happiness of finding Fontano at this place. The poor fellow had passed the three preceding days without tasting food, and was exhausted by anxiety and hunger. His sufferings were considered to have been a sufficient punishment for his imprudent conduct in separating from us, and I only admonished him to be more cautious in future. Having received information that the hunters had killed a deer, we sent three men to fetch the meat, which was distributed between our party and the canoe-men who had been encamped near to us. The thermometer at three P.M. was 46°, at nine 34°. We commenced the following day by crossing a lake about four miles in length, and then passed over a succession of rugged hills for nearly the same distance. The men being anxious to reach some pine-trees, which they had seen on their former journey, walked a quick pace, though they were suffering from swelled legs and rheumatic pains; we could not, however, attain the desired point, and therefore encamped on the declivity of a hill, which sheltered us from the wind; and used the rein-deer moss for fuel, which afforded us more warmth than we expected. Several patches of snow were yet remaining on the surrounding hills. The thermometer varied to-day between 55° and 45°. On the 20th of June we began our march by crossing a small lake, not without much risk, as the surface of the ice was covered with water to the depth of two feet, and there were many holes into which we slipped, in spite of our efforts to avoid them. A few of the men, being fearful of attempting the traverse with their heavy loads, walked round the eastern end of the lake. The parties met on the sandy ridge, which separates the streams that fall into Winter Lake from those that flow to the northward; and here we killed three deer. Near the base of this ridge we crossed a small but rapid stream, in which there is a remarkable cascade of about fifty feet. Some Indians joined us here, and gave information respecting the situation of Dr. Richardson's tent, which our hunters considered was sufficient for our guidance, and therefore proceeded as quickly as they could. We marched a few miles farther in the evening, and encamped among some pines; but the comfort of a good fire did not compensate for the torment we suffered from the host of musquitoes at this spot. The temperature was 52°. We set off next morning at a very early hour. The men took the course of Point Lake, that they might use their sledges, but the officers pursued the nearest route by land to Dr. Richardson's tent, which we reached at eleven A.M. It was on the western side of an arm of the lake and near the part through which the Copper-Mine River runs. Our men arrived soon after us, and in the evening Mr. Wentzel and his party, with the canoes in excellent condition. They were much jaded by their fatiguing journey and several were lame from swellings of the lower extremities. The ice on the lake was still six or seven feet thick, and there was no appearance of its decay except near the edges; and as it was evident that, by remaining here until it should be removed, we might lose every prospect of success in our undertaking, I determined on dragging our stores along its surface, until we should come to a part of the river where we could embark; and directions were given this evening for each man to prepare a train for the conveyance of his portion of the stores. I may remark here, as a proof of the strong effect of radiation from the earth in melting the ice, that the largest holes in the ice were always formed at the base of the high and steep cliffs, which abound on the borders of this lake. We found Akaitcho and the hunters encamped here, but their families, and the rest of the tribe, had gone off two days before to the Beth-see-to, a large lake to the northward, where they intended passing the summer. Long-legs and Keskarrah had departed, to desire the Hook to collect as much meat as he could against our arrival at his lodge. We were extremely distressed to learn from Dr. Richardson, that Akaitcho and his party had expended all the ammunition they had received at Fort Enterprise, without having contributed any supply of provision. The Doctor had, however, through the assistance of two hunters he kept with him, prepared two hundred pounds of dried meat, which was now our sole dependance for the journey. On the following morning I represented to Akaitcho that we had been greatly disappointed by his conduct, which was so opposite to the promise of exertion he had made, on quitting Fort Enterprise. He offered many excuses, but finding they were not satisfactory, admitted that the greater part of the ammunition had been given to those who accompanied the women to the Beth-see-to, and promised to behave better in future. I then told him, that I intended in future to give them ammunition only in proportion to the meat which was brought in, and that we should commence upon that plan, by supplying him with fifteen balls, and each of the hunters with ten. The number of our hunters was now reduced to five, as two of the most active declined going any further, their father, who thought himself dying, having solicited them to remain and close his eyes. These five were furnished with ammunition, and sent forward to hunt on the south border of the lake, with directions to place any meat they might procure near the edge of the lake, and set up marks to guide us to the spots. Akaitcho, his brother, the guide, and three other men, remained to accompany us. We were much surprised to perceive an extraordinary difference in climate in so short an advance to the northward as fifty miles. The snow here was lying in large patches on the hills. The dwarf-birch and willows were only just beginning to open their buds, which had burst forth at Fort Enterprise many days before our departure. Vegetation seemed to be three weeks or a month later here than at that place. We had heavy showers of rain through the night of the 22d, which melted the snow, and visibly wasted the ice. On the 23d, the men were busily employed in making their trains, and in pounding the meat for pemmican. The situation of the encampment was ascertained, latitude 65° 12' 40" N., longitude 113° 8' 25" W., and the variation 43° 4' 20" E. The arrangements being completed, we purposed commencing our journey next morning, but the weather was too stormy to venture upon the lake with the canoes. In the afternoon a heavy fall of snow took place, succeeded by sleet and rain. The north-east gale continued, but the thermometer rose to 39°. _June 25_.--The wind having abated in the night, we prepared for starting at an early hour. The three canoes were mounted on sledges, and nine men were appointed to conduct them, having the assistance of two dogs to each canoe. The stores and provisions were distributed equally among the rest of our men, except a few small articles which the Indians carried. The provision consisted of only two bags of pemmican, two of pounded meat, five of suet, and two small bundles of dried provision, together with fresh meat sufficient for our supper at night. It was gratifying to witness the readiness with which the men prepared for and commenced a journey, which threatened to be so very laborious, as each of them had to drag upwards of one hundred and eighty pounds on his sledge. Our course led down the main channel of the lake, which varied in breadth from half a mile to three miles; but we proceeded at a slow pace, as the snow, which fell last night, and still lay on the ice, very much impeded the sledges. Many extensive arms branched off on the north side of this channel, and it was bounded on the south by a chain of lofty islands. The hills on both sides rose to six or seven hundred feet, and high steep cliffs were numerous. Clusters of pines were occasionally seen in the valleys. We put up, at eight P.M., in a spot which afforded us but a few twigs for fuel. The party was much fatigued, and several of the men were affected by an inflammation on the inside of the thigh attended with hardness and swelling. The distance made to-day was six miles. We started at ten next morning. The day was extremely hot, and the men were soon jaded; their lameness increased very much, and some not previously affected began to complain. The dogs too shewed symptoms of great weakness, and one of them stretched himself obstinately on the ice, and was obliged to be released from the harness. We were, therefore, compelled to encamp at an early hour, having come only four miles. The sufferings of the people in this early stage of our journey were truly discouraging to them, and very distressing to us, whose situation was comparatively easy. I, therefore, determined on leaving the third canoe, which had been principally carried to provide against any accident to the others. We should thus gain three men, to lighten the loads of those who were most lame, and an additional dog for each of the other canoes. It was accordingly properly secured on a stage erected for the purpose near the encampment. Dried meat was issued for supper, but in the course of the evening the Indians killed two deer, for which we immediately sent. The channel of the lake through which we had passed to-day was bounded on both sides by islands of considerable height, presenting bold and rugged scenery. We were informed by our guide, that a large body of the lake lies to the northward of a long island which we passed. Another deer was killed next morning, but as the men breakfasted off it before they started, the additional weight was not materially felt. The burdens of the men being considerably lightened by the arrangements of last evening, the party walked at the rate of one mile and three quarters an hour until the afternoon, when our pace was slackened, as the ice was more rough, and our lame companions felt their sores very galling. At noon we passed a deep bay on the south side, which is said to receive a river. Throughout the day's march the hills on each side of the lake bore a strong resemblance, in height and form, to those about Fort Enterprise. We encamped on the north main shore, among some spruce trees, having walked eight miles and a half. Three or four fish were caught with lines through holes, which the water had worn in the ice. We perceived a light westerly current at these places. It rained heavily during the night, and this was succeeded by a dense fog on the morning of the 28th. Being short of provisions we commenced our journey, though the points of land were not discernible beyond a short distance. The surface of the ice, being honeycombed by the recent rains, presented innumerable sharp points, which tore our shoes and lacerated the feet at every step. The poor dogs, too, marked their path with their blood. In the evening the atmosphere became clear, and, at five P.M., we reached the rapid by which Point Lake communicates with Red-Rock Lake. This rapid is only one hundred yards wide, and we were much disappointed at finding the Copper-Mine River such an inconsiderable stream. The canoes descended the rapid, but the cargoes were carried across the peninsula, and placed again on the sledges, as the next lake was still frozen. We passed an extensive arm, branching to the eastward, and encamped just below it, on the western bank, among spruce pines, having walked six miles of direct distance. The rolled stones on the beach are principally red clay slate, hence its Indian appellation, which we have retained. We continued our journey at the usual hour next morning. At noon the variation was observed to be 47° east. Our attention was afterwards directed to some pine branches, scattered on the ice, which proved to be marks placed by our hunters, to guide us to the spot where they had deposited the carcasses of two small deer. This supply was very seasonable, and the men cheerfully dragged the additional weight. Akaitcho, judging from the appearance of the meat, thought it had been placed here three days ago, and that the hunters were considerably in advance. We put up at six P.M., near the end of the lake, having come twelve miles and three quarters, and found the channel open by which it is connected with the Rock-nest Lake. A river was pointed out, bearing south from our encampment, which is said to rise near Great Marten Lake. Red-Rock Lake is in general narrow, its shelving banks are well clothed with wood, and even the hills, which attain an elevation of four hundred or five hundred feet, are ornamented half way up, with stunted pines. On June 30, the men having gummed the canoes, embarked with their burdens to descend the river; but we accompanied the Indians about five miles across a neck of land, when we also embarked. The river was about two hundred yards wide, and its course being uninterrupted, we cherished a sanguine hope of now getting on more speedily, until we perceived that the waters of Rock-nest Lake were still bound by ice, and that recourse must again be had to the sledges. The ice was much decayed, and the party were exposed to great risk of breaking through in making the traverse. In one part we had to cross an open channel in the canoes, and in another were compelled to quit the Lake, and make a portage along the land. When the party had got upon the ice again, our guide evinced much uncertainty as to the route. He first directed us towards the west end of the lake; but when we had nearly gained that point, he discovered a remarkable rock to the north-east, named by the Indians the Rock-nest, and then recollected that the river ran at its base. Our course was immediately changed to that direction, but the traverse we had then to make was more dangerous than the former one. The ice cracked under us at every step, and the party were obliged to separate widely to prevent accidents. We landed at the first point we could approach, but having found an open channel close to the shore, were obliged to ferry the goods across on pieces of ice. The fresh meat being expended we had to make another inroad on our pounded meat. The evening was very warm, and the musquitoes numerous. A large fire was made to apprize the hunters of our advance. The scenery of Rock-nest Lake is picturesque, its shores are rather low, except at the Rock's nest, and two or three eminences on the eastern side. The only wood is the pine, which is twenty or thirty feet high, and about one foot in diameter. Our distance to-day was six miles. _July 1_.--Our guide directed us to proceed towards a deep bay on the north side of the lake, where he supposed we should find the river. In consequence of the bad state of the ice, we employed all the different modes of travelling we had previously followed in attaining this place; and, in crossing a point of land, had the misfortune to lose one of the dogs, which set off in pursuit of some rein-deer. Arriving at the bay, we only found a stream that fell into it from the north-east, and looked in vain for the Copper-Mine River. This circumstance confused the guide, and he confessed that he was now doubtful of the proper route; we, therefore, halted, and despatched him, with two men, to look for the river from the top of the high hills near the Rock-nest. During this delay a slight injury was repaired, which one of the canoes had received. We were here amused by the sight of a wolf chasing two rein-deer on the ice. The pursuer being alarmed at the sight of our men, gave up the chase when near to the hindmost, much to our regret, for we were calculating upon the chance of sharing in his capture. At four P.M. our men returned, with the agreeable information that they had seen the river flowing at the base of the Rock-nest. The canoes and stores were immediately placed on the ice, and dragged thither; we then embarked, but soon had to cut through a barrier of drift ice that blocked up the way. We afterwards descended two strong rapids, and encamped near the discharge of a small stream which flows from an adjoining lake. The Copper-Mine River, at this point, is about two hundred yards wide, and ten feet deep, and flows very rapidly over a rocky bottom. The scenery of its banks is picturesque, the hills shelve to the water-side, and are well covered with wood, and the surface of the rocks is richly ornamented with lichens. The Indians say that the same kind of country prevails as far as Mackenzie's River in this parallel; but that the land to the eastward is perfectly barren. Akaitcho and one of the Indians killed two deer, which were immediately sent for. Two of the hunters arrived in the night, and we learned that their companions, instead of being in advance, as we supposed, were staying at the place where we first found the river open. They had only seen our fires last evening, and had sent to examine who we were. The circumstance of having passed them was very vexatious, as they had three deer _en cache_, at their encampment. However, an Indian was sent to desire those who remained to join us, and bring the meat. We embarked at nine A.M. on July 2nd, and descended a succession of strong rapids for three miles. We were carried along with extraordinary rapidity, shooting over large stones, upon which a single stroke would have been destructive to the canoes; and we were also in danger of breaking them, from the want of the long poles which lie along their bottoms and equalize their cargoes, as they plunged very much, and on one occasion the first canoe was almost filled with the waves. But there was no receding after we had once launched into the stream, and our safety depended on the skill and dexterity of the bowmen and steersmen. The banks of the river here are rocky, and the scenery beautiful; consisting of gentle elevations and dales wooded to the edge of the stream, and flanked on both sides at the distance of three or four miles by a range of round-backed barren hills, upwards of six hundred feet high. At the foot of the rapids the high lands recede to a greater distance, and the river flows with a more gentle current, in a wider channel, through a level and open country consisting of alluvial sand. In one place the passage was blocked up by drift ice, still deeply covered with snow. A channel for the canoes was made for some distance with the hatchets and poles; but on reaching the more compact part, we were under the necessity of transporting the canoes and cargoes across it; an operation of much hazard, as the snow concealed the numerous holes which the water had made in the ice. This expansion of the river being mistaken by the guide for a lake, which he spoke of as the last on our route to the sea, we supposed that we should have no more ice to cross, and therefore encamped after passing through it, to fit the canoes properly for the voyage, and to provide poles, which are not only necessary to strengthen them when placed in the bottom, but essentially requisite for the safe management of them in dangerous rapids. The guide began afterwards to doubt whether the lake he meant was not further on, and he was sent with two men to examine into the fact, who returned in the evening with the information of its being below us, but that there was an open channel through it. This day was very sultry, and several plants appeared in flower. The men were employed in repairing their canoes to a late hour, and commenced very early next morning, as we were desirous of availing ourselves of every part of this favourable weather. The hunters arrived in the course of the night. It appeared that the dog which escaped from us two days ago came into the vicinity of their encampment, howling piteously; seeing him without his harness, they came to the hasty conclusion that our whole party had perished in a rapid; and throwing away part of their baggage, and leaving the meat behind them, they set off with the utmost haste to join Long-legs. Our messenger met them in their flight, but too far advanced to admit of their returning for the meat. Akaitcho scolded them heartily for their thoughtlessness in leaving the meat, which we so much wanted. They expressed their regret, and being ashamed of their panic, proposed to remedy the evil as much as possible by going forward, without stopping, until they came to a favourable spot for hunting, which they expected to do about thirty or forty miles below our present encampment. Akaitcho accompanied them, but previous to setting off he renewed his charge that we should be on our guard against the bears, which was occasioned by the hunters having fired at one this morning as they were descending a rapid in their canoe. As their small canoes would only carry five persons, two of the hunters had to walk in turns along the banks. In our rambles round the encampment, we witnessed with pleasure the progress which vegetation had made within the few last warm days; most of the trees had put forth their leaves, and several flowers ornamented the moss-covered ground; many of the smaller summer birds were observed in the woods, and a variety of ducks, gulls, and plovers, sported on the banks of the river. It is about three hundred yards wide at this part, is deep and flows over a bed of alluvial sand. We caught some trout of considerable size with our lines, and a few white fish in the nets, which maintained us, with a little assistance from the pemmican. The repair of our canoes was completed this evening. Before embarking I issued an order that no rapid should in future be descended until the bowman had examined it, and decided upon its being safe to run. Wherever the least danger was to be apprehended, or the crew had to disembark for the purpose of lightening the canoe, the ammunition, guns and instruments, were always to be put out and carried along the bank, that we might be provided with the means of subsisting ourselves, in case of any accident befalling the canoes. The situation of our encampment was ascertained to be 65° 43' 28" N., longitude 114° 26' 45" W., and the variation 42° 17' 22" E. At four in the morning of July 4th we embarked and descended a succession of very agitated rapids, but took the precaution of landing the articles mentioned yesterday, wherever there appeared any hazard; notwithstanding all our precautions the leading canoe struck with great force against a stone, and the bark was split, but this injury was easily repaired, and we regretted only the loss of time. At eleven we came to an expansion of the river where the current ran with less force, and an accumulation of drift ice had, in consequence, barred the channel; over this the canoes and cargoes were carried. The ice in many places adhered to the banks, and projected in wide ledges several feet thick over the stream, which had hollowed them out beneath. On one occasion as the people were embarking from one of these ledges, it suddenly gave way, and three men were precipitated into the water, but were rescued without further damage than a sound ducking, and the canoe fortunately (and narrowly) escaped being crushed. Perceiving one of the Indians sitting on the east bank of the river, we landed, and having learned from him that Akaitcho and the hunters had gone in pursuit of a herd of musk oxen, we encamped, having come twenty-four miles and a half. In the afternoon they brought us the agreeable intelligence of having killed eight cows, of which four were full grown. All the party were immediately despatched to bring in this seasonable supply. A young cow, irritated by the firing of the hunters, ran down to the river, and passed close to me when walking at a short distance from the tents. I fired and wounded it, when the animal instantly turned, and ran at me, but I avoided its fury by jumping aside and getting upon an elevated piece of ground. In the mean time some people came from the tents, and it took to flight. The musk oxen, like the buffalo, herd together in bands, and generally frequent the barren grounds during the summer months, keeping near the rivers, but retire to the woods in winter. They seem to be less watchful than most other wild animals, and when grazing are not difficult to approach, provided the hunters go against the wind; when two or three men get so near a herd as to fire at them from different points, these animals instead of separating or running away, huddle closer together, and several are generally killed; but if the wound is not mortal they become enraged and dart in the most furious manner at the hunters, who must be very dextrous to evade them. They can defend themselves by their powerful horns against the wolves and bears, which, as the Indians say, they not unfrequently kill. The musk oxen feed on the same substances with the rein-deer, and the prints of the feet of these two animals are so much alike, that it requires the eye of an experienced hunter to distinguish them. The largest killed by us did not exceed in weight three hundred pounds. The flesh has a musky disagreeable flavour, particularly when the animal is lean, which unfortunately for us was the case with all that we now killed. During this day's march the river varied in breadth from one hundred to two hundred feet, and except in two open spaces, a very strong current marked a deep descent the whole way. It flows over a bed of gravel, of which also its immediate banks are composed. Near to our encampment it is bounded by cliffs of fine sand from one hundred to two hundred feet high. Sandy plains extend on a level with the summit of these cliffs, and at the distance of six or seven miles are terminated by ranges of hills eight hundred or one thousand feet high. The grass on these plains affords excellent pasturage for the musk oxen, and they generally abound here. The hunters added two more to our stock in the course of the night. As we had now more meat than the party could consume fresh, we delayed our voyage next day to dry it. The hunters were supplied with more ammunition, and sent forward; but Akaitcho, his brother, and another Indian, remained with us. It may here be proper to mention, that the officers had treated Akaitcho more distantly since our departure from Point Lake, to mark their opinion of his misconduct. The diligence in hunting, however, which he had evinced at this place, induced us to receive him more familiarly when he came to the tent this evening. During our conversation he endeavoured to excite suspicions in our minds against the Hook, by saying, "I am aware that you consider me the worst man of my nation; but I know the Hook to be a great rogue, and, I think he will disappoint you." On the morning of the 6th we embarked, and descended a series of rapids, having twice unloaded the canoes where the water was shallow. After passing the mouth of the Fairy[7] Lake River the rapids ceased. The main stream was then about three hundred yards wide, and generally deep, though, in one part, the channel was interrupted by several sandy banks, and low alluvial islands covered with willows. It flows between banks of sand thinly wooded, and as we advanced the barren hills approached the water's edge. [7] This is an Indian name. The Northern Indian fairies are six inches high, lead a life similar to the Indians, and are excellent hunters. Those who have had the good fortune to fall in with their tiny encampments have been kindly treated, and regaled on venison. We did not learn with certainty whether the existence of these delightful creatures is known from Indian tradition, or whether the Indians owe their knowledge of them to their intercourse with the traders, but think the former probable. At ten we rejoined our hunters, who had killed a deer, and halted to breakfast. We sent them forward; one of them, who was walking along the shore afterwards, fired upon two brown bears, and wounded one of them, which instantly turned and pursued him. His companions in the canoes put ashore to his assistance, but did not succeed in killing the bears, which fled upon the reinforcement coming up. During the delay thus occasioned we overtook them, and they continued with us the rest of the day. We encamped at the foot of a lofty range of mountains, which appear to be from twelve to fifteen hundred feet high; they are in general round backed, but the outline is not even, being interrupted by craggy conical eminences. This is the first ridge of hills we have seen in this country, that deserves the appellation of a mountain range; it is probably a continuation of the Stony Mountains crossed by Hearne. Many plants appeared in full flower near the tents, and Dr. Richardson gathered some high up on the hills. The distance we made to-day was fifty miles. There was a hoar frost in the night, and the temperature, at four next morning, was 40°: embarking at that hour, we glided quickly down the stream, and by seven arrived at the Hook's encampment, which was placed on the summit of a lofty sand cliff, whose base was washed by the river. This chief had with him only three hunters, and a few old men and their families, the rest of his band having remained at their snares in Bear Lake. His brother, Long-legs, and our guide, Keskarrah, who had joined him three days before, had communicated to him our want of provision, and we were happy to find that, departing from the general practice of Indian chiefs, he entered at once upon the business, without making a long speech. As an introductory mark of our regard, I decorated him with a medal similar to those which had been given to the other leaders. The Hook began by stating, "that he was aware of our being destitute of provision, and of the great need we had of an ample stock, to enable us to execute our undertaking; and his regret, that the unusual scarcity of animals this season, together with the circumstance of his having only just received a supply of ammunition from Fort Providence, had prevented him from collecting the quantity of meat he had wished to do for our use. The amount, indeed," he said, "is very small, but I will cheerfully give you what I have: we are too much indebted to the white people, to allow them to want food on our lands, whilst we have any to give them. Our families can live on fish until we can procure more meat, but the season is too short to allow of your delaying, to gain subsistence in that manner." He immediately desired, aloud, that the women should bring all the meat they had to us; and we soon collected sufficient to make three bags and a half of pemmican, besides some dried meat and tongues. We were truly delighted by this prompt and cheerful behaviour, and would gladly have rewarded the kindness of himself and his companions by some substantial present, but we were limited by the scantiness of our store to a small donation of fifteen charges of ammunition to each of the chiefs. In return for the provision they accepted notes on the North-West Company, to be paid at Fort Providence; and to these was subjoined an order for a few articles of clothing, as an additional present. I then endeavoured to prevail upon the Hook to remain in this vicinity with his hunters until the autumn, and to make deposits of provision in different parts of the course to the sea, as a resource for our party, in the event of our being compelled to return by this route. He required time, however, to consider this matter, and promised to give me an answer next day. I was rejoiced to find him then prepared to meet my wish, and the following plan was agreed upon:--As the animals abound, at all times, on the borders of Bear Lake, he promised to remain on the east side of it until the month of November, at that spot which is nearest to the Copper-Mine River, from whence there is a communication by a chain of lakes and portages. There the principal deposit of provision was to be made; but during the summer the hunters were to be employed in putting up supplies of dried meat at convenient distances, not only along the communication from this river, but also upon its banks, as far down as the Copper Mountain. They were also to place particular marks to guide our course to their lodges. We contracted to pay them liberally, whether we returned by this way or not; if we did, they were to accompany us to Fort Providence to receive the reward; and, at any rate, I promised to send the necessary documents by Mr. Wentzel, from the sea-coast, to ensure them an ample remuneration. With this arrangement they were perfectly satisfied, and we could not be less so, knowing they had every motive for fulfilling their promises, as the place they had chosen to remain at is their usual hunting-ground. The uncommon anxiety these chiefs expressed for our safety, appeared to us likely to prompt them to every care and attention, and I record their expressions with gratitude. After representing the numerous hardships we should have to encounter in the strongest manner, though in language similar to what we had often heard from our friend Akaitcho, they earnestly entreated we would be constantly on our guard against the treachery of the Esquimaux; and no less forcibly desired we would not proceed far along the coast, as they dreaded the consequences of our being exposed to a tempestuous sea in canoes, and having to endure the cold of the autumn on a shore destitute of fuel. The Hook, having been an invalid for several years, rejoiced at the opportunity of consulting Dr. Richardson, who immediately gave him advice, and supplied him with medicine. The pounded meat and fat were converted into pemmican, preparatory to our voyage. The result of our observations at the Hook's encampment was, latitude 66° 45' 11" N., longitude 115° 42' 23" W., variation of the compass 46° 7' 30" E. We embarked at eleven to proceed on our journey. Akaitcho and his brother, the guide, being in the first canoe, and old Keskarrah in the other. We wished to dispense with the further attendance of two guides, and made a proposition that either of them might remain here, but neither would relinquish the honour of escorting the Expedition to the sea. One of our hunters, however, was less eager for this distinction, and preferred remaining with Green Stockings, Keskarrah's fascinating daughter. The other four, with the Little Singer, accompanied us, two of them conducting their small canoes in turns, and the rest walking along the beach. The river flows over a bed of sand, and winds in an uninterrupted channel of from three quarters to a mile broad, between two ranges of hills, which are pretty even in their outline, and round backed, but having rather steep acclivities. The immediate borders of the stream consist either of high banks of sand, or steep gravel cliffs; and sometimes, where the hills recede to a little distance, the intervening space is occupied by high sandy ridges. At three P.M., after passing along the foot of a high range of hills, we arrived at the portage leading to the Bear Lake, to which we have previously alluded. Its position is very remarkable, being at the most westerly part of the Copper-Mine River, and at the point where it resumes a northern course, and forces a passage through the lofty ridge of mountains, to which it has run parallel for the last thirty miles. As the Indians travel from hence, with their families, in three days to the point where they have proposed staying for us, the distance, I think, cannot exceed forty miles; and admitting the course to be due west, which is the direction the guide pointed, it would place the eastern part of Bear Lake in 118-1/4° W. longitude. Beyond this spot the river is diminished in breadth and a succession of rapids are formed; but as the water was deep, we passed through them without discharging any part of the cargoes. It still runs between high ranges of mountains, though its actual boundaries are banks of mud mixed with clay, which are clothed with stunted pines. We picked up a deer which the hunters had shot, and killed another from the canoe; and also received an addition to our stock of provision of seven young geese, which the hunters had beaten down with their sticks. About six P.M. we perceived a mark on the shore, which on examination was found to have been recently put up by some Indians: and, on proceeding further, we discerned stronger proofs of their vicinity; we, therefore, encamped, and made a large fire as a signal, which they answered in a similar way. Mr. Wentzel was immediately sent, in expectation of getting provision from them. On his return, we learned that the party consisted of three old Copper Indians, with their families who had supported themselves with the bow and arrow since last autumn, not having visited Fort Providence for more than a year; and so successful had they been, that they were enabled to supply us with upwards of seventy pounds of dried meat, and six moose skins fit for making shoes, which were the more valuable as we were apprehensive of being barefooted before the journey could be completed. The evening was sultry, and the musquitoes appeared in great numbers. The distance made to-day was twenty-five miles. On the following morning we went down to these Indians, and delivered to them notes on the North-West Company, for the meat and skins they had furnished; and we had then the mortification of learning, that not having people to carry a considerable quantity of pounded meat, which they had intended for us, they had left it upon the Bear Lake Portage. They promised, however to get it conveyed to the banks of this river before we could return, and we rewarded them with a present of knives and files. After re-embarking we continued to descend the river, which was now contracted between lofty banks to about one hundred and twenty yards wide; the current was very strong. At eleven we came to a rapid which had been the theme of discourse with the Indians for many days, and which they had described to us as impassable in canoes. The river here descends for three quarters of a mile, in a deep, but narrow and crooked, channel, which it has cut through the foot of a hill of five hundred or six hundred feet high. It is confined between perpendicular cliffs, resembling stone walls, varying in height from eighty to one hundred and fifty feet, on which lies a mass of fine sand. The body of the river pent within this narrow chasm, dashed furiously round the projecting rocky columns, and discharged itself at the northern extremity in a sheet of foam. The canoes, after being lightened of part of their cargoes, ran through this defile without sustaining any injury. Accurate sketches of this interesting scene were taken by Messrs. Back and Hood. Soon after passing this rapid, we perceived the hunters running up the east side of the river, to prevent us from disturbing a herd of musk oxen, which they had observed grazing on the opposite bank; we put them across and they succeeded in killing six, upon which we encamped for the purpose of drying the meat. The country below the Rocky Defile Rapid consists of sandy plains; broken by small conical eminences also of sand; and bounded to the westward by a continuation of the mountain chain, which we had crossed at the Bear Lake Portage; and to the eastward and northward, at the distance of twelve miles, by the Copper Mountains, which Mr. Hearne visited. The plains are crowned by several clumps of moderately large spruces about thirty feet high. This evening the Indians made a large fire, as a signal to the Hook's party that we had passed the _terrific_ rapid in safety. The position of our encampment was ascertained to be, latitude 67° 1' 10" N., longitude 116° 27' 28" W., variation of the compass 44° 11' 43" E., dip of the needle 87° 31' 18". Some thunder showers retarded the drying of the meat, and our embarkation was delayed till next day. The hunters were sent forward to hunt at the Copper Mountains, under the superintendence of Adam, the interpreter, who received strict injunctions not to permit them to make any large fires, lest they should alarm straggling parties of the Esquimaux. The musquitoes were now very numerous and annoying, but we consoled ourselves with the hope that their season would be short. On the 11th we started at three A.M., and as the guide had represented the river below our encampment to be full of shoals, some of the men were directed to walk along the shore, but they were assailed so violently by the musquitoes, as to be compelled to embark very soon; and we afterwards passed over the shallow parts by the aid of the poles, without experiencing much interruption. The current ran very rapidly, having been augmented by the waters of the Mouse River and several small streams. We rejoined our hunters at the foot of the Copper Mountains, and found they had killed three musk oxen. This circumstance determined us on encamping to dry the meat, as there was wood at the spot. We availed ourselves of this delay to visit the Copper Mountains in search of specimens of the ore, agreeably to my instructions{18}; and a party of twenty-one persons, consisting of the officers, some of the voyagers, and all the Indians, set{19} off on that excursion. We travelled for nine hours over a considerable space of ground, but found only a few small pieces of native copper. The range we ascended was on the west side of the river, extending W.N.W. and E.S.E. The mountains varied in height from twelve to fifteen hundred feet. The uniformity of the mountains is interrupted by narrow valleys traversed by small streams. The best specimens of metal we procured were among the stones in these valleys, and it was in such situations, that our guides desired us to search most carefully. It would appear, that when the Indians see any sparry substance projecting above the surface, they dig there; but they have no other rule to direct them, and have never found the metal in its original repository. Our guides reported that they had found copper in large pieces in every part of this range, for two days' walk to the north-west, and that the Esquimaux come hither to search for it. The annual visits which the Copper Indians were accustomed to make to these mountains, when most of their weapons and utensils were made of copper, have been discontinued since they have been enabled to obtain a supply of ice chisels and other instruments of iron by the establishment of trading posts near their hunting grounds. That none of those who accompanied us had visited them for many years was evident, from their ignorance of the spots most abundant in metal. The impracticability of navigating the river upwards from the sea, and the want of wood for forming an establishment, would prove insuperable objections to rendering the collection of copper at this part worthy of mercantile speculation. We had the opportunity of surveying the country from several elevated positions. Two or three small lakes only were visible, still partly frozen; and much snow remained on the mountains. The trees were reduced to a scanty fringe on the borders of the river, and every side was beset by naked mountains. The day was unusually warm, and, therefore, favourable for drying the meat. Our whole stock of provision, calculated for preservation, was sufficient for fourteen days, without any diminution of the ordinary allowance of three pounds to each man per day. The situation of our tents was 67° 10' 30" N., longitude 116° 25' 45" W. _July{20} 12_.--The Indians knowing the course of the river below this point to be only a succession of rapids, declined taking their canoes any further; but as I conceived one of them would be required, should we be compelled to walk along the coast, two of our men were appointed to conduct it. As we were now entering the confines of the Esquimaux country, our guides recommended us to be cautious in lighting fires, lest we should discover ourselves, adding that the same reason would lead them to travel as much as possible in the valleys, and to avoid crossing the tops of the hills. We embarked at six A.M., taking with us only old Keskarrah. The other Indians walked along the banks of the river. Throughout this day's voyage the current was very strong, running four or five miles an hour; but the navigation was tolerable, and we had to lighten the canoes only once, in a contracted part of the river where the waves were very high. The river is in many places confined between perpendicular walls of rock to one hundred and fifty yards in width, and there the rapids were most agitated. Large masses of ice twelve or fourteen feet thick, were still adhering to many parts of the bank, indicating the tardy departure of winter from this inhospitable land, but the earth around them was rich with vegetation. In the evening two musk-oxen being seen on the beach, were pursued and killed by our men. Whilst we were waiting to embark the meat, the Indians rejoined us, and reported they had been attacked by a bear, which sprung upon them whilst they were conversing together. His attack was so sudden that they had not time to level their guns properly, and they all missed except Akaitcho, who, less confused than the rest, took deliberate aim, and shot the animal dead. They do not eat the flesh of the bear, but knowing that we had no such prejudice, they brought us some of the choice pieces, which upon trial we found to be excellent meat. The Indians having informed us that we were now within twelve miles of the rapid where the Esquimaux have invariably been found, we pitched our tents on the beach, under the shelter of a high hill whose precipitous side is washed by the river, intending to send forward some persons to determine the situation of their present abode. Some vestiges of an old Esquimaux encampment were observed near the tents, and the stumps of the trees bore marks of the stone hatchets they use. A strict watch was appointed, consisting of an officer, four Canadians, and an Indian, and directions were given for the rest of the party to sleep with their arms by their side. That as little delay as possible might be experienced in opening a communication with the Esquimaux, we immediately commenced arrangements for sending forward persons to discover whether there were any in our vicinity. Akaitcho and the guides proposed that two of the hunters should be despatched on this service, who had extremely quick sight, and were accustomed to act as scouts, an office which requires equal caution and circumspection. A strong objection, however, lay against this plan, in the probability of their being discovered by a straggling hunter, which would be destructive to every hope of accommodation. It was therefore determined to send Augustus and Junius, who were very desirous to undertake the service. These adventurous men proposed to go armed only with pistols concealed in their dress, and furnished with beads, looking-glasses, and other articles, that they might conciliate their countrymen by presents. We could not divest our minds of the apprehension, that it might be a service of much hazard, if the Esquimaux were as hostile to strangers as the Copper Indians have invariably represented them to be; and we felt great reluctance in exposing our two little interpreters, who had rendered themselves dear to the whole party, to the most distant chance of receiving injury; but this course of proceeding appeared in their opinion and our own to offer the only chance of gaining an interview. Though not insensible to the danger, they cheerfully prepared for their mission, and clothed themselves in Esquimaux dresses, which had been made for the purpose at Fort Enterprise. Augustus was desired to make his presents, and to tell the Esquimaux that the white men had come to make peace between them and all their enemies, and also to discover a passage by which every article of which they stood in need might be brought in large ships. He was not to mention that we were accompanied by the Indians, but to endeavour to prevail on some of the Esquimaux to return with him. He was directed to come back immediately if there were no lodges at the rapid. The Indians were not suffered to move out of our sight, but in the evening we permitted two of them to cross the river in pursuit of a musk-ox, which they killed on the beach, and returned immediately. The officers, prompted by an anxious solicitude for Augustus and Junius, crawled up frequently to the summit of the mountain to watch their return. The view, however, was not extensive, being bounded at the distance of eight miles by a range of hills similar to the Copper Mountains, but not so lofty. The night came without bringing any intelligence of our messengers, and our fears for their safety increased with the length of their absence. As every one had been interested in the welfare of these men through their vivacity and good{21} nature, and the assistance they had cheerfully rendered in bearing their portion of whatever labour might be going on, their detention formed the subject of all our conversation, and numerous conjectures were hazarded as to the cause. Dr. Richardson, having the first watch, had gone to the summit of the hill and remained seated, contemplating the river that washed the precipice under his feet, long after dusk had hid distant objects from his view. His thoughts were, perhaps, far distant from the surrounding scenery, when he was roused by an indistinct noise behind him, and on looking round, perceived that nine white wolves had ranged themselves in form of a crescent, and were advancing, apparently with the intention of driving him into the river. On his rising up they halted, and when he advanced they made way for his passage down to the tents. He had his gun in his hand, but forbore to fire, lest there should be Esquimaux in the neighbourhood. During Mr. Wentzel's middle watch, the wolves appeared repeatedly on the summit of the hill, and at one time they succeeded in driving a deer over the precipice. The animal was stunned by the fall, but recovering itself, swam across the stream, and escaped up the river. I may remark here, that at midnight it was tolerably dark in the valley of the river at this time, but that an object on the eminence above could be distinctly seen against the sky. The following observations were taken at this encampment, latitude 67° 23' 14" N., longitude 116° 6' 51" W., variation 49° 46' 24" E. Thermometer 75° at three P.M. Sultry weather. Augustus and Junius not having returned next morning, we were more alarmed respecting them, and determined on proceeding to find out the cause of their detention, but it was eleven A.M. before we could prevail upon the Indians to remain behind, which we wished them to do lest the Esquimaux might be suspicious of our intentions, if they were seen in our suite. We promised to send for them when we had paved the way for their reception; but Akaitcho, ever ready to augur misfortune, expressed his belief that our messengers had been killed, and that the Esquimaux, warned of our approach, were lying in wait for us, and "although," said he, "your party may be sufficiently strong to repulse any hostile attack, my band is too weak to offer effectual resistance when separated from you; and therefore, we are determined to go on with you, or to return to our lands." After much argument, however, he yielded and agreed to stay behind, provided Mr. Wentzel would remain with him. This gentleman was accordingly left with a Canadian attendant, and they promised not to pass a range of hills then in view to the northward, unless we sent notice to them. The river during the whole of this day's voyage flowed between alternate cliffs of loose sand{22} intermixed with gravel, and red sand-stone rocks, and was every where shallow and rapid. As its course was very crooked, much time was spent in examining the different rapids previous to running them, but the canoes descended, except at a single place, without any difficulty. Most of the officers and half the men marched along the land to lighten the canoes, and reconnoitre the country, each person being armed with a gun and a dagger. Arriving at a range of mountains which had terminated our view yesterday, we ascended it with much eagerness, expecting to see the rapid that Mr. Hearne visited near its base, and to gain a view of the sea; but our disappointment was proportionably great, when we beheld beyond, a plain similar to that we had just left, terminated by another range of trap hills, between whose tops the summits of some distant blue mountains appeared. Our reliance on the information of the guides, which had been for some time shaken was now quite at an end, and we feared that the sea was still far distant. The flat country here is covered with grass, and is devoid of the large stones, so frequent in the barren grounds, but the ranges of trap hills which seem to intersect it at regular distances are quite barren. A few decayed stunted pines were standing on the borders of the river. In the evening we had the gratification of meeting Junius, who was hastening back to inform us that they had found four Esquimaux tents at the Fall which we recognised to be the one described by Mr. Hearne. The inmates were asleep at the time of their arrival, but rose soon afterwards, and then Augustus presented himself, and had some conversation across the river. He told them the white people had come, who would make them very useful presents. The information of our arrival, seemed to alarm them very much, but as the noise of the rapid prevented them from hearing distinctly, one of them approached him in his canoe, and received the rest of the message. He would not, however, land on his side of the river, but returned to the tents without receiving the present. His language differed in some respects from Augustus's, but they understood each other tolerably well. Augustus trusting for a supply of provision to the Esquimaux, had neglected to carry any with him, and this was the main cause of Junius's return. We now encamped, having come fourteen miles. After a few hours' rest, Junius set off again to rejoin his companion, being accompanied by Hepburn, who was directed to remain about two miles above the fall, to arrest the canoes on their passage, lest we should too suddenly surprise the Esquimaux. About ten P.M. we were mortified by the appearance of the Indians with Mr. Wentzel, who had in vain endeavoured to restrain them from following us. The only reason assigned by Akaitcho for this conduct was, that he wished for a reassurance of my promise to establish peace between his nation and the Esquimaux. I took this occasion of again enforcing the necessity of their remaining behind, until we had obtained the confidence and good-will of their enemies. After supper Dr. Richardson ascended a lofty hill about three miles from the encampment, and obtained the first view of the sea; it appeared to be covered with ice. A large promontory, which I named Cape Hearne, bore N.E., and its lofty mountains proved to be the blue land we had seen in the forenoon, and which had led us to believe the sea was still far distant. He saw the sun set a few minutes before midnight from the same elevated situation. It did not rise during the half hour he remained there, but before he reached the encampment its rays gilded the tops of the hills. The night was warm, and we were much annoyed by the musquitoes. _July{23} 15_.--We this morning experienced as much difficulty as before in prevailing upon the Indians to remain behind, and they did not consent until I had declared that they should lose the reward which had been promised, if they proceeded any farther, before we had prepared the Esquimaux to receive them. We left a Canadian with them, and proceeded, not without apprehension that they would follow us, and derange our whole plan by their obstinacy. Two of the officers and a party of the men walked on the shore, to lighten the canoes. The river, in this part, flows between high and stony cliffs, reddish slate clay rocks, and shelving banks of white clay, and is full of shoals and dangerous rapids. One of these was termed Escape Rapid, both the canoes having narrowly escaped foundering in its high waves. We had entered the rapid before we were aware, and the steepness of the cliffs preventing us from landing, we were indebted to the swiftness of our descent for preservation. Two waves made a complete breach over the canoes; a third would in all probability have filled and overset them, which must have proved fatal to every one in them. The powder fortunately escaped the water, which was soon discharged when we reached the bottom of the rapid. At noon we perceived Hepburn lying on the left bank of the river, and landed immediately to receive his information. As he represented the water to be shoal the whole way to the rapid (below which the Esquimaux were,) the shore party were directed to continue their march to a sandy bay at the head of the fall, and there await the arrival of the canoes. The land in the neighbourhood of the rapid, is of the most singular form: large irregular sand-hills bounding both banks, apparently so unconnected that they resemble icebergs; the country around them consisting of high round green hills. The river becomes wide in this part, and full of shoals, but we had no difficulty in finding a channel through them. On regaining the shore party, we regretted to find that some of the men had incautiously appeared on the tops of the hills, just at the time Augustus was conversing with one of the Esquimaux, who had again approached in his canoe, and was almost persuaded to land. The unfortunate appearance of so many people at this instant, revived his fears, and he crossed over to the eastern bank of the river, and fled, with the whole of his party. We learned from Augustus that this party, consisting of four men and as many women, had manifested a friendly disposition. Two of the former were very tall. The man who first came to speak to him, inquired the number of canoes that we had with us, expressed himself to be not displeased at our arrival, and desired him to caution us not to attempt running the rapid, but to make the portage on the west side of the river. Notwithstanding this appearance of confidence and satisfaction, it seems they did not consider their situation free from danger, as they retreated the first night, to an island somewhat farther down the river, and in the morning they returned and threw down their lodges, as if to give notice to any of their nation that might arrive, that there was an enemy in the neighbourhood. From seeing all their property strewed about, and ten of their dogs left, we entertained the hope that these poor people would return after their first alarm had subsided; and therefore I determined on remaining until the next day, in the expectation of seeing them, as I considered the opening of an early communication a matter of the greatest importance in our state of absolute ignorance respecting the sea-coast. The canoes and cargoes were carried across the portage, and we encamped on the north side of it. We sent Augustus and Junius across the river to look for the runaways, but their search was fruitless. They put a few pieces of iron and trinkets in their canoes, which were lying on the beach. We also sent some men to put up the stages of fish, and secure them as much as possible from the attacks of the dogs. Under the covering of their tents were observed some stone kettles and hatchets, a few fish spears made of copper, two small bits of iron, a quantity of skins, and some dried salmon, which was covered with maggots, and half putrid. The entrails of the fish were spread out to dry. A great many skins of small birds were hung up to a stage, and even two mice were preserved in the same way. Thus it would appear that the necessities of these poor people induce them to preserve every article than can be possibly used as food. Several human skulls which bore the marks of violence, and many bones were strewed about the ground near the encampment, and as the spot exactly answers the description given by Mr. Hearne, of the place where the Chipewyans who accompanied him perpetrated the dreadful massacre on the Esquimaux, we had no doubt of this being the place, notwithstanding the difference in its position as to latitude and longitude given by him, and ascertained by our observation. We have, therefore, preserved the appellation of Bloody Fall, which he bestowed upon it. Its situation by our observations is, in latitude 67° 42' 35" N., longitude 115° 49' 33" W., variation 50° 20' 14" E. This rapid is a sort of shelving cascade, about three hundred yards in length, having a descent of from ten to fifteen feet. It is bounded on each side by high walls of red sand-stone upon which rests a series of lofty green hills. On its north side, close to the east bank, is the low rocky island which the Esquimaux had deserted. The surrounding scenery was accurately delineated in a sketch taken by Mr. Hood. We caught forty excellent salmon and white fish in a single net below the rapid. We had not seen any trees during this day's journey; our fuel consisted of small willows and pieces of dried wood that were picked up near the encampment. The ground is well clothed with grass, and nourishes most of the shrubs and berry-bearing plants that we have seen north of Fort Enterprise; and the country altogether has a richer appearance than the barren lands of the Copper Indians. We had a distinct view of the sea from the summit of a hill behind the tents; it appeared choked with ice and full of islands. On the morning of the 16th three men were sent up the river to search for dried wood to make floats for the nets. Adam, the interpreter, was also despatched with a Canadian, to inform Akaitcho of the flight of the Esquimaux. We were preparing to go down to the sea in one of the canoes, leaving Mr. Back to await the return of the men who were absent; but just as the crew were putting the canoe in the water, Adam returned in the utmost consternation, and informed us that a party of Esquimaux were pursuing the men whom we had sent to collect floats. The orders for embarking were instantly countermanded, and we went with a part of our men to their rescue. We soon met our people returning at a slow pace, and learned that they had come unawares upon the Esquimaux party, which consisted of six men, with their women and children, who were travelling towards the rapid with a considerable number of dogs carrying their baggage. The women hid themselves on the first alarm, but the men advanced, and stopping at some distance from our men, began to dance in a circle, tossing up their hands in the air, and accompanying their motions with much shouting, to signify, I conceive, their desire of peace. Our men saluted them by pulling off their hats, and making bows, but neither party was willing to approach the other; and, at length, the Esquimaux retired to the hill, from whence they had descended when first seen. We proceeded in the hope of gaining an interview with them, but lest our appearance in a body should alarm them, we advanced in a long line, at the head of which was Augustus. We were led to their baggage, which they had deserted, by the howling of the dogs; and on the summit of the hill we found, lying behind a stone, an old man who was too infirm to effect his escape with the rest. He was much terrified when Augustus advanced, and probably expected immediate death; but that the fatal blow might not be unrevenged, he seized his spear, and made a thrust with it at his supposed enemy. Augustus, however, easily repressed the feeble effort, and soon calmed his fears by presenting him with some pieces of iron, and assuring him of his friendly intentions. Dr. Richardson and I then joined them, and, after receiving our presents, the old man was quite composed, and became communicative. His dialect differed from that used by Augustus, but they understood each other tolerably well. It appeared that his party consisted of eight men and their families, who were returning from a hunting excursion with dried meat. After being told who we were, he said, that he had heard of white people from different parties of his nation which resided on the sea-coast to the eastward; and to our inquiries respecting the provision and fuel we might expect to get on our voyage, he informed us that the rein-deer frequent the coast during summer, the fish are plentiful at the mouths of the rivers, the seals are abundant, but there are no sea-horses nor whales, although he remembered one of the latter, which had been killed by some distant tribe, having been driven on shore on his part of the coast by a gale of wind. That musk oxen were to be found a little distance up the rivers, and that we should get drift wood along the shore. He had no knowledge of the coast to the eastward beyond the next river, which he called Nappa-arktok-towock, or Tree River. The old man, contrary to the Indian practice, asked each of our names; and, in reply to a similar question on our part, said his name was Terregannoeuck, or the White Fox; and that his tribe denominated themselves Nagge-ook-tormoeoot, or Deer-Horn Esquimaux. They usually frequent the Bloody Fall during this and the following moons, for the purpose of salting salmon, and then retire to a river which flows into the sea, a short way to the westward, (since denominated Richardson's River,) and pass the winter in snow-houses. After this conversation Terregannoeuck proposed going down to his baggage, and we then perceived, he was too infirm to walk without the assistance of sticks. Augustus, therefore, offered him his arm, which he readily accepted, and, on reaching his store, he distributed pieces of dried meat to each person, which, though highly tainted, were immediately eaten; this being an universal token among the Indians of peaceable intention. We then informed him of our desire to procure as much meat as we possibly could, and he told us that he had a large quantity concealed in the neighbourhood, which he would cause to be carried to us when his people returned. I now communicated to him that we were accompanied by some Copper Indians, who were very desirous to make peace with his nation, and that they had requested me to prevail upon the Esquimaux to receive them in a friendly manner; to which he replied, he should rejoice to see an end put to the hostility that existed between the nations, and therefore would most gladly welcome our companions. Having despatched Adam to inform Akaitcho of this circumstance, we left Terregannoeuck, in the hope that his party would rejoin him; but as we had doubts whether the young men would venture upon coming to our tents, on the old man's bare representation, we sent Augustus and Junius back in the evening, to remain with him until they came, that they might fully detail our intentions. The countenance of Terregannoeuck was oval, with a sufficiently prominent nose, and had nothing very different from a European face, except in the smallness of his{24} eyes, and, perhaps, in the narrowness of his forehead. His complexion was very fresh and red, and he had a longer beard than I had seen on any of the aboriginal inhabitants of America. It was between two and three inches long, and perfectly white. His face was not tattooed. His dress consisted of a shirt, or jacket with a hood, wide breeches, reaching only to the knee, and tight leggins sewed to the shoes, all of deer skins. The soles of the shoes were made of seal-skin, and stuffed with feathers instead of socks. He was bent with age, but appeared to be about five feet ten inches high. His hands and feet were small in proportion to his height. Whenever Terregannoeuck received a present, he placed each article first on his right shoulder, then on his left; and when he wished to express still higher satisfaction, he rubbed it over his head. He held hatchets, and other iron instruments, in the highest esteem. On seeing his countenance in a glass for the first time, he exclaimed, "I shall never kill deer more," and immediately put the mirror down. The tribe to which he belongs repair to the sea in spring, and kill seals; as the season advances they hunt deer and musk oxen at some distance from the coast. Their weapon is the bow and arrow, and they get sufficiently nigh the deer, either by crawling, or by leading these animals by ranges of turf towards a spot where the archer can conceal himself. Their bows are formed of three pieces of fir, the centre piece alone bent, the other two lying in the same straight line with the bowstring; the pieces are neatly tied together with sinew. Their canoes are similar to those we saw in Hudson's Straits, but smaller. They get fish constantly in the rivers, and in the sea as soon as the ice breaks up. This tribe do not make use of nets, but are tolerably successful with the hook and line. Their cooking utensils are made of pot-stone, and they form very neat dishes of fir, the sides being made of thin deal, bent into an oval form, secured at the ends by sewing, and fitted so nicely to the bottom as to be perfectly water-tight. They have also large spoons made of the horns of the musk oxen. Akaitcho and the Indians arrived at our tents in the evening, and we learned that they had seen the Esquimaux the day before, and endeavoured, without success, to open a communication with them. They exhibited no hostile intention, but were afraid to advance. Akaitcho, keeping out of their sight, followed at a distance, expecting that ultimately finding themselves enclosed between our party and his, they would be compelled to come to a parley with one of us. Akaitcho had seen Terregannoeuck soon after our departure; he was much terrified, and thrust his spear at him as he had done at Augustus; but was soon reconciled after the demonstrations of kindness the Indians made, in cutting off the buttons from their dress to present to him. _July 17_.--We waited all this forenoon in momentary expectation of the return of Augustus and Junius, but as they did not appear at two P.M., I sent Mr. Hood with a party of men, to inquire into the cause of their detention, and to bring the meat which Terregannoeuck had promised us. He returned at midnight with the information, that none of the Esquimaux had yet ventured to come near Terregannoeuck except his aged wife, who had concealed herself amongst the rocks at our first interview; and she told him the rest of the party had gone to a river, a short distance to the westward, where there was another party of Esquimaux fishing. Augustus and Junius had erected the tent, and done every thing in their power to make the old man comfortable in their absence. Terregannoeuck being unable to walk to the place where the meat was concealed, readily pointed the spot out to Mr. Hood, who went thither; but after experiencing much difficulty in getting at the column of rock on which it was deposited, he found it too putrid for our use. The features of Terregannoeuck's wife were remarkable for roundness and flatness; her face was much tattooed{25}, and her{26} dress differed little from the old man's. In the afternoon a party of nine Esquimaux appeared on the east bank of the river, about a mile below our encampment, carrying their canoes and baggage on their backs; but they turned and fled as soon as they perceived our tents. The appearance of so many different bands of Esquimaux terrified the Indians so much, that they determined on leaving us the next day, lest they should be surrounded and their retreat cut off. I endeavoured, by the offer of any remuneration they would choose, to prevail upon one or two of the hunters to proceed, but in vain; and I had much difficulty even in obtaining their promise to wait at the Copper Mountains for Mr. Wentzel and the four men, whom I intended to discharge at the sea. The fears which our interpreters, St. Germain and Adam, entertained respecting the voyage, were now greatly increased, and both of them came this evening to request their discharge, urging that their services could be no longer requisite, as the Indians were going from us. St. Germain even said that he had understood he was only engaged to accompany us as long as the Indians did, and persisted in this falsehood until his agreement to go with us throughout the voyage had been twice read to him. As these were the only two of the party on whose skill in hunting we could rely, I was unable to listen for a moment to their desire of quitting us, and lest they should leave us by stealth, their motions were strictly watched. This was not an unnecessary precaution, as I was informed that they had actually laid a plan for eloping; but the rest of the men knowing that their own safety would have been compromised had they succeeded, kept a watchful eye over them. We knew that the dread of the Esquimaux would prevent these men from leaving us as soon as the Indians were at a distance, and we trusted to their becoming reconciled to the journey when once the novelty of a sea voyage had worn off. _July 18_.--As the Indians persevered in their determination of setting out this morning, I reminded them, through Mr. Wentzel and St. Germain, of the necessity of our having the deposit of provision made at Fort Enterprise, and received a renewed assurance of their attending to that point. They were also desired to put as much meat as they could _en cache_ on the banks of the Copper-Mine River on their return. We then furnished them with what ammunition we could spare, and they took their departure, promising to wait three days for Mr. Wentzel at the Copper Mountains. We afterwards learned that their fears did not permit them to do so, and that Mr. Wentzel did not rejoin them until they were a day's march to the southward of the mountains. We embarked at five A.M. and proceeded towards the sea, which is about nine miles beyond the Bloody Fall. After passing a few rapids, the river became wider, and more navigable for canoes, flowing between banks of alluvial sand. We encamped at ten on the western bank at its junction with the sea. The river is here about a mile wide, but very shallow, being barred nearly across by sand banks, which run out from the main land on each side to a low alluvial island that lies in the centre, and forms two channels; of these the westernmost only is navigable even for canoes, the other being obstructed by a stony bar. The islands to seaward are high and numerous, and fill the horizon in many points of the compass; the only open space, seen from an eminence near the encampment, being from N.bE. to N.E.bN. Towards the east the land was like a chain of islands, the ice apparently surrounding them in a compact body, leaving a channel between its edge and the main of about three miles. The water in this channel was of a clear green colour, and decidedly salt. Mr. Hearne could have tasted it only at the mouth of the river, when he pronounced it merely brackish. A rise and fall of four inches in the water was observed. The shore is strewed with a considerable quantity of drift timber, principally of the _populus balsamifera_, but none of it of great size. We also picked up some decayed wood far out of the reach of the water. A few stunted willows were growing near the encampment. Some ducks, gulls, and partridges were seen this day. As I had to make up despatches for England to be sent by Mr. Wentzel, the nets were set in the interim, and we were rejoiced to find that they produced sufficient fish for the party. Those caught were, the Copper-Mine River salmon, white fish, and two species of pleuronectes. We felt a considerable change of temperature on reaching the sea-coast, produced by the winds changing from the southward to the N.W. Our Canadian voyagers complained much of the cold, but they were amused with their first view of the sea, and particularly with the sight of the seals that were swimming about near the entrance of the river, but these sensations gave place to despondency before the evening had elapsed. They were terrified at the idea of a voyage through an icy sea in bark canoes. They speculated on the length of the journey, the roughness of the waves, the uncertainty of provisions, the exposure to cold where we could expect no fuel, and the prospect of having to traverse the barren grounds to get to some establishment. The two interpreters expressed their apprehensions with the least disguise, and again urgently applied to be discharged; but only one of the Canadians made a similar request. Judging that the constant occupation of their time as soon as we were enabled to commence the voyage would prevent them from conjuring up so many causes of fear, and that familiarity with the scenes on the coast, would in a short time enable them to give scope to their natural cheerfulness, the officers endeavoured to ridicule their fears, and happily succeeded for the present. The manner in which our faithful Hepburn viewed the element to which he had been so long accustomed, contributed not a little to make them ashamed of their fears. On the morning of the 19th, Dr. Richardson, accompanied by Augustus, paid another visit to Terregannoeuck, to see if he could obtain any additional information respecting the country to the eastward; but he was disappointed at finding that his affrighted family had not yet rejoined him, and the old man could add nothing to his former communication. The Doctor remarked that Terregannoeuck had a great dislike to mentioning the name of the Copper-Mine River, and evaded the question with much dexterity as often as it was put to him; but that he willingly told the name of a river to the eastward, and also of his tribe. He attempted to persuade Augustus to remain with him, and offered him one of his daughters for a wife. These Esquimaux strike fire with two stones, catching the sparks in the down of the catkins of a willow. The despatches being finished were delivered this evening to Mr. Wentzel, who parted from us at eight P.M. with Parent, Gagnier, Dumas, and Forcier, Canadians, whom I had discharged for the purpose of reducing our expenditure of provision as much as possible. The remainder of the party, including officers, amounted to twenty persons. I made Mr. Wentzel acquainted with the probable course of our future proceedings, and mentioned to him that if we were far distant from this river, when the season or other circumstances rendered it necessary to put a stop to our advance, we should, in all probability be unable to return to it, and should have to travel across the barren grounds towards some established post: in which case I told him that we should certainly go first to Fort Enterprise, expecting that he would cause the Indians to place a supply of dried provision there, as soon as possible after their arrival in its vicinity. My instructions to him were, that he should proceed to Point Lake, transport the canoe that was left there to Fort Enterprise, where he was to embark the instruments and books, and carry them to Slave Lake, and to forward the box containing the journals, &c., with the present despatches, by the next winter packet to England. But before he quitted Fort Enterprise, he was to be assured of the intention of the Indians to lay up the provision we required, and if they should be in want of ammunition for that purpose to procure it if possible from Fort Providence, or the other forts in Slave Lake, and send it immediately to them by the hunters who accompanied him thither. I also requested him to ascertain from Akaitcho and the other leading Indians, where their different parties would be hunting in the months of September and October, and to leave this information in a letter at Fort Enterprise, for our guidance in finding them, as we should require their assistance. Mr. Wentzel was furnished with a list of the stores that had been promised to Akaitcho and his party as a remuneration for their services, as well as with an official request to the North-West Company that these goods might be paid to them on their next visit to Fort Providence, which they expected to make in the latter part of November. I desired him to mention this circumstance to the Indians as an encouragement to exertion in our behalf, and to promise them an additional reward for the supply of provision they should collect at Fort Enterprise. If Mr. Wentzel met the Hook, or any of his party, he was instructed to assure them that he was provided with the necessary documents to get them payment for any meat they should put _en cache_ for our use; and to acquaint them, that we fully relied on their fulfilling every part of the agreement they had made with us. Whenever the Indians, whom he was to join at the Copper-Mountains, killed any animals on their way to Fort Enterprise, he was requested to put _en cache_ whatever meat could be spared, placing conspicuous marks to guide us to them; and I particularly begged he would employ them in hunting in our service, immediately after his arrival at the house.{27} When Mr. Wentzel's party had been supplied with ammunition, our remaining stock consisted of one thousand balls, and rather more than the requisite proportion of powder. A bag of small shot was missing, and we afterwards discovered that the Canadians had secreted and distributed it among themselves, in order that when provision should become scarce, they might privately procure ducks and geese, and avoid the necessity of sharing them with the officers. The situation of our encampment was ascertained to be, latitude 67° 47' 50" N., longitude 115° 36' 49" W., the variation of the compass 46° 25' 52" E., and dip of the needle 88° 5' 07". It will be perceived, that the position of the mouth of the river, given by our observations, differs widely from that assigned by Mr. Hearne; but the accuracy of his description, conjoined with Indian information, assured us that we were at the very part he visited. I therefore named the most conspicuous cape we then saw "Cape Hearne," as a just tribute to the memory of that persevering traveller. I distinguished another cape by the name of Mackenzie, in honour of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the only other European[8] who had before reached the Northern Ocean. I called the river which falls into the sea, to the westward of the Copper-Mine, Richardson, as a testimony of sincere regard for my friend and companion Dr. Richardson; and named the islands which were in view from our encampment, "Couper's Isles," in honour of a friend of his. The sun set this night at thirty minutes after eleven, apparent time. [8] Captain Parry's success was at this time unknown to us. The travelling distance from Fort Enterprise to the North of the Copper-Mine River, is about three hundred and thirty-four miles. The canoes and baggage were dragged over snow and ice for one hundred and seventeen miles of this distance. CHAPTER XI. Navigation of the Polar Sea, in two Canoes, as far as Cape Turnagain, to the Eastward, a distance exceeding Five Hundred and Fifty Miles--Observations on the probability of a North-West Passage. 1821. July 20. We intended to have embarked early this morning, and to have launched upon an element more congenial with our habits than the fresh-water navigations, with their numerous difficulties and impediments which we had hitherto encountered, but which was altogether new to our Canadian voyagers. We were detained, however, by a strong north-east gale, which continued the whole day, with constant thunder showers; the more provoking as our nets procured but few fish, and we had to draw upon our store of dried meat; which, with other provision for the journey, amounted only to fifteen days' consumption. Indeed, we should have preferred going dinnerless to bed rather than encroach on our small stock, had we not been desirous of satisfying the appetites, and cheering the spirits of our Canadian companions at the commencement of our voyage. These thoughtless people would, at any time incur the hazard of absolute starvation, at a future period, for the present gratification of their appetites; to indulge which they do not hesitate, as we more than once experienced, at helping themselves secretly; it being,{28} in their opinion, no disgrace to be detected in pilfering food. Our only luxury now was a little salt, which had long been our substitute both for bread and vegetables. Since our departure from Point Lake we had boiled the Indian tea plant, _ledum palustre_, which produced a beverage in smell much resembling rhubarb; notwithstanding which we found it refreshing, and were gratified to see this plant flourishing abundantly on the sea-shore, though of dwarfish growth. _July 21_.--The wind, which had blown strong through the night became moderate in the morning, but a dense fog prevented us from embarking until noon, when we commenced our voyage on the Hyperborean Sea. Soon afterwards we landed on an island where the Esquimaux had erected a stage of drift timber, and stored up many of their fishing implements and winter sledges, together with a great many dressed seal, musk-ox, and deer skins. Their spears headed with bone, and many small articles of the same material, were worked with extreme neatness, as well as their wooden dishes, and cooking utensils of stone; and several articles, very elegantly formed of bone, were evidently intended for some game, but Augustus was unacquainted with their use. We took from this deposit four seal-skins to repair our shoes, and left in exchange a copper-kettle, some awls and beads. We paddled all day along the coast to the eastward, on the inside of a crowded range of islands, and saw very little ice; the "blink" of it, however, was visible to the northward, and one small iceberg was seen at a distance. A tide was distinguishable among the islands by the foam floating on the water, but we could not ascertain its direction. In the afternoon St. Germain killed on an island a fat deer, which was a great acquisition to us; it was the first we had seen for some months in good condition. Having encamped on the main shore, after a run of thirty-seven miles, we set up a pole to ascertain the rise and fall of the water, which was repeated at every halting-place, and Hepburn was ordered to attend to the result. We found the coast well covered with vegetation, of moderate height, even in its outline, and easy of approach. The islands are rocky and barren, presenting high cliffs of a columnar structure. I have named the westernmost group of those we passed "Berens' Isles," in honour of the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company; and the easternmost{29}, "Sir Graham Moore's Islands." At the spot where we landed some muscle-shells and a single piece of sea-weed lay on the beach; this was the only spot on the coast where we saw shells. We were rejoiced to find the beach strewed with abundance of small drift wood, none of it recent. It may be remarked that the Copper-Mine River does not bring down any drift-wood; nor does any other known stream except Mackenzie's River; hence, from its appearance on this part of the coast an easterly current may be inferred. This evening we were all in high glee at the progress we had made; the disappearance of the ice, and the continuance of the land in an eastern direction, and our future prospects, formed an enlivening subject of conversation. The thermometer varied during the day between 43° and 45°. The fishing nets were set, but produced nothing. On the 22nd we embarked at four A.M., and having the benefit of a light breeze continued our voyage along the coast under sail, until eleven, when we halted to breakfast, and to obtain the latitude. The coast up to this point presented the same general appearance as yesterday, namely, a gravelly or sandy beach, skirted by green plains; but as we proceeded, the shore became exceedingly rocky and sterile; and, at last, projecting considerably to the northward, it formed a high and steep promontory. Some ice had drifted down upon this cape, which, we feared, might check our progress; but, as the evening was fine, we ventured upon pushing the canoes through the small channels formed among it. After pursuing this kind of navigation, with some danger and more anxiety, we landed and encamped on a smooth rocky point; whence we perceived, with much satisfaction, that the ice consisted only of detached pieces, which would be removed by the first breeze. We sounded in seventeen fathoms, close to the shore, this day. The least depth ascertained by the lead, since our departure from the river, was six fathoms; and any ship might pass safely between the islands and the main. The water is of a light green colour, but not very clear; and much less salt than that of the Atlantic, judging from our recollection of its taste. In the course of the day we saw geese and ducks with their young, and two deer; and experienced very great variations of temperature, from the light breezes blowing alternately from the ice and the land. The name of "Lawford's Islands" was bestowed on a group we passed in the course of the day, as a mark of my respect for Vice-Admiral Lawford, under whose auspices I first entered the naval service. A fresh breeze blowing through the night had driven the ice from the land, and opened a channel of a mile in width; we, therefore, embarked at nine A.M. to pursue our journey along the coast, but at the distance of nine miles were obliged to seek shelter in Port Epworth, the wind having become adverse, and too strong to admit of our proceeding. The Tree River of the Esquimaux, which discharges its waters into this bay, appears to be narrow, and much interrupted by rapids. The fishing-nets were set, but obtained only one white fish and a few bull-heads. This part of the coast is the most sterile and inhospitable that can be imagined. One trap-cliff succeeds another with tiresome uniformity, and their _debris_ cover the narrow valleys that intervene, to the exclusion of every kind of herbage. From the summit of these cliffs the ice appeared in every direction. We obtained the following observations during our stay; latitude 67° 42' 15" N., longitude 112° 30' 00" W., variation 47° 37' 42" E. The wind abating, at eight P.M. we re-embarked, and soon afterwards discovered, on an island, a rein-deer, which the interpreters fortunately killed. Resuming our voyage we were much impeded by the ice, and, at length, being unable to force a passage through a close stream that had collected round a cape, we put ashore at four A.M. On the 24th, several stone fox-traps and other traces of the Esquimaux were seen near the encampment. The horizontal refraction varied so much this morning, that the upper limb of the sun twice appeared at the horizon before it finally rose. For the last two days the water rose and fell about nine inches. The tides, however, seemed to be very irregular, and we could not determine the direction of the ebb or flood. A current setting to the eastward was running about two miles an hour during our stay. The ice having removed a short distance from the shore, by eleven A.M. we embarked, and with some difficulty effected a passage; then making a traverse across Gray's Bay[9], we paddled up under the eastern shore against a strong wind. The interpreters landed here, and went in pursuit of a deer, but had no success. This part of the coast is indented by deep bays, which are separated by peninsulas formed like wedges, sloping many miles into the sea, and joined by low land to the main: so that often mistaking them for islands, we were led by a circuitous route round the bays. Cliffs were numerous on the islands, which were all of the trap formation. [9] Named after Mr. Gray, principal of the Belfast Academy.{30} An island which lies across the mouth of this bay bears the name of our English sailor Hepburn. At seven, a thunder-storm coming on, we encamped at the mouth of a river about eighty yards wide and set four nets. This stream, which received the name of Wentzel, after our late companion, discharges a considerable body of water. Its banks are sandy and clothed with herbage. The Esquimaux had recently piled up some drift timber here. A few ducks, ravens, and snow birds were seen to-day. The distance made was thirty-one miles. _July 25_.--We had constant rain with thunder during the night. The nets furnished only three salmon-trout. We attributed the want of greater success to the entrance of some seals into the mouth of the river. Embarking at six A.M. we paddled against a cold breeze, until the spreading of a thick fog caused us to land. The rocks here consisted of a beautiful mixture of red and gray granite, traversed from north to south by veins of red felspar, which were crossed in various directions by smaller veins filled with the same substance. At noon the wind coming from a favourable quarter tempted us to proceed, although the fog was unabated. We kept as close as we could to the main shore, but having to cross some bays, it became a matter of doubt whether we had not left the main, and were running along an island. Just as we were endeavouring to double a bold cape, the fog partially cleared away, and allowed us an imperfect view of a chain of islands on the outside, and of much heavy ice which was pressing down upon us. The coast near us was so steep and rugged that no landing of the cargoes could be effected, and we were preserved only by some men jumping on the rocks, and thrusting the ice off with poles. There was no alternative but to continue along this dreary shore, seeking a channel between the different masses of ice which had accumulated at the various points. In this operation both the canoes were in imminent danger of being crushed by the ice, which was now tossed about by the waves that the gale had excited. We effected a passage, however, and keeping close to the shore, landed at the entrance of Detention Harbour, at nine P.M., having come twenty-eight miles. An old Esquimaux encampment was traced on this spot; and an ice chisel, a copper knife, and a small iron knife were found under the turf. I named this cape after Mr. Barrow of the Admiralty, to whose exertions are mainly owing the discoveries recently made in Arctic geography. An opening on its eastern side received the appellation of Inman Harbour, after my friend the Professor at the Royal Naval College, Portsmouth; and to a group of islands to seaward of it, we gave the name of Jameson, in honour of the distinguished Professor of Mineralogy at Edinburgh. We had much wind and rain during the night; and by the morning of the 26th a great deal of ice had drifted into the inlet. We embarked at four and attempted to force a passage, when the first canoe got enclosed, and remained for some time in a very perilous situation: the pieces of ice, crowded together by the action of the current and wind, pressing strongly against its feeble sides. A partial opening, however, occurring, we landed without having sustained any serious injury. Two men were then sent round the bay, and it was ascertained that instead of having entered a narrow passage between an island and the main, we were at the mouth of a harbour, having an island at its entrance; and that it was necessary to return by the way we came, and get round a point to the northward. This was, however, impracticable, the channel being blocked up by drift ice; and we had no prospect of release except by a change of wind. This detention was extremely vexatious, as we were losing a fair wind, and expending our provision. In the afternoon the weather cleared up, and several men went hunting, but were unsuccessful. During the day the ice floated backwards and forwards in the harbour, moved by currents, not regular enough to deserve the name of tide, and which appeared to be governed by the wind. We perceived great diminution by melting in the pieces near us. That none of this ice survived the summer is evident, from the rapidity of its decay; and because no ice of last year's formation was hanging on the rocks. Whether any body of it exists at a distance from the shore, we could not determine. The land around Cape Barrow, and to Detention Harbour, consists of steep craggy mountains of granite, rising so abruptly from the water's edge, as to admit few landing-places even for a canoe. The higher parts attain an elevation of fourteen or fifteen hundred feet; and the whole is entirely destitute of vegetation. On the morning of the 27th, the ice remaining stationary at the entrance, we went to the bottom of the harbour, and carried the canoes and cargoes about a mile and a half across the point of land that forms the east side of it; but the ice was not more favourable there for our advancement than at the place we had left. It consisted of small pieces closely packed together by the wind, extending along the shore, but leaving a clear passage beyond the chain of islands with which the whole of this coast is girt. Indeed, when we left the harbour we had little hope of finding a passage; and the principal object in moving was, to employ the men, in order to prevent their reflecting upon and discussing the dangers of our situation, which we knew they were too apt to do when leisure permitted. Our observations place the entrance of Detention Harbour in latitude 67° 53' 45", longitude 110° 41' 20" W., variation 40° 49' 34" E. It is a secure anchorage, being sheltered from the wind in every direction; the bottom is sandy. _July 28_.--As the ice continued in the same state, several of the men were sent out to hunt; and one of them fired no less than four times at deer, but unfortunately without success. It was satisfactory, however, to ascertain that the country was not destitute of animals. We had the mortification to discover that two of the bags of pemmican, which was our principal reliance, had become mouldy by wet. Our beef too had been so badly cured, as to be scarcely eatable, through our having been compelled, from haste, to dry it by fire instead of the sun. It was not, however, the quality of our provision that gave us uneasiness, but its diminution, and the utter incapacity to obtain any addition. Seals were the only animals that met our view at this place, and these we could never approach. Dr. Richardson discovered near the beach a small vein of galena, traversing gneiss rocks, and the people collected a quantity of it in the hope of adding to our stock of balls; but their endeavours to smelt it, were, as may be supposed, ineffectual. The drift timber on this part of the coast consists of pine and taccamahac, (_populus balsamifera_), most probably from Mackenzie's, or some other river to the westward of the Copper Mine. It all appears to have lain long in the water, the bark being completely worn off, and the ends of the pieces rubbed perfectly smooth. There had been a sharp frost in the night, which formed a pretty thick crust of ice in a kettle of water that stood in the tents; and for several nights thin films of ice had appeared on the salt water amongst the cakes of stream ice[10]. Notwithstanding this state of temperature, we were tormented by swarms of musquitoes; we had persuaded ourselves that these pests could not sustain the cold in the vicinity of the sea, but it appears they haunt every part of this country in defiance of climate. Mr. Back made an excursion to a hill at seven or eight miles' distance, and from its summit he perceived the ice close to the shore as far as his view extended. [10] This is termed _bay-ice_ by the Greenland-men. On the morning of the 29th the party attended divine service. About noon the ice appearing less compact, we embarked to change our situation, having consumed all the fuel within our reach. The wind came off the land just as the canoes had started, and we determined on attempting to force a passage along the shore; in which we happily succeeded, after seven hours' labour and much hazard to our frail vessels. The ice lay so close that the crews disembarked on it, and effected a passage by bearing against the pieces with their poles; but in conducting the canoes through the narrow channels thus formed, the greatest care was requisite, to prevent the sharp projecting points from breaking the bark. They fortunately received no material injury, though they were split in two places. At the distance of three miles, we came to the entrance of a deep bay, whose bottom was filled by a body of ice so compact as to preclude the idea of a passage through it; whilst at the same time, the traverse across its mouth was attended with much danger, from the approach of a large field of ice, which was driving down before the wind. The dread of further detention, however, prevented us from hesitating; and we had the satisfaction of landing in an hour and a half on the opposite shore, where we halted to repair the canoes and to dine. I have named this bay after my friend Mr. Daniel Moore of Lincoln's Inn; to whose zeal for science, the Expedition was indebted for the use of a most valuable chronometer. Its shores are picturesque; sloping hills receding from the beach, and clothed with verdure, bound its bottom and western side; and lofty cliffs of slate clay, with their intervening grassy valleys, skirt its eastern border. Embarking at midnight, we pursued our voyage without interruption, passing between the Stockport and Marcet Islands and the main, until six A.M. on July 30th; when, having rounded Point Kater, we entered Arctic Sound, and were again involved in a stream of ice, but after considerable delay extricated ourselves, and proceeded towards the bottom of the inlet in search of the mouth of a river, which we supposed it to receive, from the change in the colour of the water. About ten A.M. we landed, to breakfast on a small deer which St. Germain had killed; and sent men in pursuit of some others in sight, but with which they did not come up. Re-embarking, we passed the river without perceiving it, and entered a deep arm of the sound; which I have named Baillie's Cove, in honour of a relative of the lamented Mr. Hood. As it was too late to return, we encamped, and by walking across the country discovered the river, whose mouth being barred by low sandy islands and banks, was not perceived when we passed it. Course and distance from Galena Point to this encampment were S.E.3/4S.--forty-one miles. From the accounts of Black-meat{31} and Boileau at Fort Chipewyan, we considered this river to be the Anatessy; and Cape Barrow to be the projection which they supposed to be the N.E. termination of America. The outline of the coast, indeed, bears some resemblance to the chart they sketched; and the distance of this river from the Copper Mine, nearly coincides with what we estimated the Anatessy to be, from their statements. In our subsequent journey, however, across the barren grounds we ascertained that this conjecture was wrong, and that the Anatessy, which is known to come from Rum Lake, must fall into the sea to the eastward of this place. Our stock of provision being now reduced to eight days' consumption, it had become a matter of the first importance to obtain a supply; and as we had learned from Terregannoeuck that the Esquimaux frequent the rivers at this season, I determined on seeking a communication with them here, in the hope of obtaining relief for our present wants, or even shelter for the winter if the season should prevent us from returning either to the Hook's party, or Fort Enterprise; and I was the more induced to take this step at this time, as several deer had been seen to-day, and the river appeared good for fishing: which led me to hope we might support the party during our stay, if not add to our stock by our own exertions in hunting and fishing. Augustus, Junius, and Hepburn, were therefore furnished with the necessary presents, and desired to go along the bank of the river as far as they could, on the following day, in search of the natives, to obtain provision and leather, as well as information respecting the coast. They started at four A.M., and at the same time our hunters were sent off in search of deer: and the rest of the party proceeded in the canoes to the first cascade in the river, at the foot of which we encamped, and set four nets. This cascade, produced by a ridge of rocks crossing the stream, is about three or four feet in height, and about two hundred and fifty yards wide. Its position by our observations in latitude 67° 19' 23" N., longitude 109° 44' 30" W., variation 41° 43' 22", dip 88° 58' 48". I have named this river Hood, as a small tribute to the memory of our lamented friend and companion. It is from three to four hundred yards wide below the cascade, but in many places very shallow. The banks, bottom, and adjacent hills, are formed of a mixture of sand and clay. The ground was overspread with small willows and the dwarf birch, both too diminutive for fuel; and the stream brought down no drift wood. We were mortified to find the nets only procured one salmon and five white fish, and that we had to make another inroad upon our dried meat. _August 1_.--At two this morning the hunters returned with two small deer and a brown bear. Augustus and Junius arrived at the same time, having traced the river twelve miles further up, without discovering any vestige of inhabitants. We had now an opportunity of gratifying our curiosity respecting the bear so much dreaded by the Indians, and of whose strength and ferocity we had heard such terrible accounts. It proved to be a lean male of a yellowish brown colour, and not longer than a common black bear. It made a feeble attempt to defend itself, and was easily despatched. The flesh was brought to the tent, but our fastidious voyagers supposing, from its leanness, that the animal had been sickly, declined eating it; the officers, however, being less scrupulous, boiled the paws, and found them excellent. We embarked at ten A.M., and proceeding down the river, took on board another deer that had been killed by Crédit last evening. We then ran along the eastern shore of Arctic Sound, distinguished by the name of Banks' Peninsula, in honour of the late Right Honourable Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society; and rounding Point Wollaston at its eastern extremity, opened another extensive sheet of water; and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in endeavouring to ascertain, from the tops of the hills, whether it was another bay, or merely a passage enclosed by a chain of islands. Appearances rather favouring the latter opinion, we determined on proceeding through it to the southward. During the delay four more deer were killed, all young and lean. It appeared that the coast is pretty well frequented by rein-deer at this season; but it was rather singular, that hitherto we had killed none (excepting the first) but young ones of last season, which were all too lean to have been eaten by any but persons who had no choice. We paddled along the western shore with the intention of encamping, but were prevented by the want of drift wood on the beach. This induced us to make a traverse to an island, where we put up at midnight, having found a small bay, whose shores furnished us with a little fire-wood. A heavy gale came on from the westward, attended with constant rain, and one of the squalls overthrew our tents. The course and distance made this day were north-east sixteen miles and a half. I may here mention, that Arctic Sound appeared the most convenient, and perhaps the best place for ships to anchor that we had seen along the coast; at this season especially, when they might increase their stock of provision, if provided with good marksmen. Deer are numerous in its vicinity, musk-oxen also may be found up Hood's River, and the fine sandy bottom of the bays promises favourably for fishing with the seine. The hills on the western side are even in their outline and slope gradually to the water's edge. The rocks give place to an alluvial sandy soil, towards the bottom of the Sound; but on Banks' Peninsula rocky eminences again prevail, which are rugged and uneven, but intersected by valleys, at this time green; along their base is a fine sandy beach. From Point Wollaston to our encampment the coast is skirted with trap cliffs, which have often a columnar form, and are very difficult of access. These cliffs lie in ranges parallel to the shore, and the deer that we killed were feeding in small marshy grassy plats that lie in the valleys between them. Being detained by the continuance of the gale, on the 2d of August some men were sent out to hunt, and the officers visited the tops of the highest hills, to ascertain the best channels to be pursued. The wind abating, at ten P.M., we embarked and paddled round the southern end of the island, and continued our course to the south-east. Much doubt at this time prevailed as to the land on the right being the main shore, or merely a chain of islands. The latter opinion was strengthened by the broken appearance of the land, and the extensive view we had up Brown's Channel, (named after my friend Mr. Robert Brown,) the mouth of which we passed, and were in some apprehension of being led away from the main shore; and, perhaps, after passing through a group of islands, of coming to a traverse greater than we durst venture upon in canoes: on the other hand, the continuous appearance of the land on the north side of the channel, and its tending to the southward excited the fear that we were entering a deep inlet. In this state of doubt we landed often, and endeavoured, from the summits of the highest hills adjoining the shore, to ascertain the true nature of the coast, but in vain, and we continued paddling through the channel all night against a fresh breeze, which, at half-past four, increased to a violent gale, and compelled us to land. The gale diminished a short time after noon on the 3d, and permitted us to re-embark and continue our voyage until four P.M., when it returned with its former violence, and finally obliged us to encamp, having come twenty-four miles on a south-east three-quarter south course. From the want of drift wood to make a fire we had fasted all day, and were under the necessity, in the evening, of serving out pemmican, which was done with much reluctance, especially as we had some fresh deers' meat remaining. The inlet, when viewed from a high hill adjoining to our encampment, exhibited so many arms, that the course we ought to pursue was more uncertain than ever. It was absolutely necessary, however, to see the end of it before we could determine that it was not a strait. Starting at three A.M., on the 4th, we paddled the whole day through channels, from two to five or six miles wide, all tending to the southward. In the course of the day's voyage we ascertained, that the land which we had seen on our right since yesterday morning, consisted of several large islands, which have been distinguished by the names of Goulburn, Elliott, and Young; but the land on our left preserved its unbroken appearance, and when we encamped, we were still uncertain whether it was the eastern side of a deep sound or merely a large island. It differed remarkably from the main shore, being very rugged, rocky, and sterile, whereas the outline of the main on the opposite side was even, and its hills covered with a comparatively good sward of grass, exhibiting little naked rock. There was no drift timber, but the shores near the encampment were strewed with small pieces of willow, which indicated our vicinity to the mouth of a river. This fuel enabled us to make a hearty supper from a small deer killed this evening. The shallows we passed this day were covered with shoals of _capelin_, the angmaggoeük of the Esquimaux. It was known to Augustus, who informed us that it frequents the coast of Hudson's Bay, and is delicate eating. The course and distance made was, south by east-half-east, thirty-three miles. After paddling twelve miles in the morning of the 5th, we had the mortification to find the inlet terminated by a river; the size of which we could not ascertain, as the entrance was blocked by shoals. Its mouth lies in latitude 66° 30' N., longitude 107° 53' W. I have named this stream Back, as a mark of my friendship for my associate[11]. We were somewhat consoled for the loss of time in exploring this inlet, by the success of Junius in killing a musk-ox, the first we had seen on the coast; and afterwards by the acquisition of the flesh of a bear, that was shot as we were returning up the eastern side in the evening. The latter proved to be a female, in very excellent condition; and our Canadian voyagers, whose appetite for fat meat is insatiable, were delighted. [11] From subsequent conversation with the Copper Indians, we were inclined to suppose this may be the Thlueetessy{32}, described by Black-meat, mentioned in a former part of the narrative. We encamped on the shores of a sandy bay, and set the nets; and finding a quantity of dried willows on the beach, we were enabled to cook the bear's flesh, which was superior to any meat we tasted on the coast. The water fell two feet at this place during the night. Our nets produced a great variety of fish, namely, a salmon-trout, some round fish, tittameg, bleak, star-fish, several herrings, and a flat fish resembling plaice, but covered on the back with horny excrescences. On the 6th we were detained in the encampment by stormy weather until five P.M., when we embarked and paddled along the northern shore of the inlet; the weather still continuing foggy, but the wind moderate. Observing on the beach a she bear with three young ones, we landed a party to attack them: but being approached without due caution, they took the alarm and scaled a precipitous rocky hill, with a rapidity that baffled all pursuit. At eight o'clock, the fog changing into rain, we encamped. Many seals were seen this day, but as they kept in deep water we did not fire at them. On August 7th the atmosphere was charged with fog and rain all the day, but as the wind was moderate we pursued our journey; our situation, however, was very unpleasant, being quite wet and without room to stretch a limb, much less to obtain warmth by exercise. We passed a cove which I have named after my friend Mr. W. H. Tinney; and proceeded along the coast until five P.M., when we put up on a rocky point nearly opposite to our encampment on the 3d, having come twenty-three miles on a north-north-west course. We were detained on the 8th by a northerly gale, which blew violently throughout the day, attended by fog and rain. Some of the men went out to hunt, but they saw no other animal than a white wolf, which could not be approached. The fresh meat being expended, a little pemmican was served out this evening. The gale abated on the morning of the 9th; and the sea, which it had raised, having greatly subsided, we embarked at seven A.M., and after paddling three or four miles, opened Sir J. A. Gordon's Bay, into which we penetrated thirteen miles, and then discovered from the summit of a hill that it would be vain to proceed in this direction, in search of a passage out of the inlet. Our breakfast diminished our provision to two bags of pemmican, and a single meal of dried meat. The men began to apprehend absolute want of food, and we had to listen to their gloomy forebodings of the deer entirely quitting the coast in a few days. As we were embarking, however, a large bear was discovered on the opposite shore, which we had the good fortune to kill; and the sight of this fat meat relieved their fears for the present. Dr. Richardson found in the stomach of this animal the remains of a seal, several marmots (_arctomys Richardsonii_), a large quantity of the liquorice root of Mackenzie (_hedysarum_) which is common on these shores, and some berries. There was also intermixed with these substances a small quantity of grass. We got again into the main inlet, and paddled along its eastern shore until forty minutes after eight A.M. when we encamped in a small cove. We found a single log of drift wood; it was pine, and sufficiently large to enable us to cook a portion of the bear, which had a slight fishy taste, but was deemed very palatable. _August 10_.--We followed up the east border of the inlet about twenty-four miles, and at length emerged into the open sea; a body of islands to the westward concealing the channel by which we had entered. Here our progress was arrested by returning bad weather. We killed a bear and its young cub of this year, on the beach near our encampment. We heartily congratulated ourselves at having arrived at the eastern entrance of this inlet, which had cost us nine invaluable days in exploring. It contains several secure harbours, especially near the mouth of Back's River, where there is a sandy bottom in forty fathoms. On the 3d and 4th of August we observed a fall of more than two feet in the water during the night. There are various irregular and partial currents in the inlet, which may be attributed to the wind. I have distinguished it by the name of Bathurst's Inlet, after the noble Secretary of State, under whose orders I had the honour to act. It runs about seventy-six miles south-east from Cape Everitt, but in coasting its shores we went about one hundred and seventy-four geographical miles. It is remarkable that none of the Indians with whom we had spoken mentioned this inlet; and we subsequently learned, that in their journeys, they strike across from the mouth of one river to the mouth of another, without tracing the intermediate line of coast. _August 11_.--Embarking at five A.M. we rounded Point Everitt, and then encountered a strong breeze and heavy swell, which by causing the canoes to pitch very much, greatly impeded our progress. Some deer being seen grazing in a valley near the beach, we landed and sent St. Germain and Adam in pursuit of them, who soon killed three which were very small and lean. Their appearance, however, quite revived the spirits of our men, who had suspected that the deer had retired to the woods. It would appear, from our not having seen any in passing along the shores of Bathurst's Inlet, that at this season they confine themselves to the sea-coast and the islands. The magpie-berries (_arbutus alpina_) were found quite ripe at this place, and very abundant on the acclivities of the hills. We also descended the highest hill and gained a view of a distant chain of islands, extending as far as the eye could reach, and perceived a few patches of ice still lingering round to some of them; but in every other part the sea was quite open. Resuming our voyage after noon, we proceeded along the coast, which is fringed by islands; and at five P.M., entered another bay, where we were for some time involved in our late difficulties by the intricacy of the passages; but we cleared them in the afternoon, and encamped near the northern entrance of the bay, at a spot which had recently been visited by a small party of Esquimaux, as the remains of some eggs containing young, were lying beside some half-burnt fire-wood. There were also several piles of stones put up by them. I have named this bay after my friend, Captain David Buchan, of the Royal Navy. It appears to be a safe anchorage, well sheltered from the wind and sea, by islands; the bottom is sandy, the shores high, and composed of red sand-stone. Two deer were seen on its beach, but could not be approached. The distance we made to-day was eighteen miles and three quarters. Embarking at four on the morning of the 12th, we proceeded against a fresh piercing north-east wind, which raised the waves to a height that quite terrified our people, accustomed only to the navigation of rivers and lakes. We were obliged, however, to persevere in our advance, feeling as we did, that the short season for our operations was hastening away; but after rounding Cape Croker the wind became so strong that we could proceed no further. The distance we had made was only six miles on a north-east by east course. The shore on which we encamped is formed of the debris of red sand-stone, and is destitute of vegetation. The beach furnished no drift wood, and we dispensed with our usual meal rather than expend our pemmican. Several deer were seen, but the hunters could not approach them; they killed two swans. We observed the latitude 68° 1' 20", where we had halted to breakfast this morning. _August 13_.--Though the wind was not much diminished, we were urged, by the want of fire-wood, to venture upon proceeding. We paddled close to the shore for some miles, and then ran before the breeze with reefed sails, scarcely two feet in depth. Both the canoes received much water, and one of them struck twice on sunken rocks. At the end of eighteen miles we halted to breakfast in a bay, which I have named after Vice-Admiral Sir William Johnstone Hope, one of the Lords of the Admiralty. We found here a considerable quantity of small willows, such as are brought down by the rivers we had hitherto seen; and hence we judged, that a river discharges itself into the bottom of this bay. A paddle was also found, which Augustus, on examination, declared to be made after the fashion of the White Goose Esquimaux, a tribe with whom his countrymen had had some trading communication, as has been mentioned in a former part of the Narrative. This morning we passed the embouchure of a pretty large stream, and saw the vestiges of an Esquimaux encampment, not above a month old. Having obtained the latitude 68° 6' 40" N., we recommenced our voyage under sail, taking the precaution to embark all the pieces of willow we could collect, as we had found the drift-wood become more scarce as we advanced. Our course was directed to a distant point, which we supposed to be a cape, and the land stretching to the westward of it to be islands; but we soon found ourselves in an extensive bay, from which no outlet could be perceived but the one by which we had entered. On examination, however, from the top of a hill, we perceived a winding shallow passage running to the north-west, which we followed for a short time, and then encamped having come twenty-three miles north by east half east. Some articles left by the Esquimaux attracted our attention; we found a winter sledge raised upon four stones, with some snow-shovels, and a small piece of whalebone. An ice-chisel, a knife and some beads were left at this pile. The shores of this bay, which I have named after Sir George Warrender, are low and clayey, and the country for many miles is level, and much intersected with water; but we had not leisure to ascertain whether they were branches of the bay or fresh-water lakes. Some white geese were seen this evening, and some young gray ones were caught on the beach being unable to fly. We fired at two rein-deer, but without success. On August 14th we paddled the whole day along the northern shores of the sound, returning towards its mouth. The land which we were now tracing is generally so flat, that it could not be descried from the canoes at the distance of four miles, and is invisible from the opposite side of the sound, otherwise a short traverse might have saved us some days. The few eminences that are on this side were mistaken for islands when seen from the opposite shore; they are for the most part cliffs of basalt, and are not above one hundred feet high; the subjacent strata are of white sand-stone. The rocks are mostly confined to the capes and shores, the soil inland being flat, clayey, and barren. Most of the headlands shewed traces of visits from the Esquimaux, but none of them recent. Many ducks were seen, belonging to a species termed by the voyagers from their cry, "caccawees." We also saw some gray geese and swans. The only seal we procured during our voyage, was killed this day; it happened to be blind, and our men imagining it to be in bad health would not taste the flesh; we, however, were less nice. We encamped at the end of twenty-four miles' march, on the north-west side of a bay, to which I have given the name of my friend Capt. Parry, now employed in the interesting research for a North-West Passage. Drift wood had become very scarce, and we found none near the encampment; a fire, however, was not required, as we served out pemmican for supper, and the evening was unusually warm. On the following morning the breeze was fresh and the waves rather high. In paddling along the west side of Parry's Bay, we saw several deer, but owing to the openness of the country, the hunters could not approach them. They killed, however, two swans that were moulting, several cranes and many gray geese. We procured also some caccawees, which were then moulting, and assembled in immense flocks. In the evening, having rounded Point Beechy, and passed Hurd's Islands, we were exposed to much inconvenience and danger from a heavy rolling sea; the canoes receiving many severe blows, and shipping a good deal of water, which induced us to encamp at five P.M. opposite to Cape Croker, which we had passed on the morning of the 12th; the channel which lay between our situation and it, being about seven miles wide. We had now reached the northern point of entrance into this sound, which I have named in honour of Lord Viscount Melville, the first Lord of the Admiralty. It is thirty miles wide from east to west, and twenty from north to south; and in coasting it we had sailed eighty-seven and a quarter geographical miles. Shortly after the tents were pitched, Mr. Back reported from the steersmen that both canoes had sustained material injury during this day's voyage. I found on examination that fifteen timbers of the first canoe were broken, some of them in two places, and that the second canoe was so loose in the frame that its timbers could not be bound in the usual secure manner, and consequently there was danger of its bark separating from the gunwales if exposed to a heavy sea. Distressing as were these circumstances, they gave me less pain than the discovery that our people, who had hitherto displayed in following us through dangers and difficulties no less novel than appalling to them, a courage beyond our expectation, now felt serious apprehensions for their safety, which so possessed their minds that they were not restrained even by the presence of their officers from expressing them. Their fears, we imagined, had been principally excited by the interpreters, St. Germain and Adam, who from the outset had foreboded every calamity; and we now strongly suspected that their recent want of success in hunting had proceeded from an intentional relaxation in their efforts to kill deer in order that{33} the want of provision might compel us to put a period to our voyage. I must now mention that many concurrent circumstances had caused me, during the few last days, to meditate on the approach of this painful necessity. The strong breezes we had encountered for some days, led me to fear that the season was breaking up, and severe weather would soon ensue, which we could not sustain in a country destitute of fuel. Our stock of provision was now reduced to a quantity of pemmican only sufficient for three days' consumption, and the prospect of increasing it was not encouraging, for though rein-deer were seen, they could not be easily approached on the level shores we were now coasting, besides it was to be apprehended they would soon migrate to the south. It was evident that the time spent in exploring the Arctic and Melville Sounds, and Bathurst's Inlet, had precluded the hope of reaching Repulse Bay, which at the outset of the voyage we had fondly cherished; and it was equally obvious that as our distance from any of the trading establishments would increase as we proceeded, the hazardous traverse across the barren grounds, which we should have to make, if compelled to abandon the canoes upon any part of the coast, would become greater. I this evening communicated to the officers my sentiments on these points, as well as respecting our return, and was happy to find that their opinions coincided with my own. We were all convinced of the necessity of putting a speedy termination to our advance, as our hope of meeting the Esquimaux and procuring provision from them, could now scarcely be retained; but yet we were desirous of proceeding, until the land should be seen trending again to the eastward; that we might be satisfied of its separation from what we had conceived, in passing from Cape Barrow to Bathurst's Inlet, to be a great chain of islands. As it was needful, however, at all events, to set a limit to our voyage, I announced my determination of returning after four days' examination, unless, indeed, we should previously meet the Esquimaux, and be enabled to make some arrangement for passing the winter with them. This communication was joyfully received by the men, and we hoped that the industry of our hunters being once more excited, we should be able to add to our stock of provision. It may here be remarked that we observed the first regular return of the tides in Warrender's and Parry's Bays; but their set could not be ascertained. The rise of water did not amount to more than two feet. Course to-day south one quarter east--nine miles and a quarter. _August 16_.--Some rain fell in the night, but the morning was unusually fine. We set forward at five A.M., and the men paddled cheerfully along the coast for ten miles, when a dense fog caused us to land on Slate-clay Point. Here we found more traces of the Esquimaux, and the skull of a man placed between two rocks. The fog dispersed at noon, and we discerned a group of islands to the northward, which I have named after Vice Admiral Sir George Cockburn, one of the Lords of the Admiralty. Re-embarking, we rounded the point and entered Walker's Bay, (so called after my friend Admiral Walker,) where, as in other instances, the low beach which lay between several high trap cliffs, could not be distinguished until we had coasted down the east side nearly to the bottom of the bay. When the continuity of the land was perceived, we crossed to the western shore, and on landing, discovered a channel leading through a group of islands. Having passed through this channel, we ran under sail by the Porden Islands, across Riley's Bay, and rounding a cape which now bears the name of my lamented friend Captain Flinders, had the pleasure to find the coast trending north-north-east, with the sea in the offing unusually clear of islands; a circumstance which afforded matter of wonder to our Canadians, who had not previously had an uninterrupted view of the ocean. Our course was continued along the coast until eight P.M. when a change in the wind and a threatening thunder squall induced us to encamp; but the water was so shallow, that we found some difficulty in approaching the shore. Large pieces of drift-wood gave us assurance that we had finally escaped from the bays. Our tents were scarcely pitched before we were assailed by a heavy squall and rain, which was succeeded by a violent gale from west-north-west, which thrice overset the tents during the night. The wind blew with equal violence on the following day, and the sea rolled furiously upon the beach. The Canadians had now an opportunity of witnessing the effect of a storm upon the sea; and the sight increased their desire of quitting it. Our hunters were sent out, and saw many deer, but the flatness of the country defeated their attempts to approach them; they brought, however, a few unfledged geese. As there was no appearance of increasing our stock of provision, the allowance was limited to a handful of pemmican, and a small portion of portable soup to each man per day. The thermometer this afternoon stood to 41°. The following observations were obtained: latitude 68° 18' 50" N., longitude 110° 5' 15" W.; but 109° 25' 00" W. was used in the construction of the chart, as the chronometers were found, on our return to Hood's River, to have altered their rates; variation 44° 15' 46" E., and dip of the needle 89° 31' 12". On August 18th the stormy weather and sea continuing, there was no prospect of our being able to embark. Dr. Richardson, Mr. Back, and I, therefore, set out on foot to discover whether the land within a day's march, inclined more to the east. We went from ten to twelve miles along the coast, which continued flat, and kept the same direction as the encampment. The most distant land we saw had the same bearing north-north-east, and appeared like two islands, which we estimated to be six or seven miles off; the shore on their side seemingly tended more to the east, so that is it probable Point Turnagain, for so this spot was named, forms the pitch of a low flat cape. Augustus killed a deer in the afternoon, but the men were not able to find it. The hunters found the burrows of a number of white foxes, and Hepburn killed one of these animals, which proved excellent eating, equal to the young geese, with which it was boiled, and far superior to the lean deer we had upon the coast. Large flocks of geese passed over the tents, flying to the southward. The lowest temperature to-day was 38°. Though it will appear from the chart, that the position of Point Turnagain is only six degrees and a half to the east of the mouth of the Copper-Mine River; we sailed, in tracing the deeply-indented coast, five hundred and fifty-five geographic miles, which is little less than the direct distance between the Copper-Mine River and Repulse Bay; supposing the latter to be in the longitude assigned to it by Middleton. When the many perplexing incidents which occurred during the survey of the coast are considered, in connexion with the shortness of the period during which operations of the kind can be carried on, and the distance we had to travel before we could gain a place of shelter for the winter, I trust it will be judged that we prosecuted the enterprise as far as was prudent, and abandoned it only under a well-founded conviction that a further advance would endanger the lives of the whole party, and prevent the knowledge of what had been done from reaching England. The active assistance I received from the officers, in contending with the fears of the men, demands my warmest gratitude. Our researches, as far as they have gone, favour the opinion of those who contend for the practicability of a North-West Passage. The general line of coast probably runs east and west, nearly in the latitude assigned to Mackenzie's River, the Sound into which Kotzebue entered, and Repulse Bay; and I think there is little doubt of a continued sea, in or about that line of direction. The existence of whales too, on this part of the coast, evidenced by the whalebone we found in Esquimaux Cove, may be considered as an argument for an open sea; and a connexion with Hudson's Bay is rendered more probable from the same kind of fish abounding on the coasts we visited, and on those to the north of Churchill River. I allude more particularly to the Capelin or Salmo Arcticus, which we found in large shoals in Bathurst's Inlet, and which not only abounds, as Augustus told us, in the bays in his country, but swarms in the Greenland firths[12]. The portion of the sea over which we passed is navigable for vessels of any size; the ice we met, particularly after quitting Detention Harbour, would not have arrested a strong boat. The chain of islands affords shelter from all heavy seas, and there are good harbours at convenient distances. I entertain, indeed, sanguine hopes that the skill and exertions of my friend Captain Parry will soon render this question no longer problematical. His task is doubtless an arduous one, and, if ultimately successful, may occupy two and perhaps three seasons; but confiding as I do, from personal knowledge, in his perseverance and talent for surmounting difficulties, the strength of his ships, and the abundance of provisions with which they are stored, I have very little apprehension of his safety. As I understand his object was to keep the coast of America close on board, he will find in the spring of the year, before the breaking up of the ice can permit him to pursue his voyage, herds of deer flocking in abundance to all parts of the coast, which may be procured without difficulty; and, even later in the season, additions to his stock of provision may be obtained on many parts of the coast, should circumstances give him leisure to send out hunting parties. With the trawl or seine nets also, he may almost every where get abundance of fish even without retarding his progress. Under these circumstances I do not conceive that he runs any hazard of wanting provisions, should his voyage be prolonged even beyond the latest period of time which is calculated upon. Drift timber may be gathered at many places in considerable quantities, and there is a fair prospect of his opening a communication with the Esquimaux, who come down to the coast to kill seals in the spring, previous to the ice breaking up; and from whom, if he succeeds in conciliating their good-will, he may obtain provision, and much useful assistance. [12] Arctic Zoology, vol. ii, p. 394. If he makes for Copper-Mine River, as he probably will do, he will not find it in the longitude as laid down on the charts; but he will probably find, what would be more interesting to him, a post, which we erected on the 26th August at the mouth of Hood's River, which is nearly, as will appear hereafter, in that longitude, with a flag upon it, and a letter at the foot of it, which may convey to him some useful information. It is possible, however, that he may keep outside of the range of islands which skirt this part of the coast. CHAPTER XII. Journey across the barren grounds--Difficulty and delay in crossing Copper-Mine River--Melancholy and fatal Results thereof--Extreme Misery of the whole Party--Murder of Mr. Hood--Death of several of the Canadians--Desolate State of Fort Enterprise--Distress suffered at that Place--Dr. Richardson's Narrative--Mr. Back's Narrative--Conclusion. 1821. August 17. My original intention, whenever the season should compel us to relinquish the survey, had been to return by the Copper-Mine River, and in pursuance of my arrangement with the Hook to travel to Slave Lake through the line of woods extending thither by the Great Bear and Marten Lakes, but our scanty stock of provision and the length of the voyage rendered it necessary to make for a nearer place. We had already found that the country, between Cape Barrow and the Copper-Mine River, would not supply our wants, and this it seemed probable would now be still more the case; besides, at this advanced season, we expected the frequent recurrence of gales, which would cause great detention, if not danger in proceeding along that very rocky part of the coast. I determined, therefore, to make at once for Arctic Sound, where we had found the animals more numerous than at any other place; and entering Hood's River, to advance up that stream as far as it was navigable, and then to construct small canoes out of the materials of the larger ones, which could be carried in crossing the barren grounds to Fort Enterprise. _August 19_.--We were almost beaten out of our comfortless abodes by rain during the night, and this morning the gale continued without diminution. The thermometer fell to 33°. Two men were sent with Junius to search for the deer which Augustus had killed. Junius returned in the evening, bringing part of the meat, but owing to the thickness of the weather, his companions parted from him and did not make their appearance. Divine service was read. On the 20th we were presented with the most chilling prospect, the small pools of water being frozen over, the ground covered with snow, and the thermometer at the freezing point at mid-day. Flights of geese were passing to the southward. The wind, however, was more moderate, having changed to the eastward. Considerable anxiety prevailing respecting Belanger and Michel, the two men who strayed from Junius yesterday, the rest were sent out to look for them. The search was successful, and they all returned in the evening. The stragglers were much fatigued, and had suffered severely from the cold, one of them having his thighs frozen, and what under our present circumstances was most grievous, they had thrown away all the meat. The wind during the night returned to the north-west quarter, blew more violently than ever, and raised a very turbulent sea. The next day did not improve our condition, the snow remained on the ground, and the small pools were frozen. Our hunters were sent out, but they returned after a fatiguing day's march without having seen any animals. We made a scanty meal off a handful of pemmican, after which only half a bag remained. The wind abated after midnight, and the surf diminished rapidly, which caused us to be on the alert at a very early hour on the 22d, but we had to wait until six A.M. for the return of Augustus, who had continued out all night on an unsuccessful pursuit of deer. It appears that he had walked a few miles farther along the coast, than the party had done on the 18th, and from a sketch he drew on the sand, we were confirmed in our former opinion that the shore inclined more to the eastward beyond Point Turnagain. He also drew a river of considerable size, that discharges its waters into Walker's Bay; on the banks of which stream he saw a piece of wood, such as the Esquimaux use in producing fire, and other marks so fresh that he supposed they had recently visited the spot. We therefore left several iron materials for them; and embarking without delay, prepared to retrace our steps[13]. Our men, cheered by the prospect of returning, shewed the utmost alacrity; and, paddling with unusual vigour, carried us across Riley's and Walker's Bays, a distance of twenty miles, before noon, when we landed on Slate-clay{34} Point, as the wind had freshened too much to permit us to continue the voyage. The whole party went to hunt, but returned without success in the evening, drenched with the heavy rain which commenced soon after they had set out. Several deer were seen, but could not be approached in this naked country; and as our stock of pemmican did not admit of serving out two meals, we went dinnerless to bed. [13] It is a curious coincidence that our Expedition left Point Turnagain on August 22d,--on the same day that Captain Parry sailed out of Repulse Bay. The parties were then distant from each other 539 miles. Soon after our departure this day, a sealed tin-case, sufficiently buoyant to float, was thrown overboard, containing a short account of our proceedings, and the position of the most conspicuous points. The wind blew off the land, the water was smooth, and as the sea is in this part more free from islands than in any other, there was every probability of its being driven off the shore into the current; which as I have before mentioned, we suppose, from the circumstance of Mackenzie's River being the only known stream that brings down the wood we have found along the shores, to set to the eastward. _August 23_.--A severe frost caused us to pass a comfortless night. At two P.M. we set sail, and the men voluntarily launched out to make a traverse of fifteen miles across Melville Sound, before a strong wind and heavy sea. The privation of food, under which our voyagers were then labouring, absorbed every other terror; otherwise the most powerful persuasion could not have induced them to attempt such a traverse. It was with the utmost difficulty that the canoes were kept from turning their broadsides to the waves, though we sometimes steered with all the paddles. One of them narrowly escaped being overset by this accident, which occurred in a mid-channel, where the waves were so high that the masthead of our canoe was often hid from the other, though it was sailing within hail. The traverse, however, was made; we were then near a high rocky lee shore, on which a heavy surf was beating. The wind being on the beam, the canoes drifted fast to leeward; and, on rounding a point, the recoil of the sea from the rocks was so great that they were with difficulty kept from foundering. We looked in vain for a sheltered bay to land in; but, at length, being unable to weather another point, we were obliged to put ashore on the open beach, which fortunately was sandy at this spot. The debarkation was effected fortunately, without further injury than splitting the head of the second canoe, which was easily repaired. Our encampment being near the spot where we killed the deer on the 11th, almost the whole party went out to hunt, but returned in the evening without having seen any game. The berries, however, were ripe and plentiful, and, with the addition of some country tea, furnished a supper. There were some showers in the afternoon, and the weather was cold, the thermometer being 42°, but the evening and night were calm and fine. It may be remarked that the musquitoes disappeared when the late gales commenced. _August 24_.--Embarking at three A.M., we stretched across the eastern entrance of Bathurst's Inlet, and arrived at an island, which I have named after the Right Hon. Colonel Barry, of Newton Barry. Some deer being seen on the beach, the hunters went in pursuit of them, and succeeded in killing three females, which enabled us to save our last remaining meal of pemmican. They saw also some fresh tracks of musk-oxen on the banks of a small stream which flowed into a lake in the centre of the island. These animals must have crossed a channel, at least, three miles wide, to reach the nearest of these islands. Some specimens of variegated pebbles and jasper were found here imbedded in the amygdaloidal rock. Re-embarking at two P.M., and continuing through what was supposed to be a channel between two islands, we found our passage barred by a gravelly isthmus of only ten yards in width; the canoes and cargoes were carried across it, and we passed into Bathurst's Inlet through another similar channel, bounded on both sides by steep rocky hills. The wind then changing from S.E. to N.W. brought heavy rain, and we encamped at seven P.M., having advanced eighteen miles. _August 25_.--Starting this morning with a fresh breeze in our favour, we soon reached that part of Barry's Island where the canoes were detained on the 2d and 3d of this month, and contrary to what we then experienced, the deer were now plentiful. The hunters killed two, and relieved us from all apprehension of immediate want of food. From their assembling at this time in such numbers on the islands nearest to the coast, we conjectured that they were about to retire to the main shore. Those we saw were generally females with their young, and all of them very lean. The wind continued in the same direction until we had rounded Point Wollaston, and then changed to a quarter, which enabled us to steer for Hood's River, which we ascended as high as the first rapid and encamped. Here terminated our voyage on the Arctic Sea, during which we had gone over six hundred and fifty geographical miles. Our Canadian voyagers could not restrain their joy at having turned their backs on the sea, and passed the evening in talking over their past adventures with much humour and no little exaggeration. The consideration that the most painful, and certainly the most hazardous part of the journey was yet to come, did not depress their spirits at all. It is due to their character to mention that they displayed much courage in encountering the dangers of the sea, magnified to them by their novelty. The shores between Cape Barrow and Cape Flinders, including the extensive branches of Arctic and Melville Sounds, and Bathurst's Inlet, may be comprehended in one great gulf, which I have distinguished by the appellation of George IV.'s Coronation Gulf, in honour of His Most Gracious Majesty, the latter name being added to mark the time of its discovery. The Archipelago of islands which fringe the coast from Copper-Mine River to Point Turnagain, I have named in honour of His Royal Highness the Duke of York. It may be deserving of notice that the extremes in temperature of the sea water during our voyage were 53° and 35°, but its general temperature was between 43° and 48°. Throughout our return from Point Turnagain we observed that the sea had risen several feet above marks left at our former encampments. This may, perhaps, be attributed to the north-west gales. _August 26_.--Previous to our departure this morning an assortment of iron materials, beads, looking-glasses, and other articles were put up in a conspicuous situation for the Esquimaux, and the English Union was planted on the loftiest sand-hill, where it might be seen by any ships passing in the offing. Here also, was deposited in a tin box, a letter containing an outline of our proceedings, the latitude and longitude of the principal places, and the course we intended to pursue towards Slave Lake. Embarking at eight A.M. we proceeded up the river which is full of sandy shoals, but sufficiently deep for canoes in the channels. It is from one hundred to two hundred yards wide, and is bounded by high and steep banks of clay. We encamped at a cascade of eighteen or twenty feet high, which is produced by a ridge of rock crossing the river, and the nets were set. A mile below this cascade Hood's River is joined by a stream half its own size, which I have called James' Branch. Bear and deer tracks had been numerous on the banks of the river when we were here before, but not a single recent one was to be seen at this time. Crédit, however, killed a small deer at some distance inland, which, with the addition of berries, furnished a delightful repast this evening. The weather was remarkably fine, and the temperature so mild, that the musquitoes again made their appearance, but not in any great numbers. Our distance made to-day was not more than six miles. The next morning the net furnished us with ten white fish and trout. Having made a further deposit of iron work for the Esquimaux we pursued our voyage up the river, but the shoals and rapids in this part were so frequent, that we walked along the banks the whole day, and the crews laboured hard in carrying the canoes thus lightened over the shoals or dragging them up the rapids, yet our journey in a direct line was only about seven miles. In the evening we encamped at the lower end of a narrow chasm through which the river flows for upwards of a mile. The walls of this chasm are upwards of two hundred feet high, quite perpendicular, and in some places only a few yards apart. The river precipitates itself into it over a rock, forming two magnificent and picturesque falls close to each other. The upper fall is about sixty feet high, and the lower one at least one hundred; but perhaps considerably more, for the narrowness of the chasm into which it fell prevented us from seeing its bottom, and we could merely discern the top of the spray far beneath our feet. The lower fall is divided into two, by an insulated column of rock which rises about forty feet above it. The whole descent of the river at this place probably exceeds two hundred and fifty feet. The rock is very fine felspathose sand-stone{35}. It has a smooth surface and a light red colour. I have named these magnificent cascades "Wilberforce Falls," as a tribute of my respect for that distinguished philanthropist{36} and christian. Messrs. Back and Hood took beautiful sketches of this majestic scene. The river being surveyed from the summit of a hill, above these falls, appeared so rapid and shallow, that it seemed useless to attempt proceeding any farther in the large canoes. I therefore determined on constructing out of their materials two smaller ones of sufficient size to contain three persons, for the purpose of crossing any river that might obstruct our progress. This operation was accordingly commenced, and by the 31st both the canoes being finished, we prepared for our departure on the following day. The leather which had been preserved for making shoes was equally divided among the men, two pairs of flannel socks were given to each person, and such articles of warm clothing as remained, were issued to those who most required them. They were also furnished with one of the officers' tents. This being done, I communicated to the men my intention of proceeding in as direct a course as possible to the part of Point Lake, opposite our spring encampment, which was only distant one hundred and forty-nine miles in a straight line. They received the communication cheerfully, considered the journey to be short, and left me in high spirits, to arrange their own packages. The stores, books, _&c._, which were not absolutely necessary to be carried, were then put up in boxes to be left _en cache_ here, in order that the men's burdens might be as light as possible. The next morning was warm, and very fine. Every one was on the alert at an early hour, being anxious to commence the journey. Our luggage consisted of ammunition, nets, hatchets, ice chisels, astronomical instruments, clothing, blankets, three kettles, and the two canoes, which were each carried by one man. The officers carried such a portion of their own things as their strength would permit; the weight carried by each man was about ninety pounds, and with this we advanced at the rate of about a mile an hour, including rests. In the evening the hunters killed a lean cow, out of a large drove of musk-oxen; but the men were too much laden to carry more than a small portion of its flesh. The alluvial soil, which towards the mouth of the river spreads into plains, covered with grass and willows, was now giving place to a more barren and hilly country; so that we could but just collect sufficient brushwood{37} to cook our suppers. The part of the river we skirted this day was shallow, and flowed over a bed of sand; its width about one hundred and twenty yards. About midnight our tent was blown down by a squall, and we were completely drenched with rain before it could be re-pitched. On the morning of the 1st of September a fall of snow took place; the canoes became a cause of delay, from the difficulty of carrying them in a high wind, and they sustained much damage through the falls of those who had charge of them. The face of the country was broken by hills of moderate elevation, but the ground was plentifully strewed with small stones, which, to men bearing heavy burdens, and whose feet were protected only by soft moose skin shoes, occasioned great pain. At the end of eleven miles we encamped, and sent for a musk-ox and a deer, which St. Germain and Augustus had killed. The day was extremely cold, the thermometer varying between 34° and 36°. In the afternoon a heavy fall of snow took place, on the wind changing from north-west to south-west. We found no wood at the encampment, but made a fire of moss to cook the supper, and crept under our blankets for warmth. At sunrise the thermometer was at 31°, and the wind fresh from north-west; but the weather became mild in the course of the forenoon, and the snow disappeared from the gravel. The afternoon was remarkably fine, and the thermometer rose to 50°. One of the hunters killed a musk-ox. The hills in this part are lower, and more round-backed than those we passed yesterday, exhibiting but little naked rock; they were covered with lichens. Having ascertained from the summit of the highest hill near the tents, that the river continued to preserve a west course; and fearing that by pursuing it further we might lose much time, and unnecessarily walk over a great deal of ground, I determined on quitting its banks the next day, and making as directly as we could for Point Lake. We accordingly followed the river on the 3d, only to the place where the musk-ox had been killed last evening, and after the meat was procured, crossed the river in our two canoes lashed together. We now emerged from the valley of the river, and entered a level, but very barren, country, varied only by small lakes and marshes, the ground being covered with small stones. Many old tracks of rein-deer were seen in the clayey soil, and some more recent traces of the musk-ox. We encamped on the borders of Wright's River, which flows to the eastward; the direct distance walked to-day being ten miles and three-quarters. The next morning was very fine, and, as the day advanced, the weather became quite warm. We set out at six A.M., and, having forded the river, walked over a perfectly level country, interspersed with small lakes, which communicated with each other, by streams running in various directions. No berry-bearing plants were found in this part, the surface of the earth being thinly covered in the moister places with a few grasses, and on the drier spots with lichens. Having walked twelve miles and a half, we encamped at seven P.M., and distributed our last piece of pemmican, and a little arrow-root for supper, which afforded but a scanty meal. This evening was warm, but dark clouds overspread the sky. Our men now began to find their burdens very oppressive, and were much fatigued by this day's march, but did not complain. One of them was lame from an inflammation in the knee. Heavy rain commenced at midnight, and continued without intermission until five in the morning, when it was succeeded by snow on the wind changing to north-west, which soon increased to a violent gale. As we had nothing to eat, and were destitute of the means of making a fire, we remained in our beds all the day; but the covering of our blankets was insufficient to prevent us from feeling the severity of the frost, and suffering inconvenience from the drifting of the snow into our tents. There was no abatement of the storm next day; our tents were completely frozen, and the snow had drifted around them to a depth of three feet, and even in the inside there was a covering of several inches on our blankets. Our suffering from cold, in a comfortless canvass tent in such weather, with the temperature at 20°, and without fire, will easily be imagined; it was, however, less than that which we felt from hunger. The morning of the 7th cleared up a little, but the wind was still strong, and the weather extremely cold. From the unusual continuance of the storm, we feared the winter had set in with all its rigour, and that by longer delay we should only be exposed to an accumulation of difficulties; we therefore prepared for our journey, although we were in a very unfit condition for starting, being weak from fasting, and our garments stiffened by the frost. We had no means of making a fire to thaw them, the moss, at all times difficult to kindle, being now covered with ice and snow. A considerable time was consumed in packing up the frozen tents and bed clothes, the wind blowing so strong that no one could keep his hands long out of his mittens. Just as we were about to commence our march, I was seized with a fainting fit, in consequence of exhaustion and sudden exposure to the wind; but after eating a morsel of portable soup, I recovered so far as to be able to move on. I was unwilling at first to take this morsel of soup, which was diminishing the small and only remaining meal for the party; but several of the men urged me to it, with much kindness. The ground was covered a foot deep with snow, the margins of the lakes were incrusted with ice, and the swamps over which we had to pass were entirely frozen; but the ice not being sufficiently strong to bear us, we frequently plunged knee-deep in water. Those who carried the canoes were repeatedly blown down by the violence of the wind, and they often fell, from making an insecure step on a slippery stone; on one of these occasions, the largest canoe was so much broken as to be rendered utterly unserviceable. This we felt was a serious disaster, as the remaining canoe having through mistake been made too small, it was doubtful whether it would be sufficient to carry us across a river. Indeed we had found it necessary in crossing Hood's River, to lash the two canoes together. As there was some suspicion that Benoit, who carried the canoe, had broken it intentionally, he having on a former occasion been overheard by some of the men to say, that he would do so when he got it in charge, we closely examined him on the point; he roundly denied having used the expressions attributed to him, and insisted that it was broken by his falling accidentally; and as he brought men to attest the latter fact, who saw him tumble, we did not press the matter further. I may here remark that our people had murmured a good deal at having to carry two canoes, though they were informed of the necessity of taking both, in case it should be deemed advisable to divide the party; which it had been thought probable we should be obliged to do if animals proved scarce, in order to give the whole the better chance of procuring subsistence, and also for the purpose of sending forward some of the best walkers to search for Indians, and to get them to meet us with supplies of provision. The power of doing this was now at an end. As the accident could not be remedied, we turned it to the best account, by making a fire of the bark and timbers of the broken vessel, and cooked the remainder of our portable soup and arrow-root. This was a scanty meal after three days' fasting, but it served to allay the pangs of hunger, and enabled us to proceed at a quicker pace than before. The depth of the snow caused us to march in Indian file, that is in each other's steps; the voyagers taking it in turn to lead the party. A distant object was pointed out to this man in the direction we wished to take, and Mr. Hood followed immediately behind him, to renew the bearings, and keep him from deviating more than could be helped from the mark. It may be here observed, that we proceeded in this manner throughout our route across the barren grounds. In the afternoon we got into a more hilly country, where the ground was strewed with large stones. The surface of these was covered with lichens of the genus _gyrophora_, which the Canadians term _tripe de roche_. A considerable quantity was gathered, and with half a partridge each, (which we shot in the course of the day,) furnished a slender supper, which we cooked with a few willows, dug up from beneath the snow. We passed a comfortless night in our damp clothes, but took the precaution of sleeping upon our socks and shoes to prevent them from freezing. This plan was afterwards adopted throughout the journey. At half past five in the morning we proceeded; and after walking about two miles, came to Cracroft's River, flowing to the westward, with a very rapid current over a rocky channel. We had much difficulty in crossing this, the canoe being useless, not only from the bottom of the channel being obstructed by large stones, but also from its requiring gumming, an operation which, owing to the want of wood and the frost, we were unable to perform. However, after following the course of the river some distance we effected a passage by means of a range of large rocks that crossed a rapid. As the current was strong, and many of the rocks were covered with water to the depth of two or three feet, the men were exposed to much danger in carrying their heavy burdens across, and several of them actually slipped into the stream, but were immediately rescued by the others. Junius went farther up the river in search of a better crossing-place and did not rejoin us this day. As several of the party were drenched from head to foot, and we were all wet to the middle, our clothes became stiff with the frost, and we walked with much pain for the remainder of the day. The march was continued to a late hour from our anxiety to rejoin the hunters who had gone before, but we were obliged to encamp at the end of ten miles and a quarter, without seeing them. Our only meal to-day consisted of a partridge each (which the hunters shot,) mixed with _tripe de roche_. This repast, although scanty for men with appetites such as our daily fatigue created, proved a cheerful one, and was received with thankfulness. Most of the men had to sleep in the open air, in consequence of the absence of Crédit, who carried their tent; but we fortunately found an unusual quantity of roots to make a fire, which prevented their suffering much from the cold, though the thermometer was at 17°. We started at six on the 9th, and at the end of two miles regained our hunters, who were halting on the borders of a lake amidst a clump of stunted willows. This lake stretched to the westward as far as we could see, and its waters were discharged by a rapid stream one hundred and fifty yards wide. Being entirely ignorant where we might be led by pursuing the course of the lake, and dreading the idea of going a mile unnecessarily out of the way, we determined on crossing the river if possible; and the canoe was gummed for the purpose, the willows furnishing us with fire. But we had to await the return of Junius before we could make the traverse. In the mean time we gathered a little _tripe de roche_, and breakfasted upon it and a few partridges that were killed in the morning. St. Germain and Adam were sent upon some recent tracks of deer. Junius arrived in the afternoon and informed us that he had seen a large herd of musk-oxen on the banks of Cracroft's River, and had wounded one of them, but it escaped. He brought about four pounds of meat, the remains of a deer that had been devoured by the wolves. The poor fellow was much fatigued, having walked throughout the night, but as the weather was particularly favourable for our crossing the river, we could not allow him to rest. After he had taken some refreshment we proceeded to the river. The canoe being put into the water was found extremely ticklish, but it was managed with much dexterity by St. Germain, Adam, and Peltier, who ferried over one passenger at a time, causing him to lie flat in its bottom, by no means a pleasant position, owing to its leakiness, but there was no alternative. The transport of the whole party was effected by five o'clock and we walked about two miles further and encamped, having come five miles and three quarters on a south-west course. Two young alpine hares were shot by St. Germain, which, with the small piece of meat brought in by Junius, furnished the supper of the whole party. There was no _tripe de roche_ here. The country had now become decidedly hilly, and was covered with snow. The lake preserved its western direction, as far as I could see from the summit of the highest mountain near the encampment. We subsequently learned from the Copper Indians, that the part at which we had crossed the river was the _Congecatha-wha-chaga_ of Hearne, of which I had little idea at the time, not only from the difference of latitude, but also from its being so much further east of the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, than his track is laid down; he only making one degree and three quarters' difference of longitude, and we, upwards of four. Had I been aware of the fact, several days' harassing march, and a disastrous accident would have been prevented by keeping on the western side of the lake, instead of crossing the river. We were informed also, that this river is the Anatessy or River of Strangers, and is supposed to fall into Bathurst's Inlet; but although the Indians have visited its mouth, their description was not sufficient to identify it with any of the rivers whose mouths we had seen. It probably discharges itself in that part of the coast which was hid from our view by Goulbourn's or Elliott's Islands. _September 10_.--We had a cold north wind, and the atmosphere was foggy. The thermometer 18° at five A.M. In the course of our march this morning, we passed many small lakes; and the ground becoming higher and more hilly as we receded from the river, was covered to a much greater depth with snow. This rendered walking not only extremely laborious, but also hazardous in the highest degree; for the sides of the hills, as is usual throughout the barren grounds, abounding in accumulations of large angular stones, it often happened that the men fell into the interstices with their loads on their backs, being deceived by the smooth appearance of the drifted snow. If any one had broken a limb here, his fate would have been melancholy indeed; we could neither have remained with him, nor carried him on. We halted at ten to gather _tripe de roche_, but it was so frozen, that we were quite benumbed with cold before a sufficiency could be collected even for a scanty meal. On proceeding our men were somewhat cheered, by observing on the sandy summit of a hill, from whence the snow had been blown, the summer track of a man; and afterwards by seeing several deer tracks on the snow. About noon the weather cleared up a little, and to our great joy, we saw a herd of musk-oxen grazing in a valley below us. The party instantly halted, and the best hunters were sent out; they approached the animals with the utmost caution, no less than two hours being consumed before they got within gun-shot. In the mean time we beheld their proceedings with extreme anxiety, and many secret prayers were, doubtless, offered up for their success. At length they opened their fire, and we had the satisfaction of seeing one of the largest cows fall; another was wounded, but escaped. This success infused spirit into our starving party. To skin and cut up the animal was the work of a few minutes. The contents of its stomach were devoured upon the spot, and the raw intestines, which were next attacked, were pronounced by the most delicate amongst us to be excellent. A few willows, whose tops were seen peeping through the snow in the bottom of the valley, were quickly grubbed, the tents pitched, and supper cooked, and devoured with avidity. This was the sixth day since we had had a good meal; the _tripe de roche_, even where we got enough, only serving to allay the pangs of hunger for a short time. After supper, two of the hunters went in pursuit of the herd, but could not get near them. I do not think that we witnessed through the course of our journey a more striking proof of the wise dispensation of the Almighty, and of the weakness of our own judgment than on this day. We had considered the dense fog which prevailed throughout the morning, as almost the greatest inconvenience that could have befallen us, since it rendered the air extremely cold, and prevented us from distinguishing any distant object towards which our course could be directed. Yet this very darkness enabled the party to get to the top of the hill which bounded the valley wherein the musk-oxen were grazing, without being perceived. Had the herd discovered us and taken alarm, our hunters in their present state of debility would in all probability have failed in approaching them. We were detained all the next day by a strong southerly wind, and were much incommoded in the tents by the drift snow. The temperature was 20°. The average for the last ten days about 24°. We restricted ourselves to one meal this day, as we were at rest, and there was only meat remaining sufficient for the morrow. The gale had not diminished on the 12th, and, as we were fearful of its continuance for some time, we determined on going forward; our only doubt regarded the preservation of the canoe, but the men promised to pay particular attention to it, and the most careful persons were appointed to take it in charge. The snow was two feet deep and the ground much broken, which rendered the march extremely painful. The whole party complained more of faintness and weakness than they had ever done before; their strength seemed to have been impaired by the recent supply of animal food. In the afternoon the wind abated, and the snow ceased; cheered with the change, we proceeded forward at a quicker pace, and encamped at six P.M., having come eleven miles. Our supper consumed the last of our meat. We set out on the 13th, in thick hazy weather, and, after an hour's march, had the extreme mortification to find ourselves on the borders of a large lake; neither of its extremities could be seen, and as the portion which lay to the east seemed the widest, we coasted along to the westward portion in search of a crossing-place. This lake being bounded by steep and lofty hills, our march was very fatiguing. Those sides which were exposed to the sun, were free from snow, and we found upon them some excellent berries. We encamped at six P.M., having come only six miles and a half. Crédit was then missing, and he did not return during the night. We supped off a single partridge and some _tripe de roche_; this unpalatable weed was now quite nauseous to the whole party, and in several it produced bowel complaints. Mr. Hood was the greatest sufferer from this cause. This evening we were extremely distressed, at discovering that our improvident companions, since we left Hood's River had thrown away three of the fishing-nets, and burnt the floats; they knew we had brought them to procure subsistence for the party, when the animals should fail, and we could scarcely believe the fact of their having wilfully deprived themselves of this resource, especially when we considered that most of them had passed the greater part of their servitude in situations where the nets alone had supplied them with food. Being thus deprived of our principal resource, that of fishing, and the men evidently getting weaker every day, it became necessary to lighten their burdens of every thing except ammunition, clothing, and the instruments that were required to find our way. I, therefore, issued directions to deposit at this encampment the dipping needle, azimuth compass, magnet, a large thermometer, and a few books we had carried, having torn out of these, such parts as we should require to work the observations for latitude and longitude. I also promised, as an excitement to the efforts in hunting, my gun to St. Germain, and an ample compensation to Adam, or any of the other men who should kill any animals. Mr. Hood, on this occasion, lent his gun to Michel, the Iroquois, who was very eager in the chase, and often successful. _September 14_.--This morning the officers being assembled round a small fire, Perrault presented each of us with a small piece of meat which he had saved from his allowance. It was received with great thankfulness, and such an act of self-denial and kindness, being totally unexpected in a Canadian voyager, filled our eyes with tears. In directing our course to a river issuing from the lake, we met Crédit, who communicated the joyful intelligence of his having killed two deer in the morning. We instantly halted, and having shared the deer that was nearest to us, prepared breakfast. After which, the other deer was sent for, and we went down to the river, which was about three hundred yards wide, and flowed with great velocity through a broken rocky channel. Having searched for a part where the current was most smooth, the canoe was placed in the water at the head of a rapid, and St. Germain, Solomon Belanger, and I, embarked in order to cross. We went from the shore very well, but in mid-channel the canoe became difficult to manage under our burden as the breeze was fresh. The current drove us to the edge of the rapid, when Belanger unluckily applied his paddle to avert the apparent danger of being forced down it, and lost his balance. The canoe was overset in consequence in the middle of the rapid. We fortunately kept hold of it, until we touched a rock where the water did not reach higher than our waists; here we kept our footing, notwithstanding the strength of the current, until the water was emptied out of the canoe. Belanger then held the canoe steady whilst St. Germain placed me in it, and afterwards embarked himself in a very dextrous manner. It was impossible, however, to embark Belanger, as the canoe would have been hurried down the rapid, the moment he should have raised his foot from the rock on which he stood. We were, therefore, compelled to leave him in his perilous situation. We had not gone twenty yards before the canoe, striking on a sunken rock, went down. The place being shallow, we were again enabled to empty it, and the third attempt brought us to the shore. In the mean time Belanger was suffering extremely, immersed to his middle in the centre of a rapid, the temperature of which was very little above the freezing point, and the upper part of his body covered with wet clothes, exposed in a temperature not much above zero, to a strong breeze. He called piteously for relief, and St. Germain on his return endeavoured to embark him, but in vain. The canoe was hurried down the rapid, and when he landed he was rendered by the cold incapable of further exertion, and Adam attempted to embark Belanger, but found it impossible. An attempt was next made to carry out to him a line, made of the slings of the men's loads. This also failed, the current acting so strongly upon it, as to prevent the canoe from steering, and it was finally broken and carried down the stream. At length, when Belanger's strength seemed almost exhausted, the canoe reached him with a small cord belonging to one of the nets, and he was dragged perfectly senseless through the rapid. By the direction of Dr. Richardson, he was instantly stripped, and being rolled up in blankets, two men undressed themselves and went to bed with him: but it was some hours before he recovered his warmth and sensations. As soon as Belanger was placed in his bed, the officers sent over my blankets, and a person to make a fire. Augustus brought the canoe over, and in returning he was obliged to descend both the rapids, before he could get across the stream; which hazardous service he performed with the greatest coolness and judgment. It is impossible to describe my sensations as I witnessed the various unsuccessful attempts to relieve Belanger. The distance prevented my seeing distinctly what was going on, and I continued pacing up and down upon the rock on which I landed, regardless of the coldness of my drenched and stiffening garments. The canoe, in every attempt to reach him, was hurried down the rapid, and was lost to view amongst the rocky islets, with a rapidity that seemed to threaten certain destruction; once, indeed, I fancied that I saw it overwhelmed in the waves. Such an event would have been fatal to the whole party. Separated as I was from my companions, without gun, ammunition, hatchet, or the means of making a fire, and in wet clothes, my doom would have been speedily sealed. My companions too, driven to the necessity of coasting the lake, must have sunk under the fatigue of rounding its innumerable arms and bays, which, as we have learned from the Indians, are very extensive. By the goodness of Providence, however, we were spared at that time, and some of us have been permitted to offer up our thanksgivings, in a civilized land, for the signal deliverances we then and afterwards experienced. By this accident I had the misfortune to lose my portfolio{38}, containing my journal from Fort Enterprise, together with all the astronomical and meteorological observations made during the descent of the Copper-Mine River, and along the sea-coast, (except those for the dip and variation.) I was in the habit of carrying it strapped across my shoulders, but had taken it off on entering the canoe, to reduce the upper weight. The results of most of the observations for latitude and longitude, had been registered in the sketch books, so that we preserved the requisites for the construction of the chart. The meteorological observations, not having been copied, were lost. My companions, Dr. Richardson, Mr. Back, and Mr. Hood, had been so careful in noting every occurrence in their journals, that the loss of mine could fortunately be well supplied. These friends immediately offered me their documents, and every assistance in drawing up another narrative, of which kindness I availed myself at the earliest opportunity afterwards. _September 15_.--The rest of the party were brought across this morning, and we were delighted to find Belanger so much recovered as to be able to proceed, but we could not set out until noon, as the men had to prepare substitutes for the slings which were lost yesterday. Soon after leaving the encampment we discerned a herd of deer, and after a long chase a fine male was killed by Perrault, several others were wounded but they escaped. After this we passed round the north end of a branch of the lake, and ascended the Willingham Mountains, keeping near the border of the lake. These hills were steep, craggy, and covered with snow. We encamped at seven and enjoyed a substantial meal. The party were in good spirits this evening at the recollection of having crossed the rapid, and being in possession of provision for the next day. Besides we had taken the precaution of bringing away the skin of the deer to eat when the meat should fail. The temperature at six P.M. was 30°. We started at seven next morning and marched until ten, when the appearance of a few willows peeping through the snow induced us to halt and breakfast. Recommencing the journey at noon, we passed over a more rugged country, where the hills were separated by deep ravines, whose steep sides were equally difficult to descend and to ascend, and the toil and suffering we experienced were greatly increased. The party was quite fatigued, when we encamped, having come ten miles and three quarters. We observed many summer deer roads, and some recent tracks. Some marks that had been put up by the Indians were also noticed. We have since learned that this is a regular deer pass, and on that account, annually frequented by the Copper Indians. The lake is called by them Contwoy-to, or Rum Lake; in consequence of Mr. Hearne having here given the Indians who accompanied him some of that liquor. Fish is not found here. We walked next day over a more level country, but it was strewed with large stones. These galled our feet a good deal; we contrived, however, to wade through the snow at a tolerably quick pace until five P.M., having proceeded twelve miles and a half. We had made to-day our proper course, south by east, which we could not venture upon doing before, for fear of falling again upon some branch of the Contwoy-to. Some deer were seen in the morning, but the hunters failed of killing any, and in the afternoon we fell into the track of a large herd, which had passed the day before, but did not overtake them. In consequence of this want of success we had no breakfast, and but a scanty supper; but we allayed the pangs of hunger, by eating pieces of singed hide. A little _tripe de roche_[14] was also obtained. These would have satisfied us in ordinary times, but we were now almost exhausted by slender fare and travel, and our appetites had become ravenous. We looked, however, with humble confidence to the Great Author and Giver of all good, for a continuance of the support which had hitherto been always supplied to us at our greatest need. The thermometer varied to-day between 25° and 28°. The wind blew fresh from the south. [14] The different kinds of _gyrophora_, are termed indiscriminately by the voyagers, _tripe de roche_. On the 18th the atmosphere was hazy, but the day was more pleasant for walking than usual. The country was level and gravelly, and the snow very deep. We went for a short time along a deeply-beaten road made by the rein-deer, which turned suddenly off to the south-west, a direction so wide of our course that we could not venture upon following it. All the small lakes were frozen, and we marched across those which lay in our track. We supped off the _tripe de roche_ which had been gathered during our halts in the course of the march. Thermometer at six P.M. 32°. Showers of snow fell without intermission through the night, but they ceased in the morning, and we set out at the usual hour. The men were very faint from hunger, and marched with difficulty, having to oppose a fresh breeze, and to wade through snow two feet deep. We gained, however, ten miles by four o'clock, and then encamped. The canoe was unfortunately broken by the fall of the person who had it in charge. No _tripe de roche_ was seen to-day, but in clearing the snow to pitch the tents we found a quantity of Iceland moss, which was boiled for supper. This weed, not having been soaked, proved so bitter, that few of the party could eat more than a few spoonfuls. Our blankets did not suffice this evening to keep us in tolerable warmth; the slightest breeze seeming to pierce through our debilitated frames. The reader will, probably, be desirous to know how we passed our time in such a comfortless situation: the first operation after encamping was to thaw our frozen shoes, if a sufficient fire could be made, and dry ones were put on; each person then wrote his notes of the daily occurrences, and evening prayers were read; as soon as supper was prepared it was eaten, generally in the dark, and we went to bed, and kept up a cheerful conversation until our blankets were thawed by the heat of our bodies, and we had gathered sufficient warmth to enable us to fall asleep. On many nights we had not even the luxury of going to bed in dry clothes, for when the fire was insufficient to dry our shoes, we durst not venture to pull them off, lest they should freeze so hard as to be unfit to put on in the morning, and, therefore, inconvenient to carry. On the 20th we got into a hilly country, and the marching became much more laborious, even the stoutest experienced great difficulty in climbing the craggy eminences. Mr. Hood was particularly weak, and was obliged to relinquish his station of second in the line, which Dr. Richardson now took, to direct the leading man in keeping the appointed course. I was also unable to keep pace with the men, who put forth their utmost speed, encouraged by the hope, which our reckoning had led us to form, of seeing Point Lake in the evening, but we were obliged to encamp without gaining a view of it. We had not seen either deer or their tracks through the day, and this circumstance, joined to the disappointment of not discovering the lake, rendered our voyagers very desponding, and the meagre supper of _tripe de roche_ was little calculated to elevate their spirits. They now threatened to throw away their bundles, and quit us, which rash act they would probably have committed, if they had known what track to pursue. _September 21_.--We set out at seven this morning in dark foggy weather, and changed our course two points to the westward. The party were very feeble, and the men much dispirited; we made slow progress, having to march over a hilly and very rugged country. Just before noon the sun beamed through the haze for the first time for six days, and we obtained an observation in latitude 65° 7' 06" N., which was six miles to the southward of that part of Point Lake to which our course was directed. By this observation we discovered that we had kept to the eastward of the proper course, which may be attributed partly to the difficulty of preserving a straight line through an unknown country, unassisted by celestial observations, and in such thick weather, that our view was often limited to a few hundred yards; but chiefly to our total ignorance of the amount of the variation of the compass. We altered the course immediately to west-south-west, and fired guns to apprize the hunters who were out of our view, and ignorant of our having done so. After walking about two miles we waited to collect the stragglers. Two partridges were killed, and these with some _tripe de roche_, furnished our supper. Notwithstanding a full explanation was given to the men of the reasons for altering the course, and they were assured that the observation had enabled us to discover our exact distance from Fort Enterprise, they could not divest themselves of the idea of our having lost our way, and a gloom was spread over every countenance. At this encampment Dr. Richardson was obliged to deposit his specimens of plants and minerals, collected on the sea-coast, being unable to carry them any farther. The way made to-day was five miles and a quarter. _September 22_.--After walking about two miles this morning, we came upon the borders of an extensive lake, whose extremities could not be discerned in consequence of the density of the atmosphere; but as its shores seemed to approach nearer to each other to the southward than to the northward, we determined on tracing it in that direction. We were grieved at finding the lake expand very much beyond the contracted part we had first seen, and incline to the eastward of south. As, however, it was considered more than probable, from the direction and size of the body of water we were now tracing, that it was a branch of Point Lake; and as, in any case, we knew that by passing round its south end, we must shortly come to the Copper-Mine River, our course was continued in that direction. The appearance of some dwarf pines and willows, larger than usual, induced us to suppose the river was near. We encamped early, having come eight miles. Our supper consisted of _tripe de roche_ and half a partridge each. Our progress next day was extremely slow, from the difficulty of managing the canoe in passing over the hills, as the breeze was fresh. Peltier who had it in charge, having received several severe falls, became impatient, and insisted on leaving his burden, as it had already been much injured by the accidents of this day; and no arguments we could use were sufficient to prevail on him to continue carrying it. Vaillant was, therefore, directed to take it, and we proceeded forward. Having found that he got on very well, and was walking even faster than Mr. Hood could follow, in his present debilitated state, I pushed forward to stop the rest of the party, who had got out of sight during the delay which the discussion respecting the canoe had occasioned. I accidentally passed the body of the men, and followed the tracks of two persons who had separated from the rest, until two P.M., when not seeing any person, I retraced my steps, and on my way met Dr. Richardson, who had also missed the party whilst he was employed gathering _tripe de roche_, and we went back together in search of them. We found they had halted among some willows, where they had picked up some pieces of skin, and a few bones of deer that had been devoured by the wolves last spring. They had rendered the bones friable by burning, and eaten them as well as the skin; and several of them had added their old shoes to the repast. Peltier and Vaillant were with them, having left the canoe, which, they said, was so completely broken by another fall, as to be rendered incapable of repair, and entirely useless. The anguish this intelligence occasioned may be conceived, but it is beyond my power to describe it. Impressed, however, with the necessity of taking it forward, even in the state these men represented it to be, we urgently desired them to fetch it; but they declined going, and the strength of the officers was inadequate to the task. To their infatuated obstinacy on this occasion, a great portion of the melancholy circumstances which attended our subsequent progress may, perhaps, be attributed. The men now seemed to have lost all hope of being preserved; and all the arguments we could use failed in stimulating them to the least exertion. After consuming the remains of the bones and horns of the deer we resumed our march, and in the evening, reached a contracted part of the lake, which, perceiving it to be shallow, we forded, and encamped on the opposite side. Heavy rain began soon afterwards, and continued all night. On the following morning the rain had so wasted the snow, that the tracks of Mr. Back and his companions, who had gone before with the hunters, were traced with difficulty; and the frequent showers during the day almost obliterated them. The men became furious at the apprehension of being deserted by the hunters, and some of the strongest throwing down their bundles, prepared to set out after them, intending to leave the more weak to follow as they could. The entreaties and threats of the officers, however, prevented their executing this mad scheme; but not before Solomon Belanger was despatched with orders for Mr. Back to halt until we should join him. Soon afterwards a thick fog came on, but we continued our march and overtook Mr. Back, who had been detained in consequence of his companions having followed some recent tracks of deer. After halting an hour, during which we refreshed ourselves with eating our old shoes, and a few scraps of leather, we set forward in the hope of ascertaining whether an adjoining piece of water was the Copper-Mine River or not, but were soon compelled to return and encamp, for fear of a separation of the party, as we could not see each other at ten yards' distance. The fog diminishing towards evening, Augustus was sent to examine the water, but having lost his way he did not reach the tents before midnight, when he brought the information of its being a lake. We supped upon, _tripe de roche_, and enjoyed a comfortable fire, having found some pines, seven or eight feet high, in a valley near the encampment. The bounty of Providence was most seasonably manifested to us next morning, in our killing five small deer out of a herd, which came in sight as we were on the point of starting. This unexpected supply re-animated the drooping spirits of our men, and filled every heart with gratitude. The voyagers instantly petitioned for a day's rest which we were most reluctant to grant, being aware of the importance of every moment at this critical period of our journey. But they so earnestly and strongly pleaded their recent sufferings, and their conviction, that the quiet enjoyment of two substantial meals, after eight days' famine, would enable them to proceed next day more vigorously, that we could not resist their entreaties. The flesh, the skins, and even the contents of the stomachs of the deer were equally distributed among the party by Mr. Hood, who had volunteered, on the departure of Mr. Wentzel, to perform the duty of issuing the provision. This invidious task he had all along performed with great impartiality, but seldom without producing some grumbling amongst the Canadians; and, on the present occasion, the hunters were displeased that the heads and some other parts, had not been added to their portions. It is proper to remark, that Mr. Hood always took the smallest portion for his own mess, but this weighed little with these men, as long as their own appetites remained unsatisfied. We all suffered much inconvenience from eating animal food after our long abstinence, but particularly those men who indulged themselves beyond moderation. The Canadians, with their usual thoughtlessness, had consumed above a third of their portions of meat that evening. We set out early on the 26th, and after walking about three miles along the lake, came to the river which we at once recognised, from its size, to be the Copper-Mine. It flowed to the northward, and after winding about five miles, terminated in Point Lake. Its current was swift, and there were two rapids in this part of its course, which in a canoe we could have crossed with ease and safety. These rapids, as well as every other part of the river, were carefully examined in search of a ford; but finding none, the expedients occurred, of attempting to cross on a raft made of the willows which were growing there, or in a vessel framed with willows, and covered with the canvass of the tents; but both these schemes were abandoned, through the obstinacy of the interpreters and the most experienced voyagers, who declared that they would prove inadequate to the conveyance of the party, and that much time would be lost in the attempt. The men, in fact, did not believe that this was the Copper-Mine River, and so little confidence had they in our reckoning, and so much had they bewildered themselves on the march that some of them asserted it was Hood's River, and others that it was the Bethe-tessy. (A river which rises from a lake to the northward of Rum Lake, and holds a course to the sea parallel with that of the Copper-Mine.) In short, their despondency had returned, and they all despaired of seeing Fort Enterprise again. However, the steady assurances of the officers that we were actually on the banks of the Copper-Mine River, and that the distance to Fort Enterprise did not exceed forty miles, made some impression upon them, which was increased upon our finding some bear-berry plants (_arbutus uva ursi_,) which are reported by the Indians not to grow to the eastward of that river. They then deplored their folly and impatience in breaking the canoe, being all of opinion, that had it not been so completely demolished on the 23d, it might have been repaired sufficiently to take the party over. We again closely interrogated Peltier and Vaillant as to its state, with the intention of sending for it; but they persisted in the declaration, that it was in a totally unserviceable condition. St. Germain being again called upon to endeavour to construct a canoe frame with willows, stated that he was unable to make one sufficiently large. It became necessary, therefore, to search for pines of sufficient size to form a raft; and being aware that such trees grow on the borders of Point Lake, we considered it best to trace its shores in search of them; we, therefore, resumed our march, carefully looking, but in vain, for a fordable part, and encamped at the east end of Point Lake. As there was little danger of our losing the path of our hunters whilst we coasted the shores of this lake, I determined on again sending Mr. Back forward, with the interpreters to hunt. I had in view, in this arrangement, the further object of enabling Mr. Back to get across the lake with two of these men, to convey the earliest possible account of our situation to the Indians. Accordingly I instructed him to halt at the first pines he should come to, and then prepare a raft; and if his hunters had killed animals, so that the party could be supported whilst we were making our raft, he was to cross immediately with St. Germain and Beauparlant, and send the Indians to us as quickly as possible with supplies of meat. We had this evening the pain of discovering that two of our men had stolen part of the officers' provision, which had been allotted to us with strict impartiality. This conduct was the more reprehensible, as it was plain that we were suffering, even in a greater degree than themselves, from the effects of famine, owing to our being of a less robust habit, and less accustomed to privations. We had no means of punishing this crime, but by the threat that they should forfeit their wages, which had now ceased to operate. Mr. Back and his companions set out at six in the morning, and we started at seven. As the snow had entirely disappeared, and there were no means of distinguishing the footsteps of stragglers, I gave strict orders, previously to setting out, for all the party to keep together: and especially I desired the two Esquimaux not to leave us, they having often strayed in search of the remains of animals. Our people, however, through despondency, had become careless and disobedient, and had ceased to dread punishment, or hope for reward. Much time was lost in halting and firing guns to collect them, but the labour of walking was so much lightened by the disappearance of the snow, that we advanced seven or eight miles along the lake before noon, exclusive of the loss of distance in rounding its numerous bays. At length we came to an arm, running away to the north-east, and apparently connected with the lake which we had coasted on the 22nd, 23rd, and 24th, of the month. The idea of again rounding such an extensive piece of water and of travelling over so barren a country was dreadful, and we feared that other arms, equally large, might obstruct our path, and that the strength of the party would entirely fail, long before we could reach the only part where we were certain of finding wood, distant in a direct line twenty-five miles. While we halted to consider of this subject, and to collect the party, the carcase of a deer was discovered in the cleft of a rock into which it had fallen in the spring. It was putrid, but little less acceptable to us on that account, in our present circumstances; and a fire being kindled, a large portion was devoured on the spot, affording us an unexpected breakfast, for in order to husband our small remaining portion of meat, we had agreed to make only one scanty meal a day. The men, cheered by this unlooked-for supply, became sanguine in the hope of being able to cross the stream on a raft of willows, although they had before declared such a project impracticable, and they unanimously entreated us to return back to the rapid, a request which accorded with our own opinion, and was therefore acceded to. Crédit and Junius, however, were missing, and it was also necessary to send notice of our intention to Mr. Back and his party. Augustus being promised a reward, undertook the task, and we agreed to wait for him at the rapid. It was supposed he could not fail meeting with the two stragglers on his way to or from Mr. Back, as it was likely they would keep on the borders of the lake. He accordingly set out after Mr. Back, whilst we returned about a mile towards the rapid, and encamped in a deep valley amongst some large willows. We supped on the remains of the putrid deer, and the men having gone to the spot where it was found, scraped together the contents of its intestines which were scattered on the rock, and added them to their meal. We also enjoyed the luxury to-day of eating a large quantity of excellent blue-berries and cran-berries (_vaccinium uliginosum_ and _v. vitis idæa_) which were laid bare by the melting of the snow, but nothing could allay our inordinate appetites. In the night we heard the report of Crédit's gun in answer to our signal muskets, and he rejoined us in the morning, but we got no intelligence of Junius. We set out about an hour after day-break{39}, and encamped at two P.M. between the rapids, where the river was about one hundred and thirty yards wide, being its narrowest part. Eight deer were seen by Michel and Crédit, who loitered behind the rest of the party, but they could not approach them. A great many shots were fired by those in the rear at partridges, but they missed, or at least did not choose to add what they killed to the common stock. We subsequently learned that the hunters often secreted the partridges they shot, and ate them unknown to the officers. Some _tripe de roche_ was collected, which we boiled for supper, with the moiety of the remainder of our deer's meat. The men commenced cutting the willows for the construction of the raft. As an excitement to exertion, I promised a reward of three hundred livres to the first person who should convey a line across the river, by which the raft could be managed in transporting the party. _September 29_.--Strong south-east winds with fog in the morning, more moderate in the evening. Temperature of the rapid 38°. The men began at an early hour to bind the willows in fagots for the construction of the raft, and it was finished by seven; but as the willows were green, it proved to be very little buoyant, and was unable to support more than one man at a time. Even on this, however, we hoped the whole party might be transported, by hauling it from one side to the other, provided a line could be carried to the other bank. Several attempts were made by Belanger and Benoit, the strongest men of the party, to convey the raft across the stream, but they failed for want of oars. A pole constructed by tying the tent poles together, was too short to reach the bottom at a short distance from the shore; and a paddle which had been carried from the sea-coast by Dr. Richardson, did not possess sufficient power to move the raft in opposition to a strong breeze, which blew from the other side. All the men suffered extremely from the coldness of the water, in which they were necessarily immersed up to the waists, in their endeavours to aid Belanger and Benoit; and having witnessed repeated failures, they began to consider the scheme as hopeless. At this time Dr. Richardson, prompted by a desire of relieving his suffering companions, proposed to swim across the stream with a line, and to haul the raft over. He launched into the stream with the line round his middle, but when he had got a short distance from the bank, his arms became benumbed with cold, and he lost the power of moving them; still he persevered, and, turning on his back, had nearly gained the opposite bank, when his legs also became powerless, and to our infinite alarm we beheld him sink. We instantly hauled upon the line and he came again on the surface, and was gradually drawn ashore in an almost lifeless state. Being rolled up in blankets, he was placed before a good fire of willows, and fortunately was just able to speak sufficiently to give some slight directions respecting the manner of treating him. He recovered strength gradually, and through the blessing of God was enabled in the course of a few hours to converse, and by the evening was sufficiently recovered to remove into the tent. We then regretted to learn, that the skin of his whole left side was deprived of feeling, in consequence of exposure to too great heat. He did not perfectly recover the sensation of that side until the following summer. I cannot describe what every one felt at beholding the skeleton which the Doctor's debilitated frame exhibited. When he stripped, the Canadians simultaneously exclaimed, "Ah! que nous sommes maigres!" I shall best explain his state and that of the party, by the following extract from his journal: "It may be worthy of remark that I should have had little hesitation in any former period of my life, at plunging into water even below 38° Fahrenheit; but at this time I was reduced almost to skin and bone, and, like the rest of the party, suffered from degrees of cold that would have been disregarded in health and vigour. During the whole of our march we experienced that no quantity of clothing could keep us warm whilst we fasted, but on those occasions on which we were enabled to go to bed with full stomachs, we passed the night in a warm and comfortable manner." In following the detail of our friend's narrow escape, I have omitted to mention, that when he was about to step into the water, he put his foot on a dagger, which cut him to the bone; but this misfortune could not stop him from attempting the execution of his generous undertaking. In the evening Augustus came in. He had walked a day and a half beyond the place from whence we turned back, but had neither seen Junius nor Mr. Back. Of the former he had seen no traces, but he had followed the tracks of Mr. Back's party for a considerable distance, until the hardness of the ground rendered them imperceptible. Junius was well equipped with ammunition, blankets, knives, a kettle, and other necessaries; and it was the opinion of Augustus that when he found he could not rejoin the party, he would endeavour to gain the woods on the west end of Point Lake, and follow the river until he fell in with the Esquimaux, who frequent its mouth. The Indians too with whom we have since conversed upon this subject, are confident that he would be able to subsist himself during the winter. Crédit, on his hunting excursion to-day, found a cap, which our people recognised to belong to one of the hunters who had left us in the spring. This circumstance produced the conviction of our being on the banks of the Copper-Mine River, which all the assertions of the officers had hitherto failed in effecting with some of the party; and it had the happy consequence of reviving their spirits considerably. We consumed the last of our deer's meat this evening at supper. Next morning the men went out in search of dry willows, and collected eight large fagots, with which they formed a more buoyant raft than the former, but the wind being still adverse and strong, they delayed attempting to cross until a more favourable opportunity. Pleased, however, with the appearance of this raft, they collected some _tripe de roche_, and made a cheerful supper. Dr. Richardson was gaining strength, but his leg was much swelled and very painful. An observation for latitude placed the encampment in 65° 00' 00" N., the longitude being 112° 20' 00" W., deduced from the last observation. On the morning of the 1st of October, the wind was strong, and the weather as unfavourable as before for crossing on the raft. We were rejoiced to see Mr. Back and his party in the afternoon. They had traced the lake about fifteen miles farther than we did, and found it undoubtedly connected, as we had supposed, with the lake we fell in with on the 22nd of September; and dreading, as we had done, the idea of coasting its barren shores, they returned to make an attempt at crossing here. St. Germain now proposed to make a canoe of the fragments of painted canvass in which we wrapped our bedding. This scheme appearing practicable, a party was sent to our encampment of the 24th and 25th last, to collect pitch amongst{40} the small pines that grew there, to pay over the seams of the canoe. In the afternoon we had a heavy fall of snow, which continued all night. A small quantity of _tripe de roche_ was gathered; and Crédit, who had been hunting, brought in the antlers and back bone of a deer which had been killed in the summer. The wolves and birds of prey had picked them clean, but there still remained a quantity of the spinal marrow which they had not been able to extract. This, although putrid, was esteemed a valuable prize, and the spine being divided into portions, was distributed equally. After eating the marrow, which was so acrid as to excoriate the lips, we rendered the bones friable by burning, and ate them also. On the following morning the ground was covered with snow to the depth of a foot and a half, and the weather was very stormy. These circumstances rendered the men again extremely despondent; a settled gloom hung over their countenances, and they refused to pick _tripe de roche_, choosing rather to go entirely without eating, than to make any exertion. The party which went for gum returned early in the morning without having found any; but St. Germain said he could still make the canoe with the willows, covered with canvass, and removed with Adam to a clump of willows for that purpose. Mr. Back accompanied them to stimulate his exertion, as we feared the lowness of his spirits would cause him to be slow in his operations. Augustus went to fish at the rapid, but a large trout having carried away his bait, we had nothing to replace it. The snow-storm continued all the night, and during the forenoon of the 3d. Having persuaded the people to gather some _tripe de roche_, I partook of a meal with them; and afterwards set out with the intention of going to St. Germain to hasten his operations, but though he was only three quarters of a mile distant, I spent three hours in a vain attempt to reach him, my strength being unequal to the labour of wading through the deep snow; and I returned quite exhausted, and much shaken by the numerous falls I had got. My associates were all in the same debilitated state, and poor Hood was reduced to a perfect shadow, from the severe bowel complaints which the _tripe de roche_ never failed to give him. Back was so feeble as to require the support of a stick in walking; and Dr. Richardson had lameness superadded to weakness. The voyagers were somewhat stronger than ourselves, but more indisposed to exertion, on account of their despondency. The sensation of hunger was no longer felt by any of us, yet we were scarcely able to converse upon any other subject than the pleasures of eating. We were much indebted to Hepburn at this crisis. The officers were unable from weakness to gather _tripe de roche_ themselves, and Samandrè, who had acted as our cook on the journey from the coast, sharing in the despair of the rest of the Canadians, refused to make the slightest exertion. Hepburn, on the contrary, animated by a firm reliance on the beneficence of the Supreme Being, tempered with resignation to his will, was indefatigable in his exertions to serve us, and daily collected all the _tripe de roche_ that was used in the officers' mess. Mr. Hood could not partake of this miserable fare, and a partridge which had been reserved for him was, I lament to say, this day stolen by one of the men. _October 4_.--The canoe being finished, it was brought to the encampment, and the whole party being assembled in anxious expectation on the beach, St. Germain embarked, and amidst our prayers for his success, succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. The canoe was then drawn back again, and another person transported, and in this manner by drawing it backwards and forwards, we were all conveyed over without any serious accident. By these frequent traverses the canoe was materially injured; and latterly it filled each time with water before reaching the shore, so that all our garments and bedding were wet, and there was not a sufficiency of willows upon the side on which we now were, to make a fire to dry them. That no time might be lost in procuring relief, I immediately despatched Mr. Back with St. Germain, Solomon Belanger, and Beauparlant, to search for the Indians, directing him to go to Fort Enterprise, where we expected they would be, or where, at least, a note from Mr. Wentzel would be found to direct us in our search for them. If St. Germain should kill any animals on his way, a portion of the meat was to be put up securely for us, and conspicuous marks placed over it. It is impossible to imagine a more gratifying change than was produced in our voyagers after we were all safely landed on the southern banks of the river. Their spirits immediately revived, each of them shook the officers cordially by the hand, and declared they now considered the worst of their difficulties over, as they did not doubt of reaching Fort Enterprise in a few days, even in their feeble condition. We had, indeed, every reason to be grateful, and our joy would have been complete had it not been mingled with sincere regret at the separation of our poor Esquimaux, the faithful Junius. The want of _tripe de roche_ caused us to go supperless to bed. Showers of snow fell frequently during the night. The breeze was light next morning, the weather cold and clear. We were all on foot by day-break, but from the frozen state of our tents and bed-clothes, it was long before the bundles could be made, and as usual, the men lingered over a small fire they had kindled, so that it was eight o'clock before we started. Our advance, from the depth of the snow, was slow, and about noon, coming to a spot where there was some _tripe de roche_, we stopped to collect it, and breakfasted. Mr. Hood, who was now very feeble, and Dr. Richardson, who attached himself to him, walked together at a gentle pace in the rear of the party. I kept with the foremost men, to cause them to halt occasionally, until the stragglers came up. Resuming our march after breakfast, we followed the track of Mr. Back's party, and encamped early, as all of us were much fatigued, particularly Crédit, who having to-day carried the men's tent, it being his turn so to do, was so exhausted, that when he reached the encampment he was unable to stand. The _tripe de roche_ disagreed with this man and with Vaillant, in consequence of which, they were the first whose strength totally failed. We had a small quantity of this weed in the evening, and the rest of our supper was made up of scraps of roasted leather. The distance walked to-day was six miles. As Crédit was very weak in the morning, his load was reduced to little more than his personal luggage, consisting of his blanket, shoes, and gun. Previous to setting out, the whole party ate the remains of their old shoes, and whatever scraps of leather they had, to strengthen their stomachs for the fatigue of the day's journey. We left the encampment at nine, and pursued our route over a range of black hills. The wind having increased to a strong gale in the course of the morning, became piercingly cold, and the drift rendered it difficult for those in the rear to follow the track over the heights; whilst in the valleys, where it was sufficiently marked, from the depth of the snow, the labour of walking was proportionably great. Those in advance made, as usual, frequent halts, yet being unable from the severity of the weather to remain long still, they were obliged to move on before the rear could come up, and the party, of course, straggled very much. About noon Samandrè coming up, informed us that Crédit and Vaillant could advance no further. Some willows being discovered in a valley near us, I proposed to halt the party there, whilst Dr. Richardson went back to visit them. I hoped too, that when the sufferers received the information of a fire being kindled at so short a distance they would be cheered, and use their utmost efforts to reach it, but this proved a vain hope. The Doctor found Vaillant about a mile and a half in the rear, much exhausted with cold and fatigue. Having encouraged him to advance to the fire, after repeated solicitations he made the attempt, but fell down amongst the deep snow at every step. Leaving him in this situation, the Doctor went about half a mile farther back, to the spot where Crédit was said to have halted, and the track being nearly obliterated by the snow drift, it became unsafe for him to go further. Returning he passed Vaillant, who having moved only a few yards in his absence, had fallen down, was unable to rise, and could scarcely answer his questions. Being unable to afford him any effectual assistance, he hastened on to inform us of his situation. When J. B. Belanger had heard the melancholy account, he went immediately to aid Vaillant, and bring up his burden. Respecting Crédit, we were informed by Samandrè, that he had stopped a short distance behind Vaillant, but that his intention was to return to the encampment of the preceding evening. When Belanger came back with Vaillant's load, he informed us that he had found him lying on his back, benumbed with cold, and incapable of being roused. The stoutest men of the party were now earnestly entreated to bring him to the fire, but they declared themselves unequal to the task; and, on the contrary, urged me to allow them to throw down their loads, and proceed to Fort Enterprise with the utmost speed. A compliance with their desire would have caused the loss of the whole party, for the men were totally ignorant of the course to be pursued, and none of the officers, who could have directed the march, were sufficiently strong to keep up at the pace they would then walk; besides, even supposing them to have found their way, the strongest men would certainly have deserted the weak. Something, however, was absolutely necessary to be done, to relieve them as much as possible from their burdens, and the officers consulted on the subject. Mr. Hood and Dr. Richardson proposed to remain behind, with a single attendant, at the first place where sufficient wood and _tripe de roche_ should be found for ten days' consumption; and that I should proceed as expeditiously as possible with the men to the house, and thence send them immediate relief. They strongly urged that this arrangement would contribute to the safety of the rest of the party, by relieving them from the burden of a tent, and several other articles; and that they might afford aid to Crédit, if he should unexpectedly come up. I was distressed beyond description at the thought of leaving them in such a dangerous situation, and for a long time combated their proposal; but they strenuously urged, that this step afforded the only chance of safety for the party, and I reluctantly acceded to it. The ammunition, of which we had a small barrel, was also to be left with them, and it was hoped that this deposit would be a strong inducement for the Indians to venture across the barren grounds to their aid. We communicated this resolution to the men, who were cheered at the slightest prospect of alleviation to their present miseries, and promised with great appearance of earnestness to return to those officers, upon the first supply of food. The party then moved on; Vaillant's blanket and other necessaries were left in the track, at the request of the Canadians, without any hope, however, of his being able to reach them. After marching till dusk without seeing a favourable place for encamping, night compelled us to take shelter under the lee of a hill, amongst some willows, with which, after many attempts, we at length made a fire. It was not sufficient, however, to warm the whole party, much less to thaw our shoes; and the weather not permitting the gathering of _tripe de roche_, we had nothing to cook. The painful retrospection of the melancholy events of the day banished sleep, and we shuddered as we contemplated the dreadful effects of this bitterly cold night on our two companions, if still living. Some faint hopes were entertained of Crédit's surviving the storm, as he was provided with a good blanket, and had leather to eat. The weather was mild next morning. We left the encampment at nine, and a little before noon came to a pretty extensive thicket of small willows, near which there appeared a supply of _tripe de roche_ on the face of the rocks. At this place Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood determined to remain, with John Hepburn, who volunteered to stop with them. The tent was securely pitched, a few willows collected, and the ammunition and all other articles were deposited, except each man's clothing, one tent, a sufficiency of ammunition for the journey, and the officers' journals. I had only one blanket, which was carried for me, and two pair of shoes. The offer was now made for any of the men, who felt themselves too weak to proceed, to remain with the officers, but none of them accepted it. Michel alone felt some inclination to do so. After we had united in thanksgiving and prayers to Almighty God, I separated from my companions, deeply afflicted that a train of melancholy circumstances should have demanded of me the severe trial of parting, in such a condition, from friends who had become endeared to me by their constant kindness and co-operation, and a participation of numerous sufferings. This trial I could not have been induced to undergo, but for the reasons they had so strongly urged the day before, to which my own judgment assented, and for the sanguine hope I felt of either finding a supply of provision at Fort Enterprise, or meeting the Indians in the immediate vicinity of that place, according to my arrangements with Mr. Wentzel and Akaitcho. Previously to our starting, Peltier and Benoit repeated their promises, to return to them with provision, if any should be found at the house, or to guide the Indians to them, if any were met. Greatly as Mr. Hood was exhausted, and indeed, incapable as he must have proved, of encountering the fatigue of our very next day's journey, so that I felt his resolution to be prudent, I was sensible that his determination to remain, was chiefly prompted by the disinterested and generous wish to remove impediments to the progress of the rest. Dr. Richardson and Hepburn, who were both in a state of strength to keep pace with the men, besides this motive which they shared with him, were influenced in their resolution to remain, the former by the desire which had distinguished his character, throughout the expedition, of devoting himself to the succour of the weak, and the latter by the zealous attachment he had ever shown towards his officers. We set out without waiting to take any of the _tripe de roche_, and walking at a tolerable pace, in an hour arrived at a fine group of pines, about a mile and a quarter from the tent. We sincerely regretted not having seen these before we separated from our companions, as they would have been better supplied with fuel here, and there appeared to be more _tripe de roche_ than where we had left them. Descending afterwards into a more level country, we found the snow very deep, and the labour of wading through it so fatigued the whole party, that we were compelled to encamp, after a march of four miles and a half. Belanger and Michel were left far behind, and when they arrived at the encampment appeared quite exhausted. The former, bursting into tears, declared his inability to proceed, and begged me to let him go back next morning to the tent, and shortly afterwards Michel made the same request. I was in hopes they might recover a little strength by the night's rest, and therefore deferred giving any permission _until_ morning. The sudden failure in the strength of these men cast a gloom over the rest, which I tried in vain to remove, by repeated assurances that the distance to Fort Enterprise was short, and that we should, in all probability, reach it in four days. Not being able to find any _tripe de roche_, we drank an infusion of the Labrador tea plant, (_ledum palustre_), and ate a few morsels of burnt leather for supper. We were unable to raise the tent, and found its weight too great to carry it on; we, therefore, cut it up, and took a part of the canvass for a cover. The night was bitterly cold, and though we lay as close to each other as possible, having no shelter, we could not keep ourselves sufficiently warm to sleep. A strong gale came on after midnight, which increased the severity of the weather. In the morning Belanger and Michel renewed their request to be permitted to go back to the tent, assuring me they were still weaker than on the preceding evening, and less capable of going forward; and they urged, that the stopping at a place where there was a supply of _tripe de roche_ was their only chance of preserving life; under these circumstances, I could not do otherwise than yield to their desire. I wrote a note to Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, informing them of the pines we had passed, and recommending their removing thither. Having found that Michel was carrying a considerable quantity of ammunition, I desired him to divide it among my party, leaving him only ten balls and a little shot, to kill any animals he might meet on his way to the tent. This man was very particular in his inquiries respecting the direction of the house, and the course we meant to pursue; he also said, that if he should be able, he would go and search for Vaillant, and Crédit; and he requested my permission to take Vaillant's blanket, if he should find it, to which I agreed, and mentioned it in my notes to the officers. Scarcely were these arrangements finished, before Perrault and Fontano were seized with a fit of dizziness, and betrayed other symptoms of extreme debility. Some tea was quickly prepared for them, and after drinking it, and eating a few morsels of burnt leather, they recovered, and expressed their desire to go forward; but the other men, alarmed at what they had just witnessed, became doubtful of their own strength, and, giving way to absolute dejection, declared their inability to move. I now earnestly pressed upon them the necessity of continuing our journey, as the only means of saving their own lives, as well as those of our friends at the tent; and, after much entreaty, got them to set out at ten A.M.: Belanger and Michel were left at the encampment, and proposed to start shortly afterwards. By the time we had gone about two hundred yards, Perrault became again dizzy, and desired us to halt, which we did, until he, recovering, offered to march on. Ten minutes more had hardly elapsed before he again desired us to stop, and, bursting into tears, declared he was totally exhausted, and unable to accompany us further. As the encampment was not more than a quarter of a mile distant, we recommended that he should return to it, and rejoin Belanger and Michel, whom we knew to be still there, from perceiving the smoke of a fresh fire; and because they had not made any preparation for starting when we quitted them. He readily acquiesced in the proposition, and having taken a friendly leave of each of us, and enjoined us to make all the haste we could in sending relief, he turned back, keeping his gun and ammunition. We watched him until he was nearly at the fire, and then proceeded. During these detentions, Augustus becoming impatient of the delay had walked on, and we lost sight of him. The labour we experienced in wading through the deep snow induced us to cross a moderate sized lake, which lay in our track, but we found this operation far more harassing. As the surface of the ice was perfectly smooth, we slipt at almost every step, and were frequently blown down by the wind with such force as to shake our whole frames. Poor Fontano was completely exhausted by the labour of this traverse, and we made a halt until his strength was recruited, by which time the party was benumbed with cold. Proceeding again, he got on tolerably well for a little time; but being again seized with faintness and dizziness, he fell often, and at length exclaimed that he could go no further. We immediately stopped, and endeavoured to encourage him to persevere, until we should find some willows to encamp; he insisted, however, that he could not march any longer through this deep snow; and said, that if he should even reach our encampment this evening, he must be left there, provided _tripe de roche_ could not be procured to recruit his strength. The poor man was overwhelmed with grief, and seemed desirous to remain at that spot. We were about two miles from the place where the other men had been left, and as the track to it was beaten, we proposed to him to return thither, as we thought it probable he would find the men still there; at any rate, he would be able to get fuel to keep him warm during the night; and, on the next day, he could follow their track to the officers' tent; and, should the path be covered by the snow, the pines we had passed yesterday would guide him, as they were yet in view. I cannot describe my anguish on the occasion of separating from another companion under circumstances so distressing. There was, however, no alternative. The extreme debility of the rest of the party put the carrying him quite out of the question, as he himself admitted; and it was evident that the frequent delays he must occasion if he accompanied us, and did not gain strength, would endanger the lives of the whole. By returning he had the prospect of getting to the tent where _tripe de roche_ could be obtained, which agreed with him better than with any other of the party, and which he was always very assiduous in gathering. After some hesitation he determined on going back, and set out, having bid each of us farewell in the tenderest manner. We watched him with inexpressible anxiety for some time, and were rejoiced to find, though he got on slowly, that he kept on his legs better than before. Antonio Fontano was an Italian, and had served many years in De Meuron's regiment. He had spoken to me that very morning, and after his first attack of dizziness, about his father; and had begged, that should he survive, I would take him with me to England, and put him in the way of reaching home. The party was now reduced to five persons, Adam, Peltier, Benoit, Samandrè, and myself. Continuing the journey, we came, after an hour's walk, to some willows, and encamped under the shelter of a rock, having walked in the whole four miles and a half. We made an attempt to gather some _tripe de roche_, but could not, owing to the severity of the weather. Our supper, therefore, consisted of tea and a few morsels of leather. Augustus did not make his appearance, but we felt no alarm at his absence, supposing he would go to the tent if he missed our track. Having fire, we procured a little sleep. Next morning the breeze was light and the weather mild, which enabled us to collect some _tripe de roche_, and to enjoy the only meal we had had for four days. We derived great benefit from it, and walked with considerably more ease than yesterday. Without the strength it supplied, we should certainly have been unable to oppose the strong breeze we met in the afternoon. After walking about five miles, we came upon the borders of Marten Lake, and were rejoiced to find it frozen, so that we could continue our course straight for Fort Enterprise. We encamped at the first rapid in Winter River amidst willows and alders; but these were so frozen, and the snow fell so thick, that the men had great difficulty in making a fire. This proving insufficient to warm us, or even thaw our shoes, and having no food to prepare, we crept under our blankets. The arrival in a well-known part raised the spirits of the men to a high pitch, and we kept up a cheerful conversation until sleep overpowered us. The night was very stormy, and the morning scarcely less so; but, being desirous to reach the house this day, we commenced our journey very early. We were gratified by the sight of a large herd of rein-deer on the side of the hill near the track, but our only hunter, Adam, was too feeble to pursue them. Our shoes and garments were stiffened by the frost, and we walked in great pain until we arrived at some stunted pines, at which we halted, made a good fire, and procured the refreshment of tea. The weather becoming fine in the afternoon, we continued our journey, passed the Dog-rib Rock, and encamped among a clump of pines of considerable growth, about a mile further on. Here we enjoyed the comfort of a large fire for the first time since our departure from the sea-coast; but this gratification was purchased at the expense of many severe falls in crossing a stony valley, to get to these trees. There was no _tripe de roche_, and we drank tea and ate some of our shoes for supper. Next morning after taking the usual repast of tea, we proceeded to the house. Musing on what we were likely to find there, our minds were agitated between hope and fear, and, contrary to the custom we had kept up, of supporting our spirits by conversation, we went silently forward. At length we reached Fort Enterprise, and to our infinite disappointment and grief found it a perfectly desolate habitation. There was no deposit of provision, no trace of the Indians, no letter from Mr. Wentzel to point out where the Indians might be found. It would be impossible to describe our sensations after entering this miserable abode, and discovering how we had been neglected: the whole party shed tears, not so much for our own fate, as for that of our friends in the rear, whose lives depended entirely on our sending immediate relief from this place. I found a note, however, from Mr. Back, stating that he had reached the house two days before and was going in search of the Indians, at a part where St. Germain deemed it probable they might be found. If he was unsuccessful, he purposed walking to Fort Providence, and sending succour from thence: but he doubted whether either he or his party could perform the journey to that place in their present debilitated state. It was evident that any supply that could be sent from Fort Providence would be long in reaching us, neither could it be sufficient to enable us to afford any assistance to our companions behind, and that the only relief for them must be procured from the Indians. I resolved therefore, on going also in search of them: but my companions were absolutely incapable of proceeding, and I thought by halting two or three days they might gather a little strength, whilst the delay would afford us the chance of learning whether Mr. Back had seen the Indians. We now looked round for the means of subsistence, and were gratified to find several deer-skins, which had been thrown away during our former residence. The bones were gathered from the heap of ashes; these with the skins, and the addition of _tripe de roche_, we considered would support us tolerably well for a time. As to the house, the parchment being torn from the windows, the apartment we selected for our abode was exposed to all the rigour of the season. We endeavoured to exclude the wind as much as possible, by placing loose boards against the apertures. The temperature was now between 15° and 20° below zero. We procured fuel by pulling up the flooring of the other rooms, and water for cooking, by melting the snow. Whilst we were seated round the fire, singeing the deer-skin for supper, we were rejoiced by the unexpected entrance of Augustus. He had followed quite a different course from ours, and the circumstance of his having found his way through a part of the country he had never been in before, must be considered a remarkable proof of sagacity. The unusual earliness of this winter became manifest to us from the state of things at this spot. Last year at the same season, and still later there had been very little snow on the ground, and we were surrounded by vast herds of rein-deer; now there were but few recent tracks of these animals, and the snow was upwards of two feet deep. Winter River was then open, now it was frozen two feet thick. When I arose the following morning, my body and limbs were so swollen that I was unable to walk more than a few yards. Adam was in a still worse condition, being absolutely incapable of rising without assistance. My other companions happily experienced this inconvenience in a less degree, and went to collect bones, and some _tripe de roche_ which supplied us with two meals. The bones were quite acrid, and the soup extracted from them excoriated the mouth if taken alone, but it was somewhat milder when boiled with _tripe de roche_, and we even thought the mixture palatable, with the addition of salt, of which a cask had been fortunately left here in the spring. Augustus to-day set two fishing lines below the rapid. On his way thither he saw two deer, but had not strength to follow them. On the 13th the wind blew violently from south-east, and the snow drifted so much that the party were confined to the house. In the afternoon of the following day Belanger arrived with a note from Mr. Back, stating that he had seen no trace of the Indians, and desiring further instructions as to the course he should pursue. Belanger's situation, however, required our first care, as he came in almost speechless, and covered with ice, having fallen into a rapid, and, for the third time since we left the coast, narrowly escaped drowning. He did not recover sufficiently to answer our questions, until we had rubbed him for some time, changed his dress, and given him some warm soup. My companions nursed him with the greatest kindness, and the desire of restoring him to health, seemed to absorb all regard for their own situation. I witnessed with peculiar pleasure this conduct, so different from that which they had recently pursued, when every tender feeling was suspended by the desire of self-preservation. They now no longer betrayed impatience or despondency, but were composed and cheerful, and had entirely given up the practice of swearing, to which the Canadian voyagers are so lamentably addicted. Our conversation naturally turned upon the prospect of getting relief, and upon the means which were best adapted for obtaining it. The absence of all traces of Indians on Winter River, convinced me that they were at this time on the way to Fort Providence, and that by proceeding towards that post we should overtake them, as they move slowly when they have their families with them. This route also offered us the prospect of killing deer, in the vicinity of Rein-Deer{41} Lake, in which neighbourhood, our men in their journey to and fro last winter, had always found them abundant. Upon these grounds I determined on taking the route to Fort Providence as soon as possible, and wrote to Mr. Back, desiring him to join me at Rein-Deer Lake, and detailing the occurrences since we parted, that our friends might receive relief, in case of any accident happening to me. Belanger did not recover sufficient strength to leave us before the 18th. His answers as to the exact part of Round-Rock Lake in which he had left Mr. Back, were very unsatisfactory; and we could only collect that it was at a considerable distance, and that he was still going on with the intention of halting at the place where Akaitcho was encamped last summer, about thirty miles off. This distance appeared so great, that I told Belanger it was very unsafe for him to attempt it alone, and that he would be several days in accomplishing it. He stated, however, that as the track was beaten, he should experience little fatigue, and seemed so confident, that I suffered him to depart with a supply of singed hide. Next day I received information which explained why he was so unwilling to acquaint us with the situation of Mr. Back's party. He dreaded that I should resolve upon joining it, when our numbers would be so great as to consume at once every thing St. Germain might kill, if by accident he should be successful in hunting. He even endeavoured to entice away our other hunter, Adam, and proposed to him to carry off the only kettle we had, and without which we could not have subsisted two days. Adam's inability to move, however, precluded him from agreeing to the proposal, but he could assign no reason for not acquainting me with it previous to Belanger's departure. I was at first inclined to consider the whole matter as a fiction of Adam's, but he persisted in his story without wavering; and Belanger, when we met again, confessed that every part of it was true. It is painful to have to record a fact so derogatory to human nature, but I have deemed it proper to mention it, to shew the difficulties we had to contend with, and the effect which distress had in warping the feelings and understanding of the most diligent and obedient of our party; for such Belanger had been always esteemed up to this time. In making arrangements for our departure, Adam disclosed to me, for the first time, that he was affected with oedematous swellings in some parts of the body, to such a degree as to preclude the slightest attempt at marching; and upon my expressing my surprise at his having hitherto concealed from me the extent of his malady, among other explanations the details of the preceding story came out. It now became necessary to abandon the original intention of proceeding with the whole party towards Fort Providence, and Peltier and Samandrè having volunteered to remain with Adam, I determined on setting out with Benoit and Augustus, intending to send them relief by the first party of Indians we should meet. My clothes were so much torn, as to be quite inadequate to screen me from the wind, and Peltier and Samandrè fearing that I might suffer on the journey in consequence, kindly exchanged with me parts of their dress, desiring me to send them skins in return by the Indians. Having patched up three pair of snow shoes, and singed{42} a quantity of skin for the journey, we started on the morning of the 20th. Previous to my departure, I packed up the journals of the officers, the charts, and some other documents, together with a letter addressed to the Under-Secretary of State, detailing the occurrences of the Expedition up to this period, which package was given in charge to Peltier and Samandrè with directions that it should be brought away by the Indians who might come to them. I also instructed them to send succour immediately on its arrival to our companions in the rear, which they solemnly promised to do, and I left a letter for my friends, Richardson and Hood, to be sent at the same time. I thought it necessary to admonish Peltier, Samandrè, and Adam, to eat two meals every day, in order to keep up their strength, which they promised me they would do. No language that I can use could adequately describe the parting scene. I shall only say there was far more calmness and resignation to the Divine will evinced by every one than could have been expected. We were all cheered by the hope that the Indians would be found by the one party, and relief sent to the other. Those who remained entreated us to make all the haste we could, and expressed their hope of seeing the Indians in ten or twelve days. At first starting we were so feeble as scarcely to be able to move forwards, and the descent of the bank of the river through the deep snow was a severe labour. When we came upon the ice, where the snow was less deep, we got on better, but after walking six hours we had only gained four miles, and were then compelled by fatigue to encamp on the borders of Round-Rock Lake. Augustus tried for fish here, but without success, so that our fare was skin and tea. Composing ourselves to rest, we lay close to each other for warmth. We found the night bitterly cold, and the wind pierced through our famished frames. The next morning was mild and pleasant for travelling, and we set out after breakfast. We had not, however, gone many yards before I had the misfortune to break my snow shoes by falling between two rocks. This accident prevented me from keeping pace with Benoit and Augustus, and in the attempt I became quite exhausted. Feeling convinced that their being delayed on my account might prove of fatal consequence to the rest, I resolved on returning to the house, and letting them proceed alone in search of the Indians. I therefore halted them only whilst I wrote a note to Mr. Back, stating the reason of my return, and desiring he would send meat from Rein-Deer Lake by these men, if St. Germain should kill any animals there. If Benoit should miss Mr. Back, I directed him to proceed to Fort Providence, and furnished him with a letter to the gentleman in charge of it, requesting that immediate supplies might be sent to us. On my return to the house, I found Samandrè very dispirited, and too weak, as he said, to render any assistance to Peltier; upon whom the whole labour of getting wood and collecting the means of subsistence would have devolved. Conscious, too, that his strength would have been unequal to these tasks, they had determined upon taking only one meal each day; so that I felt my going{43} back particularly fortunate, as I hoped to stimulate Samandrè to exertion, and at any rate could contribute some help to Peltier. I undertook the office of cooking, and insisted they should eat twice a day whenever food could be procured; but as I was too weak to pound the bones, Peltier agreed to do that in addition to his more fatiguing task of getting wood. We had a violent snow storm all the next day, and this gloomy weather increased the depression of spirits under which Adam and Samandrè were labouring. Neither of them would quit their beds, and they scarcely ceased from shedding tears all day; in vain did Peltier and myself endeavour to cheer them. We had even to use much entreaty before they would take the meals we had prepared for them. Our situation was indeed distressing, but in comparison with that of our friends in the rear, we thought it happy. Their condition gave us unceasing solicitude, and was the principal subject of our conversation. Though the weather was stormy on the 26th, Samandrè assisted me to gather _tripe de roche_. Adam, who was very ill, and could not now be prevailed upon to eat this weed, subsisted principally on bones, though he also partook of the soup. The _tripe de roche_ had hitherto afforded us our chief support, and we naturally felt great uneasiness at the prospect of being deprived of it, by its being so frozen as to render it impossible for us to gather it. We perceived our strength decline every day, and every exertion began to be irksome; when we were once seated the greatest effort was necessary in order to rise, and we had frequently to lift each other from our seats; but even in this pitiable condition we conversed cheerfully, being sanguine as to the speedy arrival of the Indians. We calculated indeed that if they should be near the situation where they had remained last winter, our men would have reached them by this day. Having expended all the wood which we could procure from our present dwelling, without danger of its fall, Peltier began this day to pull down the partitions of the adjoining houses. Though these were only distant about twenty yards, yet the increase of labour in carrying the wood fatigued him so much, that by the evening he was exhausted. On the next day his weakness was such, especially in the arms, of which he chiefly complained, that he with difficulty lifted the hatchet; still he persevered, while Samandrè and I assisted him in bringing in the wood, but our united strength could only collect sufficient to replenish the fire four times in the course of the day. As the insides of our mouths had become sore from eating the bone-soup, we relinquished the use of it, and now boiled the skin, which mode of dressing we found more palatable than frying it, as we had hitherto done. On the 29th, Peltier felt his pains more severe, and could only cut a few pieces of wood. Samandrè, who was still almost as weak, relieved him a little time, and I aided them in carrying in the wood. We endeavoured to pick some _tripe de roche_, but in vain, as it was entirely frozen. In turning up the snow, in searching for bones, I found several pieces of bark, which proved a valuable acquisition, as we were almost destitute of dry wood proper for kindling the fire. We saw a herd of rein-deer sporting on the river, about half a mile from the house; they remained there a long time, but none of the party felt themselves strong enough to go after them, nor was there one of us who could have fired a gun without resting it. Whilst we were seated round the fire this evening, discoursing about the anticipated relief, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by Peltier's exclaiming with joy, "_Ah! le monde!_" imagining that he heard the Indians in the other room; immediately afterwards, to his bitter disappointment, Dr. Richardson and Hepburn entered, each carrying his bundle. Peltier, however, soon recovered himself enough to express his delight at their safe arrival, and his regret that their companions{44} were not with them. When I saw them alone my own mind was instantly filled with apprehensions respecting my friend Hood, and our other companions, which were immediately confirmed by the Doctor's melancholy communication, that Mr. Hood and Michel were dead. Perrault and Fontano had neither reached the tent, nor been heard of by them. This intelligence produced a melancholy despondency in the minds of my party, and on that account the particulars were deferred until another opportunity. We were all shocked at beholding the emaciated countenances of the Doctor and Hepburn, as they strongly evidenced their extremely debilitated state. The alteration in our appearance was equally distressing to them, for since the swellings had subsided we were little more than skin and bone. The Doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tone of our voices, which he requested us to make more cheerful if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key. Hepburn having shot a partridge, which was brought to the house, the Doctor tore out the feathers, and having held it to the fire a few minutes divided it into six portions. I and my three companions ravenously devoured our shares, as it was the first morsel of flesh any of us had tasted for thirty-one days, unless, indeed the small gristly particles which we found occasionally adhering to the pounded bones may be termed flesh. Our spirits were revived by this small supply, and the Doctor endeavoured to raise them still higher by the prospect of Hepburn's being able to kill a deer next day, as they had seen, and even fired at, several near the house. He endeavoured, too, to rouse us into some attention to the comfort of our apartment, and particularly to roll up, in the day, our blankets, which (expressly for the convenience of Adam and Samandrè,) we had been in the habit of leaving by the fire where we lay on them. The Doctor having brought his prayer-book and testament, some prayers and psalms, and portions of scripture, appropriate to our situation, were read, and we retired to bed. Next morning the Doctor and Hepburn went out early in search of deer; but though they saw several herds and fired some shots, they were not so fortunate as to kill any, being too weak to hold their guns steadily. The cold compelled the former to return soon, but Hepburn persisted until late in the evening. My occupation was to search for skins under the snow, it being now our object immediately to get all that we would, but I had not strength to drag in more than two of those which were within twenty yards of the house until the Doctor came and assisted me. We made up our stock to twenty-six, but several of them were putrid, and scarcely eatable, even by men suffering the extremity of famine. Peltier and Samandrè continued very weak and dispirited, and they were unable to cut fire-wood. Hepburn had in consequence that laborious task to perform after he came back. The Doctor having scarified the swelled parts of Adam's body, a large quantity of water flowed out, and he obtained some ease, but still kept his bed. After our usual supper of singed skin and bone soup, Dr. Richardson acquainted me with the afflicting circumstances attending the death of Mr. Hood and Michel, and detailed the occurrences subsequent to my departure from them, which I shall give from his journal, in his own words; but I must here be permitted to express the heart-felt sorrow with which I was overwhelmed at the loss of so many companions; especially of my friend Mr. Hood, to whose zealous and able co-operation I had been indebted for so much invaluable assistance during the Expedition, whilst the excellent qualities of his heart engaged my warmest regard. His scientific observations, together with his maps and drawings (a small part of which only appear in this work), evince a variety of talent, which, had his life been spared, must have rendered him a distinguished ornament to his profession, and which will cause his death to be felt as a loss to the service. DR. RICHARDSON'S NARRATIVE. After Captain Franklin had bidden us farewell we remained seated by the fire-side as long as the willows the men had cut for us before they departed, lasted. We had no _tripe de roche_ that day, but drank an infusion of the country tea-plant, which was grateful from its warmth, although it afforded no sustenance. We then retired to bed, where we remained all the next day, as the weather was stormy, and the snow-drift so heavy, as to destroy every prospect of success in our endeavours to light a fire with the green and frozen willows, which were our only fuel. Through the extreme kindness and forethought of a lady, the party, previous to leaving London, had been furnished with a small collection of religious books, of which we still retained two or three of the most portable, and they proved of incalculable benefit to us. We read portions of them to each other as we lay in bed, in addition to the morning and evening service, and found that they inspired us on each perusal with so strong a sense of the omnipresence of a beneficent God, that our situation, even in these wilds, appeared no longer destitute; and we conversed, not only with calmness, but with cheerfulness, detailing with unrestrained confidence the past events of our lives, and dwelling with hope on our future prospects. Had my poor friend been spared to revisit his native land, I should look back to this period with unalloyed delight. On the morning of the 9th, the weather, although still cold, was clear, and I went out in quest of _tripe de roche_, leaving Hepburn to cut willows for a fire, and Mr. Hood in bed. I had no success, as yesterday's snow-drift was so frozen on the surface of the rocks that I could not collect any of the weed; but on my return to the tent, I found that Michel, the Iroquois, had come with a note from Mr. Franklin, which stated, that this man and Jean Baptiste Belanger being unable to proceed, were about to return to us, and that a mile beyond our present encampment there was a clump of pine-trees, to which he recommended us to remove the tent. Michel informed us that he quitted Mr. Franklin's party yesterday morning, but, that having missed his way, he had passed the night on the snow a mile or two to the northward of us. Belanger, he said, being impatient, left the fire about two hours earlier, and, as he had not arrived, he supposed must have gone astray. It will be seen in the sequel, that we had more than sufficient reason to doubt the truth of this story. Michel now produced a hare and a partridge which he had killed in the morning. This unexpected supply of provision was received by us with a deep sense of gratitude to the Almighty for his goodness, and we looked upon Michel as the instrument he had chosen to preserve all our lives. He complained of cold, and Mr. Hood offered to share his buffalo robe with him at night: I gave him one of two shirts which I wore, whilst Hepburn in the warmth of his heart, exclaimed, "How I shall love this man if I find that he does not tell lies like the others." Our meals being finished, we arranged that the greatest part of the things should be carried to the pines the next day; and, after reading the evening service retired to bed full of hope. Early in the morning Hepburn, Michel, and myself, carried the ammunition, and most of the other heavy articles to the pines. Michel was our guide, and it did not occur to us at the time that his conducting us perfectly straight was incompatible with his story of having mistaken his road in coming to us. He now informed us that he had, on his way to the tent, left on the hill above the pines a gun and forty-eight balls, which Perrault had given to him when with the rest of Mr. Franklin's party, he took leave of him. It will be seen, on a reference to Mr. Franklin's journal, that Perrault carried his gun and ammunition with him when they parted from Michel and Belanger. After we had made a fire, and drank a little of the country tea, Hepburn and I returned to the tent, where we arrived in the evening, much exhausted with our journey. Michel preferred sleeping where he was, and requested us to leave him the hatchet, which we did, after he had promised to come early in the morning to assist us in carrying the tent and bedding. Mr. Hood remained in bed all day. Seeing nothing of Belanger to-day, we gave him up for lost. On the 11th, after waiting until late in the morning for Michel, who did not come, Hepburn and I loaded ourselves with the bedding, and, accompanied by Mr. Hood, set out for the pines. Mr. Hood was much affected with dimness of sight, giddiness, and other symptoms of extreme debility, which caused us to move very slowly, and to make frequent halts. On arriving at the pines, we were much alarmed to find that Michel was absent. We feared that he had lost his way in coming to us in the morning, although it was not easy to conjecture how that could have happened, as our footsteps of yesterday were very distinct. Hepburn went back for the tent, and returned with it after dusk, completely worn out with the fatigue of the day. Michel too arrived at the same time, and relieved our anxiety on his account. He reported that he had been in chase of some deer which passed near his sleeping-place in the morning, and although he did not come up with them, yet that he found a wolf which had been killed by the stroke of a deer's horn, and had brought a part of it. We implicitly believed this story then, but afterwards became convinced from circumstances, the detail of which may be spared, that it must have been a portion of the body of Belanger or Perrault. A question of moment here presents itself; namely, whether he actually murdered these men, or either of them, or whether he found the bodies in the snow. Captain Franklin, who is the best able to judge of this matter, from knowing their situation when he parted from them, suggested the former idea, and that both Belanger and Perrault had been sacrificed. When Perrault turned back, Captain Franklin watched him until he reached a small group of willows, which was immediately adjoining to the fire, and concealed it from view, and at this time the smoke of fresh fuel was distinctly visible. Captain Franklin conjectures, that Michel having already destroyed Belanger, completed his crime by Perrault's death, in order to screen himself from detection. Although this opinion is founded only on circumstances, and is unsupported by direct evidence, it has been judged proper to mention it, especially as the subsequent conduct of the man shewed that he was capable of committing such a deed. The circumstances are very strong. It is not easy to assign any other adequate motive for his concealing from us that Perrault had turned back; while his request overnight that we should leave him the hatchet, and his cumbering himself with it when he went out in the morning, unlike a hunter who makes use only of his knife when he kills a deer, seem to indicate that he took it for the purpose of cutting up something that he knew to be frozen. These opinions, however, are the result of subsequent consideration. We passed this night in the open air. On the following morning the tent was pitched; Michel went out early, refused my offer to accompany him, and remained out the whole day. He would not sleep in the tent at night, but chose to lie at the fire-side. On the 13th there was a heavy gale of wind, and we passed the day by the fire. Next day, about two P.M., the gale abating, Michel set out as he said to hunt, but returned unexpectedly in a very short time. This conduct surprised us, and his contradictory and evasory answers to our questions excited some suspicions, but they did not turn towards the truth. _October 15th_.--In the course of this day Michel expressed much regret that he had stayed behind Mr. Franklin's party, and declared that he would set out for the house at once if he knew the way. We endeavoured to sooth him, and to raise his hopes of the Indians speedily coming to our relief, but without success. He refused to assist us in cutting wood, but about noon, after much solicitation, he set out to hunt. Hepburn gathered a kettleful of _tripe de roche_, but froze his fingers. Both Hepburn and I fatigued ourselves much to-day in pursuing a flock of partridges from one part to another of the group of willows, in which the hut was situated, but we were too weak to be able to approach them with sufficient caution. In the evening Michel returned, having met with no success. Next day he refused either to hunt or cut wood, spoke in a very surly manner, and threatened to leave us. Under these circumstances, Mr. Hood and I deemed it better to promise if he would hunt diligently for four days, that then we would give Hepburn a letter for Mr. Franklin, a compass, inform him what course to pursue, and let them proceed together to the fort. The non-arrival of the Indians to our relief, now led us to fear that some accident had happened to Mr. Franklin, and we placed no confidence in the exertions of the Canadians that accompanied him, but we had the fullest confidence in Hepburn's returning the moment he could obtain assistance. On the 17th I went to conduct Michel to where Vaillant's blanket was left, and after walking about three miles, pointed out the hills to him at a distance, and returned to the hut, having gathered a bagful of _tripe de roche_ on the way. It was easier to gather this weed on a march than at the tent, for the exercise of walking produced a glow of heat, which enabled us to withstand for a time the cold to which we were exposed in scraping the frozen surface of the rocks. On the contrary, when we left the fire, to collect it in the neighbourhood of the hut, we became chilled at once, and were obliged to return very quickly. Michel proposed to remain out all night, and to hunt next day on his way back. He returned in the afternoon of the 18th, having found the blanket, together with a bag containing two pistols, and some other things which had been left beside it. We had some _tripe de roche_ in the evening, but Mr. Hood from the constant griping it produced, was unable to eat more than one or two spoonfuls. He was now so weak as to be scarcely able to sit up at the fire-side, and complained that the least breeze of wind seemed to blow through his frame. He also suffered much from cold during the night. We lay close to each other, but the heat of the body was no longer sufficient to thaw the frozen rime formed by our breaths on the blankets that covered him. At this period we avoided as much as possible conversing upon the hopelessness of our situation, and generally endeavoured to lead the conversation towards our future prospects in life. The fact is, that with the decay of our strength, our minds decayed, and we were no longer able to bear the contemplation of the horrors that surrounded us. Each of us, if I may be allowed to judge from my own case, excused himself from so doing by a desire of not shocking the feelings of the others, for we were sensible of one another's weakness of intellect though blind to our own. Yet we were calm and resigned to our fate, not a murmur escaped us, and we were punctual and fervent in our addresses to the Supreme Being. On the 19th Michel refused to hunt, or even to assist in carrying a log of wood to the fire, which was too heavy for Hepburn's strength and mine. Mr. Hood endeavoured to point out to him the necessity and duty of exertion, and the cruelty of his quitting us without leaving something for our support; but the discourse, far from producing any beneficial effect, seemed only to excite his anger, and amongst other expressions, he made use of the following remarkable one: "It is no use hunting,{45} there are no animals, you had better kill and eat me." At length, however, he went out, but returned very soon, with a report that he had seen three deer, which he was unable to follow from having wet his foot in a small stream of water thinly covered with ice, and being consequently obliged to come to the fire. The day was rather mild, and Hepburn and I gathered a large kettleful of _tripe de roche_; Michel slept in the tent this night. _Sunday, October 20_.--In the morning we again urged Michel to go a hunting that he might if possible leave us some provision, to-morrow being the day appointed for his quitting us; but he shewed great unwillingness to go out, and lingered about the fire, under the pretence of cleaning his gun. After we had read the morning service I went about noon to gather some _tripe de roche_, leaving Mr. Hood sitting before the tent at the fire-side arguing with Michel; Hepburn was employed cutting down a tree at a short distance from the tent, being desirous of accumulating a quantity of fire-wood{46} before he left us. A short time after I went out, I heard the report of a gun, and about ten minutes afterwards Hepburn called to me in a voice of great alarm, to come directly. When I arrived I found poor Hood lying lifeless at the fire-side, a ball having apparently entered his forehead. I was at first horror-struck with the idea, that in a fit of despondency he had hurried himself into the presence of his Almighty Judge, by an act of his own hand; but the conduct of Michel soon gave rise to other thoughts, and excited suspicions which were confirmed, when upon examining the body, I discovered that the shot had entered the back part of the head, and passed out at the forehead, and that the muzzle of the gun had been applied so close as to set fire to the night-cap behind. The gun, which was of the longest kind supplied to the Indians, could not have been placed in a position to inflict such a wound, except by a second person. Upon inquiring of Michel how it happened, he replied, that Mr. Hood had sent him into the tent for the short gun, and that during his absence the long gun had gone off, he did not know whether by accident or not. He held the short gun in his hand at the time he was speaking to me. Hepburn afterwards informed me that previous to the report of the gun Mr. Hood and Michel were speaking to each other in an elevated angry tone; that Mr. Hood being seated at the fire-side, was hid from him by intervening willows, but that on hearing the report he looked up and saw Michel rising up from before the tent-door, or just behind where Mr. Hood was seated, and then going into the tent. Thinking that the gun had been discharged for the purpose of cleaning it, he did not go to the fire at first; and when Michel called to him that Mr. Hood was dead, a considerable time had elapsed. Although I dared not openly to evince any suspicion that I thought Michel guilty of the deed, yet he repeatedly protested that he was incapable of committing such an act, kept constantly on his guard, and carefully avoided leaving Hepburn and me together. He was evidently afraid of permitting us to converse in private, and whenever Hepburn spoke, he inquired if he accused him of the murder. It is to be remarked, that he understood English very imperfectly, yet sufficiently to render it unsafe for us to speak on the subject in his presence. We removed the body into a clump of willows behind the tent, and, returning to the fire, read the funeral service in addition to the evening prayers. The loss of a young officer, of such distinguished and varied talents and application, may be felt and duly appreciated by the eminent characters under whose command he had served; but the calmness with which he contemplated the probable termination of a life of uncommon promise; and the patience and fortitude with which he sustained, I may venture to say, unparalleled bodily sufferings, can only be known to the companions of his distresses. Owing to the effect that the _tripe de roche_ invariably had, when he ventured to taste it, he undoubtedly suffered more than any of the survivors of the party. _Bickersteth's Scripture Help_ was lying open beside the body, as if it had fallen from his hand, and it is probable, that he was reading it at the instant of his death. We passed the night in the tent together without rest, every one being on his guard. Next day, having determined on going to the Fort, we began to patch and prepare our clothes for the journey. We singed the hair off a part of the buffalo robe that belonged to Mr. Hood, and boiled and ate it. Michel tried to persuade me to go to the woods on the Copper-Mine River, and hunt for deer instead of going to the Fort. In the afternoon a flock of partridges coming near the tent, he killed several which he shared with us. Thick snowy weather and a head wind prevented us from starting the following day, but on the morning of the 23d we set out, carrying with us the remainder of the singed robe. Hepburn and Michel had each a gun, and I carried a small pistol which Hepburn had loaded for me. In the course of the march Michel alarmed us much by his gestures and conduct, was constantly muttering to himself, expressed an unwillingness to go the Fort, and tried to persuade me to go to the southward to the woods, where he said he could maintain himself all the winter by killing deer. In consequence of this behaviour, and the expression of his countenance, I requested him to leave us, and to go to the southward by himself. This proposal increased his ill-nature, he threw out some obscure hints of freeing himself from all restraint on the morrow{47}; and I overheard him muttering threats against Hepburn, whom he openly accused of having told stories against him. He also, for the first time, assumed such a tone of superiority in addressing me, as evinced that he considered us to be completely in his power, and he gave vent to several expressions of hatred towards the white people, or as he termed us in the idiom of the voyagers, the French, some of whom, he said, had killed and eaten his uncle and two of his relations. In short, taking every circumstance of his conduct into consideration, I came to the conclusion that he would attempt to destroy us on the first opportunity that offered, and that he had hitherto abstained from doing so from his ignorance of his way to the Fort, but that he would never suffer us to go thither in company with him. In the course of the day he had several times remarked that we were pursuing the same course that Mr. Franklin was doing when he left him, and that by keeping towards the setting sun he could find his way himself. Hepburn and I were not in a condition to resist even an open attack, nor could we by any device escape from him. Our united strength was far inferior to his, and, beside his gun, he was armed with two pistols, an Indian bayonet and a knife. In the afternoon, coming to a rock on which there was some _tripe de roche_, he halted, and said he would gather it whilst we went on, and that he would soon overtake us. Hepburn and I were now left together for the first time since Mr. Hood's death, and he acquainted me with several material circumstances which he had observed of Michel's behaviour, and which confirmed me in the opinion that there was no safety for us except in his death, and he offered to be the instrument of it. I determined, however, as I was thoroughly convinced of the necessity of such a dreadful act, to take the whole responsibility upon myself; and immediately upon Michel's coming up, I put an end to his life by shooting him through the head with a pistol. Had my own life alone been threatened, I would not have purchased it by such a measure; but I considered myself as intrusted also with the protection of Hepburn's, a man, who, by his humane attentions and devotedness, had so endeared himself to me, that I felt more anxiety for his safety than for my own. Michel had gathered no _tripe de roche_, and it was evident to us that he had halted for the purpose of putting his gun in order, with the intention of attacking us, perhaps, whilst we were in the act of encamping. I have dwelt in the preceding part of the narrative upon many circumstances of Michel's conduct, not for the purpose of aggravating his crime, but to put the reader in possession of the reasons that influenced me in depriving a fellow-creature of life. Up to the period of his return to the tent, his conduct had been good and respectful to the officers, and in a conversation between Captain Franklin, Mr. Hood, and myself, at Obstruction Rapid, it had been proposed to give him a reward upon our arrival at a post. His principles, however, unsupported by a belief in the divine truths of Christianity, were unable to withstand the pressure of severe distress. His countrymen, the Iroquois, are generally Christians, but he was totally uninstructed and ignorant of the duties inculcated by Christianity; and from his long residence in the Indian country, seems to have imbibed, or retained the rules of conduct which the southern Indians prescribe to themselves. On the two following days we had mild but thick snowy weather, and as the view was too limited to enable us to preserve a straight course, we remained encamped amongst a few willows and dwarf pines, about five miles from the tent. We found a species of _cornicularia_, a kind of lichen, that was good to eat when moistened and toasted over the fire; and we had a good many pieces of singed buffalo hide remaining. On the 26th, the weather being clear and extremely cold, we resumed our march which was very painful from the depth of the snow, particularly on the margins of the small lakes that lay in our route. We frequently sunk under the load of our blankets, and were obliged to assist each other in getting up. After walking about three miles and a half, however, we were cheered by the sight of a large herd of rein-deer, and Hepburn went in pursuit of them; but his hand being unsteady through weakness he missed. He was so exhausted by this fruitless attempt that we were obliged to encamp upon the spot, although it was a very unfavourable one. Next day, we had fine and clear, but cold, weather. We set out early, and, in crossing a hill, found a considerable quantity of _tripe de roche_. About noon we fell upon Little Marten Lake, having walked about two miles. The sight of a place that we knew, inspired us with fresh vigour, and there being comparatively little snow on the ice, we advanced at a pace to which we had lately been unaccustomed. In the afternoon we crossed a recent track of a wolverene, which, from a parallel mark in the snow, appeared to have been dragging something. Hepburn traced it, and upon the borders of the lake found the spine of a deer, that it had dropped. It was clean picked, and at least one season old; but we extracted the spinal marrow from it, which, even in its frozen state, was so acrid as to excoriate the lips. We encamped within sight of the Dog-rib Rock, and from the coldness of the night and the want of fuel, rested very ill. On the 28th we rose at day-break, but from the want of the small fire, that we usually made in the mornings to warm our fingers, a very long time was spent in making up our bundles. This task fell to Hepburn's share, as I suffered so much from the cold as to be unable to take my hands out of my mittens. We kept a straight course for the Dog-rib Rock, but, owing to the depth of the snow in the valleys we had to cross, did not reach it until late in the afternoon. We would have encamped, but did not like to pass a second night without fire; and though scarcely able to drag our limbs after us, we pushed on to a clump of pines, about a mile to the southward of the rock, and arrived at them in the dusk of the evening. During the last few hundred yards of our march, our track lay over some large stones, amongst which I fell down upwards of twenty times, and became at length so exhausted that I was unable to stand. If Hepburn had not exerted himself far beyond his strength, and speedily made the encampment and kindled a fire, I must have perished on the spot. This night we had plenty of dry wood. On the 29th we had clear and fine weather. We set out at sunrise, and hurried on in our anxiety to reach the house, but our progress was much impeded by the great depth of the snow in the valleys. Although every spot of ground over which we travelled to-day, had been repeatedly trodden by us, yet we got bewildered in a small lake. We took it for Marten Lake, which was three times its size, and fancied that we saw the rapids and the grounds about the Fort, although they were still far distant. Our disappointment when this illusion was dispelled, by our reaching the end of the lake, so operated on our feeble minds as to exhaust our strength, and we decided upon encamping; but upon ascending a small eminence to look for a clump of wood, we caught a glimpse of the Big Stone, a well-known rock upon the summit of a hill opposite to the Fort, and determined upon proceeding. In the evening we saw several large herds of rein-deer, but Hepburn, who used to be{48} considered a good marksman, was now unable to hold the gun straight, and although he got near them all his efforts proved fruitless. In passing through a small clump of pines we saw a flock of partridges, and he succeeded in killing one after firing several shots. We came in sight of the Fort at dusk, and it is impossible to describe our sensations, when on attaining the eminence that overlooks it, we beheld the smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. From not having met with any footsteps in the snow, as we drew nigh our once cheerful residence, we had been agitated by many melancholy forebodings. Upon entering the now desolate building, we had the satisfaction of embracing Captain Franklin, but no words can convey an idea of the filth and wretchedness that met our eyes on looking around. Our own misery had stolen upon us by degrees, and we were accustomed to the contemplation of each others emaciated figures, but the ghastly countenances, dilated eye-balls, and sepulchral voices of Captain Franklin and those with him were more than we could at first bear. _Conclusion of Dr. Richardson's Narrative._ * * * * * The morning of the 31st was very cold, the wind being strong from the north. Hepburn went again in quest of deer, and the Doctor endeavoured to kill some partridges: both were unsuccessful. A large herd of deer passed close to the house, the Doctor fired once at them, but was unable to pursue them. Adam was easier this day, and left his bed. Peltier and Samandrè{49} were much weaker, and could not assist in the labours of the day. Both complained of soreness in the throat, and Samandrè suffered much from cramps in his fingers. The Doctor and Hepburn began this day to cut the wood, and also brought it to the house. Being too weak to aid in these laborious tasks, I was employed in searching for bones, and cooking, and attending to our more weakly companions. In the evening Peltier, complaining much of cold, requested of me a portion of a blanket to repair his shirt and drawers. The mending of these articles occupied him and Samandrè until past one A.M., and their spirits were so much revived by the employment, that they conversed even cheerfully the whole time. Adam sat up with them. The Doctor, Hepburn, and myself, went to bed. We were afterwards agreeably surprised to see Peltier and Samandrè carry three or four logs of wood across the room to replenish the fire, which induced us to hope they still possessed more strength than we had supposed. _November 1_.--This day was fine and mild. Hepburn went hunting, but was as usual unsuccessful. As his strength was rapidly declining, we advised him to desist from the pursuit of deer; and only to go out for a short time, and endeavour to kill a few partridges for Peltier and Samandrè. The Doctor obtained a little _tripe de roche_, but Peltier could not eat any of it, and Samandrè only a few spoonfuls, owing to the soreness of their throats. In the afternoon Peltier was so much exhausted, that he sat up with difficulty, and looked piteously; at length he slided from his stool upon his bed, as we supposed to sleep, and in this composed state he remained upwards of two hours, without our apprehending any danger. We were then alarmed by hearing a rattling in his throat, and on the Doctor's examining him, he was found to be speechless. He died in the course of the night. Samandrè sat up the greater part of the day, and even assisted in pounding some bones; but on witnessing the melancholy state of Peltier, he became very low, and began to complain of cold and stiffness of the joints. Being unable to keep up a sufficient fire to warm him, we laid him down and covered him with several blankets. He did not, however, appear to get better, and I deeply lament to add he also died before daylight. We removed the bodies of the deceased into the opposite part of the house, but our united strength was inadequate to the task of interring them, or even carrying them down to the river. It may be worthy of remark that poor Peltier, from the time of Benoit's departure, had fixed on the first of November as the time when he should cease to expect any relief from the Indians, and had repeatedly said that if they did not arrive by that day, he should not survive. Peltier had endeared himself to each of us by his cheerfulness, his unceasing activity, and affectionate care and attentions, ever since our arrival at this place. He had nursed Adam with the tenderest solicitude the whole time. Poor Samandrè was willing to have taken his share in the labours of the party, had he not been wholly incapacitated by his weakness and low spirits. The severe shock occasioned by the sudden dissolution of our two companions rendered us very melancholy. Adam became low and despondent, a change which we lamented the more, as we had perceived he had been gaining strength and spirits for the two preceding days. I was particularly distressed by the thought that the labour of collecting wood must now devolve upon Dr. Richardson and Hepburn, and that my debility would disable me from affording them any material assistance; indeed both of them most kindly urged me not to make the attempt. They were occupied the whole of the next day in tearing down the logs of which the store-house was built, but the mud plastered between them was so hard frozen that the labour of separation exceeded their strength, and they were completely exhausted by bringing in wood sufficient for less than twelve hours' consumption. I found it necessary in their absence, to remain constantly near Adam, and to converse with him, in order to prevent his reflecting on our condition, and to keep up his spirits as far as possible. I also lay by his side at night. On the 3d the weather was very cold, though the atmosphere was cloudy. This morning Hepburn was affected with swelling in his limbs, his strength as well as that of the Doctor, was rapidly declining; they continued, however, to be full of hope. Their utmost exertions could only supply wood, to renew the fire thrice, and on making it up the last time we went to bed. Adam was in rather better spirits, but he could not bear to be left alone. Our stock of bones was exhausted by a small quantity of soup we made this evening. The toil of separating the hair from the skins, which in fact were our chief support, had now become so wearisome as to prevent us from eating as much as we should otherwise have done. _November 4_.--Calm and comparatively mild weather. The Doctor and Hepburn, exclusive of their usual occupation, gathered some _tripe de roche_. I went a few yards from the house in search of bones, and returned quite fatigued, having found but three. The Doctor again made incisions in Adam's leg, which discharged a considerable quantity of water, and gave him great relief. We read prayers and a portion of the New Testament in the morning and evening, as had been our practice since Dr. Richardson's arrival; and I may remark that the performance of these duties always afforded us the greatest consolation, serving to re-animate our hope in the mercy of the Omnipotent, who alone could save and deliver us. On the 5th the breezes were light, with dark cloudy weather, and some snow. The Doctor and Hepburn were getting much weaker, and the limbs of the latter were now greatly swelled. They came into the house frequently in the course of the day to rest themselves, and when once seated, were unable to rise without the help of one another, or of a stick. Adam was for the most part in the same low state as yesterday, but sometimes he surprised us by getting up and walking with an appearance of increased strength. His looks were now wild and ghastly, and his conversation was often incoherent. The next day was fine, but very cold. The swellings in Adam's limbs having subsided, he was free from pain, and arose this morning in much better spirits, and spoke of cleaning his gun ready for shooting partridges, or any animals that might appear near the house, but his tone entirely changed before the day was half over; he became again dejected, and could scarcely be prevailed upon to eat. The Doctor and Hepburn were almost exhausted. The cutting of one log of wood occupied the latter half an hour; and the other took as much time to drag it into the house, though the distance did not exceed thirty yards. I endeavoured to help the Doctor, but my assistance was very trifling. Yet it was evident that, in a day or two, if their strength should continue to decline at the same rate, I should be the strongest of the party. I may here remark that owing to our loss of flesh, the hardness of the floor, from which we{50} were only protected by a blanket, produced soreness over the body, and especially those parts on which the weight rested in lying, yet to turn ourselves for relief was a matter of toil and difficulty. However, during this period, and indeed all along after the acute pains of hunger, which lasted but three or four days, had subsided, we generally enjoyed the comfort of a few hours' sleep. The dreams which for the most part, but not always accompanied it, were usually (though not invariably,) of a pleasant character, being very often about the enjoyments of feasting. In the day-time we fell into the practice of conversing on common and light subjects, although we sometimes discussed with seriousness and earnestness topics connected with religion. We generally avoided speaking directly of our present sufferings, or even of the prospect of relief. I observed, that in proportion as our strength decayed, our minds exhibited symptoms of weakness, evinced by a kind of unreasonable pettishness with each other. Each of us thought the other weaker in intellect than himself, and more in need of advice and assistance. So trifling a circumstance as a change of place, recommended by one as being warmer and more comfortable, and refused by the other from a dread of motion, frequently called forth fretful expressions which were no sooner uttered than atoned for, to be repeated perhaps in the course of a few minutes. The same thing often occurred when we endeavoured to assist each other in carrying wood to the fire; none of us were willing to receive assistance, although the task was disproportioned to our strength. On one of these occasions, Hepburn was so convinced of this waywardness that he exclaimed, "Dear me, if we are spared to return to England, I wonder if we shall recover our understandings." _November 7_.--Adam had passed a restless night, being disquieted by gloomy apprehensions of approaching death, which we tried in vain to dispel. He was so low in the morning as to be scarcely able to speak. I remained in bed by his side to cheer him as much as possible. The Doctor and Hepburn went to cut wood. They had hardly begun their labour, when they were amazed at hearing the report of a musket. They could scarcely believe that there was really any one near, until they heard a shout, and immediately espied three Indians close to the house. Adam and I heard the latter noise, and I was fearful that a part of the house had fallen upon one of my companions, a disaster which had in fact been thought not unlikely. My alarm was only momentary, Dr. Richardson came in to communicate the joyful intelligence that relief had arrived. He and myself immediately addressed thanksgivings to the throne of mercy for this deliverance, but poor Adam was in so low a state that he could scarcely comprehend the information. When the Indians entered, he attempted to rise but sank down again. But for this seasonable interposition of Providence, his existence must have terminated in a few hours, and that of the rest probably in not many days. The Indians had left Akaitcho's encampment on the 5th November, having been sent by Mr. Back with all possible expedition, after he had arrived at their tents. They brought but a small supply of provision that they might travel quickly. It consisted of dried deer's meat, some fat, and a few tongues. Dr. Richardson, Hepburn, and I eagerly devoured the food, which they imprudently presented to us, in too great abundance, and in consequence we suffered dreadfully from indigestion, and had no rest the whole night. Adam being unable to feed himself, was more judiciously treated by them, and suffered less; his spirits revived hourly. The circumstance of our eating more food than was proper in our present condition, was another striking proof of the debility of our minds. We were perfectly aware of the danger, and Dr. Richardson repeatedly cautioned us to be moderate; but he was himself unable to practise the caution he so judiciously recommended. Boudel-kell, the youngest of the Indians, after resting about an hour, returned to Akaitcho with the intelligence of our situation, and he conveyed a note from me to Mr. Back, requesting another supply of meat as soon as possible. The two others, "Crooked-Foot and the Rat," remained to take care of us, until we should be able to move forward. The note received by the Indians from Mr. Back, communicated a tale of distress, with regard to himself and his party, as painful as that which we had suffered; as will be seen hereafter, by his own narrative. _November 8_.--The Indians this morning requested us to remove to an encampment on the banks of the river, as they were unwilling to remain in the house where the bodies of our deceased companions were lying exposed to view. We agreed, but the day proved too stormy, and Dr. Richardson and Hepburn having dragged the bodies to a short distance, and covered them with snow, the objections of the Indians to remain in the house were dissipated, and they began to clear our room of the accumulation of dirt, and fragments of pounded bones. The improved state of our apartment, and the large and cheerful fires they kept up, produced in us a sensation of comfort to which we had long been strangers. In the evening they brought in a pile of dried wood, which was lying on the river-side, and towards which we had often cast a wishful eye, being unable to drag it up the bank. The Indians set about every thing with an activity that amazed us. Indeed, contrasted with our emaciated figures and extreme debility, their frames appeared to us gigantic, and their strength supernatural. These kind creatures next turned their attention to our personal appearance, and prevailed upon us to shave and wash ourselves. The beards of the Doctor and Hepburn had been untouched since they left the sea-coast, and were become of a hideous length, and peculiarly offensive to the Indians. The Doctor and I suffered extremely from distention, and therefore ate sparingly[15]. Hepburn was getting better, and Adam recovered his strength with amazing rapidity. [15] The first alvine discharges after we received food, were, as Hearne remarks on a similar occasion, attended with excessive pain. Previous to the arrival of the Indians the urinary secretion was extremely abundant, and we were obliged to rise from bed in consequence upwards of ten times in a night. This was an extreme annoyance in our reduced state. It may, perhaps, be attributed to the quantity of the country tea that we drank. _November 9_.--This morning was pleasantly fine. Crooked-Foot caught four large trout in Winter Lake, which were very much prized, especially by the Doctor and myself, who had taken a dislike to meat, in consequence of our sufferings from repletion, which rendered us almost incapable of moving. Adam and Hepburn in a good measure escaped this pain. Though the night was stormy, and our apartment freely admitted the wind, we felt no inconvenience, the Indians were so very careful in covering us up, and in keeping a good fire; and our plentiful cheer gave such power of resisting the cold, that we could scarcely believe otherwise than that the season had become milder. On the 13th, the weather was stormy, with constant snow. The Indians became desponding at the non-arrival of the supply, and would neither go to hunt nor fish. They frequently expressed their fears of some misfortune having befallen Boudel-kell; and, in the evening, went off suddenly, without apprizing us of their intention, having first given to each of us a handful of pounded meat, which they had reserved. Their departure, at first, gave rise to a suspicion of their having deserted us, not meaning to return, especially as the explanations of Adam, who appeared to be in their secret, were very unsatisfactory. At length, by interrogations, we got from him the information, that they designed to march night and day, until they should reach Akaitcho's encampment, whence they would send us aid. As we had combated{51} their fears about Boudel-kell, they, perhaps, apprehended that we should oppose their determination, and therefore concealed it. We were now left a second time without food, and with appetites recovered, and strongly excited{52} by recent indulgence. On the following day the Doctor and Hepburn resumed their former occupation of collecting wood, and I was able to assist a little in bringing it into the house. Adam, whose expectation of the arrival of the Indians had been raised by the fineness of the weather, became, towards night, very desponding, and refused to eat the singed skin. The night was stormy, and there was a heavy fall of snow. The next day he became still more dejected. About eleven, Hepburn, who had gone out for the wood, came in with the intelligence that a party appeared upon the river. The room was instantly swept, and in compliance with the prejudices of the Indians, every scrap of skin was carefully removed out of sight: for these simple people imagine, that burning deer-skin renders them unsuccessful in hunting. The party proved to be Crooked-Foot, Thooee-yorre, and the Fop, with the wives of the two latter dragging provisions. They were accompanied by Benoit, one of our own men. We were rejoiced to learn, by a note from Mr. Back, dated November 11, that he and his companions had so recruited their strength that they were preparing to proceed to Fort Providence. Adam recovered his spirits on the arrival of the Indians and even walked about the room with an appearance of strength and activity that surprised us all. As it was of consequence to get amongst the rein-deer before our present supply should fail we made preparations for quitting Fort Enterprise the next day; and, accordingly, at an early hour, on the 16th, having united in thanksgiving and prayer, the whole party left the house after breakfast. Our feelings on quitting the Fort where we had formerly enjoyed much comfort if not happiness, and, latterly, experienced a degree of misery scarcely to be paralleled, may be more easily conceived than described. The Indians treated us with the utmost tenderness, gave us their snow-shoes, and walked without themselves, keeping by our sides, that they might lift us when we fell. We descended Winter River, and, about noon, crossed the head of Round-Rock Lake, distant about three miles from the house, where we were obliged to halt, as Dr. Richardson was unable to proceed. The swellings in his limbs rendered him by much the weakest of the party. The Indians prepared our encampment, cooked for us, and fed us as if we had been children; evincing humanity that would have done honour to the most civilized people. The night was mild, and fatigue made us sleep soundly. From this period to the 26th of November, we gradually improved, through their kindness and attention; and on that day arrived in safety at the abode of our chief and companion Akaitcho. We were received by the party assembled in the leader's tent, with looks of compassion, and profound silence, which lasted about a quarter of an hour, and by which they meant to express their condolence for our sufferings. The conversation did not begin until we had tasted food. The Chief, Akaitcho, shewed us the most friendly hospitality, and all sorts of personal attention, even to cooking for us with his own hands, an office which he never performs for himself. Annoethai-yazzeh and Humpy, the Chief's two brothers, and several of our hunters, with their families, were encamped here, together with a number of old men and women. In the course of the day we were visited by every person of the band, not merely from curiosity, but a desire to evince their tender sympathy in our late distress. We learned that Mr. Back, with St. Germain and Belanger, had gone to Fort Providence; and that, previous to his departure he had left a letter in a _cache_ of pounded meat, which we had missed two days ago. As we supposed that this letter might acquaint us with his intentions more fully than we could gather from the Indians, through our imperfect knowledge of their language, Augustus, the Esquimaux, whom we found here in perfect health, and an Indian lad, were despatched to bring it. We found several of the Indian families in great affliction, for the loss of three of their relatives who had been drowned in the August preceding, by the upsetting of a canoe near Fort Enterprise. They bewailed the melancholy accident every morning and evening, by repeating the names of the persons in a loud singing tone, which was frequently interrupted by bursts of tears. One woman was so affected by the loss of her only son, that she seemed deprived of reason, and wandered about the tents the whole day, crying and singing out his name. On the 1st of December we removed with the Indians to the southward. On the 4th we again set off after the Indians about noon, and soon overtook them, as they had halted, to drag from the water, and cut up and share a moose-deer, that had been drowned in a rapid part of the river, partially covered with ice. These operations detained us a long time, which was the more disagreeable, as the weather was extremely unpleasant from cold low fogs. We were all much fatigued at the hour of encampment, which was after dark, though the day's journey did not exceed four miles. At every halt the elderly men of the tribe made holes in the ice and put in their lines. One of them shared the produce of his fishery with us this evening. In the afternoon of the 6th, Belanger, and another Canadian, arrived from Fort Providence, sent by Mr. Weeks with two trains of dogs, some spirits and tobacco for the Indians, a change of dress for ourselves, and a little tea and sugar. They also brought letters for us from England, and from Mr. Back, and Mr. Wentzel. By the former we received the gratifying intelligence of the successful termination of Captain Parry's voyage; and were informed of the promotion of myself and Mr. Back, and of poor Hood, our grief for whose loss was renewed by this intelligence. The letter from Mr. Back stated, that the rival Companies in the fur trade had united; but that, owing to some cause which had not been explained to him, the goods intended as rewards to Akaitcho and his band, which we had demanded in the spring from the North-West Company, were not sent. There were, however some stores lying for us at Moose-deer Island, which had been ordered for the equipment of our voyagers; and Mr. Back had gone across to that establishment, to make a selection of the articles we could spare for a temporary present to the Indians. The disappointment at the non-arrival of the goods was seriously felt by us, as we had looked forward with pleasure to the time when we should be enabled to recompense our kind Indian friends, for their tender sympathy in our distresses, and the assistance they had so cheerfully and promptly rendered. I now regretted to find, that Mr. Wentzel and his party, in their return from the sea, had suffered severely on their march along the Copper-Mine River, having on one occasion, as he mentioned, had no food but _tripe de roche_ for eleven days. All the Indians flocked to our encampment to learn the news, and to receive the articles brought for them. Having got some spirits and tobacco, they withdrew to the tent of the Chief, and passed the greater part of the night in singing. We had now the indescribable gratification of changing our linen, which had been worn ever since our departure from the sea-coast. _December 8_.--After a long conference with Akaitcho, we took leave of him and his kind companions, and set out with two sledges heavily laden with provision and bedding, drawn by the dogs, and conducted by Belanger and the Canadian sent by Mr. Weeks. Hepburn and Augustus jointly dragged a smaller sledge, laden principally with their own bedding. Adam and Benoit were left to follow with the Indians. We encamped on the Grassy-Lake Portage, having walked about nine miles, principally on the Yellow Knife River. It was open at the rapids, and in these places we had to ascend its banks, and walk through the woods for some distance, which was very fatiguing, especially to Dr. Richardson, whose feet were severely galled in consequence of some defect in his snow-shoes. On the 11th, however, we arrived at the Fort, which was still under the charge of Mr. Weeks. He welcomed us in the most kind manner, immediately gave us changes of dress, and did every thing in his power to make us comfortable. Our sensations on being once more in a comfortable dwelling, after the series of hardships and miseries we had experienced, may be imagined. Our first act was again to return our grateful praises to the Almighty for the manifold instances of his mercy towards us. Having found here some articles which Mr. Back had sent across from Moose-deer Island, I determined on awaiting the arrival of Akaitcho and his party, in order to present these to them, and to assure them of the promised reward, as soon as it could possibly be procured. In the afternoon of the 14th, Akaitcho, with his whole band came to the Fort. He smoked his customary pipe, and made an address to Mr. Weeks in the hall previous to his coming into the room in which Dr. Richardson and I were. We discovered at the commencement of his speech to us, that he had been informed that our expected supplies had not come. He spoke of this circumstance as a disappointment, indeed, sufficiently severe to himself, to whom his band looked up for the protection of their interests, but without attaching any blame to us. "The world goes badly," he said, "all are poor; you are poor, the traders appear to be poor, I and my party, are poor likewise; and since the goods have not come in, we cannot have them. I do not regret having supplied you with provisions, for a Copper Indian can never permit white men to suffer from want of food on his lands, without flying to their aid. I trust, however, that we shall, as you say, receive what is due next autumn; and at all events," he added, in a tone of good-humour, "it is the first time that the white people have been indebted to the Copper Indians." We assured him the supplies should certainly be sent to him by the autumn, if not before. He then cheerfully received the small present we made to himself; and, although, we could give a few things only to those who had been most active in our service, the others, who, perhaps, thought themselves equally deserving, did not murmur at being left out in the distribution. Akaitcho afterwards expressed a strong desire, that we should represent the character of his nation in a favourable light to our countrymen. "I know," he said, "you write down every occurrence in your books; but probably you have only noticed the bad things we have said and done, and have omitted the good." In the course of the desultory conversation which ensued, he said, that he had been always told by us, to consider the traders in the same light as ourselves; and that, for his part, he looked upon both as equally respectable. This assurance, made in the presence of Mr. Weeks, was particularly gratifying to us, as it completely disproved the defence that had been set up, respecting the injurious reports circulated against us amongst the Indians in the spring; namely, that they were in retaliation for our endeavours to lower the traders in the eyes of the Indians. I take this opportunity of stating my opinion, that Mr. Weeks, in spreading these reports, was actuated by a mistaken idea that he was serving the interest of his employers. On the present occasion, we felt indebted to him for the sympathy he displayed for our distresses, and the kindness with which he administered to our personal wants. After this conference, such Indians as were indebted to the Company were paid for the provision they had given us, by deducting a corresponding sum from their debts; in the same way we gave a reward of sixteen skins of beaver to each of the persons who had come to our relief at Fort Enterprise. As the debts of Akaitcho and his hunters had been effaced at the time of his engagement with us, we placed a sum equal to the amount of provision they had recently supplied, to their credit on the Company's Books. These things being, through the moderation of the Indians, adjusted with an unexpected facility, we gave them a keg of mixed liquors, (five parts water,) and distributed among them several fathoms of tobacco, and they retired to their tents to spend the night in merriment. Adam, our interpreter, being desirous of uniting himself with the Copper Indians, applied to me for his discharge, which I granted, and gave him a bill on the Hudson's Bay Company for the amount of his wages. These arrangements being completed, we prepared to cross the lake. Mr. Weeks provided Dr. Richardson and I with a cariole each, and we set out at eleven A.M., on the 15th, for Moose-deer Island. Our party consisted of Belanger, who had charge of a sledge laden with the bedding, and drawn by two dogs, our two cariole men, Benoit, and Augustus. Previous to our departure, we had another conference with Akaitcho, who, as well as the rest of his party, bade us farewell, with a warmth of manner rare among the Indians. The badness of Belanger's dogs, and the roughness of the ice, impeded our progress very much, and obliged us to encamp early. We had a good fire made of the drift wood, which lines the shores of this lake in great quantities. The next day was very cold. We began the journey at nine A.M., and encamped at the Big Cape, having made another short march, in consequence of the roughness of the ice. On the 17th, we encamped on the most southerly of the Rein-deer Islands. This night was very stormy, but the wind abating in the morning, we proceeded, and by sunset reached the fishing-huts of the Company at Stony Point. Here we found Mr. Andrews, a clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company, who regaled us with a supper of excellent white fish, for which this part of Slave Lake is particularly celebrated. Two men with sledges arrived soon afterwards, sent by Mr. McVicar, who expected us about this time. We set off in the morning before day break, with several companions, and arrived at Moose-deer Island about one P.M. Here we were received with the utmost hospitality by Mr. McVicar, the chief trader of the Hudson's Bay Company in this district, as well as by his assistant Mr. McAuley. We had also the happiness of joining our friend, Mr. Back; our feelings on this occasion can be well imagined, and we were deeply impressed with gratitude to him for his exertions in sending the supply of food to Fort Enterprise, to which, under Divine Providence, we felt the preservation of our lives to be owing. He gave us an affecting detail of the proceedings of his party since our separation; the substance of which I shall convey to the reader, by the following extracts from his Journal. MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE. 1821. October 4. Captain Franklin having directed me to proceed with St. Germain, Belanger, and Beauparlant, to Fort Enterprise, in the hope of obtaining relief for the party, I took leave of my companions, and set out on my journey, through a very swampy country, which with the cloudy state of the weather and a keen north-east wind, accompanied by frequent snow showers, retarded us so much, that we scarcely got more than four miles before we halted for the night, and made a meal of _tripe de roche_ and some old leather. On the 5th we set out early, amidst extremely deep snow, sinking frequently in it up to the thighs, a labour in our enfeebled and almost worn out state, that nothing but the cheering hopes of reaching the house and affording relief to our friends, could have enabled us to support. As we advanced we found to our mortification, that the _tripe de roche_, hitherto our sole dependence, began to be scarce, so that we could only collect sufficient to make half a kettleful, which, with the addition of a partridge each, that St. Germain had killed, yielded a tolerable meal; during this day I felt very weak and sore in the joints, particularly between the shoulders. At eight we encamped among a small clump of willows. On the 6th we set out at an early hour, pursuing our route over a range of hills at the foot of one of which we saw several large pines, and a great quantity of willows; a sight that encouraged us to quicken our pace, as we were now certain we could not be far from the woods. Indeed we were making considerable progress, when Belanger unfortunately broke through the ice, and sank up to the hips. The weather being cold, he was in danger of freezing, but some brushwood on the borders of the lake enabled us to make a fire to dry him. At the same time we took the opportunity of refreshing ourselves with a kettle of swamp tea. My increasing debility had for some time obliged me to use a stick for the purpose of extending my arms; the pain in my shoulders being so acute, that I could not bear them to remain in the usual position for two minutes together. We halted at five among some small brushwood, and made a sorry meal of an old pair of leather trowsers, and some swamp tea. The night was cold with a hard frost, and though two persons slept together, yet we could not by any means keep ourselves warm, but remained trembling the whole time. The following morning we crossed several lakes, occasionally seeing the recent tracks of deer, and at noon we fell upon Marten Lake; it happened to be at the exact spot where we had been the last year with the canoes, yet though I immediately recognised the place, the men would not believe it to be the same; at length, by pointing out several marks, and relating circumstances connected with them, they recovered their memory, and a simultaneous expression of "Mon Dieu, nous sommes sauvés{53}," broke from the whole. Contrary to our expectations the lake was frozen sufficiently to bear us, so that we were excused from making the tours of the different bays. This circumstance seemed to impart fresh vigour to us, and we walked as fast as the extreme smoothness of the ice would permit, intending to reach the Slave Rock that night; but an unforeseen and almost fatal accident prevented the prosecution of our plan: Belanger (who seemed the victim of misfortune) again broke through the ice, in a deep part near the head of the rapid, but was timely saved by our fastening our worsted belts together, and pulling him out. By urging him forwards as quick as his icy garments would admit, to prevent his freezing, we reached a few pines, and kindled a fire; but it was late before he even felt warm, though he was so near the flame as to burn his hair twice; and to add to our distress, (since we could not pursue them,) three wolves crossed the lake close to us. The night of the 7th was extremely stormy, and about ten the following morning, on attempting to go on, we found it totally impossible, being too feeble to oppose the wind and drift, which frequently blew us over, and on attempting to cross a small lake that lay in our way, drove us faster backwards, than with every effort, we could get forwards; we therefore encamped under the shelter of a small clump of pines, secure from the south-west storm that was raging around us. In the evening, there being no _tripe de roche_, we were compelled to satisfy, or rather allay the cravings of hunger, by eating a gun cover and a pair of old shoes; at this time I had scarcely strength to get on my legs. The wind did not in the least abate during the night, but in the morning of the 9th it changed to north-east and became moderate. We took advantage of this circumstance, and rising with great difficulty, set out; though had it not been for the hope of reaching the house, I am certain, from the excessive faintness which almost overpowered me, that I must have remained where I was. We passed the Slave Rock, and making frequent halts, arrived within a short distance of Fort Enterprise; but as we perceived neither any marks of Indians, nor even of animals, the men began absolutely to despair: on a nearer approach, however, the tracks of large herds of deer, which had only passed a few hours, tended a little to revive their spirits, and shortly after we crossed the ruinous threshold of the long-sought spot; but what was our surprise, what our sensations, at beholding every thing in the most desolate and neglected state; the doors and windows of that room in which we expected to find provision, had been thrown down and the wild animals of the woods had resorted there as to a place of shelter and retreat. Mr. Wentzel had taken away the trunks and papers, but had left no note to guide us to the Indians. This was to us the most grievous disappointment: without the assistance of the Indians, bereft of every resource, we felt ourselves reduced to the most miserable state, which was rendered still worse, from the recollection that our friends in the rear were as miserable as{54} ourselves. For the moment, however, hunger prevailed, and each began to gnaw the scraps of putrid and frozen meat that were lying about, without waiting to prepare them. A fire, however, was made, and the neck and bones of a deer, found in the house, were boiled and devoured. I determined to remain a day here to repose; then to go in search of the Indians, and in the event of missing them, to proceed to the first trading establishment, which was distant about one hundred and thirty miles, and from thence to send succour to my companions. This indeed I should have done immediately, as the most certain manner of executing my purpose, had there been any probability of the river and lakes being frozen to the southward, or had we possessed sufficient strength to have clambered over the rocks and mountains which impeded the direct way; but as we were aware of our inability to do so, I listened to St. Germain's proposal, which was, to follow the deer into the woods, (so long as they did not lead us out of our route to the Indians,) and if possible to collect sufficient food to carry us to Fort Providence. We now set about making mittens and snow shoes, whilst Belanger searched under the snow, and collected a mass of old bones, which when burned and used with a little salt we found palatable enough, and made a tolerable meal.{55} At night St. Germain returned, having seen plenty of tracks, but no animals; the day was cloudy, with fresh breezes, and the river was frozen at the borders. On the 11th we prepared for our journey, having first collected a few old skins of deer, to serve us as food; and written a note to be left for our commander, to apprize him of our intentions. We pursued the course of the river to the lower lake, when St. Germain fell in, which obliged us to encamp directly to prevent his being frozen; indeed we were all glad to rest, for in our meagre and reduced state it was impossible to resist the weather, which at any other time would have been thought fine; my toes were frozen, and although wrapped up in a blanket I could not keep my hands warm. The 12th was excessively cold with fresh breezes. Our meal at night consisted of scraps of old deer skins and swamp tea, and the men complained greatly of their increasing debility. The following morning I sent St. Germain to hunt, intending to go some distance down the lake, but the weather becoming exceedingly thick with snow storms, we were prevented from moving. He returned without success, not having seen any animals. We had nothing to eat. In the morning of the 14th the part of the lake before us was quite frozen. There was so much uncertainty in St. Germain's answers as to the chance of any Indians being in the direction we were then going, (although he had previously said that the leader had told him he should be there) and he gave me so much dissatisfaction in his hunting excursions, that I was induced to send a note to the Commander, whom I supposed to be by this time at Fort Enterprise, to inform him of our situation; not that I imagined for a moment he could amend it, but that by all returning to the fort we might, perhaps, have better success in hunting; with this view I despatched Belanger, much against his inclination, and told him to return as quickly as possible to a place about four miles further on, where we intended to fish, and to await his arrival. The men were so weak this day, that I could get neither of them to move from the encampment; and it was only necessity that compelled them to cut wood for fuel, in performing which operation Beauparlant's face became so dreadfully swelled that he could scarcely see; I myself lost my temper on the most trivial circumstances, and was become very peevish; the day was fine but cold, with a freezing north-east wind. We had nothing to eat. _October 15_.--The night was calm and clear, but it was not before two in the afternoon that we set out; and the one was so weak, and the other so full of complaints, that we did not get more than three-quarters of a mile from our last encampment, before we were obliged to put up; but in this distance we were fortunate enough to kill a partridge, the bones of which were eaten, and the remainder reserved for baits to fish with. We, however, collected sufficient _tripe de roche_ to make a meal: and I anxiously awaited Belanger's return, to know what course to take. I was now so much reduced, that my shoulders were as if they would fall from my body, my legs seemed unable to support me, and in the disposition in which I then found myself, had it not been for the remembrance of my friends behind, who relied on me for relief, as well as the persons of whom I had charge, I certainly should have preferred remaining where I was, to the miserable pain of attempting to move. _October 16_.--We waited until two in the afternoon for Belanger; but not seeing any thing of him on the lake, we set out, purposing to encamp at the Narrows, the place which was said to be so good for fishing, and where, according to St. Germain's account, the Indians never failed to catch plenty; its distance at most could not be more than two miles. We had not proceeded far before Beauparlant began to complain of increasing weakness; but this was so usual with us that no particular notice was taken of it, for in fact there was little difference, all being alike feeble: among other things, he said whilst we were resting, that he should never get beyond the next encampment, for his strength had quite failed him. I endeavoured to encourage him by explaining the mercy of the Supreme Being, who ever beholds with an eye of pity those that seek his aid. This passed as common discourse, when he inquired where we were to put up; St. Germain pointed to a small clump of pines near us, the only place indeed that offered for fuel. "Well," replied the poor man, "take your axe Mr. Back, and I will follow at my leisure, I shall join you by the time the encampment is made." This is a usual practice of the country, and St. Germain and myself went on towards the spot; it was five o'clock and not very cold, but rather milder than we had experienced it for some time, when on leaving the ice, we saw a number of crows perched on the top of some high pines near us. St. Germain immediately said there must be some dead animal thereabouts, and proceeded to search, when we saw several heads of deer half buried in the snow and ice, without eyes or tongues: the previous severity of the weather having obliged the wolves and other animals to abandon them. An expression of "Oh merciful God! we are saved," broke from us both; and with feelings more easily imagined than described, we shook hands, not knowing what to say for joy. It was twilight, and a fog was rapidly darkening the surface of the lake, when St. Germain commenced making the encampment; the task was too laborious for me to render him any assistance, and had we not thus providentially found provision, I feel convinced that the next twenty-four hours would have terminated my existence. But this good fortune in some measure renovated me for the moment, and putting out my whole strength I contrived to collect a few heads, and with incredible difficulty carried them singly about thirty paces to the fire. Darkness stole on us apace, and I became extremely anxious about Beauparlant; several guns were fired, to each of which he answered. We then called out, and again heard his responses though faintly, when I told St. Germain to go and look for him, as I had not strength myself, being quite exhausted. He said, that he had already placed a pine branch on the ice, and he could then scarcely find his way back, but if he went now he should certainly be lost. In this situation I could only hope that as Beauparlant had my blanket, and every thing requisite to light a fire, he might have encamped at a little distance from us. _October 17_.--The night was cold and clear, but we could not sleep at all, from the pains of having eaten. We suffered the most excruciating torments, though I in particular did not eat a quarter of what would have satisfied me; it might have been from using a quantity of raw or frozen sinews of the legs of deer, which neither of us could avoid doing, so great was our hunger. In the morning, being much agitated for the safety of Beauparlant, I desired St. Germain to go in search of him, and to return with him as quick as possible, when I would have something prepared for them to eat. It was, however, late when he arrived, with a small bundle which Beauparlant was accustomed to carry, and with tears in his eyes, told me that he had found our poor companion dead. Dead! I could not believe him. "It is so, Sir," said St. Germain; "after hallooing and calling his name to no purpose, I went towards our last encampment, about three quarters of a mile, and found him stretched upon his back on a sand bank frozen to death, his limbs all extended and swelled enormously, and as hard as the ice that was near him; his bundle was behind him, as if it had rolled away when he fell, and the blanket which he wore around his neck and shoulders thrown on one side. Seeing that there was no longer life in him, I threw your covering over him, and placed his snow-shoes on the top of it." I had not even thought of so serious an occurrence in our little party, and for a short time was obliged to give vent to my grief. Left with one person and both of us weak, no appearance of Belanger, a likelihood that great calamity had taken place amongst our other companions, still upwards of seventeen days' march from the nearest Establishment, and myself unable to carry a burden; all these things pressed heavy on me; and how to get to the Indians or to the fort I did not know; but that I might not depress St. Germain's spirits, I suppressed the feelings to which these thoughts gave rise, and made some arrangements for the journey to Fort Providence. _October 18_.--While we were this day occupied in scraping together the remains of some deer's meat, we observed Belanger coming round a point apparently scarcely moving. I went to meet him, and made immediate inquiries about my friends. Five, with the Captain, he said, were at the house, the rest were left near the river, unable to proceed; but he was too weak to relate the whole. He was conducted to the encampment, and paid every attention to, and by degrees we heard the remainder of his tragic tale, at which the interpreter could not avoid crying. He then gave me a letter from my friend the Commander, which indeed was truly afflicting. The simple story of Belanger I could hear, but when I read it in another language, mingled with the pious resignation of a good man, I could not sustain it any longer. The poor man was much affected at the death of our lamented companion, but his appetite prevailed over every other feeling; and, had I permitted it, he would have done himself an injury; for after two hours' eating, principally skin and sinews, he complained of hunger. The day was cloudy, with snow and fresh breezes from the north-east by east. The last evening, as well as this morning, the 19th, I mentioned my wishes to the men, that we should proceed towards Rein-Deer Lake, but this proposal met with a direct refusal. Belanger stated his inability to move, and St. Germain used similar language; adding, for the first time, that he did not know the route, and that it was of no use to go in the direction I mentioned, which was the one agreed upon between the Commander and myself. I then insisted that we should go by the known route, and join the Commander, but they would not hear of it; they would remain where they were until they had regained their strength; they said{56} I wanted to expose them again to death (_faire perir_). In vain did I use every argument to the contrary, for they were equally heedless to all. Thus situated I was compelled to remain; and from this time to the 25th we employed ourselves in looking about for the remnants of the deer and pieces of skin, which even the wolves had left; and by pounding the bones, we were enabled to make a sort of soup, which strengthened us greatly, though each still complained of weakness. It was not without the greatest difficulty that I could restrain the men from eating every scrap they found, though they were well aware of the necessity there was of being economical in our present situation, and to save whatever they could for our journey; yet they could not resist the temptation, and whenever my back was turned they seldom failed to snatch at the nearest piece to them, whether cooked or raw. We had set fishing-lines, but without any success; and we often saw large herds of deer crossing the lake at full speed, and wolves pursuing them. The night of the 25th was cold with hard frost. Early the next morning I sent the men to cover the body of our departed companion Beauparlant with the trunks and branches of trees, which they did; and shortly after their return I opened his bundle, and found it contained two papers of vermilion, several strings of beads, some fire-steels, flints, awls, fish-hooks, rings, linen, and the glass of an artificial horizon. My two men began to recover a little as well as myself, though I was by far the weakest of the three; the soles of my feet were cracked all over, and the other parts were as hard as horn, from constant walking. I again urged the necessity of advancing to join the Commander's party, but they said, they were not sufficiently strong. On the 27th we discovered the remains of a deer, on which we feasted. The night was unusually cold, and ice formed in a pint-pot within two feet of the fire. The coruscations of the Aurora were beautifully brilliant; they served to shew us eight wolves, which we had some trouble to frighten away from our collection of deer's bones; and, between their howling and the constant cracking of the ice, we did not get much rest. Having collected with great care, and by self-denial, two small packets of dried meat or sinews, sufficient (for men who knew what it was to fast) to last for eight days, at the rate of one indifferent meal per day, we prepared to set out on the 30th. I calculated that we should be about fourteen days in reaching Fort Providence; and allowing that we neither killed deer nor found Indians, we could but be unprovided with food six days, and this we heeded not whilst the prospect of obtaining full relief was before us. Accordingly we set out against a keen north-east wind, in order to gain the known route to Fort Providence. We saw a number of wolves and some crows on the middle of the lake, and supposing such an assembly was not met idly, we made for them and came in for a share of a deer which they had killed a short time before, and thus added a couple of meals to our stock. By four P.M. we gained the head of the lake, or the direct road to Fort Providence, and some dry wood being at hand, we encamped; by accident it was the same place where the Commander's party had slept on the 19th, the day on which I supposed they had left Fort Enterprise; but the encampment was so small, that we feared great mortality had taken place amongst them; and I am sorry to say the stubborn resolution of my men, not to go to the house, prevented me from determining this most anxious point, so that I now almost dreaded passing their encampments, lest I should see some of our unfortunate friends dead at each spot. Our fire was hardly kindled when a fine herd of deer passed close to us. St. Germain pursued them a short distance, but with his usual want of success, so that we made a meal off the muscles and sinews we had dried, though they were so tough that we could scarcely{57} cut them. My hands were benumbed throughout the march, and we were all stiff and fatigued. The marching of two days weakened us all very much, and the more so on account of our exertion to follow the tracks of our Commander's party; but we lost them, and concluded that they were not before us. Though the weather was not cold, I was frozen in the face and was so reduced and affected by these constant calamities, as well in mind as in body, that I found much difficulty in proceeding even with the advantages I had enjoyed. _November 3_.--We set out before day, though, in fact, we were all much fitter to remain, from the excessive pain which we suffered in our joints, and proceeded till one P.M., without halting, when Belanger, who was before, stopped, and cried out, "Footsteps of Indians." It is needless to mention the joy that brightened the countenances of each at this unlooked-for sight; we knew relief must be at hand, and considered our sufferings at an end. St. Germain inspected the tracks, and said that three persons had passed the day before; and that he knew the remainder must be advancing to the southward, as was customary with these Indians, when they sent to the trading establishment on the first ice. On this information we encamped, and being too weak to walk myself, I sent St. Germain to follow the tracks, with instructions to the chief of the Indians to provide immediate assistance for such of our friends as might be at Fort Enterprise, as well as for ourselves, and to lose no time in returning to me. I was now so exhausted, that had we not seen the tracks this day, I must have remained at the next encampment, until the men could have sent aid from Fort Providence. We had finished our small portion of sinews, and were preparing for rest, when an Indian boy made his appearance with meat. St. Germain had arrived before sunset at the tents of Akaitcho, whom he found at the spot where he had wintered last year; but imagine my surprise when he gave me a note from the Commander, and said that Benoit and Augustus, two of the men, had just joined them. The note was so confused, by the pencil marks being partly rubbed out, that I could not decipher it clearly; but it informed me, that he had attempted to come with the two men, but finding his strength inadequate to the task, he relinquished his design, and returned to Fort Enterprise, to await relief with the others. There was another note for the gentleman in charge of Fort Providence, desiring him to send meat, blankets, shoes, and tobacco. Akaitcho wished me to join him on the ensuing day, at a place which the boy knew, where they were going to fish; and I was the more anxious to do so, on account of my companions: but particularly that I might hear a full relation of what had happened, and of the Commander's true situation, which I suspected to be much worse than he had described. In the afternoon I joined the Indians, and repeated to Akaitcho what St. Germain had told him; he seemed much affected, and said, he would have sent relief directly, though I had not been there; indeed, his conduct was generous and humane. The next morning, at an early hour, three Indians, with loaded sledges of meat, skins, shoes, and a blanket, set out for Fort Enterprise; one of them was to return directly with an answer from Captain Franklin, to whom I wrote; but in the event of his death, he was to bring away all the papers he could find; and he promised to travel with such haste, as to be able to return to us on the fourth day. I was now somewhat more at ease, having done all in my power to succour my unfortunate companions; but was very anxious for the return of the messenger. The Indians brought me meat in small quantities, though sufficient for our daily consumption; and, as we had a little ammunition, many were paid on the spot for what they gave. On the 9th I had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian arrive from Fort Enterprise. At first he said they were all dead, but shortly after he gave me a note, which was from the Commander, and then I learned all the fatal particulars which had befallen them. I now proposed that the Chief should immediately send three sledges, loaded with meat, to Fort Enterprise, should make a _cache_ of provision at our present encampment, and also, that he should here await the arrival of the Commander. By noon two large trains, laden with meat, were sent off for Fort Enterprise. The next day we proceeded on our journey, and arrived at Fort Providence on the 21st of November. _Conclusion of Mr. Back's Narrative._ * * * * * I have little now to add to the melancholy detail into which I felt it proper to enter; but I cannot omit to state, that the unremitting care and attentions of our kind friends, Mr. McVicar and Mr. McAuley, united with our improved diet, to promote to the restoration of our health; so that, by the end of February, the swellings of our limbs, which had returned upon us, entirely subsided, and we were able to walk to any part of the island. Our appetites gradually moderated, and we nearly regained our ordinary state of body before the spring. Hepburn alone suffered from a severe attack of rheumatism, which confined him to his bed for some weeks. The usual symptoms of spring having appeared, on the 25th of May we prepared to embark for Fort Chipewyan. Fortunately, on the following morning, a canoe arrived from that place with the whole of the stores which we required for the payment of Akaitcho and the hunters. It was extremely gratifying to us to be thus enabled, previous to our departure, to make arrangements respecting the requital of our late Indian companions; and the more so, as we had recently discovered that Akaitcho, and the whole of his tribe, in consequence of the death of the leader's mother, and the wife of our old guide Keskarrah, had broken and destroyed every useful article belonging to them, and were in the greatest distress. It was an additional pleasure to find our stock of ammunition more than sufficient to pay them what was due, and that we could make a considerable present of this most essential article to every individual that had been attached to the Expedition. We quitted Moose-deer Island at five P.M., on the 26th, accompanied by Mr. McVicar, and Mr. McAuley, and nearly all the voyagers at the establishment, having resided there about five months, not a day of which had passed without our having cause of gratitude, for the kind and unvaried attentions of Mr. McVicar and Mr. McAuley. These gentlemen accompanied us as far as Fort Chipewyan, where we arrived on the 2d of June; here we met Mr. Wentzel, and the four men, who had been sent with him from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River; and I think it due to that gentleman, to give his own explanation of the unfortunate circumstances which prevented him from fulfilling my instructions, respecting the provisions to have been left for us at Fort Enterprise[16]. [16] "After you sent me back from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, and I had overtaken the Leader, Guides, and Hunters, on the fifth day, leaving the sea-coast, as well as our journey up the River, they always expressed the same desire of fulfilling their promises, although somewhat dissatisfied at being exposed to privation while on our return, from a scarcity of animals; for, as I have already stated in my first communication from Moose-Deer Island, we had been eleven days with no other food but _tripe de roche_. In the course of this time an Indian, with his wife and child, who were travelling in company with us, were left in the rear, and are since supposed to have perished through want, as no intelligence had been received of them at Fort Providence in December last. On the seventh day after I had joined the Leader, &c. &c., and journeying on together, all the Indians, excepting Petit Pied and Bald-Head, left me to seek their families, and crossed Point Lake at the Crow's Nest, where Humpy had promised to meet his brother Ekehcho[16a] with the families, but did not fulfil, nor did any of my party of Indians know where to find them; for we had frequently made fires to apprize them of our approach, yet none appeared in return as answers. This disappointment, as might be expected, served to increase the ill-humour of the Leader and party, the brooding of which (agreeably to Indian custom) was liberally discharged on me, in bitter reproach for having led them from their families, and exposed them to dangers and hardships, which but for my influence, they said, they might have spared themselves. Nevertheless, they still continued to profess the sincerest desire of meeting your wishes in making _caches_ of provisions, and remaining until a late season on the road that leads from Fort Enterprise to Fort Providence, through which the Expedition-men had travelled so often the year before--remarking, however, at the same time, that they had not the least hopes of ever seeing one person return from the Expedition. These alarming fears I never could persuade them to dismiss from their minds; they always sneered at what they called 'my credulity.'--'If,' said the Gros Pied[16b], 'the Great Chief (meaning Captain Franklin), or any of his party, should pass at my tents, he or they shall be welcome to all my provisions, or any thing else that I may have.' And I am sincerely happy to understand, by your communication, that in this he had kept his word--in sending you with such promptitude and liberality the assistance your truly dreadful situation required. But the party of Indians, on whom I had placed the utmost confidence and dependance, was Humpy and the White Capot Guide, with their sons, and several of the discharged hunters from the Expedition. This party was well-disposed, and readily promised to collect provisions for the possible return of the Expedition, provided they could get a supply of ammunition from Fort Providence; for when I came up with them they were actually starving, and converting old axes into ball, having no other substitute--this was unlucky. Yet they were well inclined, and I expected to find means at Fort Providence to send them a supply, in which I was, however, disappointed, for I found that establishment quite destitute of necessaries; and then, shortly after I had left them, they had the misfortune of losing three of their hunters, who were drowned in Marten Lake: this accident was, of all others, the most fatal that could have happened--a truth which no one, who has the least knowledge of the Indian character, will deny; and as they were nearly connected by relationship to the Leader, Humpy, and White Capot Guide, the three leading men of this part of the Copper Indian Tribe, it had the effect of unhinging (if I may use the expression) the minds of all these families, and finally destroying all the fond hopes I had so sanguinely conceived of their assisting the Expedition, should it come back by the Anna-dessé River, of which they were not certain. [16a] Akaitcho the Leader. [16b] Also Akaitcho. "As to my not leaving a letter at Fort Enterprise, it was because, by some mischance, you had forgot to give me paper when we parted[16c]. [16c] I certainly offered Mr. Wentzel some paper when he quitted us, but he declined it, having then a note-book; and Mr. Back gave him a pencil. "I, however, wrote this news on a plank, in pencil, and placed it in the top of your former bedstead, where I left it. Since it has not been found there, some Indians must have gone to the house after my departure, and destroyed it. These details, Sir, I have been induced to enter into (rather unexpectedly) in justification of myself, and hope it will be satisfactory." In a subsequent conversation he stated to me, that the two Indians, who were actually with him at Fort Enterprise, whilst he remained there altering his canoe, were prevented from hunting; one by an accidental lameness, the other by the fear of meeting alone some of the Dog-Rib Indians. We were here furnished with a canoe by Mr. Smith, and a bowman, to act as our guide; and having left Fort Chipewyan on the 5th, we arrived, on the 4th of July, at Norway House. Finding at this place, that canoes were about to go down to Montreal, I gave all our Canadian voyagers their discharges, and sent them by those vessels, furnishing them with orders on the Agent of the Hudson's Bay Company, for the amount of their wages. We carried Augustus down to York Factory, where we arrived on the 14th of July, and were received with every mark of attention and kindness by Mr. Simpson, the Governor, Mr. McTavish, and, indeed, by all the officers of the United Companies. And thus terminated our long, fatiguing, and disastrous travels in North America, having journeyed by water and by land (including our navigation of the Polar Sea,) five thousand five hundred and fifty miles. THE END. [Illustration: Route from York Factory] [Illustration: Route from Isle à la Crosse] [Illustration: Route from Slave Lake] * * * * * LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, Northumberland-court. * * * * * Transcriber's corrections and comments: 1. Original had "throngh"; corrected to "through". 2. Assume -45° 5' means -45.5°, but possibly this could also be -45-5/60° 3. Original had "phenemenon"; corrected to "phenomenon". 4. The context of soap making indicates that "ley" is most likely a misprint for "lye". 5. Original had "holyday"; corrected to "holiday" (as in 2nd edition). 6. Original list order was "M., L."; changed to "L., M." for consistency. 7. Original list order was "S., R."; changed to "R., S." for consistency. 8. Original had "storehouse"; changed to "store-house" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 9. Original had "An"; corrected to "At". 10. Original had "McAulay"; changed to "McAuley" to be consisten with other occurrences in the text. 11. Added comma missing after "tobacco" in original. 12. Original had "determine"; corrected to "determined". 13. Original had "considerally"; corrected to "considerably" (as in 2nd edition). 14. Original had comma after "him"; corrected to period. 15. Original had period after "impossible"; corrected to comma. 16. Added "a" missing before "medal" in original. 17. Assume "Akaiyazzeh" is the same as "Akaiyazza" in chapter VIII. 18. Original had "Instructions"; corrected to "instructions". 19. Original had "et"; corrected to "set". 20. Original had "June", which doesn't fit into the sequence; corrected to "July". 21. Original had "good-nature" at line break; corrected to "good nature". 22. Original had "looses and"; corrected to "loose sand". 23. Original had "June", which doesn't fit into the sequence; corrected to "July". 24. Original had "this"; corrected to "his". 25. Original had "tattoed"; corrected to "tattooed". 26. Original had "her and"; corrected to "her". 27. Added period missing after "house" in original. 28. Added comma missing after "being" in original. 29. Original had "easernmost"; corrected to "easternmost". 30. Added period missing after "Academy" in original. 31. Original had "Blackmeat"; changed to "Black-meat" to be consistent with other occurrences in this text and in the first volume. 32. Alternative spellings for "Thlueetessy" in the first volume are "Thlouee-tessy" and "Thloueea-tessy". 33. Original had "tha"; corrected to "that". 34. Original had "Slate-Clay"; changed to "Slate-clay" to be consistent with occurrence in chapter XI. 35. Original had "sandstone"; changed to "sand-stone" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 36. Original had "philanthrophist"; corrected to "philanthropist". 37. Original had "brush-wood"; changed to "brushwood" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 38. Original had "port-folio"; changed to "portfolio" to be consistent with spelling in footnote 6 in chapter X. 39. Original had "daybreak"; changed to "day-break" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 40. Original had "amongt"; corrected to "amongst". 41. Original had "Rein-deer"; changed to "Rein-Deer" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 42. Original had "signed"; corrected to "singed". 43. Original had "goiug"; corrected to "going". 44. Original had superfluous comma after "companions"; deleted. 45. Added comma missing in original after "hunting". 46. Original had "firewood"; changed to "fire-wood" to be consistent with other occurrences in the text. 47. Original had "morrrow"; corrected to "morrow". 48. Added word "be" missing in phrase "used to considered" in original. 49. Original had "Semandrè"; corrected this and all further instances to "Samandrè" to be consistent with the spelling used earlier in this text and in the first volume. 50. Original had "w"; corrected to "we". 51. Original had "combatted"; corrected to "combated" (as in 2nd edition and elsewhere in the text). 52. Original had "exited"; corrected to "excited". 53. Original had "sauvès"; corrected to "sauvés". 54. Superfluous "as" in original; deleted. 55. Added period missing after "meal" in original. 56. Original had superfluous comma after "said"; deleted. 57. Original had "scacrely"; corrected to "scarcely". 
32111	----	http://www.archive.org/details/diaryofbatteryaf00reic Transcriber's note: Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). The original text does not contain a Table of Contents. The Table of Contents included near the beginnning of this file was created by the transcriber as an aid for the reader. A list of corrections is at the end of the e-book. DIARY OF BATTERY A, FIRST REGIMENT RHODE ISLAND LIGHT ARTILLERY. by THEODORE REICHARDT. Written in The Field. Providence: N. Bangs Williams, Publisher. 1865. CONTENTS PREFACE. DIARY. 1861. 1862. 1863. 1864. Roster of Battery A. REMARKS. PREFACE. COMRADES OF BATTERY A:--The time for the fulfilment of my promise to you, has arrived. The days of our trials, hardships and sufferings are past, and it but remains to memorize the period during which we were battling for the sacred cause of the Union. Although we have not seen the closing contest of this sanguinary strife, yet I feel confident that we have done our share towards securing a good end, and nobly has the old battery sustained the honor and name of Rhode Island. Of all the light batteries Little Rhody sent to the seat of war, none was ever equal to the old Second, or Battery A, in efficiency, endurance, and the intelligence of the men. Truly did an officer remark: "My men can fight without officers." It is no easy task to give a true and satisfactory record of our three years service;--only the entreaties of my comrades induced me to undertake it. It is a natural wish to possess a copy of the records, to refer in future days to those of the past; it will not only be of interest to the members of the battery, but also to their friends and relatives. Hardly had the first call for three months men been responded to, by sending the First Regiment, Col. Burnside, along with the First Battery, Capt. Charles H. Tompkins, before the military authorities of Rhode Island contemplated to organize another regiment of infantry and a second battery. Enrollments progressed rapidly, and but a few days after, not less than four hundred men were desirous of linking their fortunes with the battery; the armory on Benefit street was the rendezvous of men from sunrise till late in the night, eager to acquire the most indispensable knowledge of military tactics, foot drill, and manual of the piece, as speedily as possible. Some men were so anxious as to come before daylight, and would not leave in the evening until the armorer persuaded them to. We expected to get mustered into the three months service; but the federal government, by issuing a call for 75,000 men for not less than three years, left no other alternative but to serve the said term. Messrs. Parkhurst and Albert Munroe were untiring in their exertions to complete the efficiency of the battery. At last the day that was to transform us from citizens into soldiers, arrived, the requisite number to man the battery being selected out of four hundred, by Surgeon Wheaton. On the fifth day of June, 1861, at five o'clock, P. M., we were mustered into the service of the United States for three years, unless sooner discharged. A few days afterwards, the battery, together with the Second Regiment, infantry, marched to Dexter Training Ground. Tents were pitched, and the people of Providence enjoyed the unusual spectacle of a field-camp, of reveilles, dress-parades, firing of artillery by sunrise and sunset, of tattoo and taps. The unusual sight attracted multitudes of men, women and children, day after day. While in camp, mounted battery drills wore away the hours of impatience; men in those days were eager for the fray. During our stay on Dexter Ground, all of our battery carriages were exchanged for new ones, (the pieces were James' brass rifle guns,) which we hailed as a sign of our early departure. Ammunition arrived on the evening of the 18th of June, and the limber chests being filled during the night, the rising sun of the 19th witnessed our leave of friends and dear ones, perhaps never to be seen again. Only those who have experienced such emotions themselves, can imagine the sad feeling, to leave whatever is dear to the heart, for three long years. But the time is past; the little band that was spared from carnage and disease has returned; they will forget all sorrow amidst the joyous welcome of their friends. Yet all joy is mingled with sadness. Some will look in vain for familiar faces. Let there be a lasting place in our memory for those who sleep forever on the blood-stained fields of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. DIARY. _Wednesday, June 19, 1861._--Embarkation of the Second Battery on the steamer Kill Von Kull, and of the Second Rhode Island Infantry, on the State of Maine. Early in the morning the tents were struck, everything packed up, order was given to mount, and by nine o'clock we commenced our march through Westminster street; from thence, through South Main street, to India Point, where the steamers lay, and started by about four o'clock in the afternoon. The docks were crowded immensely during the day; the fair sex, especially, was strongly represented. Amid the pealing of cannon and the farewell cheers of the multitude, we gradually distanced the shore. Those present will well remember that memorable day. Gov. Sprague and the patriotic Bishop Clark accompanied the Second Regiment, infantry, on the State of Maine. On our approaching Fort Adams, we were saluted by the artillery there. By nightfall, we were made acquainted with the first government ration--pilot bread, the so-called salt-junk, and a cup of coffee. The meat was of a rather poor quality, although it was served out with good grace by our respected captain, W. H. Reynolds. _Thursday, June 20._--We steamed past Fort Schuyler, Hurl Gate, New York city, crossed the bay, and landed at Elizabethport, by ten o'clock A. M. After a delay of several hours at the railroad depot, the train started off. Much sympathy was displayed by the people of New Brunswick, Trenton, Easton and other places we passed through. Loud cheering hailed us at every station; strawberries, pies, &c., were freely handed in the cars. _Friday, June 21._--Arrived at Harrisburg early in the morning. Coffee, bread and pies were given to us by inhabitants of that place. After a short halt, we resumed our journey, crossed the Susquehanna river, passed Little York, and arrived at Baltimore by eight o'clock in the evening. Our battery was immediately loaded on flats, drawn by horses to the top of the hill, the horses unhitched then, and the cars rolled down the other side to the Washington depot. Order was given not to accept of any refreshments from the citizens. No demonstration was made, the throwing of a few bricks on the cars, in the neighborhood of the depot, excepted. Started for Washington by ten o'clock. _Saturday, June 22._--Arrival at the National Capital. By daylight the cupola of the Capitol greeted our eyes, a reviving sight after three sleepless nights. Col. Ambrose E. Burnside and Capt. Chas. H. Tompkins had a breakfast prepared for us, consisting of roast beef, soft bread and coffee. After unloading battery, we marched towards Camp Sprague, and established our quarters on the left of those of the First R. I. infantry regiment and battery. Our camp was named "Camp Clark," in honor of the celebrated Bishop Clark, of Rhode Island, the model of a Christian minister and true patriot. _Sunday, June 23._--The sanctity of the day was well observed throughout the camp, and increased by an impressive sermon, preached by Bishop Clark. In the afternoon, passes were given to the men to visit the city. The day closed with a dress parade, President Lincoln and other functionaries being present. _Monday, June 24._--Grand review of the Rhode Island troops by President Lincoln and Gen. Scott. Marched in front of the White House and through the principal streets of Washington. From this time up to the 4th of July, nothing of importance occurred; everything went on quiet and pleasant; battery drills and manual of the piece were the usual occupation. Sometimes the long roll would be beat during the night, or guards would fire at some imaginary object of suspicion. On such an occasion a cow was shot. _Thursday, July 4._--The day was duly celebrated in camp. Rhode Island furnished her troops with a good dinner. Prof. Sweet treated the multitude with a tight rope performance. The day passed off smoothly, with the exception of a strange display of authority by a few corporals, laboring under the idea that their dignity was injured by the men not paying enough respect to them. In those days gunners and caisson corporals played gentlemen. They not only expected to be saluted by privates, but induced the men of their respective detachments to hire negroes to black the boots for all the men, while actually it was only to wait on the corporals; yet they did not want to stand the expense alone. Let it be said in our honor, we allowed this humbug to be of but short duration. I cannot help mentioning the names of the men of the fourth detachment, not because the men were any better than others, but because it furnished the most commissioned and non-commissioned officers of any other in the battery. Corporals, Charles H. Clark and Harry C. Cushing. Privates, Wm. Drape, George Greenleaf, John H. Lawrence, Ben. S. Monroe, Richard Percival, Theodore Reichardt, Robert Rowbottom, Robert Raynor, Charles V. Scott, and Arnold A. Walker. _Tuesday, July 9._--A sad accident occurred to-day. At section drill, through some unknown cause, a limber-chest of Lieut. Vaughan's section, filled with cartridges, exploded, while the gunner Morse, and privates Bourne and Freeman were mounted. They were thrown some twenty feet up in the air. Morse and Bourne died within the space of an hour. Freeman, being badly injured, recovered after a lingering sickness. Two drivers were slightly wounded, and two horses injured. We escorted the bodies of Morse and Bourne to the depot, to be sent to Rhode Island. _Thursday, July 11._--Grand review before President Lincoln, Gens. Scott and Fremont. Salutes were fired. _Monday, July 15._--Great excitement in camp; order was received to get ready for a forward movement; ammunition packed; haversacks and canteens were issued. _Tuesday, July 16._--The morning of that day found us marching across the Long Bridge, directly through Fort Runyon, on the Virginia side; did not march over seven miles; after which we formed in line of battle and prepared to camp for the night, this being the first night in the open air. All quiet during the night. _Wednesday, July 17._--Resumed our march soon after break of day, and entered Fairfax Court House, contrary to our expectations, towards one o'clock, at mid-day, the rebels having evacuated the town shortly before our entrance. Their rear guard could be plainly seen some distance off. Our battery formed in park near the court house. Some of the boys were very lucky in finding a good dinner served on a table in one of the houses, besides some articles of value, undoubtedly belonging to some confederate officers. Some picket firing during the night. _Thursday, July 18._--Advance at daylight. A part of the Union army, Gen. Tyler's troops, engaged. This conflict the rebels call battle of Bull Run. While the contest was raging, our division halted two miles to the left of Fairfax Court House, at a place called Germantown. We could plainly hear the distant booming of artillery, and were impatiently waiting for the order, "forward." Towards four o'clock P. M., we advanced again; preparations were made to get in action; sponge buckets filled with water, and equipments distributed among the cannoniers. But when we approached Centreville, intelligence came that our troops got worsted and the contest was given up. Our division went to camp within a mile and a half of Centreville. Strong picket lines were drawn up. _Friday, July 19._--Camp near Centreville. The troops remained quiet all day. Fresh beef as rations. _Saturday, July 20._--Quiet during the day. About six o'clock in the evening the army got ready to advance; but after council of war was held by the chief commanders, they concluded to wait till the next day. _Sunday, July 21._--Battle of Manassas Plains. This battle will always occupy a prominent place in the memory of every man of the battery. They all expected to find a disorganized mob, that would disperse at our mere appearance; while, to the general surprise, they not only were better disciplined, but also better officered than our troops. We started by two o'clock in the morning, but proceeded very slowly. Passed Centreville before break-of-day. When the sun rose in all its glory, illuminating the splendid scenery of the Blue Ridge mountains, though no sun of Austerlitz to us, we crossed the bridge over the Cub Run. By this time, the report of the 30-pounder Parrott gun belonging to Schenck's command, who had met the enemy, was heard. Our division turned off to the right, and marched some miles through dense woodland, to the Warrenton road. Towards ten o'clock, nothing could be seen of the enemy yet, and the belief found circulation that the enemy had fallen back. Experience proved that, had we remained at Centreville, the rebel army would undoubtedly have attacked us; but hearing of our advance they only had to lay in ambush, ready to receive us. At the aforesaid time, the Second Rhode Island infantry deployed as skirmishers. We advanced steadily, till arriving at the Bull Run and Sudley's church, a halt was ordered to rest the men and the horses. But it should not be; the brave Second R. I. Regiment, coming up to the enemy, who was concealed in the woods, their situation was getting critical. The report of cannon and musketry followed in rapid succession. Our battery, after passing Sudley's church, commenced to trot in great haste to the place of combat. At this moment Gen. McDowell rode up in great excitement, shouting to Capt. Reynolds: "Forward with your light battery." This was entirely needless, as we were going at high speed, for all were anxious to come to the rescue of our Second regiment. In quick time we arrived in the open space where the conflict was raging already in its greatest fury. The guns were unlimbered, with or without command; no matter, it was done, and never did better music sound to the ears of the Second Regiment, than the quick reports of our guns, driving back the advancing foe. For nearly forty minutes our battery and the Second Regiment, defended that ground before any other troops were brought into action. Then the First Rhode Island, Seventy-first New York, and Second New Hampshire, with two Dahlgren howitzers, appeared, forming on the right and left. The enemy was driven successfully in our immediate front. Our battery opened on one of the enemy's light batteries to our right, which left after a short but spirited engagement, in a rather demoralized state. Griffith's, Ayer's and Rickett's batteries coming up, prospects really looked promising, and victory seemed certain. The rebel line gradually giving way. Gen. McDowell, seeing the explosion of perhaps a magazine or a caisson, raised his cap, shouting, "Soldiers, this is the great explosion of Manassas," and seemed to be highly pleased with the work done by our battery. Owing to different orders, the battery, towards afternoon, was split into sections. Capt. Reynolds, with Lieuts. Tompkins and Weeden, off to the right, while the two pieces of the left section, to the left; Lieuts. Vaughan and Munroe remaining with the last mentioned. Firing was kept up incessantly, until the arrival of confederate reinforcements, coming down from Manassas Junction, unfurling the stars and stripes, whereby our officers were deceived to such a degree as to give the order, "Cease firing." This cessation of our artillery fire proved, no doubt, disastrous. It was the turning point of the battle. Our lines began to waver after receiving the volleys of the disguised columns. The setting sun found the fragments of our army not only in full retreat but in a complete rout, leaving most of the artillery in the hands of the enemy. Our battery happened to be the only six gun volunteer battery, carrying all the guns off the battle-field, two pieces in a disabled condition. A battery-wagon and forge were lost on the field. Retreating the same road we advanced on in the morning. All of a sudden the cry arose, "The Black Horse Cavalry is coming." The alarm proved to be false; yet it had the effect upon many soldiers to throw away their arms. But the fears of many soldiers that the enemy would try to cut off our retreat, were partly realized. Our column having reached Cub Run bridge, was at once furiously attacked on our right by artillery and cavalry. Unfortunately, the bridge being blocked up, the confusion increased. All discipline was gone. Here our battery was lost, all but one gun, that of the second detachment, which was carried through the creek. It is kept at the armory of the Marine Artillery, in Providence. At the present time, guns, under such circumstances, would not be left to the enemy without the most strenuous efforts being made to save them. We assembled at the very same camp we left in the morning. Credit is due to Capt. Reynolds, for doing everything possible for the comfort of his men. At midnight the defeated army took up its retreat towards Washington. Our battery consisting of one gun, and the six-horse team, drove by Samuel Warden. _Monday, July 22._--Arrived at, and effected our passage across the Long Bridge, by ten o'clock, and found ourselves once more at Camp Clark, where we had a day of rest after our _debut_ on the battle-field yesterday, under the scorching sun of Virginia. _Wednesday, July 24._--Lieut. Albert Munroe addressed the battery in regard to the battle, and attributed our defeat to the want of discipline. The men felt very indignant at his remarks. "We had to come down to regulations, the same as in the regular army, and should consider ourselves almost as State prison convicts." We have since seen that he meant no insult towards the battery; but have found out to our satisfaction that he spoke the truth, for we have seen the time that put us almost on the same level with convicts. _Thursday, July 25._--Received the first government pay in gold. The First Regiment left Camp Sprague for home, marching by our camp. Capt. Reynolds proposed cheers for every company, which was spontaneously replied to. _Saturday, July 27._--Men of every detachment were selected to accompany an expedition on board a steamer towards Aquia Creek, to try one of James' rifled guns of heavy calibre upon the rebel battery there. They all returned in the evening without any disaster having occurred. _Sunday, July 28._--The Second Battery left Camp Clark by four o'clock P. M., for Harper's Ferry, to receive the guns of the First Battery, whose term of service had expired. Gov. Sprague made a short speech to the men. The battery travelled by way of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, via Annapolis Junction and the Relay House. _Monday, July 29._--Arrived at Sandy Hook by two o'clock P. M. Relieved the First Battery, the pieces being turned over to us. They started for home in the evening. Our camp is one mile from Weavertown. The right section under Lieut. Vaughan, took position on Maryland Heights, which command Loudon Heights and Harper's Ferry. Gen. Banks is in command of this department. From this time, up to the thirteenth of August, nothing exciting occurred. Battery drill in the morning and the manual of the piece in the afternoon. Extremely hot weather during daytime. Capt. Reynolds went home on a furlough. _Tuesday, August 13._--News arrived towards evening that the rebels were making a demonstration at Berlin and Point of Rocks. Lieut. Vaughan's section left Maryland Heights, going directly towards Berlin by eight o'clock. The other sections, commanded by Lieut. Munroe, left Sandy Hook for Point of Rocks, marched all night, and arrived at said place the next morning, by seven o'clock. _Wednesday, August 14._--The Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, commanded by Col. Geary, occupied the town. We established our camp about five o'clock, P. M., close to that of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania Volunteers. _Thursday, August 15._--Witnessed the drumming out of a soldier of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania for stealing from his comrades. _Friday, August 16._--Return of Capt. Reynolds, with the Third Battery, afterwards Battery B, Rhode Island Light Artillery, and some recruits for ours. The newly raised battery should have relieved us, and taken our pieces, as we had the promise of entirely new ones. We all expected to return to Washington; but Col. Geary, being in the immediate neighborhood of rebel troops, remonstrated against our departure, saying he would not rely on a new battery at such a critical moment. Owing to this, the Third Battery returned to Washington the same evening, in command of Lieut. Vaughan, he being promoted to Captain. Sergeant-Major Randolph was promoted to Lieutenant. All quiet up to _Wednesday, August 21._--The Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania received two guns for their own use. Signs of a demonstration show themselves this evening. All our baggage was sent off; the tents only left standing, ready to be burnt in case we had to leave. _Thursday, August 22._--The right section left Berlin and went towards Frederick City. _Friday, August 23._--Rebel cavalry plainly to be seen on the other side of the Potomac. _Saturday, August 24, and Sunday, August 25._--Quiet. Great slaughter amongst turkeys and chickens! _Monday, August 26._--Great excitement. Reports of artillery firing in the direction of Edwards Ferry, created considerable stir. Capt. Reynolds, with two pieces, started towards Edwards Ferry. We changed our camp out of the enemy's sight. Nothing of interest from this time up to _Sunday, September 1._--Col. Geary received three hundred additional men for his regiment. _Monday, August 2._--Orders arrived for our remaining section to unite forthwith with the rest of the battery at Darnestown. The morning was beautiful. The battery got ready to march. Col. Geary had his regiment drawn up in line. The whole regiment presented arms as we passed by, they being greatly attached to us, while we gave nine cheers and a Narragansett for Col. Geary and his brave regiment. This day's march will always be a pleasant recollection for the surviving. Our road was leading through the most beautiful parts of Maryland. Late in the afternoon we arrived at Darnestown, and united once more with the rest of the battery, after having been parted for three weeks. Gen. Banks' headquarters are there, and all the troops of his command, lying around the town. We had a very pleasant camp, but should not enjoy it long. _Wednesday, September 4._--After returning from a battery drill, orders awaited our section, in command of Lieut. J. A. Tompkins. We left Darnestown at five o'clock P. M., going at a fast rate towards Great Falls, a distance of ten miles. At our arrival we found the Seventh Pennsylvania Regiment, commanded by Col. Harvey. During the day the enemy had some pieces of artillery in position, to bear on the water-works at Great Falls, and on the Seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers, firing a hundred rounds. Only one man was wounded. Col. Harvey guided our battery through the woods at midnight. Our section took position on the edge of a knoll, while the Seventh fortified our guns. It rained during the night. _Thursday, September 5._--At dawn of day, contrary to our expectations, the enemy did not open on us again. Having had no food since the day before, some of us went to the town, and as fortune would have it, found bread, molasses, and that renowned coffee kettle, the fourth detachment will well remember. We enjoyed a good soldiers' breakfast. Lieut. Tompkins, behaving towards the men like a gentleman, they would have done most anything for him. In several cases he relieved our wants, out of his own purse. Late in the afternoon we left Great Falls, marching towards Seneca Mills, as the enemy made various demonstrations up and down the Potomac. Rain falling incessantly, and passing through dense woods marching became a matter of impossibility, and it was decided to halt by the roadside until daylight. An unoccupied house being close by, we all took possession of it, and found ourselves quite comfortable. _Friday, September 6._--A bright morning greeted our eyes. The clear sky promised a pleasant day. We discovered an orchard near by, which furnished us with a variety of the most beautiful peaches. After taking a good supply of them, marching was resumed. Arrived by nine o'clock A. M. at Camp Jackson, occupied by the Thirty-fourth Regiment New York Volunteers, Col. LaDue. We were well received. Towards evening, the Colonel and Lieut. Tompkins took the fifth piece along, in the direction of the Potomac, getting the gun in position close to the canal, after masking it. All quiet during the night. _Sunday, September 8._--A few shots were fired into the Old Dominion, without any response by the enemy. _Monday, September 9._--Major Charles H. Tompkins, in company with Col. Wheaton, of the Second Rhode Island Regiment, tried a few shots, without reply. _Tuesday, September 10._--Gov. Sprague, Col. Wheaton, Major Tompkins, and Capt. Reynolds, visited the section on picket. Quiet up to _Monday, September 16._--In the evening, some of the Thirty-fourth New York Regiment crossed the river, had a skirmish with the rebels, and returned with the loss of four men. Capt. Reynolds being promoted to Major, left the battery. So did Lieut. Albert Munroe, promoted to Captain. Lieut. Tompkins, also promoted, took command of our battery. _Tuesday, September 17._--Our piece kept on firing at an imaginary enemy for a whole hour; the Major of the Thirty-fourth being present. Nothing remarkable up to _Sunday, September 22._--Squads of cavalry and infantry visible on the Virginia shore. Great changes took place during this period. Orderly J. H. Newton being promoted to Lieutenant, took command of the left section. Sergeants Owen and Randolph, after having been promoted to Lieutenants, left the battery, and were transferred to other Rhode Island batteries. The State having organized a regiment of light artillery, on the thirteenth of August, we were no longer called the Second Battery, but Battery A. _Monday, September 23._--Orders came to leave the picket line at dark, and return to Camp Jackson. _Tuesday, September 24._--We were paid off in gold for two months service. Quiet in Camp Jackson up to _Monday, September 30._--The section returned to Darnestown, and the battery was once more together. _Tuesday, October 1._--One o'clock A. M. Orders arrived to return immediately to Seneca Mills. The left section marched at once, arriving towards daybreak. At sunrise, the fifth gun went on picket duty once more. Lieut. Newton, Sergeants Hammond and Read, were with the left section. Commenced to throw up intrenchments during the night. _Thursday, October 3._--Left the picket line again, returned to Camp Jackson, started for Darnestown by six o'clock, and arrived there by eight o'clock P. M. Thus ended our stay at Seneca Mills, the most pleasant period of our three years service. Vegetables and fruit, chickens and pigs, were plenty, for we owned the whole plantation of that old rebel Peters, who was sent to Fort Lafayette for treason. The Thirty-fourth New York, having the picket line on the river, always proved good companions. The view of the surrounding country is really imposing, including Sugar Loaf Mountain, the natural observatory of the signal corps. Some remarkable items must not be forgotten--for instance, novel songs of "The Nice Legs;" "Jimmy Nutt's Measuring the Guard Time by the Moon;" "Griffin's Apple Sauce," and "Doughnuts for Horses." _Sunday, October 6._--Camp at Darnestown. The battery received three new guns in the afternoon. Lieut. J. G. Hassard, having joined our battery, at Darnestown, commanded the right section as First Lieutenant. Company cooking was introduced by him. Before that, every detachment done its own cooking. The enterprise itself, of cooking for the whole company, and the selling of a part of the rations, for raising a company fund, would have been well enough, but the management was extremely poor. Some days we fared well; on other days there would be no dinner, but a detestable bacon soup, hardly fit for hogs. We were told that the government rations would not admit of a dinner every day. But what good did it do then to sell rations, under the pretext of raising a company fund? This is a question which never could nor never will be satisfactorily explained by those who started it. _Monday, October 7._--Capt. Tompkins very suddenly marched off to Harper's Ferry, with the right section. Thunder storm in the evening. _Friday, October 11._--A new lieutenant for our battery arrived to-day. Jeffrey Hassard, our First Lieutenant's brother. _Sunday, October 13._--Gov. Sprague visited the camp. Private Benedict deserted. _Tuesday, October 15._--Parade drill of the battery, in presence of Gov. Sprague, and Col. Tompkins, the drill proving very satisfactory. Capt. Vaughan visited us the same evening, and addressed us as follows: "Boys, I deserve to be kicked for ever leaving this battery, because, by right, it is my battery, and I should be with you." (Vociferous cheering, and cries, "Give us our old officers, and we will show you that we can drill.") Capt. Vaughan, mounting his horse, appeared very much affected. Turning round once more, he said, "I am hanging around; it is hard for me to leave you." Answer of the men: "We know it. You are a man every inch of you." Nine cheers for Capt. Vaughan, our old First Lieutenant, vibrated through the air. _Wednesday, October 16._--Battery drill, and speech by our First Lieutenant. Gen. Banks visited our camp this evening. Nothing important up to _Saturday, October 19._--Gen. Banks and staff honored our battery drill with their presence. Col. Geary of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, and Capt. Tompkins, with the right section, had a fight with the rebels at Harper's Ferry and Bolivar Heights. Our right section, occupying Maryland Heights, fired into Bolivar and on a rebel battery on Loudon Heights. Even the drivers served an old iron gun. Col. Geary's troops, crossing the river in scows, carried the fight to Bolivar Heights. No loss of men in the right section. _Monday, October 21._--Battle of Ball's Bluff. Gen. Stone crossed the Potomac near Conrad's Ferry, across Harrison's Island, with Col. Baker's brigade, this morning. (Forty-second New York, Fifteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts Regiments, and a piece of artillery, of Capt. Vaughan's battery. The rest of the battery stayed on Harrison Island.) By seven o'clock in the evening, the whole division of Gen. Banks left Darnestown, going to Edwards Ferry. Our battery started about nine o'clock. Arriving at Poolesville, we heard of the disastrous result. Our troops had withdrawn from Ball's Bluff. Col. Baker's corpse was brought into town. _Tuesday, October 22._--Arrived at Edwards Ferry by six o'clock A. M. Two thousand men were already landed on the Virginia shore, opposite the ferry, others were continually crossing on canal boats. Since daylight, rain fell incessantly. On the Virginia side, skirmishing was going on all day. At five o'clock both lines of battle advanced. A brisk fight commenced. Two brass howitzers of Rickett's battery, First United States Artillery, did good execution, being in position on the Virginia shore. While the fight continued, the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, Col. Geary, the Twenty-ninth, Col. Mury, and Van Allen's cavalry, were sent as reinforcements across the Potomac. Fighting ceased an hour afterwards. Capt. Vaughan went to the enemy's lines, under a flag of truce, to see about some of his wounded men in the hands of the rebels. Gen. McClellan arrived at night. _Wednesday, October 23._--A clear day. The enemy in great force around Leesburg. We can see the church steeples of that place. Skirmishing kept up all day. In the evening our battery received orders to embark and cross the river,--Capt. Tompkins, having come back from Harper's Ferry, with the right section, the evening before,--three guns were already loaded on a canal boat, together with Company C, First Maryland Regiment, and started; but the current of the stream being too strong, and losing half of the oars, they had to return again. Orders awaited us already to disembark immediately, and return to camp. All the troops withdrew from the Virginia shore before daylight,--eight thousand men in all. _Thursday, October 24._--After all the troops had been withdrawn, the rebel pickets held the line close to the river, and fired a shot once in a while. Rickett's, ours, and Captain Bess' batteries, were drawn up in one line. Our battery is detached to General Williams' brigade. _Friday, October 25._--Remained the same, at Edwards Ferry. _Saturday, October 26._--General Williams' brigade and our battery marched off to Muddy Branch in the morning. Arrived there, in camp of the Twenty-eighth New York, in the afternoon. _Sunday, October 27._--Established our camp. _Monday, October 28._--Commenced to build a stable for horses, three hundred feet long. Captain Bess, our chief of artillery. Our battery remained at Muddy Branch up to the twenty-seventh of November. Little is to be said of this period. Drill as usual. Received the news of the taking of Beaufort, South Carolina, and the capture of Slidell and Mason. Captain Reynolds visited the battery for the last time, having been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel of the Rhode Island artillery, and transferred to another department. _Wednesday, November 27._--The battery left Muddy Branch, with the understanding to go into winter-quarters near Poolesville. We were told that we should have many drills together with Battery B, no longer Captain Vaughan's battery, who, having had disagreements, left the service. We marched by nine o'clock in the morning. The weather was very unpleasant, raining and freezing all day. Passed through Poolesville at four o'clock, and commenced to pitch tents by five o'clock. Our camp is next to Battery B's, commanded by Lieutenant Perry. We had a good reception by the men, who treated all of us to coffee. _Thursday, November 28._--Thanksgiving day. Governor Sprague furnished twenty turkeys for us. _Friday, 29th, and Saturday, November 30._--A stable for the horses commenced on. _Sunday, December 1, to Tuesday the 10th._--Nothing of any consequence happened. Camp wore a wintry aspect. The time was mostly occupied in building stables for the horses. Colonel Tompkins, now on General Stone's staff, arrived at Poolesville; we did no longer belong to General Banks' division, but to General Stone's. _Tuesday, December 10._--Our division had quite an interesting sham-fight at Poolesville, four regiments of infantry, three batteries, and Van Allen's cavalry partaking in it. We fired blank cartridges. Van Allen's cavalry had several men injured in charging. _Wednesday, December 11._--While going to a drill, through Poolesville, on trot, Corporal Burrows was thrown off the limber-chest, and his leg broken by a wheel passing over him. _Thursday, December 12._--Great artillery manoeuvre. _Friday, December 13._--Batteries A and B were ordered to report near Conrad's Ferry, where we arrived before sunrise, it being only five miles from our camp. While going through the woods, orders were given not to talk loud, the distance between us and the enemy being not more than three miles at the time. The enemy's position, which was a fortified one, consisting of two forts, called Beauregard and Johnson, had already been reconnoitred from a balloon, the day before. At our arrival, we found General Stone and Colonel Tompkins, with two companies of Van Allen's cavalry, two companies of the Thirty-fourth New York, and two of the First Minnesota, already there. We opened on the two forts, without much effect. Lieutenant Perry was more successful, with his Parrott guns. The enemy could be seen standing in squads by his artillery, yet no reply was made. By four o'clock we all withdrew, except the Parrott guns of Battery B, doing picket duty. The old members will remember, when returning to camp, Lieutenant Perry rode that nigger down. Quiet up to _Wednesday, December 18._--The right section went to Conrad's Ferry, but returned in the evening. _Wednesday, December 25._--Christmas. Our officers presented the company with a barrel of beer. _Thursday, December 26._--The project was started to build huts for winter-quarters. Details were made every day, to cut heavy timber, which was done for a week. But luckily, it failed completely, as it would have taken at least four months to get ready, by the plan worked on. Officers quarters had to be built first, then non-commissioned officers, and last, the poor privates. In fact, a great nuisance in the army, is the illegal using of soldiers for manual service for the benefit of commissioned officers, which is altogether contrary to army regulations. It is revolting to the mind, to see men, who perhaps never have been anything at home, make slaves of their equals, just because they happen to be in command of them, and this, they give the wrong name of discipline. _Friday, December 27._--Arrival of Battery B, Pennsylvania artillery, coming from McCall's division, after having participated in the battle of Drainesville. _Monday, December 30._--The centre section, commanded by Lieutenant Jeffrey Hassard, relieved the section of Battery B, on picket at Conrad's Ferry. Our detachment accidentally changed its position in the battery--we were transferred to the centre section, being the fourth piece, sixth detachment. We arrived at the ferry by one o'clock P. M., and took up our quarters in a deserted nigger-shanty. Splendid view of the Potomac and Blue Ridge Mountains. At night, the camp-fires of the rebels were visible. _Tuesday, December 31._--On picket, at Conrad's Ferry. The rebel camp plainly to be seen. Infantry and cavalry drilling outside the forts. END OF THE YEAR 1861. 1862. _Our Campaigns in the year 1862: The campaign to Winchester, under General Banks. The great Peninsular campaign, under General McClellan. The campaign in Maryland under the same; and Burnside's campaign on the Rappahannock, ending with the battle of Fredericksburg._ _Wednesday, January 1._--Battery in camp near Poolesville; we, the centre section, on picket at Conrad's Ferry. Our picket duty, at this place, has been a very pleasant one, being very light, except the guard duty. Firing of videttes was very frequent during the night. But never did either party disturb the other with artillery practice during our stay. Sometimes signal rockets were sent up on the Maryland side, by rebel sympathizers, which were generally answered from the Virginia shore. General Stone had strong block-houses, of solid oak-timber, built on the line from Muddy Branch to Conrad's Ferry, for the defence of the Maryland side, large enough to hold three hundred men each. May it be remembered, pigs had to suffer in our neighborhood. The weather, having been pleasant for weeks, became very wintry after the first of January. _Sunday, January 5._--Battery G, Captain Owen, Rhode Island, (four twenty-pound Parrott guns and two howitzers,) arrived at Poolesville. _Tuesday, January 7._--Great liveliness in the rebel forts,--bands playing and soldiers strengthening the fortifications. _Thursday, January 9._--Severe cold since yesterday. The Potomac froze to-day. A steam tug coming up the river, was a rare sight to both sides. _Friday, January 10._--An officer of the First Minnesota Regiment appeared at our quarters, communicating that rebel pickets occupied Harrison's Island. _Saturday, January 11._--Nothing stirring. _Sunday, January 12._--Considerable picket firing. Nothing important up to _Monday, January 20._--The centre section was relieved from picket at Conrad's Ferry, by the left section, under Lieut. Newton. The guns of the former remained there to be taken by the left section. _Wednesday, January 22._--Received two months pay. News arrived in the evening of the Union victory at Springfield, Kentucky, and death of the rebel General Zollicoffer, in honor of which a national salute of thirty-four guns was fired. Quiet in camp, the latter part of January. _Saturday, February 1._--During the past month the right section done picket duty once on the Potomac. _Monday, February 3._--The left section relieved the right section to-day. _Friday, February 7._--Received the news of the surrender of Fort Henry. _Saturday, February 8._--General Stone was arrested to-day. General Sedgwick takes his command. _Monday, February 10._--The centre section relieved the left section at Conrad's Ferry. _Thursday, February 13._--Considerable picket firing. Captain Owen opened with his twenty-pound Parrott guns, from Edwards Ferry, on Fort Beauregard. Kept up firing for an hour. Four negroes crossed the river, bringing two horses along. Owen's Battery opened a second time in the afternoon. _Friday, February 14._--One of the pickets of the Thirty-fourth New York, shot the rebel officer of the day, passing the picket line alongside the river. _Saturday, February 15._--Heavy firing in the direction of Drainesville. Snow-storm. _Sunday, February 16._--Official news of the taking of Fort Donelson. _Monday, February 17._--We (centre section) were relieved from picket duty by the right section, Lieutenant J. G. Hassard. _Saturday, February 22._--Camp Wilkes. The rebels fired salutes in honor of Washington's birth-day. _Sunday, February 23._--The rebels opened with their artillery, the first time during the winter, demolishing a government wagon. _Monday, February 24._--Orders came in the afternoon to get ready to march the coming day. New knapsacks were issued, and rations kept ready for three days. Great times in camp, especially in the sixth detachment, all the rations on hand being sold to Benson's for whiskey. Who would not remember S. that evening, the stove, and O! Su! _Tuesday, February 25._--Sedgwick's division left Poolesville at eight o'clock, A. M. Marched through Barnesville, and after several unsuccessful attempts to get the artillery across the Sugar Loaf Mountain, stopped over night at the foot of the mountain. A very cold night. No tents. _Wednesday, February 26._--Marched at seven o'clock A. M. Arrived at Adamstown by eleven o'clock A. M. General Banks was at Harper's Ferry already. Troops were passing by railroad, en route for Harper's Ferry, all the time. Our battery went in park, for the rest of the day, close to the railroad. General McClellan passed through in a special train. Rain all night. _Thursday, February 27._--The battery was loaded on cars in the morning. The baggage teams, and the drivers with the battery-horses, went on the turnpike road, through Jefferson City, Petersville, Knoxville, and Weavertown, and arrived at Sandy Hook by nightfall. The cannoniers, coming by railroad, made a raid on a number of express boxes, after which, eatables and all sorts of liquors being plenty, all night, the happiness of the men reached such a degree, as to make it impossible to post a guard,--Novel and Drape being the happiest men in the sixth detachment, while Jim Lewes hallooed for Billy Knight all the time. The night was extremely windy and cold. _Friday, February 28._--The battery crossed the Potomac to Harper's Ferry on a pontoon bridge. We occupy one of the government buildings on the hill. _Saturday, March 1._--Remained in our quarters up to _Friday, March 7._--Left Harper's Ferry. Detached to General Gorman's brigade. Marched till within a mile of Charlestown, Virginia, and went in camp to the left of the road, close to the First Minnesota, Colonel Sully. _Saturday, March 8._--Remained in camp near Charlestown, and received new Sibly tents to-day. _Monday, March 10._--Marched through Charlestown, and thence to Berryville. On this occasion, something happened that wants mentioning. When leaving Poolesville, Captain J. A. Tompkins ordered the men to carry the knapsacks on the back. This is contrary to regulations. It created a great deal of dissatisfaction. The lot of a soldier is hard enough, without irritating him unreasonably. But, honor to the lamented hero, General Sedgwick, who, riding by our battery, at Charlestown, peremptorily ordered Captain Tompkins to have no more knapsacks carried by any of his men. An engagement was anticipated. Rebels were seen beyond Ripton. By one and a-half o'clock, our left section unlimbered, and fired two shells towards Berryville. Van Allen's, and the Eighth Michigan cavalry, drove the rebel cavalry, two hundred and fifty strong, out of the town. Our battery followed closely--Gorman's brigade in our rear. The stars and bars were lowered from the church steeple, and a substitute furnished in the shape of the colors of the First Minnesota. The pieces of the battery were brought in separate position by sections. _Tuesday, March 11._--Halted at Berryville during daytime. In the evening, the battery united outside the town, going in camp; but the guns in position. _Wednesday, March 12._--Some men of the First Minnesota, and Corporal Butler, of our battery, took possession of Gregg's printing office, of "The Berryville Observator," and published quite a number of copies of said paper. News of McClellan's occupation of Manassas arrived, in consequence of which, a salute of forty guns was fired. In the evening, when Captain Tompkins rode into camp, the assembly was blown at once, and he addressed the men as follows: "Boys, a fight is going on at Winchester, and this battery must be there within twenty-five minutes." Camp was struck, and the battery on the road, when the order was countermanded. _Thursday, March 13._--At Berryville. Marched by eight o'clock A. M. towards Winchester. When within two miles of the latter place, orders arrived for our division to return to Harper's Ferry. General Banks' troops were occupying Winchester already. Arrived at Berryville again by four o'clock in the afternoon. _Friday, March 14._--Marched to our old campground, beyond Charlestown. _Saturday, March 15._--Marched to Harper's Ferry, and occupied the government building, in which we were quartered before, again. A heavy rain-storm to-day. _Saturday, March 22._--We left Harper's Ferry in the morning. During the afternoon, the battery was loaded on railroad cars at Sandy Hook. The train started by seven o'clock in the evening, for Washington. _Sunday, March 23._--Arrived at Washington by eleven o'clock A. M., and unloaded the battery at once. Marched from the depot to the camp of the New England cavalry. The guns were guarded near the depot. The horses, under charge of Captain Tompkins, and Lieutenant J. G. Hassard, were coming on the country road. _Monday, March 24._--At Camp "Dunkins." Quiet. _Tuesday, March 25._--The drivers arrived with the horses. In the afternoon, our James' rifle guns were returned to the Washington Arsenal, and those of Battery I, First United States regulars, given to us. They consist of four Parrott guns and two brass howitzers. _Wednesday, March 26._--Camp Dunkins. Nothing important. _Thursday, March 27._--We are to join McClellan's army on the Peninsula. Had battery drill in the afternoon, and directly after that marched to the foot of G street to load the battery. Recruits arrived from Rhode Island,--Joseph Brooks, who was taken prisoner at the Bull Run battle amongst them. _Friday, March 28._--The guns were loaded on board the propeller Novelty; the horses on the barge Onrust. Those of the right section on the schooner Charmer. The vessels started by twelve o'clock M. Dropped anchor in front of Alexandria at six o'clock in the evening. _Sunday, March 30._--On board the Onrust. Started again at daylight in tow of the steamer Golden Gate, having four companies of the First Minnesota aboard. Anchored near Port Tobacco in the evening. _Monday March 31._--Steamed down the Chesapeake Bay, and dropped anchor opposite Fortress Monroe. _Tuesday, April 1._--Two French men-of-war and the Monitor, close to the Onrust. Eighteen men from the centre section were sent to Hampton Roads in a small boat, in the afternoon, to unload the battery from the Novelty. Some of the other sections arrived there before us. At dark the centre section was sent back to the schooner; but, unable to find it in the dark, had to go aboard of one of the schooners occupied by Battery B. _Wednesday, April 2._--Returned to Hampton at daylight. The battery and horses were unloaded at once. General Sedgwick ordered the battery to go to camp outside of Hampton, which was done in the afternoon. _Thursday, April 3._--Hampton Roads. Great concentration of McClellan's army. Our battery has to give up the tents. _Friday, April 4._--The Second Corps on the move. Started by eight o'clock A. M.; by four o'clock we went into park at Big Bethel, to camp for the night. _Saturday, April 5._--Marched at daybreak. Cannonading going on in front of Yorktown. General McClellan passed the line amidst great cheering of the troops. Strong intrenchments were found near Howard's Mills. At six o'clock P. M. we went to camp three miles from Yorktown. _Sunday, April 6._--Great scarcity of food. Our battery went on a reconnoisance with General Burns' brigade. Only the pieces were taken along, with eight horses to each. We are in plain sight of Yorktown. See the rebel flag floating from the parapet. They fire very frequently at our troops. After running suddenly against some of the enemy's batteries, we returned to our former camp, "Winfield Scott." _Monday, April 7._--Siege of Yorktown. The engineers at work. Heavy ordnance on the way from Fortress Monroe. _Tuesday, April 8._--All the provisions and forage has to be brought on the backs of mules and horses from Shipping Point and Cheeseman's Creek, the roads being impassable for wagons. _Friday, April 11._--Our battery at rest since Tuesday. News of the battle of Pittsburg Landing. _Sunday, April 13._--Governor Sprague, General Barry, and Lieutenant Colonel Reynolds in our camp to-day. _Wednesday, April 16._--An engagement going on near Warwick Creek. Our division is ordered forward. We advanced to within two miles of the rebels' first line. The battery went to camp. Battery B was in action. _Thursday, April 17._--Our two howitzers go to the front. Considerable fighting was going on during the night. Our four Parrott guns ready to march at a minute's notice. _Friday, April 18._--At three o'clock P. M., orders came for our Parrott guns to advance to within a mile of the enemy; when, getting in sight of the rebels, we were saluted by a twelve-pound shot, the only fired at us this day. The sections divided, the guns were unlimbered. We kept up a desultory fire until sunset. The guns were sighted for the night. The order given to fire one gun every thirty minutes at the enemy's works, which was carried out. _Saturday, April 19._--A brisk cannonade, kept up since daylight from our side, without response from the enemy. By six o'clock P. M. the enemy fired three times at Carlile's battery. Heavy picket firing at ten o'clock in the night. _Sunday, April 20._--The rebel infantry fired several heavy volleys into our lines, doing no damage however. Generals Sumner, Sedgwick and Gorman inspected the line. Our battery fired steadily all the morning. We were relieved at four o'clock by Battery B, and went back to camp. _Monday, April 21._--Camp Scott. The Vermont brigade, under General Smith, was defeated at Warwick Creek. Temporary suspension of beating drums, sounding the bugle, and playing of musicians. _Tuesday, April 22._--At nine o'clock A. M. we went to the front. The enemy fired twice at our arrival. We did not respond. In the evening we fell back to the woods, covered by the Fifteenth Massachusetts regiment. A siege gun was fired during the night. _Wednesday, April 23._--At the front. The enemy fired twice in the morning, and several times in the evening. Fire returned in both cases. At dark we fell back again, in reserve. _Thursday, April 24._--At the front. We were relieved at nine o'clock A. M., by Battery B. News arrived of McDowell's occupation of Fredericksburg. Heavy cannonade in the night. _Saturday, April 26._--Fighting going on. Our battery was ordered to the front. At our arrival, fighting closed, and we went back to camp. _Monday, April 28._--Going to the front. At ten o'clock P. M., General Sedgwick ordered Captain Tompkins to take his battery to the Redoubt No. 7, to cover the finishing of Battery No. 8. The rebels commenced heavy shelling, to which we replied vigorously. Sections of Batteries B and G were also engaged in it. They returned to their camps at nightfall. We fell back in reserve, supported by the Fifteenth Regiment Massachusetts volunteers. _Tuesday, April 29._--At daylight we took position in Battery No. 8, supported by one company of telescope-rifle sharp-shooters. The rebels kept up a heavy fire all day. We went back in reserve at dark. _Wednesday, April 30._--Battery No. 8. We were relieved in the morning by Battery B. Heavy cannonading in the night. _Thursday, May 1._--News of the capture of New Orleans. _Friday, May 2._--Camp "Winfield Scott." Steady cannonading all day. _Saturday, May 3._--The rebels are preparing to evacuate Yorktown. Heavy firing, day and night. _Sunday, May 4._--Evacuation of Yorktown. Our lines advanced at daybreak, and found the fortifications deserted by the rebels, leaving most of the siege-guns behind. Stoneman's cavalry is following up the enemy's rear-guard. Our whole army ready to march. _Monday, May 5._--A battle going on at Williamsburgh since morning. Our division marched into Yorktown towards afternoon, under a heavy rain. Explosions of torpedoes very frequent. We commenced to camp inside the fortifications, but we were ordered to march towards Williamsburgh immediately. The column started; halted shortly after on the turnpike road, and remained during the night, under an incessant rain. This was one of the most horrid nights we ever saw in the service. At two o'clock in the morning orders came for us to retire to our camps to rest. _Tuesday, May 6._--Our battery moved to the river, close to Yorktown, ready to be shipped. General Franklin's corps is embarking already. We loaded ammunition all day. _Wednesday, May 7._--Our guns were put aboard the steamer Delaware. We started for West Point, at the mouths of the Pamunkey and Mattapony rivers. Arrived there at five o'clock P. M., and dropped anchor for the night. General Franklin's corps had a fight with the enemy's rear-guard. _Thursday, May 8._--Captain Arnold, of the regular artillery, inspected the unloading of our battery. We camp close to the Pamunkey. _Saturday, May 10._--West Point. The horses were landed to-day. By five o'clock P. M., we marched two miles, and camped at Elkhorn, on the Pamunkey. _Sunday, May 11._--General McClellan arrived here to-day. He brought the news of the destruction of the Merrimac. _Monday, May 12._--At Elkhorn. Inspection of the division. _Thursday, May 15._--Marched towards New Kent Court House, fifteen miles from Elkhorn. Our camp five miles from Cumberland Landing. _Friday, May 16._--Camp Stumps, near New Kent Court House. _Sunday, May 18._--Marched through the last mentioned place, and went to camp after having proceeded two miles. Remained there till _Wednesday, May 21._--Marched at six o'clock A. M. Passed the Savage House, at the Baltimore cross-roads, (headquarters of McClellan,) St. Peter's Church, where Washington was married to Mrs. Custis, and went to camp a few miles from Bottoms' Bridge. General McClellan issued two rations of whiskey to the soldiers. _Thursday, May 22._--Remained in camp near Bottoms' Bridge, on the York River Railroad. During the afternoon, a heavy hailstorm occurred. Pieces of ice, two inches in diameter, were found. _Friday, May 23._--We marched across the railroad to Coal Harbor, to camp. We seem to be held as a reserve corps, ready to reinforce both wings of the army. _Saturday, May 24._--Camp at Coal Harbor. Fighting is going on near the Chickahominy. The balloon is up. _Sunday, May 25._--At Coal Harbor. All quiet. _Monday, May 26._--Orders came to be ready to march. Everything was packed up; but we remained. _Tuesday, May 27._--Coal Harbor. Fitz John Porter's corps, fighting near Hanover Court House. Great excitement amongst the troops. _Wednesday, May 28._--The Second corps marched four miles this morning, to support Fitz John Porter's corps, near Mechanicsville. Went in line of battle near New Bridge, and remained there all day. _Thursday, May 29._--Our corps returned to Coal Harbor by four o'clock P. M. Seven hundred prisoners were brought in. _Friday, May 30._--Near Coal Harbor. Heavy rain. _Saturday, May 31._--Commencement of the battles of the Seven Pines and Fair Oaks. At two o'clock P. M., the battle began on the south side of the Chickahominy. The enemy attacked Casey's division. The Second corps got ready immediately, the Second division, General Sedgwick, leading to the Chickahominy. We crossed at Grape Vine Bridge, built by the First Minnesota, Colonel Sully, Battery I, First United States Regulars, being the first artillery to cross, under great difficulties, the guns sinking in up to the axle. Our battery followed next. Great excitement seemed to prevail about getting artillery forward. But for the timely arrival of the Second and Thirty-fourth New York, Fifteenth Massachusetts, and First Minnesota Regiments, the day would have been lost--especially, the two New York regiments, fought with great determination. Not until night set in, the battle ceased. Our battery stood in the middle of the road all night. The order was to be in line of battle by two o'clock A. M. _Sunday, June 1._--Battle of Fair Oaks. Long before daylight our battery was brought in line of battle in front of the house in which General Sumner afterwards established his headquarters. The First Minnesota supported us. The battle reopened at daylight, with great fury, the enemy having been reinforced all night. Artillery was not used a great deal in this battle, but the musketry fire exceeded any ever heard during the war. In spite of the enemy's efforts, he was completely repulsed by ten o'clock A. M., retreating to Richmond. General McClellan appeared in front of the line of battle, encouraging the troops for the coming struggle. _Monday, June 2._--Fair Oaks. In line of battle since two o'clock A. M. The First Minnesota is fortifying our position. Cannonading going on near Mechanicsville, in the afternoon. The enemy is shelling our line on the railroad. Trains are arriving at the station with supplies. A heavy shower. _Tuesday, June 3._--The army is fortifying its line. _Wednesday, June 4._--Heavy rain storm. All the bridges over the Chickahominy destroyed. _Thursday, June 5._--Brisk fighting near Mechanicsville all day. _Friday, June 6._--Fair Oaks. Expiration of our first year in the service. Very quiet on the line. _Saturday, June 7._--General Burns' brigade made a reconnoisance, in consequence of which a short fight took place. _Sunday, June 8._--The enemy made a severe attack on our position this morning. Bad conduct of Baxter's Zouaves. Generals Sedgwick and Gorman forced them to return to the front. Visit of General McClellan, Duc de Chartres, the Count of Paris, Prince de Joinville, the Spanish Generals Prim and Milano del Bosch, Senor Justo San Miguel, Colonel Denteure, Colonel Cordazo, Senor de Sales, and Senor Perez Caloo, Spanish historian. They remained fifteen minutes at the headquarters of General Sumner, and made quite a show. _Monday, June 9._--Fair Oaks. The rebels open on General Gorman's picket line, without inflicting any damage. _Tuesday, June 10._--Fair Oaks. Heavy rain. The enemy opened with artillery on General Smith's division, towards evening. _Wednesday, June 11._--Fair Oaks. In line of battle since two o'clock A. M. An attack expected every moment. _Thursday, June 12._--Fair Oaks. Our whole line is fortifying stronger. Baxter's Zouaves are building breastworks of solid timber. Splendid moon nights. _Friday, June 13._--Fair Oaks. We are in line of battle since three o'clock A. M. At five o'clock the enemy opened on our line with two Parrott guns, two Napoleons, and a howitzer, killing a man of Company I, First Minnesota, and wounding one of the Thirty-fourth New York Regiment. General McClellan inspected the whole line of Sumner's corps. Orders were given to strengthen the breastworks. Generals Sumner and Sedgwick change their headquarters, their former quarters being too much under fire. _Saturday, June 14._--Fair Oaks. The First Minnesota were intrenching all day. Very quiet along the line. Great raid of Stuart's cavalry at White House Landing. _Sunday, June 15._--Fair Oaks. Heavy firing in the direction of Fort Darling. _Monday, June 16._--Fair Oaks. General Sickles' brigade had a short engagement with the rebels. General McClellan passed the line towards evening. Heavy firing on both wings of the army. _Tuesday, June 17._--Heavy cannonading in the direction of Fort Darling. _Wednesday, June 18._--Fair Oaks. General Porter's artillery had quite an engagement. In the afternoon the whole of the Second corps got ready for action. Our battery was harnessed up. The infantry of Richardson's division advanced under cover of two light batteries. The engagement was of short duration. Our loss, one hundred and seventy, killed and wounded, all of Richardson's division. General McClellan was present. _Thursday, June 19._--Fair Oaks. The enemy lost nearly four hundred men in yesterday's engagement. _Friday, June 20._--Fair Oaks. Heavy skirmishing along the whole line. _Saturday, June 21._--Fair Oaks. The whiskey rations are countermanded to-day. During the night we were called under arms five times, the rebels making repeated attacks on the railroad. _Sunday, June 22._--Quiet along the line. _Monday, June 23._--Fair Oaks. Short engagement on the railroad. Thunder shower at night. _Tuesday, June 24._--Fair Oaks. The enemy attacked at two o'clock A. M. _Wednesday, June 25._--Heavy engagement near Old Church, lasting all day. Heintzleman's corps engaged. Our loss, one thousand men. _Thursday, June 26._--Fair Oaks. Battle of Gaines' Farm. General Fitz John Porter was attacked on the north side of the Chickahominy this morning. The battle was going on till nine o'clock P. M., with great fury, when General Porter drove the enemy, as could be seen from our position. The peal of artillery was terrible, and the sky at night in a constant blaze. Great cheering along our line at ten o'clock in the night. All the bands playing national airs. _Friday, June 27._--Fair Oaks. Battle of Gaines' Mills. Stonewall Jackson opened the battle this morning with overpowering numbers against General Porter. We could see from our position how the rebels drove Porter's troops from one position to the other. They are already fighting near Coal Harbor. General McClellan ordered General Sumner to hold his position at all hazards. By twelve o'clock A. M. we were attacked by the rebels with great determination. Four batteries opened on our centre and Smith's division, but were finally repulsed. General Porter is utterly defeated. Meagher's Irish brigade went to cover his retreat. Troops are marching and counter-marching all night. Great cheering within the rebel lines. _Saturday, June 28._--Fair Oaks. Our centre was attacked again this morning at ten o'clock. The enemy was handsomely repulsed, leaving one hundred and fifty, killed and wounded, inside our lines,--Colonel Lamar, of Georgia, among the latter. Our situation is very critical, our right flank being turned. General Porter lost nine thousand men and twenty-four guns, and is crossing Bottoms' Bridge. The rebels occupy White House Landing. Towards evening, all the baggage teams were sent away, and all surplus ammunition, arms and commissary stores destroyed. The army is preparing to retreat. A part of the Second corps had already left, when orders arrived that our position must be held. A deep gloom is prevailing over the whole army. _Sunday, June 29._--Evacuation of Fair Oaks. At three o'clock A. M. orders came for us to leave as quick as possible. Smith's division had already fallen back two miles, which movement completely exposed our right flank. The rebels followed at our very heels. After marching a mile, General Sumner hastily formed a line of battle, crossing the railroad. We were not held long in inactivity. The rebels, in command of Magruder, soon attacked with three brigades of infantry and three batteries. This fight bears the name of battle of Peach Orchard. Our battery was in close action, supported by General French's brigade. Pettit's New York eight gun battery, was sent to our assistance towards three o'clock P. M. By General Sumner's skilful manoeuvring we were enabled to fall back to Savage Station, leaving the dead and wounded behind. At the latter place, half of the Potomac army was drawn up in line of battle. The quantity of ammunition and stores at that place was immense. (Who would not remember the great explosion of the railroad train at Bottoms' Bridge.) About five o'clock P. M., the battle of Savage Station commenced, and kept on until late at night with great desperation. Our battery was within dangerous range of the enemy's fire, but not engaged. About nine o'clock, we fell back to the White Oak Swamp, arriving there at midnight. _Monday, June 30._--Battle of Glendale Farm. This battle is known by five different names: White Oak Swamp, Glendale Farm, Golding's Farm, Turkey Bend, and of Charles City Road. At daybreak we formed in line of battle. The enemy appeared shortly after. The battle opened at different points. (Every one recollects the delay of our retreat on that day, in covering our extensive trains, which occupied seventeen miles length of road.) At three o'clock P. M. the rear of the trains passed by, just in time, as we were attacked immediately after. The battle lasted until night. Sergeant Hammond, Seidlinger, and Slocum were wounded. Battery B, Pennsylvania Artillery, was taken by the rebels, right in our front. The gunboats participated in the battle. We fell back at midnight, leaving our dead and wounded on the field. Our battery carried their wounded off, but left one caisson behind, a lynch-pin giving way. No other could be found during the excitement. _Tuesday, July 1._--Battle of Malvern Hill. We arrived at that place by two o'clock A. M. The Potomac army occupied a splendid position. Prepared for the expected enemy. The rear-guard came up at daylight, amidst cheering and the playing of the bands. Our battery filled ammunition, but during the whole day had the good fortune to be kept constantly in reserve. Still, we were under fire constantly. Captain Coleman, of Rhode Island, collected letters and moneys from those who wanted to send them to their friends at home, before the battle commenced. Private Cooper was shot in the leg, by one of our own men; also a horse of Captain Tompkins. About ten o'clock the great battle commenced, artillery being used mostly. Never was such heavy cannonading heard on this continent before that. The gunboats threw shells at four miles distance. Weeden's Rhode Island battery lost seven men by one of the gunboat shells. The battle raged until late in the night, ending with the repulse of the rebel army. Every one expected an advance on the enemy the coming morning; but in vain. _Wednesday, July 2._--Malvern Hill. After a few hours rest, orders were given at two o'clock A. M. to get ready,--to our astonishment,--to fall back to Harrison Landing. The rain fell in torrents. The troops were completely demoralized; every man was going on his own hook. A great many threw away their arms without any reason. Order was given to abandon at once any piece of artillery that should get stuck. Soldiers fired their guns off in all directions. Not less than forty men were killed by such careless practice. Harrison Landing is only six miles from Malvern Hill. The whole army was crowded in a complete mud-hole. The spirit of the men is very low. Our wounded, left in Malvern Hill hospital, had to foot their way to Harrison Landing in the best manner they could. In spite of the mud, we all enjoyed the first good night's rest for some weeks past. _Thursday, July 3._--Harrison Landing. The enemy brought artillery to bear upon our camps this morning; but their guns were taken by the Fourteenth Indiana, of General Shields' division. At one time, all of our troops were drawn up in line of battle. The gunboats fired some shots. _Friday, July 4._--The army spread out in different camps this morning. The Second corps moved at least a mile away from the landing. The day was duly celebrated by firing salutes and playing of bands. General McClellan reviewed the troops. _Monday, July 7._--We changed our location this morning and established a new camp in the woods. The rebel gunboat "Teazer" was captured by the Monitor. President Lincoln visited the army. The troops passed review before him. Kirby's battery fired a salute. Our battery cheered for General Sumner. _Tuesday, July 8._--Intensely hot weather. The army is fortifying the outer lines, facing towards Malvern Hill. _Sunday, July 13._--Camp near Harrison Landing. Sergeant Budlong was reduced to the ranks for insubordination and insulting language towards Lieutenant John G. Hassard. _Monday, July 14._--Near Harrison Landing. Secretary Stanton visited the army. _Tuesday, July 15._--Near Harrison Landing. Notice was given by the Sanitary Commission to-day to send a number of men to receive the delicacies destined for us, (Battery A,) which was done accordingly. But we never enjoyed the benefit of it, as everything disappeared in the officers' quarters. My comrades in Providence can testify to this statement. Heavy shower in the evening. _Sunday, July 20._--Near Harrison Landing. Mounted inspection. _Tuesday, July 22._--Near Harrison Landing. Great review of the Second corps by General McClellan. The troops presented a splendid appearance, considering the hardships endured. Our battery fired a salute. _Wednesday, July 23._--Harrison Landing. We changed camp again, inside of the woods. _Thursday, July 24._--Harrison Landing. Very severe heat. _Friday, July 25._--Our battery was taken to the James River, to clean the carriages. _Saturday, July 26._--Harrison Landing. Heavy shower. _Sunday, July 27._--Harrison Landing. Mounted inspection. _Monday, July 28._--Harrison Landing. Our two howitzers were exchanged for Parrott guns from Battery G, New York volunteers, Captain Frank. _Tuesday, July 29._--Harrison Landing. Jimmy Nutts was disabled while dismounting from a limber-chest. _Friday, August 1._--The rebels opened on us with a battery last night, from the south side of the James River, killing seven men, and damaging several transports. Our gunboats silenced them soon after. _Monday, August 4._--Harrison Landing. Reconnoisance in force. Sedgwick's and Richardson's divisions, besides other bodies of troops, cavalry, and horse artillery, under command of General Joe Hooker, assembled by four o'clock P. M., and left our line of fortifications at sunset. We marched all night, in the direction of Charles City Court House. About one o'clock in the night the column halted. _Tuesday, August 5._--About four o'clock A. M., our column advanced, throwing out skirmishers. By five o'clock the gunboats were heard firing in the direction of Malvern Hill. At this time we were marching in the neighborhood of the White Oak Swamp, on the Charles City road, the same one we retreated by after the seven days' battles. General Hooker's force, amounting to twenty thousand men, advanced rapidly on to Malvern Hill. A small engagement took place between our cavalry and horse artillery, and the enemy. But the plan of capturing the rebel force, consisting of but twelve hundred men, failed entirely. They escaped, leaving only two dead and fifty prisoners in our hands. Our loss was four killed and twelve wounded. Captain Benson, of the regular horse artillery, was killed. The Lieutenant Colonel of the Eighth Illinois cavalry, mortally wounded. The cause of the enemy's escape was attributed to Brigadier General Frank Patterson, son of General Patterson of Bull Run notoriety. General McClellan appeared in the afternoon, in high glee. We remained on the spot all day. In the evening our battery was brought in position, facing White Oak Swamp. Beautiful moon night. We slept once more on the great battle-field. _Wednesday, August 6._--On Malvern Hill. Stayed all day, and expected to stay all night. Tents were pitched, with a view to remain longer; but about nine o'clock P. M., picket firing commenced, and at midnight, very suddenly, orders were given to get ready to march back to Harrison Landing. The report circulated that the enemy was advancing with superior numbers. About half ways, we were met by the greater part of the Army of the Potomac, covering our retreat. _Thursday, August 7._--Arrived at Harrison Landing at three and a half o'clock A. M., and went back to our old camp. _Friday, August 8._--Harrison Landing. The rebels occupy Malvern Hill again. Intensely hot weather--113° in the shade. _Saturday, August 9._--Our battery was cleaned to-day. Splendid moon night. _Monday, August 11._--Harrison Landing. Preparations to evacuate the place. All the baggage to be sent away by transports, and rations for six days to be kept on hand. _Tuesday, August 12._--Harrison Landing. Fitz John Porter's corps started to-day. _Wednesday, August 13._--Harrison Landing. News of General Pope's battle at Cedar Mountain. _Friday, August 15._--Harrison Landing. Everything is packed, and the battery hitched up. Troops were marching by all night. Sumner's corps to be the rear-guard. _Saturday, August 16._--Left Harrison Landing at three o'clock A. M. Marched on the river road and halted at dark, in line of battle. _Sunday, August 17._--March through Charles City Court House. To-day's march was one of the most disagreeable ever made, being very hot, and so dusty as to make all the trees look white. Plenty of dead horses and mules on the road. Arrived at the Chickahominy river at midnight. All the artillery crossed over the large pontoon bridge, of ninety-seven boats, during the night. _Monday, August 18._--The infantry crossed since daybreak, followed by the cavalry and horse artillery. One gunboat is close to the bridge. The rebels showed themselves, without molesting our rear-guard. One of our batteries opened on them. By ten o'clock we resumed our march. Our corps went to camp in the afternoon. _Tuesday, August 19._--March through Williamsburg. Some dismounted guns, from the battle in May, were still standing in the streets. We passed Fort Magruder, and went to camp two miles from the latter. _Wednesday, August 20._--Marched at six o'clock A. M., and went to camp a mile from Yorktown. _Thursday, August 21._--Tedious march through Yorktown, Howard's Mills, over Shipping Point to Hampton Roads, where we arrived by five o'clock P. M., having marched twenty-two miles to-day. The infantry has gone to Newport News. _Friday, August 22._--Hampton Roads. Heavy rain. _Saturday, August 23._--Hampton Roads. Troops are continuously shipped. _Sunday, August 24._--Hampton Roads. Heavy rain. Kirby's and our battery marched to the landing. Both batteries were loaded on board the ferry-boat Jefferson. Men and horses remained ashore for the night. _Tuesday, August 26._--Hampton Roads. Men and horses were shipped on board the schooners Buena Vista and Clara Belle. The schooners were taken by tug-boat to Fortress Monroe, waiting for further orders. At six o'clock P. M., the steamer "Forrest City," having the Second United States cavalry on board, attached our schooner in tow, and started for Alexandria. In consideration of having the troops rested from their tedious marching across the Peninsula, contrabands were engaged by the government to load the vessels. An overseer of such a working party reported to our battery. But Lieutenant J. Hassard suggested that he would rather have the men of the battery do the work, as they had not done anything lately. I owe it to the members of Battery A, to mention those facts. _Wednesday, August 27._--In sight of Aquia Creek. Received orders to proceed to Alexandria the next morning. _Thursday, August 28._--Left Aquia Creek at four o'clock A. M. Passed Mount Vernon by seven, Fort Washington by eight, and arrived at Alexandria by ten o'clock. Both batteries, horses and all, were unloaded by five o'clock P. M. Marched through Alexandria at once, and went to camp outside the city. _Friday, August 29._--Alexandria. Our battery, accompanied by the Seventh Michigan Regiment, and Fifty-ninth New York, left this morning, going towards the Chain Bridge, on which an attack was anticipated. We passed through Fort Runyon, on the road leading to Manassas, turning off to Fort Ethan Allen, covering the Chain Bridge. The fort was occupied by the One Hundred and Twenty-third Pennsylvania, Seventy-first New York, and Eleventh New Jersey regiments. We took position one mile in front of it. _Saturday, August 30._--Near Fort Ethan Allen. Heavy cannonading in the direction of Manassas Junction. Two regiments of cavalry are making a reconnoissance towards Leesburg. At five o'clock P. M. we went to Fort Ethan Allen, crossed the Potomac over Chain Bridge, and marched until eight o'clock. Coming up to General Dana's brigade, we halted for the night. _Sunday, August 31._--At three o'clock in the morning, all the troops of our corps marched through Georgetown, crossed the Potomac, over the Aqueduct Bridge, and proceeded on the road to Fairfax Court House. After sunrise it commenced to rain. Paroled prisoners, captured from Stonewall Jackson, passing us on the road, gave us no bright picture of the second battle of Bull Run. We halted at one o'clock, about four miles from the Court House. About seven o'clock P. M., order arrived from General Sedgwick, to take up our march. After various marching and counter-marching, we arrived at the Court House by one o'clock in the night. _Monday, September 1._--Fairfax Court House. At seven o'clock A. M. we proceeded to Germantown, going in position, facing Chantilly. Troops were coming in from Centreville all day. General McDowell's corps, who lost nearly all their artillery, amongst them. An engagement, lasting from five o'clock P. M. till dark, was going on at Chantilly amidst a heavy thunder shower. Generals Kearney and Stevens were killed. About six o'clock P. M. we fell back to Fairfax Court House, camping on the same spot we occupied a year ago, while under Captain Reynolds, previous to the first battle of Bull Run. _Tuesday, September 2._--Fairfax Court House. During the whole night, troops were marching to the defences of Washington. Pope's and McClellan's armies are rapidly falling back, Sumner's corps covering the retreat, as usual. We left the Court House at eight o'clock A. M., forming a line of battle on Flint Hill. Heavy clouds of dust, from the rebel columns, marching towards the Potomac, could be seen in the distance. Not being attacked, our line of march was resumed; but shortly afterwards, a rebel battery opened on our rear, directly from the town. General Sumner ordered one section of our battery, and the First Minnesota infantry, to take position, planting the two guns of the right section, one on each side of the road. Shortly after dark the enemy appeared. We could hear the unlimbering of the artillery. At that moment we opened lively with shell and canister, while Colonel Sully threw his regiment across the road, and kept up a brisk musketry fire on the advancing cavalry of the enemy. Being unable to use their artillery, the rebels retreated instantly. Seven men of the First Minnesota were killed and wounded. One of our limber-chests was upset, the pole being broken by the horses, injuring John Setton, driver, and one horse. Colonel Sully, anxious to fall back, advised Captain Tompkins not to lose any time, and if needs be, to abandon the gun. Captain Tompkins replied, he would carry the gun along or share the fate of it. We all went to work, tying the two guns and limbers together with ropes and straps. In the vicinity of Vienna, a body of cavalry made a charge on our column, firing at us with pistols and carbines. The First Maryland Cavalry, and Company I, First Minnesota, left us without offering any resistance to them. The greatest excitement prevailed for some time. General Sumner gave credit to our battery for not having left the guns. Some said the charge was made by a party of our own cavalry by mistake; but the dead and wounded, found in rebel uniform, contradicted that. After a weary march, we arrived near Fort Ethan Allen, at three o'clock A. M. _Wednesday, September 3._--Sumner's corps marched across the Chain Bridge to Tenallytown, and went to camp. _Thursday, September 4._--Tenallytown, Maryland. Heavy cannonade on the upper Potomac. _Friday, September 5._--Tenallytown. The rebel army has crossed the Potomac. We left Tenallytown this morning. Marched to Rockville, twelve miles from Washington, and went to camp three miles from that place. New clothes were issued to-night. _Saturday, September 6._--Near Rockville. This morning the cavalry and our battery advanced several miles, going in position on a hill. Thirty cavalrymen were captured last night. Scouts coming in the afternoon informed of the enemy's presence, only four miles from us. We fell back until, to our surprise, we found the whole of the Second corps in line of battle. Our battery took position immediately. The whole road was covered by our artillery. _Sunday, September 7._--Near Rockville. The rebel army occupies Frederick City. Our cavalry dashed into Poolesville. We marched only six miles to-day. _Tuesday, September 9._--We started by ten o'clock, A. M., and marched seven miles. Our cavalry had a fight at Barnesville. _Wednesday, September 10._--March to Clarksburg. Our advance is getting very slow. _Thursday, September 11._--March to Hyattstown, eight miles from Frederick. We formed in line of battle on a hill in front of the town. Our skirmishers advanced, but could not find the enemy. _Friday, September 12._--Left Hyattstown at nine o'clock A. M., marched only five miles and went to camp. Eight thousand men, cavalry and horse artillery, passed by this afternoon. Signal lights can be seen on Sugar Loaf Mountain. _Saturday, September 13._--Early in the morning, we marched through Urbana. General McClellan passed by at ten o'clock, crossing the Monocacy river. Triumphant entrance into Frederick City. The houses and inhabitants of the city presented a good appearance. Flags were floating all over. General McClellan was surrounded by all of his corps and division commanders, on the roadside. The troops cheered while marching by. Our cavalry and horse artillery drove the rebel rear-guard out of the city, and are chasing them up the South Mountain Pass, the smoke of the artillery is plainly to be seen. The engine house in Frederick City is full of prisoners. _Sunday, September 14._--Battle of South Mountain. General Burnside, marching all of last night, attacked the enemy, near Berkley, early this morning. Our corps left Frederick by eight o'clock A. M., marching towards the mountain. Considerable time was lost by getting on the wrong road. We arrived on the top of the first range of mountains by three o'clock P. M., and witnessed one of the grandest scenes ever seen during the war,--the contest for the possession of South Mountain Pass. At five o'clock P. M. the pass was forced on the point of the bayonet, by the troops under General Reno, who fell during the charge. We arrived at Berkley by ten o'clock at night. _Monday, September 15._--March through South Mountain Pass. The battle-field gives evidence of the desperate fighting of yesterday. Our advance guard is pressing the rear of the enemy through Boonesboro, where we passed through at eleven o'clock A. M. The church and barns are full of wounded and rebel prisoners. The inhabitants seem to be elated at our entrance. After going two miles further, we halted four hours. Skirmishing was going on near Kettysville. After dark we marched through the town. _Tuesday, September 16._--Battle of Antietam. The battle commenced about eight o'clock, opening with heavy cannonading. Our division changed position during the afternoon, going from the centre to the right, passing through Kettysville, and crossed Antietam Creek before dark. We were not engaged to-day. _Wednesday, September 17._--Battle of Antietam and Sharpsburg. Since four o'clock A. M., the battle is raging furiously. Joe Hooker gained some ground early in the morning, but was wounded soon after the beginning. Our battery was ordered to take position close to Hooker's line. The battle-field wore a terrific aspect, at our arrival. Before reaching the designated position, we had to pass through the enemy's artillery fire for nearly a mile. Two men of our battery, Fred. Phillips and Patrick Larkins, were wounded, before getting in position. Marching through a cornfield, we saw one of our batteries, entirely demolished, and hundreds of dead and wounded lying around. Crossing the fields, we were heartily cheered by our famous old Sedgwick's division, which was advancing on the enemy like veterans. We took our position near a cemetery and in front of a burning farm-house, a place already fought for all the morning, as could be seen by the dead and wounded strewn around. We relieved a battery of Hooker's command, and were supported by but two companies of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania infantry, commanded by a sergeant. Here we fought, repeatedly against artillery and infantry, for four hours and a half. At one time our situation was very critical. The enemy, after driving Gorman's brigade, on our right, came charging from that direction. We used double charges of canister. There was a time when half of the battery was compelled to cease firing. The order, "limber to the rear," was given; but, fortunately, not heard, as it would have resulted in the certain capture of the battery. At that critical turn, Captain Tompkins called on our infantry support to advance and do their duty, which they did, enabling us to load again. The enemy, after failing to take the battery, retreated slowly, leaving his battle-flag behind, which, by right, should have been given to the battery, as it fell before the infantry support advanced. Our ammunition giving away, Captain Tompkins sent word to be relieved. John Leech deserves due mentioning here, for carrying notice through the hottest fire, regardless of his personal safety, to bring rescue to his comrades. Shortly afterwards, Battery G, Rhode Island, came to relieve us. We left the field under a heavy fire of the enemy's batteries, leaving our dead and wounded behind. Battery G fired only a few rounds, and left the position we held for four hours and a half. The ground was taken by the enemy. We returned to our former rendezvous, near Hoffman's farm, and received a written compliment from General Sumner for our good behavior. Our loss was: Killed--Sergeant Reed, John Lawrence, Joe Bosworth, Stone. Wounded--Budlong, John Church, Robert Raynor, F. C. Preston, Sherman Larkin, Zimmerli, Corporal Childs, Fred. Phillips, Francis Phillips, Cargill, Abner Wilder, and Theodore Reichardt. We lost nine horses. During the afternoon, we loaded ammunition. The battle raged till night set in, principally near Sharpsburg. Colonel Miles surrendered Harper's Ferry, with eleven thousand five hundred men, to Stonewall Jackson. _Thursday, September 18._--Antietam. Both armies are skirmishing briskly since daylight. Our battery left Hoffman's farm in the morning, and went a little nearer to the battle-field. Lieutenant Jeffrey Hassard started, with eight selected men, to obtain the bodies of our dead, but was not able to accomplish it, the enemy's sharpshooters firing on our approach. During the afternoon a truce was concluded between the two armies, for the purpose of burying the fallen. The remains of Sergeant Reed, John Lawrence, Joe Bosworth and Ed. Stone, were recovered in a mutilated state, and interred in the evening in the presence of the battery. _Friday, September 19._--The enemy has fallen back to the Potomac. Thousands of dead are covering the field yet. We remained quiet all day. _Saturday, September 20._--Antietam. We exchanged three guns with Pettit's New York battery. Our battery marched back to Boonsboro, close to McClellan's headquarters, in the afternoon. Having settled down for the night, we were suddenly aroused and ordered to march immediately to Sharpsburg. An engagement was going on at Shepardstown, close to the Potomac, ending to our disadvantage. We passed through Sharpsburg at two o'clock in the night, and went into park outside of the town. _Sunday, September 21._--Sharpsburg, McClellan's headquarters. Cannonading still sounding from the Potomac. There is scarcely a house in Sharpsburg, which shows no marks of our artillery fire. The inhabitants admit that General Burnside gave them a right smart shelling. _Monday, September 22._--Sharpsburg, headquarters of McClellan. Sumner's corps marched to Harper's Ferry to-day; but we remained, receiving a new battery of three-inch rifle guns. _Tuesday, September 23._--Sharpsburg. We left the place at two o'clock P. M. Crossed the Antietam, and marched to the foot of Maryland Heights, going to camp for the night. _Wednesday, September 24._--We arrived at Harper's Ferry at ten o'clock A. M., and went to camp on Bolivar Heights. _Sunday, September 28._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection. _Wednesday, October 1._--President Lincoln visited the Army of the Potomac. Our battery fired a salute of twenty-one guns. _Friday, October 3._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection. _Sunday, October 5._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection. The Seventh Regiment, Rhode Island infantry, arrived at Sandy Hook, Maryland. _Thursday, October 9._--Bolivar. We were paid off for five months service. _Thursday, October 16._--Bolivar. Reconnoisance in force. Ten thousand men started early in the morning under command of General Hancock. The enemy was found near Charlestown, opening on us with artillery. Battery A, Fourth Regular Artillery, went into action. Our battery supported the Fourth regulars, and the enemy's battery left soon. Battery A, Fourth regulars, had a caisson blown up, one man killed and four wounded. We occupied Charlestown, going in position outside of the town, pointing to Berryville and Smithfield. Heavy rain in the evening. The cars were running between Harper's Ferry and Charlestown all night, carrying off grain from the latter place to Harper's Ferry. The troops were in line of battle during the night. _Friday, October 17._--Charlestown, Virginia. In position. We left Charlestown at two o'clock P. M. Marched back to Halltown. At that place General Hancock formed a line of battle, an attack of the rebels being anticipated. All the artillery went in position on high ground, while the infantry formed below. We remained on the hill all night. It was very cold during the night. _Saturday, October 18._--We returned to Bolivar Heights early in the morning, and went back to camp. _Tuesday, October 21._--Battery drill in the morning. _Sunday, October 26._--Captain Tompkins went off on a furlough. _Monday, October 27._--Bolivar. General Burnside has crossed the Potomac at Berlin. _Wednesday, October 29._--Bolivar. We are under marching orders. _Thursday, October 30._--Bolivar. Troops are crossing the Shenandoah river all day. Our battery left Bolivar at two o'clock P. M. Marched through Harper's Ferry and crossed the Shenandoah by way of pontoons. Advanced on the Leesburg turnpike six miles. After sunset we went to camp for the night. _Friday, October 31._--Loudon Valley. We were mustered in for two months pay; after that, changed camp, and remained quiet for the rest of the day. Troops are passing by all day. _Saturday, November 1._--Loudon Valley. We commenced marching at ten o'clock in the direction of Snicker's Gap, passed Snickersville, and formed in line of battle in the evening, near Wood Grove. Marched ten miles to-day. A number of pigs were killed during the night. _Sunday, November 2._--Wood Grove. Commenced marching at eight o'clock A. M. A fight was in progress between Burnside's corps and the rebels. We could see the firing of guns. Camped at seven o'clock P. M. Cold and rainy weather. _Monday, November 3._--Marched at ten o'clock A. M., towards Union and Upperville. Firing was heard in the afternoon. Shortly afterwards we could see Pleasanton's cavalry running close after the enemy's. We went to camp. Splendid moon night. Great slaughter amongst pigs, sheep, and chickens. _Tuesday, November 4._--Loudon Valley, Virginia. We marched through Upperville about 1 o'clock P. M. General Burnside and staff passed by. At three o'clock we came through Paris, at the foot of Ashby Gap. Occupied the heights of Ashby Gap and went in position. A most splendid view presented itself to our eyes. The whole Shenandoah Valley, Winchester, Berryville, Bunker Hill, and other places could distinctly be seen. The enemy's camp fires were visible on the other side of the Shenandoah river. The weather is very cold. _Wednesday, November 5._--Ashby Gap. Remained in position all day. Some of us had quite a time, killing a young bull. A fearful cold night. Some snow fell. _Thursday, November 6._--We left Ashby Gap at eight o'clock A. M. Marched seven miles, and went to camp near Cubb run. _Friday, November 7._--We remained in camp to-day. The horses are in a bad condition, and most of the men without shoes. Snow fell three inches deep. _Saturday, November 8._--Marched in the morning with only four horses to a gun. Passed through Salem and Rectortown. Generals McClellan, Burnside, and Sumner, rode past the line. We went to camp at four o'clock P. M. _Sunday, November 9._--Arrived at Warrenton at twelve o'clock M., and went to camp outside of the town. _Monday, November 10._--Warrenton. To the astonishment of the army, it was announced to-day that General McClellan was to be removed from the Army of the Potomac, and the command transferred to General Burnside. The troops turned out on parade along the road. General McClellan and staff passed by. He seemed to be greatly affected. The air rang with the cheers of the troops for their old commander. _Tuesday, November 11._--Warrenton. The army is poorly supplied with provisions at present. _Wednesday, November 12._--Warrenton. We received the first mail since the twenty-first of October. _Saturday, November 15._--Left Warrenton this morning. Marched nine miles and went to camp. _Sunday, November 16,_--Started at eight o'clock A. M. Marched fifteen miles and went to camp. _Monday, November 17._--Left at eight o'clock A. M. for Falmouth. Pettit's Battery went in position on a hill opposite Fredericksburg, and had quite an action with a rebel battery. Our battery advanced to support, but did not fire. At five o'clock P. M. we retired and went to camp. _Tuesday, November 18._--Camp near Falmouth. The Army of the Potomac is divided in three grand divisions. Sumner commands the right, Franklin the left, Joe Hooker the centre, and Sigel the reserve. _Thursday, November 20._--We moved our camp closer to Falmouth. It rained all day. _Wednesday, November 26._--Near Falmouth. Lieutenant Henry Newton left the battery and service to-day. _Thursday, November 27._--Thanksgiving day, but a poor one for us. The army lives on hard bread, pork and coffee. _Sunday, November 30._--The railroad to Aquia Creek is in operation now. _Monday, December 1._--The men of our battery cleaned up the camp of the First Minnesota regiment. A guard was kept on the ground all night. _Tuesday, December 2._--Near Falmouth. The battery moved on the new ground. _Wednesday, December 3._--A stable for the officers' horses in the course of building. _Monday, December 8._--Commenced to build a stable for the battery horses. _Wednesday, December 10._--New clothes were given out to-day. Everything ready for an advance. _Thursday, December 11._--Bombardment of Fredericksburg. Last night a large part of the artillery was brought in position, close to the river, and before daybreak, about one hundred and thirty guns were throwing shell and shot in the city, without eliciting any reply, except from rebel sharpshooters in the cellars on the river line, compelling the engineers to give up the attempt of laying pontoons across the river. Fires broke out in several places during the day. Towards evening, two companies, one of the Seventy-first New York, (Tammany,) and one of the Seventh Michigan, volunteered to cross the Rappahannock on scows, charged on the sharpshooters, and took fifty prisoners, losing fifteen killed. The pontoon bridge was completed shortly after, and three thousand men entered the city before night. We remained this side of the Rappahannock. Our battery was close to the river all day, but did not fire. _Friday, December 12._--Troops are crossing over on the pontoons to Fredericksburg. Our battery moved towards the river about eight o'clock A. M. Near the bridge we were received by a tremendous fire from the enemy's batteries on St. Mary's Heights, but, fortunately, sustained no loss. Not so, Frank's New York battery, they having one man killed and several wounded. One shot took effect in stopping one of their pieces. Without delay we crossed the Rappahannock. Artillery, cavalry and infantry went over all the morning. A new regiment crossed the bridge at four o'clock P. M., their band playing the tune of "Bully for you." All of a sudden the enemy's batteries opened on the regiment, which run back in bad order, committing the mistake of running right in the enemy's fire. The troops are committing depredations all over the town. The stores were completely ransacked. Most every man had a lot of tobacco. In the evening, the battery marched around the town, but returned again to our former place, close to the river. The scenes in the streets were really picturesque. Soldiers could be seen, sitting on splendid furniture, mixing dough for flap-jacks. Most of our battery were cooking all night. _Saturday, December 13._--The battle of Fredericksburg. Firing commenced about eleven o'clock in the morning. Captain Tompkins left the battery to-day, being promoted to Major. Making his farewell speech to us, he introduced our new commander, Captain Arnold, who addressed the company, also, saying, he understood we were a fighting set, and he would stick to us to the last. Shortly after that the command, "forward," was given, and we went to the outskirts of the town. Shell and shot were ploughing through the streets already. Our battery went in action by sections, posted at different roads leading to St. Mary's Heights. The battery kept up a constant fire all the afternoon. Some of the nine months regiments behaved very badly, leaving the field ingloriously, without orders. Battery B, Rhode Island, Frank's New York battery, and Kirby's regular artillery, smooth-bore guns, were ordered out to encourage the infantry, while Humphrey's division of regular infantry, were in readiness as a reserve. General Couch wanted our battery to advance to the extreme front; but, thanks to Colonel Morgan, chief-of-artillery, who objected to that, it was not done. Lieutenant Jacob Lamb made the most splendid shots during the day. Owing to our being covered by houses, our loss was small. Henry Hicks was shot through both heels by a musket ball, making the amputation of both of his legs necessary. Captain Arnold's horse was shot. After the action was over, we occupied the surrounding houses, which were found well stocked with all sort of provisions. Cooking and eating was kept up all night. The caissons recrossed the river during the night, for a new supply of ammunition. The night was very cold, and the groans of the wounded on the field of battle, sounded terrible. _Sunday, December 14._--Fredericksburg. The rebel batteries opened early, firing thirty-two pound shells. One shell took effect in the centre section, tearing off the head of Sergeant Thompson's horse, splintering the limber-chest, fracturing a heel of Charles Spencer, and wounding an infantry man. Our pieces were instantly pulled out of sight. Our infantry fortified during the night past. We expected another assault to be made to-day; but General Sumner's advice, in the council of war, was against it. The rebel sharpshooters kept up an incessant fire all day, killing quite a number of our men that were exposing themselves. The day was well-spent by the battery in cooking and baking, Jim Harrison and Stacy, acting as cooks and bottle-washers. _Monday, December 15._--Fredericksburg. The enemy's artillery and sharpshooters were firing all day. Our guns were kept out of sight during the afternoon. Generals Howard, Couch and Sully, inspected our lines, and said they would send a brigade of infantry to fortify our position. The men of our battery worked all day, throwing up breastworks behind a fence. Once in a while the rebel batteries threw a shell at us. The weather has been beautiful since we occupied the city. While we were sleeping by our guns, orders came at eleven o'clock in the night, to pack up quietly and get away as quick as possible, which was executed without the least noise, every man being anxious to move away, but not without being loaded with all sorts of provisions. We recrossed the Rappahannock at twelve o'clock in the night. The whole army followed during the night under cover of the batteries. We lay down to rest immediately after arriving on the other side. One gun of the right section was dismounted, one limber and several wheels disabled. _Tuesday, December 16._--The rain commenced pouring down in streams since four o'clock in the morning. A deep gloom spread all over the army in consequence of our unsuccessful movement. At six o'clock A. M., our battery returned to the old camp on the hill, which was no small undertaking, the mud being a foot deep. At dark, Captain Arnold, with a squad of men, went to the river to obtain the trail of the dismounted gun. _Wednesday, December 17._--Camp near Falmouth. General Sigel's reserve corps is camping around Falmouth. Our camp has its usual appearance. It is cold, and snowing. _Saturday, December 20._--The troops are building winter-quarters. _Wednesday, December 24._--Great inspection in camp, by Generals Sumner, Howard, and Sully, and their staffs. They all expressed their satisfaction with the appearance of the battery. This was the last visit of the venerable hero, General Sumner, to our battery. _Friday, December 26._--The pontoons were sent to Belle Plains. _Wednesday, December 31._--Quiet in camp. 1863. _Thursday, January 1._--Camp near Falmouth. The army is very poorly provisioned. _Monday, January 5._--A new stable for the battery horses commenced, below the ravine. _Tuesday, January 6._--The news of the battle of Murfreesboro arrived. _Thursday, January 15._--Our camp was partly burned down to-day, through a fire in the camp of the Thirty-fourth Regiment New York volunteers. _Friday, January 16._--A severe storm. Rations are to be cooked for three days. We are kept in uneasiness all the time, about moving. _Saturday, January 17._--Great review of the army by General Burnside. _Sunday, January 18._--The coldest day we have had this winter. _Tuesday, January 20._--The Army of the Potomac commenced another move to-day. Troops are marching by, towards United States Ford. The weather is of the poorest kind, raining and snowing. _Wednesday, January 21._--Our corps is retained in camp yet. Quite a miracle. _Thursday, January 22._--A heavy storm. _Friday, January 23._--Franklin's corps is marching back to the winter-quarters. The great forward movement is given up. The troops are returning in disgust. Some of the artillery left their guns sticking in the mud. Bodies of soldiers were found dead in the woods, having perished from exposure. _Saturday, January 24._--Stragglers are coming in yet. _Monday, January 26._--We were paid off for two months. _Tuesday, January 27._--Heavy rain. _Wednesday, January 28._--Severe snow-storm. _Thursday, January 29._--Generals Burnside, Sumner and Franklin left the army to-day. Joe Hooker is in command now. _Sunday, February 1._--Mounted and foot inspection. _Monday, February 2._--Mounted inspection. _Tuesday, February 3._--Captain Arnold was thrown from his horse, and left on furlough. _Wednesday, February 4._--The battery commences to build chimneys and fire-places. _Thursday, February 5._--Received the first soft bread since we left Harper's Ferry. _Sunday, February 22._--Heavy snow-storm. Washington's birth-day. Our battery fired thirty-four guns. Ours and the rebel batteries fired in honor of the day. _Saturday, February 28._--Robert Raynor, wounded at the battle of Antietam, returned from the Baltimore hospital. _Thursday, March 5._--General Joe Hooker is reviewing the Army of the Potomac. _Friday, March 6._--The first battery drill this year. _Tuesday, March 10._--Snow to-day. _Thursday, March 12._--A part of the army was kept under arms all night, the enemy being reported about to make a demonstration in our rear. _Friday, March 13._--The cavalry is reconnoitering to-day. _Tuesday, March 17._--St. Patrick's day. Great horse-race at the headquarters of Generals Meagher and Sickles. During the afternoon, cannonading was heard in the direction of Stafford Court House. The long-roll sounded in all the camps, but the troops were not to be surprised. The demonstration did not amount to much. _Wednesday, March 18._--The enemy attacked our lines at Rappahannock Station yesterday. _Friday, March 20._--Snow-storm. _Saturday, March 21._--Snow-storm. _Monday, March 23._--The death of General Sumner was read to the troops to-day. _Wednesday, March 25._--The cavalry has crossed the Rappahannock. _Monday, March 30._--Inspection of our baggage. Three spare wheels were taken from the battery by general order. _Tuesday, March 31._--Snow-storm. _Wednesday, April 1._--At two o'clock in the morning we were aroused by Colonel Morgan, chief-of-artillery. Order was given to hitch up, and be ready to move, on account of the rebel cavalry crossing United States ford. After sunrise the horses were unhitched again and everything was quiet. _Friday, April 3._--Review of the Second division by General Gibbons, near Falmouth. _Sunday, April 5._--Snow-storm. _Wednesday, April 8._--President Lincoln and family at Joe Hooker's headquarters. _Friday, April 10._--Muster, in the Army of the Potomac. _Saturday, April 11._--Battery drill in the morning. _Tuesday, April 14._--The army under marching orders. Eight days' rations to be kept on hand. _Saturday, April 18._--Grain is already kept on caissons and limbers, and one bag on top of the gun. _Monday, April 20._--Secretary Stanton at the headquarters. _Wednesday, April 22._--Our battery was paid off for four months service by Major King. _Thursday, April 23._--A heavy rain. _Monday, April 27._--Received orders at eight o'clock P. M., to march in the morning. _Tuesday, April 28._--Reveille at two o'clock in the morning. Left camp at six o'clock A. M. We were attached to the Third division under General French. The Second remained behind. We marched six miles towards the Rappahannock; halted at mid-day, and camped in the woods. The pontoon train passed by in the evening. _Wednesday, April 29._--Marched again at two o'clock P. M., and went to camp at dark three miles from the river. Rainy weather. _Thursday, April 30._--Our cavalry has crossed the Rappahannock without opposition. The pontoons were laid. Before crossing an address of General Hooker was read in line, to the effect that the Twelfth and Fifth corps had turned the enemy's left flank, by crossing the Rapidan at Germania Ford, compelling the enemy to fight us on our own ground. Our battery crossed at five o'clock P. M. After marching four miles further towards Chancellorsville, one hundred and sixty prisoners passed by. The troops were highly elated at crossing the Rappahannock so easy, as the shore was strongly fortified, and by nature well-adapted for defence. While marching to Chancellorsville in the moonlight, Joe Hooker and staff passed by, and the rumor circulated, all at once, that Fredericksburg was taken, and the rebel army in full retreat towards Gordonsville. _Friday, May 1._--The battle opened about ten o'clock A. M., near the Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg Plank-road. The First and Second divisions of the Second corps, commanded by General Couch, formed at two o'clock P. M. Our battery advanced about a mile. Going down a hill we were suddenly received by one of the enemy's batteries, whereupon we countermarched to the top of the hill, going in position immediately. General Sykes' division of regulars fought bravely in front of us, till they had to fall back on our battery, we kept up firing for some time, until General Hancock arrived, informing General Couch that his position was completely outflanked, and that he had better withdraw. The very minute our pieces were reversed, the command, "fix bayonets," could plainly be heard from the rebel line of infantry in the woods. We left at double quick. Our whole line fell back to the tavern. At that moment, the Third corps, under command of General Daniel Sickles, advanced in line of battle, doing good service. Our battery retired to our former place of rendezvous. The fight continued until seven o'clock P. M. Splendid moonlight night. _Saturday, May 2._--Battle of Chancellorsville. At four o'clock P. M., the battle reopened with great fury. General Stonewall Jackson, massing his forces against our right, completely surprised the Eleventh corps, driving them in great confusion. The roaring of artillery, and the musketry fire, were really terrific. After sunset, the fire slackened a little; but at moonrise, raged again in all its fury, till late in the night. Our artillery suffered heavily during to-day's battle. Some of it was captured by the rebels. A new line of battle was formed at eleven o'clock in the night. The situation of our battery was anything but pleasant. Having long range guns, and our position being close to the woods, nothing could be used, with any effect, but canister. Our line of battle is getting shorter. _Sunday, May 3._--Battle of Chancellorsville. Our battery was ordered to fall back to the Rappahannock at daylight. Marching back, the First corps, commanded by General Reynolds, passed us, going to the front. Arriving at the brick house, near the river, we found some batteries posted there already,--Kirby's amongst them. Our line of battle fell back to the rifle-pits we occupied last night. The enemy holds the plank-road and tavern. The battle is raging again since six o'clock A. M. About ten o'clock A. M., Lieutenant Kirby ordered his and our battery to the front again, on his own responsibility. We marched back, but very unwillingly. On the way, a division of the Third corps met us, marching back to the river, with a rebel colonel and half of his regiment, as prisoners, and carrying four rebel battle-flags as trophies. Arriving at the front, to our pleasant surprise, we found out that our battery was not wanted at all. Colonel Morgan appeared to be very angry, as there was no use of any rifled batteries. Kirby's battery went in action. Lieutenant Kirby was mortally wounded shortly after arriving in the line of battle. We returned to the brick house, near the river, sending back our horses and limbers to carry the guns of the Fifth Maine Battery off the battle-field. This battery sustained a heavy loss. Their guns were saved by Meagher's Irish brigade. We heard to-day that General Sedgwick, commanding the Sixth corps, and the Second division of the Second, carried St. Mary's Heights by storm, but had to give them up again the next day. Sedgwick is fighting hard near Banks' Ford, being pressed towards the Rappahannock. Some of our cavalry and horse artillery have gone to form a junction with him. Fighting was kept up most of the night. Our battery enjoyed a good night's rest. The horses were unharnessed. _Monday, May 4._--General Sedgwick's corps is fighting ever since daybreak. Little fighting was done near Chancellorsville. The battle is evidently over. We all know that our army, though superior in numbers, has been defeated by the rebels. We remained all day and night at the brick-house, close to the river. _Tuesday, May 5._--Firing is heard on our left since daybreak. Orders came for ours, Pettit's, and Thomas' New York batteries, to recross the Rappahannock forthwith. We crossed at United States Ford, going in position on the surrounding heights, which enfilade the other side. A heavy shower in the evening. _Wednesday, May 6._--Our whole force has retreated across the river during the night. The rear guard crossed at eight o'clock this morning. Eight batteries are in position to cover the retreat. The engineers commenced to break off the pontoons. Some of the rebel skirmishers appeared, but retreated as soon as our batteries opened on them. Captain Thomas' battery had quite an action with a rebel battery, losing two men killed and several wounded. The action was kept up until a rebel caisson was blown up, whereon firing ceased. The pontoon train got in motion at three o'clock P. M., and the artillery at four o'clock. The roads were in a horrible condition. It rained at intervals during the day. In the evening a heavy rain set in, making it disagreeable beyond description. Our battery was stuck in the woods several times, till at last we were compelled to stop for the night. Quite a number of our battery's men travelled on their own hook, that night. Discipline was getting very loose. This night will never be forgotten by any man in the battery. _Thursday, May 7._--The weather cleared off in the morning. We resumed our march at eight o'clock, arriving in camp at ten. _Friday, May 8._--Camp near Falmouth. General Sedgwick's corps came in from Banks' Ford. This corps suffered a heavy loss. At five o'clock P. M. our battery was ordered to report near the Lacy House. We arrived there at dark, going in camp close to the Thirty-fourth New York regiment. _Saturday, May 9._--Opposite Fredericksburg. This morning we placed our guns in position behind breastworks, occupied by a German battery from New York, before we came. We are close to the railroad bridge. The Second division is camping around us again. Stonewall Jackson, having accidentally been wounded by some of his own men, died to-day. The Thirty-fourth New York regiment changed camp this afternoon. _Sunday, May 10._--The weather is pleasant. The ringing of bells, and the singing in the churches of Fredericksburg, can be heard plainly on this side of the river. People are walking in the streets just as usual. We are exchanging words with the rebel videttes across the river. _Monday, May 11._--Opposite Fredericksburg. Bands are playing in the rebel camps. Some of their regiments are in parade line,--having muster by all appearances. _Thursday, May 14._--Corporals Stephen M. Greene and William Rider left on ten days furlough. A one hundred pounder Parrott gun arrived from Washington, by way of Aquia Creek. A heavy thunder-shower. _Friday, May 15._--The battery received a number of recruits from Battery G, Rhode Island, and from some of the infantry regiments. _Monday, May 18._--Opposite Fredericksburg. We commenced to build summer shades. _Wednesday, May 20._--We had to furnish one corporal and three privates as headquarters guard for the artillery brigade, to-day. _Sunday, May 24._--The news of General Grant's victory on the Big Black river in Mississippi, were read in line. _Monday, May 25._--Corporals Greene and Rider returned from Rhode Island. _Tuesday, May 26._--Bill Drape mistook this day for Thanksgiving, living in such grand style. _Wednesday, May 27._--French's division marched to Kelly's Ford in great haste. _Saturday, May 30._--We were paid off for two months service. _Sunday, May 31._--Great excitement prevailed this morning. We were roused at half-past three o'clock, and the battery hitched up. Battery A, Fourth Regulars, went in position instantly. The Thirty-fourth New York infantry formed as support for our battery. But nothing happened; everything quiet in the afternoon. _Monday, June 1._--At four o'clock P. M. the battery had to be hitched up again. _Tuesday, June 2._--New shelter tents were distributed. This afternoon we had division drill, under Generals Hancock and Gibbons. _Thursday, June 4._--Order to be ready to march at a minute's notice. _Friday, June 5._--Left our camp near the river, establishing another near General Hancock's headquarters, two miles from the depot. Five o'clock P. M.--a fight is going on near the Lacy gas works. Our battery opened on Fredericksburg. The Sixth corps crossed the river on pontoons, and took the first line of rifle-pits, making some prisoners. Fighting kept on till seven o'clock, P. M. From our camp the flash of the batteries could plainly be seen. _Saturday, June 6._--Expiration of our second year of service. Artillery firing going on at intervals between Sedgwick's corps and the rebels. A heavy shower in the evening. _Sunday, Jane 7._--We got ready to march during the day. _Tuesday, June 9._--Changed camp again, but moving a short distance only. The Thirty-fourth New York regiment started for home, their time of service having expired. A heavy cavalry fight occurred at Beaver Ford, between Pleasanton, Gregg, and Dufour, and Stuart and Fitz Hugh Lee. The latter was taken prisoner. _Thursday, June 11._--The rebel batteries opened on Sedgwick's corps. _Friday, June 12._--The rebels fired at our balloon near Banks' Ford. The Twenty-fourth regiment, New Jersey nine months men, went home to-day, their time being out. We lost five men by it, who were on detached duty in the battery--honest John amongst them. _Saturday, June 13._--Our army begins to leave the Rappahannock. The supplies at the depot are carried to Aquia Creek with the most possible speed. The First, Third, Fifth, Eleventh and Twelfth corps started towards Warrenton. All the pontoon trains, but General Sedgwick's, have gone. The one hundred pounder Parrott gun was brought in position to-day, and fired once by Major Tompkins, after which the gun rolled off the platform. The Second and Sixth corps comprise all the troops that are left in front of Fredericksburg. At seven o'clock P. M. a heavy shower set in. Our battery was ordered to proceed to the Lacy House. Sedgwick's corps is recrossing the river. We left camp in a heavy rain, at ten o'clock in the night, arrived near the river at twelve, and got in position. The thirty-pounder Parrott gun battery, (Connecticut,) left at once. The one hundred pounder Parrott gun was taken to the railroad. The Sixth corps passed by all night. The pontoon train and heavy artillery left at four o'clock A. M. on _Sunday, June 14._--Opposite Fredericksburg, in position, behind redoubts. Only the Second corps is remaining yet. The rebels were quite surprised to find our troops across the river. They walked around their rifle-pits in squads, and fired at us and our infantry pickets on the shore; but the general commanding threatened to open on them with artillery, if they did not stop it. During the afternoon the rebel troops lying around St. Mary's heights, marched and countermarched. Towards evening, we could see the cannoniers pull their guns by hand outside of the redoubts, and march off in the direction of Culpepper. We had orders to leave fifteen minutes after dark. A deserter swam across the river into our lines about seven o'clock. Nine o'clock P. M.--leaving the Rappahannock. The guns were limbered up quietly. We started on the telegraph road, crossed Stoneman's Switch, and marched all night. _Monday, June 15._--Arrived at Stafford Court House about seven o'clock A. M. We found a part of the Sixth corps in line of battle. The Second corps went in line of battle instantly. The balloon went up for the last time, a good sign of better prospects, for the balloon never brought luck to our army. At eleven o'clock, marching was resumed. We crossed Aquia Creek at three o'clock P. M., going in position near by, and remained there for the rest of the day and night. The day was terribly hot,--110° in the shade. Eighteen men died from the effects of the heat. A man of the Twenty-eighth Massachusetts regiment broke his neck, falling over a stump of a tree. We marched seventeen miles since leaving Falmouth. Reports of artillery firing can be heard all day. _Tuesday, June 16._--The column got in motion at three o'clock in the morning. Heavy cannonade in the direction of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We arrived at Dumfries about ten o'clock A. M. Rations were issued there, and our march resumed at noon. The right section of our battery, under Lieutenant Peter Hunt, was acting rear-guard to-day. We passed Wolf's run at seven o'clock, and went to camp for the night, after having marched twenty miles. The strong fortifications at Wolf Run Shoals, are counted to the defences of Washington. _Wednesday, June 17._--This morning we marched to Fairfax Station, (six miles,) and formed in line of battle. Our corps numbers not more than eight thousand effective men. The roads leading to Manassas are full of the army trains, coming from Warrenton. _Thursday, June 18._--Near Fairfax Station, in line of battle. _Friday, June 19._--Near Fairfax Station. Marched at four o'clock P. M., and arrived at Centreville about six. Went in position in one of the redoubts. A heavy shower in the night. _Saturday, June 20._--Centreville. Great row between the Tammany regiment, New York, and some of the new troops under General Hayes. We left Centreville at one o'clock P. M., crossed the Cub Run, and marched over the old battle-field of Bull Run at five o'clock, which awoke all the bitter feelings of the troops, especially the sight of the skeletons of so many brave soldiers lying around. It is a shame to the country that the remains of those men, who fell in the two battles, are not better taken care of, as the ground lies within our lines. Arriving at Gainesville, the First and Third divisions, and our battery went to camp. The Second division marched to Thoroughfare Gap in the night. _Sunday, June 21._--At Gainesville. A battle is going on between Pleasanton's and Stuart's cavalry near Ashby Gap. Our cavalry pickets near Gainesville, were driven in this afternoon. Three companies of infantry, and the right section, got ready for support. About seven o'clock P. M., General Stahl's division of cavalry, with three rifled guns and a four-pound howitzer, taken from Moseby, near Fairfax Court House, two weeks ago, passed through, going to Warrenton. A dangerous experiment was made by John Tyng this evening. Pounding on a round shell, lying there since the second battle of Bull Run, the shell exploded amidst a crowd of the battery, without hurting any one. _Monday, June 22._--Gainesville. It was read in line that General Pleasanton, supported by Barnard's division of infantry, Fifth corps, gained a victory over Stuart's cavalry at Upperville and Ashby Gap, taking two guns and a quantity of small arms. _Tuesday, June 23._--Gainesville. Trains came up from Alexandria this morning, bringing supplies. Stahl's cavalry came back from Warrenton. _Thursday, June 25._--Gainesville. Orders came to pack up. Two trains arrived from Alexandria, bringing supplies, and the news that the telegraph line had been broken and several cars burned, between this place and Fairfax Station, by guerillas. We left Gainesville at noon, crossed the Bull Run, marched on the Winchester and Leesburg turnpike, passed Sudley's church, taking the same route we did under McDowell, going to and coming from the first Bull Run battle, until we turned off to Gum Spring, halting for the night. Marched eighteen miles in all. Battery B, lost a caisson and two men taken prisoners, coming from Thoroughfare Gap. _Friday, June 26._--Gum Spring. Left at ten o'clock A. M., going to Edward's Ferry, where we arrived by eight o'clock P. M.--ten miles march. Two pontoon bridges are drawn across the Potomac. Troops are going over all the time. We halted for the purpose of camping. Tents were pitched, but the order came at ten o'clock P. M., that all the troops had to cross before daylight. General Hayes' brigade of Heintzelman's corps, consisting of the Thirty-ninth, One Hundred and Eleventh, One Hundred and Twenty-fifth, and One Hundred and Twenty-sixth New York regiments, was attached to the Second corps. _Saturday, June 27._--Crossed the Potomac at two o'clock in the morning. Went to rest a mile from the river. Remained until two o'clock P. M. Resumed marching. Passed through Poolesville at four, Barnesville at nine, and went to camp at the foot of Sugar Loaf Mountain at ten o'clock P. M. _Sunday, June 28._--Resumed our march at six o'clock A. M., passed through Urbana by one, and came in sight of Frederick at three o'clock P. M. We went in position on a hill, five miles from the city, having marched nine miles. Joe Hooker has been superseded by General Meade in the command of the Army of the Potomac. The rebels occupied Carlisle, in Pennsylvania. _Monday, June 29._--Marched at eight o'clock. Crossed the Monocacy river. After passing through Frederick, we turned off to the Baltimore road, crossing the Stone Bridge. We went through Mount Pleasant, Liberty, Union Bridge and Uniontown. Cherries are plenty on the road. The people in general are very patriotic, doing anything for the soldiers. This day's march, thirty-five miles, is the longest ever made by the battery, excepting that after the first Bull Run battle. We went to camp at ten o'clock in the night. _Tuesday, June 30._--Uniontown. Our corps is resting to-day. Whiskey is very abundant round here. We have marched one hundred and thirty-nine miles since the fourteenth of June. _Wednesday, July 1._--Left Uniontown in the morning, passed through Taneytown, and were two miles from Gettysburg at dark, having marched fifteen miles. The First and Eleventh corps fought a battle to-day, losing the town of Gettysburg. General Reynolds, of the First corps, was killed. _Thursday, July 2._--Second day's battle of Gettysburg. In line of battle since six o'clock in the morning. The First, Second, Third and Eleventh corps in array. Skirmishers firing briskly. Artillery commenced to play. Nothing of importance was done, until about half-past four, our left wing advanced and opened the battle. The centre and left were soon hotly engaged. Our battery was in action all the afternoon. The Third corps lost ground towards evening, until General Hancock advanced with the First and Second corps and decided the day. The enemy made another demonstration on the right, without success. The battle raged until nine o'clock in the night. One time it seemed as if we were all surrounded. Battery A, Fourth regulars, reversed their pieces ready to fire to the rear. This battery and ours fired canister in the evening. Our fourth piece was disabled early in the action, and sent to the rear in charge of Corporal W. Drape. One of the rear wheels of the fourth caisson, was shot away. When night settled down upon the battle-field, each army rested for the final blow. _Friday, July 3._--Third day's battle of Gettysburg. The enemy's batteries on his right opened on us before daylight. Three limbers of Battery A, Fourth regulars, were blown up early in the morning. Our caissons were sent after ammunition several times. At eleven o'clock firing ceased, rations were given out, and the men commenced cooking. At one o'clock, all of a sudden, two signal guns were fired by the enemy, followed by the most terrific cannonade of more than a hundred pieces of artillery, playing on our centre. Our reply did not seem to make any impression at all. That dreadful artillery fire seemed to paralyze our whole line for a spell. Suddenly as it commenced it ceased, and three immense lines of infantry advanced to take our almost annihilated batteries. Battery B, Rhode Island, A, Fourth regulars, I, First regulars, and Pettit's New York Battery, were taken, but not held by the rebels. Our battery withdrew their guns with honor, leaving the dead, some of the wounded, and two caissons behind. At the time of our leaving, the battle was at its turning point. The most desperate fighting was done on Cemetery Hill and the Emmettsburg road. The field presented a ghastly appearance. Our officers behaved very well, especially Lieutenant Jacob Lamb, who, being wounded in the hand, refused to leave the field, carried ammunition and encouraged the men. Our loss was: Killed--Patrick Lannegan, first piece, shot in the groin; John Zimmerli, fourth piece, head taken off by a cannon ball; Simon Creamer, sixth piece, skull severed by a shell. Wounded--Lieutenant J. Lamb, hand; Sergeant Benjamin Childs, shoulder; Corporal W. Rider, arm; Corporal W. R. Calder, back; Corporal Shaw, shoulder; Privates--Grady, leg off, died afterwards; Gil. Harrison, foot; Higgins, arm shot away, died afterwards; Markey, shoulder; Curtis, foot, slightly; Googin, arm, slightly; Cargill, leg; Byron Snow, back; Walter Arnold, leg; Wellman, elbow, slightly; Morrissey, leg, badly; Hathaway, shoulder; Shampman, hip; Tuttle, arm; Carlier, slightly; Middleton, leg, slightly; Dawson, slightly; Tomdorf, leg, slightly; Oaks, slightly. Jack Hughes, and Long Clark and his brother, ran away. Our battery went two miles to the rear, in an exhausted condition. The Sixth corps reached the battle-field about three o'clock P. M. _Saturday, July 4._--Gettysburg. The battle is over. The skirmishers of the two armies are yet still confronting each other. Three men of our battery rode back to the battle-ground to inter our dead; but found them already buried by Battery C, Rhode Island. Lannegan was buried near our camp; also, Lieutenant Cushing, Battery A, Fourth Regulars--this battery is to be consolidated with Battery I, First Regulars. The great artillery assault on our centre, was the last effort of Lee's army to force our lines from Cemetery Hill. The rebels' ammunition must have been nearly expended after that. Our battery used as much as twenty-two hundred rounds of ammunition, during the battle. The town of Gettysburg is occupied by our forces. A heavy shower this evening. _Sunday, July 5._--Battlefield of Gettysburg. Our army has taken twelve thousand prisoners. The rebels are in full retreat. Pleasanton's cavalry and the Sixth corps are in pursuit. Our battery will be consolidated with Battery B, Rhode Island. We received a new supply of ammunition and marched off on the Baltimore road, by seven o'clock P. M., going in camp near Littletown, six miles from Gettysburg, by nine P. M. It rained during the night. _Monday, July 6._--Remained in camp near Littletown all day. General French took a pontoon train from the rebels near Williamsport. The Potomac reported to be very high. _Tuesday, July 7._--Marched to Taneytown, seven miles, and went to camp, on account of the infantry having been without rations for several days. The Twelfth corps passed through this afternoon. The town is under contribution of rations for the troops. _Wednesday, July 8._--Left Taneytown early. Marched twenty-four miles during a tremendous rain-storm. Passed through Woodsborough and Walkersville, and went to camp in a field of oats, live miles from Frederick City. The news of the surrender of Vicksburg were read in line on the road. _Thursday, July 9._--Marched at seven o'clock A. M. Passed through Frederick City, which was guarded by the Seventh Regiment, New York militia, and a new battery; Jefferson City and Perkinsville, crossed the South Mountain and went to camp for the night, not far from Sharpsburg. Near Frederick we saw the body of the spy Richardson, hung on a tree by order of General Buford of the cavalry. Marched eighteen miles to-day. _Friday, July 10._--Marched through Kettysville. The Third corps, General French, was fighting yesterday, and cannonading is going on now. Passed the battle-field of Antietam at twelve o'clock M., going to camp three miles beyond. The Twelfth corps is camping close to us. The different corps are fortifying their positions. _Saturday, July 11._--Marched four miles. Passed through Tillmington. The enemy was found in front. Our columns formed in line of battle. Skirmishing was kept up briskly. The rebels fell back a little, as our artillery opened on them. The cavalry advanced in a body at half-past four o'clock, gaining some ground. At midnight, the infantry was ordered to advance and take possession of the Hagerstown road. We remained all night. We have marched two hundred and twenty-three miles since the fourteenth of June. _Sunday, July 12._--We advanced a short distance at eight o'clock A. M. Our infantry is half a mile ahead. Skirmishing was going on all the morning. Artillery is used once in a while. All the artillery of the Fifth corps passed by between four and six o'clock P. M. A heavy shower this afternoon. In the evening, we changed our position, advancing a quarter of a mile nearer to the front. _Monday, July 13._--Changed position in the morning, going a short distance behind breastworks. Three fortified lines are already formed by our army. A battle is expected. We remained in our new position all day. It rained the whole evening and night. _Tuesday, July 14._--Advance and reconnoissance of parts of the Second, Fifth and Twelfth corps, cavalry ahead. Our battery marched on the Williamsport turnpike. Cannonading and musketry fire could be heard at mid-day. The roads are very muddy. Rebel caissons, full of ammunition, are frequently found on the roadside. Lee's army is crossing the Potomac at Falling Waters. General Kilpatrick charged through Williamsport, capturing the rear guard, consisting of eight hundred men. On our approach, a short but desperate fight was going on at one of the redoubts, close to the river. A brigade, in command of General Pettigrew, defending the redoubt, hoisted the white flag. Forty men of the Eighth Michigan cavalry, charging, in good faith of their surrender, were all slaughtered after going in the trap. The redoubt was carried by the infantry shortly after; but General Pettigrew and most of his men escaped. We had a heavy shower this evening. _Wednesday, July 15._--The greater part of the army is marching towards Sharpsburg. Our battery returned to its former position. We were told to rest until one o'clock P. M., as we had to do some marching yet. About three o'clock we started, passed through Sharpsburg at five o'clock, and marched halfway to Maryland Heights, going to camp late at night. The Second and Twelfth corps occupy the place. _Thursday, July 16._--The battery followed the canal road, passed Harper's Ferry, Sandy Hook, and went to camp in Pleasant Valley. All these places are full of our troops. Marched two hundred and fifty-six miles since the fourteenth of June. The engineers are laying pontoons at Berlin and Harper's Ferry. Iron-clad cars, with a howitzer in each, are running between Washington and Harper's Ferry. News of the surrender of Port Hudson, and the occupation of Morris Island, near Charleston, by our troops. _Friday, July 17._--Camp in Pleasant Valley. At rest for the day. _Saturday, July 18._--Left Pleasant Valley at six o'clock A. M. The Second and Third corps crossed the Potomac to Harper's Ferry on pontoons, and the Shenandoah river on the trestlework bridge. Marched eight miles into Loudon Valley, going in camp. _Sunday, July 19._--Loudon Valley. New clothes were issued to the battery. We started at six o'clock A. M., marching only four miles. The country abounds in delicious blackberries. _Monday, July 20._--Marched ten miles on the Leesburg turnpike, and camped outside of Bloomfield. _Tuesday, July 21._--Camp at Bloomfield. Captain McMahon is to be shot to-morrow for killing Captain McManners. _Wednesday, July 22._--Bloomfield, Virginia. Started by one o'clock P. M. Marched through Upperville by six, and Paris by seven o'clock in the evening, going to camp at the foot of Ashby Gap. Marched eight miles to-day. Captain McMahon's sentence to be shot, has been changed by President Lincoln to ten years in the State Prison. The Fifth Regular cavalry met the rebels at Manassas Gap. _Thursday, July 23._--Left Ashby Gap early, marching on the mountain road, leading to Front Royal. Arrived at Markham's Station, on the Manassas Gap Railroad, by three o'clock P. M. Passed Linden at five. The Stone Church there is full of our wounded from the engagement two days previous. The Third corps engaged the enemy during the day. We went to park at eight o'clock P. M., in Manassas Gap, near the village of Petersburg. The Fifth corps is ahead of the Second. We marched twelve miles to-day. _Friday, July 24._--A desperate fight took place on Wapping Heights yesterday. Our infantry under General Spinola charged the enemy three times. Lee's army is marching towards Culpepper Court House. Their long line of trains are visible on the other side of the Shenandoah river. Our troops are in want of rations, and the horses need forage. The army left Manassas Gap at one o'clock P. M. Our corps went to camp outside of Markham's Station, for the night. _Saturday, July 25._--Started at six o'clock A. M. We had a very difficult march over the mountains, in intensely hot weather. Lost several horses during the day. Passed through Rectortown. Our rear was once attacked by guerillas. Arrived at White Plains by three o'clock P. M. Our battery parked near the woods. Rations were given out. A heavy rain fell this evening. _Sunday, July 26._--Left White Plains at five o'clock, A. M., taking the course of the Manassas Gap Railroad, turning off to New Baltimore, from there to Warrenton, arriving at noon. The battery rested until half-past one o'clock, and marched to Warrenton Junction. The weather was intensely hot. Dead and dying soldiers were lying along the roadside. Our battery lost six horses. We marched twenty-four miles to-day. The troops camped half a mile from the railroad. A shower fell in the night. _Monday, July 27._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. We have marched three hundred and thirty-four miles since the fourteenth of June. A heavy fall of rain in the night. _Tuesday, July 28._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. We remained quiet. A shower in the night. _Wednesday, July 29._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. Remained quiet. A fall of rain in the evening. _Thursday, July 30._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. At six o'clock in the evening, we were ordered to march, going only six miles further and went to camp at Elktown. _Friday, July 31._--Went six miles further, towards Morrisville, going in camp. Clothes were issued this evening. _Saturday, August 1._--The third division of the Second corps, and our battery, marched back to Elktown. Our camp is very pleasantly situated near the woods. _Sunday, August 2._--Camp at Elktown. The weather is very hot. _Monday, August 3._--The battery was paid off for two months service. _Tuesday, August 4._--Camp at Elktown. Cannonade in the direction of the Rappahannock. _Friday, August 7._--Battery B drew horses to-day. _Saturday, August 8._--Elktown. Battery B separated from Battery A, (ours,) getting a new set of guns at Morrisville. _Thursday, August 13._--A heavy fall of rain to-day. _Saturday, August 15._--Elktown. Troops are going to Alexandria. _Thursday, August 20._--The rebels made a demonstration from the vicinity of Dumfries. _Saturday, August 22._--General Warren took command of the Second corps. He inspected our battery to-day. Hot weather. _Monday, August 31._--Elktown. Reconnoisance of the Second corps. Intelligence was brought that Wade Hampton's cavalry had crossed over to the northside of the Rappahannock on a raid. Our cavalry is to follow them up, while infantry and artillery are guarding the different fords on the river. We marched by daybreak, going fifteen miles, and went in park one mile from United States Ford. _Friday, September 4._--Return from the Rappahannock. The battery left at six o'clock P. M., followed by the First division. We did not go back to Elktown, but were ordered to report at Morrisville. Kilpatrick's cavalry returned, having destroyed the gunboat taken by the rebels. _Wednesday, September 9._--Morrisville. Mounted drill. _Thursday, September 10._--Mounted drill. _Friday, September 11._--Cannonading heard in the direction of the Rappahannock. _Saturday, September 12._--Morrisville. The Second corps left camp at ten o'clock A. M., marched to Bealton Station, from there to Rappahannock Station, going in camp for the night. The First and Fifth corps are camping near the fords. Our cavalry has crossed the river, and is skirmishing with the rebels; We marched ten miles to-day. _Sunday, September 13._--At Rappahannock Ford. The whole cavalry corps is across the river. The Second corps crossed about eight o'clock A. M., on a pontoon bridge. The cavalry and horse artillery are already fighting between Brandy Station and Culpepper Court House. We halted for an hour at Brandy Station, on the road to Culpepper. Three rebel guns, and twenty artillerymen, who were Maryland rebels, and well dressed, captured by Kilpatrick's cavalry, were carried by. We arrived in Culpepper at six o'clock P. M. The view of the surrounding country is splendid. Our cavalry drove Stuart's cavalry clear to Cedar Mountain, occasionally firing a gun at them. We were in line of battle, the artillery on the hills, and a part of the infantry around Culpepper Court House. Rain fell during the night. _Monday, September 14._--In line of battle at Culpepper Court House. The cavalry still fighting near the Rapidan. _Tuesday, September 15._--Culpepper Court House. Cannonading going on since morning. _Wednesday, September 16._--Culpepper Court House. At nine o'clock A. M., orders came for the Third division, our battery and Battery B, to advance. We marched through the town to Cedar Mountain, General Pope's battle ground, and occupied the hill during the evening and night, in line of battle. We could see the rebel artillery fire on our cavalry at Raccoon Ford. Marched eight miles to-day. A very cold night. _Thursday, September 17._--Cedar Mountain. Left at ten o'clock, A. M., marching only three miles. Heavy skirmishing was going on during the afternoon at Robinson's Creek. The rebels are in strong force on the Rapidan. Our battery went to camp near the woods in the evening. A heavy fall of rain all night. _Friday, September 18._--Near Robinson's Creek. Two deserters, of the Fourteenth Connecticut regiment, were shot to-day, in presence of the Third division, Batteries A and B, Rhode Island. At the same time a fight was going on near the Rapidan. _Saturday, September 19._--Near Robinson's Creek. We changed camp. The battery was hitched up until four o'clock P. M. Quiet until _Tuesday, September 22._--A cavalry fight took place on the other side of Robinson's Creek. _Wednesday, September 23._--Robinson's Creek. Fighting going on all the afternoon. We can see the troops manoeuvring on the other side of the creek. Artillery was firing rapidly. Afterwards we found out that Kilpatrick's cavalry returned from a reconnoissance, the enemy disputing his passage fiercely. _Thursday, September 24._--Robinson's Creek. The battery was paid off for two months service. New clothes were issued in the afternoon. _Sunday, September 27._--The Eleventh and Twelfth corps are leaving the Army of the Potomac, going to join the Western army. _Tuesday, September 29._--Our battery, without the caissons, turned out this afternoon under cover of the woods, to Robinson's Creek, to support the cavalry, they making a dash on the rebel picket lines towards evening, which was done in good style. We did not fire, and returned to camp at dark. _Friday, October 2._--It rained all day. A deserter was shot in the First division. _Saturday, October 3._--Robinson's Creek. The Third brigade of the Third division, Second corps, under General Paddy Owen, came to camp this evening, close to our battery. _Sunday, October 4._--Mounted inspection. _Monday, October 5._--The Sixth corps arrived to-day to relieve ours, (the Second.) _Tuesday, October 6._--The Second corps left Robinson's Creek, at seven o'clock, A. M., returning to Culpepper. The main body of the army camps around Culpepper. The town presents a lively aspect. _Friday, October 9._--Lee's army reported to operate on our flank. _Saturday, October 10._--Culpepper Court House. The army is in line of battle around Culpepper. A battle expected. Our battery marched three miles to the right of Culpepper, going in position in the woods at night. The engineers of the Second division were cutting trees all night. The position of our battery is very poor, as manoeuvring is absolutely impossible in these woods. Lee's whole army is in motion on our right flank. _Sunday, October 11._--Our corps fell back to Culpepper at two o'clock in the morning, halting there until daybreak, when we marched back to Rappahannock Station, the Sixth corps in our rear. The whole army is falling back. Infantry are busy levelling the redoubts that cover the ford. The battery went to Bealton Station, going in park. _Monday, October 12._--Bealton Station. Heavy fighting going; on between Kilpatrick's and Stuart's cavalry. At twelve o'clock the Second and Sixth corps received orders to recross the Rappahannock. Arriving there in quick time, we crossed immediately, and formed in line of battle. The two corps, drawn up in a straight line, half-way between Brandy Station and the Rappahannock, presented a splendid sight. The enemy fell back to Culpepper after sunset. General Gregg's cavalry was defeated at White Sulphur Springs to-day. Orders came suddenly, at twelve o'clock in the night, to fall back across the Rappahannock. _Tuesday, October 18._--We arrived at Bealton Station before daybreak, and were immediately ordered to White Sulphur Springs, to support Gregg; but the order was countermanded when we were within a few miles from there. We marched at once in the direction of Warrenton Junction, and halted at dark, on account of the Third corps trains. Marched twenty-five miles since last night. _Wednesday, October 14._--Action on Coffee Hill and at Bristow Station. The Second corps was in motion at three o'clock in the morning. Large fires were burning all along the roadside. Near daybreak, one of our caissons and one of Battery B's, were upset in crossing a stream. Reports of carbines greeted our ears, astonishing everybody, as no attack from the enemy was expected. Great excitement prevailed at first. Several men of the First division were killed and wounded, the rebels opening furiously on a hill where the infantry were busy cooking coffee. The rebel force consisted of cavalry and horse-artillery. Our battery took position on the hill, but changed front soon after, firing to the rear, facing a deep creek below the hill. Generals Warren and Caldwell were present. General Warren ordered General Hayes to march his division directly to Manassas Junction, and if opposed by the enemy, to charge with the bayonet at once. A short time after a battery appeared in our front. Captain Arnold wished to open fire; but, incredible as it sounds, yet true, General Caldwell would not allow it, taking the rebels for our own troops. They unlimbered, and opened a well-directed fire on our battery, which had a very exposed position. Our fire did not seem to have much effect. General Caldwell did not remain after finding out his mistake. Our battery was compelled to withdraw. A section of regular artillery tried to get in position, but was unable to do so. The line of march was taken up immediately, cavalry and horse-artillery marching on both flanks. We were not disturbed any more until four o'clock P. M., our troops suddenly met the enemy on the railroad at Bristow Station. Only four guns of our battery were at hand, the right section acting as rear guard. We were opposed by a six gun battery, having mostly white horses. A desperate engagement followed, lasting one hour. We fired point blank most of the time. The rebel battery was nearly annihilated, and five of their guns carried away by our infantry; but our battery deserves due credit for the capture of the rebels. The right section arrived after the engagement was over, taking up its position instantly. At dark the enemy suddenly attacked us on our left flank, bringing a battery to bear on us from the other side of the railroad; but the dam being too high, they could not fire with accuracy. We changed front at once, opening fire, and silencing the battery shortly after, ending the engagement thereby. Hill's corps and Stewart's cavalry were the opposing forces. The Second corps captured five guns and nearly a thousand prisoners. We all crossed Kettle Run, late in the night, marched to Centreville via Manassas Junction, arriving there in a tired-out condition. Our loss at Bristow Station was: Killed--Philip Crayton. Wounded--John Moran, died afterwards; M. Desmond, James Gardner, Patrick Healey, and Theodore Reichardt. _Thursday, October 15._--Centreville. The battery is refilling ammunition. _Friday, October 16._--A heavy rain. The battery advanced in front of Cub Run. _Saturday, October 17._--Cub Run. Cannonading is going on near Bull Run. The left section received new guns. During the afternoon the engineers laid a pontoon bridge across Cub Run, without meeting any opposition. The battery turned out to support, while a brigade of cavalry and some horse artillery, crossed the Run to reconnoitre. _Sunday, October 18._--Cub Run. The cavalry is fighting on the way from Manassas Junction to Bristow Station. _Monday, October 19._--A heavy fall of rain at four o'clock in the morning. The Second and Third corps crossed Cub Run by daybreak, marched over Bull Run and Manassas Junction, and went to camp two miles from Bristow Station. The infantry carries rations for ten days. We marched eight miles to-day. The rebels have broken up the Orange and Alexandria railroad. _Tuesday, October 20._--Marched over the battle-field at Bristow Station and through Greenwich, going in position on Coffee Hill at dark. Marched eighteen miles to-day. _Wednesday, October 21._--Remained on Coffee Hill all day. The remains of the soldiers who fell here on the fourteenth were buried by our troops. The Third corps advanced further. _Thursday, October 22._--Coffee Hill. Changed camp this afternoon. _Friday, October 23._--Marched to within two miles of Warrenton Junction, going in camp. _Saturday, October 24._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. _Monday, October 26._--Cannonading going on, some distance off. All the artillery of our corps was packed up until half-past six o'clock. _Wednesday, October 28._--Skirmishing going on at Bealton Station. _Saturday, October 31._--Camp near Warrenton. The battery was mustered in for two months service, by Captain Hassard, of Battery B. Mounted inspection at eleven o'clock A. M., by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe, Chief-of-Artillery of the Second corps, our former lieutenant. _Friday, November 6._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps, by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe. _Saturday, November 7._--The army in motion. All the corps are marching towards the Rappahannock. Forced march to Bealton Station. Our corps took the road towards Kelly's Ford. The Sixth corps surprised the rebels completely at Rappahannock Ford, charged on their works, and captured four guns, four colors, and eight hundred prisoners--four colonels and three lieutenant colonels amongst them. The Third corps took four hundred prisoners. After arriving at Kelly's Ford, our corps went to camp for the night. _Sunday, November 8._--At Kelly's Ford. The Second and Third corps crossed the river at half-past six o'clock A. M., on pontoons, forming in line of battle. No opposition was met with when we advanced. Ewell's corps seemed to have occupied the ford, winter quarters having been built already. The different corps advanced two miles further from the river. Our corps camped on Colonel Thomas' plantation in the evening. _Monday, November 9._--Camp on Colonel Thomas' plantation. The first snow fell. All remains quiet. _Wednesday, November 11._--The battery changed camp. All the artillery of the Second corps is forming one camp. The enemy is on the other side of the Rapidan. _Thursday, November 12._--We were paid off for two months service. _Saturday, November 14._--A heavy shower fell about nine o'clock in the evening. _Sunday, November 15._--Our battery was packed up, ready to march, all the morning. Heavy cannonading going on at the Rapidan. The order to march was countermanded in the afternoon. It rained all day. _Monday, November 16._--Mounted inspection by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe in the afternoon. The first train of cars crossed the bridge over Rappahannock Ford. _Wednesday, November 18._--Review, in honor of some English officers. Our battery was harnessed up, but did not turn out. _Saturday, November 21._--It rained all day. _Sunday, November 22._--New clothes were issued to the battery. _Thursday, November 26._--Thanksgiving day. The army is advancing again. The Second and Fifth corps marched by daybreak. Before marching, it was announced to the troops, that the western army, at Chattanooga, achieved a great victory over Bragg's forces. Arriving at Germania Ford, most of the artillery, our battery amongst it, was brought in position, while the cavalry charged across the Rapidan. Approaching the enemy's works, they were found deserted. A pontoon bridge was immediately laid for the infantry. The artillery had to ford the river. We marched on the plank-road, leading to the Wilderness, until seven o'clock P. M., going in position by eight. All the troops are in line of battle. A severely cold night. _Friday, November 27._--Resumed our march on the plank-road, turning off to the Orange Court House road by nine o'clock A. M. Our skirmishers met the enemy at the Red Tavern. Brisk skirmishing commenced, and some of the short range artillery went in action. We remained on the roadside until five o'clock P. M., going in park then. A large quantity of rails were secured by the battery boys to keep large fires burning all night. _Saturday, November 28._--The order was to be awake by three o'clock in the morning. At daybreak our lines advanced, but the enemy fell back some distance. Our line of battle followed rapidly until ten o'clock A. M., when suddenly our advance was checked in front of Mine Run. Finding the rebel army in battle array, presenting a formidable line, our battery was brought in position at once; but, shortly afterwards, ordered to advance and open fire on them. Our unexpected firing broke the front line of infantry very soon; but two batteries taking the position, opened a terrible fire on our battery. Owing to our exposed position, we had to withdraw our guns by hand to the rear, where the ground formed a sort of ravine. At this time, Rickett's Pennsylvania battery, and Ames' New York battery, opened from our left. Our battery fired sixty rounds. We had one man wounded, Burrill,--a detached infantry man,--a cannon ball breaking his arm. Shortly after we retired to our former position. All hands went to digging until eleven o'clock in the night. About midnight we were ordered to fall back on Red Tavern. The roads are in a horrid condition. Rain set in early in the morning. _Sunday, November 29._--Red Tavern. March of the Second corps and a division of the Sixth to the left flank, at seven o'clock A. M. All the rear boxes of the caissons were left behind, so as not to impede the march on the muddy roads. We turned off to the Gordonsville plank-road. Our cavalry was skirmishing all the time. Passing through the woods, the enemy's batteries opened a heavy fire, but were responded to by our horse artillery. A line of battle was formed at once. Our battery went in position on a knoll, close to the woods. The enemy ceased firing at dark, and the glare of both armies camp-fires was soon visible. The night was very cold. We are only three miles from Orange Court House. _Monday, November 30._--Most of the infantry of the Second corps, and the division of the Sixth, advanced before daylight, with the intention to take the enemy's works by assault. It was understood that we should open fire at an elevation of nine degrees, by the first bugle sound. The second signal of a bugle should be for the infantry to storm the works. But we waited in vain for any signal, General Warren stating the works could not be taken without immense loss of life; the main works being built of solid logs, two feet thick, the breastworks eleven feet high and six feet thick, mounted with eighteen guns. Our battery opened several times on the enemy, who was endeavoring to carry artillery by our front. Sergeant Olney made a splendid shot during the morning. Heavy cannonading was kept up on the right the whole forenoon; but neither army seemed to be very anxious to open the battle. Horse artillery fired on our position several times, without doing any damage. During the afternoon the right section took position ahead of us, a little to our right, firing some. Our whole line was fortified during the day. At dark, our battery was ordered to fall back to the rear, which was gladly responded to. Going about two miles, we went in park close to the Fredericksburg plank-road. _Tuesday, December 1._--All the trains are going towards the Rapidan. Troops were marching back all the afternoon. The right section of our battery, under Lieutenant Hunt, was sent back to the front to guard the Orange road, but returned again in the evening. At eleven o'clock in the night, the Second corps commenced marching to the rear, on the Fredericksburg plank-road. Our battery was the last of the corps. The night was cold but clear. The moon shone. We travelled very fast. A division of cavalry and some horse artillery concluded the rear-guard. We marched all night. Large fires were burning on both sides of the road. Sometimes the woods were all on fire. On this march we were undergoing great sufferings, many of us having no overcoats. _Wednesday, December 2._--We crossed the Rapidan at Culpepper Ford, early in the morning. All the troops went over at once; the cavalry cutting off on a shorter route. The pontoons were taken off immediately, while the troops halted to rest on the other side of the Rapidan. The rebel van-guard made its appearance, but were shelled by our horse artillery, dispersing them soon. We marched until eight o'clock P. M., when we reached our old camp on Colonel Thomas' plantation. The mansion was destroyed entirely by our troops during the seven days campaign across the Rapidan. This is the first night for some time, we rest again in peace. _Friday, December 4._--All the artillery changed camp. _Saturday, December 5._--Left at eight o'clock A. M., and went to camp near Stevensburg, five miles from Culpepper; the poorest place that could be selected in winter time, as there is no firewood near at hand. _Sunday, December 6._--Camp near Stevensburg. Lieutenant Lamb left the battery, going to Battery C, Rhode Island. Lieutenant Blake, formerly orderly sergeant of Battery B, took his place. _Monday, December 7._--Camp near Stevensburg. The infantry of the Second corps marched to the woods to build winter-quarters. _Tuesday, December 8._--Camp near Stevensburg. The artillery brigade left camp, going to winter-quarters within one and a-half miles of Brandy Station. _Wednesday, December 9._--Camp near Mountain Run. Everybody is cutting wood for winter-quarters. A battalion of engineers are building a bridge over the Mountain Run. Lieutenant Colewell arrived for our battery. _Thursday, December 10._--The artillery brigade changed camp, going across Mountain Run at noon, and again by four o'clock P. M. _Friday, December 11._--It is now decided to remain here for the winter, and orders were given to build winter-quarters. A general order was read in line, to the effect that veterans, wishing to re-enlist, would get eight hundred dollars bounty and a furlough of thirty days. _Saturday, December 12._--It was announced that soldiers could obtain furloughs for ten days. The building of winter-quarters is progressing. It rained to-day. _Wednesday, December 16._--Mounted inspection by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe. Orderly Sergeant Thompson went home on a furlough. _Thursday, December 17._--Captain Arnold left on a furlough of ten days. _Friday, December 18._--Private Bontemps arrived in the battery after seven months absence. Raid of guerillas on the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. _Sunday, December 20._--Mounted inspection. _Tuesday, December 22._--Commenced building stables for the horses. _Thursday, December 24._--Cold weather. _Saturday, December 26._--Orderly Sergeant Thompson returned from home. _Sunday, 27_, _Monday, 28_, _Tuesday, 29_, _Wednesday, 30_, _and Thursday, December 31._--Rainy weather all this time. 1864. _Friday, January 1._--Winter-quarters at Mountain Run. Cold weather. _Saturday, January 2._--Many horses die from the cold. _Wednesday, January 6._--Cold weather. _Thursday, January 7._--Mountain Run. Snow storm. _Monday, January 11._--The use of countersigns commenced again from this day. _Friday, January 15._--Mounted inspection. _Monday, January 18._--Rain. _Thursday, January 21._--Mrs. Captain Arnold arrived in camp. _Sunday, January 24._--Mounted inspection. _Friday, January 29._--Mounted drill before General Hayes. _Tuesday, February 2._--First thunder-shower. _Friday, February 5._--The First Minnesota regiment marched off at daybreak, going home to reorganize. _Saturday, February 6._--Reveille at four o'clock in the morning. We had orders to march by six o'clock A. M., with a blanket and rations for three days. The infantry of the Second corps, and all the long range artillery, marched through Stevensburg to the Rapidan. Arriving at Morton's Ford, skirmishing commenced between ours and the rebel infantry. A rebel battery on a hill opened on our battery, while going in position close to the river. We did not open immediately, as the rebel battery fired but a few rounds. The Third division, under General Hayes, forded the stream. At four o'clock in the afternoon, General Webb, of the Second division, ordered the infantry to advance, and our battery to fire. We used twenty-four rounds. The infantry pushed on, half-way up the hill, but had to retire at dark. Our battery fired fifteen more rounds, by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe's order. The infantry kept on fighting until seven o'clock in the evening. It rained all day. _Sunday, February 7._--In line of battle at Morton's Ford. All of our infantry recrossed last night. The rebel sharpshooters advanced to their rifle-pits, firing on us. We remained quiet nearly all day. At dark we returned to camp, arriving about ten o'clock P. M. The roads were in a floating condition. The loss of our corps amounts to three hundred men. _Friday, February 12._--Sergeant Greene and Eugene Googins, went to Rhode Island for the purpose of recruiting. Mounted drill. _Sunday, February 14._--Mounted inspection. _Tuesday, February 16._--Monthly mounted inspection, by Captain Thompson, acting chief-of-artillery. _Wednesday, February 17._--The battery was paid off for two months service. Some of the men received clothing money. _Friday, February 19._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps by General Warren. _Sunday, February 21._--Mounted inspection. _Monday, February 22._--Washington's birthday. Battalion drill of the artillery of the Second corps, by Captain Thompson. _Tuesday, February 23._--Review of the Second corps and General Kilpatrick's cavalry division. The review was held between Stevensburg and Pony Mountain. The weather was splendid. The troops presented a good appearance. Generals Meade and Warren, Senator Sprague, and many ladies were present. _Saturday, February 27._--The Sixth corps is going towards the Rapidan, on a reconnoissance. We have orders to keep three days rations on hand, and be ready to march. _Tuesday, March 1._--A heavy fall of rain. _Saturday, March 5._--Rain. _Sunday, March 6._--Mounted inspection. _Thursday, March 17._--St. Patrick's day. Monthly inspection by Captain Thompson. _Friday, March 18._--One section of each battery in the corps had to turn out for target-shooting in the afternoon. _Saturday, March 19._--All the artillery had to go in position on the hill, but returned soon to the camp again. _Tuesday, March 22._--We were paid off for two months service. Snow-storm. _Friday, March 25._--The Army of the Potomac is to be divided in three corps. The Second will be consolidated with the Third corps, and commanded by General Hancock; the Fifth corps commanded by General Warren; The First and Sixth corps by General Sedgwick. _Saturday, March 26._--Lieutenant General Grant arrived at Brandy Station. _Sunday, March 27._--Mounted inspection. _Tuesday, March 29._--A heavy rain. _Wednesday, March 30._--Rickett's Pennsylvania battery changed camp, going on top of the hill on the other side of Mountain Run. _Friday, April 1._--Rain. _Saturday, April 2._--Rain. _Sunday, April 3._--We exchanged ammunition with Thompson's Pennsylvania battery. _Monday, April 4._--Captain Thompson's battery left for Washington. _Tuesday, April 5, and Saturday, April 9._--A heavy fall of rain on both days. _Monday, April 11._--Mounted inspection by the new chief-of-artillery, Colonel Tidball, of the Fourth Heavy Artillery, New York. _Tuesday, April 12._--Eugene Googins and Bill Taylor returned from Providence. _Thursday, April 14._--Fred Frown, promoted to captain, arrived to-day, and was presented with a sabre, in presence of Colonel Tompkins and Lieutenant Colonel Munroe, by Battery B, his new command. _Sunday, April 17._--Lieutenant Colewell left the battery to-day, being discharged on his application. _Tuesday, April 19._--The artillery practised target-shooting in the morning. _Wednesday, April 20._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps, by General Hancock. The corps has eight batteries now. _Friday, April 22._--Review of the Second corps, numbering nearly forty thousand men, by General Grant. _Sunday, April 24._--Mounted inspection. _Monday, April 25._--This afternoon, a private of the Nineteenth Massachusetts regiment was hung for violating a woman eighty years old. _Wednesday, April 27._--The battery broke up winter-quarters this morning, and went to camp between Stevensburg and Pony Mountain. Sergeant Greene returned from recruiting. _Friday, April 29._--The battery changed camp again, moving close to the infantry. _Saturday, April 30._--We were mustered in for two months service. _Sunday, May 1._--Mounted inspection. Burnside's corps arrived at Warrenton Junction. _Tuesday, May 3._--The Army of the Potomac commences the great campaign against Richmond. General Grant is with the army. Our battery left camp at eight o'clock in the evening, and marched all night. _Wednesday, May 4._--Arriving at the Rapidan, we halted but a few minutes. Our cavalry was already across. About six o'clock A. M., we forded the river at Ely's Ford. The infantry crossed on a pontoon bridge. We marched directly towards the Wilderness, and arrived at Chancellorsville at noon. One division of the Second corps formed in line of battle, facing Fredericksburg, and remained there all day and night. _Thursday, May 5._--Battle in the Wilderness. At seven o'clock in the morning, the army was in motion, on the road leading to Spottsylvania. The Sixth corps was in possession of Mine Run. Fighting commenced on our right about one o'clock P. M. The First division, Batteries A and B, Rhode Island, turned to the left at four o'clock P. M. Parts of our corps were hotly engaged near sunset. Our battery went in position near a farm house, and commenced to fortify immediately. So did the infantry on our left. The troops on our left were to be withdrawn, but suddenly ordered to halt as the rebel cavalry was reported to attack our left. In the night, our battery withdrew some distance to the rear, going in park. General Hayes was killed to-day. _Friday, May 6._--Battle in the Wilderness. The troops were awake at three o'clock in the morning. Our battery returned to its position at daybreak, and was strengthening the fortifications. Incessant musketry fire was going on from five o'clock until ten o'clock A. M. Most of the fighting took place in the woods. Very little artillery had been used so far. The right section of our battery went to the rear to guard a road against the rebel cavalry. The enemy opened on our left with artillery, but was vigorously replied to by the Tenth Massachusetts battery. Heavy cannonading was going on on the extreme right. One gun of Rickett's Pennsylvania battery bursted. A general attack from the rebels was expected in the evening; but all remained, quiet during the night. We stayed within our fortifications all night, laying alongside of our guns. _Saturday, May 7._--Battle in the Wilderness. We were fortifying our position stronger yet. Little fighting was done in our front to-day. The woods are on fire, exposing the wounded to a horrible death. General Sheridan's cavalry has been fighting hard all day, near Todd's Tavern. Our battery went to the rear at eight o'clock in the evening; but was kept in readiness for marching all night. _Sunday, May 8._--Battle in the Wilderness. Fredericksburg is in our possession. All of our wounded are sent there. The Second corps advanced as far as Todd's Tavern, forming in line of battle, the cavalry on the flanks. Fighting was kept on until night, mostly in the woods. Artillery not much used. General Grant and staff passed by. The infantry was fortifying all night. _Monday, May 9._--Battle in the Wilderness. Line of battle at Todd's Tavern. Before break of day, our battery took position behind breastworks, built by the Thirty-ninth New York Regiment. But no engagement took place at this point. We left the position at noon, marching to the right. About three o'clock we got sight of the enemy's trains on the other side of the Po Creek. The right section, under Lieutenant Hunt, and one of Battery B, went in action, shelling the rebel trains. An hour afterwards, the rebels brought four pieces of horse artillery to bear on the two sections, but were silenced in twenty minutes. Walter Arnold, of our battery, was slightly wounded. Battery B had two men killed. The Second corps crossed the Po Creek at dark. Our battery went to park at ten o'clock P. M. General Sedgwick was killed by a sharpshooter. Picket firing all night. _Tuesday, May 10._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Fighting commenced all along the line. A report of the fall of Petersburg was read to all the troops. Our battery went a few rods to the rear, to be out of the way. The right section started off, and had an action of half an hour's duration, coming very near being flanked. At eleven o'clock, our whole battery went to the rear, which was threatened by the enemy. We went in action on the roadside, firing for half an hour. The rebels evidently drove our infantry. The battery changed position, having the open field in the front and the woods in the rear and no road left to retreat but one, which was already endangered by the enemy. General Barlow, commanded our troops at this point. It was decided now to withdraw the right and centre sections, leaving the left section to cover the retreat, without any support at all, to oppose the enemy, who was massing three formidable lines of infantry against us. Captain Arnold and Lieutenant Blake remained with the left section, giving orders to load and lay down until the enemy should be very near. This was done accordingly. At command of Captain Arnold, the pieces were fired with good effect, and two of the rebel guns soon silenced. The left section fired point blank during this action. Four lines of rebel infantry advanced on the left, throwing back our line of infantry across the only remaining road. Captain Arnold ordered our two guns to be brought to the rear by hand, limbering up from the rear, and try to make through the woods. The sixth piece escaped; but not the fifth, the wheels getting stuck between trees. The enemy being very close upon us, opened such a terrific musketry fire on the piece as to make the horses unmanageable. Besides that, the cannoniers being all new men, left. Nobody remained but Captain Arnold, Lieutenant Blake, Sergeant Calder, myself and the drivers. We found it impossible to remove the gun, and had to abandon it therefore, and crossed the Po Creek, the best way we could. The batteries on the other side of the creek, opened furiously on the victorious enemy. The remainder of our line of infantry fell back across the creek; but over one thousand men were taken prisoners. Two men of our left section were wounded--Reynolds and Willy of the fifth piece. The latter had to be left on the field. Arriving at the battery, our comrades rejoiced to see us come back safe. We were engaged all the afternoon, setting fire to several shanties which served as rendezvous for sharpshooters. In the evening, we blew up a caisson of a rebel battery, which rode up at full speed, trying to get in action, causing them to withdraw immediately. We were in position all night. _Wednesday, May 11._--Battle near Spottsylvania. Our battery fortified before daybreak. Heavy skirmishing, and some firing of artillery, was kept up all day. A heavy shower fell in the evening. Our horses were unharnessed and sent to the rear of the woods. At ten o'clock in the night our corps received orders to leave. We marched all night. _Thursday, May 12._--Battle of Spottsylvania Court House. Great assault of Hancock's corps, supported by the Sixth. Near daybreak we arrived on the extreme left of our army. The infantry, was already formed in line, ready for an impetuous onset. General Hancock and his division commanders rode up in front of the lines harranguing the troops. The long line advanced suddenly, soon disappearing in the fog that hung over the ground. After a short but desperate engagement, the works were carried, and two Generals, Stewart and Johnson, eighteen pieces of artillery, seven colors, and three thousand men, captured. Our battery changed position three times while in action. When in the second position, our horses were unhitched to carry the captured rebel artillery to the rear. Our third position was close to the line of works taken from the enemy. We were hotly engaged for two hours. The rebels concentrated all their forces towards this point. Our ammunition giving away, we were compelled to withdraw. The musketry fire was so severe that, had we remained a few minutes longer, we would undoubtedly have lost half of our men. Battery C, Fifth Regulars, occupied our position afterwards, but had to leave, and abandon two guns. The battle raged all day, and the loss of both armies was very heavy. Our army took eight thousand prisoners. During the day, our battery returned to the position held first, remaining there the rest of the day and night. _Friday, May 13._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Skirmishing continued. Our battery changed position twice in the afternoon, going in park at last, unhitched and unharnessed. According to an official announcement to the army we captured two generals, eight thousand men, eighteen guns, and twenty-seven colors from the rebels. Our loss since we entered the Wilderness is estimated at forty thousand men in all. The rebels held their position all day, making the line of works taken yesterday, very uncomfortable. Picket-firing was kept up all night. One of our battery, by the name of Hoyle, a recruit, was shot in the foot while going near to the outer line. _Saturday, May 14._--The rebels are falling back. General Sheridan's cavalry has done great damage in their rear. Our fourth detachment received a rebel gun to-day, in place of the one lost on the tenth of May. Two more guns and caissons were taken from the enemy to-day. A mortar battery was playing on the enemy's lines all day. Rainy weather. _Sunday, May 15._--Our battery left at half-past one o'clock in the morning, marching but a few miles. The Second corps was relieved by the Eighth, General Augur, being in reserve for a few days. We rested all day. A heavy shower fell in the evening. _Monday, May 16._--Remained quiet all day. It was read in line that twenty-three thousand men, reinforcements, were on the way. _Tuesday, May 17._--All the batteries were reduced to four guns. The guns of our left section were sent to Belle Plain, by way of Fredericksburg. We changed camp at four o'clock P. M., and again about six, and marched off about ten o'clock in the night, going to the right of the line. _Wednesday, May 18._--At daybreak, heavy fighting commenced on the right. Our battery was in position, but as reserve. Generals Grant and Meade were in front of our battery, watching the progress of the contest, which was fought almost precisely where the great assault of the twelfth instant took place. Battery B, Rhode Island, was in action. Many of the new troops, the Corcoran Legion amongst them, took part in this fight. We returned to our camping-place in the afternoon. _Thursday, May 19._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. We changed camp at eleven o'clock A. M., going in front of the army headquarters, and were pleasantly situated on the edge of the woods. A little after three o'clock P. M., great excitement prevailed on the line, the rebels being reported to have made an attack on the Fredericksburg road. Our battery was ordered out, going two miles. The fight was nearly over at our arrival, the enemy being driven back. We returned to the camp with orders to be ready to march at eleven o'clock P. M. The battery remained packed up all night, but did not leave. _Friday, May 20._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Quiet all day. Started at eleven o'clock in the night. The battery wagons were all uncovered. We marched all night. _Saturday, May 21._--Forced march of the Second corps. Crossed the Mat river at seven o'clock in the morning, struck the Fredericksburg and Gordonsville Railroad, and entered Bowling Green at noon. A fair-looking town. Nine thousand of our cavalry and horse artillery passed through early in the morning, scattering the militia of the place. Marching further, we arrived at Milford Station at five o'clock P. M. This is an important railroad junction, with a good depot, and many dwelling houses. Our cavalry and horse artillery occupied the surrounding farms. At six o'clock P. M., we crossed the Mattapony river, over a stationary bridge, going in park for the night. About seven o'clock the rebels ran out two guns, firing on our camps for a short time. We marched twenty-five miles to-day. _Sunday, May 22._--On the Mattapony river. We advanced but one mile, at seven o'clock A. M., taking our position in the line of battle, and fortified at once; but, after finishing the works, we had to give them up to another battery, and dug a new line of intrenchments about one hundred yards off. This created great dissatisfaction among the men. Heavy firing was going on to our right, some ten miles off. An attack from the enemy on our corps was expected, but we were not disturbed. _Monday, May 23._--The Second corps was in motion again at daybreak. After marching ten miles, we crossed the Pole Cat Creek. About noon we arrived in the vicinity of the North Anna River, the Fifth corps being there already. After an hour's rest, our right section was ordered to advance, taking position behind a narrow strip of woods, in front of the river. The rest of the battery, and all the other batteries of the corps, came soon after, and went in position. At three o'clock P. M., a desultory fire was opened on the enemy's works, ceasing by five o'clock. The right section was ordered to go in advance of the line of battle, in front of a strong redoubt of the enemy, and to open furiously, and be a signal to all the batteries of the corps. The enemy offered great resistance for some time. If it had not been for a few very large trees in front of our position, we would have lost a number of men. A heavy cannonade was kept up until dark, when our assaulting columns carried the works at the point of the bayonet. The right section having expended all ammunition, filled up at once and crossed the Creek; being the first artillery on the other side of the North Anna River. We went in position, fortifying during the night. _Tuesday, May 24._--Battle on the North Anna River. There was more or less fighting since daybreak. The enemy's artillery fired continuously on the stationary bridge leading across the North Anna. Our sharpshooters and infantry carried the bridge at ten o'clock A. M. Our battery was attached to General Birney's division to-day, and ordered to the right of the bridge to engage the enemy's battery shelling it. We engaged the battery for an hour without any result at all, as they were strongly fortified. Tom Steere was shot in the leg by a sharpshooter. We were relieved by Battery K, Fourth Regulars, and returned to our first position. At four o'clock P. M. we crossed the bridge over the North Anna river, under the enemy's artillery fire. The cannoniers were told to scatter and go ahead of the battery, as horses were likely to draw the enemy's fire. We sustained no loss in this movement. Most of the infantry of the corps were in line of battle on the south side of the river. Our battery took position behind breastworks thrown up by our troops, and sheltered by a Virginia mansion, instantly. A short engagement took place before dark; but a heavy shower setting in, put an end to it. _Wednesday, May 25._--Southside of the North Anna River. The battery was ordered to advance at eight o'clock A. M. The cannoniers were sent ahead with shovels and pick-axes, to fortify our position. Not much of any consequence was done in our front during the day, some sharpshooting excepted. The corps had three fortified lines of battle. Our battery was in the first--skirmishers in front of us. The mortar-battery was playing all the afternoon. Shower in evening. _Thursday, May 26._--Southside of the North Anna river. The Ninth corps was considerably engaged. We held our line all day. Shower in evening. Our forces evacuated the southside of the North Anna River at ten o'clock in the night, going back to where the first line of battle was formed during the fight on the North Anna River, and rested until the next morning. _Friday, May 27._--Flank march to the Pamunkey River. Sheridan's cavalry, the Fifth and Sixth corps ahead; the Second and Ninth corps in the rear. Started about noon, and halted at eight o'clock, P. M., having marched fifteen miles. About eleven o'clock in the night we went three miles further and rested in a ploughed field. _Saturday, May 28._--Resumed marching at seven o'clock in the morning. Crossed the Pamunkey River about four o'clock P. M., on a pontoon bridge. General Meade's headquarters were on the southside of the river. Going a mile further, our battery went to camp, unhitched and unharnessed. The smoke of our gunboats on the Pamunkey River, was visible. _Sunday, May 29._--Southside of the Pamunkey River. The battery was hitched up at two o'clock in the morning. We remained until evening. Marched off by seven o'clock, but returned soon after. We left camp again at eleven o'clock in the night, marched on the Mechanicsville road, going in park by one o'clock A. M., on _Monday, May 30._--Within twenty miles of Richmond. The infantry was fortifying all of last night. Before daybreak, our battery was ordered to the extreme front, only one thousand yards from the enemy's works. We were set to work digging; but ordered back to the rear, until the engineers had thrown up breastworks. It was lucky for us that we could not be seen by the enemy, on account of the fog, or else but few would have escaped. At noon the battery returned, taking position behind the works. Shortly after the enemy opened, concentrating a heavy artillery fire on our battery, which was vigorously replied to by our four guns. Lieutenant Peter Hunt was the only man hurt, a piece of a shell fracturing his right heel. During the afternoon a twenty-four pounder mortar battery was posted between our guns, keeping up a regular bombardment. Fighting lasted until eight o'clock in the evening. At that time, five of our batteries were playing on the enemy's works, which were considerably damaged. Our horses were sent a half mile to the rear. _Tuesday, May 31._--The rebels evacuated their line of intrenchments during last night. We could hear the noise created by the removal of the artillery, mistaking it for the arrival of reinforcements. General Barlow's division occupied the works at ten o'clock A. M. A brass battery was put in position, keeping up a steady fire on the retiring enemy. Considerable fighting was going on along the whole line to-day. The rebel sharpshooters were very troublesome, firing from high trees. Norris L. Church was shot in the head at eleven o'clock A. M., and died ten minutes afterwards. We changed position about eight o'clock in the evening, going a-half mile to the right. _Wednesday, June 1._--Heavy fighting was going on at Coal Harbor. The Sixth corps, and the Eighteenth, General Baldy Smith, being engaged with the rebels. Our battery was supported by two companies of the Twenty-eighth Massachusetts regiment, but not engaged to-day. The Second corps commenced moving at dark, and marched all night. _Thursday, June 2._--Battle of Coal Harbor. We arrived at Coal Harbor about ten o'clock in the morning. Fighting was still going on. The rebels had attacked the Sixth and Eighteenth corps about two o'clock in the morning, but were repulsed losing five hundred and twenty prisoners, who passed by our battery. We were not in action to-day, but yet exposed to the enemy's artillery fire. Our horses were unhitched and unharnessed for the night. _Friday, June 3._--Battle on Gaines' Farm. The battle began at four o'clock in the morning. Our battery took position about eight o'clock A. M., but changed it two hours after, going nearer to the front, and engaging one of the enemy's batteries at once. The breastworks in our front were of a very weak construction. During the afternoon the enemy fired with solid shot. As soon as they struck our breastworks, they stopped. It was only to ascertain the exact range. The use of strengthening the breastworks was demonstrated to the men of the first piece, but they did not feel disposed to work. At eight o'clock in the evening, the enemy's batteries commenced a heavy cannonade on our lines. Having gained the precise range of our battery, they fired very correct, two shots passing clear through the breastworks, wounding five men of the first piece: W. Sweet, in the face; Gileo, slightly, in the face; Swett, in the back, badly; Coleman, in the groin; and Whitford, right arm shot off. The engagement lasted a-half an hour. We were told afterwards, that the firing of our battery caused great havoc amongst the rebels. Charles Lake was badly wounded by a shell, during the day. In the night, Major John G. Hassard brought orders for our battery to take an advanced position in front of Gaines' Hill, before daybreak the next morning, saying he would see to the erection of strong breastworks by the engineers. _Saturday, June 4._--Battle on Gaines' Farm. At the appointed time, we went to take position on Gaines' Hill, but were disagreeably surprised to find no fortifications at all. The Fourth Regiment, New York Heavy Artillery, had just began to throw up a miserable frame of rotten rails. Besides that, these men were scared to death, and, as soon as the sharpshooters commenced to fire, could not be induced to work any longer. We were compelled to lay down, the breastworks being so poor that we did not dare to provoke the enemy's artillery fire, and standing by the guns would have been sure death. It was clear to every one's mind that some mean, malignant villain, not worthy of wearing shoulder-straps, had got the battery in this dreadful position purposely, for our term of service expired the next day, and we had long-range guns, while short range guns were fired a quarter of a mile in our rear, the shells exploding over our heads, instead of reaching the rebel works. Captain Arnold, sending word to the commanding general, informing him of our dangerous situation, engineers were set to work in our rear, throwing up strong works. After their completion, prolongs were attached to each gun, and these pulled by hand behind the works, without any loss at all. Shortly after that, Captain Dow's Maine battery fired a signal, and all our batteries opened on the long line of rebel works on Gaines' Hill, keeping up the bombardment for two hours. At eight o'clock in the evening, the enemy determined to open the fight again, provoked an artillery duel of three-quarters of an hour's duration, ending the day's contest. Patrick Murray was slightly wounded to-day. _Sunday, June 5._--On Gaines' Hill. The enemy's sharpshooters kept up a deadly fire on our lines all day. Captain Arnold called on General Hancock to have our battery relieved, our time being out. Major Hassard appeared shortly afterwards, bringing orders that we were to be relieved by Captain Ames' New York battery. Just as we were getting ready to go to the rear, the enemy opened with artillery, and the _old battery_ replied once more, keeping up fire until nine o'clock in the night, fighting three hours beyond our time of service. On the appearance of Captain Ames' battery, we quietly withdrew our guns, and marched to the rear, being cheered by all the troops we passed, as the services of the battery were well known in the Second corps, General Hancock saying himself, he was sorry to lose the battery, as it was the best one in the whole corps. Arriving in the rear, we joined our battery-wagon, forge and caissons. _Monday, June 6._--On Gaines' Farm. Captain Arnold is going home with the old members of the battery. Lieutenant Gamaliel L. Dwight took command of the remnants of Battery A. A number of non-commissioned officers went to the quarters of Colonel Tompkins to obtain their warrants before going home. We changed camp in the evening, but were still exposed to the enemy's artillery fire. _Tuesday, June 7._--On Gaines' Farm. The old members returned all articles that go by the name of camp-equipage, to the battery; the non-commissioned officers, their sabres and pistols. Some old member made the following proposition: "Our time having expired, and yet being under the enemy's fire, we should go a mile further to the rear, to sleep in the woods, as it would be no honor to get killed or wounded now." The proposition was readily accepted, and carried into effect. _Wednesday, June 8._--Before break-of-day the old members assembled at the camp of Battery A. Captain Arnold procured a mule team to carry our baggage, and off we went at seven o'clock A. M. Never marched men with a better will, the fifteen miles to White House Landing, where we arrived by two o'clock P. M. Fortune smiled on us once more. We were put on board the propeller New Jersey at four o'clock, steaming down the Pamunkey, and dropping anchor opposite West Point about nine o'clock P. M. _Thursday, June 9._--On board the New Jersey. The journey resumed at four o'clock in the morning. Steamed down the York River, past Yorktown, Gloucester Point, up the Chesapeake Bay, dropping anchor twenty miles from Aquia Creek. _Friday, June 10._--On board the New Jersey. Steamed up the Potomac early in the morning. Most of the men were below deck to clean up and put their new clothes on, reserved for this occasion by most of the old members, when we laid in winter-quarters near Brandy Station. Our captain, and the crew of the propeller, were quite astonished, seeing us come up in new uniforms. At three o'clock P. M., the propeller stopped at the Washington Navy Yard, landing eighty condemned horses. We left the vessel about four o'clock, at the foot of Sixth street, proceeding to the Soldier's Home, and remained at the barracks over night. _Saturday, June 11._--Washington. We left at eleven o'clock A. M., in the express train. Came through Baltimore and Philadelphia, arriving in New York City by eleven o'clock in the night. We took up our quarters at the Park Barracks. _Sunday, June 12._--New York City. We were at liberty to go wherever we pleased, until five o'clock P. M., leaving in the train for Rhode Island. Arrived at Stonington by twelve o'clock P. M. Owing to some accident, we had to stay there all night. _Monday, June 13._--We left Stonington at daybreak, arriving in Providence at six o'clock in the morning. It is unnecessary to give a description of our reception in this book. I believe it is well remembered by the inhabitants of Providence, and the old members of Battery A. _On Saturday, the 18th of June_, we were mustered out of the United States service, in Railroad Hall. _On Monday, the 20th of June_, we attended the funeral of our lieutenant, Peter Hunt, who died from the effects of his wounds. Roster of Battery A, JUNE 6, 1861. Captain. WILLIAM H. REYNOLDS. First Lieutenants. THOMAS F. VAUGHAN, J. ALBERT MUNROE. Second Lieutenants. JOHN A. TOMPKINS, WILLIAM B. WEEDEN. Sergeants. George E. Randolph, Sergeant Major. Albert E. Adams, Quartermaster Sergeant. John H. Hammond, First Sergeant. William H. Walcott, G. Holmes Wilcox, Charles D. Owen, Francis A. Smith, Henry Newton. Corporals. Charles M. Read, Charles H. Clark, Nathan T. Morse, Gamaliel L. Dwight, William A. Sabin, H. Vincent Butler, Albert Remington, James B. Buffum, Harry C. Cushing, George W. Field, T. Frederic Brown, Seabury S. Burroughs. Artificers. Michael Grady, Daniel W. Marshall, Alexander K. Page, Dexter D. Pearce, James T. Rhodes, George A. Stetson. Nelson H. Arnold, Bugler. Privates. Aldrich, Stephen W. Allen, George W. D. Adams, George A. Barker, William C. Byrne, George Byars, George Bennett, Henry H. Butler, Freeman Brown, Clavis G. Bup, Frederick Brown, Joshua Benedict, Frederick H. Bontems, Charles E. Brooks, Joseph Bourn, William E. Collins, Timothy Collins, James H. Cargill, Charles Child, Benjamin H. Cortell, Elmer D. Calder, Wesley R. Chaffee, George W. Chaffee, Charles E. Chester, George W. Curtis, Horace M. Carter, Frank Church, William Cooper, James Codding, Charles D. Crandall, Henry B. Church, John Drape, William Desmond, Michael Loughlin, Robert Lewis, James Lannegan, Patrick Luther, Hesekiel W. Luther, Levi Lawrence, John H. Lynott, John Lindsey, Benjamin F. McKay, John G. Messinger, Eli Messinger, George Munroe, Benjamin S. Moran, John Morrison, William McDonough, John Marcy, Albourne W. Mowry, Charles H. Martin, Benjamin F. McCannack, John O. Navin, John Olney, Amos M. C. Peck, William F. Percival, Richard Pearce, William B. Potter, Edward Phillips, Frederick A. Pratt, Henry L. Reichardt, Theodore Reichardt, Adolphus Rider, William H. Remington, Richard T. Rawbottom, Robert Raynor, Robert Day, Henry F. Donnegan, Patrick Franklin, George W. Freeman, Edward R. Fletcher, Calvin Flood, Thomas Googin, Eugene Gardner, James Greenleaf, George T. Griffin, John Griffin, John, 2d Gladding, Olney D. Goldsmith, James H. Griswold, George S. Greenhalgh, William T. Green, Stephen M. Graham, Henry T. Humphrey, Preston A. Harrison, Gilbert T. Haynes, William Hoit, Joseph S. Hicks, Henry F. Irons, Lewis W. Jenckes, Albert T. Jollie, Thomas Lake, Charles W. Shaw, Edward Sayles, Thomas W. Shepardson, George A. Slocum, George L. Scott, Charles V. Stanley, Milton Seddon, John Swain, Reuben C. Thornley, Richard Thompson, John B. Taylor, William H. Towle, Augustus S. Vose, Warren L. Wales, Joseph W. Weeks, Edwin E. Wild, John Weeden, Amos C. Warden, Wendell Warden, Samuel T. Walsh, John Walker, Stephen Walker, Arnold A. Watson, John T. Wellman, George A. Whalers, John Zimmerli, John REMARKS. Captain William H. Reynolds, promoted to lieutenant colonel at Darnestown, Maryland. First Lieutenant Thomas F. Vaughan, promoted to captain at Point of Rocks, Maryland. First Lieutenant J. Albert Munroe, promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland. Second Lieutenant John Tompkins, promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland; promoted to major at Fredericksburg, Virginia. Second Lieutenant Wm. B. Weeden, promoted to captain at Point of Rocks, Maryland. Sergeant Major George E. Randolph, promoted to lieutenant at Point of Rocks, Maryland; promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland. Quartermaster Sergeant Albert E. Adams, promoted to lieutenant at Falmouth, Virginia. Sergeant John H. Hammond, left the battery at Harrison Landing. Transferred to Portsmouth Grove, Rhode Island, and made lieutenant in Hospital Guard. Sergeant William H. Walcott, promoted to lieutenant in the regular army, at Point of Rocks, Maryland. Sergeant G. Holmes Wilcox, left the battery at Harrison Landing, sick. Sergeant Charles D. Owen, promoted to lieutenant at Point of Rocks, Maryland; promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland. Sergeant Francis A. Smith, promoted to lieutenant at Darnestown, Maryland. Sergeant Henry Newton, promoted to lieutenant at Darnestown, Maryland. Left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia, sick. Corporal Charles M. Read, promoted to sergeant; killed at Antietam, Maryland. Corporal Charles H. Clark, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at Darnestown, Maryland. Corporal Nathan T. Morse, killed in Washington, D. C. Corporal Gamaliel L. Dwight, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at Poolesville; promoted to captain at Coal Harbor, Virginia. Corporal William A. Sabin, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at Poolesville, Maryland. Corporal H. Vincent Butler, left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia, having received a commission in the navy. Corporal James B. Buffum, promoted to sergeant; left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia, sick. Corporal Harry L. Cushing, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant in regular army. Corporal George W. Field, promoted to first sergeant; to lieutenant at Muddy Branch, Maryland. Corporal T. Frederic Brown, promoted to sergeant; to lieutenant at Harrison Landing; to captain at Brandy Station, Virginia. Corporal Seabury S. Burroughs, disabled at Poolesville, Maryland. Left the battery. Michael Grady, returned home with battery, having served three years. Daniel W. Marshall, left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia. Alexander K. Page, returned home with battery, having served three years. Dexter D. Pearce, returned home with battery, having served three years. James P. Rhodes, promoted to lieutenant at Warrenton, Virginia. Left the battery one year after, near the same place. George A. Stetson, captured at first Bull Run. Bugler Nelson A. Arnold, left the battery at Washington, D. C. Private Stephen W. Aldrich, promoted to corporal; returned with battery, having served three years. Thomas M. Aldrich, returned with battery, having served three years. George W. D. Allen, injured at first Bull Run. Left the battery at Washington D. C. George A. Adams, left the battery at Darnestown, Maryland. William C. Barker, returned with battery, having served three years. George Byrne, returned with battery, having served three years. Joseph Byars, left at Poolesville, Maryland. Henry H. Bennett, promoted corporal; returned with battery Freeman Butler, left the battery at Washington, D. C. Clavis G. Brown, left the battery at Washington, D. C. Frederic Bup, killed at first Bull Run. Joshua Brown, wounded and taken prisoner at first Bull Run. Frederick H. Benedict, deserted at Darnestown, Maryland. Charles E. Bontems, returned with battery. Joseph E. Brooks, wounded and taken prisoner at first Bull Run. Returned to battery at Washington, before going to Peninsula. Returned with battery. William E. Bourn, killed in Washington, D. C. Timothy Collins, returned with battery. James H. Collins, left the battery at Washington, D. C. Charles Cargill, wounded at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Benjamin H. Child, promoted to corporal and sergeant; to lieutenant at Brandy Station, Virginia. Elmer L. Cortell, promoted to corporal; sergeant; lieutenant. Left the battery at Point of Rocks, Maryland. Wesley B. Calder, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. George W. Chaffee, promoted to corporal. Left the battery at Harrison Landing. Afterwards died. Charles E. Chaffee, promoted to corporal; sergeant; left the battery at Warrenton, Virginia. George N. Chester, returned with battery. Horace M. Curtis, wounded, and left the battery at Gettysburg. Frank Carter, returned with battery. William C. M. Church, left the battery at Washington, D. C. James Cooper, wounded, and left the battery at Malvern Hill. Charles D. Codding, returned with battery. Henry B. Crandall, returned with battery. John Church, wounded at Antietam and left the battery. William Drape, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. Michael Desmond, wounded at Bristow's Station, and left the battery. Henry F. Day, left in Washington. Patrick Donnegan, left the battery in Falmouth. George W. Franklin, left the battery at Poolesville. Edward R. Freeman, wounded at Washington, and left the battery. Eugene Googins, returned with battery. James Gardner, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. George J. Greenleaf, promoted to corporal; sergeant; quartermaster sergeant. Returned with battery. John Griffin, returned with battery. Olney D. Gladding, wounded at Bull Run, and died in Georgetown, D. C. George L. Griswold, left at Washington. Stephen M. Greene, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery. Henry T. Graham, left the battery at Sandy Hook. Preston A. Humphrey, returned with battery. Gilbert F. Harrison, wounded, and left at Gettysburg. William Haines, left at Washington. Joseph S. Hoyt, left at Washington. Henry F. Hicks, wounded at Fredericksburg, and left the battery. Lewis W. Irons, returned with battery. Albert J. Jenckes, left the battery at Berlin, Maryland. Thomas Jollie, left the battery at Harrison Landing. Charles W. Lake, wounded at Coal Harbor. Returned with battery. Robert Laughlin, left the battery at Antietam. James Lewis, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. Patrick Lannegan, killed at Antietam. Hesekiel W. Luther, promoted to corporal. Left at Harrison Landing. Levi Luther, left at Harrison Landing. John H. Lawrence, killed at Antietam. John Lynott, returned with battery. Benjamin F. Lindsey, left the battery at Poolesville, Maryland. John G. McKay, returned with battery. Eli Messinger, detailed to hospital steward. Left the battery at Poolesville, Maryland. George Messinger, left the battery at Poolesville. Benjamin S. Munroe, left the battery at Yorktown. John Moran, wounded at Bristow Station, and died in hospital at Alexandria. William Morrison, returned with battery. John McDonnough, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. Albourne W. Marcy, left the battery at Harrison Landing. Died on his way home. Charles H. Mowry, deserted at Warrenton, and turned guerilla. Benjamin F. Martin, left the battery at Thom's Farm. John O. McCannack, left the battery at Washington. John Navin, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery. Amos M. C. Olney, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Re-enlisted. Richard Percival, left at Harrison Landing. Willard B. Pierce, promoted to corporal; first sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at Elktown, Virginia. Edward Potter, left the battery at Washington. Frederick A. Phillips, wounded, and left at Antietam. Henry A. Pratt, left at Washington. Theodore Reichardt, promoted to corporal. Returned with the battery. Adolphus Reichardt, wounded and left at Bull Run. William H. Rider, promoted to corporal, and wounded and left at Gettysburg. Richard Remington, left at Poolesville. Robert Rawbottom, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery. Robert Raynor, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. Edward Shaw, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. Thomas W. Sayles, left the battery at Yorktown. George A. Shepardson, left the battery at Warrenton. George L. Slocum, returned with battery. Charles V. Scott, promoted to corporal; sergeant; to lieutenant at Brandy Station, Virginia. Milton Stanley, left the battery at Point of Rocks. John Seddon, wounded at Flint Hill, and left the battery. Reuben Swaine, left at Antietam. Richard Thornley, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery. John B. Thompson, promoted to corporal; sergeant; first sergeant. Returned with battery. William H. Taylor, re-enlisted. Augustus S. Towle, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery. Warren L. Vose, wounded, taken prisoner and died at Bull Run. Joseph Wales, returned with battery. Edwin Weeks, wounded at Bull Run and left at Washington. John Wild, returned with battery. Amos A. Weeden, left at Point of Rocks. Wendell Warden, left at Harper's Ferry. Samuel P. Warden, left at Fortress Monroe. John Walsh, returned with battery. Stephen Walker, left at Harrison Landing. Arnold A. Walker, promoted to corporal. Left at Falmouth. Died on his way home. George A. Wellman, deserted at Falmouth. John Zimmerli, killed at Gettysburg. GENERAL AGENCY FOR Publishers, News Dealers and Booksellers. ESTABLISHED FEBRUARY 1, 1856. N. BANGS WILLIAMS, AMERICAN AND FOREIGN Newspaper and Periodical AGENCY, Nos. 113 and 115 Westminster Street, OPPOSITE THE ARCADE, PROVIDENCE, R. I. PLAIN AND FANCY STATIONERY AT WHOLESALE AND RETAIL. A GOOD ASSORTMENT OF BLANK BOOKS Always on hand and manufactured to order in any desired style. EVERY DESCRIPTION OF BOOK BINDING DONE AT SHORT NOTICE. N. BANGS WILLIAMS, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN American and Foreign Fancy Goods, AND YANKEE NOTIONS, Nos. 113 and 115 Westminster Street, PROVIDENCE, R. I. MEERSCHAUM AND BRUYERE PIPES, Cigar Tubes, Pipe Stems, Tobacco Boxes, Cigar Cases, Match Cases, WALKING CANES, LAMP LIGHTERS, TOBACCO POUCHES, PORTE MONNAIES, WALLETS, CHINA, CLAY, LAVA, AND WOOD PIPES, AND A Complete Stock of Smokers' Articles, INCLUDING A GREAT VARIETY OF SMOKING AND CHEWING TOBACCO, PERFUMERY, SOAPS, AND TOILET ARTICLES, BRUSHES, COMBS, Pocket Cutlery, Razors, Scissors, &c. * * * * * Transcriber's note: The following typographical errors have been corrected: "gunnner" corrected to "gunner" (page 9) "we" corrected to "were" (page 11) "comissioned" corrected to "commissioned" (page 29) "dificulties" corrected to "difficulties" (page 44) "Augast" corrected to "August" (page 56) "Petit's" corrected to "Pettit's" (page 67) "Sedwick's" corrected to "Sedgwick's" (page 86) "regiiment" corrected to "regiment" (page 89) "cannnonade" corrected to "cannonade" (page 96) "reat" corrected to "great" (page 118) "o!cock" corrected to "o'clock" (page 134) Other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained. 
28926	----	digital material generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/diarycivilwar01gurouoft Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. Hyphenation and accentuation have been standardised. All other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has been retained. DIARY, FROM MARCH 4, 1861, TO NOVEMBER 12, 1862. by ADAM GUROWSKI. Boston: Lee and Shepard, Successors to Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1862. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by Lee and Shepard, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. Dedicated TO THE WIDOWED WIVES, THE BEREAVED MOTHERS, SISTERS, SWEETHEARTS, AND ORPHANS IN THE LOYAL STATES. _On doit à son pays sa fortune, sa vie, mais avant tout la Vérité._ In this Diary I recorded what I heard and saw myself, and what I heard from others, on whose veracity I can implicitly rely. I recorded impressions as immediately as I felt them. A life almost wholly spent in the tempests and among the breakers of our times has taught me that the first impressions are the purest and the best. If they ever peruse these pages, my friends and acquaintances will find therein what, during these horrible national trials, was a subject of our confidential conversations and discussions, what in letters and by mouth was a subject of repeated forebodings and warnings. Perhaps these pages may in some way explain a phenomenon almost unexampled in history,--that twenty millions of people, brave, highly intelligent, and mastering all the wealth of modern civilization, were, if not virtually overpowered, at least so long kept at bay by about five millions of rebels. GUROWSKI. WASHINGTON, NOVEMBER, 1862. CONTENTS. MARCH, 1861. 13 Inauguration day -- The message -- Scott watching at the door of the Union -- The Cabinet born -- The Seward and Chase struggle -- The New York radicals triumph -- The treason spreads -- The Cabinet pays old party debts -- The diplomats confounded -- Poor Senators! -- Sumner is like a hare tracked by hounds -- Chase in favor of recognizing the revolted States -- Blunted axes -- Blair demands action, brave fellow! -- The slave-drivers -- The month of March closes -- No foresight! no foresight! APRIL, 1861. 22 Seward parleying with the rebel commissioners -- Corcoran's dinner -- The crime in full blast! -- 75,000 men called for -- Massachusetts takes the lead -- Baltimore -- Defence of Washington -- Blockade discussed -- France our friend, not England -- Warning to the President -- Virginia secedes -- Lincoln warned again -- Seward says it will all blow over in sixty to ninety days -- Charles F. Adams -- The administration undecided; the people alone inspired -- Slavery must perish! -- The Fabian policy -- The Blairs -- Strange conduct of Scott -- Lord Lyons -- Secret agent to Canada. MAY, 1861. 37 The administration tossed by expedients -- Seward to Dayton -- Spread-eagleism -- One phasis of the American Union finished -- The fuss about Russell -- Pressure on the administration increases -- Seward, Wickoff, and the Herald -- Lord Lyons menaced with passports -- The splendid Northern army -- The administration not up to the occasion -- The new men -- Andrew, Wadsworth, Boutwell, Noyes, Wade, Trumbull, Walcott, King, Chandler, Wilson -- Lyon jumps over formulas -- Governor Banks needed -- Butler takes Baltimore with two regiments -- News from England -- The "belligerent" question -- Butler and Scott -- Seward and the diplomats -- "What a Merlin!" -- "France not bigger than New York!" -- Virginia invaded -- Murder of Ellsworth -- Harpies at the White House. JUNE, 1861. 50 Butler emancipates slaves -- The army not organized -- Promenades -- The blockade -- Louis Napoleon -- Scott all in all -- Strategy! -- Gun contracts -- The diplomats -- Masked batteries -- Seward writes for "bunkum" -- Big Bethel -- The Dayton letter -- Instructions to Mr. Adams. JULY, 1861. 60 The Evening Post -- The message -- The administration caught napping -- McDowell -- Congress slowly feels its way -- Seward's great facility of labor -- Not a Know-Nothing -- Prophesies a speedy end -- Carried away by his imagination -- Says "secession is over" -- Hopeful views -- Politeness of the State department -- Scott carries on the campaign from his sleeping room -- Bull Run -- Rout -- Panic -- "Malediction! Malediction!" -- Not a manly word in Congress! -- Abuse of the soldiers -- McClellan sent for -- Young-blood -- Gen. Wadsworth -- Poor McDowell! -- Scott responsible -- Plan of reorganization -- Let McClellan beware of routine. AUGUST, 1861. 78 The truth about Bull Run -- The press staggers -- The Blairs alone firm -- Scott's military character -- Seward -- Mr. Lincoln reads the Herald -- The ubiquitous lobbyist -- Intervention -- Congress adjourns -- The administration waits for something to turn up -- Wade -- Lyon is killed -- Russell and his shadow -- The Yankees take the loan -- Bravo, Yankees! -- McClellan works hard -- Prince Napoleon -- Manassas fortifications a humbug -- Mr. Seward improves -- Old Whigism -- McClellan's powers enlarged -- Jeff. Davis makes history -- Fremont emancipates in Missouri -- The Cabinet. SEPTEMBER, 1861. 92 What will McClellan do? -- Fremont disavowed -- The Blairs not in fault -- Fremont ignorant and a bungler -- Conspiracy to destroy him -- Seward rather on his side -- McClellan's staff -- A Marcy will not do! -- McClellan publishes a slave-catching order -- The people move onward -- Mr. Seward again -- West Point -- The Washington defences -- What a Russian officer thought of them -- Oh, for battles! -- Fremont wishes to attack Memphis; a bold move! -- Seward's influence over Lincoln -- The people for Fremont -- Col. Romanoff's opinion of the generals -- McClellan refuses to move -- Manoeuvrings -- The people uneasy -- The staff -- The Orleans -- Brave boys! -- The Potomac closed -- Oh, poor nation! -- Mexico -- McClellan and Scott. OCTOBER, 1861. 104 Experiments on the people's life-blood -- McClellan's uniform -- The army fit to move -- The rebels treat us like children -- We lose time -- Everything is defensive -- The starvation theory -- The anaconda -- First interview with McClellan -- Impressions of him -- His distrust of the volunteers -- Not a Napoleon nor a Garibaldi -- Mason and Slidell -- Seward admonishes Adams -- Fremont goes overboard -- The pro-slavery party triumph -- The collateral missions to Europe -- Peace impossible -- Every Southern gentleman is a pirate -- When will we deal blows? -- Inertia! inertia! NOVEMBER, 1861. 115 Ball's Bluff -- Whitewashing -- "Victoria! Old Scott gone overboard!" -- His fatal influence -- His conceit -- Cameron -- Intervention -- More reviews -- Weed, Everett, Hughes -- Gov. Andrew -- Boutwell -- Mason and Slidell caught -- Lincoln frightened by the South Carolina success -- Waits unnoticed in McClellan's library -- Gen. Thomas -- Traitors and pedants -- The Virginia campaign -- West Point -- McClellan's speciality -- When will they begin to see through him? DECEMBER, 1861. 129 The message -- Emancipation -- State papers published -- Curtis Noyes -- Greeley not fit for Senator -- Generalship all on the rebel side -- The South and the North -- The sensationists -- The new idol will cost the people their life-blood! -- The Blairs -- Poor Lincoln! -- The Trent affair -- Scott home again -- The war investigation committee -- Mr. Mercier. JANUARY, 1862. 137 The year 1861 ends badly -- European defenders of slavery -- Secession lies -- Jeremy Diddlers -- Sensation-seekers -- Despotic tendencies -- Atomistic Torquemadas -- Congress chained by formulas -- Burnside's expedition a sign of life -- Will this McClellan ever advance? -- Mr. Adams unhorsed -- He packs his trunks -- Bad blankets -- Austria, Prussia, and Russia -- The West Point nursery -- McClellan a greater mistake than Scott -- Tracks to the White House -- European stories about Mr. Lincoln -- The English ignorami -- The slaveholder a scarcely varnished savage -- Jeff. Davis -- "Beauregard frightens us -- McClellan rocks his baby" -- Fancy army equipment -- McClellan and his chief of staff sick in bed -- "No satirist could invent such things" -- Stanton in the Cabinet -- "This Stanton is the people" -- Fremont -- Weed -- The English will not be humbugged -- Dayton in a fret -- Beaufort -- The investigating committee condemn McClellan -- Lincoln in the clutches of Seward and Blair -- Banks begs for guns and cavalry in vain -- The people will awake! -- The question of race -- Agassiz. FEBRUARY, 1862. 151 Drifting -- The English blue book -- Lord John could not act differently -- Palmerston the great European fuss-maker -- Mr. Seward's "two pickled rods" for England -- Lord Lyons -- His pathway strewn with broken glass -- Gen. Stone arrested -- Sumner's resolutions infuse a new spirit in the Constitution -- Mr. Seward beyond salvation -- He works to save slavery -- Weed has ruined him -- The New York press -- "Poor Tribune" -- The Evening Post -- The Blairs -- Illusions dispelled -- "All quiet on the Potomac" -- The London papers -- Quill-heroes can be bought for a dinner -- French opinion -- Superhuman efforts to save slavery -- It is doomed! -- "All you worshippers of darkness cannot save it!" -- The Hutchinsons -- Corporal Adams -- Victories in the West -- Stanton the man! -- Strategy (hear!) MARCH, 1862. 165 The Africo-Americans -- Fremont -- The Orleans -- Confiscation -- American nepotism -- The Merrimac -- Wooden guns -- Oh shame! -- Gen. Wadsworth -- The rats have the best of Stanton -- McClellan goes to Fortress Monroe -- Utter imbecility -- The embarkation -- McClellan a turtle -- He will stick in the marshes -- Louis Napoleon behaves nobly -- So does Mr. Mercier -- Queen Victoria for freedom -- The great strategian -- Senator Sumner and the French minister -- Archbishop Hughes -- His diplomatic activity not worth the postage on his correspondence -- Alberoni-Seward -- Love's labor lost. APRIL, 1862. 180 Immense power of the President -- Mr. Seward's Egeria -- Programme of peace -- The belligerent question -- Roebucks and Gregories scums -- Running the blockade -- Weed and Seward take clouds for camels -- Uncle Sam's pockets -- Manhood, not money, the sinews of war -- Colonization schemes -- Senator Doolittle -- Coal mine speculation -- Washington too near the seat of war -- Blair demands the return of a fugitive slave woman -- Slavery is Mr. Lincoln's "_mammy_" -- He will not destroy her -- Victories in the West -- The brave navy -- McClellan subsides in mud before Yorktown -- Telegraphs for more men -- God will be tired out! -- Great strength of the people -- Emancipation in the District -- Wade's speech -- He is a monolith -- Chase and Seward -- N. Y. Times -- The Rothschilds -- Army movements and plans. MAY, 1862. 198 Capture of New Orleans -- The second siege of Troy -- Mr. Seward lights his lantern to search for the Union-saving party -- Subserviency to power -- Vitality of the people -- Yorktown evacuated -- Battle of Williamsburg -- Great bayonet charge! -- Heintzelman and Hooker -- McClellan telegraphs that the enemy outnumber him -- The terrible enemy evacuate Williamsburg -- The track of truth begins to be lost -- Oh Napoleon! -- Oh spirit of Berthier! -- Dayton not in favor -- Events are too rapid for Lincoln -- His integrity -- Too tender of men's feelings -- Halleck -- Ten thousand men disabled by disease -- The Bishop of Orleans -- The rebels retreat without the knowledge of McNapoleon -- Hunter's proclamation -- Too noble for Mr. Lincoln -- McClellan again subsides in mud -- Jackson defeats Banks, who makes a masterly retreat -- Bravo, Banks! -- The aulic council frightened -- Gov. Andrew's letter -- Sigel -- English opinion -- Mr. Mill -- Young Europa -- Young Germany -- Corinth evacuated -- Oh, generalship! -- McDowell grimly persecuted by bad luck. JUNE, 1862. 218 Diplomatic circulars seasoned by stories -- Battle before Richmond -- Casey's division disgraced -- McClellan afterwards confesses he was misinformed -- Fair Oaks -- "Nobody is hurt, only the bleeding people" -- Fremont disobeys orders -- N. Y. Times, World, and Herald, opinion-poisoning sheets -- Napoleon never visible before nine o'clock in the morning -- Hooker and the other fighters soldered to the mud -- Senator Sumner shows the practical side of his intellect -- "Slavery a big job!" -- McClellan sends for mortars -- Defenders of slavery in Congress worse than the rebels -- Wooden guns and cotton sentries at Corinth -- The navy is glorious -- Brave old Gideon Welles! -- July 4th to be celebrated in Richmond! -- Colonization again -- Justice to France -- New regiments -- The people sublime! -- Congress -- Lincoln visits Scott -- McDowell -- Pope -- Disloyalty in the departments. JULY, 1862. 233 Intervention -- The cursed fields of the Chickahominy -- Titanic fightings, but no generalship -- McClellan the first to reach James river -- The Orleans leave -- July 4th, the gloomiest since the birth of the republic -- Not reinforcements, but brains, wanted; and brains not transferable! -- The people run to the rescue -- Rebel tactics -- Lincoln does not sacrifice Stanton -- McClellan not the greatest culprit -- Stanton a true statesman -- The President goes to James river -- The Union as it was, a throttling nightmare! -- A man needed! -- Confiscation bill signed -- Congress adjourned -- Mr. Dicey -- Halleck, the American Carnot -- Lincoln tries to neutralize the confiscation bill -- Guerillas spread like locusts. AUGUST, 1862. 245 Emancipation -- The President's hand falls back -- Weed sent for -- Gen. Wadsworth -- The new levies -- The Africo-Americans not called for -- Let every Northern man be shot rather! -- End of the Peninsula campaign -- Fifty or sixty thousand dead -- Who is responsible? -- The army saved -- Lincoln and McClellan -- The President and the Africo-Americans -- An Eden in Chiriqui -- Greeley -- The old lion begins to awake -- Mr. Lincoln tells stories -- The rebels take the offensive -- European opinion -- McClellan's army landed -- Roebuck -- Halleck -- Butler's mistakes -- Hunter recalled -- Terrible fighting at Manassas -- Pope cuts his way through -- Reinforcements slow incoming -- McClellan reduced in command. SEPTEMBER, 1862. 258 _Consummatum est!_ -- Will the outraged people avenge itself? -- McClellan satisfies the President -- After a year! -- The truth will be throttled -- Public opinion in Europe begins to abandon us -- The country marching to its tomb -- Hooker, Kearney, Heintzelman, Sigel, brave and true men -- Supremacy of mind over matter -- Stanton the last Roman -- Inauguration of the pretorian regime -- Pope accuses three generals -- Investigation prevented by McClellan -- McDowell sacrificed -- The country inundated with lies -- The demoralized army declares for McClellan -- The pretorians will soon finish with liberty -- Wilkes sent to the West Indian waters -- Russia -- Mediation -- Invasion of Maryland -- Strange story about Stanton -- Richmond never invested -- McClellan in search of the enemy -- Thirty miles in six days -- The telegrams -- Wadsworth -- Capitulation of Harper's Ferry -- Five days' fighting -- Brave Hooker wounded -- No results -- No reports from McClellan -- Tactics of the Maryland campaign -- Nobody hurt in the staff -- Charmed lives -- Wadsworth, Judge Conway, Wade, Boutwell, Andrew -- This most intelligent people become the laughing-stock of the world! -- The proclamation of emancipation -- Seward to the Paisley Association -- Future complications -- If Hooker had not been wounded! -- The military situation -- Sigel persecuted by West Point -- Three cheers for the carriage and six! -- How the great captain was to catch the rebel army -- Interview with the Chicago deputation -- Winter quarters -- The conspiracy against Sigel -- Numbers of the rebel army -- Letters of marque. OCTOBER, 1862. 288 Costly infatuation -- The do-nothing strategy -- Cavalry on lame horses -- Bayonet charges -- Antietam -- Effect of the Proclamation -- Disasters in the West -- The Abolitionists not originally hostile to McClellan -- Helplessness in the War Department -- Devotedness of the people -- McClellan and the proclamation -- Wilkes -- Colonel Key -- Routine engineers -- Rebel raid into Pennsylvania -- Stanton's sincerity -- Oh, unfighting strategians -- The administration a success -- _De gustibus_ -- Stuart's raid -- West Point -- St. Domingo -- The President's letter to McClellan -- Broad church -- The elections -- The Republican party gone -- The remedy at the polls -- McClellan wants to be relieved -- Mediation -- Compromise -- The rhetors -- The optimists -- The foreigners -- Scott and Buchanan -- Gladstone -- Foreign opinion and action -- Both the extremes to be put down -- Spain -- Fremont's campaign against Jackson -- Seward's circular -- General Scott's gift -- "Oh, could I go to a camp!" -- McClellan crosses the Potomac -- Prays for rain -- Fevers decimate the regiments -- Martindale and Fitz John Porter -- The political balance to be preserved -- New regiments -- O poor country! NOVEMBER, 1862. 311 Empty rhetoric -- The future dark and terrible -- Wadsworth defeated -- The official bunglers blast everything they touch -- Great and holy day! McClellan gone overboard! -- The planters -- Burnside -- McClellan nominated for President -- Awful events approaching -- Dictatorship dawns on the horizon -- The catastrophe. DIARY. MARCH, 1861. Inauguration day -- The message -- Scott watching at the door of the Union -- The Cabinet born -- The Seward and Chase struggle -- The New York radicals triumph -- The treason spreads -- The Cabinet pays old party debts -- The diplomats confounded -- Poor Senators! -- Sumner is like a hare tracked by hounds -- Chase in favor of recognizing the revolted States -- Blunted axes -- Blair demands action, brave fellow! -- The slave-drivers -- The month of March closes -- No foresight! no foresight! For the first time in my life I assisted at the simplest and grandest spectacle--the inauguration of a President. Lincoln's message good, according to circumstances, but not conclusive; it is not positive; it discusses questions, but avoids to assert. May his mind not be altogether of the same kind. Events will want and demand more positiveness and action than the message contains assertions. The immense majority around me seems to be satisfied. Well, well; I wait, and prefer to judge and to admire when actions will speak. I am sure that a great drama will be played, equal to any one known in history, and that the insurrection of the slave-drivers will not end in smoke. So I now decide to keep a diary in my own way. I scarcely know any of those men who are considered as leaders; the more interesting to observe them, to analyze their mettle, their actions. This insurrection may turn very complicated; if so, it must generate more than one revolutionary manifestation. What will be its march--what stages? Curious; perhaps it may turn out more interesting than anything since that great renovation of humanity by the great French Revolution. The old, brave warrior, Scott, watched at the door of the Union; his shadow made the infamous rats tremble and crawl off, and so Scott transmitted to Lincoln what was and could be saved during the treachery of Buchanan. By the most propitious accident, I assisted at the throes among which Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet was born. They were very painful, but of the highest interest for me, and I suppose for others. I participated some little therein. A pledge bound Mr. Lincoln to make Mr. Seward his Secretary of State. The radical and the puritanic elements in the Republican party were terribly scared. His speeches, or rather demeanor and repeated utterances since the opening of the Congress, his influence on Mr. Adams, who, under Seward's inspiration, made his speech _de lana caprina_, and voted for compromises and concessions,--all this spread and fortified the general and firm belief that Mr. Seward was ready to give up many from among the cardinal articles of the Republican creed of which he was one of the most ardent apostles. They, the Republicans, speak of him in a way to remind me of the dictum, "_omnia serviliter pro dominatione_," as they accuse him now of subserviency to the slave power. The radical and puritan Republicans likewise dread him on account of his close intimacy with a Thurlow Weed, a Matteson, and with similar not over-cautious--as they call them--lobbyists. Some days previous to the inauguration, Mr. Seward brought Mr. Lincoln on the Senate floor, of course on the Republican side; but soon Mr. Seward was busily running among Democrats, begging them to be introduced to Lincoln. It was a saddening, humiliating, and revolting sight for the galleries, where I was. Criminal as is Mason, for a minute I got reconciled to him for the scowl of horror and contempt with which he shook his head at Seward. The whole humiliating proceeding foreshadowed the future policy. Only two or three Democratic Senators were moved by Seward's humble entreaties. The criminal Mason has shown true manhood. The first attempt of sincere Republicans was to persuade Lincoln to break his connection with Seward. This failed. To neutralize what was considered quickly to become a baneful influence in Mr. Lincoln's councils, the Republicans united on Gov. Chase. This Seward opposed with all his might. Mr. Lincoln wavered, hesitated, and was bending rather towards Mr. Seward. The struggle was terrific, lasted several days, when Chase was finally and triumphantly forced into the Cabinet. It was necessary not to leave him there alone against Seward, and perhaps Bates, the old cunning Whig. Again terrible opposition by Seward, but it was overcome by the radicals in the House, in the Senate, and outside of Congress by such men as Curtis, Noyes, J. S. Wadsworth, Opdyke, Barney, &c., &c., and Blair was brought in. Cameron was variously opposed, but wished to be in by Seward; Welles was from the start considered sound and safe in every respect; Smith was considered a Seward man. From what I witnessed of Cabinet-making in Europe, above all in France under Louis Philippe, I do not forebode anything good in the coming-on shocks and eruptions, and I am sure these must come. This Cabinet as it stands is not a fusion of various shadowings of a party, but it is a violent mixing or putting together of inimical and repulsive forces, which, if they do not devour, at the best will neutralize each other. Senator Wilson answered Douglass in the Senate, that "when the Republican party took the power, treason was in the army, in the navy, in the administration," etc. Dreadful, but true assertion. It is to be seen how the administration will act to counteract this ramified treason. What a run, a race for offices. This spectacle likewise new to me. The Cabinet Ministers, or, as they call them here, the Secretaries, have old party debts to pay, old sores to avenge or to heal, and all this by distributing offices, or by what they call it here--patronage. Through patronage and offices everybody is to serve his friends and his party, and to secure his political position. Some of the party leaders seem to me similar to children enjoying a long-expected and ardently wished-for toy. Some of the leaders are as generals who abandon the troops in a campaign, and take to travel in foreign parts. Most of them act as if they were sure that the battle is over. It begins only, but nobody, or at least very few of the interested, seem to admit that the country is on fire, that a terrible struggle begins. (Wrote in this sense an article for the National Intelligencer; insertion refused.) They, the leaders, look to create engines for their own political security, but no one seems to look over Mason and Dixon's line to the terrible and with lightning-like velocity spreading fire of hellish treason. The diplomats utterly upset, confused, and do not know what god to worship. All their associations were with Southerners, now traitors. In Southern talk, or in that of treacherous Northern Democrats, the diplomats learned what they know about this country. Not one of them is familiar, is acquainted with the genuine people of the North; with its true, noble, grand, and pure character. It is for them a terra incognita, as is the moon. The little they know of the North is the few money or cotton bags of New York, Boston, Philadelphia,--these would-be betters, these dinner-givers, and whist-players. The diplomats consider Seward as the essence of Northern feeling. How little the thus-called statesmen know Europe. Sumner, Seward, etc. already have under consideration if Europe will recognize the secesh. Europe recognizes _faits accomplis_, and a great deal of blood will run before secesh becomes _un fait accompli_. These Sewards, Sumners, etc. pay too much attention to the silly talk of the European diplomats in Washington; and by doing this these would-be statesmen prove how ignorant they are of history in general, and specially ignorant of the policy of European cabinets. Before a struggle decides a question a recognition is bosh, and I laugh at it. The race, the race increases with a fearful rapidity. No flood does it so quick. Poor Senators! Some of them must spend nights and days to decide on whom to bestow this or that office. Secretaries or Ministers wrangle, _fight_ (that is the word used), as if life and death depended upon it. Poor (Carlylian-meaning) good-natured Senator Sumner, in his earnest, honest wish to be just and of service to everybody, looks as a hare tracked by hounds; so are at him office-seekers from the whole country. This hunting degrades the hounds, and enervates the patrons. I am told that the President is wholly absorbed in adjusting, harmonizing the amount of various salaries bestowed on various States through its office-holders and office-seekers. It were better if the President would devote his time to calculate the forces and resources needed to quench the fire. Over in Montgomery the slave-drivers proceed with the terrible, unrelenting, fearless earnestness of the most unflinching criminals. After all, these crowds of office-hunters are far from representing the best element of the genuine, laborious, intelligent people,--of its true healthy stamina. This is consoling for me, who know the American people in the background of office-hunters. Of course an alleviating circumstance is, that the method, the system, the routine, oblige, nay force, everybody to ask, to hunt. As in the Scriptures, "Ask, and you will get; or knock, and it will be opened." Of course, many worthy, honorable, deserving men, who would be ornaments to the office, must run the gauntlet together with the hounds. It is reported, and I am sure of the truth of the report, that Governor Chase is for recognizing, or giving up the revolted Cotton States, so as to save by it the Border States, and eventually to fight for their remaining in the Union. What logic! If the treasonable revolt is conceded to the Cotton States, on what ground can it be denied to the thus called Border States? I am sorry that Chase has such notions. It is positively asserted by those who ought to know, that Seward, having secured to himself the Secretaryship of State, offered to the Southern leaders in Congress compromise and concessions, to assure, by such step, his confirmation by the Democratic vote. The chiefs refused the bargain, distrusting him. All this was going on for weeks, nay months, previous to the inauguration, so it is asserted. But Seward might have been anxious to preserve the Union at any price. His enemies assert that if Seward's plan had succeeded, virtually the Democrats would have had the power. Thus the meaning of Lincoln's election would have been destroyed, and Buchanan's administration would have been continued in its most dirty features, the name only being changed. Old Scott seems to be worried out by his laurels; he swallows incense, and I do not see that anything whatever is done to meet the military emergency. I see the cloud. Were it true that Seward and Scott go hand in hand, and that both, and even Chase, are blunted axes! I hear that Mr. Blair is the only one who swears, demands, asks for action, for getting at them without losing time. Brave fellow! I am glad to have at Willard's many times piloted deputations to the doors of Lincoln on behalf of Blair's admission into the Cabinet. I do not know him, but will try to become nearer acquainted. But for the New York radical Republicans, already named, neither Chase nor Blair would have entered the Cabinet. But for them Seward would have had it totally his own way. Members of Congress acted less than did the New Yorkers. The South, or the rebels, slave-drivers, slave-breeders, constitute the most corrosive social decompositions and impurities; what the human race throughout countless ages successively toiled to purify itself from and throw off. Europe continually makes terrible and painful efforts, which at times are marked by bloody destruction. This I asserted in my various writings. This social, putrefied evil, and the accumulated matter in the South, pestilentially and in various ways influenced the North, poisoning its normal healthy condition. This abscess, undermining the national life, has burst now. Somebody, something must die, but this apparent death will generate a fresh and better life. The month of March closes, but the administration seems to enjoy the most beatific security. I do not see one single sign of foresight,--this cardinal criterion of statesmanship. Chase measures the empty abyss of the treasury. Senator Wilson spoke of treason everywhere, but the administration seems not to go to work and to reconstruct, to fill up what treason has disorganized and emptied. Nothing about reorganizing the army, the navy, refitting the arsenals. No foresight, no foresight! either statesmanlike or administrative. Curious to see these men at work. The whole efforts visible to me and to others, and the only signs given by the administration in concert, are the paltry preparations to send provisions to Fort Sumpter. What is the matter? what are they about? APRIL, 1861. Seward parleying with the rebel commissioners -- Corcoran's dinner -- The crime in full blast! -- 75,000 men called for -- Massachusetts takes the lead -- Baltimore -- Defence of Washington -- Blockade discussed -- France our friend, not England -- Warning to the President -- Virginia secedes -- Lincoln warned again -- Seward says it will all blow over in sixty to ninety days -- Charles F. Adams -- The administration undecided; the people alone inspired -- Slavery must perish! -- The Fabian policy -- The Blairs -- Strange conduct of Scott -- Lord Lyons -- Secret agent to Canada. Commissioners from the rebels; Seward parleying with them through some Judge Campbell. Curious way of treating and dealing with rebellion, with rebels and traitors; why not arrest them? Corcoran, a rich partisan of secession, invited to a dinner the rebel commissioners and the foreign diplomats. If such a thing were done anywhere else, such a pimp would be arrested. The serious diplomats, Lord Lyons, Mercier, and Stoeckl refused the invitation; some smaller accepted, at least so I hear. The infamous traitors fire on the Union flag. They treat the garrison of Sumpter as enemies on sufferance, and here their commissioners go about free, and glory in treason. What is this administration about? Have they no blood; are they fishes? The crime in full blast; _consummatum est._ Sumpter bombarded; Virginia, under the nose of the administration, secedes, and the leaders did not see or foresee anything: flirted with Virginia. Now, they, the leaders or the administration, are terribly startled; so is the brave noble North; the people are taken unawares; but no wonder; the people saw the Cabinet, the President, and the military in complacent security. These watchmen did nothing to give an early sign of alarm, so the people, confiding in them, went about its daily occupation. But it will rise as one man and in terrible wrath. _Vous le verrez mess. les Diplomates._ The President calls on the country for 75,000 men; telegram has spoken, and they rise, they arm, they come. I am not deceived in my faith in the North; the excitement, the wrath, is terrible. Party lines burn, dissolved by the excitement. Now the people is in fusion as bronze; if Lincoln and the leaders have mettle in themselves, then they can cast such arms, moral, material, and legislative, as will destroy at once this rebellion. But will they have the energy? They do not look like Demiourgi. Massachusetts takes the lead; always so, this first people in the world; first for peace by its civilization and intellectual development, and first to run to the rescue. The most infamous treachery and murder, by Baltimoreans, of the Massachusetts men. Will the cowardly murderers be exemplarily punished? The President, under the advice of Scott, seems to take coolly the treasonable murders of Baltimore; instead of action, again parleying with these Baltimorean traitors. The rumor says that Seward is for leniency, and goes hand in hand with Scott. Now, if they will handle such murderers in silk gloves as they do, the fire must spread. The secessionists in Washington--and they are a legion, of all hues and positions--are defiant, arrogant, sure that Washington will be taken. One risks to be murdered here. I entered the thus called Cassius Clay Company, organized for the defence of Washington until troops came. For several days patrolled, drilled, and lay several nights on the hard floor. Had compensation, that the drill often reproduced that of Falstaff's heroes. But my campaigners would have fought well in case of emergency. Most of them office-seekers. When the alarm was over, the company dissolved, but each got a kind of certificate beautifully written and signed by Lincoln and Cameron. I refused to take such a certificate, we having had no occasion to fight. The President issued a proclamation for the blockade of the Southern revolted ports. Do they not know better? How can the Minister of Foreign Affairs advise the President to resort to such a measure? Is the Minister of Foreign Affairs so willing to call in foreign nations by this blockade, thus transforming a purely domestic and municipal question into an international, public one? The President is to quench the rebellion, a domestic fire, and to do it he takes a weapon, an engine the most difficult to handle, and in using of which he depends on foreign nations. Do they not know better here in the ministry and in the councils? Russia dealt differently with the revolted Circassians and with England in the so celebrated case of the Vixen. The administration ought to know its rights of sovereignty and to close the ports of entry. Then no chance would be left to England to meddle. Yesterday N---- dined with Lord Lyons, and during the dinner an anonymous note announced to the Lord that the proclamation of the blockade is to be issued on to-morrow. N----, who has a romantic turn, or rather who seeks for _midi à 14-3/4 heures_, speculated what lady would have thus violated a _secret d'État_. I rather think it comes from the Ministry, or, as they call it here, from the Department. About two years ago, when the Central Americans were so teased and maltreated by the filibusters and Democratic administration, a Minister of one of these Central American States told me in New York that in a Chief of the Departments, or something the like, the Central Americans have a valuable friend, who, every time that trouble is brewing against them in the Department, gives them a secret and anonymous notice of it. This friend may have transferred his kindness to England. How will foreign nations behave? I wish I may be misguided by my political anglophobia, but England, envious, rapacious, and the Palmerstons and others, filled with hatred towards the genuine democracy and the American people, will play some bad tricks. They will seize the occasion to avenge many humiliations. Charles Sumner, Howe, and a great many others, rely on England,--on her anti-slavery feeling. I do not. I know English policy. We shall see. France, Frenchmen, and Louis Napoleon are by far more reliable. The principles and the interest of France, broadly conceived, make the existence of a powerful Union a statesmanlike European and world necessity. The cold, taciturn Louis Napoleon is full of broad and clear conceptions. I am for relying, almost explicitly, on France and on him. The administration calls in all the men-of-war scattered in all waters. As the commercial interests of the Union will remain unprotected, the administration ought to put them under the protection of France. It is often done so between friendly powers. Louis Napoleon could not refuse; and accepting, would become pledged to our side. Germany, great and small, governments and people, will be for the Union. Germans are honest; they love the Union, hate slavery, and understand, to be sure, the question. Russia, safe, very safe, few blackguards excepted; so Italy. Spain may play double. I do not expect that the Spaniards, goaded to the quick by the former fillibustering administrations, will have judgment enough to find out that the Republicans have been and will be anti-fillibusters, and do not crave Cuba. Wrote a respectful warning to the President concerning the unavoidable results of his proclamation in regard to the blockade; explained to him that this, his international demonstration, will, and forcibly must evoke a counter proclamation from foreign powers in the interest of their own respective subjects and of their commercial relations. Warned, foretelling that the foreign powers will recognize the rebels as belligerents, he, the President, having done it already in some way, thus applying an international mode of coercion. Warned, that the condition of belligerents, once recognized, the rebel piratical crafts will be recognized as privateers by foreign powers, and as such will be admitted to all ports under the secesh flag, which will thus enjoy a partial recognition. Foreign powers may grumble, or oppose the closing of the ports of entry as a domestic, administrative decision, because they may not wish to commit themselves to submit to a paper blockade. But if the President will declare that he will enforce the closing of the ports with the whole navy, so as to strictly guard and close the maritime league, then the foreign powers will see that the administration does not intend to humbug them, but that he, the President, will only preserve intact the fullest exercise of sovereignty, and, as said the Roman legist, he, the President, "_nil sibi postulat quod non aliis tribuit_." And so he, the President, will only execute the laws of his country, and not any arbitrary measure, to say with the Roman Emperor, "_Leges etiam in ipsa arma imperium habere volumus._" Warned the President that in all matters relating to this country Louis Napoleon has abandoned the initiative to England; and to throw a small wedge in this alliance, I finally respectfully suggested to the President what is said above about putting the American interests in the Mediterranean under the protection of Louis Napoleon. Few days thereafter learned that Mr. Seward does not believe that France will follow England. Before long Seward will find it out. All the coquetting with Virginia, all the presumed influence of General Scott, ended in Virginia's secession, and in the seizure of Norfolk. Has ever any administration, cabinet, ministry--call it what name you will--given positive, indubitable signs of want and absence of foresight, as did ours in these Virginia, Norfolk, and Harper's Ferry affairs? Not this or that minister or secretary, but all of them ought to go to the constitutional guillotine. Blindness--no mere short-sightedness--permeates the whole administration, Blair excepted. And Scott, the politico-military adviser of the President! What is the matter with Scott, or were the halo and incense surrounding him based on bosh? Will it be one more illusion to be dispelled? The administration understood not how to save or defend Norfolk, nor how to destroy it. No name to be found for such concrete incapacity. The rebels are masters, taking our leaders by the nose. Norfolk gives to them thousands of guns, &c., and nobody cries for shame. They ought to go in sackcloth, those narrow-sighted, blind rulers. How will the people stand this masterly administrative demonstration? In England the people and the Parliament would impeach the whole Cabinet. Charles Sumner told me that the President and his Minister of Foreign Affairs are to propose to the foreign powers the accession of the Union to the celebrated convention of Paris of 1856. All three considered it a master stroke of policy. They will not catch a fly by it. Again wrote respectfully to Mr. Lincoln, warning him against a too hasty accession to the Paris convention. Based my warning,-- 1st. Not to give up the great principles contained in Marcy's amendment. 2d. Not to believe or suppose for a minute that the accession to the Paris convention at this time can act in a retroactive sense; explained that it will not and cannot prevent the rebel pirates from being recognized by foreign powers as legal privateers, or being treated as such. 3d. For all these reasons the Union will not win anything by such a step, but it will give up principles and chain its own hands in case of any war with England. Supplicated the President not to risk a step which logically must turn wrong. Baltimore still unpunished, and the President parleying with various deputations, all this under the guidance of Scott. I begin to be confused; cannot find out what is the character of Lincoln, and above all of Scott. Governors from whole or half-rebel States refuse the President's call for troops. The original call of 75,000, too small in itself, will be reduced by that refusal. Why does not the administration call for more on the North, and on the free States? In the temper of this noble people it will be as easy to have 250,000 as 75,000, and then rush on them; submerge Virginia, North Carolina, etc.; it can be now so easily done. The Virginians are neither armed nor organized. Courage and youth seemingly would do good in the councils. The free States undoubtedly will vindicate self-government. Whatever may be said by foreign and domestic croakers, I do not doubt it for a single minute. The free people will show to the world that the apparently loose governmental ribbons are the strongest when everybody carries them in him, and holds them. The people will show that the intellectual magnetism of convictions permeating the million is by far stronger than the commonly called governmental action from above, and it is at the same time elastic and expansive, even if the official leaders may turn out to be altogether mediocrities. The self-governing free North will show more vitality and activity than any among the governed European countries would be able to show in similar emergencies. This is my creed, and I have faith in the people. The infamous slavers of the South would even be honored if named Barbary States of North America. Before the inauguration, Seward was telling the diplomats that no disruption will take place; now he tells them that it will blow over in from sixty to ninety days. Does Seward believe it? Or does his imagination or his patriotism carry him away or astray? Or, perhaps, he prefers not to look the danger in the face, and tries to avert the bitter cup. At any rate, he is incomprehensible, and the more so when seen at a distance. Something, nay, even considerable efforts ought to be made to enlighten the public opinion in Europe, as on the outside, insurrections, nationalities, etc., are favored in Europe. How far the diplomats sent by the administration are prepared for this task? Adams has shown in the last Congress his scholarly, classical narrow-mindedness. Sanford cannot favorably impress anybody in Europe, neither in cabinets, nor in saloons, nor the public at large. He looks and acts as a _commis voyageur_, will be considered as such at first sight by everybody, and his features and manners may not impress others as being distinguished and high-toned. Every historical, that is, human event, has its moral and material character and sides. To ignore, and still worse to blot out, to reject the moral incentives and the moral verdict, is a crime to the public at large, is a crime towards human reason. Such action blunts sound feelings and comprehension, increases the arrogance of the evil-doers. The moral criterion is absolute and unconditional, and ought as such unconditionally to be applied to the events here. Things and actions must be called by their true names. What is true, noble, pure, and lofty, is on the side of the North, and permeates the unnamed millions of the free people; it ought to be separated from what is sham, egotism, lie or assumption. Truth must be told, never mind the outcry. History has not to produce pieces for the stage, or to amuse a tea-party. Regiments pour in; the Massachusetts men, of course, leading the van, as in the times of the tea-party. My admiration for the Yankees is justified on every step, as is my scorn, my contempt, etc., etc., of the Southern _chivalrous_ slaver. Wrote to Charles Sumner expressing my wonder at the undecided conduct of the administration; at its want of foresight; its eternal parleying with Baltimoreans, Virginians, Missourians, etc., and no step to tread down the head of the young snake. No one among them seems to have the seer's eye. The people alone, who arm, who pour in every day and in large numbers, who transform Washington into a camp, and who crave for fighting,--the people alone have the prophetic inspiration, and are the genuine statesmen for the emergency. How will the Congress act? The Congress will come here emerging from the innermost of the popular volcano; but the Congress will be manacled by formulas; it will move not in the spirit of the Constitution, but in the dry constitutionalism, and the Congress will move with difficulty. Still I have faith, although the Congress never will seize upon parliamentary omnipotence. Up to to-day, the administration, instead of boldly crushing, or, at least, attempting to do it; instead of striking at the traitors, the administration is continually on the lookout where the blows come from, scarcely having courage to ward them off. The deputations pouring from the North urge prompt, decided, crushing action. This thunder-voice of the twenty millions of freemen ought to nerve this senile administration. The Southern leaders do not lose one minute's time; they spread the fire, arm, and attack with all the fury of traitors and criminals. The Northern merchants roar for the offensive; the administration is undecided. Some individuals, politicians, already speak out that the slaveocratic privileges are only to be curtailed, and slavery preserved as a domestic institution. Not a bit of it. The current and the development of events will run over the heads of the pusillanimous and contemptible conservatives. Slavery must perish, even if the whole North, Lincoln and Seward at its head, should attempt to save it. Already they speak of the great results of Fabian policy; Seward, I am told, prides in it. Do those Fabiuses know what they talk about? Fabius's tactics--not policy--had in view not to expose young, disheartened levies against Hannibal's unconquered veterans, but further to give time to Rome to restore her exhausted means, to recover political influences with other Italian independent communities, to re-conclude broken alliances with the cities, etc. But is this the condition of the Union? Your Fabian policy will cost lives, time, and money; the people feels it, and roars for action. Events are great, the people is great, but the official leaders may turn out inadequate to both. What a magnificent chance--scarcely equal in history--to become a great historical personality, to tower over future generations. But I do not see any one pointing out the way. Better so; the principle of self-government as the self-acting, self-preserving force will be asserted by the total eclipse of great or even eminent men. The administration, under the influence of drill men, tries to form twenty regiments of regulars, and calls for 45,000 three years' volunteers. What a curious appreciation of necessity and of numbers must prevail in the brains of the administration. Twenty regiments of regulars will be a drop in water; will not help anything, but will be sufficient to poison the public spirit. Citizens and people, but not regulars, not hirelings, are to fight the battle of principle. Regulars and their spirit, with few exceptions, is worse here than were the Yanitschars. When the principle will be saved and victorious, it will be by the devotion, the spontaneity of the people, and not by Lincoln, Scott, Seward, or any of the like. It is said that Seward rules both Lincoln and Scott. The people, the masses, do not doubt their ability to crush by one blow the traitors, but the administration does. What I hear concerning the Blairs confirms my high opinion of both. Blair alone in the Cabinet represents the spirit of the people. Something seems not right with Scott. Is he too old, or too much of a Virginian, or a hero on a small scale? If, as they say, the President is guided by Scott's advice, such advice, to judge from facts, is not politic, not heroic, not thorough, not comprehensive, and not at all military, that is, not broad and deep, in the military sense. It will be a pity to be disappointed in this national idol. Scott is against entering Virginia, against taking Baltimore, against punishing traitors. Strange, strange! Diplomats altogether out of their senses; they are bewildered by the uprising, by the unanimity, by the warlike, earnest, unflinching attitude of the masses of the freemen, of my dear Yankees. The diplomats have lost the compass. They, duty bound, were diplomatically obsequious to the power held so long by the pro-slavery party. They got accustomed to the arrogant assumption and impertinence of the slavers, and, forgetting their European origin, the diplomats tacitly--but for their common sense and honor I hope reluctantly--admitted the assumptions of the Southern banditti to be in America the nearest assimilation to the chivalry and nobility of old Europe. Without taking the cudgel in defence of European nobility, chivalry, and aristocracy, it is sacrilegious to compare those infamous slavers with the old or even with the modern European higher classes. In the midst of this slave-driving, slave-worshipping, and slave-breeding society of Washington, the diplomats swallowed, gulped all the Southern lies about the Constitution, state-rights, the necessity of slavery, and other like infamies. The question is, how far the diplomats in their respective official reports transferred these pro-slavery common-places to their governments. But, after all, the governments of Europe will not be thoroughly influenced by the chat of their diplomats. Among all diplomats the English (Lord Lyons) is the most sphinx; he is taciturn, reserved, listens more than he speaks; the others are more communicative. What an idea have those Americans of sending a secret agent to Canada, and what for? England will find it out, and must be offended. I would not have committed such an absurdity, even in my palmy days, when I conspired with Louis Napoleon, sat in the councils with Godefroi Cavaignac, or wrote instructions for Mazzini, then only a beginner with his _Giovina Italia_, and his miscarried Romarino attempt in Savoy. Of what earthly use can be such _politique provocatrice_ towards England? Or is it only to give some money to a hungry, noisy, and not over-principled office-seeker? MAY, 1861. The administration tossed by expedients -- Seward to Dayton -- Spread-eagleism -- One phasis of the American Union finished -- The fuss about Russell -- Pressure on the administration increases -- Seward, Wickoff, and the Herald -- Lord Lyons menaced with passports -- The splendid Northern army -- The administration not up to the occasion -- The new men -- Andrew, Wadsworth, Boutwell, Noyes, Wade, Trumbull, Walcott, King, Chandler, Wilson -- Lyon jumps over formulas -- Governor Banks needed -- Butler takes Baltimore with two regiments -- News from England -- The "belligerent" question -- Butler and Scott -- Seward and the diplomats -- "What a Merlin!" -- "France not bigger than New York!" -- Virginia invaded -- Murder of Ellsworth -- Harpies at the White House. Rumors that the President, the administration, or whoever has it in his hands, is to take the offensive, make a demonstration on Virginia and on Baltimore. But these ups and downs, these vacillations, are daily occurrences, and nothing points to a firm purpose, to a decided policy, or any policy whatever of the administration. A great principle and a great cause cannot be served and cannot be saved by half measures, and still less by tricks and by paltry expedients. But the administration is tossed by expedients. Nothing is hitherto done, and this denotes a want of any firm decision. Mr. Seward's letter to Dayton, a first manifesto to foreign nations, and the first document of the new Minister of Foreign Affairs. It is bold, high-toned, and American, but it has dark shadows; shows an inexperienced hand in diplomacy and in dealing with events. The passages about the frequent changes in Europe are unnecessary, and unprovoked by anything whatever. It is especially offensive to France, to the French people, and to Louis Napoleon. It is bosh, but in Europe they will consider it as _une politique provocatrice_. For the present complications, diplomatic relations ought to be conducted with firmness, with dignity, but not with an arrogant, offensive assumption, not in the spirit of spread-eagleism; no brass, but reason and decision. Americans will find out how absolute are the laws of history, as stern and as positive as all the other laws of nature. To me it is clear that one phasis of American political growth, development, &c., is gone, is finished. It is the phasis of the Union as created by the Constitution. This war--war it will be, and a terrible one, notwithstanding all the prophecies of Mr. Seward to the contrary--this war will generate new social and constitutional necessities and new formulas. New conceptions and new passions will spring up; in one word, it will bring forth new social, physical, and moral creations: so we are in the period of gestation. Democracy, the true, the noble, that which constitutes the signification of America in the progress of our race--democracy will not be destroyed. All the inveterate enemies here and in Europe, all who already joyously sing the funeral songs of democracy, all of them will become disgraced. Democracy will emerge more pure, more powerful, more rational; destroyed will be the most infamous oligarchy ever known in history; oligarchy issued neither from the sword, nor the gown, nor the shop, but wombed, generated, cemented, and sustained by traffic in man. The famous Russell, of the London Times, is what I always thought him to be--a graphic, imaginative writer, with power of description of all he sees, but not the slightest insight in events, in men, in institutions. Russell is not able to find out the epidermis under a shirt. And they make so much fuss about him; Seward brings him to the first cabinet dinner given by the President; Mrs. Lincoln sends him bouquets; and this man, Russell, will heap blunders upon blunders. The pressure on the administration for decided, energetic action increases from all sides. Seldom, anywhere, an administration receives so many moral kicks as does this one; but it seems to stand them with serenity. Oh, for a clear, firm, well-defined purpose! The country, the people demands an attack on Virginia, on Richmond, and Baltimore; the country, better than the military authorities, understands the political and military necessities; the people has the consciousness that if fighting is done instantly, it will be done cheaply and thoroughly by a move of its finger. The administration can double the number of men under arms, but hesitates. What slow coaches, and what ignorance of human nature and of human events. The knowing ones, the wiseacres, will be the ruin of this country. They poison the sound reason of the people. What the d---- is Seward with his politicians' policy? What can signify his close alliance with such outlaws as Wikoff and the Herald, and pushing that sheet to abuse England and Lord Lyons? Wikoff is, so to speak, an inmate of Seward's house and office, and Wikoff declared publicly that the telegram contained in the Herald, and so violent against England and Lord Lyons, was written under Seward's dictation. Wikoff, I am told, showed the MS. corrected in Seward's handwriting. Lord Lyons is menaced with passports. Is this man mad? Can Seward for a moment believe that Wikoff knows Europe, or has any influence? He may know the low resorts there. Can Seward be fool enough to irritate England, and entangle this country? Even my anglophobia cannot stand it. Wrote about it warning letters to New York, to Barney, to Opdyke, to Wadsworth, &c. The whole District a great camp; the best population from the North in rank and file. More intelligence, industry, and all good national and intellectual qualities represented in those militia and volunteer regiments, than in any--not only army, but society--in Europe. Artisans, mechanics of all industries, of trade, merchants, bankers, lawyers; all pursuits and professions. Glorious, heart-elevating sight! These regiments want only a small touch of military organization. Weeks run, troops increase, and not the first step made to organize them into an army, to form brigades, not to say divisions; not yet two regiments manoeuvring together. What a strange idea the military chief or chiefs, or department, or somebody, must have of what it is to organize an army. Not the first letter made. Can it be ignorance of this elementary knowledge with which is familiar every corporal in Europe? When will they start, when begin to mould an army? The administration was not composed for this emergency, and is not up to it. The government hesitates, is inexperienced, and will unavoidably make heaps of mistakes, which may endanger the cause, and for which, at any rate, the people is terribly to pay. The loss in men and material will be very considerable before the administration will get on the right track. It is painful to think, nay, to be sure of it. Then the European anti-Union politicians and diplomats will credit the disasters to the inefficiency of self-government. The diplomats, accustomed to the rapid, energetic action of a supreme or of a centralized power, laugh at the trepidation of ours. But the fault is not in the principle of self-government, but in the accident which brought to the helm such an amount of inexperience. Monarchy with a feeble head is even in a worse predicament. Louis XV., the Spanish and Neapolitan Bourbons, Gustavus IV., &c., are thereof the historical evidences. May the shock of events bring out new lights from the people! One day the administration is to take the initiative, that is, the offensive, then it recedes from it. No one understands the organization and handling of such large bodies. They are to make their apprenticeship, if only it may not to be too dearly paid. But they cannot escape the action of that so positive law in nature, in history, and, above all, absolute in war. Wrote to Charles Sumner, suggesting that the ice magnates send here from Boston ice for hospitals. The war now waged against the free States is one made by the most hideous _sauvagerie_ against a most perfectioned and progressive civilization. History records not a similar event. It is a hideous phenomenon, disgracing our race, and it is so, look on it from whatever side you will. A new man from the people, like Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, acts promptly, decisively; feels and speaks ardently, and not as the rhetors. Andrew is the incarnation of the Massachusetts, nay, of the genuine American people. I must become acquainted with Andrew. Thousands of others like Andrew exist in all the States. Can anybody be a more noble incarnation of the American people than J. S. Wadsworth? I become acquainted with numerous men whom I honor as the true American men. So Boutwell, of Massachusetts, Curtis Noyes, Senator Wade, Trumbull, Walcott, from Ohio, Senator King, Chandler, and many, many true patriots. Senator Wilson, my old friend, is up to the mark; a man of the people, but too mercurial. Captain or Major Lyon in St. Louis, the first initiator or revelator of what is the absolute law of necessity in questions of national death or life. Lyon jumped over formulas, over routine, over clumsy discipline and martinetism, and saved St. Louis and Missouri. It is positively asserted that General Scott's first impression was to court-martial Lyon for this breach of discipline, for having acted on his own patriotic responsibility. Can Scott be such a dried-up, narrow-minded disciplinarian, and he the Egeria of Lincoln! Oh! oh! Diplomats tell me that Seward uses the dictatorial I, speaking of the government. Three cheers for the new Louis XIV.! Governor Banks would be excellent for the _Intendant Général de l'Armée_: they call it here _General Quartermaster_. Awful disorder and slowness prevail in this cardinal branch of the army. Wrote to Sumner concerning Banks. Gen. Butler took Baltimore; did what ought to have been done a long time ago. Butler did it on his own responsibility, without orders. Butler acted upon the same principle as Lyon, and, _horrabile dictu_, astonished, terrified the parleying administration. Scott wishes to put Butler under arrest; happily Lincoln resisted his boss (so Mr. Lincoln called Scott before a deputation from Baltimore). Scott, Patterson, and Mansfield made a beautiful _strategical_ horror! They began to speak of strategy; plan to approach Baltimore on three different roads, and with about 35,000 men. Butler did it one morning with two regiments, and kicked over the senile strategians in council. The administration speaks with pride of its forbearing, that is, parleying, policy. The people, the country, requires action. _Congressus impar Achilli_: Achilles, the people, and _Congressus_ the forbearing administration. Music, parades, serenades, receptions, &c., &c., only no genuine military organization. They do it differently on the other side of the Potomac. There the leaders are in earnest. Met Gov. Sprague and asked him when he would have a brigade; his answer was, soon; but this soon comes very slow. News from England. Lord John Russell declared in Parliament that the Queen, or the English government, will recognize the rebels in the condition of "belligerents." O England, England! The declaration is too hasty. Lord John cannot have had news of the proclamation of the blockade when he made that declaration. The blockade could have served him as an excuse for the haste. English aristocracy and government show thus their enmity to the North, and their partiality to slavers. What will the anglophiles of Boston say to this? Neither England or France, or anybody in Europe, recognized the condition of "belligerents" to Poles, when we fought in Russia in 1831. Were the Magyars recognized as such in 1848-'49? Lord Palmerston called the German flag hard names in the war with Denmark for Schleswig-Holstein; and now he bows to the flag of slavers and pirates. If the English statesmen have not some very particular reason for this hasty, uncalled-for condescension to the enemies of humanity, then curse upon the English government. I recollect that European powers recognized the Greeks "belligerents" (Austria opposed) in their glorious struggle against the slavers, the Turks. But then this stretching of positive, international comity,--this stretching was done in the interest of freedom, of right, and of humanity, against savages and slaughterers. On the present occasion England did the reverse. O England, England, thou Judas Iscariot of nations! Seward said to John Jacob Astor, and to a New York deputation, that this English declaration concerning "belligerents" is a mere formality, having no bearing at all. I told the contrary to Astor and to others, assuring them that Mr. Seward will soon find, to the cost of the people and to his own, how much complication and trouble this _mere formality_ will occasion, and occasion it before long. Is Seward so ignorant of international laws, of general or special history, or was it only said to throw dust? Wrote about the "belligerents" a warning letter to the President. Butler, in command of Fortress Monroe, proposes to land in Virginia and to take Norfolk; Scott, the highest military authority in the land, opposes. Has Scott used up his energy, his sense, and even his military judgment in defending Washington before the inauguration? He is too old; his brains, _cerebellum_, must be dried up. Imbecility in a leader is often, nay always, more dangerous than treason; the people can find out--easily, too--treason, but is disarmed against imbecility. What a thoughtlessness to press on Russia the convention of Paris? Russia has already a treaty with America, but in case of a war with England, the Russian ports on the Pacific, and the only one accessible to Americans, will be closed to them by the convention of Paris. The governors of the States of Ohio, Illinois, Pennsylvania assure the protection of their respective States to the Union men of the Border States. What a bitter criticism on the slow, forbearing policy of the administration. Mr. Lincoln seems to be a rather slow intellect, with slow powers of perception. However, patience; perhaps the shock of events will arouse and bring in action now latent, but good and energetic qualities. As it stands now, the administration, being the focus of activity, is tepid, if not cold and slow; the circumference, that is, the people, the States, are full of fire and of activity. This condition is altogether the reverse of the physiological and all other natural laws, and this may turn out badly, as nature's laws never can be with impunity reversed or violated. The diplomats complain that Seward treats them with a certain rudeness; that he never gives them time to explain and speak, but interrupts by saying, "I know it all," etc. If he had knowledge of things, and of the diplomatic world, he would be aware that the more firmness he has to use, the more politeness, even fastidiousness, he is to display. Scott does not wish for any bold demonstration, for any offensive movement. The reason may be, that he is too old, too crippled, to be able to take the field in person, and too inflated by conceit to give the glory of the active command to any other man. Wrote to Charles Sumner in Boston to stir up some inventive Yankee to construct a wheelbarrow in which Scott could take the field in person. In a conversation with Seward, I called his attention to the fact that the government is surrounded by the finest, most complicated, intense, and well-spread web of treason that ever was spun; that almost all that constitutes society and is in a daily, nay hourly, contact with the various branches of the Executive, all this, with soul, mind, and heart is devoted to the rebels. I observed to him that _si licet exemplis in parvo grandibus uti_. Napoleon suffered more from the bitter hostility of the _faubourg St. Germain_, than from the armies of the enemy; and here it is still worse, as this hostility runs out into actual, unrelenting treason. To this Mr. Seward answered with the utmost serenity, "that before long all this will change; that when he became governor of New York, a similar hostility prevailed between the two sections of that State, but soon he pacified everything." What a Merlin! what a sorcerer! Some simple-minded persons from the interior of the State of New York questioned Mr. Seward, in my presence, about Europe, and "what they will do there?" To this, with a voice of the Delphic oracle, he responded, "that after all France is not bigger than the State of New York." Is it possible to say such trash even as a joke? Finally, the hesitations of General Scott are overcome. "Virginia's sacred soil is invaded;" Potomac crossed; looks like a beginning of activity; Scott consented to move on Arlington Heights, but during two or three days opposed the seizure of Alexandria. Is that all that he knows of that hateful watchword--strategy--nausea repeated by every ignoramus and imbecile? Alexandria being a port of entry, and having a railroad, is more a strategic point for the invasion of Virginia than are Arlington Heights. The brave Ellsworth murdered in Alexandria, and Scott insisted that Alexandria be invaded and occupied by night. In all probability, Ellsworth would not have been murdered if this villanous nest had been entered by broad daylight. As if the troops were committing a crime, or a shameful act! O General Scott! but for you Ellsworth would not have been murdered. General McDowell made a plan to seize upon Manassas as the centre of railroads, the true defence of Washington, and the firm foothold in Virginia. Nobody, or only few enemies, were in Manassas. McDowell shows his genuine military insight. Scott, and, as I am told, the whole senile military council, opposed McDowell's plan as being too bold. Do these mummies intend to conduct a war without boldness? Thick clouds of patriotic, well-intentioned harpies surround all the issues of the executive doors, windows, crevasses, all of them ready to turn an honest, or rather dishonest, penny out of the fatherland. Behind the harpies advance the busy-bodies, the would-be well-informed, and a promiscuous crowd of well-intentioned do-nothings. JUNE, 1861. Butler emancipates slaves -- The army not organized -- Promenades -- The blockade -- Louis Napoleon -- Scott all in all -- Strategy! -- Gun contracts -- The diplomats -- Masked batteries -- Seward writes for "bunkum" -- Big Bethel -- The Dayton letter -- Instructions to Mr. Adams. The emancipation of slaves is virtually inaugurated. Gen. Butler, once a hard pro-slavery Democrat, takes the lead. _Tempora mutantur et nos_, &c. Butler originated the name of _contrabands of war_ for slaves faithful to the Union, who abandon their rebel masters. A logical Yankee mind operates as an _accoucheur_ to bring that to daylight with which the events are pregnant. The enemies of self-government at home and abroad are untiring in vaticinations that a dictatorship now, and after the war a strong centralized government, will be inaugurated. I do not believe it. Perhaps the riddle to be solved will be, to make a strong administration without modifying the principle of self-government. The most glorious difference between Americans and Europeans is, that in cases of national emergencies, every European nation, the Swiss excepted, is called, stimulated to action, to sacrifices, either by a chief, or by certain families, or by some high-standing individual, or by the government; here the people forces upon the administration more of all kinds of sacrifices than the thus called rulers can grasp, and the people is in every way ahead of the administration. Notwithstanding that a part of the army crossed the Potomac, very little genuine organization is done. They begin only to organize brigades, but slowly, very slowly. Gen. Scott unyielding in his opposition to organizing any artillery, of which the army has very, very little. This man is incomprehensible. He cannot be a clear-headed general or organizer, or he cannot be a patriot. As for the past, single regiments are parading in honor of the President, of members of the Cabinet, of married and unmarried _ladies_, but no military preparatory exercise of men, regiments, or brigades. It sickens to witness such _incurie_. Mr. Seward promenading the President from regiment to regiment, from camp to camp, or rather showing up the President and himself. Do they believe they can awake enthusiasm for their persons? The troops could be better occupied than to serve for the aim of a promenade for these two distinguished personalities. Gen. Scott refuses the formation of volunteer artillery and of new cavalry regiments, and the active army, more than 20,000 men, has a very insufficient number of batteries, and between 600 and 800 cavalry. Lincoln blindly follows his boss. Seward, of course, sustains Scott, and confuses Lincoln. Lincoln, Scott, Seward and Cameron oppose offers pouring from the country. To a Mr. M----, from the State of New York, who demanded permission to form a regiment of cavalry, Mr. Lincoln angrily answered, that (patriotic) offers give more "trouble to him and the administration than do the rebels." The debates of the English Parliament raise the ire of the people, nay, exasperate even old fogyish Anglo-manes. Persons very familiar with the domestic relations of Gen. Scott assure me that the vacillations of the old man, and his dread of a serious warfare, result from the all-powerful influence on him of one of his daughters, a rabid secessionist. The old man ought to be among relics in the Patent office, or sent into a nursery. The published correspondence between Lord Lyons and Lord Russell concerning the blockade furnishes curious revelations. When the blockade was to be declared, Mr. Seward seems to have been a thorough novice in the whole matter, and in an official interview with Lord Lyons, Mr. Seward was assisted by his chief clerk, who was therefore the quintessence of the wisdom of the foreign affairs, a man not even mastering the red-tape traditions of the department, without any genuine instruction, without ideas. For this chief clerk, all that he knew of a blockade was that it was in use during the Mexican war, that it almost yearly occurred in South American waters, and every tyro knows there exists such a thing as a blockade. But that was all that this chief clerk knew. Lord Lyons asked for some special precedents or former acts of the American government. The chief, and his support, the chief clerk, ignored the existence of any. Lord Lyons went home and sent to the department American precedents and authorities. No Minister of Foreign Affairs in Europe, together with his chief clerk, could ever be caught in such a _flagrante delicto_ of ignorance. This chief clerk made Mr. Seward make _un pas de clerc_, and this at the start. As Lord Lyons took a great interest in the solution of the question of blockade, and as the chief clerk was the _oraculum_ in this question, these combined facts may give some clue to the anonymous advice sent to Lord Lyons, and mentioned in the month of April. Suggested to Mr. Seward to at once elevate the American question to a higher region, to represent it to Europe in its true, holy character, as a question of right, freedom, and humanity. Then it will be impossible for England to quibble about technicalities of the international laws; then we can beat England with her own arms and words, as England in 1824, &c., recognized the Greeks as belligerents, on the plea of aiding freedom and humanity. The Southern insurrection is a movement similar to that of the Neapolitan brigands, similar to what partisans of the Grand Dukes of Tuscany or Modena may attempt, similar to any--for argument's sake--supposed insurrection of any Russian bojàrs against the emancipating Czar. Not in one from among the above enumerated cases would England concede to the insurgents the condition of belligerents. If the Deys of Tunis and Tripoli should attempt to throw off their allegiance to the Sultan on the plea that the Porte prohibits the slave traffic, would England hurry to recognize the Deys as belligerents? Suggested to Mr. Seward, what two months ago I suggested to the President, to put the commercial interests in the Mediterranean, for a time, under the protection of Louis Napoleon. I maintain the right of closing the ports, against the partisans of blockade. _Qui jure suo utitur neminem lædit_, says the Roman jurisconsult. The condition of Lincoln has some similarity with that of Pio IX. in 1847-48. Plenty of good-will, but the eagle is not yet breaking out of the egg. And as Pio IX. was surrounded by this or that cardinal, so is Mr. Lincoln by Seward and Scott. Perhaps it may turn out that Lincoln is honest, but of not transcendent powers. The war may last long, and the military spirit generated by the war may in its turn generate despotic aspirations. Under Lincoln in the White House, the final victory will be due to the people alone, and he, Lincoln, will preserve intact the principle which lifted him to such a height. The people is in a state of the healthiest and most generous fermentation, but it may become soured and musty by the admixture of Scott-Seward vacillatory powders. Scott is all in all--Minister or Secretary of War and Commander-in-chief. How absurd to unite those functions, as they are virtually united here, Scott deciding all the various military questions; he the incarnation of the dusty, obsolete, everywhere thrown overboard and rotten routine. They ought to have for Secretary of War, if not a Carnot, at least a man of great energy, honesty, of strong will, and of a thorough devotion to the cause. Senator Wade would be suitable for this duty. Cameron is devoted, but I doubt his other capacities for the emergency, and he has on his shoulders General Scott as a dead weight. Charles Sumner, Mr. Motley, Dr. Howe, and many others, consider it as a triumph that the English Cabinet asked Mr. Gregory to postpone his motion for the recognition of the Southern Confederacy. Those gentlemen here are not deep, and are satisfied with a few small crumbs thrown them by the English aristocracy. Generally, the thus-called better Americans eagerly snap at such crumbs. It is clear that the English Cabinet wished this postponement for its own sake. A postponement spares the necessity to Russells, Palmerstons, Gladstones, and _hoc genus omne_, to show their hands. Mr. Adams likewise is taken in. _Military organization_ and _strategic points_ are the watchwords. _Strategic points_, strategy, are natural excrescences of brains which thus shamefully conceive and carry out what the abused people believe to be _the_ military organization. Strategy--strategy repeats now every imbecile, and military fuss covers its ignorance by that sacramental word. Scott cannot have in view the destruction of the rebels. Not even the Austrian Aulic Council imagined a strategy combined and stretching through several thousands of miles. The people's strategy is best: to rush in masses on Richmond; to take it now, when the enemy is there in comparatively small numbers. Richmond taken, Norfolk and the lost guns at once will be recovered. So speaks the people, and they are right; here among the wiseacres not one understands the superiority of the people over his own little brains. Warned Mr. Seward against making contracts for arms with all kinds of German agents from New York and from abroad. They will furnish and bring, at the best, what the German governments throw out as being of no use at the present moment. All the German governments are at work to renovate their fire-arms. The diplomats more and more confused,--some of them ludicrously so. Here, as always and everywhere, diplomacy, by its essence, is virtually _statu quo_; if not altogether retrograde, is conservative, and often ultra conservative. It is rare to witness diplomacy _in toto_, or even single diplomats, side with progressive efforts and ideas. English diplomacy and diplomats do it at times; but then mostly for the sake of political intrigue. Even the great events of Italy are not the child of diplomacy. It went to work _clopin, clopan_, after Solferino. Not one of the diplomats here is intrinsically hostile to the Union. Not one really wishes its disruption. Some brag so, but that is for small effect. All of them are for peace, for _statu quo_, for the grandeur of the country (as the greatest consumer of European imports); but most of them would wish slavery to be preserved, and for this reason they would have been glad to greet Breckinridge or Jeff. Davis in the White House. Some among the diplomats are not virtually enemies of freedom and of the North; but they know the North from the lies spread by the Southerners, and by this putrescent heap of refuse, the Washington society. I am the only Northerner on a footing of intimacy with the diplomats. They consider me an _exalté_. It must be likewise taken into account,--and they say so themselves,--that Mr. Seward's oracular vaticinations about the end of the rebellion from sixty to ninety days confuse the judgment of diplomats. Mr. Seward's conversation and words have an official meaning for the diplomats, are the subject of their dispatches, and they continually find that when Mr. Seward says yes the events say no. Some of the diplomats are Union men out of obedience to a lawful government, whatever it be; others by principle. The few from Central and South American republics are thoroughly sound. The diplomats of the great powers, representing various complicated interests, are the more confused, they have so many things to consider. The diplomatic tail, the smallest, insignificant, fawn to all, and turn as whirlwinds around the great ones. Scott continually refused the formation of new batteries, and now he roars for them, and hurries the governors to send them. Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, weeks ago offered one or two rifled batteries, was refused, and now Scott in all hurry asks for them. The unhappy affair of Big Bethel gave a shock to the nation, and stirred up old Scott, or rather the President. Aside of strategy, there is a new bugbear to frighten the soldiers; this bugbear is the masked batteries. The inexperience of commanders at Big Bethel makes already _masked batteries_ a terror of the country. The stupid press resounds the absurdity. Now everybody begins to believe that the whole of Virginia is covered with masked batteries, constituting, so to speak, a subterranean artillery, which is to explode on every step, under the feet of our army. It seems that this error and humbug is rather welcome to Scott, otherwise he would explain to the nation and to the army that the existence of numerous masked batteries is an absolute material and military impossibility. The terror prevailing now may do great mischief. Mr. Seward was obliged to explain, exonerate, expostulate, and neutralize before the French Cabinet his famous Dayton letter. I was sure it was to come to this; Mr. Thouvenel politely protested, and Mr. Seward confessed that it was written for the American market (alias, for _bunkum_). All this will make a very unfavorable impression upon European diplomats concerning Mr. Seward's diplomacy and statesmanship, as undoubtedly Mr. Thouvenel will semi-officially confidentially communicate Mr. Seward's _faux pas_ to his colleagues. Mr. Seward emphatically instructs Mr. Adams to exclude the question of slavery from all his sayings and doings as Minister to England. Just to England! That Mr. Adams, once the leader of the constitutional anti-slavery party, submits to this obeisance of a corporal, I am not astonished, as everything can be expected from the man who, in support of the compromise, made a speech _de lana caprina_; but Senator Sumner, Chairman of the Committee of Foreign Affairs, meekly swallowed it. JULY, 1861. The Evening Post -- The message -- The administration caught napping -- McDowell -- Congress slowly feels its way -- Seward's great facility of labor -- Not a Know-Nothing -- Prophesies a speedy end -- Carried away by his imagination -- Says "secession is over" -- Hopeful views -- Politeness of the State department -- Scott carries on the campaign from his sleeping room -- Bull Run -- Rout -- Panic -- "Malediction! Malediction!" -- Not a manly word in Congress! -- Abuse of the soldiers -- McClellan sent for -- Young blood -- Gen. Wadsworth -- Poor McDowell! -- Scott responsible -- Plan of reorganization -- Let McClellan beware of routine. It seems to me that the destinies of this admirable people are in strange hands. Mr. Lincoln, honest man of nature, perhaps an empiric, doctoring with innocent juices from herbs; but some others around him seem to be quacks of the first order. I wish I may be mistaken. The press, the thus called good one, is vacillating. Best of all, and almost not vacillating, is the New York Evening Post. I do not speak of principles; but the papers vacillate, speaking of the measures and the slowness of the administration. The President's message; plenty of good, honest intentions; simple, unaffected wording, but a confession that by the attack on Sumpter, and the uprising of Virginia, the administration was, so to speak, caught napping. Further, up to that day the administration did not take any, the slightest, measure of any kind for any emergency; in a word, that it expected no attacks, no war, saw no fire, and did not prepare to meet and quench one. It were, perhaps, better for Lincoln if he could muster courage and act by himself according to his nature, rather than follow so many, or even any single adviser. Less and less I understand Mr. Lincoln, but as his private secretary assures me that Lincoln has great judgment and great energy, I suggested to the secretary to say to Lincoln he should be more himself. Being _tête-à-tête_ with McDowell, I saw him do things of details which in any, even half-way organized army, belong to the speciality of a chief of the staff. I, of course, wondered at it. McDowell, who commands what in Europe would be called a large corps, told me that General Scott allowed him not to form a complete staff, such a one as he, McDowell, wished. And all this, so to speak, on the eve of a battle, when the army faces the enemy. It seems that genuine staff duties are something altogether unknown to the military senility of the army. McDowell received this corps in the most chaotic state. Almost with his own hands he organized, or rather put together, the artillery. Brigades are scarcely formed; the commanders of brigades do not know their commands, and the soldiers do not know their generals--and still they consider Scott to be a great general! The Congress, well-intentioned, but entangled in formulas, slowly feels its way. The Congress is composed of better elements than is the administration, and it is ludicrous to see how the administration takes airs of hauteur with the Congress. This Congress is in an abnormal condition _for the task of directing a revolution_; _a formula can be thrown in its face_ almost at every bold step. The administration is virtually irresponsible, more so than the government of any constitutional nation whatever. What great things this administration could carry out! Congress will consecrate, legalize, sanction everything. Perhaps no harm would have resulted if the Senate and the House had contained some new, fresher elements directly from the boiling, popular cauldron. Such men would take a _position_ at once. Many of the leaders in both Houses were accustomed for many years to make only opposition. But a long opposition influences and disorganizes the judgment, forms not those genuine statesmen able to grasp great events. For such emergencies as are now here, terrible energy is needed, and only a very perfect mind resists the enervating influence of a protracted opposition. Suggested to Mr. Seward that the best diplomacy was to take possession of Virginia. Doing this, we will find all the cabinets smooth and friendly. I seldom saw a man with greater facility of labor than Seward. When once he is at work, it runs torrent-like from his pen. His mind is elastic. His principal forte is argument on _any_ given case. But the question is how far he masters the variegated information so necessary in a statesman, and the more now, when the country earnestly has such dangerous questions with European cabinets. He is still cheerful, hopeful, and prophesies a speedy end. Seward has no Know-Nothingism about him. He is easy, and may have many genuine generous traits in his character, were they not compressed by the habits of the, not lofty, politician. At present, Seward is a moral dictator; he has Lincoln in his hand, and is all in all. Very likely he flatters him and imposes upon his simple mind by his over-bold, dogmatic, but not over-correct and logical, generalizations. Seward's finger is in all the other departments, but above all in the army. The opposition made to Seward is not courageous, not open, not dignified. Such an opposition betrays the weakness of the opposers, and does not inspire respect. It is darkly surreptitious. These opponents call Seward hard names, but do this in a corner, although most of them have their parliamentary chair wherefrom they can speak. If he is bad and mischievous, then unite your forces and overthrow him; if he is not bad, or if you are not strong enough against him, do not cover yourself with ridicule, making a show of impotent malice. When the Senate confirmed him, every one throughout the land knew his vacillating policy; knew him to be for compromise, for concessions; knew that he disbelieved in the terrible earnestness of the struggle, and always prophesied its very speedy end. The Senate confirmed Seward with open eyes. Perhaps at the start his imagination and his patriotism made him doubt and disbelieve in the enormity of treason--he could not realize that the traitors would go to the bitter end. Seemingly, Seward still hopes that one day or another they may return as forlorn sheep. Under the like impressions, he always believed, and perhaps still believes, he shall be able to patch up the quarrel, and be the savior of the Union. Very probably his imagination, his ardent wishes, carry him away, and confuse that clear insight into events which alone constitutes the statesman. Suggested to Sumner to demand the reduction of the tariff on certain merchandises, on the plea of fraternity of the working American people with their brethren the operatives all over Europe; by it principally I wished to alleviate the condition of French industry, as I have full confidence in Louis Napoleon, and in the unsophisticated judgment of the genuine French people. The suggestion did not take with the Senate. When the July telegraph brought the news of the victory at Romney (Western Virginia), it was about midnight. Mr. Seward warmly congratulated the President that "_the secession was over_." What a far-reaching policy! When the struggle will be over, England, at least her Tories, aristocrats, and politicians, will find themselves baffled in their ardent wishes for the breaking of the Union. The free States will look tidy and nice, as in the past. But more than one generation will pass before ceases to bleed the wound inflicted by the lies, the taunts, the vituperations, poured in England upon this noble, generous, and high-minded people; upon the sacred cause defended by the freemen. These freemen of America, up to the present time, incarnate the loftiest principle in the successive, progressive, and historical development of man. Nations, communities, societies, institutions, stand and fall with that principle, whatever it be, whereof they are the incarnation; so teaches us history. Woe to these freemen if they will recede from the principle; if they abandon human rights; if they do not crush human bondage, this sum of all infamies. Certainly the question paramount to all is, to save and preserve pure self-government in principle and in its direct application. But although the question of slavery seems to be incidental and subordinate to the former, virtually the question of slavery is twin to the former. Slavery serves as a basis, as a nurse, for the most infamous and abject aristocracy or oligarchy that was ever built up in history, and any, even the best, the mildest, and the most honest oligarchy or aristocracy kills and destroys man and self-government. From the purely administrative point of view, the principle whose incarnation is the American people, the principle begins to be perverted. The embodiment of self-government fills dungeons, suppresses personal liberty, opens letters, and in the reckless saturnalias of despotism it rivals many from among the European despots. Europe, which does not see well the causes, shudders at this _delirium tremens_ of despotism in America. Certainly, treason being in ebullition, the holders of power could not stand by and look. But instead of an energetic action, instead of exercising in full the existing laws, they hesitated, and treason, emboldened, grew over their heads. The law inflicted the severest capital punishment on the chiefs of the revolt in Baltimore, but all went off unharmed. The administration one day willingly allows the law to slide from its lap, and the next moment grasps at an unnecessary arbitrary power. Had the traitors of Baltimore been tried by court-martial, as the law allowed, and punished, few, if any, traitors would then have raised their heads in the North. Englishmen forget that even after a secession, the North, to-day twenty millions, as large as the whole Union eight years ago, will in ten years be thirty millions; a population rich, industrious, and hating England with fury. Seward, having complete hold of the President, weakens Lincoln's mind by using it up in hunting after comparatively paltry expedients. Seward-Scott's influence neutralizes the energetic cry of the country, of the congressmen, and in the Cabinet that of Blair, who is still a trump. The emancipation of slaves is spoken of as an expedient, but not as a sacred duty, even for the maintenance of the Union. To emancipate through the war power is an offence to reason, logic, and humanity; but better even so than not at all. War power is in its nature violent, transient, established for a day; emancipation is the highest social and economical solution to be given by law and reason, and ought to result from a thorough and mature deliberation. When the Constitution was framed, slavery was ashamed of itself, stood in the corner, had no paws. Now-a-days, slavery has become a traitor, is arrogant, blood-thirsty, worse than a jackal and a hyena; deliberately slavery is a matricide. And they still talk of slavery as sheltered by the Constitution; and many once anti-slavery men like Seward, etc., are ready to preserve it, to compromise with the crime. The existence of nations oscillates between epochs when the substance and when the form prevails. The formation of America was the epoch when substance prevailed. Afterward, for more than half a century, the form was paramount; the term of substance again begins. The Constitution is substance and form. The substance in it is perennial; but every form is transient, and must be expanded, changed, re-cast. Few, if any, Americans are aware of the identity of laws ruling the universe with laws ruling and prevailing in the historical development of man. Rarely has an American patience enough to ascend the long chain from effect to cause, until he reaches the first cause, the womb wherein was first generated the subsequent distant effect. So, likewise, they cannot realize that at the start the imperceptible deviation from the aim by and by widens to a bottomless gap until the aim is missed. Then the greatest and the most devoted sacrifices are useless. The legal conductors of the nation, since March 6th, ignore this law. The foreign ministers here in Washington were astonished at the _politeness_, when some time ago the Department sent to the foreign ministers a circular announcing to them that armed vessels of the neutrals will be allowed to enter at pleasure the rebel blockaded ports. This favor was not asked, not hoped for, and was not necessary. It was too late when I called the attention of the Department to the fact that such favors were very seldom granted; that they are dangerous, and can occasion complications. I observed that during the war between Mexico and France, in 1838, Count Mole, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the Premier of Louis Philippe, instructed the admiral commanding the French navy in the Mexican waters, to oppose, even by force, any attempt made by a neutral man-of-war to enter a blockaded port. And it was not so dangerous then as it may be in this civil war. But the chief clerk adviser of the Department found out that President Polk's administration during the Mexican war granted a similar permission, and, glad to have a precedent, his powerful brains could not find out the difference between _then_ and _now_. The internal routine of the ministry, and the manner in which our ministers are treated abroad by the Chief at home, is very strange, humiliating to our agents in the eyes of foreign Cabinets. Cassius Clay was instructed to propose to Russia our accession to the convention of Paris, but was not informed from Washington that our ministers at Paris, London, etc., were to make the same propositions. When Prince Gortschakoff asked Cassius Clay if similar propositions were made to the other cosigners of the Paris convention, our minister was obliged to confess his utter ignorance about the whole proceeding. Prince Gortschakoff good-naturedly inquired about it from his ministers at Paris and London, and enlightened Cassius Clay. No ministry of foreign affairs in Europe would treat its agents in such a trifling manner, and, if done, a minister would resent it. This mistake, or recklessness, is to be credited principally to the internal chief, or director of the department, and not to the minister himself. By and by, the chief clerks, these routinists in the former coarse traditions of the Democratic administrations, will learn and acquire better diplomatic and bureaucratic habits. If one calls the attention of influential Americans to the mismanagement in the organization of the army; to the extraordinary way in which everything, as organization of brigades, and the inner service, the quartermaster's duty, is done, the general and inevitable answer is, "We are not military; we are young people; we have to learn." Granted; but instead of learning from the best, the latest, and most correct authorities, why stick to an obsolete, senile, musty, rotten, mean, and now-a-days impracticable routine, which is all-powerful in all relating to the army and to the war? The Americans may pay dear for thus reversing the rules of common sense. General Scott directs from his sleeping room the movements of the two armies on the Potomac and in the Shenandoah valley. General Scott has given the order to advance. At least a strange way, to have the command of battle at a distance of thirty and one hundred miles, and stretched on his fauteuil. Marshal de Saxe, although deadly sick, was on the field at Fontenoy. What will be the result of this experimentalization, so contrary to sound reason? Fighting at Bull Run. One o'clock, P. M. Good news. Gen. Scott says that although we were 40-100 in disadvantage, nevertheless his plans are successful--all goes as he arranged it--all as he foresaw it. Bravo! old man! If so, I make _amende honorable_ of all that I said up to this minute. Two o'clock, P. M. General Scott, satisfied with the justness and success of his strategy and tactics--takes a nap. _Evening._--Battle lost; rout, panic. The army almost disbanded, in full run. So say the forerunners of the accursed news. Malediction! Malediction! What a horrible night and day! rain and cold; stragglers and disbanded soldiers in every direction, and no order, nobody to gather the soldiers, or to take care of them. As if there existed not any military or administrative authority in Washington! Under the eyes of the two commanders-in-chief! Oh, senility, imbecility, ignominy! In Europe, a commander of a city, or any other military authority whatever, who should behave in such a way, would be dismissed, nay, expelled, from military service. What I can gather is, that the enemy was in full retreat in the centre and on one flank, when he was reinforced by fresh troops, who outflanked and turned ours. If so, the panic can be explained. Even old veteran troops generally run when they are outflanked. Johnston, whom Patterson permitted to slip, came to the rescue of Beauregard. So they say. It is _en petit_ Waterloo, with Blucher-Johnston, and Grouchy-Patterson. But had Napoleon's power survived after Waterloo, Grouchy, his chief of the staff, and even Ney,[1] for the fault at Quatre-bras, would have been court-martialed and shot. Here these blind Americans will thank Scott and Patterson. [Footnote 1: That such would have been the presumed fate of Ney at the hands of Napoleon, I was afterwards assured by the old Duke of Bassano, and by the Duchess Abrantes.] Others say that a bold charge of cavalry arrived on our rear, and threw in disorder the wagons and the baggage gang. That is nothing new; at the battle of Borodino some Cossacks, pouncing upon the French baggage, created a panic, which for a moment staggered Napoleon, and prevented him in time from reinforcing Ney and Davoust. But McDowell committed a fault in putting his baggage train, the ambulances excepted, on a road between the army and its reserves, which, in such a manner, came not in action. By and by I shall learn more about it. The Congress has made a worse Bull Run than the soldiers. Not a single manly, heroic word to the nation and the army. As if unsuccess always was dishonor. This body groped its way, and was morally stunned by the blow; the would-be leaders more than the mass. Suggested to Sumner to make, as the Romans did, a few stirring words on account of the defeat. Some mean fellows in Congress, who never smelt powder, abused the soldiers. Those fellows would have been the first to run. Others, still worse, to show their abject flunkeyism to Scott, and to humbug the public at large about their intimacy with this fetish, make speeches in his defence. Scott broadly prepared the defeat, and now, through the mouths of flunkeys and spit-lickers,[2] he attempts to throw the fault on the thus called politicians. [Footnote 2: Foremost among them was the editor of the New York Times, publishing a long article wherein he proved that he had been admitted to General Scott's table, and that the General unfolded to him, the editor, the great anaconda strategy. Exactly the thing to be admired and gulped by a man of such _variegated_ information as that individual. That little villianish "article" had a second object: it was to filch subscribers from the Tribune, which broke down, not over courageously.] The President telegraphed for McClellan, who in the West, showed _rapidity of movement_, the first and most necessary capacity for a commander. Young blood will be infused, and perhaps senility will be thrown overboard, or sent to the Museum of the Smithsonian Institute. At Bull Run the foreign regiments ran not, but covered the retreat. And Scott, and worse than he, Thomas, this black spot in the War Department, both are averse to, and when they can they humiliate, the foreigners. A member of Congress, in search of a friend, went for several miles up the stream of the fugitive army; great was his astonishment to hear spoken by the fugitives only the unmixed, pure Anglo-Saxon. My friend, J. Wadsworth, behaved cool, brave, on the field, and was devoted to the wounded. Now, as always, he is the splendid type of a true man of the people. Poor, unhappy McDowell! During the days when he prepared the army, he was well aware that an eventual success would be altogether attributed to Scott; but that he, McDowell, would be the scapegoat for the defeat. Already, when on Sunday morning the news of the first successes was known, Scott swallowed incense, and took the whole credit of it to himself. Now he accuses the politicians. Once more. Scott himself prepared the defeat. Subsequent elucidation will justify this assertion. One thing is already certain: one of the reasons of the lost battle is the exhaustion of troops which fought--and the number here in Washington is more than 50,000 men. Only an imbecile would divide the forces in such a way as to throw half of it to attack a superior and entrenched enemy. But Scott wished to shape the great events of the country in accordance with his narrow, ossified brains, and with his peculiar patriotism; and he did the same in the conduct of the war. I am sure some day or other it will come out that this immense fortification of Manassas is a similar humbug to the masked batteries; and Scott was the first to aggrandize these terrible national nightmares. Already many soldiers say that they did not see any fortifications. Very likely only small earthworks; if so, Scott ought to have known what was the position and the works of an enemy encamped about thirty miles from him. If he, Scott, was ignorant, then it shows his utter imbecility; if he knew that the fortifications were insignificant, and did not tell it to the troops, then he is worse than an incapable chief. Up to the present day, all the military leaders of ancient and modern times told their troops before a battle that the enemy is not much after all, and that the difficulties to overcome are rather insignificant. After the battle was won, everything became aggrandized. Here everybody, beginning with Scott, ardently rivalled how to scare and frighten the volunteers, by stories of the masked batteries of Manassas, with its several tiers of fortifications, the terrible superiority of the Southerners, etc., etc. In Europe such behavior would be called treason. The administration and the influential men cannot realize that they must give up their old, stupid, musty routine. McClellan ought to be altogether independent of Scott; be untrammelled in his activity; have large powers; have direct action; and not refer to Scott. What is this wheel within a wheel? Instead of it, Scott, as by concession, cuts for McClellan a military department of six square miles. Oh, human stupidity, how difficult thou art to lift! Scott will paralyze McClellan as he did Lyon and Butler. Scott always pushed on his spit-lickers, or favorites, rotten by old age. But Scott has pushed aside such men as Wool and Col. Smith; refused the services of many brave as Hooker and others, because they never belonged to his flunkeys. Send to McClellan a plan for the reorganization of the army. 1st. True mastership consists in creating an army with extant elements, and not in clamoring for what is altogether impossible to obtain. 2d. The idea is preposterous to try to have a large thus-called regular army. A small number, fifteen to twenty thousand men, divided among several hundreds of thousands of volunteers, would be as a drop of water in a lake. Besides, this war is to be decided by the great masses of the volunteers, and it is uncivic and unpatriotic to in any way nourish the wickedly-assumed discrimination between regulars and volunteers. 3d. Good non-commissioned officers and corporals constitute the sole, sound, and easy articulations of a regiment. Any one who ever was in action is aware of this truth. With good non-commissioned officers, even ignorant lieutenants do very little harm. The volunteer regiments ought to have as many good sergeants and corporals as possible. 4th. To provide for this want, and for reasons mentioned above, the relics of the regular army ought to be dissolved. Let us have one army, as the enemy has. 5th. All the rank and file of the army ought to be made at once corporals and sergeants, and be distributed as much as possible among the volunteers. 6th. The non-commissioned regulars ought to be made commissioned officers, and with officers of all grades be distributed and merged in the one great army. For the first time since the armaments, I enjoyed a genuine military view. McClellan, surrounded as a general ought to be, went to see the army. It looks martial. The city, likewise, has a more martial look than it had all the time under Scott. It seems that a young, strong hand holds the ribbons. God grant that McClellan may preserve his western vigor and activity, and may not become softened and dissolved by these Washington evaporations. If he does, if he follows the routine, he will become as impotent as others before him. Young man, beware of Washington's corrupt but flattering influences. To the camp! to the camp! A tent is better for you than a handsome house. The tent, the fumes of bivouacs, inspired the Fredericks, the Napoleons, and Washingtons. Up to this day they make more history in Secessia than here. Jeff. Davis overshadows Lincoln. Jeff. Davis and his gang of malefactors are pushed into the whirlpool of action by the nature of their crime; here, our leaders dread action, and grope. The rebels have a clear, decisive, almost palpable aim; but here * * AUGUST, 1861. The truth about Bull Run -- The press staggers -- The Blairs alone firm -- Scott's military character -- Seward -- Mr. Lincoln reads the Herald -- The ubiquitous lobbyist -- Intervention -- Congress adjourns -- The administration waits for something to turn up -- Wade -- Lyon is killed -- Russell and his shadow -- The Yankees take the loan -- Bravo, Yankees! -- McClellan works hard -- Prince Napoleon -- Manassas fortifications a humbug -- Mr. Seward Improves -- Old Whigism -- McClellan's powers enlarged -- Jeff. Davis makes history -- Fremont emancipates in Missouri -- The Cabinet. The truth about Bull Run will, perhaps, only reach the people when it becomes reduced to an historical use. I gather what I am sure is true. About three weeks ago General McDowell took upon himself the responsibility to attack the enemy concentrated at Manassas. Deciding upon this step, McDowell showed the determination of a true soldier, and a cool, intelligent courage. According to rumors permeating the whole North; rumors originated by secessionists in and around Washington, and in various parts of the free States; rumors gulped by a part of the press, and never contradicted, but rather nursed, at headquarters, Manassas was a terrible, unknown, mysterious something; a bugbear, between a fortress made by art and a natural fastness, whose approaches were defended for miles by numberless masked batteries, and which was filled by countless thousands of the most ferocious warriors. Such was Manassas in public opinion when McDowell undertook to attack this formidable American Torres Vedras, and this with the scanty and almost unorganized means in men and artillery allotted to him by the senile wisdom of General Scott. General McDowell obtained the promise that Beauregard alone was to be before him. To fulfil this promise, General Scott was to order Patterson to keep Johnston, and a movement was to be made on the James River, so as to prevent troops coming from Richmond to Manassas. As it was already said, Patterson, a special favorite of General Scott, kindly allowed Johnston to save Beauregard, and Jeff. Davis with troops from Richmond likewise was on the spot. McDowell planned his plan very skilfully; no European general would have done better, and I am sure that such will be the verdict hereafter. Some second-rate mistakes in the execution did not virtually endanger its success; but, to say the truth, McDowell and his army were defeated by the imbecility of the supreme military authority. Imbecility stabbed them in the back. One part of the press, stultified and stupefied, staggered under the blow; the other part showed its utter degradation by fawning on Scott and attacking the Congress, or its best part. The Evening Post staggered not; its editors are genuine, laborious students, and, above all, students of history. The editors of the other papers are politicians; some of them are little, others are big villains. All, intellectually, belong to the class called in America more or less well-read men; information acquired by reading, but which in itself is not much. The brothers Blair, almost alone, receded not, and put the defeat where it belonged--at the feet of General Scott. The _rudis indigestaque moles_, torn away from Scott's hands, already begins to acquire the shape of an army. Thanks to the youth, the vigor, and the activity of McClellan. General Scott throws the whole disaster on politicians, and abuses them. How ungrateful. His too lofty pedestal is almost exclusively the work of politicians. I heard very, very few military men in America consider Scott a man of transcendent military capacity. Years ago, during the Crimean campaign, I spent some time at West Point in the society of Cols. Robert Lee, Walker, Hardee, then in the service of the United States, and now traitors; not one of them classed Scott much higher above what would be called a respectable capacity; and of which, as they said, there are many, many in every European army. If one analyzes the Mexican campaign, it will be found that General Scott had, comparatively, more officers than soldiers; the officers young men, full of vigor, and in the first gush of youth, who therefore mightily facilitated the task of the commander. Their names resound to-day in both the camps. Further, generals from the campaign in Mexico assert that three of the won battles were fought against orders, which signifies that in Mexico youth had the best of cautious senility. It was according to the law of nature, and for it it was crowned with success. Mr. Seward has a very active intellect, an excellent man for current business, easy and clear-headed for solving any second-rate complications; but as for his initiative, that is another question. Hitherto his initiative does not tell, but rather confuses. Then he sustains Scott, some say, for future political capital. If so it is bad; worse still if Mr. Seward sustains Scott on the ground of high military fitness, as it is impossible to admit that Mr. Seward knows anything about military affairs, or that he ever _studied_ the description _of any battle_. At least, I so judge from his conversation. Mr. Lincoln has already the fumes of greatness, and looks down on the press, reads no paper, that dirty traitor the New York Herald excepted. So, at least, it is generally stated. The enemies of Seward maintain that he, Seward, drilled Lincoln into it, to make himself more necessary. Early, even before the inauguration, McDowell suggested to General Scott to concentrate in Washington the small army, the depots scattered in Texas and New Mexico. Scott refused, and this is called a general! God preserve any cause, any people who have for a savior a Scott, together with his civil and military partisans. If it is not direct, naked treason which prevails among the nurses, and the various advisers of the people, imbecility, narrow-mindedness, do the same work. Further, the way in which many leech, phlebotomize, cheat and steal the people's treasury, is even worse than rampant treason. I heard a Boston shipbuilder complain to Sumner that the ubiquitous lobbyist, Thurlow Weed, was in his, the builder's, way concerning some contracts to be made in the Navy Department, etc., etc. Will it turn out that the same men who are to-day at the head of affairs will be the men who shall bring to an end this revolt or revolution? It ought not to be, as it is contrary to logic, and to human events. Lincoln alone must forcibly remain, he being one of the incarnated formulas of the Constitution, endowed with a specific, four years' lasting existence. The Americans are nervous about foreign intervention. It is difficult to make them understand that no intervention is to be, and none can be made. Therein the press is as silly as the public at large. Certainly France does not intend any meddling or intervention; of this I am sure. Neither does England seriously. Next, if these two powers should even thirst for such an injustice, they have no means to do it. If they break our blockades, we make war, and exclude them from the Northern ports, whose commerce is more valuable to them than that of the South. I do not believe the foreign powers to be forgetful of their interest; they know better their interests than the Americans. The Congress adjourned, abandoning, with a confidence unparalleled in history, the affairs of the country in the hands of the not over far-sighted administration. The majority of the Congress are good, and fully and nobly represent the pure, clear and sure aspirations, instincts, nay, the clear-sightedness of the people. In the Senate, as in the House, are many, very many true men, and men of pure devotion, and of clear insight into the events; men superior to the administration; such are, above all, those senators and representatives who do not attempt or aim to sit on a pedestal before the public, before the people, but wish the thing to be done for the thing itself. But for _the formula_ which chains their hands, feet, and intellect, the Congress contained several men who, if they could act, would finish the secession in a double-quick time. But the whole people move in the treadmill of formulas. It is a pity that they are not inspired by the axiom of the Roman legist, _scire leges non est hoc verba earum tenere, sed vim ac potestatem_. Congress had positive notions of what ought to be done; the administration, Micawber-like, looks for that something which may turn up, and by expedients patches all from day to day. What may turn up nobody can foresee; matter alone without mind cannot carry the day. The people have the mind, but the official legal leaders a very small portion of it. Come what will, I shall not break down; I shall not give up the holy principle. If crime, rebellion, _sauvagerie_, triumph, it will be, not because the people failed, but it will be because mediocrities were at the helm. Concessions, compromises, any patched-up peace, will for a century degrade the name of America. Of course, I cannot prevent it; but events have often broken but not bent me. I may be burned, but I cannot be melted; so if secesh succeeds, I throw in a cesspool my document of naturalization, and shall return to Europe, even if working my passage. It is maddening to read all this ignoble clap-trap, written by European wiseacres concerning this country. Not one knows the people, not one knows the accidental agencies which neutralize what is grand and devoted in the people. Some are praised here as statesmen and leaders. A statesman, a leader of such a people as are the Americans, and in such emergencies, must be a _man_ in the fullest and loftiest comprehension. All the noblest criteria of moral and intellectual manhood ought to be vigorously and harmoniously developed in him. He ought to have a deep and lively moral sense, and the moral perception of events and of men around him. He ought to have large brains and a big heart,--an almost all-embracing comprehension of the inside and outside of events,--and when he has those qualities, then only the genius of foresight will dwell on his brow. He ought to forget himself wholly and unconditionally; his reason, his heart, his soul ought to merge in the principles which lifted him to the elevated station. Who around me approaches this ideal? So far as I know, perhaps Senator Wade. I wait and wait for the eagle which may break out from the White House. Even the burning fire of the national disaster at Bull Run left the egg unhatched. _Utinam sim falsus_, but it looks as if the slowest brains were to deal with the greatest events of our epoch. Mr. Lincoln is a pure-souled, well-intentioned patriot, and this nobody doubts or contests. But is that all which is needed in these terrible emergencies? Lyon is killed,--the only man of initiative hitherto generated by events. We have bad luck. I shall put on mourning for at least six weeks. They ought to weep all over the land for the loss of such a man; and he would not have been lost if the administration had put him long ago in command of the West. O General Scott! Lyon's death can be credited to you. Lyon was obnoxious to General Scott, but the General's influence maintains in the service all the doubtful capacities and characters. The War Department, as says Potter, bristles with secessionists, and with them the old, rotten, respectable relics, preserved by General Scott, depress and nip in the bud all the young, patriotic, and genuine capacities. As the sea corrodes the rocks against which it impinges, so egotism, narrow-mindedness, and immorality corrode the best human institutions. For humanity's sake, Americans, beware! Always the clouds of harpies around the White House and the Departments,--such a generous ferment in the people, and such impurities coming to the surface! Patronage is the stumbling stone here to true political action. By patronage the Cabinet keeps in check Congressmen, Senators, etc. I learn from very good authority that when Russell, with his shadow, Sam. Ward, went South, Mr. Seward told Ward that he, Seward, intends not to force the Union on the Southern people, if it should be positively ascertained that that people does not wish to live in the Union! I am sorry for Seward. Such is not the feeling of the Northern people, and such notions must necessarily confuse and make vacillating Mr. Seward's--that is, Mr. Lincoln's--policy. Seward's patriotism and patriotic wishes and expectations prevent him from seeing things as they are. The money men of Boston decided the conclusion of the first national loan. Bravo, my beloved Yankees! In finances as in war, as in all, not the financiering capacity of this or that individual, not any special masterly measures, etc., but the stern will of the people to succeed, provides funds and means, prevents bankruptcy, etc. The men who give money send an agent here to ascertain how many traitors are still kept in offices, and what are the prospects of energetic action by the administration. McClellan is organizing, working hard. It is a pleasure to see him, so devoted and so young. After all, youth is promise. But already adulation begins, and may spoil him. It would be very, very saddening. Prince Napoleon's visit stirs up all the stupidity of politicians in Europe and here. What a mass of absurdities are written on it in Europe, and even by Americans residing there. All this is more than equalled by the _solemn_ and _wise_ speculations of the Americans at home. Bar-room and coffee-house politicians are the same all over the world, the same, I am sure, in China and Japan. To suppose Prince Napoleon has any appetite whatever for any kind of American crown! Bah! He is brilliant and intelligent, and to suppose him to have such absurd plans is to offend him. But human and American gullibility are bottomless. The Prince is a noble friend of the American cause, and freely speaks out his predilection. His sentiments are those of a true Frenchman, and not the sickly free-trade pro-slaveryism of Baroche with which he poisoned here the diplomatic atmosphere. Prince Napoleon's example will purify it. As I was sure of it, the great Manassas fortifications are a humbug. It is scarcely a half-way fortified camp. So say the companions of the Prince, who, with him, visited Beauregard's army. So much for the great Gen. Scott, whom the companions of the Prince call a _magnificent ruin_. The Prince spoke with Beauregard, and the Prince's and his companions' opinion is, that McDowell planned well his attack, but failed in the execution; and Beauregard thought the same. The Prince saw McClellan, and does not prize him so high as we do. These foreign officers say that most probably, on both sides, the officers will make most correct plans, as do pupils in military schools, but the execution will depend upon accident. Mr. Seward shows every day more and more capacity in dispatching the regular, current, diplomatical business affairs. In all such matters he is now at home, as if he had done it for years and years. He is no more spread-eagle in his diplomatic relations; is easy and prompt in all secondary questions relating to secondary interests, and daily emerging from international complications. Hitherto the war policy of the administration, as inspired and directed by Scott, was rather to receive blows, and then to try to ward them off. I expect young McClellan to deal blows, and thus to upturn the Micawber policy. Perhaps Gen. Scott believed that his name and example would awe the rebels, and that they would come back after having made a little fuss and done some little mischief. But Scott's greatness was principally built up by the Whigs, and his hold on Democrats was not very great. Witness the events of Polk's and Pierce's administrations. His Mississippi-Atlantic strategy is a delirium of a softening brain. Seward's enemies say that he puts up and sustains Scott, because in the case of success Scott will not be in Seward's way for the future Presidency. Mr. Lincoln, an old Whig, has the Whig-worship for Scott; and as Mr. Lincoln, in 1851, stumped for Scott, the candidate for the Presidency, the many eulogies showered by Lincoln upon Scott still more strengthened the worship which, of course, Seward lively entertains in Lincoln's bosom. Thus the relics of Whigism direct now the destinies of the North. Mr. Lincoln, Gen. Scott, Mr. Seward, form a triad, with satellites like Bates and Smith in the Cabinet. But the Whigs have not the reputation of governmental vigor, decision, and promptitude. The vitiated impulse and direction given by Gen. Scott at the start, still prevails, and it will be very difficult to bring it on the right track--to change the general as well as the war policy from the defensive, as it is now, to the offensive, as it ought to have been from the beginning. The North is five to one in men, and one hundred to one in material resources. Any one with brains and energy could suppress the rebellion in eight weeks from to-day. Mr. Lincoln in some way has a slender historical resemblance to Louis XVI.--similar goodness, honesty, good intentions; but the size of events seems to be too much for him. And so now Mr. Lincoln is wholly overshadowed by Seward. If by miracle the revolt may end in a short time, Mr. Seward will have most of the credit for it. In the long run the blame for eventual disasters will be put at Mr. Lincoln's door. Thank heaven! the area for action and the powers of McClellan are extended and increased. The administration seems to understand the exigencies of the day. I am told that the patriotic and brave Senator Wade, disgusted with the slowness and inanity of the administration, exclaimed, "I do not wonder that people desert to Jeff. Davis, as he shows brains; I may desert myself." And truly, Jeff. Davis and his gang make history. Young McClellan seems to falter before the Medusa-_ruin_ Scott, who is again at his tricks, and refuses officers to volunteers. To carry through in Washington any sensible scheme, more boldness is needed than on the bloodiest battle-field. If Gen. Scott could have disappeared from the stage of events on the sixth of March, his name would have remained surrounded with that halo to which the people was accustomed; but now, when the smoke will blow over, it may turn differently. I am afraid that at some future time will be applied to Scott * * * _quia turpe ducunt parere minoribus, et quæ imberbi didicere, senes perdenda fateri_. Not self-government is on trial, and not the genuine principle of democracy. It is not the genuine, virtual democracy which conspired against the republic, and which rebels, but an unprincipled, infamous oligarchy, risen in arms to destroy democracy. From Athens down to to-day, true democracies never betrayed any country, never leagued themselves with enemies. From the time of Hellas down to to-day, all over the world, and in all epochs, royalties, oligarchies, aristocracies, conspired against, betrayed, and sold their respective father-lands. (I said this years ago in America and Europe.) Fremont as initiator; he emancipates the slaves of the disloyal Missourians. Takes the advance, but is justified in it by the slowness, nay, by the stagnancy of the administration. Gen. Scott opposed to the expedition to Hatteras! If it be true that Seward and Chase already lay the tracks for the Presidential succession, then I can only admire their short-sightedness, nay, utter and darkest blindness. The terrible events will be a schooling for the people; the future President will not be a schemer already shuffling the cards; most probably it will be a man who serves the country, forgetting himself. Only two members in the Cabinet drive together, Blair and Welles, and both on the right side, both true men, impatient for action, action. Every day shows on what false principle this Cabinet was constructed, not for the emergency, not in view to suppress the rebellion, but to satisfy various party wranglings. Now the people's cause sticks in the mud. SEPTEMBER, 1861. What will McClellan do? -- Fremont disavowed -- The Blairs not in fault -- Fremont ignorant and a bungler -- Conspiracy to destroy him -- Seward rather on his side -- McClellan's staff -- A Marcy will not do! -- McClellan publishes a slave-catching order -- The people move onward -- Mr. Seward again -- West Point -- The Washington defences -- What a Russian officer thought of them -- Oh, for battles! -- Fremont wishes to attack Memphis; a bold move! -- Seward's influence over Lincoln -- The people for Fremont -- Col. Romanoff's opinion of the generals -- McClellan refuses to move -- Manoeuvrings -- The people uneasy -- The staff -- The Orleans -- Brave boys! -- The Potomac closed -- Oh, poor nation! -- Mexico -- McClellan and Scott. Will McClellan display unity in conception, and vigor in execution? That is the question. He seems very energetic and active in organizing the army; but he ought to take the field very soon. He ought to leave Washington, and have his headquarters in the camp among the soldiers. The life in the tent will inspire him. It alone inspired Frederick II. and Napoleon. Too much organization may become as mischievous as the no organization under Scott. Time, time is everything. The levies will fight well; may only McClellan not be carried away by the notion and the attempt to create what is called a perfect army on European pattern. Such an attempt would be ruinous to the cause. It is altogether impossible to create such an army on the European model, and no necessity exists for it. The rebel army is no European one. Civil wars have altogether different military exigencies, and the great tactics for a civil war are wholly different from the tactics, etc., needed in a regular war. Napoleon differently fought the Vendeans, and differently the Austrians, and the other coalesced armies. May only McClellan not become intoxicated before he puts the cup to his lips. Fremont disavowed by Lincoln and the administration. This looks bad. I have no considerable confidence in Fremont's high capacities, and believe that his head is turned a little; but in this question he was right in principle, and right in legality. A commander of an army operating separately has the exercise of full powers of war. The Blairs are not to be accused; I read the letter from F. Blair to his brother. It is the letter of a patriot, but not of an intriguer. Fremont establishes an absurd rule concerning the breach of military discipline, and shows by it his ignorance and narrow-mindedness. So Fremont, and other bungling martinets, assert that nobody has the right to criticise the actions of his commander. Fremont is ignorant of history, and those around him who put in his head such absurd notions are a pack of mean and servile spit-lickers. An officer ought to obey orders without hesitation, and if he does not he is to be court-martialed and shot. But it is perfectly allowable to criticise them; it is in human nature--it was, is, and will be done in all armies; see in Curtius and other historians of Alexander of Macedon. It was continually done under Napoleon. In Russia, in 1812, the criticism made by almost all the officers forced Alexander I. to leave the army, and to put Kutousoff over Barclay. In the last Italian campaign Austrian officers criticised loudly Giulay, their commander, etc., etc. Conspiracy to destroy Fremont on account of his slave proclamation. The conspirators are the Missouri slaveholders: Senator Brodhead, old Bates, Scott, McClellan, and their staffs. Some jealousy against him in the Cabinet, but Seward rather on Fremont's side. McClellan makes his father-in-law, a man of _very_ secondary capacity, the chief of the staff of the army. It seems that McClellan ignores what a highly responsible position it is, and what a special and transcendent capacity must be that of a chief of the staff--the more so when of an army of several hundreds of thousands. I do not look for a Berthier, a Gneisenau, a Diebitsch, or Gortschakoff, but a Marcy will not do. Colonel Lebedeef, from the staff of the Emperor Alexander II., and professor in the School of the Staff at St. Petersburg, saw here everything, spoke with our generals, and his conclusion is that in military capacity McDowell is by far superior to McClellan. Strange, if true, and foreboding no good. Mr. Lincoln begins to call a demagogue any one who does not admire all the doings of his administration. Are we already so far? McClellan under fatal influences of the rampant pro-slavery men, and of partisans of the South, as is a Barlow. All the former associations of McClellan have been of the worst kind--Breckinridgians. But perhaps he will throw them off. He is young, and the elevation of his position, his standing before the civilized world, will inspire and purify him, I hope. Nay, I ardently wish he may go to the camp, to the camp. McClellan published a slave-catching order. Oh that he may discard those bad men around him! Struggles with evils, above all with domestic, internal evils, absorb a great part of every nation's life. Such struggles constitute its development, are the landmarks of its progress and decline. The like struggles deserve more the attention of the observer, the philosopher, than all kinds of external wars. And, besides, most of such external wars result from the internal condition of a nation. At any rate, their success or unsuccess almost wholly depends upon its capacity to overcome internal evils. A nation even under a despotic rule may overcome and repel an invasion, as long as the struggle against the internal evils has not broken the harmony between the ruler and the nation. Here the internal evil has torn a part of the constitutional structure; may only the necessary harmony between this high-minded people and the representative of the transient constitutional formula not be destroyed. The people move onward, the formula vacillates, and seems to fear to make any bold step. If the cause of the freemen of the North succumbs, then humanity is humiliated. This high-spirited exclamation belongs to Tassara, the Minister from Spain. Not the diplomat, but the nobly inspired _man_ uttered it. But for the authoritative influence of General Scott, and the absence of any foresight and energy on the part of the administration, the rebels would be almost wholly without military leaders, without naval officers. The Johnsons, Magruders, Tatnalls, Buchanans, ought to have been arrested for treason the moment they announced their intention to resign. Mr. Seward has many excellent personal qualities, besides his unquestionable eminent capacity for business and argument; but why is he neutralizing so much good in him by the passion to be all in all, to meddle with everything, to play the knowing one in military affairs, he being in all such matters as innocent as a lamb? It is not a field on which Seward's hazarded generalizations can be of any earthly use; but they must confuse all. Seward is free from that coarse, semi-barbarous know-nothingism which rules paramount, not the genuine people, but the would-be something, the half-civilized _gentlemen_. Above all, know-nothingism pervades all around Scott, who is himself its grand master, and it nestles there _par excellence_ in more than one way. It is, however, to be seen how far this pure American-Scott military wisdom is something real, transcendent. Up to this day, the pure Americanism, West Point schoolboy's conceit, have not produced much. The defences of Washington, so much clarioned as being the product of a high conception and of engineering skill,--these defences are very questionable when appreciated by a genuine military eye. A Russian officer of the military engineers, one who was in the Crimea and at Sebastopol, after having surveyed these defences here, told me that the Russian soldiers who defended Sebastopol, and who learned what ought to be defences, would prefer to fight outside than inside of the Washington forts, bastions, defences, etc., etc., etc. Doubtless many foreigners coming to this country are not much, but the greatest number are soldiers who saw service and fire, and could be of some use at the side of Scott's West Point greenness and presumption. If we are worsted, then the fate of the men of faith in principles will be that of Sisyphus, and the coming generation for half a century will have uphill work. If not McClellan himself, some intriguers around him already dream, nay, even attempt to form a pure military, that is, a reckless, unprincipled, unpatriotic party. These men foment the irritation between the arrogance of the thus-called regular army, and the pure abnegation of the volunteers. Oh, for battles! Oh, for battles! Fremont wished at once to attack Fort Pillow and the city of Memphis. It was a bold move, but the concerted civil and military wisdom grouped around the President opposed this truly great military conception. Mr. Lincoln is pulled in all directions. His intentions are excellent, and he would have made an excellent President for quiet times. But this civil war imperatively demands a man of foresight, of prompt decision, of Jacksonian will and energy. These qualities may be latent in Lincoln, but do not yet come to daylight. Mr. Lincoln has no experience of men and events, and no knowledge of the past. Seward's influence over Lincoln may be explained by the fact that Lincoln considers Seward as the alpha and omega of every kind of knowledge and information. I still hope, perhaps against hope, that if Lincoln is what the masses believe him to be, a strong mind, then all may come out well. Strong minds, lifted by events into elevated regions, expand more and more; their "mind's eye" pierces through clouds, and even through rocks; they become inspired, and inspiration compensates the deficiency or want of information acquired by studies. Weak minds, when transported into higher regions, become confused and dizzy. Which of the two will be Mr. Lincoln's fate? The administration hesitates to give to the struggle a character of emancipation; but the people hesitate not, and take Fremont to their heart. As the concrete humanity, so single nations have epochs of gestation, and epochs of normal activity, of growth, of full life, of manhood. Americans are now in the stage of manhood. Col. Romanoff, of the Russian military engineer corps, who was in the Crimean war, saw here the men and the army, saw and conversed with the generals. Col. R. is of opinion that McDowell is by far superior to McClellan, and would make a better commander. It is said that McClellan refuses to move until he has an army of 300,000 men and 600 guns. Has he not studied Napoleon's wars? Napoleon scarcely ever had half such a number in hand; and when at Wagram, where he had about 180,000 men, himself in the centre, Davoust and Massena on the flanks, nevertheless the handling of such a mass was too heavy even for his, Napoleon's, genius. The country is--to use an Americanism--in a pretty fix, if this McClellan turns out to be a mistake. I hope for the best. 600 guns! But 100 guns in a line cover a mile. What will he do with 600? Lose them in forests, marshes, and bad roads; whence it is unhappily a fact that McClellan read only a little of military history, misunderstood what he read, and now attempts to realize hallucinations, as a boy attempts to imitate the exploits of an Orlando. It is dreadful to think of it. I prefer to trust his assertion that, once organized, he soon, very soon, will deal heavy and quick blows to the rebels. I saw some manoeuvrings, and am astonished that no artillery is distributed among the regiments of infantry. When the rank and file see the guns on their side, the soldiers consider them as a part of themselves and of the regiment; they fight better in the company of guns; they stand by them and defend them as they defend their colors. Such a distribution of guns would strengthen the body of the volunteers. But it seems that McClellan has no confidence in the volunteers. Were this true, it would denote a small, very small mind. Let us hope it is not so. One of his generals--a martinet of the first class--told me that McClellan waits for the organization of _the regulars_, to have them for the defence of the guns. If so, it is sheer nonsense. These narrow-minded West Point martinets will become the ruin of McClellan. McClellan could now take the field. Oh, why has he established his headquarters in the city, among flunkeys, wiseacres, and spit-lickers? Were he among the troops, he would be already in Manassas. The people are uneasy and fretting about this inaction, and the people see what is right and necessary. Gen. Banks, a true and devoted patriot, is sacrificed by the stupidity of what they call here the staff of the great army, but which collectively, with its chief, is only a mass of conceit and ignorance--few, as General Williams, excepted. Banks is in the face of the enemy, and has no cavalry and no artillery; and here are immense reviews to amuse women and fools. Mr. Mercier, the French Minister, visited a considerable part of the free States, and his opinions are now more clear and firm; above all, he is very friendly to our side. He is sagacious and good. Missouri is in great confusion--three parts of it lost. Fremont is not to be accused of all the mischief, but, from effect to cause, the accusation ascends to General Scott. Gen. Scott insisted to have Gen. Harney appointed to the command of Missouri, and hated Lyon. If, even after Harney's recall, Lyon had been appointed, Lyon would be alive and Missouri safe. But hatred, anxiety of rank, and stupidity, united their efforts, and prevailed. Oh American people! to depend upon such inveterate blunderers! Were McClellan in the camp, he would have no flatterers, no antechambers filled with flunkeys; but the rebels would not so easily get news of his plans as they did in the affair on Munson's Hill. The Orleans are here. I warned the government against admitting the Count de Paris, saying that it would be a _deliberate_ breach of good comity towards Louis Napoleon, and towards the Bonapartes, who prove to be our friends; I told that no European government would commit itself in such a manner, not even if connected by ties of blood with the Orleans. At the start, Mr. Seward heeded a little my advice, but finally he could not resist the vanity to display untimely spread-eagleism, and the Orleans are in our service. Brave boys! It is a noble, generous, high-minded, if not an altogether wise, action. If a mind is not nobly inspired and strong, then the exercise of power makes it crotchety and dissimulative in contact with men. To my disgust, I witness this all around me. The American people, its institutions, the Union--all have lost their virginity, their political innocence. A revolution in the institutions, in the mode of life, in notions begun--it is going on, will grow and mature, either for good or evil. Civil war, this most terrible but most maturing passion, has put an end to the boyhood and to the youth of the American people. Whatever may be the end, one thing is sure--that the substance and the form will be modified; nay, perhaps, both wholly changed. A new generation of citizens will grow and come out from this smoke of the civil war. The Potomac closed by the rebels! Mischief and shame! Natural fruits of the dilatory war policy--Scott's fault. Months ago the navy wished to prevent it, to shell out the rebels, to keep our troops in the principal positions. Scott opposed; and still he has almost paramount influence. McClellan complains against Scott, and Lincoln and Seward flatter McClellan, but look up to Scott as to a supernatural military wisdom. Oh, poor nation! In Europe clouds gather over Mexico. Whatever it eventually may come to, I suggested to Mr. Seward to lay aside the Monroe doctrine, not to meddle for or against Mexico, but to earnestly protest against any eventual European interference in the internal condition of the political institutions of Mexico. Continual secondary, international complications, naturally growing out from the maritime question; so with the Dutch cheesemongers, with Spain, with England--all easily to be settled; they generate fuss and trouble, but will make no fire. Gen. Scott's partisans complain that McClellan is very disrespectful in his dealings with Gen. Scott. I wonder not. McClellan is probably hampered by the narrow routine notions of Scott. McClellan feels that Scott prevents energetic and prompt action; that he, McClellan, in every step is obliged to fight Gen. Scott's inertia; and McClellan grows impatient, and shows it to Scott. OCTOBER, 1861. Experiments on the people's life-blood -- McClellan's uniform -- The army fit to move -- The rebels treat us like children -- We lose time -- Everything is defensive -- The starvation theory -- The anaconda -- First interview with McClellan -- Impressions of him -- His distrust of the volunteers -- Not a Napoleon nor a Garibaldi -- Mason and Slidell -- Seward admonishes Adams -- Fremont goes overboard -- The pro-slavery party triumph -- The collateral missions to Europe -- Peace impossible -- Every Southern gentleman is a pirate -- When will we deal blows? -- Inertia! inertia! As in the mediæval epoch, and some time thereafter, anatomists and physiologists experimented on the living villeins, that is, on peasantry, serfs, and called this process _experientia in anima vili_, so this naïve administration experiments in civil and in military matters on the people's life-blood. McClellan, stirred up by the fools and peacocks around him, has sent to the War Department a project of a showy uniform for himself and his staff. It would be to laugh at, if it were not insane. McClellan very likely read not what he signed. The army is in sufficient rig and organization to take the field; but nevertheless McClellan has not yet made a single movement imperatively prescribed by the simplest tactics, and by the simplest common sense, when the enemy is in front. Not a single serious reconnoissance to ascertain the real force of the enemy, to pierce through the curtain behind which the rebels hide their real forces. It must be conceded to the rebel generals that they show great skill in humbugging us. Whenever we try to make a step we are met by a seemingly strong force (tenfold increased by rumors spread by the secessionists among us, and gulped by our stupidity), which makes us suppose a deep front, and a still deeper body behind. And there is the humbug, I am sure. If, on such an extensive line as the rebels occupy, the main body should correspond to what they show in front, then the rebel force must muster several hundreds of thousands. Such large numbers they have not, and I am sure that four-fifths of their whole force constitutes their vanguard, and behind it the main body is chaff. The rebels treat us as if we were children. McClellan fortifies Washington; Fremont, St. Louis; Anderson asks for engineers to fortify some spots in Kentucky. This is all a defensive warfare, and not so will the rebel region be conquered. We lose time, and time serves the rebels, as it increases their moral force. Every day of their existence shows their intrinsic vitality. The theory of starving the rebels out is got up by imbeciles, wholly ignorant of such matters; wholly ignorant of human nature; wholly ignorant of the degree of energy, and of abnegation, which criminals can display when firmly decided upon their purpose. This absurdity comes from the celebrated anaconda Mississippi-Atlantic strategy. Oh! When in Poland, in 1831, the military chiefs concentrated all the forces in the fortifications of Warsaw, all was gone. Oh for a dashing general, for a dashing purpose, in the councils of the White House! The constitutional advisers are deaf to the voice of the people, who know more about it than do all the departments and the military wiseacres. The people look up to find as big brains and hearts as are theirs, and hitherto the people have looked up in vain. The radical senators, as a King, a Trumbull, a Wade, Wilson, Chandler, Hale, etc., the true Republicans in the last session of Congress--further, men as Wadsworth and the like, are the true exponents of the character, of the clear insight, of the soundness of the people. McClellan, and even the administration, seem not to realize that pure military considerations cannot fulfil the imperative demands of the political situation. _October 6th._--I met McClellan; had with him a protracted conversation, and could look well into him. I do not attach any value to physiognomies, and consider phrenology, craniology, and their kindred, to be rather humbugs; but, nevertheless, I was struck with the soft, insignificant inexpressiveness of his eyes and features. My enthusiasm for him, my faith, is wholly extinct. All that he said to me and to others present was altogether unmilitary and inexperienced. It made me sick at heart to hear him, and to think that he is to decide over the destinies and the blood of the people. And he already an idol, incensed, worshipped, before he did anything whatever. McClellan may have individual courage, so has almost every animal; but he has not the decision and the courage of a military leader and captain. He has no real confidence in the troops; has scarcely any idea how battles are fought; has no confidence in and no notion of the use of the bayonet. I told him that, notwithstanding his opinion, I would take his worst brigade of infantry, and after a fortnight's drill challenge and whip any of the best rebel brigades. Some time ago it was reported that McClellan considered this war had become a duel of artillery. Fools wondered and applauded. I then protested against putting such an absurdity in McClellan's mouth; now I must believe it. To be sure, every battle is in part a duel of artillery, but ends or is decided by charges of infantry or cavalry. Cannonading alone never constituted and decided a battle. No position can be taken by cannonading alone, and shells alone do not always force an enemy to abandon a position. Napoleon, an artillerist _par excellence_, considered campaigns and battles to be something more than duels of artillery. The great battle of Borodino, and all others, were decided when batteries were stormed and taken. Eylau was a battle of charges by cavalry and by infantry, besides a terrible cannonading, etc., etc. McClellan spoke with pride of the fortifications of Washington, and pointed to one of the forts as having a greater profile than had the world-renowned Malakoff. What a confusion of notions, what a misappreciation of relative conditions! I cannot express my sad, mournful feelings, during this conversation with McClellan. We spoke about the necessity of dividing his large army into corps. McClellan took from the table an Army Almanac, and pointed to the names of generals to whom he intended to give the command of corps. He feels the urgency of the case, and said that Gen. Scott prevented him from doing it; but as soon as he, McClellan, shall be free to act, the division will be made. So General Scott is everywhere to defend senile routine against progress, and the experience of modern times. The rebels deserve, to the end of time, many curses from outraged humanity. By their treason they forced upon the free institutions of the North the necessity of curtailing personal liberty and other rights; to make use of despotism for the sake of self-defence. The enemy concentrates and shortens his lines, and McClellan dares not even tread on the enemy's heels. Instead of forcing the enemy to do what we want, and upturn his schemes, McClellan seemingly does the bidding of Beauregard. We advance as much as Beauregard allows us to do. New tactics, to be sure, but at any rate not Napoleonic. The fighting in the West and some small successes here are obtained by rough levies; and those imbecile, regular martinets surrounding McClellan still nurse his distrust in the volunteers. All the wealth, energy, intellect of the country, is concentrated in the hands of McClellan, and he uses it to throw up entrenchments. The partisans of McClellan point to his highly scientific preparations--his science. He may have some little of it, but half-science is worse than thorough ignorance. Oh! for one dare-devil in the Lyon, or in the old-fashioned Yankee style. McClellan is neither a Napoleon, nor a Cabrera, nor a Garibaldi. Mason and Slidell escaped to Havana on their way to Europe, as commissioners of the rebels. According to all international definitions, we have the full right to seize them in any neutral vessel, they being political contrabands of war going on a publicly avowed errand hostile to their true government. Mason and Slidell are not common passengers, nor are they political refugees invoking the protection of any neutral flag. They are travelling commissioners of war, of bloodshed and rebellion; and it is all the same in whatever seaport they embark. And if the vessel conveying them goes from America to Europe, or _vice versa_, Mr. Seward can let them be seized when they have left Havana, provided he finds it expedient. We lose time, and time is all in favor of the rebels. Every day consolidates their existence--so to speak, crystallizes them. Further--many so-called Union men in the South, who, at the start, opposed secession, by and by will get accustomed to it. Secession daily takes deeper root, and will so by degrees become _un fait accompli_. Mr. Adams, in his official relations with the English government, speaks of the rebel pirates as of lawful privateers. Mr. Seward admonished him for it. Bravo! It is so difficult, not to say impossible, to meet an American who concatenates a long series of effects and causes, or who understands that to explain an isolated fact or phenomenon the chain must be ascended and a general law invoked. Could they do it, various bunglings would be avoided, and much of the people's sacrifices husbanded, instead of being squandered, as it is done now. Fremont going overboard! His fall will be the triumph of the pro-slavery party, headed by the New York Herald, and supported by military old fogies, by martinets, and by double and triple political and intellectual know-nothings. Pity that Fremont had no brilliant military capacity. Then his fall could not have taken place. Mr. Seward is too much ruled by his imagination, and too hastily discounts the future. But imagination ruins a statesman. Mr. Seward must lose credit at home and abroad for having prophesied, and having his prophecies end in smoke. When Hatteras was taken (Gen. Scott protested against the expedition), Mr. S. assured me that it was the beginning of the end. A diplomat here made the observation that no minister of a European parliamentary government could remain in power after having been continually contradicted by facts. Now, Mr. Seward devised these collateral missions to Europe. He very little knows the habit and temper of European cabinets if he believes that such collateral confidential agents can do any good. The European cabinets distrust such irresponsible agents, who, in their turn, weaken the influence and the standing of the genuine diplomatic agents. Mr. S., early in the year, boasted to abolish, even in Europe, the system of passports, and soon afterwards introduced it at home. So his imagination carries him to overhaul the world. He proposes to European powers a united expedition to Japan, and we cannot prevent at home the running of the blockade, and are ourselves blockaded on the Potomac. All such schemes are offsprings of an ambitious imagination. But the worst is, that every such outburst of his imagination Mr. Seward at once transforms into a dogma, and spreads it with all his might. I pity him when I look towards the end of his political career. He writes well, and has put down the insolent English dispatch concerning the _habeas corpus_ and the arrests of dubious, if not treacherous, Englishmen. Perhaps Seward imagines himself to be a Cardinal Richelieu, with Lincoln for Louis XIII. (provided he knows as much history), or may be he has the ambition to be considered a Talleyrand or Metternich of diplomacy. But if any, he has some very, very faint similarity with Alberoni. He easily outwits here men around him; most are politicians as he; but he never can outwit the statesmen of Europe. Besides, diplomacy, above all that of great powers, is conceived largely and carried on a grand scale; the present diplomacy has outgrown what is commonly called (but fallaciously) Talleyrandism and Metternichism. McClellan and the party which fears to make a bold advance on the enemy make so much fuss about the country being cut up and wooded; it proves only that they have no brains and no fertility of expedients. This country is not more cut up than is the Caucasus, and the woods are no great, endless, primitive forests. They are rather groves. In the Caucasus the Russians continually attack great and dense forests; they fire in them several round shots, then grape, and then storm them with the bayonet; and the Circassians are no worse soldiers than are the Southrons. European papers talk much of mediation, of a peaceful arrangement, of compromise. By intuition of the future the Northern people know very well the utter impossibility of such an arrangement. A peace could not stand; any such peace will establish the military superiority of the arrogant, reckless, piratical South. The South would teem with hundreds of thousands of men ready for any piratical, fillibustering raid, enterprise, or excursion, of which the free States north and west would become the principal theatres. Such a marauding community as the South would become, in case of success, will be unexampled in history. The Cylician pirates, the Barbary robbers, nay, the Tartars of the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries, were virtuous and civilized in comparison with what would be an independent, man-stealing, and man-whipping Southern agglomeration of lawless men. The free States could have no security, even if _all_ the thus _called_ gentlemen and men of honor were to sign a treaty or a compromise. The Southern pestilential influence would poison not only the North, but this whole hemisphere. The history of the past has nothing to be compared with organized, legal piracy, as would become the thus-called Southern chivalry on land and on sea; and soon European maritime powers would be obliged to make costly expeditions for the sake of extirpating, crushing, uprooting the nest of pirates, which then will embrace about twelve millions,--_every_ Southern gentleman being a pirate at heart. This is what the Northern people know by experience and by intuition, and what makes the people so uneasy about the inertia of the administration. Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Gen. Scott, and other great men, are soured against the people and public opinion for distrusting, or rather for criticising their little display of statesmanlike activity. How unjust! As a general rule, of all human sentiments, confidence is the most scrutinizing one. If _confidence_ is bestowed, it wants to perfectly know the _why_. But from the outset of this war the American people gave and give to everybody full, unsuspecting confidence, without asking the why, without even scrutinizing the actions which were to justify the claim. Up to this day Secesh is the positive pole; the Union is the negative,--it is the blow recipient. When, oh, when will come the opposite? When will we deal blows? Not under McClellan, I suspect. NOVEMBER, 1861. Ball's Bluff -- Whitewashing -- "Victoria! Old Scott gone overboard!" -- His fatal influence -- His conceit -- Cameron -- Intervention -- More reviews -- Weed, Everett, Hughes -- Gov. Andrew -- Boutwell -- Mason and Slidell caught -- Lincoln frightened by the South Carolina success -- Waits unnoticed in McClellan's library -- Gen. Thomas -- Traitors and pedants -- The Virginia campaign -- West Point -- McClellan's speciality -- When will they begin to see through him? The season is excellent for military operations, such as any Napoleon could wish it. And we, lying not on our oars or arms, but in our beds, as our _spes patriæ_ is warmly and cosily established in a large house, receiving there the incense and salutations of all flunkeys. Even cabinet ministers crowd McClellan's antechambers! The massacre at Ball's Bluff is the work either of treason, or of stupidity, or of cowardice, or most probably of all three united. No European government and no European nation would thus coolly bear it. Any commander culpable of such stupidity would be forever disgraced, and dismissed from the army. Here the administration, the Cabinet, and all the Scotts, the McClellans, the Thomases, etc., strain their brains and muscles to whitewash themselves or the culprit--to represent this massacre as something very innocent. Victoria! Victoria! Old Scott, Old Mischief, gone overboard! So vanished one of the two evil genii keeping guard over Mr. Lincoln's brains. But it will not be so easy to redress the evil done by Scott. He nailed the country's cause to such a turnpike that any of his successors will perhaps be unable to undo what Old Mischief has done. Scott might have had certain, even eminent, military capacity; but, all things considered, he had it only on a small scale. Scott never had in his hand large numbers, and hundreds of European generals of divisions would do the same that Scott did, even in Mexico. Any one in Europe, who in some way or other participated in the events of the last forty years, has had occasion to see or participate in one single day in more and better fighting, to hear more firing, and smell more powder, than has General Scott in his whole life. Scott's fatal influence palsied, stiffened, and poisoned every noble or higher impulse, and every aspiration of the people. Scott diligently sowed the first seeds of antagonism between volunteers and regulars, and diligently nursed them. Around his person in the War Department, and in the army, General Scott kept and maintained officers, who, already before the inauguration, declared, and daily asserted, that if it comes to a war, few officers of the army will unite with the North and remain loyal to the Union. He never forgot to be a Virginian, and was filled with all a Virginian's conceit. To the last hour he warded off blows aimed at Virginia. To this hour he never believed in a serious war, and now _requiescat in pace_ until the curse of coming generations. McClellan is invested with all the powers of Scott. McClellan has more on his shoulders than any man--a Napoleon not excepted--can stand; and with his very limited capacity McClellan must necessarily break under it. Now McClellan will be still more idolized. He is already a kind of dictator, as Lincoln, Seward, etc., turn around him. In a conversation with Cameron, I warned him against bestowing such powers on McClellan. "What shall we do?" was Cameron's answer; "neither the President nor I know anything about military affairs." Well, it is true; but McClellan is scarcely an apprentice. Again the intermittent fear, or fever, of foreign intervention. How absurd! Americans belittle themselves talking and thinking about it. The European powers will not, and cannot. That is my creed and my answer; but some of our agents, diplomats, and statesmen, try to made capital for themselves from this fever which they evoke to establish before the public that their skill preserves the country from foreign intervention. Bosh! All the good and useful produced in the life and in the economy of nations, all the just and the right in their institutions, all the ups and downs, misfortunes and disasters befalling them, all this was, is, and forever will be the result of logical deductions from pre-existing dates and facts. And here almost everybody forgets the yesterday. A revolution imposes obligations. A revolution makes imperative the development and the practical application of those social principles which are its basis. The American Revolution of 1776 proclaimed self-government, equality before all, happiness of all, etc.; it is therefore the peremptory duty of the American people to uproot domestic oligarchy, based upon living on the labor of an enslaved man; it has to put a stop to the moral, intellectual, and physical servitude of both, of whites and of colored. Eminent men in America are taunted with the ambition to reach the White House. In itself it is not condemnable; it is a noble or an ignoble ambition, according to the ways and means used to reach that aim. It is great and stirring to see one's name recorded in the list of Presidents of the United States; but there is still a record far shorter, but by far more to be envied--a record venerated by our race--it is the record of truly _great men_. The actually inscribed runners for the White House do not think of this. No one around me here seems to understand (and no one is familiar enough with general history) that protracted wars consolidate a nationality. Every day of Southern existence shapes it out more and more into a _nation_, with all the necessary moral and material conditions of existence. Seeing these repeated reviews, I cannot get rid of the idea that by such shows and displays McClellan tries to frighten the rebels in the Chinaman fashion. The collateral missions to England, France, and Spain, are to add force to our cause before the public opinion as well as before the rulers. But what a curious choice of men! It would be called even an unhappy one. Thurlow Weed, with his offhand, apparently sincere, if not polished ways, may not be too repulsive to English refinement, provided he does not buttonhole his interlocutionists, or does not pat them on the shoulder. So Thurlow Weed will be dined, wined, etc. But doubtless the London press will show him up, or some "Secesh" in London will do it. I am sure that Lord Lyons, as it is his paramount duty, has sent to Earl Russell a full and detailed biography of this Seward's _alter ego_, sent _ad latus_ to Mr. Adams. Thurlow Weed will be considered an agreeable fellow; but he never can acquire much weight and consideration, neither with the statesmen, nor with the members of the government, nor in saloons, nor with the public at large. Edward Everett begged to be excused from such a false position offered to him in London. Not fish, not flesh. It was rather an offence to proffer it to Everett. The old patriot better knows Europe, its cabinets, and exigencies, than those who attempted to intricate him in this ludicrous position. He is right, and he will do more good here than he could do in London--there on a level with Thurlow Weed! Archbishop Hughes is to influence Paris and France,--but whom? The public opinion, which is on our side, is anti-Roman, and Hughes is an Ultra Montane--an opinion not over friendly to Louis Napoleon. The French clergy in every way, in culture, wisdom, instruction, theology, manners, deportment, etc., is superior to Hughes in incalculable proportions, and the French clergy are already generally anti-slavery. Hughes to act on Louis Napoleon! Why! the French Emperor can outwit a legion of Hugheses, and do this without the slightest effort. Besides, for more than a century European sovereigns, governments, and cabinets, have generally given up the use of bishops, etc., for political, public, or confidential missions. Mr. Seward stirs up old dust. All the liberal party in Europe or France will look astonished, if not worse, at this absurdity. All things considered, it looks like one of Seward's personal tricks, and Seward outwitted Chase, took him in by proffering a similar mission to Chase's friend, Bishop McIlvaine. But I pity Dayton. He is a high-toned man, and the mission of Hughes is a humiliation to Dayton. Whatever may be the objects of these missions, they look like petty expedients, unworthy a minister of a great government. Mason and Slidell caught. England will roar, but here the people are satisfied. Some of the diplomats make curious faces. Lord Lyons behaves with dignity. The small Bremen flatter right and left, and do it like little lap-dogs. Governor Andrew of Massachusetts, ex-Governor Boutwell, are tip-top men--men of the people. The Blairs are too heinous, too violent, in their persecution of Fremont. Warned M. Blair not to protect one whom Fremont deservedly expelled. But M. Blair, in his spite against Fremont, took a mean adventurer by the hand, and entangled therein the President. The vessel and the crew are excellent, and would easily obey the hand of a helmsman, but there is the rub, where to find him? Lincoln is a simple man of the prairie, and his eyes penetrate not the fog, the tempest. They do not perceive the signs of the times--cannot embrace the horizon of the nation. And thus his small intellectual insight is dimmed by those around him. Lincoln begins now already to believe that he is infallible; that he is ahead of the people, and frets that the people may remain behind. Oh simplicity or conceit! Again, Lincoln is frightened with the success in South Carolina, as in his opinion this success will complicate the question of slavery. He is frightened as to what he shall do with Charleston and Augusta, provided these cities are taken. It is disgusting to hear with what superciliousness the different members of the Cabinet speak of the approaching Congress--and not one of them is in any way the superior of many congressmen. When Congress meets, the true national balance account will be struck. The commercial and piratical flag of the secesh is virtually in all waters and ports. (The little cheese-eater, the Hollander, was the first to raise a fuss against the United States concerning the piratical flag. This is not to be forgotten.) 2d. Prestige, to a great extent, lost. 3d. Millions upon millions wasted. Washington besieged and blockaded, and more than 200,000 men kept in check by an enemy not by half as strong. 4th. Every initiative which our diplomacy tried abroad was wholly unsuccessful, and we are obliged to submit to new international principles inaugurated at our cost; and, summing up, instead of a broad, decided, general policy, we have vacillation, inaction, tricks, and expedients. The people fret, and so will the Congress. Nations are as individuals; any partial disturbance in a part of the body occasions a general chill. Nature makes efforts to check the beginning of disease, and so do nations. In the human organism nature does not submit willingly to the loss of health, or of a limb, or of life. Nature struggles against death. So the people of the Union will not submit to an amputation, and is uneasy to see how unskilfully its own family doctors treat the national disease. Port Royal, South Carolina, taken. Great and general rejoicing. It is a brilliant feat of arms, but a questionable military and war policy. Those attacks on the circumference, or on extremities, never can become a death-blow to secesh. The rebels must be crushed in the focus; they ought to receive a blow at the heart. This new strategy seems to indicate that McClellan has not heart enough to attack the fastnesses of rebeldom, but expects that something may turn up from these small expeditions. He expects to weaken the rebels in their focus. I wish McClellan may be right in his expectations, but I doubt it. Officers of McClellan's staff tell that Mr. Lincoln almost daily comes into McClellan's library, and sits there rather unnoticed. On several occasions McClellan let the President wait in the room, together with other common mortals. The English statesmen and the English press have the notion deeply rooted in their brains that the American people fight for empire. The rebels do it, but not the free men. Mr. Seward's emphatical prohibition to Mr. Adams to mention the question of slavery may have contributed to strengthen in England the above-mentioned fallacy. This is a blunder, which before long or short Seward will repent. It looks like astuteness--_ruse_; but if so, it is the resource of a rather limited mind. In great and minor affairs, straightforwardness is the best policy. Loyalty always gets the better of astuteness, and the more so when the opponent is unprepared to meet it. Tricks can be well met by tricks, but tricks are impotent against truth and sincerity. But Mr. Seward, unhappily, has spent his life in various political tricks, and was surrounded by men whose intimacy must have necessarily lowered and unhealthily affected him. All his most intimates are unintellectual mediocrities or tricksters. Seward is free from that infamous know-nothingism of which this Gen. Thomas is the great master (a man every few weeks accused of treason by the public opinion, and undoubtedly vibrating between loyalty here and sympathy with rebels). All this must have unavoidably vitiated Mr. Seward's better nature. In such way only can I see plainly why so many excellent qualities are marred in him. He at times can broadly comprehend things around him; he is good-natured when not stung, and he is devoted to his men. As a patriot, he is American to the core--were only his domestic policy straightforward and decided, and would he only stop meddling with the plans of the campaign, and let the War Department alone. Since every part of his initiative with European cabinets failed, Seward very skilfully dispatches all the minor affairs with Europe--affairs generated by various maritime and international complications. Were his domestic policy as correct as is now his foreign policy, Seward would be the right man. Statesmanship emerges from the collision of great principles with important interests. In the great Revolution, the thus called fathers of the nation were the offsprings of the exigencies of the time, and they were fully up to their task. They were vigorous and fresh; their intellect was not obstructed by any political routine, or by tricky political praxis. Such men are now needed at the helm to carry this noble people throughout the most terrible tempest. So in these days one hears so much about constitutional formulas as safeguards of liberty. True liberty is not to be virtually secured by any framework of rules and limitations, devisable only by statecraft. The perennial existence of liberty depends not on the action of any definite and ascertainable machinery, but on continual accessions of fresh and vital influences. But perhaps such influences are among the noblest, and therefore among the rarest, attributes of man. Abroad and here, traitors and some pedants on formulas make a noise concerning the violation of formulas. Of course it were better if such violations had been left undone. But all this is transient, and evoked by the direst necessity. The Constitution was made for a healthy, normal condition of the nation; the present condition is abnormal. Regular functions are suspended. When the human body is ruined or devoured by a violent disease, often very tonic remedies are used--remedies which would destroy the organism if administered when in a healthy, normal condition. A strong organism recovers from disease, and from its treatment. Human societies and institutions pass through a similar ordeal, and when they are unhinged, extraordinary and abnormal ways are required to maintain the endangered society and restore its equipoise. Examining day after day the map of Virginia, it strikes one that a movement with half of the army could be made down from Mount Vernon by the two turnpike roads, and by water to Occoquan, and from there to Brentsville. The country there seems to be flat, and not much wooded. Manassas would be taken in the rear, and surrounded, provided the other half of the army would push on by the direct way from here to Manassas, and seriously attack the enemy, who thus would be broken, could not escape. This, or any plan, the map of Virginia ought to suggest to the staff of McClellan, were it a staff in the true meaning. Dybitsch and Toll, young colonels in the staff of Alexander I., 1813-'14, originated the march on Paris, so destructive to Napoleon. History bristles with evidences how with staffs originated many plans of battles and of campaigns; history explains the paramount influence of staffs on the conduct of a war. Of course Napoleon wanted not a suggestive, but only an executive staff; but McClellan is not a Napoleon, and has neither a suggestive nor an executive staff around him. A Marcy to suggest a plan of a campaign or of a battle, to watch over its execution! I spoke to McDowell about the positions of Occoquan and Brentsville. He answered that perhaps something similar will be under consideration, and that McClellan must show his mettle and capacity. I pity McDowell's confidence. Besides, the American army as it was and is educated, nursed, brought up by Gen. Scott,--the army has no idea what are the various and complicated duties of a staff. No school of staff at West Point; therefore the difficulty to find now genuine officers of the staff. If McClellan ever moves this army, then the defectiveness of his staff may occasion losses and even disasters. It will be worse with his staff than it was at Jena with the Prussian staff, who were as conceited as the small West Point clique here in Washington. West Point instructs well in special branches, but does not necessarily form generals and captains. The great American Revolution was fought and made victorious by men not from any military schools, and to whom were opposed commanders with as much military science as there was possessed and current in Europe. Jackson, Taylor, and even Scott, are not from the school. I do not wish to judge or disparage the pupils from West Point, but I am disgusted with the supercilious and ridiculous behavior of the clique here, ready to form prætorians or anything else, and poisoning around them the public opinion. Western generals are West Point pupils, but I do not hear them make so much fuss, and so contemptuously look down on the volunteers. These Western generals pine not after regulars, but make use of such elements as they have under hand. The best and most patriotic generals and officers here, educated at West Point, are numerous. Unhappily a clique, composed of a few fools and fops, overshadows the others. McClellan's speciality is engineering. It is a speciality which does not form captains and generals for the field,--at least such instances are very rare. Of all Napoleon's marshals and eminent commanders, Berthier alone was educated as engineer, and his speciality and high capacity was that of a chief of the staff. Marescott or Todleben would never claim to be captains. The intellectual powers of an engineer are modeled, drilled, turned towards the defensive,--the engineer's brains concentrate upon selecting defensive positions, and combine how to strengthen them by art. So an engineer is rather disabled from embracing a whole battle-field, with its endless casualties and space. Engineers are the incarnation of a defensive warfare; all others, as artillerists, infantry, and cavalry, are for dashing into the unknown--into the space; and thus these specialities virtually represent the offensive warfare. When will they begin to see through McClellan, and find out that he is not the man? Perhaps too late, and then the nation will sorely feel it. Mr. Seward almost idolizes McClellan. Poor homage that; but it does mischief by reason of its influence on the public opinion. DECEMBER, 1861. The message -- Emancipation -- State papers published -- Curtis Noyes -- Greeley not fit for Senator -- Generalship all on the rebel side -- The South and the North -- The sensationists -- The new idol will cost the people their life-blood! -- The Blairs -- Poor Lincoln! -- The Trent affair -- Scott home again -- The war investigation committee -- Mr. Mercier. McClellan is now all-powerful, and refuses to divide the army into corps. Thus much for his brains and for his consistency. The message--a disquisition upon labor and capital; hesitancy about slavery. The President wishes to be pushed on by public opinion. But public opinion is safe, and expects from the official leader a decided step onwards. The message gives no solution, suggests none, accounts not for the lost time--foreshadows not a vigorous, energetic effort to crush the rebellion; foreshadows not a vigorous, offensive war. The message is an honest paper, but says not much. The question of emancipation is not clear even in the heads of the leading emancipationists; not one thinks to give freeholds to the emancipated. It is the only way to make them useful to themselves and to the community. Freedom without land is humbug, and the fools speak of exportation of the four millions of slaves, depriving thus the country of laborers, which a century of emigration cannot fill again. All these fools ought to be sent to a lunatic asylum. To export the emancipated would be equivalent to devastation of the South, to its transformation into a wilderness. Small freeholds for the emancipated can be cut out of the plantations of rebels, or out of the public lands of each State--lands forfeited by the rebellion. State papers published. The instructions to the various diplomatic agents betray a beginner in the diplomatic career. By writing special instructions for each minister, Mr. Seward unnecessarily increased his task. The cause, reasons, etc., of the rebellion are one and the same for France or Russia, and a single explanatory circular for all the ministers would have done as well and spared a great deal of labor. Cavour wrote one circular to all cabinets, and so do all European statesmen. So, as they are, the State papers are a curious agglomeration of good patriotism and confusion. So the Minister to England is to avoid slavery; the Minister to France has the contrary. All this is not smartness or diplomacy, but rather confusion, insincerity, and double-dealing. One must conclude that Lincoln and Seward have themselves no firm opinion. The instructions to Mexico would sound nobly-worded but for the confusion and the veil ordered to be thrown upon the cause of secession. That to Italy, above all to Austria, has a smack of a schoolmaster displaying his information before a gaping boy. It is offensive to the Minister going to Vienna. It may be suspected that some of these instructions were written to make capital at home, to astonish Mr. Lincoln with the knowledge of Europe and the familiarity with European affairs. All this display will prove to Europeans rather an ignorance of Europe. The correspondence on the Paris convention is splendid, although the initiative taken by Seward on this question was a mistake. But he argued well the case against the English and French reservations. Never any government whatever treated so tenderly its worst and most dangerous enemies as does this government the Washington secessionists, spies for the enemy, and spreading false news here to frighten McClellan. The old regular, but partly worn-out Republican leaders throttle and neutralize the new, fresh, vigorous accessions. So Curtis Noyes, one of the most eminent and devoted men, could not come into the Senate because Greeley wished to be elected. No living man has rendered greater services to the people during the last twenty years than Greeley; but he ought to remain in his speciality. Greeley is no more fit for a Senator than to take the command of a regiment. Besides, the events already run over his head; Greeley is slowly breaking down. McClellan is beset with all kinds of inventors, contractors, etc. He mostly endorses their suggestions, and on this authority the most extravagant orders are given by the War Department. All this ought to be investigated. Somebody back of McClellan may be found as being the real patron of these leeches. If the genius or capacity of a commander consists not only in closely observing the movements of the enemy, but likewise in penetrating the enemy's plans and in modifying his own in proportion as they are deranged by an unexpected movement or a rapid march, then the generalship is altogether on the other side, and on ours not a sign, not a breath of it. A civil war is mostly the purifying fire in a nation's existence. It is to be hoped that this great convulsion will purify the free States by sounding the death-knell of these small intriguing politicians. The American people at large will acquire earnestness, knowledge of men, and clear insight into its own affairs. Tricky politicians will be discarded, and true men backed by majorities. The South has for its leaders the chiefs who for years organized the secession, who waged everything on its success, as life, honor, fortune, and who incite and carry with them the ignorant masses. The reverse is in the North. Mr. Lincoln was not elected for suppressing the rebellion, nor did he make his Cabinet in view of a terrible national struggle for death or life. Neither Lincoln nor his Cabinet are the inciters or the inspiring leaders of the people, but only expressions--not _ad hoc_--of the national will. This is one reason why the administration is slower than the people, and why the rebel administration is quicker than ours. The second reason, and generated by the first, is, that every rebel devotes his whole soul and energy to the success of the rebellion, forcibly forgetting his individuality. Our thus called leaders think first of their little selves, whose aggrandizement the public events are to secure, and the public cause is to square itself with their individual schemes. Such is the policy of almost all those at the helm here. Not one among them is to be found deserving the name of a statesman, endowed with a great devotion, and with a great power, for the service of a great and noble aim. From the solemn hour that the fatherland honorably chains him to its service, the genuine statesman exists no more for himself, but for his country alone. If necessary, he ought to consider himself a victim to the public good, even were the public unjust towards him. He is to treat as enemies all the dirty, tricky, and mean passions and men. His enemies will hate, but the country, his enemies included, will esteem him. Such a man will be the genuine man of the American people, but he exists not in the official spheres. It is for the first time in history that a young, insignificant man, without a past, without any reason, is put in such a lofty position as has been McClellan; he is to be literally kicked into greatness, and into showing eventually courage. All this is a psychological problem! Kent's Commentary upon the qualifications of a President is the best criticism upon Lincoln. These mosquitoes of public opinion, the sensation-seekers, the sentimental preachers, the lecturers, the amateurs of the thus called representative men, these oratorical falsifiers of history, but considered here as luminaries, are already at their pernicious, nay, accursed work. They poison the judgment of the people. These hero-seekers for their sermons, lectures, and sensation productions, have already found all the criteria of a hero in McClellan, even in his chin, in the back of his horse, etc., etc., and now herald it all over the country. Curses be upon them. No nation has ever raised idols with such facility as do the Americans. Nay, I do not suppose that there ever existed in history a nation with such a thirst for idols as this people. I may be a false prophet; but this new idol, McClellan, will cost them their life-blood. The Blairs are now staunch supporters of McClellan. It is unpardonable. They ought to know, and they do know better. But Mr. Blair wishes to be Secretary of War in Cameron's place, and wishes to get it through McClellan. And poor Lincoln! I pity him; but his advisers may make out of him something worse even than was Judas, in the curses of ages. Polybius asserts that when the Greeks wrote about Rome they erred and lied, and when the Romans wrote of themselves they lied or boasted. The same the English do in relation to themselves, and to Americans. Above all, in this Trent affair, or excitement, all European writers for the press, professors, doctors, etc., pervert facts, reason, and international laws, forget the past, and lie or flatter, with a slight exception, as is Gasparin. The Trent affair finished. We are a little humbled, but it was expedient to terminate it so. With another military leader than McClellan, we could march at the same time to Richmond, and invest Canada before any considerable English force could arrive there. But with such a hero at our head, better that it ends so. Europe will applaud us, and the relation with England will become clarified. Perhaps England would not have been so stiff in this Trent affair but for the fixed idea in Russell's, Newcastle's, Palmerston's, etc., heads that Seward wishes to pick a quarrel with England. The first weeks of Seward's premiership pointed that way. Mr. Seward has the honors of the Trent affair. It is well as it is; the argument is smart, but a little too long, and not in a genuine diplomatic style. But Lincoln ought to have a little credit for it, as from the start he was for giving the traitors up. The worst feature of the whole Trent affair is, that it brought back home from France this old mischief, General Scott. He will again resume his position as the first military authority in the country, confuse the judgment of Lincoln, of the press, and of the people, and again push the country into mire. The Congress appointed a War Investigating Committee, Senator Wade at the head. There is hope that the committee will quickly find out what a terrible mistake this McClellan is, and warn the nation of him. But Lincoln, Seward, and the Blairs, will not give up their idol. Louis Napoleon said his word about the Trent affair. All things considered, the conduct of the Emperor cannot be complained of. The Thouvenel paper is serious, severe, but intrinsically not unfriendly. Quite the contrary. Up to this time I am right in my reliance on Louis Napoleon, on his sound, cool, but broad comprehension. Mr. Mercier behaves well, and he is to be relied on, provided we show mettle and fight the traitors. Now, as the European imbroglio is clarified, _at them_, _at them_! But nothing to hope or expect from McClellan. I daily preach, but in the wilderness. Prince de Joinville made a very ridiculous fuss about the Trent affair. Americans believe that a statesman must be an orator. Schoolboy-like, they judge on English precedents. In England, the Parliament is omnipotent; it makes and unmakes administrations, therefore oratory is a necessary corollary in a statesman; but here the Cabinet acts without parliamentary wranglings, and a Jackson is the true type of an American statesman. Washington was not an orator, nor was Alexander Hamilton. JANUARY, 1862. The year 1861 ends badly -- European defenders of slavery -- Secession lies -- Jeremy Diddlers -- Sensation-seekers -- Despotic tendencies -- Atomistic Torquemadas -- Congress chained by formulas -- Burnside's expedition a sign of life -- Will this McClellan ever advance? -- Mr. Adams unhorsed -- He packs his trunks -- Bad blankets -- Austria, Prussia, and Russia -- The West Point nursery -- McClellan a greater mistake than Scott -- Tracks to the White House -- European stories about Mr. Lincoln -- The English ignorami -- The slaveholder a scarcely varnished savage -- Jeff. Davis -- "Beauregard frightens us -- McClellan rocks his baby" -- Fancy army equipment -- McClellan and his chief of staff sick in bed -- "No satirist could invent such things" -- Stanton in the Cabinet -- "This Stanton is the people" -- Fremont -- Weed -- The English will not be humbugged -- Dayton in a fret -- Beaufort -- The investigating committee condemn McClellan -- Lincoln in the clutches of Seward and Blair -- Banks begs for guns and cavalry in vain -- The people will awake! -- The question of race -- Agassiz. An ugly year ended in backing before England, having, at least, relative right on our side. Further, the ending year has revealed a certain incapacity in the Republican party's leaders, at least its official leaders, to administer the country and to grasp the events. If the new year shall be only the continuation of the faults, the mistakes, and the incapacities prevailing during 1861, then the worst is to be expected. The lowest in moral degradation is an European defending slavery here or in Europe. Such Europeans are far below the condemned criminals. Still lower are such Europeans who become defenders of slavery after having visited plantations, where, in the shape of wines and delicacies, they tasted human blood, and then, hyenas-like, smacked their lips And thirsted for more. Always the same stories, lies, and humbugs concerning the hundreds of thousands of rebels in Manassas. These lies are spread here in Washington by the numerous secessionists--at large, by such ignoble sheets as the New York Herald and Times; and McClellan seems to willingly swallow these lies, as they justify his inaction and c----. The city is more and more crowded with Jeremy Diddlers, with lecturers, with sensation-seekers, all of them in advance discounting their hero, and showing in broad light their gigantic stupidity. One of this motley finds in McClellan a Norman chin, the other muscle, the third a brow for laurels (of thistle I hope), another a square, military, heroic frame, another firmness in lips, another an unfathomed depth in the eye, etc., etc. Never I heard in Europe such balderdash. And the ladies--not the women and gentlewomen--are worse than the men in thus stupefying themselves and those around them. The thus called arbitrary acts of the government prove how easily, on the plea of patriotic necessity, a people, nay, the public opinion, submits to arbitrary rule. All this, servility included, explains the facility with which, in former times, concentrated and concrete despotisms have been established. Here every such arbitrary action is submitted to, because it is so new, and because the people has the childish, naïve, but, to it, honorable confidence, that the power entrusted by the people is used in the interest and for the welfare of the people. But all the despots of all times and of all nations said the same. However, in justice to Mr. Lincoln, he is pure, and has no despotical longings, but he has around him some atomistic Torquemadas. It will be very difficult to the coming generations to believe that a people, a generation, who for half a century was outrunning the time, who applied the steam and the electro-magnetic telegraph, that the same people, when overrun by a terrible crisis, moved slowly, waited patiently, and suffered from the mismanagement of its leaders. This is to be exclusively explained by the youthful self-consciousness of an internal, inexhaustible vital force, and by the child-like inexperience. The Congress, that is, the majority, shows that it is aware of the urgency of the case, and of the dangerous position of the country. But still the best in Congress are chained, hampered by the formulas. The good men in both the houses seem to be firmly decided not to quietly stand by and assist in the murder of the nation by the administrative and military incapacity. This was to be expected from such men as Wade, Grimes, Chandler, Hale, Wilson, Sumner (too classical), and other Republicans in the Senate, and from the numerous pure, radical Republicans in the House. Burnside's expedition is a sign of life. But all these expeditions on the circumference, even if successful, will be fruitless if no bold, decided movement is at once made at the centre, at the heart of the rebellion. But McClellan, as his supporters say, matures his _strategical_ plans. O God! General Scott lost _by strategy_ three-fourths of the country's cause, and very probably by strategy McClellan will jeopardize what remains of it. Will this McClellan ever advance? If he lingers, he may find only rats in Manassas. McClellan is ignorant of the great, unique rule for all affairs and undertakings,--it is to throw the whole man in one thing at one time. It is the same in the camp as in the study, for a captain as for a lawyer, the savant, and the scholar. It is to be regretted that some of the men truly and thoroughly devoted to the cause of freedom and of humanity, mix with it such an enormous quantity of personal, almost childish vanity, as to puzzle many minds concerning the genuine nobleness of their devotion. It is to be regretted that those otherwise so self-sacrificing patriots discount even their martyrdom and persecutions, and credit them to their frivolous self-satisfaction. Most of the thus-called well-informed Americans rather skim over than thoroughly study history. Above all, it applies to the general history of the Christian era, and of our great epoch (from the second half of the 18th century). Most of the Americans are only very superficially familiar with the history of continental Europe, or know it only by its contact with the history of England. Many of them are more familiar with the classical wars of Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar, etc., than with those of Gustavus, Frederick II., and even of Napoleon. Were it otherwise, _strategy_ would not to such an extent have taken hold of their brains. Mr. Adams was terribly unhorsed during the Trent excitement in England; he literally began to pack up his trunks, and asked a personal advice from Lord John Russell. What a devoted patriot this Sandford in Belgium is; he has continual _itchings in his hand_ to pay a _higher price_ for bad blankets that they may not fall into the hands of secesh agents; so with cloth, so perhaps with arms. _Oh, disinterested patriot!_ Austria and Prussia whipped in by England and France, and at the same time glad to have an occasion to take the airs of maritime powers. Austria and Prussia sent their advice concerning the Trent affair. The kick of asses at what they suppose to be the dying lion. Austria and Prussia! Great heavens! Ask the prisons of both those champions of violated rights how many better men than Slidell and Mason groaned in them; and the conduct of those powers against the Poles in 1831! Was it neutral or honest? I am sure that Russia will behave well, and abstain from coming forward with uncalled-for and humiliating advice. Russia is a true great power,--a true friend,--and such noble behavior will be in harmony with the character of Alexander II., and with the friendliness and clear perception of events held by the Russian minister here. I hope that when the war is over the West Point nursery will be reformed, and a general military organization introduced, such a one as exists in Switzerland. McClellan is a greater mistake than was even Scott. McClellan knows not the A B C of military history of any nation or war, or he would not keep this army so in camp. He would know that after recruits have been roughly instructed in the rudiments of a drill, the next best instructor is fighting. So it was in the thirty years' war; so in the American Revolution; so in the first French revolutionary wars. Strategians, martinets, lost the battles, or rather the campaigns, of Austerlitz, of Jena, etc. In 1813 German rough levies fought almost before they were drilled, and at Bautzen French recruits were victorious over Prussians, Russians, and Austrians. The secesh fight with fresh levies, etc. Numerous political intriguers surrounding McClellan are busily laying tracks for him to the White House. What will Seward and Chase say to it, and even old Abe, who himself dreams of re-election, or at least his friends do it for him? All these candidates forget that the surest manner to reach the White House is not to think of it--to forget oneself and to act. It is amusing to find in European papers all the various stories about Mr. Lincoln. There he is represented as a violent, blood-thirsty revolutionaire, dragging the people after him. In this manner, those European imbeciles are acquainted with American events, character, etc. They cannot find out that in decision, in clear-sightedness and soundness of judgment, the people are far ahead of Mr. Lincoln and of his spiritual or constitutional conscience-keepers. And the same imbeciles, if not _canailles_, speak of a mob-rule over the President, etc. Some one ought to enlighten those French and English supercilious ignorami that something like a mob only prevails in such cities as New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore; and nine-tenths of such a mob are mostly yet unwashed, unrepublicanized Europeans. The ninety-nine one-hundredths of the freemen of the North are more orderly, more enlightened, more law-abiding, and more moral than are the English lordlings, somebodies, nobodies, and would-be somebodies. In the West, lynch-law, to be sure, is at times used against brothels, bar-rooms, gambling-houses, and thieves. It would be well to do the same in London, were it not that most of the lynch-lawed may not belong to the people. If the European scribblers were not past any honest impulse, they would know that the South is the generator and the congenial region for the mob, the filibusters, the revolver and the bowie-knife rule. In the South the proportion of mobs to decency is the reverse of that prevailing in the free States. The _slavery gentleman_ is a scarcely varnished savage, for whom the highest law is his reckless passion and will. If Jeff. Davis succeeds, he will be the founder of a new and great slaveholding empire. His name will resound in after times; but history will record his name as that of a curse to humanity. And so Davis is making history and Lincoln is telling stories. Beauregard gets inspired by the fumes of bivouacs; McClellan by the fumes of flatterers. Beauregard frightens us, McClellan rocks his baby. Beauregard shares the camp-fires of his soldiers; he sees them daily, knows them, as it is said, one by one; McClellan lives comfortably in the city, and appears only to the soldiers as the great Lama on special occasions. Camp-fellowship inspired all the great captains and established the magnetic current between the leader and the soldier. McClellan organized a board of generals, arriving daily from the camps, to discuss some new fancy army equipment. And Lincoln, Seward, Blair, and all the tail of intriguers and imbeciles, still admire him. In no other country would such a futile man be kept in command of troops opposed to a deadly and skilful enemy. For several weeks, McClellan and his chief of the staff (such as he is) are sick in bed, and no one is _ad interim_ appointed to attend to the current affairs of our army of 600,000, having the enemy before their nose. Oh human imbecility! No satirist could invent such things; and if told, it would not be believed in Europe. The McClellan-worship by the people at large is to be explained by the firm, ardent will of the people to crush the rebels, and by the general feeling of the necessity of a man for that purpose. Such is the case with the true, confiding people in the country; but here, contractors, martinets, and intriguers are the blowers of that worship. Lincoln is as is the people at large; but a Seward, a Blair, a Herald, a Times, and their respective and numerous tails,--as for their motives, they are the reverse of Lincoln and of the people. Victories in Kentucky, beyond the circumference or the direct action from here; they are obtained without strategy and by rough levies. But this voice of events is not understood by the McClellan tross. Change in the Cabinet: Stanton, a new man, not from the parlor, and not from the hacks. His bulletin on the victory in Kentucky inaugurated a new era. It is a voice that nobody hitherto uttered in America. It is the awakening voice of the good genius of the people, almost as that which awoke Lazarus. This Stanton is the people; I never saw him, but I hope he is the man for the events; perhaps he may turn out to be _my_ statesman. I wish I could get convinced of the real superiority of Fremont. It is true that he was treated badly and had natural and artificial difficulties to over come; it is true that to him belongs the credit of having started the construction of the mortar fleet; but likewise it is true that he was, at the mildest, unsurpassingly reckless in contracts and expenditures, and I shall never believe him a general. With all this, Fremont started a great initiative at a time when McClellan and three-fourths of the generals of his creation considered it a greater crime to strike at a _gentleman_ slaveholder than to strike at the Union. The courtesies and hospitalities paid to Thurlow Weed by English society are clamored here in various ways. These courtesies prove the high breeding and the good-will of a part, at least, of the English aristocracy and of English statesmen. I do not suppose that Thurlow Weed could ever have been admitted in such society if he were travelling on his own merits as the great lobbyist and politician. At the utmost, he would have been shown up as a _rara avis_. But introduced to English society as the master spirit of Mr. Seward, and as Seward's semi-official confidential agent, Thurlow Weed was admitted, and even petted. But it is another question if this palming of a Thurlow Weed upon the English high-toned statesmen increased their consideration for Mr. Seward. The Duke of Newcastle and others are not yet softened, and refuse to be humbugged. Whoever has the slightest knowledge of how affairs are transacted, is well aware that the times of a personal diplomacy are almost gone. The exceptions are very rare, very few, and the persons must be of other might and intellectual mettle than a Sandford, Weed, or Hughes. Great affairs are not conducted or decided by conversations, but by great interests. Diplomatic agents, at the utmost, serve to keep their respective governments informed about the run of events. Mr. Mercier does it for Louis Napoleon; but Mr. Mercier's reports, however friendly they may be, cannot much influence a man of such depth as Louis Napoleon, and to imagine that a Hughes will be able to do it! I am ashamed of Mr. Seward; he proves by this would-be-crotchety policy how little he knows of events and of men, and how he undervalues Louis Napoleon. Such humbug missions are good to throw dirt in the eyes of a Lincoln, a Chase, etc., but in Europe such things are sent to Coventry. And Hughes to influence Spain! Oh! oh! Dayton frets on account of the mission of Hughes. Dayton is right. Generally Dayton shows a great deal of good sense, of good comprehension, and a noble and independent character. He is not a flatterer, not servile, and subservient to Mr. Seward, as are others--Mr. Adams, Mr. Sandford, and some few other diplomatic agents. The active and acting abolitionists ought to concentrate all their efforts to organize thoroughly and efficiently the district of Beaufort. The success of a productive colony there would serve as a womb for the emancipation at large. Mr. Seward declares that he has given up meddling with military affairs. For his own sake, and for the sake of the country, I ardently wish it were so; but--I shall never believe it. The Investigating Committee has made the most thorough disclosures of the thorough incapacity of McClellan; but the McClellan men, Seward, Blair, etc., neutralize, stifle all the good which could accrue to the country from these disclosures. And Lincoln is in their clutches. The administration by its influence prevents the publication of the results of this investigation, prevents the truth from coming to the people. Any hard name will be too soft for such a moral prevarication. McClellan is either as feeble as a reed, or a bad man. The disorder around here is nameless. Banks compares it to the time of the French Directory. Banks has no guns, no cavalry, and is in the vanguard. He begs almost on his knees, and cannot get anything. And the country pays a chief of the staff, and head of the staffers. The time must come, although it be now seemingly distant, that the people will awake from this lethargy; that it will perceive how much of the noblest blood of the people, how much time and money, have been worse than recklessly squandered. The people will find it out, and then they will ask those Cains at the wheel an account of the innocent blood of Abel, the country's son, the country's cause. The defenders of, and the thus called moderate men on the question of slavery, utter about it the old rubbish composed of the most thorough ignorance and of disgusting fallacies, in relation to this pseudo science, or rather lie, about races. More of it will come out in the course of the Congressional discussions. Not one of them is aware that independent science, that comparative anatomy, physiology, psychology, anthropology, that philosophy of history altogether and thoroughly repudiate all these superficially asserted, or tried-to-be-established, intrinsic diversities and peculiarities of races. All these would-be axioms, theories, are based on sand. In true science the question of race as represented by the Southern school partisans of slavery, with Agassiz, the so-called professor of Charleston by European savans, at their head,--that question is at the best an illusive element, and endangers the accuracy of induction. As it presents itself to the unprejudiced investigator, race is nothing more than the single manifestation of anterior stages of existence, the aggregate expression of the pre-historic vicissitudes of a people. If those would-be knowing arguers on slavery, race, etc., were only aware of the fact that such people as the primitive Greeks, or the ancestors of classical Greeks, that the ancestors of the Latins, that even the roving, robbing ancestors of the Anglo Saxons, in some way or other, have been anthropophagi, and worshipped fetishes; and even as thus called already civilized, they sacrificed men to gods,--could our great pro-slavers know all this, they would be more decent in their ignorant assertions, and not, so self-satisfied, strut about in their dark ignorance. Those who are afraid that the freed negroes of the South will run to the Northern free States, display an ignorance still greater than the former. When the enslaved colored Americans in the South shall be _all_ thoroughly emancipated in that now cursed region, then they will remain in the, to them, congenial climate, and in the favorable economical conditions of labor and of existence. Not only those emancipated will not run North, but the colored population from the free States, incited and stirred up by natural attractions, will leave the North for the South, as small streamlets and rivulets run into a large current or river. The rebels extend on an immense bow, nearly one hundred miles, from the lower to the upper Potomac. Our army, two to one, is on the span of the arc, and we do nothing. A French sergeant would be better inspired than is McClellan. FEBRUARY, 1862. Drifting -- The English blue book -- Lord John could not act differently -- Palmerston the great European fuss-maker -- Mr. Seward's "two pickled rods" for England -- Lord Lyons -- His pathway strewn with broken glass -- Gen. Stone arrested -- Sumner's resolutions infuse a new spirit in the Constitution -- Mr. Seward beyond salvation -- He works to save slavery -- Weed has ruined him -- The New York press -- "Poor Tribune" -- The Evening Post -- The Blairs -- Illusions dispelled -- "All quiet on the Potomac" -- The London papers -- Quill-heroes can be bought for a dinner -- French opinion -- Superhuman efforts to save slavery -- It is doomed! -- "All you worshippers of darkness cannot save it!" -- The Hutchinsons -- Corporal Adams -- Victories in the West -- Stanton the man! -- Strategy (hear! hear!) We are obliged, one by one, to eat our official high-toned assertions and words, and day after day we drift towards putting the rebels on an equal footing with ourselves. We declared the privateers to be pirates (which they are), and now we proffer their exchange against our colonels and other honorable prisoners. So one radical evil generates numberless others. And from the beginning of the struggle this radical evil was and is the want of earnestness, of a firm purpose, and of a straight, vigorous policy by the administration. _Paullatim summa petuntur_ may turn out true--but for the rebels. The publication of the English blue book, or of official correspondence between Lord Lyons and Lord John Russell, throws a new light on the conduct of the English Cabinet; and, anglophobe as I am, I must confess that, all things considered, above all the unhappily-justified distrust of England in Mr. Seward's policy,--from the first day of our troubles Lord John Russell could not act differently from what he did. Lord John Russell had to reconcile the various and immense interests of England, jeopardized by the war, with his sincere love of human liberty. Therein Lord John Russell differs wholly from Lord Palmerston, this great European fuss-maker, who hates America. As far as it was possible, Lord J. Russell remained faithful to the noble (not hereditary, but philosophical) traditions of his blood. Lord John Russell's letter to Lord Lyons (No. 17), February 20, 1861, although full of distrust in the future policy of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet towards England, is nevertheless an honorable document for his name. Lord J. Russell was well aware that the original plan of Mr. Seward was to annoy and worry England. Everything is known in this world, and especially the incautious words and conversations of public men. Months before the inauguration, Mr. Seward talked to senators of both parties that he had in store "two pickled rods" for England. The one was to be Green (always drunken), the Senator from Missouri, on account of the colored man Anderson; the other Mr. Nesmith, the Senator from Oregon, and the San Juan boundaries. Undoubtedly the Southern senators did not keep secret the like inimical forebodings concerning Mr. Seward's intentions towards England. Undoubtedly all this must have been known to Lord J. Russell when he wrote the above-mentioned letter, No. 17. More even than Lord John Russell's, Lord Lyons's official correspondence since November, 1860, inspires the highest possible respect for his noble sentiments and character. Above all, one who witnessed the difficulties of Lord Lyons's position here, and how his pathway was strewn with broken glass, and this by all kinds of hands, must feel for him the highest and most sincere consideration. From the official correspondence, Lord Lyons comes out a friend of humanity and of human liberty,--just the reverse of what he generally was supposed to be. And during the whole Trent affair, Lord Lyons's conduct was discreet, delicate, and generous. Events may transform Lord Lyons into an official enemy of the Union; but a mind soured by human meanness is soothingly impressioned by such true nobleness in a diplomat and an Englishman. Gen. Stone, of Ball's Bluff infamous massacre, arrested. Bravo! At the best, Stone was one of those conceited regulars who admired slavery, and who would have wished to save the Union in their own peculiar way. I wish he may speak, as in all probability he was not alone. Sumner's resolutions infuse a new spirit in the Constitution, and elevate it from the low ground of a dead formula. The resolutions close the epoch of the Stories, of the Kents, of the Curtises, and inaugurate a higher comprehension of American constitutionalism. During this session Charles Sumner triumphantly and nobly annihilated the aspersions of his enemies, representing him as a man of one hobby, but lacking any practical ideas. His speech on currency was among the best. Not so with his speech about the Trent affair. It is superficial, and contains misconceptions concerning treaties, and other blunders very strange in a would-be statesman. Ardently devoted to the cause of justice and of human rights, Sumner weakens the influence which he ought to exercise, because he impresses many with the notion that he looks more to the outside effect produced by him than to the intrinsic value of the subject; he makes others suppose that he is too fond of such effect, and, above all, of the effect produced in Europe among the circle of his English and European acquaintances. It is positively asserted that Lincoln agreed to take Mr. Seward in the Cabinet, because Weed and others urgently represented that Mr. Seward is the only man in the Republican party who is familiar with Europe, with her statesmen, and their policy. O Lord! O Lord! And where has Seward acquired all this information? Mr. Seward had not even the first A B C of it, or of anything else connected with it. And, besides, such a kind of special information is, at the utmost, of secondary necessity for an American statesman. Marcy had it not, and was a true, a genuine statesman. Undoubtedly, nature has endowed Seward with eminent intellectual qualities, and with germs for an eminent statesman. But the intellectual qualities became blunted by the long use of crotchets and tricks of a politician, by the associations and influence of such as Weed, etc.; thereby the better germs became nipped, so to speak, in the bud. Mr. Seward's acquired information by study, by instruction, and by reading, is quite the reverse of what in Europe is regarded as necessary for a statesman. Often, very often, I sorrowfully analyze and observe Mr. Seward, with feelings like those evoked in us by the sight of a noble ruin, or of a once rich, natural panorama, but now marred by large black spots of burned and dead vegetation, or by the ashes of a volcano. Now, Mr. Seward is beyond salvation--a "disappointed man," as he called himself in a conversation with Judge Potter, M. C.; he changed aims, and perhaps convictions. For Mr. Seward, slavery is no more the most hideous social disease; he abandoned that creed which elevated him in the confidence of the people. Now he works to preserve as much as possible of the curse of slavery; he does it on the plea of Union and conservatism; but in truth he wishes to disorganize the pure Republican party, which he hates since the Chicago Convention and since the days of the formation of the Cabinet. Under the advice of Weed, Mr. Seward attempts to form a (thus called) Union and conservative party, which at the next turn may carry him into the White House. Seward considers Weed his good genius; but in reality Weed has ruined Seward. Now Mr. Seward supports _strategy_, imbecility, and McClellan. The only explanation for me is, that Seward, participating in all military counsels and strategic plans, and not understanding any of them, finds it safer to back McClellan, and thus to deceive others about his own ignorance of military matters. The press--the New York one--worse and worse; the majority wholly degraded to the standard of the Herald and of the Times. The _poor_ Tribune, daily fading away, altogether losing that bold, lofty spirit of initiative to which for so many years the Tribune owed its all-powerful and unparalleled influence over the free masses. Now, at times, the Tribune is similar to an old, honest sexagenarian, attempting to draw a night-cap over his ears and eyes. The flames of the holy fire, so common once in the Tribune, flash now only at distant, very distant epochs. The Evening Post towers over all of them. If the Evening Post never at a jump went as far as once did the Tribune, the Evening Post never made or makes a retrograde step; but perhaps slowly, but steadily and boldly, moves on. The Evening Post is not a paper of politicians or of jobbers, but of enlightened, well-informed, and strong-hearted patriots and citizens. Mr. Blair, after all, is only an ambitious politician. My illusion about both the brothers is wholly dispelled and gone. I regret it, but both sustain McClellan, both look askant on Stanton, and belong to the conditional emancipationists, colonizationists, and other RADICAL preservers of slavery. All such form a class of superficial politicians, of compromisers with their creed, and are corrupters of others. How ardently I would prefer not to so often accuse others; but more than forty years of revolutionary and public life and experience have taught me to discriminate between deep convictions and assumed ones--to highly venerate the first, and to keep aloof from the second. Gold is gold, and pinchbeck is pinchbeck, in character as in metal. McClellan acts as if he had taken the oath to some hidden and veiled deity or combination, by all means not to ascertain anything about the condition of the enemy. Any European if not American old woman in pants long ago would have pierced the veil by a strong reconnoissance on Centreville. Here "all quiet on the Potomac." And I hear generals, West Pointers, justifying this colossal offence against common sense, and against the rudiments of military tactics, and even science. Oh, noble, but awfully dealt with, American people! At times Mr. Seward talks and acts as if he lacked altogether the perception of the terrible earnestness of the struggle, of the dangers and responsibilities of his political position, as well now before the people as hereafter before history. Often I can scarcely resist answering him, Beware, beware! Lincoln belittles himself more and more. Whatever he does is done under the pressure of events, under the pressure of the public opinion. These agencies push Lincoln and slowly move him, notwithstanding his reluctant heaviness and his resistance. And he a standard-bearer of this noble people! Those mercenary, ignorant, despicable scribblers of the London Times, of the Tory Herald, of the Saturday Review, and of the police papers in Paris, as the Constitutionnel, the Pays, the Patrie, all of them lie with unparalleled facility. Any one knows that those hungry quill-heroes can be got for a good dinner and a _douceur_. I am sorry that the Americans ascribe to Louis Napoleon and to the French people the hostility to human rights as shown by those _échappés des bagnes de la littérature_. Louis Napoleon and the French people have nothing in common with those literary blacklegs. The _Journal des Débats_, the _Opinion Nationale_, the _Presse_, the _Siècle_, etc., constitute the true and honest organs of opinion in France. In the same way A. de Gasparin speaks for the French people with more authority than does Michel Chevalier, who knows much more about free trade, about canals and railroads, but is as ignorant of the character, of the spirit, and of the institutions of the American people, as he is ignorant concerning the man in the moon. So the lawyer Hautefeuille must have received a fee to show so much ill-will to the cause of humanity, and such gigantic ignorance. _Who began the civil war?_ is repeatedly discussed by those quill cut-throats and allies on the Thames and on the Seine. Here some smaller diplomats (not Sweden, who is true to the core to the cause of liberty), and, above all, the would-be fashionable _galopins des légations_, are the cesspools of secession news, picked up by them in secesh society. Happily, the like _galopins_ are the reverse of the opinions of their respective chiefs. What superhuman efforts are made in Congress, and out of it, in the Cabinet, in the White House, by Union men,--Seward imagines he leads them,--by the weak-brained, and by traitors, to save slavery, if not all, at least a part of it. Every concession made by the President to the enemies of slavery has only one aim; it is to mollify their urgent demands by throwing to them small crumbs, as one tries to mollify a boisterous and hungry dog. By such a trick Lincoln and Seward try to save what can be saved of the peculiar institution, to gratify, and eventually to conciliate, the South. This is the policy of Lincoln, of Seward, and very likely of Mr. Blair. Such political _gobe-mouche_ as Doolittle and many others, are, or will be, taken in by this manoeuvre. Scheme what you like, you schemers, wiseacres, politicians, and would-be statesmen, nevertheless slavery is doomed. Humanity will have the best against such pettifoggers as you. I know better. I have the honor to belong to that European generation who, during this half of our century, from Tagus and Cadiz to the Wolga, has gored with its blood battle-fields and scaffolds; whose songs and aspirations were re-echoed by all the horrible dungeons; by dungeons of the blood-thirsty Spanish inquisition, then across Europe and Asia, to the mines of Nertschinsk, in the ever-frozen Altai. We lost all we had on earth; seemingly we were always beaten; but Portugal and Spain enjoy to-day a constitutional regime that is an improvement on absolutism. France has expelled forever the Bourbons, and universal suffrage, spelt now by the French people, is a progress, is a promise of a great democratic future. Germany has in part conquered free speech and free press. Italy is united, Romanism is falling to pieces, Austria is undermined and shaky, and broken are the chains on the body of the Russian serf. All this is the work of the spirit of the age, and our generation was the spirit's apostle and confessor. And so it will be with slavery, and all you worshippers of darkness cannot save it. Not the one who strikes the first blow begins a civil war, but he who makes the striking of the blow imperative. The Southern robbers cannot claim exemption; they stole the arsenals, and struck the first blow at Sumpter. So much for the infamous quill-heroes of the London Times, the Herald, and _tutti quanti_. The highest crime is treason in arms, and this crime is praised and defended by the English would-be high-toned press. But sooner or later it will come out how much apiece was paid to the London Times, the Herald, and the Saturday Review for their venomous articles against the Union. McClellan expelled from the army the Hutchinson family. It is mean and petty. Songs are the soul and life of the camp, and McClellan's _heroic deeds_ have not yet found their minstrel. After all, McClellan has organized--nothing! McDowell has, so to speak, formed the first skeletons of brigades, divisions, of parks of artillery, etc. The people uninterruptedly poured in men and treasures, and McClellan only continued what was commenced before him. I positively know that already in December Mr. Lincoln began to be doubtful of McClellan's generalship. This doubtfulness is daily increasing, and nevertheless Mr. Lincoln keeps that incapacity in command because he does not wish _to hurt McClellan's feelings_. Better to ruin the noble people, the country! I begin to draw the conclusion that Mr. Lincoln's good qualities are rather negative than positive. Mr. Adams complains that he is kept in the dark about the policy of the administration, and cannot answer questions made to him in London. But the administration, that is, Lincoln and Seward, are a little _a la_ Micawber, expecting what may turn up. And, besides this, the great orator _de lana caprina_ (Mr. Adams) deliberately degraded himself to the condition of a corporal under Mr. Seward's orders. Victories in the West, results of the new spirit in the War Department. Stanton will be the man. It is a curious fact that such commanders as Halleck, etc., sit in cities and fight through those under them; and there are ignoble flatterers trying to attribute these victories to McClellan, and to his _strategy_. As if battles could be commanded by telegraph at one thousand miles' distance. It is worse than imbecility, it is idiotism and _strategy_. Stanton calls himself a man of one idea. How he overtops in the Cabinet those myrmidons with their many petty notions! One idea, but a great and noble one, makes the great men, or the men for great events. Would God that the people may understand Stanton, and that pettifoggers, imbeciles, and traitors may not push themselves between the people and Stanton, and neutralize the only man who has _the one idea_ to break, to crush the rebellion. Every day Mr. Lincoln shows his want of knowledge of men and of things; the total absence of _intuition_ to spell, to see through, and to disentangle events. If, since March, 1861, instead of being in the hands of pettifoggers, Mr. Lincoln had been in the hands of _a man of one idea_ as is Stanton, nine-tenths of the work would have been accomplished. McClellan's flunkeys claim for him the victories in the West. It is impossible to settle which is more to be scorned in them, their flunkeyism or their stupidity. _Lock-jaw_ expedition. For any other government whatever, in one even of the most abject favoritism, such a humbug and silly conduct of the commander and of his chief of the staff would open the eyes even of a Pompadour or of a Dubarry. Here, _our great rulers and ministers_ shut the more closely their mind's (?) eyes * * * * * For the first time in one of his dispatches Mr. Corporal Adams _dares_ to act against orders, and mentions--but very slightly--slavery. Mr. Adams observes to his chief that in England public opinion is very sensitive; at last the old freesoiler found it out. How this public opinion in America is unable to see the things as they naturally are. Now the public fights to whom to ascribe the victories in the West. Common sense says, Ascribe them, 1st, to the person who ordered the fight (Stanton); 2d, exclusively to the generals who personally commanded the battles and the assaults of forts. Even Napoleon did not claim for himself the glory for battles won by his generals when in his, Napoleon's, absence. For weeks McClellan and his thus called staff diligently study international law, strategy (hear, hear!), tactics, etc. His aids translate for his use French and German writers. One cannot even apply in this case the proverb, "Better late than never," as the like hastily scraped and undigested sham-knowledge unavoidably must obfuscate and wholly confuse McClellan's--not Napoleonic--brains. The intriguers and imbeciles claim the Western victories as the illustration of McClellan's great _strategy_. Why shows he not a little _strategy_ under his nose here? Any old woman would surround and take the rebels in Manassas. Now they dispute to Grant his deserved laurels. If he had failed at Donelson, the _strategians_ would have washed their hands, and thrown on Grant the disaster. So did Scott after Bull Run. Mr. Lincoln, McClellan, Seward, Blair, etc., forget the terrible responsibility for thus recklessly squandering the best blood, the best men, the best generation of the people, and its treasures. But sooner or later they will be taken to a terrible account even by the Congress, and at any rate by history. It is by their policy, by their support of McClellan, that the war is so slow, and the longer it lasts the more human sacrifices it will devour, and the greater the costs of the devastation. Stanton alone feels and acts differently, and it seems that the rats in the Cabinet already begin their nightly work against him. These rats are so ignorant and conceited! The celebrated Souvoroff was accused of cruelty because he always at once stormed fortresses instead of investing them and starving out the inhabitants and the garrisons. The old hero showed by arithmetical calculations that his bloodiest assaults never occasioned so much loss of human life as did on both sides any long siege, digging, and approaches, and the starving out of those shut up in a fortress. This for McClellan and for the intriguing and ignorant RATS. MARCH, 1862. The Africo-Americans -- Fremont -- The Orleans -- Confiscation -- American nepotism -- The Merrimac -- Wooden guns -- Oh shame! -- Gen. Wadsworth -- The rats have the best of Stanton -- McClellan goes to Fortress Monroe -- Utter imbecility -- The embarkation -- McClellan a turtle -- He will stick in the marshes -- Louis Napoleon behaves nobly -- So does Mr. Mercier -- Queen Victoria for freedom -- The great strategian -- Senator Sumner and the French minister -- Archbishop Hughes -- His diplomatic activity not worth the postage on his correspondence -- Alberoni-Seward -- Love's labor lost. Men like this Davis, Wickliffe, and all the like _pecus_, roar against the African race. The more I see of this doomed people, the more I am convinced of their intrinsic superiority over all their white revilers, above all, over this slaveholding generation, rotten, as it is, to the core. When emancipated, the Africo-Americans in immense majority will at once make quiet, orderly, laborious, intelligent, and free cultivators, or, to use European language, an excellent peasantry; when ninety-nine one-hundredths of slaveholders, either rebels or thus called loyal, altogether considered, as human beings are shams, are shams as citizens, and constitute caricatures and monsters of civilization. Civilization! It is the highest and noblest aim in human destinies when it makes the man moral and true; but civilization invoked by, and in which strut traitors, slaveholders, and abettors of slavery, reminds one of De Maistre's assertion, that the devil created the red man of America as a counterfeit to man, God's creation in the Old World. This so-called civilization of the slaveholders is the devil's counterfeit of the genuine civilization. The Africo-Americans are the true producers of the Southern wealth--cotton, rice, tobacco, etc. When emancipated and transformed into small farmers, these laborious men will increase and ameliorate the culture of the land; and they will produce by far more when the white shams and drones shall be taken out of their way. In the South, bristling with Africo-American villages, will almost disappear fillibusterism, murder, and the bowie knife, and other supreme manifestations of Southern _chivalrous high-breeding_. Fremont's reports and defence show what a disorder and insanity prevailed under the rule of Scott. Fremont's military capacity perhaps is equal to zero; his vanity put him in the hands of wily flatterers; but the disasters in the West cannot be credited to him. Fremont initiated the construction of the mortar flotilla on the Mississippi (I positively know such is the fact), and he suggested the capture of various forts, but was not sustained at this sham, the headquarters. These Orleans have wholly espoused and share in the fallacious and mischievous notions of the McClellanites concerning the volunteers. Most probably with the authority of their name, they confirm McClellan's fallacious notions about the necessity of a great regular army. The Orleans are good, generous boys, but their judgment is not yet matured; they had better stayed at home. Confiscation is the great word in Congress or out of it. The property of the rebels is confiscable by the ever observed rule of war, as consecrated by international laws. When two sovereigns make war, the victor confiscates the other's property, as represented by whole provinces, by public domains, by public taxes and revenues. In the present case the rebels are the sovereigns, and their property is therefore confiscable. But for the sake of equity, and to compensate the wastes of war, Congress ought to decree the confiscation of property of all those who, being at the helm, by their political incapacity or tricks contribute to protract the war and increase its expense. Mr. Lincoln yields to the pressure of public opinion. A proof: his message to Congress about emancipation in the Border States. Crumb No. 1 thrown--reluctantly I am sure--to the noble appetite of freemen. I hope history will not credit Mr. Lincoln with being the initiator. American nepotism puts to shame the one practised in Europe. All around here they keep offices in pairs, father and son. So McClellan has a father in-law as chief of the staff, a brother as aid, and then various relations, clerks, etc., etc., and the same in some other branches of the administration. The Merrimac affair. Terrible evidence how active and daring are the rebels, and we sleepy, slow, and self-satisfied. By applying the formula of induction from effect to cause, the disaster occasioned by the Merrimac, and any further havoc to be made by this iron vessel,--all this is to be credited to McClellan. If Norfolk had been taken months ago, then the rebels could not have constructed the Merrimac. Norfolk could have been easily taken any day during the last six months, _but for strategy_ and the _maturing of great plans_! These are the sacramental words more current now than ever. Oh good-natured American people! how little is necessary to humbug thee! Oh shame! oh malediction! The rebels left Centreville,--which turns out to be scarcely a breastwork, with wooden guns,--and they slipped off from Manassas. When McClellan got the news of the evacuation, he gravely considered where to lean his right or left flanks, and after the consideration, two days after the enemy _wholly_ completed the evacuation, McClellan moves at the head of 80,000 men--to storm the wooden guns of Centreville. Two hours after the news of the evacuation reached the headquarters, Gen. Wadsworth asked permission to follow with his brigade, during the night, the retreating enemy. But it was not _strategy, not a matured plan_. If Gen. Wadsworth had been in command of the army, not one of the rats from Manassas would have escaped. The reasons are, that Gen. Wadsworth has a quick, clear, and wide-encompassing conception of events and things, a clear insight, and many other inborn qualities of mind and intellect. The Congress has a large number of very respectable capacities, and altogether sufficient for the emergencies, and the Congress would do more good but for the impediments thrown in its way by the double-dealing policy prevailing in Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet and administration. The majority in Congress represent well the spirit of self-government. It is a pity that Congress cannot crush or purify the administration. All that passes here is maddening, and I am very grateful to my father and mother for having endowed me with a frame which resists the blows. The pursuit of the enemy abandoned, the basis of operations changed. The rats had the best of Stanton. _Utinam sim falsus propheta_, but if Stanton's influence is no more all-powerful, then there is an end to the short period of successes. Mr. Lincoln's council wanted to be animated by a pure and powerful spirit. Stanton was the man, but he is not a match for impure intriguers. Also McClellan goes to Fortress Monroe, to Yorktown, to the rivers. This plan reveals an utter military imbecility, and its plausibility can only catch ----. 1st. Common sense shows that the rebels ought to be cut off from their resources, that is, from railroads, and from communication with the revolted States in the interior, and to be precipitated into the ocean. To accomplish it our troops ought to have marched by land to Richmond, and pushed the enemy towards the ocean. Now McClellan pushes the rebels from the extremity towards the centre, towards the focus of their basis,--exactly what they want. I am sure that McClellan is allured to this strategy by the success of the gunboats on the Mississippi. He wishes that the gunboats may take Richmond, and he have the credit of it. The Merrimac is still menacing in Hampton Roads, and may, some day or other, play havoc with the transports. The communications by land are always more preferable than those by water--above all for such a great army. A storm, etc., may do great mischief. McClellan assures the President, and the other intriguers and fools constituting his supporters, that in a few days he will throw 55,000 men on Yorktown. He and his staff to do such a thing, which would be a masterpiece even for the French military leaders and their staffs! He, McClellan, never knew what it was to embark an army. Those who believe him are even greater imbeciles than I supposed them to be. Poor Stanton, to be hampered by imbecility and intrigue! I went to Alexandria to see the embarkation; it will last weeks, not days. From Yorktown to Richmond, the country is marshy, very marshy; McClellan, a turtle, a _dasippus_, will not understand to move quick and to overcome the impediments. Faulty as it is to drive the rebels from the sea towards their centre, this false move would be corrected by rash and decisive movements. But McClellan will stick in the marshes, and may never reach Richmond by that road. Any man with common sense would go directly by land; if the army moves only three miles a day it will reach Richmond sooner than by the other way. Such an army in a spell will construct turnpike roads and bridges, and if the rebels tear up the railroads, they likewise could be easily repaired. Progressing in the slowest, in the most genuine McClellan manner, the army will reach Richmond with less danger than by the Peninsula. The future American historian ought to record in gold and diamonds the names of those who in the councils opposed McClellan's new strategy. Oh! Mr. Seward, Mr. Seward, why is your name to be recorded among the most ardent supporters of this _strategy_? Jeff. Davis sneers at the immense amount of money, etc., spent by Mr. Lincoln. As he, Jeff. Davis, is still quietly in Richmond, and his army undestroyed, of course he is right to sneer at Mr. Lincoln and McClellan, whom he, Jeff. Davis, kept at bay with wooden guns. Senator Sumner takes airs to defend or explain McClellan. The Senator is probably influenced by Blair. The Senator cannot be classed among traitors and intriguers supporting the _great strategian_. Perhaps likewise the Senator believes it to be _distingué_ to side with _strategy_. If the party and the people could have foreseen that civil war was inevitable, undoubtedly Mr. Lincoln would not have been elected. But as the cause of the North would have been totally ruined by the election of Lincoln's Chicago competitor, Mr. Lincoln is the lesser of the two evils. A great nuisance is this competition for all kinds of news by the reporters hanging about the city, the government, and the army. Some of these reporters are men of sense, discernment, and character; but for the sake of competition and priority they fish up and pick up what they can, what comes in their way, even if such news is altogether beyond common sense, or beyond probability. In this way the best among the newspapers have confused and misled the sound judgment of the people; so it is in relation to the overwhelming numbers of the rebels, and by spreading absurdities concerning relations with Europe. The reporters of the Herald and of the Times are peremptorily instructed to see the events through the perverted spectacles of their respective bosses. Mr. Adams gets either frightened or warm. Mr. A. insists on the slavery question, speaks of the project of Mason and Slidell in London to offer certain moral concessions to English anti-slavery feeling,--such as the regulations of marriage, the repeal of laws against manumission, etc. Mr. Adams warns that these offers may make an impression in England. When all around me I witness this revolting want of energy,--Stanton excepted,--this vacillation, these tricks and double-dealings in the governmental spheres, then I wish myself far off in Europe; but when I consider this great people outside of the governmental spheres, then I am proud to be one of the people, and shall stay and fall with them. How meekly the people accept the disgrace of the wooden guns and of the evacuation of Manassas! It is true that the partisans of McClellan, the traitors, the intriguers, and the imbeciles are devotedly at work to confuse the judgment of the people at large. Mr. Dayton's semi-official conversation with Louis Napoleon shows how well disposed the Emperor was and is. The Emperor, almost as a favor, asks for a decided military operation. And in face of such news from Europe, Lincoln, Seward, and Blair sustain the _do-nothing strategian_! Until now Louis Napoleon behaves nobly, and not an atom of reproach can be made by the American people against his policy; and our policy many times justly could have soured him, as the acceptation of the Orleans, etc. No French vessels ran anywhere the blockade; secesh agents found very little if any credit among French speculators. Very little if any arms, munitions, etc., were bought in France. And in face of all these positive facts, the American wiseacres here and in Europe, all the bar-room and street politicians here and there, all the would-be statesmen, all the sham wise, are incessant in their speculations concerning certain invisible, deep, treacherous schemes of Louis Napoleon against the Union. This herd is full of stories concerning his deep hatred of the North; they are incessant in their warnings against this dangerous and scheming enemy. Some Englishmen in high position stir up this distrust. On the authority of letters repeatedly received from England, Senator Sumner is always in fits of distrust towards the policy of France. The last discovery made by all these deep statesmen here and in France is, that Louis Napoleon intends to take Mexico, to have then a basis for cooperation with the rebels, and to destroy us. But Mexico is not yet taken, and already the allies look askance at each other. Those great Anglo-American Talleyrands, Metternichs, etc., bring down the clear and large intellect of Louis Napoleon to the atomistic proportions of their own sham brains. I do not mean to foretell Louis Napoleon's policy in future. Unforeseen emergencies and complications may change it. I speak of what was done up to this day, and repeat, _not the slightest complaint can be made against Louis Napoleon_. And in justice to Mr. Mercier, the French minister here, it must be recorded that he sincerely seconds the open policy of his sovereign. Besides, Mr. Mercier now openly declares that he never believed the Americans to be such a great and energetic people as the events have shown them to be. I am grateful to him for this sense of justice, shared only by few of his diplomatic colleagues. In one word, official and unofficial Europe, in its immense majority, is on our side. The exceptions, therefore, are few, and if they are noisy, they are not intrinsically influential and dangerous. The truest woman, Queen Victoria, is on the side of freedom, of right, and of justice. This ennobles even her, and likewise ennobles our cause. Not the bad wishes of certain Europeans are in our way, but our slowness, the McClellanism and its supporters. _Quidquid delirant reges, plectuntur achivi!_ The _achivi_ is the people, and the McClellanists are the _reges_. Mr. Seward, elated by victories, insinuates to foreign powers that they may stop the "recognition of belligerents." Oh imagination! Such things ought not even to be insinuated, as logic and common sense clearly show that the foreign cabinets cannot do it, and thus stultify themselves. Seward believes that his rhetoric is irresistible, and will move the cabinets of France and of England. * * * Not the "recognition of belligerents;" let the rebels slip off from Manassas, etc. Mr. Seward would do better for himself and for the country to give up meddling with the operations of the war, and backing the bloodless campaigns of the _strategian_. But Mr. Seward, carried away by his imagination, believes that the cabinets will yield to his persuasive voice, and then, oh! what a feather in his diplomatic cap before the befogged Mr. Lincoln, and before the people. But _pia desideria_. In all the wars, as well as in all the single campaigns and battles, every _captain_ deserving this name aimed at breaking his enemy in the centre or at seizing his basis of operations, wherefrom the enemy draws its resources and forces. The great _strategian_ changed all this; he goes directly to the circumference instead of aiming at the heart. Mr. Seward, answering Mr. Dayton's dispatch concerning his, Dayton's, conversation with Louis Napoleon, points to Europe being likewise menaced by revolutionists. Unnecessary spread-eagleism, and an awful want of any, even diplomatic, tact. I hope that Mr. Dayton, who has so much sound sense and discernment, will keep to himself this freak of Mr. Seward's untamable imagination. Under the influence of insinuations received from his English friends, Senator Sumner said to Mr. Mercier (I was present) that with every steamer he expects a joint letter of admonition directed by the French and English to our government. Mr. Mercier retorted, "How can you, sir, have such notions? you are too great a nation to be treated in this way. Such letters would do for Greece, etc., but not for you." I was sorry and glad for the lesson thus given. Archbishop Hughes was not over-successful in France, and went off rather second-best in the opinion of the press, of the public, and of the Catholic, even ultra-Montane clergy of France. All this on account of his conditional anti-slaverism and unconditional pro-slaverism. All this was easily to be foreseen. His Eminence is in Rome, and from Rome is to influence Spain in our favor. Oh diplomacy! oh times of Capucine and Jesuit fathers and of Abbes! We, the children of the eighteenth century, we recall you to life. I do not suppose that the whole diplomatic activity of his Eminence is worth the postage of his correspondence. But Uncle Sam is generous, and pays him well. So it is with Thurlow Weed, who tries to be economical, is unsuccessful, and cries for more monish. A schoolboy on a spree! It seems that Weed loses not his time, and tries with Sandford to turn _a penny_ in Belgium. Oh disinterested saviors of the country, and patriots! But for this violent development of our domestic affairs, Mr. Seward would have appeared before the world as the mediator between the Pope and the insubordinate European nations, sovereigns, and cabinets. Oh, Alberoni! oh, imaginary! It beats any of the wildest poets. In justice it must be recorded, that this great scheme of mediation was dancing before Mr. Seward's imagination at the epoch when he was sure that, once Secretary of State, his speeches would be current and read all over the South; and they, the speeches, would crush and extinguish secession. This Mr. Seward assured one of the patriotic members of Buchanan's expiring Cabinet. Mr. Seward is now busy building up a conservative Union party North and South to preserve slavery, and to crush the rampant Sumnerism, as Thurlow Weed calls it, and advises Seward to do so. Mr. Seward's unofficial agents, Thurlow Weed, his Eminence, and others, are untiring in the incense of their benefactor. Occasionally, Mr. Lincoln gets a small share of it. Sandford in Paris and Brussels, Mr. Adams and Thurlow Weed in London, work hard to assuage and soften the harsh odor in which Mr. Seward is held, above all, among certain Englishmen of mark. It seems, however, that _love's labor is lost_, and Mr. Adams, scholar-like, explains the unsuccess of their efforts by the following philosophy: That in great convulsions and events it is always the most eminent men who become selected for violent and vituperative attacks. This is Mr. Seward's fate, but time will dispel the falsehoods, and render him justice. Well, be it so. Weed tried hard to bring the Duke of Newcastle over to Mr. Seward; but the Duke seems perfectly unmoved by the blandishments, etc. To think that the strict and upright Duke, who knows Weed, could be shaken by the ubiquitous lobbyist! Rather the other way. One not acquainted with Mr. Seward's ardent republicanism may suspect him of some dictatorial projects, to judge from the zeal with which some of the diplomatic agents in Europe, together with the unofficial ones there, extol to all the world Mr. Seward's transcendent superiority over all other eminent men in America. Are the European statesmen to be prepared beforehand, or are they to be befogged and prevented from judging for themselves? If so, again is _love's labor lost_. European statesmen can perfectly take Mr. Seward's measure from his uninterrupted and never-fulfilled prophecies, and from other diplomatic stumblings; and one look suffices European men of mark to measure a Hughes, a Weed, a Sandford, and _tutti quanti_. In Mr. Lincoln's councils, Mr. Stanton alone has the vigor, the purity, and the simplicity of a man of deep convictions. Stanton alone unites the clear, broad comprehension of the exigencies of the national question with unyielding action. He is the _statesman_ so long searched for by me. He, once a friend of McClellan, was not deterred thereby from condemning that do-nothing _strategy_, so ruinous and so dishonorable. Stanton is a Democrat, and therefore not intrinsically, perhaps not even relatively, an anti-slavery man, but he hesitates not now to destroy slavery for the preservation of the Union. I am sure that every day will make Stanton more clear-sighted, and more radical in the question of Union and rebellion. And Seward and Blair, who owe their position to their anti-slavery principles, _arcades ambo_, try now to save something of slavery, and turn against Stanton. APRIL, 1862. Immense power of the President -- Mr. Seward's Egeria -- Programme of peace -- The belligerent question -- Roebucks and Gregories scums --Running the blockade -- Weed and Seward take clouds for camels --Uncle Sam's pockets -- Manhood, not money, the sinews of war --Colonization schemes -- Senator Doolittle -- Coal mine speculation --Washington too near the seat of war -- Blair demands the return of a fugitive slave woman -- Slavery is Mr. Lincoln's "_mammy_" -- He will not destroy her -- Victories in the West -- The brave navy --McClellan subsides in mud before Yorktown -- Telegraphs for more men -- God will be tired out! -- Great strength of the people --Emancipation in the District -- Wade's speech -- He is a monolith --Chase and Seward -- N. Y. Times -- The Rothschilds -- Army movements and plans. If the military conduct of McClellan, from the first of January to the day of the embarkation of the troops for Yorktown--if this conduct were tried by French marshals, or by the French chief staff, or by the military authorities and chief staffs of Prussia, Russia, and even of Austria, McClellan would be condemned as unfit to have any military command whatever. I would stake my right hand on such a verdict; and here the would-be strategians, the traitors, the intriguers, and the imbeciles prize him sky-high. Only by personal and close observation of the inner working of the administrative machinery is it possible to appreciate and to understand what an immense power the Constitution locates in the hands of a President. Far more power has he than any constitutional sovereign--more than is the power of the English sovereign and of her Cabinet put together. In the present emergencies, such a power in the hands of a Wade or of a Stanton would have long ago saved the country. Mr. Seward looks to all sides of the compass for a Union party in the South, which may rise politically against the rebels. That is the advice of Weed, Mr. Seward's Egeria. I doubt that he will find many, or even any. First kill the secesh, destroy the rebel power, that is, the army, and then look for the Union men in the South. Mr. Seward, in his generalizations, in his ardent expectations, etc., etc., forgets to consider--at least a little--human nature, and, not to speak of history, this _terra incognita_. Blood shed for the nationality makes it grow and prosper; a protracted struggle deepens its roots, carries away the indifferent, and even those who at the start opposed the move. All such, perhaps, may again fall off from the current of rebellion, but that current must first be reduced to an imperceptible rivulet; and Mr. Seward, sustaining the do-nothing strategian, acts against himself. Mr. Seward's last programme is, after the capture of Richmond and of New Orleans, to issue a proclamation--to offer terms to the rebels, to restore the old Union in full, to protect slavery and all. For this reason he supports McClellan, as both have the same plan. Of such a character are the assurances given by Mr. Seward to foreign diplomats and governments. He tries to make them sure that a large Union party will soon be forthcoming in the South, and again sounds his vaticinations of the sacramental ninety days. I am sorry for this his incurable passion to play the Pythoness. It is impossible that such repeated prophecies shall raise him high in the estimation of the European statesmen. Impossible! Impossible! whatever may be the contrary assertions of his adulators, such as an Adams, a Sandford, a Weed, a Bigelow, a Hughes, and others. When Mr. Seward proudly unveiled this his programme, a foreign diplomat suggested that the Congress may not accept it. Mr. Seward retorted that he cares not for Congress; that he will appeal to the people, who are totally indifferent to the abolition of slavery. Why does Mr. Seward deliberately slander the American people, and this before foreign diplomats, whose duty it is to report all Mr. Seward's words to their respective governments? Such words uttered by Mr. Seward justify the assertions of Lord John Russell, of Gladstone, those true and high-minded friends of human liberty, that the North fights for empire and not for a principle. The people who will answer to Mr. Seward's appeal will be those whose creed is that of the New York Herald, the Boston Courier, the people of the Fernando and Ben Woods, of the Vallandighams, etc. What is the use of urging on the foreign Cabinets--above all, England and France--to rescind the recognition of belligerents? They cannot do it. It does not much--nay, not any--harm, as the English speculators will risk to run the blockade if the rebels are belligerent or not. And besides, the English and French Cabinets may throw in Mr. Seward's face the decisions of our own prize courts, who, on the authority of Mr. Seward's blockade, in their judicial decisions, treat the rebels as belligerents. The European statesmen are more cautious and more consequential in their acts than is our Secretary. As it stands now, the conduct of the English government is very correct, and not to be complained of. I do not speak of the infamous articles in the Times, Herald, etc., or of the Gregories and such scums as the Roebucks; but I am satisfied that Lord John Russell wishes us no harm, and that it is our own policy which confuses and makes suspicious such men as Russell, Gladstone, and others of the better stamp. As for the armaments of secesh vessels in Liverpool and the Bahamas, it is so perfectly in harmony with the English mercantile character that it is impossible for the government to stop it. The English merchant generally considers it as a lawful enterprise to run blockades; in the present case the premium is immense; it is so in a twofold manner. 1st, the immediate profits on the various cargoes exchanged against each other by a successful running of the blockade; such profits must equal several hundred per cent. 2d, the prospective profits from an eventual success of the rebellion for such friends as are now supporting the rebels. These prospects must be very alluring, and are partly justified by our slow war, slow policy. I am sure that the like armaments for the secessionists are made by shares owned by various individuals; the individual risk of each shareholder being comparatively insignificant when compared with the prospective gains. If Seward, McClellan, and Blair had not meddled with Stanton, not weakened his decisions, nor befogged Mr. Lincoln, Richmond would be in our hands, together with Charleston and Savannah; and all the iron-clad vessels built in England for secesh would be harmless. Mr. Weed and Mr. Seward expect Jeff. Davis to be overthrown by their imaginary Southern Union party. O, wiseacres! if both of you had only a little knowledge of human nature--not of that one embodied in lobbyists--and of history, then you would be aware that if Jeff. Davis is to be deposed it will be by one more violent than he, and you would not speculate and take clouds for camels. During the weeks of embarkation for Yorktown, the thorough incapacity of McClellan's chief of the staff was as brilliant as the cloudless sun. It makes one shudder to think what it will be when the campaign will be decidedly and seriously going on. It is astonishing, and psychologically altogether incomprehensible, to see persons, justly deserving to be considered as intelligent, deny the evidence of their own senses; forbid, so to speak, their sound judgment to act; to be befogged by thorough imbeciles; to consider incapacity as strategy, and to take imbecility for deep, mysterious, great combinations and plans. Even the Turks could not long be humbugged in such a way. No sovereign in the world, not even Napoleon in his palmiest days, could thus easily satisfy his military whims concerning the most costly and variegated material for an army, as does McClellan. He changes his plans; every such change is gorgeously satisfied and millions thrown away. Guns, mortars, transports, spades, etc., appear at his order as if by charm; and all this to veil his utter incapacity. This Yorktown expedition uncovers Washington and the North, and such a deep plan could have been imagined only by a _strategian_. What are doing in Europe all these various agents of Mr. Seward, and paid by Uncle Sam? all these Weeds, Sandfords, Hughes, Bigelows, and whoever else may be there? They cannot find means in their brains to better direct, inform, or influence the European press. Almost all the articles in our favor are only defensive and explanatory; the offensive is altogether carried by the secesh press in England and in France. But to deal offensive blows, our agents would be obliged to stand firm on human principles, and show up all the dastardly corruption of slavery, of slaveholders, and of rebels. Such a warfare is forbidden by Mr. Seward's policy; and perhaps if such a Weed should speak of corruption, some English secesh may reprint Wilkeson's letter. In one word, our cause in Europe is very tamely represented and carried on. Members of the Chamber of Deputies in Paris complain that they can nowhere find necessary information concerning certain facts. There Seward's agents have not even been able to correct the fallacies about the epoch of the Morrill tariff,--fallacies so often invoked by the secesh press,--and many other similar statements. I shall not wonder if the public opinion in Europe by and by may fall off from our cause. Our defensive condition there justifies the assumptions of the secesh. As we dare not expose their crimes, the public in Europe must come to this conclusion, that secesh may be right, and may begin to consider the North as having no principle. And to think that all these agents heavily phlebotomize Uncle Sam's pockets to obtain such contemptible results! Many persons, some among them of influence and judgment, still speak and speculate upon what they call the starving of the rebellion. They calculate upon the comparative poverty of the rebels, repeating the fallacious adage, that money is the sinews of war. Money is so, but only in a limited degree, and more limited than is generally supposed; more limited even now when war is a very expensive pastime. This fallacy, first uttered by the aristocrat Thucydides, was repeated over and over again until it became a statesmanlike creed. But even Thucydides gave not to that _dictum_ such a general sense, and Macchiavelli scorned the fallacy and exposed it. When poor, the Spartans have been the bravest. The historical halo surrounding the name of Sparta originated at that epoch when the use of money and of gold had been almost forbidden. The wealth of Athens began after the victories over the Persians; but those victories were won when the Athenians were comparatively poor. So it was with the Romans until the subjugation of Carthage, and in modern Europe the Swiss, etc., etc., etc. Manhood in a people, and self-sacrifice, are the genuine sinews of war; wealth alone saved no nation from disgrace and from death, nay, often accelerated the catastrophe. The colonization of Africo-Americans is still discussed; very likely inspired by Seward and by his Yucatan schemes. Senator Doolittle runs himself down at a fearful rate. I regret Doolittle's mistake. Those colonizers forget that if they should export even 100,000 persons a year, an equal number will be yearly born at home, not to speak of other impossibilities. If carried on on a small scale, this scheme amounts to nothing; and on a grand scale it is altogether impossible, besides being as stupid as it is recklessly cruel. Only those persons insist on colonization who hate or dread general emancipation. When the slaves shall be emancipated, then the owners of plantations will be forced to offer very acceptable terms to the newly made free laborers to have their plantations cultivated, which otherwise must become waste and useless lands, and the planters themselves poor starving wretches. With very little of governmental interference, the mutual relation between planter and laborer can be regulated, and the planter will be the first to oppose colonization. Look from whatever side you like, a colonization schemer is a cruel deceiver, he is an enemy of emancipation, and if he claims to be an emancipator then he is an enemy of the planter and of the prosperity of the southern region. Besides, the present scheme of colonization to Chiriqui is an infamous speculation to help some Ambrosio Thompson to work coal mines in that part of Central America. That individual has a grant for some lands in Chiriqui, and there these poor victims are to be exported. The grant itself is contested by the New Grenadian government. Those poor coolies will be the prey of speculators; there will arise claims against the Grenadian government--a rich mine for lobbyists and claimants. Infamy! and these fathers of the country are as blind as moles. Central America is always in convulsions, and of course the colonists will be robbed by every party of those semi-savages. The colonists being Methodists, etc., will be pointed out by the stupid Catholic clergy as being heretics and miscreants. Washington's proximity to the theatre of war in Virginia is the greatest impediment for rapid movements; it is the ruin of generals and of armies. Being within reach of the seat of government and of the material means, the generals are never ready, but always have something to complete, something to ask for, and so days after days elapse. In all other countries and governments of the world the commanders move on, and the objects of secondary necessity are sent after them. In all other countries and wars the principal aim of commanders is to become conspicuous by rapidity of movements. The paramount glory is to have achieved and obtained important results with comparatively limited means. Here, the greater the slowness with which they move, the greater captains they are; and the more expensive their operations, the surer they are of the applause of the administration, and of a great many f----. After all, the above is the result of pre-existing causes. Slowness, indecision, and waste of money, are the prominent features of this administration. Stanton excepted, I again think of the dictum of Professor Steffens, and every day believe it more. Mr. Blair worse and worse; is more hot in support of McClellan, more determined to upset Stanton, and I heard him demand the return of a poor fugitive slave woman to some of Blair's Maryland friends. Every day I am confirmed in my creed that whoever had slavery for _mammy_ is never serious in the effort to destroy it. Whatever such men as Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Blair will do against slavery, will never be radical by their own choice or conviction, but will be done reluctantly, and when under the unavoidable pressure of events. Mr. Seward restive and bitter against all who criticise. Mr. Seward assumes that everybody does his best, and ought therefore to be applauded. But Mr. Seward forgets the proverb about hell being paved with good intentions. In this terrible emergency the people want men who _really_ do the best, and not those who only try and intend to do it. McClellan had the full sway so long--appointed so many, perhaps more than sixty, brigadier generals--that it is not astonishing when those appointees prefer rather not to see for themselves, but blindly "hurrah" for their creator. Victories in the West, triumphantly establishing the superiority of our soldiers in open battle-fields, and the superiority of all generals who are distant from any contact with Washington, as Pope, Grant, Curtis, Mitchell, Sigel, and others. The brave navy,--this pure democratic element which assures the greatest results, and makes the less laudatory noise. The navy is admirable; the navy is the purest and most glorious child of the people. The destruction of the rebellion saves the future generations of the Southern whites. Secession would for centuries have bred and raised only formidable social hyenas. McClellan subsided in mud before Yorktown. Any other, only even half-way, military capacity commanding such forces would have made a lunch of Yorktown. But our troops are to dig, perhaps their graves, to the full satisfaction of Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Blair. McClellan telegraphs for more men, and he has more already than he can put in action, and more than he has room for. He subsides in digging. The rebels will again fool him as they fooled him in Manassas. If McClellan could know anything, then he would know this--that nothing is so destructive to an army as sieges, as diggings, and camps, and nothing more disciplines and re-invigorates men, makes them true soldiers, than does marching and fighting. Poor Stanton! how he must suffer to be overruled by imbeciles and intriguers. McClellan telegraphing for reinforcements plainly shows how unmilitary are his brains. He and a great many here believe that the greater the mass of troops, the surer the victory. History mostly teaches the contrary; but speak to American wiseacres about history! He, McClellan, and others on his side, ignore the difficulty of handling or swinging an army of 100,000 men. A good general, confident in his troops, will not hesitate to fight two to three. But McClellan feels at ease when he can, at the least, have two to one. In Manassas he had three to one, and conquered--wooden guns! We will see what he will conquer before Yorktown. Louis Napoleon always well disposed, but of course he cannot swallow Mr. Seward's demand about belligerents. I am so glad and so proud that up to this day events justify my confidence in the French policy, although our policy may tire not only Louis Napoleon, but tire the God whom we worship and invoke. I should not wonder if God, tired by such McClellans, Lincolns, Sewards, Blairs, etc., finally gives us the cold shoulder. This demand concerning belligerents is a diplomatic and initiative step made by Mr. Seward; it is unsuccessful, as are all his initiatives, and no wonder. Mr. Lincoln, incited by Mr. Seward and by Mr. Blair, overrules the opinion of the purest, the ablest, and the most patriotic men in Congress--that of Stanton, and of the few good generals unbefogged by McClellanism. Such a power as the Constitution gives to a President is the salvation of the people when in the hands of a Jackson, but when in the hands of a Lincoln, ----! The muscular strength of the American people, and the strength of its backbone, beat all the Herculeses and Atlases supporting the globe. Any other people would have long ago broke down under the policy and the combined weight of Lincoln, Seward, and McClellan. Mr. Lincoln is forced out again from one of his pro-slavery entrenchments; he was obliged to yield, and to sign the hard-fought bill for emancipation in the District of Columbia; but how reluctantly, with what bad grace he signed it! Good boy; he wishes not to strike his _mammy_; and to think that the friends of humanity in Europe will credit this emancipation not where it is due, not to the noble pressure exercised by the high-minded Northern masses, but to this Kentucky ----. Senator Wade made a powerful speech in relation to the arrest of General Stone. It was powerful, patriotic, and rises to the skies over the Lilliputian oratory of the thus-called scholars, etc. Wade is a monolith,--he is cut out full in a rock. It seems that the new law increasing the number of judges for the Supreme Court weakened many backbones. Congress ought to have added the clause that a senator can be nominated only after six years from the day of the promulgation. Mr. Seward again chalked before the dazzled eyes of foreign powers certain future military operations; but again events have been so impolite as to upturn Mr. Seward's prophecies. The report of the Senate committee on the destruction of Norfolk speaks of the "insane delusion" of the administration. I am proud to have considered it in the same light about a year ago. Mr. Thouvenel politely but logically refuses to acquiesce in Mr. Seward's demand concerning the belligerents. Thouvenel's reasons are plausible. The support given to strategy by Mr. Seward,--that support does more mischief to us than do all the pirates and all the violations of blockade. Let us take Richmond,--a thing impossible with McClellan,--and take by land Charleston, Savannah, etc.; then the pirates and belligerents are strangulated. And--as says Gen. Sherman--Savannah and Charleston could have been taken several months ago. Orders from Washington forbade to do it; and it would be curious to ascertain how far Mr. Seward is innocent in the perpetration of these orders. Chase and Seward dear-dearing each other! Amusing! Kilkenny cats! At this game Seward will have the best of Chase, who is not a match for tricks. The New York Times attacks Capt. Dahlgren, of the Navy Yard. It is in the nature of the "little villain" to bespatter men of such devotion, patriotism, and eminent capacity as is Captain Dahlgren. Thurlow Weed calls the Tribune "infernal," because it wishes a serious war, and thus prevents the raising of a Union party in the South, so flippantly looked for by him and Mr. Seward, his pupil. I see the time coming when all these _gentlemen_ of the concessions, of the not-hurting policy,--when all these conservative seekers for the Union party will try, Pilatus-like, to wash their hands of the innocent blood; but you shall try, and not succeed, to whitewash your stained hands; you have less excuses on your side than had the Roman proconsul on his side. When Mr. Mercier was in Richmond, some of the rebel leaders and generals told him that they believed not their senses on learning that McClellan was going to Yorktown; that he never could have selected a better place for them, and that they were sure of his destruction on the Peninsula. Perhaps McClellan wished to try his hand and rehearse the siege of Sebastopol. If McClellan's ignorance of military history were not so well established, he would know that since Archimedes, down to Todleben, more genius was displayed in the defence than in the attack of any place. The making of approaches, parallels, etc., is an affair of engineering school routine. Napoleon took Toulon rather as an artillerist, who, having, calculated the reach of projectiles, put his battery on a spot wherefrom he shelled Toulon. Napoleon took Mantua by destroying the Austrian army which hastened to the relief of the fortress. But the great American strategian knows better, and satisfies (as said above) the rebels. The New York Herald, the New York Times, and other staunch supporters of McClellan, again and again trumpet that the rebels fear McClellan, that they consider him to be the ablest general opposed to them. The rebels are smart, and so is their ally, the New York Herald. As for the Times, it is only a flunkeying "little villain." McDowell, Banks, Fremont have about 70,000 men; the last two are nearly at the head of the Shenandoah valley; they could unite with McDowell, and march and take Richmond. They beg to be ordered to do it, and so wishes Stanton; but, fatally befogged by McClellan, by McClellan's clique in the councils, or by strategians, Lincoln emphatically forbids any junction, any movement; the President forbids McDowell to take Fredericksburg, or to throw a bridge across the river. And thus McClellan prevents any glorious military operation; is losing in the mud a hundred men daily by disease, and Mr. Lincoln--still infatuated. But infatuation is the disease of small and weak brains. Rothschild in Paris, and very likely the Rothschilds in London, are for the North. But if the Rothschilds show that they well understand and respect the Old Testament, whose spirit is anti-slavery, they show they understand better the true Christian spirit than do the Christians. The Rothschilds show themselves more thoroughly of our century than are such Michel Chevaliers, or such impure Roebucks, and all the supporters of free trade in human flesh. McClellan's supporters, and such strategians as Blair and Seward, assert that McClellan's plan was ruined by not sending McDowell to Gloucester; that then the whole rebel army would have been caught in a trap. That silly plan to go to the Peninsula is defended in a still more silly way. By McDowell's going to Gloucester, Washington would have been wholly at the mercy of an army of thirty to forty thousand men; the celebrated defences of Washington, this result of the united wisdom of Scott and McClellan, facilitating to the rebel army a raid on Washington. Further; McClellan, in concocting and _maturing_ his thus called plans, probably believes that the rebels will do just the thing which, in his calculations, he wishes them to do; and such erroneous suppositions are the sole basis of his _plans_. But the rebels repeatedly showed themselves by far too smart for his _Napoleonic_ brains; and besides, not much wit to the rebel generals was necessary to see through and through what the great Napoleon was about, by ordering McDowell to Gloucester. Of course, the rebel generals would not have had the politeness towards McClellan to sheepishly accede to his wishes, and go into the trap. The whole plan was worse than childish, and I am glad to learn that several generals showed brains to condemn it. The whole plan was up to the comprehension of McClellanites, of consummate strategians in McClellan's official tross, for those in the Cabinet and out of it. Would God that all this ends not in disasters. If it ends well it will be the first time success has crowned such transcendent incapacity. MAY, 1862. Capture of New Orleans -- The second siege of Troy -- Mr. Seward lights his lantern to search for the Union-saving party -- Subserviency to power -- Vitality of the people -- Yorktown evacuated -- Battle of Williamsburg -- Great bayonet charge! -- Heintzelman and Hooker -- McClellan telegraphs that the enemy outnumber him -- The terrible enemy evacuate Williamsburg -- The track of truth begins to be lost -- Oh Napoleon! -- Oh spirit of Berthier! -- Dayton not in favor -- Events are too rapid for Lincoln -- His integrity -- Too tender of men's feelings -- Halleck -- Ten thousand men disabled by disease -- The Bishop of Orleans -- The rebels retreat without the knowledge of McNapoleon -- Hunter's proclamation -- Too noble for Mr. Lincoln -- McClellan again subsides in mud -- Jackson defeats Banks, who makes a masterly retreat -- Bravo, Banks! -- The aulic council frightened -- Gov. Andrew's letter -- Sigel -- English opinion -- Mr. Mill -- Young Europa -- Young Germany -- Corinth evacuated -- Oh, generalship! -- McDowell grimly persecuted by bad luck. The capture of New Orleans. The undaunted bravery of the Navy--this most beautiful leaf in the American history. The Navy fights without talk and _strategy_, because it does not look to win the track to the White House. The capture of New Orleans may lead the rebels to evacuate Yorktown and to fool the great strategian. It is a very threatening symptom, that no genuine harmony--nay, no sympathy--exists between the best, the purest, the most intelligent, the most energetic members of both the Houses of Congress and the President, including the leading spirit of his Cabinet. The New York Herald is the principal supporter of Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward; in the Congress their supporters are the Democrats, and all those who wish to make concessions to the South, who ardently wish to preserve slavery, and in any way to patch up the quarrel. In times as trying as are the present ones, such a shameful and dangerous anomaly must, in the long run, destroy either the government or the nation. If it turns out differently here, the exclusive reason thereof will be the great vitality of the people. All the deep and dangerous wounds inflicted by the policy of the administration will be healed by the vigorous, vital energy of the people. "For Heaven's sake finish quick your war!" Such are the exclamations--nay, the prayers--coming from the French statesmen, as Fould and others, from our devoted friends, as Prince Napoleon, and from all the famishing, but nevertheless nobly-behaving, operatives in England. And here McClellan inaugurates before Yorktown a second siege of Troy or of Sebastopol; Lincoln forbids the junction of McDowell with Banks and Fremont, by which Richmond could be easily taken from the west side, where it ought to be attacked; and Mr. Seward reads the like dispatches and backs McClellan; Mr. S. lights his lantern in search North and South of the Union-saving party! Speak to me of subserviency to power by European aristocrats, courtiers, etc.! What almost every day I witness here of subserviency of influential men to the favored and office-distributing power, all things compared and considered, beats whatever I saw in Europe, even in Russia at the Nicolean epoch. General Cameron, in his farewell speech, said that at the beginning of the civil war General Scott told him, Cameron, that he, Scott, never in his life was more pained than when a Virginian reminded him of his paramount duties to his State. I take note of this declaration, as it corroborates what a year ago I said in this diary concerning the disastrous hesitations of General Scott. It is said that Turtschininoff is all in all in General Mitchell's command. Turtschininoff is a genuine and distinguished officer of the staff, and educated in that speciality so wholly unknown to West-Pointers. Several among the foreigners in the army are thoroughly educated officers of the staff, and would be of great use if employed in the proper place. But envy and know-nothingism are doubly in their way. Besides, the foreign officers have no tenderness for the Southern cause and Southern chivalry, and would be in the cause with their whole heart. By the insinuations of an anonymous correspondent in the Tribune, Mr. Seward tries to re-establish his anti-slavery reputation. But how is it that foreign diplomats, that the purest of his former political friends, consider him to be now the savior of what he once persecuted in his speeches? At every step this noble people vindicates and asserts the vitality of self-government, continually jeopardized by the inexhaustible errors of the policy followed by the master-spirits in the administration. European doctors, prophets, vindictive enemies like the London Times, the Saturday Review, etc., and the French journals of the police, all of them are daily--nay, hourly--baffled in their expectations--paper money and no bankruptcy, no inflation, bonds equal to gold, etc., etc. And all this, not because there is any great or even small statesman or financier at the head of the administration, but because the people at large have confidence in themselves, in their own energies; because they have the determination to succeed, and not to be bankrupt; not to discredit their own decisions. All these phenomena, so new in the history of nations, are incomprehensible to European wiseacres; they are too much for the hatred and dulness of the Europeans in France, England, and for that of the many Europeans here. Yorktown evacuated!--under the nose of an army of 160,000 men, and within the distance of a rifle shot!--evacuated quietly, of course, during several days. One cannot abstain from saying Bravo! to the rebel generals. Their high capacity forces the mind to an involuntary applause. Traitors, intriguers, and imbeciles applaud, extol the results of the bloodless strategy. McClellan is used by the rebels only to be fooled by them. It must be so. It is one proof more of the transcendent capacity of the strategian, and, above all, of the capacity and efficiency of the chief of the staff of the great army. Such an operation as that of Yorktown, anywhere else, would be considered as the highest disgrace; here, glorifications of strategy. McClellan's bulletins from Yorktown describe the rebel fortifications as being almost impregnable. Of course impregnable! but only to him. Battle at Williamsburg; and McClellan and his so perfect staff altogether ignorant of the whole bloody but honorable affair as fought against terrible odds by Heintzelman and Hooker; but the great Napoleon's bulletin mentions a _real_--Oh hear! hear the great Mars!--_charge with the bayonet_, made at the other extremity of Williamsburg, and in which from twenty to forty men were killed! Heintzelman's and Hooker's personal conduct, and that of their troops, was heroic beyond name. McClellan ignored the battle; ignored what was going on, and, as it is said, gave orders to Sumner not to support Heintzelman. McClellan telegraphs that the enemy far outnumbers him (fears count doubly), but that he will do his utmost and his best. This Napoleon of the New York Herald's manufacture in everything is the reverse of all the leaders and captains known in history: all of them, when before the battle they addressed their soldiers, represented the enemy as inferior and contemptible; after the battle was won, the enemy was extolled. From the first of his addresses to this his last dispatch from Williamsburg, McClellan always speaks of the terrible enemy whom he is to encounter; and in this last dispatch he tries to frighten not only his army, but the whole country. During the night _the terrible enemy_ evacuated Williamsburg; McClellan breathes more free, takes fresh courage, and his bulletin estimates the enemy's forces at 50,000. The track of truth begins to be lost. By comparing dates, bulletins, and notes, it results that at the precise minute when McClellan telegraphed his wail concerning the large numbers of the enemy and the formidable fortifications of Williamsburg, the rebels were evacuating them, pressed and expelled therefrom by Hooker, Kearney, and Heintzelman. Oh Napoleon! Oh spirits not only of Berthier and of Gneisenau, but of the most insignificant chiefs of staffs, admire your caricature at the head of the army commanded by this freshly-backed Napoleon! A foreign diplomat was in McClellan's tent before Yorktown, on the eve of the day when the rebels wholly evacuated it. One of McClellan's aids suggested to the general that the comparative silence of the rebel artillery might forebode evacuation. "Impossible!" answered the New York Herald's Napoleon. "I know everything that passes in their camp, and I have them fast." (I have these details from the above-mentioned diplomat.) In the same minute, when the strategian spoke in this way, at least half of the rebel army had already withdrawn from Yorktown. Comments thereupon are superfluous. Dayton, from Paris, very sensibly objects to the policy of insisting that England and France shall annul their decision concerning the belligerents. Dayton considers such a demand to be, for various reasons, out of season. I am sure that Dayton is respected by Louis Napoleon and by Thouvenel on account of his sound sense and rectitude, although he _parleys not_ French. Dayton must impress everybody differently from that French parleying claims' prosecutor and itinerant agent of a sewing machine, who breakfasts in Brussels with Leopold, and the same day dines in Paris with Thouvenel, and may take his supper in h----l, so far as the interest of the cause is concerned. But Dayton seems not to be in favor with the department. The admirers of McClellan assert that one parallel digged by him was sufficient to frighten the rebels and force them to evacuate. Good for what it is worth for such mighty ignorant brains. The mortars, the hundred-pounders, frightened the rebels; they break down not before parallels, strategy, or Napoleon, but before the intellectual superiority of the North, in the present case embodied in mortars and other armaments. Following the retreating enemy, McClellan loses more prisoners than he makes from the enemy. A new and perfectly original, perfectly _sui generis_ mode of warfare, but altogether in harmony with all the other martial performances of the pet of the New York Herald, of Messrs. Seward and Blair, and of the whole herd of intriguers and imbeciles. People who approach him say that Mr. Lincoln's conceit groweth every day. I guess that Seward carefully nurses the weed as the easiest way to dominate over and to handle a feeble mind. Since Mr. Mercier judges by his own eyes, and not by those of former various Washington associations, his inborn soundness and perspicacity have the upper hand. He is impartial and just to both parties; he is not bound to have against the rebels feelings akin to mine, but he is well disposed, and wishes for the success of the Union. The events are too grand and too rapid for Lincoln. It is impossible for him to grasp and to comprehend them. I do not know any past historical personality fully adequate to such a task. Happily in this occurrency, the many, the people at large, by its grasp and forwardness, supplies and neutralizes the inefficiency or the tergiversations, intrigues and double-dealings of the few, of the official leaders, advisers, etc. I willingly concede to Mr. Lincoln all the best and most variegated mental and intellectual qualities, all the virtues as claimed for him by his eulogists and friends. I would wish to believe, as they do, Mr. Lincoln to be infallible and impeccable. But all those qualities and virtues represented to form the residue of his character, all shining when in private life, some way or other are transformed from positives into negatives, since Mr. Lincoln's contact with the pulsations and the hurricane of public life. Thus Mr. Lincoln's friends assert that all his efforts tend to conciliate parties and even individuals. This candor was beneficial and efficient in the court or bar-rooms, or around a supper table in Springfield. It was even more so, perhaps, when seasoned with stories more or less * * * But one who tries to conciliate between two antipodic principles, or between pure and impure characters, unavoidably must dodge the principal points at issue. Such is the stern law of logic. Who dodges, who biasses, unavoidably deviates from that straight and direct way at the end of which dwells truth. Further: feeble, expectative and vacillating minds, deprived of the faculty to embrace in all its depth and extension the task before them,--such minds cannot have a clear purpose, nor the firm perception of ways and means leading to the aim, and still less have they the sternness of conviction so necessary for men dealing with such mighty events, on which depend the life and death of a society. Such men hesitate, postpone, bias and deviate from the straight way. Such men believe themselves in the way to truth, when they are aside of it. It results therefrom, that when certain amiable qualities, such as conciliation, a little dodging, hesitation, etc., are practised in private life and in a very restrained area, their deviations from truth are altogether imperceptible, and they are then positive good qualities, nay, virtues. But such qualities, transported and put into daily friction with the tempestuous atmosphere of human events, lose their ingenuousness, their innocence, their good-naturedness; the imperceptibility of their intrinsic deviation becomes transparent and of gigantic dimensions. Mr. Lincoln's crystal-pure integrity prevented not the most frightful dilapidation, nay, robbing of the treasury by contractors, etc., etc. Nor has it kept pure his official household. His friend Lamon and the to-be-formed regiments; the splendid equipages and _coupes_ of his youthful secretaries, to be sure, came not from Springfield, etc., etc., nor sees he through the rascally scheme of the Chiriqui colonization. Mr. Lincoln, his friends assert, does not wish to hurt the feelings of any one with whom he has to deal. Exceedingly amiable quality in a private individual, but at times turning almost to be a vice in a man entrusted with the destinies of a nation. So he never could decide to hurt the feelings of McClellan, and this after all the numerous proofs of his incapacity. But Mr. Lincoln hurts thereby, and in the most sensible manner, the interests, nay, the lives, of the twenty millions of people. I am sure that McClellan may lose the whole army, and why not if he continues as he began? and Mr. Lincoln will support and keep him, as to act otherwise would hurt McClellan's, Marcy's, Seward's, and perhaps Blair's feelings. Finally, Mr. Lincoln, advised, they say, by Mr. Seward, holds in contempt public opinion as manifested by the press, with the exception of the incense burnt to him by the New York Herald. If this is true, Mr. Lincoln's mind is cunningly befogged. It is very soothing for the quiet of private life to ignore newspapers; but all over Europe men in power, sovereigns and ministers, carefully and daily study and watch the opinions of the newspapers, and principally of those which oppose and criticise them. Such, Mr. Lincoln, is the wisdom of the truly experienced statesman. Better ask Louis Napoleon than Seward. I am astonished that concerning Mexico Louis Napoleon was taken in by Almonte. Experience ought to have fully made him familiar with the general policy of political refugees. This policy was, is, and will be always based on imaginary facts. Political refugees befog themselves and befog others. And this Mr. de Saligny must be a d----; Louis Napoleon ought to expel him from the service. Halleck likewise seems to lay the track to the White House. Nothing has been done since he took the command in person. Halleck, as does also McClellan, tries to make all his measures so sure, so perfect, that he misses his aim, and becomes fooled by the enemy. In war, as in anything else, after having quickly prepared and taken measures, a man ought to act, and rely as much as possible on fortune--that is, on his own acuteness--how to cut the knot when he meets it in his path. Halleck before Corinth, and McClellan before Manassas and Yorktown, both spend by far more time than it took Napoleon from Boulogne and Bretagne to march into the heart of Germany, surround and capture Mack at Ulm, and come in view of Vienna. The French and English naval officers in the Mississippi assured our commanders that it was impossible to overcome the various defences erected by the rebels. Our men gave the lie to those envious forebodings. McClellan, in a dispatch, assures the Secretary of War that he, McClellan, will take care of the gunboats. _Risum teneatis._ The most contemptible flunkeys on the face of the earth are the wiseacres, and the thus-called framers of public opinion. Until yet McClellan, literally, has not stood by when a cartridge was burned, and they sing hosanna for him. Ten thousand men have been disabled by diseases before Yorktown; add to it the several thousands in a similar way disabled in the camp before Manassas, and it makes more than would have cost two battles, fought between the Rappahannock and Richmond,--battles which must have settled the question. Although ultra-Montane, the Bishop of Orleans nobly condemns slavery. The Bishop's pastoral is an answer to H. E., Archbishop of New York. The French bishop therein is true to the spirit of the Catholic church. The Irish archbishop, compared to him, appears a dabbler in Romanism. During the administration of Pierce and of Buchanan, the Democratic senators ruled over the President and the Cabinet. Perhaps it is not as it ought to be; but for the salvation of the country it were desirable that a curb be put on Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Mr. Blair, by the Republican senators, by men like Wade, Wilson, Chandler, Grimes, Fessenden, Hale, and others. The retreat of the rebels was masterly conducted, and their pursuit by McClellan has no name. Nowhere has this Napoleon got at them. The affair at Williamsburg was bravely done by Heintzelman and Hooker; but it was done without the knowledge of McNapoleon, and contrary to his expectations and strategy. This he confesses in one of his _masterly_ bulletins. Perhaps McNapoleon ignored Heintzelman's corps' heroic actions, because neither Heintzelman, nor Hooker, nor Kearney worship _strategy, and the deep, well-matured plans of Mc_. General Hunter's proclamation in South Carolina is the greatest social act in the course of this war. How pale and insignificant are Mr. Lincoln's disquisitions aside of that proclamation, which is greeted in heaven by angels and cherubim--provided they are a reality. Of course Mr. Lincoln overrules General Hunter's proclamation. It is too human, too noble, too great, for the tall Kentuckian. Many say that Seward, Blair, Seaton from the Intelligencer, and other Border State patriots, pressed upon Lincoln. I am sure that it gave them very little trouble to put Mr. Lincoln straight ---- with slaveocracy. Henceforth every Northern man dying in the South is to be credited to Mr. Lincoln! Mr. Lincoln again publishes a disquisition, and points to the signs of the times. But does Mr. Lincoln perceive other, more awful, signs of the times? Does he see the bloody handwriting on the wall, condemning his unnatural, vacillating, dodging policy? All things considered, it will not be astonishing in Europe if they lose patience and sneer at the North, when they learn that McClellan is continually doing strategy; when they will read his bulletins; when they will find out that from West Point to Richmond he pursued the enemy at the _enormous_ speed of two miles a day,--and that of course nobody was hurt,--and finally, that, surrounded by a brilliant and costly staff, he was ignorant of the condition of the roads, and of the existence of marshes and swamps into which he plunged the army. The President repeatedly speaks of his strong will to restore the Union. Very well; but why not use for it the best, the most decided, and the most thorough means and measures? Continually I meet numbers and numbers of soldiers who are discharged because disabled in the camps during winter. Thus McClellan's bloodless strategy deprived several thousands of their health, without in the least hurting the enemy. And daily I meet numbers of able-bodied Africo-Americans, who would make excellent soldiers. I decided to try to form a regiment of the Africo-Americans, and, after whipping the F. F. V.'s, establish, beyond doubt, the perfect equality of the thus called races. McClellan subsides in mud,--digs,--and the sick list of the army increases hourly at a fearful ratio. And McClellan refuses to slaves admittance within his lines. If, at least, McClellan was a fighting general; but a mud-mole as he ------. Any other general in any other country, in Asia, in Africa, etc., would use any elements whatever within his grasp, by using which he could strengthen his own and weaken the enemy's resources. McNapoleon knows better! One of the best diplomatic documents by Mr. Seward is that on Mexico; and so is also the policy pursued by him. Why does Mr. Seward dabble in war and strategy at home? McClellan digs, and by his wailings has disorganized the corps of McDowell, and of Banks, who retreats and is pressed by Jackson. The men who advised, or the McClellan worshippers who prevented the union of McDowell with Banks and Fremont, are as criminal as any one can be in Mr. Lincoln's councils. Now Jackson is reorganized; he penetrated between Fremont and Banks, who were sorely weakened by transferring continually divisions from one to another army, and this between the Chickahominy and the lower Shenandoah. New diplomatic initiative by Mr. Seward. France and England are requested to declare to the rebels that they have no support to expect from the above-mentioned powers. This initiative would be splendid if it could succeed; but it cannot, and for the same logical reasons as failed the recent initiative about belligerents. Such unsuccessful initiatives are lowering the consideration of that statesman who makes them. Such failures show a want of diplomatic and statesmanlike perspicacity. The nation is assured by Mr. Lincoln and by Mr. Seward that a perfect harmony prevails in the Cabinet. Beautiful if true. General Banks attacked by Jackson and defeated; but, although surrounded, makes a masterly retreat, without even being considerably worsted. Bravo, Banks! Such retreats do as much honor to a general as a won battle. This bold raid of Jackson--a genuine general--wholly disorganized that army which, if united weeks ago, could have taken Richmond, and rendered Jackson's brilliant dash impossible. The military aulic council of the President is frightened out of its senses, and asks the people for 100,000 defenders. General Wadsworth advised not to thus, without any necessity, frighten the country. On this occasion Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, wrote a scorching letter to the administration on account of General Hunter's proclamation. Governor Andrew always acts, speaks, and writes to the point. This alarming appeal, so promptly responded to, has its good, as it will show to Europe the untired determination of the free States. The President took it into his head to direct himself, by telegraph, the military operations from Fredericksburg to Shenandoah. The country sees with what results. The military advisers of the President seem no better than are his civil advisers--Seward, Blair, etc. If the President earnestly wishes to use his right as Commander-in-Chief, then he had better take in person the command of the army of the Potomac. There McClellan's diggings and strategy neutralize the gallantry of the generals and of the troops. There action, not digging, is needed. I wrote to the President; suggesting to make Sigel his chief of the staff (Sigel has been educated for it), and then to let our generals fight under his, the President's, eyes. Great injustice was and is done to Mr. Seward by the lying and very extensively spread rumor that he is often intoxicated. I am sure that it is not so, and I contradict it with all my might. At last I discovered the reason of the rumor. It is Mr. Seward's unhappy passion for generalizations. He goes off like a rocket. Most people hearing him become confused, understand nothing, are unable to follow him in his soarings, and believe him to be intoxicated. His devotees alone get in ecstacies when these rockets fly. Every time after any success of our troops, that perfidious sheet, the London Times, puts on innocent airs, and asks, "Why are the Americans so bitter against England?" Why? At every disaster the Times pours upon the North the most malicious, poisonous, and lacerating derisions; derisions to pierce the skin of a rhinoceros. When in that strain no feeling is respected by this lying paper. Derision of the North was the Times's order of the day even before the civil war really began. People, who probably have it from the fountain itself, assert that in one of his hours of whiskey expansion the great Russell let the cat out, and confessed that the Times's firm purpose was, and is, to definitely break the Union. Until this hour that reptile's efforts have been unsuccessful; it could not even bring the Cabinet over to its heinous purposes. A counterpoise and a counter poison exist in England's higher spheres, and I credit it to that noblest woman the queen, to Earl Russell, and to some few others. The would-be English _noblesse_, the Tories, and all the like genuine nobodies, or _would-be_ somebodies, affect to side with the South. They are welcome to such an alliance, and even parentage. _Similis simili gaudet._ Nobody with his senses considers the like _gentlemen_ as representing the progressive, humane, and enlightened part of the English nation; the American people may look down upon their snobbish hostility. J. S. Mill--not to speak of his followers--has declared for the cause of the North. His intellectual support more than gorgeously compensates the cause of right and of freedom, even for the loss or for the sneers of the whole aristocracy, and of snobdom, of somebodies and of would-be gentlemen of the whole Britannia Empire, including the Canadian beggarly manikins. By their arrogance the Englishmen are offensive to all the nations of the world; but they are still more so by their ingrained snobbyism. (See about it Hugo Grotius.) Further: During the last thirty years the London Times and the Lord Fussmaker Palmerston have done more to make us hate England than even did the certain inborn and not over-amiable traits in the English character. A part of the young foreign diplomacy here have a very strong secesh bend; they consider the slaveholders to be aristocrats, and thus like to acquire an aristocratic perfume. But, aristocratically speaking, most of this promiscuous young Europa are parvenus, and the few titled among them have heraldically no noble blood in their veins. No wonder that here they mistake monstrosities for real noblesse. Enthusiastic is young Germany--that is, young Bremen. Young European Spain here is remarkably discreet, as in the times of a Philip II., of an Alba. Corinth evacuated under the nose of Halleck, as Manassas and Yorktown have been evacuated under the nose of McClellan. Nay, Halleck, equally strong as was the enemy, the first day of the evacuation ignores what became of Beauregard with between sixty and eighty thousand men. Oh generalship! Gen. Halleck is a gift from Gen. Scott. If Halleck makes not something better, it will turn out to be a very poor gift. _Timeo Danaos_, etc., concerning the North and the gifts from "_the highest military authority in the land_." McDowell is grimly persecuted by bad luck. Since March, twice he organized an excellent and strong corps, with which he could have marched on Richmond, and both times his corps was wholly disorganized--first by McClellan's wails for more, the second time by the President and his aulic council. And now all the ignorance and stupidity, together with all the McClellanites, accuse McDowell. Pity that he was so near Washington; otherwise his misfortune could not have so thoroughly occurred. JUNE, 1862. Diplomatic circulars seasoned by stories -- Battle before Richmond -- Casey's division disgraced -- McClellan afterwards confesses he was misinformed -- Fair Oaks -- "Nobody is hurt, only the bleeding people" -- Fremont disobeys orders -- N. Y. Times, World, and Herald, opinion-poisoning sheets -- Napoleon never visible before nine o'clock in the morning -- Hooker and the other fighters soldered to the mud -- Senator Sumner shows the practical side of his intellect -- "Slavery a big job!" -- McClellan sends for mortars -- Defenders of slavery in Congress worse than the rebels -- Wooden guns and cotton sentries at Corinth -- The navy is glorious -- Brave old Gideon Welles! -- July 4th to be celebrated in Richmond! -- Colonization again -- Justice to France -- New regiments -- The people sublime! -- Congress -- Lincoln visits Scott -- McDowell -- Pope -- Disloyalty in the departments. Mr. Seward takes off from Mr. Adams the gag on the question of slavery. Perhaps even Mr. Adams might have been a little fretting. A long speculative dispatch, wherein, among some good things, one finds some generalizations and misstatements concerning the distress in Ireland, generated by want of potatoes (vide Parl. De.), and not from want of cotton, as says Mr. Seward--a confession that the government "covers the weakness of the insurgents" and "takes care of the welfare of the insurgents." What a tenderness, and what an ingratitude of the rebels to acknowledge it by blows! Another confession, more precious, that the poor slaves are the best and the only bravely devoted Union men in the South, although occasionally shot for their devotion by our generals, expelled from the lines (vide Halleck's order No. 3), and delivered to the tender mercies of their masters. Finally, _immediate_ emancipation is held before the eyes of the English statesmen rather as a Medusa head; then a kind of story--perhaps to please Mr. Lincoln--or quotation from _some_ writer, etc. So far as I recollect, it is for the first time that diplomatic circulars are seasoned by stories. But, _dit moi qui tu hante je te dirai qui tu es_. Mr. Seward repeatedly asserts, in writing and in words, that he has no eventual views towards the White House. Well, it may be so or not. But if his friends may succeed in carrying his nomination, then, of course, reluctantly, he will bend his head to the people's will, and--accept. When in past centuries abbots and bishops were elected, they _reluctantly_ accepted fat abbeys and bishoprics; the investiture was given in the sacramental words, _accipe onus pro peccatis_. A battle by Richmond. McClellan telegraphs a victory, and it comes out that we lost men, positions, camps, and artillery. The President patiently bears such humbugging, and the country--submits. McClellan disgraces a part of the brave General Casey's division. Whatever might have been the conduct of the soldiers in detail, one thing is certain, that the division was composed of rough levies; that they fought three hours, being almost surrounded by overwhelming forces; that they kept ground until reinforcements came; that the breaking of the division cannot be true, or was only partial, and that McClellan was not at all on the ground. This battle of Fair Oaks is another evidence of the transcendent incapacity of the chief of the staff of the army of the Potomac, and of Gen. McClellan's veracity. In a subsequent bulletin the general confesses that he was misinformed concerning the conduct of Gen. Casey's division. In any other army in the world, a chief of the staff who would assign to a division a post so advanced, so isolated, so cut off from the rest of the army, as was Gen. Casey's position,--such a chief of the staff would be at once dismissed. Here, oh here, nobody is hurt, nobody is to be hurt--only the bleeding people. As to the conduct of the soldiers, they fought well; thorough veterans scarcely could have behaved better. McClellan turns out worse even than I expected. The President's campaign against Jackson--very unsuccessful. Fremont came not up to the mark; disobeyed orders. No excuse whatever for such disobedience. One is at a loss which is to be more admired, the ignorance or the impudence of such opinion-confusing and opinion-poisoning sheets as the New York Times, the World, the Herald, etc. They sing _hosanna_ for McClellan's victories. In advance they praise the to-be-fought battles on selected fields of battle, and after the plans have been matured for weeks, nay for months. A plan of a whole campaign, a general survey of it, may be prepared and matured long before the campaign begins. But to mature for weeks a plan of a battle! All the genuine great captains seldom had the selection of a field of battle, as they rapidly moved in search of or to meet their enemies, and fought them where they found them. For the same reason, they scarcely had more than forty-eight hours to mature their plans. Such is the history and the character of nine-tenths of the great battles fought in the world. When Napoleon overthrew Prussia and Austria, he beforehand prepared those campaigns; but neither Jena, Eylau, Friedland, Austerlitz or Wagram were the fields of battle of his special choice. But Napoleon moved his armies as did all the great captains before him, and as must do all great captains after him. Only American great captains sit down in the mud and dig. At times in the West, Pope, Mitchell, Nelson, Grant moved their forces, and beat the enemy. I am sure that these brave generals and the braves of the army of the Potomac most certainly are early risers. A certain Napoleon never is visible before nine o'clock in the morning. So I hear from a French officer who is not in the service, but follows the movements of the Potomac army. In McClellan's army Heintzelman, Hooker, Kearney, Sumner, and many others, would move quick, would fight and beat; but a leaden weight presses, and solders them to the mud. I must write an article to the press concerning the rapidity of movements,--this golden rule for any conduct of a war. Since he was in the field, McNapoleon neither planned nor assisted in person in any encounter. When are his great plans to burst out? In one of his recently published dispatches, Mr. Seward makes an awful mistake in trying to establish the difference between a revolution and a civil war, as to their respective relations to foreign interference and support. A little knowledge of history, and a less presumption, would have spared to him such an exposure. A revolution in a nation can be effected, and generally is effected, without a foreign intervention, and without even an appeal to it. Most of the civil wars look to foreign help. So teaches history, whatever may be Mr. Seward's contrary generalizations. Mr. Seward is unrelenting in his efforts to build up the Union-saving slavery party, and is sure, as he says, to be able to manage the Republicans, in and out of Congress. We shall see. Senator Sumner very well discusses the tax-bill, and again shows the practical side of his intellect. Sumner proves that a laborious intellect can grasp and master the most complicated matters. If Sumner could only have more experience of men and things, he would not be so Germanly--_naïve_. Mr. Seward triumphantly publishes the Turkish hatti, by which pirates are excluded from the Ottoman ports. Oh, Jemine! to be patronized by the Turks! Misfortune brings one with strange bedfellows. On the occasion of the organization of slaves at Beaufort, Mr. Lincoln exclaimed, "Slavery is a big job, and will smother us!" It will, if dealt with in your way, Mr. President. McClellan sends for mortars and hundred-pounders; these monsters are to fight, but not he. Well, even so, if possible. The Southern leaders send to Europe officers of artillery to buy arms and ammunition, and are well served. Our good administration sends speculators, railroad engineers, agents of sewing machines, and the arms bought by them kill our own soldiers, and not the enemies. English papers taunt the Americans that in one hundred years the country must become a monarchy. The Americans have now a foretaste of some among the features of monarchy, among others of favoritism. The Pompadours and the Dubarrys could not have sustained a McClellan at the cost of so many lives and so many millions. Then the dabbling in war, and other etc.'s, performed in the most approved Louis XIV.'s or Nicolean style. Worse than the rebels, and by far more abject and degraded, are the defenders of slavery, of treason, and of rebellion in the Congress, in the press, and in the public opinion. No gallows high enough for them. McClellan crowds the marshes with heavy artillery, and may easily lose them at the smallest disaster. His army is overburdened with artillery in a country where the moving of guns must be exceedingly difficult, nay, often impossible. And then the difficulty of having such a large number of men drilled for the service of guns. Scarcely any army in Europe possesses artillerists in such numbers as are now required here. Few guns well served make more execution than large numbers of them fired at random. Instead of concentrating his army and attacking at once the rebels in Richmond, McClellan extends his army over nearly sixty miles! To keep such an extensive line more than 300,000 would be required. Oh, heavens! this man is more ignorant of warfare than his worst enemies have suspected him. It is reported that at Corinth the rebels had not only wooden guns, but cotton manikins as sentries. God grant it may not be true, as it would make the slow, pedantic Halleck even below McClellan. The future historian will be amazed, bewildered, nay, he may lose his senses, discovering the heaps of confusion and of ignorance which caused the disasters of Banks, the escape of Jackson, etc., etc. It is impossible to resist the admiration inspired by the skill, the daring, the fertility of intellectual resources displayed by the rebels; all this is so thoroughly contrasted by what is done by our legal chiefs. Pity that such manhood is shown in the defence of the most infamous cause ever known in the history of the world. To conquer an independence with the sole object to procreate, to breed, to traffic in, and to whip slaves! The navy is glorious everywhere, and not fussy. The people can never sufficiently remunerate the navy, if patriotic services are to be remunerated. The same would be with the army but for the Napoleons! The published correspondence between the rebels Rust and Hunter fully justifies my confidence in Louis Napoleon's sound judgment. That publication clearly establishes how the press here is wholly unable to conceive or to comprehend the policy of the great European nations. The press heaps outrages and nurses suspicions against Napoleon. The Sandfords and others knowingly stir up suspicions to make believe that their smartness averts the evil. Poor chaps! When great interests are at stake, neither their fuss, nor any dispatch, however elaborate, can exercise a shadow of influence. It seems that a Babylonian confusion prevails in the movements, in the distribution, and in the combination of the various parts of the army under McClellan. I should wonder if it were otherwise, with such a general and supported by such a chief of the staff. Brave old Gideon Welles (Neptune) instructing his sailors to fight, and not to calculate, and "not to deliver anybody against his personal wish." These imbecile reporters and letter-writers for the press, and other sensationists, make me enraged with their sneers at the poverty of the rebels. If so, the more heroism. They forget the "beggars" of the Dutch insurrection against Philip II. The cat is out, and I am sorry for it. The world is informed that the revolution is finished, and now the civil war begins. Oh generalizer! oh philosopher of history! oh prophet as to the speedy end of the civil _war_! Oh stop, oh stop! Not by digging will your pet McClellan bring the war to a speedy close. I am often enraged against myself not to be able to admire Mr. Seward, and to be obliged to judge his whole policy in such, perhaps too severe, a manner. What can I do, what can I do? No one, not even Gen. Scott and Mr. Lincoln, since January, 1861, has exercised an influence equal to Mr. Seward's on the affairs of the country, and _amicus Plato, etc., sed magis amica veritas_. Mr. Seward believes that July 4th will be celebrated by us in Richmond. He and McClellan spread this hope; Doolittle believes it. We could be in Richmond any day under any other general, not a Napoleon; we may never be there if led on by McClellan, inspired by Mr. Seward's policy. The French amateur in McClellan's army is disgusted with McNapoleon, and speaks with contempt of the reckless waste of men, of material, etc. He calls it cruel, brainless, and uses a great many other exclamations. The healthful activity of Stanton, his broad and clear perception of almost all exigencies of these critical times, are continually baffled and neutralized by the allied McClellan, Blair, Seward, New York Times and New York Herald. Such an alliance can easily confuse even the strongest brains. The colonization again on the _tapis_, and all the wonted display of ignorance, stupidity, ill-will, and phariseeism towards genuine liberty. Seward gave up his Yucatan scheme. Chiriqui has the lead. And finally, some foreign diplomats try to make conspicuous their little royalties. So Denmark tries to cultivate the barren rocks of St. Thomas with the poor captives. It will be a new kind of apprenticeship under cruel masters. I hear that Mr. Lincoln is caught in the trap, and that a convention _ad hoc_ is soon to be concluded. This time, at least, Mr. Seward's name will remain outside. I am uneasy, fearing we may commit some spread-eagleism towards France during this present Mexican imbroglio. I will do my utmost to explain to influential senators the truth concerning Louis Napoleon's political conduct towards the North, the absurdity of any hostile demonstration against France, and the dirt constituting the substratum of the new Mexican treaty. "French policy may change towards us," say the anti-Napoleons; "Louis Napoleon will unmask his diplomatic batteries," etc., etc. Well, Louis Napoleon may change when he finds that we are incorrigible imbeciles, and that the great interests, which to defend is his duty, are jeopardized; but not before. As for masked batteries, I considered worse than fools all those who believed in masked batteries at Manassas; and in the same light I consider all the believers in diplomatic masked batteries. I was not afraid of the one, and am not of the other. Not one single French vessel has run, or attempted to run, the blockade; not one has left the ports of France, or of the French West Indies, loaded with arms or ammunition for the insurgents. As for the barking of French papers, or of some second or third rate saloons, barkings thus magnified by American letter-writers, I know too much of Paris and of society to take notice of it. I am sure that the whole rebel tross in Paris, male and female, have not yet been admitted into any single saloon of the _real_ good or high society in Paris, and never will be. A thus called _highly accomplished and fashionable lady_ from New Orleans, or from Washington, may easily be taken for a country dress-maker, or for a chamber-maid, not fit for first families of the genuine good and high society in Paris, and all over Europe. Stanton, the true patriot, frets in despair at McClellan's keeping the army in the unhealthiest place of Virginia. Stanton's opponents, the rats, find all right, even the deaths by disease. In the end McClellan is to be all the better for it. Is there no penitentiary for all this mob? New regiments pour in, the people are sublime in their devotion; only may these regiments not become sacrificed to the Jaggernaut of imbecility. Whatever may say its revilers, this Congress will have a noble and pure page in American history. I speak of the majority. The Congress showed energy, clear and broad comprehension and appreciation of the events and of men. The Congress was ready for every sacrifice, and would have accelerated the crushing of the rebellion but for the formulas, and for the inadequacy of the majority in the administration. If the Congress had no great leaders, the better for it; it had honest and energetic men, and their leader was their purpose, their pure belief in the justice of their cause and in the people. Such leaders elevate higher any political body than could ever a Clay, a Webster, etc., etc. The Congress is palsied by the inefficiency of the administration, and but for this, the Congress would have done far more for the salvation of the country. All the best men in Congress support Stanton, and this alone speaks volumes. It is a curse that the administration is so independent of the Congress. Oh, why this Congress possesses not the omnipotence of an English Parliament? Then the Congress would have prevented all the evils hitherto brought upon the country by the vacillating military and general policy. Step by step this policy brings the country to the verge of an abyss, and it will tax all the energy of the people not to be precipitated in it. Mr. Lincoln has gone to get inspiration and information from Gen. Scott. Good God! Can this man never go out from this rotten treadmill? One more advice from the "great ruin," and the country will also be a ruin. Flatterers, sensation writers, and all this _magna clientum caterva_ extol to the skies Mr. Lincoln's firmness and straightforwardness. The firmness is located, and is to be discovered in various places--in the lips, in the chin, in the jaw, and God knows where else. I cannot detect any firmness in his actions beyond that of sticking to McClellan,--of whom he has the worst opinion,--and of resisting the emancipation and the arming of Africo-Americans. He has firmness in letting the country be ruined. McClellan's bulletins constitute the most original and strange collection of style in general, and of military style in particular. Capt. Morin says that the first thing is to teach McClellan how to write military bulletins. Mr. Seward's crew of politicians is busily at work among congressmen, etc., to prepare a strong party in support of the administration's eventual concessions to slavery, in case Richmond is taken. Ultra Democratic, half secession Senators are sounded. The more the events complicate, the more they require a powerful, all-embracing mind, but in the same proportion subside Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, Mr. Weed, and all the rest of the great men. Alone the people and their true men subside not. Poor McDowell suffers for the sins of others--above all, for those of Mr. Lincoln and of his aulic council. He is internally broken down, but behaves nobly; not as does this poor Fremont, whose disappearance from the military scene cannot and must not be regretted. He is not a military capacity; he was again badly surrounded, and his last battle was fought at random, without any unity. I spoke about it with various foreign officers serving under him, and all agree in the incapacity of Fremont and of his staff. Gen. Pope, a man for the circumstances, acted well in the West; at last a new man. McClellan inaugurated new tactics. It is to approach the enemy's army by parallels and by trenches. He will not take or scare the enemy, but he will immortalize his name far above the immortality of all not great generals. Night and day ambulances are conveying the sick and wounded here, and large numbers, thousands upon thousands, going north. One must cry tears of blood to witness such destruction, such a sacrifice of the noblest people on the shrine of utter military incapacity. And the traitors, the imbeciles, and the intriguers sing _hallelujah_ to McClellan, and daily throw their slime at Stanton. From time to time rumors and complaints are made concerning the ill-will or disloyalty of some of the _employés_ in the Departments. The explanation thereof may be that some of the thus called old fogies, above all in the War Department, may be unfriendly to the war without being disloyal. Such venerables took root in comfortable situations; they slowly trod in the easy path of rusty and musty routine, and at once the war shook them to the bone, exposing the incapacity and the inefficiency of many; it forced upon them the horror of _cogitandi_ about new matters, and an amount of daily duties to be performed in offices which formerly equalled sinecures. Further, these relics dread to be superseded by more active and intelligent men; and _inde iræ_. JULY, 1862. Intervention -- The cursed fields of the Chickahominy -- Titanic fightings, but no generalship -- McClellan the first to reach James river -- The Orleans leave -- July 4th, the gloomiest since the birth of the republic -- Not reinforcements, but brains, wanted; and brains not transferable! -- The people run to the rescue -- Rebel tactics -- Lincoln does not sacrifice Stanton -- McClellan not the greatest culprit -- Stanton a true statesman -- The President goes to James river -- The Union as it was, a throttling nightmare! -- A man needed! -- Confiscation bill signed -- Congress adjourned -- Mr. Dicey -- Halleck, the American Carnot -- Lincoln tries to neutralize the confiscation bill -- Guerillas spread like locusts. When at epochs of great social convulsions events and circumstances put certain individuals into an eminent or elevated position, their names become intertwined with the great epoch. In the eyes of the masses and of the vulgar observers, such names acquire a high importance on account of the commonly made confusion between circumstances and personal merit, and, moonlight-like, such names reverberate not their own, but a borrowed splendor. Thus much for the official pilots of this great people. The usual paroxysm of the foreign intervention fever. It ought to be so easy to understand, that out of self-respect foreign powers will not risk any intervention on paper; and to make an effective intervention a hundred thousand men will be necessary, as the first course. For such a service no foreign power is prepared. Intervention is silly talk. McClellan and all kinds of his supporters do more for the South than could England and France united. It was a poor trick to gather by telegraph the signatures of the governors for an offer of troops to the President. It was done for effect in Europe; but events seem to have a grudge against Mr. Seward; the same steamer carried over the Atlantic the news of our defeats in the Chickahominy swamps. To attempt a change of such an extensive basis as was occupied by our army under the eyes of a daring, able, skilful enemy, in a country wooded and marshy, and without roads! This movement was perhaps necessary, and could not be avoided; but why at the start had such a basis been selected? Such a selection made disasters inevitable, and they followed. All kinds of accounts pour in from these cursed fields of the Chickahominy. Foreign officers--whose veracity I can believe--speak enthusiastically of the undaunted bravery of the volunteers and of their generals; _but a general generalship_ was not to be found during those titanic fightings. What I gathered from the _suite_ of the Orleans is, that Gen. McClellan was totally confused, was totally ignorant of the condition of the corps, was never within distance to give or to be asked for orders, and was the first to reach the banks of the James and to sleep on board the gunboat Galena. At Winchester, Banks in person covered the retreat. The Orleans left. I pity them; they will be hooted in Europe. They shared some of McClellan's fallacious and petty notions, and very likely they have been gulled by the McClellan-Seward expectations of taking Richmond before July 4th. Gen. Hunter's letter about fugitive slaves, and rebels fugitive from the flag of the Union, is the noblest contra distinction. No rhetor could have invented it. Hang yourselves, oh rhetors! _July 4th._--The gloomiest since the birth of this republic. Never was the country so low, and after such sacrifices of blood, of time, and of money; and all this slaughtered to that Juggernaut of strategy, and to the ignoble motley of his supporters. Oh you widows, bereaved mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, cry for vengeance! Cry for vengeance, you shadows of the dead of the malaria, or fallen in the defence of your country's honor. Stupidity has stabbed in the back more deadly wounds than did the enemy in front. This is the 4th of July. Oh! my old heart and my, not weak, mind are bursting with grief. The people, the masses, sacrifice their blood, their time, their fortune. What sacrifice the official leaders and pilots? All is net gain for them. Thousands and thousands of families will be impoverished for life, nay, for generations. It is those nameless heroes on the fields of battle who alone uphold the honor of the American name, as it is the people at large who have the true statesmanship, and not the appointed guardsmen. Rats, hounds, all the vermin, all the impure beasts, are after Stanton, for his not having sent reinforcements to McClellan; but none existed, and McClellan has exhausted and devoured all the reserves. Not reinforcements, but brains, were wanted, and brains are not transferable. The people, sublime, runs again to the rescue, and Mr. Seward is so sacrilegious, so impious, as to say that the people is generally slow. He is fast on the road of confusion. I am sure that the whole movement and attack of the rebels was made, as it could be made, at the utmost with 60,000 to 70,000 men, if even with such a number. The rebels never attacked our whole line, but always threw superior forces on some weak and isolated point. This the rebels did during the last battles. The rebels showed great generalship. Jackson is already the legendary hero, and deserves to be. McClellan never attacked, but _always_ was surprised and forced to fight, so the rebels were sure that he would not dare anything to counteract and counter-manoeuvre their daring; so the rebel generals had perfect ease for the execution of their bold but skilful plans. Lincoln sacrifices not Stanton, not even to Seward, to Blair, and to the slaveocrats in Congress. That is something. McClellan publishes a pompous order of the day for the 4th of July, and apes the phraseology of Napoleon's bulletins from times when by a blow Napoleon overthrew empires. What I can gather from the accounts of the seven days' fighting is, that during the battle at Gaines' Mills (to speak technically), positively the whole army was without any basis. But traitors, imbeciles and intriguers rend the air and the skies with their praises of the great strategy and of the brilliant generalship. I am aware how difficult it will be to convince the heroic army--that is, its rank and file--that their disasters result from want of generalship, and not from any inferiority in numbers. All over the world incapable commanders raise the outcry of deficiency in numbers to cover therewith their personal deficiency of brains. Similar events to McClellan's wails, and the confusion they create in the armies and in the people, are nothing new in the history of wars. A fleet of gunboats covers the army on the James river. Once McClellan condescendingly boasted that he would take care of the gunboats. The worst is, that these gunboats could have done service against Charleston, Mobile, Savannah, etc. After all, McClellan is not the greatest culprit. It is not his fault that he is without military brains and without military capacity. He tried to do the best, according to his poor intellect. The great, eternally-to-be-damned malefactors are those who kept him in command after having had repeated proofs of his incapacity; and still greater are those constitutional advisers who supported McClellan against the outcry of the best in the Cabinet and in the nation. A time may come when the children of those malefactors will be ashamed of their fathers' names, and--curse them. I have not scorn enough against the revilers and accusers of Stanton. If Stanton could have had his free will, far different would be the condition of affairs. Stanton's first appearance put an end to the prevailing lethargy, and marked a new and glorious era. But, ah! how short! The rats and the vermin were afraid of him, and took shelter behind the incarnated strategy. Stanton embraced and embraces the _ensemble_ of the task and of the field before him. And this politician, Blair, to be his critic! If Stanton had been left undisturbed in the execution of his duties as the Secretary of War, McClellan would have been obliged to march directly to Richmond, and the brainless strategy in the Peninsula would have been crushed in the bud. If Stanton had not been undermined, not only the people would have been saved from terrible disasters, but McClellan, Lincoln, Seward, and Blair would have been saved from reproaches and from malediction. Stanton likewise shows himself to be a true statesman. A Democrat in politics, he very likely never was such a violent and decided opponent of slavery as the Sewards and Blairs professed to be throughout their whole lives. But now Stanton pierces the fog, perceives the unavoidable exigencies, and is an emancipationist, when the Sewards and the Blairs try to compromise, nay, virtually to preserve slavery. _July 10th._--The rebels won time to increase and gather their forces from the south. McClellan's army may not prevent their turning against Pope, who has too small a body to resist or to cover the whole line from Fredericksburg to the Shenandoah. If the rebels attack Pope he must retreat and concentrate before Washington; and then again begins the uphill work. The people generally pour in blood, time and money; but brains, brains are needed, and, without violating the formulas, the people cannot inaugurate brains. Whatever the people may do, the same quacks and bunglers will over again commit the same blunders. Nothing can teach a little foresight to the helmsman and to some of his seconds. Rocked by his imagination, Mr. Seward never sees clearly the events before him and what they generate. The call for three hundred thousand men will be responded to. The men will come; but will statesmanship and generalship come with them? I am afraid that the rebels, operating with promptness and energy, may give no time to the levies to be fully organized; the rebels will press on Washington. McClellan reports to the President that he has only 50,000 men left. The President goes to James river, and finds 83,000 ready for action. Was it ignorance in McClellan, or his inborn disrespect of truth, or disrespect of the country, or something worse, that made him make such a report? And all this passes, and Mr. Lincoln cannot hurt McClellan, although a gory shroud extends over the whole country. A secretary of the French consul is here, and confirms my speculations concerning the numbers of the rebels in the last battles on the Chickahominy. The current and authoritative opinion in Richmond is, that from the Potomac to the Rio Grande the rebel force never exceeded 300,000 men. If so, the more glory; and it must be so, according to the rational analysis of statistics. Mr. Seward writes a skilful dispatch to explain the battles on the Chickahominy. But no skill can succeed to bamboozle the cold, clear-sighted European statesmen. No doubt Mr. Seward sincerely wished to save the Union in his own way and according to his peculiar conception, and, after having accomplished it, disappear from the political arena, surrounded by the halo of national gratitude. But even for this aim of reconstruction of the Union as it was, Mr. Seward, at the start, took the wrong track, and took it because he is ignorant of history and of the logic in human affairs. To save the Union as it was, it was imperatively necessary to strike quick and crushing blows, and to do this in May, June, etc., 1861. Mr. Seward could have realized then what now is only a throttling nightmare--_the Union as it was_. But Mr. Seward sustained a policy of delays and not of blows; the struggle protracts, and, for reasons repeatedly mentioned, the suppression of rebellion becomes more and more difficult, and the reconstruction of the old Union as it was a _mirage_ of his imagination. But it is not Thurlow Weed, and others of that stamp, who could enlighten Mr. Seward on such subjects--far, far above their vulgar and mean politicianism. It is now useless to accuse and condemn Congress for its so-called violence, as does Mr. Seward, and to assert that but for Congress he, Mr. Seward, would have long ago patched up the quarrel. The Congress may be as tame as a lamb, and as subject as a foot-sole. Mr. Seward may on his knees proffer to the rebels a compromise and the most stringent safeguards for slavery; to-day the rebels will spurn all as they would have spurned it during the whole year. The rebels will act as Mason did when in the Senate hall Mr. Seward asked the traitor to be introduced to Mr. Lincoln. The country is in more need of a man than of the many hundreds of thousands of new levies. Some time ago Mr. Seward gathered around him his devotees in Congress (few in number), and unveiled to them that nobody can imagine what superhuman efforts it cost him to avert foreign intervention. Very unnecessary demonstration, as he knows it well himself, and, if it gets into the papers, may turn out to be offensive to the two cabinets, as they give to Mr. Seward no reason for making such statements. Should England and France ever decide upon any such step, then Mr. Seward may write as a Cicero, have all the learning of a Hugo Grotius, of a Vattel, and of all other publicists combined; he may send legions of Weeds and Sandfords to Europe, and all this will not weigh a feather with the cabinets of London and of Paris. Further, no foreign powers occasioned our defeats _in the Chickahominy_, but those who were enraptured with the Peninsula strategy. Mr. Seward's letter to the great meeting in New York shows that not his patriotism, but his confidence in success, is slightly notched. Nobody doubts his patriotism; but Mr. Seward tried to shape mighty events into a mould after his not-over-gigantic mind, and now he frets because these events tear his sacrilegious hand. After much opposition, vacillation, hesitation, and aversion, the President signed the confiscation and emancipation bill. A new evidence of how devotedly he wishes to avert any deadly blows from slavery,--this national shame. The Congress adjourned after having done everything good, and what was in its power. It separated, leaving the country's cause in a worse condition than it was a year ago, after the Bull Run day. Many, nay, almost all the best members of both houses are fully aware in what hands they left the destinies of the nation. Many went away with despair in their hearts; but the constitutional formula makes it impossible for them to act, and to save what so badly needs a savior. Intervention fever again. The worst intervention is perpetrated at home by imbeciles, by intriguers, by traitors, and by the--spades. Mr. Dicey, an Englishman who travelled or travels in this country,--Mr. D. is the first among his countrymen who understands the events here, and who is just toward the true American people;--Mr. D. truly says that the people fight without a general, and without a statesman, and are the more to be admired for it. Mr. Seward tries to appear grand before the foreign diplomats, and talks about Cromwell, Louis Napoleon, _coup d'États_ against the Congress, and about his regrets to be in the impossibility to imitate them. Only think, Cromwell, Napoleon I., Napoleon III., Seward! Such dictatorial dreams may explain Mr. Seward's partiality for General McClellan, whom Seward may perhaps wish to use as Louis Napoleon used Gen. St. Arnoud. Halleck is to be the American Carnot. But any change is an improvement. If Halleck extricates the army on the James river, and saves it from malaria,--this enemy more deadly than Jackson and McClellan combined,--then for this single action Halleck deserves well of the country, and his Corinth affair will, at least in part, be atoned for. Mr. Lincoln makes a new effort to save his _mammy_, and tries to neutralize the confiscation bill. Mr. Lincoln will not make a step beyond what is called the Border-States' policy; and it may prove too late when he will decide to honestly execute the law of Congress. Mr. Seward gets into hysterics at the hateful name of Congress. Similar spite he showed to a delegation from the city of New York, upbraiding some of its members, and assuring them that delegations are not needed,--that the administration is fully up to the task. Yes, Stanton is, but how about some others? Poor Mr. Lincoln! he must stand all the mutual puffs of Seward and Sandford, and some more in store for him when the Weeds and Hughes will come and give an account of their doings in Europe. The report of the battle against Casey, as published by the rebel General Johnston, is a masterpiece of military style, and shows how skilfully the attack was combined. The Southern leaders have exclusively in view the triumph of their cause. With many of our leaders, the people's cause is made to square with their little selfishness. Guerillas spread like locusts. Perhaps they are the results of our Union-searching, slavery-saving policy. AUGUST, 1862. Emancipation -- The President's hand falls back -- Weed sent for -- Gen. Wadsworth -- The new levies -- The Africo-Americans not called for -- Let every Northern man be shot rather! -- End of the Peninsula campaign -- Fifty or sixty thousand dead -- Who is responsible? -- The army saved -- Lincoln and McClellan -- The President and the Africo-Americans -- An Eden in Chiriqui -- Greeley -- The old lion begins to awake -- Mr. Lincoln tells stories -- The rebels take the offensive -- European opinion -- McClellan's army landed -- Roebuck -- Halleck -- Butler's mistakes -- Hunter recalled -- Terrible fighting at Manassas -- Pope cuts his way through -- Reinforcements slow in coming -- McClellan reduced in command. _Vulgatior fama est_, that Mr. Lincoln was already raising his hand to sign a stirring proclamation on the question of emancipation; that Stanton was upholding the President's arm that it might not grow weak in the performance of a sacred duty; that Chase, Bates, and Welles joined Stanton; but that Messrs. Seward and Blair so firmly objected that the President's outstretched hand slowly began to fall back; that to precipitate the mortification, Thurlow Weed was telegraphed; that Thurlow Weed presented to Mr. Lincoln the Medusa-head of Irish riots in the North against the emancipation of slaves in the South; that Mr. Lincoln's mind faltered (oh, Steffens) before such a Chinese shadow, and that thus once more slavery was saved. _Relata refero._ General Wadsworth is the good genius of the poor and oppressed race. But for Wadsworth's noble soul and heart the Lamons and many other blood-hounds in Washington would have given about three-fourths of the fugitives over to the whip of the slavers. Within the last four weeks 600,000 new levies are called to arms. With the 600,000 men levied previously, it is the heaviest draft ever made from a population. No emperor or despot ever did it in a similar lapse of time. The appreciation current here is, that the twenty millions of inhabitants can easily furnish such a quota; but the truth is that the draft, or the levy, or the volunteering, is made from about three millions of men between the ages of twenty and forty years. One million two hundred thousand in one year is equal to nearly 36-100, and this from the most vital, the most generative, and most productive part of the population. The same analysis and percentage applied to the statistics of the population in the rebel States gives a little above 300,000 men under arms; however, the percentage of the drafts from the full-aged population in the South can be increased by some 15-100 over the percentage in the North. This increase is almost exclusively facilitated by the substratum of slavery, and our administration devotedly takes care _ne detrimentum capiat_ that peculiar institution. The last draft could be averted from the North if the four millions of loyal Africo-Americans were called to arms. But Mr. Lincoln, with the Sewards, the Blairs, and others, will rather see every Northern man shot than to touch the palladium of the rebels. These new enormous masses will crush the rebellion, provided they are not marshalled by strategy; but nevertheless the painful confession must be made, that our putting in the field of three to one rebel may confuse a future historian, and contribute to root more firmly that stupid fallacy already asserted by the rebels, and by some among their European upholders, of the superiority of the Southern over the Northern thus called race. Such a stigma is inflicted upon the brave and heroic North by the strategy, and by the vacillating, slave-saving policy of the administration. This is the more painful for me to record, as most of the foreign officers in our service, and who are experienced and good judges, most positively assert the superior fighting qualities of the Union volunteers over the rebels. Our troops are better fed, clad and armed, but over our army hovers the thick mist of strategy and indecision; the rebels are led not by anaconda strategians, but by fighting generals, desperate, and thus externally heroic; energy inspires their councils, their administration, and their military leaders. If Stanton and Halleck succeed in extricating the army on the James river, then they will deserve the gratitude of the people. The malaria there must be more destructive than would be many battles. Events triumphantly justify Stanton's opposition to the Peninsula strategy and campaign. So ends this horrible sacrifice; between fifty and sixty thousand killed or dead by diseases. The victims of this holocaust have fallen for their country's cause, but the responsibility for the slaughter is to be equally divided between McClellan, Lincoln, Seward and Blair. Even Sylla had not on his soul so much blood as has the above quatuor. When, after the victory over the allied Samnites and others, at the Colline gate of Rome, Sylla ordered the massacre of more than four thousand prisoners who laid down their arms; when his lists of proscription filled with blood Rome and other cities of Italy, Sylla so firmly consolidated the supremacy of the _Urbs_ over Italy and over the world, that after twenty centuries of the most manifold vicissitudes, transformations and tempests, this supremacy cannot yet be upturned. But the holocaust to strategy resulted in humiliating the North and in heaping glory on the Southern leaders. If the newly called 600,000 men finish the rebellion before Congress meets, then slavery is saved. To save slavery and to avoid emancipation was perhaps the secret aim of Mr. Lincoln, Seward, and Blair; who knows but that of Halleck, when the administration called for the additional 300,000 men? Persons who approach Halleck say that he is a thorough pro-slavery partisan. His order No. 3, the opinion of some officers of his staff, and his associations, make me believe in the truth of that report. Mr. Seward says _sub rosa_ to various persons, that slavery is an obsolete question, and he assures others that emancipation is a fixed fact, and is no more to be held back; that he is no more a conservative. How are we to understand this man? If Mr. Seward is sincere, then his last transformation may prove that he has given up the idea of finding a Union party in the South, or that he wishes to reconquer--what he has lost--the confidence of the party. But this return on his part may prove _troppo tardi_. The army of the Potomac is saved; the heroes, martyrs, and sufferers are extricated from the grasp of death. This epopee in the history of the civil war will immortalize the army, but the strategian's immortality will differ from that of the army. England and France firm in their neutrality. Lord John Russell's speeches in Parliament are all that can be desired. Will it ever be thoroughly investigated and elucidated why, after the evacuation of Corinth, the onward march of our everywhere-victorious Western armies came at once to a stand-still? The guerillas, the increase of forces in Richmond, and some eventual disasters, may be directly traced to this inconceivable conduct on the part of the Western commanders or of the Commander-in-chief. Was not some Union-searching at the bottom of that stoppage? When, months ago, a false rumor was spread about the evacuation of Memphis and Corinth, Mr. Seward was ready to start for the above-mentioned places, of course in search of the Union feeling. Perhaps others were drawn into this Union-searching, Union and slavery-restoring conspiracy. I have most positive reasons to believe that Gen. Halleck wished to remove Gen. McClellan from the command of the army. The President opposed to it. Men of honor, of word, and of truth, and who are on intimate footing with Mr. Lincoln, repeatedly assured me that, in his conversation, the President judges and appreciates Gen. McClellan as he is judged and appreciated by those whom his crew call his enemies. With all this, Mr. Lincoln, through thin and thick, supports McClellan and maintains him in command. Such a double-dealing in the chief of a noble people! Seemingly Mr. Seward and Mr. Blair always exercise the most powerful influence. Both wished that the army remain in the malarias of the James river. Whatever be their reasons, one shudders in horror at the case with which all those culprits look on this bloody affair. Oh you widowed wives, mothers, and sweethearts! oh you orphaned children! oh you crippled and disabled, you impoverished and ruined, by sacrificing to your country more than do all the Lincolns, McClellans, Blairs, and Sewards! Some day you will ask a terrible account, and if not the present day, posterity will avenge you. It is very discouraging to witness that the President shows little or no energy in his dealings with incapacities, and what a mass of intrigues is used to excuse and justify incapacity when the nation's life-blood runs in streams. Without the slightest hesitation any European government would dismiss an incapable commander of an army, and the French Convention, that type of revolutionary and nation-saving energy, dealt even sharper with military and other incapacities. Regiments after regiments begin to pour in, to make good the deadly mistakes of our rulers. The people, as always, sublime, inexhaustible in its sacrifices! God grant that administrative incompetency may become soon exhausted! Mr. Seward told a diplomat that his (Seward's) salary was $8,000, and he spends double the amount; thus sacrificing to the country $8,000. When I hear such reports about him, I feel ashamed and sorrowful on his account. Such talk will not increase esteem for him among foreigners and strangers; and although I am sure that Mr. Seward intended to make a joke, even as such it was worse than a poor one. In his interview with a deputation composed of Africo-Americans, Mr. Lincoln rehearsed all the clap-trap concerning the races, the incompatibility to live together, and other like _bosh_. Mr. Lincoln promised to them an Eden--in Chiriqui. Mr. Lincoln promised them--what he ought to know is utterly impossible and beyond his power--that they will form an independent community in a country already governed by orderly and legally organized States, as are New Grenada and Costa Rica. Happily even for Mr. Lincoln's name, the logic of human events will save from exposure his ignorance of international laws, and his too light and too quick assertions. I pity Mr. Lincoln; his honesty and unfamiliarity with human affairs, with history, with laws, and with other like etceteras, continually involve him in unnecessary scrapes. The proclamation concerning the colonization is issued. It is a display of ignorance or of humbug, or perhaps of both. Some of the best among Americans do not utter their condemnation of this colonization scheme, because the President is to be allowed _to carry out his hobby_. The despots of the Old World will envy Mr. Lincoln. Those despots can no more _carry out their hobbies_. The _Roi s'amuse_ had its time; but the _il bondo can_ of some here, at times, beats that of the _Italina in Algero_. The two letters of Greeley to the President show that the old, indomitable lion begins to awake. As to Mr. Lincoln's answer, it reads badly, and as for all the rest, it is the eternal dodging of a vital question. Mr. Lincoln's equanimity, although not so stoical, is unequalled. In the midst of the most stirring and exciting--nay, death-giving--news, Mr. Lincoln has always a story to tell. This is known and experienced by all who approach him. Months ago I was in Mr. Lincoln's presence when he received a telegram announcing the crossing of the Mississippi by Gen. Pope, at New Madrid. Scarcely had Mr. Lincoln finished the reading of the dispatch, when he cracked (that is the sacramental word) two not very washed stories. When the history of this administration shall become well known, contemporary and future generations will wonder and be puzzled to know how the most intelligent and enlightened people in the world could produce such fruits and results of self-government. The rebel chiefs take the offensive; they unfold a brilliancy in conception and rapidity in execution of which the best generals in any army might be proud. McClellan's army was to be prevented from uniting with Pope. But it seems that Pope manoeuvres successfully, and approaches McClellan. If only our domestic policy were more to the point, England and France could not be complained of. Mr. Mercier behaves here as loyally as can be wished, and carefully avoids evoking any misunderstandings whatever. So do Louis Napoleon, Mr. Thouvenel, Lord John Russell, notwithstanding Mr. Seward's all-confusing policy. Mr. Mercier never, never uttered in my presence anything whatever which in the slightest manner could irritate even the _thinnest-skinned_ American. As I expected, Louis Napoleon and Mr. Thouvenel highly esteem Mr. Dayton; and it will be a great mistake to supersede Mr. Dayton in Paris by the travelling agent of the sewing machine. It seems that such a change is contemplated in certain quarters, because the agent parleys poor French. Such a change will not be flattering, and will not be agreeable to the French court, to the French cabinet, and to the French good society. On the continent of Europe sympathy begins to be unsettled, unsteady. As independence is to-day the watchword in Europe, so the cause of the rebels acquires a plausible justification. Various are the reasons of this new counter current. Prominent among them is the vacillating, and by Europeans considered to be INHUMAN, policy of Mr. Lincoln in regard to slavery, the opaqueness of our strategy, and the brilliancy of the tactics of the rebel generals, and, finally, the incapacity of our agents to enlighten European public opinion, and to explain the true and horrible character of the rebellion. Repeatedly I warned Mr. Seward, telling him that the tide of public opinion was rising against us in Europe, and I explained to him the causes; but of course it was useless, as his agents say the contrary, and say it for reasons easily to be understood. McClellan's army landed, and he is to be in command of all the troops. I congratulate all therein concerned about this new victory. Bleed, oh bleed, American people! Mr. Lincoln and _consortes_ insisted that McClellan remain in command. SISTE TANDEM CARNIFEX! Mr. Roebuck, M. P., the gentleman! About thirty years ago, when entering his public career as a member for Bath, Mr. Roebuck was publicly slapped in the face during the going on of the election. A few years ago Mr. Roebuck went to Vienna in the interests of some lucrative railroad or Lloyd speculation, and returned to England a fervent and devoted admirer of the Hapsburgs, and a reviler of all that once was sacred to the disciple of Jeremy Bentham. General Halleck may become the savior of the country. I hope and ardently wish that it may be so, although his qualifications for it are of a rather doubtful nature. Gen. Halleck wrote a book on military science, as he wrote one on international laws, and both are laborious compilations of other people's labors and ideas. But perhaps Halleck, if not inspired, may become a regular, methodical captain. Such was Moreau. Also, Gen. Halleck is not to take the field in person. I am told that it was so decided by Mr. Lincoln, against Halleck's wish. What an anomalous position of a commander of armies, who is not to see a field of battle! Such a position is a genuine, new American invention, but it ought not to be patented, at least not for the use of other nations. It is impossible to understand it, and it will puzzle every one having sound common sense. Gen. Butler commits a mistake in taunting and teasing the French population and the French consul in New Orleans. When Butler was going there, Mr. Seward ought to have instructed him concerning our friendly relations with Louis Napoleon, and concerning the character of the French consul in New Orleans, who was not partial to secesh. There may be some secesh French, but the bulk, if well managed, would never take a decided position against us as long as we were on friendly terms with Louis Napoleon. The President is indefatigable in his efforts to--save slavery, and to uphold the policy of the New York Herald. It is said that General Hunter is recalled, and so was General Phelps from New Orleans; General Phelps could not coolly witness the sacrilegious massacre of the slaves. The inconceivable partiality of the President for McClellan may, after all, be possibly explained by the fact that Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward see in McClellan a--savior of slavery. During two days' terrible fighting at Manassas, at Bull Run, and all around, Pope cut his way through, but the reinforcements from McClellan's army in Alexandria are _slow_ in coming. McClellan and his few pets among the generals may not object to see Pope worsted. Such things happened in other armies, even almost under the eyes of Napoleon, as in the campaign on the Elbe, in 1813. Any one worth the name of a general, when he has no special position to guard, and hears the roar of cannon, by forced marches runs to the field of battle. Not any special orders, but the roar of cannon, attracted and directed Desaix to Marengo, and Mac Mahon to Magenta. The roar of cannon shook the air between Bull Run and Alexandria, and ---- General McClellan and others had positive orders to run to the rescue of Pope. I should not wonder if the President, enthusiasmed by this new exploit of McClellan, were to nominate him for his, the President's, eventual successor; Mr. Blair will back the nomination. It is said that during these last weeks, Wallach, the editor of the unwashed _Evening Star_, is in continual intercourse with the President. _Arcades ambo._ McClellan reduced in command; only when the life of the nation was almost breathing its last. This concession was extorted from Mr. Lincoln! What will Mr. Seward say to it? SEPTEMBER, 1862. _Consummatum est!_ -- Will the outraged people avenge itself? -- McClellan satisfies the President -- After a year! -- The truth will be throttled -- Public opinion in Europe begins to abandon us -- The country marching to its tomb -- Hooker, Kearney, Heintzelman, Sigel, brave and true men -- Supremacy of mind over matter -- Stanton the last Roman -- Inauguration of the pretorian regime -- Pope accuses three generals -- Investigation prevented by McClellan -- McDowell sacrificed -- The country inundated with lies -- The demoralized army declares for McClellan -- The pretorians will soon finish with liberty -- Wilkes sent to the West Indian waters -- Russia -- Mediation -- Invasion of Maryland -- Strange story about Stanton -- Richmond never invested -- McClellan in search of the enemy -- Thirty miles in six days -- The telegrams -- Wadsworth -- Capitulation of Harper's Ferry -- Five days' fighting -- Brave Hooker wounded -- No results -- No reports from McClellan -- Tactics of the Maryland campaign -- Nobody hurt in the staff -- Charmed lives -- Wadsworth, Judge Conway, Wade, Boutwell, Andrew -- This most intelligent people become the laughing-stock of the world! -- The proclamation of emancipation -- Seward to the Paisley Association -- Future complications -- If Hooker had not been wounded! -- The military situation -- Sigel persecuted by West Point -- Three cheers for the carriage and six! -- How the great captain was to catch the rebel army -- Interview with the Chicago deputation -- Winter quarters -- The conspiracy against Sigel -- Numbers of the rebel army -- Letters of marque. The intrigues, the insubordination of McClellan's pets, have almost exclusively brought about the disasters at Manassas and at Bull Run, and brought the country to the verge of the grave. But the people are not to know the truth. CONSUMMATUM EST! The people's honor is stained--the country's cause on the verge of the grave. Will this outraged people avenge itself on the four or five diggers? Old as I am, I feel a more rending pain now than I felt thirty years ago when Poland was entombed. Here are at stake the highest interests of humanity, of progress, of civilization. I find no words to utter my feelings; my mind staggers. It is filled with darkness, pain, and blood. Mr. Lincoln is the standard-bearer of the policy of the New York Herald. So, before him, were Pierce and Buchanan. It is said that General McClellan fully satisfied the President of his (the General's) complete innocence as to the delays which exclusively generated the last disasters; also Gen. McClellan has justified himself on military grounds. I wish the verdict of innocence may be uttered by a court-martial of European generals. At any rate, the country was thrown into an abyss. _After a year!_--One hundred thousand of the best, bravest, the most devoted men slaughtered; hundreds and hundreds of millions squandered; the army again in the entrenchments of Washington; everywhere the defensive and losses; the enemy on the Potomac, perhaps to invade the free States; but McClellan is in command, his headquarters as brilliant and as numerous as a year ago; the mean flunkeys at their post; only the country's life-blood pours in streams; but--that is of no account. No acids are so dissolving and so corrosive as is the air of Washington on patriotism. How few resist its action! Among the few are Stanton, Chase (a passive patriot), Wadsworth, Dahlgren, and those grouping around Stanton; so is Welles; likewise Fox; but they are powerless. Washington is likewise the greatest garroter of truth; and I am sure that the truth about the last battles will be throttled and never elucidated. _September 3._--The Cabinets of France and of England will have a very hard stand to resist the pressure of public opinion, carried away by the skill and by the plausible heroism of the rebels. Public opinion will be clamorous that something be done in favor of the rebels. Happily, nothing else can be done but a war, and this saves us. But if the rebels succeed without Europe, the more glory for their chiefs, the more ignominy for ours. Public opinion begins to abandon us in Europe. Already I have explained some of the reasons for it. The country is marching to its tomb, but the grave-diggers will not confess their crime and their utter incapacity to save it. This their stubbornness is even a greater crime. Will Halleck warn the country against McClellan's incapacity? We have such generals as Hooker, Heintzelman, Kearney, etc., who fought continually, and with odds against them, and who never were worsted. Those three, among the best of the army, fought under Pope and mutineered not. In any other country such men would receive large, even the superior command; here the palm belongs to the incapable, the _slow_, and to the flatterer. The same with Sigel. His corps is reduced to 6,000 men; common sense shows that he ought to have at least 25,000 under him. Sigel begged the President to have more men; the President sent him to Halleck and McClellan, who both snubbed him off. By my prayer Sigel, although disheartened, went to Stanton, who received him friendly and warmly, and promised to do his utmost. Stanton will keep his word, if only the West Point envy will not prevent him. Hooker, Kearney, and Heintzelman were not in favor at the headquarters in the Peninsula, and their commands have been continually disorganized in favor of the pets of the Commander-in-Chief. The country knows what the three braves did since Yorktown down to the last day--the country knows that at the last disasters at Bull Run these heroic generals did their fullest duty. But not even their advice is asked at the double headquarters. Stanton alone cannot do everything. Rats may devour a Hercules. It seems certain that the rebel generals have various foreign officers in their respective staffs. The rebels wish to assure the success of their cause; here many have only in view their personal success. The President, although not a Blucher, may make a Gneisenau out of Sigel, who has in view only the success of the cause, and no prospects towards the White House. Sigel would understand how to organize a genuine staff. Most of the foreigners who came to serve here came with the intention to fight for the sacred principle of freedom, and without any further views whatever of career and aggrandizement. In this respect Americans are not just towards these foreigners, and the great men at headquarters will prefer to see all go to pieces than to use the capacity of foreigners, above all in the artillery and for the staff duties. The mind--that is, Jeff. Davis, Jackson, Lee, etc.--has the best of the matter--that is, Lincoln, McClellan, Blair, and Seward; however, these positions are reversed when one considers the masses on both sides. But on our side the matter commands and presses down the mind; on the rebel side the mind of the chiefs vivifies, exalts, attracts, and directs the matter. And the results thereof are, that not the rebellion, but the North, is shaking. As _a_, not only as _the_ President, Mr. Lincoln represents nothing beyond the unavoidable constitutional formula. For all other purposes, as an acting, directing, inspiring, or combining power or agency, Mr. Lincoln becomes a myth. His reality is only manifested by preserving slavery, by sticking to McClellan, by distributing offices, by receiving inspirations from Mr. Seward, and by digging the country's grave. So it is from March 4, 1861, up to this, September 5th, 1862. What else Mr. Lincoln may eventually incarnate is not now perceptible. Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward piloted the country among breakers and rocks, from which to extricate the country requires a man who is to be the burning focus of the whole people's soul. Other nations at times reached the bottom of an abyss, and they came up again when from the tempest rending them emerged such a savior. But here the formula may render impossible the appearance of such a savior. The formula is the nation's hearse. The formula has neutralized the best men in Congress, the best men in the Cabinet, as is Stanton. The people have decided not, _propter vitam vivendi perdere causas_; but the various formulas, the schemers, the grave-diggers, and the aspirants for the White House, think differently. The almost daily changes made by Mr. Lincoln in the command of the forces are the best evidences of his good-intentioned--debility. Harmony belongs to the primordial laws of nature; it is the same for human societies. But here no harmony exists between the purest, the noblest, and the most patriotic portion of the people, and the official exponent of the people's will, and of its higher and purer aspirations. So here all jars dissonantly; all is confusion, because avenged must be every violation of nature's law. I cannot believe that at this deadly crisis the salvation can come from Washington. The best man here has not his free action. And the rest of them are the country's curse. Mr. Lincoln, with McClellan, Seward, Blair, Halleck, and scores of such, are as able to cope with this crisis as to stop the revolution of our planet. _Up to this day_, from among those foremost, the only man whose hands remain unstained with the country's, his mother's, and his brethren's blood, the last Roman, is Stanton. _September 7._--During last night troops marched to meet the enemy, saluting with deafening shouts and cheers the residence of McClellan; spit-lickers as a Kennedy, giving the sign by waving his hat. Such shouts would cheer up the mind but for the fact that they were mostly raised for the victory over those who demanded an investigation of the causes of _slowness_ and insubordination,--those exclusive causes of the defeat of Pope's army. Those shouts were thrown out as defiance to justice, to truth, and to law. Those shouts marked the inauguration of the _pretorian regime_. General McClellan and other generals have forced the President to _postpone_ the investigation into the conduct of the _slow_ and of the insubordinate generals, all three special favorites of McClellan. General McClellan appeared before the soldiers surrounded by his _old identical staff_, by a tross of flatterers, and, Oh heavens! in the cortege Senator Wilson! Oh, _sancta_ not _simplicitas_, but ---- Oh, clear-sighted Republican! Subsequently, I learned that Senator Wilson was present for a moment, and only by a pure accident, at that ovation. _Laeszt Dich dem Teufel bey'm Haare packen, so hat Er Dich bey'm Kopfe_, says Lessing, and so it may become here with this first success of the pretorians, or even worse than pretorians; these here are Yanitschars of a Sultan. Pope and his army accuse three generals of insubordination and mutiny on the field of battle. McClellan prevents investigation; the brutal rule of Yanitschars is inaugurated, thanks to you, Messrs. Seward and Blair. McDowell sacrificed to the Yanitschars; he is the scapegoat and the victim to popular fallacy, to the imbecility of the press, and, above all, to the intriguers and to the conspiracy of the mutinous pets of McClellan. Weeks and weeks ago, I foretold to McDowell that such would be his fate, and that only in after-times history will be just towards him. The country begins to be inundated and opinion poisoned by all kinds of the most glaring lies, invented and spread by the staffs, and the imbecile, blind partisans of McClellan. Here are some from among the lies. In January (oh hear, oh hear!) General McClellan with 50,000 men intended to make a _flying_ (oh hear, oh hear!) expedition to Richmond, but Lincoln and Stanton opposed it. This lie divides itself into two points. 1st lie. In January, nobody opposed General McClellan's will, and, besides, he was sick. 2d lie. If he was so pugnacious in January, why has he not made with the same number of men a flying expedition only to Centreville, right under his nose? Emanating from the staff, such a lie is sufficient to show the military capacity of those who concocted it. Second lie. That the expedition to Yorktown and the Peninsula strategy were forced upon McClellan. I hope that the Americans have enough memory left, and enough self-respect to recollect the truth. Further, the above staff asserts that, when the truth will be known about the campaign, and the fightings in the Chickahominy, then justice will be done to McClellan. Always and everywhere lost battles, bad and ignorant generalship, require explanations, justifications, and commentaries. Well-fought battles are justified on the spot, the same day, and by results. No one asks or makes comments upon the fighting of Jackson. Austerlitz, Jena, were commented on, explained, some of the chiefs were justified, but--by Austrian and Prussian commentators. Until to-day French writers discuss, analyze, and comment upon the fatal battle of Waterloo. At Waterloo Napoleon was in the square of his heroic guards; but during the seven days' fighting on the Chickahominy, what regiment, not to say a square, saw in its midst the American Napoleon? A thousand others, similar to the above-mentioned lies, will be or are already circulated; the mass of the people will use its common sense, and the lies must perish. On September 7th, Gen. McClellan gave his word to the President to start to the army at 12 o'clock, but started at 4 P. M. with a long train of well-packed wagons for himself and for his staff. To be sure, Lee, Jackson, and all the other rebel chiefs together, have not such a train; if they had, they would not be to-day on the Potomac and in Maryland. Most certainly those quick-moving rebels start at least an hour earlier than they are expected to do. _September 9._--Up to this day Mr. Lincoln ought to have discovered whose advice transformed him into a standard-bearer of the policy of the New York Herald, and made him push the country to the verge of the grave; and, nevertheless, Mr. Lincoln is deaf to the voice of all true and pure patriots who point out the malefactors. Secondary events; as a lost battle, etc., depend upon material causes; but such primordial events as is the thorough miscarriage of Mr. Lincoln's anti-rebellion policy,--such events are generated by moral causes. Jefferson Davis, Lee, Jackson, and all the generals down to the last Southern bush-whacker, incarnate the violent and hideous passion of slavery, now all-powerful throughout the South. Here, Lincoln, Seward, McClellan, Blair, Halleck, etc., incarnate the negation of the purest and noblest aspirations of the North. Stanton alone is inspired by a national patriotic idea. No unity, no harmony between the people and the leaders; this discord must generate disasters. All over the country the lie is spread that the army demanded the reappointment of McClellan. First, the three mutinous generals did it; but not a Kearney, the Bayard of America; very likely not Hooker and Heintzelman--all of them soldiers, patriots, and men of honor; nor very likely was it demanded by Keyes. I do not know positively what was the conduct of Gen. Sumner. Gen. Burnside owes what he is, glory and all, to McClellan. Burnside's honest gratitude and honest want of judgment have contributed more than anything else to inaugurate the regime of the pretorians, to justify mutiny. Halleck's conduct in all this is veiled in mystery; it is so at least for the present; and as truth will be kept out of sight, the country may never know the truth about those shameful proceedings. I learn that Heintzelman, against his own judgment, agreed in the McClellan movement. Well, if this is true, then, of course, the army, for a long time misled by uninterrupted intrigues, misled by papers such as the New York Herald and the Times,--the army or the soldiers mightily contributed to bring about this fatal crisis. An army composed of intelligent Americans, blinded, stultified by intriguers, declares for a general who never, up to this day, covered with glory his or the army's name. After this nothing more is to be expected, and no disaster on the field of battle, no dissolution of a national principle, can astonish my mind. Cursed be those who thus demoralized the sound judgment of the soldiers! Cursed be my personal experience of men and of things which makes me despair! But when an army or soldiers become intellectually brought down to such a standard, then the holiest cause will always be lost. Oh for a man to save the cause of humanity! But if even such a man should appear, these pretorians will turn against him. The pretorians, with the New York Herald as their flag, will soon finish with liberty at home. McClellan, Barlow, the brothers Wood, and Bennett, may very soon be at the helm, with the 100,000 pretorians for support. _Similia similibus_; and here disgrace is to cure disgrace. These helpless grave-diggers, above all, Seward, are on the way to pick a quarrel with England, sending a flying gunboat fleet under Wilkes into the West Indian waters. At this precise moment it were better to be very cautious, and rather watch strongly our coasts with the same gunboats. _September 11._--A military genius at once finds out the point where blows are to be struck, and strikes them with lightning-like speed. The rebels act in this manner; but what point was found out, what blows were ever dealt by McClellan? Individuals similar to McClellan were idolized by the Roman pretorians, and this idolatry marks the epoch of the utmost demoralization and degradation of the Roman empire. Witnessing such a phenomenon in an army of American volunteers, one must give up in despair any confidence in manhood and in common sense. The Journal of St. Petersburg of August 6th semi-officially refutes the insinuations that Russia intends to recognize the South, or to unite with France and England for any such purpose, or for mediation. The language of the article is noble and friendly, as is all which up to this day has been done by Alexander II. Mr. Stoeckl, the Russian minister here, considerably contributes that such sound and friendly views on the condition of our affairs are entertained by the Russian Cabinet. _September 11._--Imbeciles agitate the question of mediation. European cabinets will not offer it now, and nobody, not even the rebels, would accept. No possible terms and basis exist for any mediation. A Solomon could not find them out. If Jackson and Lee were to shell Washington, then only the foreign ministers may be requested to step in and to settle the terms of a capitulation or of an evacuation. The foreign ministers here could act as mediators only if asked; not otherwise. I am sure it will come out that the invasion of Maryland by the rebels is made under the pressure exercised in Richmond by the Maryland chivalry in the service of the rebellion. These runaways probably promised an insurrection in Maryland, provided a rebel force crosses the Potomac. (Wrote it to England.) All around helplessness and confusion. Conscientiously I make all possible efforts to record what I believe to be true, and then truth will take care of herself. After the study of the campaigns of Frederick II., above all, after the study of those marvellous campaigns, combinations, manoeuvres of Napoleon, to witness every day the combinations of McClellan is more disgusting, more nauseous for the mind, than can be for the stomach the strongest dose of emetic. The last catastrophe at Bull Run and at Manassas has a slight resemblance with the catastrophe at Waterloo. The conduct of the mutinous generals here is similar to the conduct of some of the French generals during the battle of Ligny and Quatre-Bras. But here was mutiny, and there demoralization produced by general and deeply rooted and fatally unavoidable causes. The demoralization of the French generals came at the end of a terrible epoch of struggles and sacrifices, of material exhaustion, when the faith in the destinies of Napoleon was extinct; here mutiny and demoralization seize upon the newly-born era. _September 13._--What a good-natured people are the Americans! A regiment of Pennsylvania infantry quartered for the night on the sidewalk of the streets; officers, of course, absent; the poor soldiers stretched on the stones, when so many empty large buildings, when the empty (intellectually and materially empty) White House could have given to the soldiers comfortable night quarters. It can give an idea how they treat the soldiers in the field, if here in Washington they care so little for them. But McClellan has forty wagons for his staff, and forty ambulances--no danger for the latter to be used. In European armies aristocratic officers would not dare to treat soldiers in this way--to throw them on the pavement without any necessity. More than once in my life, after heavy fighting, I laid down the knapsack for a cushion, snow for a mattrass and for a blanket; but by the side of the soldiers, the generals, the staffs, and the officers shared similar bedsteads. I hear strange stories about Stanton, and about his having ruefully fallen in McClellan's lap. If so, then one more _man_, one more illusion, and one more creed in manhood gone overboard, drowned in meanness, in moral cowardice, and subserviency. The worshippers of strategy and of Gen. McClellan try to make the public swallow, that the investment of Richmond by him was a magnificent display of science, and would have been a success but for 50,000 more men under his command. To invest any place whatever is to cut that place from the principal, if not from all communications with the country around, and thus prevent, or make dangerous or difficult, the arrival of provisions, of support, etc. Our gunboats, etc., in the York and the James rivers have virtually invested Richmond on the eastern side; but that part of the Peninsula did not constitute the great source of life for the rebel army. The principal life-arteries for Richmond ran through four-fifths of a circle, beginning from the southern banks of the James river and running to the southern banks of the Rapidan and of the Rappahannock. Through that region men, material, provisions poured into Richmond from the whole South, and that whole region around Richmond was left perfectly open; but strategy concentrated its wisdom on the comparatively indifferent eastern side of the Chickahominy marshes, and cut off the rebels from--nothing at all. _September 13._--General McClellan, in search of the enemy, during the first six days makes thirty miles! Finds the enemy near Hagerstown. No more time for strategy. _September 14._--General McClellan telegraphs to General Halleck (_meliores ambo_) that he, McClellan, has "_the most reliable information that the enemy is 190,000 strong in Maryland and in Pennsylvania, besides 70,000 on the other side of the Potomac_." (The same bosh about the numbers as in the Peninsula.) The Generals Burnside, Hooker, Sumner, Reno, fought the battle at Hagerstown, and drove the enemy before them. General McClellan reports a victory, _but expects the enemy to renew the fighting next day in a considerable force_--(as at Williamsburg). McClellan telegraphs to Halleck, "_Look for an attack on Washington._" The enemy retreats to recross the Potomac! _September 15._--General Wadsworth suggested to the President one of those bold movements by which campaigns are terminated by one blow: "To send Heintzelman and him, Wadsworth, with some 25,000 men, to Gordonsville (here and in Baltimore about 90,000 men), and thus cut off the enemy from Richmond, and prevent him from rallying his forces." But General Halleck opposes such a Murat's dash, on account of McClellan's "looked-for attack on Washington"--by his, McClellan's, imagination. _September 17._--When I wrote the above about Wadsworth and Heintzelman, I was under the impression that the victory announced by McClellan, Sept. 14, was more decisive; that as he had fresh the whole corps of Fitz John Porter, and the greatest part of that of Franklin, and other supports sent him from Washington, he would give no respite to the enemy, and push him into the Potomac. It turned out differently. The loss by capitulation of Harper's Ferry. It is a blow to us, and very likely a disgraceful affair, not for the soldiers, but for the commanders. _September 19._--Five days' fighting. Our brave Hooker wounded; tremendous loss of life on both sides, and no decisive results. These last battles, and those on the Chickahominy, that of Shiloh, in one word all the fightings protracted throughout several consecutive days, are almost unexampled in history. These horrible episodes establish the bravery, the endurance of the soldiers, the bravery and the ability of some among the commanders of the corps, of the divisions, etc., and the absence of any _generalship in the commander_. _September 20._--Until this day Gen. McClellan has not published one single detailed report about any of his operations since the evacuation of Manassas in March. Thus much for the staff of the army of the Potomac. We shall see what detailed report he will publish of the campaign in Maryland. McClellan's bulletins from Maryland are twins to his bulletins from the Peninsula; and there may be very little difference between the _gained_ victories. To-day he is ignorant of the movements of the enemy, and has more than 30,000 fresh troops in hand. As in the Peninsula, so in Maryland. Although having nearly one-third more men than the enemy, General McClellan never forced the enemy to engage at once its whole force, never attacked the rebels on their whole line, and never had any positive notion about the number and the position of the opposing forces. The rebels had the Potomac in their rear; our army pressed them in front, and--the rebels escaped. I appeal to such military heroes as Hooker; I appeal to thousands of our brave soldiers, from generals down to the rank and file, and further I appeal to all women with hearts and brains here and in Europe. _September 20._--Gen. Mansfield killed at the head of his brigade. I ask his forgiveness for all the criticism made upon him in this diary. Last year, at the beginning of the war, Gen. Mansfield acted under the orders of Gen. Scott. This explains all. As in the slaughters of the Chickahominy, so in the Maryland slaughters, _nobody hurt_ in McClellan's numerous staff. Thank Heaven! Not only his life is charmed, but the charm extends over all who surround him,--men and beasts. A malediction sticks to our cause. Hooker badly, very badly wounded. Hooker fought the greatest number of fights,--was never worsted in the Peninsula, nor in the August disasters, and he alone has the supreme honor of a nick-name, by the troopers' baptism: the _Fighting Joe_. Hooker, not McClellan, ought to command the army. But no pestilential Washington clique, none of the West-Pointers, back him, and the pets, the pretorians, may have refused to obey his orders. After the escape of the rebels from Manassas in March, and after the evacuation of Yorktown, all the intriguers and traitors grouped around the New York Herald, and the imbeciles around the New York Times, prized high _the masterly strategy_ and its bloodless victories. Now, in dead, by powder and disease, in crippled, etc., McClellan destroyed about 100,000 men, and the country's honor is bleeding, the country's cause is on the verge of a precipice. How rare are men of civic heroism, of fearless civic courage; men of the creed: _perisse mon nom mais que la patrie soit sauvée._ General Wadsworth feels more deeply and more painfully the disasters, nay, the disgrace, of the country, than do almost all with whom I meet here. During the Congress, similar were the feelings of Senator Wade, Judge Potter, and of many other Congressmen in both the Houses. So feel Boutwell, Andrew, the Governor of Massachusetts, and I am sure many, many over the country. But the sensation-men and preachers, lecturers, etc., all are to be * * * * _September 22._--By Mr. Seward's policy and by McClellan's strategy and war-bulletins the bravest and the most intelligent people became the laughing-stock of Europe and of the world. And thus is witnessed the hitherto in history unexampled phenomenon of a devoted and brave people of twenty millions, mastering all the wealth and the resources of modern civilization, worsted and kept at bay by four to five million rebels, likewise brave, but almost beggared, and cut off from all external communications. _Sept. 23._--Proclamation _conditionally_ abolishing slavery from 1863. The _conditional_ is the last desperate effort made by Mr. Lincoln and by Mr. Seward to save slavery. Poor Mr. Lincoln was obliged to strike such a blow at his _mammy_! The two statesmen found out that it was dangerous longer to resist the decided, authoritative will of the masses. The words "resign," "depose," "impeach," were more and more distinct in the popular murmur, and the proclamation was issued. Very little, if any, credit is due to Mr. Lincoln or to Mr. Seward for having thus late and reluctantly _legalized_ the stern will of the immense majority of the American people. For the sake of sacred truth and justice I protest before civilization, humanity, and posterity, that Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward intrinsically are wholly innocent of this great satisfaction given to the right, and to national honor. The absurdity of colonization is preserved in the proclamation. How could it have been otherwise? But if the rebellion is crushed before January 1st, 1863, what then? If the rebels turn loyal before that term? Then the people of the North will be cheated. Happily for humanity and for national honor, Mr. Lincoln's and Mr. Seward's benevolent expectations will be baffled; the rebels will spurn the tenderly proffered leniency; these rebels are so ungrateful towards those who "cover the weakness of the insurgents," &c. (See the celebrated, and by the American press much admired, despatch in May or June, 1862, Seward to Adams.) The proclamation is written in the meanest and the most dry routine style; not a word to evoke a generous thrill, not a word reflecting the warm and lofty comprehension and feelings of the immense majority of the people on this question of emancipation. Nothing for humanity, nothing to humanity. Whoever drew it, be he Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Seward, it is clear that the writer was not in it either with his heart or with his soul; it is clear that it was done under moral duress, under the throttling pressure of events. How differently Stanton would have spoken! General Wadsworth truly says, that never a noble subject was more belittled by the form in which it was uttered. Brazilian m----s are much disturbed by the proclamation. _Sept. 23._--In his answer to the Paisley Parliamentary Reform Association, Mr. Seward complains that the sympathy of Europe turns now for secession. O Mr. Seward, Mr. Seward, who is it that contributed to turn the current against the cause of right and of humanity? Months ago I and others warned you; the premonitory signs and the reasons of this change have been pointed out to you. Now you slander Europe, of which you know as little as of the inhabitants of the moon. The generous populations of the whole of Europe expected and waited for a positive, unhesitating, clear recognition of human rights; day after day the generous European minds expected to see some positive, authoritative fact confirm that lofty conception which, at the start of this rebellion, they had of the cause of the North. But the pure, generous tendencies of the American people became officially, authoritatively misrepresented; the public opinion in Europe became stuffed with empty generalizations, with official but unfulfilled prophecies, and with cold declamations. Those official generalizations, prophecies, and declamations, the supineness shown by the administration in the recognition of human rights, all this began to be considered in Europe as being sanctioned by the whole American people; and generous European hearts and minds began to avert in disgust from the _misrepresented_ cause of the North. Two issues are before history, before the philosophy of history, and before the social progress of our race. The first issue is the struggle between the pure democratic spirit embodied in the Free States, and the fetid remains of the worst part of humanity embodied in the South. The second issue is between the perennial vitality of the principle of self-government in the people, and the transient and accidental results of the self-government as manifested in Mr. Lincoln, in Mr. Seward, and their followers. I hope that this Diary will throw some light on the second issue, and vindicate the perennial against the transient and the accidental. _Sept. 24._--If the events of this war should progress as they are foreshadowed in the proclamation of September 22, then the application of this proclamation may create inextricable complications. Not only in one and the same State, but in one and the same district, nay, even in the same township, after January 1st, 1863, may be found Africo-Americans, portions of whom are emancipated, the others in bondage. But the stern logic of events will save the illogical, pusillanimous, confused half-measure, as it now is. (O Steffens!) General McClellan confesses that if Hooker had not been wounded, then _the road_, by which the retreat of the rebels might have been cut off, would have been taken. Such a declaration is the most emphatic recognition of Hooker's superior military capacity. Seldom, however, has the loss of a general commanding only _en second_, or a wing, as did Hooker, decided the fortunes of the day. Why did not McClellan take _the road_ himself, after Hooker was obliged to leave the field? When Desaix, Bessières, and Lannes fell, Napoleon nevertheless won the respective battles. _Sept. 25._--The military position of the rebels in Winchester seems to me one of the best they ever held in this war. Winchester is the centre of which Washington, Harper's Ferry, Williamsport, nay, even Wheeling, seem to be the circumference. Our army under McClellan is almost beyond the circle, crosses not the Potomac, and is now only to watch the enemy. So much for the great McClellan's victory. Truly, the enemy may be taken in the rear, its communications with Richmond, &c., cut off and destroyed; but _we are safe_ on the Potomac, and this is sufficient. McClellan is _the man of large conceptions and rapid execution_. The best generals are _hors de combat_; as to Halleck, O, it is not to think, not to speak. Well, I may be mistaken, but I clearly see all this on the map of Virginia. _Sept. 25._--The West Point spirit persecutes Sigel with the utmost rage. The West Point spirit seemingly wishes to have Sigel dishonored, defeated, even if the country be thereby destroyed. The Hallecks, &c., keep him in a subordinate position; _three days ago_ his corps was a little over seven thousand, almost no cavalry, and most of the artillery without horses, and he in front. The more I scrutinize the President's thus called emancipation proclamation, the more cunning and less good will and sincerity I find therein. I hope I am mistaken. But the proclamation is only an act of the military power,--is evoked by military necessity,--and not a civil, social, humane act of justice and equity. The only good to be derived from this proclamation is, that for the first time the word _freedom_, and a general comprehension of "emancipation," appear in an official act under the sanction of the formula, and are inaugurated into the official, the constitutional life of the nation. In itself it is therefore a great event for a people so strictly attached to legality and to formulas. I do not recollect to have read in the history of any great, or even of a small captain,--above all of such a one when between thirty-four and thirty-six years old,--that he followed the army under his command in a travelling carriage and six, when the field of operations extended from fifty to seventy miles. Three cheers for McClellan, for his carriage and six! HOW THE GREAT CAPTAIN WAS TO CATCH THE WHOLE REBEL ARMY IN MANASSAS, IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH, A. D. 1862. It was to have been done by a brilliant and unsurpassable stroke of combined strategy, tactics, manoeuvres, marches, and swimmings; also on land and water. (O, hear! O, hear!) As every body knows, the rebels were encamped in the so _fearful_ strongholds of Centreville and Manassas, all the time fooling the commander-in-chief of the federal army in relation to their _immense_ numbers. To attack the rebels in front, or to surround them by the Occoquan and Brentsville, would have been a too--simple operation; by a special, an immense, space-embracing anaconda strategy, the rebel army was to be cut off from the whole of rebeldom, and forced to surrender _en masse_ to the inventor of (the not yet patented, I hope) bloodless victories. To accomplish such an immense result, a fleet of transports was already ordered to be gathered at Annapolis. On them in ten or fifteen days (O, hear!) an army of fifty to sixty thousand, most completely equipped, was to be embarked, plus forty thousand in Washington, all this to sail under the personal command of the general-in-chief, and sail towards Richmond. Richmond taken, the rebel army at Manassas would have been cut off, and obliged to surrender on any terms. The above splendid conception was, and still is, peddled among the army and among the nation by the admirers of, and the devotees of, anaconda strategy. The expedition was to land at the mouth of the Tappahannock, a small port, or rather a creek, used for shipping of a small quantity of tobacco. As the port or creek has only some small attempts at wharves, the landing of such an enormous army, with parks of artillery, with cavalry, pontoons, and material for constructing bridges,--the landing would not have been executed in weeks, if in months; but the projector of the plan, perfectly losing the notion of time, calculated for ten days. From that port the _flying_ expedition was to march directly on Richmond through a country having only common field and dirt roads, and this in a season when all roads generally are in an impassable condition, through a country intersected by marshy streams, principal among them the Matapony and the Pamunkey--to march towards Richmond and the Chickahominy marshes. It seems that Chickahominy exercised an attractive, Armida-like charm on the great strategian. An army loaded with such immense trains would have sufficiently destroyed all the roads, and rendered them impassable for itself; and the _flying_ expedition would at once have been transformed into an expedition sticking in the mud, similar to that subsequent in the peninsula. The enemy was in possession of Fredericksburg and of the railroad to Hanover Court House on one flank, and of all the best roads north of and through Chickahominy marshes on the other flank. The _flying_ expedition would have had for base Tappahannock and a dirt road. O strategy! O stuff! The much-persecuted General McDowell exposed the worse than crudity of the brilliant conception. By doing this, McDowell saved the country, the administration, and the strategian from immense losses and from a nameless shame. It is due to the people that the administration lay before the public the scheme and the refutation. A look on the map of Virginia must convince even the simplest mind of the brilliancy of this conception. During all this time spent in such masterly operations, the rebel army in Manassas was to quietly look on, to wait, and not move, not retreat on Richmond. Early in March, at once the rebel army, always undisturbed, quietly disappeared from Manassas; and this is the best evidence of the depth of that brilliant combination, peddled under the name of the _flying expedition to Richmond_, projected for January, February, or March. I appeal to the verdict of sound reason; the parties are, common sense _versus_ anaconda strategy and bloodless victories. _Sept. 27._--The proclamation issued by the war power of the President is not yet officially notified to those who alone are to execute it--the armies and their respective commanders. Who is to be taken in? The papers publish a detailed account of an interview between the President and an anti-slavery deputation from Chicago. The deputation asked for stringent measures in the spirit of the law of Congress, which orders the emancipation of the slaves held by the rebels. The President combated the reasons alleged by the deputation, and tried to establish the danger and the inefficiency of the measure. A few days after the above-mentioned debate, the President issued the proclamation of September 22. Are his heart, his soul, and his convictions to be looked for in the debate, or in the proclamation? The immense majority of the people, from the inmost of its heart, greets the proclamation--a proof how deeply and ardently was felt its necessity. The gratitude shown to Mr. Lincoln for having thus executed the will of his master,--this gratitude is the best evidence how this whole people is better, has a loftier comprehension of right and duty, than have its elected servants. McClellan already speaks that the campaign is finished, and the army is to go into winter quarters. If the people, if the administration, and if the army will stand this, then they will justly deserve the scorn of the whole civilized and uncivilized world. But with such civil and military chiefs all is possible, all may be expected to be included in their programme of--vigorous operations. _Sept. 28._--For some weeks I watch a conspiracy of the West Pointers, of the commanders-in-chief, of the staffs, and of the double know-nothing cliques united against Sigel. The aim seems to be to put Sigel and his purposely-reduced and disorganized forces in such a condition and position that he may be worsted or destroyed by the enemy. To avoid dishonoring the forces under him, to avoid exposing them to slaughter, and to avoid being thus himself dishonored, Sigel ought to resign, and make public the reasons of his resignation. A few days ago, I wrote and warned the Evening Post; but--but-- The Richmond papers confirm what I supposed concerning the motives which pushed the rebel army across the Potomac. As the Marylanders rose not in arms, and joined not the rebel army, the invaders had nothing else to do but to retreat and to recross the Potomac. McClellan ought to have thrown them into the river, which Hooker, if not wounded, would have done, or if he had the command of our army. The rebels would have retreated into Virginia, even without being attacked by McClellan, even if he only followed them, say at one day's distance. Not having destroyed the rebels, McClellan, in reality, and from the military stand point, accomplished very little--near to nothing. Hooker estimates the rebel force, at the utmost, at eighty thousand men, and that is all that they could have. McClellan had about one hundred and twenty thousand. And--and he is to be considered the savior of Maryland and of Pennsylvania. O, good American people! The genuine Napoleon won all his great battles against armies which considerably outnumbered his. Mr. Seward menaces England with issuing _letters of marque_ against the Southern privateers. The menace is ridiculous, because it will not be carried out, and, if carried out, it will become still more ridiculous; it would be a very poor compliment to the navy to use the whole power of private enterprise against a few rovers, and it would be an official recognition of the rebels in the condition of belligerents. _Quousque tandem_--O SEWARD--_abutere patientiam nostram?_ _Sept. 30._--Nearly three weeks after the battle of Antietam, General McClellan publishes what he and they call a report of his operations in Maryland; in all not twenty lines, and devoted principally to establish--on probabilities--the numerical losses of the enemy. The report is a fit _pendant_ to his bulletins; is excellent for bunkum, and to make other people justly laugh at us. OCTOBER, 1862. Costly Infatuation -- The do-nothing strategy -- Cavalry on lame horses -- Bayonet charges -- Antietam -- Effect of the proclamation -- Disasters in the West -- The abolitionists not originally hostile to McClellan -- Helplessness in the War Department -- Devotedness of the people -- McClellan and the proclamation -- Wilkes -- Colonel Key -- Routine engineers -- Rebel raid into Pennsylvania -- Stanton's sincerity -- O, unfighting strategians! -- The administration a success -- _De gustibus_ -- Stuart's raid -- West Point -- St. Domingo -- The President's letter to McClellan -- Broad church -- The elections -- The Republican party gone -- The remedy at the polls -- McClellan wants to be relieved -- Mediation -- Compromise -- The rhetors. -- The optimists -- The foreigners -- Scott and Buchanan -- Gladstone -- Foreign opinion and action -- Both the extremes to be put down -- Spain -- Fremont's campaign against Jackson -- Seward's circular -- General Scott's gift -- "O, could I go to a camp!" -- McClellan crosses the Potomac -- Prays for rain -- Fevers decimate the regiments -- Martindale and Fitz John Porter -- The political balance to be preserved -- New regiments -- O, poor country! With what a bloody sacrifice of men this people pays for its infatuation in McClellan, for the moral cowardice of its official leaders, and the intrigues and the imbecility of the regulars, of some among the West Pointers, of traitors led by the New York Herald, by the World, and by certain Unionists on the outside, and secessionists at heart! All these combined nourish the infatuation. All things compared, Napoleon cost not so much to the French people, and at least Napoleon paid it in glory. Mind and heart sicken to witness all this here. The question to-day is, not to strengthen other generals, as Heintzelman and Sigel, and to take the enemy in the rear, but to give a _chance_ to McClellan to win the ever-expected, and not yet by him won, _great battle_. McClellan continually calls for more men; all the vital forces of the people are absorbed by him; and when he has large numbers, he is incapable of using and handling them; so it was at the Chickahominy, so it was at Antietam. In the way that McClellan acts now, he may use up all the available forces of the people, if nobody has the courage to speak out; besides, any warning voice is drowned in the treacherous intrigues of the clique, in imbecility and infatuation. At the meeting of the governors, at the various public conventions, in the thus called public resolutions--platforms, in one word--wherever, in any way. North, West, and East, the public life of the people has made its voice heard: _a vigorous prosecution of the war_ was, and is, earnestly recommended to the administration. All this will be of no avail. By this time, by bloody and bitter experience, the American people ought to have learned it. With his civil and military aids and lieutenants, as the McClellans, the Hallecks, the Sewards, Mr. Lincoln has been at work; and at the best, they have shown their utter incapacity, if not ill-will, to carry the war on vigorously and upon strictly military principles. Many persons in Washington know that Mr. Seward last winter firmly backed the _do-nothing_ strategy, in the firm belief that the rebels would be worried out, and submit without fighting. To those statesmen and Napoleons, Carnots, &c., it is as impossible to manoeuvre with rapidity, to strike boldly and decidedly, as to dance on their _well-furnished_ heads. Only such a good-natured people as the Americans can expect _something_ from that whole _caterva_. To expect from Mr. Lincoln's Napoleons, Carnots, &c., vigorous and rapid military operations, is the same as to mount cavalry on thoroughly lame horses, and order it to charge _à fond de train_. The worshippers of McClellan peddle that the Antietam victory became neutralized because the enemy fell back on its second and third line. Whatever may be in this falling back on lines, and accepting all as it is represented, one thing is certain, that when commanders win victories, generally they give no time to the enemy to fall back in order on its second and third lines. But every thing gets a new stamp under the new Napoleon. A few hours after the Antietam battle, General McClellan telegraphed that he "_knew not_ if the enemy retreated into the interior or to the Potomac." O, O! Many from among the European officers here have some experience of the manoeuvring of large bodies--experience acquired on fields of battle, and on reviews, and those camp manoeuvres annually practised all over Europe. In this way the European officers, more or less, have the _coup d'oeil_ for space and for the _terrain_, so necessary when an army is to be put in positions on a field of battle, and which _coup d'oeil_ few young American officers had the occasion to acquire. If judiciously selected for the duties of the staffs, such European officers would be of use and support to generals but for jealousy and the West Point cliques. During this whole war I hear every body, but above all the West Point wiseacres and strategians, assert that charges with the bayonet and hand-to-hand fighting are exceedingly rare occurrences in the course of any campaign. It is useless to speak to all those great judges of experience and of history. In the account of the battles of Ligny and of Waterloo, Thiers mentions four charges with the bayonet and hand-to-hand fighting at Ligny, and nine at Waterloo, wherein one was made by the English, one was made by Prussians and by French, and one by the French with bayonet against English cavalry. In 1831 the Poles used the bayonet more than it was used in any one campaign known in history. O, West Point! It deserves to be noticed that the conspirators against Pope and McDowell, and the pet pretorians of September 6 and 7, distinguished themselves not very much in the battle of Antietam. Hooker commanded McDowell's corps. To the number of evils inflicted upon this country by the McClellan infatuation, must be added the fact that many young men, with otherwise sound intellects, have been taken in, stultified, poisoned beyond cure, by high-sounding words, as strategy, all-embracing scientific combinations, &c.--words identified with incapacity, defeats, and intrigue. In all probability, Hooker alone, when he fought, had a fixed plan at the Antietam battle. As for a general plan, aiming either to throw the enemy into the river, or to cut him from the river, or to accomplish something final and decisive, seemingly no such plan existed. It looks as if they had ignored, at the headquarters, what kind of positions were occupied by the enemy; and the only purpose seems to have been to fight, but without having any preconceived plan. This, at least, is the conclusion from the manner in which the battle was fought. If any plan had existed, the brave army would have executed it; but the enemy retreated in order, and rather unmolested. _As always, so this time, the bravery of the army did every thing; and, as a matter of course, the generalship did--nothing._ _Oct. 4._--The proclamation of September 22 may not produce in Europe the effect and the enthusiasm which it might have evoked if issued a year ago, as an act of justice and of self-conscientious force, as an utterance of the lofty, pure, and ardent aspirations and will of a high-minded people. Europe may see now in the proclamation an action of despair made in the duress of events; (and so it is in reality for Mr. Lincoln, Seward, and their squad.) And in this way, a noble deed, outpouring from the soul of the people, is reduced to pygmy and mean proportions by ----. The name is on every body's lips. But it was impossible to issue this proclamation last year; at that time the master-spirit of Mr. Lincoln's administration emphatically assured the diplomats that the Union will be preserved, _were slavery--to rule in Boston_. The continued disasters in the West can easily be explained by the fact, that those rotten skeletons, Crittenden, Davis, and Wickliffe control the operations of the generals. _Among the countless lies peddled by McClellan's worshippers, the most enormous and the most impudent is that one by which they attempt to explain, what in their lingo they call, the hostility of the abolitionists towards McClellan. Concerning this matter, I can speak with perfect knowledge of almost all the circumstances._ _Not one abolitionist of whatever hue, not one republican whatever, was in any way troubled or thought about the political convictions of General McClellan at the time when he was put at the head of the army. All the abolitionists and republicans, who then earnestly wished, and now wish, to have the rebellion crushed, expected General McClellan to do it by quick, decisive, soldier-like, military operations, manoeuvres, and fights. Senators Wade, Chandler, Trumbull, &c., in October, 1861, principally aided McClellan to become independent of General Scott. When, however, weeks and months elapsed without any soldier-like action, manifestation, or enterprise whatever, all those who were in earnest began to feel uneasy, began to murmur, not in reference to any political opinions, whatever, held by General McClellan, but solely and exclusively on account of his military supineness. All those who ardently wished, and wish, that neither slaveholders nor slavery be hurt in any way, such ones early grouped themselves around General McClellan, believing to have found in him the man after their own heart. That cesspool of all infamies, the New York Herald, became the mouthpiece of all the like hypocrites. They and the Herald were the first to pervert and to misrepresent the indignation evoked by the do-nothing or nobody-hurt strategy, and to call it the abolition outcry against their fetish._ Scarcely will it be believed what disorder, what helplessness, and what incapacity rule paramount in the expedition of any current business in the strictly military part of the War Department. It is worse than any imaginable red-tape and circumlocution. And all this, being considered a speciality and a technicality, is in the exclusive hands of the adjutant general, a master spirit among the West Pointers. Generally, all relating to the thus celebrated organization of the army is an exclusive work of the West Point wisdom--is handled by West Pointers; and, nevertheless, the general comprehension of all details in relation to an army, how it is to be handled, all the military details of responsibility, of higher discipline, &c., all this is confusion, and strikes with horror any one either familiar with such matters or using freely his sound sense. A narrow routine which may have been innocuous with an army of sixteen thousand with General Scott and in peace, became highly mischievous when the army increased more than fifty times, and the war raged furiously. All this confusion is specially produced by the wiseacres and doctors of routine. Undoubtedly it reacts on the army, and shows of what use for the country is, and was, that whole old nursery. Wherever one turns his eyes, every where a deep line separates the patriotic activity of the people from the official activity. With the people all is sacrifice, devotion, grandeur, and purity of purpose, by great and small, by rich and poor, and with the poor, if possible, even more than with the rich. With the highest and higher officials it is either weakness, or egotism, or coolness, or intrigue, or ignorance, or helplessness. The exceptions are few, and have been repeatedly pointed out. _Oct. 8._--General McClellan's order to the army concerning the President's proclamation shows up the man. Not a word about the object in the proclamation, but rather unveiled insinuations that the army is dissatisfied with emancipation, and that it may mutiny. The army ought to feel highly honored by such insinuations in that lengthy disquisition about his (McClellan's) position and the duties of the army. For the honor of the brave, armed citizen-patriots it can be emphatically asserted that the patriotic volunteers better know their duties than do those who preach to them. Some suspect that Mr. Seward drew the paper for McClellan, but I am sure this cannot be. It may have been done by Bennett or some other of the Herald, or by Barlow. If this order is the result of Mr. Lincoln's visit to the camp, and of a transaction with Mac-Napoleon, then the President has not thereby increased the dignity of his presidential character. Wilkes's Spirit of the Times incommensurably towers above the New York Press by its dauntless patriotism; by its clear, broad, and deep comprehension of the condition of the country. Colonel Key's disclosures concerning the McClellan-Halleck programme, not to destroy the rebels and the rebellion until the next presidential election, are throttled by the dismissal of the colonel. But what he said, if put by the side of the words of the order to the army, that "the remedy for political errors, if any are committed, is to be found only in the action of the people at the polls,"--all this ought to open even the most obtuse intellects. Poor (Carlyle fashion) old Greeley hurrahs for McClellan and for the order No. 163 to the army. O for new and young men to swim among new and young events! _Oct. 11._--Will any body in this country have the patriotic courage to reform the army? that is, to dismiss from the service the West Point clique in Washington and in the army of the Potomac. Such a proof of strong will cannot be expected from the President; but perhaps Congress may show it. Those first and second scholars or graduates from West Point are all routine engineers; and who ever heard of whole armies commanded, moved, and manoeuvred by engineers? American invention; but not to be patented for Europe. _Oct. 11._--The rebel raid into Pennsylvania, under the nose of McClellan. Is there any thing in the world capable of opening this people's eyes? I doubt if at any time, and in the life of any great or small people, there existed such a galaxy of civil and military rulers, chiefs, and leaders, stripped of nobler manhood, as are the _great men_ here. The blush of honor never burned their cheeks! O, the low politicians! Some persons doubt Stanton's sincerity in his dealings with individuals. I am not a judge thereof; but were it so, it can easily be forgiven if he only remains sincere and true to the cause. One is amazed and even aghast at the impudence of the McClellan and West Point cliques. In their lingo, heroes like Kearney, like Hooker and Heintzelman, all such are superciliously mentioned as _only fighting generals_. O, unfighting strategians! Stuart's brilliant raid was executed the day of McClellan's bombastic proclamation about his having cleared Pennsylvania and Maryland of the enemy. On the same day McClellan and other generals straggled about the country, visiting cities hundreds of miles distant from the camp. And such generals complain of straggling! Make the army fight! inspire with confidence the soldier--then he will not straggle. The Evening Post, October 13, demonstrates that up to this day Mr. Lincoln's administration is "a grand and brilliant success." Well, _de gustibus non est disputandum_. Others may rightly think that the achievements enumerated by the Evening Post are exclusively due to the people; that by the people they were forced upon the administration, (Stanton and the navy excepted;) and that the numerous failures, the waste of human life, of money, and of time, are to be logically and directly traced to the administration. O, subserviency! The McClellanites are indignant against the Pennsylvanians for not having caught Stuart and his three thousand horses. Bravo! And what is the army for? and, above all, what are the so expensive commander and his staff for? It is perhaps natural that many from among the republican leaders attempt to prop up the reputation of Mr. Lincoln's administrative capacity, to kindle a halo around his name, and to sponge the waste of blood, of means, and of time, from the tracks of his Seward-Scott-Blair administration; but stern historical justice shall not, and cannot, do it. Whatever be the high _military and scientific prowess_ shown by the first West Point graduates and scholars, all this in no way compensates for the _summum_ of perverted notions which are reared there, and for the mock, sham, and clownish aristocracy by which a high-toned West Pointer is easily recognized. Of course many and many are the exceptions; many West Point pupils are animated by the noblest and purest American spirit; but the genuine West Point spirit consists in sneering and looking down with contempt at the mother and nurse; that is, at the purely republican, purely democratic political institutions, at the broad political and intellectual freedom to which those clown-aristocrats owe their rearing, their little bit of information, and those shoulder-stripes by which they are so mightily inflated. What silly talk, to compare the St. Domingo insurrection with the eventual results of emancipation in the South! In St. Domingo the slaves were obliged to tear their liberty from the slaveholding planter, and from a government siding with the oppressor. Here the lawful government gives liberty to a peaceful laborer, and the planter is an outlawed traitor. But the genuine pro-slavery democrat is stupidly obtuse. _Oct. 18._--A few days ago the President wrote a letter to McClellan, with ability and lucidity, exposing to view the military urgency of a movement on the enemy with an army of one hundred and forty thousand men, as has now McClellan at Harper's Ferry. But the letter ends by saying that all that it contains is _not_ to be considered by McNapoleon as being an order. Of course Mac obeys--the last injunction of the letter. Mr. Lincoln wishes not to hurt the great Napoleon's feelings; as for hurting the country, the people, the cause, this is of--no consequence! Ah! to witness all this is to be chained, and to die of thirst within the reach of the purest water. Reverend Dr. Unitarian Sensation's broad church, admirer of the Southern gentleman, and a Jeremy Diddler. _Oct. 18._--The elections in several of the States evidence the deep imprint upon the country of Lincoln-Seward disorganizing, because from the first day vacillating, undecided, both-ways policy. The elections reverberate the moral, the political, and the belligerent condition in which the country is dragged and thrown by those two _master spirits_. No decided principle inspires them and their administration, and no principle leads and has a decided majority in the elections; neither the democrats nor the republicans prevail; neither freedom nor submission is the watchword; and finally, neither the North nor the South is decidedly the master on the fields of battle. All is confusion! Scarcely one genuine republican was, or is, in the cabinet; the republican party is completely on the wane--and perhaps beyond redemption; all this is a logical result, and was easily to be foreseen by any body,--only not by the wiseacres of the party, not by the republican papers in New York, as the Times, the Tribune, and the Evening Post, only not by the Sumners, Doolittles, and many of the like leaders, all of whom, when, about a year ago, warned against such a cataclysm, self-confidently smiled; but who soon will cry more bitter tears than did the daughters of Judah over the ruins of Jerusalem. And now likewise the phrase in McClellan's order No. 163, about "the remedy at the polls," the disclosures made by Colonel Key, receive their fullest, but ominous and cursed, signification; and now the blind can see that it is policy, and not altogether incapacity, in McClellan to have made a war to preserve slavery and the rebels. And thus McClellan outwitted Mr. Lincoln. In general, human nature is passionately attracted, nay, is subdued, by energy, above all by civic intrepidity. It would have been so easy for Mr. Lincoln to carry the masses, and to avoid those disasters at the polls! But stubbornness is not energy. From a very reliable source I learn that a few days after the battle of Antietam, General McClellan, or at least General or Colonel Marcy, of McClellan's staff, insinuated to the President that General McClellan would wish to be relieved from the command of the army, and be assigned to quiet duties in Washington--very likely to supersede Halleck. And the President seized not by the hairs the occasion to get rid of the nation's nightmare, together with the pets of the commander of the army of the Potomac. McClellan acted honestly in making the above insinuation; he is now, in part at least, irresponsible for any future disaster and blood. _Oct. 20._--I have strong indications that European powers, as England and France, are very sanguine to mediate, but would do it only if, and when, _asked_ by our government. Those two governments, or some other half-friendly, may, semi-officially, insinuate to Mr. Seward to make such a demand. A few months ago, already Mr. Dayton wrote from Paris something about such a step. Mr. Seward is desperate, downcast, and may believe he can serve his country by committing the cabinet to some such combination. I must warn Stanton and others. In the Express and in the World the New York Herald found its masters in ignominy. More or less mean, contemptible ambition among the helmsmen, but patriotism, patriotic ambition are below zero--here in Washington. For the sake and honor of human nature, I pray to destiny Stanton may not fail, and still count among the Wadsworths, the Wades, and the like pure patriots. The democratic elections and majorities united to Mr. Seward may enforce a compromise, and God knows if Mr. Lincoln will oppose it to the last. Then the only seeming salvation of the north will be the indomitable decision of the rebels not to accept any terms except a full recognition. _Oct. 22._--The incapacity of the military wiseacres borders on idiotism, if not on something worse. To do nothing McClellan absorbs every man, and keeps one hundred and forty thousand men on the Maryland side of the Potomac. Sigel has only a small command of twelve thousand men, in a position where, with one quarter of what is useless under McClellan, with his skill, his activity, and the _truly_ patriotic devotion of his troops, of his officers, and of the commanders under him, Sigel would force the rebels to retreat from Winchester, and otherwise damage them far more than _will_ or can do such McClellans, Hallecks, and all this c----e. One of the greatest misfortunes for the American people is to have considered as statesmen the rhetors, the petty politicians, and the speech-makers. Now, those rhetors, petty politicians, and speech-makers are at the helm, are in the Senate, and--ruin the country. The optimists and the subservients still console themselves and confuse the people by asserting that Mr. Lincoln will yet _come out_ as a man and a statesman. Previous to such a happy change the country's honor and the country's political and material vitality will _run out_. More than a year ago Mr. Seward said to the Prince Salm and to me, that this war ought to be fought out by foreigners; that the Americans fought the revolutionary war, but now they are devoted to peaceful pursuits; and that it is the duty of Europeans to save this refuge from the thraldoms in the old world. Now, I see that Mr. Seward was right, although in a sense different from that in which he uttered the above sentence. The Irish excepted, all the other foreign-born Americans, but preëminently the Germans, are more in communion with the lofty, pure, and humane element in the thus called American principle, are therefore more in communion with the creed of the immense majority of Americans, than are they, the present dabblers in politics, the would-be leaders, (civil and military,) the would-be statesmen, all of whom are eaten up by the admixture into what is vital and perennial in the signification of America, of all that in itself is local, muddy, petty, accidental, and transient. _Oct. 23._--The recent publication of General Scott's letter, and of a writing to President Buchanan, confirms my opinion that "the highest military authority in the land" faltered after March 4, 1861, and inaugurated that defensive warfare wherein we _stick_ on the Potomac until this day. Pseudo-liberal right-honorable Gladstone asserts that Jeff. Davis "has made the South a nation;" then Abraham Lincoln, with W. H. Seward and G. B. McClellan, have destroyed a noble and generous nation. England may now recognize the South, France may join in it, but other great European powers, as Russia, Spain, Prussia, Austria, will not follow in such a wake. The recognition will not materially improve the condition of the rebels, nor raise the blockade. But as soon as recognized, Jeff. D. may ask for a mediation, which the people--if not Mr. Seward--will spurn. An armed mediation remains to be applied, wherein, likewise, the other European powers will not concur. An armed mediation between the two principles will be the _summum_ of infamy to which English aristocracy and English mercantilism can degrade itself; if Louis Napoleon joins therein, then his crown is not worth two years lease, provided the Orleans have ---- If we should succumb under the united efforts of imbecility, of pro-slavery treason, of Anglo-Franco-European and of American perjury, then Ultima coelestis terram Astræa reliquit. _Oct. 25._--Only two or three days ago, in a conversation with a diplomat, Mr. Seward asserted that both the extreme parties will be mastered--that is, the secessionists and the abolitionists. So Mr. Seward confesses the _credo_ and the gospel of the New York Herald, the World, the Journal of Commerce, the National Intelligencer, and other similar organs of secession. Notwithstanding the numerous complications naturally generated by the vicinity of Cuba to Secessia, the Spanish government, Count Serrano, the captain-general of Cuba, and Tassara, the Spanish minister here, all have maintained the most loyal relations towards the Federal government. It were to be very much regretted if a drunkard or a brute, as in the affair of the Montgomery, should disturb such relations. _Oct. 26._--McClellan-Blair-Seward tactics are crowned with splendid success. By his _simplicity_ Mr. Lincoln aided therein as much as he could. The bad season is in; any successful campaign impossible. The rebels will be safe, and Gladstone justified. It is so difficult to find out the truth concerning Fremont's campaign against Jackson, that some generalship may, after all, be credited to him. At any rate Fremont is a better general than McClellan and the pets in command under him, and Fremont is with his heart and soul in the cause, of which the McClellanites cannot be accused, all of them, their fetish included, having no heart and no soul. Old Europe, and, above all, official Europe, and even the Gladstones, must be vindicated. Official Europe generally appreciates nations by their leaders. Europe demands from such leaders actions and proofs of statesmanship, of high capacity, if not of heroism. The attempt to astonish Europe by speeches, by oratory, and, still worse, by second-rate legal arguments, by what is called papers here, and in Europe diplomatic circulars and despatches, is the same as the attempt to eclipse bright sunlight with a burning candle. But our orators, and, above all, Mr. Seward, flooded the European and the English statesmen with their, at the best, indifferent productions. Official Europe was favored with a shower of three various editions of _papers relating to foreign relations_ in 1862, issued by the _State Department_, together with the Sanfords, the Weeds, the Hugheses, _et hoc genus omne_. Undoubtedly, the traitor Mason shows in England more of fire than does the cold, stiff, prickly, and dignified son and grandson of Presidents; and then the average of our press! O, Jemima! In his circular, September 22, to our agents in Europe, Mr. Seward belies not himself. The emancipation is rather coldly announced, and it is visible that neither Mr. Seward's heart nor soul is in it. The President has now the most reliable information that when Corinth was invested by Halleck, the rebel troops were wholly demoralized, and the enemy was astonished not to be attacked, as very little resistance would have been made. So much for General Scott's gift in Halleck. The almost daily occurrences here long ago would have exasperated the hot-headed and warm-hearted nations in Europe, and treason would have become their watchword. O American people! thou art warm-hearted, but of _unparallelled endurance_! No European nation, not even the Turks, would patiently bear such a condition of affairs. Every where the sovereign would have been forced to change, or to modify, the _personnel_ of his ministers and advisers; and Mr. Lincoln is in the hands of Messrs. Seward and Blair, both worse even than McClellan, and--cannot shake them off. Now, for the first time in my life, I realize why, during the last stages of the dissolution of the Roman empire, honest men escaped into monasteries, or why, at certain epochs of the great French revolution, the best men went to the army. Ah! to witness here the meanest egotism, imbecility, and intrigue, coolly, one by one, destroy the honor and the future of this noble people. Curse upon my old age! above all, curse upon my obesity! Curse upon my poverty! What a cesspool! what a mire! Only legal slaughterers all around! O, could I go to a camp! but, of course, not to one under McClellan. Sigel's camp. Sigel's men are not soulless; they fight for an idea, without an eye to the White House. The rhetors, the stump-speakers, the politicians, and the intriguers hold the power, and--humanity and history shudder at the results. _Oct. 29._--McClellan, with his wonted intrepidity and rapidity, crossed the Potomac from all directions, pushes on Winchester, and--will find there wherefrom every animal willingly discharges itself. A foreign diplomat, one of the most eminent in the whole _corps_, said yesterday, "No living being so ardently prays for rain as does McClellan; rain will prevent fighting, marching, &c." Such is the estimation of our hero. Fevers decimated many regiments at Harper's Ferry. If McClellan would have marched only five miles a day, fighting even such battles without any generalship, as he did at Antietam, the army would be healthier, and by this time would be in Richmond. The decision of the court of inquiry between a patriot and the incarnation of West Point McClellanism, between Martindale and that Fitz-John Porter, ought to open the eyes of any one, but--not those of Mr. Lincoln. Only two days ago Mr. Lincoln declared, that the reason why McClellan and his pets are not removed is, not any confidence in McClellan's capacity, but to preserve the political balance between the republican and the democratic parties. If there exist such spiritual creations as providence, genii, or angels watching over the destinies of nations, then, at the sight of Lincoln-Seward-Blair doings, providence, angels, genii avert their faces in despair. _Oct. 30._--New regiments coming in. It cuts into the deepest of the heart to see such noble and devoted fellows going to be again wantonly slaughtered by the combined military and civic inefficiency of McClellan-Lincoln-Seward, and, above all, by their utter heartlessness. When the rebels invaded Maryland, the _fighting_ generals, as Heintzelman, advised to mass the troops between the rebels and the Potomac, cut them from their bases and communications, push them towards the North without a possibility of escape, instead of throwing them back on the Potomac. Harper's Ferry would have been saved. Every progress made by the rebels in a Northern direction would have assured their ruin; soon their ammunition would have been exhausted, and surrender was inevitable. But this bold plan of a _fighting_ general could not be comprehended by pets and pretorians. Since, daily and daily occasions occur to destroy the rebels; but that is not the game. Instead of cutting the rebels from Gordonsville and Richmond, which could have been done any time during the last five weeks if Heintzelman and Sigel were not so thoroughly weakened by an ignorant, or worse, distribution of troops, McClellan with all his might pushes the rebels back to Richmond, back on their bases and their resources. O, poor country! Even I feel humiliated to continually ascertain, by various direct and indirect sources from Europe, in what little estimation--if not worse--is held our administration by the principal statesmen and governments of the old world. NOVEMBER, 1862. Empty rhetoric -- The future dark and terrible -- Wadsworth defeated -- The official bunglers blast every thing they touch -- Great and holy day! McClellan gone overboard! -- The planters -- Burnside -- McClellan nominated for President -- Awful events approaching -- Dictatorship dawns on the horizon -- The catastrophe. O God, O God! to witness how, by the hands of Lincoln-Seward-McClellan, this noblest human structure is crumbled--and, perhaps, soon Pulvere vix tactæ poterunt monstrare ruinæ. May God preserve this people--those noble patriots, of which Wadsworth, Wade, Potter of Wisconsin, Stanton, Governor Andrew, and many others are the types, when the country will be ruined and rended by the firm, Lincoln-Seward-McClellan, to realize the pang,-- Nessun maggior' dolor' che ricordarsi dell tempo felice Nella miseria. O, I know what it is! Mr. Seward's letter, October 28, to Messrs. Connover and Palmer, is a display of that empty rhetoric whose dust he is wont to throw into the eyes of the good-natured masses. His plea for united action--of course with him--is the most bitter irony on himself. Mr. Seward's policy and action are at the helm, and he piloted "our noble ship of state" on worse breakers than those "of eighteen months ago." Mr. Seward's letter is dumb on the object of the Cooper meeting. Of course, Mr. Seward would rather swallow a viper than applaud the abolition of slavery. _Nov. 5._--Lincoln-Seward politically slaughtered the republican party, and with it the country's honor. The future looks dark and terrible. I shudder. Dishonor on all sides. Lincoln will not understand to use the lease of power left to him--or to fall as a man. But to be candid, most of the thus called leaders prepared this defeat, and most of them at the last moment may lack decision and dignity. How repeatedly I warned the Sumners, Wilsons, and other wiseacres, that such will be the end, that the people at large will become exasperated by Lincoln's administration! The issue brought before the people was all but dignified. It would have been better to make a straightforward issue against the incapacity and the democratic ill-will of McClellan, than to dodge the question, and force honest and noble men to speak against their convictions. The issue, as made, was concocted by journalists, by politicians; but not by statesmen, not by genuine great leaders. Seward triumphs. His insincerity preëminently contributed to defeat Wadsworth. Mephisto-like, he rejoices in thus having humbled the pure and radical patriots. At any rate, I shall try to expose Seward. _Arrive que pourra._ But for him the sacred cause would have been victorious, and now--horror! horror! The pro-Romanist clergy is more furiously and savagely pro-slavery than are the Rhetts, the Yanceys, in the South; the poor Africo-Americans are, if not the truest Christians in this country, at any rate their Christianity is sublime when compared with the pro-Romanism. O, for civic intrepidity, or all is lost! High-minded, intrepid, self-forgetful civism and abnegation alone can avert the catastrophe. Such is the mass of the people--but its leaders! _Nov. 8._--Hooker has the military instinct in him which lights the fire, and the inspiration of the god of battles; as Halleck has nothing of the one and of the other, and as Mr. Lincoln is--Mr. Lincoln, so Hooker is not to be put in command of the army. Lincoln and Halleck will find out their man. _Similis simili gaudet_, or, _przywitala sie dupa z wiechciem_. _Nov. 9._--The official bunglers have blasted every thing they touched: the people's virgin enthusiasm and unparalleled devotion; they have endangered the country's safety. It is to hope for a miracle to expect any thing for the better at the hands of the bunglers. Will the shallow rhetors, will the would-be leaders in the Congress, be as subservient to the bunglers as they have been up to this hour? _Nov. 9._--Great and holy day! McClellan gone overboard! Better late than never. But this belated act of justice to the country cannot atone for all the deadly disasters, will not remove the fearful responsibility from Lincoln-Seward-Blair, for having so long sustained this horrible vampire. Now is Seward's turn to jump. It must be acknowledged, in justice to the average of the better class of planters, that the superficial, sociable intercourse with them is more easy, and what is commonly considered more European, than is similar intercourse with any corresponding class in the North. Therein consists the whole attraction exercised by the Southerners on Europeans visiting America--the diplomats included. I, for one, am always uneasy, anxious, as if touching hot iron, when in intercourse here with men with whom I am very intimate, (on the outside,) and who now are in power. I never felt so out of the track when--once--in intercourse with sovereigns, and with eminent men in Europe. _Nov. 11._--General Burnside succeeds to McClellan--gives a military ovation to his predecessor. In his order of the day, Burnside pays homage to McClellan, and thus implicitly condemns the government. Burnside permits McClellan to issue such a parting word as must shake the army and the country. _Nov. 12._--The democrats nominate McClellan for the next presidency. Thus Mr. Lincoln's helplessness, Seward's hatred of the republican creed, the treason, the imbecility, the intrigues of various others, the lack of civic energy in the New York republican press and in the republican politicians, except some repeatedly mentioned in this Diary,--all this combined has built up a pedestal for such a McClellan! Strange and awful events may occur even before the end of Mr. Lincoln's administration. The democratic leaders are perverse, unprincipled, reckless, daring beyond conception; success is their creed, and no conscience, no honor restrain them; and in the management of the public opinion and of their party the democrats have evidenced a skill far above that of the republican leaders; further, the democrats evoke the vilest, the most brutish passions dormant in the masses; the democrats are supported by all that is brutal, savage, ignorant, and sordid; and, to crown and strengthen all, the democrats, united to Romanist priesthood, rule over the Irishry. And thus the relentless hatred with which the democrats persecute any elevated, noble, humane aspiration; the helplessness, the incapacity of the official and unofficial leaders of the republican party: both these agencies combined may deal such a blow to the pure and humane republican creed that it may not recover therefrom during the next twenty-five years. To sum up,-- _Dictatorship with McClellan_ seems to dawn upon the horizon; the smallest disaster--Burnside, ah!--will precipitate the catastrophe. I pray to God (and for the first time) that I may be mistaken. 
22021	----	GALLIPOLI DIARY BY GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON, G.C.B. AUTHOR OF "A STAFF OFFICER'S SCRAP-BOOK," ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 1920 PRINTED BY UNWIN BROTHERS, LTD.--WOKING--ENGLAND * * * * * [Illustration: _"Central News" phot._ BRAITHWAITE, SIR IAN AND FREDDIE MAITLAND] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XIII. K.'S ADVICE AND THE P.M.'S ENVOY 1 XIV. THE FORCE--REAL AND IMAGINARY 25 XV. SARI BAIR AND SUVLA 52 XVI. KAVAK TEPE ATTACK COLLAPSES 86 XVII. THE LAST BATTLE 120 XVIII. MISUNDERSTANDINGS 144 XIX. THE FRENCH PLAN 163 XX. LOOS AND SALONIKA 196 XXI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 234 APPENDIX I. STATEMENT ON ARTILLERY BY BRIGADIER-GENERAL SIR H. S. BAIKIE 279 APPENDIX II. NOTES BY LIEUT.-COL. C. ROSENTHAL RELATING TO ARTILLERY AT ANZAC 292 APPENDIX III. SIR IAN HAMILTON'S INSTRUCTIONS RELATING TO THE SUVLA OPERATIONS 298 APPENDIX IV. INSTRUCTIONS TO MAJOR-GEN. H. DE LISLE 335 INDEX 339 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS BRAITHWAITE, SIR IAN, AND FREDDIE MAITLAND _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE MAJOR-GEN. SIR G. F. ELLISON, K.C.M.G. 6 LIEUT.-GEN. SIR A. G. HUNTER-WESTON, K.C.B., D.S.O 22 SUVLA FROM CHUNUK BAIR 54 GENERAL SIR W. R. BIRDWOOD, BART., G.C.M.G., K.C.B. 80 LIEUT.-GEN. SIR A. J. GODLEY, K.C.B., K.C.M.G. 84 GENERAL BAILLOUD 146 FISH FROM THE ENEMY 170 MARSHAL LIMAN VON SANDERS 182 CREMATING THE ENEMY DEAD 256 MAP SUVLA AND ANZAC _At end of Volume_ * * * * * +-------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note: Some tables were too wide to place as in the | |original. They have been split, with the right hand side positioned| |directly below the left hand side. | +-------------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * GALLIPOLI DIARY CHAPTER XIII K.'S ADVICE AND THE P.M.'S ENVOY _11th July, 1915._ Worked in my office from early morning till 12.45. The whole scheme for to-morrow's attack is cut and dried, according to our cloth: time tables fixed and every round counted. Freddy Stopford and his Staff turned up from Mudros. Stopford in very good form. The first thing he did was to deliver himself of a personal message from Lord K. He (Stopford) wrote it down, in the ante-room, the moment he left the presence and I may take it as being as good as verbatim. Here it is:-- "Lord Kitchener told me to tell you he had no wish to interfere with the man on the spot, but from closely watching our actions here, as well as those of General French in Flanders, he is certain that the only way to make a real success of an attack is by surprise. Also, that when the surprise ceases to be operative, in so far that the advance is checked and the enemy begin to collect from all sides to oppose the attackers, then, perseverance becomes merely a useless waste of life. In every attack there seems to be a moment when success is in the assailant's grasp. Both the French and ourselves at Arras and Neuve Chapelle lost the opportunity." Well said! K. has made Stopford bring me in his pocket the very text for what I wanted to say to him. Only my grumbling thoughts find expression by my pen but I have plenty of others and my heart has its warm corner for K. whenever he cares to come in. As I told Stopford, K. has not only anticipated my advice but has dived right down into this muddle of twentieth century war and finds lying at the bottom of it only the old original idea of war in the year 1. At our first landing the way was open to us for just so long as the _surprise_ to the Turks lasted. That period here, at the Dardanelles, might be taken as being perhaps twice as long as it would be on the Western front which gave us a great pull. The reason was that land communications were bad and our troops on the sea could move thrice as fast as the Turks on their one or two bad roads. Yet, even so, there was no margin for dawdling. Hunter-Weston and d'Amade had tried their best to use their brief _surprise_ breathing space in seizing the Key to the opening of the Narrows--Achi Baba, and had failed through lack of small craft, lack of water, lack of means of bringing up supplies, lack of our 10 per cent. reserves to fill casualties. At that crucial moment when we had beaten the local enemy troops and the enemy reinforcements had not yet come up, we could not get the men or the stuff quick enough to shore. Still, we had gained three or four miles and there were spots on the Peninsula where, to-day, three or four miles would be enough. Also, supposing he had to run a landing, his (Stopford's) action would take place under much easier conditions than Hunter-Weston's on April 25th. First and foremost, in our "beetles" or barges, conveying 500 men under their own engines, we had an instrument which reduced the physical effort three quarters. This meant half the battle. When we made our original landing at Anzac we could only put 1,500 men ashore, per trip, at a speed of 2-1/2 miles per hour, in open cutters. Were a Commander to repeat that landing now, he would be able to run 5,000 men ashore, per trip, at a speed of five miles per hour with no trouble about oars, tows, etc., and with protection against shrapnel and rifle bullets. As to the actual landing on the beach, that could be done--we had proved it--in less than one quarter of the time. Each beetle had a "brow" fixed on to her bows; a thing to be let down like a drawbridge over which the men could pour ashore by fours; the same with mules, guns, supplies, they could all be rushed on land as fast as they could be handled on the beaches. Secondly, we had already been for some time at work to fix up the wherewithal to meet our chronic nightmare, the water trouble. Thirdly, the system of bringing up food and ammunition from the beaches to the firing line had now been practically worked out into a science at Helles and Anzac where Stopford would be given a chance of studying it at first hand. As to place, date, command, and distribution of forces, these were still being considered; still undetermined; and I could say no more at present. Braithwaite was away at Helles but, if he would go over to the General Staff, he would find Aspinall, my G.S. (1), and the Q. Staff who would give him the hang of our methods and post him in matters which would be applicable to any date or place. There was more in this message as taken down by Stopford. After going into some details of trench warfare, K.'s message went on:-- * * * * * "It is not the wish of the Cabinet that Sir Ian Hamilton should make partial attacks. They (the Cabinet) consider it preferable that he should await the arrival of his reinforcements to make one great effort, which, if successful, will give them the ridge commanding the Narrows. It is not intended, however, that Sir Ian should do nothing in the meantime and if he gets a really good opportunity he is to seize it." There is something in this reminds me of Kuropatkin's orders to Stakelberg, yet I am glad to find that our spontaneously generated scheme jumps with the views of the Cabinet, for, there is only one "ridge commanding the Narrows" (Kilid Bahr is a plateau), and it is that ridge we mean to try for by "one great effort." In my reply I shall merely acknowledge. Sari Bair is my secret; my Open Sesame to the cave where the forty thieves of the Committee of Union and Progress have their Headquarters. It makes me uneasy to think the Cabinet are talking about Sari Bair. A battle is a swirl of "ifs" and "ands." The Commander who enters upon it possessed by some just and clear principle is like a sailing ship entering a typhoon on the right tack. After that he lives from hand to mouth. How far will wise saws cut ice? How much nearer do you get to shooting a snipe by being _told_ how not to take your aim? Well thought out plans and preparations deserve to win; order and punctuality on the part of subordinates tend to make the reality correspond to the General Staff conception; surprise, if the Commander can bring it off, is worth all K. can say of it; the energy and rapidity of the chosen troops will exploit that surprise for its full value--bar, always, Luck--the Joker; and Wish to Fight and Will to Win are the surest victory getters in the pack. The more these factors are examined, the more sure it is that everything must in the last resort depend upon the _executive_ Commander; and here, of course, I am referring to an _enterprise_, not to a huge, mechanically organized dead-lock like the western front. Stopford was away in G.H.Q. Staff tents all afternoon; afterwards both he and Adderley, his A.D.C., dined. Stopford likes Reed who is, indeed, a very pleasant fellow to work with. Still, I stick to what I wrote Wolfe Murray:--the _combination_ of Stopford and Reed is not good; not for this sort of job. _12th July, 1915. Imbros._ Had meant to start for Helles an hour before daylight to witness the opening of the attack by the French Corps and the Lowland Division. But am too bad with the universal complaint to venture many yards from camp. Stopford and Staff breakfasted. He has fallen in love with our ideas. After lunch he and his party left for Mudros. Am forcing myself to write so as to ease the strain of waiting: the battle is going on: backwards and forwards--backwards and forwards--I travel between my tent; the signal station, and the G.S. map tent. A delightful message from K., thanking me for my letters: patting me on the back; telling me that Altham is coming out to run the communications, and Ellison to serve on my Staff. Thank heavens we are at last to have a business man at the head of our business! As to Ellison, K.'s conscience has for long been smiting him for not having let me take my own C.G.S. with me in the first instance. But Braithwaite has won his spurs now in many a hair-raising crisis, so K. may let his mind rest at ease. [Illustration: MAJ.-GEN. SIR G. F. ELLISON, K.C.M.G. _F.A. Swaine phot._] Freddie Maitland and I dined with the Vice-Admiral who kept a signaller on special watch for my messages from the shore--but nothing came in. He, the Admiral, wants to take all the 600 stokers serving in the Royal Naval Division back to the ships. This will be the last straw to the Division. We had the treat of being taken off the _Triad_ in the Admiral's racing motor boat and when we got ashore found good news which I have just cabled home:-- * * * * * "In the southern section we attacked at daylight to-day with our right and right centre. After heavy fighting lasting all day the troops engaged, namely, the French Corps and the LIInd Lowland Division, have succeeded in carrying the two strongly held and fortified lines of Turkish trenches opposite to them. The ground covered by the advance varies in depth from 200 to 400 yards, and if we can maintain our gains against to-night's counter-attacks the effect of the action will be not only to advance but greatly to strengthen our line. Full details to-morrow." _13th July, 1915. Imbros._ Still feeling very slack. Nothing clear from Helles. My cable best explains:-- * * * * * "Troops have been continuously engaged since my last cable, but situation is still too confused to admit of definition, especially as telephone wires all cut by shell or rifle fire. "So far as can be gathered the sum total of the engagements taking place in a labyrinth of trenches is satisfactory up to the hour of cabling and we have taken some 200 prisoners. I hope I shall be able to send definite news to-morrow morning." Oh, energy, to what distant clime have you flown? I used to be energetic; not perhaps according to Evelyn Wood's standards--but still--energetic! Yet, see me to-day, when a poor cousin to the cholera--this cursed enteritis--lays me by the heels; fills me with desperate longing to lie down and do nothing but rest. More than half my Staff and troops are in the same state of indescribable slackness and this, I think, must be the reason the Greeks were ten long years taking Troy. Some newspaper correspondents have arrived. I have told them they may do whatever they d--d well please. Ashmead-Bartlett is vexed at his monopoly being spoiled. Charlie Burn, who came with the King's bag, lunched. The Vice-Admiral, Roger Keyes, and Flag-Lieutenant Bowlby dined; very good of them to leave their own perfectly appointed table for our rough and ready fare. The A.D.C.s between them managed to get some partridges, opulent birds which lent quite a Ritzian tone to our banquet. As was expected, the Turks counter-attacked heavily last night but were unable to drive us out except in one small section on our right. To-day, fighting is still going on and the Naval Division are in it now. We have made a good gain and taken over 400 prisoners and a machine gun. We are still on the rack, though, as there are a lot of Turks not yet cleared out from holes and corners of our new holding, and ammunition is running very short. If our ammunition does not run out altogether and we can hold what we have, our total gain will be 500 yards depth. Since June 4th, when we had to whang off the whole of our priceless 600 rounds of H.E., we have had _none_ for 18-prs. on the Peninsula--not one solitary demnition round; nor do we seem in the least likely to get one solitary demnition round. Hunter-Weston and his C.R.A. explain forcibly, not to say explosively, that on the 28th June the right attack would have scored a success equally brilliant to that achieved by the 29th Division on our left, had we been able to allot as many shell to the Turkish trenches assaulted by the 156th Brigade--Lowland Division--as we did to the sector by the sea. But we could not, because, once we had given a fair quota to the left, there was not enough stuff in our lockers for the right. Such is war! No use splitting the difference and trying to win everywhere like high brows halting between Flanders and Gallipoli. But I _am_ sick at heart, I must say, to think my brother Scots should have had to catch hold of the hot end of the poker. Also to think that, with another couple of hundred rounds, we should have got and held H. 12. H. 12 which dominates--so prisoners say--the wells whence the enemy draws water for the whole of his right wing. To-day the old trouble is a-foot once again. Hunter-Weston tells us the Turkish counter-attacks are being pressed with utmost fury and are beginning to look ugly, as we can give our infantry no support from our guns although the enemy offer excellent artillery targets. When K. is extra accommodating it is doubly hard to be importunate, but it's got to be done:-- * * * * * _General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener._ "With reference to my telegrams No. M.F. 328 of 13th June and No. M.F. 381 of 28th June. Each successive fight shows more clearly than the last how much may hang on an ample supply of ammunition, more especially high explosive howitzer ammunition. In my telegram No. M.F. 381 I said that I hoped we might be able to achieve success with the ammunition already promised, and I adhere to that opinion; but every additional 100 rounds means some reduction of risks and greater assurance of success. I raise this question again because I gather from what I hear that matters in the other theatre of operations may possibly be at a standstill without much prospect of any vital alteration before the autumn fairly sets in. If this should be the case it is for you to consider whether a larger and more regular supply of ammunition should be sent to me in order to give this force the utmost chance of gaining an early success. Judging from the increased effect of the bombardments before the last two attacks on facilitating the Infantry advance I am led to hope that this success would not be long delayed under the cumulative effect of unremitting bombardment. If, therefore, any change in the general situation should make it possible to allow me temporary preferential claim to all the ammunition I should like, I would ask for the following amounts to be here by 1st August, in addition to those accompanying the troops and already promised, namely, 4.5-inch howitzer, 3,000 rounds; 5-inch howitzer, 7,000 rounds; 6-inch howitzer, 5,000, and 9.3-inch howitzer, 500 rounds, all high explosive. I should also ask for a monthly supply on the following scale, first consignment to arrive before 15th August:-- "18-pr. 300,000 "4.5-inch howitzer 30,000 "5-inch howitzer 30,000 "6-inch howitzer 24,000 "60-pr. 15,000 "9.2-inch howitzer 6,000 "The howitzer ammunition to be all high explosive, the 60-pr. to be one-third shrapnel and two-thirds high explosive, and the 18-pr. to be half of each. "The above monthly scale includes ammunition for the following additional ordnance which I should like to get, namely, two batteries of 4.5-inch howitzers for each of the Xth and XIth Divisions (since 5-inch howitzers are found to be too inaccurate to bombard the enemy trenches even in close proximity to our own), one battery of 6-inch howitzers and four 9.2-inch howitzers. "On the assumption already made it might be possible for you to arrange to forward to Ordnance Stores, Marseilles, the ammunition asked for to be here by 1st August. Time would thus be gained to accumulate the supply required, and I could arrange with the Vice-Admiral to send a fast steamer of 1,000 tons hold capacity to bring the consignment of high explosives from Marseilles. To get the steamer coaled, to arrive at Marseilles, coal again and be ready to receive the ammunition, would take seven days. "Please understand that this suggestion is only prompted for the following reasons: (1) My growing belief that ample artillery might, within a limited period, lead to quite a considerable success in this theatre, and (2) because the reports which reach me seem to indicate that an offensive is not likely to be undertaken elsewhere at present (and I have mainly asked for offensive ammunition). "The monthly supply above detailed I should not expect would be required for more than two months." If our Government really--whole-heartedly--_will_ that there should be a complete success in the East, they must, equally, with whole hearts and braced-up _will_, resist (for a while) the idea of any offensive in the West. In saying this I speak of the A.B.C. of war. The main theatre is where the amphibious power wishes to make it so. This cable of mine sent to a man like Lord K. is a very strong order. But now is the time to speak up and let him realize that he must let the fields of France lie fallow for the summer if he wishes to plough the Black Sea waves in autumn. _14th July, 1915. Imbros._ Wrote letters in the morning, and in the evening went for a ride to the Salt Lake and there inspected the new aeroplane camp on the far side of the water. Last night more counter-attacks, all driven off. The French right is now actually on the mouth of the Kereves Dere where it runs into the sea. We have made about 500 prisoners and have captured a machine gun. Hunter-Weston had to transfer the command of the 52nd Division, temporarily, to Shaw, the new Commander of the 13th Division. Baikie is crying out to us for shells as if _we_ were bottling them up! There are none. _15th July, 1915. Imbros._ The answer has come in from the War Office:--the answer, I mean, to mine of the day before yesterday in which it is suggested that _if_ our rich brethren were off their feed for the moment, some crumbs of high explosive might be spared:-- * * * * * "We have great difficulty in sending you the amounts of ammunition mentioned in our No. 5770, cipher, and even now the proportion of 18-pr. high explosive will be less than stated therein. In response, however, to your No. M.F. 444, we are adding 1,000 rounds 4.5-inch, 500--5-inch, 500--6-inch and 75--9.2-inch. It will be quite impossible to continue to send you ammunition at this rate, as we have reduced the supply to France in order to send what we have to you, and the amounts asked for in the second part of your telegram could not be spared without stopping all operations in France. This, of course, is out of the question." "This, of course, is out of the question." "Stopping all operations in France" is the very kernel of the question. If half the things we hear about the Bosche forces and our own are half true, we have no prospect of dealing any decisive blow in the West till next spring. And an indecisive blow is worse than no blow. But we can _hold on_ there till all's blue. Now H.E. is offensive and shrapnel is defensive. I ought to attack at once; French mustn't. Therefore, we should be given, _now_, dollops of H.E. This talk does not come through my hat. Some of the best brains on the Western field are in touch with those of some of my following here. The winning post stares us in the face; my old Chief gallops off the course; how can I resist calling out? And then I get this "of course" cable (not written by K. I feel sure) which shows, if it shows anything, that "of course" we ought never to have come here at all! Simple, is it not? In war all is simple--that's why it's so complex. Never mind; my cable has not been wasted. We reckon the 1,100 extra rounds it has produced may save us 100 British casualties. Rode over to "K" Beach and inspected the 25th Casualty Clearing Station, Commandant Lieutenant-Colonel Mackenzie. Walked through the different hospital wards talking to some twenty officers and two hundred men; mostly medical cases. Did not think things at all up to the mark. Made special note of the lack of mosquito nets, beds, pyjamas and other comforts. For weeks past Jean has been toiling to get mosquito nets bought and made up, which was simple, and to get them out to us, which seems impossible. Too bad when so much money is being spent to see men lying on the ground in their thick cord breeches in this sweltering heat, a prey to flies and mosquitoes. Discussing the landing of the New Divisions in Suvla Bay and the diversion to be made by Legge on the right by storming Lone Pine, Birdwood makes it clear in a letter just to hand, that he has told his two Divisional Generals everything. I had not yet gone into some of these details with Hunter-Weston, Stopford or Bailloud, all Corps Commanders, for I am afraid of the news filtering down to the juniors and from them, in the mysterious way news does pass, to the rank and file of both services. Thence to the Turks is but a step. Were the Turks to get wind of our plan, there would be nothing for it but to change the whole thing, even now, at the eleventh hour. Lieutenant-Colonel F. G. Fuller, my late G.S.O. (1) in the Central Force, came over to lunch. He is now G.S.O. (2) of the 9th Corps. At 5.30 p.m. rode over to "K" Beach for the second time and inspected the Indian Brigade under Brigadier-General Cox. They had to be pulled out some time ago and given a rest. On parade were the 5th, 6th and 10th Gurkha Battalions with the 14th Sikhs. Walked down both lines and chatted with the British and Indian Officers. The men looked cheerful and much recovered. In the evening Charlie Burn, King's Messenger, and Captain Glyn came to dinner. Glyn has been sent out as a sort of emissary, but whether by K. or by the Intelligence or by the Admiralty neither Braithwaite nor I are quite able to understand. Cabled the War Office _insisting_ that the lack of ammunition is "disturbing." Also, that "half my anxieties would vanish" if only the Master-General of Ordnance would see to it himself that the fortnightly allowance could be despatched regularly. I could hardly put it stronger. _Midnight._--Just back from G.S. tent with the latest. So far, so good. Bailloud and Hunter-Weston have carried two lines of Turkish trenches, an advance of two to four hundred yards. But the ammunition question has reached a crisis, and has become dangerous--very dangerous. On the whole Southern theatre of operations, counting shell in limbers and shell loaded in guns, we have 5,000 rounds of shrapnel. No high explosive--and fighting is still going on! _Hi jaculis illi certant defendere saxis._ To whomsoever of my ancestors bequeathed me my power of detachment deep salaams! How many much better men than myself would not close their eyes to-night with a battle on the balance and 5,000 rounds wherewith to fight it? But I shall sleep--D.V.; I can't create shell by taking thought any more than Gouraud could retake the _Haricot_ by not drinking his coffee. _16th July, 1915. Imbros._ Forcing myself to work though I feel unspeakably slack; wrangling with the War Office about doctors, nurses, orderlies and ships for our August battles. A few days ago I sent the following cable and they want to cut us down:-- * * * * * "It seems likely that during the first week of August we may have 80,000 rifles in the firing line striving for a decisive result, and therefore certain that we shall then need more medical assistance. Quite impossible to foresee casualties, but suppose, for example, we suffered a loss of 20,000 men; though the figure seems alarming when put down in cold blood, it is not an extravagant proportion when calculated on basis of Dardanelles fighting up to date. If this figure is translated into terms of requirements such a battle would involve conversion of, say, 30 transports into temporary hospital ships, and necessitate something like 200 extra medical officers, with Royal Army Medical Corps rank and file and nurses in proportion. If my prognosis is concurred in, these should reach Mudros on or about 1st August. Some would D.V., prove superfluous, and could be sent back at once, and in any case they could return as soon as possible after operations, say, 1st September. Medical and surgical equipment, drugs, mattresses in due proportion. In a separate message I will deal with the deficiencies in ordinary establishment, but I think it best to keep this cable as to specified and exceptional demands distinct." _17th July, 1915. Imbros._ After lunch felt so sick of scribble, scribble, scribble whilst adventure sat seductive upon my doorstep that I fluttered forth. At 2 o'clock boarded H.M.S. _Savage_ (Lieutenant-Commander Homer) and, with Aspinall and Freddie, steered for Gully Beach. We didn't cast anchor but got into a cockleshell of a small dinghy and rowed ashore under the cliffs, where we were met by de Lisle. Along the beach men were either bathing or basking mother-naked on the hot sand--enjoying themselves thoroughly. I walked on the edge of the sea, as far as the point which hides the gully's mouth from the Turkish gunners, and was specially struck by the physique and class of the 6th East Lancashires under Colonel Cole Hamilton. Then mounted and rode to the Headquarters of General Shaw, commanding the 13th (new) Division. Shaw was feeling his wounds; he had already been once round his lines; so I would not let him come again. But Colonel Gillivan, G.S.O.1, Major Hillyard, G.S.O.2, Captain Jackson, G.S.O.3, Colonel Burton, A.A. and Q.M.G., joined us. First we went to the Headquarters of the 39th Brigade commanded by Brigadier-General Cayley (the Brigade Major is Captain Simpson). Then I went and looked at the trenches J.11-12-13, where I met Colonel Palmer of the 9th Warwicks, Colonel Jordan, D.S.O., of the 7th Gloucesters, Colonel Nunn of the 9th Worcesters, Colonel Andrews of the 7th North Staffordshires. We tramped through miles of trenches. The men were very fit and cheery. It was the day when they were relieving one another by companies from the reserve and there was a big crowd in the Ravine. De Lisle told me that one week had made the most astonishing difference to the savvy of these first arrivals of the New Army. At first there was confusion, loss of energy and time; by the end of the week they had picked up the wrinkles of the veterans. There was a good lot of shelling from the Turks but, humanly speaking, we were all quite snug and safe in the big gully or moving down the deep communication trenches. No one, not even the new 13th Division, paid the smallest deference to the projectiles. Now began one of these semi-comic, semi-serious adventures which seem to dog my footsteps. Just as I got into the little dinghy, two bluejackets pulling and a Petty Officer steering, the Turks began to shell H.M.S. _Savage_ as she lay about a hundred yards out. She did not like it, and, instead of waiting to let us get aboard, Commander Homer thought it wiser to sheer off about half a mile. When she quitted the Turks turned their guns on to our cockleshell, and although none of the shot came near us they still came quite near enough to interest the whole gallery of some thousands of bathing Tommies who, themselves safe in the dead ground under the cliff, were hugely amused to see their C.-in-C. having a hot time of it. After ten minutes hard rowing we got close to the destroyer and she, making a big circle at fairly high speed, came along fast as if she was going to run us down, with the idea of baffling the aim of the enemy. Not a bad notion as far as the destroyer was concerned but one demanding acrobatic qualities of a very high order on the part of the Commander-in-Chief. Anyway just as she was drawing abreast and I was standing up to make my spring a shell hit her plump and burst in one of her coal bunkers, sending up a big cloud of mixed smoke and black coal dust. The Commander was beside himself. He waved us off furiously; cracked on full steam and again left us in the lurch. We laughed till the tears ran down our cheeks. Soon, we had reason to be more serious, not to say pensive. The _Savage_ showed a pair of clean heels this time and ran right away to Helles. So there we were, marooned, half a mile out to sea, in a tiny dinghy on which the Turks again switched their blarsted guns. The two bluejackets pulled themselves purple. They were both of them fat reservists and the mingling of anxiety and exertion, emotion and motion, made the sweat pour in torrents down their cheeks. Each time a shell plunked into the water we brightened up; then, gradually, until the next one splashed, our faces grew longer and longer. At last we got so far away that the Turks gave us up in disgust. How much I should like to see that battery commander's diary. Altogether, by the time we had boarded the _Savage_, we had been in that cursed little dinghy for just exactly one hour, of which I should think we were being gently shelled for three quarters of an hour. On board the destroyer no harm to speak of: only one man wounded. Cast anchor at Imbros at 9 p.m. General Legge and Captain H. Lloyd came over to stay the night. Mail from England. Have cabled again to stir them up about the hospital ships. _18th July, 1915._ Church Parade. Inspected troops. Wrote in camp all the afternoon. Walked out to the lighthouse in the evening and watched the shells bursting over Gully Beach where we were yesterday. How often have I felt anxious seeing these shrapnel through the telescope. On the spot, as I know from yesterday's experience, their bark is worse than their bite. Colonel Ward of the Intelligence came to dinner and Captain Doughtie, commanding H.M.S. _Abercrombie_, paid me a visit. _19th July, 1915._ Too much office work. Mr. Schuler, an Australian journalist and war correspondent, turned up. Seems a highly intelligent young fellow. He had met me on tour in Australia. Gave him leave to go anywhere and see everything. The Staff shake their heads, but the future is locked away in our heads, and the more the past is known the better for us. Braithwaite has heard from the War Office that the Brigade of Russians which had started from Vladivostock to join us here has been counter-ordered. The War Office seem rather pleased than otherwise that this reinforcement has fallen through. Why, I can't imagine. As they are sending us a big fresh force of Britishers, they probably persuade themselves that 5,000 Russians would be more trouble than they are worth, but they forget the many thousands of shortage in my present formations. Since they fixed up to send me the new Divisions I must have lost ten thousand rifles, but as all my old Divisions remain at the Dardanelles _in name_, they are being regarded at home, we strongly suspect, as a sort of widow's cruse, kept full by miracles instead of men and still, therefore,--Divisions! In the evening the Vice-Admiral came over and we rode together down to the Naval Seaplane Camp. The King's Messenger left at 5 p.m. _20th July, 1915. Imbros._ Wrote double quick, then galloped over to Kephalos to see the New Army, _sub rosa_. The men we struck were A.1. They belong to the 32nd and 34th Brigades of the 11th Division. The 33rd has gone to Helles to get salted. Hunter-Weston is still staying with the Admiral. He has had a hard time and a heavy responsibility and is quite worn out. I devoutly trust he may be on his legs again ere long. Have put in Stopford to act for him at Helles. This should teach the young idea how to shoot. With every aspect of the command and administration of the Southern theatre of operations thus under his immediate orders he has a rare chance of learning how to do it and how not to do it. _21st July, 1915._--Just signed a letter to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff and as it gives the run of my thoughts at the moment I spatchcock the opening and final paras:-- * * * * * "My dear Wolfe Murray, "How do you manage to find time to write these charming letters of yours with your own hand? They come like a gift from some oriental potentate and carry with them the same moral obligations; i.e., that they ought to be returned in kind. But to-day the time limit interposes, and I know you will pardon me for once if I dictate. [Illustration: _F. A. Swaine phot._ LIEUT.-GEN. SIR A. HUNTER-WESTON, K.C.B., D.S.O.] "I am immensely interested in what you say with reference to the 29th Division being below strength, namely, that we are getting short of men. Well,--though one of the keenest voluntary service people existing, I have always envisaged the fact that during a war we might be driven to compulsion. Also in writing out fully my views on this subject (views which I was not permitted by late Chiefs of the General Staff to publish) I have always, for that reason, pressed for National Registration. It does no one any harm, and rubs into the mind of the young man that, under certain conditions, the State has first pull on his pocket, labour, life and everything else. But, of course, if your own wish that the 29th Division should take out 10 per cent. extra for drafts (like the regiments do in France), had been carried into effect, they would never have fallen as low as they actually did. * * * * * "Freddy Stopford and Reed have been staying with me for 24 hours, and the former is now in command of the 8th Corps on the Peninsula, Hunter-Weston having gone sick. He asked to stay with the Admiral for a couple of days' rest, and the very moment he got safe on board ship the overstrain of the past month told on him and he went down with a sharp go of fever. I earnestly pray he will get right again quickly for there are not many Commanders of his calibre. Freddy Stopford will now have a good chance of getting the hang of this sort of fighting generally, surrounded as he will be by Hunter-Weston's experienced Staff. After sending my last letter I rather repented of one or two harsh things I said about Reed. There is some truth in them, but I need not have said them. I hope he will do very well out here." Now since that letter was written (yesterday) in comes a cable from K. saying Winston can't leave England but that Hankey starts in his place. K. says he is sure I will give him every facility. A pretty stuffy cable in from the War Office on the Hospital ships and medical personnel and material wrangle which is still going on. I, personally, have checked every item of my estimate with closest personal attention, although it took me hours in the midst of other very pressing duties. This is not Braithwaite's pidgin but Woodward's and there was no help for it. Our first landing found out a number of chinks in our arrangements, and now, my Director of Medical Services is (quite naturally) inclined to open his mouth as wide as if ships were drugs in the market. So I have tried very hard, without too much help, to hit the mean between extravagance and sufficiency. Now the War Office, who would be the first to round on me if anything went wrong with my wounded, query my demands as if we had just splashed off a cable asking for the first things that came into our heads! I am all for thrift in ships, but thrift in the lives of my wounded comes first; my conscience is clear and I have answered sticking to my point,--firmly! They say the thing is impossible; I have retaliated by saying it is imperative. CHAPTER XIV THE FORCE--REAL AND IMAGINARY _22nd July, 1915. Imbros._ Had a jolly outing to-day. Left for Cape Helles by trawler just before 10 o'clock. Aspinall, Bertier and young Brodrick came with me. Lunched at 8th Army Corps Headquarters with Stopford and handed him a first outline scheme of the impending operations. We read it through together and he seems to take all the points and to be in general agreement. Left Aspinall behind to explain any questions of detail which might not seem clear, whilst I went a tour of inspection through the Eski Lines of trenches held by the 6th and 7th Manchesters of the 42nd Division. These Eski Lines were first held about the 7th or 8th May and have since been worked up, mainly by the energy of de Lisle, into fortifications, humanly speaking, impregnable. General Douglas, Commander of the Division, came round with me. He reminds me greatly of his brother, the late Chief of the Imperial General Staff; excellent at detail; a conscientious, very hard worker. When I had seen my Manchester friends I passed on into the Royal Naval Division Lines. There General Paris convoyed me through his section as far as Zimmerman's Farm, where I was joined by Bailloud with his Chief of Staff and Chief of Operations. Together we made our way round the whole of the French trenches winding up at de Tott's Battery. After this whopping walk, we left by pinnace from below de Tott's wondering whether the Asiatic Batteries would think us game worth their powder and shot. They did not and so we safely boarded our trawler at Cape Helles. Didn't get back to Imbros Harbour till 9 p.m. Being so late, boarded the ever hospitable _Triad_ on chance and struck, as usual--hospitality. Hunter-Weston is really quite ill with fever. He did not want to see anyone. As we were sitting at dinner I saw him through the half open door staggering along on his way to get into a launch to go aboard a Hospital ship. He is suffering very much from his head. The doctors prophesy that he will pull round in about a week. I hope so indeed, but I have my doubts. Aspinall reports that Stopford is entirely in accord with our project and keen. _23rd July, 1915. Imbros._ Spent day in camp trying to straighten things out: (1) the personal, (2) the strategical and (3) the administrative arrangements. (1) Hunter-Weston has to go home and I have begged for Bruce Hamilton in his place, and have told them I would have a great champion in him. He and Smith-Dorrien were my best Brigadiers in South Africa. They stood on my right hand and on my left all the way between Bloemfontein and Pretoria, and I never quite made up my mind as to which was the better. Bruce is a fighting man with an iron frame, and, in Gallipoli, his chief crab, his deafness, will be rather a gain to him. (2) Bailloud, with his own War Minister in the background, is doing all he knows to get 20,000 of my new troops allotted to a side show, not for strategy's sake, but for the tactical relief of his troops from the shelling. I quite sympathize with his reason as, after all, he is responsible for his own troops and not for the larger issue. But, to take one objection only, the Navy could not land a force at Besika Bay and at the same time carry out landings at Suvla and Anzac. Again, since Bailloud urged these views, the guns fixed up at de Tott's Battery have already begun to gain mastery over the fire from the site of Troy. When we have one of the new 14-inch gunned monitors moored off Rabbit Island we shall get cross fire observations and give the Turkish Asiatic guns the clean knock out. Amphibious operations are ticklish things: allied operations are ticklish things: but the two together are like skating on thin ice arm in arm with two friends who each want to cut a figure of his own. (3) Slovenly bills of lading. Bertie Lawrence, who was sent to Mudros in June when things were growing desperate, was here yesterday and has made a report on the present business situation which, though less chaotic, is still serious. There are not launches enough to enable people to get about. There are not lighters enough to work the daily transhipment of 300 tons. But the worst trouble lies in the bills of lading. Sometimes they arrive a week after their ships. Usually cargo shipped at Malta or Alexandria is omitted. Half the time we can't lay hands on vital plant, tackle, supplies, munitions, because we have no means of knowing what is, or is not, on board some ship in the harbour. The trouble is of old date but has reached its climax owing to our shortage of rounds for our 18-pounders. We were notified a new fuse key would be required for the new shells on the 12th June. The shells arrived but the keys were not despatched till the 15th July! The vouchers are all wrong, and there, in idleness, lies the stuff that spells success. A soldier is not a conjurer that he should be handed over a fully laden ship and told to ferret out a fuse key. _24th July, 1915._ Last night the Turkish Commander drove his troops into their tenth attack upon our extreme left where they were beaten off as usual with a loss of several hundreds--this time we only suffered about a dozen casualties. Together with Braithwaite, I rode over to "K" Beach at 11 a.m. to inspect part of the 11th Division there encamped. General Hammersley, Divisional Commander, met me. Also Colonel Malcolm, his General Staff Officer and Major Duncan. The first Brigade I looked at was Sitwell's--the 34th. A fine looking lot of men:-- 8th Northumberland Fusiliers, 5th Dorsets, 9th Lancashire Fusiliers, 1 Coy. 11th Manchester Fusilers. Next I passed on to Haggard's Brigade--the 32nd. On parade were-- 9th West Yorkshires, 6th Yorkshires, 8th West Riding Regiment, 6th York and Lancashires. Lastly I inspected the 67th and 68th Companies R.E. of the 134th Fortress Company, as well as the Field Ambulance. Officers and men looked splendid. I was glad indeed to be able to congratulate Hammersley on his command. The doctors tell me, that, short as has been their stay, a large number of the men are already infected by the prevalent disease. Well, they don't look like that,--and it won't kill them that's certain, for I have had it on me strong for the best part of two months. But it knocks out the starch from its victims, and if fair play existed in moonlit lands, every white man here should be credited with 25 per cent. extra kudos for everything that he does with his brains or his body under the shadow of this pestilence. Have got a reply from the War Office (Q.M.G.2) making light of my shipping troubles and saying the War Office has always cabled full advices. What can I say to that? As the lamb thought to himself when the wolf began to growl. _25th July, 1915._ Spent most of the day in camp. Church Parade at 9 a.m. Charles Lister came over from "K" Beach to lunch. He is a fascinating creature and has made a name for himself with the Naval Division, where standards are high, as being the keenest of the keen and the bravest of the brave. Hammersley, Malcolm and Aitkin called in the evening, but I had gone for a stroll and missed them. The great Turkish attack timed by all our spies for the 23rd has never come off but, as showing the fine spirit which animates the Anzacs, it is worth noting that on that day not one soul reported sick. They would not go near the doctors for fear they might be made to miss a battle. Last night the French took a small trench, and though the Turks had a dash at it in the morning, they were easily beaten off. Twice out of three times we gain something when we fight and the third time we lose no ground. Given, therefore, the factors of the problem, men, munitions and the distance to be covered (two to three miles), the result pans out like a proposition by Euclid. No question of breaking through is involved as in any other theatre, but merely a question of pushing back a very clearly limited number of yards. The men have in their hearts a reservoir of patience which will never run dry so long as they are sure of the Will to Win at their backs. They need have no qualms about G.H.Q. here, but politicians are more--shall we say, mercurial? And the experts from France are throwing cold water on our cause by day and night. Therefore, as the Fleet is not going to have a dash, it is just as well we are about to try the one great effort and get it done quickly. We will gain a lot of ground; so much is certain, and it's as sure as anything can be in war that somewhere we shall make good a key to the position. _26th July, 1915._ Stifling. Am sticking out about the lack of proper advices of shipments. Ammunition _makes_ itself scarce enough without being _made_ scarce. Rare and curious articles are worth careful booking; that's the text of my cable. _27th July, 1915. Imbros._ Hard at it. Altham came in to see me and spent an hour and a half. A man of business! Mahon arrived at mid-day. Very cheery but he feels that he is the only Lieutenant-General executively employed with troops who has so small a command as a Division. He says that either he should be given a Corps, or that his Lieutenant-General's rank should be reverted to that of Major-General. I quite agreed. I feel as strongly as he does that, as a Lieutenant-General, he is clean out of his setting in a Major-General's appointment and has blocked the way to a go-ahead young Corps Commander, because that Corps Commander must, by K.'s decision, be his senior. Still, there didn't seem to be anything to be done, so after my telling him how things stood here, and hearing with great pleasure the fine account he gave me of his Irish Division, we adjourned to lunch. Colonel King, his G.S.O. (1), also lunched and seemed to be a very nice fellow. After lunch they both went off to the G.S. to be posted. Admiral Wemyss came over from Mudros and saw me. He is senior to de Robeck but has waived that accident of rank seeing we are at war. An interesting man and a Keyesite; i.e., he'd go right through the Straits to-morrow,--or go under. He is one of those men, none too common in the Services, whose mind has gained breadth in the great world without losing its keenness. These rival tenets are straining the fabric of the Fleet, but, as I constantly tell our General Staff, my course is as clear to me as a pikestaff. I back the policy of the _de facto_ Naval Commander-in-Chief--my own coadjutor. There is a temptation to do wrong, but I resist it. What would it not be to me were the whole Fleet to attack as we land at Suvla! But obviously I cannot go out of my own element to urge the Fleet to actions, the perils of which I am professionally incompetent to gauge. At 5.30 p.m. I went off riding with de Robeck, Ormsby Johnson and Freddie Maitland. We cantered over to Seaplane Camp; passed the time of day to the men there and over-hauled some of the machines. Coming back, we passed through part of the 11th Division Camp; all very ship-shape and clean. Freddie Maitland and I dined on board the _Beryl_ with Sir Douglas Gamble. He seems highly pleased with everyone and everything; I wouldn't go quite so far! There we met de Robeck, Keyes, Altham, Ellison and Captain Stephens. Got back at 11. _28th July, 1915._ A cable from K. about Hunter-Weston's breakdown, telling me the Prime Minister thinks that Bruce Hamilton is too old for active work and heavy strain. Instead I am to have Davies. I know Joey Davies--everyone does. But I also know Bruce Hamilton. There is no tougher man or more resolute fighter in the Army. In my letter to K. I said, "The only man I can think of who would really inspire me with full confidence in these emergencies, excursions and alarms, would be Bruce Hamilton. Bruce Hamilton is a real fighting man, and his deafness here would be a great asset as he would be able to sleep through the shell and rifle fire at night." The older Officers will be sorry indeed to hear Bruce Hamilton is barred. Shaw, the new Commander of the 13th Division, will be especially disappointed. Admiral Gamble came off to see me and afterwards dined. I was very careful as I don't want to be quoted about the Sister Service. Gamble sings praise of our outfit, but I can't help wondering how, when and where he has got it into his head that we have small craft in abundance! _29th July, 1915. Imbros._ Stuck to camp, and lucky I did so, for the cipher of a queer cable from S. of S. for War came in and called for as much thought as is compatible with prompt handling. The message begins with a ripe sugar plum:-- * * * * * "At this stage of the operations which you have conducted with so much ability and in which your troops have so greatly distinguished themselves, we" (this "we" is a new expression; the S. of S. always says "I") "consider it advisable to summarize what we are placing at your disposal for the effort which we hope will bring your operations to a successful termination. "We have sent you out" and then the cable launches out into an inventory of the forces entrusted to me which, though very detailed, is yet largely based on what we call the widow's cruse principle. As to the demnition total, "we" tells "me," categorically, (as the Lawyers say when they describe the whiteness of soot) that I have "a total of about 205,000 men for the forthcoming operations." The A.G. who brought me the cable could make nothing of it. Braithwaite then came over and he could make nothing of it. We can none of us see the point of pretending to _us_ that my force has been kept up to the strength all the time, or of adding bayonets to the French or of assuming to _us_ that _we_ possess troops which Maxwell has told me time and again he requires for Egyptian defence. Were these figures going to the enemy Chief they might intimidate him--coming here they alarm me. There is a "We" at the other end of the cable which knows so little that it tells me, who know every gun, rifle and round of ammunition I have at my disposal, that I have double that number to handle. We won't defeat the enemy by paper strengths. As far as sentiments go, the cable is by chalks the heartiest handshake we poor relations to the West have had since we started. From the outset we've been kicked by phrases such as, if you don't hurry up we will have to "reconsider the position," etc., etc. Now, the "Wees" wind up with a really wonderful paragraph:-- * * * * * "We should like to hear from you after considering your plans whether there is anything further in the way of personnel, guns or ammunition we can send you, as we are most anxious to give you everything you can possibly require and use. You will realize that as regards ammunition we have had to stop supplying France to give you the full output, which will be continued as long as possible; in the short time available before the bad weather intervenes the Dardanelles operations are now of the highest importance." The position seems now, to me, extraordinarily delicate. Are we to let the mistakes in this flattering cable slide, and build upon its promises, or, are we to pull whoever believes these figures out of their fool's paradise? Well, I feel we must have it out and although deeply grateful for the nice words and for the splendid effort actually being made, we _cannot_ let it be assumed by _anyone_ that our vanishing Naval and Territorial Divisions are complete and up to strength. As to ammunition, I asked plainly over a fortnight ago, for what I thought was necessary to rapid success. I was told in so many words that France would not spare it; though it would have been a small affair to them. Now; as if these cables had no existence, they ask if there is "anything in the way of _personnel, guns or ammunition you can possibly require and use_." The truth is, I don't like this cable; in spite of its flowery opening I don't like it at all. As to personnel, I ask for young and energetic commanders, Byng and Rawlinson, and am turned down. Next I ask for an old and experienced Commander, Bruce Hamilton, and am turned down. Next I say that Reed, who would be a good staff officer to some Generals, is not well suited to Stopford; I am turned down. I try to get a business man to run Mudros and have been turned down till just the other day. In all these points the War Office are supreme and are acting well within their rights. But they show some want of consistency in talking to me all of a sudden, as if it was a matter of course I should be met half way in my wishes. So there and then we roughed out this reply:-- * * * * * "Your Nos. 6583 and 6588. Your appreciation of our efforts will afford intense gratification and encouragement to everyone. "In regard to what we should like if it is available in the shape of guns and ammunition, please see my No. M.F. 444, of 13th July, which still holds good. As to the final paragraph of your No. 6583, I did not realize that you were stopping supplies to France in order to give us full output, since a fortnight ago your No. 6234 stated that it was then impossible for you to send the ammunition I asked for, and that it would be impossible to continue supplies even on a much lower scale, since it would involve the reduction of supplies to France. Naturally, I have always realized that you, and not I, must judge of the comparative importance of the demands from the Dardanelles and from France. "With regard to numbers, the grand total you mention does not take into account non-effectives or casualties; it includes reinforcements such as LIVth and part of the LIIIrd Divisions, etc., which cannot be here in time for my operation, and it also includes Yeomanry and Indian troops which, until this morning, I was unaware were at my unreserved disposal. For the coming operation, the number of rifles available is about half the figure you quote, viz., 120,000. I am only anxious, in emphasizing this point, to place the statement regarding my strength on the correct basis, and one which gives a true view of the position. "What I want in a hurry is as much additional high explosive shell as you can send me up to amounts asked for in my No. M.F. 444, and as many of the 4.5-inch and 6-inch howitzers asked for in that telegram as there is ammunition for. I am despatching a ship immediately, and its time of arrival at Marseilles will be telegraphed later. "With regard to sending the IInd Mounted Division unmounted, I am at once telegraphing Maxwell to obtain his views." The Mail bag went out this morning. Hankey is now busy going over the Peninsula. I have not seen much of him. A G.S. Officer has been told off to help him along and to see that he does not get into trouble. I am not going to dry nurse him. He showed me of his own free will a copy of a personal cable he had sent to Lord Kitchener in which he says, speaking of his first visit to Anzac, "Australians are superbly confident and spoiling for a fight." This is exactly true and I feel it is good that one who has the ear of the insiders should say it. I wrote Wolfe Murray a week ago that he was a successor to those Commissioners who were sent out by the French Republic in its early days. Actually, I am very glad to have him. Lies are on the wing, and he, armed with the truth, will be able to knock some of them out hereafter when he meets them in high places. I have been bothered as to how to answer a letter from a statesman for whom I cherish great respect, who has always been very kind to me and whom I like very much. He writes:-- * * * * * "It may interest you to know the Cabinet has entrusted the superintendence of the Dardanelles business to a comparatively small and really strong committee drawn equally from the two parties. We most thoroughly understand the extreme difficulty of your task and the special conditions of the problem in front of you and the Admiral. All we ask from you is complete confidence and the exact truth. We are not babes and we can digest strong meat. Do not think that we ever want anything unpleasant concealed from us, nor do we want you ever to swerve one hair's breadth from your own exact judgment in putting the case before us, certainly never on the pleasant side; if you ever swerve pray do so on the unpleasant side.... If you want more ammunition say so...." "Could you eat a bun, my boy?" said the old gentleman to the little boy looking in at the shop window. "Could I eat ten thousand b ... buns and the baker who baked them?" So the dear little fellow answered. If I want more ammunition indeed? If ...? I fear the "comparatively small and really strong committee." They fairly frighten me. There they sit, all wishing us well, all evidently completely bamboozled. "If you want more ammunition, say so!" Anyway, my friend means me well but my path is perfectly clear; I have only one Chief--K.--and I correspond with no one but him, or his Staff, whether on the subject of ammunition or anything else.... As to the letter, I know it is entirely kind, genuine and inspired by the one idea of helping me. But I've got to say no thank you in some unmistakable manner. So I have replied:-- * * * * * "I am grateful for your reassuring remarks about your Committee having confidence in my humble self. For my part I have confidence in the _moral_ of my troops and in the devotion of the Navy which are the two great and splendid assets amidst this shifting kaleidoscope of the factors and possibilities of war. "I am not quite sure that I clearly understand your meaning about cabling home the exact truth. Is there any occasion on which I have failed to do so? I should be very sorry indeed to think I had consciously or unconsciously misled anyone by my cables. There is always, of course, the broad spirit of a cable which depends on the temperament of the sender. It is either tinged with hope or it has been dictated by one who fears the worst. If you mean that you would prefer a pessimistic tone given to my appreciations, then I am afraid you will have to get another General." _30th July, 1915._ Gascoigne of "Q" branch lunched. On getting news of the decisive victory on the Euphrates I caused a _feu de joie_ to be fired precisely at 5 p.m. by all the troops on the Peninsula. At the appointed hour I walked up the cliff's edge whence I clearly heard the roll of fire. The question of whether musketry sounds will carry so far is settled. Evidently the Turks have taken up the challenge for it was quite a long time before the distant rumbling died away. In the cool of the evening took a walk. Commandant Bertier and la Borde dined. Stopford, now commanding at Helles, has endorsed a report from the Commander of the 42nd East Lancs Division saying that out of a draft of 45 recruits just come from home three have been cast as totally unfit and nine as permanently unfit through blindness. Stopford says that he can't understand this, as the second line Battalion, from which these poor fellows were selected, contained good soldiers and tall fellows quite lately when they were under his command in England. Have cabled the facts home; also the following, showing the result of the Admiralty's attitude towards their own Naval Division now Winston has departed:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 505). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. The effective strength of the Marine Brigade is now reduced to 50 officers and 1,890 rank and file. In addition, only five battalions, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve Battalions, are now remaining in the Division, as the Anson Battalion has been withdrawn for special work in connection with the forthcoming operations. Moreover, 300 men, stokers, from this division have been handed over to the Navy for work in auxiliary vessels, see my telegram No. M.F.A. 1377, of 11th July. I have consequently decided to reduce the division to eight battalions and to reorganize it into two brigades as a temporary measure. Can you give me any idea when the reinforcements for this division are likely to be despatched and when they may be expected here? I should like to see the division again at its strength of 12 battalions, and do not want to lose it, as it contains a very valuable war-trained nucleus, but unless it is brought under army administration, it does not appear likely that it can be maintained." _31st July, 1915. Imbros._ Quiet day spent in trying to clear my table before sailing for Mitylene to see the new Irish Division. The grand army with which some War Office genius credited us appear to have served their purpose. At our challenge they have now taken to their heels like Falstaff's eleven rogues in buckram suits. The S. of S. (cabling this time as "I" and not as "We,") says, "it is not worth while trying to reconcile numbers by cable and it is difficult to make up accurate states." Do not let me forget, though, that a slice of solid stuff is sandwiched into this cable--we are to get some 4.5 shell _via_ Marseilles; H.E. we hope: also, two batteries of 4.5 howitzers: also that the A.G. has been trying hard to feed the 29th Division. The Territorials are the people who are being allowed to go to pot--not a word of hope even, and before the eyes of everyone. _1st August, 1915. Imbros._ The usual rush before leaving. No time to write. Sent two cables, copies attached. The first to the War Office, in answer to one from the A.G. wherein he plumes himself upon the completeness of the 29th Division. That completeness, alas, is only so relatively; i.e., in comparison with the sinking condition of the Territorial Divisions:-- * * * * * "We are deeply grateful to you for the drafts you have despatched for the XXIXth Division as the fighting existence of that fine formation has been prolonged by their timely arrival, but I fear that you are very wide of the mark in your assumption that these drafts have completed the Division. "As I have ventured to point out incessantly since my arrival here, constant large numbers of casualties must occur between the demands for and the arrival of drafts owing to the length of the sea voyage. It was for this very plain reason that it was doubly necessary to have here the 10 per cent. margin granted in the case of battalions going to France. We must always be considerably under establishment in the absence of some such margin. "I fully realize, in saying this, that it may be quite impossible to meet such demands as I suggest, but I feel bound to let you know the only possible terms on which any unit in this force can ever be up to establishment. "At the present moment, excluding 1,700 drafts coming on _Simla_ and _Themistocles_, the actual infantry strength of the XXIXth Division is 219 officers and 8,424 other ranks." The second cable is to K. The War Office Army has melted into thin air and it only remains to express my heartfelt thanks for the real Army:-- * * * * * "With reference to your No. 6645. Very many thanks. You have done everything for us that man can do. The ship will probably not reach me in time but since I know that the ammunition is actually _en route_ for me, and that it will (D.V.) arrive, I need not husband what we have, but can fire freely if I see great results thus obtainable. The Turk, at any rate, where he knows that he is fighting for Constantinople, is a stubborn fighter, and the difficulty is not so much in the taking of positions as in the maintaining of them. "Hence the extra ammunition you are sending me will come in the nick of time. The ship will arrive at Marseilles 7 p.m. 4th August, as I telegraphed to the Quartermaster-General yesterday. Many thanks for the two batteries of 4.5-inch howitzers, they are worth their weight in gold to us." At 5 p.m. embarked on H.M.S. _Chatham_ (Captain Drury Lowe) with George Lloyd of the General Staff and young Brodrick. At 6 p.m. sailed for Mitylene. _2nd August, 1915. H.M.S. "Chatham," Mitylene._ We opened Mitylene Harbour at 5.30 a.m. So narrow was the entrance, and so hidden, that at first it looked as if the _Chatham_ was charging the cliffs; next as if her long guns must entangle themselves in the flowering bushes on either side of the channel; then, as we sailed out over a bay like a big turquoise, I felt as though we were at peace with all men, making a pilgrimage to the home of Sappho, and that we had left far behind us these giant wars. But only for a moment! After early breakfast, where I met Captain Grant of H.M.S. _Canopus_, left in a steam pinnace to inspect the 30th Brigade under Brigadier-General Hill. Inspected:-- H.M.T. _Alaudia_, 9.30 a.m. 6th Royal Dublin Fusiliers, 7th Royal Dublin Fusiliers, Col G. Downing, 7th R.D.F., in command. H.M.T. _Andania_, 10.30 a.m. 6th R. Inniskilling Fusiliers, 5th Royal Irish Fusiliers, Lt.-Col. M. Pike, 5th R.I.F., in command. H.M.T. _Canada_, 11.30 a.m. 6th Royal Irish Fusiliers, Lt.-Col. F. A. Greer in command. H.M.T. _Novian_, 12 p.m. 5th Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, Lt.-Col. H. Vanrennan in command. The Royal Irish Fusiliers and Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers had not got back on board ship by the time I was ready for them, so I hurried off by motor launch to a landing in another part of the Bay and, walking through a village, caught them resting by their piled arms after a route march. All of these men looked very well and cheery. The villagers were most friendly and had turned out in numbers, bringing presents of flowers and fruit. Not more than 60 per cent. of the men are Irish, the rest being either North of England miners or from Somerset. In the evening, crossed the glassy bay and motored to pay a double-barrelled visit to the Military and Civil Governors. Topping the watershed, yet another pleasure shock. Through the sea haze Mitylene shines out like an iridescent bubble of light. Never had I seen anything so vivid in its colour and setting as this very ancient, very small, very brilliant city of Mitylene. Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, the Golden Horn are sprawling daubs to flawless Mitylene. Hesketh Smith and Compton Mackenzie were with us. The Governors very polite. The soldier man is a Cretan and seemed a good sort. We took tea at the Hotel and then made our way back to the _Chatham_. Found messages from G.H.Q. to say all's well and stuff being smuggled in without hitch at Anzac. At 7 p.m. we sailed for Imbros; a breeze from the West whipping up little waves into cover for enemy periscopes. So the moment we left the harbour we took on a corkscrew course, dodging and twisting like snipe in an Irish bog, to avoid winding up our trip in the dark belly of a German submarine. Soon emerged from the sea a huge piled up white cloud, white and clear cut at first as the breast of a swan upon a blue lake, slowly turning to deep rose colour flecked here and there with gold. As it swallowed up the last lingering colours of the sunset, the world grew grey, then black, and we were, humanly speaking, safe. _3rd August, 1915. Imbros._ Anchored at Imbros roadstead 5.30 a.m. Braithwaite not up yet so Altham got first innings about transport and supply. Next the G.S. All our preliminaries are working on quite smoothly towards the climax and, so far, it seems likely the Turks have no notion of the scheme. Girodon steamed over from Helles to see me and went back again in the evening. He is the mirror of French chivalry, modesty and good form, besides being an extraordinary fine soldier. The 33rd Brigade, sent by me to gain wisdom at Helles, have now been brought here so that the whole 11th Division can start off together. Just as the peculiar foggy air of Lancashire is essential to the weaving of the finer sorts of tissues, so an atmosphere of misunderstandings would really seem to suit the War Office. In the cable telling me I would have 205,000 troops for my push, the S. of S. had informed me categorically that the 8,500 Yeomanry and mounted troops in Egypt, as well as 11,500 Indian troops and the Artillery stationed there _were mine_. As the present garrison of Egypt numbers over 70,000 and as the old peace garrison of Egypt was 5,000 and as, further, there is no question of serious attack on Egypt from outside, it seemed to us there might be men in this part of the message. Leaving the Indian troops out of the account, for the moment, I therefore wired to Maxwell and asked him if he thought he would be able to organize a _portion_ of the 8,500 mounted men, in order that, at a pinch, they might be able to come and reinforce us here. So the matter stood when I got another cable from the S. of S. telling me 5,000 drafts are "_en route_ or under orders" to join the 29th Division and that the War Office are "unable to carry out your views about additional marginal drafts." S. of S. then goes on:-- * * * * * "Maxwell wires that you are taking 300 officers and 5,000 men of his mounted troops. I do not quite understand why you require Egyptian Garrison troops while you have the LIIIrd Division at Alexandria, and the LIVth, the last six battalions of which are arriving in five or six days, on the _Aquitania_. "When I placed the Egyptian Garrison at your disposal to reinforce at the Dardanelles in case of necessity, Maxwell pointed out that Egypt would be left very short, and I replied that you would only require them in case of emergency for a short time, and that the risk must be run. I did not contemplate, however, that you would take troops from the Egyptian Garrison until those sent specially for you were exhausted. How long will you require Maxwell's troops, and where do you intend to send them? They should only be removed from Egypt for actual operations and for the shortest possible time." We may read this cable wrong but it seems to us to embody a topsy-turvy tactic! To wait till one part of your forces are killed off (for that is the plain English of "exhausted") before you bring up the other part of your forces. It is not easy to know what to do. The very best we can do, it sometimes seems to me, is to keep quiet rather than add one iota to the anxieties of people staggering under a load of responsibilities and cares. In the good old days the Gordons fought in two decisive battles in two Continents within a few months and no one worried the War Office about drafts! The 92nd carried on--had to carry on; they fell to quarter strength--still they were the Gordons and they carried on, just as if they counted a thousand rifles in their ranks. Now, I am quite prepared to do that to-day--_if that is the policy_. If that _were_ the policy; not one grouse or grumble should ever cross my lips. But that is _not_ the policy. Press and People believe a Division is a unit made up in scientific proportions of different branches and numbering a certain number of rifles. They are told so; the War Office keep telling them so; they believe it, and, in fact, it is an absolute necessity of this modern trench war that it should be so. Although the Gordons got no _drafts_ between the battle of Kandahar and the battle of Majuba Hill, they got six months' _rest_; which was even better. In those days, apart from sieges, a battle was an event, here it is the rest or respite that is an event. Even British soldiers can't stick day and night fighting for ever. The attack spirit begins to ebb _unless_ it is fed with fresh blood. Whether K.'s mind, big with broad views, grasps this new factor with which he has never himself come into personal contact, God knows. But for his sake, every bit as much as for my own, it is up to me to keep hammering, hammering, hammering at drafts, drafts, drafts. Dined with the ever hospitable and kind hearted de Robeck on _Triad_. The Navy are still divided. Some there are who would wish me to urge the Admiral to play first fiddle in the coming attack. This _I will not do_. I have neither the data nor the technical knowledge which would justify me to my conscience in doing so. _4th August, 1915. Imbros._ Have been out seeing the New Army at work. Some of the XIth Division were practising boat work in the evening and afterwards a Brigade started upon a night march into the mountains. The men are fit, although just beginning to be infected with the Eastern Mediterranean stomach trouble; i.e., the so-called cholera, which saved Constantinople from the Bulgarians in the last war. _5th August, 1915. Imbros._ The day so longed for is very near now. O that it had come at the period of our victories! But there is time enough still, and the first moves of the plan are working smooth as oiled machinery. For the past few nights there has been steady flow into Anzac of troops, including a Division of the New Army. This has taken place, without any kind of hitch, under the very noses of the Turkish Army who have no inkling of the manoeuvre--as yet! The Navy are helping us admirably here with their organization and good sea discipline. Also, from what they tell me, Shaw and the 13th Division of the New Army are playing up with the clockwork regularity of veterans. All this marks us up many points to the good, before even the flag drops. For, given the fine troops we have, the prime factors of the whole conception; the factors by which it stands or falls; are:-- * * * * * (1) Our success in hoodwinking the Turks; i.e., surprise. (2) Our success in getting the 13th Division and the Indian Brigade unnoticed into Anzac. (3) Our success in landing the Divisions from Imbros, Lemnos and Mitylene, at moments fixed beforehand, upon an unknown, unsurveyed, uncharted shore of Suvla. Of these three factors (1) and (2) may already be entered to our credit; (3) is on the knees of the Navy. The day before the start is the worst day for a Commander. The operation overhangs him as the thought of another sort of operation troubles the minds of sick men in hospitals. There is nothing to distract him; he has made his last will and testament; his affairs are quite in order; he has said _au revoir_ to his friends with what cheeriness he can muster. Looking back, it seems to me that during two months every conceivable contingency has been anticipated and weighed and that the means of dealing with it as it may arise is now either:--embodied in our instructions to Corps Commanders, or else, set aside as pertaining to my own jurisdiction and responsibility. To my thinking, in fact, these instructions of ours illustrate the domain of G.H.Q. on the one hand and the province of the Corps Commander on the other very typically. The General Staff are proud of their work. Nothing; not a nosebag nor a bicycle has been left to chance.[1] Davies and Diggle, his A.D.C., lunched and the Admiral came to haul me out for a walk about 6 p.m. Have written K. by this evening's Mail bag about the sickness of the Australians, and indeed of all the troops here, excepting only the native Indian troops, and also about our Medical _band-o-bast_ for the battle. No question about it, the Dardanelles was the theatre of all others for our Indian troops. Have now seen all the New Army units except six Battalions of the 10th Division. French has written me a very delightful letter. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: See Appendix III containing actual instructions, together with a brief explanatory heading.--IAN H., 1920.] CHAPTER XV SARI BAIR AND SUVLA _6th August, 1915. Imbros._ O! God of Bethel, by whose hand thy people still are fed,--I am wishing the very rare wish,--that it was the day after to-morrow. Men or mice we will be by then, but I'd like to know which. K.'s New Army, too! How will they do? What do they think? They speak--and with justice--of the spirit of the Commander colouring the _moral_ of his men, but I have hardly seen them, much less taken their measure. One more week and we would have known something at first hand. Now, except that the 13th Division and the 33rd Brigade gained good opinions at Helles, all is guess work. Went down to "K" Beach to see the 11th Division go off. Young Brodrick, who was with us, proved himself much all there on the crowded pier and foreshore; very observant; telling me who or what I had not noticed, etc. First the destroyers were filling up and then the lighters. The young Naval Officers in charge of the lighters were very keen to show me how they had fixed up their reserves of ammunition and water. Spent quite a time at this and talking to Hammersley and Malcolm, his G.S.O. (1); also to Coleridge, G.S.O. (2), and to no end of Regimental Officers and men. Hammersley has been working too hard; at least he looked it; also, for the occasion, rather glum. Quite natural; but I always remember Wolseley's remark about the moral stimulus exerted by the gay staff officer and his large cigar. The occasion! Yes, each man to his own temperament. Some pray before battle; others dance and drink. The memory of Cromwell prevails over that of Prince Rupert with most Englishmen but Prince Rupert, _per se_, usually prevailed over Cromwell. To your adventurous soldier; to our heroes, Bobs, Sir Evelyn, Garnet Wolseley, Charles Gordon (great psalm-singer though he was) an occasion like to-night's holds the same intoxicating mixture of danger and desire as fills the glass of the boy bridegroom when he raises it to the health of his enigma in a veil. But I don't know how it is; I used to feel like that; now I too am terribly anxious. Disappointed not to see Stopford nor Reed. They were to have been there. Besides the men on the beetles there are men packed like herrings upon the decks of the destroyers. I had half a mind to cruise round in the motor launch and say a few words to them Elandslaagte fashion, but was held back by feeling that the rank and file don't know me and that there was too long an interval before the entry into the danger zone. The sea was like glass--melted; blue green with a dull red glow in it: the air seemed to have been boiled. Officers and men gave me the "feel" of being "for it" though over serious for British soldiers who always, in my previous experience, have been extraordinarily animated and gay when they are advancing "on a Koppje day." These new men seem subdued when I recall the blaze of enthusiasm in which the old lot started out of Mudros harbour on that April afternoon. The _moral_ of troops about to enter into battle supplies a splendid field of research for students of the human soul, for then the blind wall set in everyday intercourse between Commander and commanded seems to become brittle as crystal and as transparent. Only for a few moments--last moments for so many? But, during those moments, the gesture of the General means so much--it strikes the attitude of his troops. It is up to Stopford and Hammersley to make those gestures. Stopford was not there, and is not the type; Hammersley is not that type either. How true it is that age, experience, wisdom count for less than youth, magnetism and love of danger when inexperience has to be heartened for the struggle. Strolled back slowly along the beach, and, at 8.30, in the gathering dusk, saw the whole flotilla glide away and disappear ghostlike to the Northwards. The empty harbour frightens me. Nothing in legend stranger or more terrible than the silent departure of this silent Army, K.'s new Corps, every mother's son of them, face to face with their fate. But it will never do to begin the night's vigil in this low key. Capital news from the aeroplanes. Samson has sent in photographs taken yesterday, showing the Suvla Bay area. Not more than 100 to 150 yards of trenches in all; half a dozen gun emplacements and, the attached report adds, no Turks anywhere on the move. [Illustration: SUVLA FROM CHUNUK BAIR] _7th August, 1915. Imbros._ Sitting in my hut after a night in the G.S. tent. One A.D.C. remains over there. As the cables come in he runs across with them. Freddie Maitland runs fast. I am watching to see his helmet top the ridge of sand that lies between. The 9th Corps has got ashore; some scrapping along the beaches but no wire or hold-up like there was at Sedd-el-Bahr: that in itself is worth fifty million golden sovereigns. The surprise has come off! I'd sooner storm a hundred bloody trenches than dangle at the end of this wire. But now, thank God, the deadliest of the perils is past. The New Army are fairly ashore. That worst horror of searchlights and of the new troops being machine gunned in their boats has lifted its dark shadow. At Anzac, the most formidable entrenchment of the Turks, "Lone Pine," was stormed yesterday evening by the Australian 1st Brigade; a desperate fine feat. At midnight Birdie cabled, "All going on well on right where men confident of repelling counter-attack now evidently being prepared: on left have taken Old No. 3 Post and first ridge of Walden Point, capturing machine gun: progress satisfactory, though appallingly difficult: casualties uncertain but on right about 100 killed; 400 wounded." At Helles a temporary success was scored, but, during the early part of the night, counter-attacks have brought us back to "as you were." Fighting is going on and we ought to be pinning the enemy to the South which is the main thing. From Suvla we have no direct news since the "All landings successful" cable but we have the repetition of a wireless from G.H.Q. IXth Corps to the Vice-Admiral at 7.58 a.m. saying, "Prisoners captured state no fresh troops have arrived recently and forces opposed to us appear to be as estimated by G.H.Q. Apparently one Regiment only was opposed to our advance on left." I have caused this cable to be sent to Stopford:-- * * * * * "4.20 p.m. G.H.Q. to 9th Corps. Have only received one telegram from you. Chief glad to hear enemy opposition weakening and knows you will take advantage of this to push on rapidly. Prisoners state landing a surprise so take every advantage before you are forestalled." _8th August, 1915. Imbros._ Another night on tenter hooks: great news: a wireless from a warship to tell us the Suvla troops are up on the foothills: two cables from Stopford: many messages from Anzac and Helles. "2.12 a.m. IXth Corps to G.H.Q. As far as can be ascertained 33rd Brigade hold line the sea about 91.I.9 to Suvla East corner[2] of Salt Lake to Lala Baba inclusive. North of Salt Lake 31st and 32nd Brigade extended East of Asmak 117.U. preparatory. 34th Brigade advancing having followed retreating enemy towards line diagonally across 117.X. and 117.D. One battalion latter Brigade occupy high ground about square 135.X." "5.10 a.m. IXth Corps to G.H.Q. Yilghin Burnu is in our hands. No further information." Awful work at Lone Pine. Desperate counter-attacks by enemy, but now Birdie thinks we are there to stay. Bulk of Turkish reserves engaged there whilst Godley's New Zealanders and the new 13th Division under Shaw are well up the heights and have carried Chunuk Bair. Koja Chemen Tepe not yet; but Chunuk Bair will do: with that, we win! At Helles we have pushed out again and the East Lancs Division have gallantly stormed the Vineyard which they hold. The Turks are making mighty counter-attacks but their columns have been cut to pieces by the thin lines of the Lancashire Fusiliers. Neither from Helles nor from the Southern area of Anzac are the enemy likely to spare men to reinforce Sari Bair or Suvla. At 11.30 I ordered the _Arno_ for mid-day sharp. Then happened one of those aquatic incidents which lend an atmosphere all their own to amphibious war. Rear-Admiral Nicholson, in local naval command here, had ordered the _Arno_ to fill up her boilers. Some hitch arose, some d--d amphibious hitch. Thereupon, without telling me, he ordered the Commander of the _Arno_ to draw fires, so that, when my signal was sent, a reply came from the Rear-Admiral saying he was sorry I should be inconvenienced, but he thought it best to order the fires to be drawn; otherwise the boilers might have suffered. When, at a crisis, a boiler walks into the middle of his calculations, a soldier is simply--boiled! I could not altogether master my irritation, and I wrote out a reply saying this was not a question of convenience or inconvenience but one of preventing a Commander-in-Chief from exercising his functions during battle. I sent the signal down to the signal tent and about an hour later Braithwaite came over and said he had taken it upon himself to tone it down.[3] Just as well, perhaps, but here I was, marooned upon an island! No other ship could be signalled. As a rule there was a destroyer on patrol about Helles which could be called up by wireless, but to-day there was no getting hold of it. I began to be afraid we should not get away till dark when, at about 3.30 p.m. Nicholson signalled that the _Triad_ was sailing for Suvla at 4.15 p.m., and would I care to go in her, the _Arno_ following after she had watered. We were off like a shot, young Brodrick, Captain Anstey and myself for Suvla. Braithwaite remained to carry on with Anzac and Helles. The moment I quit my post I drop out and he takes up the reins. His hands are capable--fortunately! To-day's cables before I left were right from Helles; splendid from Anzac and nothing further from Suvla.[4] As we sailed in, that bay, always till now so preternaturally deserted and silent, was alive and bustling with ships and small craft. A launch came along from the _Chatham_ and I jumped in whilst we were still going pretty fast and shot off to see de Robeck. He seemed to think things naval were going pretty well and that Rear-Admiral Christian had been coping quite well with his share, but suggested that, as he was under a severe strain, I had better leave him alone. As to the soldiers' show, he said what Turks were on the ground, and there weren't many, had been well beaten--but--but--_but_; and all I could get him to say was that although he was well aware the fighting at Helles and Anzac demanded my closest attention; still, that was in practised hands and he had felt bound to wireless to beg me to come up to Suvla and see things for myself. Roger Keyes said then that the landings had come off, on the whole, A.1. Our G.H.Q. idea, which the Navy had shared, that the whole of the troops should be landed South of Lala Baba had been sound. The 33rd Brigade had landed there without shot fired; the 32nd had been sharply, but not very seriously opposed; the Brigade (the 34th) which we, to meet the wish of the Corps, had tried to land for them opposite Hill 10 inside the Bay, instead of with the others as we had originally arranged, had only been able to find depth at the mouth of the Salt Lake; had suffered loss from rifle fire and had been thrown into disorder by the grounding of some lighters. The long wade through the water and mud had upset the cohesion of the Brigade. Aspinall now turned up. He was in a fever; said our chances were being thrown away with both hands and that he had already cabled me strongly to that effect. Neither the Admiral's message nor Aspinall's had reached me.[5] Not another moment was to be lost, so Keyes took us both in his motor boat to H.M.S. _Jonquil_ to see Stopford. He (Stopford) seemed happy and said that everything was quite all right and going well. Mahon with some of his troops was pressing back the Turks along Kiretch Tepe Sirt. There had been a very stiff fight in the darkness at Lala Baba and next morning the Turks had fought so hard on a little mound called Hill 10 that he (Stopford) had been afraid we were not going to be able to take it at all. However, it had been taken, but there was great confusion and hours of delay in deploying for the attack of the foothills. They were easily carried in the end but by that time the men were so thirsty and tired that they did not follow up the beaten enemy. "And where are they now?" I asked. "There," he replied, "along the foot of the hills," and he pointed out the line, north to south. "But they held that line, more or less, yesterday," I said. "Yes," said Stopford, and he went on to explain that the Brigadiers had been called upon to gain what ground they could without serious fighting but that, actually, they had not yet occupied any dominating tactical point. The men had been very tired; he had not been able to get water up to them or land his guns as quickly as he had hoped. Therefore, he had decided to postpone the occupation of the ridge (which might lead to a regular battle) until next morning. "A regular battle is just exactly what we are here for" was what I was inclined to say, but what I did say was that most of this was news to me; that he should have instantly informed me of his decision that he could not obey my cabled order of yesterday afternoon to "push on rapidly." Stopford replied that he had only made up his mind within the past hour or so; that he had just got back from the shore and was going to send me a full message when I arrived. Now, what was to be done? The Turks were so quiet it seemed to me certain they must have taken the knock-out. All along the beaches, and inland too, no end of our men were on the move, offering fine targets. The artillery which had so long annoyed Anzac used to fire from behind Ismail Oglu Tepe; i.e., within point blank range of where our men were now strolling about in crowds. Yet not a single shell was being fired. Either, the enemy's guns had been run back over the main ridge to save them; or, the garrison of Ismail Oglu Tepe was so weak and shaken that they were avoiding any move which might precipitate a conflict. I said to Stopford, "We must occupy the heights at once. It is imperative we get Ismail Oglu Tepe and Tekke Tepe _now_!" To this he raised objections. He doubted whether the troops had got their water yet; he and Reed were agreed we ought to get more guns ashore; the combination of naval and military artillery was being worked out for the morning; orders would all have to be re-written. He added that, whilst agreeing with me on principle as to the necessity for pushing on, there were many tactical reasons against it, especially the attitude of his Generals who had told him their men were too tired. I thought to myself of the many, many times Lord Bobs, French, every leader of note has had to fight that same _non possumus_; of the old days when half the victory lay in the moral effort which could impel men half dead with hunger, thirst and sleeplessness to push along. A cruel, pitiless business, but so is war itself. Was it not the greatest of soldiers who said his Marshals could always find ten good reasons for putting off an attack till next day! So I said I would like to see the G.O.C. Division and the Brigadiers personally so as to get a better grip of things than we could on board ship in harbour. Stopford agreed; nothing, he said, would please him more than if I could succeed where he had failed, but would I excuse him from accompanying me; he had not been very fit; he had just returned from a visit to the shore and he wanted to give his leg a chance. He pointed out Hammersley's Headquarters about 400 yards off and said he, Hammersley, would be able to direct me to the Brigades. So I nipped down the _Jonquil's_ ladder; tumbled into Roger Keyes' racing motor boat and with him and Aspinall we simply shot across the water to Lala Baba. Every moment was priceless. I had not been five minutes on the _Jonquil_ and in another two I was with Hammersley. Under the low cliffs by the sea was a small half-moon of beach about 100 by 40 yards. At the North end of the half-moon was Hammersley. Asked to give me an idea of the situation he gave me much the same story as Stopford. The 9th West Yorks and 6th Yorks had done A.1 storming Lala Baba in the dark. There had been marching and counter-marching in the move on Hill 10. The Brigadier had not been able to get a grip of his Battalions to throw them at it in proper unison and form. A delay of precious hours had been caused in the attack on Yilghin Burnu by a Brigadier who wanted to go forward finding himself at cross purposes with a Brigadier who thought it better to hold back. At present all was peaceful and he expected a Staff Officer at any moment with a sketch showing the exact disposition of his troops. He could not, he feared, point me out the Brigade Headquarters on the ground. The general line held followed the under features of the hills. Malcolm, G.S.O.1, was then called and came up from the far end of the little beach. He was in the act of fixing up orders for next morning's attack. I told both Officers that there had never been a greater crisis in any battle than the one taking place as we spoke. They were naturally pleased at having got ashore and to have defeated the Turks on the shore, but they must not fly away with the idea that with time and patience everything would pan out very nicely. On the contrary, it was imperative, absolutely imperative, we should occupy the heights before the enemy brought back the guns they had carried off and before they received the reinforcements which were marching at that very moment to their aid. This was no guess: it _was_ so: our aeroplanes had spotted Turks marching upon us from the North. We might be too late now; anyway our margin was of the narrowest. Hammersley assured me that sheer thirst, and the exhaustion of the troops owing to thirst, had been the only reason why he had not walked on to Ismail Oglu Tepe last night. After Yilghin Burnu had been carried, there was nothing to prevent the occupation of the heights as the Turks had been beat, but no one could fight against thirst. I asked him how the water question stood. He said it had been solved by the landing of more mules; there was no longer any serious supply trouble. All the troops were now watered, fed and rested. They had been told they should gain as much ground as they could without committing themselves to a general action, but they had not, in fact, made much progress. Thereupon, I pressed again my view that the Division should get on to the ridge forthwith. Let the Brigade-Majors, I said, pick out a few of their freshest companies and get on to the crest right now. Hammersley still clung to the view that he could not get any of his troops under weigh before daylight next morning. The units were scattered; no reconnaissance had been made of the ground to their front; that ground was jungly and blind; it would be impossible to get orders round the whole Division in time to let the junior ranks study them. Hammersley's points were made in a proper and soldierly manner. Every General of experience would be with him in each of them, but there was one huge danger rapidly approaching us; already casting its shadow upon us, which, to me as Commander-in-Chief, outweighed every secondary objection. We might have the hills at the cost of walking up them to-day; the Lord only knew what would be the price of them to-morrow. Helles and Anzac were both holding the Turks to their own front, but from Asia and Bulair the enemy were on the march. Once our troops dug themselves in on the crest no number of Turks would be able to shift them. But; if the Turks got there first? If, as Colonel Malcolm said, it was impossible to get orders round the Division in time,--a surprising statement--was there no body of troops--no Divisional reserve--no nothing--which could be used for the purpose of marching a couple of miles? Seemingly, there was no reserve! Never, in all my long soldiering had I been faced with ideas like these. I have seen attack orders dictated to a Division from the saddle in less than five minutes. Here was a victorious Division, rested and watered, said to be unable to bestir itself, even feebly, with less than twelve hours' notice! This was what I felt and although I did not say it probably I looked it, for Malcolm now qualified the original _non possumus_ by saying that although the Irish and the 33rd and 34th Brigades could not be set in motion before daylight, the 32nd Brigade, which was concentrated round about Sulajik, would be ready to move at short notice. The moment had now come for making up my mind. I did so, and told Hammersley in the most distinct terms that I wished this Brigade to advance _at once and dig themselves in on the crestline_.[6] If the Brigade could fix themselves upon the heights overlooking Anafarta Sagir they would make the morning advance easy for their comrades and would be able to interfere with and delay the Turkish reinforcements which might try and debouch between the two Anafartas during the night or march down upon Suvla from the North. Viewed from the sea or studied in a map there might be some question of this hill, or that hill, but, on the ground it was clear to half an eye that Tekke Tepe was the key to the whole Suvla Bay area. If by dawn, I said, even one Company of ours was well entrenched on the Tekke Tepe height we should have the whip hand of the enemy in the opening moves next morning. Hammersley said he understood my order and that the advance should be put in hand at once. Malcolm hurried off; I left a little before 6.30 and went, _via_ the _Chatham_, back to the _Triad_. The _Arno_ had by now come in, but de Robeck has kindly asked me not to shift quarters if Anzac and Helles troubles will permit me to stay the night at Suvla. All was dead quiet ashore till 11 p.m. I was on the bridge until then and, seeing and hearing nothing, felt sure the Brigade had made good Tekke Tepe and were now digging themselves in. Captain Brody dined. The scraps of news picked up from the sailormen, mainly by young Brodrick, confirm what the soldiers had told us about the landing inside Suvla Bay along the narrow strip of land West of the Salt Lake. The attacks on Hill 10 went to pieces, not against the Turks, but by mishap. The first assault made by one or two Companies succeeded, but the assailants were taken for Turks and were attacked in turn and driven off by others of our men. A most distressing affair. If there was hesitation and mix-up in the general handling, the Regimental folk atoned and there were many incidents of initiative and daring on the part of battalions and companies. Mahon with some of his Irish and a Manchester Battalion are fighting well and clearing Kiretch Tepe Sirt. Until this morning bullets from that ridge were falling on "A" Beach; now the working parties are not in any way disturbed. _9th August, 1915. Imbros._ With the first streak of dawn I was up on the bridge with my glasses. The hills are so covered with scrub that it was hard to see what was going on in that uncertain light, but the heavyish shrapnel fire was a bad sign and the fact that the enemy's guns were firing from a knoll a few hundred yards East of Anafarta Sagir was proof that our troops were not holding Tekke Tepe. But the Officer of the Watch said that the small hours passed quietly; no firing ashore during the hours of darkness. Could not make head or tail of it! As the light grew stronger some of ours could be seen pushing up the western slopes of the long spur running out South-west from Anafarta. The scrub was so thick that they had to climb together and follow-my-leader along what appeared to be cattle tracks up the hill. On our right all seemed going very well. Looking through naval telescopes we thought--we all thought--Ismail Oglu Tepe height was won. Very soon the shrapnel got on to those bunches of men on our left and there was something like a stampede from North to South. Looking closer we could see the enemy advancing behind their own bursting shrapnel and rolling up our line from the left on to the centre. Oh for the good "Queen Bess," her high command, and her 15-inch shrapnel! One broadside and these Turks would go scampering down to Gehenna. The enemy counter-attack was coming from the direction of Tekke Tepe and moving over the foothills and plain on Sulajik. Our centre made a convulsive effort (so it seemed) to throw back the steadily advancing Turks; three or four companies (they looked like) moved out from the brush about Sulajik and tried to deploy. But the shrapnel got on to these fellows also and I lost sight of them. Then about 6 a.m., the whole lot seemed suddenly to collapse:--including the right! Not only did they give ground but they came back--some of them--half-way to the sea. But others made a stand. The musketry fire got very heavy. The enemy were making a supreme effort. The Turkish shell fire grew hotter and hotter. The enemy's guns seemed now to be firing not only from round about Anafarta Sagir, but also from somewhere between 113 and 101, 2,500 yards or so South-west of Anafarta. Still these fellows of ours; not more than a quarter of those on the ground at the outset--stuck it out. My heart has grown tough amidst the struggles of the Peninsula but the misery of this scene well nigh broke it. What kept me going was the sight of Sari Bair--I could not keep my eyes off the Sari Bair ridge. Guns from all sides, sea and land, Turks and British, were turned on to it and enormous explosions were sending slices off the top of the high mountain to mix with the clouds in the sky. Under that canopy our men were fighting for dear life far above us! Between 7.30 and 8.0 the Turkish reinforcements at Suvla seemed to have got enough. They did not appear to be in any great strength: here and there they fell back: no more came up in support: evidently, they were being held: failure, not disaster, was the upshot: few things so bad they might not be worse. By 8.0 the musketry and the shelling began to slacken down although there was a good deal of desultory shooting. We were holding our own; the Welsh Division are coming in this morning; but we have not sweated blood only to hold our own; our occupation of the open key positions has been just too late! The element of surprise--wasted! The prime factor set aside for the sake of other factors! Words are no use. Looked at from the bridge of the _Triad_--not a bad observation station--the tendency of our men to get into little groups was very noticeable: as if they had not been trained in working under fire in the open. As to the general form of our attack against the hills on our right, it seemed to be what our French Allies call _décousu_. After a whole day's rest and preparing, there might have been more form and shape about the movement. Yet it was for the sake of this form and shape that the Turkish reinforcements have been given time to get on to the heights. Our stratagems worked well, but there is a time limit set to all make-believes; the hour glass of fate was set at forty-eight hours, and now the sands have run out. Before going over to Anzac I had to get hold of Stopford so as to hear what news had come in from Hammersley and from Mahon. If only Mahon is pushing forward to Ejelmer Bay and can occupy the high range to the East of it that would make amends for much. After breakfast, therefore, at 8.30 got into a launch and landed at Ghazi Baba with young Brodrick as my only companion. Our boat took us into a deep, narrow creek cut by nature into the sheer rock just by Ghazi Baba--a name only; there is nothing to distinguish that spot from any other. Along the beach feverish activity; stores, water, ammunition, all the wants of an army being landed. Walking up the lower slope of Kiretch Tepe Sirt, we found Stopford, about four or five hundred yards East of Ghazi Baba, busy with part of a Field Company of Engineers supervising the building of some splinter-proof Headquarters huts for himself and Staff. He was absorbed in the work, and he said that it would be well to make a thorough good job of the dug-outs as we should probably be here for a very long time. I retorted, "Devil a bit; within a day or two you will be picking the best of the Anafarta houses for your billet." From the spot he had selected the whole of Suvla Bay and the Salt Lake lay open; also the Anafartas and Yilghin Burnu. But, being on a lower spur of Kiretch Tepe Sirt, his post was "dead" to the fighting taking place along the crest of Kiretch Tepe Sirt itself. I remarked on this and asked what news of the Irish, saying that now we were certainly forestalled at Yilghin Burnu and, apparently, on Tekke Tepe also, it was doubly essential Mahon should make a clean sweep of the ridge. Stopford said he was confident he would be able to do so, aided as he would be by the fire from the ships in the harbour--a fire which enfiladed the whole length of this feature. As to this morning's hold up, Stopford took it philosophically, which was well so far as it went, but he seemed hardly to realize that the Turks have rushed their guns and reinforcements here from a very long way off whilst he has been creeping along at the rate of a mile a day. Stopford expected Hammersley would be in to report progress in person; he will keep me well posted in his news and he understands that the Welsh Division will be at his disposal to help the 11th Division. As Stopford could give me no recent news from Mahon I suggested I should go and find out from him personally how matters then stood. Stopford said it was a good idea but that he himself thought it better not to leave his Headquarters where messages kept coming in. I agreed and started with George Brodrick to scale the hill. About half a mile up we struck a crowd of the Irish Pioneer Regiment (Granard's) filling their water bottles at a well marked on the map as Charak Cheshme. In their company we now made our way Northwards along a path through fairly thick scrub as high as a man's waist. We were moving parallel to, and about 300 yards below, the crestline of the ridge. When we had gone another mile a spattering of "overs" began to fall around like the first heavy drops of a thunderstorm. So wrapped in cotton wool is a now-a-days Commander-in-Chief that this was the first musketry fire I could claim to have come under since the beginning of the war. To sit in a trench and hear flights of bullets flop into the sandbag parapet, or pass harmlessly overhead, is hardly to be under fire. An irregular stream of Irishmen were walking up the path along with us; one of them was hit just ahead of me. He caught it in the thigh and stretcher men whipped him off in a jiffy. At last we got to a spot some 2-1/2 miles from Suvla and had not yet been able to find Mahon. So I sat down behind a stone, somewhere about the letter "K" of Kiretch Tepe Sirt, and sent young Brodrick to espy the land. He found that we had pulled up within a couple of hundred yards of the Brigade Headquarters, where portions of the 30th, 31st and 34th Brigades (sounds very formidable but only five Battalions) were holding a spur and preparing to make an attack. General Mahon was actually in the Brigade Headquarters (a tiny ditch which only held four or five people) and came back to where I was sitting. He is angry, and small wonder, at the chaos introduced somehow into the Corps. He is commanding some of Hammersley's men and Hammersley has the bulk of his at the far extremity of the line of battle. He besought me to do my utmost to get Hill and his troops back to their own command. I told him G.H.Q. had always understood Stopford would land his, Mahon's, two Brigades intact at A Beach. When the naval people could not find a beach at A, they, presumably with Stopford's concurrence, had most unluckily dumped them ashore several miles South at C Beach. This was the cause of the mix-up of his Division which Stopford, no doubt, would take in hand as soon as he could. Mahon seemed in fighting form. He said he could clear the whole of Kiretch Tepe Sirt, but that he did not want to lose men in making frontal attacks, so he was trying to work round South through the thick scrub so as to shift the enemy that way. He had reckoned five or six hundred men were against him--gendarmes. But there were more than there had been at daylight. My talk with Mahon made me happier. Here, at least, was someone who had an idea of what he was doing. The main thing was to attack before more Turks came down the coast. My own idea would certainly have been to knock the Turks out by a bayonet charge--right there. So far they had not had time to dig a regular trench, only a few shallow scrapings along a natural fold of the ground. If Mahon wished to make a turning movement, then, I think, he would have been well advised to take it by the North where the ground over which he must advance was not only unentrenched and clear of brush, but also laid quite open to the supporting fire of the Fleet. But I kept these views to myself until I could see Stopford; said good-bye to Mahon and wished him luck; found Brodrick had wandered off on his own to see the fun at close quarters; legged it, all alone, down the open southern slope of the Kiretch Tepe Sirt and got down into ground less open to snipers' fire from the scrub-covered plain.[7] Then, still quite alone, I made my way back South-west towards Ghazi Baba on Suvla Bay. After a little I was joined by two young Irish soldiers. I don't know who or what they took me for; certainly not for the Generalissimo. They came along with me and discussed identical adventures from diametrically different standpoints. One, in fact, was an optimist; the other a pessimist. One found fault with the war for not giving him enough hardship and adventure; the other was entirely fed up with adventures and hardships. This seems a trivial incident to jot down amidst issues so tremendous, but life is life, and my chat with these youngsters put some new life into me. Nearing the shore, I again struck Stopford's Headquarters, now beginning to look habitable. Braithwaite, and one or two others of my Staff turned up from Imbros at that moment. He shoved some cables into my hand and hastened off to interview Reed. Helles and Anzac have been duly warned we are both here for a few hours; all the component parts of my machine, its cranks, levers, pulleys, are assembled at Imbros, and G.H.Q. simply cannot be left under a junior much longer. Meanwhile I told Stopford about Mahon and the gendarmes. When I said that the sooner the Kiretch Tepe nettle was grasped the less it would sting, he informed me he had issued an order that Commanders were not to lose men by making frontal attacks on trenches but were to turn them. So here is a theory which South African practice proved to be more often wrong than right being treated as an axiom at Gallipoli! We next went into the question of digging a defensive line of trenches half-way between Corps Headquarters and Mahon's force. Here we were in accord. No man knows his luck and the tide may turn any moment. Both at Liao-Yang and the Shaho the Japanese began to dig deep trenches directly they captured a position. Young Brodrick rejoined me here; rather anxious at having lost me. He had found Mahon with the Brigade Staff. He had been shown the exact positions on a rough sketch map made by one of the Officers. We had three Battalions in the firing line and two in reserve. The gendarmerie had been reinforced and were now estimated at 700 without machine guns or artillery. We had a mountain battery shelling the gendarmes and a monitor occasionally gave them a big fellow. The Brigade Staff had said nothing to him about a battalion working round to the South. I repeated this to Stopford and begged him to make a push for it here. By now Braithwaite had finished with Reed, so we hurriedly discussed his budget of news. Hammersley is expected but he has not turned up yet. Indeed the situation is still by no means free from anxiety although the arrival of the Welsh Division gives confidence. A battalion of the 32nd Brigade did get up on to Tekke Tepe last night, it seems, but were knocked off this morning before they had time to entrench.[8] Seeing they should have had several hours time to dig in, that seems strange. Braithwaite handed me a bunch of signals and wires; also the news of what I had known at the back of my mind since morning,--the fact that we had not got Sari Bair! Then we started back to see de Robeck and Keyes. For the first time in this expedition Roger Keyes seemed down on his luck: we had often before seen him raging, never dejected. These awful delays:--delay in landing the Irish; delay in attacking on the 7th; delay all night of the 7th; delay during the day of the 8th and night of the 8th, have simply deprived him of the power of speech,--to soldiers, that is to say, though, to shipmates, no doubt...! Now for Anzac. Since dawn a fever about Anzac had held me. Shades of Staff College Professors, from you no forgiveness to a Chief who runs about the mountain quitting his central post. But the luminous shade of Napoleon would better understand my desperation. Some Generals are just accumulators of the will of the C.-in-C. When that is the case, and when they run down, there is only one man who can hope to pump in energy. Exact at noon Roger Keyes and I pushed off in the racing motor boat. On our way we stopped at "C" beach and picked up Commander Worsley. Next to Anzac, but at the Cove, found that Birdwood had left word he would meet me at the ex-Turkish Post No. 2,--so, as the water was shoal in spots, we rowed down there in a dinghy, along the shore where our lives would not have been worth half a minute's purchase just three days ago. After scrambling awhile over the new trenches, Birdwood, Godley and I sat down on a high spur above Godley's Headquarters which gave us a grand outlook over the whole Suvla area, and across to Chunuk Bair. Here we ate our rations and held an impromptu council of war; Shaw, commanding the new 13th Division, joining in with us. All three Generals were in high spirits and refused to allow themselves to be damped down by the repulse of the morning's attack on the high ridge. They put down that check to the lethargy of Suvla. Had Stopford taken up any point on the watershed yesterday when it was unoccupied except by some fugitives, the whole Turkish position on the Peninsula would have become so critical that they could not have spared the numbers they have now brought up to defend "Q" and Koja Chemen Tepe. The Anzac Generals allowed that they themselves had got into arrears in their time tables, but they had been swift compared to Suvla. Even as Godley was holding forth, messages came to hand to say that the Turks were passing from the defensive to the offensive and urging fresh attacks on the New Zealanders holding Chunuk Bair. Godley is certain the Turks will never make us quit hold. Shaw, who also has some of his men up there, is equally confident. Birdwood thinks Chunuk Bair should be safe, though not so safe as it would have been had we held on to that ridge at "Q" where Baldwin's delay from causes not yet known, lost us the crestline this morning. Birdie said he could have cried, and is not quite sure he didn't cry, when the bombardment stopped dead and minute after minute passed away, from one minute to twenty, without a sign of Baldwin and his column who had been booked to spurt for the top on the heels of the last shell. Unaided, the 6th Gurkhas got well astride the ridge, but had to fall back owing to the lack of his support. None the less, these Anzac Generals are in great form. They are sure they will have the whip hand of the Narrows by to-morrow. [Illustration: GENERAL SIR W. R. BIRDWOOD, G.C.M.G., K.C.B. _"Elliott and Fry" phot._] Birdie was offered my last reserves, the 54th Essex Territorials under Inglefield. But he can't water them. The effort to carry food, water and cartridges to the firing lines is already overtaxing the Corps. If Inglefield's men were also pushed in they simply could not be kept going. When communication trenches have been dug and brushwood and rocks flattened out, it will be easier. Till then, the Generals agreed they would rather the extra pressure was applied from Suvla. Birdwood and Godley were keen, in fact, that the Essex Division should go to Stopford so that he might at once occupy Kavak Tepe and, if he could, Tekke Tepe. All that the Anzacs have seen for themselves, or heard from their own extreme left or from aeroplanes, leads them to believe that the Turkish reinforcements to the Suvla theatre came over the high shoulder of Tekke Tepe or through Anafarta Sagir about dawn this morning and that the enemy are in some strength now along the ridge between Anafarta Sagir and Ismail Oglu Tepe with a few hundred on Kiretch Tepe Sirt: the Turkish centre was a gift to us yesterday; certainly yesterday forenoon; now it can only be won by hard fighting. But the Turks have not yet had time to work round on to the high ridges east of Suvla Bay and although a few Turks did pass over Kavak Tepe, it seems to be now clear of any enemy. There is no sign of life on the bare Eastern slope of that mountain. Probably one half of the great crescent of hills which encircles the Suvla plain and, in places, should overlook the Narrows, still lies open to an advance. So together we composed a message to Stopford and Godley sent it off by telephone--now rigged up between the two Corps Headquarters: the form was filled in by Godley; hence his counter signature:-- * * * * * TO:--G.O.C., IXth Corps. Sender's number. Day of month. In reply to N.Z.G. 103 9 number AAA After speaking to Birdwood and Godley think most important use fresh troops could be put to if not urgently required to reinforce would be the occupation as early as possible of the commanding position running through square 137-119 AAA Ismail Oglu Tepe are less vital to security of base. SIR IAN HAMILTON. _From_ _Place_ Fisherman's Hut. _Date_ 2 p.m. 9th August, 1915. A. J. GODLEY, Maj. Gen. * * * * * Took leave of the Anzacs and the Anzac Generals about 4.30 p.m. The whole crowd were in tip-top spirits and immensely pleased with the freedom and largeness of their newly conquered kingdom. We of the G.H.Q. were bitten by this same spirit; Suvla took second place in our minds and when we got on board the _Arno_ the ugly events of the early morning had been shaken, for the moment, out of our minds. But, on the sail home, we were able to look at the Peninsula as a whole. Because the Anzacs, plus the 13th Division of the New Army, had carried through a brilliant stroke of arms was a reason, not for shutting our eyes to the slowness of the Suvla Generals, but for spurring them on to do likewise. There is nothing open to them now--not without efforts for which they are, for the time being, unfit--but Kavak Tepe and the Aja Liman Anafarta ridge. So, on arrival at 6 p.m., wrote out the following message from myself to General Stopford:-- * * * * * "I am in complete sympathy with you in the matter of all your Officers and men being new to this style of warfare and without any leaven of experienced troops on which to form themselves. Still I should be wrong if I did not express my concern at the want of energy and push displayed by the 11th Division. It cannot all be want of experience as 13th have shown dash and self-confidence. Turks were almost negligible yesterday once you got ashore. To-day there was nothing to stop determined commanders leading such fine men as yours. Tell me what is wrong with the 11th Division. Is it the Divisional Generals or Brigadiers or both? I have a first-rate Major General I can send at once and can also supply two competent Brigadiers. You must get a move on or the whole plan of operations is in danger of failing, for if you don't secure the AJA LIMAN ANAFARTA ridge without delay the enemy will. You must use your personal influence to insist on vigorous and sustained action against the weak forces of the Turks in your front, and while agreeing to the capture of W Hills and spur mentioned in C.G.S. letter to you of to-day, it is of vital importance to the whole operation that you thereafter promptly take steps to secure the ridge without possession of which SUVLA BAY is not safe. You must face casualties and strike while the opportunity offers and remember the AJA LIMAN ANAFARTA ridge is your principal and dominant objective and it must be captured. Every day's delay in its capture will enormously multiply your casualties. I want the name of the Brigadier who sent the message to say his left was retiring owing to a strong attack and then subsequently reported that the attack in question has never developed. Keep Birdwood informed as he may be able to help you on your right flank." [Illustration: LIEUT. GEN SIR A. J. GODLEY, K.C.B., K.C.M.G. _"Elliott and Fry phot."_] This message seemed so important that it was sent by hand of Hore-Ruthven and another Officer by special destroyer. Braithwaite tells me that, when he was at 9th Corps Headquarters to-day he showed General Stopford the last two paragraphs of this memo which I had written when toning down the wording of a General Staff draft:-- * * * * * "C.G.S. "(1) I do not think much good rubbing it into these fellows, there are very few Turks opposed to them. We have done it, and that was right, but we must not overdo it. "(2) But the men ought to be made to understand that really the whole result of this campaign may depend on their quickly getting a footing on the hills right and left of Anafarta. Officers and rank and file must be made to grasp this. "(3) If Lindley and his new men were kept intact and thrown in on the Anzac flank, surely they ought to be able to make a lodgment. (_Initialled_), "IAN H." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 2: Must have meant south-east?--IAN H., 1920.] [Footnote 3: Long afterwards--long after the Dardanelles Commission had finished their Report--I had the curiosity to get permission to look at the log of the _Exmouth_ (Rear-Admiral Nicholson) to see how my cable had been translated. Here it is, very much Bowdlerized:--"Sent 11.45, received 11.59. Sir I. Hamilton to Rear-Admiral 3. Urgent. 'Understand _Arno_ drawing fires. Can this be stopped and _Arno_ sent (to) _Mercedes_ to water at once? _Arno_ specially put at my disposal by Vice-Admiral and I may require her at any moment.'" The _Mercedes_ was the ship with our military drinking water.] [Footnote 4: There is a hiatus in my diary here which I must try and bridge over by a footnote especially as my story seems to run off the rails when I say that "nothing further" had come in from Suvla. At 10.50 a.m. a further cable did come in from Suvla:-- * * * * * "Approximate position of troops under General Hammersley this morning. Two battalions 33rd Brigade sea to S.E. corner of Salt Lake: will be moved forward shortly to connect if possible with Anzac troops. Two battalions 33rd holding Yilghin Burnu. Position on Hill 500 yards East Yilghin Burnu not yet certain. From Yilghin Burnu 31st Brigade holds line through Baka Baba crossroads, thence North to about 118 0 2. 32nd and 34th Brigades ordered forward from Hill 10 (117 R) where they spent night to line 118 M.R.W. to fill gap with Tenth Division. Detailed information of Tenth Division not yet definite: will report later. Consider Major-General Hammersley and troops under him deserve great credit for result attained against strenuous opposition and great difficulty." Manifestly, the data in this cable were not enough to enable me to form any opinion of my own as to the credit due to anyone; but every soldier will understand that it was up to me to respond: "To G.O.C. 8th Corps. "From General Sir Ian Hamilton. "You and your troops have indeed done splendidly. Please tell Hammersley how much we hope from his able and rapid advance." I made no written note of this 10.50 a.m. cable (or of my reply to it) at the time and, eighteen months later, no mental note of it remained, probably because it had only added some detail to the news received during the night. But I had reason to regret this afterwards when I came to read the final Report of the Dardanelles Commission, paragraph 89. There I see it stated that "with regard to this message" (my pat on the back for Hammersley) "Sir Frederick Stopford informed us that the result of the operations on the night of the 6th and day of the 7th was not as satisfactory as he would have liked but he gathered from Sir Ian Hamilton's congratulations that his dispositions and orders had met with the latter's approval" As to my actual feelings that forenoon, I do remember them well. At sunrise victory seemed assured. As morning melted into mid-day my mind became more and more uneasy at the scant news about the Irish Division and at the lack of news of a further advance of the 11th Division. This growing anxiety drove me to quit my headquarters and to take ship for Suvla.] [Footnote 5: The Admiral's wireless had said, so I was told:--"It is important we should meet--shall I come to Kephalos or are you coming to Suvla?" As stated in text I did not get this cable at the time nor did I ever get it. Four years later the signal logs of the only ships through which the message could have passed; viz., _Triad_, _Exmouth_, _Chatham_, were searched and there is no trace of it. So I think it must have been drafted and overlooked.--IAN H., 1920. Aspinall's cable:--"Just been ashore where I found all quiet AAA. No rifle fire, no artillery fire and apparently no Turks AAA. IXth Corps resting AAA. Feel confident that golden opportunities are being lost and look upon the situation as serious." I received this next morning from Braithwaite.--IAN H., 1920.] [Footnote 6: Looking to the distance of Sulajik, the Brigade might have been expected to move in about an hour and a half. But, as I did not know at the time, or indeed till two years later, this Brigade was _not_ concentrated. Only two battalions were at Sulajik; the other two, the 6th East Yorks and the 9th West Yorks, were in possession of Hill 70, vide map.--IAN H., 1920.] [Footnote 7: My Aide-de-Camp, George Brodrick, has permitted me to use the following extract from a letter of his written to his father, Lord Midleton, at the time. * * * * * "I went to Suvla with Sir Ian in the afternoon of August 8th, and we arrived to find 'Nothing doing.' The beaches and hillsides covered with our men almost like a Bank Holiday evening at Hampstead Heath. Vague shelling by one of our monitors was the only thing which broke the peace of a most perfect evening--a glorious sunset. "We went over to the Destroyer where General Stopford had his Headquarters, and I fancy words of exhortation were spoken to him. We slept on the Triad, Admiral de Robeck's Yacht. I had a camp bed on the Bridge, so as to hear any happenings during the night. About dawn our Monitors started to shell the heights behind Anafarta and a sort of assault was made; the Turkish battery opened with shrapnel, and our fellows did not seem to get very far. "We went ashore on 'A' beach about 8 a.m. and walked up to Stopford's Headquarters, as he had gone ashore the night before. They all seemed a very lifeless crew, with but little knowledge of the general situation and no spirit in them. We made our way on across some rocky scrubby country towards Brigade Headquarters; fairly heavy rifle fire was going on, and after about two miles bullets began to ping unpleasantly all round us. I persuaded Sir Ian to lie down behind a rock, much against his will, and went on myself another 150 yards to where the Brigade Staff were sitting in a dip behind a stone wall. They told me that about 800 Turks were in front of them with no machine guns. We had 3 Battalions in the firing line and two in reserve and yet could not get on."] [Footnote 8: Only one Company we hear now.--IAN H., 15.8.15.] CHAPTER XVI KAVAK TEPE ATTACK COLLAPSES _10th August, 1915. Imbros._ Had to remain at G.H.Q. all day--the worst of all days. My visit to Anzac yesterday had infected me with the hopes of Godley and Birdwood and made me feel that we would recover what we had missed at Suvla, and more, if, working from the pivot of Chunuk Bair, we got hold of the rest of Sari Bair. They believed they would bring this off and then the victory would have been definite. Now--Chunuk Bair has gone! The New Zealand and New Army troops holding the knoll were relieved by two New Army Battalions and, at daylight this morning, the Turks simply ran amok among them with a Division in mass formation. Trenches badly sited, they say, and Turks able to form close by in dead ground. Many reasons no doubt and lack of swift pressure from Suvla. The Turks have lost their fear of Stopford and concentrated full force against the Anzacs. By Birdie's message, it looks as if the heavy fighting was at an end--an end which leaves us with a fine gain of ground though minus the vital crests. Next time we will get them. We are close up to the summit instead of having five or six hundred feet to climb. News from Suvla still rotten. Here is the result of Hammersley's visit to Stopford after I left:-- * * * * * "August 9. 5.35. Suvla Bay. "DEAR BRAITHWAITE, "I have had a talk with Hammersley and he tells me that his troops are much exhausted, have had very heavy fighting, severe losses and have felt the want of water very much. He does not consider that they are fit to make a fresh attack to-morrow. "I have decided after consultation with him to make an attempt on the ridge about Abrikja with three fresh Territorial Battalions and six which have been used to-day. I am afraid from what I hear that the Naval guns do not have much effect on account of difficulty of accurate observation but I will arrange a programme, to be carefully timed, with Brigadier-General Smith, my Brigadier R.A., and of course all the field guns will also help. I _must_ see Smith so please ask the V. Admiral to place a boat at Smith's disposal to bring him here to see me and then to see Generals Hammersley and Lindley. General Lindley will be in immediate command of the operations as all troops engaged in the attack will be Territorials. "I trust the attack will succeed though to-day's did not, but in view of the urgency of the matter I feel the attempt ought to be made. "It is absolutely necessary that I should see Smith. "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "FRED W. STOPFORD." At mid-day, got a cable from the 9th Corps saying that Lindley's Division had duly gone at Hill 70, a key feature on the ridge, about 1,500 yards North-east of Yilghin Burnu--and had failed! In giving me this news, Stopford proposes to make a second attack this afternoon with the same Division. Have caused Braithwaite to cable: * * * * * "Hear you propose attacking again. Chief doubts advisability with tired troops after morning's failure; if you agree consolidate where you are and rest and reorganize." In a letter from Stopford in answer to my signal of yesterday from Fisherman's Hut, he says:-- "No. 1. _Date_, Aug. 9. _Time_, 4 p.m. _Place_, Suvla Bay. "To: "DEAR SIR IAN, "I have received your message from Fisherman's Hut. Hammersley has not been able to advance to-day, but the Turks have been counter-attacking all day and he has had to put in one of the Territorial Brigades to prevent being driven back. "I quite realize the importance of holding the high ground East of Suvla Bay, but as the Turks advance through the gap between the two Anafartas where all the roads are, it is absolutely necessary to keep sufficient troops between Anafarta Sagir and Ismail Oglu Tepe, as otherwise if I were to seize the high ground between Anafarta Sagir and Ejelmer Bay without securing this gap, I might find myself holding the heights and the Turks pouring down to the harbour behind me. I will bear what you say in mind, and if I get an opportunity with fresh troops of taking the heights whilst holding on tight to my right flank I will do so. I understand that one reason why it was necessary to go for Ismail Oglu Tepe was that if I did not hold the Turks there they would fire into the rear of Birdwood's troops attacking Hill 305. "I am, Sir, "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "FRED W. STOPFORD." For myself I wish the Turks would try to pour down over that flat, open country by the Salt Lake to seize the beaches under the guns of the warships. * * * * * Well, we had Chunuk Bair in our hands the best part of two days and two nights. So far the Turks have never retaken trenches once we had fairly taken hold. Have they done so now? I hope not. Birdie and Godley are at work upon a scheme for its recapture. The Turks are well commanded: that I admit. Their Generals knew they were done unless they could quickly knock us off our Chunuk Bair. So they have done it. Never mind: never say die. Meanwhile we have the East Anglian Division available to-morrow, and I have been over in the G.S. marquee working out ways and means of taking Kavak Tepe which may also give us an outlook, more distant, but yet an outlook, on to the Dardanelles. _11th August, 1915. Imbros._ Did not dare to break away from the wire ends. A see-saw of cardinal events between Suvla and Anzac. A workable scheme of attack has now been put into such shape as to let Stopford dovetail his Corps orders into it, and first thing sent him this cable:-- * * * * * "G.H.Q. to IXth Corps. General Commanding wishes 54th Division Infantry to attack line Kavak Tepe peak 1195.5. at dawn to-morrow after night march to foothills; G.S.O. proceeding with detailed instructions. See Inglefield, make arrangements and give all assistance possible by landing 53rd Signal Company, water gear and tools. 53rd Division becomes general reserve." At 4.30 p.m., a letter from Stopford anent the failure of the 53rd Division,--depressing in itself but still more so in its inferences as to the 54th Division. He says these troops showed "no attacking spirit at all. They did not come under heavy shell fire nor was the rifle fire very severe, but they not only showed no dash in attack but went back at slight provocation and went back a long way. Lots of the men lay down behind cover, etc. They went on when called upon to do so by Staff and other Officers but they seemed lost and under no leadership--in fact, they showed that they are not fit to put in the field without the help of Regulars. I really believe that if we had had one Brigade of Regulars here to set an example both the New Army and Territorials would have played up well with them but they have no standard to go by." Worse follows, for Stopford takes back his assurance given me after my cable of the 9th when he said, "given water, guns and ammunition, I have no doubt about our being able to secure the hills." He tells me straight and without any beating about the bush, "I am sure they" (the Territorials) "would not secure the hills with any amount of guns, water and ammunition assuming ordinary opposition, as the attacking spirit was absent; chiefly owing to the want of leadership by the Officers." Ignoring our Kavak Tepe scheme, he goes on then to ask me in so many words, not to try any attack with the 54th Division but to stick them into trenches. This letter has driven me very nearly to my wits' ends. Things can't be so bad! None of us have any complaint at all of the New Army troops; only of their Old Army Generals. Stopford says the 13th Division were not reliable when they were at Helles, whereas now, under Godley at Anzac they have fought like lions. Rushed off in this, the good tub _Imogene_ (Lieutenant-Commander Potts). There the rushing ceased as she steamed along so slowly that we didn't get to Suvla till 7 p.m. Walked up with Braithwaite and Freddie to the 9th Corps Headquarters. Saw Stopford. Wrestled with him for over an hour; Braithwaite doing ditto with Reed. Stopford urged that these last two Territorial formations sent out to us were sucked oranges, the good in them having been drafted away into France and replaced by rejections. He says he would have walked on to the watershed the first day had we only stiffened his force with the 29th Division. There happened to be some pretty decisive objections but there was no use entering into them then. So I merely told him that the 9th Corps and the Territorials being now well ashore we may be able to bring up the 29th. No doubt--had we a couple of Regular Divisions here--British or Indian--at full strength--no doubt we could astonish the world. Having the 53rd and the 54th Divisions, half-trained and at half strength, I tried to make Stopford see we must cut our coats with the stuff issued to us. The 54th were good last winter, and, even if the best have been picked out of them, the residue should do well under sound leadership: Inglefield was a practised old warrior, and would not let him down. There was nothing solid to go upon in crying down the credit of the 54th beyond hearsay and the self-evident fact that they are half their nominal strength. To assume they won't put up a fight is a certain way of making the best troops gun-shy. We are standing up to our necks in a time problem, and the tide is on the rise. There is not a moment to spare. The Turks have reinforced and they have brought back their guns; that is true. Now they will begin to dig trenches--indeed they are already digging--and more and more enemy troops will be placed in reserve behind the Anafartas and to the East of the Tekke Tepe--Ejelmer Bay range. On the 10th the Helles people reported that, in spite of their efforts to hold the Turks, they had detached reinforcements to the North. These extra reinforcements may arrive to-morrow at Anzac or on the Anafartas; but, for at least another twenty four hours, they will not be able to get round to the high ridge between Anafarta and Ejelmer Bay. So far as can be seen by aeroplane scouting, this ridge is still unoccupied; certainly it is unentrenched. Stopford who, at first, was dead set on digging agreed to have a dart at Kavak Tepe. He will throw the 54th at it. He will turn out the 9th Corps and, if chance offers, they will attack along their own front. His chief remaining ghost inhabits the jungly bit of country between Anafarta Ova and the foothills. In that belt he fears the Turkish snipers may harass our line of supply so that, when the heights are held, we may find it hard to feed and water our garrison. The New Armies and Territorials have no trained counter-snipers and are much at the mercy of the skilled Anatolian shikarris who haunt the close country. So I suggested blockhouses on the South African system to protect our line where it passed through the three quarters of a mile or so of close country. The enemy artillery would not spot them amongst the trees. I promised him also one hundred picked Australian bushmen, New Zealand Maoris and Gurkhas to act as scouts and counter-snipers. Stopford took to this idea very kindly; has fixed up a Conference of 9th Corps and Territorial Generals early to-morrow morning to discuss the whole plan, and will make every effort to occupy Kavak Tepe to-morrow night. Stopford seemed in much better form to-night; I think he is more fit: there has been 24 hours' delay but by waiting that time Inglefield and the Essex will have the help of a body of first-class scouts--quite a luminous notion. Stopford, himself, presides at to-morrow's Conference. Inglefield is a good, straight fellow, not so young as we were in South Africa, but quite all right. Boarded the _Imogene_. Dropped anchor at 11 p.m. at Imbros. _12th August, 1915. Imbros._ Last thing last night Stopford promised to let me know the result of the conference to be held at his Headquarters, and upon the plans for the lines of supply. Sent him a reminder:-- * * * * * "G.H.Q. to IXth Corps. Have you arranged practical system for supplying troops in the event of Tekke Tepe ridge being secured?" A cable from K.:-- * * * * * "I am sorry about the Xth and XIth Divisions in which I had great confidence. Could you not ginger them up? The utmost energy and dash are required for these operations or they will again revert to trench warfare." K.'s disappointment makes me feel _sick_! I know the great hopes he has built on these magnificent Divisions and I know equally well that he is not capable of understanding how he has cut his own throat, the men's throats and mine, by not sending young and up-to-date Generals to run them. K. in this, and this alone, is with Tolstoi. The men are everything; the man nothing. Have cabled back saying, "I am acting absolutely as you indicate by 'ginger'; I only got back at 11 last night from a further application of that commodity. As a result a fresh attack will be made to-morrow morning by the IXth Corps and the LIVth Division." As to the New Army I point out to K. that "they are fighting under conditions quite foreign to their training and moreover they have no regulars to set them a standard": also, (and pray Heaven it is truth) "Everyone is fully alive to the necessity for dash, so I trust the attack of to-morrow will be much better done than were the two previous attempts." Hardly had my cable to K. been despatched when Stopford gives us a sample specimen of "dash" by his answer to my reminder. He wires:-- * * * * * "IXth Corps to G.H.Q. I foresee very great difficulty. The only system possible at first probably will be convoy under escort." Twelve hours ago, more or less, Stopford had agreed that there was a difficulty which it was up to him to solve and that, at first, (i.e., till blockhouses had been built) the system would be convoy under escort. We ask him what he had done, expecting to get the particulars worked out by his Staff after the conference of Generals, and this is the reply! Five minutes later, in came another wire giving the general situation at Suvla; saying the 53rd Division had failed to clear ground from which the right of the advance of the 54th Division might be threatened, and that Stopford wished to postpone his night march another four and twenty hours. So this is the result of our "ginger," and Braithwaite or I must rush over to Suvla at once. Meanwhile, tactics and Kavak Tepe must wait. Wired back:-- * * * * * "In the circumstances the operation for to-morrow is postponed. Chief sending C.G.S. over now to see you." Braithwaite went: is back now: has seen both Stopford and Reed: has agreed (with a sad heart) on my behalf to the night march being put off another twenty four hours. Have had, therefore, to cable K. again, shouldering the heavy blame of this further delay:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 545). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. After anxiously weighing the pros and cons, I have decided that it is wiser to wait another 24 hours before carrying out the general attack mentioned in my No. M.F. 543. Braithwaite has just returned from the IXth Corps, and he found that the spirit and general organization were improving rapidly. A small attack by a Brigade, which promised well, was in progress. This morning the Xth Division captured a trench." The story of the Suvla Council of War:--At first the Generals were for fighting. Inglefield, of the LIVth, who is told off for the attack, was keen. All he asked was, a clean start from Anafarta Ova. If his Division could jump off, intact and fresh, from that well-watered half-way house, Kavak Tepe was his. The LIIIrd Division for their part agreed to make good Anafarta Ova; to clear out the snipers and to hold the place as a base for the LIVth. So at 10 a.m. Stopford issued orders saying the LIVth must march off at 4 p.m. moving East of Anafarta Ova. Then,--when at last all seemed settled, in came a message from the G.O.C. LIIIrd Division, saying he could not undertake to clear Anafarta Ova of snipers and to hold it as a cover to the advance of the LIVth. Stopford thereupon cancelled his first order, and, at 1.15 p.m., issued fresh orders directing the LIVth Division _to send in one of their own Brigades_ as an advance guard to clear the ground up to a point East of Anafarta Ova. Braithwaite stayed at Corps Headquarters at Suvla until this Brigade, the 163rd, was moving on Anafarta Ova driving the snipers before them. Mahon, too, after sitting for three days where I left him on the morning of the 9th, has got tired of looking at the gendarmes and has carried their trenches by the forbidden frontal bayonet charge without much trouble or loss although, naturally, these trenches have been strengthened during the interval. Amidst these tactical miss-fires entered Hankey. He has had a cable from his brother Secretary, Bonham Carter, saying the Prime Minister wishes him to stay on longer and that Lord K. would like to know if he can do anything to give an impetus to the operations. Hankey showed me this cable; also his answer:-- * * * * * "Reference your 6910. I am glad to stay as desired. The chief thing you could send to help the present operations would be more ammunition. For supplies already sent everyone is most grateful. It is also important that units should be kept up to strength. "As General Officer Commanding has already apprised you fully of the situation I have nothing to add." In the Gordons' Mess "a Marine" used to stand as synonym for emptiness. Asquith's "Marine"[9] is the reverse. Into two sentences totalling 27 words he boils down the drift of hundreds of cables and letters. _13th August, 1915. Imbros._ Well, I must put it down. Worked till lunch. In the afternoon, left in H.M.S. _Arno_ and sailed over to Suvla to have a last look over the _band-o-bast_ for to-morrow's twice to-morrowed effort. First, saw the Admiral and Commodore who are simply dancing with impatience. No wonder. Whether or no Kavak Tepe summit gives a useful outlook on to the back of Sari Bair and the Dardanelles, at least it will give us the whip hand of the guns on the Anafarta ridge and save our ships from the annoying attentions they are beginning to receive. The sailors think too they have worked out an extra good scheme for ship and shore guns. Stopford then came aboard; in the mood he was in aboard the _Jonquil_ on the 8th,--only more so! The Divisional Generals are without hope, that is the text of his sermon. Hopeless about to-night, or to-morrow, that is to say; for there are rosy visions and to spare for next week, or the week after, or any other time, so long as it is not too near us. There is something in this beats me. We are alive--we are quite all right--the Brigade of the LIVth sent on to Kuchuk Anafarta Ova made good its point. True, one battalion got separated from its comrades in the forest and was badly cut up by Turkish snipers just as was Braddock's force by the Redskins, but this, though tragic, is but a tiny incident of a great modern battle and the rest of the 163rd Brigade have not suffered and hold the spot whence, it was settled, the attack on Kavak Tepe should jump off. Nothing practical or tactical seems to have occurred to force us to drop our plan. But no; Stopford and Reed count the LIIIrd Division as finished: the LIVth incapable of attack; the rest of the IXth Corps immovable. If I accept; we have lost this battle. We are not beaten now--the men are not--but if I accept, we are held up. There is no way out. Whether there is any good looking back even for one moment, God knows; I doubt it! But I feel so acutely, I seem to see so clearly, where our push for Constantinople first began to quit the rails, that I must put it down right here. The moment was when I asked for Rawlinson or Byng, and when, in reply, the keen, the young, the fit, the up-to-date Commanders were all barred, simply and solely that Mahon should not be disturbed in his Divisional Command. I resisted it very strongly: I went so far as to remind K. in my cable of his own sad disappointment at Bloemfontein when he (K.) had offered him a Cavalry Brigade and he returned instead to his appointment in the Sudan. The question that keeps troubling me is, ought I to have fought it further; ought I to have resigned sooner than allow generals old and yet inexperienced to be foisted on to me? These stories about the troops? I do not accept them. The troops have lost heavily but they are right if there were leaders. I know quite well both Territorial Divisions. I knew them in England that is to say. Since then, they have had their eyes picked out. They have been through the strainer and the best officers and men and the best battalions have been serving for months past in France. The three show battalions in the 54th (Essex) Division are in France and their places have been taken by the 10th and 11th London and by the 8th Hants. Essex is good; London is good and Hants is good; but the trinity is not Territorial. The same with the Welshmen. Yet even so; taking these Territorials as they are; a scratch lot; half strength; no artillery; not a patch upon the original Divisions as I inspected them in England six months ago; even so, they'd fight right enough and keen enough if they were set fair and square at their fence. In the fight of the 10th the Welshmen were not given a chance. Sent in on a narrow front--jammed into a pocket;--as they began to climb the spur they caught it from the guns, rifles and machine guns on both flanks. We might still do something with a change of commanders. But I have been long enough Military Secretary both in India and at home to realize that ruthlessness here is apt to be a two-edged sword. You can't clap a new head on to old shoulders without upsetting circulation and equilibrium. Still, I would harden my heart to it now--to-night--were not my hands tied by Mahon's seniority. Mahon is the next senior--in the whole force he stands next to myself. Had not Bruce Hamilton been barred by the P.M. when I wanted to put him in vice Hunter-Weston at Helles, the problem would be simple enough. Even if I had not, at the outset, given that well-tried, thrusting old fighter the conduct of the Suvla enterprise, at least I would have brought him in on the morning of the 9th instant quite easily and without causing any upset to anyone or anything. He ranks both Stopford and Mahon and nothing would have been simpler than to let him bring up a contingent of troops from Helles, when, automatically, he would have taken command in the Suvla area. What it would have meant to have had a man imbued with the attack spirit at the head of this IXth Corps would have been just--victory! Anchored at 9 p.m. and, before going to bed, sent following cable:-- * * * * * "From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. "The result of my visit to the IXth Corps, from which I am just back, has bitterly disappointed me. There is nothing for it but to allow them time to rest and reorganize, unless I force Stopford and his Divisional Generals to undertake a general action for which, in their present frame of mind, they have no heart. In fact, these generals are unfit for it. With exceeding reluctance I am obliged to give them time to rest and reorganize their troops. "Though we were to repeat our landing operations a hundred times, we would never dare hope to reproduce conditions so favourable as to put one division ashore under cover of dark and, as the day broke, have the next division sailing in to its support. No advantage was taken of these favourable conditions and, for reasons which I can only explain by letter, the swift advance was not delivered,--therefore, the mischief is done. Until we are ready to advance again, reorganized and complete, we must go slow." _14th August, 1915. Imbros._ Before breakfast, Braithwaite brought me a statement of our interview of last night with Stopford. He dictated it, directly he got back last night; i.e., about three hours after the event. I agree with every word:-- * * * * * "Notes of an interview which took place on board H.M.S. _Triad_ between 6 and 7 p.m. on the 13th August, 1915, between the General Commanding and Sir Frederick Stopford, commanding 9th Corps. _Present_:-- General Sir Ian Hamilton, G.C.B., D.S.O., A.D.C., Lieut.-General Hon. Sir Frederick Stopford, K.C.M.G., etc., Major-General Braithwaite, C.B. * * * * * "Sir Frederick represented that the 9th Corps were not fit to undertake an advance at the present moment. Questioned why, he replied that the losses had been considerable, that the disorganization of units was very great, and that the length of the line he had to hold was all too thinly held as it was. He stated that his Divisional Generals were entirely of the same opinion as himself; in fact, he gave us completely the impression that they were 'not for it,' but he only specifically mentioned Hammersley and Lindley. He said water was no difficulty. He implied that the troops were getting better every day, and given time to rest and reorganize, he thought they would be able in time to make an advance. But he was very emphatic on the point that at present such a thing as an attack had practically no chance of success. He told us that the opposition in the centre about Anafarta Ova could no longer be classed as sniping, but that it was regular opposition. But as he also told us that his landing was an opposed landing, I think perhaps that during the short time he has been on active service in this country he has not quite realized what opposition really means. But the salient fact remains that none of his Divisional Generals who would be employed in the attack thought that that attack would have any chance of success whatever. Indeed, he saw every difficulty, and though he kept saying that he was an optimist, he foresaw every bad thing that could possibly happen and none of the bright spots. It was a most depressing interview, but it left no doubt in the minds of the hearers that it would be quite useless to order an attack to be undertaken by a Commander and Divisional Generals whose hearts were confessedly not in it, who saw a Turk behind every bush, a battalion behind every hill, and a Brigade behind every mountain." At lunch time Lord K. answered my last night's cable:-- * * * * * "If you should deem it necessary to replace Stopford, Mahon and Hammersley, have you any competent Generals to take their place? From your report I think Stopford should come home. "This is a young man's war, and we must have commanding officers that will take full advantage of opportunities which occur but seldom. If, therefore, any Generals fail, do not hesitate to act promptly. "Any Generals I have available I will send you." Close on the top of this tardy appreciation of youth, comes another cable from him saying he has asked French to let me have Byng, Horne and Kavanagh. "I hope," he says, "Stopford has been relieved by you already." Have cabled back thanking him with all my heart; saying I shall be glad of the Generals he mentions as "Byng, Kavanagh and Horne are all flyers." Between them, these two messages have cleared the air. Mahon's seniority has been at the root of this evil. K.'s conscience tells him so and, therefore, he pricks his name now upon the fatal list. But he did not know, when he cabled, that Mahon had done well. I shall replace Stopford forthwith by de Lisle and chance Mahon's seniority. De Robeck came over for an hour in the evening. Lord and Lady Brassey arrived in the _Sunbeam_, together with two young friends. They have both of them shown great enterprise in getting here. The dear old man gave me a warm greeting, but also something of a shock by talking about our terrible defeat: by condoling and by saying I had been asked to do the impossible. I have _not_ been asked to do anything impossible in taking Constantinople. The feat is perfectly feasible. For the third time since we began it trembled in the balance a week ago. Nor is the capture of Suvla Bay and the linking up thereof with Anzac a defeat: a cruel disappointment, no doubt, but not a defeat; for, two more such defeats, measured in mere acreage, will give us the Narrows. A doctor at Kephalos, it seems, infected them with this poison of despondency. In their _Sunbeam_ they will make first class carriers. _15th August, 1915. Imbros._ De Lisle has come over to relieve Stopford. He has got his first instructions[10] and is in close communication with myself and General Staff on the preparations for the next move which will be supported by the Yeomanry from Egypt and by some more artillery. I had meant to make time to run across to Suvla to-day but Stopford may wish to see me on his way to Mudros so I shall sit tight in case he does. Cables to and from K. about our new Generals. Byng, Maude and Fanshawe are coming. A brilliant trio. All of the three Fanshawe brothers are good; this one worked under me on Salisbury Plain. Maude is splendid! Byng will make every one happy; he never spares himself. K. has agreed to let de Lisle hold the command of the 9th Corps until Byng turns up. He wants Birdie to take over the control of the whole of the Northern theatre, i.e., Anzac and Suvla. I must think over this. Meanwhile, have cabled back, "I am enchanted to hear Byng, Maude and Fanshawe are coming--I could wish for no better men." Sent also following which explains itself:-- * * * * * "When I appointed de Lisle to command temporarily the IXth Corps I sent the following telegram to Mahon:-- * * * * * "'Although de Lisle is junior to you, Sir Ian hopes that you will waive your seniority and continue in command of the Xth Division, at any rate during the present phase of operations.' "To this Mahon sent the following reply:-- * * * * * "'I respectfully decline to waive my seniority and to serve under the officer you name. Please let me know to whom I am to hand over the command of the Division.' "Consequently, I have appointed Brigadier-General F. F. Hill to command temporarily the Division and have ordered Mahon to go to Mudros to await orders. Will you please send orders as to his disposal. As Peyton is not due from Egypt till 18th August, he was not in any case available." Also:-- * * * * * "Personal. You will like to know that the XIIIth Division is said to have fought very well and with great tenacity of spirit. In many instances poor company leading is said to have been responsible for undue losses." _16th August, 1915. Imbros._ A great press of business. Amongst other work, have written a long cable home giving them the whole story up to date. Lots of petty troubles. Stopford goes to Mudros direct. De Lisle makes a thorough overhaul at Suvla. Glyn and Hankey both looked in upon me. It is a relief to have an outsider of Hankey's calibre on the spot. He said, "Thank God!" when he heard of K.'s cable, and urged Birdie should be told off to take Suvla in hand, in his stead. I suppose the G.S. have let him get wind of K.'s identical suggestion. As I told Hankey, I have not yet made up my mind. But it would be an awkward job for Birdie with all the Anzacs to run, and no nearer Suvla really--in point of time--than we are. Nor is he staffed for so big a business. Hankey has been too long away from executive work to realize that difficulty. But the decisive factor is this; that having been closely associated with him and with his work for a good many years, I know as Hankey cannot know, how much of his strength lies in his personal touch and presence:--spread his powers too wide he loses that touch. Felt the better for my talk with Hankey. He can grasp the bigness of what we are up against and can yet keep his head and see that the game is worth the candle and that it is in our hands the moment we make up our minds to pay the price of the illuminant. Have written to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff saying:-- * * * * * "I have just been through a horrible mental crisis quite different from the ordinary anxiety of the battlefield, where I usually see what I think to be my way and chance it. I refer to Freddy Stopford. Here is a man who has committed no fault; whose life-long conscientious study of his profession has borne the best fruits in letting him see the right thing to do and how it should be done. And yet he fails when many a man possessing not one quarter of his military qualifications carries on with flying colours. For there is no use beating about the bush now and, simply, he was not big enough in character to face up to the situation. It overwhelmed him. * * * * * "A month ago we had the Turks down, undoubtedly and, whenever we could get a little ammunition together, we were confident we could take a line of trenches. As for their attacks, it was obvious their men were not for it. Now their four new Divisions of fine fighting material seem to have animated the whole of the rest of the force with their spirit, and the Turks have never fought so boldly as they are doing to-day. They are tough to crack, but D.V., we will be the tougher of the two." _17th August, 1915. Imbros._ From his cable of the 14th, K. seems prepared to see me relieve Mahon of his command. But Mahon is a fighter and if I give him time to think over things a bit at Mudros, he'll be sure to think better. I am sure the wisest course to take, is to take time. A Lieutenant-General in the British Army chucking up his command whilst his Division is actually under fire--is a very unhappy affair. Lord Bobs used to say that a soldier asked, for the good of the cause, to serve as a drummer boy under his worst enemy should do so not only with alacrity but with joy. Braithwaite agrees with me that we must just take the responsibility of doing nothing at all and of leaving him quietly to cool down at Mudros. Hill, who carries on, was the General in command at Mitylene when I inspected there; he is a good fellow; he was anxious to push on upon that fatal 7th August at Suvla and everyone says he is a stout fellow. Have got the name of the doctor who upset the Brasseys with his yarns. He declares he only retailed the tales of the wounded youngsters whom he tended. No more to be said. He has studied microbes extensively but one genus has clearly escaped his notice: he has never studied or grasped the fell methods of the microbes of rumour or panic. Am I sure that I myself have not crabbed my own show a bit in telling the full story of our fight to K. this afternoon? No, I am by no means sure. "(No. M.F. 562.) From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. Have thought it best to lay the truth fully before you, and am now able to give a complete _résumé_ of the past week's operations, and an appreciation of the situation confronting me. "In broad outline, my plan was to hold the Turks in the Southern zone by constant activity of French and VIIIth Corps, and to throw all the reinforcements into the Northern zone with the object of defeating the enemy opposite Anzac, seizing a new base at Suvla, and gaining a position astride the narrow part of the peninsula. With this object, I reinforced General Birdwood with the XIIIth Division, 29th Brigade, Xth Division, and 29th Indian Brigade, all of which were secretly dribbled ashore at Anzac Cove on the three nights preceding commencement of operations. This was done without arousing the suspicions of the enemy. Arrangements were made for the XIth Division to land at Suvla Bay on the same night as General Birdwood commenced his attack. Meanwhile, the Turks were deceived by ill-concealed preparations for landings on Asiatic coast near Mitylene, at Enos, South of Gaba Tepe. "Following is detailed plan of operations:-- * * * * * "On the afternoon of 6th August the VIIIth Corps were to attack Krithia trenches, and simultaneously General Birdwood was to attack Lone Pine trenches on his right front, as though attempting to break out in this direction. In this way it was hoped to draw the Turkish reinforcements towards Krithia and Gaba Tepe and away from Anzac's left and Suvla Bay. At 10 p.m. General Birdwood's main attack was to develop on his left flank, the Turkish outposts were to be rushed and an advance made in several columns up the precipitous ravines leading to Chunuk Bair and the summit of Hill 305, which it was hoped might be captured before daybreak. "As soon as the high ridge was in our hands an advance was to be made down the Hill 305 to take in the rear the trenches on Baby 700 (see enlarged map of Anzac positions) and at the same time the troops in the original Anzac position were to attack all along the line in an endeavour to break out and hurl the enemy off the Sari Bair. Meanwhile the XIth Division was to commence landing 10.30 p.m. on 6th August, one brigade inside Suvla Bay, two brigades on shore to South were to seize and hold all hills covering Bay and especially Yilghin Burnu and Ismail Oglu Tepe on which enemy were believed to have guns which could bring fire to bear either on back of General Birdwood's advance on Hill 305, or on Suvla Bay. The ridge from Anafarta Sagir to Aja Liman was also to be lightly held. The Xth Division, less one brigade, was to follow XIth Division at daybreak and LIIIrd Division was held in general reserve. The LIVth Division had not arrived and could not be employed in the first instance. "The moment Stopford had fulfilled the above tasks, which, owing to the small number of the enemy in this neighbourhood and the absence of any organized system of trenches, were considered comparatively easy, he was to advance South-west through Biyuk Anafarta with the object of assisting Birdwood in the event of his attack being held up. "Reliable information indicated the strength of the enemy about Suvla Bay to be one regiment, one squadron and some Gendarmerie with at most twelve guns, and events have shown that this estimate was correct. It was also believed that the enemy had 36,000 in the Southern zone, 27,000 against Anzac, and 37,000 in reserve. Also 45,000 near Keshan who could not arrive for three days and 10,000 on Asiatic shore. "The attack by the VIIIth Corps opposite Krithia took place as arranged, but was met by determined opposition. Some enemy trenches were captured, but the Turks were found in great strength and full of fight. They counter-attacked repeatedly on the night of 6th/7th, and eventually regained the ground we had taken. Prisoners captured stated that the Turks had planned to attack us that night in any case which accounts for their strength. "In the Northern zone General Birdwood's afternoon attack was successful and Lone Pine trenches were captured by a most gallant Australian assault. Throughout the day, and for three successive days the enemy made repeated attempts to recapture the position, but each time were repulsed with severe loss. At 10 p.m. the main advance on the left flank by the New Zealanders, XIIIth Division, 29th Brigade and Cox's Brigade began, and in spite of stupendous difficulties, moving by night in most difficult country, all enemy's posts in foot of hills were rushed and captured up to and including Damakjelik Bair. The enemy was partly surprised, but his reinforcements were all called up, and this, coupled with the extreme difficulty of the country, made it impossible to reach the crest of the hill that day or the following. The position immediately below the crest, however, was reached, and on the morning of the 8th, after severe fighting, two battalions of the XIIIth Division and Gurkhas reached the top of Kurt Ketchede, and two battalions of New Zealanders established themselves on the crest of the ridge at Chunuk Bair. "Unfortunately, the troops on Kurt Ketchede were shelled off the ridge by our own gun fire, and were unable to recapture it; and 48 hours later two battalions of the XIIIth Division, who had relieved tired New Zealanders on Chunuk Bair, were driven back by determined daybreak assault, carried by the Turks in many successive lines, shoulder to shoulder. Our troops were too weary, and much too disorganized to make a counter-attack at that time, and could only maintain positions below crest. Water supply, which had always been an anxiety, began to fail, and grave difficulties arose which prevented the possibility of reinforcing Birdwood, and almost necessitated our giving up our gains. All this, however, has now been put right. "Meanwhile, Stopford's Corps at Suvla had landed most successfully, but, owing to lack of energy and determination on the part of leaders, and, perhaps, partly to the inexperience of the troops, had failed to take advantage of the opportunities as already reported. "The result is that my coup has so far failed. It was soon realized that it was necessary to give impetus to the IXth Corps, and the LIIIrd Division was put in on 8th-9th. By this time the LIVth Division was available as general reserve. Unfortunately, the LIIIrd Division broke in my hand, leaving me like a fencer with rapier broken, and by the time the LIVth Division arrived the remaining troops of the Corps were too tired and disorganized for further immediate effort. "The IXth Corps holds the position from Kiretch Tepe Sirt, bench mark 2; Sulajik; Yilghin Burnu, with right flank thrown south to connect with Birdwood at Kazlar Chair. Godley has picket between Kazlar Chair and Damakjelik Bair, whence his line runs South-east to the spur South of Abdel Rahman Bair, thence South-west to square 80 D, South-east again to within 300 yards of Point 161 on Chunuk Bair, and thence back to the left of the Anzac position. "De Lisle has at his disposal the Xth Division, less one brigade, the XIth, LIIIrd and LIVth Divisions; total rifles, owing to casualties, under 30,000. The Suvla losses have been too severe considering extent and nature of the fighting that has taken place, and can only be attributed to the inexperience of the troops and their leaders, and the daring way in which the enemy skirmishers presumed upon it in the broken and wooded country. Birdwood has lost about 13,000 since the action began, and has now available some 25,000 rifles. The VIIIth Corps has 23,000 rifles, and the French 17,000 rifles. "The Turks have continued to be most active in the South, no doubt with the object of preventing us moving troops, but apparently they have now no more than 35,000 in this zone. The majority of the enemy Commander's troops are against Anzac and in reserve in the valley between Hills 305 and 261, his strategic flank. "In the Northern zone, in the fighting line at Suvla and Anzac and in reserve he may now have in all 75,000, and can either reinforce Hill 305 or issue through the gap between the two Anafartas to oppose any attack on Ismail Oglu Tepe or on the ridge running thence to Anafarta Sagir. He has guns on Hill 305, on Ismail Oglu Tepe, and on the ridge North of Anafarta Sagir from which he can shell landing places at Suvla Bay, but is not holding the latter ridge in strength, nor do I think he has enough troops to enable him to do so. "The position regarding the Turkish reinforcements from Keshan is not clear. Only small parties have been located by aeroplanes marching South, and it appears that either this information was incorrect or that the enemy's forces had already got as far as the peninsula before fighting began. "I consider it urgently necessary to seize Ismail Oglu Tepe and Anafarta Sagir at the earliest possible moment, and I have ordered de Lisle to make the attempt at the earliest opportunity. I have also ordered Birdwood to make a fresh attack on Hill 305 as soon as troops are reorganized and the difficulties of water supply solved, but for this he will require drafts and fresh troops. I have great hopes that these attacks may yet be successful, but it is impossible to disguise the fact that owing to the failure of the IXth Corps to take advantage of opportunities and the fact that surprise may now be absent, and that the enemy is prepared and in much greater strength, my difficulties are enormously increased. In any case my cadres will be so depleted as a result of action that I shall need large reinforcements to enable me to bring the operations to a happy conclusion. "The Turkish losses have been heavier than ours, and the total number of prisoners taken is 702, but I estimate that they have now in the peninsula at least 110,000 rifles to my 95,000 and they have all the advantage of position. They have, apparently, all the ammunition they need and obtain reinforcements as they are wanted. In particular, we have had no news of the arrival of the 45,000 troops reported to be at Keshan, and only one of the Asiatic Divisions has as yet come over. I had hoped that their reinforcements would be of poor quality and not a match for ours but this is not the case, and unfortunately the Turks have temporarily gained the moral ascendency over some of our new troops. If, therefore, this campaign is to be brought to an early and successful conclusion large reinforcements will have to be sent to me--drafts for the formations already here, and new formations with considerably reduced proportion of artillery. It has become a question of who can slog longest and hardest. "Owing to the difficulty of carrying on a winter campaign, and the lateness of the season, these troops should be sent immediately. My British Divisions are at present 45,000 under establishment, exclusive of about 9,000 promised or on the way. If this deficit were made up, and new formations totalling 50,000 rifles sent out as well, these, with the 60,000 rifles which I estimate I shall have at the time of their arrival, should give me the necessary superiority, unless the absence of other enemies allows the Turks to bring up large additional reinforcements. "I hope you will realize how nearly this operation was a success complete beyond anticipation. The surprise was complete, and the army was thrown ashore in record time, practically without loss, and a little more push on the part of the IXth Corps would have relieved the pressure on Anzac, facilitated the retention of Chunuk Bair, secured Suvla Bay as a port, and threatened the enemy's right in a way that should have enabled Anzac to turn a success into a great victory. "We are up against the Turkish Army which is well commanded and fighting bravely." After all's said and done the troops at Helles and Anzac are still perfectly game and we have got nearer our goal. We started forth to:-- * * * * * (1) Seize Suvla Bay; (2) Break out of Anzac and join on to Suvla; (3) Seize Sari Bair crestline; (4) Hold enough of the hinterland of Suvla Bay to make it a comfortable harbour. * * * * * (1) and (2) we have carried through handsomely. We have trebled our holding at Anzac and we have put Suvla Bay in our pocket. (3) we have not done; we are short of it by a couple of hundred yards; (4) we have not done; it is a practicable harbour but subject certainly to annoyance. In honest, gambler's language, we have won a good stake but we have not broke the Ottoman Bank. De Lisle reports confusion throughout Suvla Bay area. He _must_ have three or four days to pull the troops together before he organizes a fresh offensive. The IXth Corps has been _un corps sans tête_. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 9: Hankey belonged to the Royal Marine Artillery.--IAN H., 1920.] [Footnote 10: See Appendix IV containing actual letter of instructions.--IAN H., 1920.] CHAPTER XVII THE LAST BATTLE _18th August, 1915. Imbros._ Freddie and I left in the _Arno_ this morning; Braithwaite and his boy Val came with us. We sailed for Suvla _via_ Anzac and held a meeting which was nearer a Council of War than anything up to date. Dawnay, Deedes and Beadon stood by; so did Generals Skeen, Hammersley and Peyton. Reed, C.G.S., IXth Corps, was also present. The discussion of the steps to be taken within the next two or three days lasted an hour and a half. Every one who spoke had studied the data and the ground and there was no divergence of view, which was a comfort. Our attack will have as its objective the seizure of a foothold on the high ground. Anzacs will co-operate. As I explained to the Generals, we hardly dare hope to make a clean break through till drafts and fresh munitions arrive as the Turks now have had too long to dig in. But if we can seize and keep a point upon the watershed (however small) from which we can observe the drop of our shell, we can knock out the landing places of the Turks. At the end, I told them I had asked for 95,000 fresh rifles, 50,000 in new formations, 45,000 to bring my skeleton units up to strength, adding, that if I was refused that help then I felt Government had better get someone cleverer than myself to put their Fleet into the Marmora. The Generals seemed satisfied with my demands and sympathetic towards my personal attitude. As to the coming attack, the tone of the Conference was hopeful. They agreed that the nut was hard for our enfeebled forces to crack, but they seemed to think that if we were once to get the enemy on the run, with the old 29th Division and the new, keen Yeomanry on their heels, we might yet go further than we expected. One Brigade of the 29th Division has been brought round from Helles to put shape and form into the 53rd Division. Peyton's men are to be attached to the Irish Division. There is a new spirit of energy and hope in the higher ranks but the men have meanwhile been aimlessly marched and counter-marched, muddled, and knocked about so that their spirit has suffered in consequence. No end of Yeomen on the beaches; the cream of agricultural England. Many of them recognized me from my various home inspections. Would like very much to have had a war inspection, but the enemy gunners are too inquisitive. De Lisle tells me he has now been round every corner of Suvla and that the want of grip throughout the higher command has been worse than he dared to put on paper. To reorganize will take several weeks; but we have to try and act within two or three days. Skeen told us that when the Turks stuck up a placard saying Warsaw had fallen, the Australians gave three hearty cheers. The chief trouble in making plans for the coming attack lies in the want of cover on, and for a mile inland of, the Suvla Bay beaches. The whole stretch of the flat land immediately East and South of the Bay lies open to the Turkish gunners. This is no longer a serious drawback if the men are holding lines of trenches. But when the trench system is not yet in working order, and they want to deploy, then it is so awkward a factor that I would have been prepared to turn the whole battle into a night attack. The others were not for it. They thought that the troops were not highly enough trained and had lost too many officers to be able to find their way over this country in the darkness. They are in immediate touch with the men: I am not. Lindley asked if he might walk with me to the Beach, and on the way down he told me frankly his Division had gone to pieces and that he did not feel it in himself to pull it together again. Very fine of him to make a clean breast of it, I thought, and said so: also advised him to put what he had told me into writing to de Lisle, when we will relieve him and I promised for my part, to try and fit him with some honourable but less onerous job. On Hammersley's report, Sitwell, Brigadier of the 34th Brigade, 11th Division, has just been relieved of his command. _19th August, 1915. Imbros._ Sat sweating here, literally and metaphorically, from morn till dewy eve. King's Messenger left in the evening. Altham came over from Mudros. He stays to-night and we will work together to-morrow when the mails are off my mind. Hankey dined and left with the King's Messenger by the _Imogene_. He has been a real help. The Staff has never quite cottoned to the chief among us takin' notes, but that is, I think, from a notion that it is not loyal to Lord K. to press the P.M.'s P.S. too closely to their bosom. From my personal standpoint, it will be worth anything to us if, amidst the flood of false gossip pouring out by this very mail to our Dardanelles Committee, to the Press, to Egypt and to London Drawing Rooms, we have sticking up out of it, even one little rock in the shape of an eye-witness. A shocking aeroplane smash up within a few yards of us. A brilliant young Officer (Captain Collet of the R.F.C.) killed outright and three men badly hurt. _20th August, 1915._ Stayed in my tent keeping an eye on to-morrow. Put through a lot with Altham. Am pressing him to hurry up with his canteens at Helles, Anzac and Suvla. In May I cabled the Q.M.G. begging him either to let me run a canteen on the lines of the South African Field Force Canteen, myself; or, to run it from home, himself; or, to put the business into the hands of some private firm like the Mess and Canteen Company, or Lipton's, or Harrods or anything he liked. In South Africa we could often buy something. In France our troops can buy anything. Here, had they each the purse of Fortunatus, they could buy nothing. A matter this, I won't say of life and death, but of sickness and health. Now, after three months without change of diet, the first canteen ship is about due. A mere flea bite of £10,000 worth. I am sending the whole of it to the Anzacs to whom it will hardly be more use than a bun is to a she bear. Only yesterday a letter came in from Birdie telling me that the doctors all say that the sameness of the food is making the men sick. The rations are A.1., but his men now loathe the very look of them after having had nothing else for three months. Birdie says, "If we could only get this wretched canteen ship along, and if, when she comes she contains anything like condiments to let them buy freely from her, I believe it would make all the difference in the world. But the fact remains that at present we cannot count on anything like a big effort from the men who have been here all these months." De Robeck came over at 4 p.m., by formal appointment, to talk business, and deadly serious business at that! He has heard, by cable I suppose, that the people at home will see him through if he sees his way to strike a blow with the Fleet. He takes this as a pretty strong hint to push through, or, to make some sort of a battleship attack to support us. De Robeck knows that when the Fleet goes in our fighting strength goes up. But he can gauge, as I cannot, the dangers the Fleet will thereby incur. Every personal motive urges me to urge him on. But I have no right to shove my oar in--no right at all--until I can say that we are done unless the Fleet do make an attack. Can I say so? No; if we get the drafts and munitions we can still open the Straits on our own and without calling on the sister Service for further sacrifice. So I fell back on first principles and said he must attack if he thought it right from the naval point of view but that we soldiers did not call for succour or ask him to do anything desperate: "You know how we stand," I said; "do what is right from the naval point of view and as to what _is_ right from that point of view, I am no judge." The Admiral went away: I have been no help to him but I can't help it. Hardly had he gone when Braithwaite (who had heard what was in the wind by a side wind) came and besought me to try and induce the Admiral to slip his battleships at the Straits. All the younger men of war are dying to have a dash, he said. That's as it may be but my mind is clear. If a sailor on land is a fish out of water, a soldier at sea is like a game cock in a duckpond. When de Robeck said on March 22nd he wanted the help of the whole Army that was quite in order. He would not have been in order--at least, I don't think so--had he said in what manner he wanted the Army to act after it had got ashore. We are being helped now by the Navy; daily, hourly: we could not exist without the Fleet; but it is not for me to say I think the battleships should or should not take chances of mines and torpedoes. Brodrick is quite seedy. We are all afraid he won't be able to stick it out much longer although he is making the most heroic efforts. In the morning I attended the funeral of young Collet, killed yesterday so tragically. A long, slow march through heavy sand all along the beach to Kephalos; then up through some small rocky gullies, frightfully hot, until, at last, we reached a graveyard. The congregation numbered many of the poor boy's comrades who seemed much cut up about his untimely end. The P.M. has answered my cable to Lord K. asking for 45,000 rifles to fill up and for 50,000 fresh rifles. K. is in France, he says, and I will have my answer when he gets back. The 5th Royal Scots are down to 289 rank and file. I have just cabled about them. Something must be done. Certainly it must be "out" for that particular unit if they don't very soon get some men. The War Office still refer to them as a Battalion! _21st August, 1915._ Sailed for Suvla about 1 o'clock with Braithwaite, Aspinall, Dawnay, Deedes, Ellison, Pollen and Maitland. The first time I have set forth with such a Staff. Not wishing to worry de Lisle, I climbed up to the Karakol Dagh, whence I got something like a bird's eye view of the arena which was wrapt from head to foot in a mantle of pearly mist. Assuredly the Ancients would have ascribed this phenomenon to the intervention of an Immortal. Nothing like it had ever been seen by us until that day and the cloud--mist--call it what you will--must have had an unfortunate bearing on the battle. On any other afternoon the enemy's trenches would have been sharply and clearly lit up, whilst the enemy's gunners would have been dazzled by the setting sun. But under this strange shadow the tables were completely turned; the outline of the Turkish trenches were blurred and indistinct, whereas troops advancing from the �gean against the Anafartas stood out in relief against a pale, luminous background. As a result of our instructions; of conferences and of the war council we had got our plan perfectly clear and ship-shape. Everyone understood it. The 10th Division was Corps reserve and was lying down in mass about the old Hill 10 in the scrub. We had to trust to luck here as they were under the enemy's fire if they were spotted. But very strict orders as to keeping low and motionless had been issued and we had just to hope for the best. The Yeomanry were also Corps reserve at Lala Baba where they were safe. But when they advanced, supposing they had to, they would have to cross a perfectly open plain under shell fire. This was the special blot on the scheme but there was no getting away from it. There was no room for them in the front line trenches and communication trenches to the front had not yet been dug. As to the attack:--on the extreme right the Anzacs and Indian Brigade were to push out from Damakjelik Bair towards Hill 60. Next to them in the right centre the 11th Division was to push for the trenches at Hetman Chair. On the left centre the 29th Division were to storm the now heavily entrenched Hill 70. Holding that and Ismail Oglu Tepe we should command the plateau between the two Anafartas; knock out the enemy's guns and observation posts commanding Suvla Bay, and should easily be able thence to work ourselves into a position whence we will enfilade the rear of the Sari Bair Ridge and begin to get a strangle grip over the Turkish communications to the Southwards. From the extreme left on Kiretch Tepe Sirt by the sea, to Sulajik where they joined the 29th Division the 53rd and 54th Divisions were simply holding the line. Only the broad outline of the fighting was visible through the dim twilight atmosphere and I have not yet got any details. Our bombardment began at 2.30 and lasted till 3 p.m., very inadequate in duration but the most our munitions would run to. Then, to the accompaniment of quick battery salvoes of shrapnel from the enemy and a heavy rattle of musketry, the whole line from about a mile due East of the Easternmost point of the Salt Lake down to Damakjelik Bair, nearly two miles, began to stir and move Eastwards. We had the joy of seeing the Turks begin to clear out of the trenches on Hill 70, and by 3.30 p.m. it seemed as if distinct progress was being made: about that time it was I saw the Yeomen marching in extended order over the open ground to the South of the Salt Lake in the direction of Hetman Chair. The enemy turned a baddish shrapnel fire on to them, and although they bore it most unflinchingly, old experience told me that their nervous fighting energy was being used up all the time. If only these men could have been brought within charging distance, fresh and unbroken by any ordeal! But here was just one of the drawbacks of the battlefield and no getting over it. After a bit, I went down to de Lisle and found him sitting on a little spur about fifty yards from his own Headquarters with one of his Staff Officers. He was smoking a pipe--quite calm. There is usually nothing to be said or to be done once our war dogs have been slipped. A soldier might as well try to correct the aim of his bullet after he has pulled the trigger! Whilst I was there we heard--probably about 4.30--that the 11th Division had captured the Turkish first line trenches which run North and South of Hetman Chair. Real good news this. We were considerably bucked up. Climbed back to Karakol Dagh but, from that time onwards, could make out nothing of the course of the battle save that Ismail Oglu Tepe was not yet taken. As to Knoll 70, it was completely shrouded in dust and smoke. Sometimes it seemed as if the Turkish guns were firing against it; sometimes we thought they were our own. Far away by Kaiajik Aghala things looked well as many enemy shrapnel were bursting there or thereabouts showing our men must have got home. By 6.30 it had become too dark to see anything. The dust mingling with the strange mist, and also with the smoke of shrapnel and of the hugest and most awful blazing bush fire formed an impenetrable curtain. As the light faded the rifles and guns grew silent. So I clambered down off my perch and went again to de Lisle's post of command where I found him still sitting. He had seen no more than I had seen. The bulk of our reserves had been thrown in. No more news had come to hand. All was quiet now. Our _rôle_, in fact, was finished, and Marshall, the man on the spot, by now held our destinies in his hands. Firm hands too. The telephone was working all right and I told de Lisle to try and get a message through to him quickly saying that I hoped he would be able to dig in and hold fast to whatever he had gained. I have no fears about de Lisle's nerve; nor of Marshall's. Went on board and sailed for Headquarters, through darkness made visible by the fires blazing on the battlefield. No shooting. Got on the wires and found no news from Anzac nor more from de Lisle. Crossed backwards and forwards the best part of the night between my tent and the G.S. tent, but de Lisle had heard nothing definite enough to report. Brodrick still has fever. Ruthven has been wounded. _22nd August, 1915._ Suvla gone wrong again; Anzac right. Left G.H.Q. at 11 o'clock with Braithwaite, Commodore Keyes, Captain Phillimore, Aspinall, Beadon, Freddy and Val in the _Arno_ and went direct to Anzac. There I picked up Birdie and heard the Anzac part of the battle. The Indian Brigade have seized the well at Kabak Kuyu, and that fine soldier, Russell, fixed himself into Kaiajik Aghala and is holding on there tooth and nail. There was fighting going on there at the moment but Russell is confident. How delightful it is to have to deal with men who are confident! This success of old Cox's is worth anything. The well alone, I suppose, might be valued at twenty or thirty thousand a year seeing it gives us beautiful spring water in free gift from Mother Earth instead of very dubious fluid conveyed at God only knows what cost from the Nile to Anzac Cove. If we can only hold on to Kaiajik Aghala, then the road between Anzac and Suvla will be freed from the sniper's bullet. Went on to Suvla and landed with all my posse, remaining in consultation with Corps Headquarters till 3.30. Our attack on Hill 70 and Ismail Oglu Tepe has failed. The enemy has dug himself well in by now and, therefore, we depended far more on our gun fire than we did on the 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th. Unfortunately, the bombardment seems to have been pretty near futile--not the fault of the gunners, but simply because, on the one hand, the mist interfered with the accuracy of their aim, on the other, shortage of shell prevented them from making up for inaccuracy by quantity. Then the bush fires seem to have come along in the most terrible fashion and interposed between our brave 29th and the Turks. The ancient Gods fought against us yesterday:--mist and fire, still hold their own against the inventions of man. Last but not least, all are agreed the fine edge of the 11th Division has been at last blunted--and small wonder: there is no use attacking any more with the New Army until it has been well rested and refreshed with new drafts. So far de Lisle has no clear or connected story of the battle. The 29th Division say they were shouldered off their true line of attack by the 11th Division, then driven in by the fire; the 11th Division, on their side, say that the Yeomen barged into them and threw them off their line. Had we been able to dig in we would have made good a lot of ground. But Marshall, not showy or brilliant but one of my most sound and reliable soldiers, decided, although he knew my wishes and hopes, that the troops had got themselves so mixed up and disorganized that it would be imprudent. So orders were issued by him, on the battlefield, to fall back to the original line. There was neither use nor time to refer back to de Lisle and he had to come to the decision himself. I am quite confident he will be able to give good reasons for his act. Many of the men did not get the order and were still out at daylight this morning when they were heavily attacked by the Turks and fell back then of themselves into their old trenches. Another case of "as you were." We have lost a lot of men and can only hope that the Turks have lost as many. I don't think for a moment they did, not at least in the Suvla Bay sphere, but Cox and Russell claim to have accounted for a very great number of them in their first retreat and in their counter-attacks in the Southern sector of the battle. _23rd August, 1915. Imbros._ Not one moment, till to-day, to weigh bearing of K.'s message of the 20th instant,--the message sent me in reply to my appeal for 50,000 fresh troops and 45,000 drafts. In it K. tells me that a big push is going to take place in the Western theatre, and that I "must understand that no reinforcements of importance can be diverted from the main theatre of operations in France." Certain named transports are carrying, he says, more troops to Egypt, and he hopes Maxwell will be able to spare me some. If we can't get through with these we must hang on as best we may. To-day it has been up to us to try and bring home to the Higher Direction the possible effects of trying to do two things at once; i.e., break through in France and break through here. We are to stand aside for a month or so just when we have made a big gain of ground but not the decisive watershed gain; when the Turks, despite their losses in life, shell, trenches and terrain, are shaken only; not yet shattered. K. sees all the Allied cards--we don't. But we do know our own hand. We know that our Navy have now come clean down on the �gean side of the fence, and have determined once for all to make no attack on their own. We have the _feel_ of the situation in our bones and it was up to us--I _think_ it was--to rub it in that although the British War Direction may decree that the Dardanelles are to hang on without further help, indefinitely, yet sickness is not yet under their high command, nor are the Turks. So Dawnay, who is making a name for himself as a master of plain business diction, was told off to draft me an answer to the War Office which should remove as many beams as possible out of their optics. He overdid it: the whole tone of it indeed was despondent, so much so that, as I told Braithwaite, a S. of S. for War getting so dark a presentment of our prospects would be bound to begin to think it might be better to recall the whole expedition. So I rewrote the whole thing myself:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 578). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. We will endeavour to do the best possible with forces at our disposal; we quite understand reason for your inability to send us reinforcements necessary to bring operations to a successful conclusion, and thank you for putting it so plainly. After the failure of the IXth Corps to take prompt action after landing I took immediate steps to persevere with plan in spite of absence of surprise and reinforced northern wing with 2nd Mounted Division from Egypt and XXIXth Division from Cape Helles. These movements and the necessary reorganization of the IXth Corps formations which had become very mixed took time, so that I was not able to renew the attack until 21st August. "By then enemy positions in Ratilva Valley had been immeasurably strengthened and I was confronted with the difficulty that if I could not drive the Turks back between Anafarta Sagir and Biyuk Anafarta my new line from right of old Anzac position to sea coast North-east of Suvla Bay would be more than I could hold with the troops at my disposal. It would thus be a case of giving up either Anzac Cove or Suvla Bay. Therefore, as a preliminary step to my fresh offensive I determined to mass every man available against Ismail Oglu Tepe which position it was necessary for me to capture whether as a first step towards clearing the valley, or, if this proved impossible and I was thrown on the defensive, to secure comparative immunity from shell fire either for Suvla Bay or Anzac Cove. "De Lisle planned the attack well. The LIIIrd and the LIVth Divisions were to hold enemy from Sulajik to Kiretch Tepe Sirt, and XXIXth Division and XIth Division were to attack Ismail Oglu Tepe with two Brigades of Xth Division and the IInd Mounted Division (5,000 rifles) in corps reserve. I arranged that General Birdwood should co-operate by swinging his left flank to Susak Kuyu and Kaiajik Aghala. "The troops attacked with great dash and stormed the lower slopes of the hill in spite of strong entrenchments, but I regret to say they were not able to attain their objective nor even to consolidate the position gained and yesterday found the whole line back in their original trenches except the left of the Australians where one battalion of Gurkhas and new Australian Battalion continue to hold Susak Kuyu. Casualties not yet to hand, but I fear they amounted to some 6,000 in all. This renewed failure combined with the heavy total casualties since 6th August, and the fact that sickness has been greatly on the increase during the last fortnight has profoundly modified my position, and as you cannot now give me further reinforcements it is only possible for me to remain on the defensive. Naturally, I shall keep on trying to harry the Turks by local attacks and thus keep alive the offensive spirit but it must be stated plainly that no decisive success is to be looked for until such time as reinforcements can be sent. "The total casualties including sick since 6th August amount to 40,000, and my total force is now only 85,000, of which the fighting strength is 68,000. The French fighting strength is about 15,000. Sick casualties are becoming abnormal chiefly owing to troops other than late arrivals being worn out with hardship and incessant shell fire, from which even when in reserve they are never free. Where Anzac evacuated 100 a day they are now evacuating 500, where Royal Naval Division evacuated 10 they are now evacuating 60. The result is that I have only some 50,000 men in the North to hold a line from the right of Anzac to the sea North-east of Suvla, a distance of 23,000 yards. "When there is no serious engagement, but only daily trench fighting, the average net wastage from sickness and war is 24 per cent. of fighting strength per month. The Anzac Corps, the XXIXth Division and the XLIInd Division are very tired and need a rest badly. Keeping these conditions in view, it appears inevitable that within the next fortnight I shall be compelled to relinquish either Suvla Bay or Anzac Cove, and must also envisage the possibility of a still further reduction of my front in the near future. Taking the first question of abandoning Anzac Cove and closing to the North, Suvla Bay is now netted and comparatively secure from torpedo attack. Further, it offers certain facilities for disembarkation in winter gales. It has, therefore, some decided advantages but though I should be able to hold it safely at present, it would present no facilities for further contraction of my line to meet the future wastage of my force. On the other hand, by retiring South of Suvla I could first hold a line Lala Baba--Yilghin Burnu--Kaiajik Aghala, and then, when normal wastage diminished my strength below this limit I could, if necessary, withdraw into the original Anzac position. For these reasons it must probably be Suvla and not Anzac which must be given up, though on account of its advantages as indicated above, and on account of the moral effect of retiring, you may rely on my not relinquishing it a single day before I am compelled. "I do not wish to paint a gloomy picture. It is a simple problem of arithmetic and measurement. On the basis of normal wastage and the present scale of drafts my total fighting strength by the middle of December, including the French, will be only, say, 60,000. Of this force, a certain percentage must of necessity be resting off the peninsula, and the remainder will only suffice to hold Cape Helles and the original Anzac line unless, of course, the enemy collapses. Until now, however, the Turks replace casualties promptly, although frequently by untrained men. Also our other foe, sickness, may abate, but seeing how tired are the bulk of my force, I doubt if it would be wise to reckon on this." At 11.15, red hot from France, there arrived in camp Byng (to command the 9th Corps), Maude and Fanshawe (to command Divisions); also Tyrrell and Byng's A.D.C., Sir B. Brooke, nephew of my old friend, Harry Brooke. All three Generals remained for lunch and then the two Divisionals made off respectively to the 11th and 13th Divisions. Byng and Brooke stayed and dined. These fellows seem pretty cheery. Maude especially full of ardour which will, I hope, catch on. _24th August, 1915. Imbros._ Been resolving yesterday's long cable. How often it happens that a draft letter, if only it is well put, fixes the mind into its grooves. My words were brighter than Dawnay's but the backbone was not really me. No one knows better than myself that a great deal more than arithmetic or measurement will be needed to make me give ground at Suvla. The truth is, it is infinitely difficult to spur these high folk on without frightening them; and then, if you frighten them, you may frighten them too much. That's why cables are no substitutes for converse. To a Commander standing in my shoes, the forces of the infidels are not one half of the battle. The wobblers sit like nightmares on my chest. "Tell them the plain truth" cries conscience. What is the plain truth? Where is it? Is it in Dawnay's draft, or is it in my message, or does it lie stillborn in some cable unwritten? God knows--I don't! But one thing at least is true:--to steer a course between an optimism that deprives us of support and a pessimism that may wreck the whole enterprise, there indeed is a Scylla and Charybdis problem, a two-horned dilemma, or whatever words may best convey the notion of the devil. The blessed cable is now lying on the well-known desk where K. will frown at it through his enormous spectacles. Then he calls the Adjutant-General and tells him Hamilton must be mad as all his formations are full to overflowing and yet he says he is 45,000 short. Next enters the Master-General of the Ordnance with a polite bow and K. tells him Hamilton must be delirious as he keeps on raving for shell, bombs, grenades although as he, Von Donop, knows well, he has been sent more guns and explosives than any man has ever enjoyed in war. Impossible to be so disrespectful to the Field Marshal or so inconsiderate to their department as to reject the soft impeachment. How easily do the great ones of this world kid themselves back into a comfortable frame of mind! Then K. stalks off to the Dardanelles Committee. Turns out that Cox and Russell did even better than Birdwood had thought in the fighting on the 21st and the morning of the 22nd. They have killed more Turks and the line held runs well out to the North-east and quite a good long way to the North of Kaiajik Aghala. Byng left to take over his command. Davies came over from Helles and stayed for dinner. The _Imogene_ sailed in with Mails. News by wireless of German Naval defeat in the Baltic and Italian declaration of war against Turkey. Well, that part at least of K.'s aspirations has come off; we have dragged in Italy. Now--will she send us a contingent? Davies dined. With his ideas still framed on Western standards he puts it forcibly, not to say ferociously, that we must, must, _must_ be given our fair share of trench mortars, bombs and gun ammunition. Fresh from France he watched the artillery preparation at Helles and (although we had thought it rather grand) says we simply don't know what the word bombardment means. Instead of seeing, as in the Western theatre, an unbroken wall of flame and smoke rising above the enemy trenches about to be stormed, here he saw a sprinkling of shells bursting at intervals of 20 yards or so--a totally different effect. And yet the Turks are as tough as the Germans and take as much hammering! When I read the British Press, starved and yet muzzled, I feel as if I could render my country no better service than to kill my friend the Censor and write them one or two articles. By surprise either Army can bulge in a sector of the opposing lines but, until one Army loses its _moral_, neither Army can break through. An engine will be found to restore marches and manoeuvres but, at this historic moment, our tactics are at that stage. To break through, Armies must advance some six or seven miles; otherwise they can't bag the enemy's big guns. But, the backbone of their attack, their own guns, can't support them when they get beyond five or six miles. The enemy reserves come in; they come at last to a stop. A three or four mile advance _should_ be easy enough, but, in the West, that would mean just three or four miles of land; nothing more. But _here_, those three or four miles--nay, two or three miles--(so ineffective in France) are an objective in themselves; they give us the strategical hub of the universe--Constantinople! Suppose even that by paying the cost in lives we did succeed in driving the Germans over the Rhine, still we stand to gain less than by taking this one little peninsula! A quarter of the energy they are about to develop for the sake of getting back a few miles of _la belle France_ could give us Asia; Africa; the Balkans; the Black Sea; the mouths of the Danube: it would enable us to swap rifles for wheat with the Russians; more vital still, it would tune up the hearts of the Russian soldiery to the Anglo-Saxon pitch. Victory by killing Germans is a barbarous notion and a savage method. A thrust with small forces at a weak spot to bring the enemy to their knees by loss of provinces, resources and prestige is an artistic idea and a scientific stroke: the one stands for a cudgel blow, the other for rapier play. We take it for granted that we have to "push" in France and Flanders; that we _have_ to exhaust ourselves in forcing the invaders back over their own frontiers. Whereas, content to "hold" there, we might push wherever else we wished. I can well understand that a Frenchman should say, "Let the world go hang provided I get back my _Patrie_, whole; undivided and at once." Indeed, only the other day, one of the best French Generals here, after speaking of the decisive, world-embracing consequences of a victory at the Dardanelles, went on to say, "But we ought to be in France." Seeing my surprise he added, "Yes, I am quite illogical, I admit, but until our nine _departements_ are freed from the Boche, world strategy and tactics may go to the devil for me." Have been writing my weekly budget. Part of my letter to K. harks back to the first Suvla landing, and tries to give him a better notion of the failure to profit by the enemy's surprise. Not that I have yet got any very clear conception of the detail myself. No coherent narrative does, in fact, exist. New troops, new Staff, new Generals, heavy losses, have resulted in the confusions, gaps and contradictions still obscuring the story of those first few days. Now that I am getting more precise news about what fighting there was, it seems clear that this great mass of young, inexperienced troops failed simply because their leaders failed to grasp the urgency of the time problem when they got upon the ground, although, as far as orders and pen and ink could go, it had been made perfectly clear. But, in face of the Turk, things wore another and more formidable shape. Had Lord Bobs been Commander of the 9th Corps; yes, just think of it! How far my memory carries me back. Every item needed for the rapid advance: water, ammunition, supplies and mules closely and personally checked and counter-checked. Once the troops landed a close grip kept on the advance. At the first sign of a check nothing keeps him from the spot. The troops see him. In an hour they are up upon the crest. So far, so good. We had not another Lord Bobs and it would not have been reasonable of us to expect him. But when I come to the failure of the 21st, where I have a seasoning of Regulars--as well as a commander of energy--still we do not succeed. This time, no doubt, the enemy were on the scene in force and had done ten days' digging; the non-success, in fact, may be traced to the loss of the element of surprise; energy, in fact, was met by preparation. The battle had to be fought like a manoeuvre battle and yet the enemy were ready for us, more or less, and already fairly well entrenched. Since the morning of the 7th the chances had been rising steadily against us. Still, even so, the lack of precise detail baffles me almost as much as in the case of the first Suvla landing. CHAPTER XVIII MISUNDERSTANDINGS _25th August, 1915. Imbros._ Davies left for Helles at mid-day. Was to have gone with him but heard that Bailloud with Captain Lapruin would like to see me, so stayed to receive them. Have got K.'s answer to my cable pointing out the probable results of his declared intention of sending us no "reinforcements of importance" during an indeterminate period. "(No. 7315, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. Your No. 578. You will, I hope, fully discuss the situation described by you with Birdwood and the Generals who have just joined you, and, when a thorough examination on the ground of the whole state of affairs has been made, give me the opinion at which you arrive. "It has been a sad disappointment to me that the troops have not been able to do better, and that the drafts and reinforcements sent out to you and Egypt, excluding any you have drawn from Egypt, amounting from 6th August to 47,000, have not proved sufficient to enable you to contemplate holding your positions." Braithwaite and I have been electrified by this reference to 47,000 drafts and reinforcements: it is so much Greek to us here: had there been any question of reinforcements coming to us on that scale, my 578 of 23rd August would never have been sent. On the heels of this has followed another:-- * * * * * "(No. 7319, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. My No. 7315. I hope that the result of your deliberations will reach me by Friday morning, as the decision to be taken is one of considerable importance." I have replied off the reel:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 588). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. With reference to your telegrams Nos. 7315 and 7319. I feel sure you cannot think I would be capable of sending a telegram of such import as my No. M.F. 578 without the deepest consideration and sense of my personal responsibility which remains unaffected by any amount of conferences with my subordinate commanders. I was careful in this instance, however, to discuss the situation on the spot with both Corps Commanders concerned and I then cabled you my considered opinion. I constantly visit both Suvla and Anzac and have personally thoroughly examined the state of affairs. In view of your telegram No. 7172, cipher, I do not understand your allusion to 47,000 drafts and reinforcements from 6th August as we have not been advised of any such number as 47,000. I felt bound to lay the case plainly before you as to what might have to be undertaken, though I do not contemplate giving up any position one hour before I need. If the present wastage from sickness continues, however, and if my cadres are allowed to fall below their present attenuated strength I may be compelled to undertake such a step as I have indicated." Bailloud arrived at tea time. Away from Piépape he is another person. At dinner, he cracked jokes even about serious things like the guns of Asia. Brodrick was carried off to the Hospital ship. The doctors think there should be no real danger. We shall all miss him very much; as an aide he has been A.1.; sympathetic and thoughtful. Braithwaite dined to meet Bailloud. _26th August, 1915._ After clearing my table and taking early lunch, started off in the _Arno_ with C.G.S., Pollen, Freddie and Val. Sailed for Suvla and went up straight to see Byng, brought by the whirl of Fortune's wheel from a French chateau to a dugout. During the two days he has been here, he has been working very hard. I hope he may not too regretfully look back towards _la belle France_. Our old "A" Beach was being briskly shelled as we walked down to our boats. Between Hill 10 and the sea there were salvoes of shrapnel falling and about every thirty seconds a big fellow, probably a six incher, made a terrible hullaballoo. The men working at piling up stores "carried on." [Illustration: GENERAL BAILLOUD _"Exclusive News" phot._] When we got back to G.H.Q. there was a heavy thunderstorm in progress. Mail bag closed 9.30. During our inspection at Suvla this "Personal" from K. to myself has been deciphered:-- * * * * * "(No. 7337, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. Personal. I considered it advisable, that as the decision the Government may have to come to on your No. 578 is one of grave importance, the Generals out there should previously fully consider the situation on the Gallipoli Peninsula; hence my No. 7315. It was intended to obviate any possibility of overlooking points and in such cases two or more heads sometimes elucidate matters that might otherwise be missed or not given due weight to. It was in no way intended thereby to detract from the importance of your views on the subject or to minimise your personal responsibility for them. "I have no idea of the French Generals' views on the matter, and you were apparently not fully considering the drafts and reinforcements that were being sent out. "A detailed telegram is being sent you from the office of the 47,000 men mentioned in my No. 7315. "I hope that the return of Younghusband's Brigade from Aden to Egypt will still further increase these in a day or two (less one battalion). "But you should look on the forces in Egypt and your own as a whole, allowing, of course, for the proper defence of Egypt, when you take the general situation at the Dardanelles into consideration. "Do you think the Navy could do anything more than they are already doing to help the situation? I hear it is thought that they could land heavy naval 6-inch guns on positions such as those in square 92 M and other points, and might threaten from Aja Liman the main road of Turkish supplies between Karna Bili and Solvili (by gunfire from ships) and also bring a heavy and effective shell fire on the Turkish positions at and behind Anafarta. There is a cabinet to-morrow." I would much like to sleep over this cable--so plain seemingly; really so obscure. At face value, how splendidly it simplifies the Dardanelles problem! Had I been, all along, as this cable seems to make me, the C.-in-C. of the Eastern Mediterranean with Maxwell administering my Egyptian Base, then, humanly speaking, this entry would have been dated from Constantinople. But am I? I can't believe it even now, with the words before me. Anyway, whether by my own fault or those of others, one thing is certain, namely, that up to date there has been misunderstanding. Now, the Cabinet of to-morrow forces me to send a momentous wire without too much time to think it over. To clear my brain let me set down the sequence of facts as they have so far appeared to me:-- * * * * * Less than a week ago--20th inst.--K. cables me he is sending certain units to Egypt and certain other units to the Dardanelles. The units and their ships are named. He says there is going to be a big push in France and that I must look to these troops, earmarked for the Dardanelles, plus any I "can obtain from Egypt" to carry on. He winds up by saying, "It is hoped the troops going to Egypt will enable Maxwell to send you more fighting men on your demand." This same assumption that the G.O.C., Egypt, and myself are two equals each having equal command over his own troops, is fully borne out by another cable of the 21st August. My cable of 23rd August is based on these messages; i.e. on the idea that we must carry on here for a good long time to come with very little to help us. Then comes K.'s of the 25th telling me he is sorry 47,000 drafts and reinforcements he has sent to Maxwell and myself since 6th August are not going to be enough to enable me to hold on. But no one can make head or tail of these 47,000 drafts and reinforcements; no one can run them to ground. He has notified me the units and the ships, but the total coming to Maxwell _and_ myself don't tot up to that figure, much less the portion of them detailed for the Dardanelles.[11] Now comes to-day's cable in which Egypt is spoken of as being mine, and the fatness thereof. Taking this message _per se_, any one might imagine I could draw any troops I liked from that country provided that _I_ thought _I_ was leaving enough to defend the Suez Canal: and, apparently, the 47,000 men are about to make an effort to materialize inasmuch as we are told that details are being wired us. Finally, Younghusband's Brigade sails to help us! _27th August, 1915. Imbros._ As there is a Cabinet to-day I had to get off my answer last night. In it I have made a desperate effort to straighten out the tangle:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 589). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. On returning from Suvla I have just found your No. 7337, cipher. I hope there may be no misunderstanding as to meaning or intention of my No. M.F. 578. I asked in my No. M.F. 562 for such drafts and reinforcements as I considered necessary for the campaign to be brought to a conclusion before the winter began. You told me in your No. 7172 that you could spare no more reinforcements beyond those mentioned therein, and that if I could not achieve success with these I must remain on the defensive for some considerable time. I explained situation in my No. M.F. 578, and said that the question was one of arithmetic and measurement. I was anxious to hold all I had got and to gain more, but I required all my available force at the present time merely to hold what I had got. I pointed out that meanwhile a large proportion of my troops were urgently in need of rest, and sickness was so great that unless reinforcements were sent out my force would soon be too small for the number of yards of front to be held. In that case, i.e., if reinforcements could not be spared, but in that case only, it would be necessary to contract my line. This welcome news of 47,000 reinforcements, however, alters the whole situation. Such a number will do much to complete my diminished cadres, and should materially lessen sick rate by giving more chance of taking tired troops out of the trenches. Byng can certainly remain where he is at present, and will even be able to rest some of the tired XXIXth Division, while the arrival of the Australian Brigade will give General Birdwood a similar chance of resting some of his troops. "General Birdwood meanwhile is to make a further advance to-morrow on the left flank, to gain possession of important tactical feature, which will eventually help an advance when the time arrives. Byng is getting everything in order and has infected all around him with his own energy and cheeriness and has quickly grasped the whole situation. "In communication with Maxwell I find I can have seven Territorial Force units and the Scottish Horse, and now I have your welcome news of Younghusband's Brigade. Please believe I am the last man in the world to give up anything we have gained except under direct necessity, which I trust may now never arise. The Navy is supporting me to its full capacity. The guns of the four ships in Suvla Bay take on the Turkish positions you mention almost as well as and certainly more safely than if they were landed and placed where you suggest. Moreover, Navy cannot lend those guns unless I supply the detachments to work them from the Naval Division, and the latter is fully employed at present and cannot spare the men. We are constantly sending ships round to Aja Liman to fire at enemy positions from there, but I know you realize that one must not rely too much upon effective fire on land targets from ships which are not moored, as is the case in Suvla Bay. "I have not consulted the French General about the situation in the North as he is at the Southern end and on the right of the line there. He thinks more of Asia than of these operations in which he has no troops engaged, but I discussed the matter with him only last night. Before I sent my No. M.F. 578 I discussed every point closely for two hours with the Corps Commanders." In the evening my A.G. brought me the promised details of the 47,000 drafts and reinforcements. He has gone into the detail in proper A.G. spirit, namely, as an arithmetician rather than a tactician. The result has given us a shock! 10,000 men of the 54th Division and 4,000 drafts are shown in the War Office cable as being still due to come to me as reinforcements whereas they had actually landed on the Peninsula; had, indeed, been shown in my total fighting strength of 68,000 in my original cable, M.F. 578 of 23rd August, and are, too many of them, alas already _hors de combat_. Here is the passage sent four days ago:--"The total casualties including sick since 6th August amount to 40,000, and my total force is now only 85,000 of which the fighting strength is 68,000." In this 68,000 were included 14,000 of the men shown in _subsequent_ War Office cables as being drafts and reinforcements on their way to the Dardanelles! So my A.G. has become a bit suspicious about the balance of the 47,000. On paper, he says, it looks as if I might expect to draw from Egypt and England 30,000 reinforcements, but--he remarks sententiously--"we know by now that paper is one thing and men are different." As to Younghusband's Brigade, it turns out they cannot be employed here: too many Mahomedans. Have sent the following reply:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 595). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. With reference to your telegram No. 7337, cipher. Have now received details of the 47,000 drafts and reinforcements in your No. 7354 cipher, and I find that this figure includes nearly 10,000 men of the LIVth Division and 4,234 drafts, all of whom had been landed on the peninsula when I wrote my No. M.F. 578, and were reckoned in the total fighting strength of 68,000 mentioned in that telegram. The statement, however, shows that I can expect from England and Egypt during the next six weeks a total of some 29,000 reinforcements, including new formations and two battalions of non-fighting lines of communication troops. "This is a better situation than I was led by your 7172, cipher, to expect, and you may rely on me to do the best I can with this addition to my present very depleted strength. I hope, however, you realize that whereas my British Divisions are now more than 55,000 rifles below their establishment only 17,000 of these 29,000 are drafts, and before the last of the drafts can arrive these divisions will have lost another 25 per cent. of their remaining number by normal wastage. "In regard to Younghusband's Brigade, I learn that the three battalions are practically half Mahomedans, and I am advised that it is better if it can be avoided not to use Mahomedans so near the heart of Islam. Would it not be possible to exchange these for some Hindu regiments in France?" These cables give us an uncomfortable feeling that the people at home wish to regard us as stronger than we are--a different thing from wishing to add to our strength. On the other hand, another sort of message has come in which sheds a ray of hope across our path so darkened at many other points:-- "(No 7372, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. Although it is understood that we do not at present see our way to change the recent decision not to send any fresh complete divisional units, we wish to have all the material possible on which to form a judgment from time to time. Therefore, will you please telegraph me your opinion, from the point of view of the military and strategical situation now existing on the peninsula, as to the prospects there are, after the experience you have recently had, of our achieving the main objective of turning the Turks out and what force you would consider would be required to do this." Taylor of the G.S. lunched. A big parcel mail came in. Brodrick is to be sent to Alexandria. _28th August, 1915. Imbros._ Braithwaite and I both feel we must take time to think over last night's last cable and I have wired to say so. Cox's attack on Knoll 60 to the North-east of Kaiajik Aghala came off well. The New Zealanders under Russell and the Connaught Rangers did brilliantly. Fighting is still going on. A reply from the War Office to mine of last week wherein I pointed out that the once splendid 5th Battalion Royal Scots had fallen from a strength of 1,000 down to 289. They have had no one since the campaign began. To-day the Battalion is just over 250--a Company! Now I am officially told that "no reinforcements can be found for the 1/5th Battalion of Royal Scots." This is the Battalion which did so well about 11 o'clock on the dreadful night of the 2nd May. I shall cable the Lord Provost of Edinburgh. If we could get into touch with the human beings of Edinburgh they would help us to keep a battalion like the Royal Scots on their legs even if they had to break up half a dozen new formations for the purpose. Freddie and I dined with de Robeck on board H.M.S. _Triad_. The V.A. was well pleased with my cable of the 26th. _29th August, 1915. Imbros._ Last night two cables:-- * * * * * "(No. 7414, cipher. C.I.G.S.). From War Office to General Headquarters, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Reference your No. M.F.Q.T. 2737. The two Territorial Force battalions originally detailed--_see_ my No. 7172 of 20th August--to sail in the _Orsova_ will be taken by the _Ceramic_. Of these, the 2/5th Devons is only about 700 strong and contains a large percentage of recruits, while the 1/6th Royal Scots contains about 40 per cent. partially trained men and a new Commanding Officer who has only just been appointed. Until it has had further training neither battalion is fit for anything more than garrison duty. I suggest that under these circumstances the _Ceramic_ should proceed direct to Egypt." "(No. 7401, cipher, 554/A.3.). From War Office to Inspector-General of Communications, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. We are receiving from Malta and Alexandria very large demands for materials and explosives for making grenades. The supply of these seriously interferes with our manufacture of grenades. At present we are hoping to send you 30 to 40,000 grenades weekly and this figure will be increased. When the materials already sent out to Malta and Alexandria have been used up, can the manufacture of grenades at those places cease? Please reply at once; the matter is urgent." Do what I will my pen carries me away and I find myself writing like an ill-conditioned "grouser." As an old War Office "hand" I ought to know--and I do know--the frightful time of stress under which Whitehall labours. But, just look at these two cables, you innocent and peaceful citizen of a thousand years hence! The residue of the famous 47,000 rifles sent me by the Adjutant-General are now being valued by the official valuer, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff. In all our calculations the 2/5th Devons has hitherto masqueraded as an efficient battalion at full strength. Figures are sometimes more eloquent than words! As to the second cable, that deals us a worse blow. Seeing clearly, at last, we should extract no hand grenades from the War Office, we turned to Maxwell and Methuen, who have interested themselves in our plight and have been making us so many that, with what we ourselves can add to their manufacture, we are at last beginning to make things hum in the Turkish trenches. Then in comes this War Office cable to crush our nascent industry and give us in exchange some pious aspirations. There is no good making any trouble about the hand grenades. As to the two raw battalions, I am asking they be sent, raw and weak as they are, as I can train them in the trenches much better and more quickly than they could be trained in Egypt or England. Church Parade; office work; sailed over to "K" Beach; inspected Clearing Stations and walked up to site for new camp. Then back to G.H.Q., to meet the V.A. and Roger Keyes. They remain the best of friends always. This evening we were all in good form owing to the news from Anzac. Knoll 60, now ours throughout, commands the Biyuk Anafarta valley with view and fire--a big tactical scoop. _30th August, 1915. Imbros._ Still good news from Anzac. Seeing that the stunt was on a small scale, we seem to have got into the Turks with a vengeance. In falling back as well as in counter-attacking after we had taken Hill 60, the enemy were exposed to the fire from our trenches along the Kaiajik Dere. Birdie declares that they have lost 5,000. We have taken several machine guns and trench mortars as well as some fifty prisoners. Have sent grateful message to all on the spot. At 10.30 four Russian Officers made their salaams. They are to report how things are going, and they seem to have the usual quick Slav faculty for grasping essential points combined, no doubt, with the usual Slav slackness which lets them go again. I told them everything I knew. They told us that our landing had saved the whole Army of the Caucasus; that the Grand Duke knew it and that His Imperial Highness bitterly regretted that, first of all, sheer lack of supplies; afterwards the struggles in Galicia and Poland, had prevented Istomine and his Army Corps from standing by to help. At 1.30 the C.G.S., Deedes, Val., Freddy and I crossed to Helles in the _Arno_. Had a hard afternoon's walking, going first to 8th Corps Headquarters; next to the Royal Naval Division and last to the 52nd Divisional Headquarters. Returned to the 8th Corps Headquarters and there met Bailloud. He is now full of good cheer. Got back to Headquarters without adventure or misadventure. Have cabled home a suggestion made to me by Mahon, that the 16th Irish Division at home might be used to fill up the gaps in the units of the 10th Division out here. _31st August, 1915._ After early lunch, left in the _Arno_ for Suvla. With me were Braithwaite, Manifold, Freddy and Val. Walked up to the 9th Corps Headquarters and saw Byng. I am very anxious indeed he should work his men up into the mood for making a push. He charms everyone and he is fast pulling his force together. Maude, Fanshawe, and de Lisle seem to be keen to do something, but Byng, though he also is keen, has the French standards for ammunition in his head. He does not think we have enough to warrant us in making an attack. Also, he does not realize yet that if he is going to wait until we are fitted out on that scale he will have to wait till doomsday. Walked to de Lisle's Headquarters and saw him, and on to the 11th Divisional Headquarters where I met Fanshawe and Malcolm. With them I climbed back on to Karakol Dagh and sat me down on the identical same stone whereon I sweated blood during that confused and indecisive battle of the 21st August. From the Karakol Dagh I got a very fair idea of our whole trench system. On either flank we hold the hills; elsewhere we are on the flat. The 11th Division have recovered and only need drafts to be as good a formation as any General could wish to command. In the evening I left in the _Arno_ carrying off with me de Lisle and Captain Hardress Lloyd to dine and stay the night. Quentin Agnew also dined. My first feeble little attempt to act on K.'s assumption that Egypt and its army are mine has fallen a bit flat. The War Office promptly agreed to my taking these two weak, half-trained battalions, the 1/6th Royal Scots and 2/5th Devons, to be trained in my trenches. That was yesterday. But the Senoussi must have heard of it at once, for Maxwell forthwith cables, "The attitude of the Senoussi is distinctly dangerous and his people have been latterly executing night manoeuvres round our post at Sollum." To me, the night manoeuvres of these riff-raff seem ridiculous. But distance, perhaps, has lent its enchantment to my view. The quibble that the troops in Egypt are mine has been broken to pieces by my first touch! I have renounced the two battalions with apologies and now I daresay the Senoussi will retire from his night manoeuvres round Sollum and resume his old strategic position up Maxwell's sleeve. _1st September, 1915. Imbros._ Remained at Headquarters working. Wrote, amongst other things, to K. as follows:-- * * * * * "I have just finished two days' hard physical exercise going round visiting Egerton and Paris with Davies, and Fanshawe and de Lisle with Byng. At Helles everything is quite right although they have only troops enough there for the defensive. They are getting a lot of stores in, and the really only anxious feature of the situation is the health of the men who are very, very tired right through, having had no sort of relief for months, and who go sick in large numbers. * * * * * "Fanshawe is first class. Full of go and plans, he will, if the Lord spares him, be a real treasure. Maude and Mahon I am going to see after Mail-day, and then I shall hope to inspect our new captured position on the left of Anzac. "I do not know if they showed you the cable saying Hammersley has gone home very ill with a clot of blood in his leg. He has to lie perfectly prostrate and still, so I am told, as the least movement might set it loose and it would then kill him. Evidently he was not really fit to have been sent out on service. And this was the man, remember, on whom, under Stopford, everything depended for making a push. "This Suvla Bay country, a jungle ringed round by high mountains, is essentially a country for Boers or for Indian troops. De Lisle and others who have watched them closely in India, say that a native soldier on the Peninsula (although there, too, he goes to pieces if he loses his Officers and under too prolonged a strain) is worth at least two Indian soldiers in France. The climate suits him better, but, most of all, the type of enemy is more or less the sort of type they are accustomed to encounter. Not _Sahibs_ and _Ghora Log_ in helmets but _Mussalman Log_ in turbans. As to the South Africans there can be no two opinions, I think, that they would stand these conditions better than those of Northern Europe. Indeed, we have one or two Boers serving now with the Australians, and they have done extremely well." Some of K.'s questions take my breath away. I wish very much indeed he could come and spend a week with me. Otherwise I feel hopeless of making him grasp the realities of the trenches. On the 30th of August he cables, "If required, I could send you a fresh consignment of junior Officers. Or have you sufficient supernumerary Officers to fill all casualties?" I have replied to him that, in my four regular Divisions, I am short of 900 effective Officers in the Infantry alone. To meet my total shortage of 1,450 Officers I have twenty-five young gentlemen who have lately been sent out here to complete their training! De Lisle and Hardress Lloyd sailed back to Suvla in the evening. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 11: As will be seen further on the 47,000 actually panned out at 29,000, of whom two battalions were at once diverted to Egypt, whilst two other battalions turned out to be non-fighting formations.--IAN H., 1920.] CHAPTER XIX THE FRENCH PLAN _2nd September, 1915. Imbros._ An ugly dream came to me last night. My tent was at Imbros right enough, and I was lying in my little camp bed, and yet I was being drowned, held violently under the Hellespont. The grip of a hand was still on my throat; the waters were closing over my head as I broke away and found myself wide awake. I was trembling and carried back with me into the realms of consciousness an idea that some uncanny visitor had entered my tent. Already the vision was fading. I could visualize the form of the presence, but the face remained hidden in shadow. Never had I suffered from so fearful a dream. For hours afterwards I was haunted by the thought that the Dardanelles were fatal; that something sinister was a-foot; that we, all of us, were pre-doomed. Dreams go by contraries. Strange that so black a night should be followed by a noon so brilliant--so brilliant beyond compare. K. cables the French are going to send three or four Divisions to work with us along the Asiatic mainland. From bankrupt to millionaire in 24 hours. The enormous spin of fortune's wheel makes me giddy! These French Divisions will be real Divisions: _must_ be; they have no others. O, Hallelujah! "The sending of a force of three or four Divisions to operate on the Asiatic mainland, independent as regards command, but in close relation with the British forces on the Peninsula, is being considered by the French Government. They will require an exclusively French military base at Mitylene, and us to help with transport and fleet. "So far I have not discussed any details with the French, and have simply told them we shall be delighted to have the help, which would be given by such an expedition, towards the solution of the Dardanelles problem. "Presumably they would require their two divisions now at Cape Helles. What forces would you require to relieve them? I have asked Sir John French if the XXVIIth and XXVIIIth Divisions could be spared for this purpose. "Wire me any points that you think I had better settle with the French authorities." _Deo volente_ we are saved; Constantinople is doomed. How clearly stand forth the mosques and minarets of the Golden Horn. Mr. Murdoch, an Australian journalist, paid me a visit to thank me for having stretched a point in his favour by letting him see the Peninsula. Seemed a sensible man. Glyn and Holdich dined: both clever fellows in different ways. Dawnay and Glyn after dinner left for England. Dawnay goes to explain matters first hand to K. Next to my going home myself, or to K. himself coming out here, this is the best I can do. Dawnay is one of the soundest young officers we have, but he is run down physically (like most of us) and jaded. He should benefit by the trip and so should the rumour-mongers at home. _3rd September, 1915. Imbros._ Two cables: one to say that the news about the French Divisions must be kept dark; the other, in reply to a question by me, refusing to let me consult de Robeck on the matter. So Braithwaite and I had to make out our cable expressing our delight and thankfulness, and advising how the troops might best be used entirely on our own. The cable took some doing but got it off my chest by mid-day and then sailed with Ellison, Braithwaite and Val by the _Arno_ to Suvla. We landed this time on Lala Baba instead of at our usual Ghazi Baba. Every five minutes the Turks plumped one six-incher on to the beach. But nobody now seems to mind. A lot of Generals present; Byng, Mahon, Marshall, Maude and Peyton. Mahon took me up to the top of Lala Baba and showed me the disposition of his division. He kindly asked us all to tea at his Headquarters but as someone added that Ashmead-Bartlett was going to take a cinema photo of the scene I thought I would not be thus immortalized. The Scottish Horse were bivouacking on the beach; they have just landed but already they have lost a member or two of their Mess from shell fire. No wonder they looked a little bewildered, but soon they will shake down. When we got back to the _Arno_ we found she had been hit by shrapnel, but no damage. Things at Suvla are pulling together. No one gave me more confidence than Maude. His mind travels beyond the needs of the moment. He is firmly convinced that no very out-of-the-way effort by the Allies is needed to score a big point in the War Game and that our hold-up here is not a reality but only a hold-up or petrefaction of the brains of the French and of our Dardanelles Committee. I longed to tell him he was doing them both, especially the French, an injustice, and that four splendid divisions were as good as on their way, but I had to content myself with saying to him and to all the Generals that I was overjoyed at a piece of news received yesterday. _4th September, 1915. Imbros._ Life would be as ditchwater were it not stirred to its depths by K.'s secret cable. Sailed over with Freddie at 11.30 to "K" Beach and inspected the 88th Brigade. Had given orders to the _Arno_ to stand by and to take me over to Anzac in the afternoon, but the weather was so bad that I could not get off to her in the motor boat. At 7.15 p.m. the V.A. sent his picket boat for me and Freddie and I went on board the _Triad_. At 10 p.m. she started for Mudros. _5th September, 1915. H.M.S. "Triad." Mudros._ Anchored at Mudros at 6 a.m. Breakfast over, was met by Altham, Colonel McMunn and Captain Stephens who took me ashore. There I met Lindley, now commanding the troops on the island; also General Legge (commanding the 2nd Australian Division); Lord Dudley and Colonel Forster. Lindley seems pleased at having been given this command; says he feels like a man out hunting who has a bad fall but alights on his feet, and Altham tells me he is doing the work very well. Dudley, too, seemed full of business and contented with his lot. The moment I got through the reception stunt I set myself to work like a nigger at the Red Cross stunt:--that's how people talk now-a-days. Saw the 15th Stationary Hospital; the 110th Indian Field Ambulance; "C" Section of No. 24 British Indian Hospital; ate a hearty lunch; inspected 1st Australian Stationary Hospital. Walking round a Hospital and seeing whether things are clean and bright is a treat but trying to cheer people up and give a fillip to all good works--that implies an expenditure of something vital and leaves a man, after a few hours, feeling the worse for wear. By 4.45 the day's task was well over so refreshed myself by some right soldier business reviewing the 4th Gurkhas under Major Tillard--a superb battalion--1,000 strong!!! Had forgotten what a full battalion looks like. At 5.45 wound up by inspecting a huge Convalescent Depot under Colonel Forde and got back to the _Triad_ just in time for dinner. Wemyss dined also. _6th September, 1915. H.M.S. "Triad." Mudros._ After breakfast sailed over to Mudros West; Lindley met me, also a host of doctors. Walked to No. 3 Australian Hospital with an old acquaintance whose Italian name slips my memory at the moment; then to No. 2 Australian Stationary Hospital; then to Convalescent Depot of Lowland Division. At 12.30 ran down to my launch and was swiftly conveyed to lunch on board the _Europa_ with Admiral Wemyss. Such a lunch as a lost voyager may dream of in the desert. Like roses blooming in a snowdrift, so puffs and pies and kickshaws of all rarest sorts appeared upon a dazzling white tablecloth, and then--disappeared. We too had to disappear and sail back to Mudros West again. Horses were waiting and I rode to No. 18 Stationary Hospital and made a thorough overhaul of it from end to end; then tea with the Officers of No. 1. In No. 3 Australian General were eighty nurses; in No. 3 Canadian Stationary seven nurses; in No. 1 Canadian Stationary twenty-four nurses. Since Lady Brassey descended in some miraculous manner upon Imbros, they were the first white women I had seen for six months. Their pretty faces were a refreshing sight: a capable crowd too: all these Hospitals were in good order, but the sick and wounded in charge of the girls looked the happiest--and no wonder. The Canadian Medicos are fresh from France and discoursed about _moral_. Never a day passed, so they said, in France, but some patient would, with tears in his eyes, entreat to be sent home. Here at Mudros there had never been one single instance. The patients, if they said anything at all, have showed impatience to get back to their comrades in the fighting line. We discussed this mystery at tea and no one could make head or tail of it. In France the men got a change; are pulled out of the trenches; can go to cafes; meet young ladies; get drinks and generally have a good time. On the Peninsula they are never safe for one moment (whether they are supposed to be resting or are in the firing line) from having their heads knocked off by a shell. Returned to the _Triad_ in time for dinner. Admiral vexed as his motor boat has gone ashore. Bowlby is with it trying to get it off. The French Admiral commanding the Mediterranean Fleet has just sailed in. _7th September, 1915. Imbros._ At 9.30 left the _Triad_ to call on Admiral de la Perriera on board the _Gaulois_. Thence to _H.M.S. Racoon_ (Lieutenant-Commander Hardy) and started back for Imbros, where we arrived in time for tea. _8th September, 1915. Imbros._ Trying to clear a table blocked with papers as a result of my two days' trip. Have written to K. as the Mail bag goes to-morrow. Have told him I have had a nice letter from Mahon, thanking me for allowing him to rejoin his Division and saying he hopes he may stay with them till the end. Have given him all my Mudros news and have sent him a memo. submitted to me by Birdwood showing how much of the sickness on the Peninsula seems due to the War Office having hung up my first request for a Field Force Canteen. Here is one of the enclosures to Birdwood's memo.:-- * * * * * "N. Z. and A. Division. I desire to draw attention to the remarkable drop in the sick evacuations from this Brigade as shown by the following figures:-- August 28 -- 59. " 29 -- 64. " 30 -- 58. " 31 -- 17. Sept. 1 -- 2. " 2 -- 6. I am convinced that this amelioration, and the observable improvement in the condition of the men are largely to be attributed to the distribution, on August 30 and 31 of Canteen Stores, providing a welcome change of dietary. I strongly recommend that every effort be made to maintain such Canteen supplies. (_Sd._), MONASH." _9th September, 1915. Imbros._ At 9.30 Admiral de la Perriera returned my call. At 11.50 Braithwaite, Freddy and I went aboard the _Gaulois_. [Illustration: FISH FROM THE ENEMY, _"Central News" phot._] A five course lunch and I had to make a speech in French. When I got back I found that General Marshall, commanding the 53rd Division, had come over from Suvla to stay with me. Lancelot Lowther dined; he told us all the important things he was doing. _10th September, 1915. Imbros._ Lancelot Lowther left with the Mails at 7 a.m., glad, I suspect, to shake from his feet the sand of these barbaric Headquarters. Not easy to get Marshall to loosen his tongue about the battle of the 21st, and he would not, or could not, add much to my knowledge. The strength of Marshall depends not on what he seems but upon what his officers and men know. He has got his chance amidst the realities of war. In peace, except by a miracle, he would never have risen above the command of a Battalion. The main reason I cannot draw him about the battle of the 21st is, beyond doubt, that he does not want to throw blame on others. Marshall is a matter-of-fact, unemotional sort of chap, yet he told the sad tale of young O'Sullivan's death in a way which touched our hearts. O'Sullivan was no novice where V.C.s were the stake and the forfeit sudden death. _11th September, 1915. Imbros._ Ran across in the motor boat to see the 86th Brigade under Brigadier-General Percival. Went, man by man, down the lines of the four battalions--no very long walk either! These were the Royal Fusiliers (Major Guyon), Dublin Fusiliers (Colonel O'Dowda), Munster Fusiliers (Major Geddes), Lancashire Fusiliers (Major Pearson). Shade of Napoleon--say, which would you rather not have, a skeleton Brigade or a Brigade of skeletons? This famous 86th Brigade is a combination. Were I a fat man I could not bear it, but I am as unsubstantial as they themselves. A life insurance office wouldn't touch us; and yet--they kept on smiling! _12th September, 1915. Imbros._ The C.O.'s, Geddes, Pearson, Guyon and O'Dowda, lunched: an ideal lot; young, ardent, on the spot. Marshall left by the Suvla trawler. Windy day, but calmer in the evening and at night rained a little. _13th September, 1915. Imbros._ Crossed again with Freddie Maitland and inspected the 87th Field Ambulance (Highland Territorials from Aberdeen) under Colonel Fraser. Became so interested the dinner hour was forgotten--a bad mark for a General. Much pleased with the whole show: up to date, and complete in all respects. Got back lateish. Altham dined. Sat up at business till midnight. Dictated a long letter to Callwell, Director of Military Operations at the War Office, on the suicidal behaviour of the Military Censor. In South Africa, my Chief of the Staff's latchkey let many a clandestine tit-bit slip through to keep interest alive in England. K. regularly, when the mails came back to roost, went for me, but the messages had got home and done their duty as good little tit-bits should. The B.P. cannot work up the full steam of their war energy when the furnaces of their enthusiasms are systematically damped down; shut off from any breath from outside. Your sealed pattern censor sees nothing beyond the mischief that may happen if the enemy gets to know too much about us; he does not see that this danger is negligible when compared with the keenness or dullness of the nation. General Headquarters, Medtn. Expeditionary Force, 13th September, 1915. "Dear Callwell, "I am about to commit an atrocity by writing to an overworked man on a subject which may seem to him of secondary importance. Still, to the soldiers out here, the said subject means encouragement or discouragement coming to them through the medium of their home letters,--so vital a factor in victory or failure that the thought emboldens me to proceed. "Our misfire of last month came within only a fine hair's breadth of the grand coup and caused us proportionately bitter disappointment at the moment. Yet, looking back over the whole affair in a more calm and philosophical spirit, any General, I think, would now be bound to admit that in some respects at least fortune had not been too unkind. "The Australians and New Zealanders have been extricated from what by all the laws and traditions of war, was, in theory, an untenable position; their borders have been enlarged; the heights they hold have become more elevated and commanding; they have been entirely released from shelling on the one flank and, on the other, the shelling has dwindled away to next door to nothing. North of them again we have captured a more or less practicable winter harbour, and have extended our grip on the coastline. From the extreme South point of Anzacs to their extreme North was formerly 2-3/4 miles. From the extreme South point of Anzacs to our extreme North point (along which there is inter-communication) is now 13 miles. Thus we force the enemy to maintain a much larger number of troops on the Peninsula (where he is already slowly bleeding to death under the stress of his supply and transport difficulties) or else dangerously to weaken parts of his line. "As to the fighting by which this has been accomplished, there is nothing from beginning to end that any army need be ashamed of. Every word I sent home in my Proemial cables might have been published without raising a blush to the cheek of the most ardent Imperialist. In saying this I do not, of course, assume that raw troops could tackle a totally strange and uncomfortable proposition with the swift directness and savvy of veterans. The feat performed by the Australians and New Zealanders was of the class of the storming of the heights of Abraham, only it was infinitely, infinitely more difficult in every respect. "On the other side, still assuming the philosophical mantle, consider what might have happened. Had the Australians and New Zealanders been average troops, they would perhaps have burst through the first series of wire entanglements and trenches, but they would not have stormed the second, still less the third, fourth, fifth or sixth lines. Again, had the Turks got the smallest inkling of our intention, the landing at Suvla Bay would have failed altogether, and the New Armies would have been virtually smashed to pieces without being able to show any _quid pro quo_. "We soldiers out here have then it seems to me, much for which to thank God on our bended knees. That, at least, is my personal attitude. "How is it then that our letters from home are filled with lamentations and that, having just gained a proportionately very large accretion of territory, we see headlines in the papers such as 'The Gallipoli standstill,' whereas it does not seem to occur to anyone to speak about 'The French standstill'? "Well, I will tell you. The system upon which the Press Bureau approaches the eagerly attentive ear of the British Public is the reason. "Why I begged the War Office to change the method by which I sent copies of my Proemial cables to Maxwell was that I found he (animated, of course, by the best intentions) was improving the successes and minimising the failures. The finishing touch was given when, one day, he inserted the phrase 'The enemy is demoralized and has to submit by day and by night to our taking his trenches.' Obviously, even the most stupid fellaheen after reading such a sentence must, in the course of time, begin to ask himself how, if trenches are being easily taken by day and by night, we still remain on the wrong side of Achi Baba! "Turning now to the Press Bureau and our landing, there was nothing in that landing, as I have just said, which need have caused sorrow to a soul in the British Isles excepting, of course, the deplorable heavy casualties which are inseparable now from making any attack. But, on the 23rd of August a correspondent cables to an American paper a sensational story of a decisive victory, which the Press Bureau must have known to be a tissue of lies. Had the lies taken the shape of disasters to the British there would not, from the point of view of us soldiers, have been the smallest objection to publishing them. Suppose Mr. X, for instance, had said that the landing did not succeed, and had been driven off with immense slaughter? Apart from the fact that such a cable would have made many poor women in England unhappy for a few hours, the fabrication would have done us positive good: when the truth was known the relief would have been enormous, we would have gained handsome recognition of what had actually been done, and German inspired lies would have been discounted in future. "But there is no _moral_ in the world that can stand against a carefully engineered disappointment. When you know perfectly well that the spirits of the people are bound to be dashed down to the depths within a few days, it is unsound statesmanship surely so to engineer the Press that you raise those selfsame spirits sky high in the meantime. To climb up and up is a funny way to prepare for a fall! If you know that your balloon must burst in five minutes you use that time in letting out gas, not in throwing away ballast. If you want to spoil a man's legacy of £500 tell him the previous evening he has been left £50,000! "As I began by saying, do please forgive me, my dear Callwell, for taking up your most precious time. But you are more in touch with this particular business than anyone else at the War Office and, from your large mindedness, I feel sure you will be able to spare me some sympathy, and perhaps even get some recognition for the general principle I herewith put forward:-- * * * * * "(1). Do not too curiously censor false alarmist reports put about by the enemy. Let the papers publish them with a query and then smash them as soon as this can be done with positive certainty. "(2). Mercilessly censor any report which you think is, even in the smallest degree, overstating your own case. "The system needs courage but, with the British Public, it would pay! "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._), "IAN HAMILTON." As suspense had, by now, become unbearable, cabled home asking S. of S. to "let me know, as soon as you can safely do so," when the new divisions may be expected. I tell him I have "informal" news from the French but dare not take action on that. _14th September, 1915. Imbros._ Mails in with Ward as King's Messenger. Captain Vitali (Italian liaison officer) and Captain Williams dined. Vitali is worried about his status. He was told in the first instance he was to be liaison officer between General Cadorna and myself. On this understanding we agreed to his coming to our Headquarters. Once he was here the Italian Government (not Cadorna he is careful to explain) said he must be permanently attached to us. Vitali feels himself in a false position as he thinks that,--had we known, we might not have let him come. Personally, I am quite glad to have him; but we did not have much talk as, immediately after dinner, Braithwaite brought me the decipher of Lord K.'s answer to my reminder to him. This has greatly saddened me and takes up the whole of my thoughts. "(No. 7843, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. Reference your No. M.F. 630. I have just returned from France where I went to settle up the questions asked in that telegram which were in a very indefinite state owing apparently to a decision having been arrived at by the French Government without reference to their military advisers. The outcome of my meeting with Millerand, Joffre and Sarrail was that the French force of four Divisions proposed to be sent to the Dardanelles cannot leave until the result of the approaching offensive in France is determined. If it be as successful as hoped for your position in the Dardanelles would naturally be affected favourably. It is hoped that the issue will be clear in the first few days of October, and if indecisive, that by 10th October two of our Divisions may be at Marseilles for embarkation to be followed closely by the four French Divisions. The embarkation and transport of so large a force would, it is thought, take about a month, but this has still to be worked out in detail, so that by about the middle of November would be the time when all would be ready. "In the meantime, as transport is available, I shall continue to send you reinforcements and drafts of which you are fully informed, up to 20th instant, and on which you should alone calculate. "Sarrail, backed by General Bailloud, is greatly in favour of the French expedition being employed independently on the Asiatic shore. "Joffre greatly doubts the wisdom of this course, and Millerand requested me to ask you to state fully and confidentially, for his personal information, your opinion on this matter. "Joffre's objections appear to be that a landing in Asia opens up a very wide field if the force be not immediately successful, and that in that case more troops, munitions and drafts would be eventually required than he could spare with due regard to the safety of France. "Secondly, he is not very confident of Sarrail's leadership, particularly as the plans Sarrail has made seem to be worthless. Joffre is having careful plans worked out by his Staff for the expedition on the Asiatic shore which, he says, though unfinished, do not look promising. The same objection on his part would not, I gather, be felt if the French troops were given a definite area and objective on the Gallipoli Peninsula, where the scope of their activities, and consequently the support required from France, could be limited." Where's the use of M. Millerand's consulting me over what lies on the far side of a dead wall? Had he asked me to show why action here should have priority over action in France, then I might have been of some use. But that is settled: the four French Divisions earmarked for the East will not now be sent until _after_ "the results of the coming offensive in France have been determined." "If the success of this push equals expectations you will reap the benefit." If indecisive then, "by the 10th October," two British Divisions and four French Divisions will be at Marseilles ready to sail out here: "about the middle of November would be the time when everything would be ready." There are altogether too many ifs and ands and pots and pans about Millerand's question. When a man starts going West who can foretell how long it will take him to arrive at the East? (1) If the push in the West is victorious we will score, says K. That is so. Far as the Western battlefield lies from the scene of our struggle, the report of a German defeat in France would reverberate Eastwards and would lend us a brave moral impetus. But the point I would raise is this:--did K., as representing a huge Eastern Empire, press firmly upon Millerand and Joffre the alternative,--_if the push in the East is victorious the West will score_? What express strategical gain do they expect from pushing back the Germans? A blow which merely destroys a proportion of men and material without paralysing the resources of the enemy is a blow in the air. War cannot be waged by tactics alone. That is a barbaric method. To bend back the German lines in the West, or to push the first line back on to the second or third, or twentieth, has of itself but slight strategical or economic import. Here, on the other hand, we have literally in our grasp a clear cut gift offered us by the Gods. The impossible part, the landing, is done. All that remains is so many fresh men and so many thousand shell. The result is not problematical, but mathematical. Napoleon is the only man who has waged a world war in the world as we know it to-day. Napoleon said, I think it was on the famous raft, "Who holds Constantinople is master of the world." And there it lies at the mercy of the Briton--could he only convince Joffre that the shortest cut to freeing his country from the Germans lies through the Dardanelles. The principles which should underlie Entente strategy will be clear to military historians although obscured to-day by jealousies and amateurishness: just the usual one, two, three they are, in this order:-- * * * * * (a) Hold the sea. (b) Hold the West. (c) Smash the Turk. A couple of miles won by us here gives England wheat and Russia rifles; gives us the whip hand in the Balkans plus security in a couple of Continents. A couple of miles lost by us here leaves the German with a strengthened grip upon all the real world objectives for which he went to war: it leaves us with a ruined prestige in Asia. But what is all that to Joffre to whom, as a good Frenchman, the Balkans; the bracing up of the Russian Army; all the Odessa corn; Asia and Africa thrown in, do not count against _one departement_ of _la Patrie_. (2) If the push in the West is indecisive then our push is only to be postponed. Postponed! The word is like a knell. To write it gives me a feeling of sick despair. Only postponed! As well cable at once, _only_ ruined!! (3) But there is a third eventuality not mentioned by Lord K. How if our attack upon the main strength of the entrenched Germans is beaten off? To Joffre France comes first and the rest nowhere--every time: that is natural. But our Higher Direction are not Frenchmen--not yet! Armageddon is actually being fought _here_, at the Dardanelles, and the British outlook is focused on France. We are to sit here and rot away with cholera, and see the winter gales approach, until the big push has been made in the West where men can afford to wait--where they are healthy--where time is all on their side. And this push in the West is against the whole German Empire linked to all its own vast resources by a few miles of the best railways in the world. We _can_ attack here with more men and more munitions than the enemy the very moment we care to accept the principle that, _at this moment_, Constantinople and the heartening up of Russia and ascendency amongst the Balkan States are not only the true positive objectives of our strategy, but are the sole strategical stunts upon the board. We can do so because of our sea power. We can borrow enough howitzers, aeroplanes, munitions and drafts from the West; apply them here and then, if necessary, return them. We are not exploiting our own special characteristics, mobility and sea power! [Illustration: MARSHALL LIMAN VON SANDERS _"Exclusive News" phot._] Easy to preach patience to a nation in agony? Yes, for the whole agony of the whole world is more important even than the agonies of France. We've got to win the war and win it quick. There's only one way to do that. The resources of the Entente are not equal to carrying on two offensives at the same moment. If our Army in the West will just sit tight awhile, we here will beat the Turks, and snip the last economic lien binding the Central Powers to the outside world. Once more, our game is to _defend_ in the West until the _attack_ in the East has borne economic fruit in the shape of ships and corn: political fruit in the sentiment of the Balkans: military fruit in the fillip given to the whole force of the Entente by actual tactical contact between the British soldiers and the rank and file of the Ruskies. The collapse of the Central Powers,--eclipsed in full view of all Asia and Africa by the smoke from the funnels of the British Fleet at anchor in the Golden Horn is what we are after here. Even if French and Joffre do drive the German main hordes back to the Rhine the scope of their scoop would be far less than ours, for we by getting to Constantinople can starve those main armies stiff. How few of our people know anything of the Russians. At least, I have been attached for eight months to the Armies which fought against them in the field; have visited Russia and Siberia and have done two peace manoeuvres as their guest. To send superior officers to Russia only produces jealousy; to send supplies only breeds dishonesty. But with 50,000 British soldiers as yeast we could leaven 5,000,000 Muscovites; we could fire their inert masses with our ardour; this is the best of all uses to which 50,000 British soldiers could at present be put. From the early days when he told me the New Army should go to Salonika, K. had an intuition at the back of his big mind that victory would dawn in the East. But he is no longer the K. of K., the old K. of Khartoum and Pretoria. He still has his moments of God-sent intuition. First, he had _absolute_ knowledge that the Germans would come through Belgium: I repeat this. The assumption was not uncommon perhaps, but he _knew the fact_! Secondly, when everyone else spoke of a six weeks' war; when every other soldier I can think of except Douglas Haig believed he'd be back before the grouse shooting was over; K. went nap on a three years' war. Pray heaven he was wrong; but, right or wrong, he has already proved himself to have been nearer the mark than anyone else. Thirdly, he had a call (by heavenly telepathy, I suppose) that his New Armies must go out to the East. There is no more question about this than there is about Belgium and the three years' duration. He has told me so; time and again. Why then does he not act accordingly if he's in the Almighty know? Because he can't. With the one exception of the Battle of Paardeberg, he never in his palmiest days pretended to be a man of action. But now he has lost his faculty of forcing others to act. He makes a spurt but he can't stay the distance. He has met Millerand, French and Joffre in Council and allowed the searchlights of his genius to be snuffed out! That is what surprises me:--He, who once could deflect Joe Chamberlain and Milner from their orbits; who twisted stiff-necked Boers round his little finger; who bore down Asquith, Winston, Prince Louis and Beatty in Valetta Harbour--East _versus_ West--Mediterranean _versus_ North Sea--who, from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m., withstood, wrestled with and overthrew Haldane's arguments in favour of his taking up the succession to the Duke of Connaught, and that although he had one arm tied to his side by having taken the King's shilling. What a marvel he was and now-- Ichabod! There is something so tragical in what home letters let us guess that the pity of it almost makes me forget our own stillborn projects. _15th September, 1915. Imbros._ Altham and Major Hood left G.H.Q. for L. of C. Headquarters. Had another hour with Altham before he got aboard his destroyer. Gave an interview to Buchanan, A.M.S. After lunch, Braithwaite, Val, Wells, Deedes, Freddie and myself went off to Suvla aboard H.M.S. _Scourge_ (Lieutenant-Commander Tupper). On landing, Braithwaite branched off to see the G.S. Byng has a keen sense of humour; is energetic and by his looks and manner attracts all ranks. No one could wish a better corps commander and I have never in all my experience known anyone take greater and more minute trouble with his field days and manoeuvres than he did in Egypt the year before the war. But his sojourn on the Western front has given him inflated standards as to the number of guns and stocks of H.E. shell which are essential to success; especially with troops who have suffered heavy losses. Perhaps he is right. This para. from a letter written to the great man to-night explains more generally what I feel:-- * * * * * "Maude is burning to get on and do something and I heard him myself ask Byng when he was going to let him have a dash. As to Byng, I think myself he is not quite sure yet about the spirit of his men. I have been trying to spur him on for the last day or so, although only by very gentle hints, as I think, with a man of Byng's great reputation, one must leave him to himself for as long as possible. I daresay he may be quite right and very wise. Still, these reinforcements have brought the Suvla Bay troops up to no less than 37,000 men, and I am most anxious they should do something soon a little more rapid than sapping out slowly towards the enemy's lines--which they are doing." After my talk with Byng, we went on to meet Fanshawe and de Lisle. Maude came along with me as far as the crestline. I asked him about his Division. He replied: "Sir Ian, may I be frank with you about the Division?" At these ominous words I shivered. They positively gave me the shivers. So I braced myself up when I answered, "But of course!" Maude then said, "If you give the order now, and will arrange for a little artillery support, my Division will storm and hold on to any thousand yards of Turkish trench you like to point out; to-morrow." I could have embraced him, but I had to go steady and explain to him that a Corps Commander must judge all his Divisions and that, taking the situation as a whole, Byng did not think it fair on the men to let them have a dart yet--not, at least, till they had more munitions at their back. Byng has had wide experiences in the West and he looks on it as trying the men unfairly to ask them to attack without a preliminary bombardment on a scale which we cannot at present afford. "Yes," said Maude, "that is all very well but after all you must remember the Turks have neither the artillery nor the munitions the Germans have at their command on the Western front." "Well," I replied, "you put your points to Byng and you know I am a man who never yet in my life refused a good brave offer like yours." He has a great admiration for Byng and so, though sadly, he went away. Fanshawe met me at the South end of the Division trenches, as bright and keen as a new nail. His men, too, seem full of go. Fanshawe hopes to carry the whole ridge whenever he gets the order. The 11th Division promise to be as fine a unit as any in the Army once they get their gaps filled in. _16th September, 1915. Imbros._ We had quite a lively morning here. At 7.30 an enemy's biplane dropped four bombs on our Headquarters camp and got away with hardly a shot fired at it. At 7.50 an enemy's Taube came over and dropped bombs near my Signal Tent, also a little summer shower of small steel darts: five men were wounded. At 8.10 a.m. yet another enemy biplane circled round but was kept at a respectful distance by the ship's guns. Gave an interview to Colonel Stewart, Armoured Car Squadron. Vice-Admiral Foumet and Staff called on me in the forenoon. He replaces Admiral Nicol gone sick. Mails went out this evening. Freddie and I gave tone to our debilitated constitutions by dining with the ever hospitable V.A. on the _Triad_. A cable from Dawnay saying Lord K. "would not regard unfavourably" a withdrawal from Suvla Bay. Dawnay left under the cloud of the 21st August. He it was who rough-drafted the cable (in very much stronger terms than my final version) suggesting that we might have to draw in our horns if we were not kept up to strength. Since then our skies have cleared; the spirit of the men has risen to set fair and we have got drafts enough, not for a big push but certainly to enable us to be delighted should the Turks attempt any sort of an attack, either at Suvla or anywhere else. The Turks, in fact, are strictly on the defensive both actually and in their spirit. _17th September, 1915. Imbros._ Had been going to Anzac to inspect and then to bring Birdie back to stay with me. But the weather was too bad. He got here all right as the wind is from the North and he was able to climb aboard under the lee of Nibrunesi Point. Just as well, perhaps, we did not go, for one way or another a good deal of extra work had to be got through. One thing; two cables from Maxwell to the War Office have been repeated to us here; inadvertently we think; divertingly for sure. The story is this:-- * * * * * A few days ago we were offered the 51st and 53rd Sikhs who, despite their titles, are half Mahomedan. After consulting Cox, Birdie and other Indian Army Officers I cabled back saying we would gladly have them "as soon as transport can be arranged," unless French is willing to exchange them for two purely non-Mahomedan units. Here are the collateral cables from Maxwell to the War Office:-- * * * * * "Both the 51st and 53rd Sikhs have already been disembarked. They had better remain off ship as long as possible, I think, since they are reported to be feverish. The troopship can wait at Port Said. The men on the canal, I should like to point out, barely get two nights in bed per week." "I have been asked by Hamilton to send him a double Company of Patiala Sikhs to reinforce the 14th Sikhs. I can do this, and if you concur I think it is a better arrangement than to send him the 51st and 53rd Sikhs." The Sikhs meant for Gallipoli are gone; we shall never see them more; they mount guard by night against the ghosts of the Suez Canal. Another thing; a Correspondent writes in and tells us that for the honour of his profession he feels bound to let us know that Mr. Ashmead-Bartlett has secretly sent home an uncensored despatch _per_, of all people in the world, Mr. Murdoch! I had begun to wonder what had come over Mr. Murdoch and now it seems he has come over me! The next paper on the table was my draft cable of advice for M. Millerand. Joffre wants his four Divisions to land on the Peninsula; Sarrail wishes them to work along the Asiatic side. No doubt the views of the French Generals are being coloured by their wish to stand as clear as they can of British command. So I have been careful to sweep away _that_ obstacle by offering to stand down. Now they can fix up the problem on its merits:-- * * * * * "Closest consideration has been given to your No. 7843, cipher. Until now I have consistently opposed a landing on the Asiatic side of the Straits with less than 6 divisions--see my telegram No. M.F. 349 of 19th June. On Gallipoli Peninsula area and difficulties of supply limited liabilities of the opposing forces whereas mainland of Asia gave scope for the deployment of large forces by the enemy. Now, however, the situation is clearing up and there has been a great change in the conditions. "The Turks had formerly 10,000 to 12,000 men on Asiatic shore with large reserves on the Peninsula available to cross over there if necessary. Now Anatolia and Syria have been drained of troops to oppose us on the Peninsula where the Turks have far longer front to hold, namely, 9-1/2 miles instead of 2-1/2, whilst our position and strength at Suvla and Anzac are more threatening to their communications than was our position at Anzac in June. If, therefore, we can be strong enough to maintain pressure on whole Turkish line on the Peninsula it is unlikely that Turks could detach troops to oppose French landing on Asiatic shore. Assuming even that the Turks were enabled to release every soldier from Thrace by a definite understanding being arrived at with Bulgaria, I calculate they might gather a total of five divisions but of these probably only one or at most two would be on Asiatic side at beginning of the operations and would probably be scattered so that opposition in strength to surprise landing is improbable. Moreover, only one of the divisions is composed of good Nizam troops, others believed to be not up to establishment. The Asiatic coast down to Yukeri Bay is now heavily trenched but I do not think much has been done below that point. Supposing, therefore, French bring good divisions at war strength and succeed in keeping their destination secret, they appear to have a good chance of obtaining good covering positions without much loss and of thence advancing on Chanak defeating any Turkish forces sent against them. Degree of their success would depend on whether the entrenched positions which have been prepared on the Kum Kale--Ehren Keui road could be turned by the good road which leads from Yukeri through Ezine and Ishiklar to Chanak, as it is unlikely that Turks would be able to quickly organize new defensive positions with entirely new line of supply. The distance of landing place from objective is a secondary consideration. It is easier to march and fight 100 miles than to take three lines of trenches. In the one case there is room for manoeuvre at which Turks are bad while in the other case siege warfare results at which the Turks stand supreme. Once Ehren Keui reached, the Turks between that place and Kum Kale would be forced to retire and Kum Kale would become our base, thereby greatly shortening line of supply. Supposing Turks endeavoured to make bridgehead on Chanak promontory, the country is so big that large forces would be necessary and once the Turks were cut off from North their supply difficulties would be most serious. French possession of Chanak should be equivalent to victory, but as Turks are stubborn fellows it is better to confine anticipations to commencement of results which I consider would be as follows:--Cutting off of Turkish supply line Chanak to Akbashi Liman. Narrows would be useless to Turks. Nagara communications could be cut. Our 15-inch howitzer could be used to batter Kilid Bahr forts. Allied Fleets should be able to enter Marmora without loss. "Turning to alternatives. If French were held up and unable to reach Chanak, at least the last Turkish reserves would have been used up and I think happy termination of operations though postponed would begin to come clearly into view. Supposing the worst happened and that the French were compelled to fall back after landing. In that case a clear road for retirement to a bridgehead would be open. Positions covering landing could be taken up and there they would continue to draw towards them considerable Turkish forces which would otherwise be available for use on Peninsula. "Finally, greater difficulties beset all other schemes. The notorious military disadvantages of independent command would be less harmful if the respective armies were separated by the Straits than if they were mixed up together on Peninsula. As Achi Baba is now one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, it would be unpopular to palm off the Cape Helles end upon the French. Moreover, all the French here are, and always have been, dead set on Asia. If the French were employed at Suvla they would have to fight side by side with the British, a situation which, with co-equal commanders, would be a military absurdity. Were that course decided upon, I would ask the Allied Governments to make up their minds which General had the most daring, brains and experience, and if it were the Frenchman I would serve under him loyally. "As to making the attempt to the North of the Gulf of Xeros: a landing there is certain to be opposed, and the Turkish reinforcements which are always held ready in the neighbourhood of Uzunkiupru and Keshan could arrive in strength very quickly and imperil the whole project. A further objection lies in the distance of the French intermediate base and great strain it would throw on Allied Fleets. Finally, it is all-important that absolute secrecy should be maintained. I suggest that it should be allowed to leak out that the destination of the French is Enos, this would probably have the effect of tricking Turkish troops in Thrace, as Enos is a destination which would gain most credence." Birdie has at last worn off the fine edge of his keenness; he looks a little tired: General Russell, the New Zealander, dined also and was in great form. _18th September, 1915. Imbros._ A cable to say that the French Government are anxious to form two bases each capable of supplying three Divisions: one to be at Mudros, the other at Mitylene. Is it business? In spite of delay, in spite of lost chances, is it business? CHAPTER XX LOOS AND SALONIKA Left G.H.Q. at noon to-day, 18th, sailed to Helles; lunched with Davies; went up to inspect the East Lanes Division. The trenches are in apple-pie order and the men are in good heart, but the stomach has always been held to be the mainstay of the fighting man, and theirs are in the grip of enteritis. Stopped at 5th Corps Headquarters on my way back. De Putron and la Borde came back with me. Struck an interesting scientist called Lawes whilst I was in the Lancashire trenches. As we were entering the harbour at Kephalos an enemy Taube tried to drop a bomb aboard. No harm. Dined with the V.A. together with Birdie, Lord Anglesey and Freddie. When we got back found this from War Office. Rather amusing to be in the know of the counter moves and to see their outcome:-- * * * * * "The exchange of battalions mentioned in No. 7873, cipher, of 14th September cannot be effected, so that at present the 51st and 53rd Sikhs will not proceed to France. From the General Officer Commanding, Egypt's, telegram No. 1854. E. of 15th September, it is understood that he can send you another double company of Patiala Sikhs to reinforce the 14th Sikhs. Possibly this will suffice for your requirements in the meantime, and the 51st and 53rd Sikhs will be left at the disposal of General Officer Commanding, Egypt. If so, will you please make arrangements with him accordingly? "Repeated to General Officer Commanding, Egypt." Our defeat is a foregone conclusion: the Senoussi is too strong for us. All the same I am determined to press the matter to an issue, if only to have a clean cut precedent as to whether we do have a first call on troops in Egypt or whether it is the other way about. We want these men so badly. They don't get sick here; are worth four European Battalions at present, and Birdie has become most anxious to get them, especially the 53rd. So I am cabling to Maxwell just to send us our troops (for they are ours) forthwith and have cabled to the War Office:-- * * * * * "With reference to your telegram No. 8012, cipher. In accordance with your telegram No. 8711, of 11th September, I am asking General Officer Commanding, Egypt, to send here, at once, the 51st and 53rd Sikhs, as I cannot do without them. I shall be very glad to receive the Patiala Sikhs as well, as the 14th Sikhs are badly in need of a reinforcement." Imagine had we been sent Indian Divisions for Suvla and if the New Army, Territorials and Yeomen had been sent instead to France! Each category would have given (let me put it mildly) double value. The heat, the thirst, the scrub, the snipers, all so disconcerting to our fresh contingents would have been commonplaces of frontier warfare to our Indian troops. See what the handful with us here have achieved. Yet in vain do I write and cable my personal entreaties to Beauchamp Duff, the all-powerful Commander-in-Chief in India, and a very old friend, for two hundred Sikhs: first he offers me a couple of hundred Brahmins wherewith to fill the ranks of the famous 14th Sikhs and then, when I hesitate before a proposal which appears monstrous, withdraws even that offer. Again, I beg for 200 recruits for the 14th, saying I will train them myself; I am refused--very politely and at great length--refused, because it would be "politically inexpedient" to send them. In vain do we try to get our own two battalions through the Egyptian morass; they are going to stick and do sentry go over nothing. Why; were there any real trouble in Egypt I could land a whole Division there within four and a half days! As for the New Army and Territorials, gradually entered with their veteran comrades in the trenches of France and Flanders, they too would have had more familiar surroundings and fairer play--as everyone here now recognizes, too late! The crystals of history take shape while we fight. As in a glass darkly the outlines begin to appear to anyone who has a moment wherein to peer beyond the end of the war. Everything has gone by the contrary. Our people have done as well as their neighbours, and better, with their imaginations, whether in diplomacy, strategy or tactics. Where the Gibbon or Plutarch who survives the War Office Censor is going to damn their reputations into heaps is over their failure in business commonsense. Under their noses, parts of their system, were two great live organisms; the Indian Army and the Territorial Force. From the moment the mobilization flag was dropped it was up to them to work tooth and nail to treble or quadruple these sound, vigorous existing entities. What have they done? After a year of war, the Indian Army and the Territorial Army are staggering on their last legs instead of being the best part of our forces. Compare the East Lanes Division, who had the good fortune to escape from War Office clutches by getting right out to Egypt at the outbreak of the war, with Territorial Divisions which have remained since then under the eyes and in the hands of the War Office! The Turks are still withdrawing troops from the Caucasus front to ours. Good for the Russians. Whilst I was at Helles, the enemy guns started a heavy bombardment along the whole of our nine mile front from the right of Anzac to the left of Suvla; a heavy musketry fire also along the Turkish trenches. An attempt was then made to launch infantry assaults against our lines, but these fizzled out, the rank and file having no heart for the job. There is no doubt the Turks have had enough of it. They can still hold on, but that's about all. _19th September, 1915. Imbros._ News in to say that the Turkish rank and file at Suvla are not equal to any attack. At the end of the bombardment yesterday a few officers jumped on to the parapet and waved their swords; the men shouted from the safety of the trenches--that was all. Alec McGrigor arrived from Alexandria as A.D.C. _vice_ Brodrick. At 9 p.m. an enemy aeroplane dropped a couple of bombs. Very jolly having Birdie here. He says that his latest returns show a daily sick list of ten per battalion of British or Australian troops and of one per battalion of Indian troops. _20th September, 1915. Imbros._ Nothing doing. There is still scope for action at Suvla but we can't get them to take up any little schemes we may suggest. Shell shortage is the invariable answer. At 5 p.m. Birdie and Anglesey went back to Anzac. _21st September, 1915. Imbros._ Further development of the Sikh comedy:--Maxwell cables, "No. 1883 E. Your No. M.F. 648. I have received no orders to send these regiments. According to my last information from the War Office they were to remain here, as I require them, but that I should send you a double company of Patiala Sikhs to reinforce the 14th Sikhs." I have cabled this on to the War Office, saying, "As I understand it, your No. 8012 of 18th September does not mean that the War Office have withdrawn the offer of these two regiments, which are urgently required here. I therefore hope that you will give early authority to General Officer Commanding, Egypt, to send them on to Mediterranean Expeditionary Force." The battalions were thrown at my head when that grand statement was made as to the grand army I commanded; now where are they? Started off with Taylor, Freddie and Colonel Napier (British Military Attaché to Bulgaria) for Anzac. No shelling. Went round the whole left centre and left of Birdie's position to right and left of Cheshire Point, and saw the new Australian Division--very fine fellows. Bullets were on the whistle and "the boys" were as keen and happy as any real schoolboys. Memories of the Khyber, Chitral and Tirah can hardly yield samples of a country so tangled and broken. Where the Turks begin and where we end is a puzzler, and if you do happen to take a wrong turning it leads to Paradise. Met various Australian friends--a full-blown Lord Mayor--many other leading citizens both of Melbourne and of Sydney. At 5 p.m. re-embarked. Napier gave birth to a happy thought on our way back. His idea is that we should transfer the troops on the Gallipoli Peninsula to Salonika so as to hearten up the Serbians and Greeks and dishearten our enemies at Sofia. He has pressed his view, he said, on the Foreign Office. I asked him if his Chief, the Minister at Sofia, stood behind him. He said he could not vouch for his Minister's views, but that he, Napier, had power in his capacity as Military Attaché to correspond with the British Government direct. K. himself did at one time toy with the thought of sending his New Army to Serbia either under Rundle or myself, and was only restrained by the outbreak of typhus in that country. But, keen as I was for the warpath, a very little study of the terrain and supply question was enough to cool my ardour. Salonika is ruled out by history. In all the campaigns waged of old in these very regions the part played by Salonika has been naval, not military. There must have been some reason for this: there was; it still exists--geography! You could not, and cannot, carry out anything big _via_ a couple of narrow cracks through a trackless labyrinth of mountains. The problem is a repetition of the Afghanistan dilemma. A big army would starve at Nisch and along the Danube; a small army would be swallowed up by the enemy. Unless they are going to trust to Bulgaria and Roumania for supplies, one British Army Corps is about as much as can manage to live and fight in Serbia. If they want to make Serbia safe their only possible chance is to push through to Constantinople! There is no other way. I said all this to Napier and a lot more besides and left him keener on Salonika than ever. He actually thinks that from Salonika we could do what could be done by us at any time at the Dardanelles! Salonika is no alternative to the Dardanelles. I wish the War Office could hear Gouraud; Gouraud, that big sane man with local knowledge. How strong he used to be on the point that Greece lay altogether outside the sphere of any military action by the Entente. We can't feed Russia with munitions through Salonika, nor can we bring back Russian wheat _via_ Salonika,--not much, seeing we would not be able to feed ourselves were we fifty miles into the mountains. Salonika is a military mare's nest. Scatters Wilson and Captain Cheape dined and stayed the night. The King's Messenger arrived with the Mails. Three cables:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 654). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Only two machine guns per battalion are being brought by the City of London battalions, the balance, by order of General Officer Commanding, Egypt, being handed over to Chief Ordnance Officer, Egypt. The former telegraphs that this has been done by your order. There is nothing that is more important to my force than an ample supply of these guns. I would therefore request that early authority should be given to General Officer Commanding, Egypt, to send on these guns." "(No. I.D. 116). From General Headquarters, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, to War Office. My No. I.D. 110. Please inform me whether Murdoch has arrived, and whether my information was correct as regards his carrying a despatch for Sir Harry Lawson from Ashmead-Bartlett." "(No. 8108, cipher). From War Office to General Headquarters, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Your No. I.D. 116. A despatch answering the description has been taken from Murdoch at Marseilles. You should delay action, however, until we have seen it and you hear from us further." The despatch should have been censored here and ought, therefore, to be sent back here for censoring. The War Office, I suppose, want to have first look in! _22nd September, 1915._ Scatters and Cheape sailed back for Suvla at 6.45 a.m.--just in good time to avoid a raid on our Headquarters carried out by three Taubes between 7.50 and 8 a.m. A dozen bombs dropped; no serious harm done. Heseltine, King's Messenger, came to dinner. Bad news from Bulgaria. She is mobilizing, not, we may be sure, for the sake of helping those who do not help themselves. Well do I remember Ferdinand, as long ago as 1909, turning to me and saying as he pointed to a picture of himself in the robes of a Byzantine Emperor, "_Quand vous arrivez au Bosphore, pensez à moi_." Well, there is one good side to working over a narrow Peninsula, under the guns of your own Fleet, all the Bulgars in the Balkans cannot add a rifle to the number of enemy troops on Gallipoli, who already, can only be munitioned, watered and fed with the greatest difficulty. The more targets the enemy cram on to their present narrow front the merrier for our gunners; the better the chance for our submarines starving the lot of them. So long as our Fleet holds the �gean, we may snap our fingers at the Bulgarians, whereas they, were they fools enough to come here, would live on tenter hooks lest haply some fine morning our Fleet should sail into the Marmora. Yes, two or three battleships in the Marmora! Think of it! The sea communications, Constantinople-Gallipoli and Asia-Gallipoli, would cease, _ipso facto_, to exist. The railways between Europe and Constantinople and Asia and Constantinople must shut down. In a fortnight the Turks on the Peninsula begin to pack up; in a month the Turks in Constantinople move bag and baggage from Europe to Asia. Ferdinand watching the cat's jump, prepares to turn those 400,000 bayonets of his against the Kaiser. So wags my world in the might-be; very much "might-be" for the Navy are turning down the "to be" for the third time of asking. Three times the Sibyl makes her prodigious offer: May--August--September a new world for old battleships:--two--four--six! _23rd September, 1915._ Stormy weather: the _Imogene_ could hardly crawl out. Have written K. to tell him how day succeeds day, never without incident, but never with achievement; how we are burnt up with longing to get on and how we know that he is as anxious. Yet, as I tell him, _we_ "can't force the pace." How can we? We have not the wherewithal--the stuff. "Byng would like to have four days' successive bombardment for an hour, and then attack, and speaks of one H.E. shell per yard as pat as if they were shells we could pick up on the seashore. I have assured him it is no earthly use; that he shall have his share of what I have got, but that stuff for bombardment is simply not in existence,--not here, at least." _24th September, 1915. Imbros._ Fought against exasperation all day. As I thought:-- * * * * * "(No. 8193, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. In the existing situation, the two battalions referred to in your No. M.F. 655 of 21st September, should remain for the present in Egypt. I have informed Maxwell to this effect." K. has re-opened the idea of giving up Suvla, saying, "it might become necessary in certain eventualities to abandon that area." In my reply I have said, "I hope there will be no question now of the abandonment of Suvla.... In the Northern zone I have now more troops than at the time of my telegram, my line is stronger, the old troops are resting, the new troops are improving, and preparations are being made for a local advance. At this stage withdrawal will be a great moral victory for the Turks. Moreover, it would release a large number of enemy divisions to oppose the Russians in Asia, or for other enterprises." Another cable also sent dealing with the ever present, ever pressing, ever ghastlier shortage upon the Peninsula generally:-- * * * * * "My present shortages, 21st September, of infantry rank and file are 2,645 in the XXIXth Division, 17,166 in the three New Army Divisions, and 23,986 in the four Territorial Divisions, totalling 43,797; out of respective establishments of 11,652, 37,869 and 44,824, total, 97,345." Were the Royal Naval Division included the percentage would be worse. Peter Pollen and I dined with the Admiral. After dinner, we discussed Fox-Ferdinand's little tricks. The Admiral had heard a lot about his flirtations with the Duke of Mecklenburg lately sent from Berlin on some sort of an ambassadorial mission to the Balkans. I told him of my visit to Sofia during the interval which took place between Prince Ferdinand proclaiming himself Tsar, and the tardy and unenthusiastic recognition of his new rank by Great Britain. Ferdinand's Court Chamberlain asked me to dine. I wanted to refuse as I had meant to go on to Constantinople, but Sir George Buchanan, our Minister, begged me to accept. Diplomatic relations were broken off; he had not seen Ferdinand for a month: he wanted to know what that Prince would say to me: "_but_," he added, "you must on no account go in uniform. Seeing you are on the Army Council it would almost amount to a recognition of his Kingship if you went there in uniform." I thought this a little far-fetched; however, I wrote back and said that I had the honour to accept, but that, as I was travelling, I had only my _kleine Uniform_; i.e., undress kit, handy. I proposed, therefore, with permission to take the liberty of presenting myself in evening dress, wearing miniature medals and decorations and the ribbon of the Grand Cross of the Bath. By return messenger an answer came back, "His Majesty particularly wished once more to see the admirable British uniform:" would I come in _kleine Uniform_; meanwhile, to put me quite at my ease, H.M. had commanded the Court also to wear undress. I showed this to Sir George, who laughed and said, "He is too sharp; he has done us; you must go now--there is no help for it." So I went in my grubby blue serge and found Ferdinand and the whole of his Court blazing with orders in the fullest of full dress! _25th September, 1915._ To Anzac in the _Arno_. Birdie met me and we walked along the lower part of the left of the Australian trenches until we reached the New Zealanders and were joined by Godley. Lunched with General Inglefield; then plodded through the trenches held by his Division (the 54th; nice-looking boys) and by the Indian Brigade. On the left of the Indian Brigade I was met by Peyton who did pilot to me through the Scottish Horse section. The Bard joined us here and was in great form, full of administrative good works as in South Africa. The Scottish Horse are as keen as schoolboys out for their first shoot. They were very proud of themselves and of the effect their rifles with telescopic sights had produced when put into the hands of gillies and deer stalkers, and at every twenty yards or so there was a Scottish Horseman looking along his sights, finger on trigger, and by his side a spotter whose periscope was fixed on the opposite loophole. The moment a Turkish shadow darkened the loophole the word was given, the bullet sped. Not a very big mark a loophole at over 100 yards but they got it, they said, one try out of three. At the end of the Scottish Horse we came to the Worcester Yeomanry trench. But time was up[12] and I had to make tracks for Anzac where we had tea with Birdie, who had stuck to us throughout the tour. Imbros by dinner-time. The quietest day, bar none, we have had on the Peninsula since we first landed. Not a shot was fired anywhere except by our own snipers. _26th September, 1915. Imbros._ Last night, after dinner, Braithwaite came across with a black piece of news in his pocket:-- * * * * * "(No. 8229, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. On account of the mobilization of the Bulgarian Army Greece has asked the Allies to send a force to Salonika in order to enable her to support Serbia should the latter be attacked by Bulgaria, as well as by German forces from the North. No doubt you realize that if by such action Bulgaria joins hands with the Central Powers they will have a clear road to Constantinople and Gallipoli, and be able to send large quantities of ammunition or troops, rendering your position very hazardous. "Both France and ourselves have promised to send between us the troops asked for, viz., 150,000 men, and urgency is essential. It is evident that under these circumstances some troops will have to be taken from the Dardanelles to go to Salonika, but it must be clearly understood that there is no intention of withdrawing from the Peninsula or of giving up the Dardanelles operations until the Turks are defeated. Your staff officer has suggested to me that you saw no difficulty in reducing the length of your line and concentrating your forces by withdrawing from the position now held around Suvla Bay to the neighbourhood of the Kaiajik Aghala position whence a line might be drawn to the sea. "Before the situation was changed by the Bulgarians' action we considered that, owing to the marshy nature of the country now occupied at Suvla and the approaching winter, this reduction of front would be strategically advantageous. Hence my telegram No. 8162 to which your No. M.F. 664 replies. "An offensive along practically the whole line in France has now commenced. The infantry are attacking to-day. Far-reaching results are anticipated which, if secured, should greatly affect your situation. "The projected dispatch of reinforcements of French and British divisions for Asiatic operations must be in abeyance until a decision in the Western theatre can be reached. The troops now at the Dardanelles which are required for Salonika would be two divisions, preferably the Xth and XIth. The French would also have to withdraw either a brigade or a division from their force at Helles for the same purpose. The Yeomanry now _en route_ to you would also have to be diverted to Salonika and we should have to arrange to mount them from Egypt after their arrival. "Cable me at once your ideas as to meeting these requirements. The Dardanelles Committee consider a withdrawal from Suvla to be advisable under the circumstances, but they had not seen your telegram No. 664. We have been asked to send the 15-inch howitzer, now on board ship at Mudros, to Belgrade as soon as possible." Amen--so be it! Our mighty stroke at the vitals of the enemy is to break itself to pieces against the Balkans. God save the King! May the Devil fly away with the whole of the Dardanelles Committee!! What arguments--what pressure--I wonder can have moved K. to swap horse in mid-Dardanelles? In December K. as good as told me I was "for it" if the day should come along for his New Army to help the Serbians. G.H.Q. in France had belittled his effort to create it; they had tried to throw cold water on it (the New Army) and now we should see how they liked it going to Salonika! The reason why K., at that time, turned the project down was his view that one Army Corps was too small a force to launch into those regions of great armies and that, if the Germans turned seriously in that direction, it would be gobbled up. But two Army Corps would starve, seeing we had no pack transport and that the railway would only feed 40,000 men. Nor had we any mountain guns. In February he resurrected the question but that time he was put off by the typhus. "Whatever destroys my New Army," he said, "it shall not be the Serbian lice." Now he cables as if he was being quite consistent and sensible, _now_, when in every aspect, the odds have turned against the undertaking. As to the Bulgarians having "a clear road to Constantinople and Gallipoli" my memorable dinner with Ferdinand, and his insistence on his "pivotal" position, makes me perfectly certain that the bones of no Bulgarian grenadier will fertilize the Peninsula--whatever happens. And if the inconceivable were conceivable and Ferdinand were to work for anything but his own immediate gain--there is no room for them here! That fact is cast iron. The Turkish Empire is _here_ in full force. Enver can't feed more! These numbers cause us no alarm. Since the last abortive effort of the Turkish Command to get their men to attack every soldier in the trenches knows well that the enemy are afraid of us. They dare not attack, they will not attack, and they cannot attack. We know that quite well. If K. would only come out here he would realize that the Turk has lost his sting. I don't mean to say he is not still a formidable fellow to turn out of his trench, but he can't attack any more: and that is just the moment we have chosen to sit down and do nothing; now, when the enemy has been brought to a standstill! During my absence Bailloud has wired saying he had received orders from his own Minister of War to arrange for sending away one Division of the C.E.O. and Braithwaite has cabled the startling news to our S. of S. for War. Well, well. If the Greeks and ourselves are going to push through the mountains to help the Serbs to hold Belgrade and the line of the Danube, why then, no doubt, we are embarking upon something that would be fine were it feasible--something more hopeful than sitting at Salonika and in its salubrious suburbs, the "political" advantages of which were preached to us by Napier. But let no man hereafter talk of Dardanelles adventures. _Mon Dieu!_ Once again see the dupes of maps preparing to dash out their brains, or rather the brains of others, against the rocks. If only Joffre and K. had looked at Belgrade over the guns of an Austrian Battery in Semlin, as I did in 1909! The line of the Danube is untenable except by a very large force against the very large forces that can, and will, be brought against it and there is no Fleet there to feed a large force. Also, the communications of such a defending force will not only be mechanically rotten but will also be strategically at the tender mercy of the most cunning Prince in Europe. We may think we have squared Ferdinand. But it is easier to square the circle than square a fox. On the Danube, the Central Powers can put _and keep_ six men to our one, _unless_ we control the river from its mouth to Belgrade. This we can only do by forcing the Dardanelles. After outlining an answer for Braithwaite to draft, I started off at 10.45 for Anzac and Suvla. With me were Taylor, Gascoigne, Lieutenant Moore and Freddie. From Anzac I walked along the old communication trench for a couple of miles, and then went round General Taylor's Brigade along the front by Green Hill and the Chocolate Hills. The heat was very exhausting. Yesterday's calm has proved to be the prelude to an attempted storm. At 5 a.m. there was a big bombardment of the front line trenches, and the Turks made a gesture of defiance. The gesture did not go beyond fixing bayonets and shouting "Allah!" and the only result has been to render Suvla more convinced than ever that the Turks are absolutely fed up. After invigorating myself with a good draught of regimental spirit, set forth to walk back to Anzac. Half way I halted at the Indian Brigade Headquarters, and, on the invitation of the hospitable Colonel Palin, had a square meal. Met Allanson, the brave commander of the 6th Gurkhas; Allanson who scaled the heights of Sari Bair and entered for a few hectic hours into the promised land. Oh, what a wonderful adventure his has been! To have seen the Dardanelles and their defences lying flat at his feet! To feel--as he says he did--that he held the whole Turkish Army by the throat! To-day's inspection has once more brought me into personal touch with the perfect confidence felt both at Anzac and Suvla in the demoralization of the Turks. This has nerved me to cable agreeing to spare the 10th and 53rd Divisions from Suvla as well as a Brigade of French from Helles and four and a half Brigades of British Field Artillery:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 675). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. Reference your No. 8229. Let me begin by saying that I quite realize that, to you, playing for your large stakes, the Dardanelles operation may temporarily become of a secondary nature. In spite of the Salonika scheme I am, however, particular to note that it is not intended to withdraw from the Gallipoli Peninsula, nor to give up here until the Turks are beaten. Bearing this in mind it becomes my duty to point out the objection to the abandonment of Suvla Bay, the consequences of which at this stage would, I consider, be so grave that I am warranted in running much risk to get you your two divisions by other means. The situation has greatly changed since I first suggested the possibility of abandoning the Bay, and its abandonment at this stage would, I feel convinced, enormously accentuate the difficulties of any subsequent attempt to capture the Narrows; unless, as a result of our landing troops at Salonika, Bulgaria were induced to side with us and not against us. Even when I told you in my No. M.F. 578 of 23rd August that the diminution of my forces might compel me to contract my line, I could not view the project without misgiving, in spite of the fact that, at that time, I had landed few reinforcements and little artillery in the new zone, and my views are not rightly interpreted when it is said that I saw no great difficulty in the enterprise. After I had received the reassuring news of reinforcements I sent you my No. M.F. 589 of 26th August and I have from that date been pouring in large quantities of reinforcements and supplies in anticipation of winter, and have landed a large additional amount of artillery. Therefore, I could not hurriedly evacuate the Bay without sacrificing the majority of supplies and warlike stores. I might also have very considerable losses, for the Turks, who were previously 700 yards away, are now within bombing distance in places. They have a large number of guns in the northern zone and a retirement could only be effected under heavy fire, which with unseasoned troops would make the retreat a hazardous one. As explained in my No. M.F. 664 evacuation of the Bay would involve with it the _eventual_ evacuation of all but the original Anzac position. But even if this last step were not necessary the withdrawal of British soldiers from Suvla would be an overwhelming victory for the Turks. Our position in the Dardanelles would be entirely altered for the worse and even the effect of our landing of troops at Salonika might be discounted in Bulgarian eyes. At the present moment the Turkish commissariat difficulties and tales of starving families which the wounded bring back from Constantinople are having a bad effect on their _moral_ and the number of desertions is on the increase. Two Turkish attempts at the offensive have broken down completely during the last week as their troops refused to leave cover. If I give ground the Turkish _moral_ will immediately recover and instead of containing over 60,000 Turks in the Northern Zone there would be large numbers set free to go elsewhere. All these arguments seem to prove plainly that to evacuate a yard of Suvla would be a most serious, and might prove a disastrous step. I would therefore prefer to run the risk of holding the line defensively with fewer troops in order to spare two divisions for the new enterprise. "I have at present one division in Corps Reserve at Suvla and the 1st Australian Division resting at Mudros and also one brigade resting at Imbros. By bringing the tired Australians back and making them replace the Mounted Division in the section north of Susak Kuyu I could spare Xth and LIIIrd Divisions or else Xth and XIth. I could also spare one French brigade from Cape Helles without replacing it by troops from Suvla, and a total of 4-1/2 British Field Artillery brigades. This would at any rate enable me to postpone any evacuation at Suvla and if the withdrawal became necessary later on there would be less loss involved in supplies and stores, as I could gradually make necessary preparations for this deplorable contingency. "The 15-inch howitzer is at Alexandria and can be sent whenever you desire on the receipt of instructions. To-morrow I am having a conference here with the Corps Commanders concerned to consider the details. I hope that you realize that though the IXth Corps consists of Xth, XIth and XIIIth Divisions there are attached to it LIIIrd Welsh Division, Mounted Division and XXIXth Division, and I therefore sincerely trust you will not contemplate the withdrawal of the Corps Staff and Corps Commander to accompany the two divisions destined for Salonika, for I have absolutely no one to replace them." _27th September, 1915._ After breakfast a dove, the German sort, flew across from Chanak and dropped four bombs on our Headquarters; all wide; no damage. At 11 o'clock Birdwood and Byng came over for a confab on the last upset. Both Generals went word by word through my M.F. 657 of the 26th September,--(1) as to drawing in our horns at Suvla,--(2) as to our power of holding on after we lose the 10th and 53rd Divisions. They concur in my cables and are emphatic as to the futility of making a gift of ground to any enemy who are shaking in their shoes. What the Turks want is a gift, not of ground but of high explosive shell. A few thousand pounds worth of that and Byng would go ahead and settle their hash for good. Birdie stayed to lunch during which meal I got a message from Bailloud telling me flat that he had orders from his Government to get one Division over to Mudros forthwith. As long as I am in command no soldier but myself shall handle the troops entrusted to me. I have sent the following reply:--"Sorry that as my orders already telegraphed to you this morning are specific, I cannot permit any movement of troops away from the Peninsula pending further instructions." Ross and Nevinson (Press Correspondents), who have been away on a jaunt, called on me and had tea. Lord William Percy and Sir Walter Barttelot dined. _28th September, 1915._ Office. At midnight an enemy aeroplane let us have a taste of his high explosive--no harm done. At 10.30 this morning another came over and dropped a couple of bombs into the aerodrome close by--two men hit. Colonel Dorling reported himself to me as Senior Paymaster. A cable from K. saying he is glad to meet me as to holding on at Suvla. He agrees in fact that to draw in our horns would merely set free six Turkish Divisions to attack us elsewhere. He agrees also with my choice of Divisions for Salonika. K. seems astonished at the behaviour of the French Government in sending tactical orders direct to Bailloud. Most extraordinary, he calls it. He wants Byng to go to Salonika and winds up gloriously by telling me of the great things they are doing in France; that, up to the present, 23,000 prisoners and over 40 guns have been taken, and that he hopes there are more of each to follow. This fine success, he says, should help us along in the East. So it should. I have cabled the good news across and ordered a _feu de joie_ to be fired everywhere on the Peninsula in honour of the victory. The ball was opened at Helles at 7 p.m., the Turks replied vigorously with every gun and rifle they could bring to bear, and rarely, I imagine, has a "furious joy" expressed itself more furiously. Nowhere in the Empire has this fine victory brought more heartfelt relief and joy than at the Dardanelles: to have been brought to a standstill, for the third time of asking, for _nothing_; that was the fear which had haunted us. _29th September, 1915._ Work. At 11 a.m. tore myself away from my papers to play principal part in a gay little ceremony. Outside my office a guard of honour of Surrey Yeomanry, Naval Division and Australians formed three sides of a square. Bertier, de la Borde and Pelliot were led in smiling like brides going up to the altar, and, after a tiny speech, I decorated the first with the D.S.O. and the other two with the Military Cross. All three Officers are most popular, and there were loud cheers. De la Borde had tea and Mitchell came in at the same time to say good-bye. We are all distressed at losing Mitchell. He is a very fine specimen of the sailor of the modern school. Efficient, modest, untiring at his work. He has collaborated in the most loyal and devoted manner with the G.S., and I don't know how we should ever have got on without him. Nevinson, the Correspondent, came again with Maxwell, the Press Censor. Nevinson wants to find out whether it would be worth his while to go to Salonika. I would like to lend him a hand for he is such a nice fellow, but the matter is about as secret as can be, and I don't feel myself free to say much. The Captains of H.M.S. _Cornwall_ and _Cornwallis_ dined; also Flight Commander Samson and Ward, King's Messenger. The last named starts to-morrow night and carried off with him my letter to K. Amongst other things I write:--"In the cables which have passed between us, I have found it anything but an easy business to strike the happy mean between executing your wishes promptly and cheerfully on the one hand, and, on the other, giving you a faithful impression of how we should stand here once your orders had been carried out. "If I make too little of the dangers which surround me, then you may be encouraged to weaken me still further, thereby jeopardizing the whole of this enterprise. But if I allow my anxieties to get too much the upper hand, why then I may be ruining some larger enterprise, the bearing of which I have no means of gauging." I then explain the situation and wind up:--"In the small hours of the morning, before I have had my matutinal cup of tea, the immediate outlook gives me a feeling of cold feet in a more aggravated form than I have hitherto experienced. The whole plan of the French Asiatic subsidiary operation has gone, for the meantime, by the board. England and France between them cannot find men enough, I should think, to send considerable forces to Asia as well as run an entirely new show elsewhere. Indeed, Naval requirements alone would seem entirely to forbid it. But I must not worry you any more with surmises. After all, nothing great in this world was ever easily accomplished. Never has there been such an example of that as in the Dardanelles Expedition. How many times has success seemed to be on the point of crowning our efforts, and yet, on each occasion, just as we are beginning to see light through the tangle of obstacles, preparing for an assault, or whatever it may be, something occurs to upset the apple-cart. None the less we do advance, and we will succeed in the end. I feel I am playing it rather low down inflicting on you the outline of my own trouble at a moment when your own must be infinitely greater. "Reading over this letter which I have not now time to re-write or correct, it strikes me that in concentrating my mind purely on the Dardanelles I may have given a wrong impression of my general attitude towards your latest demand. No one can realize, I believe, more clearly than I do that the Dardanelles operations themselves hinge for their success to a very large extent upon the maintenance of a barrier between the Central Powers and Constantinople. As far as reinforcements of men to the enemy in the field are concerned, such inter-communication would not be so fatal as might perhaps be imagined. The Gallipoli Peninsula is a limited area, and if the Germans had a million men at Constantinople they could not, under present conditions, add many, if any, to the numbers already opposed to us. But the free transit of coal, flour, ammunition and big guns might well put us all in the cart--the cart being in this instance, the sea." My A.D.C. has brought me an irritated message from the A.G., War Office:-- * * * * * "Your No. M.F.A. 4003 of the 24th instant. Are you aware that your telegram was really a demand for 60,000 men with a weekly supply in addition. We do not see how to meet such large numbers in view of the present situation in France. Have the numbers at Base, Alexandria, and men returning from hospital, etc., been taken into account? Please state what are your minimum requirements to carry on with." Am I aware, etc.? Why certainly; _and so is the A.G._ To ignore facts is one thing; to be ignorant of them is another. These facts are, or should be, the daily bread of his Department. I resent this surprise; it is not genuine. If, as the A.G. says, they have not got the men to send, why in God's name do they go on telling the people they _have_ got them? Have drafted out this answer:-- * * * * * "A.G. My telegram No. M.F.A. 4003 told you the number required to bring and keep all formations up to establishment and, as an estimate, the numbers given therein are accurate. There is nothing new in that telegram; it is only the culmination of many demands, the deficiency, which was serious enough before, being aggravated by the prevailing epidemic. I took into account the numbers in Base depots and men returning from hospital. I certainly hope that there may be a decrease in the sick rate and that there will be an increase in the numbers returning from hospital, but that cannot make any difference to my present shortage of establishment though it would affect the strength of monthly drafts required. "I would like further to point out that only 750 of the 20,000 drafts now coming are for the Territorial Force, the remainder being for the Regulars. Hence assuming that wastage will be equally distributed over all the eight divisions, the estimated shortage of 30,490 on 9th October will be constituted as follows:--Four Territorial Force divisions, 26,583; four Regular divisions, 3,907. "When my No. M.F.A. 4003 was sent no question had arisen of denuding my force for a fresh expedition elsewhere. I fully realize that you cannot send what does not exist and I will do the best possible with what you, knowing my situation, are able to send; but I do not consider that it is possible to view my position in winter with any equanimity unless I am to receive substantial drafts and unless a normal flow of reinforcements for all divisions can be arranged so as to counter the difficulties that are inherent in keeping a force operating so far from England up to establishment." _30th September, 1915. Imbros._ Peace on the Peninsula; trouble at G.H.Q. The 10th Division is taking its departure from Suvla undisturbed by the enemy. Not a shot is being fired. Some say this denotes extraordinary skill in the conduct of the withdrawal; others, extraordinary delight on the part of the Turks to see them clearing out. I don't believe in either theory. The Turks have been fought to a standstill and there is no attack left in them--not under _any_ circumstances or temptation; that is what I believe in my heart, otherwise I would refuse point blank to strip myself of two full divisions under their noses. Still, it is nervous work presuming to this extent upon their fatigue and I will not agree to the 53rd going too, as the loss of three Divisions would leave an actual hole in our line. Meanwhile, it is a relief to hear that the move is going on just like peacetime. As to G.H.Q., all is held up by uncertainty. Our whole enterprise hangs still in the balance. No date for the sailing of our troops for Salonika can yet be fixed, and we may get them back. Am glued to the cable terminus waiting, waiting, waiting. I have agreed to let the 2nd Brigade of the French go! This cable sent to-day to Lord K. explains itself:-- * * * * * "The following has just been received from Bailloud:--'I have the honour to inform you that I have received a telegram from the French Minister of War ordering me (1) to embark one division of the Corps Expéditionnaire immediately for Salonika; (2) to organize this division, which will be placed under my command, into two brigades of Metropolitan Infantry with two groups of 75 mm., one group of mountain artillery, one battery of 125 mm. howitzer and four 120 mm. guns. I am taking steps to execute this order and to hold the present section of the French line with the force remaining in the Peninsula, which will be placed under General Brulard.' "I said in my telegram No. M.F. 675, that I could only spare one brigade of the French. I desire to place on record that if this order of the French Government is carried out the LIIIrd Division cannot possibly be spared without seriously endangering the safety of this force and the whole future of the Dardanelles enterprise. Even if I were to keep the LIIIrd Division it would not relieve me of intense anxiety. The fact will not escape your notice that the division to go is being re-constructed so that nothing but European troops are included, thus leaving an undue proportion of Senegalese. This constitutes such a grave danger that, if I had the power, I would refuse to allow Bailloud to carry out this order of his Government. It need hardly be pointed out that all your hopes of success in the Balkans would be upset by a disaster at Cape Helles. Even when I said that I could spare one French Infantry Brigade the Commander of the VIIIth Corps, who is one of the last men in the Army to express alarmist views, represented to me, in view of the physical condition of a large proportion of his troops, the gravity of the case in the strongest terms." A reminder of mine _re_ the Ashmead-Bartlett incident has drawn an amusing and highly unexpected answer from the War Office:-- * * * * * "Murdoch was found to be carrying a despatch for the Prime Minister criticizing military operations in Gallipoli. He carried nothing for Lawson." I could not help laughing heartily at the blue looks of Tyrrell, the Head of our Intelligence. After all, this is Asquith's own affair. I do not for one moment believe Mr. Asquith would employ such agencies and for sure he will turn Murdoch and his wares into the wastepaper basket. I have reassured Tyrrell. Tittle-tattle will effect no lodgment in the Asquithian brain. Lieutenant Moore from the Military Secretary's office in London dined. He has been useful to us. During the night there was rain and heavy fog. The evacuation of Suvla by the 10th Division goes on without the smallest hitch and is almost finished--all except the guns. Whether the Turks have fallen asleep or only closed an eye is the question of the hour but Birdwood's Intelligence are certain they are stone cold and cannot be dragged to the attack. _1st October, 1915. Imbros._ S. of S. cables he will not overlook our wants in the matter of ammunition but that "at the present moment all he can get has to be sent to France." I have thanked him. Not a word from France since we fired the _feu de joie_. K. believes in the East and sends shell to the West. The reason is that K.'s _beliefs_ are only intuitions; he believes in the same sort of way that Elijah knew certain things. The principle underlying the world war seems to me this:--that wherever the new system of trenches, dug-outs, barbed wire, can reach its fullest development, _there_ we should prefer the defensive. Wherever this new system cannot be fully developed, there the old ideas hold good and there are the theatres for the offensive. In France and Flanders where both sides are within a few hours' run, on good railways, from their own chief arsenals and depôts the new system attains prodigious power. In the Turkish Empire almost all the conditions; railways, material, factories, etc., are favourable to the old and unfavourable to the new conditions. To me these views appear as clear as crystal and as unanswerable as Euclid. The tenacity of the new system of defence; the pressure of France; the apathy of a starved military opinion; the fact that all our most powerful soldiers are up to their necks in the West, combine to keep us ramming our heads against the big pile of barbed wire instead of getting through by the gate called strait. Next Braithwaite with the following electrical bombshell:-- * * * * * "By Bailloud's report I see that he considers that the French line can be held by one division. If, on reconsideration, you agree with this view can you spare the LIIIrd Division?" K. has pounced like a hawk on Bailloud's statement (which I cabled to him yesterday) that he is taking steps for Brulard to hold the French section with one division. Have answered:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F. 703). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. Your No. 8409, cipher. Not one word of my No. M.F. 693 can I take back. The situation at Cape Helles cannot be fully realized. May I remind you that when on 20th August I moved the XXIXth Division to Suvla, I left at Cape Helles only the minimum garrison compatible with safety. Since that date the total British troops there have decreased in strength from 15,300 to 13,300 rifles, and now I am losing a French composite division which is made up of the only troops of the Corps Expéditionnaire on whom I can rely, as well as 44 guns. It is my considered opinion that to leave protection of Cape Helles to one division of Colonial troops, plus 13,300 worn-out British Territorials and Naval Volunteers, is running too serious a risk. To-day, therefore, I am moving one brigade of XXIXth Division back from Suvla to reinforce VIIIth Corps in order to have some regular troops there on whom I can rely. This makes it impossible to spare the LIIIrd Division. The change of opinion on the part of Bailloud, when he gets away from a position which I have found it difficult to persuade him to hold with two divisions, and which he now, as you say, thinks can be held with one division composed largely of blacks, is startling enough to need no comment. If you want to get at his real opinion, suggest that he stays here with one division while Brulard goes to Salonika. "A despatch from Bailloud has _just_ reached me on the situation in French section after his own departure with one division. It is as follows:-- * * * * * "'One division will then be defending our present line with an effective strength reduced by half, and with Infantry which comprises only Colonial contingents, half European and half native. I feel it to be my duty to expose the situation to you in order that you may be able to decide whether the time has not now arrived to reduce the present section of the C.E.O., making part of it occupied by British troops and holding a solid reserve in rear of the Allies' first line capable of dealing with any situation.' "I believe this indicates Bailloud's real opinion; it is a curious contrast to that quoted in your No. 8409, cipher, dated 30th September." At 11.30 crossed to "K" and inspected the 87th Brigade of the 29th Division. Lucas, of the Berks Regiment, commanded. Saw the Border Regiment under Colonel Pollard; then the renowned Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers under Major Pierce, the full strength of the Battalion on parade "all present" was 220! Next the K.O.S.B.s; they were under the command of Major Stoney; last the South Wales Borderers under the command of Captain Williams. The men were in rags and looked very tired. This is the first time in the campaign our rank and file have seemed sorry for themselves. Ten days of rest had been promised them and now they are being hurried back to the trenches before they have had a week. My heart goes out to them entirely. Were I they I would feel mad with me. The breaking of my word to the 29th Division has to be shouldered by me just like all the other results of this new Balkan adventure; the withdrawal of the Irish and the French for Salonika leaves no margin of rest for what's left. Inspected also the West Riding Field Company of Royal Engineers under Major Bayley, and the West Lancashire Field Ambulance. A long letter from Maxwell putting his point of view about the 51st and 53rd Sikhs. Were we both sealed-pattern Saints we'd be bound to fall foul of one another working under so perverse a system. He has written me very nicely; nothing could be nicer. I have replied by return:-- * * * * * "Yours of 24th just received. As to the wires about the 51st and 53rd between myself and the War Office, and your remarks thereon, we stand so much on one platform, and are faced so much by the same difficulties, that I think it ought to be fairly easy for us to come to an understanding in most conceivable circumstances, as indeed our co-operation up to date has shown. "If Egypt goes, then I shall not last very long. If I am wiped out, I think it will be the preface to trouble in Egypt.[13] "As to myself I am 60,000 below strength. I had a cable from the War Office a day or two ago expressing naïve astonishment at this figure. I replied that the figure was accurate and that there was nothing new about it as it only denoted the accumulation of a state of things which had been continuously reported since the very first day when we started off from England minus the ten per cent. margin of excess given to every unit going across to France. This is the essential cause of our repeated failure to make that last little push which just differentiates partial from conclusive success. In every case this has been so. Had I been able to throw in my ten per cent. margin on the third day after landing, there is no doubt in the world we would have got right up on to Achi Baba. Afterwards, each engagement we fought, although our total numbers may have been largely increased, the old formations were always at half strength or something less. However, I won't bother you about this as your time is too precious to enter into 'might-have-beens' and so is mine. "Meantime, my line is very, very thin, and the men are getting entirely worn out. In the midst of this I am called upon to send away two Divisions, the French and the Irish, to ---- you know where. I have done so without a murmur, although it puts me into a ticklish position. Reinforcements are now to be diverted elsewhere and my command is not an enviable one. I quite understand the necessity of trying to maintain a barrier between Essen and Constantinople. I quite understand also the danger of doing so at the expense of this attenuated, exhausted force. I have represented the facts home, and it is for them to decide." Dined with the Admiral. _2nd October, 1915._ The despatch of the Salonika force and their outfit are absorbing all my energies. Our whole Expeditionary Force is being drawn upon to send the 10th Division creditably turned out to the new theatre. The twenty-four hours' delay caused by the political crisis at Athens has been a godsend in enabling me to reclothe and re-equip the detachment from top to toe. The supplies for my own force are now exhausted, but,--on the principle of the starving garrison who threw loaves over the ramparts at the besiegers, we must try and make a good first impression on the Greeks. The submarine catcher, or the "Silver Baby" as the men call it, has been flying about all day, without luck. Gascoigne and Bertier dined. Blazing hot; quite a setback to August temperatures. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 12: We had to get into Kephalos Harbour before dark; otherwise the submarine indicator nets were damaged.--IAN H.] [Footnote 13: The last time this subject was broached between Lord Kitchener and myself was immediately after the evacuation of Helles. Everyone was intensely relieved, especially Lord Kitchener, for he had realized better than our politicians the desperate stakes we had planked down in our gamble with the Clerk of the Weather. Yet in that very moment when the burden of an intolerable anxiety had just been lifted from his shoulders he took the occasion to declare to me that he stood by every word he had said. What he "had said," was that any withdrawal from the Dardanelles must react in due course upon Islam, and especially upon Egypt. Cairo, he held to be the centre of the Mahomedan doctrine and the pivotal point of our great Mahomedan Imperium. An evacuation of the Dardanelles would serve as an object lesson to Egypt just as our blunders in the Crimea had served as a motive to the Indian mutineers. Ultimate success was not the point in either case. The point was that the legend of the invincibility of British troops should be shattered in some signal and quite unmistakable fashion. "The East," he said, "moved slowly in the fifties, and it will move slowly now. We've had a wonderful delivery but--depend upon it--the price has yet to be paid!"--IAN H., 1920.] CHAPTER XXI THE BEGINNING OF THE END _3rd October, 1915. Imbros._ Church Parade. Inspected escort, men of the Howe and Nelson Battalions and a contingent from the 12th and 26th Australian Infantry. At 12.15 Bailloud, Brulard and Girodon arrived from Mudros for a last conference. Everything is fixed up. We are going to help the derelict division of French in every way we can. Bailloud, for his part, promises to leave them their fair share of guns and trench mortars. Whenever I see him I know he is one of the best fellows in the world. We went down and waved farewells from the pier. He was quite frank. He does not think the Allies have either the vision or the heart to go through with Gallipoli: he begins to suspect that the big push on the Western Front is going to yield no laurels: so Salonika hits his fancy. Lieutenants Weston and Schemallach of the Australians and Lieutenant Gellibrand of the Naval Division lunched. A Mr. Unsworth came to talk over gifts for the Australian troops. He seems a capital chap; full of go and goodwill to all men. _4th October, 1915. Imbros._ Vague warnings have taken shape in an event. A cable from K. telling me to decipher the next message myself. I have not drafted out an average of fifty telegrams a day for Lord K. for six months at a stretch without knowing something of his _modus scribendi_. The Staff were pleasantly excited at the idea that some new move was in the wind. I knew the new move--or thought I did. Well, not that: not exactly that; not this time. But the enemies of our enterprise have got our range to a nicety and have chucked their first bomb bang into the middle of my camp. A "flow of unofficial reports from Gallipoli," so K. cables to me, is pouring into the War Office. These "unofficial reports" are "in much the same strain" (perhaps they spring from the same source?). "They adversely criticize the work of the Headquarters Staff and complaints are made that its members are much out of touch with the troops. The War Office also doubt whether their present methods are quite satisfactory." K. therefore suggests "some important changes in your Headquarters Staff; for instance, if you agreed, Kiggell from home to take Braithwaite's place with you. Should you, however, decline and desire to remain as at present, may we assume that we are quite safe in regarding these unofficial reports as not representing the true feelings of the troops?" So----! On the face of it this cable seems to suggest that a man widely known as a straight and capable soldier should be given the shortest of shrifts at the instance of "unofficial reports"; i.e., camp gossip. Surely the cable message carries with it some deeper significance! I am grateful to old K. He is trying to save me. He picked out Braithwaite himself. Not so long ago he cabled me in his eagerness to promote him to Major-General; he would not suggest substituting the industrious Kiggell if he didn't fear for me and for the whole of this enterprise. K. wants, so he says, "some important change"; that cannot mean, surely, that he wants a sufficiently showy scapegoat to feed the ravenous critics--or does it? Perhaps, he's got to gain time; breathing space wherein to resume the scheme which was sidetracked by the offensive in France and smashed by the diversion to Salonika. Given time, our scheme may yet be resumed. The Turks are in the depths. Sarrail with his six divisions behind him could open the Narrows in no time. I see the plan. K. must have a splendid sacrifice but by the Lord they shan't have the man who stood by me like a rock during those first ghastly ten days. The new C.R.E., General Williams, and Ellison turned up for lunch. Williams gave us the first authentic news we have had about those Aden excursions and alarms. An amusing aftermath of the evacuation by the French and Irish Divisions. When the last of Bailloud's troops had embarked the Turks dropped manifestoes from aeroplanes along the lines of the Senegalese calling upon these troops to make terms and come over now that their white comrades had left them to have their throats cut. I have cabled this queer item to the S. of S. Evidently the enemy were quite well aware of our withdrawal. Then _why_ didn't they shell the beaches? At French Headquarters they believe that the Turks were so glad to see our backs that they hardly dared breathe (much less fire a shell) lest we should change our minds. _5th October, 1915._ First thing another cable from K. saying, "I think it well to let you know" that it is "quite understood by the Dardanelles Committee that you are adopting only a purely defensive attitude at present." Also:--"I have no reason to imagine you have any intention of taking the offensive anywhere along the line seeing I have been unable to replace your sick and wounded men." But, if he knows I _can't_ take the offensive, why trouble to cable me that the Dardanelles Committee expect me to adopt "only a purely defensive attitude"? I realize where we stand; K., Braithwaite and I,--on the verge. We are getting on for two months now since the August fighting--all that time we have been allowed to do nothing--literally, allowed to do nothing, seeing we have been given no shell. What a fiasco! The Dardanelles is not a sanatorium; Suvla is not Southend. With the men we have lost from sickness in the past six weeks we could have beaten the Turks twice over. Now Government seem to be about to damn everything--themselves included. But after all, who am I to judge the Government of the British Empire? What do I know of their difficulties, pledges, and enemies--whether outside or inside the fold? I have no grouse against Government or War Office--still less against K.--though many hundred times have I groused.[14] Freely and gratefully do I admit that the individuals have done their best. Most of all am I indebted--very deeply indebted--to K. for having refrained absolutely from interference with my plan of campaign or with the tactical execution thereof. But things are happening now which seem beyond belief. That the Dardanelles Committee should complacently send me a message to say we "quite understand that you are adopting only a purely defensive attitude at present" is staggering when put side by side with the carbon of this, the very last cable I have sent them. "I think you should know immediately that the numbers of sick evacuated in the IXth Corps during the first three days of October were 500 men on the 1st instant; 735 men on the 2nd instant and 607 men on the 3rd instant. Were this rate kept up it would come to 45 per cent. of our strength evacuated in one month." Three quarters of this sickness is due to inaction--and now the Dardanelles Committee "quite understand" I am "adopting only a purely defensive action at present." I have never adopted a defensive attitude. They have forced us to sit idle and go sick because--at the very last moment--they have permitted the French offensive to take precedence of ours, although, on the face of it, there was no violent urgency in France as there is here. Our men in France were remarkably healthy; they were not going sick by thousands. But I feel too sick myself--body and soul--to let my mind dwell on these miseries. Sealed my resolution (resignation?) by giving my answer about Braithwaite. Though the sins of my General Staff have about as much to do with the real issues as the muddy water had to do with the death of the argumentative lamb, I begin by pointing out to the War Office wolf that "no Headquarters Staff has ever escaped similar criticism." Grumblings are an old campaigner's _vade mecum_. Bred by inaction; enterprise and activity smother them. A sickness of the spirit, they are like the flies that fasten on those who stay too long in one place. Was Doughty Wylie "much out of touch with the troops" when he led the Dublins, Munsters and Hampshires up from "V" beach and fell gloriously at their head? Was Williams "out of touch" when he was hit? Was Hore Ruthven? "As to Braithwaite," I say, "my confidence in that Officer is complete. I did not select him; you gave him to me and I have ever since felt most grateful to you for your choice." Now--I feel better. The plot thickens. A cable just come in from the S. of S. for War:-- * * * * * "The following statement has been made in letter to Prime Minister, Australia, by Mr. Murdoch: 'The fact is that after the first day at Suvla an order had to be issued to officers to shoot without mercy any soldier who lagged behind or loitered in advance.' Wire me as to the truth or otherwise of this allegation." Murdoch must be mad. Or, is there some method in this madness? Mr. Murdoch was not a war correspondent; he is purely a civilian and could hardly have invented this "order" on his own. No soldier could have told him this. Someone not a soldier--someone so interested in discrediting the Dardanelles Campaign that he does not scruple to do so even by discrediting our own troops must have put this invention about, _per_ Murdoch. Doubtless we strike here upon the source of these "unofficial statements" which have been flowing into the War Office. All I remember of his visit to me here is a sensible, well-spoken man with dark eyes, who said his mind was a blank about soldiers and soldiering, and made me uncomfortable by an elaborate explanation of why his duty to Australia could be better done with a pen than with a rifle. He was one week at the Press Correspondents' camp and spent, so they tell me, a few hours only at Anzac and Suvla, never once crossing to Helles. If then his letter to his Prime Minister is a fair sample of the grounds upon which Braithwaite has been condemned, Heaven help us all! As a relief to these disagreeable thoughts, a Taube dropped a couple of bombs into camp. She flew so high that she was hard to see until the bursting shrapnel gave us her line. As she made tracks back through the trackless blue, the ships gave her a taste of some big projectiles, 12-inches or 9.2. The aerial commotion up there must have been considerable. At noon, sailed over to Suvla in H.M.S. _Savage_. We took our lunch on board. As we came into harbour the Turks gave us a shell or two from their field guns, then stopped. Young Titchfield, the Duke of Portland's son, met us at the beach and brought us along to Byng's Headquarters, where I met also de Lisle and Reed. After hearing their news I started off with the whole band to make a tour of the trenches held by the 88th Brigade, under General Cayley. On the way I was taken up to "Gibraltar" observation post to get a bird's-eye view of the line. Besides my old friends of the 29th Division I saw some of the new boys, especially the 1st Newfoundland Battalion under Colonel Burton, and the 2/1st Coy. of the London Regiment. This was the Newfoundlanders' first day in the trenches and they were very pleased with themselves. They could not understand why they were not allowed to sally forth at once and do the Turks in. The presence of these men from our oldest colony adds to the extraordinary mix-up of people now fighting on the Peninsula. All the materials exist here for bringing off the biblical coup of Armageddon excepting only the shell. In the course of these peregrinations I met Marshall of the 53rd Division, Beresford, commanding the 86th Brigade, and Colonel Savage, R.E. After tea with Byng, including the rare treat of a slice of rich cake, we went down to our friend H.M.S. _Savage_. The wind had risen to a fairly stiff gale, and the sea was beginning to get very big. Those field gun shells had caused the _Savage_ to lie a desperate long way out to sea; we had a very stiff pull in the teeth of the waves, and every one of us began to think that salt water rather than the bullet was going to end our days. However, we just managed by the skin of our teeth and the usual monkey tricks, to scramble up on board. As I said in my wrath when I first stood on the firm deck, I would sooner have a hundred shells fired at me by the Turks. Captain Davidson commanding H.M.S. _Cornwallis_ dined; everyone liked him very much. _6th October, 1915._ Left General Headquarters soon after 11 o'clock for Helles, taking with me Aspinall and Freddie. Lunched with Davies at 8th Corps Headquarters. Afterwards rode across to Royal Naval Division and saw Paris. Then went with Bertie Lawrence, commanding 52nd Division, to his lines. Our route lay up Achi Baba Nallah and along the trenches to the Horse Shoe; then along Princes Street trench up the Vineyard, and back along the Krithia Nallah to the Headquarters of the 156th Brigade. There we mounted our horses and rode back to Corps Headquarters. I brought Steward back with me to dine and sleep the night. Colonel Tyrrell and Major Hunloke (King's Messenger) also dined. _7th October, 1915._ Wasted energy brooding over the addled eggs of the past. Are the High Gods bringing our new Iliad to grief in a spirit of wanton mischief? At whose door will history leave the blame for the helpless, hopeless fix we are left in--rotting with disease and told to take it easy? That clever fellow Deedes dined; also Rowan Hamilton, son of my old Simla friend the Colonel of that name. _8th October, 1915. Imbros._ At 11 a.m. Ellison, Taylor, Gascoigne and Freddie sailed with me for Anzac. There we lunched with the ascetic Birdie and Staff off bully beef, biscuits and water. Then, the whole lot of us, together with de Crespigny, Birdie's Staff Officer, hurried five miles an hour down the communication trench to the Headquarters of the Indian Brigade. After greetings we shoved on and saw the 2nd Lovat Scouts under Lieutenant-Colonel Stirling and met, whilst going round their line, Major Morrison Bell and Captain Oppenheim. They seemed in very good fettle, and it would have been hard to find a finer lot of men. Taking leave of the 2nd Lovat Scouts, we worked along the trenches of the Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, under Colonel Mitchell, until we came to the 1st Lovat Scouts under Colonel Bailey. Lovat himself was sick, but Peyton commanding the 2nd Mounted Division turned up just when the inspection was at an end. He had got lost in the trenches, or we had. Next time the way was lost there was no mistake as to who had made the mistake. Birdie and I were pushing along as fast as we could leg it back towards Anzac. In the maze of trenches we came to a dividing of the ways. Two jolly old Sikhs were sitting at the junction. I asked if the road to the left led to the Headquarters of the Indian Brigade. They said, "Yes," so on we went, I leading, Birdie following. The trench got shallower and shallower until, in a little grove of trees, it petered out entirely. But it seemed to begin again in the other side and so we crossed through the trees. Once there we found that the supposed trench was only a shallow scratching up of the earth, and that we were standing within a hundred yards of the Turkish lines just about half way between them and the Lovat Scouts! I shouted to Birdie and we turned and ran for it--for our lives, I mean. Luckily the Turks were slow at spotting us, all except one who was a rank bad shot: so tumbling back into the trenches from which we had emerged, we saved ourselves by the skin of our teeth. I could not have been smarter about dodging two or three bullets had it been the beginning of our enterprise and had the high minarets of Constantinople glittered before my eyes. When we got back to where the two old Sikhs were sitting, as placid as idols, Birdie gave them his opinion of their ancestors. On reaching the Australian and New Zealand Division we were done to a turn, but Godley revived us with tea and then we made our way back to our destroyer and to Headquarters. It was dark when we arrived and a bad storm was setting in--wind and rain--which went on till midnight. Replies have come in to our enquiries as to Mr. Murdoch's statement to the Prime Minister of Australia that British Officers had been ordered to "shoot without mercy any soldier who lagged behind or loitered." As the Secretary of State seems to take this charge seriously, I thought it well, before I sent my answer, just to make sure that no subordinate had said, or done, or written anything which could plausibly be twisted into this lie. The Generals have denied indignantly; are furious, in fact, at the double insult to their men and to themselves. Have cabled accordingly:-- * * * * * "(No. M.F.A.B. 4491). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. With reference to your No. 8554 M.O. 414 of the 5th inst. I have _pro forma_ made full enquiries and I find that there is no truth whatever in the allegation made by Murdoch." _9th October, 1915._ Had made my _band-o-bast_ for running over to Helles, but the Vice-Admiral cabled he wanted to see me if he could at 11.45. Anyway the sea is still a bit rough for the crossing and landing. A lot of damage was done last night to the Anzac piers, two of them being clean washed away. Peter Pollen is off colour. Freddie and I dined on board the _Triad_. Whilst at dinner got full reports both from Suvla and Anzac as to the effects of the storm. The southerly gale, which not only washed away the piers but sunk the water lighters at Anzac, has done no harm at Suvla except that three motor lighters have been driven ashore. The Admiral is clear that, during southerly gales we shall have to supply both Anzac and Suvla by the new pier just north of Ari Burnu. The promontory is small but last night it gave complete protection to everything in its lea. By sinking an old ship we can turn Ari Burnu into quite a decent little harbour. _10th October, 1915._ Made my deferred visit to Helles, going over this morning in the _Arno_ with Braithwaite, Val and Alec McGrigor. Looked in at the Clearing Hospital and cast an eye over Lancashire Landing. Then, in company with Jimmy Watson and Colonel Ayres, walked up to Corps Headquarters where we had a fine lunch with Davies, de Rougemont and the melancholy Yarr. Afterwards rode across to the Headquarters of the Royal Naval Division and on to their trenches, some 3-1/2 miles. Generals Mercer and Paris followed us through their trenches. The Hood and Hawke Battalions were in the firing line where we talked to great numbers of old comrades of all ranks. Glad to meet Freyberg again (the man who swam to light the flares at Enos). Kelly of the Hood Battalion too, I saw, and Fairfax of the Hawke, also Commander King of the Drake Battalion and Burrows, a gunner who was running a bombing school with much zeal on a piece of ground specially patronized by the Turks as a target for their own shelling practice. Got back to Helles by the Saghur Dere and the Gulley. Going down the Gulley, nearly lost two of our attendant Generals, a shrapnel bursting between them with a startling loud report caused by the high banks of the Gulley on either side. In the Gulley we met a swarm of old friends from Kent; Brigadier-General Clifton-Browne, an officer whose command I had inspected both at Potchefstroom and near Canterbury, with a Brigade of West and East Kent and Sussex Yeomen. They made a brave showing, but he tells me some of them have caught this wretched enteritis already. Amongst others, I spoke to Douglas, commanding the East Lancashire Division, Major Edwards of the Sussex Yeomanry, Major Sir S. Scott and Colonel Whitburn of the West Kent Yeomanry, Colonel Lord Guilford, East Kent Yeomanry. A cheerier crowd no one could wish to meet. If these are the type of men who spin black yarns for home wear, I can only say that not the most finished actors could better disguise their despair. General King, R.A., rode part of the way back with us. After all this hard exercise, got back to the _Arno_ in a lather of sweat about 6 o'clock carrying Davies with me. Leslie Wilson, commanding the Hawke Battalion, had gone sick to-day, so sent him a telegram after dinner to the Hospital ship _Somali_, telling him his trenches had been found in apple-pie order. _11th October, 1915._ Bad night with this beastly complaint. De Robeck came up at 11 o'clock to see me. He has had a message from the Admiralty asking him what number of extra troops could be maintained on the Peninsula if the units there now were brought up to strength. The Admiral asked me for the figures and the A.G. brought them over. My force as a whole is as near as may be to half strength. Half of that half are sick men. We have 100,000 men on the Peninsula, 50,000 of whom are unfit: if the unfits were up to strength there would be 200,000 men on the Peninsula as well as excitement and movement which would greatly reduce the disease. Bearing in mind that the Anzacs have been well supported by their Governments and that their units are fairly strong, these figures show what wait-and-see-sickness has meant to British Regiments. The tone of this Admiralty question had seemed cheerful: almost as if the Higher Direction were thinking of putting us on our legs but, in the evening, another cable from K. gave a different and a very ominous complexion to the future:-- "From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. What is your estimate of the probable losses which would be entailed to your force if the evacuation of the Gallipoli Peninsula was decided on and carried out in the most careful manner? "No decision has been arrived at yet on this question of evacuation, but I feel that I ought to have your views. "In your reply you need not consider the possible future danger to the Empire that might be thus caused."[15] If they do this they make the Dardanelles into the bloodiest tragedy of the world! Even if we were to escape without a scratch, they would stamp our enterprise as the bloodiest of all tragedies! K. has always sworn by all his Gods he would have no hand in it. I won't touch it, and I think he knew that and calculated on that when he cabled. Anyway, let K., cat or Cabinet leap where they will, I must sleep upon my answer, but that answer will be NO! Just as I am turning in, a cable from the S. of S. saying, "there is an idea that Sir John Maxwell is not sending you as many troops as he might from Egypt. Have you any complaints on this score?" Rather late in the day this "idea." Certainly, I have never made any "complaints" and I don't mean to do so now. The War Office have only to look up their returns and see how many men are being maintained to defend us from the Senoussi! Maxwell has never had less than 70,000 troops in Egypt, a country which might have been held with 10,000 rifles--ever since we landed here, that is to say. My troops can sail back to Egypt very much faster than the Turks--or the Senoussi for that matter--can march to the Canal. In the same cable the S. of S. asks what is the cause of the sick rate and remarks that, "some accounts from the Dardanelles indicate that the men are dispirited." Small wonder if they were! When they see two Divisions taken away from the Peninsula; when their guns can't answer those of the enemy; when each unit finds itself half-strength, and falling--why then, tumbling as they do to the fact that we won't get through till next year, they _ought_ to be unhappy. But the funny thing is that the Cabinet, the Secretaries of State, are the people who are "dispirited" and _not_ the people out here. If the P.M. could walk round the trenches of the Naval Division at Helles, or if K. could exchange greetings with the rank and file at Anzac and Suvla, they would find a sovereign antidote for the blues and would realize that it was they who were down-hearted and _not_ the men at the Dardanelles. There was an old French Colonel, killed at Gravelotte; he had studied the classic world battles and he shows that it was never the front line who gave way first, but always the reserves:--they, the reserves, watched bloodshed in cold blood until they could stand it no longer and so took to their heels whilst the fighting men were still focussed upon victory. Not the enemy in front but the friends behind are the men who spread despondency and alarm. Charley Burn has arrived on the _Imogene_ with Dawnay. Davies went back to Helles after tea. Dawnay says K. was most interested in him and most charming to him all through his stay until his last interview just before he started on his return journey. K.'s manner then, he said, had changed--so much so as to give him an impression that the great man was turning, or was being turned, against all of us out here. K.'s conduct at the first meetings is in full harmony with his message sent to Braithwaite for me by Fitz about a fortnight ago, saying I possessed his fullest confidence. The change of manner was marked and Dawnay is sure he made no mistake about it. But nothing has happened since the date of Dawnay's arrival and departure save a very well engineered withdrawal of the 10th and the French Divisions for which, in point of fact, we have all been rather expecting congratulations. Dawnay thinks some queer things are happening. He could--or would--say nothing more. _12th October, 1915. Imbros._ Early in the morning got off my answer to K.'s evacuation cable. The elements, the enemy and ourselves are the three factors of the problem. Were I to measure my problem by the night flitting of the Irish and French Divisions (who lost neither man nor beast in the process), I could guarantee that we would shoot the moon with the balance of the force smoothly, swiftly and silently. That is to say, supposing the Turks and the weather remain constant. But these are two most inconstant things: no one can tell how a Turk will behave under any given conditions; the Turks themselves do not know how they will behave: the weather now is written down by the meteorologists for sudden changes; for storms. Unsettled weather is due and ought to be reckoned upon. Imagine a blow coming up from the South when the evacuation is half way through. That does not seem to be, and is not, any great stretch of imagination. Well then, having so imagined, we get a disaster only equalled in history by that of the Athenians at Syracuse: a disaster from which the British Empire could hardly hope to recover. Twice backwards and forwards to the General Staff Marquee with the draft of my guesses, my first being that we would probably lose 35 to 45 per cent. But the General Staff have also been consulting their oracle and were clear for 50 per cent. Months of the most anxious calculations will not get a white man one whit forrarder in seeing into the brains of an Asiatic Army or in forecasting Mediterranean weather. Safest to assume that both brains and weather will behave as the German General Staff would wish them to behave rather than as they chanced to behave when the French and Irish went off a few days ago. So have ended by taking the Staff's figure because any figure being, in any case, the wildest of shots, their shot best suits my views on the issue. "From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. Our losses would depend on such uncertain factors, enemy's action or inaction, weather, question whether we could rely on all troops covering embarkation to fight to the last, that impossible to give you straight answer especially until I have permission to consult Admiral. Once discussing this very problem with General Gouraud, we came to the conclusion that at Cape Helles we must sacrifice two divisions out of total of six divisions and Cape Helles easiest of three places to get away from. My opinion now is that it would not be wise to reckon on getting out of Gallipoli with less loss than that of half the total force as well as guns, which must be used to the last, stores, railway plant and horses. Moral of those who got off would fall very low. One quarter would probably get off quite easily, then the trouble would begin. We might be very lucky and lose considerably less than I have estimated. On the other hand, with all these raw troops at Suvla and all these Senegalese at Cape Helles, we might have a veritable catastrophe." Do the men toying with the idea of bringing off our men not see that thereby the Turks will be let loose somewhere; not nowhere? Do they not see that if they are feeling the economic pinch of keeping their side of the show in being, the Turks, much weaker economically, must be feeling it much more--! * * * * * It was a relief to get this perilous stuff off my chest, and in a brighter frame of mind, sailed for Anzac on the destroyer _Lewis_. We took biscuits and bully beef with us but the hospitable sailors insisted on regaling us with a hot meal. Sat in cabin all the way as usual writing up my record. Freddie tells me that these studious habits of mine have started the shave that I spend my time composing poetry, especially during our battles! At Anzac Birdwood took us round the trenches and underground passages about Russell's Top and Turk's Head, held by the 5th Brigade, 2nd Division, under Legge. Half way up to Russell's Top was the 3rd Battery Australian Field Artillery:--talked with Major King, the C.O. Next unit was the 20th Infantry Battalion under Major Fitzgerald. Colonel Holmes, commanding the 5th Infantry Brigade, and Wilson, his Brigade Major, took us through their cave dwellings. Ex-westerners say that in France they have nothing to touch these Australian tunnellings. In one place they are boring into a crater only 20 feet from the Turkish trench. There is nothing unusual in the fact, but there is in the great depth they are going down so as to cross the danger zone far below the beaten track of mines and counter-mines. On the steep slope in another place there is a complete underground trench running parallel to, and only a short bomb-throw from, a Turkish trench. We went through it with a lantern. Sandbags, loopholes, etc., all are there, but blind! They are still veiled from view by several feet of clay. To-morrow night the Anzacs are going to chip off the whole upper crust of earth, and when light dawns the Turks will find a well equipped trench, every loophole manned, within bombing range of their own line. Other notables met with were Major Murphy of the 20th Infantry Battalion, Major Anderson (an old friend) commanding the Australian Field Artillery, and Captain Perry Oakdene, the Engineer Officer on the job. Saw Birdie and returned in the destroyer about 6.30. The day had been so quiet that it would have been almost dull had it not been for the sightseeing--hardly a shot was fired by Turk or Anzac with either gun, trench mortar or rifle. Bishop Price, the Bishop of North China, and Charlie Burn, King's Messenger, dined. The quietness of the Bishop was remarkable. Have cabled the S. of S. for War in answer to his enquiries about the causes of the sickness, and as to whether Maxwell is not holding up my share of troops in Egypt, saying:--(1) that "constant strain and infection by dust and flies" have caused the sickness but that the men are getting better; (2) that "we have been under the impression that drafts meant for us and due to us have been retained in Egypt; also, that men discharged fit from Hospitals have been held back, but I have represented this last point to Maxwell personally as I always feel I am not the person to gauge Maxwell's needs. On 27th September, I asked him to send up all available Australian--New Zealand Army Corps drafts and reinforcements, and, as you already know, am at present in telegraphic correspondence about these reinforcements coming straight here without being kept in Egypt for training at all." At 10.40, after clearing my table, went with Ellison, Taylor, and Freddie on board H.M.S. _Lefroy_ (Commander Edwards) and steamed for "V" Beach. Enjoyed a fine luncheon with Brulard and then started off for the trenches. At Morto Bay we were met by Captain de Bourbon, a big handsome man with the characteristic Bourbon cut of countenance. He took us first to the _château_ whence we worked down along the trenches to where our extreme right overlooks the Kerevez Dere. General Faukard was here and he thinks that we ought easily to get complete mastery of both sides of the Kerevez Dere as soon as we get the means and the permission to shove ahead again. When we do that the advance will let our Fleet another half mile up the Straits and the "spotting" for the ships' guns will double their value in the Narrows. From the Kerevez Dere we worked along the fire trenches towards the French centre and then, getting to a sheltered strip of country, walked back across the open to the second line. From the second line we made our way, still across the open, to the third line, over a heather covered strip. No one ever moves here by daylight except in double quick time as there is always danger of drawing a shell either from Asia or from Achi Baba and so it was that "Let the dead bury the dead" had been the motto and that we met many corpses and skeletons. Merciful God, what home tragedies may centre in each of these sinister bundles. But it is the common lot--only quicker. Here, too, we found excavations made by the French into a burial ground believed to be of the date 2,500 B.C. The people of that golden age had the sentimental idea of being buried in couples in big jars. A strange notion of our Allies unburying quiet people who had enjoyed dreamless rest for 2,000 years whilst, within a few yards, their own dead still welter in the parching wind. [Illustration: CREMATING THE ENEMY DEAD _"Central News" phot._] Had meant to run across and see Davies but time had slipped away and so we made tracks for H.M.S. _Lefroy_, and on back here to G.H.Q., where a letter from Callwell was laying in wait as a refresher after my fatigues. Callwell begins by saying he encloses a document written by my late visitor, Mr. K. A. Murdoch, although "there are certain statements in this which are palpably false," and although Dawnay has pointed out to him at the War Office "a number of passages in it which are wholly incorrect as matters of actual fact." He says, Lord K., "who has not had time to read it yet," thinks I ought to be given a chance of defending myself. Callwell goes on to write about the Press Censorship and my plea for publicity and then says he dislikes the Salonika stunt "because I am not quite clear of where we are going to, and the immediate result at the present is to take away from you troops that you can ill spare." Also, because "we may be involving ourselves in operations on a great scale in the heart of the Balkans, the result of which it is very difficult to foresee." Godley dined. Captain Davidson, R.N., the Senior Naval Officer in harbour now, is a real Godsend. He looks after us as if we were Admirals of the Fleet. Have now read, marked, learnt and inwardly indigested Callwell's enclosure; viz., the letter written by Mr. K. A. Murdoch to the Prime Minister of Australia. Quite a Guy Fawkes epistle. Braithwaite is "more cordially detested in our forces than Enver Pasha." "You will trust me when I say that the work of the General Staff in Gallipoli is deplorable." "Sedition is talked round every tin of bully beef on the Peninsula." "You would refuse to believe that these men were really British soldiers ... the British physique is very much below that of the Turks. Indeed, it is quite obviously so. Our men have found it impossible to form a high opinion of the British K. men and Territorials. They are merely a lot of childlike youths, without strength to endure or brains to improve their conditions." "I shall always remember the stricken face of a young English Lieutenant when I told him he must make up his mind for a winter campaign." "I do not like to dictate this sentence, even for your eyes, but the fact is that after the first day at Suvla an order had to be issued to Officers to shoot without mercy any soldier who lagged behind or loitered in an advance." Well, Well! I should not worry myself over the out-pourings of our late guest, who has evidently been made a tool of by some unscrupulous person, were it not that Mr. Asquith has clothed the said out-pourings in the title, number, garb and colour of a verified and authentic State paper. He has actually had them printed on the famous duck's egg foolscap of the Committee of Imperial Defence, and under his authority, as President and Prime Minister, they have been circulated round the Government and all the notables of the Empire without any chance having been offered to me (or to K.) of defending the honour of British Officers or the good name of the British Rank and File. K. tells Callwell I should be given the opportunity of making a reply. Not having read it himself he has not yet grasped the fact that he also should have been given the opportunity of making a reply to the aspersions upon his selections. As for me, by the time my answer can get home and can be printed and circulated the slanders will have had over a month's start in England and very likely two months' start in Australia, where all who read them will naturally conclude their statements must have been tested before ever they were published in that impressive form. Here we see an irresponsible statement by an ignorant man and I instinctively feel as if it were being used as one more weapon to force Asquith's hand and to ruin our last chance. I only hope it may not prove another case of, "Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!" Certain aspects of this affair trouble my understanding. The covering note (dated 25th September) which encloses the letter to the Prime Minister of Australia (dated 23rd September) is addressed by Mr. Murdoch to Mr. Asquith by name. In that covering note Mr. Murdoch says, "I write with diffidence, and only at Mr. Lloyd George's request." Within three days (so great the urgency or pressure) Mr. Asquith causes--as he, President of the Committee of Imperial Defence, alone can cause--the covering note as well as the seven or eight thousand words of the letter to be printed and circulated round the big wigs of Politics, as well as (to judge by the co-incident hardening of the tone of this mail's papers) some of the Editors. Not one word to me as to Mr. Murdoch's qualifications or as to the truth or falsity of his statements, until these last have been a week in circulation. Then, I receive; first, a cable saying unofficial reports had come in censuring my General Staff and that I had better, therefore, let Braithwaite go; secondly, a cable asking me whether the absurd story of my having ordered my own soldiers to be shot "without mercy " is well-founded; thirdly, a bad last, the libellous letter itself. Yet Mr. Asquith did know the paper contained _some_ falsehoods. He _may_ have attached weight to Mr. Murdoch's tale of the feelings of French soldiers at Helles (although he never found time to go there): he _may_ have believed Mr. Murdoch when he says that Sir John Maxwell "has a poor brain for his big position"; that "our men feel that their reputation is too sacred to leave in the hands of Maxwell"; that Sir William Birdwood "has not the fighting quality or big brain of a great General"; that General Spens was "a man broken on the Continent" (although he never was broken and never served on the Continent); that "Kitchener has a terrible task in getting pure work from the General Staff of the British Army, whose motives can never be pure, for they are unchangeably selfish"; that "from what I saw of the Turk, I am convinced he is ... a better man than those opposed to him" (although, actually, Mr. Murdoch saw nothing of the Turks). The P.M. may have taken these views at their face values: even, he _may_ have swallowed Mr. Murdoch's picture of the conscientious Altham "wallowing" in ice whilst wounded were expiring of heat within a few hundred yards; but _Mr. Asquith has seen the K. Army_ and, therefore, _he cannot have believed_ that these soldiers have suddenly been transformed into "merely a lot of childish youths without strength to endure or brains to improve their conditions." Once more; these reckless scraps of hearsay would not be worth the paper they are printed on were it not that they are endorsed with the letters C.I.D., the stamp of the ministerial Holy of Holies. Only the Prime Minister himself, personally, can so consign a paper. Lord K. and I were both members of the C.I.D., and members of long standing. For the President to circularize our fellow members behind our backs with unverified accusations is a strange act, foreign to all my ideas of Mr. Asquith. On this point Callwell is quite clear: the Murdoch letter was published to the C.I.D. on the 28th ult. and Callwell writes on the 2nd inst., and says Lord K. "has not had time to read it yet."[16] But nothing else is clear. In fact, the whole thing is foreign to all my ideas of Mr. Asquith. He does not need to work the C.I.D. oracle in this way. As P.M. he has only to speak the word. He does not work the Press oracle either: not his custom: also he likes K. The whole thing is a mystery, of which I can only say with Hamlet--"miching mallecho; it means mischief." _14th October, 1915. Imbros._ Colder than ever. We are told that the winter will kill the flies and that with their death we shall all get hearty and well. Meanwhile, they have turned to winged limpets. Being Mail day as well as rough, stuck to camp. My friend England sailed into harbour in the _Chelmer_ and came up to lunch. In the evening he took Godley back to Anzac. Duncannon came to dinner. I have made him liaison officer with the French in place of de Putron who has gone to Salonika with Bailloud. As to the Murdoch unpleasantness, I began an _exposé_ to be sent to the Governor General of Australia; another to the Secretary of the C.I.D. But Pollen, Braithwaite and Dawnay (the last of whom had been shown the document whilst he was at home, though he had said nothing to me about it) thought this was to make much ado about nothing. They cannot believe Lord K. will trouble himself about the matter any further and they think it best handled in lighter vein. Is K. still the demi-God, that is the question? Anyway, there is simply no time this Mail to deal with so many misstatements, so that has settled it. "GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, "MEDTN. EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, _"14th October, 1915._ "DEAR CALLWELL, "I have read Mr. Murdoch's letter with care, and I have tried to give it my most impartial consideration and not to allow myself in reply to be influenced in any way by the criticisms he may have felt himself bound to make upon myself personally. "What does this letter amount to? Here we have a man, a journalist by profession, one who is quick to seize every point, and to coin epithets, which throw each fleeting impression into strongest relief. He comes armed with a natural and justifiably enthusiastic admiration for everything connected with the Commonwealth to which he belongs, and ready to retail to his Minister or his public anything that can contribute to show the troops they have sent in an heroic light. "Here he obtains his first sight of war and of the horrors and hardships inseparable from it. He finds men who have just been through some of the hardest fighting imaginable and who have suffered terrible losses; he finds probably that very many of those whom he hoped to see, certainly many of those of whose welfare their motherland would wish to hear, are killed, wounded or laid up with illness,--he finds all this and he becomes very deeply depressed. In such an atmosphere Mr. Murdoch composes his letter, a general analysis of which shows it to be divided, to my mind, into two separate strata. "First an appreciation in burning terms of the spirit, the achievements, the physique and all soldierly qualities of the Australian Forces. Secondly, a condemnation, as sweeping and as unrelieved as his praise in the first instance is unstinted, of the whole of the rest of the force. I myself as C.-in-C., my Generals, my Staff, Lines of Communication, Sir John Maxwell and General Spens at the Base, even the British soldiers collectively and individually, are all embraced in this condemnation which is completed by the inclusion of the entire direction of the Forces at home, both Naval and Military. "Where all are thus tarred with the same brush, I am content to leave it to the impartial reader to decide what reliance can be placed on Mr. Murdoch's judgment. My own feeling certainly is that in his admiration for the Australian Forces, and in his grief at their heavy losses (in both of which feelings I fully share) he has allowed himself to belittle and to criticize us all so that their virtues might be thrown into even bolder relief. "With Mr. Murdoch's detailed points I do not propose to deal, nor do I think you expect me to do so. On every page inaccuracies of fact abound. The breaking of Spens on the Continent, a theatre of war he has never visited; the over-statement of our casualties by more than 40 per cent.; the acceptance as genuine of a wholly mythical order about the shooting of laggards--really the task would be too long. As to the value of Mr. Murdoch's appreciation of the strategical and tactical elements of the situation you can yourself assess them at their true value. "Finally, I do not for one moment believe the general statement put forward to the effect that the troops are disheartened. Neither that statement nor the assertion that they are discontented with the British Officers commanding them has the slightest foundation in fact. "Believe me, "My dear Callwell, "Yours very sincerely, (_Sd._) "IAN HAMILTON. "P.S.--I attach correspondence showing how Mr. Murdoch's visit arose. I believe I exceeded my power in giving him permission to come but I was most anxious to oblige the Australian Prime Minister and Senator Pearce. You will see that he promises faithfully to observe any conditions I may impose. The only condition I imposed was that he should sign a declaration identical with that which I attach. He signed and the paper is in my possession." CORRESPONDENCE. "Dear Sir, "On the advice of Brigadier-General Legge I beg to request permission to visit Anzac. "I am proceeding from Melbourne to London to take up the position of managing editor of the Australian news cable service in connection with the _London Times_ and at the Commonwealth Government's request am enquiring into mail arrangements, dispositions of wounded, and various matters in Egypt in connection with our Australian Forces. I find it impossible to make a complete report upon changes that have been suggested here until I have a better knowledge of the system pursued at base Y, and on the Mainland, and I beg of you, therefore, to permit me to visit these places. "I should like to go across in only a semi-official capacity, so that I might record censored impressions in the London and Australian newspapers I represent, but any conditions you impose I should, of course, faithfully observe. "I beg to enclose (_a_) copy of general letter from the Prime Minister and (_b_) copy of my instructions from the Government. I have a personal letter of introduction to you from Senator Pearce, Minister of Defence. "May I add that I had the honour of meeting you at the Melbourne Town Hall, and wrote fully of your visit in the Sydney _Sun_ and Melbourne _Punch_; also may I say that my anxiety as an Australian to visit the sacred shores of Gallipoli while our army is there is intense. "Senator Millen asked me to convey his most kindly remembrances to you if I had the luck to see you and in case I have not I take this opportunity of doing so. "As I have only four weeks in which to complete my work here and get to London a 'collect reply by cable to C/o Colonel Sellheim, Australian Intermediate Base, Cairo, would greatly oblige. "I have the honour to be, "Sir, "Your obediently, (_Sd._) "KEITH A. MURDOCH. "C/o Colonel Sellheim, C.B., "A.I.F. Intermediate Base, "Cairo. "_August 17, 1915._" "COMMONWEALTH OF AUSTRALIA, "PRIME MINISTER'S DEPARTMENT, "MELBOURNE. _"July 14th, 1915._ "This letter will serve to introduce Mr. Keith Arthur Murdoch, a well known journalist, of Melbourne, who is proceeding to Europe to undertake important duties in connection with his profession. "Mr. Murdoch is also undertaking certain inquiries for the Government of the Commonwealth in the Mediterranean Theatre of War. And for any facilities which may be rendered him to enable him the better to carry out these duties I shall be personally obliged. (_Sd._) "ANDREW FISHER, "_Prime Minister._" "DEPARTMENT OF DEFENCE, "MELBOURNE, "_July 2nd, 1915._ "Mr. Keith A. Murdoch, "Alfred Place, Melbourne. "The Minister desires that you furnish a report upon the following matters together with any suggestions for improvements. "1. Arrangements for the receipt and delivery of letters, papers and parcels to and from members of the Australian Imperial Force. "2. Arrangements for the receipt and delivery of cablegrams to and from members of the Australian Imperial Force. "3. Arrangements for notifications to the Department in Australia of the disposition of Australian Wounded in Hospitals. "4. Suggested despatch of special expert corps to Hospitals. "5. Frauds by impersonation at cable offices. (_Sd._) "T. TRUMBLE, "_Acting Secretary for Defence._" When I got this, I hesitated. Evidently the writer was not accredited as a war correspondent and his remark about having written me up in the _Sun_ and in _Punch_ did not count for much. But I was anxious then, as ever, that as many journalists as possible should be put into a position for seeing the fine things the troops had done and were doing; I noted the emphasis laid by the writer upon his acceptance of the censorship, and so I took upon myself to exceed my powers and asked Braithwaite to cable to Mr. Murdoch:-- * * * * * "This cable is your authority to come to G.H.Q. at once whence you will be sent to Anzac. C.G.S., Medforce." Mr. Murdoch landed on the 2nd instant and on that date signed the following declaration:-- * * * * * DECLARATION TO BE USED BY WAR CORRESPONDENTS. I, the undersigned, do hereby solemnly undertake to follow in every particular the rules issued by the Commander-in-Chief through the Chief Field Censor, relative to correspondence concerning the forces in the Field, and bind myself not to attempt to correspond by any other route or by any other means than that officially sanctioned. Further, in the event of my ceasing to act as correspondent with the British Forces, I will not during the continuance of the War join the forces of any other Power in any capacity, or impart to anyone military information of a confidential nature or of a kind such that its disclosure is likely to prejudice military operations, which may have been acquired by me while with the British Forces in the Field, or publish any writing, plan, map, sketch, photograph or other picture on military subjects, the material for which has been acquired by me in a similar manner, unless first submitted by me to the Chief Field Censor for censorship and passed for publication by him. (_Signature of Correspondent_)................ * * * * * _15th October, 1915. Imbros._ Bitter cold. The whole camp upside down and all the Staff busy with their shift of quarters to the other side of the Bay. Altham has been at Salonika and came over to report how things were going there. Remembering the accusation of "wallowing" in ice, I nearly touched him for a Vanilla cream. As to Salonika, he tells me that, so far, the occupation has been a travesty of any military operation. No plan; no administration; much confusion; troops immobile and likely to sit for weeks upon the beach. The Balkan States Intelligence Officers are on the spot and grasp the inferences. Until the troops landed they were not quite sure whether some serious factor was not about to be sprung upon them: now they are quite sure nothing can happen, big or small, beyond our letting a lot of our bayonets go rusty. Sarrail has been implored by the Serbians to push his troops up into their country, but he has been wise enough to refuse. How can he feed them? On the top of it all, the conduct of the Greeks seems fishy. As to the Bulgarians, they have already thrown off the mask. Although Salonika is going to be our ruin, I can still spare some pity for Sarrail. Have heard from Birdie who at last gives me leave to see his Lone Pine section. Until now I have never been able to get him to let me go there. Too many bombs, he says, to make it quite healthy for a Commander-in-Chief. _16th October, 1915. Imbros._ Had just got into bed last night when I was ferreted out again by a cable "Secret and personal" from K. telling me to decipher the next message myself. The messenger brought a note from the G.S.--most of whom have now gone across to the other side of the Bay--to ask if I would like to be awakened when the second message came in. As I knew the contents as well as if I had written it out myself, I said no, that it was to be brought me with the cipher book at my usual hour for being called in the morning. When I had given this order, my mind dwelt awhile over my sins. Through my tired brain passed thought-pictures of philosophers waiting for cups of hemlock and various other strange and half-forgotten antique images. Then I fell asleep. Next morning, Peter Pollen came in with the cipher book and the bow-string. I got K.'s message pat in my dreams last night and here it is, to a word, in black and white:-- * * * * * "The War Council held last night decided that though the Government fully appreciate your work and the gallant manner in which you personally have struggled to make the enterprise a success in face of the terrible difficulties you have had to contend against, they, all the same, wish to make a change in the command which will give them an opportunity of seeing you." How far we have travelled, in spirit, since K. sent me his September greetings with spontaneous assurances of complete confidence! Yet, since then, on the ground, I have not travelled at all--have indeed been under the order of the Dardanelles Committee to stand still. Charles Munro is to relieve me and brings with him a Chief of Staff who will take Braithwaite's place. On my way back I "might visit Salonika and Egypt" so as to be able to give the Cabinet the latest about the hang of things in these places. When I go, Birdie is to take my place pending Munro's arrival. De Robeck must give me a cruiser so that we may start for home to-morrow. The offer of a jaunt at Government expense to Salonika and Egypt leaves me cold. They think nothing of spending some hundreds of pounds to put off an awkward moment. What value on earth could my views on Salonika and Egypt possess for people who have no use for my views on my own subject! After breakfast, read K.'s cable over once more. "A War Council," it seems, decided to make the change. Did the War Council also appoint Munro? K. did not appoint him--anyway. Munro succeeded me at Hythe. In 1897 I was brought home from Tirah to Hythe by Evelyn Wood in order that I might keep an eye on the original ideas which, from India under Lord Roberts, had revolutionized the whole system of British musketry. I left Hythe on the outbreak of the South African War and during that war Munro went there. He was born with another sort of mind from me. Had he been sent out here in the first instance he would never have touched the Dardanelles, and people who have realized so much may conclude he will now clear out. But it does not follow. Munro's refusal to attempt a landing in the first instance would have served as the foundation stone for some totally different policy in the Near East. That might perhaps have been a good plan. But to start a campaign with me and try to carry it on with Munro has already been tried and found hardly fair to either of us. The intention of whoever selected Munro is so to use him as to force K. to pull down the blinds. But they may be mistaken in his character. One thing is sure: whenever I get home I shall do what I can to convince K. that the game is still in his hands if only he will shake himself free from slippery politics; come right out here and run the show himself. Constantinople is the only big big hit lying open on the map at this moment. With the reinforcements and munitions K., as Commander-in-Chief, would have at his command, he can bring off the coup right away. He has only to borrow a suitable number of howitzers and aeroplanes from the Western front and our troops begin to advance. Sarrail has missed the chance of twenty generations by not coming here. Let K. step in. In the whole of the Near East his name alone is still worth an Army Corps. My own chance has gone. That is no reason why my old Chief should not himself make good. I told the War Council we held at Suvla before the battle of the 21st August that if the Government persisted in refusing me drafts and munitions--if they insisted on leaving my units at half-strength--then they would have to get someone cleverer than myself to carry out the job. Well, it has come to that now. K. looms big in the public eye and can insist on not being starved. He must hurry up though! Time enough has been lost, God knows. But even to-day there is time. Howitzers, trench mortars, munitions, men, on a scale France would hardly miss,--the Asiatic side of the Straits would be occupied--and, in one month from to-day, our warships will have Constantinople under their guns. If K. won't listen to me, then, having been officially mis-informed that the War Council wish to see me (the last thing they _do_ wish), I will take them at their word. I will buttonhole every Minister from McKenna and Lloyd George to Asquith and Bonar Law,--and grovel at their feet if by doing so I can hold them on to this, the biggest scoop that is, or ever has been, open to an Empire. Rather a sickly lunch. Not so much the news as the Benger's on which we all feasted for our stomach's sake. Birdie came over at 4 p.m. with Ruthven. Both his A.D.C.s are sick. I am going to ask him to take on young Alec McGrigor. Peter and Freddie will come home with Braithwaite and myself. What a true saying,--a friend in need is a friend indeed. Were I handing over to Birdie for good I should feel unalloyed happiness in his well-deserved success. At tea Ellison, Braithwaite, Bertier, Colonel Sykes and Guest appeared. They looked more depressed than I felt. I had to work like a beaver before I could brighten them up. "I'm not dead yet," I felt inclined to tell them, "no, not by long chalks." What I did say to one or two of them was this:--"My credit with Government is exhausted; clearly I can't screw men or munitions out of them. The new Commander will start fresh with a good balance of faith, hope and charity lodged in the Bank of England. He comes with a splendid reputation, and if he is big enough to draw boldly on this deposit, the Army will march; the Fleet will steam ahead; what has been done will bear fruit, and all our past struggles and sacrifices will live." Dined with Freddie on the _Triad_. De Robeck and Keyes were all that friends can be at such a moment. _17th October, 1915. H.M.S. "Chatham"_ (_At sea_). A pretty beastly day within and without. For the within part, all sorts of good-byes to put pain into our hearts; for the without, a cold drizzle chilling us all to the bone. At 10.30 Brulard and his Staff came over; also Generals Byng and Davies with their Staffs. After bidding them farewell; a function whereat I was grateful to the French for their lightness of touch, I rode over with Braithwaite and the A.D.C.s to the new Headquarters at Kephalos to say good-bye to my own Staff. Although I had meant to live there until we drove the Turks far enough back to let us live on the Peninsula, I had found time to see my little stone hut built by Greek peasants on the side of the hill:--deliciously snug. To-day, this very day, I was to have struck my tent and taken up these cosy winter quarters; now I move, right enough, but on the wrong road. The adieu was a melancholy affair. There was no make-belief, that's a sure thing. Whatever the British Officer may be his forte has never lain in his acting. So, by 2.30, I made my last salute to the last of the old lot and boarded the _Triad_. A baddish wrench parting from de Robeck and Keyes with whom I have been close friends for so long. Up to midnight de Robeck had intended coming home too. Keyes himself is following me in a day or two, to implore the Cabinet to let us at least strike one more blow before we haul down our flag, so there will be two of us at the task. I wrung their hands. The Bo'sun's whistle sounded. The curtain was falling so I wrung their hands once again and said good-bye; good-bye also to the Benjamin of my personal Staff, young Alec, who stays on with Birdie. A bitter moment and hard to carry through. Boarded the _Chatham_ (Captain Drury-Lowe) and went below to put my cabin straight. The anchor came up, the screws went round. I wondered whether I could stand the strain of seeing Imbros, Kephalos, the camp, fade into the region of dreams,--I was hesitating when a message came from the Captain to say the Admiral begged me to run up on to the quarter deck. So I ran, and found the _Chatham_ steering a corkscrew course--threading in and out amongst the warships at anchor. Each as we passed manned ship and sent us on our way with the cheers of brave men ringing in our ears. * * * * * FAREWELL ORDER BY GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON. "GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, "MEDITERRANEAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, _"October 17th, 1915._ "On handing over the Command of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force to General Sir C. C. Munro, the Commander-in-Chief wishes to say a few farewell words to the Allied troops, with many of whom he has now for so long been associated. First, he would like them to know his deep sense of the honour it has been to command so fine an Army in one of the most arduous and difficult Campaigns which has ever been undertaken; secondly, he must express to them his admiration at the noble response which they have invariably given to the calls he has made upon them. No risk has been too desperate; no sacrifice too great. Sir Ian Hamilton thanks all ranks, from Generals to private soldiers, for the wonderful way they have seconded his efforts to lead them towards that decisive victory, which, under their new Chief, he has the most implicit confidence they will achieve." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 14: I think I hardly knew _how_ often till I came to read through my diary in cold print. But all the time I was conscious, and am still more so now, of K.'s greatness. Still more so now because, when I compare him with his survivors, they seem measurable, he remains immeasurable. I wish very much I could make people admire Lord K. understandingly. To praise him wrongly is to do him the worst disservice. The theme can hardly be squeezed into a footnote, but one protest must be made all the same. Lord Fisher gives fresh currency to the fable that K. was a great organizer. K. hated organization with all his primitive heart and soul, because it cramped his style. K. was an individualist. He was a Master of Expedients; the greatest probably the world has ever seen. Whenever he saw _any_ organization his inclination was to smash it, and often--but not always--he was right. This may sound odd in Anglo-Celtic ears. But most British organizations are relics of the past. They are better smashed than patched, and K. loved smashing.--IAN H., 1920.] [Footnote 15: Lord K.'s reason for putting in this last paragraph may be obscure unless I make it clear. As explained in a previous footnote, Lord K. knew that I knew his strong personal view that the smashing blow to our military reputation which would be caused by an evacuation of the Dardanelles must, in course of time, imperil our hold upon Egypt. Therefore, for the moment, it was necessary to warn me that the problem must be considered in the purely military, tactical, aspect.--IAN H. 1920.] [Footnote 16: Lest anyone should imagine there is any privilege or secrecy attached to this document it may be well to explain that all the best passages came back to me from Melbourne in due course; often with marginal comment.--IAN H., 1920.] APPENDIX I STATEMENT ON ARTILLERY BY BRIGADIER GENERAL SIR HUGH SIMPSON BAIKIE, EX-COMMANDER OF THE BRITISH ARTILLERY AT CAPE HELLES. The first landing of British troops at Cape Helles took place on 25th April, 1915. On arriving at that place during the first week in May, I found that heavy fighting had occurred without ceasing from the time of the disembarkation. Having come straight from the Headquarters Staff of the 2nd Army in France, where the question of artillery ammunition was a constant source of anxiety to all the higher commanders, I at once set to work to discover what reserves remained in the hands of G.H.Q. and what the daily expenditure had been since the landing. The greatest difficulty was experienced in obtaining figures of expenditure from the units, so constant had been the fighting, which still continued, and so great the casualties, and consequent confusion in reckoning expenditure. Yet, after some delay, sufficient information was obtained to enable me to demonstrate with certainty that, if such severe fighting continued, the Force would soon be in danger of losing their artillery support. On the 4th May a cable was sent, I believe, to Lord Kitchener saying that ammunition was becoming a very serious matter owing to the ceaseless fighting; pointing out that 18 pr. shell were a vital necessity and that a supply promised by a certain ship (I believe the S.S. _Funia_) had not turned up. A day or two later, a cable was received by G.H.Q. saying munitions were never calculated on a basis of prolonged occupation of the Peninsula, and that the War Office would have to reconsider the whole position, if more was wanted. If I remember aright, the cable finished by saying, "It is important to push on." A few days later a cable was received saying the War Office would not give us more ammunition until we submitted a return of what was in hand. The compilation of that cut-and-dried return in the midst of a desperate battle was a distracting and never-to-be-forgotten effort, but there was no help for it: no return, no shells; that was the War Office order. The ammunition still in hand lay mostly in the holds of the ships at Mudros, 60 miles away, and did not lend themselves to easy counting; while the actual expenditure was, for reasons already given, an intricate problem indeed. Continuous cables on the subject of ammunition passed during the next few days between G.H.Q. and the War Office, all of which passed through my hands and some of which I drafted for superior authority. I cannot remember their sequence and not always their purport, but I distinctly remember about the 10th or 11th May a cable being received from Lord Kitchener saying ammunition for Field Artillery was being pushed out _via_ Marseilles. I think the figures given were about ten or twenty thousand rounds of 18-pr. and some one thousand rounds of 4.5 howitzer H.E., but I am not sure. The fact that does remain indelibly impressed on my mind is that I am convinced from the cables that passed through my office that no provision had been made by the War Office to keep up a regular supply of artillery ammunition to the Dardanelles Expedition. The W.O. authority appeared to have given a bonus of ammunition when the Expedition sailed, and to have been somewhat taken aback and annoyed by the fact that a sure and continuous supply should afterwards be demanded. On 29th May I left G.H.Q. on appointment as Brigadier-General to command all the artillery at Cape Helles, in which capacity I served till September, i.e. through all the big attacks and counter-attacks of June, July and August. In this capacity I was brought face to face with all the deficiencies in artillery _matériel_ and ammunition, of which the following were the most important. Although there was only one Battery of 4.5 and one Battery of 6-in. howitzers at Helles there was always an extreme deficiency of howitzer H.E. ammunition. So great was the shortage that immediately on taking up my command I found it necessary to issue a most stringent order that no howitzer on Cape Helles was ever to fire H.E. without my personal authority. When the Turks attacked, 18-prs. and 15-prs. were to support the Infantry with shrapnel; howitzers were only to be used with my personal permission and then were only to fire shrapnel. All howitzer H.E. was to be used exclusively for supporting British attacks by bombarding the Turkish trenches before and during such activities. Throughout the above months, constant appeals were made to me by Infantry Commanders to bombard the Turkish trenches with H.E. in order to retaliate for the loss our men had suffered from the Turkish guns using H.E. Such requests I had invariably to refuse. There were fifty-six 18-prs. at Helles, when I assumed command on the 29th May, and subsequently they were increased to seventy-two at the end of July. Except for 640 rounds of H.E., which was fired off during the 4th June battle, no more H.E. arrived till the end of July. Never during my command did the total number of rounds of 18-pr. ammunition at Helles ever reach 25,000. Before one of our attacks, with very careful previous husbanding, the total used perhaps to reach 19,000 to 23,000. The total amount I could therefore allot justifiably for the artillery preparation before an attack of our four British Infantry Divisions never exceeded 12,000 rounds; as from 6,000 to 7,000 must necessarily be kept in reserve to assist in beating off the determined hostile counter-attacks. As I remarked at the beginning of this paper, artillery ammunition was a constant anxiety to the higher commanders on the Western Front also, but never, I believe, had Infantry to attack with so little artillery support as the above. My position in France did not give me any inside knowledge of the details of artillery supply, but in one action at St. Eloi (near Ypres) on 14th or 15th February, in which only 27th Division was concerned, the artillery of this Division (so the C.R.A. informed me) alone fired 10,000 18-pr. rounds in one night. At a similar action at the same place by the same division about a month later the divisional artillery fired, I believe, a slightly larger amount. Again, at Neuve Chapelle, in February, 1915, each Division had its own divisional artillery and the ammunition expenditure worked out to 150 rounds per 18-pr. gun. These official figures were shown me a few days after the battle by the G.O.C., 2nd Army. In comparing the ammunition expenditure of France in 1915 and in the Dardanelles, the enormous discrepancy in the number of 18-prs. per Division must be taken into account. Reckoning on the scale of the number of 18-prs. allotted to a British Division in France, we had at Helles little more than sufficient 18-prs. for one Division, yet with this number we had to give artillery support to four Divisions. As to the French artillery at Helles, they could always reckon on being able to expend 40,000 to 45,000 rounds when their two Divisions attacked. The complete absence of H.E. was severely felt, as shrapnel were of little use for destroying trenches, machine gun emplacements, etc. Therefore, in each and every British attack, success was jeopardized and our infantry exposed to cruel losses, because, firstly, there was not sufficient ammunition to prepare their attack, and, secondly, there was no H.E. (except for howitzers) to destroy the machine guns in their emplacements. The latter, therefore, inflicted great losses on our Infantry in their advance. Our unfortunate position did not escape the notice of the French, who used at times generously to place under my command some of their field guns and howitzers, but in the latter they were also lamentably deficient, and in ammunition they were, themselves, during May and early June, none too well provided, although towards July their reserves grew more sufficient. The British deficiency in ammunition, however, was so great, and created so much merriment among the French that they christened the British Artillery, "Un coup par pièce"; with which term of endearment I was always personally greeted by the French Artillery General and his Staff, with all of whom I was great friends. At the battle of 28th June the French were unable to spare us the howitzers or ammunition we begged of them. The failure of the gallant 156th Brigade of the 52nd Division to take the H.12 trenches was essentially due to lack of artillery ammunition, especially of H.E. Allowing for losses that must have been suffered under any condition, I believe that some 700 or 800 Scottish casualties were due to this cause. Before the action the Corps Commander sent for me to say that he did not consider that enough guns and ammunition had been allotted to this portion of the Turkish trenches. I replied that I agreed, but that there were no more available and that to reduce the bombardment of the hostile trenches on the left of our front would gravely prejudice the success of the 29th Division in that quarter and that I understood success there was more vital than on our right flank. After consultation with the G.O.C. 29th Division, the Corps Commander agreed with my allotment of the artillery. We then did our utmost to obtain the loan of more guns, howitzers or ammunition from the French without success and with the result that the attack was beaten off. So successful had been the attack on our left with its capture of five successive lines of Turkish trenches that we had actually some ammunition to spare. In the afternoon it was agreed that there should be another attack on H.12, preceded by a very short but very intense bombardment from every gun and howitzer we possessed. All artillery arrangements for this were completed before 2.30 p.m., from which hour all the guns waited alert and ready for the Infantry to inform us of the hour they wished us to commence fire. I was in direct telephonic communication with the commander of the 52nd Division, having had a private wire laid on to his Headquarters the previous day. Suddenly, to my horror, I received a telephone message from my Artillery Group Commander, Colonel Stockdale, saying the Infantry were making the assault and that he had no time to do more than fire half a dozen shots! In the attacks of 12th and 13th July, the French placed some thirty or forty guns and howitzers under British command, and on account of the shortage of British ammunition their guns undertook the whole of the artillery preparation, our artillery confining itself to covering fire during and after the Infantry advance. The counter-attacks were so violent and the calls for artillery support were so incessant that towards the afternoon of the 13th July the British gun ammunition began to get alarmingly low, until finally only about 5,000 rounds of 18-pr. ammunition, including all rounds in Battery charge, remained at Helles. The French were reluctant to supply further artillery support, fearing further attacks on themselves. This was the most anxious night I spent on the Peninsula--all but a limited number of rounds were withdrawn from most Batteries and were placed in horsed ammunition wagons, which perambulated from one side of the British position to the other according to where it seemed most likely the next Turkish attack would take place. These measures were successful and no Battery actually was left without one round at a critical moment, but the position throughout that night was a most dangerous one. Every hour a wire was sent to G.H.Q. giving expression to our crying needs, but there was next to nothing at Mudros, while desperate fighting still went on without a minute's respite. At 11 p.m. that night a trawler did, to the joy of every gunner, reach Helles with 3,000 rounds of 18-pr., but on the arrival of my Staff Officer to unload it, it was found that the fuses were of a new pattern never issued before and that the existing fuse keys would not adjust the fuses. As no new pattern fuse keys had been sent from home the Batteries had to manufacture their own, which was successfully accomplished after two days' delay. During June two Batteries, and during July two more Batteries of 5-inch howitzers, manned by Territorials, arrived at Helles. During the last week of July the first two Batteries were sent to Anzac. Some of these howitzers were very old and worn by corrosion, and were consequently inaccurate. The Gun History sheets of some of them showed they had been used at the Battle of Omdurman, seventeen years before, and had been in use ever since. After the big British attacks of 6th and 7th August, their ammunition began to run short. On demand about 500 or 700 rounds were sent up from Mudros--on arrival each shell was found to be of only 40 lb. weight, whereas former shells were of 50 lb. weight. Their fuses were also of new pattern, which existing fuse keys would not fit and, to crown all, no range tables had been sent for this new pattern of shell. In spite of continual letters and telegrams to the War Office, when I left Helles in September no new pattern fuse keys or range tables had ever arrived from England; consequently these shells remained stacked on the Peninsula while the Batteries only fired occasionally for want of ammunition! On another occasion, when we were in the greatest straits for 15-pr. ammunition, many hundreds of rounds arrived at Helles, which on being landed were discovered by my Staff only to be suitable for the Ehrhardt R.H.A. guns in Egypt, no such guns being in the Dardanelles. As for heavy artillery, practically speaking, there was none! Only one 6-inch Howitzer Battery (4 howitzers) and one 60-pr. Battery (4 guns) were in action at Helles up to July when four more guns of the latter calibre were landed. Unfortunately, however, the 60-prs. were of little use, as the recoil was too great for the carriages and the latter broke down beyond repair by our limited resources after very few rounds. At the beginning of August only one 60-pr. gun remained in action. Consequently, we had no heavy guns capable of replying to the Turkish heavy guns which enveloped us on three sides, and from whose fire our infantry and artillery suffered severely. As to spare parts, spare guns and carriages, such luxuries were practically non-existent. No provision appears to have been made by the War Office to replace our guns or their parts, which became unserviceable through use or through damage by the hostile artillery. As the British were holding the lower slopes of the Achi Baba position, and as all our gun positions could be seen into by the Turks with powerful spectacles from their observation posts on the top of Achi Baba, our equipment suffered severely. During June and July one 6-inch howitzer and twenty-five 18-prs. (out of a total of seventy-two) as well as one or two 60-prs., were put out of action by direct hits from the hostile artillery. Such guns were withdrawn to the field workshops on "W" Beach, but as these workshops were exposed to the enemy's artillery fire from three sides, the guns were often further damaged while under repair. Damaged guns had sometimes to wait for days in this workshop until other guns had been damaged in a different place by the hostile artillery. Then possibly one efficient gun could be made up of the undamaged portions of one, two or more guns. Batteries often, therefore, remained for days short of guns on account of the lack of spare parts. When I assumed command of the artillery at Helles, there were two Batteries of mountain guns (10-prs.) in action, but they were of a prehistoric pattern. In 1899 the Khedive of Egypt possessed in his Army, in which I was then serving, mountain guns which were more up-to-date in every respect. So inaccurate were these 10-prs. that they had to be placed close behind the front trenches lest they should hit our own Infantry, the result being a very heavy casualty list in officers and men amongst their Territorial personnel. Many of these lives could have been saved, had reasonable modern weapons been supplied. These obsolete old guns wore out so quickly that the two Batteries quickly melted into one Battery, and when they finally left Helles for Anzac at the end of July, I believe only 3 guns and their detachments were left in being. As for anti-aircraft guns, they did not exist at all and the hostile aeroplanes used to fly over and drop bombs _ad lib._ without fear of molestation, the only saving clause being that the enemy appeared to possess almost as few aeroplanes as the British. In no point of their equipment did the force at Helles suffer so much in comparison with their comrades in France as in the matter of aeroplanes which, at the Dardanelles, were hopelessly deficient not only in the numbers but also in quality. There were not sufficient pilots and there were no observers at all. Brave and efficient as the naval pilots were, they could not be expected to be of any use as artillery spotters unless they had been thoroughly trained for this important duty. This deficiency had to be made good at all costs by drafting young artillery subalterns from their Batteries and sending them to the Air Force, where their lack of training and experience in operation was at first severely felt, although later these lads did magnificent work. Thus Batteries were deprived of their trained subalterns just at the moment when the latter were most required on account of the severe casualties suffered in the landing and during the subsequent early operations. But few of the aeroplanes were fitted with wireless and the receivers on the ground could not take in messages over a distance longer than 5,000 yards. Consequently, each aeroplane had to return within this radius of the receiver, before its observation could be delivered, thus immensely curtailing the usefulness and efficiency of the aeroplane observation. Owing to the above conditions, aeroplanes could only be used for the counter-batteries firing on hostile artillery. As regards trench mortars, the supply was hopelessly inadequate. I cannot give the exact figures, but I believe there were not a dozen at Helles during the whole period I was there, and these were of such an indifferent type as to be practically useless, and for this reason no one bothered about them. No provision appears to have been made for the supply of such necessities of trench warfare by the Home Authorities. This appears to be indefensible, as I believe very early in the operations their provision was specially asked for by G.H.Q. The absolute failure to supply such articles of vital necessity eventually led to the French C.-in-C. at Helles lending the British two demizel trench mortars and large quantities of ammunition. These were manned by artillery detachments, and by their magnificent work and the constant demand from the Infantry for their services, it was conclusively proved what an invaluable aid a sufficient supply of these weapons would have been. From the very first it was apparent to me that the number of British guns at Helles was not sufficient to prepare and support simultaneous Infantry attacks of the whole British Force at this end of the Peninsula. In June I drew up a memorandum to G.H.Q. pointing this out and asking for a big increase of guns, howitzers and ammunition. What happened to this I cannot say. I only know that the guns and ammunition asked for never materialized. The whole story of the artillery at Helles may be summed up in the following sentences: insufficiency of guns of every nature; insufficiency of ammunition of every nature, especially of H.E.; insufficient provision made by the Home Authorities for spare guns, spare carriages, spare parts, adequate repairing workshops, or for a regular daily, weekly or monthly supply of ammunition; guns provided often of an obsolete pattern and so badly worn by previous use as to be most inaccurate; lack of aeroplanes, trained observers and of all the requisites for air observation; total failure to produce the trench mortars and bombs to which the closeness of the opposing lines at Helles would have lent themselves well--in short, total lack of organization at home to provide even the most rudimentary and indispensable artillery requisites for daily consumption; not to speak of downright carelessness which resulted in wrong shells being sent to the wrong guns, and new types of fuses being sent without fuse keys and new types of howitzer shells without range tables. These serious faults provoked their own penalties in the shape of the heavy losses suffered by our Infantry and artillery, which might have been to a great measure averted if sufficient forethought and attention had been devoted to the "side-show" at the Dardanelles. After commanding the starved artillery at Helles it was my good fortune to command the artillery of the 21st Army Corps at the third Battle of Gaza, in November, 1917, and also at the great Battle of 19th September, 1918, in which the Turks in Palestine were finally crushed, and I think it may add emphasis to what I have said if I contrast the artillery support of the two campaigns and show the results which ensued. On the night before the third Battle of Gaza, the artillery under my command (to support three Divisions) consisted of the following, viz.:--19-1/2 Batteries (i.e., 78 guns and howitzers) of heavy artillery, comprising 8-inch howitzers, 6-inch guns, 6-inch howitzers and 60-pr. guns--all of the most modern and up-to-date type. The Field Artillery comprised 108 18-prs. and 36 4.5 howitzers while in addition there were 8 modern mountain howitzers and guns. There was not an artillery weapon in the whole Army Corps that was not efficient and up-to-date, while immediately behind the front line existed perfectly organized workshops capable of executing any repairs. There was ample provision of spare guns, carriages and parts, and an abundance of trench mortars which, though they would have changed the whole face of the Peninsula conflict, could not be used in Palestine owing to the breadth of No Man's Land. Ammunition for every nature of gun and howitzer was pressed upon us in profusion--over a thousand rounds per gun was buried and concealed near every Battery, while immediately behind the fighting line huge reserves were available for immediate use if required. At the advanced railhead, G.H.Q. literally built mountains of ammunition as a further supply; all this in addition to vast quantities stored in depôts in Egypt and on the banks of the Suez Canal. So great was the superabundance of shell, that hundreds of tons were left lying on the ground after the nine days' Battle at Gaza; which it took months to remove. At the battle of the 19th September, 1918, in Palestine conditions were exactly the same. There was an absolute _embarras de richesse_ of every artillery requisite. This wealth of artillery material was supported in Palestine by a full complement of artillery, aeroplanes, pilots and observers, the latter being all thoroughly trained and efficient. In addition, by a sufficiency of fighting aeroplanes with most efficient pilots, our artillery were adequately guarded from sunrise to sunset from any hostile aeroplane observation. In short, our air supremacy was undisputed and absolutely protected our own artillery against damage and molestation from the hostile guns. On the other hand, the enemy's artillery lay at our mercy directly their gun positions were discovered. The whole science of artillery and aeroplane co-operation had, of course, been vastly extended and perfected since Gallipoli days, but the point I wish to make is this: that in 1917 and 1918 the Palestine Front was fitted out on the same scale, proportionately, as the Western Front; whereas in 1915 this was not the case in the Dardanelles as regards artillery, for instance, only one Division (the 29th) at Helles having 18-pr. guns and the Naval Division having been given no artillery at all! To put the matter shortly, whereas at Helles I had under my command no more than 88 to 95 guns and howitzers of all natures with scarcely any ammunition or aeroplanes to support four British Divisions; in Palestine at Gaza I had at least 230 guns and howitzers (one-third of which were of heavy calibre) with an abundance of ammunition and a sufficiency of aeroplanes to support the attack of one and a half Divisions, the remaining one and a half Divisions at Gaza being in reserve. At the battle of 19th September, 1918, in Palestine I had, to the best of my recollection, about 360 guns of all calibres to support four Divisions. The terrible casualties suffered by our Infantry at Helles are well known, and my feelings as Artillery Commander unable to give them anything like the support they would have had in France or Flanders may be guessed. But this was made up to me afterwards when I commanded the artillery at Gaza, that strong fortress which was captured by the 21st Army Corps, with certainly under 3,000 casualties and I believe with under 2,000 killed and wounded. At Gaza the Turks were simply crushed by our overwhelming artillery, fed from inexhaustible Ordnance parks and dumps. Before the Infantry attack commenced the position was subjected to a continuous bombardment night and day for six days and six nights from every available gun and howitzer. The Infantry then attacked and took a large portion of the position with a loss of, I believe, under 1,000 men. The Turks counter-attacked, but they melted away under the tremendous artillery barrage and never attempted another during this battle. Next night our Infantry tried to extend their conquest but the Turks had meanwhile brought up an old Gallipoli Division, the 7th, which held them at bay and inflicted upon them serious losses which, I believe, increased their casualties to between two and three thousand. The Corps Commander then decided to let the Infantry stand where they were, to submit the Turks to a further three days' and three nights' bombardment, at the end of which our Infantry advanced again only to find that the Turks were evacuating the whole of the Gaza position. After the Battle of 19th September, 1918, many Infantry commanders of Divisions, Brigades and Battalions have told me the Turks appeared crushed by the terrific artillery bombardment (under cover of which our men advanced) and offered a resistance which, in comparison with our experiences of Gallipoli, can only be called feeble. The cardinal fact that remains in my mind is that in Palestine the 21st Army Corps always had enough (and more than enough) of every artillery requisite for whatever number of Divisions the Army Corps was composed of; whereas, in Gallipoli, the VIIIth Army Corps at Helles, which was composed of four British Divisions, never had enough Field Artillery or ammunition to support more than one Division, and never possessed sufficient heavy artillery to support more than one Infantry Brigade. The material part of my statement ends here, and it only remains for me to remind you that all the grievous shortcomings I have exposed were actually made good by the heroism, devotion and sufferings of the Officers and men of the Artillery at Helles, both Regular, Territorial, Australian and New Zealand. Rest was impossible, as no Battery could ever be withdrawn from the line and all field Batteries were under rifle fire. If placed outside that range, they were destroyed by flanking fire from Turkish guns in Asia. No dug-outs were possible, as dug-outs were understood in France, as there was no timber or roofing for their construction. All ranks were thus exposed night and day to continuous fire, and were sometimes killed as they slept in their valises by stray bullets, thousands of which were fired unaimed every night by the Turks in the hopes of inflicting casualties; water for drinking and washing was almost as precious as guns and shells. The joys of a canteen, as was at that time supplied by the War Office to our Army in France, were unknown; bare rations washed down by a limited allowance of water were our only form of food; everyone suffered more or less from dysentery, spread by the millions of flies which settled on every mouthful we ate and made life almost insupportable by day. No Man's Land was one vast litter of unburied corpses. Yet no man's spirit ever wavered and all ranks remained as bright, as hopeful and as cheerful as on the day of the first great landing. If shells were scarce, complaints were non-existent; all were upheld by the wonderful religion of self-sacrifice. It will ever remain my greatest pride that I had the astonishing good fortune to be associated with such a body of officers and men; to them I owe a debt of gratitude that is beyond redemption, and to them alone is due the credit for any success which the artillery at Helles may have attained in what was one of England's greatest tragedies, but was also one of England's greatest glories. APPENDIX II DARDANELLES EXPEDITION NOTES BY LIEUT.-COLONEL CHARLES ROSENTHAL,[17] COMMANDING 3RD AUSTRALIAN FIELD ARTILLERY BRIGADE, 1ST AUSTRALIAN DIVISION, RELATING TO ARTILLERY AT ANZAC, FROM 25TH APRIL TO 25TH AUGUST, 1915. (_Compiled from personal diary._) During the early hours of 25th April, 1915, the 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade landed on Gallipoli Peninsula, close to Gaba Tepe, at a point now known as Anzac Beach, followed by other troops of 1st Australian Division and Australian and New Zealand Division. Arrangements had been made for artillery to land about 10 a.m. on the same morning, but owing to delays in disembarkation of Infantry, and enemy shelling of transports necessitating ships temporarily leaving their allotted anchorage, it was after mid-day before the vessels carrying guns were actually in correct position for disembarkation. I did not wait for the naval boats to come alongside, but after issuing necessary instructions to Battery Commanders concerning the landing of the guns, I disembarked in a ship's boat manned by a volunteer crew from my Brigade Ammunition Column, accompanied by two officers and sixteen men of my Headquarters' Staff. Immediately on landing I reported to my C.R.A., and was by him informed that the Divisional Commander had decided no artillery should land during the day. This decision absolutely nonplussed me, and on asking the reason I was informed the position was not considered sufficiently secure to ensure the safety of guns, if emplaced. With this decision I did not agree and urged, without result, that the safety of guns was surely secondary to the proper supporting of the troops already committed. In view of the above decision instructions were at once sent off to the ships ordering Colonel Johnstone, Commanding 2nd A.F.A. Brigade, and Major Hughes, acting for me in command of 3rd A.F.A. Brigade, to defer disembarkation of guns. Colonel Johnstone, however, by this time had one 18-pr. gun well on the way to the shore. Permission was given for it to be landed and it was brought into action close to the beach against guns at Gaba Tepe, undoubtedly temporarily silencing them. In the meantime the Indian Mountain Battery attached to 1st Australian Division, which had landed early in the day, was in action doing splendid work though suffering severe casualties. By the order of Colonel White, G.S.O. (1), 1st Australian Division, I spent the afternoon in collecting Infantry stragglers and getting them forward again to the firing line. At 5 p.m. I reported completion of this task and then proceeded to thoroughly reconnoitre the right flank, overlooking Gaba Tepe, which had seemed to me, from observations made from the ship, to be a suitable area for emplacing of guns. I returned to Divisional Headquarters just before dark, and informed the C.R.A. and Divisional Commander that I had found suitable places for batteries and could use them effectively. I had in my reconnaissance conferred with three Battalion Commanders (one of whom was killed a couple of days later), who were delighted to hear that the artillery they were so anxiously waiting for was to come up in support. After much discussion and persuasion the Divisional Commander agreed to allow me to land two of my three 18-pr. batteries. This approval was shortly afterwards altered to permission to land two guns only, and finally all approval was cancelled, though no information of these decisions officially reached me. During the night, in anticipation of early arrival of guns, my Headquarters personnel worked untiringly in preparing a track from the beach to the selected sites for guns, and it was not till 5.30 a.m. on 26th that I learned approval to land guns had been cancelled overnight. During the morning of 26th April one gun of 1st Battery, 1st Brigade, and one gun of 4th Battery, 2nd Brigade, were landed, hauled up the steep hill to their positions, and came into action on the extreme right of ridge overlooking Gaba Tepe. Later in the day the 7th Battery of my Brigade came into action on the same ridge and the single guns of 1st and 4th Batteries were withdrawn for return to their respective Brigades. During the afternoon there also came ashore, apparently without order, two guns of 3rd Battery, 1st Brigade, and 8th Battery, 3rd Brigade, but were returned to their respective ships by the C.R.A. My guns were placed absolutely in the Infantry front trenches, on the sky line, no troops of any kind being in advance of them. It would have been quite useless to take up positions behind the Infantry line in the normal way, owing to the configuration of the ground, for in such cases the lowest range at which the crest could be cleared was 3,000 yards, while our targets were from 500 to 1,000 yards distant. Indeed at night, shrapnel shell with fuse set at zero was frequently used. Each gun fired during the 26th about 400 rounds, over open sights, and caused very heavy casualties to the enemy. The whole battery covered a front of 187°, necessitating each gun being personally controlled by an officer and each with its own particular arc of fire. The supply of ammunition was very difficult. It had to be delivered by hand to the guns over a bullet-swept area, the distance from the beach to the guns being about half a mile, while in this distance the hills rose 400 feet. By the afternoon of the 3rd May, two guns of 8th Battery, 3rd Brigade, were in action, and 2nd Brigade also had guns in position on the left flank of 1st Australian Divisional Front. The Australian and New Zealand Division also had 18-prs. in action together with two 4.5-inch Howitzer Batteries, the latter being the only howitzers available up to this time at Anzac. I was wounded on 5th May, evacuated to Cairo, and did not rejoin my command at Anzac till 26th May. During this interval gun positions, as well as Infantry trenches, had been much improved, and the enemy country in our immediate front which, when I left on 5th May, gave no signs of life, was now well traversed by trenches. I found in my sector that the guns of my Brigade were now all in action, and the remainder of the artillery of the Division was also emplaced. About this time 6-inch howitzers were made available and later emplaced, one for left sector, one for the centre, and one for the right, but with very limited quantities of ammunition. Another 6-inch howitzer was landed on 17th June. I had made continual urgent representations for two 4.7-inch guns for right flank to deal with innumerable targets beyond the range of 18-prs., but it was not till 11th July that one very old and much worn gun arrived, and was placed in position on right flank, firing its first round on 26th July. On 24th June a Scottish Territorial Howitzer Battery (the 5th Battery, City of Glasgow Lowland Howitzer Brigade) arrived and came under my command. On 14th July a heavy battery was organized for right flank, consisting of the two 6-inch howitzers and the 4.7-inch gun before mentioned, but ammunition was still very scarce. On 15th July a 5-inch Howitzer Brigade under Colonel Hope Johnstone commenced to arrive and was complete in position by 18th July. On 28th July the 4th Battery of Lowland Brigade arrived. About this time some alterations were made in artillery dispositions and grouping in preparation for impending battle at Suvla Bay and Lone Pine, commencing on 6th August, and on 30th July the artillery of right sector under my command was as follows:-- 3rd A.F.A. Brigade (18-prs.). Heavy Battery (two 6-inch howitzers and one 4.7-inch gun). 2 Mountain Guns. Two 5-inch Howitzer Batteries, Lowland Brigade. One 5-inch Howitzer Battery, 69th Brigade. When leaving Australia in 1914 I had urged that a battery of 5-inch howitzers (which I commanded prior to the outbreak of war), together with stocks of ammunition held by Australia, should accompany 1st Australian Division. This was not approved. On arrival at Gallipoli Peninsula, when the need for howitzers was at once apparent, I again re-opened the question, particularly on the 29th May, when the C.R.A. agreed to press for them to be sent forward. The Divisional Commander, on 25th June, cabled Australia definitely asking for this battery, which was at once forwarded, but arrived at the Peninsula too late to be of any service. Two Australian Field Batteries (together with a Brigade of Infantry) were transferred to Cape Helles on 5th May and did not rejoin the Australian Division at Anzac till 18th August. With the limited number of guns available it was exceedingly important that transfers might be made very rapidly from one part of our front to another, and on 2nd June I put forward a proposal which was approved immediately to make a road along the entire front just behind the crest on which infantry trenches were sited. This road was completed in about two weeks and was a great boon alike to gunners and Infantry. Up to 24th August no anti-aircraft guns had been provided, but specially constructed emplacements had been made for 18-prs. to be used against aircraft, and though never successful in bringing down an enemy 'plane they certainly made good enough shooting to cause enemy aviators to treat them with respect. About 20th August three 3-pr. Hotchkiss arrived for anti-aircraft purposes. They were of obsolete pattern and had been manufactured for the Japanese Government many years before. In fact the only range tables provided were printed in Japanese, but thanks to the fact that one of my Sergeants (who was a Master Mariner) spoke Japanese, we succeeded in preparing serviceable range tables. Two Japanese trench mortars were also used from Infantry trenches with excellent effect, but owing to ammunition supply becoming soon exhausted and no fresh supplies being available they had to be discarded. A good supply of these weapons, together with full supplies of ammunition, would have been invaluable in bombarding enemy front line trenches. The ammunition supply at all times up to the operation of 6th August was a difficult problem. Frequently we had to be rationed to a very small allowance per battery per day, and the guns of the heavy battery were for some time not permitted to fire more than two rounds per day and then only by special permission of the C.R.A. On 20th June I was first informed that H.E. for 18-pr. was to be supplied, and shortly afterwards a small supply for experiment was landed at Anzac. I think I am right in saying my share was 15 rounds per battery. On 2nd August our first supply of H.E. arrived, but only 150 rounds per battery. During the first few months of the campaign, when our stocks of ammunition were desperately low, our guns and gunners had to suffer considerable casualties without being able to effectively reply. Our batteries were of necessity in many cases under direct observation of the enemy, and only the splendid work of the detachments in building earthworks for their protection made it possible to carry on. Under the protection of the banks of a small ravine near the beach, our artificers established a workshop, and the extraordinary ingenuity and skill displayed in the repairing and replacing of damaged guns earned for the artificers our most grateful appreciation and thanks. On 25th August I was evacuated suffering from enteric. These notes only apply to the right sector, which I commanded. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 17: Now Major-General Sir Charles Rosenthal, K.C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O.--IAN H. 1920.] APPENDIX III The Dispatch of a Commander-in-Chief is not a technical document. In it the situation should be set forth, as briefly and clearly as may be, together with a few words indicative of the plan of G.H.Q. for coping with it. After that comes a narrative which ends with thanks to those individuals and units who have earned them. A Dispatch should be so written that civilians can follow the facts stated without trouble: it should not be too technical. But when the Military Colleges and Academies at Camberley, Duntroon, Kingston, West Point and in the European and Japanese capitals set to work in a scientific spirit to apportion praise or blame they are more influenced by the actual instructions and orders issued by the Commander-in-Chief _before and during the battle_, than by any after-the-event stories of what happened. They are glad to know the intentions of the Commander, but his instructions i.e., the actual steps he took to give practical effect to those intentions, are what really interest them. When I came to write my Dispatch of the 11th December, so much about the actual course of events at Suvla was still obscure, that it had become desirable either to write the narrative in a more technical form than was customary or else to publish my actual instructions simultaneously with the Dispatch. I chose the latter course. The authorities had raised objections to several passages in the Dispatch, and in every case but one, where they had wished me to add something which was not, in my opinion, correct, I had met them. No objection had been raised to the inclusion of my instructions. At 9 p.m. on the night of the 6th January (the Dispatch being due to appear next morning) I received a letter by Special Messenger from the War Office telling me the Press Bureau were wiring to all those to whom the Dispatch had been issued to suppress the instructions! Whatever the reason of this action may have been, its result was clear enough: my Dispatch was eviscerated at the very moment it was stepping on to the platform. Had I known that these instructions, now given, were to have been cut out, my Dispatch would have been differently written. IAN H., 1920. SIR IAN HAMILTON'S INSTRUCTIONS. TO VICE-ADMIRAL, COMMANDING EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN SQUADRON, _17th July, 1915._ SIR,--I have the honour to forward a series of tables drawn up to show in detail the men, animals, vehicles, stores, etc., which it will be required to land in connection with the forthcoming operations. I shall be grateful if you will let me know as early as possible if you consider that any part of the programme indicated presents especially serious difficulties or is likely to require modification. In informing me of the results of your consideration, I shall be obliged if you will let me know what craft you intend to use in carrying out the disembarkations referred to in tables B, C, D and E, so that detailed arrangements with regard to embarkation and to the allocation of troops, etc., to boats may be prepared. 2. Immediately after the disembarkation of the details referred to in the attached tables it will be necessary, if the operations are successful, to land 5,000 to 7,000 horses in order to render the force sufficiently mobile to carry the operations to a conclusion. Details as to disembarkation of these horses will be forwarded to you later. In the meantime the horses will be collected at Alexandria, and should subsequently be brought up to Mudros or Imbros, to begin arriving on August 6th. It will also be necessary to land the remaining portions of the units referred to in the tables (first line transport, etc.), and, further, the remaining units of the formations to which they belong. In this latter category will be included three batteries of heavy artillery with mechanical transport. It will not be required to land any of the above until after August 7th, and details as to numbers, order of disembarkation, etc., will be forwarded to you later. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your obedient Servant, (_Signed_) IAN HAMILTON, _General, Commanding_ _Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ * * * * * TABLE A. TABLE SHOWING UNITS AND DETAILS WHICH IT IS REQUIRED TO LAND GRADUALLY AT ANZAC COVE BEFORE THE MORNING OF THE 3RD OF AUGUST. IT WILL BE NECESSARY TO CARRY OUT THESE DISEMBARKATIONS BY NIGHT, AND THE MOVEMENTS CAN BEGIN AS SOON AS IT IS CONVENIENT TO THE NAVAL TRANSPORT AUTHORITIES. +------------------------+------------+--------+----------+ Unit. | From | To |Personnel.| +------------------------+------------+--------+----------+ 69th Howitzer Bde. |Mudros |Anzac | 312 | R.F.A. | |Cove | | | | | | 1/3rd City of Glasgow 5" | Helles |Anzac | 78 | | | | | 10th Heavy Battery |On board |Anzac | 11 | R.G.A. |ship at |Cove | | |Mudros | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | One F.A. Bde. (11th |On board |Anzac | 33 | Division, "A" Bde.) |ship at |Cove | | |Mudros | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Reinforcements for Units |Alexandria |Anzac | 7,000 | of A.N.Z.A.C. | |Cove | to | | | | 8,000 | | | | | Mule Corps |Helles |Anzac | 50 | | |Cove | | | | | | Ammunition Park |Mudros |Anzac | 65 | | |Cove | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +------------------------+------------+--------+----------+ +--------------------+--------+------------------------------+-------------- | Vehicles. |Animals.| Stores. | Remarks. +--------------------+--------+------------------------------+-------------- |16 guns, 16 wagons, | Nil | | |4 water carts | | | | | | | |4 guns, 4 wagons, 1 | Nil | | |water cart | | | | | | | |4 guns, 4 wagons, 1 | Nil | |I.G.C. has |water cart, 2 | | |already been |G.S. wagons | | |instructed to | | | |arrange for | | | |this move. | | | | |16 guns, 32 wagons, | Nil | |I.G.C. has |telegraph cart, 4 | | |already been |water carts | | |instructed to | | | |arrange for | | | |this move. | | | | | Nil | Nil | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Nil | 200 | |By August 1st. | | | | | | | | | Nil | Nil |S.A. Ammn. 5,500,000 rounds | | | |Mk. VII (_a_) (225 tons), | | | |760,000 rounds Mk. VI (30 | | | |tons) | | | |Gun Ammunition (_b_) 10 pr. | | | |2,700 (19 tons), 18 pr. 5,500 | | | |(70 tons), 4.5" How. 1,600 | | | |(45 tons), 5" How. 10,000 | | | |(330 tons), 6" How. 1,200 | | | |(70 tons), 60 pr. 1,000 (30 | | | |tons) | +--------------------+--------+------------------------------+--------------- _a_ If possible, an additional 3,000,000 S.A.A. should be landed, so that half the reserve for the whole Northern Force may be ashore before operations begin (see Table "C" Remarks). _b_ If possible, the following additional gun ammunition should also be landed, so that the full reserve for the whole Northern Force may be ashore before operations begin:-- 10 pr. 3,000 rounds} 18 pr. 10,000 rounds} See Table "C" Remarks. 6" Howitzer 1,000 rounds} TABLE B. TABLE SHOWING UNITS AND DETAILS WHICH IT IS REQUIRED TO LAND AT ANZAC COVE ON THE NIGHTS OF AUGUST 3RD/4TH, AUGUST 4TH/5TH AND AUGUST 5TH/6TH. ---------------------+------+-------+----------+---------+--------------------- Unit. | From.| Date. |Personnel.|Vehicles.| Remarks. ---------------------+------+-------+----------+---------+--------------------- 6 Battalions (_a_), |Mudros|Night, | 4,650 | Nil |Machine guns and 13th Division | |August | | |other equipment | |3rd/4th| | |carried by hand. | | | | | Bearer Sub-Division, |Mudros|Night, | 100 | Nil | -- personnel Anzac | |August | | | | |3rd/4th| | | | | | | | 7 Battalions (_a_), |Mudros|Night, | 5,425 | Nil |Machine guns and 13th Division | |August | | |other equipment | |4th/5th| | |carried by hand. | | | | | Bearer Sub-Division, |Mudros|Night, | 125 | Nil | -- 1 Field Ambulance, | |August | | | 13th Division | |4th/5th| | | | | | | | 4 Battalions, 10th |Mudros|Night, | 3,100 | Nil |Machine guns and Division | |August | | |other equipment | |5th/6th| | |carried by hand. | | | | | 29th Indian Brigade |Imbros|Night, | 2,000 | Nil | Ditto. and Field Ambulance | |August | | | | |5th/6th| | | | | | | | Bearer Sub-Divisions,|Mudros|Night, | 255 | Nil | -- 2 Field Ambulance, | |August | | | 13th Division | |5th/6th| | | | | | | | 3 Field Companies |Mudros|Night, | 525 | Nil |Machine guns and R.E. (_a_), 13th | |August | | |other equipment Division | |5th/6th| | |carried by hand. All | | | | |tools carried by hand. ---------------------+------+-------+----------+---------+--------------------- _a_ These units to move from Helles to Mudros as follows:-- 1 Brigade } Night, 1 Field Company} 28th/29th July. 1 Brigade } Night, 1 Field Company} 29th/30th July. 1 Brigade } Night, 1 Field Company} 30/31st July. TABLE C. TABLE SHOWING UNITS AND DETAILS WHICH IT IS REQUIRED TO LAND AT NEW BEACH DURING THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 6TH/7TH, BEGINNING ONE HOUR AFTER DARK (9.30 P.M.). ALL TROOPS WILL COME FROM IMBROS, BUT HORSES WILL COME DIRECT EXCEPT WHERE OTHERWISE STATED. -----------------+----------+-------+---------------+-------------------------- Unit. |Personnel.|Horses.| Vehicles. | Remarks. -----------------+----------+-------+---------------+-------------------------- 1 Inf. Bde. and | 3,050 | 36 | Nil |Personnel only to be Sig. Sec.(_a_) | | | |disembarked in the order | | | |shown. Animals of Mountain 1 Bearer Sub-Div.| 40 | Nil | Nil |Batteries as soon as there | | | |is sufficient light, | | | |followed by horses of one 1 Inf. Bde. and | 3,065 | 36 | Nil |18-pr. Battery (82) and of Sig. Sec. and 1 | | | |H.Q. F.A. Brigade (10). W/T Station | | | |Animals of remaining units | | | |to follow in the order 1 Bearer Sub-Div.| 40 | Nil | Nil |shown. Supplies and forage | | | |for 7 days for these Field Co. R.E. | 175 | 16 |4 tool carts |troops and animals to be | | | |dumped on the beach as 2 Mountain Batts.| 100 | 80 | Nil |soon as possible, will (_b_) | | | |amount to about 250 tons. | | | |S.A.A. 4,000,000 will also Div. H.Q. and | 125 | 28 |2 cable wagons,|have to be landed besides Sig. Co. | | |1 water cart, |that carried by the | | |2 limbd. R.E. |troops, say, 150 tons. | | |wagons | | | | | 1 Inf. Bde. and | 3,840 | 44 | Nil |Artillery reserve Pioneer Bn. and | | | |ammunition will also be Sig. Sec. and 1 | | | |required as follows:-- W/T Station | | | |To come by trawler from | | | |Mudros 7 Bearer Sub-Divs| 300 | Nil | Nil | 10 pr. 3,000 rds. (20 tons) | | | | 18 pr. 10,000 rds. (130 tons) | | | | 60 pr. 1,000 rds. (30 tons) 2 Platoons Div. | 62 | Nil |62 bicycles |(See notes to Table A.) If Cycl. Co. | | | |reserve S.A.A. and gun | | | |ammunition can be put 2 Field Cos. R.E.| 350 | 32 |8 tool carts |ashore at Anzac Cove | | | |before operations begin 1 F.A. Bde. ("L" | 550 | 251 |16 guns, 44 |this will also be done. Bde.) (_c_) | | |wagons, 1 |But the above-mentioned | | |telephone |reserves must also be | | |wagon, 5 water |landed at New Beach in | | |carts |case the congestion on the | | | |road from Anzac makes its | | | |forwarding a matter of | | | |great difficulty. Ammn. Park | 65 | Nil | Nil | Personnel (11 | | | | Div.) | | | | | | | | 9 Tent Sub.-Divs.| 350 |84 |30 ambulance | | |horses |wagons, 9 water| | |or |carts, 3 | | |144 |Maltese carts | | |mules | | | | | | 4 Casualty | 360 | Nil | Nil | Clearing Stations| | | | | | | | Bde. Ammn. Col. | 60 | 62 |8 ammunition | | | |wagons, 1 water| | | |cart, 4 S.A.A. | | | |wagons | 2 Bns. for Beach | 1,000 | Nil | Nil | Parties | | | | | | | | Mule Corps | 150 | 300 |150 mule carts | | | | | Wireless Sec. | 18 | 16 |2 two-horse | | | |vehicles | -----------------+----------+-------+---------------+-------------------------- _a_ Helles to Imbros, night July 31st/August 1st. _b_ Helles to Imbros, night August 1st/2nd. _c_ Animals in remarks columns (82 and 10) come from Imbros, remainder from Mudros in horse-ships. TABLE D. TABLE SHOWING UNITS AND DETAILS WHICH IT IS REQUIRED TO LAND AT ANZAC COVE BEGINNING AT DAWN AUGUST 7TH. ORDER OF LANDING AS SHOWN. ALL THESE TROOPS WILL COME FROM MUDROS. ----------------------------+----------+-------+---------+--------------------- Unit. |Personnel.|Horses.|Vehicles.| Remarks. ----------------------------+----------+-------+---------+--------------------- Medical personnel, tent sub-| 900 | Nil | Nil |All spare stretchers divisions A. and A.N.Z.A.C. | | | |to be carried by Field Ambulance | | | |hand. | | | | Bearer Sub-Divisions of 1 | 125 | Nil | Nil | Field Ambulance, 10th Div | | | | | | | | One 18-pr. Battery and H.Q. | 120 | 92 | Nil | F.A. Bde. ("A" Bde.) | | | | | | | | 10th Heavy Battery R.G.A. | 110 | 70 | Nil | | | | | Three 18-pr. Batteries ("A" | 300 | 246 | Nil |Guns and personnel Brigade) | | | |already ashore, (See | | | |Tables A and B.) Mules of Mule Corps | * | 400 | Nil |* Sufficient personnel | | | |to look after mules. ----------------------------+----------+-------+---------+--------------------- TABLE E. TABLE SHOWING UNITS TO BE READY TO LAND IMMEDIATELY AFTER THOSE SHOWN IN TABLES A, B, C AND D. UNITS WILL PROBABLY BE REQUIRED IN THE ORDER SHOWN EITHER AT NEW BEACH OR ANZAC COVE AS CIRCUMSTANCES MAY DICTATE. -----------------+------+----------+--------+---------------+------------------ Unit. | From |Personnel.|Animals.| Vehicles. |Remarks. -----------------+------+----------+--------+---------------+------------------ Divl. H.Q. 10th |Mudros| 125 | 28 |2 limbered R.E.| Divn. | | | |wagons, 1 water| | | | |cart, 2 cable | | | | |wagons | | | | | | 3 Battalions 10th|Mudros| 2,325 | 40 |6 water carts |S.A.A. 2,600,000 Divn. | | | | |rounds besides | | | | |that carried on the | | | | |men. | | | | | 6 Battalions 10th|Port | 4,650 | 76 |12 water carts | Divn. |Iero | | | | | | | | | H.Q. Divl. R.E. |Mudros| 525 | 30 |12 tool carts, | | | | |3 water carts | | | | | | 3 Field Cos. R.E.| -- | -- | -- | -- | 10th Division | | | | | | | | | | Bearer Sub- |Mudros| 250 | -- | -- | Divisions of 2 | | | | | Field Ambulances,| | | | | 10th Divn. | | | | | | | | | | 15th Heavy |On | 121 | 70 |4 guns, 4 | Baattery R.G.A. |board | | |wagons, 1 water| |ship--| | |cart, 2 G.S. | |Mudros| | |wagons | | | | | | Tent Sub-Division|Mudros| 350 |54 |15 ambulance | of 10th Divn. | | |horses |wagons, 12 | | | |or 84 |carts | | | |mules | | | | | | | Mule Corps |Mudros| 150 | 300 |150 carts | -----------------+------+----------+--------+---------------+------------------ GENERAL OFFICER COMMANDING, AUSTRALIAN AND NEW ZEALAND ARMY CORPS. With reference to your G.288 of 15th July, the Navy is being asked to provide transport for the following ammunition to be landed at Anzac by the 3rd August:-- * * * * * _For A. and N.Z.A.C._--Sufficient S.A.A. to bring the amount on shore up to 500 rounds per rifle and 27,500 per machine-gun. _For other Troops._--300 rounds per rifle and 24,000 rounds per machine-gun (in addition to what the troops will carry on landing). These will come to 10,000,000 rounds in all, and arrangements are being made to begin landing this ammunition as soon as possible. 2. The following artillery ammunition will also have to be gradually landed and stored, and should all be ashore, if possible, by August 3rd:-- 10 pr. 5,700 rounds 18 pr. (probably 15 per cent. H.E.) 15,500 " 4.5-in. Howitzer probably half H.E. 1,600 " 5-in. Howitzer majority H.E. 10,000 " 6-in. Howitzer majority H.E. 1,200 " 60 pr. probably two-thirds H.E. 1,000 " All of this ammunition is not yet arrived, and the proportion of H.E. shell is not yet ascertainable from England. The arrangements suggested in your paragraph 2 (iii.) of your letter are noted, and will be followed as far as possible. 3. With regard to the marking of ammunition-boxes, the necessary arrangements are being prepared. You will be informed of the arrangements and of the system of marking in due course. Consignments of Mark VI. and Mark VII. will be sent separately as you suggest. 4. The above figures do not include the periodical replenishment referred to in paragraph 2 (iv.) of your letter. Dispatch of consignments on this account and consignments for the reserve will be notified to you separately. (_Signed_) W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, C.G.S.,_ _Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ Enclosed a copy of tables forwarded to Vice-Admiral, showing troops, animals, stores, etc., which the Navy is being asked to land at Anzac. _22nd July, 1915._ GENERAL OFFICES COMMANDING, 9TH CORPS. The General Commanding wishes me to send you the following outline of his plans for the next general attack, for the exclusive information of yourself, your Divisional Generals, and such Officers of your Corps Headquarters and Divisional Headquarters as you may consider it necessary to take into your confidence. I am to add that it is Sir Ian's wish that as few officers as possible should be made acquainted with it. 2. The general plan is, while holding as many of the enemy as possible in the southern theatre, to throw the weight of our attack on the Turkish forces now opposite the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. It is hoped, by means of an attack on the front and right flank of these forces, to deal them a crushing blow, and to drive the remnants south towards Kilid Bahr. It will then be the object of the General Commanding to seize a position across the peninsula from Gaba Tepe to Maidos with a protected line of supply from Suvla Bay. 3. The strength of the enemy north of Kilid Bahr at the present time is about 30,000 men. Of these some 12,000 are permanently maintained in the trenches opposite the Anzac position, and the majority of the remainder are held in reserve at Boghali, Kojadere and Eski-Keui. It is believed that there are about three battalions in the Anafarta villages, a battalion at Ismail Oglu Tepe (New map 1/20,000), a battalion near Yilghin Burnu, and small parties of outposts at Lala Baba (Sq. 104.L.) and Ghazi Baba (Sq. 106.N.). The hills due east of Suvla Bay towards Aji Liman are believed to be held only by a few Gendarmerie, but information on this point is at present not precise. The hills near Yilghin Burnu and Ismail Oglu Tepe are known to contain one 4.7-in. gun, one 9.2-in. gun, and three field guns, protected by wire entanglements and infantry trenches, but it is believed that the main defences are against attack from the south or west, and that there is no wire on the northern slopes of the hills; also that the guns can only be fired in a southerly direction. 4. The success of the plan outlined in paragraph 2 will depend on two main factors:-- (a) The capture of Hill 305 (Sq. 93.W.). (b) The capture and retention of Suvla Bay as a base of operations for the northern army. 5. The operations from within the present Anzac position against the enemy on Hill 305 will be carried out by the Australian and New Zealand Corps, temporarily reinforced by the following units of the 9th Army Corps:-- 13th Division (less 66th, 67th and 68th Brigades, R.F.A.). 29th Infantry Brigade (10th Division). 29th Indian Brigade. 69th Howitzer Brigade, R.F.A. 6. The landing near Suvla will be entrusted to you, and you will have at your disposal:-- 11th Division. 10th Division (less 29th Brigade). Highland Mountain Artillery Brigade. 1st/4th Lowland Howitzer Brigade. The disembarkation of your command, which may be expected to be opposed, though not in great strength, will be after dark at a point immediately south of Lala Baba. The first troops to disembark will be the 11th Division, which will have been concentrated at Imbros previously to the attack, and will be brought across under cover of darkness in destroyers and motor-lighters. It is expected that approximately 4,000 men will be disembarked simultaneously, and that three infantry brigades and the mountain artillery brigade will be ashore before daylight. Your first objectives will be the high ground at Lala Baba and Ghazi Baba, and the hills near Yilghin Burnu and Ismail Oglu Tepe. It will also be necessary to send a small force to secure a footing on the hills due east of Suvla Bay. It is of first importance that Yilghin Burnu and Ismail Oglu Tepe should be captured by a coup-de-main before daylight in order to prevent the guns which they contain being used against our troops on Hill 305 and to safeguard our hold on Suvla Bay. It is hoped that one division will be sufficient for the attainment of these objectives. Your subsequent moves will depend on circumstances which cannot at present be gauged, but it is hoped that the remainder of your force will be available on the morning of the 7th August to advance on Biyuk Anafarta with the object of moving up the eastern spurs of Hill 305 so as to assist General Birdwood's attack. 7. The operations from within the present Anzac position will begin during the day immediately preceding your disembarkation (the reinforcements for General Birdwood's force having been dribbled ashore in detachments at Anzac Cove on the three previous nights). The operations will begin with a determined attack on the Turkish left centre, Lonesome Pine and Johnston's Jolly (see enlarged map of Anzac position), with the object of attracting the enemy's reserves to this portion of the line. The Turks have for long been apprehensive of our landing in the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe, and it is hoped that an attack in force in this quarter will confirm their apprehensions. At nightfall the Turkish outposts on the extreme right of the enemy's line will be rushed, and a force of 20,000 men will advance in three or more columns up the ravines running down from Chunuk Bair. This advance, which will begin about the same time as your first troops reach the shore, will be so timed as to reach the summit of the main ridge near Chunuk Bair about 2.30 a.m. (soon after moon-rise). Latest photographs show that the Turkish trenches on this ridge do not extend further north than Chunuk Bair, and it is unlikely that the higher portions of the ridge are held in great strength. As soon as a lodgement has been effected on this ridge a portion of the attacking force will be left to consolidate the position gained and the remainder will advance south-west against the enemy's trenches near Baby 700, which will be attacked simultaneously by a special detachment from within the Anzac position. An advance by your force from the east will, as already indicated in paragraph 6, be of great assistance in the event of this attack being checked. 8. The landing of sufficient transport to secure the mobility of your force will be a matter of considerable difficulty. No animals or vehicles of any kind will be able to land in the first instance, and machine-guns, tools and necessary medical and signalling equipment must be carried by hand. All men will land with two iron rations (one day's meat ration only is advised); infantry will carry 200 rounds S.A.A. and machine-gun sections 3,500 rounds in belt boxes. Packs and greatcoats will not be taken ashore. Before dawn it is hoped to land enough horses to secure the mobility of the mountain artillery brigade and one battery R.F.A., and it is hoped that within the first 24 hours the disembarkation of all the personnel, horses and vehicles enumerated in the attached table will be complete. One brigade R.F.A. 11th Division, 1/4th Lowland 5th Howitzer Brigade (two batteries) and the 10th Heavy Battery, will be landed at Anzac before the operations commence, and their personnel and horses will disembark on the morning following your disembarkation, and will then be directed along the beach to join your command. Water is plentiful throughout the Anafarta Valley, but pending the disembarkation of water carts a number of mules with special 8-gallon water bags will be attached to the units of your command. (_Signed_) W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, C.G.S._, _Mediterranean Expeditionary Force_. P.S.--This letter is never to be out of an officer's possession, and if, as is probable, you require to send it to your Brig.-Gen. G.S., it must be sent to Mudros in charge of an officer. TABLE. |Animals. | Vehicles. --------------------------------------------------------------------- 11TH DIVISION. Divl. H.Q. and Signal Co. 28 1 cart, 2 cable wagons. 3 Infantry Brigades 108 Nil. Pioneer Battalion 8 Nil. 2 F.A. Brigades 506 32 guns, 88 wagons, 2 telegraph wagons, 10 carts. 1 Heavy Battery R.G.A. 45 4 guns, 4 wagons, 2 G.S. wagons, 1 cart. 3 Field Coys. R.E. 48 12 tool carts. 2 Platoons Divl. Cyclist Co. Nil 62 bicycles. 3 Field Ambulances 144 30 ambulances, 12 carts. 10TH DIVISION. Divl. H.Q. and Signal Co. } -- Transport on 1-1/2 Infantry Brigades } approximately the same Pioneer Battalion } scale 3 Field Cos. R.E. } as that for 11th 3 Field Ambulances } Division. 29th Indian Brigade and Indian Field Ambulance. 2 Mountain Batteries (80 mules). 2 Battalions (of 500 men each) for Beach parties. Mule Corps with 300 mules and 150 carts. 3 Casualty Clearing Stations. Organization Orders for Troops Landing at Anzac. 1. Troops landing at Anzac are to land equipped as follows: * * * * * F.S. equipment, including respirator; Pack and waterproof sheet; No blanket. Officers' kit reduced to what they can carry. No transport of any kind will be available to move baggage or equipment. Ammunition S.A.A. 200 rounds per rifle or person; 3,500 rounds per machine-gun in belt boxes. No regimental reserve S.A.A. Gun, limbers and wagons filled with fused shell. Water bottles--filled. Rations--iron rations one day meat and biscuit, two days' groceries. Sufficient to provide breakfasts. (Fuel will be issued on shore.) Tools--infantry. Regimental reserve distributed to individuals and carried on person; Brigade reserve entrenching tools distributed to units, by them to individuals and carried on person. Engineers--tools for road making and entrenching work--carried on person. Other arms--usual allotment. Signal company cable and equipment usually carried in carts to be transferred to barrows. Ambulances--all available stretchers and equipment of dressing stations only. Tent sub-divisions in readiness to rejoin early. A.S.C.--Small allowance of distributing equipment, to be brought by advance parties of S. and T. personnel. Establishments. 2. No horses, attendants or drivers are to land. Brigade Sections of Signal Companies are to land with the brigades they serve. Tent sub-divisions of field ambulances are not to land. Equipment carried in technical vehicles is to be transferred to vehicles which can be hand-propelled or else carried on person. 3. Troops should disembark into lighters, etc., in complete units, companies, platoons, and so on, unless much space is sacrificed in so doing. 4. All troops should land wearing two white 6-inch armlets and a white patch on back of right shoulder. 5. No lights or noise are to be permitted while disembarking; troops will move into the lighters or horseboats as quickly as possible. 6. On disembarking troops will be met by staff officers and guides, and will be marched off direct to the ground allotted to them--in no case more than 1,200 yards from the beach. All kit brought must be removed by the troops, and must be taken out of the lighters at the same time as the troops leave. Special parties to assist with the machine-gun and other loads are to be detailed in the load of each lighter. 7. No lights or talking are permitted on the beach or till the troops reach their allotted area. Fires are not to be lit in any area till 4.15 a.m., and must be extinguished by 8 p.m. Green wood is not to be used; the smoke it causes will draw shell fire. 8. No troops are to leave the area allotted to them between 4 a.m. and 8 p.m. except on special duty with the authority of the Brigade Commander. Piquets will be placed under area arrangements at intervals round the area to prevent men straying independently. 9. Troops may be exposed to desultory shelling during the day or night. This is never aimed, and the best protection against it is to move into the bottom of the gully in which the troops are bivouacked. 10. Troops are not to use any portion of the iron ration with which they land. Issues will be made under brigade arrangements of rations and extras to last the period of their stay. 11. Water is issued on ration at one gallon fresh water per day. This includes water for all purposes. For bathing, the sea is available, but may only be visited after 9 p.m. daily. 12. Latrines for immediate use are dug and marked in each area; additional latrines are to be prepared by units and the strictest orders issued to prevent fouling the ground. Latrines are to be made very deep, as space is much restricted. 13. Casualties of any kind after treatment in the field ambulance affiliated to the brigade will be taken to the casualty clearing station in Anzac Cove for removal to Hospital Ship. Urgent cases at any time; others as far as possible between 7.30 and 8.30 p.m. and between 6 and 9 a.m. 14. The following is to be practised by all troops after landing:-- * * * * * Falling in once during the night in any close formation, and to remain so closed up for a period of at least half an hour, during which passing of commands (messages from front to rear and back again and to the flanks) is to be practised. The troops must be accustomed to the starlight, which may be expected during night operations. 15. If aeroplanes pass overhead troops are not to look up, as this will give away the position of bodies of troops and probably draw shell fire. 16. Troops landing should be provided with Maps 1/20,000 of the area in which operations are to take place. These maps to be in bulk, and not issued till after landing. Maps 1/10,000 of the Anzac area showing roads and bivouacs will be issued to unit commanders on arrival. 17. Telephone lines will be found laid from Anzac Headquarters to points suitable for Brigade or higher Headquarters. On arrival brigades will join up these points to Anzac. An officer and two orderlies per brigade will also be detailed to remain at Anzac Headquarters. Staffs of formations higher than brigades will be located within easy reach of Anzac Headquarters. * * * * * G.S.R. Z. 18/2. _Instructions for G.O.C. 9th Army Corps._ Reference Sheet Anafarta Sagir Gallipoli Map 1/20,000. 1. The intentions of the General Commanding for the impending operations, and a rough outline of the task which he has allotted to the troops under your command, were communicated to you in my G.S.R. Z. 18, dated 22nd instant. 2. In addition to the information contained in paragraph 3 of the above quoted letter, small numbers of Turkish mounted troops and Gendarmerie have been reported in the country north of Anzac, and three guns with limbers, each drawn by six oxen, have been seen moving into Anafarta Sagir. An aeroplane photograph has also disclosed the presence of a few trenches on Lala Baba. A sketch of these trenches, which have apparently been constructed for some months, is attached. It is believed that the channel connecting the Salt Lake with Suvla Bay is now dry. 3. Your landing will begin on the night 6th/7th August. Your primary objective will be to secure Suvla Bay as a base for all the forces operating in the northern zone. Owing to the difficult nature of the terrain, it is possible that the attainment of this objective will, in the first instance, require the use of the whole of the troops at your disposal. Should, however, you find it possible to achieve this object with only a portion of your force, your next step will be to give such direct assistance as is in your power to the G.O.C. Anzac in his attack on Hill 305, by an advance on Biyuk Anafarta, with the object of moving up the eastern spurs of that hill. 4. Subject only to his final approval, the General Commanding gives you an entirely free hand in the selection of your plan of operations. He, however, directs your special attention to the fact that the hills Yilghin and Ismail Oglu Tepe are known to contain guns which can bring fire to bear on the flank and rear of an attack on Hill 305, and that on this account they assume an even greater importance in the first instance than if they were considered merely part of a position covering Suvla Bay. If, therefore, it is possible, without prejudice to the attainment of your primary objective, to gain possession of these hills at an early period of your attack, it will greatly facilitate the capture and retention of Hill 305. It would also appear almost certain that until these hills are in your possession it will be impossible to land either troops or stores in the neighbourhood of Suvla Bay by day. 5. The troops at your disposal will be:-- 11th Division (less one Brigade R.F.A., at Helles). 10th Division (less 29th Infantry Brigade). Three squadrons R.N. Armoured Car Division, R.N.A.S. (one squadron motor cycles, six machine guns; one squadron Ford cars, six machine guns; one squadron armoured cars, six machine guns). Two Highland Mountain Artillery batteries. An endeavour will be made to release for your force one or more 5-in. howitzer batteries, now at Anzac, during the day following your initial disembarkation. 6. In order that you may be able to arrange for the disembarkation of your force to agree, so far as Naval exigencies will admit, with the plan of operations on which you decide, the allocation of troops to the ships and boats to be provided by the Navy is left to your decision. With this object, tables have been drawn up, and are enclosed with these instructions, showing the craft which can be placed at your disposal by the Navy, their capacity, and the points at which the troops can be disembarked. The tables also show what numbers of troops, animals, vehicles, and stores can be landed simultaneously. The beaches available for your landing on the first night are (1) a frontage of 600 yards in Suvla Bay (sq. 117 Q.V.); (2) a frontage of 1,800 yards S. of Kuchuk Kemikli (sq. 9, 103 z, 104 V; 91 A.B.), called "New Beach" in the tables. It will not be possible in the first instance to land more than one brigade of your force in Suvla Bay, though other vessels can simultaneously be discharging their passengers on New Beach. 7. As regards the time at which the disembarkation may be expected to commence, no craft will be allowed to leave Kephalos Harbour till after dark, and the passage across will take from one and a half to two hours. It is unsafe, therefore, to count on any troops being ashore before 10.30 p.m., and in no case must your approach be disclosed to the enemy till 10 p.m., the hour at which the outposts on the left flank of the Anzac position are to be rushed. 8. No allowance has been made in the tables for the disembarkation of your headquarters, as it is not known at what period of the operations you will wish them to land. 9. Special attention is directed to paragraph 8 of my letter G.S.R. Z. 18, dated 22nd July. 10. The infantry of the 53rd Division will be available as Army Reserve, and will be at the disposal of the General Commanding. 11. Special instructions regarding signal communications will be issued later. In general terms the arrangements will be as follows:-- * * * * * There is a submarine cable between Imbros and Anzac, and a cable will be laid as soon as practicable from Imbros to Suvla Bay. A submarine cable and a land cable will also be laid between Anzac and Suvla Bay as soon as circumstances permit, probably before dawn. Pending the completion of this work inter-communication between Anzac and Suvla Bay will be carried out by lamp, and, subject to Naval approval, between Suvla Bay and Imbros by wireless telegraphy. Two[18] military pack W.T. stations and one R.N. Base W.T. station will be provided at Suvla Bay, four naval ratings will be attached to each station as visual signalling personnel. One of these military pack W.T. stations will be disembarked with the second brigade to land, and will act as a base station pending the arrival of the R.N. Base wireless station. The second military pack W.T. station will be disembarked with the third brigade to land; it will be placed on a flank and used mainly for fire control under the B.G.R.A. A wagon wireless station at G.H.Q., Imbros, will be in communication with both these pack W.T. stations. One officer and 23 other ranks, with two pack animals from the Brigade Signal Section, will be landed with each Infantry Brigade. These parties will lay their cable by hand and establish telephone and vibrator communication from the beach forward. No vehicles will be landed in the first instance, all necessary stores being man-handled. Three officers, 74 other ranks, 28 animals and five vehicles will be landed with Divisional Headquarters. The advance parties will release the brigade sections from the beach and be prepared to lay cable lines by hand. Two cable wagons will be included in the five vehicles, and should be the first of those vehicles to be disembarked. ----------------------+----------------------+--------------------+ Time of Arrival | | | off Coast. | Craft. | Capacity. | ----------------------+----------------------+--------------------+ In time to disembark |10 motor lighters |500 infantry | all troops, |(10 steamboats |each (and | vehicles, horses, |accompanying) |400,000 rds. | stores, etc., by | |S.A.A. if necessary)| night | | | | | | |10 destroyers |530 infantry | | |each | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |1 sloop, towing |600 men | |1 motor lighter |88 horses | |and 4 horseboats |8 mtn. guns | |(1 steamboat |30 bicycles | |accompanying) | | | | | | | | | | | |1 sloop, towing |500 men | |4 horseboats (1 |24 horses | |steamboat |4 18-pr. guns | |accompanying) |or wagons | | | | |1 trawler, towing |250 men | |4 horseboats |24 horses | |(1 steamboat |4 18-pr. guns | |accompanying) |or wagons | | | | | | | | | | |H.M.S. |1,000 men | |_Endymion_ | | | | | |H.M.S. |1,000 men | |_Theseus_ | | -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- | Method of | Landing Place. | Disembarkation. | Remarks. -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- 7 lighters at |Land direct on beach |Ammunition if necessary New Beach, | |may be left on motor 3 lighters at | |lighters until convenient Suvla Bay | |to land it, according to | |circumstances. | | One attending |Motor lighters take |The disembarkation from each motor |off troops and land |the destroyers cannot lighter |them on beach |begin until the 10 motor | |lighters have landed | |their complement and | |returned. | | New Beach |Motor lighters and |The sloops and trawler, |horseboats loaded |after casting off their |with guns, horses of |tows, will return to |mountain and 18-pr. |Kephalos. Other |batteries. Sloop |horseboats |loaded with men and |boats will be there, |bicycles |ready filled with the | |remainder of the horses New Beach |Horseboats loaded |required in the first |with guns, vehicles, |instance for the two |and horses of 18-pr. |Mountain Batteries, |battery. Sloop |the 18-pr. Battery, and |loaded with men |the Signal Company. |and bicycles |They will pick up these New Beach |Horseboats loaded |horseboats and tow |with guns, vehicles, |them over to the beach |and horses of 18-pr. |immediately. |battery. Trawler | |available to carry men | | | New Beach |Landed either from | -- or Suvla |cutters towed by | Bay, as may |steamboats, or from | -- be convenient |motor lighters | | | -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- The above would admit of the disembarkation before dawn at and in the neighbourhood of Suvla Bay of:-- Divisional Headquarters. Signal Co. with 40 horses. 1 W.T. Section and 2 W.T. Stations. H.Q. F.A. Bde. (18-pr.) with 10 horses. 1 F.A. Battery (18-pr.) with 82 horses. 2 Mountain Batteries with 80 horses. 3 Field Companies R.E. 3 Infantry Brigades and part of remainder of F.A. Bde. (personnel). 1 Pioneer Battalion. 2 Battalions for Beach parties and part of Ammn. Park personnel. 2 Platoons Divl. Cyclist Co. and part of Tent Sub-divisions of Field Ambulances. Bearer Subdivisions of 3 Field Ambulances and part of Casualty Clearing Stations. The 10 motor lighters will land their complements first, and then the troops from the 10 Destroyers, the two sloops and their tows, and the trawler and her tows, can proceed simultaneously on a front of about 600 yards in Suvla Bay and 1,800 on the beach south of Suvla Bay, directly beach secured. The two landing places are about 2 miles apart. The landing of the troops from H.M.S. _Endymion_ and _Theseus_ may be able to take place simultaneously, or may have to be deferred until the motor lighters have cleared the destroyers. ----------------------+----------------------+---------------------+ Time of Arrival | | | off Coast. | Craft. | Capacity. | ----------------------+----------------------+---------------------+ At or immediately |1 horse transport |All horses enumerated| after dawn | |in Table C appended | | |to letter G.S.R. Z. | | |18 of 23rd July, | | |except those already | | |provided for. Water | | |bags and pumps | | | | |1 mule transport |All mules and mule | | |carts provided for in| | |Tables C and E | | |appended to G.S.R. Z.| | |18 of 23rd July | | | | |6 small transports |5,000 Infantry | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Called up from |1 supply ship |7 days' supplies for | Kephalos as soon after| |troops and animals | dawn as circumstances | |in Tables C and E | permit | |appended appended to | | |G.S.R. Z. 18 of 23rd | | |July | | | | Called up from |4 small transports |2,700 Infantry | Kephalos as soon after| | | dawn as circumstances | | | permit | | | | | | |1 horse transport |All horses and | | |vehicles enumerated | | |in Table E, appended | | |to G.S.R. Z. 18 of | | |23rd July | | | | ----------------------+----------------------+---------------------+ -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- | Method of | Landing Place. | Disembarkation. | Remarks. -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- Suvla Bay |Six of the horseboats |Transport comes from |from which the 18-pr. |Mudros. |and mountain batteries | |will previously have | |been landed | | | | | | | Suvla Bay |Six of the horseboats |Transport comes from |from which 18-pr. and |Alexandria. |mountain bateries will | |previously have been | |landed | | | _Suvla Bay_or |Landed from motor |Six battalions 10th _New Beach_ if |lighters as soon as |Division coming from necessary) |they have finished |Port Iero. |clearing the destroyers| |and (if necessary) | |H.M.S. _Endymion_ and | |_Theseus_ | | | Suvla Bay |Landed from motor | |lighters as soon as | |the Port Iero troops | |are cleared | | | | | | | _Suvla Bay_ (or |Landed from motor |Three battalions 10th _New Beach_ if |lighters as soon as |Division from Mudros. necessary) |the Port Iero troops | |are cleared. | | | Suvla Bay |Landed from horseboats | |brought up on second | |trip by the trawler and| |two sloops, as soon as | |the horseboats have | |been emptied | -------------------+-----------------------+------------------------- The above will provide for the disembarkation of the remainder of the troops, etc., enumerated in Tables C and E, appended to letter G.S.R. Z. 18 of 23rd July, that is those not already detailed to be landed before dawn, viz.:-- Remainder of F.A. Brigade (18 pr.). Remainder of Ammunition Park Personnel. 15th Heavy Battery R.G.A. Brigade Ammunition Column. Remainder of Casualty Clearing Stations. Mule Corps. Also 4,000,000 rds. S.A.A. Reserve Gun Ammunition (by special trawlers from Mudros) 7 days' supplies for the above troops and animals. As soon as possible after Corps Headquarters go ashore, the personnel of the Divisional Signal Companies will be released from work at the beach. Arrangements will be made subsequently to disembark an air line detachment and a cable section to provide and pole local lines. The remainder of the Corps Headquarters Signal Company will be kept in readiness to be forwarded as soon as Corps Headquarters reports that circumstances admit of its disembarkation. 12. Two Military Landing Officers and their assistant military landing officers will be placed at your disposal from units other than those under your command. 13. In addition to the units mentioned in Tables A-E forwarded to you with my letter G.S.R. Z. 18, dated 23rd July, the following are being dispatched from Alexandria in this order:-- Three Squadrons Armoured Car Division R.N.A.S. (These will be available to land on the morning after your disembarkation begins, if you so desire.) (1) H.Q.R.A. 10th Division. Two F.A. Brigades 10th Division (modified scale of horses). R.A. personnel and ammunition of 10th Divisional Ammunition Park. (2) One F.A. Brigade 11th Division (modified scale of horses). One F.A. Brigade 10th Division (modified scale of horses). (3) Two F.A. Brigades 13th Division. (4) Horses for 11th Division. and the following will be assembled at Imbros to land when required:-- 11th Divisional Cyclist Company (less two Platoons). 10th Divisional Cyclist Company. 13th Divisional Cyclist Company. 14. You are requested to submit your proposed plan of operations to G.H.Q. for approval at the earliest possible date. (_Signed_) W. P. Braithwaite, _Major-General, C.G.S., Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. 29th July, 1915._ G.S.R. Z. 18/2. _July 29th._ GENERAL OFFICER COMMANDING, 8TH CORPS. The General Commanding has decided that his next main attack shall be made in the vicinity of Anzac with the object of placing ourselves astride the Peninsula to the north of Kilid Bahr. 2. The 8th Corps with attached troops is to assist this main operation by offensive action in the south, the scope and form of this action being determined solely with reference to its effects on the main operation. As the decisive point will be in the neighbourhood of Anzac, all reinforcements will be utilized in that theatre, and it is improbable that any will be available for the southern zone before the middle of August, except such drafts for the 8th Corps and the Corps Exp. Orient as may reach the Peninsula in the next ten days. 3. In order to free sufficient troops to enable the 8th Corps to take the offensive, the French will take over part of the line as defined in Force Order No. 22. 4. In addition to the troops of the 8th Corps and R.N.D. at present at your disposal, the following reinforcements may be expected:-- 29th Division 280 due 29th July. 29th Division 900 due 4th August. 42nd Division 100 due 29th July. ----- Total 1,280 which, allowing for normal wastage, should give an effective total of 24,780 on 5th August. These numbers, with the shorter line you will be called upon to hold, should leave you with sufficient troops to undertake a limited offensive operation on or about that day. 5. Assuming that you are not attacked in the meanwhile, the total amount of ammunition which should be available at Helles early in August for offensive action, and to maintain a reserve is:-- 18 pr. 36,000 } 4.5 inch 2,000 } Plus any amounts saved 5 inch 4,000 } from normal daily expenditure. 6 inch 545 } 60 pr. 3,000 } but it must be borne in mind that no replacements can be looked for before August 16th. 6. The scope of your offensive action must be based upon these figures, and it is thought that the most suitable objective will be the capture of the Turkish trenches up to the line F. 13, G. 13, H. 13, and H. 12. Plans for this operation should, therefore, be undertaken at once. 7. Pre-supposing that this attack is successful, and that the numbers at your disposal admit of a further advance, the capture of the trenches on the line H. 14 to H. 15, followed perhaps by the capture of Krithia could then be undertaken, and plans for this action should be prepared beforehand. But as the launching of this further attack must be entirely dependent on unknown factors, a definite decision on this point cannot be arrived at beforehand. It is, moreover, essential that the plan of your first attack should not definitely commit your troops to a further advance unless the trend of events should render such a course desirable. 8. As regards the date for launching your first attack, it is thought that the most favourable time would be shortly before the main operations at Anzac begin, and you should therefore arrange for your first attack to take place on the 4th August. 9. Beyond holding the enemy in front of them to their positions and assisting you with artillery fire, the French will not be asked to take part in your first attack, but, in the event of your reaching Krithia, they will be directed to conform to your movements and to establish themselves on the spurs leading up to Achi Baba. I will ascertain the amount of artillery support and lean you can expect from the C.E.O., and if the information arrives in time will attach it as an appendix to this letter. 10. The possibility of the southern force being able to capture Achi Baba has not been dealt with in this memorandum, as the attempt should only be made in the event of large reinforcements being available for the southern zone, and these must depend on the course of events in the main theatre. (_Signed_) W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, C.G.S., Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ It will be apparent to you how necessary it is not to allow any suspicion of the reason for the date mentioned in paragraph 8 being told to any person other than your Brigadier-General G.S. (_Intd._) W. P. B. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 18: All W.T. arrangements are subject to alteration, as they have not yet been confirmed by the Vice-Admiral.] APPENDIX. _French Artillery Support for 8th Corps._ 1. One Brigade of 75's will be placed at the disposal of the 8th Corps for the attack on 4th-5th August. Of these (_a_) One battery will be moved to support closely the attack on Krithia. (_b_) One battery will fire up the Nullah E. of Krithia. 2. In addition, six French howitzers will be so disposed as to open fire upon Turkish artillery north of the ridge 150--Achi Baba peak. INSTRUCTIONS FOR G.O.C. A. AND N.Z. ARMY CORPS. Reference Map Anafarta Sagir Gallipoli Map 1/20,000. 1. The General Commanding has decided to mass the whole of his reinforcements in and immediately north of the area occupied by the corps under your command, with a view to securing Suvla Bay as a base of operations, driving the enemy off the Sari Bair, and eventually securing a position astride the Gallipoli Peninsula from the neighbourhood of Gaba Tepe to the straits north of Maidos. 2. The general outline for your proposals for the action of the A. and N.Z. Army Corps contained in your G a 89 of 1st July are approved. 3. (_a_) The General Commanding wishes your operations to begin on August 6th with a strong and sustained attack on Hill 125 (Plateau 400), every effort being made to deceive the enemy as to the locality against which our main effort is to be made, and to induce him to believe that it will be directed against his lines opposite the southern portion of your position. In pursuance of this object the Vice-Admiral has arranged that H.M. ships shall in the meantime display increased activity off the coast between Gaba Tepe and Kum Tepe. It has been arranged that soundings shall be taken by night off the coast south of Gaba Tepe; and, on the evening of August 6th, a naval demonstration will be made off this part of the coast, H.M. ships being accompanied by a number of trawlers as if a landing were to be undertaken. (_b_) The General Commanding further concurs in the subsequent sequence of the operations outlined by you, namely:-- (i) The clearing of the enemy's outposts from the ridges facing Nos. 2 and 3 posts, to be undertaken after nightfall. (ii) An attack in as great strength as possible up the Sazli Beit Dere, the Chailak Dere and the Aghyl Dere, against the Chunuk Bair ridge, by night. (iii) When the Chunuk Bair ridge is gained, a converging attack from that ridge, and from the north-eastern section of your present position, against Hill 180 (Baby 700). 4. (_a_) For the above operations the following troops will be at your disposal:-- A. and N.Z. Army Corps. 13th Division, less all artillery except 69th F.A. (Howitzer) Brigade. 29th Brigade (10th Division). 29th Indian Brigade. (_b_) At the date of commencement of the operations the following troops belonging to or attached to the 9th Army Corps will be at Anzac, but will not, except so far as is stated hereunder, be at your disposal:-- One F.A. Brigade, 11th Division: To rejoin 9th Army Corps as soon as horses are landed. 10th Heavy Battery, R.G.A.: Ditto. 14th Lowland (Howitzer) Brigade (two Batteries): Arrangements must be made so that these batteries may be free to rejoin the 9th Army Corps before nightfall on August 7th. 5. The operations carried out by the Corps under your command will form part of a general combined offensive undertaken by the whole of the forces of the Gallipoli Peninsula and by the 9th Army Corps, which will be disembarked in the neighbourhood of Suvla Bay, beginning on the night of August 6th-7th. (_a_) The 8th Army Corps, in conjunction with the Corps Expéditionnaire, will attack the Turkish lines south of Krithia on August 4th and 5th. The attack will be made on a large scale, and will be vigorously pressed, and it is hoped that by its means the enemy will be induced to move part of his central reserves southward into the Cape Helles zone during the 5th and 6th, so that they may not be available in the northern zone on the 6th and 7th. (_b_) The 9th Army Corps will begin landing in and close to Suvla Bay during the night of August 6th-7th. Three infantry brigades, with one field and two mountain batteries, engineers and medical services, should be ashore before dawn, and will be closely followed by two more infantry brigades and additional artillery and engineers. The G.O.C. 9th Army Corps has been informed:-- (i) That his mission is to secure Suvla Bay as a base of operation for all the forces in the northern zone. (ii) That the seizure of Yilghin Burnu and Ismail Oglu Tepe ("W" and Chocolate Hills), on account of the presence there of artillery which may interfere with your operations, must be considered as of very special importance. (iii) That so far as is possible after the fulfilment of his primary mission, he is to render you such direct assistance as may be practicable by moving any available troops via Biyuk Anafarta up the eastern slopes of the Sari Bair. (_c_) At the commencement of these operations the infantry of the 53rd Division will be available as Army Reserve and will be at the disposal of the General Commanding. 6. The Vice-Admiral has agreed provisionally to the following allotment of ships affording naval support to the operations:-- In Suvla Bay: One 6-in. monitor. South of Kuchuk: H.M.S. _Endymion_. Kemliki (Nibrunesi Point): H.M.S. _Edgar_, H.M.S. _Talbot_, one 6-in. monitor, one 9.2-in. monitor. These ships would be in position at daylight on August 7th, and would mainly be required to support the operations of the 9th Army Corps. West of Gaba Tepe: H.M.S. _Baccanto_, H.M.S. _Humber_, H.M.S. _Havelock_, one 6-in. monitor. These ships would be in position at 3 p.m. on August 6th, except H.M.S. _Havelock_, which would be in position at daylight on August 7th. They would be detailed for support of the right flank of the A. and N.Z. Army Corps. Off Kum Tepe: One 6-in. monitor. A separate communication is being sent to you with regard to the final settlement of details as to the support of the operations by naval guns, allocation of targets, etc. 7. Special instructions regarding signal communication will be issued later. In general terms the arrangements will be as follows:-- A submarine cable and a land cable will be laid between Anzac and Suvla Bay as soon as circumstances permit. A submarine cable will also be laid as soon as practicable between Imbros and Suvla Bay. Pending the completion of connection between Anzac and Suvla Bay, inter-communication will be carried out by lamp. Two military pack W/T stations and a R.N. Base W/T station will be established in the vicinity of Suvla Bay. The W/T station at Anzac will be able to intercept messages from seaplanes, but must not attempt to reply. W/T via the ships will be an alternative means of communication between G.H.Q. and the troops ashore in case of interruption of cable communication. A system of flares will be arranged for employment on the left flank of your position at dawn on August 7th to indicate to the ships the positions reached by the troops. 8. G.H.Q. will in the first instance be at Imbros. (_Signed_) W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, C.G.S., Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ G.H.Q., _30th July, 1915_. FORCE ORDER No. 25. GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, _2nd August, 1915._ 1. The total forces of the enemy in the Gallipoli Peninsula are estimated at 100,000. Of these, 27,000 are in the neighbourhood of Anzac (5th, 19th, 16th Divisions, and 18th and 64th Regiments); 36,000 are in the Southern zone (1st, 4th, 6th Division less one regiment, 7th Division, 11th Division less one regiment, and one regiment each of the 12th, 25th and 3rd Divisions); and 37,000 are in Reserve (9th Division less one regiment, 12th less one regiment, 13th, 14th, and 25th less one regiment, and 10th Divisions). Of this reserve force two Divisions are in the Bulair district and one Division in the Eyerli Tepe zone. There are 12,000 on the Asiatic shore of the Dardanelles (2nd Division and 8th Division less one regiment). There are believed to be five Divisions (45,000 men) in the Keshan area belonging to the 5th and 6th Corps. All reports tend to show that though the enemy may be expected to fight well in trenches, their _moral_ has suffered considerably as a result of their recent heavy casualties, and that their stock of ammunition is low. 2. The General Commanding intends to carry out a combined and simultaneous attack on the enemy in the northern and southern zone commencing on 6th August, in accordance with the special instructions already issued to the Corps Commanders concerned. During the first phase of these operations the 13th Division (less three 18-pdr. Bdes. R.F.A.), the 29th Infantry Brigade will be attached to the A. and N.Z. Army Corps. Three squadrons R.N. Armoured Car Division and two batteries Highland Mounted Artillery will be attached to 9th Corps. 86th Brigade R.F.A. and 91st Heavy Battery R.G.A. will be attached to 8th Corps. 3. Special instructions regarding embarkation and disembarkation are issued to G.O.C. 9th Corps, G.O.C., A. and N.Z. Corps, and I.G.C., as appended to this order. 4. The 53rd Division will remain at the disposal of the General Commanding as general reserve. 5. G.H.Q. will remain in the first instance in its present situation. _(Signed)_ W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, C.G.S., Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ Issued to: G.O.C. Corps Expéditionnaire; G.O.C. A. and N.Z. Army Corps; G.O.C. 8th Army Corps; G.O.C. 9th Army Corps; G.O.C. 53rd Division; I.G.C.; Vice-Admiral. APPENDIX TO FORCE ORDER NO. 25. _Embarkations._ 1. The embarkation of units of the 9th Corps concentrated at Imbros will be carried out under the orders of G.O.C. 9th Corps, commencing for personnel on 6th August, for vehicles and stores at such earlier date as may be convenient. The necessary ships and boats (lists of which have already been handed to the G.O.C. Corps) will be assembled in the harbour beforehand; and the embarkation programme will be worked out in consultation with Commander Ashby, R.N., who has been detailed by the Vice-Admiral for this purpose, and who will arrange for the various vessels to be in their allotted positions at the hours arranged. G.O.C. 9th Corps will also be responsible for the allocation to ships or lighters, and for the embarkation of the following units:-- * * * * * At Imbros: One W.T. Section (Nos. W. 10 and W. 11 Pack Wireless Stations); Two Anson Battalions R.N.D. (for duties on the beach); No. 16 Casualty Clearing Station. In transit from Mudros to Imbros: One Casualty Clearing Station. Units and formations concentrated at Mudros and Mitylene will be embarked for their various destinations under the orders of I.G.C. in accordance with the programme already issued to that officer. _Military Transport Officers._ 2. G.O.C. 9th Corps and I.G.C. respectively will ensure that an officer is appointed Military Transport Officer on every ship for the embarkation of which they are severally responsible (_vide_ paragraph 1). _Landing Places._ 3. The landings of the 9th Corps will be referred to as "A," "B," and "C" Beaches. "A" Beach--Square 117.q. and v. "C" Beach--Square 103.u.z. "B" Beach--Square 91.b, i, o. "C" and "B" Beaches are practically contiguous. _Beach Control Personnel._ 4. The following naval and military beach control personnel have been appointed for the landing places of the 9th Corps:-- * * * * * Principal Beach Master: Captain H. F. G. Talbot, R.N. Beach Masters: Commander I. W. Gibson, M.V.O. ("A" Beach), Captain C. P. Metcalfe, R.N. ("B" Beach), Commander C. Tindal-Carril-Worsley ("C" Beach). Assistant Beach Masters and Beach Lieutenants: Four Lieutenant Commanders, ten Lieutenants, R.N. Principal Mil. L.O.: Colonel W. G. B. Western, C.B. Mil. L.O.'s: Major F. W. Pencock, Derbyshire Yeomanry, Major Sir R. Baker, Dorset Yeomanry, Captain Tylsen Wright, A.S.C. Assistant Mil. L.O.'s: Captain Wade Palmer, Derbyshire Yeomanry, Captain B. A. Smith, South Notts Hussars, Lieutenant H. V. Browne, Dorset Yeomanry, Lieutenant Krabbe, Berks Yeomanry. The allocation of the above military officers to the various landing places will be detailed by the P.M.L.O. in consultation with the P.B.M. Special instructions with regard to beach fatigue parties have already been issued to the G.O.C. 9th Corps. G.O.C., A. and N.Z. Army Corps will detail such military landing officers, assistant military landing officers, and beach parties for A.N.Z.A.C. as he may consider necessary. The names of officers so appointed will be reported as early as possible to V.A. and to G.H.Q. The following special service officers are attached to H.Q., A. and N.Z. Army Corps, for such duties in connection with the landing as the G.O.C. may direct:-- * * * * * Major P. R. Bruce, S. Notts Hussars. Captain C. R. Higgens, County of London Yeomanry. Captain Sir E. Pauncefort Duncombe, Royal Bucks Hussars. _General Instructions for Landing._ 5. All troops will land with two iron rations (one day's meat only in case of troops disembarking at Anzac). Infantry will carry 200 rounds of S.A.A., machine-gun sections 3,500 rounds. Packs will not be worn. A proportion of heavy entrenching tools, signalling and medical gear will be carried by hand. Camp kettles will be handed to the Ordnance Officer of the camp at which units concentrate before embarkation. They will be forwarded and reissued at the first opportunity. 6. Horses will be landed harnessed, and with nosebags filled to their full capacity. Poles of G.S. wagons will be removed before slinging and made fast to the body of the wagon. Poles of carts, limbers, and limbered wagons will not be removed; these vehicles should be so placed in the boats that they can be landed pole leading. _Ammunition._ 7. The G.O.C. 9th Corps will depute an officer to arrange, in consultation with the P.M.L.O., for the storing of reserve ammunition in convenient localities near the beach. Guards for these stores may be found from the beach fatigue parties. _Water._ 8. The strictest economy must be exercised with regard to drinking water. Under arrangements already made by G.H.Q., receptacles filled with water will be landed as early as possible from the ships carrying the mule corps, and will be conveyed to the troops as transport becomes available. Waterproof tanks (2,300 gallon capacity) and lift and force pumps will be available on the _Prah_--R.E. Storeship--in Kephalos Harbour, and will be forwarded by D.Q.M.G., G.H.Q., on request of G.O.C. Corps. _Transport._ 9. Transport to supplement that in possession of units will be provided for the 9th Corps and the A.N.Z. Corps by the Indian Mule Corps. The amount of transport for each formation has been calculated to carry rations, water, and S.A.A., making one or two trips a day, according to the anticipated distance of the various units from the beach. This transport will be handed over, as it is landed, by an officer appointed by the D.S.T., to transport officers of Brigades and divisional troops for allotment as circumstances may require. Senior transport officers of Divisions will be ordered to report to the following representatives of the D.S.T. immediately on landing:-- * * * * * At Anzac: Lieutenant-Colonel Streidinger, A.D.T. At "A" Beach: Major Badcock, D.A.D.T. _Supplies._ 10. A supply depôt has been formed at Anzac, and it is in charge of Major Izod, A.S.C. A supply depot will be formed by D.S.T. at "A" Beach as soon as supplies can be landed, and will be in charge of Major Huskisson, A.S.C. Senior supply officers of Divisions will be ordered to place themselves in communication with the officer in charge of the nearest supply depôt and to keep him informed of their daily requirements. Supplies will, so far as possible, be handed over to them in bulk at the depôt. Owing to the difficulty in landing sufficient animals in the first instance it is possible that only half rations may be available on the third and fourth days after the operations begin. All units should be specially ordered to husband their rations. _Medical._ 11. Arrangements have been made to establish on the beach at Anzac two casualty clearing stations, which will be embarked by I.G.C., and two at "A" Beach, which will be embarked under orders of G.O.C. 9th Corps (_see_ paragraph 1). Medical officers will be appointed by G.H.Q. to control these units, and to take charge of the arrangements for evacuation of the wounded from the beach. (_Signed_) C. F. ASPINALL, _Lieutenant-Colonel, For Major-General, C.G.S., Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ APPENDIX IV INSTRUCTIONS TO MAJOR-GENERAL H. DE LISLE, C.B., D.S.O. 1. The operations of the northern wing of the Army have only been partially successful. (_a_) The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, with the 13th Division and the 29th Brigade of 10th Division attached, has greatly extended the area occupied, and now holds a position under the Chunuk Bair Ridge, which the G.O.C. considers a favourable one from which to launch the final attack on the ridge. The necessity for reorganization after the recent operations, and for establishing a satisfactory system of forwarding water, ammunition and supplies, will involve a delay of some days before the attack on the main ridge can be made. (_b_) The 9th Army Corps, less the 13th Division and 29th Brigade, but with the 53rd and 54th Divisions attached, holds the Yilghin Burnu hills, and a line northwards from the easternmost of these two hills roughly straight across the Kuchuk Anafarta Ova to the highest point of the Kiretch Tepe Sirt. Attacks by the 11th Division against the Ismail Oglu Tepe and the Anafarta spur from the north-west have been made without any success. In the course of the operations the 9th Corps became very much disorganized, and since August 11th the work of reorganization and consolidation has been proceeding. 2. At present the enemy has shown no great strength north of an east and west line through Anafarta Sagir. He has a force operating on and near the Kiretch Tepe Sirt, the strength of which cannot yet be accurately estimated. From present indications this appears to be a detachment which is known to have guarded the coast from Ejelmer Bay to Suvla Bay; it does not appear to have been reinforced to any extent. Across the Kuchuk Anafarta Ova there appear to be no more than snipers. In the region Anafarta Sagir--Ismail Oglu Tepe and the Biyuk Anafarta Valley the enemy has developed considerable strength--his intention being, no doubt, to protect the right of his main force which opposes the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, and to prevent our advance on the Anafarta gap. 3. The General Commanding has decided to strike as quickly and in as great strength as possible against the enemy's on the line Ismail Oglu Tepe--Anafarta Sagir with the objects, first, of driving in this flank and preparing a further enveloping advance; and, secondly, by clearing the Anafarta spur to deny to the enemy the gun positions and facilities for observation therefrom, which would otherwise endanger Suvla Bay. He considers it imperative to effect this with the least possible delay. In his view the left flank of this advance will require comparatively little protection, at all events in the first instance, in view of the difficulty which the enemy may be expected to find in throwing any considerable force round our left over the high and difficult country north of Anafarta Sagir. It appears that the double purpose of defeating the enemy and securing Suvla Bay as a port for the northern wing of the Army can best be served by an attack on the enemy's right on the Anafarta spur, made with all the strength at our command, while leaving a comparatively small force as left flank guard to clear the enemy's snipers out of the Kuchuk Anafarta Ova and to occupy and press back his detachment in the Ejelmer Bay region. 4. You will have at your disposal the following troops:-- 11th Division, 10th Division (less 29th Brigade), 53rd Division, 54th Division, and there is on its way from Egypt to join you the 2nd Mounted Division (5,000 men dismounted), which should be available by August 18th. The 10th, 11th and 53rd Divisions are considerably depleted, and the _moral_ of the latter at present leaves much to be desired. There are at present ashore, belonging to the above two F.A. Brigades (three batteries of which are awaiting horses to bring them up from Anzac) and two Heavy Batteries. In addition, two Highland Mountain Batteries, attached to the 9th Corps, are ashore, and the 1/4th Lowland Brigade (two batteries 5-inch howitzers) are at your disposal when they can be brought up from Anzac. It has only been possible to land a bare minimum of horses owing to difficulties in respect of water and the landing of forage. Three further F.A. Brigades and the 57th Brigade (two batteries) 4.5-inch howitzers are at Mudros ready to be brought up as soon as it is possible to land them. These Brigades will probably have to be landed without any horses in the first instance, and taken into position by the artillery horses already ashore. 5. For the purpose of an early attack in accordance with the plan indicated in paragraph 3, the A. and N.Z. Army Corps will probably not be able to co-operate directly with more than one Infantry Brigade, and it is possible that it may be able to do no more than swing up its left into line with the right of your advance. It is improbable that the 8th Corps and the C.E.O. will be in a position to do more than undertake vigorous demonstrations. 6. With the above in view, you will proceed at once to Suvla Bay and take over command of the 9th Corps. Your immediate and most urgent concern will be to complete the reorganization of the Corps and to prepare as large a force as possible for the offensive against Ismail Oglu Tepe and the Anafarta spur, bearing in mind that time is of vital importance. You will then consider and report at the earliest moment:-- (_a_) What force you consider that you will be able to employ for this purpose. (_b_) The date on which you will be ready to undertake the offensive. (_c_) The method by which you purpose to carry out your task. (_Signed_) W. P. BRAITHWAITE, _Major-General, Chief of the General Staff, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force._ INDEX "A" Beach, II. 69, 75, 146. Abdel Rahman Bair, II. 115. Abrikja, II. 87. Achi Baba, I. 272, 362; II. 194. Adderley, Lieut., II. 5. Adrianople, I. 10. Aeroplanes, I. 110. Agnew, Col. Quentin, II. 160. Air Service, I. 8, 287, 384. Aitkin, Capt., II. 30. Aja Liman, II. 112, 148, 152. Aja Liman Anafarta Ridge, II. 83, 84. Akbashi Liman, I. 291; II. 193. _H.M.T._ Alaudia, II. 44. Alexandretta, I. 9. Allanson, Col., II. 214. Altham, Genl., II. 6, 32, 123, 167, 172, 186, 261, 270. Ambulance-- 87th Field, II. 172. 110th Indian Field, II. 167. 3rd R.N.D. Field, I. 317. West Lancs. Field, II. 231. Amery, Col., I. 342. Ammunition, I. 62, 196, 286, 289, 308; II. 9, 10, 11, 13, 35, 41, 140. Anafarta, II. 148. Anafarta Ova, II. 93. Anafarta Sagir, II. 68, 69, 70, 81, 89, 112. Anatolia, II. 191. _H.M.T._ Andania, II. 44. Anderson, Maj., II. 255. Andrews, Col., II. 18. Anglesey, Lord, II. 196, 200. Anson Bn., I. 73, 271, 274, 333. Anstey, Capt., II. 58. Anzac Cove, II. 111. _S.S._ Arabian, I. 316. _H.M.S._ Arcadian, I. 84, 185, 248. Ari Burnu, II. 246. Armistice, I. 248, 387. Armoured Car Section, I. 106; II. 188. _H.M.S._ Arno, II. 57, 58, 98, 146, 158, 159, 165, 166, 246. Artillery, I. 48, 307, 374; II. 35. Australian, I. 117. _See_ also Appendices I. and II. Ashmead-Bartlett, Mr., I. 106, 253, 334; II. 8, 165, 190, 204, 226. _H.I.M.S._ Askold, I. 106, 135. Aspinall, Lt.-Col., I. 152, 169, 383; II. 4, 17, 25, 26, 61, 64, 126, 130, 243. Asquith, Rt. Hon. H. H., I. 54, 247; II. 227, 259, 260, 261, 262, 274. Asquith, Lieut. Arthur, I. 20, 71. Australian F.A., 3rd Battery, II. 254. Australian Light Horse, I. 285, 359. Australians-- 9th Bn., I. 49. 12th Bn., II. 234. 15th Bn., I. 216. 16th Bn., I. 216. 20th Bn., II. 254, 255. 26th Bn., II. 234. Ayres, Col., II. 246. Babtie, Genl., I. 367. Baby 700, II. 111. _H.M.S._ Bacchante, I. 154. Backhouse, Commodore, I. 333. Bailey, Col., II. 244. Bailloud, Genl., I. 192, 207, 243, 371, 379; II. 25, 27, 146, 158, 179, 213, 218, 219, 225, 226, 228, 229, 230, 234. Baldwin, Genl., I. 386; II. 80, 81. Balkans-- C.-in-C.'s views on, I. 115. Bard, _see_ Tullibardine. Barttelot, Sir W., II. 219. _H.M.S._ Basilisk, I. 328, 370, 372. Battle-- Kum Kale, I. 135, 150. Landing, I. 126. Naval, I. 30. Quinn's Post, I. 255. Sedd-el-Bahr, I. 131. "V" Beach, I. 135. "W" Beach, I. 130. "X" Beach, I. 130. "Y" Beach, I. 129 _et seq._ Yeni Shahr, I. 151. 6th-9th May, I. 206. 4th June, I. 270 _et seq._ 28th June, I. 344 _et seq._ 12th July, II. 6 _et seq._ 21st August, II. 127 _et seq._ Bayley, Maj., II. 231. (Should read "Baylay.") Beadon, Lt.-Col., II. 120, 130. Beetleheim, Capt., I. 273. Bell, Maj. Morrison, II. 244. Benbow Bn., I. 333. Beresford, Genl., I. 242. Berks Regt., II. 230. Bertier, Maj., I. 119, 379; II. 25, 40, 220, 233, 275. _Beryl_, II. 32. Besika Bay, I. 9. Birmingham, I. 326 Bishop, Maj., I. 320. Biyuk Anafarta, II. 112, 157. Blockhouses, II. 93. Bluff Redoubt, I. 225. Boers, II. 161, 162. Bombs, I. 43, 258, 321, 383; II. 140. Bonham-Carter, Mr., II. 98. Bonsor, Maj., I. 370. Boomerang Redoubt, I. 344, 352. Border Regt., I. 352; II. 230. _Bouvet_, I. 36. Bowlby, Flag-Lt., II. 8, 169 Boyle, R.N., Capt., I. 38. Boyle, R.N., Lt.-Comr., I. 234, 240. Braithwaite, Capt. V., II. 120, 130, 146, 158, 159, 165, 186, 246. Brassey, II. 110. Brassey, Lady, II. 105, 168. Brassey, Lord, II. 105. Bridges, Genl., I. 118, 179, 229, 256. Brigade-- 1st (Australian), II. 55. 2nd (French), II. 225. 2nd (Naval), I. 333. 3rd (Australian), I. 336. 3rd (Marine), I. 303. 4th (Australian), I. 249, 256. 5th (Australian), II. 254. 30th, II. 44. 32nd, II. 22, 29, 60. 33rd, II. 22, 46, 60. 34th, II. 22, 28, 61. 39th, II. 18. 86th, I. 82, 220, 302, 345, 352; II. 171, 172. 87th, I. 82, 209, 210, 224, 301, 345, 352; II. 230. 88th, I. 170, 209, 210, 293, 353; II. 166, 241. 127th, I. 317. 155th, I. 303. 156th, I. 303, 346, 352, 371; II. 9, 243. Indian, I. 301; II. 15, 127, 130, 208. Light Horse, I. 336. Manchester, I. 272, 273. Younghusband's, II. 147, 150, 151, 153, 154. Brodrick, Capt. Hon. G., I. 357; II. 24, 52, 68, 72, 74, 76, 78, 125, 130, 146, 154. Brody, Capt., II. 68. Brooke, Sir B., II. 138. Brooke, Rupert, I. 71, 122, 124. Brown, Percy, I. 371. Browne, Maj., I. 336. Bruce, Col., I. 74, 301, 359, 361. Bruce, Maj., I. 74. Brulard, Genl., II. 225, 228, 229, 234, 256, 276. Bryant, Lt.-Col., I. 323. Buchanan, Col., II. 186. Buchanan, Sir G., II. 207, 208. Bulair Lines, I. 9, 29, 130, 275, 290, 291, 292, 361. Bulgaria, I. 116; II. 192, 202, 204, 209. Bulgarians, II. 212. Burleigh, Bennett, I. 339. Burmeister, Flag-Capt., I. 71. Burn, Col. C., I. 121; II. 8, 15, 251, 255. Burrell, Lieut., I. 370. Burrows, Capt., II. 247. Burton, Col., II. 18, 242. Bush-fires, II. 131. Byng, Genl., I. 303; II. 35, 105, 106, 137, 138, 139, 146, 151, 159, 160, 165, 186, 206, 218, 219, 241, 242, 276. "C" Beach, II. 75. Cadorna, Genl., II. 178. Callwell, Genl., I. 6, 241; II. 172 _et seq._ , 257, 259, 261, 263. Camel Corps, Bikaner, I. 74. Cameron, R.N., Capt., I. 8, 31. Campbell, Col., I. 74. _H.M.T._ Canada, II. 44. _H.M.S._ Canopus, II. 44. Canteen, II. 123, 170. Carden, Admiral, I. 17, 19. Carruthers, Genl., I. 142. Carter, Capt., I. 280. _Carthage_, I. 371. Casualty Clearing Station, 25th, II. 14. Cayley, Genl., II. 18, 241. Censorship, I. 320, 327, 332; II. 140, 172 _et seq._ , 257. _H.M.T._ Ceramic, II. 156. Chanak, I. 291, 292, 293; II. 192. Charak Cheshme, II. 74. _H.M.S._ Chatham, II. 43, 45, 60, 275, 277. Chauvel, Genl., I. 285, 359. Cheape, Capt., II. 203, 204. _H.M.S._ Chelmer, II. 262. Cheshire Point, II. 201. Chocolate Hill, II. 214. Christian, Admiral, II. 60. Chunuk Bair, I. 330, 361; II. 57, 86, 111, 113. Churchill, Rt. Hon. W., I. 44, 161, 240, 242, 247; II. 24. Churchill, Maj. J., I. 153, 178; II. 155. Church Parade, I. 370; II. 20, 29, 157, 234. Clarke, Lt.-Comr., I. 335. Clifton-Browne, Genl., II. 247. Coddan, Capt., I. 121. Coleridge, II. 52. Collet, Capt., II. 123, 126. Collingwood Bn., I. 333. Collins, Lt.-Col., I. 317. _H.M.S._ Colne, I. 112, 178, 180, 343. Conference--- 17th March, I. 21. 22nd March, I. 41. 18th April, I. 118. Midnight, 25th April, I. 142. Connaught Rangers, II. 155. Constantinople, I. 10. Convalescent Depôt, II. 168. _H.M.S._ Cornwall, II. 221. _H.M.S._ Cornwallis, I. 134, 138; II. 221, 242. Cowans, Genl., I. 365, 366. Cox, Genl., I. 73, 174, 186; II. 15, 132, 139, 155, 190. d'Amade, Genl., I. 3, 21, 64, 78, 118, 222, 223, 226. Damakjelik Bair, II. 113, 127, 128. Danube, I. 11; II. 202. _H.M.S._ Dartmouth, I. 106. Davidson, R.N., Capt., II. 242, 258. Davies, R.N.A.S. Capt., I. 109. Davies, Genl., II. 33, 51, 139, 140, 144, 160, 196, 243, 246, 248, 251, 276. Dawnay, Capt., I. 152, 178, 343; II. 120, 126, 133, 165, 189, 251, 262. De Bourbon, Capt., II. 256. De Crespigny, Capt., II. 243. Deedes, Capt., I. 344; II. 120, 126, 158, 186, 243. De la Borde, Lieut., I. 119; II. 40, 196, 220. De la Fontaine, Capt., I. 185. De Lisle, Genl., I. 274, 280, 293, 356; II. 17, 18, 25, 106, 119, 121, 129, 130, 132, 159 _et seq._, 241. De Lothbinière, Genl., I. 259, 357. Dent, R.N., Capt., I. 118, 122. De Putron, Maj., II. 196, 262. De Robeck, Admiral, I. 21, 41, 48, 142, 383; II. 60, 124, 275, 276. De Rougemont, Col., II. 246. Des Coigns, Col., I. 183, 185. De Tott's Battery, I. 134; II. 26, 27. Devon Regt., 2/5th, II. 156, 157, 160. Dick, Col., I. 105, 385. Diggle, Capt., II. 51. Division-- 1st (Australian), II. 217. 1st (French), I. 323, 324. 2nd (Australian), II. 167. 2nd (French), I. 323, 324. 2nd (Mounted), II. 37. 10th, I. 306, 328; II. 97, 127, 159, 217, 224, 227, 233. 11th, I. 328; II. 49, 52, 60, 83, 127, 129, 131, 132, 159, 188. 11th (Turkish), I. 373. 13th, I. 328, 386; II. 18, 57, 83, 91, 107. 16th (Irish), II. 159. 42nd, I. 386; II. 40. 52nd, I. 386; II. 158, 243. 53rd, II. 90, 128, 217, 225, 226. 54th (Essex), II. 81, 90, 92, 100, 128, 208. East Lancs., I. 58, 314; II. 57, 196. Irish, II. 31, 41, 60. Lowland, I. 355; II. 6. Mounted, II. 217. Naval, I. 272, 303, 318, 377; II. 8, 25, 40, 158. Welsh, II. 101. Djavad Pasha, I. 20. Dod, Col. Wolley, I. 302. Doran, Genl., I. 280, 282. _H.M.S._ Doris, I. 68. Dorling, Col., II. 219. Dorset Regt., 5th, II. 28. Doughtie, R.N., Capt., II. 21. Douglas, Genl., I. 282, 337, 382; II. 25, 247. Downing, Col., II. 44. Drafts, I. 368; II. 16, 35, 42, 46, 126, 132, 139, 223. Drake Bn., I. 73. Drury-Lowe, R.N., Capt., II. 43, 277. _H.M.S._ Dublin, I. 109, 146. Dublin Fusiliers, I. 157, 224; II. 172. Dudley, Lord, II. 167. Duff, Genl. Beauchamp, II. 198. Duncan, Major, II. 28. Duncannon, Lord, II. 262. _H.M.S._ E 11, I. 282, 284. _H.M.S._ E 14, I. 234, 240. East Kent Yeomanry, II. 247. East Lancs. Regt., 6th, II. 18. East Yorks, 6th, II. 67. Edinburgh, Lord Provost of, II. 155. Edwards, Maj., II. 247. Edwards, Comr., II. 256. Edwards, Lieut., I. 370. Egerton, Genl., I. 371; II. 160. Egyptian Gazette, I. 77. Ehren-Keui, II. 192. Ejelmer Bay, II. 72. Elliot, Genl., I. 353. Elliot, Lieut., I. 336. Ellison, Genl., I. 7, 280, 366; II. 6, 32, 126, 165, 236, 243, 256, 275. Engineers, I. 43, 48. Enos, I. 275; II. 194. Enver Pasha, I. 12, 363; II. 212, 258. Erskine, Genl., I. 303. Eski Lines, II. 25. Essex Regt., I. 136, 220. _H.M.S._ Europa, II. 168. _H.M.S._ Euryalus, I. 133. Ewart, Genl., I. 306. _H.M.S._ Exmouth, II. 58. Ezine, II. 192. Fairfax, Comr., II. 247. Fallowfield, R.N., Lieut., I. 328, 370. Fanshawe, Genl., II. 106, 138, 159, 160, 161, 188. Faukard, Genl., II. 256. Ferdinand, Tzar, II. 204, 205, 207, 208, 212, 213. Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, II. 244. Fisher, Lord, I. 44, 240, 247. Fitz, _see_ FitzGerald. FitzGerald, Col., I. 320, 321; II. 251. Fitzgerald, Maj., II. 254. Fitzmaurice, R.N., Capt., I. 112. Fitzmaurice, Mr., I. 114. Forde, Col., II. 168. _H.M.S._ Foresight, I. 16. Forster, Col., II. 167. Forts, I. 6. Foumet, Admiral, II. 188. _H.M.S._ Franconia, I. 36. Fraser, Col., II. 172. Freddie, see Maitland. French, Sir John, I. 269, 289, 305, 306, 311, 374. French Corps, I. 78. French Mission, I. 119. Freyberg, Lieut., II. 247. Fuller, Lieut.-Col., I. 178; II. 15. Gamble, Sir D., II. 32, 33. Gascoigne, Lieut.-Col., II. 39, 214, 233, 243. _Gascon_, I. 228. _Gaulois_, I. 35, 36, 169, 170. Geddes, Maj., II. 172. Gellibrand, Lieut., II. 234. George, Rt. Hon. Lloyd, II. 260, 274. Ghazi Baba, II. 72, 77. Gillivan, Col., II. 18. Girdwood, Capt., I. 372. Girodon, Genl., I. 234, 244, 260, 325, 379; II. 46, 234. Glyn, Capt., II. 15, 108, 165. Godfrey, Maj., I. 152, 326. Godley, Genl., I. 118, 179, 309, 331, 386; II. 80, 82, 208, 245, 258, 262. _Goeben_, I. 162. _H.M.S._ Goliath, I. 146, 152, 156, 224. Gouraud, Genl., I. 226, 244, 260, 270, 281, 288, 295 _et seq._, 304, 305, 333, 346, 355, 359, 385; II. 203, 253. Graives, Mr., I. 385. _H.M.S._ Grampus, I. 293. Grand Duke Nicholas, I. 230; II. 158. Grant, R.N., Capt., II. 44. Greece, I. 116; II. 203. Greeks, II. 201. Green Hill, II. 214. Greer, Lieut.-Col., II. 44. Guépratté, Admiral, I. 21, 101, 118, 157. Guest, Capt. (?), II. 275. _Guildford Castle_, I. 217. Guilford, Col. Lord, II. 247. Gully Ravine, I. 376. Gurkhas, Bde. of, I. 43, 55, 56, 59, 75, 83, 193, 225, 226, 352, 359, 361, 362, 364; II. 94. Gurkhas-- 4th Bn., II. 167. 5th Bn., II. 15. 6th Bn., I. 74, 76; II. 15, 81, 214. 10th Bn., II. 15. Guyon, Maj., II. 172. H. 12, I. 355, 372; II. 9. Haig, Sir Douglas, I. 306; II. 185. Haldane, Lord, I. 240, 289. Hamilton, Genl. Bruce, II. 26, 32, 36, 101. Hamilton, Col. Cole, II. 18. Hamilton, Lieut. Rowan, II. 243. Hammersley, Genl., I. 328; II. 28, 52, 59, 64 _et seq._, 72, 87, 103, 104, 120, 161. Hampshire Regt., I. 155, 157, 220. 8th Bn., II. 101. Hand grenades, I. 43, 48, 356; II. 156, 157. Hankey, Col., II. 24, 37, 98, 108, 123. Harding, Col., I. 74. Hardy, Lieut.-Comr., II. 169. Hare, Mr., I. 338. Haricot Redoubt, I. 244, 271, 272, 324. Hawke Bn., II. 247, 248. Heliopolis, I. 61. Herbert, Aubrey, I. 239, 243. Herts Yeomanry, I. 58. Heseltine, Capt., II. 204. Hetman Chair, II. 128, 129. Hill, Genl., II. 44, 107, 110. Hill 10, II. 61, 62, 64, 69, 146. Hill 60, II. 127, 155, 157, 158. Hill 70, II. 88, 127, 128, 129, 131. Hill 305, I. 330; II. 89, 111. Hillyard, Maj., II. 18. Hindlip, Lord, I. 166. Hogg, Capt., I. 74. Holdich, Lt.-Col., II. 165. Holmes, Col., II. 254. Homer, Lt-Comr., II. 17. Hood, Maj., II. 186. Hood Bn., I. 206, 274, 333; II. 247. Hope, R.N., Capt., I. 26, 116. Horne, Genl., II. 105. Horse Shoe, II. 243. Hospital Ships, II. 24. Hospital-- No. 1 Stationary, I. 323; II. 168. No. 1 (Australian) Stationary, II. 167. No. 2 Stationary, I. 322. No. 2 (Australian) Stationary, II. 168. No. 3 (Canadian) Stationary, II. 168. No. 3 (Australian) Stationary, II. 168. No. 15 Stationary, I. 322; II. 167. No. 16 Stationary, I. 322. No. 18 Stationary, II. 168. No. 24 (British-Indian), II. 167. Howe Bn., I. 71, 73, 274, 333; II. 234. Howitzers, I. 48. _See also_ Appendices I and II. Hunloke, Maj., II. 243. Hunter-Weston, Genl., I. 3, 61, 62, 89, 118, 260, 280, 288, 346; II. 22, 26. _Imogene_, II. 91, 123, 139, 205, 251. _H.M.S._ Implacable, I. 52. Indian troops, II. 161. _H.M.S._ Inflexible, I. 33. Inglefield, Genl., II. 81, 90, 94, 97, 208. Inniskilling Fusiliers, I. 224, 361. Irish Pioneer Regt., II. 74. _H.M.S._ Irresistible, I. 35, 36, 51. Ishiklar, II. 192. Ismail Oglu Tepe, II. 63, 70, 81, 89, 112, 127, 129, 131. Istomine, Genl., I. 70, 108, 186; II. 158. Italy, II. 140. Ivanoff, Capt., I. 106. J. 13, I. 362. Jackson, Capt., II. 18. _Jeanne d'Arc_, I. 135. Joffre, Genl., I. 269, 289, 305, 374; II. 179, 180, 190, 213. Johnson, R.N., Lieut. Ormsby, I. 326; II. 32. Jones, Col., I. 322. _H.M.S._ Jonquil, II. 61. Jordon, Col., II. 18. _Junia_, I. 196. Kabak Kuyu, II. 130. Kahn, Capt., I. 184. Kaiajik Aghala, II. 129, 130, 139, 155, 210. Kaiajik Dere, II. 158. Kantara, I. 73. Karabingha, I. 292. Karakol Dagh, II. 126, 129, 159. Karna Bili, II. 148. Kavak Tepe Sirt, II. 81, 82, 90. Kavanagh, Genl., II. 105. Kelly, R.N., Capt., I. 109. Kelly, Comr., II. 247. _H.M.S._ Kennett, I. 176. Kephalos Camp, I. 317; II. 21, 126, 196, 209, 276. Kereves Dere, I. 324, 362; II. 256. Kereves Dere Ravine, I. 211. Keshan, II. 112, 194. Keyes, Commodore, I. 21, 48, 56, 142, 253; II. 60, 64, 79, 275, 276. Keyes, Sir C., I. 56. Keyes, Lady, I. 56. Keyes, Lt.-Comr., I. 254, 270. Kiggell, Genl., II. 235, 236. Kìlia Liman, I. 291. Kilid Bahr, I. 330, 362; II. 193. King, Col., II. 31. King, Comr., II. 247. King, Genl., II. 248. King, Maj., II. 254. King's Own Scottish Borderers, I. 129; II. 230. Kiretch Tepe Sirt, II. 61, 69, 72, 75, 77, 81, 128. Koja Chemen Tepe, II. 57. Krithia, I. 330, 362. Kum Kale, I. 135, 150, 159; II. 192. Kurt Ketchede, II. 113. Lala Baba, II. 61, 64. Lancashire Division, I. 198. Lancashire Fusiliers, I. 136, 220, 352; II. 172. Lancashire Fusiliers-- 1st Bn., I. 320. 5th Bn., I. 272. 9th Bn., II. 28. Lancashire Fusilier Brigade, I. 207. Lancashire Landing, I. 371, 376; II. 246. Lapruin, Capt., II. 144. Laverton, Lieut., I. 371. Law, Rt. Hon. Bonar, II. 274. Law, Capt., I. 372. Lawes, Capt., II. 196. Lawrence, Genl., I. 382; II. 27, 243. Lawson, Sir H., II. 204, 226. _H.M.S._ Lefroy, II. 256, 257. Legge, Genl., II. 15, 20, 167, 254, 266. Lemnos, I. 26. _H.M.S._ Lewis, II. 254. Liman von Sanders, Genl., I. 95, 246, 357, 358. Lindley, Genl., II. 85, 87, 103, 122, 167, 168. Lines of Communication, I. 354, 365, 380; II. 264. Lister, Hon. C., II. 29. Lloyd, Capt., II. 20, 160, 162. _H.M.S._ London, I. 154. London Regt., 2/1st Coy., II. 242. 10th Bn., II. 101. 11th Bn., II. 101. Lone Pine, II. 55, 57, 111, 271. Long, Capt., I. 279. _H.M.S._ Lord Nelson, I. 228, 248. Loring, R.N., Capt., I. 119. Lovat, Lord, II. 244. Lovat's Scouts-- 1st Bn., II. 244. 2nd Bn., II. 244. Lowland Division, I. 219. Lowther, Lancelot, II. 171. Lucas, Maj., II. 230. Mackenzie, Lieut.-Col., II. 14. Mackenzie, Compton, I. 234; II. 45. Maclagan, Col., I. 336. Maclean, Maj., I. 371. Maher, Col., I. 322. Mahon, Genl., I. 285, 289, 306, 328; II. 31, 61, 69 _et seq._, 100 _et seq._, 159, 161, 165, 169. Maidos, I. 291, 330. Maitland, Capt. F., I. 323, 336, 383; II. 17, 32, 55, 92, 126, 130, 146, 158, 159, 166, 167, 170, 172, 186, 189, 196, 214, 243, 254, 256, 275. _H.M.S._ Majestic, I. 154, 252. Makalinsky, I. 121. Malcolm, Col., II. 28, 52, 65 _et seq._, 159. Mal Tepe, I. 130. Manchester Bde., I. 207. Manchester Regt.-- 6th Bn., II. 25. 7th Bn., II. 25. 11th Bn., II. 28. Manifold, Col., II. 159. _Manitou_, I. 116. Maoris, I. 234; II. 94. Marmora, II. 193, 205. Marshall, Genl., I. 224; II. 130, 132, 165, 171, 172, 242. Matthews, Lt.-Col., I. 72. Maude, Genl., II. 106, 137, 138, 159, 161, 165, 166, 186. Maxwell, Sir J., I. 58, 73, 306; II. 149, 176, 231, 250, 255, 260, 264. Maxwell, Capt., II. 220. McClay, Lieut., I. 372. McGrigor, Capt., II. 200, 246, 275, 277. McKenna, Rt. Hon. R., II. 274. McMahon, Sir H., I. 66, 77. McMunn, Col., II. 167. Mecklenburg, Duke of, II. 207. Mena Camp, I. 60. _H.M.S._ Mercedes, II. 58. Mercer, Genl., I. 73; II. 247. Methuen, Lord, I. 73, 259, 326. Mewes, Maj., I. 72. Micklem, Col., I. 243. Millen, Senator, II. 267. Millerand, M., II. 179, 180, 190. Mitchell, Col., II. 244. Mitchell, Commodore, II. 220. Mitylene, II. 43, 45. Monash, Col., I. 249; II. 170. Moore, Lieut., II. 214, 227. _H.M.S._ Mosquito, I. 335, 337. Mountain Battery, 29th, I. 74. Mudge, Col., I. 371. Mudros, I. 322; II. 167. Mudros West, II. 168. Munro, Genl., II. 272, 273, 277. Munster Fusiliers, I. 157; II. 172. Murdoch, Mr. K. A., II. 164, 190, 203, 204, 226, 227, 240, 245, 246, 257, 260 _et seq._ Murphy, Maj., II. 255. Murray, Genl. Wolfe, II. 5, 22, 37. Nagara Point, I. 290; II. 193. Nallah-- Achi Baba, II. 243. Krithia, II. 243. Napier, Genl., I. 150. Napier, Col., I. 115; II. 201, 202. Nasmith, Comr., I. 234, 284. Nelson Bn., I. 73; II. 234. Nevinson, Mr., II. 219, 220. Newfoundland Bn., 1st, II. 242. New Zealand Mounted Rifles, I. 250, 256, 359. Nibrunesi Point, II. 189. Nicholas, Grand Duke, I. 108, 230; II. 158. Nicholls, Admiral, II. 260. Nicholson, Admiral, I. 57. Nicol, Admiral, I. 247; II. 188. Nisch, II. 202. Nogués, Col., I. 135, 151, 325. Northcliffe, Lord, I. 66, 340. Northumberland Fusiliers, II. 28. _H.M.T._ Novian, II. 44. Nuillon, Col., I. 383. Nunn, Col., II. 18. Oakdene. Capt. Perry-, II. 255. _H.M.S._ Ocean, I. 35, 36, 51. Odessa, I. 11. O'Dowda, Col., II. 172. Olivant, Lt.-Col., I. 71. Onslow, Capt., I. 360. Oppenheim, Capt., II. 244. Order to the Troops-- 21st April, I. 120. 22nd April, I. 121. 28th April, I. 171. 9th May, I. 213. 12th May, I. 222. 25th May, I. 250. Farewell, II. 277. By Genl. Gouraud, I. 324. Turkish Divisional, I. 372. _H.M.T._ Orsova, II. 156. O'Sullivan, V.C., II. 171. Owen, Genl., Cunliffe-, I. 143. Palin, Col., I. 74; II. 214. Pallin, Genl., I. 372. Palmer, Col., II. 18. Palmer, Maj., I. 72. Palmer, Mr. F., I. 338. Panderma, I. 292, 293. Paris, Genl., I. 3, 71, 93, 166, 303, 333; II. 25, 160, 243, 247. Paterson, Col, I. 106. Pearce, Senator, II. 265, 266. Pearson, Maj., II. 172. Peebles, Col., I. 372. Peel, Col., I. 117. Pelliot, Lieut., I. 119; II. 220. Percival, Genl., II. 171. Percy, Lord William, II. 219. Periscopes, I. 43, 48. Perriera, Admiral de la, II. 169, 170. Peter, _see_ Pollen. Peyton, Genl., II. 107, 120, 165, 208, 244. _H.M.S._ Phaeton, I. 18, 35, 36. Phillimore, R.N., Capt., I. 118, 178; II. 130. Piépape, Col., I. 379; II. 146. Pierce, Admiral, I. 71. Pierce, Maj., II. 230. Pike, Lt.-Col., II. 44. _H.M.S._ Pincher, I. 335. Plan of attack-- C.-in-C.'s on Peninsula, I. 95. Sari Bair, I. 329. Suvla Landing, I. 329; II 3. Plymouth Bn., I. 72, 129, 221. Pollard, Capt., II. 230. Pollen, Capt., I. 21, 41, 178; II. 126, 146, 207, 246, 262, 271, 275. Porter, Sir James, I. 367. Potts. Lt.-Comr., II. 91. Press, I. 320, 327, 332, 337; II. 140, 175 _et seq._ Price, Bishop, II. 255. _H.M.S._ Prince of Wales, I. 154. Princes Street, II. 243. Punjabis-- 69th Bn., I. 74. 89th Bn., I. 74. Q., II. 80. Quadrilateral, I. 355, 358. _H.M.S._ Queen, I. 35, 52, 154. _H.M.S._ Queen Elizabeth, I. 21, 32, 35, 103. Queensland Bn., I. 346, 358. Queen Victoria's Own Sappers, I. 74. Quinn's Post, I. 255, 256, 257, 259. Rabbit Island, I. 35; II. 27. _H.M.S._ Racoon, II. 169. Ratilva Valley, II. 134. _H.M.S._ Rattlesnake, I. 228. Rawlinson, Genl., I. 303; II. 35. Reconnaissance of Peninsula, I. 28. Régiment de marche d'Afrique, 175th, I. 79. Régiment, 4th Colonial, I. 79. Régiment, 6th Colonial, I. 135. Reed, Genl, II, 5, 36, 53, 63, 77, 96, 99, 120, 241. Reinforcements, I. 368; II. 144 _et seq._ Rhodes, Lieut., I. 386. Rifaat, Col., I. 373. _H.M.T._ River Clyde, I. 131, 254. Rochdale, Lord, I. 317. Rodosto, I. 293. Roper, Genl., I. 178. Rosomore, Comr., I. 31. Ross, Mr. Malcolm, II. 219. Roumania, I. 116; II. 202. Royal Dublin Fusiliers-- 6th Bn., II. 44. 7th Bn., II. 44. Royal Engineers, II. 72. West Riding Field Coy., II. 231. 67th Coy., II. 29. 68th Coy., II. 29. 134th Fortress Coy., II. 29. Royal Field Artillery, 10th By., I. 364. _See also_ Appendix I. Royal Fusiliers, I. 136, 345; II. 172. 2nd Bn., I. 352. Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, II. 230. 5th Bn., II. 44. 6th Bn., II 44. Royal Irish Fusiliers-- 5th Bn., II. 44. 6th Bn., II. 44. Royal Scot, wounded, I. 356. Royal Scots, I. 352, 355. 4th Bn., I. 372. 5th Bn., I. 190, 220, 318; II. 126, 155. 6th Bn., II. 156, 160. 7th Bn., I. 372. Ruef, Col, I. 186. Rundle, Genl., I. 14; II. 202. Russell, Genl., I. 359; II. 130, 132, 139, 155, 194. Russell's Top, II. 254. Russian Corps, I. 255, 375; II. 21. Russian Officers, II. 158. Ruthven, Maj. Hore-, I. 357; II. 84, 130, 240, 275. Ryrie, Col., I. 336. Saghir Dere, I. 351, 352; II. 247. _St. Louis_, I. 325. Salonika, II. 184, 201 _et seq._ Salt Lake, I. 329; II. 69, 128. Samson, Comr., I. 109, 181, 238, 383; II. 54, 221. _H.M.S._ Sapphire, I. 146. Sari Bair, I. 330, 360; II. 71, 111, 128. Saros, I. 28, 349. Sarrail, Genl., II. 179, 180, 191, 236, 270, 271. Savage, Col., II. 242. _H.M.S._ Savage, I. 303; II. 17, 19, 20, 241, 242. Scatters, _see_ Wilson. Schemallach, Lieut., II. 234. Schröder, I. 95. Schuler, Mr., II. 21. Sclater, Genl., I. 365. _H.M.S._ Scorpion, I. 253, 344, 351, 356, 364. Scott, Maj. Sir S., II. 247. Scottish Horse, II. 151, 166, 208, 209. Scottish Rifles, 8th Bn., I. 372. Scott-Moncrieff, Genl., I. 303. _H.M.S._ Scourge, I. 346; II. 186. Seaplane Camp, II. 21, 32. Sedd-el-Bahr, I. 131. Sellheim, Col., II. 267. Senegalese, I. 104, 192, 195, 212; II. 226, 237, 253. Serbia, II. 202, 209. Serbians, II. 201, 213. Seymour, Comr., I. 343. Shaw, Genl., I. 328; II. 13, 18, 33, 80. Sheppard, Lieut., I. 370. Sickness, II. 136, 170, 239, 255. Signal Coy., 53rd, II. 90. Sikhs, II. 244, 245. 14th Bn., I. 73, 74; II. 15, 190, 197, 198, 200. 51st Bn., II. 189, 190, 196, 197, 231. 53rd Bn., II. 189, 190, 196, 197, 231. Silver Baby, II. 233. _H.M.T._ Simla, II. 42. Simpson, Capt., II. 18. Simpson-Baikie, Genl., I. 286, 344, 376, 387. Sinclair, Capt., I. 372. Sitwell, Genl., II. 122. Skeen, Col., I. 288, 319; II. 120, 121. Smith, Col., I. 336. Smith, Genl., II. 87. Smith, Hesketh, II. 45. Smith, R.N., Lieut., I. 134. Sofia, II. 207. Soghan Dere, I. 290, 362. Solvili, II. 148. _Somali_, II. 248. _Southland_, I. 118. South Wales Borderers, I. 134, 318, 370; II. 230. 2nd Bn., I. 138. Spens, Genl., II. 261, 264, 265. Stanley, Capt., I. 322. Stephens, Capt., II. 32, 167. Steward, (Col. ?), II. 243. Stewart, Col., II. 188. Stewart, Lieut. Shaw-, I. 387. Stirling, Lt.-Col., II. 244. Stockdale, Lt.-Col., I. 186. Stoney, Maj., II. 230. Stopford, Genl., I. 306; II. 1, 5, 25, 26, 40, 53, 61 _et seq._, 72, 77, 82, 87, 99, 102, 104, 106, 108. Street, Col., I. 182. Stuart, Lt.-Col. Crauford-, I. 274. Stuart, Maj. Villiers-, I. 234. Sulajik, II. 67, 70, 128. Sultan of Egypt, I. 58, 60. _Sunbeam_, II. 105. Surrey Yeomanry, I. 370; II. 220. Susak Kuyu, II. 135, 217. Sussex Yeomanry, II. 247. Suvla Bay, I. 328; II. 84, 111. Sykes, Sir Mark, I. 335; II. 275. Syria, II. 191. Tactics, I. 363. Talaat, I. 12. _H.M.S._ Talbot, I. 344, 351. Taube, I. 102, 171, 194, 196, 302; II. 188, 196, 204, 218, 219, 241. Taylor, Genl., II. 214. Taylor, Col., II. 154, 201, 214, 243, 256. Tekke Tepe, II. 63, 68, 69, 70, 79, 81. Tenedos, I. 21, 227, 331, 384. _H.M.T._ Themistocles, II. 42. Thomson, Col. Courtauld, I. 260. Thursby, Admiral, I. 52, 118, 142, 179, 239. Tillard, Maj., II. 167. Titchfield, Lord, II. 241. Tollemashe, Capt., I. 371. Trench mortars, I. 43, 48, 288, 317, 326, 352; II. 140. _H.M.S._ Triad, I. 284, 316, 357; II. 58, 71, 155, 167, 168, 275, 276. Trotman, Genl., I. 303. _H.M.S._ Triumph, I. 112, 154, 247, 248. Trumble, Mr. T., II. 268. Tullibardine, Lord, II. 208. Tupper, R.N., Lieut., I. 346; II. 186. Turkish Regt.-- 13th, I. 356. 16th, I. 356. 33rd, I. 356. 127th, I. 373. Turk's Head, II. 254. Tyrrell, Col., II. 226, 227, 243. Tyrrell, Capt., II. 138. Unsworth, Mr., II. 234. Usborne, Neville, I. 384. Uzunkiupru, II. 194. Val, _see_ Braithwaite. Valley of Death, I. 256. Vandenberg, Genl., I. 185. Vanrennan, Lieut.-Col., II. 44. "V" Beach, I. 135, 360. Venezelos, M., I. 316. _H.M.S._ Vengeance, I. 248. Vineyard, II. 57, 243. Viont, Col., I. 324. Vitali, Capt., II. 178. Von Donop, Genl., I. 197, 305; II. 139. Vyvian, R.N., Capt., I. 118. Walden Point, II. 55. Wallace, Genl., I. 279, 353, 354, 382. _Waratah_, I. 371. War Correspondents, I. 320, 334, 338; II. 190, 269. Ward, Lt.-Col., I. 284, 343; II. 20, 178, 221. Wardian Camp, I. 84. Watson, Col. Jimmy, I. 344; II. 246. "W" Beach, I. 130, 177, 293. Weber Pasha, I. 387. Wedgwood, Comr., I. 106, 206, 228. Wells, Col., II. 186. Wemyss, Admiral, I. 21, 38, 41, 48, 118; II. 31, 168. West Kent Regt., 8th, II. 29. West Kent Yeomanry, II. 247. Westminster Dragoons, I. 58. Weston, Lieut., II. 234. West Yorks Regt., 9th, II. 29, 64, 67. Whitburn, Col., II. 247. White, Lt.-Col., I. 323. Wigram, Col. Clive, I. 208. Williams, Capt., II. 178, 230. Williams, Col., I. 17, 266; II. 240. Williams, Genl. Hanbury, I. 255. Williams, Genl., II. 236. Wilson, Bde.-Maj., II. 254. Wilson, Col. "Scatters," II. 203, 204, 248. Winter, Genl., I. 17, 118, 165, 353, 354. _H.M.S._ Wolverine, I. 254, 270, 344, 351, 356. Woodward, Genl., I. 17, 80, 118, 165; II. 24. Worcester Regt., I. 136, 318. Worcester Yeomanry, II. 209. Worsley, Comr., II. 79. Wyld, Lt.-Comr., I. 335. Wylie, Col. Doughty-, I. 53, 156; II. 240. "X" Beach, I. 135. Xeros, II. 192. Yarr, Col., II. 247. "Y" Beach, I. 129, 146, 163. Yeni Shahr, I. 151. Yeomanry, II. 121, 127, 128, 132, 211, 244, 247. Yilghin Burnu, II. 57, 65, 112. Yorks Regt., 6th Bn., II. 29. York and Lancs Regt., 6th Bn., II. 29. Younghusband, Genl., II. 147. Yukeri, I. 331; II. 192. Zimmerman's Farm, II. 25. Zion Mule Corps, I. 84. Zouaves, I. 212. * * * * * _Printed in Great Britain by_ UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED WOKING AND LONDON 
19317	----	GALLIPOLI DIARY BY GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON, G.C.B. AUTHOR OF "A STAFF-OFFICER'S SCRAP-BOOK," ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 1920 PRINTED BY UNWIN BROTHERS, LTD.--WOKING--ENGLAND PREFACE On the heels of the South African War came the sleuth-hounds pursuing the criminals, I mean the customary Royal Commissions. Ten thousand words of mine stand embedded in their Blue Books, cold and dead as so many mammoths in glaciers. But my long spun-out intercourse with the Royal Commissioners did have living issue--my Manchurian and Gallipoli notes. Only constant observation of civilian Judges and soldier witnesses could have shown me how fallible is the unaided military memory or have led me by three steps to a War Diary:-- (1) There is nothing certain about war except that one side won't win. (2) The winner is asked no questions--the loser has to answer for everything. (3) Soldiers think of nothing so little as failure and yet, to the extent of fixing intentions, orders, facts, dates firmly in their own minds, they ought to be prepared. Conclusion:--In war, keep your own counsel, preferably in a note-book. The first test of the new resolve was the Manchurian Campaign, 1904-5; and it was a hard test. Once that Manchurian Campaign was over I never put pen to paper--in the diary sense[1]--until I was under orders for Constantinople. Then I bought a note-book as well as a Colt's automatic (in fact, these were the only two items of special outfit I did buy), and here are the contents--not of the auto but of the book. Also, from the moment I took up the command, I kept cables, letters and copies (actions quite foreign to my natural disposition), having been taught in my youth by Lord Roberts that nothing written to a Commander-in-Chief, or his Military Secretary, can be private if it has a bearing on operations. A letter which may influence the Chief Command of an Army and, therefore, the life of a nation, may be "Secret" for reasons of State; it cannot possibly be "Private" for personal reasons.[2] At the time, I am sure my diary was a help to me in my work. The crossings to and from the Peninsula gave me many chances of reckoning up the day's business, sometimes in clear, sometimes in a queer cipher of my own. Ink stands with me for an emblem of futurity, and the act of writing seemed to set back the crisis of the moment into a calmer perspective. Later on, the diary helped me again, for although the Dardanelles Commission did not avail themselves of my formal offer to submit what I had written to their scrutiny, there the records were. Whenever an event, a date and a place were duly entered in their actual coincidence, no argument to the contrary could prevent them from falling into the picture: an advocate might just as well waste eloquence in disputing the right of a piece to its own place in a jig-saw puzzle. Where, on the other hand, incidents were not entered, anything might happen and did happen; _vide_, for instance, the curious misapprehension set forth in the footnotes to pages 59, 60, Vol. II. So much for the past. Whether these entries have not served their turn is now the question. They were written red-hot amidst tumult, but faintly now, and as in some far echo, sounds the battle-cry that once stopped the beating of thousands of human hearts as it was borne out upon the night wind to the ships. Those dread shapes we saw through our periscopes are dust: "the pestilence that walketh in darkness" and "the destruction that wasteth at noonday" are already images of speech: only the vastness of the stakes; the intensity of the effort and the grandeur of the sacrifice still stand out clearly when we, in dreams, behold the Dardanelles. Why not leave that shining impression as a martial cloak to cover the errors and vicissitudes of all the poor mortals who, in the words of Thucydides, "dared beyond their strength, hazarded against their judgment, and in extremities were of an excellent hope?" Why not? The tendency of every diary is towards self-justification and complaint; yet, to-day, personally, I have "no complaints." Would it not be wiser, then, as well as more dignified, to let the Dardanelles R.I.P.? The public will not be starved. A Dardanelles library exists--- nothing less--from which three luminous works by Masefield, Nevinson and Callwell stand out; works each written by a man who had the right to write; each as distinct from its fellow as one primary colour from another, each essentially true. On the top of these comes the Report of the Dardanelles Commission and the Life of Lord Kitchener, where his side of the story is so admirably set forth by his intimate friend, Sir George Arthur. The tale has been told and retold. Every morsel of the wreckage of our Armada seems to have been brought to the surface. There are fifty reasons against publishing, reasons which I know by heart. On the other side there are only three things to be said:-- (1) Though the bodies recovered from the tragedy have been stripped and laid out in the Morgue, no hand has yet dared remove the masks from their faces. (2) I cannot destroy this diary. Before his death Cranmer thrust his own hand into the flames: "his heart was found entire amidst the ashes." (3) I will not leave my diary to be flung at posterity from behind the cover of my coffin. In case anyone wishes to challenge anything I have said, I must be above ground to give him satisfaction. Therefore, I will publish and at once. A man has only one life on earth. The rest is silence. Whether God will approve of my actions at a moment when the destinies of hundreds of millions of human beings hung upon them, God alone knows. But before I go I want to have the verdict of my comrades of all ranks at the Dardanelles, and until they know the truth, as it appeared to me at the time, how can they give that verdict? IAN HAMILTON. LULLENDEN FARM, DORMANSLAND. _April_ 25, 1920. LETTER FROM GENERAL D'AMADE TO THE AUTHOR MON GÉNÉRAL, Dans la guerre Sud Africaine, ensuite en Angleterre, j'avais en spectateur vécu avec votre armée. Avec elle je souhaitais revivre en frère d'armes, combattant pour la même cause. Les Dardanelles ont réalisé mon rêve. Mais le lecteur ne doit pas s'attarder avec moi. Lire le récit de celui même qui a commandé: quel avantage! L'Histoire, comme un fleuve, se charge d'impuretés en s'éloignent de ses sources. En en remontant le cours, dans votre Journal, j'ai découvert les causes de certains effets demeuré, pour moi des énigmes. Au début je n'avais pas cru à la possibilité de forcer les Dardanelles sans l'intervention de l'armée. C'est pour cela que, si la décision m'eût appartenus et avant d'avoir été placé sous vos ordres, j'avais songé à débarquer à Adramit, dans les eaux calmes de Mithylène, à courir ensuite à Brousse et Constantinople, pour y saisir les clefs du détroit. En présence de l'opiniâtre confiance de l'amiral de Robecq j'abaissai mon pavillion de terrien et l'inclinai devant son autorité de marin Anglais. Nous fûmes conquis par cette confiance. Notre théâtre de guerre de Gallipoli était très borné sur le terrain. Ce front restreint a permis à chacun de vos soldats de vous connaître. Autant qu'avec leurs armes, ils combattaient avec votre ardeur de grand chef et votre inflexible volonté. Dans le passé ce théâtre qui était la Troade, venait se souder aux éternels récommencements de l'Histoire. Dans l'avenir son domaine était aussi vaste. "Si nos navires avaient pu franchir les détroits, a dit le Premier Ministre Loyd Georges le 18 décembre 1919 aux Communes, la guerre aurait été raccourcie de 2 ou 3 ans." Il y a pire qu'une guerre, c'est une guerre qui se prolonge. Car les dévastations s'accumulent. Le vaincu qui a eu l'habileté de les éviter à son pays, se donnera, sur les ruines, des manières de vainqueur. Le premier but de guerre n'est il pas d'infliger à l'adversaire plus de mal qu'il ne vous en fait? Si nous avions atteint Constantinople dans l'été 1915 c'était alors terminer la guerre, éviter la tourmente russe et tous les obstacles dressés par ce cataclysme devant le rétablissement de la paix du monde. C'était épargner à nos Patries des milliards de dépenses et des centaines de milliers de deuils. Que nous n'ayons pas atteint ce but ne saurait établir qu'il n'ait été juste et sage de le poursuivre. Voilà pour quelle cause sont tombés les soldats des Dardanelles. "Honneur à vous, soldats de France et soldats du Roi! ainsi que vous les adjuriez en les lançant à l'attaque. "Morts héroïques! il n'a rien manqué à votre gloire, pas même une apparence d'oubli. Des triomphes des autres vous n'avez recueilli que les rayons extrêmes: ceux qui ont franchi la cime des arcs de triomphe pour aller au loin, coups égarés de la grande gerbe, éclairer vos tombés. "Mais 'Ne jugez pas avant le temps.' Le crépuscule éteint, laissez encore passer la nuit. Vous aurez pour vous le soleil Levant." Vous, Mon Général, vous aurez été l'ouvrier de cette grande idée, et l'annonciateur de cette aurore. Gén. A. d'Amade. Fronsac, Gironde, France. 22 décembre, 1919. CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE v LETTER FROM GENERAL D'AMADE TO THE AUTHOR x CHAPTER I. THE START 1 II. THE STRAITS 21 III. EGYPT 54 IV. CLEARING FOR ACTION 86 V. THE LANDING 127 VI. MAKING GOOD 159 VII. SHELLS 196 VIII. TWO CORPS OR AN ALLY? 219 IX. SUBMARINES 243 X. A DECISION AND THE PLAN 283 XI. BOMBS AND JOURNALISTS 314 XII. A VICTORY AND AFTER 343 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS SIR ROGER KEYES, VICE-ADMIRAL DE ROBECK, SIR IAN HAMILTON, GENERAL BRAITHWAITE _Frontispiece_ LIEUT.-GEN. SIR J.G. MAXWELL, G.C.B., K.C.M.G 58 REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS AT ALEXANDRIA 78 S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 132 "W" BEACH 176 GENERAL D'AMADE 222 VIEW OF "V" BEACH, TAKEN FROM S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" 254 MEN BATHING AT HELLES 294 THE NARROWS FROM CHUNUK BAIR 330 GENERAL GOURAUD 346 MAPS KEY MAP _Inside front cover_ CAPE HELLES AND THE SOUTHERN AREA _At end of volume_ GALLIPOLI DIARY CHAPTER I THE START _In the train between Paris and Marseilles, 14th March, 1915._ Neither the Asquith banquet, nor the talk at the Admiralty that midnight had persuaded me I was going to do what I am actually doing at this moment. K. had made no sign nor waved his magic baton. So I just kept as cool as I could and had a sound sleep. Next morning, that is the 12th instant, I was working at the Horse Guards when, about 10 a.m., K. sent for me. I wondered! Opening the door I bade him good morning and walked up to his desk where he went on writing like a graven image. After a moment, he looked up and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "We are sending a military force to support the Fleet now at the Dardanelles, and you are to have Command." Something in voice or words touched a chord in my memory. We were once more standing, K. and I, in our workroom at Pretoria, having just finished reading the night's crop of sixty or seventy wires. K. was saying to me, "You had better go out to the Western Transvaal." I asked no question, packed up my kit, ordered my train, started that night. Not another syllable was said on the subject. Uninstructed and unaccredited I left that night for the front; my outfit one A.D.C., two horses, two mules and a buggy. Whether I inspected the columns and came back and reported to K. in my capacity as his Chief Staff Officer; or, whether, making use of my rank to assume command in the field, I beat up de la Rey in his den--all this rested entirely with me. So I made my choice and fought my fight at Roodewal, last strange battle in the West. That is K.'s way. The envoy goes forth; does his best with whatever forces he can muster and, if he loses;--well, unless he had liked the job he should not have taken it on. At that moment K. wished me to bow, leave the room and make a start as I did some thirteen years ago. But the conditions were no longer the same. In those old Pretoria days I had known the Transvaal by heart; the number, value and disposition of the British forces; the characters of the Boer leaders; the nature of the country. But my knowledge of the Dardanelles was nil; of the Turk nil; of the strength of our own forces next to nil. Although I have met K. almost every day during the past six months, and although he has twice hinted I might be sent to Salonika; never once, to the best of my recollection, had he mentioned the word Dardanelles. I had plenty of time for these reflections as K., after his one tremendous remark had resumed his writing at the desk. At last, he looked up and inquired, "Well?" "We have done this sort of thing before, Lord K." I said; "we have run this sort of show before and you know without saying I am most deeply grateful and you know without saying I will do my best and that you can trust my loyalty--but I must say something--I must ask you some questions." Then I began. K. frowned; shrugged his shoulders; I thought he was going to be impatient, but although he gave curt answers at first he slowly broadened out, until, at the end, no one else could get a word in edgeways.[3] My troops were to be Australians and New Zealanders under Birdwood (a friend); strength, say, about 30,000. (A year ago I inspected them in their own Antipodes and no finer material exists); the 29th Division, strength, say 19,000 under Hunter-Weston--a slashing man of action; an acute theorist; the Royal Naval Division, 11,000 strong (an excellent type of Officer and man, under a solid Commander--Paris); a French contingent, strength at present uncertain, say, about a Division, under my old war comrade the chivalrous d'Amade, now at Tunis. Say then grand total about 80,000--probably panning out at some 50,000 rifles in the firing line. Of these the 29th Division are extras--_division de luxe._ K. went on; he was now fairly under weigh and got up and walked about the room as he spoke. I knew, he said, his (K.'s) feelings as to the political and strategic value of the Near East where one clever tactical thrust delivered on the spot and at the spot might rally the wavering Balkans. Rifle for rifle, _at that moment_, we could nowhere make as good use of the 29th Division as by sending it to the Dardanelles, where each of its 13,000 rifles might attract a hundred more to our side of the war. Employed in France or Flanders the 29th would at best help to push back the German line a few miles; at the Dardanelles the stakes were enormous. He spoke, so it struck me, as if he was defending himself in argument: he asked if I agreed. I said, "Yes." "Well," he rejoined, "You may just as well realize at once that G.H.Q. in France do not agree. They think they have only to drive the Germans back fifty miles nearer to their base to win the war. Those are the same fellows who used to write me saying they wanted no New Army; that they would be amply content if only the old Old Army and the Territorials could be kept up to strength. Now they've been down to Aldershot and seen the New Army they are changing their tune, but I am by no means sure, _now_, that I'll give it to them. French and his Staff believe firmly that the British Imperial Armies can pitch their camp down in one corner of Europe and there fight a world war to a finish. The thing is absurd but French, plus France, are a strong combine and they are fighting tooth and nail for the 29th Division. It must clearly be understood then:--" (1) That the 29th Division are only to be a loan and are to be returned the moment they can be spared. (2) That all things ear-marked for the East are looked on by powerful interests both at home and in France as having been stolen from the West. Did I take this in? I said, "I take it from you." Did I myself, speaking as actual Commander of the Central Striking Force and executively responsible for the land defence of England, think the 29th Division could be spared at all? "Yes," I said, "and four more Territorial Divisions as well." K. used two or three very bad words and added, with his usual affability, that I would find myself walking about in civilian costume instead of going to Constantinople if he found me making any wild statements of that sort to the politicians. I laughed and reminded him of my testimony before the Committee of Imperial Defence about my Malta amphibious manoeuvres; about the Malta Submarines and the way they had destroyed the battleships conveying my landing forces. If there was any politician, I said, who cared a hang about my opinions he knew quite well already my views on an invasion of England; namely, that it would be like trying to hurt a monkey by throwing nuts at him. I didn't want to steal what French wanted, but now that the rifles had come and the troops had finished their musketry, there was no need to squabble over a Division. Why not let French have two of my Central Force Territorial Division at once,--they were jolly good and were wasting their time over here. That would sweeten French and he and Joffre would make no more trouble about the 29th. K. glared at me. I don't know what he was going to say when Callwell came into the room with some papers. We moved to the map in the window and Callwell took us through a plan of attack upon the Forts at the Dardanelles, worked out by the Greek General Staff. The Greeks had meant to employ (as far as I can remember) 150,000 men. Their landing was to have taken place on the North-west coast of the Southern part of the Peninsula, opposite Kilid Bahr. "But," said K., "half that number of men will do you handsomely; the Turks are busy elsewhere; I hope you will not have to land at all; if you _do_ have to land, why then the powerful Fleet at your back will be the prime factor in your choice of time and place." I asked K. if he would not move the Admiralty to work a submarine or two up the Straits at once so as to prevent reinforcements and supplies coming down by sea from Constantinople. By now the Turks must be on the alert and it was commonsense to suppose they would be sending some sort of help to their Forts. However things might pan out we could not be going wrong if we made the Marmora unhealthy for the Turkish ships. Lord K. thereupon made the remark that if we could get one submarine into the Marmora the defences of the Dardanelles would collapse. "Supposing," he said, "one submarine pops up opposite the town of Gallipoli and waves a Union Jack three times, the whole Turkish garrison on the Peninsula will take to their heels and make a bee line for Bulair." In reply to a question about Staff, Lord K., in the gruff voice he puts on when he wants no argument, told me I could not take my own Chief of Staff, Ellison, and that Braithwaite would go with me in his place. Ellison and I have worked hand in glove for several years; our qualities usefully complement one another; there was no earthly reason I could think of why Ellison should _not_ have come with me, but; I like Braithwaite; he had been on my General Staff for a time in the Southern Command; he is cheery, popular and competent. Wolfe Murray, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, was then called in, also Archie Murray, Inspector of Home Forces, and Braithwaite. This was the first (apparently) either of the Murrays had heard of the project!!! Both seemed to be quite taken aback, and I do not remember that either of them made a remark. Braithwaite was very nice and took a chance to whisper his hopes he would not give me too much cause to regret Ellison. He only said one thing to K. and that produced an explosion. He said it was vital that we should have a better air service than the Turks in case it came to fighting over a small area like the Gallipoli Peninsula: he begged, therefore, that whatever else we got, or did not get, we might be fitted out with a contingent of up-to-date aeroplanes, pilots and observers. K. turned on him with flashing spectacles and rent him with the words, _"Not one_!" _15th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Phaeton." Toulon Harbour._ Embarked at Marseilles last night at 6 p.m. and slept on board. Owing to some mistake no oil fuel had been taken aboard so we have had to come round here this morning to get it. Have just breakfasted with the Captain, Cameron by name, and have let the Staff go ashore to see the town. We do not sail till 2 p.m.: after special trains and everything a clean chuck-away of 20 hours. I left off in the S. of S.'s room at the War Office. After the bursting of the aeroplane bomb K. did most of the talking. I find it hard to remember all he said: here are the outstanding points:-- (1) We soldiers are to understand we are string Number 2. The sailors are sure they can force the Dardanelles on their own and the whole enterprise has been framed on that basis: we are to lie low and to bear in mind the Cabinet does not want to hear anything of the Army till it sails through the Straits. But if the Admiral fails, then we will have to go in. (2) If the Army has to be used, whether on the Bosphorus or at the Dardanelles, I am to bear in mind his order that no serious operation is to take place until the whole of my force is complete; ready; concentrated and on the spot. No piecemeal attack is to be made. (3) If we do start fighting, once we _have_ started we are to burn our boats. Once landed the Government are resolved to see the enterprise through. (4) Asia is out of bounds. K. laid special stress on this. Our sea command and the restricted area of Gallipoli would enable us to undertake a landing on the Peninsula with clearly limited liabilities. Once we began marching about continents, situations calling for heavy reinforcements would probably be created. Although I, Hamilton, seemed ready to run risks in the defence of London, he, K., was not, and as he had already explained, big demands would make his position difficult with France; difficult everywhere; and might end by putting him (K.) in the cart. Besika Bay and Alexandretta were, therefore, taboo--not to be touched! Even after we force the Narrows no troops are to be landed along the Asian coastline. Nor are we to garrison any part of the Gallipoli Peninsula excepting only the Bulair Lines which had best be permanently held, K. thinks, by the Naval Division. When we get into the Marmora I shall be faced by a series of big problems. What would I do? From what quarter could I attack Constantinople? How would I hold it when I had taken it? K. asked me the questions. With the mud of prosaic Whitehall drying upon my boots these remarks of K.'s sounded to me odd. But, knowing Constantinople, and--what was more to the point at the moment--knowing K.'s hatred of hesitation, I managed to pull myself together so far as to suggest that if the city was weakly held and if, as he had said, (I forgot to enter that) the bulk of the Thracian troops were dispersed throughout the Provinces, or else moving to re-occupy Adrianople, why then, possibly, by a _coup de main_, we might pounce upon the Chatalja Lines from the South before the Turks could climb back into them from the North. Lord K. made a grimace; he thought this too chancy. The best would be if we did not land a man until the Turks had come to terms. Once the Fleet got through the Dardanelles, Constantinople could not hold out. Modern Constantinople could not last a week if blockaded by sea and land. That was a sure thing; a thing whereon he could speak with full confidence. The Fleet could lie off out of sight and range of the Turks and with their guns would dominate the railways and, if necessary, burn the place to ashes. The bulk of the people were not Osmanli or even Mahomedan and there would be a revolution at the mere sight of the smoke from the funnels of our warships. But if, for some cause at present non-apparent, we were forced to put troops ashore against organized Turkish opposition, then he advocated a landing on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus to hold out a hand to the Russians, who would simultaneously land there from the Black Sea. He only made the suggestion, for the man on the spot must be the best judge. Several of the audience left us here, at Lord K.'s suggestion, to get on with their work. K. went on:-- The moment the holding of Constantinople comes along the French and the Russians will be very jealous and prickly. Luckily we British have an easy part to play as the more we efface ourselves at that stage, the better he, K., will be pleased. The Army in France have means of making their views work in high places and pressure is sure to be put on by them and by their friends for the return of the 29th and Naval Divisions the moment we bring Turkey to book. Therefore, it will be best in any case to "let the French and Russians garrison Constantinople and sing their hymns in S. Sophia," whilst my own troops hold the railway line and perhaps Adrianople. Thus they will be at a loose end and we shall be free to bring them back to the West; to land them at Odessa or to push them up the Danube, without weakening the Allied grip on the waterway linking the Mediterranean with the Black Sea. This was the essence of our talk: as it lasted about an hour and a half, I can only have put down about one tenth of it. At odd times I have been recipient of K.'s reveries but always, _always_, he has rejected with a sort of horror the idea of being War Minister or Commander-in-Chief. Now by an extreme exercise of its ironic spirit, Providence has made him both. In pre-war days, when we met in Egypt and at Malta, K. made no bones about what he wanted. He wanted to be Viceroy of India or Ambasssador at Constantinople. I remember very well one conversation we had when I asked him why he wanted to hang on to great place, and whether he had not done enough already. He said he could not bear to see India being mismanaged by nincompoops or our influence in Turkey being chucked out of the window with both hands: I answered him, I remember, by saying there were only two things worth doing as Viceroy and they would not take very long. One was to put a huge import duty on aniline dyes and so bring back the lovely vegetable dyes of old India, the saffrons, indigoes, madders, etc.; the other was to build a black marble Taj at Agra opposite the white and join the two by a silver bridge. I expected to get a rise, but actually he took the ideas quite seriously and I am sure made a mental note of them. Anyway, as Viceroy, K. would have flung the whole vast weight of India into the scale of this war; he would have poured Army after Army from East to West. Under K. India could have beaten Turkey single-handed; aye, and with one arm tied behind her back. With K. as Ambassador at Constantinople he would have prevented Turkey coming into the war. There is no doubt of it. Neither Enver Pasha nor Talaat would have dared to enrage K., and as for the idea of their deporting him, it is grotesque. They might have shot him in the back; they could never have faced him with a war declaration in their hands. As an impresser of Orientals he is a nonesuch. So we put him into the War Office in the ways of which he is something of an amateur, with a big prestige and a big power of drive. Yes, we remove the best experts from the War Office and pop in K. like a powerful engine from which we have removed all controls, regulators and safety valves. Yet see what wonders he has worked! Still, he remains, in the War Office sense, an amateur. The Staff left by French at the W.O. may not have been von Moltke's, but they were K.'s only Councillors. An old War Office hand would have used them. But in no case, even had they been the best, could K. have had truck or parley with any system of decentralization of work--of semi-independent specialists each running a show of his own. As late (so-called) Chief of Staff to Lord K. in South Africa, I could have told them that whatever work K. fancies at the moment he must swipe at it, that very moment, off his own bat. The one-man show carried on royally in South Africa and all the narrow squeaks we had have been completely swallowed up in the final success; but how will his no-system system work now? Perhaps he may pull it through; anyway he is starting with a beautifully cleaned slate. He has surpassed himself, in fact, for I confess even with past experience to guide me, I did not imagine our machinery could have been so thoroughly smashed in so short a time. Ten long years of General Staff; Lyttelton, Nicholson, French, Douglas; where are your well-thought-out schemes for an amphibious attack on Constantinople? Not a sign! Braithwaite set to work in the Intelligence Branch at once. But beyond the ordinary text books those pigeon holes were drawn blank. The Dardanelles and Bosphorus might be in the moon for all the military information I have got to go upon. One text book and one book of travellers' tales don't take long to master and I have not been so free from work or preoccupation since the war started. There is no use trying to make plans unless there is some sort of material, political, naval, military or geographical to work upon. Winston had been in a fever to get us off and had ordered a special train for that very afternoon. My new Staff were doubtful if they could get fixed up so quickly and K. settled the matter by saying there was no need to hustle. For myself, I was very keen to get away. The best plan to save slips between cup and lip is to swallow the liquor. But K. thought it wisest to wait, so I 'phoned over to Eddie to let Winston know we should not want his train that day. Next morning, the 13th, I handed over the Central Force Command to Rundle and then, at 10.30 went in with Braithwaite to say good-bye. K. was standing by his desk splashing about with his pen at three different drafts of instructions. One of them had been drafted by Fitz--I suppose under somebody's guidance; the other was by young Buckley; the third K. was working on himself. Braithwaite, Fitz and I were in the room; no one else except Callwell who popped in and out. The instructions went over most of the ground of yesterday's debate and were too vague. When I asked the crucial question:--the enemy's strength? K. thought I had better be prepared for 40,000. How many guns? No one knows. Who was in command? Djavad Pasha, it is believed. But, K. says, I may take it that the Kilid Bahr Plateau has been entrenched and is sufficiently held. South of Kilid Bahr to the point at Cape Helles, I may take it that the Peninsula is open to a landing on very easy terms. The cross fire from the Fleet lying part in the Aegean and part in the mouth of the Straits must sweep that flat and open stretch of country so as to render it untenable by the enemy. Lord K. demonstrated this cross fire upon the map. He toiled over the wording of his instructions. They were headed "Constantinople Expeditionary Force." I begged him to alter this to avert Fate's evil eye. He consented and both this corrected draft and the copy as finally approved are now in Braithwaite's despatch box more modestly headed "Mediterranean Expeditionary Force." None of the drafts help us with facts about the enemy; the politics; the country and our allies, the Russians. In sober fact these "instructions" leave me to my own devices in the East, almost as much as K.'s laconic order "git" left me to myself when I quitted Pretoria for the West thirteen years ago. So I said good-bye to old K. as casually as if we were to meet together at dinner. Actually my heart went out to my old Chief. He was giving me the best thing in his gift and I hated to leave him amongst people who were frightened of him. But there was no use saying a word. He did not even wish me luck and I did not expect him to, but he did say, rather unexpectedly, _after_ I had said good-bye and just as I was taking up my cap from the table, "If the Fleet gets through, Constantinople will fall of itself and you will have won, not a battle, but the war." At 5 o'clock that afternoon we bade adieu to London. Winston was disappointed we didn't dash away yesterday but we have not really let much grass grow under our feet. He and some friends came down to Charing Cross to see us off. I told Winston Lord K. would not think me loyal if I wrote to another Secretary of State. He understood and said that if I wanted him to be aware of some special request all I had to say was, "You will agree perhaps that the First Lord should see." Then the S. of S. for War would be bound to show him the letter:--which proves that with all his cleverness Winston has yet some points to learn about his K. of K.! My Staff still bear the bewildered look of men who have hurriedly been snatched from desks to do some extraordinary turn on some unheard of theatre. One or two of them put on uniform for the first time in their lives an hour ago. Leggings awry, spurs upside down, belts over shoulder straps! I haven't a notion of who they all are: nine-tenths of my few hours of warning has been taken up in winding up the affairs of the Central Force. At Dover embarked on H.M.S. _Foresight_,--a misnomer, for we ran into a fog and had to lie-to for a devil of a time. Heard far-off guns on French front,--which was cheering. At 10.30 p.m. we left Calais for Marseilles and during the next day the French authorities caused me to be met by Officers of their Railway Mobilization Section. Had my first breathing space wherein to talk over matters with Braithwaite, and he and I tried to piece together the various scraps of views we had picked up at the War Office into a pattern which should serve us for a doctrine. But we haven't got very much to go upon. A diagram he had drawn up with half the spaces unfilled showing the General Staff. Another diagram with its blank spaces only showed that our Q. branch was not in being. Three queried names, Woodward for A.G., Winter for Q.M.G. and Williams for Cipher Officer. The first two had been left behind, the third was with us. The following hurried jottings by Braithwaite:--"Only 1600 rounds for the 4.5 Howitzers!!! High Explosive essential. Who is to be C.R.E.? Engineer Stores? French are to remain at Tunis until the day comes that they are required. Egyptian troops also remain in Egypt till last moment. Everything we want by 30th (it is hoped). Await arrival of 29th Division before undertaking anything big. If Carden wants military help it is for Sir Ian's consideration whether to give or to withhold it." These rough notes; the text book on the Turkish Army, and two small guide books: not a very luminous outfit. Braithwaite tells me our force are not to take with them the usual 10 per cent. extra margin of reserves to fill casualties. Wish I had realised this earlier. He had not time to tell me he says. The General Staff thought we ought certainly to have these and he and Wolfe Murray went in and made a personal appeal to the A.G. But he was obdurate. This seems hard luck. Why should we not have our losses quickly replaced--supposing we do lose men? I doubt though, if I should have been able to do very much even if I had known. To press K. would have been difficult. Like insisting on an extra half-crown when you've just been given Fortunatus' purse. Still, fair play's a jewel, and surely if formations destined for the French front cross the Channel with 10 per cent. extra, over and above their establishment, troops bound for Constantinople ought to have a 25 per cent. margin over establishment? _17th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Phaeton." At sea._ Last night we raced past Corfu--my birthplace--at thirty knots an hour. My first baby breath was drawn from these thyme scented breezes. This crimson in the Eastern sky, these waves of liquid opal are natal, vital. Thirty miles an hour through Paradise! Since the 16th January, 1853, we have learnt to go the pace and as a result the world shrinks; the horizons close in upon us; the spacious days are gone! Thoughts of my Mother, who died when I was but three. Thoughts of her refusal as she lay dying--gasping in mortal pain--her refusal to touch an opiate, because the Minister, Norman Macleod, had told her she so might dim the clearness of her spiritual insight--of her thoughts ascending heavenwards. What pluck--what grit--what faith--what an example to a soldier. Exquisite, exquisite air; sea like an undulating carpet of blue velvet outspread for Aphrodite. Have been in the Aegean since dawn. At noon passed a cruiser taking back Admiral Carden invalided to Malta. One week ago the thunder of his guns shook the firm foundations of the world. Now a sheer hulk lies poor old Carden. _Vanitas vanitatum_. Have got into touch with my staff. They are all General Staff: no Administrative Staff. The Adjutant-General-to-be (I don't know him) and the Chief Medico (I don't know who he is to be) could not get ready in time to come off with us, and the Q.M.G., too, was undecided when I left. There are nine of the General Staff. I like the looks of them. Quite characteristic of K., though, that barring Braithwaite, not one of the associates he has told off to work hand in glove with me in this enterprise should ever have served with me before. Only two sorts of Commanders-in-Chief could possibly find time to scribble like this on their way to take up an enterprise in many ways unprecedented--a German and a Britisher. The first, because every possible contingency would have been worked out for him beforehand; the second, because he has nothing--literally nothing--in his portfolio except a blank cheque signed with those grand yet simple words--John Bull. The German General is the product of an organising nation. The British General is the product of an improvising nation. Each army would be better commanded by the other army's General. Sounds fantastic but is true.[4] CHAPTER II THE STRAITS Cast anchor at Tenedos at 3 p.m., 17th March, 1915, having entered the harbour at the very same instant as le général d'Amade. Hurried over at once to a meeting aboard that lovely sea monster, H.M.S. _Queen Elizabeth_. Present:-- Admiral de Robeck, Commodore Roger Keyes, Admiral Guépratte, cmdg. French Fleet, General d'Amade, General Braithwaite, Admiral Wemyss, Captain Pollen, Myself. De Robeck greeted me in the friendliest fashion. He is a fine looking man with great charm of manner. After a word or two to d'Amade and being introduced to Wemyss, Guépratte and Keyes, we sat down round a table and the Admiral began. His chief worry lies in the clever way the enemy are now handling their mobile artillery. He can silence the big fortress ordnance, but the howitzers and field guns fire from concealed positions and make the clearing of the minefields something of a V.C. sort of job for the smaller craft. Even when the Fleet gets through, these moveable guns will make it very nasty for store ships or transports which follow. The mine-sweepers are slow and bad with worn out engines. Some of the civilian masters and crews of the trawlers have to consider wives and kids as well as V.C.s. The problem of getting the Fleet through or of getting submarines through is a problem of clearing away the mines. With a more powerfully engined type of mine-sweeper and regular naval commanders and crews to man them, the business would be easy. But as things actually stand there is real cause for anxiety as to mines. The Peninsula itself is being fortified and many Turks work every night on trenches, redoubts and entanglements. Not one single living soul has been seen, since the engagement of our Marines at the end of February, although each morning brings forth fresh evidences of nocturnal activity, in patches of freshly turned up soil. All landing places are now commanded by lines of trenches and are ranged by field guns and howitzers, which, thus far, cannot be located as our naval seaplanes are too heavy to rise out of rifle range. There has been a muddle about these seaplanes. Nominally they possess very powerful Sunbeam engines; actually the d----d things can barely rise off the water. The naval guns do not seem able to knock the Turkish Infantry out of their deep trenches although they can silence their fire for awhile. This was proved at that last landing by Marines. The Turkish searchlights are both fixed and mobile. They are of the latest pattern and are run by skilled observers. He gave us, in fact, to understand that German thoroughness and forethought have gripped the old go-as-you-please Turk and are making him march to the _Parade-schritt_. The Admiral would prefer to force a passage on his own, and is sure he can do so. Setting Constantinople on one side for the moment, _if_ the Fleet gets through and the Army _then_ attacks at Bulair, we would have the Turkish Army on the Peninsula in a regular trap. Therefore, whether from the local or the larger point of view, he has no wish to call us in until he has had a real good try. He means straightway to put the whole proposition to a practical test. His views dovetail in to a hair's breadth with K.'s views. The Admiral's "real good try" leads up towards K.'s "after every effort has been exhausted." That's a bit of luck for our kick-off, anyway. What we soldiers have to do now is to hammer away at our band-o-bast[5] whilst the Navy pushes as hard, as fast and as far as its horsepower, manpower and gunpower will carry it. The Admiral asked to see my instructions and Braithwaite read them out. When he stopped, Roger Keyes, the Commodore, inquired, "Is that all?" And when Braithwaite confessed that it was, everyone looked a little blank. Asked what I meant to do, I said I proposed to get ready for a landing, as, whether the Fleet forces the passage and disembarked us on the Bosphorus; or, whether the Fleet did not force the passage and we had to "go for" the Peninsula, the _band-o-bast_ could be made to suit either case. The Admiral asked if I meant to land at Bulair? I replied my mind was open on that point: that I was a believer in seeing things for myself and that I would not come to any decision on the map if it were possible to come to it on the ground. He then said he would send me up to look at the place through my own glasses in the Phaeton to-morrow; that it would not be possible to land large forces on the neck of Bulair itself as there were no beaches, but that I should reconnoitre the coast at the head of the Gulf as landing would be easier with every few miles we drew away towards the North. I told him it would be useless to land at any distance from my objective, for the simple reason that I had no transport, mechanical or horse, wheeled or pack, to enable me to support myself further than five or six miles from the Fleet and it would take many weeks and many ships to get it together; however, I ended, I would to-morrow see for myself. The air of the Aegean hardly differs so much from the North Sea haze as does the moral atmosphere of Tenedos differ from that of the War Office. This is always the way. Until the plunge is taken, the man in the arm chair clamps rose coloured spectacles on to his nose and the man on the spot is anxious; _but_, once the men on the spot jump off they become as jolly as sandboys, whilst the man in the arm chair sits searching for a set-back with a blue lens telescope. Here, the Peninsula looks a tougher nut to crack than it did on Lord K.'s small and featureless map. I do not speak for myself for I have so far only examined the terrain through a field glass. I refer to the tone of the sailors, which strikes me as being graver and less irresponsible than the tone of the War Office. The Admiral believes that, at the time of the first bombardment, 5000 men could have marched from Cape Helles right up to the Bulair lines. (Before leaving the ship I learnt that some of the sailors do not agree). Now that phase has passed. Many more troops have come down, German Staff Officers have grappled with the situation, and have got their troops scientifically disposed and heavily entrenched. This skilful siting of the Turkish trenches has been admired by all competent British observers; the number of field guns on the Peninsula is now many times greater than it was. After this the discussion became informal. Referring again to my instructions, I laid stress on the point that I was a waiting man and that it was the Admiral's innings for so long as he could keep his wicket up. Braithwaite asked a question or two about the trenches and all of us deplored the lack of aeroplanes whereby we were blinded in our attack upon an enemy who espied every boat's crew moving over the water. The more I revolve these matters in my mind, the more easy does it seem to accept K.'s order not to be in too great a hurry to bring the Army to the front. I devoutly hope indeed (and I think the fiercest of our fellows agree) that the Navy will pull us out the chestnuts from the fire. At the close of the sitting I made these notes of what had happened and drafted a first cable to Lord K., giving him an epitome of the Admiral's opening statement about the enemy's clever use of field guns to hinder the clearing of the minefields; his good entrenchments and the nightly work thereon; our handicap in all these matters because the type of seaplanes sent us "are too heavy to rise out of effective rifle range"--(one has to put these things mildly). I add that the Admiral, "while not making light of dangers was evidently determined to exhaust every effort before calling upon the soldiers for their help on a large scale"; and I wind up by telling him Lemnos seems a bad base and that I am off to-morrow on an inspection of the coasts of the Peninsula. Having got these matters off my chest on to the chest of K., was then taken round the ship by the Flag Captain, G.P.W. Hope. By this time it was nearly 7 so I stayed and dined with the Admiral--a charming host. After dinner got back here. _18th March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Phaeton."_ Cleared Tenedos Harbour at 4 a.m. and reached Lemnos at 6 a.m. I never saw so many ships collected together in my life; no, not even at Hong Kong, Bombay or New York. Filled up with oil fuel and at 7 a.m. d'Amade and Major-General Paris, commanding the Royal Naval Division, came on board with one or two Staff Officers. After consulting these Officers as well as McLagan, the Australian Brigadier, cabled Lord K. to say Alexandria _must_ be our base as "the Naval Division transports have been loaded up as in peace time and they must be completely discharged and every ship reloaded," in war fashion. At Lemnos, where there are neither wharfs, piers, labour nor water, the thing could not be done. Therefore, "the closeness of Lemnos to the Dardanelles, as implying the rapid transport of troops, is illusory." The moment I got this done, namely, at 8.30 a.m., we worked our way out of the long narrow neck of Mudros Harbour and sailed for the Gulf of Saros. Spent the first half of the sixty mile run to the Dardanelles in scribbling. Wrote my first epistle to K., using for the first time the formal "Dear Lord Kitchener." My letters to him will have to be formal, and dull also, as he may hand them around. I begin, "I have just sent you off a cable giving my first impressions of the situation, and am now steaming in company with Generals d'Amade and Paris to inspect the North-western coast of the Gallipoli Peninsula." I tell him that the real place "looks a much tougher nut to crack than it did over the map,"--I say that his "impression that the ground between Cape Helles and Krithia was clear of the enemy," was mistaken. "Not a bit of it." I say, "The Admiral tells me that there is a large number of men tucked away in the folds of the ground there, not to speak of several field Batteries." Therefore, I conclude, "If it eventually becomes necessary to take the Gallipoli Peninsula by military force, we shall have to proceed bit by bit." This will vex him no doubt. He likes plans to move as fast as his own wishes and is apt to forget, or to pretend he has forgotten, that swiftness in war comes from slow preparations. It is fairer to tell K. this now, when the question has not yet arisen, than hereafter if it does then arise. Passing the mouth of the Dardanelles we got a wonderful view of the stage whereon the Great Showman has caused so many of his amusing puppets to strut their tiny hour. For the purpose it stands matchless. No other panorama can touch it. There, Hero trimmed her little lamp; yonder the amorous breath of Leander changed to soft sea form. Far away to the Eastwards, painted in dim and lovely hues, lies Mount Ida. Just so, on the far horizon line she lay fair and still, when Hector fell and smoke from burning Troy blackened the mid-day sun. Against this enchanted background to deeds done by immortals and mortals as they struggled for ten long years five thousand years ago,--stands forth formidably the Peninsula. Glowing with bright, springtime colours it sweeps upwards from the sea like the glacis of a giant's fortress. So we sailed on Northwards, giving a wide berth to the shore. When we got within a mile of the head of the Gulf of Saros, we turned, steering a South-westerly course, parallel to, and one to two miles distant from, the coastline. Then my first fears as to the outworks of the fortress were strengthened. The head of the Gulf is filled in with a horrible marsh. No landing there. Did we land far away to the Westward we must still march round the marsh, or else we must cross it on one single road whose long and easily destructible bridges we could see spanning the bog holes some three miles inland. Opposite the fortified lines we stood in to within easy field gun range, trusting that the Turks would not wish prematurely to disclose their artillery positions. So we managed a peep at close quarters, and were startled to see the ramifications and extent of the spider's web of deep, narrow trenches along the coast and on either front of the lines of Bulair. My Staff agree that they must have taken ten thousand men a month's hard work from dark to dawn. In advance of the trenches, Williams in the crow's nest reported that with his strong glasses he could pick out the glitter of wire over a wide expanse of ground. To the depth of a mile the whole Aegean slope of the neck of the Peninsula was scarred with spade work and it is clear to a tiro that to take these trenches would take from us a bigger toll of ammunition and life than we can afford: especially so seeing that we can only see one half of the theatre; the other half would have to be worked out of sight and support of our own ships and in view of the Turkish Fleet. Only one small dent in the rockbound coast offered a chance of landing but that was also heavily dug in. In a word, if Bulair had been the only way open to me and I had no alternative but to take it or wash my hands of the whole business, I should have to go right about turn and cable my master he had sent me on a fool's errand. Between Bulair and Suvla Bay the coastline was precipitous; high cliffs and no sort of creeks or beaches--impracticable. Suvla Bay itself seems a fine harbour but too far North were the aim to combine a landing there together with an attack on the Southern end of the Peninsula. Were we, on the other hand, to try to work the whole force ashore from Suvla Bay, the country is too big; it is the broadest part of the Peninsula; also, we should be too far from its waist and from the Narrows we wish to dominate. Merely to hold our line of Communications we should need a couple of Divisions. All the coast between Suvla Bay and for a little way South of Gaba Tepe seems feasible for landing. I mean we could get ashore on a calm day if there was no enemy. Gaba Tepe itself would be ideal, but, alas, the Turks are not blind; it is a mass of trenches and wire. Further, it must be well under fire of guns from Kilid Bahr plateau, and is entirely commanded by the high ridge to the North of it. To land there would be to enter a defile without first crowning the heights. Between Gaba Tepe and Cape Helles, the point of the Peninsula, the coastline consists of cliffs from 100 to 300 feet high. But there are, in many places, sandy strips at their base. Opinions differ but I believe myself the cliffs are not unclimbable. I thoroughly believe also in going for at least one spot that _seems_ impracticable. Sailing Southwards we are becoming more and more conscious of the tremendous bombardment going on in the Straits. Now and then, too, we can see a huge shell hit the top of Achi Baba and turn it into the semblance of a volcano. Everyone excited and trying to look calm. At 4 p.m., precisely, we rounded Cape Helles. I had promised de Robeck not to take his fastest cruiser, fragile as an egg, into the actual Straits, but the Captain and the Commander (Cameron and Rosomore), were frightfully keen to see the fight, and I thought it fair to allow one mile as being the _mouth_ of the Straits and not _the_ Straits. Before we had covered that mile we found ourselves on the outskirts of--dream of my life--a naval battle! Nor did the reality pan out short of my hopes. Here it was; we had only to keep on at thirty knots; in one minute we should be in the thick of it; and who would be brave enough to cry halt! The world had gone mad; common sense was only moonshine after all; the elephant and the whale of Bismarckian parable were at it tooth and nail! Shells of all sizes flew hissing through the skies. Before my very eyes, the graves of those old Gods whom Christ had risen from the dead to destroy were shaking to the shock of Messrs. Armstrong's patent thunder bolts! Ever since the far-away days of Afghanistan and Majuba Hill friends have been fond of asking me what soldiers feel when death draws close up beside them. Before he charged in at Edgehill, Astley (if my memory serves me) exclaimed, "O, God, I've been too busy fixing up this battle to think much about you, but, for Heaven's sake, don't you go and forget about me," or words to that effect. The Yankee's prayer for fair play just as he joined issue with the grizzly bear gives another glimpse of these secrets between man and his Maker. As for myself, there are two moments; one when I think I would not miss the show for millions; another when I think "what an ass I am to be here"; and between these two moments there _is_ a border land when the mind runs all about Life's workshop and tries to do one last bit of stock-taking. But the process can no more be fixed in the memory than the sequence of a dream when the dew is off the grass. All I remember is a sort of wonder:--why these incredible pains to seek out an amphibious battle ground whereon two sets of people who have no cause of quarrel can blow one another to atoms? Why are these Straits the cockpit of the world? What is it all about? What on earth has happened to sanity when the whale and elephant are locked in mortal combat making between them a picture which might be painted by one of H.M.'s Commissioners in Lunacy to decorate an asylum for homicides. Whizz--flop--bang--what an ass I am to be here. If we keep on another thirty seconds we are in for a visit to Davy Jones's Locker. Now above the _Queen Elizabeth_, making slowly backwards and forwards up in the neck of the Narrows, were other men-o'-war spitting tons of hot metal at the Turks. The Forts made no reply--or none that we could make out, either with our ears or with glasses. Perhaps there was an attempt; if so, it must have been very half-hearted. The enemy's fixed defences were silenced but the concealed mobile guns from the Peninsula and from Asia were far too busy and were having it all their own way. Close to us were steam trawlers and mine-sweepers steaming along with columns of spray spouting up close by them from falling field gun shells, with here and there a biggish fellow amongst them, probably a five or six inch field howitzer. One of them was in the act of catching a great mine as we drew up level with her. Some 250 yards from us was the _Inflexible_ slowly coming out of the Straits, her wireless cut away and a number of shrapnel holes through her tops and crow's nest. Suddenly, so quickly did we turn that, going at speed, the decks were at an angle of 45° and several of us (d'Amade for one) narrowly escaped slipping down the railless decks into the sea. The _Inflexible_ had signalled us she had struck a mine, and that we must stand by and see her home to Tenedos. We spun round like a top (escaping thereby a salvo of four from a field battery) and followed as close as we dared. My blood ran cold--for sheer deliberate awfulness this beat everything. We gazed spellbound: no one knew what moment the great ship might not dive into the depths. The pumps were going hard. We fixed our eyes on marks about the water line to see if the sea was gaining upon them or not. She was very much down by the bows, that was a sure thing. Crew and stokers were in a mass standing strictly at attention on the main deck. A whole bevy of destroyers crowded round the wounded warrior. In the sight of all those men standing still, silent, orderly in their ranks, facing the imminence of death, I got my answer to the hasty moralizings about war, drawn from me (really) by a regret that I would very soon be drowned. On the deck of that battleship staggering along at a stone's throw was a vindication of war in itself; of war, the state of being, quite apart from war motives or gains. Ten thousand years of peace would fail to produce a spectacle of so great virtue. Where, in peace, passengers have also shown high constancy, it is because war and martial discipline have lent them its standards. Once in a generation a mysterious wish for war passes through the people. Their instinct tells them that _there is no other way_ of progress and of escape from habits that no longer fit them. Whole generations of statesmen will fumble over reforms for a lifetime which are put into full-blooded execution within a week of a declaration of war. There is _no other way_. Only by intense sufferings can the nations grow, just as the snake once a year must with anguish slough off the once beautiful coat which has now become a strait jacket. How was it going to end? How touching the devotion of all these small satellites so anxiously forming escort? Onwards, at snail's pace, moved our cortege which might at any moment be transformed into a funeral affair, but slow as we went we yet went fast enough to give the go-by to the French battleship _Gaulois_, also creeping out towards Tenedos in a lamentable manner attended by another crowd of T.B.s and destroyers eager to stand to and save. The _Inflexible_ managed to crawl into Tenedos under her own steam but we stood by until we saw the _Gaulois_ ground on some rocks called Rabbit Island, when I decided to clear right out so as not to be in the way of the Navy at a time of so much stress. After we had gone ten miles or so, the _Phaeton_ intercepted a wireless from the _Queen Elizabeth_, ordering the _Ocean_ to take the _Irresistible_ in tow, from which it would appear that she (the _Irresistible_) has also met with some misfortune. Thank God we were in time! That is my dominant feeling. We have seen a spectacle which would be purchased cheap by five years of life and, more vital yet, I have caught a glimpse of the forces of the enemy and of their Forts. What with my hurried scamper down the Aegean coast of the Peninsula and the battle in the Straits, I begin to form some first-hand notion of my problem. More by good luck than good guidance I have got into personal touch with the outer fringes of the thing we are up against and that is so much to the good. But oh, that we had been here earlier! Winston in his hurry to push me out has shown a more soldierly grip than those who said there was no hurry. It is up to me now to revolve to-day's doings in my mind; to digest them and to turn myself into the eyes and ears of the War Office whose own so far have certainly not proved themselves very acute. How much better would I be able to make them see and hear had I been out a week or two; did I know the outside of the Peninsula by heart; had I made friends with the Fleet! And why should I not have been? Have added a P.S. to K.'s letter:-- "Between Tenedos and Lemnos. 6 p.m.--This has been a very bad day for us judging by what has come under my own personal observation. After going right up to Bulair and down again to the South-west point looking at the network of trenches the Turks have dug commanding all possible landing places, we turned into the Dardanelles themselves and went up about a mile. The scene was what I believe Naval writers describe as 'lively.'" (Then follows an account based on my Diary jottings). I end: "I have not had time to reflect over these matters, nor can I yet realise on my present slight information the extent of these losses. Certainly it looks at present as if the Fleet would not be able to carry on at this rate, and, if so, the soldiers will have to do the trick.": "Later. "The _Irresistible_, the _Ocean_ and the _Bouvet_ are gone! The _Bouvet_, they say, just slithered down like a saucer slithers down in a bath. The _Inflexible_ and the _Gaulois_ are badly mauled." _19th March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Franconia."_--Last night I left H.M.S. _Phaeton_ and went on board the _Franconia_. To-day, we have been busy fixing things up. The chance sailors, seen by the Staff, have been using highly coloured expletives about the mines. Sheer bad luck they swear; bad luck that would not happen once in a hundred tries. They had knocked out the Forts, they claim, and one, three-word order, "Full steam ahead," would have cut the Gordian Knot the diplomats have been fumbling at for over a hundred years by slicing their old Turkey in two. Then came the big delay owing to ships changing stations during which mines set loose from up above had time to float down the current, when, by the Devil's own fluke, they impinge upon our battleships, and blow de Robeck and his plans into the middle of next week--or later! These are ward-room yarns. De Robeck was working by stages and never meant, so far as we know, to run through to the Marmora yesterday. Cabled to Lord K. telling him of yesterday's reconnaissance by me and the battle by de Robeck. Have said I have no official report to go upon but from what I saw with my own eyes "I am being most reluctantly driven to the conclusion that the Straits are not likely to be forced by battleships as at one time seemed probable and that, if my troops are to take part, it will not take the subsidiary form anticipated. The Army's part will be more than mere landings of parties to destroy Forts, it must be a deliberate and progressive military operation carried out at full strength so as to open a passage for the Navy." To be able, if necessary, to act up to my own words I sent another message to the Admiral and told him, if he could spare the troops from the vicinity of the Straits, I would like to take them right off to Alexandria so as to shake them out there and reship them ready for anything. He has wirelessed back asking me, on political grounds, to delay removing the troops "until our attack is renewed in a few days' time." Bravo, the Admiral! Still; if there are to be even a few days' delay I must land somewhere as mules and horses are dying. And, practically, Alexandria is the only port possible. Wemyss has just sent me over the following letter. It confirms officially the loss of the three battleships:-- _Friday._ "My Dear General, "The enclosed is a copy of a Signal I have received from de Robeck. I sincerely hope that the word disastrous is too hard. It depends upon what results we have achieved I think. I gather from intercepted signals that the _Ocean_ also is sunk, but of this I am not quite certain. I am off in _Dublin_ immediately she comes in and expect I may be back to-night. This of course depends a good deal upon what de Robeck wants. Captain Boyle brings this and will be at your disposal. He is the Senior Naval Officer here in my absence. "Believe me, Sir, "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "R. Wemyss." Copy of Telegram enclosed:-- "_From_ V.A.E.M.S. "_To_ S.N.O. Mudros. "_Date, 18th March, 1915._ "Negative demonstration at Gaba Tepe, 19th. Will you come to Tenedos and see me to-morrow. We have had disastrous day owing either to floating mines or torpedoes from shore tubes fired at long range. H.M.S. _Irresistible_ and _Bouvet_ sunk. H.M.S. _Ocean_ still afloat, but probably lost. H.M.S. _Inflexible_ damaged by mine. _Gaulois_ badly damaged by gunfire. Other ships all right, and we had much the best of the Ports." _20th March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Franconia." Mudros Harbour._ Stormy weather, and even here, inside Mudros harbour, touch with the shore is cut off. After I was asleep last night, an answer came in from K., straight, strong and to the point. He says, "You know my view that the Dardanelles passage must be forced, and that if large military operations on the Gallipoli Peninsula by your troops are necessary to clear the way, those operations must be undertaken after careful consideration of the local defences and must be carried through." Very well: all hinges on the Admiral. _21st March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Franconia."_ A talk with Admiral Wemyss and General d'Amade. Wemyss is clear that the Navy must not admit a check and must get to work again as quickly as they can. Wemyss is Senior Naval Officer at the Dardanelles and is much liked by everyone. He has put his seniority in his pocket and is under his junior--fighting first, rank afterwards! A letter from de Robeck, dated "Q.E. the 19th," has only just come to hand:-- "Our men were splendid and thank heaven our loss of life was quite small, though the French lost over 100 men when _Bouvet_ struck a mine. "How our ships struck mines in an area that was reported clear and swept the previous night I do not know, unless they were floating mines started from the Narrows! "I was sad to lose ships and my heart aches when one thinks of it; one must do what one is told and take risks or otherwise we cannot win. We are all getting ready for another 'go' and not in the least beaten or downhearted. The big forts were silenced for a long time and everything was going well, until _Bouvet_ struck a mine. It is hard to say what amount of damage we did, I don't know, there were big explosions in the Forts!" Little Birdie, now grown up into a grand General, turned up at 3 p.m. I was enchanted to see him. We had hundreds and thousands of things to talk over. Although the confidence of the sailors seems quite unshaken by the events of the 18th, Birdie seems to have made up his mind that the Navy have shot their bolt for the time being and that we have no time to lose in getting ready for a landing. But then he did not see the battle and cannot, therefore, gauge the extent to which the Turkish Forts were beaten. _22nd March, 1915._ _H.M.S. "Franconia."_ At 10 a.m. we had another Conference on board the _Queen Elizabeth_. Present:-- Admiral de Robeck, Admiral Wemyss, General Birdwood, General Braithwaite, Captain Pollen, Myself. The moment we sat down de Robeck told us _he was now quite clear he could not get through without the help of all my troops_. Before ever we went aboard Braithwaite, Birdwood and I had agreed that, whatever we landsmen might think, we must leave the seamen to settle their own job, saying nothing for or against land operations or amphibious operations until the sailors themselves turned to us and said they had abandoned the idea of forcing the passage by naval operations alone. They have done so. The fat (that is us) is fairly in the fire. No doubt we had our views. Birdie and my own Staff disliked the idea of chancing mines with million pound ships. The hesitants who always make hay in foul weather had been extra active since the sinking of the three men-of-war. Suppose the Fleet _could_ get through with the loss of another battleship or two--how the devil would our troopships be able to follow? And the store ships? And the colliers? This had made me turn contrary. During the battle I had cabled that the chances of the Navy pushing through on their own were hardly fair fighting chances, but, since then, de Robeck, the man who should know, had said twice that he _did_ think there was a fair fighting chance. Had he stuck to that opinion at the conference, then I was ready, as a soldier, to make light of military croaks about troopships. Constantinople must surrender, revolt or scuttle within a very few hours of our battleships entering the Marmora. Memories of one or two obsolete six inchers at Ladysmith helped me to feel as Constantinople would feel when her rail and sea communications were cut and a rain of shell fell upon the penned-in populace from de Robeck's terrific batteries. Given a good wind that nest of iniquity would go up like Sodom and Gomorrah in a winding sheet of flame. But once the Admiral said his battleships could not fight through without help, there was no foothold left for the views of a landsman. So there was no discussion. At once we turned our faces to the land scheme. Very sketchy; how could it be otherwise? On the German system plans for a landing on Gallipoli would have been in my pocket, up-to-date and worked out to a ball cartridge and a pail of water. By the British system (?) I have been obliged to concoct my own plans in a brace of shakes almost under fire. Strategically and tactically our method may have its merits, for though it piles everything on to one man, the Commander, yet he is the chap who has got to see it through. But, in matters of supply, transport, organisation and administration our way is the way of Colney Hatch. Here am I still minus my Adjutant-General; my Quartermaster-General and my Medical Chief, charged with settling the basic question of whether the Army should push off from Lemnos or from Alexandria. Nothing in the world to guide me beyond my own experience and that of my Chief of the General Staff, whose sphere of work and experience lies quite outside these administrative matters. I can see that Lemnos is practically impossible; I fix on Alexandria in the light of Braithwaite's advice and my own hasty study of the map. Almost incredible really, we should have to decide so tremendous an administrative problem off the reel and without any Administrative Staff. But time presses, the responsibility cannot be shirked, and so I have cabled K. that Lemnos must be a wash-out and that I am sending my troops to get ship-shape at Alexandria although, thereby, I upset every previous arrangement. Then I have had to cable for Engineers, trench mortars, bombs, hand grenades, periscopes. Then again, seeing things are going less swimmingly than K. had thought they would, I have had to harden my heart against his horror of being asked for more men and have decided to cable for leave to bring over from Egypt a Brigade of Gurkhas to complete Birdwood's New Zealand Division. Last, and worst, I have had to risk the fury of the Q.M.G. to the Forces by telling the War Office that their transports are so loaded (water carts in one ship; water cart horses in another; guns in one ship; limbers in another; entrenching tools anyhow) that they must be emptied and reloaded before we can land under fire. These points were touched upon at the Conference. I told them too that my Intelligence folk fix the numbers of the enemy now at the Dardanelles as 40,000 on the Gallipoli Peninsula with a reserve of 30,000 behind Bulair: on the Asiatic side of the Straits there are at least a Division, but there _may_ be several Divisions. The Admiral's information tallies and, so Birdie says, does that of the Army in Egypt. The War Office notion that the guns of the Fleet can sweep the enemy off the tongue of the Peninsula from Achi Baba Southwards is moonshine. My trump card turns out to be the Joker; best of all cards only it don't happen to be included in this particular pack! As ideas for getting round this prickly problem were passing through my mind, two suggestions for dealing with it were put forward. The sailors say some lighters were being built, and probably by now are built, for the purpose of a landing in the North: they would carry five hundred men; had bullet-proof bulwarks and are to work under their own gas engines. If I can possibly get a petition for these through to Winston we would very likely be lent some and with their aid the landing under fire will be child's play to what it will be otherwise. But the cable must get to Winston: if it falls into the hands of Fisher it fails, as the sailors tell me he is obsessed by the other old plan and grudges us every rope's end or ha'porth of tar that finds its way out here. Rotten luck to have cut myself off from wiring to Winston: still I see no way out of it: with K. jealous as a tiger--what can I do? Also, although the sailors want me to pull this particular chestnut out of the fire, it is just as well they should know I am not going to speak to their Boss even under the most tempting circs.: but they won't cable themselves: frightened of Fisher: so I then and there drafted this to K. from myself:-- "Our first step of landing under fire will be the most critical as well as the most vital of the whole operations. If the Admiralty will improvise and send us out post haste 20 to 30 large lighters difficulty and duration of this phase will be cut down to at least one half. The lighters should each be capable of conveying 400 to 500 men or 30 to 40 horses. They should be protected by bullet-proof armour." Everyone agreed but Birdwood pointed out that, by sending this message, we implied in so many words, that we would not land until the lighters came out from England. He assumed that we had definitely turned down any plan of scrambling ashore forthwith, as best we could? I said, "Yes," and that the Navy were with me in that view, a statement confirmed by de Robeck and Wemyss who nodded their heads. Birdwood said he only wanted to be quite clear about it, and there the matter dropped. Actually I had thought a lot about that possibility. To a man of my temperament there was every temptation to have a go in and revenge the loss of the battleships forthwith. We might sup to-morrow night on Achi Baba. With luck we really might. Had I been here for ten days instead of five, and had I had any time to draft out any sort of scheme, I might have had a dart. But the operation of landing in face of an enemy is the most complicated and difficult in war. Under existing conditions the whole attempt would be partial, _décousu_, happy-go-lucky to the last degree. There are no small craft to speak of. There is no provision for carrying water. There is no information _at all_ about springs or wells ashore. There is no arrangement for getting off the wounded and my Principal Medical Officer and his Staff won't be here for a fortnight. My orders against piecemeal occupation are specific. But the 29th Division is our _pièce de résistance_ and it won't be here, we reckon--not complete--for another three weeks. All the same, I might chance it, for, by taking all these off chances we _might_ pull off the main chance of stealing a march upon the Turks. What puts me off is not the chances of war but the certainties of commonsense. If I did so handle my troops on the spot as to sup on Achi Baba to-morrow night, I still could not counter the inevitable reaction of numbers, time and space. The Turks would have at least a fortnight to concentrate their whole force against my half force; to defeat them and then to defy the other half. I must wait for the 29th Division. By the time they come I can get things straight for a smashing simultaneous blow and I am resolved that, so far as in me lies, the orders and preparations will then be so thoroughly worked out--so carefully rehearsed as to give every chance to my men.[6] If the 29th Division were here--or near at hand--I could balance shortage against the obvious evils of giving the Turks time to reinforce and to dig. Could I hope for the 29th Division within a week it might be worth my while to fly in the face of K. by grasping the Peninsula firmly by her toe: or,--had my staff and self been here ten days ago, we could have already got well forward with our plans and orders, as well as with the laying of our hands upon the thousand odds and ends demanded by the invasion of a barren, trackless extremity of an Empire--odds and ends never thought of by anyone until the spur of reality brought them galloping to the front. Then the moment the Fleet cried off, we might have had a dash in, right away, with what we have here. The onslaught could have been supported from Egypt and the 29th Division might have been treated as a reserve. But, taking things as they are:-- (1). No detail thought out, much less worked out or practised, as to form or manner of landing; (2). Absence of 29th Division; (3). Lack of gear (naval and military) for any landing on a large scale or maintenance thereafter; (4). Unsettled weather; my ground is not solid enough to support me were I to put it to K. that I had broken away from his explicit instructions. The Navy, i.e., de Robeck, Wemyss and Keyes, entirely agree. They see as well as we do that the military force ought to have been ready before the Navy began to attack. What we have to do now is to repair a first false step. The Admiral undertakes to keep pegging away at the Straits whilst we in Alexandria are putting on our war paint. He will see to it, he says, that they think more of battleships than of landings. He is greatly relieved to hear _I_ have practically made up my mind to go for the South of the Peninsula and to keep in closest touch with the Fleet. The Commodore also seems well pleased: he told us he hoped to get his Fleet Sweeps so reorganised as to do away with the danger from mines by the 3rd or 4th of April; then, he says, with us to do the spotting for the naval guns, the battleships can smother the Forts and will alarm the Turkish Infantry as to that tenderest part of an Army--its rear. So I may say that all are in full agreement,--a blessing. Have cabled home begging for more engineers, a lot of hand grenades, trench mortars, periscopes and tools. The barbed wire bothers me! Am specially keen about trench mortars; if it comes to close fighting on the Peninsula with its restricted area trench mortars may make up for our lack of artillery and especially of howitzers. Luckily, they can be turned out quickly. _23rd March, 1915. H.M.S. "Franconia."_ At 9 a.m. General d'Amade and his Staff came aboard. D'Amade had been kept yesterday by his own pressing business from attending the Conference. I have read him these notes and have shown him my cable of yesterday to Lord K. in which I say that "The French Commander is equally convinced that a move to Alexandria is a practical necessity, although a point of honour makes it impossible for him to suggest turning his back to the Turks to his own Government." But, I say, "he will be enchanted if they give him the order." D'Amade says I have not quite correctly represented his views. Not fantastic honour, he says, caused him to say we had better, for a while, hold on, but rather the sense of prestige. He thought the departure of the troops following so closely on the heels of the naval repulse would have a bad moral effect on the Balkans. But he agrees that, in practice, the move has now become imperative; the animals are dying; the men are overcrowded, whilst Mudros is impossible as a base. My cable, therefore, may stand. At 10 o'clock he, Birdie and myself landed to inspect a Battalion of Australians (9th Battalion of the 3rd Brigade). I made them carry out a little attack on a row of windmills, and really, they did not show much more imagination over the business than did Don Quixote in a similar encounter. But the men are superb specimens. Some of the troop transports left harbour for Egypt during the afternoon. Bad to see these transports sailing the wrong way. What a d----d pity! is what every soldier here feels--and says. But to look on the bright side, our fellows will be twice as well trained to boat work, and twice as well equipped by the time the 29th turn up, and by then the weather will be more settled. As d'Amade said too, it will be worth a great deal to us if the French troops get a chance of working a little over the ground together with their British comrades before they go shoulder to shoulder against the common enemy. All the same, if I had my men and guns handy, I'd rather get at the Turks quick than be sure of good weather and good _band-o-bast_ and be sure also of a well-prepared enemy. In the afternoon Braithwaite brought me a draft cable for Lord K. _re_ yesterday's Conference. I have approved. In it I say, "on the thoroughness with which I can make the preliminary arrangements, of which the proper allocation of troops, etc., to transports is not the least important, the success of my plans will largely depend." Therefore, I am going to Alexandria, as a convenient place for this work and, "the Turks will be kept busy meanwhile by the Admiral." _24th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Franconia."_ D'Amade and Staff came aboard at 10 a.m. He has got leave to move and will sail to Alexandria forthwith. Roger Keyes from the Flagship came shortly afterward. He is sick as a she-bear robbed of her cubs that his pets: battleships, T.B.s, destroyers, submarines, etc., should have to wait for the Army. Well, we are not to blame! Keyes has been shown my cables to K. and is pleased with them. He accepts the fact, I think, that the Army must tackle the mobile artillery of the Turks before the Navy can expect to silence the light guns protecting the mine fields and then clear out the mines with the present type of mine sweeper. But the Admiral's going to fix up the mine sweeper question while we are away. Once he has done that, Keyes believes the Fleet can knock out the Forts; wipe out the protective batteries and sweep up the mines quite comfortably. He said one illuminating and encouraging thing to Braithwaite; viz., that he had never felt so possessed of the power of the Navy to force a passage through the Narrows as in the small hours of the 19th when he got back to the Flagship after trying in vain to salve the _Ocean_ and the _Irresistible_. Keyes brought me a first class letter from the Admiral--very much to the point:-- "H.M.S. _Q.E._ _24th March, 15._ "My Dear General, "I hear the Authorities at 'Home' have been sending hastening telegrams to you. They most unfortunately did the same to us and probably if our work had been slower and more thorough it would have been better. If only they were on the _spot_, they would realise that to hurry would write failure. In my very humble opinion, good co-operation and organisation means everything for the future. A great triumph is much better than scraping through and poor results! We are entirely with you and can be relied on to give any assistance in our power. We will not be idle! "Believe me, "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "J.M. de Robeck." 11-15. Admiral Thursby (just arrived with the _Queen_ and _Implacable_) came to make his salaams. We served together at Malta and both broke sinews in our calves playing lawn tennis--a bond of union. Have cabled to Lord K. telling him I am just off to Alexandria. Have said that the ruling factor of my date of landing must be the arrival of the 29th Division "(see para. 2 of your formal instructions to me the foresight of which appeals to me with double force now we are at close quarters with the problem[7])." I have pointed out that Birdwood's Australians are very weak in artillery; that the Naval Division has none at all and that the guns of the 29th Division make that body even more indispensable than he had probably realised. I would very much like to add that these are no times for infantry divisions minus artillery seeing that they ought to have three times the pre-war complement of guns, but Braithwaite's good advice has prevailed. As promised at the Conference I express a hope that I may be allowed "to complete Birdwood's New Zealand Division with a Brigade of Gurkhas who would work admirably in the terrain" of the Peninsula. In view of what we have gathered from Keyes, I wind up by saying, "The Admiral, whose confidence in the Navy seems to have been raised even higher by recent events, and who is a thruster if ever there was one, is in agreement with this telegram." Actually Keyes will show him a copy; we will wait one hour before sending it off and, if we don't hear then, we may take it de Robeck will have endorsed the purport. Of course, if he does not agree the last sentence must come out, and he will have to put his own points to the Admiralty. _Later_.--Have sent Doughty Wylie to Athens to do "Intelligence": the cable was approved by Navy; duly despatched; and now--up anchor! CHAPTER III EGYPT _25th March, 1915. H.M.S. "Franconia." At Sea._ A fine smooth sea and a flowing tide. Have written to K. and Mr. Asquith. Number two has caused me _fikr_.[8] The P.M. lives in another plane from us soldiers. So it came quite easily to his lips to ask _me_ to write to him,--a high honour, likewise an order. But K. is my soldier chief. As C.-in-C. in India he refused point blank to write letters to autocratic John Morley behind the back of the Viceroy, and Morley never forgave him. K. told me this himself and he told me also that he resented the correspondence which was, he knew, being carried on, behind his (K.'s) back, between the army in France and his (K.'s) own political Boss: that sort of action was, he considered, calculated to undermine authority. I have had a long talk with Braithwaite _re_ this quandary. He strongly holds that my first duty is to K. and that it is for us a question of K. and no one but K. Were the S. of S. only a civilian (instead of being a Field Marshal) the case _might_ admit of argument; as things are, it does not. So have written the P.M. on these lines and shall send K. the carbons of all my letters to him. To K. himself I have written backing up my cable and begging for a Brigade of Gurkhas. Really, it is like going up to a tiger and asking for a small slice of venison: I remember only too well his warning not to make his position impossible by pressing for troops, etc., but Egypt is not England; the Westerners don't want the Gurkhas who are too short to fit into their trenches and, last but not least, our landing is not going to be the simple, row-as-you-please he once pictured. The situation in fact, is not in the least what he supposed it to be when I started; therefore, I am justified, I think, in making this appeal:--"I am very anxious, if possible, to get a Brigade of Gurkhas, so as to complete the New Zealand Divisional organisation with a type of man who will, I am certain, be most valuable on the Gallipoli Peninsula. The scrubby hillsides on the South-west face of the plateau are just the sort of terrain where those little fellows are at their brilliant best. There is already a small Indian commissariat attached to the Mountain Batteries, so there would be no trouble on the score of supply." "As you may imagine, I have no wish to ask for anything the giving of which would seriously weaken our hold on Egypt, but you will remember that four Mounted Brigades belonging to Birdwood's force are being left behind to look after the land of the Pharaohs, and a Mounted Brigade for a battalion seems a fair exchange. Egypt, in fact, so far as I can make out, seems stiff with troops, and each little Gurkha might be worth his full weight in gold at Gallipoli." Wrote Fitz in much the same sense:--"We are desperately keen to extract a Gurkha Brigade out of Egypt and you might lend a hand, not only to us, but to all your own Sikh and Dogra Regiments, by making K. see that the Indian Army was never given a dog's chance in the mudholes. They were benumbed: _it was not their show_. Here, in the warm sun; pitted against the hereditary _dushman_[9] who comes on shouting 'Allah!' they would gain much _izzat_.[10] _Now mind_, if you see any chance of an Indian contingent for Constantinople, do everyone a good turn by rubbing these ideas into K." Braithwaite has already picked up a number of useful hints from Roger Keyes. His old friendship with the Commodore should be a help. Keyes is a fine fellow; radiating resolve to do and vigour to carry through--hereditary qualities. His Mother, of whom he is an ugly likeness, was as high-spirited, fascinating, clever a creature as ever I saw. Camel riding, hawking, dancing, making good _band-o-bast_ for a picnic, she was always at the top of the hunt; the idol of the Punjab Frontier Force. His Father, Sir Charles, grim old Paladin of the Marshes, whose loss of several fingers from a sword cut earned him my special boyish veneration, was really the devil of a fellow. My first flutter out of the sheltered nest of safe England into the outer sphere of battle, murder and sudden death, took place under the auspices of that warrior so famouséd in fight when I was aged twenty. Riding together in the early morning from the mud fort of Dera Ismail Khan towards the Mountain of Sheikh Budin, we suddenly barged into a mob of wild Waziri tribesmen who jumped out of the ditch and held us up--hand on bridle. The old General spoke Pushtu fluently, and there was a parley, begun by him, ordinarily the most silent of mankind. Where were they going to? To buy camels at Dera Ghazi Khan. How far had they come? Three days' march; but they had no money. The General simulated amazement--"You have come all that distance to buy camels without money? Those are strange tales you tell me. I fear when you pass through Dera Ismail you will have to raise the wind by selling your nice pistols and knives: oh yes, I see them quite well; they are peeping at me from under your poshteens." The Waziris laughed and took their hands off our reins. Instantly, the General shouted to me, "Come on--gallop!" And in less than no time we were going hell for leather along the lonely frontier road towards our next relay of horses. "That was a narrow squeak," said the General, "but _you may take liberties with a Waziri if only you can make him laugh_." _26th March, 1915. H.M.8. "Franconia." At Sea._ Inspected troops on board. A keen, likely looking lot. All Naval Division; living monuments, these fellows, to Winston Churchill's contempt for convention. Reached Port Said about 3.30 p.m. Nipped into a "Special" which seems to have become my "ordinary" vehicle and left for Cairo. Opened despatches from London. "Bullet-proof lighters cannot be provided." "I quite agree that the 29th Division with its artillery is necessary." Not a word about the Gurkhas. Arrived at 10 p.m., and was met by Maxwell. _27th March, 1915 Cairo._ Working hard at Headquarters all day till 6.15 p.m., when I made my salaam to the Sultan at the Abdin Palace. A real Generals' dinner--what we used to call a _burra khana_--at Maxwell's hospitable board:-- General Birdwood, General Godley, General Bridges, General Douglas, General Braithwaite, Myself. _28th March, 1915. Cairo._ Inspected East Lancashire Division and a Yeomanry Brigade (Westminster Dragoons and Herts). How I envied Maxwell these beautiful troops. They will only be eating their heads off here, with summer coming up and the desert getting as dry as a bone. The Lancashire men especially are eye-openers. How on earth have they managed to pick up the swank and devil-may-care airs of crack regulars? They _are_ Regulars, only they are bigger, more effective specimens than Manchester mills or East Lancashire mines can spare us for the Regular Service in peace time. Anyway, no soldier need wish to see a finer lot. On them has descended the mantle of my old comrades[11] of Elandslaagte and Caesar's Camp, and worthily beyond doubt they will wear it. [Illustration: Lieut.-Gen. the Rt. Hon. Sir J. G. Maxwell, G.C.B., K.C.M.G.] The enthusiasm of the natives was a pleasing part of the show. During four years of Egyptian Inspections I recall no single instance of any manifestation of friendliness to our troops, or even of interest in them, by Gyppies. But the Territorials seem, somehow, to have conquered their goodwill. As each stalwart company swung past there was a spontaneous effervescence of waving hands along the crowded street and murmurs of applause from Bedouins, Blacks and Fellaheen. Maxwell will have a fit if I ask for them! He will fall down in a fit, I am sure. Already he is vexed at my having cabled and written Lord K. for _his_ (Maxwell's) Brigade of Gurkhas. To him I appear careless of his (Maxwell's) position and of the narrowness of his margin of safety. For the life of him K. can't help putting his Lieutenants into this particular cart. The same old story as the eight small columns in the Western Transvaal: co-equal and each thinking his own beat on the veldt the only critical spot in South Africa: and the funny thing is that Maxwell was then running the base at Vryberg and I was in command in the field! But _there_ my word was law; _here_ Maxwell is entirely independent of me, which is as much as to say, that the feet are not under control of the head; i.e., that the expedition must move like a drunken man. That is my fear: Maxwell will do what lies in him to help, but in action it is better to order than to ask. Grand lunch at the Abdin Palace with the Sultan. Most of the Cabinet present. The Sultan spoke French well and seems clever as well as most gracious and friendly. He assured me that the Turkish Forts at the Dardanelles were absolutely impregnable. The words "absolute" and "impregnable" don't impress me overmuch. They are only human opinions used to gloss over flaws in the human knowledge or will. Nothing is impregnable either--that's a sure thing. No reasons were given me by His Highness. Have just written home about these things: midnight. _29th March, 1915. 9.30 p.m. Palace Hotel, Alexandria._ Early start to the Mena Camp to see the Australians. A devil of a blinding storm gave a foretaste of dust to dust. That was when they were marching past, but afterwards I inspected the Infantry at close quarters, taking a good look at each man and speaking to hundreds. Many had been at my inspections in their own country a year ago, but most were new hands who had never worn uniform till they 'listed for the war. The troops then marched back to Camp in mass of quarter columns--or rather swept by like a huge yellow cloud at the heart of which sparkled thousands of bayonets. Next I reviewed the Artillery, Engineers and Cavalry; winding up with the overhaul of the supply and transport column. This took time, and I had to make the motor travel getting across twelve miles or so to inspect a mixed Division of Australians and New Zealanders at Heliopolis. Godley commanded. Great fun seeing him again. These fellows made a real good show; superb physique: numbers of old friends especially amongst the New Zealanders. Another scurry in the motor to catch the 4.15 for Alexandria. Tiring day if I had it in my mind to be tired, but this 30,000 crowd of Birdwood's would straighten up the back of a pacifist. There is a bravery in their air--a keenness upon their clean cut features--they are spoiling for a scrap! Where they have sprung from it is hard to say. Not in Brisbane, Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne or Perth--no, nor in Dunedin, Christchurch, Wellington or Auckland, did I meet specimens like unto these. The spirit of War has breathed its fires into their hearts; the drill sergeant has taken thought and has added one cubit to their stature. D'Amade has just been to make me known to a couple of Frenchmen about to join my Staff. They seem to be nice fellows. The French have been here some days and they are getting on well. Hunter-Weston landed this morning; his first batch of transports are in the harbour. I am to see the French troops in four days' time; Hunter-Weston's 29th Division on the fifth day. Neither Commander has yet worked out how long it will take before he has reloaded his transports. They declare it takes three times as long to repack a ship loaded at haphazard as it would have taken to have loaded her on a system in the first instance. Six days per ship is their notion of what they can do, but I trust to improve a bit on that. Hunter-Weston had written me a letter from Malta (just to hand) putting it down in black and white that we have not a reasonable prospect of success. He seemed keen and sanguine when we met and made no reference to this letter: so it comes in now as rather a startler. But it is best to have the black points thrust upon one's notice beforehand--so long always as I keep it fixed in the back of my mind that there was never yet a great thought or a great deed which was not cried down as unreasonable before the fact by a number of reasonable people! _30th March, 1915. Alexandria._ Have just dictated a long letter to Lord K. in the course of which I have forced myself to say something which may cause the great man annoyance. I feel it is up to me to risk that. One thing--he knows I am not one of those rotters who ask for more than they can possibly be given so that, if things go wrong, they may complain of their tools. I have promised K. to help him by keeping my demands down to bedrock necessities. I make no demand for ammunition on the France and Flanders scale but--we must have _some_! There must be a depot somewhere within hail. Here is the crucial para.:-- "I realise how hard up you must be for ammunition, but I hope the M.G.O. will have by now put in hand the building up of some reserves at our base in Alexandria. If our batteries or battalions now serving in France run short, something, at a pinch, can always be scraped together in England and issued to them within 24 hours. Here it would be a question of almost as many days, and, if it were to turn out that we have a long and severe struggle, with no reserves nearer us than Woolwich--well--it would not be pleasant! Moreover the number of howitzers, guns and rifles in France is so enormous that it is morally impossible they should all be hotly engaged at the same time. Thus they automatically form their own reserves. In other words, a force possessing only ten howitzers ought to have at least twice the reserves of a force possessing a hundred howitzers. So at least it seems to me." In the same letter I tell him about "Birdwood's crowd" and of their splendid physique; their growing sense of discipline, their exceeding great keenness, and wind up by saying that, given a fair chance, they will, for certain, "render a very good account of themselves." Confabs with d'Amade and Hunter-Weston. Hunter-Weston's "appreciation" of the situation at the Dardanelles is to be treated as an _ad interim_ paper; he wrote it, he says now, without the fuller knowledge he is daily acquiring--knowledge which is tending to make him more sanguine. His stay at Malta and his talks with Officers there had greatly impressed him with the hardness of the nut we have to try and crack; so much so that his paper suggests an indefinite putting off of the attempt to throw open the Straits. I asked him if he had laid his view before K. in London and he said, No; that he had not then come to it and that he had not definitely come to it now. D'Amade's own inclinations would have led him to Asia. When he left France he did not know he was to be under me and he had made up his mind to land at Adramiti. But now he waives all preconceived ideas and is keen to throw himself heart and soul into Lord K.'s ideas and mine. He would rather I did not even refer to his former views as he sees they are expressly barred by the tenor of my instructions. The French are working to time in getting ship-shape. The 29th Division are arriving up to date and about one-third of them have landed. We are fixing up our gear for floating and other piers and are trying to improvise ways and means of coping with the water problem--this ugly nightmare of a water problem. The question of the carriage and storage of water for thousands of men and horses over a roadless, mainly waterless track of country should have been tackled before we left England. To solve these conundrums we have had to recreate for ourselves a special field service system of food, water and ammunition supply. As an instance we have had to re-organise baggage sections of trains and fit up store ships as substitutes for additional ammunition columns and parks. We are getting on fairly fast with our work of telling off troops to transports so that each boat load of men landed will be, so to say, on its own; victualled, watered and munitioned. But it takes some doing. Greatly handicapped by absence of any Administrative, or Q. Staff. The General Staff are working double shifts, at a task for which they have never been trained:-- It's a way we have in the Aaarmy! It's a way we have in the NAAAAvy!! It's a way we have in the Eeeeeempire!!! That nobody can deny!!!! What would my friends on the Japanese General Staff say--or my quondam friends on the German General Staff--if they knew that a Commander-in-Chief had been for a fortnight in touch with his troops, engaged with them upon a huge administrative job, and that he had not one administrative Staff Officer to help him, but was willynilly using his General Staff for the work? They would say "mad Englishmen" and this time they would be right. The British public services are poisoned by two enormous fallacies: (_a_) if a man does well in one business, he will do equally well or better in another; (_b_) if a man does badly in one business he will do equally badly or worse in another. There is nothing beyond a vague, floating reputation or public opinion to enable a new Minister to know his subordinates. The Germans have tabulated the experiences and deficiencies of our leaders, active and potential, in peace and war--we have not! Every British General of any note is analysed, characterised and turned inside out in the bureau records of the great German General Staff in Berlin. We only attempt anything of that sort with burglars. My own portrait is in those archives and is very good if not very flattering; so a German who had read it has told me. This is organisation: this is business; but official circles in England are so remote in their methods from these particular notions of business that I must turn to a big newspaper shop to let anyone even begin to understand what it is to run Q. business with a G.S. team. Suppose Lord Northcliffe decided to embark upon a journalistic campaign in Canada and that his scheme turned upon time; that it was a question of Northcliffe catching time by the forelock or of time laying Northcliffe by the heels. Suppose, further, that he had no first-hand knowledge of Canada and had decided to place the conduct of the campaign in the hands of his brother who would spy out the land; choose the best site; buy a building; order the printing press; engage hands and start the paper. Well; what staff would he send with him? A couple of leader writers, a trio of special correspondents and half a dozen reporters? Probably; but would there not also be berths taken in the Cunarder for a manager trained in the business side of journalism? Quite a fair way of putting the present case, although, on the other side, it is also fair to add that British Officers have usually had to play so many parts in the charade of square pegs in round holes, that they can catch a hold anywhere, at any time, and carry on somehow. _31st March, 1915. Alexandria._--Quill driving and dictating. Have made several remonstrances lately at the way McMahon is permitting the Egyptian Press to betray our intentions, numbers, etc. It is almost incredible and Maxwell doesn't see his way clear to interfere. For the last day or two they have been telling the Turks openly where we are bound for. So I have written McMahon the following:-- "General Headquarters, "18 RUE EL CAIED GOHAR, "ALEXANDRIA, 31/3/15. "DEAR HIGH COMMISSIONER, "I was somewhat startled a couple of mornings ago by an article in the _Egyptian Gazette_ giving away the arrival of the French troops, and making open references to the Gallipoli Peninsula. The very frankness of such communications may of course mislead the Turk into thinking we mean thereby to take his mind off some other place which is our real objective, but I doubt it. He knows our usual methods too well. "Consequently as it is very important at least to throw him into some state of bewilderment as to our movements, I propose sending the following cable to Lord Kitchener:-- "'Whether of set purpose or through inadvertence articles have appeared in Egyptian Press openly discussing arrival of French and British troops and naming Gallipoli as their destination. Is there any political objection to my cautiously spreading rumour that our true objective is, say, Smyrna?' "Before I despatch the wire, however, I think I should like you to see it, in case you have any objections. I have all the facilities for spreading any rumour I like through my Intelligence Branch, which would be less suspected than information leaking out from political sources. "Could you kindly send me a wire on receipt of this? "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "IAN HAMILTON." "I only propose to ask Lord K. in case there may be political reasons why I should not select any particular place about which to spread a rumour of our landing." Forgot to note a step taken yesterday--to nowhere perhaps--perhaps to Constantinople. Yesterday the _Doris_ brought me a copy of a long cable sent by Winston to de Robeck six days ago, together with a copy of the V.A.'s reply. The First Lord is clearly in favour of the Fleet going on knocking the Forts to pieces whilst the Army are getting on with their preparations; clearly also he thinks that, under rough handling from Q.E. & Co., the Turkish resistance might at any moment collapse. Then we should sail through as per Lord K.'s programme. Well; nothing would suit me so well. If we are to have an opposed landing better kill two birds with one stone and land bang upon the Bosphorus. The nearer to the heart I can strike my first blow, the more telling it will be. Cable 140 puts the case very well. Winston hits the nail on the head, so it seems to me, when he points out that the Navy is not tied to the apron strings of the Army but that it is the other way about: i.e., if the Fleet makes another big push whilst we are getting ready, they can still fall back on the combined show with us if they fail; whereas, if they succeed they will save us all the loss of life and energy implied by an opposed landing at the Dardanelles. Certainly Braithwaite and I had understood that de Robeck would work to that end; that this is what he was driving at when he said he would not be idle but would keep the Turks busy whilst we were getting ready. Nothing will induce me to volunteer opinions on Naval affairs. But de Robeck's reply to Winston might be read as if I _had_ expressed an opinion, so I am bound to clear up that point--definitely. "_From_ GENERAL SIR IAN HAMILTON. "_To_ VICE-ADMIRAL SIR JOHN DE ROBECK. "Copy of number 140 from Admiralty received AAA I had already communicated outline of our plan to Lord Kitchener and am pushing on preparations as fast as possible AAA War Office still seems to cherish hope that you may break through without landing troops AAA Therefore, as regards yourself I think wisest procedure will be to push on systematically though not recklessly in attack on Forts AAA It is always possible that opposition may crumple up AAA If you should succeed be sure to leave light cruisers enough to see me through my military attack in the event of that being after all necessary AAA If you do not succeed then I think we quite understand one another AAA "IAN HAMILTON." _1st April, 1915. Alexandria._ The _Arcadian_ has arrived bringing my A.G. and Q.M.G. with the second echelon of the Staff. God be praised for this immense relief! The General Staff can now turn to their legitimate business--the enemy, instead of struggling night and day with A.G. and Q.M.G. affairs; allocating troops and transports; preparing for water supply; tackling questions of procedure and discipline. We are all sorry for the Q. Staff who, through no fault of their own, have been late for the fair, _their_ special fair, the preparation, and find the show is practically over. On paper at least, the Australians and New Zealanders and the 29th Division are properly fixed up. We should begin embarking these formations within the next three days. After that will come the Naval Division from Port Said and the French Division from here. _2nd April, 1915. Alexandria._ Hard at it all day in office. Am leaving to-night by special train for Port Said to hurry things along. A cable in from the Foreign Office telling me that the Russian part of my force consists of a complete Army Corps under General Istomine--evidently War and Foreign Offices still work in watertight compartments! Left Alexandria last night at 11 and came into Port Said at dawn. After breakfast mounted an Arab charger which seems to have emerged out of the desert to meet my wishes just as do special trains and banquets: as if I wore on my finger the magic ring of the Arabian fairy tale: so I do I suppose, in the command it has pleased K., Imperial Grand Vizier, to bestow upon this humble but lively speck of dust. Mounting we cantered through the heavy sand towards the parade ground near the docks. Here, like a wall, stood Winston's far-famed Naval Division drawn up in its battle array. General Paris received me backed by Olivant and Staff. After my inspection the Division marched past, and marched past very well indeed, much better than they did when I saw them some months ago in Kent, although the sand was against them, muffling the stamp of feet which binds a Company together and telling unevenly on different parts of the line. Admiral Pierce and his Flag Captain, Burmeister, honoured the occasion: they were on foot and so, not to elevate the stature of the Army above that of the Senior Service, I took the salute dismounted. Next had a look round camp. Found things so, so. Saw Arthur Asquith and Rupert Brooke of the Howe Battalion, both sick, neither bad. Asked Brooke to join my personal Staff, not as a fire insurance (seeing what happened to Ronnie Brooke at Elandslaagte and to Ava at Waggon Hill) but still as enabling me to keep an eye on the most distinguished of the Georgians. Young Brooke replied, as a _preux chevalier_ would naturally reply,--he realised the privileges he was foregoing, but he felt bound to do the landing shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades. He looked extraordinarily handsome, quite a knightly presence, stretched out there on the sand with the only world that counts at his feet. Lunched on the _Franconia_ and conversed with Lieutenant-Colonel Matthews and Major Mewes of the Plymouth Battalion; also with Major Palmer. To see with your eyes; to hear with your ears; to touch with your fingers enables you to bring the truth home to yourself. Five minutes of that personal touch tells a man more than five weeks of report reading. In five minutes I gained from these Officers five times more knowledge about Sedd-el-Bahr and Kum Kale than all their own bald despatches describing their own landings and cutting-out enterprises had given me. Paris' account had not helped me much either, the reason being that it was not first hand,--was only so many words that he had heard,--was not what he had _felt_. Now, I do really, at last and for the first time, realistically grasp the lie of the land and of the Turks. The prospect is not too rosy, but Wolfe, I daresay, saw blue as he gazed over the water at his problem, without map or General Staff plan to help him. There lay Quebec; within cannon shot; but that enemy was thrice his strength; entrenched in a fortress--there they lay confident--a landing was "impossible!" But all things are possible--to faith. He had faith in Pitt; faith in his own bright particular star; faith in the British Fleet standing resolute at his back:--he launched his attack; he got badly beaten at the landing; he pulled himself together; he met a thousand and one mishaps and delays, and when, at the long last, he fell, he had the plum in his pocket. The Turks lie close within a few yards of the water's edge on the Peninsula. Matthews smiled sarcastically at the War Office idea that no Turks can exist South of Achi Baba! At Sedd-el-Bahr, the first houses are empty, being open to the fire of the Fleet, but the best part of the other houses are defiladed by the ground and a month ago they were held. Glad I did not lose a minute after seeing the ground in asking Maxwell and Methuen to make me some trench mortars. Methuen says he can't help, but Maxwell's Ordnance people have already fixed up a sample or two--rough things, but better than nothing. We have too little shrapnel to be able to spare any for cutting entanglements. Trench mortars may help where the Fleet can't bring their guns to bear. The thought of all that barbed wire tucked away into the folds of the ground by the shore follows me about like my shadow. Left Port Said for Kantara and got there in half an hour. General Cox, an old Indian friend of the days when I was A.D.C. to Sir Fred., met me at the station. He commands the Indian troops in Egypt. We nipped into a launch on the Canal, and crossed over to inspect the Companies of the Nelson, Drake, Howe and Anson Battalions in their Fort, whilst Cox hurried off to fix up a parade of his own. The Indian Brigade were drawn up under Brigadier-General Mercer. After inspection, the troops marched past headed by the band of the 14th Sikhs. No one not a soldier can understand what it means to an old soldier who began fighting in the Afghan War under Roberts of Kandahar to be in touch once again with Sikhs and Gurkhas, those splendid knights-errant of India. After about eighteen years' silence, I thought my Hindustani would fail me, but the words seemed to drop down from Heaven on to my tongue. Am able now to understand the astonishment of St. Paul when he found himself jabbering nineteen to the dozen in lingo, Greek to him till then. But he at least was exempt from my worst terror which was that at any moment I might burst into German! After our little _durbar_, the men were dismissed to their lines and I walked back to the Fort. There I suddenly ordered the alarm to be sounded (I had not told anyone of my intention) so the swift yet smooth fall-in to danger posts was a feather in Cox's helmet. Back to main camp and there saw troops not manning the Fort. There were the:-- Queen Victoria's Own Sappers Captain Hogg, R.E., 69th Punjabis Colonel Harding, 89th Punjabis Colonel Campbell, 14th K.G.O. Sikhs Colonel Palin, 1st Bn. 6th Gurkhas Colonel Bruce, 29th Mountain Battery and the Bikaner Camel Corps Major Bruce. Had a second good talk to the Native Officers, shaking hands all round. Much struck with the turn-out of the 29th Mountain Battery which is to come along with the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps to the Dardanelles. From the platform of the Fort the lines of our defences and the way the Turks attacked them stood out very clearly to a pair of field glasses. Why, with so many mounted men some effort was not made to harry the enemy's retreat, Cox cannot tell me. There were no trenches and the desert had no limits. _Now_ (in the train on my way back to Alexandria) I must have one more try at K. about these Gurkhas! My official cable and letter asking for the Gurkha Brigade have fallen upon stony ground. No notice of any sort has been vouchsafed to my modest request. Has _any_ action been taken upon them? Possibly the matter has been referred to Maxwell for opinion? If so, he has said nothing about it, which does not promise well. Cox has heard nothing from Cairo; only no end of camp rumours. Most likely K. is vexed with me for asking for these troops at all, and thinks I am already forgetting his warning not to put him in the cart by asking for too many things. France must not be made jealous and Egypt ditto, I suppose. I cannot possibly repeat my official cable and my demi-official letter. The whole is _most_ disappointing. Here is Cox and here are his men, absolutely wasted and frightfully keen to come. There are the Dardanelles short-handed; there is the New Zealand Division short of a Brigade. If surplus and deficit had the same common denominator, say "K." or "G.S." they would wipe themselves out to the instant simplification of the problem. As it is, they are kept on separate sheets of paper; too many troops too few troops Maxwell Hamilton * * * * * Have just finished dictating a letter to K., giving him an account of my inspection of the Indian troops and of how "they made my mouth water, especially the 6th Gurkhas." I ask him if I could not anyway have _them_ "as a sort of escort to the Mountain Battery," and go on to say, "The desert is drying up, Cox tells me; such water as there is is becoming more and more brackish and undrinkable; and no other serious raid, in his opinion, will be possible this summer." I might have added that once we open the ball at the Dardanelles the old Turks must dance to our tune, and draw in their troops for the defence of Constantinople but it does not do to be too instructive to one's Grandmother. So there it is: I have done the best I can. _4th April, 1915. Alexandria._ Busy day in office. Things beginning to hum. A marvellous case of "two great minds." K. has proffered his advice upon the tactical problem, and how it should be dealt with, and, as I have just cabled in answer, "No need to send you my plan as you have got it in one, even down to details, only I have not shells enough to cut through barbed wire with my field guns or howitzers." I say also, "I should much like to have some hint as to my future supply of gun and rifle ammunition. The Naval Division has only 430 rounds per rifle and the 29th Division only 500 rounds which means running it fine." What might seem, to a civilian, a marvellous case of coincidence or telepathy were he ever to compare my completed plan with K.'s cabled suggestion is really one more instance of the identity of procedure born of a common doctrine between two soldiers who have worked a great deal together. Given the same facts the odds are in favour of these facts being seen eye to eye by each. Forgot to note that McMahon answered my letter of the 31st personally, on the telephone, saying he had no objection to my cabling K. or spreading any reports I liked through my Intelligence, but that he is not keeper of the _Egyptian Gazette_ and must not quarrel with it as Egypt is not at war! No wonder he prefers the telephone to the telegram I begged him to send me if he makes these sort of answers. Egypt is in the war area and, if it were not, McMahon can do anything he likes. The _Gazette_ continues to publish full details of our actions and my only hope is that the Turks will not be able to believe in folly so incredible. _5th April, 1915. Alexandria._ Motored after early breakfast to French Headquarters at the Victoria College. Here I was met by d'Amade and an escort of Cuirassiers, and, getting on to my Australian horse, trotted off to parade. Coming on to the ground, the French trumpeters blew a lively fanfare which was followed by a roll of drums. Never was so picturesque a parade, the verdict of one who can let his mind rove back through the military pageants of India, Russia, Japan, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, China, Canada, U.S.A., Australia, and New Zealand. Yes, Alexandria has seen some pretty shows in its time; Cleopatra had an eye to effect and so, too, had the great Napoleon. But I doubt whether the townsfolk have ever seen anything to equal the _coup d'oeil_ engineered by d'Amade. Under an Eastern sun the colours of the French uniforms, gaudy in themselves, ran riot, and the troops had surely been posted by one who was an artist in more than soldiering. Where the yellow sand was broken by a number of small conical knolls with here and there a group, and here and there a line, of waving palms, there, on the knolls, were clustered the Mountain Batteries and the Batteries of Mitrailleuses. The Horse, Foot and Guns were drawn up, Infantry in front, Cavalry in rear, and the Field Artillery--the famous 75s--at right angles. Infantry of the Line in grey; Zouaves in blue and red; Senegalese wore dark blue and the Foreign Legion blue-grey. The Cavalry rode Arabs and barbs mostly white stallions; they wore pale blue tunics and bright scarlet breeches. I rode down the lines of Infantry first and then galloped through the heavy sand to the right of the Cavalry and inspected them, by d'Amade's request, at a trot, winding up with the six Batteries of Artillery. On reaching the Saluting Base, I was introduced to the French Minister whilst d'Amade presented colours to two Regiments (175th Régiment de marche d'Afrique and the 4th Colonial Regiment) making a short and eloquent speech. He then took command of the parade and marched past me at the head of his forces. Were all the Houris of Paradise waving lily hands on the one side, and were these French soldiers on the other side, I would give my cold shoulder to the Houris. The Cavalry swung along at the trot to the cadence of the trumpets and to the clink-clank and glitter of steel. The beautiful, high-stepping barbs; the trembling of the earth beneath their hoofs; the banner streaming; the swordsmen of France sweeping past the saluting base; breaking into the gallop; sounding the charge; charging; _ventre à terre_; out into the desert where, in an instant, they were snatched from our sight and changed into a pillar of dust! High, high soared our hopes. Jerusalem--Constantinople? No limit to what these soldiers may achieve. The thought passed through the massed spectators and set enthusiasm coursing through their veins. Loudly they cheered; hats off; and hurrah for the Infantry! Hurrah, hurrah for the Cavalry!! Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for the 75s!!! At the end I said a few farewell words to the French Minister and then galloped off with d'Amade. The bystanders gave us, too, the warmest greetings, the bulk of them (French and Greek) calling out "d'Amade!" and the Britishers also shouting all sorts of things at the pitch of their voices. Almost lost my temper with Woodward, my new A.G., and this was the thusness thereof:-- Time presses: K. prods us from the rear: the Admiral from the front. To their eyes we seem to be dallying amidst the fleshpots of Egypt whereas, really, we are struggling like drowning mariners in a sea of chaos; chaos in the offices; chaos on the ships; chaos in the camps; chaos along the wharves; chaos half seas over rolling down the Seven Sisters Road. The powers of Maxwell as C.-in-C., Egypt; of the Sultan and McMahon, High Commissioner of Egypt, and of myself, C.-in-C., M.E.F., not to speak of the powers of our police civil and military, have all to be defined and wheeled into line. We cannot go rushing off into space leaving Pandemonium behind us as our Base! I know these things from a very long experience. Braithwaite believes in the principle as a student and ex-teacher of students. And yet that call to the front! We've _got_ to tackle the landing scheme on the spot and quick. Luckily the problems at Alexandria are _all_ non-tactical; pure A.G. and Q.M.G. Staff questions; whereas, at present, the problems awaiting me at the Dardanelles are mainly tactical; G.S. questions. So I am going to treat G.H.Q. as Solomon threatened to treat the baby; i.e., leave the Administrative Staff here until they knock their pidgin more or less into shape and send off the G.S. to pluck _their_ pidgin at the Straits. The Q. people have still to commandeer offices for Woodward's men, three quarters of whom stay here permanently to do the casualty work; they have to formulate a local code of discipline; take up buildings for base hospitals and arrange for their personnel and equipment; outline their schemes for getting sick and wounded back from the front; finish up the loading of the ships, etc., etc., etc., _ad infinitum_. Whilst the Q. Staff are thus pulling their full weight, the G. Staff will sail off quickly and put their heads together with the Admiral and his Staff. As to myself, I'm off: I cannot afford to lose more time in getting into touch with the sailors, and the scene of action. All was well until the Commander-in-Chief said he was going, but that moment arose the good old trouble--the trouble which muddled our start for the Relief of Chitral and ruined the Tirah Campaign. Everyone wants to rush off to the excitement of the firing line--(a spasm usually cured by the first hard fight), and to leave the hum-drum business of the Base and Line of Communication to shift for itself. Braithwaite, of all people, was good natured enough to plead for the Administration. He came to tell me that it might tend towards goodwill amongst the charmed circle of G.H.Q. if even now, at the eleventh hour, I would sweeten Woodward by bringing him along. I said, yes, if he, Braithwaite, would stand surety that he, Woodward, had fixed up his base hospitals and third echelon, but if not, no! Next came Woodward himself. With great pertinacity he represented that his subordinates could do all that had to be done at the base. He says he speaks for the Q.M.G., as well as for the Director General of Medical Services, and that they all want to accompany me on my reconnaissance of the coasts of the Peninsula. I was a little sharp with him. These heads of Departments think they must be sitting in the C.-in-C.'s pocket lest they lose caste. But I say the Departments must be where their work lies, or else the C.-in-C. will lose caste, and luckily he can still put his own Staff where he will. Finally, I agreed to take with me the Assistant to the Director of Medical Services to advise his own Chief as to the local bearings of his scheme for clearing out the sick and wounded; the others stay here until they get their several shows into working order, and with that my A.G. had fain to be content. D'Amade and two or three Frenchmen are dining with me to-night. Sir John Maxwell has just arrived. _6th April, 1915. Alexandria._ Started out at 9.15 with d'Amade and Sir John to review the Mounted troops of the 29th Division. We first saw them march down the road in column of route. What a contrast between these solid looking men on their magnificent weight-carrying horses and our wiry little Allies on their barbs and Arabs. The R.H.A. were superb. After seeing the troops I motored to Mex Camp and inspected the 86th and 87th Infantry Brigades. There was a strong wind blowing which tried to spoil the show, but could not--that Infantry was too superb! Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Napoleon; not one of them had the handling of legionaries like these. The Fusilier Brigade were the heavier. If we don't win, I won't be able to put it on the men. Maxwell left at 4 p.m. for Cairo. I have pressed him hard about Cox's Indian Brigade and told him of my conversation with Cox himself and of how keen all ranks of the Brigade are to come. No use. He expects, so he says, a big attack on the Canal any moment; he has heard nothing from K.; the fact that K. has ignored my direct appeal to him shows he would not approve, etc., etc., etc. All this is just the line I myself would probably take--I admit it--if asked by another General to part with my troops. The arrangement whereby I have to sponge on Maxwell for men if I want them is a detestable arrangement. At the last he consented to cable K. direct on the point himself and then he is to let me know. Two things are quite certain; the Brigade are not wanted in Egypt. Old campaigners versed in Egyptian war lore tell me that the drying up of the wells must put the lid on to any move across the desert until the winter rains, and, apart from this, how in the name of the beard of their own false prophet can the Turks attack Egypt whilst we are at the gates of Constantinople? But if the Brigade are not wanted on the Canal, we are bound to be the better for them at the Dardanelles, whatever course matters there may take. Concentration is the cue! The German or Japanese General Staffs would tumble to these truths and act upon them presto. K. sees them too, but nothing can overcome his passion for playing off one Commander against another, whereby K. of K. keeps all reins in his hands and remains sole arbiter between them. Birdwood has just turned up. We're off to-morrow evening. 'Phoned Maxwell last thing telling him to be sure not to forget to jog K.'s elbow about Cox and his Gurkhas. _7th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." 10 p.m._ D'Amade looked in to say good-bye. On my way down to the harbour I overhauled the Assyrian Jewish Refugee Mule Corps at the Wardian Camp. Their Commander, author of that thrilling shocker, "The Man-killers of Tsavo," finds Assyrians and mules rather a mouthful and is going to tabloid bipeds and quadrupeds into "The Zion Corps." The mules look very fit; so do the Assyrians and, although I did not notice that their cohorts were gleaming with purple or gold, they may help us to those habiliments: they may, in fact, serve as ground bait to entice the big Jew journalists and bankers towards our cause; the former will lend us the colour, the latter the coin. Anyway, so far as I can, I mean to give the chosen people a chance. Got aboard at 5.15, but owing to some hitch in the arrangements for filling up our tanks with fresh water, we are held up and won't get off until to-morrow morning. If there drops a gnat into the ointment of the General, be sure there are ten thousand flies stinking the ointment of the troops. _8th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian."_ Sailing free to the Northwards. A fine day and a smooth sea. What would not Richard Coeur de Lion or Napoleon have given for the _Arcadian_ to take them to St. Jean d'Acre and Jerusalem? As we were clearing harbour a letter was brought out to us by a launch: "UNION CLUB, "ALEXANDRIA. "The following telephone received from General Maxwell, Cairo:--Your message re Cox, I will do my best to meet your wishes. Will you in your turn assist me in getting the seaplanes arriving here in _Ganges_? I have wired to Admiral de Robeck, I want them badly, so please help me if you can. "_Forwarded by_ ADMIRAL ROBINSON." Cutlet for cutlet! I wish it had occurred to me sooner to do a deal with some aeroplanes. But, then I have none. No matter: I should have promised him de Robeck's! South Africa repeats itself! Egypt and Mudros are not one but two. Maxwell and I are co-equal allies; _not_ a combine under a Boss! CHAPTER IV CLEARING FOR ACTION _9th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian."_ Isles of the Aegean; one more lovely than the other; weather warm; wireless off; a great ship steaming fast towards a great adventure--why do I walk up and down the deck feeling a ton's weight of trouble weighing down upon my shoulders? Never till to-day has solicitude become painful. This is the fault of Birdwood, Hunter-Weston and Paris. I read their "appreciations of the situation" some days ago, but until to-day I have not had the unbroken hour needed to digest them. Birdwood begins by excusing himself in advance against any charge of vacillation. At our first meeting he said he was convinced our best plan would be to go for the South of the Gallipoli Peninsula. Now he has, in fact, very much shifted his ground under the influence of a new consideration, "(which I only learned after leaving Lemnos) that the Turks now have guns or howitzers on the Asiatic side which could actually command our transports should they anchor off Morto Bay." "As I told you," he says, "after thinking it out thoroughly, I was convinced our best plan would be to go for the South of the Gallipoli Peninsula," but now he continues, he finds his Staff "all seem to be keen on a landing somewhere between Saros Bay and Enos. For this I have no use, as though I think we should doubtless be able to effect a landing there pretty easily, yet I do not see that we shall be any 'forrarder' by doing so. We might put ourselves in front of the Bulair Lines, but there would be far less object in attacking them and working South-west with the Navy only partially able to help us, than by working up from the other end with the Navy on either flank." Birdwood himself rather inclines towards a landing on the Asiatic side, for preference somewhere South of Tenedos. The attractive part of his idea is that if we did this the Turks must withdraw most of their mobile artillery from the Peninsula to meet us, which would give the Navy just the opportunity they require for mine-sweeping and so forcing the Narrows forthwith. They know they can give the superstition of old Forts being stronger than new ships its quietus if only they can clear a passage through the minefield. There are forts and forts, ships and ships, no doubt. But from what we have done already the sailors know that our ships here can knock out those forts here. But first they must tackle the light guns which protect the minefield from the sweepers. Birdwood seems to think we might dominate the Peninsula from the country round Chunuk. In his P.S. he suggests that anyway, if we are beaten off in our attempt to land on the Peninsula we may have this Asiatic scheme in our mind as a second string. Disembarkation plans already made would "probably be suitable _anywhere_ with very slight modifications. We might perhaps even think of this--if we try the other first and can't pull it off?" In my answer, I say I am still for taking the shortest, most direct route to my objective, the Narrows. First, because "I have no roving commission to conquer Asia Minor." My instructions deny me the whole of that country when they lay down as a principle that "The occupation of the Asiatic side by military forces is to be strongly deprecated." Secondly, because I agree that a landing between Saros Bay and Enos would leave us no "forrarder." There we should be attacked in front from Rodosto; in flank from Adrianople; in rear from Bulair; whilst, as we advanced, we would lose touch with the Fleet. But if our scheme is to be based on severance from the Fleet we must delay another month or six weeks to collect pack transport. Thirdly, the Asiatic side _does not_ dominate the Peninsula whereas the Kilid Bahr plateau _does_ dominate the Asiatic narrows. Fourthly, the whole point of our being here is to work hand-in-glove with the Fleet. We are here to help get the Fleet through the Dardanelles in the first instance and to help the Russians to take Constantinople in the second. The War Office, the Admiralty, the Vice-Admiral and the French Commander-in-Chief all agree now that the Peninsula is the best place for our first step towards these objects. Hunter-Weston's appreciation, written on his way out at Malta, is a masterly piece of work. He understands clearly that our true objective is to let our warships through the Narrows to attack Constantinople. "The immediate object," he says, "of operations in the Dardanelles is to enable our warships, with the necessary colliers and other unarmoured supply ships--without which capital ships cannot maintain themselves--to pass through the Straits in order to attack Constantinople." And again:-- "It is evident that land operations at this stage must be directed entirely towards assisting the Fleet; and no operations should be commenced unless it is clear that their result will be to enable our warships, with their necessary colliers, etc., to have the use of the Straits." The Fleet, he holds, cannot do this without our help because of:-- (1). Improvement of the defences. (2). The mobile howitzers. (3). The Leon floating mines. Things being so, he sets himself to consider how far the Army can help, in the light of the following premises:-- "The Turkish Army having been warned by our early bombardments and by the landings carried out some time ago, has concentrated a large force in and near the Gallipoli Peninsula." "It has converted the Peninsula into an entrenched camp, has, under German direction, made several lines of entrenchments covering the landing places, with concealed machine gun emplacements and land mines on the beach; and has put in concealed positions guns and howitzers capable of covering the landing places and approaches with their fire." "The Turkish Army in the Peninsula is being supplied and reinforced from the Asiatic side and from the Sea of Marmora and is not dependent on the Isthmus of Bulair. The passage of the Isthmus of Bulair by troops and supplies at night cannot be denied by the guns of our Fleet." After estimates of our forces and of the difficulties they may expect to encounter, Hunter-Weston comes to the conclusion that, "the only landing places worth serious consideration are: "(1). Those near Cape Suvla, (2). Those near Cape Helles." Of these two he advises Helles, because:--"the Fleet can also surround this end of the Peninsula and bring a concentrated fire on any Turks holding it. We, therefore, should be able to make sure of securing the Achi Baba position." Also, because our force is too weak to hold the big country round Suvla Bay and at the same time operate against Kilid Bahr. If this landing at Helles is successful, he considers the probable further course of the operations. Broadly, he thinks that we are so short of ammunition and particularly of high explosive shell that there is every prospect of our getting tied up on an extended line across the Peninsula in front of the Kilid Bahr trenches. Should the enemy submarines arrive we should be "up a tree." The cards in the game of life are the characters of men. Staking on those cards I take my own opinions--always. But when we play the game of death, things are our counters--guns, rivers, shells, bread, roads, forests, ships--and in totting up the values of these my friend Hunter-Weston has very few equals in the Army. Therefore, his conclusion depresses me very much, but not so much as it would have done had I not seen him. For certainly during his conference on the 30th March with d'Amade and myself he never said or implied in any way that under conditions as he found them and as they were then set before him, there was no reasonable prospect of success:--quite the contrary. Here are the conclusions as written at Malta:-- "Conclusion. The information available goes to show that if this Expedition had been carefully and secretly prepared in England, France and Egypt, and the Naval and Military details of organisation, equipment and disembarkation carefully worked out by the General Staff and the Naval War Staff, and if no bombardment or other warning had been given till the troops, landing gear, etc., were all ready and despatched, (the troops from England ostensibly for service in Egypt and those in Egypt ostensibly for service in France) the capture of the Gallipoli Peninsula and the forcing of the Dardanelles would have been successful. "Von der Goltz is reported to have visited the Dardanelles on 11th February and before that date it appears that very little had been done. "Now big guns have been brought from Chatalja, Adrianople and elsewhere,--roads have been made,--heavy movable armaments provided,--troops and machine guns have been poured into the Peninsula,--several lines of trenches have been dug,--every landing place has been trenched and mined, and all that clever German Officers under Von der Goltz can design, and hard working diggers like the Turks can carry out, has been done to make the Peninsula impregnable. "The prizes of success in this Expedition are very great. "It was indeed the most hopeful method of finishing the war. "No loss would be too heavy and no risks too great if thereby success would be attained. "But if the views expressed in this paper be sound, there is not in present circumstances a reasonable chance of success. (The views are founded on the information available to the writer at the time of leaving Malta, and may be modified by further information at first hand on arrival at Force Head Quarters.) "The return of the Expedition when it has gone so far will cause discontent, much talk, and some laughter; will confirm Roumania and Greece in the wisdom of their neutrality, and will impair the power of our valuable friend M. Venezelos. It will be a heavy blow to all of us soldiers, and will need great strength and moral courage on the part of the Commander and Government. "But it will not do irreparable harm to our cause, whereas to attempt a landing and fail to secure a passage through the Dardanelles would be a disaster to the Empire. "The threat of invasion by the Allies is evidently having considerable effect on the Balkan States. "It is therefore advisable to continue our preparations;--to train our troops for landing, and to get our expedition properly equipped and organised for this difficult operation of war; so as to be ready to take advantage of any opportunity for successful action that may occur. "But I would repeat; no action should be taken unless it has been carefully thought out in all its possibilities and details and unless there is a reasonable _probability_ of success. "A. HUNTER-WESTON, M.G." Paris's appreciation gives no very clear lead. "The enemy is of strength unknown," he says, "but within striking distance there must be 250,000." He also lays stress on the point that the enemy are expecting us--"Surprise is now impossible--.... The difficulties are now increased a hundredfold.... To land would be difficult enough if surprise was possible but hazardous in the extreme under present conditions." He discusses Gaba Tepe as a landing place; also Smyrna, and Bulair. On the whole, he favours Sedd-el-Bahr as it "is the only place where transports could come in close and where the actual landing may be unopposed. It is open to question whether a landing could be effected elsewhere. With the aid of the Fleet it may be possible to land near Cape Helles almost unopposed and an advance of ten miles would enormously facilitate the landing of the remainder South of Gaba Tepe." The truth is, every one of these fellows agrees in his heart with old Von der Goltz, the Berlin experts, and the Sultan of Egypt that the landing is impossible. Well, we shall see, D.V., we shall see!! One thing is certain: we must work up our preparations to the _n_th degree of perfection: the impossible can only be overborne by the unprecedented; i.e., by an original method or idea. _10th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Cast anchor at 7 a.m. After breakfast went on board the _Queen Elizabeth_ where Braithwaite and I worked for three hours with Admiral de Robeck, Admiral Wemyss and Commodore Roger Keyes. Last time the Admiral made the running; to-day it was my turn for I had to unfold my scheme and go through it point by point with the sailors. But first I felt it my duty to read out the appreciations of Hunter-Weston, Birdwood and Paris. Then I gave them my own view that history had never offered any nation so clean cut a chance of bringing off an immeasurably big coup as she had done by putting our Fleet and Army precisely where it was at present on the map of the war world. Half that unique chance had already been muddled away by the lack of secrecy and swiftness in our methods. With check mate within our grasp we had given two moves to the enemy. Still, perhaps; nay, probably, there was time. Were we to prolong hesitation, or, were we, now that we had done the best we could with the means under our hands, to go boldly forward? Here was the great issue: there was no use discussing detail until the principle was settled. By God's mercy the Vice-Admiral, Wemyss and Keyes were all quite clear and quite determined. They rejected Bulair; they rejected Asia; most of all they spurned the thought of further delay or of hanging about hoping for something to turn up. So I then told them my plan. The more, I said, I had pondered over the map and reflected upon the character, probable numbers and supposed positions of the enemy, the more convinced I had become that the first and foremost step towards a victorious landing was to upset the equilibrium of Liman von Sanders, the enemy Commander who has succeeded Djavad in the Command of the Fifth Army. I must try to move so that he should be unable to concentrate either his mind or his men against us. Here I was handicapped by having no knowledge of my opponent whereas the German General Staff is certain to have transferred the "life-like picture" Schröder told me they had of me to Constantinople. Still, sea power and the mobility it confers is a great help, and we ought to be able to rattle the enemy however imperturbable may be his nature and whatever he knows about us if we throw every man we can carry in our small craft in one simultaneous rush against selected points, whilst using all the balance in feints against other likely places. Prudence here is entirely out of place. There will be and can be no reconnaissance, no half measures, no tentatives. Several cautious proposals have been set before me but this is neither the time nor the place for paddling about the shore putting one foot on to the beaches with the idea of drawing it back again if it happens to alight upon a land mine. No; we've got to take a good run at the Peninsula and jump plump on--both feet together. At a given moment we must plunge and stake everything on the one hazard. I would like to land my whole force in one,--like a hammer stroke--with the fullest violence of its mass effect--as close as I can to my objective, the Kilid Bahr plateau. But, apart from lack of small craft, the thing cannot be done; the beach space is so cramped that the men and their stores could not be put ashore. I have to separate my forces and the effect of momentum, which cannot be produced by cohesion, must be reproduced by the simultaneous nature of the movement. From the South, Achi Baba mountain is our first point of attack, and the direct move against it will start from the beaches at Cape Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr. As it is believed that the Turks are there in some force to oppose us, envelopment will be attempted by landing detachments in Morto Bay and opposite Krithia village. At the same time, also, the A. and N.Z. Corps will land between Gaba Tepe and Fisherman's Hut to try and seize the high backbone of the Peninsula and cut the line of retreat of the enemy on the Kilid Bahr plateau. In any case, the move is bound to interfere with the movements of Turkish reinforcements towards the toe of the Peninsula. While these real attacks are taking place upon the foot and at the waist of the Peninsula, the knife will be flourished at its neck. Transports containing troops which cannot be landed during the first two days must sail up to Bulair; make as much splash as they can with their small boats and try to provide matter for alarm wires to Constantinople and the enemy's Chief. So much for Europe. Asia is forbidden but I hold myself free, as a measure of battle tactics, to take half a step Troywards. The French are to land a Brigade at Kum Kale (perhaps a Regiment may do) so as, first, to draw the fire of any enemy big guns which can range Morto Bay; secondly, to prevent Turkish troops being shipped across the Narrows. With luck, then, within the space of an hour, the enemy Chief will be beset by a series of S.O.S. signals. Over an area of 100 miles, from five or six places; from Krithia and Morto Bay; from Gaba Tepe; from Bulair and from Kum Kale in Asia, as well as, if the French can manage it, from Besika Bay, the cables will pour in. I reckon Liman von Sanders will not dare concentrate and that he will fight with his local troops only for the first forty-eight hours. But what is the number of these local troops? Alas, there is the doubtful point. We think forty thousand rifles and a hundred guns, but, if my scheme comes off, not a tenth of them should be South of Achi Baba for the first two days. Hints have been thrown out that we are asking the French cat to pull the hottest chestnut out of the fire. Not at all. At Kum Kale, with their own ships at their back, and the deep Mendere River to their front, d'Amade's men should easily be able to hold their own for a day or two,--all that we ask of them. The backbone of my enterprise is the 29th Division. At dawn I intend to land the covering force of that Division at Sedd-el-Bahr, Cape Helles and, D.V., in Morto Bay. I tack my D.V. on to Morto Bay because the transports will there be under fire from Asia unless the French succeed in silencing the guns about Troy or in diverting their aim. Whether then our transports can stick it or not is uncertain, like everything else in war, only more so. They must if they can and if they can they must; that is all that can be said at present. As to the effort to be made to envelop the enemy's right flank along the coast between Helles and Krithia, I have not yet quite fixed on the exact spot, but I am personally bent upon having it done as even a small force so landed should threaten the line of retreat and tend to shake the confidence of any Turks resisting us at the Southernmost point. Some think these cliffs along that North-west coast unclimbable, but I am sure our fellows will manage to scramble up, and I think their losses should be less in doing so than in making the more easy seeming lodgment at Sedd-el-Bahr or Helles. The more broken and precipitous the glacis, the more the ground leading up to the objective is dead. The guns of the Fleet can clear the crest of the cliffs and the strip of sand at their foot should then be as healthy as Brighton. If the Turks down at Helles are nervous, even a handful landing behind their first line (stretching from the old Castle Northwards to the coast) should make them begin to look over their shoulders. As to the A. and N.Z. landing, that will be of the nature of a strong feint, which may, and we hope will, develop into the real thing. My General Staff have marked out on the maps a good circular holding position, starting from Fisherman's Hut in the North round along the Upper Spurs of the high ridges and following them down to where they reach the sea, a little way above Gaba Tepe. If only Birdwood can seize this line and fix himself there for a bit, he should in due course be able to push on forward to Kojah Dere whence he will be able to choke the Turks on the Southern part of the Peninsula with a closer grip and a more deadly than we could ever hope to exercise from far away Bulair. We are bound to suffer serious loss from concealed guns, both on the sea and also during the first part of our landing before we can win ground for our guns. That is part of the hardness of the nut. The landings at Gaba Tepe and to the South will between them take up all our small craft and launches. So I am unable to throw the Naval Division into action at the first go off. They will man the transports that sail to make a show at Bulair. This is the substance of my opening remarks at the meeting: discussion followed, and, at the end, the Navy signified full approval. Neither de Robeck, Wemyss nor Roger Keyes are men to buy pigs in pokes; they wanted to know all about it and to be quite sure they could play their part in the programme. Their agreement is all the more precious. They (the Admirals and the Commodore) are also, I fancy, happier in their minds now that they know for sure what we soldiers are after. Rumours had been busy in the Fleet that we were shaping our course for Bulair. Had that been the basis of my plan, we should have come to loggerheads, I think. As it is, the sailors seem eager to meet us in every possible way. So now we've got to get our orders out. On maps and charts the scheme may look neat and simple. On land and water, the trouble will begin and only by the closest thought and prevision will we find ourselves in a position to cope with it. To throw so many men ashore in so short a time in the teeth of so rapid a current on to a few cramped beaches; to take the chances of finding drinking water and of a smooth sea; these elemental hazards alone would suffice to give a man grey hairs were we practising a manoeuvre exercise on the peaceful Essex coast. So much thought; so much _band-o-bast_; so much dove-tailing and welding together of naval and military methods, signals, technical words, etc., and the worst punishment should any link in the composite chain give way. And then--taking success for granted--on the top of all this--comes the Turk; "unspeakable" he used to be, "unknowable" now. But we shall give him a startler too. If only our plans come off the Turk won't have time to turn; much less to bring into play all the clever moves foreseen for him by some whose stomachs for the fight have been satisfied by their appreciation of its dangers. Units of the 29th Division have been coming along in their transports all day. The bay is alive with ships. _11th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian."_ One of those exquisite days when the sunlight penetrates to the heart. Admiral Guépratte, commanding the French Fleet, called at 9.45 and in due course I returned his visit, when I was electrified to find at his cabin door no common sentry but a Beefeater armed with a large battleaxe, dating from about the period of Charlemagne. The Admiral lives quite in the old style and is a delightful personage; very gay and very eager for a chance to measure himself against the enemy. Guépratte, though he knows nothing officially, believes that his Government are holding up their sleeve a second French Division ear-marked Gallipoli! But why bottle up trumps; trumps worth a King's ransome, or a Kaiser's? He gives twice who gives quickly (in peace); he gives tenfold who gives quickly (in war). The devil of it is the French dare not cable home to ask questions, and as for myself, I have not been much encouraged--so far! During the afternoon Admirals de Robeck and Wemyss came on board to work together with the General Staff on technical details. They too have heard these rumours about the second French Division, and Wemyss is in dismay at the thought of having to squeeze more ships into Mudros harbour. His anxiety has given me exactly the excuse I wanted, so I have dropped this fly just in front of K.'s nose, telling him that "There are persistent rumours here amongst the French that General d'Amade's Command is to be joined by another French Division. Just in case there is truth in the report you should know that Mudros harbour is as full as it will hold until our dash for the Peninsula has been made." We will see what he says. If the Division exists, then the Naval people will recommend Bizerta for their base; the ships can sail right up to the Peninsula from there and land right away until things on Lemnos and Tenedos have shaken themselves down. Our first Taube: it passed over the harbour at a great height. One of our lumbering seaplanes went up after it like an owl in sunlight, but could rise no higher than the masts of the Fleet. _12th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ The _Queen Elizabeth_ has been having some trouble with her engines and in the battle of the 18th was only able to use one of her propellers. Now she has been overhauled and the Admiral has asked me to come on board for her steam trials. These are to take place along the coastline of the Peninsula and I have got leave to bring with me a party selected from Divisions and Brigades. So when I went aboard this morning at 8.30 there were about thirty-five Officers present. Starting at once, we steamed at great pace half way up the Gulf of Saros and about 1 o'clock turned to go back, slowing down and closing in to let me take a second good look at the coast. Our studies were enlivened by an amusing incident. Nearing Cape Helles, the _Queen Elizabeth_ went astern, so as to test her reverse turbines. The enemy, who must have been watching us like a mouse does a cat, had the ill-luck to select just this moment to salute us with a couple of shells. As they had been allowing for our speed they were ludicrously out of it, the shot striking the water half a mile ahead. We then lay off Cape Helles whilst a very careful survey of the whole of that section was being made. The Turks, disgusted by their own bad aim, did not fire again. On our way back we passed three fakes, old liners painted up, funnelled and armed with dummy guns to take off the _Tiger_, the _Inflexible_ and the _Indomitable_. Riding at anchor there, they had quite the man-o'-war air and if they draw the teeth of enemy submarines (their torpedoes), as they are meant to do, the artists should be given decorations. At 6 p.m. dropped anchor and I transhipped myself to the _Arcadian_. Birdwood and Hunter-Weston had turned up during the day; the latter dined and is now more sanguine than myself. He has been getting to know his new command better and he says that he did not appreciate the 29th Division when he wrote his appreciation! _13th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian."_ Heavy squalls of rain and wind last night. _Band-o-bast_ badly upset; boats also bottoms upwards and at dawn--here in harbour--we found ourselves clean cut off from the shore. What a ticklish affair the great landing is going to be! How much at the mercy of the winds and waves! Aeolus and Neptune have hardly lost power since Greeks and Trojans made history out yonder! Have sent K. an electrical pick-me-up saying that the height of the _Queen Elizabeth_ fire control station had enabled me to see the lie of the land better than on my previous reconnaissance, and that, given good luck, we hope to get ashore without too great a loss. In the afternoon the wind moderated and I spent an hour or two watching practice landings by Senegalese. Our delay is loss, but yet not clear loss; that's a sure thing. These niggy-wigs were as awkward as golly-wogs in the boats. Every extra hour's practice will save some lives by teaching them how to make short work of the ugliest bit of their job. _14th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian," Lemnos._ A day so exquisitely lovely that it should be chronicled in deathless verse. But we gaze at the glassy sea and turn to the deep blue cloudless sky, victory our only thought. Colonel Dick, King's Messenger, has arrived bringing letters up to 3rd instant. Or rather, he was supposed to have brought them, and it was hoped the abundance of his intelligence would have borne some relation to the cost of his journey,--about £80 it has been reckoned. As a matter of fact, apart from some rubbish, he brings _one_ letter for me; none for any of the others. Not even a file of newspapers; not even a newspaper! In India many, many years ago, we used to call Dick _Burra dik haì_, Hindustani for, _it is a great worry_. So he is only playing up to his sobriquet. The little ewe lamb is an epistle from Fitz giving me a lively sketch of the rumpus at the War Office when its pontiffs grasped for the first time the true bearing of their own orders. There was a rush to saddle poor us with the delay as soon as the Cabinet began to show impatience. They seem to have expected the 29th Division to arrive at top speed in a united squadron to rush straightway ashore. They don't yet quite realise, I daresay, that not one of their lovely ships has yet put in an appearance. That the men who packed the transports and fixed their time tables should say we are too slow is hardly playing the game. Never lose your hair: that is a good soldier's motto. My cable of last night, wherein I tried to calm their minds by telling them the sea was rough and that, even if every one had been here with gaiter buttons complete, I must have waited for a change in the weather, has answered Fitz's letter by anticipation. Worked all day in my office like a nigger and by mid-day had got almost as black as my simile! We are coaling and life has grown dark and noisy. In the middle of it, Ashmead-Bartlett came aboard to see me. He has his quarters on the _Queen Elizabeth_ as one of the Admiralty authorised Press Correspondents, or rather, as the only authorised correspondent. In Manchuria he was known and his writing was well liked. When he had gone, de Robeck and I put through a good lot of business very smoothly. A little later on, Captain Ivanoff, commanding H.I.M.S. _Askold_, (a Russian cruiser well-known to fame in Manchurian days), did me the honour to call. After lunch went ashore and saw parties of Australians at embarking and disembarking drill. Colonel Paterson, the very man who bear-led me on tour during my Australian inspection, was keeping an eye on the "Boys." The work of the Australians and Senegalese gave us a good object lesson of the relative brain capacities of the two races. Next I went and inspected the Armoured Car Section of the Royal Naval Division under Lieutenant-Commander Wedgwood. He is a mighty queer chap. Took active part in the South African War. Afterwards became a pacifist M.P.; here he is again with war paint and tomahawk. Give me a Pacifist in peace and a Jingo in war. Too often it is the other way about. All this took me on to 5.30 p.m. and when I came back on board, Hunter-Weston was here. He has been out since last night on H.M.S. _Dartmouth_ to inspect the various landing places. His whole tone about the Expedition has been transformed. Now he has become the most sanguine of us all. He has great hopes that we shall have Achi Baba in our hands by sunset on the day of landing. If so he thinks we need have no fear for the future. All is worked out now and I do not quite see how we could improve upon our scheme with the means at our disposal. If these "means" included a larger number of boats and steam launches, then certainly, by strengthening our forces on either flank, viz., at Morto Bay (where we are sending only one Battalion) and at a landing under the cliffs a mile West of Krithia (where we are sending one Battalion), we should greatly better our chances. Also, a battery of field guns attached to the Morto Bay column, and a couple of mountain guns added to the Krithia column would add to our prospects of making a real big scoop. But we cannot spare the sea transport except by too much weakening and delaying the landing at the point of the Peninsula; nor dare I leave myself without any reserve under my own hand. I am inclined, all the same, to squeeze one Marine Battalion out of the Naval Division to strengthen our threat to Krithia. Hunter-Weston will be in executive command of everything South of Achi Baba; Birdwood of everything to the North. I went very closely with Hunter-Weston into the question of a day or night attack. My own leanings are in favour of the first boat-loads getting ashore before break of dawn, but Hunter-Weston is clear and strong for daylight. There is a very strong current running round the point; the exact lie of the beaches is unknown and he thinks the confusion inseparable from any landing will be so aggravated by attempting it in the dark that he had rather face the losses the men in boats must suffer from aimed fire. Executively he is responsible and he is backed by his naval associates. Birdwood, on the other hand, is of one mind with me and is going to get his first boat-loads ashore before it is light enough to aim. He has no current to trouble him, it is true, but he is not landing on any surveyed beach and the opposition he will meet with is even more unknown than in the case of Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr. When a sportsman goes shark fishing, he should beware lest he be mistaken for the bait. Gaily I cast my fly over K. and now he has snapped off my head. That story about a second French Division was false. K. merely quotes the number of my question and adds, "The rumour is baseless." Well, "_tant pis_," as Guépratte would say with a shrug of his shoulders. Our first step won't have the weight behind it we had permitted ourselves for some hours to hope. _Everywhere_ the first is the step that counts but _nowhere_ more so than in an Oriental War. Now that the French Division has been snuffed out, how about the Grand Duke Nicholas, General Istomine and their Russian Divisions? Are they also to prove phantoms? Certainly, in some form or another, they ought to be brought into our scheme and, even if only at a distance, bring some pressure to bear upon the Turks at the time of our opening move. I think my best way of getting into touch will be by wireless from de Robeck to the Russian Admiral in the Black Sea. Dick dines, also Birdwood. _15th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Boarded H.M.S. _Dublin_ (Captain Kelly) at 9.30 this morning, where Admiral de Robeck met me. Sailed at once and dropped anchor off Tenedos at noon. Landed and made a close inspection of the Aerodrome where we were taken round by two young friends of mine, Commander Samson and Captain Davies, Naval Air Service. By a queer fluke these are the very two men with whom I did my very first flight! On that never to be forgotten day Samson took up Winston and Davies took me. Like mallards we shot over the Medway and saw the battleships as if they were little children's playthings far away down below us. Now the children are going to use their pretty toys and will make a nice noise with them in the world. After lunch spent the best part of two hours in a small cottage with Samson and Keyes trying to digest the honey brought back by our busy aeroplane bees from their various flights over Gallipoli. The Admiral went off on some other naval quest. Samson and Davies are fliers of the first water--and not only in the air. They carry the whole technique of their job at their finger tips. The result of K.'s washing his hands of the Air is that the Admiralty run that element entirely. Samson is Boss. He has brought with him two Maurice Farmans and three B.E.2s. The Maurice Farmans with 100 H.P. Renaults; the B.E.2s with 70 Renaults. These five machines are good although one of the B.E.2s is dead old. Also, he brought eight Henri Farmans with 80 Gnome engines. He took them because they were new and there was nothing else new; but they are no use for war. Two B.E.2C.s with 70 Renaults: these are absolutely useless as they won't take a passenger. One Broguet 200 H.P. Canton engine; won't fly. Two Sopwith Scouts: 80 Gnome engines; very old and can't be used owing to weakness of engine mounting. One very old but still useful Maurice Farman with 140 Canton engine. That is the demnition total and it pans out at five serviceable aeroplanes for the Army. There are also some seaplanes with us but they are not under Samson, and are purely for naval purposes. Amongst those are two good "Shorts," but the others are no use, they say, being wrong type and underpowered. The total nominal strength of Samson's Corps is eleven pilots and one hundred and twenty men. As everyone knows, no Corps or Service is ever up to its nominal strength; least of all an Air Corps. The dangerous shortage is that in two-seater aeroplanes as we want our Air Service now for spotting and reconnaissances. If, _after_ that requirement had been met, we had only a bombing force at our disposal, the Gallipoli Peninsula, being a very limited space with only one road and two or three harbours on it, could probably be made untenable. Commander Samson's estimate of a minimum force for this "stunt," as he calls our great enterprise, is 30 good two-seater machines; 24 fighters; 40 pilots and 400 men. So equipped he reckons he could take the Peninsula by himself and save us all a vast lot of trouble. But, strange as it may seem, flying is not my "stunt." I dare not even mention the word "aeroplane" to K., and I have cut myself off from correspondence with Winston. I did this thing deliberately as Braithwaite reminds me every time I am tempted to sit down and unbosom myself to one who would sympathise and lend us a hand if he could: in truth, I am torn in two about this; but I still feel it is wiser and better so; not only from the K. point of view but also from de Robeck's. He (de Robeck) might be quite glad I should write once to Winston on one subject but he would never be sure afterwards I was not writing on others. On the way back I spoke to the Admiral, but I don't know whether he will write himself or not. Ventured also a little bit out of my own element in another direction, and begged him not to put off sending the submarine through the Straits until the day of our landing, but to let her go directly she was ready. He does not agree. He has an idea (I hope a premonition) that the submarine will catch Enver hurrying down to the scene of action if we wait till the day of the attack. Even more than in the Fleet I find in the Air Service the profound conviction that, if they could only get into direct touch with Winston Churchill, all would be well. Their faith in the First Lord is, in every sense, _touching_. But they can't get the contact and they are thoroughly imbued with the idea that the Sea Lords are at the best half-hearted; at the worst, actively antagonistic to us and to the whole of our enterprise. The photographs, etc., I have studied make it only too clear that the Turks have not let the grass grow under their feet since the first bombardment; the Peninsula, in fact, is better defended than it was. _Per contra_ the momentum, precision, swiftness and staying power of our actual attack will be at least twice as great now as it would have been at the end of March. Returned to Lemnos about 7.30 p.m. While we were away my Staff got aboard the destroyer _Colne_ and steamed in her to the mouth of the Dardanelles. There the whole precious load of red tabs transshipped to H.M.S. _Triumph_ (Captain Fitzmaurice), who forthwith took up her station opposite Morto Bay and began firing salvos with her 6-inch guns at the trenches on the face of the hill. At first the Staff watched the show with much enjoyment from the bridge, but when howitzers from the Asiatic side began to lob shell over the ship, the Captain hustled them all into the conning tower. The Turks seem to have shot pretty straight. The first three fell fifty yards short of the ship; the fourth shell about twenty yards over her. The next three got home. One cut plumb through the bridge (where all my brains had been playing about two minutes previously) and burst on the deck just outside the conning tower. Some cordite cartridges were lying outside of it and these went off with a great flare. Another struck the funnel and the third came in on the waterline. Fifteen more shells were then fired with just a little bit too much elevation and passed over. Only two men were wounded,--fractured legs. Captain Fitzmaurice now decided that honour and dignity were satisfied and so fell back slowly towards Cape Helles to try the effect of his guns on the barbed wire entanglements. A good deal of ammunition was expended but only one hit on the entanglement was registered, and that did not seem to do any harm. The fire was described to me as inaccurate. The fact is, as was agreed between the two services at Malta, the whole principle of naval gunnery is different from the principles of garrison or field artillery shooting. Before they will be much good at landmarks, the sailors will have to take lessons in the art. Passed a very interesting evening, every one excited, I with my aeroplane reports; the Staff with the powder they had smelt. Two of the Australian Commanding Officers dined and I showed them the aerial photographs of the enemy trenches, etc. The face of one of them grew very long; so long, in fact, that I feared he was afraid; for I own these photos are frightening. So I said, "You don't seem to like the look of that barbed wire, Colonel?" To which he replied, "I was worrying how and where I would feed and water the prisoners." _16th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Spent the forenoon in interviews beginning at 10 a.m. with de Robeck and Mr. Fitzmaurice, late dragoman at the Embassy at Constantinople. Mr. Fitzmaurice says the Turks will put up a great fight at the Dardanelles. They had believed in the British Navy, and, a month ago, they were shaking in their shoes. But they had not believed in the British Army or that a body so infinitely small would be so saucy as to attack them on their own chosen ground. Even now, he says, they can hardly credit their spies, or their eyes, and it ought to be easy enough to make them think all this is a blind, and that we are really going to Smyrna or Adramiti. They are fond of saying, "If the English are fools enough to enter our mouth we only have to close it." Enver especially brags he will make very short work with us if we set foot so near to the heart of his Empire, and gives it out that the whole of us will be marching through the streets of Constantinople, not as conquerors, but as prisoners, within a week from the date of our making the attempt. All the same, despite this bragging, the Turks realise that if we were to get the Fleet through the Narrows; or, if it were to force its own way through whilst we absorb the attention of their mobile guns, the game would be up. So they are straining every nerve to be ready for anything. The moral of all these rather contradictory remarks is just what I have said time and again since South Africa. The fact that war has become a highly scientific business should not blind us to the other fact that its roots still draw their nutriment from primitive feelings and methods; the feelings and methods of boy scouts and Red Indians. It is a huge handicap to us here that our great men keep all their tricks for their political friends and have none to spare for their natural enemies. There has been very little attempt to disguise our aims in England, and Maxwell and McMahon in Egypt have allowed their Press to report every arrival of French and British troops, and to announce openly that we are about to attack at Gallipoli. I have protested and reported the matter to K. but nothing in the strategic sphere can be done now although, in the tactical sphere, we have several deceptions ready for them. Colonel Napier, Military Attaché at Sofia, and Braithwaite came in after these pseudo-secrets had been discussed and joined in the conversation. I doubt whether either Fitzmaurice or Napier have solid information as to what is in front of us, and their yarns about Balkan politics are neither here nor there. John Bull is quite out of his depth in the defiles of the Balkans. With just so much pull over the bulk of my compatriots as has been given me by my having spent a little time with their Armies, I may say that the Balkan nations loathe and mistrust one another to so great a degree that it is sheer waste of time to think of roping them all in on our side, as Fitzmaurice and Napier seem to propose. We may get Greece to join us, and Russia may get Roumania to join her--_if we win here_--but then we make an enemy of Bulgaria, and _vice versa_. If they will unearth my 1909 report at the War Office they will see that, at that time, one Bulgarian Battalion of Infantry was worth two Battalions of Roumanian Infantry--which may be a help to them in making their choice. The Balkan problem is so intricate that it must be simply handled. The simple thing is to pay your money and pick the best card, knowing you can't have a full hand. So let us have no more beating about the bush and may we be inspired to make use of the big boom this Expedition has given to Great Britain in the Balkans to pick out a partner straightway. Birdie came later and we took stock together of ways and means. We see eye to eye now on every point. Just before lunch we heard the transport _Manitou_ had been attacked by a Turkish torpedo boat from Smyrna. The first wireless came in saying the enemy had made a bad shot and only a few men had been drowned lowering the boats. Admiral Rosy Wemyss and Hope, the Flag-Captain, of the Q.E. were my guests and naturally they were greatly perturbed. Late in the evening we heard that the Turkish T.B. had been chased by our destroyers and had run ashore on a Greek Island where she was destroyed (international laws notwithstanding) by our landing parties. At 7.30 p.m. Hunter-Weston came along and I had the best part of an hour with him. _17th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Hunter-Weston came over early to finish off business left undone last night. Admiral Wemyss also took part in our discussions over the landing. Picture puzzles are child's play compared with this game of working an unheard of number of craft to and fro, in and out, of little bits of beaches. At mid-day the _Manitou_ steamed into harbour and Colonel Peel, Commander of the troops, came on board and reported fully to me about the attack by the Turkish torpedo boat. The Turks seem to have behaved quite decently giving our men time to get into their boats and steaming some distance off whilst they did so. During the interval the Turks must have got wind of British warships, for they rushed back in a great hurry and fired torpedoes at so short a range that they passed under the ship. Very exciting, we were told, watching them dart beneath the keel through the crystal clear water. I can well believe it. Went ashore in the afternoon to watch the Australian Artillery embark. Spoke to a lot of the men, some of whom had met me during my tour through Australia last year. General Paris came to see me this evening. _18th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Working all morning in office. In the afternoon inspected embarkation of some howitzers. D'Amade turned up later from the _Southland_. We went over the landing at Kum Kale. He is in full sympathy and understands. Winter, Woodward and their administrative Staffs also arrived in the _Southland_ and have taken up their quarters on this ship. They report everything fixed up at Alexandria before they sailed. We are all together now and their coming will be a great relief to the General Staff. Quite hot to-day. Sea dead smooth. The usual ebb and flow of visitors. Saw the three Corps Commanders and many Staff Officers. We are rather on wires now that the time is drawing near; Woodward, though he has only been here one night, is on barbed wires. His cabin is next the signallers and he could not get to sleep. He wants some medical detachments sent up post haste from Alexandria. I have agreed to cable for them and now he is more calm. A big pow-wow on the "Q.E." (d'Amade, Birdie, Hunter-Weston, Godley, Bridges, Guépratte, Thursby, Wemyss, Phillimore, Vyvian, Dent, Loring), whereat the 23rd was fixed for our attack and the naval landing orders were read and fully threshed out. I did not attend as the meeting was rather for the purpose of going point by point into orders already approved in principle than of starting any fresh hares. Staff Officers who have only had to do with land operations would be surprised, I am sure, at the amount of original thinking and improvisation demanded by a landing operation. The Naval and Military Beach Personnel is in itself a very big and intricate business which has no place in ordinary soldier tactics. The diagrams of the ships and transports; the lists of tows; the action of the Destroyers; tugs; lighters; signal arrangements for combined operations: these are unfamiliar subjects and need very careful fitting in. Braithwaite came back and reported all serene; everyone keen and cooperating very loyally. D'Amade has now received the formal letter I wrote him yesterday after my interview and sees his way clear about Kum Kale. Went ashore in the afternoon and saw big landing by Australians, who took mules and donkeys with them and got them in and out of lighters. These Australians are shaping into Marines in double quick time and Cairo high jinks are wild oats sown and buried. Where everyone wants to do well and to do it in the same way, discipline goes down as slick as Mother's milk. Action is a discipline in itself. The three Officers forming the French Mission to my Headquarters made salaams, viz., Captain Bertier de Sauvigny, Lieutenant Pelliot and Lieutenant de la Borde. The first is a man of the world, with manners suave and distinguished; the second is a savant and knows the habits of obscure and out of the way people. What de la Borde's points may be, I do not know: he is a frank, good looking young fellow and spoke perfect English. _20th April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ A big wind rose in the night. A clerk from my central office at the Horse Guards developed small pox this morning. No doubt he has been in some rotten hole in Alexandria and this is the result,--a disgusting one to all of us as we have had to be vaccinated. Ready now, but so long as the wind blows, we have to twiddle our thumbs. Got the full text of d'Amades' orders for his Kum Kale landing as well as for the Besika Bay make-believe. _21st April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Blowing big guns. The event with which old mother time is in labour is so big that her pains are prodigious and prolonged out of all nature. So near are we now to our opening that the storm means a twenty four hours' delay. Have issued my orders to the troops. Yesterday our plans were but plans. To-day the irrevocable steps out on to the stage. General Headquarters, _21st April, 1915._ _Soldiers of France and of the King._ Before us lies an adventure unprecedented in modern war. Together with our comrades of the Fleet, we are about to force a landing upon an open beach in face of positions which have been vaunted by our enemies as impregnable. The landing will be made good, by the help of God and the Navy; the positions will be stormed, and the War brought one step nearer to a glorious close. "Remember," said Lord Kitchener when bidding adieu to your Commander, "Remember, once you set foot upon the Gallipoli Peninsula, you must fight the thing through to a finish." The whole world will be watching your progress. Let us prove our selves worthy of the great feat of arms entrusted to us. IAN HAMILTON, _General_. _22nd April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ Wind worse than ever, but weather brighter. Another twenty four hours' delay. Russian Military Attaché from Athens (Makalinsky) came to see me at 2.30 p.m. He cannot give me much idea of how the minds of the Athenians are working. He says our Russian troops are of the very best. Delay is the worst nerve-cracker. Charley Burn, King's Messenger, came; with him a Captain Coddan, to be liaison between me and Istomine's Russians. The King sends his blessing. SPECIAL ORDER, General Headquarters, _22nd April, 1915._ The following gracious message has been received to-day by the General Commanding:-- "The King wishes you and your Army every success, and you are constantly in His Majesty's thoughts and prayers." _23rd April, 1915. S.S. "Arcadian." Lemnos._ A gorgeous day at last; fitting frame to the most brilliant and yet touching of pageants. All afternoon transports were very, very slowly coming out of harbour winding their way in and out through the other painted ships lying thick on the wonderful blue of the bay. The troops wild with enthusiasm and tremendously cheering especially as they passed the warships of our Allies. _Nunc Dimittis_, O Lord of Hosts! Not a man but knows he is making for the jaws of death. They know, these men do, they are being asked to prove their enemies to have lied when they swore a landing on Gallipoli's shore could never make good. They know that lie must pass for truth until they have become targets to guns, machine guns and rifles--huddled together in boats, helpless, plain to the enemy's sight. And they are wild with joy; uplifted! Life spins superbly through their veins at the very moment they seek to sacrifice it for a cause. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? A shadow has been cast over the wonders of the day by a wireless to say that Rupert Brooke is very dangerously ill--from the wording we fear there can be no hope. Dent, principal Naval Transport Officer, left to-day to get ready. Wemyss said good-bye on going to take up command of his Squadron. Have got d'Amade's revised orders for the landing at Kum Kale and also for the feint at Besika Bay. Very clear and good. At 7.15 p.m. we got this message from K.:-- "Please communicate the following messages at a propitious moment to each of those concerned. "(1) My best wishes to you and all your force in carrying to a successful conclusion the operations you have before you, which will undoubtedly have a momentous effect on the war. The task they have to perform will need all the grit Britishers have never failed to show, and I am confident your troops will victoriously clear the way for the Fleet to advance on Constantinople. "(2) Convey to the Admiral my best wishes that all success may attend the Fleet. The Army knows they can rely on their energy and effective co-operation while dealing with the land forces of the enemy. "(3) Assure General d'Amade and the French troops of our entire confidence that their courage and skill will result in the triumph of their arms. "(End of message)--" Personal: "All my thoughts will be with you when operations begin." We, here, think of Lord K. too. May his shadow fall dark upon the Germans and strike the fear of death into their hearts. Just got following from the Admiral:-- "H.M.S. _Queen Elizabeth_, "_23rd April, 1915._ "My dear General, "I have sent orders to all Admirals that operations are to proceed and they are to take the necessary measures to have their commands in their assigned positions by Sunday morning, April 25th! "I pray that the weather may be favourable and nothing will prevent our proceeding with the scheme. 'May heaven's light be our guide' and God give us the victory. "Think everything is ready and in some ways the delay has been useful, as we have now a few more lighters and tugs available. "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "J. M. de Robeck." I have sent a reply:-- "S.S. _Arcadian_, _23rd April, 1915._ "My dear Admiral, "Your note just received gives expression to my own sentiments. The sooner we get to work now the better and may the best cause win. "Yours sincerely, (_Sd._) "Ian Hamilton." Rupert Brooke is dead. Straightaway he will be buried. The rest is silence. Twice was "the sight" vouchsafed me:--in London when I told Eddie I would bespeak the boy's services; at Port Said when I bespoke them. Death on the eve of battle, death on a wedding day--nothing so tragic save that most black mishap, death in action after peace has been signed. Death grins at my elbow. I cannot get him out of my thoughts. He is fed up with the old and sick--only the flower of the flock will serve him now, for God has started a celestial spring cleaning, and our star is to be scrubbed bright with the blood of our bravest and our best. Youth and poetry are the links binding the children of the world to come to the grandsires of the world that was. War will smash, pulverise, sweep into the dustbins of eternity the whole fabric of the old world: therefore, the firstborn in intellect must die. Is _that_ the reading of the riddle? Almighty God, Watchman of the Milky Way, Shepherd of the Golden Stars, have mercy upon us, smallest of the heavenly Shiners. Our star burns dim as a corpse light: the huge black chasm of space closes in: if only by blood ...? Thy Will be done. _En avant_--at all costs--_en avant_! CHAPTER V THE LANDING _24th April, 1915. H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth." Tenedos._ Boarded the Queen Lizzie at 1.30 p.m. Anchored off Tenedos just before 4 p.m. Lay outside the roadstead; close by us is the British Fleet with an Armada of transports,--all at anchor. As we were closing up to them we spotted a floating mine which must have been passed touch-and-go during the night by all those warships and troopships. A good omen surely that not one of them fell foul of the death that lurks in that ugly, horned devil--not dead itself, but very much alive, for it answered a shot from one of our three pounders with the dull roar and spitting of fire and smoke bred for our benefit by the kindly German Kultur. I hope I may sleep to-night. I think so. If not, my wakefulness will wish the clock's hand forward. _25th April, 1915. H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth."_ Our _Queen_ chose the cold grey hour of 4 a.m. to make her war toilette. By 4.15 she had sunk the lady and put on the man of war. Gone were the gay companions; closed the tight compartments and stowed away under armour were all her furbelows and frills. In plain English, our mighty battleship was cleared for action, and--my mind--that also has now been cleared of its everyday lumber: and I am ready. If this is a queer start for me, so it is also for de Robeck. In sea warfare, the Fleet lies in the grip of its Admiral like a platoon in the hands of a Subaltern. The Admiral sees; speaks the executive word and the whole Fleet moves; not, as with us, each Commander carrying out the order in his own way, but each Captain steaming, firing, retiring to the letter of the signal. In the Navy the man at the gun, the man at the helm, the man sending up shells in the hoist has no discretion unless indeed the gear goes wrong, and he has to use his wits to put it right again. With us the infantry scout, a boy in his teens perhaps, may have to decide whether to open fire, to lie low or to fall back; whether to bring on a battle or avoid it. But the Fleet to-day is working like an army; the ships are widely scattered each one on its own, except in so far as wireless may serve, and that is why I say de Robeck is working under conditions just as unusual to him as mine are to me. My station is up in the conning tower with de Robeck. The conning tower is a circular metal chamber, like a big cooking pot. Here we are, all eyes, like potatoes in the cooking pot aforesaid, trying to peep through a slit where the lid is raised a few inches, _ad hoc_, as these blasted politicians like to say. My Staff are not with me in this holy of holies, but are stowed away in steel towers or jammed into 6-inch batteries. So we kept moving along and at 4.30 a.m. were off Sedd-el-Bahr. All quiet and grey. Thence we steamed for Gaba Tepe and midway, about 5 o'clock, heard a very heavy fire from Helles behind us. The Turks are putting up some fight. Now we are off Gaba Tepe! The day was just breaking over the jagged hills; the sea was glassy smooth; the landing of the lads from the South was in full swing; the shrapnel was bursting over the water; the patter of musketry came creeping out to sea; we are in for it now; the machine guns muttered as through chattering teeth--up to our necks in it now. But would we be out of it? No; not one of us; not for five hundred years stuffed full of dullness and routine. By 5.35 the rattle of small arms quieted down; we heard that about 4,000 fighting men had been landed; we could see boat-loads making for the land; swarms trying to straighten themselves out along the shore; other groups digging and hacking down the brushwood. Even with our glasses they did not look much bigger than ants. God, one would think, cannot see them at all or He would put a stop to this sort of panorama altogether. And yet, it would be a pity if He missed it; for these fellows have been worth the making. They are not charging up into this Sari Bair range for money or by compulsion. They fight for love--all the way from the Southern Cross for love of the old country and of liberty. Wave after wave of the little ants press up and disappear. We lose sight of them the moment they lie down. Bravo! every man on our great ship longs to be with them. But the main battle called. The Admiral was keen to take me when and where the need might most arise. So we turned South and steamed slowly back along the coast to Cape Helles. Opposite Krithia came another great moment. We have made good the landing--sure--it is a fact. I have to repeat the word to myself several times, "fact," "fact," "fact," so as to be sure I am awake and standing here looking at live men through a long telescope. The thing seems unreal; as though I were in a dream, instead of on a battleship. To see words working themselves out upon the ground; to watch thoughts move over the ground as fighting men....! Both Battalions, the Plymouth and the K.O.S.B.s, had climbed the high cliff without loss; so it was signalled; there is no firing; the Turks have made themselves scarce; nothing to show danger or stress; only parties of our men struggling up the sandy precipice by zigzags, carrying munitions and large glittering kerosine tins of water. Through the telescope we can now make out a number of our fellows in groups along the crest of the cliff, quite peacefully reposing--probably smoking. This promises great results to our arms--not the repose or the smoking, for I hope that won't last long--but the enemy's surprise. In spite of Egypt and the _Egyptian Gazette_; in spite of the spy system of Constantinople, we have brought off our tactical _coup_ and surprised the enemy Chief. The bulk of the Turks are not at Gaba Tepe; here, at "Y," there are none at all! In a sense, and no mean sense either, I am as much relieved, and as sanguine too, at the _coup_ we have brought off here as I was just now to see Birdie's four thousand driving the Turks before them into the mountains. The schemes are not on the same scale. If the Australians get through to Mal Tepe the whole Turkish Army on the Peninsula will be done in. If the "Y" Beach lot press their advantage they may cut off the enemy troops on the toe of the Peninsula. With any luck, the K.O.S.B.s and Plymouths at "Y" should get right on the line of retreat of the Turks who are now fighting to the South. The point at issue as we sailed down to "X" Beach was whether that little force at "Y" should not be reinforced by the Naval Division who were making a feint against the Bulair Lines and had, by now, probably finished their work. Braithwaite has been speaking to me about it. The idea appealed to me very strongly because I have been all along most keen on the "Y" Beach plan which is my own special child; and this would be to make the most of it and press it for all it was worth. But, until the main battle develops more clearly at Gaba Tepe and at Sedd-el-Bahr I must not commit the only troops I have in hand as my Commander-in-Chief's reserve. When we got to "X" Beach the foreshore and cliffs had been made good without much loss in the first instance, we were told, though there is a hot fight going on just south of it. But fresh troops will soon be landing:--so far so good. Further round, at "W" Beach, another lodgment had been effected; very desperate and bloody, we are told by the Naval Beachmaster: and indeed we can see some of the dead, but the Lancashire Fusiliers hold the beach though we don't seem yet to have penetrated inland. By Sedd-el-Bahr, where we hove to about 6.45, the light was very baffling; land wrapped in haze, sun full in our eyes. Here we watched as best we could over the fight being put up by the Turks against our forlorn hope on the _River Clyde_. Very soon it became clear that we were being held. Through our glasses we could quite clearly watch the sea being whipped up all along the beach and about the _River Clyde_ by a pelting storm of rifle bullets. We could see also how a number of our dare-devils were up to their necks in this tormented water trying to struggle on to land from the barges linking the River Clyde to the shore. There was a line of men lying flat down under cover of a little sandbank in the centre of the beach. They were so held under by fire they dared not, evidently, stir. Watching these gallant souls from the safety of a battleship gave me a hateful feeling: Roger Keyes said to me he simply could not bear it. Often a Commander may have to watch tragedies from a post of safety. That is all right. I have had my share of the hair's breadth business and now it becomes the turn of the youngsters. But, from the battleship, you are outside the frame of the picture. The thing becomes monstrous; too cold-blooded; like looking on at gladiators from the dress circle. The moment we became satisfied that none of our men had made their way further than a few feet above sea level, the _Queen_ opened a heavy fire from her 6-inch batteries upon the Castle, the village and the high steep ground ringing round the beach in a semi-circle. The enemy lay very low somewhere underground. At times the _River Clyde_ signalled that the worst fire came from the old Fort and Sedd-el-Bahr; at times that these bullets were pouring out from about the second highest rung of seats on the West of that amphitheatre in which we were striving to take our places. Ashore the machine guns and rifles never ceased--tic tac, tic tac, brrrr--tic tac, tic tac, brrrrrr...... Drowned every few seconds by our tremendous salvoes, this more nervous noise crept back insistently into our ears in the interval. As men fixed in the grip of nightmare, we were powerless--unable to do anything but wait. [Illustration: S.S. "River Clyde" "Central News" photo.] When we saw our covering party fairly hung up under the fire from the Castle and its outworks, it became a question of issuing fresh orders to the main body who had not yet been committed to that attack. There was no use throwing them ashore to increase the number of targets on the beach. Roger Keyes started the notion that these troops might well be diverted to "Y" where they could land unopposed and whence they might be able to help their advance guard at "V" more effectively than by direct reinforcement if they threatened to cut the Turkish line of retreat from Sedd-el-Bahr. Braithwaite was rather dubious from the orthodox General Staff point of view as to whether it was sound for G.H.Q. to barge into Hunter-Weston's plans, seeing he was executive Commander of the whole of this southern invasion. But to me the idea seemed simple common sense. If it did not suit Hunter-Weston's book, he had only to say so. Certainly Hunter-Weston was in closer touch with all these landings than we were; it was not for me to force his hands: there was no question of that: so at 9.15 I wirelessed as follows: "G.O.C. in C. to G.O.C. _Euryalus_." "Would you like to get some more men ashore on 'Y' beach? If so, trawlers are available." Three quarters of an hour passed; the state of affairs at Sedd-el-Bahr was no better, and in an attack if you don't get better you get worse; the supports were not being landed; no answer had come to hand. So repeated my signal to Hunter-Weston, making it this time personal from me to him and ordering him to acknowledge receipt. (Lord Bobs' wrinkle):-- "General Hamilton to General Hunter-Weston, _Euryalus_. "Do you want any more men landed at 'Y'? There are trawlers available. Acknowledge the signal." At 11 a.m. I got this answer:-- "From General Hunter-Weston to G.O.C. _Queen Elizabeth_. "Admiral Wemyss and Principal Naval Transport Officer state that to interfere with present arrangements and try to land men at 'Y' Beach would delay disembarkation." There was some fuss about the _Cornwallis_. She ought to have been back from Morto Bay and lending a hand here, but she had not turned up. All sorts of surmises. Now we hear she has landed our right flank attack very dashingly and that we have stormed de Tott's Battery! I fear the South Wales Borderers are hardly strong enough alone to move across and threaten Sedd-el-Bahr from the North. But the news is fine. How I wish we had left "V" Beach severely alone. Big flanking attacks at "Y" and "S" might have converged on Sedd-el-Bahr and carried it from the rear when none of the garrison could have escaped. But then, until we tried, we were afraid fire from Asia might defeat the de Tott's Battery attack and that the "Y" party might not scale the cliffs. The Turks are stronger down here than at Gaba Tepe. Still, I should doubt if they are in any great force; quite clearly the bulk of them have been led astray by our feints, and false rumours. Otherwise, had they even a regiment in close reserve, they must have eaten up the S.W.B. as they stormed the Battery. About noon, a Naval Officer (Lieutenant Smith), a fine fellow, came off to get some more small arm ammunition for the machine guns on the _River Clyde_. He said the state of things on and around that ship was "awful," a word which carried twentyfold weight owing to the fact that it was spoken by a youth never very emotional, I am sure, and now on his mettle to make his report with indifference and calm. The whole landing place at "V" Beach is ringed round with fire. The shots from our naval guns, smashing as their impact appears, might as well be confetti for all the effect they have upon the Turkish trenches. The _River Clyde_ is commanded and swept not only by rifles at 100 yards' range, but by pom-poms and field guns. Her own double battery of machine guns mounted in a sandbag revetment in her bows are to some extent forcing the enemy to keep their heads down and preventing them from actually rushing the little party of our men who are crouching behind the sand bank. But these same men of ours cannot raise head or hand one inch beyond that lucky ledge of sand by the water's brink. And the bay at Sedd-el-Bahr, so the last messengers have told us, had turned red. The _River Clyde_ so far saves the situation. She was only ready two days before we plunged. At 1.30 heard that d'Amade had taken Kum Kale. De Robeck had already heard independently by wireless that the French (the 6th Colonials under Nogués) had carried the village by a bayonet charge at 9.35 a.m. On the Asiatic side, then, things are going as we had hoped. The Russian _Askold_ and the _Jeanne d'Arc_ are supporting our Allies in their attack. Being so hung up at "V," I have told d'Amade that he will not be able to disembark there as arranged, but that he will have to take his troops round to "W" and march them across. At two o'clock a large number of our wounded who had taken refuge under the base of the arches of the old Fort at Sedd-el-Bahr began to signal for help. The _Queen Elizabeth_ sent away a picket boat which passed through the bullet storm and most gallantly brought off the best part of them. Soon after 2 o'clock we were cheered by sighting our own brave fellows making a push from the direction of "W." We reckon they must be Worcesters and Essex men moving up to support the Royal Fusiliers and the Lancashire Fusiliers, who have been struggling unaided against the bulk of the Turkish troops. The new lot came along by rushes from the Westwards, across from "X" to "W" towards Sedd-el-Bahr, and we prayed God very fervently they might be able to press on so as to strike the right rear of the enemy troops encircling "V" Beach. At 3.10 the leading heroes--we were amazed at their daring--actually stood up in order the better to cut through a broad belt of wire entanglement. One by one the men passed through and fought their way to within a few yards of a redoubt dominating the hill between Beaches "W" and "V." This belt of wire ran perpendicularly, not parallel, to the coastline and had evidently been fixed up precisely to prevent what we were now about to attempt. To watch V.C.s being won by wire cutting; to see the very figure and attitude of the hero; to be safe oneself except from the off chance of a shell,--was like being stretched upon the rack! All day we hung _vis-à-vis_ this inferno. With so great loss and with so desperate a situation the white flag would have gone up in the South African War but there was no idea of it to-day and I don't feel afraid of it even now, in the dark of a moonless night, where evil thoughts are given most power over the mind. Nor does Hunter-Weston. We had a hurried dinner, de Robeck, Keyes, Braithwaite, Godfrey, Hope and I, in the signal office under the bridge. As we were finishing Hunter-Weston came on board. After he had told us his story, breathlessly and listened to with breathless interest, I asked him what about our troops at "Y"? He thought they were now in touch with our troops at "X" but that they had been through some hard fighting to get there. His last message had been that they were being hard pressed but as he had heard nothing more since then he assumed they were all right--! Anyway, he was cheery, stout-hearted, quite a good tonic and--on the whole--his news is good. To sum up the doings of the day; the French have dealt a brilliant stroke at Kum Kale; we have fixed a grip on the hills to the North of Gaba Tepe; also, we have broken through the enemy's defences at "X" and "W," two out of the three beaches at the South point of the Peninsula. The "hold-up" at the third, "V" (or Sedd-el-Bahr) causes me the keenest anxiety--it would never do if we were forced to re-embark at night as has been suggested--we must stick it until our advance from "X" and "W" opens that sally port from the sea. There is always in the background of my mind dread lest help should reach the enemy _before_ we have done with Sedd-el-Bahr. The enveloping attacks on both enemy flanks have come off brilliantly, but have not cut the enemy's line of retreat, or so threatened it that they have to make haste to get back. At "S" (Eski Hissarlick or Morto Bay) the 2nd South Wales Borderers have landed in very dashing style though under fire from big fortress artillery as well as field guns and musketry. On shore they deployed and, helped by sailors from the _Cornwallis_, have carried the Turkish trenches in front of them at the bayonet's point. They are now dug in on a commanding spur but are anxious at finding themselves all alone and say they do not feel able, owing to their weakness, to manoeuvre or to advance. From "Y," opposite Krithia, there is no further news. But two good battalions at large and on the war path some four or five miles in rear of the enemy should do something during the next few hours. I was right, so it seems, about getting ashore before the enemy could see to shoot out to sea. At Gaba Tepe; opposite Krithia and by Morto Bay we landed without too much loss. Where we waited to bombard, as at Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr, we have got it in the neck. This "V" Beach business is the blot. Sedd-el-Bahr was supposed to be the softest landing of the lot, as it was the best harbour and seemed to lie specially at the mercy of the big guns of the Fleet. Would that we had left it severely alone and had landed a big force at Morto Bay whence we could have forced the Sedd-el-Bahr Turks to fall back. One thing is sure. Whatever happens to us here we are bound to win glory. There are no other soldiers quite of the calibre of our chaps in the world; they have _esprit de corps_; they are _volunteers_ every one of them; they are _for it_; our Officers--our rank and file--have been so _entered_ to this attack that they will all die--that we will all die--sooner than give way before the Turk. The men are not fighting blindly as in South Africa: they are not fighting against forces with whose motives they half sympathise. They have been told, and told again, exactly what we are after. They understand. Their eyes are wide open: they _know_ that the war can only be brought to an end by our joining hands quickly with the Russians: they _know_ that the fate of the Empire depends on the courage they display. Should the Fates so decree, the whole brave Army may disappear during the night more dreadfully than that of Sennacherib; but assuredly they will not surrender: where so much is dark, where many are discouraged, in this knowledge I feel both light and joy. Here I write--think--have my being. To-morrow night where shall we be? Well; what then; what of the worst? At least we shall have lived, acted, dared. We are half way through--we shall not look back. As night began to settle down over the land, the _Queen Elizabeth_ seemed to feel the time had come to give full vent to her wrath. An order from the bridge, and, in the twinkling of an eye, she shook from stem to stern with the recoil from her own efforts. The great ship was fighting all out, all in action. Every gun spouted flame and a roar went up fit to shiver the stars of Heaven. Ears stopped with wax; eyes half blinded by the scorching yellow blasts; still, in some chance seconds interval, we could hear the hive-like b rr rr rr rr rr r r r r of the small arms plying on the shore; still see, through some break in the acrid smoke, the profile of the castle and houses; nay, of the very earth itself and the rocky cliff; see them all, change, break, dissolve into dust; crumble as if by enchantment into strange new outlines, under the enormous explosions of our 15-in. lyddite shells. Buildings gutted: walls and trenches turned inside out and upside down: friend and foe surely must be wiped out together under such a fire: at least they are stupefied--must cease taking a hand with their puny rifles and machine guns? Not so. Amidst falling ruins; under smoke clouds of yellow, black, green and white; the beach, the cliffs and the ramparts of the Castle began, in the oncoming dusk, to sparkle all over with hundreds of tiny flecks of rifle fire. Just before the shadows of night hid everything from sight, we could see that many of our men, who had been crouching all day under the sandy bank in the centre of the arena, were taking advantage of the pillars of smoke raised between them and their enemy to edge away to their right and scale the rampart leading to the Fort of Sedd-el-Bahr. Other small clusters lay still--they have made their last attack. Now try to sleep. What of those men fighting for their lives in the darkness. I put them there. Might they not, all of them, be sailing back to safe England, but for me? And I sleep! To sleep whilst thousands are killing one another close by! Well, why not; I _must_ sleep whilst I may. The legend whereby a Commander-in-Chief works wonders during a battle dies hard. He may still lose the battle in a moment by losing heart. He may still help to win the battle by putting a brave face upon the game when it seems to be up. By his character, he may still stop the rot and inspire his men to advance once more to the assault. The old Bible idea of the Commander:--when his hands grew heavy Amalek advanced; when he raised them and willed victory Israel prevailed over the heathen! As regards directions, modifications, orders, counter-orders,--in precise proportion as his preparations and operation orders have been thoroughly conceived and carried out, so will the actual conflict find him leaving the actual handling of the troops to Hunter-Weston as I am bound to do. Old Oyama cooled his brain during the battle of the Shaho by shooting pigeons sitting on Chinese chimneys. King Richard before Bosworth saw ghosts. My own dark hours pass more easily as I make my cryptic jottings in pedlar's French. The detachment of the writer comes over me; calms down the tumult of the mind and paves a path towards the refuge of sleep. No order is to be issued until I get reports and requests. I can't think now of anything left undone that I ought to have done; I have no more troops to lay my hands on--Hunter-Weston has more than he can land to-night; I won't mend matters much by prowling up and down the gangways. Braithwaite calls me if he must. No word yet about the losses except that they have been heavy. If the Turks get hold of a lot of fresh men and throw them upon us during the night,--perhaps they may knock us off into the sea. No General knows his luck. That's the beauty of the business. But I feel sanguine in the spirit of the men; sanguine in my own spirit; sanguine in the soundness of my scheme. What with the landing at Gaba Tepe and at Kum Kale, and the feints at Bulair and Besika Bay, the Turkish troops here will get no help to-night. And our fellows are steadily pouring ashore. _26th April, 1915. H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth."_ At 12.5 a.m. I was dragged out of a dead sleep by Braithwaite who kept shaking me by the shoulder and saying, "Sir Ian! Sir Ian!!" I had been having a good time for an hour far away somewhere, far from bloody turmoil, and before I quite knew where I was, my Chief of Staff repeated what he had, I think, said several times already, "Sir Ian, you've got to come right along--a question of life and death--you must settle it!" Braithwaite is a cool hand, but his tone made me wide awake in a second. I sprang from bed; flung on my "British Warm" and crossed to the Admiral's cabin--not his own cabin but the dining saloon--where I found de Robeck himself, Rear-Admiral Thursby (in charge of the landing of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), Roger Keyes, Braithwaite, Brigadier-General Carruthers (Deputy Adjutant and Quartermaster-General of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) and Brigadier-General Cunliffe Owen (Commanding Royal Artillery of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps). A cold hand clutched my heart as I scanned their faces. Carruthers gave me a message from Birdwood written in Godley's writing. I read it aloud:-- "Both my Divisional Generals and Brigadiers have represented to me that they fear their men are thoroughly demoralised by shrapnel fire to which they have been subjected all day after exhaustion and gallant work in morning. Numbers have dribbled back from firing line and cannot be collected in this difficult country. Even New Zealand Brigade which has been only recently engaged lost heavily and is to some extent demoralised. If troops are subjected to shell fire again to-morrow morning there is likely to be a fiasco as I have no fresh troops with which to replace those in firing line. I know my representation is most serious but if we are to re-embark it must be at once. (_Sd._) "BIRDWOOD." The faces round that table took on a look--when I close my eyes there they sit,--a look like nothing on earth unless it be the guests when their host flings salt upon the burning raisins. To gain time I asked one or two questions about the tactical position on shore, but Carruthers and Cunliffe Owen seemed unable to add any detail to Birdwood's general statement. I turned to Thursby and said, "Admiral, what do you think?" He said, "It will take the best part of three days to get that crowd off the beaches." "And where are the Turks?" I asked. "On the top of 'em!" "Well, then," I persisted, "tell me, Admiral, what do _you_ think?" "What do I think: well, I think myself they will stick it out if only it is put to them that they must." Without another word, all keeping silence, I wrote Birdwood as follows:-- "Your news is indeed serious. But there is nothing for it but to dig yourselves right in and stick it out. It would take at least two days to re-embark you as Admiral Thursby will explain to you. Meanwhile, the Australian submarine has got up through the Narrows and has torpedoed a gunboat at Chunuk. Hunter-Weston despite his heavy losses will be advancing to-morrow which should divert pressure from you. Make a personal appeal to your men and Godley's to make a supreme effort to hold their ground. (_Sd._) "IAN HAMILTON." "P.S. You have got through the difficult business, now you have only to dig, dig, dig, until you are safe. Ian H." The men from Gaba Tepe made off with this letter; not the men who came down here at all, but new men carrying a clear order. Be the upshot what it may, I shall never repent that order. Better to die like heroes on the enemy's ground than be butchered like sheep on the beaches like the runaway Persians at Marathon. De Robeck and Keyes were aghast; they pat me on the back; I hope they will go on doing so if things go horribly wrong. Midnight decisions take it out of one. Turned in and slept for three solid hours like a top till I was set spinning once more at 4 a.m. At dawn we were off Gaba Tepe. Thank God the idea of retreat had already made itself scarce. The old _Queen_ let fly her first shot at 5.30 a.m. Her shrapnel is a knockout. The explosion of the monstrous shell darkens the rising sun; the bullets cover an acre; the enemy seems stunned for a while after each discharge. One after the other she took on the Turkish guns along Sari Bair and swept the skyline with them. A message of relief and thankfulness came out to us from the shore. Seeing how much they loved us--or rather our Long Toms--we hung around until about half-past eight smothering the enemy's guns whenever they dared show their snouts. By that hour our troops had regained their grip of themselves and also of the enemy, and the firing of the Turks was growing feeble. An organised counter-attack on the grand scale at dawn was the one thing I dreaded, and that has not come off; only a bit of a push over the downland by Gaba Tepe which was steadied by one of our enormous shrapnel. About this time we heard from Hunter-Weston that there was no material change in the situation at Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr. I wirelessed, therefore, to d'Amade telling him he would not be able to land his men at "V" under Sedd-el-Bahr as arranged but that he should bring all the rest of the French troops up from Tenedos and disembark them at "W" by Cape Helles. About this time, also, i.e., somewhere about 9 a.m., we picked up a wireless from the O.C. "Y" Beach which caused us some uneasiness. "We are holding the ridge," it said, "till the wounded are embarked." Why "till"? So I told the Admiral that as Birdwood seemed fairly comfortable, I thought we ought to lose no time getting back to Sedd-el-Bahr, taking "Y" Beach on our way. At once we steamed South and hove to off "Y" Beach at 9.30 a.m. There the _Sapphire_, _Dublin_ and _Goliath_ were lying close inshore and we could see a trickle of our men coming down the steep cliff and parties being ferried off to the _Goliath_: the wounded no doubt, but we did not see a single soul going _up_ the cliff whereas there were many loose groups hanging about on the beach. I disliked and mistrusted the looks of these aimless dawdlers by the sea. There was no fighting; a rifle shot now and then from the crests where we saw our fellows clearly. The little crowd and the boats on the beach were right under them and no one paid any attention or seemed to be in a hurry. Our naval and military signallers were at sixes and sevens. The _Goliath_ wouldn't answer; the _Dublin_ said the force was coming off, and we could not get into touch with the soldiers at all. At about a quarter to ten the _Sapphire_ asked us to fire over the cliffs into the country some hundreds of yards further in, and so the _Queen E._ gave Krithia and the South of it a taste of her metal. Not much use as the high crests hid the intervening hinterland from view, even from the crow's nests. A couple of shrapnel were also fired at the crestline of the cliff about half a mile further North where there appeared to be some snipers. But the trickling down the cliffs continued. No one liked the look of things ashore. Our chaps can hardly be making off in this deliberate way without orders; and yet, if they _are_ making off "by order," Hunter-Weston ought to have consulted me first as Birdwood consulted me in the case of the Australians and New Zealanders last night. My inclination was to take a hand myself in this affair but the Staff are clear against interference when I have no knowledge of the facts--and I suppose they are right. To see a part of my scheme, from which I had hoped so much, go wrong before my eyes is maddening! I imagined it: I pressed it through: a second Battalion was added to it and then the South Wales Borderers' Company. Many sailors and soldiers, good men, had doubts as to whether the boats could get in, or whether, having done so, men armed and accoutred would be able to scale the yellow cliffs; or whether, having by some miracle climbed, they would not be knocked off into the sea with bayonets as they got to the top. I admitted every one of these possibilities but said, every time, that taken together, they destroyed one another. If the venture seemed so desperate even to ourselves, who are desperadoes, then the enemy Chief would be of the same opinion only more so; so that, supposing we _did_ get up, at least we would not find resistance organised against us. Whether this was agreed to, or not, I cannot say. The logic of a C.-in-C. has a convincing way of its own. But in all our discussions one thing was taken for granted--no one doubted that once our troops had got ashore, scaled the heights and dug themselves in, they would be able to hold on: no one doubted that, with the British Fleet at their backs, they would at least maintain their bridge-head into the enemy's vitals until we could decide what to do with it. At a quarter past ten we steamed, with anxious minds, for Cape Helles, and on the way there, Braithwaite and I finished off our first cable to K.:-- "Thanks to God who calmed the seas and to the Royal Navy who rowed our fellows ashore as coolly as if at a regatta; thanks also to the dauntless spirit shown by all ranks of both Services, we have landed 29,000 upon six beaches in the face of desperate resistance from strong Turkish Infantry forces well backed by Artillery. Enemy are entrenched, line upon line, behind wire entanglements spread to catch us wherever we might try to concentrate for an advance. Worst danger zone, the open sea, now traversed, but on land not yet out of the wood. Our main covering detachment held up on water's edge, at foot of amphitheatre of low cliffs round the little bay West of Sedd-el-Bahr. At sunset last night a dashing attack was made by the 29th Division South-west along the heights from Tekke Burnu to set free the Dublins, Munsters and Hants, but at the hour of writing they are still pinned down to the beach. "The Australians have done wonderfully at Gaba Tepe. They got 8,000 ashore to one beach between 3.30 a.m. and 8.30 a.m.: due to their courage; organisation; sea discipline and steady course of boat practice. Navy report not one word spoken or movement made by any of these thousands of untried troops either during the transit over the water in the darkness or nearing the land when the bullets took their toll. But, as the keel of the boats touched bottom, each boat-load dashed into the water and then into the enemy's fire. At first it seemed that nothing could stop them, but by degrees wire, scrub and cliffs; thirst, sheer exhaustion broke the back of their impetus. Then the enemy's howitzers and field guns had it all their own way, forcing attack to yield a lot of ground. Things looked anxious for a bit, but by this morning's dawn all are dug in, cool, confident. "But for the number and good shooting of Turkish field guns and howitzers, Birdwood would surely have carried the whole main ridge of Sari Bair. As it is, his troops are holding a long curve upon the crests of the lower ridges, identical, to a hundred yards, with the line planned by my General Staff in their instructions and pencilled by them upon the map. "The French have stormed Kum Kale and are attacking Yeni Shahr. Although you excluded Asia from my operations, have been forced by tactical needs to ask d'Amade to do this and so relieve us from Artillery fire from the Asiatic shore. "Deeply regret to report the death of Brigadier-General Napier and to say that our losses, though not yet estimated, are sure to be very heavy. "If only this night passes without misadventures, I propose to attack Achi Baba to-morrow with whatever Hunter-Weston can scrape together of the 29th Division. Such an attack should force the enemy to relax their grip on Sedd-el-Bahr. I can look now to the Australians to keep any enemy reinforcements from crossing the waist of the Peninsula."[12] Relief about Gaba Tepe is almost swallowed up by the "Y" Beach fiasco--as we must, I suppose, take it to be. No word yet from Hunter-Weston. At Helles things are much the same as last night; only, the South Wales Borderers are now well dug in on a spur above Morto Bay and are confident. At 1.45 d'Amade came aboard in a torpedo boat to see me. He has been ashore at Kum Kale and reports violent fighting and, for the time being, victory. A very dashing landing, the village stormed; house to house struggles; failure to carry the cemetery; last evening defensive measures, loopholed walls, barbed wire fastened to corpses; at night savage counter attacks led by Germans; their repulse; a wall some hundred yards long and several feet high of Turkish corpses; our own losses also very heavy and some good Officers among them. All this partly from d'Amade to me; partly his Staff to my Staff. Nogués and his brave lads have done their bit indeed for the glory of the Army of France. Meanwhile, d'Amade is anxious to get his men off soon: he cannot well stay where he is unless he carries the village of Yeni Shahr. Yeni Shahr is perched on the height a mile to the South of him, but it has been reinforced from the Besika Bay direction and to take it would be a major operation needing a disembarkation of at least the whole of his Division. He is keen to clear out: I agreed, and at 12.5 he went to make his preparations. Ten minutes later, when we were on our way back to Gaba Tepe, the Admiral and Braithwaite both tackled me, and urged that the French should be ordered to hold on for another twenty-four hours--even if for no longer. Had they only raised their point before d'Amade left the _Queen Elizabeth_! As it is, to change my mind and my orders would upset the French very much and--on the whole--I do not think we have enough to go upon to warrant me in doing so. The Admiral has always been keen on Kum Kale and I quite understand that Naval aspect of the case. But it is all I can do, as far as things have gone, to hang on by my eyelids to the Peninsula, and let alone K.'s strong, clear order, I can hardly consent, as a soldier, to entangle myself further in Asia, before I have made good Achi Baba. We dare not lose another moment in getting a firm footing on the Peninsula and that was why I had signalled d'Amade from Gaba Tepe to bring up all the rest of his troops from Tenedos and to disembark them at "W" (seeing we were still held up at "V") and why I cannot now perceive any other issue. We are not strong enough to attack on both sides of the Straits. Given one more Division we might try: as things are, my troops won't cover the mileage. On a small scale map, in an office, you may make mole-hills of mountains; on the ground there's no escaping from its features. As soon as the French Commander took his leave, we steamed back for Gaba Tepe, passing Cape Helles at 12.20 p.m. Weather now much brighter and warmer. Passing "Y" Beach the re-embarkation of troops was still going on. All quiet, the _Goliath_ says: the enemy was so roughly handled in an attack they made last night that they do not trouble our withdrawal--too pleased to see us go, it seems! So this part of our plan has gone clean off the rails. Keyes, Braithwaite, Aspinall, Dawnay, Godfrey are sick--but their disappointment is nothing to mine. De Robeck agrees that we don't know enough yet to warrant us in fault-finding or intervention. My orders ought to have been taken before a single unwounded Officer or man was ferried back aboard ship. Never, since modern battles were invented by the Devil, has a Commander-in-Chief been so accessible to a message or an appeal from any part of the force. Each theatre has its outfit of signallers, wireless, etc., and I can either answer within five minutes, or send help, or rush myself upon the scene at 25 miles an hour with the _Q.E.'s_ fifteen inchers in my pocket. Here there is no question of emergency, or enemy pressure, or of haste; so much we see plain enough with our own eyes. Whilst having a hurried meal, Jack Churchill rushed down from the crow's nest to say that he thought we had carried the Fort above Sedd-el-Bahr. He had seen through a powerful naval glass some figures standing erect and silhouetted against the sky on the parapet. Only, he argued, British soldiers would stand against the skyline during a general action. That is so, and we were encouraged to be hopeful. On to Gaba Tepe just in time to see the opening, the climax and the end of the dreaded Turkish counter attack. The Turks have been fighting us off and on all the time, but this is--or rather I can happily now say "was"--an organised effort to burst in through our centre. Whether burglars or battles are in question, give me sunshine. What had been a terror when Braithwaite woke me out of my sleep at midnight to meet the Gaba Tepe deputation was but a heightened, tightened sensation thirteen hours later. No doubt the panorama was alarming, but we all of us somehow--we on the _Q.E._--felt sure that Australia and New Zealand had pulled themselves together and were going to give Enver and his Army a very disagreeable surprise. The contrast of the actual with the might-have-been is the secret of our confidence. Imagine, had these brave lads entrusted to us by the Commonwealth and Dominion now been crowding on the beaches--crowding into their boats--whilst some desperate rearguard was trying to hold off the onrush of the triumphant Turks. Never would any of us have got over so shocking a disaster; now they are about to win their spurs (D.V.). Here come the Turks! First a shower of shells dropping all along the lower ridges and out over the surface of the Bay. Very pretty the shells--at half a mile! Prince of Wales's feathers springing suddenly out of the blue to a loud hammer stroke; high explosives: or else the shrapnel; pure white, twisting a moment and pirouetting as children in their nightgowns pirouette, then gliding off the field two or three together, an aerial ladies' chain. Next our projectiles, Thursby's from the _Queen_, _Triumph_, _Majestic_, _Bacchante_, _London_, and _Prince of Wales_; over the sea they flew; over the heads of our fighters; covered the higher hillsides and skyline with smudges of black, yellow and green. Smoky fellows these--with a fiery spark at their core, and wherever they touch the earth, rocks leap upwards in columns of dust to the sky. Under so many savage blows, the labouring mountains brought forth Turks. Here and there advancing lines; dots moving over green patches; dots following one another across a broad red scar on the flank of Sari Bair: others following--and yet others--and others--and others, closing in, disappearing, reappearing in close waves converging on the central and highest part of our position. The tic tac of the machine guns and the rattle of the rifles accompanied the roar of the big guns as hail, pouring down on a greenhouse, plays fast and loose amidst the peals of God's artillery: we have got some guns right up the precipitous cliff: the noise doubled; redoubled; quadrupled, expanded into one immense tiger-like growl--a solid mass of the enemy showed itself crossing the green patch--and then the good _Queen Lizzie_ picked up her targets--crash!!! Stop your ears with wax. The fire slackened. The attack had ebbed away; our fellows were holding their ground. A few, very few, little dots had run back over that green patch--the others had passed down into the world of darkness. A signaller was flag-wagging from a peak about the left centre of our line:--"The boys will never forget the _Queen Elizabeth's_ help" was what he said. Jack Churchill was right. At 1.50 a wireless came in to say that the Irish and Hants from the _River Clyde_ had forced their way through Sedd-el-Bahr village and had driven the enemy clean out of all his trenches and castles. Ah, well; _that_ load is off our minds: every one smiling. Passed on the news to Birdwood: I doubt the Turks coming on again--but, in case, the 29th Division's feat of arms will be a tonic. I was wrong. At 3 p.m. the enemy made another effort, this time on the left of our line. We shook them badly and were rewarded by seeing a New Zealand charge. Two Battalions racing due North along the coast and foothills with levelled bayonets. Then again the tumult died away. At 4.30 we left Gaba Tepe and sailed for Helles. At 4.50 we were opposite Krithia passing "Y" Beach. The whole of the troops, plus wounded, plus gear, have vanished. Only the petrol tins they took for water right and left of their pathway up the cliff; huge diamonds in the evening sun. The enemy let us slip off without shot fired. The last boat-load got aboard the _Goliath_ at 4 p.m., but they had forgotten some of their kit, so the Bluejackets rowed ashore as they might to Southsea pier and brought it off for them--and again no shot fired! Hove to off Cape Helles at quarter past five. Joyous confirmation of Sedd-el-Bahr capture and our lines run straight across from "X" to Morto Bay, but a very sad postscript now to that message: Doughty Wylie has been killed leading the sally from the beach. The death of a hero strips victory of her wings. Alas, for Doughty Wylie! Alas, for that faithful disciple of Charles Gordon; protector of the poor and of the helpless; noblest of those knights ever ready to lay down their lives to uphold the fair fame of England. Braver soldier never drew sword. He had no hatred of the enemy. His spirit did not need that ugly stimulant. Tenderness and pity filled his heart and yet he had the overflowing enthusiasm and contempt of death which alone can give troops the volition to attack when they have been crouching so long under a pitiless fire. Doughty Wylie was no flash-in-the-pan V.C. winner. He was a steadfast hero. Years ago, at Aleppo, the mingled chivalry and daring with which he placed his own body as a shield between the Turkish soldiery and their victims during a time of massacre made him admired even by the Moslems. Now; as he would have wished to die, so has he died. For myself, in the secret mind that lies beneath the conscious, I think I had given up hope that the covering detachment at "V" would work out their own salvation. My thought was to keep pushing in troops from "W" Beach until the enemy had fallen back to save themselves from being cut off. The Hampshires, Dublins and Munsters have turned their own tight corner, but I hope these fine Regiments will never forget what they owe to one Doughty Wylie, the Mr. Greatheart of our war. The Admiral and Braithwaite have been at me again to urge that the French should hang on another day at Kum Kale. They point out that the crisis seems over for the time being both at Helles and Gaba Tepe and argue that this puts a different aspect on the whole question. That is so, and on the whole, I think "yes" and have asked d'Amade to comply. At 6.20 p.m. started back intending to see all snug at Gaba Tepe, but, picking up some Turkish guns as targets in Krithia and on the slopes of Achi Baba, we hove to off Cape Tekke and opened fire. We soon silenced these guns, though others, unseen, kept popping. At 6.50 we ceased fire. At 7, Admiral Guépratte came on board and tells us splendid news about Kum Kale. At 2 o'clock the artillery fire from shore and ships became too hot for the Turks entrenched in the cemetery and they put up the white flag and came in as prisoners, 500 of them. A hundred more had been taken during the night fighting, but there was treachery and some of those were killed. Kum Kale has been a brilliant bit of work, though I fear we have lost nearly a quarter of our effectives. Guépratte agrees we would do well to hold on for another 24 hours. At a quarter past seven he took his leave and we let drop our anchor where we were, off Cape Tekke. So now we stand on Turkish _terra firma_. The price has been paid for the first step and that is the step that counts. Blood, sweat, fire; with these we have forged our master key and forced it into the lock of the Hellespont, rusty and dusty with centuries of disuse. Grant us, O Lord, tenacity to turn it; determination to turn it, till through that open door _Queen Elizabeth_ of England sails East for the Golden Horn! When in far off ages men discuss over vintages ripened in Mars the black superstitions and bloody mindedness of the Georgian savages, still they will have to drain a glass to the memory of the soldiers and sailormen who fought here. CHAPTER VI MAKING GOOD _27th April, 1915. Getting on for midnight. H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth."_ All sorts of questions and answers. At 2 a.m. got a signal from Admiral Guépratte, "Situation at Kum Kale excellent, but d'Amade gave orders to re-embark. It has begun. Much regret it is not in my power to stop it." Well, so do I regret it. With just one more Brigade at our backs we would have taken Yeni Shahr and kept our grip on Kum Kale; helping along the Fleet; countering the big guns from Asia. But, there it is; as things are I was right, and beggars can't be choosers. The French are now free to land direct at Sedd-el-Bahr, or "V," instead of round by "W." During the small hours I wrote a second cable to K. telling him Hunter-Weston could not attack Achi Baba yesterday as his troops were worn out and some of his Battalions had lost a quarter of their effectives: also that we were already short of ammunition. Also that "Sedd-el-Bahr was a dreadful place to carry by open assault, being a labyrinth of rocks, galleries, ruins and entanglements." "With all the devoted help of the Navy, it has taken us a day's hard fighting to make good our footing. Achi Baba Hill, only a cannon shot distant, will be attacked to-morrow, the 28th." After shipping ammunition for her big guns the _Q.E._ sailed at 7 a.m. for Gaba Tepe where we found Birdwood's base, the beach, being very severely shelled. The fire seemed to drop from half the points of the compass towards that one small strip of sand, so marvellously well defiladed by nature that nine-tenths of the shot fell harmlessly into the sea. The Turkish gunners had to chance hitting something by lobbing shrapnel over the main cliff or one of the two arm-like promontories which embraced the little cove,--and usually they didn't! Yet even so the beach was hardly a seaside health resort and it was a comfort to see squads of these young soldiers marching to and fro and handling packing cases with no more sign of emotion than railway porters collecting luggage at Margate. At 7.55 we presented the Turks with some remarkable specimens of sea shells to recompense them for their trouble in so narrowly searching our beaches. They accepted our 6 inchers with a very good grace. Often one of our H.E. hundred pounders seemed to burst just where a field gun had been spotted:--and before our triumphant smiles had time to disentangle themselves from our faces, the beggars would open again. But the 15-inch shrapnel, with its 10,000 bullets, was a much more serious projectile. The Turks were not taking more than they could help. Several times we silenced a whole battery by one of these monsters. No doubt these very batteries are now getting back into concealed positions where our ships' guns will not be able to find them. Still, even so, to-day and to-morrow are the two most ticklish days; after that, let the storm come--our troops will have rooted themselves firmly into the soil. Have been speaking to the sailors about getting man-killing H.E. shell for the Mediterranean Squadron instead of the present armour piercers which break into only two or three pieces and are, therefore, in the open field, more alarming than deadly. They don't seem to think there would be much good gained by begging for special favours through routine channels. Officialdom at the Admiralty is none too keen on our show. If we can get at Winston himself, then we can rely on his kicking red tape into the waste-paper basket; otherwise we won't be met half way. As for me, I am helpless. I cannot write Winston--not on military business; least of all on Naval business. I am fixed, I won't write to any public personage re my wants and troubles excepting only K. Braithwaite agrees that, especially in war time, no man can serve two masters. There has been so much stiletto work about this war, and I have so often blamed others for their backstairs politics, that I must chance hurt feelings and shall not write letters although several of the Powers that Be have told me to keep them fully posted. The worst loss is that of Winston's ear; high principles won't obtain high explosives. As to writing to the Army Council--apart from K., the War Office is an oubliette. The foregoing sage reflections were jotted down between 10 and 10.30 a.m., when I was clapped into solitary confinement under armour. An aeroplane had reported that the _Goeben_ had come into the Narrows, presumably to fire over the Peninsula with her big guns. There was no use arguing with the sailors; they treat me as if I were a mascot. So I was duly shut up out of harm's way and out of their way whilst they made ready to take on the ship, which is just as much the cause of our Iliad as was Helen that of Homer's. Up went our captive balloon; in ten minutes it was ready to spot and at 10.15 we got off the first shot which missed the _Goeben_ by just a few feet to the right. The enemy then quickly took cover behind the high cliffs and I was let out of my prison. Some Turkish transports remained, landing troops. Off flew the shell, seven miles it flew; over the Turkish Army from one sea into another. A miss! Again she let fly. This time from the balloon came down that magic formula "O.K." (plumb centre). We danced for joy though hardly able really to credit ourselves with so magnificent a shot: but it was so: in two minutes came another message saying the transport was sinking by the stern! O.K. for us; U.P. with the Turks. Simple letters to describe a pretty ghastly affair. Fancy that enormous shell dropping suddenly out of the blue on to a ship's deck swarming with troops! A wireless from Wemyss to say that the whole of Hunter-Weston's force has advanced two miles on a broad front and that the enemy made no resistance. At 6 p.m. a heavy squall came down from the North and the Aegean was no place for flyers whether heavier or lighter than air. All the Turkish guns we could spot from the ship had been knocked out or silenced, so Birdwood and his men were able to get along with their digging. We cast anchor off Cape Helles at about 6.30 p.m. At 7 Hunter-Weston came on board and dined. He is full of confidence and good cheer. _He never gave any order to evacuate "Y"; he never was consulted; he does not know who gave the order._ He does well to be proud of his men and of the way they played up to-day when he called upon them to press back the enemy. He has had no losses to speak of and we are now on a fairly broad three-mile front right across the toe of the Peninsula; about two miles from the tip at Helles. Had our men not been so deadly weary, there was no reason we should not have taken Achi Baba from the Turks, who put up hardly any fight at all. But we have not got our mules or horses ashore yet in any numbers, and the digging, and carriage of stores, water and munitions to the firing line had to go on all night, so the men are still as tired as they were on the 26th, or more so. The Intelligence hear that enemy reinforcements are crossing the Narrows. So it is a pity we could not make more ground whilst we were about it, but we had no fresh men to put in and the used Battalions were simply done to a turn. We did not talk much about the past at dinner, except--ah me, how bitterly we regretted our 10 per cent. margin to replace casualties,--a margin allowed by regulation and afforded to the B.E.F. Just think of it. To-day each Battalion of the 29th Division would have been joined by two keen Officers and one hundred keen men--fresh--all of them fresh! The fillip given would have been far, far greater than that which the mere numbers (1,200 for the Division) would seem to imply. Hunter-Weston says that he would sooner have a pick-me-up in that form than two fresh Battalions, and I think, in saying so, he says too little. Tired or not tired, we attack again to-morrow. We must make more--much more--elbow room before the Turks get help from Asia or Constantinople. Are we to strike before or after daylight? Hunter-Weston is clear for day and we have made it so. The hour is to be 8 a.m. Showed H.W. the cable we got at tea time from K., quoting some message de Robeck has apparently sent home and saying, "Maxwell will give you any support from the garrison of Egypt you may require." I am puzzled how to act on this. Maxwell won't give me "any support" I "may require"; otherwise, naturally, I'd have had the Gurkhas with me now: he has his own show to run: I have my own show to run: it is for K. to split the differences. K. gave me fair warning before I started I must not embroil him with French, France, or British politicians by squeezing him for more troops. It was up to me to take the job on those terms or leave it--and I took it on. I did think Egypt might be held to be outside this tacit covenant, but when I asked first, directly, for the Indian Brigade; secondly, for the Brigade or even for one Gurkha Battalion, I only got that chilliest of refusals--silence. Since then, there has been some change in his attitude. I do wish K. would take me more into his confidence. Never a word to me about the Indian Brigade, yet now it is on its way! Also, here comes this offer of more troops. Hunter-Weston's reading of the riddle is that troops ear-marked for the Western front are still taboo but that K. finds himself, since our successful landing, in a more favourable political atmosphere and is willing, therefore, to let us draw on Egypt. He thinks, in a word, that as far as Egypt goes, we should try and get what we can get. Said good-night with mutual good wishes, and have worked till now (1 a.m.) answering wireless and interviewing Winter and Woodward, who had come across from the _Arcadian_ to do urgent administrative work. Each seems satisfied with the way his own branch is getting on: Winter is the quicker worker. Wrote out also a second long cable to K. (the first was operations) formally asking leave to call upon Maxwell to send me the East Lancs. Division and showing that Maxwell can have my second Mounted Division in exchange. Have thought it fair to cable Maxwell also, asking him to hold the East Lancs. handy. K.'s cable covers me so far. No Commander enjoys parting with his troops and Maxwell may play on one of the tenderest spots in K.'s adamantine heart by telling him his darling Egypt will be endangered; still it is only right to give him fair warning. Lord Hindlip, King's Messenger, has brought us our mails. _28th April, 1915. H.M.S. "Queen Elizabeth." Off Gallipoli._ At 9 a.m. General d'Amade came aboard and gave me the full account of the Kum Kale landing, a brilliant piece of work which will add lustre even to the illustrious deeds of France. I hope the French Government will recognize this dashing stroke of d'Amade's by something more solid than a thank you. At 9.40 General Paris and the Staff of the Naval Division also came aboard, and were telling me their doings and their plans when the noise of the battle cut short the pow-wow. The fire along the three miles front is like the rumble of an express train running over fog signals. Clearly we are not going to gain ground so cheaply as yesterday. At 10 o'clock the _Q.E._ was steaming slowly Northwards and had reached a point close to the old "Y" landing place (well marked out by the glittering kerosine tins). Suddenly, inland, a large mass of men, perhaps two thousand, were seen doubling down a depression of the ground heading towards the coast. We had two 15-inch guns loaded with 10,000 shrapnel bullets each, but there was an agony as to whether these were our fellows falling back or Turks advancing. The Admiral and Keyes asked me. The Flag Captain was with us. The thing hung on a hair but the horror of wiping out one of my own Brigades was too much for me: 20 to 1 they were Turkish reinforcements which had just passed through Krithia--50 to 1 they were Turks--and then--the ground seemed to swallow them from view. Ten minutes later, they broke cover half a mile lower down the Peninsula and left us no doubt as to what they were, advancing as they did in a most determined manner against some of our men who had their left flank on the cliffs above the sea. The Turks were no longer in mass but extended in several lines, less than a pace between each man. Before this resolute attack our men, who were much weaker, began to fall back. One Turkish Company, about a hundred strong, was making an ugly push within rifle shot of our ship. Its flank rested on the very edge of the cliff, and the men worked forward like German Infantry in a regular line, making a rush of about fifty yards with sloped arms and lying down and firing. They all had their bayonets fixed. Through a glass every move, every signal, could be seen. From where we were our guns exactly enfiladed them. Again they rose and at a heavy sling trot came on with their rifles at the slope; their bayonets glittering and their Officer ten yards ahead of them waving his sword. Some one said they were cheering. Crash! and the _Q.E._ let fly a shrapnel; range 1,200 yards; a lovely shot; we followed it through the air with our eyes. Range and fuse--perfect. The huge projectile exploded fifty yards from the right of the Turkish line, and vomited its contents of 10,000 bullets clean across the stretch whereon the Turkish Company was making its last effort. When the smoke and dust cleared away nothing stirred on the whole of that piece of ground. We looked for a long time, nothing stirred. One hundred to the right barrel--nothing left for the second barrel! The tailor of the fairy tale with his "seven at a blow" is not in it with the gunnery Lieutenant of a battleship. Our beloved _Queen_ had drawn the teeth of the Turkish counter-attack on our extreme left. The enemy no longer dared show themselves over the open downs by the sea, but worked over broken ground some hundreds of yards inland where we were unable to see them. The _Q.E._ hung about here shelling the enemy and trying to help our fellows on for the whole day. As was signalled to us from the shore by an Officer of the Border Regiment, the Turks were in great strength somewhere not easy to spot a few hundred yards inland from "Y" Beach. Some were in a redoubt, others working down a ravine. A party of our men had actually got into the trench dug by the "Y" Beach covering party on the day of the landing, but had been knocked out again, a few minutes before the _Queen Elizabeth_ came to the rescue, and, in falling back, had been (so the Officer signaller told us) "badly cut up." Asked again who were being badly cut up, he replied, "All of us!" No doubt the _Q.E._ turned up in the very nick of time, at a moment when we were being forced to retire too rapidly. A certain number of stragglers were slipping quietly back towards Cape Helles along the narrow sandy strip at the foot of the high cliffs, so, as it was flat calm, I sent Aspinall off in a small boat with orders to rally them. He rowed to the South so as to head them off and as the dinghy drew in to the shore we saw one of them strip and swim out to sea to meet it half way. By the time the young fellow reached the boat the cool salt water had given him back his presence of mind and he explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, that he had swum off to get help for the wounded! After landing, a show of force was needed to pull the fugitives up but once they did pull up they were splendid, and volunteered to a man to follow Aspinall back into the firing line. Many of them were wounded and the worst of these were put into a picket boat which had just that moment come along. One of the men seemed pretty bad, being hit in the head and in the body. He wanted to join in but, naturally, was forbidden to do so. Aspinall then led his little party back and climbed the cliff. When he got to the top and looked round he found this severely wounded man had not only disobeyed orders and followed him, but had found strength to lug up a box of ammunition with him. "I ordered you not to come," said Aspinall: "I can still pull a trigger, Sir," replied the man.[13] To-day's experiences have been of the strangest. As armies have grown and as the range of firearms has increased, the Commander-in-Chief of any considerable force has been withdrawn further and further from the fighting. To-day I have stood in the main battery which has fired a shot establishing, in its way, a record in the annals of destruction. On our left we had gained three miles and had been driven back a mile or rather more after doing so, apparently by fresh enemy forces. What would have been a promenade if our original covering party had stuck to "Y" Beach, had become too difficult for that wearied and greatly weakened Brigade. On the British right the 88th Brigade pushed back the Turks easily enough at first, but afterwards they too came up against stiffer resistance from what seemed to be fresh enemy formations until at last, i.e., about mid-day, they were held up. The Reserve were then ordered to pass through and attack. Small parties are reported to have got into Krithia and one complete Battalion gained a position commanding Krithia--so Wemyss has been credibly informed; but things went wrong; they seem to have been _just_ too weak. Hunter-Weston is confident as ever and says once his men have dug themselves in, even a few inches, they will hold what they have gained against any number of Turks. We have been handicapped by the trouble that is bred in the bone of any landing on enemy soil. The General wants to strike quick and hard from the outset. To do so he must rush his men ashore and by very careful plans he may succeed; but even then, unless he can lay hands upon wharves, cranes, and all the mechanical appliances to be found in an up-to-date harbour, he cannot keep up the supply of ammunition, stores, food, water, on a like scale. He cannot do this because, just in proportion as he is successful in getting a large number of men on shore and in quickly pushing them forward some distance inland, so will it become too much for his small craft and his beach frontage to cope with the mule transport and carts. Hence, shortage of ammunition and shortage of water, which last was the worse felt to-day. But the heavy fighting at the landings was what delayed us most. An enemy aeroplane (a Taube) has been dropping bombs on and about the _River Clyde_. There is little of the "joy of the contest" in fighting battles with worn-out troops. Even when the men respond by doing wonders, the Commander is bound to feel his heart torn in two by their trials, in addition to having his brain tortured on anxiety's rack as to the result. The number of Officers we have lost is terrible. Seen from the Flagship, the sun set exactly behind the purple island of Imbros, and as it disappeared sent out long flame-coloured streamers into the sky. The effect was that of a bird of Paradise bringing balm to our overwrought nerves. Have published the following order:-- "I rely on all Officers and men to stand firm and steadfast to resist the attempt of the enemy to drive us back from our present position which has been so gallantly won. "The enemy is evidently trying to obtain a local success before reinforcements can reach us; but the first portion of these arrive to-morrow and will be followed by a fresh Division from Egypt. "It behoves us all, French and British, to stand fast, hold what we have gained, wear down the enemy and thus be prepared for a decisive victory. "Our comrades in Flanders have had the same experience of fatigue after hard won fights. We shall, I know, emulate their steadfastness and achieve a result which will confer added laurels to French and British arms. "IAN HAMILTON, "General." Two cables from K.:-- The first repeats a cable he has sent Maxwell. He begins by saying, "In a cable just in from the Dardanelles French Admiral, I see he thinks reinforcements are needed for the troops landed on Gallipoli. Hamilton has not made any mention of this to me. All the same yesterday I cabled him as follows:--" (Here he quotes the cable already entered in by me yesterday.) K. goes on, "I hope all your troops are being kept ready to embark, and I would suggest you should send the Territorial Division if Hamilton wants them. Peyton's transports, etc., etc., etc." The second cable quotes mine of last night wherein I ask leave to call for the East Lancs. and says, "I feel sure you had better have the Territorial Division, and I have instructed Maxwell to embark them. My No. 4239 addressed to Maxwell and repeated to you was sent before receiving your telegram under reply. You had better tell him to send off the Division to you. I am very glad the troops have done so well. Give them a message of hearty congratulations on their successful achievement to buck them up." Bravo K.! but kind as is your message the best buck up for the Army will be the news that the lads from Manchester are on their way to help us. The cable people have pinned a minute to these two messages saying that the two hours' pull we have over Greenwich time ought to have let K. get my message _before_ he wired to Maxwell. He may think Maxwell will take it better that way. Before going to bed, I sent him (K.) two cables:-- (1) "Last night the Turks attacked the Australians and New Zealanders in great force, charging right up to the trenches, bugles blowing and shouting 'Allah Hu!' They were bayoneted. The French are landing to lend a hand to the 29th Division. Birdwood's men are very weary and I am supporting them with the Naval Division." These, I may say, are my very last reserves. (2) Telling K. how "I shall now be able to cheer up my troops by the prospect of speedy reinforcements, whilst informing them of your congratulations, and appealing to them to continue as they have commenced," I go on to say that we have used up the French and the Naval Division "so that at present I have no reserve except Cox when he arrives and the remainder of the French." I also say, simply, and without any reference to the War Office previous denial that there _was_ any second French Division, "D'Amade informs me that the other French Division is ready to embark if required, so I hope you will urge that it be despatched." As to the delay in letting me have the Indian Brigade; a delay which has to-day, so say the 29th Division, cost us Krithia and Achi Baba, I say "Unluckily Cox's Brigade is a day late, but I still trust it will arrive to-morrow during the day." _Bis dot qui cito dat_. O truest proverb! One fresh man on Gallipoli to-day was worth five afloat on the Mediterranean or fifty loafing around London in the Central Force. At home they are carefully totting up figures--I know them--and explaining to the P.M. and the Senior Wranglers with some complacency that the sixty thousand effective bayonets left me are enough--seeing they are British--to overthrow the Turkish Empire. So they would be if I had that number, or anything like it, for my line of battle. But what are the facts? Exactly one half of my "bayonets" spend the whole night carrying water, ammunition and supplies between the beach and the firing line. The other half of my "bayonets," those left in the firing line, are up the whole night armed mostly with spades digging desperately into the earth. Now and then there is a hell of a fight, but that is incidental and a relief. A single Division of my old "Central Force," so easily to be spared, so wasted where they are, could take this pick and spade work off the fighters. But the civilians think, I am certain, we are in France, with a service of trains and motor transport at our backs so that our "bayonets" are really free to devote their best energies to fighting. My troops are becoming thoroughly worn out. And when I think of the three huge armies of the Central Force I commanded a few weeks ago in England--! _29th April, 1915. H.M.S. "Q.E." Off the Peninsula._ A biggish sea running, subsiding as the day went on--and my mind grew calmer with the waves. For we are living hand-to-mouth now in every sense. Two days' storm would go very near starving us. Until we work up some weeks' reserve of water, food and cartridges, I shan't sleep sound. Have lent Birdwood four Battalions of the Royal Naval Division and two more Battalions are landing at Helles to form my own reserve. Two weak Battalions; that is the exact measure of my executive power to shape the course of events; all the power I have to help either d'Amade or Hunter-Weston. Water is a worry; weather is a worry; the shelling from Asia is a thorn in my side. The sailors had hoped they would be able to shield the Southern point of the Peninsula by interposing their ships but they can't. Their gunnery won't run to it--was never meant to run to it--and with five going aeroplanes we can't do the spotting. Our Regiments, too, will not be their superb selves again--won't be anything like themselves--not until they get their terrible losses made good. There is no other way but fresh blood for it is sheer human nature to feel flat after an effort. Any violent struggle for life always lowers the will to fight even of the most cut-and-come-again:--don't I remember well when Sir George asked me if the Elandslaagte Brigade had it in them to storm Pepworth? I had to tell him they were still the same Brigade but not the same men. No use smashing in the impregnable sea front if we don't get a fresh dose of energy to help us to push into the, as yet, very pregnable hinterland. Since yesterday morning, when I saw our men scatter right and left before an enemy they would have gone for with a cheer on the 25th or 26th,--ever since then I have cursed with special bitterness the lack of vision which leaves us without that 10 per cent. margin above strength which we could, and should, have had with us. The most fatal heresy in war, and, with us, the most rank, is the heresy that battles can be won without heavy loss--I don't care whether it is in men or in ships. The next most fatal heresy is to think that, having won the battle, decimated troops can go on defeating fresh enemies without getting their 10 per cent. renewed. [Illustration: "W" BEACH] At 9 o'clock I boarded H.M.S. _Kennett_, a destroyer, and went ashore. Commodore Roger Keyes came along with me, and we set foot on Turkish soil for the first time at 9.45 a.m. at "W" Beach. What a scene! An ants' nest in revolution. Five hundred of our fighting men are running to and fro between cliffs and sea carrying stones wherewith to improve our pier. On to this pier, picket boats, launches, dinghies, barges, all converge through the heavy swell with shouts and curses, bumps and hair's-breadth escapes. Other swarms of half-naked soldiers are sweating, hauling, unloading, loading, road-making; dragging mules up the cliff, pushing mules down the cliff: hundreds more are bathing, and through this pandemonium pass the quiet stretchers bearing pale, blood-stained, smiling burdens. First we spent some time speaking to groups of Officers and men and hearing what the Beachmasters and Engineers had to say; next we saw as many of the wounded as we could and then I walked across to the Headquarters of the 29th Division (half a mile) to see Hunter-Weston. A strange abode for a Boss; some holes burrowed into a hillock. In South Africa, this feature which looks like, and actually is, a good observing post, would have been thoroughly searched by fire. The Turks seem, so far, to have left it pretty well alone. After a long talk during which we fixed up a good many moot points, went on to see General d'Amade. Unluckily he had just left to go on to the Flagship to see me. I did not like to visit the French front in his absence, so took notes of the Turkish defences on "V" and had a second and a more thorough inspection of the beach, transport and storage arrangements on "W." Roper, Phillimore (R.N.) and Fuller stood by and showed me round. At 1.30 p.m. re-embarked on the _Q.E._ and sailed towards Gaba Tepe. After watching our big guns shooting at the enemy's field pieces for some time I could stand it no longer--the sight seeing I mean--and boarded the destroyer _Colne_ which took me towards the beach. Commodore Keyes came along, also Pollen, Dawnay and Jack Churchill. Our destroyer got within a hundred yards or so of the shore when we had to tranship into a picquet boat owing to the shallow water. Quite a good lot of bullets were plopping into the water, so the Commodore ordered the _Colne_ to lie further out. At this distance from the beach, withdrawn a little from the combat, (there was a hottish scrimmage going on), and yet so close that friends could be recognised, the picture we saw was astonishing. No one has ever seen so strange a spectacle and I very much doubt if any one will ever see it again. The Australians and New Zealanders had fixed themselves into the crests of a series of high sandy cliffs, covered, wherever they were not quite sheer, with box scrub. These cliffs were not in the least like what they had seemed to be through our glasses when we reconnoitred them at a distance of a mile or more from the shore. Still less were they like what I had originally imagined them to be from the map. Their features were tumbled, twisted, scarred--unclimbable, one would have said, were it not that their faces were now pock-marked with caves like large sand-martin holes, wherein the men were resting or taking refuge from the sniping. From the trenches that ran along the crest a hot fire was being kept up, and swarms of bullets sang through the air, far overhead for the most part, to drop into the sea that lay around us. Yet all the time there were full five hundred men fooling about stark naked on the water's edge or swimming, shouting and enjoying themselves as it might be at Margate. Not a sign to show that they possess the things called nerves. While we were looking, there was an alarm, and long, lean figures darted out of the caves on the face of the cliffs and scooted into the firing line, stooping low as they ran along the crest. The clatter of the musketry was redoubled by the echoing cliffs, and I thought we had dropped in for a scrap of some dimensions as we disembarked upon a fragile little floating pier and were met by Birdie and Admiral Thursby. A full General landing to inspect overseas is entitled to a salute of 17 guns--well, I got my dues. But there is no crisis; things are quieter than they have been since the landing, Birdie says, and the Turks for the time being have been beat. He tells me several men have already been shot whilst bathing but there is no use trying to stop it: they take the off chance. So together we made our way up a steep spur, and in two hours had traversed the first line trenches and taken in the lie of the land. Half way we met Generals Bridges and Godley, and had a talk with them, my first, with Bridges, since Duntroon days in Australia. From the heights we could look down on to the strip of sand running Northwards from Ari Burnu towards Suvla Bay. There were machine guns here which wiped out the landing parties whenever they tried to get ashore North of the present line. The New Zealanders took these with the bayonet, and we held five or six hundred yards more coast line until we were forced back by Turkish counter-attacks in the afternoon and evening of the 25th. The whole stretch is now dominated by Turkish fire from the ridges, and along it lie the bodies of those killed at the first onset, and afterwards in the New Zealand bayonet charge. Several boats are stranded along this no man's land; so far all attempts to get out at night and bury the dead have only led to fresh losses. No one ever landed out of these boats--so they say. Towards evening we re-embarked on the _Colne_ and at the very moment of transhipment from the picquet boat the enemy opened a real hot shrapnel fire, plastering with impartiality and liberality our trenches, our beaches and the sea. The _Colne_ was in strangely troubled water, but, although the shot fell all about her, neither she nor the picquet boat was touched. Five minutes later we should have caught it properly! The Turkish guns are very well hidden now, and the _Q.E._ can do nothing against them without the balloon to spot; we can't often spare one of our five aeroplanes for Gaba Tepe. Going back we had some long range shots with the 15-inch guns at batteries in rear of Achi Baba. Anchored off Cape Helles at dark. A reply in from Maxwell about the East Lancs. They are coming! The worst enemy a Chief has to face in war is an alarmist. The Turks are indeed stout and terrifying fellows when seen, not in a poetry book but in a long line running at you in a heavy jogtrot way with fixed bayonets gleaming. But they don't frighten me as much as one or two of my own friends. No matter. We are here to stay; in so far as my fixed determination can make it so; alive or dead, we stay. _30th April, 1915. H.M.S. Queen Elizabeth._ From dawn to breakfast time all hands busy slinging shells--modern war sinews--piles of them--aboard. The Turks are making hay while the sun shines and are letting "V" Beach have it from their 6-inch howitzers on the plains of Troy. So, once upon a time, did Paris shoot forth his arrows over that selfsame ground and plug proud Achilles in the heel--and never surely was any fabulous tendon more vulnerable than are our Southern beaches from Asia. The audacious Commander Samson cheers us up. He came aboard at 9.15 a.m. and stakes his repute as an airman that his fellows will duly spot these guns and that once they do so the ships will knock them out. I was so pleased to hear him say so that I took him ashore with me to "W" Beach, where he was going to fix up a flight over the Asiatic shore, as well as select a flat piece of ground near the tip of the Peninsula's toe to alight upon. Saw Hunter-Weston: he is quite happy. Touched on "Y" Beach; concluded least said soonest mended. The issues of the day before yesterday's battle seem certainly to have hung on a hair. Apart from "Y" beach might-have-beens, it seems that, further inland, detachments of our men got into a position dominating Krithia; a position from which--could they have held it--Turkish troops in or South of Krithia could have been cut off from their supplies. These men saw the Turks clear out of Krithia taking machine guns with them. But after half an hour, as we did not come on, they began to come back. We were too weak and only one Battalion was left of our reserves--otherwise the day was ours. Street, the G.S.O.I. of the Division, was in the thick of the battle--too far in for his rank, I am told, and he is most emphatic that with one more Brigade Achi Baba would now be in our hands. He said this to me in presence of his own Chief and I believe him, although I had rather disbelieve. To my mind "a miss is as good as a mile" should run a "miss is far worse than a mile." He is a sober-spoken, most gallant Officer. But it can't be helped. This is not the first time in history when the lack of a ha'porth of tar has spoilt the ship of State. I would bear my ills without a groan were it not that from the very moment when I set eyes on the Narrows I was sent to prize open, I had set my heart upon just this very identical ha'porth of tar--_videlicet_, the Indian Brigade. Our men are now busy digging themselves into the ground they gained on the 28th. The Turks have done a good lot of gunnery but no real counter-attack. Hunter-Weston's states show that during the past twenty-four hours well over half of his total strength are getting their artillery ashore, building piers, making roads, or bringing up food, water and ammunition into the trenches. This does not take into account men locally struck off fighting duty as cooks, orderlies, sentries over water, etc., etc. Altogether, it seems that not more than one-third of our fast diminishing total are available for actual fighting purposes. Had we even a Brigade of those backward Territorial reserve Battalions with whom the South of England is congested, they would be worth I don't know what, for they would release their equivalent of first-class fighting men to attend to their own business--the fighting. There are quite a little budget of knotty points to settle between Hunter-Weston and d'Amade, so I made a careful note of them and went along to French Headquarters. By bad luck d'Amade was away, up in the front trenches, and I could not well deliver myself to des Coigns. So I said I would come again sometime to-morrow and once more wended my way along the busy beaches, and in doing so revisited the Turkish defences of "V" and "W." The more I look, the more do I marvel at the invincible spirit of the British soldier. Nothing is impossible to him; no General knows what he can do till he tries. Therefore, he, the British General, must always try! must never listen to the rule-of-thumb advisers who seek to chain down adventure to precedent. But our wounds make us weaker and weaker. Oh that we could fill up the gaps in the thinned ranks of those famous Regiments....! Had ten minutes' talk with the French Captain commanding the battery of 75's now dug in close to the old Fort, where General d'Amade sleeps, or rather, is supposed to sleep. Here is the noisiest spot on God's earth. Not only do the 75's blaze away merrily from morn till dewy eve, and again from dewy eve till morn, to a tune that turns our gunners green with envy, but the enemy are not slow in replying, and although they have not yet exactly found the little beggars (most cunningly concealed with green boughs and brushwood), yet they go precious near them with big shell and small shell, shrapnel and H.E. As I was standing here I was greeted by an old Manchurian friend, le capitaine Reginald Kahn. He fought with the Boers against us and has taken his immense bulk into one campaign after another. A very clever writer, he has been entrusted by the French Government with the compilation of their official history of these operations. On my way back to the _Arcadian_ (we are leaving the _Queen Elizabeth_ for a time)--I met a big batch of wounded, knocked out, all of them, in the battle of the 28th. I spoke to as many of them as I could, and although some were terribly mutilated and disfigured, and although a few others were clearly dying, one and all kept a stiff upper lip--one and all were, or managed to appear--more than content--happy! This scene brought tears into my eyes. The courage of our soldiers goes far beyond belief. Were it not so war would be unbearable. How strongly God keeps the balance even. In fullest splendour the soul shines out amidst the dark shadows of adversity; as a fire goes out when the sunlight strikes it, so the burning, essential quality in men is stifled by prosperity and success. _Later_. Our battleships have been bombarding Chunuk--chucking shells into it from the Aegean side of the Peninsula--and a huge column of smoke is rising up into the evening sky. A proper bonfire on the very altar of Mars. _1st May, 1915. H.M.S. "Arcadian."_ Went ashore first thing. Odd shells on the wing. Visited French Headquarters. Again d'Amade was away. Had a long talk with des Coigns, the Chief of Staff, and told him I had just heard from Lord K. that the 1st Brigade of the new French Division would sail for the Dardanelles on the 3rd inst. Des Coigns is overjoyed but a tiny bit hurt, too, that French Headquarters should get the news first from me and not from their own War Ministry. He insists on my going round the French trenches and sent a capitaine de la Fontaine along with me. Until to-day I had quite failed to grasp the extent of the ground we had gained. But we want a lot more before we can begin to feel safe. The French trenches are not as good as ours by a long chalk, and bullets keep coming through the joints of the badly built sandbag revetment. But they say, "_Un peu de repos, après, vous verrez, mon général._" During my peregrinations I struck the Headquarters of the Mediterranean Brigade under General Vandenberg, who came round his own men with me. A sturdy, thickset fair man with lots of go and very cheery. He is of Dutch descent. Later on I came to the Colonial Brigade Headquarters and made the acquaintance of Colonel Ruef, a fine man--every inch a soldier. The French have suffered severely but are in fine fighting form. They are enchanted to hear about their second Division. For some reason or another they have made up their minds that France is not so keen as we are to make a present of Constantinople to Russia. Their intelligence on European questions seems much better than ours and they depress me by expressing doubts as to whether the Grand Duke Nicholas has munitions enough to make further headway against the Turks in the Caucasus: also, as to whether he has even stuff enough to equip Istomine and my rather visionary Army Corps. By the time we had passed along the whole of the French second line and part of their front line trenches, I had had about enough. So took leave of these valiant Frenchmen and cheery Senegalese and pushed on to the advanced observation post of the Artillery where I met General Stockdale, commanding the 15th Brigade, R.F.A., and not only saw how the land lay but heard some interesting opinions. Also, some ominous comments on what armies spend and what Governments scrimp:--that is ammunition. At 3 p.m., got back having had a real good sweat. Must have walked at least a dozen miles. Soon afterwards Cox, commanding the 29th Indian Brigade, came on board to make his salaam. Better late than never is all I could say to him: he and his Brigade are sick at not having been on the spot to give the staggering Turks a knock-out on the 28th, but he's going to lose no more chances; his men are landing now and he hopes to get them all ashore in the course of the day. The Intelligence have just translated an order for the 25th April found upon the dead body of a Turkish Staff Officer. "Be sure," so it runs, "that no matter how many troops the enemy may try to land, or how heavy the fire of his artillery, it is absolutely impossible for him to make good his footing. Supposing he does succeed in landing at one spot, no time should be left him to co-ordinate and concentrate his forces, but our own troops must instantly press in to the attack and with the help of our reserves in rear he will forthwith be flung back into the sea." _2nd May, 1915. H.M.S. "Arcadian."_ Had a sleepless night and strain was too great to write or do anything but stand on bridge and listen to the firing or go down to the General Staff and see if any messages had come to hand. About 10 p.m. I was on the bridge thinking how dark it was and how preternaturally still; I felt all alone in the world; nothing stirred; even the French 75's had ceased their nerve-racking bark, and then, suddenly, in one instant, hell was let loose upon earth. Like a hundred peals of thunder the Turkish artillery from both Continents let fly their salvoes right, left and centre, and the French and ourselves did not lose many seconds in reply. The shells came from Asia and Achi Baba:--in a fiery shower, they fell upon the lines of our front trenches. Half an hour the bombardment and counter-bombardment, and then there arose the deadly crepitation of small arms--no messages--ten times I went back and forward to the signal room--no messages--until a new and dreadful sound was carried on the night wind out to sea--the sound of the shock of whole regiments--the Turkish Allah Din!--our answering loud Hurrahs. The moments to me were moments of unrelieved agony. I tried to think of some possible source of help I had overlooked and could not. To hear the battle cries of the fighting men and be tied to this _Arcadian_--what torture! Soon, amidst the dazzling yellow flashes of the bursting shells and star bombs, there rose in beautiful parabolas all along our front coloured balls of fire, green, red or white; signals to their own artillery from the pistols of the Officers of the enemy. An ugly feature, these lights so beautiful, because, presumably, in response to their appeal, the Turkish shell were falling further down the Peninsula than at first, as if they had lengthened their range and fuse, i.e., as if we were falling back. By now several disquietening messages had come in, especially from the right, and although bad news was better than no news, or seemed so in that darkness and confusion, yet my anxious mind was stretched on the rack by inability to get contact with the Headquarters of the 29th Division and the French. Bullets or shell had cut some of the wires, and the telephone only worked intermittently. At 2 in the morning I had to send a battalion of my reserve from the Royal Naval Division to strengthen the French right. At 3 a.m. we heard--not from the British--that the British had been broken and were falling back upon the beaches. At 4 we heard from Hunter-Weston that, although the enemy had pierced our line at one or two points, they had now been bloodily repulsed. Thereupon, I gave the word for a general counter-attack and our line began to advance. The whole country-side was covered with retreating Turks and, as soon as it was light enough to see, our shrapnel mowed them down by the score. We gained quite a lot of ground at first, but afterwards came under enfilade fire from machine guns cunningly hidden in folds of the ground. There was no forcing of these by any _coup de main_ especially with worn out troops and guns which had to husband their shell, and so we had to fall back on our starting point. We have made several hundreds prisoners, and have killed a multitude of the enemy. I took Braithwaite and others of the G.S. with me and went ashore. At the pier at "W" were several big lighters filled with wounded who were about to be towed out to Hospital ships. Spent the best part of an hour on the lighters. The cheeriness of the gallant lads is amazing--superhuman! Went on to see Hunter-Weston at his Headquarters,--a queer Headquarters it would seem to our brethren in France! Braithwaite, Street, Hunter-Weston and myself. Some of our units are shaken, no doubt, by loss of Officers (complete); by heavy losses of men (not replaced, or replaceable, under a month) and by sheer physical exertion. Small wonder then that one weak spot in our barrier gave way before the solid mass of the attacking Turks, who came on with the bayonet like true Ghazis. The first part of the rifle fire last night was entirely from our own men. The break by one battalion gave a grand chance to the only Territorial unit in the 29th Division, the 5th Royal Scots, who have a first-class commanding Officer and are inspired not only by the indomitable spirit of their regular comrades, but by the special fighting traditions of Auld Reekie. They formed to a flank as if on a peace parade and fell on to the triumphant Turkish stormers with the cold steel, completely restoring the fortunes of the night. It would have melted a heart of stone, Hunter-Weston said, to see how tired our men looked in the grey of morning when my order came to hand urging them to counter-attack and pursue. Not the spirit but the flesh failed them. With a fresh Division on the ground nothing would have prevented us from making several thousand prisoners; whether they would have been able to rush the machine guns and so gain a great victory was more problematical. Anyway, our advance at dawn was half heroic, half lamentable. The men were so beat that if they tripped and fell, they lay like dead things. The enemy were almost in worse plight and so we took prisoners, but as soon as we came up against nerveless, tireless machine guns we had to stagger back to our trenches. As I write dead quiet reigns on the Peninsula, literally dead quiet. Not a shot from gun or rifle and the enemy are out in swarms over the plain! but they carry no arms; only stretchers and red crescent flags, for they are bearing away their wounded and are burying their piles of dead. It is by my order that the Turks are being left a free hand to carry out this pious duty. The stretcher-bearers carry their burdens over a carpet of flowers. Life is here around us in its most exquisite forms. Those flowers! Poppies, cornflowers, lilies, tulips whose colours are those of the rainbow. The coast line curving down and far away to meet the extravagant blueness of the Aegean where the battleships lie silent--still--smoke rising up lazily--and behind them, through the sea haze, dim outlines of Imbros and Samothrace. Going back, found that the lighter loads of wounded already taken off have by no means cleared the beach. More wounded and yet more. Here, too, are a big drove of Turkish prisoners; fine-looking men; well clothed; well nourished; more of them coming in every minute and mixing up in the strangest and friendliest way with our wounded with whom they talk in some dumb-crambo lingo. The Turks are doing yeoman service for Germany. If only India were pulling her weight for us on the same scale, we should by now be before the gates of Vienna. In the afternoon d'Amade paid me a long visit. He was at first rather chilly and I soon found out it was on account of my having gone round his lines during his absence. He is quite right, and I was quite wrong, and I told him so frankly which made "all's well" in a moment. My only excuse, namely, that I had been invited--nay pressed--to do so by his own Chief of Staff, I thought it wiser to keep to myself. Yesterday evening he got a cable from his own War Ministry confirming K.'s cable to me about the new French Division; Numbered the 156th, it is to be commanded by Bailloud, a distinguished General who has held high office in Africa--seventy years old, but sharp as a needle. D'Amade is most grateful for the battalion of the Naval Division; most complimentary about the Officers and men and is dying to have another which is, _évidemment_, a real compliment. He promises if I will do so to ration them on the best of French conserves and wine. The fact is, that the proportion of white men in the French Division is low; there are too many Senegalese. The battalion from the Naval Division gives, therefore, greater value to the whole force by being placed on the French right than by any other use I can put it to although it does seem strange to separate a small British unit by the entire French front from its own comrades. When d'Amade had done, de Robeck came along. No one on the _Q.E._ slept much last night: to them, as to us, the dark hours had passed like one nightmare after another. Were we miles back from the trenches as in France, and frankly dependent on our telephones, the strain would be softened by distance. Here we see the flashes; we hear the shots; we stand in our main battery and are yet quite cut off from sharing the efforts of our comrades. Too near for reflection; too far for intervention: on tenter hooks, in fact; a sort of mental crucifixion. Cox is not going to take his Punjabi Mahommedans into the fighting area but will leave them on "W" Beach. He says if we were sweeping on victoriously he would take them on but that, as things are, it would not be fair to them to do so. That is exactly why I asked K. and Fitz for a Brigade of Gurkhas; not a mixed Brigade. _3rd May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ At 9 p.m. last night there was another furious outburst of fire; mainly from the French. 75's and rifles vied against one another in making the most infernal _fracas_. I thought we were in for an _encore_ performance, but gradually the uproar died away, and by midnight all was quiet. The Turks had made another effort against our right, but they could not penetrate the rampart of living fire built up against them and none got within charging distance of our trenches, so d'Amade 'phones. He also says that a mass of Turkish reserves were suddenly picked up by the French searchlights and the 75's were into them like a knife, slicing and slashing the serried ranks to pieces before they had time to scatter. Birdie boarded us at 9 a.m. and told us his troubles. He has straightened out his line on the left; after a fierce fight which has cost him no less than 700 fresh casualties. But he feels safer now and is pretty happy! he is sure he can hold his own against anything except thirst. His _band-o-bast_ for taking water up to the higher trenches is not working well, and the springs he has struck along the beach and in the lower gullies are brakish. We are going to try and fix this up for him. At 10 o'clock went ashore with Braithwaite and paid visits to Hunter-Weston and to d'Amade. We had a conference with each of them, Generals and Staff who could be spared from the fighting being present. The feeling is hopeful if only we had more men and especially drafts to fill up our weakened battalions. The shell question is serious although, in this respect, thank Heavens, the French are quite well found. When we got back to the ship, heard a Taube had just been over and dropped a bomb, which fell exactly between the _Arcadian_ and the ammunition ship, anchored only about 60 or 70 yards off us! _4th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Last night again there was all sorts of firing and fighting going on, throughout those hours peaceful citizens ear-mark for sleep. I had one or two absolutely hair-raising messages. Not only were the French troops broken but the 29th Division were falling back into the sea. Though frightened to death, I refused to part with my reserve and made ready to go and take command of it at break of dawn. In the end the French and Hunter-Weston beat off the enemy by themselves. But there is no doubt that some of the French, and two Battalions of our own, are badly shaken,--no wonder! Both Hunter-Weston and d'Amade came on board in the forenoon, Hunter-Weston quite fixed that _his_ men are strained to breaking point and d'Amade emphatic that _his_ men will not carry on through another night unless they get relief. To me fell the unenviable duty of reconciling two contrary persuasions. Much argument as to where the enemy was making his main push; as to the numbers of our own rifles (French and English) and the yards of trenches each (French and English) have to hold. I decided after anxious searching of heart to help the French by taking over some portion of their line with the Naval Brigade. There was no help for it. Hunter-Weston agreed in the end with a very good grace. In writing K. I try to convey the truth in terms which will neither give him needless anxiety or undue confidence. The facts have been stated very simply, plus one brief general comment. I tell him that the Turks would be playing our game by these assaults were it not that in the French section they break through the Senegalese and penetrate into the position. I add a word of special praise for the Naval Division, they have done so well, but I know there are people in the War Office who won't like to hear it. I say, "I hope the new French Division will not steam at economic, but full, speed"; and I sum up by the sentence, "The times are anxious, but I believe the enemy's cohesion should suffer more than ours by these repeated night attacks." CHAPTER VII SHELLS To-day, the 4th, shells were falling from Asia on both "V" and "W" Beaches. We have landed aeroplanes on the Peninsula. The Taube has been bothering us again, but wound up its manoeuvres very decently by killing some fish for our dinner. Approved an out-spoken cable from my Ordnance to the War Office. Heaven knows we have been close-fisted with our meagre stocks, but when the Turks are coming right on to the assault it is not possible to prevent a spurt of rapid fire from men who feel the knife at their throat. "Ammunition is becoming a very serious matter, owing to the ceaseless fighting since April 25th. The _Junia_ has not turned up and has but a small supply when she does. 18 pr. shell is vital necessity." _5th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ A wearing, nerve-racking, night-long fire by the Turks and the French 75's. They, at least, both of them, seem to have a good supply of shell. To the Jews, God showed Himself once as a pillar of fire by night; to the French soldier whose God is the 75 He reveals Himself in just the same way, safeguarding his flimsy trenches from the impact of the infidel horde. The curse of the method is its noise--let alone its cost. But last night it came off: no Turks got through anywhere on the French front and the men had not to stand to their arms or use their rifles. We British, worse luck, can't dream of these orgies of explosives. Our batteries last night did not fire a shot and the men had to drive back the enemy by rifle fire. They did it easily enough but the process is wearing. An answer has come to my prayer for 18 pr. stuff: not the answer that turns away wrath, but the answer that provokes a plaster saint. "We have under consideration your telegram of yesterday. The ammunition supply for your force, however, was never calculated on the basis of a prolonged occupation of the Gallipoli Peninsula, we will have to reconsider the position if, after the arrival of the reinforcements now on their way out to you, the enemy cannot be driven back and, in conjunction with the Fleet, the Forts barring the passage of the Dardanelles cannot be reduced. It is important to push on." Now von Donop is a kindly man despite that overbearing "von": yet, he speaks to us like this! The survivors of our half dead force are to "push on"; for, "it is important to push on" although Whitehall seems to have time and to spare to "consider" my cable and to "reconsider the position." Death first, diagnosis afterwards. Wherever is the use of reconsidering the position now? The position has taken charge. When a man has jumped off Westminster Bridge to save a drowning Russian his position has got beyond reconsideration: there is only one thing to do--as quickly as you can, as much help as you can--and if it comes to a choice between the _quick_ and the _much_: hark to your swimmer and hear him cry "Quick! Quick!! Quick!!!" The War Office urge me to throw my brave troops yet once more against machine guns in redoubts; to do it on the cheap; to do it without asking for the shell that gives the attack a sporting chance. I don't say they are wrong in so saying; there may be no other way out of it; but I do say the War Office stand convicted of having gone hopelessly wrong in their estimates and preparations. For we must have been held up somewhere, surely; we must have fought _somewhere_. I suppose, even if we had forced the Straits--even if we had taken Constantinople without firing a shot, we must have fought somewhere! Otherwise, a child's box of tin soldiers sent by post would have been just the thing for the Dardanelles landing! No; it's not the advice that riles me: it's the fact that people who have made a mistake, and should be sorry, slur over my appeal for the stuff advances are made of and yet continue to urge us on as if we were hanging back. A strong wind blows and Helles is smothered in dust. Hunter-Weston spent an hour with me this morning and an hour with the G.S. putting the final touches to the plan of attack discussed by us yesterday. The Lancashire Brigade of the 42nd Division has landed. Hunter-Bunter stayed to lunch. _Later_. In the afternoon went ashore and inspected the Lancashire Brigade of the East Lancs. Division just landed; and a very fine lot of Officers and men they are. They are keen and ready for to-morrow. Yes, to-morrow we attack again: I have men enough now but very, very little shell. The Turks have given us three bad nights and they ought to be worn out. With our sea power we can shift a couple of Brigades from Gaba Tepe to Helles or vice versa quicker than the Turks can march from the one theatre to the other. So the first question has been whether to reinforce Gaba Tepe from Helles or vice versa. For reasons too long to write here I have decided to attack in the South especially as I had a cable from K. himself yesterday in which he makes the suggestion:-- "I hope," he says, "the 5th" (that's to-day) "will see you strong enough to press on to Achi Baba anyway, as delay will allow the Turks to bring up more reinforcements and to make unpleasant preparations for your reception. The Australians and New Zealanders will have had reinforcements from Egypt by then, and, if they hold on to their trenches with the help of the Naval Division, could spare you a good many men for the advance." Old K. is as right as rain here but a little bit after the shower. Had he and Maxwell tumbled to the real situation when I first saw with my own eyes the lie of the land instead of the lies on their maps; and had they let me have the Brigade of Gurkhas I asked for by my letters and by my cable of 24th March, and by word of mouth and telephone up to the last moment of my leaving Egypt, these homilies about the urgency of seizing Achi Baba would be beside the mark, seeing we should be sitting on the top of it. In the matter of giving K. is built on the model of Pharaoh: nothing less than the firstborn of the nation will make him suffer his subjects to depart from Egypt; and Maxwell sees eye to eye with him--that is natural. No word of the bombs and trench mortars I asked for six weeks ago, but the "bayonets" are coming in liberally now. Two of Birdwood's Brigades sail down to-night and join up with a Brigade from the Naval Division, thus making a new composite Division for the Southern theatre. The 29th, who have lost so very heavily, are being strengthened by the new Lancashire Fusilier Brigade, and Cox's Indian Brigade. By no manner the same thing, this, as getting drafts to fill up the ranks of the 29th. Always in war there is three times better value in filling up an old formation than in making up the total by bringing in a new formation. I have given the French the Naval Brigade; the new, Naval-Australian Division is to form my general reserve. So there! To-morrow morning. We have men enough, and good men too, but we are short of pebbles for Goliath of Achi Baba. These three nights have made a big hole in our stocks. Hunter-Weston feels that all is in our favour but the artillery. In Flanders, he says, they would never attack with empty limbers behind them; they would wait till they were full up. But the West is not in its essence a time problem; there, they can wait--next week--next month. If we wait one week the Turks will have become twice as strong in their numbers, and twice as deep in their trenches, as they are to-day. Hunter-Weston and d'Amade see that perfectly. I hold the idea myself that it would be good tactics, seeing shell shortage is our weakness, to make use of the half hour before dawn to close with the enemy and then fight it out on their ground. To cross the danger zone, in fact, by night and overthrow the enemy in the grey dawn. But Hunter-Weston says that so many regimental officers have been lost he fears for the Company leading at night:--for that, most searching of military tests, nothing but the best will do. Hard up as we are for shell he thinks it best to blaze it away freely before closing and to trust our bayonets when we get in. He and d'Amade have both of them their Western experience to guide them. I have agreed, subject only to the condition that we must keep some munitions in reserve until we hear for certain that more is on its way. The enemy had trusted to their shore defences. There was no second line behind them--not this side of Achi Baba, at least. Now, i.e., ever since the failure of their grand attempt on the night of the 2nd-3rd May, they have been hard at work. Already their lines cover quite half the ground between the Aegean and the Straits; whilst, in rear again, we can see wired patches which we guess to be enfilading machine gun redoubts. We must resolutely and at all cost make progress and smash up these new spiders' webs of steel before they connect into elastic but unbreakable patterns. _9th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Three days on the rack! Since the morning of the 6th not a word have I written barring one or two letters and one or two hasty scraps of cables. Now, D.V., there is the best part of a day at my disposal and it is worth an effort to put that story down. First I had better fix the sequence of the munition cables, for upon them the whole attack has hung--or rather, hung fire. On the 6th, the evening of the opening day, we received a postscript to the refusal already chronicled:-- "Until you can submit a return of the amount you have in hand to enable us to work out the rates of expenditure, it is difficult to decide about further supplies of ammunition." When I read this I fell on my knees and prayed God to grant me patience. Am I to check the number of rounds in the limbers; on the beaches and in transit during a battle? Two days after my S.O.S. the War Office begin to think about tables of averages! I directed my answer to Lord K. himself:-- "With reference to your No. 4432 of 5th inst., please turn to my letter to you of 30th March,[14] wherein I have laid stress on the essential difference in the matter of ammunition supply between the Dardanelles and France. In France, where the factories are within 24 hours' distance from the firing line, it may be feasible to consider and reconsider situations, including ammunition supply. Here we are distant a fortnight. I consider that 4.5 inch, 18 pr. and other ammunition, especially Mark VII rifle ammunition, should instantly be despatched here _via_ Marseilles. "Battle in progress. Advance being held up by stubborn opposition." Within a few hours K.'s reply came in; he says:-- "It is difficult for me to judge the situation unless you can send me your expenditure of ammunition for which we have repeatedly asked. The question is not affected by the other considerations you mention." If space and time have no bearing on strategy and tactics, then K. is right. If ships sail over the sea as fast as railways run across the land; if Helles is nearer Woolwich than Calais; then he is right. I use the capital K. here impersonally, for I am sure the great man did not indite the message himself even though it may be headed from him to me. Late that night came another cable from the Master General of the Ordnance saying he was sending out "in the next relief ship 10,000 rounds of 18 pr. shrapnel, and 1,000 rounds of 4.5 inch high explosive." But why the next relief ship? It won't get here for another three weeks and by that time we should be, by all the laws of nature and of war, in Davy Jones's locker. True, we don't mean to be, whatever the Ordnance may do or leave undone but, so far as I can see, that won't be their fault. Neither I nor my Staff can make head or tail of these cables. They seem so unlike K.; so unlike all the people. Here we are:--The Turks in front of us--too close: the deep sea behind us--too close. We beg them "instantly" to send us 4.5 inch and other ammunition; "instantly, _via_ Marseilles":--they tell us in reply that they will send 1,000 rounds of the vital stuff, the 4.5 high explosive, "_in the next relief ship_"! Why, even in the South African War, before the siege of Ladysmith, one battery would fire five hundred rounds in a day. And this 1,000 rounds in the next relief ship (_via_ Alexandria) will take three weeks to get to us whereas stress was laid by me upon the Marseilles route. Now, to-day, (the 9th), I have at last been able to send the Ordnance a statement (made under extreme difficulty) of our ammunition expenditure; up to the 5th May; i.e., before the three days' battle began. We were then nine million small arm still to the good having spent eleven million. We had shot away 23,000 shrapnel, 18 pr., and had 48,000 in hand. We had fired off 5,000 of that (most vital) 4.5 howitzer and had 1,800 remaining. A.P.S. has been added saying the amounts shown had been greatly reduced by the last two days' battle. Actually, they have fallen to less than half and, as I have said, we had, on the evening of the 7th, only 17,000 rounds of 18 pr. on hand for the whole Peninsula. Out of this we have fought the battle of the 8th and I believe we have run down now to under 10,000, some fear as low as 5,000. Very well. Now for my last night's cable which, in the opinion of my Officers, summarises general result of lack of shell:-- "For the past three days we have fought our hardest for Achi Baba winding up with a bayonet charge by the whole force along the entire front, from sea to sea. Faced by a heavy artillery, machine gun and rifle fire our troops, French and British alike, made a fine effort; the French especially got well into the Turks with the bayonet, and all along, excepting on our extreme left, our line gained ground. I might represent the battle as a victory, as the enemy's advanced positions were driven in, but essentially the result has been failure, as the main object remains unachieved. The fortifications and their machine guns were too scientific and too strongly held to be rushed, although I had every available man in to-day. Our troops have done all that flesh and blood can do against semi-permanent works, and they are not able to carry them. More and more munitions will be needed to do so. I fear this is a very unpalatable conclusion, but I see no way out of it. "I estimate that the Turks had about 40,000 opposed to our 25,000 rifles. There are 20,000 more in front of Australian-New Zealand Army Corps' 12,000 rifles at Gaba Tepe. By bringing men over from the Asiatic side and from Adrianople the Turks seem to be able to keep up their strength. I have only one more brigade of the Lancashire Territorial Division to come; not enough to make any real effect upon the situation as regards breaking through." Hard must be the heart that is not wrung to think of all these brave boys making their effort; giving their lives; all that they had; it is too much; almost more than can be borne. Now to go back and make my notes, day by day, of the battle:-- On the 6th instant we began at 11.30 after half an hour's bombardment,--we dared not run to more. A strong wind was blowing and it was hard to land or come aboard. Till 2 p.m. I remained glued to the telephone on board and then went ashore and saw both Hunter-Weston and d'Amade in their posts of command. The live long day there were furious semi-detached fights by Battalions and Brigades, and we butted back the enemy for some 200 or 300 yards. So far so good. But we did not capture any of the main Turkish trenches. I still think we might have done as well at much less cost by creeping up these 200 or 300 yards by night. However! At 4.30 we dropped our high-vaulting Achi Baba aspirations and took to our spades. The Hood Battalion of the Royal Naval Division had been roughly handled. In the hospital clearing tent by the beach I saw and spoke to (amongst many others) young Asquith, shot through the knee, and Commander Wedgwood, who had been horribly hurt by shrapnel. Each in his own way was a calm hero; wrapped in the mantle bequeathed to English soldiers by Sir Philip Sidney. Coming back in the evening to the ship we watched the Manchester Brigade disembarking. I have never seen a better looking lot. The 6th Battalion would serve very well as picked specimens of our race; not so much in height or physique, but in the impression they gave of purity of race and distinction. Here are the best the old country can produce; the hope of the progress of the British ideal in the world; and half of them are going to swap lives with Turks whose relative value to the well-being of humanity is to theirs as is a locust to a honey-bee. That night Bailloud, Commander of the new French Division, came to make his salaam. He is small, alert, brimful of jokes and of years; seventy they say, but he neither looks it nor acts it. The 7th was stormy and the sea dangerously rough. At 10 a.m. the Lancashire Fusilier Brigade were to lead off on our left. They could not get a move on, it seemed, although we had hoped that the shelling from the ships would have swept a clear lane for them. The thought that "Y" Beach, which was holding up this brigade, was once in our hands, adds its sting to other reports coming from that part of the field. In France these reports would have been impersonal messages arriving from afar. In Asia or Africa I would have been letting off the steam by galloping to d'Amade or Hunter-Weston. Here I was neither one thing nor the other:--neither a new fangled Commander sitting cool and semi-detached in an office; nor an old fashioned Commander taking personal direction of the show. During so long drawn out a suspense I tried to ease the tension by dictation. From the carbons I select these two paragraphs: they occur in a letter fired off to Colonel Clive Wigram at "11.25 a.m., 7th May, 1915." "I broke off there because I got a telephone message in from Hunter-Weston to say his centre was advancing, and that by a pretty piece of co-operation between Infantry and Artillery, he had driven the Turks out of one very troublesome trench. He cannot see what is on his left, or get any message from them. On his left are the Lancashire Fusiliers (Territorials). They are faced by a horrid redoubt held by machine guns, and they are to rush it with the bayonet.[15] It is a high thing to ask of Territorials but against an enemy who is fighting for his life, and for the existence of his country, we have to call upon every one for efforts which, under any other conditions, might be considered beyond their strength. "Were we still faced by the Divisions which originally held the Gallipoli Peninsula we would by now, I firmly believe, be in possession of the Kilid Bahr plateau. But every day a regiment or two dribble into Gallipoli, either from Asia or from Constantinople, and in the last two days an entire fresh Division has (we have heard) arrived from Adrianople, and is fighting against us this morning. The smallest demonstration on the part of Bulgaria would, I presume, have prevented this big reinforcement of fresh troops reaching the enemy, but it seems beyond the resources of diplomacy to get anyone to create a diversion." At 4.30 I ordered a general assault; the 88th Brigade to be thrown in on the top of the 87th; the New Zealand Brigade in support; the French to conform. Our gunners had put more than they could afford into the bombardment and had very little wherewith to pave the way. By the 4th instant I had seen danger-point drawing near and now it was on us. Five hundred more rounds of howitzer 4.5 and aeroplanes to spot whilst we wiped out the machine guns; that was the burden of my prayer. Still, we did what we could and for a quarter of an hour the whole of the Turkish front was wreathed in smoke, but these were naval shells or 18 pr shrapnel; we have no 18 pr high explosive and neither naval shells nor shrapnel are very much good once the targets have got underground. On our left no move forward.[16] Elsewhere our wonderful Infantry fought like fresh formations. In face of a tempest of shot and shell and of a desperate resistance by the Turks, who stuck it out very bravely to the last, they carried and held the first line enemy trenches. At night several counter-attacks were delivered, in every case repulsed with heavy loss. We are now on our last legs. The beautiful Battalions of the 25th April are wasted skeletons now; shadows of what they had been. The thought of the river of blood, against which I painfully made my way when I met these multitudes of wounded coming down to the shore, was unnerving. But every soldier has to fight down these pitiful sensations: the enemy may be harder hit than he: if we do not push them further back the beaches will become untenable. To overdrive the willingest troops any General ever had under his command is a sin--but we must go on fighting to-morrow! On Saturday, the 8th, I went ashore and by 9.30 had taken up my quarters in a little gully between "W" and "X" Beaches within 60 yards of the Headquarters of the Royal Naval Division. There I was in direct telephonic touch with both Hunter-Weston and d'Amade. The storm had abated and the day was fine. Our troops had now been fighting for two days and two nights but there were messages in from the front telling us they were keen as ever to get something solid for their efforts. The Lancashire Fusiliers Brigade had been withdrawn into reserve, and under my orders the New Zealand Brigade was to advance through the line taken up during the night by the 88th Brigade and attack Krithia. The 87th Brigade were to try and gain ground over that wicked piece of moorland to the West of the great ravine which--since the days when it was in the hands of the troops who landed at "Y"--has hopelessly held up our left. Every gun-shot fired gives me a pain in my heart and adds to the deadly anxiety I feel about our ammunition. We have only one thousand rounds of 4.5 H.E. left and we dare not use any more. The 18 pr shrapnel is running down, down, down to its terminus, for we _must_ try and keep 10,000 rounds in hand for defence. The French have still got enough to cover their own attacks. The ships began to fire at 10.15 and after a quarter of an hour the flower of New Zealand advanced in open order to the attack. After the most desperate hand to hand fighting, often by sections or sometimes by groups of half a dozen men, we gained slowly, very slowly, perhaps a couple of hundred yards. There was an opinion in some quarters that we had done all we could, but I resolved firmly to make one more attempt. At 4 o'clock I issued orders that the whole line, reinforced by the Australians, should on the stroke of 5.30 fix bayonets and storm Krithia and Achi Baba. At 5.15 the men-of-war went at it hot and strong with their big guns and fifteen minutes later the hour glass of eternity dropped a tiny grain labelled 5.30 p.m. 8.5.1915 into the lap of time. As that moment befell, the wide plain before us became alive. Bayonets sparkled all over the wide plain. Under our glasses this vague movement took form and human shape: men rose, fell, ran, rushed on in waves, broke, recoiled, crumbled away and disappeared. At the speed of the minute hand of a watch the left of our line crept forward. On the right, at first nothing. Then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole of the Northern slopes of the Kereves Dere Ravine was covered by bright coloured irregular surging crowds, moving in quite another way to the khaki-clad figures on their left:--one moment pouring over the debatable ground like a torrent, anon twisted and turning and flying like multitudes of dead leaves before the pestilent breath of the howitzers. No living man has ever seen so strange a vision as this: in its disarray; in its rushing to and fro; in the martial music, shouts and evolutions! My glasses shook as I looked, though I _believe_ I seemed very calm. It seemed; it truly seemed as if the tide of blue, grey, scarlet specks was submerging the enemy's strongholds. A thousand of them converged and rushed the redoubt at the head of the Kereves Dere. A few seconds later into it--one! two!! three!!! fell from the clouds the Turkish six inchers. Where the redoubt had been a huge column of smoke arose as from the crater of a volcano. Then fast and furious the enemy guns opened on us. For the first time they showed their full force of fire. Again, the big howitzers led the infernal orchestra pitting the face of no man's land with jet black blotches. The puppet figures we watched began to waver; the Senegalese were torn and scattered. Once more these huge explosions unloading their cargoes of midnight on to the evening gloom. All along the Zouaves and Senegalese gave way. Another surge forward and bayonets crossed with the Turks: yet a few moments of tension and back they fell to their trenches followed by salvo upon salvo of shell bursts. Night slid down into the smoke. The last thing--against the skyline--a little column of French soldiers of the line charging back upwards towards the lost redoubt. After that--darkness! The battle is over. Both sides have fought with every atom of energy they possessed. The heat is oppressive. A heavy mail from England. On shore all quiet. A young wounded Officer of the 29th Division said it was worth ten years of tennis to see the Australians and New Zealanders go in. Began writing at daylight and now it is midnight. No word yet of the naval offer to go through. Issued a special order to the troops. They deserve everything that anyone can give them in this world and the next. GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, _9th May, 1915._ "Sir Ian Hamilton wishes the troops of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force to be informed that in all his past experiences, which include the hard struggles of the Russo-Japanese campaign, he has never seen more devoted gallantry displayed than that which has characterised their efforts during the past three days. He has informed Lord Kitchener by cable of the bravery and endurance displayed by all ranks here and has asked that the necessary reinforcements be forthwith dispatched. Meanwhile, the remainder of the East Lancashire Division is disembarking and will henceforth be available to help us to make good and improve upon the positions we have so hardly won." _10th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Fell asleep last night thinking of Admirals, Commodores and men-o'-war and of how they _might_, within the next forty-eight hours, put another complexion upon our prospects. So it seemed quite natural when, the first thing in the morning, a cable came in with the tea asking me whether I have been consulting de Robeck as to "the future operations that will be necessary." K. adds, "I hope you and the Admiral will be able to devise some means of clearing a passage." Have just cabled back "Every day I have consultations with the Admiral": I cannot say more than this as I am not supposed to know anything about de Robeck's cable as to the "means of clearing a passage" which went, I believe, yesterday. No doubt it lay before K. when he wired me. I have not been shown the cable; I have not been consulted about it, nor, I believe, has Braithwaite, but I do happen to be aware of its drift. Without embarking on another endless yarn let me note the fact that there are two schools amongst our brethren afloat. Roger Keyes and those of the younger school who sport the executive curl upon their sleeves are convinced that now, when we have replaced the ramshackle old trawlers of 18th March by an unprecedented mine-sweeping service of 20-knot destroyers under disciplined crews, the forcing of the Straits has become as easy ... well; anyway; easier than what we soldiers tried to do on Saturday. Upon these fire-eaters de Robeck has hitherto thrown cold water. He thought, as we thought, that the Army would save his ships. But our last battle has shown him that the Army would only open the Straits at a cost greater than the loss of ships, and that the time has come to strike home with the tremendous mechanism of the Fleet. On that basis he quickly came to terms with the views of his thrusting lieutenants. On two reservations, he still insisted: (1) he was not going to deprive me of the close tactical support of his battleships if there was the least apprehension we might be "done in" in his absence. (2) He was not going to risk his ships amongst the mines unless we were sure, if he did get through, we could follow on after him by land. On both issues there was, to my thinking, no question:--(1) Although we cannot push through "under present conditions without more and more ammunition," _vide_ my cable of yesterday, all the Turks in Asia will not shift us from where we stand even if we have not one battleship to back us. (2) If the ships force the Straits, beyond doubt, we can starve out the Turks; scupper the Forts and hold the Bulair lines. We know enough now about the communications and reserves of food and munitions of the Turks to be positively certain they cannot stick it on the Peninsula if they are cut off from sea communication with Asia and with Constantinople. Within a fortnight they will begin to run short; we are all agreed there. So now, (i.e., yesterday) the Admiral has cabled offering to go through, and "now" is the moment of all others to let Lord K. clearly face the alternative to that proposal. So I have said (in the same cable in which I answer his question about consultations with the Admiral) "If you could only spare me two fresh Divisions organized as a Corps I could push on with great hopes of success both from Helles and Gaba Tepe; otherwise I am afraid we shall degenerate into trench warfare with its resultant slowness." Birdie ran down from Anzac and breakfasted. He brings news of an A.1 affair. Two of his Battalions, the 15th and 16th Australians, stormed three rows of Turkish trenches with the bayonet, and then sat down in them. At dawn to-day the enemy counter-attacked in overwhelming strength. The healthy part of the story lies herein, that our field guns were standing by in action, and as the enemy came on they let them have it hot with shrapnel over a space of 300 yards. Terrible as this fire was, it failed to beat off the Turks. They retook the trenches, but they have paid far more than their price, for Birdwood assures me that their corpses lie piled up so thick one on top of the other that our snipers can take cover behind them. A curious incident: during the night a Fleet-sweeper tied up alongside, full of wounded, chiefly Australians. They had been sent off from the beach; had been hawked about from ship to ship and every ship they hailed had the same reply--"full up"--until, in the end, they received orders to return to the shore and disembark their wounded to wait there until next day. The Officers, amongst them an Australian Brigadier of my acquaintance, protested; and so, the Fleet-sweeper crew, not knowing what to do, came and lashed on to us.[17] No one told me anything of this last night, but the ship's Captain and his Officers and my own Staff Officers have been up on watches serving out soup, etc., and tending these wounded to the best of their power. As soon as I heard what had happened I first signalled the hospital ship _Guildford Castle_ to prepare to take the men in (she had just cast anchor); then I went on board the Fleet-sweeper myself and told the wounded how sorry I was for the delay in getting them to bed. They declared one and all they had been very well done but "the boys" never complain; my A.G. is the responsible official; I have told him the _band-o-bast_ has been bad; also that a Court of Enquiry must be called to adjudicate on the whole matter. Were an example to be sought of the almighty influence of "Time" none better could be found than in the fact that, to-day, I have almost forgotten to chronicle a passage in K.'s cable aforesaid that might well have been worth the world and the glories thereof only forty-eight short hours ago. K. says, "More ammunition is being pushed out to you _via_ Marseilles." I am glad. I am deeply grateful. Our anxieties will be lessened, but _that same message, had it only reached us on Saturday morning, would have enabled us to fire 5,000 more shrapnel and 500 more 4.5 howitzer H.E. to cover our last assault!_ CHAPTER VIII TWO CORPS OR AN ALLY? _11th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Day dull and overcast. Vice-Admiral came over to see me in the morning. Neither of us has had a reply to his cable; instead, he has been told two enemy submarines are on their way to pay us a visit. The approach of these mechanical monsters opens up vistas thronged with shadowy forebodings. De Robeck begs me to set his mind at ease by landing with my Staff forthwith. Have sent Officers to survey the ground between Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr and to see if they can find room for us. We would all rather be on shore than board ship, but Helles and "V" Beaches are already overcrowded, and we should be squeezed in cheek by jowl, within a few hundred yards of the two Divisional Headquarters Staffs. _12th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Raining hard. Busy all morning. A cable from Lord K. to say he is sending out the Lowland Division. We are all as pleased as Punch! especially (so Braithwaite tells me) Roger Keyes who looks on this as a good omen for the naval attack proposals. Had he not meant the Fleet to shove in K. must have made some reference to the second Division, surely. Have cabled back at once to K. giving him warmest thanks and begging him to look, personally, into the question of the command of the coming Division. Have begged him to take Leslie Rundle's opinion on the point and have pressed it by saying, "Imperturbable calm in the Commander is essential above all things in these operations." Most of the troop transports have left their anchorage and gone back to Mudros for fear of submarines. Went ashore at 3 o'clock. Saw Hunter-Weston and then inspected the 29th Division just in from the firing line. The ground was heavy and sloppy after the rain. I walked as far as the trenches of the 86th Brigade and saw amongst other Corps the Essex, Hants, Lancashire Fusiliers and 5th Royal Scots. Spent over an hour chatting to groups of Officers and men who looked like earth to earth, caked as they were with mud, haggard with lack of sleep, pale as the dead, many of them slightly wounded and bandaged, hand or head, their clothes blood-stained, their eyes blood-shot. Who could have believed that only a fortnight ago these same figures were clean as new pins; smart and well-liking! Two-thirds of each Battalion were sound asleep in pools of mud and water--like corpses half buried! This sounds horrible but the hearty welcome extended to us by all ranks and the pride they took in their achievements was a sublime triumph of mind over matter. Our voluntary service regulars are the last descendants of those rulers of the ancient world, the Roman Legionaries. Oh that their ranks could be kept filled and that a mould so unique was being used to its fullest in forming new regulars. On my way back to the beach I saw the Plymouth Battalion as it marched in from the front line. They were quite different excepting only in the fact that they also had done marvels of fighting and endurance. They were done: they had come to the end of their tether. Not only physical exhaustion but moral exhaustion. They could not raise a smile in the whole battalion. The faces of Officers and men had a crushed, utterly finished expression: some of the younger Officers especially had that true funeral set about their lips which spreads the contagion of gloom through the hearts of the bravest soldiers. As each company front formed the knees of the rank and file seemed to give way. Down they fell and motionless remained. An hour or two of rest, their Colonel says, will make all the difference in what the French call their _allure_, but not quite so soon I think. These are the New Armies. They are not specialised types like the Old Army. They have nerves, the defects of their good qualities. They are more susceptible to the horrors and discomforts of what they were never brought up to undergo. The philosophy of the battlefield is not part of their panoply. No one fights better than they do--for a spell--and a good long spell too. But they have not the invincible carelessness or temperamental springiness of the old lot--and how should they? In the evening I received General d'Amade who had come over to pay his farewell visit. He is permitted to let me see his order of recall. "Important modifications having come about in the general political situation" his Government have urgent need for his services on a "military mission." D'Amade is a most charming, chivalrous and loyal soldier. He has lost his son fighting in France and he has had his headquarters right down in the middle of his 75's where the infernal din night and day must indeed murder sleep. He is a delightful person and, in the combat, too brave. We all wish him luck. For Kum Kale and for what he has done, suffered and lost he deserves great Kudos in his country. By order of the Vice-Admiral this ship is to anchor at Tenedos. My informal confab with the heroes of the 29th Division, and their utter unconsciousness of their own glorious conduct have moved me to write these few words in their honour:-- GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, _12th May, 1915._ For the first time for 18 days and nights it has been found possible to withdraw the 29th Division from the fire fight. During the whole of that long period of unprecedented strain the Division has held ground or gained it, against the bullets and bayonets of the constantly renewed forces of the foe. During the whole of that long period they have been illuminating the pages of military history with their blood. The losses have been terrible, but mingling with the deep sorrow for fallen comrades arises a feeling of pride in the invincible spirit which has enabled the survivors to triumph where ordinary troops must inevitably have failed. I tender to Major-General Hunter-Weston and to his Division at the same time my profoundest sympathy with their losses and my warmest congratulations on their achievement. IAN HAMILTON, _General._ [Illustration: GENERAL D'AMADE] Also I have penned a farewell line to d'Amade: GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, MEDN. EXPED. FORCE, _12th May, 1915._ MON GÉNÉRAL, With deep personal sadness I learn that your country has urgent need of your great experience elsewhere. From the very first you and your brave troops have done all, and more than all, that mortal man could do to further the cause we have at heart. By day and by night, for many days and nights in succession, you and your gallant troops have ceaselessly struggled against the enemy's fresh reinforcements and have won from him ground at the bayonet point. The military records of France are most glorious, but you, Mon Général, have added fresh brilliancy, if I may say so, even to those dazzling records. The losses have been cruel: such losses are almost unprecedented, but it may be some consolation hereafter to think that only by so fierce a trial could thus have been fully disclosed the flame of patriotism which burns in the hearts of yourself and your men. With sincere regrets at your coming departure but with the full assurance that in your new sphere of activity, you will continue to render the same valuable service you have already given to France. I remain, Mon Général, Your sincere friend, IAN HAMILTON, _General._ _13th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Hot and bright. Dead calm sea. Last night a dense fog during which a Turkish Torpedo boat sneaked down the Straits and torpedoed the _Goliath_. David and his sling on the grand scale. No details yet to hand. The enemy deserve decorations--confound them! Got hold of a Fleet-sweeper and went off to Cape Helles. Again visited Headquarters 29th Division, and afterwards walked through the trenches of the 87th Brigade. Saw that fine soldier, Brigadier-General Marshall, in command. Chatted to no end of his men--Inniskillings, Dublin Fusiliers, etc. They have recovered their exhaustion; have cleaned up, and look full of themselves, twice the size in fact. As I stepped on to the little pier at Cape Helles an enemy's six-incher burst about 50 yards back, a lump of metal just clearing my right shoulder strap and shooting into the sea with an ugly hiss. Not a big fragment but enough! The Staff have made up their minds that we should be very much in the wrong box if we dossed down on the toe of the Peninsula. First,--unless we get between the Divisional Generals and the enemy, there is literally no room! Secondly,--I should be further, in point of time, from Birdwood and his men than if I was still on board ship. Thirdly,--the several Headquarters of Divisions, whether French or British, would all equally hate to have Braithwaite and myself sitting in their pockets from morning to night. Have sent out another party, therefore, to explore Tenedos and see if we can find a place there which will serve us till we can make more elbow room on Gallipoli. The Gurkhas have stalked the Bluff Redoubt and have carried it with a rush! They are absolutely the boys for this class of country and for this class of enemy. Cabled Lord K. about the weakness of the 29th Division. At the very moment when we are hoping so much from a fresh push made in conjunction with a naval attack, the Division, the backbone of my force, are short by over 11,000 men and 400 Officers! As a fighting unit they are on their last legs and when they will be set upon their feet again Lord K. knows. Were we in France we'd get the men to-morrow. If I had my own depots in Egypt still I could see my way, but, as things are, there seems no chance of getting a move on for another fortnight. Have cabled K. saying, "I hope the 29th Division is soon to be made up to strength. I had no idea when I left England that the customary 10 per cent. reinforcement was not being taken with it by the Division although it was to operate at so great a distance from its base." If K. gets into a bad temper over the opening of my cable, its tail end should lift him out again. For the enemy's extremely tenacious right has been shifted at last. Under cover of a hooroosh by the Manchesters, the Gurkhas have rushed a bluff 600 yards ahead of our line and are sticking to their winnings. _14th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Hot day, smooth sea. Disembarking to bivouac on shore. What a contrast we must present to the Headquarters in France! There the stately _Château_; sheets, table-cloths and motor cars. Here the red tab patricians have to haul their own kits over the sand. In the afternoon d'Amade came back with General Gouraud, his successor, the new Chief of the French. A resolute, solid looking _gaillard_ is Gouraud. He brings a great reputation with him from the Western Front. Quite late the Admiral came over to see me. He brings bad news. Roger Keyes and the forwards will be cut to the heart. The Admiralty have turned down the proposal to force the Straits simultaneously by land and sea. We are to go on attacking; the warships are to go on supporting. From the earliest days great commanders have rubbed in the maxim, "If you attack, attack with all your force." Our people know better; we are to go on attacking with half our force. First we attack with the naval half and are held up--next we attack with the army half and are held up. The Admiral has changed his mind about our landing and thinks it would be best not to fix G.H.Q. at Tenedos; first, because there might be delay in getting quickly to Anzac; secondly, because Tenedos is so close to Asia that we might all be scuppered in our beds by a cutting-out party of Besika Bay ruffians, unless we had a guard. But we can't run to the pomp and circumstance of a Commander-in-Chief's guard here. _15th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Till 3 p.m. the perspiring Staff were re-embarking their gear. Sailed then for Helles when I saw Hunter-Weston who gave me a full account of the attacks made on the newly gained bluff upon our left. Shells busy bursting on "W" Beach. Some French aeroplanes have arrived--God be praised! Shocked to hear Birdie has been hit, but another message to say nothing serious, came close on the heels of the first. Anchored at Imbros when I got a cable asking me what forces I shall need to carry right through to a finish. A crucial question, very much affected by what the Admiral told me last night. Nothing easier than to ask for 150,000 men and then, if I fail say I didn't get what I wanted, but the boldest leaders, Bobs, White, Gordon, K., have always "asked for more" with a most queasy conscience. On the face of it I need many more men if the Fleet is not to attack, and yet I am not even supposed to have knowledge, much less an opinion, as to what passes between the Fleet and the Admiralty! _16th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ De Robeck came off the _Lord Nelson_, his new Flagship, in the morning. The submarines are shadowing him already, and there seems little doubt they are on their way. Bridges has been badly wounded. The news upset me so got hold of H.M.S. _Rattlesnake_ (Commander Wedgwood), and started off for Anzac. Went ashore and saw Birdie. Doing so, I received a different sort of salute from that to which a Commander-in-Chief landing on duty is entitled by regulation. Quite a shower of shell fell all about us, the Turks having spotted there was some sort of "bloke" on the _Rattlesnake_. We went round a bit of the line, and found all well, the men in great heart and, amidst a constant crackle of musketry, looking as if they liked it. Birdie himself is still a little shaken by his wound of yesterday. He had a close shave indeed. A bullet came through the chinks of a sandbag and scalped him. He fell to the ground senseless and pouring with blood, but when he had been picked up and washed he wanted to finish his round of the trenches. Embarked again under brisk shell fire and proceeded to the hospital ship _Gascon_ where I saw General Bridges. He looked languid and pale. But his spirit was high as ever and he smiled at a little joke I managed to make about the way someone had taken the shelling we had just gone through. The doctors, alas, give a bad, if not desperate, account of him. Were he a young man, they could save him by cutting off his leg high up, but as it is he would not stand the shock. On the other hand, his feet are so cold from the artery being severed that they anticipate mortification. I should have thought better have a try at cutting off the leg, but they are not for it. Bridges will be a real loss. He was a single-minded, upright, politics-despising soldier. With all her magnificent rank and file, Australia cannot afford to lose Bridges. But perhaps I am too previous. May it be so! Spent a good long time talking to wounded men--Australians, New Zealanders and native Indians. Both the former like to meet someone who knows their native country, and the natives brighten up when they are greeted in Hindustani. On returning to Imbros, got good news about the Lancashire Territorials who have gained 180 yards of ground without incurring any loss to speak of. They are real good chaps. They suffer only from the regular soldiers' fault; there are too few of them here. _17th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian." 10 p.m._ Too much work to move. In the evening the Admiral came to see me and read my rough draft for an answer to Lord K.'s cable. We show the Navy all our important operations cables; they have their own ways of doing things and don't open out so freely. On the face of it, we are invited to say what we want. Well, to steer a middle course between my duty to my force and my loyalty to K. is not so simple as it might seem. That middle course is (if I can only hit it) my duty to my country. The chief puzzle of the problem is that nothing turns out as we were told it would turn out. The landing has been made but the Balkans fold their arms, the Italians show no interest, the Russians do not move an inch to get across the Black Sea (the Grand Duke Nicholas has no munitions, we hear); our submarines have got through but they can only annoy, they cannot cut the sea communications, and so the Turks have not fled to Bulair. Instead, enemy submarines are actually about to get at us and our ships are being warned they may have to make themselves scarce: last--in point of time--but not least, not by a long way, the central idea of the original plan, an attack by the Fleet on the Forts appears to have been entirely shelved. At first the Fleet was to force its way through; we were to look on; next, the Fleet and the Army were to go for the Straits side by side; to-day, the whole problem may fairly be restated on a clean sheet of paper, so different is it from the problem originally put to me by K. when it was understood I would put him in an impossible position if I pressed for reinforcements. We should be on velvet if we asked for so many troops that we must win if we got them; whereas, if we did not get them we could say victory was impossible. But we are not the only fighters for the Empire. The Admiral, Braithwaite, Roger Keyes agree with me that the fair and square thing under the circumstances is to ask for _what is right_; not a man more than we, in our consciences, believe we will really need,--not a man less. Actually, after much heart searching and head scratching, my mind has made itself up and has gone home by cable to-day. The statement is entirely frank and covers all the ground except as regards the Fleet, a pidgin which flies out of range:-- "(M.F. 234). "Your No. 4644 cipher, of the 14th instant. The following is my appreciation of the situation: "On the one hand, there are at present on the Peninsula as many troops as the available space and water supply can accommodate. "On the other hand, to break through the strong opposition on my front will require more troops. I am, therefore, in a quandary, because although more troops are wanted there is, at present, no room for them.[18] Moreover, the difficulty in answering your question is accentuated by the fact that my answer must depend on whether Turkey will continue to be left undisturbed in other parts and therefore free to make good the undoubtedly heavy losses incurred here by sending troops from Adrianople, Keshan, Constantinople and Asia; we now have direct evidence that the latter has been the case. "If the present condition of affairs in this respect were changed by the entry into the struggle of Bulgaria or Greece or by the landing of the Russians, my present force, kept up to strength by the necessary drafts, plus the Army Corps asked for in my No. M.F. 216 of the 10th May, would probably suffice to finish my task. If, however, the present situation remains unchanged and the Turks are still able to devote so much exclusive attention to us, I shall want an additional army corps, that is, two army corps additional in all. "I could not land these reinforcements on the Peninsula until I can advance another 1,000 yards and so free the beaches from the shelling to which they are subjected from the Western side and gain more space; but I could land them on the adjacent islands of Tenedos, Imbros and Lemnos and take them over later to the Peninsula for battle. This plan would surmount the difficulties of water and space on the Peninsula and would, perhaps, enable me to effect a surprise with the fresh divisions. "I believe I could advance with half the loss of life that is now being reckoned upon, if I had a liberal supply of gun ammunition, especially of high explosive." Only bitterest experience has forced me to insert the two stipulations which should go without saving, (1) that my force is kept up to strength, (2) that I have a decent allowance of gun ammunition, especially of high explosives. Will Lord K. meet us half way, I wonder? He is the idol of England, and take him all in all, the biggest figure in the world. He believes, he has an instinct, that here is the heel of the German Colossus, otherwise immune to our arrows. Let him but put his foot down, and who dare say him nay? The most vital of my demands is that my formations should be kept full. An extra 50,000 men in the shape of a new army corps is one thing. An extra 50,000 men to feed war-trained units already in the field is another, and very different, and very much better thing. The value of keeping the veteran corps up to strength and the value of the same number of rifles organized into raw battalions commanded by inexperienced leaders is as the value of the sun to the moon. But K. and I have never seen eye to eye here, and never will. The spirit of man is like a precious stone: the greater it is the more room in it for a flaw. Who in the world but K. would have swept up all the odds and ends of detachments from about twenty different regiments of mine sent from Pretoria to Elandsfontein to bring up remounts and clothing to their units; who but K. could have conceived the idea of forming them into a new corps and expecting them to fight as well as ever--instead of legging it like the wind as they did at the first whistle of a bullet? On the other hand, who but K., at that time, could have run the war at all? The 29th Division have managed to snatch another 150 yards from the enemy, greatly strengthening the bluff upon which the Gurkhas dug themselves in. _18th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Villiers Stuart, Birdie's Staff Officer, has been killed on Anzac by a shell. The submarine E.14 sailed into harbour after a series of hair-raising adventures in the Sea of Marmora. She is none the worse, bar the loss of one periscope from a Turkish lucky shot. Her Commander, Boyle, comes only after Nasmith as a pet of Roger Keyes! She got a tremendous ovation from the Fleet. The exploits of the submarine give a flat knock-out to Norman Angell's contention that excitement and romance have now gone out of war. Have asked that the Maoris may be sent from Malta to join the New Zealanders at Anzac. I hope and believe that they will do well. Their white comrades from the Northern Island are very keen to have them. _19th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian"._ Compton Mackenzie has come on board. He is to be attached to the Intelligence. General Gouraud and his Chief of Staff, Girodon, lunched. I do not know many French Officers, but Girodon happens to be an old acquaintance. I met him six years ago on the Austrian manoeuvres. He is a delightful personality; a very sound soldier and a plucky one also. I reminded him how, in 1906, he had told me that the Germans would end by binding together all the other peoples of Europe against the common danger of their dominance. This was at Teschen on the borderland between Austrian and Prussian Silesia during the Austrian Manoeuvres. He remembered the occasion and the remark. Well, he has proved a true prophet! A cable from K. in answer to mine giving two more Army Corps as my minimum unless some neutral or Allied Power is going to help us against the Turks. I knew he would be greatly upset:-- "(4726, cipher). "Private and personal. With reference to your telegram No. M.F. 234, I am quite certain that you fully realize what a serious disappointment it has been to me to discover that my preconceived views as to the conquest of positions necessary to dominate the forts on the Straits, with naval artillery to support our troops on land, and with the active help of naval bombardment, were miscalculated. "A serious situation is created by the present check, and the calls for large reinforcements and an additional amount of ammunition that we can ill spare from France. "From the stand-point of an early solution of our difficulties, your views, as stated, are not encouraging. The question whether we can long support two fields of operation draining on our resources requires grave consideration. I know that I can rely upon you to do your utmost to bring the present unfortunate state of affairs in the Dardanelles to as early a conclusion as possible, so that any consideration of a withdrawal, with all its dangers in the East, may be prevented from entering the field of possible solutions. "When all the above is taken into consideration, I am somewhat surprised to see that the 4,500 which Maxwell can send you are apparently not required by you. With the aid of these I had hoped that you would have been in a position to press forward. "The Lowland Division is leaving for you." This is a queer cable. Seems as if K. was beginning to come up against those political forces which have ever been a British Commander's bane. The words in which he begs me to try and prevent "a withdrawal with all its dangers in the East ... from entering the field of possible solutions," sounds uncommonly like a cry for help. He means that I should help him by remembering, and by making smaller calls upon him. But the only way I can _really_ help him is by winning a battle: to pretend I could win that battle without drafts, munitions and the Army Corps asked for would be a very short-lived bluff both for him and for me. We have had it from other sources that this strange notion of running away from the Turk, after singeing his beard, has arisen in London and in France. So now that the murder has peeped out, I am glad to know where we are and to feel that K. stands solid and sound behind us. He need have no fear; all that man can do I will do by pressing on here and by asking for not one man or round more than is absolutely essential for the job. As to that passage about the 4,500 Australians, a refusal of Australians would indeed be good cause for surprise--only--it has never taken place, and never will take place. I can only surmise that my request made to Maxwell that these 4,500 men should come to me as drafts for my skeleton units, instead of as a raw brigade, has twisted itself, going down some office corridor, into a story that I don't want the men! K. tells me Egypt is mine and the fatness thereof; yet, no sooner do I make the most modest suggestion concerning anything or anyone Egyptian than K. is got at and I find he is the Barmecide and I Schac'abac. "How do you like your lentil soup?" says K. "Excellently well," say I, "but devil a drop is in the plate!" I have got to enter into the joke; that's the long and the short of it. But it is being pushed just a trifle too far when I am told I _apparently do not require_ 4,500 Australians! The whole of K.'s cable calls for close thinking. How to try and help him to pump courage into faint-hearted fellows? How to do so without toning down my demands for reinforcements?--for evidently these demands are what are making them shake in their shoes. Here is my draft for an answer: I can't change my estimate: it was the least I could safely ask for: but I can make it clear I do not want to ask for more than he can give:-- "(M.F. 243). "With reference to your No. 4726, cipher. Private and personal. You need not be despondent at anything in the situation. Remember that you asked me to answer on the assumption that you had adequate forces at your disposal, and I did so. "Maxwell must have misinformed you. I want the Australian reinforcements to fill existing cadres. Maxwell, possibly not to disappoint senior officers, has sent them as weak brigades, which complicates command and organization exceedingly. "We gain ground surely if slowly every day, and now at 11 p.m. the French and Naval Divisions are fighting their way forward." Tidings of great joy from Anzac. The whole of the enemy's freshly-arrived contingent have made a grand assault and have been shattered in the attempt. Samson dropped bombs on them as they were standing on the shore after their disembarkation. Next, they were moved up into the fight where a tremendous fire action was in progress. Last, they stormed forward in the densest masses yet seen on the Peninsula. Then, they were mown down and driven back headlong. So they have had a dreadnought reception. This has not been a local trench attack but a real battle and a fiery one. I have lost no time in cabling the glorious news to K. The cloud of these coming enemy reinforcements has cast its shadow over us for awhile and now the sun shines again. _20th May, 1919. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Aubrey Herbert saw me before dinner. He brings a message from Birdie to say that there has been some sort of parley with the enemy who wish to fix up an armistice for the burial of their dead. Herbert is keen on meeting the Turks half way and I am quite with him, _provided_ Birdie clearly understands that no Corps Commander can fix up an armistice off his own bat, and _provided_ it is clear we do not ask for the armistice but grant it to them--the suppliants. Herbert brings amazing fine detail about the night and day battle on the high ridges. Birdie has fairly taken the fighting edge off Liman von Sanders' two new Divisions: he has knocked them to bits. A few more shells and they would have been swept off the face of the earth. As it is we have slaughtered a multitude. Since the 18th we are down to two rounds per gun per diem, but the Turks who have been short of stuff since the 8th instant are now once more well found. Admiral Thursby tells me he himself counted 240 shells falling on one of Birdwood's trenches in the space of ten minutes. I asked him if that amounted to one shell per yard and he said the whole length of the trench was less than 100 yards. On the 18th fifty heavy shells, including 12-inch and 14-inch, dropped out of the blue vault of heaven on to the Anzacs. Everyone sorry to say good-bye to Thursby who goes to Italy. Rumours that Winston is leaving the Admiralty. This would be an awful blow to us out here, would be a sign that Providence had some grudge against the Dardanelles. Private feelings do not count in war, but alas, how grievous is this set-back to one who has it in him to revive the part of Pitt, had he but Pitt's place. Haldane, too. Are the benefits of his organization of our army to be discounted because they had a German origin? _Fas est et ab hoste doceri_. Half the guns on the Peninsula would have been scrap-iron had it not been for Haldane! But if this turns out true about Winston, there will be a colder spirit (let them appoint whom they will) at the back of our battleships here. _21st May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian." Imbros._ De Robeck came on board with Lieutenant-Commander Boyle of E. 4 fame. I was proud indeed to meet the young and modest hero. He gets the V.C.; his other two officers the D.S.O.; his crew the D.C.M. Also he brought with him the Reuter giving us the Cabinet changes and the resignations of Fisher and Winston and this, in its interest, has eclipsed even V.C.s for the moment. De Robeck reminded me that Lord K.'s cable (begging me to help him to combat any idea of withdrawal) must have been written that very day. A significant straw disclosing the veering of the winds of high politics! Evidently K. felt ill at ease; evidently he must now be sitting at a round table surrounded by masked figures. Have just finished writing him to sympathize; to say he is not to worry about me as "I know that as long as you remain at the War Office no one will be allowed to harm us out here." Nor could they if he were the K. of old; the K. who downed Milner and Chamberlain by making a peace by agreement with the Boers and then swallowed a Viceroy and his Military Member of Council as an appetiser to his more serious digest of India. But is he? Where are the instruments?--gone to France or gone to glory. Callwell is the exception. I would give a great deal for one good talk with K.--I would indeed. But this is not France. Time and space forbid my quitting the helm and so I must try and induce the mountain to come to Mahomet. My letter goes on to say, "Could you not take a run out here and see us? If once you realize with your own eyes what the troops are doing I would never need to praise them again. Travelling in the _Phaeton_ you would be here in three days; you would see some wonderful things and the men would be tremendously bucked up. The spirit of all ranks rises above trials and losses and is confident of the present and cheery about the future." Quite apart from any high politics, or from my coming to a fresh, clear, close understanding with K. on subjects neither of us understood when last we spoke together, I wish, on the grounds of ordinary tactics, he could make up his mind to come out. The man who has _seen_ gains self-confidence and the prestige of his subject when he encounters others who have only _heard_ and _read_. K. might snap his fingers at the new hands in the Cabinet once he had been out and got the real Gallipoli at their tips. I can't keep my thoughts from dwelling on the fate of Winston. How will he feel now he realizes he is shorn of his direct power to help us through these dark and dreadful Straits? Since I started nothing has handicapped me more than the embargo which a double loyalty to K. and to de Robeck has imposed upon my communications to Winston. What a tragedy that his nerve and military vision have been side-tracked: his eclipse projects a black shadow over the Dardanelles. Very likely the next great war will have begun before we realize that the three days' delay in the fall of Antwerp saved Calais. No more brilliant effort of unaided genius in history than that recorded in the scene when Winston burst into the Council Chamber and bucked up the Burgomeisters to hold on a little bit longer. Any comfort our people may enjoy from being out of cannon shot of the Germans--they owe it to the imagination, bluff and persuasiveness of Winston and to this gallant Naval Division now destined to be starved to death! Sent my first despatch home to-day by King's Messenger. Never has story been penned amidst so infernal a racket. CHAPTER IX SUBMARINES _22nd May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ News in to say that yesterday, whilst Herbert was here to take orders about an armistice, some sort of an informal parley actually took place. Both sides suddenly got panic stricken, thinking the others were treacherous, and fire was opened, some stretcher bearers being killed. Nothing else was to be expected when things are done in this casual and unauthorized way. I felt very much annoyed, but Aubrey Herbert was still on board and I saw him before breakfast and told him Walker seemed to have taken too much upon himself parleying with the Turks and that Birdwood must now make this clear to everyone for future guidance. Although Aubrey Herbert is excessively unorthodox he quite sees that confabs with enemies must be carried out according to Cocker. After breakfast landed at Cape Helles. Inspected the detachment of the Works Department of the Egyptian Army as it was on its way to the French Headquarters. Colonel Micklem was in charge. At Sedd-el-Bahr lunched with Gouraud and his Staff. General Bailloud rode up just as I was about to enter the porch of the old Fort. He was in two minds whether or not to embrace me, being in very high feather, his men having this morning carried the Haricot redoubt overlooking the Kereves Dere. At lunch he was the greatest possible fun, bubbling over with jokes and witty sallies. Just as we were finishing, news came through the telephone that Bailloud's Brigade had been driven in by a big Turkish counter-attack, with a loss of 400 men and some first class officers. Most of us showed signs, I will not say of being rattled, but of having stumbled against a rattlesnake. Gouraud remained unaffectedly in possession of himself as host of a lunch party. He said, "We will not take the trenches by not taking the coffee. Let us drink it first, and then we will consider." So we drank our coffee; lit our smokes, and afterwards Gouraud, through Girodon, issued his orders in the most calm and matter-of-fact way. He declares the redoubt will be in our hands again to-morrow. Our lunch was to furnish us with yet another landmark for bad luck. As we were leaving, a message came in to say that an enemy submarine had been sighted off Gaba Tepe. The fresh imprint of a tiger's paw upon the pathway gives the same sort of feel to the Indian herdsman. Tall stories from neighbouring villages have been going the round for weeks, only half-believed, but here is the very mark of the beast; the horror has suddenly taken shape. He mutters the name of God, wondering what eyes may even now be watching his every movement; he wonders whose turn will come first--and when--and where. This was the sort of effect of the wireless and in a twinkling every transport round the coast was steering full steam to Imbros. In less than no time we saw a regatta of skedaddling ships. So dies the invasion of England bogey which, from first to last, has wrought us an infinity of harm. Born and bred of mistrust of our own magnificent Navy, it has led soldiers into heresy after fallacy and fallacy after heresy until now it is the cause of my Divisions here being hardly larger than Brigades, whilst the men who might have filled them are "busy" guarding London! If one rumoured submarine can put the fear of the Lord into British transports how are German or any other transports going to face up to a hundred British submarines? The theory of the War Office has struggled with the theory of the Admiralty for the past five years: now there is nothing left of the War Office theory; no more than is left of a soap bubble when you strike it with a battleaxe. Some other stimulus to our Territorial recruiting than the fear of invasion will have to be invented in future. After lunch went to the Headquarters of the 29th Division where all the British Divisional Generals had assembled together to meet me. The same story everywhere--lack of men, meaning extra work--which again means sickness and still greater lack of men. On my return found a letter from the Turkish Commander-in-Chief giving his "full consent" to the armistice he himself had asked me for! A save-face document, no doubt: the wounded are all Turks as our men did not leave their trenches on the 19th; the dead, also, I am glad to say, almost entirely Turks; but anyway, one need not be too punctilious where it is a matter of giving decent burial to so many men. GRAND QUARTIER GÉNÉRAL DE LA 5me ARMÉE OTTOMANE. _le 22 mai 1915._ "EXCELLENCE! "J'ai l'honneur d'informer Votre Excellence que les propositions concernant la conclusion d'un armistice pour enterrer les morts et secourir les blessés des deux parties adverses, ont trouvé mon plein consentement--et que seule nos sentiments d'humanité nous y ont déterminés. "J'ai investi le lieutenant-colonel Fahreddin du pouvoir de signer en mon nom. "J'ai l'honneur d'être avec l'assurance de ma plus haute considération. (_Sd._) "LIMAN VON SANDERS, "Commandant en chef de la 5me Armée Ottomane. "Commandant en chef des Forces Britanniques, Sir John Hamilton, Excellence." _23rd May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Blazing hot. Wrote all day. Had an hour and a half's talk with de Robeck--high politics as well as our own rather anxious affairs. No one knows how the new First Lord will play up, but Asquith, for sure, chucks away his mainspring if he parts with Winston: as to Fisher, he too has energy but none of it came our way so he will have no tears from us, though he has friends here too. The submarine scare is full on; the beastly things have frightened us more than all the Turks and all their German guns. _24th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Vice-Admiral Nicol, French Naval Commander-in-Chief, came aboard to pay me a visit. Armistice from 9.30 a.m. to 4.30 p.m. for burial of Turkish dead. All went off quite smoothly.... This moment, 12.40 p.m. the Captain has rushed in to say that H.M.S. _Triumph_ is sinking! He caught the bad news on his wireless as it flew. Beyond doubt the German submarine. What exactly is about to happen, God knows. The fleet cannot see itself wiped out by degrees; and yet, without the fleet, how are we soldiers to exist? One more awful conundrum set to us, but the Navy will solve it, for sure. _25th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Bad news confirmed. The Admiral came aboard and between us we tried to size up the new situation and to readjust ourselves thereto. Our nicely worked out system for supplying the troops has in a moment been tangled up into a hundred knotty problems. Instead of our small craft working to and fro in half mile runs, henceforth they will have to cover 60 miles per trip. Until now the big ocean going ships have anchored close up to Helles or Anzac; in future Mudros will be the only possible harbour for these priceless floating depots. Imbros, here, lies quite open to submarine attacks, and in a northerly gale, becomes a mere roadstead. The Admiral, who regards soldiers as wayward water babes, has insisted on lashing a merchantman to each side of the _Arcadian_ to serve as torpedo buffers. There are, it seems, at least two German submarines prowling about at the present moment between Gaba Tepe and Cape Helles. After torpedoing the _Triumph_ the same submarine fired at and missed the _Vengeance_. The _Lord Nelson_ with the Admiral, as well as three French battleships, zig-zagged out of harbour and made tracks for Mudros in the afternoon. We are left all alone in our glory with our two captive merchantmen. The attitude is heroic but not, I think, so dangerous as it is uncomfortable. The big ocean liners lashed to port and starboard cut us off from air as well as light and one of them is loaded with Cheddar. When Mr. Jorrocks awoke James Pigg and asked him to open the window and see what sort of a hunting morning it was, it will be remembered that the huntsman opened the cupboard by mistake and made the reply, "Hellish dark and smells of cheese." Well, that immortal remark hits us off to a T. Never mind. Light will be vouchsafed. Amen. The burial of 3,000 Turks by armistice at Anzac seems to have been carried out without a hitch. All these 3,000 Turks were killed between the 18th and 20th instant. By the usual averages this figure implies over 12,000 wounded so the Lord has vouchsafed us a signal victory indeed. Birdwood's men were all out and his reserves, or rather the lack of them, would not permit him to counter-attack the moment the enemy's assault was repulsed. When we read of battles in histories we feel, we see, so clearly the value of counter-attack and the folly of passive defence; but, in the field, the struggle has sometimes been so close that the victorious defence are left gasping. The enemy were very polite during the armistice, and by way of being highly solemn and correct, but they could not refrain from bursting into laughter when the Australians held up cigarettes and called out "baksheesh." Last night the French and the Naval Brigade made a good advance with slight loss. The East Lancs also pushed on a little bit. _26th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Entertained a small party of Australian officers as my private guests for 48 hours, my idea being to give them a bit of a rest. Colonel Monash, commanding 4th Australian Infantry Brigade, was the senior. He is a very competent officer. I have a clear memory of him standing under a gum tree at Lilydale, near Melbourne, holding a conference after a manoeuvre, when it had been even hotter than it is here now. I was prepared for intelligent criticisms but I thought they would be so wrapped up in the cotton wool of politeness that no one would be very much impressed. On the contrary, he stated his opinions in the most direct, blunt, telling way. The fact was noted in my report and now his conduct out here has been fully up to sample. A horrid mishap. Landing some New Zealand Mounted Rifles at Anzac, the destroyer anchored within range of the Turkish guns instead of slowly steaming about out of range until the picket boats came off to bring the men ashore. The Turks were watching and, as soon as she let go her anchor, opened fire from their guns by the olive, and before the destroyer could get under weigh six of these fine New Zealand lads were killed and forty-five wounded. A hundred fair fighting casualties would affect me less. To be knocked out before having taken part in a battle, or even having set foot upon the Promised Land--nothing could be more cruel. A special order to the troops:-- GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, _25th May, 1915._ 1. Now that a clear month has passed since the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force began its night and day fighting with the enemy, the General Commanding desires me to explain to officers, non-commissioned officers and men the real significance of the calls made upon them to risk their lives apparently for nothing better than to gain a few yards of uncultivated land. 2. A comparatively small body of the finest troops in the world, French and British, have effected a lodgment close to the heart of a great continental empire, still formidable even in its decadence. Here they stand firm, or slowly advance, and in the efforts made by successive Turkish armies to dislodge them the rotten Government at Constantinople is gradually wearing itself out. The facts and figures upon which this conclusion is based have been checked and verified from a variety of sources. Agents of neutral powers possessing good sources of information have placed both the numbers and the losses of the enemy much higher than they are set forth here, but the General Commanding prefers to be on the safe side and to give his troops a strictly conservative estimate. Before operations began the strength of the defenders of the Dardanelles was:-- Gallipoli Peninsula 34,000 and about 100 guns. Asiatic side of Straits 41,000 All the troops on the Gallipoli Peninsula and fifty per cent. of the troops on the Asiatic side were Nizam, that is to say, regular first line troops. They were transferable, and were actually transferred to this side upon which the invaders disembarked. Our Expeditionary Force effected its landing it will be seen, in the face of an enemy superior, not only to the covering parties which got ashore the first day, but superior actually to the total strength at our disposal. By the 12th May, the Turkish Army of occupation had been defeated in several engagements, and would have been at the end of their resources had they not meanwhile received reinforcements of 20,000 infantry and 21 batteries of Field Artillery. Still the Expeditionary Force held its own, and more than its own, inflicting fresh bloody defeats upon the newcomers and again the Turks must certainly have given way had not a second reinforcement reached the Peninsula from Constantinople and Smyrna amounting at the lowest estimate to 24,000 men. 3. From what has been said it will be understood that the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, supported by its gallant comrades the Fleet, but with constantly diminishing effectives, has held in check or wrested ground from some 120,000 Turkish troops elaborately entrenched and supported by a powerful artillery. The enemy has now few more Nizam troops at his disposal and not many Redif or second class troops. Up to date his casualties are 55,000, and again, in giving this figure, the General Commanding has preferred to err on the side of low estimates. Daily we make progress, and whenever the reinforcements close at hand begin to put in an appearance, the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force will press forward with a fresh impulse to accomplish the greatest Imperial task ever entrusted to an army. _27th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ The _Majestic_ has been torpedoed and has sunk off Cape Helles. Got the news at mid-day. Fuller, my Artillery Commander, and Ashmead-Bartlett, the correspondent, were both on board, and both were saved--minus kit! About 40 men have gone under. Bad luck. A Naval Officer who has seen her says she is lying in shallow water--6 fathoms--bottom upwards looking like a stranded whale. He says the German submarine made a most lovely shot at her through a crowd of cargo ships and transports. Like picking a royal stag out of his harem of does. To my Staff, they tell me, he delivered himself further but, as I said to the Officer who repeated these criticisms to me, "judge not that ye be not judged." _28th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Went for a walk with the Admiral. He refuses any longer to accept the responsibility of keeping us afloat. As Helles, Anzac and Tenedos have each been ruled out, we are going to doss down on this sandbank opposite us. One thing, it will be central to both my theatres of work. _29th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ The Commodore, Roger Keyes, arrived mid-day and invited me to come over to Helles with him on a destroyer, H.M.S. _Scorpion._ He was crossing in hopes--_in hopes,_ if you please--of hitting off the submarine. The idea that it might hit him had not seemed to occur to him. On the way we were greatly excited to see the bladder of an indicator net smoking. So we rushed about the place and bombs were got ready to drop. But the net remained motionless and, as the water was too deep for the submarine to be lying at the bottom, it seemed (although no one dared to say so) that a porpoise had been poking fun at the Commodore. Landing at Helles inspected the various roads, which were in the making. Next saw Hunter-Weston. Canvassed plans with him and felt myself refreshed. Then went on to Gouraud's Headquarters, taking the Commodore with me. My Commanders are an asset which cancels many a debit. Gouraud is in excellent form and gave us tea. Walked down to "V" Beach at 6 p.m. When we got on to the pier, which ends in the _River Clyde_, we found another destroyer, the _Wolverine_, under Lieutenant-Commander Keyes, the brother of the Commodore. She was to take us across, and (of all places in the world to select for a berth!) she had run herself alongside the _River Clyde_ which was, at that moment, busy playing target to the heavy guns of Asia. I imagined that taking aboard a boss like the Commander-in-Chief, as well as that much bigger boss (in naval estimates) his own big brother, the Commodore, our Lieutenant-Commander would nip away presto. Not a bit of it! No sooner had he got us aboard than he came out boldly and very, very slowly, stern first, from the lee of the _River Clyde_ and began a duel against Asia with 4-inch lyddite from the _Wolverine's_ after gun. The fight seems quite funny to me now but, at the time, serio-comic would have better described my impressions. Shells ashore are part of the common lot; they come in the day's work: on the water; in a cockleshell--well, you can't go to ground, anyway! [Illustration: VIEW OF "V" BEACH, TAKEN FROM S.S. "RIVER CLYDE" _"Central News" photo._] Heavy fighting at Anzac. The Turks fired a mine under Quinn's Post and then rushed a section of the defence isolated by the explosion. At 6 in the morning the crater was, Birdie says, most gallantly retaken with the bayonet. There are excursions and alarms; attacks and counter-attacks; bomb-showers to which the bayonet charge is our only retort--but we hold fast the crater! When I tell them at home that if they will give me munitions enough to let me advance two miles I will give them Constantinople, that is the truth. On paper, the Turks no doubt might assert with equal force that if they got forces enough together to drive the Australians back a short two hundred yards they could give the Sultan the resounding prestige of a Peninsula freed from the Giaour. But that would require more Turks than the Turks could feed, whereas we know we could do it now, as we are--given the wherewithal--trench mortars, hand grenades and bombs, for example. A message from Hanbury Williams, who is with the Grand Duke Nicholas, to say that all idea of sending me a Russian Army Corps to land at the Bosphorus has been abandoned!!! _30th May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Went to Anzac in a destroyer. The Cove was being heavily shelled, and the troops near the beach together with the fatigue parties handling stores and ammunition, had dashed into their dugouts like marmots at the shadow of an eagle. Birdwood came out to meet me on this very unhealthy spot; indeed, in spite of my waving him back, he walked right on to the end of the deserted pier. Just as we were getting near his quarters, a couple of shrapnel burst at an angle and height which, by the laws of gravity, momentum and velocity ought to have put a fullstop to this chronicle. Actually, we walked on--through the "Valley of Death"--past the spot where the brave Bridges bit the dust, to the Headquarters of the 4th Australian Infantry Brigade. Thence I could see the enemy trenches in front of Quinn's Post, and also a very brisk bomb combat in full flame where the New Zealand Mounted Rifles were making good the Turkish communicating post they had seized earlier in the day. Nothing more strange than this inspection. Along the path at the bottom of the valley warning notices were stuck up. The wayfarer has to be as punctilious about each footstep as Christian in the "Pilgrim's Progress." Should he disregard the placards directing him to keep to the right or to the left of the track, he is almost certainly shot. Half of the pathway may be as safe as Piccadilly, whilst he who treads the other had far better be up yonder at hand grips with the Turks. Presumably some feature of the ground defilades one part, for the enemy cannot see into the valley, although, were they only 20 yards nearer the edge of the cliff, they would command its whole extent. The spirit of the men is invincible. Only lately have we been able to give them blankets: as to square meals and soft sleeps, these are dreams of the past, they belonged to another state of being. Yet I never struck a more jovial crew. Men staggering under huge sides of frozen beef; men struggling up cliffs with kerosine tins full of water; men digging; men cooking; men card-playing in small dens scooped out from the banks of yellow clay--everyone wore a Bank Holiday air;--evidently the ranklings and worry of mankind--miseries and concerns of the spirit--had fled the precincts of this valley. The Boss--the bill--the girl--envy, malice, hunger, hatred--had scooted far away to the Antipodes. All the time, overhead, the shell and rifle bullets groaned and whined, touching just the same note of violent energy as was in evidence everywhere else. To understand that awful din, raise the eyes 25 degrees to the top of the cliff which closes in the tail end of the valley and you can see the Turkish hand grenades bursting along the crest, just where an occasional bayonet flashes and figures hardly distinguishable from Mother earth crouch in an irregular line. Or else they rise to fire and are silhouetted a moment against the sky and then you recognize the naked athletes from the Antipodes and your heart goes into your mouth as a whole bunch of them dart forward suddenly, and as suddenly disappear. And the bomb shower stops dead--for the moment; but, all the time, from that fiery crest line which is Quinn's, there comes a slow constant trickle of wounded--some dragging themselves painfully along; others being carried along on stretchers. Bomb wounds all; a ceaseless, silent stream of bandages and blood. Yet three out of four of "the boys" have grit left for a gay smile or a cheery little nod to their comrades waiting for their turn as they pass, pass, pass, down on their way to the sea. There are poets and writers who see naught in war but carrion, filth, savagery and horror. The heroism of the rank and file makes no appeal. They refuse war the credit of being the only exercise in devotion on the large scale existing in this world. The superb moral victory over death leaves them cold. Each one to his taste. To me this is no valley of death--it is a valley brim full of life at its highest power. Men live through more in five minutes on that crest than they do in five years of Bendigo or Ballarat. Ask the brothers of these very fighters--Calgoorlie or Coolgardie miners--to do one quarter the work and to run one hundredth the risk on a wages basis--instanter there would be a riot. But here,--not a murmur, not a question; only a radiant force of camaraderie in action. The Turks have heaps of cartridges and more shells, anyway, than we have. They have as many grenades as they can throw; we have--a dozen per Company. There is a very bitter feeling amongst all the troops, but especially the Australians, at this lack of elementary weapons like grenades. Our overseas men are very intelligent. They are prepared to make allowances for lack of shell; lack of guns; lack of high explosives. But they know there must be something wrong when the Turks carry ten good bombs to our one bad one; and they think, some of them, that this must be my fault. Far from it. _Directly_ after the naval battle of the 18th March--i.e., over two months ago, I wrote out a cable asking for bombs. I sent this on my own happy thought, and I had hoped for a million by the date of landing five weeks later. But I got, practically, none; nor any promise for the future. In default of help from home, we have tried to manufacture these primitive but very effective projectiles for ourselves with jam pots, meat tins and any old rubbish we can scrape together. De Lothbinière has shown ingenuity in thus making bricks without straw. The Fleet, too, has played up and de Robeck has guaranteed me two thousand to be made by the artificers on the battleships. Maxwell in Egypt has been improvising a few; Methuen at Malta says they can't make them there. But what a shame that the sons of a manufacturing country like Great Britain should be in straits for engines so simple. Yesterday and to-day we have fired, for us, a terrible lot of shells (1,800 shrapnel) but never was shot better spent. We reckon the enemy's casualties between 1,000 and 2,000 mainly caused by our guns playing on the columns which came up trying to improve upon their lodgment in Quinn's Post. Add this to the 3,000 killed, and, say, 12,000 wounded on the 18th instant, and it is clear no troops in the world can stand it very long. But we are literally at the end of our shrapnel; and as to high explosive, according to the standards of the gunners, we have never had any! Left on a picket boat with Birdie to board my destroyer to an accompaniment of various denominations of projectiles. One or two shells burst hard by just as we were scrambling up her side. Vice-Admiral Nicholls called after my return. Courtauld Thomson, the Red Cross man, dined; very helpful; very well stocked with comforts and everyone likes him, even the R.A.M.C. _31st May, 1915. H.M.T. "Arcadian."_ Worked in the forenoon. Gouraud, Girodon and Hunter-Weston lunched and we spent the afternoon at the scheme for our next fight. Each of us agreed that Fortune had not been over kind. By one month's hard, close hammering we had at last made the tough _moral_ of the Turks more pliant, when lo and behold, in broad daylight, thousands of their common soldiery see with their own eyes two great battleships sink beneath the waves and all the others make an exit more dramatic than dignified. Most of the Armada of store ships had already cleared out and now the last of the battleships has offed it over the offing; a move which the whole of the German Grand Fleet could not have forced them to make! What better pick-me-up could Providence have provided for the badly-shaken Turks? No more inquisitive cruisers ready to let fly a salvo at anything that stirs. No more searchlights by night; no more big explosives flying from the Aegean into the Dardanelles! _1st June, 1915. Imbros._ Came ashore and stuck up my 80-lb. tent in the middle of a sandbank whereon some sanguine Greek agriculturalist has been trying to plant wheat. We shall live the simple life; the same life, in fact, as the men, but are glad to be off the ship and able to stretch our legs. Hard fighting in the North zone and the South. Both outposts captured by us on the 29th May at Anzac and on the French right at Helles heavily attacked. In the North we had to give ground, but not before we had made the enemy pay ten times its value in killed and wounded. Had we only had a few spare rounds of shrapnel we need never have gone back. The War Office have called for a return of my 4.5 howitzer ammunition during the past fortnight, and I find that, since the 14th May, we have expended 477 shell altogether at Anzac and Helles combined. In the South the enemy twice recaptured the redoubt taken by the French on the 29th, but Gouraud, having a nice little parcel of high explosive on hand, was able to drive them out definitely and to keep them out. _2nd June, 1915. Imbros._ Working all day in camp. Blazing hot, tempered by a cool breeze towards evening. De Robeck came ashore and we had an hour together in the afternoon. Everything is fixed up for our big attack on the 4th. From aeroplane photographs it would appear that the front line Turkish trenches are meant more as traps for rash forlorn hopes than as strongholds. In fact, the true tug only begins when we try to carry the second line and the flanking machine guns. Gouraud has generously lent us two groups of 75s with H.E. shell, and I am cabling the fact to the War Office as it means a great deal to us. When I say they are lent to us, I do not mean that they put the guns at our disposal. They are only ours for defensive purposes; that is to say, they remain in their own gun positions in the French lines and are to help by thickening the barrage in front of the Naval Division. De Robeck and Keyes are quite as much at sea as Braithwaite and myself about this original scheme of the British Government for treating a tearing, raging crisis; i.e., by taking no notice of it. I guess that never before in the history of war has a Commander asked urgently that his force might be doubled and then got no orders; no answer of any sort or kind! When I sent K. my M.F. 234 of the 17th May asking for two Corps, or for Allies, one or the other, I got a reply by return expressing his disappointment; since then, nothing. During that fortnight of silence the whole of the Turkish Empire has been moving--closing in--on the Dardanelles. Then, by a side-wind I happen to hear of the abstraction of a Russian Army Corps from my supposed command; an Army Corps, who by the mere fact of "being," held off a large force of Turks from Gallipoli. So I have put down a few hard truths. Unpalatable they may be but some day they've got to be faced and the sooner the better. Time has slipped away, but to-day is still better than to-morrow. What a change since the War Office sent us packing with a bagful of hallucinations. Naval guns sweeping the Turks off the Peninsula; the Ottoman Army legging it from a British submarine waving the Union Jack; Russian help in hand; Greek help on the _tapis_. Now it is our Fleet which has to leg it from the German submarine; there is no ammunition for the guns; no drafts to keep my Divisions up to strength; my Russians have gone to Galicia and the Greeks are lying lower than ever. "No. M.F. 288. From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. With reference to my telegrams No. M.F. 274 of 29th May, and No. M.F. 234 of 17th May. If the information sent by Hanbury-Williams, to which I referred in my No. M.F. 274, is correct it is advisable that I should send you a fresh appreciation of the situation. "I assumed in my No. M.F. 234 that you had adequate forces at your disposal, but on the other hand I assumed that some 100,000 Turks would be kept occupied by the Russians. By the defection of Russia, 100,000 Turks are set free in the Caucasus and European Turkey. After deduction of casualties there are at least 80,000 Turks now against us in the Peninsula. There are 20,000 Turks on the Bulgarian frontier which, assuming that Bulgaria remains neutral, are able to reinforce Gallipoli; some, in fact, have already arrived showing the restoration of Turkish confidence in King Ferdinand. Close by on the Asiatic side there remain 10,000 Turks, making a total of 210,000, to which must be added 65,000 who are under training in Europe. "The movement of the Turkish troops has already begun. There are practically no troops left in Smyrna district, and there are already in the field numbers of troops from European garrisons, while recently it was reported that more are coming. "The movement of a quarter of a million men against us seems to be well under way, and although many of these are ill-trained still with well-run supply and ammunition columns and in trenches designed by Germans the Turk is always formidable. "As regards ammunition, the enemy appears to have an unlimited supply of small-arm ammunition and as many hand-grenades as they can fling. Though there is some indication that gun ammunition is being husbanded, it was reported as late as 27th May, that supplies of shells were being received _via_ Roumania, and yesterday it was suggested that artillery ammunition can be manufactured at Constantinople where it is reported that over two hundred engineers have arrived from Krupp's. "At the same time, the temporary withdrawal of our battleships owing to enemy submarines has altered the position to our disadvantage; while not of the highest importance materially this factor carries considerable moral weight. "Taking all these factors into consideration, it would seem that for an early success some equivalent to the suspended Russian co-operation is vitally necessary. The ground gained and the positions which we hold are not such as to enable me to envisage with soldierly equanimity the probability of the large forces adumbrated above being massed against my troops without let or hindrance from elsewhere. Fresh light may be shed on the matter by the battle now imminent, but I am cabling on reasoned existing facts. Time is an object, but if Greece came in, preferably _via_ Enos, the problem would be simplified. It is broadly my view that we must obtain the support of a fresh ally in this theatre, or else there should be got ready British reinforcements to the full extent mentioned in my No. M.F. 234, though as stated above the disappearance of Russian co-operation was not contemplated in my estimate." _3rd June, 1915. Imbros._ Meant to go to Anzac; sea too rough; in the afternoon saw de Robeck and Roger Keyes. Braithwaite came over and we went through my cable of yesterday. The sailors would just as soon I had left out that remark about the enemy being bucked up by the retreat of our battleships. But the passage implied also that their mere visible presence was shown to be most valuable. Both of them agree that I am well within the mark in saying what I did about the loss of my Russian Army Corps. Roger Keyes next launched a dry land criticism. He rightly thinks that the weakness of our _present_ units is _the_ real weakness: he thinks we are far more in need of drafts than of fresh units; he suggests that a rider be sent now to insist that the estimates in yesterday's cable were only made on the assumption that my present force is kept up to strength. I did press that very point in my first cable of 17th May, which is referred to in the opening of this cable; further, we keep on saying it every week in our War Office cable giving strengths. After all, K. is 65. He still believes "A man's a man and a rifle's a rifle"; I still believe that half the value of every human being depends upon his environment:--we are not going to convert one another now. As we were actually talking, Williams brought over an answer:-- "No. 5104, cipher. From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. With reference to your No. M.F. 288. Owing to the restricted nature of the ground you occupy and the experience we have had in Flanders of increased forces acting in trench positions, I own I have some doubts of an early decisive result being obtained by at once increasing the forces at your disposal, but I should like your views as soon as you can--to-day if possible. Are you convinced that with immediate reinforcements to the extent you mention you could force the Kilid Bahr position and thus finish the Dardanelles operations? "You mentioned in a previous telegram that you intended to keep reinforcements on islands, is this your intention with regard to the Lowland Division, now on its way to you, and the other troops when sent?" K.'s brief cable is _intensely_ characteristic. I have taken down hundreds of his wires. We are face to face here with his very self at _first hand_. How curiously it reveals the man's instinct, or genius--call it what you will. K. sees in a flash what the rest of the world does not seem to see so clearly; viz., that the piling up of increased forces opposite entrenched positions is a spendthrift, unscientific proceeding. He wishes to know if I mean to do this. To draw me out he assumes if I get the troops, I _would_ at once commit them to trench warfare by crowding them in behind the lines of Helles or Anzac. Actually I intend to keep the bulk of them on the islands, so as to throw them unexpectedly against some key position which is _not_ prepared for defence. But I have to be very careful what I say, seeing that the Turks got wind of the date of our first landing from London _via_ Vienna. Least said to a Cabinet, least leakage. That is not all. Curt as is the cable it has yet scope to show up a little more of our great K.'s outfit. His infernal hurry. "To-day":--I am to reply, to-day! He has taken some two and a half weeks to answer my request for two Army Corps and I am to answer a far more obscure question in two and a half minutes. Why, since my appeal of 17th May the situation has not stood still. A Commander in the field is like a cannon ball. If he stops going ahead, he falls dead. You can't stop moving for a fortnight and then expect to carry on where you left off; I think the Duke of Wellington said this; if he didn't he should have. To err is to be human and the troops, if sent at once, may or may not, fulfil our hopes. All we here can say is this:-- (1) If the Army Corps had been sent at once (i.e., two weeks ago) the results should have been decisive. (2) If the Army Corps are not sent at once, there can be no early decision. Braithwaite, De Robeck and Keyes agree to (1) and (2) but the cabled answer will not be so simple and, in spite of K.'s sudden impatience, I must sleep over it first. Written whilst Williams waits:-- "No. M.F. 292. From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. Secret. To-morrow, 4th June, I am fighting a general action. Therefore I feel sure that you will wish me to defer my answer to your telegram No. 5104, cipher, until I see the result." These lofty strategical questions must not make me forget an equally vital munitions message just to hand. I have cabled K. twice in the past day or two about shells. On the 1st instant I had said, "I still await the information promised in your x. 4773, A. 5, of 19th instant. In my opinion the supply of gun ammunition can hardly be considered adequate or safe until the following conditions can be filled:--(1) That the amounts with units and on the Lines of Communication should be made up to the number of rounds per gun which is allowed in War Establishment figures of 29th Division. (2) That these full amounts should be maintained and despatched automatically without any further application from us, beyond a weekly statement of the expenditure which will be cabled to you every Saturday. (3) In view of the number and the extent of the entrenchments to be dealt with it is necessary that a high proportion of high explosive shell for 18 pounder and howitzers be included in accordance with the report of my military advisers." We now have his reply:-- "No. 5088, cipher. From Earl Kitchener to Sir Ian Hamilton. With reference to your telegrams No. M.F. 281 and No. M.F.G.T. 967. We cannot supply ammunition to maintain a 1,000 rounds a gun owing to the demands from France, but consignments are being sent which amount to 17 rounds per gun per day for the 18 pounder and 4.5.-inch howitzer; this is considered by General Joffre and Sir John French as necessary. As much as possible of other natures will be sent. As regards quantities, you will be informed as early as possible. As available, H.E. shells will be sent for 18 pounder guns and howitzers." If we get 17 rounds per gun per day for the 18 pounders and 4.5 howitzers we shall indeed be on velvet. To be given what satisfies Joffre and French--that sounds too good to be true. So ran my thoughts and Braithwaite's on a first reading. Then came the C.R.A. who puts another light on the proposal and points out that the implied comparison with France is fallacious. We are undergunned here as compared with France in the proportion of 1 to 3. I mean to say that, in proportion to "bayonets" we have rather less than one third of the "guns." _Therefore_, if we were really to have munitions on the scale "considered necessary by General Joffre and Sir John French," we ought to have three times 17 rounds per day per gun; i.e. 51 rounds per day per gun. But never mind. _If we do get_ the 17 rounds we shall be infinitely better off than we have been: "and so say all of us!" Putting this cable together with yesterday's we all of us feel that the home folk are beginning to yawn and rub their eyes and that ere long they may really be awake. _4th June, 1915. Imbros._ Left camp after breakfast and boarded the redoubtable _Wolverine_ under that desperado Lieutenant-Commander Keyes. The General Staff came alongside and we made our way to Cape Helles through a blinding dust storm--at least, the dust came right out to sea, but it was on shore that it became literally blinding. On the pier I met Gouraud who walked up with me. Gouraud was very grave but confident. My post of command had been "dug out" for me well forward on the left flank by Hunter-Weston. In that hole two enormous tarantulas and I passed a day that seems to me ten years. The torture of suspense; the extremes of exaltation and of depression; the Red Indian necessity of showing no sign: all this varied only by the vicious scream of shell sailing some 30 feet over our heads on their way towards the 60 pounders near the point. A Commander feels desperately lonely at such moments. On him, and on him alone, falls the crushing onus of responsibility: to be a Corps Commander is child's play in _that_ comparison. The Staff are gnawed with anxiety too--are saying their prayers as fast as they can, no doubt, as they follow the ebb and flow of the long khaki line through their glasses. Yes, I have done that myself in the old days from Charasia onwards. Yet how faintly is my anguish reflected in the mere anxiety of their minds. Chapters could be written about this furious battle fought in a whirlwind of dust and smoke; some day I hope somebody may write them. After the first short spell of shelling our men fixed bayonets and lifted them high above the parapet. The Turks thinking we were going to make the assault, rushed troops into their trenches, until then lightly held. No sooner were our targets fully manned than we shelled them in earnest and went on at it until--on the stroke of mid-day--out dashed our fellows into the open. For the best part of an hour it seemed that we had won a decisive victory. On the left all the front line Turkish trenches were taken. On the right the French rushed the _"Haricot"_--so long a thorn in their flesh; next to them the Anson lads stormed another big Turkish redoubt in a slap-dash style reminding me of the best work of the old Regular Army; but the boldest and most brilliant exploit of the lot was the charge made by the Manchester Brigade[19] in the centre who wrested two lines of trenches from the Turks; and then, carrying right on; on to the lower slopes of Achi Baba, had _nothing_ between them and its summit but the clear, unentrenched hillside. They lay there--the line of our brave lads, plainly visible to a pair of good glasses--there they actually lay! We wanted, so it seemed, but a reserve to advance in their support and carry them right up to the top. We said--and yet could hardly believe our own words--"We are through!" Alas, too previous that remark. Everything began to go wrong. First the French were shelled and bombed out of the _"Haricot"_; next the right of the Naval Division became uncovered and they had to give way, losing many times more men in the yielding than in the capture of their ground. Then came the turn of the Manchesters, left in the lurch, with their right flank hanging in the air. By all the laws of war they ought to have tumbled back anyhow, but by the laws of the Manchesters they hung on and declared they could do so for ever. How to help? Men! Men, not so much now to sustain the Manchesters as to force back the Turks who were enfilading them from the _"Haricot"_ and from that redoubt held for awhile by the R.N.D. on their right. I implored Gouraud to try and make a push and promised that the Naval Division would retake their redoubt if he could retake the _"Haricot"_. Gouraud said he would go in at 3 p.m. The hour came; nothing happened. He then said he could not call upon his men again till 4 o'clock, and at 4 o'clock he said definitely that he would not be able to make another assault. The moment that last message came in I first telephoned and then, to make doubly sure, ran myself to Hunter-Weston's Headquarters so as not to let another moment be lost in pulling out the Manchester Brigade. I had 500 yards to go, and, rising the knoll, I would have been astonished, had I had any faculty of astonishment left in me, to meet Beetleheim, the Turk, who was with French in South Africa. I suppose he is here as an interpreter, or something, but I didn't ask. Seeing me alone for the moment he came along. He had quite a grip of the battle and seemed to hope I might let the Manchesters try and stick it out through the night, as he thought the Turks were too much done to do much more. But it was not good enough. To fall back was agony; not to do it would have been folly. Hunter-Weston felt the same. When Fate has first granted just a sip of the wine of success the slip between the cup and lip comes hardest. The upshot of the whole affair is that the enemy still hold a strong line of trenches between us and Achi Baba. Our four hundred prisoners, almost all made by the Manchester Brigade, amongst whom a good number of officers, do not console me. Having to make the Manchesters yield up their hard won gains is what breaks my heart. Had I known the result of our fight before the event, I should have been happy enough. Three or four hundred yards of ground plus four hundred prisoners are distances and numbers which may mean little in Russia or France, but here, where we only have a mile or two to go, land has a value all its own. Yes, I should have been happy enough. But, to have to yield up the best half--the vital half--of our gains--to have had our losses trebled on the top of a cheaply won victory--these are the reverse side of our medal for the 4th June. Going back we fell in with a blood-stained crowd from the Hood, Howe and Anson Battalions. Down the little gully to the beach we could only walk very slowly. At my elbow was Colonel Crauford Stuart, commanding the Hood Battalion. He had had his jaw smashed but I have seen men pull longer faces at breaking a collar stud. He told me that the losses of the Naval Division has been very heavy, the bulk of them during their retreat. From the moment the Turks drove the French out of the _"Haricot"_ the enfilade fire became murderous. On the beach was General de Lisle, fresh from France. He is taking over the 29th Division from Hunter-Weston who ascends to the command of the newly formed 8th Army Corps. De Lisle seemed in very good form although it must have been rather an eye-opener landing in the thick of this huge stream of wounded. How well I remember seeing him galloping at the head of his Mounted Infantry straight for Pretoria; and my rage when, under orders from Headquarters, I had to send swift messengers to tell him he must rein back for some reason never made clear. _5th June, 1915. Imbros._ Best part of the day occupied in a hundred and one sequels of the battle. The enemy have been quiet; they have had a belly-full. De Robeck came off to see me at 5.30, to have a final talk (amongst other things) as to the Enos and Bulair ideas before I send my final answer to K. If we dare not advertise the detail of our proposed tactics, we may take the lesser risk of saying what we are _not_ going to attempt. The Admiral is perfectly clear against Bulair. There is no protection there for the ships against submarines except Enos harbour and Enos is only one fathom deep. After all, the main thing they want is that I should commit myself to a statement that if I get the drafts and troops asked for in my various cables, I will make good. That, I find quite reasonable. _6th June, 1915. Imbros._ A very hot and dusty day. Still sweeping up the _débris_ of the battle. Besides my big cable have been studying strengths with my A.G. The Battalions are dwindling to Companies and the Divisions to Brigades. The cable is being ciphered: not a very luminous document: how could it be? The great men at home seem to forget that they cannot draw wise counsels from their servants unless they confide in them and give them _all_ the factors of the problem. If a client goes to a lawyer for advice the first thing the lawyer asks him to do is to make a clean breast of it. Before K. asks me to specify what I can do if he sends me these unknown and--in Great Britain--most variable quantities, Territorial or New Army Divisions, he ought to make a clean breast of it by telling me:-- (1) What he has. (2) What Sir John French wants. (3) Whether Italy will move--or Greece. (4) What is happening in the Balkans,--in the Caucasus,--in Mesopotamia. After all, the Armies of the Caucasus and of Mesopotamia are not campaigning in the moon. They are two Allied Armies working with me (or supposed to be working with me) against a common enemy. The first part of my cable I discuss the cause which led to the disappointing end to the battle of the 4th already described and then go on to say, "I am convinced by this action that with my present force my progress will be very slow, but in the absence of any further important alteration in the situation such as a definite understanding between Turkey and Bulgaria, I believe the reinforcements asked for in my No. 234 will eventually enable me to take Kilid Bahr and will assuredly expedite the decision. I entirely agree that the restricted nature of the ground I occupy militates against me in success, however much I am reinforced; that was why in my Nos. M.F. 214 and M.F. 234 I emphasized the desirability of securing co-operation of new Allied Forces acting on a second line of operations. I have been very closely considering the possibility of opening a new line of operations myself, _via_ Enos, if sufficient reinforcements should be available. The Vice-Admiral, however, is at present strongly averse to the selection of Enos owing to the open and unprotected nature of anchorage and to the presence of enemy submarines. Otherwise Enos offers very favourable prospects, both strategically and tactically, and is so direct a threat to Constantinople as to necessitate withdrawal of Turkish troops from the Peninsula to meet it. Smyrna or even Adramyti which are not open to the same objections are too far from me, but the effect of entry of a fresh Ally at either place would inevitably make itself felt before very long in preventing further massing of the Turkish army against me, and perhaps even in drawing off troops; a considerable moral and political effect might also be produced, and all information points to those districts being denuded of troops. "With regard to the employment of the reinforcements asked for in my No. M.F. 234, General Birdwood estimates that four Brigades are necessary to clear and extend his front sufficiently to prepare a serious move towards Maidos. I should therefore allocate a corps to the Australian-New Zealand Army Corps as the other two brigades would be required to give weight to his advance. The French Force as at present constituted, and the Naval Division which has been roughly handled, would be replaced in front of the line by the other corps. This reinforcement to be exclusive of any help we may receive from Allied troops operating on a second line of operations so distant as Smyrna. "With reference to your last paragraph I have no alternative, until Achi Baba is in my possession, but to keep reinforcements on islands or elsewhere handy. I have made arrangements at present, however, for one Infantry Brigade and Engineers of the Lowland Division on the Peninsula, one Infantry Brigade at Imbros and the remaining Infantry Brigade at Alexandria to be ready to start at 12 hours' notice whenever I telegraph for it. Besides all the reasons given above, no troops in existence can continue fighting night and day without respite." Three weeks have passed now since I asked for two British Corps or for Allies and still no reply or notice of any sort except that message of the 3rd instant expressing doubts as to whether any good purpose will be served by sending us help "at once." Well; there hasn't been much "at once" about it but I have not played the Sybilline book trick or doubled my demand with each delay as I ought perhaps to have done. Now I think we are bound to hear something but I can't make out what has come over K. of K. In the old days his prime force lay in his faculty of focusing every iota of his energy upon the pivotal project, regardless (so it used to appear) of the other planks of the platform. A "side show" to him meant the non-vital part of the business, _at that moment_: it was not a question of troops or of ranks of Generals. For the time being the interests of an enterprise of five thousand would obliterate those of fifty. No man ever went the whole hog better. He would turn the whole current of his energy to help the man of the hour. The rest were bled white to help him. If they howled they found that K. and his Staff were deaf, and for the same reason, as the crew of Ulysses to the Sirens. Several times in South Africa K., so doing, carried the Imperial Standard to victory through a series of hair's breadth escapes. But to-day, though he sees, the power of believing in his own vision and of hanging on to it like a bulldog, seems paralysed. He hesitates. Ten short years ago, if K.'s heart had been set on Constantinople, why, to Constantinople he would have gone. Paris might have screamed; he would not have swerved a hair's breadth till he had gripped the Golden Horn. _7th June, 1915. Imbros._ Left camp early and went to Cape Helles on a destroyer. On our little sandbag pier, built by Egyptians and Turkish prisoners, I met General Wallace and his A.D.C. (a son of Walter Long's). Wallace has come here to take up his duty as Inspector-General of Communications. About ten days ago he was forced upon us. He is reputed a good executive Brigadier of the Indian Army, but we want him, not to train Sepoys but to create one of the biggest organizing and administrative jobs in the world. His work will comprise the whole of the transhipment of stores from the ships to small craft; their dispatch over 60 miles of sea to the Peninsula, and the maintenance of all the necessary machinery in good running order. The task is tremendous, and here is a simple soldier, without any experience of naval men or matters, or the British soldier, or of Administration on a large scale, or even of superior Staff duties, sent me for the purpose. We want a competent business man at Mudros, ready to grapple with millions of public money; ready to cable on his own for goods or gear by the ten thousand pounds worth. We want a man of tried business courage; a man who can tackle contractors. We are sent an Indian Brigadier who has never, so far as I can make out, in his longish life had undivided responsibility for one hundred pounds of public belongings. I cabled to K. my objection as strongly as seemed suitable, but he tells me to carry on. He tells me to carry on and, in doing so, throws an amusing sidelight upon himself. Into his cable he sticks the words, "Ellison cannot be spared." K. believes that my protest _re_ Wallace has, at the back of it, a wish to put in the Staff Officer he took from me when I started. He doesn't believe in my zeal for efficiency at Mudros; he thinks my little plan is to work General Ellison into the billet. Certainly, I'd like an organizer of Ellison's calibre, but he had not, it so happens, entered my mind till K. put him there! Landing at "W" Beach, I walked over to the 9th Division and met Generals Hunter-Weston, de Lisle and Doran. As we were having our confab, the Turkish guns from Asia were steadily pounding the ridge just South of Headquarters. One or two big fellows fell within 100 yards of the Mess. After an A.1 lunch (for which much glory to Carter, A.D.C.) visited Gouraud at French Headquarters. Going along the coast we were treated to an exciting spectacle. The Turkish guns in Asia stopped firing at Headquarters and turned on to a solitary French transport containing forage, which had braved the submarines and instead of transhipping (as is now the order) at Mudros, had anchored close to "V" Beach. After several overs and unders they hit her three times running and set her on fire. Destroyers and trawlers rushed to her help. Bluejackets boarded her; got her fire under control; got her under steam and moved out. The amazing part of the affair lay in the conduct of the Turks. Having made their three hits, then was the moment to sink the bally ship. But no; they switched back once more onto the Peninsula, and left their helpless prize to make a leisurely and unmolested escape. Anyone but a Turk would have opened rapid fire on seeking his target smoking like a factory chimney, ringed round by a crowd of small craft. But these old Turks are real freaks. Their fierce courage on the defensive is the only cert about them. On all other points it becomes a fair war risk to presume upon their happy-go-lucky behaviour. If this crippled ship had been full of troops instead of hay they would equally have let her slip through their fingers. I stayed the best part of an hour with Gouraud. He can throw no light from the French side upon the reason for the strange hesitations of our Governments. As he says, after reporting an entirely unexpected and unprepared for situation and asking for the wherewithal to cope with it, a Commander should get fresh orders. Either: we cannot give you what you ask, so fall back onto the defensive; or, go ahead, we will give you the means. Taking leave we came back again by the 29th Headquarters where I saw Douglas, commanding the 42nd Division. Got home latish. As I was on my way to our destroyer took in a wireless saying that submarine E.11 had returned safely after three fruitful weeks in the Marmora. A most singular message is in:-- "(No. 5199). "From Earl Kitchener to General Sir Ian Hamilton. "With reference to your telegram No. M.F. 301, instead of sending such telegrams reporting operations, privately to Earl Kitchener, will you please send them to the Secretary of State. A separate telegram might have been sent dealing with the latter part about Doran." May the devil fly away with me if I know what that means! Braithwaite is as much at a loss as myself. No one knows better than we do how much store K. sets on having all these messages addressed to him personally. There's more in this than meets the common or garden optic! Very heavy firing on the Peninsula at 8 o'clock; a ceaseless tremor of the air which--faint here--denotes tremendous musketry there. CHAPTER X A DECISION AND THE PLAN _8th June, 1915. Imbros._ We are getting "three Divisions of the New Army"! The Cabinet "are determined to support" us! And why wouldn't they be? Thus runs the cable:-- "(No. 5217, cipher). Your difficulties are fully recognized by the Cabinet who are determined to support you. We are sending you three divisions of the New Army. The first of these will leave about the end of this week, and the other two will be sent as transport is available. "The last of the three divisions ought to reach you not later than the first fortnight in July. By that time the Fleet will have been reinforced by a good many units which are much less vulnerable to submarine attack than those now at the Dardanelles, and you can then count on the Fleet to give you continuous support. "While steadily pressing the enemy, there seems no reason for running any premature risks in the meantime." In face of K.'s hang-fire cable of the 3rd, and in face of this long three weeks of stupefaction, thank God our rulers have got out of the right side of their beds and are not going to run away. The first thing to be done was to signal to the Admiral to come over. At 2 p.m. he and Roger Keyes turned up. The great news was read out and yet, such is the contrariness of human nature that neither the hornpipe nor the Highland Fling was danced. Three weeks ago--two weeks ago--we should have been beside ourselves, but irritation now takes the fine edge off our rejoicings. Why not three weeks ago? That was the tone of the meeting. At first:--but why be captious in the very embrace of Fortune? So we set to and worked off the broad general scheme in the course of an hour and a half. Just as the Admiral was going, Ward (of the Intelligence) crossed over with a nasty little damper. The Turks keep just one lap ahead of us. Two new Divisions have arrived and have been launched straightway at our trenches. At the moment we get promises that troops asked for in the middle of May will arrive by the middle of July the Turks get their divisions in the flesh:--so much so that they have gained a footing in the lines of the East Lanes: but there is no danger; they will be driven out. We have taken some prisoners. Dined on board the _Triad_. Sat up later than usual. Not only had we news from home and the news from the Peninsula to thresh out, but there was much to say and hear about E.11 and that apple of Roger Keyes' eye, the gallant Nasmith. Their adventures in the sea of Marmora take the shine out of those of the Argonauts. Coming back along the well-beaten sandy track, my heart sank to see our mess tent still lit up at midnight. It might be good news but also it might not. Fortunately, it was pleasant news; i.e., Colonel Chauvel, commanding 1st Australian Light Horse Brigade, waiting to see me. I had known him well in Melbourne where he helped me more than anyone else to get the hang of the Australian system. He stays the night. _9th June, 1915. Imbros._ A cable saying the new Divisions will form the 9th Corps and asking me my opinion of Mahon as Corps Commander. I shall reply at once he is good up to a point and brave, but not up to running a Corps out here. Have been sent a gas-mask and a mosquito-net. Quite likely the mask is good bizz and may prolong my poor life a little bit, but this is problematical whereas there's no blooming error about the net. This morning instead of being awakened at 4.30 a.m. by a cluster of house-flies having a garden party on my nose I just opened one eye and looked at them running about outside my entrenchments, then closed it and fell asleep again for an hour. _10th June, 1915. Imbros._ Nothing doing but sheer hard work. The sailors the same. Sent one pretty stiff cable as we all agreed that we must make ourselves quite clear upon the question of guns and shell. After all, any outsider would think it a plain sailing matter enough--a demand, that is to say, from Simpson-Baikie at Helles that he should be gunned and shell supplied on the same scale as the formations he quitted on the Western Front only a few weeks ago. Simpson-Baikie has been specially sent to us by Lord K., who has a high opinion of his merits. A deep-thinking, studious and scientific officer. Well, Baikie says that to put him on anything like the Western Front footing he wants another forty-eight 18-pounders; eight 5-inch hows.; eight 4.5. hows.; eight 6-inch; four 9.2 hows.; four anti-aircraft guns and a thousand rounds a month per field gun; these "wants" he puts down as an absolute minimum. He also wishes me at once to cable for an aeroplane squadron of three flights of four machines each, one flight for patrol work; the other two for spotting. There is no use enraging people for nothing and "nothing" I am sure would be the result of this demand were it shot in quite nakedly. But I have pressed Baikie's vital points home all the same, _vide_ attached:-- "(No. M.F. 316). "Your No. 5088. After a further consideration of the ammunition question in light of the expenditure on the 4th and 5th June, I would like to point out that I have only the normal artillery complement of two divisions, although actually I have five divisions here. Consequently, each of my guns has to do the work which two and a half guns are doing in Flanders. Any comparison based on expenditure per gun must therefore be misleading. Also a comparison based on numbers of troops would prove to be beside the point, for conditions cannot be identical. Therefore, as I know you will do your best for me and thus leave me contented with the decision you arrive at, I prefer to state frankly what amount I consider necessary. This amount is at least 30 rounds a day for 18-pr. and 4.5 howitzer already ashore, and I hope that a supply on this scale may be possible. The number of guns already ashore is beginning to prove insufficient for their task, for the enemy have apparently no lack of ammunition and their artillery is constantly increasing. Therefore I hope that the new divisions may be sent out with the full complement of artillery, but, if this is done, the ammunition supply for the artillery of the fresh divisions need only be on the normal scale. "Since the above was written, I have received a report that the enemy has been reinforced by 1,300 Germans for fortress artillery; perhaps their recent shooting is accounted for by this fact." As to our Air Service, the way this feud between Admiralty and War Office has worked itself out in the field is simply heart-breaking. The War Office wash their hands of the air entirely (at the Dardanelles). I cannot put my own case to the Admiralty although the machines are wanted for overland tactics--a fatal blind alley. All I could do I did this afternoon when the Admiral came to tea and took me for a good stiff walk afterwards. _11th June, 1915. Imbros._ Sailed over to Anzac with Braithwaite. Took Birdwood's views upon the outline of our plan (which originated between him and Skeen) for entering the New Army against the Turks. To do his share, _durch und durch_ (God forgive me), he wants three new Brigades; with them he engages to go through from bottom to top of Sari Bair. Well, I will give him four; perhaps five! Our whole scheme hinges on these crests of Sari Bair which dominate Anzac and Maidos; the Dardanelles and the Aegean. The destroyers next took us to Cape Helles where I held a pow wow at Army Headquarters, Generals Hunter-Weston and Gouraud being present as well as Birdwood and Braithwaite. Everyone keen and sanguine. Many minor suggestions; warm approval of the broad lines of the scheme. Afterwards I brought Birdie back to Anzac and then returned to Imbros. A good day's work. Half the battle to find that my Corps Commanders are so keen. They are all sworn to the closest secrecy; have been told that our lives depend upon their discretion. I have shown them my M.F. 300 of the 7th June so as to let them understand they are being trusted with a plan which is too much under the seal to be sent over the cables even to the highest. Every General I met to-day spoke of the shortage of bombs and grenades. The Anzacs are very much depressed to hear they are to get no more bombs for their six Japanese trench mortars. We told the Ordnance some days ago to put this very strongly to the War Office. After all, bombs and grenades are easy things to make if the tails of the manufacturers are well twisted. _12th June, 1915. Imbros._ Stayed in camp where de Robeck came to see me. I wonder what K. is likely to do about Mahon and about ammunition. When he told me Joffre and French thought 17 rounds per gun per day good enough, and that he was going to give me as much, there were several qualifications to our pleasure, but we _were_ pleased, because apart from all invidious comparisons, we were anyway going to get more stuff. But we have not yet tasted this new French ration of 17 rounds per gun. Are we too insistent? I think not. One dozen small field howitzer shells, of 4.5. calibre, save one British life by taking two Turkish lives. And although the 4.5. are what we want the old 5-inch are none so bad. Where would we be now, I wonder, had not Haldane against Press, Public and four soldiers out of five stuck to his guns and insisted on creating those 145 batteries of Territorial Field Artillery? A depressing wire in from the War Office expressing doubt as to whether they will be able to meet our wishes by embarking units complete and ready for landing; gear, supplies, munitions all in due proportion, in the transports coming out here from England. Should we be forced to redistribute men and material on arrival, we are in for another spell of delay. Altogether I have been very busy on cables to-day. The War Office having jogged my elbow again about the Bulair scheme, I have once more been through the whole series of pros and cons with the Admiral who has agreed in the reply I have sent:--clear negative. Three quarters of the objections are naval; either directly--want of harbours, etc.; or indirectly--as involving three lines of small craft to supply three separate military forces. The number of small craft required are not in existence. _13th June, 1915. Imbros._ The War Office forget every now and then other things about the coastline above the Narrows. I have replied: "Your first question as to the fortification of the coast towards Gallipoli can be satisfactorily answered only by the Navy as naval aeroplane observation is the only means by which I can find out about the coast fortifications. From time to time it has been reported that torpedo tubes have been placed at the mouth of Soghan Dere and at Nagara Point. These are matters on which I presume Admiral has reported to Admiralty, but I am telegraphing to him to make sure as he is away to-day at Mudros. I will ask him to have aeroplane reconnaissance made regarding the coast fortifications you mention, to see if it can be ascertained whether your informant's report is correct, but there are but few aeroplanes and the few we have are constantly required for spotting for artillery, photographing trenches, and for reconnaissances of the troops immediately engaged with us." I am being forced by War Office questions to say rather more than I had intended about plans. The following cable took me the best part of the morning. I hope it is too technical to effect a lodgment in the memories of the gossips:-- "(No. M.F. 328). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. With reference to your No. 5441, cipher. From the outset I have fully realized that the question of cutting off forces defending the Peninsula lay at the heart of my problem. See my No. M.F. 173, last paragraph, and paragraphs 2 and 7 of my instructions to General Officer Commanding Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, of 13th April, before landing. I still consider, as indicated therein, that the best and most practicable method of stopping enemy's communications is to push forward to the south-east from Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. "The attempt to stop Bulair communications further North than the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps position would give the Turks too much room to pass our guns. An advance of little more than two miles in a south-eastern direction would enable us to command the land communications between Bulair and Kilid Bahr. This, in turn, would render Ak Bashi Liman useless to the enemy as a port of disembarkation for either Chanak or Constantinople. It would enable us, moreover, to co-operate effectively with the Navy in stopping communication with the Asiatic shore, since Kilia Liman and Maidos would be under fire from our land guns. "It was these considerations which decided me originally to land at Australian and New Zealand Army Corps position, and in spite of the difficulties of advancing thence, I see no reason to expect that a new point of departure would make the task any easier. I have recently been obliged by circumstances to concentrate my main efforts on pushing forward towards Achi Baba so as to clear my main port of disembarkation of shell fire. I only await the promised reinforcements, however, to enable me to take the next step in the prosecution of my main plan from the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. "I cannot extend the present Australian position until they arrive. See my No. M.F. 300, as to estimate of troops required, and my No. 304, 7th June, as to state of siege at Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. If I succeed the enemy's communications _via_ Bulair and, with the Navy's help, _via_ Asiatic coast should both be closed, as far as possible, by the one operation. If, in addition, submarines can stop sea communications with Constantinople the problem will be solved. "With regard to supplies and ammunition which can be obtained by the enemy across the Dardanelles, since Panderma and Karabingha are normally important centres of collection of food supplies, both cereals and meat, and since the Panderma-Chanak road is adequate, it would be possible to provision the peninsula from a great supply depot at Chanak where there are steam mills, steam bakeries and ample shallow draught craft. If land communications were blocked near Bulair, ammunition could only be brought by sea to Panderma, and thence by road to Chanak or by sea direct to Kilid Bahr. "Either for supplies or ammunition, however, the difficulty of effectively stopping supply by sea may be increased by the large number of shallow craft available at Rodosto, Chanak, Constantinople and Panderma. But as soon as I can make good advance south-east from Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, my guns, plus the submarines, should be able to make all traffic from the Asiatic shore very difficult for the enemy. "It is vitally important that future developments should be kept absolutely secret. I mention this because, although the date of our original landing was known to hardly anyone here before the ships sailed, yet the date was cabled to the Turks from Vienna." The message took some doing and could not, therefore, get clear of camp till 11 o'clock when I boarded the destroyer _Grampus_, and sailed for Helles. Lunched with Hunter-Weston at his Headquarters, and then walked out along the new road being built under the cliffs from "W" Beach to Gurkha Gully. On the way I stopped at the 29th Divisional Headquarters where I met de Lisle. Thence along the coast where the 88th Brigade were bathing. In the beautiful hot afternoon weather the men were happy as sandboys. Their own mothers would hardly know them--burnt black with the sun, in rags or else stark naked, with pipes in their mouths. But they like it! After passing the time of day to a lot of these boys, I climbed the cliff and came back along the crests, stopping to inspect some of the East Lancashire Division in their rest trenches. Got back to Hunter-Weston's about 6 and had a cup of tea. There Cox of the Indian Brigade joined me, and I took him with me to Imbros where he is going to stay a day or two with Braithwaite. _14th June, 1915. Imbros._ K. sends me this brisk little pick-me-up:-- "Report here states that your position could be made untenable by Turkish guns from the Asiatic shore. Please report on this." No doubt--no doubt! Yet I was once his own Chief of Staff into whose hands he unreservedly placed the conduct of one of the most crucial, as it was the last, of the old South African enterprises: I was once the man into whose hands he placed the defence of his heavily criticized action at the Battle of Paardeburg. There it is: he used to have great faith in me, and now he makes me much the sort of remark which might be made by a young lady to a Marine. The answer, as K. well knows, depends upon too many imponderabilia to be worth the cost of a cable. The size and number of the Turkish guns; their supplies of shell; the power of our submarines to restrict those supplies; the worth of our own ship and shore guns; the depth of our trenches; the _moral_ of our men, and so on _ad infinitum_. The point of the whole matter is this:--the Turks haven't got the guns--and we know it:--if ever they do get the guns it will take them weeks, months, before they can get them mounted and shells in proportion amassed. K. should know better than any other man in England--Lord Bobs, alas, is gone--that if there was any real fear of guns from Asia being able to make us loosen our grip on the Peninsula, I would cable him quickly. Then why does he ask? Well--and why shouldn't he ask? I must not be so captious. Much better turn the tables on him by asking him to enable us to knock out the danger he fears:-- "(No. M.F. 331). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. With reference to your telegram No. 5460. As already reported in my telegram, fire from the Asiatic shore is at times troublesome, but I am taking steps to deal with it. Of course another battery of 6-inch howitzers would greatly help in this." By coincidence a letter has come in to me this very night, on the very subject; a letter written by a famous soldier--Gouraud--the lion of the Ardennes, who is, it so happens, much better posted as to the Asiatic guns than the Jeremiah who has made K. anxious. The French bear the brunt of this fire and Gouraud's cool decision to ignore it in favour of bigger issues marks the contrast between the fighter who makes little of the enemy and the writer who makes much of him. I look upon Gouraud more as a coadjutor than as a subordinate, so it is worth anything to me to find that we see eye to eye at present. For, there is much more in the letter than his feelings about the guns of Asia: there is an outline sketch, drawn with slight but masterly touches, covering the past, present and future of our show:-- _Q.G. le 13 juin 1915._ Corps Expéditionnaire d'Orient. CABINE DU GÉNÉRAL. N. Cab. SECRET. Le Général de Division Gouraud, Commandant le Corps Expéditionnaire d'Orient, à Sir Ian Hamilton, G.C.B., D.S.O., Commandant le Corps Expéditionnaire Méditerranéen. QUARTIER GÉNÉRAL. MON GÉNÉRAL, Vous avez bien voulu me communiquer une dépêche de Lord Kitchener faisant connaître que le Gouvernement anglais allait envoyer incessamment aux Dardanelles trois nouvelles divisions et des vaisseaux moins vulnérables aux sous-marins. D'après les renseignements qui m'ont été donnés, on annonce 14 de ces monitors; 4 seraient armés de pièces de 35 à 38 m/ 4 de pièces de 24, les autres de 15. C'est donc sur terre et sur mer un important renfort. J'ai l'honneur de vous soumettre ci-dessous mes idées sur son emploi. Jetons d'abord un coup d'oeil sur la situation. Il s'en dégage, ce me semble, deux faits. D'une part, le combat du 4 juin, qui, malgré une préparation sérieuse n'a pas donné de résultat en balance avec le vigoureux et couteux effort fourni par les troupes alliées, a montré que, guidés par les Allemands, les Turcs ont donné à leur ligne une très grande force. La presqu'île est barrée devant notre front de plusieurs lignes de tranchées fortement établies, précédées en plusieurs points de fil de fer barbelés, flanquées de mitrailleuses, communiquant avec l'arrière par des boyaux, formant un système de fortification comparable à celui du grand Front. Dans ces tranchées les Turcs se montrent bons soldats, braves, tenaces. Leur artillerie a constamment et très sensiblement augmenté en nombres et en puissance depuis trois semaines. Dans ces conditions, et étant donné que les Turcs ont toute liberté d'amener sur ce front étroite toute leur armée, on ne peut se dissimuler que les progrès seront lents et que chaque progrès sera couteux. Les Allemands appliqueront certainement dans les montagnes et les ravins de la presqu'île le système qui leur a réussi jusqu'ici en France. D'autre part l'ennemi parait avoir changé de tactique. Il a voulu au début nous rejeter à la mer; après les pertes énormes qu'il a subi dans les combats d'avril et de mai, il semble y avoir renoncé du moins pour le moment. Son plan actuel consiste à chercher à nous bloquer de front, pour nous maintenir sur l'étroit terrain que nous avons conquis, et à nous y rendre la vie intenable en bombardant les camps et surtout les plages de débarquement. C'est ainsi que les quatre batteries de grosses pièces récemment installées entre Erenkeui et Yenishahr ont apporté au ravitaillement des troupes une gêne qu'on peut dire dangereuse, puisque la consommation dans dernières journées a légèrement dépassé le ravitaillement. Au résumé nous sommes bloqués de front et pris par derrière. Et cette situation ira en empirant du fait des maladies, résultant du climat, de la chaleur, du bivouac continuel, peut être des épidémies, et du fait que la mer rendra très difficile tout débarquement dès la mauvaise saison, fin août. Ceci posé, comment employer les gros renforts attendus. Plusieurs solutions se présentent à l'esprit. Primo, en Asie. C'est la première idée qui se présente; étant donné l'intérêt de se rendre maître de la région Yenishahr-Erenkeui, qui prend nos plages de débarquement à revers. Mais c'est là une mesure d'un intérêt défensif, qui ne fera pas faire un pas en avant. Il est permis d'autre part de penser que les canons des monitors anglais, qui sont sans doute destinés à détruire les défenses du détroit, commenceront par nous débarrasser des batteries de l'entrée. Enfin nous disposerons d'ici peu d'un front de mer Seddul-Bahr Eski Hissarlick, dont les pièces puissantes contrebattront efficacement les canons d'Asie. Secundo, vers Gaba-Tépé. Au Sud de Gaba Tépé s'étend une plaine que les cartes disent accessible au débarquement. Des troupes débarquées là se trouvent à 8 kilomètres environ de Maidos, c'est à dire au point où la presqu'île est la plus étroite. Sans nul doute, trouveront elles devant elles les mêmes difficultés qu'ici et il sera nécessaire notemment de se rendre maître des montagnes qui dominent la plaine au Nord. Mais alors que la prise d'Achi Baba ne sera qu'un grand succès militaire, qui nous mettra le lendemain devant les escarpements de Kilid-Bahr, l'occupation de la région Gaba Tépé-Maidos nous placerait au delà des détroits, nous permettrait d'y constituer une base où les sous-marins de la mer de Marmara pourraient indéfiniment s'approvisionner. Si le barrage des Dardanelles n'était pas brisé, il serait tourné. Tertio, vers Boulair. Cette solution apparait comme le plus radicale, celui qui déjouerait le plan de l'ennemi. Constantinople serait directement menacé par ce coup retentissant. Toute la question est de savoir si, avec leurs moyens nouveaux, les monitors, les Amiraux sont en mesure de protéger un débarquement, qui comme celui du 25 avril nécessiterait de nombreux bateaux. En résumé, j'ai l'honneur d'émettre l'avis de poser nettement aux Amiraux la question du débarquement à Boulair, d'y faire reconnaître l'état actuel des défenses par bateaux, avions et si possible agents, sans faire d'acte de guerre pour ne pas donner l'éveil. Au cas où le débarquement serait jugé impossible, j'émet l'avis d'employer les renforts dans la région Gaba-Tépé, où les Australiens ont déjà implanté un solide jalon. Concurremment, je pense qu'il serait du plus vif intérêt pour hâter la décision, de créer au Gouvernement Turc des inquiétudes dans d'autres parties de l'Empire, pour l'empêcher d'amener ici toutes ses forces. Dans cet ordre d'idées on peut envisager deux moyens. L'un, le plus efficace, est l'action russe ou bulgare. La Grêce est mal placée géographiquement pour exercer une action sur la guerre. Seule la Bulgarie, par sa position géographique, prend les Turcs à revers. Sans doute, à voir la façon dont les Turcs amènent devant nous les troupes et les canons d'Adrianople, ont ils un accord avec la Bulgarie, mais la guerre des Balkans prouve que la Bulgarie n'est pas embarrassée d'un accord si elle voit ailleurs son intérêt. La question est donc d'offrir un prix fort à la Bulgarie. L'autre est de provoquer des agitations dans différentes parties de l'Empire, d'y faire opérer des destructions par des bandes, d'obliger les Turcs à y envoyer du monde. Cela encore vaut la peine d'y mettre le prix. Je suis, avec un profond respect, mon Général, Votre très dévoué, (_Sd._) GOURAUD. Boarded a destroyer at 11.15 a.m. and sailed straight for Gully Beach. Then into dinghy and paddled to shore where I lunched with de Lisle at the 29th Divisional Headquarters. Hunter-Weston had come up to meet me from Corps Headquarters. With both Generals I rode a couple of miles up the Gully seeing the 87th Brigade as we went. When we got to the mouth of the communication trench leading to the front of the Indian Brigade, Bruce of the Gurkhas was waiting for us, and led me along through endless sunken ways until we reached his firing line. Every hundred yards or so I had a close peep at the ground in front through de Lisle's periscope. The enemy trenches were sometimes not more than 7 yards away and the rifles of the Turks moving showed there was a man behind the loophole. Many corpses, almost all Turks, lay between the two lines of trenches. There was no shelling at the moment, but rifle bullets kept flopping into the parapet especially when the periscope was moved. At the end of the Gurkha line I was met by Colonel Wolley Dod, who took me round the fire trenches of the 86th Brigade. The Dublin Fusiliers looked particularly fit and jolly. Getting back to the head of the Gully I rode with Hunter-Weston to his Corps Headquarters where I had tea before sailing. When I got to Imbros the Fleet were firing at a Taube. She was only having a look; flying around the shipping and Headquarters camp at a great height, but dropping no bombs. After a bit she scooted off to the South-east. Cox dined. _15th June, 1915. Imbros._ Yesterday I learned some detail about the conduct of affairs the other day--enough to make me very anxious indeed that no tired or nervy leaders should be sent out with the new troops. So I have sent K. a cable!-- "(No. M.F. 334). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. "With reference to the last paragraph of your telegram No. 5250, cipher, and my No. M.F. 313. I should like to submit for your consideration the following views of the qualities necessary in an Army Corps Commander on the Gallipoli Peninsula. In that position only men of good stiff constitution and nerve will be able to do any good. Everything is at such close quarters that many men would be useless in the somewhat exposed headquarters they would have to occupy on this limited terrain, though they would do quite good work if moderately comfortable and away from constant shell fire. I can think of two men, Byng and Rawlinson. Both possess the requisite qualities and seniority; the latter does not seem very happy where he is, and the former would have more scope than a cavalry Corps can give him in France." Left camp the moment I got this weight off my chest; boarded the _Savage_, or rather jumped on her ladder like a chamois and scrambled on deck like a monkey. It was blowing big guns and our launch was very nearly swamped. Crossing to Helles big seas were making a clean sweep of the decks. Jolly to look at from the bridge. After a dusty walk round piers and beaches lunched with Hunter-Weston before inspecting the 155th and 156th Brigades. On our road we were met by Brigadier-Generals Erskine and Scott-Moncrieff. Walked the trenches where I chatted with the regimental officers and men, and found my compatriots in very good form. Went on to the Royal Naval Division Headquarters where Paris met me. Together we went round the 3rd Marine Brigade Section under Brigadier-General Trotman. These old comrades of the first landing gave me the kindliest greetings. Got back to 8th Corps Headquarters intending to enjoy a cup of tea _al fresco_, but we were reckoning without our host (the Turkish one) who threw so many big shell from Asia all about the mound that, (only to save the tea cups), we retired with dignified slowness into our dugouts. Whilst sitting in these funk-holes, as we used to call them at Ladysmith, General Gouraud ran the gauntlet and made also a slow and dignified entry. He was coming back with me to Imbros. As it was getting late we hardened our hearts to walk across the open country between Headquarters and the beach, where every twenty seconds or so a big fellow was raising Cain. Fortune favouring we both reached the sea with our heads upon our shoulders. An answer is in to our plea for a Western scale of ammunition, guns and howitzers. They cable sympathetically but say simply they can't. Soft answers, etc., but it would be well if they could make up their minds whether they wish to score the next trick in the East or in the West. If they can't do that they will be doubly done. A purely passive defence is not possible for us; it implies losing ground by degrees--and we have not a yard to lose. If we are to remain we must keep on attacking here and there to maintain ourselves! But; to expect us to attack without giving us our fair share--on Western standards--of high explosive and howitzers shows lack of military imagination. A man's a man for a' that whether at Helles or Ypres. Let me bring my lads face to face with Turks in the open field, we _must_ beat them every time because British volunteer soldiers are superior individuals to Anatolians, Syrians or Arabs and are animated with a superior ideal and an equal joy in battle. Wire and machine guns prevent this hand to hand, or rifle to rifle, style of contest. Well, then the decent thing to do is to give us shells enough to clear a fair field. To attempt to solve the problem by letting a single dirty Turk at the Maxim kill ten--twenty--fifty--of our fellows on the barbed wire,--ten--twenty--fifty--_each of whom is worth several dozen Turks_, is a sin of the Holy Ghost category unless it can be justified by dire necessity. But there is no necessity. The supreme command has only to decide categorically that the Allies stand on the defensive on the West for a few weeks and then Von Donop can find us enough to bring us through. Joffre and French, as a matter of fact, would hardly feel the difference. If the supreme command can't do that; and can't even send us trench mortars as substitutes, let them harden their hearts and wind up this great enterprise for which they simply haven't got the nerve. If only K. would come and see for himself! Failing that--if only it were possible for me to run home and put my own case. _16th June, 1915. Imbros._ Gouraud, a sympathetic guest, left for French Headquarters in one of our destroyers at 3.30 p.m. He is a real Sahib; a tower of strength. The Asiatic guns have upset his men a good deal. He hopes soon to clap on an extinguisher to their fire by planting down two fine big fellows of his own Morto Bay way: we mean to add a couple of old naval six-inchers to this battery. During his stay we have very thoroughly threshed out our hopes and fears and went into the plan which Gouraud thinks offers chances of a record-breaking victory. If the character of the new Commanders and the spirit of their troops are of the calibre of those on his left flank at Helles he feels pretty confident. Talking of Commanders, my appeal for a young Corps Commander of a "good stiff constitution" has drawn a startling reply:-- "(No. 5501, cipher). From Earl Kitchener to Sir Ian Hamilton. Your No. M.F. 334. I am afraid that Sir John French would not spare the services of the two Generals you mention, and they are, moreover, both junior to Mahon, who commands the 10th Division which is going out to you. Ewart, who is very fit and well, would I think do. I am going to see him the day after to-morrow. "Mahon raised the 10th Division and has produced an excellent unit. He is quite fit and well, and I do not think that he could now be left behind." So the field of selection for the new Corps is to be restricted to some Lieutenant-General senior to Mahon--himself the only man of his rank commanding a Division and almost at the top of the Lieutenant-Generals! Oh God, if I could have a Corps Commander like Gouraud! But this block by "Mahon" makes a record for the seniority fetish. I have just been studying the Army List with Pollen. Excluding Indians, Marines and employed men like Douglas Haig and Maxwell, there _are_ only about one dozen British service Lieutenant-Generals senior to Mahon, and, of that dozen only two are _possible_--Ewart and Stopford! There _are_ no others. Ewart is a fine fellow, with a character which commands respect and affection. He is also a Cameron Highlander whose father commanded the Gordons. As a presence nothing could be better; as a man no one in the Army would be more welcome. But he would not, with his build and constitutional habit, last out here for one fortnight. Despite his soldier heart and his wise brain we can't risk it. We are unanimous on that point. Stopford remains. I have cabled expressing my deep disappointment that Mahon should be the factor which restricts all choice and saying, "However, my No. M.F. 334[20] gave you what I considered to be the qualities necessary in a Commander, so I will do my best with what you send me. "With regard to Ewart. I greatly admire his character, but he positively could not have made his way along the fire trenches I inspected yesterday. He has never approached troops for fifteen years although I have often implored him, as a friend, to do so. Would not Stopford be preferable to Ewart, even though he does not possess the latter's calm?" I begin to think I shall be recalled for my importunity. But, in for a penny in for a pound, and I have fired off the following protest to a really disastrous cable from the War Office saying that the New Army is to bring _no_ 4.5-inch howitzers with it; no howitzers at all, indeed, except sixteen of the old, inaccurate 5-inch Territorial howitzers, some of which "came out" at Omdurman and were afterwards--the whole category--found so much fault with in South Africa. Unless they are going to have an August push in France they might at least have lent us forty-eight 4.5 hows. from France to see the New Army through their first encounter with the enemy. They could all be run back in a fast cruiser and would only be loaned to us for three weeks or a month. If the G.S. at Whitehall can't do those things, they have handed over the running of a world war to one section of the Army. I attach my ultimatum: I cannot make it more emphatic; instead of death or victory we moderns say howitzers or defeat:-- "(No. 5489, cipher, M.G.O.) From War Office to General Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Your No. M.F. 316. It is impossible to send more ammunition than we are sending you. 528 rounds per 18-pr will be brought out by each Division. Instead of 4.5-inch howitzers we are sending 16 5-inch howitzers with the 13th Division, as there is more 5-inch ammunition available. By the time that the last of the three Divisions arrive we hope to have supplied a good percentage of high explosive shells, but you should try to save as much as you can in the meantime. Until more ammunition is available for them, we cannot send you any 4.5-inch howitzers with the other two Divisions, and even if more 5-inch were sent the fortnightly supply of ammunition for them would be very small." "(No. M.F. 337). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. With reference to your No. 5489, cipher. I am very sorry that you cannot send the proper howitzers, and still more sorry for the reason, that of ammunition. The Turkish trenches are deep and narrow, and only effective weapon for dealing with them is the howitzer. I realize your difficulties, and I am sure that you will supply me with both howitzers and ammunition as soon as you are able to do so. I shall be glad in the meantime of as many more trench mortars and bombs as you can possibly spare. We realize for our part that in the matter of guns and ammunition it is no good crying for the moon, and for your part you must recognize that until howitzers and ammunition arrive it is no good crying for the Crescent." The Admiral and Godley paid me a visit; discussed tea and sea transport, then a walk. There is quite a break in the weather. Very cold and windy with a little rain in the forenoon. _17th June, 1915. Imbros._ Smoother sea, but rough weather in office. A cable from the Master General of the Ordnance in reply to my petition for another battery of 6-inch howitzers:-- "(No. 5537, cipher, M.G.O.) From War Office to the General Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force. Your telegram No. M.F. 331. We can send out another battery of 6-inch howitzers, but cannot send ammunition with it. Moreover, we cannot increase the present periodical supply, so that if we send the additional howitzers you must not complain of the small number of rounds per gun sent to you, as experience has shown is sometimes done in similar cases. It is possible that the Navy may help you with 6-inch ammunition. Please say after consideration of the above if you want the howitzers sent." My mind plays agreeably with the idea of chaining the M.G.O. on to a rock on the Peninsula whilst the Asiatic batteries are pounding it. That would learn him to be an M.G.O.; singing us Departmental ditties whilst we are trying to hold our Asiatic wolf by the ears. I feel very depressed; we are too far away; so far away that we lie beyond the grasp of an M.G.O.'s imagination. That's the whole truth. Were the Army in France to receive such a message, within 24 hours the Commander-in-Chief, or at the least his Chief of the Staff, would walk into the M.G.O.'s office and then proceed to walk into the M.G.O. I can't do that; a bad tempered cable is useless; I have no weapon at my disposal but very mild sarcasm:-- "(No. M.F. 343). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Your No. 5537, cipher, M.G.O. Please send the battery of 6-inch howitzers. Your admonition will be borne in mind. Extra howitzers will be most useful to replace pieces damaged by enemy batteries on the Asiatic side of the Dardanelles. No doubt in time the ammunition question will improve. Only yesterday prisoners reported that 14 more Turkish heavy guns were coming to the Peninsula." Have written another screed to French. As it gives a sort of summing up of the state of affairs to-day I spatchcock (as Buller used to say) the carbon:-- "GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, "MEDITERRANEAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, _17th June, 1915._ "MY DEAR FRENCH, "It must be fully a month since I wrote you but no one understands better than you must do, how time flies under the constant strain of these night and day excursions and alarms. Between the two letters there has been a desperate lot of fighting, mostly bomb and bayonet work, and, except for a good many Turks gone to glory, there is only a few hundred yards of ground to show for it all at Anzac, and about a mile perhaps in the southern part of the Peninsula. But taking a wider point of view, I hope our losses and efforts have gained a good deal for our cause although they may not be so measurable in yards. First, the Turks are defending themselves instead of attacking Egypt and over-running Basra; secondly, we are told on high authority, that the action of the Italians in coming in was precipitated by our entry into this part of the theatre; thirdly, if we can only hold on and continue to enfeeble the Turks, I think myself it will not be very long before some of the Balkan States take the bloody plunge. "However all that may be, we must be prepared at the worst to win through by ourselves, and it is, I assure you, a tough proposition. In a manoeuvre battle of old style our fellows here would beat twice their number of Turks in less than no time, but, actually, the restricted Peninsula suits the Turkish tactics to a 'T.' They have always been good at trench work where their stupid men have only simple, straightforward duties to perform, namely, in sticking on and shooting anything that comes up to them. They do this to perfection; I never saw braver soldiers, in fact, than some of the best of them. When we advance, no matter the shelling we give them, they stand right up firing coolly and straight over their parapets. Also they have unlimited supplies of bombs, each soldier carrying them, and they are not half bad at throwing them. Meanwhile they are piling up a lot of heavy artillery of very long range on the Asiatic shore, and shell us like the devil with 4.5, 6-inch, 8, 9.2 and 10-inch guns--not pleasant. This necessitates a very tough type of man for senior billets. X--Y--, for instance, did not last 24 hours. Everyone here is under fire, and really and truly the front trenches are safer, or at least fully as safe, as the Corps Commander's dugout. For, if the former are nearer the Infantry, the latter is nearer the big guns firing into our rear. "Another reason why we advance so slowly and lose so much is that the enemy get constant reinforcements. We have overcome three successive armies of Turks, and a new lot of 20,000 from Syria are arriving here now, with 14 more heavy guns, so prisoners say, but I hope not. "I have fine Corps Commanders in Birdwood, Hunter-Weston and Gouraud. This is very fortunate. Who is to be Commander of the new corps I cannot say, but we have one or two terrifying suggestions from home. "Last night a brisk attack headed by a senior Turkish Officer and a German Officer was made on the 86th Brigade. Both these Officers were killed and 20 or 30 of their men, the attack being repulsed. Against the South Wales Borderers a much heavier attack was launched. Our fellows were bombed clean out of their trenches, but only fell back 30 yards and dug in. This morning early we got maxims on to each end of the place they had stormed, and then the Dublins retook it with the bayonet. Two hundred of their dead were left in the trench, and we only had 50 casualties--not so bad! A little later on in the day a d----d submarine appeared and had some shots at our transports and store ships. Luckily she missed, but all our landing operations of supplies were suspended. These are the sort of daily anxieties. All one can do is to carry on with determination and trust in providence. "I hope you are feeling fit and that things are going on well generally. Give my salaams to the great Robertson, also to Barry. Otherwise please treat this letter as private. With all kind remembrance. "Believe me, "Yours very sincerely, "(_Sd._) IAN HAMILTON." CHAPTER XI BOMBS AND JOURNALISTS Our beautiful East Lancs. Division is in a very bad way. One more month of neglect and it will be ruined: if quickly filled up with fresh drafts it will be better than ever. Have cabled:-- "(M.F.A. 871). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. The following is the shortage of officers and rank and file in each Brigade of the XLIInd East Lancashire Division including the reinforcements reported as arriving:-- 125th Brigade 50 Officers, 1,852 rank and file. 126th Brigade 31 Officers, 1,714 rank and file. 127th Brigade 50 Officers, 2,297 rank and file. "A stage of wastage has now been reached in this Division, especially in the 127th Manchester Brigade, when filling up with drafts will make it as good or better than ever. If, however, they have to go on fighting in their present condition and suffer further losses, the remnants will not offer sufficiently wide foundation for reconstituting cadres. "Lord Kitchener might also like to know this, that a satisfactory proportion of the officers recently sent out to fill casualties are shaping very well indeed." An amalgam of veterans and fresh keen recruits, cemented by a common county feeling as well as by war tradition, makes the best fighting formation in the world. The veterans give experience and steadiness;--when the battle is joined the old hands feel bound to make good their camp-fire boastings to the recruits. The recruits bring freshness and the spirit of competition;--they are determined to show that they are as brave as the old fighters. But, if the East Lancs. go on dwindling, the cadre will not retain strength enough to absorb and shape the recruits who will, we must suppose, some day be poured into it. A perishing formation loses moral force in more rapid progression than the mere loss of members would seem to warrant. When a battalion which entered upon a campaign a thousand strong,--all keen and hopeful,--gets down to five hundred, comrades begin to look round at one another and wonder if any will be left. When it falls to three hundred, or less, the unit, in my experience, is better drawn out of the line. The bravest men lose heart when, on parade, they see with their own eyes that their Company--the finest Company in the Army--has become a platoon,--and the famous battalion a Company. A mould for shaping young enthusiasms into heroisms has been scrapped and it takes a desperate long time to recreate it. I want to be sure K. himself takes notice and that is why I refer to him at the tail end of the cable. We have also cabled saying that the idea of sending so many rounds per gun per day was excellent, but that "we have received no notice of any despatch later than the S.S. _Arabian_, which consignment" (whenever it might arrive?) "was only due to last until the day before yesterday"! So this is what our famous agreement to have munitions on the scale deemed necessary by Joffre and French pans out at in practice. Two-fifths of their amount and that not delivered! Dined with the Admiral on board the _Triad_. A glorious dinner. The sailormen have a real pull over us soldiers in all matters of messing. Linen, plate, glass, bread, meat, wine; of the best, are on the spot, always: even after the enemy is sighted, if they happen to feel a sense of emptiness they have only to go to the cold sideboard. Coming back found mess tent brilliantly lit up and my staff entertaining their friends. So I put on my life-saving waistcoat and blew it out; clapped my new gas-mask on my head and entered. They were really startled, thinking the devil had come for them before their time. Just got a telegram saying that M. Venezelos has gained a big majority in the Greek Election. Also, that the King of Greece is dying, and that, therefore, the Greek Army can't join us until he has come round or gone under. _18th June, 1915. Imbros._ Went over to Kephalos Camp to inspect Rochdale's 127th (Manchester) Brigade. The Howe Battalion of the 2nd Naval Brigade were there (Lieutenant-Colonel Collins), also, the 3rd Field Ambulance R.N.D. All these were enjoying an easy out of the trenches and, though only at about half strength, had already quite forgotten the tragic struggles they had passed through. In fattest peace times, I never saw a keener, happier looking lot. I drew courage from the ranks. Surely these are the faces of men turned to victory! Some twenty unattached officers fresh from England were there: a likely looking lot. One of the brightest a Socialist M.P. The inspection took me all forenoon so I had to sweat double shifts after lunch. Hunter-Weston came over from Helles at 7.15 p.m. and we dined off crayfish. He was in great form. The War Office can get no more bombs for our Japanese trench mortars! A catastrophe this! Putting the French on one side, we here, in this great force, possess only half a dozen good trench mortars--the Japanese. These six are worth their weight in gold to Anzac. Often those fellows have said to me that if they had twenty-five of them, with lots of bombs, they could render the Turkish trenches untenable. Twice, whilst their six precious mortars have been firing, I have stood for half an hour with Birdie, watching and drinking in encouragement. About one bomb a minute was the rate of fire and as it buzzed over our own trenches like a monstrous humming bird all the naked Anzacs laughed. Then, _such_ an explosion and a sort of long drawn out ei-ei-ei-ei cry of horror from the Turks. It was fine,--a real corpse-reviving performance and now the W.O. have let the stock run out, because some ass has forgotten to order them in advance. Have cabled a very elementary question: "Could not the Japanese bombs be copied in England?" Being the Centenary of Waterloo, the thoughts and converse of Hunter-Weston and myself turned naturally towards the lives of the heroes of a hundred years ago whose monument had given us our education, and from that topic, equally naturally, to the boys of the coming generation. Then wrote out greetings to be sent by wire on my own behalf and on behalf of all Wellingtonians serving under my command here: this to the accompaniment of unusually heavy shell fire on the Peninsula. _Later._--Have just heard that after a heavy bombardment the Turks made an attack and that fighting is going on now. _19th June, 1915. Imbros._ The Turks expended last night some 500 H.E. shells; 250 heavy stuff from Asia and some thousands of shrapnel. They then attacked; we counter-attacked and there was some confused in-and-out Infantry fighting. We hear that the South Wales Borderers, the Worcesters, the 5th Royal Scots and the Naval Division all won distinction. Wiring home I say, "If Lord Kitchener could tell the Lord Provost of Edinburgh how well the 5th Bn. Royal Scots have done, the whole of this force would be pleased." The Turks have left 1,000 dead behind them. Prisoners say they thought so much high explosive would knock a hole in our line: the bombardment was all concentrated on the South Wales Borderers' trench. Writing most of the day. Lord K. has asked the French Government to send out extra quantities of H.E. shell to their force here; also, he has begged them to order Gouraud to lend me his guns. In so far as the French may get more H.E. this is A.1. But if K. thinks the British will _directly_ benefit--I fear he is out of his reckoning: it would be fatal to my relations with Gouraud, now so happy, were he even to suspect that I had any sort of lien on his guns. Unless I want to stir up jealous feelings, now entirely quiescent, I cannot use this cable as a lever to get French guns across into our area. Gouraud's plans for his big attack are now quite complete. A million pities we cannot attack simultaneously. That we should attack one week and the French another week is rotten tactically; but, practically, we have no option. We British want to go in side by side with the French--are burning to do so--but we cannot think of it until we can borrow shell from Gouraud; and, naturally, he wants every round he has for his own great push on the 21st. Walked down in the evening to see what progress was being made with the new pier. Colonel Skeen, Birdwood's Chief of Staff, dined and seems clever, as well as a very pleasant fellow. _20th June, 1915. Imbros._ Rose early. Did a lot of business. The King's Messenger's bag closed at 8 a.m. Told K. about the arrival of fresh Turkish troops and our fighting on the 18th. The trenches remain as before, but the Turks, having failed, are worse off. I have also written him about war correspondents. He had doubted whether my experiences would encourage me to increase the number to two or three. But, after trial, I prefer that the public should have a multitude of councillors. "When a single individual," I say, "has the whole of the London Press at his back he becomes an unduly important personage. When, in addition to this, it so happens, that he is inclined to see the black side of every proposition, then it becomes difficult to prevent him from encouraging the enemy, and from discouraging all our own people, as well as the Balkan States. If I have several others to counterbalance, then I do not care so much." Fired off a second barrel through Fitz from whom I have just heard that my Despatch cannot be published as it stands but must be bowdlerized first, all the names of battalions being cut out. Instead of saying, "The landing at 'W' had been entrusted to the 1st Bn. Lancashire Fusiliers (Major Bishop) and it was to the complete lack of the sense of danger or of fear of this daring battalion that we owed our astonishing success," I am to say, "The landing, etc., had been entrusted to a certain battalion." The whole of this press correspondence; press censorship; despatch writing and operations cables hang together and will end by hanging the Government. My operations cables are written primarily for K., it is true, but they are meant also to let our own people know what their brothers and sons are up against and how they are bearing up under unheard of trials. There is not a word in those cables which would help or encourage the enemy. I am best judge of that and I see to it myself. What is the result of my efforts to throw light upon our proceedings? A War Office extinguisher from under which only a few evil-smelling phrases escape. As I say to Fitz:-- "You seem to see nothing beyond the mischief that may happen if the enemy gets to know too much about us; you do not see that this danger can be kept within bounds and is of small consequence when compared with the keenness or dullness of our own Nation." The news that the War Office were going to send us no more Japanese bombs spread so great a consternation at Anzac that I have followed up my first remonstrance with a second and a stronger cable:-- "(No. M.F. 348). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Your No. 5272, A.2.[21] I particularly request that you may reconsider your proposal not to order more Japanese bombs. These bombs are most effective and in high favour with our troops whose locally-made weapons, on which they have frequently to rely, are far inferior to the bombs used by the Turks. Our great difficulty in holding captured trenches is that the Turks always counter-attack with a large number of powerful bombs. Apparently their supply of these is limitless. Unless the delay in arrival is likely to extend over several months, therefore, I would suggest that a large order be sent to Japan. We cannot have too many of these weapons, and this should not cancel my No. M.F.Q.T. 1321, which should be treated as additional." Drafted also a long cable discussing a diversion on the Asiatic shore of the Dardanelles. So some work had been done by the time we left camp at 9.15 a.m., and got on board the _Triad_. After a jolly sail reached Mudros at 2 p.m., landing on the Australian pier at 3 p.m. Mudros is a dusty hole; _ein trauriges Nest_, as our German friends would say. Worked like a nigger going right through Nos. 15 and 16 Stationary Hospitals. Colonel Maher, P.M.O., came round, also Colonel Jones, R.A.M.C., and Captain Stanley, R.A.M.C. Talked with hundreds of men: these are the true philosophers. _21st June, 1915. Mudros._ Went at it again and overhauled No. 2 Stationary Hospital under Lieutenant-Colonel White, as well as No. 1 Stationary Hospital commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Bryant. The doctors praised me for inventing something new to say to each man. But all the time in my mind was the thought of Gouraud. I have wanted him to do it absolutely on his own, and I could not emphasize this better than by coming right away to Mudros. Back to the _Triad_ by 1 p.m. No news. Weighed anchor at once, steaming for Imbros, where we cast anchor at about 6 p.m. Freddie Maitland has arrived here, like a breath of air from home, to be once more my A.D.C.; his features wreathed in the well-known, friendly smile. The French duly attacked at dawn and the 2nd Division have carried a series of redoubts and trenches. The 1st Division did equally well but have been driven back again by counter-attacks. Fighting is still going on. While I have been away Braithwaite has cabled home in my name asking which of the new Divisions is the best, as we shall have to use them before we can get to know them. _22nd June, 1915. Imbros._ An anxious night. Gouraud has done splendidly; so have his troops. This has been a serious defeat for the Turks; a real bad defeat, showing, as it does, that given a modicum of ammunition we can seize the strongest entrenchments of the enemy and stick to them. "(No. M.F. 357). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. After 24 hours' heavy and continuous fighting a substantial success has been achieved. As already reported, the battle of 4th-5th June resulted in a good advance of my centre to which neither my right nor my left were able to conform, the reason being that the Turkish positions in front of the flanks are naturally strong and exceedingly well fortified. At 4.30 a.m. yesterday, General Gouraud began an attack upon the line of formidable works which run along the Kereves Dere. By noon the second French Division had stormed and captured all the Turkish first and second line trenches opposite their front, including the famous Haricot Redoubt, with its subsidiary maze of entanglements and communication trenches. On their right, the first French Division, after fierce fighting, also took the Turkish trenches opposite their front, but were counter-attacked so heavily that they were forced to fall back. Again, this Division attacked, again it stormed the position, and again it was driven out. General Gouraud then, at 2.55 p.m., issued the following order:" 'From Colonel Viont's report it is evident that the preparation for the attack at 2.15 p.m. was not sufficient. 'It is indispensable that the Turkish first line of trenches in front of you should be taken, otherwise the gains of the 2nd Division may be rendered useless. You have five hours of daylight, take your time, let me know your orders and time fixed for preparation, and arrange for Infantry assault to be simultaneous after preparation.' "As a result of this order, the bombardment of the Turkish left was resumed, the British guns and howitzers lending their aid to the French Artillery as in the previous attacks. At about 6 p.m., a fine attack was launched, 600 yards of Turkish first line trenches were taken, and despite heavy counter-attacks during the night, especially at 3.20 a.m., all captured positions are still in our hands. Am afraid casualties are considerable, but details are lacking. The enemy lost very heavily. One Turkish battalion coming up to reinforce, was spotted by an aeroplane, and was practically wiped out by the seventy-fives before they could scatter. "Type of fighting did not lend itself to taking prisoners, and only some 50, including one officer, are in our hands. The elan and contempt of danger shown by the young French drafts of the last contingent, averaging, perhaps, 20 years of age, was much admired by all. During the fighting, the French battleship _St. Louis_ did excellent service against the Asiatic batteries. All here especially regret that Colonel Girodon, one of the best staff officers existing, has been severely wounded whilst temporarily commanding a brigade. Colonel Nogués, also an officer of conspicuous courage, already twice wounded, at Kum Kale, has again been badly hit." Girodon is one in ten thousand; serious, brave and far sighted. The bullet went through his lung. We are said to have suffered nearly 3,000 casualties. They say that the uproar of battle was tremendous, especially between midnight and 4 a.m. Some of our newly arrived troops stood to their arms all night thinking the end of the world had come. At 6 p.m. de Robeck, Keyes, Ormsby Johnson and Godfrey came over from the flagship to see me. Have got an answer about the Japanese trench mortars and bombs. In two months' time a thousand bombs will be ready at the Japanese Arsenal, and five hundred the following month. The trench mortars--bomb guns they call them--will be ready in Japan in two and a half months' time. Two and a half months, plus half a month for delay, plus another month for sea transit, makes four months! There are some things speak for themselves. Blood, they say, cries out to Heaven. Well, let it cry now. Over three months ago I asked--_my first request_--for these primitive engines and as for the bombs, had Birmingham been put to it, Birmingham could have turned them out as quick as shelling peas. Am doing what I can to fend for myself. This Dardanelles war is a war, if ever there was one, of the ingenuity and improvised efforts of man against nature plus machinery. We are in the desert and have to begin very often at the beginning of things. The Navy _now_ assure me that their Dockyard Superintendent at Malta could make us a fine lot of hand grenades in his workshops if Lord Methuen will give him the order. So I have directed a full technical specification of the Turkish hand grenades being used against us with effects so terrible, to be sent on to Methuen telling him it is simple, effective, that I hope he can make them and will be glad to take all he can turn out. _23rd June, 1915. Imbros._ Another day in camp. De Robeck and Keyes came over from the _Triad_ to unravel knotty points. Am enraged to recognize in Reuter one of my own cables which has been garbled in Egypt. The press censorship is a negative evil in London; in Cairo there is no doubt it is positive. After following my wording pretty closely, a phrase has been dovetailed in to say that the Turks have day and night to submit to the capture of trenches. These cables are repeated to London and when they get back here what will my own men think me? If, as most of us profess to believe, it is a mistake to tell lies, what a specially fatal description of falsehood to issue short-dated bulletins of victory with only one month to run. I have fired off a remonstrance as follows:-- "(No M.F. 359). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. A Reuter telegram dated London, 16th June, has just been brought to my notice in which it is stated that the Press Bureau issues despatch in which the following sentence occurs: 'Day and night they (the Turks) have to submit to capture of trenches.' This information is incorrect, and as far as we are aware, has not been sent from here. This false news puts me in a false position with my troops, who know it to be untrue, and I should be glad if you would trace whence it emanates. "Repeated to General Officer Commanding, Egypt." _24th June, 1915. Imbros._ Three days ago we asked the War Office to let us know the merits of the three new Divisions. The War Office replied placing them in the order XIth; XIIth; Xth, and reminding me that the personality of the Commander would be the chief factor for deciding which were to be employed in any particular operation. K. now supplements this by a cable in which he sizes up the Commanders. Hammersley gets a good _chit_ but the phrase, "he will have to be watched to see that the strain of trench warfare is not too much for him" is ominous. I knew him in October, '99, and thought him a fine soldier. Mahon, "without being methodical," is praised. Shaw gets a moderate eulogy, but we out here are glad to have him for we know him. On these two War Office cables Hammersley and the 11th Division should be for it. After clearing my table, embarked with Braithwaite and Mitchell aboard the _Basilisk_ (Lieutenant Fallowfield) and made her stand in as close as we dared at Suvla Bay and the coast to the North of it. We have kept a destroyer on patrol along that line, and we were careful to follow the usual track and time, so as to rouse no suspicions. To spy out the land with a naval telescope over a mile of sea means taking a lot on trust as we learned to our cost on April 25th. We can't even be sure if the Salt Lake _is_ a lake, or whether the glister we see there is just dry sand. We shall have to pretend to do some gun practice, and drop a shell on to its surface to find out. No sign of life anywhere, not even a trickle of smoke. The whole of the Suvla Bay area looks peaceful and deserted. God grant that it may remain so until we come along and make it the other thing. On my return the Admiral came to hear what I thought about it all. Our plan is bold, but there never was a state of affairs less suited to half and half, keep-in-the-middle-of-the-road tactics than that with which the Empire is faced to-day. If we get through here, now, the war will, must be, over next year. My Manchurian Campaign and two Russian Manoeuvres have taught me that, from Grand Duke to Moujiks, our Allies need just that precise spice of initiative which we, only we in the world, can lend them. Advice, cash, munitions aren't enough; our palpable presence is the point. The arrival of Birdwood, Hunter-Weston and Gouraud at Odessa would electrify the whole of the Russian Army. As to the plan, I have had the G.S. working hard upon it for over a fortnight (ever since the Cabinet decided to support us). Secrecy is so ultra-vital that we are bound to keep the thing within a tiny circle. I am not the originator. Though I have entirely fathered it, the idea was born at Anzac. We have not yet got down to precise dates, units or commanders but, in those matters, the two cables already entered this morning should help. The plan is based upon Birdwood's confidence that, if only he can be strengthened by another Division, he can seize and hold the high crest line which dominates his own left, and in my own concurrence in that confidence. Sari Bair is the "keep" to the Narrows; Chunuk Bair and Hill 305 are its keys: i.e., from those points the Turkish trenches opposite Birdwood can be enfiladed: the land _and_ sea communications of the enemy holding Maidos, Kilid Bahr and Krithia can be seen and shelled and, in fact, any strong force of Turks guarding the European side of the Narrows can then be starved out, whilst a weak force will not long resist Gouraud and Hunter-Weston. As to our tactical scheme for producing these strategical results, it is simple in outline though infernally complicated in its amphibious and supply aspects. The French and British at Helles will attack so as to draw the attention of the Turks southwards. To add to this effect, we are thinking of asking the Anzacs to exert a preliminary pressure on the Gaba Tepe alarum to the southwards. We shall then give Birdwood what he wants, an extra division, and it will be a problem how to do so without letting the enemy smell a rat. Birdwood's Intelligence are certain that no trenches have been dug by the enemy along the high ridge from Chunuk Bair to Hill 305. He is sure that with one more Division under his direct command, plus the help of a push from Helles to ease his southern flank, he can make good these dominating heights. [Illustration: THE NARROWS FROM CHUNUK BAIR] _But_,--here comes the second half of the plan: the balance of the reinforcements from home are also to be thrown into the scale so as at the same time to give further support to Birdwood on his _northern_ flank and to occupy a good harbour (Suvla Bay) whence we can run a light railway line and more effectively feed the troops holding Sari Bair than they could be fed from the bad, cramped beaches of Anzac Cove. This will be the more necessary as the process of starving out the Turks to the south must take time. Suvla Bay should be an easy base to seize as it is weakly held and unentrenched whilst, tactically, any troops landed there will, by a very short advance, be able to make Birdwood's mind easy about his left. Altogether, the plan seems to me simple in outline, and sound in principle. The ground between Anzac and the Sari Bair crestline is worse than the Khyber Pass but both Birdwood and Godley say that their troops can tackle it. There are one or two in the know who think me "venturesome" but, after all, is not "nothing venture nothing win" an unanswerable retort? De Robeck is excited over some new anti-submarine nets. They are so strong and he can run them out so swiftly that they open, he seems to think, new possibilities of making landings,--not on open coasts like the North of the Aegean but at places like Yukeri Bay, where the nets could be spread from the North and South ends of Tenedos to shoals connecting with Asia so as to make a torpedo proof basin for transports. The Navy, in fact, suddenly seem rather bitten with the idea of landing opposite Tenedos. But whereas, this very afternoon, our own eyes confirmed the aeroplane reports that Suvla Bay is unentrenched, weakly held and quiescent, only yesterday a division of the enemy were reputed to be busy along the whole of the coastline to the South of Besika Bay. I have raised a hornet's nest by my objection to faked cables; but I will not have it done. They may suppress but they shall not invent. "(No. M.F. 366). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to War Office. Your No. 12431. I do not object to General Officer Commanding, Egypt, publishing any telegram I send him, as I write them for that purpose. But I do object to the addition of news which is untrue, and which can surely be seen through by any reading public. If we can take trenches at our will, why are we still on this side of Achi Baba? "In compliance with Lord Kitchener's instructions I send a telegram to the Secretary of State for War and repeat it to Egypt; also to Australia and New Zealand if it affect these Dominions. Please see your No. 10,475, code, and my No. M.F. 285, instructing me to do this. These telegrams are practically identical when they leave here, and are intended to be used as a communique and to be published. Instead of this I find a mutilated and misleading Cairo telegram reproduced in London Press in place of the true version I sent to the Secretary of State for War." General Paris crossed from Helles to dine and stay the night. After dinner, Commodore Backhouse came over to make his salaams to his Divisional Chief. Gouraud has sent me his reply to Lord K.'s congratulations on his victory of the 21st. He says, "_Vous prie exprimer à Lord Kitchener mes respectueux remerciements nous n'avons, eu qu'à prendre exemple sur les héroïques régiments anglais qui ont débarqué dans les fils de fer sur la plage de Seddulbahr_." _25th June, 1915. Imbros._ At 8 a.m. walked down with Paris to see him off. Worked till 11 a.m. and then crossed over to "K" Beach where Backhouse, commanding the 2nd Naval Brigade, met me. Inspected the Hood, Howe and Anson Battalions into which had been incorporated the Collingwood and Benbow units--too weak now to carry on as independent units. The Hood, Howe and Anson are suffering from an acute attack of indigestion, and Collingwoods and Benbows are sick at having been swallowed. But I had to do it seeing there is no word of the cruel losses of the battle of the 4th being made good by the Admiralty. The Howe, Hood and Anson attacked on our extreme right, next the French. They did most gloriously--most gloriously! As to the Collingwoods, they were simply cut to pieces, losing 25 officers out of 28 in a few minutes. Down at the roots of this unhappiness lie the neglect to give us our fair share of howitzers and trench mortars--in fact stupidity! The rank and file all round looked much better for their short rest, and seemed to like the few halting words of praise I was able to say to them. Lunched with Backhouse in a delicious garden under a spreading fig tree; then rode back. At 5 p.m. Ashmead-Bartlett had an appointment, K. himself took trouble to send me several cables about him a little time ago. Referring in one of them to the dangers of letting Jeremiah loose in London, K. said, "Ashmead-Bartlett has promised verbally to speak to no one but his Editor, who can be trusted." Verbally, or in writing, my astonishment at K.'s confidence can only find expression in verse:-- "Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises;" He, Ashmead-Bartlett, came to-day to beg me to deliver him out of the hands of the Censor. He wants certain changes made and I have agreed. Next, he fully explained to me the importance of the Bulair Lines and urged me to throw the new Divisions against them. He seems to think he is mooting to me a spick and span new idea--that he has invented something. Finally, he suggests ten shillings and a free pardon be offered to every Turk who deserts to our lines with his rifle and kit: he believes we should thus get rid of the whole of the enemy army very quickly. This makes one wonder what would Ashmead-Bartlett himself do if he were offered ten shillings and a good supper by a Mahommedan when he was feeling a bit hungry and hard up amongst the Christians. Anyway, there is no type of soldier man fighting in the war who is more faithful to his salt than the Osmanli Turk. Were we to offer fifty pounds per head, instead of ten shillings, the bid would rebound in shame upon ourselves. Colonel Sir Mark Sykes was my next visitor. He is fulfilling the promise of his 'teens when he was the shining light of the Militia; was as keen a Galloper as I have had on a list which includes Winston and F.E., and, generally, gained much glory, martial, equestrian, histrionic, terpsichorean at our Militia Training Camp on Salisbury Plain in '99. Now he has mysteriously made himself (heaven knows how) into our premier authority on the Middle East and is travelling on some ultra-mysterious mission, very likely, _en passant_, as a critic of our doings: never mind, he is thrice welcome as a large-hearted and generous person. Dined with de Robeck on board the _Triad_. He is _most_ hospitable and kind. I have not here the wherewithal to give back cutlet for cutlet, worse luck. _26th June, 1915._ Worked till past 11 o'clock, then started for Anzac with Braithwaite per destroyer _Pincher_ (Lieutenant-Commander Wyld). After going a short way was shifted to the _Mosquito_ (Lieutenant-Commander Clarke). We had biscuits in our pockets, but the hospitable Navy stood us lunch. When the Turks saw a destroyer come bustling up at an unusual hour they said to themselves, "fee faw fum!" and began to raise pillars of water here and there over the surface of the cove. As we got within a few yards of the pier a shell hit it, knocking off some splinters. I jumped on to it--had to--then jumped off it nippier still and, turning to the right, began to walk towards Birdie's dugout. As I did so a big fellow pitched plunk into the soft shingle between land and water about five or six yards behind me and five or six yards in front of Freddie. The slush fairly smothered or blanketed the shell but I was wetted through and was stung up properly with small gravel. The hardened devils of Anzacs, who had taken cover betwixt the shell-proofs built of piles of stores, roared with laughter. Very funny--to look at! As the old Turks kept plugging it in fairly hot, I sat quiet in Birdwood's dugout for a quarter of an hour. Then they calmed down and we went the rounds of the right trenches. In those held by the Light Horse Brigade under Colonel G. de L. Ryrie, encountered Lieutenant Elliot, last seen a year ago at Duntroon. Next, met Colonel Sinclair Maclagan commanding 3rd (Australian) Infantry Brigade. After that saw the lines of Colonel Smith's Brigade, where Major Browne, R.A., showed me a fearful sort of bomb he had just patented. At last, rather tired by my long day, made my way back, stopping at Birdie's dugout en route. Boarded the _Mosquito_; sailed for and reached camp without further adventure. General Douglas of the East Lancs Division is here. He has dined and is staying the night. A melancholy man before whose eyes stands constantly the tragic melting away without replacement of the most beautiful of the Divisions of Northern England. _27th June, 1915. Imbros._ Blazing hot; wound up my mail letters; fought files, flies and irritability; tackled a lot of stuff from Q.M.G. and A.G.; won a clear table by tea time. In the evening hung about waiting for de Robeck who had signalled over to say he wanted to talk business. At the last he couldn't come. The sequel to the letter telling me I'd have to cut the names of battalions out of my Despatch has come in the shape of a War Office cable telling me that, if I agree, it is proposed "to have the despatch reviewed and a slightly different version prepared for publication." I hope my reply to Fitz may arrive in time to prevent too much titivation. An imaginative War Office (were such a thing imaginable) would try first of all to rouse public enthusiasm by letting them follow quite closely the brave doings of their own boys' units whatever these might be. Next, they would try and use the Press to teach the public that there are three kinds of war, (_a_) military war, (_b_) economic war and (_c_) social war. Lastly, they would explain to the Cabinet that this war of ours is a mixture of (_a_) and (_b_) with more of (_b_) than (_a_) in it. How can economic victory be won? (1) by enlisting the sympathy of America; (2) by taking Constantinople. The idea that we can hustle the Kaiser back over the Rhine and march on to Berlin at the double emanates from a school of thought who have devoted much study to the French Army, not so much to that of the Germans. But we _can_ (no one denies it) hustle the Turks out of Constantinople if we will make an effort, big, no doubt, in itself but not very big compared to that entailed by a few miles' advance in the West. Let us do that and, forthwith, we enlist economics on our side. None of these things can be carried through without the help of the Press. Second only to enthusiasm of our own folk comes the sweetening of the temper of the neutral. Hard to say at present whether our Censorship has done most harm in the U.K. or the U.S.A. Before leaving for the Dardanelles I begged hard for Hare and Frederick Palmer, the Americans, knowing they would help us with the Yanks just as much as aeroplanes would help us with the Turks, but I was turned down on the plea that the London Press would be jealous. These are the feelings which have prompted my pen to-day. Writing one of the few great men I know I put the matter like this:-- "From my individual point of view a hideous mistake has been made on the correspondence side of the whole of this Dardanelles business. Had we had a dozen good newspaper correspondents here, the vital life-giving interest of these stupendous proceedings would have been brought right into the hearths and homes of the humblest people in Britain.... "As for information to the enemy, this is too puerile altogether. The things these fellows produce are all read and checked by competent General Staff Officers. To think that it matters to the Turks whether a certain trench was taken by the 7th Royal Scots or the 3rd Warwicks is just really like children playing at secrets. The Censors who are by way of keeping everyone in England in darkness allow extremely accurate outline panoramas of the Australian position from the back; trenches, communication tracks, etc., all to scale; a true military sketch, to appear in the _Illustrated London News_ of 5th June. The wildest indiscretions in words could not equal this." Again I say the Press must win. On no subject is there more hypocrisy amongst big men in England. They pretend they do not care for the Press and _sub rosa_ they try all they are worth to work it. How well I remember my Chief of the General Staff coming up to me at a big conference on Salisbury Plain where I had spent five very useful minutes explaining the inwardness of things to old Bennett Burleigh, the War Correspondent. He (the C.G.S.) begged me to see Burleigh privately, afterwards, as it would "create a bad impression" were I seen by everyone to be on friendly terms with the old man! He meant it very kindly: from his point of view he was quite right. I lay no claim to be more candid than the rest of them: quite the contrary. Only, over that particular line of country, I am more candid. Whenever anyone ostentatiously washes his hands of the Press in my hearing I chuckle over the memory of the administrator who was admonishing me as to the unsuitability of a public servant having a journalistic acquaintance when, suddenly, the door opened; the parlour-maid entered and said, "Lord Northcliffe is on the 'phone." Have told Lord K. in my letter we have just enough shell for one more attack. After that, we fold our hands and wait the arrival of the new troops and the new outfit of ammunition:--not "wait and see" but "wait and suffer." A month is a desperate long halt to have in a battle. A month, at least, to let weariness and sickness spread whilst new armies of enemies replace those whose hearts we have broken,--at a cost of how many broken hearts, I wonder, in Australasia and England? This enforced pause in our operations is a desperate bad business: for to-day there is a feeling in the air--thrilling through the ranks--that _at last_ the upper hand is ours. Now is the moment to fall on with might and main,--to press unrelentingly and without break or pause until we wrest victory from Fortune. Morally, we are confident but,--materially? Alas, to-morrow, for our last "dart" before reinforcements arrive a month hence, my shell only runs to a forty minutes' bombardment of some half a mile of the enemy's trenches. We simply have not shell wherewith to cover more or keep it up any longer. A General laying down the law to a Field Marshal is as obnoxious to military "form" as a vacuum was once supposed to be to the sentiments of nature. The child, who teaches its grandmother to suck eggs, commits a venial fault in comparison. So I have had to convey my precepts insensibly to Milord K.--to convey them in homeopathic doses of parable. The brilliant French success of the 21st-22nd, I explain to him, was due to the showers of shell wherewith they deluged the Turkish lines until their defenders were sitting dazed with their dugouts in ruins about them. Also, in the same epistle, I have tried to explain Anzac. In the domain of tactics our landing at Helles speaks for itself. Since gunpowder was invented nothing finer than the 29th Division has been achieved. But it will be a long time yet before people grasp that the landing at Anzac is just as remarkable in the imaginative domain of strategy. The military student of the future will, I hope and believe, realize the significance of the stroke whereby we are hourly forcing a great Empire to commit _hari kiri_ upon these barren, worthless cliffs--whereby we keep pressing a dagger exactly over the black heart of the Ottoman Raj. Only skin deep--so far; only through the skin. Yet already how freely bleeds the wound. Daily the effort to escape this doom; to push away the threat of that painful point will increase. Even if we were never to make another yard's advance,--here--in the cove of Anzac--is the cup into which the life blood of the Caliphat shall be pressed. And on the whole Gallipoli Peninsula this little cove is the one and only spot whereon a base could have been established, which is sheltered (to a bearable extent) from the force of the enemy's fire. Dead ground; defiladed from inland batteries; deep water right close to the shore! Enver dares not leave Anzac alone. We are too near his neck; the Narrows!! So on this most precarious, God-forsaken spot he must maintain an Army of his best troops, mostly supplied by sea,--by sea whereon our submarines swallow 25 per cent. of their drafts, munitions and food, just as a pike takes down the duckling before the eyes of their mother on a pond. Hold fast's the word. We have only to keep our grip firm and fast; Turkey will die of exhaustion trying to do what she can't do; drive us into the sea! Braithwaite and Amery dined. Great fun seeing Amery again. _What_ memories of his concealment in the Autocrat's "Special" going to the Vereeniging Conference; of our efforts to create a strategical training ground for British troops in South Africa; of our battles against one another over the great Voluntary Service issue. CHAPTER XII A VICTORY AND AFTER _28th June, 1915. Imbros._ The fateful day. Left camp with Braithwaite, Dawnay and Ward. Embarked on the destroyer _Colne_ (Commander Seymour) and sailed for Helles. The fire fight was raging. From the bridge we got a fine view as our guns were being focused on and about the north-west coast. The cliff line and half a mile inland is shrouded in a pall of yellow dust which, as it twirls, twists and eddies, blots out Achi Baba himself. Through this curtain appear, dozens at a time, little balls of white,--the shrapnel searching out the communication trenches and cutting the wire entanglements. At other times spouts of green or black vapour rise, mix and lose themselves in the yellow cloud. The noise is like the rumbling of an express train--continuous; no break at all. The Turks sitting there in their trenches--our men 100 yards away sitting in _their_ trenches! What a wonderful change in the art,--no not the art, in the mechanism--of war. Fifteen years ago armies would have stood aghast at our display of explosive energy; to-day we know that our shortage is pitiable and that we are very short of stuff; perilously short.--(Written in the cabin of the _Colne_.) Jimmy Watson met me on the pier. He is Commandant Advance Base. Deedes also met me and the whole band of us made our way inland to my battle dugout. This is probably our last onslaught before the new troops and new supplies of shell come to hand in about a month from now. We have just enough stuff to deal with one narrow strip by the coast. Had it not been for some help from the French, we could not have entered upon this engagement at all, but must have continued to sit still and be shot at--rather an expensive way of fighting if John Bull could only be told the truth. Now, although the area is limited the battle is a big one, fairly entitled to be called a general action. As I said, the French are helping Simpson-Baikie in his bombardment; the Fleet are helping us with the fire of the _Scorpion_, _Talbot_ and _Wolverine_, and Birdwood has been asked to try and help us from Anzac by making a push there to hold the enemy and prevent him sending reinforcements south. On their side the Turks are making a very feeble reply. Looks as if we had caught them with their ammunition parks empty. I went into the dugout indescribably slack; hardly energy to struggle against the heat and the myriads of flies. I came out of it radiant. The Turks are beat. Five lines of their best trenches carried (or, at least, four regular lines plus a bit extra); the Boomerang Redoubt rushed, and in two successive attacks we have advanced 1,000 yards. Our losses are said to be moderate. The dreaded Boomerang collapsed and was stormed with hardly a casualty. This was owing partly to the two trench mortars lent us by the French and partly to the extraordinary fine shooting of our own battery of 4.5 howitzers. The whole show went like clockwork--like a Field Day. First the 87th Brigade took three lines of trenches; then our guns lengthened their range and fuses and the 86th Brigade, with the gallant Royal Fusiliers at their head, scrambled over the trenches already taken by the 87th, and took the last two lines in splendid style. We could have gone right on but we had nothing to go on with. How I wish the whole world and his wife could have been here to see our lines advancing under fire quite steadily with intervals and dressing as on parade. A wonderful show! As the 87th Brigade left the trenches at 11 a.m., the enemy opened a hot shrapnel fire on them but although some men fell, none faltered as we could see very well owing to the following device. The 29th attackers had sewn on to their backs triangles cut out of kerosine tins. The idea was to let these bright bits of metal flash in the sunlight and act as helios. Thus our guns would be able to keep an eye on them. The spectacle was extraordinary. From my post I could follow the movements of every man. One moment after 11 a.m. the smoke pall lifted and moved slowly on with a thousand sparkles of light in its wake: as if someone had quite suddenly flung a big handful of diamonds on to the landscape. At 11.30 the 86th Brigade likewise advanced; passed through the 87th and took two more lines of trenches. At mid-day I signalled, "Well done 29th Division and 156th Brigade. Am watching your splendid attack with admiration. Stick to it and your names will become famous in your homes." At 1.50 I got a reply, "Thanks from all ranks 29th. We are here to stay." At 3.15 I ran across and warmly congratulated Hunter-Weston, staying with him reading the messages until about 4 p.m. when I went on to see Gouraud. Hunter-Weston, Gouraud and Braithwaite agree that:--_had we only shell to repeat our bombardment of this morning, now, we could go on another 1,000 yards before dark,--result, Achi Baba to-morrow, or, at the latest, the day after; Achi Baba_ and fifty guns perhaps with, say, 10,000 prisoners. At 5 p.m. Gouraud and I walked back to Hunter-Weston's G.H.Q. A load was off our minds--we were wonderfully happy. At 5.30 a message from Birdie to say the Queenslanders had thrust out towards Gaba Tepe and had "drawn" the Turkish reserves who had been badly hammered by our guns. With this crowning mercy in my pocket, walked down and boarded the destroyer _Scourge_ (Lieutenant Tupper) and got back to camp before seven. What a day! May our glorious Infantry gain everlasting _Kudos_--and the Gunners, too, may the good use they made of their shell ration create a legend. The French official photographer has fixed a moment by snapping Gouraud and myself overlooking the Hellespont from the old battlements. [Illustration: GENERAL GOURAUD "Central News" photo.] _Midnight._--When I lay down in my little tent two hours ago the canvas seemed to make a sort of sounding board. No sooner did I try to sleep than I heard the musketry rolling up and dying away; then rolling up again in volume until I could stick it no longer and simply had to get up and pick a path, through the brush and over sandhills, across to the sea on the East coast of our island. There I could hear nothing. Was the firing then an hallucination--a sort of sequel to the battle in my brain? Not so; far away I could see faint corruscations of sparks; star shells; coloured fire balls from pistols; searchlights playing up and down the coast. Our fellows were being hard beset to hold on to what they had won; there, where the horizon stood out with spectral luminosity. What a contrast; the direct fear, joy, and excitement of the fighting men out there in the searchlights and the dull anguish of waiting here in the darkness; imagining horrors; praying the Almighty our men may be vouchsafed valour to stick it through the night; wondering, waiting until the wire brings its colourless message! One thought I have which is in the end a sure sleep-getter--the advancing death. Whether by hours or by years, by inches or by leagues, by bullets or bacilli, we struggle-for-lifers will very soon struggle no more. My last salaams are well-nigh due to my audience and to the stage. That rare and curious being called I is more fragile than any porcelain jar. How on earth it has preserved itself so long, heaven only knows. One pellet of lead, it falls in a heap of dust; the Peninsula disappears; the fighting men fall asleep; the world and its glories become a blank--not even a dream--nothing! _29th June, 1915. Imbros._ Sunlight has scattered the spectres of the night,--they have fled, leaving behind them only the matter-of-fact residuum of heavy Turkish counter-attacks against our fresh-won ground. The fighting took place along the coastline, and the stillness of the night seems to have helped the sounds of musketry across the twelve miles of sea. The attack was most determined: repulsed by bombs and with the bayonet: at daylight the enemy came under a cross-fire of machine guns and rifles and were shot to pieces. Very early approved the revise of my long cable (for the Cabinet) outlining my hopes and fears:-- "(No. M.F. 381). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. With reference to your telegram No. 5770, cipher. As the Cabinet are anxious to consider my situation in all its bearings, it is necessary I should open to you all my mind. In my No. M.F. 328 of 13th June, I gave you an outline of my plan, based on the news that I was to be given new divisions, and I told you what I should do with a possible fourth division in my No. M.F. 364 of 23rd June. I am now asked whether I consider a fifth division advisable and necessary. "I have taken time to answer this question, as the addition of each new division necessitates, in such a theatre of war as this, a reconsideration of the whole strategical and tactical situation as well as of the power of the Fleet to work up to the increased demands that would be placed upon it. The scheme which might tempt me (Naval considerations permitting) of landing the 4th and 5th Divisions together with the three divisions and one or two divisions from Cape Helles and Anzac on flank of shore of Gulf of Saros to march on Rodosto and Constantinople I reject because the 4th and 5th Divisions cannot reach me simultaneously with all their transport. "But assuming that reinforcements can only reach me in echelon of divisions I have decided that the best policy would be to adhere to my original plan of endeavouring to turn the enemy's right at Anzac with the first three divisions and to gain a position from Gaba Tepe to Maidos. I should then use the 4th and 5th Divisions, in case of non-success at first to reinforce this wing, and in case of success possibly to effect a landing on the southern shore of the Dardanelles; and since the enemy's forces south of the Straits would probably have been reduced to a minimum in order to oppose my reinforced strength on the Peninsula I should in the latter case count upon these two divisions doing more than hold a bridge-head (see my M.F. 349 of 19th June), and should expect them, reinforced from the northern wing if necessary, to press forward to Chanak and thus to cut off this enemy's sole remaining line of supply.[22] By these means I should hope to compel the surrender of the whole Gallipoli Army. Meanwhile, with my force on the Asiatic side I would be enabled to establish in Morto Bay a base safe from the bad weather which must be expected later on. "With regard to ammunition, the more we can get the more easy will our task be, but I hope we may be able to achieve success at the end of July with the amount available. As we are so far from home, however, we cannot afford to run things too fine, and we shall always be obliged to keep up a large reserve until the arrival of further supply. I should, therefore, like as much as you can spare, particularly high explosive. So far as this question affects sending a 4th and 5th Division I would not refuse them on the score of ammunition alone, because with the Artillery of three new divisions complete I think we shall have as many guns as the terrain will allow us to use in the operations towards Maidos, and also sufficient to compete with any Artillery which the enemy could bring against the detachment operating on the Asiatic shore. "To summarize--I think I have reasonable prospects of eventual success with three divisions, with four the risks of miscalculation would be minimized, and with five, even if the fifth division had little or no gun ammunition, I think it would be a much simpler matter to clear the Asiatic shore subsequently of big guns, etc., Kilid Bahr would be captured at an earlier date and success would be generally assured." Next, I boiled down yesterday's battle into telegraphic dispatch form: "(No. M.F. 383). From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Secretary of State for War. In continuation of my Nos. M.F. 379 and 382. Plan of operations yesterday was to throw forward left of my line south-east of Krithia, pivoting on point about one mile from the sea, and after advancing extreme left for about half a mile, to establish new line facing east on ground thus gained. This plan entailed the capture in succession of two lines of the Turkish trenches east of the Saghir Dere and five lines of trenches west of it. Australian Corps was ordered to co-operate by making vigorous demonstration. The action opened at 9 a.m. with bombardment by heavy artillery of the trenches to be captured. "Assistance rendered by French in this bombardment was most valuable. At 10.20 our field artillery opened fire to cut wire in front of Turkish trenches and this was effectively done. Great effect on enemy's trench near sea and in keeping down his artillery fire from that quarter was produced by very accurate fire of H.M.S. _Talbot_, _Scorpion_, and _Wolverine_. At 10.45 a small Turkish advanced work in the Saghir Dere, known as the Boomerang Redoubt, was assaulted. This little fort was very strongly sited, protected by extra strong wire entanglements and has long been a source of trouble. After special bombardment by trench mortars and while bombardment of surrounding trenches was at its height part of Border Regiment, at the exact moment prescribed, leapt from their trenches like a pack of hounds pouring out of cover, raced across and took the work most brilliantly. "Artillery bombardment increased in intensity till 11 a.m. when range was lengthened and infantry advanced. Infantry attack was carried out with great dash along whole line. West of Saghir Dere 87th Brigade captured three lines of trenches with little opposition. Trenches full of dead Turks, many buried by bombardment, and 100 prisoners were taken in them. East of Ravine two battalions Royal Scots made fine attack, capturing the two lines of trenches assigned as their objective, but remainder of 156th Brigade on their right met severe opposition and were unable to get forward. At 11.30, 86th Brigade led by 2nd Bn. Royal Fusiliers started second phase of attack West of Ravine. They advanced with great steadiness and resolution through trenches already captured and on across the open, and taking two more lines of trenches reached objective allotted to them, Lancashire Fusiliers inclining half right and forming line to connect with our new position East of Ravine. "The northernmost objective I had set out to reach had now been attained, but the Gurkhas pressing on under the cliffs captured an important knoll still further forward, actually due west of Krithia. This they fortified and held during the night, making our total gain on the left precisely 1,000 yards. During afternoon 88th Brigade attacked trenches, small portion of which remained uncaptured on right, but enemy held on stubbornly, supported by machine guns and artillery, and attacks did not succeed. During night enemy counter-attacked furthest trenches gained but was repulsed with heavy loss. Party of Turks who penetrated from flank between two lines of captured trenches, subjected to machine-gun fire at daybreak, suffered very heavily and survivors surrendered. "Except for small portion of trench already mentioned which is still held by enemy, all, and more than we hoped for, from operations has been gained. On extreme left, line has been pushed forward to specially strong point well beyond limit of advance originally contemplated. Our casualties about 2,000, the greater proportion of which are slight cases of which 250 at Anzac, in the useful demonstration made simultaneously there. All engaged did well, but certainly the chief factor in the success was the splendid attack carried out by XXIXth Division, whose conduct in this as on previous occasions was beyond praise." Lastly, I wrote out a special Force Order thanking the incomparable 29th. Winter brought me over a letter just received from Wallace. He is quarrelling with Elliot. For that I don't blame him. At the end of his letter Wallace says, "I feel that the organization of the Lines of Communication and making it work is such a task that I sometimes doubt myself whether I am equal to it." Wallace is a good fellow and a sensible man placed, by British methods, out of his element and out of his depth. Have told Winter to tell him I sympathize and will help him and support him all I know; that if it turns out his strong points lie in another direction than administering a huge business machine, I will try and find a handsome way out for him. Had been writing, writing, writing since cockcrow so when I heard a trawler was going over with two of the General Staff at mid-day, I could not resist the chance of another visit to the scene of yesterday's victorious advance. Went to see Hunter-Weston but he was up at the front where I had no time to follow him. His Chief of Staff says all goes well, but they have just had cables from my own Headquarters to tell them that heavy columns of Turks are massing behind Achi Baba for a fresh counter-attack. Thought, therefore, the wisest thing was to get back quickly. Reached camp again about 7 p.m., and found more news in office than I got on the spot. Last night's firing on the Peninsula meant close and desperate fighting. Several heavy columns of Turks attacked with bomb and bayonet, and in places some of their braves broke through into our new trenches where the defence had not yet been put on a stable footing. When daylight came we got them enfiladed by machine guns and every single mother's son of them was either killed or captured. So we still hold every yard we had gained. The attack by a part of the Lowland Division seems to have been mishandled. A Brigade made the assault East of the Ravine; the men advanced gallantly but there was lack of effective preparation. Two battalions of the Royal Scots carried a couple of the enemy's trenches in fine style and stuck to them, but the rest of the Brigade lost a number of good men to no useful purpose in their push against H.12. One thing is clear. If the bombardment was ineffective, from whatever cause, then the men should not have been allowed to break cover.[23] _30th June, 1915. Imbros._ Writing in camp. More good news. It never rains but it pours. The French have made a fine push and got the Quadrilateral by 8 a.m. with but little loss. The Turks seemed discouraged, they say, and did not offer their usual firm resistance. At 10.30 a.m. wired Gouraud:--"Warm congratulations on this morning's work which will compensate for the loss of your 2,000 quarts of wine. Your Government should now replace it with vintage claret. Please send me quickly a sketch of the ground you have gained." Gouraud now replies:--"Best thanks for congratulations. Sketch being made. If our Government is pleased to send a finer brand of wine to replace what was wasted by the guns of Asia, we Frenchmen will drink it to the very good health of our British comrades in arms." How lucky I signalled de Robeck 8 p.m. yesterday to let us keep the _Wolverine_ and _Scorpion_ "in case of a night attack!" Sure enough there was another onslaught made against our northernmost post. Two Turkish Regiments were discovered in mass creeping along the top of the cliffs by the searchlights of the _Scorpion_. They were so punished by her guns that they were completely broken up and the Infantry at daylight had not much to do except pick up the fragments. 300 Turks lay dead upon the ground. Also, hiding in furze, have gleaned 180 prisoners belonging to the 13th, 16th and 33rd Regiments. A Circassian prisoner carried in a wounded Royal Scot on his back under a heavy fire. Three wires from Helles; the first early this morning; the last just to hand (11 p.m.) saying that the lack of hand grenades is endangering all our gains. The Turks are much better armed in this respect. De Lisle says that where we have hand grenades we can advance still further; where we have not, we lose ground. At mid-day, we wired our reply saying we had no more hand grenades we feared but that we would do our best to scrape up a few; also that several trench mortars had just arrived from home and that they would be sent over forthwith. Have returned some interesting minutes on the Dardanelles, sent me from home, with this remark:--"Looking back I see now clearly that the one fallacy which crept into your plans was non-recognition of the pride and military _moral_ of the Turk. There was never any question of the Turk being demoralized or even flustered by ships sailing past him or by troops landing in his rear. _At last, I believe_, this _moral_ is beginning to crack up a little (not much) but nothing less than murderous losses would have done it. In their diaries their officers speak of this Peninsula as the Slaughterhouse." Brigadier-General de Lothbinière and Major Ruthven lunched and young Brodrick and I dined together on board the _Triad_ with the hospitable Vice-Admiral. We were all very cheery at the happy turn of our fortunes; outwardly, that is to say, for there was a skeleton at the feast who kept tap, tap, tapping on the mahogany with his bony knuckles; tap, tap, tap; the gunfire at Helles was insistent, warning us that the Turks had not yet "taken their licking." But when I get back, although there is nothing in from Hunter-Weston there is an officer from Anzac who has just given me the complete story of Birdwood's demonstration on the 28th. The tide of war is indeed racing full flood in our favour. When we were working out our scheme for the attack of the 29th Division and 156th Brigade the day before yesterday, as well as Gouraud's attack of yesterday, we had reckoned that the Turkish High Command would get to realize by about 11 a.m. on the 28th that an uncommon stiff fight had been set afoot to the sou'-west of Krithia. L. von S. would then, it might be surmised, draw upon his reserves at Maidos and upon his forces opposite Anzac: they would get their orders about mid-day: they would be starting about 1 p.m.: they would reach Krithia about dusk: they would use their "pull" in the matter of hand grenades to counter-attack by moonlight. So we asked Birdie to make one of his most engaging gestures just to delay these reinforcements a little bit; and now it turns out that the Australians and New Zealanders in their handsome, antipodean style went some 50 per cent. better than their bargain:-- (1) At 1 p.m. on the 28th the Queensland giants darted out of their caves and went for the low ridge covering Gaba Tepe, that tenderest spot of the Turks. They got on to the foot of it and, by their dashing onslaught, drew the fire of all the enemy guns; but, what was still better, heavy Turkish columns, on the march, evidently, from Maidos to the help of Krithia, turned back northwards and closed in for the defence of Gaba Tepe. As they drew near they came under fire of our destroyers and of the Anzac guns and were badly knocked about and broken up. So both Krithia and the French Quadrilateral have had to do without the help of these reinforcements from the reserves of Liman von Sanders. One of the neatest of strokes and the credit of it lies with the Queenslanders who were not content to flourish their fists in the enemy's face but ran out and attacked him at close quarters. (2) Now comes the sequel! Birdie has just sent in word of the best business done at Anzac since May 19th!! The success of his demonstration towards Gaba Tepe had given the Turks a bad attack of the jumps, followed by a thirst for vengeance. Yesterday, they got _very_ nervy during a dust storm and for two hours the whole of their Army kept up high pressure fire from every rifle and machine gun they could bring to bear. They simply poured out bullets by the million into the blinding dust. Things then gradually quieted down till 1.30 this morning when a very serious assault--very serious for the enemy--was suddenly launched against the Anzac left, the brunt of it falling on Russell's New Zealand Mounted Rifles and Chauvel's Australian Light Horse; a bad choice too! Our victory complete; bloodless for us. Their defeat complete; very bloody. Nine fresh enemy battalions smashed to bits: fighting went on until dawn: five hundred Turks laid out and counted: no more detail but that is good enough to go to sleep upon. _1st July, 1915. Imbros._ Good news from Helles continues. In the early hours of last night an attack was made on the Gurkhas in J trenches. When they ran out of bombs the Turks bombed them out. Headed by Bruce their Colonel, whom they adore, they retook the trench and, for the first time, got into the enemy with their _kukris_ and sliced off a number of their heads. At dawn half a battalion of Turks tried to make the attack along the top of the cliff and were entirely wiped out. Against this I must set down cruel bad news about Gouraud. An accursed misadventure. He has been severely wounded by a shell. Directly I heard I got the Navy to run me over. He was already in the Hospital ship; I saw him there. A pure toss up whether he pulls round or not; luckily he has a frame of iron. I was allowed to speak to him for half a minute and he is full of pluck. The shell, an 8-incher from Asia, landed only some half a dozen yards away from him as he was visiting his wounded and sick down by "V" Beach. By some miracle none of the metal fragments touched him, but the sheer force of the explosion shot him up into the air and over a wall said to be seven feet high. His thigh, ankle and arm are all badly smashed, simply by the fall. We could more easily spare a Brigade. His loss is irreparable. By personal magnetism he has raised the ardour of his troops to the highest power. Have cabled to Lord K. expressing my profound sorrow and assuring him that "the grave loss suffered by the French, and indirectly by my whole force," is really most serious, as I know, I say, "the French War Minister cannot send us another General Gouraud." _2nd July, 1915. Imbros._ Worked all day in camp. Birdie, with Onslow, his A.D.C--_such_ a nice boy--came over from Anzac in the morning and stayed with me the day, during which we worked together at our plan. At night we all went over together to H.M.S. _Triad_ to dine with the Vice-Admiral. Birdwood is quite confident that with a fresh Division and a decent supply of shell he can get hold of the heights of Sari Bair, whereby he will enfilade the whole network of Turkish trenches, now hedging him round. The only thing he bargains for is that G.H.Q. so work the whole affair from orders down to movements, that the enemy get no inkling of our intentions. The Turks so far suspect nothing, and Koja Chemen Tepe and Chunuk Bair, with all the intervening ridge, are still unentrenched and open to capture by a _coup-de-main_. Even if the naval objections to Bulair could be overcome, Sari Bair remains the better move of the two. With the high ridges of Sari Bair in our hands we could put a stop to the Turkish sea transport from Chanak which we could neither see nor touch from Bulair. The tugs with their strings of lighters could not run by day, and as soon as we could get searchlights fixed up, they would find it very awkward to show themselves in the Straits by night. As to the enemy land communications, as soon as we can haul up our big guns we should command, and be able to search, all the ground between the Aegean and the Dardanelles. Now is the moment. Birdwood says that he and his men have exactly the same feeling that we have down at Helles--the feeling, namely, that now at last, we have got a right moral pull over the Turks. All we want is enough material to turn that faith into a mile or two of mountains. Making full use of their advantage in hand grenades, the Turks again won their trench back from the Gurkhas last night; a trench which was the key to a whole system of earthworks. Bruce had been wounded and they had no officers left to lead them, so de Lisle had to call once more on the 29th Division and the bold Inniskilling Fusiliers retook that trench at a cost of all their officers save two. There are some feats of arms best left to speak for themselves and this is one of them. Wrote Lord K. as follows:-- "GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, "MEDTN. EXPEDITIONARY FORCE. "_2nd July, 1915._ "Dictated. "MY DEAR LORD KITCHENER, "There seems to be a lull in this tooth-and-nail struggle which has kept me on tenterhooks during the past four days and nights. But we have on our maps little blue arrows showing the movements of at least a Division of troops in various little columns from above Kereves Dere, from Soghon Dere river, from Kilid Bahr and even from within gun-shot of Achi Baba, all converging on a point a mile or two north-west of Krithia. So it looks as if they were going to have one more desperate go at the Gurkha knoll due west of Krithia, and at the line of trench we call J.13 immediately behind it which was also held by the Gurkhas. "Last night they bombed the Gurkhas out of the eastern half of J.13 and the Inniskilling Fusiliers had to take it again at the point of the bayonet just as day broke. "You can have small idea of what the troops are going through. The same old battalions being called on again and again to do the forlorn hope sort of business. However, each day that passes, these captured positions get better dug in, and make the Turks' counter-attack more costly. "The cause of the attack made the night before last on Anzac has been made quite clear to us by a highly intelligent Armenian prisoner we have taken. The strictest orders had been issued by His Excellency Commanding-in-Chief on the Peninsula that no further attacks against our works were to be made unless, of course, we took any ground from them when we must be vigorously countered. But it was explained to the men that the losses in attack had proved too heavy, whereas, if they had patience and waited a week or ten days in their trenches, then at last we would come out and try to attack them when they would kill us in great quantities. However, Enver Pasha appeared in person amongst the troops at Anzac, and ordered three regiments to attack whilst the whole of the rest of the line supported them by demonstrations and by fire. It was objected this was against the command of their local chief. He brushed this objection aside, and told them never to look him in the face again if they failed to drive the Australians into the sea. So off they went and they certainly did not drive the Australians into the sea (although they got into their support trenches at one time) and certainly most of them never looked Enver in the face again, or anyone else for that matter. "The old battle tactics have clean vanished. I have only quite lately realized the new conditions. Whether your entrenchments are on the top of a hill or at the bottom of a valley matters precious little: whether you are outflanked matters precious little--you may hold one half of a straight trench and the enemy may hold the other half, and this situation may endure for weeks. The only thing is by cunning or surprise, or skill, or tremendous expenditure of high explosives, or great expenditure of good troops, to win some small tactical position which the enemy may be bound, perhaps for military or perhaps for political reasons, to attack. Then you can begin to kill them pretty fast." _3rd July, 1915. Imbros._ Very hot; very limp with the prevalent disease but greatly cheered up by the news of yesterday evening's battle at Helles. The Turks must have got hold of a lot of fresh shell for, at 5.30 p.m., they began as heavy a bombardment as any yet seen at Helles, concentrating on our extreme left. We could only send a feeble reply. At 6 o'clock the enemy advanced in swarms, but before they had covered more than 100 yards they were driven back again into the Ravine some 800 yards to our front. H.M.S. _Scorpion_ and our machine guns played the chief hand. At 7 p.m. the Turkish guns began again, blazing away as if shells were a drug in the market, whilst, under cover of this very intense fire, another two of their battalions had the nerve to emerge from the Ravine to the north-east of our forward trenches and to move in regular lines--shoulder to shoulder--right across the open. Hardly had they shown themselves when the 10th Battery R.F.A. sprayed them beautifully with shrapnel. The Gurkha supports were rushed up, and as there was no room for them in the fire trenches they crept into shell craters and any sort of hole they could find from which to rake the Turks as they made their advance. The enemy's officers greatly distinguished themselves, waving their swords and running well out into the open to get the men forward. The men also had screwed up their courage to the sticking point and made a big push for it, but, in the end, they could not face our fire, and fell back helter-skelter to their mullah. Along the spot where they had stood wavering awhile before they broke and ran, there are still two clearly marked lines of corpses. Wrote a letter to Sclater saying I cannot understand his request for fuller information about the drafts needed to make my units up to strength. We have regularly cabled strengths; the figures are correct and it is the A.G. himself who has ordered us to furnish the optimistic "ration" strengths instead of the customary "fighting" strengths. The ration strength are for the Q.M.G., but unless the A.G. wishes to go on living in a fool's paradise, why should he be afraid of knowing the numbers we cannot put into the line of battle! Have also written Cowans protesting once more that we should have business brains to run the most intricate business proposition at present on tap in the world--our communications. During the past month the confusion at Mudros, our advanced base, becomes daily worse confounded. Things meant for Anzac go to Helles, and _vice versa_: or, not infrequently, stores, supplies or luxuries arrive and are sent off on a little tour to Alexandria and Malta before delivery. The system would be perfect for the mellowing of port or madeira, but when it is applied to plum and apple jam or, when 18 pr. shell are sent to howitzers, the system needs overhauling. I know the job is out of the way difficult. There is work here for Lesseps, Goethals and Morgan rolled into one:--work that may change the face of the world far, far more than the Suez or Panama Canals and, to do it, they have put in a good fighting soldier, quite out of his setting, and merely because they did not know what to do with him in Egypt! In case Cowans shares K.'s suspicions about my sneaking desire for Ellison, I say, "I assure you; most solemnly I assure you, that the personal equation does not, even in the vaguest fashion, enter into my thoughts. Put the greatest enemy I possess in the world, and the person I most dislike, into that post, and I would thank God for his appointment, on my knees, provided he was a competent business man." Again:-- "I am in despair myself over it. Perhaps that is putting it rather strong as I try never to despair, but seriously I worry just as much over things behind me as I do over the enemy in front of me. What I want is a really big man there, and I don't care one D. who he is. A man I mean who, if he saw the real necessity, would wire for a great English contractor and 300 navvies without bothering or referring the matter to anyone." A cable to say that the editing of my despatch is ended, and that the public will be let into its dreadful secrets in a day or two. But, I am informed there are passages in it whose "secret nature will be scrupulously observed." What passages? I cannot remember any secrets in my despatch. Have been defending myself desperately against the War Office who want to send out a Naval Doctor to take full charge and responsibility for the wounded (including destination) the moment they quit dry land. But we must have a complete scheme of evacuation _by land and sea_, not two badly jointed schemes. So I have asked, who is to be "Boss"? Who is to see to it that the two halves fit together? The answer is that the War Office are confident "there will be no friction" (bless them!); they say, "nothing could be simpler than this arrangement and no difficulty is anticipated. Neither is boss and the boundary between the different spheres of activity of the two officers might be laid down as the high-water mark." (Bless them again!). Have replied:-- "I have struggled with your high-water mark silently for weeks and know something about it. Had I bothered you with all my troubles you would, I respectfully submit, realize that your proposal is not simple but extraordinarily complicated, even pre-supposing seraphic dispositions on either side. If you determine finally that these two officers are to be independent, I foresee that you will greatly widen the scope of dual control which is now only applicable to my great friend the Admiral and myself. "Either Babtie must order up the ships when and where he wants them, or Porter must order the wounded down when he is ready for them. This is my considered opinion."[24] Have also sent an earnest message to K.--just the old, old story--saying that what I want _first_ is drafts, and only _second_ fresh divisions. My old Chief has been his kind self again:--so very considerate has he been in his recent messages that I feel it almost brutal to press him or to seem to wish to take advantage of his goodness. But we are dealing with lives of men and I _must_ try and make myself clear:-- "I am anxious with regard to the question of reinforcements for units. During the period 28th to 30th June, the Brigades of the XXIXth and Lowland Divisions dropped in strengths approximately as follows:--86th from 71 officers, 2,807 others to 36 and 1,994; 87th from 65 and 2,724 to 48 and 2,075; 88th from 63 and 2,139 to 46 and 1,765; 156th from 102 and 2,839 to 30 and 1,399. All Officers who have arrived from England to date are included in the above figures. Maxwell has agreed to let me have 80 young Officers from Egypt. Of the other ranks I have no appreciable reinforcements to put in. This is the situation after an operation carried out by the XXIXth and two brigades of LIInd Divisions, which was not only successful but even more successful than we anticipated; wherein the initial losses on 28th June were comparatively small, namely 2,000, but as the result of numerous counter-attacks day and night, have since swelled to some 3,500. "The drafts promised in your No. 5793, A.G.2a, would, provided there were no more casualties, bring the units of the XXIXth Division to approximately 75 per cent. of establishment, but would leave none available as further reinforcements. "In view of the operations on a larger scale, with increased forces, I feel I should draw your attention to the risk introduced by the theatre of operations being so far from England. I have no reserves in base depots now, while the operations we are engaged in are such that heavy casualties are to be expected. The want of drafts ready on the spot to fill up units which have suffered heavily might prevent me pressing to full advantage as the result of a local success. At a critical moment I might find myself compelled to suspend operations until the arrival of drafts from England. This might involve a month and in the meantime the enemy would have time to consolidate his position. The difficulty of the drafts question is fully realized, but I think you should know exactly how I am placed and that I should reflect and make clear the essential difference between the Dardanelles and France in so far as the necessity of mobilizing first reinforcements for each unit is concerned. Our real need is a system which will enable me to maintain drafts for the deficiencies in depots on my lines of communications with Egypt." If K. did not want brief spurts sandwiched between long waits, all he had to do was to tell his A.G. to see to it that the XXIXth Division was kept up to strength. A word and a frown would have done it. But he has not said the word, or scowled, and the troops have by extraordinary efforts and self-sacrifice carried through the work of strong battalions with weak ones--but only to some extent. That is the whole story. _4th July, 1915. Imbros._ Church Parade this morning. Made a close inspection of the Surrey Yeomanry under Major Bonsor. Even with as free a hand as the Lord Almighty, it would be hard to invent a better type of fighting man than the British Yeomanry; only, they have never been properly appreciated by the martinets who have ruled our roost, and chances have never been given to them to make the most of themselves as soldiers. The Escort was made up of men of the 29th Division under Lieutenant Burrell of the South Wales Borderers--that famous battalion which stormed so brilliantly de Tott's battery at the first landing,--also of a detachment of Australians under Lieutenant Edwards and a squad of New Zealanders under Lieutenant Sheppard, fine men all of them, but very different (despite the superficial resemblance imparted by their slouch hats) when thus seen shoulder to shoulder on parade. The Australians have the pull in height and width of chest; the New Zealanders are thicker all through, chests, waists, thighs. After Church Parade, boarded H.M.S. _Basilisk_ (Lieutenant Fallowfield) and steamed to Helles. The Turks, inconsiderate as usual, were shelling Lancashire Landing as we got ashore. Every living soul had gone to ground. Strolled up the deserted road with an air of careless indifference, hopped casually over a huge splosh of fresh blood, and crossed to Hunter-Weston's Headquarters. Had I only been my simple self, I would have out-stripped the hare for swiftness, as it was, I, as C.-in-C, had to play up to the dugouts. As Hunter-Weston and I were starting lunch, an orderly rushed in to say that a ship in harbour had been torpedoed. So we rushed out with our glasses and watched. She was a French transport, the _Carthage_, and she took exactly four minutes to sink. The destroyers and picket boats were round her as smart as flies settle on a lump of sugar, and there was no loss of life. Sad to see the old ship go down. I knew her well at Malta and Jean once came across in her from Tunis. She used to roll like the devil and was always said, with what justice I do not know, to be the sister ship to the _Waratah_ which foundered so mysteriously somewhere off the Natal coast with a very good chap, a M.F.H., Percy Brown, on board. At 2.30 General Bailloud, now commanding the French, came over to see me. When he had finished his business which he handles in so original a manner as to make it a recreation, I went off with Hunter-Weston and Staffs to see General Egerton of the Lowland Division. Egerton introduced me to Colonel Mudge, A.A.G., Major Maclean, D.A.A.G. (an old friend), Captain Tollemashe, G.S.O.3, and to his A.D.C., Lieutenant Laverton. We then went on and saw the 156th Brigade. Passed the time of day to a lot of the Officers and men. Among those whose names I remember were Colonel Pallin, acting Brigadier; Captain Girdwood, Brigade Major; Captain Law, Staff Captain; Colonel Peebles, 7th Royal Scots; Captain Sinclair, 4th Royal Scots; Lieutenant McClay, 8th Scottish Rifles. The last Officer was one of the very few--I am not sure they did not say the only one--of his Battalion who went into the assault and returned untouched. The whole Brigade had attacked H. 12 on the 28th ult. and lost a number of good men. The rank and file seemed very nice lads but--there was no mistaking it--they have been given a bad shake and many of them were down on their luck. As we came to each Battalion Headquarters we were told, "These are the remnants of the----," whatever the unit was. Three times was this remark repeated but the fourth time I had to express my firm opinion that in no case was the use of the word "remnant," as applied to a fighting unit "in being," an expression which authority should employ in the presence of the men. Re-embarked in H.M.S. _Basilisk_ and got back to Imbros fairly late. A set of Turkish Divisional orders sent by the Turkish General to the Commander of their right zone at Helles has been taken from a wounded Turkish officer. They bear out our views of the blow that the 29th Division have struck at the enemy's _moral_ by their brilliant attack on the 28th inst. "There is nothing that causes us more sorrow, increases the courage of the enemy and encourages him to attack more freely, causing us great losses, than the losing of these trenches. Henceforth, commanders who surrender these trenches from whatever side the attack may come before the last man is killed will be punished in the same way as if they had run away. Especially will the commanders of units told off to guard a certain front be punished if, instead of thinking about their work supporting their units and giving information to the higher command, they only take action after a regrettable incident has taken place. "I hope that this will not occur again. I give notice that if it does, I shall carry out the punishment. I do not desire to see a blot made on the courage of our men by those who escape from the trenches to avoid the rifle and machine gun fire of the enemy. Henceforth, I shall hold responsible all Officers who do not shoot with their revolvers all the privates who try to escape from the trenches on any pretext. Commander of the 11th Division, Colonel Rifaat." In sending on this order to his battalions, the Colonel of the 127th Regiment adds:-- "To Commander of the 1st Battalion. The contents will be communicated to the Officers and I promise to carry out the orders till the last drop of our blood has been shed." Then followed the signatures of the company commanders of the Battalion. There is a savage ring about these orders but they are, I am sure, more bracing to the recipients than laments and condolences over their losses. _5th July, 1915. Imbros._ Spent a long, hot day hanging at the end of the wire. Heavy firing on the Peninsula last night under cover of which the Turks at dawn made, or tried to make, a grand, concerted attack. Not a soul in England, outside the Ordnance, realizes, I believe, that barring the guns of the 29th Division and the few guns of the Anzacs, our field artillery consists of the old 15-prs., relics of South Africa, and of 5-inch hows., some of them Omdurman veterans. Quite a number of these guns are already unserviceable and, in the 42nd Division, to keep one and a half batteries fully gunned, we have had to use up every piece in the Brigade. The surplus personnel are thus wasted. To take on new Skoda or Krupp guns with these short-range veterans is rough on the gunners. Still, but for the Territorial Force we should have nothing at all, and but for those guns to-day some of the enemy might have got home. A sort of professional gossip turned up to-day from G.H.Q. France. We do not seem to be so popular as we deserve to be in _la belle France!_ But what I would plead were I only able to get at Joffre and French is that we are "such a little one." Were we all to be set down in the West to-morrow with our shattered, torn formations, they'd put us back into reserve for a month's rest and training. As for the guns, they'd scrap the lot. _They_ don't want ancient 15-prs. and 5-inch hows. out there. They picture us feasting upon their munitions, but half of what we use they would not touch with a barge pole and, of the good stuff, one Division in France will fire away in one day what would serve to take the Peninsula. Braithwaite has a letter from the D.M.I. telling him that 5,000 Russians sailed from Vladivostock on the 1st inst. to join us here. One Regiment of four Battalions plus one Sotnia of Cossacks. A reinforcement of 5,000 stout soldiers tumbling out of the skies! Russians placed here are worth twice their number elsewhere, not only because we need rifles so badly, but because of the moral effect their presence should have in the Balkans. This little vodka pick-me-up has come in the nick of time to hearten me against the tenor of the news of to-day which is splendid indeed in one sense; ominous in another. The Turks are being heavily reinforced. All the enemy troops who made the big attack last night were fresh arrivals from Adrianople. I do not grumble at the attack (on the contrary we like it), but at the reason they had for making it, which is that two fresh Divisions, newly arrived, asked leave to show their muscle by driving us into the sea. Full details are only just in. The biggest bombardment took place at Anzac. A Turkish battleship joined in from the Hellespont, dropping about twenty 11.2-inch shells into our lines. At Helles, all night, the Turks blazed away from their trenches. At 4 a.m. they opened fire on our trenches and beaches with every gun they could bring to bear from Asia or Achi Baba. Their Asiatic Batteries alone fired 1,900 rounds, of which 700 fell on Lancashire Landing. At least 5,000 shell were loosed off on to Helles. A lot of the stuff was 6-inch and over. The bombardment was very wild and seemed almost unaimed. Soon after 4 a.m. very heavy columns of Turks tried to emerge from the Ravine against the left of the 29th Division. "It wanted to be the hell of a great attack," as one of the witnesses, a moderate spoken young gentleman, states. When the Commanders saw what was impending they sent messages to Simpson-Baikie begging him to send some 4.5 H.E. shell into the Ravine which was beginning to overflow. He was adamant. He had only a few rounds of H.E. and he would not spend them, feeling sure his 18 prs. with their shrapnel were masters of the field. At 6 a.m. out came the Turks, not in lines, but just like a swarm of bees. Our fellows never saw the like and began to wonder whenever they were going to stop, and what on earth _could_ stop them! Thousands of Turks in a bunch, so the boys say, swarmed out of their trenches and the Gully Ravine. Well, they were stopped _dead_. There they lie, _still_. The guns ate the life out of them. It was our central group of artillery who did it. As that big oblong crowd of Turks showed their left flank to Baikie's nine batteries they were swept in enfilade by shrapnel. The fall of the shell was corrected by the two young R.A. subalterns at the front, neither of whom would observe in the usual way through his periscope. They looked over the parapet because that method was more sure and quick, and the stress of the battle was great. There is a rumour that both were shot through the head: I pray it may be but a rumour. Out of all these Turks some thirty only reached our parapets. The sudden destruction which befell them was due in the main to the devotion of these two young heroes. At 7.30 a.m. the Turks tried to storm again. Some of them got in amongst the Royal Naval Division, who brought up their own supports and killed 300, driving out the rest. Ninety dead Turks are laid out on their parapet. Another, later, enemy effort against the right of the 29th Division was clean wiped out. 150 Turks are dead there. But it is on the far crestline they lie thick. Every one of these attacking Turks were _fresh_--from Adrianople! Full of fight as compared with their thrice beaten brethren. If the Turks are given time to swap troops in the middle of fighting, we can't really tell how we stand. Still; they are not now as fresh as they were. They have lost a terrible lot of men since the 28th. The big Ravine and all the small nullahs are chock-a-block with corpses. Their casualties in these past few days are put at very high figures by both Birdie and H.W. and it is probable that 5,000 are actually lying dead on the ground. I have on my table a statement made by de Lisle; endorsed by Hunter-Weston and dated 4th instant, saying that 1,200 Turkish dead can be counted corpse by corpse from the left front. The actual numbers de Lisle estimates as between 2,000 and 3,000. Now we have to-day's losses to throw in. The Turks are burning their candle fast at the Anzac as well as the Helles end. Ten days of this and they are finished.[25] Naturally, my mind dwells happily just now upon our incoming New Army formations. Yet every now and then I feel compelled to look back to regret the lack of systematic flow of drafts and munitions which have turned our fine victory of the 28th into a pyrrhic instead of a fruitful affair. When Pyrrhus gained his battle over the Romans and exclaimed, "One more such victory and I am done in," or words to that effect, he had no organized system of depots behind him from which the bloody gaps in his ranks could be filled. A couple of thousand years have now passed and we are still as unscientific as Pyrrhus. A splendid expeditionary force sails away; invades an Empire, storms the outworks and in doing so knocks itself to bits. Then a second expeditionary force is sent, but that would have been unnecessary had any sort of arrangement been thought out for promptly replacing first wastages in men and in shell. _6th July, 1915._ From early morning till 5 p.m. stuck as persistently to my desk as the flies stuck persistently to me. After tea went riding with Maitland. Then with Pollen to dine on board H.M.S. _Triad_. The two Territorial Divisions are coming. What with them and the Rooskies we ought to get a move on this time. Discoursed small craft with the Admiral. The French hate the overseas fire--small blame to them--and Bailloud agrees with his predecessor Gouraud in thinking that one man hit in the back from Asia affects the _moral_ of his comrades as badly as half a dozen bowled over by the enemy facing them. The Admiral's idea of landing from Tenedos would help us here, but it is admitted on all hands now that the Turks have pushed on with their Asiatic defences, and it is too much to ask of either the New Army or of the Territorials that they should start off with a terrible landing. _7th July, 1915._ No escape from the steadily rising flood of letters and files,--none from the swarms of filthy flies. General Bailloud and Colonel Piépape (Chief of Staff) came across with Major Bertier in a French torpedo boat to see me. They stayed about an hour. Bailloud's main object was to get me to put off the attack planned by General Gouraud for to-morrow. Gouraud has worked out everything, and I greatly hoped in the then state of the Turks the French would have done a very good advance on our right. The arrival of these fresh Turkish Divisions from Adrianople does make a difference. Still, I am sorry the attack is not to come off. Girodon is a heavy loss to Bailloud. Piépape has never been a General Staff Officer before; by training, bent of mind and experience he is an administrator. He is very much depressed by the loss of the 2,000 quarts of wine by the Asiatic shell. Since Gouraud and Girodon have left them the French seem to be less confident. When Bailloud entered our Mess he said, in the presence of four or five young Officers, "If the Asiatic side of the Straits is not held by us within fifteen days our whole force is _voué à la destruction_." He meant it as a jest, but when those who prophesy destruction are _gros bonnets_; big wigs; it needs no miracle to make them come off--I don't mean the wigs but the prophecies. Fortunately, Bailloud soon made a cheerier class of joke and wound up by inviting me to dine with him in an extra chic restaurant at Constantinople. Have told K. plainly that the employment of an ordinary executive soldier as Boss of so gigantic a business as Mudros is suicidal--no less. Heaven knows K. himself had his work cut out when he ran the communications during his advance upon Khartoum. Heaven knows I myself had a hard enough job when I became responsible for feeding our troops at Chitral, two hundred miles into the heart of the Himalayas from the base at Nowshera. Breaking bulk at every stage--it was heart-breaking. First the railway, then the bullock cart, the camel, the mules--till, at the Larram Pass we got down to the donkey. But here we have to break bulk from big ships to small craft; to send our stuff not to one but to several landings, to run the show with a mixed staff of Naval and Military Officers. No, give me deserts or precipices,--anything fixed and solid is better than this capricious, ever-changing sea. The problem is a real puzzler, demanding experience, energy, good temper as well as the power of entering into the point of view of sailors as well as soldiers, and of being (mentally) in at least three places at once:-- "_From General Sir Ian Hamilton to Earl Kitchener. (No. M.F. 424)._ "Private. I am becoming seriously apprehensive about my Lines of Communication and am forced to let you know the state of affairs. "Much of the time of General Headquarters has been taken up during the last few days considering matters relating to Mudros and Lines of Communication generally. The Inspector-General of Communications must be a man of energy and ideas. The new Divisions will find the Mudros littoral on arrival better prepared for their reception than it was a month ago. The present man is probably excellent in his own line, but he himself in writing doubts his own ability to cope with one of the most complicated situations imaginable. Please do not think for a moment that I am still hankering after Ellison, I only want a man of that type, someone, for instance, like Maxwell or Sir Edward Ward. Unless I can feel confident in the Commandant of my Lines of Communication I shall always be looking behind me. Wallace could remain as Deputy Inspector-General of Communications. Something, however, must be done meanwhile, and I am sending Brigadier-General Hon. H.A. Lawrence, a man of tried business capacity and great character, to Mudros to-day as dry-nurse." I have followed up this cable in my letter to Lord K. of date, where I say, "I have just seen Bertie Lawrence who I am sending to reinforce Wallace. He is bitterly disappointed at losing his Brigade, but there is no help for it. He is a business man of great competence, and I think he ought to be able to do much to get things on to a ship-shape footing. General Douglas is very sorry too and says that Lawrence was one of the best Brigadiers imaginable." The last sentence has been written, I confess, with a spice of malice. When, about a month ago, I had hurriedly to lay my hands on a Commander for the 127th Brigade, I bethought me of Bertie Lawrence, then G.S.O. to the Yeomanry in Egypt. The thrust of a Lancer and the circumspection of a Banker do not usually harbour in the same skull, but I believed I knew of one exception. So I put Lawrence in. By return King's Messenger came a rap over the knuckles. To promote a dugout to be a Brigadier of Infantry was risky, but to put in a Cavalry dugout as a Brigadier of Infantry was outrageous! Still, I stuck to Lorenzo, and lo and behold! Douglas, the Commander of the East Lancs. Division, is fighting tooth and nail for his paragon Brigadier![26] Since 19th March we have been asking for bombs--any kind of bombs--and we have not even got answers. Now they offer us some speciality bombs for which France, they say, has no use. I have replied:-- "I shall be most grateful for as many bombs of this and any other kind as you can spare. Anything made of iron and containing high explosive and detonator will be welcome. I should be greatly relieved if a large supply could be sent overland via Marseilles, as the bomb question is growing increasingly urgent. The Turks have an unlimited supply of bombs, and our deficiencies place our troops at a disadvantage both physically and morally and increase our difficulties in holding captured trenches. "Could you arrange for a weekly consignment of 10,000 to be sent to us regularly?" De Lisle came over to dine and stay the night. _8th July, 1915. H.M.S. "Triad." Tenedos._ Started off in H.M.S. _Triad_ with Freddie Maitland, Aspinall and our host, the Admiral. Had a lovely sail to Tenedos where Colonel Nuillion (acting Governor) and Commander Samson, now Commandant of the Flying Camp, came on board. After lunch, rowed ashore. There was some surf on and I jumped short, landing (if such an expression may pass) in the sea. Wet feet rather refreshing than otherwise on so hot a day. Tenedos is lovely. Each of these islands has its own type of coasts, vegetation and colouring: like rubies and diamonds they are connected yet hardly akin. Climbed Tenedos Hill, our ascent ending in a desperate race for the crest. My long legs and light body enabled me to win despite the weight of age. Very hot, though, and the weight of age has got even less now. From the top we had an hour's close prospecting of the opposite coasts, where the Turks have done too much digging to make landing anything but a very bloody business. Half a mile to the South looks healthier, but they are sure to have a lot of machine guns there now. The landing would be worse than on the 25th April. Anyway, _I am not going to do it_. On the ground we now have a fair showing of aeroplanes, but mostly of the wingless sort. At this precise moment only two are really fit. K. has stuck to his word and is not going to help us here, and I can't grumble as certainly I was forewarned. Had he only followed Neville Usborne's £10,000,000 suggestion, we might now be bombing the Turks' landing places and store depots, as well as spotting every day for our gunners. But these naval airmen, bold fellows, always on for an adventurous attack, are hardly in their element when carrying out the technical gunnery part of our work. Re-embarked, and during our sail back saw a trawler firing at a submarine, whilst other trawlers and picket boats were skurrying up from all points of the compass. Nets were run out in a jiffy, but I fear the big fish had already given them the slip. Cast anchor about 7 o'clock. Colonel Dick and Mr. Graives dined. _9th July, 1915._ Spent the morning writing for the King's Messenger. My letter to K. (an answer to that of Fitz to me) tells him:-- (1) That we have passed through the most promising week since the first landing. The thousand yards' advance on the left and the rows of dead Turks left by the receding tide of their counter-attack are solid evidences to the results of the 28th ult., and of the six very heavy Turkish assaults which have since broken themselves to pieces against us. (2) That Gouraud's loss almost wipes out our gains. Bailloud does not attack till next week when he hopes to have more men and more ammunition, but will this help us so much if the Turks also have more men and more ammunition? (3) That the Asiatic guns are giving us worry, but that I hope to knock them out with our own heavy guns (the French 9.4s and our own 9.2s) just being mounted. When the new Monitors come they ought to help us here. (4) That "_power of digestion, sleeping and nerve power are what are essential above all things to anyone who would command successfully at the Dardanelles. Compared with these qualifications most others are secondary._" (5) That the British and Australians are marvels of endurance, but that I am having to pull the Indian Brigade right out and send them to Imbros. Their Commander, fine soldier though he be, is too old for the post of Brigadier; he ought to be commanding a Division; and the men are morally and physically tired and have lost three-fourths of their officers: with rest they will all of them come round. (6) That Baldwin's Brigade of the 13th Division have been landed on the Peninsula and are now mixed up by platoons with the 29th Division where they are tumbling to their new conditions quite quickly. They have already created a very good impression at Helles. Godley and his New Zealander A.D.C. (Lieutenant Rhodes), both old friends, came over from H.M.S. _Triad_ to lunch. Hunter-Weston crossed from Helles to dine and stay the night. _10th July, 1915. Imbros._ These Imbros flies actually drink my fountain pen dry! Hunter-Weston left for Helles in the evening. Yesterday a cable saying there were no men left in England to fill either the 42nd Division or the 52nd. We have already heard that the Naval Division must fade away. Poor old Territorials! The War Office are behaving like an architect who tries to mend shaky foundations by clapping on another storey to the top of the building. Once upon a time President Lincoln and the Federal States let their matured units starve and thought to balance the account by the dispatch of untried formations. Why go on making these assurances to the B.P. that we have as many men coming in voluntarily as we can use? Have refused the request made by His Excellency, Weber Pasha, who signs himself Commandant of the Ottoman Forces, to have a five hours' truce for burying their piles of dead. The British Officers who have been out to meet the Turkish parlementaires say that the sight of the Turkish dead lying in thousands just over the crestline where Baikie's guns caught them on the 5th inst. is indeed an astonishing sight. Our Intelligence are clear that the reason the Turks make this request is that they cannot get their men to charge over the corpses of their comrades. Dead Turks are better than barbed wire and so, though on grounds of humanity as well as health, I should like the poor chaps to be decently buried, I find myself forced to say no. Patrick Shaw Stewart came to see me. I made Peter take his photo. He was on a rat of a pony and sported a long red beard. How his lady friends would laugh! END OF VOL. I. FOOTNOTES: [1] Except in a small way at some foreign manoeuvres. [2] The letters, cables, etc., published here have either: (_a_) been submitted to the Dardanelles Commission; or, (_b_) have been printed by permission.--_Ian H._ [3] I.e. after the others had come in.--_Ian H., 1920._ [4] More than four years after this was written a member of a British Commission sent out to collect facts at the Dardanelles was speaking to the Turkish Commander-in-Chief, Djavad Pasha. In the course of the conversation His Excellency said, "I prefer the British to the Germans for they resemble us so closely--the Germans do not. The Germans are good organisers but they do not love fighting for itself as we do--and as you do. Then again, although the Turks and British are so fond of righting they are never ready for it:--in that respect also the resemblance between our nations is extraordinary."--_Ian H_., 1920. [5] Arrangements.--_Ian H., 1920._ [6] Since these early days, Birdwood has told me he does not think a scheme of an immediate landing could have been carried out.--_Ian H. 1920._ [7] Para. 2. "Before any serious undertaking is carried out in the Gallipoli Peninsula all the British military forces detailed for the expedition should be assembled so that their full weight can be thrown in." [8] An Indian word denoting anxious thought. [9] Enemy. [10] Kudos. [11] The 1st Manchesters. [12] This was my original draft; it was slightly condensed for cyphering home.--_Ian H., 1920._ [13] I wanted very much to get this brave fellow a decoration but we were never able to trace him.--_Ian H., 1920._ [14] Quoted on pp. 62-63. [15] Captured by the Gurkhas five days later--by surprise.--_Ian H., 1920._ [16] This was by General Hunter-Weston's order: the machine guns of the enemy had too good a field of fire.--_Ian. H., 1920._ [17] Long afterwards I heard that a responsible naval officer, being determined that this instance of lack of method should be brought to my personal notice, had hit upon the plan of ordering the Fleet-sweeper crew to do what they did.--_Ian H., 1920._ [18] I learnt afterwards that great play had been made with this third paragraph of my cable by the opponents of the Dardanelles idea; in doing so they slurred over the words "at present," also the fifth paragraph of the same cable, overleaf.--_Ian H., 1920._ [19] The Fifth Lancs Fusiliers were also working with this Brigade and behaved with great bravery.--_Ian H., 1920._ [20] See page 302. [21] Stated no more Japanese bombs could be supplied. [22] All this was based, be it remembered, upon a complete misconception of the state these two divisions, formerly, good, afterwards destined to become splendid, had been allowed to fall into. No one at the Dardanelles, least of all myself, had an inkling that since I had inspected them late in 1914 and found them good, they had passed into a squeezed-lemon stage of existence and had ceased to be able "to press forward to Chanak." The fact that they were at half strength and that the best of their officers and men had been picked out for the Western theatre was unknown to us at the Dardanelles.--_Ian H., 1920._ [23] See Appendix I for the exact facts which were not known to me until long afterwards.--_Ian H., 1920._ [24] The considered opinion proved right.--_Ian H., 1920._ [25] This period fell between two of my despatches. As most writers have naturally based themselves on those despatches, the full understanding of the blows inflicted on the Turks between June 29th and July 13th has never yet been grasped; nor, it may be added, the effect which would have been produced had the August offensive been undertaken three weeks earlier.--_Ian H., 1920._ [26] Lawrence never looked back. After his good work at Mudros I put him in to command the 53rd Division, and the War Office made no objection, I suppose because they were beginning to hear about him. As is well known, he went on then from one post to another till he wound up gloriously as Chief of the General Staff on the Western Front.--_Ian H., 1920._ 
14384	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 14384-h.htm or 14384-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/3/8/14384/14384-h/14384-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/3/8/14384/14384-h.zip) WHITE SHADOWS IN THE SOUTH SEAS by FREDERICK O'BRIEN With Many Illustrations from Photographs T. Werner Laurie, Ltd. 1919 [Illustration: Village of Atuona, showing peak of Temetiu The author's house is the small white speck in the center] FOREWORD There is in the nature of every man, I firmly believe, a longing to see and know the strange places of the world. Life imprisons us all in its coil of circumstance, and the dreams of romance that color boyhood are forgotten, but they do not die. They stir at the sight of a white-sailed ship beating out to the wide sea; the smell of tarred rope on a blackened wharf, or the touch of the cool little breeze that rises when the stars come out will waken them again. Somewhere over the rim of the world lies romance, and every heart yearns to go and find it. It is not given to every man to start on the quest of the rainbow's end. Such fantastic pursuit is not for him who is bound by ties of home and duty and fortune-to-make. He has other adventure at his own door, sterner fights to wage, and, perhaps, higher rewards to gain. Still, the ledgers close sometimes on a sigh, and by the cosiest fireside one will see in the coals pictures that have nothing to do with wedding rings or balances at the bank. It is for those who stay at home yet dream of foreign places that I have written this book, a record of one happy year spent among the simple, friendly cannibals of Atuona valley, on the island of Hiva-oa in the Marquesas. In its pages there is little of profound research, nothing, I fear, to startle the anthropologist or to revise encyclopedias; such expectation was far from my thoughts when I sailed from Papeite on the _Morning Star_. I went to see what I should see, and to learn whatever should be taught me by the days as they came. What I saw and what I learned the reader will see and learn, and no more. Days, like people, give more when they are approached in not too stern a spirit. So I traveled lightly, without the heavy baggage of the ponderous-minded scholar, and the reader who embarks with me on the "long cruise" need bring with him only an open mind and a love for the strange and picturesque. He will come back, I hope, as I did, with some glimpses into the primitive customs of the long-forgotten ancestors of the white race, a deeper wonder at the mysteries of the world, and a memory of sun-steeped days on white beaches, of palms and orchids and the childlike savage peoples who live in the bread-fruit groves of "Bloody Hiva-oa." The author desires to express here his thanks to Rose Wilder Lane, to whose editorial assistance the publication of this book is very largely due. CONTENTS CHAPTER I Farewell to Papeite beach; at sea in the _Morning Star_; Darwin's theory of the continent that sank beneath the waters of the South Seas CHAPTER II The trade-room of the _Morning Star_; Lying Bill Pincher; M. L'Hermier des Plantes, future governor of the Marquesas; story of McHenry and the little native boy, His Dog CHAPTER III Thirty-seven days at sea; life of the sea-birds; strange phosphorescence; first sight of Fatu-hiva; history of the islands; chant of the Raiateans CHAPTER IV Anchorage of Taha-Uka; Exploding Eggs, and his engagement as valet; inauguration of the new governor; dance on the palace lawn CHAPTER V First night in Atuona valley; sensational arrival of the Golden Bed; Titihuti's tattooed legs CHAPTER VI Visit of Chief Seventh Man Who is So Angry He Wallows in the Mire; journey to Vait-hua on Tahuata island; fight with the devil-fish; story of a cannibal feast and the two who escaped CHAPTER VII Idyllic valley of Vait-hua; the beauty of Vanquished Often; bathing on the beach; an unexpected proposal of marriage CHAPTER VIII Communal life; sport in the waves; fight of the sharks and the mother whale; a day in the mountains; death of Le Capitaine Halley; return to Atuona CHAPTER IX The Marquesans at ten o'clock mass; a remarkable conversation about religions and Joan of Arc in which Great Fern gives his idea of the devil CHAPTER X The marriage of Malicious Gossip; matrimonial customs of the simple natives; the domestic difficulties of Haabuani CHAPTER XI Filling the _popoi_ pits in the season of the breadfruit; legend of the _mei_; the secret festival in a hidden valley CHAPTER XII A walk in the jungle; the old woman in the breadfruit tree; a night in a native hut on the mountain CHAPTER XIII The household of Lam Kai Oo; copra making; marvels of the cocoanut-groves; the sagacity of pigs; and a crab that knows the laws of gravitation CHAPTER XIV Visit of Le Moine; the story of Paul Gauguin; his house, and a search for his grave beneath the white cross of Calvary CHAPTER XV Death of Aumia; funeral chant and burial customs; causes for the death of a race CHAPTER XVI A savage dance, a drama of the sea, of danger and feasting; the rape of the lettuce CHAPTER XVII A walk to the Forbidden Place; Hot Tears, the hunchback; the story of Behold the Servant of the Priest, told by Malicious Gossip in the cave of Enamoa CHAPTER XVIII A search for rubber-trees on the plateau of Ahoa; a fight with the wild white dogs; story of an ancient migration, told by the wild cattle hunters in the Cave of the Spine of the Chinaman CHAPTER XIX A feast to the men of Motopu; the making of _kava_, and its drinking; the story of the Girl Who Lost Her Strength CHAPTER XX A journey to Taaoa; Kahuiti, the cannibal chief, and his story of an old war caused by an unfaithful woman CHAPTER XXI The crime of Huahine for love of Weaver of Mats; story of Tahia's white man who was eaten; the disaster that befell Honi, the white man who used his harpoon against his friends CHAPTER XXII The memorable game for the matches in the cocoanut-grove of Lam Kai Oo CHAPTER XXIII Mademoiselle N---- CHAPTER XXIV A journey to Nuka-hiva; story of the celebration of the fête of Joan of Arc, and the miracles of the white horse and the girl CHAPTER XXV America's claim to the Marquesas; adventures of Captain Porter in 1812; war between Haapa and Tai-o-hae, and the conquest of Typee valley CHAPTER XXVI A visit to Typee; story of the old man who returned too late CHAPTER XXVII Journey on the _Roberta_; the winged cockroaches; arrival at a Swiss paradise in the valley of Oomoa CHAPTER XXVIII Labor in the South Seas; some random thoughts on the "survival of the fittest" CHAPTER XXIX The white man who danced in Oomoa valley; a wild-boar hunt in the hills; the feast of the triumphant hunters and a dance in honor of Grelet CHAPTER XXX A visit to Hanavave; Père Olivier at home; the story of the last battle between Hanahouua and Oi, told by the sole survivor; the making of _tapa_ cloth, and the ancient garments of the Marquesans CHAPTER XXXI Fishing in Hanavave; a deep-sea battle with a shark; Red Chicken shows how to tie ropes to sharks' tails; night-fishing for dolphins, and the monster sword-fish that overturned the canoe; the native doctor dresses Red Chicken's wounds and discourses on medicine CHAPTER XXXII A journey over the roof of the world to Oomoa; an encounter with a wild woman of the hills CHAPTER XXXIII Return in a canoe to Atuona; Tetuahunahuna relates the story of the girl who rode the white horse in the celebration of the fête of Joan of Arc in Tai-o-hae; Proof that sharks hate women; steering by the stars to Atuona beach CHAPTER XXXIV Sea sports; curious sea-foods found at low tide; the peculiarities of sea-centipedes and how to cook and eat them CHAPTER XXXV Court day in Atuona; the case of Daughter of the Pigeon and the sewing-machine; the story of the perfidy of Drink of Beer and the death of Earth Worm who tried to kill the governor CHAPTER XXXVI The madman Great Moth of the Night; story of the famine and the one family that ate pig CHAPTER XXXVII A visit to the hermit of Taha-Uka valley; the vengeance that made the Scallamera lepers; and the hatred of Mohuto CHAPTER XXXVIII Last days in Atuona; My Darling Hope's letter from her son CHAPTER XXXIX The chants of departure; night falls on the Land of the War Fleet LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Village of Atuona, showing peak of Temetiu Beach at Viataphiha-Tahiti Where the belles of Tahiti lived in the shade to whiten their complexions Lieutenant L'Hermier des Plantes, Governor of the Marquesas Islands Entrance to a Marquesan Bay The ironbound coast of the Marquesas A road in Nuka-Hiva Harbor of Tai-o-hae Schooner _Fetia Taiao_ in the Bay of Traitors André Bauda, Commissaire The public dance in the garden Antoinette, a Marquesan dancing girl Marquesans in Sunday clothes Vai Etienne The pool by the Queen's house Idling away the sunny hours Nothing to do but rest all day Catholic Church at Atuona A native spearing fish from a rock A volunteer cocoanut grove, with trees of all ages Climbing for cocoanuts Splitting cocoanut husks in copra making process Cutting the meat from cocoanuts to make copra A Marquesan home on a _paepae_ Isle of Barking Dogs The _haka_, the Marquesan national dance Hot Tears with Vai Etienne The old cannibal of Taipi Valley Enacting a human sacrifice of the Marquesans Interior of Island of Fatu-hiva, where the author walked over the mountains The plateau of Ahoa Kivi, the _kava_ drinker with the _hetairae_ of the valley A pool in the jungle The Pekia, or Place of Sacrifice, at Atuona Marquesan cannibals, wearing dress of human hair Tepu, a Marquesan girl of the hills, and her sister A tattooed Marquesan with carved canoe paddle A chieftess in _tapa_ garments with _tapa_ parasol Launching the whale-boat Père Simeon Delmas' church at Tai-o-hae Gathering the _feis_ in the mountains Near the Mission at Hanavave Starting from Hanavave for Oomoa Feis, or mountain bananas Where river and bay meet at Oomoa, Island of Fatu-hiva Sacred banyan tree at Oomoa Elephantiasis of the legs Removing the pig cooked in the _umu_, or native oven The _Koina Kai_, or feast in Oomoa Beach at Oomoa Putting the canoe in the water Pascual, the giant Paumotan pilot and his friends A pearl diver's sweetheart Spearing fish in Marquesas Islands Pearl shell divers at work Catholic Church at Hanavave A canoe in the surf at Oomoa The gates of the Valley of Hanavave A fisherman's house of bamboo and cocoanut leaves Double canoes Harbor sports Tahaiupehe, Daughter of the Pigeon, of Taaoa Nataro Puelleray and wife Author's Note. Foreign words in a book are like rocks in a path. There are two ways of meeting the difficulty; the reader may leap over them, or use them as stepping stones. I have written this book so that they may easily be leaped over by the hasty, but he will lose much enjoyment by doing so; I would urge him to pronounce them as he goes. Marquesan words have a flavor all their own; much of the simple poetry of the islands is in them. The rules for pronouncing them are simple; consonants have the sounds usual in English, vowels have the Latin value, that is, a is ah, e is ay, i is ee, o is oh, and u is oo. Every letter is pronounced, and there are no accents. The Marquesans had no written language, and their spoken tongue was reproduced as simply as possible by the missionaries. WHITE SHADOWS IN THE SOUTH SEAS CHAPTER I Farewell to Papeite beach; at sea in the _Morning Star_; Darwin's theory of the continent that sank beneath the waters of the South Seas. By the white coral wall of Papeite beach the schooner _Fetia Taiao_ (_Morning Star_) lay ready to put to sea. Beneath the skyward-sweeping green heights of Tahiti the narrow shore was a mass of colored gowns, dark faces, slender waving arms. All Papeite, flower-crowned and weeping, was gathered beside the blue lagoon. Lamentation and wailing followed the brown sailors as they came over the side and slowly began to cast the moorings that held the _Morning Star_. Few are the ships that sail many seasons among the Dangerous Islands. They lay their bones on rock or reef or sink in the deep, and the lovers, sons and husbands of the women who weep on the beach return no more to the huts in the cocoanut groves. So, at each sailing on the "long course" the anguish is keen. "_Ia ora na i te Atua!_ Farewell and God keep you!" the women cried as they stood beside the half-buried cannon that serve to make fast the ships by the coral bank. From the deck of the nearby _Hinano_ came the music of an accordeon and a chorus of familiar words: "I teie nie mahana Ne tere no oe e Hati Na te Moana!" "Let us sing and make merry, For we journey over the sea!" It was the _Himene Tatou Arearea_. Kelly, the wandering I.W.W., self-acclaimed delegate of the mythical Union of Beach-combers and Stowaways, was at the valves of the accordeon, and about him squatted a ring of joyous natives. "_Wela ka hao!_ Hot stuff!" they shouted. Suddenly Caroline of the Marquesas and Mamoe of Moorea, most beautiful dancers of the quays, flung themselves into the _upaupahura_, the singing dance of love. Kelly began "Tome! Tome!" a Hawaiian hula. Men unloading cargo on the many schooners dropped their burdens and began to dance. Rude squareheads of the fo'c'sles beat time with pannikins. Clerks in the traders' stores and even Marechel, the barber, were swept from counters and chairs by the sensuous melody, and bareheaded in the white sun they danced beneath the crowded balconies of the Cercle Bougainville, the club by the lagoon. The harbor of Papeite knew ten minutes of unrestrained merriment, tears forgotten, while from the warehouse of the navy to the Poodle Stew café the hula reigned. [Illustration: Beach at Viataphiha-Tahiti] [Illustration: Where the belles of Tahiti lived in the shade to whiten their complexions.] Under the gorgeous flamboyant trees that paved their shade with red-gold blossoms a group of white men sang: "Well, ah fare you well, we can stay no more with you, my love, Down, set down your liquor and the girl from off your knee, For the wind has come to say 'You must take me while you may, If you'd go to Mother Carey!' (Walk her down to Mother Carey!) Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!" The anchor was up, the lines let go, and suddenly from the sea came a wind with rain. The girls from the Cocoanut House, a flutter of brilliant scarlet and pink gowns, fled for shelter, tossing blossoms of the sweet tiati Tahiti toward their sailor lovers as they ran. Marao, the haughty queen, drove rapidly away in her old chaise, the Princess Boots leaning out to wave a slender hand. Prince Hinoi, the fat spendthrift who might have been a king, leaned from the balcony of the club, glass in hand, and shouted, "_Aroha i te revaraa!_" across the deserted beach. So we left Papeite, the gay Tahitian capital, while a slashing downpour drowned the gay flamboyant blossoms, our masts and rigging creaking in the gale, and sea breaking white on the coral reef. Like the weeping women, who doubtless had already dried their tears, the sky began to smile before we reached the treacherous pass in the outer reef. Beyond Moto Utu, the tiny islet in the harbor that had been harem and fort in kingly days, we saw the surf foaming on the coral, and soon were through the narrow channel. We had lifted no canvas in the lagoon, using only our engine to escape the coral traps. Past the ever-present danger, with the wind now half a gale and the rain falling again in sheets--the intermittent deluge of the season--the _Morning Star_, under reefed foresail, mainsail and staysail, pointed her delicate nose toward the Dangerous Islands and hit hard the open sea. She rode the endlessly-tossing waves like a sea-gull, carrying her head with a care-free air and dipping to the waves in jaunty fashion. Her lines were very fine, tapering and beautiful, even to the eye of a land-lubber. A hundred and six feet from stem to stern, twenty-three feet of beam and ten feet of depth, she was loaded to water's edge with cargo for the islands to which we were bound. Lumber lay in the narrow lanes between cabin-house and rails; even the lifeboats were piled with cargo. Those who reckon dangers do not laugh much in these seas. There was barely room to move about on the deck of the _Morning Star_; merely a few steps were possible abaft the wheel amid the play of main-sheet boom and traveler. Here, while my three fellow-passengers went below, I stood gazing at the rain-whipped illimitable waters ahead. Where is the boy who has not dreamed of the cannibal isles, those strange, fantastic places over the rim of the world, where naked brown men move like shadows through unimagined jungles, and horrid feasts are celebrated to the "boom, boom, boom!" of the twelve-foot drums? Years bring knowledge, paid for with the dreams of youth. The wide, vague world becomes familiar, becomes even common-place. London, Paris, Venice, many-colored Cairo, the desecrated crypts of the pyramids, the crumbling villages of Palestine, no longer glimmer before me in the iridescent glamor of fancy, for I have seen them. But something of the boyish thrill that filled me when I pored over the pages of Melville long ago returned while I stood on the deck of the _Morning Star_, plunging through the surging Pacific in the driving tropic rain. Many leagues before us lay Les Isles Dangereux, the Low Archipelago, first stopping-point on our journey to the far cannibal islands yet another thousand miles away across the empty seas. Before we saw the green banners of Tahiti's cocoanut palms again we would travel not only forward over leagues of tossing water but backward across centuries of time. For in those islands isolated from the world for eons there remains a living fragment of the childhood of our Caucasian race. Darwin's theory is that these islands are the tops of a submerged continent, or land bridge, which stretches its crippled body along the floor of the Pacific for thousands of leagues. A lost land, whose epic awaits the singer; a mystery perhaps forever to be unsolved. There are great monuments, graven objects, hieroglyphics, customs and languages, island peoples with suggestive legends--all, perhaps, remnants of a migration from Asia or Africa a hundred thousand years ago. Over this land bridge, mayhap, ventured the Caucasian people, the dominant blood in Polynesia to-day, and when the continent fell from the sight of sun and stars save in those spots now the mountainous islands like Tahiti and the Marquesas, the survivors were isolated for untold centuries. Here in these islands the brothers of our long-forgotten ancestors have lived and bred since the Stone Age, cut off from the main stream of mankind's development. Here they have kept the childhood customs of our white race, savage and wild, amid their primitive and savage life. Here, three centuries ago, they were discovered by the peoples of the great world, and, rudely encountering a civilization they did not build, they are dying here. With their passing vanishes the last living link with our own pre-historic past. And I was to see it, before it disappears forever. CHAPTER II The trade-room of the _Morning Star_; Lying Bill Pincher; M. L'Hermier des Plantes, future governor of the Marquesas; story of McHenry and the little native boy, His Dog. "Come 'ave a drink!" Captain Pincher called from the cabin, and leaving the spray-swept deck where the rain drummed on the canvas awning I went down the four steps into the narrow cabin-house. The cabin, about twenty feet long, had a tiny semi-private room for Captain Pincher, and four berths ranged about a table. Here, grouped around a demijohn of rum, I found Captain Pincher with my three fellow-passengers; McHenry and Gedge, the traders, and M. L'Hermier des Plantes, a young officer of the French colonial army, bound to the Marquesas to be their governor. The captain was telling the story of the wreck in which he had lost his former ship. He had tied up to a reef for a game of cards with a like-minded skipper, who berthed beside him. The wind changed while they slept. Captain Pincher awoke to find his schooner breaking her backs on the coral rocks. "Oo can say wot the blooming wind will do?" he said, thumping the table with his glass. "There was Willy's schooner tied up next to me, and 'e got a slant and slid away, while my boat busts 'er sides open on the reef, The 'ole blooming atoll was 'eaped with the blooming cargo. Willy 'ad luck; I 'ad 'ell. It's all an 'azard." He had not found his aitches since he left Liverpool, thirty years earlier, nor dropped his silly expletives. A gray-haired, red-faced, laughing man, stockily built, mild mannered, he proved, as the afternoon wore on, to be a man from whom Münchausen might have gained a story or two. "They call me Lying Bill," he said to me. "You can't believe wot I say." "He's straight as a mango tree, Bill Pincher is," McHenry asserted loudly. "He's a terrible liar about stories, but he's the best seaman that comes to T'yti, and square as a biscuit tin. You know how, when that schooner was stole that he was mate on, and the rotten thief run away with her and a woman, Bill he went after 'em, and brought the schooner back from Chile. Bill, he's whatever he says he is, all right--but he can sail a schooner, buy copra and shell cheap, sell goods to the bloody natives, and bring back the money to the owners. That's what I call an honest man." Lying Bill received these hearty words with something less than his usual good-humor. There was no friendliness in his eye as he looked at McHenry, whose empty glass remained empty until he himself refilled it. Bullet-headed, beady-eyed, a chunk of rank flesh shaped by a hundred sordid adventures, McHenry clutched at equality with these men, and it eluded him. Lying Bill, making no reply to his enthusiastic commendation, retired to his bunk with a paper-covered novel, and to cover the rebuff McHenry turned to talk of trade with Gedge, who spoke little. The traderoom of the _Morning Star_, opening from the cabin, was to me the door to romance. When I was a boy there was more flavor in traderooms than in war. To have seen one would have been as a glimpse of the Holy Grail to a sworn knight. Those traderooms of my youthful imagination smelt of rum and gun-powder, and beside them were racks of rifles to repel the dusky figures coming over the bulwarks. The traderoom of the _Morning Star_ was odorous, too. It had no window, and when one opened the door all was obscure at first, while smells of rank Tahiti tobacco, cheap cotton prints, a broken bottle of perfume and scented soaps struggled for supremacy. Gradually the eye discovered shelves and bins and goods heaped from floor to ceiling; pins and anchors, harpoons and pens, crackers and jewelry, cloth, shoes, medicine and tomahawks, socks and writing paper. Trade business, McHenry's monologue explained, is not what it was. When these petty merchants dared not trust themselves ashore their guns guarded against too eager customers. But now almost every inhabited island has its little store, and the trader has to pursue his buyers, who die so fast that he must move from island to island in search of population. "Booze is boss," said McHenry. "I have two thousand pounds in bank in Australia, all made by selling liquor to the natives. It's against French law to sell or trade or give 'em a drop, but we all do it. If you don't have it, you can't get cargo. In the diving season it's the only damn thing that'll pass. The divers'll dig up from five to fifteen dollars a bottle for it, depending on the French being on the job or not. Ain't that so, Gedge?" "_C'est vrai_," Gedge assented. He spoke in French, ostensibly for the benefit of M. L'Hermier des Plantes. That young governor of the Marquesas was not given to saying much, his chief interest in life appearing to be an ample black whisker, to which he devoted incessant tender care. After a few words of broken English he had turned a negligent attention to the pages of a Marquesan dictionary, in preparation for his future labors among the natives. Gedge, however, continued to talk in the language of courts. It was obvious that McHenry's twenty-five years in French possessions had not taught him the white man's language. He demanded brusquely, "What are you _oui-oui_-ing for?" and occasionally interjected a few words of bastard French in an attempt to be jovial. To this Gedge paid little attention. Gedge was chief of the commercial part of the expedition, and his manner proclaimed it. Thin-lipped, cunning-eyed, but strong and self-reliant, he was absorbed in the chances of trade. He had been twenty years in the Marquesas islands. A shrewd man among kanakas, unscrupulous by his own account, he had prospered. Now, after selling his business, he was paying a last visit to his long-time home to settle accounts. "'Is old woman is a barefoot girl among the cannibals," Lying Bill said to me later. "'E 'as given a 'ole army of ostriches to fortune, 'e 'as." One of Captain Pincher's own sons was assistant to the engineer, Ducat, and helped in the cargo work. The lad lived forward with the crew, so that we saw nothing of him socially, and his father never spoke to him save to give an order or a reprimand. Native mothers mourn often the lack of fatherly affection in their white mates. Illegitimate children are held cheap by the whites. [Illustration: Lieutenant L'Hermier des Plantes, Governor of the Marquesas Islands] [Illustration: Entrance to a Marquesan bay] For two days at sea after leaving Papeite we did not see the sun. This was the rainy and hot season, a time of calms and hurricanes, of sudden squalls and maddening quietudes, when all signs fail and the sailor must stand by for the whims of the wind if he would save himself and his ship. For hours we raced along at seven or eight knots, with a strong breeze on the quarter and the seas ruffling about our prow. For still longer hours we pushed through a windless calm by motor power. Showers fell incessantly. We lived in pajamas, barefooted, unshaven and unwashed. Fresh water was limited, as it would be impossible to replenish our casks for many weeks. McHenry said it was not difficult to accustom one's self to lack of water, both externally and internally. There was a demijohn of strong Tahitian rum always on tap in the cabin. Here we sat to eat and remained to drink and read and smoke. There was Bordeaux wine at luncheon and dinner, Martinique and Tahitian rum and absinthe between meals. The ship's bell was struck by the steersman every half hour, and McHenry made it the knell of an ounce. Captain Pincher took a jorum every hour or two and retired to his berth and novels, leaving the navigation of the _Morning Star_ to the under-officers. Ducat, the third officer, a Breton, joined us at meals. He was a decent, clever fellow in his late twenties, ambitious and clear-headed, but youthfully impressed by McHenry's self-proclaimed wickedness. One night after dinner he and McHenry were bantering each other after a few drinks of rum. McHenry said, "Say, how's your kanaka woman?" Ducat's fingers tightened on his glass. Then, speaking English and very precisely, he asked, "Do you mean my wife?" "I mean your old woman. What's this wife business?" "She is my wife, and we have two children." McHenry grinned. "I know all that. Didn't I know her before you? She was mine first." Ducat got up. We all got up. The air became tense, and in the silence there seemed no motion of ship or wave. I said to myself, "This is murder." Ducat, very pale, an inscrutable look on his face, his black eyes narrowed, said quietly, "Monsieur, do you mean that?" "Why, sure I do? Why shouldn't I mean it? It's true." None of us moved, but it was as if each of us stepped back, leaving the two men facing each other. In this circle no one would interfere. It was not our affair. Our detachment isolated the two--McHenry quite drunk, in full command of his senses but with no controlling intelligence; Ducat not at all drunk, studying the situation, considering in his rage and humiliation what would best revenge him on this man. Ducat spoke, "McHenry, come out of this cabin with me." "What for?" "Come with me." "Oh, all right, all right," McHenry said. We stepped back as they passed us. They went up the steps to the deck. Ducat paused at the break of the poop and stood there, speaking to McHenry. We could not hear his words. The schooner tossed idly, a faint creaking of the rigging came down to us in the cabin. The same question was in every eye. Then Ducat turned on his heel, and McHenry was left alone. Our question was destined to remain unanswered. Whatever Ducat had said, it was something that hushed McHenry forever. He never mentioned the subject again, nor did any of us. But McHenry's attitude had subtly changed. Ducat's words had destroyed that last secret refuge of the soul in which every man keeps the vestiges of self-justification and self-respect. McHenry sought me out that night while I sat on the cabin-house gazing at the great stars of the Southern Cross, and began to talk. "Now take me," he said, "I'm not so bad. I'm as good as most people. As a matter of fact, I ain't done anything more in my life than anybody'd've done, if they had the chance. Look at me--I had a singlet an' a pair of dungarees when I landed on the beach in T'yti, an' look at me now! I ain't done so bad!" He must have felt the unconvincing ring of his tone, lacking the full and complacent self-assurance usual to it, for as if groping for something to make good the lack he sought backward through his memories and unfolded bit by bit the tale of his experiences. Scotch born of drunken parents, he had been reared in the slums of American cities and the forecastles of American ships. A waif, newsboy, loafer, gang-fighter and water-front pirate, he had come into the South Seas twenty-five years earlier, shanghaied when drunk in San Francisco. He looked back proudly on a quarter of a century of trading, thieving, selling contraband rum and opium, pearl-buying and gambling. But this pride on which he had so long depended failed him now. Successful fights that he had waged, profitable crimes committed, grew pale upon his tongue. Listening in the darkness while the engine drove us through a black sea and the canvas awning flapped overhead, I felt the baffled groping behind his words. "So I don't take nothing from no man!" he boasted, and fell into uneasy silence. "The folks in these islands know me, all right!" he asserted, and again was dumb. "Now there was a kid, a little Penryn boy," he said suddenly. "When I was a trader on Penryn he was there, and he used to come around my store. That kid liked me. Why, that kid, he was crazy about me! It's a fact, he was crazy about me, that kid was." His voice was fumbling back toward its old assurance, but there was wonder in it, as though he was incredulous of this foothold he had stumbled upon. He repeated, "That kid was crazy about me! "He used to hang around, and help me with the canned goods, and he'd go fishing with me, and shooting. He was a regular--what do you call 'em? These dogs that go after things for you? He'd go under the water and bring in the big fish for me. And he liked to do it. You never saw anything like the way that kid was. "I used to let him come into the store and hang around, you know. Not that I cared anything for the kid myself; I ain't that kind. But I'd just give him some tinned biscuits now and then, the way you'd do. He didn't have no father or mother. His father had been eaten by a shark, and his mother was dead. The kid didn't have any name because his mother had died so young he hadn't got any name, and his father hadn't called him anything but boy. He give himself a name to me, and that was 'Your Dog.' "He called himself my dog, you see. But his name for it was Your Dog, and that was because he fetched and carried for me, like as if he was one. He was that kind of kid. Not that I paid much attention to him. "You know there's a leper settlement on Penryn, off across the lagoon. I ain't afraid of leprosy y'understand, because I've dealt with 'em for years, ate with 'em an' slept with 'em, an' all that, like everybody down here. But all the same I don't want to have 'em right around me all the time. So one day the doctor come to look over the natives, and he come an' told me the little kid, My Dog, was a leper. "Now I wasn't attached to the kid. I ain't attached to nobody. I ain't that kind of a man. But the kid was sort of used to me, and I was used to havin' him around. He used to come in through the window. He'd just come in, nights, and sit there an' never say a word. When I was goin' to bed he'd say, 'McHenry, Your Dog is goin' now, but can't Your Dog sleep here?' Well, I used to let him sleep on the floor, no harm in that. But if he was a leper he'd got to go to the settlement, so I told him so. "He made such a fuss, cryin' around--By God, I had to boot him out of the place. I said: 'Get out. I don't want you snivelin' around me.' So he went. "It's a rotten, God-forsaken place, I guess. I don't know. The government takes care of 'em. It ain't my affair. I guess for a leper colony it ain't so bad. "Anyway, I was goin' to sell out an' leave Penryn. The diving season was over. One night I had the door locked an' was goin' over my accounts to see if I couldn't collect some more dough from the natives. I heard a noise, and By God! there comin' through the window was My Dog. He come up to me, and I said: 'Stand away, there!' I ain't afraid of leprosy, but there's no use takin' chances. You never know. "Well sir, that kid threw himself down on the floor, and he said, 'McHenry, I knowed you was goin' away and I had to come to see you.' That's what he said in his Kanaka lingo. "He was cryin', and he looked pretty bad. He said he couldn't stand the settlement. He said, 'I don't never see you there. Can't I live here an' be Your Dog again?' "I said, 'You got to go to the settlement.' I wasn't goin' to get into trouble on account of no Kanaka kid. "Now, that kid had swum about five miles in the night, with sharks all around him--the very place where his father had gone into a shark. That kid thought a lot of me. Well, I made him go back. 'If you don't go, the doctor will come, an' then you got to go,' I said. 'You better get out. I'm goin' away, anyhow,' I said. I was figuring on my accounts, an' I didn't want to be bothered with no fool kid. "Well, he hung around awhile, makin' a fuss, till I opened the door an' told him to git. Then he went quiet enough. He went right down the beach into the water an' swum away, back to the settlement. Now look here, that kid liked me. He knowed me well, too--he was around my store pretty near all the time I was in Penryn. He was a fool kid. My Dog, that was the name he give himself. An' while I was in T'yti, here, I get a letter from the trader that took over my store, and he sent me a letter from that kid. It was wrote in Kanaka. He couldn't write much, but a little. Here, I'll show you the letter. You'll see what that kid thought of me." In the light from the open cabin window I read the letter, painfully written on cheap, blue-lined paper. "Greetings to you, McHenry, in Tahiti, from Your Dog. It is hard to live without you. It is long since I have seen you. It is hard. I go to join my father. I give myself to the _mako_. To you, McHenry, from Your Dog, greetings and farewell." Across the bottom of the letter was written in English: "The kid disappeared from the leper settlement. They think he drowned himself." CHAPTER III Thirty-seven days at sea; life of the sea-birds; strange phosphorescence; first sight of Fatu-hiva; history of the islands; chant of the Raiateans. Thirty-seven days at sea brought us to the eve of our landing in Hiva-oa in the Marquesas. Thirty-seven monotonous days, varied only by rain-squalls and sun, by calm or threatening seas, by the changing sky. Rarely a passing schooner lifted its sail above the far circle of the horizon. It was as though we journeyed through space to another world. Yet all around us there was life--life in a thousand varying forms, filling the sea and the air. On calm mornings the swelling waves were splashed by myriads of leaping fish, the sky was the playground of innumerable birds, soaring, diving, following their accustomed ways through their own strange world oblivious of the human creatures imprisoned on a bit of wood below them. Surrounded by a universe filled with pulsing, sentient life clothed in such multitudinous forms, man learns humility. He shrinks to a speck on an illimitable ocean. I spent long afternoons lying on the cabin-house, watching the frigates, the tropics, gulls, boobys, and other sea-birds that sported through the sky in great numbers. The frigate-birds were called by the sailors the man-of-war bird, and also the sea-hawk. They are marvelous flyers, owing to the size of the pectoral muscles, which compared with those of other birds are extraordinarily large. They cannot rest on the water, but must sustain their flights from land to land, yet here they were in mid-ocean. [Illustration: The ironbound coast of the Marquesas] [Illustration: A road in Nuka-Hiva] My eyes would follow one higher and higher till he became a mere dot in the blue, though but a few minutes earlier he had risen from his pursuit of fish in the water. He spread his wings fully and did not move them as he climbed from air-level to air-level, but his long forked tail expanded and closed continuously. Sighting a school of flying-fish, which had been driven to frantic leaps from the sea by pursuing bonito, he begins to descend. First his coming down is like that of an aeroplane, in spirals, but a thousand feet from his prey he volplanes; he falls like a rocket, and seizing a fish in the air, he wings his way again to the clouds. If he cannot find flying-fish, he stops gannets and terns in mid-air and makes them disgorge their catch, which he seizes as it falls. Refusal to give up the food is punished by blows on the head, but the gannets and terns so fear the frigate that they seldom have the courage to disobey. I think a better name for the frigate would be pirate, for he is a veritable pirate of the air. Yet no law restrains him. I observed that the male frigate has a red pouch under the throat which he puffs up with air when he flies far. It must have some other purpose, for the female lacks it, and she needs wind-power more than the male. It is she who seeks the food when, having laid her one egg on the sand, she goes abroad, leaving her husband to keep the egg warm. The tropic-bird, often called the boatswain, or phaëton, also climbs to great heights, and is seldom found out of these latitudes. He is a beautiful bird, white, or rose-colored with long carmine tail-feathers. In the sun these roseate birds are brilliant objects as they fly jerkily against the bright blue sky, or skim over the sea, rising and falling in their search for fish. I have seen them many times with the frigates, with whom they are great friends. It would appear that there is a bond between them; I have never seen the frigate rob his beautiful companion. In such idle observations and the vague wonders that arose from them, the days passed. An interminable game of cards progressed in the cabin, in which I occasionally took a hand. Gedge and Lying Bill exchanged reminiscences. McHenry drank steadily. The future governor of the Marquesas added a _galon_ to his sleeves, marking his advance to a first lieutenancy in the French colonial army. He was a very soft, sleek man, a little worn already, his black hair a trifle thin, but he was plump, his skin white as milk, and his jetty beard and mustache elaborately cared for. He was much before the mirror, combing and brushing and plucking. Compared to us unkempt wretches, he was as a dandy to a tramp. The ice, which was packed in boxes of sawdust on deck, afforded one cold drink in which to toast the gallant future governor, and that was the last of it. At night the Tahitian sailors helped themselves, and we bade farewell to ice until once more we saw Papeite. It was no refreshment to reflect that had we dredging apparatus long enough we could procure from the sea-bottom buckets of ooze that would have cooled our drinks almost to the freezing point. Scientists have done this. Lying Bill was loth to believe the story and the explanation, that an icy stream flows from the Antarctic through a deep valley in the sea-depths. "It's contrar-iry to nature," he affirmed. "The depper you go the 'otter it is. In mines the 'eat is worse the farther down. And 'ow about 'ell?" I slept on the deck. It was sickeningly hot below. The squalls had passed, and as we neared Hiva-oa the sea became glassy smooth, but the leagues-long, lazy roll of it rocked the schooner like a cradle. The night before the islands were to come into view the sea was lit by phosphorescence so magnificently that even my shipmates, absorbed in écarté below, called to one another to view it. The engine took us along at about six knots, and every gentle wave that broke was a lamp of loveliness. The wake of the _Morning Star_ was a milky path lit with trembling fragments of brilliancy, and below the surface, beside the rudder, was a strip of green light from which a billion sparks of fire shot to the air. Far behind, until the horizon closed upon the ocean, our wake was curiously remindful of the boulevard of a great city seen through a mist, the lights fading in the dim distance, but sparkling still. I went forward and stood by the cathead. The blue water stirred by the bow was wonderfully bright, a mass of coruscating phosphorescence that lighted the prow like a lamp. It was as if lightning played beneath the waves, so luminous, so scintillating the water and its reflection upon the ship. The living organisms of the sea were _en fete_ that night, as though to celebrate my coming to the islands of which I had so long dreamed. I smiled at the fancy, well knowing that the minute _pyrocistis_, having come to the surface during the calm that followed the storms, were showing in that glorious fire the panic caused among them by the cataclysm of our passing. But the individual is ever an egoist. It seems to man that the universe is a circle about him and his affairs. It may as well seem the same to the _pyrocistis_. Far about the ship the waves twinkled in green fire, disturbed even by the ruffling breeze. I drew up a bucketful of the water. In the darkness of the cabin it gave no light until I passed my hand through it. That was like opening a door into a room flooded by electricity; the table, the edges of the bunks, the uninterested faces of my shipmates, leaped from the shadows. Marvels do not seem marvelous to men to live among them. I lay long awake on deck, watching the eerily lighted sea and the great stars that hung low in the sky, and to my fancy it seemed that the air had changed, that some breath from the isles before us had softened the salty tang of the sea-breeze. Land loomed at daybreak, dark, gloomy, and inhospitable. Rain fell drearily as we passed Fatu-hiva, the first of the Marquesas Islands sighted from the south. We had climbed from Tahiti, seventeen degrees south of the equator, to between eleven and ten degrees south, and we had made a westward of ten degrees. The Marquesas Islands lay before us, dull spots of dark rock upon the gray water. They are not large, any of these islands; sixty or seventy miles is the greatest circumference. Some of the eleven are quite small, and have no people now. On the map of the world they are the tiniest pin-pricks. Few dwellers in Europe or America know anything about them. Most travelers have never heard of them. No liners touch them; no wire or wireless connects them with the world. No tourists visit them. Their people perish. Their trade languishes. In Tahiti, whence they draw almost all their sustenance, where their laws are made, and to which they look at the capital of the world, only a few men, who traded here, could tell me anything about the Marquesas. These men had only the vague, exaggerated ideas of the sailor, who goes ashore once or twice a year and knows nothing of the native life. Seven hundred and fifty miles as the frigate flies separates these islands from Tahiti, but no distance can measure the difference between the happiness of Tahiti, the sparkling, brilliant loveliness of that flower-decked island, and the stern, forbidding aspect of the Marquesas lifting from the sea as we neared them. Gone were the laughing vales, the pale-green hills, the luring, feminine guise of nature, the soft-lapping waves upon a peaceful, shining shore. The spirit that rides the thunder had claimed these bleak and desolate islands for his own. While the schooner made her way cautiously past the grim and rocky headlands of Fatu-hiva I was overwhelmed with a feeling of solemnity, of sadness; such a feeling as I have known to sweep over an army the night before a battle, when letters are written to loved ones and comrades entrusted with messages. That gaunt, dark shore itself recalls that the history of the Marquesas is written in blood, a black spot on the white race. It is a history of evil wrought by civilization, of curses heaped on a strange, simple people by men who sought to exploit them or to mold them to another pattern, who destroyed their customs and their happiness and left them to die, apathetic, wretched, hardly knowing their own miserable plight. The French have had their flag over the Marquesas since 1842. In 1521 Magellan must have passed between the Marquesas and Paumotas, but he does not mention them. Seventy-three years later a Spanish flotilla sent from Callao by Don Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza, viceroy of Peru, found this island of Fatu-hiva, and its commander, Mendaña, named the group for the viceroy's lady, Las Islas Marquesas de Mendoza. One hundred and eighty years passed, and Captain Cook again discovered the islands, and a Frenchman, Etienne Marchand, discovered the northern group. The fires of liberty were blazing high in his home land, and Marchand named his group the Isles of the Revolution, in celebration of the victories of the French people. A year earlier an American, Ingraham, had sighted this same group and given it the name of his own beloved hero, Washington. Had not Captain Porter failed to establish American rule in 1813 in the island of Nuka-hiva, which he called Madison, the Marquesas might have been American. Porter's name, like that of Mendaña, is linked with deeds of cruelty. The Spaniard was without pity; the American may plead that his killings were reprisals or measures of safety for himself. Murder of Polynesians was little thought of. Schooners trained their guns on islands for pleasure or practice, and destroyed villages with all their inhabitants. "To put the fear of God in the nigger's hearts," were the words of many a sanguinary captain and crew. They did not, of course, mean that literally. They meant the fear of themselves, and of all whites. They used the name of God in vain, for after a century and more of such intermittent effort the Polynesians have small fear or faith for the God of Christians, despite continuous labors of missionaries. God seems to have forgotten them. The French made the islands their political possessions with little difficulty. The Marquesans had no king or single chief. There were many tribes and clans, and it was easy to persuade or compel petty chiefs to sign declarations and treaties. But it was not easy to kill the independence of the people, and France virtually abandoned and retook the islands several times, her rule fluctuating with political conditions at home. There were wars, horrible, bloody scenes, when the clansmen slew the whites and ate them, and the bones of many a gallant French officer and sea-captain have moldered where they were heaped after the orgy following victory. But, as always, the white slew his hundreds to the natives' one, and in time he drove the devil of liberty and defense of native land from the heart of the Marquesan. Before the French achieved this, however, the white had sowed a crop of deadly evils among the Marquesans that cut them down faster than war, and left them desolate, dying, passing to extinction. As I looked from the deck of the _Morning Star_ I was struck by the fittingness of the scene. Fatu-hiva had been left behind and Hiva-oa, our destination, was before us, bleak and threatening. To my eyes it appeared as it had been in the eyes of the gentler Polynesians of old time, the abode of demons and of a race of terrible warriors. Hence descended the Marquesans, Vikings of the Pacific, in giant canoes, and sprang upon the fighting men of the Tahitians, the Raiateans and the Paumotans, slaughtering their hundreds and carrying away scores to feast upon in the High Places. "Mauri i te popoi a ee i te au marere i hiti tovau. Ia tari a oe. Tari a rutu mai i hea? A rutu mai i toerau i hitia! O te au marere i hiti atu a Vaua a ratu i reira A rutu i toerau roa! Areare te hai o Nu'u-hiva roa. I te are e huti te tai a Vavea." "The spirit of the morning rides the flying vapor that rises salt from the sea. Bear on! Bear on! And strike--where? Strike to the northeast! The vapor flies to the far rim of the Sea of Atolls. Strike there! Strike far north! The sea casts up distant Nuka-Hiva, Land of the War Fleet, where the waves are towering billows." This was the ancient chant of the Raiateans, sung in the old days before the whites came, when they thought of the deeds that were done by the more-than-human men who lived on these desolate islands. [Illustration: Harbor of Tai-o-hae] [Illustration: Schooner _Fetia Taiao_ in the Bay of Traitors The little isle behind the schooner is Hanake] CHAPTER IV Anchorage of Taha-Uka; Exploding Eggs, and his engagement as valet; inauguration of the new governor; dance on the palace lawn. As we approached Hiva-oa the giant height of Temetiu slowly lifted four thousand feet above the sea, swathed in blackest clouds. Below, purple-black valleys came one by one into view, murky caverns of dank vegetation. Towering precipices, seamed and riven, rose above the vast welter of the gray sea. Slowly we crept into the wide Bay of Traitors and felt our way into the anchorage of Taha-Uka, a long and narrow passage between frowning cliffs, spray-dashed walls of granite lashed fiercely by the sea. All along the bluffs were cocoanut-palms, magnificent, waving their green fronds in the breeze. Darker green, the mountains towered above them, and far on the higher slopes we saw wild goats leaping from crag to crag and wild horses running in the upper valleys. A score or more of white ribbons depended from the lofty heights, and through the binoculars I saw them to be waterfalls. They were like silver cords swaying in the wind, and when brought nearer by the glasses, I saw that some of them were heavy torrents while others, gauzy as wisps of chiffon, hardly veiled the black walls behind them. The whole island dripped. The air was saturated, the decks were wet, and along the shelves of basalt that jutted from the cliffs a hundred blow-holes spouted and roared. In ages of endeavor the ocean had made chambers in the rock and cut passages to the top, through which, at every surge of the pounding waves, the water rushed and rose high in the air. Iron-bound, the mariner calls this coast, and the word makes one see the powerful, severe mold of it. Molten rock fused in subterranean fires and cast above the sea cooled into these ominous ridges, and stern unyielding walls. There upon the deck I determined not to leave until I had lived for a time amid these wild scenes. My intention had been to voyage with the _Morning Star_, returning with her to Tahiti, but a mysterious voice called to me from the dusky valleys. I could not leave without penetrating into those abrupt and melancholy depths of forest, without endeavoring, though ever so feebly, to stir the cold brew of legend and tale fast disappearing in stupor and forgetfulness. Lying Bill protested volubly; he liked company and would regret my contribution to the expense account. Gedge joined him in serious opposition to the plan, urging that I would not be able to find a place to live, that there was no hotel, club, lodging, or food for a stranger. But I was determined to stay, though I must sleep under a breadfruit-tree. As I was a mere roamer, with no calendar or even a watch, I had but to fetch my few belongings ashore and be a Marquesan. These belongings I gathered together, and finding me obdurate, Lying Bill reluctantly agreed to set them on the beach. On either side of Taha-Uka inlet are landing-places, one in front of a store, the other leading only to the forest. These are stairways cut in the basaltic wall of the cliffs, and against them the waves pound continuously. The beach of Taha-Uka was a mile from where we lay and not available for traffic, but around a shoulder of the bluffs was hidden the tiny bay of Atuona, where goods could be landed. While we discussed this, around those jutting rocks shot a small out-rigger canoe, frail and hardly large enough to hold the body of a slender Marquesan boy who paddled it. About his middle he wore a red and yellow _pareu_, and his naked body was like a small and perfect statue as he handled his tiny craft. When he came over the side I saw that he was about thirteen years old and very handsome, tawny in complexion, with regular features and an engaging smile. His name, he said, was Nakohu, which means Exploding Eggs. This last touch was all that was needed; without further ado I at once engaged him as valet for the period of my stay in the Marquesas. His duties would be to help in conveying my luggage ashore, to aid me in the mysteries of cooking breadfruit and such other edibles as I might discover, and to converse with me in Marquesan. In return, he was to profit by the honor of being attached to my person, by an option on such small articles as I might leave behind on my departure, and by the munificent salary of about five cents a day. His gratitude and delight knew no bounds. Hardly had the arrangement been made, when a whaleboat rowed by Marquesans followed in the wake of the canoe, and a tall, rangy Frenchman climbed aboard the _Morning Star_. He was Monsieur André Bauda, agent special, _commissaire_, postmaster; a _beau sabreur_, veteran of many campaigns in Africa, dressed in khaki, medals on his chest, full of gay words and fierce words, drinking his rum neat, and the pink of courtesy. He had come to examine the ship's papers, and to receive the new governor. A look of blank amazement appeared upon the round face of M. L'Hermier des Plantes when it was conveyed to him that this solitary whaleboat had brought a solitary white to welcome him to his seat of government. He had been assiduously preparing for his reception for many hours and was immaculately dressed in white duck, his legs in high, brightly-polished boots, his two stripes in velvet on his sleeve, and his military cap shining. He knew no more about the Marquesas than I, having come directly via Tahiti from France, and he was plainly dumfounded and dismayed. Was all that tender care of his whiskers to be wasted on scenery? However, after a drink or two he resignedly took his belongings, and dropping into the wet and dirty boat with Bauda, he lifted an umbrella over his gaudy cap and disappeared in the rain. "'E's got a bloomin' nice place to live in," remarked Lying Bill. "Now, if 'e 'd a-been 'ere when I come 'e 'd a-seen something! I come 'ere thirty-five years ago when I was a young kid. I come with a skipper and I was the only crew. Me and him, and I was eighteen, and the boat was the _Victor_. I lived 'ere and about for ten years. Them was the days for a little excitement. There was a chief, Mohuho, who'd a-killed me if I 'adn't been _tapu'd_ by Vaekehu, the queen, wot took a liking to me, me being a kid, and white. I've seen Mohuho shoot three natives from cocoanut-trees just to try a new gun. 'E was a bad 'un, 'e was. There was something doing every day, them days. God, wot it is to be young!" A little later Lying Bill, Ducat, and I, with my new valet's canoe in the wake of our boat, rounded the cliffs that had shut off our view of Atuona Valley. It lay before us, a long and narrow stretch of sand behind a foaming and heavy surf; beyond, a few scattered wooden buildings among palm and banian-trees, and above, the ribbed gaunt mountains shutting in a deep and gloomy ravine. It was a lonely, beautiful place, ominous, melancholy, yet majestic. "Bloody Hiva-oa," this island was called. Long after the French had subdued by terror the other isles of the group, Hiva-oa remained obdurate, separate, and untamed. It was the last stronghold of brutishness, of cruel chiefs and fierce feuds, of primitive and terrible customs. And of "the man-eating isle of Hiva-oa" Atuona Valley was the capital. We landed on the beach dry-shod, through the skill of the boat-steerer and the strength of the Tahitian sailors, who carried us through the surf and set my luggage among the thick green vines that met the tide. We were dressed to call upon the governor, whose inauguration was to take place that afternoon, and leaving my belongings in care of the faithful Exploding Eggs, we set off up the valley. The rough road, seven or eight feet wide, was raised on rocks above the jungle and was bordered by giant banana plants and cocoanuts. At this season all was a swamp below us, the orchard palms standing many feet deep in water and mud, but their long green fronds and the darker tangle of wild growth on the steep mountain-sides were beautiful. The government house was set half a mile farther on in the narrowing ravine, and on the way we passed a desolate dwelling, squalid, set in the marsh, its battered verandas and open doors disclosing a wretched mingling of native bareness with poverty-stricken European fittings. On the tottering veranda sat a ragged Frenchman, bearded and shaggy-haired, and beside him three girls as blonde as German _Mädchens_. Their white delicate faces and blue eyes, in such surroundings, struck one like a blow. The eldest was a girl of eighteen years, melancholy, though pretty, wearing like the others a dirty gown and no shoes or stockings. The man was in soiled overalls, and reeling drunk. "That is Baufré," said Ducat. "He is always drunk. He married the daughter of an Irish trader, a former officer in the British Indian Light Cavalry. Baufré was a _sous-officier_ in the French forces here. There is no native blood in those girls. What will become of them, I wonder?" A few hundred yards further on was the palace. It was a wooden house of four or five rooms, with an ample veranda, surrounded by an acre of ground fenced in. The sward was the brilliantly green, luxuriant wild growth that in these islands covers every foot of earth surface. Cocoanuts and mango-trees rose from this volunteer lawn, and under them a dozen rosebushes, thick with excessively fragrant bloom. Pineapples grew against the palings, and a bed of lettuce flourished in the rear beside a tiny pharmacy, a kitchen, and a shelter for servants. On the spontaneous verdure before the veranda three score Marquesans stood or squatted, the men in shirts and overalls and the women in tunics. Their skins, not brown nor red nor yellow, but tawny like that of the white man deeply tanned by the sun, reminded me again that these people may trace back their ancestry to the Caucasian cradle. The hair of the women was adorned with gay flowers or the leaves of the false coffee bush. Their single garments of gorgeous colors clung to their straight, rounded bodies, their dark eyes were soft and full of light as the eyes of deer, and their features, clean-cut and severe, were of classic lines. The men, tall and massive, seemed awkwardly constricted in ill-fitting, blue cotton overalls such as American laborers wear over street-clothes. Their huge bodies seemed about to break through the flimsy bindings, and the carriage of their striking heads made the garments ridiculous. Most of them had fairly regular features on a large scale, their mouths wide, and their lips full and sensual. They wore no hats or ornaments, though it has ever been the custom of all Polynesians to put flowers and wreaths upon their heads. Men and women were waiting with a kind of apathetic resignation; melancholy and unresisting despair seemed the only spirit left to them. On the veranda with the governor and Bauda were several whites, one a French woman to whom we were presented. Madame Bapp, fat and red-faced, in a tight silk gown over corsets, was twice the size of her husband, a dapper, small man with huge mustaches, a paper collar to his ears, and a fiery, red-velvet cravat. On a table were bottles of absinthe and champagne, and several demijohns of red wine stood on the floor. All our company attacked the table freight and drank the warm champagne. A seamy-visaged Frenchman, Pierre Guillitoue, the village butcher--a philosopher and anarchist, he told me--rapped with a bottle on the veranda railing. The governor, in every inch of gold lace possible, made a gallant figure as he rose and faced the people. His whiskers were aglow with dressing. The ceremony began with an address by a native, Haabunai. Intrepreted by Guillitoue, Haabunai said that the Marquesans were glad to have a new governor, a wise man who would cure their ills, a just ruler, and a friend; then speaking directly to his own people, he praised extravagantly the newcomer, so that Guillitoue choked in his translation, and ceased, and mixed himself a glass of absinthe and water. The governor replied briefly in French. He said that he had come in their interest; that he would not cheat them or betray them; that he would make them well if they were sick. The French flag was their flag; the French people loved them. The Marquesans listened without interest, as if he spoke of some one in Tibet who wanted to sell a green elephant. In the South Seas a meeting out-of-doors means a dance. The Polynesians have ever made this universal human expression of the rhythmic principle of motion the chief evidence of emotion, and particularly of elation. Civilization has all but stifled it in many islands. Christianity has made it a sin. It dies hard, for it is the basic outlet of strong natural feeling, and the great group entertainment of these peoples. [Illustration: André Bauda, Commissaire] [Illustration: The public dance in the garden] The speeches done, the governor suggested that the national spirit be interpreted to him in pantomine. "They must be enlivened with alcohol or they will not move," said Guillitoue. "_Mon dieu!_" he replied. "It is the 'Folies Bergère' over again! Give them wine!" Bauda ordered Flag, the native gendarme, and Song of the Nightingale, a prisoner, to carry a demijohn of Bordeaux wine to the garden. With two glasses they circulated the claret until each Marquesan had a pint or so. Song of the Nightingale was a middle-aged savage, with a wicked, leering face, and whiskers from his ears to the corners of his mouth, surely a strange product of the Marquesan race, none of whose men will permit any hair to grow on lip or cheek. While Song circulated the wine M. Bauda enlightened me as to the crime that had made him prisoner. He was serving eighteen months for selling cocoanut brandy. When the cask was emptied the people began the dance. Three rows were formed, one of women between two of men, in Indian file facing the veranda. Haabunai and Song of the Nightingale brought forth the drums. These were about four feet high, barbaric instruments of skin stretched over hollow logs, and the "Boom-Boom" that came from them when they were struck by the hands of the two strong men was thrilling and strange. The dance was formal, slow, and melancholy. Haabunai gave the order of it, shouting at the top of his voice. The women, with blue and scarlet Chinese shawls of silk tied about their hips, moved stiffly, without interest or spontaneous spirit, as though constrained and indifferent. Though the dances were licentious, they conveyed no meaning and expressed no emotion. The men gestured by rote, appealing mutely to the spectators, so that one might fancy them orators whose voices failed to reach one. There was no laughter, not even a smile. "Give them another demijohn!" said the governor. The juice of the grape dissolved melancholy. When the last of it had flowed the dance was resumed. The women began a spirited _danse du ventre_. Their eyes now sparkled, their bodies were lithe and graceful. McHenry rushed on to the lawn and taking his place among them copied their motions in antics that set them roaring with the hearty roars of the conquered at the asininity of the conquerors. They tried to continue the dance, but could not for merriment. One of the dancers advanced toward the veranda and in a ceremonious way kissed the governor upon the lips. That young executive was much surprised, but returned the salute and squeezed her tiny waist. All the company laughed at this, except Madame Bapp, who glared angrily and exclaimed, "_Coquine!_" which means hussy. The Marquesans have no kisses in their native love-making, but smell one or rub noses, as do the Eskimo. Whites, however, have taught kisses in all their variety. The governor had the girl drink a glass of champagne. She was perhaps sixteen years old, a charming girl, smiling, simple, and lovely. Her skin, like that of all Marquesans, was olive, not brown like the Hawaiians' or yellow like the Chinese, but like that of whites grown dark in the sun. She had black, streaming hair, sloe eyes, and an arch expression. Her manner was artlessly ingratiating, and her sweetness of disposition was not marked by hauteur. When I noticed that her arm was tattoed, she slipped off her dress and sat naked to the waist to show all her adornment. There was an inscription of three lines stretching from her shoulder to her wrist, the letters nearly an inch in length, crowded together in careless inartistry. The legend was as follows: "TAHIAKEANA TEIKIMOEATIPANIE PAHAKA AVII ANIPOENUIMATILAILI TETUATONOEINUHAPALIILII" These were the names given her at birth, and tattooed in her childhood. She was called, she said, Tahiakeana, Weaver of Mats. Seeing her success among us and noting the champagne, her companions began to thrust forward on to the veranda to share her luck. This angered the governor, who thought his dignity assailed. At Bauda's order, the gendarme and Song of the Nightingale dismissed the visitors, put McHenry to sleep under a tree, and escorted the new executive and me to Bauda's home on the beach. There in his board shanty, six by ten feet, we ate our first dinner in the islands, while the wind surged through swishing palm-leaves outside, and nuts fell now and then upon the iron roof with the resounding crash of bombs. It was a plain, but plentiful, meal of canned foods, served by the tawny gendarme and the wicked Song, whose term of punishment for distributing brandy seemed curiously suited to his crime. At midnight I accompanied a happy governor to his palace, which had one spare bedroom, sketchily furnished. During the night the slats of my bed gave way with a dreadful din, and I woke to find the governor in pajamas of rose-colored silk, with pistol in hand, shedding electric rays upon me from a battery lamp. There was anxiety in his manner as he said: "You never can tell. A chief's son tried to kill my predecessor. I do not know these Marquesans. We are few whites here. And, _mon dieu!_ the guardian of the palace is himself a native!" [Illustration: Antoinette, a Marquesan dancing girl] [Illustration: Marquesans in Sunday clothes The daughter of Titihuti, chieftess of Hiva-Oa. On the left her husband, Pierre Pradorat, on the right, his brother] CHAPTER V First night in Atuona valley; sensational arrival of the Golden Bed; Titi-huti's tattooed legs. It was necessary to find at once a residence for my contemplated stay in Atuona, for the schooner sailed on the morrow, and my brief glimpse of the Marquesans had whetted my desire to live among them. I would not accept the courteous invitation of the governor to stay at the palace, for officialdom never knows its surroundings, and grandeur makes for no confidence from the lowly. Lam Kai Oo, an aged Chinaman whom I encountered at the trader's store, came eagerly to my rescue with an offered lease of his deserted store and bakeshop. From Canton he had been brought in his youth by the labor bosses of western America to help build the transcontinental railway, and later another agency had set him down in Taha-Uka to grow cotton for John Hart. He saw the destruction of that plantation, escaped the plague of opium, and with his scant savings made himself a petty merchant in Atuona. Now he was old and had retired up the valley to the home he had long established there beside his copra furnace and his shrine of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He led me to the abandoned shack, a long room, tumbledown, moist, festooned with cobwebs, the counters and benches black with reminiscences of twenty thousand tradings and Chinese meals. The windows were but half a dozen bars, and the heavy vapors of a cruel past hung about the sombre walls. Though opium had long been contraband, its acrid odor permeated the worn furnishings. Here with some misgivings I prepared to spend my second night in Hiva-oa. I left the palace late, and found the shack by its location next the river on the main road. Midnight had come, no creature stirred as I opened the door. The few stars in the black velvet pall of the sky seemed to ray out positive darkness, and the spirit of Po, the Marquesan god of evil, breathed from the unseen, shuddering forest. I tried to damn my mood, but found no profanity utterable. Rain began to fall, and I pushed into the den. A glimpse of the dismal interior did not cheer me. I locked the door with the great iron key, spread my mat, and blew out the lantern. Soon from out the huge brick oven where for decades Lam Kai Oo had baked his bread there stole scratching, whispering forms that slid along the slippery floor and leaped about the seats where many long since dead had sat. I lay quiet with a will to sleep, but the hair stirred on my scalp. The darkness was incredible, burdensome, like a weight. The sound of the wind and the rain in the breadfruit forest and the low roar of the torrent became only part of the silence in which those invisible presences crept and rustled. Try as I would I could recall no good deed of mine to shine for me in that shrouded confine. The Celtic vision of my forefathers, that strange mixture of the terrors of Druid and soggarth, danced on the creaking floor, and witch-lights gleamed on ceiling and timbers. I thought to dissolve it all with a match, but whether all awake or partly asleep, I had no strength to reach it. Then something clammily touched my face, and with a bound I had the lantern going. No living thing moved in the circle of its rays. My flesh crawled on my bones, and sitting upright on my mat I chanted aloud from the Bible in French with Tahitian parallels. The glow of a pipe and the solace of tobacco aided the rhythm of the prophets in dispelling the ghosts of the gloom, but never shipwrecked mariner greeted the dawn with greater joy than I. In its pale light I peered through the barred windows--the windows of the Chinese the world over--and saw four men who had set down a coffin to rest themselves and smoke a cigarette. They sat on the rude box covered with a black cloth and passed the pandanus-wrapped tobacco about. Naked, except for loin-cloths, their tawny skins gleaming wet in the gray light, rings of tattooing about their eyes, they made a strange picture against the jungle growth. They were without fire for they had got into a deep place crossing the stream and had wet their matches. I handed a box through the bars, and by reckless use of the few words of Marquesan I recalled, and bits of French they knew, helped out by scraps of Spanish one had gained from the Chilean murderer who milked the cows for the German trader, I learned that the corpse was that of a woman of sixty years, whose agonies had been soothed by the ritual of the Catholic church. The bearers were taking her to Calvary cemetery on the hill. Their cigarettes smoked, they rose and took up the long poles on which the coffin was swung. Moving with the tread of panthers, firm, noiseless, and graceful, they disappeared into the forest and I was left alone with the morning sun and the glistening leaves of the rain-wet breadfruit-trees. On the beach an hour later I met Gedge, who asked me with a quizzical eye how I had enjoyed my first night among the Kanakas. I replied that I had seldom passed such a night, spoke glowingly of the forest and the stream, and said that I was still determined to remain behind when the schooner sailed. "Well, if you will stay," said he, and the trader's look came into his eye, "I've got just the thing you want. You don't want to lie on a mat where the thousand-legs can get you--and if they get you, you die. You want to live right. Now listen to me; I got the best brass bed ever a king slept on. Double thickness, heavy brass bed, looks like solid gold. Springs that would hold the schooner, double-thick mattress, sheets and pillows all embroidered like it belonged to a duchess. Fellow was going to be married that I brought it for, but now he's lying up there in Calvary in a bed they dug for him. I'll let you have it cheap--three hundred francs. It's worth double. What do you say?" A brass bed, a golden bed in the cannibal islands! "It's a go," I said. On the deck of the _Morning Star_ I beheld the packing-cases brought up from the hold, and my new purchase with all its parts and appurtenances loaded in a ship's boat, with the iron box that held my gold. So I arrived in Atuona for the second time, high astride the sewed-up mattress on top of the metal parts, and so deftly did the Tahitians handle the oars that, though we rode the surf right up to the creeping jungle flowers that met the tide on Atuona beach, I was not wet except by spray. [Illustration: Vai Etienne] [Illustration: The pool by the Queen's house] Our arrival was watched by a score of Marquesan chiefs who had been summoned by Bauda for the purpose, as he told me, of being urged to thrash the tax-tree more vigorously. The meeting adjourned instantly, and they hastened down from the frame building that housed the government offices. Their curiosity could not be restrained. A score of eager hands stripped the coverings from the brass bed, and exposed the glittering head and foot pieces in the brilliant sunlight. Exclamations of amazement and delight greeted the marvel. This was another wonder from the white men's isles, indicative of wealth and royal taste. From all sides other natives came hastening. My brass bed and I were the center of a gesticulating circle, dark eyes rolled with excitement and naked shoulder jostled shoulder. Three chiefs, tattooed and haughty, personally erected the bed, and when I disclosed the purpose of the mattress, placed it in position. Every woman present now pushed forward and begged the favor of being allowed to bounce upon it. It became a diversion attended with high honor. Controversies meantime raged about the bed. Many voices estimated the number of mats that would be necessary to equal the thickness of the mattress, but none found a comparison worthy of its softness and elasticity. In the midst of this mêlée one woman, whose eyes and facial contour betrayed Chinese blood, but who was very comely and neat, pushed forward and pointing to the glittering center of attraction repeated over and over. "_Kisskisskissa? Kisskisskissa?_" For awhile I was disposed to credit her with a sudden affection for me, but soon resolved her query into the French "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca? What is that?" She was Apporo, wife of Puhei, Great Fern, she said, and she owned a house in which her father, a Chinaman, had recently died. This house she earnestly desired to give me in exchange for the golden bed, and we struck a bargain. I was to live in the house of Apporo and, on departing, to leave her the bed. Great Fern, her husband, was called to seal the compact. He was a giant in stature, dark skinned, with a serene countenance and crisp hair. They agreed to clean the house thoroughly and to give me possession at once. They were really mad to have the bed, in all its shiny golden beauty, and once the arrangement was made they could hardly give over examining it, crawling beneath it, smoothing the mattress and fingering the springs. They shook it, poked it, patted it, and finally Apporo, filled with feminine pride, arrogated to herself the sole privilege of bouncing upon it. Lam Kai Oo wailed his loss of a tenant. "You savee thlat house belong lep'," he argued earnestly. "My sto'e littee dirty, but I fixum. You go thlat lep' house, bimeby flinger dlop, toe dlop, nose he go." He grimaced frightfully, and indicated in pantomime the ravages of leprosy upon the human form. His appeal was in vain. The Golden Bed, upraised on the shoulders of four stalwart chiefs, began its triumphal progress up the valley road. Behind it officiously walked Exploding Eggs, puffed up with importance, regarded on all sides with respect as _Tueni Oki Kiki_, Keeper of the Golden Bed, but jostled for position by Apporo, envied of women. Behind them up the rough road hastened the rest of the village, eager to see the installation of the marvel in its new quarters, and I followed the barbaric procession leisurely. My new residence was a mile from the beach, and off the main thoroughfare, though this mattered little. The roads built decades ago by the French are so ruined and neglected that not a thousand feet of them remain in all the islands. No wheel supports a vehicle, not even a wheelbarrow. Trails thread the valleys and climb the hills, and traffic is by horse and human. My Golden Bed, lurching precariously in the narrow path, led me through tangled jungle growth to the first sight of my new home, a small house painted bright blue and roofed with corrugated iron. Set in the midst of the forest, it was raised from the ground on a _paepae_, a great platform made of basalt stones, black, smooth and big, the very flesh of the Marquesas Islands. Every house built by a native since their time began has been set on a _paepae_, and mine had been erected in days beyond the memory of any living man. It was fifty feet broad and as long, raised eight feet from the earth, which was reached by worn steps. Above the small blue-walled house the rocky peak of Temetiu rose steeply, four thousand feet into the air, its lower reaches clothed in jungle-vines, and trees, its summit dark green under a clear sky, but black when the sun was hidden. Most of the hours of the day it was but a dim shadow above a belt of white clouds, but up to its mysterious heights a broken ridge climbed sheer from the valley, and upon it browsed the wild boar and the crag-loving goat. Beside the house the river brawled through a greenwood of bread-fruit-, cocoanut-, vi-apple-, mango- and lime-trees. The tropical heat distilled from their leaves a drowsy woodland odor which filled the two small whitewashed rooms, and the shadows of the trees, falling through the wide unglassed windows, made a sun-flecked pattern on the black stone floor. This was the House of Lepers, now rechristened the House of the Golden Bed, which was to be my home through the unknown days before me. The next day I watched the _Morning Star_ lift her sails and move slowly out of the Bay of Traitors into the open sea, with less regret than I have ever felt in that moment of wistfulness which attends the departure of a sailing-ship. Exploding Eggs, at my side, read correctly my returning eyes. "Kaoha!" he said, with a wide smile of welcome, and with him and Vai, my next-door neighbor, I returned gladly to my _paepae_. Vai, or in English, Water, was a youth of twenty years, a dandy; on ordinary occasions naked, except for the _pareu_ about his loins, but on Sundays or when courting rejoicing in the gayest of Europeanized clothes. He lived near me in a small house on the river-bank with his mother and sister. All were of a long line of chiefs, and all marvelously large and handsome. The mother, Titihuti, would have been beloved of the ancient artists who might have drawn her for an Amazon. I have never seen another woman of such superb carriage. Her hair was blood-red, her brow lofty, and an indescribable air of majesty and pride spoke eloquently of her descent from fathers and mothers of power. She had wonderful legs, statuesque in mold, and tattooed from ankles to thigh in most amazing patterns. To a Marquesan of her generation the tattooed legs of a shapely woman were the highest reach of art. Titihuti was very proud of her legs. Though she was devout Catholic and well aware of the contempt of the church for such vanities, religion could not entirely efface her pride. During the first few days she passed and repassed my cabin in her walks about her household duties, lifting her tunic each day a little higher. Her vanity would no doubt have continued this gradual course, but that one day I came upon her in the river entirely nude. Her gratification was unconcealed; naively she displayed the innumerable whirls and arabesques of her adornment for my compliments, and thereafter she wore only a _pareu_ when at home, entirely dropping alien standards of modesty and her gown. She said that people came from far valleys to see her legs, and I could readily believe it. It was so with the leg of the late Queen Vaekehu, a leg so perfect in mold and so elaborately and artistically inked that it distinguished her even more than her rank. Casual whites, especially, considered it a curiosity, and offended her majesty by laying democratic hands upon the masterpiece. I had known a man or two who had seen the queen at home, and who testified warmly to the harmonious blending of flesh color with the candle-nut soot. Among my effects in the House of the Golden Bed I had a photograph showing the multiplicity and fine execution of the designs upon Vaekehu's leg, yet comparing it with the two realities of Titihuti I could not yield the palm to the queen. The legs of Titihuti were tattooed from toes to ankles with a net-like pattern, and from the ankles to the waistline, where the design terminated in a handsome girdle, there were curves, circles and filigree, all in accord, all part of a harmonious whole, and most pleasing to the eye. The pattern upon her feet was much like that of sandals or high mocassins, indicating a former use of leg-coverings in a cold climate. Titihuti herself, after an anxious inch-for-inch matching of picture and living form, said complacently that her legs were _meitai ae_, which meant that she would not have hesitated to enter her own decorations in beauty competition with those of Vaekehu. Kake, her daughter, had been christened for her mother's greatest charm, for her name means Tattooed to the Loins, though there was not a tattoo mark upon her. She was a beautiful, stately girl of nineteen or twenty, married to a devoted native, to whom, shortly after my arrival, she presented his own living miniature. I was the startled witness of the birth of this babe, the delight of his father's heart. My neighbors and I had the same bathing hour, soon after daylight, and usually chose the same pool in the clear river. Kake was lying on a mat on their _paepae_ when I passed one morning, and when I said "Kaoha" to her she did not reply. Her silence caused me to mount the stairway, and at that moment the child was born. Half an hour later she joined me in the river, and laughing back at me over her shoulder as she plunged through the water, called that she would give the child my name. That afternoon she was sitting on my _paepae_, a bewitching sight as she held the suckling to her breast and crooned of his forefather's deeds before the white had gripped them. CHAPTER VI Visit of Chief Seventh Man Who is So Angry He Wallows in the Mire; journey to Vait-hua on Tahuata island; fight with the devil-fish; story of a cannibal feast and the two who escaped. "The Iron Fingers That Make Words," the Marquesans called my typewriter. Such a wonder had never before been beheld in the islands, and its fame spread far. From other valleys and even from distant islands the curious came in threes and fours. They watched the strange thing write their names and carefully carried away the bits of paper. "Aue!" they cried as I showed them my speed, which would be a shame to a typist. Chiefs especially were my visitors, thinking it proper to their estate and to mine that they should call upon me and invite me to their seats of government. So it happened that one morning as I sat on my _paepae_ eating a breakfast of roasted breadfruit prepared for me by Exploding Eggs, my naked skin enjoying the warmth of the sun and my ears filled with the bubbling laughter of the brook, I beheld two stately visitors approaching. Exploding Eggs named them to me as they came up the trail. Both were leading chiefs of the islands. Katu, Piece of Tattooing, of Hekeani, led the way. His severe and dignified face was a dark blue in color. His eyes alone were free from imbedded indigo ink. They gleamed like white clouds in a blue sky, but their glance was mild and kindly. Sixty years of age, he still walked with upright grace, only the softened contours of his face betraying that he was well in his manhood when his valley was still given over to tribal warfares, orgies, and cannibalism. Behind him came Neo Afitu Atrien, of Vait-hua, a stocky brown man with a lined face, stubby mustache, and brilliant, intelligent eyes. He mounted the steps, shook hands heartily, and poured out his informed soul in English. "Johnny, I spik Ingrish. You Iris'man. You got 'O,' before name. I know you got tipwrite can make machine do pen. I know Panama Canal. How is Teddy and Gotali?" I assured the chief that both Roosevelt and Goethals were well at last account, and he veered to other topics. "Before time, come prenty whaleship my place," he said. "I know geograffy, mappee, grammal. I know Egyptee, Indee, all country; I know Bufflobillee. Before time, whaleship come America for take water and wood. Stay two, t'ree week. Every night sailor come ashore catchee girls take ship. Prenty rum, biskit, molassi, good American tobbacee. Now all finish. Whaleship no more. That is not good." His name means The Seventh Man Who Is So Angry He Wallows In The Mire. "Neo" means all but the number, and for so short a word to be translated by so detailed a statement would indicate that there were many Marquesans whose anger tripped them. Else such a word had hardly been born. I showed the chiefs the marvels of my typewriter, displayed to their respectful gaze the Golden Bed, and otherwise did the honors. As they departed, Neo said earnestly, "You come see me you have my house. You like, you bring prenty rum, keep warm if rain." "A wicked man," said Exploding Eggs in Marquesan when the trail lay empty before us. "One time he drink much rum, French gendarme go to arrest him, he bite--" With an eloquent gesture my valet indicated that Neo's teeth had removed in its entirety the nose of the valiant defender of morals. "No good go see him," he added with finality. However, the prospect intrigued my fancy, and finding a few days later that Ika Vaikoki, whose discerning parents had named him Ugh! Dried-up Stream! was voyaging toward Vait-hua in a whaleboat, I offered him ten francs and two litres of rum to take me. Remembering Neo's suggestion, I took also two other bottles of rum. While our whaleboat shot across the Bordelaise Channel pursued by a brisk breeze, Ugh! a wisp of a man of fifty, held the helm. He was for all the world like a Malay pirate; I have seen his double steering a proa off the Borneo coast, slim, high-cheeked, with a sashful of saw-like knives. Ugh! had no weapon, but his eye was a small flaming coal that made me thankful cannibalism is a thing of the past. He had been carried through the surf to his perch upon the stern because one of his legs was useless for walking, but once he grasped the tiller, he was a seaman of skill. The oarsmen wore turbans of pink, blue, and white muslin to protect their heads from the straight rays of the white sun. Bright-colored _pareus_ were about their loins, and several wore elastic sleeve-holders as ornaments on tawny arms and legs, while one, the son of Ugh! sported earrings, great hoops of gold that flashed in the sunshine. With their dark skins, gleaming eyes, and white teeth, they were a brilliant picture against the dazzling blue of the sea. Straight across the channel we steered for Hana Hevane, a little bay and valley guarded by sunken coral rocks over which the water foamed in white warning. Two of the men leaped out into the waves and hunted on these rocks for squids, while we beached the boat on a shore uninhabited by any living creature but rats, lizards, and centipedes. Several small octopi were soon brought in, and one of the men placed them on some boulders where the tide had left pools of water, and cleaned them of their poison. He rubbed them on the stone exactly as a washerwoman handles a flannel garment, and out of them came a lather as though he had soaped them. Suds, bubbles, and froth--one would have said a laundress had been at work there. He dipped them often in a pool of salt water, and not until they would yield no more suds did he give each a final rinsing and throw it on the fire made on the beach. Suddenly a shout broke my absorption in this task. The son of Ugh! with the gold earrings, waving his arms from amidst the surf on the reef, called to me to come and see a big _feke_. As his companions were dancing about and yelling madly, I left the laundrying of the small sea-devils and splashed two hundred yards through the lagoon to the scene of excitement. Four of the crew had attacked a giant devil-fish, which was hidden in a cave in the rocks. From the gloom it darted out its long arms and tried to seize the strange creatures that menaced it. The naked boatsmen, dancing just out of reach of the writhing tentacles, struck at them with long knives. As they cut off pieces of the curling, groping gristle, I thought I heard a horrible groan from the cave, almost like the voice of a human in agony. I stayed six feet away, for I had no knife and no relish for the game. Four of the long arms had been severed at the ends when suddenly the octopus came out of his den to fight for his life. He was a reddish-purple globe of horrid flesh, horned all over, with a head not unlike an elephant's, but with large, demoniacal eyes, bitter, hating eyes that roved from one to another of us as if selecting his prey. Eight arms, some shorn of their suckers, stretched out ten feet toward us. The Marquesans retreated precipitately, and I led them, laughing nervously, but not joyously. The son of Ugh! stopped first. "_Ta! Ta! Ta! Ta!_" he cried. "Are we afraid of that ugly beast? I have killed many. _Pakeka!_ We will eat him, too!" He turned with the others and advanced toward the _feke_, shouting scornful names at him, threatening him with death and being eaten, warning him that the sooner he gave up, the quicker ended his agony. But the devilfish was not afraid. His courage shamed mine. I was behind the barrier of the boatsmen, but once in the throes of the fight a slimy arm passed between two of them and wound itself around my leg. I screamed out, for it was icy cold and sent a sickening weakness all through me, so that I could not have swum a dozen feet with it upon me. One of the natives cut it off, and still it clung to my bloodless skin until I plucked it away. The son of Ugh! had two of the great arms about him at one time, but his companions hacked at them until he was free. Then, regardless of the struggles of the maimed devil, they closed in on him and stabbed his head and body until he died. During these last moments I was amazed and sickened to hear the octopus growling and moaning in its fury and suffering. His voice had a curious timbre. I once heard a man dying of hydrophobia make such sounds, half animal, half human. "That _feke_ would have killed and eaten any one of us," said the son of Ugh! "Not many are so big as he, but here in Hana Hevane, where seldom any one fished, they are the biggest in the world. They lie in these holes in the rocks and catch fish and crabs as they swim by. My cousin was taken by one while fishing, and was dragged down into the hidden caverns. He was last seen standing on a ledge, and the next day his bones were found picked clean. A shark is easier to fight than such a devil who has so many arms." The boatsmen gathered up the remnants of the foe and brought them to the beach, where the elder Ugh! was tending the fire. Crabs were broiling upon it, and the pieces of the _feke_ were flung beside them and the smaller octopi. When they were cooked, a trough of _popoi_ and one of _feikai_, or roasted breadfruit mixed with a cocoanut-milk sauce, were placed on the sand, and all squatted to dine. For a quarter of an hour the only sounds were the plup of fingers withdrawn from mouths filled with _popoi_, and the faint creaming of waves on the beach. Marquesans feel that eating is serious business. The devil-fish and crabs were the delicacies, and served as dessert. Blackened by the fire, squid and crustacean were eaten without condiment, the tentacles being devoured as one eats celery. I was soon satisfied, and while they lingered over their food and smoked I strolled up the valley a little way, still feeling the pressure of that severed arm. Hana Hevane had its people one time. They vanished as from a hundred other valleys, before the march of progress. The kindly green of the jungle had hidden the marks of human habitations, where once they had lived and loved and died. Only the bones of _La Corse_, the schooner Jerome Capriata had sailed many years, lay rotting under a grotesque and dark banian, never more to feel the foot of man upon the deck or to toss upon the sea. A consoling wave lapped the empty pintles and gave the decaying craft a caress by the element whose mistress she so long had been. Her mast was still stepped, but a hundred centipedes crawled over the hull. When I returned to the fire, the boatmen were talking. Ugh! Dried-up Stream! his stomach full and smoke in his mouth, bethought himself of a tale, an incident of this very spot. In a sardonic manner he began: "The men of this island, Tahuata, in the old days descended on Fatu-hiva to hunt the man-meat. After the battle, they brought their captives to Hana Hevane to rest, to build a fire and to eat one of their catch. This they did, and departed again. But when they were in their canoes, they found they had forgotten a girl whom they had thrown on the sand, and they returned for her. The sea was rough, and they had to stay here on the beach for the night. "As was the custom, they erected a gibbet, two posts and a horizontal bar, and on the bar they hung the living prisoners, with a cord of _parau_ bark passed through the scalp and tied around the hair. Their arms were tied behind them, and they swung in the breeze. "In the night, when the Tahuata men slept from their gluttony, one of them arose silently and unbound a prisoner who was his friend, and told him to run to the mountains. He then lay down and slept, and in the darkness this man who had been freed returned stealthily in the darkness, and unloosed a girl, the same who had been forgotten on the sand. In the morning the other captives were dead, but those who escaped were months in the fastness of the heights, living on roots and on birds they snared. In the end they went to Motopu. They were well received, for the Tahuata warriors thought a god had aided them, and they and their children lived long there." Ugh! smiled reminiscently as if his thoughts were returning from pleasant things, and clapped his hands as a signal for reembarking. The bowls of food remaining were tied in baskets of leaves and hung in the banian tree to await the boatsmen's return for the night, the steersman was carried to his place, and the boat pushed through the surf. A gaunt shark swam close to the reefs as we rowed out, a hungry, ill-looking monster. One of the bottles of rum the oarsmen had drunk on the way to Hana Hevane, the other was stored for their return, and to gain a third the son of Ugh! offered to go overboard and tie a rope to the shark's tail, which is the way natives often catch them. A shark was not worth a liter of rum, I said, being in no mind to risk the limbs of a man in such a sport. Besides, I had no more to give away. I could imagine the rage of Seventh Man Who Wallows should he learn of my wasting in such foolishness what would keep us both warm if it rained. As we caught the wind a flock of _koio_ came close to us in their search for fish. The black birds were like a cloud; there must have been fifty thousand of them, and flying over us they completely cut off the sunlight, like a dark storm. If they had taken a fancy to settle on us they must have smothered us under a feathered avalanche. Ugh! was startled and amazed that the birds should come so close, and all raised an uproar of voices and waved arms and oars in the air, to frighten them off. They passed, the sun shone upon us again, and in a sparkling sea we made our way past Iva Iva Iti and Iva Iva Nui, rounding a high green shore into the bay of Vait-hua. The mountains above the valley loomed like castellated summits of Italy, so like huge stone fortresses that one might mistake them for such from the sea. The tiny settlement reaching from the beach half a mile up the glen was screened by its many trees. The whaleboat slid up to a rocky ledge, and my luggage and I were put ashore. Exploding Eggs, who had insisted on accompanying me, took it into his charge, and with it balanced on his shoulders we sauntered along the road to the village where the French gendarme had lost his nose to the mad _namu_-drinker. CHAPTER VII Idyllic valley of Vait-hua; the beauty of Vanquished Often; bathing on the beach; an unexpected proposal of marriage. The beach followed the semi-circle of the small bay, and was hemmed in on both sides by massive black rocks, above which rose steep mountains covered with verdure. The narrow valley itself sloped upward on either hand to a sheer wall of cliffs. In the couple of miles from the water's edge to the jungle tangle of the high hills were thousands upon thousands of cocoanut-palms, breadfruit-, mango-, banana-, and lime-trees, all speaking of the throng of people that formerly inhabited this lovely spot, now so deserted. The tiny settlement remaining, with its scattered few habitations, was beautiful beyond comparison. A score or so of houses, small, but neat and comfortable, wreathed with morning-glory vines and shaded by trees, clustered along the bank of a limpid stream crossed at intervals by white stepping-stones. Naked children, whose heads were wreathed with flowers, splashed in sheltered pools, or fled like moving brown shadows into the sun-flecked depths of the glade as we approached. We were met beneath a giant banian-tree by the chief, who greeted us with simple dignity and led us at once to his house. The most pretentious in the village, it consisted of two rooms, built of redwood boards from California, white-washed, clean, and bare, opening through wide doors upon the broad _paepae_. This house, the chief insisted, was to be my home while I remained his guest in Vait-hua. My polite protestations he waved away with a courtly gesture and an obdurate smile. I was an American, and his guest. My visit was obviously a great event in the eyes of Mrs. Seventh Man Who Is So Angry He Wallows In The Mire. A laughing Juno of thirty years, large and rounded as a breadfruit-tree, more than six feet in height, with a mass of blue-black hair and teeth that flashed white as a fresh-opened cocoanut, she rose from her mat on the _paepae_ and rubbed my nose ceremoniously with hers. Clothed in a necklace of false pearls and a brilliantly scarlet loincloth, she was truly a barbaric figure, yet in her eye I beheld that instant preoccupation with household matters that greets the unexpected guest the world over. While the chief and I reclined upon mats and Exploding Eggs sat vigilant at my side, she vanished into the house, and shortly returned to set before us a bowl of _popoi_ and several cocoanuts. These we ate while Neo discoursed sadly upon the evil times that had befallen his reign. "Me very busy when prenty ship come," he mourned. "Me fix for wood; get seven dollar load. Me fix for girl for captain and mate. Me stay ship, eat hard-tackee, salt horsee, chew tobacco, drink rum. Good time he all dead." The repast ended, we set out to view the depleted village with its few inhabitants, the remainder after Europe had subtracted native habits and native health. The gorge that parted the valley was wide and deep for the silver stream that sang its way to the bay. When the rain fell in cascades the channel hardly contained the mad torrent that raced from the heights, a torrent that had destroyed the road built years before when whaler's ships by the dozens came each year. Now the natives made their way as of old, up and down rocky trails and over the stepping-stones. Near the beach we came upon a group of tumbledown shanties, remnants of the seat of government. Only a thatched schoolhouse and a tiny cabin for the teacher were habitable. Here the single artist of the islands, Monsieur Charles Le Moine, had taught the three "R's" to Vait-hua's adolescents for years. He was away now, Neo said, but we found his cabin open and littered with canvases, sketches, paint-tubes, and worn household articles. "He got litt'ee broomee, an' sweep paint out litt'ee pipe on thing make ship's sails," Neo explained. Surely a description of a broad modern style. On the wall or leaning against it on the floor were a dozen drawings and oils of a young girl of startling beauty. Laughing, clear-eyed, she seemed almost to speak from the canvas, filling the room with charm. Here she leaned against a palm-trunk, her bare brown body warm against its gray; there she stood on a white beach, a crimson _pareu_ about her loins and hibiscus flowers in her hair. "That Hinatini," said Seventh Man Who Wallows, speaking always in what he supposed to be English. "She some pumkin, eh? Le Moine like more better make _tiki_ like this than say book. She my niece." The rich colors of the pictures sang like bugle-notes among the shabby odds and ends of the studio. A cot, a broken chair or two, a table smeared with paints, an old shoe, a pipe, and a sketch of the Seine, gave me La Moine in his European birthright, but the absence of any European comforts, the lack even of dishes and a lamp, told me that Montmartre would not know him again. The eyes of the girl who lived on the canvases said that Le Moine was claimed by the Land of the War Fleet. Turning from the dingy interior of his cabin, I saw in the sunlight beyond the door his model in the life. Le Moine had not the brush to do her justice. Vanquished Often, as Hinatini means, was perhaps thirteen years old, with a grace of carriage, a beauty and perfection of features, a rich coloring no canvas could depict. Her skin was of warm olive hue, with tinges of red in the cheeks and the lips cherry-ripe. Her eyes were dark brown, large, melting, childishly introspective. Her hands were shapely, and her little bare feet, arched, rosy-nailed, were like flowers on the sand. She wore the thinnest of sheer white cotton tunics, and there were flamboyant flowers in the shining dark hair that tumbled to her waist. She greeted me with the eager artlessness of the child that she was. She was on her way to the _vai puna_, the spring by the beach, she said. Would I accompany her thither? And would I tell her of the women of my people in the strange islands of the _Memke?_ They were very far away, were they not, those islands? Farther even than Tahiti? How deep beneath the sea could their women dive? I answered these, and other questions, while we walked down the beach, and I marveled at the unconscious grace of her movements. The chief wonder of all these Marquesans is the beauty and erectness of their standing and walking postures. Their chests are broad and deep, their bosoms, even in girls of Vanquished Often's age, rounded, superb, and their limbs have an ease of motion, an animal-like litheness unknown to our clothed and dress-bound women. Vanquished Often was the most perfect type of all these physical perfections, a survival of those wondrous Marquesan women who addled the wits of the whites a century ago. There was no blemish on her, nor any feature one would alter. Half a dozen of her comrades were lounging upon the sand when we reached the _via puna_. Here an iron pipe in the mountain-side tapped subterranean waters, and a hollowed cocoanut-tree gave them exit upon the sand where salt waves flowed up to meet them. Long lean curving cocoanuts arched above, and beneath their ribbons of shade lay an old canoe, upon which sat those who waited their turn to bathe, to fill calabashes, or merely to gossip. For all time, they said, this had been the center of life in Vait-hua. Old wives' tales had been told here for generations. The whalers filled their casks at this spring, working every hour of the twenty-four because the flow was small. Famous harpooners, steersmen who winked no eye when the wounded whale drew their boat through a smother of foam, shanghaied gentlemen, sweepings of harbors, Nantucket deacons, pirates, and the whole breed of sailors and fighting fellows, congregated here to bathe and to fill their water-casks. Near this crystal rivulet they slashed each other in their quarrels over Vait-hua's fairest, and exchanged their slop-chest luxuries and grog for the favors of the island chiefs. It was Standard Oil, sending around the world its _tipoti_, or tin cans, filled with illuminating fluid cheaper than that of the whale, that ended the days of the ships in Vait-hua, and they sailed away for the last time, leaving an island so depopulated that its few remaining people could slip back into the life of the days before the whites came. "_Alice Snow_ las' whaleship come Vait-hua six years before," said the Seventh Man Who Wallows. "Before that, one ship, _California_ name, Captain Andrew Hicks. Charlie, he sailmaker, run away from Andrew Hicks. One Vait-hua girl look good to him. She hide him in hills till captain make finish chase him. That him children." Indeed, most of the faces turned toward me from the group about the spring were European, either by recent heredity or tribal nature. I could see the Saxon, the Latin, and the Viking, and one girl was all Japanese, a reference to which caused her to weep. "Iapona" was to her pretty ears the meanest word in Vait-hua's vocabulary, and her playmates held it in reserve for important disagreements. Vanquished Often, slipping from her white tunic, stepped beneath the stream of crystal water and laughed at the cool delight of it on her smooth skin. It was a picture of which artist's dream, the naked girl laughing in the torrents of transparent water, the wet crimson blossoms washing from her drowned hair, and beneath the striped shade of the palm-trunks her simple, savage companions waiting their turn, squatting on the sand or crowded on the canoe, their loins wrapped in crimson and blue and yellow _pareus_. Behind them all the mountains rose steeply, a mass of brilliant green jungle growth, and before them, across the rim of shining white sand, spread the wide blue sea. Courtesy suggested that I should be next to feel the refreshing torrent. We let slip the garment of timorous covering very easily when nudity is commonplace. Vait-hua was to teach me to be modest without pother, to chat with those about me during my ablutions without concern for the false vanities of screens or even the shelter of rocks as in the river in Atuona. In such scenes one perceives that immodesty is in the false shame that makes one cling to clothes, rather than in the simple virtues that walk naked and unashamed. Tacitus recites that chastity was a controlling virtue among the Teutons, ranking among women as bravery among men, yet all Teutons bathed in the streams together. In Japan both sexes bathe in public in natural hot pools, and that without diffidence. The Japanese, though a people of many clothes, regard nudity with indifference, but use garments to conceal the contour of the human form, while we are horrified by nakedness and yet use dress to enhance the form, especially to emphasize the difference between sexes. Our women's accentuated hips and waistlines shock the Japanese, whose loose clothing is the same for men and women, the broader belt and double fold upon the small of the back, the obi, being the only differentiation. Mohammedan women surprised in bathing cover their faces first; the Chinese, the feet. Good Erasmus, that Dutch theologian, said that "angels abhor nakedness." Devout Europeans of his day never saw their own bodies; if they bathed, they wore a garment covering them from head to feet. Thus standards of clothing vary from age to age and from country to country. Missionaries bewilder the savage mind by imposing their own standards of the moment and calling them modesty. The African negro, struggling to harmonize these two ideas, wore a tall silk hat and a pair of slippers as his only garments when he obeyed Livingstone's exhortations to clothe himself in the presence of white women. Vait-hua was all savage; whatever bewilderments the missionaries had brought had faded when dwindling population left the isle to its own people. In the minds of my happy companions at the _vai puna_, modesty had no more to do with clothing than, among us, it had to do with food. The standards of the individual are everywhere formed by the mass-opinion of those about him; I came from my bath, replaced my garments, and felt myself Marquesan. The sensation was false. Savage peoples can never understand our philosophy, our complex springs of action. They may ape our manners, wear our ornaments, and seek our company, but their souls remain indifferent. They laugh when we are stolid. They weep when we are unmoved. Their gods and devils are not ours. From our side, too, the abyss is impassable. Civilization with its refinements and complexities has stripped us of the power of complete surrender to simple impulses. The white who would become like a natural savage succeeds only in becoming a beast. "_Plus sauvage que les kanakas_," is a proverb in the islands. Its implications I had occasion to heed ere the evening was ended. Wrapped only in a gorgeous red _pareu_, I sat on the _paepae_ of the chief's house, now become mine. I was the especial care of Mrs. Seventh Man Who Wallows, who all afternoon long had sat on her haunches over a cocoanut husk fire stirring savory foods for me. Fish, chickens, pigs, eggs, and native delicacies of all kinds she had cooked and sauced so appetizingly that I conferred on her the title of "Chefess" _de Cuisine_, and voiced my suspicions that some deserting cook from a flagship had traded his lore for her kisses. Her laughter was spiced with pride, and the chief himself smilingly nodded and gestured to assure me that I had guessed right. Now in the quiet of the evening, empty bowls removed, pandanus-leaf cigarettes lighted, and pipe passing from hand to hand, we sat rejoicing in the sweet odors of the forest, the murmur of the stream, and the ease of contentment. Many elders of the village had come to meet the stranger, to discuss the world and its wonders, and to marvel at the ways of the whites. The glow of the pipe lighted shriveled yet still handsome countenances scrolled with tattooing, and caught gleams from rolling eyes or sparkles from necklace and earring. Above the mountains a full moon rose, flooding the valley with light and fading the brilliant colors of leaf and flower to pale pastel tints. Vanquished Often sat beside me, her dark hair falling over my knee, and listened respectfully to the conversation of her elders, who discussed the gods of the stranger. They wondered what curious motive had impelled the Jews, the _Aati-Ietu_, to kill _Ieto Kirito_ the Savior of the world. They discussed the strange madness that had possessed _Iuda Iskalota_, that he had first bought land with his forty pieces of silver and then hanged himself to a _purau_ tree. Was it cocoanut land? they asked. Was it not good land? Often across the worn stones of the _paepae_ stole a _vei_, a centipede, upon which a bare foot quickly stamped. The chief said casually, "If he bite you, you no die; you have hell of a time." They were not natives of the Marquesas originally, he said; they came in the coal of ships. His patriotism outran his knowledge, for the first discoverers bitterly berated these poisonous creatures, though no more warmly than Neo, who drew heavily upon his stock of English curses to tell his opinion of them. When the time came for saying _apae kaoha_ my kindly hosts sought to confer upon me the last proof of their friendliness. They proposed that I marry Vanquished Often. My refusal was incomprehensible to them, and Vanquished Often's happy smile in the moonlight quickly faded to a look of pain and humiliation. They had offered me their highest and most revered expression of hospitality. To refuse it was as uncustomary and as rude as to refuse the Alaskan miner who offers a drink at a public bar. "_Menike_," pleaded the chief, "that Hinatini more better marry white man, friend of Teddy, from number one island. She some punkins for be good wife. Suppose may be you like Vait-hua you stay long time; suppose you go soon, make never mind!" The fair chieftess shook her earrings and smiled archly. "Bonne filly pooh voo, Menike," she urged in her Marquesan French. "Good wife for you. It is my pleasure that you are happy. She is beautiful and good. You will be the son of our people while you are here." Vanquished Often, who had a vague notion of the greatness of her uncle's Menike friends, Teddy and Gotali, and of the desirability of an alliance with one of their tribe, approached me softly and rubbed my back in a circle the while she crooned a broken song of the whaling days, concerning the "rolling Mississippi" and the "Black Ball line." Seventh Man Who Wallows in the Mire himself began to make concentric circles on my breast with his heavy hand, so that I was beset fore and aft by the most tender and friendly advances of the Marquesan race. Never was hapless guest in more unfortunate plight. She was but a child, I said; Americans did not mate with children. They smiled as at a pleasantry, and again extolled her charms. Desperately I harked back to the ten commandments in an endeavor to support my refusal by other reasons than distaste or discourtesy, but laughter met my text. "White man does not follow white man's _tapus_," said my hostess, gently placing my hand in that of Vanquished Often. The slender fingers clung timorously to mine. Unhappy Hinatini feared that she was about to be disgraced before her people by the white man's scorn of her beauty. I was fain to invent a romance upon the spot. I was madly enamoured of an Atuona belle, I said. She waited for me upon my own _paepae_; she was a mighty woman and swift to anger. She would wreak vengeance upon me, and upon Vanquished Often. I would adopt Vanquished Often as my sister. In token of this I pressed my lips upon her forehead and kissed her hands. She smiled bewitchingly, pleased by the novel honor. My hosts and their friends departed with her, half pleased, half puzzled at this latest whimsy of the strange white, and I lay down upon the mats of the chief's house, with Exploding Eggs lying across the doorway at my feet. The night brought fitful dreams, and in the darkest hour I woke to feel a frightening thing upon my leg. By the light of the dimly burning lantern I saw a thousand-leg, reddish brown and ten inches long, halting perhaps for breath midway between my knee and waist. It seemed indeed to have a thousand legs, and each separate foot made impresses of terror on my mind, while each toe and claw clutched my bare flesh with threatening touch. The brave man of the tale who saves himself from cobra or rattler by letting the serpent crawl its slow way over his perfectly controlled body might have withheld even a quiver of the flesh, but I am no Spartan. At my convulsive shudder each horrid claw gripped a death-hold. In one swift motion I seized a corkscrew that lay nearby, pried loose with a quick jerk every single pede and threw the odious thing a dozen yards. A trail of red, inflamed spots rose where it had stood and remained painful and swollen for days. [Illustration: Idling away the sunny hours] [Illustration: Nothing to do but rest all day] Whether it was because this experience became mixed with my first dreams in beautiful Vait-hua, or whether my Celtic blood sees portents where they do not exist, certain it is that as the stealthy charm of that idyllic place grew upon me through the days something within me resisted it. I was ever aware that its beauty concealed a menace deadly to the white man who listened too long to the rustle of its palms and the murmur of its stream. CHAPTER VIII Communal life; sport in the waves; fight of the sharks and the mother whale; a day in the mountains; death of Le Capitaine Halley; return to Atuona. Life in Vait-hua was idyllic. The whites, having desolated and depopulated this once thronged valley, had gone, leaving the remnant of its people to return to their native virtue and quietude. Here, perhaps more than in any other spot in all the isles, the Marquesan lived as his forefathers had before the whites came. Doing nothing sweetly was an art in Vait-hua. Pleasure is nature's sign of approval. When man is happy, he is in harmony with himself and his environment. The people of this quiet valley did not crave excitement. The bustle and nervous energy of the white wearied them excessively. Time was never wasted, to their minds, for leisure was the measure of its value. Domestic details, the preparation of food, the care of children, the nursing of the sick, were the tasks of all the household. Husband and wife, or the mates unmarried, labored together in delightful unity. Often the woman accompanied her man into the forests, assisting in the gathering of nuts and breadfruit, in the fishing and the building. When these duties did not occupy them, or when they were not together bathing in the river or at the _via puna_, they sat side by side on their _paepaes_ in meditation. They might discuss the events of the day, they might receive the visits of others, or go abroad for conversation; but for hours they often were wrapped in their thoughts, in a silence broken only by the rolling of their pandanus cigarettes or the lighting of the mutual pipe. "Of what are you thinking?" I said often to my neighbors when breaking in upon their meditation. "Of the world. Of those stars," they replied. They would sympathize with that Chinese traveler who, visiting America and being hurried from carriage to train, smiled at our idea of catching the fleeting moment. "We save ten minutes by catching this train," said his guide, enthusiastically. "And what will you do with that ten minutes?" demanded the Chinese. To be busy about anything not necessary to living is, in Marquesan wisdom, to be idle. Swimming in the surf, lolling at the _via puna_, angling from rock or canoe or fishing with line and spear outside the bay, searching for shell-fish, and riding or walking over the hills to other valleys, filled their peaceful, pleasant days. A dream-like, care-free life, lived by a people sweet to know, handsome and generous and loving. That he never saw or heard of the slightest quarrel between individuals was the statement a century ago of Captain Porter, the American. Then as now the most perfect harmony prevailed among them. They lived like affectionate brothers of one family, he said, the authority of the chiefs being only that of fathers among children. They had no mode of punishment for there were no offenders. Theft was unknown, and all property was left unguarded. So Porter, who, with his ship's company, killed so many Marquesans, was fully aware of their civic virtues, their kindness, gentleness and generosity. It is so to-day, in Vait-hua where the whites are not. I have had my trousers lifted from my second-story room in a Manila hotel by the eyed and fingered bamboo of the Tagalog _ladron_, while I washed my face, and stood aghast at the mystery of their disappearance with door locked, until looking from my lofty window I beheld them moving rapidly down an _estero_ in a _banca_. I have given over my watch to a gendarme in Cairo to forfend arrest for having beaten an Arab who tripped me to pick my pocket, and I have surrendered to the rapacity of a major-general-uniformed official in Italy, who would incarcerate me for not having a tail-light lit. In San Francisco, when robbed upon the public street, I have listened while the police suggested that I offer a fee to the "king of the dips" and a reward to certain saloonkeepers to intercede with the unknown-to-me highwaymen for the return of an heirloom. Yet through the darkest nights in Vait-hua I slept serenely, surrounded by all the possessions so desirable in the eyes of my neighbors, in a house the doors of which were never fastened. There was not a lock in all the village, or anything that answered the purpose of one. The people of this isolated valley, forgetting their brief encounter with the European idea of money and of the accumulation of property, had reverted to the ways of their fathers. Before interference with their natural customs the Marquesans were communists to a large degree. Their only private property consisted of houses, weapons, ornaments, and clothing, for the personal use of the owner himself. All large works, such as the erection of houses, the building of large canoes, and, in ancient days, the raising of _paepaes_ and temples, were done by mutual cooperation; though each family provided its own food and made provision for the future by storing breadfruit in the _popoi_ pits. Neo, like the long line of chiefs before him, had gathered a little more of the good things of life than had the majority, but he was in no sense a dictator, except as personality won obedience. In the old days a chief was often relegated to the ranks for failure in war, and always for an overbearing attitude toward the commoners. Such arrogant fellows were kicked out of the seat of power unceremoniously. "Our pure republican policy approaches so near their own," said the American naval captain, Porter, a hundred years ago. Men were honored for their artistry, highest place being given to the tattooers, the carvers, the designers, and builders of canoes, the architects, doctors, and warriors. Men and women rose to influence and chiefly rank only by deeds that won popular admiration. These people were hero-worshippers, and in the bloodiest of the old days those of fine soul who had a message of entertainment or instruction were _tapu_ to all tribes, so that they could travel anywhere in safety and were welcome guests in all homes. It is true that in Hawaii and Tonga conquerors made themselves kings, but not there or in Samoa, Tahiti, or the Marquesas were kings supreme rulers until the whites established them for their own trade purposes and sold them firearms by which to maintain their power. That day of the whites had passed in Vait-hua. The chief now maintained his authority by the fondness of his people alone. Generous he was, and gentle, yet I minded that he had bitten off the nose of Severin, the French gendarme, when the _namu_ had made him mad. Now whether guided by pride in his discipline or by memory of evil-doing repented, he was strict in his enforcement of the prohibition of cocoanut toddy, and sobriety made the days and nights peaceful. Early in the mornings I called "Kaoha!" from my _paepae_ to Mrs. Seventh Man, who came each day from her bath in the _via puna_ attired in her earrings only. Sauntering along the bank of the brook still dripping from the spring, her wet black hair clinging to her shapely back and her tawny skin glistening in flickering light and shade, she was for all the world my conception of Mother Eve before even leaves were modesty. Her nudity was a custom only at this time, for when she reappeared to aid Exploding Eggs in preparing my breakfast she always wore a scarlet _pareu_ and her hair was done like Bernhardt's. Vanquished Often appeared with her aunt, carefully dressed in spotless, diaphanous tunic, fresh flowers in her hair, a treasured pink silk garter clasping her rounded arm. "Big White Brother," she called me with pride, though often I saw a sad wonder in her great eyes as she squatted near, silently watching me. Her possessive ways were pretty to see as she walked close by my side on the trail from my cabin to the beach, while Exploding Eggs regarded her jealously, insisting on his prerogative as _Tueni Oki Kiki_, Keeper of the Golden Bed, the glittering magnificence of which he described minutely to her. We arrived at a merry scene upon the beach. Women and children were in the surf, or on rocks under the cliffs, fishing for _popo_, the young of _uua_. With bamboo poles twenty feet long and lines of even greater length, we stood up to our necks in the sea and threw out the hook baited with a morsel of shrimp. The breakers tumbled us about, the lines became tangled, amid gales of laughter and a medley of joyous shouts. Tiring of fishing, Vanquished Often and I would breast the creaming waves side by side, to turn far out and dash in on the breakers, overturning all but the wary. Or a group of us, climbing high on the cliffs, would fling ourselves again and again into the sea, turning in mid-air, life and delight quickening every muscle. Wearying of this sport, we embarked in canoes, fishing or sailing, and many small adventures we had, for the younger and more daring spirits delighted in scaring me into expostulation or the silence of the condemned and then saving my life by a hair's-breadth. We had gone one morning about the southern cape, and were harpooning swordfish and the gigantic sunfish when a commotion a thousand feet away brought shouts of warning from my companions. We saw two whales, one with a baby at her breast. The other we took to be the father whale. Huge black beasts they were. Upon this mated pair a band of sharks had flung themselves to seize the infant. There were at least twenty-five sharks in the mad mob, great white monsters thirty feet in length, man-eaters by blood-taste, tigers in disposition. Though they could not compare with their prey in size or power, they had heads as large as barrels, and mouths that would drag a man through their terrible gaps. That their hunger was past all bounds was evident, for the whale is not often attacked by such inferior-sized fish. Storms had raged on the sea for days, and maybe had cheated the sharks of their usual food. They swam around and around the mountainous pair, darting in and out, evidently with some plan of drawing off the male. Both the whales struck out incessantly with their mammoth flukes; their great tails, crashing upon the sea-surface, lashed it to mountains of foam. Our boats tossed as in a gale. Carried away by the pity and terror of the scene, we shouted threats and curses at the monsters, calling down on them in Marquesan the wrath of the sea-gods. Frenziedly handling tiller and sails, we circled the battle, impotent to aid the poor woman-beast and her baby. The sharks harried them as hounds a fox. Desperately the parents fought, more than one shark sank wounded to the depths and one, turning its white belly to the sun, floated dead upon the waves. Another was flung high in air by a blow of the mother's tail. But it was an uneven contest. At last we saw the nursling drawn from her breast, and the mother herself sank, still struggling. She may have risen, of course, far away, but she seemed disabled. We did not wait about that bloody spot when the sharks had fallen upon their prey, for our canoe was low in the water, and with such a sight to warn us, we did not doubt that the loathly monsters would attack us. From such a sight it was a relief to turn to the mountains. Along the steep trails I roamed far with Vanquished Often and Exploding Eggs. We played at being alone with nature, foregoing in living all that the white man had brought. I left the house of the chief naked save for a loin-cloth of native make, and I wore no shoes or hat. Vanquished Often and my valet were attired as I, and thus we shouted "Kaoha!" to the chieftess and started toward adventure. Seventh Man was dubious about my setting off without some prepared food, _popoi_ or canned fish or biscuits, and without sleeping-mats. "You ketchee hungery by an' soon," he protested. "No got Gold Bed in mountains." Vanquished Often laughed merrily, and the chief looked like a father whose child has thrown a stone at the bogie-man. I rubbed his nose with mine in farewell, and we began our journey, barehanded as Crusoe, yet more fortunate than he since we were in the best of company and I had the comforting knowledge that Marquesan youth would not go hungry or permit me to do so. Our way led up heights of marvelous beauty, along the edges of deep defiles that opened below our feet like valleys of Paradise. The candlenut, the _ama_, with its lilac bloom, the hibiscus and pandanus, green and glossy, the _petavii_, a kind of banana the curving fronds of which spread high in air, the snake-plant, _makomako_, a yellow-flowered shrub, and many others none of us could name, carpeted the farther mountain-sides with brilliant colors. Everywhere were cocoanuts, guavas, and mangos. In the tree-tops over our heads the bindweed shook its feathery seed-pods, the parasite _kouna_ dripped its deeply serrated leaves and crimson umbels, and thousands of orchids hung like butterflies. "It is beautiful in your islands, is it not?" Vanquished Often said wistfully. "Tell us more of the marvels there! Are the girls of your valleys very lovely, and do they all sleep in golden beds?" All daughters of chiefs slept in golden beds, I told her. Often they wore golden slippers on their feet. When they wished to go over the mountains they did not walk, or ride on donkeys, but went in seats covered with velvet, a kind of cloth more soft than the silk ribbon of her pink garter-armlet, and these seats were drawn at incredible speed by a snorting thing made of iron, not living, but stronger than a hundred donkeys. "How do they make that cloth?" said Vanquished Often, eagerly. They did not make it, I explained. It was made for them by girls who were not daughters of chiefs, and therefore had no golden beds. Her eyes clouded with bewilderment, but Exploding Eggs listened breathlessly, and demanded more tales. I told them of wireless telegraphy. This they believed as they believed the tales of magic told by old sorcerers, but they scoffed at my description of an elevator, perceiving that I was loosing the reins of my fancy and soaring to impossibilities. "The girls in your island must always be happy," said Vanquished Often, sighing. All daughters of chiefs were happy, I said. "What is the manner of their fishing?" asked Exploding Eggs. In such conversation we proceeded, walking for miles through a fairyland in which we were the only living creatures, save for the small scurrying things that slipped across the trail, and the bright-colored birds that fluttered through the tree-tops. At noon we paused for luncheon. Vanquished Often disappeared in the forest, to return shortly with her gathered-up tunic filled with mangos and guavas, four cocoanuts slung in a neatly plaited basket of leaves on her bare shoulders. Exploding Eggs, cutting two sticks of dry wood from the underbrush, whirled them upon each other with such speed and dexterity that soon a small fire, fed by shreds of cocoanut fiber, blazed on a rock, with plantains heaped about it to roast. While we rested after the feast Vanquished Often, squatted by my side, made for my comfort a wide-brimmed hat of thick leaves pinned together with thorns, a shelter from the sun's rays that was grateful to my tender scalp. Resuming our way, we met upon the trail a handsome small wild donkey, fearful of our kind, yet longing for company. "_Pureekee!_" said Exploding Eggs, meaning _bourrique_, the French for donkey. And Vanquished Often related that once hundreds of these beasts roamed through the jungle, descendants of a pair of asses escaped from a ship decades before, but that most of them had starved to death in dry periods, or been eaten by hungry natives. Farther on we passed acres of the sensitive plant, called by the Marquesans _teita hakaina_, the Modest Herb. A wide glade in a curve of the mountains was filled with a sea of it, and my companions delighted in dashing through its curiously nervous leafage, that shuddered and folded its feathery sprays together at their touch. If shocked further it opened its leaflets as if to say, "What's the use? I'm shy, but I can't stay under cover forever." In such artless amusements the day passed, a day that remains forever an idyl of simple loveliness to me, such as any man is the richer for having known. When darkness overtook us, we made for ourselves the softest of ferny beds, and slept serenely, untroubled by anything, under the light of the stars. As we returned next day to the village in the valley, we found upon a hill far from the beach the tombs of the sailors who first raised the standard of France in these islands. The eternal jungle had so housed in their monuments that we had hot work to break through the jealous lantana and pandanus to see the stones. Neither Vanquished Often nor Exploding Eggs had ever cast eyes on them, and neither had but a legendary memory of how these men of the conquering race had met their death. A great slab of native basalt eroded by seventy years of sun and rain bore the barely discernible epitaph: "Ci Git Edouard Michel Halley Capitaine de Corvette Officier de la Légion d'honneur Fondateur de la colonie de Vait-hua Mort au champ d'honneur Le 17 ----bre, 1842" I read it to my friends. They pressed their hands to their brows to conjure up a vision of this dead man whom their grandfathers had fought and slain, as I told them the story of his death in the jungle at our feet. It was at Vait-hua that the French first took possession of the Marquesas. Here already were missionaries and beach-combers of many nationalities, ardent spirits all, fighting each other for the souls of the natives; gin and the commandments at odds, ritual and exploitation contending. Unable to subdue the forces that threatened the peace of his people, Iotete, Vait-hua's chief, sent a message asking the help of the French admiral. It came at once; a garrison was established on the beach, and the tricolor rose. Whatever the cause, it had been upraised barely two months when chief and people in a body deserted their homes and fled to the hills. Commander Halley, having vainly exhorted and commanded them to return, declared war on them in punishment for their disobedience, and marshaling his forces in three columns set out to seek them. Ladebat led the van, armed with a fowling-piece. Halley himself walked at the head of the middle column, a youthful, debonair Frenchman, carrying only a cane, which he swung jauntily as he followed the jungle trail. When the soldiers arrived at a few feet from the main body of the natives, Iotete advanced and cried out, "_Tapu!_" Ladebat instantly fired his shot-gun at the chief, and instantly two balls from native guns pierced his brain. "Halley," runs the old chronicle, "advanced from the shelter of a cocoanut-tree to give orders to his men, but fell on his knees as if in prayer, embracing the tree, three paces from the corpse of Ladebat. Five of his men dropped mortally wounded beside him. Third Officer Laferriere had the retreat sounded." Here, but a few feet from the spot where the gay young Frenchman fell, the jungle had covered his tomb. Fifty thousand Marquesans have died to bring peace to the soul of that _corvette_ commander who so jauntily flourished his cane in the faces of the wondering savages. Iotete would better have endured the pranks of brutal sea-adventurers, perhaps. This mausoleum was the seal of French occupancy. Farther down the hill we came upon the first church built in the Marquesas. It was a small wooden edifice bearing a weatherbeaten sign in French, "The Church of the Mother of God." Above the shattered doors were two carven hearts, a red dagger through one and a red flame issuing from the other. A black cross was fixed above these symbols, which Vanquished Often and Exploding Eggs regarded with respect. To the Marquesan these are all _tiki_, or charms, which have superseded their own. Beside the decaying church stood a refectory far gone in ruin, that once had housed a dozen friars. Breadfruit-, mango- and orange-trees grew in the tangled tall grass, and the garden where the priests had read their breviaries was a wilderness of tiger-lilies. Among them we found empty bottles of a "Medical Discovery," a patent medicine dispensed from Boston, favored in these islands where liquor is tabooed by government. Seventh Man, coming up the trail to meet us, found us looking at them. He lifted one and sniffed it regretfully. "Prenty strong," he said. "Make drunkee. Call him Kennedee. He cost much. Drinkee two piece you sick three day." He smiled reminiscently, and once more I thought of that day when the unfortunate gendarme had surprised the orgiasts in the forest and lost his nose. The chief accompanied us down the trail. "My brother of grandfather have first gun in Marquesas," he said with meaning when I spoke of the days of Halley. "One chief Iotete have prenty trouble _Menike_ whaleman. He send for French admiral help him. Captiane Halley come with sailor. Frenchman he never go 'way." Again his teeth gleamed in a smile. "My brother of grandfather have gun long time in hills," he added cryptically. Too soon the time came when I must return to my own _paepae_ in Atuona. Vanquished Often wept at my decision, and Mrs. Seventh Man rubbed my nose long with hers as she entreated me to remain in the home she had given over to me. The chief, finding remonstrance useless, volunteered to accompany me on my return, and one midnight woke me to be ready when the wind was right. We went down the trail through wind and darkness, the chief blowing a conch-shell for the crew. In the straw shanty where my hosts had spread their mats that I might have the full occupancy of their comfortable home, we found Mrs. Seventh Man making tea for me. Vanquished Often sat apart in the shadow, her face averted, but when my cocoanut-shell was filled with the streaming brew she sprang forward passionately and would let no hand but hers present it to me. All day it had been raining, and the downpour rushed from the eaves with a melancholy sound as we sat in the lantern-lighted dimness drinking from the shells. The crew came in one by one, their naked bodies running water, their eyes eager for a draught of the tea, into which I put a little rum, the last of the two litres. Squall followed squall, shaking the hut. At half-past two, in a little lull which Neo guessed might last, we went out to the rain-soaked beach, launched the canoe, and paddled away. My last sight of Vait-hua was the dim line of surf on the sand, and beyond it the slender figure of Vanquished Often holding aloft a lantern whose rays faintly illumined against the darkness her windblown white tunic and blurred face. The storm had lured us by, a brief cessation. We had hardly left the beach before the heavens opened and deluged us with rain. Water sluiced our bare backs and ran in streams down the brawny arms bending to the oars. We paddled an hour before the wind was favorable, and a dreary hour it was. The canoe had an out-rigger, but was so narrow that none could sit except on the sharp side. I fell asleep even upon it, and woke in the sea, with the chief, who had flung himself to my rescue, clutching my hair. Morning found our canoe close to the rocky coast of Hiva-oa. As is their custom, instead of making a beeline for our destination or sailing to it close-hauled as the winds permitted, the Marquesans had steered for the nearest shore, following along it to port. This method is attended with danger, for off the threatening cliffs a heavy sea was running, great waves dashing on the rocks, and we were perforce in the trough as we skirted the land. [Illustration: Catholic Church at Atuona Described by Stevenson in _The South Seas_] [Illustration: A native spearing fish from a rock] We quit the sail for oars, and it took every ounce of strength and skill on the part of the rowers and Seventh Man to avoid shipwreck. Each breaker as it passed tossed the frail craft skyward, and we fell into the abysses as a rock into a bottomless pit. Every instant it seemed that we must capsize. While we fought thus, in a frenzied effort to keep off the rocks, the sun rose, and every curl of water turned to clearest emerald, while the hollows of the leaping waves were purple as dark amethysts. Suddenly, as we slid breathlessly downward, a great wall of water rose beside us, higher and higher until it seemed to touch the sky, clear and solid-looking as a sheet of green glass, a sight so stupendous that amazement took the place of fear. For an instant it remained poised above us, then crashed down with the shock of an earthquake. Stunned, I emerged from a smother of water to find our canoe completely under the waves, kept afloat solely by grace of the outrigger. All hands were overside, clinging to the edge of the submerged craft, while Exploding Eggs and I bailed for our lives. Strong swimmers, they held us off-shore until we had so lowered the water that they could resume the oars. For two hours we tossed about, while the chief held the steering-oar and his men paddled through a welter of jeweled color that threatened momentarily to toss us on the rocks. If we smashed on them we were dead men, for even had we been able to climb them the high tide would have drowned us against the wall of the cliffs. No man showed the slightest fear, though they pulled like giants and obeyed instantly each order of the chief. Battling in this fashion, we rounded at last Point Teaehoa and won the protection of the Bay of Traitors. I, at least, felt immeasurable relief, that quickly turned to exhilaration as we hoisted sail and drove at a glorious speed straight through the breakers to the welcoming beach of Atuona. CHAPTER IX The Marquesans at ten o'clock mass; a remarkable conversation about religions and Joan of Arc in which Great Fern gives his idea of the devil. I was surprised to note that the few natives within view when we landed were dressed in the stiff and awkward clothes of the European; some fête must have been arranged during my absence, I thought. Then with a shock I realized that the day was Sunday. In the lovely, timeless valley of Vait-hua the calendar had dropped below the horizon of memory as my native land had dropped below the rim of the sea. Here in Atuona, whose life was colored by the presence of whites, the days must take up their constricted regular march again. Already through the crystal air of a morning after rain the mission bells were ringing clear, and Chief Neo, forgetting the night of toil and danger past, was eager to accompany me to church. It would be an honor befitting his chiefly rank to sit with the distinguished white man in the house of worship, and I, remembering his perfect hospitality, was glad to do him honor in my own valley. We hastened to my cabin, Exploding Eggs running before us up the trail with my luggage balanced on his shoulders. Cocoanuts and _popoi_, coffee and tinned biscuits, were waiting when we arrived. We ate hastily and then donned proper garments, Exploding Eggs rejoicing in a stiff collar and a worn sailor-hat once mine. They sat oddly upon him, being several sizes too large, but he bore himself with pride as we set out toward the church. In the avenue of bananas leading to the mission I lingered to observe the beauty of the flakes upon the ground. They are the outside layers of the pendulum of that graceful plant, the purple flower-cone that hangs at the end of the fruit cluster with its volute and royal-hued stem. The banana-plants, which we call trees, lined the road and stood twenty feet high, their long slender leaves blowing in the light wind like banners from a castle wall. The flakes that had dropped upon the ground were lovely. Large as a lady's veil, ribbed satin, rose and purple, pink and scarlet, the filmy edges curled delicately, they hinted the elegance and luxury of a pretty woman's boudoir. And, like all such dainty trifles, the charming flower that hangs like a colored lamp in the green chapel of the banana-grove it is useless after it has served its brief purpose. The fruit grows better when it is cut off. Opposite the spacious mission grounds the worshippers were gathering beneath two gnarled banian-trees, giant-like in height and spread. Behind them a long hedge of bananas bordered the cocoanut plantation of the church, and across the narrow road rose the chapel, the priests' residence and the nuns' house, with several school buildings now empty because of the French anti-clerical law. Exploding Eggs in his new finery and the visiting chief from Vait-hua found welcome among the waiting natives, while Titihuti of the tattooed legs took her seat beside me. She had combed her Titian tresses and anointed them with oil till they shone like the kelp beds of Monterey. Her tunic was of scarlet calico, and she carried in her hand a straw hat with a red ribbon, to put on when she entered the church. "_Kaoha!_" I said to her, and she smiled, displaying her even, white teeth. Suddenly, looking past her at the church, my eye caught a sight that transfixed me. In the misty light I saw the Christ upon the cross as on Calvary. The sublime figure was in the agony of expiration, and at the foot of the cross stood the ever faithful mother and the loving John in attitudes of amazement and grief. The reality was startling; for the moment I forgot all about me. But Titihuti coughed, and I saw her tattooed legs and felt the rough roots of the banian under me, and I was back in the courtyard. The spectacle of the Crucifixion was raised on a basalt platform fully twenty feet long. The figures were of golden bronze, and the cross was painted white. Over it hung the branches of a lofty breadfruit-tree, a congruous canopy for such a group. The Bread of Life, in truth. A tablet on the cross bore the inscription: "1900 Le Christ Dieu Homme Vit Regne Commande Christo Redemptori Jubilé 1901 Atuona." "The _tiki_ of the true god," said Titihuti, observing my gaze, and crossed herself with the fervor of the believer in a new charm. On the roof a score of doves were cooing as we filed into the church. There were bas-reliefs of cherubim and seraphim over the doorway, fat, distorted bodies with wings a-wry, yet with a celestial vision showing through the crude workmanship. A loop-holed buttress on either side of the facade spoke of the days when the forethought of the builders planned for defence in case a reaction of paganism caused the congregation to attack the Christian fathers. Inside the doorway a French nun in blue robes tugged at a rope depending from the belfry, and above us the bells rang out from two tiny towers. She looked curiously at me and my savage companion, her pale peasant's face hard, homely, unhealthy; then she kicked at a big dog who was trying to drink the holy water from the clam-shell beside the door. "_Allez_, Satan!" she said. The _benetier_, large enough to immerse an infant, was fixed to a board, a fascinating, blackened old bracket, carved with the instruments of torture, the nails, the spear, the scourge, and thorns. Ivory and pearl, stained by a century or more, were inlaid. As I dipped my hand in the shell a huge lizard that made his nest in the hollow of the bracket ran across my knuckles. Within, there were seats with kneeling-planks, hewed out of hard wood and still bearing the marks of the adze. Upon them the congregation soon assembled, the women on one side, the men on the other. The women wore hats, native weaves in semi-sailor style, decorated with Chinese silk shawls or bright-colored handkerchiefs. All were barefooted except the pale and sickly daughters of Baufré, who wore clumsy and painful shoes. Many Daughters, the little, lovely leper, came with Flower, of the red-gold hair, the Weaver of Mats, who had her names tattooed on her arm. They dipped in the font and genuflected, then bowed in prayer. Many familiar faces I recognized. Ah Yu, the Chinaman who owned the little store beyond the banian-tree and had murder upon his soul; Lam Kai Oo, my erstwhile landlord; Flag, the gendarme; Water, in all the glory of European trousers; Kake, with my small namesake on her arm. The old women were tattooed on the ears and neck in scrolls, and their lips were marked in faint stripes. The old men, their eyes ringed with tattooing, wore earrings and necklaces of whale's teeth. The church was painted white inside, with frescoes and dados of gaudy hues, and windows of brilliantly colored glass. The altar, as also the statues of Joseph and Mary, had a reredos handsomely carved. Outside the railing was a charming Child in the Manger, lying on real straw, surrounded by the Virgin, Joseph, the Magi, the shepherds, and the kings, all in bright-hued robes, and pleasant-looking cows and asses with red eyes and green tails. The singing began before the priest came from the sacristy. The men sang alone and the women followed, in an alternating chant that at times rose into a wail and again had the nasal sound of a bag-pipe. The Catholic chants sung thus in Marquesan took on a wild, barbaric rhythm that thrilled the blood and made the hair tingle on the scalp. Bishop David le Cadre appeared in elegant vestments, his eyes grave above a foot-long beard, and the mass began. The acolyte was very agile in a short red cassock, below which his naked legs, and bare feet showed. The people responded often through the mass, rising, sitting down, and kneeling obediently. Baufré sat on a chair in the vestibule and added accounts. Ah Kee Au was the sole communicant at the rail. No cloth was spread, but the bell announced the mystery of transubstantiation, and all bowed their heads while Ah Kee Au reverently offered his communion to the welfare of Napoleon, his grandson who had accidentally shot himself. The service over, the people poured from the church into the brilliant sunshine of the road, and Ah Kee Au said to me, "You savee thlat communio' blead b'long my place. My son makee for pliest." Lam Kai Oo, pressing forward, offered the communicant a draught of fiery rum he had obtained by the governor's permission. He had been told that to give a glass of water to a communicant, who must of course have fasted and abstained from any liquid since midnight according to the law of the Church, was a holy act which brought the giver a blessing, and so the subtle Chinese thought to make his blessing greater by offering a drink better than water. Ah Kee Au drank with fervor. "My makee holee thliss morn'," he said gladly. "Makee Napoleon more happy." Sincerity is not a matter of broken English or a drink of rum; the poor old grandfather of the Little Corporal's namesake believed earnestly that Napoleon would improve by his sacramental offering. He, like most Marquesans, took the white man's religion with little understanding. It is new magic to them, a comfort, an occupation, and an entertainment. But who knows the human heart, or understands the soul? That afternoon while Neo and I lay on my _paepae_ awaiting the favoring wind which should carry him back to his own isle, my neighbors gathered from far and near to lounge the sunny hours away in conversation. Squatted on the mats, they engaged in serious discussion of the puzzles of religion, appealing to me often to settle vexing questions which they had long wearied of asking their better-informed instructors in religious mysteries. Their native tongue has no word for religion. Bishop Dordillon had been obliged to translate it, "_Te mea e hakatika me te mea e hana mea koaha toitoi i te Etua_" which might be rendered, "Belief in the works and love of a just God." Etua, often spelled Atua, was the name of divinity among all Maori peoples, but religion was so associated with natural things, the phenomena of nature, of living things, and of the heavens and sea, that it was part of daily life and needed no word to distinguish it. Never were people less able to comprehend the creeds and formulas in which the religious beliefs of the white men are clothed. Marquesans are not deep thinkers. In fact, they have a word, _tahoa_, which means, "a headache from thinking." Ten years of ardent and nobly self-sacrificing work by missionaries left the islands still without a single soul converted. It was not until the chiefs began to set the seal of their approval on the new outlandish faiths that the people flocked to the standard of the cross. And when they did begin to meditate the doctrines preached to them as necessary beliefs in order to win salvation, their heads ached indeed. Even after years of faithful church-going many of my friends still struggled with their doubts, and when these were propounded to me I was fain to wrinkle my own brow and ponder deeply. The burning question as to the color of Adam and Eve had long been settled. Adam and Eve were brown, like themselves. But if, as the priests said was most probable, Adam and Eve had received pardon and were in heaven, why had their guilt stained all mankind? Also, would Satan have been able to tempt Eve if God had not made the tree of knowledge _tapu_? Was not knowledge a good thing? What motive had led the Maker and Knower of all things to do this deed? What made the angels fall? Pride, said the priests. Then how did it get into heaven? demanded the perplexed. The resurrection of the body at the last judgment horrified them. This fact, said the husband of Kake, had led to the abandonment of the old manner of burying corpses in a sitting posture, with the face between the knees and the hands under the thighs, the whole bound round with cords. Obviously, a man buried in such a position would rise deformed. Their dead in the cemetery on the heights slept now in long coffins of wood, their limbs at ease. But other and less premeditated interments still befell the unwary islander. What would God do in cases where sharks had eaten a Marquesan? And what, when the same shark had been killed and eaten by other Marquesans? And in the case of the early Christian forefathers, who were eaten by men of other tribes, and afterward the cannibals eaten in retaliation, and then the last feaster eaten by sharks? _Aue!_ There was a headache query! At this point in the discussion an aged stranger from the valley of Taaoa, a withered man whose whole naked chest was covered with intricate tattooing, laid down his pipe and artlessly revealed his idea of the communion service. It was, he thought, a religious cannibalism, no more. And he was puzzled that his people should be told that it was wrong to feed on the flesh of a fellow human creature when they were urged to "eat the body and drink the blood" of _Ietu Kirito_ himself. It was long afterward, in that far-away America so incomprehensible to my simple savage friends, that I read beneath the light of an electric lamp a paragraph in "Folkways," by William Graham Summer, of Yale: "Language used in communion about eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ refers to nothing in our _mores_ and appeals to nothing in our experience. It comes down from very remote ages; very probably from cannibalism." The printed page vanished, and before my eyes rose a vision of my _paepae_ among the breadfruit- and cocoanut-trees, the ring of squatting dusky figures in flickering sunlit leaf-shade, Kake in her red tunic with the babe at her breast, Exploding Eggs standing by with a half-eaten cocoanut, and the many dark eyes in their circles of ink fixed upon the shriveled face of the reformed cannibal whose head ached with the mysteries of the white man's religion. None too soon for me, the talk turned about history, the tales of which were confused in my guests' minds with those of the saints. Great Fern insisted that if the English roasted Joan of Arc they ate her, because no man would apply live coals, which pain exceedingly, to any living person, and fire was never placed upon a human body save to cook it for consumption. This theory seemed reasonable to most of the listeners, for since such cruelty as the Marquesans practiced in their native state was thoughtless and never intentional, the idea of torture was incomprehensible to their simple minds. Malicious Gossip, a comely savage of twenty-five with false-coffee leaves in her hair, declared, however, that the governor had told her the English roasted Joan alive because she was a heretic. The statement was received with startled protests by those present who had themselves incurred that charge when they deserted Catholicism for Protestantism some time earlier. "Exploding Eggs," said I hastily, "make tea for all." Every shade vanished from shining eyes when I produced the bottle of rum and added a spoonful of flavor to each brimming shellful. All perplexing questions were forgotten, and simple social pleasure reigned again on my _paepae_, while Great Fern explained to all his idea of the Christian devil. The Marquesan deity of darkness was Po, a vague and elemental spirit. But the _kuhane anera maaa_ of the new religion had definite and fearful attributes explained by the priests. So Great Fern conceived him as a kind of cross between a man and a boar, with a tail like that of a shark, running through the forests with a bunch of lighted candlenuts and setting fire to the houses of the wicked. And the wicked? Morals as we know them had nothing to do with their sin in his mind. The wicked were the unkind, those who were cruel to children, wives who made bad _popoi_, and whites with rum privileges who forgot hospitality. Non-Christians may grin at the efforts of missionaries among heathens. But the missionaries are the only influence for good in the islands, the only white men seeking to mitigate the misery and ruin brought by the white man's system of trade. The extension of civilized commerce has crushed every natural impulse of brotherliness, kindness, and generosity, destroyed every good and clean custom of these children of nature. Traders and sailors, whalers and soldiers, have been their enemies. Whatever the errors of the men of God, they have given their lives day by day in unremitting, self-sacrificing toil, suffering much to share with these despoiled people the light of their own faith in a better world hereafter. In so far as they have failed, they have failed because they have lacked what proselytizing religion has always lacked--a joy in life that seeks to make this mundane existence more endurable, a grace of humor, and a broad simplicity. Polynesians have always been respecters of authority. Under their own rule, where priest and king equally rose to rank because of admired deeds, the _tapus_ of the priests had the same force as those of chiefs, and life was conducted by few and simple rules. Now, when sect fights sect; when priests assure the people that France is a Catholic nation and the Governor says the statement is false; where the Protestant pastor teaches that Sunday is a day of solemnity and prayer, and the Frenchmen make it a day of merriment as in France; where salvation depends on many beliefs bewildering and incompatible, the puzzled Marquesan scratches his head and swings from creed to creed, while his secret heart clings to the old gods. The Marquesan had a joyful religion, full of humor and abandon, dances and chants, and exaltation of nature, of the greatness of their tribe or race, a worship that was, despite its ghastly rites of human sacrifice, a stimulus to life. The efforts of missionaries have killed the joy of living as they have crushed out the old barbarities, uprooting together everything, good and bad, that religion meant to the native. They have given him instead rites that mystify him, dogmas he can only dimly understand, and a little comfort in the miseries brought upon him by trade. I have seen a leper alone on his _paepae_, deep in the Scriptures, and when I asked him if he got comfort from them I was answered, "They are strong words for a weak man, and better than pig." But only a St. Francis Xavier or a Livingstone, a great moral force, could lift the people now from the slough of despond in which they expire. Upon this people, sparkingly alive, spirited as wild horses, not depressed as were their conquerors by a heritage of thousands of years of metes and bounds, religion as forced upon them has been not only a narcotic, but a death potion. CHAPTER X The marriage of Malicious Gossip; matrimonial customs of the simple natives; the domestic difficulties of Haabuani. Mouth of God and his wife, Malicious Gossip, soon became intimates of my _paepae_. Coming first to see the marvelous Golden Bed and to listen to the click-click of the Iron Fingers That Make Words, they remained to talk, and I found them both charming. Both were in their early twenties, ingenuous, generous, clever, and devoted to each other and to their friends. Malicious Gossip was beautiful, with soft dark eyes, clear-cut features, and a grace and lovely line of figure that in New York would make all heads whirl. She was all Marquesan, but her husband, Mouth of God, had white blood in him. Whose it was, he did not know, for his mother's consort had been an islander. His mother, a large, stern, and Calvinistic cannibal, believed in predestination, and spent her days in fear that she would be among the lost. Her Bible was ever near, and often, passing their house, I saw her climb with it into a breadfruit-tree and read a chapter in the high branches where she could avoid distraction. They lived in a spacious house set in three acres of breadfruit and cocoanuts, an ancient grove long in their family. Often I squatted on their mats, dipping a gingerly finger in their _popoi_ bowl and drinking the sweet wine of the half-ripe cocoanut, the while Mouth of God's mother spoke long and earnestly on the abode of the damned and the necessity for seeking salvation. In return, Malicious Gossip spent hours on my _paepae_ telling me of the customs of her people new and old. "When I was thirteen," she said, "the whalers still came to Vait-hua, my valley. There came a young _Menike_ man, straight and bright-eyed, a passenger on a whaling-ship seeking adventure. I sighed the first time in my life when I looked on him. He was handsome, and not like other men on your ships. "The kiss you white men give he taught me to like. He was generous and gentle and good. Months we dwelt together in a house by the stream in the valley. When he sailed away at last, as all white men do who are worth wanting to stay, he tore out my heart. My milk turned to poison and killed our little child. "I met long after with Mouth of God. He took me to his house in the breadfruit-grove. He was good and gentle, but I was long in learning to love him. It was the governor who made me know that I was his woman. It came about in this manner: "That governor was one whom all hated for his coldness and cruelty. Mouth of God worked for him in the house where medicines are made, having learned to mix the medicines in a bowl and to wrap cloths about the wounds of those who were sick. One day, according to the custom of white men who rule, the governor said to Mouth of God that he must send me to the palace that night. "When he came home to the house where we lived together, Mouth of God gave me his word. He said: 'Go to the river and bathe. Put on your crimson tunic and flowers in your hair and go to the palace. The governor gives a feast to-night, and you are to dance and to sleep in the governor's bed.'" Malicious Gossip shuddered, and rocked herself to and fro upon the mats. "Then I would have killed him! I cried out to him and said: 'I will not go to the governor! He is a devil. My heart hates him. I am a Marquesan. What have I to do with a man I hate?'" "'Go!' said Mouth of God, and his eyes were hard as the black stones of the High Place. 'The governor asks for you. He is the government. Since when have Marquesan women said no to the command of the _adminstrateur_?' "I wept, but I took my brightest _kahu ropa_ from the sandalwood chest my _Menike_ man had given me, and I went down the path to the stream. As I went I wept, but my heart was black, and I thought to take a keen-edged knife beneath my tunic when I went to the palace. But my feet were not yet wet in the edge of the water when Mouth of God called to me. "'Do not go,' he said. "I answered: 'I will go. You told me to go. I am on my way.' My tears were salt in my mouth. "'No!' said Mouth of God. He ran, and he came to me in the pool where I had flung myself. There in the water he held me, and his arms crushed the breath from my ribs. 'You will not go!' he said. 'I spoke those words to know if you would go to the governor. If you had gone quickly, if you had not wept, I would kill you. You are my woman. No other shall have you.' "Then I knew that I was his woman, and I forgot my _Menike_ lover. "You see," she said to me after a pause, "I would have gone to the palace. But I would never have come back to the house of Mouth of God. That was the beginning of our love. He would yield me to nobody. He told the governor that I would not come, and he waited to kill the governor if he must. But the governor laughed, and said there were many others. Mouth of God and I were married then by Monsieur Vernier, in the church of his mother. "That was the manner of my marriage. The same as that of the girls in your own island, is it not?" It was much the same, I said. It differed only in some slight matters of custom. She listened fascinated while I described to her our complicated conventions of courtship, our calling upon young ladies for months and even years, our gifts, our entertainments, our giving of rings, our setting of the marriage months far in the future, our orange wreaths and veils and bridesmaids. She found these things almost incredible. "Marriage here," she said, "may come to a young man when he does not seek or even expect it. No Marquesan can marry without the consent of his mother, and often she marries him to a girl without his even thinking of such a thing. "A young man may bring home a girl he does not know, perhaps a girl he has seen on the beach in the moonlight, to stay with him that night in his mother's house. It may be that her beauty and charm will so please his mother that she will call a family council after the two have gone to bed. If the family thinks as the mother does, they determine to marry the young man to that girl, and they do so after this fashion: "Early in the morning, just at dawn, before the young couple awake, all the women of the household arouse them with shrieks. They beat their breasts, cut themselves with shells, crying loudly, _Aue! Aue!_ Neighbors rush in to see who has died. The youth and the girl run forth in terror. Then the mother, the grandmother and all other women of the house chant the praises of the girl, singing her beauty, and wailing that they cannot let her go. They demand with anger that the son shall not let her go. All the neighbors cry with them, _Aue! Aue!_ and beat their breasts, until the son, covered with shame, asks the girl to stay. "Then her parents are sent the word, and if they do not object, the girl remains in his house. That is often the manner of Marquesan marriage." Yet often, of course, she explained, marriage was not the outcome of a night's wooing. The young Marquesan frequently brought home a girl who did not instantly win his mother's affection. In that case she went her way next morning after breakfast, and that was all. Our regard for chastity was incomprehensible to Malicious Gossip, instructed though she was in all the codes of the church. It was to her a creed preached to others by the whites, like wearing shoes or making the Sabbath a day of gloom, and though she had been told that violation of this code meant roasting forever as in a cannibal pit whose fires were never extinguished, her mind could perceive no reason for it. She could attach no blame to an act that seemed to her an innocent, natural, and harmless amusement. The truth is that no value was, or is, attached to maidenhood in all Polynesia, the young woman being left to her own whims without blame or care. Only deep and sincere attachment holds her at last to the man she has chosen, and she then follows his wishes in matters of fidelity, though still to a large extent remaining mistress of herself. The Marquesan woman, however, often denies her husband the freedom she herself openly enjoys. This custom persists as a striking survival of polyandry, in which fidelity under pain of dismissal from the roof-tree was imposed by the wife on all who shared her affections. This was exactly the status of a household not far from my cabin. Haabuani, master of ceremonies at the dances, the best carver and drum-beater of all Atuona, who was of pure Marquesan blood, but spoke French fluently and earnestly defended the doctrine of the Pope's infallibility,--even coming to actual blows with a defiant Protestant upon my very _paepae_--explained his attitude. "If I have a friend and he temporarily desires my wife, Toho, I am glad if she is willing. But my enemy shall not have that privilege with my consent. I would be glad to have you look upon her with favor. You are kind to me. You have treated me as a chief and you have bought my _kava_ bowl. But, _écoutez, Monsieur_, Toho does what she pleases, yet if I toss but a pebble in another pool she is furious. See, I have the bruises still of her beating." With a tearful whine he showed the black-and-blue imprints of Toho's anger, and made it known to us that the three _piastres_ he had of me for the _kava_ bowl had been traced by his wife to the till of Le Brunnec's store, where Flower, the daughter of Lam Kai Oo, had spent them for ribbons. Toho in her fury had beaten him so that for a day and a night he lay groaning upon the mats. "That is as it should be," said Malicious Gossip, sternly, while her curving lips set in straight lines. Sex morality means conformity to sex _tapus_, the world over. Free polyandry still exists in many countries I have seen, and in others its dying out leaves these fragmentary survivals. I have visited the tribe of Subanos, in the west and north of the island of Mindanao in the Philippine archipelago, where the rich men are polygamists, and the poor still submit to polyandry. Economic conditions there bring about the same relations, under a different guise, as in Europe or America, where wealthy rakes keep up several establishments, and many wage-earners support but one prostitute. Polyandry is found almost exclusively in poor countries, where there is always a scarcity of females. Thus we have polyandry founded on a surplus of males caused by poverty of sustenance. The female is, in fact, supposed to be the result of a surplus of nutrition; more boys than girls are born in the country districts because the city diet is richer, especially in meat and sugar. It is notable that the families of the pioneers of western America bore a surprising majority of males. In the Marquesas, where living was always difficult and the diet poor, there were always more men than women despite the frequent wars in which men were victims. Another reason was that male children were saved often when females were killed in the practice of infanticide, also forced by famine. The overplus of men made them amenable to the commands of the women, who often dominated in permanent alliances, demanding lavishment of wealth and attention from their husbands. Yet--and this is a most significant fact--the father-right in the child remained the basis of the social system. Throughout all Australia, Melanesia, and Papuasis on the east, and America on the west, the mother-right prevailed among primitive peoples. Children followed the mother, took their name from her, and inherited property through her. I have known a Hawaiian nobleman who, commenting on this fact, said that the system had merit in that no child could be called a bastard, and that the woman, who suffered most, was rewarded by pride of posterity. He himself, he said, was the son of a chieftess, but his father, a king, was the son of a negro cobbler. The father-right, so familiar to our minds that it seems to-day almost the only natural or existing social system, was in fact developed very lately among all races except the Caucasian and some tribes of the Mongols. Yet in the Marquesas, these islands cut off from all other peoples through ages of history, the father-right prevailed in spite of all the difficulties that attended its survival in polyandry. Each woman had many husbands, whom she ruled. The true paternity of her children it was impossible to ascertain. Yet so tenaciously did the Marquesans cling to the father-right in the child, that even this fact could not break it down. One husband was legally the father of all her children, ostensibly at least the owner of the household and of such small personal property as belonged to it under communism. The man remained, though in name only, the head of the polyandrous family. I seemed to see in this curious fact another proof of the ancient kinship between the first men of my own race and the prehistoric grandfathers of Malicious Gossip and Haabunai. My savage friends, with their clear features, their large straight eyes and olive skins, showed still the traces of their Caucasian blood. Their forefathers and mine may have hunted the great winged lizards together through primeval wildernesses, until, driven by who knows what urge of wanderlust or necessity, certain tribes set out in that drive through Europe and Asia toward America that ended at last, when a continent sunk beneath their feet, on these islands in the southern seas. It was a far flight for fancy to take, from my _paepae_ in the jungle at the foot of Temetiu, but looking at the beauty and grace of Malicious Gossip as she sat on my mats in her crimson _pareu_, I liked to think that it was so. "We are cousins," I said to her, handing her a freshly-opened cocoanut which Exploding Eggs brought. "You are a great chief, but we love you as a blood-brother," she answered gravely, and lifted the shell bowl to her lips. CHAPTER XI Filling the _popoi_ pits in the season of the breadfruit; legend of the _mei_; the secret festival in a hidden valley. On the road to the beach one morning I came upon Great Fern, my landlord. Garbed in brilliant yellow _pareu_, he bore on his shoulders an immense _kooka_, or basket of cocoanut fiber, filled with quite two hundred pounds of breadfruit. The superb muscles stood out on his perfect body, wet with perspiration as though he had come from the river. "Kaoha, Great Fern!" I said. "Where do you go with the _mei_?" "It is _Meinui_, the season of the breadfruit," he replied. "We fill the _popoi_ pit beside my house." There is a word on the Marquesan tongue vividly picturing the terrors of famine. It means, "one who is burned to drive away a drought." In these islands cut off from the world the very life of the people depends on the grace of rain. Though the skies had been kind for several years, not a day passing without a gentle downpour, there had been in the past dry periods when even the hardiest vegetation all but perished. So it came about that the Marquesan was obliged to improvise a method of keeping breadfruit for a long time, and becoming habituated to sour food he learned to like it, as many Americans relish ill-smelling cheese and fish and meat, or drink with pleasure absinthe, bitters, and other gagging beverages. In this season of plenteous breadfruit, therefore, Great Fern had opened his _popoi_ pit, and was replenishing its supply. A half-dozen who ate from it were helping him. Only the enthusiasm of the traveler for a strange sight held me within radius of its odor. It was sunk in the earth, four feet deep and perhaps five in diameter, and was only a dozen years old, which made it a comparatively small and recently acquired household possession in the eyes of my savage friends. Mouth of God and Malicious Gossip owned a _popoi_ pit dug by his grandfather, who was eaten by the men of Taaoa, and near the house of Vaikehu, a descendant of the only Marquesan queen, there was a _uuama tehito_, or ancient hole, the origin of which was lost in the dimness of centuries. It was fifty feet long and said to be even deeper, though no living Marquesan had ever tasted its stores, or never would unless dire famine compelled. It was _tapu_ to the memory of the dead. All over the valley the filling of the pits for reserve against need was in progress. Up and down the trails the men were hastening, bearing the _kookas_ filled with the ripe fruit, large as Edam cheeses and pitted on the surface like a golf-ball. A breadfruit weighs from two to eight pounds, and giants like Great Fern or Haabuani carried in the _kookas_ two or three hundred pounds for miles on the steep and rocky trails. In the banana-groves or among thickets of _ti_ the women were gathering leaves for lining and covering the pits, while around the center of interest naked children ran about, hindering and thinking they were helping, after the manner of children in all lands when future feasts are in preparation. There was a time when each grove of breadfruit had its owners, who guarded it for their own use, and even each tree had its allotted proprietor, or perhaps several. Density of population everywhere causes each mouthful of food to be counted. I have known in Ceylon an English judge who was called upon to decide the legal ownership of one 2520th part of ten cocoanut-trees. But my friends who were filling the _popoi_ pits now might gather from any tree they pleased. There was plenty of breadfruit now that there were few people. Great Fern was culling from a grove on the mountain-side above my house. Taking his stand beneath one of the stately trees whose freakish branches and large, glossy, dark-green leaves spread perhaps ninety feet above his head, he reached the nearer boughs with an _omei_, a very long stick with a forked end to which was attached a small net of cocoanut fiber. Deftly twisting a fruit from its stem by a dexterous jerk of the cleft tip, he caught it in the net, and lowered it to the _kooka_ on the ground by his side. When the best of the fruit within reach was gathered, he climbed the tree, carrying the _omei_. Each brown toe clasped the boughs like a finger, nimble and independent of its fellows through long use in grasping limbs and rocks. This is remarkable of the Marquesans; each toe in the old and industrious is often separated a half inch from the others, and I have seen the big toe opposed from the other four like a thumb. My neighbors picked up small things easily with their toes, and bent them back out of sight, like a fist, when squatting. Gripping a branch firmly with these hand-like feet, Great Fern wielded the _omei_, bringing down other breadfruit one by one, taking great care not to bruise them. The cocoanut one may throw eighty feet, with a twisting motion that lands it upon one end so that it does not break. But the _mei_ is delicate, and spoils if roughly handled. Working in this fashion, Great Fern and his neighbors carried down to the _popoi_ pit perhaps four hundred breadfruit daily, piling them there to be prepared by the women. Apporo and her companions busied themselves in piercing each fruit with a sharp stick and spreading them on the ground to ferment over night. In the morning, squatted on their haunches and chanting as they worked, the women scraped the rind from the fermented _mei_ with cowry shells, and grated the fruit into the pit which they had lined with banana leaves. From time to time they stood in the pit and tramped down the mass of pulp, or thumped it with wooden clubs. For two weeks or more the work continued. In the ancient days much ceremoniousness attended this provision against future famine, but to-day in Atuona only one rule was observed, that forbidding sexual intercourse by those engaged in filling the pits. "To break that _tapu_," said Great Fern, "would mean sickness and disaster. Any one who ate such _popoi_ would vomit. The forbidden food cannot be retained by the stomach." To vomit during the fortnight occupied in the task of conserving the breadfruit brought grave suspicion that the unfortunate had broken the _tapu_. When their own savage laws governed them, that unhappy person often died from fear of discovery and the wrath of the gods. To guard against such a fate those who were not strong and well took no part in the task. This curious connection between sex and the preparation of food applied in many other cases. A woman making oil from dried cocoanuts was _tapu_ as to sexual relations for four or five days, and believed that if did she sin, her labor would produce no oil. A man cooking in an oven at night obeyed the same _tapu_. I do not know, and was unable to discover, the origin of these prohibitions. Like many of our own customs, it has been lost in the mist of ages. A Tahitian legend of the origin of the breadfruit recounts that in ancient times the people subsisted on _araea_, red earth. A couple had a sickly son, their only child, who day by day slowly grew weaker on the diet of earth, until the father begged the gods to accept him as an offering and let him become food for the boy. From the darkness of the temple the gods at last spoke to him, granting his prayer. He returned to his wife and prepared for death, instructing her to bury his head, heart and stomach at different spots in the forest. "When you shall hear in the night a sound like that of a leaf, then of a flower, afterward of an unripe fruit, and then of a ripe, round fruit falling on the ground, know that it is I who am become food for our son," he said, and died. She obeyed him, and on the second night she heard the sounds. In the morning she and her son found a huge and wonderful tree where the stomach had been buried. The Tahitians believe that the cocoanut, chestnut, and yam miraculously grew from other parts of a man's corpse. Breadfruit, according to Percy Smith, was brought into these islands from Java by the ancestors of the Polynesians, who left India several centuries before Christ. They had come to Indonesia rice-eaters, but there found the breadfruit, "which they took with them in their great migration into these Pacific islands two centuries and more after the beginning of this era." Smith finds in the Tahitian legend proof of this contention. In the Polynesian language _araea_, the "red earth" of the tale, is the same as _vari_, and in Indonesia there were the words _fare_ or _pare_, in Malay _padi_ or _peri_, and in Malagasy _vari_, all meaning rice. A Rarotongan legend relates that in Hawaiki two new fruits were found, and the _vari_ discarded. These fruits were the breadfruit and the horse-chestnut, neither of which is a native of Polynesia. I related these stories of the _mei_ to Great Fern, who replied: "_Aue!_ It may be. The old gods were great, and all the world is a wonder. As for me, I am a Christian. The breadfruit ripens, and I fill the _popoi_ pit." Great Fern was my friend, and, as he said, a Christian, yet I fear that he did not tell me all he knew of the ancient customs. There was an innocence too innocent in his manner when he spoke of them, like that of a child who would like one to believe that the cat ate the jam. And on the night when the _popoi_ pits were filled, pressed down and running over, when they had been covered with banana leaves and weighed with heavy stones, and the season's task was finished, something occurred that filled my mind with many vague surmises. I had been awakened at midnight by the crashing fall of a cocoanut on the iron roof above my head. Often during the rainy nights I was startled by this sound of the incessantly falling nuts, that banged and rattled like round shot over my head. But on this night, as I composed myself to slumber again, my drowsy ears were uneasy with another thing, less a sound than an almost noiseless, thrumming vibration, faint, but disturbing. I sat up in my Golden Bed, and listened. Exploding Eggs was gone from his mat. The little house was silent and empty. Straining my ears I heard it unmistakably through the rustling noises of the forest and the dripping of rain from the eaves. It was the far, dim, almost inaudible beating of a drum. Old tales stirred my hair as I stood on my _paepae_ listening to it. At times I thought it a fancy, again I heard it and knew that I heard it. At last, wrapping a _pareu_ about me, I went down my trail to the valley road. The sound was drowned here by the splashing chuckle of the stream, but as I stood undecided in the pool of darkness beneath a dripping banana I saw a dark figure slip silently past me, going up toward the High Place. It was followed by another, moving through the night like a denser shadow. I went back to my cabin, scouted my urgent desire to shut and barricade the door, and went to bed. After a long time I slept. When I awoke next morning Exploding Eggs was preparing my breakfast as usual, the sunlight streamed over breadfruit and palm, and the night seemed a dream. But there were rumors in the village of a strange dance held by the inhabitants of Nuka-hiva, on another island, in celebration of the harvest of the _mei_. Weird observances were hinted, rites participated in only by men who danced stark naked, praising the old gods. This was a custom of the old days, said Great Fern, with those too-innocent eyes opened artlessly upon me. It has ever been the ceremony of Thanks-giving to the ancient gods, for a bountiful harvest, a propitiation, and a begging of their continued favor. As for him, he was a Christian. Such rites were held no more in Atuona. I asked no more questions. Thanks-giving to an omnipotent ruler for the fruits of the harvest season is almost universal. We have put in a proclamation and in church services and the slaughter of turkeys what these children do in dancing, as did Saul of old. The season's task completed, Great Fern and Apporo sat back well content, having provided excellently for the future. Certain of their neighbors, however, filled with ambition and spurred on by the fact that there was plenty of _mei_ for all with no suspicion of greediness incurred by excessive possessions, continued to work until they had filled three pits. These men were regarded with admiration and some envy, having gained great honor. "He has three _popoi_ pits," they said, as we would speak of a man who owned a superb jewel or a Velasquez. [Illustration: A volunteer cocoanut grove, with trees of all ages] [Illustration: Climbing for cocoanuts] The grated breadfruit in the holes was called _ma_, and bore the same relation to _popoi_ as dough bears to bread. When the _ma_ was sufficiently soured Apporo opened the pit each morning and took out enough for the day's provision, replacing the stones on the banana leaves afterward. The intrusion of insects and lizards was not considered to injure the flavor. I often sat on her _paepae_ and watched her prepare the day's dinner. Putting the rancid mass of _ma_ into a long wooden trough hollowed out from a tree-trunk, she added water and mixed it into a paste of the consistency of custard. This paste she wrapped in _purua_ leaves and set to bake in a native oven of rocks that stood near the pit. Apporo smoked cigarettes while it baked, perhaps to measure the time. Marquesans mark off the minutes by cigarettes, saying, "I will do so-and-so in three cigarettes," or, "It is two cigarettes from my house to his." When the cigarettes were consumed, or when her housewifely instinct told Apporo that the dish was properly cooked, back it went into the trough again, and was mashed with the _keatukipopoi_, the Phallic pounder of stone known to all primitive peoples. A _pahake_, or wooden bowl about eighteen inches in diameter, received it next, and the last step of the process followed. Taking a fistful of the mass, Apporo placed it in another _pahake_, and kneaded it for a long time with her fingers, using oil from crushed cocoanuts as a lubricant. And at last, proudly smiling, she set before me a dish of _popoi kaoi_, the very best _popoi_ that can possibly be made. It is a dish to set before a sorcerer. I would as lief eat bill-poster's paste a year old. It tastes like a sour, acid custard. Yet white men learn to eat it, even to yearn for it. Captain Capriata, of the schooner _Roberta_, which occasionally made port in Atuona Bay, could digest little else. Give him a bowl of _popoi_ and a stewed or roasted cat, and his Corsican heart warmed to the giver. As bread or meat are to us, so was _popoi_ to my tawny friends. They ate it every day, sometimes three or four times a day, and consumed enormous quantities at a squatting. As the peasant of certain districts of Europe depends on black bread and cheese, the poor Irish on potatoes or stirabout, the Scotch on oatmeal, so the Marquesan satisfies himself with _popoi_, and likes it really better than anything else. Many times, when unable to evade the hospitality of my neighbors, I squatted with them about the brimming _pahake_ set on their _paepae_, and dipped a finger with them, though they marveled at my lack of appetite. In the silence considered proper to the serious business of eating, each dipped index and second finger into the bowl, and neatly conveyed a portion of the sticky mass to his mouth, returning the fingers to the bowl cleansed of the last particle. Little children, beginning to eat _popoi_ ere they were fairly weaned, put their whole hands into the dish, and often the lean and mangy curs that dragged out a wretched dog's existence about the _paepaes_ were not deprived of their turn. If one accept the germ theory, one may find in the _popoi_ bowl a cause for the rapid spread of epidemics since the whites brought disease to the islands. CHAPTER XII A walk in the jungle; the old woman in the breadfruit tree; a night in a native hut on the mountain. Atuona Valley was dozing, as was its wont in the afternoons, when the governor, accompanied by the guardian of the palace, each carrying a shot-gun, invited me to go up the mountain to shoot _kukus_ for dinner. The _kuku_ is a small green turtle-dove, very common in the islands, and called also _u'u_ and _kukupa_. Under any of these names the green-feathered morsel is excellent eating when broiled or fried. I did not take a gun, as, unless hunger demands it, I do not like to kill. We started out together, climbing the trail in single file, but the enthusiasm of the chase soon led my companions into the deeper brush where the little doves lured them, and only the sharp crack of an occasional shot wakening the echoes of the cliffs disturbed my solitude. The dark stillness of the deep valley, where the shadows of the mountains fell upon groves of cocoanuts and miles of tangled bush, recalled to me a cañon in New York City, in the center of the world of finance, gloomy even at noon, the sky-touching buildings darkening the street and the spirits of the dwellers like mountains. There, when at an unsual moment I had come from the artificially-lighted cage of a thousand slaves to money-getting, and found the street for a second deserted, no figure of animal or human in its sombre sweep, I had the same sensation of solitude and awe as in this jungle. Suddenly a multitude of people had debouched from many points, and shattered the impression. But here, in Atuona Valley, the hoot of the owl, the _kouku_, which in Malay is the ghost-bird, the _burong-hantu_, seemed to deepen the silence. Does not that word _hantu_, meaning in Malay an evil spirit, have some obscure connection with our American negro "hant," a goblin or ghost? Certainly the bird's long and dismal "Hoo-oo-oo" wailing through the shuddering forest evoked dim and chilling memories of tales told by candlelight when I was a child in Maryland. Here on the lower levels I was still among the cocoanut-groves. The trail passed through acres of them, their tall gray columns rising like cathedral arches eighty feet above a green mat of creeping vines. Again it dipped into the woods, where one or two palms struggled upward from a clutching jungle. Everywhere I saw the nuts tied by their natural stems in clumps of forty or fifty and fastened to limbs which had been cut and lashed between trees. These had been gathered by climbers and left thus to be collected for drying into copra. Constantly the ripe nuts not yet gathered fell about me. These heavy missiles, many six or seven pounds in weight, fell from heights of fifty to one hundred feet and struck the earth with a dull sound. The roads and trails were littered with them. They fall every hour of the day in the tropics, yet I have never seen any one hurt by them. Narrow escapes I had myself, and I have heard of one or two who were severely injured or even killed by them, but the accidents are entirely out of proportion to the shots fired by the trees. One becomes an expert at dodging, and an instinct draws one's eyes to the branch about to shed a _mei_, or the palm intending to launch a cocoanut. As I made my way up the trail, pausing now and then to look about me, I came upon an old woman leaning feebly on a tall staff. Although it was the hour of afternoon sleep, she was abroad for some reason, and I stopped to say "_Kaoha_," to her. A figure of wretchedness she was, bent almost double, her withered, decrepit limbs clad in a ragged _pareu_ and her lean arms clutching the stick that bore her weight. She was so aged that she appeared unable to hear my greeting, and replied only mutteringly, while her bleary eyes gleamed up at me between fallen lids. Such miserable age appealed to pity, but as she appeared to wish no aid, I left her leaning on her staff, and moved farther along the trail, stopping again to gaze at the shadowed valley below while I mused on the centuries it had seen and the brief moment of a man's life. Standing thus, I was like to lose my own, for suddenly I heard a whirr like that of a shrapnel shell on its murderous errand, and at my feet fell a projectile. I saw that it was a breadfruit and that I was under the greatest tree of that variety I had ever seen, a hundred feet high and spreading like a giant oak. In the topmost branches was the tottering beldame I had saluted, and in both her hands the staff, a dozen feet long. She was threshing the fruit from the tree with astounding energy and agility, her scanty rags blown by the wind, and her emaciated, naked figure in its arboreal surroundings like that of an aged ape. How she held on was a mystery, for she seemed to lean out from a limb at a right angle, yet she had but a toe-hold upon it. No part of her body but her feet touched the branch, nor had she any other support but that, yet she banged the staff about actively and sent more six-pounders down, so that I fled without further reflection. The score of houses strung along the upper reaches of Atuona Valley were silent at this hour, and everywhere native houses were decaying, their falling walls and sunken roofs remembering the thousands who once had their homes here. Occasionally in our own country we see houses untenanted and falling to ruin, bearing unmistakable evidences of death or desertion, and I have followed armies that devastated a countryside and slew its people or hunted them to the hills, but the first is a solitary case, and the second, though full of horror, has at least the element of activity, of moving and struggling life. The rotting homes of the Marquesan people speak more eloquently of death than do sunken graves. In these vales, which each held a thousand or several thousand when the blight of the white man came, the abandoned _paepaes_ are solemn and shrouded witnesses of the death of a race. The jungle runs over them, and only remnants remain of the houses that sat upon them. Their owners have died, leaving no posterity to inhabit their homes; neighbors have removed their few chattels, and the wilderness has claimed its own. In every valley these dark monuments to the benefits of civilization hide themselves in the thickets. None treads the stones that held the houses of the dead. They are _tapu_; about them flit the _veinahae_, the _matiahae_, and the _etuahae_, dread vampires and ghosts that have charge of the corpse and wait to seize the living. Well have these ghoulish phantoms feasted; whole islands are theirs, and soon they will sit upon the _paepae_ of the last Marquesan. I reached the top of the gulch and paused to gaze at its extent. The great hills rose sheer and rugged a mile away; the cocoanuts ceased at a lower level, and where I stood the precipices were a mass of wild trees, bushes, and creepers. From black to lightest green the colors ran, from smoky crests and gloomy ravines to the stream singing its way a hundred feet below the trail. A hundred varieties of flowers poured forth their perfume upon the lonely scene. The frangipani, the red jasmine of delicious odor, and tropical gardenias, weighted the warm air with their heavy scents. Beside the trail grew the _hutu_-tree with crimson-tasseled flowers among broad leaves, and fruit prickly and pear-shaped. It is a fruit not to be eaten by man, but immemorally used by lazy fishermen to insure miraculous draughts. Streams are dammed up and the pears thrown in. Soon the fish become stupified and float upon the surface to the gaping nets of the poisoners. They are not hurt in flavor or edibility. The _keoho_, a thorny shrub, caught at my clothes as I left the trail. Its weapons of defence serve often as pins for the native, who in the forest improvises for himself a hat or umbrella of leaves. Beside me, too, was the _putara_, a broad-leaved bush and the lemon hibiscus, with its big, yellow flower, black-centered, was twisted through these shrubs and wound about the trunk of the giant _aea_, in whose branches the _kuku_ murmured to its mate. Often the flowering vine stopped my progress. I struggled to free myself from its clutch as I fought through the mass of vegetation, and pausing perforce to let my panting lungs gulp the air, I saw around me ever new and stranger growths--orchids, giant creepers, the _noni enata_, a small bush with crimson pears upon it, the _toa_, or ironwood, which gave deadly clubs in war-time, but now spread its boughs peacefully amidst the prodigal foliage of its neighbors. The umbrella fern, _mana-mana-hine_, was all about. The _ama_, the candlenut-tree, shed its oily nuts on the earth. The _puu-epu_, the paper mulberry, with yellow blossoms and cottony, round leaves, jostled pandanus and hibiscus; the _ena-vao_, a wild ginger with edible, but spicy, cones, and the lacebark-tree, the _faufee_, which furnishes cordage from its bark, contested for footing in the rich earth and fought for the sun that even on the brightest day never reached their roots. I staggered through the bush, falling over rotten trees and struggling in the mass of shrubs and tangled vines. Away up here, hidden in the depths of the forest, there were three or four houses; not the blue-painted or whitewashed cabins of the settlement, but half-open native cots, with smoke rising from the fire made in a circle of stones on the _paepaes_. The hour of sleep had passed, and squatted before the troughs men and women mashed the _ma_ for the _popoi_, or idled on the platform in red and yellow _pareus_, watching the roasting breadfruit. There must be poverty-stricken folk indeed, for I saw that the houses showed no sign whatever of the ugliness that the Marquesan has aped from the whites. Yet neither were they the wretched huts of straw and thatch which I had seen in the valley and supposed to be the only remnants of the native architecture. As I drew nearer, I saw that I had stumbled upon such a house as the Marquesan had known in the days of his strength, when pride of artistry had created wonderful and beautiful structures of native wood adorned in elegant and curious patterns. It was erected upon a _paepae_ about ten feet high, reached by a broad and smooth stairway of similar massive black rocks. The house, long and narrow, covered all of the _paepae_ but a veranda in front, the edge of which was fenced with bamboo ingeniously formed into patterns of squares. A friendly call of "_Kaoha!_" in response to mine, summoned me to the family meeting-place, and I mounted the steps with eagerness. I was met by a stalwart and handsome savage, in earrings and necklace and scarlet _pareu_, who rubbed my nose with his and smelled me ceremoniously, welcoming me as an honored guest. Several women followed his example, while naked children ran forward curiously to look at the stranger. Learning the interest and admiration I felt for his house, my host displayed it with ill-concealed pride. Its frame was of the largest-sized bamboos standing upright, and faced with hibiscus strips, all lashed handsomely and strongly with _faufee_ cordage. Upon this framework were set the walls, constructed of canes arranged in a delicate pattern, the fastenings being of _purau_ or other rattan-like creepers, all tied neatly and regularly. As the residence was only about a dozen feet deep, through three times that length, these walls were not only attractive but eminently serviceable, the canes shading the interior, and the interstices between them admitting ample light and air. We entered through a low opening and found the one long chamber spacious, cool, and perfumed with the forest odors. There were no furnishings save two large and brilliantly polished cocoanut-tree trunks running the whole length of the interior, and between them piles of mats of many designs and of every bright hue that roots and herbs will yield. While I admired these, noting their rich colors and soft, yet firm, texture, a murmurous rustle on the palm-thatched roof announced the coming of the rain. It was unthinkable to my host that a stranger should leave his house at nightfall, and in a downpour that might become a deluge before morning. To have refused his invitation had been to leave a pained and bewildered household. _Popoi_ bowls and wooden platters of the roasted breadfruit were brought within shelter, and while the hissing rain put out the fires on the _paepae_ the candlenuts were lighted and all squatted for the evening meal. Breadfruit and yams, with a draught of cocoanut milk, satisfied the hunger created by my arduous climb. Then the women carried away the empty bowls while my host and I lay upon the mats and smoked, watching the gray slant of the rain through the darkening twilight. Few houses like his remained on Hiva-Oe, he said in reply to my compliments. The people loved the ways of the whites and longed for homes of redwood planks and roofs of iron. For himself, he loved the ways of his fathers, and though yielding as he must to the payments of taxes and the authority of new laws, he would not toil in the copra-groves or work on traders' ships. His father had been a warrior of renown. The _u'u_ was wielded no more, being replaced by the guns of the whites. The old songs were forgotten. But he, who had traveled far, who had seen the capital of the world, Tahiti, and had learned much of the ways of the foreigner, would have none of them. He would live as his fathers had lived, and die as they had died. "It is not long. We vanish like the small fish before the hunger of the _mako_. The High Places are broken, and the _pahue_ covers our _paepaes_. It does not matter. _E tupu te fau; e toro to farero, e mou te taata._ The hibiscus shall grow, the coral shall spread, and man shall cease. There is sleep on your eyelids, and the mats are ready." His hospitality would give me the place of honor, despite my protests, and soon I found myself lying between my host and his wife, while the other members of the household lay in serried rank beyond her on the mats that filled the hollow between the palm-trunks. All slept with the backs of their heads upon one timber, and the backs of their knees over the other, but I found comfort on the soft pile between them. My companions slumbered peacefully, as I have remarked that men do in all countries where the people live near, and much in, the sea. There was no snoring or groaning, no convulsive movement of arms or legs, no grimaces or frowns such as mark the fitful sleep of most city dwellers and of all of us who worry or burn the candle at both ends. I lay listening for some time to their quiet breathing and the sound of rain drumming on the thatch, but at last my eyes closed, and only the dawn awoke me. [Illustration: Splitting cocoanut husks in copra making process] [Illustration: Cutting the meat from cocoanuts to make copra] CHAPTER XIII The household of Lam Kai Oo; copra making; marvels of the cocoanut-groves; the sagacity of pigs; and a crab that knows the laws of gravitation. Next morning, after bidding farewell to my hosts, I set out down the mountain in the early freshness of a sunny, rain-washed morning. I followed a trail new to me, a path steep as a stairway, walled in by the water-jeweled jungle pressing so close upon me that at times I saw the sky only through the interlacing fronds of the tree-ferns above my head. I had gone perhaps a mile without seeing any sign of human habitation, hearing only the conversation of the birds and the multitudinous murmuring of leaves, when a heavy shower began to fall. Pressing on, hampered by my clinging garments and slipping in the path that had instantly become a miniature torrent, I came upon a little clearing in which stood a dirty, dark shanty, like a hovel in the outskirts of Canton, not raised on a _paepae_ but squat in an acre of mud and the filth of years. Two children, three or four years old, played naked in the muck, and Flower, of the red-gold hair, reputed the wickedest woman in the Marquesas, ironed her gowns on the floor of the porch. Raising her head, she called to me to come in. This was the house of Lam Kai Oo, the adopted father of Flower. Seventy-one years old, Lam Kai Oo had made this his home since he left the employ of Captain Hart, the unfortunate American cotton planter, and here he had buried three native wives. His fourth, a woman of twenty years, sat in the shelter of a copra shed nursing a six-months' infant. Her breasts were dark blue, almost black, a characteristic of nursing mothers here. Both the mother and Flower argued with me that I should make Many Daughters my wife during my stay in Atuona, and if not the leper lass, then another friend they had chosen for me. Flower herself had done me the honor of proposing a temporary alliance, but I had persuaded her that I was not worthy of her beauty and talents. Any plea that it was not according to my code, of even that it was un-Christian, provoked peals of laughter from all who heard it; sooth to say, the whites laughed loudest. Beneath a thatch of palm-leaves Lam Kai Oo was drying cocoanuts. His withered yellow body straddled a kind of bench, to which was fixed a sharp-pointed stick of iron-wood. Seizing each nut in his claw-like hands, he pushed it against this point, turning and twisting it as he ripped off the thick and fibrous husk. Then he cracked each nut in half with a well-directed blow of a heavy knife. For the best copra-making, the half-nuts should be placed in the sun, concave side up. As the meats begin to dry, they shrink away from the shell and are readily removed, being then copra, the foundation of the many toilet preparations, soaps and creams, that are made from cocoa-oil. As it rains much in the Marquesas, the drying is often done in ovens, though sun-dried copra commands a higher price. Lam Kai Oo was operating such an oven, a simple affair of stones cemented with mud, over which had been erected a shed of palm-trunks and thatch. The halved cocoanuts were placed in cups made of mud and laid on wooden racks above the oven. With the doors closed, a fire was built in the stone furnace and fed from the outside with cocoa-husks and brush. Such an oven does not dry the nuts uniformly. The smoke turns them dark, and oil made from them contains undesirable creosote. Hot-water pipes are the best source of heat, except the sun, but Lam Kai Oo was paying again for his poverty, as the poor man must do the world over. Forty-four years earlier he had left California, after having given seven years of his life to building American railways. The smoke of the Civil War had hardly cleared away when Captain Hart had persuaded him, Ah Yu and other California Chinese to come to Hiva-oa, and put their labor into his cotton plantations. Cannibalism was common at that date. I asked the old man if he had witnessed it. "My see plenty fella eatee," he replied. "Kanaka no likee Chineeman. Him speak bad meatee." He told me how on one occasion the Lord had saved him from drowning. With a lay brother of the Catholic Mission, he had been en route to Vait-hua in a canoe with many natives. There was to be a church feast, and Lam Kai Oo was carrying six hundred Chile _piastres_ to back his skill against the natives in gambling; Lam, of course, to operate the wheel of supposed chance. The boat capsized in deep water. The lay brother could not swim, but was lifted to the keel of the upturned boat, while the others clung to its edges. He prayed for hours, while the others, lifting their faces above the storming waves, cried hearty amens to his supplications. Finally the waves washed them into shallow water. The brother gave earnest thanks for deliverance, but Lam thought that the same magic should give him back the six hundred pieces of silver that had gone into the sea. "My savee plenty Lord helpee you," said he. "Allee samee, him hell to live when poor. Him Lord catchee Chile money, my givee fitty dolla churchee." He sighed despairingly, and fed more cocoa-husks to his make-shift oven. The shower had passed, moving in a gray curtain down the valley, and picking my way through the mire of the yard, I followed it in the sunshine. My way led now through the cocoanut-groves that day and night make the island murmurous with their rustling. They are good company, these lofty, graceful palms, and I had grown to feel a real affection for them, such as a man has for his dog. Like myself, they can not live and flourish long unless they see the ocean. Their habit has more tangible reason than mine; they are dependent on air and water for life. The greater the column of water that flows daily up their stems and evaporates from the leaves, the greater the growth and productivity. Evaporation being in large measure dependent on free circulation of air, the best sites for cocoanut plantations are on the seashore, exposed to the winds. They love the sea and will grow with their boles dipped at high tide in the salt water. These trunks, three feet in diameter at the base and tapering smoothly and perfectly to perhaps twelve inches at the top, are in reality no more than pipes for conveying the water to the thirsty fronds. Cut them open, and one finds a vast number of hollow reeds, held together by a resinous pitch and guarded by a bark both thick and exceedingly hard. There is no branch or leaf except at the very tip of the trunk, where a symmetrical and gigantic bouquet of leaves appears, having plumes a dozen feet long or more, that nod with every zephyr and in storms sway and lash the tree as if they were living things. I used to wonder why these great leaves, the sport of the idlest breeze as well as the fiercest gale, were not torn from the tree, but when I learned to know the cocoanut palm as a dear friend I found that nature had provided for its survival on the wind-swept beaches with the same exquisite attention to individual need that is shown in the electric batteries and lights of certain fishes, or in the caprification of the fig. A very fine, but strong, matting, attached to the bark beneath the stalk, fastened half way around the tree and reaching three feet up the leaf, fixes it firmly to the trunk but gives it ample freedom to move. It is a natural brace, pliable and elastic. There is scarcely a need of the islander not supplied by these amiable trees. Their wood makes the best spars, furnishes rafters and pillars for native houses, the knee- and head-rests of their beds, rollers for the big canoes or whale-boats, fences against wild pig, and fuel. The leaves make screens and roofs of dwellings, baskets, and coverings, and in the pagan temples of Tahiti were the rosaries or prayer-counters, while on their stiff stalks the candlenuts are strung to give light for feasts or for feasting. When the tree is young the network that holds the leaves is a beautiful silver, as fine as India paper and glossy; narrow strips of it are used as hair ornaments and contrast charmingly with the black and shining locks of the girls. When older, this matting has every appearance of coarse cotton cloth, and is used to wrap food, or is made into bags and even rough garments, specially for fishermen. The white flowers are small and grow along a branching stalk, protected by a sheath, and just above the commencement of the leaf. From them is made the cocoanut-brandy that enables the native to forget his sorrows. Flowers and nuts in every stage of development are on the same tree, a year elapsing between the first blossom and the ripe nut. Long before it is ripe, but after full size has been attained, the nut contains a pint or even a quart of delicious juice, called milk, water, or wine, in different languages. It is clear as spring water, of a delicate acidity, yet sweet, and no idea of its taste can be formed from the half-rancid fluid in the ripe nuts sold in Europe or America. It must be drunk soon after being taken from the tree to know its full delights, and must have been gathered at the stage of growth called _koie_, when there is no pulp within the shell. Not long after this time the pulp, white as snow, of the consistency and appearance of the white of a soft-boiled egg, forms in a thin layer about the walls of the nut. This is a delicious food, and from it are made many dishes, puddings, and cakes. It is no more like the shredded cocoanut of commerce than the peach plucked from the tree is like the tinned fruit. The pulp hardens and thickens as time goes on, and finally is an inch in thickness. Occasionally the meat when hard and ripe is broiled and eaten. I like it fairly well served in this fashion. If left on the tree, the nut will in time fall, and in due course there begins in it a marvelous process of germination. A sweet, whitish sponge forms in the interior, starting from the inner end of the seed enclosed in the kernel, opposite one of the three eyes in the smaller end of the nut. This sponge drinks up all the liquid, and, filling the inside, melts the hard meat, absorbs it, and turns it into a cellular substance, while a white bud, hard and powerful, pushes its way through one of the eyes of the shell, bores through several inches of husk, and reaches the air and light. This bud now unfolds green leaves, and at the same period two other buds, beginning at the same point, find their way to the two other eyes and pierce them, turning down instead of up, and forcing their way through the former husk outside the shell, enter the ground. Though no knife could cut the shell, the life within bursts it open, and husk and shell decay and fertilize the soil beside the new roots, which, within five or six years, have raised a tree eight or nine feet high, itself bearing nuts to reproduce their kind again. All about me on the fertile soil, among decaying leaves and luxuriant vines, I saw these nuts, carrying on their mysterious and powerful life in the unheeded forest depths. Here and there a half-domestic pig was harrying one with thrusting snout. These pigs, which we think stupid, know well that the sun will the sooner cause a sprouting nut to break open, and they roll the fallen nut into the sunlight to hasten their stomachs' gratification, though with sufficient labor they can get to the meat with their teeth. There is a crab here, too, that could teach even the wisest, sun-employing pig some tricks in economics. He is the last word in adaptation to environment, with an uncanny knowledge that makes the uninformed look askance at the tale-teller. These crabs climb cocoanut-trees to procure their favorite food. They dote on cocoanuts, the ripe, full-meated sort. They are able to enjoy them by various endeavors demanding strength, cleverness, an apparent understanding of the effect of striking an object against a harder one, and of the velocity caused by gravity. Nuts that resist their attempts to open them, they carry to great heights, to drop them and thus break their shells. These crabs are called by the scientists _Birgos latro_, by the Marquesans _tupa_, by the Paumotans _kaveu_, and by the Tahitians, _ua vahi haari_. It was a never-failing entertainment on my walks in the Paumotas to observe these great creatures, light-brown or reddish in color, more than two feet in length, stalking about with their bodies a foot from the ground, supported by two pairs of central legs. They can exist at least twenty-four hours without visiting the water, of which they carry a supply in reservoirs on both sides of the cephalothorax, keeping their gills moist. [Illustration: A Marquesan home on a _paepae_] [Illustration: Isle of Barking Dogs] They live in large deep burrows in the cocoanut-groves, which they fill with husks, so that the natives often rob them to procure a quick supply of fuel. These dens are contrived for speedy entry when pursued. Terrifying as they appear when surprised on land, they scuttle for safety either to a hole or to the sea, with an agility astounding in a creature so awkward in appearance. Though they may be seen about at all hours of the day, they make forays upon the cocoanuts only at night. Darwin first saw these creatures in the Indian Ocean, and said that they seek the sea every night to moisten their branchiae. The young are hatched and live for some time on the sea-coast, venturing far from water only as they grow older. Darwin said that their feat in entering the cocoanut "is as curious a case of instinct as was ever heard of, and likewise of adaptation in structure between two objects apparently so remote from each other in the scheme of nature, as a crab and a cocoanut-tree." When darkness descends and all is quiet, the robber crab ascends the tree by gripping the bark with his claws. The rays of my electric flash-light have often caught him high over my head against the gray palm. Height does not daunt him. He will go up till he reaches the nuts, if it be a hundred feet. With his powerful nippers he severs the stem, choosing always a nut that is big and ripe. Descending the palm, he tears off the fibrous husk, which, at first thought, it would seem impossible for him to do. He tears it fiber by fiber, and always from that end under which the three eye-holes are situated. With these exposed, he begins hammering on one of them until he has enlarged the opening so that he can insert one of the sharp points of his claw into it. By turning his claw backward and forward he scoops out the meat and regales himself luxuriously. This is his simplest method, along the line of least resistance, but let the nut be refractory, and he seizes it by the point of a claw and beats it against a rock until he smashes it. This plan failing, he will carry the stubborn nut to the top of the tree again and hurl it to the earth to crack it. And if at first he does not succeed, he will make other trips aloft with the husked nut, dropping it again and again until at last it is shattered and lies open to his claws. It is said that if a drop of oil be placed on the long and delicate antennae of these crabs they die almost instantly. We have a somewhat similar rumor with respect to salt and a bird's tail. Seldom does a robber crab linger to be oiled, and so other means of destroying him, or, at least, of guarding against his depredations, are sought. With the rat, who bites the flower and gnaws the young nuts, this crab is the principal enemy of the planter. The tree owner who can afford it, nails sheets of tin or zinc around the tree a dozen feet from the earth. Neither rat nor crab can pass this slippery band, which gives no claw-hold. Thousands of trees are thus protected, but usually these are in possession of white men, for tin is costly and the native is poor. The ingenious native, however, employs another means of saving the fruit of his groves. He climbs the palm-trunk in the daytime, and forty feet above the ground encircles it with dirt and leaves. On his mat for the night's slumber, he smiles to think of the revenge he shall have. For the crab ascends and passes the puny barrier to select and fell his nuts, but when in his backward way he descends, he forgets the curious bunker he went over and, striking it again, thinks he has reached the ground. He lets go, and smashes on the rocks his crafty foe has piled below. CHAPTER XIV Visit of Le Moine; the story of Paul Gauguin; his house, and a search for his grave beneath the white cross of Calvary. I rose one morning from my Golden Bed to find a stranger quietly smoking a cigarette on my _paepae_. Against the jungle background he was a strangely incongruous figure; a Frenchman, small, thin, meticulously neat in garments of faded blue denim and shining high boots. His blue eyes twinkled above a carefully trimmed beard, and as he rose to meet me, I observed that the fingers on the cigarette were long, slender, and nervous. This was Monsieur Charles le Moine, the painter from Vait-hua, whose studio I had invaded in his absence from that delightful isle. We sat long over breakfast coffee and cigarettes, I, charmed by his conversation, he, eager to hear news of the world he had forsaken. He had studied in Paris, been governor of the Gambier Islands, and at last had made his final home among the palms and orchids of these forgotten isles. His life had narrowed to his canvases, on which he sought to interpret Marquesan atmosphere and character, its beauty and savage lure. I said to him that it was a pity many great painters did not come here to put on canvas the fading glamor and charm of the Marquesas. "Our craft is too poor," he replied with a sigh. "A society built on money does not give its artists and singers the freedom they had in the old days in these islands, my friend. We are bound to a wheel that turns relentlessly. Who can come from France and live here without money? Me, I must work as gendarme and school-teacher to be able to paint even here. One great painter did live in this valley, and died here--Paul Gauguin. He was a master, my friend!" "Paul Gauguin lived here?" I exclaimed. I had known, of course, that the great modernist had died in the Marquesas, but I had never heard in which valley, and no one in Atuona had spoken of him. In Florence I had met an artist who possessed two glass doors taken from Madame Charbonnier's house and said to have been painted by Gauguin in payment for rent. I had been in Paris when all artistic France was shuddering or going into ecstacies over Gauguin's blazing tropic work, when his massive, crude figures done in violent tones, filled with sinister power, had been the conversation of galleries and saloons. Strindberg wrote of Gauguin's first exhibition and expressed dislike for the artist's prepossession with form, and for the savage models he chose. Gauguin's reply was: "Your civilization is your disease; my barbarism is my restoration to health. I am a savage. Every human work is a revelation of the individual. All I have learned from others has been an impediment to me. I know little, but what I do know is my own." Now I learned from the lips of Le Moine that this man had lived and died in my own valley of Atuona, had perhaps sat on this _paepae_ where we were breakfasting. Imagination kindled at the thought. "I will take you to his house," said Le Moine. We walked down the road past the governor's palace until opposite Baufré's depressing abode, where, several hundred yards back from a stone wall, sunk in the mire of the swamp, had for ten years been Gauguin's home and studio. Nothing remained of it but a few faint traces rapidly disappearing beneath the jungle growth. While we stood in the shade of a cocoanut-palm, gazing at these, we were joined by Baufré, the shaggy and drink-ruined Frenchman, in his torn and dirty overalls. "This weather is devilish," said Baufré, with a curse. "It is not as it used to be. The world goes to the devil. There were seven hundred people in Atuona when I came here. They are all dead but two hundred, and there is nobody to help me in my plantation. If I pay three francs a day, they will not work. If I pay five francs, they will not work. Suppose I give them rum? They will work hard for that, for it means forgetting, but when they drink rum they cannot work at all." "But you are a philosopher, and absinthe or rum will cure you," said Le Moine. "_Mon dieu!_ I am not a philosopher!" retorted Baufré. "Of what good is that? Gauguin was a philosopher, and he is dead and buried on Calvary. You know how he suffered? His feet and legs were very bad. Every day he had to tie them up. He could not wear shoes, but he painted, and drank absinthe, and injected the morphine into his belly, and painted. "_Sapristi!_ He was a brave one! Am I not here over thirty years, and have I met a man like Gauguin? He never worried. He painted. The dealer in Paris sent him five hundred francs a month, and he gave away everything. He cared only for paint. And now he is gone. _Regardez_, here is where his house stood." We walked through the matted grass that sketched upon the fertile soil the shape of that house where Gauguin had painted. It had been raised from the marsh six feet on trunks of trees, and was about forty-five feet long and twenty wide. The floor was of planks, and one climbed a stairway to reach the veranda. The frame of the house was of wood, but the sides all of split bamboo, with a row of windows of glass and a roof of cocoanut thatch. The light entered from the north, and except for a small chamber for sleeping and a closet for provisions, the entire house was a studio, a lofty, breeze-swept hall, the windows high up admitting light, but not the hot sunshine, and the expanse of bamboo filtering the winds in their eternal drift from south to north and north to south. Below the floor, on the ground, was a room for work in sculpture, in which medium Gauguin took much interest, using clay and wood, the latter both for bas-relief and full relief, Gauguin being hampered, Baufré said, by lack of plasticity in the native clay. Next to this workroom was a shelter for the horse and cart, for Gauguin had the only wheeled vehicle in the Marquesas. Baufré exhausted all his rhetoric and used four sheets of foolscap in his endeavor to make me see these surroundings of the artist, whom he evidently considered a great man. "Five hundred francs a month, _mon ami_, whether he painted or not! But he was a worker. Drunk or sober, he would paint. _Oui_, I have seen him with a bottle of absinthe in him, and still he would paint. Early in the morning he was at work at his easel in the studio or under the trees, and every day he painted till the light was gone. His only use for the cart was to carry him and his easel and chair to scenes he would paint. He would shoot that accursed morphine into his belly when the pain was too bad, and he would drink wine and talk and paint. "He had no wife or woman, but he took one in the way of the white man here now and then. He lived alone, save for a half-Chinese boy who cooked and cleaned for him. He never said he was sick. There was no doctor on this island, for the government was then at Nuka-hiva, and he had no time to go there. He suffered terribly, but he never complained. 'Life is short,' he would say, 'and there is not long to paint.' "He would not talk politics, but after the light was gone he would sit at the organ in his studio and make one cry with his music. When at home he wore only a _pareu_, but he would put on trousers when he went out. He worked and drank and injected his morphine, and one morning when the boy came he found him dead, and he was smiling. "The government hated him because he cursed it for not letting the natives keep their customs. The church hated him because he ridiculed it. Still, they buried him in the Catholic cemetery. I went with the body, and four Marquesans carried it up the trail. "The government sold his house to Gedge, and Gedge sold it to a native, who tore it down for the materials. It was of no use to any one, for it was built for an artist. "_Vous savez; mon garçon_, I am not acquainted with pictures, and have never seen any but his, but I felt that they were good. They made one feel the sun. There was in them the soul of these islands. And you know that Polonaise, with the one eye-glass, that lives in Papeite, that Krajewsky? _Eh bien!_ he was here to buy these stone images of gods, and he said that in Paris they were paying tens of thousands of francs for those things of Gauguin's he would have given me for the asking. Ah well! he had the head and he was a philosopher, but he lies up there in Calvary." "Perhaps," said Le Moine. "_Mon ami_," said the shaggy man, "I go to church, and you and I and Gauguin are the same kind of Catholic. We don't do what we pray for. That man was smarter than you or me, and the good God will forgive him whatever he did. He paid everybody, and Chassognal of Papeite found seven hundred francs in a book where he had carelessly laid it. If he drank, he shared it, and he paid his women." "He was an atheist," persisted Le Moine. "Atheist!" echoed Baufré. "He believed in making beautiful pictures, and he was not afraid of God or of the mission. How do you know what God likes? Mathieu Scallamera built the church here and the mission houses, and he is dead, and all his family are lepers. Did God do that? _Non! Non!_ You and I know nothing about that. You like to drink. Your woman is tattooed, and we are both men and bad. Come and have a drink?" We left him beside the road and walked slowly beneath the arch of trees toward the mountain whose summit was crowned by the white cross of Calvary graveyard. "He drank too much, he took morphine, he was mortally ill, and yet he painted. Those chaps who have to have leisure and sandal-wood censors might learn from that man," said Le Moine. "He was a pagan and he saw nature with the eyes of a pagan god, and he painted it as he saw it." I reminded him of James Huneker's words about Gauguin: "He is yet for the majority, though he may be the Paint God of the Twentieth century. Paint was his passion. With all his realism, he was a symbolist, a master of decoration." Past the governor's mansion, we turned sharply up the hill. Apart from all other dwellings, on a knoll, stood a Marquesan house. As we followed the steep trail past it, I called, "_Kaoha!_" "_I hea?_" said a woman, "_Karavario?_ Where do you go? To Calvary?" There was a sad astonishment in her tone, that we should make the arduous climb to the cemetery where no dead of ours lay interred. A fairly broad trail wound about the hill, the trail over which the dead and the mourners go, and the way was through a vast cocoanut-orchard, the trees planted with absolute regularity lifting their waving fronds seventy or eighty feet above the earth. There was no underbrush between the tall gray columns of the palms, only a twisted vegetation covered the ground, and the red volcanic soil of the trail, cutting through the green, was like a smear of blood. The road was long and hot. Halting near the summit, we looked upward, and I was struck with emotion as when in the courtyard I saw the group of the crucifixion. A cross forty feet high, with a Christ nailed upon it, all snow-white, stood up against the deep blue sky. It was like a note of organ music in the great gray cathedral of the palms. Another forty minutes climbing brought us to the foot of the white symbol. A half-acre within white-washed palings, like any country graveyard, lay on the summit of the mountain. To find Gauguin's grave we began at the entrance and searched row by row. The graves were those of natives, mounds marked by small stones along the sides, with crosses of rusted iron filigree showing skulls and other symbols of death, and a name painted in white, mildewing away. Farther on were tombs of stone and cement, primitive and massive, defying the elements. Upon one was graven, "_Ci Git Daniel Vaimai, Kata-Kita_, 1867-1907. R.I.P." The grave of a catechist, a native assistant to the priests. Beneath another lay "August Jorss," he who had ordered the Golden Bed in which I slept. Most conspicuous of all was a mausoleum surrounded by a high, black, iron railing brought from France. On this I climbed to read while perched on the points: "_Ici repose Mg. Illustrissime et Reverendissime_ Rog. Jh. Martin," and much more in Latin and French. It was the imposing grave of the Bishop of Uranopolis, vicar-apostolic to the Marquesas, predecessor to Bishop le Cadre, who had no pride and whom all called plain Father David. Suddenly rain poured down upon us, and looking about to find a shelter we saw a straw penthouse over a new and empty grave lined with stones. We huddled beneath it, our faces toward the sea, and while the heavy rain splashed above our heads and water rushed down the slope, we gazed in silence at the magnificent panorama below. We were directly above the Bay of Traitors, that arm of the sea which curved into the little bays of Taka-Uka and Atuona. At one side, a mere pinnacle through the vapor about his throat, rose the rugged head of Temetiu, and ranged below him the black fastnesses of the valleys he commands. In the foreground the cocoas, from the rocky headlands to the gate of Calvary, stood like an army bearing palms of victory. In rows and circles, plats and masses, the gray trunks followed one another from sea to mountain, yielding themselves to the storm, swaying gently, and by some trick of wind and rain seeming to march toward the cross-crowned summit. The flimsy thatch under which we crouched, put up only to keep the sun from the grave-digger, bent to north and south, and threatened to wing away. But suddenly the shower ran away in a minute, as if it had an engagement elsewhere, and the sun shone more brightly in the rain-washed air. We continued our search, but uselessly. Hohine and Mupui had advertisement of their last mortal residence, but not Gauguin. We found an earring on one little tomb where a mother had laid her child, and on several those _couronnes des perles_, stiff, ugly wreaths brought from France, with "Sincere Regrets" in raised beads, speaking pityfully of the longing of the simple islanders to do honor to the memory of their loved ones. But the grave of Gauguin, the great painter, was unmarked. If a board had been placed at its head when he was buried, it had rotted away, and nothing was left to indicate where he was lying. The hibiscus was blood-red on the sunken graves, and cocoanuts sprouted in the tangled grass. Palms shut out from the half-acre had dropped their nuts within it, and the soil, rich in the ashes of man, was endeavoring to bring forth fairer fruit than headstones and iron crosses. The _pahue_, a lovely, long, creeping vine that wanders on the beaches to the edge of the tides, had crawled over many graves, and its flowers, like morning-glories, hung their purple bells on the humbler spots that no hand sought to clear. Perhaps under these is the dust of the painter who, more than any other man, made the Marquesas known to the world of Europe. CHAPTER XV Death of Aumia; funeral chant and burial customs; causes for the death of a race. On the _paepae_ of a poor cabin near my own lived two women, Aumia and Taipi, in the last stages of consumption. Aumia had been, only a few months earlier, the beauty of the island. "She was one of the gayest," said Haabunai, "but the _pokoko_ has taken her." She was pitifully thin when I first saw her, lying all day on a heap of mats, with Taipi beside her, both coughing, coughing. An epidemic of colds had seized Atuona, brought, most probably, by the schooner _Papeite_, for no other had arrived since the _Morning Star_. Aumia coughed at night, her neighbor took it up, and then, like laughter in a school, it became impossible to resist, and down to the beach and up to the heights the valley echoed with the distressing sounds. So, a breadfruit season ago, had Aumia coughed for the first time, and the way she was going would be followed by many of my neighbors. I stopped every day to chat a moment with Aumia, and to bring her the jam or marmalade she liked, and was too poor to buy from the trader's store. She asked me this day if I had seen her grave. She had heard I had visited the cemetery, and I must describe it to her. It was the grave over which Le Moine and I had crouched from the storm. Aumia's husband and Haabunai, with Great Fern, had dug it and paved it a couple of days ago, and her husband had given the others a pig for their work, slaughtering it on the tomb of the Bishop of Uranopolis. No thought of profanation had entered their minds; it was convenient to lay the pig over the imposing monument, with a man on either side holding the beast and the butcher free-handed. The carcass had been denuded of hair in a pail of hot water and buried underground with fire below and above him. When the meat was well done, I had a portion of it, and Sister Serapoline, who had come in her black nun's habit to console Aumia with the promises of the church, ate with us, and accepted a haunch for the nun's house. "Aumia is able to eat pig, and yet they have made her grave," I said. "Oh, _c'est ça!_" replied the nun, holding the haunch carefully. "That is the custom. Always they used to dig them near the house, so that the sick person might see the grave, and in its digging the sick had much to say, and enjoyed it. Now, _grâce à dieu!_ if Catholics, they are buried in consecrated ground where the body may rest serene until the trumpet sounds the final judgment. Death is terrible, but these Marquesans make no more of it than of a journey to another island, and much less than of a voyage to Tahiti. They die as peacefully as a good Catholic who is sure of his crown in Heaven. And as they are children, only children, the wisest or the worst of them, the Good God will know how to count their sins. It is those who scandalize them who shall pay dear, those wicked whites who have forsaken God, or who worship him in false temples." The coffin of Aumia was then beside the house, turned over so that rain might not make it unpresentable. She had asked for it weeks before. To the Marquesan his coffin is as important as, to us, the house the newly-married pair are to live in. These people know that almost every foot of their land holds the bones or dust of a corpse, and this remnant of a race, overwhelmed by tragedy, can look on death only as a relief from the oppression of alien and unsympathetic white men. They go to the land of the _tupapaus_ as calmly as to sleep. "I have never seen a Marquesan afraid to die," said Sister Serapoline. "I have been at the side of many in their last moments. It is a terrible thing to die, but they have no fear at all." The husband of Aumia, a jolly fellow of thirty, was practising on a drum for the entertainment of his wife. He said that the corpse of his grandfather, a chief, had been oiled and kept about the house until it became mummified. This, he said, had been quite the custom. The body was washed very thoroughly, and rubbed with cocoanut-oil. It was laid in the sun, and members of the family appointed to turn it many times a day, so that all parts might be subjected to an even heat. The anointing with oil was repeated several times daily. Weeks or months of this process reduced the corpse to a mummified condition, and if it were the body of a chief it was then put in his canoe and kept for years in a ceremonial way. But no mark was ever placed to show where the dead were buried, and there were no funeral ceremonies. Better that none knew where the body was laid and that the chosen friends who carried it to the sepulchre forgot the spot. In the very old days the Marquesans interred the dead secretly in the night at the foot of great trees. Or they carried the bodies to the mountains and in a rocky hole shaded by trees covered them over and made the grave as much as possible like the surrounding soil. The secret of the burial-place was kept inviolate. Aumia's husband related an instance of a man who in the darkest night climbed a supposedly inaccessible precipice carrying the body of his young wife lashed to his back, to place it carefully on a lofty shelf and descend safely. These precautions came probably from a fear of profanation of the dead, perhaps of their being eaten by a victorious enemy. To devastate the cemeteries and temples of the foe was an aim of every invading tribe. It was considered that mutilating a corpse injured the soul that had fled from it. Afraid of no living enemy nor of the sea, meeting the shark in his own element and worsting him, fearlessly enduring the thrust of the fatal spear when an accident of battle left him defenseless, the Marquesan warrior, as much as the youngest child, had an unutterable horror of their own dead and of burial-places, as of the demons who hovered about them. Christianity has made no change in this, for it, too, is encumbered with such fears. Who of us but dreads to pass a graveyard at night, though even to ourselves we deny the fear? Banshees, werwolves and devils, the blessed candles lit to keep away the Evil One, or even to guard against wandering souls on certain feasts of the dead, were all part of my childhood. So to the Marquesan are the goblins that cause him to refuse to go into silent places alone at night, and often make him cower in fear on his own mats, a _pareu_ over his head, in terror of the unknown. But death when it comes to him now is nothing, or it is a going to sleep at the end of a sad day. Aumia, eating her burial meats and looking with pleasure at her coffin, carefully and beautifully built by her husband's hands, smiled at me as serenely as a child. But the melancholy sound of her coughing followed me up the trail to the House of the Golden Bed. It was barely daylight next morning when I awoke, a soft, delicious air stirring the breadfruit leaves. I plunged into the river, and returning to my house was about to dress--that is, to put on my _pareu_--when a shriek arose from the forest. It was sudden, sharp, and agonizing. "_Aumia mate i havaii_" said Exploding Eggs, approaching to build the fire. Literally he said, "Aumia is dead and gone below," for the Marquesans locate the spirit world below the earth's surface, as they do the soul below the belt. The wailing was accompanied shortly by a sound of hammering on boards. "The corpse goes into the coffin," said Exploding Eggs. The first nail had been driven but a moment after Aumia's last breath. All day the neighborhood was melancholy with the cries from the house. All the lamentations were in a certain tone, as if struck from the same instrument by the hand of sorrow. Each visitor to the house shrieked in the same manner, and all present accompanied her, so that for ten minutes after each new mourner arrived a chorus of loud wails and moans assailed my ears. I had never known such a heart-rending exhibition of grief. But the sorrow of these friends of Aumia was not genuine. It could not be; it was too dramatic. When they left the house the mourners laughed and lit cigarettes and pipes. If no new visitor came they fell to chatting and smoking, but the sight of a fresh and unharrowed person started them off again in their mechanical, though nerve-racking, cry. I had known Aumia well, and at noon, desiring to observe the proprieties, I stepped upon the _paepae_ of her home. "She loved the _Menike!_" shouted the old women in chorus, and they threw themselves upon me and smelt me and made as if I had been one of the dead's husbands. The followed me up the trail to my cabin and sat on my _paepae_ wailing and shrieking. It was some time before I realized that their poignant sorrow should force consolation from me. There was not a moan as the rum went round. I had puzzled at the exact repetition of their plaint. Harrowing as it was, the sounds were almost like a recitation of the alphabet. A woman who had adopted me as her nephew said they called it the "_Ue haaneinei_" That, literally, is "to make a weeping on the side." The etiquette of it was intricate and precise. Each vowel was memorized with exactness. It ran, as my adopted aunt repeated it over her shell of consolation, thus: "Ke ke ke ke ke ke ke ke ke! A a a a a a a a a a a a a a! E e e e e e e e e e e e e e e! I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i! O o o o o o o o o o o o o o o! U u u u u u u u u u u u u u u!" To omit a vowel, to say too many, or to mix their order, would be disrespect to the spirit of the dead, and a reflection on the mourner. Nine times the "ke," fourteen "a's," fifteen "e's," eighteen "i's" and fifteen "o's" and "u's." Aumia was carried to Calvary in the afternoon and put in the grave for which the pig had been paid. So strongly did the old feeling still prevail that only three or four of her friends could be persuaded by the nuns to accompany the coffin up the trail. Exploding Egg's consignment of Aumia to Havaii, the underworld, spoke strongly of the clinging of his people to their old beliefs in the destiny of the spirit after death. They share with the Ainos of Japan--a people to which they have many likenesses, being of the same division of man--a faith in a subterranean future. Does not Socrates, in the dialogues of Plato, often speak of "going to the world below," where he hopes to find real wisdom? Havaii or Havaiki is, of course, the fabled place whence came the Polynesians, as it is also the name of that underworld to which their spirits return after death. One might read into this fact a dim groping of the Marquesan mind toward "From dust he came, to dust returneth," or, more likely, a longing of the exiled people for the old home they had abandoned. Ethnologists believe that the name refers to Java, the tarrying-point of the great migration of Caucasians from South Asia toward Polynesia and New Zealand, or to Savaii, a Samoan island whence the emigrants later dispersed. Whatever the origin of the word, to-day it conveys to the Marquesan mind only that vague region where the dead go. In it there is no suffering, either for good or bad souls. It is simply the place where the dead go. It is ruled by Po, the Darkness. There is, however, a paradise in an island in the clouds, where beautiful girls and great bowls of _kava_, with pigs roasted to a turn, await the good and brave. The old priests claimed to be able to help one from Po to this happy abode, but the living relatives of the departed spirit had to pay a heavy price for their services. The Christianized Marquesan fancies that he finds these old beliefs revived when Père David tells him of purgatory, from which prayers and certain good acts help one's friends, or may be laid up in advance against the day when one must himself descend to that middle state of souls. All Marquesans live in the shadow of that day. They see it without fear, but with a melancholy so tragic and deep that the sorrow of it is indescribable. "I have seen many go as Aumia has gone," said Father David to me. "All these lovable races are dying. All Polynesia is passing. Some day the whites here will be left alone amid the ruins of plantations and houses, unless they bring in an alien race to take the places of the dead." A hundred years ago there were a hundred and sixty thousand Marquesans in these islands. Twenty years ago there were four thousand. To-day I am convinced that there remain not twenty-one hundred. A century ago an American naval captain reckoned nineteen thousand fighting men on the island of Nuka-hiva alone. In a valley where three thousand warriors opposed him, there are to-day four adults. I visited Hanamate, an hour from Atuona, where fifty years ago hundreds of natives lived. Not one survived to greet me. Consumption came first to Hanavave, on the island of Fatu-hiva. One of the tribe of merciless American whaling captains having sent ashore a sailor dying of tuberculosis, the tattooed cannibals received him in a Christ-like manner, soothed his last hours, and breathed the germs that have carried off more than four-fifths of their race, and to-day are killing the remnant. The white man brought the Chinese, and with them leprosy. The Chinese were imported to aid the white in stealing the native land of the Marquesan, and to keep the Chinese contented, opium was brought with him. Finding it eagerly craved by the ignorant native, the foolish white fastened this vice also upon his other desired slave. The French Government, for forty thousand francs, licensed an opium farmer to sell the drug still faster, and not until alarmed by the results and shamed by the outcry in Europe, did it forbid the devastating narcotic. Too late! Smallpox came with a Peruvian slave-ship that stole thousands of the islanders and carried them off to work out their lives for the white in his own country. This ship left another more dread disease, which raged in the islands as a virulent epidemic, instead of running the slow chronic course it does nowadays when all the world has been poisoned by it. The healthy Marquesans had no anti-toxins in their pure blood to overcome the diseases which with us, hardened Europeans and descendants of Europeans, are not deadly. Here they raged and destroyed hundreds in a few days or weeks. The survivors of these pestilences, seeing their homes and villages desolated, their friends dying, their people perishing, supposed that these curses were inflicted upon them by the God of the foreigners and by the missionaries, who said that they were his servant. In their misery, they not only refused to listen to the gospels, but accused the missionaries in prayer before their own god, begging to be saved from them. Often when the missionaries appeared to speak to the people, the deformed and dying were brought out and laid in rows before them, as evidences of the evilness and cruelty of their white god. But after one has advanced all tangible reasons and causes for the depopulation of the Marquesas, there remains another, mysterious, intangible, but it may be, more potent than the others. The coming of the white has been deadly to all copper-colored races everywhere in the world. The black, the yellow, the Malay, the Asiatic and the negro flourish beside the white; the Polynesian and the red races of America perished or are going fast. The numbers of those dead from war and epidemics leave still lacking the full explanation of the fearful facts. Seek as far as you will, pile up figures and causes and prove them correct; there still remains to take into account the shadow of the white on the red. Prescott says: The American Indian has something peculiarly sensitive in his nature. He shrinks instinctively from the rude touch of a foreign hand. Even when this foreign influence comes in the form of civilization, he seems to sink and pine under it. It has been so with the Mexicans. Under the Spanish domination their numbers have silently melted away. Their energies are broken. They live under a better system of laws, a more assured tranquillity, a purer faith. But all does not avail. Their civilization was of the hardy character that belongs to the wilderness. Their hardy virtues were all their own. They refused to submit to European culture--to be engrafted on a foreign stock. Free! Understand that well, it is the deep commandment, dimmer or clearer, of our whole being, to be free. Freedom is the one purpose, wisely aimed at or unwisely, of all man's struggles, toilings, and sufferings, in this earth. I am persuaded that the Polynesians, from Hawaii to Tahiti, are dying because of the suppression of the play-instinct, an instinct that had its expression in most of their customs and occupations. Their dancing, their tattooing, their chanting, their religious rites, and even their warfare, had very visible elements of humor and joyousness. They were essentially a happy people, full of dramatic feeling, emotional, and with a keen sense of the ridiculous. The rule of the trader crushed all these native feelings. To this restraint was added the burden of the effort to live. With the entire Marquesan economic and social system disrupted, food was not so easily procurable, and they were driven to work by commands, taxes, fines, and the novel and killing incentives of rum and opium. The whites taught the men to sell their lives, and the women to sell their charms. Happiness and health were destroyed because the white man came here only to gratify his cupidity. The priests could bring no inspiration sufficient to overcome the degradation caused by the traders. The Marquesan saw that Jesus had small influence over their rulers. Civilization lost its opportunity because it gave precept, but no example. Even to-day, one white man in a valley sets the standard of sobriety, of kindness, and honor. Jensen, the frank and handsome Dane who works for the Germans at Taka-Uka who was in the breadline in New York and swears he will never return to civilization, told me that when he kept a store in Hanamenu, near Atuona, to serve the bare handful of unexterminated tribesmen there, the people imitated him in everything, his clothes, his gestures, his least-studied actions. "I was the only white. I planted a fern in a box. Every one came to my store and, feigning other reasons, asked for boxes. Soon every _paepae_ had its box of ferns. I asked a man to snare four or five goats for me in the hills. They were the first goats tethered or enclosed in the valley. Within a week the mountains were harried for goats, and the village was noisy with their bleating. I ate my goats; they ate theirs. Not one was left. When I forsook Hanamenu, the whole population moved with me. Sure, I was decent to them, that was all. "I never want to see the white man's country again. I have starved in the big cities, and worked like a dog for the banana trust in the West Indies. I have begged a cup of coffee in San Francisco, and been fanned by a cop's club. Here I make almost nothing, I have many friends and no superiors, and I am happy." Had these lovable savages had a few fine souls to lead them, to shield them from the dregs of civilization heaped on them for a century, they might have developed into a wonder race to set a pace in beauty, courage, and natural power that would have surprised and helped Europe. They needed no physical regeneration. They were better born into health and purity--bloody as were some of their customs--than most of us. Their bodies had not become a burden on the soul, but, light and strong and unrestrained, were a part of it. They did not know that they had bodies; they only leaped, danced, flung themselves in and out of the sea, part of a large, happy, and harmonious universe. If to that superb, almost perfect, physical base that nature had given these Marquesans, to that sweetness simplicity, generosity, and trust acknowledged by all who know them, there could have been added a knowledge of the things we have learned; if by example and kindness they could have been given rounded and informed intelligence, what living there would have been in these islands! All they needed was a brother who walked in the sunlight and showed the way. CHAPTER XVI A savage dance, a drama of the sea, of danger and feasting; the rape of the lettuce. Drums were beating all the morning, thrilling the valley and mountain-sides with their barbaric _boom-boom_. The savage beat of them quickened the blood, stirring memories older than mankind, waking wild and primitive instincts. Toho's eyes gleamed, and her toes curled and uncurled like those of a cat, while she told me that the afternoon would see an old dance, a drama of the sea, of war, and feasting such as the islands had known before the whites came. The air thrummed with the resonance of the drums. All morning I sat alone on my _paepae_, hearing them beat. The sound carried one back to the days when men first tied the skins of animals about hollow tree-trunks and thumped them to call the naked tribes together under the oaks of England. Those great drums beaten by the hands of Haabunai and Song of the Nightingale made one want to be a savage, to throw a spear, to dance in the moonlight. Erase thirty years, and hear it in Atuona when the "long pig that speaks" was being carried through the jungle to the dark High Place! Then it was the thunder of the heavens, the voice of the old gods hungry for the flesh of their enemies. We who have become refined and diverse in our musical expression, using a dozen or scores of instruments to interpret our subtle emotions, cannot know the primitive and savage exaltation that surges through the veins when the war-drum beats. To the Marquesans it has ever been a summons to action, an inspiration to daring and bloody deeds, the call of the war-gods, the frenzy of the dance. Born of the thunder, speaking with the voice of the storm and the cataract, it rouses in man the beast with quivering nostrils and lashing tail who was part of the forest and the night. Music is ever an expression of the moods and morals of its time. The bugle and the fife share with the drum the rousing of martial spirit in our armies to-day, but to our savage ancestors the drum was supreme. Primitive man expressed his harmony with nature by imitating its sounds. He struck his own body or a hollow log covered with skin. Uncivilized peoples crack their fingers, snap their thighs, or strike the ground with their feet to furnish music for impromptu dancing. In Tonga they crack their fingers; in Tahiti they pound the earth with the soles of their feet; here in Atuona they clap hands. The Marquesans have, too, bamboo drums, long sections of the hollow reed, slit, and beaten with sticks. For calling boats and for signaling they use the conch-shell, the same that sounded when "the Tritons blew their wreathed horn." They also have the jew's-harp, an instrument common to all Polynesia; sometimes a strip of bark held between the teeth, sometimes a bow of wood strung with gut. [Illustration: The _haka_, the Marquesan national dance] [Illustration: Hot Tears (on the left) with Vai Etienne] Civilization is a process of making life more complex and subtle. We have the piano, the violin, the orchestra. Yet we also have rag-time, which is a reaction from the nervous tension of American commercial life, a swinging back to the old days when man, though a brute, was free. There is release and exhilaration in the barbaric, syncopated songs and in the animal-like motions of the jazz dances with their wild and passionate attitudes, their unrestrained rhythms, and their direct appeal to sex. These rag-time melodies, coming straight from the jungles of Africa through the negro, call to impulses in man that are stifled in big cities, in factory and slum and the nerve-wearing struggle of business. So in the dance my Marquesan neighbors returned to the old ways and expressed emotions dying under the rule of an alien people. With the making light of their reverenced _tapus_, the proving that their gods were powerless, and the ending of their tribal life, the dance degraded. They did not care to dance now that their joy in life was gone. But the new and jolly governor, craving amusement, sought to revive it for his pleasure. So the drums were beating on the palace lawn, and afternoon found the trails gay with _pareus_ and brilliant shawls as the natives came down from their _paepaes_ to the seat of government. Chief Kekela Avaua, adopted son of the old Kekela, and head man of the Paamau district, called for me. He was a dignified and important man of forty-five years, with handsome patterns in tattooing on his legs, and Dundreary whiskers. He was quite modishly dressed in brown linen, beneath which showed his bare, prehensile-toed feet. Kirio Patuhamane, a marvelous specimen of scrolled ink-marks from head to foot, who sported Burnside whiskers, an English cricket cap, and a scarlet loin-cloth, accompanied us down the road. A hundred natives were squatting in the garden of the palace, and rum and wine were being handed out when we arrived. Haabunai and Song of the Nightingale, the man under sentence for making palm brandy, were once more the distributors, and took a glass often. The people had thawed since the dance at the governor's inauguration. As Kirio Patuhamane explained, they had waited to observe the disposition of their new ruler, the last having been severe, dispensing no rum save for his own selfish gain, and having a wife who despised them. My tawny feminine friends resented keenly white women's airs of superiority, and many were the cold glances cast by Malicious Gossip, Apporo, and Flower at the stiffly gowned Madame Bapp, who sat on the veranda drinking absinthe. They scorned her, because she beat her husband if he but looked at one of them, though he owned a store and desired their custom. Poor Madame Bapp! She thought her little man very attractive, and she lived in misery because of the openly-displayed charms of his customers. She loved him, and when jealous she sought the absinthe bottle and soon was busy with whip and broom on the miserable Bapp, who sought to flee. It was useless; she had looked to doors and windows, and he must take a painful punishment, the while the crockery smashed and all Atuona Valley listened on its _paepaes_, laughing and well knowing that the little man had given no cause for jealousy. She greeted me with cold politeness when I mounted to the veranda, and the governor dispensed glasses of "Dr. Funk," a drink known to all the South Seas. Its secret is merely the mixing of a stiff drink of absinthe with lemonade or limeade. The learned man who added this death-dealing potion to the pleasures of the thirsty was Stevenson's friend, and attended him in his last illness. I do not know whether Dr. Funk ever mixed his favorite drink for R.L.S., but his own fame has spread, not as a healer, but as a dram-decocter, from Samoa to Tahiti. "Dr. Funk!" one hears in every club and bar. Its particular merits are claimed by experts to be a stiffening of the spine when one is all in; an imparting of courage to live to men worn out by doing nothing. The governor in gala attire was again the urban host, assisted by André Bauda, now his close friend and confidant. Bauda himself had been in the island only a few months, and knew no more Marquesan speech than the governor. Both these officials were truly hospitable, embarrassingly so, considering my inability to keep up with them in their toasts. Soon the demijohn of rum had been emptied into the glasses passing from hand to hand in the garden; Haabunai and Song of the Nightingale again evoked the thrumming beat of the great drums, and the dance began. This was a tragedy of the sea, a pantomine of danger and conflict and celebration. For centuries past the ancestors of these dancers had played it on the Forbidden Height. Even the language in which they chanted was archaic to this generation, its words and their meanings forgotten. The women sat upon the grass in a row, and first, in dumb show, they lifted and carried from its house to the beach a long canoe. The straining muscles of their arms, the sway of their bodies, imitated the raising of the great boat, and the walking with its weight, the launching, the waiting for the breakers and the undertow that would enable them to pass the surf line, and then the paddling in rough water. Meantime at a distance the men chanted in chorus, giving rhythmic time to the motions of the dancers and telling in the long-disused words the story of the drama. And the drums beat till their rolling thunder resounded far up the valley. After the canoe was moving swiftly through the water the women rested. It seemed to me that the low continued chant of the men expressed a longing for freedom, for a return to nature, and a melancholy comment on the days of power and liberty gone forever. Though no person present understood the ancient language of the song, there was no need of words to interpret the exact meaning of the dance. Though no word had been uttered, the motions of the women would have clearly told the tale. When they began again, the sea grew more agitated. Now the wail of the men reproduced the sound of waves beating on the canoe, and the whistling of the wind. The canoe was tossed high by the pounding sea; it slid dizzily down into the troughs of waves and rocked as the oarsmen fought to hold it steady. The squall had grown into a gale, roaring upon them while they tried to hold it steady. The canoe began to fill with water, it sank deeper and deeper, and in another moment the boatsmen were flung into the ocean. There they struggled with the great seas; they swam; they regained the canoe; they righted it, climbed into it. The storm subsided, the seas went down. Again the women rested, their arms and bodies shining with perspiration. All this time they had remained immobile from the waist downward; their naked legs folded under them like those of statues. The chant of the men was quieter now, expressing a memory of the old gaiety now crushed by the inhibitions of the whites, by ridicule of island legends, and by the stern denunciations of priests and preachers. Yet it was full of suggestion of days gone by and the people who had once sailed the seas among these islands. Again the dancers raised their arms, and the canoe sailed over sunny waters. At length it touched at an isle, it was carried through the breakers to a resting place on the sand. Its oarsmen rejoiced, they danced a dance of thanksgiving to their gods, and wreathed the _ti_ leaves in their hair. At this moment Haabunai, master of ceremonies, gave a cry of dismay and ceased to beat his drum. With an anguished glance at the assembled spectators, he dashed around the corner of the house, to reappear in an instant with his hands full of green leaves. "_Mon dieu!_" cried the governor. "_Mon salade! Mon salade!_" Haabunai, busied with his duties, had forgotten to provide the real and sacred _ti_. In despair at the last moment he had raided and utterly destroyed the governor's prized lettuce bed, the sole provision for salad-making in Atuona. He hastily divided the precious leaves among the dancers, and with wilting lettuce enwreathed in their tresses the oarsmen launched the canoe once more in the waves and returned to their own isle, praising the gods. All relaxed now, to receive the praises of the governor and the brimming glasses once more offered by the diligent Haabunai and Song, aided by the gendarme. A gruesome cannibal chant followed, accompanied by the booming of the drums, and then, warmed by the liquor that fired their brains, the dancers began the _haka_, the sexual dance. Inflamed by the rum, they flung themselves into it with such abandon as I have never seen, and I saw a _kamaaina_ in Hawaii and have seen Caroline, Miri, and Mamoe, most skilled dancers of the Hawaiian Islands. With the continued passing of the cup, the _hurahura_ soon became general. The men and women who had begun dancing in rows, in an organized way, now broke ranks and danced freely all over the lawn. Men sought out the women they liked, and women the men, challenging each other in frenzied and startling exposition of the ancient ways. The ceaseless booming of the drums added incitement to the frenzy; the grounds of the governor's palace were a chaos of twisting brown bodies and agitated _pareus_, while from all sides rose cries, shouts, hysterical laughter, and the sound of clapping hands and thumping feet. Here and there dancers fell exhausted, until by elimination the dance resolved itself into a duet, all yielding the turf to Many Daughters, the little, lovely leper, and Kekela Avaua, chief of Paumau. These left the lawn and advanced to the veranda, where so contagious had become the enthusiasm that the governor was doing the _hurahura_ opposite Bauda, and Ah Yu danced with Apporo, while Song, the prisoner, and Flag, the gendarme, madly emulated the star performers. Kekela, who led the rout, was a figure at which to marvel. A very big man, perhaps six feet four inches in height, and all muscle, his contortions and the frenzied movements of his muscles exceeded all anatomical laws. Many Daughters, her big eyes shining, her red lips parted, followed and matched his every motion. Her entire trunk seemed to revolve on the pivot of her waist, her hips twisting in almost a spiral, and her arms akimbo accentuating and balancing her lascivious mobility. The governor and the commissionaire, Ah Yu and Apporo, Monsieur Bapp with Song of the Nightingale and Flag, made the palace tremble while the _thrum_ of the great drums maddened their blood. Exhausted at last, they lay panting on the boards. Song was telling me that the liquor of the governor's giving surpassed all his illicit make, and that when his sentence expired he would remain at the palace as cook. Ah Yu, in broken English, sang a ditty he had heard forty years earlier in California, "Shoo-fle-fly-doan-bodder-me." Apporo, overcome by the rum and the dance, was lying among the rose-bushes. Many others were flung on the sward, and more rose again to the dance, singing and shouting and demanding more rum. The girls came forward to be kissed, as was the custom, and Madame Bapp drove them away with sharp words. Soon the hullabaloo became too great for the dignity of the governor. He gave orders to clear the grounds, and Bauda issued commands from the veranda while Song and Flag lugged away the drums and drove the excited mob out of the garden and across the bridge. All in all, this Sunday was typical of Atuona under the new régime. After a quiet bath in the pool below my cabin I got my own dinner, unassisted by Exploding Eggs, and went early to bed to forestall visitors. The crash of a falling cocoanut awakened me at midnight, and I saw on my _paepae_ Apporo, Flower, Water, and Chief Kekela Avaua, asleep. The chief had hung his trousers over the railing, and was in his _pareu_, his pictured legs showing, while the others lay naked on my mats. There was no need to disturb them, for it is the good and honored custom of these hospitable islands to sleep wherever slumber overtakes one. The night was fine, the stars looked down through the breadfruit-trees, and Temetiu, the giant mountain, was dark and handsome in the blue and gold sky. Two sheep were huddled together by my trail window, the horses were lying down in the brush, and a nightingale lilted a gay love song in the cocoanut-palms above the House of the Golden Bed. Next morning all Atuona had a tight handkerchief bound over its forehead. I met twenty men and women with this sign of repentance upon their brows. Watercress, the chief of Atuona, who guards the governor's house, was by the roadside. "You have drunk too much," I remarked, as I spied the rag about his head. "Not too much, but a great deal," he rejoined. "_Faufau_," I said further, which means that it is a bad thing. "_Hana paopao_" he said sadly. "It is disagreeable to work. One likes to forget many things." There was bitterness and sorrow in his tone. His father was a warrior, under the protection of Toatahu, the god of the chiefs, and led many a victorious foray when Watercress was a child. The son remembers the old days and feels deeply the degradation and ruin brought by the whites upon his people. A distinguished-looking man, dignified and haughty, he was one of half a dozen who were working out taxes by repairing the roads, and he was one of the few who worked steadily, saying little and seldom smiling. CHAPTER XVII A walk to the Forbidden Place; Hot Tears, the hunchback; the story of Behold the Servant of the Priest, told by Malicious Gossip in the cave of Enamoa. It was a drowsy afternoon, and coming up the jungle trail to my cabin I saw Le Brunnec, the trader, accompanied by Mouth of God and Tahiapii, half-sister to Malicious Gossip. Le Brunnec, a Breton, intelligent, honest, and light-hearted, owned the store below the governor's palace on the road to Atuona beach. He lived above it, alone save for a boy who cooked for him, and all the Marquesans were his friends. He had come this afternoon to take me for a walk up Atuona valley, and on the main road below my house Le Moine, Jimmy Kekela, Hot Tears, the hunchback, and Malicious Gossip awaited us. We waded the river and found a trail that wandered along it crossed it now and then and hung in places on the high banks above it. The trail had been washed by freshets often and was rough and stony, overhung with trees and vines. Along it, a hundred feet or so from the river, were houses sparsely scattered in the almost continuous forest of cocoanut and breadfruit. Oranges and bananas, mangoes and limes, surrounded the cabins, most of which were built of rough planks and roofed with iron. Here and there I saw a native house of straw matting thatched with palm leaves, a sign of a poverty that could not reach the hideous, but admired, standard of the whites. Many people sitting on their _paepaes_ called to us, and one woman pointed to me and said that she wished to take my name and give me her own. This is their custom with one to whom they are attracted, but I affected not to understand. I did not want, so early in my residence in Atuona, to lose a name that had served me well for many years, and besides, if I took another I would have to abide by whatever it might be and be known by it. It would be pleasant to be called "Blue Sky" or "Killer of Sharks," but how about "Drowned in the Sea" or "Noise Inside"? "Keep your name to yourself, _mon ami_," said Le Moine. "They expect much from you if you give them yours. They will give you heaps of useless presents, but you alone have the right to buy rum." Following a curve in the stream, we came upon Teata (Miss Theater), the acknowledged beauty of Atuona, waist-deep in a pool, washing her gowns. She was a vision of loveliness, large-eyed, tawny, her hair a dark cascade about her fair face and bare shoulders, the crystal water lapping her slender thighs and curling into ripples about her, the heavy jungle growth on the banks making an emerald background to her beauty. "They are like the ancient Greeks," said Le Moine, "with the grace of accustomed nudity and the poise of the barefooted. You must not judge them by the present standards of Europe, but by the statues of Greece or Egypt. M'a'mselle Theater there in the brook would have been renowned in the Golden Age of Pericles. I must paint her before she is older. They are good models, for they have no nerves and will sit all day in a pose, though they dislike standing, and must have their pipe or cigarette. You have seen Vanquished Often, in my own valley of Vait-hua, whom I have painted so much. Ah, there is beauty! One will not find her like in all the world. Paris knows nothing like her." Teata waved her hand at us from the brook, and flung her heavy hair backward over her shoulder as she went on with her task. Looking back at her before the trail wound again into the forest, I saw that her features in repose were hard and semi-savage, the lines still beautiful, but cast in a severe and forbidding mold. We climbed steadily, jumping from rock to rock and clinging to the bushes. A mile up the valley we came suddenly upon a plateau, and saw before us the remains of an ancient _Pekia_, or High Place, a grim and grisly monument of the days of evil gods and man-eating. This, in the old days, was the _paepae tapu_, or Forbidden Height, the abode of dark and terrible spirits. Upon it once stood the temple and about it in the depths of night were enacted the rites of mystery, when the priests and elders fed on the "long pig that speaks," when the drums beat till dawn and wild dances maddened the blood. When it was built, no man can say. Centuries have looked upon these black stones, grim as the ruins of Karnak, created by a mysterious genius, consecrated to something now gone out of the world forever. For ages hidden in the gloom of the forest, it was swept and polished by hands long since dust; it was held in reverence and dread. It was _tapu_, devoted to terrible deities, and none but the priests or the chiefs might approach it except on nights of ghastly feasting. [Illustration: The old cannibal of Taipi Valley] [Illustration: Enacting a human sacrifice of the Marquesans] It stood in a grove of shadowy trees, which even at mid-afternoon cast a gloom upon the ponderous black rocks of the platform and the high seats where chiefs and wizards once sat devouring the corpses of their foes. Above them writhed and twisted the distorted limbs of a huge banian-tree, and below, among the gnarled roots, there was a deep, dark pit. We paused in a clear space of green turf delicately shaded by mango-trees walled in with ferns and grass and flowering bushes, and gazed into the gloom. This was forbidden ground until the French came. No road led to it then; only a narrow and dusky trail, guarded by demons of Po and trod by humans only in the whispering darkness of the jungle night, brought the warriors with the burdens of living meat to the place of the gods. But the French, as if to mock the sacred things of the conquered, made two roads converge in this very spot, from which one wound its way over the mountains to Hanamenu and the other followed the river to an _impasse_ in the hills. "My forefathers and mothers ate their fill of 'long pig' here and danced away the night," said Hot Tears, the hunchback, as he lighted a cigarette and sat upon the stone pulpit that once had been a wizard's. His heavy face, crushed down upon his crooked chest, showed not the slightest trace of fear; a pale imp danced in each of his narrowed eyes as he looked up at me. "That banian-tree, my grandfather said, held the _toua_, the cord of cocoanut fiber that held the living meat suspended above the baking pit. There, you see, among the roots--that was the oven, above which the prisoners hung. Here stood the great drums, and the servants of the priests beat them, till the darkness was filled with sound and all the valleys heard. "_Aue!_" The hunchback leaped to the edge of the pit. He raised his thin arms in the air, and I seemed to see, amidst the contorted limbs of the aged banian, fifty feet above, the quivering bodies swaying. "The _toua_ breaks! They fall. Here on the rocks. They are killed with blows of the _u'u_, thus! And thus the meat is cut, and wrapped in the _meika aa_. Light the fire! Pile in the wood! It roasts!" His ghoulish laughter rose in the dark stillness of the jungle, and the hair stirred on my scalp. To my vision the high black seats were filled with shadowy figures, the light of candlenut torches fell on tattooed faces and gleaming eyes. When the hunchback moved from the tree of death, feigning to carry a platter, first to the great seats of the chiefs, then to the wide platform below, the flesh crawled on my bones. "_Ai!_ They dance! _Ai! Ai! Ai!_ They danced, and they loved! All night the drums beat. The drums! The drums! The drums!" He flung his twisted body on the green and laughed madly, till the old banian itself answered him. For a moment he writhed in a silence even more ghastly than his laughter, then lay still. "_Au!_" he said, turning over on his back. "My grandfather believed this Pekia to be the abode of demons." He paused. "As for me, I believe in none of them, or in any other gods." And he blew out his breath contemptuously. Le Moine surveyed the scene critically. "What a picture at night, with torches flickering, and the seats filled with men in red _pareus_! _Mais, c'est terrible!_" He got off a hundred feet and squinted through a roll of paper. "I wish I could paint it," he said. "It must be a big canvas, and all dark but the torches and a few faces. _Mon dieu!_ Magnificent!" Is cannibalism in the Marquesas a thing of the past? Do those grim warriors who survive the new régime ever relapse? Who can say? It is not probable, for the population of the valleys is so small and the movements of the people so limited that absence is quickly detected. Yet every once in awhile some one is missing. "_Haa mate_. He has leaped into the sea. He was _paopao_. Life was too long." Or, if the disappearance was in crossing from one valley to another, it is said that a rock or a fall of earth had swept the absent one over a cliff. These are reasonable explanations, yet there persist whispers of foul appetitites craving gratification and of old rites revived by the _moke_, the hermits who hide in the mountains. Two such dissappearances had occurred during my brief stay in Atuona, and I had made little of the whispers. But now, with the hideous laughter of the hunchback still ringing in my ears, they slipped darkly through my mind, and I never felt the sunshine sweeter or tasted the mountain air with more delight than when we left that unholy place and were out on the trail again. Our destination was a waterfall, with a pool in which we might bathe, and after leaving the _Pekia_ we followed the stream, climbing higher and higher from the sea. In the Marquesas all the rivers begin in the high mountains, where from the precipices leap the torrents in times of rain. As the valleys are mere ravines at their heads, the waters collect in their depths and roll to the ocean, rippling gently on sunny days, but after a downpour raging, rolling huge boulders over and over and tearing away cliffs. These streams are the life of the people in the upper valleys. In the old days of warfare many of these mountain dwellers never knew the sea; they were prevented from reaching it by the beach clansmen who claimed the fishing for their own and made it death for the hill people to venture down to the shore. All the people of a single valley, six or perhaps a dozen clans, united to war against other valleys, its people risking their lives if they trespassed beyond the hills. Yet under a wise and powerful chief a whole valley lived in amity and knew no class or clan divisions. "We are going to _Vaihae_, The Waters of the Great Desire," said Malicious Gossip. "It was a sacred place once upon a time." We climbed painfully, Le Moine and I suffering keenly from the sharp edges of the stones that cut even through the thick soles of our shoes. The others, who were barefooted, made nothing of them, walking as easily and lithely as panthers on the jagged trail. Soon we heard the crash of the _Vaihae_, and sliding down the mountain-side a hundred feet we came into a depths of a gorge a yard or two wide, a mere crack in the rocks, filled with the boom and roar of rushing water. The rain-swollen stream, cramped in the narrow passage, flung itself foaming high on the spray-wet cliffs, and dashed in a mighty torrent into a deep howl riven out of the solid granite twenty feet below. We put off our clothes and leaped into the pool, enjoying intensely the coolness of the swirling water after the sweat of our climb. Malicious Gossip and her sister would not go in at first, but when I had climbed the face of a slippery rock twenty feet high to dive, and remained there gazing at the melancholy grandeur of the scene, Malicious Gossip put off her tunic and swam through the race, bringing me my camera untouched by the water. She was a naiad of the old mythologies as she slipped through the green current, her hair streaming over her shoulders and her body moving effortlessly as a fish. Once wetted, she remained in the water with us, and she told me there was a cave behind the waterfall, hidden by the glassy sheet of water. "It is called _Enamoa_ (Behold the Servant of the Priest) and it has a terrible history," said Malicious Gossip. "Follow me and we will enter it." She swam across the pool and turning lithely in the water curved out of sight beneath the surface of the vortex. _Kekela_ followed her, and I made several attempts, but each time was flung back, bruised and breathless. It was not until Kekela, finding a long stick in the cave, thrust it through the white foam, that by catching its end in the whirling water I was able to fight through the roaring and smashing deluge. The cave was obscure and damp, its only light filtering through the moving curtain of green water. Black and crawling things squirmed at our feet, and darkness filled the recesses of the cavern. Malicious Gossip's body was a blur in the dimness, and her low soft voice was like an overtone of the deep organ notes of the torrent. "The tale of the cave of _Enamoa_ is not a legend," she said, "for it is more. It was a happening known to our grandfathers. There were two warriors who coveted a woman, and she was _tapu_ to them. She was a _taua vehine_, a priestess of the old gods. But they coveted her, and they were friends, who shared their wives as they divided their _popoi_." "_Panalua_," said Kekela. "That is 'dear friend custom.' We had it in Hawaii. Brothers shared their wives, and sisters their husbands." "These two were name-brothers, and loved as though they were brothers by blood," said Malicious Gossip. "And their hearts were consumed with flame when they looked on this girl. It was evil of them, for it was against the will of the gods. She was of their own clan, and the priests had made her _tapu_ until she had reached a certain age. Her brother was the servant of the priests, and she was consecrated to the gods. She was guarded by most sacred custom. It was forbidden to touch her or her food. "Yet these warriors, _toa_ they were, and renowned in battle, coveted her with a desire that ate their sleep. And at last when they had drunk the fiery _namu enata_ till their brains were filled with flames, they lay in wait for her. "She came down to this pool to bathe. The pool itself was _tapu_ save for those consecrated to the gods, yet this wretched pair crept through the lantana there on the bank, and watched her. She stood on the rock above the pool and put off her _pae_, her cap of gauze, her long robe, and her _pareu_, all of finest tree-cloth, for in those days before the whites came our people were properly clothed. All naked then in the sunlight, she lifted her arms toward the sky and laughed, and sat down on a rock to bathe her feet. "Suddenly the lustful warriors sprang upon her, and stopping her cries with her own _pae_ they swam with her into this cave. Thought and breath had left her; she lay as one dead, and before they had attained their will they heard a sound of one approaching and singing on the rocks. They had no time to kill her, as they had intended, that she might not bring death to them. They left her and fled along the cliffs, barely escaping before the other man came. "He had seen from the corner of his eye a sight of some one fleeing from the cave. He was curious, and swam to it. It was late in the day, for the priestess had come for the evening bath. The sun had hidden himself behind Temetiu and the cave was dark. The man came, then, stepping with care, and his feet found in the darkness a living body, warm and soft and perfumed with flowers. "Then in the darkness, finding her very sweet, he yielded to the demon. But when he brought her at last through the falling water to the evening light, he cried aloud. He was the _moa_, the servant of the high priest, and this was his sister whom he loved. "He screamed thrice, so that all the valley heard him, and then he flung her into the pool to drown. The people saw him fleeing to the heights. He never returned to them. He became a _moke_, a sorcerer, who lived alone in the forest, dreaded by all. He was heard shrieking in the night, and then the storms came. His eyes were seen through the leaves on jungle trails, and he who saw died. "Then the people gave the cave a name, the name of _Enamoa_, Behold the Servant of the Priest. It was much larger then than now, as large as a grove. But one night the people heard the noise of the falling of great rocks, and in the morning the cave was small as now. The _moke_ was never seen again. He had brought down the walls of the cave upon himself, because it had seen his sin." Malicious Gossip, having finished her tale, slipped again beneath the green curtain of the waterfall. When I had fought through the blinding, crashing waters and floated with aching lungs on the surface of the pool, she was donning her tunic on the rocks above it, and soon, with our clothes over our wet bodies, we strolled back to Atuona, Tahiapii smoking Kekela's pipe. [Illustration: Interior of Island of Fatu-hiva, where the author walked over the mountains] [Illustration: The plateau of Ahoa] CHAPTER XVIII A search for rubber-trees on the plateau of Ahoa; a fight with the wild white dogs; story of an ancient migration, told by the wild cattle hunters in the Cave of the Spine of the Chinaman. I went one day with Le Brunnec, the French trader, in search of rubber trees on the plateau of Ahao, above Hanamenu, on the other side of Hiva-oa Island. Mounted on small, but sturdy, mountain ponies, we followed the trail across the river and up the steep mountain-side clad with impenetrable jungle, climbing ever higher and higher above deep gorges and dizzying precipices, until at noon we crossed the loftiest range and dipped downward to the wide plateau. A thousand feet above the valley, level as a prairie, and indescribably wild and deserted, the plain stretched before us. At some distance to our right a long and narrow mound rose five hundred feet from the plateau, a hill that did not mar the vast level expanse, but seemed instead a great earthwork piled upon it by man. Its green terrace was a wild garden of flowers and fruit growing in luxuriant confusion, watered by a stream that leaped sparkling among tall ferns. There was no breadfruit, for it will live only where man is there to tend it, and in all the extent of the tableland there was no human being or sign of habitation. Wild cattle and boars moved in droves among the scattered trees, or stood in the shallow stream watching us with curiosity as we passed. Thousands of guinea-pigs scampered before our horses' feet, and the free descendants of house-trained cats from the cities of Europe and America perched upon lofty branches to gaze down at our cavalcade. I have seen the Garden of Allah, and the Garden of Eden,--if I can believe the Arab sheik whose camel I bought for the journey,--I have been in Nikko at its best, and known Johore and Kandy _en fête_, but for the hours in which I looked upon it this plateau of Ahao was the most exquisite spot upon the earth. The wilderness of its tropic beauty, the green of its leafage, the rich profusion and splendor of its flowers, the pale colors that shimmered along its far horizon, and the desolate grandeur of Temetiu's distant summit wrapped in thunderous clouds, gave it an aspect primitive, mysterious, and sublime. Upon the trees hundreds of orchids hung like jewels, and vines were swung in garlands. Flowers of every hue spread a brilliant carpet beneath the horses' hoofs; the hart's-tongue, the _manamana-o-hina_, the _papa-mako_ and the parasol-plant, with mosses of every description and myriads of ferns, covered the sward. Some were the giant tree-ferns, tall as trees, others uncurled snaky stems from masses of rusty-colored matting, and everywhere was spread the delicate lace of the _uu-fenua_, a maiden-hair beside which the florist's offering is clumsy and insignificant. We made our own way through the tall grass and tangles of flowering shrubs, for there were no trails save those made by the great herds of wild cattle that wandered across the plain. Three thousand head at least I saw grazing on the luxuriant herbage, or pausing with lifted heads before they fled at our approach. "They are descendants of a few left by shipmasters decades ago," said Le Brunnec. "Twenty years ago they roamed in immense herds all over the islands. I have chased them out of the trail to Hanamenu with a stick. Like the goats left by the American captain, Porter, on Nuka-hiva, they thrived and multiplied, but like the goats they are being massacred. "Both cattle and goats were past reckoning when, with peace fully established and the population dwindling, the French permitted the Marquesans to buy guns. The natives hunt in gangs. Fifteen or twenty men, each with rifle or shot-gun, go on horseback to the grazing grounds. The beasts at the sound of the explosions rush to the highest point of the hills. Knowing their habits, the natives post themselves along the ridges and kill all they can. They eat or take away three or four, but they kill thirty or forty. They die in the brush, and their bones strew the ground." I told him of the buffalo, antelope, and deer that formerly filled our woods and covered our prairies; of Alexander Wilson, who in Kentucky in 1811 estimated one flight of wild carrier pigeons as two thousand millions, and of there being not one of those birds now left in the world so far as is known. Le Brunnec sighed, for he was a true sportsman, and would not kill even a pig if he could not consume most of its carcass. Often he half-lifted the shot-gun that lay across the pommel, but let it drop again, saying, "We will have a wild bird for supper." We pitched our tent as the moon hung her lantern over the brow of the hill. Never was tent raised in a spot lonelier or lovelier. We chose for our camp the shelter of a _moto_ tree, one of the most lordly of all the growths of these islands. Not ten of them were left in all the Marquesas, said Le Brunnec as I admired its towering column and magnificent spread of foliage. "The whites who used the axe in these isles would have made firewood of the ark of the covenant." We made a fire before our tent and cooked a wild chicken he had shot, which, with pilot-biscuit and Bordeaux wine, made an excellent dinner. Darkness closed around us while we ate, the wide plateau stretched about us, mysterious in the light of the moon, and the night was cool and pleasant. We lay in lazy comfort, enjoying the fresh light air of that altitude and smoking "John's" mixture from Los Angeles, till sleepiness spilled the tobacco. Our numbed senses scarcely let us drag our mats into the tent before unconsciousness claimed us. I was wakened by the blood-chilling howls of a wolf-pack in full cry, and a shout from Le Brunnec, "The dogs!" He stood by the open flap of the tent, a black silhouette of man and gun. When I had clutched my own rifle and reached his side I saw in the moonlight a score of huge white beasts, some tangled in a snarling heap over the remains of our supper, others crouching on their haunches in a ring, facing us. One of them sprang as Le Brunnec fired, and its hot breath fanned my face before my own finger pressed the trigger. The two wounded brutes struggled on the ground until a second shot finished them, and the rest made off to a little distance, where Le Brunnec kept them with an occasional shot while I brought up the terrified ponies, snorting and plunging. More wood thrown on the coals spread a circle of firelight about us, and Le Brunnec and I took turns in standing guard until morning, while the white dogs sat like sheeted ghosts around us and made the night hideous with howls. One or the other of us must have dozed, for during the night the beasts dragged away the two dead and picked their bones. These, Le Brunnec said, were the sons and daughters of dogs once friendly to humanity, and like the wild cats we had seen, they bore mute testimony to the numbers of people who once lived on this plateau. When dawn came the mountain rats were scurrying about the meadows, but the dogs had gone afar, leaving only the two heaps of bones and the wreckage of all outside the tent to tell of their foray. The sun flooded the mesa, disclosing myriad fern-fronds and mosses and colored petals waving in the light breeze as Le Brunnec and I went down to the stream to bathe. Alas! I lolled there on the bank, thinking to gaze my fill at all this loveliness, and sat upon the _puke_, a feathery plant exquisite to the eye, but a veritable bunch of gadflies for pricking meanness. It is a sensitive shrub, retreating at man's approach, its petioles folding from sight, but with all its modesty it left me a stinging reminder that I had failed to respect its privacy. At noon we came to the hill that rises from the plateau, and found at its base a cistern, the sole token we had seen of the domain of man, except the dogs and cats that had returned to the primitive. It was a basin cut in the solid rock, and doubtless had been the water supply of the tribes that dwelt here hemmed in by enemies. There was about it the vague semblance of an altar, and in the brush near it we saw the black remains of a mighty _paepae_ like that giant Marai of Papara in Tahiti, which itself seemed kin to the great pyramid temple of Borobodo in Java. Melancholy memorials these of man, who is so like the gods, but who passes like a leaf in the wind. Lolling in the stream that overflowed the edge of the ancient cistern, we discussed our plans. Le Brunnec was convinced that the _eva_, which we had found in considerable numbers, was a rubber-tree. He said that rubber was obtained from many trees, vines, roots, and plants, and that the sap of the _eva_, when dried and treated, had all the necessary bouncing qualities. We were to estimate the number of _eva_ trees on the plateau and size up the value of the land for a plantation. Thus we might turn into gold that poison tree whose reddish-purple, alluring fruit has given so many Marquesans escape from life's bitterness, whose juice wounded or mutilated warriors drank to avoid pain or contempt. Idling thus in the limpid water, we heard a voice and started up surprised. A group of natives looked down upon us from the hill above, and their leader was asking who were the strange _haoe_ who had come to their valley. Le Brunnec shouted his name--Proneka, in the native tongue--and after council they shouted down an invitation to breakfast. We had no guns, or, indeed, any other clothing than a towel, our horses being tethered at some distance, but we climbed the hill. Half way up the steep ascent we were confronted by a wild sow with eight piglets. Le Brunnec said that one of them would be appreciated by our hosts, but the mother, surmising his intention, put her litter behind her and stood at bay. To attempt the rape of the pork, naked, afoot, and unarmed, would have meant grievous wounds from those gnashing tusks, so we abandoned the gift and approached our hosts empty-handed. We found them waiting for us in the Grotto of the Spine of the Chinaman, a shallow cave in the side of the hill. There were seven of them, naked as ourselves, thick-lipped, their eyes ringed with the blue _ama_-ink and their bodies scrolled with it. They had killed a bull the day before and had cooked the meat in bamboo tubes, steaming it in the earth until it was tender and tasty. We gorged upon it, and then rested in the cool cave while we smoked. They were curious to know why we were there, and asked if we were after beef. I disclaimed this intention, and said that I was wondering if Ahao had not held many people once. "Ai! _E mea tiatohu hoi!_ Do you not know of the Piina of Fiti-nui? Of the people that once were here? _Aoe?_ Then I will tell you." While the pipe went from mouth to mouth, Kitu, the leader of the hunters, related the following: "The Piina of Fiti-nui had always lived here on the plateau of Ahao. The wise men chronicled a hundred and twenty generations since the clan began. That would be before Iholomoni built the temple in Iudea, that the priests of the new white gods tell us of. The High Place of the Piina of Fiti-nui was old before Iholomoni was born. "But, old as was the clan, there came a time when it grew small in number. For longer than old remembered they had been at war with the Piina of Hana-uaua, who lived in the next valley below this plateau. These two peoples were kinsman, but the hate between them was bitter. The enemy gave the Piina of Fiti-nui no rest. Their _popoi_ pits were opened and emptied, their women were stolen, and their men seized and eaten. Month after month and year after year the clan lost its strength. "They had almost ceased to tattoo their bodies, for they asked what it served them when they were so soon to bake in the ovens of the Hana-uaua people. They could not defeat the Hana-uaua, for they were small in number and the Hana-uaua were great. The best fighters were dead. The gods only could save the last of the tribe from the _veinahae_, the vampire who seizes the dead. "The _taua_ went into the High Place and besought the gods, but they were deaf. They made no answer. Then in despair the chief, Atituahuei, set a time when, if the gods gave no counsel, he would lead every man of the tribe against the foe, and die while the war-clubs sang. "Atituahuei went with the _taua_ to the giant rock, Meae-Topaiho, the sacred stone shaped like a spear that stood between the lands of the warring peoples, and there he said this vow to the gods. And the people waited. "They waited for the space of the waxing and waning of the moon, and the gods said nothing. Then the warriors made ready their _u'u_ of polished ironwood, and filled their baskets with stones, and made ready the spears. On the darkest night of the moon the Piina of Fiti-nui was to go forth to fight and be killed by the Hana-uaua. "But before the moon had gone, the _taua_ came down from the High Place, and said that the gods had spoken. They commanded the people to depart from Ahao, and to sail beyond the Isle of Barking Dogs until they came to a new land. The gods would protect them from the waves. The gods had shown the _taua_ a hidden valley, which ran to the beach, in which to build the canoes. "For many months the Piina of Fiti-nui labored in secret in the hidden valley. They built five canoes, giant, double canoes, with high platforms and houses on them, the kind that are built no more. In these canoes they placed the women and children and the aged, and when all was ready, the men raided the village of the Piina of Hana-uaua, and in the darkness brought all their food to the canoes. "At daybreak the Fiti-nui embarked in four of the canoes, but one they must leave behind for the daughter of the chief, who expected to be delivered of a child at any hour, and for the women of her family, who would not leave her. The hidden valley was filled with the sound of lamentation at the parting, but the gods had spoken, and they must go. "When the four canoes were in the sea beyond the village of Hana-uaua, all their people beat their war-drums and blew the trumpets of shell. The people of Hana-uaua heard the noise, and said that strangers had come, but whether for a fight or a feast they did not know. They rushed to the shore, and there they saw on the sea the people of the Fiti-nui, who called to them and said that they were going far away. "Then the Hana-uaua tribe wept. For they remembered that they were brothers, and though they had fought long, the warriors of Fiti-nui had been good fighters and brave. Also many Fiti-nui women had been taken by the men of Hana-uaua, and captured youths had been adopted, and the tribes were kin by many ties. "The two tribes talked together across the waves, and the tribe of Hana-uaua begged their brothers not to go. They said that they would fight no more, that the prisoners who had not been eaten should be returned to their own valley, that the two clans would live forever in friendship. "Then the people of Fiti-nui wept again, but they said that the gods had ordered them to sail away, and they must go. "'But,' said the chief of the Fiti-nui, 'you will know that we have reached a new land safely when the Meae-Topaiho falls, when the great spear is broken by the gods, you will know that your brothers are in a new home.' "Then they departed, the four canoes, but the daughter of the chief did not go, for her child was long in being born. She lived with the people of Hana-uaua in peace and comfort. And when the season of the breadfruit had come and gone, one night when the rain and the wind made the earth tremble and slip, the people of Hana-uaua heard a roaring and a crashing. "'The gods are angry,' they said. But the daughter of the chief said, 'My people have found their home.' And in the morning they found that the Meae-Topaiho had fallen, the blade of the spear was broken, and the prophecy fulfilled. "That was four generations ago, and ever since that time the people of Hana-uaua have looked for some sign from their brothers who went away. Their names were kept in the memories of the tribe. Ten years ago many men were brought here to work on the plantations, from Puka-Puka and Na-Puka in the Paumotas, and they talked with the people. "_Aue!_ They were the children's children of the Piina of Fiti-nui. In those low islands to which their fathers and mothers went, they kept the words and the names of old. They had kept the memory of the journey. And one old man was brought by his son, and he remembered all that his father had told him, and his father was the son of the chief, Atituahuei. "These people did not look like our men. The many years had made them different. But they knew of the spear rock, and of the prophecy, and they were in truth the lost brothers of the Hana-uaua people. "But the Hana-uaua people, too, were dying now. None was left of the blood of the chief's daughter. No man was left alive on the plateau of Ahao. "Their _popoi_ pits are the wallows of the wild boar; on their _paepaes_ sit the wild white dogs. The horned cattle wander where they walked. _Hee i te fenua ke!_ They are gone, and the stranger shall have their graves." CHAPTER XIX A feast to the men of Motopu; the making of _kava_, and its drinking; the story of the Girl Who Lost Her Strength. The Vagabond, Kivi, who lived near the High Place, came down to my _paepae_ one evening to bid me come to a feast given in Atuona Valley to the men of Motopu, who had been marvelously favored by the god of the sea. Months of storms, said Kivi, had felled many a stately palm of Taka-Uka and washed thousands of ripe cocoanuts into the bay, whence the current that runs swift across the channel had swept the fruitage of the winds straight to the inlet of Motopu, on the island of Tahuata. The men of that village, with little effort to themselves, had reaped richly. Now they were come, bringing back the copra dried and sacked. Seven hundred francs they had received for a ton of it from Kriech, the German merchant of Taka-Uka, from whose own groves it had been stolen by the storms. On the morrow, their canoes laden with his goods, they would sail homeward. One day they had tarried to raft redwood planks of California from the schooner in the bay to the site of Kivi's new house. So that night in gratitude he would make merry for them. There would be much to eat, and there would be _kava_ in plenty. He prayed that I would join them in this feast, which would bring back the good days of the _kava_-drinking, which were now almost forgotten. [Illustration: Kivi, the _kava_ drinker with the _hetairae_ of the valley] [Illustration: A pool in the jungle] I rose gladly from the palm-shaded mat on which I had lain vainly hoping for a breath of coolness in the close heat of the day, and girded the red _pareu_ more neatly about my loins. Often I had heard of the _kava_-drinking days before the missionaries had insisted on outlawing that drink beloved of the natives. The traders had added their power to the virtuous protests of the priests, for _kava_ cost the islanders nothing, while rum, absinthe, and opium could be sold them for profit. So _kava_-drinking had been suppressed, and after decades of knowing more powerful stimulants and narcotics, the natives had lost their taste for the gentler beverage of their forefathers. The French law prohibited selling, exchanging, or giving to any Marquesan any alcoholic beverage. But the law was a dead letter, for only with rum and wine could work be urged upon the Marquesans, and I failed to reprove them even in my mind for their love of drink. One who has not seen a dying race cannot conceive of the prostration of spirit in which these people are perishing. That they are courteous and hospitable--and that to the white who has ruined them--shows faintly their former joy in life and their abounding generosity. Now that no hope is left them and their only future is death, one cannot blame them for seizing a few moment's forgetfulness. Some years earlier, in the first bitterness of hopeless subjugation, whole populations were given over to drunkenness. In many valleys the chiefs lead in the making of the illicit _namu enata_, or cocoanut-brandy. In the Philippines, where millions of gallons of cocoanut-brandy are made, it is called _tuba_, but usually its name is arrack throughout tropical Asia. Fresh from the flower spathes of the cocoanut-tree, _namu_ tastes like a very light, creamy beer or mead. It is delicious and refreshing, and only slightly intoxicating. Allowed to ferment and become sour, it is all gall. Its drinking then is divided into two episodes--swallowing and intoxication. There is no interval. "Forty-rod" whiskey is mild compared to it. I had seen the preparation of _namu_, which is very simple. The native mounts the tree and makes incisions in the flowers, of which each palm bears from three to six. He attaches a calabash under them and lets the juice drip all day and night. The process is slow, as the juice falls drop by drop. This operation may be repeated indefinitely with no injury to the tree. In countries where the liquor is gathered to sell in large quantities, the natives tie bamboo poles from tree to tree, so that an agile man will run through the forest tending the calabashes, emptying them into larger receptacles, and lowering these to the ground, all without descending from his lofty height. The _namu_ when stale causes the Marquesans to revert to wickedest savagery, and has incited many murders. Under the eye of the gendarme its making ceases, but a hundred valleys have no white policemen, and the half score of people remaining amid their hundreds of ruined _paepaes_ give themselves over to intoxication. I have seen a valley immersed in it, men and women madly dancing the ancient nude dances in indescribable orgies of abandonment and bestiality. _Namu enata_ means literally "man booze." The Persian-Arabic word, _nam_, or _narm-keffi_, means "the liquid from the palm flower." From this one might think that Asia had taught the Marquesans the art of making _namu_ during their prehistoric pilgrimage to the islands, but the discoverers and early white residents in Polynesia saw no drunkenness save that of the _kava_-drinking. It was the European, or the Asiatic brought by the white, who introduced comparatively recently the more vicious cocoanut-brandy, as well as rum and opium, and it is these drinks that have been a potent factor in killing the natives. It has ever been thus with men of other races subjugated by the whites. Benjamin Franklin in his autobiography tells that when he was a commissioner to the Indians at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, he and his fellow-commissioners agreed that they would allow the Indians no rum until the treaty they earnestly sought was concluded, and that then they should have plenty. He pictures an all-night debauch of the red men after they had signed the treaty, and concludes: "And, indeed, if it be the design of Providence to extirpate these savages in order to make room for cultivators of the earth, it seems not improbable that rum may be the appointed means. It has annihilated all the tribes who formerly inhabited the sea-coast." It was not for me to speculate upon the designs of Providence with respect to the Marquesans. _Kava_ had been the drink ordained by the old gods before the white men came. Its making was now almost a lost art; I knew no white man who had ever drunk from the _kava_-bowl. So it was with some eagerness that I followed Kivi down the trail. Broken Plate, a sturdy savage in English cloth cap and whale's-teeth earrings, stood waiting for us in the road below the House of the Golden Bed, and together the three of us went in search of the _kava_ bush. While we followed the narrow trail up the mountain-side, peering through masses of tangled vines and shrubs for the large, heart-shaped leaves and jointed stalks we sought, Kivi spoke with passion of the degenerate days in which he lived. Let others secretly make incisions in the flower of the cocoanut and hang calabashes to catch the juice, said he. Or let them crook the hinges of the knee that rum might follow fawning on the whites. Not he! The drink of his fathers, the drink of his youth, was good enough for him! Agilely he caught aside a leafy branch overhanging the trail, and in the flecks of sunshine and shade his naked, strong brown limbs were like the smooth stems of an aged manzanita tree. He had not the scaly skin or the bloodshot eyes of the _kava_ debauchee, whose excesses paint upon their victim their own vivid signs. I remembered a figure caught by the rays of my flashlight one might on a dark trail--a withered creature whose whole face and body had turned a dull green, and at the memory of that grisly phantom I shuddered. But Broken Plate, on the trail ahead, called back to us that he had found a goodly bush, and without more words we clambered to it. The _kava_, a variety of the pepper-plant, grows to more than six feet in height, and the specimen we had found thrust above our heads its many jointed branches rustling with large, flat leaves. The decoction, Kivi explained, comes from the root, and we set to work to dig it. It was huge, like a gigantic yam, and after we had torn it from the stubborn soil it taxed the strength and agility of two of us to carry it to the _paepae_ of Broken Plate, where the feast was to be. A dozen older women, skilled in grating the breadfruit for _popoi_ making, awaited us there, squatting in a ring on the low platform. The root, well washed in the river, was laid on the stones, and the women attacked it with cowry-shells, scraping it into particles like slaw. It was of the hardness of ginger, and filled a large _tanoa_, or wooden trough of ironwood. The scraping had hardly well begun, while Broken Plate and I rested from our labors, smoking pandanus-leaf cigarettes in the shade, when up the road came half a dozen of the most beautiful young girls of the village, clothed in all their finery. Teata, with all the arrogance of the acclaimed beauty, walked first, wearing a tight-fitting gown with insertions of fishnet, evidently copied from some stray fashion-book. She wore it as her only garment, and through the wide meshes of the novel lace appeared her skin, of the tint of the fresh-cooked breadfruit. She passed us with a coquettish toss of her shapely head and took her place among her envious companions. They sat on mats around the iron-wood trough and chewed the grated root, which, after thorough mastication, they spat out into banana-leaf cups. This chewing of the Aram-root is the very being of _kava_ as a beverage, for it is a ferment in the saliva that separates alkaloid and sugar and liberates the narcotic principle. Only the healthiest and loveliest of the girls are chosen to munch the root, that delectable and honored privilege being refused to those whose teeth are not perfect and upon whose cheeks the roses do not bloom. Nevertheless, as I smoked at ease in my _pareu_ upon the _paepae_ of my simple hosts I felt some misgivings rise in me. Yet why cavil at the vehicle by which one arrives at Nirvana? Had I not tasted the _chicha_ beer of the Andes, and found it good? And vague analogies and surmises floated before me in the curls of smoke that rose in the clear evening light. What hidden clue to the remotest beginnings of the human race lies in the fact that two peoples, so far apart as the Marquesans and the South American Indians, use the same method of making their native beverage? In the Andes corn takes the place of the _kava_ root, and young girls, descendants of the ancient Incas, chew the grains, sitting in a circle and with a certain ceremoniousness, as among these Marquesans. The Marquesas Islands are on the same parallel of latitude as Peru. Were these two peoples once one race, living on that long-sunken continent in which Darwin believed? Dusk fell slowly while I pondered on the mysteries in which our life is rooted, and on the unknown beginnings and forgotten significances of all human customs. The iron-wood trough was filled with the masticated root, and in groups and in couples the girls slipped away to bathe in the river. There they were met by arriving guests, and the sound of laughter and splashing came up to us as darkness closed upon the _paepae_ and the torches were lit. Lights were coming out like stars up the dark valley as each household made its vesper fire to roast breadfruit or broil fish, and lanterns were hung upon the bamboo palisades that marked the limits of property or confined favorite pigs. A cool breeze rose and rustled the fronds of cocoanut and bamboo, bringing from forest depths a clean, earthy odor. The last bather came from the brook, refreshed by the cooling waters and adorned with flowers. All were in a merry mood for food and fun. Half a dozen flaring torches illuminated their happy, tattooed faces and dusky bodies, and caught color from the vivid blossoms in their hair. The ring of light made blacker the rustling cocoanut grove, the lofty trees of which closed in upon us on every side. Under the gaze of many sparkling eyes Kivi pierced green cocoanuts brought him fresh from the climbing, and poured the cool wine of them over the masticated _kava_. He mixed it thoroughly and then with his hands formed balls of the oozy mass, from which he squeezed the juice into another _tanoa_ glazed a deep, rich blue by its frequent saturation in _kava_. When this trough was quite full of a muddy liquid, he deftly clarified it by sweeping through it a net of cocoanut fiber. All the while he chanted in a deep resonant voice the ancient song of the ceremony. "_U haanoho ia te kai, a tapapa ia te kai!_" he called with solemnity when the last rite was performed. "Come to supper; all is ready." "_Menike_," he said to me, "You know that to drink _kava_ you must be of empty stomach. After eating, _kava_ will make you sick. If you do not eat as soon as you have drunk it, you will not enjoy it. Take it now, and then eat, quickly." He dipped a shell in the trough, tossed a few drops over his shoulder to propitiate the god of the _kava_-drinking, and placed the shell in my hands. Ugh! The liquor tasted like earth and water, sweetish for a moment and then acrid and pungent. It was hard to get down, but all the men took theirs at a gulp, and when Kivi gave me another shellful, I followed their pattern. "_Kai! Kai._ Eat! Eat!" Kivi shouted then. The women hurried forward with the food, and we fell to with a will. Pig and _popoi_, shark sweetbreads, roasted breadfruit and sweet potatoes, fruits and cocoanut-milk leaped from the broad leaf platters to wide-open mouths. Hardly a word was spoken. The business of eating proceeded rapidly, in silence, save for the night-rustling of the palms and the soft sound of the women's hastening bare feet. Only, as he saw any slackening, Kivi repeated vigorously, "_Kai! Kai!_" I sat with my back against the wall of the house of Broken Plate, as I ate quickly at the mandate of my host, and soon I felt the need of this support. The feast finished, the guests reclined upon the mats. Women and children were devouring the remnants left upon the leaf platters. The torches had been extinguished, all but one. Its flickering gleam fell upon the aged face of Kivi, and the whites of his eyes caught and reflected the light. The tattooing that framed them appeared like black holes from which the sparks glinted uncannily, and the _kava_ mounting to his brain or to mine gave those sparks a ghastliness that fascinated me in my keen, somnolent state. From the shadows where the women crouched the face of Teata rose like an eerie flower. She had adorned the two long black plaits of her hair with the brilliant phosphorescence of Ear of the Ghost Woman, the strange fungus found on old trees, a favored evening adornment of the island belles. The handsome flowers glowed about her bodiless head like giant butterflies, congruous jewels for such a temptress of such a frolic. The mysterious light added a gleam to her velvet cheek and neck that made her seem like the ghost-woman of old legend, created to lead the unwary to intoxicated death. The palaver came to me out of the darkness, like voices from a phonograph-horn, thin and far away. One told the tale of Tahiapepae, the Girl Who Lost Her Strength. Famine had come upon Atuona Valley. Children died of hunger on the _paepaes_, and the breasts of mothers shrunk so that they gave forth no milk. Therefore the warriors set forth in the great canoes for Motopu. Meat was the cry, and there was no other meat than _puaa oa_, the "long pig." Then in the darkness the hungry fighting men of Atuona silently beached their canoes and crept upon the sleeping village of Motopu. Seven were killed before they could fly to the hills, and one was captured alive, a slender, beautiful girl of ten years, whom they tied hands and feet and threw into the canoe with the slain ones. Back they came from their triumph, and landed on the shore here, within spear's-throw from the _paepae_ of Broken Plate. Their people met them with drum-beating and with chanting, bringing rose-wood poles for carrying the meat. The living girl was slung over the shoulder of the leader, still bound and weeping, and in single file heroes and their people marched up the trail past the Catholic mission. Tohoaa, Great Sea Slug, chief of Atuona and grandfather of Flag, the gendarme, was foremost, and over his massive shoulder hung the Girl Who Had Lost Her Strength. Then from the mission came Père Orens, crucifix in hand. Tall he stood in his garment of black, facing the Great Sea Slug, and lifting on high his hand with the crucifix in it. Père Orens had been made _tapu_ by Great Sea Slug, to whom he had explained the wonders of the world, and given many presents. To touch him was death, for Great Sea Slug had given him a feast and put upon him the white _tapa_, emblem of sacredness. Powerful was the god of Père Orens, and could work magic. In his pocket he carried always a small god, that day and night said "_Mika! Mika!_" and moved tiny arms around and around a plate of white metal. This man stood now before the Great Sea Slug, and the chief paused, while his hungry people came closer that they might hear what befell. "Where are you going?" said Père Orens. "To Pekia, the High Place, to cook and eat," said Great Sea Slug. Then for a space Père Orens remained silent, holding high the crucifix, and the chief heard from his pocket the voice of the small god speaking. "Give to me that small piece of living meat," said Père Orens then. "_Me mamai oe_. If it is your pleasure, take it," said Great Sea Slug. "It is a trifle. We have enough, and there is more in Motopu." With these words he placed his burden upon the shoulder of the priest, and heading his band again led them past the mission, over the river and to the High Place, where all night long the drums beat at the feasting. But The Girl Who Lost Her Strength remained in the house of Père Orens, who cut her bonds, fed her, and nursed her to strength again. Baptized and instructed in the religion of her savior, she was secretly returned to her surviving relatives. There she lived to a good age, and died four years ago, grateful always to the God that had preserved her from the oven. He who spoke was her son, and here at the _kava_ bowl together were the men of Motopu and the men of Atuona, enemies no longer. The voice of the Motopu man died away. A ringing came in my ears as when one puts a seashell to them and hears the drowsy murmur of the tides. My cigarette fell from my fingers. A sirocco blew upon me, hot, stifling. Kivi laughed, and dimly I heard his inquiry: "_Veavea?_ Is it hot?" "_E, mahanahana_. I am very warm," I struggled to reply. My voice sounded as that of another. I leaned harder against the wall and closed my eyes. "He goes fast," said Broken Plate, gladly. A peace passing the understanding of the _kava_-ignorant was upon me. Life was a slumbrous calm; not dull inertia, but a separated activity, as if the spirit roamed in a garden of beauty, and the body, all suffering, all feeling past, resigned itself to quietude. I heard faintly the chants of the men as they began improvising the after-feasting entertainment. I was perfectly aware of being lifted by several women to within the house, and of being laid upon mats that were as soft to my body as the waters of a quiet sea. It was as if angels bore me on a cloud. All toil, all effort was over; I should never return to care and duty. Dimly I saw a peri waving a fan, making a breeze scented with ineffable fragrance. I was then a giant, prone in an endless ease, who stretched from the waterfall at the topmost point of the valley to the shore of the sea, and about me ran in many futile excitements the natives of Atuona, small creatures whose concerns were naught to me. That vision melted after eons, and I was in the Oti dance in the Paumotas, where those old women who pose and move by the music of the drums, in the light of the burning cocoanut husks, leap into the air and remain so long that the white man thinks he sees the law of gravitation overcome, remaining fixed in space three or four feet from the ground while one's heart beats madly and one's brain throbs in bewilderment. I was among these aged women; I surpassed them all, and floated at will upon the ether in an eternal witches' dance of more than human delight. The orchestra of nature began a symphony of celestial sounds. The rustling of the palm-leaves, the purling of the brook, and the song of the _komoko_, nightingale of the Marquesas, mingled in music sweeter to my _kava_-ravished ears than ever the harp of Apollo upon Mount Olympus. The chants of the natives were a choir of voices melodious beyond human imaginings. Life was good to its innermost core; there was no struggle, no pain, only an eternal harmony of joy. * * * * * I slept eight hours, and when I awoke I saw, in the bright oblong of sunlight outside the open door, Kivi squeezing some of the root of evil for a hair of the hound that had bitten him. [Illustration: The Pekia, or Place of Sacrifice, at Atuona] [Illustration: Marquesan cannibals, wearing dress of human hair] CHAPTER XX A journey to Taaoa; Kahuiti, the cannibal chief, and his story of an old war caused by an unfaithful woman. It was a chance remark from Mouth of God that led me to take a journey over the hills to the valley of Taaoa, south of Atuona. Malicious Gossip and her husband, squatting one evening on my mats in the light of the stars, spoke of the Marquesan custom in naming children. "When a babe is born," said Mouth of God, "all the intimates of his parents, their relatives and friends, bestow a name upon the infant. All these names refer to experiences of the child's ancestors, or of the namers, or of their ancestors. My wife's names--a few of them--are Tavahi Teikimoetetua Tehaupiimouna. These words are separate, having no relation one to another, and they mean Malicious Gossip, She Sleeps with God, The Golden Dews of the Mountain. "My first three names are Vahatetua Heeafia Timeteo. Vahatetua is Mouth of God; Heeafia, One Who Looks About, and Timeteo is Marquesan for Timothee, the Bible writer. "My uncle, the Catechist, is Tioakoekoe, Man Whose Entrails Were Roasted on a Stick, and his brother is called Pootuhatuha, meaning Sliced and Distributed. That is because their father, Tufetu, was killed at the Stinking Springs in Taaoa, and was cooked and sent all over that valley. You should see that man who killed him, Kahuiti! He is a great man, and strong still, though old. He likes the 'long pig' still, also. It is not long since he dug up the corpse of one buried, and ate it in the forest." When I said that I should indeed like to see that man, Mouth of God said that he would send a word of introduction that should insure for me the friendliness of the chief who had devoured his grandfather. Mouth of God bore the diner no ill-will. The eating was a thing accomplished in the past; the teachings of that stern Calvinist, his mother, forbade that he should eat Kahuiti in retaliation, therefore their relations were amicable. The following morning, attended by the faithful Exploding Eggs, I set out toward Taaoa Valley. The way was all up and down, five miles, wading through marshy places and streams, parting the jungle, caught by the thorns and dripping with sweat. Miles of it was through cocoanut forests owned by the mission. The road followed the sea and climbed over a lofty little cape, Otupoto, from which the coast of Hiva-oa, as it curves eastward, was unrolled, the valleys mysterious caverns in the torn, convulsed panorama, gloomy gullies suggestive of the old bloody days. Above them the mountains caught the light and shone green or black under the cloudless blue sky. Seven valleys we counted, the distant ones mere faint shadows in the expanse of varied green, divided by the rocky headlands. To the right, as we faced the sea, was the point of Teaehoa jutting out into the great blue plain of the ocean, and landward we looked down on the Valley of Taaoa. This was the middle place, the scene of Tufetu's violent end. A great splotch of red gleamed as a blot of blood on the green floor of the hollow. "_Vai piau!_" said Exploding Eggs. He made a sign of lifting water in his hands, of tasting and spitting it out. The Stinking Springs where Tufetu was slain! They were in a fantastic gorge, through which ran a road blasted from solid rock, stained brown and blue by the minerals in the water that bubbled there and had carved the stone in eccentric patterns. Bicarbonate of soda and sulphur thickened the heavy air and encrusted the edges of the spring with yellow scum. A fitting scene for a deadly battle, amid smells of sulphur and brimstone! But it was no place in which to linger on a tropic day. Taaoa Valley was narrow and deep, buried in perpetual gloom by the shadows of the mountains. Perhaps thirty houses lined the banks of a swift and rocky torrent. As we approached them we were met by a sturdy Taaoan, bare save for the _pareu_ and handsomely tattooed. His name, he said, was Strong in Battle, and I, a stranger, must see first of all a tree of wonder that lay in the forest nearby. Through brush and swamp we searched for it, past scores of ruined _paepaes_, homes of the long-dead thousands. We found it at length, a mighty tree felled to the earth and lying half-buried in vine and shrub. "This tree is older than our people," said Strong in Battle, mournfully regarding its prostrate length. "No man ever remembered its beginning. It was like a house upon a hill, so high and big. Our forefathers worshipped their gods under it. The white men cut it to make planks. That was fifty years ago, but the wood never dies. There is no wood like it in the Marquesas. The wise men say that it will endure till the last of our race is gone." I felt the end of the great trunk, where the marks of the axe and saw still showed, and struck it with my fist. The wood did indeed seem hard as iron, though it seemed not to be petrified. So far as I could ascertain from the fallen trunk, it was of a species I had never seen. "Twenty years ago I brought a man of Peretane (England) here to see this tree, and he cut off a piece to take away. No white man has looked on it since that time," said Strong in Battle. He brought an axe from a man who was dubbing out a canoe from a breadfruit log, and hacked away a chip for me. We returned to the village and entered an enclosure in which a group of women were squatting around a _popoi_ bowl. "What does the _Menike_ seek?" they asked. "He wants to see the footprint of Hoouiti," said my guide. On one of the stones of the _paepae_ was a footprint, perfect from heel to toe, and evidently not artificially made. "Hoouiti stood here when he hurled his spear across the island," said Strong in Battle. "He was not a big man, as you see by his foot's mark." "Fifteen kilometers! A long hurling of a spear," said I. "_Aue!_ he was very strong. He lived on this _paepae_. These whom you see are his children's children. Would you like to meet my wife's father-in-law, Kahuiti? He has eaten many people. He talks well." _Eo!_ Would I! I vowed that I would be honored by the acquaintance of any of the relatives of my host, and specially I desired to converse with old, wise men of good taste. "That man, Kahauiti, has seen life," said Strong in Battle. "I am married to the sister of Great Night Moth, who was a very brave and active man, but now foolish. But Kahauiti! O! O! O! Ai! Ai! Ai! There he is." I never solved the puzzle of my informant's relation to the man who was his wife's father-in-law, for suddenly I saw the man himself, and knew that I was meeting a personage. Kahauiti was on the veranda of a small hut, sitting Turk fashion, and chatting with another old man. Both of them were striking-looking, but, all in all, I thought Kahauiti the most distinguished man in appearance that I had seen, be it in New York or Cairo, London or Pekin. He had that indefinable, yet certain, air of superiority, of assured position and knowledge, that stamps a few men in the world--a Yuan Shih Kai, Rabindranath Tagore, Sitting Bull, and Porfirio Diaz. He wore only a _pareu_, and was tattooed from toenails to hair-roots. A solid mass of coloring extended from his neck to the hip on the left side, as though he wore half of a blue shirt. The _tahuna_ who had done the work seemed to have drawn outlines and then blocked in the half of his torso. But remembering that every pin-point of color had meant the thrust of a bone needle propelled by the blow of a mallet, I realized that Kahauiti had endured much for his decorations. No iron or Victoria Cross could cost more suffering. The bare half of his bosom, cooperish-red, contrasted with this cobalt, and his face was striped alternately with this natural color and with blue. Two inches of the _ama_ ink ran across the eyes from ear to ear, covering every inch of lid and eyebrow, and from this seeming bandage his eyes gleamed with quick and alert intelligence. Other stripes crossed the face from temple to chin, the lowest joining the field of blue that stretched to his waist. His beard, long, heavy, and snow-white, swept downward over the indigo flesh and was gathered into a knot on his massive chest. It was the beard of a prophet or a seer, and when Kahauiti rose to his full height, six feet and a half, he was as majestic as a man in diadem and royal robes. He had a giant form, like one of Buonarroti's ancients, muscular and supple, graceful and erect. When I was presented as a _Menike_ who loved the Marquesans and who, having heard of Kahauiti, would drink of his fountain of recollections, the old man looked at me intently. His eyes twinkled and he opened his mouth in a broad smile, showing all his teeth, sound and white. His smile was kindly, disarming, of a real sweetness that conquered me immediately, so that, foolishly perhaps, I would have trusted him if he had suggested a stroll in the jungle. He took my extended hand, but did not shake it. So new is handshaking and so foreign to their ideas of greeting, that they merely touch fingers, with the pressure a rich man gives a poor relation, or a king, a commoner. His affability was that of a monarch to a courtier, but when he began to talk he soon became simple and merry. Motioning me to a seat on the mat before him, he squatted again in a dignified manner, and resumed his task of plaiting a rope of _faufee_ bark, a rope an inch thick and perfectly made. "Mouth of God, of the family of Sliced and Distributed and Man Whose Entrails Were Roasted On A Stick, has told me of the slaying of Tufetu, their ancestor," I ventured, to steer our bark of conversation into the channel I sought. At the names of the first three, Kahauiti smiled, but when Tufetu was mentioned, he broke into a roar. I had evidently recalled proud memories. On his haunches, he slid nearer to me. "_Afu! Afu! Afu!_" he said, the sound that in his tongue means the groan of the dying. "You came by the _Fatueki?_". "I tasted the water and smelled the smell," I answered. "It was there that Tufetu died," he observed. "I struck the blow, and I ate his arm, his right arm, for he was brave and strong. That was a war!" "What caused that war?" I asked the merry cannibal. "A woman, _haa teketeka_, an unfaithful woman, as always," replied Kahauiti. "Do you have trouble over women in your island? Yes. It is the same the world over. There was peace between Atuona and Taaoa before this trouble. When I was a boy we were good friends. We visited across the hills. Many children were adopted, and Taaoa men took women from Atuona, and Atuona men from here. Some of these women had two or three or five men. One husband was the father of her children in title and pride, though he might be no father at all. The others shared the mat with her at her will, but had no possession or happiness in the offspring. [Illustration: Tepu, a Marquesan girl of the hills, and her sister Her ancestry is tattooed on her arms] [Illustration: A tattooed Marquesan with carved canoe paddle] "Now Pepehi (Beaten to Death) was of Taaoa, but lived in Atuona with a woman. He had followed her over the hills and lived in her house. He was father to her children. There was a man of Atuona, Kaheutahi, who was husband to her, but of lower rank. He was not father to her children. Therefore one night he swung his war-club upon the head of Beaten to Death, and later invited a number of friends to the feast." Kahuiti smiled gently upon me. Take off his tattooing, make him white, and clothe him! With his masterful carriage, his soft, cultivated voice, and his attitude of absolutism, he might have been Leopold, King of the Belgians, a great ambassador, a man of power in finance. Nevertheless, I thought of the death by the Stinking Springs. How could one explain his benign, open-souled deportment and his cheery laugh, with such damnable appetites and actions? Yet generals send ten thousand men to certain and agonized death to gain a point toward a goal; that is the custom of generals, by which they gain honor among their people. "Killed by the war-club of Kaheutahi and eaten by his friends, Beaten to Death was but a ghost, and Kaheutahi took his place and became father of the children of the house. He said they were his in fact, but men were ever boastful." The other old man, who said nothing, but was all attention, lit a pipe and passed it to Kahuiti, who puffed it a moment and passed it to Strong in Battle. The tale lapsed for a smoking spell. "Beaten to Death perished by the club? He was well named," said I. "His father was a prophet." Kahuiti began to chant in a weird monotone. "_Va! Va! A tahi a ta! Va! A tahi va! A ua va! A tou va!_" was his chant. "Thus said the war-club as it crashed on the skull of Beaten to Death. That is the speech of the war-club when it strikes. The bones of Beaten to Death were fishhooks before we knew of his death. All Taaoa was angry. The family of Beaten to Death demanded vengeance. The priest went into the High Place, and when he came out he ran all day up and down the valley, until he fell foaming. War was the cry of the gods, war against Atuona. "But there was too much peace between us, too many men with Atuona women, too many Atuona children adopted by Taaoa women. The peace was happy, and there was no great warrior to urge." "You had brave men and strong men then," I said, with a sigh for the things I had missed by coming late. "_Tuitui!_ You put weeds in my mouth!" exclaimed Kahuiti. "I cannot talk with your words. _Ue te etau!_ By the great god of the dead! I am born before the French beached a canoe in the Marquesas. Our gods were gods then, but they turned to wood and stone when the tree-guns of the _Farani_ roared and threw iron balls and fire into our valleys. The Christian god was greater than our gods, and a bigger killer of men." "But Beaten to Death--?" I urged. "Beaten to Death was in the stomachs of the men of Atuona, and they laughed at us. Our High Priest said that the _Euututuki_, the most private god of the priests, commanded us to avenge the eating of Beaten to Death. But the season of preserving the _mei_ in pits was upon us. Also the women of Atuona among us said that there should be peace, and the women of Taaoa who had taken as their own many children from Atuona. Therefore we begged the most high gods to excuse us." "Women had much power then," I said. Kahuiti chuckled. "The French god and the priests of the _Farani_ have taken it from them," he commented. "I have known the day when women ruled. She had her husbands,--two, four, five. She commanded. She would send two to the fishing, one to gathering cocoanuts or wood, one she would keep to amuse her. They came and went as she said. That was _mea pe_! Sickening! _Pee!_ There are not enough men to make a woman happy. Many brave men have died to please their woman, but--" He blew out his breath in contempt. Strong in Battle said aside, in French: "He was never second in the house. Kahauiti despised such men. He was first always." "So the slaying of Beaten to Death was unavenged?" I asked. "_Epo!_ Do not drink the cocoanut till you have descended the tree! I have said the warriors were withheld by the women, and there was no great man to lead. Yet the drums beat at night, and the fighting men came. You know how the drums speak?" His face clouded, and his eyes flashed against their foil of tattooing. "'_Ohe te pepe! Ohe te pepe! Ohe te pepe!_' said the drum called Peepee. '_Titiutiuti! Titiutiuti!_' said the drum called Umi. _Aue!_ Then the warriors came! They stood in the High Place at the head of the valley. Mehitete, the chief, spoke to them. He said that they should go to Atuona, and bring back bodies for feasting. Many nights the drums beat, and the chief talked much, but there was no war. "The High Priest went to the _Pekia_ again, and when he came away he ran without stopping for two days and a night, till he fell without breath, as one dead, and foam was on his mouth. The gods were angry. Still there was no war. "Then came Tomefitu from Vait-hua. He was chief of that valley, having been adopted by a woman of Vait-hua, but his father and his mother were of Taaoa. He had heard of the slaying of Beaten to Death, his kinsman, and he was hot in the bowels. _Aue!_ The thunder of the heavens was as the voice of Tomefitu when angered. The earth groaned where he walked. He knew the _Farani_ and their tricks. He had guns from the whalers, and he was afraid of nothing save the Ghost Woman of the Night. Again the warriors came to the High Place, and now there were many drums." Kahuiti sprang to his feet. He struck the corner post of the hut with his fist. His eyes burned. "'Kaputuhe! Kaputuhe! Kaputuhe! Teputuhe! Teputuhe! Teputuhe! Tuti! Tuti! Tutuituiti!" "That was what the war drums said. The sound of them rolled from the Pekia, and every man who could throw a spear or hold a war-club came to their call." Kahuiti's soul was rapt in the story. His voice had the deep tone of the violoncello, powerful, vibrant, and colorful. He had lived in that strange past, and the things he recalled were precious memories. The sound of the drums, as he echoed them in the curious tone-words of Marquesan, thrilled me through. I heard the booming of the ten-foot war-drums, their profound and far-reaching call like the roaring of lions in the jungle. I saw the warriors with their spears of cocoanut-wood and their deadly clubs of ironwood carved and shining with oil, their baskets of polished stones slung about their waists, and their slings of fiber, dancing in the sacred grove of the Pekia, its shadows lighted by the blaze of the flickering candlenuts and the scented sandalwood. "'I am The Wind That Lays Low The Mighty Tree. I am The Wave That Fills The Canoe and Delivers The People To The Sharks!' said Tomefitu. 'The flesh of my kinsman fills the bellies of the men of Atuona, and the gods say war! "'There is war!' said Tomefitu. 'We must bring offerings to the gods. Five men will go with me to Otoputo and bring back the gifts. I will bring back to you the bodies of six of the Atuona pigs. Prepare! When we have eaten, the chiefs of Atuona will come to Taaoa, and then you will fight! "'Make ready with dancing. Polish spears and gather stones for the slings. Koe, who is my man, will be obeyed while I am gone. I have spoken,' said Tomefitu. That night Tomefitu and I, with four others, went silently to Otoputo, the dividing rock that looks down on the right into the valley of Taaoa and on the left into Atuona. There we lay among rocks and bushes and spied upon the feet of the enemy. That man who separated himself from others and came our way to seek food, or to visit at the house of a friend, him we secretly fell upon, and slew. "Thus we did to the six named by Tomefitu, and as we killed them, we sent them back by others to the High Place. There the warriors feasted upon them and gained strength for battle. "Then, missing so many of their clan, the head men of Atuona came to Otoputo, and shouted to us to give word of the absent. We shouted back, saying that those men had been roasted upon the fire and eaten, and that thus we would do to all men of Atuona. And we laughed at them." Kahuiti emitted a hearty guffaw at thought of the trick played upon those devoured enemies. "But Tufetu, the grandfather of my friend Mouth of God?" I persisted. "_Epo!_ There was war. The men of Atuona gathered at Otupoto, and rushed down upon us. We met them at the Stinking Springs, and there I killed Tufetu, uncle of Sliced and Distributed and Man Whose Entrails Were Roasted On A Stick. I pierced him through with my spear at a cocoanut-tree's length away. I was the best spear-thrower of Taaoa. We drove the Atuonans through the gorge of the Stinking Springs and over the divide, and I ate the right arm of Tufetu that had wielded the war-club. That gives a man the strength of his enemy." He turned again to plaiting the rope of _faufee_. "_O ia aneihe_, I have finished," he said. "Will you drink _kava_?" "No, I will not drink _kava_," I said sternly. "Kahuiti, is it not good that the eating of men is stopped?" The majestic chief looked at me, his deep brown eyes looking child-like in their band of blue ink. For ten seconds he stared at me fixedly, and then smiled uncertainly, as may have Peter the fisherman when he was chided for cutting off the ear of one of Judas' soldiers. He was of the old order, and the new had left him unchanged. He did not reply to my question, but sipped his bowl of _kava_. CHAPTER XXI The crime of Huahine for love of Weaver of Mats; story of Tahia's white man who was eaten; the disaster that befell Honi, the white man who used his harpoon against his friends. During my absence in Taaoa there had been crime and scandal in my own valley. André Bauda met me on the beach road as I returned and told me the tale. The giant Tahitian sailor of the schooner _Papeite_, Huahine, was in the local jail, charged with desertion; a serious offense, to which his plea was love of a woman, and that woman Weaver of Mats, who had her four names tattooed on her right arm. Huahine, seeing her upon the beach, had felt a flame of love that nerved him to risk hungry shark and battering surf. Carried from her even in the moment of meeting, he had resisted temptation until the schooner was sailing outside the Bay of Traitors, running before a breeze to the port of Tai-o-hae, and then he had flung himself naked into the sea and taken the straight course back to Atuona, reaching his sweetheart after a seven-hour's struggle with current and breaker. Flag, the gendarme, found him in her hut, and brought him to the calaboose. The following morning I attended his trial. He came before his judge elegantly dressed, for, besides a red _pareu_ about his middle, he wore a pink silk shawl over his shoulders. Both were the gift of Weaver of Mats, as he had come to her without scrip or scrap. He needed little clothing, as his skin was very brown and his strong body magnificent. He was an acceptable prisoner to Bauda, who had charge of the making and repair of roads and bridges, so Huahine was quickly sentenced and put to work with others who were paying their taxes by labor. Weaver of Mats moved with him to the prison, where they lived together happily, cooking their food in the garden and sleeping on mats beneath the palms. On all the _paepaes_ it was said that Huahine would probably be sent to Tahiti, as there are strict laws against deserting ships and against vagabondage in the Marquesas. Meantime the prisoner was happy. Many a Tahitian and white sailor gazes toward these islands as a haven from trouble, and in Huahine's exploit I read the story of many a poor white who in the early days cast away home and friends and arduous toil to dwell here in a breadfruity harem. "There is a tale told long ago by a man of Hanamenu to a traveler named Christian," I said to Haabunai, the carver, while we sat rolling pandanus cigarettes in the cool of the evening. "It runs thus: "Some thirty years ago a sailor from a trading schooner that had put into the bay for sandalwood was badly treated by his skipper, who refused him shore-leave. So, his bowels hot with anger, this sailor determined to desert his hard and unthanked toil, wed some island heiress, and live happy ever after. Therefore one evening he swam ashore, found a maid to his liking, and was hidden by her until the ship departed. "Now Tahia was a good wife, and loved her beautiful white man; all that a wife could do she did, cooking his food, bathing his feet, rolling cigarettes for him all day long as he lay upon the mats. But her father in time became troubled, and there was grumbling among the people, for the white man would not work. "He would not climb the palm to bring down the nuts; he lay and laughed on his _paepae_ in the Meinui, the season of breadfruit, when all were busy; and when they brought him rusty old muskets to care for, he turned his back upon them. Sometimes he fished, going out in a canoe that Tahia paddled, and making her fix the bait on the hook, but he caught few fish. "'_Aue te hanahana, aua ho'i te kaikai_,' said his father-in-law. 'He who will not labor, neither shall he eat.' But the white man laughed and ate and labored not. "A season passed and another, and there came a time of little rain. The bananas were few, and the breadfruit were not plentiful. One evening, therefore, the old men met in conference, and this was their decision: 'Rats are becoming a nuisance, and we will abate them.' "Next morning the father sent Tahia on an errand to another valley. Then men began to dig a large oven in the earth before Tahia's house, where the white man lay on the mats at ease. Presently he looked and wondered and looked again. And at length he rose and came down to the oven, saying, 'What's up?' "'Plenty _kaikai_. Big pig come by and by,' they said. "So he stood waiting while they dug, and no pig came. Then he said, 'Where is the pig?' And at that moment the _u'u_ crashed upon his skull, so that he fell without life and lay in the oven. Wood was piled about him, and he was baked, and there was feasting in Hanamenu. "In the twilight Tahia came over the hills, weary and hungry, and asked for her white man. 'He has gone to the beach,' they said. "He will return soon, therefore sit and eat, my daughter," said her father, and gave her the meat wrapped in leaves. So she ate heartily, and waited for her husband. And all the feasters laughed at her, so that little by little she learned the truth. She said nothing, but went away in the darkness. "And it is written, Haabunai, that searchers for the _mei_ came upon her next day in the upper valley, and she was hanging from a tall palm-tree with a rope of _purau_ about her neck." "That may be a true story," said Haabunai. "Though it is the custom here to eat the _eva_ when one is made sick by life. And very few white men were ever eaten in the islands, because they knew too much and were claimed by some woman of power." He paused for a moment to puff his cigarette. "Now there was a sailor whom my grandfather ate, and he was white. But there was ample cause for that, for never was a man so provoking. "He was a harpooner on a whale-ship, a man who made much money, but he liked rum, and when his ship left he stayed behind. They sent two boats ashore and searched for him, but my grandfather sent my father with him into the hills, and after three days the captain thought he had been drowned, and sailed away without him. "My grandfather gave him my father's sister to wife, and like that man of whom you told, he was much loved by her, though he would do nothing but make _namu enata_ and drink it and dance and sleep. Grandfather said that he could dance strange dances of the sailor that made them all laugh until their ribs were sore. "This man, whose name was Honi--" "Honi?" said I. "I do not know that word." "Nor I. It is not Marquesan. It was his name, that he bore on the ship." "Honi?" I repeated incredulously, and then light broke. "You mean Jones?" "It may be. I do not know. Honi was his name, as my grandfather said it. And this Honi had brought from the whale-ship a gun and a harpoon. This harpoon had a head of iron and was fixed on a spear, with a long rope tied to the head, so that when it was thrust into the whale he was fastened to the boat that pursued him through the water. There was no weapon like it on the island, and it was much admired. "Honi fought with us when our tribe, the Papuaei, went to war with the Tiu of Taaoa. He used his gun, and with it he won many battles, until he had killed so many of the enemy that they asked for peace. Honi was praised by our tribe, and a fine house was built for him near the river, in the place where eels and shrimp were best. "In this large house he drank more than in the other smaller one. He used his gun to kill pigs and even birds. My grandfather reproved him for wasting the powder, when pigs could easily be killed with spears. But Honi would not listen, and he continued to kill until he had no more powder. Then he quarreled with my grandfather, and one day, being drunk, he tried to kill him, and then fled to the Kau-i-te-oho, the tribe of redheaded people at Hanahupe. "Learning that Honi was no longer with us, the Tiu tribe of Taaoa declared war again, and the red-headed tribe had an alliance with them through their chief's families intermarrying, so that Honi fought with them. His gun being without powder, he took his harpoon, and he came with the Tui and the Kau-i-te-oho to the dividing-line between the valleys where we used to fight. "Where the precipices reared their middle points between the valleys, the tribes met and reviled one another. "'You people with hair like cooked shrimp! Are you ready for the ovens of our valley?' cried my grandfather's warriors. "'You little men, who run so fast, we have now your white warrior with us, and you shall die by the hundreds!' yelled our enemies." This picture of the scene at the line was characteristic of Polynesian warfare. It is almost exactly like the meeting of armies long ago in Palestine and Syria, and before the walls of Troy. Goliath slanged David grossly, threatening to give his body to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field, and David retorted in kind. So, when Ulysses launched his spear at Soccus, he cried: "Ah, wretch, no father shall they corpse compose, Thy dying eye no tender mother close; But hungry birds shall tear those balls away, And hungry vultures scream around their prey." "For a quarter of an hour," said Haabunai, "my grandfather's people and the warriors of the enemy called thus to each other upon the top of the cliffs, and then Honi and the brother of my grandfather, head men of either side, advanced to battle. "The first time Honi threw his harpoon, he hooked my great-uncle. He hooked him through the middle, and before he could be saved, a half dozen of the Tiu men pulled on the rope and dragged him over the line to be killed and eaten. "Two more of our tribe Honi snared with this devilish spear, and it was not so much death as being pulled over to them and roasted that galled us. All day the battle raged, except when both sides stopped by agreement to eat _popoi_ and rest, but late in the afternoon a strange thing happened. "Honi had thrown his harpoon, and by bad aim it entered a tree. The end of the line he had about his left arm, and as he tried to pull out the spear-head from the wood, his legs became entangled in the rope, and my grandfather, who was very strong, seized the rope near the tree, dragged the white man over the line, and killed him with a rock. "The enemy ran away then, and that night our people ate Honi. Grandfather said his flesh was so tough they had to boil it. There were no _tipoti_ (Standard-oil cans) in those days, but our people took banana leaves and formed a big cup that would hold a couple of quarts of water, and into these they put red-hot stones, and the water boiled. Grandfather said they cut Honi into small pieces and boiled him in many of these cups. Still he was tough, but nevertheless they ate him. "Honi was tattooed. Not like Marquesans, but like some white sailors, he had certain marks on him. Grandfather saved these marks, and wore them as a _tiki_, or amulet, until he died, when he gave it to me. He had preserved the skin so that it did not spoil." Haabunai yawned and said his mouth was parched from much talking, but when a shell of rum was set before him and he had drunk, he fetched from his house the _tiki_. It was as large as my hand, dark and withered, but with a magnifying glass I could see a rude cross and three letters, I H S in blue. "Grandfather became a Christian and was no longer an _enata Ttaikaia_, an eater of men, but he kept the _tiki_ always about his neck, because he thought it gave him strength," said my guest. I handed him back the gruesome relic, though he began advances to make it my property. For the full demijohn he would have parted with the _tiki_ that had been his grandfather's, but I had no fancy for it. One can buy in Paris purses of human skin for not much more than one of alligator hide. "Honi must have been very tough," I said. "He must have been," Haabunai said regretfully. "Grandfather had his teeth to the last. He would never eat a child. Like all warriors he preferred for vengeance's sake the meat of another fighter." He had not yet sprung the grim jest of almost all cannibalistic narratives. I did not ask if Honi's wife had eaten of him, as had Tahia of her white man. It is probable that she did, and that they deceived her. It was the practical joke of those days. I had seen Apporo, my landlady, staggering homeward a few days earlier in a pitiful state of intoxication. Some one had given her a glass of mixed absinthe, vermuth, and rum, and with confidence in the giver she had tossed it down. That is the kind of joke that in other days would have been the deluding of some one into partaking of the flesh of a lover or friend. Reasoning from our standpoint, it is easy to assume that cannibalism is a form of depravity practised by few peoples, but this error is dispelled by the researches of ethnologists, who inform us that it was one of the most ancient customs of man and began when he was close brother to the ape. Livingstone, when he came upon it on the Dark continent, concluded that the negroes came to that horrible desire from their liking for the meat of gorillas, which so nearly approach man in appearance. Herodatus, writing twenty-five hundred years ago, mentions the Massagetae who boiled the flesh of their old folks with that of cattle, both killed for the occasion. Cannibalism marked the life of all peoples in days of savagery. Plutarch says that Cataline's associates gave proof of their loyalty to that agitator and to one another by sacrificing and eating a man. Achilles expressed his wish that he might devour Hector. The Kafirs ate their own children in the famine of 1857, and the Germans ate one another when starvation maddened them, long after Maryland and Massachusetts had become thriving settlements in the New World. There is a historic instance of a party of American pioneers lost in the mountains of California in the nineteenth century, who in their last extremity of hunger ate several of the party. To devour dead relatives, to kill and eat the elders, to feast upon slaves and captives, even for mothers to eat their children, were religious and tribal rites for many tens of thousands of years. We have records of these customs spread over the widest areas of the world. Undoubtedly cannibalism began as a question of food supply. In early times when man, emerging from the purely animal stage, was without agricultural skill, and lived in caves or trees, his fellow was his easiest prey. The great beasts were too fierce and powerful for his feeble weapons except when luck favored him, and the clan or family, or even the single brave hunter, sought the man-meat by stealth or combat, or in tunes of stress ate those nearest and dearest. Specially among peoples whose principal diet is heavy, starchy food, such as the breadfruit, the demand for meat is keen. I saw Marquesan women eating insects, worms, and other repellant bits of flesh out of sheer instinct and stomachic need. When salt is not to be had, the desire for meat is most intense. In these valleys the upper tribes, whose enemies shut them off from the sea with its salt and fish, were the most persistent cannibals, and the same condition exists in Africa to-day, where the interior tribes eat any corpse, while none of the coast tribes are guilty. As the passion for cannibalistic feasts grew,--and it became a passion akin to the opium habit in some,--the supply of other meat had little to do with its continuance. In New Britain human bodies were sold in the shops; in the Solomon Islands victims were fattened like cattle, and on the upper Congo an organized traffic is carried on in these empty tenements of the human soul. Although cannibalism originated in a bodily need, man soon gave it an emotional and spiritual meaning, as he has given them to all customs that have their root in his physical being. Two forms of cannibalism seem to have existed among the first historic peoples. One was concerned with the eating of relatives and intimates, for friendship's sake or to gain some good quality they possessed. Thus when babies died, the Chavante mothers, on the Uruguay, ate them to regain their souls. Russians ate their fathers, and the Irish, if Strabo is to be credited, thought it good to eat both deceased parents. The Lhopa of Sikkim, in Tibet, eat the bride's mother at the wedding feast. But Maori cannibalism, with its best exposition in the Marquesas, was due to a desire for revenge, cooking and eating being the greatest of insults. It was an expression of jingoism, a hatred for all outside the tribe or valley, and it made the feud between valleys almost incessant. It was in no way immoral, for morals are the best traditions and ways of each race, and here the eating of enemies was authorized by every teaching of priest and leader, by time-honored custom and the strongest dictates of nature. White men and Chinese, in fact, all foreigners, were seldom eaten here. There were exceptions when vengeance impelled, such at that of Honi or Jones, whom Haabunai's grandfather ate, but as a rule they were spared and indeed cherished, as strange visitors who might teach the people useful things. Only their own depravity brought them to the oven. At such times, the feast was even a disagreeable rite. It is a fact that the Marquesan disliked the flesh of a white man. They said he was too salty. Hundreds of years ago the Aztecs, according to Bernal Diaz, who was there, complained that "the flesh of the Spaniards failed to afford even nourishment, since it was intolerably bitter." This, though the Indians were dying of starvation by hundreds of thousands in the merciless siege of Mexico City. Standards of barbarity vary. Horrible and revolting as the very mention of cannibalism is to us, it should be remembered that it rested upon an attitude toward the foreigner and the slave that in some degree still persists everywhere in the world. Outside the tribe, the savage recognized no kindred humanity. Members of every clan save his own were regarded as strange and contemptible beings, outlandish and barbarous in manners and customs, not to be regarded as sharers of a common birthright. This attitude toward the stranger did not at all prevent the cannibal from being, within his own tribe, a gentle, merry, and kindly individual. Even toward the stranger the Marquesan was never guilty of torture of any kind. Though they slew and ate, they had none of the refinements of cruelty of the Romans, not even scalping enemies as did the Scythians, Visigoths, Franks, and Anglo-Saxons. In their most bloody wars they often paused in battle to give the enemy time to eat and to rest, and there is no record of their ever ringing a valley about with armed warriors and starving to death the women and children within. Victims for the gods were struck down without warning, so that they might not suffer even the pangs of anticipation. The thumb-screw and rack of Christendom struck with horror those of my cannibal friends to whom I mentioned them. CHAPTER XXII The memorable game for the matches in the cocoanut-grove of Lam Kai Oo. Parables are commonly found in books. In a few words on a printed page one sees a universal problem made small and clear, freed from those large uncertainties and whimsies of chance that make life in the whole so confusing to the vision. It was my fortune to see, in the valley of Atuona on Hiva-oa, a series of incidents which were at the time a whirl of unbelievable merriment, yet which slowly clarified themselves into a parable, while I sat later considering them on the leaf-shaded _paepae_ of the House of the Golden Bed. They began one afternoon when I dropped down to the palace to have a smoke with M. L'Hermier des Plantes, the governor. As I mounted the steps I beheld on the veranda the governor, stern, though perspiring, in his white ducks, confronting a yellowish stranger on crutches who pleaded in every tone of anguish for some boon denied him. "_Non!_ No! _Ned!_" said the governor, poly-linguistically emphatic. "It cannot be done!" He dropped into a chair and poured himself an inch of Pernod, as the defeated suitor turned to me in despair. He was short and of a jaundiced hue, his soft brown eyes set slightly aslant. Although lame, he had an alertness and poise unusual in the sea's spawn of these beaches. In Tahitian, Marquesan, and French, with now and then an English word, he explained that he, a Tahitian marooned on Hiva-oa from a schooner because of a broken leg, wished to pass the tedium of his exile in an innocent game of cards. "I desire a mere permission to buy two packs of cards at the Chinaman's," he begged. "I would teach my neighbors here the _jeu de_ pokaree. I have learned it on a voyage to San Francisco. It is Americaine. It is like life, not altogether luck. One must think well to play it. I doubt not that you know that game." Now gambling is forbidden in these isles. It is told that throughout the southern oceans such a madness possessed the people to play the white men's games of chance that in order to prevent constant bloodshed in quarrels a strict interdiction was made by the conquerors. Of course whites here are always excepted from such sin-stopping rules, and merchants keep a small stock of cards for their indulgence. "But why two packs?" I asked the agitated Tahitian. "_Mais, Monsieur_, that is the way I was taught. We played with ten or fourteen in the circle, and as it is merely _pour passer le temps_, more of my poor brother Kanakas can enjoy it with two packs." He was positively abased, for no Tahitian says "_Kanaka_" of himself. It is a term of contempt. He might call his fellow so, but only as an American negro says "nigger." I looked at him closely. Some gesture, the suggested slant of his brows, the thin lips, reminded me of a certain "son of Ah Cum" who guided me into disaster in Canton, saying, "Mis'r Rud Kippeling he go one time befo'." "Your name?" I asked in hope of confirmation. "O Lalala," he replied, while the smile that started in his eyes was killed by his tightening lips. "I am French, for my grandfather was of Annam under the tri-color, and my mother of Tahiti-iti." Now fourteen-handed poker, with O Lalala as instructor to those ignorant of the game, the code of which was written by a United States diplomat, appealed to me as more than a passing of the time. It would be an episode in the valley. My patriotism was stimulated. I called the governor aside. "This poker," I said, "is not like écarté or baccarat. It is a study of character, a matching of minds, a thing we call bluff, we Americans. These poor Marquesans must have some fun. Let him do it! No harm can come of it. It is far to Paris, where the laws are made." The governor turned to O Lalala. "No stakes!" he said. "_Mais, non!_ Not a _sou_!" the lame man promised. "We will use only matches for counters. _Merci, merci, Monsieur l'Administrateur!_ You are very good. Please, will you give me now the note to Ah You?" As he limped away with it, the governor poured me an inch of absinthe. "_Sapristi!_" he exclaimed. "O Lalala! O, la, la, la!" He burst into laughter. "He will play ze bloff?" I spent that evening with Kriech, the German trader of Taka-Uka. Over our Hellaby beef and Munich beer we talked of copra and the beautiful girls of Buda-Pesth, of the contemplated effort of the French government to monopolize the island trade by subsidizing a corporation, and of the incident of the afternoon. "The _Herr Doktor_ is new," said Kriech, with a wag of his head. "That O Lalala! I have heard that that poker iss very dansherous. That Prince Hanoi of Papeite lose his tam headt to a Chinaman. Something comes of this foolishnesses!" At midnight I had again gained the House of the Golden Bed and had lain down to sleep when on the breeze from up the valley there came a strangely familiar sound to my upper ear. I sat up, listening. In the dark silence, with no wind to rustle the breadfruit and cocoanut-trees, and only the brook faintly murmuring below, I heard a low babble of voices. No word was distinguishable, not even the language, yet curiously the sound had a rhythm that I knew. I have heard from a distance preaching in many languages. Though only the cadences, the pauses, and rhythm reached me, I had no difficulty in knowing their origin and meaning. Thought casts the mold of all speech. Now my drowsy mind harked back to American days, to scenes in homes and clubs. I rose, and wrapping the loin-cloth about me, set out with a lantern in search of that sound. It led me down the trail, across the brook, and up the slope into the dense green growth of the mountain-side. Beyond I saw lights in the cocoanut-grove of Lam Kai Oo. My bare feet made no noise, and through the undergrowth I peered upon as odd a sight as ever pleased a lover of the bizarre. A blaze of torches lighted a cleared space among the tall palm columns, and in the flickering red glow a score of naked, tattooed figures crouched about a shining mat of sugar-cane. About them great piles of yellow-boxed Swedish matches caught the light, and on the cane mat shone the red and white and black of the cards. O Lalala sat facing me, absorbed in the game. At his back the yellow boxes were piled high, his crutch propped against them, and continually he speeded the play by calling out, "Passy, calley or makum bigger!" "Comely center!" or, "Ante uppy!" These were the sounds that had swept my memory back to civilization and drawn me from my Golden Bed. O Lalala had all the slang of poker--the poker of the waterfronts of San Francisco and of Shanghai--and evidently he had already taught his eager pupils that patois. They crouched about the mat, bent forward in their eagerness, and the flickering light caught twisting mouths and eyes ringed with tattooing. Over their heads the torches flared, held by breathless onlookers. The candlenuts, threaded on long spines of cocoanut-leaves, blazed only a few seconds, but each dying one lit the one beneath as it sputtered out, and the scores of strings shed a continuous though wavering light upon the shining mat and the cards. The midnight darkness of the enclosing grove and the vague columns of the palms, upholding the rustling canopy that hid the sky, hinted at some monstrous cathedral where heathen rites were celebrated. I pushed through the fringe of onlookers, none of whom heeded me, and found Apporo and Exploding Eggs holding torches. The madness of play was upon them. The sad placidity of every day was gone; as in the throes of the dance they kept their gleaming eyes upon the fluctuations of fortune before them. Twice I spoke sharply before they heard me, and then in a frenzy of supplication Apporo threw herself upon me. Would I not give her matches--the packets of matches that were under the Golden Bed? She and her husband, Great Fern, had spent but an hour in the magic circle ere they were denuded of their every match. Couriers were even now scouring the valley for more matches. Quick, hasten! Even now it might be that the packets under the Golden Bed were gone! "Surely, then, come," I said, struck by an incredible possibility. Could it be that the crafty O Lalala--absurd! But Apporo, hurrying before me down the lantern-lighted trail, confirmed my suspicions. O Lalala had stated and put into effect the prohibition of any other stakes other than the innocent matches--mere counters--which he had mentioned to the governor. But swift messengers had heralded throughout the valley that there would be gambling--authorized _par gouvernement_--in Lam Kai Go's plantation, and already the cards had been shuffled for seven or eight hours. Throughout all Atuona matches had been given an extraordinary and superlative value. To the farthest huts on the rim of the valley the cry was "Matches!" And as fast as they arrived, O Lalala won them. We hastened into my cabin, and Apporo was beneath the Golden Bed ere the rays of my lantern fell upon the floor. The packets had disappeared. "Exploding Eggs!" cried Apporo, her dark eyes tolling in rage. "But--he is honest," I objected. In such a crisis, she muttered, all standards were naught. Exploding Eggs had been one of the first squatters at the sugar-cane mat. "The Bishop himself would trade the holy-water fonts for matches, were he as thirsty to play as I am!" There were no more matches in the valleys of Atuona or Taka-Uka, she said. Every dealer had sold out. Every house had been invaded. The losers had begged, borrowed, or given articles of great value for matches. The accursed Tahitian had them all but a few now being waged. Defeated players were even now racing over the mountains in the darkness, ransacking each hut for more. The reputation of Hiva-oa, of the island itself, was at stake. A foreigner had dishonored their people, or would if they did not win back what he had gained from them. She was half Chinese; her father's soul was concerned. He had died in this very room. To save his face in death she would give back even her interest in the Golden Bed, she would pledge all that Great Fern possessed, if I would give her only a few matches. Her pleas could only be hopeless. There was not a match in the cabin. Together we returned to the cocoanut-grove. O Lalala still sat calmly winning the matches, the supply of which was from time to time replenished by panting newcomers. He swept the mat clean at every valuable pot. His only apparent advantage was that he made the rules whenever questions arose. He was patient in all disputes, yielding in small matters, but he was as the granite rocks of the mountain above him when many matches were at stake. With solemnity he invoked the name of Hoy-lee, the mysterious person who had fixed immutably the _tapus_ of pokaree. He made an occult sign with his thumb against his nose, and that settled it. If any one persisted in challenging this _tiki_ he added his other thumb to the little finger of his first symbol, and said, "Got-am-to-hellee!" As a last recourse, he would raise his crutch and with public opinion supporting him would threaten to invoke the law against gambling and stop the game if disputation did not cease. Steadily the pile of Swedish _toendstikkers_ grew behind him. All through the night the game raged beneath the light of the candlenuts, in a silence broken only by the hoarse breathing of the crouching brown men, the sandy-sounding rustle of the palm-fronds overhead, and cries of "Ante uppy!" or "Comely center!" When dawn came grayly through the aisles of the grove, they halted briefly to eat a bowl of _popoi_ and to drink the milk of freshly gathered nuts. O Lalala, relaxing against the heap of his winnings, lifted a shell to his lips and over its rim gave me one enigmatic look. Whistling softly, I went down to the House of the Golden Bed, breakfasted there without the aid of Exploding Eggs, and then sought the governor. He had gone by the whale-boat of Special Agent Bauda to an adjoining deserted island to shoot _kuku_. Hiva-oa was without a government. All day the madness raged in the cocoanut-grove. In the afternoon the vicar apostolic of the Roman Catholic Church, supported by the faithful Deacon Fariuu, himself toiled up the slope to stop the game. The bishop was received in sullen silence by regular communicants. A catechist whom he had found squat before the mat paid no attention to his objurgations, save to ask the bishop not to stand behind him, as O Lalala had said that was bad luck. The churchmen retired in a haughty silence that was unheeded by the absorbed players. Later the deacon returned, bringing with him the very matches that had been kept in the church to light the lamps at night service. These he stacked on the sugarcane mat. The vicar bishop followed him to call down the anathema maranatha of high heaven upon this renegade who had robbed the cathedral and the priests' house of every _toendstikker_ they had held, and when he had again retired, the deacon, dropping his last box on the woven table, elevated his hands toward the skies and fervently asked the Giver of All Good Things to aid his draw. But he received a third ace, only to see O Lalala put down four of the damnable bits of paper with three spots on each one. At three o'clock next morning the game lapsed because the Tahitian had all the counters. These he sent to his house, where they were guarded by a friend. For a day he sat waiting by the sugar-cane mat, and the Monte Carlo was not deserted. O Lalala would not budge to the demands of a hundred losers that he sell back packages of matches for cocoanuts or French francs or any other currency. Pigs, fish, canned goods, and all the contents of the stores he spurned as breaking faith with the kindly governor, who would recognize that while matches were not gambling stakes, all other commodities were. On the fourth day the canoes that had paddled and sailed to every other island of the archipelago began to return. Some brought fifty packets, some less. Dealers had tossed their prices sky-ward when asked to sell their entire stocks. [Illustration: A chieftess in _tapa_ garments with _tapa_ parasol] [Illustration: Launching the whale-boat] Now the game began again with the fierceness of the typhoon after the center has passed. Men and women stood in line for the chance to redeem their fortunes, to slake their rage, to gain applause. Once they thought they had conquered the Tahitian. He began to lose, and before his streak of trouble ended, he had sent more than thirty packages from his hut to the grove. But this was the merest breath of misfortune; his star rose again, and the contents of the canoes were his. On the fifth day it became known that the Shan-Shan syndicate of Cantonese had a remaining case of _toendstikkers_. They claimed that until now they had overlooked this case. It held a hundred packages, or twelve hundred boxes. It was priceless as the sole possible barrier against the absolute ending of the game. The Shan-Shan people were without heart. They demanded for the case five francs a packet. Many of the younger Marquesans counselled giving the Cantonese a taste of the ancient _u'u_, the war-club of a previous generation. Desperate as was the plight of the older gamesters, they dared not consent. The governor would return, the law would take its course, and they would go to Noumea to work out their lives for crime. No, they would buy the case for francs, but they would not risk dividing it among many, who would be devoured piecemeal by the diabolical O Lalala. "Kivi, the Vagabond, the Drinker of _kava_, is the chief to lead our cause," said Great Fern. "He has never gone to the Christian church. He believes still in the old gods of the High Place, and he is tattooed with the shark." Kivi was the one man who had not played. He cared nothing for the pleasures of the _Farani_, the foolish whites. After palaver, his neighbors waited on him in a body. They reasoned with him, they begged him. He consented to their plan only after they had wept at their humbling. Then they began to instruct him. They told him of the different kinds of combinations, of straights and of flushes, and of a certain occasional period when the Tahitian would introduce a mad novelty by which the cards with one fruit on them would "runnee wil'ee." They warned him against times when without reason the demon would put many matches on the mat, and after frightening out every one would in the end show that he had no cards of merit. Immediately after sunset, when the _popoi_ and fish had been eaten, and all had bathed in the brook, when the women had perfumed their bodies and put the scarlet hibiscus in their hair, and after Kivi had drunk thrice of _kava_, the game began. The valley was deserted, the _paepaes_ empty. No fires twinkled from the mountainsides. Only in the cocoanut-grove the candlenuts were lit as the stars peeped through the roof of the world. A throng surrounded the pair of combatants. The worn cards had been oiled and dried, and though the ominous faces of the _tiki_ upon them shone bravely, doubtless they were weary of strife. The pipe was made to smoke; Kivi puffed it and so did all who had joined in the purchase of the case from the thieves of Cantonese. Then the cards were dealt by Kivi, who had won the cut. O Lalala and he eyed each other like Japanese wrestlers before the grapple. Their eyes were slits as they put up the ante of five packets each. O Lalala opened the pot for five packets and Kivi, nudged by his backers, feverishly balanced them. He took three cards, O Lalala but one. Standing behind the Tahitian, I saw that he had no cards of value, but coolly he threw thirty packets upon the mat. The others shuddered, for Kivi had drawn deuces to a pair of kings. They made the pipe glow again. They puffed it; they spat; they put their heads together, and he threw down his cards. Then calmly the Tahitian laid down his own, and they saw that they could have beaten him. They shouted in dismay, and withdrew Kivi, who after some palaver went away with them into the darkness. One or two candlenut torches dimly illumined the figures of the squatting women who remained. Upon the sugar-cane mat O Lalala stretched himself at ease, closing his eyes. A silence broken only by the stealthy noises of the forest closed upon us. Teata, her dark eyes wide, looked fearfully over her shoulder and crept close to me. In a low voice she said that the absent players had thrown earth over their shoulders, stamped, and called upon Po, the Marquesan deity of darkness, yet it had not availed them. Now they went to make magic to those at whose very mention she shuddered, not naming them. We waited, while the torches sputtered lower, and a dank breath of the forest crept between the trees. O Lalala appeared to sleep, though when Apporo attempted to withdraw a card he pinned it with his crutch. It was half an hour before the players returned. Kivi crouched to his place without a word, and the others arranged themselves behind him in fixed array, as though they had a cabalistic number-formation in mind. Fresh torches were made, and many disputed the privilege of holding them, as they controlled one's view of the mat. O Lalala sat imperturbable, waiting. At last all was ready. The light fell upon the giant limbs and huge torsos of the men, picking out arabesques of tattooing and catching ruddy gleams from red _pareus_. The women, in crimson gowns caught up to the waist, their luxuriant hair adorned with flowers and phosphorescent fungus, their necks hung with the pink peppers of Chile, squatted in a close ring about the players. The lame man took up the pack, shuffled it, and handed it to Kivi to cut. Then Kivi solemnly stacked before him the eighty-five packets of matches, all that remained in the islands. Five packs went upon the mat for ante, and Kivi very slowly picked up his cards. He surveyed them, and a grim smile of incredulity and delight spread over his ink-decorated countenance. He opened for ten packets. O Lalala quickly put down as many, and thirty more. Kivi chuckled as one who has his enemy in his hand, but stifles his feelings to hide his triumph. He then carefully counted his remaining wealth, and with a gesture of invitation slid the entire seventy packets about his knees. They were a great bulk, quite 840 boxes of matches, and they almost obscured the curving palms of blue tattooed on his mighty thighs. Again he chuckled and this time put his knuckles over his mouth. "Patty!" said Great Fern for him, and made a gesture disdaining more cards. O Lalala scrutinized his face as the sailor the heavens in a storm, and then studied the visages of all his backers. He closed his eyes a moment. Then, "My cally!" he said, as he pushed a great heap of _toendstikkers_ onto the cane mat. The _kava_-drinkers grew black with excitement. Kivi hesitated, and then, amid the most frightful curses of his company, laid down only a pair of kings, a six, a nine, and a jack. O Lalala, without a smile, disclosed a pair of aces and three meaningless companions. The game was over. The men of Hiva-oa had thrown their last spear. Magic had been unavailing; the demon foreigner could read through the cards. Kivi fell back helpless, grief and _kava_ prostrating him. The torches died down as the winner picked up his spoils and prepared to retire. At this moment a man dashed madly through the grove, displaying two boxes and a handful of separate matches. O Lalala at first refused to play for this trifling stake, but in a storm of menacing cries consented to cut the pack for double or nothing, and in a twinkling extinguished the last hope. The last comer had looted the governor's palace. The ultimate match in the Marquesas had been lost to the Tahitian. He now had the absolute monopoly of light and of cooking. Soberly the rest of the valley dwellers went home to unlighted huts. Next morning, after a cold breakfast, I was early afoot in the valley. On the way to the trader's store I beheld the complacent winner in his cabin. Through the open door I saw that every inch of the walls was covered with stacked boxes of matches, yellow fronts exposed. On his mat in the middle of this golden treasury O Lalala reclined, smoking at his leisure, and smiling the happy smile of Midas. Outside a cold wind swept down from Calvary Peak, and a gray sky hid the sun. I paused in the reek of those innumerable matches, which tainted the air a hundred feet away, and exchanged morning greetings with their owner, inquiring about his plans. He said that he would make a three days' vigil of thanks, and upon the fourth day he would sell matches at a franc a small box. I bade him farewell, and passed on. The valley people were coming and going about their affairs, but sadly and even morosely. There was no match to light the fire for roasting breadfruit, or to kindle the solacing tobacco. O Lalala would not give one away, or sell one at any price. Neither would he let a light be taken from his own fire or pipe. The next schooner was not expected for two months, as the last was but a fortnight gone. Le Brunnec had not a match, nor Kriech. The governor had not returned. The only alternatives were to go lightless and smokeless or to assault the heartless oppressor. Many dark threats were muttered on the cheerless _paepaes_ and in the dark huts, but in variety of councils there was no unity, and none dared assault alone the yellow-walled hut in which O Lalala smiled among his gains. On the second day there was a growing tension in the atmosphere of the valley. I observed that there were no young men to be seen on the beach or at the traders' stores. There were rumors, hints hardly spoken, of a meeting in the hills. The traders looked to their guns, whistling thoughtfully. There was not a spark of fire set in all Atuona, save by O Lalala, and that for himself alone. So matters stood until the second night. Then old Kahuiti, that handsomest of cannibals, who lived in the valley of Taaoa, strolled into Atuona and made it known that he would hold a meeting in the High Place where of old many of his tribe had been eaten by Atuona men. Exploding Eggs, Malicious Gossip, and I climbed the mountain early. The population of the valley, eager for counsel, was gathered on the old stone benches where half a century earlier their sorcerers had sat. In the twilight Kahuiti stood before us, his long white beard tied in a Psyche knot on his broad, tattooed chest. His voice was stern. We were fools, he said, to be denied food and smoke by the foreigner. What of matches before the French came? Had he known matches in his youth? _Aue!_ The peoples of the islands must return to the ways of their fathers! He leaped from the top of the Pekia, and seizing his long knife, he cut a five-foot piece of _parua_-wood and shaped it to four inches in width. With our fascinated gaze upon him, he whittled sharp a foot-long piece of the same wood, and straddled the longer stick. Holding it firmly between his two bare knees he rubbed the shorter, pointed piece swiftly up and down a space of six inches upon his mount. Gradually a groove formed, in which the dust collected at one end. Soon the wood was smoking hot, and then the old man's hands moved so rapidly that for several moments I could not follow them with the eye. The smoke became thicker, and suddenly a gleam of flame arose, caught the dust, and was fed with twigs and cocoanut-husks by scores of trembling brown hands. In a few minutes a roaring fire was blazing on the sward. Pipes sprang from loin-cloths or from behind ears, and the incense of tobacco lifted on the still air of the evening. Brands were improvised and hurried home to light the fires for breadfruit-roasting, while Kahuiti laughed scornfully. "A hundred of this tribe I have eaten, and no wonder!" he said as he strode away toward Taaoa. The monopoly of O Lalala was no more. Atuona Valley had turned back the clock of time a hundred years, to destroy the perfect world in which he sat alone. He heard the news with amazement and consternation. For a day he sat disconsolate, unable to credit the disaster that had befallen his carefully made plans. Then he offered the matches at usual traders' prices, and the people mocked him. All over the island the fire-ploughs, oldest of fire-making tools in the world, were being driven to heat the stones for the _mei_. Atuona had no need of matches. The governor on his return heard the roars of derision, gathered the story from a score of mirthful tongues, seized and sold the matches, and appropriated the funds for a barrel of Bordeaux. And for many weeks the unhappy O Lalala sat mournfully on the beach, gazing at the empty sea and longing for a schooner to carry him away. CHAPTER XXIII Mademoiselle N----. The _Jeanne d'Arc_, a beautiful, long, curving craft manned by twelve oarsmen, came like a white bird over the blue waters of the Bay of Traitors one Saturday afternoon, bringing Père Victorien to Atuona. He was from Hatiheu, on the island of Nuka-hiva, seventy miles to the north. A day and a night he had spent on the open sea, making a slow voyage by wind and oar, but like all these priests he made nothing of the hardships. They come to the islands to stay until they die, and death means a crown the brighter for martyrdom. He looked a tortured man in his heavy and smothering vestments when I met him before the mission walls next morning. His face and hands were covered with pustules as if from smallpox. "The _nonos_ (sand-flies) are so furious the last month," he said with a patient smile. "I have not slept but an hour at a time. I was afraid I would go mad." News of his coming brought all the valley Catholics to eight o'clock mass. The banana-shaded road and the roots of the old banian were crowded with worshippers in all their finery, and when they poured into the mission the few rude benches were well filled. I found a chair in the rear, next to that of Baufré, the shaggy drunkard, and as the chanting began, I observed an empty _prie-dieu_, specially prepared and placed for some person of importance. "Mademoiselle N----" said Baufré, noticing the direction of my glance. "She is the richest woman in all the Marquesas." At the Gospel she came in, walking slowly down the aisle and taking her place as though unaware of the hundred covert glances that followed her. Wealth is comparative, and Mademoiselle N----, with perhaps a few hundred thousand dollars in cash and cocoanut-grove, stood to the island people as Rockefeller to us. Money and lands were not all her possessions, for though she had never traveled from her birthplace, she was very different in carriage and costume from the girls about her. She wore a black lace gown, clinging, and becoming her slender figure and delicately charming face. Her features were exquisite, her eyes lustrous black pools of passion, her mouth a scarlet line of pride and disdain. A large leghorn hat of fine black straw, with chiffon, was on her graceful head, and her tiny feet were in silk stockings and patent leather. She held a gold and ivory prayer-book in gloved hands, and a jeweled watch hung upon her breast. She might have passed for a Creole or for one of those beautiful Filipino _mestizas_, daughters of Spanish fathers and Filipino mothers. I suppose coquetry in woman was born with the fig-leaf. This dainty, fetching heiress, born of a French father and a savage mother, had all the airs and graces of a ballroom belle. Where had she gained these fashions and desires of the women of cities, of Europe? I had but to look over the church to feel her loneliness. Teata, Many Daughters, Weaver of Mats, and Flower, savagely handsome, gaudily dressed, were the only companions of her own age. Flower, of the red-gold hair, was striking in a scarlet gown of sateen, a wreath of pink peppers, and a necklace of brass. She had been ornamented by the oarsmen of the _Jeanne d'Arc_, fortunately without Père Victorien's knowledge. Teata, in her tight gown with its insertions of fishnet revealing her smooth, tawny skin, a red scarf about her waist, straw hat trimmed with a bright blue Chinese shawl perched on her high-piled hair, was still a picture of primitive and savage grace. They were handsome, these girls, but they were wild flowers. Mlle. N---- had the poise and delicacy of the hothouse blossom. Her father had spent thirty years on Hiva-oa, laboring to wring a fortune from the toil of the natives, and dying, he had left it all to this daughter, who, with her laces and jewels, her elegant, slim form and haughty manner, was in this wild abode of barefooted, half-naked people like a pearl in a gutter. She was free now to do what she liked with herself and her fortune. What would she do? It was the question on every tongue and in every eye when, after mass, she passed down the lane respectfully widened for her in the throng on the steps and with a black-garbed sister at her side, walked to the nuns' house. "If only she had a religious vocation," sighed Sister Serapoline. "That would solve all difficulties, and save her soul and happiness." Vainly the nuns and priests had tried during the dozen years of her tutelage in their hands to direct her aspirations toward this goal, but one had only to look into her burning eyes or see the supple movement of her body, to know that she sought her joy on earth. Liha-Liha, the natives called her father, which means corporal, and that they had hated and yet feared him when Hiva-oa was still given over to cannibalism outlined his character. He had lived and died in his house near the Stinking Springs on the road to Taaoa. The sole white man in that valley, he had lorded it over the natives more sternly than had their old chiefs. He had fought down the wilderness, planted great cocoanut-plantations, forced the unwilling islanders to work for him, and dollar by dollar, with an iron will, he had wrung from their labor the fortune now left in the dainty hands of his half-savage daughter. Song of the Nightingale, the convict cook of the governor, gave me light on the man. "I loved his woman, Piiheana (Climber of Trees Who Was Killed and Eaten), who was the mother of Mademoiselle N----," said Song of the Nightingale. "One night he found me with her on his _paepae_. He shot me; then he had me condemned as a robber, and I spent five years in the prison at Tai-o-hae." "And Climber of Trees Who Was Killed and Eaten?" "He beat her till her bones were broken, and sent her from him. Then he took Daughter of a Piece of Tattooing, to whom he left in his will thirty-five thousand francs. It was she who brought up Mademoiselle." Mademoiselle herself walked daintily down to the road, where her horse was tied, and I was presented to her. She gave me her hand with the air of a princess, her scarlet lips quivering into a faint smile and her smouldering, unsatisfied eyes sweeping my face. With a, conciliating, yet imperious, air, she suggested that I ride over the hills with her. Picking up her lace skirt and frilled petticoat, she vaulted into the man's saddle without more ado, and took the heavy reins in her small gloved hands. Her horse was scrubby, but she rode well, as do all Marquesans, her supple body following his least movement and her slim, silk-stockinged legs clinging as though she were riding bareback. When the swollen river threatened to wet her varnished slippers, she perched herself on the saddle, feet and all, and made a dry ford. Over the hills she led the way at a gallop, despite wretched trail and tripping bushes. Down we went through the jungle, walled in by a hundred kinds of trees and ferns and vines. Now and then we came into a cleared space, a native plantation, a hut surrounded by breadfruit-, mango- and cocoanut-, orange- and lime-trees. No one called "_Kaoho!_" and Mademoiselle N---- did not slacken her pace. We swept into the jungle again without a word, my horse following her mount's flying feet, and I ducking and dodging branches and noose-like vines. In a marshy place, where patches of _taro_ spread its magnificent leaves over the earth, we slowed to a walk. The jungle tangle was all about us; a thousand bright flowers, scarlet, yellow, purple, crimson, splashed with color the masses of green; tall ferns uncurled their fronds; giant creepers coiled like snakes through the boughs, and the sluggish air was heavy with innumerable delicious scents. I said to Mademoiselle N---- that the beauty of the islands was like that of a fantastic dream, an Arabian Night's tale. "Yes?" she said, with a note of weariness and irony. The feet of the horses made a sucking sound on the oozy ground. "I am half white," she said after a moment, and as the horses' hoofs struck the rocky trail again, she whipped up her mount and we galloped up the slope. After a time the trail widened into a road and I saw before us a queer enclosure. At first sight I thought it a wild-animal park. There were small houses like cages and a big, box-like structure in the center, all enclosed in a wire fence, a couple of acres in all. Drawing nearer, I saw that the houses were cabins painted in gaudy colors, and that the white box was a marble tomb of great size. Each slab of marble was rimmed with scarlet cement, and the top of the tomb, under a corrugated iron roof, was covered with those abominable bead-wreaths from Paris. Like the humbler Marquesans who have their coffins made and graves dug before their passing, Mademoiselle N----'s father had seen to it that this last resting-place was prepared while he lived, and he had placed it here in the center of his plantation, before the house that had been his home for thirty years. With something of his own crude strength and barbaric taste, it stood there, the grim reminder of her white father to the girl in whose veins his own blood mingled with that of the savage. She looked at it without emotion, and after I had surveyed it, we dismounted and she led me into her house. It was a neat and showily-furnished cottage, whose Nottingham-lace curtains, varnished golden-oak chairs and ingrain carpet spoke of attempts at mail-order beautification. Sitting on a horse-hair sofa, hard and slippery, I drank wine and ate mangoes, while opposite me Mademoiselle N----'s mother sat in stiff misery on a chair. She was a withered Marquesan woman, barefooted and ugly, dressed in a red cotton garment of the hideous night-gown pattern introduced by the missionaries, and her eyes were tragedies of bewilderment and suffering, while her toothless mouth essayed a smile and she struggled with a few words of bad French. Though Mademoiselle N---- was most hospitable, she was not at ease, and I knew it was because of the appearance of her mother, this woman whom her father had discarded years before, but to whom the daughter had shown kindness since his death. The mother appeared more at ease with her successor, a somewhat younger Marquesan woman, who waited on us as a servant, and seemed contented enough. Doubtless the two who had endured the moods of Liha-Liha had many confidences now that he was gone. I had to describe America to Mademoiselle N----, and the inventions and social customs of which she had read. She would not want to live in such a big country, she said, but Tahiti seemed to combine comfort with the atmosphere of her birthplace. Perhaps she might go to Tahiti to live. As I took my hat to leave, she said: "I have been told that they are separating the lepers in Tahiti and confining them outside Papeite in a kind of prison. Is that so?" "Not a prison," I replied. "The government has built cottages for them in a little valley. Don't you think it wise to segregate them?" She did not reply, and I rode away. A week later I met her one evening at Otupoto, that dividing place between the valleys of Taaoa and Atuona, where Kahuiti and his fellow warriors had trapped the human meat. I had walked there to sit on the edge of the precipice and watch the sun set in the sea. She came on horseback from her home toward the village, to spend Sunday with the nuns. She got off her horse when she saw me, and lit a cigarette. "What do you do here all alone?" she asked in French. She never used a word of Marquesan to me. I replied that I was trying to imagine myself there fifty years earlier, when the meddlesome white sang very low in the concert of the island powers. "The people were happier then, I suppose," she said meditatively, as she handed me her burning cigarette in the courteous way of her mother's people. "But it does not attract me. I would like to see the world I read of." She sat beside me on the rock, her delicately-modeled chin on her pink palm, and gazed at the colors fading from vivid gold and rose to yellow and mauve on the sky and the sea. The quietness of the scene, the gathering twilight, perhaps, too, something in the fact that I was a white man and a stranger, broke down her reserve. "But with whom can I see that world?" she said with sudden passion. "Money--I have it. I don't want it. I want to be loved. I want a man. What shall I do? I cannot marry a native, for they do not think as I do. I--I dread to marry a Frenchman. You know _le droit du mari_? A French wife has no freedom." I cited Madame Bapp, who chastised her spouse. "He is no man, that _criquet!_" she said scornfully. "I would be better off not to marry, if I had a real man who loved me, and who would take me across the sea! What am I saying? The nuns would be shocked. I do not know--oh, I do not know what it is that tears at me! But I want to see the world, and I want a man to love me." "Your islands here are more beautiful than any of the developed countries," I said. "There are many thieves there, too, to take your money." "I have read that," she answered, "and I am not afraid. I am afraid of nothing. I want to know a different life than here. I will at least go to Tahiti. I am tired of the convent. The nuns talk always of religion, and I am young, and I am half French. We die young, most of us, and I have had no pleasure." I saw her black eyes, as she puffed her cigarette, shining with her vision. Some man would put tears in them soon, I thought, if she chose that path. Would she be happy in Tahiti? If she could find one of her own kind, a half-caste, a paragon of kindness and fidelity, she might be. With the white she would know only torture. There is but one American that I know who has made a native girl happy. Lovina, who keeps the Tiare Hotel in Papeite and who knows the gossip of all the South Seas, told me the story one day after he had come to the hotel to fetch two dinners to his home. He had a handsome motor-car, and the man himself was so clean-looking, so precise in every word and motion, that I spoke of the contrast to the skippers, officials, and tourists who lounged about Lovina's bar. "He is a strange one, that man," said Lovina. "Two years ago I have nice girl here, wait on bar, look sweet, and I make her jus' so my daughter. I go America for visit, and when I come back that girl ruin'. That American take her 'way, and he come tell me straight he couldn't help it. He jus' love her--mad. He build her fine house, get automobile. She never work. Every day he come here get meals take home." That tall, straight chap, his hair prematurely gray, his face sad, had made the barmaid the jewel of a golden setting. He devoted himself and his income solely to her. Stranger still, he had made her his legal wife. But she is an exception rare as rain in Aden. These native girls of mixed blood, living tragedies sprung from the uncaring selfishness of the whites, struggle desperately to lift themselves above the mire in which the native is sinking. They throw themselves away on worthless adventurers, who waste their little patrimony, break their hearts, and either desert them after the first flush of passion passes, or themselves sink into a life of lazy slovenliness worse than that of the native. All these things I pondered when Mlle. N---- spoke of her hope of finding happiness in Tahiti. I was sure that, with her wealth, she would have many suitors,--but what of a tender heart? "It is love I want," she said. "Love and freedom. We women are used to having our own way. I know the nuns would be horrified, but I shall bind myself to no man." The last colors of the sunset faded slowly on the sea, and the world was a soft gray filled with the radiance of the rising moon. I rose and when Mile. N---- had mounted I strolled ahead of her horse in the moonlight. I was wearing a tuberose over my ear, and she remarked it. "You know what that signifies? If a man seeks a woman, he wears a white flower over his ear, and if his love grows ardent, he wears a red rose or hibiscus. But if he tires, he puts some green thing in their place. _Bon dieu!_ That is the depth of ignominy for the woman scorned. I remember one girl who was made light of that way in church. She stayed a day hidden in the hills weeping, and then she threw herself from a cliff." There was in her manner a melancholy and a longing. "Tahitians wear flowers all the day," I said. "They are gay, and life is pleasant upon their island. There are automobiles by the score, cinemas, singing, and dancing every evening, and many Europeans and Americans. With money you could have everything." "It is not singing and dancing I desire!" she exclaimed. "_Pas de tout!_ I must know more people, and not people like priests and these copra dealers. I have read in novels of men who are like gods, who are bold and strong, but who make their women happy. Do you know an officer of the _Zelee_, with hair like a ripe banana? He is tall and plays the banjo. I saw him one time long ago when the warship was here. He was on the governor's veranda. Oh, that was long ago, but such a young man would be the man that I want." Her Marquesan blood was speaking in that cry of the heart, unrestrained and passionate. They are not the cold, chaste women of other climes, these women of the Marquesas; with blood at fever heat and hearts beating like wild things against bars, they listen when love or its counterfeit pours into their ears those soft words with nothing in them that make a song. They have no barriers of reserve or haughtiness; they make no bargains; they go where the heart goes, careless of certified vows. "_Mon dieu!_" Mademoiselle N---- exclaimed and put her tiny hand to her red lips. "What if the good sisters heard me? I am bad. I know. _Eh bien!_ I am Marquesan after all." We were about to cross the stream by my cabin, and I mounted the horse behind her to save a wetting. She turned impulsively and looked at me, her lovely face close to mine, her dark eyes burning, and her hot breath on my cheek. "Write to me when you are in Tahiti, and tell me if you think I would be happy there?" she said imploringly. "I have no friends here, except the nuns. I need so much to go away. I am dying here." Coming up my trail a few days later, I found on my _paepae_ a shabbily dressed little bag-of-bones of a white man, with a dirty gray beard and a harsh voice like that of Baufré. He had a note to me from Le Brunnec, introducing M. Lemoal, born in Brest, a naturalized American. The note was sealed, and I put it carefully away before turning to my visitor. It read: "CHER CITOYEN: "I send you a specimen of the Marquesan beaches, so that you can have a little fun. This fellow have a very tremendous life. He is an old sailor, pirate, gold-miner, Chinese-hanger, thief, robber, honest-man, baker, trader; in a word, an interesting type. With the aid of several glasses of wine I have put him in the mood to talk delightfully." A low-browed man was Lemoal, sapped and ruthless, but certainly he had adventured. Was the Bella Union Theater still there in Frisco? Did they still fight in Bottle Meyers, and was his friend Tasset on the police force yet? His memories of San Francisco ante-dated mine. He had been a hoodlum there, and had helped to hang Chinese. He had gone to Tahiti in 1870 and made a hundred thousand francs keeping a bakery. That fortune had lasted him during two years' tour of the world. "Now I'm bust," he said bitterly. "Now I got no woman, no children, no friends, and I don't want none. I am by myself and damn everybody!" I soothed his misanthropy with two fingers of rum, and he mellowed into advice. "I saw you with that daughter of Liha-Liha," he said, using the native name of the dead millionaire. "You be careful. One time I baked bread in Taaoa. My oven was near his plantation. I saw that girl come into the woods and take off her dress. She had a mirror to see her back, and I looked, and the sun shone bright. What she saw, I saw--a patch of white. She is a leper, that rich girl." His eyes were full of hate. "You don't like her," I said. "Why?" "Why? Why?" he screamed. "Because her father was an accursed villian. He was always kissing the dirty hands of the priests. He used to give his workmen opium to make them work faster, and then he would go to church. He made his money, yes. He was damn hypocrite. And now his daughter, with all that rotten money, is a leper. I tell everybody what I saw. Everybody here knows it but you. Everybody will know it in Tahiti if she goes there." The man was like a snake to me. I threw away the glass he had drunk from. And yet--was it idle curiosity, or was it fear of being shut away in the valley outside Papeite by the quarantine officers, that made her ask me that question about the segregation of lepers? Liha-Liha had spent thirty years making money. He had coined the sweat and blood and lives of a thousand Marquesans into a golden fortune, and he had left behind him that fortune, a marble tomb, and Mlle. N----. CHAPTER XXIV A journey to Nuka-hiva; story of the celebration of the fête of Joan of Arc, and the miracles of the white horse and the girl. Père Victorien said that I must not leave the Marquesas before I visited the island of Nuka-hiva seventy miles to the northward and saw there in Tai-o-hae, the capital of the northern group of islands, a real saint. "A wonderful servant of Christ," he said, "Père Simeon Delmas. He is very old, and has been there since the days of strife. He has not been away from the islands for fifty years, but God preserves him for His honor and service. Père Simeon would be one of the first in our order were he in Europe, but he is a martyr and wishes to earn his crown in these islands and die among his charges. He is a saint, as truly as the blessed ones of old. "It was he who planned the magnificent celebration of the feast of Joan of Arc some years ago, and as to miracles, I truly believe that the keeping safe of the white horse during the terrible storm and perhaps even the preservation of a maiden worthy to appear in the armor of the Maid, are miracles as veritable as the apparition at Lourdes. _Pour moi_, I am convinced that Joan is one of the most glorious saints in heaven, and that Père Simeon himself is of the band of blessed martyrs." "Ah, Père Victorien, I would like nothing better than to meet that good man," I said, "but I am at a loss to get to Tai-o-hae. The _Roberta_, Capriata's steamer, will not be here for many weeks, and there is no other in the archipelago just now." "You shall return with me in the _Jeanne d'Arc_," he replied quickly. "It may be an arduous voyage for you, but you will be well repaid." A fortnight later his steersman came running to my cabin to tell me to be ready at one o'clock in the morning. The night was a myriad of stars on a vast ebon canopy. One could see only shadows in denser shadows, and the serene sure movements of the men as they lifted the whale-boat from Bauda's shed and carried it lightly to the water were mysterious to me. Their eyes saw where mine were blind. Père Victorien and I were seated in the boat, and they shoved off, breast-deep in the turmoil of the breakers, running alongside the bobbing craft until it was in the welter of foam and, then with a chorus, in unison, lifting themselves over the sides and seizing the oars before the boat could turn broadside to the shore. "He-ee Nuka-hiva!" they sang in a soft monotone, while they pulled hard for the mouth of the bay. The priest and I were fairly comfortable in the stern, the steersman perched behind us on the very edge of the combing, balancing himself to the rise and fall of the boat as an acrobat on a rope. I laid my head on my bag and fell asleep before the sea had been reached. The last sound in my ears was the voice of Père Victorien reciting his rosary. I awoke to find a breeze careening our sail and the _Jeanne d'Arc_ rushing through a pale blue world--pale blue water, pale blue sky, and, it seemed, pale blue air. No single solid thing but the boat was to be seen in the indefinite immensity. Sprawling on its bottom in every attitude of limp relaxation, the oarsmen lay asleep; only Père Victorien was awake, his hands on the tiller and his eyes gazing toward the east. "_Bonjour!_" said he. "You have slept well. Your angel guardian thinks well of you. The dawn comes." I asked him if I might relieve him of tiller and sheet, and he, with an injunction to keep the sail full and far, unpocketed his breviary, and was instantly absorbed in its contents. Our tack was toward the eastern distance, and no glimpse of land or cloud made us aught but solitary travelers in illimitable space. The sun was beneath the deep, but in the hush of the pale light one felt the awe of its coming. Slowly a faint glow began to gild a line that circled the farthest east. Gold it was at first, like a segment of a marriage ring, then a bolt of copper shot from the level waters to the zenith and a thousand vivid colors were emptied upon the sky and the sea. Roses were strewn on the glowing waste, rose and gold and purple curtained the horizon, and suddenly, without warning, abrupt as lightning, the sun beamed hot above the edge of the world. The Marquesans stirred, their bodies stretched and their lungs expanded in the throes of returning consciousness. Then one sat up and called loudly, "_A titahi a atu!_ Another day!" The others rose, and immediately began to uncover the _popoi_ bowl. They had canned fish and bread, too, and ate steadily, without a word, for ten minutes. The steersman, who had joined them, returned to the helm, and the priest and I enjoyed the bananas and canned beef with water from the jug, and cigarettes. All day the _Jeanne d'Arc_ held steadily on the several tacks we steered, and all day no living thing but bird or fish disturbed the loneliness of the great empty sea. Père Victorien read his breviary or told his beads in abstracted contemplation, and I, lying on the bottom of the boat with my hat shielding my eyes from the beating rays of the sun, pondered on what I knew of Tai-o-hae, the port on the island of Nuka-hiva, to which we were bound. For two hundred years after the discovery of the southern group--the islands we had left behind us--the northern group was still unknown to the world. Captain Ingraham, of Boston, found Nuka-hiva in 1791, and called the seven small islets the Washington Islands. Twenty years later, during the war of 1812, Porter refitted his ships there to prey upon the British, and but for the perfidy,--or, from another view, the patriotism,--of an Englishman in his command, Porter might have succeeded in making the Marquesas American possessions. Tai-o-hae became the seat of power of the whites in the islands; it waxed in importance, saw admirals, governors, and bishops sitting in state on the broad verandas of government buildings, witnessed that new thing, the making of a king and queen, knew the stolid march of convicts, white and brown, images of saints carried in processions, and schools opened to regenerate the race of idol-worshippers. Tai-o-hae saw all the plans of grandeur wane, saw saloons and opium, vice and disease, fastened upon the natives, and saw the converted, the old gods overthrown, the new God reigning, cut down like trees when the fire runs wild in the forest. The dream of minting the strength and happiness of the giant men of the islands into gold for the white labor-kings dissolved into a nightmare as the giants perished. It was hard to make the free peoples toil as slaves for foreign masters, so the foreign masters brought opium. To get this "Cause of Wonder Sleep," of more delight than _kava_, the Marquesan was taught to hoe and garner cotton, to gather copra and even to become the servant of the white man. The hopes of the invaders were rosy. They faded quickly. The Marquesans faded faster. The saloons of Tai-o-hae were gutters of drunkenness. The _paepaes_ were wailing-places for the dead. No government arrested vice or stopped the traffic in death-dealing drugs until too late. Then, with no people left to exploit, the colonial ministers in Paris forgot the Marquesas. In the lifetime of a man, Tai-o-hae swelled from a simple native village with thousands of healthy, happy people, to the capital of an archipelago, with warships, troops, prisons, churches, schools, and plantations, and reverted to a deserted, melancholy beach, with decaying, uninhabited buildings testifying to catastrophe. Since Kahuiti, my man-eating friend of Taaoa, was born, the cycle had been completed. I was on my way now to see, in Tai-o-hae, a man who was giving his life to bring the white man's religion to the few dying natives who remained. At dusk the wind died, and we put out the oars. Hour after hour the rowers pulled, chanting at times ancient lays of the war-canoes, of the fierce fights of their fathers when hundreds fed the sharks after the destruction of their vessels by the conquerors, and of the old gods who had reigned before the white men came. Père Victorien listened musingly. "They should be singing of the Blessed Mother or of Joan," he said with sorrow. "But when they pull so well I cannot deny them a thread of that old pagan warp. Those devils whom they once worshipped wait about incessantly for a word of praise. They hate the idea that we are hurrying to the mission, and they would like well to delay us." Whatever the desires of those devils, they were balked, for the wind came fair during the second night, and when the second dawning came we were in the bay of Tai-o-hae. It was a basin of motionless green water, held in the curve of a shore shaped like a horseshoe, with two huge headlands of rock for the calks. The beach was a rim of white between the azure of the water and the dark green of the hills that rose steeply from it. Above them the clouds hung in varying shapes, here lit by the sun to snowy fleece, there black and lowering. On the lower slopes a few houses peeped from the embowering _parau_ trees, and on a small hill, near the dismantled fort, the flag of France drooped above the gendarme's cabin. By eight o'clock in the morning, when we reached the shore, the beach was shimmering in the sunlight, the sand gleaming under the intense rays as if reflecting the beams of gigantic mirrors. Heat-waves quivered in the moist air. This was the beach that had witnessed the strange career of John Howard, a Yankee sailor who had fled a Yankee ship fifty years before and made his bed for good and all in the Marquesas. Lying Bill Pincher had told me the story. Howard, known to the natives as T'yonny, had been welcomed by them in their generous way, and the _tahuna_ had decorated him from head to foot in the very highest style of the period. In a few years, what with this tattooing and with sunburn, one would have sworn him to be a Polynesian. He was ambitious, and by alliances acquired an entire valley, which he left to his son, T'yonny Junior. Mr. Howard, senior, garbed himself like the natives and was like them in many ways, but he retained a deep love for his country and its flag, and when he saw an American man-of-war entering the harbor, he went aboard with his many tawny relatives-in-law. The captain was amazed to hear him talking with the sailors. "'E was blooming well knocked off 'is pins," said Lying Bill. "'Blow me!' 'e sez, 'if that blooming cannibal don't talk the King's English as if 'e was born in New York!' 'E 'ad 'im down in the cabin to 'ave a drink, thinking 'e was a big chief. 'Oward took a cigar and smoked it and drank 'is whiskey with a gulp and a wry face like all Americans. "'I must say,' sez the captain, 'you're the most intelligent 'eathen I've seen in the 'ole blooming run.' "'Eathen?' sez 'Oward. 'Me a 'eathen! I was born in Iowa, and I'm a blooming good American.'" "'What, you an American citizen?' sez the captain. 'Born in my own state, and painted up like Sitting Bull on the warpath? Get off this ship,' sez 'e, wild, 'get off this ship, or I'll put you in irons and take you back to the blooming jail you escaped from!' "'Oward leaped over the side and swum ashore." An avenue ran the length of the beach, shaded by trees, and crossing a gentle stream. Along this avenue was all the life and commerce of Tai-o-hae. Two traders' shops, empty offices, a gendarme, a handful of motley half-castes lounging under the trees--this was all that was left of former greatness. Only nature had not changed. It flung over the broken remnants of the glory and the dream its lovely cloak of verdure and of flower. Man had almost ceased to be a figure in the scene he had dominated for untold centuries. Crossing the stepping-stones of the brook we met a darkish, stout man in overalls. "Good morn'," he said pleasantly. I looked at him and guessed his name at once. "Good-morning," I answered. "You are the son of T'yonny." "My father, Mist' Howard, dead," he said. "You _Menike_ like him?" Before I could answer something entered my ear and something my nose. These somethings buzzed and bit fearsomely. I coughed and sputtered. An old woman on the bank was sitting in the smudge of a fire of cocoanut husks. She was scratching her arms and legs, covered with angry red blotches. "The _nonos_ never stop biting," she said in French. These _nonos_ are the dread sand-flies that Père Victorien had run from to get some sleep in Atuona. They are a kind of gadfly, red-hot needles on wings. We sauntered along the road, tormented by the buzzing pests at which we constantly slapped and, crossing a tiny bridge over the brook, approached the Mission of Tai-o-hae, that once pompous and powerful center of the diffusion of the faith throughout the Marquesas. The road was lined with guavas, mangos, cocoanuts, and tamarinds, all planted with precision and care. The ambitious fathers who had begun these plantings scores of years before had provided the choicest fruits for their table. All over the world the members of the great religious orders of Europe have carried the seeds of the best varieties of fruits and flowers, of trees and shrubs and vegetables; more than organized science they deserve the credit for introducing non-native species into all climes. About the mission grounds was a stone wall, stout and fairly high, which had assured protection when orgies of indulgence in rum had made the natives brutal. The clergy must survive if souls are to be saved. Within the wall stood the church, the school, and a rambling rectory, all made beautiful by age and the artistry of tropical nature. Mosses and lichens, mosaics of many shades of green, faint touches of red and yellow mould, covered the old walls which were fast decaying and falling to pieces. By the half-unhinged door stood an old man of venerable figure, his long beard still dark, though his hair was quite white. He wore a soiled soutane down to the ankles of his rusty shoes, a sweaty, stained, smothering gown of black broadcloth, which rose and fell with his hurried respiration. His eyes of deepest brown, large and lustrous, were the eyes of an old child, shining with simple enthusiasms and lit with a hundred memories of worthy accomplishments or efforts. [Illustration: Père Simeon Delmas' church at Tai-o-hae] [Illustration: Gathering the _feis_ in the mountains] Père Victorien presented me, saying that I was a lover of the Marquesas, and specially interested in Joan of Arc. Père Simeon seized me by the hand and, drawing me toward him, gave me the accolade as if I were a reunited brother. Then he presented me to a Marquesan man at his side, "_Le chef de l'isle de Huapu_," who was waiting to escort him to that island that he might say mass and hear confession. The chief was for leaving at once, and Père Simeon lamented that he had no time in which to talk to me. I said I had heard it bruited in my island of Hiva-oa that the celebration of the fete of Joan of Arc had been marked by extraordinary events indicating a special appreciation by the heavenly hosts. Tears came into the eyes of the old priest. He dismissed the chief at once, and after saying farewell to Père Victorien, who was embarking immediately for his own island of Haitheu, Père Simeon and I entered his study, a pitifully shabby room where rickety furniture, quaking floor, tattered wall-coverings, and cracked plates and goblets spelled the story of the passing of an institution once possessing grandeur and force. Seated in the only two sound chairs, with wine and cigarettes before us, we took up the subject so dear to Père Simeon's heart. "I am glad if you cannot be a Frenchman that at least you are not an Englishman," he said fervently. "God has punished England for the murder of Jeanne d'Arc. That day at Rouen when they burned my beloved patroness ended England. Now the English are but merchants, and they have a heretical church. "You should have seen the honors we paid the Maid here. _Mais, Monsieur_, she has done much for these islands. The natives love her. She is a saint. She should be canonized. But the opposition will not down. There is reason to believe that the devil, Satan himself, or at least important aides of his, are laboring against the doing of justice to the Maid. She is powerful now, and doubtless has great influence with the Holy Virgin in Heaven, but as a true saint she would be invincible." The old priest's eyes shone with his faith. "You do not doubt her miraculous intercession?" I asked. Père Simeon lit another cigarette, watered his wine, and lifted from a shelf a sheaf of pamphlets. They were hectographed, not printed from type, for he is the human printing-press of all this region, and all were in his clear and exquisite writing. He held them and referred to them as he went on. "She was born five hundred years ago on the day of the procession in Tai-o-hae. That itself is a marvel. Such an anniversary occurs but twice in a millennium. After all my humble services in these islands that I should be permitted to be here on such a wonderful day proves to me the everlasting mercy of God. Here is the account I have written in Marquesan of her life, and here the record of the fête upon the anniversary." As he showed me the brochures written beautifully in purple and red inks, recording the history of the Maid of Orleans, with many canticles in her praise, learned dissertations upon her career and holiness, maps showing her march and starred at Oleane, Kopiegne, and Rua to indicate that great things had occurred at Orleans, Compiègne, and Rouen, Père Simeon pointed out to me that it was of supreme importance that the Marquesan people should be given a proper understanding of the historical and geographical conditions of England and France in Joan's time. He had spent months, even years, in preparing for the celebration of her fête-day. "And _Monsieur_, by the blessed grace of Joan, only the whites got drunk. Not a Marquesan was far gone in liquor throughout the three days of the feast. There was temptation in plenty, for though I gave only the chiefs and a few intimates any wine, several of the Europeans in their enthusiasm for our dear patroness distributed absinthe and rum to those who had the price. There was a moment when it seemed touch and go between the devil and Joan. But, oh, how she came to our rescue! I reproached the whites, locked up the rum, and Joan did the rest. It was a three-days' feast of innocence." "But there are not many whites here?" I asked. "No," he replied. "There are one hundred and twenty people in Tai-o-hae now, and but a few are whites. Alas, _mon ami_, they do not set a good example. They mean well; they are brave men, but they do not keep the commandments. Here is a chart I drew showing the rise of the church since Peter. It is divided into twenty periods, and I have allotted the fifteenth to Joan. She well merits a period." My mind continually harked back to the prompting of Père Victorien concerning the horse and the girl of the jubilee. "There were signs at the commemoration?" I interposed. Père Simeon glanced at me eagerly. His naivete was not of ignorance of men and their motives. He had confessed royalty, cannibals, pirates, and nuns. The souls of men were naked under his scrutiny. But his faith burned like a lambent flame, and to win to the standard of the Maid of Orleans one who would listen was a duty owed her, and a rare chance to aid a fellow mortal. He rose and brushed the cigarette ashes down the front of his frayed cassock as an old native woman responded to his call and brought another bottle of Bordeaux. The _nonos_ were incessantly active. I slapped at them constantly and sucked at the wounds they made. But he paid no attention to them at all except when they attacked him under his soutane; then he struck convulsively at the spot. "God sends us such trials to brighten our crown," he said comfortingly. "I have seen white men dead from the _nonos_. They were not here in the old days, but since the jungle has overrun us because of depopulation, they are frightful. During the mass, when the priest cannot defend himself, they are worst, as if sent by the devil who hates the holy sacrifice. But, _mon vieux_, you were asking about those signs. _Alors_, I will give the facts to you, and you can judge." He poured me a goblet of the wine; I removed my cotton coat, covered my hands with it, against the gadflies, and prepared to listen. "Seven years before the great anniversary," said Père Simeon, sipping his wine, "I thought out my plan. There would be masses, vespers, benedictions, litanies, and choirs. But my mind was set upon a representation of the Maid as she rode into Rheims to crown the king after her victories. She was, you will remember, clothed all in white armor and rode a white horse, both the emblems of purity. That was the note I would sound, for I believe too much had been made of Joan the warrior, Joan the heroine, and not enough of Joan the saint. Oh, _Monsieur_, there have been evil forces at work there!" He clasped his thigh with both hands and groaned, and I knew that though a _nono_ had bitten him there, his anguish was more of soul than body. I lighted his cigarette, as he proceeded: "Two things were needful above all; a handsome white horse and a Marquesan girl of virtue. Three years before the jubilee I was enabled, through a gift inspired by Joan, to buy a horse of that kind in Hiva-oa. I had this mare pastured on that island until the time came for bringing her here. "Now as to the girl, I found in the nun's school a child who was beautiful, strong, and good. Her father was the captain of a foreign vessel and had dwelt here for a time; he was of your country. Of the mother I will not speak. The girl was everything to be desired. But this was seven years before the day of the fête. That was a difficulty. "I stressed to the good sisters the absolute necessity of bringing up the child in the perfect path of sanctity. I had her dedicated to Joan, and special prayers were said by me and by the nuns that the evil one would not trap her into the sins of other Marquesan girls. Also she was observed diligently. For seven years we watched and prayed, and _Monsieur_, we succeeded. I will not say that it was a miracle, but it was a very striking triumph for Joan. "That for the human; now for the beast. A month before the fête I commissioned Captain Capriata to bring the mare to Tai-o-hae in his schooner. The animal came safely to the harbor. She was still on deck when a storm arose, and Capriata thought it best for him to lift his anchor and go to the open sea. The wind was driving hard toward the shore, and there was danger of shipwreck." The old priest stood up and, leading me to a window, pointed to the extreme end of the horseshoe circle of the bay. "See that point," he said. "Right there, just as Capriata swung his vessel to head for the sea, the mare broke loose from her halter, and in a bound reached the rail of the schooner and leaped into the waves. Capriata could do nothing. The schooner was in peril, and he, with his hand upon the wheel and his men at the sails, could only utter an oath. He confesses he did that, and you will find no man more convinced of the miracle than he." The aged missionary paused, his eyes glowing. The _nonos_ that settled in a swarm on his swollen, poisoned hands were nothing to him in the rapture of that memory. "This happened at night. Throughout the darkness the schooner stayed outside the bay, returning only at daylight. Immediately after anchoring, the captain hastened to inform me of the misfortune, and found me saying mass. It was one of the few times he had ever been in the sacred edifice." Père Simeon smiled, and held up one finger to emphasize my attention. "As soon as mass was finished, Capriata told me of what had happened, and his certainty that the mare was drowned. I fell on my knees and said a despairing prayer to Joan. That instant we heard a neigh outside, and rushing out of the church, we saw, cropping the grass in the mission enclosure, the white mare that was destined to bear the figure of Joan in the celebration of her fete." I could not restrain an exclamation of amazement. "_Vraiment?_" "_Absolument_," answered Père Simeon. "Unbelievers might explain that waves swept the mare ashore, and that through some instinct she found her way along the beach or over the hills. But that she should come to the mission grounds, to the very spot where her home was to be, though she had never seen the islands before--no, my friend, not even the materialist could explain that as less than supernatural. I have sent the proofs to our order in Belgium. They will form part of the evidence that will one day be offered to bring about the canonization of Joan." "And the procession, was it successful?" I inquired. "_Mais oui!_ It was magnificent. When it started there was a grand fanfare of trumpets, drums, fireworks, and guns. Never was there such a noise here since the days of battle between the whites and the natives. There were four choirs of fifty voices each, the natives from all these nearby islands, each with a common chant in French and particular _himines_ in Marquesan. I walked first with the Blessed Sacrament; then came Captain Capriata with the banner of the mission, and then, proceeded by a choir, came the virgin on the white horse. "She was all in silver armor, as was the mare. Two years before I had sent to France for the pasteboard and the silver paper, and had made the armor. The helmet was the _pièce de résistance_. The girl wore it as the Maid herself, and sat the horse without faltering, despite the _nonos_ and the heat. It was a wonderful day for Joan and for the Marquesas." He sat for a moment lost in the vision. "So it was all as you had planned?" "_Mon ami_, it was not I, but Joan herself, to whom all honor belongs. There was a moment--Captain Capriata had taken absinthe with his morning _popoi_, and was unsteady. He stumbled. I called to him to breathe a prayer to his patron saint--he is of Ajaccio in Corsica--and to call upon Joan for aid. He straightened up at once, after one fall, and bore the white banner of the Maid in good style from the mission to the deserted inn by the leper-house. "We had three superb feasts, one on each day of the fête. We had speeches and songs, three masses a day to accommodate all, four first communicants, and two marriages. I will tell you, though it may be denied by the commercial missionaries, that five protestants attended and recanted." Père Simeon's eyes flashed as he recalled those memorable days. He fell into a reverie, scratching his legs after the _nonos_ and letting his cigarette go out. I arose to depart. He must go to Huapu with the chief, who was again at the door, "And did the fête help the parish?" I asked with that bromidic zeal to please that so often discloses the fly just when the ointment's smell is sweetest. "Alas!" he replied, with a sorrowful shake of his beard. "Even the girl who had worn the white armor leaped from the mast of a ship to escape infamy and was drowned. Yet there was grandeur of sacrifice in that. But for the others, they die fast, too. Some day the priest will be alone here without a flock." He picked up a garment or two, placed the Holy Sacrament with pious care in his breast, and we walked together through the mournful and decaying village, passing a few melancholy natives. I said to Père Simeon as he stepped into the canoe, "You are like a shepherd who pursues his sheep wherever they may wander, to gather them into the fold at last." "_C'est vrai_," he smiled sadly. "The bishop himself had to go to Hiva-oa from here, because there were really not enough people left alive for the seat of his bishopric. At least, there will be some here when I die, for I am old. Ah, thirty years ago, when I came here, there were souls to be saved! Thousands of them. But I love the last one. There are still a hundred left on Huapu. There is work yet, for the devil grows more active yearly." CHAPTER XXV America's claim to the Marquesas; adventures of Captain Porter in 1812; war between Haapa and Tai-o-hae, and the conquest of Typee valley. America might have been responsible for the death of the Marquesan race had not the young nation been engaged in a deadly struggle with Great Britain when an American naval captain, David Porter, seized Nuka-hiva. A hundred years ago the Stars and Stripes floated over the little hill above the bay, and American cannon upon it commanded the village of Tai-o-hae. Beneath the verdure is still buried the proclamation of Porter, with coins of the young republic, unless the natives dug up the bottle after the destruction of the last of Porter's forces. They witnessed the ceremony of its planting, which must have appeared to them a ritual to please the powerful gods of the whites. Unless respect for the _tapu_ placed on the bottle by "Opotee" restrained them, they probably brought it to the light and examined the magic under its cork. The adventures of Porter here were as strange and romantic as those of any of the hundreds of the gypsies of the sea who sailed this tropic and spilled the blood of a people unused to their ways and ignorant of their inventions and weapons of power. Porter had left the United States in command of the frigate _Essex_, to destroy British shipping, capture British ships, and British sailors. Porter, son and nephew of American naval officers, destined to be foster-father of Farragut, the first American admiral, and father of the great Admiral Porter, was then in his early thirties and loved a fight. He harried the British in the Atlantic, doubled Cape Horn without orders, and did them evil on the high seas, and at last, with many prisoners and with prize crews aboard his captures, he made for the Marquesas to refresh his men, repair his ships, and get water, food, and wood for the voyage home. In Tai-o-hae Bay he moored his fleet, and was met by flocks of friendly canoes and great numbers of the beautiful island women, who swam out to meet the strangers. Among them he found Wilson, an Englishman who had long been here and who was tattooed from head to foot. On first seeing this man Porter was strongly prejudiced against him, but found him extremely useful as an interpreter, and concluded that he was an inoffensive fellow whose only failing was a strong attachment to rum. With Wilson's eagerly offered help, Porter made friends with the people of Tai-o-hae, established a camp on shore, and set about revictualing his fleet. The tribes of Tai-o-hae, or Tieuhoy, as Porter called it, were annoyed by the combative Hapaa tribe, or collection of tribes, which dwelt in a nearby valley, and these doughty warriors came within half a mile of the American camp, cut down the breadfruit trees, and made hideous gestures of derision at the white men. In response, Porter landed a six-pound gun, tremendously heavy, and said that if the Tai-o-hae tribe would carry it to the top of a high mountain overlooking the Hapaa valley, he would drive the Hapaas from the hills where they stood and threatened to descend. To Porter's amazement, the Tai-o-hae men, surmounting incredible difficulties, laid the gun in position, and as the Hapaas scorned the futile-looking contrivance and declared that they would not make peace with the whites, Porter sent his first assistant with forty men, armed with muskets and accompanied by natives carrying these weapons and ammunition for the cannon. The battle began with a great roar of exploding gunpowder, and from the ships the Americans saw their men driving from height to height the Hapaas, who fought as they retreated, daring the enemy to follow them. A friendly native bore the American flag and waved it in triumph as he skipped from crag to crag, well in the rear of the white men who pursued the fleeing enemy. In the afternoon the victorious forces descended, carrying five dead. The Hapaas, fighting with stones flung from slings and with spears, had taken refuge, to the number of four or five thousand, in a fortress on the brow of a hill. Not one of them had been wounded, and from their impassable heights they threw down jeers and showers of stones upon the retiring Tai-o-haes and their white allies. This was intolerable. On the second day, with augmented forces, the Americans stormed the height and took the fort, killing many Hapaas, who, knowing nothing of the effect of musket bullets, fought till dead. The wounded were dispatched with war-clubs by the Tai-o-haes, who dipped their spears in the blood. Wilson said the Tai-o-haes would eat the corpses. Porter, horrified, interrogated his allies, who denied any such horrid appetite, so that Porter was not sure what to believe. The Hapaas were now become lovers of the whites, and sent a deputation to complain that the Taipis (Typees), in another valley, harrassed them and, being their traditional enemies, were contemplating raiding Hapaa Valley. The Typees were the most terrible of all the Nuka-hivans, with four thousand fighting men, with strongest fortifications and the most resolute hearts. The Typees were informed that they must be peaceful, also that they must send many presents as proof of friendliness, or the white men would drive them from their valley. The Typees replied that if Porter were strong enough, he could come and take them. They said the Americans were white lizards; they could not climb the mountains without Marquesans to carry their guns, and yet they talked of chastising the Typees, who had never fled before an enemy and whose gods were unbeatable. They dared the white men to come among them. At this juncture Porter faced treachery in his own camp. He had many English prisoners captured from British ships, and these made a plot to escape by poisoning the rum of the Americans. Porter learned of this, and finding an American sentry asleep he shot him with his own hand, and ordered every Englishman put in irons. He was also troubled by mutinies among his own men, who were loth to face any more battles, being contented as they were with plenty of drink, the best of food, and the passionate devotion of the native women, who thronged the camp day and night. With no light hand Porter put down revolt and mutiny, and prepared to begin war on the Typees. First he built a strong fort, assisted by the Tai-o-haes and Hapaas, and there he took possession of the Marquesas in the name of the United States. On November 19, 1813, the American flag was run up over the fort, a salute of seventeen guns was fired from the artillery mounted there and answered from the ships in the bay. Rum was freely distributed, and standing in a great concourse of wondering natives, with the Englishman, Wilson, at his side interpreting his words, Porter read the following proclamation: It is hereby made known to the world that I, David Porter, a captain in the navy of the United States of America, now in command of the United States frigate _Essex_, have, on the part of the United States, taken possession of the island called by the natives Nooaheevah, generally known by the name of Sir Henry Martin's Island, but now called Madison's Island. That by the request and assistance of the friendly tribes residing in the valley of Tieuhoy, as well as of the tribes residing on the mountains, whom we have conquered and rendered tributary to our flag, I have caused the village of Madison to be built, consisting of six convenient houses, a rope-walk, bakery, and other appurtenances, and for the protection of the same, as well as for that of the friendly natives, I have constructed a fort calculated for mounting sixteen guns, whereon I have mounted four, and called the same Fort Madison. Our rights to this island being founded on Priority of discovery, conquest, and possession, cannot be disputed. But the natives, to secure to themselves that friendly protection which their defenseless situation so much required, have requested to be admitted into the great American family, whose pure republican policy approaches so near their own. And in order to encourage these views to their own interest and happiness, as well as to render secure our claim to an island valuable on many considerations, I have taken on myself to promise them that they shall be so adopted; that our chief shall be their chief; and they have given assurances that such of their brethren as may hereafter visit them from the United States shall enjoy a welcome and hospitable reception among them and be furnished with whatever refreshments and supplies the island may afford; that they will protect them against all their enemies and as far as lies in their power prevent the subjects of Great Britain from coming among them until peace shall take place between the two nations. There followed a list of the tribes from whom Porter had received presents, to the number of thirty-one tribes, and the document continued: Influenced by considerations of humanity, which promise speedy civilization to a race of men who enjoy every mental and bodily endowment which nature can bestow, and which requires only art to perfect, as well as by views of policy, which secure to my country a fruitful and populous island possessing every advantage of security and supplies for ships, and which of all others is most happily situated as respects climate and local position, I do declare that I have, in the most solemn manner, under the American flag displayed in Fort Madison and in the presence of numerous witnesses, taken possession of the said island for the use of the United States. To the guileless natives, made happy with rum, listening to the necessarily imperfect translation of these words, the ceremony may well have been a strange magic to unknown gods, but it is not difficult to imagine the feelings of Wilson, the tattooed Englishman, as he translated this proclamation giving the rich and happy islands to a country at war with his own. He listened and repeated, however, with patriotic protests unuttered, and prepared to assist Porter in his contemplated war against the Typees. A week later one of the warships, with five boats and ten war-canoes, sailed for the Typee beach. Ten canoes of Hapaas joined them there. The tops of all the neighboring mountains were thronged with friendly warriors armed with clubs, spears, and slings, and altogether not less than five thousand men were in the forces under Porter, among them thirty-five Americans with guns, which he thought enough. The Typees pelted them with stones as they sat at breakfast, and Porter sent a native ambassador, offering peace at the price of submission. He came back, running madly and bruised by his reception. Porter then ordered the advance. The company advanced into the bushes, and were received by a veritable rain of stones and spears. Not an enemy was in sight. On all sides they heard the snapping sound of the slings, the whistling of the stones, the sibilant hiss of the spears that at every step fell in increasing numbers, but they could not see whence they came, and no whisper or rustle of underbrush revealed the lurking Typees. They pushed on, hoping to get through the thicket, which Wilson had assured them was of no great extent. Lieutenant Down's leg was shattered by a stone, and Porter had to send a party with him to the rear. This left but twenty-four white men. The native allies did no fighting, but merely looked on. They were not going to make bitterer enemies of the Typees if the godlike whites could not whip them. The situation was desperate. However, Porter chose to go on. They crossed a river, and in a jungle had to crawl on their hands and knees to make progress. They thought themselves happy to make their way through this, but immediately found themselves confronted by a high wall of rock, beyond which the enemy took their stand and showered down stones. The cartridges were almost exhausted. Porter sent four men to the ship for more, and, with three men knocked senseless by stones, was reduced to sixteen men. There was nothing to do but run for safety, and pursued by the sneering foe, they gained the beach. Thence he sent another messenger to the Typees offering them another chance to surrender and pay tribute. The Typees returned word that they "had driven the whites before them, that their guns missed fire often, that bullets were not as painful as stones or spears, that they had plenty of men to spare and the whites had not. They had counted the boats, knew the number they would carry, and laughed at the whites." The Hapaas and other allies came down from the hills and began to discuss the victory of the Typees, with fear in their voices and a certain disdain of the whites. Porter ordered his men into the boats to return to the ship, but scarcely had they reached it when the Typees rushed on the Hapaas and drove them into the water. Porter returned to Tai-o-hae. There he saw no alternative but to whip the Typees soundly. This time he determined to lack no force, and to go without allies. He selected two hundred men from his ships and prizes, and, with guides, upon a moonlight evening started to march overland to Typee Valley. At midnight they heard the drums beating in Typee Valley. They had had a fearful march over mountain and dale and around yawning precipices. Silently they had struggled on, so as to give no hint of their intention to Typee sentinels or even to a Hapaa village. Numbers of the Tai-o-hae had followed them, but quietly, and these now told Porter that the songs floating up from the Typee settlements were rejoicings at their victory over the Whites and prayers to the gods to send rain to spoil the guns. Porter was for descending at once, but the Tai-o-haes warned him that the path was so steep and dangerous that even in daylight it would take all their skill to go down it. To attempt it at night would be inviting death. The Americans lay down to rest on this height, which commanded Typee Valley, and shortly rain began to fall in torrents. Cries of joy and praise to their gods arose from the Typees. Porter and his men, huddled in puddles, unable to find shelter, and fearful that every blast of the storm might hurl them from their slippery height, tried in vain to keep muskets and powder dry. At daybreak they found half the ammunition useless, and themselves wearied, while the steepness of the track to the valley, and its treacherous condition after the rain made it wise to seek the Hapaas for rest and food. But, first, they fired a volley to let friendly tribes know they still had serviceable weapons, and as threat and warning to the Typees. They heard the echo in the blowing of war-conches, shouts of defiance, and the squealings of the pigs which the Typees began to catch for removal to the rear. The Hapaas were none too pleasant to the whites, and had to be forced by threats to bringing and cooking hogs and breadfruit. All day the Americans rested and prepared their arms, at night they slept, and at the next daybreak they stood again to view the scene of their approaching battle. The valley lay far below them, about nine miles in length and three in width, surrounded on every side, except at the beach, by lofty mountains. The upper part was bounded by a precipice many hundred feet in height, from which a handsome waterfall dropped and formed a meandering stream that found its outlet in the sea. Villages were scattered here and there, in the shade of luxuriant cocoanut- and breadfruit-groves; plantations were laid out in good order, enclosed within stone walls and carefully cultivated; roads hedged with bananas cut across the spread of green; everything spoke of industry, abundance, and happiness. A large force of Typee warriors, gathered beside the river that glided near the foot of the mountain, dared the invaders to descend. In their rear was a fortified village, secured by strong stone walls. Nevertheless, the whites started down, and in a shower of stones captured the village, killed the chief Typee warrior, and chasing his men from wall to wall, slew all who did not escape. Few fled, however; they charged repeatedly, even to the very barrels of the muskets and pistols. Porter realized that he would have to fight his way over every foot of the valley. He cautioned conservation of cartridges, and leaving two small parties behind to guard the wounded, he, with the main body, marched onward, followed by hordes of Tai-o-hae and Hapaa men, who dispatched the wounded Typees with stones and spears. They burned and destroyed ten villages one by one as they were reached, until the head of the valley was reached. At the foot of the waterfall they turned and began the nine-mile tramp to the bay. Again they had to meet spear and stone as they burned temples and homes, great canoes, and wooden gods. Finally Porter attained the fort that had stopped him during the first fight, and found it a magnificent piece of construction, of great basaltic slabs, impregnable from the beach side. He saw that if he had tried that entrance to the valley again, he would have failed as before. Only heavy artillery could have conquered that mighty stronghold. From the beach the Americans climbed by an easier ascent into the mountains, leaving a desolated valley behind them, and after feasting with the Hapaas, they marched back to Tai-o-hae almost dead with fatigue. The Typees sued for peace, and when asked for four hundred hogs sent so many that Porter released five hundred after branding them. He had made peace between all the tribes; war was at an end; and with the island subdued, Porter sailed again to make war on British shipping. He left behind him three captured ships in charge of three officers and twenty men, with six prisoners of war, ordering them to remain five months and then go to Chile if no word came from him. Within a few days the natives began again to show the spirit of resistance and were brought to courtesy by a show of force. Then another difficulty arose. All but eight of the crew joined with the English prisoners in seizing the officers, and put Lieutenant Gamble, the commander, with four loyal seamen, adrift in a small boat, while the mutineers went to sea in one of the English ships. The five men reached another of the ships in the bay, where they learned that Wilson had instigated the mutiny. The worst had not come, for very soon the natives, perhaps also urged on by the Englishman, murdered all the others but Gamble, one seaman, one midshipman, and five wounded men. Of the eight survivors, only one was acquainted with the management of a ship, and all were sufferings from wounds or disease. With these men Lieutenant Gamble put to sea. After incredible hardship, he succeeded in reaching Hawaii, only to be captured by a British frigate which a few weeks earlier had assisted in the capture of the _Essex_ and Captain Porter. The United States never ratified Porter's occupation of Nuka-hiva, and it was left for the French thirty years later to seize the group. At about the same time Herman Melville, an American sailor, ventured overland into Typee Valley, and was captured and treated as a royal guest by the Typee people. He lived there many months, and heard no whisper of the havoc wrought by his countrymen a little time before. The Typees had forgiven and forgotten it; he found them a happy, healthy, beautiful race, living peacefully and comfortably in their communistic society, coveting nothing from each other as there was plenty for all, eager to do honor to a strange guest who, they hoped, would teach them many useful things. CHAPTER XXVI A visit to Typee; story of the old man who returned too late. I said, of course, that I must visit Typee, the scene of Porter's bloody raid and Herman Melville's exploits, and while I was making arrangements to get a horse in Tai-o-hae I met Haus Ramqe, supercargo of the schooner _Moana_, who related a story concerning the valley. "I was working in the store of the Socéité Comerciale de l'Ocean in Tai-o-hae when the _Tropic Bird_, a San Francisco mail-schooner, arrived. That was ten years ago. An old man, an American, came into our place and asked the way to Typee. "'Ah,' I said, 'you have been reading that book by Melville.' He made no reply, but asked me to escort him to the valley. We set out on horseback, and though he had not said that he had ever been in these islands before, I saw that he was strangely interested in the scenes we passed. He was rather feeble with age, and he grew so excited as we neared the valley that I asked him what he expected to see there. "He stopped his horse, and hesitated in his reply. He was terribly agitated. "'I lived in Typee once upon a time,' he said slowly. 'Could there by chance be a woman living there named Manu? That was a long time ago, and I was young. Still, I am here, and she may be, too.' "I looked at him and could not tell him the truth. It was evident he had made no confidant of the captain or crew of the _Tropic Bird_, for they could have told him of the desolation in Typee. I hated, though, to have him plump right into the facts. "'How many people were there in your day?' I asked him. He replied that there were many thousands. "'I lived there three years,' he said. 'I had a sweetheart named Manu, and I married her in the Marquesan way. I was a runaway sailor, and one night on the beach I was captured and taken away on a ship. I have been captain of a great American liner for years, always meaning to come back, and putting it off from year to year. All my people are dead, and I thought I would come now and perhaps find her here and end my days. I have plenty of money.' "He seemed childish to me--perhaps he really had lost mental poise by age. I hadn't the courage to tell him the truth. We came on it soon enough. You must see Typee to realize what people mean to a place. "The _nonos_ were simply hell, but as I had lived a good many years in Tai-o-hae I was hardened to them. The old man slapped at them occasionally, but made no complaint. He hardly seemed to feel them, or to realize what their numbers meant. It was when we pushed up the trail through the valley, and he saw only deserted _paepaes_, that he began to look frightened. "'Are they all gone?' he inquired weakly. "'No,' I said, 'there are fifteen or twenty here.' We came to a clearing and there found the remnant of the Typees. I questioned them, but none had ever heard of him. There had been many Manus,--the word means bird,--but as they were the last of the tribe, she must have been dead before they were born, and they no longer kept in their memories the names of the dead, since there were so many, and all would be dead soon. "The American still understood enough Marquesan to understand their answers, and taking me by the arm he left the horses and led me up the valley till he came to a spot where there were fragments of an old _paepae_, buried in vines and torn apart by their roots. "'We lived here,' he said, and then he sat on the forsaken stones and cried. He said that they had had two children, and he had been sure that at least he would find them alive. His misery made me feel bad, and the damned _nonos_, too, and I cried--I don't know how damn sentimental it was, but that was the way it affected me. The old chap seemed so alone in the world. "'It is three miles from here to the beach,' he said, 'and I have seen men coming with their presents for the chief, walking a yard apart, and yet the line stretched all the way to the beach.' "He could hardly ride back to Tai-o-hae, and he departed with the _Tropic Bird_ without saying another word to any one." Typee, they told me, was half way to Atiheu and a good four miles by horse. The road had been good when the people were many, and was still the main road of the island, leading through the Valley of Hapaa. My steed was borrowed of T'yonny Howard, who, though he owned a valley, poured cement for day's wages. "What I do?" he asked, as if I held the answer. "Nobody to help me work there. I cannot make copra alone. Even here they bring men from other place do work. Marquesan die too fast." If T'yonny revered his father's countrymen, his horse did not. These island horses are unhappy-looking skates, though good climbers and sliders. "You don't need person go with you," said the son of the former living picture. "That horsey know. You stay by him." The saddle must have been strange to the horsey, for uneasiness communicated itself from him to me as we set out, an uneasiness augmented to me by the incessant vicious pricks of the ever-present _nonos_. The way led ever higher above the emerald bay of Tai-o-hae set in the jade of the forest, and valley after valley opened below as the trail edged upward on the face of sheer cliffs or crossed the little plateaus of their summits. Hapaa lay bathed in a purple mist that hid from me the mute tokens of depopulation; Hapaa that had given Porter its thousands of naked warriors, and that now was devoid of human beings. Dipping slightly downward again, the trail lay on the rim of a deep declivity, a sunless gulf in which the tree-tops fell away in rank below rank into dim depths of mistiness. There was no sign of human passing on the vine-grown trail, a vague track through a melancholy wilderness that seemed to breathe death and decay. A spirit of gloom seemed to rise from the shadowed declivity, from the silence of the mournful wood and the damp darkness of the leaf-hidden earth. I had given myself over to musing upon the past, but suddenly in the narrowest part of the trail the beast I rode turned and took my canvas-covered toes in his yellow teeth. A vague momentary flash of horror came over me. Did I bestride a metempsychosized man-eater, a revenant from the bloody days of Nuka-hiva? In those wicked eyes I saw reflected the tales of transmigatory vengeance, from the wolf of Little Red Riding Hood to the ass that one becomes who kills a Brahman. I gave vent at the same second to a shriek of anguish and struck the animal upon the nose, the tenderest part of his anatomy within reach. He released my foot, whirled, cavorted, and, as I seized a tree fern on the bank, went heels over head over the cliff. T'yonny had said to "stay by horsey," but he could not have foreseen the road he would take. I was sorry for him as I heard the reverberations of his crashing fall. No living thing could escape death in such a drop, for though the cliff down which he had disappeared was not absolutely perpendicular, it was nearly so. Peering over it, I could not see his corpse, for fern and tree-top hid all below. At least, I thought, he had surcease of all ills now. And so I descended the steep trail on foot--mostly on one foot--until I reached the vale of Typee. I found myself in a loneliness indescribable and terrible. No sound but that of a waterfall at a distance parted the somber silence. The trail was through a thicket of ferns, trees, and wild flowers. The perfume of _Hinano_, of the _vaovao_, with its delicate blue flowers, and the _vaipuhao_, whose leaves are scented like violets, filled the heavy air, and I passed acres of _kokou_, which looks like tobacco, but has a yellow fruit of delicious odor. It was such a garden as the prince who woke the _Sleeping Beauty_ penetrated to reach the palace where she lay entranced, and something of the same sense of dread magic lay upon it. Humanity was not so much absent as gone, and a feeling of doom and death was in the motionless air, which lay like a weight upon leaf and flower. The thin, sharp buzzing of the _nonos_ was incessant. They had come when man departed; there were none when Porter devastated the valley, nor when Melville spent his happy months here thirty years later. One must move briskly to escape them now, and I was pushing through the bushes that strove to obliterate the trail when I came upon a native. He was so old that he must have been a youth in the valley when it was visited by the American-liner captain as a boy. He was quite nude save for a ragged cincture, and his body had shrunk and puckered, and his skin had folded and discolored until he looked as if life had ebbed away from him and left him high and dry between the past and the hereafter. A ragged chin beard, ashen in hue, hung below his gaping, empty mouth. But there was a spirit in his bosom still, for upon his head he wore a circle of bright flowers to supplement the sparse locks. His eyes were barely openable, and his face, indeed, his whole body, was a coppery green, the soot of the candlenut, black itself, but blue upon the flesh, having turned by age to a mottled and hideous color. Only the striking patterns, where they branched from the biceps to the chest, were plain. That he had been one of the great of Nuka-hiva was certain; the fact was stamped indelibly upon his person, and though worn and faded to the ghastly green of old copper, it remained to proclaim his lineage and his rank. "_Kaoha te iki!_" said this ancient, as he stood in the path. "_Kaoha e!_" I saluted him. "_Puaka piki enata_" he said further, and pointed down the trail. What could he mean? _Puaka_ is pig, _piki_ is to mount or climb, and _enata_ is man. A great white light beat about my brow. "The pig men climb?" Could he mean Rozinante, the steed to whom T'yonny had entrusted me, and who had so basely deserted his trust over a cliff? I hurried on incredulous, and, in a clearing where there were three or four horses, beheld the suicide grazing upon the luscious grass. He had lost much cuticle, and the saddle was in shreds, but the _puaka piki enata_ was evidently in fairly good health. The old man had slowly followed me down the trail, and he stood within the doorway of a rude hut, blinking in the sun as he watched my movements. In the houses were altogether fewer than a dozen people. They sat by cocoanut-husk fires, the acrid smoke of which daunted the _nonos_. The reason any human beings endure such tortures to remain in this gloomy, deserted spot can only be the affection the Marquesan has for his home. Not until epidemics have carried off all but one or two inhabitants in a valley can those remaining be persuaded to leave it. This dozen of the Taipi clan are the remainder of the twenty Ramqe saw with the heartbroken American. They have clung to their lonely _paepaes_ despite their poverty of numbers and the ferocity of the _nonos_. They had clearings with cocoanuts and breadfruit, but they cared no longer to cultivate them, preferring rather to sit sadly in the curling fumes and dream of the past. One old man read aloud the "Gospel of St. John" in Marquesan, and the others listlessly listened, seeming to drink in little comfort from the verses, which he recited in the chanting monotone of their _uta_. Nine miles in length is Typee, from a glorious cataract that leaps over the dark buttress wall where the mountain bounds the valley, to the blazing beach. And in all this extent of marvelously rich land, the one-time fondly cherished abode of the most valiant clan of the Marquesas, of thousands of men and women whose bodies were as beautiful as the models for the statues the Greeks made, whose hearts were generous, and whose minds were eager to learn all good things, there are now this wretched dozen too old or listless to gather their own food. In the ruins of a broken and abandoned _paepae_, in the shadow of an acre-covering banian, I smoked and asked myself what a Christ would think of the havoc wrought by men calling themselves Christians. CHAPTER XXVII Journey on the _Roberta_; the winged cockroaches; arrival at a Swiss paradise in the valley of Oomoa. I sailed from Tai-o-hae for an unknown port, carried by the schooner _Roberta_, which had brought the white mare from Atuona and whose skipper had bore so well the white banner of Joan in the procession that did her honor. The _Roberta_ was the only vessel in those waters and, sailing as she did at the whim of her captain and the necessities of trade, none knew when she might return to Nuka-hiva, so I could but accept the opportunity she offered of reaching the southern group of islands again, and trust to fortune or favor to return me to my own island of Hiva-oa. The _Roberta_ lay low in the water, not so heavily sparred as the _Morning Star_, or with her under-cut stern, but old and battered, built for the business of a thief-catcher, and with a history as scarred as her hull and as slippery as her decks. Was she not once the _Herman_, and before that something else, and yet earlier something else, built for the Russians to capture the artful poachers of the Smoky Sea? And later a poacher herself, and still later stealing men, a black-birder, seizing the unoffending natives of these South Seas and selling them into slavery of mine or plantation, of guano-heap and sickening alien clime. Her decks have run blood, and heard the wailing of the gentle savage torn from his beloved home and lashed or clubbed into submission by the superior white. Name and color and rig had changed time and again, owners and masters had gone to Davy Jones's locker; the old brass cannon on her deck had raked the villages of the Marquesans and witnessed a thousand deeds of murder and rapine. I pulled myself aboard by a topping-lift, climbed upon the low cabin-house, and jumped down to the tiny poop where Jerome Capriata held the helm. This Corsican, with his more than sixty years, most of them in these waters, was a Marquesan in his intuitive skill in handling his schooner in all weather, for knowing these islands by a glimpse of rock or tree, for landing and taking cargo in all seas. Old and worn, like the _Roberta_, he was known to all who ranged the southern ocean. What romances he had lived and seen were hidden in his grizzled bosom, for he said little, and nothing of himself. The supercargo, Henry Lee, a Norwegian of twenty-five years, six of which he had passed among the islands, set out the rum and wine and a clay bottle of water. He introduced me to Père Olivier, a priest of the mission, whose charge was in the island of Fatu-hiva. From him I learned that the _Roberta_ was bound for Oomoa, a port of that Island. That I had not been given the vaguest idea what our first landfall would be was indicative of the secrecy maintained by these traders in the competition for copra. The supply being limited, often it is the first vessel on the spot after a harvest that is able to buy it, and captains of schooners guard their movements as an army its own during a campaign. The traders trust one another as a cat with a mouse trusts another cat. The priest was sitting on a ledge below the taffrail, and I spoke to him in Spanish, as I had heard it was his tongue. His _buenos dias_ in reply was hearty, and his voice soft and rich. A handsome man was Padre Olivier, though in sad disorder. His black soutane, cut like the woolen gown of our grandmothers, was soaking wet, and his low rough shoes were muddy. A soiled bandana was about his head. His finely chiseled features, benign and intelligent, were framed by a snow-white beard, and his eyes, large and limpid, looked benevolence itself. He was all affability, and eager to talk about everything in the world. The rain, which all day had been falling at intervals, began again, and as the _Roberta_ entered the open sea, she began to kick up her heels. Our conversation languished. When the supercargo called us below for dinner, pride and not appetite made me go. The priest answered with a groan. Padre Olivier was prostrate on the deck, his noble head on a pillow, his one piece of luggage, embroidered with the monogram of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the needlework of the nuns of Atuona. "I am seasick if I wade in the surf," said the priest, in mournful jest. The _Roberta's_ cabin was a dark and noisome hole, filled with demijohns and merchandise, with two or three untidy bunks in corners, the air soaked with the smells of thirty years of bilge-water, sealskins, copra, and the cargoes of island traffic. Capriata, Harry Lee, and I sat on boxes at a rough table, which we clutched as the _Roberta_ pitched and rolled. [Illustration: Near the Mission at Hanavave] [Illustration: Starting from Hanavave for Oomoa] When the ragged cook brought the first dish, unmistakably a cat swimming in a liquid I could have sworn by my nose to be drippings from an ammonia tank, I protested a lack of hunger for any food. My ruse passed for the moment, but was exposed by a flock or swarm of cockroaches, which, scenting a favorite food, suddenly sprang upon the table and upon us, leaping and flying into the plates and drawing Corsican curses from Capriata and Norwegian maledictions from Lee. I did not wait to see them throwing the invaders from the battlements of the table into the moat of salt water and spilt wine below, but quickly, though feebly, climbed to the deck and laid myself beside Père Olivier, nor could cries that the enemy had been defeated and that "only a few" were flying about, summon me below again. Père Olivier and I stayed prone all night in alternate pelting rain and flooding moonlight, as a fair wind bowled us along at six knots an hour. Padre Olivier, between naps, recited his rosary to take his mind from his woes. I could tell when he finished a decade by his involuntary start as he began a new one. I had no such comfort as beads and prayers, and the flight of those schooner griffins had struck me in the solar plexus of imagination. "Accept them as stations of the cross," said the priest. "This life is but a step to heaven." I replied with some comments indicating my belief that cockroaches belonged on a still lower rung, and going in an opposite direction. "I know those _blattes_, those _saligauds_," he said with sympathy. "They are sent by Satan to provoke us to blasphemy. I never go below." Those pests of insects can hardly be estimated at their true dreadfulness by persons unacquainted with the infamous habits of the nocturnal beetle of the tropics. Sluggish creatures in the temperate zone, in warm countries they develop the power of flying, and obstacles successfully interposed to their progress in countries where they merely crawl are ineffectual here. They had entire possession of the _Roberta_. The supercargo, Lee, was not to be blamed, for he told me that once he had taken time in port to capture by poisonous lures a number he calculated at eight thousand, and that within a month those who had escaped had repopulated the old schooner as before. Then he despaired, and let them have sway. To sleep or eat among them was not possible to me, and the voyage was a nightmare not relieved by an incident of the second night. Capriata, whose feet were calloused from going bare for years, awoke from a deep slumber that had been aided by rum, to find that the cockroaches in his berth had eaten through the half inch or more of hard skin and had begun to devour his flesh. With blasphemous and blood-chilling yells he bounded on deck, where he sat treating the wounds and cursing unrestrainedly for some time before joining Père Olivier and me in democratic slumber on the bare boards. Several weeks later his feet had not recovered from their envenomed sores. When eight bells sounded the hour of four, I got upon my feet and in the mellow dawn saw a panorama of peak and precipice, dark and threatening, the coast of Fatu-hiva and the entrance to Oomoa Bay, the southernmost island of the Marquesas, and the harbor in which the first white men who saw the islands anchored over three hundred years ago. Those Spaniards, on whose ships the cross was seen in cabin and forecastle, on gun and halberd, murdered many Marquesans at Oomoa to glut their taste for blood. The standard of death the white flew then has never been lowered. Oomoa and Hanavave, the adjacent bay and village, were resorts for whalers, who brought a plague of ills that reduced the population of Fatu-hiva from many thousands to less than three hundred. Consumption was first brought to the islands by one of these whalers, and made such alarming inroads on the people of Hanavave that most of the remainder forsook their homes and crossed to the island of Tahuata, to escape the devil the white man had let loose among them. We sailed on very slowly after the mountains had robbed us of the breeze, and when daylight succeeded the false dawn, we dropped our mud hooks a thousand feet from the beach. On it we could see a little wooden church and two dwellings, dwarfed to miniature by the grim pinnacles of rock, crude replicas of the towers of the Alhambra, slender minarets beside the giant cliffs, which were clothed with creeping plants in places and in places bare as the sides of a living volcano. The fantastic and majestic assemblage of rock shapes on the shores of Fatu-hiva appeared as if some Herculean sculptor with disordered brain and mighty hand had labored to reproduce the fearful chimeras of his dreams. The priest and I, with the supercargo, went ashore in a boat at six o'clock, and reached a beach as smooth and inviting as that of Atuona. A canoe was waiting for Père Olivier; he climbed into it at once, his black wet robe clinging to him, and called "_Adios!_" as his men paddled rapidly for Hanavave, where he was to say mass and hear confessions. Lee and I took a road lined with a wall of rocks, and passing many sorts of trees and plants entered an enclosure through a gate. After a considerable walk through a thrifty plantation, we were in front of a European house which gave signs of comfort and taste. At the head of a flight of stairs on the broad veranda was a man in gold-rimmed eye-glasses and a red breechclout. His well-shaped, bald head and punctilious manner would have commanded attention in any attire. I was introduced to Monsieur François Grelet, a Swiss, who had lived here for more than twenty years, and who during that time had never been farther away than a few miles. Not even Tahiti had drawn him to it. Since he arrived, at the age of twenty-four years, he had dwelt contentedly in Oomoa. After we had chatted for a few moments he invited me to be his guest. I thought of the _Roberta_ and those two kinds of cockroaches, the Blatta orientalis and the Blatta germanica, who raid by night and by day respectively; I looked at Grelet's surroundings, and I accepted. While the _Roberta_ gathered what copra she could and flitted, I became a resident of Oomoa until such time as chance should give me passage to my own island. Twenty years before my host had planted the trees that embowered his home. With the Swiss farmer's love of order, he had neglected nothing to make neat, as nature had made beautiful, his surroundings. "I learned agriculture and dairying on my father's farm in Switzerland," said Grelet. "At school I learned more of their theory, and when I had seen the gay cities of Europe, I went to the new world to live. I was first at Pecos City, New Mexico, where I had several hundred acres' of government land. I brought grape-vines from Fresno, in California, but the water was insufficient for the sterile soil, and I was forced to give up my land. From San Francisco I sailed on the brig _Galilee_ for Tahiti. I have never finished the journey, for when the brig arrived at Tai-o-hae I left her and installed myself on the _Eunice_, a small trading-schooner, and for a year I remained aboard her, visiting all the islands of the Marquesas and becoming so attached to them that I bought land and settled down here." Grelet looked about him and smiled. "It isn't bad, _hein_?" It was not. From the little cove where his boat-house stood a road swept windingly to his house through a garden of luxuriant verdure. Mango and limes, breadfruit and cocoanut, _pomme de Cythère_, orange and papaws, banana and alligator-pear, candlenut and chestnut, mulberry and sandalwood, _tou_, the bastard ebony, and rosewood, the rose-apple with purple tasseled flowers and delicious fruit, the pistachio and the _badamier_, scores of shrubs and bushes and magnificent tree-ferns, all on a tangled sward of white spider-lilies, great, sweet-smelling plants, an acre of them, and with them other ferns of many kinds, and mosses, the nodding _taro_ leaves and the _ti_, the leaves which the Fatu-hivans make into girdles and wreaths; all grew luxuriantly, friendly neighbors to the Swiss, set there by him or volunteering for service in the generous way of the tropics. The lilies, oranges, and pandanus trees yielded food for the bees, whose thatched homes stood thick on the hillside above the house. Grelet was a skilled apiarist, and replenished his melliferous flocks by wild swarms enticed from the forests. The honey he strained and bottled, and it was sought of him by messengers from all the islands. Orchard and garden beyond the house gave us Valencia and Mandarin oranges, lemons, _feis_, Guinea cherries, pineapples, Barbadoes cherries, sugar-cane, sweet-potatoes, watermelons, cantaloups, Chile peppers, and pumpkins. Watercress came fresh from the river. Cows and goats browsed about the garden, but Grelet banned pigs to a secluded valley to run wild. One of the cows was twenty-two years old, but daily gave brimming buckets of milk for our refreshment. Beef and fish, breadfruit and _taro_, good bread from American flour, rum, and wine both red and white, with bowls of milk and green cocoanuts, were always on the table, a box of cigars, packages of the veritable Scaferlati Supérieur tobacco, and the Job papers, and a dozen pipes. No king could fare more royally than this Swiss, who during twenty years had never left the forgotten little island of Fatu-hiva. His house, set in this bower of greenery, of flowers and perfumes, was airy and neat, whitewashed both inside and out, with a broad veranda painted black. Two bedrooms, a storeroom in which he sold his merchandise, and a workroom, sufficed for all his needs. The veranda was living-room and dining-room; raised ten feet from the earth on breadfruit-tree pillars placed on stone, it provided a roof for his forge, for his saddle-and-bridle room, and for the small kitchen. The ceilings in the house were of wood, but on the veranda he had cleverly hung a canvas a foot below the roof. The air circulated above it, bellying it out like a sail and making the atmosphere cool. Under this was his dining-table, near a very handsome buffet, both made by Grelet of the false ebony, for he was a good carpenter as he was a crack boatsman, farmer, cowboy, and hunter. Here we sat over pipe and cigarette after dinner, wine at our elbows, the garden before us, and discussed many things. Grelet had innumerable books in French and German, all the great authors old and modern; he took the important reviews of Germany and France, and several newspapers. He knew much more than I of history past and present, of the happenings in the great world, art and music and invention, finances and politics. He could name the cabinets of Europe, the characters and records of their members, or discuss the quality of Caruso's voice as compared with Jean de Reszke's, though he had heard neither. Twenty-two years ago he had left everything called civilization, he had never been out of the Marquesas since that time; he lived in a lonely valley in which there was no other man of his tastes and education, and he was content. "I have everything I want; I grow it or I make it. My horses and cattle roam the hills; if I want meat, beef or goat or pig, I go or I send a man to kill an animal and bring it to me. Fish are in the river and the bay; there is honey in the hives; fruit and vegetables in the garden, wood for my furniture, bark for the tanning of hides. I cure the leather for saddles or chair-seats with the bark of the rose-wood. Do you know why it is called rose-wood? I will show you. Its bark has the odor of roses when freshly cut. Yes, I have all that I want. What do I need from the great cities?" He tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and puffed it meditatively. "A man lives only a little while, _hein_? He should ask himself what he wants from life. He should look at the world as it is. These traders want money, buying and selling and cheating to get it. What is money compared to life? Their life goes in buying and selling and cheating. Life is made to be lived pleasantly. Me, I do what I want to do with mine, and I do it in a pleasant place." His pipe went out while he gazed at the garden murmurous in the twilight. He knocked out the dottle, refilled the bowl and lighted the tobacco. "You should have seen this island when I came. These natives die too fast. Ah, if I could only get labor, I could make this valley produce enough for ten thousand people. I could load the ships with copra and cotton and coffee." He was twenty-two years and many thousands of miles from the great cities of Europe, but he voiced the wail of the successful man the world over. If he could get labor, he could turn it into building his dreams to reality, into filling his ships with his goods for his profit. But he had not the labor, for the fruits of a commercial civilization had killed the islanders who had had their own dreams, their own ships, and their own pleasures and profits in life. CHAPTER XXVIII Labor in the South Seas; some random thoughts on the "survival of the fittest." "I pictured myself cultivating many hundreds of acres when I first came here," said Grelet. "I laid out several plantations, and once shipped much coffee, as good, too, as any in the world. I gather enough now for my own use, and sell none. I grew cotton and cocoanuts on a large scale. I raise only a little now. "There were hundreds of able-bodied men here then. I used to buy opium from the Chinese labor-contractors and from smugglers, and give it to my working people. A pill once a day would make the Marquesans hustle. But the government stopped it. They say that the book written by the Englishman, Stevenson, did it. We must find labor elsewhere soon, Chinese, perhaps. Those two Paumotans brought by Begole are a godsend to me. I wish some one would bring me a hundred." The two Paumotan youths, Tennonoku and Kedeko-lio, lay motionless on the floor of the veranda twenty feet away. They had been sold to Grelet for a small sum by Begole, captain of a trading-schooner. In passing the Paumotan Islands, many hundred miles to the south, Begole had forgotten to leave at Pukatuhu, a small atoll, a few bags of flour he had promised to bring the chief on his next voyage, and the chief, seeing the schooner a mile away, had ordered these boys to swim to it and remind the skipper of his promise. Begole meanwhile had caught a wind, and the first he knew of the message was when the boys climbed aboard the schooner many miles to sea. He did not trouble to land them, but brought them on to the Marquesas and sold them to Grelet. They spoke no Marquesan, and Grelet had difficulty in making them understand that they must labor for him, and in enforcing his orders, which they could not comprehend. There was little copra being made in the rainy weather, and they lay about the veranda or squatted on the _paepae_ of the laborers' cookhouse, making a fire of cocoanut-husks twice a day to roast their breadfruit. Their savage hearts were ever in their own atoll, the home to which the native clings so passionately, and their eyes were dark with hopeless longing. No doubt they would die soon, as so many do when exiled, but Grelet's copra crop would profit first. The dire lack of labor for copra-making, tree-planting, or any form of profitable activity is lamented by all white men in these depopulated islands. Average wages were sixty cents a day, but even a dollar failed to bring adequate relief. The Marquesan detests labor, which to him has ever been an unprofitable expenditure of life and did not gain in his eyes even when his toil might enrich white owners of plantations. Since every man had a piece of land that yielded copra enough for his simple needs, and breadfruit and fish were his for the taking, he could not be forced to work except for the government in payment for taxes. The white men in the islands, like exploiters of weaker races everywhere in the world, were unwilling to share their profits with the native. They were reduced to pleading with or intoxicating the Marquesan to procure a modicum of labor. They saw fortunes to be made if they could but whip a multitude of backs to bending for them, but they either could not or would not perceive the situation from the native's point of view. In America I often heard men who were out of employment, particularly in bad seasons, in big cities or in mining camps, argue the right to work. They could not enforce this alleged natural right, and in their misery talked of the duty of society or the state in this direction. But they were obliged to content themselves with the thin alleviation of soup-kitchens, charity wood-yards, and other easers of hard times, and with threats of sabotage or other violence. Here in the islands, where work is offered to unwilling natives, the employers curse their lack of power to drive them to the copra forests, the kilns and boats. Thus, as in highly civilized countries we maintain that a man has no inherent or legal right to work, in these islands the employer has no weapon by which to enforce toil. But had the whites the power to order all to do their bidding, they would create a system of peonage as in Mexico. An acquaintance of mine in these seas took part in, and profited largely by, the removal to a distant place of the entire population of an island on which the people had led the usual life of the Polynesian. He and his associates sold three hundred men to plantation labor, which they hated and to which they were unaccustomed. Within a year two hundred and fifty of them had died as fast as disease could sap their grief-stricken bodies. Their former home, which they died longing to see again, was made a feeding-place for sheep. The merchants reaped a double toll. They were paid well for delivering the owners of the land to the plantations, and in addition they got the land. Now, my acquaintance is a man of university education, a quoter of Haeckel and Darwin, with "survival of the fittest" as his guiding motto since his Jena days. Says he, quoting a Scotchman: "Tone it down as you will, the fact remains that Darwinism regards animals as going up-stairs, in a struggle for individual ends, often on the corpses of their fellows, often by a blood-and-iron competition, often by a strange mixture of blood and cunning, in which each looks out for himself and extinction besets the hindmost." Further says my stern acquaintance, specially when in his cups: "The whole system of life-development is that of the lower providing food for the higher in ever-expanding circles of organic existence, from protozoea to steers, from the black African to the educated and employing man. We build on the ribs of the steers, and on the backs of the lower grade of human." Scientific books have taken the place of the Bible as a quotation-treasury of proof for whatever their reader most desires to prove. Now I am no scientist and take, indeed, only the casual interest of the average man in the facts and theories of science. But it appears to me that in his theory of the survival of the fittest my acquaintance curiously overlooks the question of man's own survival as a species. If we are to base our actions upon this cold-blooded and inhuman view of the universe, let us consider that universe as in fact inhuman, and having no concern for man except as a species of animal very possibly doomed to extinction, as many other species of animal have been doomed in the past, unless he proves his fitness to survive not as an individual, but as a species. Now man is a gregarious animal; he lives in herds. The characteristic of the herd is that within it the law of survival of the fittest almost ceases to operate. The value of a herd is that its members protect each other instead of preying upon each other. Nor, in what we are pleased to call the animal kingdom, do herds of the same species prey upon each other. They rather unite for the protection of their weaker members. So far as I am informed, mankind is the only herd of which this is not true. Cattle and horses unite in protecting the young and feeble; sheep huddle together against cold and wolves; bees and ants work only for the welfare of the swarm, which is the welfare of all. This, we are told, is the reason these forms of life have survived. But ship officers beat sailors because sailors have no firearms and fear charges of mutiny. Policemen club prisoners who are poorly dressed. Employees make profits from the toil of children. Strong nations prey on weak peoples, and the white man kills the white man and the black and brown and yellow man in mine, plantation, and forest the world over. He defends this murder of his own kind by the pat phrase "survival of the fittest." But man is not a solitary animal, he is a herd animal, and within the herd nature's definition of fitness does not apply. The herd is a refuge against the law of tooth and fang. Importing within the herd his own interpretation of that law, man is destroying the strength of his shelter. By so much as one man preys upon or debases another man, he weakens the strength of the man-herd. And for man it is the herd, not the individual, that must meet that stern law of "the survival of the fittest" on the vast impersonal arena of the universe. "Bully 'Ayes was the man to make the Kanakas work!" said Lying Bill Pincher. "I used to be on Penryn Island and that was 'is old 'ang-out. 'Ayes was a pleasant man to meet. 'E was 'orspitable as a 'ungry shark to a swimming missionary. Bald he was as a bloomin' crab, stout and smiling. "'E 'ad two white wives a-setting in his cabin on the schooner, and they called it the parlor. Smart wimmen they was, and saved 'is life for 'im more 'n once. 'E 'd get a couple of chiefs on board by deceiving 'em with rum, and hold 'em until 'is bloomin' schooner was chock-a-block with copra. The 'ole island would be working itself to death to free the chiefs. Then when 'e 'ad got the copra, 'e 'd steal a 'undred or two Kanakas and sell 'em in South America. "'E was smart, and yet 'e got 'is'n. 'Is mate seen him coming over the side with blood in his eye, and batted 'im on 'is conch as 'is leg swung over the schooner's bul'ark. 'Ayes dropped with 'is knife between 'is teeth and 'is pistols in both 'ands. "'E'd murdered 'undreds of white and brown and black men, and 'e was smart, and 'e got away with it. But 'e made the mistake of not having made a friend of 'is right 'and man." CHAPTER XXIX The white man who danced in Oomoa Valley; a wild-boar hunt in the hills; the feast of the triumphant hunters and a dance in honor of Grelet. Grelet had gone in a whale-boat to Oia, a dozen miles away, to collect copra, and I was left with an empty day to fill as I chose. The house, the garden, and the unexplored recesses of Oomoa Valley were mine, with whatever they might afford of entertainment or adventure. Every new day, wherever spent, is an adventure, but when to the enigmatic morning is added the zest of a strange place, it must be a dull man who does not thrill to it. I began the day by bathing in the river with the year-old Tamaiti, Grelet's child. Her mother was Hinatiaiani, a laughing, beautiful girl of sixteen years, and the two were cared for by Pae, a woman of forty, ugly and childless. Hinatiaiani was her adopted daughter, and Pae had been sorely angered when Grelet, whose companion she had been for eighteen years, took the girl. But with the birth of Tamaiti, Pae became reconciled, and looked after the welfare of the infant more than the volatile young mother. Tamaiti had never had a garment upon her sturdy small body, and looked a plump cherub as she played about the veranda, crawling in the puddles when the rain drove across the floor. "The infant has never been sick," Grelet had said. "One afternoon I was starting for the river to bathe, when that girl was making herself a bed of cocoanut-leaves under the house. She said she expected the baby, as, when she climbed a cocoanut-tree a moment earlier, she had felt a movement. She would not lie in a bed, but, like her mother before her, must make her a nest of cocoanut-leaves. When I returned from my bath, Tamaiti was born. She was chopping wood next day--the mother, I mean." Though scarcely a twelve-month old, the baby swam like a frog in the clear water of the river, gurgling at intervals scraps of what must have been Marquesan baby-talk, unintelligible to me, but showing plainly her enjoyment. Something of European caution, however, still remained with me and, perhaps unnecessarily, I picked up the dripping little body and carried her up the garden path to the house when I returned for breakfast. Pae received her with no concern, and gave her a piece of cocoanut to suck. I saw the infant, clutching it in one hand, toddling and stumbling river-ward again when after breakfast I set out for a walk up Oomoa Valley. Oomoa was far wilder than Atuona, more lonely, with hundreds of vacant _paepaes_. Miles of land, once cultivated, had been taken again by the jungle, as estates lapsed to nature after thousands of years of man. Still, even far from the houses, delicate trees had preserved themselves in some mysterious way, and oranges and limes offered themselves to me in the thickets. The river that emptied into the bay below Grelet's plantation flowed down the valley from the heights, and beside it ran the trail, a road for half a mile, then a track growing fainter with every mile, hardly distinguishable from the tangle of trees and bushes on either side. Here and there I saw a native house built of bamboo and matting, very simple shelters with an open space for a doorway, but wholesome, clean, and, to me, beautiful. I met no one, and most of the huts were on the other side of the river, but from one nearer the track a voice called to me, "_Kaoha! Manihii, a tata mai!_ Greeting, stranger, come to us!" The hut, which, by measurement, was ten feet by six, held six women and girls, all lying at ease on piles of mats. It was a rendezvous of gossips, a place for siestas and scandal. One had seen and hailed me, and when I came to their _paepae_, they all filed out and surrounded me, gently and politely, but curiously. Obviously they had seen few whites. The six were from thirteen to twenty years of age, four of them strikingly beautiful, with the grace of wild animals and the bright, soft eyes of children. Smiling and eager to be better acquainted with me, they examined my puttees of spiral wool, my pongee shirt, and khaki riding-breeches, the heavy seams of which they felt and discussed. They discovered a tiny rip, and the eldest insisted that I take off the breeches while she sewed it. As this was my one chance to prevent the rip growing into a gulf that would ultimately swallow the trousers, I permitted the stitch in time, and having nothing in my pockets for reward, I danced a jig. I cannot dance a step or sing a note correctly, but in this archipelago I had won inter-island fame as a dancer of strange and amusing measures, and a singer of the queer songs of the whites. Recalling the cake-walks, sand-sifting, pigeon-winging, and Juba-patting of the south, the sailor's hornpipe, the sword-dance of the Scotch, and the metropolitan version of the tango, I did my best, while the thrilled air of Oomoa Valley echoed these words, yelled to my fullest lung capacity: "There was an old soldier and he had a wooden leg, And he had no tobacco, so tobacco did he beg. Said the soldier to the sailor, 'Will you give me a chew?' Said the sailor to the soldier, 'I'll be damned if I do! Keep your mind on your number and your finger on your rocks, And you'll always have tobacco in your old tobacco box.'" Dancing and singing thus on the flat stones of the _paepae_ of the six Fatu-hiva ladies, I gave back a thousand-fold their aid to my disordered trousers. They laughed till they fell back on the rocks, they lifted the ends of their _pareus_ to wipe their eyes, and they demanded an encore, which I obligingly gave them in a song I had kept in mind since boyhood. It was about a young man who took his girl to a fancy ball, and afterward to a restaurant, and though he had but fifty cents and she said she was not hungry, she ate the menu from raw oysters to pousse-café, and turned it over for more. It went with a Kerry jig that my grandfather used to do, and if grandfather, with his rare ability, ever drew more uproarious applause than I, it must have been a red-letter day for him, even in Ireland. My hearers screamed in an agony of delight, and others dwelling far away, or passing laden with breadfruit and bananas, gathered while I chortled and leaped, and made the mountain-side ring with Marquesan bravos. With difficulty I made my escape, but my success pursued me. "_Menike haka!_" came the cry from each house I passed, for the news had been called over the distance, and to the farthest reaches of the valley it was known that an American, the American who had come on the _Roberta_, with a box that wrote, was dancing along the route. As in the old days of war or other crisis, the cry had been raised, and was echoed from all directions, and from hut to cocoanut-tree to crag the call was heard, growing fainter and more feeble, dying gradually from point to point, echoing farther and yet farther in the distance. This was the ancient telegraph-system of the islanders, by which an item of information sped in a moment to the most remote edges of the valley. Unwittingly, in my gratitude, I had raised it, and now I pursued my way in the glare of a pitiless publicity. I was met almost immediately by a score of men and women who had left the gathering of fruit or the duties of the household to greet me. Fafo, the leader, besought me earnestly to accompany them to a neighboring _paepae_ and dance for them. He had the finest eyes I have ever seen in a man's head, dark brown, almond-shaped, large and lustrous, wells of melancholy. There was something exquisite about the young man, his lemon-colored skin, his delicate hands and feet, his slender, though strong, body, and his regular, brilliant teeth. Some Spanish don had bred him, or some moody Italian with music in his soul, for he was a Latin in face and figure. His eyes had that wistfulness as they sought mine which the Tahitians have put well in one of their picture-words, _ano-ano'uri_, "the yearning, sorrowful gaze of a dog watching his master at dinner." A belated shrinking from renown, however, made me reject his pleas, and perceiving a pool near at hand, I softened refusal by a suggestion that we bathe. The pool, I learned, was famous in the valley, for one could swim forty feet in it, and on the other side the hill rose straight, with banana-trees overhanging the water forty feet above. We climbed this rocky face and dived into the water again and again, rejoicing in its coolness and in that sheer pagan delight of the dive, when in the air man becomes all animal, freed from every restraint and denied every safeguard save the strength of his own muscle and nerve. We saw at last, on the edge of the bank, one of Grelet's dogs, whining for attention. He was badly wounded in two places, blood dripped on the rocks from open cuts three inches long, and one paw hung helpless, while with eager cries and beseeching looks he urged us to avenge him in his private feud with a boar. Assured of our interest, he stayed not to be comforted or cured, but hobbled eagerly up the trail, begging us with whines to accompany him. Five men and several other dogs followed the wounded hound, and I went with them. The Marquesans had war-clubs and long knives like undersized machetes. Every Islander carries such a knife for cutting underbrush or cocoanut-stems, and usually it is his only tool for building native houses, so that he becomes very expert with it, as the Filipino with his bolo or the Cuban with his machete. For several hours we climbed the slopes, until we came upon a narrow trail cut in the side of a cliff, a path perhaps two feet wide, with sheer wall of rock above and abrupt precipice below. On this the chief hunter stationed himself and two men while the others scouted below. This leader was a man of sixty, tattooed from toes to scalp on one side only, so that he was queerly parti-colored, and capping this odd figure, he wore a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. He motioned to me to take my place in a niche of the cliff, where I could stand and sweep the trail with my eyes, secure from assault. He had given directions to the others and intended to provide for me a rare sight, and to gain for himself a trifle of the glory that had been his as a young man in wars against neighboring valleys. For an hour we waited and smoked, hearing from time to time the clamor of men and dogs in the thickets below. The common way of hunting boars, said the chief, was to chase them through the woods and kill them by throwing tomahawks at them. This method allows the hunter to have a tree always within a short run, and about these trees he dodges when pursued, or if too closely pressed, climbs one. It is dangerous sport, as only a cool and experienced man can drive a knife into a vital part of a boar in full career, and no wound in non-vital parts will cause the desperate beast even to falter. Gradually the cries of the men and the barking of the dogs grew nearer, and suddenly, bursting from the bushes some distance down the trail, we saw ten bristling hogs. They had been driven upward until they reached the artificial shelf, and behind them hounds and hunters cut off all escape. "_Apau! Aia oe a!_" shouted the rear-guard as the boars took the trail. "Lo! Prepare to strike!" The three slayers gripped their clubs and braced their feet. I was above the chief, who was the last of the trio. Where he planted his feet, the path was most narrow, so that two could not pass. His knife was in his _pareu_, which, to leave his legs unhampered, he had rolled and tucked in until it was no more than a G-string. His muscles were like the cordage of the _faufee_--the vine that strangles--and his chest like a great buckler, half blue and half copper. "_Peo! Pepo! Huepe! Huope!_" yelled the scouts, in the "tally-ho!" cry of Marquesan, and the boars struck the trail with hatred hot in their eyes and with gnashing tusks. The three slayers were five hundred feet apart. The first struck at all ten, as singly they rushed past him. Three he stopped. The second man laid prostrate four. The three remaining were, naturally, the fittest. They were huge, hideous, snarling beasts, bared teeth gleaming in a slather of foam, eyes bloodshot and vicious. The old chief saw them coming; he saw, too, that I had shrunk to a plaster on the wall while he faced the danger like a warrior in the spear-test of their old warfare. "_Aia! Aia!_" he said to encourage me. His club of ironwood, its edge sharp and toothed, he grasped with both hands; he widened his foothold and threw his body forward to withstand a shock. He calculated to an inch the arrival of the first boar, and swung his _u'u_ on its head with precision. The boar crumpled up and fell down the hillside. The second he struck as unerringly, but the third he chose to kill with his knife. [Illustration: _Feis_, or mountain bananas Man in _pareu_, native loin cloth] [Illustration: Where river and bay meet at Oomoa, Island of Fatu-hiva] He laid down the _u'u_ and drew the knife with one motion, and as the powerful brute rushed at him, stepped aside in the split second between his gauge of its position and its leap. His knife was thrust straight out. It met the boar with perfect and delicate accuracy. The beast fell, quivered a moment, and lay still. It was a perfection of butchery, for one slash of those tusks, ripping the chief's legs, and he would have been down, crashing over the cliff, and dead. I was almost in chants of admiration for his nerve and accuracy. "Ah, if this had been war, and these had been enemies!" The dead boars were slung on poles, but a half dozen had to be left on branches of trees for the morrow, and it was late in the day when we reached Grelet's house for the feast. Pae, the elder woman of the household, received us joyously. In the master's absence she had become a different being from the sulky, contrary one I had seen while he was at home. Usually she and Hinatiaiani, the mother of the baby, ate their food squatting beside the cook-house; they rarely came upon the veranda, never sat upon a chair, and never were asked to our table. Now they were in complete possession of the house and Pae was transformed into a jolly soul, her kinsfolk about her on the veranda and the bottles emptying fast. She celebrated our arrival with the boars by bringing out two quarts of _crème de menthe_ and a bottle of absinthe, so that the mice with the big cat away played an uncorking air right merrily. All was now a bustle of preparation for the feast. While many prepared the earth-oven for the pig, the head cook made fire in their primitive way, using the fire-plough of _purau_-wood braced against a pillar of the veranda. Meantime the oven was dug, sides and bottom lined with stones, and sticks piled within it for the fire. A top layer of stones was placed on the flames and when it had grown red-hot, the pig was pulled and hauled over it until the bristles were removed. The carcass was then carried to the river, the intestines removed, and inside and outside thoroughly washed in a place where the current was strong. The oven was made ready for its reception by removing the upper layer of stones and the fire, and placing banana-leaves all about the bottom and sides, in which the pig, his own interior filled with hot stones wrapped in leaves, was placed, with native sweet-potatoes and yams beside him. More leaves covered all, and another layer of red hot stones. A surface of dirt sealed the oven. A young dog was also part of the fare, and was cooked in the same manner as the pig. The Marquesans are fond of dogs. This particular one had been brought to this valley from another and was not on friendly terms with any of his butchers. In fact, his death was due more to revenge than to hunger for his flesh. He had bitten the leg of a man who lived in the upper part of Oomoa, and when this man came limping to the banquet, he brought the biter as his contribution. Those who would turn up their noses at Towser must hear Captain Cook, who was himself slain and dismembered in Hawaii: "The flesh of the South Sea Dog is a meat not to be despised. It is next to our English Lamb." Personally I am willing to let it be next to lamb at every meal, and I shall always take its neighbor, but it argues a narrow taste not to concede that the dishes of our foreign friends may have a relish all their own. Dog has been a Maori tidbit for thousands of years. It was introduced into New Zealand from these islands. The aborigines had a fierce, undomesticated dog, which they hunted for its flesh. It was a sort of fox, but disappeared before the Polynesians reached the islands. All Polynesians have liked dogs, liked them as pets, as they do to-day, and liked them as grub. If one asks how one can pet Fido Monday and eat him Tuesday, I will reply that we, the highest types of civilization, pet calves and lambs, chickens and rabbits, and find them not a whit the less toothsome. The Marquesan loves his pig as we love our dog, cuddles him, calls him fond names, believes that he goes to heaven,--and nevertheless roasts him for dinner. The yams, potatoes, breadfruit, and other accompaniments of the dog, pig, and chicken were all ready at six o'clock, when cries of delight summoned us idlers. The earth had been cleared from the oven, the leaves removed, and the pig was lifted into the air, cooked to a turn, succulent, steaming, delicious. The feast was spread in a clearing, so that the sun, sinking slowly in the west, might filter his rays through the lofty trees and leave us brightened by his presence, but cool in the shadows. For me a Roman couch of mats was spread, while the natives squatted in the comfort of men whose legs are natural. The women waited upon us, passing all the food in leaves, in cleanly fashion. Pae herself, though hostess, could not eat till all the men were satisfied, for the _tapu_ still holds, though without authority. Knives nor forks hindered our free onslaught upon the edibles, and there were cocoanut-shells beside each of us for washing our hands between courses, a usual custom. _Piahi_, the native chestnuts shelled and cooked in cocoanut-milk, were an appetizer, followed by small fish, which we ate raw after soaking them in lime juice. There is no dish that the white man so soon learns to crave and so long remembers when departed. Some of the guests did not like the sauce, but took their small fish by the tail, dripping with salt water, and ate it as one might eat celery, bones, and all. With the main course were served dried squid and porpoise, and fresh flying-fish and bonito and shrimp. The feast was complete with mangoes, oranges, and pineapples, also bananas ripened in the expeditious way of the Marquesas. They bury them in a deep hole lined with cracked candlenuts and grass and cover all with earth. In several days--and they know the right time to an hour--the bananas are dug up, yellow and sweet. [Illustration: Sacred banyan tree at Oomoa] [Illustration: Elephantiasis of the legs] Pae furnished a limited quantity of rum for the fete, and a cocoanut-shell filled with _namu_ was passed about. Every one was already enthusiastic, and after several drinks of the powerful sugar-distillation pipes were lit and palaver began. I had to tell stories of my strange country, of the things called cities, large villages without a river through them, so big that they held _tini tini tini tini mano mano mano mano_ people, with single houses in which more people worked than there were in all the islands. Such a house might be higher than three or four cocoanut trees stood one on the other, and no one walked up-stairs, but rode in boxes lifted by ropes. "How many men to a rope?" asked Pae. The old men told me about their battles, much as at a reunion of the Grand Army of the Republic the veterans fight again the Civil war. One man, whose tattooing striped his body like the blue bands of a convict's suit, said that it was the custom on Fatu-hiva for the leader or chief on each side to challenge the enemy champion. "Our army stood thirty or forty feet away from the other army," said he, "and our chief stood still while the other threw his spear. If it struck our chief, at once the warriors rushed into battle; if it missed, our chief had the right to go close to the other and thrust a spear through his heart. The other stood firm and proud. He smiled with scorn. He looked on the spear when it was raised, and he did not tremble. But sometimes he was saved by his courage, for our chief after looking at him with terrible eyes, said, 'O man of heart, go your way, and never dare again to fight such a great warrior as I!' "That ended the war. The other chief was ashamed, and led his men down to their own valley. But if our chief had killed him, then there was war; at once we struck with the _u'u_ and ran forward with our spears. These battles gave many names to children, names remembering the death or wounding of the glorious deeds of the warriors. To await calmly the spear of the other chief, the head raised, the eyes never winking, to look at the spear as at a welcome gift--that was what our chiefs must do. Death was not so terrible, but to leave one's body in the hands of the foe, to be eaten, to know that one's skull would be hung in a tree, and one's bones made into tattoo needles or fish-hooks--! _Toomanu!_ "We are not the men we were. We do not eat the 'Long Pig' any more, but we have not the courage, the skill, or the strength. When the spears were thrown, and each man had but one, then the fight was with the _u'u_, hand to hand and eye to eye. That was a fight of men! The gun is the weapon of cowards. It is the gun that fights, not the man. "Our last fight we brought back four bodies. Meat spoils quickly. We had our feast right here where we sit now." Excited barking of the dogs announced the arrival of Grelet with several men. They had rowed all the way to Oia and had sailed back, arriving by chance in time to share the abundance of our feast. After the twelve-mile pull in the blazing sun and the toilsome journey back by night this feast was their reward, and all their pay. Pae, reduced once more to sullen servitude, poured the rum, generous portions of it in cocoanut-shells, which the newcomers emptied as they ate, hastening soon to join the other guests on the broad veranda, where late at night a chant began. Half a dozen men, tattooed from toes to waist and some to the roots of their hair, sat on a mat on the floor, all naked except for their _pareus_, the red and yellow of which shone in the light of the oil-lamps in brightening contrast to brown skins and dark blue ink. One was far gone with _fefe_, his legs almost as large as those of an elephant. He was a grotesque in hideous green. The blue of the candlenut-ink, in bizzare designs upon body and legs, had turned a scaly greenish hue from age and _kava_ excesses. Revealed in the yellow light, he was like a ghastly bronze monstrosity that had known the weathering of a century. He was the leader of the chant and, like all the others, had drunk plenty of Grelet's rum. The pipe was passing, and Grelet took his pull at it in the circle. The chant was of the adventures of the day. The hunters and specially Namu Ou Mio, the slayer of the three boars, told of the deed of prowess on the cliff-side, while the others sang of their journey and the sea. Squatting on the mat, they bent and swayed in pantomime, telling the tales, lifting their voices in praises of their own deeds and of the virtues of Grelet. That thrifty Swiss, in red breech-clout and spectacles, the lamplight shining on his bald head, sat in the midst of them, familiar by a score of years with their chants. Pae filled the pipe and the bowls and joined in the chorus, while the Paumotan boys, in a shadowy recess, sipped their rum and rolled their eyes in astonished appreciation of the first joviality of their lives. When the leader began the ancient cannibal chant, the song of war and of feasting at the High Place, the tattooed men forgot even the rum. The nights of riot after return from the battle, the fighting qualities of their fathers, the cheer of the fires, the heat of the ovens, and the baking of the "Long Pig," and the hours when the most beautiful girls danced naked to win the acclaim of the multitude and to honor their parents; all these they celebrated. The leader gave the first line in a dramatic tone, and the others chanted the chorus. Most of the verses they knew by rote, but there were improvisations that brought applause from all. At midnight the man with the elephantiasis removed his _pareu_ to free his enormous legs for dancing, and he and the others, their hands joined, moved ponderously in a tripping circle before the couch on which I lay. The chant was now a recital of my merits, the chief of which was that I was a friend of Grelet, that mighty man wiser than Iholomoni (Solomon), with more wives than that great king, and stronger heart to chase the wild bull. He steers a whale-boat with a finger, but no wave can tear the helm from his grasp. Long has he been in Oomoa, just and brave and generous has he been, and his rum is the best that is made in the far island of Tahiti. So passed the night and the rum, in a pandemonium of voices, gyrating tattooed bodies, flashes of red and yellow and blue _pareus_, rolling eyes, curls of smoke drifting under the gently moving canvas ceiling, while from the garden came the scent of innumerable dewy flowers; and at intervals in the chanting I heard from the darkness of the bay the sound of a conch-shell blown on some wayfaring boat. I dozed, and wakened to see Grelet asleep. Pae was still filling the emptied cocoanut-shells, and the swollen green man postured before me like some horrid figment of a dream. I roused myself again. Pae had locked up the song-maker, and all the tattooed men slumbered where they sat, the Paumotan boys with sunbonnets tied about their heads lay in their corner, dreaming, perhaps, of their loved home on Pukaruha. I woke again to find the garden green and still in the gray morning, and the veranda vacant. The Marquesans were all in the river, lying down among the boulders to cool their aching heads. The _fefe_ sufferer stood like a slime-covered rock in the stream. His swollen legs hurt him dreadfully. Rum is not good for _fefe_. "Guddammee!" he said to me in his one attempt at our cultured language, and put his body deep in a pool. CHAPTER XXX A visit to Hanavave; Père Olivier at home; the story of the last battle between Hanahouua and Oi, told by the sole survivor; the making of _tapa_ cloth, and the ancient garments of the Marquesans. Grelet said that the conch I had heard at night sounding off Oomoa must have been in a canoe or whale-boat bound for Hanavave, a valley a dozen miles away over the mountains, but only an hour or so by sea. It might have brought a message of interest, or perhaps would be a conveyance to my own valley, so in mid-forenoon we launched Grelet's whale-boat for a journey to Hanavave. Eight men carried the large boat from its shelter to the water, slung on two short thick poles by loops of rope through holes in prow and stern. It was as graceful as a swan, floating in the edge of the breakers. Driving it through the surf was cautious, skilful work, at which Grelet was a master. Haupupuu, who built the boat, a young man with the features of Bonaparte and a _blase_ expression, was at the bow, and three other Marquesans, with the two Paumotan boys, handled the oars. There was no wind and they rowed all the way, spurting often for love of excitement. We skirted a coast of almost vertical cliffs crowned by cocoas, the faces of the rock black or covered above the waterline with vines and plants, green and luxuriant. Long stretches of white curtains and huge pictures in curious outlines were painted on the sable cliffs by encrusted salt. The sea surged in leaping fountains through a thousand blow-holes carved from the black basalt, and the ceaseless wash of the waves had cut the base of the precipices into _paniho_, or teeth, as the Marquesans say. There were half a dozen indentations in the bleak and rugged coast, each a little valley guarded by cliffs on both sides, the natural obstacle to neighborliness that made enemies of the clans. Inhabitants of plains are usually friendly. Mountains make feuds. We passed the valley of Hana Ui, inhabited when Grelet came, and full of rich cotton-fields, now a waste with never a soul in it. We passed Eue, Utea, Tetio, Nanifapoto, Hana Puaea and Mata Utuoa, all empty of the living; graveyards and deserted _paepaes_. Thousands made merry in them when the missionaries first recorded their numbers. Death hung like a cloud over the desolate wilderness of these valleys, over the stern and gloomy cliffs, black and forbidding, carved into monstrous shapes and rimmed with the fantastic patterns made by the unresting sea. Near Matu Utuoa was a great natural bridge, under which the ocean rushed in swirling currents, foam, and spray. Turning a shoulder of the cliff, we entered the Bay of Virgins and were confronted with the titanic architecture of Hanavave, Alps in ruins, once coral reefs and now thrust up ten thousand feet above the sea. Fantastic headlands, massive towers, obelisks, pyramids, and needles were an extravaganza in rock, monstrous and portentous. Towering structures hewn by water and wind from the basalt mass of the island rose like colossi along the entrance to the bay; beyond, a glimpse of great black battlements framed a huge crater. A dangerous bay in the lee wind with a bad holding-ground. We manoeuvered for ten minutes to land, but the shelving beach of black stone with no rim of sand proved a puzzle even to Grelet. We reached the stones again and again, only to be torn away by the racing tide. At last we all jumped into the surf and swam ashore, except one man who anchored the whale-boat before following us. The canoe that had sounded the conch off Oomoa was lying on the shale, and those who had come in it were on the stones cooking breadfruit. The village, half a dozen rude straw shacks, stretched along a rocky stream. Beyond it, in a few acres enclosed by a fence, were a tiny church, two wretched wooden cabins, a tumbling kiosk, five or six old men and women squatting on the ground amid a flock of dogs and cats. This was the Catholic mission, tumbledown and decayed, unpainted for years, overgrown by weeds, marshy and muddy, passing to oblivion like the race to which it ministered. Grelet and I found Père Olivier sweeping out the church, cheerful, humming a cradle-song of the French peasants. He was glad to see us, though my companion was avowedly a pagan. Dwelling alone here with his dying charges, the good priest could not but feel a common bond with any white man, whoever he might be. The kiosk, to which he took us, proved to be Père Olivier's eating-place, dingy, tottering, and poverty-stricken, furnished with a few cracked and broken dishes and rusty knives and forks, the equipment of a miner or sheep-herder. Père Olivier apologized for the meager fare, but we did well enough, with soup and a tin of boiled beef, breadfruit, and _feis_. The soup was of a red vegetable, not appetizing, and I could not make out the native name for it, _hue arahi_, until Grelet cried, "Ah, _j'ai trouvé le mot anglais!_ Ponkeen, ponkeen!" It was a red pumpkin. [Illustration: Removing the pig cooked in the _umu_, or native oven] [Illustration: The _Koina Kai_ or feast in Oomoa] "_La soupe maigre de missionaire_," murmured the priest. I led the talk to the work of the mission. "We have been here thirty-five years," said Père Olivier, "and I, thirty. Our order first tried to establish a church at Oomoa, but failed. You have seen there a stone foundation that supports the wild vanilla vines? Frère Fesal built that, with a Raratonga islander who was a good mason. The two cut the stones and shaped them. The valley of Oomoa was drunk. Rum was everywhere, the palm _namu_ was being made all the time, and few people were ever sober. There was a Hawaiian Protestant missionary there, and he was not good friends with Frère Fesal. There was no French authority at Oomoa, and the strongest man was the law. The whalers were worse than the natives, and hated the missionaries. One day when the valley was crazed, a native killed the Raratonga man. You will find the murderer living on Tahuata now. Frère Fesal buried his assistant, and fled here. "That date was about the last Hanavave suffered from cannibalism and extreme sorcery. The _taua_, the pagan priest, was still powerful, however, and his gods demanded victims. The men here conspired with the men of Hanahouua to descend on Oi, a little village by the sea between here and Oomoa. They had guns of a sort, for the whalers had brought old and rusty guns to trade with the Marquesans for wood, fruit, and fish. Frère Fesal learned of the conspiracy, but the men were drinking rum, and he was helpless. The warriors went stealthily over the mountains and at night lowered themselves from the cliffs with ropes made of the _fau_. There were only thirty people left in Oi, and the enemy came upon them in the dark like the wolf. Only one man escaped--There he is now, entering the mission. We will ask him to tell the story." He stood in the rickety doorway and called, "Tutaiei, come here!" An old and withered man approached, one-eyed, the wrinkles of his face and body abscuring the blue patterns of tattooing, a shrunken, but hideous, scar making a hairless patch on one side of his head. "I was on the beach pulling up my canoe and taking out the fish I had speared," said this wreck of a man. "Half the night was spent, and every one was asleep except me. We were a little company, for they had killed and eaten most of us, and others had died of the white man's curse. In the night I heard the cries of the Hanavave and Hanahouua men who had lowered themselves down the precipice and were using their war-clubs on the sleeping. "I was one man. I could do nothing but die, and I was full of life. In the darkness I smashed with a rock all the canoes on the beach save mine. In my ears were the groans of the dying, and the war-cries. I saw the torches coming. I put the fish back in my canoe, and pushed out. "They were but a moment late, for I have a hole in my head into which they shot a nail, and I have this crack in my head upon which they flung a stone. They could not follow me, for there were no canoes left. I paddled to Oomoa after a day, during which I did what I have no memory of." "They had guns?" I asked him. "They had a few guns, but they used in them nails or stones, having no balls of metal. Their slings were worse. I could sling a stone as big as a mango and kill a man, striking him fair on the head, at the distance those guns would shoot. We made our slings of the bark of the cocoanut-tree, and the stones, polished by rubbing against each other, we carried in a net about the waist." "But if that stone broke your head, why did you not die?" "A _tatihi_ fixed my head. The nail in my leg he took out with a loop of hair, and cured the wound." "Did you not lie in wait for those murderers?" Tutaiei hemmed and cast down his eye. "The French came then with soldiers and made it so that if I killed any one, they killed me; the law, they call it. They did nothing to those warriors because the deed was done before the French came. I waited and thought. I bought a gun from a whaler. But the time never came. "All my people had died at their hands. Six heads they carried back to feast on the brains. They ate the brains of my wife. I kept the names of those that I should kill. There was Kiihakia, who slew Moariniu, the blind man; Nakahania, who killed Hakaie, husband of Tepeiu; Niana, who cut off the head of Tahukea, who was their daughter and my woman; Veatetau should die for Tahiahokaani, who was young and beautiful, who was the sister of my woman. I waited too long, for time took them all, and I alone survive of the people of Oi, or of those who killed them." "The vendetta between valleys--called _umuhuke_, or the Vengeance of the Oven,--thus wiped out the people of Oi," commented Père Olivier. "The skulls were kept in banian-trees, or in the houses. Frère Fesal started the mission here and built that little church. There were plenty of people to work among. But now, after thirty years I have been here, they are nearly finished. They have no courage to go on, that is all. _C'est un pays sans l'avenir._ The family of the dying never weep. They gather to eat the feast of the dead, and the crying is a rite, no more. These people are tired of life." It was Stevenson who though that "the ending of the most healthful, if not the most humane, of field sports--hedge warfare--" had much to do with depopulation. Either horn of the dilemma is dangerous to touch. It is unthinkable, perhaps, that white conquerors should have allowed the Marquesans to follow their own customs of warfare. But changes in the customs of every race must come from within that race or they will destroy it. The essence of life is freedom. Any one who has read their past and knows them now must admit that the Marquesans have not been improved in morality by their contact with the whites. Alien customs have been forced upon them. And they are dying for lack of expression, nationally and individually. Disease, of course, is the weapon that kills them, but it finds its victims unguarded by hope or desire to live, willing to meet death half way, the grave a haven. [Illustration: Beach at Oomoa] [Illustration: Putting the canoe in the water] In the old days this island of Fatu-hiva was the art center of the Marquesas. The fame of its tattooers, carvers in wood and stone, makers of canoes, paddles, and war-clubs, had resounded through the archipelago for centuries. Now it is one of the few places where even a feeble survival of those industries give the newcomers a glimpse of their methods and ideals now sinking, like their originators, in the mire of wretchedness. Outside the mission gates, in the edge of the jungle, Père Olivier and I came upon two old women making _tapa_ cloth. Shrunken with age, toothless, decrepit, their only covering the ragged and faded _pareus_ that spoke of poverty, they sat in the shade of a banian-tree, beating the fibrous inner bark of the breadfruit-tree. Over the hollow log that resounded with the blows of their wooden mallets the cloth moved slowly, doubling on the ground into a heap of silken texture, firm, thin, and soft. This paper-cloth was once made throughout all the South Sea Islands. Breadfruit, banian, mulberry, and other barks furnished the fiber. The outer rough bark was scraped off with a shell, and the inner rind slightly beaten and allowed to ferment. It was then beaten over a tree-trunk with mallets of iron-wood about eighteen inches long, grooved coarsely on one side and more finely on the other. The fibers were so closely interwoven by this beating that in the finished cloth one could not guess the process of making. When finished, the fabric was bleached in the sun to a dazzling white, and from it the Marquesans of old wrought wondrous garments. For their caps they made remarkably fine textures, open-meshed, filmy as gauze, which confined their abundant black hair, and to which were added flowers, either natural or beautifully preserved in wax. Their principal garment, the _cahu_, was a long and flowing piece of the paper-cloth, of firmer texture, dyed in brilliant colors, or of white adorned with tasteful patterns. This hung from the shoulders, where it was knotted on one shoulder, leaving one arm and part of the breast exposed. Much individual taste was expressed in the wearing of this garment; sometimes the knot was on one shoulder, sometimes on the other, or it might be brought low on the chest, leaving the shoulders and arms bare, or thrown behind to expose the charms of a well-formed back or a slender waist. Beneath it they wore a _pareu_, which passed twice around the waist and hung to the calves of the legs. Clean and neat as these garments always were, shining in the sun, leaving the body free to know the joys of sun and air and swift, easy motion, it would be difficult to imagine a more graceful, beautiful, modest, and comfortable manner of dressing. For dyeing these garments in all the hues that fancy dictated, the women used the juices of herb and tree. Candlenut-bark gave a rich chocolate hue; scarlet was obtained from the _mati_-berries mixed with the leaves of the _tou_. Yellow came from the inner bark of the root of the _morinda citrifolia_. Hibiscus flowers or delicate ferns were dipped in these colors and impressed on the _tapas_ in elegant designs. The garments were virtually indestructible. Did a dress need repairing, the edges of the rent were moistened and beaten together, or a handful of fiber was beaten in as a patch. Often for fishermen the _tapas_ were made water-proof by added thicknesses and the employment of gums, and waterproof cloth for wrappings was made thick and impervious to rain as the oilcloth it resembled. Hardly one of these garments survives in the Marquesas to-day. They have been driven out by the gaudy prints of Germany and England brought by the traders, and by the ideas of dress which the missionaries imported together with the barrels of hideous night-gown garments contributed by worthy ladies of American villages. The disappearance of these native garments brought two things, idleness and the rapid spread of tuberculosis. The _tapa_ cloth could not be worn in the water or the rain, as it disintegrated. Marquesans therefore left their robes in the house when they went abroad in stormy weather or bathed in the sea. But in their new calicos and ginghams they walked in the rain, bathed in the rivers, and returned to sleep huddled in the wet folds, ignorant of the danger. As the _tapa_ disappeared, so did the beautiful carvings of canoes and paddles and clubs, superseded by the cheaper, machine-made articles of the whites. Little was left to occupy the hands or minds of the islanders, who, their old merrymakings stopped, their wars forbidden, their industry taken from them, could only sit on their _paepaes_ yawning like children in jail and waiting for the death that soon came. The Marquesans never made a pot. They had clay in their soil, as Gauguin proved by using it for his modeling, but they had no need of pottery, using exclusively the gourds from the vines, wooden vessels hollowed out, and temporary cups of leaves. This absence of pottery is another proof of the lengthy isolation of the islands. The Tongans had earthen ware which they learned to make from the Fijians, but the Polynesians had left the mainland before the beginning of this art. Thus they remained a people who were, despite their startling advances in many lines, the least encumbered by useful inventions of any race in the world. Until hardly more than a hundred years ago the natives were like our forefathers who lived millenniums ago in Europe. But being in a gentler climate, they were gentler, happier, merrier, and far cleaner. One can hardly dwell in a spirit of filial devotion upon the relation of our forefathers to soap and water, but these Marquesans bathed several times daily in dulcet streams and found soap and emollients to hand. It was curious to me to reflect, while Père Olivier and I stood watching the two aged crones beating out the _tapa_ cloth, upon what slender chance hung the difference between us. Far in the remote mists of time, when a tribe set out upon its wanderings from the home land, one man, perhaps, hesitated, dimly felt the dangers and uncertainties before it, weighed the advantages of remaining behind, and did not go. Had he gone, I or any one of Caucasian blood in the world to-day, might have been a Marquesan. It would be interesting, I thought, to consider what the hundred thousand years that have passed since that day have given us of joy, of wealth of mind and soul and body, of real value in customs and manners and attitude toward life, compared to what would have been our portion in the islands of the South Seas before his white cousin fell upon the Marquesan. CHAPTER XXXI Fishing in Hanavave; a deep-sea battle with a shark; Red Chicken shows how to tie ropes to shark's tails; night-fishing for dolphins, and the monster sword-fish that overturned the canoe; the native doctor dresses Red Chicken's wounds and discourses on medicine. Grelet returned to Oomoa in the whale-boat, but I remained in Hanavave for the fishing. My presence had stimulated the waning interest of the few remaining Marquesans, and the handful of young men and women went with me often to the sea outside the Bay of Virgins, where we lay in the blazing sunshine having great sport with spear or hook and line. We speared a dozen kinds of fish, specially the cuttlefish and sunfish, the latter more for fun and practice than food. They are huge masses, these pig-like, tailless clowns among the graceful families of the ocean, with their small mouths and clumsy-looking bodies, but they made a fine target at which to launch harpoon or spear from the dancing bow of a canoe. Keeping one's balance is the finest art of the Marquesan fisherman, and he will stand firm while the boat rises and falls, rolls and pitches, his body swaying and balancing with the nice adjustment that is second nature to him. It is an art that should be learned in childhood. Many were the splashes into the salt sea that fell to my lot as I practised it, one moment standing alert with poised spear in the sunlight, the next overwhelmed with the green water, and striking out on the surface again amid the joyous, unridiculing laughter of my merry companions. Wearying of the spear, we trolled for swordfish with hook and line, or used the baitless hook to entice the sportful albicore, or dolphin, whose curving black bodies splashed the sea about us. A piece of mother-of-pearl about six inches long and three-quarters of an inch wide was the lure for him. Carefully cut and polished to resemble the body of a fish, there was attached to it on the concave side a barb of shell or bone about an inch or an inch and a half in length, fastened by _faufee_ fiber, with a few hog's bristles inserted. The line was drove through the hole where the barb was fastened and, being braided along the inner side of the pearl shank, was tied again at the top, forming a chord to the arch. Thus when the beguiled dolphin took the hook and strained the line, he secured himself more firmly on the barb. This is the best fish-hook, as it is perhaps the oldest, ever invented, and I have found it in many parts of the South Seas, but never more artfully made than here on Hanavave. It needs no bait, and is a fascinating sight for the big fish, who hardly ever discover the fraud until too late. The line was attached to a bamboo cane about fifteen feet long, and standing in the stern of the canoe, I handled this rod, allowing the hook to touch the water, but not to sink. Behind me my companions, in their red and yellow _pareus_, pushed the boat through the water with gentle strokes of their oars. When I saw a fish approaching, they became active, the canoe raced across the sparkling sea, and the hook, as it skimmed along the surface, looked for all the world like a flying fish, the bristles simulating the tail. Soon the hastening dolphin fell upon it, and then became the tug-of-war, bamboo pole straining and bending, the line now taut, now relaxing, as the fish lunged, and the paddlers watching with cries of excitement until he was hauled over the side, wet and flopping, a feast for half a dozen. One never-to-be-forgotten afternoon we ran unexpectedly upon a whole school of dolphins a few miles outside the bay, and before the sun sank I had brought from the sea twenty-six large fish. Some of these were magnificent food-fish, weighing 150 to 200 pounds. We had to send for two canoes to help bring in this miraculous draught, and all the population of the valley rejoiced in the supply of fresh and appetizing food. The Marquesan methods of fishing are not so varied to-day as when their valleys were filled with a happy people delighting in all forms of exercise and prowess and needing the fish to supplement a scanty diet. For many weeks before I came, they said, no man had gone fishing. There were so few natives that the trees supplied them all with enough to eat, and the melancholy Marquesan preferred to sit and meditate upon his _paepae_ rather than to fish, except when appetite demanded it. There is a Polynesian word that means "hungry for fish," and to-day it is only when this word rises to their tongues or thoughts that they go eagerly to the sea or to the tooth-like base of the cliffs. Often we took large quantities of fish among these caves and rocks by capturing them in bags, using a wooden fan as a weapon. The sport called for a cool head, marvelous lungs, and skill. It was extremely dangerous, as the sharks were numerous where fish were plentiful, and the angler must needs be under the water, in the shark's own domain. [Illustration: Pascual, the giant Paumotan pilot and his friends] [Illustration: A pearl diver's sweetheart] The best hand and head for this sport in all Hanavave was a girl, Kikaaki, a name which means Miss Impossibility. She was not handsome, save with the beauty of youth and abounding health, but her wide mouth and bright eyes were intelligent and laughter-loving. Starting early in the morning, we would go to the edge of the bay, where the coral rises from the ocean floor in fantastic shapes and builds strange grottoes and cells at the feet of the basalt rocks. While I held the canoe, Miss Impossibility would remove her shapeless calico wrapper, and attired only in scarlet _pareu_, her hair piled high on her head and tied with the white filet of the cocoanut-palm, she would go overboard in one curving dive, a dozen feet or more beneath the sea. When the water was quiet and shadowed by the cliffs, I could see her through its green translucence, swimming to the coral lairs of the fish that gleamed in the reflected, penetrating sunlight. Walking on the sandy bottom, a hand net of straw in one hand, and a stick shaped like a fan in the other, she would cover a crevice with the net and with the fan urge the fish into it. Foolish as was their conduct, the fish appeared to be deceived by the lure, or made helpless by fear, for they streamed into the receptacle as Miss Impossibility beat the water or the coral. She would have seemed to me well named had I never seen her at the sport. She would usually stay beneath the water a couple of minutes, rising with her catch to rest for a moment or two with her hand on the edge of the boat, breathing deeply, before she went down again. Losing sight of her among the under-water caves one day, I waited for what seemed an eternity. I cannot say how long she was gone, for as the time lengthened seconds became minutes and hours, while I was torn between diving after her and remaining ready for emergency in the boat. When at last she came to the surface, she was nearly dead with exhaustion, and I had to lift her into the canoe. She said her hair had been caught in the branching coral, and that she had been barely able to wrench it free before her strength was gone. I went down with her several times, but could not master the art of entrapping the fish, and was overcome with fear when I had entered one of the dark caves and heard a terrible splashing nearby, as if a shark had struck the coral in attempting to enter my hazardous refuge. Even Miss Impossibility had not the courage to face a shark; yet every time she dived she risked meeting one. Red Chicken had killed one at this very spot a few weeks earlier. The danger even to a man armed with a knife was that the shark would obstruct from a cave, or come upon him suddenly from behind. Often we had with us in the fishing a Paumotan, Pascual, the pilot of the ship _Zelee_, who was in Hanavave visiting a relative. He was the very highest physical and mental type of the Paumotan, a honey-comb of good-nature, a well of laughter, and a seaman beyond compare. To be a pilot in the Isles of the Labyrinth demands many strong qualities, but to be the pilot of the only warship in this sea was the very summit of pilotry. He had an accurate knowledge of forty harbors and anchorages, and spoke English fluently, French, Paumotan, Tahitian, Marquesan, and other Polynesian tongues. From boyhood until he took up pilotage he was a diver in the lagoons for shell and in harbors for the repair of ships. "I have killed many sharks," he said, "and have all but fed them more than once. I had gone one morning a hundred feet. The water is always colder below the surface, and I shivered as I pulled at a pair of big shells under a ledge. It was dark in the cavern, and I was both busy and cold, so that as I stooped I did not see a shark that came from behind, until he plumped into my spine. "I turned as he made his reverse to bite me, and passed under him, out to better light. I knew I had but a second or two to fight. I seized his tail quickly, and as he swept around to free himself I had time to draw the knife from my _pareu_ and stab him. He passed over me again, and this time his teeth entered my shoulder, here--" He opened his shirt and showed me a long, livid scar, serrated, the hall-mark of a fighter of _mako_. "But by fortune--you may be sure I called on God--I got my knife home again, and sprang up for the air, feeling him in the water behind me. Twice I drove the blade into him on the way, for he would not let me go. My friend in the canoe, who saw the struggle, jumped down to my aid, and being fresh from the air, he cut that devil to pieces. I was not too strong when I reached the outrigger and hung my weight upon it. We ate the liver of that _mako_, and damned him as we ate. I had fought him from the ledge upward at least eighty feet of the hundred." "_Aue!_" said Red Chicken, hearing me exclaim at the tale. "You have never seen a man fight the _mako_? _Epo!_ To-morrow we shall show you." On the following day when the sun was shining brightly, several of us went in a canoe to a place beneath the cliffs haunted by the sharks, and there prepared to snare one. A rope of hibiscus was made fast to a jagged crag, and a noose at the other end was held by Red Chicken, who stood on the edge of a great boulder eagerly watching while others strewed pig's entrails in the water to entice a victim from the dark caves. At length a long gray shape slid from the shadows and wavered below our feet. Instantly Red Chicken slipped from the rock, slid noiselessly beneath the water, and slipped the noose over the shark's tail before it knew that he was nearby. The others, whose hands were on the rope, tightened it on the instant, and with a yell of triumph hauled the lashing, fighting demon upon the rocks, where he struggled gasping until he died. There was still another way of catching sharks, Red Chicken said, and being now excited with the sport and eager to show his skill, he insisted upon displaying it for my benefit, though I, who find small pleasure in vicarious danger, would have dissuaded him. For this exploit we must row to the coral caves, where the man-eating fish stay often lying lazily in the grottoes, only their heads protruding into the sun-lit water. Here we maneuvered until the long, evil-looking snout was seen; then Red Chicken went quietly over the side of the canoe, descended beside the shark and tapped him sharply on the head. The fish turned swiftly to see what teased him, and in the same split-second of time, over his fluke went the noose, and Red Chicken was up and away, while his companions on a nearby cliff pulled in the rope and killed the shark with spears in shallow water. Red Chicken said that he had learned this art from a Samoan, whose people were cleverer killers of sharks than the Marquesans. It could be done only when the shark was full-fed, satisfied, and lazy. I had seen the impossible, but I was to hear a thing positively incredible. While Red Chicken sat breathing deeply in the canoe, filled with pride at my praises, and the others were contriving means of carrying home the shark meat, I observed a number of fish swimming around and through the coral caves, and jumped to the conclusion that from their presence Red Chicken had deduced the well-filled stomachs and thoroughly satisfied appetite of the shark. Red Chicken replied, however, that they were a fish never eaten by sharks, and offered an explanation to which I listened politely, but with absolute unbelief. Imagine with what surprise I found Red Chicken's tale repeated in a book that I read some time later when I had returned to libraries. There is a fish, the Diodon antennatus, that gets the better of the shark in a curious manner. He can blow himself up by taking in air and water, until he becomes a bloated wretch instead of the fairly decent thing he is in his normal moments. He can bite, he can make a noise with his jaws, and can eject water from his mouth to some distance. Besides all this, he erects papillae on his skin like thorns, and secretes in the skin of his belly a carmine fluid that makes a permanent stain. Despite all these defences, if the shark is fool enough to heed no warning and to eat Diodon, the latter puffs himself up and eats his way clean through the shark to liberty, leaving the shark riddled and leaky, and, indeed, dead. Should this still be doubted, my new authority is Charles Darwin. After his display of skill and daring--and, as I thought, vivid imagination--Red Chicken became my special friend and guide, and on one occasion it was our being together, perhaps, saved his life, and afforded me one of the most thrilling moments of my own. He and I had gone in a canoe after nightfall to spear fish outside the Bay of Virgins. Night fishing has its attractions in these tropics, if only for the freedom from severe heat, the glory of the moonlight or starlight, and the waking dreams that come to one upon the sea, when the canoe rests tranquil, the torch blazes, and the fish swim to meet the harpoon. The night was moonless, but the sea was covered with phosphorescence, sometimes a glittering expanse of light, and again black as velvet except where our canoe moved gently through a soft and glamorous surface of sparkling jewels. A night for a lover, a lady, and a lute. Our torch of cocoanut-husks and reeds, seven feet high, was fixed at the prow, so that it could be lifted up when needed to attract the fish or better to light the canoe. Red Chicken, in a scarlet _pareu_ fastened tightly about his loins, stood at the prow when we had reached his favorite spot off a point of land, while I, with a paddle, noiselessly kept the canoe as stationary as possible. Light is a lure for many creatures of land and sea and sky. The moth and the bat whirl about a flame; the sea-bird dashes its body against the bright glass of the lonely tower; wild deer come to see what has disturbed the dark of the forest, and fish of different kinds leap at a torch. Red Chicken put a match to ours when we were all in readiness. The brilliant gleam cleft the darkness and sent across the blackness of the water a beam that was a challenge to the curiosity of the dozing fish. They hastened toward us, and Red Chicken made meat of those who came within the radius of his harpoon, so that within an hour or two our canoe was heaped with half a dozen kinds. Far off in the path of the flambeau rays I saw the swordfish leaping as they pursued small fish or gamboled for sheer joy in the luminous air. They seemed to be in pairs. I watched them lazily, with academic interest in their movements, until suddenly one rose a hundred feet away, and in his idle caper in the air I saw a bulk so immense and a sword of such amazing size that the thought of danger struck me dumb. He was twenty-five feet in length, and had a dorsal fin that stood up like the sail of a small boat. But even these dimensions cannot convey the feeling of alarm his presence gave me. His next leap brought him within forty feet of us. I recalled a score of accidents I had seen, read, and heard of; fishermen stabbed, boats rent, steel-clad ships pierced through and through. Red Chicken held the torch to observe him better, and shouted: "_Apau!_ Look out! Paddle fast away!" I needed no urging. I dug into the glowing water madly, and the sound of my paddle on the side of the canoe might have been heard half a mile away. It served no purpose. Suddenly half a dozen of the swordfish began jumping about us, as if stirred to anger by our torch. I called to Red Chicken to extinguish, it. He had seized it to obey when I heard a splash and the canoe received a terrific shock. A tremendous bulk fell upon it. With a sudden swing I was hurled into the air and fell twenty feet away. In the water I heard a swish, and glimpsed the giant espadon as he leaped again. I was unhurt, but feared for Red Chicken. He had cried out as the canoe went under, but I found him by the outrigger, trying to right the craft. Together we succeeded, and when I had ousted some of the water, Red Chicken crawled in. "_Papaoufaa!_ I am wounded slightly," he said, as I assisted him. "The Spear of the Sea has thrust me through." The torch was lost, but I felt a big hole in the calf of his right leg. Blood was pouring from the wound. I made a tourniquet of a strip of my _pareu_ and, with a small harpoon, twisted it until the flow of blood was stopped. Then, guided by him, I paddled as fast as I could to the beach, on which there was little trouble in landing as the bay was smooth. Red Chicken did not utter a complaint from the moment of his first outcry, and when I roused others and he was carried to his house, he took the pipe handed him and smoked quietly. "The Aavehie was against him," said an old man. Aavehie is the god of fishermen, who was always propitiated by intending anglers in the polytheistic days, and who still had power. [Illustration: Spearing fish in Marquesas Islands] [Illustration: Pearl shell divers at work] There was no white doctor on the island, nor had there been one for many years. There was nothing to do but call the _tatihi_, or native doctor, an aged and shriveled man whose whole body was an intricate pattern of tattooing and wrinkles. He came at once, and with his claw-like hands cleverly drew together the edges of Red Chicken's wound and gummed them in place with the juice of the _ape_, a bulbous plant like the edible _taro_. Red Chicken must have suffered keenly, for the _ape_ juice is exceedingly caustic, but he made no protest, continuing to puff the pipe. Over the wound the _tatihi_ applied a leaf, and bound the whole very carefully with a bandage of _tapa_ cloth folded in surgical fashion. About the mat on which Red Chicken lay the elders of the village congregated in the morning to discuss the accident and tell tales while the pipe circulated. One had seen his friend pierced through the chest by a sword-fish and instantly killed. Numerous incidents of their canoes being sunk by these savage Spears of the Sea were recited by the wise men who, with no books to bother them or written records to dull their memories, preserved the most minute recollections of important events of the past. For my part, on the subject of the demoniacal work of the swordfish, I regaled them with accounts of damage wrought to big ships; of how a bony sword had penetrated the hull of the _Fortune_, of Plymouth, cutting through copper, an inch of under-sheathing, a three-inch plank of hard wood, twelve inches of solid, white-oak timber, two and a half inches of hard oak ceiling, and the head of an oil cask; of the sloop _Morning Star_, which had to be convoyed to port with a leak through a hole in eight and a half inches of white oak; of the United States Fish Commission sloop, _Red Hot_, rammed and sunk; of the British dreadnaught, which was pumped to Colombo where the leak made by the fish was found, and 15,000 francs insurance paid. "Our fathers never went fishing until they had implored the favor of the gods," said Red Chicken. "I am a Catholic, but it may be the sea is so old, older than Christ, that the devils there obey the old gods we used to worship. If that largest Spear of the Sea that we saw had attacked me or our boat, he would have killed us and sunk the canoe, for he was four fathoms long, and his weapon was as tall as I am." The _tatihi_ nodded his head gravely. His soul was still in the keeping of the gods of his fathers, and-he saw in Red Chicken's wound the vengeance of the un-appeased Aavehie. I was amazed to find that Red Chicken had no fever, and was recovering rapidly. Without modern medicine or knowledge of it, the _tatihi_ had healed the sufferer, and I drew him on to talk of his skill. His surgical knowledge was excellent; he knew the location of the vital organs quite accurately from frequent cutting up of bodies for eating. He had treated successfully broken bones, spear-wounds through the body, holes knocked in skulls by the vicious, egg-sized sling-stones. If the skull was merely cracked, with no smashing of the bone, he drilled holes at the end of each crack to prevent further cleavage and, replacing the skin he had folded back, bound the head with cooling leaves and left nature to cure the break. If there was pressure on the brain or a part of the skull was in bits, his custom was to remove all these and, trimming the edges of the hole in the brainpan, to fit over it a neat disk of cocoanut-shell, return the scalp, and nurse the patient to health. He had known of cases when injured brain matter was replaced with pig-brains, but admitted that the patient in such cases became first violently angry and then died. Lancing boils and abscesses with thorns had been his former habit, but he favored a nail for the purpose nowadays. Fearing lest fever should attack Red Chicken, he had prepared a decoction from the hollow joints of the bamboo, which he administered in frequent doses from a cocoanut-shell. It was milk-white, and became translucent in water, like that beautiful variety of opal, the hydrophane. There was a legend, said the _tatihi_, that the knowledge of this medicine had been gleaned from a dark man who had come on a ship many years before, and with this clue I recognized it as _tabasheer_, a febrifuge long known in India. A fire had been built outside the straw hovel in which Red Chicken lay, and stones were heating in it, so that if milder medicine did not avail the patient might be laid on a pile of blazing stones covered with protecting leaves, and swathed in cloths until perspiration conquered fever. The patient would then be rushed to the sea or river and plunged into cold water. But this procedure was not necessary. Red Chicken got well rapidly, and in a few days was walking about as usual, though with a thoughtful look in his eye that promised a soul-struggle with Père Olivier, whose new gods had not protected the fisherman against the gods of the sea. CHAPTER XXXII A journey over the roof of the world to Oomoa; an encounter with a wild woman of the hills. Père Olivier tried to dissuade me from walking back to Oomoa, and offered me his horse, but I determined to go afoot and let Orivie, a native youth, be my mounted guide. Orivie is named for Père Olivier; there being no "l" in the Marquesan language, the good priest's name is pronounced as if spelled in English Oreeveeay. The horse, the usual small, tough mountain-pony, was caught, and upon him we strapped the saddle with cow-skin stirrups, hairy and big, and a rope bridle. Orivie, handsomely dressed in wrinkled denim trousers, a yellow _pareu_ and an aged straw hat, mounted the beast, and bidding farewell to the friends I had made, we began to climb the trail through the village. At each of the dozen houses we passed I had to stop and say _Kaoha_ to the occupants. In these islands there is none of that coldness toward the casual passer-by which is common in America, where one may walk through the tiniest village and receive no salutation unless the village constable sees a fee in arresting the wayfarer for not having money or a job. All the elders were tattooed, and as every island and even every valley differed in its style of skin decoration, these people had new patterns and pictures of interest to me. I made it a point to linger a little before each house, praising the appearance of these tattooed old people, both because it pleased them and because it is a pity that this national art expression should die out at the whim of whites who substitute nothing for it. By this deprivation, as by a dozen others, the Marquesans have been robbed of racial pride and clan distinction, and their social life destroyed. Despite this delay, Orivie and I were soon past the houses. As population has decreased in all the valleys the people have moved down from the upper heights to districts nearer the sea, for neighborliness and convenience. Only a few in some places have remained in the further glens, and these are the non-conformists, who retain yet their native ways of thought and living and their ancient customs. This I knew, but I pursued my way behind the climbing little horse, enjoying the many sights and perfumes of the jungle, in happy ignorance of an experience soon to befall me with one of these residents of the heights. It fell upon me suddenly, the most embarrassing of several experiences that have divided me between fear and laughter. Perhaps a mile above the village, in a wilderness of shrubbery, trees, and giant ferns, we came upon a cross-trail, a thin line of travel hardly breaking the dense growth, and saw a woman appear from among the leaves. She was large, perhaps five feet, ten inches, tall; a Juno figure, handsome and lithe. Such a woman of her age, about twenty-two years, does the work of a man, makes copra, fells trees, lifts heavy stones, and is a match for the average man in strength. She was dark, as are all Marquesans who live a hardy and vigorous life unsheltered from sun and wind, and in the half shadow of the forest she seemed like an animal, wild and savage. Her scarlet _pareu_ and necklace of red peppers added color to a picture that struck me at once as bizarre and memorable. The horse had passed her, and turning about in the saddle Orivie replied to her greeting, while I added a courteous "_Kaoha!_" She looked at me with extraordinary attention, which I ascribed to my white ducks and traveling cap, while she asked who I was. Orivie replied that I was a stranger on my way over the mountains. She advanced into the main trail then, letting slip from her shoulders a weight of packages, tea, and other groceries, and suddenly embraced me, smelling my face and picking me up in a bear hug that, startled as I was, nearly choked me. "Take care!" cried Orivie, in a tone between alarm and amusement. I backed hastily away, and sought to take refuge beside a boulder, but she vaulted after me, and seizing me again, resumed her passionate attack. "She is a woman of the mountains! She will take you away to her _paepae_!" my excited guide yelled warningly. That was her intention. There was no doubt about it. She seized me by the arm and tried to drag me away from the boulder to which I clung. For several moments I was engaged in a struggle more sincere than chivalrous on my part and ardently demonstrative on hers. But as I absolutely would not accede to her desire to give me a home in the hills, she was forced to give up hope after a final embrace, which I ended rudely, but scientifically. Rising to her feet again, she picked up her burden, which must have weighed fully a hundred pounds, and went her way. "She is a _hinenao pu_," said Orivie. That means literally a coquette without reason. I did not seek for double meaning in the remark, but expressed my opinion of all _hinenaos_ as I replaced my cap and readjusted my garments. "These women of the heights are all like that," said my guide. "They have no sense and no shame. If they see a stranger near their home, they will seize him, as men do women. If they are in the mood, they will not take no for an answer. It has always been their custom, as that of the hill men capturing the valley women. It is shameful, but it has never changed. She would give you food and treat you with kindness as a man does his bride. You know, in the old days the strong women had more than one husband; sometimes four or five, and they chose them in this way. If you were nearer where Tepu lives, she would make you a prisoner. They have often done that." "Do we go near her home?" said I. "No; we see no more _paepaes_," replied Orivie. "Then," I said, "let us hasten onward." We mounted at every foot, and soon were above the cocoanuts. The trail was a stream interspersed with rocks, for in these steep accents the path, worn lower than its borders, becomes in the rainy season the natural bed of the trickle or torrent that runs to the valley. The horse leaped from rock to rock, planting his back feet and springing upward to a perch, upon which he hung until he got balance for another leap. I followed the animal, knowing him wiser in such matters than I. From time to time Orivie urged me to ride and when I refused gave me the knowing look bestowed upon the witless, the glance of the asylum-keeper upon the lunatic who thinks himself a billiard ball. We were soon so high that I saw below only a big basin, in which was a natural temple, the vast ruin of a gigantic minster, it seemed, and across the basin a rugged, saw-like profile of the mountain-top. Eons ago the upper valley was a volcano, when the island of Fatu-hiva was under the sea. Once the fire burst through the crater side toward the present beach, and after the explosion there was left a massive gateway of rock, through which we had come from the village. Towering so high that they were hardly perceptible when we had been beside them, they showed from this height their whole formation, like the wrecked walls of a stupendous basilica. Up and up we went. The way was steeper than any mountain I have ever climbed, except the sheer sides of chasms where ropes are necessary, or the chimneys of narrow defiles. I have climbed on foot Vesuvius, Halaakela, Kilauea, Fuji, and Mayon, and the mountains of America, Asia, and South America, though I know nothing by trial of the terrors of the Alps. However, the horse could and did go up the steep, though it taxed him to the utmost, and these horses are like mountain-goats, for there is hardly any level land in the Marquesas. [Illustration: Catholic Church at Hanavave Frère Fesal on left, Père Olivier on right] [Illustration: A canoe in the surf at Oomoa] Unexpectedly, the sea came in view, with the Catholic church and its white belfry, but in another turn it disappeared. I fell again and again; the horse floundered among the stones in the trough and fell, too, Orivie seizing trees or bushes that lined the banks to save himself. Rocks as large as hundred-ton vessels were on the mountainside above, held from falling only by small rocks interposed, feeble obstacles to an avalanche. Beetling precipices overhung the village. I thought they might fall at any moment, and the Marquesans recount many such happenings. In Tai-o-hae three hundred natives were entombed forever by a landslide, and Orivie pointed out the tracks of such slides, and immense masses of rock in the far depths below, beside strips of soft soil brought down by the rains. The wild guava and the thorny _keoho_, the taro, the pandanus and the banian, all the familiar and useful trees and plants were left behind. We toiled onward in a wilderness of stone. I climbed around the edge of a precipice, and stood above the sea. The blue ocean, as I looked downward, was directly under my eyes, and I could see the fishing canoes like chips on the water. It was a thousand feet straight down; the standing-place was but three feet wide, wet and slippery. The mighty trade-wind swept around the crags and threatened to dislodge me. That demoniacal impulse to throw oneself from a height took possession of me. Almost a physical urging of the body, as if some hidden Mephistopheles not only poured into the soul his hellish advice to end your life, but pushed you to the brink. As never before the evil desire to fall from that terrible height attacked me, and the world became a black dizziness. Struggling, I threw out my hand; the unconscious grip upon a stunted fern, itself no barrier against falling, gave me a mental grip upon myself, and the crisis was passed. On hands and knees I crept around the ledge, for the wind was a gale, and a slip of a foot might mean a drop of a fifth of a mile. The next valley, Tapaatea, came in view, and Hanavave a cleft in the mountains, the stream a silver cord. A cascade gleamed on the opposite side against the Namana hills. It is Vaieelui, the youth Orivie informed me, as we went higher, still on the dangerous ledge that binds the seaward precipice. All the valleys converged to a point, and nothing below was distinct. Higher we went, and were level with the jagged ridge of the Faeone mountains toward the north, and could look through the pierced mountain, Laputa; through the hole, _tehavaiinenao_, that is like a round window to the sky, framed in black, about which legends are raised. Orivie smiled indulgently as I explained to him that that hole was made by sea-currents when Laputa was under the ocean. He knew that a certain warrior, half god and half man, threw his spear through the mountain once upon a time. We came then to the veriest pitch of the journey, like the roof of the world, and it was necessary to crawl about another ledge that permitted a perpendicular view of 2500 feet, so desperate in its attraction that had I known the name of that saint who is the patron of alpenstock buyers I would have offered him an _ave_. This was the apex. Once safely past it, the trail went downward to a plateau. I caught up with Orivie and the horse, and my muscles so rejoiced at the change of motion in descent that almost involuntarily I took a few steps of a jig and uttered the first verses of "I Only Had Fifty Cents." Mosses and ferns by the billion covered every foot of the small plateau. There were no trees. The trail was a foot deep in water, like an irrigation ditch. One still might easily break one's neck. And I reflected that Père Olivier crosses many times a year between Oomoa and Hanavave, in his black soutan and on his weary horse, in all weathers, alone; it is a fact to treasure for recalling when one hears all missionaries included in the accusation of selfishness that springs so often to the lips of many men. We reached the plane of cocoanuts, and I asked Orivie to fetch down a couple, after essaying to perform that feat myself and failing dismally besides scratching my nose and hands. Bare feet are a requisite--bare and tough as leather. The Marquesans cut notches in the trees after they reach maturity, to make the climbing easier, a custom they have in many parts of Asia, but not in Tahiti. These footholds are made every three feet on opposite sides. They are cut shallowly, inclining downward and outward, in order not to wound the wood of the tree or to form pockets in which water would collect and rot it. With these aids they climb with ease, using a rope of _purau_ bark tied about the wrists, and by these they pull themselves from notch. I have seen a child of six years reach the top of a sixty-foot tree in a minute or so, and I have seen a man or woman stop on the way, fifty feet from the earth, and light a cigarette. Slim, fat, chiefs or commoners, all learn this knack in infancy. Men who puff along the road because of their bulk will attain the branches of a palm with the agility of monkeys. Orivie had no notches to assist him, but tied his ankles together with a piece of tough vine, leaving about ten inches of play, and with this band, pressed tightly against the tree, giving firm support while his arms, clasping the trunk above, drew him upward a yard at a time, he was at the crest of a fifty-foot tree in a minute, and threw down two drinking nuts. They were as big as foot-balls and weighed about five pounds each. We had no knife, but broke in the tops with stones, and holding up the shining green nuts, let the wine flow down our throats. Never was a better thirst-quencher or heartener! The hottest noon on the hottest beach, when the coral burns the feet, this nectar is cool. After the most arduous climb, when lungs and muscles ache with weariness, it freshens strength and lifts the spirit. By the cocoanut-grove ran a level stream shaded with pandanus, and following it, we commenced again to mount on a pathway arched by small trees, down which the stream coursed. The cocoanuts fell away as we went up the ridge and emerged upon a tableland covered with ferns, some green and some dead and dry, carpeting the flat expanse as far as eye could see with a mat of lavender, the green and the brown melting into that soft color. We were further on the broad roof on the mountains, in the middle now and not on the edge, so we ran and galloped and shouted. Wild horses fled from us, and we heard the grunt of boar in the fern thickets. The fan-palms, dwarfs, but graceful, intermingled with magnificent tree-ferns, while above them curved the _huetu_, the immense mountain plantain, called _fei_ in Tahiti, where they are the bread of the people; they have ribbed, emerald leaves, as big as a man. Feeders of dark people in many lands for thousands of years, theirs is the same golden fruit I had eaten at breakfast with Père Olivier, three thousand feet below. They grow only in the mountains, and the men who bring them into the villages have feet shaped like a hand spread out to its widest, with toes twisted curiously by climbing rocks and grasping roots for support. The rain began to fall again, and the wind came stronger, but now we were going down in earnest. The sea shone again, but it was on the Oomoa side. We passed under trees hung with marvelous orchids, the _puaauetaha_, Orivie said, parasitic vines related to the vanilla as the lion is related to the kitten, cousins, but with little family likeness. The trail became very dangerous at this point, a rocky slide, with steps a foot or two apart like uneven stairs, and all a foot, or sometimes two, under running water. I jumped and slid and slipped, following the unhappy plunging horse. Darkness came on quickly with the blinding rain, and the descent was often at an angle of forty-five degrees, over rocks, eroded hills, along the edge of a precipice. I fell here, and saved myself by catching a root in the trail and pulling myself up again. I would have dropped upon the roof of the gendarme's house a thousand feet below. We heard the sound of the surf, and letting the horse go, Orivie led me, by that sense we surrender for the comforts of civilization, down the bed of a cascade to the River of Oomoa, which we waded, and then arrived at Grelet's house. We had come thirteen miles. I was tired, but Orivie made nothing of the journey. Covered with mud as I was, I went to the river and bathed in the rain and, returning to the house, looked after my health. A half ounce of rum, a pint of cocoanut-milk from a very young nut, the juice of half a lime just from the tree, two lumps of sugar, and I had an invigorating draught, long enough for a golf player after thirty-six holes, and delicate enough for a debutante after her first cotillion. The Paumotan boys and Pae looked on in horror, saying that I was spoiling good rum. CHAPTER XXXIII Return in a canoe to Atuona; Tetuahunahuna relates the story of the girl who rode the white horse in the celebration of the féte of Joan of Arc in Tai-o-hae; Proof that sharks hate women; steering by the stars to Atuona beach. The canoe we had followed to Hanavave stopped in Oomoa on its way to Hiva-oa, my home, for I had bargained with Tetuahunahuna, its owner, for my conveyance to Atuona. Grelet would eventually have transported me, but so great was his aversion to leaving Fatu-hiva that I felt it would be asking too much of him. He reminded me that Kant, the great metaphysician, had lived eighty years in his birthplace and never stirred more than seven miles from it. The canoe had come to Hanavave to bring back two young women. One was dark, a voluptuous figure in a pink satin gown over a lace petticoat. A leghorn hat, trimmed with shells and dried nuts, sat coquettishly upon her masses of raven hair. Upon her neck, rounded as a young cocoanut-tree, was a necklace of pearls that an empress might have envied her, had they been real and not the synthetic gift of some trader. Small and shapely feet, bare, peeped from under her filmy frills. Her eyes were the large, limpid orbs of the typical Marquesan, like sepia, long-lashed; her nose straight and perfect, her mouth sensuous and demanding. Ghost Girl, her name signified, and she flitted about the islands like a sprite. "She levies tribute on all whom she likes," said Grelet. "Her devotions are rum and tobacco." On meeting me she squatted and spat through her fingers to show her thirst, as do all Marquesans whose manners have not been corrupted by strangers. The other girl, younger, in a scarlet tunic with a wreath of hibiscus flowers on her head, startled me by appearing with all her body that I could see colored a brilliant yellow. She had decked herself for the journey with a covering of _ena_-paste, perfumed with saffron, a favorite cosmetic of island beauties. The sun was white on Oomoa beach as we came down to it from the grateful shade of Grelet's plantation. Against the blinding glimmer of it the half-naked boatsmen, bearing bunches of bananas, dozens of drinking nuts, bread, and wine, the gifts of my host, were dark silhouettes outlined against the blue sea. Behind them walked Tetuahunahuna. Calm, unburdened, and without a tattoo mark on his straight brown body, he looked the commander of men that he was, a man whose word none would think to question or to doubt. Indifferent alike to the dizzying heat and to the admiring glances of the women, he set at once to ordering the loading of the boat that lay upon the sands beyond the reach of the breakers. A dozen women lounged in the ancient public place beneath the banian tree, a mighty platform of black stone on which the island women had sat for centuries to watch their men come and go in canoes to the fishing or to raids on neighboring bays, and where for decades they have awaited the landing of their white sailor lovers. "_Tai, menino!_ A pacific sea!" they called to us as we passed them, and their eyes followed with envy the progress of Ghost Girl and Sister of Anna. The boat was already well loaded when I reached it. The fermented breadfruit wrapped in banana-leaves, the pig dug from the pit that morning and packed in sections of bamboo, the calabashes of river water, the bananas and drinking nuts, were all in place. With difficulty my luggage was added to the cargo, and we found cramped places for ourselves and bade farewell to Grelet, while the oarsmen held the boat steady at the edge of the lapping waves. Tetuahunahuna, watching the breakers, gave a quick word of command, and we plunged through the foam. The boat leaped and pitched in the flying spray. The oarsmen, leaping to their places, struck out with the oars. A sharp "_Haie!_" of alarm rose behind me, and I saw that an oar had snapped. But Tetuahunahuna, waist-deep in the water at our stern, gave a mighty push, and we were safely afloat as he clambered over the edge and stood dripping on the steersman's tiny perch, while the men, holding the boat head-on to the rolling waves, drove us safely through to open water. Outside the bay they put by their oars and we waited for a breeze to give the signal for hoisting mast and sail. The beach lay behind us, a narrow line of white beyond the whiter curve of surf. The blue sky burned above us, and to the far shimmering horizon stretched the blue calm of a windless sea. We rolled idly, the sun scorching us. In an hour I was so hot that I began to wonder if I could endure the torment. The buckle on my trousers burned my flesh, and I could not touch my clothes without pain. The Marquesans lay comfortably on the seats and bundles, enjoying their pandanus-leaf cigarettes. Every few moments the bow-oar skillfully rolled one, took a few puffs and handed it to the next man, who, after taking his turn, passed it down the waiting line. From time to time Tetuahunahuna, squatting in the stern, made a sign, and a fresh cigarette passed untouched through eight hands to his. He smoked serenely, gazing at the smooth swells of water and waiting with inexhaustible patience for the wind. At his feet the fifteen-year-old girl, Sister of Anne, disposed her saffron-colored body upon oars laid across the thwarts and slept. Ghost Girl, beside me, laid her glossy head in my lap to doze more comfortably. Jammed against the unyielding thwarts, I passed miserable hours, unable to move more than a few inches in the narrow space. At noon, with the vertical eye of the evil sun staring down upon us, my clothes were so hot that I had to hold them off my body. I meditated leaping into the ocean and swimming awhile. Ghost Girl saw my intention when I stirred, and pulled me back beside her. "_Mako!_" she cried. "_Puaa hae!_" She pointed to starboard. A gray fin moved slowly through the water twenty feet away. "A shark, and a wicked beast he is!" She reached to pick up an opened cocoanut and tossed some of the milk over her shoulder to appease the demon. "_Mako!_" she repeated. "_Puaa hae!_" "_Requin!_" echoed Tetuahunahuna in French. "The devil of the Marquesas!" "But you are not afraid of them. You swim where they are," said I. "Few of us are bitten by sharks," said Tetuahunahuna, sizing up a puff of wind that brought a faint hope. It died, and he continued. "We are often in the sea, and do not fear the _mako_ enough to make us weak against him. I have killed many with a knife. I have tied ropes about their bellies and made them feel silly as we pulled them in. I have tickled their bellies with the point of the knife that slit them later. They are awkward, they must turn over to bite, and they are afraid of a man swimming. But they are devils, and hate women. They do not like men, but women they will go far to kill." He took the cigarette Ghost Girl handed him and, squatting on the rudder deck, looked at me to see if I were interested. Wretched as I felt, I returned his glance, and said "_Tiatohoa?_" which means, "Is that so?" and showed that I was attentive. "It is so," he replied. "There are reasons for this. In times before the memory of man a shark-god was deceived by a woman. In his anger he overturned an island, but this did not appease his hate. Since that time all sharks have preyed on women." Sister of Anne moved restlessly in her sleep and put her _ena_-covered feet across my knees, feet as hot as an iron pump-handle on a July noon. "_Hakaia!_" exclaimed Ghost Girl, and hung the feet over the side. "Sharks will let men live to kill women," Tetuahunahuna resumed. "There are many proofs of this, but most convincing is a happening that every one in Tai-o-hae and Nuka-hiva knows, because it happened only a few years ago. I saw that happening." I looked at him with attention, and after a few puffs of smoke he continued. "You may think, you who use the Iron Fingers That Make Words, that the shark does not know the difference between men and women. I have seen it, and I will tell you honestly. I have thought often of it, for all who live in Tai-o-hae know that woman, and her foster-sister sits there with the _ena_ upon her. She does not lie in the cemetery, this girl of whom I speak, nor is her body beside that of her fathers in the _ua tupapau_. Her name was Anna, a name for your country, _fenua Menike_, for her father was captain of a vessel with three masts that came from Newbeddifordimass, a place where all the Menike ships that hunt the whale came from. Her mother was O Take Oho, of the valley of Hapaa, whose father was eaten by the men of Tai-o-hae in the war with that white captain, Otopotee. "_Ue!_ Those big ships that hunt the whale come no more. The _paaoa_ spouts with none to strike him. Standireili makes the lanterns burn in Menike land, and they send it here in tipoti, the big cans. The old days are gone. "The father of Anna saw her first when she was one year old and could barely swim. He came in his ship from Newbeddifordimass, and he said that it was for the last time, for the whaling was done. He was a young man, strong and a user of strong words, but he looked with pride on the little Anna, and kept her with her with her mother on his ship for many weeks, while the men of the ship danced with the girls. He would bathe on the beach in the bay of Tai-o-hae, and the little Anna would swim to him through the deep water. He gave her a small silver box with a silver chain, for the _tiki_ of Bernadette, on the day that he sailed away. "He did not come again to Tai-o-hae, nor Atuona, nor Hanavave. We heard that he traded with Tahiti, and had given up the chase of the _paaoa_. I have never been in Tahiti. They say that it is beautiful and that the people are joyous. They have all the _namu_ they can drink. The government is good to them." Tetuahunahuna sighed, and looked at my bag, in which was the bottle of rum Grelet had given me. I poured a drink into the cocoanut-shell Ghost Girl had emptied, and gave it to him. "_Kaoha!_" he said and, having swallowed the rum, went on. "When Anna had fourteen years she was _mot kanahua_, as beautiful as a great pearl. She was tall for her age as are the daughters of the great. Her hair was of red and of gold, like that of Titihuti of Autuona. Her eyes were the color of the _mio_, the rosewood when freshly cut, and her breasts like the milk-cocoanut husked for drinking. "Many young men, Marquesan men and all the white men, and George Washington, the black American, tried to capture Anna, but Père Simeon, the priest, had given her to the blessed Maria Peato, and the Sisters guarded her carefully. From the time she played naked on the beach she wore the tiki of Bernadette in the silver box given her by her father, and she said the prayers Père Simeon taught her from the book. She wore a blue _pareu_, and that was strange, for only old people, and few of them, wear any but the red or yellow loin-cloth. But blue, said little Anna, is the color of Maria Peato, mother of Christ." The others were listening curiously. Ghost Girl crossed herself and muttered, "_Kaoha_, Maria Peato!" "When she had fourteen years, then, Anna was different from all other girls on these beaches. All men sighed for her, but she was one who would not follow the custom of our girls since always. She was made different by her mother, by the prayers of Père Simeon, and by something strange in her _kuhane_--what do you say? Soul. She cared nothing for drink or _pipi_, the trinkets girls adore. She spoke of herself always as the daughter of a Menike captain, a father who would come for her and take her away. Her mother had kept this always in her mind, and Anna never joined the dances. "Her mother, who lived on the beach and waited for the sailors, saw her seldom, for Père Simeon had taken Anna away, and kept her in the nuns' house, and they guarded her. He had put a _tapu_ upon her." I sat up suddenly, struck by a memory. "It was she who rode the white horse, and bore the armor of Joan in the great parade?" "It was she. The nuns would have had her live in the nun's house forever, and become one of them. But Anna told me on the beach when she came hiding to see her mother, that she would live in the nuns' house only until her Menike father came to take her away. She kept the _tiki_ of Bernadette in its silver box upon her neck, and it was her god to whom she said her prayers." "_Epo!_" I said, sitting up, dumfounded. "Go on, Tetuahunahuna. Tell me more." "There came the great day of the blessed Joan," said Tetuahunahuna, after tasting a fresh cigarette. "There were drums and chants, and rum for all. Père Simeon took away the rum, alas! and only the Menike sailors on the ships could have enough. Anna wore a garment that shone like the sun on the waves, and sat upon a white horse, riding from the mission to the House of Lepers on the beach. Père Simeon walked before her carrying the tiki of the Sacrament, and there were banners white as the new web of the cocoanut. Anna did not look to right or to left as she sat upon the horse, but when she stood on the sand by the House of Lepers, she looked long at a new ship in the bay. "Anna said that this ship might be that of her white father, but the name was different, and this ship was not from Newbeddifordimass. She said she would swim to this ship to see her father, but her mother said no. Her mother told her that the waters were full of sharks, and that not even a _tiki_ of Bernadette would save her. Then came the nuns, and took Anna away. Anna wept as she went with them, for she desired to stay and look at the ship. "That night the boats of the ship could not land on the beach of Tai-o-hae, for the sea was too great, so that they came and went from Peikua, the staircase in the rocks. The sailors had leave to do what they wished and they had plenty of rum given them by the captain who was born that day forty years before. I went then to the ship to drink the captain's rum and to buy tobacco. I am of Hiva-oa, and the ship was large, and new to me." Tetuahunahuna's gesture brought quickly to him a fresh cigarette, and he savored its rank smoke with satisfaction. The slender canoe swung like a hammock in the long, sluggish rollers. The sun blazed pitilessly upon us, and no slightest ruffle of white broke the surface of the calm, unrelenting sea that held us prisoner. "At night there was nobody on the ship not drunk. Some of the men had seized several women on the road that leads to Tai-o-hae, and had forced them to the boat and carried them aboard. Among these women was Anna, who had fled from the nuns to seek word of her father. She fought like a wild woman of the hills when they held her in jest to make her swallow the rum, but the strong ship men conquered her, and the sound of their laughter and her cries was so great that the captain himself came forward. When he saw her he claimed her as the youngest, as is the custom. "She went with him weeping. When they came to his cabin, we heard her crying aloud to Maria Peato. We heard the shouts of the captain, enraged, subduing her with blows. There was much rum, and the women were dancing. There was much noise, but I had drunk little, having just come to the ship, and I heard the crying and weeping of Anna." "After a time came Anna, running across the deck. It was a large vessel, and it was a dark night. The captain pursued her. She climbed the rigging, and the captain ordered two men to go aloft and bring her to him. [Illustration: The gates of the Valley of Hanavave] [Illustration: A fisherman's house of bamboo and cocoanut leaves] "Every one came to look, with yells and with songs. The sailors climbed after her, and she went higher and higher, until near the top of that tall mast, taller than the greatest cocoanut-tree in Atuona. There she held to the wood, calling upon Maria Peato. The captain was like a man mad with _namu_. He called to the sailors to climb higher. But when one reached to take her by the foot, she threw herself into the air and fell a great distance into the water. "The captain cried that he would give four litres of rum to the man that brought her back. Some ran to get the boat, others dived after her. I was one of these. "I have said that it was a black night. When in the water we could get no sight of her. Then on the ship one turned a bright lantern on the sea, and all of us saw her arm as it was raised to swim. She was a hundred feet before us, and swimming with great swiftness. The sailors meantime had set out in the boat, but they had drunk much rum, and rowed around and around. We three men swimming in the beams of the lantern came closer to her at every stroke. "Almost my hand was upon her, when the largest shark I have ever seen rose beside her. You know it is at night that these devils look for their prey. Anna saw the _mako_ at the same moment, and made a great splashing. I heard her call out the name of Bernadette the Blessed. "The men with me turned about, but I kept on. I cried to the boat to hurry to us. I could see the _mako_ turn in the water, as he must do to take anything into his mouth. I kicked him and I struck him, and I cursed him by the name of _Manu-Aiata_, the shark god. If I had had a knife I could have killed him easily. "But, Menike, I could do nothing. He did not want me. The boat came, but not in time. I saw the devil take her in his jaws as the wild boar takes a bird that is helpless, and I felt him descend into the depths of the sea. I could do nothing." A cat's-paw stole across the sea from the southeast, the boat rolled hard, and Tetuahunahuna sprang erect. "_A toi te ka!_ Make sail!" he said. They raised the slender mast, a rose-wood tree, roughly shaped in the forest, and fastened it to either thwart with three ropes. Through a ring at its head was passed the lift, and the sail of mats, old and worn, was set, men and women all fastening the strings to the boom. Two sheets were used, one cleated about five feet from the rudder, the other at the disposition of the steersman, who let out the boom according to the wind. The breeze sprang up and died, and sprang up again. At last the deathly calm, the sickening heat, were over, and we sped across the freshening waves. Mast and sail out of the way, we stretched ourselves in the boat with more comfort, enjoying the cooling current of air. Tetuahunahuna, the sheet in his hand, squatted again on his narrow perch. "You returned to that ship when the boat picked you up?" I asked. "_Aue!_" he replied. "The captain was crazed with anger. He cursed me, and said that the girl has swum ashore." "'No, the shark has taken Anna,' I said. 'She will look for her white father no more.' "The captain had a glass of rum at his mouth, but he put it down. He would have me tell him again her name. When I did so, he shook as if with cold, and he swallowed the rum quickly. "'Where was she born?' he said next. "'At Hapaa. Her mother is O Take Oho, whose father was eaten by the men of Tai-o-hae,' I said, and looking at his face I saw that his eyes were the color of the _mio_, the rosewood when freshly cut. "The captain went to his cabin, and soon he leaped up the stairs, falling over the thing they look at to steer the ship, and there, lying on the deck, he cried again and again that I had done wrong not to tell him earlier. "He held in his hand the _tiki_, the silver box that Anna had always worn about her neck, that her father had given her. "He was like a wild bull in the hills, that ship's captain, when he arose, roaring and cursing me. I feared that he would shoot me, for he had a revolver in his hand and said that he would kill himself. But he did not. "A Marquesan who was as hateful to himself would have eaten the _eva_, but this man had not the courage, with all his cries. I swam ashore when he became maddened as a _kava_ drinker who does not eat. The mother of Atuona, whom I told in Tai-o-hae, went to see him, but he did not know her, and she took the _tiki_ from his cabin when she found him praying to it. He was _paea_, his stomach empty of thought. When the ship left, he was tied with the irons they have for sailors, and the second chief sailed the vessel." The Ghost Girl shook the _ena_-covered maiden. "_Oi vii!_" she said petulantly. "Take in your feet. Do you want the _mako_ to eat them? Do you not remember your sister?" The shark still moved a few fathoms away. We were now in the open sea, with forty miles to go to the Bay of Traitors. The boat lay over at an angle, the boom hissed through the water when close-hauled, and when full-winged, its heel bounced and splashed on the surface, as we made our six knots. There was twice too much weight in the canoe, but these islanders think nothing of loads, and for hours the company sat to windward or on the thwart while we took advantage of every puff of wind that blew. The six oarsmen took turns in bailing, using a heavy carved wooden scoop, but in the frequent flurries the waves poured over the side. The island of Fatu-hiva faded behind us, and raised Moho-Tani, the Isle of Barking Dogs, a small, but beautifully regular, islet, like a long emerald. No soul dwells there. The Moi-Atiu clan peopled it before a sorcerer dried up the water sources. A curse is upon it, and while the cocoanuts flourish and all is fair to the eye, it remains a shunned and haunted spot. Tahuata, that lovely isle of the valley of Vait-hua, rose on our left, with the cape _Te hope e te keko_, a purple coast miles away, which as the dusk descended grew darker and was lost. The shadowy silhouettes of the mountains of Hiva-oa projected themselves on the horizon. Night fell like a wall, and nothing was to be seen but the glow of the pipe that passed as if by spirit hands around our huddled group. The head of Ghost Girl was on my knees, and among the sons and daughters of cannibals peace enveloped me as at twilight in a grove. More in tune with the moods of nature, the rhythm of sea and sky, the breath of the salt breeze, than we who have sold our birthright for arts, these savages sat silent for a little while as if the spirit of the hour possessed their souls. Then the stars began to take their places in heaven to do their duty toward the poor of earth, and I saw the bright and inspiring faces of many I knew. The wind shifted and freshened, the sail was drawn nearer, and our speed became perilous. The waves grew, but Tetuahunahuna, seeing nothing, but feeling with sheet and helm the temper of changing air and water, kept the canoe's prow steady, and the men, in emergencies, threw themselves half over the starboard gunwale. I was on the edge of the steersman's perch, enjoying the mist of the flying spray and watching the stars appear one by one. Tetuahunahuna pointed toward the northern sky. "_Miope!_ I steer by the star the color of the rosewood tree," he said. There was our own Mars, redder than the sunsets over Mariveles. Northwest he was, this god of war and fertility, and our bow beacon. Turning and gazing toward Fatu-hiva I saw the Southern Cross, low in the sky, brilliant, and splendid. "_Mataike fetu!_" Ghost Girl named the constellation. "The Small Eyes." "Miope has rivers like Taka-Uku and Atuona," I said, relying on the alleged canals of Mars to save my soul. "I have seen through a _karahi mea tiohi i te fetu_, the Mirror Thing Through Which One Looks At The Stars, long as a tree and big around as a pig. Miope has people upon it." "Are they Marquesans?" "They must be Marquesans for there are islands," I replied. "And _popoi_ and pigs?" demanded the _ena_-perfumed one. "_Namu?_ Have they rum?" whispered the Ghost Girl, and nestled closer, remembering that soon we would be at my own house. I had confidence in Tetuahunahuna's stars. The Polynesians have always had an excellent working knowledge of the heavens and were deeply interested in astronomy. They knew the relative positions of the stars, their changes and phases. They predicted weather changes accurately, and kept in their memories periodicity charts so that they are able to form estimates of what will be, by considering what has been. They had a wonderful art of navigation, considering that they had no compass, sextant, or other instrument, and that their vessels were always comparatively small. The handling of canoes, like swimming, is instinctive with them, and no white ever compares with them in skill. Our boat doubled Point Teachoa, and we were in the Bay of Traitors. The wind suddenly fell flat, and we rowed several miles to the beach. A score of lights moved about on the dark waters of the bay, and fishermen shouted to us to come to them. We found Great Fern, my landlord, with Apporo, Broken Plate with the Vagabond, and they had several canoes full of fish. They were delighted at my return, and rubbed noses with me over the gunwales. Getting ashore at the stone steps of Taka-Uka was a task worthy of such boatsmen, in the darkness, the sea beating madly against the cliffs. Tetuahunahuna listened to the smashing waves and peered for the blacker outlines of the stairway and the faint gleam of the foam. The boat approached; the sea leaped to break it against the rocks. The steersman held it a second, and in that second you had to leap. It is touch and go, and heaven help you! If you miss, you fall into the sea, or the boat crushes you against the rocks. The swell sweeps the place you land on, and you must ascend quickly to safety or find hold against the suck of the retiring water. Tetuahunahuna ran to the nearest house for a lantern and poles, and while two remained in the boat to hold it off the rocks, the others carried my luggage to Atuona. I took the lead in a drizzling rain, carrying the light, mighty glad to stretch my legs after more than a dozen hours of cramp. Passing the house of the chief-of-police, I heard laughter and the clink of glasses. Bauda halted me with a leveled revolver, thinking we were a rum-smuggling gang. That brave African soldier was ever dramatic, and _D'Artagnan_ could not have struck a finer attitude as he thrust the gun in my face and called out, "_Halte là_!" "_Ah, c'est le Yahnk' Doodl'. Mais tonnerre de dieu_, you have been away a long time!" CHAPTER XXXIV Sea sports; curious sea-foods found at low tide; the peculiarities of sea-centipedes and how to cook and eat them. With what delight I returned to lazy days in Atuona Valley, lounging on the black _paepae_ of my own small blue cabin in the shadow of Temiteu, idling on the sun-warm sands of the familiar beach, walking the remembered road between banana hedges heavy with yellowing fruit! The heart of man puts down roots wherever it rests; it is perhaps this sense of home that gives the zest to wandering, for new experiences gain their value from contrast with the old, and one must have felt the bondage, however light, of emotion and habit before he can know the joy of freedom from it. Still a man leaves part of himself in every home he makes, and the wanderer, free of the one strong cord that would hold him to one place, feels always the urge of a thousand slender ties pulling him back to the thousand temporary homes he has made everywhere on the world. So the old routine closed around me pleasantly; mornings in the shade of my palms and breadfruit, eating the breakfasts prepared for me by Exploding Eggs over the fire of cocoanut husks, baths in the clear pool of the river with my neighbors, afternoons spent in the cocoanut-groves or with merry companions on the beach. Exploding Eggs directed the surf board with a sure hand, lying flat, kneeling or even standing on the long plank as he came in on the crest of the breakers. I had now and again succeeded in being carried along while flat on my stomach on the board, but failed many times oftener than I succeeded. Now I set myself in earnest to learn the art of mastering the surf. Three or four o'clock in the afternoon was the time I usually chose for the sport, and once I had made it a practice, all the boys and girls of the village accompanied me, or waited for me at the shore, sure of hilarious hours. I must make children my companions, here, for my older friends were so oppressed by the gloom of race extinction that save for Malicious Gossip and one or two others, there was no capacity for joyousness left in them. Exploding Eggs was my chum, paid as forager and firemaker, but giving from friendliness his services as a wise and admirable teacher of the unknown to one unmade by civilization. The bay of Atuona, narrow between high cliffs covered with cocoanut-trees, was the scene of my lessons. The tide came booming into this cove from the Bay of Traitors, often with bewildering force, and a day or two a month as gently as the waves at Waikiki. The river spread a broad mouth to drink the brine, and the white sand was over-run by the flowered vines that crept seaward to taste the salt. No house was in sight, no man-made structure to mar the primitive, as our merry crew of boys and girls sported naked in the surf, fished from the rocks, or lay upon the shining beach. For my first essay I used the lid of a box that had enclosed an ornate coffin ordered from Tahiti by a chief who anticipated dying. It was large, and weighty to drag or push through the surf to the proper distance. Laboring valiantly with it, I reached some distance from the shore, and prepared a triumphal return. The waves were big, curving above me in sheets of clearest emerald crested with spray, breaking into foam and rising again, endlessly reshaping, repeating themselves. Awaiting my opportunity, I chose one as it rose behind me, and flung myself upon it. Up and up and still higher I went, carried by resistless momentum, and suddenly like a chip in a hurricane I was flung forward at a fearsome speed, through rushing chaos of wind and water, seeing the beach dashing toward me, shouting with exultation. At the next instant my trusty board turned traitor. Its prow sank, the end beneath me rose, and like a stone discharged from a sling I was thrown under the waves, head over heels, banging my head and body on the sand, leaped upon by following waves that piled me into shallow water, rolling me over and over, striking me a blow with the coffin-lid at every roll. I lay high and dry, panting and aching, while from all the beach rose shouts of laughter. Exploding Eggs rolled on the sand in his delight, holding his gasping sides, scarcely able to remind me of the necessity, which in my excitement I had forgotten, of keeping the prow of the board pointed upward as I rode. Often as I repeated this instruction in my mind, firmly as I determined to remember it while I toiled sea-ward again with the coffin-lid, the result was always the same. A moment of rest in the unresting waves, a quick, agile spring, a moment of mad, intoxicating joy, and then--disaster. I became a mass of bruises, the skin scraped inch by inch from my chest by contact with the rough wood. I would not give up until I had to, and then for a week I was convalescing. One stiff ache from head to foot, I lay ignominiously on the sand, and watched Exploding Eggs, with a piece of box not bigger than a fat man's shirt-front, take wave after wave, standing on the board, dashing far across the breakers to the shore, with never a failure, while Gedge's little half-breed daughter, a beautiful fairy-like creature, darted upon the sea as a butterfly upon a zephyr. After several weeks of effort and mishap, one day the secret came to me like a flash, and the trick was learned. I had been using the great board and was weary. I exchanged with Exploding Eggs for a plank three feet long and fourteen inches wide. Almost exhausted, I waited as usual with the butt of the board against my stomach for the incoming breaker to be just behind and above me, and then leaped forward to kick out vigorously, the board pressed against me and my hands extended along its sides, to get in time with the wave. But the wave was upon me before I had thought to execute these instructions, I straightened myself out rigidly, and lo! I shot in like a torpedo on the very top of the billow, holding the point of the board up, yelling like a Comanche Indian. So fast, so straight did I go, that it was all I could do to swerve in the shallow water and not be hurled with force on the sand. "_Metai! Me metai!_" cried my friends in excited congratulation, while like all men who succeed by accident, I stood proudly, taking the plaudits as my due. From that afternoon I had most exhilarating sport, and indeed, this is the very king of amusements for fun and exercise. Skeeing, tobogganing, skating, all land sports fade before the thrills of this; nor will anything give such abounding health and joy in living as surf-riding in sunny seas. A hundred afternoons on Atuona Bay I spent in this exhilarating pastime. To it we added embellishments, multiplying excitements. A score of us would start at the same moment from the same line and race to shore; we would carry two on a board; we would stand and kneel and direct our course so that we could touch a marked spot on the beach or curve about and swerve and jostle each other. Exploding Eggs was the king of us all, and Teata was queen. She advanced as effortlessly as a mermaid, her superb figure shining on the shining water, tossing her long black hair, and shrieking with delight. Occasionally we varied these sports by a much more dangerous and arduous game. We would push our boards far out in the bay, half a mile or more, diving under each wave we faced, until after tremendous effort we reached the farthest sea-ward line of breakers. Often while I swam, clinging to the board and struggling with the waves for its possession, I saw in the emerald water curling above me the shadowy shapes of large fish, carried on the crests of the combers, transfigured clearly against the sky, fins and heads and tails outlined with light. Once in smoother water we waited for the proper moment, counting the foam-crests as they passed. Waves go in multiples of three, the third being longer and going farther than the two before it, and the ninth, or third third, being strongest of all. This ninth wave we waited for. Choosing any other meant being spilled in tumbling water when it broke far from land, and falling prey to the succeeding ones, which bruised unmercifully. [Illustration: Double canoes] [Illustration: Harbor sports] But taking the ninth monster at its start, we rode marvelously, staying at its summit as it mounted higher and higher, shouting above the lesser rollers, until it dashed upon the smooth sand half a mile away. Exultation kept the heart in the throat, the pulses beating wildly, as the breaker tore its way over the foaming rollers, I on the roof of the swell, lying almost over its front wall, holding like death to my plank while the wind sang in my ears and sky and sea mingled in rushing blueness. To take such a ride twice in an afternoon taxed my strength, but the Marquesan boys and girls were never wearied, and laughed at my violent breathing. The Romans ranked swimming with letters, saying of an uneducated man, "_Nec literas didicit nec natare._" He had neither learned to read nor to swim. The sea is the book of the South Sea Islanders. They swim as they walk, beginning as babies to dive and to frolic in the water. Their mothers place them on the river bank at a day old, and in a few months they are swimming in shallow water. At two and three years they play in the surf, swimming with the easy motion of a frog. They have no fear of the water to overcome, for they are accustomed to the element from birth, and it is to them as natural as land. It should be so with all, for human locomotion in water is no more tiresome or difficult than on the earth. One element is as suitable to man as the other for transportation of himself, when habitude give natural movement, strength, and fearlessness. A Marquesan who cannot swim is unknown, and they carry objects through the water as easily as through a grove. I have seen a woman with an infant at her breast leap from a canoe and swim through a quarter of a mile of breakers to the shore, merely to save a somewhat longer walk. One's hours at the beach were not all spent in the water. Many were the curious and delicious morsels we found on the rocks that were uncovered at low tide, stranded fish, crabs, and small crawling shell-fish. One of our favorites was the sea-urchin, called _hatuke_, _fetuke_, or _matuke_. Round, as big as a Bartlett pear, with greenish spines five or six inches long, they were as hideous to see as they were pleasant to eat. In the last quarter of the moon they were specially good, though what the moon has to do with their flavor neither the Marquesans nor I know. It is so; the Marquesans have always known it, and I have proved it. The spines of these sea-urchins make slate-pencils in some of the islands, and are excellent for hastily writing on a nearby cliff a message to a friend who is following tardily. The creatures are poisonous when alive, however, and revenge a blow of careless hand or foot by wounds that are long in healing. We found lobsters among the rocks, too, and on some beaches a strange kind of lobsterish delicacy called in Tahiti _varo_, a kind of mantis-shrimp that looks like a superlatively villainous centipede. They grow from six to twelve inches long and a couple of inches wide, with legs or feelers all along their sides, like the teeth of a pocket-comb. Their shells are translucent yellow with black markings; the female wears a red stripe down her back and carries red eggs beneath her. Both she and her mate, with their thousand crawling legs, their hideous heads and tails, have a most repulsive appearance. If one did not know they are excellent food and most innocent in their habits, one would flee precipitately at sight of them. Catching the _varo_ is a delicate and skilful art. They live in the shallows near the beach, digging their holes in the sand under two or three feet of water. When the wind ruffles the surface, it is impossible to see the holes, but on calm days we waded knee-deep in the clear water, stepping carefully and peering intently for the homes of the sea-centipede. Finding one, we cautiously lowered into the hole a spool fitted with a dozen hooks. A pair of the creatures inhabits the same den. If the male was at home, he seized the grapnel and was quickly lifted and captured, the hooks being lowered again for the female. But if the female emerged first, it was a sure sign that her mate was absent. I pondered as to this habit of the _varo_, and would have liked to persuade me that the male, being a courteous shrimp, combatted the invading hooks first in an effort to protect his mate. But the grapnel is baited with fish, and though masculine pride could wish that chivalry urged the creature to defend his domestic shrine, it appears regrettably certain that he is merely after the bait, to which he clings with such selfish obstinacy that he sacrifices his liberty and his life. However, the lady soon shows the same grasping tendency, and their deserted tenement is filled by the shifting sands. Catching _varo_ calls for much patience and dexterity. I never succeeded in landing one, but Teata would often skip back to the sands of the beach with a string of them. Six would make a good meal, with bread and wine, and they are most enjoyable hot, though also most dangerous. "Begin their eating by sucking one cold," warned Exploding Eggs when presiding over my first feast upon the twelve-inch centipedes. "If he does not grip you inwardly, you may then eat them hot and in great numbers." Many white men can not eat the _varo_. Some lose appetite at its appearance, its likeness to a gigantic thousand-leg, and others find that it rests uneasy within them, as though each claw, or tooth of the comb, viciously stabbed their interiors. I found them excellent when wrapped in leaves of the _hotu_-tree and fried in brown butter, and they were very good when broiled over a fire on the beach. One takes the beastie in his fingers and sucks out the meat. Beginners should keep their eyes closed during this operation. CHAPTER XXXV Court day in Atuona; the case of Daughter of the Pigeon and the sewing-machine; the story of the perfidy of Drink of Beer and the death of Earth Worm who tried to kill the governor. The Marquesan was guaranteed his day in court. There was one judge in the archipelago and one doctor, and they were the same, being united in the august person of M. L'Hermier des Plantes, who was also the pharmacist. The jolly governor, in his twenties, with medical experience in an African army post and in barracks in France, was irked by his judicial and administrative duties, though little troubled by his medical functions, since he had few drugs and knew that unless these were swallowed by the patient in his presence they would be tried upon the pigs or worn as an amulet around the neck. Faithful to his orders, however, the judge sat upon the woolsack Saturdays, unless it was raining or he wished to shoot _kuku_. One Saturday morning, being invited to breakfast at the palace, I strolled down to observe the workings of justice. Court was called to order in the archives room of the governor's house. The judge sat at a large table, resplendent in army blue and gold, with cavalry boots and spurs, his whiskers shining, his demeanor grave and stern. Bauda, clerk of the court, sat at his right, and Peterano, a native catechist, stood opposite him attired in blue overalls and a necklace of small green nuts, ready to act as interpreter. Each defendant, plaintiff, prisoner, and witness was sworn impressively, though no Bible was used; which reminded me that in Hongkong I saw a defendant refuse to handle a Bible in court, and when the irate English judge demanded his reasons, calmly replied that the witness who had just laid down the book had the plague, and it was so proved. The first case was that of a Chinese, member of the Shan-Shan syndicate which owned a store in Atuona. He was charged with shooting _kukus_ without a license. There were not many of these small green doves left in the islands, and the governor, whose favorite sport and delicacy they were, was righteously angered at the Chinaman's infraction of the law. He fined the culprit twenty dollars, and confiscated to the realm the murderous rifle which had aided the crime. The Shan-Shan man was stunned, and expostulated so long that he was led out by Flag, the gendarme, after being informed that he might appeal to Tahiti. He was forcibly put off the veranda, struggling to explain that he had not shot the gun, but had merely carried it as a reserve weapon in case he should meet a Chinese with whom he had a feud. A sailor of the schooner _Roberta_, who had stolen a case of absinthe from Captain Capriata's storeroom aboard and destroyed the peace of a valley to which he took it as a present to a feminine friend, was fined five dollars and sentenced to four months' work on the roads. The criminal docket done, civil cases were called. The barefooted bailiff, Flag, stole out on the veranda occasionally to take a cigarette from the inhabitants of the valley of Taaoa, who crowded the lawn around the veranda steps. All save Kahuiti, they had come over the mountains to attend in a body a trial in which two of them figured--the case of Santos vs. Tahiaupehe (Daughter of the Pigeon). Santos was a small man, born in Guam, and had been ten years in Taaoa, having deserted from a ship. He and I talked on the veranda in Spanish, and he explained the desperate plight into which love had dragged him. He adored Tahaiupehe, the belle of Taaoa. For months he had poured at her feet all his earnings, and faithfully he had labored at copra-making to gain money for her. He had lavished upon her all his material wealth and the fierce passion of his Malay heart, only to find her disdainful, untrue, and, at last, a runaway. While he was in the forest, he said, climbing cocoanut-trees to provide her with luxuries, she had fled his hut, carrying with her a certain "Singaire" and a trunk. He was in court to regain this property. "_Ben Santos me Tahaiupehe mave! A mai i nei!_" cried Flag, pompously. The pair entered the court, but all others were excluded except me. As a distinguished visitor, waiting to breakfast with the judge and the clerk, I had a seat. The Daughter of the Pigeon, comely and voluptuous, wore an expression of brazen bitterness such as I have seen on the faces of few women. A procuress in Whitechapel and a woman in America who had poisoned half a dozen of her kin had that same look; sneering, desperate, contemptuous, altogether evil. I wondered what experiences had written those lines on the handsome face of Daughter of the Pigeon. Ben Santos was sworn. Through the interpreter he told his sad tale of devotion and desertion and asked for his property. The Singaire had been bought of the German store. He had bought it that Daughter of the Pigeon might mend his garments, since she had refused to do so without it. He had not given it to her at all, but allowed her the use of it in consideration of "love and affection" he swore. Daughter of the Pigeon glared at the unhappy little man with an intensity of hatred that alarmed me for his life. She took the stand, malevolently handsome in finery of pink tunic, gold ear-rings, and necklace of red peppers, barefooted, bare-armed, barbaric. She spat out her words. "This man made love to me and lived with me. He gave me the sewing-machine and the trunk. He is a runt and a pig, and I am tired of him. I left his hut and went to the house of my father. I took my Singaire and my trunk." "Ben Santos," inquired the judge, with a critical glance at Daughter of the Pigeon, "What return did you make to this woman for keeping your house?" "I provided her food and her dresses," stammered the little man. "Food hangs from trees, and dresses are a few yards of stuff," said the surgical Solomon. "The fair ones of the Marquesas do not give themselves to men of your plainness for _popoi_ and muslin robes. You are a foreigner. You expect too much. The preponderance of probability, added to the weight of testimony, causes the court to believe that this woman is the real owner of the sewing-machine and the trunk. It is so adjudged." "_La mujer es una diabola, pero me gusto mucho_," said Santos to me, and sighed deeply. "The woman is a devil, but I like her very much." [Illustration: Tahaiupehe, Daughter of the Pigeon, of Taaoa] [Illustration: Nataro Puelleray and wife He is the most learned Marquesan and the only one who knows the language and legends thoroughly] The unfortunate Malay got upon his horse and, his soul deep in the swamp of jealousy, departed to resume his copra-making. Court adjourned. The judge, the clerk, and the interpreter, Daughter of the Pigeon, and I toasted the blind goddess in rum, the sun being very hot on the iron roof. Bauda and I stayed to breakfast at eleven o'clock, and the governor permitted me to look through the _dossier_ of Daughter of the Pigeon. This record is kept of all Marquesans or others resident in the islands; each governor adds his facts and prejudices and each newcoming official finds the history and reputation of each of his charges set down for his perusal. In this record of Daughter of the Pigeon I found the reason for the malevolent character depicted by her face. The men of the hills have a terrible custom of capturing any woman of another valley who goes alone in their district. Grelet's first companion was caught one night by forty, who for punishment built the ten kilometres of road between Haniapa and Atuona. Many Daughters, the beautiful little leper, when thirteen years old was a victim of seventeen men, some of whom were imprisoned. Daughter of the Pigeon had had a fearful experience of this kind. It had seared her soul, and Santos was paying for his sex. In feud times this custom was a form of retaliation, as the slaying of men and eating them. It has survived as a sport. Lest horror should spend itself upon these natives of the islands, I mention that in every state in our union similar records blacken our history. War's pages from the first glimmerings to the last foul moment reek with this deviltry. British and French at Badajoz and Tarragona, in Spain, left fearful memories. Occident and Orient alike are guilty. This crime smutches the chronicle of every invasion. It is part of the degradation of slums in all our cities, a sport of hoodlum gangs everywhere. In the Marquesas it is a recognized, though forbidden, game, and has its retaliatory side. Time was when troops of women have revenged it in strange, savage ways. This unsubmissive and aggressive attitude of Marquesan women was brought home to me this very afternoon after the trial, when Daughter of the Pigeon came galloping up to my cabin. She reined in her horse like a cowboy who had lassoed a steer and, throwing the bridle over the branch of an orange-tree, tripped into my living-room, where I was writing. Without a word she put her arms around me, and in a moment I was enacting the part of Joseph when he fled from Potiphar's wife. With some muscular exertion I got her out of the house at the cost of my shirt. Puafaufe (Drink of Beer), a chief of Taaoa, appeared at this moment, while I was still struggling with her upon my _paepae_. "_Makimaki okioki i te!_ An ungovernable creature!" he commented, shaking his head, and looking on with interest as she again attacked me vigorously, to the danger of my remaining shreds of garments. Chivalry is not a primitive emotion, but it dies hard in the civilized brain, and I was attempting the impossible. Fending her off as best I could, I conjured the chief by the red stripe on the sleeve of his white jacket, his badge of office, to rescue me, for Madame Bapp was now on her _paepae_, craning her fat neck, and I had no mind to be laughed at by my own tint. The chief, however, maintained the impartial attitude of the bystander at a street fight. Smothered in the embraces of Daughter of the Pigeon, covered with embarrassment, I struggled and cursed, and had desperately decided to fling her bodily over the eight-foot wall of the _paepae_ into the jungle, when another arrival dashed up the trail. This was the brother of Daughter of the Pigeon. It was evident that my cabin had been appointed as a rendezvous, though I had no acquaintance with any of my three visitors. A suspicion was born in my dull brain. To make it surety, I grasped my feminine wooer by wrists and throat and thrust her into the arms of the chief with a stern injunction to hold her. Then, without hint of my intention, I hastened into the house and brought forth the demijohn and cocoanut-shells. The amorous fury of Daughter of the Pigeon melted into gratitude, and after two drinks apiece the company galloped away, leaving me to repair tattered garments and thank my stars for my supply of _namu_. But the end of court-day was not yet. I had barely fallen into my first slumber that night when I was awakened by the disconsolate Shan-Shan man, who came humbly to present me with a half-pound doughnut of his own making, and to beg my intercession with the governor for the return of his gun. He reiterated tearfully that he had not meant to shoot _kukus_ with it, that he had not done so, that he desired it only in order to be able to take a pot-shot at the offending countryman in the village. He urged desperately that the other Chinese still possessed a gun well oiled and loaded. He asserted even with tears that he had all respect and admiration for the white man's law. But he wanted his gun, and he wanted it quickly. I calmed him with the twice-convenient _namu_, and after promising to explain the situation to the governor, I sat for some time on my _paepae_ in the moonlight, talking with the unhappy convict. Without prompting he divulged to me that my suspicions had been correct; Drink of Beer had himself instigated the raid of the bold Daughter of the Pigeon upon my rum. Drink of Beer, it appeared, was known in the islands for many feats of successful duplicity. One had nearly cost the life of Jean Richard, a young Frenchman who worked for the German trader in Taka-Uka. "Earth Worm was a man of Taaoa," said my guest, sitting cross-legged on my mats, his long-nailed, yellow fingers folded in his lap. "He was nephew of Pohue-toa, eater of many men. Earth Worm was arrested by Drink of Beer and brought before the former governor, Lailheugue, known as Little Pig. "Drink of Beer said that Earth Worm had made _namu enata_, the juice of the flower of the palm that makes men mad. Earth Worm swore that he had done no wrong. He swore that Drink of Beer had allowed him, for a price, to make the _namu enata_, and that Drink of Beer had said this was according to the law. But when he failed to pay again, Drink of Beer had arrested him. "Drink of Beer said this not true. He wore the red stripe on his sleeve; therefore the governor Little Pig said that Earth Worm lied, and sent him to prison for a year. "Now Earth Worm was an informed man, a son of many chiefs, and himself resolved in his ways. He said that he would speak before the courts of Tahiti, and he would not go in shame to the prison. At this time that governor was finished with his work here and was departing on a ship to Tahiti, and Earth Worm with hate in his heart, embarked on that ship, saying nothing, but thinking much. "He lived forward with the crew, and said nothing, but thought. Others spoke to him, saying that he would not profit by the journey to Tahiti where the word of the governor was powerful, but he did not reply. The men of the crew wished Earth Worm to kill the governor, for every Marquesan hated him, and he had done a terrible thing for which he deserved death. "There had been an aged gendarme who fell ill because of a curse laid on him by a _tahuna_. He was dying. This governor took from his box in the house of medicines a sharp small knife, and with it he cut the veins of a Marquesan who had done some small wrong against the law and lay in jail. He bound this man by the arm to the gendarme who was dying, and through the cut the blood ran into the gendarme's veins. His heart sucked the blood from the body of the Marquesan like a vampire bat of the forest, and he lay bound, feeling the blood go from him. The village knew that this was being done, and could do nothing but hate and fear, for it was the governor who had done it. "The gendarme died, and you may yet see on the beach sometimes that man who was a strong and brave Marquesan. He trembles now like _hotu_ leaves in the wind, for he never forgets the terrible magic done upon him by that governor. He remembers the hours when he lay bound to that man who was dying, and the dying man sucked his blood from him. "Now this governor was on the ship going away, and he had not been killed. This made all Marquesans sad, and those in the crew talked to Earth Worm, who had also been wronged, and urged him to rise and strike. But he said nothing. "The ship came to the Paumotas, and the governor sat all day long on a stool on the deck, watching the islands as they passed. Earth Worm sat in his place, watching the governor. One night at dark he rose, and taking an iron rod laid beside him by one of the crew he crept along the deck and stood behind the man on the stool. He raised the iron rod and brought it down with fury upon the head of that man, who fell covered with blood. Then he leaped into the sea. "But the governor had gone below, and it was Jean Richard who sat on the stool in the darkness. He was found bleeding upon the deck, and the bones of his head were cut and lifted and patched, so that to-day he lives, as well as ever. Earth Worm was never found. A boat with a lantern was lowered, but it found nothing but the fins of sharks. "That was the work of Drink of Beer, who had hated Earth Worm because he was a brave and strong man of Taaoa. When this was told to Drink of Beer, he smiled and said, 'Earth Worm is safer where he is.' "I have talked too much. Your rum is very good. I thank you for your kindness. You will not forget to deign to speak to the governor concerning the matter of the gun?" I promised that I would not forget, and after a prolonged leavetaking the Shan-Shan man slipped silently down the trail and vanished in the moon-lit forest. CHAPTER XXXVI The madman Great Moth of the Night; story of the famine and the one family that ate pig. Le Brunnec, the trader, was opening a roll of Tahiti tobacco five feet long, five inches in diameter at the center, and tapering toward the ends. It was bound, as is all Tahiti tobacco, in a _purau_ rope, which had to be unwound and which weighed two pounds. The eleven pounds of tobacco were hard as wood, the leaves cemented by moisture. Le Brunnec hacked it with an axe into suitable portions to sell for three francs a pound, the profit on which is a franc. The immediate customer was Tavatini (Many Pieces of Tattooing), a rich man of Taaoa, in his fifties. His face was grilled with _ama_ ink. One streak of the natural skin alone remained. Beside him on the counter sat a commanding-looking man, whose eyes, shining from a blue background of tattooing, were signals to make one step aside did one meet him on the trail. They had madness in them, but they were a revelation of wickedness. Some men, without a word or gesture, make you think intently. There is that in their appearance which starts a train of ideas, of wonder, of guesses at their past, of horror at what is written upon their faces. This man's visage was seamed and wrinkled in a network of lines that said more plainly than words that he was a monster whose villainies would chill imagination. The brain was a spoiled machine, but it had been all for evil. "That man," said Le Brunnec, "is the worst devil in the Marquesas." Between blows of the axe, the trader told me something of his history: The madman was Mohuho, whose name means Great Moth of the Night. He is the chief whom Lying Bill saw shoot three men in Tahuata for sheer wantonness. He was then chief of Tahuata, and the power in that island, in Hiva-oa and Fatu-hiva. He slew every one who opposed him. He was the scourge of the islands. He harried valley after valley for lust of blood and the terrible pride of the destroyer. It was his boast that he had killed sixty people by his own hand, otherwise than in battle. He was a man of ceaseless energy, a builder of roads, of houses, and canoes. At Hapatone he had constructed several miles of excellent road with the enforced labor of every man in the valley for a year. It is all lined with _temanu_ trees, is almost solid stone, and endures. Its blocks are cemented with blood, for Great Moth of the Night drove men to the work with bullets. His arsenal was stocked by the French, whose ally he was, and to whom he was very useful in furnishing men for work and in upholding French supremacy. In Hapatone he was virtually a king, and the fear of him extended throughout the southern Marquesas. One day he came as a guest to a feast in Taaoa. There was a blind man, a poor, harmless fellow, who was eating the pig and _popoi_ and saying nothing. Great Night Moth had a new gun, which he laid beside him while he drank plentifully of the _namu enata_, until he became quite drunk. At last the blind man, scared by his threats, started to walk away in the slow, halting way of the sightless, and attracted Great Night Moth's attention. He picked up his new gun and while all were petrified with fear of being the target, he shot the blind man so that his body fell into the oven in which the pig had been baked. The people could only laugh loudly, if not heartily, as if pleased by the joke. In Hana-teio a man in a cocoanut-tree gathering nuts was ordered to come down by Great Night Moth who was passing on a boar hunt. The man became confused. His limbs did not cling to the tree as usual. He was fearful and could make no motion. "_Poponohoo! Ve mai! A haa tata!_ Come down quickly!" yelled the chief. The poor wretch could not obey. He saw the gun and knew the chief. Great Night Moth brought him down a corpse. There was no punishment for him. The French held him accountable only for deeds against their sovereignty. A superstition that he was protected by the gods, combined with his strength and desperate courage, made him immune from vengeance by the islanders. These were incidents Le Brunnec knew from witnesses, but it was Many Pieces of Tattooing who told the ancestry of Great Night Moth. "Pohue-toa (Male Package) uncle of Earth Worm, was prince of Taaoa and father of this man," said Many Pieces. "He was one of the biggest men of these islands, and the strongest in Taaoa. He lived for a while in Hana-menu. "There was no war then between the valley of Atuona and that of Hana-menu; the people of both crossed the mountains and visited one another. But it was discovered in Atuona that a number of the people were missing. Some had gone to Hana-menu and never reached there, others had disappeared on their way home. The chief of Atuona sent a messenger who was _tapu_ in all valleys, to count the people of this valley who were in Hana-menu and to warn them to return in a band, armed with spears. Meanwhile the priest went to the High Place and spoke to the gods, and after two days and nights he returned and said that the danger was at the pass between the valleys; that a demon had seized the people there. "The demon was Male Package. You know the precipice there is near the sky, and at the very height is a _puta faiti_, a narrow place. There Male Package lay in wait, armed with his spear and club, and hidden in the grass. He was hungry for meat, for Long Pig, and when he saw some one he fancied, he threw his spear or struck them down with the _u'u_. He took the corpse on his back and carried it to his hut in the upper valley of Hana-menu as I would carry a sack of copra. There he ate what he would, alone. "Oh, there were those who knew, but they were afraid to tell. After it became known to the people of Atuona, to the kin of those who had been eaten, they did nothing. Male Package was like Great Night Moth later--a man whom the gods fought for." Great Night Moth sat smoking, listening to what was said in the listless way that lunatics listen, unable to focus his attention, but gathering in his addled brain that he was being discussed. I watched him as one does a caged tiger, guessing at the beast's thoughts and thankful that it can prey no more. Many Pieces of Tattooing had no tone of horror or regret in his voice while he recounted the bloody deeds of Mohuho and Pohue-toa, but smiled, as if he would say that they had occurred under a different dispensation and were not blameful. "Was Great Night Moth the real son of Male Package?" I asked. "Ah, that is to be told," said Many Pieces. "He was his son, yes. Shall I tell you the tale of how he escaped death at the hands of his father? _Ea!_ I remember the time well. Menike, you have seen the rivers big and the cocoanut-trees felled by the flood, but you have not seen the _ave one_, the time of no food, when the ground is as dry as the center of a dead tree, and hunger is in the valleys like the ghost-women that move as mist. There have been many such periods for the island peoples. "That two years it did not rain. The breadfruit would not yield. The grass and plants died. There were no nuts on the palms. The pigs had no food, and fell in the forest. The banana-trees withered. The people ate the _popoi_ from the deepest pits, and day and night they fished. Soon the pits were empty and the people ate roots, bark, anything. There were fish, but it is hard to live on fish alone. "Some lay in their canoes and ate the _eva_ and died. The stomachs of some became empty of thought, and they threw themselves into the sea. The father of Great Night Moth sent all his children to the hills. There is always more rain there, and there was some food to be found. His wife he kept at the fishing, day and night, till she slept at the paddle, and he himself went to the high plateaus to hunt for pig. "For many days he came down weak, having found none. But at last she came to find baked meat ready for her, and she wept and ate and thanked him. He had found a certain green spot, he said, where there were more. "Many times he brought the meat to her, and she said that the children should come back to share the food, but he said, 'No. Eat! They have plenty.' "She came from the fishing one day with empty baskets. The sea had been rough, and there were no fish. Her husband had become a surly man, and cruel; he beat her. She said, 'Is there no pig?' "'Pig, you fool!' said her husband. 'You have eaten no pig. You have eaten your children. They are all dead.' "Great Night Moth had escaped because he had been adopted by the chief of Taaoa, while his father was hunting the children in the forest." "That is horrible, horrible!" said Le Brunnec. "Maybe this Great Night Moth could not but be bad with such a father. All these chiefs, the hereditary ones, are rotten. Their children are often insane. They have degenerated. After the whalers came and gave them whiskey, and the traders absinthe and drugs, they learned the vices of the white man, which are worse for them than for us." "Do you think the eating of men began by the _ave one_, the famine?" I put the question to Many Pieces of Tattooing, who was about to leave the store with Great Night Moth. "_Ae, tiatohu!_ It is so," he answered. "Our legends say that often in the many centuries we have remembered there have been years when food failed. It was in those times that they began to eat one another, and when food was plenty, they continued for revenge. They learned to like it. Human meat is good." "Ask the gentleman if he has himself enjoyed such feasts," I urged Le Brunnec. "I will not!" said the Frenchman, hastily. "Tavatini is a good customer. He has money on deposit with me. He eats biscuits and beef. He might be offended and buy of the Germans." Many Pieces of Tattooing nudged Great Night Moth, and they advanced to their horses, which were tied to the store building. The madman mounted with the ease of a cowboy, and they rode off at speed. CHAPTER XXXVII A visit to the hermit of Taha-Uka valley; the vengeance that made the Scallamera lepers; and the hatred of Mohuto. Le Verogose, a Breton planter who lived in Taka-Uka Valley, was full of _camaraderie_, esteeming friendship a genuine tie, and given to many friendly impulses. He had a two-room cabin set high on the slope of the river bank, unadorned, but clean, and though his busy, hardworking days gave him little time for social intercourse, he occasionally invited me there to dinner with him and his wife. One Sunday he dined me handsomely on eels stewed in white wine, tame duck, and codfish balls, and after the dance, in which his wife, Ghost Girl, Malicious Gossip, Water, and the host joined, we sat for some time singing "Malbrouck se va t'en guerre," "La Carmagnole," and other songs of France. Stirred by the memories of home, these melodies awakened, Le Vergose remembered a countryman who lived nearby. "There is a hermit who lives a thousand feet up the valley," said he. "We might take him half a litre of rum. He is a Breton of Brest who has been here many years. He eats nothing but bananas, for he lives in a banana grove, and he is able only to totter to the river for water. He never moves from his little hut except to pick a few bananas. He lives alone. Hardly any one sees him from year to year. I think he would be glad to have a visitor." A wet and slippery trail through the forest along the river bank led toward the hermit's grove. Toiling up it, sliding and clutching the boughs that overhung and almost obliterated it, we passed a small native house of straw, almost hidden by the trees, and were hailed by the voice of a woman. "_I hea?_ Where do you go?" The words were sharp, with a tone almost of anxiety, of fear. "We go to see Hemeury Francois," replied Le Vergose. The woman who had spoken came half-way down the worn and dirty steps of her _paepae_. She was old, but with an age more of bitter and devastating emotion than of years. Her haggard face, drawn and seamed with cruel lines, showed still the traces of a beauty that had been hard and handsome rather than lovely. She said nothing more, but stood watching our progress, her tall figure absolutely motionless in its dark tunic, her eyes curiously intent upon us. I felt relief when the thick curtains of leaves shut us from her view. "That is Mohuto," said Le Vergose. "She is a solitary, too. All her people have died, and she has become hard and bitter. That is a strange thing, for an islander. But she was beautiful once. Perhaps she broods upon that." We entered the banana-grove, an acre or two of huge plants, thirty feet high, so close together that the sun could not touch the soil. The earth was dank and dark, almost a swamp, and the trees were like yellowish-green ghosts in the gloom. Their great soft leaves shut out the sky, and from their limp edges there was a ceaseless drip of moisture. A horde of mosquitos, black and small, emerged from the shadows, thousands upon thousands, and smote us upon every exposed part. In a few minutes our faces were smeared with blood from their killing. Curses in Breton, in Marquesan, and American rent the stillness. In this dismal, noisome spot was a wretched hut built of _purau_ saplings, as crude a dwelling as the shelter a trapper builds for a few days' habitation. It was ten feet long and four wide, shaky and rotten. Inside it was like the lair of a wild beast, a bed of moldy leaves. A line stretched just below the thatched roof held a few discolored newspapers. On the heap of leaves sat the remnant of a man, a crooked skeleton in dirty rags, his face a parchment of wrinkles framed by a mass of whitening hair. He looked ages old, his eyes small holes, red rimmed, his hands, in which he held a shaking piece of paper, foul claws. His flesh, through his rags, was the deadly white of the morgue. He looked a Thing no soul should animate. "Ah! Hemeury Francois," said Le Vergose in the Breton dialect that recalled their childhood home, "I have brought an American to see you. You can talk your English to him." "By damn, yes," croaked the hermit, in the voice of a raven loosed from a deserted house. But he made no movement until Le Vergose held before his bone-like nose a pint of strong Tahiti rum. Far back in his eyes, away beyond the visible organs, there came a gleam of greater consciousness, a realization of life around him. His mouth, like a rent in an old, battered purse, gaped, and though no teeth were there, the vacuity seemed to smile feebly. He felt about the litter of paper and leaves and found a dirty cocoanut-shell and a calabash of water. Shaking and gasping, he poured the bottle of rum into the shell, mixed water with it and lifted the precious elixir tremblingly to his lips. He made two choking swallows, and dropped the shell--empty. His eyes, that had been lost in their raw sockets, scanned me. Then in mixed French and English he began to talk of himself. From his rags he produced a rude diary blocked off on scraps of paper, a minute record of the river and the weather, covering many years. "Torrent, torrent, torrent." That word was repeated many tunes. _Hause_ appeared often, signifying that the brook had risen. Every day he had noted its state. The river had become his god. Alone among those shadowing, dripping banana-plants, with no human companionship, he had made his study of the moods of the stream a worship. Pages and pages were inscribed with lines upon its state. "Bacchus," I saw repeated on the dates July 13, 14, 15. "Another god on the altar then?" I asked. "_Mais, oui_," he answered in his rusty voice. "The Fall of the Bastile. Le Vergose sent me a bottle of rum to honor the Republic." What he had just drunk was seething in him. Little by little he commanded that long disused throat, he recalled from the depths of his uncertain mind words and phrases. In short, jerky sentences, mostly French, he spun his tale. "Brest is my home, in Finnistere. I have been many years in these seas. I forget how many. How many years--? _Sacré!_ I was on the _Mongol_. She was two thousand tons, clipper, and with skysails. The captain was Freeman. We brought coals from Boston to San Francisco. That was long ago. I was young. I was young and handsome. And strong. Yes, I was strong and young. "That was it--the _Mongol_. A clipper-ship from Boston, two thousand tons, and with skysails. Around the Horn it almost blew the sticks out of that _Mongol_. We froze; we worked day and night. It was terrible. The seas almost drowned us. Ah, how we cursed! _Tonnerre de dieu!_ Had we known it we were in Paradise. The inferno--we were coming to the inferno." It took him long to tell it. He wanted to talk, but weakness overcame him often, and the words were almost hushed by his breath that came short and wheezing. "One day we opened the hatches to get coal for the galley. The smell of gas arose. The coal was making gas. No fire. Just gas. If there was fire we never knew it. We felt no heat. We could find no fire. But every day the gas got worse. "It filled the ship. The watch below could not sleep because of it. If we went aloft, still we smelled it. The food tasted of gas. Our lungs were pressed down by it. Day after day we sailed, and the gas sailed with us. "The bo'sn fell in a fit. A man on the t'gallant yard fell to the deck and was killed. Three did not awake one morning. We threw their bodies over the side. The mate spat blood and called on God as he leaped into the sea. The smell of the gas never left us. "The captain called us by the poop-rail, and said we must abandon the ship any time. "We were twenty men all told. We had four whale-boats and a yawl. Plenty for all of us. We provisioned and watered the boats. But we stayed by the _Mongol_. We were far from any port and we dared not go adrift in open boats. "Then came a calm. The gas could not lift. It settled down on us. It lay on us like a weight. It never left us for a moment. Men lay in the scuppers and vomited. Food went untouched. No man could walk without staggering. At last we took to the boats. Two thousand miles from the Marquesas. We lit a fuse, and pushed off. Half a mile away the _Mongol_ blew up. "We suffered. _Mon dieu_, how we suffered in those boats! But the gas was gone. We struck Vait-hua on the island of Tahuata. It was heaven. Rivers and trees and women. Women! _Sacré!_ How I loved them! "I came to Taha-Uka with Mathieu Scallamera. We worked for Captain Hart in the cotton, driving the Chinese and natives. Bill Pincher was a boy, and he worked there, too. In the moonlight on the beach there were dances. The women danced naked on the beaches in the moonlight. And there was rum. Mohuto danced. Ah, she was beautiful, beautiful! She was a devil. "Scallamera and I built a house, and put on the door a lock of wood. It was a big lock, but it had no key. The natives stole everything. We could keep nothing. Scallamera was angry. One day he hid in the house while I went to work. When a hand was thrust through the opening to undo the lock, Scallamera took his brush knife and cut it off. He threw it through the hole and said, 'That will steal no more.'" The hermit laughed, a laugh like the snarl of a toothless old tiger. "That was a joke. Scallamera laughed. By gar! But that without a hand lived long. He gave back all that he had taken. He smiled at Scallamera, and laughed, too. He worked without pay for Scallamera. He became a friend to the man who had cut off his hand. A year went by and two years and three and that man gave Scallamera a piece of land by Vai-ae. He helped Scallamera to build a house upon it. "Land from hell it was, land cursed seven times. Did not Scallamera become a leper and die of it horribly? And all his twelve children by that Henriette? It was the ground. It had been leprous since the Chinese came. Oh, it was a fine return for the cut-off hand!" Gasping and choking, the ghastly creature paused for breath, and in the shuddering silence the banana-leaves ceaselessly dripped, and the hum of innumerable mosquito-wings was sharp and thin. "I did not become a leper. I was young and strong. I was never sick. I worked all day, and at night I was with the women. Ah, the beautiful, beautiful women! With souls of fiends from hell. Mohuto is not dead yet. She lives too long. She lives and sits on the path below, and watches. She should be killed, but I have no strength. "I was young and strong, and loved too many women. How could I know the devil behind her eyes when she came wooing me again? I had left her. She was with child, and ugly. I loved beautiful women. But she was beautiful again when the child was dead. I was with another. What was her name? I have forgotten her name. Is there no more rum? I remember when I have rum. "So I went again to Mohuto. The devil from hell! There was poison in her embraces. Why does she not die? She knew too much. She was too wise. It was I who died. No, I did not die. I became old before my time, but I am living yet. The Catholic mission gave me this land. I planted bananas. I have never been away. How long ago? _Je ne sais pas._ Twenty years? Forty? I do not see any one. But I know that Mohuto sits on the path below and waits. I will live long yet." He was like a two-days' old corpse. He rose to his feet, staggered, and lay down on the heap of soggy leaves. The mosquitos circled in swarms above him. They were devouring us, but the hermit they never lighted on. Le Vergose and I fled from the hut and the grove. "He is an example like those in Balzac or the religious books," said the Breton, crossing himself. "I have been here many years, and never before did I come here, and again. _Jamais de la vie!_ I must begin to go to church again." We said nothing more as we slid and slipped downward on the wet trail, but when we came again to the straw hut hidden in the trees Mohuto was still on the _paepae_, watching us, and I paused to speak to her. "You knew Hemeury Francois when he was young?" She put her hand over her eyes, and spat. "He was my first lover. I had a child by him. He was handsome once." Her eyes, full of malevolence, turned to the dark grove. "He dies very slowly." The memory of her face was with me when at midnight I went alone to my valley. On my pillows I heard again the cracked voice of the hermit, and saw the blue-white skin upon his shaking bones. He could not believe in Po, the Marquesan god of Darkness, or in the _Veinehae_, the Ghost-Woman who watches the dying; nor did I believe in them or in Satan, but about me in my Golden Bed until midnight was long past the spirits that hate the light moaned and creaked the hut. CHAPTER XXXVIII Last days in Atuona; My Darling Hope's letter from her son. Exploding Eggs was building my fire of cocoanut-husks as usual in the morning to cook my coffee and eggs, when a whistle split the sultry air. Far from the bay it came, shrill and demanding; my call to civilization. Long expected, the first liner was in the Isles of the Cannibals. France had begun to make good her promise to expand her trade in Oceania, and the isolation of the dying Marquesans and empty valleys was ended. The steamship _Saint François_, from Bordeaux by way of Tahiti, had come to visit this group and pick up cargo for Papeite and French ports. Strange was the sight of her in Taha-Uka Bay where never her like had been, but stranger still, two aboard her, the only two not French, were known to me. Here thousands of miles from where I had seen them, unconnected in any way with each other, were a pair of human beings I had known, one in China, and the other in the United States, both American citizens, and sent by fate to replace me as objects of interest to the natives. They came up from the beach together, one a small black man, the other tall and golden brown, led by Malicious Gossip to see the American who lived in these far-away islands. The black lingered to talk at a distance, but the golden-brown one advanced. His figure was the bulky one of the trained athlete, stocky and tremendously powerful, his hide that of an extreme blond burned by months of a tropic sun upon salt water. His hair was an aureole, yellow as a sunflower, a bush of it on a bullet-head. And, incredible almost--as if made of putty by a joker--his nose stuck out like the first joint of a thumb, the oddest nose ever on a man. His little eyes were blue and bright. Barefooted, bare-headed, in the sleeveless shirt and short trousers of a life-guard, with an embroidered V on the front of the upper garment, he was radiantly healthy and happy, a civilized being returned to nature's ways. Though he did not recognize me, I knew him instantly for a trainer and beach-patrol of Southern California, a diver for planted shells at Catalina Island, whom I had first seen plunging from the rafters of a swimming-tank, and I remembered that he had flattened his nose by striking the bottom, and that a skilful surgeon had saved him its remnant. He had with him a bundle in a towel, and setting it down on my _paepae_, introduced himself nonchalantly as Broken Bronck, "Late manager of the stable of native fighters of the Count de M---- of the island of Tahaa, near Tahiti." "I'm here to stay," he said carelessly. "I have a few francs, and I hear they're pretty hospitable in the Markeesies. I came on the deck of the _Saint François_, and I've brung my things ashore." He undid the towel, and there rolled out another bathing-suit and a set of boxing gloves. These were his sole possessions, he said. "I hear they're nutty on prizefighting like in Tahiti, and I'll teach 'em boxing," he explained. The Marquesan ladies who speedily assembled could not take their eyes from him. They asked me a score of questions about him, and were not surprised that I knew him, or even that I called the negro by name when he sauntered up. We must all be from the same valley, or at least from the same island, they thought, for were we not all Americans? I kept Broken Bronck to luncheon, and gave him what few household furnishings I had not promised to Exploding Eggs or to Apporo, who with the promise of the Golden Bed about to be realized--for I announced my going--camped upon it, hardly believing that at last she was to own the coveted marvel. Some keepsakes I gave to Malicious Gossip, Mouth of God, Many Daughters, Water, Titihuti, and others, and drank a last shell of _namu_ with these friends. News of my packing reached far and wide. I had not estimated so optimistically the esteem in which they held me, these companions of many months, but they trooped from the farthest hills to say farewell. Good-byes even to the sons and daughters of cannibals are sorrowful. I had come to think much of these simple, savage neighbors. Some of them I shall never forget. Mauitetai, a middle-aged woman with a kindly face, was long on my _paepae_. Her name would be in English My Darling Hope, and it well fitted her mood, for she was all aglow with wonder and joy at receiving a letter from her son, who three years before had gone upon a ship and disappeared from her ken. The letter had come upon the _Saint François_, and it brought My Darling Hope into intimate relations with me, for I uncovered to her that her wandering boy had become a resident of my own country, and revealed some of the mysteries of our polity. The letter was in Marquesan, which I translate into English, seeking to keep the flavor of the original, though poorly succeeding: "I write to you, me, Pahorai Calizte, and put on this paper greetings to you, my mother, Mauitetai, who are in Atuona. "_Kaoha nui tuu kui_, Mauitetai, mother of me. Great love to you. "I have found in Philadelphia work for me; good work. "I have found a woman for me. She is Jeanette, an artist, a maker of tattooings on cloth. I am very happy. I have found a house to live in. I am happy I have this woman. She is rich. I am poor. It is for that I write to you, to make it known to you that she is rich, and I am poor. By this paper you will know that I have pledged my word to this woman. I found her and I won her by my work and by my strength and my endeavor. "She is _moi kanahau_; as beautiful as the flowers of the _hutu_ in my own beloved valley of Atuona. She is not of America. She is of Chile. She has paid many piasters for the coming here. She has paid forty piasters. She has been at home in Las Palmas, in the islands of small golden birds. "I will write you more in this paper. I seek your permission to marry Jeanette. She asks it, as I do. Send me your word by the government that carries words on paper. "It is three years since I have known of you. That is long. "Give me that word I ask for this woman. I cannot go to marry in Atuona. That is what my heart wants, but it is far and the money is great. The woman would pay and would come with me. I say no. I am proud. I have shame. I am a Marquesan. "I live with that woman now. I am not married. It is forbidden. The American _mutoi_ (policeman) may take hold of me. Five months I am with this woman of mine. The _mutoi_ has a war-club that is hard as stone. "Give me quickly the paper to marry her. I await your word. "My word is done. I am at Philadelphia, New York Hotel. A.P.A. Dieu. Coot pae, mama." Mauitetai had read the letter many times. It was wonderful to hear from her son after three years and pleasant to know he had found a woman. She must be a _haoe_, a white woman. Were the women of that island, Chile, white? I said that they ran the color scale, from blond to brown, from European to Indian, but that this Jeanette who was a tattooer, a maker of pictures on canvas, no doubt an artist of merit, must be pale as a moonbeam. Those red peppers that were hot on the tongue came from Chile, I said, and there were heaps of gold there in the mountains. My Darling Hope would know what kind of a valley was Philadelphia. It was the Valley of Brotherly Love. It was a very big valley, with two streams, and a bay. No, it was not near Tahiti. It was a breadfruit season away from Atuona, at the very least. What could a hotel be? The New York hotel in which her poor son lived? I did not know that hotel, I told her, but a hotel was a house in which many persons paid to live, and some hotels had more rooms than there were houses in all the Marquesas. What! In one house, under one roof? By my tribe, it was true. Did I know this woman? I was from that island and I had been in that valley. I must have seen her. I replied that I knew a Jeanette who answered the description beautiful, but that she was not from Chile. Now, My Darling Hope knit her brow. Why would the _mutoi_ take hold of her son, as he feared? I soothed her anxiety. The _mutoi_ walked up and down in front of the hotel, but he would not bother her son as long as her son could get a few piasters now and then to hand to him. The woman was rich, and would not miss a trifling sum, five or ten piasters a month for the _mutoi_. But why was it forbidden for her son to live with Jeanette, being not married to her? That was our law, but it was seldom enforced. The _mutois_ were fat men who carried war-clubs and struck the poor with them, but her son was _tapu_ because of Jeanette's money. She was at ease now, she said. Her son could not marry without her permission. No Marquesan had ever done so. She would send the word by the next schooner, or I might take it with me to my own island and hand it to her son. He could then marry. I had done her a great kindness, but one thing more. Neither she nor Titihuti nor Water could make out what Pahorai Calizte meant by "Coot Pae, Mama." "A.P.A. Dieu." was his commendation of her to God, but _Coot Pae_ was not Marquesan, neither was it French. She pronounced the words in the Marquesan way, and I knew at once. _Coot pae_ is pronounced Coot Pye, and Coot Pye was Pahorai Calizte's way of imitating the American for _Apae Kaoha_. "Good-by, mama," was his quite Philadelphia closing of his letter to his mother. I addressed an envelop to her son with The Iron Fingers That Make Words, and gave it to My Darling Hope. A tear came in her eye. She rubbed my bare back affectionately and caressed my nose with hers as she smelled me solemnly. Then she went up the valley to enlighten the hill people. CHAPTER XXXIX The chants of departure; night falls on the Land of the War Fleet. On the eve of my going all the youth and beauty of Atuona crowded my _paepae_. Water brought his _ukulele_, a Hawaiian _taro_-patch guitar, and sang his repertoire of ballads of Hawaii--"Aloha Oe," "Hawaii Ponoi," and "One, Two, Three, Four." Urged by all, I gave them for the last time my vocal masterpiece, "All Night Long He Calls Her Snooky-Ukums!" and was rewarded by a clamor of applauding cries. Marquesans think our singing strange--and no wonder! Theirs is a prolonged chant, a monotone without tune, with no high notes and little variance. But loving distraction, they listened with deep amusement to my rendering of American airs, as we might listen to Chinese falsettos. They repaid me by reciting legends of their clans, and Titihuti chanted her genealogy, a record kept by memory in all families. Water, her son, who had learned to write, set it down on paper for me. It named the ancestors in pairs, father and mother, and Titihuti remembered thirty-eight generations, which covered perhaps a thousand years. We sat in a respectful circle about her while she chanted it. An Amazon in height and weight, nearly six feet tall, body and head cast in heroic mold, she stood erect, her scarlet tunic gathered to display her symmetrical legs, tattooed in thought-kindling patterns, the feet and ankles as if encased in elegant Oriental sandals. Her red-gold hair, a flame in the flickering light of the torches, was wreathed with bright-green, glossy leaves, necklaces of peppers and small colored nuts rose and fell with her deep breathing. Her voice was melodious, pitched low, and vibrating with the peculiar tone of the chant, a tone impossible of imitation to one who has not learned it as a child. Her eyes were kindled with pride of ancestry as she called the roll of experiences and achievements of the line that had bred her, and her clear-cut Greek features mirrored every emotion she felt, emotions of glory and pride, of sorrow and abasement at the fall of her race, of stoic fortitude in the dull present and hopeless future of her people. With one shapely arm upraised, she uttered the names, trumpet-calls to memory and imagination: Enata (Men) Vehine (Women) Na tupa efitu Metui te vehine Tupa oa ia fai Puha Momoo O tupa haaituani O haiko O nuku Oui aei O hutu Moeakau O oko Oinu vaa O moota O niniauo O tiu Moafitu otemau Fekei O mauniua O tuoa Hotaei O meae Oa tua hae O tehu eo Kei pana O ahunia Tui haa O taa tini Kei pana Nohea Tou mata Tua kina Papa ohe Tepiu Punoa Tui feaa Tuhina Naani Eiva Eio Hoki Teani nui nei O tapu ohi Ani hetiti Opu tini O kou aehitini O take oho O taupo O te heva Tui pahu Otiu hoku O hupe Oahu tupua O papuaei O honu feti Pepene tona Honu tona Haheinutu O taoho Kotio nui Taihaupu Motu haa Mu eiamau Hope taupo Tuhi pahu Taupo tini Anitia fitu Ana tete Pa efitu Kihiputona Tahio paha oho Taua kahiepo Honu tona Mahea tete Titihuti Aino tete tika Tua vahiane Kui motua Titihuti Loud sang the names themselves, proclaiming the merits of their bearers or their fathers in heraldic words, in titles like banners on castle walls, flying the standard of ideals and attainments of men and women long since dust. Masters of Sea and Land, Commander of the Stars, Orderers of the Waxing and Waning of the Moon, Ten Thousand Ocean Tides, Man of Fair Countenance, Caller to Myriads, Climber to the Ninth Heaven, Man of Understanding, Player of the Game of Life, Doer of Deeds of Daring, Ten Thousand Cocoanut Leaves, The Enclosure of the Whale's Tooth, Man of the Forbidden Place, The Whole Blue Sky, Player of the War Drum, The Long Stayer; these were the names that called down the centuries, bringing back to Titihuti and to us who sat at her feet in the glow of the torches the fame and glory of her people through ages past. How compare such names with John Smith or Henry Wilson? Yet we ourselves, did we remember it, have come from ancestors bearing names as resonant. Nero was Ahenobarbus, the Red-Bearded, to his contemporaries of Rome, at the time when Titihuti's forefathers were brave and great beneath the cocoanut-palms of Atuona. Our lists of early European kings carry names as full of meaning as theirs; Charles the Hammer, Edward the Confessor, Charles the Bold, Richard the Lion-Hearted, Hereward the Wake. Titihuti, having gravely finished her chant, stood for a moment in silence. Then, "_Aue!_" she said with a sigh. "No one will remember when I am gone. Water, my son, nor Keke, my daughter, have learned these names of their forefathers and mothers who were noble and renowned. What does it matter? We will all be gone soon, and the cocoanut-groves of our islands will know us no more. We come, we do not know whence, and we go, we do not know where. Only the sea endures, and it does not remember." She sat on the mat beside me, and pressed my hand. I had been adopted as her son, and she was sorry to see me departing to the unknown island from which I had come, and from which, she knew, I would never return. She was mournful; she said that her heart was heavy. But I praised lavishly her beautifully tattooed legs, and complimented the decoration of her hair until she smiled again, and when from the shadowy edges of the ring of torch-light voices began an old chant of feasting, she took it up with the others. There were Marquesans who could recite one hundred and forty-five generations of their families, covering more than thirty-six hundred years. Enough to make family trees that go back to the Norman conquest appear insignificant. I had known an old Maori priest who traced his ancestry to Rangi and Papa, through one hundred and eighty-two generations, 4,550 years. The Easter Islanders spoke of fifty-seven generations, and in Raratonga ninety pairs of ancestors are recited. The pride of the white man melts before such records. Such incidents as the sack of Jerusalem, the Crusades, or Cassar's assassination, are recent events compared to the beginnings of some of these families, whose last descendants have died or are dying to-day. I took Titihuti's words with me as I went down the trail from my little blue cabin at the foot of Temetiu for the last time: "We come, we do not know whence, and we go, we do not know where. Only the sea endures, and it does not remember." Great Fern, Haabuani, Exploding Eggs, and Water carried my bags and boxes to the shore, while I said _adieux_ to the governor, Bauda, and Le Brunnec. When I reached the beach all the people of the valley were gathered there. They sat upon the sand, men and women and children, and intoned my farewell ode--my _pae me io te_: "Apae! Kaoha! te Menike! Mau oti oe anao nei i te apua Kahito" o a'Tahiti. Ei e tihe to metao iau e hoa iriti oei an ote vei mata to taua. E avei atu." "O, farewell to you, American! You go to far-distant Tahiti! There you will stay, but you will weep for me. Ever I shall be here, and the tears fall like the river flows. O friend and lover, the time has come. Farewell!" The sky was ominous and the boats of the _Saint François_ were running a heavy surf. I waded waist-deep through the breakers to climb into one. Malicious Gossip, Ghost Girl and the little leper lass, Many Daughters, were sobbing, their dresses lifted to their eyes. "_Hee poihoo!_" cried the steersman. The men in the breakers shoved hard, and leaped in, and we were gone. My last hour in the Marquesas had come. I should never return. The beauty, the depressingness of these islands is overwhelming. Why could not this idyllic, fierce, laughter-loving people have stayed savage and strong, wicked and clean? The artists alone have known the flower destroyed here, the possible growth into greatness and purity that was choked in the smoke of white lust and greed. At eight o'clock at night we were ready to depart. The bell in the engine-room rang, the captain shouted orders from the bridge, the anchors were hoisted aboard. The propeller began to turn. The searchlight of the _Saint François_ played upon the rocky stairway of Taha-Uka, penciled for a moment the dark line of the cliffs, swept the half circle into Atuona Inlet, and lingered on the white cross of Calvary where Gauguin lies. The gentle rain in the shaft of light looked like quicksilver. The smoke from the funnel mixed in the heavy air with the mist and the light, and formed a fantastic beam of vapor from the ship to the shore. Up this stream of quivering, scintillating irradiation, as brilliant as flashing water in the sun, flew from the land thousands of gauze-winged insects, the great moths of the night, wondrous, shimmering bits of life, seeming all fire in the strange atmosphere. Drawn from their homes in the dark groves by this marvelous illumination, they climbed higher and higher in the dazzling splendor until they reached its source, where they crumpled and died. They seemed the souls of the island folk. They pass mute, falling like the breadfruit in their dark groves. Soon none will be left to tell their departed glories. Their skulls perhaps shall speak to the stranger who comes a few decades hence, of a manly people, once magnificently perfect in body, masters of their seas, unexcelled in the record of humanity in beauty, vigor, and valor. To-day, insignificant in numbers, unsung in history, they go to the abode of their dark spirits, calmly and without protest. A race goes out in wretchedness, a race worth saving, a race superb in manhood when the whites came. Nothing will remain of them but their ruined monuments, the relics of their temples and High Places, remnants of the mysterious past of one of the strangest people of time. The _Saint François_ surged past the _Roberta_, the old sea-wolf, worn and patched, but sturdy in the gleam of the searchlight. Capriata, the old Corsican, stood on his deck watching us go. I walked aft and took my last view of the Marquesas. The tops of the mountains were jagged shadows against the sky, dark and mournful. The arc-light swung to shine upon the mouth of the bay, and the Land of the War Fleet was blotted out in the black night. Some day when deeper poverty falls on Asia or the fortunes of war give all the South Seas to the Samurai, these islands will again be peopled. But never again will they know such beautiful children of nature, passionate and brave, as have been destroyed here. They shall have passed as did the old Greeks, but they will have left no written record save the feeble and misunderstanding observations of a few alien visitors. _Apai! Kaoha e!_ 
12930	----	gallica (Bibliothèque nationale de France) at http://gallica.bnf.fr PUBLICATIONS OF THE SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY, VOLUME XXXVI LAUDER OF FOUNTAINHALL'S JOURNALS MAY 1900 [Illustration: LORD FOUNTAINHALL.] JOURNALS OF SIR JOHN LAUDER LORD FOUNTAINHALL WITH HIS OBSERVATIONS ON PUBLIC AFFAIRS AND OTHER MEMORANDA 1665-1676 Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by DONALD CRAWFORD Sheriff of Aberdeen, Kincardine, and Banff [Illustration: SIR JOHN LAUDER, FIRST BARONET. (Lord Fountainhall's Father.)] CONTENTS INTRODUCTION JOURNALS:-- I Journal in France, 1665-1667, II 1. Notes of Journeys in London. Oxford, and Scotland, 1667-1670, 2. Notes of Journeys in Scotland, 1671-1672, 3. Chronicle of events connected with the Court of Session, 1668-1676, 4. Observations on Public Affairs, 1669-1670, III APPENDIX i. Accounts, 1670-1675, ii. Catalogue of Books, 1667-1679, iii. Letter of Lauder to his Son, PORTRAITS I. LORD FOUNTAINHALL II. SIR JOHN LAUDER, first Baronet, Lord Fountainhall's father III. JANET RAMSAY, first wife of Lord Fountainhall IV. SIR ANDREW RAMSAY, Lord Abbotshall All reproduced from pictures in the possession of Lady Anne Dick Lauder. INTRODUCTION THE MANUSCRIPTS There are here printed two manuscripts by Sir John Lauder, Lord Fountainhall, and portions of another. The first[1] is a kind of journal, though it was not written up day by day, containing a narrative of his journey to France and his residence at Orleans and Poictiers, when he was sent abroad by his father at the age of nineteen to study law in foreign schools in preparation for the bar. It also includes an account of his expenses during the whole period of his absence from Scotland. The second,[2] though a small volume, contains several distinct portions. There are narratives of visits to London and Oxford on his way home from abroad, his journey returning to Scotland, and some short expeditions in Scotland in the immediately following years, observations on public affairs in 1669- 70, and a chronicle of events connected with the Court of Session from 1668 to 1676; also at the other end of the volume some accounts of expenses. The third[3] may be described as a commonplace book, for the most part written during the first years of his practice at the bar and his early married life, but it also contains some notes of travel in Fife, the Lothians, and the Merse in continuation of those in MS. H., and a list of the books which he bought and their prices, brought down to a late period of his life. These manuscripts have been kindly made available to the Scottish History Society by the owners. The first is in the Library of the University of Edinburgh. The second is the property of the late Sir William Fraser's trustees. The third has been lent by Sir Thomas North Dick Lauder, Fountainhall's descendant and representative. [1] Referred to as MS. X. [2] Marked by Fountainhall H. [3] Marked by Fountainhall K. It was Lord Fountainhalls practice, during his whole life, to record in notebooks public events, and his observations upon them, legal decisions, and private memoranda. He kept several series of notebooks concurrently with great diligence and method. In all of those which have been preserved there is more or less matter of value to the student of history. But at his death his library was sold by public auction. The MSS. were dispersed, though their existence and value was known to some of his contemporaries.[4] Some are lost, in particular the series of _Historical Observes_, 1660-1680, which, judging from the sequel, which has been preserved and printed by the Bannatyne Club, would have been of great value. According to tradition the greater part of what has been recovered was found in a snuff-shop by Mr. Crosby the lawyer, the supposed original of Scott's Pleydell, and purchased at the sale of his books after his death by the Faculty of Advocates.[5] [4] Preface to Forbes's _Journal of the Session_, Edinburgh, 1714. [5] MS. Genealogical Roll of the Family of Lauder by the late Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in possession of Sir T.N. Dick Lauder. Eight volumes came into the possession of the Faculty of Advocates, and under their auspices two folio volumes of legal decisions from 1678 to 1712 were published in 1759 and 1761.[6] In 1837 the Bannatyne Club printed _The Historical Observes_, 1680-1686, a complete MS. in the Advocates' Library, and in 1848 they printed two volumes of _Historical Notices_, 1661-1688. These are after 1678 selections from the same MSS. from which the folio of 1759 was compiled, and the additions to the text of the folio are not numerous, though the historical matter, which was buried among the legal decisions, is presented in a more convenient form. But from 1661 to 1678 (about half of vol. i.) and especially from 1670 (for the previous entries occupy only a few pages) the notices are all new and many of them of considerable interest. In printing these volumes, which I believe are acknowledged to contain some of the best material for the history of Scotland at the time, the Bannatyne Club carried out a design which had been long cherished by the late Sir Thomas Dick Lauder,[7] though he did not live to see its complete fulfilment, and he was helped in his efforts by Sir Walter Scott. The story[8] is worth telling more fully than has yet been done. In the winter of 1813-14 Sir Thomas, then a young man, met Sir Walter at a dinner-party. Sir Walter expressed his regret 'that something had not been done towards publishing the curious matter in Lord Fountainhall's MSS.,'[9] and urged Sir Thomas to undertake the task. In 1815 Sir Thomas wrote to Scott asking about a box in the Advocates' Library believed to contain MSS. of Fountainhalls. Sir Walter replied as follows:-- [6] See Mr. David Laing's Preface to the _Historical Notices_, p. xx, Bannatyne Club. [7] Author of _The Moray Floods, The Wolf of Badenoch_, and other well-known books. [8] The original correspondence was bound up by Sir Thomas in a volume along with Mylne's book (see _infra_), and is in the possession of Sir T.N. Dick Lauder. [9] Letter, Sir T.D. Lauder to Sir W. Scott, 22nd May 1822, _infra_. 'Dear Sir,--I am honoured with your letter, and should have been particularly happy in an opportunity of being useful in assisting a compleat edition of Lord Fountainhall's interesting manuscripts. But I do not know of any in the Advocates' Library but those which you mention. I think it likely I may have mentioned that a large chest belonging to the family of another great Scottish lawyer, Sir James Skene of Curriehill, was in our Library and had never been examined. But I could only have been led to speak of this from the similarity of the subject, not from supposing that any of Lord Fountainhall's papers could possibly be deposited there. I am very glad to hear you are busying yourself with a task which will throw most important light upon the history of Scotland, and am, with regard, dear sir, your most obedt. servant, 'WALTER SCOTT. '_Edinr., 19 February 1815._' After a further interchange of letters in 1816 the matter slumbered till 1822 when there appeared a volume entitled _Chronological Notes of Scottish Affairs from 1680 till 1701, being chiefly taken from the Diary of Lord Fountainhall_ (Constable, 1822), with a preface by Sir Walter Scott, who had evidently forgotten his correspondence with Sir Thomas.[10] The volume in reality contained a selection, comparatively small, from Fountainhall's notebooks in the Advocates' Library, with copious interpolations by the author, Robert Mylne (who died in 1747), not distinguished from the authentic text of the notes, and greatly misrepresenting Fountainhall's opinions. The next stage in the correspondence may be given in Sir Thomas's own words:-- [10] The preface and Mylne's interpolations are appended to Mr. Laing's preface to the _Historical Notices_. 'Having been much astonished to learn, from a perusal of the foregoing review,[11] that Sir Walter Scott had stolen a march on me, and published a Manuscript of Lord Fountainhall's, at the very time when he had reason to believe me engaged in the work, and that by his own suggestion, and being above all things surprised that he had not thought it proper to acquaint me with his intention before carrying it into effect, I sat down and wrote to him the following letter, in which, being aware how much he who I was addressing was to be considered as a sort of privileged person in literary matters, I took special care to give no offence, to write calmly, and to confine myself to such a simple statement of the facts as might bring a blush into his face without exciting the smallest angry feeling. I hoped, too, that I might prevail on him, as some atonement for his sins, to lend a helping hand to bring forth the real work of Lord Fountainhall in a proper style.' [11] In Constable's Magazine. See _infra_. To SIR WALTER SCOTT OF ABBOTSFORD, BARONET. '_Relugas, near Forres_, _22nd May 1822_. 'DEAR SIR,--From _Constable's Magazine_ for last month, which has this moment fallen into my hands, I learn, for the first time, with some surprise, but with much greater delight than mortification, that you have condescended to become the Editor of a portion of my Ancestor Lord Fountainhall's MSS. From this I am led to believe, that the circumstance of my having been engaged in the work since 1814 must have escaped your recollection, otherwise I think you would have informed me of _your_ intention or inquired into _mine_. In the winter 1813-14, I had the happiness of meeting you at the table of our mutual friend, Mr. Pringle of Yair, where you expressed regret to me that something had not been done towards publishing the curious matter contained in Lord Fountainhall's MSS., urging me at the same time to undertake the task. Having also soon afterwards been pressed to perform this duty by Mr. Thomas Thomson, Mr. Napier, and several other literary friends, I was led to begin it, and Lord Meadowbank having presented my petition to the Dean and Faculty of Advocates, they were so liberal as to permit me to have the use of the MSS. in succession at Fountainhall, where I then was on a visit to my Father, and where I transcribed everything fit for my purpose. Emboldened by the remembrance of what passed in conversation with you at Mr. Pringle's, I took the liberty of trespassing on you in a letter dated 18th February 1815, to beg you would inform me whether you knew of the existence of any of Lord Fountainhall's MSS. besides the eight Folio volumes I had then examined. You did me the honor to write me an immediate reply, in which you stated that you knew of no other MSS. but those I had mentioned, and you conclude by saying, that you were glad to hear that I was busying myself in a task which would throw much light on the history of Scotland. In May 1816, whilst engaged here in arranging and retranscribing the materials I had collected for the work in the order of a Journal, I met with a little difficulty about the word FORRES, which the sense of the passage led me to read FORREST, meaning ETTRICK FORREST. Knowing that you were the best source from which true information on such subjects was to be drawn, and presuming upon your former kindness, I again addressed you, 23rd May 1816, begging to know whether I was right in my conjecture. To this I received a very polite answer in course of post, in which you express great pleasure in complying with my request, and are so obliging as to conclude with the assurance that at any time you will be happy to elucidate my researches into my ancestors' curious and most valuable Manuscripts with such hints as your local knowledge may supply. 'Since the period to which I have just alluded, I have continued to prosecute the work, but only at intervals, having met with frequent interruptions, among which I may mention an excursion to Italy; and after having finished about two-thirds of it in my own handwriting, it is only now that I have been able to complete it, by the aid of an amanuensis. I do not much wonder that, employed as you are in administering fresh draughts of enjoyment from the exhaustless spring of your genius to the ever-increasing thirst of a delighted public, you should have forgotten my humble labours. But whilst I regret that they should have been so forgotten, inasmuch as they might have contributed to aid or lessen yours, I beg to assure you, that every other feeling is absorbed in that of the satisfaction I am now impressed with in learning that you have taken Lord Fountainhall under your fostering care, as I am well aware that, independent of the honor done him and his family by his name being coupled with that of Sir Walter Scott, there does not now, and perhaps there never will, exist any individual who could elucidate him so happily as your high talents and your deep research in the historical anecdote of your country must enable you to do. I am naturally very desirous to see your publication, of which I cannot procure a copy from the booksellers here. I should not otherwise have intruded on you until I had seen the book, as I am at present ignorant how far it clashes or agrees with the plan of the work I have prepared. As business calls me to Edinburgh, I can now have no opportunity of perusing it before my departure, as I leave this on Tuesday the 28th instant I observe, however, with great gratification, from a quotation in the _Magazine_ from your preface, that you hold out hopes of a farther publication, and I am consequently anxious to avail myself of being in Edinburgh to have the honor of an interview with you, that I may avoid any injudicious interference with your undertaking, and rather go hand in hand with you in promoting it. As I shall be detained on the road, I shall not be in Edinburgh until the evening of Friday the 31st, and my present intention is to remain in town only Saturday and Sunday, unless unavoidable circumstances occur to prevent my leaving it on the Monday. If you could make it convenient to grant me an audience on either of the days I have mentioned, viz., on Saturday, or Sunday, the 1st or 2nd of June, you would very much oblige me, and it will be a further favor if you will have a note lying for me at Mrs. President Blair's, or at my Agent, Mr. Macbean's, 11 Charlotte Square, stating the precise time when you can most conveniently receive me, that I may not be so unfortunate as to call on you unseasonably. With the highest respect, and with very great regard, I have the honor to be, dear sir, very truly yours, THOS. DICK LAUDER.' To this Sir Walter replied:-- 'MY DEAR SIR,--I am sorry you could for a moment think that in printing rather than publishing Lord Fountainhall's Notes or rather Mr. Milne's, for that honest gentleman had taken the superfluous trouble to write the whole book anew, I meant to interfere with your valuable and extensive projected work. I mentioned in the advertisement that you were engaged in writing the life of Lord Fountainhall, and therefore declined saying anything on the subject, and I must add that I always conceived it was his life you meant to publish and not his works. I am very happy you entertain the latter intention, for a great deal of historical matter exists in the manuscript copy of the collection of decisions which has been omitted by the publishers, whose object was only to collect the law reports and who appear in the latter volume entirely to have disregarded all other information. There is also somewhere in the Advocates' Library, but now mislaid, a very curious letter of Lord Fountainhall on the Revolution, and so very many other remains of his that I would fain hope your work will suffer nothing by my anticipation, which I assure you would never have taken place had I conceived those Notes fell within your plan. The fact was that the letter on the Revolution was mislaid and the little Ma[nuscript] having disappeared also, though it was afterwards recovered, it seemed to me worth while to have it put in a printed shape for the sake of preservation, and as only one hundred copies were printed, I hope it will rather excite than gratify curiosity on the subject of Lord Fountainhall. I expected to see you before I should have thought of publishing the Letter on the Revolution, and hoped to whet your almost blunted purpose about doing that and some other things yourself. I think a selection from the Decisions just on the contrary principle which was naturally enough adopted by the former publishers, rejected[12] the law that is and retaining the history, would be highly interesting. I am sure you are entitled to expect[13] on all accounts and not interruption from me in a task so honorable, and I hope you will spare me a day in town to talk the old Judge's affairs over. The history of the Bass should be a curious one. You are of course aware of the anecdote of one of your ancestors insisting on having the "auld craig back again." 'Constable undertook to forward to you a copy of the Notes with my respects, and it adds to my piggish behaviour that I see he had omitted it. I will cause him send it by the Ferry Carrier. 'I beg to assure you that I am particularly sensible of the kind and accomodating view you have taken of this matter, in which I am sensible I acted very thoughtlessly because it would have been easy to have written to enquire into your intentions. Indeed I intended to do so, but the thing had gone out of my head. I leave Edin'r in July, should you come after the 12 of that month may I hope to see you at Abbotsford, which would be very agreeable, but if you keep your purpose of being here in the beginning of June I hope you will calculate on dining here on Sunday 2d at five o'clock. I will get Sharpe to meet you who knows more about L'd Fountainhall than any one.--I am with great penitence, dear Sir Thomas, your very faithful humble servant, 'WALTER SCOTT.' [12] _sic_ for rejecting. [13] A word is omitted, perhaps 'assistance.' 'N.B.--The foregoing letter from Sir Walter, written in answer to mine of the 25th May,[14] sufficiently shows the extent of the dilemma he found himself thrown into. It is full of strange contradictions. He talks of "_printing_ rather than _publishing_" a book which was _publickly_ advertised _and publickly_ sold. He assures me that he believed that it was _Fountainhall's Life_, and not his _works_ I meant to publish, though the former part of the correspondence between us must have made him fully aware that it was _the works_ I had in view; and he unwittingly proves to me immediately afterwards that he had not altogether forgotten that it was _the works_ I had taken in hand to publish, for he says, "I expected to see you before I should have thought of publishing the letter on the Revolution, and hoped to _whet your almost blunted purpose about doing that and some_ other things yourself." And again afterwards--"it would have been easy to have written to enquire into your intentions, indeed _I intended to do so_, but the thing had gone out of my head." Why did you intend to write to me, Sir Walter, about intentions which you have said you were unconscious had any existence? But who can dare to be angry with Sir Walter Scott? Who could be savage enough to be angry with the meanest individual who could write with so much good nature and bonhommie as he displays in his letter? Had one particle of angry feeling lurked in my bosom against him, I should have merited scourging. My answer was as follows....' [14] _sic_ for 22nd May. Sir Thomas was unable to accept Sir Walter's invitation, but proposed to call on him, and received the following reply:-- 'My dear Sir Thomas,--I am much mortified at finding that by a peremptory message from my builder at Abbotsford, who is erecting an addition to my house, I must set out there to-morrow at twelve. But we must meet for all that, and I hope you will do me the honour to breakfast here, though at the unchristian hour of _Nine o'clock_, and if you come as soon after eight as you will, you will find me ready to receive you. I mention this because I must be in the court at _Ten_. I hope this will suit you till time permits a longer interview. I shall therefore expect you accordingly.--Yours very sincerely, WALTER SCOTT. '_Castle Street, Friday_' 'It gives me sincere regret that this unexpected news[15] prevents my having the pleasure of receiving you on Monday.' [15] This word doubtful. It is indistinctly written. Sir Thomas proceeds in his narrative:-- 'N.B.--I kept my appointment accurately to the hour and minute, and found the Great Unknown dashing off long foolscap sheets of what was soon to interest the eyes, and the minds, and the hearts of the whole reading world; preparing a literary food for the voracious maw of the many-headed monster, every mouth of which was gaping wide in expectation of it. He received me most kindly, though I could not help secretly grudging, more than I have no doubt he did, every moment of the time he so good-naturedly sacrificed to me. He repeated in words, and, if possible, in stronger terms, the apologies contained in his letter. I offered him my Manuscript and my humble services. He insisted that he would not rob me of the fruits of my pious labours. "As I know something of publishing," said he, with an intelligent smile on his countenance, "I shall be able to give you some assistance and advice as to how to bring the work properly and respectably out." I thanked him, and ventured to entreat that he would add to the obligation he was laying me under by giving me a few notes to the proposed publication. In short, the result of an hour's conversation was that he undertook to arrange everything about the publication with a bookseller, and to give me the notes I asked, and, in fact, to do everything in his power to assist me, and I left him with very great regret that a matter of business prevented me from accepting of his pressing invitation to breakfast. Before parting, he wrote for me the ensuing letter to Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe, which I was deprived of an opportunity of delivering by the shortness of my visit to Edinburgh.' Sir Thomas soon afterwards completed his transcript, and on 7th June 1823 he wrote:-- '_Relugas, near Forres, 7th June_ 1823. 'MY DEAR SIR WALTER,--Can you pardon me for thus troubling you, in order to have my curiosity satisfied about our old friend Fountainhall, whose work I gave you in July last. I hope you received the remainder of the Manuscript in October from my agent, Mr. Macbean. If you can spare time to say, in a single line, what is doing about him, you will confer a great obligation, on yours very faithfully, T.D. LAUDER.' Sir Walter replied:-- 'MY DEAR SIR,--We have not taken any steps about our venerable friend and your predecessor, whose manuscript is lying safe in my hands. Constable has been in London this long time, and is still there, and Cadell does not seem willingly to embark in any enterprize of consequence just now. We have set on foot a sort [of] Scottish Roxburgh Club[16] here for publishing curiosities of Scottish Literature, but Fountainhall would be a work rather too heavy for our limited funds, although few can be concerned which would come more legitimately under the purpose of our association, which is made in order to rescue from the chance of destruction the documents most essential to the history and literature of Scotland. 'We are having a meeting on the 4th July, when I will table the subject, and if we possibly can assist in bringing out the worthy Judge in good stile, we will be most ready to co-operate with your pious endeavours to that effect. I should wish to hear from you before that time what you would wish to be done in the matter respecting the size, number of the impression, and so forth. Whatever lies in my limited power will be gladly contributed by, dear sir, your very faithful servant, 'WALTER SCOTT. _'Castle Street, 18 June 1823.'_ [16] The Bannatyne Club was instituted on 15th February 1823. Its object was to print works of the history, topography, poetry, and miscellaneous literature of Scotland in former times. Sir Walter Scott was president till his death. The Club's last meeting was in 1861, but there were some publications till 1867. And in answer to further inquiry he again wrote on 10th July 1823:-- 'MY DEAR SIR THOMAS,--You are too easily alarmed about the fate of your ancestors. I did not mean it would not be published--far less that I would not do all in my power to advance the publication--but only that the size and probable expense of the work, with the limited sale for articles of literature only interesting to the Scottish Antiquaries, rendered the Booksellers less willing to adopt the proposal than they seemed at first. However I thought it as well to wait until Constable himself came down from London, as I had only spoken with his partner, and I have since seen him, and find him well disposed to the undertaking. I told him I would give with the greatest pleasure any assistance in my power in the way of historical illustration, and that I concluded that you, to whom the work unquestionably belongs, would contribute a life of the venerable Lawyer and some account of his family. Mr. Thomson has promised to look through the Manuscript and collate it with that of Mr. Maule, and is of opinion (as I am) that it would be very desirable to retrench all the mere law questions which are to be found in the printed folios. Indeed the Editors of those two volumes had a purpose in view directly opposed to ours, for they wished to omit historical and domestic anecdotes and give the law cases as unmixed as possible, while it would be our object doubtless to exclude the mere law questions in favour of the other. No doubt many of the law cases are in themselves such singular examples of the state of manners that it would be a pity not to retain them even although they may be found in the printed copy because they are there mixed with so much professional matter that general readers will not easily discover them. 'The retrenching of the mere law will entirely advantage the general sale of the work besides greatly reducing the expense, and in either point of view it will make it a speculation more like to be advantageous. I think Constable will be disposed to incur the expense of publishing at his own risque, allowing you one half of the free profits which the established mode of accounting amongst authors and booksellers circumcises so closely that the sum netted by the author seldom exceeds a 3'd or thereabout. But then you have no risque, and that is a great matter. My experience does not encourage me to bid you expect much profit upon an undertaking of this nature, in fact on any that I have myself tried I have been always rather a loser; but still there may be some, and I am sure the descendant of Lord Fountainhall is best entitled to such should it arise on his ancestor's work. I think you had better correspond with Constable, assuring him of my willingness to help in any thing that can get the book out, and I am sure Mr. Thomson will feel the same interest I have to leave here to-morrow for four months, but as I am only at Abbotsford I can do any thing that may be referred to me. 'As for Milne's notes, there are many of them that I think worth preservation as describing and identifying the individuals of whom Fountainhall wrote, although his silly party zeal makes him, like all such partizans of faction, unjust and scurrilous. 'I have only to add that the Manuscript is with Mr. Thomson for the purpose of collation, and that I am sure Constable will be glad to treat with you on the subject of publication, and that I will, as I have always been, be most ready to give any notes or illustrations in my power, the only way I suppose in which I can be useful to the publication. The idea of retrenching the law cases, which originates with Thomson, promises, if you entertain it, to remove the only possible objection to the publication, namely the great expense. My address for the next four months is, Abbotsford, by Melrose, and I am always, dear Sir Thomas, very much your faithful, humble servant, WALTER SCOTT. _'Edin'r, 10 July 1823.'_ Again on 27th November 1823:-- 'Dear Sir Thomas,--I have sent the Manuscript to Mr. Macbean, Charlotte Square, as you desire. It is a very curious one and contains many strange pictures of the times. Our ancestors were sad dogs, and we to be worse than them, as Horace tells us the Romans were, have a great stride to make in the paths of iniquity. Men like your ancestor were certainly rare amongst them. I had a scrap some where about the murder of the Lauders at Lauder where Fountainhall's ancestor was Baillie at the time. After this misfortune they are said to have retired to Edinburgh. Fountainhall's grandfather lived at the Westport. All this is I hope familiar to you, I say I hope so, for after a good deal of search I have abandoned hope of finding my memorandum. 'I have seen Constable who promises to send me the sheets as they are thrown off, and any consideration that I can bestow on them will be a pleasure to, dear Sir Thomas, your most obedient servant, WALTER SCOTT. _'Edin'r, 2d December.'_ The last letter on the subject, written apparently by Mr. Cadell, is as follows:-- _'Edinburgh, 28 July 1824._ 'Dear Sir,--We duly received your much esteemed letter of 16 instant, and beg to assure you that we are as willing as ever to do what we stated last year in bringing out your MS. in a creditable way. The reason, and the only reason of delay, has been the indisposition of Mr. Constable, who has from last November till about a month ago been unable to give his time to business. 'Having communicated your letter to him we beg now to state that we shall take immediate steps for getting the work expedited. The MS. is still in Mr. Thomson's hands, but we shall see him on the subject forthwith. It is proposed to print the work in 2 vols. octavo handsomely, the number 500 copies.--We remain, sir, with much respect, your most, ARCH. CONSTABLE & Co. 'Sir Thos. Dick Lauder, Bart.' 'The publication,' as Mr. Laing says in his Preface, 'intended to form two volumes in octavo, under the title of _Historical Notices of Scottish Affairs_, had actually proceeded to press to page 304 in 1825, when the misfortunes of the publisher put a stop to the enterprise. After an interval of several years the greater portion of Sir Thomas's transcripts was placed at the disposal of the Bannatyne Club.' The result was the publication of the _Observes_ and the _Historical Notices_. Mr. Laing adds, 'If at any subsequent time some of his missing MSS. should be discovered, another volume of Selections, to include his early Journal and extracts from his smaller notebooks, might not be undeserving the attention of the Bannatyne Club.' The Journal in France, though never printed, was reviewed by Mr. Cosmo Innes in 1864 in the _North British Review_, vol. xli. p. 170. OUTLINE OF FOUNTAINHALL'S LIFE A short relation of Lord Fountainhall's life is given in Mr. David Laing's preface to the _Historical Notices_. He was born in 1646. His father was John Lauder, merchant and bailie of Edinburgh, of the family of Lauder of that Ilk.[17] He graduated as Master of Arts in the University of Edinburgh in 1664. He went to France to study in 1665, and returned from abroad in 1667. He was 'admitted' as an advocate in 1668. He was married in 1669 to Janet, daughter of Sir Andrew Ramsay of Abbotshall,[18] Provost of Edinburgh, afterwards a Lord of Session. In 1674, along with the leaders of the bar and the majority of the profession, he was 'debarred' or suspended from practising by the king's proclamation for asserting the right of appeal from the decisions of the Court of Session, and was restored in 1676. He was knighted in 1681. In the same year his father, who was then eighty-six years old, purchased the lands of Woodhead and others in East Lothian. The conveyance is to John Lauder of Newington in liferent, and Sir John Lauder, his son, in fee. The lands were erected into a barony, called Fountainhall. In 1685, he was returned as member of Parliament for the county of Haddington, which he represented till the Union in 1707. In 1686 his wife, by whom he had a large family, died. In 1687 he married Marion Anderson, daughter of Anderson of Balram. He was appointed a Lord of Session in 1689, and a Lord of Justiciary in 1690. He resigned the latter office in 1709, and died in 1722. His father had been made a baronet in 1681 by James VII. The succession under the patent was to his son by his third marriage; but in 1690, after the Revolution, a new patent was granted by William and Mary to Sir John Lauder, senior, and his eldest son and his heirs. The first patent was reduced in 1692, and in the same year Fountainhall succeeded on his father's death. [17] 'Sir John Lauder of Fountainhall is deschended of the Lauders of that ilk, and his paternall coat is immatriculate and registrate in the Lyons Book of Herauldrie.'--Unprinted MS. by Lauder, in possession of Sir T.N. Dick Lauder. A Genealogical Roll in MS., of the Lauder Family, compiled by Sir T. Dick Lauder, also in the present baronet's possession, has afforded much useful information; and for Lauder's family connections, I have also consulted Mrs. Atholl Forbes's _Curiosities of a Scottish Charter Chest_, and Mrs. Stewart Smith's _Grange of St. Giles_. [18] See Appendix III. The following estimate of his character in Forbes's Preface to the _Journal of the Session_ (1714), a rare book, is quoted by Mr. Laing, but is too much in point to be omitted here. 'The publick and private character of this excellent judge are now so well known that I need say no more of him than that he signalized himself as a good patriot and true Protestant in the Parliament of 1686 in defence of the Penal Laws against Popery. This self-denyed man hath taken no less pains to shun places that were in his offer than some others have been at to get into preferment. Witness his refusing to accept a patent in the year 1692 to be the King's Advocate, and the resigning his place as a Lord of Justiciary after the Union, which Her Majesty with reluctancy took off his hand. In short, his lordship is (what I know by experience) as communicative as he is universally learned and knowing. He hath observed the decisions of the Session from November 1689 till November 1712, which I have seen in Manuscript; but his excessive modesty can't be prevailed on to make them publick.' There are no materials for expanding Mr. Laing's sketch of Fountainhall's life, except in so far as the notes of his travels and his expeditions into the country, and the accounts, here printed, give some glimpses of his habits and his domestic economy in his early professional years. He lived in troubled times, but his own career was prosperous and comparatively uneventful. The modesty which Professor Forbes truly ascribes to him disinclined him to take a part, as a good many lawyers did, in public affairs, except for a short period before the Revolution, as a member of Parliament; and, together with his prudence and strong conscientiousness, preserved him from mixing in the political and personal intrigues which were then so rife in the country. The same modesty is apparent in his writings in mature life to a tantalising degree. It may not be so conspicuous in his boyish journal, when he was ready enough to throw down the gauntlet in a theological discussion; but in the later voluminous MSS., when even dry legal disputes are enlivened by graphic and personal touches, the author himself rarely appears on the scene. We miss the pleasant details of Clerk of Penicuik's _Memoirs._[19] We learn little of the author's daily walk and conversation. It does not even appear (so far as I know) where his house in Edinburgh was. We do not know how often he went to Fountainhall, or whether he there realised his wish to spend half his time in the country.[20] We do not know how he occupied himself there, though it may be gathered that he took much interest in the management of his property and in country business, and he records with much gratification his appointment as a justice of the peace. He tells us nothing of his wife, except how much money she got for housekeeping, and nothing of his children, except when he records their births or deaths. Nothing of his personal relations with his distinguished contemporaries at the bar, or with the men who, as officers of State and Privy Councillors, still governed Scotland in Edinburgh. [19] Scottish History Society. [20] Journal, p. 21. On the other hand, his opinions on all subjects, on public affairs and public men, on such questions of speculation or ethical interest as astrology and witchcraft, often strikingly expressed in language always racy and sincere, are scattered through the published volumes of his writings, all printed without note or comment. It may at least be a tribute to Fountainhall's memory to present a short view of his opinions, and for that purpose I have not scrupled to quote freely, especially from the _Historical Observes,_ a delightful book, which deserves a larger public than the limited circle of its fortunate possessors. Fountainhall's political opinions were moderate, in an age when moderation was rare. We are tempted to think, if I am not mistaken, that in that dark period of Scottish history, every man was a furious partisan, as a Royalist or a Whig, or as an adherent of one or other of the chiefs who intrigued for power. But it may be that Lauder's attitude reflects more truly the average opinions of educated men of the time. HIS POLITICAL OPINIONS His political position has perhaps been imperfectly understood by the few writers who have had occasion to refer to it. Mr. Laing's statement, that prior to the Revolution 'he appears generally to have acted only with those who opposed the measure of the Court,' is not, I venture to think, wholly accurate. It is true that on one occasion, no doubt memorable in his own life, he incurred the displeasure of the government. When James VII. on his accession proposed to relax the penal laws against Roman Catholics, while enforcing them against Presbyterians, Lauder, who had just entered Parliament, opposed that policy and spoke against it in terms studiously moderate and respectful to the Crown. The result, however, was that he became a suspected person. As he records in April 1686, 'My 2 servants being imprisoned, and I threatened therewith, as also that they would seize upon my papers, and search if they contained anything offensive to the party then prevailing, I was necessitat to hide this manuscript, and many others, and intermit my Historick Remarks till the Revolution in the end of 1688.' Hence the Revolution was perhaps welcome to him. As an adherent of character and some position he met with marked favour from the new sovereigns, who promoted him to the bench, and corrected the injustice which had been done to him in the matter of the patent of his father's baronetcy, and also granted him a pension of £100 a year, an addition of fifty per cent. to his official salary. Shortly afterwards he was offered the post of Lord Advocate, but declined it, because the condition was attached that he should not prosecute the persons implicated in the Massacre of Glencoe.[21] From these facts it has been sometimes inferred that Lauder was disaffected to the Stewart dynasty, and that his professional advancement was thereby retarded. In reality his career was one of steady prosperity. Having already received the honour of knighthood while still a young man, and being a member of parliament for his county, he became a judge at the age of forty-three. So far from holding opinions antagonistic to the reigning house, Lauder was an enthusiastic royalist. He was indeed a staunch Protestant at a time when religion played a great part in politics. In his early youth the journal here published shows him as perhaps a bigoted Protestant. But he was not conscious of any conflict between his faith and his loyalty till the conflict was forced upon him, and that was late in the day. In this position he was by no means singular. Sir George Mackenzie, who as Lord Advocate was so vigorous an instrument of Charles II.'s policy, refused, like Lauder, to concur in the partial application of the penal laws, and his refusal led to his temporary disgrace. Lauder was not even a reformer. He was a man of conservative temperament, and while his love of justice and good government led him to criticise in his private journals the glaring defects of administration, and especially the administration of justice, there is no evidence that he had even considered how a remedy was to be found. There was indeed no constitutional means of redress, and all revolutionary methods, from the stubborn resistance of the Covenanters, to the plots in London, real or imaginary, but always implicitly believed in by Lauder, and the expeditions of Monmouth and Argyll, met with Lauder's unqualified disapproval and condemnation. [21] It has been said that there is no sufficient evidence of this honourable incident in Fountainhall's career. But Sir Thomas Dick Lauder (MS. Genealogical Roll, _supra_) reproduces it in a poem to the Memory of Sir John Lauder, published in 1743, and attributed to Blair, the author of 'The Grave,' in which the following lines occur. He 'Saw guiltless blood poured out with lavish hand, And vast depopulated tracts of land; And saw the wicked authors of that ill Unpunished, nay, caressed and favoured still. The power to prosecute he would not have, Obliged such miscreants overlooked to save.' [Sidenote: H.O. 148] [Sidenote: H.O. 6] [Sidenote: Decisions, p. 232.] I shall cite some passages in illustration. When Charles II. died and James was proclaimed, Lauder writes that 'peoples greiff was more than their joy, having lost their dearly loved king'; then after a gentle reference to 'his only weak syde,' he says, 'he was certainly a prince indued with many Royall qualities, and of whom the Divine providence had taken a speciall care by preserving him after Worcester fight in the oak.' ... 'A star appeared at noon day at his birth; he was a great mathematician, chemist, and mechanick, and wrought oft in the laboratories himselfe; he had a natural mildnesse and command over his anger, which never transported him beyond an innocent puff and spitting, and was soon over, and yet commanded more deference from his people than if he had expressed it more severely, so great respect had all to him. His clemencie was admirable, witnesse his sparing 2 of Oliver Cromwell's sones, tho on of them had usurped his throne. His firmnesse in religion was evident; for in his banishment he had great invitations and offers of help to restore him to his croun if he would turne Papist, but he always refused it. As for his brother James, now our present King, he is of that martiall courage and conduct, that the great General Turenne was heard say, if he ware to conquer the world, he would choise the Duke of York to command his army,' Such were Lander's loyal sentiments, as set down in a private journal a year before his servants and clerks were arrested, and the seizure of his papers threatened. But his Protestantism and his jealousy of Popery were equally strong. In 1680 he notes that the minister of Wells in Nithsdale had 'turned Roman Catholic: so this is one of the remarkable trophees and spoils the Papists are beginning to gain upon our religion.' A little further on he is indignant at ridicule being thrown on the Popish Plot 'Not only too many among ourselves, but the French, turned the Plot into matter of sport and laughter: for at Paris they acted in ther comedy, called Scaramucchio, the English tryall, and busked up a dog in a goune lik Chief Justice Scrogs.' Again, 'A Papist qua Papist cannot be a faithful subject,' He had, however, no sympathy with the Covenanters, a name which he does not use, but he describes them as 'praecise phanaticks.' He did not consider it unjust to bring them to capital punishment, because they denied the right of the king to govern, though on grounds of humanity and policy he was inclined to mercy. In 1682 he observes on the execution of Alexander Home, a small gentleman of the Merse, who had commanded a party at the insurrection of Bothwell Bridge, 'tho he came not that lenth,' 'It was thought ther was blood eneuch shed on that quarrell already ... for they are like Sampson, they kill and persuade mo at ther death than they did in ther life.' He couples the Roman Catholics and Presbyterians together as troublesome citizens. 'These foolish people that assume the name of Presbyterians have unwarily drunk in these restles principles from the Jesuites and seminary priests, who have had a hand in all our troubles and blown the coall.' Apart, however, from the political attitude of the Covenanters, whom he regarded as disaffected subjects, there is no evidence that he concerned himself with the controversy as to the Episcopal or Presbyterian form of Church government, or that he regretted the re- establishment of Presbytery after the Revolution. He was not interested in Church matters. In 1683 he writes, 'The Synod of Edinburgh' [which was then Episcopalian] 'sat down, and not having much else to do, enacted 1'o that ministers should not sit in the pulpit, but stand all the time they are in it.'[22] [22] A devotional diary, for 1700, apparently one of a series, preserved in the Edinburgh University Library, No. 274, and an undated letter in the Dick Lauder MSS. about the election of a 'godly, primitive, and evangelicall pastor,' lead me to think that his views were Calvinistic, and not out of sympathy with the Presbyterian Establishment of the Revolution. In the present volume, p. 229, there is a striking example of his sympathy with the royal prerogative. He says it was believed that the project of Union was 'mainly set on foot by his Majestie and so much coveted after by him that he may rid himselfe of the House of Commons, who have been very heavy on his loines, and the loins of his predecessors.... I confesse the king has reason to wrest this excessive power out of the Commons their hand, it being an unspeakable impairment of the soveraintie, but I fear it prosper not.' His repugnance to anything savouring of revolutionary methods, combined with his always candid recognition of merit, appears in his observation when Sidney was executed. [Sidenote: H.O. p. 110.] He was a gallant man, yet had he been so misfortunat as ever to be on the disloyal side, and seemed to have drunk in with his milk republican principles.' In December 1684 Baillie of Jerviswood was prosecuted for being art and part in a treasonable conspiracy in England, along with Shaftesbury, Russell, and others. Lauder and Sir George Lockhart were commanded on their allegiance to assist the King's Advocate in the prosecution. The Court, after deliberating from midnight till three in the morning, brought in a verdict finding 'his being art and part of the conspiracy and design to rise in arms, and his concealing the same proven,' He was hanged and quartered the same day. Fountainhall did not disapprove of his condemnation. He says, 'he carried all this with much calmness and composure of mind; only he complained the time they had given him to prepare for death was too short, and huffed a little that he should be esteemed guilty of any design against the life of the King or his brother, of which he purged himself, as he hoped to find mercy, so also he denied any purpose of subverting the monarchial government, only he had wished that some grievances in the administration of our affairs might be rectified and reformed; but seeing he purged not himself of the rest of his libel, his silence as to these looked like a tacit confession and acknowledgment thereof.' [Sidenote: Decisions, i. 366.] [Sidenote: H.O. 74] [Sidenote: H.N. 11] [Sidenote: H.O. 184] [Sidenote: Decisions, i. 160.] [Sidenote: H.O. 55.] A still more striking illustration of Lauder's political views is afforded by his numerous observations on Argyll, who played so great a part in public affairs during the period covered by the manuscripts until his execution in 1685. Argyll was not a sympathetic figure to Lauder, but, as usual, he does justice to his qualities, and recognises the tragedy of his fate. On the day of his execution he notes, 'And so ended that great man, with his family, at that time.' He had a more cordial personal admiration for a very different statesman, Lauderdale, though he often disapproved of his policy. At his death he writes, '24 of August, 1682, dyed John Maitland, Duke of Lauderdale, the learnedest and powerfullest Minister of State of his age, at Tunbridge Wells. Discontent and age were the ingredients of his death, if his Dutchesse and Physitians be freed of it; for she had abused him most grosely, and got all from him she could expect.... The Duke of York was certainly most ungrate to Lauderdale; for Lauderdale was the first who adventured in August 1679 to advise the King to bring home the Duke of York from Flanders.'[23] Argyll he deemed to be wanting in magnanimity. In 1671 he writes on the subject of a point in a lawsuit being decided in Argyll's favour, 'This was my Lord President's doing [Stair], he being my Lord Argyle's great confidant. It was admired by all that he blushed not to make a reply upon his Father's forfaultor, and whow he had committed many treasonable crimes before the discharge, and to see him rather than tyne his cause, suffer his father rather to be reproached and demeaned as a traitor of new again, by his own advocats,' So fourteen years later he writes, 'Whatever was in Argile's first transgression in glossing the Test (which appeared slender), yet God's wonderfull judgements are visible, pleading a controversie against him and his family, for the cruall oppression he used, not only to his father's, but even to his oune creditors. It was remembered that he beat Mistris Brisbane done his stairs for craving hir annuelrents, tho he would have bestowed as much money on a staff or some like curiosity.' He was, however, one of Argyll's counsel when he was prosecuted for taking the Test, with the explanation 'that he conceived that this Test did not hinder nor bind him up from endeavouring alterations to the better either in Church or State.' Argyll, who had escaped, was sentenced to death in his absence, attainted, and his estates forfeited. Lauder strongly disapproved of the proceedings. He writes, 'There was a great outcry against the Criminal Judges, their timorous dishonesty....' These words, 'consistent with my loyalty, were judged taxative and restrictive, seeing his loyalty might be below the standard of true loyalty, not five-penny fine, much less eleven- penny,' ... 'The design was to low him, that he might never be the head of a Protestant party, and to annex his jurisdiction to the Crown, and to parcel out his lands; and tho' he was unworthily and unjustly dealt with here, yet ought he to observe God's secret hand, punishing him for his cruelty to his own and his father's creditors and vassals, sundry of whom were starving.' Lauder speaks of 'that fatal Act of the Test.' He had no favour for it, and he narrates with glee how 'the children of Heriot's Hospitall, finding that the dog which keiped the yairds of that Hospitall had a publick charge and office, they ordained him to take the Test, and offered him the paper, but he, loving a bone rather than it, absolutely refused it; then they rubbed it over with butter (which they called an Explication of the Test in imitation of Argile), and he licked of the butter, but did spite out the paper, for which they hold a jurie on him, and in derision of the sentence against Argile, they found the dog guilty of treason, and actually hanged him.' [23] Sir George Mackenzie also, who criticises Lauderdale's proceedings very freely, pays a fine tribute to one trait in his character, 'Lauderdale who knew not what it was to dissemble.'--_Memoirs_, p. 182. [Sidenote: H.O. 166] [Sidenote: H.0. 196.] [Sidenote: H.O. 189.] Although Lauder considered that Argyll had been unjustly condemned in the matter of the Test, his opinion about the expedition of 1685 was very different. He did justice to his capacity. He writes, 'Argile had always the reputation of sense and reason, and if the Whigs at Bothwell Bridge in 1679 had got such a commander as he, it's like the rebellion had been more durable and sanguinarie' But as soon as the news of Argyll's landing on the west coast came, this is his note, 'Argile, minding the former animosities and discontents in the country, thought to have found us all alike combustible tinder, that he had no more adoe then to hold the match to us, and we would all blow up in a rebellion; but the tymes are altered, and the peeple are scalded so severely with the former insurrections, that they are frighted to adventure on a new on. The Privy Council, though they despised this invasion, yet by proclamations they called furth the whole heritors of Scotland,' and so on. 'Some look on this invasion as a small matter, but beside the expence and trouble it hes put the country to, if we ponder the fatall consequences of such commotions, we'll change our opinions: for when the ramparts of government are once broke down, and the deluge follows, men have no assurances that the water will take a flowing towards their meadows to fructify them; no, no, just in the contrare.' Argyll was discovered and apprehended in his flight by a weaver near Paisley, of whom Lauder says, 'I think the Webster who took him should be rewarded with a litle heritage (in such a place wher Argile's death will not be resented), and his chartre should bear the cause, and he should get a coat of arms as a gentleman, to incouradge others heirafter.' It does not appear that this suggestion was acted upon. But while Lauder was a supporter of the existing order of government and opposed to all revolutionary plans, his journals disclose that in the state of public affairs he found much matter for criticism and ground for anxiety. In 1674 he tells of what will happen 'whenever we get a fair and unpraelimited Parliament, which may be long ere we see it.' In 1683 he writes sadly: 'Though we change the Governors, yet we find no change in the arbitrary government. For we are brought to that pass we must depend and court the Chancelor, Treasurer, and a few other great men and their servants, else we shall have difficulty to get either justice or despatch in our actions, or to save ourselves from scaith, or being quarrelled on patched up, remote and innocent grounds. This arbitrary way Lauderdale attempted, but did not attain so great a length in it as our statesmen do now; and they value themselves much in putting the military and ecclesiastic Laws to strict and vigorous execution, so that, let soldiers commit as great malversations and oppressions as they please, right is not to be got against them. Witness John Cheisly of Dalry's usage with Daver and Clerk, in the Kings troupe, and Sir John Dalrymple's with Claverhouse.' In the same year he says of James, then Duke of York, and Monmouth, 'We know not which of their factions struggling in the womb of the State shall prevail.' He regarded these political evils and dangers as beyond his power to remedy. It was not till after he had entered Parliament in 1685 that he made any public utterance on politics. In the last two years of James's reign the Test Act was enforced against Nonconformist Protestants but not against Roman Catholics. Lauder, being then in Parliament, considered it his duty to take a part, and he made one or two very moderate speeches, which, although expressed with studious respect to the sovereign, were doubtless highly displeasing to the government. OPINIONS ON ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. INFLUENCE OF STUDIES ABROAD [Sidenote: H.N. 40.] In the matter of the administration of justice he writes with much less reserve in his journals. The system was bad. The jurisdiction of the Privy Council, who tried a considerable number of causes, was ill-defined. The judges since the time of Charles I. were removable magistrates, entirely in the dependence of the Crown. Even the ordinary Lords of Session were not always trained lawyers--Lauder's father-in-law, for example, Sir Andrew Ramsay, long Provost of Edinburgh, became a judge with the title of Lord Abbotshall. There were besides four extraordinary lords who were never lawyers, and were not bound to attend and hear causes pleaded, but they had the right to vote. At the Revolution one of the reasons assigned for declaring the Crown vacant was 'the changing of the nature of the judges' gifts _ad vitam aut culpam_, and giving them commissions _ad bene placitum_ to dispose them to compliance with arbitary sourses, and turning them out of their offices when they did not comply.' Thus in 1681, when the Test Act was passed, five judges were dismissed, four ordinary, including the President, Stair, and one extraordinary, Argyll, and a new commission issued. When the Court was so constituted, it could hardly inspire implicit confidence, and the instances are numerous in which Lauder complains that injustice has been done, and the principles of the law perverted through the influence of political and private motives. Even the most eminent of the judges were not in his opinion clear from this blot. I have quoted one passage in which Lauder hints at Stair's partiality for Argyll. In another case in which Argyll was concerned he observes, 'Every on saw that would be the fate of that action, considering the pershewar's probable intres in the President.'[24] In 1672 when, as he considered, a well-established rule of law had been unsettled, he writes, 'This is a miserable and pittiful way of wenting our wit, by shaking the very foundations of law, and leaving nothing certain. The true sourse of it all is from the wofull divisions in the House, especially between the President and the Advocat [Mackenzie], each of them raking, tho from hell, all that may any way conduce to carry the causes that they head, _Flectere si neque superos_,' etc. One decision which excited his warm indignation was given in a suit by Lord Abbotshall against Francis Kinloch, who held a wadset over the estate of Gilmerton, which Abbotshall maintained was redeemable. He lost the case. After an extraordinary account of the way in which the decision was arrived at Lauder proceeds, 'the Chancelor's [Rothes] faint trinqueting and tergiversation for fear of displeasing Halton (who agented passionately for Francis) has abated much of his reputation. The 2d rub in Abbotshall's way was a largesse and donation of £5000 sterling to be given to Halton and other persons forth of the town's revenue for their many good services done to the toune. By this they outshot Sir Androw in his oune bow, turned the canon upon him, and _justo Dei judicio_ defait him by the toune's public interest, with which weapone he was want to do miracles and had taught them the way[25].... This decision for its strangeness surprised all that heard of it; for scarce even any who once heard the case doubted but it would be found a clear wodsett, and it opened the mouths of all to cry out upon it as a direct and dounright subversion of all our rights and properties.' [24] Lauder was a very young man at the bar when he wrote these strictures on Stair. They may be compared with and in part corrected by a passage in Sir G. Mackenzie's _Memoirs_, p. 240, which also bears on the appointment of incompetent judges. 'Lauderdale by promoting four ignorant persons, who had not been bred as lawyers, without interruption, and in two years' time, to be judges in it [the Session], viz., Hatton, Sir Andrew Ramsay, Mr. Robert Preston, and Pittrichie, he rendered thereby the Session the object of all men's contempt. And the Advocates being disobliged by the regulations did endeavour, as far as in them lay, to discover to the people the errors of those who had opprest them: and they being now become numerous, and most of them being idle, though men of excellent parts, wanting rather clients than wit and learning, that society became the only distributor of fame, and in effect the fittest instrument for all alterations: for such as were eminent, did by their authority, and such as were idle, by well contrived and witty raillery, make what impressions they pleased upon the people. Nor did any suffer so much as the Lord Stairs, President of the Session; who, because of his great affection to Lauderdale, and his compliance with Hatton, suffered severely, though formerly he had been admired for his sweet temper and strong parts. And by him our countrymen may learn, that such as would be esteemed excellent judges must live abstracted from the court; and I have heard the President himself assert that no judge should be either member of Council or Exchequer, for these courts did learn men to be less exact justiciars than was requisite.' [25] See Appendix III. It is not to be inferred from such strictures on the administration of justice, a matter on which, as an upright lawyer, Lauder was keenly sensitive, that he was an ill-natured critic of his professional brethren or of public men. On the contrary, the tone of his observations, though shrewd and humorous, is kindly and large-minded. He admired Lockhart, who was his senior at the bar, and whom he perhaps regarded more than any other man as his professional leader and chief, though he does not escape a certain amount of genial criticism. His enthusiastic eulogy of Lockhart's eloquence has been often quoted. In his estimation of Mackenzie it is easy to see, that while he doubted the wisdom and humanity of his relentless prosecutions, and while his arrogance comes in for criticism in a lighter vein, respect for his capacity, learning, and industry was the predominating element. It is pleasant to see the constant interest that he took in Bishop Burnet's books and movements, though they do not appear ever to have met. 'Our Dr. Burnet,' as he calls him. But that only means that he was a Scotsman, for he describes Ferguson the Plotter in the same way. There is nowhere a touch of jealousy or envy in those private journals. The influence of Lander's period of youthful travels, his _Wanderjahre_, on his future development is seen in various ways. He always kept up his interest in foreign countries and foreign literature. He bought a great many books, a list of which year by year is preserved, and he read them. The law manuscripts, though they embrace a pretty wide field, are confined to domestic affairs. But in the _Observes_ there are every year notes and reflections on the events passing in every part of Europe, and especially France. There is some interest in the following passage, almost the last sentence in the _Historical Observes_, 'In regard the Duke of Brandenburgh and States of Holland have not roume in ther countries for all the fugitive Protestants, they are treating with Pen and other ouners of thesse countries of Pensylvania, Carolina, etc., to send over colonies ther; so that the purity of the Gospell decaying heir will in all probability passe over to America.' The foreign schools of law where he had studied naturally affected his treatment of legal questions. Until the publication of the great work of Stair, the common civil law of Scotland was in a comparatively fluid state, though there were some legal treatises of authority, such as Craig's _Feudal Law_. Mackenzie's _Criminalls_ was published in 1676, and is often referred to by Lauder. Many of his contemporaries at the bar had studied like himself in the foreign schools of the Roman Civil Law, and in his reports of cases the original sources are quoted with enviable familiarity and appositeness. TORTURE, ASTROLOGY, AND WITCHCRAFT In questions of social ethics, such as torture, and of popular belief, such as astrology and witchcraft, Lauder was not much in advance of his age. He frequently mentions the infliction of torture without any comment. When Spence and Carstairs were tortured with the thummikins, he describes them as 'ane ingine but lately used with us,' and possibly he had some misgiving. The subjects of astrology and witchcraft had an attraction for his inquiring and speculative mind.[26] He believed in the influence of the heavenly bodies, and more firmly in witchcraft, for which many unhappy women were every year cruelly put to death. These trials at times evidently gave him some uneasiness. But usually, with regard to both topics, his doubts do not go beyond a cautious hint of scepticism tinged with humour. He was fundamentally a religious man, and where he touches on the great issues of life, and the relation of man to his Maker, it is in a tone of deep solemnity. But he loves to discourse in a learned fashion on the influence of the stars. 'Charles the 2d,' he says, 'fell with few or no prognosticks or omens praeceeding his death, unlesse we recur to the comet of 1680, which is remote, or to the strange fisches mentioned, supra page 72, or the vision of blew bonnets, page 74,[27] but these are all conjecturall: vide, supra Holwell's prophecies in his Catastrophe Mundi,' and so on. In 1683 'we were allarumed with ane strange conjunction was to befall in it of 2 planets, Saturn and Jupiter in Leo.... Our winter was rather like a spring for mildnes. If it be to be ascrybed to this conjunction I know not.' In the case of comets there was less room for scepticism. In December 1680, 'a formidable comet appeared at Edinburgh.' In discoursing on this comet he remarks that Dr. Bainbridge observed the comet of 1618 'to be verticall to London, and to passe over it in the morning, so it gave England and Scotland in their civill wars a sad wype with its taill. They seldom shine in wain, though they proceed from exhalations and other natural causes.' [26] Mr. Andrew Lang has pointed out to me that Lauder's remarks on the identity of the popular legends in France and Scotland (_Journal_, p. 83) are a very early instance of this observation, now recognised to be generally applicable. [27] P. 74, i.e. of his MS. For the vision of blue bonnets, compare H.O., p. 142, and Wodrow's _History_, iv. 180. [Sidenote: H.N. 198.] [Sidenote: H.N. 146.] Lauder relates several trials for witchcraft in much detail, and they evidently gave him some uneasiness. Some of the women commonly confessed and implicated other persons. In one such case the women, who among other persons, accused the parish minister, said that the devil sometimes transformed them 'in bees, in crows, and they flew to such and such remote places; which was impossible for the devil to doe, to rarefy the substance of their body into so small a matter ... thir confessions made many intelligent sober persons stumble much what faith was to be adhibite to them.' In another case from Haddington a woman confessed and accused five others and a man. Lauder saw the man examined and tested by pricking. He says, 'I remained very unclear and dissatisfied with this way of triall, as most fallacious: and the man could give me no accompt of the principles of his art, but seemed to be a drunken foolish rogue.' Then, according to his custom, he cites a learned authority, Martino del Rio, who lays bare the craft and subtlety of the devil, and mentions that 'he gives not the nip to witches of quality; and sometimes when they are apprehended he delets it....' 'The most part of the creatures that are thus deluded by this grand impostor and ennemy of mankind are of the meanest rank, and are ather seduced by malice, poverty, ignorance, or covetousness.' But he finds comfort in the pecuniary circumstances of the Tempter. 'It's the unspeakable mercy and goodness of our good God that that poor devill has not the command of money (tho we say he is master of all the mines and hid treasures of the earth) else he would debauch the greatest part of the world.' CONTENTS OF HIS EARLY JOURNALS AND ACCOUNTS It has already been mentioned that Lauder's later journals, when he came to chronicle public affairs and legal decisions, though they are full of graphic detail, contain little that is personal to himself. The manuscripts here printed, besides giving a picture of a Scottish student's life in France during the seventeenth century, include a narrative of his visits to London and Oxford on his return from abroad, his journey by coach and post from London to Edinburgh, and various expeditions in Fife, the Lothians, and the Merse, Glasgow, and the Clyde district, places where he had connections. He travelled on horseback. He kept one horse at this time, which appears in the Accounts. Considering his evident relish for travelling, it is remarkable that in his long life he never seems to have left Scotland after his return in 1667, though many of his more political brethren at the bar were constantly on the road between Edinburgh and Whitehall. He kept his accounts with great care. There were no banks, and his method was to account for each sum which he received, detailing how it was spent in dollars, merks, shillings sterling and Scots, pennies, etc. We have both his accounts during his period of travel, which are included in the first manuscript, and those during the years 1670 to 1675. From the latter copious extracts are given, and they are informatory as to the prices of commodities, and the mode of life of a young lawyer recently married. There was settled on him by his father in his marriage contract an annuity of 1800 merks (£100), secured on land. His wife's marriage portion was 10,000 merks (about £555), half of it paid up and invested, the remainder bearing interest at 6 per cent. His 'pension' as one of the assessors of the burgh was £12 (sterling). His house-rent was £20 (sterling): in one place it is stated a little higher; and he sublet the attics and basement. The wages of a woman servant was nearly £2 (sterling). We find the prices of cows, meal, ale, wine, clothing, places at theatres, etc., the cost of travelling by coach, posting, fare in sailing packet to London and so on. [Sidenote: H.O. 137.] [Sidenote: Genealogical Roll.] There are many illustrations throughout Lauder's manuscripts of the poverty of Scotland, relatively not only to the present time but to England. The official salary of a judge before the Union was £200, and it only reached that figure during his lifetime. Some time after the Union it was raised to £500. On the appointment of the Earl of Middleton as joint Secretary of State for England with Sunderland, in place of Godolphin, Lauder notes, 'This was the Dutchesse of Portsmouth's doing, and some thought Midleton not wise in changing (tho it be worth £5000 sterling a year, and 3 or 4 years will enrich on), for envy follows greatnesse as naturally as the shadow does the body, and the English would sooner bear a Mahometan for ther Secretar than a Scot, only he has now a good English ally, by marrieng Brudnell Earle of Cardigan's sister.' Thus the salary of a Secretary of State in England was the same in 1684 as it is now, whereas the salary of a Scottish judge was only one eighteenth part of its present amount: Lauder in his will gives a detailed account of his own investments. Sir Thomas Dick Lauder computes that he left about £11,000 besides the estate of Fountainhall, which he inherited. He was, however, the son of a wealthy man. At his marriage before he had any means of his own, 90,000 merks were settled by his father, who had several other children, on the children of the marriage (£5000 sterling, representing a sum many times as large in the present day). MONEY Lauder mentions a great variety of coins both in his Journal in France and in his Accounts after his return home. Some explanation of the principal coins may be useful. It is necessary to keep in mind that the value of coins was in a perpetual flux. There were during the century frequent changes in the value of coins relatively even to those of the same country. 1. _In France._ (1) _Livre_. The livre used by Lauder, and called by him indifferently 'frank,' was the livre tournois,[28] of 20 sous. It was, subject to exchange, of the same value as the pound Scots,[29] 1s. 8d. sterling, which greatly simplifies calculations. The £ s. d. French was equal to the £ s. d. Scots, and one twelfth of the value of the £ s. d. English or sterling. [28] The livre parisis contained 25 sous.--Major's _Greater Britain_ (S.H.S.), p. 32, note. [29] See pp. 3 and 4 and _passim_. (2) _Ecu, écu blanc_, or _d'argent_, a silver coin worth 3 livres,[30] or 5s. sterling, thus of the same value as the English crown, and sometimes called crown by Lauder. [30] The value varied a little, but it was three livres in 1653.-- _Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions et de Belles Lettres_ (1857), Tome 21, 2'me partie, p. 350. (3) _Ecu d'or_, or _couronne_, golden crown. It was worth about 5 livres 12 sous,[31] equal to 9s. 4d. sterling. (P. 155, 'I receaved some 56 ll. in 10 golden crowns.') [31] The exact value in 1666 in livres tournois was 5 ll. 11s. 6d.-- _Mémoires, ut supra_, p. 256. (4) _Pistole_. A Spanish gold coin current in France. Its standard value was 10 livres tournois, equal to 16s. 8d. That fairly corresponds with a proclamation in Ireland in 1661 fixing it at 16s. Littré (_Dict._ s.v.), states the value of the coin a good deal higher, though he gives the standard as above. But its value gradually increased, like that of other gold coins, and in later Irish proclamations is much higher. The British gold coins _Jacobus_ and _Carolus_ were also used by Lauder in France, and are explained below. 2. _In Scotland and England._[32] [32] See Cochran Patrick's _Records of the Coinage of Scotland_ (1876); Ruding's _Annals of the Coinage_ (1817); and _Handbook of the Coins of Great Britain and Ireland_ in the British Museum, by H.A. Grueber (1899); Burns, _Coinage of Scotland_. (1) _Jacobus_ (2) _Carolus_. James VI. on his accession to the throne of England, with a view to the union of the kingdoms, issued a coinage for both countries, which was in this sense uniform that each Scottish coin was commensurable and interchangeable with an English coin. The ratio of the Scots to the English £ s. d., which during centuries was always becoming lower, was finally fixed at 1 to 12. The English 20s. and Scots 12 l. pieces of equal value now issued were called the unite. The double crown or 10s. piece was the Scots 6 l. piece, the crown the Scots 3 l. piece, and so on. The unite was so called from the leading idea of union, just as the double crown had the legend, _Henricus Rosas Regna Jacobus_. As Henry VII. united the Red and White Roses, James was to unite the two kingdoms. It seems probable that James intended the unite as a 20s. or pound piece to be the standard and pivot of the coinage of both countries, as the pound or sovereign has now become. This enlightened policy, though it had lasting effects, soon broke down in detail. In England the shilling proved too strong for the unite, and in Scotland the merk maintained its hold. To prevent the exportation of gold, the value of the unite of 154 grains[33] was raised to 22s. in 1612, though the king had himself proposed rather to lower the weight of silver. That caused confusion, 'on account of the unaptness for tale' of the gold pieces at their enhanced value, and a lighter 20s. piece of 140 grains was issued in 1619 for England only, known as the laurel piece, from the wreath round the king's head. In Scotland the original unite remained, and was sometimes called the 20 merk piece, to which value it roughly corresponded. It was repeated in the coinage of Charles I., the last sovereign who coined gold in Scotland prior to the Revolution. Thus it was the only Scottish 20s. sterling piece. Charles I.'s unite or double angel (20s. piece) for England was of the same lighter weight as the laurel. In 1661 the value of the gold coin was again heightened, the old unite to 23s. 6d., and the lighter English unite to 21s. 4d. [33] The weights are given in round numbers. The above information is necessary in order to identify the two gold coins which Lauder used. He generally calls the larger the Jacobus and the smaller the Carolus. At p. 80 the one is mentioned as 'the Scotes and English Jacobuses, which we call 14 pound peices,' and the other as 'the new Jacobus, which we cal the 20 shiling sterling peice.' At p. 154 he speaks of '10 Caroluses, or 20 shiling peices,' so that the new Jacobus and the Carolus are the same. While there was only one weight of Scots gold piece of the issue value of 20s. sterling, in England during the reigns of James I., Charles I., and Charles II. there were four: 1, the sovereign of James I. (172 grains); 2, the unite or double angel of James (154 grains), the same as in Scotland; 3, the laurel of James, the unite of Charles I., and the broad of Charles II. (140 grains); 4, the guinea[34] of Charles II., first struck in 1663 (131 grains). Now Lauder's larger coin was a Scots or English Jacobus, therefore it is the unite of James VI.; and his smaller coin is called both a Carolus and a new Jacobus, therefore it is the coin of 140 grains. The two pieces are mentioned in a proclamation by the Privy Council in 1661 heightening certain coins.[35] [34] Once mentioned by Lauder, p. 220. [35] This table may be compared with Louis XIII.'s valuation of some of these coins (p. 80). The Scots piece there mentioned with two swords, and the legend _Salus_, etc., is no doubt the sword and sceptre piece of James VI. (1601-4). But the issue value of the whole piece, not the half piece, was 611. Scots. £ s. D. Scots. £ s. D. Scots. formerlie current at now to be current at The Double Angel [36] 13.06.08 14.04.08 The Single Angel 6.13.04 7.02.04 The Dager Peice 6.13.04 7.02.04 The Scots Ryder 6.13.04 7.02.04 The New Peice[37] 12.00.00 12.16.00 The Halfe 6.00.00 6.08.00 The Quarter 3.00.00 3.04.00 The Rose Noble, Scots and English. 10.13.04 11.07.04 The Hary Noble 9.06.08 9.19.00 [36] Lauder's Jacobus. [37] Lauder's Carolus. (3) _Dollar_. In Lauder's accounts the reader is struck by the prominent position of the dollar. While debts and obligations were calculated in pounds Scots or merks, dollars supplied the currency for household and other payments, just as pounds do at the present day. They were foreign coins of various denominations and various intrinsic value, but of inferior fineness to the Scots standard of silver money, which was eleven penny fine--eleven parts silver to one part alloy. They passed current for more than their intrinsic value, and the native silver money was withdrawn from the country. All through the reigns of Charles I. and Charles II. the subject gave great concern to the Mint, the Parliament, the Privy Council, and bodies with commercial interests like the Convention of 'Burrowis.' In 1631 the Privy Council issued a proclamation 'considering the greit skarsitie of His Majestie's proper coynes ... occasioned by the frequent transport theirof and importing of dollours in place of the same,' prohibiting the receipt of any dollars for coal or salt after 1st November next to come. 'That in the mean tyme the maisters and owners of the coalhewes and saltpans may give tymous advertisement to the strangers trading with them for coal and salt that they bring no dollours with them for the pryce of the salt and coal,' and that merchants exporting bestial or other commodities to England are to 'make return of the pryces' not in dollars, but either in H.M. proper coin or in the following foreign coins, the value and weight of which is fixed by the proclamation: Spanish pistolet, French crown, rose noble, half rose noble, quartisdiskue, single ryall. The proper method of dealing with the difficulty was matter of great controversy. In 1633 George Foulis, master coiner, says in a memorial, 'In the first it is to be considerit that _the most pairt of the moneys presently in Scotland is only dollouris_. 'Secondlie, these dollouris are not all alike in wecht, some wheirof are 15 drops wecht, some 14-1/2 and many others lesser in wecht. 'Thirdlie, they are different in fineness, some 10, some 10-1/2, others baser. The best 15 drop and 10 1/2 fineness will not answer to the King's money in wecht or fynness to 54s. Scots.' The best of these dollars was the Rex or Rix Dollar (Reichsthaler, dalle imporiale). In the reign of Charles I. the baser dollars which gave most trouble to the authorities were the dog dollars and the cross dollars. In the reign of Charles II. we hear more of the leg dollar, which approached the rex dollar in value, and had got a pretty strong footing. On 14th January 1670, the Privy Council issued a proclamation on the narrative, 'Forasmuch as there hath been of late imported into this kingdom great numbers of those dollars commonly called leg dollars Haveing the impression of a man in armes _with one leg _and a shield ... covering the other leg ... which does usually pass at the rate of 58s. Scots money, and seeing that upon tryall of the intrinsick worth and value thereof they are found to fall short of the foresaid rate, and that in the United Provinces where the forsaid dollars are coyned, the passe only at the rate of crosse dollars, Therupon the King's Mtie with advice of his P.Cs. doth declare that (the rex or bank dollars now passing at 58s. Scotts) the true and just value at which the forsaids legs dollars ought to passe and be current in this kingdome is 56s. Scotts money....' Thus we get the authorised value of these dollars at the period of Lauder's accounts. The accounts themselves show that the current value varied indefinitely, and is sometimes different in two consecutive items.[38] [38] With regard to the etymology of 'leg,' Mr. Hallen in his introduction to the _Account Book of Sir John Foulis of Ravelston_ (S.H.S.), p. xxxiii, gives some strong and perhaps convincing reasons in favour of Liége. But the descriptions in the Proclamation above quoted, and the fact that Lauder sometimes calls them 'legged,' seem to show that the popular etymology in Scotland was the man's leg on the coin. Charles II. struck four merk-pieces at the issue value of 53s. 4d. Scots in two issues, the first in 1664, the second in 1675-1682. The second, and only the second issue, came at some later but unknown period to be known to numismatists as dollars. But I do not think there is any reason to suppose that Lauder called those pieces dollars. The accounts are in the period of the first issue, and Lander's dollar was of higher value. Probably his dollars were all foreign coins, generally rex dollars, as he often calls them. When they are leg dollars, he appears always so to distinguish them. (4) _The Merk_, 13s. 4d. Scots, was raised in value by James VI. to 13- 1/2d. sterling, to make it interchangeable with English money. He coined none after his accession to the throne of England, and probably intended that no more should be coined. But the merk had too strong a hold in Scotland, and half merks were struck by Charles I., and various multiples and parts of merks by Charles II. at the old issue value of 13s. 4d. the merk. On the other hand, in 1651 Parliament 'cryed up' the 12s. Scots piece--equal to the English shilling--to one merk; and in 1625 the Britain crown or 31. Scots piece is officially described as 'known as the five merk piece,' though its issue value was only five shillings. This illustrates the confusion and uncertainty of the relative value of coins, of which parenthetically two other examples may be given. On 20th June 1673 Lauder notes the receipt of his year's salary as one of the assessors for the burgh, 'being 150 lb. Scots, which is about 229 merks,' whereas with the merk at 13s. 4d. (the standard value), 150 lb. is exactly 225 merks. In the same way he constantly states the same salary indifferently at 1501. Scots or £12 sterling, whereas 1501. Scots ought to have been equal to £12, 10s. sterling. (5) _Shilling_. Lauder applies the name without distinction to the English shilling, 12s. Scots piece, which at page 80 he calls our shilling, and to the shilling Scots. The context generally shows which he means. (6) _Groat_. Lauder's groat is the English groat of four pence, sterling. The groat Scots of less value had not been coined for a century. (7) _Penny_. As in the case of the shilling, Lauder uses the name indifferently for English pence and pennies Scots, but more often English. Such coins as testoons, placks, bodles, bawbees and turners, do not appear in his accounts, but some of them are casually mentioned in the text of the MSS., and are explained in footnotes. LANGUAGE AND SPELLING No alteration has been made on the text of the MSS. except the substitution of capital letters for small ones, where capitals would now be used. In this matter Lauder's practice is capricious, and it may safely be said that it was governed by no rule, conscious or unconscious. He spells the pronoun I with a capital, and usually begins a sentence with one. But names of persons and places are very often spelt with small letters. The use of capitals was not yet fixed, as it is now, and the usage of different languages, such as English, French and German, as it came to be fixed, is not identical. Some changes in the punctuation have also been made in transcription for the sake of clearness, but the punctuation, which is scanty, has not been systematically altered. In the MSS. some single words have been erased, or rubbed off, at the top and the foot of the page. The blanks are indicated, and as a rule, but not quite invariably, explained in footnotes. MSS. X and H are printed entire, with two unimportant omissions, one in each, which are noted and explained, and as regards MS. H, with the exception of some detached pages of accounts, and a catalogue of some books. Of these it was thought that the Appendix contains enough. From MS. K only extracts are given. The remainder contains more accounts, and a further catalogue of books, without the prices, and other memoranda and reflections, now of no interest. The spelling is to a large extent arbitrary.[39] It is less regular than, for example, the contemporary Acts of Parliament, but more regular than the letters of some of Lauder's contemporaries, in high positions.[40] A word is often spelt in different ways on the same page. There are, however, many constant peculiarities, some of which may have a linguistic interest, thus 'laugh' 'rough' 'enough' 'through' are spelt with a final _t_. The use of a final but silent _t_ Mr. Mackay in his introduction to Pitscottie,[41] p. cxl, says is a distinct mark of Scots of the middle period. 'Voyage,' 'sponge,' and 'large' are sometimes spelt without the final _e_. 'Knew,' 'slew,' 'blew' are spelt 'know,' 'slow,' 'blow.' 'Inn' is spelt 'innes.' 'See' is always spelt 'sy' or 'sie,' and 'weigh,' 'wy.' But these are only examples, taken at random. 'One,' 'off,' 'too,' 'thee' are spelt 'on,' 'of,' 'to,' 'the,' a snare to the unwary reader. 'V' and 'W' are frequently interchanged. [39] Lauder's French in the Journal in France is full of mistakes, both of grammar and spelling. He was only learning the language. [40] Cf. Bishop Dowden's introduction to Lauderdale Correspondence (S.H.S.), _Miscellany_, vol. i. p. 230. [41] _Historic and Chronicles of Scotland_, by Robert Lindesay of Pitscottie (Scottish Text Society, 1899). Lauder's language is idiomatic, and he uses many Scottish words which were not common in the written literary language of his time. A few of these words are now rare and even difficult to trace.[42] Most of them are quite intelligible to persons who have been accustomed to hear Lowland Scots spoken, but for the sake of other readers I have been convinced that occasionally interpretation is not superfluous. [42] One of them is 'dron,' p. 146. With reference to the words '_7 arbres_,' in the description of the Mail at Tours, p. 20, Mr. A. Lang has suggested to me that _arbres_ might be a term in the _Jeu de Mail_. Mr. H.S.C. Everard has kindly sent me the following quotations from Joseph Lauthier's book on the game (1st ed., 1717): 'C'est quand deux ou plusieurs jouent à qui poussera plus loin, et quand l'un est plus fort que l'autre, le plus foible demande avantage, soit par distance d'arbres, soit par distance de pas.' 'On finit la Partie en touchant un arbre ou une pierre marquée qui sert de but.' If certain trees were marked as goals, that would be a better explanation than the one given in the note. The thanks of the Society and my own are due to the owners of the MSS. I am grateful to Sir T.N. Dick Lauder and Sir William Fraser's Trustees (Sir James Balfour Paul, Lyon King of Arms, and the late Mr. James Craik, W.S.), for intrusting me with their MSS. for a long time, which made my work much easier; and more satisfactory. The Society is also indebted to Mr. David Douglas for the use of his transcript of MS., and for the first suggestion that the MS. should be printed. By the kindness of Lady Anne Dick Lauder four portraits in her possession are reproduced. 1. Lord Fountainhall, in ordinary dress, a different picture from the one in robes published by the Bannatyne Club. 2. His first wife, Janet Ramsay, an attractive picture, which suffers in the photographic reproduction. 3. Sir John Lauder, Fountainhall's father. 4. Sir Andrew Ramsay, Lord Abbotshall, his father-in-law. I have received constant assistance and advice from Mr. T. Graves Law, Librarian of the Signet Library. I have also to thank Sir Arthur Mitchell, who read some of the proofs, and gave me valuable suggestions, Mr. J.T. Clark, Keeper of the Advocates' Library, for ready help on many points, Mr. H.A. Webster, Librarian of Edinburgh University, Mr. W.B. Blaikie, of Messrs. T. and A. Constable, and Mr. Alex. Mill of the Signet Library, who in transcription and otherwise has given me efficient and obliging assistance. I am particularly grateful to Miss Cornelia Dick Lauder, for the interest which she has taken in the book, and the help which she has given me in obtaining the necessary materials for it. D.C. EDINBURGH, _March_ 1900. I JOURNAL IN FRANCE 1665-1667 I JOURNAL 1665-1667. [The first leaves of the Manuscript are wanting. Lauder left Edinburgh on 20th March 1665, travelling by Berwick and Durham, and arrived in London on 1st April. See page 154.] * * * * * We saw also the fatall chair of Scotland wheirin our kings for many ages used to be croune. I fand it remarkable for nothing but its antiquity, it being thought to have come from Egypt some 3,000 years ago. I went in the nixt place to the Tower, wheir on our entrin according to custome I left my sword. Heir first we saw a very strong armory for weapons of all sorts, as many as could furnish 20,000 men; we saw great field pieces of ordinance as also granadoes; we saw also many coats of maill, and among the rest on[43] very conceity all joined like fines of fisches on to another, which they informed me came as a present from the great Mogull who comands over 36 kings. The[re] ware hinging their as Trophees several peices of armour that they had taken from the french in their wars wt them. Their we saw the huge armour of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster. We came nixt and saw the honors, wheir we saw the sword and seipter of honor; the croun was not their, by reason the parliament had use for it at Whitehal. We saw also a most rich Globe of christal beset wt most precious diamonds. We came in the 3d place to sie the Lyons, the Leopards, the aigle, and a long skine of a snake. [43] One. Lauder's usual spelling. We arrived London on Saturday 1 of April, we left it on Thursday 6 of April; about 4 a cloack we took boat, and landed at Gravesend about 10 a cloack at night, in which space we ware so merry in singing never but some of us singing and sometymes all, that the rowers protested that they never carried so merry a company doune the Thames. On the way we was tuise stoopt by men of war to know whither their ware any seamen in it, that they might be sent to the fleet: at which we alleadged Captain Blawprine[44] G. Moor was much troubled, for he was exceeding skipper like. To morrow tymously we tooke post about 6 a cloack, and reach Dover about one; yet we got not passage til ij at night. What a distressed brother I was upon the sea neids not hear be told, since its not to be feared that I'l forget it, yet I cannot but tell whow[45] Mr. John Kincead and I had a bucket betwixt us strove ... who should have the bucket first, both being equally ready; and whow at every vomit and gasp he gave he cried Gods mercy as give he had bein to expire immediately. [44] Compare Blawflum (Jamieson), a deception. 'Prine' may be prein, pin, a thing of little value. Moor is playfully described as captain or skipper. [45] How. About 5 in the morning we landed on France the land of graven images. Heir we divided into 8 companies: Joseph Marior wt one Mr. Colison went into Flanders; Mr. Dick Moor and Kinkead went to Deip and so to Roan. Mr. Strachan, Hamilton, and I stayed in Calais til Monday, 10 of April, and joined wt the messenger for Paris one Pierre, a sottish fellow, yet one that entertained us nobly; their went also wt him besides us on Mr. Lance Normand, Newwarks gouernor and a son of my Lord Arreray or Broll,[46] a very sharp boy wt his governour Doctor Hall. In our journey we passed severall brave tounes as Bulloigne, Monstrul, Abewill, Poix, Beauveaus, wheir is the most magnificent church I had ever then sien. We chanced to lay a night at a pitty vilage called Birny, wheir my chamber was contigue to a spatious pleasant wood that abounded wt nightingales, small birds to look upon; who wt the melodiousnesse of their singing did put sleip quit from me. The great number we meit of souldiers all the way begat in us great fears of wooling [robbing],[47] yet it pleased God to bring us most safely to Paris 14 of April at night. Mr. Strachan led Mr. Ham[ilton] and me to one Turners, a Scotsman, wheir I lay that night, and wheir I recountred wt several of our countrimen, as Patrick Mein, Mr. Castellaw, Mr. Murray, Mr. Sandilands, a man wonderfully civil, Mr. Wilky, Mr. Gibson, and Mr. Colt. The day following I made my addresse to F. Kinloch, and brought wt me a letter containing my safe anivall to go in his packet for Scotland, I not having written any thing since I wrot at my parting from London. I delivered him also my fathers letter, B.[48] Kinlochs letter, and Thomas Crafurds, wt the bill of exchange; my fathers is as followeth: [46] Roger Boyle, 1621-1679, first Baron of Broghill and Earl of Orrery, M.P. for Edinburgh, 1656-58, member of Cromwell's House of Lords. He was succeeded by his son Roger, 1646-1710. [47] 'Robbing' interlined. 'Wooling' may mean 'shearing,' so robbing. [48] Bailie. _Edinborough, March_ 15, 1665. SIR,--The bearer heirof, my sone, inclining to study the french tongue and the Laws, I have theirfor thought it expedient to direct him to you, being confident of your favour and caire, intreating[49] ... recommendation by a few lynes to one Monsieur Alex.[49] ... [pr]ofessor of the Laws at Poictiers to which place I intend he sould go: as also to place him their for his diet in the most convenient house but especially wt on of our profession and Religion. He hes a bill drawen on you wt a letter of advice and credit; which I hope ye will obey. I have bein desired by severalls to have direct him to our Mr. Mowat and have bein profered to cause answer him what money he sould neid for 20 shiling the Frank: but I inclined rather to send him to you (whilk I hope ye will not take as trouble) tho I have payed Thomas Crafurd 21 shiling.[50] What he stands in neid of during his abode I hope ye wil answer him, and upon your advertisment and eis receipt I sal either advance or pay the money upon sight. I most without vanity or flattery say hitherto he hes not bein inclined to any vice or evill way and I hope sall so continue. I know not positively what may defray his charges in his studies, diet, and otherwise, but I conceive about 7 or 8 hundred franks a year may do it; whowever I entreat you let me hear from you what ye think wil do it and what ye will take for the frank. So being confident of your cair heirof, and in doing wheirof ye sall very much oblidge him who is, Sir,--your reall friend, JOHN LAUDER. [49] Page torn. [50] See Introduction, p. xlviii. The bill of exchange is as followeth: _Edinburgh, 17 March 1665_, for 400 livres T.L.[51] Sir,--4 dayes after sight of this my first bill of exchange (my 2 not being payed) please pay to Mr. John Lauder or his order 400 livres TL value receaved heir from his father B. John Lauder. Make punctuall payment and please it to account, as by the advice of your humble servant, THOMAS CRAFURD. For Mr. Francis Kinloch, Merchant in Paris. [51] See Introduction, p. xlii. Francis having read thir, out of his kindnese would suffer me to stay no wheir but in his oune house, wheir I stayed all the space I was at Paris, attended and entertained as give I had bein a Prince. While I was heir I communicated my intentions and directions for going straight to Poictiers to these countrymen fornamed, who ware all unanimously against it, not sieing what good I could do their since the Colledge was just upon the point of rising; they conceived theirfor that I might imploy my tyme much better either in Orleans at Mr. Ogilvyes house, or Saumur at Mr. Dualls; for in either of these I could have a richer advantage in reference to the language, both because its beter spoken their [then at] Poictiers, as also fewer Scotsmen their then in Poictiers. I sould also have for a pistoll[52] a month a master to give me a lesson on the Instituts once a day, which I could not so have at that rate at Poictiers. Thus they reasoned, and I fand Mr. Kinloch to be of the same mind. I considering that it was not expedient for me to step one step wtout direction from my father, I wrot the Vednesday following, 19 of Aprill, acquainting him wt it; and that I sould attend his answer and will at Orleans. [52] See Introduction, p. xliii. While I was at Paris I went and saw the new Bridge, and Henry 4 his stately statue in brasse sent as a present by the King of Denmark. I was also at the Place Royalle wheir stands Lewis the 13, this king of France his father, caused to be done by that great statesman in his tym, Cardinall Mazarin, whom he left tutor to the young king during his minority. I was also at the Palais Cardinal and that Palais wheir the Lawyers pleads. The choops[53] their have great resemblance wt those in the hie exchange at London. I saw also that vast stupendious building, the Louwre, which hath layd many kings in their graves and yet stands unfinished; give[54] all be brought to a close that is in their intentions I think the Grand Seigniours seraglio sall bear no proportion to it. All we saw of it was the extrinsecks, excepting only the king's comoedy house which the force of mony unlocked and cost open; which truly was a very pleasant sight, nothing to be sein their but that which by reason of gilding glittered like gold. But the thing that most commended it was its rare, curious, and most conceity machines: their they had the skies, boats, dragons, vildernesses, the sune itselfe so artificially represented that under night wt candle light nothing could appear liker them. [53] Shops. [54] Give for gif, if. The day before I left Paris, being according to the French account the 5 of May, according to the Scots the 25 of Aprill, Mr. Kinloch wt his wife and daughter Magdalen took Mr. Mein, Mr. Dick,[55] Mr. Moor and me in coach 4 leagues of Paris to Ruell to sie the waterworks their, which wtout controll be the best of any about Paris, by the way we passed thorow one of the pleasantest woods or Parks that ever my eyes did sie, called the Park of Boloigne. We saw Madrid also, but not that in Spaine; the occasion of the building wheirof was this: Francis, one of the kings of France, became Spaines prisoner, who demanded ...[56] ransome 8 milions. The french king payes him 4, and ...[56] promises him upon the word of a king that having once lifted it in France he sould come in person to Madrid and pay it. Thus vinning home he caused build a stately house a litle from Paris, which he named Madrid, and so wrot to the Spaniard that he had bein at Madrid and payed what he owed, according to that, '_qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare_' We saw also Mount Calvary, which the Deluded Papists will have to be the true representative of that Calvary wheir our Saviour suffered: its situate at that same distance from Paris that the true's from Jerusalem, of that same hieght, and so in all the circumstances. [55] This may be James Dick, who was born in the same year as Lauder, 1646, afterwards Sir J. Dick of Priestfield, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and created a baronet. [56] Page torn. Thus we come to Ruell, wheir so many gallant sights offered themselfes that I know not wheir to begin; first the pleasant ponds abounding wt fishes of divers sorts, as carps, picks, etc., comes to be considred. But the rich waterworks are the main commendation of the place. It is not to be forgotten whow finely the fellow that showed us them, and set them on work by his engines did wet Mr. Dick, and followed him in the litle house (the Grotto) whethersoever he could stir. The thing that mainly moved my admiration was the hie ascendance of the water: what secret hidden power could carry the water clean contrary to its natural inclination which is to deschend, as every other heavy body, so hy that in some of them a man wt a speir could not reach its top. The most wonderfull thing ever I saw is the infinit art that some curious painter hath showen on a large timber broad, standing in a corner of the yard: a small distance from it their is a revell put up which makes it appear the more lively, so that we win no nearer then the revell would let us. At this distance ye would think ye saw the heavens thorow the wal on the other syde of it, so wonderously is the blew skie drawen; so that bring me a man without acquainting him wt the devce he sal constantly affirme he sies the lift on the other syde of the wall. On the same broad beneath the skie on the earth, as ye would think, is drawen a woman, walking thorow a montain in a trodden path, the woman, the mountain, the way, so cunningly drawen that I almost thought I saw a woman walking on the other syde of the wall over a hil throw the beaten rod. I constantly asserted also that the broad was wery inaequall and that it had many utraisings[57] because I seimed to sie as lively as ever I saw any thing pillars coming furth and standing out wt a great deal of prominency from that which seimed to be the skie, that at least I judged it halfe a ell farder out; yet it was but a mistake; for its certainly knowen that the broad is as smooth and aequall as can be. We also went out wtout the yeard to the back of the wall, wheir by the back and sydes of the broad we discerned it to be of such thinnesse that it could not admit any utcomings, as these pillars seimed to us. [57] Outraisings, reliefs. In our coming home from Ruell we went in and saw the king's brother the Duke of Orleances house, Sainct Low: it hath also a wery pretty yard, wheir we saw many water-works also, and in the pond several swanes. We saw also many orange trees, some of which had their ripe fruit, some very green, some betwixt the 2, according to the natur of the orange tree. The house we fand wery rich; many brave portraicturs; our kings portraitur is their better done then ever I saw it in my life. The partition that divides one roome from another is of strange glasse that showes a man his body in some of them 5 tymes, so that I saw in one of them 5 John Lauders. After this we came back to Paris, on the morrow after, being the 6 of May according to the French account, the 26 of April according to the Scots. I joined wt the messenger for Orleans severall accompanieng me to my horse, their went 4 Englishes alongs also, one of which was the doctor whom his cometicall face told to have the clap. We came to Orleans May 7 at night. I straight directed my course to Mr. Ogilvyes, which I did that I might get the better accomodation knowing that the Doctor also intended their. I delivered him the letter I brought him from F. Kinloch, which was as followeth: Mr. John Ogilvy. _Paris, May 6, 1665._ SIR,--Thesse are to accompany the bearer heirof, Mr. John Lauder, whose father is my wery much honored friend, his mother my neir kinswomen, and himselfe a very hopful youth inclined to vertue every way. He intends to stay som tyme wt you, theirfor I do earnestly recommend him to your best advice and counsell in what may concerne his welfare to assist him theirin, in all which I recommend him to you againe and againe as give he were my oune sone, assuring you that what favor or friendship you sall be pleased to show him, I sall ever acknowledge it as done to my selfe. He intends to improve his tyme in the study of the Laws, and having got some knowledge of the french tongue, he intends for Poictiers some moneths hence. Help him to a master that may come to him once a day and give him a lesson on the Instituts; and for the language I beseich you assist him in it. If their be no accommodation for him at your house, I pray you place him wheir he may be weil used and in good company. Let him not want what he stands in neid of for monyes or other necessaries, all which I sall make good to you thankfully upon advice from you. Thus recommending him to your care as my oune. Kissing your hand wt madam Ogilvyes, your daughters, and al your families, I rest your real friend and servant, FRANCIS KINLOCH.' At my arrival heir I fand in pension wt him the Mr. of Ogilvy[58] wt his servant, a very civil lad[59] James Hunter, young Thirlestan[60] wt his man Patrick Portues: besides them also their ware English, French, and Germans. The city (called Aurelia ather _a bonitate auroe_, or from Aurelian the emperor who keipt a station heir) I fand to be as big as Edinborough laying wt it also the next greatest citty of Scotland. I discovered likewise the city to abound wt such a wast number of lame folk, both men and women, but especially women, even many of them of good quality, that I verily beleive their are more lame women their at Orleans then is in all Scotland or much of France. Enquiring what the reason of this might be, the general woice was that it proceeded from the nature of the Aurelian wine, which they alledge to have such influence on the sperm of man as to produce a creature imperfect in their legs. Others sayd it was the purity of the air about Orleans whence the city has the name of Aurelia. But what influence the air can have in this point is hardly explicable. Monsieur Ogilvy more rationally informed me that he took it to be a race and generation of peaple who transmitted it hæreditarly to their posterity, for which I meit after[6l] a wery strong presumption: I saw a mother lame, not only the daughters lame, but in the very same faschion that the mother; and this I saw confirmed seweral tymes. [58] Apparently David, afterwards third Earl of Airlie. His grandfather was already dead, and he is afterwards called Lord Ogilvy in the Journal. [59] Probably the servant, though the punctuation is as in the text. [60] Thirlestan, probably Thurston in East Lothian, belonging to the family of Hunter. [61] Meit after, i.e. met afterwards. Just the morrow after my arrival was keipt very solemly by the whole toune in remembrance and commemoration of the valiant maid of Orleans, who, when the English had reduced al France excepting only Orleans to their obedience, and ware so fair for Orleans that they gained to the mids of the bridge over Loyer, most couragiously animated the citizens and beat them shamelesslie back: for which when the English got hir in their power they brunt hir at Roan quick. The ceremony we saw consisted of a procession partly spiritual or Ecclesiastick, partly civil or Temporal. To make the spirituall their was their all that swarm of grassopers which we are fortold sould aschend out of the bottemlese pit; all these filthy frogs that we are fortold that beast that false prophet sould cast out of his mouth, I mean that rable of Religious orders within the body of that Apostolical and Pseud-apostolicall Church of Rome. Only the Jesuits was wanting; the pride of whose hearts will not suffer them to go in procession with the meaner orders. In order went the Capuchines, then the Minimes, which 2 orders tho they both go under the name of Cordeliers by reason of that cord they wear about their midle, on whilk cord they have hinging their string of beads, to the end of their string is hinging a litle brazen crosse, tho also they be both in on habit, to wit long broun gowns or coats coming doune to their feet, a cap of that same coming furth long behind just like a Unicornes horne, tho the go both bar leged only instead of shoes having cloogs of wood (hence when I saw them in the winter I pitied them for going bar leged; on the other hand, when I saw them in the summer I pitied them that they ware necessitat by the first institution of their orders never to quate their gounes which cannot be but to hot for them; yea, never to suffer any linnen only wooll to come neirest their skine), notwithstanding of this its easy to distinguish them by the Clerical Tonsure, you sall never find a capuchin but wt a very liberall bard: for the Minime he most not have any. Again in their diet and other such things they differ much: the Minime most renounce for ever the eating of fleche, their only food is fishes and roots; hence Erasmus calles them fischy men (homines piscosos). Not so wt the Capuchines. Their be also many other differences that tyme most discover to me. Thir 2 orders our Bucanan means when he names _nodosa canabe cinctos_.[62] To returne to our purpose their came also the Dominicans or Jacobins, which are but one order having 2 names; then came the Chartereus or Carthusians: both which go in a long white playding robe. Only the Jacobins hood is black; the Carthusians is white: then followed the Franciscans, who now are called Recollects because being al banished France by reason of their turbulency and intromitting wt the state (of which wery stamp they seim to have bein in the tyme of our James the 5, when he caused Buchanan writ his Franciscani against them) by the prævalent faction the Pope had in France then, they were all recalled, so that France held them not so weil out as Venice do'es the Jesuits. Then came the Peres de l'Oratere, who goes allmost in the same very habit wt the Jesuits. Then cames the Augustines wt their white coat and a black gown above, after them came the moncks of the order of St. Bennet or the Benedictin friers, who goes in a white coat indeed, but above it he wears a black cloak to his heels, wt the Jesuits he wears also a hat as they do. Then came the chanoins of the Church of Sainct Croix in their white surplices above their black gounes and their 4 nooked caps. Tyme sould feel me ere I could nombair over all orders, but thir ware the most principall, each of which had their oune crosse wt the crucifix carried by one of their order. This much for the Ecclesiastick procession. After them came the tounes men in armes; in a knot of whom went a young fellow who represented the Maid of Orleans, clad in the same very habit, girt wt that sam very sword wt which the Maid beat the Englishes. This went thorow all the toun. [62] At line 19 of Buchanan's _Franciscanus_ is this passage: 'O sanctum festumque diem! cum cannabe cinctus Obrasumque caput duro velante cucullo,' etc. During my abode heir, about the end of May, I had occasion to sie another custome of the city. At that tyme of the year the tounes men put upon the other syde of the bridge a pole as hie as the hiest house in Edenborough: on the top of it they fasten a bird made of brasse at which they, standing at the feet of the pole, shoot in order, beginning at the better, wt gunes, having head peices on their heads, to sie who can ding it doun. I went and saw them shoot, but no man chanced to shoot it doun that year I was their. During the tyme I was heir their was so many fests or holy dayes that I werily think the thrid part of their year is made up of them. The principal was fest de Dieu, on which, such is the fury of the blinded papists, the Hugonots are in very great hazard if they come out, for if they kneel not at the coming by of the Hosty or Sacrament they cannot escape to be torn in peices; whence I can compare this day to no other but that wheir the Pagans performed their Baccanalian feasts wheir the mother used to tear hir childrens. The occasion of the institution of this day they fainge to be this. The Virgin appeared say they to a certain godly woman (who wt out doubt hes been phrenetick and brain sick), and made a griveous complaint that she had 4 dayes in the year for hir, and God had only the Sabath: this being devulged it was taken as a admonition from God, whence they instituted this day and ordainned it to be the greatest holy day in the year. The most part of all the city was hung with tapistry, espescialy the principall street which goes straight from the one end of the toune to the other, which also was covered all above in some parts with hingings, in other wt sheits according to the ability of the persones; for every man was obliged to hing over against his oune house, yet the protestants ware not, tho John Ogilvy was also called before the Judges for not doing it; yet producing a pladoyes[63] in the Hugonets faveurs they had nothing to say against it; yet they caused the wals of his house to be hung wt publick hingings that belonged to the toune. For to sy the procession I went wt the other pensioners to a place wheir when all others went to the knees, to wit, when the Hosty came by, we might retire out of sight. I retired not so far as they did, but boldly stood at a little distance that I aen might sy it the better. This procession was on the 4 of June, a little after followed Sainct Barnabas day. Then came mid-Summer even, on whiclk the papists put on bonfires for John Baptists nativity. The day after, called S. Jeans day, was keiped holy by processions. [63] Plaidoyer, pleading, legal argument. On the 1 of July was S. Pierres day, on which I heard a chanoin preach in S. Croy upon Piters confession, thou art the sone of the living God, very weill, only he endevored to have Pierre for the cheife of the Apostles because forsooth in the 10 of Mathew, wheir al the Apostles are named, he finds Piter formost. That I might have a full survey of the toune I went up to the steeple of St. Croy, which truly is on of the hiest steeples I saw abroad; from it I had a full visy of the toune, which I fand to be of that bigness specified; then the sight of the country lying about Orleans, nothing can be pleasanter to the eye. We saw also the forest of Orleans which environs the northren syde of the city as a halfe moon: in it ar many wild beasts and particularly boors; one of which, in the tyme of wintage, give it chance to come out to the wineyards wheir they comit great outrages, the boors or peasants uses to gather to the number of 2000 or 3000 from all the adiacent contry wt dogs, axes and poles to kil the boor. During my abode heir I went also to the Jesuits Colledge and discoursed wt the praefectus Jesuitarum, who earnestly enquiring of what Religion I was, for a long tyme I would give him no other answer but that I was religione christianus. He pressing that he smeled I was a Calvinist, I replied that we regarded not these names of Calvin, Luther, Zuinglius, yea not their very persons, but in whow far they hold the truth. After much discourse on indifferent matters, at our parting he desired me to search the spirits, etc. I went and saw the Gardens of the Minims, the Jacbins, the Carthusians, and the Peres de l'Orat.[64] [64] _Oratoire_. Many contrasts ha'es bein betwixt J.O. and I. laboring to defend presbytery and the procedures of the late tymes. During my abode heir 2 moneths I attended the Sale de dance wt Mr. Schovaut as also Mr. le Berche, explaining some of the institutions to me. John was my Mr. of language. A part of the tyme that I was heir was also the Admiral of Holland, Obdams Sone, who wt the companions carried himselfe marvelously proud. He and they feed themselfes so up wt the hoop of the victory that they præpared against the news sould come of the Engleshes being beat a great heap of punchions of wine wheir wt they intended to make merry, yea as I was informed to make Loyer run wt win. But when the news came the Hollanders was beat, that his father was slain,[65] he and his sunk away we know not whither. That ranconter that happened betuixt him and Sandwichs Viceadmiral of England sone coming from Italy (which the Mr. of Ogilvy getting wit of from the Germans came runing to my chamber and told me) is very remarkable. The first bruit that came to our ears of that battle was that the Englishes had lost, the Duc of York was slain. When the true news came the Hollanders sneered at it, boasting that they would equippe a better fleet ere a 4 night. The French added also the pace, vilifieng and extenuating the victory as much as they could, knowing that it was not their interest nor concernment that the King of England sould grow to great. It was fought in the channel eagerly for 3 dayes; and tho at a good distance from Calice, yet the noice of their canon mad it al to shake. [65] Admiral Opdam was blown up with his ship in the battle near Lowestoft, when the Dutch fleet was defeated by the English, commanded by the Duke of York, 4th June 1665. Some weeks that I was heir the heat was so great that afternoon (for then it was greatest) I would not have knowen what to have done. It occasioned also several tymes great thunders and such lightenings that sometymes ye would have thought this syde of the heavens sometymes that, sometymes al on a fire. During my staying heir I have learned a lesson which may be of use to me in the rest of our travels, to wit, to beware of keiping familiar company wt gentlemens servants, for such a man sal never get respect from the Mrs.[66]; to beware also of discoursing homly with anie servants. We sould keip both their for at a prudent distance. The Mr. of Ogilvy and I ware wery great. I know not what for a man he'el prove, but I have heard him speak wery fat nonsense whiles. [66] i.e. Masters. About 20 dayes ere I left Johns house the Mr. of Lour (Earle of Ethie's sone)[67] wt his governour David Scot, Scotstorvets nephew, came to Orleans; the Mr. the very day after took the tertian ague or axes....[68] [67] Apparently David, afterwards third earl. The title was changed from Ethie to Northesk after the Restoration. The Master was grandson to the first earl, who died in 1667. [68] Seven lines erased in MS. That Globe that stands on the top of S. Croix is spoken to be of so large a periphæria and circumference that 20 men may sit wt in about a round table. One day as I was going to my Mr. of Institutes as I was entring in a lane (about the martroy) I meit in the teeth the priests carrieng the Sacrament (as they call it) with a crosse to some sick person: my conscience not suffering me to lift of my hat to it, I turned back as fast as I could and betook me selfe to another street wheir I thought I might be safe: it followed me to that same very street, only fortunately I got a trumpket[69] wheir I sheltred myselfe til it passed by. [69] Spiral stair. Theirs a pretty maille their; we saw a better one at Tours one many accounts; the longitude wheirof we meeted and fand it to be neir 1000 paces, as also that of Orleans is only 2 ranks of tries; in some places of it 3; all the way ye have 4 ranks of tries all of a equall hight and most equally sett in that of Tours. About 10 days before my parting from Orleans at Mademoiselles invitation the Mr. of Ogilvy and I went wt hir, hir mother and Mr. Gandy ther Tutor, in their coach (for which I payed satly,[70] that being their policy) to their country village 9 leagues of, situat in the midest of the forest of Orleans, much of which is now converted into manured land. This tyme was the first adventure I made of speaking the language, wheir they ware pleased all to give me applause testifieng that I spake much for my tyme. I took coach tymously in the morning before halfe 6 and returned the day after about 8 at night. By the way we saw 2 places wery weill worth the sieng, Shynaille and Chasteau neuf: Shynaille[71] for its garden and the other both for its house and garden. At Synaille a great number of waterworks; creatures of all shapes most artificially casting furth water: heir ye may sy a frog sputing to a great hieght, their a Serpent and a man of marble treading on his neck, the water gliding pleasantly partly out at his meickle too, partly out at the Serpents mouth: in a 3 part a dog, in a 4, Lions; and all done most livelylie. We regrated that the prettiest machine of all was broken; wheir was to be sein wtin a little bounds above 300 spouts sending furth water and that in sundry formes. In one place it would arise uprightly as a spear; in another as a feather; in a trid[72] it sould rise sydelings and so furth, and when it had left of ye sould not be able to discern whence the water ishued. The main thing in the house of Chasteau neuf was the rich furniture and hingings; yet the richest Tapistry that used to be in that house was at that tyme in Paris; the master of the house being one of the Kings Counsellers; yet these we saw ware wery rich; some of them ware of leather stamped marvelously weill wt gold; others in silver; others wrought but wondrous livelylie. From the house we saw the extent of the yard, which was a monster to sy, being like a little country for bigness, and yet in marvelous good order in all things, but especially in the regularity of its walks, each corresponding so weill to the other; having also a pretty forrest of tries on every syd of it: the circuit of this yard will be nothing under 3 miles. I never saw a woman worse glid[73] then she was (tho otherwise a weelfawored women) that took us thorow the house. At night we lay at their country village. [70] i.e. Sautly, saltly. [71] I cannot find this name in the maps. [72] Third. [73] Gleyed, squint-eyed. On the morning we went and hard the curé say Mass, wheir saw a thing we had not sien before, to wit in a corner of the Church having 4 or 5 rocks of tow, some tied wt red snoods, some wt blew. On the sieng of this I was very sollicitous to know what it might mean. Having made my selfe understood about it I was told that when any honest women died she might leive a rock full of tow to be hung up in the church as a symboll that they ware vertuous thrifty women. This put me in mind of Dorcas whose coats and thrift the women showed to Paull after she was died. Mass being ended I went and fell in discours with the Curé. We was not long together when we fell hot be the ears: first we was on the Jansenists opinion about Prædestination, which by a bull from the present Pope, Alex'r the 7, had bein a litle before condemned at Paris; then we fell in one frie wil, then one other things, as Purgatory, etc.; but I fand him a stubborn fellow, one woluntary blind. We was in dispute above a hower and all in Latin: in the tyme gathered about us neir the half of the parish, gazing on me as a fool and mad man that durst undertake to controlle their curé, every word of whose mouth, tho they understood it no more nor the stone in the wall did, they took for ane oracle, which minds me of the miserablenese and ignorantnese of the peasants of France above all other commonalty of the world; our beggars leading a better life then the most part of them do. In our returning amongs the best merriments we had was my French, which moved us sewerall tymes to laughter; for I stood not on steeping stones to have assurance that it was right what I was to say, for if a man seek that, he sall never speak right, since he cannot get assurance at the wery first but most acquire it by use. 4 leagues from Orleans, we lighted at Gargeau[74] wt Maddle.[75] Ever after this Mademoiselle and I was wery great, which I know not whow the Mr. of Ogilvy took, I being of much shorter standing their in Orleans then he was. [74] Now Jargeau. [75] Mademoiselle. Just the Sabath before my parting from Orleans began the Jesuits Logick and Ethick theses to be disputed: the Mr. of Ogilvy and I went to hear, who bleetly[76] stayed at behind all almost; I, as give I had bein a person interested thrust into the wery first rank wheir at the distributor I demanded a pair of Theses, who civilly gave me a pair, against which tho I had not sein them till then, I durst have ventred a extemporary argument, give I had knowen their ceremonies they used in their disputing and proponing, which I fand litle differing from our oune mode. The most part of the impugners ware of the religious orders; some of them very sharply, some tolerably and some pittifully. The first that began was a Minim against a Logicall Thes[is] that was thus, _Relatio et Terminus non distinguuntur_. The fellows argument was that usual one, _quæ separantur distinguuntur et hæc_, etc.; the Lad answered by a distinction, _quæ separantur per se verum: per accidens, falsum_; and so they went on. The lad chanced to transmit a proposition one tyme: the fellow in a drollery replied, _si tu transmittas ego--revocabo_. Thus have we dwelt enough on Orleans, its hy tyme for us to leeve it. [76] Blately, modestly. On the 2'd day after this dispute, being the 14 of July wt the French and consequently the 4 wt the Scots, I took boat at Orleans, the Mr. of Ogilvy wt James his man, as also Danglebern accompanieng me to the boat. I left Salt[77] Orleans and sett up for Blois. In the boat among others were 3 of the order of Charité (as they call it) who beginning to sing their redicoulous matins, perceiving that I concurred not wt them, they immediatly suspected me for a Hæretick. One of them put me in mind of honest James Douy not only for his wisage but also for his zeall and ardeur he showed to have me converted and brought back to the mother church. That he seimed to me to personate Mr. Douy not only in his wisage but also in his strickness and bigotry--being oftner in telling of his beads then both his other 2 companions fat-looged stirrows[78] ware--made me fall into the abstract notion that thess who resemble in wisage usually agry in nature and manners, which at that tyme I thought was to be imputed to that influence which the temperament or crasis 4 _primarum qualitatum_ hath on the soull to make it partaker of its nature. [77] Dear, expensive. [78] Fat-eared fellows. I presume that loog is lug, ear. Betuixt Orleans and Blois of tounes on the river we saw first Merug,[79] then Baniency.[80] At night we came to Blois, wheir I was the day after to wiew the Toune. I fand it situat on a wery steep eminence, in some places as wearisom to go up as our Kirkheugh. I went and saw the Kings Garden as they call it; but nowise in any posture; only theirs besydes it a large gallery on every syde, wheirof I counted 60 windows, and that at a considerable distance one from another; it hath pillars also for every window on whelk it stands. I went nixt and saw the Castle whilk stands on a considerable eminence, only its the fatality theirof not to be parfaited, which hath happened by the death of the Duke of Orleans, who had undertaken the perfecting of it and brought it a considerable length. On the upmost top of that which he hath done stands his portraict in marble. She that showed in the rooms was a gay oldmouthed wife who in one chamber showed me wheir one of the Kings was slain, the very place wheir he fell (the Duke of Guise, author of the Parísien massacre) and the back door at which the Assasinates entered: in another wheir one of their Kings as also seweral of the nobility ware keipt prisoners, and the windows at whilk one of ther queen mothers attempted to escape, but the tow proving to short she fell and hurt hirself. [79] Meung, now Meun. [80] Beaugency. When I was in the upmost bartizan we had one of the boniest prospects that could be. About 2 leagues from us in the corner of a forest we saw the Castle of Chamburgh,[81] a place wery worthy the sieng (as they say) for the regularity of its bastimens. We saw wtin a league also tuo pretty houses belonging to Mr. Cuthbert, whom we would have to be a Scot. I went and saw sewerall Churches heir. I lay not at the Galere, but at the Chass Royall: part of the company went to the Croix Blanche. [81] Chambord. I cannot forget one passage that behappened me heir: bechance to supper I demanded give he could give me a pullet, he promises me it. My pullet comes up, and wt it instead of its hinder legs the hinder legs of a good fat poddock. I know them weill enough because I had sien and eaten of them at Orleans. I consedering the cheat called up my host and wt the French I had, demanded him, taking up the leg, what part of the pullet that might be, he wt a deal of oaths and execrations would have made me believe it was the legs of a pullet, but his face bewrayed his cause; then I eated civilly the rest of my pullet and left the legs to him: such damned cheats be all the French. Having bein a day at Blois I took boat for Tours in new company againe, of some Frenchmen, a Almand and a Dutchman; wt whom I had again to do vindicating my prince as the most just prince in the world in all his procedures wt the Hollandez. The fellow behaved himselfe wery proudly. Betuixt Blois and Tours we saw Amboise, which is in estime especially by reason of its casle. As we was wtin halfe a league of Tours by the carelesnese of the matelots and a litle pir of wind that rose we fell upon a fixt mill in the river, so that the boat ran a hazard of being broken to peices, but we wan of, only 3 or 4 dales in hir covert was torn of. Arriving at Tours about 3 a cloack we all tooke another boat to carry us about a league from the city to sie a convent of the Benedictines (Marmoustier) a very stupendious peice give ended. It hath also a very beautifull church, many of the pillars of it being of marble, others of alabastre, and that of sundry coleurs, some red, some white, etc.: whence on the entry theirs a prohibition hung up interdicting all from engraving their name or any other thing on the pillars, least of deforming them. One of the fathers of the order came and did let us sy the relicts of the church which ware the first relicts I saw neir at hand: I having sien some at a distance carried in processions at Orleans. Their we saw the heart of Benedictus, the founder of their order, enclosed in a crystall and besett wt diamonds most curiously. We of our company, being 6, ware all of the Religion, whence we had no great respects for the relict; but their ware som others their that ware papists; who forsooth bit[82] to sit doune on their knees and kist. At which I could not contein my selfe from laughing. [82] Were obliged. Their saw we also a great number of old relicts of one St. Martin. They had his scull enclosed (give his scull and not of some theife it may be) in a bowll of beaten silver. In a selver[83] besyde was shank bones, finger bones and such like wery religiously keipt. He showed us among others also a very massy silver crosse watered over wt gold very ancient, which he said was gifted them by a Englishman. I on that enquired whow they might call him. He could not tell til he cost up his book of memorials of that church; and then he found that they called him Bruce, on which I assured him that that was a Scots name indeed of a wery honorable family. [83] Salver. Then we returned back to Tours, wheir we went first to sie their mail[84] (which I counted by ordinar paces of whilk it was 1000.7 arbres).[85] About the distance of less than halfe a league we saw the Bridge that lays over the river of Chere, which payes its tribut to the Loier at Langes,[86] a little beneath Tours. Next we went and saw some of their churches. In their principal was hinging a iron chaine by way of a trophee. I demanding what it might mean, I was told it was brought their by the Chevaliers or Knights of Malta. [84] English, mall. Originally an alley where a game was played with a _mail_, a strong, iron-bound club, with long, flexible handle, and a ball of boxwood. [85] Arbre (arbour) probably means 'a shaded or covered alley or walk.'--Murray's _New English Dict_., s.v. 'Arbour.' The history of the word, with its double derivation from the Anglo-Saxon root of 'harbour' and the Latin _arbor_, is very curious. See Introduction, p. 1, note 2. [86] Langest in Blaeuw's map, now Langeais. We lodged at the Innes.[87] To-morrow tymously we took boat for Saumur (St. Louis). Al the way we fand nothing but brave houses and castles standing on the river, and amongst other that of Monsoreau tuo leagues large from Saumur, wheir the river of Chattellerault or Vienne, which riseth in the province of Limosin, tumbleth it selfe into the Loier; this Monsereau is the limits of 2 provinces; of Torrain, to the east of whilk Tours is the capital, and of Anjou to the west, in whilk is Saumur, but Angiers is the capitall. When we was wtin a league of Saumurs they ware telling us of the monstrous outbreakings the river had made wtin these 12 years upon all the country adiacent, which made us curious to go sie it. Whence we landed; and being on the top of the bank we discovered that the river had bein seiking a new channell in the lands adiacent, and had left a litle young Loier behind it; the inundations of this river seims so much the stranger to many, that finding it so shallow generally that we could not go a league but we had our selfes to row and work of some bed of sand or other, makes men to wonder whence it sould overflow so. Thir beds randers it wery dangerous in the winters; yea in our coming doun we saw in 3 or 4 places wheir boats had bein broken or sunk thir last winter; some part or other of them appearing above as beacons. In sewerall places it wines so on the land that it makes considerable islands, yea such as may give some rent by year. At last we landed at Saumur, but before I leive the,[88] fair Loier, what sall I say to thy commedation? Surely if anything might afford pleasure to mans unsatiable appetit it most be the, give they be any vestiges of that terrestrial paradise extant, then surely they may lively be read in the. Whow manie leagues together ware their nothing to be sein but beautiful arbres,[89] pleasant arrangements of tries, the contemplation of which brought me into a very great love and conceit of a solitary country life, which brought me also to pass a definitive sentence that give I ware once at home, God willing, I would allot the one halfe of the year to the country and the other halfe for the toune. Is it not deservedly, O Loier, that thou art surnamed the garden of France, but I can stay no longer on the, for I am posting to Mr. Doul my countrymans house, who accepts us kindly. His wife was in the country, seing give the pleasures of the samen might discuss and dissipat the melancholy she was in for the parting of her sone, whom his father had some dayes before send for England, to wit, for Oxford, meirly that he might be frie from his mothers corruptions, who answering him to franckly in mony, the lad began to grow debaucht. Behold the French women as great foolls as others. On the morrow after she returned, amongs other expressions, she said, that it gave heer encouragdement to let hir sone go wt the better will that she saw that I, as a young man, had left my native country to come travell. [87] Innes for inn, cf. p. 38 at top. [88] i.e. thee. [89] See p. 20, note 3. I went and saw my Lord Marquis of Douglasse[90] at Mr. Grayes, whom I was informed to live both wery quietly and discontentedly, mony not being answered him as it sould be to one of his quality; and this by reason of discord amongs his curators, multitude wheirof hath oft bein sein to redound to the damage of Minors. He was wearing his winter cloath suit for lack of another. He had a very civill man as could be to his governour, Mr. Crightoune, for whom I had a letter from William Mitchell. [90] James, second marquis, born 1646, died 1700. Sabath fornoon we went togither and hard sermon in their church, which is wtin the Toune; afternoon we took a walk out to a convent which they call St. Florans. By the way he communicated to me his intentions for leaving the Marquis, whom he thought wtin some few moneths would return for Scotland, his affairs demanding his oune presence, as also his resolutions of going into Italy give it took foot. I demanding him whow a man that came abroad might improve his tyme to the best advantage, and what was the best use that might be made of travelling. He freely told me that the first thing above all was to remember our Creator in the dayes of our youth, to be serious wt our God: not to suffer ourselfes to grow negligent and slack in our duty we ow to God, and then to seik after good and learned company whence we may learn the customes of the country, the nature and temper of the peaple, and what wast diversity of humours is to be sein in the world. He told me also a expression that the Protestant Minister at Saumur used to him, whereby he taxed the most part of strangers as being ignorant of the end they came abroad for, to wit, that these that came to sie Saumur all they had to writ doune in their book was that they went and saw such a church, that they drank good wines, and got good wictuals at the Hornes, a signe wheir strangers resorts. The convent we fand to be liker a castle than a Religious house. We saw a large window, the covert wheirof was stenchells like those that are on the windows of the Abby at Holyrood House; but very artificially all beat out of one peice of iron, but not ioined and soudred togither as they used to be. Saumurs is a pretty little toune wt fields upon all hands most pleasant. I, amongs other things, enquired at Mr. Doull what was their manner in graduating their students their. He told me it was wholly the same wt that in other places. They give out Theses which the students defended, only they had a pretty ceremony about the close: each of these to be graduat got a laurell branch, on the leaves wheirof was every mans name engraven in golden letters. Item, he said that when he reflected on the attendance that the Regents in Scotland gave to ther classes, he thought he saw another Egyptiacall bondage, for wt them they attended only 4 dayes of the weeks, and in thess no longer than they took account of ther former lesson, and gave them out a new one, which they send them home to gett. On a afternoon I was their I made a tour doune throu the suburbs of the toune to the Convent of Nostre Dame des Ardilliers.[91] On my return Mr. Doull and Mr. Crightoun demanding of me wheir I had bein, I freely told: wheirupon they fell to to scorne me, asking what I went to seek their. I told meerly to walk. They alleadged that John Ogilvy at Orleans bit to have told me of the place; that it was the most notorious part of France for uncleanness, and that women that could not gett children at home, coming their ware sure to have children. To speak the truth the place seimed to me wery toun like, for their came a woman to me and spered whey I all alone. [91] The Church of Notre Dame d'Ardiliers, of the sixteenth century, was enlarged by Richelieu and Madame de Montespan. The night before my parting from Saumur a young gallant of the toune, to show his skill, showed the wholle toune some fireworks in a boat on the river, but they ware wery pittifull, the principall thing we saw being only some fireballs which they cost up in the air to a considerable hight som tymes. Theirs one thing we most not forget in the river. In our coming doune in sewerall places on the syde of the rivers bank we saw pleasant little excrescencyes of litle rocks and craigs, which makes exceidingly to the commendation of the places. In thes craigs are built in houses, which be the vertue of Antiperistasis is cold in summer and hot in winter, tho their be some of them they dare not dwell in in winter by reason of the looseness of the earth then. Having stayed 2 dayes in Saumur I hired horse for Poictiers, only the fellow who aught the horse running at my foot. We rode by Nostre Dame and along the side of Loier as far as Monsereau. Heir I'm sure I was thrie miles togither under the shade of wast valnut tries on each syde ladened wt fruit, great abondance of which I meit all the way thorow. At Monsereau I left Loier, and struck south east be the banks of the river of Chasteleraut in Turrain, of whilk Tours is the capitall, the most renouned toune of France for manufacturies of silks of all sorts. We dined at Chinon, standing on that river 5 great leagues from Saumur. As we ware about a league from Chinon, I leiving my guid a considerable distance behind me, thinking that I bit always to keep close be the river syde, I went about a mile wrong. The fellow thinking I was in the right way he strikes in the right; I begines to look behind me. I cannot get my eye upon him; stands a long tym under a shade very pensive. First I saw some sheirers (for in France it was harvest then, being only the beginning of July wt the Scots) at their dinner. I imagined that the fellow might have sit doune wt them to take scare.[92] After waiting a long tyme I began to steep back, and drawing neir the sheirers I could not discover him, whence a new suspition entred in my head, because I had given him at Chinon, on his demand, 14 livres of 17 which I was to give him to defray all my charges to Poictiers, that he had sliped away wt that that he might bear no more of my charges, being sure enough that he would get his horse when I brought it to Poictiers. All this tyme I never dreamed I could be out of the way, yet I spered at the sheirers what might be the way to Richelieu, who told me I was not in the way. Then I know the fellow bit to be gone that way, whence I posted after him, and about a league from that place I overtook him laying halfe sleiping in a great deall of care, the poor fellow wery blaith to sy me. I demanded what was his thoughts, whether he thought I was a voler that had run away wt his horse. He said he quaestioned not in the least my honesty but he began to suspect I might have fallen amongs robbers. [92] Share, pot-luck. Thus we came to Chopigni,[93] a pretty village a league from Richelieu, and about 5 a cloack we entred Richelieu, a toune that give yeell consider its bigness it hath not its match in France. For being about a mile in circuit, besides a wery strong wall, it hath a considerable ditch environing it having something of the nature of a pond; for it abounds wt all sorts of fisches. The French calls it une canale. Being entred the toune ye have one of the prettiest prospects thats imaginable. It hath only one street, but that consisting of such magnifick stately houses that each house might be a palace. Ye no sooner enter unto the toune but ye have the clear survey of the whole wt its 4 ports; which comes to pass by the aequality of the houses on both sydes of the street, which are ranked in such a straight line that a Lyncaean or sharpest eye sould not be able to discover the least inaequality of one houses coming out before another. They are all reased also to the same hieght, that ye sall not sy one chimly hier then another: for they are al 3 story hy and built after that same mode window answering to window; so that ye sall sy a rank of about a hundred windows in a straight line. [93] Champigny. But I hast to the Castle, which is bueatiously environed wt that same canale on the banks of which are such pleasant arrangements (palissades)[94] and umbrages of tries making allies to the length of halfe a mile; in which I fand that same I had observed in the toune: the tries ranked so aequally that its wonderfull to hear; tho monstrously hy yet all of them observing such a aequality that ye sould find none arrogating superiority over his neighbour. We entred the castle by a stately draw bridge over the canale. Over the first gate stands a marble Lowis the 13, this present kings father, on horseback: on his right hand stands Mars the God of Armes; on his left Hercules wt his great truncheon or club. [94] Interlined, palissades. Rows of trees planted close. Term derived from fortification. See Littré's _Dict_. Having past this gat, we entred into the court or close round about whilk the palace is built. The court is 3 tymes as large as the inner court of the Abbey.[95] Al around the close stand a wast number of Statues infinitely weill done: only I fand they had not provided weill for the curiosity of spectateurs in withholding their names and not causing it to be engraven at their feet. They informed me they ware the statues of the bravest old Greeks and Romans: as of Alex'r, Epiminondas, Cæsar, Marcellus, and the rest. By the wertue of powerful money all the gates of the Castle unlockt themselves. The first chamber we entred into he called the chamber de Moyse, getting this denomination from the emblem hinging above the chimly, wheirin was wondrously weill done the story whow Pharoes daughter caused hir maid draw the cabinet of bulrushes wheirin Moses was exposed upon the Nile to hir sitting on the land. This room (the same may be repeated of the rest) was hung wt rich tapistry and furnished wt wery brave plenishings, as chairs, looking glasses, tables and beds. For the præserving of the curtains each bed had _tours de lit_ of linnen sheets, which, causing to be drawen by, we fand some hung wt rich crimson velvet hingings; others wt red satin; others wt blew; all layd over so richly wt lace that we could hardly decerne the stuffe. We fand one bed in a chamber (which they called one of the kings chambers) hung wt dool, which when occasion offered they made use of. This minded me of Suintones wife, who when she was in possession of Brunstone[96] had hir allyes and walks so appropriated to particular uses that she had hir ally wheirin she walked when she was in mourning, another when she had one such a goune, and so furth. But to return, in another chamber we was put to the strait of exercing our _Liberum Arbitrium_. Many pleasant objects offering themselfes to our wiew at the same tyme, we was at a pusle wt which of them to begin: for casting up our eyes to the cieling we fand it cut out most artificially unto sewerall sorts of creatures. Theirs a lion standing ramping ready as ye would think to devore you; yonder a horse; yonder a dog at the chass; and all this so glittering by reason that its covered wt gold that it would dazell any mans eyes. But calling away your eyes from this we deschended to the walls of the chamber, wheir ye have standing in one broad Justice, a martiall like woman wt a sword in hir one hand, and the balance in the other. On her right stands Verity, a woman painted naked to show that the truth most be naked since it demands no coverture. On the other stands Magnanimity, a woman of a bravadoing countenance. In another broad stands Prudence. In a 3d (la chambre de Lucresse) as a emblem of Chastity we have the story of Lucretias rapture by Tarquinius Superbus sone: first ye have him standing at hir chamber door wt his men at his back looking thorow the lock whither she was their or not; in the same broad[97] ye have represented the violence he used to hir; then as the epiloge of the tragædy ye have hir killing herselfe. In another broad ye have to the life don the story of Judith bringing away the head of Holofernes. [95] Holyrood. [96] When the Duke of Lauderdale was under forfeiture the estate of Brunston, belonging to him, was granted to Swinton of Swinton.-- Sir G. Mackenzie's _Memoirs_, p. 48. [97] Panel. In another chamber ye have Lewis the 13 portraicts wt those of all the rest of the royall family and the most part of the courtiers, counsellers and statesmen of that tyme, togither wt a embleme of the joy of the city of Paris at the nativity of this King. Of this chamber goes a pitty but pretty litle cabinet for Devotion. Their stands a large crucifix of marble wonderously weill done, round about hings the 12 Apostles wt the sufferings they ware put to. Their may ye sie the barbarous Indians knocking Bartholemew, who was spreading the gospell among them, wt clubs to death; and so of the rest. In another chamber on the cielery we have panted Thetis dipping hir sone Achilles in the Ocean to render him immortall. She hath him by the foot, whence in all his parts he becames immortal and impatible, save only in the sole of his feet, which ware not dippt. Next ye have him slain by Paris whiles he is busy on his knees at his devotion in the temple; Paris letting a dart at him thorow a hole of the door, which wounding him in the sole of his foot slow him. Nixt ye have Achilles dragging Hectors dead body round about the walls of Troy. Then ye have Priamus coming begging his sones body. Ye have also Diomedes and Glaucus frendly renconter wt the exambion they made of their armes. In another chamber we found wery delicat weill wrought Tapistry wheirin ware to be sien, besydes sewerall other stories taken out of Homer, the funestous and lamentable taking of Troy. In this same chamber saw we hinging the cardinals oune portraiture to the full, in his ride robes and his cardinals hat wt a letter in his hand to tel that he was the Kings secretary: his name is beneath. _Armandus Richeleus anagrammatized Hercules alter_. Surely the portrait represents a man of wery grave, wise and reverend aspect. Besydes him hinges the portraict of his father and mother. His father had bein a souldier; the cardinal was born in Richeliew. In another chamber was hinging 3 carts[98] (al done by Sampson), the one exceeding large of France done by one Sanson, the Kinges Geographer; the 2nd of Italy wt the Iles adiacent of Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, etc.; the 3d of the countryes that lyes on the famous river of Rhein, which runes thorow Germany, and in the low countries embrasses the sea. [98] Maps. At length we came unto a very large gallery, wheir hinges the emblems of al the things of greatest consequence that happened in France during the tyme of the Cardinall, as the beseigding of tounes that revolted, and the stratagemes by whilk some of them were taken. At each end of the gallery stands a table, but I sal confine my selfe to speak only of the one. Removing a cover of leather their appeares a considerable large table as long as etc., the richest beyond controversy of France: it consistes of precious stones and diamonds, but joined wt such wonderfull artifice that a man would easily take it for one inteer stone of sewerall colours, the proportion also of their joinctures, each colour answering to another, makes much to the commendation of it. Give their be a rid Sardix heir, it hath direictly of that same very bigness another Sardix answering to it their; or ye may suppose it to be a blew saphir. In the wery center and midle of the table is planted about the meikledoom[99] of a truncher[100] a beautifull green smaradyes; round about it stands a row of blew saphire, then another of rid diamonds; then followes a joincture of golden chrysolites, the bigness wheirof renders them wery wonderfull, being exceeding rare to be found of the halfe of that bigness. Their is not any coleur which is not to be found amoungs the Stones of that table. They are joined so marvelously that nothing can be smoother or æequaler. Thus breifly for the house. [99] Size. [100] Trencher. Of one of the balconies we descryed the garden, which was wery pleasant, having great resemblance wt that of Chateau Neuf, up and doune it ware growing Holyhaucks of all colours; but I cannot stay no longer upon the, for I am hasting to your church, which I find wery rich, as generally all the churches in France are. After I had supped I could not but come and wiew the situation and walls wtout; but fareweil, for the morrow night setts me in Poictiers. On the hy way as I travelled I mett bothe aples and plumes, which I looked not one as forbidden fruit, but franckly pulled. As soon as I came wtin sight of Poictiers I welcomed it heartily as being to be a place of rest to me for a tyme. Entering into the suburbes of the toune, I easily discovered the reason of our Buchannans expression, _Pictonum ad scopulos_: for then and afterwards I discovered it to be environed wt raged rocks and craigs, the toune it selfe also to be situat on a considerable eminence; and give ye take in all its circuit it neids not yeeld much to Paris in bigness; only much of it is filled up wt spatious gardens for the most part belonging to religious orders, sometymes of men sometymes of women. It hath also wines that growes within its circumference, as these that grow in the place of the Scots walk may testify. Having entred the toune we sought out Mr. Garnier the Apothecaries, for whom I had a letter from Mr. Doull at Saumurs, who on that accepted us kindly enough, only they had not such accomodation as I demanded, whence I took occasion to deliver a letter I brought wt me out of Scotland from young John Elies to Mr. Daillé, wt whom I entred pensionar about 8 dayes after I had bein in Poictiers, to wit 28 July 1665. I cannot bury in silence the moderation of Mr. Garniers wife, so wertous and sparing a house wife she was that Wine never entred in hir mouth. Always hir drink was pure water, tho no restraint was laying upon hir to do it. As the nature of thir peeple is to be wery frugall, so I fand that they ware right Athenians loving to tell and to hear news, which may be marked also in the most part of them that live on the Loier; for I had not bein a night in Poictiers when all that Street, and in sewerall other places of the toune, sundry knew that a Scotsman was come to the toune; that he came from Saumur, that he brought a letter for Mr. Garnier wt whom he quartred. The first night on my arrivall after I had supped came in my Hosts brother, a marchand, who amongs others enquired if I might know Mr. Douglas. I replied, yes; he added that he had left a child behind him, which tho Mr. Daillé owned for his, yet it had wholly a Scots cry not a French. The morning after my arrivall they chanced to have sermon in the Protestants church at Quatre Picket, wheir I fand Colinton,[101] who a little before had returned from the Rochell, wheir he had bein also on the Isle of Rhee and that of Oleron. He after dinner took me to Mr. Alex'rs, wheir I found all our Countrymen convened, only Alex'r Hume was at that tyme out in the Campaigne some leagues. Their I fand my right reverend good Sir Mr. Patrick Hume,[102] for whom I had two letters, one from Pighog,[103] another from John Suty at London, David Hume, for whom I had a letter from Saumur, Mr. Scot, Ardrosses sone, and Mr. Grahame, Morphees sone. Shortly after I saw both the 2 Alex'rs, Alexander the professour, to whom I delivred a letter from young J. Elies and Alex'r Hume: them all one night I took in to a Hostellery called le Chappeau d'Or and gav them their supper, which cost me about 17 livres 10 souse. [101] Probably James Foulis, son of Sir James Foulis, Lord Colinton, advocate 1669, a lord of Session 1674, with the title of Lord Reidford. [102] The friend thus playfully described may be Sir Patrick Hume, advocate, who often appears as a litigant in Fountainhall's _Decisions_. [103] See page 145, note 2. About 8 dayes after I had bein in Poictiers was keipt be the Jesuits Ignatius Loyola their founders day, whence in the Jesuits Church their was preaching a fellow that usualy preaches, extolling their patron above the wery skies; evicting whow that he utstripped infinitly the founders of all other orders, let it be St. François, St. Dominick, or be who he will, by reason that he founded a order to the universal good of Christendome; the order not being tyed to one place, as other religious are, but much given to travelling up and doune the world for the conversion of souls, which truly may be given as a reason whey all that order are usually so experimented and learned; for their are of them in Americk itselfe. From all this he concluded that Ignatius was and might deservedly be named the universall Apostle of the Christian World. He showed also the manner of his conversion to that manner of life; whow he had bein a soger (he was a Spaniard by nation) til his 36 or 40 year of age. One tyme in a battell he had receaved a wound right dangerous, during the cure of this wound one tyme being some what veary and pained he called for a Story or Romance. They having none their, some brought a devot book termed the Saints Rest, not that of Baxters; in which he began to read wt a sort of pleasure, but wtout any touch. At lenth continuing he began to feel himselfe sensibly touched, which wrought so that he wholly became a new man; and wt the permission and confirmation of the Pope then instituted the order. A litle after followed St. Dominicks day observed by the Jacobins, wheir I went to hear his panegyrick preached. Their preached a fat-looged[104] fellow of the order. His text was out of the 36 of Ecclesiasticus, _Vas auroeum[105] repletum omni lapide proetioso_: all his sermon ran to make Dominick this vessell. He deduced all that a man might be praised for from the 3 fold sort of dueties: 1, these we ow to God; 2, these towards our neighbours; and 3, these towards himselfe. For the vertues that are relative to God, he numbered them up to 13, and that out of Thomas, whom they follow in all things; amongs which were piety, sanctité, zeal for Religion, which broke out to that hieght that he caused sundry of the poor Albingenses, over the inquisition of whom he was sett, to be brunt; but this he mentioned _no_. For duties of the 2nd sort he numbered up out of the same Thomas amongs others thir, Chastité. Of Dominicks chastity he sayd he was as sure as of one thats new borne. Charité, which was so great one tyme that having nothing to give to the poor, he would have given himselfe to a poor widow woman; at which we could not but laugh, tho' his meaning was that he would have bein content to sell himselfe that the woman might get the money. He forgot not also his strictness of life and discipline, so that after his death their was found a cord in wtin his wery flech he girded him selfe so strait wt it. Heir he recknoned upe his prudence and magnanimity. Amongs theduties a man owes to himselfe amongs others he reckned up Temperance; in which he would gladly have us beleiving that St. Dominick never eated any in his dayes, so great was his abstinence. Then he came to compare him wt the cælestial powers, which he divided out of Dionysius pseudareopagita into the Hierarchies receaved in the Romish Church, of Angels, Archangels, Powere, Dominations, Cherubins, Seraphines, etc., and then showed his Dominick to excell them all. Many stories he told us which are to be seen in his legends, but never a word of the zeal he had when he sat doune and preached to the birds (and seing a frier kissing a nun he thanked God that their was so much charité left in the world). His epiloge was that St. Dominick was worth all the Saincts of them. And to speak the truth, beleiving him he made him on of the perfectest men of the world, subject to no imperfection. I could discover no difference he made betuixt him and Christ. [104] See p. 17, note 2. [105] _For aureum._ The forme of their preaching is thus. After they are come unto their pulpit they signe their foorfront and breast with the signe of the cross wt that in nomine patris, filij, and S.S., as a means to chass away Satan; then they go to their knees for a wery short space as our bischops do; then raising they read their text; after which they have a short prayer direct to Christ and his mother, or even the Sainct, if they be to speak of any, for their aid and assistance. Then they preach; after which thess that please to walk may do it. The rest stay out the Vespres. The forme of the protestant churches differs not much from ours. On the Sabath morning during the gathering of the congregation they sing a psalme; the minister coming up by a short sett forme of exhortation, stirring them up to ioin wt him in prayers, he reads a sett forme of confession of sines out of their priers ecclesiastiques or Liturgie; which being ended they singes a psalme, which the minister nominats, reading the first 2 or 3 lines of that to be sung, after which they read no more the line, as we do, but the peaple follows it out as we do in Glory to the Father, The psalme being ended, the minister has a conceaved prayer of himselfe adapted for the most part to what he'es to discourse on. This being ended he reads his text. Having preached, then reads a prayer out of their Liturgy, then sings a psalme, and then the blissing. About a 4 night after I had bein their some 2 chanced to be taken in the order of the Capuchins, of which order this is strange that the poorest yet they are numerousest, their being dailly some or other incorporating themselfes, Their poverty is such that they have nothing to sustein them but others charité when they come begging, and that every 24 hours. They having nothing layd up against tomorrow, if their be any day amongs others wheirin they have gotten litle or nothing, notwtstanding of this they come al to the Table, tho' nothing to eat. Each man sayes his grace to himselfe, their they sit looking on one another, poor creatures, as long as give they had had something to eat. They fast all that day, but if their be any that cannot fast it out, then he may go doune to the yard and houck out 2, 3 carrots to himselfe, or 'stow some likes some sibows, beets or such like things, and this is their delicates. If their be any day wheirin they have gotten more then suffices them all, the superplus they give to the poor. The convent hath no more rent than will defray their charges in keiping up their house about their ears. Al this do thir misers under the hopes of meriting by the samen: yet I would be a Capuchin before any other order I have sein yet. To sie the ceremony of their matriculation unto the order I went wt my good sire, wheir the principal ceremony was that they cast of their cloathes wheirwt they ware formerly cloathed and receaves the Capuchines broun weid, as also they get the clerical tonsure, the cord about their west, and the clogs of wood on their bare feet. A great number of speaches being used in the intervalls containing as is probable their dueties, but we could not understand them for the bruit. At the point of each of them all the peaple cried Amen. Finaly we saw them take all the rest of ther brethren by the hand, all of them having burning torches in their hands. After this, on August 14, came about Ste. Radegondes daye, wheiron I saw sewerall things: first wt Mr. Bouquiet we went doune to the church of Ste. Radegonde, which stands almost on the bord of the river Sein, which runes by Poictiers; and their visited hir tomb; but we had a difficulty of accez, such multitude was their dronning over their prayers, _Sainte Radegonde, Radegonde, priez pour nous et nos ames_, and this a 100 tymes over, at each tyme kissing the sepulchre stone which standes reasonable hy. From this we went to hir Chappell that stands besydes the Church of St. Croix, to sy the impression that Christ left wt his foot (so sottish is their delusion) on a hard great stone when he appeared to Ste. Radegonde as she was praying at that stone. The impression is as deip in the stone as a mans foot will make in the snow; and its wonderfull to sy whow thir zealots hath worn the print much deiper in severall parts wt their continuall and frequent touching of it thorow the iron grate wt which it is covered, and kissing it on Ste. Radegondes day when the iron grate is removed; according to that, _gutta cavat lapidem_, etc. All this they do thinking it the least reverence they can do to the place wheir our Saviours foot was. For immediatly upon the notification of that by Ste. Radegonde they caused erect a chappel above the stone, and hath set up Christ upon the right of the impression wt Capuchin shoes on his feet: and on the left Ste. Radegonde on hir knees wt hir hands folded praying to him. On the wall besydes they have this engraven, _Apparuit Dominus Jesus sanctae beatae Radegundae et dixit ei, tu es speciosa gemma, noverim te praetiosam in capite meo_ (and wt that they have Christ putting his fingers to his head) _gemmam_. Out of this we came to the Church of St. Croix, wheir just as we were entring ware coming out 2 women leading a young lass about the Age of 18 who appeared evidently to be distracted or possessed by some Dewill, by hir horrid looks, hir antick gestures, and hir strange gapes: hir they had had in the Church and had caused hir kneell, they praying before the Altar for hir to Ste. Radegonde, whom they beleived had the power to cure hir. The priests knaveries are wery palpable to the world in this point, who usually by conjurations, magicall exorcismes as their holy water, consecrated oill, take upon them to dispossess or cure sick persones, but so far from having any effect, that the Devill rather gets great advantage by it. Having entred the Church, standing and looking earnestly about to al the corners of the church, and particularly to the Altar, which was wery fine, wt as great gravity as at any tyme, a woman of faschion on hir knees (for indeed all that ware in the Church ware on their knees but my selfe) fixing hir eyes upon me and observing that I nether had gone to the font for water, nether kneelled, in a great heat of zeal she told me, _ne venez icy pour prophaner ce sainct lieu_. I suddenly replied, _Vous estez bien devotieuse, Madame; mais peut estre Vostre ignorance prophane ce sainct lieu d'avantage que ma presence_. This being spoken in the audience of severals, and amongs others of a preist, I conceived it would not be my worst to retire, which I did. That same afternoon I went to Mr. Alex'rs to seik Patrick Hume, wheir I faud them hearing him explaine some paragraphe of the Institutes: wheir Mr. Alex'r and I falling on some controverted points betuixt us and them, I using a great deall of liberty citing frome his oune authors as Bellarmine, etc., I angred him exceedingly. Then Patrick Hume, David, Mr. Grahame and I went to walk: and particularly to the pierre levé or stone erected a litle way from the city. The story or fable wheirof is this: once as Ste. Radegonde was praying the Devil thought to have smoored[106] or crushed her wt a great meikle stone greater than 2 milstones, which God knows whence he brought, but she miraculously supported it wt hir head, as the woman heir carries the courds and whey on their head. Surly she had a gay burden; and never rested till she came to that place wheir its standing even now. They talk also that she brought the 5 pillars on which its erected till above a mans hight in hir lap wt hir. I mocking at this fable, I fell in inquiry whence it might have come their, but could get no information; only it seimed probable to me that it might have bein found in the river and brought their. On the top of this stone I monted, and metted[107] it thorow the Diametrum and found it 24 foot; then metted it round about and found it about 60 foot. Coming doune and going beneath it we discovered the place wheir hir head had bein (_nugae_). [106] Smothered. [107] Measured. We went and saw a stately convent the Benedictines ware building, the oldest and richest order of France. To them it is that Nostre Dame at Saumur belongs; to them belongs the brave bastiments we saw at Tours, in which city as I was on the Loier I told 16 considerable steeples. We saw the relicts of a old Convent, wheirupon enquiring whow it came to be demolished, he replied it was in Calvines tyme, who studied his Law in Poictiers; and then turning preacher he preached in the same very hall wheir we hear our lessons of Law. His chamber also is to be sein wheir he studied on the river syde. I cannot forgett a story of Calvin which Mr. Alex'r told us saying it was in their Histories, that Calvin once gladly desiring to work a miracle suborned a fellow to feigne himselfe dead that so he might raise him to life. Gods hand was so visible upon the fellow that when he went to do it he verily died and Calvin could not raise him: this was in Poictiers. And it minded me first that I had read almost the like cited out of Gregorious Turonensis History by Bellarmine in his treatise _de Christo_ refuting Arianisine of a Arian bischop who just so suborned one to feinge himselfe blind that he might cure him, but God really strake him blind. Also it minded me of a certain Comoedian (who was to play before the Duc of Florence) who in his part had to act himselfe as dead for a while. He that he might act himselfe as dead wt the more life and vigeur agitated and stirred or rather oppressed his spirits so that when he sould have risen he was found dead in very truth. As also 3ly of a certain Italian painter who being to draw our Saviour as he was upon the Cross in his greatest torment and agony (he caused a comoedian whose main talent was to represent sorrow to the life), he caused one come and sit doune before him and feigne one of the dolfullest countenances that he could that he might draw Christ of him; but he tuise sticked it, wt which being angred he drew out a knife and stobbed the person to the heart; and out of his countenance as he was wrestling wt the pangs of death he drow Christ on the cross more lively then ever any had done, boasting that he cared not to dy for his murder since he had Christ beholden to him for drawing him so livelylie. I remember also of a passage that Howell in a letter he writes from Geneva hes, that Calvin having bein banished once by a prævalent faction from the city again being restored, he sould proudly and blasphemously have applied to himselfe that saying of David, proper to Christ, the stone which the builders refused the same is become the head of the corner. But granting that all thir to be true, as they are not, they ware but personall escapes, neither make they me to think a white worse of his doctrine. But as to the point of miracles its notoriously knowen that the Church of Rome abuses the world wt false miracles more then any: for besydes these fopperies we have discovered of Ste. Radegonde they have also another. Thus once St. Hilary (who was bischop of Poictiers about the 6 century, and who hes a church that bears his name, erected on the wast syde of the toune a little from the Scotes walk), about a league from the toune (thus reportes _les annales de Aquitaine_), as he was riding on his mule Christ meit him. His beast, as soon as it saw our Saviour, fell doune on the knees of it. As a testimony wheirof that it fell doune they show at this day the _impressa_ both its knee and its foot hes made miracoulously in the rock, but this is _fort mal a propos_; since they seem to mak their St. Hilary Balaam; and his mulet Balaam his ass which payed reverence to God before its mastre. This fable minded me of the story we have heir at home, that we can show in Leith Wind craigs the impressa that Wallace made wt his foot when he stood their and shoot over the steeple of Edenburgh. Yet their all these things are beleived as they do the bible. When we was wtout the city we discovered that it would signify litle if it wanted the convents and religious houses, which ware the only ornaments of the city. This much for the 14 of August, I had not bein so much out a fortnight before put it all together. Heir I most impart a drollery which happened a little before in Poictiers. Some Flamans had come to the toune and taken up the quarters in a certain Innes.[108] While they ware supping, the servant that attended them chanced to let a griveous and horrid fart. The landlady being in the roome and enquiring give she thought not shame to do so, she franckly replied, _sont Flamans, madame, sont Flamans, ils n'entendent pas_; thinking that because they ware strangers that understood not the language, they understood not also when they hard a fart. [108] Inn. O brave consequence, I went one night to the Marché Vieux and saw some puppy playes, as also rats whom they had learned to play tricks on a tow.[109] [109] Rope. Just besyde that port that leads to Quatre Picket (de St. Lazare) or Paris is erectcd a monument of stone, something in the fashion of a pyramide. I enquiring what it meant, they informed me the occasion of it was a man that lived about 3 or 4 years ago in the house just forganst it, who keiping a Innes, and receaving strangers or others, used to cut their throats and butcher them for their money; which trade he drave a considerable tyme undiscovered. At lenth it coming to light as they carried him to Paris to receave condigne punishment, they not watching him weill enough he killed himselfe whence they did execution on his body, and erected that before the door, _ad æternam rei memoriam._ I think they sould have razed his house also, yet their is folk dwelling in it prcsently. I went also and saw the palais wheir the Advocats used to plead but it had fallen down by meer antiquity about 3 moneths before I came to Poictiers whence the session had translated themselfes to the Jacobines, whom I went and saw their. In the falling of the palais it was observable that no harm redounded to any, and that a certain woman wt a child in hir armes chancing to be their on day raising out of a desk wheir she was sitting she was hardly weill gon when a great jest[110] fell (for it fell by degries) and brok the desk to peices. [110] Joist. Their hinges bound upon the wall wt iron chaines the relicts of a dead hideous crocodile, which, tho' it be infinitly diminished from what it was (it being some hundred years since it was slain), yet its monstrously great wt a wast throat. This, they say, was found in one of their prisones, which I saw also. On a tyme a number of prisoners being put in for some offences, on the morrow as some came to sie the prisoners not one of them could be found, it having eaten and devored them every one. Not knowing whow to be red of this trubulsom beast no man daring attempt to kill it, they profered one who was condemned to dy for some crime his life give he killed it. Wheir upon he went to the prison wt a weill charged pistoll as it seimingly being very hungry was advancing furiously to worry him he shoot in at a white spot of its breast wheir its not so weill armed wt scalles as elsewheir and slow it and wan his life. I enquiring whow that beast might come their it seimed most probable that it was engendred their _ex putri materia_, as the philosophers speaks, tho I could hardly weill believe that the sun could giv life to such a monstrous big creature as it. We have had occasion to sie severall tymes Madame Biton the tailleurs daughter, that lives forgainst Mr. Daillés, with whom Madame Daillé telles me Mr. Hope was great. Truly a gallant, personable woman to be of such mean extract and of parents wheirof the father is a wery unshappen man; the mother neids yeeld nothing to Jenny Geddes. I observing that ye sould never sy any of the religious orders be they Jesuits or others on the streets but 2 of them togither, I enquired the reason. First it was that the on might watch the other that so none may fly from their convents, which they might easily do if they had the liberty of going out alone. 2dly they do it to evite all scandall and suspicion. They know the thoughts of the common peeple, that they be litle faworable to them, the orders being talkt of as the lecherousest peeple that lives. To exime their thoughts they go tuo and 2; for then if the one be so given he his a restraint laying on him, to wit, another to sie his actions; but usually they are both lounes.[111] [111] Knaves. They have a way of conserving great lumps of ice all the summer over heir in low caves: and these to keip their wines cold and fresh from heating when they bring it to their chamber. To recknon over all the crys of Poictiers (since they are divers according to the diverse seasons of the year) would be difficult. Yet theirs one I cannot forgeet, a poor fellow that goes thorow the toune wt a barrell of wine on his back; in his on hand a glass full halfe wt win; in his other a pint stoop; over his arm hinges a servit; and thus marched he crieng his delicate wine for 5 souse the pot thats our pint; or 4 souse or cheaper it may be. He lets any man taste it that desires, giving them their loof full. I did sy one fellow right angry on a tyme: their came about 7 or 8 about one, every one to taste; giving every one of them some, to neir a chopin[112] not one of them bought from him; wheiron he sayd he sould sie better marchands before he gave to so many the nixt tyme. [112] Half a pint old French, and also old Scots, measure, was equal to about three times the present imperial measure. Wood also is a passable commodity heir as in all France, wheir they burn no thing but wood, which seimes indeed to be wholsomer for dressing of meat then coall. Every fryday and saturday the peasants brings in multitude of chariots charged wt wood, some of them drawen wt oxen, mo. wt mules, without whilk I think France could not subsist they are so steadable to them. For a chariot weill ladened theyle get 6 or 7 livres, which I remember Mr. Daillé payed. They have another use for wood in that country also which we know not: they make sabots of them, which the peasants serve themselfes wt instead of shoes; in some account they are better then shoes. They wil not draw nor take in water as shoes whiles do, they being made of one intier lump of wood and that whiles meikle enough. Their disadvantage is this none can run wt them, they being loose and not fastened to our feet, yet some weill used wt them can also run in them. They buy them for wery litle money. These also that cannot aspire to ordinar hats (for since we left Berwick we saw no bonnets as also no plaids) they have straw hats, one of which theyle buy for 6 souse, and get 3 or 4 moneths wearing out of it. The weather in France heir is large as inconstant as in Scotland, scarcely a week goes over wtout considerable raines. I cannot forgett the conditions that Madame Daillé in sport offered me if I would wait till hir daughter ware ready, and then take hir to wife, that I sould pay no pension all the tyme I stayed in their house waiting on hir. On the 15 of August (being wt the Scots the 5 and observed by them in remembrance of Gourie conspiracie) came about to be observed _feste de Nostre Dame_, who hath 4 or 5 fests in the year, as the annuntiation, the conception, hir purification; and this was hir death and assumption day. I went and heard the Jesuits preach, a very learned fellow, but turbulent, spurred and hotbrained; affecting strange gestures in his delivery mor beseiming a Comoedian then a pulpit man. Truly ever since in seing the Comoedians act I think I sy him. He having signed himselfe, using the words _In nomine patris, filij_, etc., and parfaited all the other ceremonies we mentioned already, he began to preach. The text was out of some part of Esay, thus, _Et sepulcrum ipsius erat gloriosum_. He branched out his following discourse unto 2:--1. the Virgines Death; 2. hir assumption. As to hir death he sayd she neided not have undergoon it but give she liked, since death is the wages of sin, _mais Nostre Dame estoit affranchie de toutes sorte de peché, soit originell, soit actuell_. In hir death he fand 3 priviledges she had above all others: first she died most voluntarly, villingly, and gladly; when to the most of men Death's a king of terrors. 2ndly, she died of no sickness, frie of all pain, languor or angoisse. 3dly, hir body after death was not capable of corruption, since its absurd to think that that holy body, which carried the Lord of Glory 9 moneths, layes under the laws of corruption. For thir privelegdes he cited Jean Damascen and their pope Victor. But it was no wonder she putrified no, for she was not 3 dayes in the grave (as he related to us) when she was assumed in great pomp, soul and body, unto heaven, Christ meiting hir at heavens port and welcoming hir. He spoke much to establish monstrous merite; laying doune for a principle that she had not only merited heaven, and indeed the first place their, being the princess of heaven; but also had supererogated by hir work for others to make them merit, which works the church had in its treasury to sell at mister.[113] He made heaven also _a vendre_ (as it is indeed amongs them), but taking himselfe and finding the expression beastly and mercenarie he began to speir, but whow is it to sell, is it not for your _bonnes oeuures_, your penances, repentance, etc. This was part of his sermon. [113] Mister, need. That Strachan that was regent at Aberdeen and turned papist, I was informed that he was in a society of Jesuits at Naples. This order ever since it was a order hath bein one of the most pestilent orders that ever was erected, being ever a republick in a republick wheir ever they be; which caused Wenice throw them out of hir, and maugre the pope who armed Spaine against hir for it holds them out unto this day. They contemne and disdain all the rest of the orders in comparation of themselfes; they being indeed that great nerve and sinew that holds all the popes asustataes[114] togither; whence they get nothing but hatred again from the other religious, who could wt ease generally sy them all hanged, especially the Peres de l'Oratoire, who are usually all Jansenists, so that ye sall seldome find these 2 orders setled in one city, tho they be at Orleans. The Jesuits be the subtilist folk that breathes, which especially appears when under the praetext of visitting they fly to a sick carkcass, especially if it be fat, as ravens does to their prey. Their insteed of confirming and strenthening the poor folk to dy wt the greater alacrity, they besett them wt all the subtile mines imaginable to wring and suck money from them, telling them that they most leive a dozen or 2 of serviets to the poor Cordeliers; as many spoones to the godly Capuchines who are busie praying for your soul, and so something to all the rest; but to us to whom ye are so much beholden a goodly portion, which they repeit wery oft over; but all this tends as one the one hand to demonstrate their inexplebible greediness, so one the other to distraict the poor miser wt thoughts of this world and praejudice or defraudation of his air. [114] Apparently from [Greek: asustatos], meaning 'ill-compacted forces or elements.' Some things are very cheap their. We have bought a quarter a 100 of delicat peirs for a souse, which makes just a groat the hunder. Madame Daillé also bought very fat geese whiles for 18 souse, whiles 12, whiles 15, whiles for 20; which generally they blood their, reserving it very carefully and makes a kind of pottages wt it and bread which seimes to them very delicious but not so to me, tho' not out of the principle that the Apostles, Actes 15, discharged the gentils to eat blood or things strangled. That which they call their pottage differ exceidingly from ours, wt which they serve themselfes instead of our pottage, as also our broth, neither of which they know. It seems to diffir little from our soups when we make them wt loaves. Surely I fand it sensibly to be nourishing meat; and it could not be otherwise, since it consisted of the substance first of the bread, which wtout doute is wholsomer then ours, since they know not what barme is their, or at least they know not what use we make of it, to make our bread firme, yet their bread is as firme wtout it: next the substance of the flech, which usually they put in of 3 sorts, of lard of mouton, of beef, of each a little morsell; 3dly of herbes for seasoning, whiles keel, whiles cocombaes, whiles leeks, whiles minte or others. In my experience I fand it very loosing, for before I was weill accoustened wt it, if I chanced to sup any tyme any quantity of the pottage, I was sure of 2 or 3 stools afternoon wt it. The French air after the sun setting I learned in my oune experience to be much more dangerous then ours in Scotland, for being much more thinner and purer, its consequently more peircing; for even in August their, which is the hotest and warmest moneth, if at night efter 8 a cloak I had sitten doune in my linnens and 2 shirtes to read but halfe a hower or a hower (which I have done in Scotland the mides of vinter and not have gotten cold) after the day I was sure to feell I had gotten cold; and that by its ordinary symptomes a peine and throwing in my belly, & 4 or 5 stools; I played this to my selfe tuize or I observed; ever after if I had liked to give my selfe physick I had no more ado but to let my selfe get cold. They let their children suck long heir, usually 2 years; if weak 2 years and a halfe. Madame Daillé daughter suckt but 6 quatres, they think much to give 40 or 50 livres to nourses for fostering. Madame Daillé gave 15 crounes in cash and some old cloaths and sick things as they to hir that nursed her daughter, a peasants wife whom I saw. The gossips and commers[115] heir give nothing as they do in Scotland, save it may be a gift to the child. [115] Godmothers, _commères_. I have called my selfe to mind of a most curious portrait that we saw in Richeliew castle, the description wheirof by reason its so marvelously weill done sall not be amiss tho it comes in heir _postliminio_ to insert. On the walls theirfor of one of the chambers we saw is drawen at large the emblem of the deluge or universall floud, in one corner of it I discovered men wt a great deall of art swiming (for the world is drawen all over covered wt waters, the catarracts of the heavens are represented open, the water deschending _guttatim_ so lively that til a man recall himselfe and wiew it narrowly hel make a scrupule to approach the broad[116] for fear of being wett), and that wt a bensill[117] their course being directed to a mountain which they sy at a distance; which is also drawen. Painters skill heir hes bein such, that a man would almost fancy he hears the dine the water makes wt their strugling and striking both hands and feet to gaine that mountaine. Just besydes thies are laying dead folke wt their armes negligently stretched out, the furious wawes tossing them terribly, as a man would think, some of them laying on their back, some of them on their belly, some wheirof nothing is to be sein but their head and their arme raxed up above their head. Amongs those that are laying wt their face up may be observed great diversity of countenances, some wt their mouth wide open and their tongue hinging out, some glooring,[118] some girning,[119] some who had bein fierce and cruell during their life, leiving legible characters in their horrible and barbarous countenances. In another part of the broad is to be sein all sorts of creatures confusedly thorow other, notwtstanding of that naturell antipathy that is betuixt some of them, as the sheip and the wolf, the crocodile and Lizard, etc.; ther may we sy the wawes peele mel swallowing up wolfes and sheip, Lions and buls, and other sorts of beasts. Remove your eyes to another corner, and their yeel sy great tries torn up by the roots, and tost heir and their by the waves; also hie strong wales falling; also rich moveables, as brave cloaths and others, whiles above and whiles beneath; and go a litle wy farder yeel sie brave tower which at every puft of wind give a rock, the water busily undermining its foundation. A little way from that ye have to admiration, yea, to the moving of pity, draweu women wt their hair all hinging disorderly about their face, wt their barnes in their armes, many a mint[120] to get a clift of a craig to save themselfes and the child to, some of them looking wt frighted countenances to sy give the waves be drawing neir them. In a nother ye have a man making a great deall of work to win out, hees drawen hinging by the great tronc of a try. At his back is drawen another that claps him desperatly hard and fast by the foot, that if he win out he may be drawen out wt him. Its wonderfull to sy whow weill the sundry passions of thir 2, the anger of him who hes a grip of the trunck, and the trembling fear of him who hes his neighbour by the foot are expressed; and what strugling they make both, the one to shake the other loose of his gripes, the other to hold sicker, and this all done so weill that it occasions in the spectateurs as much greife in beholding it as they seim to have who are painted. Finaly, the painter hath not forgot to draw the ark it selfe floting on the waters. [116] Panel. [117] Strenuous effort. [118] Staring. [119] Grinning (like a child crying). [120] Mint, attempt. On a night falling in discours wt some 2 or 3 Frenchmen of Magick and things of that nature, I perceaved it was a thing wery frequent in France, tho' yet more frequent in Italy. They told me seweral stories of some that practized sorcery, for the most part preists who are strangely given to this curiosity. They told of one who lived at Chateleraut, who, when he pleased to recreat himselfe, would sit doune and sett his charmes a work, he made severalls, both men and women, go mother naked thorow the toune, some chanting and singing, others at every gutter they came to taking up the goupings[121] of filth and besmeiring themselfes wt it. He hath made some also leip on horseback wt their face to the horse taill, and take it in their teeth, and in this posture ride thorow all the toune. [121] Handfuls. Ware their not a Comoedian at Orleans who used to bring us billets when their ware any Comoedies to be acted, who offered for a croune to let us sy what my father and mother was doing at that instant, and that in a glasse, I made my selfe as wery angry at him, telling him that I desired not to know it by such means. On that he gott up the laughter, demanding if I thought he had it be ill means; for his oune part he sayd he never saw the Dewill. Not only is it usuall heir to show what folkes are doing tho ther be 1000 miles distant; but their[122] also that will bring any man or woman to ye if ye like, let them be in the popes Conclave at Rome; but incontrovertably its the Devill himselfe that appeires in this case. The tricks also of robbing the bride groomes of their faculty that they can do nothing to the wives is very ordinar heir; as also that of bewitching gentlewomen in causing them follow them lasciviously and wt sundry indecent gestures; and this they effectuat sometymes by a kind of pouder they have and mix in amongs hir wine; some tymes by getting a litle of hir hair, which they boill wt pestiferous herbs; whilk act when its parfaited the women who aught the hair will come strangely, let hir be the modestest woman in Europe, wheir the thing is doing, and do any thing the persones likes. [122] their = there are. Plumes are in wery great abondance heir, and that of many sorts. We have bein offered the quatrain, thats 26 of plumes, wery like that we call the whitecorne, tho' not so big, for 2 deniers or a double, thats for 8 penies the 100; and they sel them cheaper. Great is the diversity amongs peirs their. Mr. Daillé hath told me that at least theirs 700 several sorts of peirs that grows in France, al distinguasble be the tast. We ourselfes have sien great diversity. Theirs a wery delicious sort of poir they call the _poir de Rosette_, because in eating it ye seime as give ye ware smelling a rose. They have also among the best of the peirs _poir de Monsieur_, and _de Madame_. They have the _poir de piss_, the _poir blanchette_ (which comes wery neir our safron peer we have at home), and _trompe valet_, a excelent peir, so called because to look to ye would not think it worth anything, whence the valets or servants, who comes to seik good peirs to their masters, unless they be all the better versed, will not readily buy it, whence it cheats them. They distinguise their peires into _poirs de l'esté de l'automne_, and _de l'yver_, amongs whilk theirs some thats not eatable til pais or pasque. In the gazetts or news books (which every friday we get from the Fullions[123] or Bernardines at their Convent, such correspondence does the orders of the country keip wt thess at Paris), we heard newes passing at home. The place they bring it from they terme it Barwick, on the borders of Scotland. We heard that the 29 of May, our Soverains birth day, was solemly keipt by the Magistrates of Edinburgh and the wholle toune. At another tyme we heard of a act of our privy counsill, inhibiting all trafic whatsoever wt any of the places infected wt the plague. In another we heard of a breach some pirates made in on our Northren Iles, setting some houses on fire; on whilk our privy counsell by a act layd on a taxation on the kingdome, to be employed in the war against the Hollanders, ordaining it to be lifted wtin the 5 years coming. [123] Fullions, Feuillants, 'Nom de religieux réformés de l'ordre de Citeaux, appelés en France feuillants, et en Italie réformés de St. Bernard... Etym., Notre-Dame de Feuillans, devenue en 1573 le chef de la congrégation de la plus étroite observation de Citeaux ... en Latin, Beata Maria fuliensis, fulium dicta a nemore cognomine, aujourd'hui Bastide des Feuillants, Haute Garonne.'-- Littré, _Dict_. s.v. Tho the French are knowen and celebrated throwghout the world for the civility, especially to strangers, yet I thought wonderfull to perceive the inbreed antipathy they carry against the Spaniard. That I have heard it many a tyme, not only from Mr. Daillé, but from persons of more refined judgements then his, yea even from religious persones, that they had not no civility for a Spaniard, that not one of a 1000 of them is welcoome. I pressing whence this might come to passe that they so courteously receaving all sortes of strangers, be they Scots, English, Germans, Hollanders, or Italians, and that they had none of this courtoisie to spare for a Spaniard, they replied that it came to pass from the contrariety of their humeurs; that the French ware franck (whence they would derive the name of their nation), galliard, pleasant, and pliable to all company; the Spaniard quite contrary retired, austere, rigid, proud. And indeed their are something of truth in it; for who knows not the pride of the Castilian: if a Castilian then a Demigod. He thinks himselfe _ex meliore luto natus_ then the rest of the world is. Its a fine drollery to sie a Frenchman conterfit the Castilian as he marches on his streets of Castile wt his castilian bever cockt, his hand in his syde, his march and paw[124] speaking pride it selfe. Who knows not also that mortell feud that the Castilian carries to the Portugueze and the Portuegueze reciprocally to them, and whence this I beseich you if not from the conceit they have of themselfe. This minds me of a pretty story I have heard them tell of a Castilian who at Lisbon came into a widows chop to buy something. She was sitting wt her daughter; the lass observing his habit crys to her mother, do not sell him nothing, mother, hees a Castilian, the mother chiding her daughter replied, whow dare you call the honest man a Castilian; on that tenet they hold that a Castilian cannot be a honest man. I leive you to ghesse whether the daughters wipe or the mothers was tartest. [124] paw = _pas_. Howell (as I remember) in a letter (its in the first volume, letter 43) he writes from Lyons, he findes the 2 rivers on which that brave city (for its situation yeelding to none in Europe, not to London tho' on lovely Thames) standes on, to wit the Rhosne and the Sosne, to be a pretty embleme of the diversity thats betuixt the humeurs of thess 2 mighty nations (France and Spain), who deservedly may be termed the 2 axletrees or poles on which the Microcosme of Europe turnes. Its theirfor wery much in the concernement of the rest of Europe to hold their 2 poles at a even balance, lest the one chancing at lenth to wieght doune the other there be no resisting of him, and we find ourselfes wise behind the hand. Looking again on the Rhosne, which runes impetuously and wiolently, it mindes him of the French galliardness and lightness, or even inconstancy. Looking again on the Sosne, and finding it glid smoothly and calmly in its channel, its mindes him (he sayes) of the rigid gravity the Spaniard affected. And to speak the truth, this pride and selfe conceetedness is more legible in the Spaniard than in the French, yet if our experience abuse us not, we have discovered a great tincture of it in the French. That its not so palpable amongs them as in the Spaniard we impute to that naturall courtoisie and civility they are given to, that tempers it or hides it a little, being of the mind that if the Spaniard had a litle grain of the French pleasantness, the pride for which we tax them sould not be so apparent. Yet we discovered a beastly proud principle that we have observed the French from the hiest to the lowest (let him be never so base or so ignorant) to carry about wt them, to wit, that they are born to teach all the rest of the world knowledge and manners. What may be the mater and nutrix of this proud thought is not difficult to ghess; since wtout doubt its occasioned by the great confluence of strangers of all sorts (excepting only the Italian and Spaniard, who think they have to good breeding at home to come and seik it of the French) who are drawen wt the sweitness of the country, and the common civility of the inhabitants. Let this we have sayd of the French pass for a definition of him till we be able to give a better. About the beginning of September at Poictiers, we had the newes of a horrid murder that had bein perpetrat at Paris, on a Judge criminell by tuo desperat rascalls, who did it to revenge themselfes of him for a sentence of death he had passed against their brother for some crime he had committed. His wife also, as she came in to rescue hir husband, they pistoled. The assassinats ware taken and broken on the wheell. He left 5 million in money behind him, a terrible summe for a single privat man, speaking much the richness of Paris. The palais at Poictiers (which with us we call the session) raises the 1 Saturday of September, and sittes doune again at Martimess. We remember that in our observations at Orleans we marked that the violent beats heir procures terrible thunders and lightnening, and because they are several tymes of bad consequence, the thunder lighting sometymes on the houses, sometymes on the steeples and bells, levelling all to the ground, that they may evite the danger as much as they can they sett all the bells of the city on work gin goon.[125] [125] Ding dong. A man may speir at me what does the ringing of the bells to the thunder. Yes wery much; for its known that the thunder is partly occasioned by the thickness, grossness, impuritude, crassitude of the circumambient air wt which the thunder feides itselfe as its matter. Now Im sure if we can dissipate and discusse this thickness of the air which occasiones the thunder, we are wery fair for extinguishing the thunder itselfe according to the Axioma, _sublata causa tollitur effectus_, whilk maxime tho it holds not in thess effect which dependes not on the cause _in esse_ and _conservari_ but only in _fieri_: as _filius, pater quidem est eius causa; attamen eo sublato non tollitur filius quia nullo modo dependet filius a patre sive in esse sive in conservari: solum modo ab eo dependet ut est in fieri_. Yet my axiome is good in this present demonstration, since the thunder dependes on this grossenese of the air, not only in its _fieri_, but even in its _esse_ and _conservari_. But weill yeell say, let it be so, but what influence has the ringing of the bells to dissipat this grosseness: even wery much: for the sound and noice certainly is not a thing immateriall; ergo it most be corporeall: since theirfor wt the consent of the papists themselfes _duo corpora non possunt se penetrare aut esse in codem loco nuturaliter_, its consequentiall that the sound of the bells as it passes thorow the circumambient air to come to our ears and to pass thorow all the places wheir it extends its noice makes place for it selfe by making the air yeeld that stands in its way; whence it rarifies and purifies the air and by consequence disipates the crassities of the air, which occasions the thunder. That the noice thats conveyed to our ears is corporeall and material be it of bels or of canons is beyond controversy, since _sonus_ is _obiectum sensûs corpori, ut auditus: at objectum rei corporcae oportet esse corporeum: cum incorporea sub sensibus naturaliter non cadunt_. I adde _naturaliter_, because I know _super naturaliter in beatificá visione Deus quodammodo cadet sub sensibus ut glorificatus_, according to that of Jobs with thir same wery eyes sall I see my Redeimer: yea not only is _sonus quid materiale_, but further something much more grossely material then the objects of the rest of the senses, as for instance in the discharging of a canon being a distance looking on we would think it gives fire long before it gives the crack, tho in wery truth they be both in the same instant. The reason then whey we sie the fire before we hear the crack is because the _species Wisibiles_ that carries the fire to our eyes, tho material are exceeding spirituall and subtill and are for that soon conveyed to our sight: when the _Species Audibiles_ being more gross takes a pitty tyme to peragrate and passe over that distance that is betuixt us and the canon, or they can rendre them selfes to the organ of our hearing. But let us returne, we are informed that in Italy, wheir thunders are bothe more frequent and more dangerous then heir, they are wery carefull not only to cause ring all their bells, but also to shoot of their greatest cannons and peices of ordonnances and that to the effect mentioned. I am not ignorant but the Papists feignes and attributes a kind of wertue to the ringing of bells for the chassing away of all evill spirits if any place be hanted or frequented wt them. Yet this reason cannot have roome in our case, since ther are few so ignorant of the natural causes of thunder as to impute it to the raging of ill spirits in the air, tho the Mr. of Ogilvy at Orleans, who very wilfully whiles would maintain things he could not maintain, would not hear that a natural cause could be given of the thunder, but would impute it to evill spirits. I do not deny but the Devils wt Gods permission may occasion thunders and other tempests in the air, but what I aime at is this, they never occasion it so, but they make use of natural means; for who is ignorant but the Meteorologists gives and assignes all the 4 causes of it its efficient, its materiall, its formall and its finall. I cannot forget the effect I have sein the thunder produce in the papists. When they hear a clap coming they all wery religiously signe theyr forfronts and their breast wt the signe of the cross, in the wertue of which they are confident that clap can do them no scaith. Some we have sein run to their beads and their knees and mumble over their prayers, others away to the church and doune before the Altar and blaither anything that comes in their cheek. They have no thunders in the winter. Discoursing of the commodityes of sundry nations transported to France, their ordinar cxpression is, that they are beholden to Scotland for nothing but its herrings, which they count a wery grosse fish no wayes royall, as they speak, thats, not for a kings table. As for linnen, cloath and other commodities the kingdome affords, we have litle more of them then serves our oune necessity. I was 5 moneth in France before I saw a boyled or roasted egge. Their mouton is neither so great nor so good heir as its at home. The reason of which may be the litle roome they leive for pasturage in the most parts of France. They buy a leg heir for 8 souse, whiles 10 souse. On the 20 of August came about St. Bernard, Abbot of Clarevill,[126] his day, who founded the order of the Foullions[127] or Bernardines, whence we went that afternoon to their Convent and heard one of the order preach his panygyrick, but so constupatly that the auditory seweral tymes had much ado to keip themselfes from laughting. [126] Clairvaux. [127] See p. 47, note. On the 24 of the samen ditto was keipt the Aposle St. Bartholemewes day: the morrow, 25, St. Lowis, king of France, his day, a great feste, and in that city the festivall day of the marchands (for each calling hes its particular festivall day: as the taylors theirs, the sutors theirs, the websters thers, and so furth). Every trade as their day comes about makes a sort of civil procession thorow all the streets of the toune. Instead of carrieng crosses and crucifixes, according to the custome of the place, they carry, and that on the shoulders of 4 of the principal of the trade, a great farle of bread, seiming to differ nothing from the great bunes we use to bake wt currants all busked wt the fleurs that the seasone of the year affordes, and give in winter then wt any herbe to be found at the tyme; and this wt a sort of pomp, 4 or 5 drummers going before and as many pipers playing; the body of the trade coming behind. To returne, tho this day was the feste of the marchands, yet I observed they used not the ceremomy before specified, looking on it as dishonorable and below them. This day we went to the Jesuits Church and heard one of the learnedest of the Augustinians preach, but tediously. The nixt feste was the 8 of Septembre, _Nativité de nostre Dame_. On which I went and heard our Comoedian the Jesuit preach hir panegyrick and his oune Valedictory Sermon (for they preach 12 moneth about, and he had ended his tower[128]). He would have had us beleiving that she was cleansed from the very womb from that wery sin which all others are born wt, that at the moment of hir conception she receaved a immense degrie of grace infused in her. If he ware to draw the Horoscope of all others that are born he would decipher it thus, thou sal be born to misery, angoiss, trouble and vexation of spirit, which, on they wery first entering into this walley of tears, because thou cannot tell it wt they tongue thou sal signify by thy weiping. But if I ware, sayes he, to cast our charming Ladies Horoscope I would have ascertained then, that she was born for the exaltation of many, that she [was] born to bear the only sone of God, etc. [128] Tour, turn The sone he brought in as the embleme of Justice ever minding his father of his bloody death and sufferings, to the effect that he take vengeance for it even on thess that crucifies him afresh. The mother he brought on the stage as the embleme of mercy, crying imperiously, _jure matris_, I inhibite your justice, I explode your rigor, I discharge your severity. Let mercy alone triumph. Surely if this be not blasphemy I know not whats blasphemie. To make Christ only Justice fights diamettrally[129] wt the Aposle John, If any man hath sinned he has a Advocat with the father. Christ the righteous, he sayes, is not Christ minding his father continualy of this passion; its true, but whey; to incite God to wrath, sayes he. O wicked inference, horrid to come out of the mouth of any Christian save only a Jesuites. Does not the Scripture language cut thy throat, O prophane, which teaches us that Christ offereth up to his father his sufferings as a propitiatory sacrifice; and consequently to appaise, not to irritate. [129] Diametrically. The word is indistinctly written. His inference at lenth was thus: since the business is thus then, Messieurs, Mesdames, mon cher Auditoire, yeel do weill in all occassion to make your address to the Virgin, to invock hir, yea definitivly I assert that if any of you have any lawfull request if yeel but pray 30 dayes togither once every day to the Virgin ye sal wtout faill obtain what you desire. On whilk decision I suppose a man love infinitly a woman who is most averse from him, if he follow this rule he sall obtaine hir. But who sies not except thess that are voluntary blind whow rash, inconsiderat, and illgrounded thir decisions are, and principally that of invocking the Virgin, since wtout doubt its a injury to Christ, whom we beleive following the Scripture to be the only one Mediator betwixt God and Man. Also, I find Christ calling us to come to him, but never to his mother or to Peter or Paull. It will not be a unreasonable drollery whiles to counterfit our Regent, Mr. James,[130] if it be weill tymed, whow when he would have sein any of his scollers playing the Rogue he would take them asyde and fall to to admonish them thus. I think you have forgot ye are _sub ferula_, under the rod, ye most know that Im your Master not only to instruct you but to chastize you, and wt a ton[131] do ye ever think for to make a man, Sir; no, I promise you no. [He killed Kincairnes father by boyling the antimonian cup, which ought only to seep in.][132] _Inter bonos bene agier_.[133] When any plead a prate[134] and all denied it, I know the man, yet _neminem nominabo_, Honest Cicero hes learned me that lesson. [130] I have not discovered who Mr. James was. [131] 'Wt a ton' is possibly 'with a tone,' i.e. raising his voice. [132] Interlined. [133] _Agier_ for _agere_. [134] Played a trick. We cannot forgett also a note of a ministers (called Mr. Rob. Vedderburne) preaching related me by Robert Scot which happened besyde them. God will even come over the hil at the back of the kirk their, and cry wt a hy woice, Angel of the church of Maln[moon]sy, compeir; than Ile answer, Lord, behold thy servant what hes thou to say to him. Then God wil say, Wheir are the souls thou hest won by your ministery heir thir 17 years? He no wal what to answer to this, for, Sirs, I cannot promise God one of your souls: yet Ile say, behold my own Soul and my crooked Bessies (this was his daughter), and wil not this be a sad matter. Yet this was not so ill as Mr. John Elies note of a Minister was, who prayed for the success of the Kings navy both by sea and be land. The very beggers in France may teach folk thrift. Ye sall find verie few women beggers (except some that are ether not working stockings, or very old and weak) who wants[135] their rock in their bosome, spining very busily as they walk in the streets. [135] wants = have not. The French, notwtstanding all their civility, are horridly and furiously addicted to the cheating of strangers. If they know a man to be a stranger or they cause him not pay the double of what they sell it to others for, theyl rather not sell it at all, which whither it comes from a malitious humour or a greedy I cannot determine, yet I'm sure they play the fooll in it, for tho they think a stranger wil readily give them all they demand, or if he mint to go away that he'el come again; yet they are whiles mistaken. Many instances we could give of it in our oune experience, al whilk we sall bury at this tyme, mentioning only one of Patrick Humes, who the vinter he was at Poictiers, chancing to get the cold, went to buy some sugar candy. Demanding what they sold the unce of it for, they demanded 18 souse, at last came to 15, vould not bat a bottle;[136] wheirupon thinking it over dear he would have none of it, but coming back to Mr. Alex'rs he sent furth his man, directing him to that same wery chop, who brought him in that for 3 souse which they would not give him under 15. That story may pass in the company of one that understandes French, of the daughter who was sitting wt her mother at the fire, wt a great sigh cried, '_O que je foutcrois._ The mother spearing what sayes thou, she replied readily, _O que je souperois_. [136] Bate a bodle. On September 12 arrived heir 2 Englishmen from Orleans, who brought us large commendations from Mr. Ogilvie their, who desiring to sy the toune, I took them first up to the steeple of the place, which being both situat on a eminence and also hy of it selfe gave us a clear survey of the whole toune. We discovered a great heap of wacuities filled up wt gardens and wines, and the city seimed to us like a round hill, the top of it and all the sydes being filled wt houses. And to our wiew it seimed not to have many mo houses then what we had discovered at Orleans, for their we thought we saw heir one and their one dispersed. At Orleans we would think they lay all in a heap (lump).[137] From thence, not desiring but that they sould find the Scots as civil and obligding as any, we was at the paines to take them first to the church of Nostre Dame la grande, on the wall of which that regardes the place standes the statue of the Empereur Constantine, _a cheval_, wt a sword in his hand. From thence to Ste. Radegondes, wheir we showed them hir _tombeau_; from that to St. Croix, wheir we showed them the _empressa_ of Christs foot, of which we spake already; and from that to St. Peters, which we looked all on as a very large church, being 50 paces broad. [137] Interlined. In the afternoon we went to the Church of St. Hilaire, wheir at a distance we discovered the Scots walk; so called because when the Englishes ware beseiging the toune a Regiment of Scotsmen who ware aiding the French got that syde of the toune to garde and defend, who on some onset behaving themselfes gallantly the Captain got that great plot of ground which goes now under that name gifted him by the toune, who after mortified to a nunnery neir hand, who at present are in possession of it. The church we fand to smell every way of antiquity. Heir we saw first that miraculous stone (of which we also brought away some relicts) which if not touched has no smell, if rubed hard or stricken wt a key or any other thing, casteth a most pestilentious, intollerable smell, which we could not indure. We tried the thing and fand it so. The occasion and cause of this they relate wariously. Some sayes that the stone was a sepulchre stone, and under it was buried a wicked man that had led a ill life, whos body the Dewill came on a tyme and carried away; whence the stone ever stinks in that maner since. Others say that when the Church was a bigging, the Dewill appeared to one of the maisons, in the signe [shape][138] of a mulet and troubled him; wheirupon the maison complained to St. Hilaire the Bischop, who watched the nixt day wt the maison, and the Dewill appearing in that shape he caused take him and yoke him in a cart to draw stones to the bigging of the church. They gott him to draw patiently that great stone which we saw and which stinks so, but he got away and would draw no more. [138] Interlined. Nixt we saw St. Hilaires _berceau_, wheirin they report he lay, a great long peice of wood hollowed (for it wil hold a man and I had the curiosité to lay in it a while) halfe filled wt straw that they may lay the softer. To this the blinded papists attributes the vertue of recovering madmen or those that are besydes themselfes to their right wites, if they lay in it 9 dayes and 9 nights wt their handes bound, a priest saying a masse for them once every day. And indeed according to the beleife of this place it hath bein oft verified. The fellow that hes a care of thess that are brought hither told us of a Mademoisselle who was extraordinarly distracted and who was fully recovered by this means. Another of a gentleman who had gone mad for love to a gentlewoman whom he could not obtaine, and who being brought their in that tyme recovered his right wits as weill as ever he had them in his dayes. Its commonly called the _berceau de fols_; so that heir in their flitting they cannot anger or affront one another worse then to cast up that they most be rockt in St. Hilaires cradle, since its none but fools or madmen that are used so. The greatest man in the province of Poictou is the governour, who in all things representes the king their, save only that he hath not the power to pardon offenders or guilty persones. Tho a man of wast estat, to wit of 300,000 livres a year, yet he keips sick a low saile[139] that he wil not spend the thrid of his rent a year, only a pitty garde or 7 or 8 persons on foot going before his coach; and 4 or 5 lacquais behind; yea he sells vin, which heir is thought no disparadgement to no peir of France, since theirs a certain tym of the year that the King himselfe professes to sell win, and for that effect he causes at the Louwre hing out a bunch of ivy, the symbol of vin to be sold. [139] Lives so quietly. The King also playes notably weill on the drum, especially the keetle drumes, thinking it no disparagdement when he was a boy to go thorow Paris whils playing on the drum, whiles sounding the trumpet, that his subjects may sie whow weill hes wersed in all these warlike, brave, martiall excercises. The invention of the keetle drume we have from the Germans who makes great use of it. The father of this present King also, Lowis the 13, could exactly frame and make a gun, and much more a pistol, with all the appartenances of it, as also canons wt all other sort of Artillerie; for he was a great engineer. There are amongs the French nobility some great deall richer then any subject of our Kings; for the greatest subject of the King of Englands is the Duc of Ormond, or the Earle of Northumberland, nether of which tho hath above 30,000 pounds sterling, which make some 300,000 livres in french money, which is ordinar for a peir in France. The last of which, to wit, my Lord Northumberland, by reason of that great power and influence he hath in the north of England, his oune country, the parliament of England of old hath found it not a miss to discharge him the ever going their, and that for the avoiding and eviting of insurrectiones which, if he ware amongs them, he could at his pleasure raise. Surely this restraint neids not be tedious to him since he is confined in a beautiful prison, to wit, London; yea he may go thorow all the world save only Northumberland, he may come to Scotland whilkes benorth Northumberland be sea.[140] It may be it might be telling Scotland that by sick another act they layd a constrainct on that house of Huntly, the Cock of the north. If so, the French Jesuits sould not have such raison to boast (as we have heard them), and the papists sould not have so great footing in the north as they have. [140] I have not traced the authority for this statement. We most not forgett the drolleries we have had wt our host Mr. Daillé when I would have heard him at the _gardé robe_, to sport my selfe whiles, I would have come up upon him or he had bein weill begun and prayed him to make hast by reason I was exceedingly straitned when they would have bein no such thing, wheiron he would have raisen of the stooll or he had bein halfe done and up wt his breecks, it may be whiles wt something in them. In our soups, which we got once every day, and which we have descryved already, such was Madames frugality that the one halfe of it she usually made of whiter bread, and that was turned to my syde of the board, the other halfe or a better part she made of the braner, like our rye loaves, and that was for hir and hir husband. The bread ordinarly used heir they bake it in the forme of our great cheeses, some of them 12 pence, others 10 souse, others for 8. Thess for 10 souse are as big again as our 6 penie loaves, and some of them as fine. There comes no vine out of France to forreine country, save that which they brimstone a litle, other wise it could not keip on the sea, but it would spoil. Its true the wine works much of it out againe, yet this makes that wine much more unwholsome and heady then that we drink in the country wheir it growes at hand. We have very strick laws against the adulterating of wines, and I have heard the English confess that they wished they had the like, yet the most do this for keiping of it; yea their hardly wine in any cabaret of Paris that is otherwise. Hearing a bel of some convent ringing and ronging on a tyme in that same very faschion that we beginne our great or last bel to the preaching, I demanding what it meint, they told me it was for some person that was expiring, and that they cailed it _l'agonie_. That the custome was that any who ware at the point of death and neir departing they cause send to any religious house they please, not forgetting money, to ring a Agonie that all that hears, knowing what it means, to wit, that a brother or sister is departing, may help them wt their prayers, since then they may be steadable, which surely seimes to be wery laudable, and it nay be not amiss that it ware in custome wt us. The Church of England hath it, and on the ringing any peaple that are weill disposed they assemble themselfes in the Church to pray. In France also they ring upon the death of any person to show the hearers, called _le trespas_, that some persone is dead. The same they have in England, wt which we was beguiled that night we lay at Anick, for about 2 howers of the morning the toune bel ronging on the death of one Richard Charleton, I taking it to be the 5 howers bel we rose in hast, on wt our cloaths, and so got no more sleip that night. Their was nothing we could render Mr. Daillé pensive and melancholick so soon wt as to fall in discourse of Mr. Douglas. He hes told me his mind of him severall tymes, that he ever had a evill opinion of him; that he never heard him pray in his tyme; all 16 month he was wt him, he was not 3 or 4 tymes at Quatre Piquet [the church],[141] and when he went it was to mock; that he was a violent, passionate man; that he spak disdainefully of all persones; that he took the place of all the other Scotsmen, that he had no religion, wt a 100 sick like. [141] Interlined. Its in wery great use heir for the bridegroomes to give rich gifts to the brides, especially amongs thess of condition; as a purse wt a 100 pistols in it, and this she may dispose on as she pleaseth to put hir selfe bravely in the faschion against hir marriage. We have heard of a conseillers sone in Poictiers who gave in a burse 10000 livres in gold. Yet I am of the mind that he would not have bein content if she had wared all this on hir marriage cloaths and other things concerning it, as on bracelets and rings. The parents also of the parties usually gives the new married folk gifts as rich plenishing, silver work, and sicklike. In parties appealls heir from a inferior to a superior, if it appear that they ware justly condemned, and that they have wrongously and rashly appealed, they condeime them unto a fine called heir Amende, which the Judge temperes according to the ability of the persones and nature of the businesse: the fine its converted ether to the use of the poor or the repairing of the palais. The Jurisdiction of thess they call Consuls in France is to decide controversies arising betuixt marchand and marchand. Their power is such that their sentence is wtout appeall, and they may ordaine him whom they find in the wrong to execute the samen wtin the space of 24 howers, which give they feill to do they may incarcerate them. Thus J. Ogilvie at Orleans. Even the wery papists heir punisheth greivously the sine of blasphemy and horrid swearing. Mr. Daillé saw him selfe at Bordeaux a procureurs clerk for his incorrigibleness in his horrid swearing after many reproofes get his tongue boored thorow wt a hot iron. The present bischop of Poictiers is a reasonable, learned man, they say. On a tyme a preist came to gett collation from him, the bischop, according to the custome, demanding of him if he know Latin, if he had learned his Rhetorick, read his philosophy, studied the scooll Divinity and the Canon Law, etc., the preist replied _quau copois_,[142], which in the Dialect of bas Poictou (which differes from that they speak in Gascoigne, from that in Limosin, from that in Bretagne, tho all 4 be but bastard French) signifies _une peu_. The bischop thought it a very doulld[143] answer, and that he bit to be but a ignorant fellow. He begines to try him on some of them, but try him wheir he will he findes him better wersed then himselfe. Thus he dismissed him wt a ample commendation; and severall preists, efter hearing of this, when he demanded if they had studied sick and sick things, they ware sure to reply _cacopois_. He never examined them further, crying, go your wayes, go your wayes, they that answers _cacopois_ are weill qualified. [142] Perhaps _quelque peu_. [143] Stupid, from doule, a fool. We have sein sewerall English Books translated in French, as the Practise of Piety, the late kings [Greek: eikon basilikae], Sidneyes Arcadia, wt others. We have sein the plume whilk they dry and make the plumdamy[144] of. [144] Dried plum, prune. The habit of the Carmelites is just opposite to that of the Jacobines,[145] who goe wt a long white robe beneath and a black above. The Carmes wt a black beneath and a white above. The Augustines are all in black, the Fullions all in white. [145] Jacobins, Dominicans, so called from the church of St. Jacques in Paris, granted to the order, near which they built their convent. The convent gave its name to the club of the Jacobins at the French Revolution, which had its quarters there. Its very rare to sy any of the women religious, they are so keipt up, yet on a tyme as I was standing wt some others heir in the mouth of a litle lane their came furth 2 nunnes, in the name of the rest, wt a litle box demanding our charity. Each of us gave them something: the one of them was not a lass of 20 years. Mr. Daillé loves fisch dearly, and generally, I observe, that amongs 10 Frenchmen their sall be 9 that wil præfer fisch to flech, and thinks the one much more delicat to the pallate then the other. The fisch they make greatest cont of are that they call the sardine, which seimes to be our sandell, and which we saw first at Saumur, and that they call _le solle_, which differs not from our fluck[146] but seimes to be the same. The French termes it _le perdrix de la mer_, the patridge of the sea, because as the pertridge is the most delicious of birds, so it of fisches. Mr. Daillé and his wife perceaving that we cared not for any sort of fisches, after they would not have fisches once in the moneth. [146] Flounder. We cannot forget a story or 2 we have heard of Capuchines. On a tyme as a Capuchin, as he was travelling to a certain village a little about a dayes journy from Poictiers, he rencontred a gentlemen who was going to the same place, whence they went on thegither. On their way they came to a little brook, over which their was no dry passage, and which would take a man mid leg. The Capuchin could easily overcome this difficulty for, being bare legged, he had no more ado but to truce up his gowen and pass over; the gentleman could not wt such ease, whence the Capucyn offers to carry him over on his back. When he was in the mides of the burn the Capucyn demanded him if he had any mony on him. The man, thinking to gratify the Capucyn, replied that he had as much as would bear both their charges. Wheiron the Capucyn replied, If so, then, Sir, I can carry you no further, for by the institution of our order I can carry no mony, and wt that he did let him fall wt a plasch in the mides of the burn. _Quoeritur_, whither he would have spleeted[147] on the regular obedience of their order if he carried the man having mony on him wholly throw the water. [147] Split, spleeted on, departed from. At another tyme a Capucyn travelling all alone fand a pistoll laying on the way. On which arose a conflict betuixt the flesch and the spirit, that same man as a Capuchin and as another man. On the one hand he reasoned that for him to take it up it would be a mortell sine; on the other hand, that to leive it was a folly, since their was nobody their to testify against him. Yet he left it, and as he was a litle way from it the flesch prevailed, he returned and took it up, but be a miracle it turned to a serpent in his hand and bit him. Enquiring on a tyme at Madame Daillé and others whow the murders perpetrate by that fellow that lived at the port St. Lazare came to be discovered, I was informed that after he had committed these villanies on marchands and others for the space of 10 years and above, the house began to be hanted wt apparitions and spirits, whence be thought it was tyme for him to quatte it, so that he sould it for litle thing, and retired to the country himselfe. He that had bought the house amongs others reformations he was making on it, he was causing lay a underseller wt stone, whilk while they are digging to do, they find dead bodies, which breeds suspicion of the truthe, wheirupon they apprehend him who, after a fainte deniall, confesses it; and as they are carrieing him to Paris to receave condigne punishment, they not garding him weell, some sayes he put handes in himselfe, others that his complices in the crime, fearing that he might discover them, to prevent it they layd wait for him and made him away by the way, for dead folk speaks none. On the 22 of Septembre 1665 parted from this for Paris 4 of our society, Mr. Patrick, David and Alex'r Humes, wt Colinton. We 3 that ware left behind hired horses and put them the lenth of Bonnévette, 3 leagues from Poictiers (it was built by admiral Chabot[148] in Francis the firsts time, and he is designed in the story Admirall de Bonnivette). By this we bothe gratified our commorades and stanched our oune curiosity we had to sie that house. It's its fatality to stand unfinished; by reason of whilk together wt its lack of furniture it infinitly comes short of Richelieu. It may be it may yeeld nothing to it in its bastiments, for its all built of a brave stone, veill cut, which gives a lustre to the exterior. Yet we discovered the building many wayes irregular, as in its chimlies, 4 on the one side and but 3 on the other. That same irregularity was to found in the vindows. In that which theirs up of it theirs roome to lodge a king and his palace. Al the chambres are dismantled, wtout plenishing save only one in which we fand som wery weill done pictures, as the present Kings wt the Queens, Cardinal Mazarin's (who was a Sicilian, a hatmakers sone) and others. The thing we most noticed heir was a magnifick stair or trumpket most curiously done, and wt a great deall of artifice, wt great steps of cut stone, the lenth of which I measured and fand 20 foot. I saw also a very pretty spatious hall, which made us notice it, and particularly Colinton, who told me that Colinton hous had not a hall that was worth, whence he would take the pattern of that. We fand it thre score 12 foot long, and iust the halfe of it broad, thats to say 36. Above the chimly of the roome are written in a large broad the 10 commandements. [148] Philippe de Chabot, amiral de Brion. Guillaume Gouffier, amiral da Bonnivet, was another of Francis I's admirals. Heir we bade adieu to our commorads, they forward to Micbo that night, 2 leagues beyond Bonnevette, to morrow being to dine at Richelieu and lay at Loudun; we back to Poictiers. Its like that we on their intreaties had gone forward to Richelieu if we had bein weill monted; but seing us all 3 so ill monted it minded us of that profane, debaucht beschop Lesly, who the last tyme the bischops ware in Scotland (when Spootswood was Archbischop) was bischop of the Isles. He on a tyme riding with the King from Stirveling to Edinburgh he was wery ill monted, so that he did nothing but curse wtin him selfe all the way. A gentleman of the company coming up to him, and seing him wt a wery discontented, ill looking countenance demanded, Whow is it, whow goes it wt you, my Lord? He answered, Was not the Dewill a fooll man, was he not a fooll? The other demanding wheirin, he replied, If he had but sett Job on the horse I am on, he had cursed God to his face. Let any man read his thoughts from that. The richness of France is not much to be wondred at, since to lay asyde the great cities wt their trafficks, as Tours in silkes. Bordeaux wt Holland wares of all sorts, Marseilles wt all that the Levant affordes, etc., their is not such a pitty city in France which hath not its propre traffick as Partenay[149] in its stuffes, Chatteleraut in its oil of olives, its plumdamies and other commodities which, by its river of Vienne, it impartes to all places that standes on the Loier. [149] A town in Poitou. In France heir they know not that distinction our Civil Law makes betuixt Tutors and Curators, for they call all curators, of which tho they have a distinction, which agries weill wt the Civil Law, for these that are given to on wtin the age of 14 they call _curateurs au persones et biens_, which are really the Justinianean tutors who are given _principaliter ad tuendam personam pupilli_ and _consequenter tantum res_; thes that [are] given to them that are past their 14, but wtin their 25, they call _curateurs du causes_, consequentialy to that, _quod curatores certoe rei vel causoe dari possunt_, and wtout the auctority of thir the minors can do nothing, which tends any wayes to. the deteriorating their estat, as selling, woodsetting or any wayes alienating. What concernes the consent of parents in the marriage of their children, the French law ordaines that a man wtin the age of 28, a woman wtin 25 sall not have the power of disposing themselfes in marriage wtout the consent of their parents. If they be past this age, and their parents wil not yet dispose of them, then and in that case at the instance of the Judge, and his auctority interveening they may marry tho their parents oppose. When the friends of a pupil or minor meits to choose him a curator, by the law of France they are responsible to the pupill if ether the party nominat be unfitting, or behave himself fraudulently and do damnage, and be found to be not _solvendo_. At Bourges in Berry theirs no church of the religion, since, notwtstanding its a considerable toune, their are none of the religion their, but one family, consisting of a old woman and hir 2 daughters, both whores; the one of them on hir deathbed turned Catholick when Mr. Grahame was their. Its a very pleasant place they say, situate on a river just like the Clin heir; they call it the Endre. Heir taught the renouned Cuiacius,[150] whom they call their yet[151] but a drunken fellow. His daughter was the arrantest whore in Bourges. Its not above 4 or 5 years since she died, whence I coniecture she might be comed to good years or she died. [150] Jacques Cujas, eminent jurist, 1522-1590. [151] i.e. 'still speak of there as.' This university is famous for many others learned men, as Douell,[152] Hotoman,[153] Duarene,[154] Vulteius, etc. [152] Possibly Douat, author of _Une centaines d'anagrammes_. Paris, 1647. [153] Francois Hotman, celebrated jurist, 1524-1590. [154] Francois Duaren, jurist, 1509-1559. The posterity of the poor Waldenses are to be sein stil in Piedmont, Merindol, and the rest of Savoy, as also of the Albigenses in Carcasson, Beziers and other places of Narbon. They are never 10 years in quietness and eas wtout some persecution stirred against, whence they are so stript of all their goods and being that they are necessitate to implore almes of the protestant churches of France. About 12 years ago a contribution was gathered for them, which amounted to neir 400,000 livres, which was not ill. The principall trafick of Geneva is in all goldsmiths work. The best _montres_ of France are made their, so that in all places of France they demand Geneva _montres_, and strangers if they come to Geneva they buy usually 3 or 4 to distribute amongs their friends when their are at home. In the mor southren provences of France to my admiration I fand they had and eated upright[155] cheries 2 tymes of the year, end of May and beginning of June, a little after which they are ordinar wt ourselfes, and also again in Octobre. On a day at the beginning of that moneth at dinner Mr. Daillé profered to make me eat of novelties, wheiron he demanded me what fruits I eated in the beginning of the year. I replied I had eaten asparagus, cherries and strawberries. You sall eat of cherries yet, said he, and wt that we got a plate full of parfait cherries, tho they had not so natural a tast as the others, by reason of the cold season, and the want of warmness which the others enioy. They had bein but gathered that same day; they are a sort of bigaro;[156] when the others are ripe they are not yet flourished. [155] Perhaps standard. Compare 'upright bur,' Jamieson's _Dict_. [156] Bigarade is a bitter orange. This may mean a bitter cherry. The most usuall names that women are baptized wt heir be Elizabeth, Radegonde, Susanne, Marguerite and Madleine. The familiar denomination they give the Elizabeths is babie, thus they call J. Ogilvies daughter at Orleans; that for Marguerite is Gotton, thus they call Madame Daillé and hir litle daughter. Thess of the religion, usually gives ther daughters names out of the bible, as Sarah, Rachel, Leah, etc. They have also a way of deducing women names out of the mens, as from Charles, Charlotte, from Lowis, Lowisse, from Paul, Pauline, from Jean, Jeane. Thir be much more frequent amongs the baser sort then the gentility, just as it is wt the names of Bessie, Barbary, Alison and others wt us. A camel or Dromedary would be as much gazed on in France for strangers as they would be in Scotland. In Italy they have some, but few, for they are properly Asiatick wares, doing as much service to the Persian, Arabian and others Oriental nations acknowledging the great Tartar chain as the silly, dul asse and the strong, robust mule does to the French. The camel, according to report indeniable, because a tall, hy beast it most couch and lay doune on its forward feet to receave its burden, which if it find to heavy it wil not stir til they ease it of some of it; if it find it portable it recoveres its feet immediatly. There comes severall Jewes to France, especially as professing physick, in which usually they are profondly skilled. Mr. Daillé know on that turned protestant at Loudun. Another, a very learned man, who turned Catholik at Montpeliers, who a year after observing a great nombre of peaple that lived very devotly and honestly, that ioined not wt the Church of Rome, having informed himself of the protestants beleife, he became of the Religion, publishing a manifesto or Apology wheirin he professes the main thing whey he quites the Catholick religion for is because he can never liberate their tennet wheirby they teach that we most really and carnally eat our God in the Sacrament, from uniustice, absurdity and implication.[157] [157] Implication perhaps means confusion of ideas. The Laws of Spaine, as also of Portugal, strikes wery sore against Jewes that will not turne Christians, to wit, to burning them quick, which hath bein practicate sewerall tymes. On the other hand a Jew thats Christian if at Constantinople he is wery fair to be brunt also. Whence may be read Gods heavy judgement following that cursed nation. Yet Holland, that sink of all religions, permits them their synagogues and the publick excercise of their religion. They rigorously observe their sabath, our Saturdy, so that they make ready no meat on that day. If the wind sould blow of their hat they almost judge it a sin and a breach of the sabath to follow it and take it up. Their was a Jew wt us in the 1662 year of God that professed at least to turne Christian, and communicated in the Abby Church. We may deservedly say, _omnia sunt venalia Gallis_, for what art their not but its to be sold publickly. Not so much as rosted aples ready drest, _chastans_,[158] _poirs_, rosted geese cut unto its percels, but they are crieng publicklie, and really I looked upon it as a wery good custome, for he that ether cannot or wil not buy a whole goose he'el buy it may be a leg. [158] Chestnuts. The prices of their meats waries according to the tymes of the year. The ordinars of some we have already mentioned; for a capon they wil get whiles 20 sous, whiles but 14 or 12. Theirs a fellow also that goes wt a barrel of vinegar on his back, crieng it thorow the toune; another in that same posture fresch oil, others moustard, others wt a maille[159] to cleave wood, also poor women wt their asses loadened wt 2 barrels of water crying, _Il y a l'eau fresche_. At Paris its fellows that carryes 2 buckets tied to a ordinar punchion gir,[160] wtin which they march crieng _de l'eau_, which seimed a litle strange to us at first, we not crying it so at home. Also theirs to be heard women wt a great web of linnen on their shoulder, a el[161] wand in their hand, crieng their fine _toile_. Theirs also poor fellows that goes up and doune wt their hurle barrows in which they carrie their sharping stone to sharp axes or gullies to any bodie that employes him. [159] Mell, mallet, beetle. [160] Hoop. [161] An el. Their came a Charlatan or Mountebanck to Poictiers the Septembre we was their, whose foolies we went whiles to sie. The most part of the French Charletanes and Drogists when they come to a toune to gain that he get them themselfes[162] a better name, and that they may let the peaple sie that they are not cheaters as the world termes them, they go to all the Phisitians, Apothecaries and Chiurgions of the toune and proferes to drink any poison that they like to mix him, since he hath a antidote against any poison whatsoever. [162] The meaning is, with the object of getting for themselves. A mountebank at Montpeliers having made this overture, the potingers[163] most unnaturally and wickedly made him a poisonable potion stuffed wt sulfre, quick silver, a vicked thing they cal _l'eau forte_, and diverse others burning corrasive ingredients to drink. He being confident in his antidote, he would drink it and apply his antidote in the view of all the peaple upon the stage. He had not weill drunk it when by the strenth of the ingredients he sunk all most dead upon the scalfold or stage; he suddenly made his recourse to his antidote which he had in his hand; but all would not do, or halfe a hower it bereaved him of his life. [163] Apothecaries. Their are also some of them that by litle and litle assuesses themselfes to the drinking of poison, so that at lenth by a habit they are able to take a considerable draught wt out doing themselfes harme. Historians reportes this also to have bein practicate by Mithridates, King of Persia [Parthia].[164] [164] Interlined. Upon the founding of the Jesuits Colledge at la Fleche on made thir 2 very quick lines: Arcum dola dedit patribus Gallique sagittam, Quis funem autem quem meruere dabit.[165] [165] _Dola_ is a mistake for _dona_. The pentameter does not scan. It might be emended, _Dic mihi quis funem_. In many places of Germany their growes very good wines, in some none at all. The Rhenish wine which growes on the renouned Rhein, on which standes so many brave tounes, is weill enough knowen. They sometymes sell their wine by the weight as the livre or pound, etc., which may seime as strange as the cherries 2 tymes a year in France. Thus they ar necessitate to do in the winter, when it freizes so that they most break it wt great mattocks and axes, and sell it in the faschion we have named. Adultery, especially in the women, is wery vigorously punished in many places of France. In Poictou, as Mr. Daillé informed, they ignominously drag them after the taile of a mule thorow the streits, the hangman convoying them, then they sett them in the most publick part of the toune bound be a stake, wt their hands behind their backs, to be a obiect of mockery ther to all that pleases. They that commits any pitty roobery or theifte are whipt thorow the toune and stigmatized wt a hote iron marked wt the _flower de lis_ on the cheik or the shoulder. If any be taken after in that fault having the mark, theirs no mercy for them under hanging. Every province almost hath its sundry manner of torturing persones suspected for murder or even great crimes to extort from them a confession of the truth. At Paris the hangman takes a serviet, or whiles a wool cloath (which I remember Cleark in his Martyrologie discovering the Spanish Inquisition also mentioned), which he thrustes doune the throat of him as far as his wery heart, keiping to himselfe a grip of one end of the cloath, then zest wt violence pules furth the cloath al ful of blood, which cannot be but accompanied wt paine. Thus does the _burreau_ ay til he confesses. In Poictou the manner is wt bords of timber whilk they fasten as close as possibly can be both to the outsyde and insyde of his leg, then in betuixt the leg and the timber they caw in great wedges[166] from the knee doune to the wery foot, and that both in the outsyde and insyde, which so crusheth the leg that it makes it as thin and as broad as the loafe[167] of a mans hand. The blood ishues furth in great abondance. At Bourdeaux, the capital of Guienne, they have a boat full of oil, sulfre, pitch, resets, and other like combustible things, which they cause him draw on and hold it above a fire til his leg is almost all brunt to the bone, the sinews shrunk, his thigh also al stretched wt the flame. [166] The torture of the boot was apparently new to Lauder, but from his later MSS., it appears to have been in use in Scotland. [167] Loof, palm. On a tyme we went to sie the charlatan at the Marcher Vieux, who took occasion to show the spectators some vipers he had in a box wt scalves[168] in it, as also to refute that tradition delivered by so many, of the young vipers killing their mother in raving[l69] her belly to win furth, and that wt the horrid peine she suffers in the bringing furth her young she dies, which also I have heard Mr. Douglas--preaching out of the last of the Acts about that Viper that in the Ile of Malta (wheir they are a great more dangerous then any wheir else) cleave to Pauls hand--affirme at least as a thing reported by naturalists, the etymon of the Greek word [Greek: hechidnae] seiming to make for this opinion, since it comes [Greek: apo ton echein taen odunaen][170] _a habendo dolorem_. Yet he hath demonstrated the falshood of that opinion: for he showed a black viper also spooted wt yellow about the lenth of a mans armes, about the grossenesse of a great inkhorne wholly shappen like a ell[171] save only its head wt its tongue, which was iust like a fork wt 2 teeth, wheir its poison mainly resydes, that had brought furth 2 young ones that same very day, which he showed us wt some life in them just like 2 blew, long wormes that are wrinkled; and notwtstanding the mother was on life and no apparence of any rupture in hir belly. To let us sie whow litle he cared for it he took hir and wrapt it that she might not reach him wt hir head, and put it in his mouth and held it a litle space wt his lipes; which tho the common peaple looked on as a great attempt, yet surely it was nothing, since their is no part of the Viper poisonnable save only its head and its guts. As for the flech of it, any man may eat it wtout hazard, for the same very charlatan promised that ere we left the toune, having decapitated and disbowelled it, he sould eat the body of it before all that pleased to look on, which he might easily do. For as litle as he showed himself to care for it, yet he having irritate and angred it, either by his brizing[172] it in his mouth or by his unattentive handling of it (for such is the nature of the Viper that tho its poison be a great deall more subtil, percing and penetrating, and consequently in some account more dangerous then that of the hideous coleuure or serpent, yet it wil not readily sting or bit except they be exasperate, when the others neids no incitations, but wil pershew a man if they sy him), when he was not taking heid, it snatcht him by the finger, he hastily shakt it of on the stage and his finger fell a blooding. He was not ordinarly moved at this accident, telling us that it might endanger the losse of his finger. He first scarified the flech that was about the wound, then he caused spread some theriac (one of the rarest contrepoisons, made mainly of the flech of the Viper) on a cloath which he applied to it. About a halfe hower after he looked to it in our presenc, and his finger was also raisen in blay[173] blisters. He said he would blood himselfe above a hower, to the end to reid himselfe of any blood already poisoned and infected, lest by that circulation that the blood makes thorow al the body of a man once of the 24 howers the blood infected sould communicate itselfe to much. Also he sayd that he had rather bein stung in the leg, the thigh, or many other parts of the body then the finger, by reason of the great abondance of nerves their, and the sympathy the rest of the body keips wt them, which renders the cure more difficile. [168] Shelves. [169] Riving, tearing. [170] Mistake for [Greek: hodunaen]. The etymology is fanciful and incorrect. [171] Eel. [172] Squeezing. [173] Livid. This charlatan seimed to be very weill experimented. He had bein at Rome, which voyage is nothing in France, and thorow the best of France. The stone thats to be found in the head of the hie[174] toad is very medicinal and of great use their. They call a toad grappeau; a frog grenouille. [174] i.e. he. The papists looks very much on the 7 sone for the curing of the cruels;[175] severall of the protestants look on it as superstition. They come out of the fardest nooks of Germany, as also out of Spain itselfe, to the King of France to be cured of this: who touches wt thir wordes, which our King æquivalently uses, tho he gives no peice of Gold as our King does, _c'est le roy qui vous touche, c'est Dieu qui vous guerisse_. He hath a set tyme of the year for the doing of it. The day before he prepares himself by fasting and praying that his touche may be the more effectuall. The French could give me no reason of it but lookt on it as a gift of God. [175] Cruels, scrofula, king's evil. For the healing powers of the seventh son, compare Chambers's _Book of Days_, vol. i. p. 167; _Notes and Queries_, June 12, 1852. We can not forget a witty answer of a young English nobleman who was going to travel thorow France and Italie, whom his friends feared exceedingly that he would change his Religion, because he mocked at Religion. They thought that King James admonition to him might do much to keip him constant, wheiron they prayed the King to speak to him. Yes I shall do that, quoth he. When he came to take his leave of the King, King James began to admonish him that he would not change his Religion, for amongs many other inconveniences he would so render himselfe incapable of serving his King and his country, and of bearing any office theirin. He quickly replied, I wonder of your Majesty who is so wise a man that ye sould speak so; for ther is no a man in all France or Italy that wil change wt me tho I would give him a 100,000 livres aboot.[176] The King was wery weill satisfied wt this, telling his freinds that he was not feared he would change, but that he saw he would bring back all the Religion he carried afield wt him. [176] To boot. At the Marcher Vieux beyond our expectation we saw one of the fellows eat the Viper head and all. The master striped it as a man would do an elle, and clasped it sicker wtin a inch of its neck. The fellow took the head of it in his mouth and zest[177] in a instant bit it of its neck and over his throat wt it, rubing his throat griveously for fear that it stake their. He had great difficulty of getting it over, and wt the time it had bein in his mouth his head swalled as big as 2 heads. The master immediatly took a glasse halfe full of wine, in which he wrang the blood and bowells of the headlesse body of the Viper and caused him drink it also, breaking the glasse in which he drank it to peices on the stage, causing sweip all wery diligently away that it might do no harme. Immediatly on the fellows drinking of it he had ready a cup of contrepoison, which he caused him drink, then giving him a great weighty cloak about his shoulders he sent him to keip him selfe warme before a great fire. The reason of which was to contrepoise the cold nature of this poison as of all that poison thats to be found in living creatures, which killeth us by extinguishing our natural radical heat, which being chockt and consumed the soul can no more execute its offices in the body but most depart. [177] Just. In the more Meridional provinces of France, as Provence, Languedoc, etc., they have besydes the other ordinar Serpents also Scorpions, which, according as we may sie them painted, are just like a litle lobster, or rather the French _rivier Escrivises_. They carry their sting in their taile as the Viper does in its mouth. Tho it be more dangerous then any, yet it carries about wt it contrepoison, for one stung wt it hath no more ado, but to take that same that stung him, or any other if he can light on it, and bruise out its substance on the place wheir he is stung, and theirs no hazard. The potingers also extracts a oile which hath the same virtue. Its not amisse to point as it ware wt the finger at that drollery of the priest who preaching upon the gifts that the 3 wise men gave to Christ, alleadged the first gave _d'or, myrrthe_, the 2d _argent_. He could never find, tho he repeated it 20 tymes over, what the 3d gave wt the rest of its circumstances. As also of the soger that made good cheir to his Landlord; and of Grillet the Deviner who notwtstanding of his ignorance yet fortune favorized. The Frenchwomen thought strange to hear that our women theyle keip the house a moneth after they are lighter, when they come abroad on 8 dayes, and they are very weak that keips it a fortnight. Be the Lawes of France a slave, let him be a Turk, slave to a Venitien or Spaniard, etc. (such enemies they pretend themselfes to be to servitude, tho their be legible enough marks of it amongs them as in their _gens de main mort_,[178] etc.), no sooner sets he his foot on French ground but _ipso facto_ he is frie. Yet al strangers are not in the same condition their, nether brook they the same priveledges, for some they call Regnicolls,[179] others Aubiens[180] (_suivans les loix du Royaume_, bastards). The principal difference they make betuixt them is this, that if a Regnicoll such as the Scots are, chance to dy in France they have the power of making a testament and disposing of their goods as they please which they have their, whither they be moveable or immoveable. If they die not leiving a testament yet its no less secure, since their friends to the 10 degrie may take possession of them. Its not so wt the Aubiens who have no such right, but dieng, the King is their heir, unless it may be they be Aubiens naturalized, who then begin to have the priveledges of the others and the very natives. [178] Serfs under the feudal law, whose power of disposing of their property by will was restricted. [179] A legal term meaning native or naturalised citizens. [180] _Aubains_. Foreigners, whose succession fell to the Crown (_droit d'aubaine_). The Laws of France [this is the rigor][181] denies children begotten in Adultery or incest aliments, which tho harsh, condemning the innocent for the guilty, yet they think it may serve to deterre the parents from sick illicit commixtions. [181] Interlined. The Laws of France, as of the most of Europe (tho not practicate wt us), in thess case wheirin a man gets a woman wt child, ordains that ether he marry hir or that he pay hir tocher good, which is very rigorously execute in France. We can not forget a Anagram that one hes found in Cornelius Jansenius, to wit, _Calvini sensus in ore_. At Rome the Jews have a street assigned to them to live in a part. In France, especially in Montpeliers, wheir theirs seweralls, they dare not wear hats of that coleur that others wear, as black or gray, but ether rid or green or others, that all may know them from Christians. The King of France amongs other titles he assumes, he calls himselfe Abbot of St. Hilaire, to wit of that church that bears the name in Poictiers, whence its amongs the ænigma'es of France that the Abbot of St. Hilaire hath the right of laying with the Queen of France the 1 night of the marriage. Wheirupon when this king married the Infanta of Spaine, some of the French nobility told hir that the Abbot of St. Hilaire had the right of lying wt the Queen of France the first night, she replied that no Abbot sould lay wt hir but her prince. They pressing that the laws of France ware such, she answered she would have that law repealed. They telling hir the matter she said the Abbot sould be welcome. The most part of Them that sweips the chimelies in France we discovered to be litle boyes that come out of Savoy wt a long trie over the shoulders, crying shrilly thorow the cityes, _je vengeray vos cheminées haut en bas_. Its strange of thir litle stirrows,[182] let us or the Frenchmen menace them as we like we can never get them to say, _Vive le Roy de France_, but instead of it, ay _Vive la Reine de Sauoye_. [182] Lads, fellows. We was not a little amazed to sy them on dy making ready amongs other things to our diet upright poddock stools, which they call _potirons_ or _champignons_. They'le raise in a night. They grow in humid, moisty places as also wt us. They frie them in a pan wt butter, vinegar, salt, and spice. They eated of it greedily vondering that I eated not so heartily of them as they did; a man seimes iust to be eating of tender collops in eating them. But my praeiudice hindred me. To know the way of making their sups is not uunecessar since our curiosity may cause us make of them at home. Of this we spoke something already. Further he that hes made ready boiled flech, he hath no more ado but to take the broth or sodden water wt his flech and pour it above his cut doune loaves, which we proved to be very nourishing. If a man would make a good soup wtout flech, he would cut me doune some onions wt a lump of butter ether fresh or salt, which he sall frie in a pan, then pour in some vinaigre, then vater, then salt and spice, and let al boil together, then pour it on your sup, and I promise you a good sup. We cannot forget what good company we have had some winter nights at the fire syde, my host in the one noock, Madame in the other, and I in the mides, in the navel of the fire. He was of Chattelerault, she of Partenay: they would fallen to and miscalled one anothers country, reckning over al that might be said against the place wheir the other was born and what might be sayd for their oune. Whiles we had very great bickering wt good sport. They made me iudge to decide according to the relevancy of what I fand ether alledge. I usually held for Madame as the weaker syde. The most part of the French sauces they make wt vergus.[183] For geese they use no more but salt and water. [183] Verjuice. This consequence may be whiles used: Sy ye this, yes. Then ye are not blind: hear you that; R, yes. Then ye are not deaf. We saw a horse ruber wt a blew bonnet in Poictiers almost in the faschion of our Scotes ones; another we saw not, from our leiving of Berwick, til our returne to it againe. To be fully informed of the history of the brave General [Mareschal][184] Birron,[185] whom they had such difficulty to get headed; as of the possessed Convent of Religious vomen called _les diablesses de Loudun_; as of the burning of the preist as sorcerer and his arraigning his iudges before the tribunal of the Almighty to answer him wtin a few dayes, and all that sat upon his Azize their dying mad wtin som litle tyme; it wil not be amisse to informe ourselfe of them from the History of France. [184] Interlined. [185] Ch. de Gontant, Duc de Biron, Marshal of France, born 1562, died 1602. A favourite of Henry IV, but executed for treason against him. The French, tho the civilest of peaple, yet be seweral experiences we may find them the most barbarous. Vitnes besyde him who dwellt at Porte St. Lazare, another who brunt his mother because she would not let him ly wt hir, and was brunt quick himselfe at the place in Poictiers some 5 years ago. The French Law is that if a women be 7 years wtout hearing news of hir husband that she may marrie againe. We have marked the German language to have many words common wt our oune, as bread, drink, land, _Goet_ for our God; _rauber_; feeds,[186] _inimiticiæ_; march, _limites_; fich; flech; _heer_, sir; our man, _homo_; _weib_ for wife. [186] Feeds, _fehde_, feuds. We have eated puddings heir also that we call sauses, which they make most usualy of suine. We cannot passe over in silence the observation the naturalists hath of the Sow, that it hath its noble parts disposed in the same very sort they are found in a man, which may furnish us very great matter of humility, as also lead us to the consideration and sight of our bassesse, that in the disposall of our noble parts we differ nothing from that beast which we recknon amongs the filthiest. They make great use of it in France heir. In travelling we rencontred wery great heards. Tuo boyes studieing the grammar in the Jesuits Colledge at Poictiers, disputing before the regent on their Lesson, the on demanded, _Mater cuius generis est_: the other, knowing that the mother of the proponer had a wery ill name of a whore, replied wittily, _distinguo; da distinctionem_ then; replied, _si intelligas de meâ est faeminini; si de tua, est communis_ (in the same sort does Rosse tel it). The occasion of the founding that order of the Charterous in France is wery observable. About the tyme of the wars in the Low Contries their was a man at Paris that led one of the strictest, godliest and most blameless lifes that could be, so that he was in great reputation for his holinesse. He dies, his corps are carried to some church neir hand wheir a preist was to preach his funeral sermon the nixt day. A great concourse of peaple who know him al weill are gathered to heir, amongs other, lead by meer curiosity, comes a Soger (Bruno) who had served in the Low Country wars against the Spaniard and had led a very dissolute, prophane, godless life. The preist in his sermon begins to extol the person deceased and amongs other expressions he had that, that undoubtedly he was in paradis at the present. Upon this the dead man lifted himselfe up in his coffin and cried wt a loud voice, _justo dei iudicio citatus sum_: the peaple, the preist and al ware so terrified that they ran al out of the kirk, yet considering that he was a godly man and that it would be a sin to leive his corps unburied they meit the nixt day. They ware not weill meet, when he cried again, _iusto dei indicio indicatus sum_; when they came again the 3d tyme, at which he cried, _justo dei iudicio condemnatus sum_. This seimed wery strange to all, yet it produced no such effects in any as in our Soger, who was present al the tymes: it occasioned enexpressible disquietment of spirit, and he fell a raisoning, If such a man who was knowen to be of so blamlesse a conversation, who was so observant of al his dueties to God be dammed, hath not obtained mercy, oh what wil word of[187] the who hath lead so vicious a life, thinks thou that thou will be able to reach the height that that man wan to, no. At last considering that company and the tongue ware great occasions to sin he resolves to institute a order who sould have converse wt none and whom all discourse should be prohibited save onlie when they meet one another, thir 2 words _Memento Mori_. For this effect he fel in scrutiny of a place wheir they might be friest from company, and pitched upon a rocky, desolate, unhabited place not far from Grenoble (about 3 leagues), wheir they founded their first Convent, which bears the name of Chartrouse, and is to be sein at this day. Notwtstanding that their first institution bears that they stay far from the converse of men, yet (which also may be observed in the primitive Monachisme) they are creeping into the most frequented cities. Vitness their spatious Convent, neir halfe a mile about, at Paris. [187] What will become of thee. Compare German, _werden, geworden_. These of the Religion at Poictiers from St. Michel to Paise[188] they have no preaching the Sabath afternoone. [188] Pasch, Easter. Its not leasum for a man or woman of the Religion to marry wt a Papist; which if they do, they most come and make a publick confession of the fault and of the scandal they have given by such a marriage before the whole church. Experience hes learned them to use it wery sparingly and meekly, for when they would have put it in execution on som they have lost them, they choosing rather to turne papists then do it. We are not so strick in this point as they are; for wt us _licet sed non expedit cum non omne quod liceat honestum sit_. Out of the same fear of loosing them they use wery sparingly the dart of excommunication except against such as lives al the more scandoulously. The protestants in speaking of their Religion before papists they dare not terme it otherwise then _pretendue Reformée_. We have eaten panches[189] heir, which we finding drest in a different sort from ours but better, we informed ourselfe of it thus: they keip them not intier as we do, but cuts them into peices as big as a man wil take in his mouth at once, then puts them in a frying pan wt a considerable lump of butter, having fryed them a good space, they put in vineger, a litle salt and some spice; this is all. [189] Tripe. Their goosing irons they heat them not in the fire as we do; but hath a pretty device. They make the body of the iron a great deall thicker then ours, which is boss,[190] and which opens at the hand, which boss they fil wt charcoall, which heats the bottom of the iron, which besydes that its very cleanly, they can not burn themselfes so readily, since the hands not hot. [190] Hollow. They dry not out their linnens before the fire as we do: they have a broad thing iust like a babret[191] on which we bak the cakes, only its of brass very clear, its stands on 4 right hight feet. They take a choffer whiles of brass oftner lame,[192] filled wt charcoall, which they sett beneath the thing, on which they dry out their cloaths wery neitly. [191] Babret or bawbret or baikbred, kneading trough. [192] Earthenware. We think fit to subioine heir a ridle or 2. Your father got a child; your mother bore the same child and it was nether brother nor sister to you: yourselfe. A man married a woman which was so his wife, his daughter and his sister. A man got his mother wt child of a lasse, which by that means was both his sister and his daughter, whom he afterwards not knowing married. France thinkes it a good policy to height[193] the gold and silver of stranger nations, by that thinking to draw the money of al other nations to themselfes. This gives occasion to that book we have sein called _Declaration du Roy et nouveau reglement sur le faict des Monnoyes tant de France que estrangeres, donné par Lowis 13, an_ 1636. This book at least hath 500 several peices gold and silver currant in France. It specifies what each of them vieghs and what the King ordaines them to passe for. First he showes us a great nombre of French peices of gold wt their shapes what they carry on both sydes: then the gold of Navarre that passes: then the Spanish and of Flanders, as the ducat and pistoles: then of Portugal, as St. Estienne: then the English Rosenoble passing for 10 livres 10 souse: the noble Henry of England for 9 liv. 10 souse: English Angelot for 7 livres: the Scotes and English Jacobuses, which we call 14 pound peices, as also the Holland Ridres for 13 liv: that Scots peice thats wt 2 swords thorow other, crouned the whol is 13, the halfe one 6 liv. 10 souse (it hath, _salus populi est suprema lex)_: the new Jacobus, which we cal the 20 shiling sterling peice, 12 fra: then Flandres gold. The Scotes croune of gold, which hath on the one syde_ Maria D.G. Regina Scotorum_, passes for 4 livres 5 souse.[194] Then he hath the Popes money, which hath Peter and Paul on the one syde and the Keyes, the mitre and 3 flies on the other, some of it coined at Avignon, some at Rome. Then the gold of Bologne, Milan, Venise, Florence, Parma, Avoye, Dombes, Orange, Besançon, Ferrare, Lucque, Sienne, Genes, Savoye, Geneve, wt that about the syde, _lux oritur post tenebras_: Lorraine, Liege, Spinola, Mets, Frise, Gueldres, Hongry, L'empyre, Salbourg, Prusse, Provinces Unies wt this, _concordiâ res parvae crescunt_, Ferrare and then of Turquie, which is the best gold of them al, its so fine it wil ply like wax: the armes wtin consistes of a number of caracters iust like the Hebrew. Thus for the Gold. As to mony it hath al the several realles of the Spaniard, as of al the Dolles or Dollers of the Empire wt the silver of al their neighbouring nations. Our shiling[195] is ordained to passe for 11 souse. [193] Enhance the price of. [194] For a comparison of these values, see Introduction, p. xliii. [195] Here the shilling sterling. Goropius Becanus in hes _Origines Antwerpianae_ would wery gladly have the world beleive that the Cimbrick or Low Dutch is the first language of the world, that which was spoken in Paradise; finally that the Hebrew is but a compond ishue of it because the Hebrew seimes to borrow some phrases and words of it when in the interim[196] it borrows of none. This he layes doune for a fondement and as in confesso, which we stiffly and on good ground denieng, al his arguments wil be found to split on the sophisme _petitionis principii_. [196] When in fact. So again p. 85. The ground upon which the Phrygians vendicats their langage for the anciennest is not worth refuting, to wit that these 2 Children that Psammeticus King of Egypt caused expose so that they never hard the woice of man: the first thing ever they cried was _bec_, which in the Phrygian language, as also in old Low Dutch (so that we have to do wt Goropius heir also, who thinks this to make mutch to his cause) signifies bread, is not worth refuting, since they might ether light on that word by chance, or they had learned it from the baying of the sheip wt whom they had conversed. To abstract from the Antiquitie of tongues, the most eloquent language at present is the French, which gets such acceptance every wheir and relishes so weill in eaches pallat that its almost universal. This it ounes to its _beauxs esprits_, who hath reformed it in such a faschion that it miskeens the garbe it had 50 or 60 years ago, witnesse _l'Historie du Serre_ (_francion_),[197] Montaign'es Essayes and du Barta'es Weeks,[198] who wt others have written marvelously weill in the language of their tyme, but at present is found no ways smooth nor agriable. We have sein the works of Du Bartas, which, tho in langage at present ancient, is marvelously weill exprest, large better than his translator Joseph Sylvester hath done. Amongs his works their was one which I fancied exceidingly, _La Lepanthe de Jacques 6, Roy d'Ecosse_, which he tornes in French, containing a narration of that bloody wictory the Christians gained over the Turk, Octobre 1571, the year before the massacre at Paris, on the Lepanto, which Howel in his History of Venise describes at large. He speaks wt infinite respect of our King, calling him among other stiles _Phoenix Ecossois_. [197] _Francion_ interlined. _Histoire Comique de Francion_, 1623-67. Sorel mentioned again p. 104. For de Serre, see same page. I thought at first that here Serre might be Sieur, but it is distinctly written, therefore perhaps _Francion_ is interlined by mistake. The reference is to an early writer, De Serres died in 1598. Sorel's _Francion_ was published in 1623. [198] G. de Saluste, sieur du Bartas, 1544-1590, religious poet. His _Divine Weeks_ were translated by Joshua Sylvester. To returne to our French language, not wtout ground do we estime it the Elegantest tongue. We have bein whiles amazed to sy [hear][199] whow copiously and richly the poor peasants in their meiting on another would expresse themselfes and compliment, their wery language bearing them to it; so that a man might have sein more civility in their expressions (as to their gesture its usually not wery seimly) then may be fund inthe first compliments on a rencontre betuixt 2 Scotes Gentlemen tolerably weil breed. Further in these that be ordinar gentlewomen only, theirs more breeding to be sein then in some of our Contesses in Scotland. For their frinesse[200] ennemy to a retired sullen nature they are commended be all; none wt whom a person may move easily and sooner make his acquaintance then wt them, and yet as they say wery difficult to board; the Englishwomen being plat contrary. They wil dance wt him, theyle laugh and sport wt him, and use al innocent freedome imaginable, and this rather wt strangers then their oune....[201] [199] Interlined. [200] Freeness. [201] Four lines erased in MS. This much precisely for the French mony (only its not to be forgotten that no goldsmith dare melt any propre French mony under the pain of hanging), their langage, and their women: of the men we touched something already in a comparison of them wt the Spaniard. I have caused Madame Daillé some vinter nights sit doune and tell me tales, which I fand of the same very stuffe wt our oune, beginning wt that usually _Il y avoit un Roy et une Reine_, etc., only instead of our red dracons and giants they have lougarous or war-woophs.[202] She told me on a tyme the tale or conte of daupht Jock wt his _sotteries_, iust as we have it in Scotland. We have laughten no litle at some. [202] Loups-garou or were-wolves, We saw the greatest aple we ever saw, which we had the curiosity to measure, to measure about and fand it 18 large inches. The gourds are monstrous great heir: we have sein them greater then any cannon bullet ever we saw. We have eaten cormes[203] heir, which is a very poor fruit, tho the peasants makes a drink of it they call cormet. In Octobre is the tyme of their roots, as Riphets, tho they eat of them al summer throw, neips and passeneips.[204] [203] Sorb apples. [204] Parsnips. Let us mark the reason whey the Pope permits bordel houses at Rome, and then let us sie who can liberat it from clashing immediatly wt the Aposles rule, Romans 3, v. 8. O. sayes the Pope, the toleration of stues in this place is the occasion of wery much good, and cuts short the occasion of wery mutch evil, for if men, especially the Italian, who, besydes his natural genius to Venery, is poussed by the heat of the country had not vomen at their command to stanch them, its to be feared that they would betake themselfes to Sodomy (for which stands the Apology of the Archbischop of Casa at this day), Adultery, and sick like illicit commixtions, since even notwtstanding of this licence we grant to hinder them from the other, (for _ex duabus malis minus est eligendum_), we sie some stil perpetrating the other. O brave, but since we sould not do evil that good sould come theirof, either let us say this praetext to be false and vicket, or the Aposles rule to be erroneous. Nixt if ye do it on so good a account, whence comes it that the whores most buy their licence by a 100,000 livres a year they pay to your exchequer, whey have they not simply their liberty since its a act, as ye say, of so good consequence? The ancient inhabitants of Rome at that tyme when it became of Pagan Christian seimes to me much viser then our reformers under Knox when we past from Papisme to Protestantisme. They did not demolish the Heathen Idol temples, as we furiously did Christian, but converted them to Christian temples, amongs others witness the stately temple dedicat to the goddess Fortune, much respected by the Romans, at present a church. Yea the Italians boasts that they have cheated, robbed the Devil in converting that hous which was consecrat for his service unto the service of the true God. But all that heirs of our act laughts at it as madness. Theirs a Scots Colledge at Rome. I find that conclusion the Duke of Burgundy tried on a peasant, whom he fand in a deip sleip in the fields as he returned from the hunting on a tyme, wery good. On a tyme we fel a discoursing of those that are given to riseng in their sleip and do things, whiles more exactly then give they ware waking. I cannot forget on drollery. 2 gentlemen fell to lodge to gither at one innes, the one began to plead for a bed by himselfe, since the other would find him a wery ill bedfellow, for he was so much given to hunting, that in the night he used to rise and cry up and doune the chambre hobois, hobois, as on his dog; the other thought Il'e sy if I can put you from that, wheiron he feigned he was iust of that temper in rising thorow his sleip, and that he was so much given to his horses that he thought he was dressing and speaking to them. Since it was so[205] they lay both together; about midnight the one rises in his sleip begines to cry on his doges; the other had brought a good whip to the bed wt him, makes himselfe to rise as throw his sleip, fals to and whipes the other throw the house like a companion,[206] whiles crying, Up, brouny; whiles, Sie the iade it wil no stir. The other wakened son enough, crying for mercy, for he was not a horse; the other, after he had whipt him soundly, made himselfe to waken, wheiron the other fel a railing on him; the other excused himselfe wery fairly, since he thought he was whiping his horses. In the interim the other never rose to cry on his doges again. [205] Interlined. [206] Low fellow. France in such abondance produces win, that seweral years if ye'el bring 2 punchions to the field as great as ye like, live them the on and they'le let you carry as many graps wt you as the other wil hold. They have in France the _chat sauuage_; the otter, which is excellent furring; the Regnard, the Wolfe. In the mountaines of Dauphiné theirs both _ours_ and _sangliers_, bear and boor. Their doges are generally not so good as ours. Yet their a toune in Bretagne which is garded by its dogs, which all the day ower they have chaned, under night they loose, who compasses the toune al the night ower, so that if either horse or man approach the city, they are in hazard to be torn in peices. The wolfes are so destructive to the sheip heir that if a man kill a wolfe and take its head and its taille and carry it thorow the country willages and little borrowes, the peasants as a reward will give him som egges, some cheese, some milk, some wooll, according as they have it. They have also many stratagemes to take the wolfe. Amongs others this: they dig a wery dip pit, wheir they know a wolfe hantes; they cover it with faill,[207] fastens a goose some wery quick, which by its crying attracks the wolfe who coming to prey on the goose, zest[208] plumpes he in their, and they fell him their on the morning. [207] Turf. [208] Just. We have sein that witty satyre that Howel has about the end of his Venitian History in French. The French Ministers of the Religion are exceedingly given to publish their sermons, in that like to the English. Vitnesse Daille'es sermons; Jean Sauvage, Ministre at Bergerac, betuixt Limosin (wheir they eat so much bread when they can get it) and Perigord, dedicated to Mr. de la Force, living at present their, Mareschal de France, father of Mareschal Turaines lady: wt diverses others we have sein. We have sein a catechisme of Mr. Drelincourt which we fancied exceedingly. The halfe of France wt its revenues belongs to the Ecclesiasticks, yea, the bueatifullest and the goodliest places. To confine our selfes wtin Poictiers, the rents of whosse convents, men and women togither, wil make above six 100 thousand livers a years, besydes what the bischop hath, to wit, 80,000 livres a year. The Benedictines, a wery rich order as we have marked, have 30,000 livres in rent; the Feuillans[209] 20,000; besydes what the Jacobins, Cordeliers, Minims, thess de la Charité, Capucyns, Augustins, the Chanoines of Ste. Croix, St. Radegonde, St. Peter, the cathedral of Poictiers, Notre Dame la grande, St. Hilaires, wt other men and al the women religious, have, being put togither wil make good my proposition. [209 1] See p. 47, *note. We had almost forgot the Jesuits, who, above 50 years ago, entred Poictiers wt their staffes in their hand, not a 100 livres amongs them all, since have wt their crafty dealings so augmented their Convent that they have 40,000 livres standing rent. Whow they come be this is not uneasy to dewine, we toucht it a litle already. If any fat carcasse be on his deathbed, they are sure to be their, undermine him wt all the slights imaginable, wring donations in their faveurs from them, of which we know and have heard seweral exemples: vitness the Abby at Bourdeaux, whom they undermined, and he subtilly getting a grip of his testaments tore it and so revocked his will. Also that testament so agitate by the Jesuits and the sone of the deceased who was debauched before the Duke of Parme, the Jesuits relaying on thesse words that the fathers Jesuits sould be his heirs, providing that they gave his sone _ce qu'ils voudront_, what they would: the Duk turning them against the Jesuits exponed them, that what they would have themselfes that that sould be given to his sone. Diverse others we have heard. The lawes of France wil hardly permit the father to disinherit his sone, unless he can prove him guilty of some hy ingratitude and disobedience against him, or that he hath attempted something against the life of his father; that he is debaucht he cannot. The custome among the great ones of the most part of the world is that they cause any other of quality that comes to sy them be conveyed thorow their stables to sy their horses, as also causeth them sy their doges, their haucks, ther gardens. Particularly in Spaine the custome is such, that they take special heed what horse or what dog ye praise most, and if ye change[210] to say, O their is a brave horse, the horse wil be as soon at your lodging in a gift as your selfe wil be. [210] Chance. We happened to discourse on night of fools and madmen, of their several sortes, of the occasions, as love, study, vin, hypocondriack, melancholly, etc. They told me of one at Marseilles who beleifed himselfe to be the greatest King of the world, that all the shipes of the harbour, together wt their waires, ware his; of another who really beleifeth himselfe to be made of glasse, cryed horridly if any but approach him for fear they sould break him. His friends, at the advice of some Doctor, took a great sand glasse and brook it on tyme on his head as he was raging in that fit: seeing the peices of glasse falling doune at his feet he cryed more hideously then ever, that he was broken to peices, that his head was broken. After he had calmed a litle they desyred his to consider that the glasse was broken, but that he was not broken; and consequently that he was not glasse. On this remonstrance he came to himselfe, and confessed he was not glasse. The same was practicat on a nother who beleived himselfe to be lame. We cannot forgett a story that happened at the bedlam at Paris. 2 gentlemen out of curiosity coming to sie the madmen, the Keeper of the Hospital be reason of some businesse he had could not go alongs wt them, whence he ordains one of the fools that was besyde to go alongs wt them, and show them al the madmen wt the occasions and nature of their madnese. The fool carried them thorow them all, showing that their was on mad for love, their another wt to much study, a third besottedly fool wt drunkness, a 4th Hypocondriack, and so wt all the rest marvelous pertinently. At last as they ware going out he sayd: Gentlemen, I beleife ye wondred at the folly of many ye have sein; but theirs a fool (pointing at him) whom ye'el admire more then them all, that poor fellow beleifes him selfe to be the beloved Aposle St. John, but to let you sie that he is not St. John, and whow false his beleife is, I that am St. Piter (for he chiefly held himselfe to be St. Peter) who keips the gates of heaven never opend the door to let him in yet. The gentlemen thought wery strange to find him so deiply fooll when they reflected whow pertinently he had discoursed to them before and not discovered the least foly. They ware informed that he was once a doctor in the colledge of Sorbonne, and that to much study had reduced him to that. It would appear he hes studied to profundly Peters primacy above the rest of the Aposles. The Protestant Churches throw Poictou keip a solemne fast 28 of Octobre, wt the Papists St. Simons day. The occasion was to deprecate Gods wrath which he showed he had conceived by reason he threathned them in sewerall places wt Scarcity of his word and removing of his candlestick, since sewerall temples ware throwen doune, as that at Partenay, etc. For that effect they sent 4 of the Religion, the eminentest amongs them in the Province to the King wt a supplication. We had 3 preachings. We eated no flech that day for fear of giving occasion to the Papists to mock: we suped on a soup, fried egges, roosted chaistains, and apples wt peirs. Sewerall schollers have made paction wt the Dewil, under the Proviso he would render them wery learned, which hath bein discovered. One at Tholouse gave his promise to the Dewil, which having confessed, they resolve to procede iudicially against him. Since the Dewil loves not iustic, they send a messenger to the place wheir they made the pact to cite him to compeir and answer. He not compairing they declaire him contumacious; and as they procede to condemn him as guilty, behold a horrid bruit about the hous and the obligation the lad had given him droops of the rigging[211] amongs the mids of the auditors. We fand the story called _funeste resemblance_ not il of the scholler in Lipswick University, who having killed on of his companions was put to flie, wheiron after a long peregrinatione he came to Coloigne, wheir to his misfortune was a young man whom he resembled so neir that theirs no man but he would take on for the other. This young man had ravished just at that same tyme a gentlewoman of great condition: now the Lawes of Germany, as also of France, permits to pershue a _Ravisseiur_, tho the women consent, if her parents contradict, criminelly for his life. On this our scholler Proclus is slain in the streets for him; together with what followes. [211] Rooftree. Thorow all Languedoc and Provence the olive tries is as common as the walnuts in Poictou: oranges thorow much of France and in seweral places China oranges. Lentils, the seeds rise and mile[212] growes abondantly towards Saumer: the Papists finds them wery delicate in caresme or Lent. Its wonderful to sie what some few degries laying neerer the sun fertilizes a country. [212] Mil, millet. France is a country that produceth abondantly all that the heart of man can desire, only they are obligded to fetch their spices (tho they furnish other countries wt saffran which growes in seweral places of Poictou, costes 15 livres the pound at the cheapest) from Arabia, their sugar from America and the Barbado Islands: yet wtout ether of the tuo they could live wery weill. A man may live 10 years in France or he sy a French man drink their oune Kings health. Amongs on another they make not a boast to call him[213] _bougre, coquin, frippon_, etc. I have sein them in mockery drink to the King of Frances coachhorses health. [213] _i. e_. think nothing of calling him. The plumdamy, heir prunecuite,[214] they dry so in a furnace. [214] Prune, dried plum. About the end of Octobre the peasants brings in their fruits to Poictiers to sel, especially their Apples, and that in loadened chariots. The beggar wifes and stirrows[215] ware sure to be their, piking them furth in neiwfulles[216] on all sydes. I hav sein the peasents and them fall be ears thegither, the lads wt great apples would have given him sick a slap on the face that the cowll[217] would have bein almost like to greet; yet wt his rung[218] he would have given them a sicker neck herring[219] over the shoulders. I am sure that the halfe of them was stollen from many of them or they got them sold. [215] Lads, boys. [216] Handfuls. [217] Fellow. See Jamieson's _Dict_, s.v. 'Coulie.' [218] Staff. [219] 'A smart wipe.' I have not traced the expression 'neck herring.' When we have had occasion to tel the Frenchman what our Adwocats would get at a consultation, 10,20 crounes, whiles they could not but look on it as a abuse, and think that our Justice was wery badly regulate and constitute. Thorow France a Adwocat dare take no more than a _quartescus_[220] for a consultation, but for that he multiplies them; for a psisitians advice as much. Surely if it be enquired whose ablest to do it, France by 20 degries might be more prodigal this way then we are; but their are wiser. Theris above 200 Adwocats at Poictiers. Of these that gets not employment they say, he never lost a cause, whey, because he never plaid one. Also, that theirs not good intelligence betuixt the Jugde and him, whey, because they do not speak togither. [220] Quart d'ecu, a silver coin, quarter of an écu. See Introduction, p. xlii. The cardecue was a common coin in Scotland. As to the privilege of primogeniture in France its thus, that the eldest carries away 2 parts of thrie: as, for instance, the father is a man of 15,000 livres a year, the eldest hath 10,000, the other 5000 goes amongs the cadets. Al the Capital tounes of provinces of France are frie from Taille.[221] [221] A tax on persons not noble or ecclesiastic or exempted. The wood cannot be but wholesomer to dresse meat wt then our coall: also they impute the oftner contagions that happens in Brittain to the smook of our coall, which grossens and thickens et,[222] by consequence infectes the air, their wood smooking wery little. [222] For 'it.' The French cryes out against the wanity of our King who most be served by his subjects on their knees, since that the knees sould be keipt to God alone; as also their King more absolute then [he] tho not served so. Yea some have bein so impudent as to impute (count)[223] the murder of our late King (which 1000 tymes hath bein casten up to me) as a iust iudgement of God on them for their pride. I cannot forget whow satyrically they have told this, saying that the peaple of great Britain keip their Kings at their beck, at their pleasure not only to bereave them of their croune but also of their life. I endewored to show them that they understood not things aright, that the same had bein practicat in France on Henry the 4t: the cases are not indeed alike, since our King was brought to a Schaffold, the other slain be a Assasin, Ravelliak, and regretted. To make the case iump the better, I remitted them to ther History to sie wt what publick consent Henry 3d was slain be Clement the Jacobine, yet heir their was no iudiciall procedure as against our King. Whence I had recourse to Chilperick, whom the peaple, tho legittime heir, first deposed then cowed him, and thrust him in a Monastry surrogating Pepin his brother in his roome. This wexed them, they could never answer this sufficiently. [223] Interlined. Sewerall tymes in France persones have suffered because they had discovered some plot or conspiracy against the King or estat and could not prove it. The Law is the same wt us, tho it seimes to carry injustice. On all hands I am in danger: if I do not reveale it I am aequally guilty of the treason as the actors are; if I rewealle it, I am immediatly made prisoner, tortured to show all I know of it, put to prove what I say, in which if I failly I lose my life. What can a man do when he have no proofes? He most tho' reveall it and consequently lose his life; since after the truth sal appear and he sal be held be all to have died gloriously as a weill wisher to his country. Its was strange of Cardinal Richelieu who know[224] all things that past thorow France as if he had bein present, and 2 of the most intimate sould not have spoken ill of him at Poictiers but he sould have knowen it or 4 dayes at Paris. Some imputed it to a familiar spirit he had, others to his spies he had every wheir. He was _toute en toute_ in France in his tyme. [224] Lauder's way of spelling knew. Compare p. 98, slow for slew. The French mock at our sweit sauses and sugared sallades. Their salt is a great deall better and more sawory then ours is. That which we parfait be the fire, which cannot but in some measure consume the strenth of its savorinesse, the sun denieng us it, they parfait be the sun. In Bearn or Navarre they make it be the fire as we do; but they make more cont of that which comes from the Rochel, which the Hollanders, Dans, and others carries in abondance then of their. On the place wheir they make it its sold for a sous marky[225] la livre, which costs at Poictiers 20 sous. In 2 heurs tyme the sun will converte a great ditch full of sea water unto upright salt: that they showle out, fills it again, and so in 3 moneth, May, Juin, July, they make more salt then the fire maks in 2 years in Scotland: and wt lesse cost and lesse pain. That our salt is whitter, its the effect of the fire, since they could render theirs as white but it sould lose so werie much of its savory. Their is a ile neir to that of St Christople which hath montaines of Salt. The sea casts in the water on the dry land and the sun convertes it immediatly, which beats their so violently that no corn can grow; it rises but its brunt or it come to the head. The sugar growes marvelously weill in it. [225] _Sou marqué_. Copper coin worth fifteen deniers. That was the value of the _sou parisis_. The _sou tournois_ was worth twelve deniers. The day before great fests, as _les Roys_[226] _Toussaints_, etc., their fellows that wt white surplices and a pigful[227] of holy water wt a spung in it goes thorow al the Catholick houses be-sprinkling the persons as also the house, and so sanctifieng them that the Dewil dare not enter their; passing by the Protestants houses as infected; or rather, as the Angel who smote the first born of the Egyptians past the Israelits. At _Toussaints_ al are in ther best cloaths. [226] Epiphany. [227] Jarful. Of the fal of our first parents its enquired what might have happened in the case of the women alone sould have fallen, the man keiping his integrity: wheither the children would have bein culpable wt the mother, or innocent wt the father. 2'do if any children had bein born before the fal they sould have bein exempt from the curse or not. 3'o if our parents fell the same day they ware created. 4to who would be Cains wife, ether his mother or a sister. Upon what the Scripture teaches us, that for the 40 years the Israelites ware in the wilderness their shoes nor their garments waxed not old, it may be enquired what they did for cloaths to their childeren that ware born in the wilderness, also theirs one that was 10 years old, another 20, at their coming furth out of Egypt, they had cloathes and shoes meit for them at that age, it may be demanded whow the same cloaths gained[228] them when they came to be 30 or 40 year old. It seimes to be said that the cloaths waxt wide as they grew. [228] Fitted. It may be demanded also, whither it was really a miracle in passing the rid sea or give it was only at a low ebbe, since Moses know weill enough both the sea and the desart, having feid his father-in-laws flocks their about long tyme. I demand, if our first parents had keipt their state of innocence whither they would have procreat their children in that same faschion that man and woman does now. It seims that they sould have copulated carnally, since theirs no other raison assignable whey God sould have made distinction of sex, since these sould have bein in wain: _at Deus et Natura nihil faciunt frustra_. On the other hand I dare not say they sould have copulate carnally when I consider the brutality and filthinesse of the act which does no wayes agree wt the perfection wheirin they ware created. On the supposition that they had keipt their innocence and begotten children, I demand whither the children at their coming furth of the bellie sould have had the vigueur that Adam had when he was created; or whither they bit to be born litle that could nether speak nor go for the first 6 quarters of a year as at present. This it seimes absurd to think, since that would have argued wery much imperfection in the man, which I wil be wery loath to think him capable of as he was in that state: the other syde seimes as absurd, since its inconceivable to think whow Ewe could have born a strong, robuste man of Adams strenth at the age of 30 years in hir womb. I demand also whither Adam after he had lived many hundred years on earth sould have died, gone to heaven and left the earth to his posterity, and so after a long tyme his posterity to theirs. Necessity seimes to say that it sould have bein so, since that if the fathers had not so made way to their sons, or some ages the world sould not hold them all, for I suppose all that hes lived in the world since Adam ware on the world at present, wt them that are living on it even now, I am inclinable to think that we would be put to seik some other new world besyde Americk to hold them. To think on the other hand that he sould have died is as absurd, since its confessed that the trie of Life was given him as a sacrament and signe he sould not lay under the strock of death, for as death comes from that contrariety and discord of the elements of whilk our bodies are composed, so the fruit of this trie, at least typicaly, had the wertue of maintaining the contrary elements in a parfait concord and by consequence of vindicating a man from Death. I demand in what season of the year the world was created. I find a great rable of the Scolasticks, as testifies Lerees[229] in his physical _disputa. de mundo_, teaching that it was in the spring tyme; and that the sun began his course in the first degree of Aries; that it is from this that the Astrologians begines their calculations, at Aries as the first signe of the Zodiack; that it was at this tyme that Christ suffered, restauring the world at that same season wheirin it fell. But who sies not the emptinesse of their reasons. Theirs another rank who think it was created in the Automne, since that Moses mentioned rip apples, which in the spring tyme are only virtually in their cause. Others wt greater reason condamne al thir autheurs as temerare and rash, since that Spring in our Hemispbere is Automne in the other. [229] Lery or Leri, Jean de, was a traveller and Protestant divine, but I do not find trace of such a work as this. About the Bi-location of bodies, I would demand the Popelings, in the case wheirin a army is made up of one man replicate in 1000 places, whither he shall have the strenth of one man or 1000: if one be wounded or slain, if all the rest shal be wounded or slain: also whither he can be hot at Paris and cold at Edin'r, headed at Paris, hanged at Edin'r, dy at Paris, live in good health at Edin'r, wt infinite other alleaged by Lerees and others. When he was at Poictiers a Gentleman accused of seweral murders and imprisoned escaped in womens cloaths about the gloaming, whom we saw passe thorow the street, giveng al ground of suspicion by the terror and amazement he was in; letting a scarf fal in on part, his napkin in another, his goun taille fell doune in a thrid. Yet none seazed on him. At the port of the toune he had a horse waiting for him on which he escaped. A litle after that a Mareschal, or ferrier, or Smith felled on of his boyes at the Scotes Walk because he demanded money of him, escaped to Lusignan, wheir he was taken. Just about the same tyme on a stormy, vindy night a rich Candlemakers (which office is not so dishonorable heir as wt us, their daughters wil be going in their satins) booth was broken up, 40 pistols, which he had receaved in payment just the day before, and which he had left in a box of the table, stollen. Persones wil do weill then to keip quiet any mony they have as weill as they can: according the tenor of my fathers letter. On the day after _Toussaint_ is a feste til noon called _les Trespassez_[230]. The papists prayes for their dead ancestres, over their graves mumbling so many paters and so many ave'es. [230] _Trépassés_, All Souls. They have a apple in France called _pomme de Calvile_, its all rid thorow to the wery heart, _pomme blanche_. In case of fire in a toune the neirest bel, or the bel of that paroiche wheir it is, ringes. In Octobre heir, tho reasonably sharp, they have upright[231] Summer weather, its so fair. [231] Equivalent to 'downright.' Our peirs that growes at home are all out as delicious, vitness the carnock, as any we have eaten in France, tho they grow their in greater abondance. As to the Apples we most not conteste wt them, since beseids many brave sorts they have the pipin, which I conceive most be that they call Reynett, brought unto France from Italy by Queen Blanche, mother of St. Louis: it was first fund in Africk. The _pomme Minion_ is better then any of ours: our Marican seimes to be a degenerat sort of it. The silver hat-strings are much in use at present: they sell them by the weight. The tabby doublets wt the silk [called wats][232] furring wtin are also in faschion: wery warm in winter, cost 20 franks. Men and women from the least to the greatest, yea not the wery keel wifes and fruit wifes, but they have manchon muffes. A man cannot get a good one under a pistol: some of a meiner size are sold for 6 or 4 francks. Our best furrings comes out of Musco'e. Chamois gloves and linnens mad of goats skines, which are found better in Poictou then in any other province of France, are not in so great cont[233] wt them as wt us; yet they find them wondrously warm; some thinkes them strenthning and corroborative of a feeble hand. We have sein som buy them to lay swallings of their handes. Perruvicks, besydes they are most faschious, they are destructive both to the body, since they are wery unwholsome, engendring humeurs; as also to the purse, they being extravagantly dear thorow all France, especially at Paris, wheir its a wery mean one a man will get for 4 pistols; and a man can have no fewer then 2 at a tyme, on to change another. [232] Interlined. Wats, _ouates_. [233] Estimation. We have spoken wt some Catolicks that have bein at Geneve. The disciplin is very strick their yet. A Catholick if a craftsman they suffer him to excerce his trade 3 moneth: they'le let him stay no longer. If a man swear their, he'el be layd in prison, lay their 24 howers wtout meat or drink. A man cannot speak wt a woman on the Street wtout giving scandal. The Sabath is keipt as we do, nothing to be sold their on it, as thorow France its the greatest market day of the week, the peasants bringing in al they have to sell in abondance. Its the resort of al the banished Germans, Italians and other strangers that would enjoy the excercise of their Religion freely and purely. In shaving a man, its impossible for a Frenchman to cut a man; they have such a net way of baging the flech: also it would do a man good to be washen wt their water, whiles rose water, whiles smelling of musck: tho their fingers stinkes whiles, the French dighting their staille[234] wt their fingers, thinking it prodigality to do it wt paper: yett ther Kings of old did so, to teach their peaple frugality: hence it is that the Frenchman wil not eat til he wash: wil not eat wt ye til ye wash: for my oune part I would not eat wt a Frenchman til he wash. [234] Foundation, breech. Fresch egges are wery dear wairs in France. At Paris they are 5 pence a peice, at Poictiers a shiling a dozen. They fry their egges differently from us: they break them first in a plate: in the meantym they fry a considerable lump of butter, then pours in the egges salting and spicing them. Their hens are not so fertile as ours. Our speaking of egges mindes me of Christophorus Colomba Lusitanian, a experienced skiper, first discowrer of the new world, tho he had gotten some encouradgements and conclusions about it from on Vespucius Americus Florentin, from whom it gets its denomination of America. Colomba on a tyme walking on the harbory of Lisbon, a toune knowen for the emporium of the east, such a boystrous wind blow to him iust of the sea that he could not get his feet holden; on this he began to reason that the wind could not come of the Sea, but that of necessity their bit to[235] be land beyond that sea, tho unknoun, of whilk[236] that wind bit to[235] blow, for the vapors or exhalations drawen of the sea are not so grosse as thess that montes of the land: and be consequence cannot produce such boystrous vindes. This his opinion he imparted to sewerall: at lenth it came to Ferdinando'es ears, who at the persuasions of Isabella his queen, a woman of greater spirit and more action then hir husband, equippes Columba a fleet, wt which after he had born out many stormes he gained his point, returning wt some few of his shipes that ware left him loadened wt the gold of the country. [235] Must. [236] i.e. though unknown, off which. The King accepted him wery kindly, as he had reason, but his courtiers out of that enwious nature of detracting from the merites of others, thinking that theirs no way of gaining themselfes credit unless they backhit at others, each most passe their seweral werdict on his attempt, al concluding that it was nothing, that any man might have done it. The honest, silly man hears them at this tyme patiently, when they have al done he calles for a egge: desires them al to try if the could make it stand on the end of it: they, not knowing his designe, try it all: it goes round about al the table, not one of them can make it stand so. Then he takes the egge, brakes the bottome of it, and so it standes upright, they being al most ashamed, else further he addes, As now after I have let you sie whow to do it, ye think nothing to make a egge stand upright: tho none of you could do it before: sikelike after I have found you the gate to the new world ye think nothing of it tho ye could not have done it yourselfes. They thought themselfes wery far out. Horrid and unchristian was the outrages the Spaniards committed on the poor natives. They slow them like beasts. Further they carried over whole shipeful of mastives which they hunted the naked Indians with; and I know not how many millions ware torn this way. The sogers ware so beastly that they could not refrain from laying and abusing the Indian women, which gave them the _verole picot_ or French pox, surely the just iudgement of god, wt a iudgement not knowen to former ages, punishing men wt shame in this world. The Spaniards brought it from America to Naples, infected some Napolitan women wt it, whence called _Morbus Napolitanus_; thir women gave it to some French sogers who brought it unto France, whence called wt us French pox, now its become universall. Philip of Spaine who died August 1665 was owergoon wt it, they say. The Indians calles the Spaniards Veracochié, which in their language signifies scume of the sea. Out of contempt and because they assaulted them first from the sea, they curse the sea always that vomited out sick monstres. Some chances to tel them of heaven and hell: wheiron they have demanded wheir the Spaniards would go to: they hearing that they would go to heaven, they sayed they would not go their then, for the Spaniards ware to bloody and cruell to stay wt. To informe our selfes fully of the singularites of America and other things it will be fitting for us to buy _Pancerollas[237] Vetera deperdita_ and his _Nova reperta_, as also Howels[238] Letters, Osburnes[239] advices to his sone, etc. [237] Panceroli, Guido, 1523-1599, Italian jurist. The work referred to is _Kerum memorabilium jam olim deperditarum at contra recens atque ingeniose inventarum_. Hamburg, 1599. [238] Howell, James, 1594-1666, Historiographer Royal to Charles II., published several series of _Familiar Letters_. [239] Osborne, Francis, 1589-1659, author. _The Advice to a Son_ was written for his son when at Oxford. Its a custome in Pictou that if a gentlewomen would have hir galland passe his gates[240] or any other to a other they have no more ado but to set the wood on one of the ends of it in the chemly and they wil not readily stay. [240] Go away. In France the father of the bride, if on life, accompany'es his daughter to the church; the worthiest of the company leading hir home, as wt us: yet at Saumur the bridegrome leds home his oune spouse. In France they observe that they have usually great rains about Martimess, which we saw werified. When a great rain hath fallen we have sein al sortes of peaple, prentises wt others, wt racks and shovles cume furth to cleange the gutters and make the passage clear that it may not damme before their doores; for the streets are but narrow at Poictiers and none of the neitest. Orleans hath wery neit streets, amongs others on that goes from the end of toune to the other. A woman laying in child birth they call _commair_. Our curds and whey (which they make not so oft as we) they call _caill botte_.[241] Milk is a great delicat in France. I never hard it cried up and doune the streits, as its wt us, tho they have many cries we have not. [241] _Caillebotte_, curds, They report of their sorciers and sorciares victches that they have their assembles and dances wt the Dewill, especially the evening of _Marde gras_. They look on the _corbique_ or raven as a bad prognostick of death; the pie tells that some strangers's to come. The Jesuites whipes their scollers wery cruelly, yea they whipt on to death at Poictiers: yet the father could obtaine nothing against them. The greatest affront that can be done to a woman is to cut the tayle of hir goune from hir, or even to cast ink in her face, since that a lovely face is the principal thing that commends a woman, hence as the greatest reproach a man can be upraided wt is _bougre_ or _j'en foute_; so the greatest of their railings against a woman is to say, _vous avez eu la robe coupé au queue_. It hath bein practicat on some. A man would take good heed that he never desire a woman a drink in company, for the Frenchwomen take it in very il part, and some hath gotten on the cheak for it. They think a man does them honour in making them go before him; so that a Frenchman wil never readily steep in before any woman of faschion, tho it be just contraire in our country. The 11 of November is St. Martins day, a very merry day in France. They passe it in eating, drinking and singing excesivelie. Every one tasts his new wine that day, and in tasting it takes to much; their be wery few but they are full. The Suisses and Alemmands (who drink like fisches, as we know in Mr. le Baron and his creatures at Orleans, each man each night could not sleip wt out his broll[242] or pot, which the Frenches their _L'abbé Flacour_ and _Brittoil_ mockt at) findes only 3 good festes in France, Mr. St. Martin,[243] Mr. les trois Rois, and Mr. marde gras, because al drinkes bitch full thess dayes. [242] I have not found this word elsewhere. [243] It was customary to speak of saints as Monsieur St. Martin, Mme. Ste. Catherine, etc. Lauder extends the usage (whether correctly or not) to Mardi Gras. On the morrow after opened the Palais, which sits neir 10 moneth togither, whither we went to sie the faschion. First their massers have not silver masses as ours have, only litle battons, yea the massers to the parliament at Paris have no more. Next none most bring nether swords nor spurs wtin any of the bars: the reason whey swords have bein discharged is because that judges and conseillers have bein several tymes assasinate on the bench be desperate persons poussed forward be revenge; whence a man bringing on wtin the bar wil be made prisoner: yet we had ours the first day. The judges being sit doune on the bench, the Kings Advocat began a harangue, reading it of his papers, wery elegantly extolling the lily or _fleur de lis_ above al other flowers, and then France and its Kings above all other nations, alleging that the whitnese and brightnese of the lily denotated the purity and integrity of justice thats don in France. He ending, the president in his scarlat robes (for they war al so that day wt their 4 nooked black bonnets lined wt scarlet) began a very weill conceaved harangue in the commendation of justice and vertu. That being done they gave their oath wt the Advocats and procureurs or Agents (for they swear anew every sitting doune of the Palais, when we give but one oath for all wt us and that at the entry vnto to the office); the judges that they sal passe no sentence contrare to ther conscience, but that they sal judge _2dum allegata et probata_; the Advocats that they shal never patronize a false cause; and if any cause they have taken in hand appeir after to them false, that they sall immediatly forsake it: that they shal plead the causes of the widow and orpheling, etc. The Praesidial of Poitou at Poictiers is the greatest of France: yea it consistes of mo conseillers or judges (to wit, about 30 wt 2 Kings Advocats, 2 Kings procureurs), is of greater extent then several parliaments: their be not so many membres in the parliament of Grenoble, which is for Dauphiné, etc. The parliament of Dijon for Burguiogne hath not so great extent. The song they sing at St. Martins is thus: 'Pour celebrer la St. Martins, Il nous fault tous chantre et boire Celuy quy a converty L'eau au Vin Pour luy que ne doibt on point faire A[244] le bon vein, bon vein, bon vein, Chasse de la melancolie Je te boire[245] Jusque a la lie.' [244] Probably for Ah! [245] For _boirai_. My host after his drinking of his glasse of wine, usually lifting up his eyes to heaven in admiration, shakt his head (as we remember Charles his nurse did at the seck),[246] crying, oh but win is a good thing (tho poor man I never saw him drunk), protesting that he would not live in our country because he could not drink ordinarly win so cheap. [246] Sack. Its a little strange to sie what alteration a sad accident may procure in a man: befor that scandal he fel under by his wife wt Mr. Douglas, to wit, in the tyme of Mr. Hope and my cousin Mr. Elies (as he and his wife confesses), he was one of gailliardest, merriest fellows that one could find amongs 100, ever since that, tho' he reteans something of his former gailliardness, taking it by fits, yet he is not like the man he was, as Madame hath told me. I seeing him mo jalous then a dog of his wife because she loved so weill to play at the carts and wandring from hir house to hir commorads, likt better their houses then hir oune. Oh, but she was blith when he went to the country upon any affair, she minding him of his affairs at Partenay or elsewheir to have him away; and in the interim from the morning to 12 howers at even, even whiles at midnight, she would not have bein wtin a hower. There ware only 5 or 6 of the women of the Religion that ware players at carts (as Mr. Dailly reproached sewerall tymes his wife, that she bit be on of them) all thir, when he was goon, come branking[247] ay to hir house, collationing togither. The first 3 moneth I was their she used all the persuasions she could to draw me to be on of their society, or at least to bear hir halfe in the gaine and the losse (whiles she would loss 2 crounes, tho she made hir husband beleife she wan), but I would do none of them (remembering my fathers expresse to beware of play, especially at carts and wt sick creatures), alleadging always that I knew nothing of the play. They offered to learn me, for they came seweral tymes a purpose to draw me on, but I sayd I had other thing ado. I am exceedingly weill satisfied at this present I did not engage. She hath told me ay, O Mr. Hope have played wt us: I replied Mr. Hope might do what he pleased. Return Mr Dailly when he please he could never find his wife wtin: some tymes he would have come home at 12 howers wheir she expected not: when she would come home and find him their, oh whow coldly would she welcome him and the least thing would that day put her out of hir patience, for she had ether in the afternoon tristed to come again to them, or tristed them to come to hir. [247] Prancing, tripping. Thus shortly out of many things, Henry the 4't was a most galliard, pleasant, and merry prince: his queens Marguerit (as we show else wheir) was thought to play by him. On a tyme as he was making himselfe merry dancing a ballat wt some of his nobility, each being obliged to make a extemporary sonnet as it cam about to him to dance, the our-word[248] being, _un cucou mene un autre_, it fel the Marquis of Aubigni (who was of Scots progeny, his goodsire was Robert Stuart Mareschal of France under François the first; it was this Aubigni who told Henry when he was wounded by the Jesuists scoller in the mouth, God, sire, hath suffered you to be stoobed in the mouth, etc.) to dance wt the King in his hand and make his couplets, which I fand right quick: [248] Ourword, overword, refrain, like ourcome and ourturn. 'Si toutes les femmes vouloyent les hommes cuco seroyent; les Roys comme les autres, un cuco mene un autre,' Henry confessed he had win at him in his sonnet. Follows some enigmes found in a Romance penned by Beroaldus,[249] named _le voyage des princes fortunez_, wtout the explication, whence Mr Daillé set me on work to resolve them: resolved sewerall betuixt us. [249] Beroalde de Verville, François, 1558-1612, philosopher, mathematician, and author of lighter works. _The Voyage_ was published in 1610. Paris. Un pere a douze fils qui lui naissent sans femme, Ces douze aussi sans femme engendrent des enfants; Quand un meurt l'autre naist et tous vivent sans ame. Noires les filles sont, et les males sont blancs. (The Year.) Un corp qui n'a point d'ame a une ame mouuante, N'ayant point de raison il rend raison des temps; Bien quil n'ait pas de vie une vie agissante Sans vie se fait vivre marchant sur ses dents. (A cloack.) Their follows that of a coffin that none care for, then, Voulant aller au ciel, si je suis empeschée, Les ieuz des assistans en larmes couleront; Si pleurent sans regret ie ne suis pas faschée Car quaud j'iray au ciel leur larmes cesseront. (Its rick.)[250] [250] Reek, smoke. Le vivant de moy vive sa nurriture amasse Je recoy les vivans haut et bas se suivans Lorsque ie suis tué sur les vivans je passe, Et ie porte les vifs par dessus les vivans. (A oak wt its fruit feiding swine, then cut and made in a ship cairyes men over fisches.) Bienque ie sois petit i'ay une soeur geante Qui me rends de grands coups qu'encore je lui rends; Nous faisons ceste guerre entre nous bien seante. Car c'est pour la beauté de nos propre parens. (The hammer and smiths studie.) Je n'ay sang, os, ny chair, nerfe, muscles ni artere, Bien que i'en sois produit et n'en tien rien du toute Propre a bien et a mal je fais effect contraire. Sans voix parlant apres qu'on ne a trunche la bout. (A pen.) Non male, non femelle, ains tout oeill en substance Sans cesser il produit des enfans differens. De la mort des ses fils ses fills[251] ont naissance Et d'icelles mourant d'autres fills sont naisant. [251] For _filles_. (The Sun wt the day and night.) Selon mon naturel ie m'escoule legere. Mais par fois mon voisin m'estraint de ses liens. Adonque on me void la mere de ma mere Et puis fille de ma fille en apres ie deviens. (Ice reduced to water.) Ma soeur est comme moy de grande bouche fournis. Elle l'a contre bas et moy deuer les cieux I'ayde aux conservateurs d'appetit et de vie-- Et ma soeur (as I friend to the sick, so she) aux coeur devotieux. (A bel and the Apothecaries morter.) D'une estoffe solide a point on me fait faire Pour servir au endroits ou loge la soucy. Mon maistre me cognoit lui estre necessaire, Car ie lui garde tout, il me tien chere ausi. (A key.) Elle a le poill dedans et dehors est sa graisse Et si peut elle ainsi au jour failly praevoir Mesme en plein nuict les autres elle adresse Faisant voir a plusieurs ce quelle ne peut voir. (A candle.) On cognoist au oiseau qui n'a point de plumage Qui donne a ses petits de son teton le laict. When it sies we sie not; when we sy it sies not. (A batt.) Ouvert de l'un des bouts une queue on me donne Afin qu'avec le bec je la traine par tout, Puis conduite au labeur que ma Dame ordonne Je laisse a chasque pas de ma queue le bout. (A neidle.) Trois ames en un corps distinguées d'essence Ensemble subsistoyent not knowing they ware so many, Deux enfin ont pris l'air, puis de mesme apparence En trois corps distinguez chacum les a peu voir. (A woman wt tuines.) We saw a book, originally written in Latin by a Spaniard,[252] translated in French, entituled, Histoire du grand royaume de la Chine situe aux Indes Orientales, contenant la situation, Antiquité, fertilité, Religion, ceremonies, sacrifices, Rois, Magistrats Moeurs, us,[253] Loix, et autres choses memorables du dit Royaume, etc., containing many things wery remarkable and weill worth the reading. showing how its bounded on al hands, having the Tartars for its neirest neibhours, whom it descrives whow it was discovered first by the Portugais, and the Spaniards at Mexico in Americk. [252] Gonzalez de Mendoza. [253] Usages. To the wondrous fertility of the country, much of it laying to the same climat wt Italy, the Inhabitants addes great industry: no vagabonds nor idle persons being suffered amongs them but punished vigorously. They have no cloath. The meanest of the natives are cloathed in silk: its so rife their that its to be had almost for nothing. France also hath some silk wormes wtin it selfe; but besydes the peins they most be at to feid them wt fresch mulberry leaves, they have no great abondance of them, whence they draw the most of their silk from Italy wheir its in great abondance; as Florence, litle republic of Lucques, Messin, as also from Grenade. Oranges of Chine are knowen for the best of the world. Cannel[254] (which growes not in France) is in its excellency their. [254] Cinamon. In selling and buying all things solid they weight them, even their mony, which hath no stamp, as in selling selks and other sick things, wheirin ther cannot be so meikle knavery as in metting them by elles. Great abondance of silk caddez[255] cotton produced by a trie (not growing in france, but just as the tries distilles the pick)[256] as of musk, wt the manner whow they make it. [255] A kind of cloth. [256] Pitch. The realme is found some 1800 leagues in longitude; 3000 in circumference. Its divided unto 15 great Provinces, each plenished wt wast cities, som of them taking 2 dayes to compasse them. Their follows a description of the natural disposition, traits of face, sorts of cloaths wt the excercises the men and women are addicted to. They are al Pagans, worshiping plurality of gods, seweral things in their religion symbolizing wt the Christian, which may be imputed to some seeds of the Gospel the Aposle Thomas sowed their in going to the Indians, wheir he was martyred. Divers good laws they have; one discharging expressely and prohibiting al natives of going out wtout the Royaume, for fear of bringing in strange customes, descharging any strangers to enter wtout express licence. The rights of succession of children to parents are almost the same as wt us. By infallible records to their admiration they fand that both the art of artillery, invented as was thought in Germany, and printing, invented, as is beleived, by Jean de Guttenberg, Allemand, not 200 years ago, ware amongs them, and of al older standing. Infinite other things we remit to be sought in the _Histoir_. We are informed that a lardship of 5000 livres rent wil sell in France for a 100,000 livres; and by consequence a place of 15,000 livres a year at a 100,000 crounes;[257] the prix being ay 20 years rents. It may wary in many places of France. Location-conduction[258] of lands, called their ferming, are wery usuall in France; yea, the most part of Gentlemens houses rises wt that, having bein first fermier or goodmen[259] (as we calle them) of the place. The ordinar tyme of the take is 5 or 7 year, not on of a 100, and yea being wiser then we wt our 19 and doubled 19 year takes.[260] In the contract they have many fin clauses by whilk the fermier is bound to meliorat the ground in all points as by planting of hedges and fruit tries, substituting by ingraftments young ones in the room of old ones decayed; finaly he is tyed to do all things comme un bon pere de famille feroit. [257] The crown is hero taken at 3 livres, or 5s. sterling (taking the livre at 1s. 8d. sterling). [258] _Locatio conductio_, the Roman contract of letting and hiring. [259] According to Jamieson's _Dict_. goodman meant (1) a proprietor or laird, (2)then a _small_ proprietor, (3)latterly, a farmer. [260] Tacks, leases. We have already exemplified the hatred thats betuixt the Castillan und Portugaize, we'el only tel another. A Spaniard Bischop was once preaching on that, Let brotherly love continue, he say'd the French are our brother, the Italian our brother, Allemand, Scotes, English, etc., our brether; yea, I durst almost say that the Portugaiz is our brother almost also. Many other stories I could report heir, as that of the poor man who fand himselfe marvelously filled wt the smell of meat in a cooks choop happened at Paris, and how the cook was payed by the gingling the mony, related by Cleark in his Exemples: that of the gentleman runing a race and giving the last to the Dewil, and the Dewils depriving the last of his shaddow; tho I can not conceive how the Dewil can hinder a body to cast a shaddow unless he perpetually interpose himself betuixt that man and the sun: that of the English to be married to a Scotsman, whom William Broun was admonishing of hir duty, that the man was the head of the woman, she quickly replieing that he bit to be her head, she bit to be the hat on his head above him, William sayd, that he would take his hat then and fling it amongs his feet: that of the tooth drawer and the lavement out of the History of Francion:[261] that of him who playing at the bowls in John Tomsons greine wt a English Captaine, casting out togither, wrong his nose so sore til it bled againe; being pershued by the Englishman for the wrong done, and put to his answers, being demanded of the fact, he replied he had only wipt his nose a litle straiter than he used to do his oune: that of King James and the collier, ye sould obey a man in his oune house: that apparition Henry the 4t saw as he was hunting in his pare at Fontainbleau, crying, _Amendez vous_: also that daughter of Brossier that feigned the Demoniack so weill wt its circumstancies, to be found in Du Serres[262] History of Henry the 4t.: that of the Scotsman at Paris who wan so much be a slight promising the peaple to let them sy a horse wt its taille wheir its head sould be: that of on Martin Merry, who on a tyme pressing to win in to sie the King, the great Tresorier of England was at the door, who seing him so pert demanded him whither he would go; he replied, he would sie the King; the Thersorer told him he could not sie the King; then, he replied, I know what I'le do then; the thresorer thinking he was bravado'ing him, demanded him what can ye do, Sir; he answered, I'le go back the way I came then, My Lord; he finding the answer wery good, he immediatly went and told the King what had passed, who commanded Martin to be brought in and fel to and talked wt him. Also the story of the Baron de la Crasse, place, place, etc. Also the comoedy intituled Les Visionnaires. Also the reply of a excellent painter who had children wery deformed, on demanding whow it came that he drow sick exquisite portraits and had such il made children, ye neid not wonder at that, sayd he, since I make my portraits in the day and my children in the night. [261] See p. 82, note. [262] Jean de Serres, 1540-1598, author of works on the history of France and theology. A man may get his portrait drawen in France, especially at Orleans, for a Pistoll. J. Ogilvy'es hal is all hung about wt portrait's of Gentlemen, al Scots, save only one Englishman (whom Lostis[263] alleadged to have the manliest face of all the company; we on the contrare, that he had the sheipest), one womans called Richeson, whom my L. Rutherfurd[264] was in great conceit of; Johns oune portrait is tuise their, his eldest sones as a litle boy, his daughters, My Lord [Bards],[265] Newbyths,[266] My Lord Cinhoules[267] brother, wt whom J. Ogilvie came to France as page; Sir Robert Flecher of Salton, who died the winter before I came to France; David Ramsay, a brother of the Provests,[268] so like him that I took it for the Provests at first. Mr. Hayes was the last that was drawen, who parted from J.'s house to make the tour of France the March before I arrived, wt divers other pictures. At Mr. Douls house we remarked the same in his sale;[269] only they ware all Englishmen, save on Sword whose father was Provest of Aberdeen, and who when King Charles the 1t was at Newcastle chapt him on his shoulder and impudently told him, he had spent our meikle. [263] Query, l'hostesse, l'hôtesse, Mme Ogilvy. [264] Probably Andrew Rutherfurd, first lord, a lieutenant-general in the French service, created Lord Rutherfurd, 1661. Governor of Dunkirk, Earl of Teviot, 1663, governor of Tangier, where he was killed, 1664. His patent as Lord Rutherfurd entitled him to bequeath the peerage to whom he pleased, and he left it to his kinsman Sir Thomas Rutherfurd of Hunthill, served heir 1665, died 1668. [265] Interlined. [266] Sir John Baird, advocate, 1647, lord of Session (title Newbyth) 1667, superseded 1681, restored 1689, died 1698, aged seventy- seven. [267] Kinnoul's. [268] Sir Andrew Ramsay, afterwards a lord of Session (title Abbotshall). Lauder married his daughter. [269] _Salle_, hall. We most not forget the Capucin, who, gazing on a stage play, had his prick stowed[270] from him instead of his purse. Also the good sport we have made wt Spiny when we presented him the rose filled wt snuffe, dewil! willain! ye most be hooled,[271] ye most, etc. I'm sorry for your case, etc. Also that we made wt Dowy when on night in our Basseler[272] year at night after the examination we put out the candles, I skein[273] brist him til he farted; then he brought Mr. Hew on us, he crieng, Douglas, Doug.; Lauder L., my hat amang you. Russel lay like a mart[274] in the midst of the stair; wt many other sports. [270] Stown, stolen. [271] Husked, probably gelded. [272] Bachelor. [273] Possibly J. Skein (Skene); brist = squeezed. [274] Carcass of an ox or cow killed about Martinmas for winter provision. The Laws of France permits, or at least forgives, a man to slay his wife if he take hir in the wery act of adultery; but if he slay hir after a litle interwall, as if he give hir lieve to pray a space, he is punished as a murderer, since its to be praesumed that that iust fury which the willanous act of his wife pouses him to, and which excuses his fact (since according to Solomon even wery Jalousie is the fury of a man) is layd in that interwal, so that he cannot be excused from murder. Both hath bein practicat seweral tymes in France. The punishment of women that beats their good men in Poictiers is that they are monted on a asse wt their face to the taile, in this posture conveyed ignominiously thorow all the toune: the hangman accompanieng them. We most not forget the sport K. James made wt his fool who to chasse away the axes[275] had flied[276] him, and whow the poor fellow was found dead. [275] Ague. [276] Frightened. The K. of France drawes more then a 100 million a year as revenues out of France besydes extraordinary taxations. Theirs a wery observable difference betuixt on thats drunk wt win and on drunk wt beir, the win perpetually causes to stagger and fall forward; the beir and alle[277] backward. [277] Ale. A women drowen[278] is carried wt the water on her belly, a man on his back. [278] Drowned. Their ware 4 peasants in a French village on a tyme discoursing about the King. They sayd it was a brave thing to be a King. If I ware King (said the first) I would rest wt ease all the day on that hy stack wt my vomb up to the sun: the 2nd, if I ware King I would eat my sup every day swimming wt bacon: the 3d, I would feid my swine _a cheval_: the 4t, Alas, ye have left me nothing to choose; ye have chosen all the best things. Francois the 1t was a King that loved exceedingly to discourse and hear the minds of al ranks of peaple, as even our James. For that effect he seweral tymes disguised himselfe and all alone gon to discours wt common peaple. On a tyme he fand a poor man digging a ditch: he demanded what he wan every day by his peins. 5 pence at most, quothe he. What family have ye? I have my wife, 4 bairns and my old mother whom I nourish; but, further, I most divide my 5 pence into 3 parts every day: by on part I pay my debt, another I lean, the thrid, nourishes us. Whow can that be, can 10 turners[279] maintain you a whole day? Sir, 10 I give to my old mother every day as payment of what she bestowed on me when I was young; 10 I lean[280] to my children, that when I am old and cannot work they may pay me again; the other 10 is betuixt my wife and me. The King proponed this to the courtiers to resolve him, etc. [279] Turner, a copper coin equal to two pennies Scots or one bodle. Thus the 5 English pence, which the man got, are equal to 5 sous or 5 shillings Scots, and so to 60 deniers or 60 pennies Scots, or 30 turners. [280] Lend. In France a man wil do weill to take heid what women he medles wt; for if he get a woman of degre below himself wt child he most ether mary hir or tocher hir: if his aequal, ether marry hir or be hanged (which few chooses): if she be far above his condition (especially if a valet engrosse his masters daughter or sister not married) he is hanged wtout al process _brevi manu_; the maid is thrust unto a convent to lead repentance their for hir lifetyme, since she hath prostrat hir honor so basely. While I was at Poictiers a young fellow got a wanton cocquette, a cream keiper, wt child. For fear he sould be put to marry hir he quietly went and enrolled himselfe amongs the sogers whom the King was levieng at Poictiers. She gets notice of it, causes clap him fast and lay him prisoner. The Captain came to seik back his soger, since he was under the protection of the King, but he could not praevaile: they replied, if he war their for debt they would villingly release him, but since he was criminal they could not. A soger may make his testament _quolibet modo_ in France: he may write it on the sand, the dust as his paper, his sword he may make his pen and his blood his ink, according to Justin. T. Institut.[281] _de Testam. Militis_. [281] Justinian, _Inst_., 2. II. Seweral tymes they have bein 3 moneth wtout a drop of rain in France, in which cases they make a great deall of Processions to obtain rain, tho they never do anything. Some winters it freezes so hard wt us (as Mr. James [P. Ramsay][282] is Author, to wit, that winter after the visitation in 1646 when the Colledge was translated to Lighgow),[283] that in a basin of water after ye have lift your hand out of the water ere ye dip it again it was al covered wt a thin striphen[284] ice, and the 3d, 4t, etc. tymes. [282] Interlined. It appears to be a correction. Patrick Ramsay was 'laureated' in 1646. [283] The plague in Edinburgh, 1645-6, obliged the University to remove to Linlithgow for a few months.--Waldie's _History of Linlithgow_. [284] Striffan, film. On the 17 of November opened the Law University at Poictiers, at present the most famous and renouned in France, usually consisting of above tuo 100 scholers, some coming to it from Navarre in the very skirts of Spain, sewerals from Tholouse, Bordeaux, Angiers, Orleans, Paris, Rouan, yea from Berry it selfe, tho formerly Bourges was more renouned--their's almost nothing to be had their now--and tho in all these places their be Universities. On its opening Mr. Umeau, our Alex'rs Antagonist, and who that year explained of the D.,[285] belonging _ad nuptias_, made a harangue of wery neit Latin, which is the property of this University. His text was out of the 4't book of the C.T.[286] 5 _de condictio Indeb. l., penultima_, whence he took occasion to discourse of the Discord amongs the Jurise.[287] raising 2 _quoest. 1'o, utrum recentiores sunt proeferendi antiquioribus: 2'do, utrum juniores natu maioribus_, wheir he ran out on the advantage of youth: _Quot video Juvenes candidatos tot mihi videor videre aequissimos Servios, sublimissimos Papinianos gravissimos Ulpianos, et disertissimos Cicerones: quod plura[288] stellae indubio[289] sunt jae magnitudines in Sphaerâ nostra Literariâ._ [285] Digest. [286] Code, title. [287] Jurisconsults. [288] Query, _plures_. [289] Query, _sindubio_. The Rector of the University was their, the Mair, the Eschewines, the President of the Palais, the University of the Physicians, wt a great heap of al orders, especially Jesuits. We might easily discover that basenese we are so subiect to in detracting from what al others do'es but ourselves in that groundless censur of many things in this harangue which our Alex'r had wt another of his partizans. Mr. Filleau (very like Edward Edgar) gives a paratitle on the title _pro socio_: he is on of the merriest carles that can be, but assuredly the learnest man in that part of France, for the Law. _Pro socio, pro socio_, quoth he, whats that to say _pro socio_, Trib.[290] speaks false Latin or non-sense, always wt sick familiar expressions. [290] Tribonian. Mr. Roy, whoss father was Doctor before him, explained that year T.C.[291] _de rescindenda vendit_. Mr. Gaultier, who left Angiers and came to be a Doctor their, explained the title of the canon L.,[292] _de simoniâ et ne quid pro spiritualibus exigatur_. [291] Title of the Code. [292] Lex. For Mr. Alex'r its some 17 years since he came to France; he had nothing imaginable. Seing he could make no fortune unless he turned his coat, he turned Papist; and tho he had passed his course of Philosophy at Aberden, yet he began his grammar wt the Jesuits; then studied his philosophy, then married his wife (who was a bookbinders wife in the toune and had bein a women of very il report), 50 year old and mor, only for hir gear, and she took him because he was bony.[293] Studied hard the Law (Pacius,[294] as he told me, giving him the 1 insight) and about some 5 year ago having given his trials was choosen _institutaire,_. He is nothing wtout his books, and if ye chap him on that he hath not latley meditate on, he is very confused. He is not wery much thought of by the French, he affectats to rigirous a gravity like a Spaniards, for which seweral (as my host) cannot indure him. Also his pensioners are not the best treated. We have sein P. and D. Humes seweral tymes breakfast: they had nothing but a litle crust of bread betuixt them both, and not a mutching botle of win for my.[295] I never almost breakfasted but I had the whole loave at my discretion, as much win as I please, a litle basquet ful of the season fruites, as cherries, pears, grapes: in winter wt apples. Also by Ps confession he drinks of another win, better than that his pensionars drinks of. Also if their be on dish better then another its set doune before him: he chooses and then his pensionars when its iust contrare wt me. [293] Bonnie. [294] Pacius, Julius, 1550-1635, jurist. [295] Me. He began his lessons 23 of November. A Frenchman casting up the Rubrics of the D.,[296] he fand _de edendo_. He showed himselfe wery offended whey Tribo. had forgot, T.[297] _de Bibendo_ also. [296] Digest. [297] Titulus. We most not forget to buy Gellius and Quintilians Declamations at Paris. A Coachman was felled dead dressing his horses; 5 masons ware slain at the Carmelits by the falling of a wal on them. Mr. Alex'r in salaire hath only 600 livres, the other 4 each a 1000, also seweral obventions and casualities divided amongs them, of which he gets no scare, as when any buyes the Doctorat. He is a hasty capped body. Once one of his servants brook a lossen,[298] he went mad, and amongs other expressions he had this: these maraudes[299] their break more to me in a moment then I can win in tuo moneth. They have no discourse at table. He cars not for his wife. That night the _oubliour_[300] was their and she would not send another plat[301] he threatned to cast hir and hir family over the window. [298] Pane of glass. [299] Rascals. [300] _Oublieur_, pronounced _oublieu_, pastrycook's man, who came round in the evening selling small round cakes, _oublies_. [301] Plate. We on night fel to telling of notes of preachings, as of the Englisman preaching on that, In came Tobit, and much controverted whither they called it baty, light feit or watch;[302] and of the minister that sayd, Christ, honest man, liked not war, sayd to Peter; and of on preaching on that, And Abram gave up the ghost, sayd that it was wery debated if it was for want of breath or not, that he durst not determin it. Of a Preist preaching on the miracle wt whilk Christ feed a multitude wt 5 loaves, it was not so great a miracle, quoth he, as ye trow, for every on of the loaves was as meikle as this Kirk: a baxter being at the pulpit fit[303] started up and demanded wheir they got a oven to bake them in, and a pole to put them in and take them out. Ye are to curious, quoth the preist, go and bake your oune bread and medle not wt Christs, they had other ovens in the days then they have now and other poles to, and do ye not think but Christ could have lent them a pole. Also on who praying for the King our dread soveraine Charles by the grace [of God] King of S[cots], etc., supream governour, instead of under the[304] and they sone Christ, sayd over the. Also of another who praying for the Illustrious Duke of York, sayd the Lusty Duk. Also whow a hostesse at Camphire served Mr. R. Macquaire, being their to dine, wt a great deall of other company, he was desired to seik a blissing, he began so long winded grace that the meat was all spilt and cold ere he had done. The wife was wood[305] angry. The nixt day comes, the meat was no sooner put to the fire but she comes to Mr. R. and bids him say the grace. Whats your haste Margerit, is the meat ready yet? No, Sir, but its layd to the fire, and ere ye have ended your grace, it wil be ready. We most not forget the Swisse, who coming in a cabaret at Poictiers demanding for win, drank for his oune hand 15 pints, calling for a reckning they gave him up 16 pints. He told they ware cheating him of a pint, for he know weill the measure of his womb, that it held no more but 15 pints, wheirupon he would pay no more but for 15. Also of the Preist who bringing our Saviour in the Sacrament to a young galliard very sick, sayd, behold, Sir, Christ is come to visit you. The sick party replied, I sie very weil that Christ is their by the carrier of him, for as he was knowen at his entry unto Jerusalem by his asse that carried him, so do I know him at present. [302] The meaning is whether Tobit's dog was to be called a comman cur (baty), or a greyhound, or a watch-dog. The dog does not appear in the English version of the Apocrypha, but in the Vulgate.--Tob. vi. I. Profectus est autem Tobias et canis sequutus est eum, et mansit ... juxta fluvium Tiberis.--xi. 9. Tunc praecucurrit canis ... et quasi nuncius adveniens, blandimento suae caudae gaudebat. [303] Foot. [304] Thee. [305] Mad. Wonderful was the temperance and moderation of the ancient Romans, yea greater then whats to be found amongs Christians even now. They know[306] no more but on diet a day, and that sober enough. At the first tyme that some Greeks came to Rome, and the Romans saw them, according to the custome of their country, eat thrise a day, they condamned them for the greatest gluttons that could be. [306 1] Knew, as on p. 91. That story of the General (Fabritius) Roman is weill knowen: who at his ennemies brought a wast sum of mony to bribe his fidelity to the commonwealth, they fand him busy stooving a pot of herbes to his supper, wheiron he answered them, that a man as he, that could be content wt sick a disch, could not readily be temted wt all their gold. Also of him who being choosen Dictator they fetched him from the plough to his dignity, sick was their industry. For a long tyme amongs the Romans old age was held such a ignominious thing that they could not get the scurviest coalsteeler in Rome that would act the person of a old man, not so much as in Comoedy. For 500 years, and above, after the building of Rome, it [divorce][307] was not knowen for a man to put away his wife. The first was one Spcius[308] Carvilius, who under the praetext of sterility divorced from his wife. [307] Interlined. [308] Spurius. We most buy that infamous book of Miltones against the late King,[309] wt Claudius Salmasius answer.[310] Surely it shal stand as long as the world stands for a everstanding memorandum of his impudence and ignorance: its nothing but a faggot of iniury (calomnies), theirs not on right principle either moral or politick to be found in it al; its penned by a pedant, a scoolmaster, on who deserved at the cheapest to be torn in peices by 4 horses. Neither in our judgement, tho he deserves not to be refuted, hath Salmasius done so weill to the cause. [309] _Iconoclastes_, 1649. [310] _Defensio Regia_, by Claude de Saumaise, 1588-1653. A Parisian Advocat cited some civil Laws of whilk he was not sure: his Antagonist retorting that their ware not sick a Law nether in the C nor D,[311] he replied, if it be not their yet it sould be their tho. [311] Code nor Digest. About the 12' of December 1665 at Poictiers ware programmes affixed thorow the toune intimating that the Physitians Colledge would sit doune shortly, and that their Doyen Deacon, on Renatus Cothereau, a wery learned man in his lessons, _Podagram hominum terrorem artuum que flagellum medicinali bettio acriter prosequeretur_; hence it hath[312] this exclamation, _accurite[313] itaque cives festinate arthici_. [312] Meaning, probably, 'then follows.' [313] For _accurrite_. The same Renatus had a harangue at the beginning wherin he descryved very pedantically the lamentable effects it produces on the body of man: amongs his salutations, I observed this, _Themidis nostra Argonauta sacratissime, fidelissime, æquissime_. They get no auditors to their lessons, whence its only but for faschions sake that they begin their colledge, of which they have nothing but the name. We have observed heir in France that on their shortest day, the 22 of December, the sun sets not but a hower, almost, after its set to us, to wit at 4 acloack, and that they have light a quarter almost after 5. Also looking to their Almanacks I fand that it rose on the shortest day at 7 acloack and some minuts, when it rises not to us but after 8, so that they have in winter at Juile[314] a hower at morn, as much at even, of sun more then we have. Their 2 howers we gain of them in the summer, for at our longest day we have a hower sooner the morning the sun then they have; we have it at 3 howers, they have it not til 4 wt some minuts. At even also we have a hower of sun after that he get to them on our longest day, for by their Almanacks he sets on that day in France, or at least at Poictiers, at 7 acloack wt some minuts, wt us not til after 8. [314] Yule. Their is a very considerable difference betuixt the French summers and the Scots: to wit, in their heat; but surely we could remark none in their winters. Its true we had no considerable cold before Juile, Nöel (tho their fel a drift of snow about the end of Octobre, French account), yet we fand it sickerly when it came, so that I do not remember that I felt it colder in Scotland then it was for a space togither. Its true it leasts not so long heir as it does wt us. Juile is a great feste in France. The Papists are very devote on it, yea so religious that they go all to Church at midnight to hear Masse, for a preist hath that day power to say thry masses consecutife, when at another tyme he can say no more but on at a tyine. I went after dinner and hard the cordelier at St. Pierre. The rest of our Scotsmen ware so curious as to go hear Midnight Masses. As for me I had no skil of it it was so cold; and surely I did not repent it considering the affront that they got, that they ware forced to render their swords at the command of the Intendant who the night before was come to toune from the Grand Jour[315] that was then in Auuergne. This he caused do following the mode of Paris, wheir no man is suffered to carry a sword that night, both by reason of many quarrels begun that night, as also of sewerals that take occasion to decide former quarrels on that night. Surely they had no satisfaction in that Mass. [315] High Commission sent down by the king to the provinces as a final Court of Appeal. During the tyme I was heir I fel in discourse wt the Jesuites, going once to sy our countryman Pere Broune, who was wery kind to us al, and came and saw me after. About the tyme was that poor smith, of whom we made mention before, execute, who was the first we ever did sie in France. Tho he had receaved his sentence at Poictiers, yet that could serve til he was taken to Paris (for the Capital tounes of France are not royal boroughs as our are, having the power of heading and hanging wtin themselfes), wheir he was condemned to be broken on the wheel, to be _rouée_, tho according to the custome of France he know not that he was sentenced til about 2 howers before he was broken, for by concealing it up til then they keip them from taking wiolent courses to prevent their death which they would take if they know of it, as killing themselfes, or means to ecscape, tho otherwise it be very il for their souls, they having so short tyme to prepare themselfes for death. They made this poor fellow beleive that he was only condemned to the galleys, at which he laught, telling that it appeared they knew not he was a smith, so that he could easily file his chaines and run away. About 12 acloak on that day he was to be execeut he was conveyed to the Palais to hear his sentence, wheir it was read to him on his knees, the hangman _bourreau_ at his back wt a tow in his hand. The sentence being read he puts the tow about his neck wt thir words, _le Roy wous salou, mon amy_, to show him that its the King that causes him dy. His sentence is read to him again at the foot of the Palais, as give ye sould say at the coming of the Parlement close, or Ladies Steeps;[316] and then a third tyme on the schaffold. [316] Steps close to St. Giles's Church. See Wilson, _Memorials of Edinburgh_, 1891, vol. i. p. 260. Their ware mo then 10,000 spectators at the Marcher Vieux. In the midle of it their was a little _eschaustaut_[317] erected, on which ware nailed 2 iests after the forme of a St. Androws crosse, upon whilk the poor fellow was bond on his back, wt his 2 armes and his 2 thigs and legs on the 4 nooks of the crosse, having bein strip naked to his shirt. After he had prayed a little and the 2 carmes[318] that assisted him, the _bourreau_ made himselfe ready to execute the sentence, which was that he sould get 2 strooks quick and the rest after he was stranguled. [317] _Echafaud,_ scaffold. [318] Carmelites. At Paris in breaking great robbers, for the better exemple they do not strangle them at all; but after they have broken all their bones to peices almost, they leave them to dy on the rack. To return to our poor miserable, the _bourreau_ wt a great baton of iron began at the armes and brook them wt tuo strooks, then his knees, then a strook on every thigh, then 2 on the belly, and as many on the stomack; and after all thir, yea after the 20 strook, he was not fully dead. The tow[319] brak twice that was ordained to strangle him. In sying what this cattif suffered made us conclud that it was a cruel death to be broken in that sort. [319] Rope. We cannot forget how coldrif the French women seimed to be in the winter. The marchands wifes and thorow all the shops every one have their lame choffer[320] ful of rid charcoal wt their hands in among the mids of it almost. The beggar wifes going up and doune the streits had them also. * * * * * [321] [320] Earthenware chafing dish. [321] Twenty-two lines erased in MS. We cannot forget the shift that the poor folk which have no bowets[322] (which generally are not so good as ours) take when they go out under night, as I have sein them when I have bein going or coming from Mr. Alex'rs, and it would have bein so dark that I could not sy my finger before me. It is they take a peice wood thats brunt only at one end, and goes thorow the toune waging[323] it from one syde to the other, it casting a litle light before him. It would almost fly[324] a man in a dark night to sie it at a distance, and always approaching him, til he keen what it is. [322] Lanterns. [323] Wagging. [324] Frighten. We cannot but insert a not of a Northren Ministers preaching. His text was about Piters threefold denial of Christ, and that wt oaths. Beloved, its wery much controverted amongs the learned what ware the oaths that Piter swoore, yet the most part condeschends that they ware thir: the 1, God confound me, if I keen such a man; the 2, Devil ding me in testons;[325] the third, by Gods wounds, I do not keen him. Mungo Murray of the life gard was in the kirk, and resolving to make sport came to the Minister after the kirk was scailed, telling him that he agreed wt him about the 1 [first] 2 oaths that they ware so, but he could not be of his mind about the thrid, by Gods wounds, for Christ had not yet received any wounds, so that he could not swear by Gods wounds. The Minister began, Sir, I am very glad that ye take the freedom to propon your doubts, for its a signe of attention. As to your difficulty, ye would know that a man when he is sorest prest he wil swear sorest, so that Peter keipt the greatest oath last; also ye would know that it was a Profetical oath, as give he sould have sayd, by the wounds that Christ is to receave. [325] Teston or testoon, a small silver coin. The last in Scotland were coined by Mary in 1561, value 5s. Scots. In the Hylands their was a minister that was to give the Communion to his Parish wheir it had not bein given 6 or 7 years before. For that effect they sent to Monross[326] to buy the win, which being come, he and his elders bit to tast it for fear of poisoning their honest parishioners. Er ever they wist of themselfes they fand it so good that they licked it out every drap, and was forced to give the communion in good rid aile. [326] Montrose. We most not forget the story of the English Capitaine, who thinking to flie his Hostesse, he was so frighted himselfe, his man wtout his direction having bought a great oxes hyde and covered himselfe wt it, that looping over the stair for hast he brake on of his legs. Wheir 2 layes in a chamber togither, their are many wayes to flie on another. We might take a litle cord or a strong threed when the other is sleiping, bind it to his covering or bed cloaths, then going to our oun bed wt a end of the string in our hand, making ourselfes to be sleiping, draw the string to us, and the cloaths wil follow, and he wil be wery ready to think that its a spirit. Also ty a string to 2, 3 chair feet, and so draw them up and doune the house. He that knows nothing of it wil impute it to a ghest. Any tymes I was angry at the Frenchmen, if so be I was familiar wt them, I fell to and abuse them in Scots, as logerhead, ye are a sheip, etc. Their was no way I could anger them worse then to speak in Scots to them. The consuetuds and rights of nations about hunting and halking throughout the most part of the Christian world are wondrously degenerated from the right of nature and nations and the Civil Law following the footsteps of both. According to thir, all men have æqualy the liberty of chassing of wild beasts, no sort of folk being excepted, and that not only in their oune land but also in any others, since vild beasts, wheir ever they be they are always wild beasts, apparteening to none; for if that the wild beast is on my ground sould make that it be estimd myne, then leiving my ground it leives of to be myn, and by entring unto my neibhours it begins to be his, and so it might change a 100 masters in one day, which is absurd. We might as weill say that the piot that bigs[327] on my try is myne. [327] Magpie that builds. This liberty is exceedingly impared by the consuetudes at present, so that nether can we hunt all beasts, the King having excepted dears, harts, etc., so that its not lawful for any to chasse or kil under the pein of a fine 500 francks, except only the King and some few others, great peirs, who have their permission from the King. Nether is it permitted for all indifferently to hunt, clergymen are decharged it, Peasants also. Its confessed also by al that Kings may discharge their subjects the pastime and pleasure of hunting, especially thess who holds their lands in fief immediatly of the King, which he called fiefs royalles, whom he may hinder to hunt in their oune ground, ower which they have ful power otherwise to sel it, woodset it, gift it, or do wt it what I please: the same power have the inferior seigneurs. Lords in giving lands to vassals, men who have bein serviceable to them in many occasions whom they cannot recompence in mony, they give them a tennement of land, they usualy retain the right of hunting in these lands only to themselfes. Halking in France is a excercise not permitted to any under a gentleman. We have sein its not permitted to al to hunt; also its not permitted to hunt al beasts; also its not permited now to hunt indifferentley in al places. The Kings keips their parks filled wt wild beasts, wheir its not leasum for any to hunt but themselfes, as Fontainbleau and St. James Park. The nobility have also the same right of keiping sick parks; as witnese upon the rode bothe of England and France we meit wt noblemens incloseurs wheir would [be] 2 or 300 dears. Yea, in France its not lawful to shoot wt the gun in another mans ground; so that if a man take another guning in his ground, he usualy takes the gun from him and breaks over his shoulders. If he can hinder a man to shoot in his ground, much more may be hinder him to hunt, since the on is more praeiudicial to him then the others; for its done wt greater noice, also does more damnage to the cornes or wines. What might be the reasons that have moved the Princes to hem in so narrow bounds the rights of Hunting by the right of nature and civil Law so patant to all are to be found in Vesembec,[328] paratitlo _de acquir[endo rerum dominio._ ], For fear that the whole race of beasts sould soon or sin[329] be totally exstirpated wt the multitude of hunters, if al ware permitted to hunt. 2do, Least to many (as we sie at present) being to much taken wt the plaisir of the sport sould forget their businesses of consequence. As to that obiection, that hunting being from the right of natur, which is unchangable, it cannot be prohibited by any civil Law, I say hunting is not from the rights of nature commanding but permitting. [328] Matthew Wesenbec, Dutch jurist, 1531-1586. [329] Sooner or later. Its a custome in France that when a young woman unmarried is condemned to dy for some offence (unlesse the fault be al the grivevuser) that if the hangman be unmarried he may sick hir in marriage and get hir hir life that way: that their hes bein seweral that have refused it and choosen rather to die. This hes great resemblance wt that custome in England that a man being sentenced to dy, if a common whore demand him in marriage she wil get him; it being a charitable work to recal a whore from hir loose and prophan life by making hir marry. Yet surely both the on custome and the other is but a corruptel and a mocking at Justice. The accent the French gives the Latin is so different from ours that sometymes we would not have understood some of them (for the most part I understood them weil enought), nor some of them us. Ether we or they most be right, but I dout not to affirm but that the accent they give it, straining it to the pronuntiation of their oune language, is not natural, but a vicious accent, and that we have the natural. My reason is, because if their be any wayes to know what was the Accent the ancient Romans prononced the Latin wt it is the Accent that the Italians gives it and their oune language, which is a degenerated Latin, who be the Romans posterity; but so be they give it the same very accent that we do: the French ware never able to answer me this. As to ther pronuntiation of the Greek I could never keip myselfe from laughting when they had occasion to read Greek or any Greek sentence, even their Doctors of Law: vitnesse le Berche at Orleans whom I attended 2 moneths, that Greek that occurres in the 2 T. 1 book of the instituts,[330] [Greek: ton nomon hoi], he pronunced it [Greek: hi; men agraphoi], prononced it [Greek: hagraphi; hoi, i; men engraphoi, phi]: as we observed also in Mr. Filleau at Poictiers, [Greek: dunamenon] esti, he pronunced the 2 last syllabes damned long. [Car [Greek: son kaphson] urens.][331] We could give infinite mo instances wheir they prononce it undoubtedly wrong. [330] Justinian, _Inst_. i. 2: [Greek: ton nhomon ohi men heggraphoi, ohi oe hagraphoi]. [331] Interlined. The meaning apparently is that the French pronounced [Greek: kahnson], a New Testament and Septuagint word for burning heat, as if it were written [Greek: kaphson]. They do not name their points in writing as we do, that which we cal comma (following the Greek) they cal it alwayes _Virgula_; our colon, _duo puncta_; semicolon, _punctum cum virgula_. When we say _nova Linea_ they say _a capite_, wt sundry others like that. A woman witness is receaved in France in any causes whither civil or criminal: only wt this difference that for one man their most be 2 women, id est, wheir 2 men being ocular witnesses of a murder wil condemne a man, their most be 4 women, under which their witnes is not admitted. They have their penny bridiles[332] in France as weil as we in Scotland. When a servant women marries, her master brings wt him folk to their wedding as he can get, who casts in into the plat according to their pleasure. They wil be ready enough to promise on back the halfe of his again wt the dessein so to engage the rest to give more. [332] See _Scotland and the Protectorate_, C.H. Firth (S.H.S.), vol. xxxi. p. 410, note. About the begining of February 1666 came Comoedians to Poictiers. I went and saw them severall tymes. The first was called Odip, who resolved the Sphinx his enigma: was so unfortunat to slay his father by ignorance, marry his mother, and to conclud al to put out his oune eyes: the fellow acted his griefe exceeding lifelylie. The farce was _le Marriage du rien_. A fool fellow in a scoolmasters habit wt a ugly nose, which I was angry at, a scoop hat, comes on the stage wt his daughter, who proposes to him that she apprehended furiusly that she might dy a maid and never tast of the pleasure in marriage. In comes a poet to suit hir, fals out in the commendation of Poesy; hir father shoots him away, saying that al the Poets ware fools. In comes a painter who praising his art, whom also he puts away, saying that the painter ware poor drunken fellows. After came a Musician, who fell to sing: he called him a cheater. Then came in a Astronomer, whom he put away because he could not tel whither he would give him his daughter or not. Then came in a Captain, a floop[333] like fellow wt his sword about him, making a wery fool reverence, who rodomontades a space, telling that he had made the Devils tremble; that he was that Achilles in Homer, that Eneas in Virgil, that Aiax in Ovid, and that al that historians wrot of brave men was only of him. At last came in one that called himself nothing, that would assume no title to himselfe. Not finding anything to obiect against him he accepted of him. [333] Floop or flup, awkward. In the comoedy when the King stood very scrupulously on his word, his sister fel to to convince him that it was a shame to a King to be slave of his word, which was the great maxim of Cardinal Mazarini, as I was informed. Having sent to consult the oracle of Delphos, and it not deigning to answer him, in a rage he cried furth, _flectere si superos nequeo_, etc. When a person dies in France they are very careful to mark in what posture after their death their feet are in; for if they be unæqually laying, on of them drawen up, they strongly beleive that by that the dead calls his or hir neirest friend let it be wife, father, or brother, on of which wil dy shortly after. Its the faschion of the grandees when they die that they are exposed for 3 days after in a chamber hung all in doole[334] in their bed, also of dool, in the bests cloaths which they wor when they ware in life, so that al may come to sy them in that space. Their is holy water in the roome. The Dutchesse of Montamor, whiles I was at Poictiers, was thus exposed. [334] Mourning. The bairnes of France have the excercise of the tap, the pery,[335] the cleking,[336] and (instead of our gouf, which they know not) they have shinyes. [335] Peg top. [336] Clekin or Clackan, a small wooden bat in shape like a racquet. In France they have apples without any seeds in them; also great Pavies[337] (which is the best sort of Peach) wtout any stone, which they informed me the curious does thus: they graft a peach in a old stock, the bow the end of the imp[338] and causes it to enter in a other rift made in the stock, leaves it like a halfe moon or bow til they think it hes taken, and then cut it in 2. That halfe imp that was grafted first wt the head upmost bears peaches according course of nature wt stones in them, the other, which growes as give ye would say backwardlies bears wtout any stones. This has bein practicat. They'le impe[339] any tyme of the year in France. [337] Sorte de pêche, dont la chair est ferme, et qui ne quitte pas le noyau.--Littré, _Dict_. [338] Shoot. [339] Graft. About the mids of February was receaved a new fencing master, whom we saw give his trials: the Mair made a assaut against him first, then the fencing masters, then some schollers. A litle after was the Queen mothers panegyrick or _funebre oraison_ made at St. Pierre in a prodigious confluence of peeple of al ranks; the Intendant, the President and the Conseillers, the Mair, the Eschiwines,[340] and the Maison de Ville assisting; also many of the religious orders. The Cordelier who preached the Advent before and the caresme after made the harangue. He deduced hir glory and commendation, lo, from that she was Anne of Austria, which is the province in which standes Vienne, the Metropolis of Germany; that she was Philip the 3d of Spaines daughter; next that she was Queen or wife to Lowis the Just, 13 of that name in France; 3dly, that she was mother to Lewis the 14't, so hopeful a Prince, after she had bein 23 years barren. Whence he took occasion to show that tho virginity and coelebat was wery commendable, yet that it was no wayes so in the succession to crounes. He had also heir a senselese gasconad which nobody approved of, that St. Gregoire sould say that as far as Kings are exalted above other men, that in so far the Kings of France ware above al other Kings. In the 4th place he fand a large elogium to hir in that she falling widdow she becam Regent of hir sone and the Realme during his minority. Hir last and principal commendation was that she was a Princesse most devot and religious. [340] _Echevins_, municipal magistrates. We was at comoedy, the farce of which was called _Le cocus imaginaire_. Their ware some honest women craking[341] togither on a tyme, they came among other things to speak of Eve and hir transgression: on of them cries furth very gravely, oh, that I was not their, I wish I had given hir a 12 penie loaf on the condition she had not eaten the apples. [341] Chatting. Wery rich stuff has bein heard at the examens in Scotland, some ignorant folks wt their answers being wery pleasant and merry. Mr. J. Smith, Minister of the Colledge Kirk, examining a bonnet maker, of whilk theirs a great number in his parish, he speared at him what was effectual calling; the fellow, clawing his head, replied, the feeklesest[342] calling I keen, Sir, is my oune. Kid, minister of the Abby Kirk, spearing at one of my Lord Catheneses servant women what was the Lords Supper. She, thinking that he had speared what was for my Lords Supper, answered, Sir, or I came out I set on the pot and My Ledy hes sent pies to the owen. Mr. Robert Blair, examining a wery ignorant body, speared at hir, wheirof was ye made, Magie; the folk neir hand rounded and harked in to hir, of the rib of man. Of the rib of man, Sir. Weil said, Magy, quoth Mr. Rob, I'm very blaith to sie that ye answer better then ye did the last examen. Who made man then? The peaple round about whispered to hir, God. God, Sir. Whirof made he him then, Magy? The peaple cried to hir then, of dust and clay: which she mistaking or not hearing weil, insteed of saying of dust and clay, she said, of curds and whey, Sir. I leive to ghesse whither them that ware their laught or not. Mr. Robert himselfe, tho a very grave man, could not refrain from smiling. [342] Feckless, feeble. In baptizing about the bairnes names ther hes bein mistakes both on the Ministers hand and the holder ups. Mr. James Vood was baptizing a man at St. Androws, and instead that he sould have baptized James, he called it John. The father, a litle bumbaized at this, after the barne is baptized and that he hes given it back to the midwife, he stands up and looks the Minister as griveously in the face and sayes, Sir, what sal I do wt 2 Johns, we have a John at home else, Sir? Whow would ye called then, Robin? quo' the Minister. James, Sir. James be the name of it then. Mr. Forbes told me that in the hylands once a mans wife was lighter of a lasse, the goodman was wery sick so that he could not go to church to present his oune barne, wheiron he desires one of his freinds or gossips to go and hold it up for him. He bit to have a Scriptural name for his daughter, at last he agreed upon Rebecca. The man thought he sould remember weil enough of it. Just as he is holding up the child he forgets the name. The Minister speares, whow call ye it. Sir, they call it, they cal it, they call it, shame fall it, ay hir oune selfe hes forgotten it. Yet I remember that its a name very lik tobacco. Many did laught wery heartylie at this, only some present remembered of the name, that it was Rebecca. Having stayed at Poictiers til the 14 of April French accompte: some 20 dayes before that I was beginning to make many acquantances at Poictiers, to go in and drink wt them, as wt De Gruché, Ingrande La Figonne, both Advocats sones, and of the Religion, Mr. de Gay, Borseau, Cotibby, etc. * * * * * [343] [343] Twenty-seven lines erased in MS. I was beginning to fall wery idle, so that if I had stayed longer in Poictiers, I had alwayes engaged myselfe in more company, and so done the lesse good, whence I have a sort of satisfaction that I came away. On the day of my departing I took my leive of Mr. Boutiet, Mlle. Alex'r, and Mlle. Strachan, Mlle. Chabate and hir mother wt some others, then went to the Chappeau d'or, wheir we dined, Mr. Alex'r, the Doctor, Sandy, Mr. De la Porte, Mr. Montozon (for Gorein was not in toune), and I. After having taken my leive of Madame Daillé (himselfe being at Partenay), I took horse before the buith door and came to the Daufin in the fauxbourgs, wheir I leapt of. The most part of the Hugonots going to their Temple, their I took my leive of Sandy'es wife, Madame Peager, and divers others. I took up to drink wt me Mr. de la Porte, De Gruché, De Gey, De Gaule, Barantons brother, etc. * * * * * [344] [344] Twenty-two lines erased in MS. On my vakening on the morning, I fand my head sore with the win I had drunk. For as sick as I was, on I got the morning wt the rest, and came and dined at Portpile,[345] a litle toune standing 5 leagues (for the leagues are long their in comparison of them about Paris) from Chattellerauld, on the Creuse, which runes also by Blanc in Berry. [345] Le Port de Pilles, Blaeuw's Atlas. Having ioined their wt the Messenger of Bordeau, who had about 7 Gascons wt him, and the Messenger of Angoulesme, who had above 12, we was a body above 24. We took al horseback, and having rode the river, tho wery deip, because the bridge was broken, I fell in wt the Gascons, and was the rarest stuffe wt them that could be.[346].... Also a gentleman of Sainctonge ioined wt us, who was coming to Paris. [346] Eight lines erased in MS. We came this night to Faux, a litle village standing upon the Lindre, about 7 leagues from Portpile, wher I played one of the Gascons a pret[347] in the boat; wheir also I saw a reservoire of fisches. Heir I was wery sick, so that I suped none, as I had not dined, my Poictiers rant incapacitating me. Yea, I was distempered al the way after, so that I cost not wery dear to my Messenger for my diet. [347] Trick. Nixt morning be 4 howers, having taken horse and riden the water, I came to Amboise. My heart began to lift in me for Joy when I came to places I had sein before, for I being wery sick, I fancied now I was almost at the end of my journy. Amboise is 5 leagues from Faux. We dined at the Cheval rouge, in the fauxbourgs, this syde of the Loire. I went and saw the Chasteau, having taken a French Gentleman of Quercy (of which Cahors is the Capital toune, and Dordogne the cheife river), and another of Thosose[348] wt me, whose brother, a boy not above 20 years, had already been at the wars against the Mores of Barbary, and had bein taken prisoner, and was ransoned by his father for 300 crounes, and was coming in to Paris to get some employment in the army: such stirring spirits are the French. The Castle I fand werie strong. I saw their arsenal, wheirs layes the canon of the fort, the greatest of them carrieng only 10 pound ball. Their best peices ware transported during the seige of the Rochel; they have never bein brought back yet. Theirs in the entry King Dagobert and his Queens statues, wt 2 great sheep done _à l'antique_. [348] Probably for Tholose, Toulouse. The most considerable thing we saw was the Harts hornes, hung up in the corner of a chapelle, of a monstrous bignesse, if they be natural. It was taken some many 100 years ago in a forest of Lorraine towards Allemagne, wt a collet,[349] about whilk the flesch was so growen that it covered it, bearing that it belonged to Cæsar. It bit to be wery old when it was taken. Also we saw some rib bons of it monstrouslie great. Also, I saw the chamber wheir Mr. Fouquet[350] was detained prisoner when the King brought him from Nantes. [349] Collar. [350] Nicolas Fouquet, 1615-1680, finance minister of Louis XIV., fell out of favour, and was arrested at Nantes, 1661. From Amboise we came to Blois 10 short leagues, wheir I went straight to the Castle (my remarks of which are elsewheir) to sie these verses of Faustus above the 1 gate of the castle, which are as followeth: Hic ubi natus erat dextro Ludovicus Olympo Sumpsit honorata regiâ[351] sceptra manu, Foelix quæ tanti fulsit lux nuntia regis, Gallia non alio principe digna fuit. 1498. [351] Regiâ for regia. At best the line does not scan. Next morning we came to St. Laurens, a pretty litle toune, wheir we dined. In the afternoone we passed by Clery, a litle village 4 leagues from Orleans, wheir I subscrived my name in the great book of all passengers (wheir I did read several Scots names, as Liddell, Douglas, etc.). I payed a collation, which cost me a croune. At Orleans we quartered at the Charrue, in the fauxbourgs towards Paris. As soon as I was arrived I went to J. Ogilvies, wheir I fand Madame, Mademoiselle hir daughter, hir 2 sones, Mr. le Baron, and another Allemand. They ware wery kind to me, caused me stay and sup wt them. They began and told me the depart of my Lord Ogilwie from their house very discontent, denieng J. Ogilvie, who was then in Germany for Mr. le Barons busines, to have bein given him as his Governor by my L[ord] his father. They would wery fain had me subscribing a paper (for they brought a notaire wtout my knowledg), wherin I sould have attested that I had heard from him that he was his gouwerneur, which they could not all obtain of me,... They pressed me so sore, making remonstrances, that I would obligd them infinitly by subscryving it, also that I could incurre no dommage by it, that I was put to feigne that I had made a solemme oath not to subscryve anything while I was in France, which stoopt their mouths. I went wt Mr le Baron D'Angleberne and Christophle, le Barons valet, after supper to the lodging, whither my Lord was retired, which was at the back of the Church Ste. Croix, wheir I plead[352] the dissembler. Just at the port of the toune I meet James Hunter, who had bein at my quarters to sie me. [352] Played. Being on horseback, tomorrow being a Sundy, ere 3 howers of the morning we dined at Thoury, a little toune 10 leagues from Orleans; came at night wt foul weather to Estampes, a ruinous toune, their no being so meikle as a whole house standing in al the fauxbourgs, and that since the late troubles raised by Mr le Prince,[353] who defended the toune against the King. Their is one long street in the toune. We lay at the trois Rois. We went to the Cordeliers Convent to sie that Barbet[354] rought[355] water dog that taks the Escrevisses,[356] but we could not sie it. [353] In 1652 the Prince of Condé's troops held Etampes against Turenne, Louis XIV.'s general. [354] A kind of dog with long curly hair. [355] Rought, rough: as he spells laugh, laught. [356] _Ecrévisses_, crayfish. Nixt day, having past by a Hermitage, wheir 2 hermites dwells, and seiks almes of al that passes, we came and dined at Linas, besydes Montlery, 9 leagues from Estampes,... At 5 oclock the afternoon we entred Paris by the fauxbourgs St. Jacques, wheir we passed by the Val de Grace, builded by Queen mother of France, lately dead, wheir hir heart is keeped; by the colledge of Clermont and the Sorbonne. We quit our horses in the rue St Jacques, neir the Grande Cerf. We was not weill of our horses when we was oppressed wt a generation of Hostlers, taverners, and others that lodges folk, some intreating us to come wt him, some wt him, all promising us good entertainement and accommodation. I went wt on Mr. Houlle, a barber, who had bein in England, because he was neir hand, and would stay but that night. Theyr was a French Gentleman of Lions and a Spaniard, one of the Queens Attendants: this was my company. That night they told me of the death of Madame de Touraine, and of the execution of Mr. del Camp, 2 dayes before my coming, a Maister of a Academy, and that for false mony, for whilk he had bein pardoned once before. Nixt day, whilk was the 20 Aprill 1666, French accompt, I came to Mr Kinlochs, wheir I am informed that the most part of our countrymen are already goon for England, and that Thirlestan, Gorenberry, and Sandilands (whom I saw and gave on his desire my new testament) was to go the day after. Their I was first acquaint wt Mr. Forbes[357] (Cullodin) and Archibald Hay (Bara's brother). I changed my quarters that same day and came to Kinlochs. [357] Probably Duncan Forbes, 1644-1704, M.P. for Nairn, succeeded his father about 1688, father of President Forbes. Within a day or 2 I was acquaint wt our Scots Captains, Captain Caddel, C. Rutherfurd wt a tree leg--his oune was dong from him at the Seige of Graveling--and Captain Scot, also on C. White. I saw the fruit they call grenades[358] at Paris. To look to before its cut most like a citron: being cut at the top its all ful of litle grains as like rezer[359] berries in the coulor and bigness, yea almost in the tast, as can be. It was a pretty sight to sy how prettily the grains ware ranked wtin the skin. [358] Pomegranates. [359] Rezer, rizzer, red currant. Mr. Kinloch on night coming from a burial of a Hugonet Medecin at Charenton saw a blind man of the Kings vingt (as they call them, tho they be 15 score) play at the Maille[360] to admiration, wheir upon Mr. Grahme took occasion to tel severall very wonderful things he know of blind men: amongs others, of one that could play weill to the gooffe, of another that, take doune 2 watches, mix their works as much as ye like in a hat or any other thing, and gave them him, he saw put them up as iust every one wt their oune vorks as any cknock maker shal do. Its common that they know any sort of silver by a more parfait touche then ordinar, which God is pleased to impart unto them in recompence of the want of sight. [360] See p. 20, note 2. In the renouned toune of Forfar, one who had many kyn having caused milk them at his door, left the tub wheirin he had milked them by neglect at his door. By comes a neigbhours cow, whow being damned thirsty, comes the by way to the tub and takes a wery hearty draught. In the mean tyme comes he that ought the milk, and seing the damage that was done him, to the Toune counsel he goes and makes a very greevous complaint, demandes that he that owes the cow that had drunk his milk pay him it. The counsel was exceedingly troubled wt this demand, never in their remembrance having had the like case throrough their fingers. After much debat on both sydes, a sutor[361] stands up and showes that he had light upon a medium to take up the difference. He askes whither it was a standing drink or not that the cow took when she drank out the milk. They replying whow could she take it but standing, he replyed that it was a most sure thing in that country, knowen to them all, that none ever payed for a standing drink. They following this decision assolzied and cleared cow wt its owner from paying ought, as having taken only a standing drink. [361] Cobbler. Its marked of the Aurelians[362] that they cannot drink standing, but that tho they have never so litle to drink, they most sit doune. Henry the 4't, as he was a very mery man, being at Orleans at a tyme, and my Lord maire and his Eschevins being come to sie him, he would try the truth of this. He first causes remove all the chaires and stools out of the roome, so that nothing was left that a man could sit doune on: then caused bring in win, and drinks to my L. mairs good health, then ordains him to pledge him, who begins to look about him for a seat; no, nay seat for him, wheir on he began to suspect the King had done it a purpose, he resolves to give his Majesty sport. He causes on of his Aldermen to sit doune on his knees and his hand, so that he may drink of his drink to the King on his back sitting, which he did, and at which the King did laught no litle. [362] People of Orleans. In the tyme of our late stirs one of the name of Gordon, called black Adam,[363] had broken in on a willage in some part of the north, and had made such a pillage that he had left nothing that was in the least worth the carrieng away. One of the women of the willage bewailling her lose wt her neighbours, demanded whow they called that wicked man that that had them the scaith. They call him Adam, quoth another, I know no more. Adam, quoth she. Adam began the world and I think he sal end it to. [363] Edom o' Gordon. The Irishes hes a damned respect for St. Phatrick, of whom they say, that if Christ had no bein Christ, St. Phatrick would have bein Christ, as he ware the most worthy person after Christ. In the first part of the Romance termed _Almahide_ or _l'esclave Reyne_, penned by the renouned Scudery,[364] dedicated to Mademoiselle, the Kings sister, are brought in the toun of Grenade in a uproar by reason of 2 mighty factions, the Abencerrages, of whilk Abindarrays is the head; and the Zegris, whose head is Mohavide, betuixt whilk 2 the whole toune is divided. It comes to a cruel fight in the spatious place of Viwaramble, notwtstanding what the Mufti wt the Alcoran in his hand could say to dissuade them, who is descryved wt all the rest of the religious orders. [364] George de Scudéri, 1601-1667. Amongs the Abencerrages was eminently conspicous the _bell esclave_ on the head of Moray Zel, the father of Sultane Queenes party, for fear of whom the queen suffers no small greife. At last by the mediation of the King they are brought to peace; only Mohavide subornes a Alfaguy to accuse criminelly the sclave for being found wt armes in his handes against the law of the Alcoran: whos harangue is answered and refuted by Moray Zell. The King, after deip deliberation and a magnanimous harangue of the sclave, himselfe assolyies him. This reased a curiosity in Roderick de Navarre, a great Spaniard, prisoner of the Mores at that tyme, having sein the valeur of the sclave, to know what he might be: whence one Ferdnand, a old slave of the Sultane queen, begines him his story thus: In the beginning of the reigne of Muleyhassel, whose sone reigneth at present, the greatest courtier at the court of Grenade was Morayzell; and tho their ware many brave Dames, yet none could captivate his heart, so that long tyme he was called le bel insensible. On a tyme on of his friends called Almadam came and invited him to a feigned fight of canes he was to make in the sight of his M'ris Semahis, to which at lenth yeelding, he beates him, and wines the heart of Semahis, and begines to find his oune touched. Finaly, after a combat for hir betuixt him and Almadan, in which he overthrowes Almadan, they are solennly married. About the course of a year after the beautiful Semahis gave a matchlesse daughter, which they called Almahide, and who at present is _Sultane reyne_, to the valliant Morayzel, who caused a learned Arabian cast hir Horoscope, who dressing hir figure, gave the strange answer, that the stars told him that she sould be fort sage et fort amoureuse, quelle sera en mesme temps femme et fille, Vierge et mariée, esclave et Reyne, femme d'un esclave et d'un Roy, heureuse et malheureuse, Mahometane et Chrestienne, innocente et coupable, et enfin plus estrange exposée an danger d'estre brulée toute vive. De plus quelle mourra plus contente qu'elle n'aura vescu, et que parmy les debris d'un Throne et le bouleversement d'un Royaume, son amour et son innocence la consoleront elle mesme de la perte d'une courrone que la fortune lui osterea. This gave no smal astonishment to Moray Zel, who to evite them the better resolves to send his daughter far from Grenade, to Algiers in Africk, that if it comes to pass it may light far from Grenade. This he puts in execution, shipping in the infant at Tarriffe under the tuition of seweral slaves, but especialy of Fernand de Solis. Them we leive on the sea a while to tell another rancontre. About 3 years before the birth of Almahide, Inez d'Arragon bore a son to hir Lord dom Pedro de Leon, due de Medine Sidonia, in Andalousy, in Spaine. The childs Horoscope the father caused to be casten by one of Toledo, who desired him to have a watchful eye of his sone til he pass 20, otherwise he may be made slave. To obey this the better Dom Pedro thought it not amisse to remove his sone from the court and city and send him to a plaisant country house called the Fountaines, wheir we leive the young Ponce de Leon, and returnes to our Almahide on the sea. The Ship is sett upon by pirats corsaires, and they are taken al sclaves and carried to the ile of Dorigni. Heir they stayed a long tyme, and Almahide growes to some years, and hir beauty growes wondrously wt her, which the pirats seing they resolve to carry hir to Constantinople to sell hir to them that plenishes the Turks seraglio. Whiles they are on their way they are casten away, none saved but Fernand and the litle Almahide, tho Fernand know not of it; for some shephards finding hir in a sound[365] on the shore, they carried hir to the Fountaines iust at hand (for their lot was such to be casten away their), and sold hir to the Duc and Dutchesse. Dom Fernand, finding that he was in his oune country, and knowing that the Ducks house, who was his old freind, was neir he went to visit him, wheir to his amazement he fand the litle Almahide, who came runing to him and velcomed him. Heir the Duc choses Fernand to be his sones gouueneur, and appointes the beautiful Almahide to stay their to bear his sone company. [365] Swoon. All this while Morayzel could gett no newes of his daughter, which was no small greife to him. In the interim the fierce and fair Semahis, his Lady, wt hir charmes conqueres so many souls to hir beck that being ambitious she brought Grenade in hazard. After this is intervoven a lang but pretty description of the house called Fontaines. Love begines incessantly to grow betuixt them. The only obstacle was she was still mahometane, which the sclaves had infused in hir. Yet on a tyme young Ponce mocking merrily at the fopperies of the Alcoran she tournes Christian. On this their love takes new strenthe: on a tyme he impartes it to hir; from whom at lenth he getts a promise of hir fidelity to him. After she turned Christian she got the name of Aminte. Theirs sowen in a pretty dispute that happened, what might be the prettiest of flowers, and its generally by Aminte also concluded on the Tulip. Their fame cannot be long confined at the Fontaines, but its at the Court of Sewill already; which drawes many galland persons to come sy them, and amongs others Dom Alvare, who proved to Ponce de Leon a Rivall, who expressing his affection to the fair Grenadine both in verses and lettres it occasioned bad intelligence betuixt him and Ponce, so that it comes to a combat, wheirin Ponce carries away the victory. And it was like to have occasioned more mischeif had not Fernand, Ponce his governor, writen to the Duc to fetche away Aminte, who was the occasion of their striv, which the Duc obeyes, sending a coach for hir to carry hir to Sewil, who having renewed hir promise of fidelity to Ponce leives him their a very sorry man. Thus ends the first Book. * * * * * [366] [366] Half a page blank. There follows here an essay in French or notes of a lecture on the study of law, a juvenile performance. Though inserted in the MS. book it is not part of the Journal. It has been printed here as it stands. Il y a deuz methodes pour estudier le droit, ou par la voye du text ou par celle des quæstions: certes le chemin du text est le plus asserre, plus solide et moins trompeur. Pour le text comme guides wous vous attacherez a Vinnèus, ou vous trouwerez cela qu'il est de la scholastick: a Sucidiwen non paralellé quant est de la practique. A la glosse ou Accurse si vous souhaitez les cas et les especes des loix: si vous ne tirez pas toute la satisfaction possible quant est de la text de ceux-cy, feuilletez Bartol, Cuiace et Azon dans son Summa, de qui autrefois l'on disoit, Qui non habet Azonem vendat pallium. Si vous voudrez chicaner ou jusque an moindres points epluscher une loix dans la text vous trouverez vostre conte dans Antonius Faber. Ayant leu les Institutes avec ses aydes, vous vous tournerez aux Paratitlairs. Sur la quelle matiere personne n'entrera en parrallelle avec Peresius in C. Vesenbecius ne laisse pas faire assez bicn la dessus: vous pourrez aussi regardez Corvinus. Calvin dans ses Paratitles n'a fait qu'une honteuse recueill de cela que les autres avoient dit la dessus devant lui, comme de Cuiace, Vesenbec, etc. Entre les Docteur Francois les parratitles de Maranus, Antecesseur de Tholose, sont en haute estime, mais puisque nos sentiments nous sont libres, nous ne voyons pas trop de raison. Vous n'oublierez pas les Paratitles de Tulden wrayment grand homme: comme ceux de Zoesig et sur les Digests, et sur le droit canon. Cette Methode apprendre le droit par le text a receu ses meilleurs et plus brillantes lumiers des Francois. Seulement vous prendrez icy garde d'une faute de qui je les accus presque tous, pourtant fort insupportable et bien digne de la fowette: c'est que ils advancent des choses en controverse comme s'ils estoient hors du controverses et autant de Principes, et par ainsi pitieusement abusent la ieunesse. Afin de vous detromper vous passerez dans l'autre chemin, qui est celui des Quæstions, lequel si vous pourrez marier heureusement a l'autre, de cette union vous peut redonder dans son temps une entiere connoissance du droit. Dans ce chemin-cy wous ne manquez pas des hommes sçavants pour vos præcepteurs. Ici s'offrent Fachinæi controversiæ, Vasquii controversiæ Illustres: item son traité De successionibus tam ex testamento quam ab intestato. Item Pacij centuriæ: qui outre son commentaire ad Institutiones a aussi escrit ad librum 4tum c. lequel oeuure de Pacius emporte sur tous ses autres. Vous y trowwerez Merenda. Vous chercherez pour Bronchorstii Quæstiones, qui a aussi escrit ad T.D. De Regulis Juris. Vous ne manquerez pas d'acheter les disputationes selecta Treutheri ou ses Theses, avec Hunnius (qui a aussi ecrit 4 libres variarum resolutionum) in 3 tomes le dessus, et Bachovius cet grand esprit, de qui Vineus derobe le meilleur de cela qu'il a. Mais sur toute n'oubliez pas le 4 Tomes de Harpreclitus sur les 4 livres des Institutes, qui vous donnera une lumiere merveilleuse dans toutes les quæstions; et ou il defail le lui-mesme, il vous n'envoye aux meilleurs autheurs qui a escrit sur cette matiere. A la mesme fin vous demanderez pour Mastertius, ou particulierement pour son sedes illustrium materiarum Juvis civilis, ou il vous monstre tous les meilleurs Autheurs de la connoissance qui explique une telle ou une telle loix Voyez Nicolaus de Passeribus De Reconciliationibus Legum. While I was at Campheire, towards the end of July 1667, I had occasion to sie the book writ by our banished ministers at Rotterdam and other places, and particularly by Mr. Macquaire[367] put ut in the years 1665, intituled 'An Apologetical Relation of the particular sufferings of the faithful ministers and professors of the Church of Scotland since August 1660, wherein severall questions useful for the tyme are discussed. The Kings praerogative over parliament and peaple soberly inquired into; the lawfulnesse of defensive war cleared; the supreme Magistrats powers in Church matters examined, Mr. Stellingfleets notion of the divine right of the formes of government considered; the author of the Seasonable Case answered: other particulars, such as the hearing of the curates, the appearing before the hy commission court., etc., canvassed, togither with the rise, raigne, and ruine of the former Praelats in Scotland, being a breiff accompt from History of the Goverment of the Church of Scotland from the beginning, and of the many troubles which Praelats have created to hir first and last, for satisfaction of Strangers and encouradgement of present sufferers by a weill wisher to the goud old cause. Then follows some places of Scripture, as Jeremias 50, ver. 34, Micah 7, ver. 9-10, Isay 51, ver. 22-23. [367] Robert Macquare wrote a postscript to the _Apologetical Relation_, etc., which was the work of J. Brown. A reprint in the _Presbyterian's Armoury_, vol. iii. (1843), is in the British Museum. In this book they traduce Spotswood, Archbishop of St. Androws, endeavoring to make him ridiculous, and empanelling him of falsehood in many places of his History, using to refute him the auctority of Buchanan, a auctor more suspected then himselfe. In their 4 section they prove the Marquis of Argyle most uniustly to have bein put to death the 27 of May 1661. The ground of his sentence they say in the 78 page to have bein that he was and had bein an ennemy to the King and his interests thesse 23 years or more bypast, which in effect (say they) is as much as give ye would say he had bein an active freind for the interest of Christ, making Gods interest and the Kings interest point blanc contrary, so that a freind to the one could not be but a ennemy to the other. The thing that more particularly the Parliament adhered to was his compliance wt the English and sitting in their Parliaments. But that this was not treason, and consequently not capable to take his life, they labor to prove by sundry particulars, first that the Lawyers themselfes (who best of any should know what treason is) complied, yea swore fidelity, to that government. They instance to his odium Sir John Fletcher, then Kings Advocate. 2dly, He was not guilty of compliance alon. Many members of Parliament sitting their to judge him war _conscii criminis_. 3dly, If compliance was treasonable and capable enough to put him to death, whey ware they so anxious to find out other grounds against him wheiron they might walk? 4ly, Whey was never on save this nobleman not so much as empanelled for this fault, much lesse put to death? Whow came it to passe that William Purves, who by complying had almost occasioned ruine to many noblemen, boroughs, and gentlemen, was absolved by a act of Parliament? Then their was never act of Parliament, nether any municipal Law, condemning necessesary compliance for life and liberty wt a conqueror, and for the good of the country conquered, as treasonable. Their was never a practick or _praejudicium_ in Scotland for it since it was a Kingdome. Bruce did never so much as quaestion his nobility that in Balliols tyme had complied wt Edward of England. Nixt the Royalists say conquaest is a just title to a croune. So Baleus[368] in his _Sacro-sancta Regum Maiestas_, cap. 17; but so be Cromwell conquered our country, ergo, he was our lawful governour and had just title to our croune. If so, whow could compliance and passive obedience to such a on be treason? In this he triumphs so, that he addes, let al the Royalists answer to this wtout contradicting themselfes if they can. No definition out of the civil Law can be brought of treason which wil comprehend necessary compliance; ergo, its no treasonable. Finally, we sie compliance to be the practise of all conquered nations, yet upon the alteration of government no body condemned for it. [368] John Bale, Bishop of Ossory, died 1563. In the end they appeal to al governours of states, Lawyers, casuists, politicians, canonists, and Quod-libetists, yea to Royalists themselfes, whither or no when a nation is broken in 3 or 4 battells, so that they can do no more, but are oblidged to take laws from the conqueror, wil it be treason to comply wt the ennemy for life and liberty, and when he is chosen by the country to go and sit in the conquerors judicatories (which priveledge _ex gratiâ_ he grants them), to sie the affairs of the Kingdom regulate, and sie to what wil be best for the good of the country. They persuade themselfes that all wil say this is no treason. Then subsume they, but such was Argiles compliance; ergo, for treasonable compliance he could not be put to death because not guilty of it. Then ye have a vindication of Mr. James Guthry,[369] execute 1 of June 1661, from the crimes layd to his charge wheirupon his sentence was founded. They say the crime was that some 10 years before, being challenged by the King for somthing spok over the pulpit, he declined his cognizance as a incompetent judge in ecclesiastical spiritual matters, which declinaturs be a act of Parliament, anno 1584, are discharged under the pain of hy treason; but this they contend was afterwards abrogated, so that they conclud him to have died a martyr for the truth against Erastian abomination. [369] Covenanting minister (? 1612-1661). In the 6 section ye have the zeal of that minister, who upon the Parliaments casting of the Covenant, pulling out a six pence, took instruments in the hands of the peaple and protested against all courses or acts in preiudice of the Covenant, for which he was banished. None of the banisht ministers could ever obtain a extrait of their sentence, which is a thing no judicatory ever refused. Nixt, because they could not banish them furder then from Scotland, they forged a bond to which they compelled the ministers to subscryve, wheirin they promised not to be found wtin any of his maiesties dominions under the pain of death; which they call cruel and unreasonable. Voetius they commend and cite often. Sharpe they call a betrayer of his bretheren, and a most unnatural sone of his mother church. Then the reasons whence they refuse to go to the prælats courts are rendred; whey they refuse collation and presentation of them, which they exclaime against as popish, foisting in its steed the peaples frie election. In France they know not moor foul. They have 2 sorts of excellent partridges. That we call the Lampre elle, wt us esteemed almost poison, wt them called la Lamprey, is a great delicacy. They are wery big. Follows some riddles. * * * * * [370] [370] Eight lines are omitted, containing four riddles with _double entendres_ which are grossly indecent without being witty. Sequitur Ænigmaticum quoddam epitaphium Bononia studiorum ante multa sæcula marmoreo lapidi insculptum: Ælia Lælia crispis, nec vir nec mulier, nec androgyna nec puella, nec juvenis nec anus, nec meretrix nec pudica, sed omnia; sublata neque fame nec ferro nec veneno sed omnibus; nec cælo nec aquis nec terra sed ubiqe iacet. Lucius Agatho Priscus nec maritus nec amator nec necessarius neque moerens, neque gaudens neque flens hanc neque molem nec pyramidem nec sepulchrum sed omnia, scit et nescit quid qui posuerit, hoc est, sepulchrum intus cadaver non habens, hoc est, cadaver sepulchrum extra non habens sed cadaver idem est et sepulchrum sibi. Bacon has write Apothegmes new and old, a litle book. A English curate said their was 3 things that annoyed man, and they began all wt a double w, win, women, and tobacco, but whow does tobacco begin wt a w, wil ye say: tobacco is nothing but a weed, which word begins wt a w. Another having read his text, sayd he had 3 things to tell them, the first thing he know and they know it not, and this was that under his gown he had a pair of ragged breitches; the 2d thing they know and he know it not, and this was, whither they would give him new ones or no; the thrid thing nether of us knows, and that is the true meaning of thir words: and thus out of the pulpit he went. Repasse Dom Alvare, repasse bien cxactement en ta memoire tous ces que tes yeux t'out fait voir de beau depuis que la suit de l'age les a rendus capables de faire une juste discernement des belles et de laides choses, et apres cette soigneuse recherche ne seras tu pas obliger de prononcer en faveur D'Aminte, et d'auoüer ingenument quelle est sans contredit la plus aimable et la plus accomplie personne que Nature ait jamais fait. Quelle grace n'a tu pas remarquée au ton de sa voix comme en ses paroles et ses beaux yeux; n'out ils pas beaucoup plus parlé que sa belle bouche? O qu'ils sont eloquens ces beaux yeux! qu'ils sont doux! qu'il sont pourtant imperieux, qu'ils ont de charmes et de Maiesté! qu'ils ont de charmes et de Maieste? qu'ils ont de feu! qu'ils ont de lumiere! et que leur eclat est brillant et dangereux! Vous dites tants de choses agreables que vous me fait venir l'eau a la bouche. Dissimulez aussi bien que vous voulez la mesche est deia eventée. Il n'y a gueres de fumée sans feu, iamais escritoire ne fut bonne espee, il vaut mieux tard que iamais. Il ne faut pas lire beaucoup, c'est a dire, il faut faire choiz des Auteurs et se les rendre familier. L'Histoire a bon droit est appelle le tesmoin des temps, le flambeau de la verité, la vie de la memoire, et la maistresse de la vie. L'occasion fait le Larron; for finding a thing in the way it temptes him to steall, it seing so faire a occasion. Pain coupé n'a point de maistre, whence a man seing bread cut, wheirof no man is as yet in possession, he may freely take hold of it as belonging to none or having no master. Chacune est fol de sa marotte: the crow thinks hir oune bird fairest. Chaque pais chaque coustume. Toutes choses ont leur season, qui premier nait premier paiste. The eldest feids first, insinuating the priveledges of primogeniture, which are great in France as also with us. Il faut prendre gard (saye the frenchman) d'une qui pro quo d'une Apotiquaire (as when in mistake he takes one pig[371] for another, or out of ignorance gives a binding thing for a laxative) d'une et caetera d'un Notaire (by which is taxed the knaveries of that calling), d'une dewant une femme, d'une derriere une mule, et d'un Moin de tout costes: thats to say, diligently. Of the man that undertakes the voyag to Rome, because of the great corruptions their, of which few can keip themselfes frie, the Frenchman sayes: Jamais bon cheval ni meschant homme ne s'amendist pour aller a Rome. When they would taxe on for being much given to lying, they say, Il est un menteur comme un arracheur de dents; for the tooth-drawers wil promise that they sall not so much as touch them almost, that they sal find no peine, when in the interim the peine wil be very sensible. Of one much given to study, they say, Il estudie tant que les rats scauroient manger ses oreilles. Who can approach such a glorious sun wtout being dazeled. [371] Earthenware vessel. The French are generally wery timorous on Sea, whereon he sayes, Je n'aime pas passer la ou le cheure[372] ne scauroit fermer ses pieds, hold its feet. The frenchman sayes that he hath heard qu'une grande riviere et un grand seigneur sont mauvais voisins. Vous serez bien venu comme une singe, mais point comme une renard. Chou pour chou, craft for craft. Patience abusé se tourne en fureur. Laughter compelled and bitter, as the Latins calles it, Risus sardonius, so the French sayes; Le ris d'hosteliers qui ne passe point le noeud de la gorge, because that hoasts and others of sick like stuffe laught ordainarly to please their ghests wt out any true affection to laught. The occasion of the Latin, Risus sardonius, as Erasmus explaines, is because of a Herbe called in Latin, Apium Risus, in French, Herbe de Sardagne, because it growes in great abondance in Sardinia, which no sooner eaten but it looseth and disiointeth al the nerves, so that the mouth falls wide open iust as give they ware laughting; yea in this posture they die. Thus the commentator on Du Bartas weeks, que dit un peuple dit un fol, who sayes a multitude sayes a fool. C'est tousiours plus mal-aisé de faire mal que bien, its easier to do a thing the right way then the wrong, as in opening a door. Il n'y a marchand qui gaigne tousjours. _Nemo ubique potest foelici_,[373] etc., its a good roost that drapes aye.[374] Of him that out of scarcity tauntes his neihbour wt the same scorne wt which he scorned him, the Frenchman sayes, il ne vaut rien pour prendre la bal a la seconde enleuement, at the 2d stot. He is a man of a 1000 crounes a year, l'un important l'autre, on way or other; its used also in drinking healths. Of a modest, learned young man, _cui contigit ante diem virtus_, they say, qu'il demente son menton, he belyes his chin. If one would know another weill he most try him and sus et sous la peau trinque [land][375] hachis hach, old French words used by Du Bartas. If ye demand him for a thing he hath eaten, he'el tel you, il est passé par la ville d'Angoulesme. Of a man that hath not spirit, they say, il est ni chair ni poisson; l'on moque de cela a la cour. Entre nous autres Gentils-hommes il n'y a point de bourgois, as give ye would say, among 10 whites their is not a black. [372] Chèvre, goat. [373] For _felici_. [374] Ferguson's _Scottish Proverbs_, p. 21: It's a good goose that draps ay. [375] Interlined. They put a gentleman and burgoise as opposites; he cannot be a gentleman if a burgoise; but he may become on and then he ceaseth to be a burgoise. I urged whither or no a gentlemans sone by becoming a burgoise was not stil gentleman; they sayd not, for by becoming bourgoise (he is called Roturier) he seimes to renounce his right of gentleman. Throw Germany they are thought so incompatible, that if a man can deduce himselfe, tho never so far fetcht, from gentlemen, he, tho he have no means and be like to starve, he wil not turne marchand or any other trade. Une harangue de Gascoigne is on courte et mauvaise, tho they have not the tongue and cannot manage it weil, yet they have ever manadged the sword weill, being brave sogers, and consequently horrid Rodomontades and boasters. Du Bartas tho was a Gascoin. They call a brothers sone in France neveu; our sones sone petit fils. A barren women in France they call very disdainfully une mulet: thus they termed Marguerit, King of Spaines daughter, Emperor Charles the 5 neice, Henry the 4ts queen, for a tyme, who cucolded him. We most never forget the 2 catalogues which served Pighoog[376] of so great use, on of all the fathers, the other of all the Haeresies; also the dron[377] and false Latin we fand in the Corpus Glossatum, Domine tanta, etc.; as also our rowing at the boat, Pighogs ...[378] and Piters falling on his back, his perruvick coming of; also our sports that night we studied the stars wt Mr. James, his griveous hat, and James of a low stature and William Ker had almost lost his hat, wt many others to be recalled to memory. [376] A nickname for somebody, perhaps a tutor or schoolmaster. [377] Have not found this word. [378] Three or four words erased. If we be demanded at any tyme to sing a song we may begin...[379] we would look to the company. If they be speaking of any song, we may say we have heard it song sweitly wt 3, 2 of them harkening and the 3d not opening his mouth. If we fall to be demanded to tell a story we may begin ...[380] that of him that called himselfe ...[381] If they be talking of wonders, we may say that their was a stone at Poictiers, which at every twelve howers it hard whirled about thrice. Also when togither wt any commorads and fall to in merrinesse to dance, at any pas in mockery we may say it was worth a 100 crouns. [379] Nearly a line erased. [380] Three or four words erased. [381] Two words erased. They have 3 proverbs in France: 1, save a thief from the gallowes and he'el be the readiest man to help you to it; 2, never commit your secrets to a woman, as to your wife; and 3d, a man sould not bourd[382] wt his masters. [382] Jest familiarly. One example sal verify all 3. In the tyme of Charles the great their was on that had a great wogue of learning and wisdome, to which man the King concredited his sone the Prince. One of the Princes attendants was taken in a roobery and condemned to the gibbet: the Prince and his master begged his life, and so saved him. To try the 2d byword, the master took his pupill the Prince to the Soan to bath, having bathed, he put him wtin a mil wt strait orders not to stir from that til he called for him. He comes home to his wife wt a feigned heady countenance, telling her wt a great deal of protestations for secrecy, that as he was causing the young Prince for his healths sake bath, he was perished. Tomorrow he pickt a litle quarrel wt his wife, before some company: she being angry wt him cost up the secret to him, so that it was immediatly conveyed to the Kings ears, who in a fury ordained that he sould be broken on the wheel. The usual executioners could not be found; yea, no other body that would supply his place, so generally was the man reverenced be all. The King enraged, offers 50 pistols to him that wil do the turne. None yet presents themselfes save only the theif he had saved from the gallowes. The childs gowernour having tried all that he desired, demanded licence to go bring the Prince safe, which he did to the admiration, wonder and gladness of all. He fand it was not good to play wt his superiors, as also he did who once taking of Charles the 9 beard in France took the boldnesse to sie that the Kings throat was in his reverence, was hanged immediatly, the King saying that his throat sould never be in his reverence againe. Also that nobleman who getting the King wtin that great cage that's to be sein at Chinon yet, in sporting said that he had the King at his reverence; its true, quoth the King, but let me out. He was no sooner out but he caused him be shut up in the cage, and suffered him to dy their for hunger wtout mercy. The story of K. James his fool may werify this same truth. The French sayes, _il n'est pas tant la qualité que la quantité de quelque chose qui fait mal_. Is it possible that the sun hath halfed his privilegde wt you; that as he communicated heatte to the inferior bodies wtout enioying any in his oune sphaere, so also can you ...[383] not heats but dazeles and mortally wounds all that approach you wtout being in the least touched yourselfe; no, pardon me, if I cannot beleive it. [383] Word erased. If I be spaired what sort of folks the French are, we may reply they are folk wt noses on their faces, and that like St. Paul never speaks but they open their mouth. Rapier and Miton[384] are French words. [384] _Mitten_. The French word has also other meanings. They have many othes in France. Jesus, Maria, and Nostre Dame are lawful oaths used by the Churchmen themselfes. Jarne[385] Diable is also lawful, as the Cordelier sayd in his preaching, Jarne Mahomet most also be lawful. They have a numbre of horrid ones, as ventre Dieu, teste Dieu, mort Dieu, ou mort blew Jarnec Dieu; cap de bious, a Gascoin oath, and verté chou, a great oath assuredly. [385] Corruption of _je renie_. Qui a bon voisin a bon mastin, he is as steadable to him as a good mastive. Charité bien reiglée commence a soy mesme. To the same purpose, le peau est nous plus cher que la chemise. Le chat aime le poisson bien, mais elle n'aime pas de mouiller ses pates. Ce qui vien de la fluste s'en retourne au son du tambour, Il woon soon spent; goods lightly gotten lightly slipes away. When ye would say that he knows not weil sick a man, vous n'avez iamais mangé un minot[386] de sel avec lui. Dite moy quelle companie vous avez frequenté, et ie vous diray vos moeurs. [386] A measure containing half a mine, equal to thirty-nine litres. A northern minister preaching on that, Esau sold to his brother Jacob his birthright for a morsel of pottage: base man that he was, quoth he, the belligod loune, sel his birth-right for a cog of pottage, what would he have done if it had bein a better dish. They alleadge that a Frenchman sould have sayd, that if our Saviour had a brother, the greatest honor he could put upon him would be to make him King of France. Anthoine le Bourbon, 1 protestant of the Kings of Navarre, having got a Capycin and a Minister together, he would have them dispute before him. The Minister began on the point of the crosse. Theirs a tree, sayd he, of the one halfe of it ye make a crosse which ye vorship, of the other halfe ye make a gallows to hang up a theif on. Whey carry ye respect for that peice ye make a crosse of, and no for that ye make the gibet of, since they are both of on matter? The Capycin seimed to be wery much pusled wt this. After a little pause he demands the Minister if he was married. Yes, that I am, what of it? quoth the M. Whow comes it to passe then, quoth the Capycin, that ye kisse your wifs mouth and not hir arse, whey have ye more respect for hir mouth then hir arse, since they are both of on mater? The Minister thought himselfe out; yea, King Anthony thought shame of him. Their was a minister of Fyfe of the name of Bruce that had a great gade[387] of ending promiscuosly his sermons, as, for example, he was telling on a tyme how the Beaver, being purshued hotly by the hunters, used to bit of his stones, the silly fellow, forgetting what he had to sy more, added, to which end, good God, bring us, as if he had sayd to bit of our stoons. He closed in that same sort once whow Judas hanged himselfe. Once as he was exhorting the peaple to beware of the Devil, who was a roaring and ramping lyon, etc., he added, to whom wt the father and the holy ghost be all honnor and glory for now and ever, amen. [387] Probably for 'gait,' way. One being asked whence came the antipathy that we find betuixt some beasts, as the dog and the hare, the Lizard (Ichneumon) and the crocodile, the sheip and the wolfe, and he replyed that it began wt the flood of Noah when they ware all in Ark together, that then the hare stol the dogs shoe from him, and that theirfor the dog ever when he sies him since runs efter him to get his shoe again. The Mythologists gives 2 reasons whey they[388] bloody bat flies under night, and compairs not on the day: the first is because of his defections from the birds when they ware in war wt the beasts; the 2d because beginning to marchandise he played banque route, whence he dare never be sein in the day for fear that his creditors take him wt caption. [388] Perhaps 'the.' The 'y' is indistinct, as if it was intended to be erased. This minds me of on at Edenborough, who being drouned in debt durst never pipe[389] out in the day light, but always under night. On a tyme coming by the fleschstocks of the Landmarket, a cleak[390] claughts a grip of his cloak, and holds him. He immediatly apprehending that it was some sergent or messenger that was arresting him, he cryes back as pittyfully, at whose instance, Sir; at whose, etc. [389] Peep. [390] Hook. A Minister of Bamf (as Mr. Mowat when I was at dinner once their reported it), being to give the communion, he had caused buy as much win as would serve for his parishioners. Whil the cup is going about, it falls to be ful on a strong, sturdy cloun that used not to drink win oft, and who was wery thristy; he gets the cup to his head; he never rested tel he had whistled it over. On of the Elders, seing what he had done, in a great anger cryes out, even the devil go doune wt it, for that might have geined[391] a dozen. [391] Gein or gane, sufficed for. Its reported of Gustavus Adolphus that he was used to say, that for ennemies he had to do wt a fool (which was Valstein, Duc of Fritland, one of the Imperialists generals, a cruell man and a foolish man, he thought to make himself Emperor; wheirupon at the Emperors instigation he was slain by our countrymen Leslie and Gordon: Butler would not do it), wt a soger (which was Pappenheim, a brave souldier, slain in that same battell of Lutzen that Gustavus was slain in), and a preist; which was Tilly who never wanted his chappelets of his arme, never missed a Messe, and boasted he never know a women. Many a brave Scotsman served in thesse wars of Germany (we most remember what he did to that tyran the Duc of Cleves), amongst others on Colonel Edmond,[392] a baxters sone of Stirleving. [392] Colonel Sir William Edmond. See _Scots Brigade in Holland_ (S.H.S.), vol. i. p. 577, where it appears that his father was a baker in Edinburgh. Colonel Edmond died in 1606. The Bischop of Munster, a merry man, wil cry whiles, _donnez moy trois grande verres de vin_, then, _c'est a la santé des mes trois Charles et Charles Seconds: Charles 2d D'Angleterre, Charles 2d D'Espaigne, et Charles 2d_ [sic] _de Suede_: this is wery remarkable. Philip, the 2d, Charles the Emperors son, had also a Charles, Prince of Spain, whom most barbarously he caused strangle, as Peter Mathieu reports it, tho Strada would dissemble it. We had several marks of the Spanish gravity in this Prince. When the news was told him of the great victory of Lepanto, woon over the Turks by his natural brother, Dom John of Austria (the way whow they made D. Jean know his quality is worth the knowing), generalissimo of the Christian forces, he would not appear to be moved wt the least joy, al he sayd was, _Dom Juan a beaucoup hazardé_. When the news was told him of the dissipation of his invincible Armado, commanded by the Duc of Medine Sidonia, he would not seim to be troubled wt it, all he sayd was, _j'ay envoyé une flote pour combattre des hommes non pas les vagues et les vents_. They reporte of the Queen of Suede when she was in France that she was wery curious to sie all the [brave][393] great men of the court, and amongs others to sy Mr. le Prince[394] who hes no great mine[395] to look to. On a tyme entering unto the roome wheir she was, some told her it was Mons'r le Prince. She, having contemplated him disdainfully, cryes out, _Esque la le prince de qui l'on parle tant_: he gied[396] his hat a litle, and payed hir wery weil back in her oune coin, _es que la la Reyne qui faict tant parler d'elle_. [393] Interlined. [394] Condé. [395] Mein. [396] Turned, cocked. The young Daufin of France, tho not yet 5 years old, gives great hopes of proving a brave man. As the King was removing from St. Germains to go to Fontainebleau, and they had taken doune the plenishing to carry and put up their, as the Daufin is coming thorough the roomes he begines to misse their hingers,[397] he spears what was come to them; they told him they ware carried to F'bleau. Hes not F'bleau, quoth he, furniture for it selfe of its oune; they replying no, _cela est vilain, cela est honteux, dit-il_. His answer was told to the King: he did laught and say, _il a raison, il a raison_. [397] Hangings, tapestry. They prove that a woman hes not a soul out of that of the 22 of Genesis, And all the souls of Abrahams house ware circumcised, but so be its certain the women ware not circumcised; ergo, they have not souls. Mr. Thomas Courty, preaching on that, be ye followers of Christ, sayd their was 4 sort of followers of Christ, the first was them that did not follow him at all, the 2 them that ran before him, the 3d sort of followers was them that went cheeky for chow wt him, the 4 was them that ware indeed behind him, but so far that they never could gett their eye on him. King James gave one of his daughters to the Count Palatin of the Rhin, Frederic, who was afterward chosen King of Bohemia in 1619, the States having declaired the nomination of the Archiduc Ferdinand afterwards Emperor nulle. This election was the occasion of thesse bloudy wars that troubled poor Germany from 19 to 48 wherin the peace of Munster was concluded. The Elector sent to King James desyring his assistance, who refused it (against his interest), wt this answer, I gave my daughter to the Palatin on the Rhin, not to the King of Bohemia. The Elector hearing this replyed, a man that marries the King of Englands daughter whey may not he be King of Bohemia. A Frenchman told me that he beleived when the devil tempted our Saviour to worship him by showing him al the Kingdomes of the earth and the glory of the samen, that the devil did put his meikle thomb upon Scotland to hide it from our Saviour for fear that having seen it sick a montanous, barren, scurvey country, he sould have conceaved a disgoust at all the rest.[398] [398] Montereul tells the same story. See his _Correspondence_ (S.H.S.), vol. ii. p. 513. [What follows is written at the end of book, and written the reverse way to the rest of the MS., the two writings meeting on the same page.] From Monsieur Kinloch, I have receaved first 100 livres at Paris; a bil for 150 at Orleans, another for 42; as also a third for 100 payed me by one Mr. Boyetet, marchand their. At Poietiers I have drawen on Francis for a 100 livres, of which I have receaved payment heir from Mr. Augier, marchand. I drow again for 200, out of which I have payed Mr. Alex'r 155 francks, whence their rests me about 46. In February 1666 I drow for 300f., out of which I payed 180 francks to my hoast; I lent 3 pistols to Mr. Alexandre, a escu to Mr. Grahme. * * * * * Claudes answer to the perpetuité of the faith 45_f_.,[399] Du Meulins Bouelier 30_f_., Hallicarnasseus 10 _f_., Hypocrates 5_f_. les Remarques du Droict Francois une escus, Fornery Selectionum llibri duo 6_f_., les bouffoneries des Guicciardin les lois usitees dans les cours des France de Buguion[400] acheptées dans le cemetiere des SSts Innocents. L'istoire universelle de Turcelin en 3 tomes 3_ll_., Le Parfaict Capitaine 20_f_., les oeuvres de Rabelais en deux tomes 1_l_. [399] f stands for sou; _l_ for livre. [400] Buguion, for Bourguignon. * * * * * In my voyage of Flanders I changed 2 Jacobuses and a carolus, amonting to some 30_ll_. To my hoste of Anvers, when I was going to Gand for 2 dayes and a night 6_11_. 5_f_., to the cocher for Gand 48_f_., for my diner by the way 9_f_. At Gand for going up on the belfroy 9_f_., to my hoste at the Cerf 4_ll_. 8_f_., for my place in the waggon coming back 42_f_., for diner wt that Suisse of Zurick 24_f_., to my hoste of Antwerp for a night 26_f_., for my place in the coach for Mardick 3_ll_., for my diner on the way 12_f_., for my supper 14_f_., to the master of the bark for Rotterdam 30_f_., for entry 6_f_., at the ...[401] house 7_ll_., for washing 12_f_. [401] A word here is illegible. The last part of it seems to be kerers. In Gold I have at present, 21 December 1665, 8 14 pound peices, 14 Caroluses, 10 of whilk I got from my father before my parting from Scotland, the other 4 remaines of 8 I exchanged wt Mony at London, besydes thir I have 3 other peices, which seime to be 10 schiling peices, wt 2 other lesser ones. I have a ring wt a 4 mark peice and a ii schilling peice. On of the 14 Caroluses is in 2 10 shiling sterling peices. I have but 13 Caroluses now. I changed on of them coming wt the messenger from Poictiers. In my voyage thorow Flanders for Holland, I spent 2 Jacobuses, so that I have no mo but 6 and a Carolus, so that I have no mo but 12; the Carolus at 10_ll_. 10_f_., the one Jacobus at Gand at 11_ll_. 10_f_., the other at Antwerp at 13_ll_.[402] [402] Half a page blank in MS. A breife account of my expenses from my taking horse at Edenborough, 20 of March til this present 11 of May 1665, according to the Scots account, and also after. First before my parture I got from my Father in Gold 10 Caroluses, or 20 shiling peices, 8 Jacobuses,[403] or 14 pound peices, wt 2 5 shil. peices, and as many 10. In money[404] I got first 50 shilings, then 60 halfe crounes, thats 30 crounes; and last I had my horse price, for which I got 5 pound and a croune to lift at London. Of my gold I spended none til I was in France, whence their remained only the silver mentioned to spend. Of this our journey to London spent 50 shilings, including also the 5 shilings I payed ut for the baggadge horse at Durham. At London of the silver resting, to wit, the 31 crounes and 5 pound sterl. I payed 9 pound of silver for 8 caroluses, whence they had 7 groats[405] of gain for every peice. This consumed the 30 crounes, a pound sterling and 2 crounes out of the horses price; so that for defraying my charges from my first arrival at London, on Saturday, April 1, til monday com 8 dayes, April 10, compleit 10 dayes, I had only the remaining mony wt in 4 pounds. Of which 20 shilings by that halfe day of posting to Dover was exhausted, comprehending also our expense for our meat, and in paying the postilion, for betuixt Gravesend and Rochester burn we payed halfe a croune; from it to Seaton, 14 miles (the former stage being but 7), 4 shillings; from it to Canterbury, 16 miles, 5 shilings; from Canterbury to Dover, 16 miles, 5 shillings: their was 17 of the 20 shil. At Dover, as dues we payed 4 shillings to that knave Tours; our supper at one Buchans was halfe a croune; our fraught throw the channell was a croune, and to the boat that landed us a shiling. [403] See Introduction, p. xliii. [404] i.e. smaller coin than gold; Fr. monnaie. The half-crown, 30s. Scots, 2s. 6d. sterling, was coined by James VI. [405] Groat (English), value 4d. No groat Scots had been struck since 1527, value l8d. Scots, or ijd. We landed at Calice on the Saturday morning, and stayed their til the Monday afternoone, spending much mony; so that from my arrival to London and my joining wit the messenger for Paris I spent 3 pound 10 shillings. Thus is all my silver, so that now I have my recourse to my gold, out of which I pay the messenger 40 livres to carry me to Paris, giving him 3 Caroluses, which according to the French rate roade 41 livres, 10 souse, whence 1 got 30 souse againe.[406] At Paris I changed [on]e carolus to pay Mr. Strachan and Mr. Hamilton, who on the rode in France had payed for me, as in the drink money, and in paying the messenger halfe a croune. [406] There seems to be a mistake here. Three Caroluses (20-shilling pieces) would be worth at their nominal value only 36 livres. But in France they did not fetch so much in exchange. If they were worth each 10_ll_. 10s., as the one he exchanged in Flanders (see p. 148), 30 livres to the messenger instead of 40 would make the calculation right. Thir ware all my expenses till I was answered of mony be Francis Kinloch, so that I find all my expenses betuixt Edinborough and Paris, wheir I arrived the 14 of April, to amount to 10 pound sterling give I count the peice I changed at Paris, to 9 only give I exclud it. All this being spent, on my demand F. advanced me 30 livres, 14 of which was spent on these books I bought at Paris, wheirof I have set doune the cataloge; 50 souse for a pair of halfe stockings; for a stamp, a comb, for helping[407] my whip and my pantons[408] I payed 10 souse; for a pair of gloves 18 souse; for vashing my cloaths 15 souse; a croune and a halfe among Mr. Kinloch's servants: theirs ane account of 23 livres out the 30. For the 7 other I can give no particular account, only it might be spent when I went in wt commorads, as when we went to drinke Limonade and Tissin, etc. At my parting from Francis I got 70 livres, which wt the former 30 makes a 100 livres. Of thir 70, 16 I payed to the messenger for Orleans, 4 livres baiting a groat for the carriadge of my valize and box, which weighted 39 pound weight, and for each pound I payed 2 souse. About a livre I spent in drinkmony by the way; another I gave to the messenger. Heir of my 70 livres are 22 gone. [407] Mending. [408] Slippers. Thus I won to Orleans. The fellow that carries my valize to Mr. Ogilvies gets 10 souse; at a breakfast wt Patrick Portues I was 30 souse. For books from my coming to Orleans til this present day, 11 of May, according to the Scots account, I have payed 8 livres; for seing a comedy 10 souse; for to helpe my hand in writting a croune; for dancing a croune in hand, the other at the moneths end; for to learn me the language I gave 2 crounes. To the maister of the law Im to give 11 livres 8 souse; for a supper wheir Mr. Ogilvy payed out for us 3 livres. This being all ramasht[409] togither it comes to 62 livres, so that of the 70 only 8 are left. Out of thes 8 I payed 4 livres 10 souse for a pair of clesps, whence rests only 3 livres 10 souse. I pay 24 souse for one vashing of my linnens, and 20 souse at a four hours wt James Hunter. Thus ye have ane account of all 100 livres I got from F. Kinloch til 26 souse. Ut of the mony mentioned I payed also 3 livres 5 souse for a pair of shoes. [409] Ramashed, ramassé. About a moneth after I had bein in Orleans Francis sent me a bill for a hundred and 50 livres on on Boyetet, marchand their. Out of whilk I immediatly payed Mr. Ogilvy for the moneths pension bypast 55 livres; for to teach me the language for the moneth to come 6 livres; for 2 washings of my linnens 40 souse, so that out of my 150 livres are 63 gone, whence remains 87 only. Francis, at Mr. Ogilvyes order, payed at Paris 42 livres. which Mr. Ogilvy was to refound to me: this sal pass as part of payment in the 2d moneths pension. Out of the 87 remaining I have to pay Mr. Le Berche a pistoll; Mr. Schovo 6 livres, whence their are only 70. For a pair of stockings 5 livres; for a wast belt 2 livres; for mending my silk stockings 25 souse, for washing my linnings 17 souse; so that now their remains only 60. Thir 60 livres put wt that 46 livres Francis payed at Paris, and was to be refounded to me, makes 96 livres, which Madam Ogilvyes extravagant compt for my 2d moneth, and my 6 dayes above (being) pension wholly exhausted, for first I payed 85 livres, and then for the drink that I had that night I took my leave of the gentlemen their a pistoll most shamelessly. This put me to write for a bil of another 100 livres, of whilk I receaved payment, paying out of it againe 30 souse to him that carried me from Orleans to Blois; to my host at Blois I payed 5 livres 10 souse, paying, to wit, for the victualls I took in wt me for the following day; to the fellow that carried from Blois to Saumur, 2 dayes journey, a croune; at Tours I was 36 souse; at Saumur, wheir I was 2 dayes, I was 7 livres 10 souse; to the fellow whose horse I had, and who bore my charges from Saumurs to Poictiers, 17 livres; to him who took us throw Richelieu Castle 20 souse; to the messenger that brought my box a croune; to Madam Garnier for the 8 dayes I was wt hir a pistoll, to hir maid 15 souse; for a pair of linnen socks 18 souse. Thir be all my considerable expenses til this present day, July last: all which ramassed wil amount to 53 livres, but in some places I most have heighted, for give so then I sould have only 47 of my 100 resting, when I have about 50 at present. Out of thir 50 I have payed 12 francks for a Corpus Juris; 4 francks for a Vesenbecius; 20 souse for a litle institutes, which ramassed makes 17 livres, whence their only remaines me 33: out of thir for a supper wt Mr. Alexander and all the rest of our compatriots above 18 livres; whence at this present August 5 rests with me about 14 livers 10 souse. Out of thir I have payed 18 souse for the lean[410] of Romances from Mr. Courtois, as Celie and the sundry parts of Almahide, penned by Scuderie; 50 souse for a pair of showes; 25 souse for our dinner one Sabath communion wt Colinton and Peter Hoome in the fauxbourgs; 8 souse for cutting my head; 5 souse on a pair of carts; about 10 souse on paper and ink; for washing 30 souse; so at this present first of September I have not full 7 livres. I have payed 40 souse or 2 livres for a pair of gallozes;[411] 5 souse for a quartron of peches; 5 souse to Charlotte, whence I have little more then 4 livres; 30 souse at a collation. [410] Loan. [411] Braces. When I was reduced to thir 3 livres, then I was answered of my bill I drow on Francis Kinloch for a 100 livres. Out of which I payed 15 livres for 2 halfe shirtes, but because we had 3 livres of old mony we shall call it only 12; 2 livres for 2 gravates; 60 livres to Mr. Daillié, whence I have about 25 livres. Out of thir 25 I have payed 3 livres to Mr. Rue, wt whom I began to dance, September 10, 1665; 20 souse at the tennis; 5 or 6 for lettres ports; 20 souse for a horse hire; 6 or 7 souse I was put to dispurse that day; 3 livres for washing my linnings; 8 souse sundry wayes; 5 souse on a quartron[412] of dragées[413] or sweityes, which are 20 sos. the livre; 3 souse on a peice stuffe, 2 sousemarkies[414] to Lowise;[415] 5 souse for ports; 8 souse to the Barber; 10 souse for a bottle of win to my C.;[416] 4 francks lost at carts; 34 souse at a collation after supper, when we wan all the fellows oubliés,[417] and made him sing the song; a escus to Mr. Rue; a escus for dressing my cloaths; une escus for wasching; [8 frank 5 souse for my supper the night of St. André; 10 souse wt Mad'm and others at the Croix de Fer].[418] Thus is al that rested me of thesse 200 francks, the first mony I drow at Poictiers gone. [412] Quarteron, quarter of a livre (pound). [413] Sugar almonds. [414] _Sous marqué_. See p. 92, note 1. [415] _Probably_ a maidservant at M. Daillé's. [416] 'My C.' has baffled me. [417] See p. 114, note 6. The meaning here is obscure. I can only conjecture that the party made a wager of some kind with the pastrycook's man for his cakes. See p. 114, Note 6. [418] Erased in MS., but legible. Then beginning of Novembre I drow 200 livers. Out of which I payed Mr. Alex're 155_ll_, whence there rests wt me 46 francks, of which I have payed 8 francks 5 souse for my part of that supper we had the night of St. André; 12 souse wt Mr. D. and others at the Croix de Fer; 8 souse to the Barbier; 12 souse for a pair of gloves; 21 francks to Mr. Daillie; 15 souse on Romances; 15 souse to Garniers man; une escus on the 1 day of the new year as hansel, les estraines to Rue, Biron, and Violet for their musick; 27 souse in collation to my countrymen that same day; 4 sousmarkies the Sabath I communicated at Quarter Picquet, being the 3 of January 1666; 52 sous markies on Nöels. When I had about 40 souse, I borrowed a Pistol from R. Scot, After I payed a croune[419] for the port of my cloack from Paris; 12 souse for win that night that Grame payed us his Royaute wt Frontignan and Enschovo'es. My oune Royauté cost me 30 souse on a good fat bresil cook and 8 on wine; 15 souse on a iockleg,[420] my Scots on being stolen from me; 5 souse on a inkhorn, my Scots on breaking wt a fall; 8 souse to the Barbcr. About the mids of January 1666, for a pair of shoes, which ware the 4 pair I had made since my leiving of Scotland, March before, a croune; to Mr. Rue a croune; to Madame Marie for my last washing 30 souse; at a collation 30 souse. [419] See Introduction, p. xliii. [420] Folding-knife. Etym., Jacques de Liege, cutler. About this tyme I receaved 3 crounes in lain[421] from Alex'r Home that same night that Mr. Mompommery was headed; 6 souse on a bottle of wine; 7 souse at another tyme; 15 souse at the comoedy; 3 souse for my chair; 18 souse at another comoedy; une escus to Mr. Rue the 20 of February; 20 souse at a comoedy, called Les Intrigues des Carosses a Cinq Sols, the farce was La Femme Ruse ou Industrieuse; 15 souse for mending my sword. [421] Loan. About the end of February I was payed of a bil of 300_ll_. I had drawen. Out of which I payed first a 130f. to my host; then lent 3 pistols, halfe a Pistol and 2 crounes to Mr. Alexander; out of it a croune to Grahme; 30 souse for a peice concerning Monting a Cheval, presented me by the Author of the samen; 10s. for mending stockings; a croune at a desjeuner wt Georges Sinclar and other 2 countrymen, coming from Bordeaux going for Paris; 30 souse to Mr. Rue; 20s. at a collation; a croune for La Perpetuité de la Foy; 30 souse on a collation in the fauxbourgs wt Mr. Bourseau; 30 souse lost at the fair on China oranges and cordecidron; 20 souse for le Capychin Escossois;[422] 30s. to Rue; 34 souse at a collation wt him; 40s. at another wt De Gruches and Ingrande; 40s. for une Voyage de France. That which remained of these 300_ll_. went away partly on my hoast, partly on my adieus, which stood me wery dear, and partly in paying the messenger for Paris (I payed 50_ll_.). [422] Father Archangel Leslie. It suffices to know that on my arriving to Paris I was wery light of mony, whence I borrowed from Mr. Kinloch some 20 crounes, of which I bestowed some 13_ll_. on books, thus, on some comoedies about 20 souse, on Scarrons Virgil travestis 20s., on Pacij Centuria[423] 30s., on Robertus rerum Judicatarum[424] 30s., on the Voyage de la Terre Saincte[425] 30s., on Laertius[426] 8s., on a new testament 50s., on Du Moulins Bouckler[427] 30s., on Mr. Claudes Answer[428] 45s., whence their remaines me about 47_ll_. Out of which I first payed neir 4_ll_. for a pair of shoes; 20s. that day I communicated at Charenton to the boatmen, the poor, and my seat; on day wt Mr. Forbes it cost me in a cabaret a croune, and Scot keipt up a escu dor, which was 5_ll_. 11 souse.[429] The day after at the bowlls I lost 4_ll_.; then I payed for Limonade 3_ll_. 20s.; then after 4_ll_. 10s. which I lost at bowlls; for a point de Flandres 15_ll_. Whence of the 60_ll_. their remains me only 6, to which add 5 I receaved from the Messenger of Poictiers, and I have just a pistoll this 5 of May 1666, of which I lent a croune to Mr. Grahme; then payed 50s. for a collation wt Kinloch, Mowat, and D. Hewes; also 50s. for a part of a collation; I payed 6 francks wt my L. Ogilvy at a collation; 30s. at another tyme wt J. Ogilvy; 20 souse on a Hallicarnasseus[430] and a Hippocrates; and that out of 38 livres I receaved from F. Kinloch the 10 of May, so that this day 16th I have now 30 francks. On Les Remarques du droit Francois a croune. That day I went to Ruell a pistol; on my journey to Fountainbleau 2 crounes of gold. On the Parfaict Capitaine and the universal history, in 3 tomes, 4_ll_. [423] Pacius, Julius, [Greek: ENANTIOPhANON], _seu legum conciliatarum Centuriae_ VII. (1605). Ed. alt. 1610. [424] Robertus, Annaeus, _R.J._, Lib. iv. 1599; new ed., 1645. [425] Doubdan, Jean, _Voyage_, etc., 1666. [426] Diogenes Laertius. [427] Molinaeus, Petrus, _Bouclier de la Foi_, 1619. Engl. tr. 1624. [428] Claude, Jean, _Réponse à la Perpétuité de la Foi_, 1665. [429] _Ecu d'or_. See Introduction, p. xliii. [430] Dionysius of Halicarnassus. On the 10 of June I receaved 20 crounes. Out of which I payed first 4_ll_. for Rablais in 2 tomes; 40s. at collation wt that Frenchman of the Kings Gard; 30s. the day after wt the Captains; 30s. wt J. Ogilvie; 6_ll_. for Mornacius observations;[431] 3_ll_. for Guiccardins[432] History, in 2 volumes; 40s. for Gomesii Commentarius in Regulas Cancellariæ and Le Martyre de la Reyne d'Escosse;[433] 20s. for Bellon[434] Resolutiones Antinomiarum and Molinoei Sommaire des rentes, usures, etc.; Molineus in Consuetudines Parisienses 50s.; Connani Commentarius in Jus Civile 40s.; Mantica de coniectur: ult. voluntatum[435] 60s.; Hottomanus[436] in Instit 30s.; Molinoei consilia 40s.; Menochius de Interdictis 40s.; Valerius Maximus 10s.; L'histoire du Concile de Trente 5_ll_.; Gellius[437] 10s.; Cepolla[438] de Servitutibus 50s.; les Memoires et le voyage du Duc du Rohan 40s.; Profession de foy catholique 12s.; Le Monde D'Avity,[439] in 5 Tomes, 8 crounes; Aubignées History[440] 4_ll_.; Pierre Mathieu his history, in 2 tomes, 3_ll_.; Du Plessis Memoires, in 2 volumes, 3_ll_. At a breakfast wt Mr. Fullerton 3_ll_.; at a collation wt Mr. Ogilvy 3_ll_.; 2 crounes given to the box of the Scots Talzors at Paris; 30s. given to sy the gallery of the Luxembourg; 40s. at a collation wt Mr. Hume and Grame; a croune on our diner that day that Mr. Geismar went to Charenton wt us; 4_ll_. for Munsteri Cosmographia; Thucydides 40s.; Desseins de Mr. de Laval 30s.; in collation wt that Gascon of the Kings garde (called St. Martin); Machiavellus 10s.; Justini Historia 5s.; Histoire du Seicle de fer 20s.; Les oeuvres de du Vair 40s.; Le Sage resolu, in 2 tomes, 40s.; Cardanus de Subtilitate 60s.; Histoire de Portugal 20s.; Tacitus 20s.; Remarques politiques from Henry Hamilton for a compend of Philosophy of Marandé[441]. [431] 1 Mornacius, Ant., _Obs. on Codex_. (1654), _on Digest_ (1654). [432] Guicciardini, Francesco, _Historia di Italia._ [433] Blackwood, Adam, _Le Martyre_, etc. [434] Bellonus, Joannes, _Antinomiarum Juris Dissolutiones_. Lugduni, 1551. [435] Mantica, Fr., _De Conjecturis_, etc., 1580. [436] Hottomannus, Fr., _Commentarius_, in iv. lib.; _Inst_., 1567. [437] Aulus Gellius, _Noctes Atticae._ [438] Cepola or Caepolla, Barth, _Tract, de Serv._ [439] Avity, Pierre d', _Les estats, empires, etc., du monde_. [440] Aubigné, Th. A., _L'histoire universelle._ [441] Marandé, Léonard de. _Abrégé curieux el familier de toute la philosophie_, 1648 and 1686. On the 14 of July 1666 I packt up al my books in a box to send them for Dieppe, and to the end they might not be visited any wheir else, I caused them be carried to the Douanne of Paris, which is the controoller of all others, and by which if things be once visited none in France dare efter offer to visite them. Their it stood me a croune or 3_ll_ to cause remballe it; 10 souse to cause plomb it wt the King of Frances armes; 30s. for a passeport. They lightly looked over the uppermost books. Then I caused it be carried to the Chassemary of Dieeppe. I gave the porte faix 20s.; 15s. for a Italian grammer; 5s. for Mureti orationes; 12s. to the Secretary of Sts. Innocents; 40s. for Sleidan; 30s. for Fabri rationalium Tomus jus;[442] for 4 volumes of de Thoues History 40s.; for Aschames lettres 10s.; for Le cose meravigliose della cita de Roma 8s.; for Pierii Hieroglyphica 50s.; for Harangues out of al the Classicks authors 50s.; to Schovo for a moneths dancing ii. _ll_.; 3_ll_. 10s. for a pair of shoes; 3_ll_. for sundry washings. [442] Primus. About the 28 of July I receaved some 56_ll_. in 10 golden crounes.[443] Out of which I have payed for Lucians Dialogues, le Tresor de St. Denis, Bodinus de specibus Rerum publicarum, Essex's instructions for a Traveller; 24s. for Oudins Italian Grammer; 5_ll_. for Index expurgatorius; 10s. for exames des esprits in 2 volumes; 30s. for Brerevood of sundry religions; 20s. for a Enchiridion Physicae restitutae for Mr. Fullerton; 20s. for a book of fortifications, not the Jesuit Fornevers; 3_ll_. for 6 carts, 70 for 3_ll_. 10s. I had payed for 4 volumes of Thou 40s.; heir again for other 4 I pay 60s.; for Scuderies discours de Rois 15s.; Itinerarium Hollandicum 15s.; 4_ll_. on a collation to Captaine Rutherford, etc.; 16s. for my breakfast wt Mr. Samuel Fullerton coming from the bastile; a white croune and a croune of gold...[444] 30s. for washing; 14s. at collation wt that Englishman Mr. Waren, his addresse in London was Towards Street, at Mr. Carbonells; 20s. lost playing under the hats; for Mr. Morus his poeme a croune; for a new testament a croune; for the State of France and of Germany, in 4 volumes 5_ll_.; to Mr. Fullerton for his Botero[445] a golden croune; for a purse at the faire of St. Laurens 20s., and that out of 10 crounes borrowed from Mr. Kinloch, 12 of August; 2 crounes given in drink monie; 8s. on fancies for the children; 21s. on a collation wt William Paterson; 7_ll_. for a trunck valise. [443] This gives the value of the _écu d'or_ at 5_ll_. 10s. See Introduction, p. xliii. [444] A few words erased. [445] Bolero, Giovanni, author of several treatises of political philosophy and history towards the close of the sixteenth century, some translated into English. Then to do my voyage a 100_ll_.; 38 given for my place in the coach to bruxells; for my diner at Louure 25s.; supper at Senlis 16s.; diner at Pons 16s.; supper at Conwilly 24s.; diner at Marchele peau 10s.; supper at Peronne 18s.; supper at Cambray 28s.; diner at Valenciennes 24s.; super at Kivray 20s.; diner at Mons 24s.; super at Bremen 24s.; diner at Hall 24s.; to the cocher 24s.; to our escort 7_ll_. At Bruxelles, for taking of my beard 9s.; for seing the Palais 40s.; for 6 dayes to my hostesse 10_ll_.; for my horse to Enguien 3_ll_.; for my diet their 3_ll_.; for washing, also for mending my shoes, 30s.; for my place in the bark of Anvers 20s.; for carrieng my things ther 12s.; for the removing them from bark to bark 18s.; for my diner their 33s.; for seing the citadelle of Anvers, wt some other smaller things, 18s. Thus goes the 100_ll_. II NOTES OF JOURNEYS IN LONDON, OXFORD, AND SCOTLAND, 1667-1672 AND OTHER PAPERS (1) NOTES OF JOURNEYS IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND, 1667-1670. A CONTINUATION OF SOME TRAVELLS. Sie 2 volumes in 4'to relating to the same subject _alibi_. The peace[446] was proclaimed at Camphire[447] the 3 of September, stylo novo, 1667, as also at Flusing: at Middleburg not til the 5, because their market day: their feu's de joy ware on the 7. [446] The Peace of Breda between Charles II. and the United Provinces was signed on 31st July, but the ratifications were not exchanged for some weeks. [447] Campvere, now Vere, a town in the island of Walcheren. Tervere (Der Vere) is the same place. I left Tervere the 5't, came to Flessinque; wheir we lay by reason of contrary winds til the 12, on which morning it was at south south east. Our skiper, a honest fellow, was called Tunis Van Eck. Coming out without the head,[448] whither by the wind or negligence of the marinels I know not, we dasht upon it which strake a lake in our ship wery neir my arme long. All ware wery afraided of drouning; only being neir the toune, a carpenter, a most lusty fellow, came and stoopt it wery weill; wheirupon we followed the rest and overtook them ere night, at which tyme the wind turned contrary upon us to south west, so that the 15 day at night being Thursday we was come but a litle abone Gravesend; wheirupon I advised Mr. Chiesly that we should hive of[449] the first boat should come aboard of us to carry us that night to London, which we did, and arrived ther tho late. Lay at the Black Bull in Bischopgate Street. Nixt day took a chamber in New Street neir Covent Garden at halfe a croune the week. Went to the Court, wher afterwards I fand Mr. Sandilands, Mr. Wallace, Mr. Lauder, C. Rutherfurd and a brother of his, Mr. John Chrichton, who was then with my Lord Drummond, Mr. Claude, etc., Henry Hamilton, who was win in to the Kings garde, P. Wans, Mr. Metellan, Mr. Don, Mr. Kirkwood, Mr. Ker my Lord Yesters man, D. Burnet, Mr. Johnston, etc.; kissed my Lord Lauderdales, Yesters, and the Provests hands; saw Sir William Thomsone, Collonel Bortwick, etc. Mr. Smith who was Mr. Simpsones man came over from Holland. [448] Headland, or point. [449] Off, so spelt usually by Lauder. Having stayed a fourtnight in New Street I came to my aunts,[450] M'ris Inglishes, house, wheir having stayed some 8 dayes, I took place in the coach for Oxford the last of September, being a Monday, at Snowhil neir Hoburne. Payed 10 shillings. Oxford is 47 miles from London. Saw Tyburne, under which layes the body of Cromwel, Ireton, and some others; saw that post to which they rode that would have any who ware hanged. I saw also the Chancellors house,[451] Dunkirke or Portugall, directly against S't James, a very magnificent building with a great park adjacent. [450] I have found no particulars about this lady. [451] Clarendon House, built by Lord Chancellor Hyde, was on the north side of Piccadilly, facing St. James's Palace. It was called by the populace Dunkirk, suggesting that Clarendon had got money from the Dutch for the sale of Dunkirk, and Tangier, the dowry of the Portuguese princess, Catherine of Braganza, for his share in her marriage to the king, which was barren. See _Pepys's Diary_, 14 June 1667. A gibbet was set up before the gate 'and these three words written, three sights to be seen: Dunkirke, Tangier, and a barren Queen.' Nixt we came to Oxbridge,[452] a toune 15 miles from London, wheir was their fair of rattles and other toyes for children. Their was also a market of horse and of cattell, for the most part come out of Wales. 7 miles further is Beconsfields, a village wheir we lay all night at King Charles his head. The host is a Scotsman called Hume; was made prisoner at Worcester. We was their but[453] that merchands wife that was going to sie hir child at Abinton (wheir is a braue market cross), M'r Lo, professor of Musick in Oxford, and I; the other 3 women ware at the Swan. Supper and breakfast stood me 4 shillings. [452] Now Uxbridge. [453] 'We was there but,' _i.e._ There were at our inn only. Nixt morning being the 1 of October we came to East Wickam,[454] a very pretty toune; then to West Wickam, being 5 miles; then to Stockam Church, 3 long miles; heir we walked doune a steep hil; then came to Whately;[455] nixt to Oxford, the whole journey 25 miles. I lodged at the Miter, a wery civill house. Calling at Exeter Colledge for Mr. Ackland, to whom I had a letter from Mr. Sprage at Leide,[456] I found he was gone unto his oune country of Devonshire. [454] Now High Wycombe. [455] Now Wheatley. [456] Leyden. Nixt morning I went and visited the booksellers shops. At last lighted upon on[457] almost forgainst Oriel Colledge at the back of Christs Church ['called him Mr. Daves'[458]], who had a most rich and weill furnished shop worth all the rest. Their I found the Heroe of Lorenzo and Arrianus, also Tyraeus _de apparitioni_.[459] _et demoniacis_. He had lately sold a Lesly. [457] One, as usual. [458] Interlined. [459] Contracted for _appartionibus_. After diner came Mr. Lo to me with a young gentleman who stayed at his house. He took me first thorough Lincolne, Exeter, and Jesus Colledges, then to their publick schooles, a magnificent building, wheir for all the arts and sciences their is a scool. [Illustration] Heir also is that library so famous, and undoubtedly the greatest of the World, the Vatican excepted, and that but of late since the augmentation it got by that of Heidleberg. The forme of it is the rarest thing heir be the incredible multitude of manuscripts never printed which they have gathered togither with a world of paines and expence, and gifted to the University. As their is their the gift of Archbischop Laud consisting of a multitude (vid. 2400) of manuscripts in all languages, as weill Eastern as Western. Their be all Sir Kenelme Digbies books, togither with Seldens, about which their ware a controversy in law. In his last will he gifted his books to the University, wheiron it was demanded whither Cambridge or Oxford was meant. Oxford carried it first because he was an alumnus of this University; nixt, because sundry tymes in his life tyme he had told some friends that he would leive them to Oxford. All the lower are chained; none can have the permission to read till he hath given an oath to the Bibliothecarius that first he shall be faithful to the Universitie; nixt, that he shall restore what books he receaves and that intier not torn. The papists gave occasion to this who under the prætext of reading maliciously tore out any thing that they judged nervously to conclude against themselfes: otherwise its disadvantageous to strangers who come but for a short tyme and have the curiosity to sie a book. They have a Catalogue, not, as others, _ordine alphabetico_, but according to the order they ware gifted in: if it was money left then their be the names of the books bought theirwith. Their are the maniest Theologicall books of all other, a great many in both law, _Corpus Glossatum,--Tractatus Tractatuum_ Venetiis 1584, _Vasquius_ 2 tomes, etc. Of[460] one of the ends of the Library goes up a pair of stairs unto a very fair and spatious gallery whither the students retire to refreshe themselfes with walking after reading. [460] Off, as usual. The walls are all hung with pictures of the most famous men both of their oune country and abroad, as weell moderne as ancient. Mr. Digby is drawen lik a old philosopher. The roof is al painted alongs with the armes of the University, wheir most artificially and couched up[461] in sundry faschions the name of him who built the gallery, Thomas Bodley. I saw a great many pretty medals wheirof they had 2 presses full. Their be also J. Cæsars portrait brought from Rome by a gentleman. [461] Couched up, disposed, laid on (like embroidery). See Murray's _New English Dict._, s.v. A litle below the Library is the Anatomy house, not altogither so weill furnished as that of Leiden: sundry anatomies of men, women, children, and embryoes. On man hes a great musket shot just in his breast, yet he did not dy of it but afterwards was hanged; a mans skin tanned sewed on straw, seimes like a naked man; the taille of an Indian cow, its white, wery long, at least in a dozen of sundry peices; the skines of some hideous serpents and crocodils brought from America and Nilus; a mans scull with 4 litle hornes in its front, they ware within the skin while he was alive; another cranium all covered over with fog which they told me was of great use in medicine; sea horses or sharpes[462] skins; a Indian kings croune made of a great sort of straw, deckt all with curious feathers to us (some being naturally red, some grein, etc.) tho not to them--they despise gold because they have it in abundance; a ring intier put in thorow a 4 nooked peice of wood, and we cannot tell whow; a stone as big as my hand, folded, taken out of a mans bladder, another lesse taken out of ones kidneyes. We saw that the crocodile moved only his upper jaw. [462] Sharpe, so written, query sharks. From this we went to a house wheir we drank aromatik, then to New Colledge, a great building. In the tyme of the plague the king lodged in the on syde and forrein embassadors on the other. They wer the French for gifting them a poringer worth 5 pound; but it was just at the tyme his Master declared war against England so that he went away in a fougue[463]. Went up to their hall, a pretty roome. Above the chimly is the Bischop that founded it; under him stands other 2 that ware each of this foundation, afterwards Bischops; and each of them built a Colledge, n, Marlan[464] and Lincolne. Saw the Chappel, the richest of Oxford; brave orgues,[465] excellent pictures, one of the resurrection, done by Angelo the Italian, just above the altar. [463] Rage. The sentence is obscure. Apparently the French ambassador intended to present the college where he was entertained with a piece of plate, when a rupture between the sovereigns occurred. [464] Merton, distinctly Marlan in MS. He had written it by the ear. Apparently it was pronounced Marton. Merton was founded before New College. [465] Organs. Just back from France, Lauder uses the French words _fougue_ and _orgue_. From this we went to Christs Church, the greatest and richest Colledge of them all, founded by Henry the 8't, or rather Cardinal Wolsie, who had wast designes had they not bein chookt. Their belonged to this Colledge by his gift lands thorough all England so that the students ['fellows'][466] ware as good as Lairds. The King took this from them and gave them pensions for it. Heir I went in to the Chappel with Mr. Lo, who is their organist, and hard their evening prayers, not unlike the Popish: saw the Bischop of Oxford and Vice Chancelor (for Hyde is Chancelor) of the University. [466] Interlined. By the means of that young student Mr. Lo recommended to me saw their Library, considerable for a private one. They have all the Counsels in 6 brave gilded tomes. They have a flint stone wery big in the one syde wheirof ye sie your face but it magnifies; a great stone congealed of water, another of wood. From that he led me to their kitchin; wheir ware 3 spits full of meat rosting (sometymes they have 7 when the Colledge is full). Then he took me up to the dining hall, a large roome with a great many tables all covered with clean napry. Heir we stayed a while; then the butler did come, from whom he got a flaggon of beir, some bread, apple tarts and fleck pies,[467] with which he entertained me wery courteously. Then came in a great many students, some calling for on thing and some for another. Their are a 102 students in this Colledge besydes Canons and others. [467] Suet puddings.--Murray's _New English Dict._ At the back of Christs Colledge is Oriel Colledge. Its a great building built by King Edward the 2'd, even when Ballioll was built. Above the inner gate stands King Charles the I. on horseback; then towards the broad street is the University Colledge, the oldest of all thesse in Oxford, founded by Alfred, a Saxon King, and long efterwards repaired, or rather erected (for the first buildings be like to fall about ones ears), by Percy of Northumberland. Over forgainst it is All Souls, wheir is a pretty chappell with a rare picture of the resurrection. From that to Queans Colledge, built long ago by on of their queans. Whiles they ware a laying the foundation they found a great horne (they know not weill of what beast), which since they have enchassed in silver and propine to strangers to drink out of. Their chappell is remarkable for its windows; in them ye have represented all the actions of our Saviour from his birth to his aschension. I saw Brazennose Colledge and Marlan[468] Colledge, also Balliols Colledge, which is not so pittiful and contemptible as many would have it. Before the utter gate is a pretty pallisade of tries. Within the building is tolerable; in their dining roome be battered[469] up Theses Moral, political, and out of all the others sciences. Nixt to it be Trinity Colledge. It hath 2 courtes: the inner is a new building. Not far from this are they building the stately Theater of cut stone for their Comoedyes. [468] See p. 171, note 3. [469] Pasted. Nixt day I went to the Physick Garden not far from Marlan Colledge. The gardener (a German by nation) gave me their printed Catalogue of all the hearbs, which may be about some 7000 in all. I have also some verses he gave me made on thesse 2 fellows thats keips centry, as it were, just as ye come in at the garden door; their menacing face is of timber; all the rest with their speir is artificially cut out of bush. They have also swans and such lik curiously cut out of the phileria. I saw the sensitive plant; it shrinked at my touching it, tho it was then excessively cold. Saw the tobacco: of the leives dryed they make it as good as that they bring from Spain, Virginia, Martinigo or elsewheir, if they had enough of it, and the entertaining of it ware not to costly; hence the Parliament discharges the planting of it. Saw African Marigolds, the true Aloes trie; all the wals cloathed with wery big clusters; tall cypruses, Indian figs, etc. The students can enter when they please. On the Thursday 3 of October at night went and took my leive of Mr. Lo. Nixt morning having payed my host 5 shillings in all (which made me admir the cheapnesse of the place, fire only being dear since the Kings army was their, who cutted all its woods about) about 10 a cloak bad adieu to Oxford watered with the lovely Thames tho wery litle their; it receives at that place the Isis whence Thamesis. In the coach was D. Willis his cheif man, a pretty physitician himselfe, going in to his Master, whom the Quean had caused come to London; a apothecary who also sold all kinds of garden seeds, and for that effect had bein at Oxford, P. Nicoll had oftnen traffiqued with him; a goldsmith's son in the Strand and his sister, and an old crabbed gentlewoman, tho she seimed to be of quality. When we walked up the hill at Stockam Church he showed me a number of pretty hearbs growing by the hedges syde. He confessed to me that tho they had a verie glorious utsyde, yet if we would consider the forme of their teaching and studieing it was werie defective comparatively to the oversea Universities. Their publick lessons are not much worth: if a student who is immatriculat in some on Colledge or other be desirous to be informed in any science, let it be Philosophie, Medicine or another, then he most apply himselfe to some fellow of that Colledge, who teaches him for a salarie; otherwise a student neids never make use of a master but if he please. Theologie is the only thing that flourishes their. Came back the same way to London the 5 of October, being Saturday. Nixt day came Haddow[470] and Bonnymoon to toune. Many a tyme hes he and I wisited Litle Brittain. We went throw Bedlam (I was in it and saw thosse poor peaple), then to Moore fields, wheir is a new street wheirin dwells thosse that ware burnt out in the fire. They pay wery dear for their ground and it is but to stand til they rebuild their houses again in the city. Then throw Long lane wheir is their fripperie; besydes it their is a hospitall for sick persons; then Smithfield East and West. I had almost forgot Aldergate Street, on of the nicest now in London, ye shall ever find mercats their; then we go thorow the Moon taverne. To the west of Smithfield is Snowhill, wheir the coach for Oxford is; then ye come to Hoburn bridge, a very filthy place, the street is large and long. In it is St. Andrews church wheir I went and heard Mr. Stellingfleet; the coach for York is at the Black swan their; above it ye come in to Lincolnes Innes Fields, a brave place weill built round about, much like the Place Royall at Paris. Heir lodged my Lord Middleton, heir is the Dukes playhouse, wheir we saw Tom Sydserfes Spanish Comedie Tarugo'es Wiles, or the Coffee House,[471] acted. In the pit they payed 30 p., in our place 18s. He could not forget himselfe: was very satyricall sneering at the Greshamers for their late invention of the transfusion of blood, as also at our covenant, making the witch of Geneva to wy[472] it and La Sainte Ligue de France togither. [470] Sir George Gordon of Haddo, 1637-1720 (see _infra_, p. 177), afterward Chancellor and Earl of Aberdeen, now returning from studying law abroad. Advocate, 1668, Lord of Session, 1680, President, 1681, Chancellor, 1682. [471] Printed in 1668. T.S. was the son of the Bishop of Galloway. He became conductor or proprietor of a theatre in the Canongate, Edinburgh, and published the _Caledonian Mercury_, the first Scottish newspaper. [472] Weigh. After some way ye come to Covent Garden, all which will quickly fall in to my Lord of Bedford by wertue of an assedation which quicklie is to expire, having let of old the ground on the condition they should build upon it and they brooking the ususfruit for such a space of tyme it should finally returne to him; and this they tell me to be a ordinary contract at London;[473] then New Street, Suffolk Street, Charron Crosse, St. Martins Lane. In its Church preaches D. Hardins, a pretty man. Heir is York house, the New Exchange, etc., then the Strand and Savoye, Temple bar within and without the Gate, wheir are all their Innes of Court, their lawyers and many booksellers. Then ye come to Ludgate hil; then to St. Pauls; then to Cheapsyde Crosse; then in to Broad Street at the back of the Exchange now: their is also Litle St. Helens and Great St. Helens, Leadinghal; also Aldgate, wtin the gate or wtout it; which is either wtin the bars or wtout them called White Chappell; out which way we went to Hackney, a village some 2 miles of London wheir M'ris Inglish hir son Edward lives; saw Bedlan Green by the way and the beggars house. Neir Algate goes of the Minorites leading to Tower-hil and the Tower, then doun to the Hermitage. The Custome house is in Mark Lane. [473] An early notice of building leases. London is in Midlesex; Southwark thats above the Bridge is in Surrey, thats under it is in Kent. Having stayed til the 28 of October (about which very tyme my mother was safely delivered of Walter), Hadow and I took our places in the coach for York. Their was a squire in Westmorland with his lady and hir sister returning home to his oune country, also a Atturneys wife who dwelt in the Bischoprick of Durham in the Coach with us. Had large discourses of the idlenes and vitiousnese of the citizens wifes at London being wery cocknies. We will not forget what contest we had with some of them at the taking of our places. Having left London, came first to Hygate, 4 miles, my Lord Lauderdales house, a village adjoining on the croup of a hill; then to Barnet, 10 miles from London; then to Hatfield wheir we dined, 17 miles, wheir we saw Hatfield house with brave parcks, all belonging to my Lord of Salisburie. A litle of this is the greatest hy way in England leading to S't Albanes. Came at night to Stesinwich,[474] 20 miles of London. [474] Stevenage. Nixt day, being Tuesday, and 29 came to Baldoc 5 miles; Begleswith[475] 10 miles; dined their at the Croun, wery bad entertainment; afternoon to Bugden,[476] 10 miles further, sad way. That night arrived their my Lord Rothes, my Lord Arley,[477] Sir J. Strachan, and others going to London. Its some 3 or 4 miles from Huntington; the country is all couered with willows like to Holland. [475] Biggleswade. [476] Now Buckden. [477] Arley, probably Airlie. Nixt day Vednesday, 30, baited at a willage called Walsford,[478] 17 miles of wery bad way. Came at night to Stamford 5 miles furder; within a mile of the toune we saw on each hand a brave stately house belonging to my Lord of Exeter, in one of them lived the Duc of Buckinghame. It stands on a river: whats besouth the bridge is in Northamptonshire, benorth in Lincolne. Its held amongs the greatest tounes of England after London. Norwich is the 2'd, it hath 50 churches in it: Bristol is a great toune to. [478] Watlingsford (Blaeuw), now Wansford. Nixt day, Thursday, 31, leiving Postwitham[479] and Grantham on our right hand, we entred unto the most pleasant valley of Bever, the best ground for corn and pasturage thats in all England: saw its castle at a distance, seimed to be most artificially fortified; it stands in Leister, Nottinghame, and Lincolneshires. Dined at Lougbirlington,[480] 18 miles: a long rabble of a toune indeed. Afternoon came to Newwark upon Trent; had fowll weather with haille. Its in Nottinghame: its commonly called the line of England, dividing it into 2 halfes south and north (all that live benorth it are called North country men) by its river of Trent, which embraces the sea at Hull; yet the halfes are not æqual. We saw the Kings Castle their, tho demolisht in the last Civill wars. [479] Postwitham, so written. North Witham and South Witham are near the route. [480] Longbennington. Nixt day, Fryday, 1 of November, left Toxford[481] on the Clay on our left hand, entred unto Sheerwood Forest, wheir Robin Hood of old hanted. Was of a incredible extent; now theirs no wood in it; but most excellent hunting: it was good way. Baited at Barnby in the Moore, 17 miles of Newwark. As we was heir J. Graham my Lord Middletons man overtook us going post. After diner past Scrouby and Batry and[482] came late at night to Doncaster, 10 miles further. [481] Tuxford. [482] Scrooby and Bawtry. The 6't day, being Saturday and the 2'd of November, it was a brave clinking frost in the morning; we clawed it away past Robin Hoods well; baited at Ferry bridges, arrived at York safely: lay wheir our coach stayed. Devoted the nixt being Sabath for viewing of the toune; saw that so much talked of minstrell, and truely not undeservedly, for it is a most stupendious, magnificent Church as I had sein. Duc Hamilton was come their then. Nixt day, being Monday and 4 of November, having bid adieu to our coach companie and Mr. Thomas Paterson who had come doune all the way with us, Sir George and I took post for Barrowbridges,[483] 10 miles. Arrived about 11 howers, dined on apple tarts and sider: on immediatly for Northallerton, 12 miles; arrived ere halfe 3; my horse almost jaded: was very unresolved whither to go any further or not; yet on for Darneton[484] (wheir the good spurs are made). We are all weill monted with a good guide: we are not 3 miles of[485] the toune when it falls pit dark; a most boystrous night both for wind and rain, and for the comble of our misery 10 of the worst way on all the rode; yet out we most it. He led us not the ordinar way but throw the enclosures, breaking doune the hedges for a passage wheir their was none. Many a 100 ditch and hedge did we leap, which was strange to sie had we not bein on horses that ware accustomed with it, yea some ware so horrible broad that we forced to leap of and lead over our horses. We was forced to ride close on on another, otherwise we should have losed on another. When we was within 2 miles of Darnton we came to a great river called Tees, in Latin by Cambden Tesis, which divides Yorkshire from the Bischoprick of Durham (for from the time we came to Barnby in the Moore til this place we ware ever in Yorkshire, which is the greatest in England); heir we lighted and hollowed on the boatman on the other syde to come and boat us and our horses over. If he had not bein their we had bein obliged to ride 2 miles ere we had come to a bridge: over we win, and at last reaches Darnton, both wet, weary, and hungrie. [483] Boroughbridge. [484] Darlington. [485] Off, as usual. Nixt day, Tuesday and 5 of November, on by tymes for Durham, 14 miles. My saddle proved so unmeit for the horse back that it turned perpetually with me. At last changed horses with the postillon. Came to Ferryhill, 4 miles to the south of Durham, askes for Isabell Haswal their, is most kindlie received; comes to Durham be ten a cloak, on of the most strong tounes, and that naturally, we saw in all England; then for Newcastle, 10 miles. Our postillon Need of Durham the greatest pimp of England. Neer Newcastle saw thesse pits of coall that carries its name. Then to Morpeth, 10 miles; which wearied us so sore that we resolved to post no more, but to hire horses home the Kelso way; wheirupon the postmaster furnished us horses to carry us to Ulars,[486] 22 miles; but ere we had reached Whittinghame throw that most sad and wearisome moore and those griveous rocks and craigs called Rumsyde Moore we ware so spent that we was able to go no further; sent back our horses and stayed their all night. [486] Wooler. Nixt day, being Thursday 7 November, got horses from that miserable village to carry us the other 8 miles to Ulars [Wooler[487]]. After we was once up the braes we meet with wery good way.[488] At Ulars had much difficulty to find horses for Kelso, 12 miles further. At lenth we found, which brought us thither about the evening; crossed the Tuede in boate just forgainst the toune, which beyond compare hes the pleasantest situation of ever any toune I yet saw in Scotland. Their stands the relicks of a magnifick Abbasie that hes bein their. Lodged at Charles Pots; fand a sensible decay of service by that a man hes in England. Having provided horses to carry us to Edinburgh, 28 miles, we parted nixt morning Fryday 8 November. [487] Interlined. [488] i.e. the road was good. Saw hard by Kelso thesse 2 most pleasant houses that belong to my Lord Roxborough, the Flowers[489] and the Friers. Throw muiresh, barren ground we came in sight of Lauder, 10 miles of Kelso, on the west bray, face of the Lider Water. Over forgainst it stands a pretty house belonging to my Lord Lauderdale: 4 mile further of excellent way all amongs the mids of hills stands Ginglekirk[490] wheir we dined; then forward our Sautry[491] hils of whilk we discovered Edinborough. Passing throw Fallean[492] came to the Furd within 6 mile of Edinborrough, yet we called first at New Cranston, Sir J. Fletchers house; but himselfe was in the north marrieing the Lady Elsick; his sone James and his daughter ware at Ormaston. James as soon as he heard we was their came to the foord to us, stayed with us all night; took us up to Cranston with him; wheir was receaved most magnifickly by him and his sister. [489] Now Floors. [490] Now Channelkirk, still locally pronounced Shinglekirk. [491] Soutra. [492] Now Fala. Parted that day, being Saturday and 9 of November 1667, for Edinborough, whither by Dalkeith I arrived safelie about 4 a Cloak in the afternoon amongs my friends, from whom I had bein absent some 2 years and 8 moneths. DEO GRATIAS. Accompte of my expence at London from September 6 to the 9 of November 1667. In money from Freiston received 36 lb. 14 s. from Lindsay by a bill, 19 lb., in all 55 lb. 15 s. sterling. For a 4 nights diet and chamber maille in New Street 0 17 0, for a suite of cloaths, 4 yards and 1/2 at 16 s. 3 yards sargeat, 4 s. and 6. so much taby. the garniture about the sleives, in garters, shoe strings, etc., 1 lb. 16 s. the making, 14 s. with the other appartenances, in all it stood me some 9 pound 10 s. For 2 laced bands, 3 0 0 For a laced gravate, 0 12 0 For 4 pair of holland sleives at 8 s the peice, 1 12 0 For 4 pair of laced cuffes to them, 1 1 0 For silk stockings, 0 12 6 For worsted ones, 0 6 0 For Jesmine gloves, 0 2 6 For a fusting wascoat, 0 5 0 For 2 whole shirtes, 0 12 0 For 2 pair drawers, 0 9 0 For 3 pair shoes, 0 3 0 For a cloathbag, 0 8 0 My Oxford woyage and back, 1 0 0 My expence that week, 0 10 0 For books bought their, my catalogue amounts to, 8 9 0 Given to Mris Inglish and hir maid, 5 0 0 For my place to York, 2 5 0 For my expence thither, 0 11 0 For 6 stages post, 1 10 0 For hired horses from Morpeth to this, 1 0 0 For my expense from York home, whither I came Saturday 9 November, 0 8 0 Lent to Mr Thomas Paterson, 1 15 0 Summa of all is, 42 9 0 Brought home 7 lb. 10 s. Repayed by Mr. T. Paterson 1 lb. 15 s. which in all makes 9 lb. 5. PETITION OF MR. JOHN LAUDER. Unto the Right Honourable the Lord President and remanent Lords of Counsel and Session the humble petition of Mr. John Lauder sheweth, That wheir your petitioner having applied himselfe to the study of the Civil law both at home and abroad, and being resolved to emprove the samen and to exerce it as Advocat, May it theirfor please your Lordships to remit your petitioner to the Dean of Faculty and Advocats for his tryall in the ordinar way in order to the office of ane advocat. And your Lordships favourable returne heirto. 21 January 1668. The Lords having considered this bill and desyre theirof remits the petitioner to the Dean of Faculty and Advocats to the effect they may take triall of his knowledge of the Civill law and make report to the haill Lords their anent. JOHN GILMOUR, I.P.D. Remits the supplicant to the private examinators to take tryall of his qualifications and to report. ROBERT SINCLAIR. 27 January 1668. The private examinators having taken tryall of the supplicants qualifications of the Civill law finds him sufficiently qualified theirin and remits him to his further tryall. ROBERT DICKSON, GEOR. NICOLSONE. PAT. HOOME, RODER. MACKEINZIE. JAMES DAES. Edemborough, 28 January 1668. Assignes to the supplicant for the subiect of his publick examination. Tit. D. _de collatione bonorum._ ROBERT SINCLAIR. Edemborough, 15 February 1668. The body of Advocats being met and having heard the supplicant sustain his tryal before them upon the befor-assigned title, did unanimously approve him theirin and recommend him for his lesson to the Lords favour. GEORGE MACKENZIE, in absence of D. of F. 22 February 1668. The Lords having considered the Report above written assignes to the petitioner the day of June nixt (which indeed was the 5h) to finish his tryall in order to the office of a ordinire advocate, and recommends the petitioner to the Dean of faculty for to have ane Law assigned to him to that effect. JOHN GILMOUR, I.P.D. Edemborough, 1668. Assignes to the supplicant for the subject of his publick lesson. _l. diffamari C. de Ingenuis Manumissis_. ROBERT SINCLAIRE. I was admitted advocat on the 5 of June 1668. * * * * * [493] [493] A page scored out. In August 1668 I went home with my sister for Glasco. Went by the White house, the Coudbridge, Corstorphin, held up to the right hand, saw Gogar on the left, Ingleston, Boghall, Norvells house. Came to Kirkliston, 6 miles from Edemburgh. Neir it on this syde of the Water is Carlaury; a mile furder is the Castle of Nidry; both it and Kirkliston toune belongs to my Lord Vinton, and Newliston on the left hand[494] then came to Lithcow, Limnuchum[495] 12 miles from Edenburgh. Baited at on Chrightones forgainst the Palace, which hes bein werie magnificent, is now for the most part ruinous. Under it stands the Loch, in the midle wheirof is a litle island with tries. In the midst of the court is a most artificiall font of most excellent water. Their is ane in the toune: their ... [496] wes neir the palace. They are a building a tolbuith all of aislaer work. [494] On margin [Vinsbrugh, Duntarvy, Wrae, Monteith], [495] Limnuchum, the Latin name. Arthur Johnston, in his _Carmen de Limnucho_, quoted at length by Sir Robert Sibbald, 'Nobile Limnuchum est Patio de marmore templum,' etc.-Treatises, Linlithgow, p. 16. [496] About two words obliterated. A mile from this on our left hand we saw Kettelston Stewart, then wheir the famous city of Camelon stood built by Cruthne Camelon first King of the Picts--330 years before Christ--alongs the river of Carron whither the sea also came up, so that yet to this day digging deip they find tackles and anchores and other appartenances of ships. Its thought that when the sea gained in Holland and the Netherlands it retired heir; so that now its not within 3 miles of this place now. Vespasian in the reigne of our Caratacus, 35 years after Christ, took it and sackt it. At last finally ransackt and ruined by Kenneth the 2d in the year of Christ 834. Neir to this place stands Dunipace with the 2 artificiall monts before the gate called Dunnipacis. Heir also is that old building called by some Arthurs Oven, and relicts of the great Wall of Adrian. But of all this consult Buchanan, lib 10, pag. 16, 17, 18. Within a mile of Falkirk stands Calendar, the residence of the Earles of Callendar, a place full of pleasure. We lay at Falkirk 6 miles beyond Linligligow. Nixt day on for Kilsith, 9 miles furder. Saw Cumbernauld and that great mosse wheir that fatall battell of Kilsith[497] was fought, 6000 slayn on the place. Past by the Water of Bony wheir John Scots mother lives. Bayted at Kilsith, saw the old place which was burned by the Englishs, and the new place, then other 9 miles to Glascow. Passed by Calder and a Water of the samen name. Saw Mucdock[498] at a distance, my Lord Montrosse his residence. [497] Montrose defeated the Covenanters under Baillie at Kilsyth in 1645. [498] Now Mugdock. Being arrived at Glasco we lighted at my sisters[499] in the Trone gate: then saw Old Colin at his house in the Bridge gate; then saw their Merchants Hall with its garden in the same street; then the 2 Hutchesones brether ther hospitall in the Tronegate. The eldest brother was a Wrytter. Then saw their bridge over Clyde, of which a man hes a most fair prospect both up the river and doune the river of all the trough of Clyde. [499] Mr. Laing mentions that one of Lauder's stepsisters was married to Campbell of Blythswood. Nixt day heard sermon in the Trone church: fornoon, Mr. Robert Stirling; afternoon, Mr. Milne. After sermon went to their Bromeylaw, wheir is their key for their boat, and a spring of most rare water. Nixt day saw their tolbuith, Gallowgate, Saltmarket, Colledge with the priveledges of the University of Bononia; their great church, on under another,[500] with the castle, the bischops residence with the Bischops hospitall and the tradesmen their hospitall, both at the head of the toune, which comes running doun from a eminence towards the river, supposing the river to be the edge of this book, in this fashion. [500] The crypt. [Illustration] We went after for the Ranfield, 5 short miles from Glasco, on the south side of the river. Saw on the way Govan, Renfrew, burgh royal. On the other syde ware Parket,[501] Scotts-toune Stewart lately married to Roysaithes daughter, and the Barnes. Ranfield stands most pleasantly with abondance of planting betuixt the Clyde and the Greiff[502] or Carst,[503] that comes from Pasley. [501] Now Partick. [502] Now Gryfe. [503] Now Cart. Went up to Pasley by the Knock: its 2 mile from the Ranfield, a most pleasant place with a pretty litle toune. In former tymes it belonged to my Lord Abercorn. Now my Lord Cochrane hath it, who sold to the toune for 4000 merks the right he had of the election of their Magistrates, which he sore repents now, for since the toune cares not for him. It hes bein a most magnificent Abbaye, much of it ruined now. Ye enter into the court by a great pend[504] most curiously built. The wals of the yard may almost passe for a miracle because of their curious workmanship and extent. The yards are no wayes keipt in order. My Lord hes enclosed a wast peice of ground for a park. [504] Arched passage. Nixt morning we went for Dumbarton, having crossed the river 5 long miles from the Ranfield and 10 from Glasco. Saw on the way Rowlan on our right hand, Bischopton, Brisbane, Erskin belonging to Hamilton of Orbiston, both on the other syde of the river. Came throught Kirkpatrick, which is the great mercat toune of the Hyland kyne; saw Castle Pottage; then by Dunglasse a ruined castle standing on a litle rock in the Clyde belonging to Sir John Colquhon of Luz[505]; then by the craig called Dunbuc came to Dumbarton toune, wheir meet with Walter Watsone, provest of Dumbritton. Stayed at his brothers: went over to the rock, a most impregnable place as any part of the world can show. Was so fortunat that Major George Grant was not their. The gunner went alongs with us and shewed us the cannons, some Scotes peices, some English, some French, some Flemish, one braze[506] of 34 pound bal taken up out of that ship of the invincible armado which was cast away on the north of Scotland in the 88. Their was 2 also iron peices carrieing 32 pound ball, a peice casten in King James the 4't his tyme, carried with him to Floudoun, and taken then and keipt ay to Charles the I., his tyme. They call them demy canons, some of one lb, some of 8, some of 14 lb ball, etc. They have excellent springs of water in many places of the rock: their ammunition house is almost on the top of it. Of it we saw my Lord Glencairnes house of residence, also Newwark, and under it the bay wheir Glasco is building their Port Glasco. Neir to Dumbarton stands Fulwood belonging to the Sempills. The Levin comes in to the Clyde heir. The provest heir related to me that merrie passage betuixt Thomas Calderwood and him. Its a most debaucht hole. Came back that night to the Ranfield. [505] Now Luss. [506] Brass. Nixt day came to Glasco. That night our horses were arrested and pressed because of the rumor that ther was a randevouz to be at Loudon hill. Saw old Robert Cambell and young Robert with their wifes, James Cambel, John Bell with his wyfe, Barbara Cambel, Colin Maclucas, Daniel Broun, Collonel Meiren, Sergeant Lauder. Went out and saw Blayswoode,[507] Woodsyde and Montbodo its house wheir stayes my fathers old landlady. Saw his quarry, his corne milnes, and his wack[508] milnes. If that of Monbodo wer once irredimeably his he will have above 50 chalders of wictuall lying their all togither. On the south of the bridge stands the Gorbbells wheir is the castle of the Gorbels: in it dwels at present Sir James Turner. [507] Now Blythswood. [508] For wauk. We took horse at the Gallogate to go for Hamiltoun 8 miles from Glascow; saw Wackingshaw, Kelving Water, the Castle of Bothwell, ruinous, belonging to the Marquis of Douglas on the Clyde. Over on the other syde stands the Craig of Blantyre, my Lord Blantyres residence: he has another house called Cardonald near Renfrew. Then ye come to Bothuel toune, on halfe belonging to the Marquis and the other to the Duc of Hamilton; then ye come to Bothuel bridge--six pennies of custome a horseman payes; then a mile from it stands Hamilton, first the nether toune, then the upper. Many of the gentlemen of Cliddesdail was their that day at the Duc, as Silvertounhil, Hages, Master of Carmichaell, Hamilton, Torrance, Stewart Hills, Castlemilk, Rouchsoles, my Lord Lee which[509] standes within 2 mile of Lanerk. Lanark is 8 from Hamilton. Went and saw the yards:[510] great abondance of as good wines,[511] peaches, apricoats, figs, walnuts, chaistins,[512] philberts, etc., in it as in any part of France; excellent bon Crestien pears, brave palissades of firs, sundry fisch ponds. The wals are built of brick, which conduces much to the ripening of the fruits: their be 20 ackers of land within the yeardes. Their's a fair bouling graine before the Palace gate. Then went to the wood, which is of a wast bounds; much wood of it is felled: their be many great oakes in it yet: rode thorough the lenth of it, it is thought to be 5 miles about. Saw great droves of heart and hinde with the young roes and faunes in companies of 100 and 60 togither. [509] Which, _i.e._ Lee. Sir James Lockhart Lord Lee's house. [510] Yards, enclosed gardens, orchards. [511] Vines. [512] Chestnuts. Fr., _Châtains_. Nixt day on for Edenburgh, 24 miles from Hamilton. Rode crost the Clyde at a furd about 5 miles from Hamilton, came in to the muire way for Glasco: wery ill way. Came to the Kirk of the Shots; then to Neidle eye wheir ye go of to Bathcat; then to Swynish Abbey[513]; then to Blaickburne belonging to the Laird of Binny, 12 miles from Edenburgh. Baited their, then came to Long Levinstone a mile furder; then to the pile of Levinstone Murray: the house [Toures][514] was destroyed by the English. Saw on our right hand Calder, my Lord Torphichens residence; then entered unto that moor, Drumshorling Moore; then came to Amont Water: rode within a bow shot of Clifton hall and within halfe a mile of Eleiston; then to Gogar stone and Gogar toune; then to Corstorphin, and so home, being the 15 of August 1668....[515] [513] Now Swineabbey. [514] Interlined. [515] Nearly half a page blank. One day in a promenade with Mr. James Pilans past by Wright houses, Greenhill, Mr. (Doctor) Levinstons, then a litle house belonging to Doctor Stevinsone; then Merchiston; then to the Barrowmoore wheir Begs famous house is; then to the Brig-house which belonged to Braid,[516] was given of by the Farlys in an assithment, liferented even now by the Ladie Braid, payes her 200 merks a year; then up towards Greenbank to the Buckstone, wheir is the merches of Braid with Mortinhall and Comistone; saw its merches with the new Maynes of Colinton belonging to Mr. Harie Hay with Craiglockart, the Pleughlands, and the Craighouse (now Sir Andro Dicks, of old a part of the Barronie of Braid); then saw wheir the English armie lay, also Swanston and Pentland. Then came alongs all the face or brow of the bray of the Wester hill, which is the meith between Braid and Mortonhall, till we came to Over libberton, Mr. William Little. Conquised by this mans goodsire, William Little, provest of Edenburgh, befor K. Ja. went in to England: a fyn man and stout: as appeared, 1°, that his taking a man out of the Laird of Innerleith his house at Innerleith, having set sentries at all the doors, and because they refused to open, tir[517] a hole in the hous top and fetch him out and laid him in the tolbuith for ryving a bond of borrowed money fra a burges of the toun; which proceidur the Secreit Counsell then, tho summar, allowed of. 2°, thair having bein long debats betuen the toun and the Logans of Restalrig for the passage throw Restalrig's lands to Leith (the way wheirto then was just by the tower), and Restalrig having aither refused to let them pas throw his lands or else would have them to acknowledge him, Prov: Little being with K. Ja. at Stirling made a griveous complaint of their insolency; wheirupon he said he cared not tho the highest stone of Restalrig ware as lach as the lachest. Wheirupon the prov: Will ye bid me doe it, Sir? Wheirupon the K. Doe it if ye like. Immediatly wtout telling the K. or anie else comes he post to Edenburgh and causes cast doune the tour that same night. The K. tyme of supping coming the K. calls for his prov: of Edenburght: no body could tell. At last some tells that he suddenly was goon to Edenb: this moved the K. I'll wad, sayd he againe, its to cast doun Restalrig Castle. Go with all the speid ye can and forbid it. Are anie could come their it was done. K. Ja: used to call the Huntly the 1 noble man of his kingdome and the provest of Edenb the 2d. [516] Dick of Braid. [517] Strip off part of the roof, and so make a hole. To returne. From Over liberton saw the byway to St. Catharines Well, a quarter of a mile from Liberton, Leswaid, and Drodden;[518] then came to Libberton Kirk; then came neir to Libberton burne, and turned up to Blackfurd, wheir we saw Braids merches with Libberton moore, now arable ground, bought lately by the President.[519] Also wt Grange[520] saw _Sacellum Sancti Marlorati_ Semirogues Chappell.[521] That burne that runes throw the Brighouse goes by Blackfurd to the Calsay[522] and Powburne, then to Dudiston Loch, out of which it runes again by West Dudiston milnes and is the Thiget burne.[523] Braides burne againe runes by Libbertone toune to Peppermilne, fra that straight to Nidrie by Brunstone and its milnes to the sea, a mile west of Musleburgh: the Magdalen[524] bridge layes over it their. [518] Anciently Dredden, now Dryden. [519] Sir John Gilmour. [520] Dick of Grange. See Appendix I., p. 239, note. [521] The two names seem to denote the same chapel. St. Roque's Chapel was on the Boroughmuir, half-a-mile west of Grange House. See Bishop Forbes's _Kalendar of Scottish Saints_ s.v., Semirookie: 'Aug. 16, 1327. Under this corruption we find the popular designation of a chapel dedicated to St. Roque, just outside the east gate of Dundee.' The other name, distinctly written, looks like a corruption of St. Mary of Loretto. Besides the more celebrated shrine at Musselburgh, there is a tradition of a Loretto chapel near the Lady's Wynd. Possibly Lauder confused it with St. Roque's Chapel. [522] Causeway, highroad. [523] So sometimes spelt, more often Figgate or Fegot. The course of the two streams is incorrectly described. [524] So called from a chapel to St. Mary Magdalen. That nunnerie the walls wheirof are standing at the Cheyns[525] was destined most by[526] burgesses daughters, as also that whilk was in the Colledge Yaird called _Monasterium Sanctae Mariae in Campis_. [525] Cheyns, now Sciennes, convent of St. Catherine of Sienna. [526] Destined by, meaning 'destined for,' hence, 'occupied by.' Cheynes holds of the toun: they ware Robisons that possest it of old; Grange by the Cants; Craigmillar, Prestons, Edmistons, of that Ilk, now Reth,[527] first of that name being Chancellar Seaton his servand and carried the purse before him; Shirefhal, Giffards, then bought by the Earl of Morton, Lord Dalkeith, now it belongs to the Balcleuch; Preistfield (never kirk lands, tho the name would seime to say so), Hamilton, Tam of the Cougates[528] father; before them in the Chopmans; as also in the Cants. [527] In 1671 the second son of Wauchope of Niddrie married the daughter and heiress of Raith of Edmonston. [528] Thomas Hamilton, first Earl of Haddington, favourite of James VI., who so styled him. Went on the 20 of September 1668 to Musselburgh to sie the Mid Lothian Militia, being a regiment 10 companies (_id est_, Lauderdales Collonel, Sir Jo. Nicolsons of Polton Lieutenant Collonel, Gogars Major, Mortanhalls, Deans, Halzeards, Calderhalls, Sir Mark Kars[529] of Cockpens, etc.), muster in a rendezvous in the Links. Saw in going Stainehill, a sweit place, the Dobies, ware burgesses, now Mr. William Sharps, keiper of the Kings Signet, about a mile on the west of Mussleburgh Water and bridge and Mussleburgh on the eist. [529] Apparently a son of the Earl of Lothian, afterwards a general of the army. On the way to the south stands Innerask[530] with its kirk. Hard at the toune stands Pinkie, built about the year 1612 by Alexander Seton, Erle of Dumferling, Lord High Chancellar of Scotland. His lady was Maitland, a daughter of the then Lord Thirlistanes (who had bein King James his Secretarie and Chancellar), now Erles of Lauderdale: his name and hirs are in manie places of the house. This Erle of Dunferline that stayes at London is his sone, hes so morcaged his Estate that my Lord Tueddalle for security of cautionry for him hes tane possession of Pinkie, Fyvie, Dunferline, with whatsomever other thing rests of his estate and is like to bruik it. Its a most magnificent, statelie building [it hes but 20 chalder victual belonging to it]:[531] much cost hes bein wared theirupon. Their is a brave building of a well in the court, fine shade of tries that fetches you into it, excellent lar[ge] gallries and dining roumes. He hes bein mighty conceity in pretty mottoes and sayings, wheirof the walls and roofs of all the roumes are filled, stuffed with good moralitie, tho somethat pedantick. See Spotiswood of him in _Anno_ 1622, page 543. A most sweit garden, the knot much larger than that at Hamilton and in better order. The rest of the yeard nether so great nor in so good order nor so well planted with such varietie as is in Hamilton yeards. The knot heir will be 200 foot square, a mighty long grein walk. Saw figs at a verie great perfection. Above the utter gait as ye enter in to the place their is an inscription in golden letters telling the founder theirof, and assuring them that shall ever attempt to destroy that fabrick by sword, fyre, demolishment, or other wayes that the wery stones and beams ut of the wall shall exclaime against them as destitute of all humanity and common courtesie. 18 plots in the garden, with a summer houses and sundry pondes. [530] Now Inveresk. [531] Interlined. Saw of[532] the linkes wheir Pinky field was fought on the hill neir Fawsyde. Heard whow the Laird of Carberrie then not desiring the battell should be to neir his house had so much influence on the Scots armie as to cause them leive the advantadge they had of the high ground and draw doune to the champagne countrey, which was a partiall cause of their rout, as also that the Englishes had their ships just at the links, who with their shots of the sea did our forces a great deall of hurt. [532] _i.e._ off, meaning 'from.' Saw Walafield belonging to the Paipes. East it on the sea syde the Salt pans. Above them within the land Tranent; then Prestonpans, wher was B. Jossies house; then Dauphintoun, once Archibald Wilkies; then Fawsyde, Ramsayes, on a hill head; then a mile beyond it Elphinston, the Clerk Registers;[533] then Carberrie, Blaires, they ware Rigs. [533] Sir Archibald Primrose. In the coming home saw Whithill, Easter Dudinstone, belonging to Sir Thomas Thomsone. He that first acquired it was an Advocat in Queen Maries tyme, who having bein much on hir party and afraid to be forfault, disponed his whole estate over to a 2d brother of his, out of whosse hands he nor his posterity (who are living this day in Rowen) could never pick it, so that this Laird of it is the grandchild of that 2d brother.[534] Its 60 chalder of wictuallat beir and wheat ever accompted the finest thing about Edenburgh. Its of great circumference. [534] I am informed by Mr. William Baird, author of _Annals of Duddingston and Portobello_, that this story is not authentic. Saw Brunstone and Nidrie. Came throw Restalrig toune, wheir stands an old chappel, the buriall place of the Lo: of Balmerinoch: also of old the parish church of South Leith, so that the minister of South Leith even now is parsone at this kirk, at least denominat so. Inchekeith might weill now be called Inche Scott, since Scottistarvet bought it, who had great designes to have made a good fischer toune theirupon. A litle after we went to Halton[535] (the young La:[536] being at London). Went out by Gorgie Milnes, belonging to one Broune; then by Sauchton hall; then by Belsmilne to Stanipmilne, Elies, up above which stands Reidhall, Brands, and Colinton, with Craiglockhart, wheirin the President, S.J. Gilmor, hes intres tho it belong to Colinton; then to Sauchton belonging to Mr. David Watsone. On our left hand was Langhermistoune, the portioners of it Mr. Robert Deans the Advocat and Alexander Beaton the Wryter. On our left hand Reidheues who are Tailfours, the last of them married a daughter of Corstorphin, Foster, for this Lo:[537] is Lieutenant General Bailzies sone, and got it by marrieng the heritrixe. Then came forward to Upper Gogar belonging to on Douglas, who was a chamberlan for the Earle of Morton. Kincaid of Wariston hes some intrest in it. Past Gogar Water, that comes from Halton by Dalmahoy and Adestoun, and comes down to Gogar place. On our left hand saw Riccarton Craig, Curriehill, Skene of old now Winrahames; Wariston, Johnstons; Killeith,[538] Scot of Limphoys, and nearest of all thesse Adeston,[539] bought by a Laird of Halton, who married on Bellenden of Broughton, to be a provision to hir children (for she was the Lairds 2d wife), wheiron he sold Cringelty neir Hayston in Tueddal (which belonged of old to the Laird of Halton), and theirwith purchessed Adelstoun and gave it to Sir Lues Lauder, who was the sone procreat betuixt him and that ladie of the house of Bruchton. Sir Lues married a daughter of Sir Archibald Achesons, who was Secretarie of Scotland, whom I have sein, and who bore him 2 sones, one evan now a preacher, married in England, the other in the Kings troup, with some daughters: on of them knowen to have bein to familiar with Sir William Fleming. Adelston now is sold to Sir John Gibson. Then saw Dalmahoy house with its toune at some distance on the croup of the hill. [535] Now Hatton. [536] Charles Maitland, afterward Lord Halton, and third Earl of Lauderdale, on whom and his children the estate was settled on his marriage to Elizabeth, daughter of Richard Laudcr of Hatton. [537] _i.e._ the present laird of Corstorphine. [538] Now Kinleith. [539] Now Alderston. On our right hand stands Ratho (that belonged to Duncan, who being the Kings talzeor conqueshed Bonytoun), now Mr. Alexander Foules; then Ratho toune, the halfe of it belonging to Halton, the other halfe to Ratho place; then Ratho kirk, the parish of many of the gentlemen of this country; then Rathobyres, the on halfe wheirof pertaines to James Fleming; then Northtoun,[540] a willage or meling[541] belonging to the Laird of Halton; then came to Halton. Their beside the old Laird,[542] the lady[543] Richard,[544] Jo.,[545] Charles and their sister Isabell[546] was Jean Areskin, Balgonies daughter, Elphiston, a daughter of Calderhals, and Mr. William Sims eldest daughter. [540] Now Norton. [541] Maling, Mailing (from 'mail,' rent) either has the ordinary meaning 'farm,' or perhaps a group of cottars' houses, 'maillers' or 'meallers,' who were allowed to build on waste land, and hired themselves out as labourers.--Jamieson, _Dict_., s.v. [542] Richard Lauder, last of Hatton. [543] Richard Lauder's daughter, wife of Charles Maitland. [544] Fourth earl. [545] Fifth earl. [546] Afterwards married to Lord Elphinston. Halton, as I saw their, carries the griffin bearing a sword, on the point wheirof is a Moors head. The occasion they tell me is that one of the Lairds went with a brother of Robert the Bruce to the Holyland and slew many of the Sarazens their, wheiron he added that to his coat. The motto is, Strike alike. Metellans[547] hes a lion with a star. [547] Maitlands. Learned of the old Laird that the Lairds of Calder ware knights of the order of St John of Jerusalem, after knights of the Rhodes, now of Malta, and that by vertue theirof they ware superiors of all the Temple lands (which in Edenburgh may be discerned yet by having Croces on them), as weill in burgh as in landward throwghout Scotland. Heard him speak of that Bond of Assurance betuixt the toune of Edenburgh and the Laird of Halton, the like wheirof few in Scotland hes of the toune of Edenburgh. This Laird hes bought in a place called the Spittle (_proprie_ the Hospitall), just over on the other syde of the water, which never appertained to the Laird of Halton of before. All the ground about it the Laird is taking just now in to be a park. In one of the chambers hings King Charles the 2d, King Henry le Grand of France, fetcht home by the old Laird; the old Earle of Lauderdale with his ladie, the Lady Reidhouse, now Lady Smeton Richison, the old Laird Mr. Richard, with some others. This Laird hes made a verie regular addition to the old dungeon tower. The garden that lies to the west of the dungeon would have bein better placed to the southe of the house wheir the bouling greine is, tho I confesse that by reason of the precipice of the bray hard at hand it would have bein to narrow. Hes its ponds. Came back the same way we went. Nixt day went for Eleiston, 7 miles from Edenburgh (Halton is 6). Went by Corstorphin, Gogar toune and Stone; saw Gogar place, then Ingleston, Eistfeild, belonging to James Gray, merchand, then Halzeards, Skein, then Newliston, Auldliston, toune of Kirkliston, Castle of Nidrie, Baruclan, my Lord Balmerinochs, Barnebougall, the Clerk Registers,[548] of old the Moubrayes, Dundas of that Ilk, Leine,[549] Youngs, Craigiehall, bought from my Lord Kingstone by Mr. Jo. Ferolme, 50 chalder of wictuall for a 100,000 merk, who seiking up some monies from some noblemen to pay it with occasioned the making the Act of debitor and creditor; then Kilpont, the Earle of Airths, Mr. Archibald Campbell hes 40,000 merks on it; then Kirkhill, Stewarts, conquised by Sir Lues Stewart the advocat; his daughter (a very good woman) is Ladie Glencairne; then Uphall Kirk, which is Kirkhils parish kirk; then Binnie and Binnie Craigs with Wester Binnie, which belongeth to Mr. Alexander Dicksone, professor in Hebrew. Crosed the Water of Amont at Cliftonhall. Beyond Binnie Craigs stands Dechmond, Hamiltons. [548] Sir Archibald Primrose, 1616-1679; Clerk Register, 1660; Justice-General, 1676. (See _infra_, p. 225.) His son Archibald was the first Earl of Rosebery, cr. 1703. [549] Leny. Came to Eleiston,[550] over against it stands Bonytoun, Scots, the Laird of Halton Mr. Richards ladie was of that family; also Clifton toune, consisting of many mechanicks, especially wobsters, etc. Stands in Linthgowshire 5 mile from it:[551] stands most hy and windie in the edge of Drumshorling Moor. [550] Now Illieston. [551] _i. e_. apparently Linlithgow. Inquiring, if because of its name Eleiston it ever belonged to the Eleis's of before. Answered, that no: also that the true name of it is not Eleiston but Hyliston. Belonged to the Earles of Monteith, and was a part of their barronie of Kilpont. Its some 300 acker of land paying about 6 firlots the acker; hes held at on rentall thesse 100 years. The gentlemen that last had it ware Hamiltons, ever Catholicks. K. James, because he had no house to bait at when he came to hunt in the moor, gave on of them 20,000 merks to build that house, wheirto he added 4 himselfe.[552] Its stronglic built as it had neid, being built in so windy a part. We first enter in to a hall. On our right hand as we enter is a kitchin and a sellar, both wouted.[553] On the left a fair chamber. Then ye go upstairs and ye have a fine high hall, and of everie end a chamber hung both with arras hangings. Then in the 3'd storie ye have a chamber and a larg loft. On the top of a turret again above ther is a litle chamber wheir their preist stayed when the Hamiltons had it, who had divers secret passages to convey himselfe away if pershued. Their was Marion Sandilands, Hilderstons daughter, with Margaret Scot his 2'd wyfe; item Sir John Scot of Scotstarvets picture. In the timber of the most part of the windows is cut out the name of the gentleman that had it, with the year of God when it was built, 1613, 1614. Mr. Jo. Eleis hes put up his name and his ladies on the gate. [552] _i. e_. the proprietor added 4000 merks. [553] Vaulted, _voutés_. Jo. Bonar hes bought a place just on the other syde of the loch of Lithgow forgainst the palace, called Bonytoun, which he hes changed and called Bonarton. Reidop, which belonged to on Drummond a Lord of the Sessionis, neir Lithgow, my Lord Lithgow hes bought it: its but a small thing. Yea manie of the Lords of Sessions purchess's at that tyme ware but small, divars of them no 12 chalder of wictuall. Neir to Binnie I saw Riccarton, Drummond. Came home the same way that we went afield.[554] [554] The passage which follows, enclosed within brackets, is scored out. [Illustration: JANET RAMSAY. (_First Wife of Lord Fountainhall._)] [I was married 21 January 1669 in the Trone Church at 6 a cloack at night, being Thursday, by Mr. John Patersone. On the 3d of December 1669 was my sone John born about on afternoone, and was baptized on the Sonday theirafter, being the 5th of December, in the Grayfriers, by Mr. David Stirling. On the 8 day of Aprill 1671, being about halfe are hower past tuo in the morning, being on Friday night and Saturdsdayes moring,[555] was my wife delivered of a daughter, who was baptized on the 23 of April, being Sunday, in the by kirk by Mr. James Lundie, and called Jannet. [555] Sic. On the 15 of September 1672, about halfe are hower past 5 in the morning, being Sundayes night or Mondayes morning, was my wife delivered of a daughter, who was baptized on the 30 or last day of September, being Monday, at 5 acloak in the afternoon, in the Tolbooth Church, by Mr. William Gairnes, and was called Isobell. See thir marked alibi.] About the 25 of Aprile 1669 I went over to Fyfe with my father in law. Landed at Kinghorne, wheir is an old castle ruinous, once belonging to the Lord of Glammes, who had also a considerable intres within that toune, but hes non now save the presentation of the minister (who is called Mr. Gilbert Lyon) onlie. Walked from that to the Links on our foot by the sea syde: saw Seafield Castle midway who ware Moutray to their names. The French in Queen Maries dayes made use of it for a strenth. Then came to Innerteill links, wheir be conies. Then to the Linktoune, divided by the West burne fra Innerteill lands, wheir dwell neir 300 families, most of them mechanicks, above 20 sutors masters, 37 wobsters, as many tailzeours: its set out to them by ruides, each ruid payes a shilling of few duetie. Saw the Westmilne house, the goodmen wheirof ware Boswels. The milne bes the toune of Kirkcaldie thirled to it: payes some 16 chalders of wictuall. Halfe a mile from this is Abbotshall church lands, tuise confirmed by the Popes: they ware Scots, cadets of the Laird of Balveirie. Payed a considerable few duety to the Abbots of Dumferling, which is now payed to the King. He[556] bes lately got in the Scarres and Montholie, 16 chalders of wictuall. Theirs a garden, bouling grein, tarraswalk, fruite yard, wild orchard and a most spatious park, with a meadow and a loch, wheir are a great number of picks, manie wild ducks big theirin. Neir it lyes the Raith, my Lord Melvills. Balveirie is his also, and Bogie, Bogs Eye, on the eye of a boog, Veimes.[557] Touch, Thomsone, his father was a Writer to the Signet, some 10 chalders of wictuall; Bannochie belongs to Boogie: on Ayton hes a wodset on it. [556] His father-in-law, Abbotshall. [557] _i.e._ Bogie belonged to a family of Wemyss. Saw Grange, a wery sweit place: was Tresaurer of Scottland in Quein Maries dayes, and Cunyghameheid was his depute, and his sone again was governour of Edenburgh Castle and was hanged. Slew a 100 Frenchmen once at Masse. Much planting about it. Is but 28 chalders of wictuall. Saw Innerteill. It layes low, belonged to on Erskein, was a Lord of the Session, had a daughter onlie, who married the Laird of Tarbet, then Colinton. Malcolm of Babedie hes bought it (its 36 chalders of good wictuall): gave for it 40,000 lb., and bids[558] hir liferent. [558] _i.e._ bides. Saw Pittedy, stands on the croup of a hill pleasantly but by; ware Boswuells. David Dewars father was tennent heir above 30 years. Its 25 chalders of wictuall. Kirkaldie is the best merchant toune in Fyfe: it had before the Englishes came in 80 sail of ships belonging to it, now it will not have 30. Then is Revensbeuch, its my Lord Sinclairs; then the Pathhead or Pittintillun, belonging to on Watsone in Bruntilland; then the Dysert, wheir are manie saltpans; the Weimes; Easter Weimes, Easter Buckhaven, Anstruther, Craill, Fyfenes, St. Androis, the Elie, belonging to Ardrosse. Went to Balgonie to sie the Chancelar,[559] which is not his, but the Earle of Levine his children, belonged to the Sibbalds who ware great men and of much power. Within halfe a mile to it stands Balfour, Beatons to their name, a cadet of Lundy, married the heretrix of Balgonie in _anno_ 1606, and tho he changed not his name yet he took the place of his elder brother Lundie. [559] Earl of Rothes. Saw by the way Kinglassie, Ayton, Leslie, wheir a most magnificent house is a building: it is neir the Lowmonds, and Falkland, and Lochlevin, in the castle wheirof was Queen Marie keipt. About halfe a mile from it is Markins,[560] wheir Mr. John Ramsay is minister, who is my goodfathers cousin german. Neir it stands Brunton, most pleasantly: it belongs to one Law. Their is much moorish ground in our way. [560] Now Markinch. Their was thrie thries[561] (as they called them) in Fyfe, Balveiry Scot, Ardrosse Scot, Dischingtoune of late, but Scot, and Balgonie Sibbald: Balmuto, Bosuel, Weimes of that Ilk, and Rossyth Stuart: then Lundie of that Ilk, Durie of that Ilk, and Colerine, Barclay or else Craighall, Kinninmont. [561] This seems only to mean that the three trios of lairds hunted, not in couples, but in threes. On the 5 of May we came over from Bruntiland. Skein in his de V. Signi:[562] _in verbo_ Clan Macduff, tells whow on William Ramsay was Earle of Fife in King David the 2'ds dayes. [562] _Verborum significatione_. Saw in the way to Bruntilland the sands King Alexander the 3'd brak his neck on. * * * * * Mr. Joseph Mede,[563] in one of his letters to Doctor Tuisse,[564] speaking anent the manner whow the great continent of America and its circumjacent ilands may probably be supposed to have bein peopled, thinks that the greatest part of that country (especially Mexico and Peru, who ware found the only civilized people amongs them, having both a State and a Church government established among them) was planted by great colonies sent out of the barborous northern nations laying upon the north frozen sea, videlicet, the Tartars and others,[565] who entred America by the Straits of Auvan, and that the most of them hes gone thether since our Saviours coming in the flesh. After which the devil, finding his kingdom ever more and more to decay through the spreading of Christianity upon the face of the wholle earth, which before he keipt inchained in black heathinsme, and being much afflicted with the great din and noyse of the gospell which was come to the utmost ends of the then knowen world, so that he was affraid to lose all his footing hear, he by his oracles and responses encouraged thesse Barbarians (in this Gods ape[566] who called Abram to the land of promise) to desert their native countrie and promised them better habitations in another part (which he might soon do) wheir he might be out of the dread of the gospell and might securly triumph over them as his bond slaves. [563] Mede, Joseph, B.D., 1586-1638. [564] Twisse, Wm., D.D., 1575-1646. [565] On the margin: 'Purchas in his Pilgrimage in Mexico reports this storie also.' [566]_ i.e._ imitator. The ground of this conjecture is from some records found in the city of Mexico of their kingdome and its foundation, bearing that their ancestors about 400 years ago onlie (who then dwelt far north) ware called out of that countrie by their God which they called Witzill Putzill, in effect, the Devil, to go to a far country (this was to Mexico), far more fruitfull and pleasant than their oune, which he should show them, and wheirof he did give them marks and that he should go before them. And that accordingly they sett on for the journey, and that their god went before them in ane ark, and that they had many stations and marches, and that they ware 40 years by the way, and that at last they came to the promised land, and that they know it by the marks their god had given them of it. All this in manifest imitation of God his bringing the children of Israel out of Egypt. Its reported that the State of Scotland looking ut for a suitable match for James the 2d, then King, sent over to the Duc of Gelderland (who had 3 daughters) some of the nobility and some bischops for the clergy to demand any of the 3 they should judge most sutable for the King. The Duc was content on of the Bischops [it was the Bischop of Rosse][567]--should sie them and feill them all 3 naked to discern theirby which of them was strongest and wholesomest like. His report was in favors of the youngest: his reason was, _Est enim bene crurata culata cunnata aptaque ad procreandos nobis generosos principes._[568] [567] Interlined. [568] The Bishop of Dunkeld (not Ross) was one of three commissioners sent to choose a bride for the king, first to the Court of France. Mary of Gueldres was an only daughter-Tytler, _Hist._ iii. 209. The story is probably apocryphal. But in Russia, when the Tsars were married, the inspection of the candidates was an established custom and ceremony for two centuries after the marriage of James II. A French gentleman being inamoured with a damoiselle of Lyons, going in to Italie to travell she gets notice that he had tane huge conceit of a Venetian, and that he was about to marrie hir. She writs a letter in a large sheit wheirin was nothing written but Lamasabachthani, withall a false diamond. He receaving it know not what to make of it, went to a jeweller to try the stone, who discovered it to be false tho it had ane excellent luster. After many tossing thoughts he fell upon the knack of it, videlicet, that it was a heiroglyphick diamant faux, and that it behoved to be read thus, Tell, false lover, why hast thou forsaken me. * * * * * [569] [569] There is here omitted an unpleasant story of a Duc de Montpensier of a former age, who in ignorance married a lady to whom he was doubly related by the closest ties of consanguinity. The same story will be found in Nouvelle 30 of Queen Margaret of Navarre (the scene being laid in Avignon), and in Horace Walpole's play _The Mysterious Mother_. Also an anecdote about the terms of the _tenendas_ clause of a charter said to be in the Tower of London, which is given in English, and is too gross to print. For farder demonstrations of the truth of that conspiracy of Gouries (which some cals in doubt), besydes what is in Spotswood, Mr. William Walker told that he heard oft from Mr. Andrew Ramsay that the said Earle being travelling in Italie had a response thus, _Dominus de Gourie erit Rex_. After which he took a strong fancie he would be King, wheiras it was to be reid, _Rex erit_, etc. In pershuit wheirof being in on of the Universities of Germanie and to leive his armes their, in his coat he caused put the Kings armes, videlicet, the Lyon, with a hand and a dager pointing at the Lyons breist, and so gifted them. And when he was returning he wrot to all his freinds and dependents to meit him at Muslebrugh, which they did to the number of 300 horse or their abouts, with which he came to Edenburgh; and that he might be the more tane notice of, he caused take his lodging in the Landmarket,[570] and came up al the streit with this train, and tho the King was in the Abbey yet he passed by without taking notice of him. He was likewayes a great receipter and protector of all the discontented factious persones of that tyme. [570] Now Lawnmarket. They say their are blood yet to be sein on the wall of the house in St. Johnston, wher he and his brothers ware slain, which cannot be washen away. Sir John Ramsay being then the Kings page killed him (he was a sone of the Laird of Wyliecleuchs in the Merse), and for his valeur and good service was made Earle of Huldernesse and got a great part of the lordship of Dumbar, which was then of the Kings annexed patrimonie, but on this accompt in anno 1600 ware dissolved by the Parliament. Thesse lands Mr. W. Kellie afterwards acquired. In September 1670 I waited upon my father to the Merse to sie the Laird of Idingtoun.[571] Lighted at St. Germains, so called from are old chappell dedicat to that saint of old standing their. From that went to Hadingtoun, saw in the way Elvingston, weill planted, but standing in Gladsmoore: item, Nunland, Adderstone, and Laurenceland, belonging to Doctor Hendersone. Above Hadingtone lyes Clerkingtone, Cockburne, Colstoune, Broun, who talk much of their antiquity and pear[572] they preserve, Yester, and Leidingtoune: 3 miles of stands the Registers house, Chesters, wheirin Mr. Patrick Gillespie now dwells. To the eist of Hadington stands the Abbay, Newmilnes, Stevinsone, and Hermistone, all most pleasant places and weill planted; as also Morhame and Hailles, past the Almous[573] house within a mile of Dumbar. Saw on our right hand Spot and the Bourhouscs, ware Happers now Muires; saw also Fuirstoun belonging to Andrew Whyte, once keiper of the Tolbuith; then saw Innerwick toune and church standing at a good distance from the house. Saw Neutonlies, Eistbarnes, Thornetounloch, Scatteraw, Douglas, and Colbrandspath: past thesse steip braes called the Pies. Saw Butterdean toune and house acquired by Mr. William Hay, the Clerk, who also bought Aberlady, now belonging to Sir Androw Fletcher: then saw Rentoun lying in a wild moir: item, Blacarstoun of on our right hand also in a wild seat, yet seimed to be reasonably weill busked with planting: item, Blaickburne in the moir: then Fosterland: then Bouncle, Preston, and Lintlands, belonging to the Marquise of Douglas and presently the Lady Stranavers jointer, worth 10,000 merks by year: then Billie, Renton to his name, and then Billie, Myre; then Edencraw, then came to Idington, 36 miles from Edenbrugh, ware Idingtons to their name, hes no evidents of it but since the year 1490. In this same condition are the most of the gentlemen of the Merse who ly most obnoxious to Englands invasions. [571] Sir John Lauder senior's third wife was a daughter of Ramsay of Idington. [572] The Coalston pear was presented by the Warlock of Gifford to his daughter, who married Broun of Coalston, telling her that as long as it was preserved fortune would not desert the family. [573] Alms. Saw the Maines, a roome lying betuixt Chirnesyde tour and Idington: ware Homes. On Patrick Mow, sone to the last Laird of Mow, maried the heritrix of it, and so hes the land. They tell whow the Earle of Roxbrugh was the cause of the ruine of the said Laird of Mow. Mow being on a tyme with some Englishmen took on a match for running upon a dog of my Lord Roxbrughs head[574] against their dogs, wheiron addressing himselfe to my Lord, he would not quite his dog unless Mow would give him a bond to pay him 8000 merks incaise he restored him not back the dog haill and sound: which Mow, thinking their ware no hazard in it, did. The day being come my Lords dog wins the race; but as soon as it was done my Lord had a man ther readie to shoot it: who accordingly did so, and fled. Then my Lord seiking the soume in the bond, and he unwilling to pay it, was at wast charges in defending, and at last succumbed, and so morgaged his estate to Adam Bell, who after got it. His ladie was a daughter of West Nisbets, with whom the young man Patrick was brought up. [574] Upon the head of a dog of Lord Roxburgh's, _i.e._ backing the dog. Saw Chirnesyde toune standing a mile of Idingtoun, belonging to sundry petty heritors, some of them of halfe mark lands. My Lord Mordington is superior as also patron of the Kirk: on Lanty is minister their. It will be more then halfe a mile long. At the end of it neir to Whitater stands the Nynewells (corruptly called the Nyneholes), from 9 springs of water besyde it, wheirof on in the fountain is verie great: are Homes to their name. Saw Blanerne, belonging now to Douglas of Lumbsdean. Saw Eist Nisbet, ware Chirnesydes, now belongs to the Earle of Levins daughter: item, Blacader, ware Blacaders (of which name Tullialen is yet), are now Homes who ware a cadet of Manderstones. At a greater distance saw Manderston, Aytoun, Wedderburne, Polwart, Reidbraes, a house of Polwerts, Crumstaine, Sandy Spottiswoods; West Nisbet, a most sweit place, ware Nisbets to their name. Saw Huttonhall, ware Homes to their name, now belongs to Hilton, which was a part of Suintons lands. Saw the toune of Hutton belonging to sundry portioners. Saw Paxtoun and Edringtone, a part of Basses[575] lands, and given away to a brother, now belongs to my Lord Mordington. Saw Foulden, the Bastile, Nunlands, Ramsay--his grandsire was parson of Foulden. Saw Mordington and Nather Mordington. Saw the bound road[576] within my Lords park. Saw on the English syde of Tuede Ourde the Birkes wheir King Charles army ly, Norame Castle and Furde; the ladie wheirof inviegled King James the 4t when he went in to Flouden: they have bein leud women ever since. Ker of Itall got it by marieng the heritrix. Went to Bervick, wheir they are building ane Exchange. In the way is Halidoun Hill, wheir on of the Douglasses was slain; Lammerton, in the Chappell wherof was King James the 3d maried on King Hendrie the 7th of Englands daughter. Their is a great salmond fisching on Tueid: for the freedome but of one boat on it they pay 100 lb. ster: per annum. We was at a kettle[577] on the water syde. My Lord Mordington had all the Magdalene field, but he could not get it peaceably possessed for thesse of Berwick, so that he sold it to Watsone. Holy Iland is 7 miles from Berwick. My Lords father Sir James Douglas was a sone of the Marquis of Douglas: he maried the only daughter of the Lord Oliphant. Idington is 5 miles furder in the Merse then Renton. [575] Lauder of the Bass. [576] Probably a road forming the boundary between the liberties of Berwick and the county. [577] 'A social party on Tweedside, common during the salmon fishing season.'--Ogilvie's _Imp. Dict_. Returned that same way almost and came to Auldhamstocks, 9 miles from Idington. Saw Auldcambus, then came to Eistbarnes; then for Linton bridges; within 2 mile of it saw the land of Nyne ware. Saw Gourlaybank; came and lay at Wauchton, who ware Moubrayes, and a 2d sone of my Lord Hailles marieing them they became Hepburnes. Quinkerstaines is a peice of old land of theirs. They got also Lufnes by marieng the heritrix theirof Riccartoun. But my Lord Hailes rose by 3 forfaulters: of the Earle of March, Dumbar, of the Creichton, and of Bothuell, Ramsay, the Laird of Balmayne.[578] Gorgie milne besyde Edenburgh did belong to Balmayne, but by a gift of nonentrie Otterbune of Reidhall, who was at that tyme Clerk Register, he got it. [578] As to Ramsay of Balmain being created Earl of Bothwell by James III., see p. 205. Saw nixt day Furd, Whitkirk, Craig, Hepburn, Balgone, Semple, Leuchie, Merjoribanks, Sydserfe, Achesone, Cassilton, Tomtallon, both the Marquis of Douglasses, and the Basse, 2 mile within the sea, about a short mile in circumference. Saw the May, belongs to Barnes Cunyghame. Saw Fentontour, ware Haliburtons and Wisconts, then purchased by the Earle of Gourie, now my Lord Advocats:[579] saw the Heuch-Home. [579] Sir John Nisbet. Nixt day went for Hadington: saw Ethelstanefield.[580] In Hadington saw my Lord Lawderdales buriall place, werie magnifiek. The Lord Yesters got Zester by mariage of the only child of my Lord Giffart. He had Beltan by marieng with a Cunyghame. [580] Probably Athelstaneford. In the coming to Edenbrugh saw Eister and Wester Adenstens, that is also their name; then Tranent, and neir it Windiegoule; then Elphinstone; then on the cost syde Cockenie, Seaton, Preston, Prestongrange, the Pans, Landnidrie:[581] up on the brae are Wallyfield, Dauphinton, Carberrie and Fausyde. [581] Now Longniddry. Master Thomas Scot of Abbotshall in King James the 5th tyme was Justice Clerk. Vide Hopes Collections, page 12, in principio. The Lairds of Glenbervie are not the oldest Douglasses as some say, but a cadet of Angus maried the heritrix theirof, they being then Melvils verie old in that name, and the powerfullest in all the Mearnes. They ware heritable shireffs their, and on of them being a great oppressor of the wholle country, manie complaints were made of him to the King. The King once answering that he cared not tho' they supped him in broth, they presently went and took him to a hill syde which they yet show, put on a ketle and boiled him their, and each of them took a soop out of it. It was in 1417.[582] [582] This story is told more fully by Sir W. Scott in a note to Leyden's ballad 'Lord Soulis,' _Border Minstrelsy_, vol. ii. p. 350, ed. 1802. Albany was Regent in 1417. They tell that amongs the manie Universities that are at Lovain their is one which of old was institute for poor scollars who had nought wheiron to maintaine themselfs, but that their diet was verie sober, nothing but bread and very small bread. At a tyme on of the students in it having a great stomack, in a rage sayd to his other fellows, If I ware Pope of Rome I would make the students of this Colledge to fare better then they do. He came to be Pope, and endowed that Colledge with great revenues, so that its the richest now in all Lovain. Of all the histories we have on record of magicians and sorcerers that seimes to me most strange which is reported of Ascletarion by Suetonius,[583] in Vita Domitiani, in pagina 82. [583] _Duodecim Caesares_, Domitian c. 15. The soothsayer's power of divination was tested by asking what his own fate would be. He said he would very soon be devoured by dogs. Domitian desiring to confute such uncanny powers of prediction ordered him to be killed and securely buried. The funeral pyre was knocked down by a storm, and dogs devoured the half-burnt remains. That Touch which George Tomsone hes wes acquired by his father from the Melvines, who are designed Lairds of Dyserts, who again acquired it in 1472 from on Touch, so then they have bein of that Ilk. Fingask, now McGill, ware Dundasses of before. (2) NOTES OF JOURNEYS IN SCOTLAND, 1671-72. [584] Having past over to Fyffe about the latter end of August 1671, I went to Leslie. Saw by the way Finglassie and Kinglassy and Caskieberry, bought by a Gennan who came heir about 60 or 70 years ago, and professed medicine: was called Shoneir. His grandchild sold it to the chancellor, who hes also bought the barrony of Cluny, sometyme belonging to Crighton of St. Leonards. Saw Touch, neir Markinch. Saw Balbirny, sometyme Sir Alex'r Clerks, now it pertaines to a tailzeour called Balfour. Saw Balquharge belonging to Bogie's unkle: then going for Couper, saw[585] Ramsayes forther,[586] now Pitcairnes by a marriage with the heritrix. Saw the hy way to Falkland, neir which stands Corston, whosse name is Ramsay: a sone wheirof was sir John Ramsay in K. James the 3ds dayes, and created by him Earle of Bothwell. He sent to the grammer scool of Edr. for a gentleman's sone to wait upon him, and who could writ weill. 2 ware brought him to choise one, wheirof Jo. Ramsay was the one; the other wrot better, yet the king made choise of John as having more the mean of a gentleman then the other, and made him his cubicular. He gave him the lands of Taringzean in Air, and Karkanders in Galloway, Gorgie and Gorgymilne in Louthian, and Balmayne in the Mernis. Without licence from him none could wear a sword within 2 miles of the K.'s palace. He made him also captain of his guards, vide Buchanan, pag. 444 and 450. Anent his being Earle of Bothwel Buchanan causes some doubt, because in K. Ja. the 3ds dayes, at pag. 452, he mentions Adam Hepburne, Earle of Bothwell; but I think he is in a mistake, for Drummond is formally contrare. The time of his death is controverted: some say he was killed at Stirling field with K. Ja. the 3'd, others (amongs whom is Mr. Androw Ramsay in his poems) at Flouden with Ja. the 4't. Whoever on Ja. the 3'ds death the title of honor conferred upon him was retracted; but he was not legally forfault nather in Parliament nor in a Justice court, so that the familie of Balmayne might the more easily be restored againe to that honor. He was the first in Scotland that ever got a patent of nobility. Buchanan throw the wholle tract of his history makes it his work to speak ill of all thosse who ware the king's favorites for the tyme. He sets doune all their vices in folio, but conceals the vertue by which it most be presumed they rose, and by which they did keip themselfes on foot. The tyme was their ware 22 landed gentlemen of the name of Ramsay in Fyffe. Some say Corston was a cadet of Dalhousie and some of Auchterhouse, of which family I have heard it contended the famous Alex'r Ramsay in King David's tyme (Buchanan, page 309) was, and not of Dalhousie; as also the Ramsay that was with Wallace. Of Dalhousie Ramsay, sy page 314. Skein, in the word Clan-McDuff, tells of W'm Ramsay E. of Fyffe, in K. Davids time. Its thought Auchterhouse is elder then Dalhousie; but that the most floorishing family is most ready to arrogat to it selfe as being the oldest house. Sir Jo. Ramsay that killed Gowry was a sone of Wiliecleuches in the Mers, and got Estbarnes, and was made E. of Huldernes. He was first made vicount of Hadingtoun. [584] MS. K. [585] It may be that the name of the property is omitted by mistake. [586] 'Formerly.' We saw also Rossie ...[587] and its loch, which seemes to be very large; saw Ramorney, Heriot; saw Scotstarvet, formerly Inglistarvet, on the croup of a hill; besyde it is the Struther. Then came to Couper by that way wheir the race is run; then came to Scotscraig-a part of it holds of the See of St. Androis and some of the E. of Mar--my Lord St. Androis big house, 6 miles from Couper and 4 from St. Androis, and a mile from the north ferry. It belonged, as also the Kirkton within a mile theirof, to George Lord Ramsay, father to this E. of Dalhousie, and was sold by him to S.[588] J. Buchanan, and Abbotshall conquestit[589] in lieu theirof. On the windows of the house of Scotscraig are the initiall letters of Sir Jo. Buchanan and Dame Margaret Hartsyde. Arthur Erskin got it from them, whosse creditors sold it to the Bischop, and got but 8 pence for their pounds of what was owing them. [587] Two words torn off. [588] Sir. [589] 'Acquired.' In the returning home to the Linkton, we saw 2 miles from the Craig Brackmont and Brackmont milne; then Forret, then Moonzie, as also Kinneuchar:[590] item, Dairsie, of old Leirmonts, now Morisones, with Bischop Spotswoods chappell he can see build their.[591] On the same water stand Kemnock[592] (theirs another in Fyffe called Cummock, who is Morton to his name), ware Sheveses, the successors of Wm. Sheves, archbischop of St. Androis, who outed Grahame, Kennedie's successor, and ingratiated himselfe with the nobility because of his skill in Astrology; they are now Mcgills; Rumgaye, also Migill; and Blebo, now Beaton. Saw Craigball, of old Kinninmonts, now Hopes, as also Cires. Came at last to Kennoway, belonging to the Laird of Balfour, and holden by him waird of the chancelor Rothes: its 12 miles fra Scotscraig. Then came to Dysert moor, wheir we saw the coal pits burning, which will ever burne so long as it hes any waste, but will die when it comes to the maine coall for want of air. In Dysert toun, hard by the church, which is a very old one, is a great cave which they call the Hermitage, and I imagine the toune hes bein called Desertum from it, yea, the most of the houses of the toun holds of it, and the parson of Dysert is designed rector rectoriae de Dysert. Then came to Revenscraig (alias Ruthvenscraig, of which name they seem to have bein of old), the lord Sinclars dwelling, and so to the Links, which is 6 miles from Kennoway, and so 18 from the Bischops house. Scotscraig was no old heritage to the lord Ramsay, but was acquired lately from Dury of that ilk by him. Balmayne had once Gorgie and Gorgiemilne, but Otterburne of Reidhall, by a gift of non-entry, evicted it from them. See of the E. of Bothwell and house of Balmaine largely alibi. [590] So pronounced, now Kilconquhar. [591] This seems obscure, though distinctly written. It may mean, 'ye can see built there.' [592] Now Kemback. The Bells wrongs themselfes in wearing bells in their armes, for certainly ther name is from France, in which language it signifies fair and bueatifull, hence it was the surname of one of their Kings, vid. Philip le Bell, yea, in the old Latine Bellum was that same with _pulchrum_; and war was called _bellum, ironice, quasi minime bellum, id est, minime pulcrum_. My Lord Twedale's predecessors have acquired all their fortune by marriages, so that all the original writs he hes in hes charter kist are only contracts of marriage. He was a cadet of Erroll, and the 1 heritrix he married with was one Macfud, and by her he got his land in Twedall; then he married one of the aires portioners of the Lord Frazer, and got some lands in the north with hir; then got Yester and many other lands with the only daughter of the Lord Giffart (tho my Lord Lauderdale sayes he can find by no record wheir ever he was a Lord). He got also Beltane by marieng the heritrix theirof, called Cunyghame. And now in this age he hes as much expectation to raise that way as ever. By his Lady he hes a claime to the estate of Baccleuch, failzeing of aires of this present Dutches hir body, tho the King hes somewhat inverted the straight succession heir. By his eldest sone he hes ane eye to my Lord Lauderdale's estate, providing he play his game weill, and is in hopes of getting the estate of Erroll entailled upon his 2'd sone. In the beginning of August, having gone to eist Louthian, saw Langnidrie; then a mile from it Reidhouse, the one was a Lord of the session and Tom of the Cowgate's brother; then Ballincreiff, belonging to my Lord Elibank; then Congilton, and on the brae above Ethalstanefoord, Byres, from which my Lord Hadingtone's eldest sone takes his title. My Lord Madertie's stile is truly Mater Dei, from some cloyster so named in the tyme of poperie: he should be induced to take some other denomination, this seeming to[593] blasphemous like. [593] too. * * * * * On the 17 of October 1672 having had occasion to go to Auldcambus with the provest, we went the first night to Waughton. Saw by the way Preston, Prestongrange, Seaton, St. Germains, Langnidrie, then Ballincreiff, then Reidhouse, then Dreme, and above it Byres, then Congilton, and above it Athelstanefoord and Westfortoun, and on the other hand Sydeserfe. The next day we parted for the Merse: saw Furd, Tunyghame, Westbarnes, Lochend, Broxmouth, Broxburne, Newtonlies, Eistbarnes, Spot, Fuirston, Bourhouses, Innerweik toun, kirk and place, Scarteraw, Thorntoun loch, Dunglas, Cockburnes path, then past the said path and came to Aulcambus path, corruptly called the pies. The provost hes a barrony their 4 miles long, and in the narrowest place at the leist a mile broad, which if it lay neir Edenborrough, we was counting would afford neir 100,000 mks. of rent per annum. He hes a great peice of Coldinghame moir in property, and he hes it all in commonty. His neibhours be Colbrandspeth, Renton, Butterdean, and the Laird of Lumsdean, now Douglas. The Lo. Renton dealt to have had the gift of the wholle moir from the king, and said it was only 2 rig lenth of land. I imagine the first possessors of that place ware Rentons to ther name, then they ware Forrestor, then Craw, whom the Home cheated out of it by marieng the Ladie. In the right of the Fosters he laid claime to the foster-corne to be payed to him by all the vassals and fewars of the abbacy, now the Lordship of Coldinghame, as being come in place of thesse who had a gift frae the prior and convent of Coldinghame to be forrester to all the woods and shaws growing within the lands holden of the said abbacy, to preserve and hayne the same; and for his paynes was to have a threiv of straw of each husband-land yeirly with some other dueties, and the Justice Clerk thought to have gotten the fewars decerned for more then 100 years that it was owing, but the Los. restricted him to 39 years preceiding his summons, finding all the years above prescryved. And for the dueties due to him on that accompt furth of the barrony of Auldcammas he got the property of a roume lying in the barrony called Fosterland, and when Waughton cutted his wood of Penmansheills, which is also a part of the barrony, Renton alledged that the boughs and bark of the tries within the Lo.ship was his by forsaid gift, and the heritor had nothing but the stock of the tries. They agried the matter betwen them. Tho he be most exact in lifting his fies, yet he does nothing that's incumbent to the office of forrester. On Sunday we went to Coldinghame Kirk, 4 miles from the smith's house at Haychester. The kirk hes bein a great fabrick. Its said to have bein built by K. Edgar, _anno_ 1098. Their was their a great abbacy. We saw the promontory so much taken notice of by the seamen called St. Abbes head (Sta. Ebba); over forgt[594] it layes Coldinghame Law, Home to his name. Saw the milne about which my Lord Home (who is the Lo. of erection now) and Renton are contending. Saw at 2 miles distance Haymouth,[595] and above it Gunsgrein, then Ayton, all standing on the water of Ei. Saw West Reston, Home, Eist Reston, Craw, and Henchcheid, Craw; of which name their was a nest in this place, but the Earle of Dumbar almost extinguished them, and now his owne memory is extinct and gone: let men then beware of oppression. Coldinghame stands pleasant, and verifies the byword that the kirkmen choised ever the warmest nests. Mr. Andro Ballantyne, brother to the sometyme Lo. Newhall, is heir minister. Auldcambus is in Cockburnspath parish. It hes a ruinous chappell standing in it dedicat to Ste. Helene, who was mother to Constantine the great, and found out the holy croce at Golgotha. Thrie mile from Auldcambus stands Monynet, and 3 miles from it againe stands Gammelisheills in Lammermuire. Blaikerston stands likewayes their about, as also Thorniedykes, now Broun, of old French. After some dayes stay at Auldcambus we came to Dumbar. Nixt day out of Dumbar we came to Northbervick by Belhaven, Tinynghame, Auldham, Scougall, Tomtallon, Cassilton. From Northberwick we went to Archerfield (so called because of the excellent links their fit for shooting at Rovers), my Lo. Advocat's[596] dwelling. Saw by the way Dirleton, with its castle, ruined by the English becaus it held out. Then from that came to Saltcoats, Leidingtone, to their name; then to Lufnes, of old Biccarton; then Waughtons, now Durhame; then to Abirlady toune and place, once Mr. Wm. Scot's, now Sir Androw Fletcher's. Theirs a great bay heir. Then saw Gosford, then Cockeny, the Pans, Wester Pans, wheir Jo. Jousie hes his house. [594] For 'forgainst,' 'opposite. [595] Now Eyemouth. [596] Sir John Nisbet of Dirleton. Naper is a french name and runs in it n'a pair, he hath not a peer. The Giffards of Shirefhall, they say, ware of old Shirefs of Louthian, and from that their house got its denomination. Tho some alledge their was in old tymes a Lord Giffard, and that it ended with ane heritrix married in the house of Yester: yet my Lord Duke of Lauderdale sayes he hes bein at very much pains to find if it was so, and he could never find any thing to instruct it. * * * * * The Wrichtshouses near Edenburgh, they say, was denominat from this, that in King James the 2ds dayes the ground about all being a forrest (lochia sylva is derived from lochs, _insidioe_, in the Greek, _quia insidiantibus capta est sylva_. Wossius[597] partit. orator, p. 328), and wheirin their was many robbries and murders committed. K. Ja. gave order to cut it doune. The Wrichts that ware appointed for this work had their huts and lodges whither they resorted for their dyet and on other accompts put up in the very individuall place wheir the house and place of the Wrightshouses is now situat, and so gave that denomination to the ground theirafter. [597] Vossius, Gerard. Johannes, Dutch philologist, 1577-1649, author of _De Quatuor Artibus Popularibus_, etc. (3) CHANGES AND ALTERATIONS AND REMARKABLE EMERGENTS OF AND IN THE SESSION 1668-1676.[598] [598] MS. H. On the 5 of June 1668 was I admitted Advocat. At this tyme died my Lord Carden, and Gosfurd succeided. In the November theirafter died Mr. Robert Burnet, Advocat. In May 1669 died Mr. Laurence Oliphant, Advocat. In July 1669 died William Lylle, Advocat. In August died William Douglas of Kirknes, who the session before had given in his trialls in order to his admission to be a Advocat. In September 1669 died Mr. Alexander Osuald, Advocat. On the 15 day of September 1669 was I chosen conjunct assessor with Sir George Lockart to the good toune. Its at large booked on the 13 of May 1670. On the 9nd of October also 1669 ware we chosen for assessors to the wholle borrows in their Convention. On the last of October 1669 died Mr. Laurence Scot of Bevely, one of the Clerks of Session, and that same night Alexander Monroe, Comisar of Stirling, was provided theirto. On the 25 of March 1670 died the Lord Kinglassie, to whosse place was provyded the Laird of Haltoun. In April 1670 died John Scot, Keiper of the Minut book, and his place was continued with his sone Francis. In May 1670 died John Kello, on of the under clerks, to whom succeided (after Robert Hamilton had officiat as under clerk the Summer session that followed, and Mr. Thomas Hay the following sessions till January 1673) James Hamilton, wryter. On the 5 of July 1670 Mr. Thomas Nicolsone, Advocat, died frenetick. In _anno_ 1668 Sir James Keith, Laird of Caddome, having threatned Mr. David Falconer, Advocat, ane ill turne, and being complained upon, and in his vindication reflecting upon my Lord Halkerton, he was committed to the tolbuith and fined. That same year, Mr. David Thoires having miscaried in a supplication given in by him to the Lords in behalfe of a client against Doctor Hay, bearing they were minded to satisfy the Doctors unsatiable covetousnesse to the oppression of the widow and the fatherles, he was sent to prison, fyned, and craved them humbly pardon. In _anno_ 1670, Mr. Alexander Spotswood, plaiding in the Oriminall Court for Wedderburne, and Mr. Patrick Home, being his antagonist and growing hot, called Alexander a knave, who replied, I can sooner prove you and your father knaves, who theirupon was imprisoned; but at last, upon intercession of freinds, was set at libertie. The Justice Clerk[599] was verie inexorable in the particular. [599] Lord Renton. In June 1670, Douglas of Kelheid, younger, affronted Hew Wallace, Writer to the Signet, in his oune house; which the Faculty, apprehending themselfes concerned in, at last caused Kelheid, in presence of them all, crave Hew and all the Faculty pardon for his offence, and confesse they did him a great courtesie in accepting that for satisfaction. On the end of January 1671, Sir John Gilmour, by reason of his infirmity, having dimitted his place of being President, but strongly having recommended Gosfoord to be his successor, it was offered to Sir John Nisbet, King's Advocat (whosse place if he had embraced it was thought Sir Robert Sinclair would have got), who faintly refusing, thinking theirby to have bein more woed, he was taken at his word, and our Jock of bread Scotland[600] would take none of their advices, but would take a way of his oune, and so did make choise of my Lord Stair, who was looking litle for it, and who truely came in betuixt tuo, and was so unacceptable to the former President that its thought he would not have dimitted had he dreamed the guise should have gone so; and the pitching on him was truely _in odium tertii_ to keip of Sir Robert Sinclar, whosse journey to Scotland under the pretence of coming to sie his new maried ladie suffered strange constructions at Court, and Lauderdale conjectured it was only to give my Lord Tueddale notice of some things that was then doing to his prejudice; and its beleived he would not have bein the coy duck to the rest of the Advocats for their obtempering to the Act of Regulations[60l] had he forsein that they would have hudibrased[602] him in the manner they did; hence we said give us all assurance to be Kings Advocat and we shall take it with the first; and the Lords, when he was plaiding before them in a particular, entreated him to come within the bar and put on his hat, since it was but to make him Advocat with 2 or 3 days antidate. He took also with it,[603] and did not deny it when he was posed on it. [600] Jock of bread (broad) Scotland, Lauderdale. [601] The Advocates objected to an article fixing their fees in the Regulations for the Court of Session, drawn up by a Commission and ratified by the king. Sinclair, Dean of Faculty, expecting preferment, instead of championing the bar, was the first to swear to the Regulations. The Advocates withdrew from practice for two months, and never forgave the Dean. See p. 222. [602] A participle coined on the same principle as the modern 'boycotted.' The point of the comparison with the hero of Butler's satire is not obvious. It seems to mean simply 'made a fool of.' [603] Took with it, _i. e_. acknowledged it. The expression is still common in the north-east of Scotland. In the beginning of May this year died Mr. James Wemes, Advocat, brother to the Laird of Lathoker. On the 28 of June 1671 was Sir Thomas Wallace receaved ane Ordinar Lord in the place vacand throw the promotion of my Lord Stair to be President. On the 13 of July 1671 died Sir John Home of Renton, Justice Clerk. He was indeid advanced by Lauderdale, and for his sake componed the more easily with Sir Robert Murray;[604] yet Lauderdale his kindnes relented much on this occasion. In _anno_ 1664, being minded to bring in my Lord Tueddale to be Chancelor, St. Androis entrefaired. Glasgow, thinking he should have a hand in it as weill as his brother the Primate, he enters in termes with my Lord Renton. Its commoned[605] that Sir Alex'r may marry the Archbischop's daughter, who was afterward Ladie Elphinstone, and that he at London may propose Renton to be Chancelor. My Lord Lauderdale was hudgely dissatisfied with that, yet having calmed, he told him Renton had not the fortune able to bear out the rank of a Chancelor. Burnet replied, Renton had a better fortune then ever Chancelor Hay[606] had. Lauderdale could never be pleased with him therafter for offering to aspire so hy. He was also at another disadvantage, my Lord Hume offered to compromit the difference betuen them to my Lord Lauderdale. Renton shifted it. He was a most peremptor man to his inferiors or æqualls, but a slavish fearer of any whom he supposed to be great at Court, on whom he most obsequiously fauned. [604] Murray was his predecessor. Apparently there was a bargain for his retirement. [605] Agreed. [606] Sir George Hay of Nethercliff, Lord of Session, Chancellor, 1622-1635, Lord Kinnoul. In the end of July, vid. the 27 day theirof, Mr. Alexander Suinton, one of the under clerks of Session, dimitted his place, and was admitted ane advocat _per saltum_ upon a bill. Adam Chrystie, reader of the Minut Book, succeided instantly in his place of clerk. That same day died Mr. Archibald Campbell, Advocat, sone to the Shireff of Argile. About the last of July 1671 came Collonell Lockhart from London, and brought doune a patent with him in favors of his father Lee to be Justice Clerk in place of Renton: he being an old man, and not supposed he can enjoy it long, its talked it is for the behoof of some on or other of his children, but especially the Collonells selfe. This was our Donna Olimpias[607] doing. [607] Duchess of Lauderdale. On the 14 day of August 1671 died Sir John Gilmor, late President, in his house of Craigmiller, and was buried the 24 day theirof in Liberton Kirk. In the beginning of September died my Lord Bellenden, sometime Thesaurer depute at London. On the 1 of October 1671 died Alexander,[608] Lord Halkerton, at his oune house, of the age of 77. He entered to his place in Session by simony, or rather _committendo crimen ambitus_, for he payed to my Lord Balmanno 7000 merks (a great soume at that tyme when their salaries ware small), to dimit in his favors, and by my Lord Traquaires moyen, then Threasurer whosse creature he was, he got the dimission to be accepted by his Majesty. This was about the 1643. I shall not say of him, as was said of Pope Hildebrand _alias_ Gregory the 7th, _Intravit ut vulpes, regnavit ut Leo, mortuus est ut canis_. Only this I shall say, wheir places of justice are bought, whow can it be otherwayes but justice will be sold. The family is said to be pretty old, and both their name and stile to be taken from the charge they had at the tyme our Kings of Scotland resided in the Mernes, whosse falconers they ware, and their village was hence called the Haukerstoune. They say my Lord Arbuthnet was at that tyme King's porter, and that he hes a peice of land yet designed Porterstoune; and that some other their was landresse, and so had a village called Waschingtoune. [608] Falconer. On the 15 of October 1671 died Mr. William Douglas, Advocat, or rather the poet, since in that he most excelled. In the end of the preceiding summer Session Adam Cunyghame, sone in law to James Wallace, Maisser, was received conjunctly to the office of maisserie with the said James, conforme to ane gift of the said place to them both conjunctly and to the longest liver of them tua. Arthur Forbes, having some clame upon the estate of Salton, and pershuing the Laird of Philorth, now Lord Salton, he was very rigorously and partially handled by my Lord Newbayth,[609] who heard the cause. It being againe enrolled in the beginning of November, and my Lord Newbayth falling to be ordinar in the Utter house, Arthur, out of a just resentiment of the past wrong and fear of his future carriage, come to my Lords chamber and boasted (as my Lord Newbayth sayes) in thir words, If you call that action of Philorth against me I vow to God I'le sie the best blood in your body. Newbayth having complained, and Arthur being theiron incarcerat and examined, denied he spoke any such words, and declared he only said, My Lord, if you continue to do me wrong (as you have done already, as appears because the Lords redrest me) I'le have the sentiment of the haill 14 Lords on it; and if that be denied, I'le complain to the King. After he had lyen some 4 or 5 dayes in prison he was set at freedome, having first acknowledged a wrong and craved my Lord Newbayth pardon in presence of the haill Lords and Advocats on the 10 of November. Before he did it the President had a short discourse whow the gentlemans carriage had bein modest thitherto, and my Lord Newbayth was earnest intercessor for him, and theirfor they resolved not to make him the first exemple; but they assured all, of whatsoever rank or quality they be, that they will not tolerat any to expostulat with them or to give them hard or sharp words in their oune chambers or any wheir, and that they will not suffer their authority, which they hold of his Majesty, and to whom they are answerable if they malverse, to be convelled,[610] but what sanctions their are already to that purpose they will endevor to sie them peremptorly keipt and execute. Vide Act 68, Parliament 1537; Act 104, Parliament 1540; Act 173, Parliament 1593; Act 4, Parliament 1600; and this is consonant to the Common law by which the killing of one of the Kings great consistory is declared treason, and if so then the menacing of them must be a haynous crime. Vide L. 5, C. Ad 1. Juliam Majestatis: item Clarum[611] par. læsæ Maj. num. 5, item Perezium[612] ad T. c. de L. 3, Majest. num. 3. [609] Sir John Baird of Newbyth, still pronounced Newbayth. [610] Torn to pieces. [611] Clarus, Ant. Sylv., _Commentarius ad Leges_, etc. Paris, 1603. [612] Perez, Antonio, Spanish Jurist, 1583-1678. On the 17 of November 1671, Mr. William Bailzie, Advocat, gave in a complaint on J. Watson of Lammyletham for having abused him, and called him a base rascall and threatning to draw on him. My Lord Newbayth being appointed to examine the witnesses, and having reported the Lords, called him and Mr. William in alone, rebuked him, and commanded him to cary him selfe more soberly in tyme coming. On the 23 of November 1671, Sir Androw Ramsay of Abbotshall, Lord Provest of Edinburgh for the 10't year altogither, was received ane ordinar Lord of the Session upon his Majestys letter to that effect, in the place vaicand throw the deceas of Alexander Lord Halkerton, who possest that place of before. I find in the records of Sederunt about the year 1553 and afterward on Sir William Hamilton[613] of Sanquhar Hamilton a Lord and provest of Edinburgh both at once. I find also that Chancelor Seyton[614] for some years that he was President Fyvie and some years that he was Chancelor (for he was 10 years altogither provest) was also Provest of Edinburgh; but that was at a tyme when the Senators of the Colledge of Justice grasped at the haill power of the toune upon their delinquency and uproar of the 17 of December 1596, for he entred at that tyme when the toune was at their feet, and when they had the approbation and reprobation of the toune their yearly election, but whow soon the toune begane to recover strenth and the memory of that foull slip waxed old they hoised him out; and for fear of the like inconveniency, and to bolt the door theirafter, they procured ane Act of Parliament _in Anno_ 1609 (Vid. the 8't Act), declaring that no man shall in tyme coming be capable of provestrie or magistracy but merchants and actuall traffiquers duelling within burgh. Its true Sir John Hay (who was at first toun Clerk of Edinburgh) when he was Clerk Register and a Lord of the Session, he was made Provest of Edinburgh, but it was not put upon him out of any favor, but was done by Traquaire, then Tresaurer, of designe to break him: so that none of thesse instances quadrat with our case; heir a merchant, one who entred _cum bona gratia_, and who hes maintained himselfe by his oune parts and moyen in that office by the space of 10 years altogether, on who toped with the Colledge of Justice for the precedency and carried it from them, and who feared not to make open war with the greatest of them; he as the only single instance is made a Lord of the Session.[615] [613] Lord of Session (Sanquhar), 1546-61; Provost, 1554. [614] Alexander Seton, Extraordinary Lord of Session, 1586, Ordinary, 1588, President, 1593, Chancellor, 1605-22, under the successive titles of Prior of Pluscardine, Lord Urquhart, Lord Fyvie, and Earl of Dunfermline. [615] See Appendix III. On the 14 of December 1671, Richard Maitland of Pitreichy was received ane ordinar Lord in the place vaicand throw the advancement of my Lord Lee to be Justice Clerk upon his Majesties letters to that purpose. On the 5 of January 1672 died Sir John Scougall of Whytkirk, and was buried in the Grayfriers on the 7 day of January theirafter in great pomp, his goune being carried before the herse. On the 4 of March 1672 was Mr. Robert Preston of that Ilk installed in his place in obedience to his Majesties letter direct to the Lords to that effect. On the 16 of February 1672 died John Ramsay, keiper of the Register of Hornings and Inhibitions, and on George Robertsone was admitted in his place by my Lord Register. About the end of March, this same year, died Mr. Alexander Hamilton, Justice Clerk Depute, to whosse place on Mr. Robert Martin was received by my Lord Lee. (_Vide infra._) About the 14 of May 1672 died Charles, Earle of Dumfermeling, Lord Privy Seall, and ane extraordinar Lord. Its reported that Mr. Martin hes payed saltly for his place, vid. 500 pound English money to the Justice Clerk, 500 merks Scots to Mr. William Cheisley as agenter, and 1000 merks to the widow. About the 20 of May this yeir died Mr. John Morray, advocat. Upon the 27 of June 1672, Sir Robert Sinclair fell unto a lamentable pramunire in this manner. Some merchants in Glasgow being quarrelled by the manadgers of the Royall Fisching for exporting herrings, that being their priviledge, their is a bill drawen up for them by Sir Robert, and given in to the Lords of Secret Counsell, wheirin, among other things, he had this expression, that the petitioners ware frie natives, members of a royall borrow, whosse priviledges ought not lightly to be reversed, else malcontents would thairon take occasion of grudge, and of sowing fears and jealousies betuixt his Majestie and his people. At the hearing of which my Lord Commissioner,[616] guessing the author, began to baule and foame, and scrued up the cryme to such a height as that it deserved emprisonment, deprivation, and a most severe reprimande. At last the Counsell agried in a more moderat censure, that he should with close doors (tho my Lord Commissioner would have had it publick) acknowledge his offence upon his knees before the wholle Lords, and recant and disclame the forsaid expression as seditious and not becoming a subject: And theiron, as its said, ane act was made, that no petition should be presented heirafter but subscryved ather by the party or the Advocat. [616] Lauderdale. Theirs no expression so innocent wheirupon malice will not fasten its teeth; and truly their hes bein many expressions by far harsher then this escaped the pens of advocats, and which hes never bein noticed. And yet I think its _justo Dei judicio_ casten in Sir Roberts lap for his so dishonourable complying, yea, betraying the priviledges of the Advocats, and breaking the bond of unity amongs them, and embracing first that brat of the Regulations. The excuse that he made for so over shoting him selfe was most dull and pittifull, vid. that they had come to him just after he had dined, and he had drawen it then, and so was hasted. On the 24 July 1672, in the Parliament, Sir Colin Campbell was reproved for disorderly tabling of the Summer Session:[617] the circumstances see _alibi_. So the Commissioner seimed in a manner set to afront the Advocats. [617] The proposal to abolish the Summer Session of the Court and add a month to the winter was made by the Commissioner in his speech, and argued before him in the Exchequer Chamber, where he decided against it. The account of the matter given by Mackenzie (_Memoirs_, 222 _sqq._) is curious and interesting. In favour of the change it was argued that 'before men could settle at home after the Winter Session, they were called again to the Summer Session, so that their projects and designs were interrupted and ruined, and the months of June and July, which were the only pleasant months, and the only months wherein gardens and land could be improved, were spent in the most unwholsome and unpleasant town of Scotland [Edinburgh].' Sir C. Campbell tried to revive the question in plain Parliament, but the Commissioner vetoed it. In November 1672 died Mr. Andrew Beaton, Advocat, and brother to the Laird of Balfour. On the 2d of November 1672, my Lord Newbayth being challenged for passing a Suspension of a Decreite Absolvitor given by the Admirall, he denied it was his subscription, and at last his servant, Jeremiah Spence, acknowledged he had forged the same, for which he got a guiny[618] for procuring, as the parties thought, his Masters subscription therto; wheirupon, being imprisoned, the Lords, on the 6 of November, having called for him to their presence, they did declare him infamous and uncapable of any charge or imployment about the Session, and seing he had judicially confest it, they remitted him to the Kings officers for his furder triall. Its thought this was not the first of many forgeries he hes committed, so that his master lay under very much obloquy and reproach, which hes bein greatly occasioned throw his default, only it cannot be denied that my Lord gave to much ear to the mans recommendations, yea gave very grosse insinuations of his contentment and favor when his man got money, so that it was confidently affirmed that his man and he shared the profit that accrued from the Saterdayes roll, the syde bar, etc., amongs them; and it is now judged the liklier because my Lord concernes himselfe exceidingly to bring his man of only with a sweip of a tods taill, wheiras in generosity he should be his main prosecuter. [618] Guinea. See Introduction, Money. In the beginning of November 1672 died William, Earle of Dalhousie, being a very old man, wheiron my Lord Halton, Thresurer Depute, was made Shireff principall of Edenboroughshire during his lifetyme in place of the said Earle; And Mr. Alexander Suinton, advocat, was made his depute and Mr. Laurence Charteris. About the same tyme, Mr. John Stewart of Ketleston, on of the Admirall deputes, died, and Walter Pringle, Advocat, by the mediation of Sir Charles Bickerstaffe, the other depute, succeided in his place, [and in November 1674, Mr. Patrick Lyon was nominat in place of W. Pringle, deprived].[619] [619] Interlined. In the same moneth of November the Earle of Atholl was made Lord Privy Seall in place of the Earle of Dumfermeling, who died in the May before. [As also the Earle of Kincardin was made Justice Generall upon the dimission of the Earle of Atholl. This held not.][620] [620] The two lines in brackets are scored through. See p. 225. In England, the great seall at the same tyme was taken from Sir Orlando Bridgeman, and the Earle of Shaftesbury, formerly Lord Ashley Couper, is made Hy Chancelor of England. Sir John Duncombe is made under threasurer, in place of Ashley Couper. The Lord Clifford, lately but Sir Thomas Clifford, is exalted to be great Treasaurer of England. [He is the 1[621] Thesaurer since the death of the Earle of Southhampton],[622] and the Commissioners for the Threasurie are suppressed, and its expected that they, as the _primum mobile_, will draw us as ane inferior orbe rolling within theirs after them. The Lord Mainart, brother in law to the Duck of Lauderdale, is made thesaurer of the Kings house. Sir Robert Howard, commonly called Sir Positive, is made Secretary to the Treasurer. The Duck of Monmouth is made Lord Cheiff Justice of all the forrests in England benorth the Trent. My Lord Lauderdale hes undoubtedly had a great hand in this extraordinary revolution; for they are on the caballe with him, and are all his confident privado'es. The old nobility cannot but repute them selfes slighted when they sie thesse great offices of State conferred upon [muschroomes][623] upstarts. But this is a part of the absolute power of kings to raise men from the dunghill and make them their oune companions. [621] i.e. first. [622] Interlined. [623] Interlined. In the beginning of December 1672 died Mr. George Norvell, advocate, on of the greatest formalists that was in all the tolbuith. His place as agent for the Colledge and toune of Edinburgh was by Act of the Toune Counsell conferred upon Mr. Robert Lauder, portioner of Belhaven, some few days after. At the same tyme died Mr. Thomas Buck, advocat. On the 14 of December 1672 the Faculty made choice of Sir G. Lockhart for their Dean, Sir Robert Sinclar having of some tyme before showen a willingnes to demit in regard he discovered many of the faculty displeased at him for his faint surrender and breaking the unity of the Faculty in the matter of the Regulations and for sundry other particulars. On the 2'd of January 1673 died Mr. John Andersone, advocat. About the beginning of January 1673 James Hamilton was received ane under clerk in place of Jo. Kello, who died (_ut supra notatum_) in May 1670. On the 14 of January 1673 the Earle of Atholl was received ane extraordinar Lord on the Session in place of the Earle of Dumfermeling, who died (_ut supra dixi_) in May 1672. In May 1673 died Mr. John Muirhead, advocat. In June 1673 I was named by the Lords to be on of the advocats for the poor the yeir enshueing, but upon the mediation of my Lord Abbotshall I was excused. On the 19 of July 1673 Forbes of Tolquhon was fined by the Lords in 40 lib. Scots for opprobrious speaches to Mr. David Thoires, advocat, and calling him a knave. On the 5 of Januar 1674 I was appointed on of the privat examinators of such as offered to enter advocats for that year. On the 10 of Januar 1674 died Mr. Robert Dicksone, advocat. In the beginning of this year 1674 died Mr. William Wallace, advocat, and on of the Shiref Deputes of Edenbrugh shire. In the beginning of March 1674 died Sir James Lockhart of Lee, Justice Clerk. On the 4 of June 1674 Mr. Thomas Murray of Glendoick, advocat, was admitted and receaved, in obedience to the Kings letters, a Lord of the Session, in place of Lee deceissed, as he was ane ordinary Lord, for they say Sir William Lockart the Collonell had his place by way of survivance and reversion of Justice Clerk. On the same 4 of June Mr. David Balfour of Forret or Glentarkie was, upon the Kings letter, receaved ane ordinar Lord in the place vaikand by the dimission of Sir Androw Ramsay of Abbotshall. On the 5'th of June 1674 died Sir James Ramsay of Whythill, advocat, and Mr. James Hamilton, advocat, sone to the Bischop of Galloway. On the 2'd of June 1674 I was nominat on of the advocats for the poor for the year enshueing. About the 10 of June 1674 the Earle of Argile was admitted and receaved ane extraordinar Lord of the Session upon the Kings letter, in place of the Earle of Tuedale, turned out, as also the said Earle of Argyle got Tuedales place as one of the Commissioners of the Tresaury. And my Lord of Atholl at this same tyme got that place of the Thesaury which was lying vaikand thesse severall years by the deceas of Sir Robert Moray. On the 4 of June 1674, in obedience to a new comission for the Secret Councell, sent doune by the King, the Councell was of new modelled, 6 of the former members put out, viz. the Earle of Queinsberry, Earle of Roxbrugh, Earle of ----[632], Earle of Tuedale, the Lord Yester, and Generall Major Drummond, and 6 new Councelors assumed in their place, viz. the Earle of Mar, Earle of Kinghorne, ----[624], Lord Rosse, my Lord Colinton, and my Lord Craigie. [624] Blank in MS. On the 3 of July 1674 the Lords of Session deprived about 49 advocats who partly adhæred to Sir G. Lockhart and Sir J. Cunyghame, who ware declared uncapable, conforme to the Kings letter on the 24 of June preceeding, and partly refused to officiat under the tyes and obligations contained in his Majesties letter anent appealls, and the Lords of Session their sentences, that none charge them of injustice. On the 7 of July 1674 died Mr. James Rosse, advocat. In October 1674 died Sir Robert Preston of that Ilk, on of the Lords of Session. And in the midle of November 1674 James Foulls, Advocat, younger of Colinton, by the name of Lord Reidfuird, was admitted and receaved a Lord in his place, in obedience to his Majesties letter, and was the first who was tryed in the new manner prescribed by his Majesty in July last. In June 1675 died Collonell Sir William Lockhart of Lee at Paris, wheir he lay embassador for his Majesty of Great Brittain, and so the Justice Clerkship waiked, which was immediatly bestowed and conferred on my Lord Craigie, but his gift bears _ad bene placitum_ only. In his place as on of the criminall lords succeided my Lord Glendoick. And at the same tyme my Lord Newbayth, by a letter from his Majesty, being eased and dispossest of his place in the Criminall Court, the same was given to my Lord Forret, so that his entrie both heir and on the Session is not so cleanly. The Earle of Atholl having at his being chosen Privy Seall oblidged himselfe to dimit the office of Justice Generall when his Majesty saw cause to dispose of it, now in June 1675 the Earle of Murray is created Justice Generall. In July 1675 died Mr. Robert Winrahame, advocat. On the 5 of August 1675 Sir Androw Ramsay, Lord Abbotshall, was, upon his Majesties letter, readmitted and sworne upon the Privy Councell, which and his other offices he had dimitted to my Lord Commissioner under trust on the 1 of December 1673. In the end of September 1675 died Mr. Alexander Spotswood of Crumstaine, advocat, of 2 dayes sicknes. Item, Mr. Patrick Oliphant, of a few dayes sicknes, about that same tyme. In the end of November 1675 died James Chalmers, advocat. In the beginning of Januarie 1676 died James Hamilton, on of the under clerks of Session, and his place was bestowed on John Hay, wryter, and criminall clerk depute under Mr. Robert Martin. On the 8 and 11 of January 1676 all the outed advocats to the number of 35 ware admitted again to their employments, conforme to his Majesties letter theranent. In the end of March 1676 died Mr. William Strachan, advocat, and brother to the Laird of Glenkindy. On the 16 of June 1676 was Sir Archbald Primerose, Clerk Register, by a letter from his Majesty, removed from his place of Register and from the Session, and a patent sent him to be Justice Generall, and the Earle of Murray gets a pension of 400 lb. Sterling for it, and his place in Session was instantly supplyed by a letter from his Majestie in behalfe of Sir David Falconer of Neuton, Advocat; and the office of Register was conferred theirafter in February 1678 (neir 2 years vacancy) on Sir Thomas Morray, Lord Glendoick. See it in my remarks then. On the 24 of June was a letter red from his Majestie, appointing their should be only 3 principall Clerks of Session, and that the Lords remove the rest, appointing them some satisfaction from thesse who stayed in. Heirupon the Lords voted Messrs. Alexander Gibsone, Thomas Hay, and John Hay to be the 3 who should only officiat (See the manuscript[625] at November 1682, page 73), and removed Sir John Gibsone, but prejudice of the contract betuixt him and his sone of 100 lb. sterling yeirly, Alexander Monro and Robert Hamilton, and modified them 7000 merks from the other 2, which Comissar Monro refused unles they gave him a reason of their depriving him, which was refused till he raised his declarator if he had a mind to doe it. He within a 4'tnight after accepted it. The letter also commanded the Advocats consulting togither. [625] Interlined. On the 28 of June 1676 was a letter from his Majesty red in the Thresaury commanding Sir John Nisbet his Advocat to call for Sir George M'cKeinzie in the concernes of his office, and act by his advice, and establist 100 lb. Sterling of pension upon him for the same. See the other Manuscript of Session Occurrents, page 13 and 42. On the last of June 1676 Mr. John Eleis and Mr. Walter Pringle ware suspended from being Advocats by the Lords, because they shifted to depone _super inquirendis_ if their was any combination amongs the late restored advocats not to consult with thosse who stayed in. See the Sentence _apud me_. On the 8 of July 1676 was Mr. John Eleis readmitted because he complyed with the Lords and deponed. W. Pringle readmitted in June 1677. On the 20 of July 1676 a new Commission of Secret Councell from his Majesty was red, wheirin six of the former Councelors ware left out and discarded, viz. the Duc of Hamilton, Earles of Dumfreis, Morton, and Kincairden, the Lord Cochrane and Sir Archibald Primrose, late Lord Register. In the beginning of June 1676 died Mr. James Aikenhead, on of the comisars of Edinburgh; and in the end of Jully Mr. James Dalrymple was presented by the Archbischop of St. Andrewes in his place who had got the right of presenting all the comisars of Edinburgh during the vacancy of that diocesse in _anno_ 1671, only his gift was caution'd that he sould confer them gratis, and on qualified persones. On the 19 of August 1676 died Mr. Laurence Charteris, Advocat, and on of the Shireff deputes of Edenborough shire, in which office succeided to him by the gift of deputation from my Lord Halton immediatly Mr. Thomas Skein, brother to Halzeards, in West Lothian, and afterwards admitted ane Advocat. On the last of October 1676 died Mr. John Bailzie, advocat. On the 13 of November 1676 Sir Archibald Primrois, late Register, took his place in the Criminall Court as Lord Justice Generall, and gave his oath _de fideli_. See more of it, _alibi_, page 144. See the continuations of the changes and alterations and remarkable emergents of and in the Session in another paper book besyde me that opens by the lenth. (4) OBSERVATIONS ON PUBLIC AFFAIRS, 1669-1670[626] [626] From MS. II. [In anno 1669 died the Q. mother of England. In anno 1670 died madame our K's sister mons'r the Duc of Orleans his Ladie she having bein in England but a litle while before. On the 24 of October 1670 was the church of the Blackfriars in Glasgow touched with lightning of thunder about seven a cloak of the morning, and having brok throu the roof it catcht hold upon its jests and had undoubtedly brunt the church to ashes had it not bein extiuguished in tyme. They say it brook also on their great church at the head of the toun. What follows in thir 9 leives is copied and enlarged alibi. In anno 1667 the French make ane invasion upon the Spanish Netherlands, and after he had ransact the country and made himselfe master of divers tounes][627] as Doway, Lisle, Tournay, etc., a peace was at last concluded in May 1668, wheirof the articles ware, 1'o to be perpetuall. 2'do so soon as the peace is published all hostility most cease. 3'do the French to keip the couquiest of the late campaigne. 4'to that he hold them with their dependances in soverainetie and the Spaniard to yeald them to him for ever. 5'to that the French King restore la France conté. 6'to the Spaniard most restore all places tane by him in the war. 7'o that all princes authorize the treatie and that nothing be retracted of the traitty of the Pyrenees save what is disposed on by this: To be mutually interchanged, ratified, and sworne by oath. [627] The first page, as above, within brackets, is scored out in MS. Upon the 27 of September 1669 was Candie toune (being the losse of the wholle Ile to the Venetians) surrendred to the Turks after a long seige wheir the French got a great overthrow, and their Admirall the Duc de Beaufort was killed with many other persons of note: and wheir Monsieur Annand our Master Annands brother behaved himselfe most gallantly, and since hes bein so hylie complemented for that his service by the Venetian senat that I beleive never was any stranger more. He is admitted unto all their counsels and sits upon their Ducks right hand: the Englishs ware so affrontedly impudent as in their new books first to cal him ane Englishman, and being challenged for that they designed him after a subject of his Maj. of Great Brittain, so loath are they to give us our due praise. In anno 1670 was ane insurrection of the paisants of the country of Vivarets in Daulphinée in France, upon the occasion of some extraordinarie tax cruelly exacted. They ware soon dissipat. Their is presently, in October 1670, a fellow called Ratzin[628] who hes taken up armes in Mosco agt the Emperor, and hes got of followers neir 100,000 men: he was a gunner, had a brother, who, being put to death for some crime, he in revenge of his brothers death hes made this commotion craving nothing lesse but that thesse who ware the cause of his brother's death (now they are the greatest men about the Ducks persone) may be delivered up to him. [628] Rebellion of Stenka Razin against the Tsar Alexis. It is apprehended by the wiser sort that this Union[629] is mainly set on foot by his Majestie, and so much coveted after by him, that he may rid himselfe of the house of Commons who have lyen verie heavy upon his loines and the loins of his predecessors Kings of England and especially of his brave father, and who have ever most crossed ther great designes. Now it being proposed that their should be but on parliament for all Britain, it will follow that the house of commons constitut no more a house apart, but that its members sit togither with the Lords in the house of peers: and for the better effectuating this great point, I hear his Majesty caresses and complements thesse of the house of commons a great deall more then ever he was in use to do, and that he converses most familiarly with them, seikes their company, and that they get accesse when many great persons cannot. But this is not all, such of them as seimed most active and concerned in pressing the priviledges and liberties of that house and of the commonalty of England, his majesty within this short tyme hes nobilitat them, and by this hes both engadged them to his oune party, and by setting them in a hyer sphoere weakned the house of commons. [629] Charles II. having renewed the proposal for the union of the kingdoms, Commissioners were appointed for England and Scotland, and sat in London for some months in the autumn of 1670. I confesse the King hes reason to wrest this excessive power out of the commons their hand it being a unspeakable impairment of his soverainetie, but I fear it prosper not. I hear the Earle of Strafford, who was Deputie of Ireland, was at first but a mean gentleman yet a member of the house of commons, and on of the most stirring amongst them, which K. Charles perceiving he created him a nobleman and by that so endeared him to his intrest that we know he suffered for it. In the middle of 1669 came his majesties letter to the secret counsell for indulging some of the outed ministers libertie to return to their oune kirks if vacant, or to preach at any other vacant churches the S. counsell should think fit to place them, and that they should not be answerable to the Bischop of the diocese where they ware, but to the counsell. Then in the Parl. 1669 was the King's supremacie in a very hy straine established. This procedure startled all our Bischops extreimly, yet all of them ware so cunning and such tyme servers as they seimed to applaud it, only Mr. Alex'r Burnet, Arch B. of Glascow, and the Dean theirof, with some others more ingenuous then the rest, pens a remonstrance (which also they put their hands to) to be presented to the King, showing his majesty whow that course he had tane for uniting distractcd parties and healing our breaches would prove unsuccesfull, yea was to be feared would produce the just contrare effect, vid., more dissentions, etc. Upon this occasion he[630] gets a passe, and if he refused to dimit voluntarlie then their is a warrand from his Majesty for processing him criminally: upon that and other heads, he ather judging it not safe to contend with his m'r, or else not daring bid[631] the touch, dimits in his Majesties hands and _ex gratia_ his Maj. grants him a pension out of the fruits of that benefice of 5000 mks. per annum for all the dayes of his lifetyme. [630] _i.e._ the Archbishop. [631] _i.e._ to abide. Then Lighton, Bischop of Dunblaine, was presented to it, who, after much nicety, and a journey to London, at last condeschended to take a tryall of it for a tyme under the name of Commendator Superintendent over the spirituality of that Bischoprick or some such like name, who took much paines to take up the differences betuixt the conformists and non- conformists, and to that purpose, in my Lord commissioners Audience in August 1670, ware then sundrie freindly conferences betuixt himselfe and some others adjoined to himself and some of the non-conformist ministers, upon which nothing then followed. He also in September 1670 took some moderat men, as Mr. Nairne, Mr. Cook, and others along wt him to his diocesse, by them to allure the people to frequent their oune parish churches, but he found them so exasperat wt the loud and scandalous cariage of the ministry that was planted amongs them on the removall of their former, that his great paines had not answerable successe. In anno 1668 was Honieman B. of Orkney shot in the arme, being sitting in the coach wt Arch. B. Sharp, for whom, it was thought, the pistoll was levelled. Some sayd it behoved to be some great hater of the Bischops, others said it might be out of privat splen and not for the privat quarrell of Religion; others said he was but suborned to do it by the Bychops themselves, that they might lay the blame on the Presbyterians, and draw the greater odium on them, and stoop the favor that was intended them of opening some of their ministers mouths; and the truth is, it did retard that better almost a year. In anno 1670, about July theirof, Mr. John Meinzeis, brother to the Laird of Culteraws, and minister at[632] in Annandale, left his church and emitted a declaration bearing what stings he suffared in his conscience for conforming with the present church governement, which he fand to be a fertile soyle for profanity and errors of all kinds, and theirfor he gives all to whom thir presents may come to know that he disapproves of the said governement and of his bypast complyance, and that in tyme coming he will forsake the ministrie, since he cannot exercise it unlesse he wound his soull farder by that sinfull compliance. The Bisc. ware verie pressing to have had him punisht, but his friends got him borne by. [632] Blank in MS. In that same year 1670 was that monster of men and reproach of mankind (for otherwayes I cannot stile him), Major Weir, for most horrible witchcraft, Incest, Bestiality, and other enorme crymes, at first confest by himselfe (his conscience being awakned by the terrors of the Almightie), but afterwards faintly denied by him, brunt. So sad a spectacle he was of humane frailty that I think no history can parallell the like. We saw him the fornoon before he died, but he could be drawen to no sense of a mercifull God, yea sometimes would he scarse confesse their was a God, so horribly was he lost to himselfe. The thing that aggravated his guilt most was the pretext and show of godlinesse wt which he had even to that tyme deceived the world. His sister also was but a very lamentable object, for she ran on the other extreem and præsumed exceidingly on the mercy of God, wheiras their ware no great evidences in hir of soull contrition. She was hanged. They say their is some difference fallen in betuen my Lo. Lauderdale and my Lo. Argyle about some desire my Lo. Lauderdale had in relation to the Lady Balcarras, now Lady Argile, which Argile relished not, and said, I think your grace would take the ward of my marriage. He answered, I may weill have that, for I once had the waird of your head, which was true in anno 1663, when the sentence of death and forfaultor was past on him as a traitor. In anno 1669 did his majesty in his Royall wisdome compose the differences betuixt the tua houses of parlia. in Engl., which ware likely to have occasioned great strife, it being anent their priviledges and liberties alledged brook[633] in the case of on Master Skinner, a member of the house of commons. His majesties course was that all memorie of discord betuen his 2 houses that might be found on record should be totallie abolished and expunged both out of the Registers of Parl., Exchequer, Counsell, and out of all other monuments, that the ages to come may not so much as know their was any variance betuixt them. On the 28 of September 1670 was Colonell Lockhart admitted a secret Counseller, and they say that Lambert is also made a Counsellor in England. [633] _i.e._ broken. The King in 1670 craving of his parliament a subsidie for defraying his debt, they proposed that ere any new tax could be granted account should be made of the former subsidies, whow the same ware employed by Mr. Cotteridge and others, whom the King made use of to that purposc. Sure this was very grieveous to the King to sie himselfe so controlled in his expence, and that he could give no gratuity to my Ladie Castlemain (now Dutchesse of Cleveland, etc.) but that which they behoved to get notice of, behold the stratagem he makes use of. The Presbyterians at that tyme, hearing of the Indulgence given to some ministers in Scotland, they offer to the King to pay all his debt, and advance him a considerable soume besyde, provydeing the same liberty be granted them. At the nixt sitting doune of parl. his mai. in a speach showed them whow harshly and uncivilly they had dealt with him, and, after much plain language, he told them if they would not grant his reasonable demands he know them that would do it. After they had come to know his majesties meaning by this,[634] who ware more forward then they, they passe fra craving any account of the former, they grant him a new subsidy of a million, they consent their should be a treaty wt Scotland anent ane union; yet onlie the dint of their fury falls on the Presbyterians, and they enact very strict statutes against them and against conventicles, because they had been the pin by which his mai. had scrued them up to that willingnesse. So we sie its usefull sometymes (as Matchiavell teaches) for a prince to entertaine and foment tua factions in his state, and whiles to boast the one with the other. [634] His majesties meaning by this, _i.e._ 'what H.M. meant by this imtimation.' As soon as they understood that, 'Who were more forward than they?' In October 1667 did at last break out that inveterat hatred of the wholle people of England against Chancellor Hide, and he is arraigned as guilty of hy treason by the house of commons, who pressed strongly that his persone might be secured till such tyme they had verified the crimes they attached him of. This motion the house of peers wt indignation rejected as derogatorie of their priviledges, he being a member of their house. While the 2 houses are thus contending he judges it safest for him to retire till this storme blow over, and this was also thought to have bein the King's advice to him, who was very sorrie at their procedor, thinking it a bad precedent for the house of commons to medle with persones so eminently neir to himselfe; yet in the breach he durst not stand but was forced to give them way, so much was Hyde hated in England, so that his Maj., rather then he will in the least endanger the disturbance of his oune peace and quiet, resolves now to quite his dearest minions and expose them to the malice of their ilwillers and haters then stand stoutly to their defence, and so make himselfe party against his people. So Hide makes his escape to France, leiving behind him a declaration wherin he refutes all the crimes they lay to his charge, as his being the author of the marriage of the King wt the Portugues, knowing she would be barren, and that his daughter's posterity might so reigne: item his being the occasion of the selling of Dunkerk to the French king, wheiras if it had bein in the English their possession in the year 1665, in their war betuixt them and Holland, they could have annoyed the States considerably theirby. But the truth is the Queen mother of England was wery instrumentall in that bargaine: item his being the active cause of the war betuixt England and Holland, of which he purges himselfe so largely that I think no man can scarse judge him any way accessor theirto. That war (wt pardon) was hardly weill manadged on the English syde, and they committed errors most unpardonable in good policie: as first in that battell that was given on the 17 June 1665, wheir Admirall Obdan and his ship ware blowen up, being fired (as was supposed) by the English bullets levelled at it, they contented themselves with the simple wictorie and honor of commanding the seas, wheiras if they had followed forth their victorie and had got betuixt the Holland their shattered fleet and the coast of Holland and Zealand, it was thought by the most judicious men that that on battell might have put ane end to the war and have produced most advantagious conditions for the English: but they verified the knowen saying, _vincere scit Hannibal sed õ victoriâ uti_. Their pretence indeid was that they would not pousse their victory farder by hazarding what they had already won, because the appearand air of the croun, the Duc of York, was present in person. But whow weak this is let any man judge, unles they mean that by intercepting the Dutch their way home they might have made them desperat and so fight like Devils, and that it hes ever bein a good maxime to make a fleing ennemy a bridge of gold. Whowever the Dutch concluded that they would have no mo Admirals that ware gentlemen (for Obdam was so) because they never fought fortunatly with their ennemies when they had such. But certainly this is nought but a fiction made by a commonwealth to cast a blur upon nobility, seing thir same very states have fought most couragiously and advantagiously under the conduct of the Princes of Orange. Upon his death De Ruyter was chosen admirall, and van Tromp the younger, upon a suspicion of being to affectionat to the intrest of the King of Britain, was disgraced. The nixt (but rather should have bein made the first) was his Mai:s bad choyse of a false chirking willain, Mr. Douning,[635] to be his agent to negotiat affaires at the States Generall in the beginning of that war, who steid of composing things rancored them worse and made them almost uncurable, judging it good fisching in troubled waters, wheiras if a moderat and ane honest man had bein made use of in that business, things would never have come to the height they were at, since the offers of reparation then made by the Dutch to his Majesty ware by all indifferent spectators judged most fair and reasonable. The 3^d is that in the engadgement the following summer, 1666, the King's intelligence should have bein so bad as to have apprehended at that tyme the joining of the French fleet wt the Hollander (wheiras their was no such thing, but it was of purpose done to divide his majesties fleet), and theiron ordering Prince Rupert with his squade away to attend their uniting; and in his absence the Dutch taking the advantage, provocked the Duck of Albemarle (who was a better land sojer then a sea, and who died in 1669) with sixtein ships to fight their wholle fleit, who more hardily then wisely encountering them, had undoubtedly bein totally routed and defeat had not Prince Rupert upon notice come up and releived them. By which conflict it at last appeared that it was possible for the English to be beat by the Hollander, which was never beleived before that. [635] Sir George Downing, 1623(?), 1684, long Resident at the Hague under the Commonwealth and Charles II. See _Nat. Dict. Biog._ The nixt error they committed was that the following summer, 1667, the King (for sparing of charges forsooth) was advysed not to set to sea that year, but to let his fleit lay up in the harbors, which gave cause to that mighty affront (then which since England was England it never received the like) given them at Chattan, and wheir the Scots regiment, brought over from France by the King's order, making braver resistance then all England beside, ware many of them slain, dying in the bed of honour. As for the Scots proclaiming war against France, and as for the more naturall way tane by our King in proclaiming the war then tane by France, I shall elsewheir speak more at large. APPENDIX APPENDIX I EXTRACTS FROM ACCOUNTS 1670 to 1675 § 1 On the 8 of July 1670, I receaved 168 lb. in 55 dollars,[636] which compleited one halfe a year's annuel rent,[637] vid., 900 m., wheirof first given out to my wife 8 dollars to defray sundrie debts, vid., 5 lb. to mistris Guthrie for 2 elle and a quarter of borders, 4 lb. 10s. to George Reidpeth, 7 lb. 4s. for 2 chandellers, 2s. for a pint of win, 3 lb. given to the wright with some other lesser things; then I gave une dalle Imperiale a mon serviteur pour acheter les saintes ecritures, 8 pence for a quaire of paper. Then on the ij of July 1670, I gave my wife 10 dollars for keiping the familie: 4 dollars given to my wife to buy wooll with. This makes a 100 merk. Then I gave a dollar to buy covers for the chaires, 8s. and 8 p. for a pair of shoes, 2 lb. at a collation with Mr. Hamilton, 24s. at a collation with Mr. Thomas Bell, 5s. for a mutchin of wine.[638] Halfe a dollar to Walter Cunyghame, 12s. for paper and ink, 10 lb. for 20 leads of coalls at 10s. the load, 3 dollars given to my wife, a dollar given for a french croune to my wife, 5 p. for a mutching of win,[638] 24 p. in Caddells with Mr. Hendersone. Item, 2s. sterling given to my wife. Item, 4 dollars given to hir, a groat to the barber, 5s. sterling for a new board, a mark in the contribution for the burgh of Dundie, a shiling to the keiper of my goun, 3 dollars given to my wife, halfe a dollar at a collation in Cuthbertsones, 18 pence at a collation with Balmayne. Out of the last 3 dollars given to my wife, she bought a chamberpot for 3 shillings, a board cloath for 3 shillings and 10 p., then I gave hir 2 dollars: this is another 100 merks, then 20 lb. payed for 40 load of coalls, 10 pence given in drink money to the cawer,[639] 12 pence at a collation with Colinton, 7 pence at on with Sir George Lauder, 3 lb. at a collation with Mr. Falconer, 12 p. for wine, a dollar to my wife, then 2 dollars given hir for the familie, so this is the account of the other 9 dollars remaining of the 55 dollars, togither with 5 other dollars pris de l'argent donné a la nourrice. [636] The dollar is here equal to 5s. 1d. sterling. [637] From his father secured on the lands of Carington, settled in his marriage-contract. [638] The shilling Scots and penny sterling are here used for the same value. [639] 'Cawer,' driver, carter. Then on the 16 of August 1670, I received from my father 20 dollars, the accompt wheirof follows:-- Item, payed for my press making and colouring, etc., 9 lb. 10s. For the glasses footgang, 2s. For seing the Duke's Berge at Leith, 2 lb. 10s. Given to my wife, 2 dollars. Given to the nurse to buy a bible with, one dollar. With Kilmundie, 10 pence. For the articles of Regulations, 10 pence. Then given to my wife, 2 doll. and a shilling. Then given hir to buy shoes, linnen, and other things with, 5 dollars. For 2 quaires of paper, 18 pence. At Hadoe's man's wedding, a dollar. For seck with Thomas Robertsone, 10 pence. For wine with my landlord, 5 pence. Given for the houses use, 2 dollars. For a coatch, 2 shillings. Summa is 19 dollars and a halfe. Then on the thrid of September 1670, I received my years annuel rent from Thomas Robertsone, vid., 300 merks, the count wheirof follows:-- Imprimis, given to my wife when she went to Wauchton, 2 dollars. Given to the barber, halfe a mark. Given to a poor boy, halfe a mark. Given in drinkmoney to my goodfather's nurse, a dollar. Given to Huntar, my goodfather's man, a 6 pence. A dollar to Jo. Scots nourrice, a dollar. Given to the woman Margaret, 2 dollars. Spent on Rhenish wine at Hadingtoun, 30 shilling. For my breakfast at Lintoun bridges, 22 shiling. To Idingtoun's men bigging the hay rick, 20 shiling. To his gairdner, halfe a dollar. To the kirkbroad, 10 shiling. To Idington's serving woman, a dollar. To his hielandman, 15 shilling. To my goodbrother's man Lambe, a mark. For the horse meat at Hadingtoun, 10 pence. To the tailzeor for mending my cloaths, a shilling. To my father's man Arthur, 45 shilling. To Wodstone's man Florie, a shilling. To the kirk broad at Abbotshall, a 6 pence. For Rhenish in Kirkealdy, 55 shiling. Then given to my wife for the house, 10 dollars. For binding Durie's 2'd volume, 2 lb. 2 shil. This makes one 100 merks of the 300 merks. Then gave for the acts of the 2'd session of parliament, 10 pence. Then for a pair of shoes, 1 lb. 19s. Then for Androw Young's nurse for my selfe, a dollar. Given then by my wife, halfe a dollar. Given then for a pint of wine, 20 shiling. Given to my wife to buy some slips with, a dollar. Given to Grissell Ramsayes mother for drink furnisht by hir to us by the space of 10 weeks, 3 dollars. Payed for wine, 7 pence. Payed for 2 horse hires to Preston, 3 shilings and 6 pence. Payed for wine in Daniel Rosses, 3 shilings st. For a quaire of paper, 9 pence. For ink, 2 pence. Given to my wife, 4 shilings s. Payed for causing intimat the assignation to H. Sinclar at Binny, 6 shil. st. Given to my wife, 6 pence. To the barber, 6 pence. 10 of October given to my wife for the house, 8 dollars. Given to Pitmedden's nurse, a dollar. Sent to a poor persone, a mark. Payed for Heylin's Cosmographie, 22 sh. and 6 pence. Given to the provest's woman, 6 pence. Given for paper, 9 pence. This makes another 100 mks. and 2 dollars more. Then payed at a collation with Mrs. Wood and Bell, a dollar. Payed to John Nicoll for a great bible, 17 shillings. Payed again to Grissel's mother for drink, 2 dollars. Given to my wife, halfe a dollar. Given also to my wife, a dollar. Given for a paper book by my brother for me, 12 p. Given to my brother William at that tyme, 6 pence. Given to my wife, 2 shil. 9 pence. Given to the woman in part of hir fie, a dollar. Given for 2 quaire of paper etc., 18 pence. Expended farder on the intimating Hew Sinclar's assignation, a shilling. For binding the reschinded acts of parl., halfe a crowne. At a collation with the Laird of Grange, 33 shiling. On win with Ja. Lauds, 5 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. Item given to hir, halfe a mark. Given to the barber, a 6 pence. Given in Pentherer's, 8 pence. Given to my wife for my ...[640] a dollar. Item given to my wife for the house, a dollar. Given for new wine, a shilling. Given to my wife, 29 shilling. Given againe to my wife, a dollar. Given for the house, a dollar. Given to my wife, 3 dollars. [640] Word interlined illegible, like 'manninie.' This is the account of the wholle 300 mks. all till about a dollar which I remember not of. Then towards the end of November I received from my father about 200 mks. and 3 dollars which with all the former made 1200 mks. wheirof imprimis.[641] [641] In the first of these entries the value of the dollar comes out about 4s. 11d., in the second at 5s. A dollar and a halfe given to a man for teaching my wife writing and arithmetick, 4 lb. 8s. Then a dollar for the serving woman's halfe fie, 3lb. Item in drinkmoney to the bedell and others, halfe a croun. Item to my wife, a dollar. Item at Geo. Lauder's penny wedding, a dollar. Item to the fidlers, a 6 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. Item, given hir for the use of the house on the 2'd of December, 10 dollars. To the barber, 10 pence. Upon win and at cards, 13 pence. To my wife, a mark. For a pair of shoes and gallasches[642] to them, 5s. and 10 p. To my wife, 6 pence. Given to my wife to buy to hir nurse a wastcoat with and shoes, etc., 2 dollars. At a collation with Rot. Bell in Pentherer's, 34 shiling. To Mr. Thomas Hay that he might give up the papers, 2 dolars. For Broun's Vulgar errors, 6 shilings 6 p. For the Present State of England, halfe a croun. For the moral state of it, 2 shilings. Then given at the kirk door, halfe a dollar. [642] Overshoes. This is neir ane account of ane 100 mks. and the 3 dollars. Then on the 21 of December 1670 was payed to the nurse as hir fee, 14 dolars. Item given hir as a pairt of the drinkmony she had receaved, 9 dollars. which two soumes make up the other 100 mks.[643] [643] 23 dollars equal to 100 marks. Taking the mark at 13-1/2d. dollar equal to 4s. 10-1/4d. Then I receaved from my father other 200 mks., which made 1400 mks. of all that I had received from him. Wheirof first payed to the nurse to compleat hir drinkmoney, which amounted in all to 18 dollars, 9 dollars. At a collation with Idington and others, a dollar. Given to my wife to buy a plaid with, 3 dollars. Given to my wife to buy lace with to hir apron, a dollar. Then on the end of December 1670 given to my wife 4 dollars and a halfe to pay 8 barrell of ale furnished us at 32s. the barrel, 4 dolars and a halfe.[644] Item given to my wife, 18 pence. Item payed for another pair of shoes, 3 shilings 3 pence. Item for wine with Mr. G. Dickson in Caddell's, 16 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. Payed for wine, 10 pence. Given to my wife, halfe a dollar. Then given hir, a dollar. which makes up on hundred mks. [644] Dollar equal to about 4s. 9d. Then on the 2'd of January 1671 being hansell Monday I gave my wife to give out to people who expected handsel, 4 dollars. Then that same day I gave hir for the house, 8 dollars. Given for the Acts of G. Assembly 1638, 2 shillings. Given to my brother William, a dollar. Given to my wife, 2 mark. Also given to hir, a dollar. Then given to my wife to pay the waterman with, 30 shils. Then payed for Goodwin's Antiquities, etc., 7 shilings. Then given to my wife to buy linnen to make me shirts with, 2 dollars. Given at Mr. David Falconer's woman's brithell,[645] a dollar. Payed for a chopping of win, 10 pence. For a quaire of paper, 6 pence. For wine, 6 pence. At a collation with Idington, 23 shilings. Given to my wife to buy sugar with, 6 shilings st. Then given to Dr. Stevinson's nurse, a dollar. [645] Bridal. This is the other 100 mks. which makes in all the wholle 200 mks. Then I receaved my pension, vid., 200 mks. from the toune of Edenburgh: out of which imprimis: Given by my wife to Doctor Stevincon's nurse, a dollar. Given also to my wife, a dollar. Given to my wife, a dollar. Payed to John Jack for a pair of broatches to William Ramsay, 5 lb. Payed for wine, 15 pence. Payed for a quaire of paper, 8 pence. Payed to my man of depursements for me, 14 pence. Payed for Papon's arrests of Parliament, a dollar. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given to my wife, a shilling. Payed in a contribution for the poor out of money given me in consultation, 4 lb. Scots. Payed for a pair of gloves, 30 shil. Given on the 2d of Febr. to keep the house with, 7 dollars. Payed for horse hires when I went out and meit the provest, 6 shilings and 6 pence. Given to Rot. Lauder's man in Belhaven, a shiling. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given to Mr. Andro Wood's man in Dumbar, halfe a dolar. Given at Waughton to Darling and Pat. Quarrier, a dollar. Given at Gilmerton to the workmen their, a dollar. Given for 20 load of coalls furnisht to us, 10 Ib. This is on 100 mks. Then given 5 lb. to the nurse for hir child's halfe quarter, 5 lb. Then payed on the 15 of Febr. 1671 to my onckle 35 lb. in 12 dollars[646] for 6 bolls of meall, the first 3 bolls being at 5 lb. 12 s. the boll, the other 3 being at 6 lb. the boll, 12 dollars. Given to my wife, halfe a dolar. Given to Walt. Cunyghame, halfe a dolar. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given to my wife also, a dollar. Given for the use of the house, 3 dollars. Spent upon wine, 18 pence. Given to the macer's man, a mark. Given to my wife, 2 dollars. Given to the under keiper of our gounes, a mark. Given to the barber, a mark. [646] 1 Dollar equal to 4 s. 10-1/2d. This is the count of the other 100 mks. of the 200 given me in pension. Then I received from Wm Binning thesaurer 10 dollars, 4 of them consultation money, and 6 of them to make the 12 lb. st. or 150 lb. Scots,[647] of pension to me, out of which: [647] 150 l. Scots ought to have been equal to £12, 10s. This shows that the Scots money was not at the time at par with the English. Imprimis, given at a collation with Mr. Wm Lauder, 30 shils. Given to the bedell at Leith, 6 pence. Given to my wife, 2 shilings. For sweit pouder, 2 shilings. For wine, 5 pence. Given to my wife, 6 pence. Given for wine, 16 pence. Given to my wife to buy shoes with and lint, a dollar. Given for the use of the house, a dollar. Payed for wine in Lieth, 20 shil. Given at Hew Boyde's contribution, a shiling. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given to buy lint with, a dollar. Given for a drinking glasse, 6 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given for the State of England, 2d volume, 3 shilings. Spent on wine, 18 pence. Given for the use of the house, a dollar. This is all the 10 dollars. Then I receaved on the 17 of March 1671 from my father 300 mks. which made in all of what I had receaved from him 1700 mks., out of which: Imprimis, given for the use of the house, a dollar. Given to my wife to buy lace for a pinner, to buy holland for napkins and aprons, etc., 5 dollars and a halfe. Item, for a chopin of win, 10 pence. Item, given to my wife, 10 pence. Item, for the use of the house, a dollar. To my wife to buy lace for apron and napkins, a dolar and a halfe. Payed at a collation with collonell Ramsay, 42 shiling. Lent to James Lauder, 2 dollars. Given for the house, halfe a dolar. Given to the barber, a shiling. Payed to the baker conforme to his accompt, 13 lb. 5 s. Payed for halfe a quarter's fie with the nurse's child, 5 Ib. Given to my wife, 2 shilings. Payed at a collation with Mr. Charles Wardlaw, etc., 29 shil. Item, to buy figs with, 9 pence. Item, for Knox his History and Navarri Manuale, 2 dollars. This is the accompt of one 100 mks. Then of the rest. Imprimis, given for the use of the house on the 1 of Aprile 1671, 7 dollars. On the 8 of Aprill given to the midwife, 5 dollars. Given to my wife to buy a litle silver dish with, which cost hir 33 shiling, a dollar. Given to my wife for sundry uses, 2 dollars. Spent upon wine, 24 shiling. Then given to my wife to buy turkies, etc., 2 dollars. Then given for ribbans to be garters, etc., 35 shil. Then on beir in Peter Wats at a morning drink, 5 shil. Then to Sir John Dalrymple's child's nurse, a dollar. To Mr. Archbald Camron for taking up[648] the child's name, a dollar. To the scavinger, 2 shilings. At the kirk door, a 6 pence. To the bedells, a dollar. Given to my wife for sundry uses, 3 lb. 15 shil. [648] Registering. This makes 200 mks. Then given out of the other: Imprimis, to my wife, a dollar. At a collation with Patrick Don, 43 shil. To my wife to pay a quarter for the nurse hir bairnes fie,[649] 2 dollars. Item for the houses use, 2 dollars. For a quaire of paper, 8 pence. Item given to my wife, 5 pound. Item given hir for buying meat to the gossips when they visit, 2 dollars. Given to pay the win and seck gotten out of Painston's, 4 dolars. Given to buy a coat to the bairne John, a dolar. Given to buy wool with, 2 dollars. Given to the poor, a shiling. Given for wine, 20 shiling. Given to the house, a dollar. Given by my wife and me to Sir Androw's nurse, 2 dollars. Waired on wine, 30 shiling. Given to my wife, 2 mark. On win with Mr. Alex'r Hamilton, 10 pence. Given for paper and ink, 12 pence. Given for wine, 10 pence. Given to the woman Margaret, 18 pence. [649] Wages of nursemaid eight dollars, about £2. Sie the rest of their accounts alibi. This is the accompt of the said 300 m. very neir. So that their is nothing resting to me to make up a compleit years rent: vid., from Lambes 1669 to Lambes 1670, but only one hundred merks, which I allowed to my father in respect he payed a compt of that value for me to John Scot: as also of his oune moneyes he was pleased to pay 90 lb. for me which I was addebted to the same John for 23 elle of cloath tane of for my bed and appertenances, at 4 lb. the elle and did not at all place it to my accompt. §2 O Lord, teach me so to be counting my dayes, that I may apply my heart to thy wisdome.[650] [650] These words stand as a motto at the head of MS. K. * * * * * Sie my counts praeceiding this in a litle black skinned book alibi. [_Supra_, p. 239.] On the 25 of May 1671, my father was debitor to me in the soume of 1800 mks., payable out of the lands of Carington, and that as my year's annuity from Lammas, in the yeir 1670, till Lambes coming in this instant year 1671; all preceidings are payed to me and discharged by me. Of this 1800 mks., I receaved the formentioned day from him 200 mks., out of which I payed: Imprimis, to the Janitor for 4 books, vid., the English laws, Polidorus Virgilius, Zosimus and aliorum Historiae, and Vimesius Theses, etc., 16 shil. st. Given to my wife for sundry uses, 3 dollars. For wine and seck in the Janitor's, 50 shil. To my father's skild nurse by myselfe and my wife given, 2 dollars. For 2 elle and a quarter scarlet ribban fra James Dick, 24 shil. For this paper book wheiron I write thir compts., 6 pence. Given to my wife, 6 pence. For wine in Pentherers, 16 pence. Given to the poor, a 6 pence. Given to my wife for the use of the house and other things, 4 dollars. Given to Joseph for shaving me, a shiling. Given to my wife for sundry uses, 4 shilings. On win, 6 pence. Item, to my wife, 9 pence. For a quaire of paper, a leather bag, and sundry small things, 14 pence. Item, given to my wife for the use of the house, 7 dollars. This is 100 mks. laking on by halfe a dollar. Then given to my wife for divers uses, 2 dollars. For a pair of shoes, 3 shil. and 6 pence. Upon win at Leith with Mr. Wood, etc., 16 pence. Since on win and otherwayes, 8 pence. Item, given since on beir, in Leith, for a velvet cod,[651] etc., 10 pence. On the 20 of June, given to my wife for the use of the house, 7 dolars. Item, for another pair of shoes, 42 shiling. Item, for wine, 12 pence. Item, for tent to my wife, a mark. Item, for wine to the landlord when I payed him 100 lb., 10 pence. Item, for sundry other adoes, 45 shiling. On win. with Doctor Steinson, 13 pence. Given to my wife to give hir wobster,[652] 3 shilings. For more tent, a shiling. Item, a dollar as a part of 6 lb. payed by me of annuity, a dolar. Item, on the 1 of July, given to my wife for the use of the house, 6 dolars. Item, at a collation with Kilmundy, 40 shil. Given to my wife, halfe a dollar. At a collation with Mr. Pat. Lyon, 50 shiling. Item, on sundrie other uses, a dollar. This is the accompt of the saids 200 mks. [651] Pillow. [652] Weaver. Then on the 10 of June 1671, I received from the Provest, Sir A. Ramsay, 100 lb. Scots as a termes annuel rent of the principal soume of 5000 mks.,[653] addebted by him to me, vid., from Candlemas 1670 to Lammas 1670. Which 100 lb. I payed to James Wilsone, my landlord, in part of my house maill, which was 160 lb.,[654] so that I remaine yet debitor to him on that accompt in 60 lb., afterwards payed and all discharged. [653] Unpaid half of his wife's marriage portion. See page xli; 3 per cent., equal to 6 per cent. per annum. [654] House rent, £13, 6s. 8d. half-yearly. Then on the 15 of July, I receaved from my father 400 mks., which made up 600 mks., of the year 1671, received by me, out of which Imprimis, payed to my landlord to compleit his maill, 60 lb. Item, to his woman Nans, a dollar. Item, to William Borthwick, the apothecar, conforme to his accompt, 36 lb. Item, to William Mitchell, the Baker, conforme to his accompt, 26 lb. Item, to Rot. Mein, for sweteis, glasses, etc., conforme to his compt., 14 lb. Item, given to my man when he brought me my 12 lb. sterl. from Wm. Broun, the burrows agent, a dollar. Item, given to my wife, 2 dollars. Item, upon win with Guus Grein, 15 pence. Item, to my wife for the use of the house, on the 22 of July 1671, 9 dollars. Given to my wife when she went to Innerkeithing fair, 2 dollars. Item, given hir to pay the deing[655] of hir hangings, 4 dollars. Item, on the 4 of August, given to my wife to buy a goune and petticoat, and furniture, conforme, 100 lb. [655] Dyeing, I presume. And because the 400 mks. receaved last from my father did not reach so far as to compleit it, theirfor I took 10 dollars out of 200 mks. payed me in July by Wm. Broun, in name and be halfe of the borrows for my pension, 1670, and made up the 100 lb. I gave to my wife theirby. Item, farder payed out of the said 200 mks. of pension for 25 barrells of aile furnisht to the house from the midst of January till August, at 32 shil. the barrell, 12 dollars and a halfe.[656] [656] Here the dollar is equal to 5s. 4d. This is near ane accompt of one 100 mks. of the 200 m. payed to me in pension. Item, given to my wife, 3 dollars. Payed in R. Gilbert's when I was at Leith with the Lady Wauchton, a dollar. Item, payed for the coach hyre, a dollar. Item, given to my wife to help to buy black lace for hir goun, 2 dollars. Item, given hir to buy coalls with from Leith and elsewhere, 5 dolars. Item, in Painston's with Sir Andro, 27 shill. Item, given to my wife when she went to Waughton to sie hir sone, 2 dollars and a halfe. Item, in Painston's with Mr. Rot. Lauder and Rot. Bell for our supper, 38 shill. For 2 quaire of paper and ink, 18 pence. For ane 100 plumes, 8 pence. To Idington's Man when he come from Dundy with the cloath, 29 shil. To my man for sundrie depursements for me, 29 shil. To the woman Marion for buying meall to the house, a shilling. Item, in Peirson's with Rot. Bell, 27 shill. Item, for my dinner in Pentherer's with Rot. Bell, etc., 48 shill. Item, for a coach hyre out of Leith, 30 shiling. Item, to Grange's man, a shilling. Item, to my wife, halfe a dollar. Item, for a mutching of tent, a shilling. Item, given to the nurse to be compted in her fie, 2 dollars. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. This is the full accompt of the said 200 mks. Then about the 14 of August I receaved from my father 300 mks. which made with all the former 900 mks. of this year 1671. Out of which imprimis: Given to my wife to pay the making of her goune and other things, 4 dollars. In Painston's with Mr. Jo. Eleis, 29 shiling. To my wife, 50 shiling. For a choping of brandy, 14 pence. Item for a hat in Broun's, 7 shilings. Item, to my wife, a dollar. Item, to Grange's nurse, a dollar. Item, to the barber Henry Porrock, 6 pence. Item, to George Gairner, a mark. Item, to W'm Binning the thesaurer his nurse, a dollar. Item, to David Colyear, 36 shilling. Item, on the 5 of September given to my wife for the use of the house, ij dollars and a halfe. This is one 100 merks. Then on the same day given her farder for the same use, 11 dollars. Item, given hir, halfe a dollar. Item, for wax and soap, 7 pence. Payed to Henry Hope for ports of letters when I was in Holland, 5 lb. 10s. For the acts of parlia. in June 1649, 34s. For 6 dozen of gold strips to the hangings at 7s.[657] and 6 p. the dozen, 9 dollars. Upon seck, 5 pence. [657] Sterling. This is another 100 mks. Then given to my wife, a shilling. For a quaire of paper, 9 pence. At a collation with Hary Grahame, 36 pence. To John Scots nurse, a dollar. On win their, 26 shill. In the Lady Home's yeards,[658] 6 pence. Payed for my man's horsehire to Wauchton, 46 shill. Payed of sundry depursements to my man, 20 shilling. Given to George Gairner, a shilling. Given to my wife, 10 dollars. Item, on win with Walter Pringle, 35 shill. Item, for a pair of botts, 17 shilings and sixpence. To Alex'r Todrig's nurse, a dollar. For a quaire of paper, 9 pence. For rasing[659] me at 2 severall tymes, 18 pence. Given at Coldinghame kirk, a 6 pence. Given to the foot boy their, a 6 pence. Upon sundrie other uses neir, a dollar. Item, given to my wife, twa dolars. [658] Probably means gardens. [659] Shaving. This makes neir the other 100 mks. And in wholle it makes up the 300 mks. receaved from my father on the 14 of August last. Then on the 3 of Nov'r. I receaved other 300 mks. from him, which makes 1200 mks. of what I received of my annuity 1671, out of which, etc., etc.[660] [660] This account is omitted as of no interest. * * * * * On the 20 of february 1672 I receaved 300 mks. more from my father, which with the former made 1500 mks. of the 1800 mks. due to me of annuity from Lammes 1670 till Lambes last in 1671, out of which, etc., etc. * * * * * Then on the 17 of Aprill 1672 I farder receaved from my father other 300 mks., which being joined with all the former makes up 1800 mks., which is a full years annuity owing to me by my father, vid., from Lambes 1670 till Lambes last in anno 1671: wheiron I retired all my partiall discharges and gave him a full discharge of that year's annuity and of all preceiding Lambes 1671. Out of this last 300 mks. Imprimis, payed to Margaret Neilsone in part of 2 years fie owing hir (it being 23 lb. Scots by year)[661] at Whitsonday approching, 34 lb. So that their yet rests to hir of thesse 2 years fie 12 lb. Scots. Item, payed to Bailyie Drummond for the cloath of my wife's black goune, 46 lb. Item, for Auctores Linguæ Latinæ, vid., Warre, Isidorus, etc., 40 shiling. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Item, given hir to buy worsted stockings for me, 3 shillings. Given at a collation with Eleiston, 30 shilling. Item, for a quaire of paper, 9 pence. Given to my wife for the use of the house on the 27 of Aprill, 15 dollars. All which depursements make 200 mks. of the last 300 received from my father. [661] Women servants wages, nearly £2 sterling. Item, for the Covenanters Plea, a shilling. Given for a new quarter with the nurse hir bairne, 3 dollars and a halfe. For the Informations about the Firing of London, 6 pence. At a collation, 30 pence. For a quaire of paper, 8 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. At a collation with Wm. Aickman, 26 shil. Item, given to the nurse in part of hir fie, 4 dollars. Item, for G. Burnet's letter to Jus populi and for the Tragi comedy of Marciano, 9 pence. For a book against the commonly received tennents of witchcraft, 8 pence. Given to my wife, tua dollars. Given to my unckle Andrew in compleit payment of his meall, 9 dollars. Given for the Seasonable Case and the Survey of Naphthali, 50 pence. Given for Milton's Traity anent Marriages, 2 shillings. Item, upon win, 2 shillings. Item, for a pair of shoes, 40 pence. This is the accompt of the haill 300 mks. last received by me from my father on the 17 of Aprill 1672. Then on the 1 of June 1672 I receaved from Thomas Robertsone 350 lb. Scots: 200 lb. of it was a years interest of my 5000 mks. he hes in his bond, vid., from Lambes 1670 till Lambes 1671: the other 150 lb. was my pension fra the toune of Edr for the year 1672. Given out of the 300 mks. Imprimis, to my wife, 20 rix dollars. Item, for Petryes History of the Church, 15 shills. sterl. This is one 100 merks.[662] Item, for Taylor's Cases of Conscience or Ductor, etc., 22 shillings. Item, for Baker's Chronicle of England and Blunt's Animadversions on it, 20 shillings. Item, for Plinius 2dus his Epistles cum notis variorum, 6 shillings. Item, for Cromwell's Proclamations and other Acts of his Counsell from Septr. 1653 till Decr. 1654, 4 shillings. For a pair of silk stockings, ij shills: 6 p. Given to the nurse's husband, a dollar. Given for Tyrannick love and the Impertinents, tuo comoedies, 40 pence. Given for Reflections upon the Eloquence of this tyme, 18 pence. Given for the Mystery of Iniquity unvailled by G.B., 9 pence. Given for the accompt of the sea fight betuixt E. and D. in 1665,[663] and are answer of our Commissioners to England in 1647, 4 pence. Given for ane answer to Salmasius Def. Regia,. 7 pence. Item, for my dinner and other charges at Leith, the race day, 3 shillings stg. Given for Holland to be a halfe shirt, 5 shillings. Given to my wife for the house, a dollar. Given for the life of the Duck D'Espernon, 15 shillings. This is another 100 mks. [662] This makes the dollar about 4s. 9-1/2d. [663] English and Dutch. Item, given to my wife for the use of the house, 18 dollars. Item, at Halbert Gledstans woman's marriage, a dollar. Item, at the comoedy, halfe a dollar. Item, that night in Rot. Meins for wine, halfe a dollar. Item, in James Dean's the consecration day, 23 shillings. Item, payed to Jonet's nurse and hir husband,[664] For hir fie drink money, bounty and all, 24 dollars. which absorbed all the 300 mks. received by me from Thomas Robertsone as my annuel rent and put me to take 21 dollars out of the money given me in pension. Hence of the 150 lb. given me in pension I payed to the said nurse as already is got doune, 21 dolars. Item, given to my wife, 2 dollars. Item, given hir for the use of the house on the 1 of August 21 dollars. [664] Amount torn off. This is 128 lb. of the 150 receaved by me in pension, so that their remains with me 23 lb. of that money, out of which 23 lb. Imprimis on the first of September 1672 given the said haill 23 lb. to my wife for the use of the house. Then on the 24 of August I had received from Thomas Robertsone the other year's interest of my 5000 mks. in his hands (being 300 mks.) vid., from Lambes 1671 till Lambes immediately bypast in 1672. Out of which imprimis: Given to my wife the forsaid 1 of September for the use of the house, 5 dollars. [Item lent to Eleiston, 3 dollars.[665]] repayed. Item, at a collation with Pat. Waus, a dollar. Item, on the 16 of September 1672, given to the midwife, 6 dollars. Payed in annuity from Whitsonday 1671 till Whytsonday 1672 in 3 dollars and a halfe, 10 lb. and a groat.[666] Item, at a collation, a mark. For a letter from France, 14 pence. To my father's man, a mark. For paper, vid., a quaire, 8 pence. Item, given to Grissell Ramsay for the use of my house, a dollar. Item, given at Gosfoord, 20 shiling. Item, to St Germain's nurse, a dollar. Item, to Mr. James Fausyde's man, 30 shill. Item, for win at Cokeny, [665] Erased in MS. [666] Apparently the last groat coined in Scotland was the copper twelvepenny groat of Francis and Mary in 1558. James V. coined a silver groat in 1525 worth 18d Scots. The groat here is an English groat, which was worth 4d. This is more then one 100 mks. of the 300. Item, given to my wife on the 28 of Septr. 1672, for providing things to the christning, 22 dollars. Item, to Doctor Stevinson's nurse, a dollar. This is 200 mks. of the 300 received from T. Robertsone. Item, for registration of my daughter's name to Mr. Archbald Camron, a dollar. Item, to Thomas Crawfurd, kirk treasurer because not christned at sermon tyme, a dollar. To the kirk bedell, 42 shilling. For a letter from France, 14 pence. On win in Rot. Meins, a mark. For a coatch hyre to Ja. Dean's house, a shilling. For a pair of shoes, 3 shillings. Given in with a letter to Paris, a shilling. For a quaire of paper and for ink, 10 pence. For a mutching of seck with Mr. William Beaton, 9 pence. Item, on the 13 of October, given to my wife, 9 dollars and a mark. Item, for win., 10 pence. Item, given to Pitmedden's man, a mark. Item, to William Broun's man when he payed me my pension, a dollar. Item, on the 22 of October, given to my wife, 7 dollars. Item, on incident charges, a dollar. This is the 300 mks. of annuel rent received by me from Thomas Robertsone on the 24 of August last. Item, on the 22 of October 1672, I receaved from William Broun, agent for the borrows, 12 pounds sterling, being my pension as their assessor for the year 1671, of which: Imprimis, for a pair of shoes, 40 shiling. Item, in charity to Ja. Hog, 29 pence. Item, for 4 quare of paper, 30 pence. Item, for a letter from France, 14 pence. Item, at a collation in James Halyburton's, 50 shiling. To Robert Boumaker, a dollar. On coffee and other things, 16 pence. Item, given to my wife, two dollars. Item, given to my wife, dollars 21. So then their remains of the said 12 lb. st. given me by William Broun only 22 dollars. With the which 21 dollars given to my wife, she payed first to Rot. Mein, for confections, wine, etc., to the christening, 28 lb. Item, to William Mitchell for baken meit at the same tyme, 18 lb. Item, for sundrie other accompts, 15 lb. Which is the haill 21 dollars.[667] [667] This brings out the dollar at about 4s. 10d. Item, of the 22 dollars remaining to me of the foresaid money given me in pension, Imprimis, given to my wife for the use of the house on the 5 of November 1672, 14 dollars. Item, at a collation or on win in Grissel Ramsay's house, 2 shillings. Item, for seing the comedy called the Silent Woman, halfe a dollar. Item, at a collation after it, 14 pence. Item, on some other charges, 2 shillings. Item, at a collation, 35 shillings. Item, given on the 13 of Nov. to my wife for the use of the house, 6 dollars. This is all the 12 lb. of pension. Then at a consultation of the Toune of Edrs, I receaved 23 dollars, of which: Imprimis, given to my wife the tyme aforsaid, 2 dollars. Item, for sundry books, vid.: Barronius Annals compendized, 2 tomes,. \ Summa conciliorum, Tyrius Maximus, Danaei Antiquitates, | Benzonis Historia Americae, Demosthenis | 15 shillings Olynthiaca, | and 6 pence. Apulei opera omnia, Bucholzeri Chronologia, | S.G. M'Keinzies Plaidings, / Item, for myselfe and my wife at the comedy called Love and Honor, a dollar. Item, on win after I came home, 18 pence. Item, given to my wife for the use of the house on the 20 of November, 16 dollars. Item, upon win at sundry times, 40 shiling. This is the haill 23 dollars. Item,[668] at sundrie consultations, vid., on of George Homes, 4 dollars; on of Henry Lindsay's for the Laird of Guthry, 4 dollars. Item, from James Gibsone, 2 dollars; on of Mr. P. Hamilton of Dalserfes, 4 dollars; from Mr. Alex. Seaton in name of my Lord Winton, 10 dollars. Item, at a consultation with the toune of Edr., 10 dollars, making in all 34 dolars, wheirof upon sundry occasions which do not now occurre, I spent 8 dollars long ago. So then their remains 26 dollars, out of which Imprimis: [668] Example of counsel's fees. Given or lent to Margaret Ramsay at the hilhead, 3 dollars. Given in charity to on Anna Gordon upon hir testificats, a shilling. Item, at Jo. Meggets relicts brithle, a dollar. Item, at collations since, a dollar. Item, upon other affairs, tuo dollars. For seing the comedy called the Siege of Granada, 2d part, for my selfe, my wife, and Grissell Ramsay, a dollar and a halfe. Item, to the bassin at the church door, halfe a dollar. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Given to G. Patersone, the wright, his woman or nurse, a dollar. Item, at a collation with Charl. Oliphant about Touch, 24 pence. Item, at the comoedy, being the first part of Granada's seige, for my selfe, my wife, Rachel, and Grissell Ramsayes, 2 dollars. Item, given to my wife for the use of the house, 8 dollars. Item, for the acts of parlia., session 1672, etc., 30 shiling. Item, for binding Hadington's Praitiques, 42 shilling. For a quaire of paper, 6 pence. Item, upon other uses, 40 shilling. Item, to my wife, 2 dollars. This is the accompt of the haill 26 dollars. Item, receaved at 2 sundry consultations 6 dollars, out of which: Imprimis, given to my wife, 2 dollars. Item, on win at Aberdour, a mark. Item, for sieng the house and yairds of Dunybirsell, a mark. To G. Kirkcaldie's servante, a dollar. To my wife, halfe a croun. For the New art of wying vanity against Mr. G. Sinclar, 15 pence. Item, to my wife for the use of the house on the last of Decr. 1672, 8 dollars. Which was out of other money I had besyde me, which 8 dollars with what I gave formerly makes up 14 dollars and 3 shillings sterl. of the money due to hir for the moneth of January 1673. Item, again to my wife, a dollar and 4 merks. Item, given hir, 2 merks. As also given to hir, two dollars. Item, given to hir again, a dollar. Item, given hir, thrie dollars and 2 shillings. Item, given hir, 2 dollars. Then on the 19 of february 1673, I receaved from Rot. Govan, gairdner, 20 lb. in payment of his tack duety for all termes preceiding Martinmas 1672, out of which Imprimis: Payed for my selfe and Mr. John Wood for seing the comoedy called Sir Martin Mar-all, a dollar. Item, to my wife, 3 dollars. Given in with the trades bill, a dollar. Item, at a collation, l6 pence. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Item, waired upon sundrie things, 40 shil. This is the accompt of the 20 lb. Then upon the 5't day of March 1673 I receaved from my father 400 merks, the first monie I lifted furth of the annuity payable to me from Lambes 1671 till Lambes 1672 last bypast: all preceiding Lambes 1671 being payed to me by my father as I have already marked, out of which: Imprimis, given to my wife, 23 dollars. to pay hir ale compt which was 9 dollars: hir baxter compt, 5 dollars, hir wobster, 2 dollars; hir coalman, 3 dollars. Hir nurse for the bairne Jonets quarter, 4 dollars.[669] Item, given my wife for the use of the house during this moneth of March, 10 dollars. Item, for a pair of gloves, halfe a dollar. Item, at a collation and on other uses, 3 shilings. Item, spent upon the race day, 3 shillings. Item, at a collation, 26 shiling. Item, sent to Calderwood's man's wedding, a dollar. Item, at a collation in Heriot's yards, 18 pence. Item, for seck with A. Todrigde, ij pence. To the Lady Pitmedden's nurse, a dollar. Item, in Ja. Haliburton's, tua merks. Item, to a poor woman, a mark. Item, for a quair of paper, 6 pence. Item, to the barber, 6 pence. Item, to the kirk basin, 6 pence. Item, given to my wife, a dollar and a halfe. Item, given hir, tua dollars and 2 mark. Item, spent in Ja. Haliburton's, 2 marks. Given to my wife, tua dollars. Given to the barber, a 6 pence. Given for a timber comb, 8 pence. Given on other uses, 8 pence. Item, in the taverne, 20 pence. Item, to my wife,. 20 pence. Item, on the 1 of April given to my wife for the use of the house that moneth, 12 dollars. Upon win at sundry tymes, 40 shilling. Item, to the barber, 6 pence. Upon other uses, 9 pence. Item to the kirk deacon for a year's contribution 2 dollars. [669] Wages of a nurse sixteen dollars, or about £4 yearly, double the wages of an ordinary woman servant. [Sidenote: [This money is repayed me.][670]] [Item, payed out for my Lord Provest's use and by his vreits[670] a hundred merks and 8 dollars to Marie Hamilton in pairt of payment of the right she had upon Popill][671] which being joyned with the former makes up exactly the haill 400 mks. receaved by me from my father on the 5't of March last. [Sidenote: [Which money is yet owing me.][671]] [670] Writs. [671] Erased in MS. Then out of 4 dollars receaved in a consultation, I gave first To the maid at Dudingstone, a mark. To the kirk broad their, a mark. Item, to Rot. Craw, a shilling. Item, for confections at Bervick, 2 shillings. Item, to Idington's man, a mark. Item, at Pople for shoing the horse, item at Auldcambus for brandy to the Dutchmen, a shilling. Item, to a barber at Hadinton, 6 pence. Item, given to my wife, 31 shiling. Item, to the kirk broads, a shilling. Item, given to my wife, 2 shillings. Item, spent at Leith and else wheir, 50 shilling. In the beginning of May 1673, my father and I having made our accompts he was debitor to me in the soume of 1400 merks as resting of 1800 mks. of my annuity from Lambes 1671 till Lambes 1672 (for on the 5 of March last I got from him 400 mks. of the 1800, hence rested only 1400 mks. of that years annuity) and I was found resting to him the soume of 40 pounds sterling or 720 merks[672] as tuo years maill of my dwelling-house[673] videlizet-from Witsonday 1671 (at which I entered to it) till Whitsonday nixt approaching 1673, which being deducted and retained by my father in his oun hand, of the 1400 mks. their remained 680 merks; wheirof I receaved at the said tyme from my father 380 merks in money, wheirupon their rested to me behind of my annuity preceiding Lambes 1672 just 300 mks: and I gave my father a discharge of the said 720 mks. of house maill, and of the said 380 mks. receaved by me in money, making togithir ij00 mks, which with the preceiding 400 mks. gotten by me on the 5 of March last makes up 1500 merks in all. [672] This is normal. £1 equal to eighteen marks. [673] His house rent was £20 a year. Out of this 380 mks. receaved from my father on the 8 of May 1673, Imprimis, given to my wife for paying hir meal and hir children's quarters, etc., 6 dollars. Item, for 2 quaire of paper, 18 pence. Item, for my decreit and charging Rot. Johnston, 18 pence. Item, on other uses, tua shillings. Item, on win with Mr. Pat. Hamilton, a shilling. Given to my wife on the 10 of May for the use of the house, ij dollars. Which making up 18 dollars and more compleit the 80 merks, so their remains 300 mks. behind, out of which imprimis: In Haliburton's with Sam. Cheisley, 40 shiling. Item, to the kirk broad at Dudiston, 6 pence. Item, to the barber, halfe a mark. Item, in Masterton's with G. Gibson, 31 shilling. Item, to Will. Sutherland, a mark. For G. Burnet's reply and conferences, 3 shillings. To Mr. Mathew Ramsay's nurse, a dollar. For a pint of win their, 24 shilings. For copieng a paper, 40 shiling. Item, for mum and walnuts, 9 pence. Item, at the kirk door, 6 pence. Item, for win and sugar, 7 pence. Given to my wife for furniture to my cloaths and hir oune goune, 5 dollars. Item, in Haliburton's for mum, 22 shiling. Item, upon seck, 9 shiling. Item, in James Haliburton's, 18 pence. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Item, at the kirk door and on other uses, 13 pence. Item, to Jo. Steinsone, gairdner, 14 pence. Item, to my wife to be given to hir washer and other uses, 2 dollars. Item, to Lancelot Ker for copieng a book to me first, a dollar. Item, given to my wife, 6 dollars. Upon other use I remember not, 2 dolars. This is on 100 mks. Item, on coffee, the poor and other uses, 3 shillings. Item, given to my wife to pay hir servants fies on the 31 of May 1673, ij dollars. [Lent to Mr. Jo. W.][674] repayed me [3 dollars.][674] Item, upon mum, 12 pence. Item, for the provests last act, to Jo. Trotter in his Improbation, 30 shilling. For a quaire of paper, 9 pence. Given to my wife on the 4 of June, 1673, 5 dollars. In James Haliburton's, 14 pence. Payed for 2 pair of shoes, 6 shillings and a groat. On a quaire of paper and other uses, a mark. [674] Erased in MS. This is near another 100 merks. Item, given to my wife on the 9 day of June 1673, 6 dollars. To Joseph the barber, a shilling. Item, in Ja. Haliburton's, 18 pence. Item, for a timber chair, 18 pence. Item, on Leith on the race day, 3 shillings. Item, at the kirk door, 6 pence. For the post of a letter from my goodbrother, 14 pence. Item, in Maistertons with young Idington when he went away, 32 shiling. At dinner in Haliburton's, 20 pence. Item, to the barber, 6 pence. Item, upon other uses, 6 pence. Item, to my father's woman who keips the child George, given by myself and my wife, 2 dollars. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Payed to the coallman, 10 lb.[675] Item, upon paper and ink, 10 pence. Item, in Ja. Haliburtons, 10 pence. Item, given to my wife for buying a scarfe, hood, 10 pence. fan, gloves, shoes, linnen for bands, etc., 7 dollars. [675] This is one of the few instances in which an item of expenditure is stated in pounds. This is another 100 merks. And which compleits the haill 380 merks receaved from my father on the 8 of may 1673. Upon the 20 of June 1673 I receaved from William Binning a years salarie as tounes assessor which he was owing me for the year 1671 wheirin he was tresurer, being 150 lb. Scots, which is about 229 merks, out of which: Imprimis, for a pair of net leather shoes, 3 shillings. Item, in Painston's with Mr. Todridge, 48 shill. Item, given to my wife partly to pay Margaret Neilsons fie and partly for other uses, 3 dollars. For a triple letter its post for Rome, 15 pence. Item, for seing the play called the Spanish Curate, halfe a dollar. Item, for cherries to Kate Chancellor their, halfe a dollar. Item, theirafter in Aikman's, 14 pence. Item, at the kirk door, halfe a mark. Item, spent when I was at Liberton kirk, 2 shillings. Item, for Thomas the Rymer's Prophecies, 4 pence. For the Lords answer in Fairlies case, a dollar. Item, given to my wife to compleit Margaret Neilsons fie during the haill tyme of hir service besides what was payed hir formerly, 6 dollars and a mark. Given to my wife for sundry uses, 10 dollars. To my sone John's nurse, 10 merks. Item, to buy paper etc. to him who copied me Mckeinzies Criminals, 29 shiling. Item, payed at sundrie tymes in the taverne, 30 pence. Item, for a dozen of silver spoons wying tuo onces the peice in all 24 onces at 5 shillings and 6 pence per once, making each spoon to be ellevin shillings sterling,[676] 47 lb. for I gave them in exchange 6 old silver spoons, which fell short of 6 new ons in 10 shillings sterl. upon the want of weight, and the accompt of the workmanship, so they stood me in all as I said before 47 pounds Scots. Item, payed to the ailman for are accompt of aill furnished, 24 lb. [676] Price of silver. This makes near the 150 lb. receaved from Bailzie Binnie. Item, in the end of June 1673 1 receaved from William Broun, agent for the borrows, in their name and behalfe, my pension of 12 lb. sterl., being for the year praeceiding Whitsonday 1673; out of which: Imprimis, given to my man when he brought it to me, a dollar. Item, to the barber, a 6 pence. To the kirk broad, halfe a mark. Item, on coffee, 3 pence. Item, for Reusneri Symbola Imperatoria to the Janitor, 18 pence. Item, to him for the particular carts[677] of Lothian, Fyffe, Orknay and Shetland, Murray, Cathanes, and Sutherland, at 10 p. the peice, 3 pound. Item, at Pitmeddens woman's marriage, given by my selfe and my wife, 2 dollars and a shil. Item, on halfe a dozen of acornie[678] spoons, 2 shillings. Item, payed to Adam Scot for a mulct in being absent from a meiting of the advocats, 28 shiling. Item, payed to Edward Gilespie for my seat maill[679] from Whitsonday 1672 to Whitsonday 1673, 12 lb. Item, to the copier of Mckeinzies Criminalls, a mark. Item, to the barber, halfe a mark. To the kirk basin, halfe a mark. Given to my wife, a mark. Item, on brandee, 3 shilling. Given to M'ris Mawer in charity, 29 shiling. Item, payed in Pat Steills, a mark. Item, on the 15 of July 1673 given to my wife, 10 rix dollars. Upon win in Rot. Bell's house, 2 shillings. Item, at the Presidents man's penny brithell, a dollar and a 6 pence. In H. Gourlay's with D. Stevinson, 38 shiling. [Given to my wife to buy me a pair of worsted stockings, 4 shillings.][680] Item to the barber, a 6 pence. Item, Tom Gairdner for bringing cheerries from Abbotshall, a shiling. To the kirk broad, 6 pence. Item, for mounting my suit of cloaths with callico, buttons, pockets, etc., 3 dollars. Item, to the taylor for making them, a dollar. Item, to Walter Cunyghame for keiping our gounes, a dollar. Item, upon cherries, 6 pence. Item, in Painstons, a shilling. Item, to the copier of Mckeinzies Criminalls, 2 mark. Item, for seing the Maidens tragaedy for my selfe and Mr. William Ramsay,[681] a dollar. At the kirk door, 6 pence. To the barber, halfe a mark. In Aickmans after the comedy, a mark. In Ja. Haliburtons, a mark. Item, at a collation also their, 28 shiling. Item, at collations theirafter, 7 shillings st. Upon the 1 of August 1673 given to my wife for the use of the house that moneth, 18 dollars and a halfe. [677] Price of maps. [678] This word, distinctly written, looks at first like acomie, but is no doubt the word acornie (French, _acorné_, horned), which Jamieson defines as a substantive, meaning 'apparently a drinking vessel with ears or handles.' He quotes from _Depredations on the Clan Campbell_, p. 80: '_Item_, a silver cup with silver acornie, and horn spoons and trenchers.' It seems more probable that the word in both passages is an adjective, applicable to spoons, and descriptive of the pattern. [679] Seat rent in church. [680] Erased in MS. [681] Price of theatre. Which makes up the full 12 lb. sterling received by me from the borrows. The nixt money I brok was some given me in consultation this summer session, or in payment ather by the gairdner or Rot. Johnston, who had the loft,[682] Mr. Jo. Wood or other, making in all as I have every particular set doune in writing beside me about 280 merks and upwards, out of which Imprimis the said 1 of August given farder to my wife for the use of the house, 4 dolars. Item, to Samuel Colvill for his Grand Impostor discovered, 3 dollars. Item, to him who brought home my session goune, a mark. To Rot. Meins man when he brought me the confections the nixt day after the tounes cherry feast to the exchequer, 15 pence. For the new help to discourse, 20 pence. To the barber, halfe a mark. To the kirk basin, halfe a mark. For 2 quaire of paper, 14 pence. For 4 quaire of great paper for copieng the statutes of the toune of Edr. theiron, 32 shilling. To Grange[683] his man, a mark. To the barber, 6 pence. To the kirk bason, 6 pence. To Will Sutherland, a mark. Given to my wife, a shilling. Upon win with Rot. Hamilton the clerk, a mark. For Evelins Publick employment against Mckeinzies Solitude, 9 pence. Spent in Arthur Somervells, a mark. Spent in Ja. Haliburtons on night, 2 mark. For carieng a book to Hamilton, 6 pence. To the barber, 6 pence. For a quaire of paper, 9 pence. To the kirk basin, 6 pence. For a double letter from my good-brother Sir Androw R., 28 shilings. To my nurse when she came to sie me on the 20 of August 1673, a dollar. Item, given to my man, a mark. Item, upon sundry other uses not weill remembred by me because small, 29 shil. To the barber, 6 pence. Upon seck with Mr. Innes my Lo. Lyons clerk for Granges armes, 13 pence. Upon pears and plumes, 5 pence. To the kirk bason, 6 pence. Item, upon seck, 8 pence. Item, in Mary Peirs's with Stow and John Joussie, 27 shiling. [682] Parts of his house sublet. [683] William Dick of Grange, son of William Dick, a younger son of Sir William Dick of Braid. His grand-daughter and heiress, Isobel Dick, was married to Sir Andrew Lauder, Fountainhall's grandson and successor. [After this portion of the MS. only selections have been made.] For the Gentleman's calling, a shilling. For the Guide to Gentlewomen, 2 mark. For the colledge of fools, 4 pence. Item, for a letter from Sir Androw R. from Paris, 14 pence. For Donning's Vindication of England against the Hollanders, 16 pence. For le tombeau des controverses, 7 pence. For 4 comoedies, viz. Love in a Nunnery, Marriage a la mode, Epsom Wells, and Mcbeth's tragedie at 16 p. the peice, 5 shils. and a groat. Upon morning drinks for sundry dayes, 6 pence. To Joseph Chamberlayne for trimming my hair, 6 pence. To Thomas Broun for Howell's Familiar letters, 5 shilings stg. For every man his oun doctor, 2 shillings. For the journall of the war with Holland in 1672, 2 shillings. For the Mercury Gallant, 2 shillings. For the Rehearsall transprosd, 18 pence. For the Transproser rehears't, 18 pence. On morning drinks and other uses, a mark. For Stubs Non justification of the present war with Holland, 4 marks. For the Present State of Holland, 34 shiling. For halfe a mutskin of malaga with Pat. Wause, 6 pence. To Samuell Borthwick for letting blood of my wife, 3 mark. To Ja. Borthwick's other prentise that was with him, a mark. For a mutskin of sack in Ja. Deans at the Cannogate foot, 14 pence. I had receaved from Thomas Robertsone thesaurer to the good toune on the 21 of August 1673 first 12 Ib. sterling for a years pension due to me by the toune from Lambes 1672 till Lambes 1673: as also I got at the same tyme ane years annuel rent of the principall soume of 5000 merks he is owing me by bond being from Lambes 1672 till Lambes last 1673, which was only 263 merks, because he retained 37 mks. and a halfe or 25 Ib. Scots of the ordinar annuelrent of 6 per cent. for 3 quarters of a year, vid., from Mertinmas 1672 till Lambes last 1673, conforme to the act of parlia. made in 1672,[684] and first out of the said 12 lb. sterling (being 220/219 merks) of pension given: [684] See note, p. 273. Imprimis to Granges man when he brought over the apples and pears, a mark. Item, on the 10 of October 1673 to my wife to buy hir great chimley with over and above hir old one, which she gave them in, 8 dollars. In Guynes with Mr. Wood, Mr. C. Lumsdean, and others, 20 pence. For taking out the extract of Granges blazoning, first to the Lyon himselfe, [10 merks.][685] this is repayed me. Then to Mr. Rot. Innes his clerk, [6 merks.][685] this also. To Wil. Sutherland when he went to Grange with his patent of his bearing, a mark. At dinner in Ja. Haliburtons with Mr. Gray the converted papist, 22 shiling. At Jo. Mitchells with Mr. Pollock the merchand and Mr. Gilbert, 52 shiling. To J. Mitchell's man who lighted me home, 3 pence. Given to Wm Sim for copieng to me the compend of the Statutes of Edenbrugh being. 6 rix dollars. just 5 quaire of paper, which 6 rix dollars makes just 3 pence the sheit; its only a shilling lesse. [685] Erased in MS. Item for a mutsking of sack with Mr. Garshoires, a shilling. In Mr. Rot. Lauder's when we saw his wife, a dollar. To my man Androw Bell to buy a bible and a knife with to himselfe, a rix dolar. On the 10 of Nov'r, the day the comissioner came in, spent with Mr. Thomas Patersone, 52 shiling. On the ij of Nov'r given to my wife more then hir monethes silver to perfit the price of hir black fringes to hir goune, which stood hir 36 lb., tua dollars. For Temple's Observations, 35 shiling. To the parsone of Dyserts woman when she brought over the ham, a mark. At Mr. David Dinmuires woman's brithell, a dollar and a groat. For Quean Margaret of France hir Memorialls, 16 pence. For a black muff to my wife, ij shillings. For buttons to my shag coat, 29 shiling. For the kings letter to the parl. of Scotland, 2 pence. Casten in at my servant John Nasmith's wedding on the 5 of Dec'r, 5 rix dolars. Item, to the music, a mark. Given to my wife to cast in, 3 rix dolars. Given in charity to on Christian Cranston, a dollar. Item, given to my wife, a dollar. Item, on the 8 of Dec'r given hir, 5 dollars. Item, in this money their was a dollar of ill money. The nixt money I brok upon was 52 dollars (wheirof 31 of them ware legs[686]), which I had receaved at sundrie tymes from severall parties in consultation money, conforme to a particular accompt of their receipt besyde me. [686] See Introduction, Money. Out of which payed Imprimis to Mr. Ja. Hendersone for Ja. Sinclar of Roslin in the begining of Dec'r 1673 to compleit the payment of the bill drawen by Sir Androw Ramsay upon me of 789 lb. 4 shillings Scots money conforme to Roslin's receipt of the haill bill. 185 mks. in 42 legged dollars,[687] so that their remains behind of that consultation money receaved by me before December 1673 about 9 rix dollars and some more, out of which For Loydes Warning to a careles world from T. Broun, 15 pence. For seing Marriage a la mode acted, for my selfe and Mr. J. Wood, a leg dollar. For M.A. Antoninus his Meditations on himselfe, 30 pence. The nixt money I made use of was 32 lb. Scots in ij rix dollars[688] receaved by me from George Patersone the wright for his house maill before Whitsonday last 1673, the other aught lb. of the 40 lb. being allowed to him in ane accompt of work. [687] This works out at about 4s. 10 3/4 d. for each leg dollar. [688] Dollar 58 2/11d. To on Lilias Darling in charity, 12 pence. Given to my wife on the 3 of Januar 1674, 6 merks. Payed in Ja. Haliburtons with Mr. Gabriell Semple, 21 shiling. Item, on the 5 of January 1674 to give in hansell being hansell Monday, 21 marks. Item, with Mr. Robert Lauder, clerk at Dumfries, 25 shiling. To Mr. Peirsone for writing the Observes out of the old books of parl. secret councell and sederunt, 4 merks. To criple Robin, a 6 pence. To him who copied Mckeinzies Criminalls 1 tome in compleat payment to him, 2 merks. Item, for a book anent the education of young gentlemen, 33 shiling. In Sandy Bryson's, 9 pence. To the contribution for the prisoners amongs the Turks, a mark. To Will Sutherland, 7 pence. Given to Walter Cunyghame for keiping our gounes, a dollar. Given to my wife on the 23 of february 1674, the 50 mk. in ij dollars and a halfe. For Lucas speech, the votes and adresses of the house of commons and the relation of the engagements of the fleets in 1673, 14 pence. To Thomas Broun for Parkers Reprooff to the Rehearsall transp., 6 shillings stg. To him for the Rehearsall transprosed. 2d part, 28 shilling. On mum with Mr. R. Forrest, 21 pence. Upon sweities, 4 pence. On win at Rot. Gilbert's bairnes christning, 24 pence. For Fergusone against Parker about Grace and morall vertue, 32 shilings. For the Art of complaisance, 16 shil. For the Articles of Peace, 2 shil. Item, with Mr. Rot. Wemyss, 12 shiling. To the Kirk Deacon for a yeirs contribution in March 1674, 2 rix dollars. Spent with Mr. William Ramsay, 5 pence. For the Proclamations against duells, and that about the E. of Loudon's annuity, and upon sundrie other uses, a mark. With Muire of Park, 9 pence. Given to hir, my wife, to give to Arthur Temple ane English croun which belonged to Mr. John Wood. To my wife to buy a petticoat of cesunt[689] taffety, 4 dollars. For Gudelinus and Zoesius deffendis, 29 pence. Upon win with Mr. Mathew Ramsay, a mark. Given to my wife on the 13 of April 1674, 13 Ib. 10 sh. [689] Query, 'seasoned.' To my wife to help to buy hir cow, for which she gave 20 Ib. Scots,[690] and which 13 Ib. 10s. Scots just compleited and exhausted the 450, 13 Ib. 10 shil. merks receaved by me from my father on the 20 of februar last 1674. As for the other 6 Ib. 10 shillings that rested to perfit the price of the cow, I gave that out of the other money I had besyde me. [690] Price of a cow. A dollar and a halfe that was owing me by Rot. Craw, and was repayed by him to me, was given to my wife to buy lyning for my new black cloath breatches. Payed for 4 limons, 16 pence. For the pamphlet called the Spirit of the Hat, 6 pence. In drinkmoney for making my new cloaths, a mark. Given to my wife, tua dollars. Given to hir to pay for linnen bed sheits bought by hir, a dollar. Given in the contribution anent the burnt houses, a dollar. For the book of rates of the custome house of Rome, 8 pence. The nixt money I made use of was 6 dollars given me in consultation by the toune Threasurer of Edr., on the 23 of Aprill 1674, when we consulted with my Lord Advocat about the rebuilding of brunt and ruinous houses with stone. Out of which For a discourse by L'Estrange upon the Fischery, 6 pence. Of boull maill, 6 pence. For my dinner on sunday with Mr. Wm. Patersone in Guines, 2 shillings. Au commencement du mois de May j'avois cent marks d'argent en vingt et trois thalers Imperiaux deposez chez moi par Monsieur Le Bois quand il alloit hors cette ville-cy, a fin les lui rendre a son retour [je les rendu.][691] De cette monnoye je pris premierement. [691] Interlined. For a sword belt, 22 pence. To Jo. Nasmith for morning drinks, etc., 15 pence. Of boull maill, 6 pence. In W. Cunyghames at the Linktoun of Abbotshall, a groat. To my Lord Abbotshall, and given by him to Tom Gairdner, 6 pence. For a quart of win in Mr. George Ogilbies of Kirkcaldy, 40 pence. To David Colyear, a groat.[692] With Mr. Lundy, Minister at Dysert, and others, 33 shill. To the beggers, 3 pence. To Tom Gairdner, a groat. To George Gairdner, 6 pence. For 2 oranges, a groat. For Lentuli Dubia Decisa, a dollar. To the beggers at sundry tymes, 6 pence. With Androw Young, halfe a mark. With Rot. Campbell, apothecar., 6 pence. To Hary Wood, Mr. W.R.'s man, 20 pence. With Mr. Wm. Ramsay in James Haliburtons, 12 pence. For my part of the dinner on Sunday at the West Kirk, 16 pence. For a horne comb, 6 pence. For Andrews morning drinks 19 dayes and some other things, 25 pence. To Comisar Aikenhead's masons, a shilling. [692] See note, p. 255. Woila comment je depencay ces cent marks pour quelles je demeure debtour an Monsieur Le Bois.[693] [693] In margin: Cette monnoye lui est payé comment il apparoistra cy dessous. Then on the 13 of June 1674 my father and I compted, and we found I had receaved all my annuities due præceeding Martinmas 1672, and that the last money I got was 450 merks on the 20 of february last 1674, and which compleited that quarter of my annuity which ran from Lambes 1672 till the Martinmas theirafter; then we considered that I was owing him ane years rent and maill of my house, viz. 20 pounds sterling from Whitsonday 1673 till Whitsonday last past in 1674 (all the former years maill being payed to him, as is marked supra). Then we proposed the deduction of on of 6 of the annuel rents imposed by the act of parliament made in 1672[694] for the space of a year, viz., from Mertinmas 1672 till Mertinmas 1673, which tuo particulars of the maill and the retention being deducted, viz., 20 lb. sterling for a years maill being 240 lb. Scots or 360 merks being allowed my father and 150 merks being retained by him as the deduction due off 900 merks, which is the halfe years annuity from Mertinmas 1672 till Whitsonday 1673, which tuo particulars makes 510 merks of my 900 merks; wheirupon their rested to be given me of the said 900 merks 390 merks, which soume I only receaved the forsaid 13 day of June in money and gave my father a discharge of the haill 900 merks due to me by him as half a years annuity from Mertinmas 1672 till Whitsonday 1673, bearing alwayes that deduction was given him conforme to the act 1672, and in regard he seimed unwilling to give me any discharge in writing of my house maill to be in my custody, he shewed me in his minute book of receipt that he had marked he had such a day got payed him by me 240 lb. Scots as a year maill of my house fra Whitsonday 1673 till Whitsonday 1674, as also in another place wheir he hes written doun the receipt from me of 480 lb. Scots as being 2 years maill of my house, viz. from Whitsonday 1671, which was my entry, till Whitsonday 1673; and which memorandum is all I have for a discharge to show my payment: only he affirmed their was no hazard in regard he was to name me on of his executors with the rest of my brothers. But in regard thesse 3 years I had possest I had never given him in any accompt of my debursements on the said house, in glasse windows, broads or others, he ordered me to give him in the compt theirof that he might pay it me. [694] In granting a supply of 864,000 lbs. Scots to Charles II., assessed on the land rent according to the valuations, the Parliament, 'considering it just that personall estates of money should beir some proportion of the burden,' enacted 'that every debtor owing money in the kingdom' should for one year, in payment of their annual-rents (interest) for that year 'have reduction in their own hands of one sixt pairt thereof,' and pay only the other five parts. The legal rate of interest was six per cent. To my wife, a dollar. Given also to hir on the 18 of June 1674 to buy a suite of french stripped hangings with, which stood 10 pounds sterling in pairt of payment of the same, 6 lb. sterling, 6 lb. sterl. or 110 mks. At the well besyde Comiston, 24 pence. For my horse hyre to Bervick, ij shill. ster. To Mr. Duncan Forbes for doubling[695] my Lord Hadington's reduction of Athelstanford, halfe a dollar. Given to Comisar Monro for reading the bill about the minister of Athelstanford's pershuit, a dollar. For the post of a letter from S.A.R. of Waughton, 10 pence. To Ja. Broun's lad for brushing my hat, 40 pennies. Given in with Knocks bill to the Lo.s of Thesaury for seing Skelmurlyes signator, a dollar. To the woman who keiped my niece Mary Campbell, a dollar. For raising and signeting the summonds of reduction in my Lord Abotshall's name, against the minister of Athelstanford, a dollar and a halfe. Spent with James Carnegie, 21 pence. With Mr. Wm. Morray and others, 20 pence. For black mourning gloves, 28 pence. Given to my wife, a dollar. Given hir to pay the harne[696] with which she lined hir hangings and for threid and cords to them, 6 rix dollars. With Walter Pringle, a mark. For a triple letter from S.A.R., 15 pence. With Ja. Inglis and others, 4 pence. With Mr. John Eleis, 16 pence. [695] Copying. [696] Coarse cloth. Item, on the 10 of Julie 1674, payé a Monsieur Le Bois treize thalers Imperiales in compleit payment de ces cent marks, this being joyned to the dix thalers payé à lui in the beginning of June last, 13 dollars. Given to David Coilzear when he went out to the Rendevous of the Eist Lothian militia regiment to defray his charge their, halfe a croun. At a collation with Sir David Falconer when I informed him anent the reduction against the minister of Athelstaneford, 4 lb. 4 shilling. Given to my wife to pay for 40 load of coalls at 10 p. the load, and for other uses, 8 dollars. For Ziegleri dissertationes de læsione ultra dimid. de jure clavium, etc., 32 pence. To Comisar Monro for calling and marking the reduction against the minister of Athelstainfurd on the 22 of July 1674, a dollar. Item, the same day given to him for reading a bill desiring our reduction might be considered and tane in presently and to stop the said minister's report in the menu tyme, a dollar. Item, on the 23 of July 1674, given by my wife and my selfe, at Mary Scot, my fathers serving woman, hir pennie wedding, 2 dollars. Item, to the fidlers, 6 pence. The nixt money I spent was some 7 dollars given me in 3 sundrie consultations as is marked besyde me in a paper apart. With Merchinston at Dairymilnes, 2 shilings. For the Empresse of Morocco, 18 pence. For Shutles[697] Observations upon the said farce revised against Dryden, 18 pence. At Arthur Somervells, 10 pence. Le 29 de Juillet 1674, je empruntée de Monsieur le Bois cent marques en vingt et trois thalers Imperiaux de quoy premierement. [697] Settle's. See p. 288. Donneé to William Stevinson, merchand, for compleiting to him the price of my French hangings which my wife bought from him at 10 lb. sterling, and wheirof he receaved 6 lb. st. before on the 18 of June, as is marked. I say payed to him, 4 lb. sterling. For my dinner on a sunday, 15 pence. Spent at the fountaine, 20 pence. Item, spent at Tom Hayes and elsewheir by my selfe, 16 pence. On the 15 of August given to my wife to pay of hir women Jonet Nicolsones fee when she went away from hir, 6 dolars. For Sir David Lindsayes poems, 7 pence. For the Baron D'Isola his Buckler of state and justice, 28 pence. For the Interest of the United Provinces being a defence of the Zeelander choice rather to be under England then France, 20 pence. Item, given in of the change of that 300 lb. sent me in from Patrick Lesly of my Lord Abbotshalls rents, 2 pence. To the penny wedding at Gogar, 29 pence. On 3 botles of botle ale, 9 pence. On the 31 of August 1674 given to Joan Chalmers the midwife when my wife was brought to bed of hir 4 child and 2'd sone, 6 rix dollars. To David Coilzear for to put tuo shoes on the horse, a mark. 5 Septembre 1674 donnée et payé à Henry le Bois an nom et sur le epistre de Monsieur Jean Du Bois, son frere dix thalers Imperiaux et dequoy ledit Hendry on'a donné une quitance, 10 rix dollars. On the 17 of September 1674 payed to Mr. Archbald Camron for registrating my sone Androws name with some of the witnesses, a dollar. On the 18 of Septr. payed for a new razor, 2 shillings. Payed to Thomas Wilsone kirk thresurer because my sone was not baptised the tyme of sermon, a rix dollar. Payed for a collation I gave to S.G. Lockhart, W. Murray, W. Pringle, etc., 8 lb. ij shill. Scots. Item, payed to Edward Gilespie for a years maill of my seat in the church, viz., from Whitsonday 1673 till Whitsonday last, and got his discharge of it, 12 lb. Scots. The nixt money I made use of was 287 merks I receaved on the 28 of September 1674 from Thomas Robertsone, being a years annuel rent of the principall summe of 5000 mks. owing by the said Thomas to me by bond, viz., from Lambes 1673 till Lambes last 1674 (which interest is indeed at 6 per cent. 300 merks), but in regard by the act of parliament 1672 their was deduction of on of 6 to be allowed for the quarter from Lambes to Martinmas 1673, theirfor 13 merks was abated of the full annuel rent upon the said accompt, and I receaved only the forsaid 287 mks. and discharged him of a years annuel rent including the deduction _per expressum_. Item, on the 29 of September 1674, payed to John Cheisley of Dalry, younger, in presence of his brother James 29 lb. Scots in 10 rix dollars for the maill of the 2 chambers I possest from him in Brunsfield,[698] by the space of 4 moneths in the last summer, 29 lb. Scots in 10 rix dollars. Item, spent that 6 of October 1674, that I quite Edenbrugh on the kings proclamation of banishment against the debarred advocats, 29 pence. [698] Summer quarters. In October 1674 my wife counted with George Patersone, wright, who had possest the low roume[699] of our house from Whitsonday 1673 till Whitsonday last 1674, and thairupon was owing me 40 lb. Scots of maill, and receaved in from him onlie 24 lb. Scots, the other 16 lb. being allowed him for a compt of work furnished by him to us, and wheiron shee gave him up my discharge to him of the wholle 40 lb. as a years maill of the said house. This 24 lb. Scots was waired out and employed upon my house. [699] Part of house sublet at 40 l. Scots. On the 20 of January 1675 I receaved from my father 400 merks Scots, which compleited all my annuityes due by him to me by vertue of my contract of marriage preceeding Candlemas 1674, and I gave him a discharge accordingly: for on the 13 of June last 1674 I discharged all preceiding Whitsonday 1673 (having only received from Mertinmas 1672 till Whitsonday 1673 for that halfe years annuitie instead of 900 merks only 750 merks because of the retention of on per cent.[700] by the act of parliament) and receaved then 100 mks. in part of payment of the halfe years annuity betuen Whitsonday and Martinmas 1673. [700] One per cent., i.e. on the capital sum of 30,000 merks for which his father had given him a bond, bearing interest at the legal rate of 6 per cent., equal to 1800 merks per annum. See Note, p. 273. On a butridge[701] to my hat, etc., 4 pence. [701] A form of spelling buttress. See Murray's _New English Dictionary_, s.v. Compare Jamieson, s. vv. Rig and Butt. It may mean the lace or band tying up the fold of a cocked hat. Item, on the 25 of Januar 1675 when I returned back to Hadinton[702] I took with me 13 dollars, which keip't me till the 8 of Februar theirafter. The particulars whow I spent and gave out the same is in a compt apart beside me. On the forsaid 25 day of Januar I left behind with my wife the remanent of the 400 merks I had receaved from my father, taking of the foresaid 20 dollars, viz., 300 merks and 3 rix dollars. Of which money on the 8 of february I find she hath debursed first a hundred merks, item, fyve dollars more, so their is now only resting of the money I left with hir about 190 merks. [702] He had retired to Haddington when 'debarred.' Out of the forsaid 100 merks and 5 dollars, I find shee had payed 38 lb. Scots to Patrick Ramsay for 5 moneth and a halfes ale, furnished by him. Item, on accounts in the creams[703] to John Nasmith, to the Baxters for win, etc., above 20 lb. Scots. And the rest is given out upon other necessar uses. [703] Krames, the shops round St. Giles Church. For S.G. Mck's[704] Observations on the act of p. 1621, anent Bankrupts, 16 pence. For binding the book of Cragie's collections and some other papers, 4 shills. stg. For fourbishing my sword and giving it a new Scabbord, 4 shils. st. For a candebec hat, 8 shils. st. For 6 quarters of ribban to it, 9 pence. On oranges, 6 pence. For the share of my dinner in Leith, the race day, a dollar. Item, for my part of the supper in Caddells when the advocats all met togither, 4 lb. Scots. [704] Sir George Mackenzie. On the 16 of March 1675 I receaved from James Sutherland, thresaurer of the good toune of Ed'r. 12 lb. sterling as a years pension or salary owing to me by the good toune as their assessor, from Lambes 1673 till Lambes last 1674, wheirof and all years preceiding I gave him a discharge. For the articles of war, 3 pence. For halfe a pound of sweit pouder, 2 shils, sterl. On the 20 of March 1675 I receaved from Andrew Young in name of my Lord Abbotshall, 600 mks. Scots (their was 4 rix dollars of it ill money which my Lord took in and promised to give me other 4 instead of them) wheirupon I discharged the said A.Y. and Lord Abbotshall of the said summe of 600 merks in payment and satisfaction to me in the first place of 89 lb. 17s. and 2 p. owing to me by the said L. Abotshall, as being payed out by me at his direction and order in Aprill 1673 (sie it marked their) to Mary Hamilton for 1200 merks, and hir papers being in Mr. John Sinclar minister at Ormiston his hands, he alledged their was 89 lb. 17s. and 2 p. owing him and would not give them up till he ware payed, wheirupon I at my Lord A's and hir order gave his sone Mr. James 100 merks and 8 rix dollars and retired them: item, for the remanent of the 600 mks. I accepted it in satisfaction and partiall payment and contentation to me of the bygane annuelrents (in so far as it would extend) of the principall summe of 5000 mks, yet resting by the said Lord Abbots: of 10,000 mks. of tocher contained in my contract of marriage and which annuelrents ware all resting owing to me from the terme of Lambes 1670, so that it will in compting pay me a yeir and a halfes annuelrent, viz., from the said Lambes 1670 till Candlemas 1672, and about 10 lb. Scots more in part of payment of the termes annuelrent from Candlemas to Lambes 1672: so that I may reckon that their is more then 3 years annuelrent of that principall summe of 5000 merks owing me, compting to the midle of this present moneth of March. With Mr. W'm. Murray and Blackbarrony, 16 pence. For my fraught to Bruntiland, 8 pence. For my supper and breakfast at James Angus's their, 37 shill. For 2 horses from thence to the Linkton, 16 pence. To Jo. Nasmith to carry him over from Fyffe to Ed'r with, a mark. To William Cunyghame's wife the tyme I staid at his house, 5 shills. st. Item, for 8 elles of drogat at 16 pence per elle, 2 dollars. In Jo. Blacks with Mr. A. M'cGill and Alexander Gay, 20 pence. Item, on the 24 or 25 of March last spent by my wife over and above the 48 lb. Scots, 8 rix dollars. I left with hir to pay out all hir compts she or I ware owing, and to bring over the plenishing, so that we ware owing nothing to any person preceeding that tyme. All which expenses being cast up they just make up and amount to 300 merks and 19 rix dollars, to which adde the 4 rix dollars of the wholle 600 mks. that ware not payed, their is spent 400 mks., and their rests behind 200 mks. Out of which Imprimis: On the 4 of May 1674 when I went to Ed'r., and stayed their till the 14 of May, during all that tyme spent according to the accompt of it particularly set doune in another paper besyde me, 10 dollars. Item, payed for a cow,[705] 34 lb. Scots. Donné a ma femme et emprunté d'elle de Rot. Craw, a dollar. Item, spent with Mr. Alex'r. McGil and Captain Crawfurd in Kirkcaldy, 3 lb. ij shil. Scots. Item, payed to the woman Mary[2] for hir years fie when she went away on the 24 of May 1675, 8 rix dollars. For seing the lionness and other beasts at Kirkcaldy, 12 pence. Donné a ma femme, 29 pence. Item, given hir more to pay the other woman's fee,[706] 3 dollars and a halfe. [705] Price of a cow. [706] Apparently his maidservants. Receaved from John Broun, elder, wool seller, 40 lb. Scots on the 12 of June 1675, and that for a years maill of the low chamber and sellar possest by him from me, viz., from Witsonday 1674 till Whitsonday last 1675, and wheirof I gave him a discharge. For 2 proclamations, 3 pence. To Henry Mensen for cutting my hair, 30 shil. For a quarter's payment with my man[707] begun on the 22 of June 1675 to the Master and doctor of Kirkcaldy scooll for learning him to wryte better, to read Latin, etc., 32 shilings Scots. On the 19 of July 1675 given a la servante Joannette Smith qui alloit avecque mon fils 100 merks ainez a Londres par mer pour leur d'espences and 9 shill. du voiage, six livres sterling, ings sterling. Donné a la dite servante pour ellememe, a dollar. To Mr. Tennent, skipper of the ship pour leur fraughts,[708] 35 shillings sterling. Spent at Kirkcaldy on Rhenish with Rot. Fothringhame that day, 44 shilings. Payed for fraught from Kingborne, 8 pence. Spent with Sir Ja. Stainfeild and Sam. Moncreiff, 39 pence. For the 3'd tome of Alciats Commentar on the Digests, 48 pence. For the Governement of the tongue, 12 pence. For botle aill, 4 pence. For a solen goose, 29 pence. Upon a mutskin of seck with Raploch and Camnetham, 10 pence. For 4 fraughts from Leith to Kingb., 16 pence. [707] His clerk. [708] Cost of passage to London. In the beginning of July 1675, their being a convention of the burrows to meet at Glasgow, and I finding their was tuo years pension then owing by them to me as their assessor, I gave W'm. Broun their agent alongs with him a discharge of the said 2 years pension under trust and upon this consideration that if neid ware he might make use of it for facilitating the passing of his accompts as to that article. In the said meiting and convention they ordered and warranded him to pay all the arrears of my said pension. At his returne back I still suffered the said discharge to remaine in his custody, and in regard I was owing to Thomas Broun, stationer, 84 lb. Scots or 7 lb. sterling for the price and binding of Prosperi Farinacij Jurisconsulti opera omnia, 9 volumes in folio which I had bought from him, ... I assigned the said Thomas Broun over with his oune consent to William Broun for the said summe of 7 lb. sterling, wheiron Thomas B. gave me on the 23 of July a discharge of the price of the said books, and William B. became oblidged to pay him the said summe, and he was to be allowed it in the foirend of the accompt betuixt him and me. Upon sweities to be tane to my brother George at Idington, a mark. For a horse hyre from Hadington to Idington, a dollar. To obtaine the copie of the king's letter reponing S.A.R.[709] to the Secret Councell, 6 pence. [709] Sir A. Ramsay. Then on the ij of August 1675 I was repayed the 2 rix dollars I had given out in the end of July last pour Monsieur Le Bois presse[710] which I gave a ma femme. [710] Query for pressé. Item, on the 13 of August 1675 Monsieur de la Cloche m'a repayé les douze thalers Imperiaux qu'il a empruntée de moy (as vous verrez ci devant on the 28 of fevrier 1674) and I gave them to my wife. The rest of my accompts of depursements given out by me since the 14 of August 1675 are to be found in another book like unto this. APPENDIX II A CATALOGUE OF MY BOOKS I BOUGHT SINCE 1667 Since my returne to Scotland from travelling, which was on the 9 of November 1667, I have got or bought the following books. As for the books I had ather before my parture or which I acquired and bought in forraine parts, I have a full and perfit Catalogue of them in my litle black-skinned book, and now I have two large Catalogues of them all. Imprimis, Brossoei Remissiones ad Corpus Glossatum, from Rot Broun, 10 shilings sterl. Vinnius ad Peckium de re nautica, 4 shil's st. Loccenius de Jure maritimo, 2 shi's st. Corpus Juris Civ. van Leuven, in 2 folios gifted me by Bailzie Calderwood. Mathematicall Magick, given me by my unckle Andrew Lauder. S.G. M'ckeinzies Solitude præferred, etc., given me by my father. 4 volumina Mascardi de probationibus, bound in 2 folios, from Thomas Broune, ij dollars. Montholon's plaidoiz, 18 pence. Received from Mr. James Ainsley, De in Consilia and Jason in Codicem, for which I gave him in exchange, Melchioris Cani Loci Theologici, Gaspar Pencerus de Divinationibus, Elliot's method of the French tongue, Manasseh ben Israel de termino vitæ, Bayri enchiridion, Densingius de Peste, Bodechevi poemata, and Jacobi Hantini angelus custos, in all 8 old books in 8'ro and 12. Guillim's Herauldry illuminat, got from Sir A. Ramsay, my brother in law. Receaved also from him, Bacon upon the union of Scotland and England. Receaved in Alex'r Hamilton's in the Linkton of Abotshall, Henricii Institutiones Medicæ. Heylin's Cosmographie, best edition, 22 shil's st. and 6 pence. For a great Bible of Andrew Hart's edition, 16 shil. stg. & 4 pence. For Broun's Vulgar errors, 6 shils. 6 pence. Present state of England, 1 vol., 30 pence. Morall state of England, 24 pence. Acts of the Generall Assembly, 1643, received from Bailzie Calderwood. The reschinded acts of parliament, 1646, 1647, 1648, with other papers theirto relating receaved from Collonell Ramsay, which with the rest of thesse acts which I had beside me, made up a compleit volume of the haill reschinded parliaments from 1640 till 1650 (except only the acts of the parl. held in June 1640, which I have since that tyme purchast a part and the acts of the parliament held in 1650 which I can no wheir come by), all which reschinded acts togither with thesse of the parliament 1633, which are not reschinded, I caused bind togither in on book and payed for the binding 30 pence. The Acts of the Generall Assembly, 1638, 24 pence. Papon's arrests of parliament, a dollar. Corpus Glossatum Canonicum, 2 tomes in folio, of the [I have now got the 3d as is marked infra, so that I have it now entire[711]] 3, wheirof it consists, for which I gave 3 dollars. and Henricij Institutiones Medicinæ, to on Mr. Chrystie. [711] Interlined. Receaved from Mr. Alex'r Seaton of Pitmedden, Criminalia Angeli de Aretino, Albertus de Gandino and Hippolytus de Marsiliis super eadem materia, all in on volume in the gothick letter; for which I gave him in exchange Alstedii encyclopaedia. Present state of England, 2d vol., 3 sh's st. Midleton and Rothesses acts of parliament in 1661, 1662 and 1663 received from Mr. C. Wardlaw. Knox's Cronicle of Scotland, 8 shils. st. Navarri manuale confessariorum, 26 pence. A collection of the English laws, a dollar. Polyd. Virgilij Historia Angliæ, a dollar. Zosimus, Procopius, Agathias, etc., their Histories in on volume, a dollar. Wimesii theses and other miscellanies in with it, a shilling. Thir 5 or six last books I bought from J. Nicoll, Janitor of the Colledge, in May 1671. Receaved from the provest S.A. Ramsay, S. Colvill's mock poem of the whigs, 1 volume, a Reflection on Monsieur Arnauld's book against Claud. The English act of parliament laying are imposition upon all law suits. Patavius his accompt of tymes. See infra I got Ramsey's astrologie. 3 Tomes in 8'ro of Bellarmines. Controversies in religion, from the Janitor, a dollar. The cause of the contempt of the Clergie and ane answer to it, 18 pence. S.G. Mckeinzie's morall gallantry, 2 shils. Acts of parliament in June 1649, 34 pence. Doolitle on the Lord's supper, a mark. St. Augustines confessions, 3 shils. st. His de Civitate Dei, 4 shils. st. Plinii panegyricus in Trajanum, a mark. The act about the taxation imposed in the convention 1665, 4 pence. The Clergie's vindication from Ignorance to Poverty. Item, some Observations on the Answer made to the Contempt of the Clergie, bought on the 1 of febr. 1672, both stood me, 30 pence. A Collection of English proverbs, 2 mark. Indian Emperor, a comedy, 20 pence. Cromwell's acts of parliament in 1656, 3 shils. st. Dryden's Annus Mirabilis, 8 pence. Auctores linguæ Latinæ, 40 pence. Warro, Festus, Marcellus, Isidorus, etc. Covenanters plea against absolvers, a shilling. The Informations anent the firing of London in 1666, 6 pence. Gilbert Burnet's letter to the author of Jus Populi, 3 pence. Marciano, a comoedy, 6 pence. A Treatise against the common received tenents anent Witchcraft, 8 pence. For the Seasonable case and a survey of Naphtali, 4 shils. st. For Milton's traittee anent Marriages and their nullities, 20 pence. For Baker's Cronicle of England, last edition, and Blunt's animadversions theiron, both stood me, 21 shillings sterling. Taylor's cases of Conscience, or Ductor Dubitintium, 22 shilings sterling. Petrie's Church Historie, 15 shili's sterl. Plinius 2'di Epistolæ cum notis variorum, 6 shill's ster. Cromwell's proclamations and acts of councell from 1653 til 1654, 4 shil's st. Tryrannick love and the Impertinents, 2 Comoedies, 40 pence. Reflections on the eloquence of this tyme, 18 pence. The mysterie of Iniquitie unvailled by G. Burnet, 9 pence. Ane Answer to Salmasius his defensio Regia by Peter English, 7 pence. A Relation of the fight in 1665 betwixt the Dutch and English and ane answer of our comissioners to England in 1647; both of them, 4 pence. Argentræi Commentarii ad consuetudines Brittaniæ, 9 shil's st. Peleus his Quæstiones illustres and arrests of parliament, 6 shill's sterling. The History and Life of the Duke D'Espernon, 15 shi's ster. 4 volumes of English pamphlets, most of them upon the late troubles in Britain, 15 shils. sterling. For the English Liturgie or book of common prayer, 5 shillings. Mr. G. Sinclares Hydrostaticks, given me by Mr. James Fawsyde in Cokenie, Baronius annalls compendized in two tomes, 3 shills. st. Summa Conciliorum et Pontificum per Carranzam 2 shil. st. Maximi Tyrii sermones, a shilling. Benzonis Historia novi orbis seu Americæ, a shilling. Dansæi Antiquitates mundi Antediluviani, a shilling. Demosthenes orationes olynthicæ Græce et Latine, 6 pence. Bucholzeri Index cronologicus, 3 shil's st. Apulei Madaurensis opera omnia, 6 pence. S.G. Mckeinzie's plaidings, 3 shil's st. Acts of the session of parlia' held in 1652, 27 pence. The New art of wying vanity against Mr. George Sinclars 15 pence. Hydrostaticks bought in Dec'r 1657. The Tempest, a Comoedie, 16 pence. The Dutch Usurpation, 6 pence. The Interest of England in the present war with Holland, 5 pence. The Dutch Remonstrance against the 2 De Wittes, 4 pence. The Lives of Arminius and Episcopius, 18 pence. The Way of exercising the French Infantrie, 3 pence. Moonshine or ane Answer to Doctor Wild's Poetica Licentia, 6 pence. Windiciae libertatis evangelii, 4 pence. The persecutions of the reformed churches of France, 4 pence. Rushworth's Collections, 23 shil's ster. The Civill wars of Great Britian till 1600, 4 mark. Charron upon Wisdome, 5 shill's 10 pence. Manchester al mondo, a mark. G. Burnet's Reply and 4 Conferences against the answerer, 3 shil. st. Walwood's maritime laws, given me by the provest Sir A. Ramsay. My Lord Foord's practiques, given me by the aird of Idingtoun. Thomas the Rymer's Prophecies, 4 pence. Reusneri Symbola Imperatoria, 18 pence. 6 particular carts of shires in Scotland, 5 shil. st. For the Grand Impostor discovered, payed to Samuel Colvill, 3 dollars. Roma Restituta gifted me by Mr. Thomas Bell. Thir which follow ware all bought from Thomas Broun in August 1673. A new help to discourse, 20 pence. Evelin for publick employment against S.G. Mckeinzie, 9 pence. The Gentleman's calling, a shilling. [The Guide to all Gentlewomen, 2 marks.[712]] The Colledge of foolls, 3 pence. Douning's Vindication against the Hollanders, 16 pence. Le Tombeau des controverses, 7 pence. 4 Comoedies, viz.: Love in a Nunnery, Marriage a la mode, Epsom-Wells and Mcbeth's tragedy, at 16 pence the peice, 5 shilings and a groat. [712] Erased in MS. Upon the 9 of September 1673 I bought from Thomas Broun thir 8 following, Imprimis, Howell's Letters, 5 shillings st. Every man his oune Doctor, 2 shillings. The Mercury Gallant, 2 shillings. The Journall of the French their war with Holland in 1672, 2 shilings. The Rehearsall transprosed, 18 pence. The Transproser rehears't, 18 pence. Stub's Justification of the Dutch war, 4 mark. The Present State of Holland, 34 shillings. Temple's Observations on the Dutch, 35 shilings. Memoires of Q. Margret of France, 16 pence. Loydes warning to a carles world, 15 pence. M.A. Antoninus Meditations upon himselfe, 30 pence. For Gregory Grey beard, 30 pence. For the Education of Gentry, 33 shiling. For Lucas Speach, the Comons their addresses, and the relation of the ingadgements of the fleets 1673, 14 pence. For Parker's reprooff to the Rehearsall transprosed, 6 shillings sterling. For the Rehearsall transprosed, 2d part, 28 shiling. For Ferguson against Parker about Grace and Morall vertue, 32 shilings. For the Art of Complaisance, 16 pence. For Gudelinus & Zoesius de Feudis, 29 pence. For the pamphlet against the Quakers called the Spirit of the Hat, 6 pence. A Discourse on the fischerie, 6 pence. The Book of rates used in the sin custome house of Rome, 9 pence. Les Exceptions et defences de Droit. Formulaire des Advocats, both thir receaved from G.T.[713] of Touch. [713] Thomson. See p. 196. Cyriaci Lentuli Dubia decisa, a dollar. Ziegleri dissertationes de læsione ultra dimidium, de juribus clavium. Commerciorum monopoliorum, etc. Epicteti Enchiridion et tabula cebetis, 32 pence. For the Notes and Observations on the Empresse of Morocco revised, 18 pence. in behalfe of Sir Elcanah Setle. For Sir David Lindsaye's poems, 7 pence. For the Baron D'Isola's buckler of state and justice, 28 pence. For the Interest of the United Provinces and a defence of the Zelanders choyce to submit rather to England, 20 pence. For the Empresse of Mororco, a farce, 18 pence. The Honest Lawyer, a comedy, and the office of general remembrance, got them from Idington in Nov'r. 1674. The Acts of the Assembly, 1648. Ægidius Bard in his Methodus Juris Civilis, from Edington. Les Effects pernicieux des meschans favoris par Balthazar Gerbier. Glanvil's way to Happines, 10 pence. The Bischop of Sarisburies animadversions on an Arminian book intitled God's love to mankind. Joannis a Sande decisiones Frisicæ, given me by Pitmedden. The Statute Law of England from Magna Carta to the year 1640. Collected by Ferdinando Pulton. The first part of Litleton's Instituts of the Law of England, with S. Edw. Coke's commentarie, both receaved from Mr. James Lauder, shireff clerk of Hadington. S.G. Mckeinzie's Observations on the Statute of Parliament 1621 against Banckrupts, etc., 16 pence. For binding the book of Craigie's collections and sundry other papers, 4 shil. s. et. The English Physitians freindly pill. Metamorphosis Anglorum, being ane accompt of the state affairs in England from Cromvell's death till 1660. Memoires de Philippe de Comines in French, j'ay les aussi en Latin chez moy. The Ladies calling, given me by my father. Wossii Elementa Rhetorica, 2 pence. Reginæ palatium eloquentiæ a patribus Jesuitis compositum constructum, ij shillings sterligs. For the 3d tome of Alciat's commentar upon the Digests, 4 shillings sterling. Payed to Thomas Broun conforme to his discharge for Prosperi Favinacii Jurisconsulti opera omnia, in 9 volumes in folio, 84 lb. Scots, or 7 lb. sterling. and which books I have gifted to the Libraire of Edenbrugh in June 1675, and upon every on of the volumes, as also in their publisht Register of gifts, bestowed on the bibliotheque il a pleu a Messieurs les Regens de cette université de me donner le tesmoignage qui s'en suit dequoy je ne suis pas aucunement digne. Vir summa laude præditus Magister Joannes Lauderus. (Joannis prætoris urbani filius de Academia cum primis meriti cuius Quæsturam agens temporibus difficillimis ejusdem res reditus que Anglorum injuria periclitantes fide sua ac diligentia vendicavit conservavit ordinavit amplificavit posteris que florentes tradidit.) Juris civilis haud vulgariter peritus ejusdemque in causis publice agendis consultus, civitatis hujus amplæ assessor, postquam Academiam suis studiis ornaverat hune librum cum octo fratribus Bibliothecæ donavit. Anno Domini 1675. Upon the forsaid bargain with Thomas Broun anent Favinacius (because he had great benefit) he gave me in Protegredivibus or the art of wheedling and insinuation, worth 2 and 6 pence or 3 shillings sterling. Item, Despauter's grammer worth, 12 pence. For the Governement of the tongue, by the author of the Gentleman's calling, 12 pence. The Causes of the decay of Christian Piety, by the same author. Item, his Wholle duety of man. Item, his Art of contentment 12 pence. New jests or witty Reparties. Joannes Voet de Jure Militari, 18 pence. The thrid tome of the Corpus Canonicum Glossatum, containing the 6'tus Decretalium Clementines et extravagantes communes, 8 shillings sterling. and which 3'd volume I still before wanted, having only the 2 first tomes of it. For Joannis Tesmari exercitationes Rhetoricae, 4 marks. De Prades Histoire de France from Pharamond till 1669 in 3 small 8'vos with pictures, 2 dollars. Hermannus Vulteius de Feudis, 4 shill. 8. ster. [Sidenote: I have now got the rest of his works, which see infra folio 7't after this.] Nicolai Abbatis Siculi Panor mi tani, his great glosse upon the Decretales Gregorii from the 25't title of the 2'd book, viz., de exceptionibus to the end of the haill 5 books of the Decretales, so that I want the volume before containing his glosse on the 1 book of the Decretals and the 2'd till the said 25 title, and the volume after myne upon the 6'tus Decretalium Clementines et extravagants; his wholle glosse consisting of 3 great folios; for he hes written nothing on the Decretum Gratiani: this broken tome m'a été donné par Pitmedden. Upon a review I made of my wholle library in Octobre 1675 I found sundrie books ware nather in this catalogue which containes all them I bought or acquired since my returne to Scotland from my travells, nor yet in that other Catalogue and list in the litle black-skinned book containing all them I had bought or got formerly ather at home or abroad: and theirfor I gathered their names togither so many of them as I could remember on and wrot them upon 4 or 5 sydes of paper and shewed[714] it in at the end of my Inventar and Catalogue in the forsaid black-skinned writ book; ubi illud vide. [714] Sewed. Sew is still pronounced like 'shoe' in Lowland Scots. Receaved from Pitmedden, Dynus ad Regulas Juris Canonici et Decius ad Regulas Juris Civilis, in exchange for my Ludovicus Gomez Commentarij ad Regulas Cancellariae Apostolicae et utriusque signaturae [of which I have bought another in October 1679.][715] [715] Interlined. Ratio reconcinnandi juris civil, 8 pence. On the 1 of Novembre 1675 bought from on William Broun, a dragist, the following books, being in number 23, Imprimis, Stoboei Sententiae Groecolat: 5 shillings and 6 pence. Ammirati politica ad Tacitum, 40 pence. Cypriani Censura Belgica, 56 pence. Autumni Censura Gallica, 29 pence. Bouritij Judex Advocatus et Captivus, 42 pence. Mynsingeri Observationes, 29 pence. Gudelinus de jure novissimo, 20 pence. Cujacij Observationum libri 28, 24 pence. Oldendorpij Classes Actionum, 24 pence. Rolandini Ars Notariatus, etc., 22 pence. Tuldeni Jurisprudent. extemporat. 22 pence. Aegidij Bossij Criminalia, 22 pence. Mindanus[716] de Continentia Causarum, 12 pence. Costatij adversaria ad digesta, 29 pence. Keckermauni Rhetorica, 20 pence. Dieterici Institutiones Rhetorica, 9 pence. Carpentarij Introductio Rhetorica, 6 pence. Faber de Variis nummariorium debitorum solutionibus, 9 pence. Herculanus de probanda negativa, 9 pence. Epistolae Synesij Episcopi Gr. Lat., 6 pence. Bouritij Satyricon in Saeculi mores, 6 pence. Virtus vindicata seu satyra, 6 pence. [23][717] Rhodolphinus de absoluta principis potestate, 6 pence. [716] Mindanus, Petrus Friderus. [717] Interlined. From His[718] shop bought, [718] i.e. Broun's. Blunts Academy of Eloquence or his Rhetorick, 15 pence. Clarks formulae Oratoriae, 15 pence. Item from the said William Broun on the 6 of November 1675, Imprimis, Matthias Stephani de officio judicis, 42 pence. Benevenutus stracca de mercatura, etc., 29 pence. Langij loci communes seu Anthologia, 42 pence. Spankemij dubia Evangelica, 2 tomes,. 7 lib. 10s. Mindanus de Mandatis, 18 pence. Macrobij Saturnalia et alia opera, 10 pence. Bertrandus de jurisperitorum vitis, 24 pence. Farnabij judex Rhetoricus, 13 pence. Cypriani Regneri Censura Belgica juris canonici, 3 shills. sterl. For Platonis opera omnia 3 tomes, 6 shills. sterl. For a book containing some sermons of Mr. William Struthers anent true happines; item a defensative against the poyson of supposed prophecies, Peters complaint, etc., 2 merks. The first three parts of the famed romance Cleopatra. 11 or 12 litle paper books all wrytten with my oune hand on miscellany subjects anno 1675 besydes many things then wryt be me in other books and papers. Reiffenbergij Orationes politicae, etc., 15 pence. Memoires of the reigne of Lowis the 14 of France. Doctorum aliquot virorum vivae effigies ad numerum 38, 3 shillings sterl. Luciani opera quae extant omnia gifted me by my client Mr. Patrick Hamilton of Dalserf. I had some of his Dialogues by themselfes in a book apart of before. For a treatise of maritime affairs, 5 shillings and 6 pence. The case of the bankers and their creditors stated and examined, 2 shills. sterl. Shaftesbury and Buckinghames Speeches in October and November 1675 with the letter to a friend about the test against dissenters from the Church, 3 shill. and 6 pence. For Robertj Baillij opus historicum, 4 shillings and 6 pence. For Le Grands Man without passion or wise stoick, 28 pence. For William Pens lnglands interest discovered with honor to the prince, 12 pence. For a treatise of human reason, 8 pence. For observations upon it, 8 pence. Vide Hobs infra in 1680. Gassendi Exercitationes adversus Aristoteleos, item de vita et moribus Epicuri, item L'Aunoy de varia Aristotelis fortuna in Academia Parisiensi, all bound togither, stood me, 3 shills. sterl. Kirkwoods Grammatica Latina, 8 pence. Mitchells Answer to Barclay the Quakers angrie pamphlet, 11 pence. Chevreau's Mirror of fortune, 28 pence. John Bona's Guide to Aeternity, 20 pence. A Rebuke to informers and a plea for nonconformists and their meitings, a shilling. A. Couleys poemes and works, 13 shil. ster. Boyls Seraphick love, 18 pence. Item, his Excellency of theology above Naturall Philosophy, 30 pence. His Considerationes concerning the stile of the Scriptures, 24 pence. Thir four last bought at London by my brother Colin in May 1676. The Naked Truth, 2 shillings ster. The Answer to it, 2 shillings ster. Vide in the other leiff another answer to it. Additiones Joannis Baptistae hodierna ad Petri Surdi Decisiones Mantuanas, gifted me in June 1676 by Mr. William Hendersone bibliothecar in the Colledge of Edenbrugh. Lesly Bischop of Rosse de rebus gestis Scotorum, 10 shillings sterling. The Conference betuixt Archbischop Laud and Fischer the Jesuite gifted me by the Lord Abotshall. Ane book of stiles in Octavo. Fullers History of the Holy War, 7 shillings sterling. Caves primitive Christianity, 5 shills. and 6 pence. Dutchesse of Mazarina Memoires, 12 pence. Durhame on the 10 commands, 2 shillings. Skinners Lexicon Ætymologicum Auglicanæ linguæ, etc., 17 shillings sterling. Le Notaire parfait, 12 pence. Pierre Matthieu's 1st tome de L'Histoire de France, I having the 2nd tome long before, 8 pence. Plethonis et aliorum tractatus de vita et morte, 8 pence. Judge Standfords plees del couronne and King's prærogative, 8 pence. For all the Acts of the Generall Assemblies from 1639 till 1648, 3 shillings st. For Regiam Majestatem in Latin with Skeens learned annotationes, 5 shills. ster. For Mangilius de Evictionibus, 5 shills. st. For Gildas Britannicus Epistola, 12 pence. For Mr. Hugh Binnings wholle works in 4 volumes, being a practicall catechisme and sermons, a dollar. For Drydens Notes on the Empresse of Morocco. I have Setles answers and revieu of them _supra,_ 15 pence. For the Siege of Granada in 2 parts, a comedy of Drydens, 3 shills. sterl. For the Libertin, a comædie, 15 pence. Menagij Amoenitates juris, 16 pence. Scipionis Gentilis parerga origines de jure publico, cum Coleri parergis, 16 pence. For the rules of Civility, 15 pence. For Hugo Grotius his Annotata Critica ad Vetus et novum testamentum in 6 volumes, 20 dollars. in folio from Thomas Broun in December 1676 (Vide infra. I gift them in Januar 1683). For Herberts Life of Henry the 8th of England, 40 pence. For Senecæ Tragoediæ cum notis Faruabij, 12 pence. Lord Bacons History of Henry the 7 of England gifted me by the Lord Abotshall. As also gifted to me by him on the 2d of March 1677 Euclids Geometry with Mr. Jo. Dees learned præface; and item gifted Ramseys Astrologia restaurata et munda with a vindication of it and rules for electing the tymes for all manner of works; item gifted me Lex Talionis being another answer made by Mr. Gunning or Mr. Fell to The Naked Truth, which see in the praeceeding leiff. For Daillees Right use of the Fathers, 4 shillings sterling. Baxters Grotian Religion discovered, 6 pence. Les Diverses leçons de Pierre Mexie et D'Antoine du Verdier. The pacquet of advices to the meu of Shaftsbury in answer to his letter to a friend, supra, 9 pence. Lukins cheiff interest of man, 6 pence. Mr. Smirk or Divine a la mode, being a reply to the animadversions on the Naked Truth mention'd in this and in the former leiff, 2 mark. Adam and Eve or the State of innocence, ane opera of Drydens, 18 pence. For The Plain Dealer, a comedy, 18 pence. The Toune Fop or Sir Timothy, etc., 18 pence. Received in June 1677 from Mr. James Lauder in name of Mistris Ker in Hadington. Francisci Connani Commentarius Juris Civilis in two volumes in folio. I had the first tome already, having bought it at Parise. Farder received from hir. Hottomanni partitiones juris et juris consultus and some other of his small tracts. Item, Lanfranci Balbi Decisionum et Observationum centuriae 5. The life of Pomponius Atticus, etc., 30 pence. A Guide to heaven from the world, 6 pence. For The 2'd pacquet of Advices to the men of Shaftsburie, 2 shills. sterl. For Madame Fickle a comoedy, 18 pence. For Johnstons History of King James the 6'th minority, 12 pence. Midletons Appendix to the Scots Church Historie, etc., 2 shills: sterl. Burnets Memoires of the 2 Dukes of Hamilton from 1625 18 shillings sterling. Doctor Hamonds Annotations on the New Testament, 18 lib. Scot. Steelingfleets Origines Sacrae, 7 shills. sterl. Glanvills Philosophicall Essayes, 4 shills. 6 pence. The Art of Speaking, 30 pence. Thir last 5 I bought from Thomas Broun on the 15 of September 1677. Sir George McKeinzies Criminalls, 4 Lb. Scots. The following books to the number of 13. 15 I receaved from my Lord Abotshall in October 1677, because he had doubles of them as we inventar'd his books, some of them I had myselfe already. Imprimis, a Latin and French bible in folio. 2. The Review of the councell of Trent. 3. Bacon's resuscitatio 2'd part. [4. Swinnock's Christian Man's calling.][719] given back to the Librarie. 5. Rosinus Romanae Antiquitates. 6. Goodwyns Moyses and Aaron. [7. Ja. Colvill's Grand Impostor discovered.][719] having another I gave this to Mr. Alexr. Drummond 8. Sympson's compend of the ten persecutions. 9. Brinsley's Ludus literarius. 10. Hooll's grammatica Latino Anglica. 11. Acts of parliament in 1669. 12. Milton's Paradise Lost 13. Hudibras mock poem. 14. Caesars commentaries in English. 15. Arcandam upon the constellations. 16. Adam out of Eden on planting. [719] Erased in MS. A mesme temps je empruntée l'usage de ces sept livres suivans de lui pour les rendre quand il les demandoit. Imprimis Rutherfuird's Lex Rex. 2. Wiseman's law of laws, etc. 3. The accomplish't Atturney. 4. Natalis comitis mythologiae. 5. Stephanus praeparative to his apologie for Herodote. 6. Imagines mortis et medicina animae. 7. Dom Huarto's triall of wits. The 3 following French books ware about that same tyme gifted me by Rot. Keith of Craig. Imprimis, Mr. Wicquefort's Memoires touchant ambassadeurs et les ministres publiques. 2. Histoire de la Reyne Christine de Suede. 3. Lettre sur la campaigne en Flandre, 1677. For the art to make love, 12 pence. For the countermine against the presb., 3 shils. stg. From John Nicol bought on the 18 Dec'ris 1677 the 6 following books. Bodinus de daemonomania majorum, 2 marks. Hall's Cases of Conscience, 14 pence. Walker against Socinianisme, 12 pence. Juvenalis et Persius cum notis Farnab., 10 pence. Sylvestri summa summarum, 2 dollars. Scapulæ Lexicon Græco-Latinum, 2 dollars. Drusius de tribus-sectis Judeorum, 20 pence. Item, the book of fortune, 20 pence. Vincent on Christ's Appearance at the Day of Judgement, ij pence. Antonii Mornacii observationes ad pandectas et ad Codicem, in 3 tomes in folio, at 22 shillings sterl. the tome, 40 lb. Scots. Gerardus Joan: Wossius de Historicis Latinis, 4 lb. Scots. Christophori Sandii animadversiones in istum Vosii librum, 12 pence. For Divi Thomæ Aquinatis summa Theologica, 16 shillings stering. For Wallis Due correction of Hobs geometrie, 8 pence. Lipsius Notes on Tacitus, 4 pence. Dominici Baudii epistolæ et orationes, 34 pence. Elberti Leonini consilia, a dollar. About the 19 of Aprill 1678, receaved from Abotshall a manuscript containing a most elegant summary and collection of sundry remarkable things from the 7 tomes of St. Augustins works. A meme temps je emprunté de lui les livres suivans: 2 manuscripts in Latin de Decimis, contra Erastianos, Independentes, de politia civili et ecclesiastica, de controversiis theologicis, etc., of Mr. Andrew Ramsayes: but now I have given him thir back: Rosse's Pansebeia or view of all Religions. Grotii de imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra. Florus Historie cum Lucii Ampelii memoriali. Catonis Disticha et Mimi Publiani by Hoole. Bought the 15 of Aprill 1678 from Mr. Charles Lumsdean thir six books, Imprimis, Andrew Willet's Hexapla upon Exodus and Leviticus. 2 volumes in folio, 12 shillings sterling. vide infra in 1679 and Aprill 1684. 6 shillings sterling each volume. Jermynes commentarie and meditations on the book of Proverbs, 6 shils. stg. Rosse's arcana microcosmi with a refutation of Bacon, Harvey, Broun, etc., 12 pence. The right of dominion, property, liberty, 10 pence. Mr. R. Baillie's antidote agt Arminianisme, 4 pence. Heraclitus Christianus, or the man of sorrow 12 pence. Lo. Hatton on Status and acts of parlia', 12 pence. Kirkwodi compendium Rhetorircæ, 2 pence. Godolphin upon legacies, last wills and devises, 6 shills. ster. Salernitana schola de conservanda bona valetudine, 2 shillings and 6 pence. Juvenalls Satyrca Englished by Stapylton, 2 mark and a halfe. The Fulfilling of the Scriptures. From Abotshall: ...[720] [Greek: kaina kai palaia]: Things new and old, or a storehouse of similes, sentences, allegories, etc., by John Spencer. [720] Word undeciphered. Item, receaved Drummond's History of the lives of the 5 James's, Kings of Scotland, with memorialls of state. Item, Wilson's art of Rhetorique and art of Logick. Item, l'Estat de l'Eglise by Jean de Hainault and Jean Crespin, they being 4 books in number which at this tyme j'ay recu de Abotshall. Fur a manuscript containing some law dictats of the professors at Poictiers and Bourge en Berry annis 1611 and 1612, 12 pence. For Masuerii practica forensis with Montis Albani exceptiones, 12 pence. Quintini Hedui Analecta juris ad Titul. Decretal de verborum significatione, 12 pence. For Jacobi de Voragine legenda aurea seu Vitæ sanctorum, ij pence. Ecloga Oxonio-Cantabrigiensis; being a Catalogue of all the manuscripts in thesse 2 universities, ij pence. Mr. D. Dickson's Therapeutica sacra. The Christian education of children, 36 pence. Gifted me by Mr. Wm. Henderson: Bibliothecar of Ed'r, H. Cardani arcana politica seu de prudentia civili. Gotten from Mr. Wm. Dundas Wisseinbachii Manuale de verborum signifcatione, item, Nota nomico-philologica in passionem Christi. Annibal Trabrotus his enarrationes ad Cuiacij paratitla in libros tres prinres Codicis, a mark. For A.S. Boetius de Consolatione philosophiæ et disciplina scholastica, 6 pence. Gifted to me by Mr. John Craig of Ramorney, advocat, on the 16 of November 1678, Davila's Historie of the civill wars of France. Leidington's practiques and some other papers bound togither by me at this time. Tbe Christians Patterne or A Kempis Imitation of Christ, 12 pence. For tuo volumes of Panormitans commentary upon the decretales, which compleits what I had of him before. Item, for Giuidonis Papae decisiones parlamenti Grationapolitanæ and Lipsius de constantia, in all 4 books, 6 shillings sterling. For Lucas de Penna ad tres posteriores libros codicis, 40 pence. For Joannis Amos Comenii janua linguarum in Greek; Latin and English, 18 pence. I have another in Latin, French, and Dutch. Poemata Niniani Patersoni gifted me by the said Mr. Ninian the author. Code Lowis ou ordannances pour les matieres criminelles. Georgii Macropedii methodus de conscribendis epistolis, etc., 6 pence. Jer. Taylor's liberty of prophecieng. Lubbertus contra Socinum de Christo mediatore. Aurengzebe and the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus Vespasian, 2 comedies. The Life of K. Charles the I. the pseudomartyr. Ane Accompt of the Scots greevances anno 1674. Mother Gregs Jests. Raphaell Holinsched's Chronicle of England from William the Conqueror till 1587, 9 shillings sterl. An Abridgement and written collection drawen furth of the Register of the commission for plantation of kirks and valuation of teynds, from 1661 till November 1673. Catalogus Librorum D. Jacobi Narnij, gifted by him to the Colledge of Edenbrugh. For Mr. Dods and Cleavers commentary on the wholle proverbs of Solomon, 4 shills. stg. For Mr. Cleaver's Commentar on some of the chapters of the Proverbs, more amply then in the præceeding commentary, their being only 5 chapters explained in this volume, viz., the 1, 2, 15, 16, and 17 chapters theirof, enriched with many discourses and doctrines from thesse chapters, not in the former commentarie. Gullielmi Cocci revelatio revelata, or expositio Apocalypse[Greek: o]s, 12 pence. Ludovici Cælii Rhodigini Antiqutæ lectiones, Parisiis 1517. The Apology for and vindication of the persecuted ministers in Scotland, gifted me by Abotshall. For the Differences of the tymes, written by Mr. David Foster, minister at Lauder, a mark. Erasmi Chiliades Adagiorum in folio, gifted me by Mr. John Wood's brother, Mr. Wood having lost some books lent by me to him, as Harprecht, etc. Cartwright's commentar upon the Proverbs in Latin, 3 shillings and 6 pence. Rudimenta Rhetorica Ro'ti Brunii, 8 pence. Academie Francoise pour l'institution des Moeurs, in 8vo, 6 pence. On the 10 of June 1679 bought 7 old books, some of them but pamphlets, viz., une recueill des gazettes nouvelles et relations de l'annee 1640, Cujacii ad tres postremos libros Codicis, des ordonnances de Lowis 13 en assemblée de notables, directions for health, naturall and artificiall, Resolution de Question prouvant qu'il est permis a sujets a resister la cruauté de leur Prince, a discourse touching the distractions of the tymes and the Causes theirof, the canons and constitutions made by the Quakers: for which I payed, 30 pence. The fyre upon the altar, or divine meditations and essayes, 28 pence. The Lively Oracles, or use of the holy scriptures, 30 pence. Atcheson's militarie garden. A Picktooth for the pope, Item, the apple of his left eye, item the greevances of the Scots ministers in 1633, etc. Regii Sanguinis clamor per Morum contra Miltonum Anglicum, 6 pence. Botero des gouvernements des estats in Italian and French, 8 pence. Mr. Traps commentar ou the Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon, 3 lb. 7 shill. Bought on the ij of September 1679 from Mistris Forrest in Fyffe the ten following books. 1. Erasmi concio de misericordia Domini and other tracts, 10 pence. 2. Erasmi encomion Moriæ et de Lingua and other tracts, a mark. 3. Bezæ Responsio ad Castellionem de versione Novi testamenti, 10 pence. 4. Flores Doctorum pene Omnium per Thomam Hibernicum, 18 pence. 5. Sylva locorum communiuni per Ludovicum Granatensem, 30 pence. 6. Poetarum omnium flores, a mark. 7. Refutatio Cujusdam libelli de Jure magistratuum per Beccariam, 8 pence. 8. Chrysostomes Homilies and morals on the Ephesians, 24 pence. 9. Virgil in English verse by John Ogilbie, 24 pence. 10. Simon Patrick's Reflections on the devotions of the Roman Church, 24 pence. Having in September 1679 casten up the accompt of the wholle manuscript books I have besyde me, I find they are 94 in number of which see more in my other more full Catalogues of my books. APPENDIX III SIR ANDREW RAMSAY, LORD ABBOTSHALL _Letter by John Lauder, Lord Fountainhall, to his Son_[721] [721] MS. in possession of Sir T.N. Dick Lauder. The following letter from Fountainhall to his son, probably his eldest son and successor, John, is a characteristic specimen of his later style. It holds up to the young man as an example the character and career of his maternal grandfather, Sir Andrew Ramsay, Lord Abbotshall. [Illustration: SIR ANDREW RAMSAY, LORD ABBOTSHALL] _'Appryll 3d, 1691._ Sone,--The letters I formerly sent you, tho replenished with the best advyces that ather my reading or my experience and observatione or my paternall affection affoorded, and in thesse important affaires they handled, yet I conceive they might be the less effectuall that they had no other authority to back them but my own. Theirfor I am resolved a litle to trye another method, and so put thesse useful precepts in the mouths of some of your ancestors as if they wer allowed for some tyme to arryse from the dead and speak to those descended of them; and I shall set befor you some of their vertues and illustrious actions for ane pattern worthy your imitation, seeing there cannot be ane better direction in the stearing the compass of our lyves then by reading the lyves of good men, espccially wheir wee are nearly related to them, and in the using of this prosopopoea I have no less examples to follow then the prince of orators Cicero and the great Seneca who to give the greater weight and authority to the moral precepts they delyvered to the people of Rome they conjure up the ghosts of Scipio, Laelius, Cato, Appius and thesse other worthies, and bringe them upon the Stage, teaching their own posterity the principles of vertue which is observed to have left a far greater impression, and have proselyted and convinced the mynds of the hearers more than what the greatest philosophers delyvered only as their own sentiments and opinions. And because it is not usuall to wryte the lyves of men whyle[722] they be dead, Theirfor I will begin with your maternall lyne and sett befor you some of the most eminent transactions wheirin that excellent Gentleman, Sir Andrew Ramsay, your grandfather, was most concerned in, with the severall vertues and good qualities that made him so famous and considerable, which ought to be ane spurr and incitement to all good and vertuous actions, and to non so much as to his oun grand-chyld. And because it layes ane great tye and obligation wheir on is descended of ane race that never did anything that was base and unwurthy of a Gentleman, Theirfor I will also shortly as I can give you ane account of his pedegrie and descent befor I come to descrybe his oun personall merit and actions. For tho the poet sayes true, _Et genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi, vix ea nostra voco_, yet to be of ane honourable descent of good people as it raises the expectation of the wurld that they will not beley their kynd as Horace sayes, _Fortes creantur fortibus_, so they turn contemptibly hatefull when they degenerat and by their vices blacken and sully the glory and honour their ancestors had gained, and they turn a disgrace to the family and relations they are come of. Bot to begin: Sr Andrew was the 3d sone of Mr. Andrew Ramsay, minister of Edr., and Mary Frazer. He being a sone of the Laird of Balmaynes, and shee a daughter of the Laird of Dores, and it being fitt that a man should know his oun genealogie that wheir ane of them has been signalized for vertue it may be ane motive to provock our imitation, and if they have att any tymes been led out of the way of vertue that it may serve for ane beacon and scar-crow to the descendants to hold of thesse rocks and shelves wheir they may see the bones of their friends as the memento of Lots wyfe to beware of thesse fatall errors. And tho a man should know the history of his oun nation and not be _domi talpa_, yet there is no part of that history so usefull as that of his genealogie, and therfor I would give you some account of that family of Balmayn and of some remarkable things have happened therin. The first of them was John Ramsay, sone to the Laird of Corstoun in Fyfe, who being ane handsome young boy was made choyse of to attend Ki: Ja: 3d att the Grammar School. Their was pains taken for another Gentleman's sone, who had been bred in the high-school of Edr. and both read and wrote better, yet the young King thinking John had more the mean of ane Gentleman preferred him, tho choyses of such princes being lyke Rhehoboams, not so much founded upon merits as fancy and ane similitude of humor, and I have observed friendship and acquaintance contracted betwixt boyes att schooll to be very durable, and so it proved here, for K.J. 3d made him on of his Cubiculars and then Captain of his guards, with this extravagant priveledge that non should wear a sword within two myles of the Kings palace without his speciall warrand and licence, which created him much envy and hatred, that for supporting him against the same, he first knighted him and then gave him the lands of Kirkcanders in Galloway, Terinean in Carrick, Gorgie in Lothian, and Balmayn in the Mernes. All which lands his posterity hath sold or wer evicted from them by recognitions, except Balmayn. And tho wee doe not find him taxed as on of the bad counsellors that made ane discord betuixt the said K. James and his nobles, att least not so much as Cochran, who from being his Master Mason he had made E. of Marr, and other mean people about him whom he had advanced, yet it was impossible for him to be in so much favour with his prince without drawing the emulation and envy of great and auntient families, who thought non should come between them and their Soveraigne. For you will find from our Chronicles that this King was on of the worst of all the James's and came to ane fatall end by his variance with the Nobility, whom he studyed to humble as factious and tumultuary, bot they thought themselves slighted and disobleidged by his making use of mean men in all offices about him. Bot to return to Sr. John Ramsay. It shewes the Kings great affection to him att Lundie bridge when Archbald E. of Angus, called bell the cat (the reason wheirof you know), and the other barons seazed upon Cochran and the bad Counsellors and hanged them over the bridge, and some of them apprehending Ramsay for that same end, the King grasped him in his armes and plead with them to spare him as more innocent than the rest, which was yealded to by the Kings intercession. Bot after this he created him E. of Bothwell, ane title that hes been funest and unluckie to all the three possessors of it, viz., the Ramsay, Hepburn, and Stewart, and which the Ramsay bruiked shorter then any of the other two. For after the killing of the King in Bannock-burn myln when he had fled out of the battell, the parliament did annull that title of honour, and from that tyme they have only been designed Lairds of Balmayn. Some say he was killed with his master in that feild, bot I have two unansreable arguments agst it. The on is that in severall of K.J. the 4ths parliats. I find him on of the Commissioners as now but joyned two or three in ane deputation. Neither had thesse offices att that tyme such splendour and greatness annexed to them as now, and by this it appears the K.J. the 4th durst not resent his fathers death, yet he took speciall nottice of those freinds who had faithfully adhered to him. Instance the iron belt and bitter repartee he gave the Lord Gray. The second is, That Mr. Andrew Ramsay his great grand-chyld, in his Latine epitaph made on him, printed amongst his Epigrams, affirmes that he was killed att the battell of Floudan with K.J. 4th, which, if true, he has out-lived J. the 3d 25 years. I find the said Sr. John Ramsay's sone hath lived till about the year 1567. For in the Sederunt books that year there is ane gift of tutory dative mentioned, making Sr Robert Carnagie of Kinnaird tutor to Wm. Ramsay of Balinayne, left ane minor by the death of his fayr., and this Sr Robt. did afterwards bestow Katharine Carnagie his daughter upon the said Wm. Ramsay. The present Earles of Southesk are lineally descended of the said Sr Robt. bot wer not nobilitat for 30 years after that. Of this Wm. Ramsay and the said Katharine Mr. Andrew Ramsay was their second sone, and being educat in literature, wes sent abroad by his parents to the famous protestant University of Saumur in France, where he gave such eminent specimens of his great knowledge that in 1600 he was created professor of theologie yr. And I have seen that printed Latine oration he had att his inauguration, and tho the Scots wer soouner preserved in France than any other strangers, yet it behooved to be extraordinary merits that adjudged the divinity chair to him befor so many candidats and rivals of their own nation. Bot being desirous to improve the talents heaven had bestowed on him in his oun countrey, he returned home, and about the year 1608 married that vertuous Gentlewoman, Mary Frazer, daughter to the Laird of Dores, and wes by Sr. Alexr. Arbuthnot of that ilk her uncle by the mother called to his Church of Arbuthnot in the Mernes, bot he being ane star of ane greater magnitude than to be consigned to so obscure ane place he wes, in 1613,[723] invited to the toun of Edr. to be on of their ministers, which he accepted, and continued their till 1649 that he was laid asyde by that prevailling remonstrator faction in the church, because he wold not dissown the engadgement undertaken by James Duke of Hamilton the year befor for procuring K. Ch. the first's liberty, and so continued solaceing himself with that _murus ahæneus_ of a good conscience till he resigned up his blessed soule into the hands of his merciful creator in the end of that year 1659, having, lyke Moses of[724] Mount-pisga, seen the designes and inclinations of this Island to bring back their banished King which he had much promoted by his prayers; and so this good man, lyke ane sheaff of rype corn, was gathered into his masters barn in the 86 year of his age, a man who for his singular piety and vast reading was the phenix of his tyme as his manuscripts yet extant can prove, so that his memory is yet sweet and fragrant, but especially to those who are descended of him who are more particularly oblidged to imitat his goodness, vertue and learning. Bot befor I leave Balmaynes family I shall only tell on passage because its remarkable of David Ramsay of Balmayn, the said Mr. Andrews nephew. Their is ane sheett of paper in form of ane testament wheron their is no word written bot only this, Lord, remember the promise thou hes made to thy servant David Ramsay such ane day of such ane moneth and such ane year, and then he adds, Let my posterity keep this among their principall evidents and subscrybes underneath it his name, and which paper is yet extant and keeped by Sr. Charles the present Laird, bot what the revelation was I could never learn. Now to give you but on word of the maternall descent, they wer aunciently Thanes of Collie, and were come of the great Frazer, who was named by the parliat. on of the governors of Scotland be-north Tay with the Cummings till the controversie should be decyded betuixt the Bruce and the Ballioll in 1270. Of thir parents was my Lord Abbotshall born in May 1619, being their 3d sone, and from his very infancy promised good fruit by the airlie blossomes of ane sharp and peircing witt, and his two elder brothers having been bred schollars, providence ordered him to be educat ane merchand, bot by his oun industry in reading and his good converse he supplied that defect in his education, and haveing been elected youngest Bailzie of Edr. in thesse troublesome tymes of the English invading and subdueing our nation in 1652, he behaved so well that Provost Archbald Tod comeing to dye in 1654, he was not only recommended by him bot was lykewayes by the toun counsell judged fittest to succeed him; a step which few or non hes made to ryse from the lowest to the cheiff place of Magistracy in the burgh without passing throw the intermediat offices, and which station he keeped till Michaelmass 1658. Dureing which tyme the toun haveing many aflaires to negotiat att London with Oliver the protector, and those whose estates wer sequestrat haveing addresses to give in ather to have the sequestration taken of or are part allocat for their aliment, they all unanimously agreed to employ provost Ramsay as the fittest, which he discharged with great dexterity to all their satisfactions; which made some reflect upon him as complying too much with the usurper, bot when a nation is broke and under the foott of ane enemy, it has alwayes been esteemed prudence and policy to get the best termes they can for the good of their countrey, and to make the yoke of the slavery lye alse easy upon our necks as may be: and the toun was so sensible of his wise and equall administration that they after tryall of severall others brought him in again to be provost in 1662, which he keeped for eleven years together more then what any had ever done befor hira, Chancellour Seton haveing continued for 10 years. When he entered upon this second part of his government he found the toun at the brink of ruine by the cruell dissentions then sprung up betuixt the merchands and trades about their priviledges, bot he lyke ane skilfull Chirurgeon bound up and healled their wounds; and being lykewayes sunck under the burthen of debt he procured such gifts and impositions from his Mat'ie upon all sorts of Liquors that he in a short tyme brought doun their debt from eleven hundredth thousand merks to seven hundredth thousand: and being thrcatened by the Lord Lauderdale to erect the citadels of Leith in a burgh Royall, which wold have broke the trade of Edr., for preventing therof he purchased the same and annexed it to the toun, and finding that Sr. Wm. Thomson their Clerk by his influence upon the deacons of trades nominated and elected the Magistrats att his pleasure, he in 1665 caused the toun Counsell of Edr. depryve him, and notwithstanding all the pains he took by brybery of the then Statsmen and other wayes to reenter to his place, yet he was never able to effectuat it, and then he procured Mr. Wm. Ramsay his second sone to be made conjunct Clerk of Edr. Bot his death att Newcastell some few years after made the designe of this profitable place abortive. Our Statsmen being att that tyme under great animosities and prejudices against on another, Lauderdale, Hamilton, and Rothes drawing three severall factions, Abbotshall, who could make a very judicious choyce, did strike in with Lauderdale, and upon his bottome reared up the fabrick of his enshueing greatnes. For by his favour he was both maintained in the provestrie of Edr., and advanced to the Session privy- Counsell and Excheqr. This could not but draw upon him the Vatinian hatred of the opposite parties. For they saw so long as Sr Andrew governed the toun of Edr. they could not expect non of those large donatives and gratifications which Lauderdale was yearly getting, besydes the citizens longed to have ane share in the government of the toun which they saw inhaunced and monopolized by Sr Andrew and his creatures, so that it was no wonder after so longe ane sun-shyne of prosperity their should come ane storm, that being alse usuall as after a longe tract of fair weather to expect foull, and envy and malice are alse naturall concomitants of greatnes and merite as the shaddow is of the body, and it was never found that good offices done to are society was ever otherwayes rewarded than by ingratitude. Themistocles, Coriolanus and the old worthies of Rome and Greece are sufficient proofs of this. And for compassing their end Sr James Rocheid Clerk, Sr Ffrancis Kinloch, who aspyred att the provistrie, and sevll. other burgers wer hounded out to accuse him in the parliat. held in 1673, and money was largely contributed and given to the Dutches of Lauderdale, and shee considering that his power was now so farr diminished in Edr. that he wold not be able for to drop those golden shoures that formerly he did, shee prevailled with the Duke her husband to wheedle Myn Lord Abbotshall into ane dimission of all his offices. For Plautus observes[725] in _Trinummus_ holds alwayes true that great men expect that favours most be laid so many ply thick on upon another that rain may not win through, which goes very wittily in his oun language, _beneficia aliis benefactis legito ne perpluant_. It is true the Duke designed no more by this dimission bot to ward of the present blow, and promised to keep all those offices for his oun behoof till the speat and humour of the people agst him wer spent and runne out, bot the Dutchess and others about him did so violent him that he was not so good as his word. They insinuating to him that it was not safe to trust a man of sense and parts whom he had so highly enraged and disobleidged, and that the bringing him back to power was but the putting him in a capacity to revenge himself, and the truth is that has ever been the practice of the inconsiderat mad world to runne doun any man when he is falling, as Juvenal observes in the case of Sejanus, who brings in the mobile who had adored him the day befor with Hosannas crying with displayed gorge, _dum jacet in ripa, calcemus Cæsaris hostem_, and it is very fitt that divyne providence tryst us with such dispensations. For if wee had alwayes prosperous gales that is so inebriating are potion that lyke the herb mentioned by Homer, it's ready both to cause us forgett our selves and our dewty to God, and I speak it from my oun knowledge that Abbotshall was rauch bettered by thir traverses of fortune, for it both gave him ane ryse and opportunity with more leasure and tyme to examine what he had done in the hurry of publick busines, and to repent and amend our errors is in Seneca's _Moralls_ the next best to the being innocent and not haveing committed thesse faults att all: the French proverb being of eternall truth that the shorter ane folly be it is the better; and tho' that physicall rule a _privatione ad habitium non datur regressus_ be also true in politicks as in physicks that a man divested of his offices seldome ever recovers his former greatnes, yet Lauderdale being ashamed of the injustice with which he had treated Abbotshall, he made him many large promises of reparation, but ther was never any more performed bot the reponeing him again to his office as ane privy- Counsellor to teach us how litle the favour and assureances of great men are to be regarded, being lyke thesse deceiving brooks wherin you shall not find ane drope of watter in the drougth of summer, and to teach us to look up to God and to despyse the lubricity of this world and all its allurements, which is _modo mater statim noverca_, and being blind, foollish, and arrogant, renders all who greedily embrace her alse foollish as herself, and instead of ane substance deludes us with ane empty shaddow of are Junonian cloud, and playes with men as so many tinnise-balls. I have oft blamed Abbotshall for his high manner of doeing bussines relyeing too much upon the strength of his oun judgement which, tho' very pregnant, yet in his oun concernes might be more impartially judged by other by-standers. I have wisht him, with the Marquesse Paulet, that he might have more of the complying willow and lesse of the sturdy oak, bot he oft acknowledged God's care of him in not suffering him to lose himself in ane false flattering world; and if it had been lawfull for him to have taken satisfaction in the calamities of others he had the pleasure in his lyfe to see Kincardyne, Dirltoun, Carringtoun, Lauderdale, and his other enemies turned out of their places more ignominiously than he. Thus wearied with troubles and the death of many of his children come to age, he devotly payed the last debt to nature in January 1688, being the 69 year of his age. This is all I can get at present proposed to you for one pattern and example, the sheat being able to hold no more.' [722] _i.e._ until. [723] Mr. Andrew Ramsay, Minister of the old Kirk in Edinr., was Professor of Divinity and Rector of the University of Edinr. for six years successively preceeding the 8th March 1626, att which time he gave up both offices.--Note in MS. [724] _i.e._ off, from. [725] _i.e._ Plautus's observation. Abbotshall was a man of great force of character. He was much respected by Lauder, who, on his marriage with his daughter, was probably a good deal indebted to him for his first start in professional life. For example, it was no doubt by his influence that he was very early appointed one of the Assessors to the town of Edinburgh along with Sir George Lockhart and soon afterwards to the whole of the Burghs. To the facts of his life as narrated in the letter it may be added that in the course of his career he acquired extensive estates. Besides Abbotshall in Fife, he became the owner, among other lands, of Waughton in East Lothian, a place often mentioned by Lauder, where his brother-in-law, Sir Andrew Ramsay, junior, resided. The eulogy in the letter is somewhat deficient in light and shade, more so than some other passages in which Lauder mentions his father-in-law (see Introduction, p. xxxvi). A good deal about Abbotshall may be read in Sir George Mackenzie's Memoirs, the following extract from which (p. 246) will help to supply the _chiaroscuro_. 'Sir Andrew Ramsay had, by obtaining 5000ll sterling to the Duke of Lauderdale for the Citadel of Leith, and other 5000ll to him for the new impositions granted to the town by the King upon ale and wine, insinuated himself very far into the favour of his Grace; and by his favour had, for ten successive years, continu'd himself Provost of Edinburgh, and consequently Preses of the Burghs; by which, and by having the first vote of Parliament, he was very serviceable to Lauderdale; who in requital of that favour obtained 200 ll sterling per annum settled upon the Provost of Edinburgh, and caused the king give him 4000ll sterling for his comprising of the Bass, a rock barren and useless. Thus they were kind to one another upon his Majesty's expenses. In this office of Provost he had governed most tyrannically for ten years, applying the Coramon Good to himself and friends, and inventing new though unnecessary employments within the town, to oblige those who depended upon him. But at last the citizens, weary of his yoke, resolved to turn him out at Michaelmas 1672.' The attempt failed at that time. INDEX Abbotshall, 207; church lands of, 195. ---- lord. _See_ Ramsay, sir Andrew. Abercorn, lord, 184. Aberlady, 200, 210. Accounts, extracts of, 239. Acheson, 203. ---- sir Archibald, 191. Ackland, Mr., 169. Addestone, 191, 192, 200. Adenstans easter and wester, 203. Administration of justice, xxxiv. Adrian's wall, 182. Adultery, punishment of, in France, 69-70, 110. Advocates, fees of, in France, 90, 214 and _n_. ---- suspension of, xxii-xxiii, 224-226, 277; meeting of, in Cadell's, 278. Aickman, William, 253. Aikenhead, James, death of, 226. Ainsley, James, 283. Airth, earl of, 193. Albemarle, the duke of, his engagement with the Dutch fleet, 236. Albigenses, persecutions of, 66. Alexander III. killed near Bruntilland, 197. Alexander ..., professor of law at Poictiers, 3, 128, 153, 157, 188; turns papist, 113. Alfred, king, founder of university college, Oxford, 172. Amboise, 19; arsenal of, 129. America, theory of the peopling of, 197. Amont water, 193. Anagram of Cornelius Jansenius, 75. Anderson, John, advocate, death of, 222. ---- Marion, wife of Fountainhall, xxiii. Anecdotes of the blind, 132; of a thirsty cow, 133; of preachers, etc., 52, 114-115, 120, 126-128, 142, 148, 149, 151; of the king of Spain, 150; the queen of Sweden, etc., 151; of a faithless Frenchman, 199; of the earl of Cowrie, 199. Angleberne, le baron d', 17, 130-131. Angus, Archibald, earl of, 302. ---- James, 279. Annand, M., distinguishes himself at the siege of Candy, 229. Anne of Austria, funeral oration on, 126; her heart preserved in the Val de Grace, 131. _Apologetical Relation_, 139 and _n_. Appeals, law of, in France, 60. Arbuthnot, lord, 216. ---- sir Alexander, of that ilk, 303. Archerfield, 210. Ardrosse of Elie, 196. Argyll, Archibald, ninth earl of, xxx-xxxiii, xxxv, 139, 223, 232. Arley, lord, 176 and _n_. Arthur's Oven, 182. Ascletarion, a magician, 204 and _n_. Astrology, xxxix. Athelstanford, 274. Atholl, earle of, lord privy seal, 221, 223-225. Aubigné, the marquis d', 103. Augier, M., 153. Augustines, order of, 10, 61, 86; Augustinian sermon on the virgin Mary, 52-53. Auldcambus, 202, 208-210. Auldham, 210. Auldhamstocks, 202. Auldliston, 193. Ayton of Bannochie, 196. Baccleuch, estate of, 208. Baillie of Jerviswood, trial of, xxx. ---- lt-general, 191. ---- John, advocate, death of, 227. ---- William, advocate, rebuked by lord Newbyth, 217. Baird, sir John, of Newbyth, 109, 216 and _n_, 220, 224. Balbirny, 205. Balcarres, lady, 232. Bale's _Sarro-Sancto Regum Maiestas,_ 140. Balfour, laird of, 207. ---- of Balbirny, 205. ---- sir David, of Forret, 223, 224. Balgonie, 196, 203. Ballantyne, Andro, minister at Coldinghame, 210. Ballincreiff, 208. Balliol college, Oxford, 173. Balmanno, lord, 215. Balmayne, 205, 302. ---- laird of. _See_ Ramsay. Balmerinoch, lord, 190, 193. Balquharge, 205. Balveirie, Fife, 196. Banished ministers' manifesto, 139 and _n._, 142. Bannatyne club, institution of the, xviii. Bannochie, 196. Barclay ----, 197. Barnbougall, 193. Barnes. _See_ Cunningham. Bartholomew, St., 52. Baruclan, 193. Bass, the, xvi, 203, 309. Beaton, Alexander, 191. ---- Andrew, advocate, death of, 220. ---- William, 256. ---- of Blebo, 207. Beatons of Balfour, 196. Beaufort, the duc de, kilted at the siege of Candy, 229. Beaugency, 18. Beconsfields, 168. Bedlam, 174. Bedlan Green, 175. Bell, Adam, 201. ---- Androw, 269. ---- John, 185. ---- Robert, 243, 251, 265. ---- Thomas, 239, 287. ---- family, origin of the name, 208. Bellenden, lord, 215. ---- of Broughton, 191. Bell-ringing during thunder, 49-51; for the last agonies, 59. Bels milne, 191. Beltan, 203, 205. Benedictine friars, 10, convent of, at Marmoustier, 19; convent at Poictiers, 36; wealth of the order, 86. Bernard, St., abbot of Clareville, 52. Bernardines. _See_ Fullions. Beroalde de Verville, Francois, 103 and _n._ Bever castle, 176. Biccarton of Lufnes, 210. Bickerstaffe, sir Charles, 221. Binnie, 193. ---- laird of, 186. ---- bailzie, 264. Binning, William, 245, 251, 263. Biron, duc de, 77 and n. Biton, madame, 39. Blacader of that ilk, 201. Blacarstoun, 200. Black. Jo., 279. Blackbarrony, laird of, 279. Blackford burn, Edinburgh, 188. Blackfriars church in Glasgow struck by lightning, 228. Blaickburne, 200. Blaikerston, 210. Blair of Carberrie, 190. Blair, rev. Robert, anecdote of, 127. Blanerne, 201. Blantyre, lord, 185. Blasphemy, punishment of, 60. Blind men, anecdotes of, 132. Blois, 17, description of, 18, castle of, 130. Blythswood, 185. Bodley, Thomas, 170. Bogie, 196, 205. ---- of Bannochie, 196. Bonar, Jo., of Bonytoun, 194. Bonnévette, 63. Bonnymoon ----, 174. Bonytoun, 192-194. Books, catalogues of, 153, 157, 160-162, 283-299. Bordeaux, 64; torture practised in, 70. Borseau, M., 128, 160. Borthwick, James, 268. ---- Samuell, 268. ---- William, apothccar, 250. ---- col., 168. Boswel of Balmuto, 197. ---- of Pittedy, 196. ---- of Westmilne, 195. Bothwell ----, 203. ---- Adam Hepburne, earle of, 205. ---- earls of. _See_ Ramsay. ---- castle of, 185. Boumaker, Robert, 256. Bouquiet, Mr., 34. Bourges, 65; university of, 66. Bourhouses, 200. Boyde, Hew, 246. Boyelet, Mr., merchant at Orleans, 153. Brackmont, 207. Braid burn, Edinburgh, 188. Brandenburgh, duke of, xxxvii. Brazennose college, Oxford, 173. Bread, price of, 59. Breda, peace of, 167 and _n_. Bridal gifts, 60. Bridgeman, sir Orlando, 221. Brisbane, Mrs., xxxi. Brothels in Rome, defence of, 83. Broun of Colston, 200 and _n_. ---- of Gorgie, 191. ---- of Thorniedykes, 210. ---- père, 118. ---- Daniel, 185. ---- John, 280. ---- Thomas, 267, 269, 270, 281, 283, 287, 289, 291, 293. ---- William, 108, 250, 256, 257, 264, 281, 290, 291. Brace, rev. Mr., of Fife, anecdote of, 148. Brimstone, 26 and _n_, 188, 190. Bruntilland. _See_ Burntisland. Brunton, 197. Bryson, Sandy, 270. Buchanan, George, 139; his _Frantiscanus_, 10 and _n_; criticism of his _History_, 205, 206. ---- sir John, 206, 207. Buck, Thomas, advocate, death of, 222. Burgundy, duke of, 84. Burnet, Alexander, archbishop of Glasgow, xxxvii; his remonstrance with Charles II., 230. ---- D., 168. ---- Robert, advocate, death of, 212. Burntisland, 197, 279. Butterdean, 200. ---- laird of. _See_ Hay, William. Byres, 208, 209. CADDEL, captain, 132. Calder, 186. ---- lairds of, 192. Calderhall, laird of, 189, 192. Calderwood, Thomas, 185. ---- bailzie, 283, 284. Callender, earl of, 183. Calvin, John, tradition of, 36. Camelon, king of the Picts, 182. Camnetham, laird of, 281. Campbell of Blythswood, 183 _n_. ---- Archibald, 193. ---- ---- advocate, death of, 215. ---- Barbara, 185. ---- sir Colin, 220 and _n_. ---- James, 185. ---- Mary, 274. ---- Robert, 185. ---- ---- apothecar, 272. Camron, Archbald, 247, 256, 276. Candie, tounc of, taken by the Turks, 228. Cants of Grange, 188. ---- of Priestfield, 188. Capuchins, order of, 9, 10, 33, 86; anecdotes of, 62, 148. Carberrie, 203. ---- laird of, his influence on the battle of Pinkie, 190. Carden, lord, death of, 212. Carington, laird of, 308. ---- lands of, 239 _n_, 248. Carmelites, order of, 61. Carmichael, master of, 185. Carnegie, Katharine, 303. ---- James, 274. ---- sir Robert, of Kinnaird, 303. Carthusians, 10. Caskieberry, 205. ---- laird of. _See_ Shoneir. Cassilton, 203, 210. Castellaw, Mr., 3. Castlemilk, 185. Catechism of M. Drelincourt, 86. Catherine, St., of Sienna, convent of, 188 _n_. Ceres (Cires), 207. Chabate, Mile., 128. Chabot, Philippe de, 63 and _n_. Chained books at Oxford, 170. Chalmers, James, advocate, death of, 225. ---- Joan, 276. Chamberlayne, Joseph, barber, 267. Chambord castle, 18. Champigny, 25. Chancellor, Kate, 263. Chapman of Priestfield, 188. Charles IX., anecdote of, 147. Charles I., murder of, 91. Charles II., his object in desiring the union of England and Scotland, 229-230; letter from, for indulging outed ministers; establishment of his supremacy, 230; settles the disputes between the houses of parliament, 232; his debts paid by parliament, 233; grant of money to, by parliament, 273 _n_; eulogy on, xxvii. Charleton, Richard, 59. Charteris, Laurence, advocate, 221; death of, 226. Chartreuse, founding of the order of, 78-79. Chatelerault, 64. Cheisly, John, of Dairy, xxxiv, 277. ---- Sam., 261. ---- William, 219. Cherries, 66, 69: cherry feast to the exchequer, 266. Chilperick, treatment of, 91. Chimney-sweeps from Savoy, 75. China, fertility of, 105-106. Chinon, 24. Chirnesyde, 201. Christ church, Oxford, 171. Christina, queen of Sweden, anecdote of, 151. Chrystie, Mr., 284. ---- Adam, clerk of session, 215. Civil law of France, 64-65. Clan Macduff, 197, 206. Clarendon house, 168 and _n_. Clarke's _Examples_ 108. Classics, pronunciation of the, 123. Clerical anecdotes, 52, 114, 115, 120, 126-128, 142, 148. Clerk, sir Alex., of Balbirny, 205. Clery, 130. Cleveland, dutchesse of, 233. Clifford, lord, treasurer of England, 222. Clifton hall, 186, 193. ---- toune, 193. Climate of France, 117. Cluny, barony of, 205. Coal pits of Dysert, 207. Coalston pear, the, 200 and _n_. Cochrane, lord, 184, 226. Cockburne of Clerkingtone, 200. Cockenie, 203, 211. Coinage, heightening of gold and silver coinage of foreign nations, 80. _See also_ Money. Colbrandspath, 200. ---- laird of, 209. Coldinghame abbey, 209. ---- kirk, 210. ---- moor, 209. Colerine, 197. Colison, Mr., 2. Colquhoun, sir John, of Luz, 184. Colt, Mr., 3. Columbus, anecdote of, 97. Colvill, Samuel, 266, 287. Colyear, David, 251, 272, 275, 276. Comedies played at Poictiers, 124, 127 Comets, appearance of, xxxix. Comiston well, 274. Congilton, 208. Conspiracy laws, hardships of, 91. Constantine the emperor, statue of, 56. Consultation fees, 257, 258, 260. Convent of Marmoustier, 18-20; of the Bernardines, 47; at St. Florans, 22; of Notre Dame d'Ardiliers, 23 and _n_. Conventicles, laws against, 233. Convention of burrows at Glasgow, 281. Cook, Mr., 231. Cooking in France, 76, 79. Cordeliers, order of, 9, 86. Coronation stone, 1. Cothereau, Renatus, 117. Cotibby, M., 128. Cotteridge, Mr., 233. Court of session, constitution of, xxxiv-xxxv; court of session documents, 212-227. Courty, rev. Thomas, anecdote of, 151. Covenanters, xxviii, xxix. Covent Garden, 175. Craig, 203. ---- of Riccarton, 191. ---- John, of Ramorney, advocate, 297. Craighall, 197, 207. Craighouse, 187. Craigie, lord, 224. Craigiehall, 193. Craiglockhart, 191. Cranston, Christian, 269. Craw, 209. ---- Rot., 260, 271, 280. ---- of Eist Reston, 210. ---- of Henchcheid, 210. Crawfurd, captain, 280. ---- Thomas, 3, 4, 256. Creichton, ----, 22, 23, 203. ---- John, 168. ---- of St. Leonards, 205. Crime in Poictiers, 95. Cringelty, in Tweeddale, 191. Crocodile story, 38. Crosby, Mr., x. Crumstaine, 202. Cujas, Jacques, 65 and _n_. Cunyghame, ----, 208. ---- Adam, 216. ---- sir J., 224. ---- W., 272. ---- Walter, 239, 265, 270. ---- William, 279. ---- of Barnes, 203. Curators in French civil law, 64-65. Curriehill, 191. Customs and Laws of France, 74-75. Cuthbert, Mr., 18. Daillé, Mr., 29, 30, 40, 58-60, 66, 101-102, 128, 158, 159. ---- madame, 41, 43. 63, 67, 83, 102, 128. Dairsie, 207. Dalhousie, William, earle of, death of, 221. Dalkeith, lord, 188. Dalmahoy, 192. Dalrymple, sir David, lord Hailes, 202, 203. Dalrymple, James, 226. ---- sir John, xxxiv, 247. Darling, Lilias, 270. Daulphinée, insurrection in, 229. Dauphintoun, 190, 203. Daves, Mr., bookseller in Oxford, 169. Dean, James, 255, 256, 268. Deans, Robert, advocate, 191. Death, customs connected with, in France, 125. Dechmond, 193. Del Camp, M., execution of, 132. Devil, the, being annoyed by the din of the gospel, favours the peopling of America from Christian lands, 197; his opinion of Scotland, 152 and _n_. Devils of Loudun, 77. Dewar, David, 196. Dick of Braid, 186. ---- of Grange, 188, 242. ---- sir Andro, 187. ---- James, 5 and _n_, 6, 248. ---- William, of Grange, 266 and _n_, 267, 268. Dickson, Alexander, of Binnie, 193. ---- G., 243. ---- Robert, advocate, death of, 223. Digbie, sir Kenelm, 169, 170. Dinmuire, David, 269. Dirleton castle, 210. Divorce in Rome, 116. Dobies of Stainehill, 189. Dog of Heriot's hospital hanged for refusing the test, xxxii. Dogs as guardians of a town, 85. Domenick, St., sermon on, 31. Dominicans, 10. Don, Mr., 168. ---- Patrick, 247. Donibristle house, 258. Douell, ----, 4, 21, 23, 66 and _n_. Douglas, marquis of, 22, 185, 200. ---- of Gogar, 191. ---- of Kelheid, 213. ---- of Lumbsdean, 201, 209. ---- sir James, 202. ---- William, of Kirknes, death of, 212. ---- ---- advocate and poet, death of, 216. ---- Mr., 59, 102. Douy, James, 17. Downing, sir George, 235 and _n_. Drelincourt's _Catechism_, 86. Drodden. _See_ Dryden. Drummond of Reidop, 194. ---- of Riccarton, 194. ---- Alex., 295. Drummond, generall-major, 224. ---- bailyie, 253. Drumshorling moore, 186, 194. Dryden (Drodden), 187. Duaren, François, 66 and _n_. Du Bartas's _Divine Weeks_, 82 and _n_. Dudinstone, Edinburgh, 190. Dumbarton castle, 184. Dumfries, earle of, 226. Dunbar, earle of, oppressor of the Craws, 210. ---- lordship of, 200. Duncan of Ratho, 192. Duncombe, sir John, 222. Dundas, Wm., 297. ---- of that ilk, 193. Dundasses of Fingask, 204. Dunfermline, 189. ---- Alex., earle of. _See_ Seton. ---- Charles, earle of, death of, 219, 223. Dunkirk, sale of, 234. Dunybirsell. _See_ Donibristle. Durhame of Lufnes, 210. Durie of that ilk, 197, 207. Du Serre's _Histoire_, 82 and _n_, 108 and _n_. Dutch fleet, defeat of, 234-236. ---- language, antiquity of, 81. Dysert salt pans, 196; coal pits, 207. East Lothian militia, 275. Ecclesiastical revenues of France, 86. Edencraw, 201. Edgar, Edward, 113. Edinburgh's bond of assurance with the laird of Halton, 192; dissensions among the trades of, 305. ---- university, removal of, to Linlithgow, 112 and _n_; gift of books to the library from Lauder, 289. Edmiston of that ilk, 188. Edmond, colonel sir William, 150 and _n_. Edringtone, 202. Eggs, price of, 97. Eistbarnes, 200. Eistfeild, 193. ---- laird of. _See_ Gray, James. Eleis, John, 29, 1O2, 194, 251, 274. ---- ---- advocate, suspension of, 226. Eleiston. _See_ Illieston. Elibank, lord, 208. Elphinston, 190, 200, 203 ---- lady, 215. ---- lord, 192 _n_. Elsick, lady, 179. Errol, estate of, 208. Erskin, Arthur, 207. ---- Jean, 192. ---- of Innerteill, 196. Estampes, 131 and _n_. Ethelstanefield, 203 and _n_. Ethie, earl of, 14 and _n_. Excommunication, moderate use of, 79. Execution of a criminal in France, 119. Expenses, notes of, 153-163; expenditure in London, 180. Eyemouth (Haymouth), 210. Fabritius, general, anecdote of, 116. Falconer, Alexander, lord Halkerton, death of, 215-217. ---- sir David, of Newton, advocate, 213, 225, 275. ---- Mr., 240. Farlies of Braid, 186. Fast kept by protestant churches of Poictiers, 88. Faustus, verses of, at Blois, 130. Fawsyde, near Tranent, 190, 203. ---- James, 286. Fentontour, 203. Ferolme, Jo., of Craigiehall, 193. Fête de Dieu, 11. Fife, earl of. _See_ Ramsay. Figgate burn, near Edinburgh, 188. Filleau, M., 113, 124. Finglassie, 205. Fireworks at Saumur, 23. Fish as French food, 61. Fleming, James, 192. ---- sir William, 191. Fletcher, sir Androw, of Abirlady, 200, 210. ---- James, 179. ---- sir John, king's advocate, 140, 179. ---- sir Robert, of Salton, 109. Floors castle, 179. Forbes of Tolquhon fined for opprobrious speech, 223. ---- Arthur, threatens a judge, 216-217. ---- Duncan, 274. ---- ---- of Culloden, 132 and _n_, 160. Forfar anecdote, 133. Forrest, Mrs., 299. ---- R., 270. Forrestor, 209. Forret, 207. ---- lord. _See_ Balfour, David. Foster of Corstorphine, 191. Fosterland, 200, 209. Fothringhame, Robt., 281. Foulden, 202. Foulis, Alexander, of Ratho, 192. Foulis, George, master-coiner, xlvi. ---- James, of Colinton, lord Reidfurd, 30 and _n_, 63, 64, 158, 196, 224, 240. Fouquet, Nicolas, 130 and _n_. Francion's _Histoire_, 82 and _n_, 108. Francis I., anecdote of, 111. Franciscans, 10. Frazer, Mary, 301. Frederic, king of Bohemia, 151. French of Thorniedykes, 210. ---- language, elegance of the, 82. ---- people, barbarity of, 77; addicted to cheating strangers, 55. Fruits of France, 46, 66, 67, 83, 89, 95, 126, 132; of Scotland, 186. Fuirstoun, 200, 209. Fullerton, Samuel, 161, 162, 163. Fullions or Bernardines, 47 and _n_, 52, 61, 86. Funeral oration on the queen mother, at St. Pierre, 126. Furd, 209. Fyvie, 189. Gairdner, George, 251, 252, 272. ---- Tom, 265, 272. Gairnes, rev. William, 195. Game laws, 121-122. Games of children in France, 125. Gammelisheills, 210. Gandy, Mr., 14. Garnier, Mr., apothecary at Poictiers, 29. ---- madame, 157. Garshoire, Mr., 269. Gaule, M. de, 128. Gaultier, Mr., 113. Gay, M. de, 128. ---- Alexander, 279. Geismar, Mr., 161. Gelderland, duke of, 198. Geneva, rules for catholics in, 96; watches of, 66. German language, 77. Gibsone, Alexander, principal clerk of session, 225. ---- G., 262. ---- James, 258. ---- sir John, of Adelston, 192, 226. ---- Mr., 3. Giffard, lord, 203, 208, 211. Giffards of Shirefhal, 188, 211. Gilbert, Robert, 250, 270. Gilespie, Edward, 265, 276. ---- Patrick, 200. Gilmerton estate, xxxvi. Gilmour, sir John, of Liberton, 181, 188, 191; resigns the presidentship of the court of session, 213; death of, 215. Glammes, lord of, 195. Glasgow, 183; Glasgow merchants and the exportation of herrings, 219; Blackfriars church struck by lightning, 228. Gledstan, Halbert, 255. Glenbervie, lairds of, 203. Glencairne, ladie, 193. Glencoe, massacre of, xxvi and _n_. Glendoick, lord. _See_ Murray. Gogar, 191. ---- laird of, 189. Gordon, Adam, of Edom, 134. ---- Anna, 258. ---- sir George, of Haddo, 174 _n_, 175, 177. Gorenberry, 132. Gorgie in Lothian, 191, 203, 205, 207, 302. Goropius Becanus, his _Origines Antwerpianz_, 81. Gosford, 211. ---- lord, 212, 213. Gouffier, Guillaume, admiral, 63 _n_. Gourlay, H., 265. Gourlaybank, 202. Govan, Robt., 259. Gowrie, earl of, 203. ---- conspiracy anecdote, 199. Grahame, Mr., 30, 35, 132, 153, 160, 161. ---- Hary, 252. Grange, Fife, 196. ---- laird of. _See_ Dick, William. Grant, major George, 184. Gray, lord, 303. ---- James, of Eistfeild, 193. ---- Mr., a converted papist, 268. Gruché, de, 128, 160. Guise, duke of, 18. Gunsgrein, 210, 250. Gustavus Adolphus, anecdote of, 150. Guthry, rev. James, 141. ---- laird of, 258. ---- Mrs., 239. Haddington, Thomas Hamilton, earl of, 188 and _n_, 208, 274. ---- abbey of, 200. Hailes, lord. _See_ Dalrymple, sir David. Haliburton, James, 256, 260, 262, 263, 265. Haliburtons of Fentontour, 203. Halidoun hill, 202. Halkerton, lord. _See_ Falconer, Alexander. Hall, Dr., 2. Halzeards, 193. Hamilton, Alexander, 247, 283. ---- ---- justice clerk depute, death of, 219. ---- Henry, 162, 168. ---- James, duke of, 177, 185, 226, 304, 306. ---- ---- 212. ---- ---- advocate, death of, 223. ---- ---- clerk of session, death of, 222, 225. ---- Marie, 260. ---- Mary, 279. ---- Patrick, of Dalserf, 258, 261, 292. ---- Robert, 212, 226, 266. ---- Thomas. _See_ Haddington, earl of. ---- sir William, a lord of session and lord provost of Edinburgh, 218. ---- of Dechmond, 193. ---- of Eleiston, 194. ---- of Orbiston, 184. ---- Mr., 2, 3, 239. Happers of Bourhouses, 200. Hardins, D., 175. Hartsyde, dame Margaret, 207. Haswal, Isabell, 178. Hatfield house, 176. Hatton, 191. ---- house, 192-193. Haukerstone, 216. Hay, Archibald, 132. ---- sir George, of Nethercliff, 215 and _n_. ---- Harie, 187. ---- sir John, provost of Edinburgh, 218. ---- John, principal clerk of session, 225. ---- Thomas, 212, 225, 243, 275. ---- William, of Butterdean, 200, 209. ---- Dr., 213. Haychester, 210. Haymouth. _See_ Eyemouth. Helene, Ste., chapel dedicated to, at Auldcambus, 210. Hendersone, James, 269. ---- William, bibliothecar in the colledge of Edenbrugh, 292, 297. ---- of Laurenceland, 200. ---- Mr., 239. Henry III. of France, 91. Henry IV. of France, 4, 91, 103, 108; anecdote of, 133. Hepburn, 203. ---- Adam. _See_ Bothwell, earl of. Hepburnes of Wauchton, 202. Heriot of Ramorney, 206. Heriot's hospital, dog of, hanged for refusing the test, xxxii. Hermistone, 200. Herrings, exportation of, 219. Heuch-Home, 203. Hewes, D., 160. Hilary, St., legend of, 37; tradition relating to St. Hilaire and the devil, 56; miracles wrought by the cradle of, 56. Hilton of Huttonhall, 202. Hog, Ja., 256. Holland a 'sink of all religions,' 68; treatment of Jews in, 68. Home. _See_ Hume. Honieman, Andrew, bishop of Orkney, 231. Hope, Henry, 252. ---- Mr., 39, 102. Hopes of Craighall, 207. Hotman, François, 66 and _n_. Houlle, a barber, 132. Household expenditure, 239-282. Howard, sir Robert, 223. Howel's _History of Venice_, 82, 85; his _Familiar Letters_, 99 and _n_. Hume or Home, Alexander, xxix, 30, 63, 159. ---- David, 30, 35, 63, 113. ---- George, 258. ---- sir John, of Renton, justice clerk, 210, 213; death of, 214, 215. ---- lady, 252. ---- sir Patrick, 30 and _n_, 35, 55, 113, 213. ---- Peter, 158. ---- of Coldinghame Law, 210. ---- of the Maines, 201. ---- of Nynewells, 201. ---- of West Reston, 210. ---- tavern keeper, 168. Humes of Blacader, 201. ---- of Huttonhall, 202. Hunter, James, 8, 17, 131, 156. Huntley, the cock of the north, 58. Husband-beaters, punishment of, 110. Huttonhall, 202. ---- laird of. _See_ Hilton: Humes. Hyde, sir Edward, lord chancellor, 168 _n_, 172; hatred of, in England, 233; he escapes to France, 234. Idington, 201. ---- laird of. _See_ Ramsay. Illieston (Eleiston), near Edinburgh, 186, 193, 194. Inchekeith, 190-191. Ingleston, 193. Inglish, Edwards, 175. Inglish, James, 274. ---- Mrs., 168, 175, 180. Innerask, 189. Innerleith, laird of, 187. Innerteill, 195, 196. Innerwick, 200. Innes, Robert, 267, 268. Jacobins, order of, 10, 61 and _n_, 86. James II., ceremonies connected with the marriage of, 198 and _n_. James III., marriage of, 202; bestows favours on John Ramsay, 302; death of, 206, 303. James IV., 303; at Norham castle, 202; killed at Flouden, 206. James V. and the Franciscans, 10. James VII., xxviii, xxxi, xxxiv, 13 and _n_, 115, 235. Jesuits, order of, 9, 42; college of, at Poictiers, 77; lines on their college at La Flèche, 69; wealth of the order, and how obtained, 86; their cruelty, 99. Jews, treatment of, in Spain, Portugal, and Holland, 67-68; laws against, in Rome and France, 75. 'Jock of bread Scotland,' 213 and _n_. John of Austria, his victory over the Turks at Lepanto, 150. ---- of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, armour of, 1. Johnston of Warriston, 191. ---- Robt., 261. ---- Mr., 168. Jossie, B., 190. Jousie, Jo., 211, 267. Kar. _See_ Ker. Karkanders, 205. Keith, sir James, of Caddome, committed to the Tolbuith and fined, 213. ---- Robert, of Craig, 295. Kellie, W., 200. Kello, John, 212, 222. Kelso abbey, 179. Kemnock, 207 and _n_. Kennoway, 207. Ker, Lancelot, 262. ---- sir Mark, of Cockpen, 189. ---- William, 146. ---- of Itall, 202. ---- Mr., 168. Kid, rev. Mr., of the abbey kirk, anecdote of, 127. Kilmundie, laird of, 240, 249. Kilpont, 193, 194. Kilsyth, battle of, 183 and _n_. Kincaid of Wariston, 191. ---- John, 2. Kincardin, earle of, 221, 226, 308. King's evil, curing of, 72 and _n_. Kinghorne, 195, 281. ---- earle of, 224. Kinglassy, 205. ---- lord, death of, 212. Kingstone, lord, 193. Kinleith (Killeith), 191. Kinloch, sir Francis, 306. ---- Francis, merchant in Paris, xxxvi, 5, 132, 153, 156, 158-161; Lauder's letter of introduction to, 3; letter from, to John Ogilvy, 7. ---- Magdalen, 5. Kinneuchar, 207 and _n_. Kinninmont, 197. Kinninmonts of Craighall, 207. Kinnoul, lord, 109. Kirkcaldie, 196. ---- G., 258. Kirkcanders, lands of, 302. Kirkhill, 193. Kirkwood, Mr., 168. La Figonne, Ingrande, 128, 160. La Fleche, jesuit college at, 69. Lambert ----, 233. Lame people, large numbers of, in Orleans, 8. Lammerton, 202. Lanark, 186. Land, price of, in France, 107. Langeais, 20. Langhermistoune, 191. Langnidrie, 203 and _n_, 208. Language, antiquity of, 81. Lanty, Mr., minister of Chirnesyde, 201. Latin and Greek, pronunciation of, 123. Laud, archbishop, his gift of MSS. to the Oxford university library, 169. Lauder, Andrew, 283. ---- Colin, 292. ---- Elizabeth, 191 _n_. ---- George, 242. ---- sir George, 240. ---- James, 246, 289. ---- John, of Newington, father of Fountainhall, xxii, xxiii; letter of introduction from, to Francis Kinloch, 3. ---- sir John, lord Fountainhall, outline of his life, xxii-xxv; his political opinions, xxv-xxxiv; on the administration of justice, xxxiv-xxxviii; account of his MSS., ix-x; correspondence between sir Walter Scott and sir T.D. Lauder on the proposed publication of his MSS., xi-xxii; his early journals and accounts, xl-xlii; language and spelling of his MSS., xlix; sets out on his travels, I; lands in France, 2; in Paris, 3; at Orleans, 7; enters into theological and logical discussions, 16; at Blois, 17; visits the convent at Marmoustier, 18; at Saumur, 20-23; at Richelieu, 25-29; arrives at Poictiers, 29; angers the French by abusing them in Scots, 121; leaves Poictiers, 128; at Amboise, 129; arrives in Paris, 131; his essay on the study of law, 137 and _n_; visits the colleges and physick garden, 169-173; returns to London, 174; his journey north, 175-I76; at York, 177; reaches Edinburgh, 179; note of his expenses in London, 180; at Glasgow, 183, 185; at Hamilton, 185; returns home, 186; excursions in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, 187-194; his marriage; birth of his son John, and his daughters Jannet and Isobell, 195; his tour through Fife, 195-197; in Haddingtonshire and Berwickshire, 200-204, 208-211; notes of journeys in Scotland in 1671-72, 205-207; notes of his expenditure, 153-163; arrives at London, 167; at Oxford, 169; admitted advocate, xxii, 181-182, 212; his marriage, xxii-xxiii, 195; appointed advocate for the poor, 223; his fees for consultations, 257-258; appointed assessor of Edinburgh, 212, 308; assessor for the convention of royal burrows, 281; his gift of books to the library of the university of Edinburgh, 289; letter from, to his son, on sir Andrew Ramsay, lord Abbots-hall, 300-308; catalogue of his books, 153, 157, 160-162, 283-299. ---- sir Lues, 191. ---- Richard, of Hatton, 191 and _n_, 192 and _n_, 193, 212. ---- Robert, 222, 245, 251, 269, 270. ---- sir Thomas Dick, his correspondence with sir Walter Scott on the publishing of Fountainhall's MSS., xi-xxii. ---- William, 242, 245. ---- of the Bass, 202 _n_. ---- sergeant, 185. ---- Mr., 168. Lauders, murder of, xxi. Lauderdale, 179. Lauderdale, John, earl of, 192. ---- ---- duke of, xxxi and _n_, xxxv, _n_, 26 _n_, 168, 189, 203, 213-215, 219-222, 232, 303, 306-308. ---- duchess of, 215, 306, 307. ---- Richard, earl of, 192. ---- colonel, 189. Lauds, Ja., 242. Laurenceland, 200. ---- laird of. _See_ Henderson. Law of Brunton, 197. Law, essay on the study of, 137 and _n_. Laws and customs of France, 64-65, 74, 77, 87. Lawyers' fees in France, 90. Le Berche, Mr., 13, 123-124, 157. Leidingtoune, 200. Leighton, Robert, archbishop of Dunblane, afterwards of Glasgow, 214, 231. Leirmonts of Dairsie, 207. Leith citadel, purchase of, 305, 308. Leny (Leine), near Edinburgh, 193. _Lepanthe (le) de Jacques VI_., 82. Lery, Jean de, 94 and _n_. Leslie, Fife, 197, 205. Lesly, bishop of the Isles, anecdote of, 64. ---- Patrick, 276. Leuchie, 203. Levine, earl of, 196, 201. Levinston, Dr., 186. Liberton, 187, 188. Lindsay, Henry, 258. Linktoune, Kirkcaldy, 195. Linlithgow palace, 182 and _n_. Lintlands, 200. Linton bridges, 202. Lithgow, lord, 194. Little, William, provost of Edinburgh, 187. ---- ---- of Over Libberton, 187. Lo ----, professor of music in Oxford 168, 172, 173. Lochlevin castle, 197. Lockhart, sir George, xxx, xxxvii, 212, 222, 224, 276, 308. ---- sir James, of Lee, lord justice clerk, 185 and _n_, 218, 219; death of, 223. ---- colonel sir William, of Lee, 215, 223, 233. death of, 224. Logans of Restalrig, 187. Loire, inundations of the, 20-21. London tower, 1. Loudun, the devils of, 77. Louis XIII., statue of, in Paris, 5; statue and portraits of, at Richelieu castle, 25-27; a gunmaker, 57; heightens the gold and silver of foreign nations, 80. Louis XIV., as a drummer, 57. Lovain, universities of, 204. Loyola, Ignatius, sermon on, 30-31. Lufnes, 203, 210. Lumsdean, Charles, 268, 296. Lundie, rev. James, 195. ---- of that ilk, 196-197. Lundy, Mr., minister at Dysert, 272. Lylle, William, advocate, death of, 212. Lyon, rev. Gilbert, 195. ---- Patrick, 221, 249. Macbean, Mr., xv, xviii, xxi. Macduff clan, 197, 206. Macfud ----, 208. M'Gill, Alex., 279, 280. ---- of Fingask, 204. ---- of Rumgaye, 207. M'Gills of Kemnock, 207. Mackenzie, sir George, lord advocate, xxvii, xxxvi, xxxviii, 181, 226. ---- Roderick, 181. Maclucas, Colin, 185. Macquare, Robert, 115, 139 and _n_. Madertie, lord, 208. Madmen, anecdotes of, 87. Madrid, near Paris, 5. Magdalen bridge, near Musselburgh, 188 and _n_. Maid of Orleans, festival of, 9-11. Mainart, lord, 222. Maitland, Charles, lord Halton, 191 _n_, 192 _n_, 208, 221, 227. ---- Richard, of Pitreichy, 218. ---- family, 192. Malcolm of Babedie, 196. Maps, price of, 264, 287. Mar, earle of, 224, 302. March, earle of, 203. Marior, Joseph, 2. Marjoribanks, 203. Markinch (Markins), 197. Marmoustier, convent at, 18. Marriage ceremonies, 99 marriages of protestants in France, 79 marriage laws of France, 65, 77. Marseilles, 64. Martin, St., celebration of, 100, 101; relics of, 19. ---- Robert, justice clerk-depute, 219, 225. Mary, St., of Loretto, 188 _n_. ---- Magdalen, St., nunnery of, at the Sciennes, 188. Masterton ----, 262, 263. Maule, Mr., xix. Mawer, Mrs., 265. May island, 203. Mazarin, cardinal, 5, 63. Meadowbank, lord, xiii. Mede, Joseph, theory of, on the peopling of America, 197. Megget, Jo., 258. Mein, Mr., 5. ---- Patrick, 3. ---- Robert, 250, 256, 257. Meinzeis, rev. John, 231. Meiren, col., 185. Melvill, lord, 196. ---- family, 203. Melvines of Touch, 204. Mendoza's _Histoire ... de la Chine_, 105. Mensen, Henry, 280 Merton college, Oxford, 171 and _n_, 173. Metellan, Mr., 168. Meung, 18. Mexico, founding of the kingdom of, 198. Middleton, earl of, xli, 174. Midlothian militia, 189. Migill. See M'Gill. Milne, rev. Mr., 183. Milton's _Iconoclastes_, 116. Minimes, order of, 9, 10, 86. Miracles performed at the cradle of St. Hilaire, 56. Mitchell, Jo., 268. ---- William, 22, 250, 257. Mompommery, Mr., 159. _Monasterium Sancte Mariæ in Campis_, 188. Moncreiff, Sam, 281. Money, comparative values of, xlii-xlviii, 81, 92 and _n_, 154, 239, 242, 243 and _n_, 245 and _n_, 257 and _n_, 269. Monmouth, the duck of, 222. Monro, Alexander, 212, 226. Monsoreau, 20, 24. Montaigne's _Essayes_, 82. Monteith, earles of, 194. Montozon, M., 128. Montrosse, lord, 183. Monynet, 210. Moonzie, 207. Moor, Mr., 5. ---- G., 2. ---- Dick, 2. Moorefields, 174. Moray. _See_ Murray. Mordington, 202. ---- lord, 201, 202. Morisons of Dairsie, 207. Morton, earl of, 188, 226. Morton of Cummock, 207. Mortonhall, laird of, 189. Moubrayes of Barnbougall, 193. ---- of Wauchton, 202. Mount Calvary, near Paris, 6. Mountebanks, 68-74. Moutray of Seafield castle, 195. Mow, laird of, 201. ---- Patrick, of the Maines, 201. Mowat, Mr., 3, 160. Muire of Park, 271. Muires of Bourhouses, 200. Muirhead, John, advocate, death of, 223. Munster, bishop of, anecdote of the, 150. Murder of a judge in Paris, 49. discovery of murders at St. Lazare, 63. Murray, earle of, created justice-generall, 225. pensioned, 225. ---- John, advocate, death of, 219. ---- Mungo, 120. ---- sir Robert, 214 and _n_. ---- death of, 224. ---- sir Thomas, of Glendoick, lord of session, 223-224. ---- Wm., 274, 276, 279. ---- of Levinstone, 186. ---- Mr., 3. Musselburgh, 188, 189. Mylne, Robert, annotator of Lauder's MSS., xi, xii, xv, xx. Myre of Billie, 201. Nairne, Mr., 231. Napier, origin of the name of, 211. Nasmith, John, 269, 272, 278, 279. Neilsone, Margaret, 253, 263. Newbyth, lord. _See_ Baird, sir John. New college, Oxford, 171. New Cranston, 179. Newliston, 193. Newmilnes, 200. Newtonlies, 200, 209. Neidle Eye, near Bathgate, 186. Nicol, John, 242, 284, 295. ---- P., 174. Nicolson, sir John, of Polton, 189. ---- Jonet, 276. ---- Thomas, advocate, death of, 212. Nidrie, 190. ---- castle, 193. Nisbet, sir John, of Dirleton, 203 _n_, 210, 213, 226, 308. ---- of West Nisbet, 202. Norame castle, 202. Normand, Lance, 2. Northtoun (Norton), 192. Northumberland, earl of, 58. Norvell, George, advocate, death of, 222. Nunlands, 200, 202. Nynewells, 201. Oaths of France, 147. Ogilvy, lord, 8 and _n_, 14, 16, 17, 130, 160. ---- John, 4, 7, 11, 13, 23, 60, 109, 130, 157, 158, 161; letter to, from Francis Kinloch, introducing Lauder, 7. Oliphant, lord, 202. ---- Laurence, advocate, death of, 212. ---- Patrick, death of, 225. Olive trees, abundance of, in France, 89. Opdam, admiral, 13 and _n_; defeat of, 234-235. Orange trees, 89. Oriel college, Oxford, 172. Orleans, 8; festival of the maid of, 9-11; the fête de Dieu at, 11; drinking customs of, 133. ---- duke of, statue of, at Blois, 18. Ormond, duke of, 58. Orrery, lord, 2 and _n_. Osborne's _Advice to a Son_, 99 and _n_. Oswald, Alex., advocate, death of, 212. Otterburne of Reidhall, 203, 207. Oxbridge. _See_ Uxbridge. Oxford and its library, 169-170; its colleges, 171-173. Painston ----, 251, 263, 265. Paipes of Walafield, 190. Paisley (Pasley) town and abbey, 184. Pancerolli's _Vetera Deperdita_, 99 and _n_. Papists, effects of thunder on, 51. Parma, the duke of, and the Jesuits, 86. Partenay, 64. Passive obedience, 140. Paterson, George, 258, 270, 277. ---- rev. John, 195. ---- Thomas, 177, 180, 269. ---- William, 163, 272. Pathhead or Pittintillun, 196. Patrick, St., Irish respect for, 134. Paxtoun, 202. Peager, madame, 128. Peirs, Mary, 267. Penmansheills, 209. Penny weddings, 124, 242, 265, 275, 276. Pentherer ----, 251. Peppermilne, near Edinburgh, 188. Péres de l'oratoire, 10, 13, 42. Petition to the court of session, 181. Philip II. of Spain, anecdotes of, 150. Phrygian language, antiquity of, 81. Physick garden, Oxford, 173. Pies, the, near Cockburnspath, 200. Pilans, James, 186. Pinkie, battle of, 190. ---- house, near Musselburgh, 189. Pitcairne ----, 205. Pitmedden. See Seton. Pittedy, Fife, 196. Pleughlands, Edinburgh, 187. Poictiers, 29; street cries of, 40, 68; anecdote of the bishop of, 60-61; Jesuit college at, 77; lawyers in, 90; crime in, 95. Poictou, governor of the province of, 57; the practice of torture in, 70. Pollock, Mr., 269. Popish plot, xxviii. Porrock, Henry, 251. Port de Pilles, 129. Porterstoune, 216. Portraiture in France, 109. Portsmouth, dutchesse of, xli. Portues, Patrick, 8, 156. Preistfield, 188. Preston of Bouncle, 200. ---- sir Robert, of that ilk, xxxv _n_, 219, 224. Prestons of Craigmillar, 188. Primogeniture, law of, in France, 90, 143. Primrose, sir Archibald, of Elphinston, 190, 193 and _n_, 225-227. Pringle, Mr., of Yair, xiii. ---- Walter, advocate, 221, 252, 275, 276; suspension of, 226. Productiveness of France, 89. Protestants, marriages of, in France, 79. Proverbs, 143-144, 146, 148. Psammeticus, king of Egypt, and the origin of language, 81. Puddock stools, cooking of, 76. Purves, William, 140. Quarrier, Pat, 245. Queen's college, Oxford, 172. Queinsberry, earle of, 224. Quinkerstaines, 202. Radegonde, Ste., 34; legend of, 35; tomb of, 56. Raith, the, Kirkcalcly, 196. ---- of Edmonston, 188 and _n_. Ramsay, sir Andrew, lord Abbotshall, lord provost of Edinburgh, xxii, xxxiv-xxxvi, 109 _n_, 195, 249, 251, 267, 269, 272, 274, 279, 281, 284, 287, 293-298; made a lord of session, 217; a member of the privy council, 225; letter from Lauder on the character and career of, 300; extract on, from sir George Mackenzie's Memoirs, 308-309. Ramsay, sir Andrew, of Wauchton, 283, 308. ---- lady Wauchton, 250. ---- Andrew, professor of theology at Saumur and afterwards rector of Edinburgh university, 199, 206, 301, 303-304 and _n_. ---- sir Charles, of Balmayn, 304. ---- David, 109. ---- ---- of Balmayn, 304. ---- George, lord, 206. ---- Grissell, 241, 255, 257, 258. ---- sir James, of Whythill, advocate, death of, 223. ---- Janet, wife of lord Fountainhall, xxii. ---- sir John, of Balmayn, afterwards earl of Bothwell, 200, 203-207. ---- John, keiper of the register of homings, death of, 219. ---- ---- minister of Markinch, 197. ---- Margaret, 258. ---- Mathew, 262, 271. ---- Patrick, 112 and _n_, 278. ---- William, earle of Fife, 197, 206. ---- ---- of Balmayne, 303. ---- ---- 244, 265, 271, 272, 306. ---- of Balmayne, 239. ---- of Corston, 205, 206. ---- of Fawsyde, 100. ---- of Idington, 200 and _n_, 241, 243, 287. ---- of Nunlands, 202. ---- colonel, 246. ---- 205. Ramsays in Fife, 206. Raploch, laird of, 281. Ratho, 192. Razin, Stenka, rebellion of, 229. Reidbraes, 202. Reidfuird, lord. _See_ Foulis, James, of Colinton. Reidhall, 191. Reidhouse, 208. Reidop, 194. Reidpeth, George, 239. Relics at the convent of Marmoustier, 19-20. Renton, 200, 209. ---- lord. _See_ Hume, sir John. ---- of Billie, 201. Rentons' claim on Coldingham, 209-210. Restalrig castle, 187; chapel, 190. Revenscraig, 207. Revensheuch, 196. Revenues of the king of France, 110. Riccarton, 191, 194. Richelieu town and castle, description of, 25-27, 44, 157. ---- cardinal, 28, 91. Richison, lady Smeton, 193. Riddles, 80, 103-105. Rigs of Carberrie, 190. Robertson, George, keiper of the register of hornings, 219. ---- Thomas, treasurer of Edinburgh, 240, 255, 256, 268, 276. Robison of the Cheynes (Sciennes), 188. Rocheid, sir James, 306. Roman catholics, penal laws against, xxvi, xxvii; troublesome citizens, xxix. Rome, brothels of, 83; Scots college at, 84; customs of, 116. Ross, bishop of, his mission on behalf of James II., 198 and _n_. ---- lord, 224. ---- Daniel, 241. ---- James, advocate, death of, 224. Rothes, earl of, xxxvi, 176, 196 _n_, 207, 306. Rouchsoles, 185. Roxbrugh, earle of, 179, 201, 224. Roy, Mr., 113. Rue, Mr., 159. Ruell waterworks, 5, 6. Rumgaye, 207. Rupert, prince, 236. Rutherfurd, lord, 109 and _n_. ---- C., 132, 168. ---- capt., 162. _Sacellum Sancti Marlorati_, 188 and _n_. St. Abbes Head, 210. St. Catharine's well, 187. St. Florans, convent at, 22. St. Germains, 200. St. Hilaire, abbot of, 75; church of, 56. St. Roque, chapel of, 188 _n_. Saints' days, 12. Salmasius' _Defensio Regio_, 116. Salmon fishing on the Tweed, 202. Salt, 92. Salton, estate of, 216. Sandilands, Mr., 3, 132, 168. ---- Marion, 194. Sandwich, vice-admiral, 13. Sanquhar, lord. _See_ Hamilton, sir William. Sanson's maps of France, etc., 28. Sauces and salads, 92. Sauchton, 191. Saumur, 20-22; system of graduation at, 23. Scatteraw, 200. Scholars' compact with the devil, 88. Scholastic speculations, 92-94. Schovo, Mr., 13, 157, 162. Sciennes, nunnery at, 188 and _n_. Scorpions, 74. Scots' walk at the church of St. Hilaire, 56. Scotscraig, 206, 207. Scotstarvet, 206. Scott, Adam, 265. ---- David, 14. ---- Francis, 212. ---- sir John, of Scotstarvet, 190, 191, 194. ---- John, 183, 212, 248, 252. ---- Laurence, of Bevely, clerk of session, death of, 212. ---- Margaret, 194. ---- Mary, 275. ---- Robert, 54, 159. ---- Thomas, of Abbotshall, 195, 203. ---- sir Walter, his correspondence with sir Thomas Dick Lauder on the proposed publication of Fountain-hall's MSS., xi-xxii. ---- Wm., of Abirlady, 210. ---- of Ardrosse, 197. ---- of Balveiry, 197. ---- of Bonytoun, 193. ---- of Dischingtoune, 197. ---- of Limphoys, 191. ---- captain, 132. ---- Mr., 30. Scougall, 210. ---- sir John, of Whytkirk, death of, 219. Scudéri's _Almahide_, account of, 134-137. Seafield castle, 195. Seat rent, 265, 276. Sempills of Fulwood, 185. Semple, 203. ---- Gabriell, 270. Senators of the college of justice, their usurpation of power over the town of Edinburgh, 218. Sermons on Ignatius Loyola, 30; on St. Domenick, 31; on the virgin Mary, 41, 52-53; anecdotes of sermons, 115. Seton, Alexander, chancellor, and provost of Edinburgh, 189, 218 and _n_, 305. ---- ---- of Pitmedden, 258, 284, 290. Shaftesbury, earle of, high chancelor of England, 221. Sharp, James, archbishop of St. Andrews, 141, 214, 231. ---- William, of Stainehill, 189. Sherwood forest, 177. Sheves, William, of Kemnock, archbishop of St. Andrews, 207. Shirefhal, 188. Shoneir of Caskieberry, 205. Shynaille, 15 and _n_. Sibbalds of Balgonie, 196, 197. Silver, price of, 264. Silvertonhil, 185. Sim, William, 192, 268. Sinclair, lord, 196. ---- George, 159. ---- Hew, 241, 242. ---- Ja., of Roslin, 269. ---- John, minister at Ormiston, 279. ---- sir Robert, 213, 214 and _n_, 219-220, 222. ---- Robert, 181, 182. Skene (Skein), J., 110 and _n_. ---- sir James, of Curriehill, xi, 191. ---- Thomas, advocate, 227. ---- of Halzeards, 193. Smith, rev. J., anecdote of, 127. ---- Joannette, 280. Somervell, Arthur, 266, 275. Somnambulism, a cure for, 84. Sorcery, xxxviii, 45-46, 99, 204 and _n_. Southampton, earle of, 222. Southesk, carles of, 303. Spaniards, antipathy of the French to, 47-48; Spanish cruelty in the New-World, 98. Spanish Netherlands invaded by the French, 228. Spence, Jeremiah, forges a decreet, 220-221. Spittle, 192. Spot, 200, 209. Spotswood, Alexander, 213. ---- ---- of Crumstaine, advocate, 202; death of, 225. ---- John, archbishop of St. Andrews, 139, 207. Sprage, Mr., 169. Spurius Carvilius, 116. Stainehill, near Edinburgh, 189. Stainfeild, sir Ja., 281. Stair, lord, president of the court of session, xxxi, xxxv and _n_, xxxvi _n_, 213, 214. Stanipmilne, 191. Steill, Pat, 265. Stevinson, Haddington, 200. ---- D., 265. ---- Jo., 262. ---- William, 275. ---- Dr., 186, 249. Stewart, John, of Ketleston, death of, 221. ---- sir Lues, advocate, of Kirkhill, 193. ---- Robert, marshal of France, 103. ---- of Rossyth, 197. Stillingfleet, Mr., 174. Stirling, rev. David, 195. ---- rev. Robert, 183. Strachan ---- regent at Aberdeen, 42. ---- sir J., 176. ---- William, advocate, death of, 225. ---- Mr., 2, 3. ---- Mlle, 128. Strafford, earle of, 230. Stranaver, lady, 201. Street cries, 40, 68, 99. Sutherland, James, treasurer of Edinburgh, 278. ---- Will., 262, 266, 268, 270. Suty, John, 30. Swearing, punishment of, 60. Swine, 77. Swinton, Alexander, advocate, 215, 221. ---- of Brunston, 26 and _n_. Sword ----, provost of Aberdeen, 109. Swynish abbey, 186. Sydserfe, 203. ---- Tom, his _Tarugoes Wiles_, 174-175 and _n_. Tailfours of Reidheues, 191. Tantallon (Tomtallon), 203, 210. Tarbet, laird of, 196. Taringzean, 205. Temple, Arthur, 271. ---- lands in Edinburgh, 192. Tennent, skipper, 281. Terinean, in Carrick, 302. Test act, xxxii-xxxv. Thanes of Collie, 304. Theft, punishment of, 70. Thiget burn. See Figgate burn. Thirlestan, 8 and _n_, 132. Thoires, David, advocate, 223; sent to prison and fined, 213. Thomson, George, of Touch, 196, 204, 288. ---- Thomas, xiii, xix-xx. ---- sir Thomas, 190. Thomsone, sir William, 168, 305. Thornetounloch, 200. Thorniedykes, 210. Thunder, bell-ringing during, 49-51. Toad, medicinal stone in head of, 72. Tobit's dog, 114 and _n_. Tod, Archibald, provost of Edinburgh, 305. Todrig, Alex., 252, 260, 263. 'Tom of the Cowgate.' _See_ Haddington, earl of. Torrance ----, 185. Torture, infliction of, xxxviii, 70, 83. Touch, 204, 205. ---- laird of. _See_ Thomson, George. Touraine, madame de, death of, 132. Tours, 19, 20, 24, 64. Trade processions in France, 52. Traditions and fables, 36-37. Traquair, lord, 216, 218. Trinity college, Oxford, 173. Trotter, Jo., 262. Turner ----, 3. ---- sir James, 185. Tweddale, earle of, 189, 214, 223, 224; his predecessors, 208. Tyninghame, 209, 210. Umeau, M., his speech at the opening of the law university of Poictiers, 112. Union of England and Scotland, 229 and _n_. University college, Oxford, 172. Uphall kirk, 193. Uxbridge, 168. Van Eck, Tunis, 167. Van Tromp, 235. Vipers exhibited by mountebanks, 71, 73. Voetius ----, 141. Vulteius ----, 66. Waldenses, persecutions of, 66. Walker, William, 199. Wallace, Hew, W.S., 213. ---- James, macer, 216. ---- sir Thomas, 214. ---- William, tradition of, 37. ---- ---- advocate, death of, 223. ---- Mr., 168. Wallyfield, near Musselburgh, 190, 203. Wardlaw, Charles, 246, 284. Waren, Mr., 163. Waschingtoune, 216. Wat, Peter, 247. Water, vendors of, 68. Waterworks at Ruell, 5,6; at Shynaille, 15. Watson, David, of Sauchton, 191. ---- J., of Lammyletham, 217. ---- Walter, provost of Dumbarton, 184. ---- of Pathhead or Pittintillun, 196. ---- ---- 202. Wauchope of Niddrie, 188 _n_. Wauchton, 202, 209. _See also_ Hepburn: Ramsay. ---- of Lufness, 210. Wause, Pat., 168, 255, 267. Wedderburne, Rob., sermon by, 54. Weir, major, execution of, 232. Wemes, James, advocate, death of, 214. Wemyss, Rot., 271. ---- (Veimes) of Bogie, 196. ---- of that ilk, 197. Wesenbec, Matthew, 122. Westmilne house, Kirkcaldy, 195. White, C, 132. Whithill, Easter Dudinstone, 190. Whitkirk, 203. Whyte, Andrew, of Fuirstoun, 200. Wild animals of France, 85. Wilkie, Archibald, of Dauphintoun, 190. Wilky, Mr., 3. Willis, D., physitian, 173. Wilson, James, 249. ---- Thomas, 276. Windiegoule, near Tranent, 203. Wine, adulteration of, 59. Wines of Germany, 69; of France, 85. Winrahame, Robert, advocate, death of, 225. ---- of Currichill, 191. Winton, lord, 182, 258. Witchcraft, xxxviii-xl. Wolsie, cardinal, 171. Wolves in France, 85. Wood, Andro, 245. ---- Hary, 272. ---- rev. James, anecdote of, 127. ---- John, 259, 266, 271, 298. Woodhead, lands of, xxiii. Wrightshouses, Edinburgh, 186; origin of, 211. Yester, 208. ---- lord, 168, 203, 224. York, duke of. _See_ James VII. ---- town and minster, 177. Young, Androw, 241, 272, 279. ---- of Leny, 193. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press. REPORT OF THE THIRTEENTH ANNUAL MEETING OF THE SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY THE THIRTEENTH ANNUAL MEETING OF THE SOCIETY was held on TUESDAY, November 21, 1899, in Dowell's Rooms, George Street, Edinburgh,--Emeritus Professor MASSON in the chair. The HON. SECRETARY read the Report of the Council, as follows:-- During the past year the Society has lost twenty members, ten by death and ten by resignation. When the vacancies are filled up there will remain seventy names on the list of candidates for admission. In addition to the 400 individual members of the Society there are now 64 Public Libraries subscribing for the Society's publications. The Council particularly desire to express their regret at the death of the Rev. Dr. Alexander Mitchell, formerly Professor of Ecclesiastical History at St. Andrews University, and of the Rev. A.W. Cornelius Hallen. From the foundation of the Society, Dr. Mitchell had been a corresponding member of the Council. He took a great interest in the Society's work, and, in conjunction with the Rev. Dr. Christie, edited for us two volumes of _The Records of the Commissions of the General Assembly of the Years_ 1646- 49. Mr. Hallen was also an active member of the Council for many years, and edited _The Account Book of Sir John Foulis of Ravelston_. The Society's publications belonging to the issue of the past year, viz., Mr. Ferguson's first volume of _Papers Illustrating the History of the Scots Brigade_, and Mr. Firth's volume on _Scotland and the Protectorate_, have been for some months in the hands of members. But members for this year, 1898-99, are to be congratulated on their good fortune in receiving, in addition to the ordinary issue of the Society, two other volumes as a gift. It will be remembered that at our last Annual Meeting Mr. Balfour Paul announced on behalf of the trustees of the late Sir William Fraser, K.C.B., that, acting on the terms of the trust, they were prepared to print and present to members on the roll for the year 1898-99, at least one, and perhaps two volumes of documents having the special object of illustrating the family history of Scotland. The work then suggested, and subsequently determined upon, was the Macfarlane Genealogical Collections relating to families in Scotland, MSS. in the Advocates' Library, now passing through the press in two volumes, under the editorial care of Mr. J.T. Clark, the Keeper of the Library. The whole of the first volume and the greater part of the second are already in type. The Council, who very highly appreciate this welcome donation, desire to convey to the trustees the cordial thanks of the Society for their share in the presentation. The following are the publications assigned to the coming year, 1899-1900: (1.) The second volume of the _Scots Brigade_ which is already printed, bound, and ready for issue. (2.) _The Journal of a Foreign Tour in 1665 and 1666_, and portions of other Journals, by Sir John Lauder, Lord Fountainhall, edited by Mr. Donald Crawford, Sheriff of Aberdeen, Kincardine and Banff. The greater part of this book also is in type. (3.) _Dispatches of the Papal Envoys to Queen Mary during her reign in Scotland_, edited by the Rev. J. Hungerford Pollen, S.J. The editor expects to send his manuscripts to the printer in January next. Several new works have been proposed and provisionally accepted by the Council. Dr. J.H. Wallace-James offers a collection of Charters and Documents of the Grey Friars of Haddington and of the Cistercian Nunnery of Haddington. They will be the more welcome, as the desire has been frequently expressed that the Society should deal more fully with the period preceding the Reformation. Mr. Firth has suggested the publication of certain unedited or imperfectly edited papers concerning the _Negotiations for the Union of England and Scotland in_ 1651-1653, and Mr. C. Sandford Terry of Aberdeen has kindly consented to edit them. The three retiring members of Council are Dr. Hume Brown, Mr. G.W. Prothero, and Mr. Balfour Paul. The Council propose that Mr. Prothero should be removed to the list of corresponding members, that Dr. Hume Brown and Mr. Balfour Paul be re-elected, and that Mr. John Scott, C.B., be appointed to the Council in the place of Mr. Prothero. The Accounts of the Hon. Treasurer show that there was a balance in November 1898 of £172, 12s. 9d., and that the income for the year 1898-99 was £521, 15s. 5d. The expenditure for this same year was £438, 14s. 1d., leaving a balance in favour of the Society of £255, 14s. 1d. The CHAIRMAN, in moving the adoption of the Report, which, he said, was very satisfactory, said that in the first place they had kept their promises and arrangements in the past year, and, in the second place, they had a very good bill of fare for the current year, even if there were nothing additional to their programme as already published. The books that had been announced as forthcoming were just the kind of books that it was proper the Society should produce. But, in addition, they would see there was forthcoming a very important publication which had come to them out of the ordinary run. The late Sir William Fraser, in addition to his other important bequests, which would for the future affect the literature of Scottish history, gave power to his trustees that they might, if they saw occasion, employ a certain portion of his funds on some specific publications of the nature of those materials in which he had been spending his life. The result had been that the trustees, chiefly he believed by the advice of their Lyon King of Arms, Mr. Balfour Paul, had offered as a gift to this Society those very important genealogical documents, the Macfarlane documents, which had been lying in the Advocates' Library, and to which a great many people at various times had been referring, to such an extent that he believed Mr. Clark, the librarian of the Advocates' Library, had been almost incommoded by the number of such applications. Henceforth this would not be the case, as the Macfarlane genealogical documents were to be published under the editorship of Mr. Clark. That was a windfall for which he had no doubt all the members of the Society would be thankful, and when he moved the adoption of the report he meant specially to propose their adoption of a hearty vote of thanks to the trustees of Sir William Fraser. Professor MASSON then alluded to the proposal of Mr. C. Stanford Terry to produce the silent records relating to the union of Scotland with England in the years 1651 to 1653. That was a portion of Scottish history that had been almost forgotten, but a very important and interesting portion of Scottish history it was. In 1651, after the battle of Dunbar, and after Cromwell's occupation of Scotland, and after he had gone back to England and had left Monk in charge in Scotland, with about eight thousand Englishmen in Scotland, distributed in garrisons here and there, it occurred to the Long Parliament of England, then masters of affairs in Great Britain, that there ought to be an incorporating union of Scotland with the English Commonwealth. That proposal came before the Long Parliament in October 1651. It was agreed upon, by way of declaration, that it might be very desirable, and a committee of eight members of the Long Parliament was appointed to negotiate in the matter. They came to Scotland, and there was a kind of convention, a _quasi_ Scottish Parliament, held at Dalkeith, where the matter was discussed. Of course, it was a very serious matter, giving rise to various feelings. To part with the old Scottish nationality was a prospect that had to be faced with regret. To this Parliament the Commissioners proposed what was called the Tender, or an offer of incorporating union. The variety of elements in Scotland-- Royalists, Presbyterians, Independents--in the main said that they must yield, although they were reluctant. Even those who were most in sympathy with the English Commonwealth politically shrank for a while, and they tried whether the Long Parliament might not accept a kind of compromise, whether Scotland might not be erected into a little independent Republic allied to the English Commonwealth or Republic. But at last all these feelings gave way, and the English Commissioners were able to report before the end of the year, or in January--what we should now call 1652, but then called 1651--that twenty of the Scottish shires out of thirty-five had accepted the Tender, and that almost all the burghs had accepted it, Edinburgh and Aberdeen and all the chief burghs --Glasgow being the sole outstanding one. At last, however, Glasgow, on thinking over the thing, agreed, and the consequence was that in April 1652 the Act incorporating Scotland with the English Commonwealth passed the first and second readings in the Long Parliament. From April 1652 Scotland was, they might say, united with England, and in the Protectorate Parliaments, in Cromwell's first and second Parliaments, there were thirty members from Scotland sitting at Westminster with the English members, and so through the protectorate of his son Richard, and it was not till the Restoration that there came the rebound. Then the order universally was: 'As you were,' and a period of Scottish history was sponged out, so much so that they had forgotten it, and many of them rather regretted it. At all events, it was a very important period of Scottish history, and the proposed publication will give us flashes of light into the feelings and the state of the country between 1652 and 1660. Proceeding, Professor MASSON said the Society had kept strictly to their announcements, and they had already contributed a great many publications, which, at all events, had proved, and were proving, new materials for the history of Scotland, giving new conceptions of that history. They would observe in the first place how the publications had been dotted in respect of dates, some of them comparatively recent, others going far back. They would observe, in the second place, that the documents had been of almost all kinds--all those kinds that were of historical value; all those that really pertained to the history of Scotland--that was to say, the history of that little community which, with a small population, they named Scotland. There were various theories and conceptions of history. The main and common and the capital conception of the day was to give the story of the succession of events of all kinds. In that respect Scottish history, though the history of a small nation, would compete in interest with the history of any nation that had ever been. Small, but the variety, the intensity of the life, the changes, the vicissitudes, the picturesque incidents, no history could compete for that kind of interest with the history of that little torrent that had flowed through such a rocky, narrow bed. Crimes or illegalities got easily into books, and this was a little unfortunate, because people dwelt on such crimes and illegalities as constituting history. But they did not. No more would the digest of the trials of their Police Courts and of their chief Courts. They figured, of course, in history, but there ought to be a caution against allowing too great a proportion of those records of crimes and illegalities to affect their views. Then there was a notion of history very much in favour with their scholars at present, that it should consist merely of a narrative of the actions of the Government and the formation of institutions--what they should call constitutional history. There had been a school of historical writers of late who would almost confine history to that record--nothing else was proper history, and the consequence was that the constitution of history was in the publication of documents and in the changes in the manner of government. That was an essential and a very important part of history, but by itself it would be a very dreich kind of history. History was the authentic record of whatever happened in the world, and Scottish history of whatever had happened in the Scottish world. If he had been told that on a certain date King James V., the Red Fox, rode over Cramond Bridge with five horsemen, one of them on a white horse, they might say what use was it to him to know that, but he did want to know it and have that picture in his mind. It was a piece of history, and any one who was bereft of interest in that sort of thing--however little use it might be turned to--was bereft of the historical faculty. Then there was a conception of history that it should consist in pictures of the generation, of the people, how they were housed, how they were fed, and so on. That was a capital notion. But he was not sure that there were not certain overdoings of that notion. In the first place, they would observe that they must take a succession of generations in order to accomplish that descriptive history of the state of Scotland at one time, then at another, then at a third, and so on. A description at one time would not apply to the society of Scotland at another. 'Quhan Alysander, oure Kyng, was deid, Quhan Scotland led in luve and le, Awa' wes sons of ail and brede, Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and glee.' That was to say, it was a tradition before that time that there was abundance and even luxury in Scotland. There had been a tendency in history of late to dwell on the poverty and squalor of Scotland in comparison with other countries--all that should be produced, and made perfectly conceivable--and then also to dwell on the records of kirk- sessions and presbyteries, showing the state of morality in Scotland. All that it was desirable should be produced in abundance if they were not wrongly construed--but they were apt to be. A notion had arisen what a comical country Scotland must have been with its Shorter Catechism, and its presbytery records, and its miserable food, and so on. That was a wrong notion, and ought to be dismissed, because if they thought of it the life of a community consisted in how it felt, how it acted. In those days of poverty and squalor of external surroundings there were as good men, as brave men, and as good women as there were in Scotland now. And at all events, if there was anything in Scotland now, any power in the world, it had sprung from these progenitors. They must have some corrective for an exaggeration of that notion, which was very natural. One was biography. They would be surprised if they were to know how many biographies there might be along the course of Scottish history, say from the Reformation. If they fastened on a single individual, and told the story of his life, they not only told the story of his community in a very interesting manner, but they got straight to some of those faults which they were apt to be impressed by if they gazed vaguely at the community. Dr. Hume Brown had written an admirable summary of the history of Scotland, but he had contributed to the history of Scotland in another way by his two biographies of Buchanan and Knox, and especially by his biography of Buchanan. Another corrective was literature. There had been no sufficient perception of how literature might illustrate history; and why should it not if their aim was to recover the past mind of Scotland? Every song, every fiction--was not that a transmitted piece of the very mind that they wanted to investigate? Here was matter already at their hand. Then, in a similar way, if a noble thought, if a fine feeling, was in any way expressed in verse or in prose, that came out of some moment or moments in the mind of some individual, and it must have corresponded and been in sympathy with the community in which it was expressed. Nothing noble had come out of any man at any one time, but that man, in the way of expression of literature, must have had a constituency of people who felt as he felt. Unfortunately there was a long gap in what we called the finer history of Scotland from the time of the Reformation to Allan Ramsay--in literature of certain kinds. There were muses in those days, but they were muses of ecclesiastical and political controversy--very grim muses, but still they were muses. But from Allan Ramsay's time to this, to study the history of the literature was to know more of the history of the country than we would otherwise. David Hume, Adam Smith, Burns, Scott--all these men were born and bred in Scotland so poor and so squalid that we should say we would not belong to it now. Nobody was asking us to belong to it. But these men, their roots were in a soil capable of sustaining their genius and of pouring into their works those things in the way of thought and feeling that delighted us now, and that were our pride throughout the world. Mr. D.W. KEMP seconded the adoption of the Report, which was agreed to. The vacancies in the Council were filled by the re-election of Dr. Hume Brown and Mr. Balfour Paul, and the election of Mr. John Scott, C.B., in room of Mr. G.W. Prothero. In reply to Mr. James Bruce, W.S., Dr. LAW said that the death of Dr. Mitchell had caused some delay in the preparation of the third volume of the Records of the General Assembly, but it had already been transcribed for the printer. A vote of thanks to Professor Masson concluded the proceedings. ABSTRACT OF THE HONORARY TREASURER'S ACCOUNTS _For Year to 31st October 1899._ I. CHARGE. I. Balance in Bank from last year, £172 12 9 II. Subscriptions, viz.-- (1) 400 subscriptions for 1898-99, at £1, 1s., £420 0 0 2 in arrear for 1897-98, and 6 in advance for 1899-1900, 8 8 0 1 in advance for 1900-1, and 1 for 1901-2, 2 2 0 ---------- £430 10 0 Less 4 in arrear for 1898-99, 4 4 0 ---------- 426 6 0 (2) 64 Libraries at £1, 1s., £67 4 0 2 in advance for 1899-1900, 2 2 0 ---------- £69 6 0 Less 1 in advance for 1898-99, 1 1 0 ---------- 68 5 0 (3) Copies of previous issues sold to New Members, 23 12 6 III. Interest on Deposit Receipt, 3 11 11 ---------- Sum of Charge, £694 8 2 ========== II. DISCHARGE. I. _Incidental Expenses_-- Printing Cards, Circulars, and Reports, £7 18 6 --------- Carry forward, £7 18 6 * * * * * Brought forward, £7 18 6 Stationery, Receipt and Cheque Books,..... 3 13 0 Making-up and delivering copies, 28 12 6 Postages of Secretary and Treasurer, .... 3 9 7 Clerical Work and Charges on Cheques, ... 5 13 6 Hire of room for meeting, 1 1 0 ---------- £50 8 1 II. _Montereul Correspondence, Vol. II._,-- Composition, Printing, and Paper,..... £139 9 0 Proofs, Corrections, and Delete Matter, ... 20 8 0 Binding,..... 17 0 0 Indexing, ... 4 5 0 ---------- £181 2 0 Less paid to account, Oct. 1898, 145 3 0 ---------- 35 19 0 III. _The Scots Brigade, Vol. I._-- Composition, etc., ... £133 8 0 Proofs and Corrections,.. 29 14 0 Binding,..... 17 11 0 Indexing Vol. i., ... 5 5 0 ---------- 185 18 0 IV. _The Scots Brigade, Vol. II._-- Indexing,...... £5 5 0 V. _Scotland and the Protectorate_-- Composition, etc., ... 105 6 6 Proofs, Corrections, and Delete Matter, ... 18 3 0 Illustrations, ... 16 7 6 Binding,..... 17 11 0 Indexing,.... 3 16 0 ---------- 161 4 0 -------- Carry forward, ... £438 14 1 * * * * * Brought forward, £438 14 1 VI. _Balance to next account_-- Sum due by the Bank of Scotland on 31st October 1899-- (1) On Deposit Receipt, £200 0 0 (2) On Current Account, 55 14 1 -------- 255 14 1 --------- Sum of Discharge, £694 8 2 ========= EDINBURGH, _23rd November_ 1899.--Having examined the Accounts of the Hon. Treasurer of the Scottish History Society for the year to 31st October 1899, of which the foregoing is an abstract, and compared the same with the vouchers, we beg to report that we find the said Account to be correct, the sum due by the Bank at the close thereof being £255, 14s. 1d. WM. TRAQUAIR DICKSON, _Auditor._ RALPH RICHARDSON, _Auditor._ Scottish History Society. SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY * * * * * THE EXECUTIVE. _President._ THE EARL OF ROSEBERY, K.G., K.T., LL.D. _Chairman of Council._ DAVID MASSON, LL.D., Historiographer Royal for Scotland. _Council._ JOHN SCOTT, C.B. Sir J. BALFOUR PAUL, Knt., Lyon King of Arms. P. HUME BROWN, M.A., LL.D. Rev. JOHN HUTCHISON, D.D. D. HAY FLEMING, LL.D. Right Rev. JOHN DOWDEN, D.D., Bishop of Edinburgh. J. MAITLAND THOMSON, Advocate, Keeper of the Historical Department, H.M. Register House. W.K. DICKSON, Advocate. DAVID PATRICK, LL.D. Sir ARTHUR MITCHELL, K.C.B., M.D., LL.D. ÆNEAS J.G. MACKAY, Q.C., LL.D., Sheriff of Fife and Kinross. Sir JOHN COWAN, Bart. _Corresponding Members of the Council._ C.H. FIRTH, Oxford; SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER, D.C.L., LL.D.; Rev. W.D. MACRAY, Oxford; G.W. PROTHERO, Litt. D. _Hon. Treasurer._ J.T. CLARK, Keeper of the Advocates' Library. _Hon. Secretary._ T.G. LAW, LL.D., Librarian, Signet Library. RULES 1. The object of the Society is the discovery and printing, under selected editorship, of unpublished documents illustrative of the civil, religious, and social history of Scotland. The Society will also undertake, in exceptional cases, to issue translations of printed works of a similar nature, which have not hitherto been accessible in English. 2. The number of Members of the Society shall be limited to 400. 3. The affairs of the Society shall be managed by a Council, consisting of a Chairman, Treasurer, Secretary, and twelve elected Members, five to make a quorum. Three of the twelve elected Members shall retire annually by ballot, but they shall be eligible for re-election. 4. The Annual Subscription to the Society shall be One Guinea. The publications of the Society shall not be delivered to any Member whose Subscription is in arrear, and no Member shall be permitted to receive more than one copy of the Society's publications. 5. The Society will undertake the issue of its own publications, _i.e._ without the intervention of a publisher or any other paid agent. 6. The Society will issue yearly two octavo volumes of about 320 pages each. 7. An Annual General Meeting of the Society shall be held at the end of October, or at an approximate date to be determined by the Council. 8. Two stated Meetings of the Council shall be held each year, one on the last Tuesday of May, the other on the Tuesday preceding the day upon which the Annual General Meeting shall be held. The Secretary, on the request of three Members of the Council, shall call a special meeting of the Council. 9. Editors shall receive 20 copies of each volume they edit for the Society. 10. The owners of Manuscripts published by the Society will also be presented with a certain number of copies. 11. The Annual Balance-Sheet, Rules, and List of Members shall be printed. 12. No alteration shall be made in these Rules except at a General Meeting of the Society. A fortnight's notice of any alteration to be proposed shall he given to the Members of the Council. PUBLICATIONS OF THE SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY _For the year 1886-1887._ 1. BISHOP POCOCKE'S TOURS IN SCOTLAND, 1747-1760. Edited by D.W. KEMP. (Oct. 1887.) 2. DIARY OF AND GENERAL EXPENDITURE BOOK OF WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM OF CRAIGENDS, 1673-1680. Edited by the Rev. JAMES DODDS, D.D. (Oct. 1887.) _For the year 1887-1888._ 3. PANURGI PHILO-CABALLI SCOTI GRAMEIDOS LIBRI SEX.--THE GRAMEID: an heroic poem descriptive of the Campaign of Viscount Dundee in 1689, by JAMES PHILIP of Almerieclose. Translated and Edited by the Rev. A.D. MURDOCH. (Oct. 1888.) 4. THE REGISTER OF THE KIRK-SESSION OF ST. ANDREWS. Part i. 1559-1582. Edited by D. HAY FLEMING. (Feb. 1889.) _For the year 1888-1889._ 5. DIARY OF THE REV. JOHN MILL, Minister of Dunrossness, Sandwick, and Cunningsburgh, in Shetland, 1740-1803. Edited by GILBERT GOUDIE, F.S.A. Scot. (June 1889.) 6. NARRATIVE OF MR. JAMES NIMMO, A COVENANTER, 1654-1709. Edited by W.G. SCOTT-MONCRIEFF, Advocate. (June 1889.) 7. THE REGISTER OF THE KIRK-SESSION OF ST. ANDREWS. Part ii. 1583-1600. Edited by D. HAY FLEMING. (Aug. 1890.) _For the year 1889-1890._ 8. A LIST OF PERSONS CONCERNED IN THE REBELLION (1745). With a Preface by the EARL OF ROSEBERY, and Annotations by the Rev. WALTER MACLEOD. (Sept. 1890.) _Presented to the Society by the Earl of Rosebery_. 9. GLAMIS PAPERS: The 'BOOK OF RECORD,' a Diary written by PATRICK, FIRST EARL OF STRATHMORE, and other documents relating to Glamis Castle (1684- 89). Edited by A.H. MILLAR, F.S.A. Scot. (Sept. 1890.) 10. JOHN MAJOR'S HISTORY OF GREATER BRITAIN (1521). Translated and edited by ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE, with a Life of the author by ÆNEAS J.G. MACKAY, Advocate. (Feb. 1892.) _For the year 1890-1891._ 11. THE RECORDS OF THE COMMISSIONS OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLIES. 1646-47. Edited by the Rev. Professor MITCHELL, D.D., and the Rev. JAMES CHRISTIE, D.D., with an Introduction by the former. (May 1892.) 12. COURT-BOOK OF THE BARONY OF URIE, 1604-1747. Edited by the Rev. D.G. BARRON, from a MS. in possession of Mr. R. BARCLAY of Dorking. (Oct. 1892.) _For the year 1891-1892._ 13. MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF SIR JOHN CLERK OF PENICUIK, Baronet, Baron of the Exchequer, Commissioner of the Union, etc. Extracted by himself from his own Journals, 1676-1755. Edited from the original MS. in Penicuik House by JOHN M. GRAY, F.S.A. Scot. (Dec. 1892.) 14. DIARY OF COL. THE HON. JOHN ERSKINE OF CARNOCK, 1683-1687. From a MS. in possession of HENRY DAVID ERSKINE, Esq., of Cardross. Edited by the Rev. WALTER MACLEOD. (Dec. 1893.) _For the year 1892-1893._ 15. MISCELLANY OF THE SCOTTISH HISTORY SOCIETY, First Volume-- THE LIBRARY OF JAMES VI., 1573-83. Edited by G.F. WARNER. DOCUMENTS ILLUSTRATING CATHOLIC POLICY, 1596-98. T.G. LAW. LETTERS OF SIR THOMAS HOPE, 1627-46. Rev. R. PAUL. CIVIL WAR PAPERS, 1643-50. H.F. MORLAND SIMPSON. LAUDERDALE CORRESPONDENCE, 1660-77. Right Rev. JOHN DOWDEN, D.D. TURNBULL'S DIARY, 1657-1704. Rev. R. PAUL. MASTERTON PAPERS, 1660-1719. V.A. NOËL PATON. ACCOMPT OF EXPENSES IN EDINBURGH, 1715. A.H. MILLAR. REBELLION PAPERS, 1715 and 1745. H. PATON. (Dec. 1893.) 16. ACCOUNT BOOK OF SIR JOHN FOULIS OF RAVELSTON (1671-1707). Edited by the Rev. A.W. CORNELIUS HALLEN. (June 1894.) _For the year 1893-1894._ 17. LETTERS AND PAPERS ILLUSTRATING THE RELATIONS BETWEEN CHARLES II. AND SCOTLAND IN 1650. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER, LL.D., etc. (July 1894.) 18. SCOTLAND AND THE COMMONWEALTH. LETTERS AND PAPERS RELATING TO THE MILITARY GOVERNMENT OF SCOTLAND, Aug. 1651--Dec. 1653. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by C.H. FIRTH, M.A. (Oct. 1895.) _For the year 1894-1895._ 19. THE JACOBITE ATTEMPT OF 1719. LETTERS OF JAMES, SECOND DUKE OF ORMONDE, RELATING TO CARDINAL ALBERONI'S PROJECT FOR THE INVASION OF GREAT BRITAIN. Edited by W.K. DICKSON, Advocate. (Dec. 1895.) 20, 21. THE LYON IN MOURNING, OR A COLLECTION OF SPEECHES, LETTERS, JOURNALS, ETC., RELATIVE TO THE AFFAIRS OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART, by the Rev. ROBERT FORBES, A.M., Bishop of Ross and Caithness. 1746-1775. Edited from his Manuscript by HENRY PATON, M.A. Vols. i. and ii. (Oct. 1895.) _For the year_ 1895-1896. 22. THE LYON IN MOURNING. Vol. III. (Oct. 1896.) 23. SUPPLEMENT TO THE LYON IN MOURNING.--ITINERARY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD. With a Map. Compiled by W.B. BLAIKIE. (April 1897.) 24. EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESBYTERY RECORDS OF INVERNESS AND DINGWALL FROM 1638 TO 1688. Edited by WILLIAM MACKAY. (Oct. 1896.) 25. RECORDS OF THE COMMISSIONS OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLIES (continued) for the years 1648 and 1649. Edited by the Rev. Professor MITCHELL, D.D., and Rev. JAMES CHRISTIE, D.D. (Dec. 1896.) _For the year_ 1896-1897. 26. WARISTON'S DIARY AND OTHER PAPERS--JOHNSTON OF WARISTON'S DIARY, 1639. Edited by G.M. PAUL. THE HONOURS OF SCOTLAND, 1651-52. C.R.A. HOWDEN. THE EARL OF MAR'S LEGACIES, 1722, 1726. Hon. S. ERSKINE. LETTERS BY MRS. GRANT OF LAGGAN. J.R.N. MACPHAIL. (Dec. 1896.) _Presented to the Society by Messrs. T. and A. Constable._ 27. MEMORIALS OF JOHN MURRAY OF BROUGHTON, SOMETIME SECRETARY TO PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD, 1740-1747. Edited by R. FITZROY BELL, Advocate. (May 1898.) 28. THE COMPT BUIK OF DAVID WEDDERBURNE, MERCHANT OF DUNDEE, 1587-1630. With the Shipping Lists of the Port of Dundee, 1580-1618. Edited by A.H. MILLAR. (May 1898.) _For the year_ 1897-1898. 29. THE DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE OF JEAN DE MONTEREUL AND THE BROTHERS DE BELLIÈVRE, FRENCH AMBASSADORS IN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND, 1645-1648. Edited, with Translation and Notes, by J.G. FOTHERINGHAM. Vol. I. (June 1898.) 30. THE SAME. Vol. II. (Jan. 1899.) _For the year_ 1898-1899. 31. SCOTLAND AND THE PROTECTORATE. LETTERS AND PAPERS RELATING TO THE MILITARY GOVERNMENT OF SCOTLAND, FROM JANUARY 1654 TO JUNE 1659. Edited by C.H. FIRTH, M.A. (March 1899.) 32. PAPERS ILLUSTRATING THE HISTORY OF THE SCOTS BRIGADE IN THE SERVICE OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS, 1572-1782. Edited by JAMES FERGUSON. Vol. I. 1572- 1697. (Jan. 1899.) 33, 34. MACFARLANE'S GENEALOGICAL COLLECTIONS CONCERNING FAMILIES IN SCOTLAND; MSS. in the Advocates' Library. 2 vols. Edited by J.T. CLARK, Keeper of the Library. (To be ready shortly.) _Presented to the Society by the Trustees of the late Sir William Fraser, K.C.B._ _For the year_ 1899-1900. 35. PAPERS ON THE SCOTS BRIGADE. Vol. II. 1698-1782. Edited by JAMES FERGUSON. (Nov. 1899.) 36. JOURNAL OF A FOREIGN TOUR IN 1665 AND 1666, AND PORTIONS OF OTHER JOURNALS, BY SIR JOHN LAUDER, LORD FOUNTAINHALL. Edited by DONALD CRAWFORD, Sheriff of Aberdeen, Kincardine, and Banff. (May 1900.) 37. DISPATCHES OF PAPAL ENVOYS TO QUEEN MARY DURING HER REIGN IN SCOTLAND. Edited by the Rev. J. HUNGERFORD POLLEN, S.J. _In preparation._ PAPERS ON THE SCOTS BRIGADE. Vol. III. THE DIARY OF ANDREW HAY OF STONE, NEAR BIGGAR, AFTERWARDS OF CRAIGNETHAN CASTLE, 1659-60. Edited by A.G. REID from a manuscript in his possession. MACFARLANE'S TOPOGRAPHICAL COLLECTIONS. Edited by J.T. CLARK. A TRANSLATION OF THE STATUTA ECCLESIÆ SCOTICANÆ, 1225-1556, by DAVID PATRICK, LL.D. SIR THOMAS CRAIG'S DE UNIONE REGNORUM BRITANNIÆ. Edited, with an English Translation, by DAVID MASSON, LL.D., Historiographer Royal. RECORDS OF THE COMMISSIONS OF THE GENERAL ASSEMBLIES (_continued_), for the years 1650-53. REGISTER OF THE CONSULTATIONS OF THE MINISTERS OF EDINBURGH, AND SOME OTHER BRETHREN OF THE MINISTRY FROM DIVERS PARTS OF THE LAND, MEETING FROM TIME TO TIME, SINCE THE INTERRUPTION OF THE ASSEMBLY 1653, WITH OTHER PAPERS OF PUBLIC CONCERNMENT, 1653-1660. PAPERS RELATING TO THE REBELLIONS OF 1715 AND 1745, with other documents from the Municipal Archives of the City of Perth. A SELECTION OF THE FORFEITED ESTATES PAPERS PRESERVED IN H.M. GENERAL REGISTER HOUSE AND ELSEWHERE. Edited by A.H. MILLAR. A TRANSLATION OF THE HISTORIA ABBATUM DE KYNLOS OF FERRERIUS. By ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE, LL.D. DOCUMENTS RELATING TO THE AFFAIRS OF THE ROMAN CATHOLIC PARTY IN SCOTLAND, from the year of the Armada to the Union of the Crowns. Edited by THOMAS GRAVES LAW, LLD. THE LOYALL DISSUASIVE. Memorial to the Laird of Cluny in Badenoch. Written in 1703, by Sir ÆNEAS MACPHERSON. Edited by the Rev. A.D. MURDOCH. CHARTERS AND DOCUMENTS RELATING TO THE GREY FRIARS AND THE CISTERCIAN NUNNERY OF HADDINGTON. Edited by J.G. WALLACE-JAMES, M.B. NEGOTIATIONS FOR THE UNION OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND IN 1651-53. Edited by C. SANDFORD TERRY, M.A. 
28961	----	[Illustration: Cuore Edmondo De Amicis] [Illustration: "THE BOY HAD WALKED TEN MILES."--Page 123.] CUORE (HEART) AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOURNAL _A Book for Boys_ BY EDMONDO DE AMICIS _TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRTY-NINTH ITALIAN EDITION_ BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1887, 1895 and 1901. BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1915. BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD Printed in the United States of America AUTHOR'S PREFACE THIS book is specially dedicated to the boys of the elementary schools between the ages of nine and thirteen years, and might be entitled: "The Story of a Scholastic Year written by a Pupil of the Third Class of an Italian Municipal School." In saying written by a pupil of the third class, I do not mean to say that it was written by him exactly as it is printed. He noted day by day in a copy-book, as well as he knew how, what he had seen, felt, thought in the school and outside the school; his father at the end of the year wrote these pages on those notes, taking care not to alter the thought, and preserving, when it was possible, the words of his son. Four years later the boy, being then in the lyceum, read over the MSS. and added something of his own, drawing on his memories, still fresh, of persons and of things. Now read this book, boys; I hope that you will be pleased with it, and that it may do you good. EDMONDO DE AMICIS. CONTENTS. OCTOBER. PAGE THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL 1 OUR MASTER 3 AN ACCIDENT 5 THE CALABRIAN BOY 6 MY COMRADES 8 A GENEROUS DEED 10 MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST 12 IN AN ATTIC 14 THE SCHOOL 16 _The Little Patriot of Padua_ 17 THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP 20 THE DAY OF THE DEAD 22 NOVEMBER. MY FRIEND GARRONE 24 THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN 26 MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS 28 MY MOTHER 30 MY COMPANION CORETTI 31 THE HEAD-MASTER 35 THE SOLDIERS 38 NELLI'S PROTECTOR 40 THE HEAD OF THE CLASS 42 _The Little Vidette of Lombardy_ 44 THE POOR 50 DECEMBER. THE TRADER 52 VANITY 54 THE FIRST SNOW-STORM 56 THE LITTLE MASON 58 A SNOWBALL 61 THE MISTRESSES 62 IN THE HOUSE OF THE WOUNDED MAN 64 _The Little Florentine Scribe_ 66 WILL 75 GRATITUDE 77 JANUARY. THE ASSISTANT MASTER 79 STARDI'S LIBRARY 81 THE SON OF THE BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER 83 A FINE VISIT 85 THE FUNERAL OF VITTORIO EMANUELE 87 FRANTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL 89 _The Sardinian Drummer-Boy_ 91 THE LOVE OF COUNTRY 100 ENVY 102 FRANTI'S MOTHER 104 HOPE 105 FEBRUARY. A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED 108 GOOD RESOLUTIONS 110 THE ENGINE 112 PRIDE 114 THE WOUNDS OF LABOR 116 THE PRISONER 118 _Daddy's Nurse_ 122 THE WORKSHOP 132 THE LITTLE HARLEQUIN 135 THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL 139 THE BLIND BOYS 142 THE SICK MASTER 149 THE STREET 151 MARCH. THE EVENING SCHOOLS 154 THE FIGHT 156 THE BOYS' PARENTS 158 NUMBER 78 160 A LITTLE DEAD BOY 163 THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH 164 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES 166 STRIFE 172 MY SISTER 174 _Blood of Romagna_ 176 THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED 184 COUNT CAVOUR 187 APRIL. SPRING 189 KING UMBERTO 191 THE INFANT ASYLUM 196 GYMNASTICS 201 MY FATHER'S TEACHER 204 CONVALESCENCE 215 FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN 217 GARRONE'S MOTHER 219 GIUSEPPE MAZZINI 221 _Civic Valor_ 223 MAY. CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS 229 SACRIFICE 231 THE FIRE 233 _From the Apennines to the Andes_ 237 SUMMER 276 POETRY 278 THE DEAF-MUTE 280 JUNE. GARIBALDI 290 THE ARMY 291 ITALY 293 THIRTY-TWO DEGREES 295 MY FATHER 297 IN THE COUNTRY 298 THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES TO THE WORKINGMEN 302 MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS 305 THANKS 308 _Shipwreck_ 309 JULY. THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER 317 THE EXAMINATIONS 318 THE LAST EXAMINATION 321 FAREWELL 323 CUORE. AN ITALIAN SCHOOLBOY'S JOURNAL. _OCTOBER._ FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. Monday, 17th. TO-DAY is the first day of school. These three months of vacation in the country have passed like a dream. This morning my mother conducted me to the Baretti schoolhouse to have me enter for the third elementary course: I was thinking of the country and went unwillingly. All the streets were swarming with boys: the two book-shops were thronged with fathers and mothers who were purchasing bags, portfolios, and copy-books, and in front of the school so many people had collected, that the beadle and the policeman found it difficult to keep the entrance disencumbered. Near the door, I felt myself touched on the shoulder: it was my master of the second class, cheerful, as usual, and with his red hair ruffled, and he said to me:-- "So we are separated forever, Enrico?" I knew it perfectly well, yet these words pained me. We made our way in with difficulty. Ladies, gentlemen, women of the people, workmen, officials, nuns, servants, all leading boys with one hand, and holding the promotion books in the other, filled the anteroom and the stairs, making such a buzzing, that it seemed as though one were entering a theatre. I beheld again with pleasure that large room on the ground floor, with the doors leading to the seven classes, where I had passed nearly every day for three years. There was a throng; the teachers were going and coming. My schoolmistress of the first upper class greeted me from the door of the class-room, and said:-- "Enrico, you are going to the floor above this year. I shall never see you pass by any more!" and she gazed sadly at me. The director was surrounded by women in distress because there was no room for their sons, and it struck me that his beard was a little whiter than it had been last year. I found the boys had grown taller and stouter. On the ground floor, where the divisions had already been made, there were little children of the first and lowest section, who did not want to enter the class-rooms, and who resisted like donkeys: it was necessary to drag them in by force, and some escaped from the benches; others, when they saw their parents depart, began to cry, and the parents had to go back and comfort and reprimand them, and the teachers were in despair. My little brother was placed in the class of Mistress Delcati: I was put with Master Perboni, up stairs on the first floor. At ten o'clock we were all in our classes: fifty-four of us; only fifteen or sixteen of my companions of the second class, among them, Derossi, the one who always gets the first prize. The school seemed to me so small and gloomy when I thought of the woods and the mountains where I had passed the summer! I thought again, too, of my master in the second class, who was so good, and who always smiled at us, and was so small that he seemed to be one of us, and I grieved that I should no longer see him there, with his tumbled red hair. Our teacher is tall; he has no beard; his hair is gray and long; and he has a perpendicular wrinkle on his forehead: he has a big voice, and he looks at us fixedly, one after the other, as though he were reading our inmost thoughts; and he never smiles. I said to myself: "This is my first day. There are nine months more. What toil, what monthly examinations, what fatigue!" I really needed to see my mother when I came out, and I ran to kiss her hand. She said to me:-- "Courage, Enrico! we will study together." And I returned home content. But I no longer have my master, with his kind, merry smile, and school does not seem pleasant to me as it did before. OUR MASTER. Tuesday, 18th. My new teacher pleases me also, since this morning. While we were coming in, and when he was already seated at his post, some one of his scholars of last year every now and then peeped in at the door to salute him; they would present themselves and greet him:-- "Good morning, Signor Teacher!" "Good morning, Signor Perboni!" Some entered, touched his hand, and ran away. It was evident that they liked him, and would have liked to return to him. He responded, "Good morning," and shook the hands which were extended to him, but he looked at no one; at every greeting his smile remained serious, with that perpendicular wrinkle on his brow, with his face turned towards the window, and staring at the roof of the house opposite; and instead of being cheered by these greetings, he seemed to suffer from them. Then he surveyed us attentively, one after the other. While he was dictating, he descended and walked among the benches, and, catching sight of a boy whose face was all red with little pimples, he stopped dictating, took the lad's face between his hands and examined it; then he asked him what was the matter with him, and laid his hand on his forehead, to feel if it was hot. Meanwhile, a boy behind him got up on the bench, and began to play the marionette. The teacher turned round suddenly; the boy resumed his seat at one dash, and remained there, with head hanging, in expectation of being punished. The master placed one hand on his head and said to him:-- "Don't do so again." Nothing more. Then he returned to his table and finished the dictation. When he had finished dictating, he looked at us a moment in silence; then he said, very, very slowly, with his big but kind voice:-- "Listen. We have a year to pass together; let us see that we pass it well. Study and be good. I have no family; you are my family. Last year I had still a mother: she is dead. I am left alone. I have no one but you in all the world; I have no other affection, no other thought than you: you must be my sons. I wish you well, and you must like me too. I do not wish to be obliged to punish any one. Show me that you are boys of heart: our school shall be a family, and you shall be my consolation and my pride. I do not ask you to give me a promise on your word of honor; I am sure that in your hearts you have already answered me 'yes,' and I thank you." At that moment the beadle entered to announce the close of school. We all left our seats very, very quietly. The boy who had stood up on the bench approached the master, and said to him, in a trembling voice:-- "Forgive me, Signor Master." The master kissed him on the brow, and said, "Go, my son." AN ACCIDENT. Friday, 21st. The year has begun with an accident. On my way to school this morning I was repeating to my father these words of our teacher, when we perceived that the street was full of people, who were pressing close to the door of the schoolhouse. Suddenly my father said: "An accident! The year is beginning badly!" We entered with great difficulty. The big hall was crowded with parents and children, whom the teachers had not succeeded in drawing off into the class-rooms, and all were turning towards the director's room, and we heard the words, "Poor boy! Poor Robetti!" Over their heads, at the end of the room, we could see the helmet of a policeman, and the bald head of the director; then a gentleman with a tall hat entered, and all said, "That is the doctor." My father inquired of a master, "What has happened?"--"A wheel has passed over his foot," replied the latter. "His foot has been crushed," said another. He was a boy belonging to the second class, who, on his way to school through the Via Dora Grossa, seeing a little child of the lowest class, who had run away from its mother, fall down in the middle of the street, a few paces from an omnibus which was bearing down upon it, had hastened boldly forward, caught up the child, and placed it in safety; but, as he had not withdrawn his own foot quickly enough, the wheel of the omnibus had passed over it. He is the son of a captain of artillery. While we were being told this, a woman entered the big hall, like a lunatic, and forced her way through the crowd: she was Robetti's mother, who had been sent for. Another woman hastened towards her, and flung her arms about her neck, with sobs: it was the mother of the baby who had been saved. Both flew into the room, and a desperate cry made itself heard: "Oh my Giulio! My child!" At that moment a carriage stopped before the door, and a little later the director made his appearance, with the boy in his arms; the latter leaned his head on his shoulder, with pallid face and closed eyes. Every one stood very still; the sobs of the mother were audible. The director paused a moment, quite pale, and raised the boy up a little in his arms, in order to show him to the people. And then the masters, mistresses, parents, and boys all murmured together: "Bravo, Robetti! Bravo, poor child!" and they threw kisses to him; the mistresses and boys who were near him kissed his hands and his arms. He opened his eyes and said, "My portfolio!" The mother of the little boy whom he had saved showed it to him and said, amid her tears, "I will carry it for you, my dear little angel; I will carry it for you." And in the meantime, the mother of the wounded boy smiled, as she covered her face with her hands. They went out, placed the lad comfortably in the carriage, and the carriage drove away. Then we all entered school in silence. THE CALABRIAN BOY. Saturday, 22d. Yesterday afternoon, while the master was telling us the news of poor Robetti, who will have to go on crutches, the director entered with a new pupil, a lad with a very brown face, black hair, large black eyes, and thick eyebrows which met on his forehead: he was dressed entirely in dark clothes, with a black morocco belt round his waist. The director went away, after speaking a few words in the master's ear, leaving beside the latter the boy, who glanced about with his big black eyes as though frightened. The master took him by the hand, and said to the class: "You ought to be glad. To-day there enters our school a little Italian born in Reggio, in Calabria, more than five hundred miles from here. Love your brother who has come from so far away. He was born in a glorious land, which has given illustrious men to Italy, and which now furnishes her with stout laborers and brave soldiers; in one of the most beautiful lands of our country, where there are great forests, and great mountains, inhabited by people full of talent and courage. Treat him well, so that he shall not perceive that he is far away from the city in which he was born; make him see that an Italian boy, in whatever Italian school he sets his foot, will find brothers there." So saying, he rose and pointed out on the wall map of Italy the spot where lay Reggio, in Calabria. Then he called loudly:-- "Ernesto Derossi!"--the boy who always has the first prize. Derossi rose. "Come here," said the master. Derossi left his bench and stepped up to the little table, facing the Calabrian. "As the head boy in the school," said the master to him, "bestow the embrace of welcome on this new companion, in the name of the whole class--the embrace of the sons of Piedmont to the son of Calabria." Derossi embraced the Calabrian, saying in his clear voice, "Welcome!" and the other kissed him impetuously on the cheeks. All clapped their hands. "Silence!" cried the master; "don't clap your hands in school!" But it was evident that he was pleased. And the Calabrian was pleased also. The master assigned him a place, and accompanied him to the bench. Then he said again:-- "Bear well in mind what I have said to you. In order that this case might occur, that a Calabrian boy should be as though in his own house at Turin, and that a boy from Turin should be at home in Calabria, our country fought for fifty years, and thirty thousand Italians died. You must all respect and love each other; but any one of you who should give offence to this comrade, because he was not born in our province, would render himself unworthy of ever again raising his eyes from the earth when he passes the tricolored flag." Hardly was the Calabrian seated in his place, when his neighbors presented him with pens and a _print_; and another boy, from the last bench, sent him a Swiss postage-stamp. MY COMRADES. Tuesday, 25th. The boy who sent the postage-stamp to the Calabrian is the one who pleases me best of all. His name is Garrone: he is the biggest boy in the class: he is about fourteen years old; his head is large, his shoulders broad; he is good, as one can see when he smiles; but it seems as though he always thought like a man. I already know many of my comrades. Another one pleases me, too, by the name of Coretti, and he wears chocolate-colored trousers and a catskin cap: he is always jolly; he is the son of a huckster of wood, who was a soldier in the war of 1866, in the squadron of Prince Umberto, and they say that he has three medals. There is little Nelli, a poor hunchback, a weak boy, with a thin face. There is one who is very well dressed, who always wears fine Florentine plush, and is named Votini. On the bench in front of me there is a boy who is called "the little mason" because his father is a mason: his face is as round as an apple, with a nose like a small ball; he possesses a special talent: he knows how to make _a hare's face_, and they all get him to make a hare's face, and then they laugh. He wears a little ragged cap, which he carries rolled up in his pocket like a handkerchief. Beside the little mason there sits Garoffi, a long, thin, silly fellow, with a nose and beak of a screech owl, and very small eyes, who is always trafficking in little pens and images and match-boxes, and who writes the lesson on his nails, in order that he may read it on the sly. Then there is a young gentleman, Carlo Nobis, who seems very haughty; and he is between two boys who are sympathetic to me,--the son of a blacksmith-ironmonger, clad in a jacket which reaches to his knees, who is pale, as though from illness, who always has a frightened air, and who never laughs; and one with red hair, who has a useless arm, and wears it suspended from his neck; his father has gone away to America, and his mother goes about peddling pot-herbs. And there is another curious type,--my neighbor on the left,--Stardi--small and thickset, with no neck,--a gruff fellow, who speaks to no one, and seems not to understand much, but stands attending to the master without winking, his brow corrugated with wrinkles, and his teeth clenched; and if he is questioned when the master is speaking, he makes no reply the first and second times, and the third time he gives a kick: and beside him there is a bold, cunning face, belonging to a boy named Franti, who has already been expelled from another district. There are, in addition, two brothers who are dressed exactly alike, who resemble each other to a hair, and both of whom wear caps of Calabrian cut, with a peasant's plume. But handsomer than all the rest, the one who has the most talent, who will surely be the head this year also, is Derossi; and the master, who has already perceived this, always questions him. But I like Precossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger, the one with the long jacket, who seems sickly. They say that his father beats him; he is very timid, and every time that he addresses or touches any one, he says, "Excuse me," and gazes at them with his kind, sad eyes. But Garrone is the biggest and the nicest. A GENEROUS DEED. Wednesday, 26th. It was this very morning that Garrone let us know what he is like. When I entered the school a little late, because the mistress of the upper first had stopped me to inquire at what hour she could find me at home, the master had not yet arrived, and three or four boys were tormenting poor Crossi, the one with the red hair, who has a dead arm, and whose mother sells vegetables. They were poking him with rulers, hitting him in the face with chestnut shells, and were making him out to be a cripple and a monster, by mimicking him, with his arm hanging from his neck. And he, alone on the end of the bench, and quite pale, began to be affected by it, gazing now at one and now at another with beseeching eyes, that they might leave him in peace. But the others mocked him worse than ever, and he began to tremble and to turn crimson with rage. All at once, Franti, the boy with the repulsive face, sprang upon a bench, and pretending that he was carrying a basket on each arm, he aped the mother of Crossi, when she used to come to wait for her son at the door; for she is ill now. Many began to laugh loudly. Then Crossi lost his head, and seizing an inkstand, he hurled it at the other's head with all his strength; but Franti dodged, and the inkstand struck the master, who entered at the moment, full in the breast. All flew to their places, and became silent with terror. The master, quite pale, went to his table, and said in a constrained voice:-- "Who did it?" No one replied. The master cried out once more, raising his voice still louder, "Who is it?" Then Garrone, moved to pity for poor Crossi, rose abruptly and said, resolutely, "It was I." The master looked at him, looked at the stupefied scholars; then said in a tranquil voice, "It was not you." And, after a moment: "The culprit shall not be punished. Let him rise!" Crossi rose and said, weeping, "They were striking me and insulting me, and I lost my head, and threw it." "Sit down," said the master. "Let those who provoked him rise." Four rose, and hung their heads. "You," said the master, "have insulted a companion who had given you no provocation; you have scoffed at an unfortunate lad, you have struck a weak person who could not defend himself. You have committed one of the basest, the most shameful acts with which a human creature can stain himself. Cowards!" Having said this, he came down among the benches, put his hand under Garrone's chin, as the latter stood with drooping head, and having made him raise it, he looked him straight in the eye, and said to him, "You are a noble soul." Garrone profited by the occasion to murmur some words, I know not what, in the ear of the master; and he, turning towards the four culprits, said, abruptly, "I forgive you." MY SCHOOLMISTRESS OF THE UPPER FIRST. Thursday, 27th. My schoolmistress has kept her promise which she made, and came to-day just as I was on the point of going out with my mother to carry some linen to a poor woman recommended by the _Gazette_. It was a year since I had seen her in our house. We all made a great deal of her. She is just the same as ever, a little thing, with a green veil wound about her bonnet, carelessly dressed, and with untidy hair, because she has not time to keep herself nice; but with a little less color than last year, with some white hairs, and a constant cough. My mother said to her:-- "And your health, my dear mistress? You do not take sufficient care of yourself!" "It does not matter," the other replied, with her smile, at once cheerful and melancholy. "You speak too loud," my mother added; "you exert yourself too much with your boys." That is true; her voice is always to be heard; I remember how it was when I went to school to her; she talked and talked all the time, so that the boys might not divert their attention, and she did not remain seated a moment. I felt quite sure that she would come, because she never forgets her pupils; she remembers their names for years; on the days of the monthly examination, she runs to ask the director what marks they have won; she waits for them at the entrance, and makes them show her their compositions, in order that she may see what progress they have made; and many still come from the gymnasium to see her, who already wear long trousers and a watch. To-day she had come back in a great state of excitement, from the picture-gallery, whither she had taken her boys, just as she had conducted them all to a museum every Thursday in years gone by, and explained everything to them. The poor mistress has grown still thinner than of old. But she is always brisk, and always becomes animated when she speaks of her school. She wanted to have a peep at the bed on which she had seen me lying very ill two years ago, and which is now occupied by my brother; she gazed at it for a while, and could not speak. She was obliged to go away soon to visit a boy belonging to her class, the son of a saddler, who is ill with the measles; and she had besides a package of sheets to correct, a whole evening's work, and she has still a private lesson in arithmetic to give to the mistress of a shop before nightfall. "Well, Enrico," she said to me as she was going, "are you still fond of your schoolmistress, now that you solve difficult problems and write long compositions?" She kissed me, and called up once more from the foot of the stairs: "You are not to forget me, you know, Enrico!" Oh, my kind teacher, never, never will I forget thee! Even when I grow up I will remember thee and will go to seek thee among thy boys; and every time that I pass near a school and hear the voice of a schoolmistress, I shall think that I hear thy voice, and I shall recall the two years that I passed in thy school, where I learned so many things, where I so often saw thee ill and weary, but always earnest, always indulgent, in despair when any one acquired a bad trick in the writing-fingers, trembling when the examiners interrogated us, happy when we made a good appearance, always kind and loving as a mother. Never, never shall I forget thee, my teacher! IN AN ATTIC. Friday, 28th. Yesterday afternoon I went with my mother and my sister Sylvia, to carry the linen to the poor woman recommended by the newspaper: I carried the bundle; Sylvia had the paper with the initials of the name and the address. We climbed to the very roof of a tall house, to a long corridor with many doors. My mother knocked at the last; it was opened by a woman who was still young, blond and thin, and it instantly struck me that I had seen her many times before, with that very same blue kerchief that she wore on her head. "Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so?" asked my mother. "Yes, signora, I am." "Well, we have brought you a little linen." Then the woman began to thank us and bless us, and could not make enough of it. Meanwhile I espied in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling in front of a chair, with his back turned towards us, who appeared to be writing; and he really was writing, with his paper on the chair and his inkstand on the floor. How did he manage to write thus in the dark? While I was saying this to myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarse jacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable-pedler, the boy with the useless arm. I told my mother softly, while the woman was putting away the things. "Hush!" replied my mother; "perhaps he will feel ashamed to see you giving alms to his mother: don't speak to him." But at that moment Crossi turned round; I was embarrassed; he smiled, and then my mother gave me a push, so that I should run to him and embrace him. I did embrace him: he rose and took me by the hand. "Here I am," his mother was saying in the meantime to my mother, "alone with this boy, my husband in America these seven years, and I sick in addition, so that I can no longer make my rounds with my vegetables, and earn a few cents. We have not even a table left for my poor Luigino to do his work on. When there was a bench down at the door, he could, at least, write on the bench; but that has been taken away. He has not even a little light so that he can study without ruining his eyes. And it is a mercy that I can send him to school, since the city provides him with books and copy-books. Poor Luigino, who would be so glad to study! Unhappy woman, that I am!" My mother gave her all that she had in her purse, kissed the boy, and almost wept as we went out. And she had good cause to say to me: "Look at that poor boy; see how he is forced to work, when you have every comfort, and yet study seems hard to you! Ah! Enrico, there is more merit in the work which he does in one day, than in your work for a year. It is to such that the first prizes should be given!" THE SCHOOL. Friday, 28th. Yes, study comes hard to you, my dear Enrico, as your mother says: I do not yet see you set out for school with that resolute mind and that smiling face which I should like. You are still intractable. But listen; reflect a little! What a miserable, despicable thing your day would be if you did not go to school! At the end of a week you would beg with clasped hands that you might return there, for you would be eaten up with weariness and shame; disgusted with your sports and with your existence. Everybody, everybody studies now, my child. Think of the workmen who go to school in the evening after having toiled all the day; think of the women, of the girls of the people, who go to school on Sunday, after having worked all the week; of the soldiers who turn to their books and copy-books when they return exhausted from their drill! Think of the dumb and of the boys who are blind, but who study, nevertheless; and last of all, think of the prisoners, who also learn to read and write. Reflect in the morning, when you set out, that at that very moment, in your own city, thirty thousand other boys are going like yourself, to shut themselves up in a room for three hours and study. Think of the innumerable boys who, at nearly this precise hour, are going to school in all countries. Behold them with your imagination, going, going, through the lanes of quiet villages; through the streets of the noisy towns, along the shores of rivers and lakes; here beneath a burning sun; there amid fogs, in boats, in countries which are intersected with canals; on horseback on the far-reaching plains; in sledges over the snow; through valleys and over hills; across forests and torrents, over the solitary paths of mountains; alone, in couples, in groups, in long files, all with their books under their arms, clad in a thousand ways, speaking a thousand tongues, from the most remote schools in Russia. Almost lost in the ice to the furthermost schools of Arabia, shaded by palm-trees, millions and millions, all going to learn the same things, in a hundred varied forms. Imagine this vast, vast throng of boys of a hundred races, this immense movement of which you form a part, and think, if this movement were to cease, humanity would fall back into barbarism; this movement is the progress, the hope, the glory of the world. Courage, then, little soldier of the immense army. Your books are your arms, your class is your squadron, the field of battle is the whole earth, and the victory is human civilization. Be not a cowardly soldier, my Enrico. THY FATHER. THE LITTLE PATRIOT OF PADUA. (_The Monthly Story._) Saturday, 29th. I will not be a _cowardly soldier_, no; but I should be much more willing to go to school if the master would tell us a story every day, like the one he told us this morning. "Every month," said he, "I shall tell you one; I shall give it to you in writing, and it will always be the tale of a fine and noble deed performed by a boy. This one is called _The Little Patriot of Padua_. Here it is. A French steamer set out from Barcelona, a city in Spain, for Genoa; there were on board Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, and Swiss. Among the rest was a lad of eleven, poorly clad, and alone, who always held himself aloof, like a wild animal, and stared at all with gloomy eyes. He had good reasons for looking at every one with forbidding eyes. Two years previous to this time his parents, peasants in the neighborhood of Padua, had sold him to a company of mountebanks, who, after they had taught him how to perform tricks, by dint of blows and kicks and starving, had carried him all over France and Spain, beating him continually and never giving him enough to eat. On his arrival in Barcelona, being no longer able to endure ill treatment and hunger, and being reduced to a pitiable condition, he had fled from his slave-master and had betaken himself for protection to the Italian consul, who, moved with compassion, had placed him on board of this steamer, and had given him a letter to the treasurer of Genoa, who was to send the boy back to his parents--to the parents who had sold him like a beast. The poor lad was lacerated and weak. He had been assigned to the second-class cabin. Every one stared at him; some questioned him, but he made no reply, and seemed to hate and despise every one, to such an extent had privation and affliction saddened and irritated him. Nevertheless, three travellers, by dint of persisting in their questions, succeeded in making him unloose his tongue; and in a few rough words, a mixture of Venetian, French, and Spanish, he related his story. These three travellers were not Italians, but they understood him; and partly out of compassion, partly because they were excited with wine, they gave him soldi, jesting with him and urging him on to tell them other things; and as several ladies entered the saloon at the moment, they gave him some more money for the purpose of making a show, and cried: 'Take this! Take this, too!' as they made the money rattle on the table. "The boy pocketed it all, thanking them in a low voice, with his surly mien, but with a look that was for the first time smiling and affectionate. Then he climbed into his berth, drew the curtain, and lay quiet, thinking over his affairs. With this money he would be able to purchase some good food on board, after having suffered for lack of bread for two years; he could buy a jacket as soon as he landed in Genoa, after having gone about clad in rags for two years; and he could also, by carrying it home, insure for himself from his father and mother a more humane reception than would have fallen to his lot if he had arrived with empty pockets. This money was a little fortune for him; and he was taking comfort out of this thought behind the curtain of his berth, while the three travellers chatted away, as they sat round the dining-table in the second-class saloon. They were drinking and discussing their travels and the countries which they had seen; and from one topic to another they began to discuss Italy. One of them began to complain of the inns, another of the railways, and then, growing warmer, they all began to speak evil of everything. One would have preferred a trip in Lapland; another declared that he had found nothing but swindlers and brigands in Italy; the third said that Italian officials do not know how to read. "'It's an ignorant nation,' repeated the first. 'A filthy nation,' added the second. 'Ro--' exclaimed the third, meaning to say 'robbers'; but he was not allowed to finish the word: a tempest of soldi and half-lire descended upon their heads and shoulders, and leaped upon the table and the floor with a demoniacal noise. All three sprang up in a rage, looked up, and received another handful of coppers in their faces. "'Take back your soldi!' said the lad, disdainfully, thrusting his head between the curtains of his berth; 'I do not accept alms from those who insult my country.'" THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. November 1st. Yesterday afternoon I went to the girls' school building, near ours, to give the story of the boy from Padua to Silvia's teacher, who wished to read it. There are seven hundred girls there. Just as I arrived, they began to come out, all greatly rejoiced at the holiday of All Saints and All Souls; and here is a beautiful thing that I saw: Opposite the door of the school, on the other side of the street, stood a very small chimney-sweep, his face entirely black, with his sack and scraper, with one arm resting against the wall, and his head supported on his arm, weeping copiously and sobbing. Two or three of the girls of the second grade approached him and said, "What is the matter, that you weep like this?" But he made no reply, and went on crying. "Come, tell us what is the matter with you and why you are crying," the girls repeated. And then he raised his face from his arm,--a baby face,--and said through his tears that he had been to several houses to sweep the chimneys, and had earned thirty soldi, and that he had lost them, that they had slipped through a hole in his pocket,--and he showed the hole,--and he did not dare to return home without the money. "The master will beat me," he said, sobbing; and again dropped his head upon his arm, like one in despair. The children stood and stared at him very seriously. In the meantime, other girls, large and small, poor girls and girls of the upper classes, with their portfolios under their arms, had come up; and one large girl, who had a blue feather in her hat, pulled two soldi from her pocket, and said:-- "I have only two soldi; let us make a collection." "I have two soldi, also," said another girl, dressed in red; "we shall certainly find thirty soldi among the whole of us"; and then they began to call out:-- "Amalia! Luigia! Annina!--A soldo. Who has any soldi? Bring your soldi here!" Several had soldi to buy flowers or copy-books, and they brought them; some of the smaller girls gave centesimi; the one with the blue feather collected all, and counted them in a loud voice:-- "Eight, ten, fifteen!" But more was needed. Then one larger than any of them, who seemed to be an assistant mistress, made her appearance, and gave half a lira; and all made much of her. Five soldi were still lacking. "The girls of the fourth class are coming; they will have it," said one girl. The members of the fourth class came, and the soldi showered down. All hurried forward eagerly; and it was beautiful to see that poor chimney-sweep in the midst of all those many-colored dresses, of all that whirl of feathers, ribbons, and curls. The thirty soldi were already obtained, and more kept pouring in; and the very smallest who had no money made their way among the big girls, and offered their bunches of flowers, for the sake of giving something. All at once the portress made her appearance, screaming:-- "The Signora Directress!" The girls made their escape in all directions, like a flock of sparrows; and then the little chimney-sweep was visible, alone, in the middle of the street, wiping his eyes in perfect content, with his hands full of money, and the button-holes of his jacket, his pockets, his hat, were full of flowers; and there were even flowers on the ground at his feet. THE DAY OF THE DEAD. (_All-Souls-Day._) November 2d. This day is consecrated to the commemoration of the dead. Do you know, Enrico, that all you boys should, on this day, devote a thought to those who are dead? To those who have died for you,--for boys and little children. How many have died, and how many are dying continually! Have you ever reflected how many fathers have worn out their lives in toil? how many mothers have descended to the grave before their time, exhausted by the privations to which they have condemned themselves for the sake of sustaining their children? Do you know how many men have planted a knife in their hearts in despair at beholding their children in misery? how many women have drowned themselves or have died of sorrow, or have gone mad, through having lost a child? Think of all these dead on this day, Enrico. Think of how many schoolmistresses have died young, have pined away through the fatigues of the school, through love of the children, from whom they had not the heart to tear themselves away; think of the doctors who have perished of contagious diseases, having courageously sacrificed themselves to cure the children; think of all those who in shipwrecks, in conflagrations, in famines, in moments of supreme danger, have yielded to infancy the last morsel of bread, the last place of safety, the last rope of escape from the flames, to expire content with their sacrifice, since they preserved the life of a little innocent. Such dead as these are innumerable, Enrico; every graveyard contains hundreds of these sainted beings, who, if they could rise for a moment from their graves, would cry the name of a child to whom they sacrificed the pleasures of youth, the peace of old age, their affections, their intelligence, their life: wives of twenty, men in the flower of their strength, octogenarians, youths,--heroic and obscure martyrs of infancy,--so grand and so noble, that the earth does not produce as many flowers as should strew their graves. To such a degree are ye loved, O children! Think to-day on those dead with gratitude, and you will be kinder and more affectionate to all those who love you, and who toil for you, my dear, fortunate son, who, on the day of the dead, have, as yet, no one to grieve for. THY MOTHER. [Illustration: THE CHARCOAL MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN.--Page 27.] NOVEMBER. MY FRIEND GARRONE. Friday, 4th. THERE had been but two days of vacation, yet it seemed to me as though I had been a long time without seeing Garrone. The more I know him, the better I like him; and so it is with all the rest, except with the overbearing, who have nothing to say to him, because he does not permit them to exhibit their oppression. Every time that a big boy raises his hand against a little one, the little one shouts, "Garrone!" and the big one stops striking him. His father is an engine-driver on the railway; he has begun school late, because he was ill for two years. He is the tallest and the strongest of the class; he lifts a bench with one hand; he is always eating; and he is good. Whatever he is asked for,--a pencil, rubber, paper, or penknife,--he lends or gives it; and he neither talks nor laughs in school: he always sits perfectly motionless on a bench that is too narrow for him, with his spine curved forward, and his big head between his shoulders; and when I look at him, he smiles at me with his eyes half closed, as much as to say, "Well, Enrico, are we friends?" He makes me laugh, because, tall and broad as he is, he has a jacket, trousers, and sleeves which are too small for him, and too short; a cap which will not stay on his head; a threadbare cloak; coarse shoes; and a necktie which is always twisted into a cord. Dear Garrone! it needs but one glance in thy face to inspire love for thee. All the little boys would like to be near his bench. He knows arithmetic well. He carries his books bound together with a strap of red leather. He has a knife, with a mother-of-pearl handle, which he found in the field for military manoeuvres, last year, and one day he cut his finger to the bone; but no one in school envies him it, and no one breathes a word about it at home, for fear of alarming his parents. He lets us say anything to him in jest, and he never takes it ill; but woe to any one who says to him, "That is not true," when he affirms a thing: then fire flashes from his eyes, and he hammers down blows enough to split the bench. Saturday morning he gave a soldo to one of the upper first class, who was crying in the middle of the street, because his own had been taken from him, and he could not buy his copy-book. For the last three days he has been working over a letter of eight pages, with pen ornaments on the margins, for the saint's day of his mother, who often comes to get him, and who, like himself, is tall and large and sympathetic. The master is always glancing at him, and every time that he passes near him he taps him on the neck with his hand, as though he were a good, peaceable young bull. I am very fond of him. I am happy when I press his big hand, which seems to be the hand of a man, in mine. I am almost certain that he would risk his life to save that of a comrade; that he would allow himself to be killed in his defence, so clearly can I read his eyes; and although he always seems to be grumbling with that big voice of his, one feels that it is a voice that comes from a gentle heart. THE CHARCOAL-MAN AND THE GENTLEMAN. Monday, 7th. Garrone would certainly never have uttered the words which Carlo Nobis spoke yesterday morning to Betti. Carlo Nobis is proud, because his father is a great gentleman; a tall gentleman, with a black beard, and very serious, who accompanies his son to school nearly every day. Yesterday morning Nobis quarrelled with Betti, one of the smallest boys, and the son of a charcoal-man, and not knowing what retort to make, because he was in the wrong, said to him vehemently, "Your father is a tattered beggar!" Betti reddened up to his very hair, and said nothing, but the tears came to his eyes; and when he returned home, he repeated the words to his father; so the charcoal-dealer, a little man, who was black all over, made his appearance at the afternoon session, leading his boy by the hand, in order to complain to the master. While he was making his complaint, and every one was silent, the father of Nobis, who was taking off his son's coat at the entrance, as usual, entered on hearing his name pronounced, and demanded an explanation. "This workman has come," said the master, "to complain that your son Carlo said to his boy, 'Your father is a tattered beggar.'" Nobis's father frowned and reddened slightly. Then he asked his son, "Did you say that?" His son, who was standing in the middle of the school, with his head hanging, in front of little Betti, made no reply. Then his father grasped him by one arm and pushed him forward, facing Betti, so that they nearly touched, and said to him, "Beg his pardon." The charcoal-man tried to interpose, saying, "No, no!" but the gentleman paid no heed to him, and repeated to his son, "Beg his pardon. Repeat my words. 'I beg your pardon for the insulting, foolish, and ignoble words which I uttered against your father, whose hand my father would feel himself honored to press.'" The charcoal-man made a resolute gesture, as though to say, "I will not allow it." The gentleman did not second him, and his son said slowly, in a very thread of a voice, without raising his eyes from the ground, "I beg your pardon--for the insulting--foolish--ignoble--words which I uttered against your father, whose hand my father--would feel himself honored--to press." Then the gentleman offered his hand to the charcoal-man, who shook it vigorously, and then, with a sudden push, he thrust his son into the arms of Carlo Nobis. "Do me the favor to place them next each other," said the gentleman to the master. The master put Betti on Nobis's bench. When they were seated, the father of Nobis bowed and went away. The charcoal-man remained standing there in thought for several moments, gazing at the two boys side by side; then he approached the bench, and fixed upon Nobis a look expressive of affection and regret, as though he were desirous of saying something to him, but he did not say anything; he stretched out his hand to bestow a caress upon him, but he did not dare, and merely stroked his brow with his large fingers. Then he made his way to the door, and turning round for one last look, he disappeared. "Fix what you have just seen firmly in your minds, boys," said the master; "this is the finest lesson of the year." MY BROTHER'S SCHOOLMISTRESS. Thursday, 10th. The son of the charcoal-man had been a pupil of that schoolmistress Delcati who had come to see my brother when he was ill, and who had made us laugh by telling us how, two years ago, the mother of this boy had brought to her house a big apronful of charcoal, out of gratitude for her having given the medal to her son; and the poor woman had persisted, and had not been willing to carry the coal home again, and had wept when she was obliged to go away with her apron quite full. And she told us, also, of another good woman, who had brought her a very heavy bunch of flowers, inside of which there was a little hoard of soldi. We had been greatly diverted in listening to her, and so my brother had swallowed his medicine, which he had not been willing to do before. How much patience is necessary with those boys of the lower first, all toothless, like old men, who cannot pronounce their r's and s's; and one coughs, and another has the nosebleed, and another loses his shoes under the bench, and another bellows because he has pricked himself with his pen, and another one cries because he has bought copy-book No. 2 instead of No. 1. Fifty in a class, who know nothing, with those flabby little hands, and all of them must be taught to write; they carry in their pockets bits of licorice, buttons, phial corks, pounded brick,--all sorts of little things, and the teacher has to search them; but they conceal these objects even in their shoes. And they are not attentive: a fly enters through the window, and throws them all into confusion; and in summer they bring grass into school, and horn-bugs, which fly round in circles or fall into the inkstand, and then streak the copy-books all over with ink. The schoolmistress has to play mother to all of them, to help them dress themselves, bandage up their pricked fingers, pick up their caps when they drop them, watch to see that they do not exchange coats, and that they do not indulge in cat-calls and shrieks. Poor schoolmistresses! And then the mothers come to complain: "How comes it, signorina, that my boy has lost his pen? How does it happen that mine learns nothing? Why is not my boy mentioned honorably, when he knows so much? Why don't you have that nail which tore my Piero's trousers, taken out of the bench?" Sometimes my brother's teacher gets into a rage with the boys; and when she can resist no longer, she bites her finger, to keep herself from dealing a blow; she loses patience, and then she repents, and caresses the child whom she has scolded; she sends a little rogue out of school, and then swallows her tears, and flies into a rage with parents who make the little ones fast by way of punishment. Schoolmistress Delcati is young and tall, well-dressed, brown of complexion, and restless; she does everything vivaciously, as though on springs, is affected by a mere trifle, and at such times speaks with great tenderness. "But the children become attached to you, surely," my mother said to her. "Many do," she replied; "but at the end of the year the majority of them pay no further heed to us. When they are with the masters, they are almost ashamed of having been with us--with a woman teacher. After two years of cares, after having loved a child so much, it makes us feel sad to part from him; but we say to ourselves, 'Oh, I am sure of that one; he is fond of me.' But the vacation over, he comes back to school. I run to meet him; 'Oh, my child, my child!' And he turns his head away." Here the teacher interrupted herself. "But you will not do so, little one?" she said, raising her humid eyes, and kissing my brother. "You will not turn aside your head, will you? You will not deny your poor friend?" MY MOTHER. Thursday, November 10th. In the presence of your brother's teacher you failed in respect to your mother! Let this never happen again, my Enrico, never again! Your irreverent word pierced my heart like a point of steel. I thought of your mother when, years ago, she bent the whole of one night over your little bed, measuring your breathing, weeping blood in her anguish, and with her teeth chattering with terror, because she thought that she had lost you, and I feared that she would lose her reason; and at this thought I felt a sentiment of horror at you. You, to offend your mother! your mother, who would give a year of happiness to spare you one hour of pain, who would beg for you, who would allow herself to be killed to save your life! Listen, Enrico. Fix this thought well in your mind. Reflect that you are destined to experience many terrible days in the course of your life: the most terrible will be that on which you lose your mother. A thousand times, Enrico, after you are a man, strong, and inured to all fates, you will invoke her, oppressed with an intense desire to hear her voice, if but for a moment, and to see once more her open arms, into which you can throw yourself sobbing, like a poor child bereft of comfort and protection. How you will then recall every bitterness that you have caused her, and with what remorse you will pay for all, unhappy wretch! Hope for no peace in your life, if you have caused your mother grief. You will repent, you will beg her forgiveness, you will venerate her memory--in vain; conscience will give you no rest; that sweet and gentle image will always wear for you an expression of sadness and of reproach which will put your soul to torture. Oh, Enrico, beware; this is the most sacred of human affections; unhappy he who tramples it under foot. The assassin who respects his mother has still something honest and noble in his heart; the most glorious of men who grieves and offends her is but a vile creature. Never again let a harsh word issue from your lips, for the being who gave you life. And if one should ever escape you, let it not be the fear of your father, but let it be the impulse of your soul, which casts you at her feet, to beseech her that she will cancel from your brow, with the kiss of forgiveness, the stain of ingratitude. I love you, my son; you are the dearest hope of my life; but I would rather see you dead than ungrateful to your mother. Go away, for a little space; offer me no more of your caresses; I should not be able to return them from my heart. THY FATHER. MY COMPANION CORETTI. Sunday, 13th. My father forgave me; but I remained rather sad and then my mother sent me, with the porter's big son, to take a walk on the Corso. Half-way down the Corso, as we were passing a cart which was standing in front of a shop, I heard some one call me by name: I turned round; it was Coretti, my schoolmate, with chocolate-colored clothes and his catskin cap, all in a perspiration, but merry, with a big load of wood on his shoulders. A man who was standing in the cart was handing him an armful of wood at a time, which he took and carried into his father's shop, where he piled it up in the greatest haste. "What are you doing, Coretti?" I asked him. "Don't you see?" he answered, reaching out his arms to receive the load; "I am reviewing my lesson." I laughed; but he seemed to be serious, and, having grasped the armful of wood, he began to repeat as he ran, "_The conjugation of the verb--consists in its variations according to number--according to number and person--_" And then, throwing down the wood and piling it, "_according to the time--according to the time to which the action refers._" And turning to the cart for another armful, "_according to the mode in which the action is enunciated._" It was our grammar lesson for the following day. "What would you have me do?" he said. "I am putting my time to use. My father has gone off with the man on business; my mother is ill. It falls to me to do the unloading. In the meantime, I am going over my grammar lesson. It is a difficult lesson to-day; I cannot succeed in getting it into my head.--My father said that he would be here at seven o'clock to give you your money," he said to the man with the cart. The cart drove off. "Come into the shop a minute," Coretti said to me. I went in. It was a large apartment, full of piles of wood and fagots, with a steelyard on one side. "This is a busy day, I can assure you," resumed Coretti; "I have to do my work by fits and starts. I was writing my phrases, when some customers came in. I went to writing again, and behold, that cart arrived. I have already made two trips to the wood market in the Piazza Venezia this morning. My legs are so tired that I cannot stand, and my hands are all swollen. I should be in a pretty pickle if I had to draw!" And as he spoke he set about sweeping up the dry leaves and the straw which covered the brick-paved floor. "But where do you do your work, Coretti?" I inquired. "Not here, certainly," he replied. "Come and see"; and he led me into a little room behind the shop, which serves as a kitchen and dining-room, with a table in one corner, on which there were books and copy-books, and work which had been begun. "Here it is," he said; "I left the second answer unfinished: _with which shoes are made, and belts_. Now I will add, _and valises_." And, taking his pen, he began to write in his fine hand. "Is there any one here?" sounded a call from the shop at that moment. It was a woman who had come to buy some little fagots. "Here I am!" replied Coretti; and he sprang out, weighed the fagots, took the money, ran to a corner to enter the sale in a shabby old account-book, and returned to his work, saying, "Let's see if I can finish that sentence." And he wrote, _travelling-bags, and knapsacks for soldiers_. "Oh, my poor coffee is boiling over!" he exclaimed, and ran to the stove to take the coffee-pot from the fire. "It is coffee for mamma," he said; "I had to learn how to make it. Wait a while, and we will carry it to her; you'll see what pleasure it will give her. She has been in bed a whole week.--Conjugation of the verb! I always scald my fingers with this coffee-pot. What is there that I can add after the soldiers' knapsacks? Something more is needed, and I can think of nothing. Come to mamma." He opened a door, and we entered another small room: there Coretti's mother lay in a big bed, with a white kerchief wound round her head. "Ah, brave little master!" said the woman to me; "you have come to visit the sick, have you not?" Meanwhile, Coretti was arranging the pillows behind his mother's back, readjusting the bedclothes, brightening up the fire, and driving the cat off the chest of drawers. "Do you want anything else, mamma?" he asked, as he took the cup from her. "Have you taken the two spoonfuls of syrup? When it is all gone, I will make a trip to the apothecary's. The wood is unloaded. At four o'clock I will put the meat on the stove, as you told me; and when the butter-woman passes, I will give her those eight soldi. Everything will go on well; so don't give it a thought." "Thanks, my son!" replied the woman. "Go, my poor boy!--he thinks of everything." She insisted that I should take a lump of sugar; and then Coretti showed me a little picture,--the photograph portrait of his father dressed as a soldier, with the medal for bravery which he had won in 1866, in the troop of Prince Umberto: he had the same face as his son, with the same vivacious eyes and his merry smile. We went back to the kitchen. "I have found the thing," said Coretti; and he added on his copy-book, _horse-trappings are also made of it_. "The rest I will do this evening; I shall sit up later. How happy you are, to have time to study and to go to walk, too!" And still gay and active, he re-entered the shop, and began to place pieces of wood on the horse and to saw them, saying: "This is gymnastics; it is quite different from the _throw your arms forwards_. I want my father to find all this wood sawed when he gets home; how glad he will be! The worst part of it is that after sawing I make T's and L's which look like snakes, so the teacher says. What am I to do? I will tell him that I have to move my arms about. The important thing is to have mamma get well quickly. She is better to-day, thank Heaven! I will study my grammar to-morrow morning at cock-crow. Oh, here's the cart with logs! To work!" A small cart laden with logs halted in front of the shop. Coretti ran out to speak to the man, then returned: "I cannot keep your company any longer now," he said; "farewell until to-morrow. You did right to come and hunt me up. A pleasant walk to you! happy fellow!" And pressing my hand, he ran to take the first log, and began once more to trot back and forth between the cart and the shop, with a face as fresh as a rose beneath his catskin cap, and so alert that it was a pleasure to see him. "Happy fellow!" he had said to me. Ah, no, Coretti, no; you are the happier, because you study and work too; because you are of use to your father and your mother; because you are better--a hundred times better--and more courageous than I, my dear schoolmate. THE HEAD-MASTER. Friday, 18th. Coretti was pleased this morning, because his master of the second class, Coatti, a big man, with a huge head of curly hair, a great black beard, big dark eyes, and a voice like a cannon, had come to assist in the work of the monthly examination. He is always threatening the boys that he will break them in pieces and carry them by the nape of the neck to the quæstor, and he makes all sorts of frightful faces; but he never punishes any one, but always smiles the while behind his beard, so that no one can see it. There are eight masters in all, including Coatti, and a little, beardless assistant, who looks like a boy. There is one master of the fourth class, who is lame and always wrapped up in a big woollen scarf, and who is always suffering from pains which he contracted when he was a teacher in the country, in a damp school, where the walls were dripping with moisture. Another of the teachers of the fourth is old and perfectly white-haired, and has been a teacher of the blind. There is one well-dressed master, with eye-glasses, and a blond mustache, who is called the _little lawyer_, because, while he was teaching, he studied law and took his diploma; and he is also making a book to teach how to write letters. On the other hand, the one who teaches gymnastics is of a soldierly type, and was with Garibaldi, and has on his neck a scar from a sabre wound received at the battle of Milazzo. Then there is the head-master, who is tall and bald, and wears gold spectacles, with a gray beard that flows down upon his breast; he dresses entirely in black, and is always buttoned up to the chin. He is so kind to the boys, that when they enter the director's room, all in a tremble, because they have been summoned to receive a reproof, he does not scold them, but takes them by the hand, and tells them so many reasons why they ought not to behave so, and why they should be sorry, and promise to be good, and he speaks in such a kind manner, and in so gentle a voice, that they all come out with red eyes, more confused than if they had been punished. Poor head-master! he is always the first at his post in the morning, waiting for the scholars and lending an ear to the parents; and when the other masters are already on their way home, he is still hovering about the school, and looking out that the boys do not get under the carriage-wheels, or hang about the streets to stand on their heads, or fill their bags with sand or stones; and the moment he makes his appearance at a corner, so tall and black, flocks of boys scamper off in all directions, abandoning their games of coppers and marbles, and he threatens them from afar with his forefinger, with his sad and loving air. No one has ever seen him smile, my mother says, since the death of his son, who was a volunteer in the army: he always keeps the latter's portrait before his eyes, on a little table in the head-master's room. He wanted to go away after this misfortune; he prepared his application for retirement to the Municipal Council, and kept it always on his table, putting off sending it from day to day, because it grieved him to leave the boys. But the other day he seemed undecided; and my father, who was in the director's room with him, was just saying to him, "What a shame it is that you are going away, Signor Director!" when a man entered for the purpose of inscribing the name of a boy who was to be transferred from another schoolhouse to ours, because he had changed his residence. At the sight of this boy, the head-master made a gesture of astonishment, gazed at him for a while, gazed at the portrait that he keeps on his little table, and then stared at the boy again, as he drew him between his knees, and made him hold up his head. This boy resembled his dead son. The head-master said, "It is all right," wrote down his name, dismissed the father and son, and remained absorbed in thought. "What a pity that you are going away!" repeated my father. And then the head-master took up his application for retirement, tore it in two, and said, "I shall remain." THE SOLDIERS. Tuesday, 22d. His son had been a volunteer in the army when he died: this is the reason why the head-master always goes to the Corso to see the soldiers pass, when we come out of school. Yesterday a regiment of infantry was passing, and fifty boys began to dance around the band, singing and beating time with their rulers on their bags and portfolios. We were standing in a group on the sidewalk, watching them: Garrone, squeezed into his clothes, which were too tight for him, was biting at a large piece of bread; Votini, the well-dressed boy, who always wears Florence plush; Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, with his father's jacket; and the Calabrian; and the "little mason"; and Crossi, with his red head; and Franti, with his bold face; and Robetti, too, the son of the artillery captain, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, and who now walks on crutches. Franti burst into a derisive laugh, in the face of a soldier who was limping. But all at once he felt a man's hand on his shoulder: he turned round; it was the head-master. "Take care," said the master to him; "jeering at a soldier when he is in the ranks, when he can neither avenge himself nor reply, is like insulting a man who is bound: it is baseness." Franti disappeared. The soldiers were marching by fours, all perspiring and covered with dust, and their guns were gleaming in the sun. The head-master said:-- "You ought to feel kindly towards soldiers, boys. They are our defenders, who would go to be killed for our sakes, if a foreign army were to menace our country to-morrow. They are boys too; they are not many years older than you; and they, too, go to school; and there are poor men and gentlemen among them, just as there are among you, and they come from every part of Italy. See if you cannot recognize them by their faces; Sicilians are passing, and Sardinians, and Neapolitans, and Lombards. This is an old regiment, one of those which fought in 1848. They are not the same soldiers, but the flag is still the same. How many have already died for our country around that banner twenty years before you were born!" "Here it is!" said Garrone. And in fact, not far off, the flag was visible, advancing, above the heads of the soldiers. "Do one thing, my sons," said the head-master; "make your scholar's salute, with your hand to your brow, when the tricolor passes." The flag, borne by an officer, passed before us, all tattered and faded, and with the medals attached to the staff. We put our hands to our foreheads, all together. The officer looked at us with a smile, and returned our salute with his hand. "Bravi, boys!" said some one behind us. We turned to look; it was an old man who wore in his button-hole the blue ribbon of the Crimean campaign--a pensioned officer. "Bravi!" he said; "you have done a fine deed." In the meantime, the band of the regiment had made a turn at the end of the Corso, surrounded by a throng of boys, and a hundred merry shouts accompanied the blasts of the trumpets, like a war-song. "Bravi!" repeated the old officer, as he gazed upon us; "he who respects the flag when he is little will know how to defend it when he is grown up." NELLI'S PROTECTOR. Wednesday, 23d. Nelli, too, poor little hunchback! was looking at the soldiers yesterday, but with an air as though he were thinking, "I can never be a soldier!" He is good, and he studies; but he is so puny and wan, and he breathes with difficulty. He always wears a long apron of shining black cloth. His mother is a little blond woman who dresses in black, and always comes to get him at the end of school, so that he may not come out in the confusion with the others, and she caresses him. At first many of the boys ridiculed him, and thumped him on the back with their bags, because he is so unfortunate as to be a hunchback; but he never offered any resistance, and never said anything to his mother, in order not to give her the pain of knowing that her son was the laughing-stock of his companions: they derided him, and he held his peace and wept, with his head laid against the bench. But one morning Garrone jumped up and said, "The first person who touches Nelli will get such a box on the ear from me that he will spin round three times!" Franti paid no attention to him; the box on the ear was delivered: the fellow spun round three times, and from that time forth no one ever touched Nelli again. The master placed Garrone near him, on the same bench. They have become friends. Nelli has grown very fond of Garrone. As soon as he enters the schoolroom he looks to see if Garrone is there. He never goes away without saying, "Good by, Garrone," and Garrone does the same with him. When Nelli drops a pen or a book under the bench, Garrone stoops quickly, to prevent his stooping and tiring himself, and hands him his book or his pen, and then he helps him to put his things in his bag and to twist himself into his coat. For this Nelli loves him, and gazes at him constantly; and when the master praises Garrone he is pleased, as though he had been praised himself. Nelli must at last have told his mother all about the ridicule of the early days, and what they made him suffer; and about the comrade who defended him, and how he had grown fond of the latter; for this is what happened this morning. The master had sent me to carry to the director, half an hour before the close of school, a programme of the lesson, and I entered the office at the same moment with a small blond woman dressed in black, the mother of Nelli, who said, "Signor Director, is there in the class with my son a boy named Garrone?" "Yes," replied the head-master. "Will you have the goodness to let him come here for a moment, as I have a word to say to him?" The head-master called the beadle and sent him to the school, and after a minute Garrone appeared on the threshold, with his big, close-cropped head, in perfect amazement. No sooner did she catch sight of him than the woman flew to meet him, threw her arms on his shoulders, and kissed him a great many times on the head, saying:-- "You are Garrone, the friend of my little son, the protector of my poor child; it is you, my dear, brave boy; it is you!" Then she searched hastily in all her pockets, and in her purse, and finding nothing, she detached a chain from her neck, with a small cross, and put it on Garrone's neck, underneath his necktie, and said to him:-- "Take it! wear it in memory of me, my dear boy; in memory of Nelli's mother, who thanks and blesses you." THE HEAD OF THE CLASS. Friday, 25th. Garrone attracts the love of all; Derossi, the admiration. He has taken the first medal; he will always be the first, and this year also; no one can compete with him; all recognize his superiority in all points. He is the first in arithmetic, in grammar, in composition, in drawing; he understands everything on the instant; he has a marvellous memory; he succeeds in everything without effort; it seems as though study were play to him. The teacher said to him yesterday:-- "You have received great gifts from God; all you have to do is not to squander them." He is, moreover, tall and handsome, with a great crown of golden curls; he is so nimble that he can leap over a bench by resting one hand on it; and he already understands fencing. He is twelve years old, and the son of a merchant; he is always dressed in blue, with gilt buttons; he is always lively, merry, gracious to all, and helps all he can in examinations; and no one has ever dared to do anything disagreeable to him, or to say a rough word to him. Nobis and Franti alone look askance at him, and Votini darts envy from his eyes; but he does not even perceive it. All smile at him, and take his hand or his arm, when he goes about, in his graceful way, to collect the work. He gives away illustrated papers, drawings, everything that is given him at home; he has made a little geographical chart of Calabria for the Calabrian lad; and he gives everything with a smile, without paying any heed to it, like a grand gentleman, and without favoritism for any one. It is impossible not to envy him, not to feel smaller than he in everything. Ah! I, too, envy him, like Votini. And I feel a bitterness, almost a certain scorn, for him, sometimes, when I am striving to accomplish my work at home, and think that he has already finished his, at this same moment, extremely well, and without fatigue. But then, when I return to school, and behold him so handsome, so smiling and triumphant, and hear how frankly and confidently he replies to the master's questions, and how courteous he is, and how the others all like him, then all bitterness, all scorn, departs from my heart, and I am ashamed of having experienced these sentiments. I should like to be always near him at such times; I should like to be able to do all my school tasks with him: his presence, his voice, inspire me with courage, with a will to work, with cheerfulness and pleasure. The teacher has given him the monthly story, which will be read to-morrow, to copy,--_The Little Vidette of Lombardy_. He copied it this morning, and was so much affected by that heroic deed, that his face was all aflame, his eyes humid, and his lips trembling; and I gazed at him: how handsome and noble he was! With what pleasure would I not have said frankly to his face: "Derossi, you are worth more than I in everything! You are a man in comparison with me! I respect you and I admire you!" THE LITTLE VIDETTE OF LOMBARDY. (_Monthly Story._) Saturday, 26th. In 1859, during the war for the liberation of Lombardy, a few days after the battle of Solfarino and San Martino, won by the French and Italians over the Austrians, on a beautiful morning in the month of June, a little band of cavalry of Saluzzo was proceeding at a slow pace along a retired path, in the direction of the enemy, and exploring the country attentively. The troop was commanded by an officer and a sergeant, and all were gazing into the distance ahead of them, with eyes fixed, silent, and prepared at any moment to see the uniforms of the enemy's advance-posts gleam white before them through the trees. In this order they arrived at a rustic cabin, surrounded by ash-trees, in front of which stood a solitary boy, about twelve years old, who was removing the bark from a small branch with a knife, in order to make himself a stick of it. From one window of the little house floated a large tricolored flag; there was no one inside: the peasants had fled, after hanging out the flag, for fear of the Austrians. As soon as the lad saw the cavalry, he flung aside his stick and raised his cap. He was a handsome boy, with a bold face and large blue eyes and long golden hair: he was in his shirt-sleeves and his breast was bare. "What are you doing here?" the officer asked him, reining in his horse. "Why did you not flee with your family?" "I have no family," replied the boy. "I am a foundling. I do a little work for everybody. I remained here to see the war." "Have you seen any Austrians pass?" "No; not for these three days." The officer paused a while in thought; then he leaped from his horse, and leaving his soldiers there, with their faces turned towards the foe, he entered the house and mounted to the roof. The house was low; from the roof only a small tract of country was visible. "It will be necessary to climb the trees," said the officer, and descended. Just in front of the garden plot rose a very lofty and slender ash-tree, which was rocking its crest in the azure. The officer stood a brief space in thought, gazing now at the tree, and again at the soldiers; then, all of a sudden, he asked the lad:-- "Is your sight good, you monkey?" "Mine?" replied the boy. "I can spy a young sparrow a mile away." "Are you good for a climb to the top of this tree?" "To the top of this tree? I? I'll be up there in half a minute." "And will you be able to tell me what you see up there--if there are Austrian soldiers in that direction, clouds of dust, gleaming guns, horses?" "Certainly I shall." "What do you demand for this service?" "What do I demand?" said the lad, smiling. "Nothing. A fine thing, indeed! And then--if it were for the _Germans_, I wouldn't do it on any terms; but for our men! I am a Lombard!" "Good! Then up with you." "Wait a moment, until I take off my shoes." He pulled off his shoes, tightened the girth of his trousers, flung his cap on the grass, and clasped the trunk of the ash. "Take care, now!" exclaimed the officer, making a movement to hold him back, as though seized with a sudden terror. The boy turned to look at him, with his handsome blue eyes, as though interrogating him. "No matter," said the officer; "up with you." Up went the lad like a cat. "Keep watch ahead!" shouted the officer to the soldiers. In a few moments the boy was at the top of the tree, twined around the trunk, with his legs among the leaves, but his body displayed to view, and the sun beating down on his blond head, which seemed to be of gold. The officer could hardly see him, so small did he seem up there. "Look straight ahead and far away!" shouted the officer. The lad, in order to see better, removed his right hand from the tree, and shaded his eyes with it. "What do you see?" asked the officer. The boy inclined his head towards him, and making a speaking-trumpet of his hand, replied, "Two men on horseback, on the white road." "At what distance from here?" "Half a mile." "Are they moving?" "They are standing still." "What else do you see?" asked the officer, after a momentary silence. "Look to the right." The boy looked to the right. Then he said: "Near the cemetery, among the trees, there is something glittering. It seems to be bayonets." "Do you see men?" "No. They must be concealed in the grain." At that moment a sharp whiz of a bullet passed high up in the air, and died away in the distance, behind the house. "Come down, my lad!" shouted the officer. "They have seen you. I don't want anything more. Come down." "I'm not afraid," replied the boy. "Come down!" repeated the officer. "What else do you see to the left?" "To the left?" "Yes, to the left." The lad turned his head to the left: at that moment, another whistle, more acute and lower than the first, cut the air. The boy was thoroughly aroused. "Deuce take them!" he exclaimed. "They actually are aiming at me!" The bullet had passed at a short distance from him. "Down!" shouted the officer, imperious and irritated. "I'll come down presently," replied the boy. "But the tree shelters me. Don't fear. You want to know what there is on the left?" "Yes, on the left," answered the officer; "but come down." "On the left," shouted the lad, thrusting his body out in that direction, "yonder, where there is a chapel, I think I see--" A third fierce whistle passed through the air, and almost instantaneously the boy was seen to descend, catching for a moment at the trunk and branches, and then falling headlong with arms outspread. "Curse it!" exclaimed the officer, running up. The boy landed on the ground, upon his back, and remained stretched out there, with arms outspread and supine; a stream of blood flowed from his breast, on the left. The sergeant and two soldiers leaped from their horses; the officer bent over and opened his shirt: the ball had entered his left lung. "He is dead!" exclaimed the officer. "No, he still lives!" replied the sergeant.--"Ah, poor boy! brave boy!" cried the officer. "Courage, courage!" But while he was saying "courage," he was pressing his handkerchief on the wound. The boy rolled his eyes wildly and dropped his head back. He was dead. The officer turned pale and stood for a moment gazing at him; then he laid him down carefully on his cloak upon the grass; then rose and stood looking at him; the sergeant and two soldiers also stood motionless, gazing upon him: the rest were facing in the direction of the enemy. "Poor boy!" repeated the officer. "Poor, brave boy!" Then he approached the house, removed the tricolor from the window, and spread it in guise of a funeral pall over the little dead boy, leaving his face uncovered. The sergeant collected the dead boy's shoes, cap, his little stick, and his knife, and placed them beside him. They stood for a few moments longer in silence; then the officer turned to the sergeant and said to him, "We will send the ambulance for him: he died as a soldier; the soldiers shall bury him." Having said this, he wafted a kiss with his hand to the dead boy, and shouted "To horse!" All sprang into the saddle, the troop drew together and resumed its road. And a few hours later the little dead boy received the honors of war. At sunset the whole line of the Italian advance-posts marched forward towards the foe, and along the same road which had been traversed in the morning by the detachment of cavalry, there proceeded, in two files, a heavy battalion of sharpshooters, who, a few days before, had valiantly watered the hill of San Martino with blood. The news of the boy's death had already spread among the soldiers before they left the encampment. The path, flanked by a rivulet, ran a few paces distant from the house. When the first officers of the battalion caught sight of the little body stretched at the foot of the ash-tree and covered with the tricolored banner, they made the salute to it with their swords, and one of them bent over the bank of the streamlet, which was covered with flowers at that spot, plucked a couple of blossoms and threw them on it. Then all the sharpshooters, as they passed, plucked flowers and threw them on the body. In a few minutes the boy was covered with flowers, and officers and soldiers all saluted him as they passed by: "Bravo, little Lombard!" "Farewell, my lad!" "I salute thee, gold locks!" "Hurrah!" "Glory!" "Farewell!" One officer tossed him his medal for valor; another went and kissed his brow. And flowers continued to rain down on his bare feet, on his blood-stained breast, on his golden head. And there he lay asleep on the grass, enveloped in his flag, with a white and almost smiling face, poor boy! as though he heard these salutes and was glad that he had given his life for his Lombardy. THE POOR. Tuesday, 29th. To give one's life for one's country as the Lombard boy did, is a great virtue; but you must not neglect the lesser virtues, my son. This morning as you walked in front of me, when we were returning from school, you passed near a poor woman who was holding between her knees a thin, pale child, and who asked alms of you. You looked at her and gave her nothing, and yet you had some coppers in your pocket. Listen, my son. Do not accustom yourself to pass indifferently before misery which stretches out its hand to you and far less before a mother who asks a copper for her child. Reflect that the child may be hungry; think of the agony of that poor woman. Picture to yourself the sob of despair of your mother, if she were some day forced to say, "Enrico, I cannot give you any bread even to-day!" When I give a soldo to a beggar, and he says to me, "God preserve your health, and the health of all belonging to you!" you cannot understand the sweetness which these words produce in my heart, the gratitude that I feel for that poor man. It seems to me certain that such a good wish must keep one in good health for a long time, and I return home content, and think, "Oh, that poor man has returned to me very much more than I gave him!" Well, let me sometimes feel that good wish called forth, merited by you; draw a soldo from your little purse now and then, and let it fall into the hand of a blind man without means of subsistence, of a mother without bread, of a child without a mother. The poor love the alms of boys, because it does not humiliate them, and because boys, who stand in need of everything, resemble themselves: you see that there are always poor people around the schoolhouses. The alms of a man is an act of charity; but that of a child is at one and the same time an act of charity and a caress--do you understand? It is as though a soldo and a flower fell from your hand together. Reflect that you lack nothing, and that they lack everything, that while you aspire to be happy, they are content simply with not dying. Reflect, that it is a horror, in the midst of so many palaces, along the streets thronged with carriages, and children clad in velvet, that there should be women and children who have nothing to eat. To have nothing to eat! O God! Boys like you, as good as you, as intelligent as you, who, in the midst of a great city, have nothing to eat, like wild beasts lost in a desert! Oh, never again, Enrico, pass a mother who is begging, without placing a soldo in her hand! THY FATHER. DECEMBER. THE TRADER. Thursday, 1st. MY father wishes me to have some one of my companions come to the house every holiday, or that I should go to see one of them, in order that I may gradually become friends with all of them. Sunday I shall go to walk with Votini, the well-dressed boy who is always polishing himself up, and who is so envious of Derossi. In the meantime, Garoffi came to the house to-day,--that long, lank boy, with the nose like an owl's beak, and small, knavish eyes, which seem to be ferreting everywhere. He is the son of a grocer; he is an eccentric fellow; he is always counting the soldi that he has in his pocket; he reckons them on his fingers very, very rapidly, and goes through some process of multiplication without any tables; and he hoards his money, and already has a book in the Scholars' Savings Bank. He never spends a soldo, I am positive; and if he drops a centesimo under the benches, he is capable of hunting for it for a week. He does as magpies do, so Derossi says. Everything that he finds--worn-out pens, postage-stamps that have been used, pins, candle-ends--he picks up. He has been collecting postage-stamps for more than two years now; and he already has hundreds of them from every country, in a large album, which he will sell to a bookseller later on, when he has got it quite full. Meanwhile, the bookseller gives him his copy-books gratis, because he takes a great many boys to the shop. In school, he is always bartering; he effects sales of little articles every day, and lotteries and exchanges; then he regrets the exchange, and wants his stuff back; he buys for two and gets rid of it for four; he plays at pitch-penny, and never loses; he sells old newspapers over again to the tobacconist; and he keeps a little blank-book, in which he sets down his transactions, which is completely filled with sums and subtractions. At school he studies nothing but arithmetic; and if he desires the medal, it is only that he may have a free entrance into the puppet-show. But he pleases me; he amuses me. We played at keeping a market, with weights and scales. He knows the exact price of everything; he understands weighing, and makes handsome paper horns, like shopkeepers, with great expedition. He declares that as soon as he has finished school he shall set up in business--in a new business which he has invented himself. He was very much pleased when I gave him some foreign postage-stamps; and he informed me exactly how each one sold for collections. My father pretended to be reading the newspaper; but he listened to him, and was greatly diverted. His pockets are bulging, full of his little wares; and he covers them up with a long black cloak, and always appears thoughtful and preoccupied with business, like a merchant. But the thing that he has nearest his heart is his collection of postage-stamps. This is his treasure; and he always speaks of it as though he were going to get a fortune out of it. His companions accuse him of miserliness and usury. I do not know: I like him; he teaches me a great many things; he seems a man to me. Coretti, the son of the wood-merchant, says that he would not give him his postage-stamps to save his mother's life. My father does not believe it. "Wait a little before you condemn him," he said to me; "he has this passion, but he has heart as well." VANITY. Monday, 5th. Yesterday I went to take a walk along the Rivoli road with Votini and his father. As we were passing through the Via Dora Grossa we saw Stardi, the boy who kicks disturbers, standing stiffly in front of the window of a book-shop, with his eyes fixed on a geographical map; and no one knows how long he had been there, because he studies even in the street. He barely returned our salute, the rude fellow! Votini was well dressed--even too much so. He had on morocco boots embroidered in red, an embroidered coat, small silken frogs, a white beaver hat, and a watch; and he strutted. But his vanity was destined to come to a bad end on this occasion. After having run a tolerably long distance up the Rivoli road, leaving his father, who was walking slowly, a long way in the rear, we halted at a stone seat, beside a modestly clad boy, who appeared to be weary, and was meditating, with drooping head. A man, who must have been his father, was walking to and fro under the trees, reading the newspaper. We sat down. Votini placed himself between me and the boy. All at once he recollected that he was well dressed, and wanted to make his neighbor admire and envy him. [Illustration: "STOP THAT, YOU LITTLE RASCALS!"--Page 60.] He lifted one foot, and said to me, "Have you seen my officer's boots?" He said this in order to make the other boy look at them; but the latter paid no attention to them. Then he dropped his foot, and showed me his silk frogs, glancing askance at the boy the while, and said that these frogs did not please him, and that he wanted to have them changed to silver buttons; but the boy did not look at the frogs either. Then Votini fell to twirling his very handsome white castor hat on the tip of his forefinger; but the boy--and it seemed as though he did it on purpose--did not deign even a glance at the hat. Votini, who began to become irritated, drew out his watch, opened it, and showed me the wheels; but the boy did not turn his head. "Is it of silver gilt?" I asked him. "No," he replied; "it is gold." "But not entirely of gold," I said; "there must be some silver with it." "Why, no!" he retorted; and, in order to compel the boy to look, he held the watch before his face, and said to him, "Say, look here! isn't it true that it is entirely of gold?" The boy replied curtly, "I don't know." "Oh! oh!" exclaimed Votini, full of wrath, "what pride!" As he was saying this, his father came up, and heard him; he looked steadily at the lad for a moment, then said sharply to his son, "Hold your tongue!" and, bending down to his ear, he added, "he is blind!" Votini sprang to his feet, with a shudder, and stared the boy in the face: the latter's eyeballs were glassy, without expression, without sight. Votini stood humbled,--speechless,--with his eyes fixed on the ground. At length he stammered, "I am sorry; I did not know." But the blind boy, who had understood it all, said, with a kind and melancholy smile, "Oh, it's no matter!" Well, he is vain; but Votini has not at all a bad heart. He never laughed again during the whole of the walk. THE FIRST SNOW-STORM. Saturday, 10th. Farewell, walks to Rivoli! Here is the beautiful friend of the boys! Here is the first snow! Ever since yesterday evening it has been falling in thick flakes as large as gillyflowers. It was a pleasure this morning at school to see it beat against the panes and pile up on the window-sills; even the master watched it, and rubbed his hands; and all were glad, when they thought of making snowballs, and of the ice which will come later, and of the hearth at home. Stardi, entirely absorbed in his lessons, and with his fists pressed to his temples, was the only one who paid no attention to it. What beauty, what a celebration there was when we left school! All danced down the streets, shouting and tossing their arms, catching up handfuls of snow, and dashing about in it, like poodles in water. The umbrellas of the parents, who were waiting for them outside, were all white; the policeman's helmet was white; all our satchels were white in a few moments. Every one appeared to be beside himself with joy--even Precossi, the son of the blacksmith, that pale boy who never laughs; and Robetti, the lad who saved the little child from the omnibus, poor fellow! he jumped about on his crutches. The Calabrian, who had never touched snow, made himself a little ball of it, and began to eat it, as though it had been a peach; Crossi, the son of the vegetable-vendor, filled his satchel with it; and the little mason made us burst with laughter, when my father invited him to come to our house to-morrow. He had his mouth full of snow, and, not daring either to spit it out or to swallow it, he stood there choking and staring at us, and made no answer. Even the schoolmistress came out of school on a run, laughing; and my mistress of the first upper class, poor little thing! ran through the drizzling snow, covering her face with her green veil, and coughing; and meanwhile, hundreds of girls from the neighboring schoolhouse passed by, screaming and frolicking on that white carpet; and the masters and the beadles and the policemen shouted, "Home! home!" swallowing flakes of snow, and whitening their moustaches and beards. But they, too, laughed at this wild hilarity of the scholars, as they celebrated the winter. You hail the arrival of winter; but there are boys who have neither clothes nor shoes nor fire. There are thousands of them, who descend to their villages, over a long road, carrying in hands bleeding from chilblains a bit of wood to warm the schoolroom. There are hundreds of schools almost buried in the snow, bare and dismal as caves, where the boys suffocate with smoke or chatter their teeth with cold as they gaze in terror at the white flakes which descend unceasingly, which pile up without cessation on their distant cabins threatened by avalanches. You rejoice in the winter, boys. Think of the thousands of creatures to whom winter brings misery and death. THY FATHER. THE LITTLE MASON. Sunday, 11th. The little mason came to-day, in a hunting-jacket, entirely dressed in the cast-off clothes of his father, which were still white with lime and plaster. My father was even more anxious than I that he should come. How much pleasure he gives us! No sooner had he entered than he pulled off his ragged cap, which was all soaked with snow, and thrust it into one of his pockets; then he advanced with his listless gait, like a weary workman, turning his face, as smooth as an apple, with its ball-like nose, from side to side; and when he entered the dining-room, he cast a glance round at the furniture and fixed his eyes on a small picture of Rigoletto, a hunchbacked jester, and made a "hare's face." It is impossible to refrain from laughing when one sees him make that hare's face. We went to playing with bits of wood: he possesses an extraordinary skill at making towers and bridges, which seem to stand as though by a miracle, and he works at it quite seriously, with the patience of a man. Between one tower and another he told me about his family: they live in a garret; his father goes to the evening school to learn to read, and his mother is a washerwoman. And they must love him, of course, for he is clad like a poor boy, but he is well protected from the cold, with neatly mended clothes, and with his necktie nicely tied by his mother's hands. His father, he told me, is a fine man,--a giant, who has trouble in getting through doors, but he is kind, and always calls his son "hare's face": the son, on the contrary, is rather small. At four o'clock we lunched on bread and goat's-milk cheese, as we sat on the sofa; and when we rose, I do not know why, but my father did not wish me to brush off the back, which the little mason had spotted with white, from his jacket: he restrained my hand, and then rubbed it off himself on the sly. While we were playing, the little mason lost a button from his hunting-jacket, and my mother sewed it on, and he grew quite red, and began to watch her sew, in perfect amazement and confusion, holding his breath the while. Then we gave him some albums of caricatures to look at, and he, without being aware of it himself, imitated the grimaces of the faces there so well, that even my father laughed. He was so much pleased when he went away that he forgot to put on his tattered cap; and when we reached the landing, he made a hare's face at me once more in sign of his gratitude. His name is Antonio Rabucco, and he is eight years and eight months old. Do you know, my son, why I did not wish you to wipe off the sofa? Because to wipe it while your companion was looking on would have been almost the same as administering a reproof to him for having soiled it. And this was not well, in the first place, because he did not do it intentionally, and in the next, because he did it with the clothes of his father, who had covered them with plaster while at work; and what is contracted while at work is not dirt; it is dust, lime, varnish, whatever you like, but it is not dirt. Labor does not engender dirt. Never say of a laborer coming from his work, "He is filthy." You should say, "He has on his garments the signs, the traces, of his toil." Remember this. And you must love the little mason, first, because he is your comrade; and next, because he is the son of a workingman. THY FATHER. A SNOWBALL. Friday, 16th. It is still snow, snow. A shameful thing happened in connection with the snow this morning when we came out of school. A flock of boys had no sooner got into the Corso than they began to throw balls of that watery snow which makes missiles as solid and heavy as stones. Many persons were passing along the sidewalks. A gentleman called out, "Stop that, you little rascals!" and just at that moment a sharp cry rose from another part of the street, and we saw an old man who had lost his hat and was staggering about, covering his face with his hands, and beside him a boy who was shouting, "Help! help!" People instantly ran from all directions. He had been struck in the eye with a ball. All the boys dispersed, fleeing like arrows. I was standing in front of the bookseller's shop, into which my father had gone, and I saw several of my companions approaching at a run, mingling with others near me, and pretending to be engaged in staring at the windows: there was Garrone, with his penny roll in his pocket, as usual; Coretti, the little mason; and Garoffi, the boy with the postage-stamps. In the meantime a crowd had formed around the old man, and a policeman and others were running to and fro, threatening and demanding: "Who was it? Who did it? Was it you? Tell me who did it!" and they looked at the boys' hands to see whether they were wet with snow. Garoffi was standing beside me. I perceived that he was trembling all over, and that his face was as white as that of a corpse. "Who was it? Who did it?" the crowd continued to cry. Then I overheard Garrone say in a low voice to Garoffi, "Come, go and present yourself; it would be cowardly to allow any one else to be arrested." "But I did not do it on purpose," replied Garoffi, trembling like a leaf. "No matter; do your duty," repeated Garrone. "But I have not the courage." "Take courage, then; I will accompany you." And the policeman and the other people were crying more loudly than ever: "Who was it? Who did it? One of his glasses has been driven into his eye! He has been blinded! The ruffians!" I thought that Garoffi would fall to the earth. "Come," said Garrone, resolutely, "I will defend you;" and grasping him by the arm, he thrust him forward, supporting him as though he had been a sick man. The people saw, and instantly understood, and several persons ran up with their fists raised; but Garrone thrust himself between, crying:-- "Do ten men of you set on one boy?" Then they ceased, and a policeman seized Garoffi by the hand and led him, pushing aside the crowd as he went, to a pastry-cook's shop, where the wounded man had been carried. On catching sight of him, I suddenly recognized him as the old employee who lives on the fourth floor of our house with his grandnephew. He was stretched out on a chair, with a handkerchief over his eyes. "I did not do it intentionally!" sobbed Garoffi, half dead with terror; "I did not do it intentionally!" Two or three persons thrust him violently into the shop, crying, "Your face to the earth! Beg his pardon!" and they threw him to the ground. But all at once two vigorous arms set him on his feet again, and a resolute voice said:-- "No, gentlemen!" It was our head-master, who had seen it all. "Since he has had the courage to present himself," he added, "no one has the right to humiliate him." All stood silent. "Ask his forgiveness," said the head-master to Garoffi. Garoffi, bursting into tears, embraced the old man's knees, and the latter, having felt for the boy's head with his hand, caressed his hair. Then all said:-- "Go away, boy! go, return home." And my father drew me out of the crowd, and said to me as we passed along the street, "Enrico, would you have had the courage, under similar circumstances, to do your duty,--to go and confess your fault?" I told him that I should. And he said, "Give me your word, as a lad of heart and honor, that you would do it." "I give thee my word, father mine!" THE MISTRESSES. Saturday, 17th. Garoffi was thoroughly terrified to-day, in the expectation of a severe punishment from the teacher; but the master did not make his appearance; and as the assistant was also missing, Signora Cromi, the oldest of the schoolmistresses, came to teach the school; she has two grown-up children, and she has taught several women to read and write, who now come to accompany their sons to the Baretti schoolhouse. She was sad to-day, because one of her sons is ill. No sooner had they caught sight of her, than they began to make an uproar. But she said, in a slow and tranquil tone, "Respect my white hair; I am not only a school-teacher, I am also a mother"; and then no one dared to speak again, in spite of that brazen face of Franti, who contented himself with jeering at her on the sly. Signora Delcati, my brother's teacher, was sent to take charge of Signora Cromi's class, and to Signora Delcati's was sent the teacher who is called "the little nun," because she always dresses in dark colors, with a black apron, and has a small white face, hair that is always smooth, very bright eyes, and a delicate voice, that seems to be forever murmuring prayers. And it is incomprehensible, my mother says; she is so gentle and timid, with that thread of a voice, which is always even, which is hardly audible, and she never speaks loud nor flies into a passion; but, nevertheless, she keeps the boys so quiet that you cannot hear them, and the most roguish bow their heads when she merely admonishes them with her finger, and her school seems like a church; and it is for this reason, also, that she is called "the little nun." But there is another one who pleases me,--the young mistress of the first lower, No. 3, that young girl with the rosy face, who has two pretty dimples in her cheeks, and who wears a large red feather on her little bonnet, and a small cross of yellow glass on her neck. She is always cheerful, and keeps her class cheerful; she is always calling out with that silvery voice of hers, which makes her seem to be singing, and tapping her little rod on the table, and clapping her hands to impose silence; then, when they come out of school, she runs after one and another like a child, to bring them back into line: she pulls up the cape of one, and buttons the coat of another, so that they may not take cold; she follows them even into the street, in order that they may not fall to quarrelling; she beseeches the parents not to whip them at home; she brings lozenges to those who have coughs; she lends her muff to those who are cold; and she is continually tormented by the smallest children, who caress her and demand kisses, and pull at her veil and her mantle; but she lets them do it, and kisses them all with a smile, and returns home all rumpled and with her throat all bare, panting and happy, with her beautiful dimples and her red feather. She is also the girls' drawing-teacher, and she supports her mother and a brother by her own labor. IN THE HOUSE OF THE WOUNDED MAN. Sunday, 18th. The grandnephew of the old employee who was struck in the eye by Garoffi's snowball is with the schoolmistress who has the red feather: we saw him to-day in the house of his uncle, who treats him like a son. I had finished writing out the monthly story for the coming week,--_The Little Florentine Scribe_,--which the master had given to me to copy; and my father said to me:-- "Let us go up to the fourth floor, and see how that old gentleman's eye is." We entered a room which was almost dark, where the old man was sitting up in bed, with a great many pillows behind his shoulders; by the bedside sat his wife, and in one corner his nephew was amusing himself. The old man's eye was bandaged. He was very glad to see my father; he made us sit down, and said that he was better, that his eye was not only not ruined, but that he should be quite well again in a few days. "It was an accident," he added. "I regret the terror which it must have caused that poor boy." Then he talked to us about the doctor, whom he expected every moment to attend him. Just then the door-bell rang. "There is the doctor," said his wife. The door opened--and whom did I see? Garoffi, in his long cloak, standing, with bowed head, on the threshold, and without the courage to enter. "Who is it?" asked the sick man. "It is the boy who threw the snowball," said my father. And then the old man said:-- "Oh, my poor boy! come here; you have come to inquire after the wounded man, have you not? But he is better; be at ease; he is better and almost well. Come here." Garoffi, who did not perceive us in his confusion, approached the bed, forcing himself not to cry; and the old man caressed him, but could not speak. "Thanks," said the old man; "go and tell your father and mother that all is going well, and that they are not to think any more about it." But Garoffi did not move, and seemed to have something to say which he dared not utter. "What have you to say to me? What is it that you want?" "I!--Nothing." "Well, good by, until we meet again, my boy; go with your heart in peace." Garoffi went as far as the door; but there he halted, turned to the nephew, who was following him, and gazed curiously at him. All at once he pulled some object from beneath his cloak, put it in the boy's hand, and whispered hastily to him, "It is for you," and away he went like a flash. The boy carried the object to his uncle; we saw that on it was written, _I give you this_; we looked inside, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. It was the famous album, with his collection of postage-stamps, which poor Garoffi had brought, the collection of which he was always talking, upon which he had founded so many hopes, and which had cost him so much trouble; it was his treasure, poor boy! it was the half of his very blood, which he had presented in exchange for his pardon. THE LITTLE FLORENTINE SCRIBE. (_Monthly Story._) He was in the fourth elementary class. He was a graceful Florentine lad of twelve, with black hair and a white face, the eldest son of an employee on the railway, who, having a large family and but small pay, lived in straitened circumstances. His father loved him and was tolerably kind and indulgent to him--indulgent in everything except in that which referred to school: on this point he required a great deal, and showed himself severe, because his son was obliged to attain such a rank as would enable him to soon obtain a place and help his family; and in order to accomplish anything quickly, it was necessary that he should work a great deal in a very short time. And although the lad studied, his father was always exhorting him to study more. His father was advanced in years, and too much toil had aged him before his time. Nevertheless, in order to provide for the necessities of his family, in addition to the toil which his occupation imposed upon him, he obtained special work here and there as a copyist, and passed a good part of the night at his writing-table. Lately, he had undertaken, in behalf of a house which published journals and books in parts, to write upon the parcels the names and addresses of their subscribers, and he earned three lire[1] for every five hundred of these paper wrappers, written in large and regular characters. But this work wearied him, and he often complained of it to his family at dinner. [1] Sixty cents. "My eyes are giving out," he said; "this night work is killing me." One day his son said to him, "Let me work instead of you, papa; you know that I can write like you, and fairly well." But the father answered:-- "No, my son, you must study; your school is a much more important thing than my wrappers; I feel remorse at robbing you of a single hour; I thank you, but I will not have it; do not mention it to me again." The son knew that it was useless to insist on such a matter with his father, and he did not persist; but this is what he did. He knew that exactly at midnight his father stopped writing, and quitted his workroom to go to his bedroom; he had heard him several times: as soon as the twelve strokes of the clock had sounded, he had heard the sound of a chair drawn back, and the slow step of his father. One night he waited until the latter was in bed, then dressed himself very, very softly, and felt his way to the little workroom, lighted the petroleum lamp again, seated himself at the writing-table, where lay a pile of white wrappers and the list of addresses, and began to write, imitating exactly his father's handwriting. And he wrote with a will, gladly, a little in fear, and the wrappers piled up, and from time to time he dropped the pen to rub his hands, and then began again with increased alacrity, listening and smiling. He wrote a hundred and sixty--one lira! Then he stopped, placed the pen where he had found it, extinguished the light, and went back to bed on tiptoe. At noon that day his father sat down to the table in a good humor. He had perceived nothing. He performed the work mechanically, measuring it by the hour, and thinking of something else, and only counted the wrappers he had written on the following day. He seated himself at the table in a fine humor, and slapping his son on one shoulder, he said to him:-- "Eh, Giulio! Your father is even a better workman than you thought. In two hours I did a good third more work than usual last night. My hand is still nimble, and my eyes still do their duty." And Giulio, silent but content, said to himself, "Poor daddy, besides the money, I am giving him some satisfaction in the thought that he has grown young again. Well, courage!" Encouraged by these good results, when night came and twelve o'clock struck, he rose once more, and set to work. And this he did for several nights. And his father noticed nothing; only once, at supper, he uttered this exclamation, "It is strange how much oil has been used in this house lately!" This was a shock to Giulio; but the conversation ceased there, and the nocturnal labor proceeded. However, by dint of thus breaking his sleep every night, Giulio did not get sufficient rest: he rose in the morning fatigued, and when he was doing his school work in the evening, he had difficulty in keeping his eyes open. One evening, for the first time in his life, he fell asleep over his copy-book. "Courage! courage!" cried his father, clapping his hands; "to work!" He shook himself and set to work again. But the next evening, and on the days following, the same thing occurred, and worse: he dozed over his books, he rose later than usual, he studied his lessons in a languid way, he seemed disgusted with study. His father began to observe him, then to reflect seriously, and at last to reprove him. He should never have done it! "Giulio," he said to him one morning, "you put me quite beside myself; you are no longer as you used to be. I don't like it. Take care; all the hopes of your family rest on you. I am dissatisfied; do you understand?" At this reproof, the first severe one, in truth, which he had ever received, the boy grew troubled. "Yes," he said to himself, "it is true; it cannot go on so; this deceit must come to an end." But at dinner, on the evening of that very same day, his father said with much cheerfulness, "Do you know that this month I have earned thirty-two lire more at addressing those wrappers than last month!" and so saying, he drew from under the table a paper package of sweets which he had bought, that he might celebrate with his children this extraordinary profit, and they all hailed it with clapping of hands. Then Giulio took heart again, courage again, and said in his heart, "No, poor papa, I will not cease to deceive you; I will make greater efforts to work during the day, but I shall continue to work at night for you and for the rest." And his father added, "Thirty-two lire more! I am satisfied. But that boy there," pointing at Giulio, "is the one who displeases me." And Giulio received the reprimand in silence, forcing back two tears which tried to flow; but at the same time he felt a great pleasure in his heart. And he continued to work by main force; but fatigue added to fatigue rendered it ever more difficult for him to resist. Thus things went on for two months. The father continued to reproach his son, and to gaze at him with eyes which grew constantly more wrathful. One day he went to make inquiries of the teacher, and the teacher said to him: "Yes, he gets along, he gets along, because he is intelligent; but he no longer has the good will which he had at first. He is drowsy, he yawns, his mind is distracted. He writes short compositions, scribbled down in all haste, in bad chirography. Oh, he could do a great deal, a great deal more." That evening the father took the son aside, and spoke to him words which were graver than any the latter had ever heard. "Giulio, you see how I toil, how I am wearing out my life, for the family. You do not second my efforts. You have no heart for me, nor for your brothers, nor for your mother!" "Ah no! don't say that, father!" cried the son, bursting into tears, and opening his mouth to confess all. But his father interrupted him, saying:-- "You are aware of the condition of the family; you know that good will and sacrifices on the part of all are necessary. I myself, as you see, have had to double my work. I counted on a gift of a hundred lire from the railway company this month, and this morning I have learned that I shall receive nothing!" At this information, Giulio repressed the confession which was on the point of escaping from his soul, and repeated resolutely to himself: "No, papa, I shall tell you nothing; I shall guard my secret for the sake of being able to work for you; I will recompense you in another way for the sorrow which I occasion you; I will study enough at school to win promotion; the important point is to help you to earn our living, and to relieve you of the fatigue which is killing you." And so he went on, and two months more passed, of labor by night and weakness by day, of desperate efforts on the part of the son, and of bitter reproaches on the part of the father. But the worst of it was, that the latter grew gradually colder towards the boy, only addressed him rarely, as though he had been a recreant son, of whom there was nothing any longer to be expected, and almost avoided meeting his glance. And Giulio perceived this and suffered from it, and when his father's back was turned, he threw him a furtive kiss, stretching forth his face with a sentiment of sad and dutiful tenderness; and between sorrow and fatigue, he grew thin and pale, and he was constrained to still further neglect his studies. And he understood well that there must be an end to it some day, and every evening he said to himself, "I will not get up to-night"; but when the clock struck twelve, at the moment when he should have vigorously reaffirmed his resolution, he felt remorse: it seemed to him, that by remaining in bed he should be failing in a duty, and robbing his father and the family of a lira. And he rose, thinking that some night his father would wake up and discover him, or that he would discover the deception by accident, by counting the wrappers twice; and then all would come to a natural end, without any act of his will, which he did not feel the courage to exert. And thus he went on. But one evening at dinner his father spoke a word which was decisive so far as he was concerned. His mother looked at him, and as it seemed to her that he was more ill and weak than usual, she said to him, "Giulio, you are ill." And then, turning to his father with anxiety: "Giulio is ill. See how pale he is Giulio, my dear, how do you feel?" His father gave a hasty glance, and said: "It is his bad conscience that produces his bad health. He was not thus when he was a studious scholar and a loving son." "But he is ill!" exclaimed the mother. "I don't care anything about him any longer!" replied the father. This remark was like a stab in the heart to the poor boy. Ah! he cared nothing any more. His father, who once trembled at the mere sound of a cough from him! He no longer loved him; there was no longer any doubt; he was dead in his father's heart. "Ah, no! my father," said the boy to himself, his heart oppressed with anguish, "now all is over indeed; I cannot live without your affection; I must have it all back. I will tell you all; I will deceive you no longer. I will study as of old, come what will, if you will only love me once more, my poor father! Oh, this time I am quite sure of my resolution!" Nevertheless he rose that night again, by force of habit more than anything else; and when he was once up, he wanted to go and salute and see once more, for the last time, in the quiet of the night, that little chamber where he toiled so much in secret with his heart full of satisfaction and tenderness. And when he beheld again that little table with the lamp lighted and those white wrappers on which he was never more to write those names of towns and persons, which he had come to know by heart, he was seized with a great sadness, and with an impetuous movement he grasped the pen to recommence his accustomed toil. But in reaching out his hand he struck a book, and the book fell. The blood rushed to his heart. What if his father had waked! Certainly he would not have discovered him in the commission of a bad deed: he had himself decided to tell him all, and yet--the sound of that step approaching in the darkness,--the discovery at that hour, in that silence,--his mother, who would be awakened and alarmed,--and the thought, which had occurred to him for the first time, that his father might feel humiliated in his presence on thus discovering all;--all this terrified him almost. He bent his ear, with suspended breath. He heard no sound. He laid his ear to the lock of the door behind him--nothing. The whole house was asleep. His father had not heard. He recovered his composure, and he set himself again to his writing, and wrapper was piled on wrapper. He heard the regular tread of the policeman below in the deserted street; then the rumble of a carriage which gradually died away; then, after an interval, the rattle of a file of carts, which passed slowly by; then a profound silence, broken from time to time by the distant barking of a dog. And he wrote on and on: and meanwhile his father was behind him. He had risen on hearing the fall of the book, and had remained waiting for a long time: the rattle of the carts had drowned the noise of his footsteps and the creaking of the door-casing; and he was there, with his white head bent over Giulio's little black head, and he had seen the pen flying over the wrappers, and in an instant he had divined all, remembered all, understood all, and a despairing penitence, but at the same time an immense tenderness, had taken possession of his mind and had held him nailed to the spot suffocating behind his child. Suddenly Giulio uttered a piercing shriek: two arms had pressed his head convulsively. "Oh, papa, papa! forgive me, forgive me!" he cried, recognizing his parent by his weeping. "Do you forgive me!" replied his father, sobbing, and covering his brow with kisses. "I have understood all, I know all; it is I, it is I who ask your pardon, my blessed little creature; come, come with me!" and he pushed or rather carried him to the bedside of his mother, who was awake, and throwing him into her arms, he said:-- "Kiss this little angel of a son, who has not slept for three months, but has been toiling for me, while I was saddening his heart, and he was earning our bread!" The mother pressed him to her breast and held him there, without the power to speak; at last she said: "Go to sleep at once, my baby, go to sleep and rest.--Carry him to bed." The father took him from her arms, carried him to his room, and laid him in his bed, still breathing hard and caressing him, and arranged his pillows and coverlets for him. "Thanks, papa," the child kept repeating; "thanks; but go to bed yourself now; I am content; go to bed, papa." But his father wanted to see him fall asleep; so he sat down beside the bed, took his hand, and said to him, "Sleep, sleep, my little son!" and Giulio, being weak, fell asleep at last, and slumbered many hours, enjoying, for the first time in many months, a tranquil sleep, enlivened by pleasant dreams; and as he opened his eyes, when the sun had already been shining for a tolerably long time, he first felt, and then saw, close to his breast, and resting upon the edge of the little bed, the white head of his father, who had passed the night thus, and who was still asleep, with his brow against his son's heart. WILL. Wednesday, 28th. There is Stardi in my school, who would have the force to do what the little Florentine did. This morning two events occurred at the school: Garoffi, wild with delight, because his album had been returned to him, with the addition of three postage-stamps of the Republic of Guatemala, which he had been seeking for three months; and Stardi, who took the second medal; Stardi the next in the class after Derossi! All were amazed at it. Who could ever have foretold it, when, in October, his father brought him to school bundled up in that big green coat, and said to the master, in presence of every one:-- "You must have a great deal of patience with him, because he is very hard of understanding!" Every one credited him with a wooden head from the very beginning. But he said, "I will burst or I will succeed," and he set to work doggedly, to studying day and night, at home, at school, while walking, with set teeth and clenched fists, patient as an ox, obstinate as a mule; and thus, by dint of trampling on every one, disregarding mockery, and dealing kicks to disturbers, this big thick-head passed in advance of the rest. He understood not the first thing of arithmetic, he filled his compositions with absurdities, he never succeeded in retaining a phrase in his mind; and now he solves problems, writes correctly, and sings his lessons like a song. And his iron will can be divined from the seeing how he is made, so very thickset and squat, with a square head and no neck, with short, thick hands, and coarse voice. He studies even on scraps of newspaper, and on theatre bills, and every time that he has ten soldi, he buys a book; he has already collected a little library, and in a moment of good humor he allowed the promise to slip from his mouth that he would take me home and show it to me. He speaks to no one, he plays with no one, he is always on hand, on his bench, with his fists pressed to his temples, firm as a rock, listening to the teacher. How he must have toiled, poor Stardi! The master said to him this morning, although he was impatient and in a bad humor, when he bestowed the medals:-- "Bravo, Stardi! he who endures, conquers." But the latter did not appear in the least puffed up with pride--he did not smile; and no sooner had he returned to his seat, with the medal, than he planted his fists on his temples again, and became more motionless and more attentive than before. But the finest thing happened when he went out of school; for his father, a blood-letter, as big and squat as himself, with a huge face and a huge voice, was there waiting for him. He had not expected this medal, and he was not willing to believe in it, so that it was necessary for the master to reassure him, and then he began to laugh heartily, and tapped his son on the back of the neck, saying energetically, "Bravo! good! my dear pumpkin; you'll do!" and he stared at him, astonished and smiling. And all the boys around him smiled too, except Stardi. He was already ruminating the lesson for to-morrow morning in that huge head of his. GRATITUDE. Saturday, 31st. Your comrade Stardi never complains of his teacher; I am sure of that. "The master was in a bad temper, was impatient,"--you say it in a tone of resentment. Think an instant how often you give way to acts of impatience, and towards whom? towards your father and your mother, towards whom your impatience is a crime. Your master has very good cause to be impatient at times! Reflect that he has been laboring for boys these many years, and that if he has found many affectionate and noble individuals among them, he has also found many ungrateful ones, who have abused his kindness and ignored his toils; and that, between you all, you cause him far more bitterness than satisfaction. Reflect, that the most holy man on earth, if placed in his position, would allow himself to be conquered by wrath now and then. And then, if you only knew how often the teacher goes to give a lesson to a sick boy, all alone, because he is not ill enough to be excused from school and is impatient on account of his suffering, and is pained to see that the rest of you do not notice it, or abuse it! Respect, love, your master, my son. Love him, also, because your father loves and respects him; because he consecrates his life to the welfare of so many boys who will forget him; love him because he opens and enlightens your intelligence and educates your mind; because one of these days, when you have become a man, and when neither I nor he shall be in the world, his image will often present itself to your mind, side by side with mine, and then you will see certain expressions of sorrow and fatigue in his honest countenance to which you now pay no heed: you will recall them, and they will pain you, even after the lapse of thirty years; and you will feel ashamed, you will feel sad at not having loved him, at having behaved badly to him. Love your master; for he belongs to that vast family of fifty thousand elementary instructors, scattered throughout all Italy, who are the intellectual fathers of the millions of boys who are growing up with you; the laborers, hardly recognized and poorly recompensed, who are preparing in our country a people superior to those of the present. I am not content with the affection which you have for me, if you have it not also for all those who are doing you good, and among these, your master stands first, after your parents. Love him as you would love a brother of mine; love him when he caresses and when he reproves you; when he is just, and when he appears to you to be unjust; love him when he is amiable and gracious; and love him even more when you see him sad. Love him always. And always pronounce with reverence that name of "teacher," which, after that of your father, is the noblest, the sweetest name which one man can apply to another man. THY FATHER. JANUARY. THE ASSISTANT MASTER. Wednesday, 4th. MY father was right; the master was in a bad humor because he was not well; for the last three days, in fact, the assistant has been coming in his stead,--that little man, without a beard, who seems like a youth. A shameful thing happened this morning. There had been an uproar on the first and second days, in the school, because the assistant is very patient and does nothing but say, "Be quiet, be quiet, I beg of you." But this morning they passed all bounds. Such a noise arose, that his words were no longer audible, and he admonished and besought; but it was a mere waste of breath. Twice the head-master appeared at the door and looked in; but the moment he disappeared the murmur increased as in a market. It was in vain that Derossi and Garrone turned round and made signs to their comrades to be good, so that it was a shame. No one paid any heed to them. Stardi alone remained quiet, with his elbows on the bench, and his fists to his temples, meditating, perhaps, on his famous library; and Garoffi, that boy with the hooked nose and the postage-stamps, who was wholly occupied in making a catalogue of the subscribers at two centesimi each, for a lottery for a pocket inkstand. The rest chattered and laughed, pounded on the points of pens fixed in the benches, and snapped pellets of paper at each other with the elastics of their garters. The assistant grasped now one, now another, by the arm, and shook him; and he placed one of them against the wall--time wasted. He no longer knew what to do, and he entreated them. "Why do you behave like this? Do you wish me to punish you by force?" Then he thumped the little table with his fist, and shouted in a voice of wrath and lamentation, "Silence! silence! silence!" It was difficult to hear him. But the uproar continued to increase. Franti threw a paper dart at him, some uttered cat-calls, others thumped each other on the head; the hurly-burly was indescribable; when, all of a sudden, the beadle entered and said:-- "Signor Master, the head-master has sent for you." The master rose and went out in haste, with a gesture of despair. Then the tumult began more vigorously than ever. But suddenly Garrone sprang up, his face all convulsed, and his fists clenched, and shouted in a voice choked with rage:-- "Stop this! You are brutes! You take advantage of him because he is kind. If he were to bruise your bones for you, you would be as abject as dogs. You are a pack of cowards! The first one of you that jeers at him again, I shall wait for outside, and I will break his teeth,--I swear it,--even under the very eyes of his father!" All became silent. Ah, what a fine thing it was to see Garrone, with his eyes darting flames! He seemed to be a furious young lion. He stared at the most daring, one after the other, and all hung their heads. When the assistant re-entered, with red eyes, not a breath was audible. He stood in amazement; then, catching sight of Garrone, who was still all fiery and trembling, he understood it all, and he said to him, with accents of great affection, as he might have spoken to a brother, "I thank you, Garrone." STARDI'S LIBRARY. I have been home with Stardi, who lives opposite the schoolhouse; and I really experienced a feeling of envy at the sight of his library. He is not at all rich, and he cannot buy many books; but he preserves his schoolbooks with great care, as well as those which his relatives give him; and he lays aside every soldo that is given to him, and spends it at the bookseller's. In this way he has collected a little library; and when his father perceived that he had this passion, he bought him a handsome bookcase of walnut wood, with a green curtain, and he has had most of his volumes bound for him in the colors that he likes. Thus when he draws a little cord, the green curtain runs aside, and three rows of books of every color become visible, all ranged in order, and shining, with gilt titles on their backs,--books of tales, of travels, and of poetry; and some illustrated ones. And he understands how to combine colors well: he places the white volumes next to the red ones, the yellow next the black, the blue beside the white, so that, viewed from a distance, they make a very fine appearance; and he amuses himself by varying the combinations. He has made himself a catalogue. He is like a librarian. He is always standing near his books, dusting them, turning over the leaves, examining the bindings: it is something to see the care with which he opens them, with his big, stubby hands, and blows between the pages: then they seem perfectly new again. I have worn out all of mine. It is a festival for him to polish off every new book that he buys, to put it in its place, and to pick it up again to take another look at it from all sides, and to brood over it as a treasure. He showed me nothing else for a whole hour. His eyes were troubling him, because he had read too much. At a certain time his father, who is large and thickset like himself, with a big head like his, entered the room, and gave him two or three taps on the nape of the neck, saying with that huge voice of his:-- "What do you think of him, eh? of this head of bronze? It is a stout head, that will succeed in anything, I assure you!" And Stardi half closed his eyes, under these rough caresses, like a big hunting-dog. I do not know, I did not dare to jest with him; it did not seem true to me, that he was only a year older than myself; and when he said to me, "Farewell until we meet again," at the door, with that face of his that always seems wrathful, I came very near replying to him, "I salute you, sir," as to a man. I told my father afterwards, at home: "I don't understand it; Stardi has no natural talent, he has not fine manners, and his face is almost ridiculous; yet he suggests ideas to me." And my father answered, "It is because he has character." And I added, "During the hour that I spent with him he did not utter fifty words, he did not show me a single plaything, he did not laugh once; yet I liked to go there." And my father answered, "That is because you esteem him." THE SON OF THE BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER. Yes, but I also esteem Precossi; and to say that I esteem him is not enough,--Precossi, the son of the blacksmith-ironmonger,--that thin little fellow, who has kind, melancholy eyes and a frightened air; who is so timid that he says to every one, "Excuse me"; who is always sickly, and who, nevertheless, studies so much. His father returns home, intoxicated with brandy, and beats him without the slightest reason in the world, and flings his books and his copy-books in the air with a backward turn of his hand; and he comes to school with the black and blue marks on his face, and sometimes with his face all swollen, and his eyes inflamed with much weeping. But never, never can he be made to acknowledge that his father beats him. "Your father has been beating you," his companions say to him; and he instantly exclaims, "That is not true! it is not true!" for the sake of not dishonoring his father. "You did not burn this leaf," the teacher says to him, showing him his work, half burned. "Yes," he replies, in a trembling voice; "I let it fall on the fire." But we know very well, nevertheless, that his drunken father overturned the table and the light with a kick, while the boy was doing his work. He lives in a garret of our house, on another staircase. The portress tells my mother everything: my sister Silvia heard him screaming from the terrace one day, when his father had sent him headlong down stairs, because he had asked for a few soldi to buy a grammar. His father drinks, but does not work, and his family suffers from hunger. How often Precossi comes to school with an empty stomach and nibbles in secret at a roll which Garrone has given him, or at an apple brought to him by the schoolmistress with the red feather, who was his teacher in the first lower class. But he never says, "I am hungry; my father does not give me anything to eat." His father sometimes comes for him, when he chances to be passing the schoolhouse,--pallid, unsteady on his legs, with a fierce face, and his hair over his eyes, and his cap awry; and the poor boy trembles all over when he catches sight of him in the street; but he immediately runs to meet him, with a smile; and his father does not appear to see him, but seems to be thinking of something else. Poor Precossi! He mends his torn copy-books, borrows books to study his lessons, fastens the fragments of his shirt together with pins; and it is a pity to see him performing his gymnastics, with those huge shoes in which he is fairly lost, in those trousers which drag on the ground, and that jacket which is too long, and those huge sleeves turned back to the very elbows. And he studies; he does his best; he would be one of the first, if he were able to work at home in peace. This morning he came to school with the marks of finger-nails on one cheek, and they all began to say to him:-- "It is your father, and you cannot deny it this time; it was your father who did that to you. Tell the head-master about it, and he will have him called to account for it." But he sprang up, all flushed, with a voice trembling with indignation:-- "It's not true! it's not true! My father never beats me!" But afterwards, during lesson time, his tears fell upon the bench, and when any one looked at him, he tried to smile, in order that he might not show it. Poor Precossi! To-morrow Derossi, Coretti, and Nelli are coming to my house; I want to tell him to come also; and I want to have him take luncheon with me: I want to treat him to books, and turn the house upside down to amuse him, and to fill his pockets with fruit, for the sake of seeing him contented for once, poor Precossi! who is so good and so courageous. A FINE VISIT. Thursday, 12th. This has been one of the finest Thursdays of the year for me. At two o'clock, precisely, Derossi and Coretti came to the house, with Nelli, the hunchback: Precossi was not permitted by his father to come. Derossi and Coretti were still laughing at their encounter with Crossi, the son of the vegetable-seller, in the street,--the boy with the useless arm and the red hair,--who was carrying a huge cabbage for sale, and with the soldo which he was to receive for the cabbage he was to go and buy a pen. He was perfectly happy because his father had written from America that they might expect him any day. Oh, the two beautiful hours that we passed together! Derossi and Coretti are the two jolliest boys in the school; my father fell in love with them. Coretti had on his chocolate-colored tights and his catskin cap. He is a lively imp, who wants to be always doing something, stirring up something, setting something in motion. He had already carried on his shoulders half a cartload of wood, early that morning; nevertheless, he galloped all over the house, taking note of everything and talking incessantly, as sprightly and nimble as a squirrel; and passing into the kitchen, he asked the cook how much we had to pay a myriagramme for wood, because his father sells it at forty-five centesimi. He is always talking of his father, of the time when he was a soldier in the 49th regiment, at the battle of Custoza, where he served in the squadron of Prince Umberto; and he is so gentle in his manners! It makes no difference that he was born and brought up surrounded by wood: he has nobility in his blood, in his heart, as my father says. And Derossi amused us greatly; he knows geography like a master: he shut his eyes and said:-- "There, I see the whole of Italy; the Apennines, which extend to the Ionian Sea, the rivers flowing here and there, the white cities, the gulfs, the blue bays, the green islands;" and he repeated the names correctly in their order and very rapidly, as though he were reading them on the map; and at the sight of him standing thus, with his head held high, with all his golden curls, with his closed eyes, and all dressed in bright blue with gilt buttons, as straight and handsome as a statue, we were all filled with admiration. In one hour he had learned by heart nearly three pages, which he is to recite the day after to-morrow, for the anniversary of the funeral of King Vittorio. And even Nelli gazed at him in wonder and affection, as he rubbed the folds of his apron of black cloth, and smiled with his clear and mournful eyes. This visit gave me a great deal of pleasure; it left something like sparks in my mind and my heart. And it pleased me, too, when they went away, to see poor Nelli between the other two tall, strong fellows, who carried him home on their arms, and made him laugh as I have never seen him laugh before. On returning to the dining-room, I perceived that the picture representing Rigoletto, the hunchbacked jester, was no longer there. My father had taken it away in order that Nelli might not see it. THE FUNERAL OF VITTORIO EMANUELE. January, 17th. To-day, at two o'clock, as soon as we entered the schoolroom, the master called up Derossi, who went and took his place in front of the little table facing us, and began to recite, in his vibrating tones, gradually raising his limpid voice, and growing flushed in the face:-- "Four years ago, on this day, at this hour, there arrived in front of the Pantheon at Rome, the funeral car which bore the body of Vittorio Emanuele II., the first king of Italy, dead after a reign of twenty-nine years, during which the great Italian fatherland, broken up into seven states, and oppressed by strangers and by tyrants, had been brought back to life in one single state, free and independent; after a reign of twenty-nine years, which he had made illustrious and beneficent with his valor, with loyalty, with boldness amid perils, with wisdom amid triumphs, with constancy amid misfortunes. The funeral car arrived, laden with wreaths, after having traversed Rome under a rain of flowers, amid the silence of an immense and sorrowing multitude, which had assembled from every part of Italy; preceded by a legion of generals and by a throng of ministers and princes, followed by a retinue of crippled veterans, by a forest of banners, by the envoys of three hundred towns, by everything which represents the power and the glory of a people, it arrived before the august temple where the tomb awaited it. At that moment twelve cuirassiers removed the coffin from the car. At that moment Italy bade her last farewell to her dead king, to her old king whom she had loved so dearly, the last farewell to her soldier, to her father, to the twenty-nine most fortunate and most blessed years in her history. It was a grand and solemn moment. The looks, the souls, of all were quivering at the sight of that coffin and the darkened banners of the eighty regiments of the army of Italy, borne by eighty officers, drawn up in line on its passage: for Italy was there in those eighty tokens, which recalled the thousands of dead, the torrents of blood, our most sacred glories, our most holy sacrifices, our most tremendous griefs. The coffin, borne by the cuirassiers, passed, and then the banners bent forward all together in salute,--the banners of the new regiments, the old, tattered banners of Goito, of Pastrengo, of Santa Lucia, of Novara, of the Crimea, of Palestro, of San Martino, of Castelfidardo; eighty black veils fell, a hundred medals clashed against the staves, and that sonorous and confused uproar, which stirred the blood of all, was like the sound of a thousand human voices saying all together, 'Farewell, good king, gallant king, loyal king! Thou wilt live in the heart of thy people as long as the sun shall shine over Italy.' "After this, the banners rose heavenward once more, and King Vittorio entered into the immortal glory of the tomb." FRANTI EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL. Saturday, 21st. Only one boy was capable of laughing while Derossi was declaiming the funeral oration of the king, and Franti laughed. I detest that fellow. He is wicked. When a father comes to the school to reprove his son, he enjoys it; when any one cries, he laughs. He trembles before Garrone, and he strikes the little mason because he is small; he torments Crossi because he has a helpless arm; he ridicules Precossi, whom every one respects; he even jeers at Robetti, that boy in the second grade who walks on crutches, through having saved a child. He provokes those who are weaker than himself, and when it comes to blows, he grows ferocious and tries to do harm. There is something beneath that low forehead, in those turbid eyes, which he keeps nearly concealed under the visor of his small cap of waxed cloth, which inspires a shudder. He fears no one; he laughs in the master's face; he steals when he gets a chance; he denies it with an impenetrable countenance; he is always engaged in a quarrel with some one; he brings big pins to school, to prick his neighbors with; he tears the buttons from his own jackets and from those of others, and plays with them: his paper, books, and copy-books are all crushed, torn, dirty; his ruler is jagged, his pens gnawed, his nails bitten, his clothes covered with stains and rents which he has got in his brawls. They say that his mother has fallen ill from the trouble that he causes her, and that his father has driven him from the house three times; his mother comes every now and then to make inquiries, and she always goes away in tears. He hates school, he hates his companions, he hates the teacher. The master sometimes pretends not to see his rascalities, and he behaves all the worse. He tried to get a hold on him by kind treatment, and the boy ridiculed him for it. He said terrible things to him, and the boy covered his face with his hands, as though he were crying; but he was laughing. He was suspended from school for three days, and he returned more perverse and insolent than before. Derossi said to him one day, "Stop it! don't you see how much the teacher suffers?" and the other threatened to stick a nail into his stomach. But this morning, at last, he got himself driven out like a dog. While the master was giving to Garrone the rough draft of _The Sardinian Drummer-Boy_, the monthly story for January, to copy, he threw a petard on the floor, which exploded, making the schoolroom resound as from a discharge of musketry. The whole class was startled by it. The master sprang to his feet, and cried:-- "Franti, leave the school!" The latter retorted, "It wasn't I;" but he laughed. The master repeated:-- "Go!" "I won't stir," he answered. Then the master lost his temper, and flung himself upon him, seized him by the arms, and tore him from his seat. He resisted, ground his teeth, and made him carry him out by main force. The master bore him thus, heavy as he was, to the head-master, and then returned to the schoolroom alone and seated himself at his little table, with his head clutched in his hands, gasping, and with an expression of such weariness and trouble that it was painful to look at him. "After teaching school for thirty years!" he exclaimed sadly, shaking his head. No one breathed. His hands were trembling with fury, and the perpendicular wrinkle that he has in the middle of his forehead was so deep that it seemed like a wound. Poor master! All felt sorry for him. Derossi rose and said, "Signor Master, do not grieve. We love you." And then he grew a little more tranquil, and said, "We will go on with the lesson, boys." THE SARDINIAN DRUMMER-BOY. (_Monthly Story._) On the first day of the battle of Custoza, on the 24th of July, 1848, about sixty soldiers, belonging to an infantry regiment of our army, who had been sent to an elevation to occupy an isolated house, suddenly found themselves assaulted by two companies of Austrian soldiers, who, showering them with bullets from various quarters, hardly gave them time to take refuge in the house and to barricade the doors, after leaving several dead and wounded on the field. Having barred the doors, our men ran in haste to the windows of the ground floor and the first story, and began to fire brisk discharges at their assailants, who, approaching gradually, ranged in a semicircle, made vigorous reply. The sixty Italian soldiers were commanded by two non-commissioned officers and a captain, a tall, dry, austere old man, with white hair and mustache; and with them there was a Sardinian drummer-boy, a lad of a little over fourteen, who did not look twelve, small, with an olive-brown complexion, and two small, deep, sparkling eyes. The captain directed the defence from a room on the first floor, launching commands that seemed like pistol-shots, and no sign of emotion was visible on his iron countenance. The drummer-boy, a little pale, but firm on his legs, had jumped upon a table, and was holding fast to the wall and stretching out his neck in order to gaze out of the windows, and athwart the smoke on the fields he saw the white uniforms of the Austrians, who were slowly advancing. The house was situated at the summit of a steep declivity, and on the side of the slope it had but one high window, corresponding to a chamber in the roof: therefore the Austrians did not threaten the house from that quarter, and the slope was free; the fire beat only upon the front and the two ends. But it was an infernal fire, a hailstorm of leaden bullets, which split the walls on the outside, ground the tiles to powder, and in the interior cracked ceilings, furniture, window-frames, and door-frames, sending splinters of wood flying through the air, and clouds of plaster, and fragments of kitchen utensils and glass, whizzing, and rebounding, and breaking everything with a noise like the crushing of a skull. From time to time one of the soldiers who were firing from the windows fell crashing back to the floor, and was dragged to one side. Some staggered from room to room, pressing their hands on their wounds. There was already one dead body in the kitchen, with its forehead cleft. The semicircle of the enemy was drawing together. At a certain point the captain, hitherto impassive, was seen to make a gesture of uneasiness, and to leave the room with huge strides, followed by a sergeant. Three minutes later the sergeant returned on a run, and summoned the drummer-boy, making him a sign to follow. The lad followed him at a quick pace up the wooden staircase, and entered with him into a bare garret, where he saw the captain writing with a pencil on a sheet of paper, as he leaned against the little window; and on the floor at his feet lay the well-rope. The captain folded the sheet of paper, and said sharply, as he fixed his cold gray eyes, before which all the soldiers trembled, on the boy:-- "Drummer!" The drummer-boy put his hand to his visor. The captain said, "You have courage." The boy's eyes flashed. "Yes, captain," he replied. "Look down there," said the captain, pushing him to the window; "on the plain, near the houses of Villafranca, where there is a gleam of bayonets. There stand our troops, motionless. You are to take this billet, tie yourself to the rope, descend from the window, get down that slope in an instant, make your way across the fields, arrive at our men, and give the note to the first officer you see. Throw off your belt and knapsack." The drummer took off his belt and knapsack and thrust the note into his breast pocket; the sergeant flung the rope out of the window, and held one end of it clutched fast in his hands; the captain helped the lad to clamber out of the small window, with his back turned to the landscape. "Now look out," he said; "the salvation of this detachment lies in your courage and in your legs." "Trust to me, Signor Captain," replied the drummer-boy, as he let himself down. "Bend over on the slope," said the captain, grasping the rope, with the sergeant. "Never fear." "God aid you!" In a few moments the drummer-boy was on the ground; the sergeant drew in the rope and disappeared; the captain stepped impetuously in front of the window and saw the boy flying down the slope. He was already hoping that he had succeeded in escaping unobserved, when five or six little puffs of powder, which rose from the earth in front of and behind the lad, warned him that he had been espied by the Austrians, who were firing down upon him from the top of the elevation: these little clouds were thrown into the air by the bullets. But the drummer continued to run at a headlong speed. All at once he fell to the earth. "He is killed!" roared the captain, biting his fist. But before he had uttered the word he saw the drummer spring up again. "Ah, only a fall," he said to himself, and drew a long breath. The drummer, in fact, set out again at full speed; but he limped. "He has turned his ankle," thought the captain. Again several cloudlets of powder smoke rose here and there about the lad, but ever more distant. He was safe. The captain uttered an exclamation of triumph. But he continued to follow him with his eyes, trembling because it was an affair of minutes: if he did not arrive yonder in the shortest possible time with that billet, which called for instant succor, either all his soldiers would be killed or he should be obliged to surrender himself a prisoner with them. The boy ran rapidly for a space, then relaxed his pace and limped, then resumed his course, but grew constantly more fatigued, and every little while he stumbled and paused. "Perhaps a bullet has grazed him," thought the captain, and he noted all his movements, quivering with excitement; and he encouraged him, he spoke to him, as though he could hear him; he measured incessantly, with a flashing eye, the space intervening between the fleeing boy and that gleam of arms which he could see in the distance on the plain amid the fields of grain gilded by the sun. And meanwhile he heard the whistle and the crash of the bullets in the rooms beneath, the imperious and angry shouts of the sergeants and the officers, the piercing laments of the wounded, the ruin of furniture, and the fall of rubbish. "On! courage!" he shouted, following the far-off drummer with his glance. "Forward! run! He halts, that cursed boy! Ah, he resumes his course!" An officer came panting to tell him that the enemy, without slackening their fire, were flinging out a white flag to hint at a surrender. "Don't reply to them!" he cried, without detaching his eyes from the boy, who was already on the plain, but who was no longer running, and who seemed to be dragging himself along with difficulty. "Go! run!" said the captain, clenching his teeth and his fists; "let them kill you; die, you rascal, but go!" Then he uttered a horrible oath. "Ah, the infamous poltroon! he has sat down!" In fact, the boy, whose head he had hitherto been able to see projecting above a field of grain, had disappeared, as though he had fallen; but, after the lapse of a minute, his head came into sight again; finally, it was lost behind the hedges, and the captain saw it no more. Then he descended impetuously; the bullets were coming in a tempest; the rooms were encumbered with the wounded, some of whom were whirling round like drunken men, and clutching at the furniture; the walls and floor were bespattered with blood; corpses lay across the doorways; the lieutenant had had his arm shattered by a ball; smoke and clouds of dust enveloped everything. "Courage!" shouted the captain. "Stand firm at your post! Succor is on the way! Courage for a little while longer!" The Austrians had approached still nearer: their contorted faces were already visible through the smoke, and amid the crash of the firing their savage and offensive shouts were audible, as they uttered insults, suggested a surrender, and threatened slaughter. Some soldiers were terrified, and withdrew from the windows; the sergeants drove them forward again. But the fire of the defence weakened; discouragement made its appearance on all faces. It was not possible to protract the resistance longer. At a given moment the fire of the Austrians slackened, and a thundering voice shouted, first in German and then in Italian, "Surrender!" "No!" howled the captain from a window. And the firing recommenced more fast and furious on both sides. More soldiers fell. Already more than one window was without defenders. The fatal moment was near at hand. The captain shouted through his teeth, in a strangled voice, "They are not coming! they are not coming!" and rushed wildly about, twisting his sword about in his convulsively clenched hand, and resolved to die; when a sergeant descending from the garret, uttered a piercing shout, "They are coming!" "They are coming!" repeated the captain, with a cry of joy. At that cry all, well and wounded, sergeants and officers, rushed to the windows, and the resistance became fierce once more. A few moments later a sort of uncertainty was noticeable, and a beginning of disorder among the foe. Suddenly the captain hastily collected a little troop in the room on the ground floor, in order to make a sortie with fixed bayonets. Then he flew up stairs. Scarcely had he arrived there when they heard a hasty trampling of feet, accompanied by a formidable hurrah, and saw from the windows the two-pointed hats of the Italian carabineers advancing through the smoke, a squadron rushing forward at great speed, and a lightning flash of blades whirling in the air, as they fell on heads, on shoulders, and on backs. Then the troop darted out of the door, with bayonets lowered; the enemy wavered, were thrown into disorder, and turned their backs; the field was left unincumbered, the house was free, and a little later two battalions of Italian infantry and two cannons occupied the eminence. The captain, with the soldiers that remained to him, rejoined his regiment, went on fighting, and was slightly wounded in the left hand by a bullet on the rebound, in the final assault with bayonets. The day ended with the victory on our side. But on the following day, the conflict having begun again, the Italians were overpowered by the overwhelming numbers of the Austrians, in spite of a valorous resistance, and on the morning of the 27th they sadly retreated towards the Mincio. The captain, although wounded, made the march on foot with his soldiers, weary and silent, and, arrived at the close of the day at Goito, on the Mincio, he immediately sought out his lieutenant, who had been picked up with his arm shattered, by our ambulance corps, and who must have arrived before him. He was directed to a church, where the field hospital had been installed in haste. Thither he betook himself. The church was full of wounded men, ranged in two lines of beds, and on mattresses spread on the floor; two doctors and numerous assistants were going and coming, busily occupied; and suppressed cries and groans were audible. No sooner had the captain entered than he halted and cast a glance around, in search of his officer. At that moment he heard himself called in a weak voice,--"Signor Captain!" He turned round. It was his drummer-boy. He was lying on a cot bed, covered to the breast with a coarse window curtain, in red and white squares, with his arms on the outside, pale and thin, but with eyes which still sparkled like black gems. "Are you here?" asked the captain, amazed, but still sharply. "Bravo! You did your duty." "I did all that I could," replied the drummer-boy. "Were you wounded?" said the captain, seeking with his eyes for his officer in the neighboring beds. "What could one expect?" said the lad, who gained courage by speaking, expressing the lofty satisfaction of having been wounded for the first time, without which he would not have dared to open his mouth in the presence of this captain; "I had a fine run, all bent over, but suddenly they caught sight of me. I should have arrived twenty minutes earlier if they had not hit me. Luckily, I soon came across a captain of the staff, to whom I gave the note. But it was hard work to get down after that caress! I was dying of thirst. I was afraid that I should not get there at all. I wept with rage at the thought that at every moment of delay another man was setting out yonder for the other world. But enough! I did what I could. I am content. But, with your permission, captain, you should look to yourself: you are losing blood." Several drops of blood had in fact trickled down on the captain's fingers from his imperfectly bandaged palm. "Would you like to have me give the bandage a turn, captain? Hold it here a minute." The captain held out his left hand, and stretched out his right to help the lad to loosen the knot and to tie it again; but no sooner had the boy raised himself from his pillow than he turned pale and was obliged to support his head once more. "That will do, that will do," said the captain, looking at him and withdrawing his bandaged hand, which the other tried to retain. "Attend to your own affairs, instead of thinking of others, for things that are not severe may become serious if they are neglected." The drummer-boy shook his head. "But you," said the captain, observing him attentively, "must have lost a great deal of blood to be as weak as this." "Must have lost a great deal of blood!" replied the boy, with a smile. "Something else besides blood: look here." And with one movement he drew aside the coverlet. The captain started back a pace in horror. The lad had but one leg. His left leg had been amputated above the knee; the stump was swathed in blood-stained cloths. At that moment a small, plump, military surgeon passed, in his shirt-sleeves. "Ah, captain," he said, rapidly, nodding towards the drummer, "this is an unfortunate case; there is a leg that might have been saved if he had not exerted himself in such a crazy manner--that cursed inflammation! It had to be cut off away up here. Oh, but he's a brave lad. I can assure you! He never shed a tear, nor uttered a cry! He was proud of being an Italian boy, while I was performing the operation, upon my word of honor. He comes of a good race, by Heavens!" And away he went, on a run. The captain wrinkled his heavy white brows, gazed fixedly at the drummer-boy, and spread the coverlet over him again, and slowly, then as though unconsciously, and still gazing intently at him, he raised his hand to his head, and lifted his cap. "Signor Captain!" exclaimed the boy in amazement. "What are you doing, captain? To me!" And then that rough soldier, who had never said a gentle word to an inferior, replied in an indescribably sweet and affectionate voice, "I am only a captain; you are a hero." Then he threw himself with wide-spread arms upon the drummer-boy, and kissed him three times upon the heart. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. Tuesday, 24th. Since the tale of the _Drummer-boy_ has touched your heart, it should be easy for you this morning to do your composition for examination--_Why you love Italy_--well. Why do I love Italy? Do not a hundred answers present themselves to you on the instant? I love Italy because my mother is an Italian; because the blood that flows in my veins is Italian; because the soil in which are buried the dead whom my mother mourns and whom my father venerates is Italian; because the town in which I was born, the language that I speak, the books that educate me,--because my brother, my sister, my comrades, the great people among whom I live, and the beautiful nature which surrounds me, and all that I see, that I love, that I study, that I admire, is Italian. Oh, you cannot feel that affection in its entirety! You will feel it when you become a man; when, returning from a long journey, after a prolonged absence, you step up in the morning to the bulwarks of the vessel and see on the distant horizon the lofty blue mountains of your country; you will feel it then in the impetuous flood of tenderness which will fill your eyes with tears and will wrest a cry from your heart. You will feel it in some great and distant city, in that impulse of the soul which will impel you from the strange throng towards a workingman from whom you have heard in passing a word in your own tongue. You will feel it in that sad and proud wrath which will drive the blood to your brow when you hear insults to your country from the mouth of a stranger. You will feel it in more proud and vigorous measure on the day when the menace of a hostile race shall call forth a tempest of fire upon your country, and when you shall behold arms raging on every side, youths thronging in legions, fathers kissing their children and saying, "Courage!" mothers bidding adieu to their young sons and crying, "Conquer!" You will feel it like a joy divine if you have the good fortune to behold the re-entrance to your town of the regiments, weary, ragged, with thinned ranks, yet terrible, with the splendor of victory in their eyes, and their banners torn by bullets, followed by a vast convoy of brave fellows, bearing their bandaged heads and their stumps of arms loftily, amid a wild throng, which covers them with flowers, with blessings, and with kisses. Then you will comprehend the love of country; then you will feel your country, Enrico. It is a grand and sacred thing. May I one day see you return in safety from a battle fought for her, safe,--you who are my flesh and soul; but if I should learn that you have preserved your life because you were concealed from death, your father, who welcomes you with a cry of joy when you return from school, will receive you with a sob of anguish, and I shall never be able to love you again, and I shall die with that dagger in my heart. THY FATHER. ENVY. Wednesday, 25th. The boy who wrote the best composition of all on our country was Derossi, as usual. And Votini, who thought himself sure of the first medal--I like Votini well enough, although he is rather vain and does polish himself up a trifle too much,--but it makes me scorn him, now that I am his neighbor on the bench, to see how envious he is of Derossi. He would like to vie with him; he studies hard, but he cannot do it by any possibility, for the other is ten times as strong as he is on every point; and Votini rails at him. Carlo Nobis envies him also; but he has so much pride in his body that, purely from pride, he does not allow it to be perceived. Votini, on the other hand, betrays himself: he complains of his difficulties at home, and says that the master is unjust to him; and when Derossi replies so promptly and so well to questions, as he always does, his face clouds over, he hangs his head, pretends not to hear, or tries to laugh, but he laughs awkwardly. And thus every one knows about it, so that when the master praises Derossi they all turn to look at Votini, who chews his venom, and the little mason makes a hare's face at him. To-day, for instance, he was put to the torture. The head-master entered the school and announced the result of the examination,--"Derossi ten tenths and the first medal." Votini gave a huge sneeze. The master looked at him: it was not hard to understand the matter. "Votini," he said, "do not let the serpent of envy enter your body; it is a serpent which gnaws at the brain and corrupts the heart." [Illustration: "THEN THE TROOP DARTED OUT OF THE DOOR."--Page 97.] Every one stared at him except Derossi. Votini tried to make some answer, but could not; he sat there as though turned to stone, and with a white face. Then, while the master was conducting the lesson, he began to write in large characters on a sheet of paper, "_I am not envious of those who gain the first medal through favoritism and injustice._" It was a note which he meant to send to Derossi. But, in the meantime, I perceived that Derossi's neighbors were plotting among themselves, and whispering in each other's ears, and one cut with penknife from paper a big medal on which they had drawn a black serpent. But Votini did not notice this. The master went out for a few moments. All at once Derossi's neighbors rose and left their seats, for the purpose of coming and solemnly presenting the paper medal to Votini. The whole class was prepared for a scene. Votini had already begun to quiver all over. Derossi exclaimed:-- "Give that to me!" "So much the better," they replied; "you are the one who ought to carry it." Derossi took the medal and tore it into bits. At that moment the master returned, and resumed the lesson. I kept my eye on Votini. He had turned as red as a coal. He took his sheet of paper very, very quietly, as though in absence of mind, rolled it into a ball, on the sly, put it into his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spit it out under the bench. When school broke up, Votini, who was a little confused, let fall his blotting-paper, as he passed Derossi. Derossi politely picked it up, put it in his satchel, and helped him to buckle the straps. Votini dared not raise his eyes. FRANTI'S MOTHER. Saturday, 28th. But Votini is incorrigible. Yesterday morning, during the lesson on religion, in the presence of the head-master, the teacher asked Derossi if he knew by heart the two couplets in the reading-book,-- "Where'er I turn my gaze, 'tis Thee, great God, I see." Derossi said that he did not, and Votini suddenly exclaimed, "I know them!" with a smile, as though to pique Derossi. But he was piqued himself, instead, for he could not recite the poetry, because Franti's mother suddenly flew into the schoolroom, breathless, with her gray hair dishevelled and all wet with snow, and pushing before her her son, who had been suspended from school for a week. What a sad scene we were doomed to witness! The poor woman flung herself almost on her knees before the head-master, with clasped hands, and besought him:-- "Oh, Signor Director, do me the favor to put my boy back in school! He has been at home for three days. I have kept him hidden; but God have mercy on him, if his father finds out about this affair: he will murder him! Have pity! I no longer know what to do! I entreat you with my whole soul!" The director tried to lead her out, but she resisted, still continuing to pray and to weep. "Oh, if you only knew the trouble that this boy has caused me, you would have compassion! Do me this favor! I hope that he will reform. I shall not live long, Signor Director; I bear death within me; but I should like to see him reformed before my death, because"--and she broke into a passion of weeping--"he is my son--I love him--I shall die in despair! Take him back once more, Signor Director, that a misfortune may not happen in the family! Do it out of pity for a poor woman!" And she covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Franti stood impassive, and hung his head. The head-master looked at him, reflected a little, then said, "Franti, go to your place." Then the woman removed her hands from her face, quite comforted, and began to express thanks upon thanks, without giving the director a chance to speak, and made her way towards the door, wiping her eyes, and saying hastily: "I beg of you, my son.--May all have patience.--Thanks, Signor Director; you have performed a deed of mercy.--Be a good boy.--Good day, boys.--Thanks, Signor Teacher; good by, and forgive a poor mother." And after bestowing another supplicating glance at her son from the door, she went away, pulling up the shawl which was trailing after her, pale, bent, with a head which still trembled, and we heard her coughing all the way down the stairs. The head-master gazed intently at Franti, amid the silence of the class, and said to him in accents of a kind to make him tremble:-- "Franti, you are killing your mother!" We all turned to look at Franti; and that infamous boy smiled. HOPE. Sunday, 29th. Very beautiful, Enrico, was the impetuosity with which you flung yourself on your mother's heart on your return from your lesson of religion. Yes, your master said grand and consoling things to you. God threw you in each other's arms; he will never part you. When I die, when your father dies, we shall not speak to each other these despairing words, "Mamma, papa, Enrico, I shall never see you again!" We shall see each other again in another life, where he who has suffered much in this life will receive compensation; where he who has loved much on earth will find again the souls whom he has loved, in a world without sin, without sorrow, and without death. But we must all render ourselves worthy of that other life. Reflect, my son. Every good action of yours, every impulse of affection for those who love you, every courteous act towards your companions, every noble thought of yours, is like a leap towards that other world. And every misfortune, also, serves to raise you towards that world; every sorrow, for every sorrow is the expiation of a sin, every tear blots out a stain. Make it your rule to become better and more loving every day than the day before. Say every morning, "To-day I will do something for which my conscience will praise me, and with which my father will be satisfied; something which will render me beloved by such or such a comrade, by my teacher, by my brother, or by others." And beseech God to give you the strength to put your resolution into practice. "Lord, I wish to be good, noble, courageous, gentle, sincere; help me; grant that every night, when my mother gives me her last kiss, I may be able to say to her, 'You kiss this night a nobler and more worthy boy than you kissed last night.'" Keep always in your thoughts that other superhuman and blessed Enrico which you may be after this life. And pray. You cannot imagine the sweetness that you experience,--how much better a mother feels when she sees her child with hands clasped in prayer. When I behold you praying, it seems impossible to me that there should not be some one there gazing at you and listening to you. Then I believe more firmly that there is a supreme goodness and an infinite pity; I love you more, I work with more ardor, I endure with more force, I forgive with all my heart, and I think of death with serenity. O great and good God! To hear once more, after death, the voice of my mother, to meet my children again, to see my Enrico once more, my Enrico, blessed and immortal, and to clasp him in an embrace which shall nevermore be loosed, nevermore, nevermore to all eternity! Oh, pray! let us pray, let us love each other, let us be good, let us bear this celestial hope in our hearts and souls, my adored child! THY MOTHER. FEBRUARY. A MEDAL WELL BESTOWED. Saturday, 4th. THIS morning the superintendent of the schools, a gentleman with a white beard, and dressed in black, came to bestow the medals. He entered with the head-master a little before the close and seated himself beside the teacher. He questioned a few, then gave the first medal to Derossi, and before giving the second, he stood for a few moments listening to the teacher and the head-master, who were talking to him in a low voice. All were asking themselves, "To whom will he give the second?" The superintendent said aloud:-- "Pupil Pietro Precossi has merited the second medal this week,--merited it by his work at home, by his lessons, by his handwriting, by his conduct in every way." All turned to look at Precossi, and it was evident that all took pleasure in it. Precossi rose in such confusion that he did not know where he stood. "Come here," said the superintendent. Precossi sprang up from his seat and stepped up to the master's table. The superintendent looked attentively at that little waxen face, at that puny body enveloped in turned and ill-fitting garments, at those kind, sad eyes, which avoided his, but which hinted at a story of suffering; then he said to him, in a voice full of affection, as he fastened the medal on his shoulder:-- "I give you the medal, Precossi. No one is more worthy to wear it than you. I bestow it not only on your intelligence and your good will; I bestow it on your heart, I give it to your courage, to your character of a brave and good son. Is it not true," he added, turning to the class, "that he deserves it also on that score?" "Yes, yes!" all answered, with one voice. Precossi made a movement of the throat as though he were swallowing something, and cast upon the benches a very sweet look, which was expressive of immense gratitude. "Go, my dear boy," said the superintendent; "and may God protect you!" It was the hour for dismissing the school. Our class got out before the others. As soon as we were outside the door, whom should we espy there, in the large hall, just at the entrance? The father of Precossi, the blacksmith, pallid as was his wont, with fierce face, hair hanging over his eyes, his cap awry, and unsteady on his legs. The teacher caught sight of him instantly, and whispered to the superintendent. The latter sought out Precossi in haste, and taking him by the hand, he led him to his father. The boy was trembling. The boy and the superintendent approached; many boys collected around them. "Is it true that you are the father of this lad?" demanded the superintendent of the blacksmith, with a cheerful air, as though they were friends. And, without awaiting a reply:-- "I rejoice with you. Look: he has won the second medal over fifty-four of his comrades. He has deserved it by his composition, his arithmetic, everything. He is a boy of great intelligence and good will, who will accomplish great things; a fine boy, who possesses the affection and esteem of all. You may feel proud of him, I assure you." The blacksmith, who had stood there with open mouth listening to him, stared at the superintendent and the head-master, and then at his son, who was standing before him with downcast eyes and trembling; and as though he had remembered and comprehended then, for the first time, all that he had made the little fellow suffer, and all the goodness, the heroic constancy, with which the latter had borne it, he displayed in his countenance a certain stupid wonder, then a sullen remorse, and finally a sorrowful and impetuous tenderness, and with a rapid gesture he caught the boy round the head and strained him to his breast. We all passed before them. I invited him to come to the house on Thursday, with Garrone and Crossi; others saluted him; one bestowed a caress on him, another touched his medal, all said something to him; and his father stared at us in amazement, as he still held his son's head pressed to his breast, while the boy sobbed. GOOD RESOLUTIONS. Sunday, 5th. That medal given to Precossi has awakened a remorse in me. I have never earned one yet! For some time past I have not been studying, and I am discontented with myself, and the teacher, my father and mother are discontented with me. I no longer experience the pleasure in amusing myself that I did formerly, when I worked with a will, and then sprang up from the table and ran to my games full of mirth, as though I had not played for a month. Neither do I sit down to the table with my family with the same contentment as of old. I have always a shadow in my soul, an inward voice, that says to me continually, "It won't do; it won't do." In the evening I see a great many boys pass through the square on their return from work, in the midst of a group of workingmen, weary but merry. They step briskly along, impatient to reach their homes and suppers, and they talk loudly, laughing and slapping each other on the shoulder with hands blackened with coal, or whitened with plaster; and I reflect that they have been working since daybreak up to this hour. And with them are also many others, who are still smaller, who have been standing all day on the summits of roofs, in front of ovens, among machines, and in the water, and underground, with nothing to eat but a little bread; and I feel almost ashamed, I, who in all that time have accomplished nothing but scribble four small pages, and that reluctantly. Ah, I am discontented, discontented! I see plainly that my father is out of humor, and would like to tell me so; but he is sorry, and he is still waiting. My dear father, who works so hard! all is yours, all that I see around me in the house, all that I touch, all that I wear and eat, all that affords me instruction and diversion,--all is the fruit of your toil, and I do not work; all has cost you thought, privations, trouble, effort; and I make no effort. Ah, no; this is too unjust, and causes me too much pain. I will begin this very day; I will apply myself to my studies, like Stardi, with clenched fists and set teeth. I will set about it with all the strength of my will and my heart. I will conquer my drowsiness in the evening, I will come down promptly in the morning, I will cudgel my brains without ceasing, I will chastise my laziness without mercy. I will toil, suffer, even to the extent of making myself ill; but I will put a stop, once for all, to this languishing and tiresome life, which is degrading me and causing sorrow to others. Courage! to work! To work with all my soul, and all my nerves! To work, which will restore to me sweet repose, pleasing games, cheerful meals! To work, which will give me back again the kindly smile of my teacher, the blessed kiss of my father! THE ENGINE. Friday, 10th. Precossi came to our house to-day with Garrone. I do not think that two sons of princes would have been received with greater delight. This is the first time that Garrone has been here, because he is rather shy, and then he is ashamed to show himself because he is so large, and is still in the third grade. We all went to open the door when they rang. Crossi did not come, because his father has at last arrived from America, after an absence of seven years. My mother kissed Precossi at once. My father introduced Garrone to her, saying:-- "Here he is. This lad is not only a good boy; he is a man of honor and a gentleman." And the boy dropped his big, shaggy head, with a sly smile at me. Precossi had on his medal, and he was happy, because his father has gone to work again, and has not drunk anything for the last five days, wants him to be always in the workshop to keep him company, and seems quite another man. We began to play, and I brought out all my things. Precossi was enchanted with my train of cars, with the engine that goes of itself on being wound up. He had never seen anything of the kind. He devoured the little red and yellow cars with his eyes. I gave him the key to play with, and he knelt down to his amusement, and did not raise his head again. I have never seen him so pleased. He kept saying, "Excuse me, excuse me," to everything, and motioning to us with his hands, that we should not stop the engine; and then he picked it up and replaced the cars with a thousand precautions, as though they had been made of glass. He was afraid of tarnishing them with his breath, and he polished them up again, examining them top and bottom, and smiling to himself. We all stood around him and gazed at him. We looked at that slender neck, those poor little ears, which I had seen bleeding one day, that jacket with the sleeves turned up, from which projected two sickly little arms, which had been upraised to ward off blows from his face. Oh! at that moment I could have cast all my playthings and all my books at his feet, I could have torn the last morsel of bread from my lips to give to him, I could have divested myself of my clothing to clothe him, I could have flung myself on my knees to kiss his hand. "I will at least give you the train," I thought; but--was necessary to ask permission of my father. At that moment I felt a bit of paper thrust into my hand. I looked; it was written in pencil by my father; it said: "Your train pleases Precossi. He has no playthings. Does your heart suggest nothing to you?" Instantly I seized the engine and the cars in both hands, and placed the whole in his arms, saying:-- "Take this; it is yours." He looked at me, and did not understand. "It is yours," I said; "I give it to you." Then he looked at my father and mother, in still greater astonishment, and asked me:-- "But why?" My father said to him:-- "Enrico gives it to you because he is your friend, because he loves you--to celebrate your medal." Precossi asked timidly:-- "I may carry it away--home?" "Of course!" we all responded. He was already at the door, but he dared not go out. He was happy! He begged our pardon with a mouth that smiled and quivered. Garrone helped him to wrap up the train in a handkerchief, and as he bent over, he made the things with which his pockets were filled rattle. "Some day," said Precossi to me, "you shall come to the shop to see my father at work. I will give you some nails." My mother put a little bunch of flowers into Garrone's buttonhole, for him to carry to his mother in her name. Garrone said, "Thanks," in his big voice, without raising his chin from his breast. But all his kind and noble soul shone in his eyes. PRIDE. Saturday, 11th. The idea of Carlo Nobis rubbing off his sleeve affectedly, when Precossi touches him in passing! That fellow is pride incarnate because his father is a rich man. But Derossi's father is rich too. He would like to have a bench to himself; he is afraid that the rest will soil it; he looks down on everybody and always has a scornful smile on his lips: woe to him who stumbles over his foot, when we go out in files two by two! For a mere trifle he flings an insulting word in your face, or a threat to get his father to come to the school. It is true that his father did give him a good lesson when he called the little son of the charcoal-man a ragamuffin. I have never seen so disagreeable a schoolboy! No one speaks to him, no one says good by to him when he goes out; there is not even a dog who would give him a suggestion when he does not know his lesson. And he cannot endure any one, and he pretends to despise Derossi more than all, because he is the head boy; and Garrone, because he is beloved by all. But Derossi pays no attention to him when he is by; and when the boys tell Garrone that Nobis has been speaking ill of him, he says:-- "His pride is so senseless that it does not deserve even my passing notice." But Coretti said to him one day, when he was smiling disdainfully at his catskin cap:-- "Go to Derossi for a while, and learn how to play the gentleman!" Yesterday he complained to the master, because the Calabrian touched his leg with his foot. The master asked the Calabrian:-- "Did you do it intentionally?"--"No, sir," he replied, frankly.--"You are too petulant, Nobis." And Nobis retorted, in his airy way, "I shall tell my father about it." Then the teacher got angry. "Your father will tell you that you are in the wrong, as he has on other occasions. And besides that, it is the teacher alone who has the right to judge and punish in school." Then he added pleasantly:-- "Come, Nobis, change your ways; be kind and courteous to your comrades. You see, we have here sons of workingmen and of gentlemen, of the rich and the poor, and all love each other and treat each other like brothers, as they are. Why do not you do like the rest? It would not cost you much to make every one like you, and you would be so much happier yourself, too!--Well, have you no reply to make me?" Nobis, who had listened to him with his customary scornful smile, answered coldly:-- "No, sir." "Sit down," said the master to him. "I am sorry for you. You are a heartless boy." This seemed to be the end of it all; but the little mason, who sits on the front bench, turned his round face towards Nobis, who sits on the back bench, and made such a fine and ridiculous hare's face at him, that the whole class burst into a shout of laughter. The master reproved him; but he was obliged to put his hand over his own mouth to conceal a smile. And even Nobis laughed, but not in a pleasant way. THE WOUNDS OF LABOR. Monday, 15th. Nobis can be paired off with Franti: neither of them was affected this morning in the presence of the terrible sight which passed before their eyes. On coming out of school, I was standing with my father and looking at some big rogues of the second grade, who had thrown themselves on their knees and were wiping off the ice with their cloaks and caps, in order to make slides more quickly, when we saw a crowd of people appear at the end of the street, walking hurriedly, all serious and seemingly terrified, and conversing in low tones. In the midst of them were three policemen, and behind the policemen two men carrying a litter. Boys hastened up from all quarters. The crowd advanced towards us. On the litter was stretched a man, pale as a corpse, with his head resting on one shoulder, and his hair tumbled and stained with blood, for he had been losing blood through the mouth and ears; and beside the litter walked a woman with a baby in her arms, who seemed crazy, and who shrieked from time to time, "He is dead! He is dead! He is dead!" Behind the woman came a boy who had a portfolio under his arm and who was sobbing. "What has happened?" asked my father. A neighbor replied, that the man was a mason who had fallen from the fourth story while at work. The bearers of the litter halted for a moment. Many turned away their faces in horror. I saw the schoolmistress of the red feather supporting my mistress of the upper first, who was almost in a swoon. At the same moment I felt a touch on the elbow; it was the little mason, who was ghastly white and trembling from head to foot. He was certainly thinking of his father. I was thinking of him, too. I, at least, am at peace in my mind while I am in school: I know that my father is at home, seated at his table, far removed from all danger; but how many of my companions think that their fathers are at work on a very high bridge or close to the wheels of a machine, and that a movement, a single false step, may cost them their lives! They are like so many sons of soldiers who have fathers in the battle. The little mason gazed and gazed, and trembled more and more, and my father noticed it and said:-- "Go home, my boy; go at once to your father, and you will find him safe and tranquil; go!" The little mason went off, turning round at every step. And in the meanwhile the crowd had begun to move again, and the woman to shriek in a way that rent the heart, "He is dead! He is dead! He is dead!" "No, no; he is not dead," people on all sides said to her. But she paid no heed to them, and tore her hair. Then I heard an indignant voice say, "You are laughing!" and at the same moment I saw a bearded man staring in Franti's face. Then the man knocked his cap to the ground with his stick, saying:-- "Uncover your head, you wicked boy, when a man wounded by labor is passing by!" The crowd had already passed, and a long streak of blood was visible in the middle of the street. THE PRISONER. Friday, 17th. Ah, this is certainly the strangest event of the whole year! Yesterday morning my father took me to the suburbs of Moncalieri, to look at a villa which he thought of hiring for the coming summer, because we shall not go to Chieri again this year, and it turned out that the person who had the keys was a teacher who acts as secretary to the owner. He showed us the house, and then he took us to his own room, where he gave us something to drink. On his table, among the glasses, there was a wooden inkstand, of a conical form, carved in a singular manner. Perceiving that my father was looking at it, the teacher said:-- "That inkstand is very precious to me: if you only knew, sir, the history of that inkstand!" And he told it. Years ago he was a teacher at Turin, and all one winter he went to give lessons to the prisoners in the judicial prison. He gave the lessons in the chapel of the prison, which is a circular building, and all around it, on the high, bare walls, are a great many little square windows, covered with two cross-bars of iron, each one of which corresponds to a very small cell inside. He gave his lessons as he paced about the dark, cold chapel, and his scholars stood at the holes, with their copy-books resting against the gratings, showing nothing in the shadow but wan, frowning faces, gray and ragged beards, staring eyes of murderers and thieves. Among the rest there was one, No. 78, who was more attentive than all the others, and who studied a great deal, and gazed at his teacher with eyes full of respect and gratitude. He was a young man, with a black beard, more unfortunate than wicked, a cabinet-maker who, in a fit of rage, had flung a plane at his master, who had been persecuting him for some time, and had inflicted a mortal wound on his head: for this he had been condemned to several years of seclusion. In three months he had learned to read and write, and he read constantly, and the more he learned, the better he seemed to become, and the more remorseful for his crime. One day, at the conclusion of the lesson, he made a sign to the teacher that he should come near to his little window, and he announced to him that he was to leave Turin on the following day, to go and expiate his crime in the prison at Venice; and as he bade him farewell, he begged in a humble and much moved voice, that he might be allowed to touch the master's hand. The master offered him his hand, and he kissed it; then he said:-- "Thanks! thanks!" and disappeared. The master drew back his hand; it was bathed with tears. After that he did not see the man again. Six years passed. "I was thinking of anything except that unfortunate man," said the teacher, "when, the other morning, I saw a stranger come to the house, a man with a large black beard already sprinkled with gray, and badly dressed, who said to me: 'Are you the teacher So-and-So, sir?' 'Who are you?' I asked him. 'I am prisoner No. 78,' he replied; 'you taught me to read and write six years ago; if you recollect, you gave me your hand at the last lesson; I have now expiated my crime, and I have come hither--to beg you to do me the favor to accept a memento of me, a poor little thing which I made in prison. Will you accept it in memory of me, Signor Master?' "I stood there speechless. He thought that I did not wish to take it, and he looked at me as much as to say, 'So six years of suffering are not sufficient to cleanse my hands!' but with so poignant an expression of pain did he gaze at me, that I instantly extended my hand and took the little object. This is it." We looked attentively at the inkstand: it seemed to have been carved with the point of a nail, and with, great patience; on its top was carved a pen lying across a copy-book, and around it was written: "_To my teacher. A memento of No. 78. Six years!_" And below, in small letters, "_Study and hope._" The master said nothing more; we went away. But all the way from Moncalieri to Turin I could not get that prisoner, standing at his little window, that farewell to his master, that poor inkstand made in prison, which told so much, out of my head; and I dreamed of them all night, and was still thinking of them this morning--far enough from imagining the surprise which awaited me at school! No sooner had I taken my new seat, beside Derossi, and written my problem in arithmetic for the monthly examination, than I told my companion the story of the prisoner and the inkstand, and how the inkstand was made, with the pen across the copy-book, and the inscription around it, "Six years!" Derossi sprang up at these words, and began to look first at me and then at Crossi, the son of the vegetable-vender, who sat on the bench in front, with his back turned to us, wholly absorbed on his problem. "Hush!" he said; then, in a low voice, catching me by the arm, "don't you know that Crossi spoke to me day before yesterday of having caught a glimpse; of an inkstand in the hands of his father, who has returned from America; a conical inkstand, made by hand, with a copy-book and a pen,--that is the one; six years! He said that his father was in America; instead of that he was in prison: Crossi was a little boy at the time of the crime; he does not remember it; his mother has deceived him; he knows nothing; let not a syllable of this escape!" I remained speechless, with my eyes fixed on Crossi. Then Derossi solved his problem, and passed it under the bench to Crossi; he gave him a sheet of paper; he took out of his hands the monthly story, _Daddy's Nurse_, which the teacher had given him to copy out, in order that he might copy it in his stead; he gave him pens, and stroked his shoulder, and made me promise on my honor that I would say nothing to any one; and when we left school, he said hastily to me:-- "His father came to get him yesterday; he will be here again this morning: do as I do." We emerged into the street; Crossi's father was there, a little to one side: a man with a black beard sprinkled with gray, badly dressed, with a colorless and thoughtful face. Derossi shook Crossi's hand, in a way to attract attention, and said to him in a loud tone, "Farewell until we meet again, Crossi,"--and passed his hand under his chin. I did the same. But as he did so, Derossi turned crimson, and so did I; and Crossi's father gazed attentively at us, with a kindly glance; but through it shone an expression of uneasiness and suspicion which made our hearts grow cold. DADDY'S NURSE. (_Monthly Story._) One morning, on a rainy day in March, a lad dressed like a country boy, all muddy and saturated with water, with a bundle of clothes under his arm, presented himself to the porter of the great hospital at Naples, and, presenting a letter, asked for his father. He had a fine oval face, of a pale brown hue, thoughtful eyes, and two thick lips, always half open, which displayed extremely white teeth. He came from a village in the neighborhood of Naples. His father, who had left home a year previously to seek work in France, had returned to Italy, and had landed a few days before at Naples, where, having fallen suddenly ill, he had hardly time to write a line to announce his arrival to his family, and to say that he was going to the hospital. His wife, in despair at this news, and unable to leave home because she had a sick child, and a baby at the breast, had sent her eldest son to Naples, with a few soldi, to help his father--his _daddy_, as they called him: the boy had walked ten miles. The porter, after glancing at the letter, called a nurse and told him to conduct the lad to his father. "What father?" inquired the nurse. The boy, trembling with terror, lest he should hear bad news, gave the name. The nurse did not recall such a name. "An old laborer, arrived from abroad?" he asked. "Yes, a laborer," replied the lad, still more uneasy; "not so very old. Yes, arrived from abroad." "When did he enter the hospital?" asked the nurse. The lad glanced at his letter; "Five days ago, I think." The nurse stood a while in thought; then, as though suddenly recalling him; "Ah!" he said, "the furthest bed in the fourth ward." "Is he very ill? How is he?" inquired the boy, anxiously. The nurse looked at him, without replying. Then he said, "Come with me." They ascended two flights of stairs, walked to the end of a long corridor, and found themselves facing the open door of a large hall, wherein two rows of beds were arranged. "Come," repeated the nurse, entering. The boy plucked up his courage, and followed him, casting terrified glances to right and left, on the pale, emaciated faces of the sick people, some of whom had their eyes closed, and seemed to be dead, while others were staring into the air, with their eyes wide open and fixed, as though frightened. Some were moaning like children. The big room was dark, the air was impregnated with an acute odor of medicines. Two sisters of charity were going about with phials in their hands. Arrived at the extremity of the great room, the nurse halted at the head of a bed, drew aside the curtains, and said, "Here is your father." The boy burst into tears, and letting fall his bundle, he dropped his head on the sick man's shoulder, clasping with one hand the arm which was lying motionless on the coverlet. The sick man did not move. The boy rose to his feet, and looked at his father, and broke into a fresh fit of weeping. Then the sick man gave a long look at him, and seemed to recognize him; but his lips did not move. Poor daddy, how he was changed! The son would never have recognized him. His hair had turned white, his beard had grown, his face was swollen, of a dull red hue, with the skin tightly drawn and shining; his eyes were diminished in size, his lips very thick, his whole countenance altered. There was no longer anything natural about him but his forehead and the arch of his eyebrows. He breathed with difficulty. "Daddy! daddy!" said the boy, "it is I; don't you know me? I am Cicillo, your own Cicillo, who has come from the country: mamma has sent me. Take a good look at me; don't you know me? Say one word to me." But the sick man, after having looked attentively at him, closed his eyes. "Daddy! daddy! What is the matter with you? I am your little son--your own Cicillo." The sick man made no movement, and continued to breathe painfully. Then the lad, still weeping, took a chair, seated himself and waited, without taking his eyes from his father's face. "A doctor will surely come to pay him a visit," he thought; "he will tell me something." And he became immersed in sad thoughts, recalling many things about his kind father, the day of parting, when he said the last good by to him on board the ship, the hopes which his family had founded on his journey, the desolation of his mother on the arrival of the letter; and he thought of death: he beheld his father dead, his mother dressed in black, the family in misery. And he remained a long time thus. A light hand touched him on the shoulder, and he started up: it was a nun. "What is the matter with my father?" he asked her quickly. "Is he your father?" said the sister gently. "Yes, he is my father; I have come. What ails him?" "Courage, my boy," replied the sister; "the doctor will be here soon now." And she went away without saying anything more. Half an hour later he heard the sound of a bell, and he saw the doctor enter at the further end of the hall, accompanied by an assistant; the sister and a nurse followed him. They began the visit, pausing at every bed. This time of waiting seemed an eternity to the lad, and his anxiety increased at every step of the doctor. At length they arrived at the next bed. The doctor was an old man, tall and stooping, with a grave face. Before he left the next bed the boy rose to his feet, and when he approached he began to cry. The doctor looked at him. "He is the sick man's son," said the sister; "he arrived this morning from the country." The doctor placed one hand on his shoulder; then bent over the sick man, felt his pulse, touched his forehead, and asked a few questions of the sister, who replied, "There is nothing new." Then he thought for a while and said, "Continue the present treatment." Then the boy plucked up courage, and asked in a tearful voice, "What is the matter with my father?" "Take courage, my boy," replied the doctor, laying his hand on his shoulder once more; "he has erysipelas in his face. It is a serious case, but there is still hope. Help him. Your presence may do him a great deal of good." "But he does not know me!" exclaimed the boy in a tone of affliction. "He will recognize you--to-morrow perhaps. Let us hope for the best and keep up our courage." The boy would have liked to ask some more questions, but he did not dare. The doctor passed on. And then he began his life of nurse. As he could do nothing else, he arranged the coverlets of the sick man, touched his hand every now and then, drove away the flies, bent over him at every groan, and when the sister brought him something to drink, he took the glass or the spoon from her hand, and administered it in her stead. The sick man looked at him occasionally, but he gave no sign of recognition. However, his glance rested longer on the lad each time, especially when the latter put his handkerchief to his eyes. Thus passed the first day. At night the boy slept on two chairs, in a corner of the ward, and in the morning he resumed his work of mercy. That day it seemed as though the eyes of the sick man revealed a dawning of consciousness. At the sound of the boy's caressing voice a vague expression of gratitude seemed to gleam for an instant in his pupils, and once he moved his lips a little, as though he wanted to say something. After each brief nap he seemed, on opening his eyes, to seek his little nurse. The doctor, who had passed twice, thought he noted a slight improvement. Towards evening, on putting the cup to his lips, the lad fancied that he perceived a very faint smile glide across the swollen lips. Then he began to take comfort and to hope; and with the hope of being understood, confusedly at least, he talked to him--talked to him at great length--of his mother, of his little sisters, of his own return home, and he exhorted him to courage with warm and loving words. And although he often doubted whether he was heard, he still talked; for it seemed to him that even if he did not understand him, the sick man listened with a certain pleasure to his voice,--to that unaccustomed intonation of affection and sorrow. And in this manner passed the second day, and the third, and the fourth, with vicissitudes of slight improvements and unexpected changes for the worse; and the boy was so absorbed in all his cares, that he hardly nibbled a bit of bread and cheese twice a day, when the sister brought it to him, and hardly saw what was going on around him,--the dying patients, the sudden running up of the sisters at night, the moans and despairing gestures of visitors,--all those doleful and lugubrious scenes of hospital life, which on any other occasion would have disconcerted and alarmed him. Hours, days, passed, and still he was there with his daddy; watchful, wistful, trembling at every sigh and at every look, agitated incessantly between a hope which relieved his mind and a discouragement which froze his heart. On the fifth day the sick man suddenly grew worse. The doctor, on being interrogated, shook his head, as much as to say that all was over, and the boy flung himself on a chair and burst out sobbing. But one thing comforted him. In spite of the fact that he was worse, the sick man seemed to be slowly regaining a little intelligence. He stared at the lad with increasing intentness, and, with an expression which grew in sweetness, would take his drink and medicine from no one but him, and made strenuous efforts with his lips with greater frequency, as though he were trying to pronounce some word; and he did it so plainly sometimes that his son grasped his arm violently, inspired by a sudden hope, and said to him in a tone which was almost that of joy, "Courage, courage, daddy; you will get well, we will go away from here, we will return home with mamma; courage, for a little while longer!" It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and just when the boy had abandoned himself to one of these outbursts of tenderness and hope, when a sound of footsteps became audible outside the nearest door in the ward, and then a strong voice uttering two words only,--"Farewell, sister!"--which made him spring to his feet, with a cry repressed in his throat. At that moment there entered the ward a man with a thick bandage on his hand, followed by a sister. The boy uttered a sharp cry, and stood rooted to the spot. The man turned round, looked at him for a moment, and uttered a cry in his turn,--"Cicillo!"--and darted towards him. The boy fell into his father's arms, choking with emotion. The sister, the nurse, and the assistant ran up, and stood there in amazement. The boy could not recover his voice. "Oh, my Cicillo!" exclaimed the father, after bestowing an attentive look on the sick man, as he kissed the boy repeatedly. "Cicillo, my son, how is this? They took you to the bedside of another man. And there was I, in despair at not seeing you after mamma had written, 'I have sent him.' Poor Cicillo! How many days have you been here? How did this mistake occur? I have come out of it easily! I have a good constitution, you know! And how is mamma? And Concettella? And the little baby--how are they all? I am leaving the hospital now. Come, then. Oh, Lord God! Who would have thought it!" The boy tried to interpolate a few words, to tell the news of the family. "Oh how happy I am!" he stammered. "How happy I am! What terrible days I have passed!" And he could not finish kissing his father. But he did not stir. "Come," said his father; "we can get home this evening." And he drew the lad towards him. The boy turned to look at his patient. "Well, are you coming or not?" his father demanded, in amazement. The boy cast yet another glance at the sick man, who opened his eyes at that moment and gazed intently at him. Then a flood of words poured from his very soul. "No, daddy; wait--here--I can't. Here is this old man. I have been here for five days. He gazes at me incessantly. I thought he was you. I love him dearly. He looks at me; I give him his drink; he wants me always beside him; he is very ill now. Have patience; I have not the courage--I don't know--it pains me too much; I will return home to-morrow; let me stay here a little longer; I don't at all like to leave him. See how he looks at me! I don't know who he is, but he wants me; he will die alone: let me stay here, dear daddy!" "Bravo, little fellow!" exclaimed the attendant. The father stood in perplexity, staring at the boy; then he looked at the sick man. "Who is he?" he inquired. "A countryman, like yourself," replied the attendant, "just arrived from abroad, and who entered the hospital on the very day that you entered it. He was out of his senses when they brought him here, and could not speak. Perhaps he has a family far away, and sons. He probably thinks that your son is one of his." The sick man was still looking at the boy. The father said to Cicillo, "Stay." "He will not have to stay much longer," murmured the attendant. "Stay," repeated his father: "you have heart. I will go home immediately, to relieve mamma's distress. Here is a scudo for your expenses. Good by, my brave little son, until we meet!" He embraced him, looked at him intently, kissed him again on the brow, and went away. The boy returned to his post at the bedside, and the sick man appeared consoled. And Cicillo began again to play the nurse, no longer weeping, but with the same eagerness, the same patience, as before; he again began to give the man his drink, to arrange his bedclothes, to caress his hand, to speak softly to him, to exhort him to courage. He attended him all that day, all that night; he remained beside him all the following day. But the sick man continued to grow constantly worse; his face turned a purple color, his breathing grew heavier, his agitation increased, inarticulate cries escaped his lips, the inflammation became excessive. On his evening visit, the doctor said that he would not live through the night. And then Cicillo redoubled his cares, and never took his eyes from him for a minute. The sick man gazed and gazed at him, and kept moving his lips from time to time, with great effort, as though he wanted to say something, and an expression of extraordinary tenderness passed over his eyes now and then, as they continued to grow smaller and more dim. And that night the boy watched with him until he saw the first rays of dawn gleam white through the windows, and the sister appeared. The sister approached the bed, cast a glance at the patient, and then went away with rapid steps. A few moments later she reappeared with the assistant doctor, and with a nurse, who carried a lantern. "He is at his last gasp," said the doctor. The boy clasped the sick man's hand. The latter opened his eyes, gazed at him, and closed them once more. At that moment the lad fancied that he felt his hand pressed. "He pressed my hand!" he exclaimed. The doctor bent over the patient for an instant, then straightened himself up. The sister detached a crucifix from the wall. "He is dead!" cried the boy. "Go, my son," said the doctor: "your work of mercy is finished. Go, and may fortune attend you! for you deserve it. God will protect you. Farewell!" The sister, who had stepped aside for a moment, returned with a little bunch of violets which she had taken from a glass on the window-sill, and handed them to the boy, saying:-- "I have nothing else to give you. Take these in memory of the hospital." "Thanks," returned the boy, taking the bunch of flowers with one hand and drying his eyes with the other; "but I have such a long distance to go on foot--I shall spoil them." And separating the violets, he scattered them over the bed, saying: "I leave them as a memento for my poor dead man. Thanks, sister! thanks, doctor!" Then, turning to the dead man, "Farewell--" And while he sought a name to give him, the sweet name which he had applied to him for five days recurred to his lips,--"Farewell, poor daddy!" So saying, he took his little bundle of clothes under his arm, and, exhausted with fatigue, he walked slowly away. The day was dawning. THE WORKSHOP. Saturday, 18th. Precossi came last night to remind me that I was to go and see his workshop, which is down the street, and this morning when I went out with my father, I got him to take me there for a moment. As we approached the shop, Garoffi issued from it on a run, with a package in his hand, and making his big cloak, with which he covers up his merchandise, flutter. Ah! now I know where he goes to pilfer iron filings, which he sells for old papers, that barterer of a Garoffi! When we arrived in front of the door, we saw Precossi seated on a little pile of bricks, engaged in studying his lesson, with his book resting on his knees. He rose quickly and invited us to enter. It was a large apartment, full of coal-dust, bristling with hammers, pincers, bars, and old iron of every description; and in one corner burned a fire in a small furnace, where puffed a pair of bellows worked by a boy. Precossi, the father, was standing near the anvil, and a young man was holding a bar of iron in the fire. "Ah! here he is," said the smith, as soon as he caught sight of us, and he lifted his cap, "the nice boy who gives away railway trains! He has come to see me work a little, has he not? I shall be at your service in a moment." And as he said it, he smiled; and he no longer had the ferocious face, the malevolent eyes of former days. The young man handed him a long bar of iron heated red-hot on one end, and the smith placed it on the anvil. He was making one of those curved bars for the rail of terrace balustrades. He raised a large hammer and began to beat it, pushing the heated part now here, now there, between one point of the anvil and the middle, and turning it about in various ways; and it was a marvel to see how the iron curved beneath the rapid and accurate blows of the hammer, and twisted, and gradually assumed the graceful form of a leaf torn from a flower, like a pipe of dough which he had modelled with his hands. And meanwhile his son watched us with a certain air of pride, as much as to say, "See how my father works!" "Do you see how it is done, little master?" the blacksmith asked me, when he had finished, holding out the bar, which looked like a bishop's crosier. Then he laid it aside, and thrust another into the fire. "That was very well made, indeed," my father said to him. And he added, "So you are working--eh! You have returned to good habits?" "Yes, I have returned," replied the workman, wiping away the perspiration, and reddening a little. "And do you know who has made me return to them?" My father pretended not to understand. "This brave boy," said the blacksmith, indicating his son with his finger; "that brave boy there, who studied and did honor to his father, while his father rioted, and treated him like a dog. When I saw that medal--Ah! thou little lad of mine, no bigger than a soldo[1] of cheese, come hither, that I may take a good look at thy phiz!" [1] The twentieth part of a cubit; Florentine measure. The boy ran to him instantly; the smith took him and set him directly on the anvil, holding him under the arms, and said to him:-- "Polish off the frontispiece of this big beast of a daddy of yours a little!" And then Precossi covered his father's black face with kisses, until he was all black himself. "That's as it should be," said the smith, and he set him on the ground again. "That really is as it should be, Precossi!" exclaimed my father, delighted. And bidding the smith and his son good day, he led me away. As I was going out, little Precossi said to me, "Excuse me," and thrust a little packet of nails into my pocket. I invited him to come and view the Carnival from my house. "You gave him your railway train," my father said to me in the street; "but if it had been made of gold and filled with pearls, it would still have been but a petty gift to that sainted son, who has reformed his father's heart." THE LITTLE HARLEQUIN. Monday, 20th. The whole city is in a tumult over the Carnival, which is nearing its close. In every square rise booths of mountebanks and jesters; and we have under our windows a circus-tent, in which a little Venetian company, with five horses, is giving a show. The circus is in the centre of the square; and in one corner there are three very large vans in which the mountebanks sleep and dress themselves,--three small houses on wheels, with their tiny windows, and a chimney in each of them, which smokes continually; and between window and window the baby's swaddling-bands are stretched. There is one woman who is nursing a child, who prepares the food, and dances on the tight-rope. Poor people! The word _mountebank_ is spoken as though it were an insult; but they earn their living honestly, nevertheless, by amusing all the world--and how they work! All day long they run back and forth between the circus-tent and the vans, in tights, in all this cold; they snatch a mouthful or two in haste, standing, between two performances; and sometimes, when they get their tent full, a wind arises, wrenches away the ropes and extinguishes the lights, and then good by to the show! They are obliged to return the money, and to work the entire night at repairing their booth. There are two lads who work; and my father recognized the smallest one as he was traversing the square; and he is the son of the proprietor, the same one whom we saw perform tricks on horseback last year in a circus on the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. And he has grown; he must be eight years old: he is a handsome boy, with a round and roguish face, with so many black curls that they escape from his pointed cap. He is dressed up like a harlequin, decked out in a sort of sack, with sleeves of white, embroidered with black, and his slippers are of cloth. He is a merry little imp. He charms every one. He does everything. We see him early in the morning, wrapped in a shawl, carrying milk to his wooden house; then he goes to get the horses at the boarding-stable on the Via Bertola. He holds the tiny baby in his arms; he transports hoops, trestles, rails, ropes; he cleans the vans, lights the fire, and in his leisure moments he always hangs about his mother. My father is always watching him from the window, and does nothing but talk about him and his family, who have the air of nice people, and of being fond of their children. One evening we went to the circus: it was cold; there was hardly any one there; but the little harlequin exerted himself greatly to cheer those few people: he executed precarious leaps; he caught hold of the horses' tails; he walked with his legs in the air, all alone; he sang, always with a smile constantly on his handsome little brown face. And his father, who had on a red vest and white trousers, with tall boots, and a whip in his hand, watched him: but it was melancholy. My father took pity on him, and spoke of him on the following day to Delis the painter, who came to see us. These poor people were killing themselves with hard work, and their affairs were going so badly! The little boy pleased him so much! What could be done for them? The painter had an idea. "Write a fine article for the _Gazette_," he said: "you know how to write well: relate the miraculous things which the little harlequin does, and I will take his portrait for you. Everybody reads the _Gazette_, and people will flock thither for once." And thus they did. My father wrote a fine article, full of jests, which told all that we had observed from the window, and inspired a desire to see and caress the little artist; and the painter sketched a little portrait which was graceful and a good likeness, and which was published on Saturday evening. And behold! at the Sunday performance a great crowd rushed to the circus. The announcement was made: _Performance for the Benefit of the Little Harlequin_, as he was styled in the _Gazette_. The circus was crammed; many of the spectators held the _Gazette_ in their hands, and showed it to the little harlequin, who laughed and ran from one to another, perfectly delighted. The proprietor was delighted also. Just fancy! Not a single newspaper had ever done him such an honor, and the money-box was filled. My father sat beside me. Among the spectators we found persons of our acquaintance. Near the entrance for the horses stood the teacher of gymnastics--the one who has been with Garibaldi; and opposite us, in the second row, was the little mason, with his little round face, seated beside his gigantic father; and no sooner did he catch sight of me than he made a hare's face at me. A little further on I espied Garoffi, who was counting the spectators, and calculated on his fingers how much money the company had taken in. On one of the chairs in the first row, not far from us, there was also poor Robetti, the boy who saved the child from the omnibus, with his crutches between his knees, pressed close to the side of his father, the artillery captain, who kept one hand on his shoulder. The performance began. The little harlequin accomplished wonders on his horse, on the trapeze, on the tight-rope; and every time that he jumped down, every one clapped their hands, and many pulled his curls. Then several others, rope-dancers, jugglers, and riders, clad in tights, and sparkling with silver, went through their exercises; but when the boy was not performing, the audience seemed to grow weary. At a certain point I saw the teacher of gymnastics, who held his post at the entrance for the horses, whisper in the ear of the proprietor of the circus, and the latter instantly glanced around, as though in search of some one. His glance rested on us. My father perceived it, and understood that the teacher had revealed that he was the author of the article, and in order to escape being thanked, he hastily retreated, saying to me:-- "Remain, Enrico; I will wait for you outside." After exchanging a few words with his father, the little harlequin went through still another trick: erect upon a galloping horse, he appeared in four characters--as a pilgrim, a sailor, a soldier, and an acrobat; and every time that he passed near me, he looked at me. And when he dismounted, he began to make the tour of the circus, with his harlequin's cap in his hand, and everybody threw soldi or sugar-plums into it. I had two soldi ready; but when he got in front of me, instead of offering his cap, he drew it back, gave me a look and passed on. I was mortified. Why had he offered me that affront? The performance came to an end; the proprietor thanked the audience; and all the people rose also, and thronged to the doors. I was confused by the crowd, and was on the point of going out, when I felt a touch on my hand. I turned round: it was the little harlequin, with his tiny brown face and his black curls, who was smiling at me; he had his hands full of sugar-plums. Then I understood. "Will you accept these sugar-plums from the little harlequin?" said he to me, in his dialect. I nodded, and took three or four. "Then," he added, "please accept a kiss also." "Give me two," I answered; and held up my face to him. He rubbed off his floury face with his hand, put his arm round my neck, and planted two kisses on my cheek, saying:-- "There! take one of them to your father." THE LAST DAY OF THE CARNIVAL. Tuesday, 21st. What a sad scene was that which we witnessed to-day at the procession of the masks! It ended well; but it might have resulted in a great misfortune. In the San Carlo Square, all decorated with red, white, and yellow festoons, a vast multitude had assembled; masks of every hue were flitting about; cars, gilded and adorned, in the shape of pavilions; little theatres, barks filled with harlequins and warriors, cooks, sailors, and shepherdesses; there was such a confusion that one knew not where to look; a tremendous clash of trumpets, horns, and cymbals lacerated the ears; and the masks on the chariots drank and sang, as they apostrophized the people in the streets and at the windows, who retorted at the top of their lungs, and hurled oranges and sugar-plums at each other vigorously; and above the chariots and the throng, as far as the eye could reach, one could see banners fluttering, helmets gleaming, plumes waving, gigantic pasteboard heads moving, huge head-dresses, enormous trumpets, fantastic arms, little drums, castanets, red caps, and bottles;--all the world seemed to have gone mad. When our carriage entered the square, a magnificent chariot was driving in front of us, drawn by four horses covered with trappings embroidered in gold, and all wreathed in artificial roses, upon which there were fourteen or fifteen gentlemen masquerading as gentlemen at the court of France, all glittering with silk, with huge white wigs, a plumed hat, under the arm a small-sword, and a tuft of ribbons and laces on the breast. They were very gorgeous. They were singing a French canzonette in concert and throwing sweetmeats to the people, and the people clapped their hands and shouted. Suddenly, on our left, we saw a man lift a child of five or six above the heads of the crowd,--a poor little creature, who wept piteously, and flung her arms about as though in a fit of convulsions. The man made his way to the gentlemen's chariot; one of the latter bent down, and the other said aloud:-- "Take this child; she has lost her mother in the crowd; hold her in your arms; the mother may not be far off, and she will catch sight of her: there is no other way." The gentleman took the child in his arms: all the rest stopped singing; the child screamed and struggled; the gentleman removed his mask; the chariot continued to move slowly onwards. Meanwhile, as we were afterwards informed, at the opposite extremity of the square a poor woman, half crazed with despair, was forcing her way through the crowd, by dint of shoves and elbowing, and shrieking:-- "Maria! Maria! Maria! I have lost my little daughter! She has been stolen from me! They have suffocated my child!" And for a quarter of an hour she raved and expressed her despair in this manner, straying now a little way in this direction, and then a little way in that, crushed by the throng through which she strove to force her way. The gentleman on the car was meanwhile holding the child pressed against the ribbons and laces on his breast, casting glances over the square, and trying to calm the poor creature, who covered her face with her hands, not knowing where she was, and sobbed as though she would break her heart. The gentleman was touched: it was evident that these screams went to his soul. All the others offered the child oranges and sugar-plums; but she repulsed them all, and grew constantly more convulsed and frightened. "Find her mother!" shouted the gentleman to the crowd; "seek her mother!" And every one turned to the right and the left; but the mother was not to be found. Finally, a few paces from the place where the Via Roma enters the square, a woman was seen to rush towards the chariot. Ah, I shall never forget that! She no longer seemed a human creature: her hair was streaming, her face distorted, her garments torn; she hurled herself forward with a rattle in her throat,--one knew not whether to attribute it to either joy, anguish, or rage,--and darted out her hands like two claws to snatch her child. The chariot halted. "Here she is," said the gentleman, reaching out the child after kissing it; and he placed her in her mother's arms, who pressed her to her breast like a fury. But one of the tiny hands rested a second longer in the hands of the gentleman; and the latter, pulling off of his right hand a gold ring set with a large diamond, and slipping it with a rapid movement upon the finger of the little girl, said:-- "Take this; it shall be your marriage dowry." The mother stood rooted to the spot, as though enchanted; the crowd broke into applause; the gentleman put on his mask again, his companions resumed their song, and the chariot started on again slowly, amid a tempest of hand-clapping and hurrahs. THE BLIND BOYS. Thursday, 24th. The master is very ill, and they have sent in his stead the master of the fourth grade, who has been a teacher in the Institute for the Blind. He is the oldest of all the instructors, with hair so white that it looks like a wig made of cotton, and he speaks in a peculiar manner, as though he were chanting a melancholy song; but he does it well, and he knows a great deal. No sooner had he entered the schoolroom than, catching sight of a boy with a bandage on his eye, he approached the bench, and asked him what was the matter. "Take care of your eyes, my boy," he said to him. And then Derossi asked him:-- "Is it true, sir, that you have been a teacher of the blind?" "Yes, for several years," he replied. And Derossi said, in a low tone, "Tell us something about it." The master went and seated himself at his table. Coretti said aloud, "The Institute for the Blind is in the Via Nizza." "You say blind--blind," said the master, "as you would say poor or ill, or I know not what. But do you thoroughly comprehend the significance of that word? Reflect a little. Blind! Never to see anything! Not to be able to distinguish the day from night; to see neither the sky, nor sun, nor your parents, nor anything of what is around you, and which you touch; to be immersed in a perpetual obscurity, and as though buried in the bowels of the earth! Make a little effort to close your eyes, and to think of being obliged to remain forever thus; you will suddenly be overwhelmed by a mental agony, by terror; it will seem to you impossible to resist, that you must burst into a scream, that you must go mad or die. But, poor boys! when you enter the Institute of the Blind for the first time, during their recreation hour, and hear them playing on violins and flutes in all directions, and talking loudly and laughing, ascending and descending the stairs at a rapid pace, and wandering freely through the corridors and dormitories, you would never pronounce these unfortunates to be the unfortunates that they are. It is necessary to observe them closely. There are lads of sixteen or eighteen, robust and cheerful, who bear their blindness with a certain ease, almost with hardihood; but you understand from a certain proud, resentful expression of countenance that they must have suffered tremendously before they became resigned to this misfortune. "There are others, with sweet and pallid faces, on which a profound resignation is visible; but they are sad, and one understands that they must still weep at times in secret. Ah, my sons! reflect that some of them have lost their sight in a few days, some after years of martyrdom and many terrible chirurgical operations, and that many were born so,--born into a night that has no dawn for them, that they entered into the world as into an immense tomb, and that they do not know what the human countenance is like. Picture to yourself how they must have suffered, and how they must still suffer, when they think thus confusedly of the tremendous difference between themselves and those who see, and ask themselves, 'Why this difference, if we are not to blame?' "I who have spent many years among them, when I recall that class, all those eyes forever sealed, all those pupils without sight and without life, and then look at the rest of you, it seems impossible to me that you should not all be happy. Think of it! there are about twenty-six thousand blind persons in Italy! Twenty-six thousand persons who do not see the light--do you understand? An army which would employ four hours in marching past our windows." The master paused. Not a breath was audible in all the school. Derossi asked if it were true that the blind have a finer sense of feeling than the rest of us. The master said: "It is true. All the other senses are finer in them, because, since they must replace, among them, that of sight, they are more and better exercised than they are in the case of those who see. In the morning, in the dormitory, one asks another, 'Is the sun shining?' and the one who is the most alert in dressing runs instantly into the yard, and flourishes his hands in the air, to find out whether there is any warmth of the sun perceptible, and then he runs to communicate the good news, 'The sun is shining!' From the voice of a person they obtain an idea of his height. We judge of a man's soul by his eyes; they, by his voice. They remember intonations and accents for years. They perceive if there is more than one person in a room, even if only one speaks, and the rest remain motionless. They know by their touch whether a spoon is more or less polished. Little girls distinguish dyed wools from that which is of the natural color. As they walk two and two along the streets, they recognize nearly all the shops by their odors, even those in which we perceive no odor. They spin top, and by listening to its humming they go straight to it and pick it up without any mistake. They trundle hoop, play at ninepins, jump the rope, build little houses of stones, pick violets as though they saw them, make mats and baskets, weaving together straw of various colors rapidly and well--to such a degree is their sense of touch skilled. The sense of touch is their sight. One of their greatest pleasures is to handle, to grasp, to guess the forms of things by feeling them. It is affecting to see them when they are taken to the Industrial Museum, where they are allowed to handle whatever they please, and to observe with what eagerness they fling themselves on geometrical bodies, on little models of houses, on instruments; with what joy they feel over and rub and turn everything about in their hands, in order to see how it is made. They call this _seeing_!" Garoffi interrupted the teacher to inquire if it was true that blind boys learn to reckon better than others. The master replied: "It is true. They learn to reckon and to write. They have books made on purpose for them, with raised characters; they pass their fingers over these, recognize the letters and pronounce the words. They read rapidly; and you should see them blush, poor little things, when they make a mistake. And they write, too, without ink. They write on a thick and hard sort of paper with a metal bodkin, which makes a great many little hollows, grouped according to a special alphabet; these little punctures stand out in relief on the other side of the paper, so that by turning the paper over and drawing their fingers across these projections, they can read what they have written, and also the writing of others; and thus they write compositions: and they write letters to each other. They write numbers in the same way, and they make calculations; and they calculate mentally with an incredible facility, since their minds are not diverted by the sight of surrounding objects, as ours are. And if you could see how passionately fond they are of reading, how attentive they are, how well they remember everything, how they discuss among themselves, even the little ones, of things connected with history and language, as they sit four or five on the same bench, without turning to each other, and converse, the first with the third, the second with the fourth, in a loud voice and all together, without losing a single word, so acute and prompt is their hearing. "And they attach more importance to the examinations than you do, I assure you, and they are fonder of their teachers. They recognize their teacher by his step and his odor; they perceive whether he is in a good or bad humor, whether he is well or ill, simply by the sound of a single word of his. They want the teacher to touch them when he encourages and praises them, and they feel of his hand and his arms in order to express their gratitude. And they love each other and are good comrades to each other. In play time they are always together, according to their wont. In the girls' school, for instance, they form into groups according to the instrument on which they play,--violinists, pianists, and flute-players,--and they never separate. When they have become attached to any one, it is difficult for them to break it off. They take much comfort in friendship. They judge correctly among themselves. They have a clear and profound idea of good and evil. No one grows so enthusiastic as they over the narration of a generous action, of a grand deed." Votini inquired if they played well. "They are ardently fond of music," replied the master. "It is their delight: music is their life. Little blind children, when they first enter the Institute, are capable of standing three hours perfectly motionless, to listen to playing. They learn easily; they play with fire. When the teacher tells one of them that he has not a talent for music, he feels very sorrowful, but he sets to studying desperately. Ah! if you could hear the music there, if you could see them when they are playing, with their heads thrown back a smile on their lips, their faces aflame, trembling with emotion, in ecstasies at listening to that harmony which replies to them in the obscurity which envelops them, you would feel what a divine consolation is music! And they shout for joy, they beam with happiness when a teacher says to them, "You will become an artist." The one who is first in music, who succeeds the best on the violin or piano, is like a king to them; they love, they venerate him. If a quarrel arises between two of them, they go to him; if two friends fall out, it is he who reconciles them. The smallest pupils, whom he teaches to play, regard him as a father. Then all go to bid him good night before retiring to bed. And they talk constantly of music. They are already in bed, late at night, wearied by study and work, and half asleep, and still they are discussing, in a low tone, operas, masters, instruments, and orchestras. It is so great a punishment for them to be deprived of the reading, or lesson in music, it causes them such sorrow that one hardly ever has the courage to punish them in that way. That which the light is to our eyes, music is to their hearts." Derossi asked whether we could not go to see them. "Yes," replied the teacher; "but you boys must not go there now. You shall go there later on, when you are in a condition to appreciate the whole extent of this misfortune, and to feel all the compassion which it merits. It is a sad sight, my boys. You will sometimes see there boys seated in front of an open window, enjoying the fresh air, with immovable countenances, which seem to be gazing at the wide green expanse and the beautiful blue mountains which you can see; and when you remember that they see nothing--that they will never see anything--of that vast loveliness, your soul is oppressed, as though you had yourselves become blind at that moment. And then there are those who were born blind, who, as they have never seen the world, do not complain because they do not possess the image of anything, and who, therefore, arouse less compassion. But there are lads who have been blind but a few months, who still recall everything, who thoroughly understand all that they have lost; and these have, in addition, the grief of feeling their minds obscured, the dearest images grow a little more dim in their minds day by day, of feeling the persons whom they have loved the most die out of their memories. One of these boys said to me one day, with inexpressible sadness, 'I should like to have my sight again, only for a moment, in order to see mamma's face once more, for I no longer remember it!' And when their mothers come to see them, the boys place their hands on her face; they feel her over thoroughly from brow to chin, and her ears, to see how they are made, and they can hardly persuade themselves that they cannot see her, and they call her by name many times, to beseech her that she will allow them, that she will make them see her just once. How many, even hard-hearted men, go away in tears! And when you do go out, your case seems to you to be the exception, and the power to see people, houses, and the sky a hardly deserved privilege. Oh! there is not one of you, I am sure, who, on emerging thence, would not feel disposed to deprive himself of a portion of his own sight, in order to bestow a gleam at least upon all those poor children, for whom the sun has no light, for whom a mother has no face!" THE SICK MASTER. Saturday, 25th. Yesterday afternoon, on coming out of school, I went to pay a visit to my sick master. He made himself ill by overworking. Five hours of teaching a day, then an hour of gymnastics, then two hours more of evening school, which is equivalent to saying but little sleep, getting his food by snatches, and working breathlessly from morning till night. He has ruined his health. That is what my mother says. My mother was waiting for me at the big door; I came out alone, and on the stairs I met the teacher with the black beard--Coatti,--the one who frightens every one and punishes no one. He stared at me with wide-open eyes, and made his voice like that of a lion, in jest, but without laughing. I was still laughing when I pulled the bell on the fourth floor; but I ceased very suddenly when the servant let me into a wretched, half-lighted room, where my teacher was in bed. He was lying in a little iron bed. His beard was long. He put one hand to his brow in order to see better, and exclaimed in his affectionate voice:-- "Oh, Enrico!" I approached the bed; he laid one hand on my shoulder and said:-- "Good, my boy. You have done well to come and see your poor teacher. I am reduced to a sad state, as you see, my dear Enrico. And how fares the school? How are your comrades getting along? All well, eh? Even without me? You do very well without your old master, do you not?" I was on the point of saying "no"; he interrupted me. "Come, come, I know that you do not hate me!" and he heaved a sigh. I glanced at some photographs fastened to the wall. "Do you see?" he said to me. "All of them are of boys who gave me their photographs more than twenty years ago. They were good boys. These are my souvenirs. When I die, my last glance will be at them; at those roguish urchins among whom my life has been passed. You will give me your portrait, also, will you not, when you have finished the elementary course?" Then he took an orange from his nightstand, and put it in my hand. "I have nothing else to give you," he said; "it is the gift of a sick man." I looked at it, and my heart was sad; I know not why. "Attend to me," he began again. "I hope to get over this; but if I should not recover, see that you strengthen yourself in arithmetic, which is your weak point; make an effort. It is merely a question of a first effort: because sometimes there is no lack of aptitude; there is merely an absence of a fixed purpose--of stability, as it is called." But in the meantime he was breathing hard; and it was evident that he was suffering. "I am feverish," he sighed; "I am half gone; I beseech you, therefore, apply yourself to arithmetic, to problems. If you don't succeed at first, rest a little and begin afresh. And press forward, but quietly without fagging yourself, without straining your mind. Go! My respects to your mamma. And do not mount these stairs again. We shall see each other again in school. And if we do not, you must now and then call to mind your master of the third grade, who was fond of you." I felt inclined to cry at these words. "Bend down your head," he said to me. I bent my head to his pillow; he kissed my hair. Then he said to me, "Go!" and turned his face towards the wall. And I flew down the stairs; for I longed to embrace my mother. THE STREET. Saturday, 25th. I was watching you from the window this afternoon, when you were on your way home from the master's; you came in collision with a woman. Take more heed to your manner of walking in the street. There are duties to be fulfilled even there. If you keep your steps and gestures within bounds in a private house, why should you not do the same in the street, which is everybody's house. Remember this, Enrico. Every time that you meet a feeble old man, a poor person, a woman with a child in her arms, a cripple with his crutches, a man bending beneath a burden, a family dressed in mourning, make way for them respectfully. We must respect age, misery, maternal love, infirmity, labor, death. Whenever you see a person on the point of being run down by a vehicle, drag him away, if it is a child; warn him, if he is a man; always ask what ails the child who is crying all alone; pick up the aged man's cane, when he lets it fall. If two boys are fighting, separate them; if it is two men, go away: do not look on a scene of brutal violence, which offends and hardens the heart. And when a man passes, bound, and walking between a couple of policemen, do not add your curiosity to the cruel curiosity of the crowd; he may be innocent. Cease to talk with your companion, and to smile, when you meet a hospital litter, which is, perhaps, bearing a dying person, or a funeral procession; for one may issue from your own home on the morrow. Look with reverence upon all boys from the asylums, who walk two and two,--the blind, the dumb, those afflicted with the rickets, orphans, abandoned children; reflect that it is misfortune and human charity which is passing by. Always pretend not to notice any one who has a repulsive or laughter-provoking deformity. Always extinguish every match that you find in your path; for it may cost some one his life. Always answer a passer-by who asks you the way, with politeness. Do not look at any one and laugh; do not run without necessity; do not shout. Respect the street. The education of a people is judged first of all by their behavior on the street. Where you find offences in the streets, there you will find offences in the houses. And study the streets; study the city in which you live. If you were to be hurled far away from it to-morrow, you would be glad to have it clearly present in your memory, to be able to traverse it all again in memory. Your own city, and your little country--that which has been for so many years your world; where you took your first steps at your mother's side; where you experienced your first emotions, opened your mind to its first ideas; found your first friends. It has been a mother to you: it has taught you, loved you, protected you. Study it in its streets and in its people, and love it; and when you hear it insulted, defend it. THY FATHER. MARCH THE EVENING SCHOOLS. Thursday, 2d. LAST night my father took me to see the evening schools in our Baretti schoolhouse, which were all lighted up already, and where the workingmen were already beginning to enter. On our arrival we found the head-master and the other masters in a great rage, because a little while before the glass in one window had been broken by a stone. The beadle had darted forth and seized a boy by the hair, who was passing; but thereupon, Stardi, who lives in the house opposite, had presented himself, and said:-- "This is not the right one; I saw it with my own eyes; it was Franti who threw it; and he said to me, 'Woe to you if you tell of me!' but I am not afraid." Then the head-master declared that Franti should be expelled for good. In the meantime I was watching the workingmen enter by twos and threes; and more than two hundred had already entered. I have never seen anything so fine as the evening school. There were boys of twelve and upwards; bearded men who were on their way from their work, carrying their books and copy-books; there were carpenters, engineers with black faces, masons with hands white with plaster, bakers' boys with their hair full of flour; and there was perceptible the odor of varnish, hides, fish, oil,--odors of all the various trades. There also entered a squad of artillery workmen, dressed like soldiers and headed by a corporal. They all filed briskly to their benches, removed the board underneath, on which we put our feet, and immediately bent their heads over their work. Some stepped up to the teachers to ask explanations, with their open copy-books in their hands. I caught sight of that young and well-dressed master "the little lawyer," who had three or four workingmen clustered round his table, and was making corrections with his pen; and also the lame one, who was laughing with a dyer who had brought him a copy-book all adorned with red and blue dyes. My master, who had recovered, and who will return to school to-morrow, was there also. The doors of the schoolroom were open. I was amazed, when the lessons began, to see how attentive they all were, and how they kept their eyes fixed on their work. Yet the greater part of them, so the head-master said, for fear of being late, had not even been home to eat a mouthful of supper, and they were hungry. But the younger ones, after half an hour of school, were falling off the benches with sleep; one even went fast asleep with his head on the bench, and the master waked him up by poking his ear with a pen. But the grown-up men did nothing of the sort; they kept awake, and listened, with their mouths wide open, to the lesson, without even winking; and it made a deep impression on me to see all those bearded men on our benches. We also ascended to the story floor above, and I ran to the door of my schoolroom and saw in my seat a man with a big mustache and a bandaged hand, who might have injured himself while at work about some machine; but he was trying to write, though very, very slowly. But what pleased me most was to behold in the seat of the little mason, on the very same bench and in the very same corner, his father, the mason, as huge as a giant, who sat there all coiled up into a narrow space, with his chin on his fists and his eyes on his book, so absorbed that he hardly breathed. And there was no chance about it, for it was he himself who said to the head-master the first evening he came to the school:-- "Signor Director, do me the favor to place me in the seat of 'my hare's face.'" For he always calls his son so. My father kept me there until the end, and in the street we saw many women with children in their arms, waiting for their husbands; and at the entrance a change was effected: the husbands took the children in their arms, and the women made them surrender their books and copy-books; and in this wise they proceeded to their homes. For several minutes the street was filled with people and with noise. Then all grew silent, and all we could see was the tall and weary form of the head-master disappearing in the distance. THE FIGHT. Sunday, 5th. It was what might have been expected. Franti, on being expelled by the head-master, wanted to revenge himself on Stardi, and he waited for Stardi at a corner, when he came out of school, and when the latter was passing with his sister, whom he escorts every day from an institution in the Via Dora Grossa. My sister Silvia, on emerging from her schoolhouse, witnessed the whole affair, and came home thoroughly terrified. This is what took place. Franti, with his cap of waxed cloth canted over one ear, ran up on tiptoe behind Stardi, and in order to provoke him, gave a tug at his sister's braid of hair,--a tug so violent that it almost threw the girl flat on her back on the ground. The little girl uttered a cry; her brother whirled round; Franti, who is much taller and stronger than Stardi, thought:-- "He'll not utter a word, or I'll break his skin for him!" But Stardi never paused to reflect, and small and ill-made as he is, he flung himself with one bound on that big fellow, and began to belabor him with his fists. He could not hold his own, however, and he got more than he gave. There was no one in the street but girls, so there was no one who could separate them. Franti flung him on the ground; but the other instantly got up, and then down he went on his back again, and Franti pounded away as though upon a door: in an instant he had torn away half an ear, and bruised one eye, and drawn blood from the other's nose. But Stardi was tenacious; he roared:-- "You may kill me, but I'll make you pay for it!" And down went Franti, kicking and cuffing, and Stardi under him, butting and lungeing out with his heels. A woman shrieked from a window, "Good for the little one!" Others said, "It is a boy defending his sister; courage! give it to him well!" And they screamed at Franti, "You overbearing brute! you coward!" But Franti had grown ferocious; he held out his leg; Stardi tripped and fell, and Franti on top of him. "Surrender!"--"No!"--"Surrender!"--"No!" and in a flash Stardi recovered his feet, clasped Franti by the body, and, with one furious effort, hurled him on the pavement, and fell upon him with one knee on his breast. "Ah, the infamous fellow! he has a knife!" shouted a man, rushing up to disarm Franti. But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had already grasped Franti's arm with both hands, and bestowed on the fist such a bite that the knife fell from it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had run up in the meantime, who separated them and set them on their feet. Franti took to his heels in a sorry plight, and Stardi stood still, with his face all scratched, and a black eye,--but triumphant,--beside his weeping sister, while some of the girls collected the books and copy-books which were strewn over the street. "Bravo, little fellow!" said the bystanders; "he defended his sister!" But Stardi, who was thinking more of his satchel than of his victory, instantly set to examining the books and copy-books, one by one, to see whether anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them off with his sleeve, scrutinized his pen, put everything back in its place, and then, tranquil and serious as usual, he said to his sister, "Let us go home quickly, for I have a problem to solve." THE BOYS' PARENTS. Monday, 6th. This morning big Stardi, the father, came to wait for his son, fearing lest he should again encounter Franti. But they say that Franti will not be seen again, because he will be put in the penitentiary. There were a great many parents there this morning. Among the rest there was the retail wood-dealer, the father of Coretti, the perfect image of his son, slender, brisk, with his mustache brought to a point, and a ribbon of two colors in the button-hole of his jacket. I know nearly all the parents of the boys, through constantly seeing them there. There is one crooked grandmother, with her white cap, who comes four times a day, whether it rains or snows or storms, to accompany and to get her little grandson, of the upper primary; and she takes off his little cloak and puts it on for him, adjusts his necktie, brushes off the dust, polishes him up, and takes care of the copy-books. It is evident that she has no other thought, that she sees nothing in the world more beautiful. The captain of artillery also comes frequently, the father of Robetti, the lad with the crutches, who saved a child from the omnibus, and as all his son's companions bestow a caress on him in passing, he returns a caress or a salute to every one, and he never forgets any one; he bends over all, and the poorer and more badly dressed they are, the more pleased he seems to be, and he thanks them. At times, however, sad sights are to be seen. A gentleman who had not come for a month because one of his sons had died, and who had sent a maidservant for the other, on returning yesterday and beholding the class, the comrades of his little dead boy, retired into a corner and burst into sobs, with both hands before his face, and the head-master took him by the arm and led him to his office. There are fathers and mothers who know all their sons' companions by name. There are girls from the neighboring schoolhouse, and scholars in the gymnasium, who come to wait for their brothers. There is one old gentleman who was a colonel formerly, and who, when a boy drops a copy-book or a pen, picks it up for him. There are also to be seen well-dressed men, who discuss school matters with others, who have kerchiefs on their heads, and baskets on their arm, and who say:-- "Oh! the problem has been a difficult one this time."--"That grammar lesson will never come to an end this morning!" And when there is a sick boy in the class, they all know it; when a sick boy is convalescent, they all rejoice. And this morning there were eight or ten gentlemen and workingmen standing around Crossi's mother, the vegetable-vender, making inquiries about a poor baby in my brother's class, who lives in her court, and who is in danger of his life. The school seems to make them all equals and friends. NUMBER 78. Wednesday, 8th. I witnessed a touching scene yesterday afternoon. For several days, every time that the vegetable-vender has passed Derossi she has gazed and gazed at him with an expression of great affection; for Derossi, since he made the discovery about that inkstand and prisoner Number 78, has acquired a love for her son, Crossi, the red-haired boy with the useless arm; and he helps him to do his work in school, suggests answers to him, gives him paper, pens, and pencils; in short, he behaves to him like a brother, as though to compensate him for his father's misfortune, which has affected him, although he does not know it. The vegetable-vender had been gazing at Derossi for several days, and she seemed loath to take her eyes from him, for she is a good woman who lives only for her son; and Derossi, who assists him and makes him appear well, Derossi, who is a gentleman and the head of the school, seems to her a king, a saint. She continued to stare at him, and seemed desirous of saying something to him, yet ashamed to do it. But at last, yesterday morning, she took courage, stopped him in front of a gate, and said to him:-- "I beg a thousand pardons, little master! Will you, who are so kind to my son, and so fond of him, do me the favor to accept this little memento from a poor mother?" and she pulled out of her vegetable-basket a little pasteboard box of white and gold. Derossi flushed up all over, and refused, saying with decision:-- "Give it to your son; I will accept nothing." The woman was mortified, and stammered an excuse:-- "I had no idea of offending you. It is only caramels." But Derossi said "no," again, and shook his head. Then she timidly lifted from her basket a bunch of radishes, and said:-- "Accept these at least,--they are fresh,--and carry them to your mamma." Derossi smiled, and said:-- "No, thanks: I don't want anything; I shall always do all that I can for Crossi, but I cannot accept anything. I thank you all the same." "But you are not at all offended?" asked the woman, anxiously. Derossi said "No, no!" smiled, and went off, while she exclaimed, in great delight:-- "Oh, what a good boy! I have never seen so fine and handsome a boy as he!" And that appeared to be the end of it. But in the afternoon, at four o'clock, instead of Crossi's mother, his father approached, with that gaunt and melancholy face of his. He stopped Derossi, and from the way in which he looked at the latter I instantly understood that he suspected Derossi of knowing his secret. He looked at him intently, and said in his sorrowful, affectionate voice:-- "You are fond of my son. Why do you like him so much?" Derossi's face turned the color of fire. He would have liked to say: "I am fond of him because he has been unfortunate; because you, his father, have been more unfortunate than guilty, and have nobly expiated your crime, and are a man of heart." But he had not the courage to say it, for at bottom he still felt fear and almost loathing in the presence of this man who had shed another's blood, and had been six years in prison. But the latter divined it all, and lowering his voice, he said in Derossi's ear, almost trembling the while:-- "You love the son; but you do not hate, do not wholly despise the father, do you?" "Ah, no, no! Quite the reverse!" exclaimed Derossi, with a soulful impulse. And then the man made an impetuous movement, as though to throw one arm round his neck; but he dared not, and instead he took one of the lad's golden curls between two of his fingers, smoothed it out, and released it; then he placed his hand on his mouth and kissed his palm, gazing at Derossi with moist eyes, as though to say that this kiss was for him. Then he took his son by the hand, and went away at a rapid pace. A LITTLE DEAD BOY. Monday, 13th. The little boy who lived in the vegetable-vender's court, the one who belonged to the upper primary, and was the companion of my brother, is dead. Schoolmistress Delcati came in great affliction, on Saturday afternoon, to inform the master of it; and instantly Garrone and Coretti volunteered to carry the coffin. He was a fine little lad. He had won the medal last week. He was fond of my brother, and he had presented him with a broken money-box. My mother always caressed him when she met him. He wore a cap with two stripes of red cloth. His father is a porter on the railway. Yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, at half-past four o'clock, we went to his house, to accompany him to the church. They live on the ground floor. Many boys of the upper primary, with their mothers, all holding candles, and five or six teachers and several neighbors were already collected in the courtyard. The mistress with the red feather and Signora Delcati had gone inside, and through an open window we beheld them weeping. We could hear the mother of the child sobbing loudly. Two ladies, mothers of two school companions of the dead child, had brought two garlands of flowers. Exactly at five o'clock we set out. In front went a boy carrying a cross, then a priest, then the coffin,--a very, very small coffin, poor child!--covered with a black cloth, and round it were wound the garlands of flowers brought by the two ladies. On the black cloth, on one side, were fastened the medal and honorable mentions which the little boy had won in the course of the year. Garrone, Coretti, and two boys from the courtyard bore the coffin. Behind the coffin, first came Signora Delcati, who wept as though the little dead boy were her own; behind her the other schoolmistresses; and behind the mistresses, the boys, among whom were some very little ones, who carried bunches of violets in one hand, and who stared in amazement at the bier, while their other hand was held by their mothers, who carried candles. I heard one of them say, "And shall I not see him at school again?" When the coffin emerged from the court, a despairing cry was heard from the window. It was the child's mother; but they made her draw back into the room immediately. On arriving in the street, we met the boys from a college, who were passing in double file, and on catching sight of the coffin with the medal and the schoolmistresses, they all pulled off their hats. Poor little boy! he went to sleep forever with his medal. We shall never see his red cap again. He was in perfect health; in four days he was dead. On the last day he made an effort to rise and do his little task in nomenclature, and he insisted on keeping his medal on his bed for fear it would be taken from him. No one will ever take it from you again, poor boy! Farewell, farewell! We shall always remember thee at the Baretti School! Sleep in peace, dear little boy! THE EVE OF THE FOURTEENTH OF MARCH. To-day has been more cheerful than yesterday. The thirteenth of March! The eve of the distribution of prizes at the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, the greatest and most beautiful festival of the whole year! But this time the boys who are to go upon the stage and present the certificates of the prizes to the gentlemen who are to bestow them are not to be taken at haphazard. The head-master came in this morning, at the close of school, and said:-- "Good news, boys!" Then he called, "Coraci!" the Calabrian. The Calabrian rose. "Would you like to be one of those to carry the certificates of the prizes to the authorities in the theatre to-morrow?" The Calabrian answered that he should. "That is well," said the head-master; "then there will also be a representative of Calabria there; and that will be a fine thing. The municipal authorities are desirous that this year the ten or twelve lads who hand the prizes should be from all parts of Italy, and selected from all the public school buildings. We have twenty buildings, with five annexes--seven thousand pupils. Among such a multitude there has been no difficulty in finding one boy for each region of Italy. Two representatives of the Islands were found in the Torquato Tasso schoolhouse, a Sardinian, and a Sicilian; the Boncompagni School furnished a little Florentine, the son of a wood-carver; there is a Roman, a native of Rome, in the Tommaseo building; several Venetians, Lombards, and natives of Romagna have been found; the Monviso School gives us a Neapolitan, the son of an officer; we furnish a Genoese and a Calabrian,--you, Coraci,--with the Piemontese: that will make twelve. Does not this strike you as nice? It will be your brothers from all quarters of Italy who will give you your prizes. Look out! the whole twelve will appear on the stage together. Receive them with hearty applause. They are only boys, but they represent the country just as though they were men. A small tricolored flag is the symbol of Italy as much as a huge banner, is it not? "Applaud them warmly, then. Let it be seen that your little hearts are all aglow, that your souls of ten years grow enthusiastic in the presence of the sacred image of your fatherland." Having spoken thus, he went away, and the master said, with a smile, "So, Coraci, you are to be the deputy from Calabria." And then all clapped their hands and laughed; and when we got into the street, we surrounded Coraci, seized him by the legs, lifted him on high, and set out to carry him in triumph, shouting, "Hurrah for the Deputy of Calabria!" by way of making a noise, of course; and not in jest, but quite the contrary, for the sake of making a celebration for him, and with a good will, for he is a boy who pleases every one; and he smiled. And thus we bore him as far as the corner, where we ran into a gentleman with a black beard, who began to laugh. The Calabrian said, "That is my father." And then the boys placed his son in his arms and ran away in all directions. THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. March 14th. Towards two o'clock the vast theatre was crowded,--pit, gallery, boxes, stage, all were thronged; thousands of faces,--boys, gentlemen, teachers, workingmen, women of the people, babies. There was a moving of heads and hands, a flutter of feathers, ribbons, and curls, and loud and merry murmur which inspired cheerfulness. The theatre was all decorated with festoons of white, red, and green cloth. In the pit two little stairways had been erected: one on the right, which the winners of prizes were to ascend in order to reach the stage; the other, on the left, which they were to descend after receiving their prizes. On the front of the platform there was a row of red chairs; and from the back of the one in the centre hung two laurel crowns. At the back of the stage was a trophy of flags; on one side stood a small green table, and upon it lay all the certificates of premiums, tied with tricolored ribbons. The band of music was stationed in the pit, under the stage; the schoolmasters and mistresses filled all one side of the first balcony, which had been reserved for them; the benches and passages of the pit were crammed with hundreds of boys, who were to sing, and who had written music in their hands. At the back and all about, masters and mistresses could be seen going to and fro, arranging the prize scholars in lines; and it was full of parents who were giving a last touch to their hair and the last pull to their neckties. [Illustration: "HURRAH FOR THE DEPUTY OF CALABRIA!"--Page 166.] No sooner had I entered my box with my family than I perceived in the opposite box the young mistress with the red feather, who was smiling and showing all the pretty dimples in her cheeks, and with her my brother's teacher and "the little nun," dressed wholly in black, and my kind mistress of the upper first; but she was so pale, poor thing! and coughed so hard, that she could be heard all over the theatre. In the pit I instantly espied Garrone's dear, big face and the little blond head of Nelli, who was clinging close to the other's shoulder. A little further on I saw Garoffi, with his owl's-beak nose, who was making great efforts to collect the printed catalogues of the prize-winners; and he already had a large bundle of them which he could put to some use in his bartering--we shall find out what it is to-morrow. Near the door was the wood-seller with his wife,--both dressed in festive attire,--together with their boy, who has a third prize in the second grade. I was amazed at no longer beholding the catskin cap and the chocolate-colored tights: on this occasion he was dressed like a little gentleman. In one balcony I caught a momentary glimpse of Votini, with a large lace collar; then he disappeared. In a proscenium box, filled with people, was the artillery captain, the father of Robetti, the boy with the crutches who saved the child from the omnibus. On the stroke of two the band struck up, and at the same moment the mayor, the prefect, the judge, the _provveditore_, and many other gentlemen, all dressed in black, mounted the stairs on the right, and seated themselves on the red chairs at the front of the platform. The band ceased playing. The director of singing in the schools advanced with a _baton_ in his hand. At a signal from him all the boys in the pit rose to their feet; at another sign they began to sing. There were seven hundred singing a very beautiful song,--seven hundred boys' voices singing together; how beautiful! All listened motionless: it was a slow, sweet, limpid song which seemed like a church chant. When they ceased, every one applauded; then they all became very still. The distribution of the prizes was about to begin. My little master of the second grade, with his red head and his quick eyes, who was to read the names of the prize-winners, had already advanced to the front of the stage. The entrance of the twelve boys who were to present the certificates was what they were waiting for. The newspapers had already stated that there would be boys from all the provinces of Italy. Every one knew it, and was watching for them and gazing curiously towards the spot where they were to enter, and the mayor and the other gentlemen gazed also, and the whole theatre was silent. All at once the whole twelve arrived on the stage at a run, and remained standing there in line, with a smile. The whole theatre, three thousand persons, sprang up simultaneously, breaking into applause which sounded like a clap of thunder. The boys stood for a moment as though disconcerted. "Behold Italy!" said a voice on the stage. All at once I recognized Coraci, the Calabrian, dressed in black as usual. A gentleman belonging to the municipal government, who was with us and who knew them all, pointed them out to my mother. "That little blond is the representative of Venice. The Roman is that tall, curly-haired lad, yonder." Two or three of them were dressed like gentlemen; the others were sons of workingmen, but all were neatly clad and clean. The Florentine, who was the smallest, had a blue scarf round his body. They all passed in front of the mayor, who kissed them, one after the other, on the brow, while a gentleman seated next to him smilingly told him the names of their cities: "Florence, Naples, Bologna, Palermo." And as each passed by, the whole theatre clapped. Then they all ran to the green table, to take the certificates. The master began to read the list, mentioning the schoolhouses, the classes, the names; and the prize-winners began to mount the stage and to file past. The foremost ones had hardly reached the stage, when behind the scenes there became audible a very, very faint music of violins, which did not cease during the whole time that they were filing past--a soft and always even air, like the murmur of many subdued voices, the voices of all the mothers, and all the masters and mistresses, giving counsel in concert, and beseeching and administering loving reproofs. And meanwhile, the prize-winners passed one by one in front of the seated gentlemen, who handed them their certificates, and said a word or bestowed a caress on each. The boys in the pit and the balconies applauded loudly every time that there passed a very small lad, or one who seemed, from his garments, to be poor; and also for those who had abundant curly hair, or who were clad in red or white. Some of those who filed past belonged to the upper primary, and once arrived there, they became confused and did not know where to turn, and the whole theatre laughed. One passed, three spans high, with a big knot of pink ribbon on his back, so that he could hardly walk, and he got entangled in the carpet and tumbled down; and the prefect set him on his feet again, and all laughed and clapped. Another rolled headlong down the stairs, when descending again to the pit: cries arose, but he had not hurt himself. Boys of all sorts passed,--boys with roguish faces, with frightened faces, with faces as red as cherries; comical little fellows, who laughed in every one's face: and no sooner had they got back into the pit, than they were seized upon by their fathers and mothers, who carried them away. When our schoolhouse's turn came, how amused I was! Many whom I knew passed. Coretti filed by, dressed in new clothes from head to foot, with his fine, merry smile, which displayed all his white teeth; but who knows how many myriagrammes of wood he had already carried that morning! The mayor, on presenting him with his certificate, inquired the meaning of a red mark on his forehead, and as he did so, laid one hand on his shoulder. I looked in the pit for his father and mother, and saw them laughing, while they covered their mouths with one hand. Then Derossi passed, all dressed in bright blue, with shining buttons, with all those golden curls, slender, easy, with his head held high, so handsome, so sympathetic, that I could have blown him a kiss; and all the gentlemen wanted to speak to him and to shake his hand. Then the master cried, "Giulio Robetti!" and we saw the captain's son come forward on his crutches. Hundreds of boys knew the occurrence; a rumor ran round in an instant; a salvo of applause broke forth, and of shouts, which made the theatre tremble: men sprang to their feet, the ladies began to wave their handkerchiefs, and the poor boy halted in the middle of the stage, amazed and trembling. The mayor drew him to him, gave him his prize and a kiss, and removing the two laurel crowns which were hanging from the back of the chair, he strung them on the cross-bars of his crutches. Then he accompanied him to the proscenium box, where his father, the captain, was seated; and the latter lifted him bodily and set him down inside, amid an indescribable tumult of bravos and hurrahs. Meanwhile, the soft and gentle music of the violins continued, and the boys continued to file by,--those from the Schoolhouse della Consolata, nearly all the sons of petty merchants; those from the Vanchiglia School, the sons of workingmen; those from the Boncompagni School, many of whom were the sons of peasants; those of the Rayneri, which was the last. As soon as it was over, the seven hundred boys in the pit sang another very beautiful song; then the mayor spoke, and after him the judge, who terminated his discourse by saying to the boys:-- "But do not leave this place without sending a salute to those who toil so hard for you; who have consecrated to you all the strength of their intelligence and of their hearts; who live and die for you. There they are; behold them!" And he pointed to the balcony of teachers. Then, from the balconies, from the pit, from the boxes, the boys rose, and extended their arms towards the masters and mistresses, with a shout, and the latter responded by waving their hands, their hats, and handkerchiefs, as they all stood up, in their emotion. After this, the band played once more, and the audience sent a last noisy salute to the twelve lads of all the provinces of Italy, who presented themselves at the front of the stage, all drawn up in line, with their hands interlaced, beneath a shower of flowers. STRIFE. Monday, 26th. However, it is not out of envy, because he got the prize and I did not, that I quarrelled with Coretti this morning. It was not out of envy. But I was in the wrong. The teacher had placed him beside me, and I was writing in my copy-book for calligraphy; he jogged my elbow and made me blot and soil the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which I was to copy for the little mason, who is ill. I got angry, and said a rude word to him. He replied, with a smile, "I did not do it intentionally." I should have believed him, because I know him; but it displeased me that he should smile, and I thought:-- "Oh! now that he has had a prize, he has grown saucy!" and a little while afterwards, to revenge myself, I gave him a jog which made him spoil his page. Then, all crimson with wrath, "You did that on purpose," he said to me, and raised his hand: the teacher saw it; he drew it back. But he added:-- "I shall wait for you outside!" I felt ill at ease; my wrath had simmered away; I repented. No; Coretti could not have done it intentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled how I had seen him in his own home; how he had worked and helped his sick mother; and then how heartily he had been welcomed in my house; and how he had pleased my father. What would I not have given not to have said that word to him; not to have insulted him thus! And I thought of the advice that my father had given to me: "Have you done wrong?"--"Yes."--"Then beg his pardon." But this I did not dare to do; I was ashamed to humiliate myself. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I saw his coat ripped on the shoulder,--perhaps because he had carried too much wood,--and I felt that I loved him; and I said to myself, "Courage!" But the words, "excuse me," stuck in my throat. He looked at me askance from time to time, and he seemed to me to be more grieved than angry. But at such times I looked malevolently at him, to show him that I was not afraid. He repeated, "We shall meet outside!" And I said, "We shall meet outside!" But I was thinking of what my father had once said to me, "If you are wronged, defend yourself, but do not fight." And I said to myself, "I will defend myself, but I will not fight." But I was discontented, and I no longer listened to the master. At last the moment of dismissal arrived. When I was alone in the street I perceived that he was following me. I stopped and waited for him, ruler in hand. He approached; I raised my ruler. "No, Enrico," he said, with his kindly smile, waving the ruler aside with his hand; "let us be friends again, as before." I stood still in amazement, and then I felt what seemed to be a hand dealing a push on my shoulders, and I found myself in his arms. He kissed me, and said:-- "We'll have no more altercations between us, will we?" "Never again! never again!" I replied. And we parted content. But when I returned home, and told my father all about it, thinking to give him pleasure, his face clouded over, and he said:-- "You should have been the first to offer your hand, since you were in the wrong." Then he added, "You should not raise your ruler at a comrade who is better than you are--at the son of a soldier!" and snatching the ruler from my hand, he broke it in two, and hurled it against the wall. MY SISTER. Friday, 24th. Why, Enrico, after our father has already reproved you for having behaved badly to Coretti, were you so unkind to me? You cannot imagine the pain that you caused me. Do you not know that when you were a baby, I stood for hours and hours beside your cradle, instead of playing with my companions, and that when you were ill, I got out of bed every night to feel whether your forehead was burning? Do you not know, you who grieve your sister, that if a tremendous misfortune should overtake us, I should be a mother to you and love you like my son? Do you not know that when our father and mother are no longer here, I shall be your best friend, the only person with whom you can talk about our dead and your infancy, and that, should it be necessary, I shall work for you, Enrico, to earn your bread and to pay for your studies, and that I shall always love you when you are grown up, that I shall follow you in thought when you go far away, always because we grew up together and have the same blood? O Enrico, be sure of this when you are a man, that if misfortune happens to you, if you are alone, be very sure that you will seek me, that you will come to me and say: "Silvia, sister, let me stay with you; let us talk of the days when we were happy--do you remember? Let us talk of our mother, of our home, of those beautiful days that are so far away." O Enrico, you will always find your sister with her arms wide open. Yes, dear Enrico; and you must forgive me for the reproof that I am administering to you now. I shall never recall any wrong of yours; and if you should give me other sorrows, what matters it? You will always be my brother, the same brother; I shall never recall you otherwise than as having held you in my arms when a baby, of having loved our father and mother with you, of having watched you grow up, of having been for years your most faithful companion. But do you write me a kind word in this same copy-book, and I will come for it and read it before the evening. In the meanwhile, to show you that I am not angry with you, and perceiving that you are weary, I have copied for you the monthly story, _Blood of Romagna_, which you were to have copied for the little sick mason. Look in the left drawer of your table; I have been writing all night, while you were asleep. Write me a kind word, Enrico, I beseech you. THY SISTER SILVIA. I am not worthy to kiss your hands.--ENRICO. BLOOD OF ROMAGNA. (_Monthly Story._) That evening the house of Ferruccio was more silent than was its wont. The father, who kept a little haberdasher's shop, had gone to Forli to make some purchases, and his wife had accompanied him, with Luigina, a baby, whom she was taking to a doctor, that he might operate on a diseased eye; and they were not to return until the following morning. It was almost midnight. The woman who came to do the work by day had gone away at nightfall. In the house there was only the grandmother with the paralyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad of thirteen. It was a small house of but one story, situated on the highway, at a gunshot's distance from a village not far from Forli, a town of Romagna; and there was near it only an uninhabited house, ruined two months previously by fire, on which the sign of an inn was still to be seen. Behind the tiny house was a small garden surrounded by a hedge, upon which a rustic gate opened; the door of the shop, which also served as the house door, opened on the highway. All around spread the solitary campagna, vast cultivated fields, planted with mulberry-trees. It was nearly midnight; it was raining and blowing. Ferruccio and his grandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between which and the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with old furniture. Ferruccio had only returned home at eleven o'clock, after an absence of many hours, and his grandmother had watched for him with eyes wide open, filled with anxiety, nailed to the large arm-chair, upon which she was accustomed to pass the entire day, and often the whole night as well, since a difficulty of breathing did not allow her to lie down in bed. It was raining, and the wind beat the rain against the window-panes: the night was very dark. Ferruccio had returned weary, muddy, with his jacket torn, and the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He had engaged in a stone fight with his comrades; they had come to blows, as usual; and in addition he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and left his cap in a ditch. Although the kitchen was illuminated only by a small oil lamp, placed on the corner of the table, near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother had instantly perceived the wretched condition of her grandson, and had partly divined, partly brought him to confess, his misdeeds. She loved this boy with all her soul. When she had learned all, she began to cry. "Ah, no!" she said, after a long silence, "you have no heart for your poor grandmother. You have no feeling, to take advantage in this manner of the absence of your father and mother, to cause me sorrow. You have left me alone the whole day long. You had not the slightest compassion. Take care, Ferruccio! You are entering on an evil path which will lead you to a sad end. I have seen others begin like you, and come to a bad end. If you begin by running away from home, by getting into brawls with the other boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone fights you will come to knives, from gambling to other vices, and from other vices to--theft." Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning against a cupboard, with his chin on his breast and his brows knit, being still hot with wrath from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell across his forehead, and his blue eyes were motionless. "From gambling to theft!" repeated his grandmother, continuing to weep. "Think of it, Ferruccio! Think of that scourge of the country about here, of that Vito Mozzoni, who is now playing the vagabond in the town; who, at the age of twenty-four, has been twice in prison, and has made that poor woman, his mother, die of a broken heart--I knew her; and his father has fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that bad fellow, whose salute your father is ashamed to return: he is always roaming with miscreants worse than himself, and some day he will go to the galleys. Well, I knew him as a boy, and he began as you are doing. Reflect that you will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his." Ferruccio held his peace. He was not at all remorseful at heart; quite the reverse: his misdemeanors arose rather from superabundance of life and audacity than from an evil mind; and his father had managed him badly in precisely this particular, that, holding him capable, at bottom, of the finest sentiments, and also, when put to the proof, of a vigorous and generous action, he left the bridle loose upon his neck, and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was good rather than perverse, but stubborn; and it was hard for him, even when his heart was oppressed with repentance, to allow those good words which win pardon to escape his lips, "If I have done wrong, I will do so no more; I promise it; forgive me." His soul was full of tenderness at times; but pride would not permit it to manifest itself. "Ah, Ferruccio," continued his grandmother, perceiving that he was thus dumb, "not a word of penitence do you utter to me! You see to what a condition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. You ought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother of your mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep; the poor grandmother who has always loved you so, who rocked you all night long, night after night, when you were a baby a few months old, and who did not eat for amusing you,--you do not know that! I always said, 'This boy will be my consolation!' And now you are killing me! I would willingly give the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a good boy, and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to lead you to the sanctuary--do you remember, Ferruccio? You used to fill my pockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fast asleep. You used to love your poor grandma then. And now I am a paralytic, and in need of your affection as of the air to breathe, since I have no one else in the world, poor, half-dead woman that I am: my God!" Ferruccio was on the point of throwing himself on his grandmother, overcome with emotion, when he fancied that he heard a slight noise, a creaking in the small adjoining room, the one which opened on the garden. But he could not make out whether it was the window-shutters rattling in the wind, or something else. He bent his head and listened. The rain beat down noisily. The sound was repeated. His grandmother heard it also. "What is it?" asked the grandmother, in perturbation, after a momentary pause. "The rain," murmured the boy. "Then, Ferruccio," said the old woman, drying her eyes, "you promise me that you will be good, that you will not make your poor grandmother weep again--" Another faint sound interrupted her. "But it seems to me that it is not the rain!" she exclaimed, turning pale. "Go and see!" But she instantly added, "No; remain here!" and seized Ferruccio by the hand. Both remained as they were, and held their breath. All they heard was the sound of the water. Then both were seized with a shivering fit. It seemed to both that they heard footsteps in the next room. "Who's there?" demanded the lad, recovering his breath with an effort. No one replied. "Who is it?" asked Ferruccio again, chilled with terror. But hardly had he pronounced these words when both uttered a shriek of terror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy and placed one hand over his mouth; the other clutched the old woman by the throat. The first said:-- "Silence, unless you want to die!" The second:-- "Be quiet!" and raised aloft a knife. Both had dark cloths over their faces, with two holes for the eyes. For a moment nothing was audible but the gasping breath of all four, the patter of the rain; the old woman emitted frequent rattles from her throat, and her eyes were starting from her head. The man who held the boy said in his ear, "Where does your father keep his money?" The lad replied in a thread of a voice, with chattering teeth, "Yonder--in the cupboard." "Come with me," said the man. And he dragged him into the closet room, holding him securely by the throat. There was a dark lantern standing on the floor. "Where is the cupboard?" he demanded. The suffocating boy pointed to the cupboard. Then, in order to make sure of the boy, the man flung him on his knees in front of the cupboard, and, pressing his neck closely between his own legs, in such a way that he could throttle him if he shouted, and holding his knife in his teeth and his lantern in one hand, with the other he pulled from his pocket a pointed iron, drove it into the lock, fumbled about, broke it, threw the doors wide open, tumbled everything over in a perfect fury of haste, filled his pockets, shut the cupboard again, opened it again, made another search; then he seized the boy by the windpipe again, and pushed him to where the other man was still grasping the old woman, who was convulsed, with her head thrown back and her mouth open. The latter asked in a low voice, "Did you find it?" His companion replied, "I found it." And he added, "See to the door." The one that was holding the old woman ran to the door of the garden to see if there were any one there, and called in from the little room, in a voice that resembled a hiss, "Come!" The one who remained behind, and who was still holding Ferruccio fast, showed his knife to the boy and the old woman, who had opened her eyes again, and said, "Not a sound, or I'll come back and cut your throat." And he glared at the two for a moment. At this juncture, a song sung by many voices became audible far off on the highway. The robber turned his head hastily toward the door, and the violence of the movement caused the cloth to fall from his face. The old woman gave vent to a shriek; "Mozzoni!" "Accursed woman," roared the robber, on finding himself recognized, "you shall die!" And he hurled himself, with his knife raised, against the old woman, who swooned on the spot. The assassin dealt the blow. But Ferruccio, with an exceedingly rapid movement, and uttering a cry of desperation, had rushed to his grandmother, and covered her body with his own. The assassin fled, stumbling against the table and overturning the light, which was extinguished. The boy slipped slowly from above his grandmother, fell on his knees, and remained in that attitude, with his arms around her body and his head upon her breast. Several moments passed; it was very dark; the song of the peasants gradually died away in the campagna. The old woman recovered her senses. "Ferruccio!" she cried, in a voice that was barely intelligible, with chattering teeth. "Grandmamma!" replied the lad. The old woman made an effort to speak; but terror had paralyzed her tongue. She remained silent for a while, trembling violently. Then she succeeded in asking:-- "They are not here now?" "No." "They did not kill me," murmured the old woman in a stifled voice. "No; you are safe," said Ferruccio, in a weak voice. "You are safe, dear grandmother. They carried off the money. But daddy had taken nearly all of it with him." His grandmother drew a deep breath. "Grandmother," said Ferruccio, still kneeling, and pressing her close to him, "dear grandmother, you love me, don't you?" "O Ferruccio! my poor little son!" she replied, placing her hands on his head; "what a fright you must have had!--O Lord God of mercy!--Light the lamp. No; let us still remain in the dark! I am still afraid." "Grandmother," resumed the boy, "I have always caused you grief." "No, Ferruccio, you must not say such things; I shall never think of that again; I have forgotten everything, I love you so dearly!" "I have always caused you grief," pursued Ferruccio, with difficulty, and his voice quivered; "but I have always loved you. Do you forgive me?--Forgive me, grandmother." "Yes, my son, I forgive you with all my heart. Think, how could I help forgiving you! Rise from your knees, my child. I will never scold you again. You are so good, so good! Let us light the lamp. Let us take courage a little. Rise, Ferruccio." "Thanks, grandmother," said the boy, and his voice was still weaker. "Now--I am content. You will remember me, grandmother--will you not? You will always remember me--your Ferruccio?" "My Ferruccio!" exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as she laid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look him in his face. "Remember me," murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like a breath. "Give a kiss to my mother--to my father--to Luigina.--Good by, grandmother." "In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?" shrieked the old woman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; and then with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and in desperation: "Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angels of Paradise, come to my aid!" But Ferruccio made no reply. The little hero, the saviour of the mother of his mother, stabbed by a blow from a knife in the back, had rendered up his beautiful and daring soul to God. THE LITTLE MASON ON HIS SICK-BED. Tuesday, 18th. The poor little mason is seriously ill; the master told us to go and see him; and Garrone, Derossi, and I agreed to go together. Stardi would have come also, but as the teacher had assigned us the description of _The Monument to Cavour_, he told us that he must go and see the monument, in order that his description might be more exact. So, by way of experiment, we invited that puffed-up fellow, Nobis, who replied "No," and nothing more. Votini also excused himself, perhaps because he was afraid of soiling his clothes with plaster. We went there when we came out of school at four o'clock. It was raining in torrents. On the street Garrone halted, and said, with his mouth full of bread:-- "What shall I buy?" and he rattled a couple of soldi in his pocket. We each contributed two soldi, and purchased three huge oranges. We ascended to the garret. At the door Derossi removed his medal and put it in his pocket. I asked him why. "I don't know," he answered; "in order not to have the air: it strikes me as more delicate to go in without my medal." We knocked; the father, that big man who looks like a giant, opened to us; his face was distorted so that he appeared terrified. "Who are you?" he demanded. Garrone replied:-- "We are Antonio's schoolmates, and we have brought him three oranges." "Ah, poor Tonino!" exclaimed the mason, shaking his head, "I fear that he will never eat your oranges!" and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He made us come in. We entered an attic room, where we saw "the little mason" asleep in a little iron bed; his mother hung dejectedly over the bed, with her face in her hands, and she hardly turned to look at us; on one side hung brushes, a trowel, and a plaster-sieve; over the feet of the sick boy was spread the mason's jacket, white with lime. The poor boy was emaciated; very, very white; his nose was pointed, and his breath was short. O dear Tonino, my little comrade! you who were so kind and merry, how it pains me! what would I not give to see you make the hare's face once more, poor little mason! Garrone laid an orange on his pillow, close to his face; the odor waked him; he grasped it instantly; then let go of it, and gazed intently at Garrone. "It is I," said the latter; "Garrone: do you know me?" He smiled almost imperceptibly, lifted his stubby hand with difficulty from the bed and held it out to Garrone, who took it between his, and laid it against his cheek, saying:-- "Courage, courage, little mason; you are going to get well soon and come back to school, and the master will put you next to me; will that please you?" But the little mason made no reply. His mother burst into sobs: "Oh, my poor Tonino! My poor Tonino! He is so brave and good, and God is going to take him from us!" "Silence!" cried the mason; "silence, for the love of God, or I shall lose my reason!" Then he said to us, with anxiety: "Go, go, boys, thanks; go! what do you want to do here? Thanks; go home!" The boy had closed his eyes again, and appeared to be dead. "Do you need any assistance?" asked Garrone. "No, my good boy, thanks," the mason answered. And so saying, he pushed us out on the landing, and shut the door. But we were not half-way down the stairs, when we heard him calling, "Garrone! Garrone!" We all three mounted the stairs once more in haste. "Garrone!" shouted the mason, with a changed countenance, "he has called you by name; it is two days since he spoke; he has called you twice; he wants you; come quickly! Ah, holy God, if this is only a good sign!" "Farewell for the present," said Garrone to us; "I shall remain," and he ran in with the father. Derossi's eyes were full of tears. I said to him:-- "Are you crying for the little mason? He has spoken; he will recover." "I believe it," replied Derossi; "but I was not thinking of him. I was thinking how good Garrone is, and what a beautiful soul he has." COUNT CAVOUR. Wednesday, 29th. You are to make a description of the monument to Count Cavour. You can do it. But who was Count Cavour? You cannot understand at present. For the present this is all you know: he was for many years the prime minister of Piemont. It was he who sent the Piemontese army to the Crimea to raise once more, with the victory of the Cernaia, our military glory, which had fallen with the defeat at Novara; it was he who made one hundred and fifty thousand Frenchmen descend from the Alps to chase the Austrians from Lombardy; it was he who governed Italy in the most solemn period of our revolution; who gave, during those years, the most potent impulse to the holy enterprise of the unification of our country,--he with his luminous mind, with his invincible perseverance, with his more than human industry. Many generals have passed terrible hours on the field of battle; but he passed more terrible ones in his cabinet, when his enormous work might suffer destruction at any moment, like a fragile edifice at the tremor of an earthquake. Hours, nights of struggle and anguish did he pass, sufficient to make him issue from it with reason distorted and death in his heart. And it was this gigantic and stormy work which shortened his life by twenty years. Nevertheless, devoured by the fever which was to cast him into his grave, he yet contended desperately with the malady in order to accomplish something for his country. "It is strange," he said sadly on his death-bed, "I no longer know how to read; I can no longer read." While they were bleeding him, and the fever was increasing, he was thinking of his country, and he said imperiously: "Cure me; my mind is clouding over; I have need of all my faculties to manage important affairs." When he was already reduced to extremities, and the whole city was in a tumult, and the king stood at his bedside, he said anxiously, "I have many things to say to you, Sire, many things to show you; but I am ill; I cannot, I cannot;" and he was in despair. And his feverish thoughts hovered ever round the State, round the new Italian provinces which had been united with us, round the many things which still remained to be done. When delirium seized him, "Educate the children!" he exclaimed, between his gasps for breath,--"educate the children and the young people--govern with liberty!" His delirium increased; death hovered over him, and with burning words he invoked General Garibaldi, with whom he had had disagreements, and Venice and Rome, which were not yet free: he had vast visions of the future of Italy and of Europe; he dreamed of a foreign invasion; he inquired where the corps of the army were, and the generals; he still trembled for us, for his people. His great sorrow was not, you understand, that he felt that his life was going, but to see himself fleeing his country, which still had need of him, and for which he had, in a few years, worn out the measureless forces of his miraculous organism. He died with the battle-cry in his throat, and his death was as great as his life. Now reflect a little, Enrico, what sort of a thing is our labor, which nevertheless so weighs us down; what are our griefs, our death itself, in the face of the toils, the terrible anxieties, the tremendous agonies of these men upon whose hearts rests a world! Think of this, my son, when you pass before that marble image, and say to it, "Glory!" in your heart. THY FATHER. APRIL. SPRING. Saturday, 1st. THE first of April! Only three months more! This has been one of the most beautiful mornings of the year. I was happy in school because Coretti told me to come day after to-morrow to see the king make his entrance with his father, _who knows him_, and because my mother had promised to take me the same day to visit the Infant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco. I was pleased, too, because the little mason is better, and because the teacher said to my father yesterday evening as he was passing, "He is doing well; he is doing well." And then it was a beautiful spring morning. From the school windows we could see the blue sky, the trees of the garden all covered with buds, and the wide-open windows of the houses, with their boxes and vases already growing green. The master did not laugh, because he never laughs; but he was in a good humor, so that that perpendicular wrinkle hardly ever appeared on his brow; and he explained a problem on the blackboard, and jested. And it was plain that he felt a pleasure in breathing the air of the gardens which entered through the open window, redolent with the fresh odor of earth and leaves, which suggested thoughts of country rambles. While he was explaining, we could hear in a neighboring street a blacksmith hammering on his anvil, and in the house opposite, a woman singing to lull her baby to sleep; far away, in the Cernaia barracks, the trumpets were sounding. Every one appeared pleased, even Stardi. At a certain moment the blacksmith began to hammer more vigorously, the woman to sing more loudly. The master paused and lent an ear. Then he said, slowly, as he gazed out of the window:-- "The smiling sky, a singing mother, an honest man at work, boys at study,--these are beautiful things." When we emerged from the school, we saw that every one else was cheerful also. All walked in a line, stamping loudly with their feet, and humming, as though on the eve of a four days' vacation; the schoolmistresses were playful; the one with the red feather tripped along behind the children like a schoolgirl; the parents of the boys were chatting together and smiling, and Crossi's mother, the vegetable-vender, had so many bunches of violets in her basket, that they filled the whole large hall with perfume. I have never felt such happiness as this morning on catching sight of my mother, who was waiting for me in the street. And I said to her as I ran to meet her:-- "Oh, I am happy! what is it that makes me so happy this morning?" And my mother answered me with a smile that it was the beautiful season and a good conscience. KING UMBERTO. Monday, 3d. At ten o'clock precisely my father saw from the window Coretti, the wood-seller, and his son waiting for me in the square, and said to me:-- "There they are, Enrico; go and see your king." I went like a flash. Both father and son were even more alert than usual, and they never seemed to me to resemble each other so strongly as this morning. The father wore on his jacket the medal for valor between two commemorative medals, and his mustaches were curled and as pointed as two pins. We at once set out for the railway station, where the king was to arrive at half-past ten. Coretti, the father, smoked his pipe and rubbed his hands. "Do you know," said he, "I have not seen him since the war of 'sixty-six? A trifle of fifteen years and six months. First, three years in France, and then at Mondovì, and here, where I might have seen him, I have never had the good luck of being in the city when he came. Such a combination of circumstances!" He called the King "Umberto," like a comrade. Umberto commanded the 16th division; Umberto was twenty-two years and so many days old; Umberto mounted a horse thus and so. "Fifteen years!" he said vehemently, accelerating his pace. "I really have a great desire to see him again. I left him a prince; I see him once more, a king. And I, too, have changed. From a soldier I have become a hawker of wood." And he laughed. His son asked him, "If he were to see you, would he remember you?" He began to laugh. "You are crazy!" he answered. "That's quite another thing. He, Umberto, was one single man; we were as numerous as flies. And then, he never looked at us one by one." We turned into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele; there were many people on their way to the station. A company of Alpine soldiers passed with their trumpets. Two armed policemen passed by on horseback at a gallop. The day was serene and brilliant. "Yes!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, growing animated, "it is a real pleasure to me to see him once more, the general of my division. Ah, how quickly I have grown old! It seems as though it were only the other day that I had my knapsack on my shoulders and my gun in my hands, at that affair of the 24th of June, when we were on the point of coming to blows. Umberto was going to and fro with his officers, while the cannon were thundering in the distance; and every one was gazing at him and saying, 'May there not be a bullet for him also!' I was a thousand miles from thinking that I should soon find myself so near him, in front of the lances of the Austrian uhlans; actually, only four paces from each other, boys. That was a fine day; the sky was like a mirror; but so hot! Let us see if we can get in." We had arrived at the station; there was a great crowd,--carriages, policemen, carabineers, societies with banners. A regimental band was playing. The elder Coretti attempted to enter the portico, but he was stopped. Then it occurred to him to force his way into the front row of the crowd which formed an opening at the entrance; and making way with his elbow, he succeeded in thrusting us forward also. But the undulating throng flung us hither and thither a little. The wood-seller got his eye upon the first pillar of the portico, where the police did not allow any one to stand; "Come with me," he said suddenly, dragging us by the hand; and he crossed the empty space in two bounds, and went and planted himself there, with his back against the wall. A police brigadier instantly hurried up and said to him, "You can't stand here." "I belong to the fourth battalion of forty-nine," replied Coretti, touching his medal. The brigadier glanced at it, and said, "Remain." "Didn't I say so!" exclaimed Coretti triumphantly; "it's a magic word, that fourth of the forty-ninth! Haven't I the right to see my general with some little comfort,--I, who was in that squadron? I saw him close at hand then; it seems right that I should see him close at hand now. And I say general! He was my battalion commander for a good half-hour; for at such moments he commanded the battalion himself, while it was in the heart of things, and not Major Ubrich, by Heavens!" In the meantime, in the reception-room and outside, a great mixture of gentlemen and officers was visible, and in front of the door, the carriages, with the lackeys dressed in red, were drawn up in a line. Coretti asked his father whether Prince Umberto had his sword in his hand when he was with the regiment. "He would certainly have had his sword in his hand," the latter replied, "to ward off a blow from a lance, which might strike him as well as another. Ah! those unchained demons! They came down on us like the wrath of God; they descended on us. They swept between the groups, the squadrons, the cannon, as though tossed by a hurricane, crushing down everything. There was a whirl of light cavalry of Alessandria, of lancers of Foggia, of infantry, of sharpshooters, a pandemonium in which nothing could any longer be understood. I heard the shout, 'Your Highness! your Highness!' I saw the lowered lances approaching; we discharged our guns; a cloud of smoke hid everything. Then the smoke cleared away. The ground was covered with horses and uhlans, wounded and dead. I turned round, and beheld in our midst Umberto, on horseback, gazing tranquilly about, with the air of demanding, 'Have any of my lads received a scratch?' And we shouted to him, 'Hurrah!' right in his face, like madmen. Heavens, what a moment that was! Here's the train coming!" The band struck up; the officers hastened forward; the crowd elevated themselves on tiptoe. "Eh, he won't come out in a hurry," said a policeman; "they are presenting him with an address now." The elder Coretti was beside himself with impatience. "Ah! when I think of it," he said, "I always see him there. Of course, there is cholera and there are earthquakes; and in them, too, he bears himself bravely; but I always have him before my mind as I saw him then, among us, with that tranquil face. I am sure that he too recalls the fourth of the forty-ninth, even now that he is King; and that it would give him pleasure to have for once, at a table together, all those whom he saw about him at such moments. Now, he has generals, and great gentlemen, and courtiers; then, there was no one but us poor soldiers. If we could only exchange a few words alone! Our general of twenty-two; our prince, who was intrusted to our bayonets! I have not seen him for fifteen years. Our Umberto! that's what he is! Ah! that music stirs my blood, on my word of honor." An outburst of shouts interrupted him; thousands of hats rose in the air; four gentlemen dressed in black got into the first carriage. "'Tis he!" cried Coretti, and stood as though enchanted. Then he said softly, "Madonna mia, how gray he has grown!" We all three uncovered our heads; the carriage advanced slowly through the crowd, who shouted and waved their hats. I looked at the elder Coretti. He seemed to me another man; he seemed to have become taller, graver, rather pale, and fastened bolt upright against the pillar. The carriage arrived in front of us, a pace distant from the pillar. "Hurrah!" shouted many voices. "Hurrah!" shouted Coretti, after the others. The King glanced at his face, and his eye dwelt for a moment on his three medals. Then Coretti lost his head, and roared, "The fourth battalion of the forty-ninth!" The King, who had turned away, turned towards us again, and looking Coretti straight in the eye, reached his hand out of the carriage. Coretti gave one leap forwards and clasped it. The carriage passed on; the crowd broke in and separated us; we lost sight of the elder Coretti. But it was only for a moment. We found him again directly, panting, with wet eyes, calling for his son by name, and holding his hand on high. His son flew towards him, and he said, "Here, little one, while my hand is still warm!" and he passed his hand over the boy's face, saying, "This is a caress from the King." And there he stood, as though in a dream, with his eyes fixed on the distant carriage, smiling, with his pipe in his hand, in the centre of a group of curious people, who were staring at him. "He's one of the fourth battalion of the forty-ninth!" they said. "He is a soldier that knows the King." "And the King recognized him." "And he offered him his hand." "He gave the King a petition," said one, more loudly. "No," replied Coretti, whirling round abruptly; "I did not give him any petition. There is something else that I would give him, if he were to ask it of me." They all stared at him. And he said simply, "My blood." THE INFANT ASYLUM. Tuesday, 4th. After breakfast yesterday my mother took me, as she had promised, to the Infant Asylum in the Corso Valdocco, in order to recommend to the directress a little sister of Precossi. I had never seen an asylum. How much amused I was! There were two hundred of them, boy-babies and girl-babies, and so small that the children in our lower primary schools are men in comparison. We arrived just as they were entering the refectory in two files, where there were two very long tables, with a great many round holes, and in each hole a black bowl filled with rice and beans, and a tin spoon beside it. On entering, some grew confused and remained on the floor until the mistresses ran and picked them up. Many halted in front of a bowl, thinking it was their proper place, and had already swallowed a spoonful, when a mistress arrived and said, "Go on!" and then they advanced three or four paces and got down another spoonful, and then advanced again, until they reached their own places, after having fraudulently disposed of half a portion. At last, by dint of pushing and crying, "Make haste! make haste!" they were all got into order, and the prayer was begun. But all those on the inner line, who had to turn their backs on the bowls for the prayer, twisted their heads round so that they could keep an eye on them, lest some one might meddle; and then they said their prayer thus, with hands clasped and their eyes on the ceiling, but with their hearts on their food. Then they set to eating. Ah, what a charming sight it was! One ate with two spoons, another with his hands; many picked up the beans one by one, and thrust them into their pockets; others wrapped them tightly in their little aprons, and pounded them to reduce them to a paste. There were even some who did not eat, because they were watching the flies flying, and others coughed and sprinkled a shower of rice all around them. It resembled a poultry-yard. But it was charming. The two rows of babies formed a pretty sight, with their hair all tied on the tops of their heads with red, green, and blue ribbons. One teacher asked a row of eight children, "Where does rice grow?" The whole eight opened their mouths wide, filled as they were with the pottage, and replied in concert, in a sing-song, "It grows in the water." Then the teacher gave the order, "Hands up!" and it was pretty to see all those little arms fly up, which a few months ago were all in swaddling-clothes, and all those little hands flourishing, which looked like so many white and pink butterflies. Then they all went to recreation; but first they all took their little baskets, which were hanging on the wall with their lunches in them. They went out into the garden and scattered, drawing forth their provisions as they did so,--bread, stewed plums, a tiny bit of cheese, a hard-boiled egg, little apples, a handful of boiled vetches, or a wing of chicken. In an instant the whole garden was strewn with crumbs, as though they had been scattered from their feed by a flock of birds. They ate in all the queerest ways,--like rabbits, like rats, like cats, nibbling, licking, sucking. There was one child who held a bit of rye bread hugged closely to his breast, and was rubbing it with a medlar, as though he were polishing a sword. Some of the little ones crushed in their fists small cheeses, which trickled between their fingers like milk, and ran down inside their sleeves, and they were utterly unconscious of it. They ran and chased each other with apples and rolls in their teeth, like dogs. I saw three of them excavating a hard-boiled egg with a straw, thinking to discover treasures, and they spilled half of it on the ground, and then picked the crumbs up again one by one with great patience, as though they had been pearls. And those who had anything extraordinary were surrounded by eight or ten, who stood staring at the baskets with bent heads, as though they were looking at the moon in a well. There were twenty congregated round a mite of a fellow who had a paper horn of sugar, and they were going through all sorts of ceremonies with him for the privilege of dipping their bread in it, and he accorded it to some, while to others, after many prayers, he only granted his finger to suck. [Illustration: "THE BOYS HAD DAUBED THEIR HANDS WITH RESIN."--Page 202.] In the meantime, my mother had come into the garden and was caressing now one and now another. Many hung about her, and even on her back, begging for a kiss, with faces upturned as though to a third story, and with mouths that opened and shut as though asking for the breast. One offered her the quarter of an orange which had been bitten, another a small crust of bread; one little girl gave her a leaf; another showed her, with all seriousness, the tip of her forefinger, a minute examination of which revealed a microscopic swelling, which had been caused by touching the flame of a candle on the preceding day. They placed before her eyes, as great marvels, very tiny insects, which I cannot understand their being able to see and catch, the halfs of corks, shirt-buttons, and flowerets pulled from the vases. One child, with a bandaged head, who was determined to be heard at any cost, stammered out to her some story about a head-over-heels tumble, not one word of which was intelligible; another insisted that my mother should bend down, and then whispered in her ear, "My father makes brushes." And in the meantime a thousand accidents were happening here and there which caused the teachers to hasten up. Children wept because they could not untie a knot in their handkerchiefs; others disputed, with scratches and shrieks, the halves of an apple; one child, who had fallen face downward over a little bench which had been overturned, wept amid the ruins, and could not rise. Before her departure my mother took three or four of them in her arms, and they ran up from all quarters to be taken also, their faces smeared with yolk of egg and orange juice; and one caught her hands; another her finger, to look at her ring; another tugged at her watch chain; another tried to seize her by the hair. "Take care," the teacher said to her; "they will tear your clothes all to pieces." But my mother cared nothing for her dress, and she continued to kiss them, and they pressed closer and closer to her: those who were nearest, with their arms extended as though they were desirous of climbing; the more distant endeavoring to make their way through the crowd, and all screaming:-- "Good by! good by! good by!" At last she succeeded in escaping from the garden. And they all ran and thrust their faces through the railings to see her pass, and to thrust their arms through to greet her, offering her once more bits of bread, bites of apple, cheese-rinds, and all screaming in concert:-- "Good by! good by! good by! Come back to-morrow! Come again!" As my mother made her escape, she passed her hand once more over those hundreds of tiny outstretched hands as over a garland of living roses, and finally arrived safely in the street, covered with crumbs and spots, rumpled and dishevelled, with one hand full of flowers and her eyes swelling with tears, and happy as though she had come from a festival. And inside there was still audible a sound like the twittering of birds, saying:-- "Good by! good by! Come again, _madama_!" GYMNASTICS. Tuesday, 5th. As the weather continues extremely fine, they have made us pass from chamber gymnastics to gymnastics with apparatus in the garden. Garrone was in the head-master's office yesterday when Nelli's mother, that blond woman dressed in black, came in to get her son excused from the new exercises. Every word cost her an effort; and as she spoke, she held one hand on her son's head. "He is not able to do it," she said to the head-master. But Nelli showed much grief at this exclusion from the apparatus, at having this added humiliation imposed upon him. "You will see, mamma," he said, "that I shall do like the rest." His mother gazed at him in silence, with an air of pity and affection. Then she remarked, in a hesitating way, "I fear lest his companions--" What she meant to say was, "lest they should make sport of him." But Nelli replied:-- "They will not do anything to me--and then, there is Garrone. It is sufficient for him to be present, to prevent their laughing." And then he was allowed to come. The teacher with the wound on his neck, who was with Garibaldi, led us at once to the vertical bars, which are very high, and we had to climb to the very top, and stand upright on the transverse plank. Derossi and Coretti went up like monkeys; even little Precossi mounted briskly, in spite of the fact that he was embarrassed with that jacket which extends to his knees; and in order to make him laugh while he was climbing, all the boys repeated to him his constant expression, "Excuse me! excuse me!" Stardi puffed, turned as red as a turkey-cock, and set his teeth until he looked like a mad dog; but he would have reached the top at the expense of bursting, and he actually did get there; and so did Nobis, who, when he reached the summit, assumed the attitude of an emperor; but Votini slipped back twice, notwithstanding his fine new suit with azure stripes, which had been made expressly for gymnastics. In order to climb the more easily, all the boys had daubed their hands with resin, which they call colophony, and as a matter of course it is that trader of a Garoffi who provides every one with it, in a powdered form, selling it at a soldo the paper hornful, and turning a pretty penny. Then it was Garrone's turn, and up he went, chewing away at his bread as though it were nothing out of the common; and I believe that he would have been capable of carrying one of us up on his shoulders, for he is as muscular and strong as a young bull. After Garrone came Nelli. No sooner did the boys see him grasp the bars with those long, thin hands of his, than many of them began to laugh and to sing; but Garrone crossed his big arms on his breast, and darted round a glance which was so expressive, which so clearly said that he did not mind dealing out half a dozen punches, even in the master's presence, that they all ceased laughing on the instant. Nelli began to climb. He tried hard, poor little fellow; his face grew purple, he breathed with difficulty, and the perspiration poured from his brow. The master said, "Come down!" But he would not. He strove and persisted. I expected every moment to see him fall headlong, half dead. Poor Nelli! I thought, what if I had been like him, and my mother had seen me! How she would have suffered, poor mother! And as I thought of that I felt so tenderly towards Nelli that I could have given, I know not what, to be able, for the sake of having him climb those bars, to give him a push from below without being seen. Meanwhile Garrone, Derossi, and Coretti were saying: "Up with you, Nelli, up with you!" "Try--one effort more--courage!" And Nelli made one more violent effort, uttering a groan as he did so, and found himself within two spans of the plank. "Bravo!" shouted the others. "Courage--one dash more!" and behold Nelli clinging to the plank. All clapped their hands. "Bravo!" said the master. "But that will do now. Come down." But Nelli wished to ascend to the top like the rest, and after a little exertion he succeeded in getting his elbows on the plank, then his knees, then his feet; at last he stood upright, panting and smiling, and gazed at us. We began to clap again, and then he looked into the street. I turned in that direction, and through the plants which cover the iron railing of the garden I caught sight of his mother, passing along the sidewalk without daring to look. Nelli descended, and we all made much of him. He was excited and rosy, his eyes sparkled, and he no longer seemed like the same boy. Then, at the close of school, when his mother came to meet him, and inquired with some anxiety, as she embraced him, "Well, my poor son, how did it go? how did it go?" all his comrades replied, in concert, "He did well--he climbed like the rest of us--he's strong, you know--he's active--he does exactly like the others." And then the joy of that woman was a sight to see. She tried to thank us, and could not; she shook hands with three or four, bestowed a caress on Garrone, and carried off her son; and we watched them for a while, walking in haste, and talking and gesticulating, both perfectly happy, as though no one were looking at them. MY FATHER'S TEACHER. Tuesday, 11th. What a beautiful excursion I took yesterday with my father! This is the way it came about. Day before yesterday, at dinner, as my father was reading the newspaper, he suddenly uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Then he said:-- "And I thought him dead twenty years ago! Do you know that my old first elementary teacher, Vincenzo Crosetti, is eighty-four years old? I see here that the minister has conferred on him the medal of merit for sixty years of teaching. Six-ty ye-ars, you understand! And it is only two years since he stopped teaching school. Poor Crosetti! He lives an hour's journey from here by rail, at Condove, in the country of our old gardener's wife, of the town of Chieri." And he added, "Enrico, we will go and see him." And the whole evening he talked of nothing but him. The name of his primary teacher recalled to his mind a thousand things which had happened when he was a boy, his early companions, his dead mother. "Crosetti!" he exclaimed. "He was forty when I was with him. I seem to see him now. He was a small man, somewhat bent even then, with bright eyes, and always cleanly shaved. Severe, but in a good way; for he loved us like a father, and forgave us more than one offence. He had risen from the condition of a peasant by dint of study and privations. He was a fine man. My mother was attached to him, and my father treated him like a friend. How comes it that he has gone to end his days at Condove, near Turin? He certainly will not recognize me. Never mind; I shall recognize him. Forty-four years have elapsed,--forty-four years, Enrico! and we will go to see him to-morrow." And yesterday morning, at nine o'clock, we were at the Susa railway station. I should have liked to have Garrone come too; but he could not, because his mother is ill. It was a beautiful spring day. The train ran through green fields and hedgerows in blossom, and the air we breathed was perfumed. My father was delighted, and every little while he would put his arm round my neck and talk to me like a friend, as he gazed out over the country. "Poor Crosetti!" he said; "he was the first man, after my father, to love me and do me good. I have never forgotten certain of his good counsels, and also certain sharp reprimands which caused me to return home with a lump in my throat. His hands were large and stubby. I can see him now, as he used to enter the schoolroom, place his cane in a corner and hang his coat on the peg, always with the same gesture. And every day he was in the same humor,--always conscientious, full of good will, and attentive, as though each day he were teaching school for the first time. I remember him as well as though I heard him now when he called to me: 'Bottini! eh, Bottini! The fore and middle fingers on that pen!' He must have changed greatly in these four and forty years." As soon as we reached Condove, we went in search of our old gardener's wife of Chieri, who keeps a stall in an alley. We found her with her boys: she made much of us and gave us news of her husband, who is soon to return from Greece, where he has been working these three years; and of her eldest daughter, who is in the Deaf-mute Institute in Turin. Then she pointed out to us the street which led to the teacher's house,--for every one knows him. We left the town, and turned into a steep lane flanked by blossoming hedges. My father no longer talked, but appeared entirely absorbed in his reminiscences; and every now and then he smiled, and then shook his head. Suddenly he halted and said: "Here he is. I will wager that this is he." Down the lane towards us a little old man with a white beard and a large hat was descending, leaning on a cane. He dragged his feet along, and his hands trembled. "It is he!" repeated my father, hastening his steps. When we were close to him, we stopped. The old man stopped also and looked at my father. His face was still fresh colored, and his eyes were clear and vivacious. "Are you," asked my father, raising his hat, "Vincenzo Crosetti, the schoolmaster?" The old man raised his hat also, and replied: "I am," in a voice that was somewhat tremulous, but full. "Well, then," said my father, taking one of his hands, "permit one of your old scholars to shake your hand and to inquire how you are. I have come from Turin to see you." The old man stared at him in amazement. Then he said: "You do me too much honor. I do not know--When were you my scholar? Excuse me; your name, if you please." My father mentioned his name, Alberto Bottini, and the year in which he had attended school, and where, and he added: "It is natural that you should not remember me. But I recollect you so perfectly!" The master bent his head and gazed at the ground in thought, and muttered my father's name three or four times; the latter, meanwhile, observed him with intent and smiling eyes. All at once the old man raised his face, with his eyes opened widely, and said slowly: "Alberto Bottini? the son of Bottini, the engineer? the one who lived in the Piazza della Consolata?" "The same," replied my father, extending his hands. "Then," said the old man, "permit me, my dear sir, permit me"; and advancing, he embraced my father: his white head hardly reached the latter's shoulder. My father pressed his cheek to the other's brow. "Have the goodness to come with me," said the teacher. And without speaking further he turned about and took the road to his dwelling. In a few minutes we arrived at a garden plot in front of a tiny house with two doors, round one of which there was a fragment of whitewashed wall. The teacher opened the second and ushered us into a room. There were four white walls: in one corner a cot bed with a blue and white checked coverlet; in another, a small table with a little library; four chairs, and one ancient geographical map nailed to the wall. A pleasant odor of apples was perceptible. We seated ourselves, all three. My father and his teacher remained silent for several minutes. "Bottini!" exclaimed the master at length, fixing his eyes on the brick floor where the sunlight formed a checker-board. "Oh! I remember well! Your mother was such a good woman! For a while, during your first year, you sat on a bench to the left near the window. Let us see whether I do not recall it. I can still see your curly head." Then he thought for a while longer. "You were a lively lad, eh? Very. The second year you had an attack of croup. I remember when they brought you back to school, emaciated and wrapped up in a shawl. Forty years have elapsed since then, have they not? You are very kind to remember your poor teacher. And do you know, others of my old pupils have come hither in years gone by to seek me out: there was a colonel, and there were some priests, and several gentlemen." He asked my father what his profession was. Then he said, "I am glad, heartily glad. I thank you. It is quite a while now since I have seen any one. I very much fear that you will be the last, my dear sir." "Don't say that," exclaimed my father. "You are well and still vigorous. You must not say that." "Eh, no!" replied the master; "do you see this trembling?" and he showed us his hands. "This is a bad sign. It seized on me three years ago, while I was still teaching school. At first I paid no attention to it; I thought it would pass off. But instead of that, it stayed and kept on increasing. A day came when I could no longer write. Ah! that day on which I, for the first time, made a blot on the copy-book of one of my scholars was a stab in the heart for me, my dear sir. I did drag on for a while longer; but I was at the end of my strength. After sixty years of teaching I was forced to bid farewell to my school, to my scholars, to work. And it was hard, you understand, hard. The last time that I gave a lesson, all the scholars accompanied me home, and made much of me; but I was sad; I understood that my life was finished. I had lost my wife the year before, and my only son. I had only two peasant grandchildren left. Now I am living on a pension of a few hundred lire. I no longer do anything; it seems to me as though the days would never come to an end. My only occupation, you see, is to turn over my old schoolbooks, my scholastic journals, and a few volumes that have been given to me. There they are," he said, indicating his little library; "there are my reminiscences, my whole past; I have nothing else remaining to me in the world." Then in a tone that was suddenly joyous, "I want to give you a surprise, my dear Signor Bottini." He rose, and approaching his desk, he opened a long casket which contained numerous little parcels, all tied up with a slender cord, and on each was written a date in four figures. After a little search, he opened one, turned over several papers, drew forth a yellowed sheet, and handed it to my father. It was some of his school work of forty years before. At the top was written, _Alberto Bottini, Dictation, April 3, 1838_. My father instantly recognized his own large, schoolboy hand, and began to read it with a smile. But all at once his eyes grew moist. I rose and inquired the cause. He threw one arm around my body, and pressing me to his side, he said: "Look at this sheet of paper. Do you see? These are the corrections made by my poor mother. She always strengthened my _l_'s and my _t_'s. And the last lines are entirely hers. She had learned to imitate my characters; and when I was tired and sleepy, she finished my work for me. My sainted mother!" And he kissed the page. "See here," said the teacher, showing him the other packages; "these are my reminiscences. Each year I laid aside one piece of work of each of my pupils; and they are all here, dated and arranged in order. Every time that I open them thus, and read a line here and there, a thousand things recur to my mind, and I seem to be living once more in the days that are past. How many of them have passed, my dear sir! I close my eyes, and I see behind me face after face, class after class, hundreds and hundreds of boys, and who knows how many of them are already dead! Many of them I remember well. I recall distinctly the best and the worst: those who gave me the greatest pleasure, and those who caused me to pass sorrowful moments; for I have had serpents, too, among that vast number! But now, you understand, it is as though I were already in the other world, and I love them all equally." He sat down again, and took one of my hands in his. "And tell me," my father said, with a smile, "do you not recall any roguish tricks?" "Of yours, sir?" replied the old man, also with a smile. "No; not just at this moment. But that does not in the least mean that you never played any. However, you had good judgment; you were serious for your age. I remember the great affection of your mother for you. But it is very kind and polite of you to have come to seek me out. How could you leave your occupations, to come and see a poor old schoolmaster?" "Listen, Signor Crosetti," responded my father with vivacity. "I recollect the first time that my poor mother accompanied me to school. It was to be her first parting from me for two hours; of letting me out of the house alone, in other hands than my father's; in the hands of a stranger, in short. To this good creature my entrance into school was like my entrance into the world, the first of a long series of necessary and painful separations; it was society which was tearing her son from her for the first time, never again to return him to her intact. She was much affected; so was I. I bade her farewell with a trembling voice, and then, as she went away, I saluted her once more through the glass in the door, with my eyes full of tears. And just at that point you made a gesture with one hand, laying the other on your breast, as though to say, 'Trust me, signora.' Well, the gesture, the glance, from which I perceived that you had comprehended all the sentiments, all the thoughts of my mother; that look which seemed to say, 'Courage!' that gesture which was an honest promise of protection, of affection, of indulgence, I have never forgotten; it has remained forever engraved on my heart; and it is that memory which induced me to set out from Turin. And here I am, after the lapse of four and forty years, for the purpose of saying to you, 'Thanks, dear teacher.'" The master did not reply; he stroked my hair with his hand, and his hand trembled, and glided from my hair to my forehead, from my forehead to my shoulder. In the meanwhile, my father was surveying those bare walls, that wretched bed, the morsel of bread and the little phial of oil which lay on the window-sill, and he seemed desirous of saying, "Poor master! after sixty years of teaching, is this all thy recompense?" But the good old man was content, and began once more to talk with vivacity of our family, of the other teachers of that day, and of my father's schoolmates; some of them he remembered, and some of them he did not; and each told the other news of this one or of that one. When my father interrupted the conversation, to beg the old man to come down into the town and lunch with us, he replied effusively, "I thank you, I thank you," but he seemed undecided. My father took him by both hands, and besought him afresh. "But how shall I manage to eat," said the master, "with these poor hands which shake in this way? It is a penance for others also." "We will help you, master," said my father. And then he accepted, as he shook his head and smiled. "This is a beautiful day," he said, as he closed the outer door, "a beautiful day, dear Signor Bottini! I assure you that I shall remember it as long as I live." My father gave one arm to the master, and the latter took me by the hand, and we descended the lane. We met two little barefooted girls leading some cows, and a boy who passed us on a run, with a huge load of straw on his shoulders. The master told us that they were scholars of the second grade; that in the morning they led the cattle to pasture, and worked in the fields barefoot; and in the afternoon they put on their shoes and went to school. It was nearly mid-day. We encountered no one else. In a few minutes we reached the inn, seated ourselves at a large table, with the master between us, and began our breakfast at once. The inn was as silent as a convent. The master was very merry, and his excitement augmented his palsy: he could hardly eat. But my father cut up his meat, broke his bread, and put salt on his plate. In order to drink, he was obliged to hold the glass with both hands, and even then he struck his teeth. But he talked constantly, and with ardor, of the reading-books of his young days; of the notaries of the present day; of the commendations bestowed on him by his superiors; of the regulations of late years: and all with that serene countenance, a trifle redder than at first, and with that gay voice of his, and that laugh which was almost the laugh of a young man. And my father gazed and gazed at him, with that same expression with which I sometimes catch him gazing at me, at home, when he is thinking and smiling to himself, with his face turned aside. The teacher allowed some wine to trickle down on his breast; my father rose, and wiped it off with his napkin. "No, sir; I cannot permit this," the old man said, and smiled. He said some words in Latin. And, finally, he raised his glass, which wavered about in his hand, and said very gravely, "To your health, my dear engineer, to that of your children, to the memory of your good mother!" "To yours, my good master!" replied my father, pressing his hand. And at the end of the room stood the innkeeper and several others, watching us, and smiling as though they were pleased at this attention which was being shown to the teacher from their parts. At a little after two o'clock we came out, and the master wanted to escort us to the station. My father gave him his arm once more, and he again took me by the hand: I carried his cane for him. The people paused to look on, for they all knew him: some saluted him. At one point in the street we heard, through an open window, many boys' voices, reading together, and spelling. The old man halted, and seemed to be saddened by it. "This, my dear Signor Bottini," he said, "is what pains me. To hear the voices of boys in school, and not be there any more; to think that another man is there. I have heard that music for sixty years, and I have grown to love it. Now I am deprived of my family. I have no sons." "No, master," my father said to him, starting on again; "you still have many sons, scattered about the world, who remember you, as I have always remembered you." "No, no," replied the master sadly; "I have no longer a school; I have no longer any sons. And without sons, I shall not live much longer. My hour will soon strike." "Do not say that, master; do not think it," said my father. "You have done so much good in every way! You have put your life to such a noble use!" The aged master inclined his hoary head for an instant on my father's shoulder, and pressed my hand. We entered the station. The train was on the point of starting. "Farewell, master!" said my father, kissing him on both cheeks. "Farewell! thanks! farewell!" replied the master, taking one of my father's hands in his two trembling hands, and pressing it to his heart. Then I kissed him and felt that his face was bathed in tears. My father pushed me into the railway carriage, and at the moment of starting he quickly removed the coarse cane from the schoolmaster's hand, and in its place he put his own handsome one, with a silver handle and his initials, saying, "Keep it in memory of me." The old man tried to return it and to recover his own; but my father was already inside and had closed the door. "Farewell, my kind master!" "Farewell, my son!" responded the master as the train moved off; "and may God bless you for the consolation which you have afforded to a poor old man!" "Until we meet again!" cried my father, in a voice full of emotion. But the master shook his head, as much as to say, "We shall never see each other more." "Yes, yes," repeated my father, "until we meet again!" And the other replied by raising his trembling hand to heaven, "Up there!" And thus he disappeared from our sight, with his hand on high. CONVALESCENCE. Thursday, 20th. Who could have told me, when I returned from that delightful excursion with my father, that for ten days I should not see the country or the sky again? I have been very ill--in danger of my life. I have heard my mother sobbing--I have seen my father very, very pale, gazing intently at me; and my sister Silvia and my brother talking in a low voice; and the doctor, with his spectacles, who was there every moment, and who said things to me that I did not understand. In truth, I have been on the verge of saying a final farewell to every one. Ah, my poor mother! I passed three or four days at least, of which I recollect almost nothing, as though I had been in a dark and perplexing dream. I thought I beheld at my bedside my kind schoolmistress of the upper primary, who was trying to stifle her cough in her handkerchief in order not to disturb me. In the same manner I confusedly recall my master, who bent over to kiss me, and who pricked my face a little with his beard; and I saw, as in a mist, the red head of Crossi, the golden curls of Derossi, the Calabrian clad in black, all pass by, and Garrone, who brought me a mandarin orange with its leaves, and ran away in haste because his mother is ill. Then I awoke as from a very long dream, and understood that I was better from seeing my father and mother smiling, and hearing Silvia singing softly. Oh, what a sad dream it was! Then I began to improve every day. The little mason came and made me laugh once more for the first time, with his hare's face; and how well he does it, now that his face is somewhat elongated through illness, poor fellow! And Coretti came; and Garoffi came to present me with two tickets in his new lottery of "a penknife with five surprises," which he purchased of a second-hand dealer in the Via Bertola. Then, yesterday, while I was asleep, Precossi came and laid his cheek on my hand without waking me; and as he came from his father's workshop, with his face covered with coal dust, he left a black print on my sleeve, the sight of which caused me great pleasure when I awoke. How green the trees have become in these few days! And how I envy the boys whom I see running to school with their books when my father carries me to the window! But I shall go back there soon myself. I am so impatient to see all the boys once more, and my seat, the garden, the streets; to know all that has taken place during the interval; to apply myself to my books again, and to my copy-books, which I seem not to have seen for a year! How pale and thin my poor mother has grown! Poor father! how weary he looks! And my kind companions who came to see me and walked on tiptoe and kissed my brow! It makes me sad, even now, to think that one day we must part. Perhaps I shall continue my studies with Derossi and with some others; but how about all the rest? When the fourth grade is once finished, then good by! we shall never see each other again: I shall never see them again at my bedside when I am ill,--Garrone, Precossi, Coretti, who are such fine boys and kind and dear comrades,--never more! FRIENDS AMONG THE WORKINGMEN. Thursday, 20th. Why "never more," Enrico? That will depend on yourself. When you have finished the fourth grade, you will go to the Gymnasium, and they will become workingmen; but you will remain in the same city for many years, perhaps. Why, then, will you never meet again? When you are in the University or the Lyceum, you will seek them out in their shops or their workrooms, and it will be a great pleasure for you to meet the companions of your youth once more, as men at work. I should like to see you neglecting to look up Coretti or Precossi, wherever they may be! And you will go to them, and you will pass hours in their company, and you will see, when you come to study life and the world, how many things you can learn from them, which no one else is capable of teaching you, both about their arts and their society and your own country. And have a care; for if you do not preserve these friendships, it will be extremely difficult for you to acquire other similar ones in the future,--friendships, I mean to say, outside of the class to which you belong; and thus you will live in one class only; and the man who associates with but one social class is like the student who reads but one book. Let it be your firm resolve, then, from this day forth, that you will keep these good friends even after you shall be separated, and from this time forth, cultivate precisely these by preference because they are the sons of workingmen. You see, men of the upper classes are the officers, and men of the lower classes are the soldiers of toil; and thus in society as in the army, not only is the soldier no less noble than the officer, since nobility consists in work and not in wages, in valor and not in rank; but if there is also a superiority of merit, it is on the side of the soldier, of the workmen, who draw the lesser profit from the work. Therefore love and respect above all others, among your companions, the sons of the soldiers of labor; honor in them the toil and the sacrifices of their parents; disregard the differences of fortune and of class, upon which the base alone regulate their sentiments and courtesy; reflect that from the veins of laborers in the shops and in the country issued nearly all that blessed blood which has redeemed your country; love Garrone, love Coretti, love Precossi, love your little mason, who, in their little workingmen's breasts, possess the hearts of princes; and take an oath to yourself that no change of fortune shall ever eradicate these friendships of childhood from your soul. Swear to yourself that forty years hence, if, while passing through a railway station, you recognize your old Garrone in the garments of an engineer, with a black face,--ah! I cannot think what to tell you to swear. I am sure that you will jump upon the engine and fling your arms round his neck, though you were even a senator of the kingdom. THY FATHER. GARRONE'S MOTHER. Saturday, 29th. On my return to school, the first thing I heard was some bad news. Garrone had not been there for several days because his mother was seriously ill. She died on Saturday. Yesterday morning, as soon as we came into school, the teacher said to us:-- "The greatest misfortune that can happen to a boy has happened to poor Garrone: his mother is dead. He will return to school to-morrow. I beseech you now, boys, respect the terrible sorrow that is now rending his soul. When he enters, greet him with affection, and gravely; let no one jest, let no one laugh at him, I beg of you." And this morning poor Garrone came in, a little later than the rest; I felt a blow at my heart at the sight of him. His face was haggard, his eyes were red, and he was unsteady on his feet; it seemed as though he had been ill for a month. I hardly recognized him; he was dressed all in black; he aroused our pity. No one even breathed; all gazed at him. No sooner had he entered than at the first sight of that schoolroom whither his mother had come to get him nearly every day, of that bench over which she had bent on so many examination days to give him a last bit of advice, and where he had so many times thought of her, in his impatience to run out and meet her, he burst into a desperate fit of weeping. The teacher drew him aside to his own place, and pressed him to his breast, and said to him:-- "Weep, weep, my poor boy; but take courage. Your mother is no longer here; but she sees you, she still loves you, she still lives by your side, and one day you will behold her once again, for you have a good and upright soul like her own. Take courage!" Having said this, he accompanied him to the bench near me. I dared not look at him. He drew out his copy-books and his books, which he had not opened for many days, and as he opened the reading-book at a place where there was a cut representing a mother leading her son by the hand, he burst out crying again, and laid his head on his arm. The master made us a sign to leave him thus, and began the lesson. I should have liked to say something to him, but I did not know what. I laid one hand on his arm, and whispered in his ear:-- "Don't cry, Garrone." He made no reply, and without raising his head from the bench he laid his hand on mine and kept it there a while. At the close of school, no one addressed him; all the boys hovered round him respectfully, and in silence. I saw my mother waiting for me, and ran to embrace her; but she repulsed me, and gazed at Garrone. For the moment I could not understand why; but then I perceived that Garrone was standing apart by himself and gazing at me; and he was gazing at me with a look of indescribable sadness, which seemed to say: "You are embracing your mother, and I shall never embrace mine again! You have still a mother, and mine is dead!" And then I understood why my mother had thrust me back, and I went out without taking her hand. GIUSEPPE MAZZINI. Saturday, 29th. This morning, also, Garrone came to school with a pale face and his eyes swollen with weeping, and he hardly cast a glance at the little gifts which we had placed on his desk to console him. But the teacher had brought a page from a book to read to him in order to encourage him. He first informed us that we are to go to-morrow at one o'clock to the town-hall to witness the award of the medal for civic valor to a boy who has saved a little child from the Po, and that on Monday he will dictate the description of the festival to us instead of the monthly story. Then turning to Garrone, who was standing with drooping head, he said to him:-- "Make an effort, Garrone, and write down what I dictate to you as well as the rest." We all took our pens, and the teacher dictated. "Giuseppe Mazzini, born in Genoa in 1805, died in Pisa in 1872, a grand, patriotic soul, the mind of a great writer, the first inspirer and apostle of the Italian Revolution; who, out of love for his country, lived for forty years poor, exiled, persecuted, a fugitive heroically steadfast in his principles and in his resolutions. Giuseppe Mazzini, who adored his mother, and who derived from her all that there was noblest and purest in her strong and gentle soul, wrote as follows to a faithful friend of his, to console him in the greatest of misfortunes. These are almost his exact words:-- "'My friend, thou wilt never more behold thy mother on this earth. That is the terrible truth. I do not attempt to see thee, because thine is one of those solemn and sacred sorrows which each must suffer and conquer for himself. Dost thou understand what I mean to convey by these words, _It is necessary to conquer sorrow_--to conquer the least sacred, the least purifying part of sorrow, that which, instead of rendering the soul better, weakens and debases it? But the other part of sorrow, the noble part--that which enlarges and elevates the soul--that must remain with thee and never leave thee more. Nothing here below can take the place of a good mother. In the griefs, in the consolations which life may still bring to thee, thou wilt never forget her. But thou must recall her, love her, mourn her death, in a manner which is worthy of her. O my friend, hearken to me! Death exists not; it is nothing. It cannot even be understood. Life is life, and it follows the law of life--progress. Yesterday thou hadst a mother on earth; to-day thou hast an angel elsewhere. All that is good will survive the life of earth with increased power. Hence, also, the love of thy mother. She loves thee now more than ever. And thou art responsible for thy actions to her more, even, than before. It depends upon thee, upon thy actions, to meet her once more, to see her in another existence. Thou must, therefore, out of love and reverence for thy mother, grow better and cause her joy for thee. Henceforth thou must say to thyself at every act of thine, "Would my mother approve this?" Her transformation has placed a guardian angel in the world for thee, to whom thou must refer in all thy affairs, in everything that pertains to thee. Be strong and brave; fight against desperate and vulgar grief; have the tranquillity of great suffering in great souls; and that it is what she would have.'" "Garrone," added the teacher, "_be strong and tranquil, for that is what she would have_. Do you understand?" Garrone nodded assent, while great and fast-flowing tears streamed over his hands, his copy-book, and his desk. CIVIC VALOR. (_Monthly Story._) At one o'clock we went with our schoolmaster to the front of the town-hall, to see the medal for civic valor bestowed on the lad who saved one of his comrades from the Po. On the front terrace waved a huge tricolored flag. We entered the courtyard of the palace. It was already full of people. At the further end of it there was visible a table with a red cover, and papers on it, and behind it a row of gilded chairs for the mayor and the council; the ushers of the municipality were there, with their under-waistcoats of sky-blue and their white stockings. To the right of the courtyard a detachment of policemen, who had a great many medals, was drawn up in line; and beside them a detachment of custom-house officers; on the other side were the firemen in festive array; and numerous soldiers not in line, who had come to look on,--cavalrymen, sharpshooters, artillery-men. Then all around were gentlemen, country people, and some officers and women and boys who had assembled. We crowded into a corner where many scholars from other buildings were already collected with their teachers; and near us was a group of boys belonging to the common people, between ten and eighteen years of age, who were talking and laughing loudly; and we made out that they were all from Borgo Po, comrades or acquaintances of the boy who was to receive the medal. Above, all the windows were thronged with the employees of the city government; the balcony of the library was also filled with people, who pressed against the balustrade; and in the one on the opposite side, which is over the entrance gate, stood a crowd of girls from the public schools, and many _Daughters of military men_, with their pretty blue veils. It looked like a theatre. All were talking merrily, glancing every now and then at the red table, to see whether any one had made his appearance. A band of music was playing softly at the extremity of the portico. The sun beat down on the lofty walls. It was beautiful. All at once every one began to clap their hands, from the courtyard, from the balconies, from the windows. I raised myself on tiptoe to look. The crowd which stood behind the red table had parted, and a man and woman had come forward. The man was leading a boy by the hand. This was the lad who had saved his comrade. The man was his father, a mason, dressed in his best. The woman, his mother, small and blond, had on a black gown. The boy, also small and blond, had on a gray jacket. At the sight of all those people, and at the sound of that thunder of applause, all three stood still, not daring to look nor to move. A municipal usher pushed them along to the side of the table on the right. All remained quiet for a moment, and then once more the applause broke out on all sides. The boy glanced up at the windows, and then at the balcony with the _Daughters of military men_; he held his cap in his hand, and did not seem to understand very thoroughly where he was. It struck me that he looked a little like Coretti, in the face; but he was redder. His father and mother kept their eyes fixed on the table. In the meantime, all the boys from Borgo Po who were near us were making motions to their comrade, to attract his attention, and hailing him in a low tone: _Pin! Pin! Pinot!_ By dint of calling they made themselves heard. The boy glanced at them, and hid his smile behind his cap. At a certain moment the guards put themselves in the attitude of _attention_. The mayor entered, accompanied by numerous gentlemen. The mayor, all white, with a big tricolored scarf, placed himself beside the table, standing; all the others took their places behind and beside him. The band ceased playing; the mayor made a sign, and every one kept quiet. He began to speak. I did not understand the first words perfectly; but I gathered that he was telling the story of the boy's feat. Then he raised his voice, and it rang out so clear and sonorous through the whole court, that I did not lose another word: "When he saw, from the shore, his comrade struggling in the river, already overcome with the fear of death, he tore the clothes from his back, and hastened to his assistance, without hesitating an instant. They shouted to him, 'You will be drowned!'--he made no reply; they caught hold of him--he freed himself; they called him by name--he was already in the water. The river was swollen; the risk terrible, even for a man. But he flung himself to meet death with all the strength of his little body and of his great heart; he reached the unfortunate fellow and seized him just in time, when he was already under water, and dragged him to the surface; he fought furiously with the waves, which strove to overwhelm him, with his companion who tried to cling to him; and several times he disappeared beneath the water, and rose again with a desperate effort; obstinate, invincible in his purpose, not like a boy who was trying to save another boy, but like a man, like a father who is struggling to save his son, who is his hope and his life. In short, God did not permit so generous a prowess to be displayed in vain. The child swimmer tore the victim from the gigantic river, and brought him to land, and with the assistance of others, rendered him his first succor; after which he returned home quietly and alone, and ingenuously narrated his deed. "Gentlemen, beautiful, and worthy of veneration is heroism in a man! But in a child, in whom there can be no prompting of ambition or of profit whatever; in a child, who must have all the more ardor in proportion as he has less strength; in a child, from whom we require nothing, who is bound to nothing, who already appears to us so noble and lovable, not when he acts, but when he merely understands, and is grateful for the sacrifices of others;--in a child, heroism is divine! I will say nothing more, gentlemen. I do not care to deck, with superfluous praises, such simple grandeur. Here before you stands the noble and valorous rescuer. Soldier, greet him as a brother; mothers, bless him like a son; children, remember his name, engrave on your minds his visage, that it may nevermore be erased from your memories and from your hearts. Approach, my boy. In the name of the king of Italy, I give you the medal for civic valor." An extremely loud hurrah, uttered at the same moment by many voices, made the palace ring. The mayor took the medal from the table, and fastened it on the boy's breast. Then he embraced and kissed him. The mother placed one hand over her eyes; the father held his chin on his breast. The mayor shook hands with both; and taking the decree of decoration, which was bound with a ribbon, he handed it to the woman. Then he turned to the boy again, and said: "May the memory of this day, which is such a glorious one for you, such a happy one for your father and mother, keep you all your life in the path of virtue and honor! Farewell!" The mayor withdrew, the band struck up, and everything seemed to be at an end, when the detachment of firemen opened, and a lad of eight or nine years, pushed forwards by a woman who instantly concealed herself, rushed towards the boy with the decoration, and flung himself in his arms. Another outburst of hurrahs and applause made the courtyard echo; every one had instantly understood that this was the boy who had been saved from the Po, and who had come to thank his rescuer. After kissing him, he clung to one arm, in order to accompany him out. These two, with the father and mother following behind, took their way towards the door, making a path with difficulty among the people who formed in line to let them pass,--policemen, boys, soldiers, women, all mingled together in confusion. All pressed forwards and raised on tiptoe to see the boy. Those who stood near him as he passed, touched his hand. When he passed before the schoolboys, they all waved their caps in the air. Those from Borgo Po made a great uproar, pulling him by the arms and by his jacket and shouting. "_Pin! hurrah for Pin! bravo, Pinot!_" I saw him pass very close to me. His face was all aflame and happy; his medal had a red, white, and green ribbon. His mother was crying and smiling; his father was twirling his mustache with one hand, which trembled violently, as though he had a fever. And from the windows and the balconies the people continued to lean out and applaud. All at once, when they were on the point of entering the portico, there descended from the balcony of the _Daughters of military men_ a veritable shower of pansies, of bunches of violets and daisies, which fell upon the head of the boy, and of his father and mother, and scattered over the ground. Many people stooped to pick them up and hand them to the mother. And the band at the further end of the courtyard played, very, very softly, a most entrancing air, which seemed like a song by a great many silver voices fading slowly into the distance on the banks of a river. MAY. CHILDREN WITH THE RICKETS. Friday, 5th. TO-DAY I took a vacation, because I was not well, and my mother took me to the Institution for Children with the Rickets, whither she went to recommend a child belonging to our porter; but she did not allow me to go into the school. You did not understand, Enrico, why I did not permit you to enter? In order not to place before the eyes of those unfortunates, there in the midst of the school, as though on exhibition, a healthy, robust boy: they have already but too many opportunities for making melancholy comparisons. What a sad thing! Tears rushed from my heart when I entered. There were sixty of them, boys and girls. Poor tortured bones! Poor hands, poor little shrivelled and distorted feet! Poor little deformed bodies! I instantly perceived many charming faces, with eyes full of intelligence and affection. There was one little child's face with a pointed nose and a sharp chin, which seemed to belong to an old woman; but it wore a smile of celestial sweetness. Some, viewed from the front, are handsome, and appear to be without defects: but when they turn round--they cast a weight upon your soul. The doctor was there, visiting them. He set them upright on their benches and pulled up their little garments, to feel their little swollen stomachs and enlarged joints; but they felt not the least shame, poor creatures! it was evident that they were children who were used to being undressed, examined, turned round on all sides. And to think that they are now in the best stage of their malady, when they hardly suffer at all any more! But who can say what they suffered during the first stage, while their bodies were undergoing the process of deformation, when with the increase of their infirmity, they saw affection decrease around them, poor children! saw themselves left alone for hour after hour in a corner of the room or the courtyard, badly nourished, and at times scoffed at, or tormented for months by bandages and by useless orthopedic apparatus! Now, however, thanks to care and good food and gymnastic exercises, many are improving. Their schoolmistress makes them practise gymnastics. It was a pitiful sight to see them, at a certain command, extend all those bandaged legs under the benches, squeezed as they were between splints, knotty and deformed; legs which should have been covered with kisses! Some could not rise from the bench, and remained there, with their heads resting on their arms, caressing their crutches with their hands; others, on making the thrust with their arms, felt their breath fail them, and fell back on their seats, all pale; but they smiled to conceal their panting. Ah, Enrico! you other children do not prize your good health, and it seems to you so small a thing to be well! I thought of the strong and thriving lads, whom their mothers carry about in triumph, proud of their beauty; and I could have clasped all those poor little heads, I could have pressed them to my heart, in despair; I could have said, had I been alone, "I will never stir from here again; I wish to consecrate my life to you, to serve you, to be a mother to you all, to my last day." And in the meantime, they sang; sang in peculiar, thin, sweet, sad voices, which penetrated the soul; and when their teacher praised them, they looked happy; and as she passed among the benches, they kissed her hands and wrists; for they are very grateful for what is done for them, and very affectionate. And these little angels have good minds, and study well, the teacher told me. The teacher is young and gentle, with a face full of kindness, a certain expression of sadness, like a reflection of the misfortunes which she caresses and comforts. The dear girl! Among all the human creatures who earn their livelihood by toil, there is not one who earns it more holily than thou, my daughter! THY MOTHER. SACRIFICE. Tuesday, 9th. My mother is good, and my sister Silvia is like her, and has a large and noble heart. Yesterday evening I was copying a part of the monthly story, _From the Apennines to the Andes_,--which the teacher has distributed among us all in small portions to copy, because it is so long,--when Silvia entered on tiptoe, and said to me hastily, and in a low voice: "Come to mamma with me. I heard them talking together this morning: some affair has gone wrong with papa, and he was sad; mamma was encouraging him: we are in difficulties--do you understand? We have no more money. Papa said that it would be necessary to make some sacrifices in order to recover himself. Now we must make sacrifices, too, must we not? Are you ready to do it? Well, I will speak to mamma, and do you nod assent, and promise her on your honor that you will do everything that I shall say." Having said this, she took me by the hand and led me to our mother, who was sewing, absorbed in thought. I sat down on one end of the sofa, Silvia on the other, and she immediately said:-- "Listen, mamma, I have something to say to you. Both of us have something to say to you." Mamma stared at us in surprise, and Silvia began:-- "Papa has no money, has he?" "What are you saying?" replied mamma, turning crimson. "Has he not indeed! What do you know about it? Who has told you?" "I know it," said Silvia, resolutely. "Well, then, listen, mamma; we must make some sacrifices, too. You promised me a fan at the end of May, and Enrico expected his box of paints; we don't want anything now; we don't want to waste a soldo; we shall be just as well pleased--you understand?" Mamma tried to speak; but Silvia said: "No; it must be thus. We have decided. And until papa has money again, we don't want any fruit or anything else; broth will be enough for us, and we will eat bread in the morning for breakfast: thus we shall spend less on the table, for we already spend too much; and we promise you that you will always find us perfectly contented. Is it not so, Enrico?" I replied that it was. "Always perfectly contented," repeated Silvia, closing mamma's mouth with one hand. "And if there are any other sacrifices to be made, either in the matter of clothing or anything else, we will make them gladly; and we will even sell our presents; I will give up all my things, I will serve you as your maid, we will not have anything done out of the house any more, I will work all day long with you, I will do everything you wish, I am ready for anything! For anything!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my mother's neck, "if papa and mamma can only be saved further troubles, if I can only behold you both once more at ease, and in good spirits, as in former days, between your Silvia and your Enrico, who love you so dearly, who would give their lives for you!" Ah! I have never seen my mother so happy as she was on hearing these words; she never before kissed us on the brow in that way, weeping and laughing, and incapable of speech. And then she assured Silvia that she had not understood rightly; that we were not in the least reduced in circumstances, as she imagined; and she thanked us a hundred times, and was cheerful all the evening, until my father came in, when she told him all about it. He did not open his mouth, poor father! But this morning, as we sat at the table, I felt at once both a great pleasure and a great sadness: under my napkin I found my box of colors, and under hers, Silvia found her fan. THE FIRE. Thursday, 11th. This morning I had finished copying my share of the story, _From the Apennines to the Andes_, and was seeking for a theme for the independent composition which the teacher had assigned us to write, when I heard an unusual talking on the stairs, and shortly after two firemen entered the house, and asked permission of my father to inspect the stoves and chimneys, because a smoke-pipe was on fire on the roof, and they could not tell to whom it belonged. My father said, "Pray do so." And although we had no fire burning anywhere, they began to make the round of our apartments, and to lay their ears to the walls, to hear if the fire was roaring in the flues which run up to the other floors of the house. And while they were going through the rooms, my father said to me, "Here is a theme for your composition, Enrico,--the firemen. Try to write down what I am about to tell you. "I saw them at work two years ago, one evening, when I was coming out of the Balbo Theatre late at night. On entering the Via Roma, I saw an unusual light, and a crowd of people collecting. A house was on fire. Tongues of flame and clouds of smoke were bursting from the windows and the roof; men and women appeared at the windows and then disappeared, uttering shrieks of despair. There was a dense throng in front of the door: the crowd was shouting: 'They will be burned alive! Help! The firemen!' At that moment a carriage arrived, four firemen sprang out of it--the first who had reached the town-hall--and rushed into the house. They had hardly gone in when a horrible thing happened: a woman ran to a window of the third story, with a yell, clutched the balcony, climbed down it, and remained suspended, thus clinging, almost suspended in space, with her back outwards, bending beneath the flames, which flashed out from the room and almost licked her head. The crowd uttered a cry of horror. The firemen, who had been stopped on the second floor by mistake by the terrified lodgers, had already broken through a wall and precipitated themselves into a room, when a hundred shouts gave them warning:-- "'On the third floor! On the third floor!' "They flew to the third floor. There there was an infernal uproar,--beams from the roof crashing in, corridors filled with a suffocating smoke. In order to reach the rooms where the lodgers were imprisoned, there was no other way left but to pass over the roof. They instantly sprang upon it, and a moment later something which resembled a black phantom appeared on the tiles, in the midst of the smoke. It was the corporal, who had been the first to arrive. But in order to get from the roof to the small set of rooms cut off by the fire, he was forced to pass over an extremely narrow space comprised between a dormer window and the eavestrough: all the rest was in flames, and that tiny space was covered with snow and ice, and there was no place to hold on to. "'It is impossible for him to pass!' shouted the crowd below. "The corporal advanced along the edge of the roof. All shuddered, and began to observe him with bated breath. He passed. A tremendous hurrah rose towards heaven. The corporal resumed his way, and on arriving at the point which was threatened, he began to break away, with furious blows of his axe, beams, tiles, and rafters, in order to open a hole through which he might descend within. "In the meanwhile, the woman was still suspended outside the window. The fire raged with increased violence over her head; another moment, and she would have fallen into the street. "The hole was opened. We saw the corporal pull off his shoulder-belt and lower himself inside: the other firemen, who had arrived, followed. "At that instant a very lofty Porta ladder, which had just arrived, was placed against the entablature of the house, in front of the windows whence issued flames, and howls, as of maniacs. But it seemed as though they were too late. "'No one can be saved now!' they shouted. 'The firemen are burning! The end has come! They are dead!' "All at once the black form of the corporal made its appearance at the window with the balcony, lighted up by the flames overhead. The woman clasped him round the neck; he caught her round the body with both arms, drew her up, and laid her down inside the room. "The crowd set up a shout a thousand voices strong, which rose above the roar of the conflagration. "But the others? And how were they to get down? The ladder which leaned against the roof on the front of another window was at a good distance from them. How could they get hold of it? "While the people were saying this to themselves, one of the firemen stepped out of the window, set his right foot on the window-sill and his left on the ladder, and standing thus upright in the air, he grasped the lodgers, one after the other, as the other men handed them to him from within, passed them on to a comrade, who had climbed up from the street, and who, after securing a firm grasp for them on the rungs, sent them down, one after the other, with the assistance of more firemen. "First came the woman of the balcony, then a baby, then another woman, then an old man. All were saved. After the old man, the fireman who had remained inside descended. The last to come down was the corporal who had been the first to hasten up. The crowd received them all with a burst of applause; but when the last made his appearance, the vanguard of the rescuers, the one who had faced the abyss in advance of the rest, the one who would have perished had it been fated that one should perish, the crowd saluted him like a conqueror, shouting and stretching out their arms, with an affectionate impulse of admiration and of gratitude, and in a few minutes his obscure name--Giuseppe Robbino--rang from a thousand throats. "Have you understood? That is courage--the courage of the heart, which does not reason, which does not waver, which dashes blindly on, like a lightning flash, wherever it hears the cry of a dying man. One of these days I will take you to the exercises of the firemen, and I will point out to you Corporal Robbino; for you would be very glad to know him, would you not?" I replied that I should. "Here he is," said my father. I turned round with a start. The two firemen, having completed their inspection, were traversing the room in order to reach the door. My father pointed to the smaller of the men, who had straps of gold braid, and said, "Shake hands with Corporal Robbino." The corporal halted, and offered me his hand; I pressed it; he made a salute and withdrew. "And bear this well in mind," said my father; "for out of the thousands of hands which you will shake in the course of your life there will probably not be ten which possess the worth of his." FROM THE APENNINES TO THE ANDES. (_Monthly Story._) Many years ago a Genoese lad of thirteen, the son of a workingman, went from Genoa to America all alone to seek his mother. His mother had gone two years before to Buenos Ayres, a city, the capital of the Argentine Republic, to take service in a wealthy family, and to thus earn in a short time enough to place her family once more in easy circumstances, they having fallen, through various misfortunes, into poverty and debt. There are courageous women--not a few--who take this long voyage with this object in view, and who, thanks to the large wages which people in service receive there, return home at the end of a few years with several thousand lire. The poor mother had wept tears of blood at parting from her children,--the one aged eighteen, the other, eleven; but she had set out courageously and filled with hope. The voyage was prosperous: she had no sooner arrived at Buenos Ayres than she found, through a Genoese shopkeeper, a cousin of her husband, who had been established there for a very long time, a good Argentine family, which gave high wages and treated her well. And for a short time she kept up a regular correspondence with her family. As it had been settled between them, her husband addressed his letters to his cousin, who transmitted them to the woman, and the latter handed her replies to him, and he despatched them to Genoa, adding a few lines of his own. As she was earning eighty lire a month and spending nothing for herself, she sent home a handsome sum every three months, with which her husband, who was a man of honor, gradually paid off their most urgent debts, and thus regained his good reputation. And in the meantime, he worked away and was satisfied with the state of his affairs, since he also cherished the hope that his wife would shortly return; for the house seemed empty without her, and the younger son in particular, who was extremely attached to his mother, was very much depressed, and could not resign himself to having her so far away. But a year had elapsed since they had parted; after a brief letter, in which she said that her health was not very good, they heard nothing more. They wrote twice to the cousin; the cousin did not reply. They wrote to the Argentine family where the woman was at service; but it is possible that the letter never reached them, for they had distorted the name in addressing it: they received no answer. Fearing a misfortune, they wrote to the Italian Consulate at Buenos Ayres to have inquiries made, and after a lapse of three months they received a response from the consul, that in spite of advertisements in the newspapers no one had presented herself nor sent any word. And it could not have happened otherwise, for this reason if for no other: that with the idea of sparing the good name of her family, which she fancied she was discrediting by becoming a servant, the good woman had not given her real name to the Argentine family. Several months more passed by; no news. The father and sons were in consternation; the youngest was oppressed by a melancholy which he could not conquer. What was to be done? To whom should they have recourse? The father's first thought had been to set out, to go to America in search of his wife. But his work? Who would support his sons? And neither could the eldest son go, for he had just then begun to earn something, and he was necessary to the family. And in this anxiety they lived, repeating each day the same sad speeches, or gazing at each other in silence; when, one evening, Marco, the youngest, declared with decision, "I am going to America to look for my mother." His father shook his head sadly and made no reply. It was an affectionate thought, but an impossible thing. To make a journey to America, which required a month, alone, at the age of thirteen! But the boy patiently insisted. He persisted that day, the day after, every day, with great calmness, reasoning with the good sense of a man. "Others have gone thither," he said; "and smaller boys than I, too. Once on board the ship, I shall get there like anybody else. Once arrived there, I only have to hunt up our cousin's shop. There are plenty of Italians there who will show me the street. After finding our cousin, my mother is found; and if I do not find him, I will go to the consul: I will search out that Argentine family. Whatever happens, there is work for all there; I shall find work also; sufficient, at least, to earn enough to get home." And thus little by little he almost succeeded in persuading his father. His father esteemed him; he knew that he had good judgment and courage; that he was inured to privations and to sacrifices; and that all these good qualities had acquired double force in his heart in consequence of the sacred project of finding his mother, whom he adored. In addition to this, the captain of a steamer, the friend of an acquaintance of his, having heard the plan mentioned, undertook to procure a free third-class passage for the Argentine Republic. And then, after a little hesitation, the father gave his consent. The voyage was decided on. They filled a sack with clothes for him, put a few crowns in his pocket, and gave him the address of the cousin; and one fine evening in April they saw him on board. "Marco, my son," his father said to him, as he gave him his last kiss, with tears in his eyes, on the steps of the steamer, which was on the point of starting, "take courage. Thou hast set out on a holy undertaking, and God will aid thee." Poor Marco! His heart was strong and prepared for the hardest trials of this voyage; but when he beheld his beautiful Genoa disappear on the horizon, and found himself on the open sea on that huge steamer thronged with emigrating peasants, alone, unacquainted with any one, with that little bag which held his entire fortune, a sudden discouragement assailed him. For two days he remained crouching like a dog on the bows, hardly eating, and oppressed with a great desire to weep. Every description of sad thoughts passed through his mind, and the saddest, the most terrible, was the one which was the most persistent in its return,--the thought that his mother was dead. In his broken and painful slumbers he constantly beheld a strange face, which surveyed him with an air of compassion, and whispered in his ear, "Your mother is dead!" And then he awoke, stifling a shriek. Nevertheless, after passing the Straits of Gibraltar, at the first sight of the Atlantic Ocean he recovered his spirits a little, and his hope. But it was only a brief respite. That vast but always smooth sea, the increasing heat, the misery of all those poor people who surrounded him, the consciousness of his own solitude, overwhelmed him once more. The empty and monotonous days which succeeded each other became confounded in his memory, as is the case with sick people. It seemed to him that he had been at sea a year. And every morning, on waking, he felt surprised afresh at finding himself there alone on that vast watery expanse, on his way to America. The beautiful flying fish which fell on deck every now and then, the marvellous sunsets of the tropics, with their enormous clouds colored like flame and blood, and those nocturnal phosphorescences which make the ocean seem all on fire like a sea of lava, did not produce on him the effect of real things, but of marvels beheld in a dream. There were days of bad weather, during which he remained constantly in the dormitory, where everything was rolling and crashing, in the midst of a terrible chorus of lamentations and imprecations, and he thought that his last hour had come. There were other days, when the sea was calm and yellowish, of insupportable heat, of infinite tediousness; interminable and wretched hours, during which the enervated passengers, stretched motionless on the planks, seemed all dead. And the voyage was endless: sea and sky, sky and sea; to-day the same as yesterday, to-morrow like to-day, and so on, always, eternally. And for long hours he stood leaning on the bulwarks, gazing at that interminable sea in amazement, thinking vaguely of his mother, until his eyes closed and his head was drooping with sleep; and then again he beheld that unknown face which gazed upon him with an air of compassion, and repeated in his ear, "Your mother is dead!" and at the sound of that voice he awoke with a start, to resume his dreaming with wide-open eyes, and to gaze at the unchanging horizon. The voyage lasted twenty-seven days. But the last days were the best. The weather was fine, and the air cool. He had made the acquaintance of a good old man, a Lombard, who was going to America to find his son, an agriculturist in the vicinity of the town of Rosario; he had told him his whole story, and the old man kept repeating every little while, as he tapped him on the nape of the neck with his hand, "Courage, my lad; you will find your mother well and happy." This companionship comforted him; his sad presentiments were turned into joyous ones. Seated on the bow, beside the aged peasant, who was smoking his pipe, beneath the beautiful starry heaven, in the midst of a group of singing peasants, he imagined to himself in his own mind a hundred times his arrival at Buenos Ayres; he saw himself in a certain street; he found the shop, he flew to his cousin. "How is my mother? Come, let us go at once! Let us go at once!" They hurried on together; they ascended a staircase; a door opened. And here his mute soliloquy came to an end; his imagination was swallowed up in a feeling of inexpressible tenderness, which made him secretly pull forth a little medal that he wore on his neck, and murmur his prayers as he kissed it. On the twenty-seventh day after their departure they arrived. It was a beautiful, rosy May morning, when the steamer cast anchor in the immense river of the Plata, near the shore along which stretches the vast city of Buenos Ayres, the capital of the Argentine Republic. This splendid weather seemed to him to be a good augury. He was beside himself with joy and impatience. His mother was only a few miles from him! In a few hours more he would have seen her! He was in America, in the new world, and he had had the daring to come alone! The whole of that extremely long voyage now seemed to him to have passed in an instant. It seemed to him that he had flown hither in a dream, and that he had that moment waked. And he was so happy, that he hardly experienced any surprise or distress when he felt in his pockets and found only one of the two little heaps into which he had divided his little treasure, in order to be the more sure of not losing the whole of it. He had been robbed; he had only a few lire left; but what mattered that to him, when he was near his mother? With his bag in his hand, he descended, in company with many other Italians, to the tug-boat which carried him within a short distance of the shore; clambered down from the tug into a boat which bore the name of _Andrea Doria_; was landed on the wharf; saluted his old Lombard friend, and directed his course, in long strides, towards the city. On arriving at the entrance of the first street, he stopped a man who was passing by, and begged him to show him in what direction he should go in order to reach the street of _los Artes_. He chanced to have stopped an Italian workingman. The latter surveyed him with curiosity, and inquired if he knew how to read. The lad nodded, "Yes." "Well, then," said the laborer, pointing to the street from which he had just emerged, "keep straight on through there, reading the names of all the streets on the corners; you will end by finding the one you want." The boy thanked him, and turned into the street which opened before him. It was a straight and endless but narrow street, bordered by low white houses, which looked like so many little villas, filled with people, with carriages, with carts which made a deafening noise; here and there floated enormous banners of various hues, with announcements as to the departure of steamers for strange cities inscribed upon them in large letters. At every little distance along the street, on the right and left, he perceived two other streets which ran straight away as far as he could see, also bordered by low white houses, filled with people and vehicles, and bounded at their extremity by the level line of the measureless plains of America, like the horizon at sea. The city seemed infinite to him; it seemed to him that he might wander for days or weeks, seeing other streets like these, on one hand and on the other, and that all America must be covered with them. He looked attentively at the names of the streets: strange names which cost him an effort to read. At every fresh street, he felt his heart beat, at the thought that it was the one he was in search of. He stared at all the women, with the thought that he might meet his mother. He caught sight of one in front of him who made his blood leap; he overtook her: she was a negro. And accelerating his pace, he walked on and on. On arriving at the cross-street, he read, and stood as though rooted to the sidewalk. It was the street _del los Artes_. He turned into it, and saw the number 117; his cousin's shop was No. 175. He quickened his pace still more, and almost ran; at No. 171 he had to pause to regain his breath. And he said to himself, "O my mother! my mother! It is really true that I shall see you in another moment!" He ran on; he arrived at a little haberdasher's shop. This was it. He stepped up close to it. He saw a woman with gray hair and spectacles. "What do you want, boy?" she asked him in Spanish. "Is not this," said the boy, making an effort to utter a sound, "the shop of Francesco Merelli?" "Francesco Merelli is dead," replied the woman in Italian. The boy felt as though he had received a blow on his breast. "When did he die?" "Eh? quite a while ago," replied the woman. "Months ago. His affairs were in a bad state, and he ran away. They say he went to Bahia Blanca, very far from here. And he died just after he reached there. The shop is mine." The boy turned pale. Then he said quickly, "Merelli knew my mother; my mother who was at service with Signor Mequinez. He alone could tell me where she is. I have come to America to find my mother. Merelli sent her our letters. I must find my mother." "Poor boy!" said the woman; "I don't know. I can ask the boy in the courtyard. He knew the young man who did Merelli's errands. He may be able to tell us something." She went to the end of the shop and called the lad, who came instantly. "Tell me," asked the shopwoman, "do you remember whether Merelli's young man went occasionally to carry letters to a woman in service, in the house of the _son of the country_?" "To Signor Mequinez," replied the lad; "yes, signora, sometimes he did. At the end of the street _del los Artes_." "Ah! thanks, signora!" cried Marco. "Tell me the number; don't you know it? Send some one with me; come with me instantly, my boy; I have still a few soldi." And he said this with so much warmth, that without waiting for the woman to request him, the boy replied, "Come," and at once set out at a rapid pace. They proceeded almost at a run, without uttering a word, to the end of the extremely long street, made their way into the entrance of a little white house, and halted in front of a handsome iron gate, through which they could see a small yard, filled with vases of flowers. Marco gave a tug at the bell. A young lady made her appearance. "The Mequinez family lives here, does it not?" demanded the lad anxiously. "They did live here," replied the young lady, pronouncing her Italian in Spanish fashion. "Now we, the Zeballos, live here." "And where have the Mequinez gone?" asked Marco, his heart palpitating. "They have gone to Cordova." "Cordova!" exclaimed Marco. "Where is Cordova? And the person whom they had in their service? The woman, my mother! Their servant was my mother! Have they taken my mother away, too?" The young lady looked at him and said: "I do not know. Perhaps my father may know, for he knew them when they went away. Wait a moment." She ran away, and soon returned with her father, a tall gentleman, with a gray beard. He looked intently for a minute at this sympathetic type of a little Genoese sailor, with his golden hair and his aquiline nose, and asked him in broken Italian, "Is your mother a Genoese?" Marco replied that she was. "Well then, the Genoese maid went with them; that I know for certain." "And where have they gone?" "To Cordova, a city." The boy gave vent to a sigh; then he said with resignation, "Then I will go to Cordova." "Ah, poor child!" exclaimed the gentleman in Spanish; "poor boy! Cordova is hundreds of miles from here." Marco turned as white as a corpse, and clung with one hand to the railings. "Let us see, let us see," said the gentleman, moved to pity, and opening the door; "come inside a moment; let us see if anything can be done." He sat down, gave the boy a seat, and made him tell his story, listened to it very attentively, meditated a little, then said resolutely, "You have no money, have you?" "I still have some, a little," answered Marco. The gentleman reflected for five minutes more; then seated himself at a desk, wrote a letter, sealed it, and handing it to the boy, he said to him:-- "Listen to me, little Italian. Take this letter to Boca. That is a little city which is half Genoese, and lies two hours' journey from here. Any one will be able to show you the road. Go there and find the gentleman to whom this letter is addressed, and whom every one knows. Carry the letter to him. He will send you off to the town of Rosario to-morrow, and will recommend you to some one there, who will think out a way of enabling you to pursue your journey to Cordova, where you will find the Mequinez family and your mother. In the meanwhile, take this." And he placed in his hand a few lire. "Go, and keep up your courage; you will find fellow-countrymen of yours in every direction, and you will not be deserted. _Adios!_" The boy said, "Thanks," without finding any other words to express himself, went out with his bag, and having taken leave of his little guide, he set out slowly in the direction of Boca, filled with sorrow and amazement, across that great and noisy town. Everything that happened to him from that moment until the evening of that day ever afterwards lingered in his memory in a confused and uncertain form, like the wild vagaries of a person in a fever, so weary was he, so troubled, so despondent. And at nightfall on the following day, after having slept over night in a poor little chamber in a house in Boca, beside a harbor porter, after having passed nearly the whole of that day seated on a pile of beams, and, as in delirium, in sight of thousands of ships and boats and tugs, he found himself on the poop of a large sailing vessel, loaded with fruit, which was setting out for the town of Rosario, managed by three robust Genoese, who were bronzed by the sun; and their voices and the dialect which they spoke put a little comfort into his heart once more. They set out, and the voyage lasted three days and four nights, and it was a continual amazement to the little traveller. Three days and four nights on that wonderful river Paranà, in comparison with which our great Po is but a rivulet; and the length of Italy quadrupled does not equal that of its course. The barge advanced slowly against this immeasurable mass of water. It threaded its way among long islands, once the haunts of serpents and tigers, covered with orange-trees and willows, like floating coppices; now they passed through narrow canals, from which it seemed as though they could never issue forth; now they sailed out on vast expanses of water, having the aspect of great tranquil lakes; then among islands again, through the intricate channels of an archipelago, amid enormous masses of vegetation. A profound silence reigned. For long stretches the shores and very vast and solitary waters produced the impression of an unknown stream, upon which this poor little sail was the first in all the world to venture itself. The further they advanced, the more this monstrous river dismayed him. He imagined that his mother was at its source, and that their navigation must last for years. Twice a day he ate a little bread and salted meat with the boatmen, who, perceiving that he was sad, never addressed a word to him. At night he slept on deck and woke every little while with a start, astounded by the limpid light of the moon, which silvered the immense expanse of water and the distant shores; and then his heart sank within him. "Cordova!" He repeated that name, "Cordova!" like the name of one of those mysterious cities of which he had heard in fables. But then he thought, "My mother passed this spot; she saw these islands, these shores;" and then these places upon which the glance of his mother had fallen no longer seemed strange and solitary to him. At night one of the boatmen sang. That voice reminded him of his mother's songs, when she had lulled him to sleep as a little child. On the last night, when he heard that song, he sobbed. The boatman interrupted his song. Then he cried, "Courage, courage, my son! What the deuce! A Genoese crying because he is far from home! The Genoese make the circuit of the world, glorious and triumphant!" And at these words he shook himself, he heard the voice of the Genoese blood, and he raised his head aloft with pride, dashing his fist down on the rudder. "Well, yes," he said to himself; "and if I am also obliged to travel for years and years to come, all over the world, and to traverse hundreds of miles on foot, I will go on until I find my mother, were I to arrive in a dying condition, and fall dead at her feet! If only I can see her once again! Courage!" And with this frame of mind he arrived at daybreak, on a cool and rosy morning, in front of the city of Rosario, situated on the high bank of the Paranà, where the beflagged yards of a hundred vessels of every land were mirrored in the waves. Shortly after landing, he went to the town, bag in hand, to seek an Argentine gentleman for whom his protector in Boca had intrusted him with a visiting-card, with a few words of recommendation. On entering Rosario, it seemed to him that he was coming into a city with which he was already familiar. There were the straight, interminable streets, bordered with low white houses, traversed in all directions above the roofs by great bundles of telegraph and telephone wires, which looked like enormous spiders' webs; and a great confusion of people, of horses, and of vehicles. His head grew confused; he almost thought that he had got back to Buenos Ayres, and must hunt up his cousin once more. He wandered about for nearly an hour, making one turn after another, and seeming always to come back to the same street; and by dint of inquiring, he found the house of his new protector. He pulled the bell. There came to the door a big, light-haired, gruff man, who had the air of a steward, and who demanded awkwardly, with a foreign accent:-- "What do you want?" The boy mentioned the name of his patron. "The master has gone away," replied the steward; "he set out yesterday afternoon for Buenos Ayres, with his whole family." The boy was left speechless. Then he stammered, "But I--I have no one here! I am alone!" and he offered the card. The steward took it, read it, and said surlily: "I don't know what to do for you. I'll give it to him when he returns a month hence." "But I, I am alone; I am in need!" exclaimed the lad, in a supplicating voice. "Eh? come now," said the other; "just as though there were not a plenty of your sort from your country in Rosario! Be off, and do your begging in Italy!" And he slammed the door in his face. The boy stood there as though he had been turned to stone. Then he picked up his bag again slowly, and went out, his heart torn with anguish, with his mind in a whirl, assailed all at once by a thousand anxious thoughts. What was to be done? Where was he to go? From Rosario to Cordova was a day's journey, by rail. He had only a few lire left. After deducting what he should be obliged to spend that day, he would have next to nothing left. Where was he to find the money to pay his fare? He could work--but how? To whom should he apply for work? Ask alms? Ah, no! To be repulsed, insulted, humiliated, as he had been a little while ago? No; never, never more--rather would he die! And at this idea, and at the sight of the very long street which was lost in the distance of the boundless plain, he felt his courage desert him once more, flung his bag on the sidewalk, sat down with his back against the wall, and bent his head between his hands, in an attitude of despair. People jostled him with their feet as they passed; the vehicles filled the road with noise; several boys stopped to look at him. He remained thus for a while. Then he was startled by a voice saying to him in a mixture of Italian and Lombard dialect, "What is the matter, little boy?" He raised his face at these words, and instantly sprang to his feet, uttering an exclamation of wonder: "You here!" It was the old Lombard peasant with whom he had struck up a friendship during the voyage. The amazement of the peasant was no less than his own; but the boy did not leave him time to question him, and he rapidly recounted the state of his affairs. "Now I am without a soldo. I must go to work. Find me work, that I may get together a few lire. I will do anything; I will carry rubbish, I will sweep the streets; I can run on errands, or even work in the country; I am content to live on black bread; but only let it be so that I may set out quickly, that I may find my mother once more. Do me this charity, and find me work, find me work, for the love of God, for I can do no more!" "The deuce! the deuce!" said the peasant, looking about him, and scratching his chin. "What a story is this! To work, to work!--that is soon said. Let us look about a little. Is there no way of finding thirty lire among so many fellow-countrymen?" The boy looked at him, consoled by a ray of hope. "Come with me," said the peasant. "Where?" asked the lad, gathering up his bag again. "Come with me." The peasant started on; Marco followed him. They traversed a long stretch of street together without speaking. The peasant halted at the door of an inn which had for its sign a star, and an inscription beneath, _The Star of Italy_. He thrust his face in, and turning to the boy, he said cheerfully, "We have arrived at just the right moment." They entered a large room, where there were numerous tables, and many men seated, drinking and talking loudly. The old Lombard approached the first table, and from the manner in which he saluted the six guests who were gathered around it, it was evident that he had been in their company until a short time previously. They were red in the face, and were clinking their glasses, and vociferating and laughing. "Comrades," said the Lombard, without any preface, remaining on his feet, and presenting Marco, "here is a poor lad, our fellow-countryman, who has come alone from Genoa to Buenos Ayres to seek his mother. At Buenos Ayres they told him, 'She is not here; she is in Cordova.' He came in a bark to Rosario, three days and three nights on the way, with a couple of lines of recommendation. He presents the card; they make an ugly face at him: he hasn't a centesimo to bless himself with. He is here alone and in despair. He is a lad full of heart. Let us see a bit. Can't we find enough to pay for his ticket to go to Cordova in search of his mother? Are we to leave him here like a dog?" "Never in the world, by Heavens! That shall never be said!" they all shouted at once, hammering on the table with their fists. "A fellow-countryman of ours! Come hither, little fellow! We are emigrants! See what a handsome young rogue! Out with your coppers, comrades! Bravo! Come alone! He has daring! Drink a sup, _patriotta_! We'll send you to your mother; never fear!" And one pinched his cheek, another slapped him on the shoulder, a third relieved him of his bag; other emigrants rose from the neighboring tables, and gathered about; the boy's story made the round of the inn; three Argentine guests hurried in from the adjoining room; and in less than ten minutes the Lombard peasant, who was passing round the hat, had collected forty-two lire. "Do you see," he then said, turning to the boy, "how fast things are done in America?" "Drink!" cried another to him, offering him a glass of wine; "to the health of your mother!" All raised their glasses, and Marco repeated, "To the health of my--" But a sob of joy choked him, and, setting the glass on the table, he flung himself on the old man's neck. At daybreak on the following morning he set out for Cordova, ardent and smiling, filled with presentiments of happiness. But there is no cheerfulness that rules for long in the face of certain sinister aspects of nature. The weather was close and dull; the train, which was nearly empty, ran through an immense plain, destitute of every sign of habitation. He found himself alone in a very long car, which resembled those on trains for the wounded. He gazed to the right, he gazed to the left, and he saw nothing but an endless solitude, strewn with tiny, deformed trees, with contorted trunks and branches, in attitudes such as were never seen before, almost of wrath and anguish, and a sparse and melancholy vegetation, which gave to the plain the aspect of a ruined cemetery. He dozed for half an hour; then resumed his survey: the spectacle was still the same. The railway stations were deserted, like the dwellings of hermits; and when the train stopped, not a sound was heard; it seemed to him that he was alone in a lost train, abandoned in the middle of a desert. It seemed to him as though each station must be the last, and that he should then enter the mysterious regions of the savages. An icy breeze nipped his face. On embarking at Genoa, towards the end of April, it had not occurred to him that he should find winter in America, and he was dressed for summer. After several hours of this he began to suffer from cold, and in connection with the cold, from the fatigue of the days he had recently passed through, filled as they had been with violent emotions, and from sleepless and harassing nights. He fell asleep, slept a long time, and awoke benumbed; he felt ill. Then a vague terror of falling ill, of dying on the journey, seized upon him; a fear of being thrown out there, in the middle of that desolate prairie, where his body would be torn in pieces by dogs and birds of prey, like the corpses of horses and cows which he had caught sight of every now and then beside the track, and from which he had turned aside his eyes in disgust. In this state of anxious illness, in the midst of that dark silence of nature, his imagination grew excited, and looked on the dark side of things. Was he quite sure, after all, that he should find his mother at Cordova? And what if she had not gone there? What if that gentleman in the Via del los Artes had made a mistake? And what if she were dead? Thus meditating, he fell asleep again, and dreamed that he was in Cordova, and it was night, and that he heard cries from all the doors and all the windows: "She is not here! She is not here! She is not here!" This roused him with a start, in terror, and he saw at the other end of the car three bearded men enveloped in shawls of various colors who were staring at him and talking together in a low tone; and the suspicion flashed across him that they were assassins, and that they wanted to kill him for the sake of stealing his bag. Fear was added to his consciousness of illness and to the cold; his fancy, already perturbed, became distorted: the three men kept on staring at him; one of them moved towards him; then his reason wandered, and rushing towards him with arms wide open, he shrieked, "I have nothing; I am a poor boy; I have come from Italy; I am in quest of my mother; I am alone: do not do me any harm!" They instantly understood the situation; they took compassion on him, caressed and soothed him, speaking to him many words which he did not hear nor comprehend; and perceiving that his teeth were chattering with cold, they wrapped one of their shawls around him, and made him sit down again, so that he might go to sleep. And he did fall asleep once more, when the twilight was descending. When they aroused him, he was at Cordova. Ah, what a deep breath he drew, and with what impetuosity he flew from the car! He inquired of one of the station employees where the house of the engineer Mequinez was situated; the latter mentioned the name of a church; it stood beside the church: the boy hastened away. It was night. He entered the city, and it seemed to him that he was entering Rosario once more; that he again beheld those straight streets, flanked with little white houses, and intersected by other very long and straight streets. But there were very few people, and under the light of the rare street lanterns, he encountered strange faces of a hue unknown to him, between black and greenish; and raising his head from time to time, he beheld churches of bizarre architecture which were outlined black and vast against the sky. The city was dark and silent, but after having traversed that immense desert, it appeared lively to him. He inquired his way of a priest, speedily found the church and the house, pulled the bell with one trembling hand, and pressed the other on his breast to repress the beating of his heart, which was leaping into his throat. An old woman, with a light in her hand, opened the door. The boy could not speak at once. "Whom do you want?" demanded the dame in Spanish. "The engineer Mequinez," replied Marco. The old woman made a motion to cross her arms on her breast, and replied, with a shake of the head: "So you, too, have dealings with the engineer Mequinez! It strikes me that it is time to stop this. We have been worried for the last three months. It is not enough that the newspapers have said it. We shall have to have it printed on the corner of the street, that Signor Mequinez has gone to live at Tucuman!" The boy gave way to a gesture of despair. Then he gave way to an outburst of passion. "So there is a curse upon me! I am doomed to die on the road, without having found my mother! I shall go mad! I shall kill myself! My God! what is the name of that country? Where is it? At what distance is it situated?" "Eh, poor boy," replied the old woman, moved to pity; "a mere trifle! We are four or five hundred miles from there, at least." The boy covered his face with his hands; then he asked with a sob, "And now what am I to do!" "What am I to say to you, my poor child?" responded the dame: "I don't know." But suddenly an idea struck her, and she added hastily: "Listen, now that I think of it. There is one thing that you can do. Go down this street, to the right, and at the third house you will find a courtyard; there there is a _capataz_, a trader, who is setting out to-morrow for Tucuman, with his wagons and his oxen. Go and see if he will take you, and offer him your services; perhaps he will give you a place on his wagons: go at once." The lad grasped his bag, thanked her as he ran, and two minutes later found himself in a vast courtyard, lighted by lanterns, where a number of men were engaged in loading sacks of grain on certain enormous carts which resembled the movable houses of mountebanks, with rounded tops, and very tall wheels; and a tall man with mustaches, enveloped in a sort of mantle of black and white check, and with big boots, was directing the work. The lad approached this man, and timidly proffered his request, saying that he had come from Italy, and that he was in search of his mother. The _capataz_, which signifies the head (the head conductor of this convoy of wagons), surveyed him from head to foot with a keen glance, and replied drily, "I have no place." "I have fifteen lire," answered the boy in a supplicating tone; "I will give you my fifteen lire. I will work on the journey; I will fetch the water and fodder for the animals; I will perform all sorts of services. A little bread will suffice for me. Make a little place for me, signor." The _capataz_ looked him over again, and replied with a better grace, "There is no room; and then, we are not going to Tucuman; we are going to another town, Santiago dell'Estero. We shall have to leave you at a certain point, and you will still have a long way to go on foot." "Ah, I will make twice as long a journey!" exclaimed Marco; "I can walk; do not worry about that; I shall get there by some means or other: make a little room for me, signor, out of charity; for pity's sake, do not leave me here alone!" "Beware; it is a journey of twenty days." "It matters nothing to me." "It is a hard journey." "I will endure everything." "You will have to travel alone." "I fear nothing, if I can only find my mother. Have compassion!" The _capataz_ drew his face close to a lantern, and scrutinized him. Then he said, "Very well." The lad kissed his hand. "You shall sleep in one of the wagons to-night," added the _capataz_, as he quitted him; "to-morrow morning, at four o'clock, I will wake you. Good night." At four o'clock in the morning, by the light of the stars, the long string of wagons was set in motion with a great noise; each cart was drawn by six oxen, and all were followed by a great number of spare animals for a change. The boy, who had been awakened and placed in one of the carts, on the sacks, instantly fell again into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the convoy had halted in a solitary spot, full in the sun, and all the men--the _peones_--were seated round a quarter of calf, which was roasting in the open air, beside a large fire, which was flickering in the wind. They all ate together, took a nap, and then set out again; and thus the journey continued, regulated like a march of soldiers. Every morning they set out on the road at five o'clock, halted at nine, set out again at five o'clock in the evening, and halted again at ten. The _peones_ rode on horseback, and stimulated the oxen with long goads. The boy lighted the fire for the roasting, gave the beasts their fodder, polished up the lanterns, and brought water for drinking. The landscape passed before him like an indistinct vision: vast groves of little brown trees; villages consisting of a few scattered houses, with red and battlemented façades; very vast tracts, possibly the ancient beds of great salt lakes, which gleamed white with salt as far as the eye could reach; and on every hand, and always, the prairie, solitude, silence. On very rare occasions they encountered two or three travellers on horseback, followed by a herd of picked horses, who passed them at a gallop, like a whirlwind. The days were all alike, as at sea, wearisome and interminable; but the weather was fine. But the _peones_ became more and more exacting every day, as though the lad were their bond slave; some of them treated him brutally, with threats; all forced him to serve them without mercy: they made him carry enormous bundles of forage; they sent him to get water at great distances; and he, broken with fatigue, could not even sleep at night, continually tossed about as he was by the violent jolts of the wagon, and the deafening groaning of the wheels and wooden axles. And in addition to this, the wind having risen, a fine, reddish, greasy dust, which enveloped everything, penetrated the wagon, made its way under the covers, filled his eyes and mouth, robbed him of sight and breath, constantly, oppressively, insupportably. Worn out with toil and lack of sleep, reduced to rags and dirt, reproached and ill treated from morning till night, the poor boy grew every day more dejected, and would have lost heart entirely if the _capataz_ had not addressed a kind word to him now and then. He often wept, unseen, in a corner of the wagon, with his face against his bag, which no longer contained anything but rags. Every morning he rose weaker and more discouraged, and as he looked out over the country, and beheld always the same boundless and implacable plain, like a terrestrial ocean, he said to himself: "Ah, I shall not hold out until to-night! I shall not hold out until to-night! To-day I shall die on the road!" And his toil increased, his ill treatment was redoubled. One morning, in the absence of the _capataz_, one of the men struck him, because he had delayed in fetching the water. And then they all began to take turns at it, when they gave him an order, dealing him a kick, saying: "Take that, you vagabond! Carry that to your mother!" His heart was breaking. He fell ill; for three days he remained in the wagon, with a coverlet over him, fighting a fever, and seeing no one except the _capataz_, who came to give him his drink and feel his pulse. And then he believed that he was lost, and invoked his mother in despair, calling her a hundred times by name: "O my mother! my mother! Help me! Come to me, for I am dying! Oh, my poor mother, I shall never see you again! My poor mother, who will find me dead beside the way!" And he folded his hands over his bosom and prayed. Then he grew better, thanks to the care of the _capataz_, and recovered; but with his recovery arrived the most terrible day of his journey, the day on which he was to be left to his own devices. They had been on the way for more than two weeks; when they arrived at the point where the road to Tucuman parted from that which leads to Santiago dell'Estero, the _capataz_ announced to him that they must separate. He gave him some instructions with regard to the road, tied his bag on his shoulders in a manner which would not annoy him as he walked, and, breaking off short, as though he feared that he should be affected, he bade him farewell. The boy had barely time to kiss him on one arm. The other men, too, who had treated him so harshly, seemed to feel a little pity at the sight of him left thus alone, and they made signs of farewell to him as they moved away. And he returned the salute with his hand, stood watching the convoy until it was lost to sight in the red dust of the plain, and then set out sadly on his road. [Illustration: "HE STOOD WATCHING THE CONVOY UNTIL IT WAS LOST TO SIGHT."--Page 263.] One thing, on the other hand, comforted him a little from the first. After all those days of travel across that endless plain, which was forever the same, he saw before him a chain of mountains very high and blue, with white summits, which reminded him of the Alps, and gave him the feeling of having drawn near to his own country once more. They were the Andes, the dorsal spine of the American continent, that immense chain which extends from Tierra del Fuego to the glacial sea of the Arctic pole, through a hundred and ten degrees of latitude. And he was also comforted by the fact that the air seemed to him to grow constantly warmer; and this happened, because, in ascending towards the north, he was slowly approaching the tropics. At great distances apart there were tiny groups of houses with a petty shop; and he bought something to eat. He encountered men on horseback; every now and then he saw women and children seated on the ground, motionless and grave, with faces entirely new to him, of an earthen hue, with oblique eyes and prominent cheek-bones, who looked at him intently, and accompanied him with their gaze, turning their heads slowly like automatons. They were Indians. The first day he walked as long as his strength would permit, and slept under a tree. On the second day he made considerably less progress, and with less spirit. His shoes were dilapidated, his feet wounded, his stomach weakened by bad food. Towards evening he began to be alarmed. He had heard, in Italy, that in this land there were serpents; he fancied that he heard them crawling; he halted, then set out on a run, and with cold chills in all his bones. At times he was seized with a profound pity for himself, and he wept silently as he walked. Then he thought, "Oh, how much my mother would suffer if she knew that I am afraid!" and this thought restored his courage. Then, in order to distract his thoughts from fear, he meditated much of her; he recalled to mind her words when she had set out from Genoa, and the movement with which she had arranged the coverlet beneath his chin when he was in bed, and when he was a baby; for every time that she took him in her arms, she said to him, "Stay here a little while with me"; and thus she remained for a long time, with her head resting on his, thinking, thinking. And he said to himself: "Shall I see thee again, dear mother? Shall I arrive at the end of my journey, my mother?" And he walked on and on, among strange trees, vast plantations of sugar-cane, and fields without end, always with those blue mountains in front of him, which cut the sky with their exceedingly lofty crests. Four days, five days--a week, passed. His strength was rapidly declining, his feet were bleeding. Finally, one evening at sunset, they said to him:-- "Tucuman is fifty miles from here." He uttered a cry of joy, and hastened his steps, as though he had, in that moment, regained all his lost vigor. But it was a brief illusion. His forces suddenly abandoned him, and he fell upon the brink of a ditch, exhausted. But his heart was beating with content. The heaven, thickly sown with the most brilliant stars, had never seemed so beautiful to him. He contemplated it, as he lay stretched out on the grass to sleep, and thought that, perhaps, at that very moment, his mother was gazing at him. And he said:-- "O my mother, where art thou? What art thou doing at this moment? Dost thou think of thy son? Dost thou think of thy Marco, who is so near to thee?" Poor Marco! If he could have seen in what a case his mother was at that moment, he would have made a superhuman effort to proceed on his way, and to reach her a few hours earlier. She was ill in bed, in a ground-floor room of a lordly mansion, where dwelt the entire Mequinez family. The latter had become very fond of her, and had helped her a great deal. The poor woman had already been ailing when the engineer Mequinez had been obliged unexpectedly to set out far from Buenos Ayres, and she had not benefited at all by the fine air of Cordova. But then, the fact that she had received no response to her letters from her husband, nor from her cousin, the presentiment, always lively, of some great misfortune, the continual anxiety in which she had lived, between the parting and staying, expecting every day some bad news, had caused her to grow worse out of all proportion. Finally, a very serious malady had declared itself,--a strangled internal rupture. She had not risen from her bed for a fortnight. A surgical operation was necessary to save her life. And at precisely the moment when Marco was apostrophizing her, the master and mistress of the house were standing beside her bed, arguing with her, with great gentleness, to persuade her to allow herself to be operated on, and she was persisting in her refusal, and weeping. A good physician of Tucuman had come in vain a week before. "No, my dear master," she said; "do not count upon it; I have not the strength to resist; I should die under the surgeon's knife. It is better to allow me to die thus. I no longer cling to life. All is at an end for me. It is better to die before learning what has happened to my family." And her master and mistress opposed, and said that she must take courage, that she would receive a reply to the last letters, which had been sent directly to Genoa; that she must allow the operation to be performed; that it must be done for the sake of her family. But this suggestion of her children only aggravated her profound discouragement, which had for a long time prostrated her, with increasing anguish. At these words she burst into tears. "O my sons! my sons!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands; "perhaps they are no longer alive! It is better that I should die also. I thank you, my good master and mistress; I thank you from my heart. But it is better that I should die. At all events, I am certain that I shall not be cured by this operation. Thanks for all your care, my good master and mistress. It is useless for the doctor to come again after to-morrow. I wish to die. It is my fate to die here. I have decided." And they began again to console her, and to repeat, "Don't say that," and to take her hand and beseech her. But she closed her eyes then in exhaustion, and fell into a doze, so that she appeared to be dead. And her master and mistress remained there a little while, by the faint light of a taper, watching with great compassion that admirable mother, who, for the sake of saving her family, had come to die six thousand miles from her country, to die after having toiled so hard, poor woman! and she was so honest, so good, so unfortunate. Early on the morning of the following day, Marco, bent and limping, with his bag on his back, entered the city of Tucuman, one of the youngest and most flourishing towns of the Argentine Republic. It seemed to him that he beheld again Cordova, Rosario, Buenos Ayres: there were the same straight and extremely long streets, the same low white houses, but on every hand there was a new and magnificent vegetation, a perfumed air, a marvellous light, a sky limpid and profound, such as he had never seen even in Italy. As he advanced through the streets, he experienced once more the feverish agitation which had seized on him at Buenos Ayres; he stared at the windows and doors of all the houses; he stared at all the women who passed him, with an anxious hope that he might meet his mother; he would have liked to question every one, but did not dare to stop any one. All the people who were standing at their doors turned to gaze after the poor, tattered, dusty lad, who showed that he had come from afar. And he was seeking, among all these people, a countenance which should inspire him with confidence, in order to direct to its owner that tremendous query, when his eyes fell upon the sign of an inn upon which was inscribed an Italian name. Inside were a man with spectacles, and two women. He approached the door slowly, and summoning up a resolute spirit, he inquired:-- "Can you tell me, signor, where the family Mequinez is?" "The engineer Mequinez?" asked the innkeeper in his turn. "The engineer Mequinez," replied the lad in a thread of a voice. "The Mequinez family is not in Tucuman," replied the innkeeper. A cry of desperate pain, like that of one who has been stabbed, formed an echo to these words. The innkeeper and the women rose, and some neighbors ran up. "What's the matter? what ails you, my boy?" said the innkeeper, drawing him into the shop and making him sit down. "The deuce! there's no reason for despairing! The Mequinez family is not here, but at a little distance off, a few hours from Tucuman." "Where? where?" shrieked Marco, springing up like one restored to life. "Fifteen miles from here," continued the man, "on the river, at Saladillo, in a place where a big sugar factory is being built, and a cluster of houses; Signor Mequinez's house is there; every one knows it: you can reach it in a few hours." "I was there a month ago," said a youth, who had hastened up at the cry. Marco stared at him with wide-open eyes, and asked him hastily, turning pale as he did so, "Did you see the servant of Signor Mequinez--the Italian?" "The Genoese? Yes; I saw her." Marco burst into a convulsive sob, which was half a laugh and half a sob. Then, with a burst of violent resolution: "Which way am I to go? quick, the road! I shall set out instantly; show me the way!" "But it is a day's march," they all told him, in one breath. "You are weary; you should rest; you can set out to-morrow." "Impossible! impossible!" replied the lad. "Tell me the way; I will not wait another instant; I shall set out at once, were I to die on the road!" On perceiving him so inflexible, they no longer opposed him. "May God accompany you!" they said to him. "Look out for the path through the forest. A fair journey to you, little Italian!" A man accompanied him outside of the town, pointed out to him the road, gave him some counsel, and stood still to watch him start. At the expiration of a few minutes, the lad disappeared, limping, with his bag on his shoulders, behind the thick trees which lined the road. That night was a dreadful one for the poor sick woman. She suffered atrocious pain, which wrung from her shrieks that were enough to burst her veins, and rendered her delirious at times. The women waited on her. She lost her head. Her mistress ran in, from time to time, in affright. All began to fear that, even if she had decided to allow herself to be operated on, the doctor, who was not to come until the next day, would have arrived too late. During the moments when she was not raving, however, it was evident that her most terrible torture arose not from her bodily pains, but from the thought of her distant family. Emaciated, wasted away, with changed visage, she thrust her hands through her hair, with a gesture of desperation, and shrieked:-- "My God! My God! To die so far away, to die without seeing them again! My poor children, who will be left without a mother, my poor little creatures, my poor darlings! My Marco, who is still so small! only as tall as this, and so good and affectionate! You do not know what a boy he was! If you only knew, signora! I could not detach him from my neck when I set out; he sobbed in a way to move your pity; he sobbed; it seemed as though he knew that he would never behold his poor mother again. Poor Marco, my poor baby! I thought that my heart would break! Ah, if I had only died then, died while they were bidding me farewell! If I had but dropped dead! Without a mother, my poor child, he who loved me so dearly, who needed me so much! without a mother, in misery, he will be forced to beg! He, Marco, my Marco, will stretch out his hand, famishing! O eternal God! No! I will not die! The doctor! Call him at once I let him come, let him cut me, let him cleave my breast, let him drive me mad; but let him save my life! I want to recover; I want to live, to depart, to flee, to-morrow, at once! The doctor! Help! help!" And the women seized her hands and soothed her, and made her calm herself little by little, and spoke to her of God and of hope. And then she fell back again into a mortal dejection, wept with her hands clutched in her gray hair, moaned like an infant, uttering a prolonged lament, and murmuring from time to time:-- "O my Genoa! My house! All that sea!--O my Marco, my poor Marco! Where is he now, my poor darling?" It was midnight; and her poor Marco, after having passed many hours on the brink of a ditch, his strength exhausted, was then walking through a forest of gigantic trees, monsters of vegetation, huge boles like the pillars of a cathedral, which interlaced their enormous crests, silvered by the moon, at a wonderful height. Vaguely, amid the half gloom, he caught glimpses of myriads of trunks of all forms, upright, inclined, contorted, crossed in strange postures of menace and of conflict; some overthrown on the earth, like towers which had fallen bodily, and covered with a dense and confused mass of vegetation, which seemed like a furious throng, disputing the ground span by span; others collected in great groups, vertical and serrated, like trophies of titanic lances, whose tips touched the clouds; a superb grandeur, a prodigious disorder of colossal forms, the most majestically terrible spectacle which vegetable nature ever presented. At times he was overwhelmed by a great stupor. But his mind instantly took flight again towards his mother. He was worn out, with bleeding feet, alone in the middle of this formidable forest, where it was only at long intervals that he saw tiny human habitations, which at the foot of these trees seemed like the ant-hills, or some buffalo asleep beside the road; he was exhausted, but he was not conscious of his exhaustion; he was alone, and he felt no fear. The grandeur of the forest rendered his soul grand; his nearness to his mother gave him the strength and the hardihood of a man; the memory of the ocean, of the alarms and the sufferings which he had undergone and vanquished, of the toil which he had endured, of the iron constancy which he had displayed, caused him to uplift his brow. All his strong and noble Genoese blood flowed back to his heart in an ardent tide of joy and audacity. And a new thing took place within him; while he had, up to this time, borne in his mind an image of his mother, dimmed and paled somewhat by the two years of absence, at that moment the image grew clear; he again beheld her face, perfect and distinct, as he had not beheld it for a long time; he beheld it close to him, illuminated, speaking; he again beheld the most fleeting motions of her eyes, and of her lips, all her attitudes, all the shades of her thoughts; and urged on by these pursuing recollections, he hastened his steps; and a new affection, an unspeakable tenderness, grew in him, grew in his heart, making sweet and quiet tears to flow down his face; and as he advanced through the gloom, he spoke to her, he said to her the words which he would murmur in her ear in a little while more:-- "I am here, my mother; behold me here. I will never leave you again; we will return home together, and I will remain always beside you on board the ship, close beside you, and no one shall ever part me from you again, no one, never more, so long as I have life!" And in the meantime he did not observe how the silvery light of the moon was dying away on the summits of the gigantic trees in the delicate whiteness of the dawn. At eight o'clock on that morning, the doctor from Tucuman, a young Argentine, was already by the bedside of the sick woman, in company with an assistant, endeavoring, for the last time, to persuade her to permit herself to be operated on; and the engineer Mequinez and his wife added their warmest persuasions to those of the former. But all was in vain. The woman, feeling her strength exhausted, had no longer any faith in the operation; she was perfectly certain that she should die under it, or that she should only survive it a few hours, after having suffered in vain pains that were more atrocious than those of which she should die in any case. The doctor lingered to tell her once more:-- "But the operation is a safe one; your safety is certain, provided you exercise a little courage! And your death is equally certain if you refuse!" It was a sheer waste of words. "No," she replied in a faint voice, "I still have courage to die; but I no longer have any to suffer uselessly. Leave me to die in peace." The doctor desisted in discouragement. No one said anything more. Then the woman turned her face towards her mistress, and addressed to her her last prayers in a dying voice. "Dear, good signora," she said with a great effort, sobbing, "you will send this little money and my poor effects to my family--through the consul. I hope that they may all be alive. My heart presages well in these, my last moments. You will do me the favor to write--that I have always thought of them, that I have always toiled for them--for my children--that my sole grief was not to see them once more--but that I died courageously--with resignation--blessing them; and that I recommend to my husband--and to my elder son--the youngest, my poor Marco--that I bore him in my heart until the last moment--" And suddenly she became excited, and shrieked, as she clasped her hands: "My Marco, my baby, my baby! My life!--" But on casting her tearful eyes round her, she perceived that her mistress was no longer there; she had been secretly called away. She sought her master; he had disappeared. No one remained with her except the two nurses and the assistant. She heard in the adjoining room the sound of hurried footsteps, a murmur of hasty and subdued voices, and repressed exclamations. The sick woman fixed her glazing eyes on the door, in expectation. At the end of a few minutes she saw the doctor appear with an unusual expression on his face; then her mistress and master, with their countenances also altered. All three gazed at her with a singular expression, and exchanged a few words in a low tone. She fancied that the doctor said to her mistress, "Better let it be at once." She did not understand. "Josefa," said her mistress to the sick woman, in a trembling voice, "I have some good news for you. Prepare your heart for good news." The woman observed her intently. "News," pursued the lady, with increasing agitation, "which will give you great joy." The sick woman's eyes dilated. "Prepare yourself," continued her mistress, "to see a person--of whom you are very fond." The woman raised her head with a vigorous movement, and began to gaze in rapid succession, first at the lady and then at the door, with flashing eyes. "A person," added the lady, turning pale, "who has just arrived--unexpectedly." "Who is it?" shrieked the woman, with a strange and choked voice, like that of a person in terror. An instant later she gave vent to a shrill scream, sprang into a sitting posture in her bed, and remained motionless, with starting eyes, and her hands pressed to her temples, as in the presence of a supernatural apparition. Marco, tattered and dusty, stood there on the threshold, held back by the doctor's hand on one arm. The woman uttered three shrieks: "God! God! My God!" Marco rushed forward; she stretched out to him her fleshless arms, and straining him to her heart with the strength of a tiger, she burst into a violent laugh, broken by deep, tearless sobs, which caused her to fall back suffocating on her pillow. But she speedily recovered herself, and mad with joy, she shrieked as she covered his head with kisses: "How do you come here? Why? Is it you? How you have grown! Who brought you? Are you alone? You are not ill? It is you, Marco! It is not a dream! My God! Speak to me!" Then she suddenly changed her tone: "No! Be silent! Wait!" And turning to the doctor, she said with precipitation: "Quick, doctor! this instant! I want to get well. I am ready. Do not lose a moment. Take Marco away, so that he may not hear.--Marco, my love, it is nothing. I will tell you about it. One more kiss. Go!--Here I am, doctor." Marco was taken away. The master, mistress, and women retired in haste; the surgeon and his assistant remained behind, and closed the door. Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to a distant room, but it was impossible; he seemed rooted to the pavement. "What is it?" he asked. "What is the matter with my mother? What are they doing to her?" And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to draw him away: "Here! Listen to me. I will tell you now. Your mother is ill; she must undergo a little operation; I will explain it all to you: come with me." "No," replied the lad, resisting; "I want to stay here. Explain it to me here." The engineer heaped words on words, as he drew him away; the boy began to grow terrified and to tremble. Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one wounded to the death, rang through the whole house. The boy responded with another desperate shriek, "My mother is dead!" The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, "Your mother is saved." The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then flung himself at his feet, sobbing, "Thanks, doctor!" But the doctor raised him with a gesture, saying: "Rise! It is you, you heroic child, who have saved your mother!" SUMMER. Wednesday, 24th. Marco, the Genoese, is the last little hero but one whose acquaintance we shall make this year; only one remains for the month of June. There are only two more monthly examinations, twenty-six days of lessons, six Thursdays, and five Sundays. The air of the end of the year is already perceptible. The trees of the garden, leafy and in blossom, cast a fine shade on the gymnastic apparatus. The scholars are already dressed in summer clothes. And it is beautiful, at the close of school and the exit of the classes, to see how different everything is from what it was in the months that are past. The long locks which touched the shoulders have disappeared; all heads are closely shorn; bare legs and throats are to be seen; little straw hats of every shape, with ribbons that descend even on the backs of the wearers; shirts and neckties of every hue; all the little children with something red or blue about them, a facing, a border, a tassel, a scrap of some vivid color tacked on somewhere by the mother, so that even the poorest may make a good figure; and many come to school without any hats, as though they had run away from home. Some wear the white gymnasium suit. There is one of Schoolmistress Delcati's boys who is red from head to foot, like a boiled crab. Several are dressed like sailors. But the finest of all is the little mason, who has donned a big straw hat, which gives him the appearance of a half-candle with a shade over it; and it is ridiculous to see him make his hare's face beneath it. Coretti, too, has abandoned his catskin cap, and wears an old travelling-cap of gray silk. Votini has a sort of Scotch dress, all decorated; Crossi displays his bare breast; Precossi is lost inside of a blue blouse belonging to the blacksmith-ironmonger. And Garoffi? Now that he has been obliged to discard the cloak beneath which he concealed his wares, all his pockets are visible, bulging with all sorts of huckster's trifles, and the lists of his lotteries force themselves out. Now all his pockets allow their contents to be seen,--fans made of half a newspaper, knobs of canes, darts to fire at birds, herbs, and maybugs which creep out of his pockets and crawl gradually over the jackets. Many of the little fellows carry bunches of flowers to the mistresses. The mistresses are dressed in summer garments also, of cheerful tints; all except the "little nun," who is always in black; and the mistress with the red feather still has her red feather, and a knot of red ribbon at her neck, all tumbled with the little paws of her scholars, who always make her laugh and flee. It is the season, too, of cherry-trees, of butterflies, of music in the streets, and of rambles in the country; many of the fourth grade run away to bathe in the Po; all have their hearts already set on the vacation; each day they issue forth from school more impatient and content than the day before. Only it pains me to see Garrone in mourning, and my poor mistress of the primary, who is thinner and whiter than ever, and who coughs with ever-increasing violence. She walks all bent over now, and salutes me so sadly! POETRY. Friday, 26th. You are now beginning to comprehend the poetry of school, Enrico; but at present you only survey the school from within. It will seem much more beautiful and more poetic to you twenty years from now, when you go thither to escort your own boys; and you will then survey it from the outside, as I do. While waiting for school to close, I wander about the silent street, in the vicinity of the edifice, and lay my ear to the windows of the ground floor, which are screened by Venetian blinds. At one window I hear the voice of a schoolmistress saying:-- "Ah, what a shape for a _t_! It won't do, my dear boy! What would your father say to it?" At the next window there resounds the heavy voice of a master, which is saying:-- "I will buy fifty metres of stuff--at four lire and a half the metre--and sell it again--" Further on there is the mistress with the red feather, who is reading aloud:-- "Then Pietro Micca, with the lighted train of powder--" From the adjoining class-room comes the chirping of a thousand birds, which signifies that the master has stepped out for a moment. I proceed onward, and as I turn the corner, I hear a scholar weeping, and the voice of the mistress reproving and comforting him. From the lofty windows issue verses, names of great and good men, fragments of sentences which inculcate virtue, the love of country, and courage. Then ensue moments of silence, in which one would declare that the edifice is empty, and it does not seem possible that there should be seven hundred boys within; noisy outbursts of hilarity become audible, provoked by the jest of a master in a good humor. And the people who are passing halt, and all direct a glance of sympathy towards that pleasing building, which contains so much youth and so many hopes. Then a sudden dull sound is heard, a clapping to of books and portfolios, a shuffling of feet, a buzz which spreads from room to room, and from the lower to the higher, as at the sudden diffusion of a bit of good news: it is the beadle, who is making his rounds, announcing the dismissal of school. And at that sound a throng of women, men, girls, and youths press closer from this side and that of the door, waiting for their sons, brothers, or grandchildren; while from the doors of the class-rooms little boys shoot forth into the big hall, as from a spout, seize their little capes and hats, creating a great confusion with them on the floor, and dancing all about, until the beadle chases them forth one after the other. And at length they come forth, in long files, stamping their feet. And then from all the relatives there descends a shower of questions: "Did you know your lesson?--How much work did they give you?--What have you to do for to-morrow!--When does the monthly examination come?" And then even the poor mothers who do not know how to read, open the copy-books, gaze at the problems, and ask particulars: "Only eight?--Ten with commendation?--Nine for the lesson?" And they grow uneasy, and rejoice, and interrogate the masters, and talk of prospectuses and examinations. How beautiful all this is, and how great and how immense is its promise for the world! THY FATHER. THE DEAF-MUTE. Sunday, 28th. The month of May could not have had a better ending than my visit of this morning. We heard a jingling of the bell, and all ran to see what it meant. I heard my father say in a tone of astonishment:-- "You here, Giorgio?" Giorgio was our gardener in Chieri, who now has his family at Condove, and who had just arrived from Genoa, where he had disembarked on the preceding day, on his return from Greece, where he has been working on the railway for the last three years. He had a big bundle in his arms. He has grown a little older, but his face is still red and jolly. My father wished to have him enter; but he refused, and suddenly inquired, assuming a serious expression: "How is my family? How is Gigia?" "She was well a few days ago," replied my mother. Giorgio uttered a deep sigh. "Oh, God be praised! I had not the courage to present myself at the Deaf-mute Institution until I had heard about her. I will leave my bundle here, and run to get her. It is three years since I have seen my poor little daughter! Three years since I have seen any of my people!" My father said to me, "Accompany him." "Excuse me; one word more," said the gardener, from the landing. My father interrupted him, "And your affairs?" "All right," the other replied. "Thanks to God, I have brought back a few soldi. But I wanted to inquire. Tell me how the education of the little dumb girl is getting on. When I left her, she was a poor little animal, poor thing! I don't put much faith in those colleges. Has she learned how to make signs? My wife did write to me, to be sure, 'She is learning to speak; she is making progress.' But I said to myself, What is the use of her learning to talk if I don't know how to make the signs myself? How shall we manage to understand each other, poor little thing? That is well enough to enable them to understand each other, one unfortunate to comprehend another unfortunate. How is she getting on, then? How is she?" My father smiled, and replied:-- "I shall not tell you anything about it; you will see; go, go; don't waste another minute!" We took our departure; the institute is close by. As we went along with huge strides, the gardener talked to me, and grew sad. "Ah, my poor Gigia! To be born with such an infirmity! To think that I have never heard her call me _father_; that she has never heard me call her _my daughter_; that she has never either heard or uttered a single word since she has been in the world! And it is lucky that a charitable gentleman was found to pay the expenses of the institution. But that is all--she could not enter there until she was eight years old. She has not been at home for three years. She is now going on eleven. And she has grown? Tell me, she has grown? She is in good spirits?" "You will see in a moment, you will see in a moment," I replied, hastening my pace. "But where is this institution?" he demanded. "My wife went with her after I was gone. It seems to me that it ought to be near here." We had just reached it. We at once entered the parlor. An attendant came to meet us. "I am the father of Gigia Voggi," said the gardener; "give me my daughter instantly." "They are at play," replied the attendant; "I will go and inform the matron." And he hastened away. The gardener could no longer speak nor stand still; he stared at all four walls, without seeing anything. The door opened; a teacher entered, dressed in black, holding a little girl by the hand. Father and daughter gazed at one another for an instant; then flew into each other's arms, uttering a cry. The girl was dressed in a white and reddish striped material, with a gray apron. She is a little taller than I. She cried, and clung to her father's neck with both arms. Her father disengaged himself, and began to survey her from head to foot, panting as though he had run a long way; and he exclaimed: "Ah, how she has grown! How pretty she has become! Oh, my dear, poor Gigia! My poor mute child!--Are you her teacher, signora? Tell her to make some of her signs to me; for I shall be able to understand something, and then I will learn little by little. Tell her to make me understand something with her gestures." The teacher smiled, and said in a low voice to the girl, "Who is this man who has come to see you?" And the girl replied with a smile, in a coarse, strange, dissonant voice, like that of a savage who was speaking for the first time in our language, but with a distinct pronunciation, "He is my fa-ther." The gardener fell back a pace, and shrieked like a madman: "She speaks! Is it possible! Is it possible! She speaks? Can you speak, my child? can you speak? Say something to me: you can speak?" and he embraced her afresh, and kissed her thrice on the brow. "But it is not with signs that she talks, signora; it is not with her fingers? What does this mean?" "No, Signor Voggi," rejoined the teacher, "it is not with signs. That was the old way. Here we teach the new method, the oral method. How is it that you did not know it?" "I knew nothing about it!" replied the gardener, lost in amazement. "I have been abroad for the last three years. Oh, they wrote to me, and I did not understand. I am a blockhead. Oh, my daughter, you understand me, then? Do you hear my voice? Answer me: do you hear me? Do you hear what I say?" "Why, no, my good man," said the teacher; "she does not hear your voice, because she is deaf. She understands from the movements of your lips what the words are that you utter; this is the way the thing is managed; but she does not hear your voice any more than she does the words which she speaks to you; she pronounces them, because we have taught her, letter by letter, how she must place her lips and move her tongue, and what effort she must make with her chest and throat, in order to emit a sound." The gardener did not understand, and stood with his mouth wide open. He did not yet believe it. "Tell me, Gigia," he asked his daughter, whispering in her ear, "are you glad that your father has come back?" and he raised his face again, and stood awaiting her reply. The girl looked at him thoughtfully, and said nothing. Her father was perturbed. The teacher laughed. Then she said: "My good man, she does not answer you, because she did not see the movements of your lips: you spoke in her ear! Repeat your question, keeping your face well before hers." The father, gazing straight in her face, repeated, "Are you glad that your father has come back? that he is not going away again?" The girl, who had observed his lips attentively, seeking even to see inside his mouth, replied frankly:-- "Yes, I am de-light-ed that you have re-turned, that you are not go-ing a-way a-gain--nev-er a-gain." Her father embraced her impetuously, and then in great haste, in order to make quite sure, he overwhelmed her with questions. "What is mamma's name?" "An-to-nia." "What is the name of your little sister?" "Ad-e-laide." "What is the name of this college?" "The Deaf-mute Insti-tution." "How many are two times ten?" "Twen-ty." While we thought that he was laughing for joy, he suddenly burst out crying. But this was the result of joy also. "Take courage," said the teacher to him; "you have reason to rejoice, not to weep. You see that you are making your daughter cry also. You are pleased, then?" The gardener grasped the teacher's hand and kissed it two or three times, saying: "Thanks, thanks, thanks! a hundred thanks, a thousand thanks, dear Signora Teacher! and forgive me for not knowing how to say anything else!" "But she not only speaks," said the teacher; "your daughter also knows how to write. She knows how to reckon. She knows the names of all common objects. She knows a little history and geography. She is now in the regular class. When she has passed through the two remaining classes, she will know much more. When she leaves here, she will be in a condition to adopt a profession. We already have deaf-mutes who stand in the shops to serve customers, and they perform their duties like any one else." Again the gardener was astounded. It seemed as though his ideas were becoming confused again. He stared at his daughter and scratched his head. His face demanded another explanation. Then the teacher turned to the attendant and said to him:-- "Call a child of the preparatory class for me." The attendant returned, in a short time, with a deaf-mute of eight or nine years, who had entered the institution a few days before. "This girl," said the mistress, "is one of those whom we are instructing in the first elements. This is the way it is done. I want to make her say _a_. Pay attention." The teacher opened her mouth, as one opens it to pronounce the vowel _a_, and motioned to the child to open her mouth in the same manner. Then the mistress made her a sign to emit her voice. She did so; but instead of _a_, she pronounced _o_. "No," said the mistress, "that is not right." And taking the child's two hands, she placed one of them on her own throat and the other on her chest, and repeated, "_a_." The child felt with her hands the movements of the mistress's throat and chest, opened her mouth again as before, and pronounced extremely well, "_a_." In the same manner, the mistress made her pronounce _c_ and _d_, still keeping the two little hands on her own throat and chest. "Now do you understand?" she inquired. The father understood; but he seemed more astonished than when he had not understood. "And they are taught to speak in the same way?" he asked, after a moment of reflection, gazing at the teacher. "You have the patience to teach them to speak in that manner, little by little, and so many of them? one by one--through years and years? But you are saints; that's what you are! You are angels of paradise! There is not in the world a reward that is worthy of you! What is there that I can say? Ah! leave me alone with my daughter a little while now. Let me have her to myself for five minutes." And drawing her to a seat apart he began to interrogate her, and she to reply, and he laughed with beaming eyes, slapping his fists down on his knees; and he took his daughter's hands, and stared at her, beside himself with delight at hearing her, as though her voice had been one which came from heaven; then he asked the teacher, "Would the Signor Director permit me to thank him?" "The director is not here," replied the mistress; "but there is another person whom you should thank. Every little girl here is given into the charge of an older companion, who acts the part of sister or mother to her. Your little girl has been intrusted to the care of a deaf-mute of seventeen, the daughter of a baker, who is kind and very fond of her; she has been assisting her for two years to dress herself every morning; she combs her hair, she teaches her to sew, she mends her clothes, she is good company for her.--Luigia, what is the name of your mamma in the institute?" The girl smiled, and said, "Ca-te-rina Gior-dano." Then she said to her father, "She is ve-ry, ve-ry good." The attendant, who had withdrawn at a signal from the mistress, returned almost at once with a light-haired deaf-mute, a robust girl, with a cheerful countenance, and also dressed in the red and white striped stuff, with a gray apron; she paused at the door and blushed; then she bent her head with a smile. She had the figure of a woman, but seemed like a child. Giorgio's daughter instantly ran to her, took her by the arm, like a child, and drew her to her father, saying, in her heavy voice, "Ca-te-rina Gior-dano." "Ah, what a splendid girl!" exclaimed her father; and he stretched out one hand to caress her, but drew it back again, and repeated, "Ah, what a good girl! May God bless her, may He grant her all good fortune, all consolations; may He make her and hers always happy, so good a girl is she, my poor Gigia! It is an honest workingman, the poor father of a family, who wishes you this with all his heart." The big girl caressed the little one, still keeping her face bent, and smiling, and the gardener continued to gaze at her, as at a madonna. "You can take your daughter with you for the day," said the mistress. "Won't I take her, though!" rejoined the gardener. "I'll take her to Condove, and fetch her back to-morrow morning. Think for a bit whether I won't take her!" The girl ran off to dress. "It is three years since I have seen her!" repeated the gardener. "Now she speaks! I will take her to Condove with me on the instant. But first I shall take a ramble about Turin, with my deaf-mute on my arm, so that all may see her, and take her to see some of my friends! Ah, what a beautiful day! This is consolation indeed!--Here's your father's arm, my Gigia." The girl, who had returned with a little mantle and cap on, took his arm. "And thanks to all!" said the father, as he reached the threshold. "Thanks to all, with my whole soul! I shall come back another time to thank you all again." He stood for a moment in thought, then disengaged himself abruptly from the girl, turned back, fumbling in his waistcoat with his hand, and shouted like a man in a fury:-- "Come now, I am not a poor devil! So here, I leave twenty lire for the institution,--a fine new gold piece." And with a tremendous bang, he deposited his gold piece on the table. "No, no, my good man," said the mistress, with emotion. "Take back your money. I cannot accept it. Take it back. It is not my place. You shall see about that when the director is here. But he will not accept anything either; be sure of that. You have toiled too hard to earn it, poor man. We shall be greatly obliged to you, all the same." "No; I shall leave it," replied the gardener, obstinately; "and then--we will see." But the mistress put his money back in his pocket, without leaving him time to reject it. And then he resigned himself with a shake of the head; and then, wafting a kiss to the mistress and to the large girl, he quickly took his daughter's arm again, and hurried with her out of the door, saying:-- "Come, come, my daughter, my poor dumb child, my treasure!" And the girl exclaimed, in her harsh voice:-- "Oh, how beau-ti-ful the sun is!" JUNE. GARIBALDI. June 3d. To-morrow is the National Festival Day. TO-DAY is a day of national mourning. Garibaldi died last night. Do you know who he is? He is the man who liberated ten millions of Italians from the tyranny of the Bourbons. He died at the age of seventy-five. He was born at Nice, the son of a ship captain. At eight years of age, he saved a woman's life; at thirteen, he dragged into safety a boat-load of his companions who were shipwrecked; at twenty-seven, he rescued from the water at Marseilles a drowning youth; at forty-one, he saved a ship from burning on the ocean. He fought for ten years in America for the liberty of a strange people; he fought in three wars against the Austrians, for the liberation of Lombardy and Trentino; he defended Rome from the French in 1849; he delivered Naples and Palermo in 1860; he fought again for Rome in 1867; he combated with the Germans in defence of France in 1870. He was possessed of the flame of heroism and the genius of war. He was engaged in forty battles, and won thirty-seven of them. When he was not fighting, he was laboring for his living, or he shut himself up in a solitary island, and tilled the soil. He was teacher, sailor, workman, trader, soldier, general, dictator. He was simple, great, and good. He hated all oppressors, he loved all peoples, he protected all the weak; he had no other aspiration than good, he refused honors, he scorned death, he adored Italy. When he uttered his war-cry, legions of valorous men hastened to him from all quarters; gentlemen left their palaces, workmen their ships, youths their schools, to go and fight in the sunshine of his glory. In time of war he wore a red shirt. He was strong, blond, and handsome. On the field of battle he was a thunder-bolt, in his affections he was a child, in affliction a saint. Thousands of Italians have died for their country, happy, if, when dying, they saw him pass victorious in the distance; thousands would have allowed themselves to be killed for him; millions have blessed and will bless him. He is dead. The whole world mourns him. You do not understand him now. But you will read of his deeds, you will constantly hear him spoken of in the course of your life; and gradually, as you grow up, his image will grow before you; when you become a man, you will behold him as a giant; and when you are no longer in the world, when your sons' sons and those who shall be born from them are no longer among the living, the generations will still behold on high his luminous head as a redeemer of the peoples, crowned by the names of his victories as with a circlet of stars; and the brow and the soul of every Italian will beam when he utters his name. THY FATHER. THE ARMY. Sunday, 11th. The National Festival Day. Postponed for a week on account of the death of Garibaldi. We have been to the Piazza Castello, to see the review of soldiers, who defiled before the commandant of the army corps, between two vast lines of people. As they marched past to the sound of flourishes from trumpets and bands, my father pointed out to me the Corps and the glories of the banners. First, the pupils of the Academy, those who will become officers in the Engineers and the Artillery, about three hundred in number, dressed in black, passed with the bold and easy elegance of students and soldiers. After them defiled the infantry, the brigade of Aosta, which fought at Goito and at San Martino, and the Bergamo brigade, which fought at Castelfidardo, four regiments of them, company after company, thousands of red aiguillettes, which seemed like so many double and very long garlands of blood-colored flowers, extended and agitated from the two ends, and borne athwart the crowd. After the infantry, the soldiers of the Mining Corps advanced,--the workingmen of war, with their plumes of black horse-tails, and their crimson bands; and while these were passing, we beheld advancing behind them hundreds of long, straight plumes, which rose above the heads of the spectators; they were the mountaineers, the defenders of the portals of Italy, all tall, rosy, and stalwart, with hats of Calabrian fashion, and revers of a beautiful, bright green, the color of the grass on their native mountains. The mountaineers were still marching past, when a quiver ran through the crowd, and the _bersaglieri_, the old twelfth battalion, the first who entered Rome through the breach at the Porta Pia, bronzed, alert, brisk, with fluttering plumes, passed like a wave in a sea of black, making the piazza ring with the shrill blasts of their trumpets, which seemed shouts of joy. But their trumpeting was drowned by a broken and hollow rumble, which announced the field artillery; and then the latter passed in triumph, seated on their lofty caissons, drawn by three hundred pairs of fiery horses,--those fine soldiers with yellow lacings, and their long cannons of brass and steel gleaming on the light carriages, as they jolted and resounded, and made the earth tremble. And then came the mountain artillery, slowly, gravely, beautiful in its laborious and rude semblance, with its large soldiers, with its powerful mules--that mountain artillery which carries dismay and death wherever man can set his foot. And last of all, the fine regiment of the Genoese cavalry, which had wheeled down like a whirlwind on ten fields of battle, from Santa Lucia to Villafranca, passed at a gallop, with their helmets glittering in the sun, their lances erect, their pennons floating in the air, sparkling with gold and silver, filling the air with jingling and neighing. "How beautiful it is!" I exclaimed. My father almost reproved me for these words, and said to me:-- "You are not to regard the army as a fine spectacle. All these young men, so full of strength and hope, may be called upon any day to defend our country, and fall in a few hours, crushed to fragments by bullets and grape-shot. Every time that you hear the cry, at a feast, 'Hurrah for the army! hurrah for Italy!' picture to yourself, behind the regiments which are passing, a plain covered with corpses, and inundated with blood, and then the greeting to the army will proceed from the very depths of your heart, and the image of Italy will appear to you more severe and grand." ITALY. Tuesday, 14th. Salute your country thus, on days of festival: "Italy, my country, dear and noble land, where my father and my mother were born, and where they will be buried, where I hope to live and die, where my children will grow up and die; beautiful Italy, great and glorious for many centuries, united and free for a few years; thou who didst disseminate so great a light of intellect divine over the world, and for whom so many valiant men have died on the battle-field, and so many heroes on the gallows; august mother of three hundred cities, and thirty millions of sons; I, a child, who do not understand thee as yet, and who do not know thee in thy entirety, I venerate and love thee with all my soul, and I am proud of having been born of thee, and of calling myself thy son. I love thy splendid seas and thy sublime mountains; I love thy solemn monuments and thy immortal memories; I love thy glory and thy beauty; I love and venerate the whole of thee as that beloved portion of thee where I, for the first time, beheld the light and heard thy name. I love the whole of thee, with a single affection and with equal gratitude,--Turin the valiant, Genoa the superb, Bologna the learned, Venice the enchanting, Milan the mighty; I love you with the uniform reverence of a son, gentle Florence and terrible Palermo, immense and beautiful Naples, marvellous and eternal Rome. I love thee, my sacred country! And I swear that I will love all thy sons like brothers; that I will always honor in my heart thy great men, living and dead; that I will be an industrious and honest citizen, constantly intent on ennobling myself, in order to render myself worthy of thee, to assist with my small powers in causing misery, ignorance, injustice, crime, to disappear one day from thy face, so that thou mayest live and expand tranquilly in the majesty of thy right and of thy strength. I swear that I will serve thee, as it may be granted to me, with my mind, with my arm, with my heart, humbly, ardently; and that, if the day should dawn in which I should be called on to give my blood for thee and my life, I will give my blood, and I will die, crying thy holy name to heaven, and wafting my last kiss to thy blessed banner." THY FATHER. [Illustration: "WE DESCENDED, RUNNING AND SINGING."--Page 30.] THIRTY-TWO DEGREES. Friday, 16th. During the five days which have passed since the National Festival, the heat has increased by three degrees. We are in full summer now, and begin to feel weary; all have lost their fine rosy color of springtime; necks and legs are growing thin, heads droop and eyes close. Poor Nelli, who suffers much from the heat, has turned the color of wax in the face; he sometimes falls into a heavy sleep, with his head on his copy-book; but Garrone is always watchful, and places an open book upright in front of him, so that the master may not see him. Crossi rests his red head against the bench in a certain way, so that it looks as though it had been detached from his body and placed there separately. Nobis complains that there are too many of us, and that we corrupt the air. Ah, what an effort it costs now to study! I gaze through the windows at those beautiful trees which cast so deep a shade, where I should be so glad to run, and sadness and wrath overwhelm me at being obliged to go and shut myself up among the benches. But then I take courage at the sight of my kind mother, who is always watching me, scrutinizing me, when I return from school, to see whether I am not pale; and at every page of my work she says to me:-- "Do you still feel well?" and every morning at six, when she wakes me for my lesson, "Courage! there are only so many days more: then you will be free, and will get rested,--you will go to the shade of country lanes." Yes, she is perfectly right to remind me of the boys who are working in the fields in the full heat of the sun, or among the white sands of the river, which blind and scorch them, and of those in the glass-factories, who stand all day long motionless, with head bent over a flame of gas; and all of them rise earlier than we do, and have no vacations. Courage, then! And even in this respect, Derossi is at the head of all, for he suffers neither from heat nor drowsiness; he is always wide awake, and cheery, with his golden curls, as he was in the winter, and he studies without effort, and keeps all about him alert, as though he freshened the air with his voice. And there are two others, also, who are always awake and attentive: stubborn Stardi, who pricks his face, to prevent himself from going to sleep; and the more weary and heated he is, the more he sets his teeth, and he opens his eyes so wide that it seems as though he wanted to eat the teacher; and that barterer of a Garoffi, who is wholly absorbed in manufacturing fans out of red paper, decorated with little figures from match-boxes, which he sells at two centesimi apiece. But the bravest of all is Coretti; poor Coretti, who gets up at five o'clock, to help his father carry wood! At eleven, in school, he can no longer keep his eyes open, and his head droops on his breast. And nevertheless, he shakes himself, punches himself on the back of the neck, asks permission to go out and wash his face, and makes his neighbors shake and pinch him. But this morning he could not resist, and he fell into a leaden sleep. The master called him loudly; "Coretti!" He did not hear. The master, irritated, repeated, "Coretti!" Then the son of the charcoal-man, who lives next to him at home, rose and said:-- "He worked from five until seven carrying faggots." The teacher allowed him to sleep on, and continued with the lesson for half an hour. Then he went to Coretti's seat, and wakened him very, very gently, by blowing in his face. On beholding the master in front of him, he started back in alarm. But the master took his head in his hands, and said, as he kissed him on the hair:-- "I am not reproving you, my son. Your sleep is not at all that of laziness; it is the sleep of fatigue." MY FATHER. Saturday, 17th. Surely, neither your comrade Coretti nor Garrone would ever have answered their fathers as you answered yours this afternoon. Enrico! How is it possible? You must promise me solemnly that this shall never happen again so long as I live. Every time that an impertinent reply flies to your lips at a reproof from your father, think of that day which will infallibly come when he will call you to his bedside to tell you, "Enrico, I am about to leave you." Oh, my son, when you hear his voice for the last time, and for a long while afterwards, when you weep alone in his deserted room, in the midst of those books which he will never open again, then, on recalling that you have at times been wanting in respect to him, you, too, will ask yourself, "How is it possible?" Then you will understand that he has always been your best friend, that when he was constrained to punish you, it caused him more suffering than it did you, and that he never made you weep except for the sake of doing you good; and then you will repent, and you will kiss with tears that desk at which he worked so much, at which he wore out his life for his children. You do not understand now; he hides from you all of himself except his kindness and his love. You do not know that he is sometimes so broken down with toil that he thinks he has only a few more days to live, and that at such moments he talks only of you; he has in his heart no other trouble than that of leaving you poor and without protection. And how often, when meditating on this, does he enter your chamber while you are asleep, and stand there, lamp in hand, gazing at you; and then he makes an effort, and weary and sad as he is, he returns to his labor; and neither do you know that he often seeks you and remains with you because he has a bitterness in his heart, sorrows which attack all men in the world, and he seeks you as a friend, to obtain consolation himself and forgetfulness, and he feels the need of taking refuge in your affection, to recover his serenity and his courage: think, then, what must be his sorrow, when instead of finding in you affection, he finds coldness and disrespect! Never again stain yourself with this horrible ingratitude! Reflect, that were you as good as a saint, you could never repay him sufficiently for what he has done and for what he is constantly doing for you. And reflect, also, we cannot count on life; a misfortune might remove your father while you are still a boy,--in two years, in three months, to-morrow. Ah, my poor Enrico, when you see all about you changing, how empty, how desolate the house will appear, with your poor mother clothed in black! Go, my son, go to your father; he is in his room at work; go on tiptoe, so that he may not hear you enter; go and lay your forehead on his knees, and beseech him to pardon and to bless you. THY MOTHER. IN THE COUNTRY. Monday, 19th. My good father forgave me, even on this occasion, and allowed me to go on an expedition to the country, which had been arranged on Wednesday, with the father of Coretti, the wood-peddler. We were all in need of a mouthful of hill air. It was a festival day. We met yesterday at two o'clock in the place of the Statuto, Derossi, Garrone, Garoffi, Precossi, Coretti, father and son, and I, with our provisions of fruit, sausages, and hard-boiled eggs; we had also leather bottles and tin cups. Garrone carried a gourd filled with white wine; Coretti, his father's soldier-canteen, full of red wine; and little Precossi, in the blacksmith's blouse, held under his arm a two-kilogramme loaf. We went in the omnibus as far as Gran Madre di Dio, and then off, as briskly as possible, to the hills. How green, how shady, how fresh it was! We rolled over and over in the grass, we dipped our faces in the rivulets, we leaped the hedges. The elder Coretti followed us at a distance, with his jacket thrown over his shoulders, smoking his clay pipe, and from time to time threatening us with his hand, to prevent our tearing holes in our trousers. Precossi whistled; I had never heard him whistle before. The younger Coretti did the same, as he went along. That little fellow knows how to make everything with his jack-knife a finger's length long,--mill-wheels, forks, squirts; and he insisted on carrying the other boys' things, and he was loaded down until he was dripping with perspiration, but he was still as nimble as a goat. Derossi halted every moment to tell us the names of the plants and insects. I don't understand how he manages to know so many things. And Garrone nibbled at his bread in silence; but he no longer attacks it with the cheery bites of old, poor Garrone! now that he has lost his mother. But he is always as good as bread himself. When one of us ran back to obtain the momentum for leaping a ditch, he ran to the other side, and held out his hands to us; and as Precossi was afraid of cows, having been tossed by one when a child, Garrone placed himself in front of him every time that we passed any. We mounted up to Santa Margherita, and then went down the decline by leaps, rolls, and slides. Precossi tumbled into a thorn-bush, and tore a hole in his blouse, and stood there overwhelmed with shame, with the strip dangling; but Garoffi, who always has pins in his jacket, fixed it so that it was not perceptible, while the other kept saying, "Excuse me, excuse me," and then he set out to run once more. Garoffi did not waste his time on the way; he picked salad herbs and snails, and put every stone that glistened in the least into his pocket, supposing that there was gold and silver in it. And on we went, running, rolling, and climbing through the shade and in the sun, up and down, through all the lanes and cross-roads, until we arrived dishevelled and breathless at the crest of a hill, where we seated ourselves to take our lunch on the grass. We could see an immense plain, and all the blue Alps with their white summits. We were dying of hunger; the bread seemed to be melting. The elder Coretti handed us our portions of sausage on gourd leaves. And then we all began to talk at once about the teachers, the comrades who had not been able to come, and the examinations. Precossi was rather ashamed to eat, and Garrone thrust the best bits of his share into his mouth by force. Coretti was seated next his father, with his legs crossed; they seem more like two brothers than father and son, when seen thus together, both rosy and smiling, with those white teeth of theirs. The father drank with zest, emptying the bottles and the cups which we left half finished, and said:-- "Wine hurts you boys who are studying; it is the wood-sellers who need it." Then he grasped his son by the nose, and shook him, saying to us, "Boys, you must love this fellow, for he is a flower of a man of honor; I tell you so myself!" And then we all laughed, except Garrone. And he went on, as he drank, "It's a shame, eh! now you are all good friends together, and in a few years, who knows, Enrico and Derossi will be lawyers or professors or I don't know what, and the other four of you will be in shops or at a trade, and the deuce knows where, and then--good night comrades!" "Nonsense!" rejoined Derossi; "for me, Garrone will always be Garrone, Precossi will always be Precossi, and the same with all the others, were I to become the emperor of Russia: where they are, there I shall go also." "Bless you!" exclaimed the elder Coretti, raising his flask; "that's the way to talk, by Heavens! Touch your glass here! Hurrah for brave comrades, and hurrah for school, which makes one family of you, of those who have and those who have not!" We all clinked his flask with the skins and the cups, and drank for the last time. "Hurrah for the fourth of the 49th!" he cried, as he rose to his feet, and swallowed the last drop; "and if you have to do with squadrons too, see that you stand firm, like us old ones, my lads!" It was already late. We descended, running and singing, and walking long distances all arm in arm, and we arrived at the Po as twilight fell, and thousands of fireflies were flitting about. And we only parted in the Piazza dello Statuto after having agreed to meet there on the following Sunday, and go to the Vittorio Emanuele to see the distribution of prizes to the graduates of the evening schools. What a beautiful day! How happy I should have been on my return home, had I not encountered my poor schoolmistress! I met her coming down the staircase of our house, almost in the dark, and, as soon as she recognized me, she took both my hands, and whispered in my ear, "Good by, Enrico; remember me!" I perceived that she was weeping. I went up and told my mother about it. "I have just met my schoolmistress."--"She was just going to bed," replied my mother, whose eyes were red. And then she added very sadly, gazing intently at me, "Your poor teacher--is very ill." THE DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES TO THE WORKINGMEN. Sunday, 25th. As we had agreed, we all went together to the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, to view the distribution of prizes to the workingmen. The theatre was adorned as on the 14th of March, and thronged, but almost wholly with the families of workmen; and the pit was occupied with the male and female pupils of the school of choral singing. These sang a hymn to the soldiers who had died in the Crimea; which was so beautiful that, when it was finished, all rose and clapped and shouted, so that the song had to be repeated from the beginning. And then the prize-winners began immediately to march past the mayor, the prefect, and many others, who presented them with books, savings-bank books, diplomas, and medals. In one corner of the pit I espied the little mason, sitting beside his mother; and in another place there was the head-master; and behind him, the red head of my master of the second grade. The first to defile were the pupils of the evening drawing classes--the goldsmiths, engravers, lithographers, and also the carpenters and masons; then those of the commercial school; then those of the Musical Lyceum, among them several girls, workingwomen, all dressed in festal attire, who were saluted with great applause, and who laughed. Last came the pupils of the elementary evening schools, and then it began to be a beautiful sight. They were of all ages, of all trades, and dressed in all sorts of ways,--men with gray hair, factory boys, artisans with big black beards. The little ones were at their ease; the men, a little embarrassed. The people clapped the oldest and the youngest, but none of the spectators laughed, as they did at our festival: all faces were attentive and serious. Many of the prize-winners had wives and children in the pit, and there were little children who, when they saw their father pass across the stage, called him by name at the tops of their voices, and signalled to him with their hands, laughing violently. Peasants passed, and porters; they were from the Buoncompagni School. From the Cittadella School there was a bootblack whom my father knew, and the prefect gave him a diploma. After him I saw approaching a man as big as a giant, whom I fancied that I had seen several times before. It was the father of the little mason, who had won the second prize. I remembered when I had seen him in the garret, at the bedside of his sick son, and I immediately sought out his son in the pit. Poor little mason! he was staring at his father with beaming eyes, and, in order to conceal his emotion, he made his hare's face. At that moment I heard a burst of applause, and I glanced at the stage: a little chimney-sweep stood there, with a clean face, but in his working-clothes, and the mayor was holding him by the hand and talking to him. After the chimney-sweep came a cook; then came one of the city sweepers, from the Raineri School, to get a prize. I felt I know not what in my heart,--something like a great affection and a great respect, at the thought of how much those prizes had cost all those workingmen, fathers of families, full of care; how much toil added to their labors, how many hours snatched from their sleep, of which they stand in such great need, and what efforts of intelligences not habituated to study, and of huge hands rendered clumsy with work! A factory boy passed, and it was evident that his father had lent him his jacket for the occasion, for his sleeves hung down so that he was forced to turn them back on the stage, in order to receive his prize: and many laughed; but the laugh was speedily stifled by the applause. Next came an old man with a bald head and a white beard. Several artillery soldiers passed, from among those who attended evening school in our schoolhouse; then came custom-house guards and policemen, from among those who guard our schools. At the conclusion, the pupils of the evening schools again sang the hymn to the dead in the Crimea, but this time with so much dash, with a strength of affection which came so directly from the heart, that the audience hardly applauded at all, and all retired in deep emotion, slowly and noiselessly. In a few moments the whole street was thronged. In front of the entrance to the theatre was the chimney-sweep, with his prize book bound in red, and all around were gentlemen talking to him. Many exchanged salutations from the opposite side of the street,--workmen, boys, policemen, teachers. My master of the second grade came out in the midst of the crowd, between two artillery men. And there were workmen's wives with babies in their arms, who held in their tiny hands their father's diploma, and exhibited it to the crowd in their pride. MY DEAD SCHOOLMISTRESS. Tuesday, 27th. While we were at the Theatre Vittorio Emanuele, my poor schoolmistress died. She died at two o'clock, a week after she had come to see my mother. The head-master came to the school yesterday morning to announce it to us; and he said:-- "Those of you who were her pupils know how good she was, how she loved her boys: she was a mother to them. Now, she is no more. For a long time a terrible malady has been sapping her life. If she had not been obliged to work to earn her bread, she could have taken care of herself, and perhaps recovered. At all events, she could have prolonged her life for several months, if she had procured a leave of absence. But she wished to remain among her boys to the very last day. On the evening of Saturday, the seventeenth, she took leave of them, with the certainty that she should never see them again. She gave them good advice, kissed them all, and went away sobbing. No one will ever behold her again. Remember her, my boys!" Little Precossi, who had been one of her pupils in the upper primary, dropped his head on his desk and began to cry. Yesterday afternoon, after school, we all went together to the house of the dead woman, to accompany her to church. There was a hearse in the street, with two horses, and many people were waiting, and conversing in a low voice. There was the head-master, all the masters and mistresses from our school, and from the other schoolhouses where she had taught in bygone years. There were nearly all the little children in her classes, led by the hand by their mothers, who carried tapers; and there were a very great many from the other classes, and fifty scholars from the Baretti School, some with wreaths in their hands, some with bunches of roses. A great many bouquets of flowers had already been placed on the hearse, upon which was fastened a large wreath of acacia, with an inscription in black letters: _The old pupils of the fourth grade to their mistress_. And under the large wreath a little one was suspended, which the babies had brought. Among the crowd were visible many servant-women, who had been sent by their mistresses with candles; and there were also two serving-men in livery, with lighted torches; and a wealthy gentleman, the father of one of the mistress's scholars, had sent his carriage, lined with blue satin. All were crowded together near the door. Several girls were wiping away their tears. We waited for a while in silence. At length the casket was brought out. Some of the little ones began to cry loudly when they saw the coffin slid into the hearse, and one began to shriek, as though he had only then comprehended that his mistress was dead, and he was seized with such a convulsive fit of sobbing, that they were obliged to carry him away. The procession got slowly into line and set out. First came the daughters of the Ritiro della Concezione, dressed in green; then the daughters of Maria, all in white, with a blue ribbon; then the priests; and behind the hearse, the masters and mistresses, the tiny scholars of the upper primary, and all the others; and, at the end of all, the crowd. People came to the windows and to the doors, and on seeing all those boys, and the wreath, they said, "It is a schoolmistress." Even some of the ladies who accompanied the smallest children wept. When the church was reached, the casket was removed from the hearse, and carried to the middle of the nave, in front of the great altar: the mistresses laid their wreaths on it, the children covered it with flowers, and the people all about, with lighted candles in their hands, began to chant the prayers in the vast and gloomy church. Then, all of a sudden, when the priest had said the last _amen_, the candles were extinguished, and all went away in haste, and the mistress was left alone. Poor mistress, who was so kind to me, who had so much patience, who had toiled for so many years! She has left her little books to her scholars, and everything which she possessed,--to one an inkstand, to another a little picture; and two days before her death, she said to the head-master that he was not to allow the smallest of them to go to her funeral, because she did not wish them to cry. She has done good, she has suffered, she is dead! Poor mistress, left alone in that dark church! Farewell! Farewell forever, my kind friend, sad and sweet memory of my infancy! THANKS. Wednesday, 28th. My poor schoolmistress wanted to finish her year of school: she departed only three days before the end of the lessons. Day after to-morrow we go once more to the schoolroom to hear the reading of the monthly story, _Shipwreck_, and then--it is over. On Saturday, the first of July, the examinations begin. And then another year, the fourth, is past! And if my mistress had not died, it would have passed well. I thought over all that I had known on the preceding October, and it seems to me that I know a good deal more: I have so many new things in my mind; I can say and write what I think better than I could then; I can also do the sums of many grown-up men who know nothing about it, and help them in their affairs; and I understand much more: I understand nearly everything that I read. I am satisfied. But how many people have urged me on and helped me to learn, one in one way, and another in another, at home, at school, in the street,--everywhere where I have been and where I have seen anything! And now, I thank you all. I thank you first, my good teacher, for having been so indulgent and affectionate with me; for you every new acquisition of mine was a labor, for which I now rejoice and of which I am proud. I thank you, Derossi, my admirable companion, for your prompt and kind explanations, for you have made me understand many of the most difficult things, and overcome stumbling-blocks at examinations; and you, too, Stardi, you brave and strong boy, who have showed me how a will of iron succeeds in everything: and you, kind, generous Garrone, who make all those who know you kind and generous too; and you too, Precossi and Coretti, who have given me an example of courage in suffering, and of serenity in toil, I render thanks to you: I render thanks to all the rest. But above all, I thank thee, my father, thee, my first teacher, my first friend, who hast given me so many wise counsels, and hast taught me so many things, whilst thou wert working for me, always concealing thy sadness from me, and seeking in all ways to render study easy, and life beautiful to me; and thee, sweet mother, my beloved and blessed guardian angel, who hast tasted all my joys, and suffered all my bitternesses, who hast studied, worked, and wept with me, with one hand caressing my brow, and with the other pointing me to heaven. I kneel before you, as when I was a little child; I thank you for all the tenderness which you have instilled into my mind through twelve years of sacrifices and of love. SHIPWRECK. (_Last Monthly Story._) One morning in the month of December, several years ago, there sailed from the port of Liverpool a huge steamer, which had on board two hundred persons, including a crew of sixty. The captain and nearly all the sailors were English. Among the passengers there were several Italians,--three gentlemen, a priest, and a company of musicians. The steamer was bound for the island of Malta. The weather was threatening. Among the third-class passengers forward, was an Italian lad of a dozen years, small for his age, but robust; a bold, handsome, austere face, of Sicilian type. He was alone near the fore-mast, seated on a coil of cordage, beside a well-worn valise, which contained his effects, and upon which he kept a hand. His face was brown, and his black and wavy hair descended to his shoulders. He was meanly clad, and had a tattered mantle thrown over his shoulders, and an old leather pouch on a cross-belt. He gazed thoughtfully about him at the passengers, the ship, the sailors who were running past, and at the restless sea. He had the appearance of a boy who has recently issued from a great family sorrow,--the face of a child, the expression of a man. A little after their departure, one of the steamer's crew, an Italian with gray hair, made his appearance on the bow, holding by the hand a little girl; and coming to a halt in front of the little Sicilian, he said to him:-- "Here's a travelling companion for you, Mario." Then he went away. The girl seated herself on the pile of cordage beside the boy. They surveyed each other. "Where are you going?" asked the Sicilian. The girl replied: "To Malta on the way of Naples." Then she added: "I am going to see my father and mother, who are expecting me. My name is Giulietta Faggiani." The boy said nothing. After the lapse of a few minutes, he drew some bread from his pouch, and some dried fruit; the girl had some biscuits: they began to eat. "Look sharp there!" shouted the Italian sailor, as he passed rapidly; "a lively time is at hand!" The wind continued to increase, the steamer pitched heavily; but the two children, who did not suffer from seasickness, paid no heed to it. The little girl smiled. She was about the same age as her companion, but was considerably taller, brown of complexion, slender, somewhat sickly, and dressed more than modestly. Her hair was short and curling, she wore a red kerchief over her head, and two hoops of silver in her ears. As they ate, they talked about themselves and their affairs. The boy had no longer either father or mother. The father, an artisan, had died a few days previously in Liverpool, leaving him alone; and the Italian consul had sent him back to his country, to Palermo, where he had still some distant relatives left. The little girl had been taken to London, the year before, by a widowed aunt, who was very fond of her, and to whom her parents--poor people--had given her for a time, trusting in a promise of an inheritance; but the aunt had died a few months later, run over by an omnibus, without leaving a centesimo; and then she too had had recourse to the consul, who had shipped her to Italy. Both had been recommended to the care of the Italian sailor.--"So," concluded the little maid, "my father and mother thought that I would return rich, and instead I am returning poor. But they will love me all the same. And so will my brothers. I have four, all small. I am the oldest at home. I dress them. They will be greatly delighted to see me. They will come in on tiptoe--The sea is ugly!" Then she asked the boy: "And are you going to stay with your relatives?" "Yes--if they want me." "Do not they love you?" "I don't know." "I shall be thirteen at Christmas," said the girl. Then they began to talk about the sea, and the people on board around them. They remained near each other all day, exchanging a few words now and then. The passengers thought them brother and sister. The girl knitted at a stocking, the boy meditated, the sea continued to grow rougher. At night, as they parted to go to bed, the girl said to Mario, "Sleep well." "No one will sleep well, my poor children!" exclaimed the Italian sailor as he ran past, in answer to a call from the captain. The boy was on the point of replying with a "good night" to his little friend, when an unexpected dash of water dealt him a violent blow, and flung him against a seat. "My dear, you are bleeding!" cried the girl, flinging herself upon him. The passengers who were making their escape below, paid no heed to them. The child knelt down beside Mario, who had been stunned by the blow, wiped the blood from his brow, and pulling the red kerchief from her hair, she bound it about his head, then pressed his head to her breast in order to knot the ends, and thus received a spot of blood on her yellow bodice just above the girdle. Mario shook himself and rose: "Are you better?" asked the girl. "I no longer feel it," he replied. "Sleep well," said Giulietta. "Good night," responded Mario. And they descended two neighboring sets of steps to their dormitories. The sailor's prediction proved correct. Before they could get to sleep, a frightful tempest had broken loose. It was like the sudden onslaught of furious great horses, which in the course of a few minutes split one mast, and carried away three boats which were suspended to the falls, and four cows on the bow, like leaves. On board the steamer there arose a confusion, a terror, an uproar, a tempest of shrieks, wails, and prayers, sufficient to make the hair stand on end. The tempest continued to increase in fury all night. At daybreak it was still increasing. The formidable waves dashing the craft transversely, broke over the deck, and smashed, split, and hurled everything into the sea. The platform which screened the engine was destroyed, and the water dashed in with a terrible roar; the fires were extinguished; the engineers fled; huge and impetuous streams forced their way everywhere. A voice of thunder shouted: "To the pumps!" It was the captain's voice. The sailors rushed to the pumps. But a sudden burst of the sea, striking the vessel on the stern, demolished bulwarks and hatchways, and sent a flood within. All the passengers, more dead than alive, had taken refuge in the grand saloon. At last the captain made his appearance. "Captain! Captain!" they all shrieked in concert. "What is taking place? Where are we? Is there any hope! Save us!" The captain waited until they were silent, then said coolly; "Let us be resigned." One woman uttered a cry of "Mercy!" No one else could give vent to a sound. Terror had frozen them all. A long time passed thus, in a silence like that of the grave. All gazed at each other with blanched faces. The sea continued to rage and roar. The vessel pitched heavily. At one moment the captain attempted to launch one life-boat; five sailors entered it; the boat sank; the waves turned it over, and two of the sailors were drowned, among them the Italian: the others contrived with difficulty to catch hold of the ropes and draw themselves up again. After this, the sailors themselves lost all courage. Two hours later, the vessel was sunk in the water to the height of the port-holes. A terrible spectacle was presented meanwhile on the deck. Mothers pressed their children to their breasts in despair; friends exchanged embraces and bade each other farewell; some went down into the cabins that they might die without seeing the sea. One passenger shot himself in the head with a pistol, and fell headlong down the stairs to the cabin, where he expired. Many clung frantically to each other; women writhed in horrible convulsions. There was audible a chorus of sobs, of infantile laments, of strange and piercing voices; and here and there persons were visible motionless as statues, in stupor, with eyes dilated and sightless,--faces of corpses and madmen. The two children, Giulietta and Mario, clung to a mast and gazed at the sea with staring eyes, as though senseless. The sea had subsided a little; but the vessel continued to sink slowly. Only a few minutes remained to them. "Launch the long-boat!" shouted the captain. A boat, the last that remained, was thrown into the water, and fourteen sailors and three passengers descended into it. The captain remained on board. "Come down with us!" they shouted to him from below. "I must die at my post," replied the captain. "We shall meet a vessel," the sailors cried to him; "we shall be saved! Come down! you are lost!" "I shall remain." "There is room for one more!" shouted the sailors, turning to the other passengers. "A woman!" A woman advanced, aided by the captain; but on seeing the distance at which the boat lay, she did not feel sufficient courage to leap down, and fell back upon the deck. The other women had nearly all fainted, and were as dead. "A boy!" shouted the sailors. At that shout, the Sicilian lad and his companion, who had remained up to that moment petrified as by a supernatural stupor, were suddenly aroused again by a violent instinct to save their lives. They detached themselves simultaneously from the mast, and rushed to the side of the vessel, shrieking in concert: "Take me!" and endeavoring in turn, to drive the other back, like furious beasts. "The smallest!" shouted the sailors. "The boat is overloaded! The smallest!" On hearing these words, the girl dropped her arms, as though struck by lightning, and stood motionless, staring at Mario with lustreless eyes. Mario looked at her for a moment,--saw the spot of blood on her bodice,--remembered--The gleam of a divine thought flashed across his face. "The smallest!" shouted the sailors in chorus, with imperious impatience. "We are going!" And then Mario, with a voice which no longer seemed his own, cried: "She is the lighter! It is for you, Giulietta! You have a father and mother! I am alone! I give you my place! Go down!" "Throw her into the sea!" shouted the sailors. Mario seized Giulietta by the body, and threw her into the sea. The girl uttered a cry and made a splash; a sailor seized her by the arm, and dragged her into the boat. The boy remained at the vessel's side, with his head held high, his hair streaming in the wind,--motionless, tranquil, sublime. The boat moved off just in time to escape the whirlpool which the vessel produced as it sank, and which threatened to overturn it. Then the girl, who had remained senseless until that moment, raised her eyes to the boy, and burst into a storm of tears. "Good by, Mario!" she cried, amid her sobs, with her arms outstretched towards him. "Good by! Good by! Good by!" "Good by!" replied the boy, raising his hand on high. The boat went swiftly away across the troubled sea, beneath the dark sky. No one on board the vessel shouted any longer. The water was already lapping the edge of the deck. Suddenly the boy fell on his knees, with his hands folded and his eyes raised to heaven. The girl covered her face. When she raised her head again, she cast a glance over the sea: the vessel was no longer there. JULY. THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER. Saturday, 1st. SO the year has come to an end, Enrico, and it is well that you should be left on the last day with the image of the sublime child, who gave his life for his friend. You are now about to part from your teachers and companions, and I must impart to you some sad news. The separation will last not three months, but forever. Your father, for reasons connected with his profession, is obliged to leave Turin, and we are all to go with him. We shall go next autumn. You will have to enter a new school. You are sorry for this, are you not? For I am sure that you love your old school, where twice a day, for the space of four years, you have experienced the pleasure of working, where for so long a time, you have seen, at stated hours, the same boys, the same teachers, the same parents, and your own father or mother awaiting you with a smile; your old school, where your mind first unclosed, where you have found so many kind companions, where every word that you have heard has had your good for its object, and where you have not suffered a single displeasure which has not been useful to you! Then bear this affection with you, and bid these boys a hearty farewell. Some of them will experience misfortunes, they will soon lose their fathers and mothers; others will die young; others, perhaps, will nobly shed their blood in battle; many will become brave and honest workmen, the fathers of honest and industrious workmen like themselves; and who knows whether there may not also be among them one who will render great services to his country, and make his name glorious. Then part from them with affection; leave a portion of your soul here, in this great family into which you entered as a baby, and from which you emerge a young lad, and which your father and mother loved so dearly, because you were so much beloved by it. School is a mother, my Enrico. It took you from my arms when you could hardly speak, and now it returns you to me, strong, good, studious; blessings on it, and may you never forget it more, my son. Oh, it is impossible that you should forget it! You will become a man, you will make the tour of the world, you will see immense cities and wonderful monuments, and you will remember many among them; but that modest white edifice, with those closed shutters and that little garden, where the first flower of your intelligence budded, you will perceive until the last day of your life, as I shall always behold the house in which I heard your voice for the first time. THY MOTHER. THE EXAMINATIONS. Tuesday, 4th. Here are the examinations at last! Nothing else is to be heard under discussion, in the streets in the vicinity of the school, from boys, fathers, mothers, and even tutors; examinations, points, themes, averages, dismissals, promotions: all utter the same words. Yesterday morning there was composition; this morning there is arithmetic. It was touching to see all the parents, as they conducted their sons to school, giving them their last advice in the street, and many mothers accompanied their sons to their seats, to see whether the inkstand was filled, and to try their pens, and they still continued to hover round the entrance, and to say: "Courage! Attention! I entreat you." Our assistant-master was Coatti, the one with the black beard, who mimics the voice of a lion, and never punishes any one. There were boys who were white with fear. When the master broke the seal of the letter from the town-hall, and drew out the problem, not a breath was audible. He announced the problem loudly, staring now at one, now at another, with terrible eyes; but we understood that had he been able to announce the answer also, so that we might all get promoted, he would have been delighted. After an hour of work many began to grow weary, for the problem was difficult. One cried. Crossi dealt himself blows on the head. And many of them are not to blame, poor boys, for not knowing, for they have not had much time to study, and have been neglected by their parents. But Providence was at hand. You should have seen Derossi, and what trouble he took to help them; how ingenious he was in getting a figure passed on, and in suggesting an operation, without allowing himself to be caught; so anxious for all that he appeared to be our teacher himself. Garrone, too, who is strong in arithmetic, helped all he could; and he even assisted Nobis, who, finding himself in a quandary, was quite gentle. Stardi remained motionless for more than an hour, with his eyes on the problem, and his fists on his temples, and then he finished the whole thing in five minutes. The master made his round among the benches, saying:-- "Be calm! Be calm! I advise you to be calm!" And when he saw that any one was discouraged, he opened his mouth, as though about to devour him, in imitation of a lion, in order to make him laugh and inspire him with courage. Toward eleven o'clock, peeping down through the blinds, I perceived many parents pacing the street in their impatience. There was Precossi's father, in his blue blouse, who had deserted his shop, with his face still quite black. There was Crossi's mother, the vegetable-vender; and Nelli's mother, dressed in black, who could not stand still. A little before mid-day, my father arrived and raised his eyes to my window; my dear father! At noon we had all finished. And it was a sight at the close of school! Every one ran to meet the boys, to ask questions, to turn over the leaves of the copy-books to compare them with the work of their comrades. "How many operations? What is the total? And subtraction? And the answer? And the punctuation of decimals?" All the masters were running about hither and thither, summoned in a hundred directions. My father instantly took from my hand the rough copy, looked at it, and said, "That's well." Beside us was the blacksmith, Precossi, who was also inspecting his son's work, but rather uneasily, and not comprehending it. He turned to my father:-- "Will you do me the favor to tell me the total?" My father read the number. The other gazed and reckoned. "Brave little one!" he exclaimed, in perfect content. And my father and he gazed at each other for a moment with a kindly smile, like two friends. My father offered his hand, and the other shook it; and they parted, saying, "Farewell until the oral examination." "Until the oral examination." After proceeding a few paces, we heard a falsetto voice which made us turn our heads. It was the blacksmith-ironmonger singing. THE LAST EXAMINATION. Friday, 7th. This morning we had our oral examinations. At eight o'clock we were all in the schoolroom, and at a quarter past they began to call us, four at a time, into the big hall, where there was a large table covered with a green cloth; round it were seated the head-master and four other masters, among them our own. I was one of the first called out. Poor master! how plainly I perceived this morning that you are really fond of us! While they were interrogating the others, he had no eyes for any one but us. He was troubled when we were uncertain in our replies; he grew serene when we gave a fine answer; he heard everything, and made us a thousand signs with his hand and head, to say to us, "Good!--no!--pay attention!--slower!--courage!" He would have suggested everything to us, had he been able to talk. If the fathers of all these pupils had been in his place, one after the other, they could not have done more. They would have cried "Thanks!" ten times, in the face of them all. And when the other masters said to me, "That is well; you may go," his eyes beamed with pleasure. I returned at once to the schoolroom to wait for my father. Nearly all were still there. I sat down beside Garrone. I was not at all cheerful; I was thinking that it was the last time that we should be near each other for an hour. I had not yet told Garrone that I should not go through the fourth grade with him, that I was to leave Turin with my father. He knew nothing. And he sat there, doubled up together, with his big head reclining on the desk, making ornaments round the photograph of his father, who was dressed like a machinist, and who is a tall, large man, with a bull neck and a serious, honest look, like himself. And as he sat thus bent together, with his blouse a little open in front, I saw on his bare and robust breast the gold cross which Nelli's mother had presented to him, when she learned that he protected her son. But it was necessary to tell him sometime that I was going away. I said to him:-- "Garrone, my father is going away from Turin this autumn, for good. He asked me if I were going, also. I replied that I was." "You will not go through the fourth grade with us?" he said to me. I answered "No." Then he did not speak to me for a while, but went on with his drawing. Then, without raising his head, he inquired: "And shall you remember your comrades of the third grade?" "Yes," I told him, "all of them; but you more than all the rest. Who can forget you?" He looked at me fixedly and seriously, with a gaze that said a thousand things, but he said nothing; he only offered me his left hand, pretending to continue his drawing with the other; and I pressed it between mine, that strong and loyal hand. At that moment the master entered hastily, with a red face, and said, in a low, quick voice, with a joyful intonation:-- "Good, all is going well now, let the rest come forwards; _bravi_, boys! Courage! I am extremely well satisfied." And, in order to show us his contentment, and to exhilarate us, as he went out in haste, he made a motion of stumbling and of catching at the wall, to prevent a fall; he whom we had never seen laugh! The thing appeared so strange, that, instead of laughing, all remained stupefied; all smiled, no one laughed. Well, I do not know,--that act of childish joy caused both pain and tenderness. All his reward was that moment of cheerfulness,--it was the compensation for nine months of kindness, patience, and even sorrow! For that he had toiled so long; for that he had so often gone to give lessons to a sick boy, poor teacher! That and nothing more was what he demanded of us, in exchange for so much affection and so much care! And, now, it seems to me that I shall always see him in the performance of that act, when I recall him through many years; and when I have become a man, he will still be alive, and we shall meet, and I will tell him about that deed which touched my heart; and I will give him a kiss on his white head. FAREWELL. Monday, 10th. At one o'clock we all assembled once more for the last time at the school, to hear the results of the examinations, and to take our little promotion books. The street was thronged with parents, who had even invaded the big hall, and many had made their way into the class-rooms, thrusting themselves even to the master's desk: in our room they filled the entire space between the wall and the front benches. There were Garrone's father, Derossi's mother, the blacksmith Precossi, Coretti, Signora Nelli, the vegetable-vender, the father of the little mason, Stardi's father, and many others whom I had never seen; and on all sides a whispering and a hum were audible, that seemed to proceed from the square outside. The master entered, and a profound silence ensued. He had the list in his hand, and began to read at once. "Abatucci, promoted, sixty seventieths. Archini, promoted, fifty-five seventieths."--The little mason promoted; Crossi promoted. Then he read loudly:-- "Ernesto Derossi, promoted, seventy seventieths, and the first prize." All the parents who were there--and they all knew him--said:-- "Bravo, bravo, Derossi!" And he shook his golden curls, with his easy and beautiful smile, and looked at his mother, who made him a salute with her hand. Garoffi, Garrone, the Calabrian promoted. Then three or four sent back; and one of them began to cry because his father, who was at the entrance, made a menacing gesture at him. But the master said to the father:-- "No, sir, excuse me; it is not always the boy's fault; it is often his misfortune. And that is the case here." Then he read:-- "Nelli, promoted, sixty-two seventieths." His mother sent him a kiss from her fan. Stardi, promoted, with sixty-seven seventieths! but, at hearing this fine fate, he did not even smile, or remove his fists from his temples. The last was Votini, who had come very finely dressed and brushed,--promoted. After reading the last name, the master rose and said:-- "Boys, this is the last time that we shall find ourselves assembled together in this room. We have been together a year, and now we part good friends, do we not? I am sorry to part from you, my dear boys." He interrupted himself, then he resumed: "If I have sometimes failed in patience, if sometimes, without intending it, I have been unjust, or too severe, forgive me." "No, no!" cried the parents and many of the scholars,--"no, master, never!" "Forgive me," repeated the master, "and think well of me. Next year you will not be with me; but I shall see you again, and you will always abide in my heart. Farewell until we meet again, boys!" So saying, he stepped forward among us, and we all offered him our hands, as we stood up on the seats, and grasped him by the arms, and by the skirts of his coat; many kissed him; fifty voices cried in concert: "Farewell until we meet again, teacher!--Thanks, teacher!--May your health be good!--Remember us!" When I went out, I felt oppressed by the commotion. We all ran out confusedly. Boys were emerging from all the other class-rooms also. There was a great mixing and tumult of boys and parents, bidding the masters and the mistresses good by, and exchanging greetings among themselves. The mistress with the red feather had four or five children on top of her, and twenty around her, depriving her of breath; and they had half torn off the little nun's bonnet, and thrust a dozen bunches of flowers in the button-holes of her black dress, and in her pockets. Many were making much of Robetti, who had that day, for the first time, abandoned his crutches. On all sides the words were audible:-- "Good by until next year!--Until the twentieth of October!" We greeted each other, too. Ah! now all disagreements were forgotten at that moment! Votini, who had always been so jealous of Derossi, was the first to throw himself on him with open arms. I saluted the little mason, and kissed him, just at the moment when he was making me his last hare's face, dear boy! I saluted Precossi. I saluted Garoffi, who announced to me the approach of his last lottery, and gave me a little paper weight of majolica, with a broken corner; I said farewell to all the others. It was beautiful to see poor Nelli clinging to Garrone, so that he could not be taken from him. All thronged around Garrone, and it was, "Farewell, Garrone!--Good by until we meet!" And they touched him, and pressed his hands, and made much of him, that brave, sainted boy; and his father was perfectly amazed, as he looked on and smiled. Garrone was the last one whom I embraced in the street, and I stifled a sob against his breast: he kissed my brow. Then I ran to my father and mother. My father asked me: "Have you spoken to all of your comrades?" I replied that I had. "If there is any one of them whom you have wronged, go and ask his pardon, and beg him to forget it. Is there no one?" "No one," I answered. "Farewell, then," said my father with a voice full of emotion, bestowing a last glance on the schoolhouse. And my mother repeated: "Farewell!" And I could not say anything. * * * * * TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE The original language and spelling have been retained, except where noted. Minimal typographical errors concerning punctuation have been corrected without notes. The signatures at the end of the following sections MY MOTHER. POETRY. GARIBALDI. ITALY. MY FATHER. THE LAST PAGE FROM MY MOTHER. are missing in the original text and have been added according to the Italian editions of the book. The [oe] ligature has been rendered as "oe". The following changes were made to the original text (the original text is on the first line, the correction is on the following line): 97: two battalions of Italian infantry and two cannon two battalions of Italian infantry and two cannons 117: replied, that the the man was a mason who had replied, that the man was a mason who had 177: Feruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning 201: with the wound on his neck, who was with Garabaldi, with the wound on his neck, who was with Garibaldi, 292: which anounced the field artillery; and then the which announced the field artillery; and then the * * * * * 
29264	----	[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. Hyphenation and accentuation have been standardised, all other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has been maintained. Page 94: The word "of" has been added in "If the Army of the Potomac".] DIARY, FROM NOVEMBER 18, 1862, TO OCTOBER 18, 1863. BY ADAM GUROWSKI. VOLUME SECOND. NEW-YORK: _Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway._ MDCCCLXIV. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, By GEO. W. CARLETON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. Of all the peoples known in history, the American people most readily forgets YESTERDAY; I publish this DIARY in order to recall YESTERDAY to the memory of my countrymen. GUROWSKI. WASHINGTON, October, 1863. CONTENTS. NOVEMBER, 1862. 11 Secretary Chase -- French Mediation -- The Decembriseur -- Diplomatic Bendings. DECEMBER, 1862. 22 President's Message -- Political Position -- Fredericksburgh -- Fog -- Accident -- Crisis in the Cabinet -- Secretary Chase -- Burnside -- Halleck -- The Butchers -- The Lickspittle Republican Press -- War Committee Patriots -- Youth -- People -- Ring out. JANUARY, 1863. 61 Proclamation -- Parade -- Halleck -- Diplomats -- Herodians -- Inspired Men -- War Powers -- Rosecrans -- Butler -- Seward -- Doctores Constitutionis -- Hogarth -- Rhetors -- European Enemies -- Second Sight -- Senator Wright, the Patriot -- Populus Romanus -- Future Historian -- English People -- Gen. Mitchel -- Hooker in Command -- Staffs -- Arming Africo-Americans -- Thurlow Weed, &c. FEBRUARY, 1863. 119 The Problems before the People -- The Circassian -- Department of State and International Laws -- Foresight -- Patriot Stanton and the Rats -- Honest Conventions -- Sanitary Commission -- Harper's Ferry -- John Brown -- The Yellow Book -- The Republican Party -- Epitaph -- Prize Courts -- Suum cuique -- Academy of Sciences -- Democratic Rank and File, etc. MARCH, 1863. 159 Press -- Ethics -- President's Powers -- Seward's Manifestoes -- Cavalry -- Letters of Marque -- Halleck -- Sigel -- Fighting -- McDowell -- Schalk -- Hooker -- Etat Major-General -- Gold -- Cloaca Maxima -- Alliance -- Burnside -- Halleckiana -- Had we but Generals, how often Lee could have been destroyed, etc. APRIL, 1863. 182 Lord Lyons -- Blue Book -- Diplomats -- Butler -- Franklin -- Bancroft -- Homunculi -- Fetishism -- Committee on the Conduct of the War -- Non-intercourse -- Peterhoff -- Sultan's Firman -- Seward -- Halleck -- Race -- Capua -- Feint -- Letter-writing -- England -- Russia -- American Revolution -- Renovation -- Women -- Monroe Doctrine, etc. MAY, 1863. 215 Advance -- Crossing -- Chancellorsville -- Hooker -- Staff -- Lee -- Jackson -- Stunned -- Suggestions -- Meade -- Swinton -- La Fayette -- Happy Grant -- Rosecrans -- Halleck -- Foote -- Elections -- Re-elections -- Tracks -- Seward -- 413, etc. JUNE, 1863. 238 Banks -- "The Enemy Crippled" -- Count Zeppelin -- Hooker -- Stanton -- "Give Him a Chance" -- Mr. Lincoln's Looks -- Rappahannock -- Slaughter -- North Invaded -- "To be Stirred up" -- Blasphemous Curtin -- Banquetting -- Groping -- Retaliation -- Foote -- Hooker -- Seward -- Panama -- Chase -- Relieved -- Meade -- Nobody's Fault -- Staffs, etc. JULY, 1863. 257 Eneas -- Anchises -- General Warren -- Aldie -- General Pleasanton -- Superior Mettle -- Gettysburgh -- Cholera Morbus -- Vicksburgh -- Army of Heroes -- Apotheosis -- "Not Name the Generals" -- Indian Warfare -- Politicians -- Spittoons -- Riots -- Council of War -- Lords and Lordlings -- Williamsport -- Shame -- Wadsworth -- "To meet the Empress Eugénie," etc. AUGUST, 1863. 286 Stanton -- Twenty Thousand -- Canadians -- Peterhoff -- Coffey -- Initiation -- Electioneering -- Reports -- Grant -- McClellan -- Belligerent Rights -- Menagerie -- Watson -- Jury -- Democrats -- Bristles -- "Where is Stanton?" -- "Fight the Monster" -- Chasiana -- Luminaries -- Ballistic -- Political Economy, etc. SEPTEMBER, 1863. 310 Jeff Davis -- Incubuerunt -- O, Youth! -- Lucubrations -- Genuine Europe -- It is Forgotten -- Fremont -- Prof. Draper -- New Yorkers -- Senator Sumner's Gauntlet -- Prince Gortschakoff -- Governor Andrew -- New Englanders -- Re-elections -- Loyalty -- Cruizers -- Matamoras -- Hurrah for Lincoln -- Rosecrans -- Strategy -- Sabine Pass, etc. OCTOBER, 1863. 338 Aghast -- Firing -- Supported -- Russian Fleet -- Opposition -- Amor scelerated -- Cautious -- Mastiffs -- _Grande Guerre_ -- Manoeuvring -- Tambour battant -- Warning, etc. DIARY. NOVEMBER, 1862. Secretary Chase -- French Mediation -- the Decembriseur -- Diplomatic Bendings. _November 18._--In the street a soldier offered to sell me the pay already several months overdue to him. As I could not help him, as gladly I would have done, being poor, he sold it to a curb-stone broker, a street note-shaver. I need not say that the poor soldier sustained a loss of twenty-five per cent. by the operation! He wanted to send the money home to his poor wife and children; yet one fourth of it was thus given into the hands of a stay-at-home speculator. Alas, for me! I could not save the poor fellow from the remorseless shaver, but I could and did join him in a very energetic cursing of Chase, that at once pompous and passive patriot. This induced me to enter upon a further and more particular investigation, and I found that hundreds of similar cases were of almost daily occurrence; and that this cheating of the soldiers out of their nobly and patriotically earned pay, may quite fairly be denounced as rather the rule than as the exception. The army is unpaid! Unspeakable infamy! Before,--long before the intellectually poor occupant of the White House, long before _any_ civil employé, big or little, the ARMY ought to be paid. Common humanity, common sense, and sound policy affirm this; and common decency, to say nothing about chivalric feelings, adds that when paymasters are sent to the army at all, their first payments should be made to the rank and file; the generals and their subordinate officers to be paid, not before, but afterwards. Oh! for the Congress, for the Congress to meet once again! My hope is in the Congress, to resist, and sternly put an end to, such heaven-defying and man-torturing injustice as now braves the curses of outraged men, and the anger of God. How this pompous Chase disappoints every one, even those who at first were inclined to be even weakly credulous and hopeful of his official career. And why is Stanton silent? He ought to roar. As for Lincoln--he, ah! * * * * The curses of all the books of all the prophets be upon the culprits who have thus compelled our gallant and patriotic soldiery to mingle their tears with their own blood and the blood of the enemy! _Nov. 18._--Again Seward assures Lord Lyons that the national troubles will soon be over, and that the general affairs of the country "stand where he wanted them." Seward's crew circulate in the most positive terms, that the country will be pacified by the State Department! England, moved by the State papers and official notes--England, officially and non-officially, will stop the iron-clads, built and launched in English ports and harbors for the use of the rebels, and for the annoyance and injury of the United States. England, these Americans say, England, no doubt, has said some hard words, and has been guilty of some detestably treacherous actions; but all will probably be settled by the benign influence of Mr. Seward's despatches, which, as everyone knows, are perfectly irresistible. How the wily Palmerston must chuckle in Downing Street. The difference between Seward and a real statesman, is this: that a statesman is always, and very wisely, chary about committing himself in writing, and only does it when compelled by absolutely irresistible circumstances, or by temptations brilliant enough to overrule all other considerations; for, such a statesman never for one moment forgets or disregards the old adage which saith that "_Verba volant, scripta manent_." But Seward, on the contrary, literally revels in a flood of ink, and fancies that the more he writes, the greater statesman he becomes. At the beginning of this month, I wrote to the French minister, M. Mercier, a friendly and respectful note, warning him against meddling with politicians and busybodies. I told him that, before he could even suspect it, such men would bring his name before the public in a way neither pleasant nor profitable to him. M. Mercier took it in good part, and cordially thanked me for my advice. _Nov. 19._--Burnside means well, and has a good heart; but something more is required to make a capable captain, more especially in such times as those in which we are living. It is said that his staff is well organized; God be praised for that, if it really is so. In that case, Burnside will be the first among the loudly-lauded and self-conceited West-Point men, forcibly to impress both the military and the civilian mind in America, with a wholesome consciousness of the paramount importance to an army of a thoroughly competent and trustworthy staff. The division of the army into three grand corps is good; it is at once wise and well-timed, following the example set by Napoleon, when he invaded Russia in 1812. If his subordinate generals will but do well, I have entire confidence in Hooker. He is the man for the time and for the place. As a fighting man, Sumner is fully and unquestionably reliable; but I have my doubts about Franklin. He is cold, calculating, and ambitious, and he has the especially bad quality of being addicted to the alternate blowing of hot and cold. Burnside did a good thing in confiding to General Siegel a separate command. The _New York Times_ begins to mend its bad ways; but how long will it continue in the better path? _Nov. 20._--England stirs up and backs up rebellion and disunion here; but, in Europe, for the sake of the unity of barbarism, Islamism, and Turkey, England throttles, and manacles, and lays prostrate beneath the feet of the Osmanli, the Greeks, the Sclavi, the heroic Montenegrins. England is the very incarnation of a treachery and a perfidy previously unexampled in the history of the world. The _Punica fides_, so fiercely denounced and so bitterly satirized by the historians and poets of old Rome, was truthful if compared to the _Fides Anglica_ of our own day. _Nov. 22._--Our army seems to be massed so as to be able to wedge itself in between Jackson in the valley and Lee at Gordonsville. By a bold manoeuvre, each of them could be separately attacked, and, I firmly believe, destroyed. But, unfortunately, boldness and manoeuvre, that highest gift, that supreme inspiration of the consummate captain, have no abiding place in the bemuddled brains of the West-Pointers, who are a dead weight and drag-chain upon the victimised and humiliated Army of the Potomac. _Nov. 25._--The Army is stuck fast in the mud, and the march towards Fredericksburgh is not at all unlikely to end in smoke. There seems to be an utter absence of executive energy. Why not mask our movements before Gordonsville from the observation of Lee? Or, if preferable, what is to hinder the interposition of _un rideau vivant_, a _living curtain_, in the form of a false attack, a feint in considerable force, behind which the whole army might be securely thrown across the Rappahannock, by which at least two days' march would be gained on Lee, and our troops would be on the direct line for Fredericksburg, if Fredericksburg is really to be the base for future operations. In this way, the army would have marched against Fredericksburg on both sides of the river. Or, supposing those plans to be rejected, why not throw a whole army corps at once, say 40,000 to 50,000 strong, across the Rappahannock. On either plan, I repeat it, at least two days' march would have been stolen upon Lee; three or four days of forced marches would have been healthy for our army, and a bloodless victory would have been obtained by the taking of the seemingly undefended Fredericksburg. A dense cloud enveloped this whole enterprise, and it is not even improbable, that the campaign may become a dead failure even before it has accomplished the half of its projected and loudly vaunted course. But bold conceptions, and energetic movements to match them, are just about as possible to Halleck or Burnside as railroad speed to the tedious tortoise. _Nov. 25._--Oh! So Louis Napoleon could not keep quiet. He offers his mediation, which, in plain English, means his moral support to the South. Oh! that enemy to the whole human race. That _Decembriseur_.[1] Our military slowness, if nothing else is the matter, our administrative and governmental helplessness, and Seward's lying and all-confusing foreign policy have encouraged foreign impertinence and foreign meddling. I have all along anticipated them as an at least very possible result of the above mentioned causes. [See vol. I of the Diary.] Nevertheless, I scarcely expected such results to appear so soon. Perhaps this same impertinent French action may prove a second French _faux pas_, to follow in the wake of the first and very egregious _faux pas_ in Mexico. The best that we can say for the _Decembriseur_ is, that he is getting old. England refuses to join in his at once wild and atrocious schemes, and makes a very Tomfool of the bloody Fox of the Tuileries. My, Russia--ah! I am very confident of that--will refuse to join in the dirty and treacherous conspiracy for the preservation of slavery. Well for mediation. But Mr. _Decembriseur_, what think you and your diplomatic lackeys; what judgment and what determination do you and they form as to the terms and the termination, too, of your diabolical scheme? Descend, sir, from your shilly-shally generalities and verbal fallacies. Is it to be a commercial union, this hobby of your minister here? What is it; let us in all plainness of speech know what it is that you really and positively intend. Propound to us the plain meaning and scope of your imperial proposition. [Footnote 1: The men who, in the great French revolution, and under the leadership of Danton and of the municipality of Paris, massacred the political prisoners in September, 1792, are recorded in history under the name of _Septembriseurs_. Louis Napoleon may no less justly be called the _Decembriseur_, from that frightful massacre on the 2nd of December, from which he dates his despotism.] _Nov. 27._--Lee, with his army, marches or marched on the south side of the river, in a parallel to the line of Burnside on the north side of the river, and Jackson quietly, but quickly follows. They are at Fredericksburg, and our army looms up, calm, but stern; still, but defiant and menacing. I heartily wish that Burnside may be successful, and that I may prove to have been a false prophet. But the great _Fatum_, FATE, seems to declare against Burnside, and Fate generally takes sides with bold conceptions and their energetic execution. _Nov. 28._--The French despatch-scheme reads very like a Washington concoction, and does not at all bear the marks of Parisian origin. I find in it whole phrases which, for months past, I have repeatedly heard from the French minister here. Perhaps Mr. Mercier, in his turn, may have caught many of Mr. Seward's much-cherished generalities, unintelligible, very probably, even to himself, and quite certainly so to every one but himself. Perhaps, I say, Mr. Mercier may have caught up some of them, and making them up at hap-hazard into a _macedoine_, a hash, a hotch-potch, has served up the second-hand and heterogeneous mess to his master in Paris. The despatch expresses the fear of a servile war; this may very well have been copied from Mr. Seward's despatch to Mr. Adams, (May, 1862,) wherein Seward attempted to frighten England by a prophecy of a servile war in this country. _Nov. 30._--Mr. Seward semi-officially and conveniently accepts the French impudence. Computing the time and space, the scheme corresponds with McClellan's inactivity after Antietam, and with the raising of the banner of the Copperheads. I spoke of this before, (see Diary for November and December, 1861, in Vol. I.) and repeatedly warned Stanton. _Nov. 30._--Mercier, the French diplomat, rapidly gravitates towards the Copperheads--Democrats. Is he acting thus _in obedience to orders_? After all, some of the diplomats here, and especially those of what call themselves the "three great powers," almost openly sympathize and side with secessionists, and patronize Copperheads, traitors, and spies. The exceptions to this rule are but few; strictly speaking, indeed, I should except only one young man. Some diplomats justify this conduct on the plea that the Republican Congressmen are "great bores," who will not play at cards, or dine and drink copiously; accomplishments in which the Secesh was so pre-eminent as to win his way to the inner depths of the diplomatic heart. The people, I am sure, will heartily applaud those of its representatives for thus incurring the contempt of dissipated diplomats. Some persons maintain that Stanton breaks down, perhaps that he suffers, physically as well as mentally, from his necessitated contact with his official colleagues and his and their persistent, inevitable and inexorable hangers-on and supplicants. I do not perceive the alleged failure of his health or powers, and I do not believe it; but assuredly, it were no marvel if such really were the case. It must be an adamantine constitution and temper that could long bear with impunity the daily contact with a Lincoln, a Seward, a Halleck, and others less noted, indeed, but not the less contagious. DECEMBER, 1862 President's Message -- Political position -- Fredericksburgh -- Fog -- Accident -- Crisis in the Cabinet -- Secretary Chase -- Burnside -- Halleck -- the Butchers -- The Lickspittle Republican Press -- War Committee patriots -- Youth -- People -- Ring out. Grammarians may criticize the syntax of the President's message, and the style. It reads uneasy, forced, tortuous, and it declares that it is _impossible_ to subdue the rebels by force of arms. Of course it is impossible with Lincoln for President, and first McClellan and then Halleck to counterfeit the parts of the first Napoleon, and the at once energetic and scientific Carnot. Were the great heart of THE PEOPLE left to itself, it would be very _possible_ and even quite easily _possible_. The message is written with an eye turned towards the Democrats; they are to be satisfied with the prospect of a convention. Seward puts lies into Lincoln's pen, in relation to foreign nations. But all is well, in the judgment of our _Great Statesmen_. Even the poor logic is, according to them, quite admirable. Contrariwise, Stanton's report corresponds to the height and the gravity of events, and is worthy alike of the writer, and of the people to whom it is addressed. _Dec. 6._--Nearly four weeks the campaign has been opened; the enemy adds fortifications to fortifications before the very eyes of our army, yet nothing has been done towards preventing the rebels from working upon the formidable strongholds. Does Halleck-Burnside intend to wait until the rebels shall be thoroughly prepared to repel any attack that may be made upon them? Either there is foul play going on, or there is stupendous stupidity pervading the entire management. But no one sees it, or rather few, if any, wish to see it. Stanton, I am quite sure, has nothing to do with the special plans of this enterprise. All is planned and ruled by Lincoln, Halleck and Burnside. _Dec. 7._--The political situation to-day, may be summarily stated as follows: the Republicans are confused by recent electoral defeats, and by the administrative and governmental helplessness, as exhibited every day by their leaders; the Democrats, flushed with success, display an unusual activity in evil doing, and are risking everything to preserve Slavery and the South from destruction. I speak of the Simon-pure Democrats, _alias_ Copperheads, such as the Woods, the Seymours, the Vallandighams, the Coxes, the Biddles, &c. The Sewards and the Weeds are ready for a compromise. The masses of the people, staggered by all this bewildering turmoil and impure factiousness, are nevertheless, stubbornly determined to persevere and to succeed in saving their country. _Dec. 7._--The European wiseacres, the would-be statesmen, whether in or out of power, especially in England, and that opprobrium of our century, the English and the Franco-Bonapartist press, have decided to do all that their clever brains can scheme towards preventing this noble American people from working out its mighty and beneficent destinies, and from elaborating and making more glorious than ever its own already very glorious history. As well might the brainless and heartless conspirators against human progress and human liberty endeavor to arrest the rotation of a planet by the stroke of a pickaxe. Ah! Mr. _Decembriseur_, with your base crew of lickspittles, your pigmy, though treacherous efforts, even contending with those of the English enemies of light, and of right, your common hatred of Freedom and Freemen will end in being the destruction of yourself. _Dec. 7._--Burnside complains of the manner in which he is victimised, and explains his inactivity by the fact that the War Department neglected to furnish him with the necessary pontoons. How, in fact, was Burnside to move a great army without pontoons? But it was the duty of Halleck, and his lazy or incompetent, or traitorous staff, to have seen to the sending on of the pontoons. However, supposing Burnside and _his_ staff to have as much wit as an average twelve-year-old school boy, they could have found in the army not merely hundreds, but even thousands of proficient workmen in a variety of mechanical trades, who would have constructed on the spot, and at the shortest notice, any number of bridges, pontoons, &c. Oh, how little are those wiseacre generals, the conceited and swaggering West Pointers; oh, how very little, if at all are they aware of the inexhaustible ingenuity and resources, the marvelous skill and power of such intelligent masses as those of which they are the unintelligent, the unsympathising and the thoroughly unblessed leaders! On a Sunday, exactly four weeks back from the day which I wrote these lines, McClellan was dismissed, and was succeeded by Burnside. But, after the established McClellan fashion, the great, great army was marched 30 to 50 miles, and then halts for weeks up to its knees in mud, and occupies itself in throwing up earthworks. And this is called making War! and the Hallecks are great men in the sight of Abraham Lincoln, and of all who profess and call themselves Lincolnites, and the rest stand around wondering and agape: _Conticuere omnes intentique ora (asinina) tenebant._ Stanton's magnificent report states that there are about 700,000 men under arms; yet this tremendous force is paralysed by the inactivity of most of the generals; those in the West, however, forming a bright and truly honorable exception. But, to be candid, how can activity and dash be expected from generals who have at their head, a shallow brained pedant like Halleck? Napoleon had about 500,000 men, when, in between four and five months, he marched from the Rhine to Moscow. Yet he had the aid of no railroad, on land, no steam, that practical annihilator of distance, no electric telegraph, with which to be in all but instantaneous communication with his distant generals, and had not similar material resources. _Dec. 10._--Mr. Seward's long correspondence with Mr. Adams shows to Europe that Mr. Seward imitated the rebels, and tried to frighten England with the bugbear of King Cotton; and also that he has no solid and abiding convictions whatever. Now, he preaches emancipation, yet, at the beginning of his _great_ diplomatic activity, he openly sided with slavery; aye, he is still willing to save it for the sake of the Union, and, above all, and before all, for his own chances for the next Presidency. _Dec. 10._--Burnside has finally crossed the Rappahannock. Of course I do not know the respective positions. But I am sure that if the rebels have not a perfectly enormous advantage of position, and if the leading of the generals be worthy of the courage of their men, the victory must be ours. Oh! were all our generals Hookers, and not Burnsides! General McDowell's Court of Inquiry produces some strange revelations. The inquiry will not end in making a thorough general of McDowell. He may have been somewhat unfortunate, no doubt; but his want of good fortune was at least equalled by his want of good generalship. I, and many others besides, were quite mistaken in our early estimate of McDowell. He should not so easily have swallowed the second Bull Run. He should at least have been wounded, if only ever so slightly; his best friends must wish that. But to be defeated, and come out without even a scratch! What a digestion the man must have for the hardest kinds of humiliation! But neither the President nor that curse of the country, McClellan, has great reason to plume himself much upon his share in the revelations that are made in the course of this Inquiry. McDowell himself seems to have been intended, by nature for a scheming and adroit politician. * * * * _Dec. 10._--The Congress feels the ground, hesitates, and apparently lacks the necessary energy to come to a determination. Lincoln, even such as he is, contrives to humbug most of the Congressmen. Well! The first of January is close at hand, and Seward, the Congressional cook, will concoct unpalatable and costly dishes for Congressional digestion. Seward is the incarnation of confusion, and of political faithlessness. I have only now discovered certain of the reasons why the Battle of Antietam, so bravely fought by our army, had no _ensemble_ and such marvelously poor results. Burnside, with his corps, got into line many hours too late. The rebels were thus enabled to concentrate on the wing opposed to Hooker and Sumner, the right wing and centre of the rebels being for the time unthreatened. And that is generalship! The blame of a blunder so glaring, and in its effect so mischievous, attaches equally to Burnside and to McClellan. The victory, such as it was, was due to the subordinate generals, and to the heroic bravery of the rank and file of the army. When Burnside was invested with the command of the Army of the Potomac, he for nearly twenty-four hours retained McClellan in camp, with the intention of returning the command of the army to him if the rebels had attacked, as it was expected they would, during Sunday and Monday. _Dec. 13._--Night. Fight at Fredericksburgh. No news. O God! _Dec. 14._--As the consequence of Halleck-Burnside's slowness, our troops storm positions which are said to be impregnable by nature, and still farther strengthened by artificial works. The President is even worse than I had imagined him to be. He has no earnestness, but is altogether in the hands of Seward and Halleck. He cannot, even in this supreme crisis, be earnest and serious for half an hour. Such was the severe but terribly true verdict passed upon him by Fessenden of Maine. _Dec. 15._--Slaughter and infamy! Slaughter of our troops who fought like Titans, though handled in a style to reflect nothing but infamy upon their commanders. When the rebel works had become impregnable, then, but not until then, our troops were hurled against them! The flower of the army has thus been butchered by the surpassing stupidity of its commanders. The details of that slaughter, and of the imbecility displayed by our officers in high command,--those details, when published, will be horrible. The Lincoln-Seward-Halleck-influence gave Burnside the command because he was to take care of the army. And how Burnside has fulfilled their expectations! It seems that the best way to take care of an army is to make it victorious. My brave and patriotic Wadsworth has gone in the field, also his two sons; one of them, (Tick,) was at Fredericksburgh, and his bravery was remarkable, even among all the heroism of that most glorious and most accursed day. How many such patriots as Wadsworth, can we boast of? Yet the miserable Halleck had the impudence to say--"Wadsworth may go wherever he pleases, even if he pleases to go to Hell!" Hell itself, would be too good a place for Halleck; imbeciles are not admitted there! _Dec. 17._--The details are coming in. The disaster of our army is terrible--indescribable; the heroic people bleeds, bleeds! And all this calamity and all this suffering and humiliation, are brought on by the stupidity of Burnside and Halleck, or both of them. The curse of the people ought to rest for centuries upon the very names of the authors of such frightful disaster. They are fiends, yea, worse, even, than the very fiends themselves. Why, even the very rabble in Constantinople would storm the seraglio after such a massacre. But here--oh, here, it just reminds Mr. Lincoln of a little anecdote. _Dec. 17._--I meet with but few such as Wade, Grimes, Chandler and other radicals in both Houses of Congress, who seem to feel all the heart burning and bitterness of soul at this awful Fredericksburgh disaster. The real criminals, those who ought, in the agonies of a great shame, call upon the rocks and the mountains to fall upon them not, blush not, sorrow not. In many of the general public, I have no doubt that the feeling of shame and sympathy, are blunted by these repeated military calamities, and by Mr. Lincoln's undaunted i.......... * * * * * and men, Have wept enough, for what? To weep, To weep again. _Dec. 17._--About ten days ago, Mr. Seward again sent forth to Europe and to her Cabinets, one of his stale, and by no means Delphic oracles, predicting the success of Burnside's campaign, and immediately follows a bloody and disgraceful calamity! Such is always the result of Seward's prophecies! A diplomat calls Seward the evil eye of the Cabinet, and of the country. I suggested to some of the senators that a resolution be passed prohibiting Mr. Seward from playing either the prophet or the fool. Burnside took care of the army, no doubt, but it was of the rebel army. Our soldiers have been brought by him to the block, to an easy slaughter, he himself being some few miles in the rear, and having between him the river, and the intervening miles of land. All this, however, was according to the regulations, and on the most approved Halleck-McClellan fashion of fighting great battles. _Dec. 18._--The disaster was inaugurated by the shelling of Fredericksburgh. One hundred and forty-seven (147!) guns playing upon a few houses. It was the play of a maddened child, exhibiting in equal proportions, reckless ferocity and egregious stupidity; and it is difficult to find one dyslogistic term which will adequately describe and condemn it. From what I can already gather of the details of the attack, it may be peremptorily concluded that Burnside, Sumner, and above all, Franklin, are utterly incompetent of a skillful and effective handling of great masses of troops. They attacked by brigades, positions so formidable, that if they could possibly be carried by any exertion of human skill and strength, they could only be carried by large masses impetuously hurled against them. Franklin seems especially to have acted ill in not at once throwing in 10,000 men to be followed rapidly and again and again by 10,000 more. In that wise and only in that wise, he might possibly have broken and turned the enemy, and thrown him on his own centre. It is said that Franklin had 60,000. If so, he could easily have risked some 20,000 in the first onslaught. Sixty thousand! Great God! Why, it is an army in itself, in the hands of a general at all deserving of that name. If those great West Pointers had only even the slightest idea of military history! More battles have been fought and won with 60,000 men, and with fewer still, than with larger numbers, and at Fredericksburgh Franklin's force formed only a wing against an enemy whose whole army could number but little more than 60,000. I want the reports with the full and positive details. The clear-sighted and warlike TRIBUNE discovered in Burnside high, brilliant, and soldier-like qualities--admirably borne out and illustrated no doubt, by the Fredericksburgh butchery! To the hospital of imbeciles with all such imbeciles! The _Times_ was manly in its appreciation, and flunkeyed to no one under hand, that is, confidentially and for newspaper publication. Mr. Seward reveals to the world at large, that, besides his volume of 700 pages, containing the last diplomatic correspondence, he has still an equal number of masterpieces as yet not published. What a dreadful dysentery of despatch-writing the poor man and his still more afflicted readers must labor under. The Lincoln-Seward policy, has rebuilt the awful Democratic party, which was broken up, prostrated in the dust. Lincoln--Seward--Weed, partially emasculated the Republican party, and may even emasculate the thus far thoroughly virile and devoted patriotism of the people. A helpless imbecile in the hands of a cunning and selfish and ruthless charlatan, is the sight that daily meets our eyes in Washington. General Bayard, one of the slaughtered at Fredericksburgh, was a true Bayard of the army, and one of the very few West Pointers free from conceit, that corrosive and terribly prevalent malady of the West Point clique. _Dec. 18._--Senators waking up to their duties, and to the consciousness of their power. These patriots have said to Seward, _Averte Sathanas_, and overboard he goes, after having done as much evil as only _he_ could do. The most contradictory rumors are in circulation about Stanton. I cannot find out the truth. I do not believe all that is said, but it is necessary to put the rumors on record. It is said then, that Stanton stands up for the butchers and asses in the army and in his department. I believe that in all this, there is not a single word of truth; but if it were true, then I should say, Stanton is ruined by bad company, and down with him and with them! _Quoniam sic Fata tulerunt._ But worthy Senators and Representatives, believe still in Stanton, and so do I; only the Seward-Blair-McClellan clique tears Stanton's reputation to pieces. Stanton seems to be, in some measure, infatuated with Halleck, who, perhaps, humbugs Stanton with military technicalities, which Halleck so well knows how to pass current for military science. _Dec. 20._--The American generals, at least those in the Army of the Potomac, for the sake of shirking responsibility, maintain that when once in line of battle, they must rigidly abide by the orders given to them. No doubt, such is the military law and rule, but it is susceptible of exceptions. The generals of the Potomac shun the exceptions, and thus deprive their action of all spontaneity. Perhaps, indeed, spontaneity of action is not among their military gifts. Thus we have from them, none of those _coups d'éclat_, those sudden, brilliant, and impetuously improvised dashes, which so often decide the fate of the day, and turn imminent defeat and partial panic into glorious and crowning victory. We find none such, if we except some actions of Hooker and Kearney, on a small scale, and at the beginning of the campaign in the Chickahominy, or the Peninsula. The most celebrated _coups d'éclat_ in general military history, have mostly been, so to speak, the children of inspiration, seizing Time by the forelock,--thus using opportunity which sometimes exists but for a few minutes, and thus a doubtful struggle terminates in a brilliant success. At such critical moments, the commander of a wing, or a corps, nay, even a division, ought to have the courage, the lofty self-abnegation, and firm confidence in his star or good luck, and still more in the enduring pluck of his men, and boldly strike for the accomplishment of that which the "Orders" have not mentioned or foreseen. Such a general acts on his own inspiration, and at the same time reports to the Commander-in-Chief, what he has determined upon. If instead of acting thus promptly, he sends and waits for further orders, the auspicious opportunity may pass away; the decisive moments in a battle are very rapid, and a single hour lost, loses the day, or reduces the results of a victory. I respectfully submit these undeniable but much disregarded truths to the Hallecks, McClellans, McDowells, and other great West Pointers. _Dec. 20._--The political cesspool is deeper, broader, filthier and more feculent than ever. Seward is triumphant, and the patriots have very much elongated countenances. _Dec. 21._--Senator Wilson has learned from Halleck, Burnside, and from some other and similarly _great_ captains, that the affair of Fredericksburgh, and the recrossing of the river, brilliantly compares with the countermarchings of Wagram, and with that celebrated crossing of the Danube. As there is not, in reality, a single point of similitude, the comparison is well selected, and does great honor to the judgment of the military wiseacres. At all events, never was the memory of a Napoleon, a Massena, or a Davoust, more ignominiously desecrated than by this comparison. _Dec. 22._--So, then, Sathanas Seward remains, and Mr. Lincoln scorns the advice of the wisest and most patriotic Senators. To be snubbed by Lincoln and Seward, is the greatest of all possible humiliations. Border-state politicians, Harrises, Brownings and other etceteras of grain, are the confidential advisers. Political manhood is utterly, and to all seeming, irretrievably lost. Stanton still holds with Seward. _Embrassons nous, et que cela finisse._ How brilliantly do even the very basest times of any government whatever, Parliamentary, royal or despotic, compare with what I now daily see here in the capital of the great republic! Since the earliest existence of political parties, rarely, if ever, has a party been in such a difficult, and, at times, even disgraceful position, as that of the patriots of both houses of Congress. Against the combined attacks of all stripes of traitors, such as ultra Conservatives, Constitutionalists, Copperheads and pure and impure Democrats, the patriots must defend an administration which they themselves condemn, and with the personnel of which, (Stanton and Wells excepted,) they have no sympathy and no identity of ideas. They must defend an administration which opposes even measures which they, the patriots, demand,--an administration which, in the recent elections, either betrayed or disgraced the whole party, and which brought into suspicion, if not into actual contempt, the name, nay, even the principles of the Republicans. And thus the patriots have the dead weight to support, and are wholly unsupported. The narrow-minded and shallow Republican press, has no comprehension of the difficulty of the position in which the patriots are placed; and that press, being in various ways connected with the administration, rarely, if ever, supports the patriots, and even mostly neutralises their best and noblest efforts. Thus, in the move against Seward, and for a reform in the Cabinet, the enlightened and patriotic Republican press of New York, was either persistently mute or hostile to the movement. Every day I am the more firmly convinced that Seward is the great stumbling block alike to Mr. Lincoln and the country at large. _Dec, 22._--Utterly incapable as is McClellan, and absolutely unfitted by nature to be a great captain as is Burnside, yet I think it quite clear that neither of them would have blundered quite so terribly if he had been provided with a really competent, zealous and faithful staff, as the generals of continental Europe invariably are. But it seems that here, neither the generals nor the government even desire to understand the true nature, duty, and value of the staff of an army, or what the chief of such a staff ought to know and ought to do. What, in fact, can we at all reasonably expect from a Halleck! After all, however, and shallow as are his brains, this mock Carnot must have read books on military science; and yet he has not learned either the use or the composition of a staff for an army! Had he done so, he would have organized a staff for himself, and one for each of the commanders in the field. It is true that in this country there is no school of staffs, and West Pointers are generally ignorant on that point. Nevertheless, with a little good will and care, it would be easy enough to find intelligent officers of all grades fit for staff duties as arranged for staff officers in Europe. But then, the necessary good will and good judgment are wanting in the head of this military organization. And this Halleck, this Halleck is a mere mockery, a mere sciolist, a shallow pretender to military science. He may have the capacity to translate a book, but nothing of all that he translates effects any hold upon his brain, or he would, long before now, have done something towards organising the army. A general inspector is the first necessity. Then establish the necessary proportions of each arm of the service, _i. e._, of infantry, cavalry and artillery for each division. Then organise the cavalry as a body. When you do this, or even a considerable part of all this, oh, sham-Carnot, Halleck! then your chance to be considered a military authority will be established. Oh, science, oh, insulted science! How desecrated is thy name in the high places here, and especially on the right and left of the White House. And oh! you really great and intelligent American PEOPLE, how ignominiously you are cheated of your blood, your time, your money, and most of all, of your so recently magnificent national reputation! What your military wiseacres show you as an organized army, would actually thrill, as with the death-shudder, any European military organizer. _Dec. 23._--I learn that the day following the butchery at Fredericksburgh, Burnside wished to renew the attack. What madness! The generals protested, and Burnside, greatly exasperated, declared that at the head of his former corps, the 9th, he would himself storm the miniature Torres Vedras. If all this is true, then Burnside is weaker headed than I had judged him to be; but I will not do him the injustice to say that he really intended to play a mere farce. What, in the name of common sense, could he do with a single corps, when the whole army was repulsed? I am warned by a friend, that the Army of the Potomac is so infected with McClellanism, that is to say, by presumption, intriguing, envy and misconception of what is true generalship,--that the army must undergo the process of strong purification, fumigation, pruning and weeding, (and especially among the higher branches,) before it can ever again be made truly useful and reliable. _Dec. 22._--Burnside's report. I am sure that the great luminaries of the press, and the declaimers, the intriguants and the imbeciles, will be thrown into fits of ecstatic admiration of what they will call the manly and straight-forward conduct of Burnside in assuming the responsibility and confessing his own fault. But what else could he do? And if he acted thus in obedience to the orders of Halleck, then instead of manliness, his conduct is almost treasonable towards the people, for in withholding the truth as to the orders given by Halleck, he gives that incarnation of calamity the power to repeat the butchery and ensure the ill success of our armies. The report is altogether unsoldierly; it is fussy and inflated; a full blown specimen of the pompously inane. How can Burnside venture to say that after the repulse, during three days he expected the enemy to leave his stronghold and attack him--Burnside? The rebels never did anything to justify such a supposition. They are neither idiots nor madmen, and only from a McClellan, or some bright pupils of the McClellan school, could such imbecility, such gratuitously ruinous playing into the hands of an enemy be expected. A commander ought to be on the watch for any mistake that his antagonist may commit, but he is not justified in setting that antagonist down as an ass. For two days the army was unnecessarily kept under the guns of the enemy, that is the truth, and I will make the truth known, no matter who may try to conceal it. Here, for the present, I stop in sheer and uncontrollable disgust. By and by, however, I will return to the consideration of this report. Oh! American people! In so very many respects, truly great people! Far, very far beyond my poor powers of expression are the great love and veneration with which ever and always I look upon you. But allow me, pray allow me to use the frank familiarity of a true friend, so far as just plainly to tell you, that even I, your sincere friend, should love you none the less, and certainly should hold you in all the greater reverence, were you not quite so ultra-favorable in judgment of your civil and military rulers and pastors and masters and nincompoops generally! Further back in this diary, I termed Mr. Secretary Chase a _passive patriot_. _Peccavi._ And here let me write down my recantation! Chase exerted himself for the retaining of Seward in the cabinet, and it was by Chase alone that the efforts of the patriots to expel Seward, were baffled. And yet, from the first day of the official assemblage of this cabinet down to the day of the meeting of the present session of Congress, Chase was more vigorously vicious than any other living man in daily, hourly, _all the time_, denunciation of Seward,--of course, behind Seward's back! Several insoluble problems, no doubt, there are; but there is not one thing, physical or not physical, which so completely defies any comprehension and baffles my most persistent inquiry, as just this. How, unless Chase has drank of the waters of Lethe, how can he possibly look, now, in the face of, for instance, Fessenden of Maine, to whom he has said so many bitter things against the now belauded "Secretary Seward!" Bah! Chase most certainly must have a forty-or-fifty-diplomatist power of commanding--literally and not slangishly be it spoken!--his _cheek_, if, without burning blushes he can look in the face of Fessenden, Sumner or any honest man and say,--"I admire and I support Secretary Seward!" God! If all who, during the last two years, have come into contact with Chase, would but come forward and speak out! In that case, thousands would stand forth, a "cloud of witnesses," to confirm this statement. Chase! Faugh! I hereby brand him, and leave him to the bitter judgment of all men who can conscientiously claim to be even _half honest_. In merest and barest justice to Seward, greatly as I disapprove of his general course, I must here note the fact that he is by no means addicted to evil speaking about any one. Not that this reticence proceeds from scrupulous feeling or a proud stern spirit. Seward, however, never speaks evil of any one unless to destroy, and to one who sympathises in that same amiable wish. To undermine a rival or to destroy an enemy, Seward will expend any amount of slander; but, in the absence of personal interest, Seward, though officially civilian, is, by nature, far too good and too old a soldier to waste ammunition upon worthless game. _Dec. 23._--Why could not Mr. Lincoln choose for his Secretary of State some man who has a holy and wholesome horror of pen, ink, and paper? Some man gifted with a sound brain, who never is quick at writing a dispatch, and would demand double salary as the price of writing one? Oh! Mr. Lincoln, had you but done this, not only would all America, but all Europe also be truly thankful for great immunity from the curse of morbid attempts at diplomacy and statesmanship. _Dec. 23._--Mr. Lincoln's proclamation to the butchered army! For heaven's sake let us know, pray, _pray_ let us know who was Lincoln's amanuensis? I hope it was not Stanton. The army is defiled. "An accident," says this precious proclamation, "has prevented victory." _What_ accident? Let the country know the precise nature of that same accident, and the manner, time, and place of its occurrence! Burnside talks about a fog! Oh! yes, a deep, dense terribly foul fog--in the _cerebellum_! Is that the _accident_ of which the precious proclamation so impudently speaks? Lincoln makes the wonderful discovery that the crossing and the recrossing of the river are quite peerless, absolutely unparallelled military achievements. Happy it was for the army, and happy for the country that at Fredericksburgh, our heroic soldiers gave far other and nobler proofs of more than human courage and fortitude than the mere crossing and recrossing of a river. The _Tribune_ is either in its dotage, or still worse. Burnside's unsoldierly blundering is compared to the great victorious splendors of Asperm, Esslingen, Wagram, and the tyrant-crushing three days of immortal Waterloo! The _Tribune_ lauds the crossing and the recrossing of the river, as an act of superhuman bravery; and Lincoln sympathises with the heavily wounded, and twaddles extensively about _comparative_ losses. Comparative to what? Oh! spirits of Napoleon and his braves; oh! spirit of true history, veil your blushing brows! And the _Tribune_ dares to make this impudent attempt at befogging the American people, and at the same time dares to tell that people that it is "intelligent." But let us not forget those comparative losses! Comparative to what? To those of the enemy? What knows he about them? _Dec. 24._--Crisis in the Seward cabinet. The "little Villain" of the _Times_, repeated what he did after the first "Bull Run." But he did not now confess to his dining with Seward, as formerly he did with the great "anaconda Scott!" The New York Republican press is attracted to Seward by natural affinity of election. Seward, however, holds the honey pot, and the flies are all eager to dip into it. I wish, yet dread to hear the exact particulars of Stanton's behavior during the crisis in the cabinet. It is so very, _very_ painful to be rudely awakened to distrust of those whom once we have too implicitly, too fondly believed. Lincoln has now become accustomed to Seward, as the hunchback is to his protuberance. What man who has an ugly excrescence on his face does not dread the surgeon's knife, although he knows that momentary pain will be followed by permanent relief? At the public dinner of "The New England Society," John Van Buren nominated McClellan for next President, and proposed the health of Secretary Seward. _Oh! quam pulchra societas!_ I am charged with being "dissatisfied with every thing, and abusing every body." The charge is unjust. I speak most lovingly and in most sincere admiration of the millions, of the great, toiling, brave, honest People, and of the hundreds of thousands of the gallant people-militant--the army! But I _do_ censure some thirty or forty individuals who dispense favors and appoint to fat offices, and, quite naturally, every dirty-souled lickspittle is indignant against me therefor! The blame of such people is far preferable to their praise! I am rejoiced, I am almost proud that Hooker insisted upon crossing the Rappahannock, and marching to Fredericksburgh, and that he opposed the subsequent attack. But of what benefit to me is this fatal, this Cassandra gift of foreseeing? Alas! Better, happier would it be for me could I not have foreseen and vainly, all vainly foretold, the terrible butchery of a brave people during two long and fatal years! _Dec. 24._--It is impossible to keep cool while reading Burnside's report. Once more this report justifies and corroborates Prince Napoleon's judgment on American generals, _i. e._, that their plan of campaigns will always be deficient in practice, like the theoretical war-exercises of schoolboys. From this sweeping and terribly true charge, however, we must except the Grants and the--alas! how few!--Rosecranses. The report says, "but for the fog," etc. All lost battles in the world had for cause some _buts_--except the genuine _but_--in the brains of the commander. "How near we came to accomplishing," etc.--is only a repetition of what, _ad nauseam_, is recorded by history as lamentations of defeated generals. "The battle would have been far more decisive." Of course it would have been so, if--won. "As it was, we were very near success," etc. So the man who takes the chance in the lottery. He has No. 4, and No. 3 wins the prize. The apostrophe to the heroism of the soldiers is sickly and pale. The heroism of the soldiers! It is as brilliant, as pure, and as certain as the sun. The attack was planned, (see paragraph 2 of the report,) on the circumstance or supposition that the enemy extended too much his line, and thus scattered his forces. But in paragraph 4, Burnside stated that the fog, (O, fog!) etc., gave the enemy twenty-four hours' time to concentrate his forces in his strong positions--when the calculation based on the enemy's _division of forces_ failed, and the attack lost all the chances considered propitious. The whole plan had for its basis probabilities and impossibilities--schoolroom speculations--instead of being, as it ought to have been, as every plan of a battle should be, based on the chances of the _terrain_, by the position of the enemy, and other conditions, almost wholly depending upon which the armies operate. It is natural that martial Hooker objected to it. Oh! could I have blood, blood, blood, instead of ink! Constructing the bridge over the Rappahannock, our engineers were killed in scores by the sharp-shooters of the enemy. Malediction on those imbecile staffs! The _A B C_ of warfare, and of sound common sense teach, that such works are to be made either under cover of a powerful artillery fire, or, what is still better, if possible, a general sends over the river in some way, with infantry to clear its banks, and to dislodge the enemy. In such cases one engineer saved, and time won, justify the loss of almost twenty soldiers to one workman. Some one finally suggested an expedition and they did at the end what ought to have been done at the start. O West Point! thy science is marvellous! The staff treated the construction of a bridge over the Rappahannock as if it were building some railroad bridge, in times of peace! I am told that Stanton took sides with Seward. I deny it; Stanton remained rather passive. But were it true that Stanton, too, is _Sewardized_,--then, Oh Mud, how powerful thou art! In Boston, the B.s and Curtises, and all of that kidney, make a great fuss and invoke the name of Webster. If so, they are only _excrementa Websteriana_. _Dec. 24._--Patriots in both Houses of Congress! your efforts to put the conduct of the national affairs in honorable hands, and on honorable tracks, to prevent the very life blood of the people from being sacrilegiously wasted, to prevent the people's wealth from being recklessly squandered; your efforts to introduce order and spirit in certain parts of a spiritless Administration, to fill the higher and inferior offices with men whose hearts and minds are in the cause, and to expel therefrom, if not absolute disloyalty, at least, the most criminal indifference to the people's cause and welfare; your efforts to make us speak to Europe like men of sense, and not in the senseless oracles which justly evoke the scorn and the sneers of all European statesmen; all these your efforts as patriots rebounded against a nameless stubbornness. Nevertheless you fulfilled a noble, sacred and patriotic duty. Whatever be to-day the outcry of the Flatfoots, lickspittles, intriguers, imbeciles; whatever be the subserviency or want of civic courage in the public press--when all these stinking, suffocating, deleterious vapors shall be destroyed by the ever-living light of truth, then the grateful people will bless your names, which, pure and luminous, will shine high above the stupidity, conceit, heartlessness, turpitude, selfish ambition, indirect and direct treason darkening now the national horizon. _Dec. 25._--_Christmas._ The Angel of Death hovers over thousands and thousands of hearths. Thousands and thousands of families in tears and shrouds. Communities, villages, huts and log-houses, nursing their crippled, invalid, patriotic heroes! A year ago, all was quiet on the _Potomac_--now all is quiet on the _Rappahannock_. What a progress we have made in a year! and at the small, insignificant cost of about sixty to eighty thousand killed or crippled, and of one thousand millions of dollars! But it matters not! The quietude of the official butchers and money squanderers is, and must remain undisturbed in their mansions, whatever be the moral leprosy dwelling therein! A young man from New England, (whom I saw for the first time,) told me that my Diary stirred up the youth. Oh, if so, then I feel happy. Youth! youth! you are all the promise and the realization! But why do you suffer yourselves to be crushed down by the upper-crust of senile nincompoops? Oh youth, arise, and sun-like penetrate through and through the magnitude of the work to be accomplished, and save the cause of humanity! _Dec. 25._--As it was and is in all Revolutions and upheavals, so here. A part of the people constitute the winners, in various ways, (through shoddy names, jobs, positions, etc.) while the immense majority bleeds and sacrifices. Here many people left poorly salaried desks, railroads, shops, &c. to become great men but poor statesmen, cursed Generals, and mischief-makers in every possible way and manner. The people's true children abandoned homes, families, honest pursuits of an industrious and laborious life--in one word, their ALL, to bleed, to be butcherer, to die in the country's cause. The former are the winners, the sacrificers, and the butchers; the second are the victims. The evidence before the War Committee shows, to a most disgusting satiety, that General Halleck is exclusively a red-tapist, and a small pettifogger, who is unworthy to be even a non-commissioned officer; General Burnside an honest, well intentioned soldier, thoroughly brave, but as thoroughly destitute of generalship; General Sumner an unquestionably brave but headlong trooper; and Hooker alone in possession of all the capacity and resources of a captain. General Woodbury's evidence is that of a man under difficulties, on whom his superiors in rank have thrown the responsibility of their own crime. Halleck alone is responsible for the non-arrival of the pontoons. Burnside could not look for them; it was the duty of Halleck to order some of the semi-geniuses of his staff to the special duty of seeing to their delivery at Fredericksburgh, to give them necessary power to use roads, steamers, water, animals and men for transportation, and make it a capital responsibility if Sumner finds not the pontoons on the spot, and at the precise day and hour when he wanted them. Then, Gen. Meigs, who coolly asserts that he "gave orders." O yes! but he never dreamed it was his duty to look for their execution. The fate of the campaign depended upon the pontoons, and Halleck-Meigs "gave orders," and there was an end of it. In any other country, such culprits would have been at the least dismissed--cashiered, if not shot; here, their influence is on the increase. Halleck and Meigs are still great before Mr. Lincoln, and before the mass of nincompoops. Rhetors and sham-erudites are ecstatic about Burnside's conduct. Well! Burnside is good-natured--that is all. They forget the example of Canrobert and Pellisier, in the Crimea. Canrobert, after having commanded the army, gave up the command, and served under Pellisier. Oh declaimers! Oh imbeciles! ransack not the world--let Rome alone, and its Punic wars, its Varrus, etc.--Disturb not history, which, for you, is a book with seventy-seven seals. You understand not events under your long noses, and before your opaque eyes. When in animal bodies the brains are diseased, the whole body's functions are more or less paralyzed. The official brains of the nation are in a morbid condition. _That_ explains all. _Dec. 27._--I wish I could succeed in bringing about the organization of a good Staff for the army. _Etat Major General de l'Armée_ Stanton seems to understand it, but the Hallecks and other West Pointers have neither the first idea of it, nor the will to see it done. _Dec. 28._--The so-called great papers of the Republican party in New York, as well as some would-be statesmen here, discuss the probability of some new manifestation by Louis Napoleon, or by other European powers, of interference in our internal affairs. The probability of such a demonstration by European meddlers can only have one of the following causes:--Our terrible disaster at Fredericksburg, or, what even is worse than that slaughter, the absolute incapacity of our leaders to cope with such great and terrible events as this last one. The bravery, the heroism of our soldiers will be applauded, admired, and pitied in Europe, but the utter intellectual marasmus, as shown by our administration, will and must embolden the European marplots to attempt to stop what they consider a further unnecessary massacre. General Burnside's report, and the evidence before the War Committee are before the country and before Europe. Therefore Europe and our country are to judge. During his last visit in summer to New York, etc. the French Minister came in contact with low French adventurers, (Courriers des États Unis) with copperheads and with democrats, and now he is taken with sickly diplomatic sentimentalism to conciliate, to mediate, to unite, to meddle, and to get a feather in his diplomatic cap. I am sorry for him, for in other respects he has considerable sound judgment. _Mais il est toqué sur cette question çi._ He is ignorant of the temper of the masses, and considers the assertions of adventurers, of traitors, and of meddlers, as being the expression of the sentiments of the people. But sensible diplomats are _rari aves_. Hooker, because he alone is a _captain_, cannot be in command. Infamous intriguers, traitors, and imbeciles, prevent Hooker from being intrusted with the destinies of our army. Whole regiments claim to serve under him, and above all such regiments as fought under others in the peninsula, and always have been worsted, and who wish once to be led to success and victory, as were always Hooker's soldiers. The Franklins, and other marplotters in the Potomac Army, menace to resign if Hooker is put in command. The sooner the better for the army to get rid of such trash. But the imbeciles and the intriguers in power think not so; and all may remain as it was, and a new slaughter of our heroes may loom in the future. _Dec. 29._--General Butler's proclamation to his soldiers in New Orleans is the best and noblest document written since this war. It is good, because it records noble and patriotic deeds. During those eighteen months General Butler has shown capacity, activity, energy, fertility of resources and readiness to meet any emergency, unequalled by any one in the administration or in command. And for this, Butler is superseded, because Seward promised it to the _Decembriseur_ in the Tuilleries, and because he is a _man_, and _conservative patriots_, _alias_ traitors, could not get at him. _Dec. 30._--Angel of wrath, smite, smite! Oh, genius of humanity, take into thy mercy this noble people! Oh, eternal reason, send the feeblest breath of divine emanation and arrest this all-devouring torrent of imbecility, selfishness and conceit that is reigning paramount here. Only the PEOPLE'S devotion and patriotism, only the _unnamed_ save the country! _Dec. 30._--Those foreign caterwaulings against Butler. England, in 1848-9, whipped women in Ireland, and how many thousands have been murdered by the _Decembriseur_? And the Russian minister joining in this music. A shame for him and for his government! _Dec. 30._--Poor Greeley looks for intervention, mediation, arbitration; and selects Switzerland for the fitting arbitrator! How little--nay--nothing at all, he knows about Switzerland and the Swiss! Stop! stop! respectable old man! _Dec. 31._--Stanton is not at all responsible for the slaughter at Fredericksburgh, or for the infamy of the belated pontoons. Halleck has the exclusive control of all military movements, etc., in the field. But Stanton ought not be benumbed by a Halleck or a Meigs. The people at large cannot realize the really awful position of patriotic members of Congress, and above all, of such senators as Wade, Grimes, Fessenden, Wilson, Morrill, Chandler and others, or the almost similar position of Stanton, in his contact with the double-dealings or the obstinacy of Lincoln. _Dec. 31._--To-morrow few, if any, shall miss the occasion to shake hands with the official butchers, with men dripping with the gore of their brethren. Oh, Cains! oh, fratricides! _Dec. 31._--_Midnight._--Disappear! oh year of disgraces, year of slaughters and of sacrifices. _Tschto den griadoustchi nam gotowit?_ (Puschkine.) Ring out the false, ring in the true, Ring out the grief that saps the mind, * * * * * * Ring in REDRESS _for all mankind_! JANUARY, 1863. Proclamation -- Parade -- Halleck -- Diplomats -- Herodians -- Inspired Men -- War Powers -- Rosecrans -- Butler -- Seward -- Doctores Constitutionis -- Hogarth -- Rhetors -- European Enemies -- Second Sight -- Senator Wright the Patriot -- Populus Romanus -- Future Historian -- English People -- Gen. Mitchell -- Hooker in Command -- Staffs -- Arming Africo-Americans -- Thurlow Weed, &c. _Jan. 1._--The morning papers. No proclamation! Has Lincoln played false to humanity? The proclamation will appear. All right so far! Hallelujah! How the friends of darkness, how the demons must wince and tremble. There! Red-tape commander-in-chief, field marshal (who never saw a field of battle!) parades at the head of victorious generals, of intelligent staffs, of active pontoon providers, and of really and highly qualified quartermasters general. To the White House! They will congratulate Mr. Lincoln. Upon what? Upon Fredericksburgh and other massacres; but especially they will congratulate Mr. Lincoln upon the fact of his being surrounded by such a bright galaxy of know-nothings and do-nothings! Death-knell to slavery and to the slaveocracy. The foulest relic of the past will at length be destroyed. The new era has a glorious dawn; it rises in the glories of sacrifices made by a generous and inspired people. Yes! The new era rises above darkness, selfishness, and imbecility. The shades of the slaughtered are now at length propitiated; their slaughter is at least in part atoned for; and outraged humanity is, at least in part, avenged! Let rebels and conservatives remain hardened in crime; a just and condign vengeance shall overtake them. _Nunc pede libero Pulsanda tellus._ _Jan. 2._--Shallow and brainless diplomats sneer at the proclamation. So did the Herodians sneer at the star of Bethlehem; and where now are the Herodians? Oh! shallow and heartless diplomats, your days are numbered, too! _Jan. 2._--A man inspired by conviction and glowing with a fervent faith, thoroughly knows what he is about. Strong in his faith, and by his faith, he clearly sees his way, and steadily walks in it, while others grope hither and thither amidst shadows and darkness and bewildering doubts! Such a man boldly takes the initiative, marches onward, and is as a beacon-light to a nation, to a people; often, sometimes, even for all humanity. A man who has a profound faith in his convictions has coruscations, fierce flashes of that second-sight for the signs of the times. The mere trimming and selfish politician is ever ready to swim with the stream which he had neither strength nor skill to breast; he never ventures to take the initiative. In issuing the proclamation, Mr. Lincoln gives legal sanction, form, and record to what the storm of events and the loud cry of the best of the people have long demanded and now inexorably dictate. History will pitilessly tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; and small credit will history give to Lincoln beyond that of being the legal recorder of a righteous deed, and not even that credit will be given to the countersigner, Seward. Mr. Seward countersigned both proclamations of freedom. Europe is filled with his despatches, written at first plainly for, then lukewarmly tolerating, and, at length, flatly against, slavery. European statesmen have thus the exact measure of Mr. Seward's political character. They know that to the very last he defended slavery, and then countersigned the decree of its destruction! In Europe, self-respecting statesmen resign rather than countersign a measure which they disapprove or have strongly opposed. _Jan. 3._--Emancipation under war powers. A mistake by a contradiction. Spoke of it before. And nevertheless: under war powers alone, emancipation is palatable to a great many, nay, almost to millions of small, narrow intellects, dried up by the formulas, and who in the Constitution see only the latter, and not the expanding, all-embracing principle and spirit. O, Rabbis! O, Talmudists! Lincoln is very unhappy in his phraseology. He invites the sympathies of humanity on a measure decided by him to favor the war. It is a contradiction; humanity and war are antipodic. The papers in the confidence of Seward, such as the _Intelligencer_ (without intelligence,) the border-state friends of Lincoln, and all that is muddy and rotten, even the supposed to be well-informed diplomats unanimously assert that Mr. Lincoln has no confidence in his proclamation. As for Seward--this Lincoln's evil genius--no doubt exists concerning his contempt for the proclamation. Ask the diplomats. But these highest pilots in this administration are bound--as by a terrible oath--to violate all the laws of psychology, of human nature, of sense, of logic and of honor, to make the people bleed and suffer in its honor. Well, pompous Chase; how do you feel for having sided with Seward? Gen. Butler's farewell proclamation to New Orleans rings the purest and most patriotic harmony. Compare Butler's with Lincoln's writings. All the hearts in the country resounded with Butler; and because he acted as he did, Lincoln-Seward-Blair-Halleck's policy shelved Butler. _Jan. 3._--By the united efforts of Lincoln-Seward-Blair, of the _Herald_, and of that cesspool of infamies, the _World_, of McClellan, and of his tail, by the stupifying influence of Halleck, the Potomac army, notwithstanding its matchless heroism, and equipped as well as any army in Europe; up to this day the Potomac army serves to--establish--the military superiority of the rebels, to morally strengthen, nay, even to nurse the rebellion. Lincoln-Halleck dare not entrust the army into the hands of a true soldier,--Stanton is outvoted. The next commander inherits all the faults generated by Lincoln, McClellan, Halleck, Burnside, and it would otherwise tax a Napoleon's brains to reorganize the army but for the patriotic spirit of the rank and file and most of the officers. _Jan. 3._--What a pity that petty, quibbling constitutionalism alone is understood by Lincoln and by his followers. To emancipate in virtue of a war power is scarcely to perform half the work, and is a full logical incongruity. Like all kind of war power, that of the president has for its geographical limits the pickets of his army--has no executive authority beyond, besides being obligatory only as long as bayonets back it. Such a power cannot change social and municipal conditions, laws or relations (see Vol. I.) The civil power of the president penetrates beyond the pickets, and in virtue of that civil power, and of the sacred duty to save the fatherland, the President of the United States, and not the Commander-in-Chief, can say to the slaves: "Arise, you are free, you have no servitude, no duties towards a rebel and traitor to the Union. I, the president, dissolve your bonds in the name of the American people." _Jan. 4._--How the tempest of events changes or modifies principles. The South rebelled in the name of State rights, and now Jeff Davis absorbs all States and all parliamentary rights for the sake of _salus populi_ or rather of _salus_ of slavocracy. Jeff Davis nominates officers in the regiments whatever be the opposition of the respective Governors. In the North, the Governors, all of them, (Seymour?) true patriots, insist upon power and the right to organize new regiments, and resist the centralization by the United States Government. Perhaps--as the satraps and martinets assert--thereby the organisation of the army is thrown on a false track. Whether so or not, one thing is certain, but for the States and Governors, Lincoln, Scott, Seward, McClellan, Halleck, or the Union, would be nowhere. _Jan. 4._--They fight battles in the West. Generals, to be victorious, must be in spiritual and in electric communion with the heroic soldiers. So it was at Murfreesborough. Rosecrans, at the head of his cavalry or body guard, dashes in the thickest, and turns the dame fortune, who smiles on heroes, but never smiled on McClellan nor on his tail. Rosecrans sticks not to regulations, and keeps not a few miles in the rear. Franklin, at Fredericksburgh mounted not even his horse but stood in front of his tent. Similar to Rosecrans here was Kearney, the bravest of the brave, more of a captain than any of the West-Point high-nosed nurslings; so is Heintzelman, Hooker, Reno, Sigel and many, many others, whom McClellanism, Halleckism, Lincolnism kept or keeps down. I positively learned that in the last days of the summer of 1862, a list without heading circulated in the Potomac army, and all who signed it bound themselves to obey only McClellan. The McClellan clique originated this conspiracy, which extended throughout all the grades. What confusion prevails about the rights of existence of slavery. How they discuss it. How they pettifog. Why not establish the rights of existence of syphilis, of _plica_ in the human body. O, casuists. O, _Intelligencers_. O, _Worlds_! Well, to me, slavery seems to legally (cursed legality) exist in virtue of the special State rights, and not in virtue of the Constitution. But for the State rights, the Africo-American is a man and citizen of the United States--and this under the Constitution which is paramount to State rights. The rebellion annihilates the State rights, and all special constitutions guaranteed by the Union, and at the same time annihilates the relation of the Africo-American to the specific States or constitutions. It restores to him the rights of man guaranteed to him as man by the Union and the Constitution of the United States. The Africo-American recovers his rights, lost and annihilated by specific State rights and municipal, local laws. The president had to issue his proclamation as guardian and executor of the Constitution, and then Africo-Americans recovered their citizenship on firmer and broader grounds than under, or by the war power. Calhoun, the father of the rebellion--as Milton's Satan--and all the rebels now curse or cursed the preamble of the Constitution as Satan cursed the light. I suppose Calhoun's and the rebels' reasons are similar to me. _Inde iræ._ The commanders in the West bear evidence of the devotion, the heroism and the endurance of the Africo-Americans, sacrificing their lives without hope; martyrs by the rebels as well as by Hallecks and the like. I met a farmer from Maine. He was rather old and poor. Had two sons--lost them both--they were all his hope. He spoke simply of it, but to break one's heart. _He grudged not_, (his own words,) his hopes and blood for the cause, and considered it good luck to have recovered the body of one of his boys, and brought it back home to the "old woman," (wife, mother.) I shook hands with him. I ought to have kissed him. Unknown, unnamed hero-patriot! and similar are hundreds of thousands, and such is the true people. And so sacrilegiously dealt with by insane helplessness. _Jan. 5._--The _Doctors Constitutionis_ break their formula brains concerning the constitutionality of the proclamation, and foretell endless complications. If so, if complications arise, the reasons thereof are moral, logical and practical. 1st.--The emancipation was neither conceived nor executed in love; but it was for Lincoln as Vulcan for Jupiter. The proclamation is generated neither by Lincoln's brains, heart or soul, and what is born in such a way is always monstrous. 2d.--Legally and logically, the proclamation has the smallest and the most narrow basis that could have been selected. When one has the free choice between two bases, it is more logical to select the broader one. The written Constitution had neither slavery nor emancipation in view, but it is in the preamble, and the emancipation ought to be deduced from the preamble. Many other reasons can be enumerated pregnant with complications and above all when Lincoln-Seward are the _accoucheurs_. My hope and confidence is in the logic of events always stronger than man's helplessness and imbecility. _Jan. 5._--European rulers, wiseacres, meddlers, humbugs, traitors, demons, diplomats, assert that they must interfere here because European interests suffer by the war. Indeed! You have the whole old continent and Australia to boot, and about nine hundreds millions of population; can you not organise yourself so as not to depend from us? And if by your misrules, etc., our interests were to suffer, you would find very strange any complaint made on our part. Keep aloof with your good wishes, and with your advices, and with your interference. You may burn your noses, and even lose your little scalps. You robbers, murderers, hypocrites, surrounded by your liveried lackeys, you presumptuous, arrogant curses of the human race, stand off, and let these people whose worst criminal is a saint when compared to a Decembriseur--let this people work out its destinies, be it for good or for evil. _Jan. 5._--Early in December, 1860, therefore soon after Mr. Lincoln's election, a shrewd and clear-sighted politician, Gen. Walsh, from New York, visited Springfield, and made his bow to the rising sun. On his return from the Illinois Medira, I asked the general what was his opinion concerning the new President. "Well, sir," was the general's answer, "in parting, I advised Mr. Lincoln to get a very eminent man for his private secretary."--_Sapienti sat._ _Jan. 6._--Oh for a voice of thousand storms to render justice to the patriots in Congress, to make the masses of the people know and appreciate them, and to show up the littleness and the ignorance of the pillars of the Republican press. Never and in no country has the so-called good press shown itself so below the great emergencies of the day as are the old hacks semperliving in the press. _Jan. 7._--The great military qualities shown by Gen. Rosecrans, thrilled with joy all the best men in the Potomac Army. The war horse Hooker is the loudest to admire Rosecrans. Happy the Western heroes to be beyond the immediate influence of Washington--of the White House--and above all, of such as Halleck! Rosecrans has revealed all the higher qualities of a captain; coolness, resolution, stubbornness and inspiration. His army began to break,--he ordered the attack on the whole line, and thus transformed defeat into victory. Not of McClellan's school, is Rosecrans. _Jan. 7._--Senator Sumner who, during the ministerial crisis, ought to have exposed to the country the mischievous direction given by Mr. Seward to our foreign relations, and who ought to have done it nobly, boldly, authoritatively, patriotically, and from his Senatorial chair, Senator Sumner's preferred to keep stoically quiet, notwithstanding that his personal friends and the country expected it from him. Yet next to Chase, Senator Sumner, more than any body, attacks Seward in private conversation! I read in the papers that Senator Sumner's influence on Mr. Lincoln is considerable (nevertheless Seward remained as the greatest curse to the country,) and that he, Sumner, is a _power behind the throne_. Has Sumner insinuated this himself to some newspaper reporter in _extremis_ for news? _Power behind the throne_, what a tableau: Sumner and Lincoln! O, Hogarth, O, Callot! Oh, for your crayon! and now--of course--the country is safe, having such _Power behind the throne_. _Mr. Lincoln's good intentions_ I hear talked about right and left. Oh, for one sensible, good, energetic action, and all his intentions may go where the French proverb puts them. _Jan. 7._--The city crowded with Major Generals and Brigadier-Generals not in activity. When Mr. Lincoln is cornered, then he makes a Brigadier or a Major General, according to circumstances and in obedience to political or to backstairs influence. From the beginning of the war, no sound notions directed the nominations, either under Cameron, Scott, or McClellan, or now; at the beginning of the war they had Generals without troops, then troops without Generals, and now they have Generals who have not commanded, or cannot command, troops. If, during the war in Poland in 1831, Warsaw, the Capital, had been overrun in such a way by do-nothing Generals, the chambermaids in the city would have taken the affair into their fair hands, and armed with certain night effluvia made short work with the military drones. _Jan. 8._--A poor negro woman with her child was refused entrance into the cars. It snowed and stormed, and she was allowed to shiver on the platform. A so-called abolitionist Congress and President gave the charter to the constructors of the city railroad and the members of Congress have free tickets, and the Africo-American is treated as a dog. Human honesty and justice! _Jan. 8._--Horse contracts the word. Never in my life saw I the horse so maltreated and the cavalry so poorly, badly, brainlessly organised, drilled and used. Some few exceptions change not the truth of my assertions, and McClellan is considered a great organiser. They ruin more horses here in this war than did Napoleon I. in Russia, (I speak not of the cold which killed thousands at once.) How ignorant and conceited! Halleck solicits Rarey, the horse-tamer, for instructions. O, Halleck, you are unique! Officers who have served in armies with large, good, well-organised and well-drilled cavalry--such officers will teach you more than Rarey. But such officers are from Europe, and it would be a shame for a West-Point incarnation of ignorance and conceit to learn anything from an officer of European experience. Bayard, however, thought not so. Justice to his name. The rebels are not so conceited as the simon pure West-Pointers. Above all the rebels wish success, and have no objections to learn; they imported good European cavalry officers, and have now under Stuart (his chief of staff is a Prussian officer) a cavalry which has made a mark in this war. _Jan. 8._--O rhetors! O, rhetors! malediction upon you and upon the politicians! You have no heart, no sensibilities. Not one, not one has yet uttered a single word for the fallen, for the suffering, the dying and nameless heroes of our armies. It seems, O rhetors and politicians! that the people ought to bleed that you may prosper. Corpses are needed for your stepping stones! The fallen are not mentioned now in Congress, as you never mentioned them in your poor stump speeches. O, you whitened sepulchres! O rhetors and politicians! O, powers on, before, and "behind the throne!" In your selfish, heartless conceit, you imagine that the Emancipation is and will be your work, and will be credited to you. Oh yes, but by old women. The people's blood, the fallen heroes, tore the divine work of emancipation, from the hands of jealously watching demons. To the shadows of the fallen the glory, and not to your round, polished or unpolished phrases. Not the pen with which the proclamation was written is a trophy and a relic, but the blood steaming to heaven, the corpses of the fallen, corpses mouldering scattered on all the fields of the Union. _Jan. 8._--As a rapid spring tide, so higher and higher, and with all parties--even, with the decided Copperheads--rises the haughty contempt toward the crowned, the official, the aristocratic, and the flatfooted (livery stable) part of Europe. Good and just! Marshy, rotten rulers and aristocrats who scarcely can keep your various shaky and undermined seats, you and your lackeys, you take on airs of advisors, of guardians, of initiators of civilization! Forsooth! I except Russia. In Russia the sovereign, his ministers and nine-tenths of the aristocracy are in _uni sono_ with the whole nation; and all are against slavery, against the rebels, against traitors. The Russian government and the Russian nation often are misrepresented by their official or diplomatic agents. Any well organized American village in the free States contains more genuine, moral and intellectual civilization than prevails among European higher circles, those gilded pasteboards. This is all that you, you conceited advisors, represent in that splendid, all-embracing edifice of civilization! At the best you are ornaments, or--with Wilhelm von Humboldt--you are culture, but not the higher, man-inspiring civilization. A John S. Mill, a Godwin Smith, and those many outside of the _would-be-something_ strata in England, in France, almost the whole Germany, those are the representatives of the genuine civilized Europe. The freemen of the North, on whom you European exquisites look superciliously down with your albino eyes, the freemen of the North, bleeding in this deadly struggle, are the confessors for the general civilization, and stand on the level with any martyrs, with any progressive people on record on history. _Jan. 9._--Quo, quo scelesti ruitis......... It is maddening to witness for so many months the reckless waste of men, of time, of money, and of material means, and all this squandered by governmental and administrative helplessness and conceit. In the military part, notwithstanding Stanton's devotion and efforts, that Halleck, _excrementum Scotti_, as by appointment, carries out everything contrary to common sense, to well established and experienced (Halleck and experience, ah!... military practice, and Mr. Lincoln is as perfectly) charmed by it, as is the innocent bird by the snake. And thus the sacrifices and the blood of the people run out as does the mighty Rhine--they run out in sand. O, Lincoln-Seward's domestic policy. O, Lincoln-Halleck's war power! You make one shudder as with a death pang. _January 9._--The worshippers of slavery, that is, the Democrats, of the Seymour's, Wood's, and the _World's_ church, call the war waged for the defence of human rights, for civilization and for maintaining the genuine rational self-government, they call it an unholy war. In some respects the Copperheads are right. The holy war loses its holiness in the hands of Lincoln, Seward, Halleck, and their disciples and followers, because those leaders violate all the laws of logic and of reason, this holy of holies. At times I would prefer peace than see devoted men so recklessly murdered by such.... A critique of the first volume of the "Diary" asserts that all my statements are made after the events occurred, _ex post_. To a very respectable General I showed a part of the original manuscript which squared with the printed book. Often I am ashamed to find that the bit of study and experience acquired by me goes so far when compared with many around me, and in action. I foresee, because I have no earthly personal views, no cares, nothing in the world to think of or to aim at, no charms, no ties--only my heart, my ideas, my convictions, and civilization is my worship. Nothing prevents me, day and night, from concentrating whatever powers and reading I can have in one single focus. This cause, this people, this war, its conduct, are the events amidst which I breathe. Uninterruptedly I turn and return all that is in my mind--that is all. And I am proud to have my heart in harmony with my head. Almost every event has its undercurrent, and of ten the little undercurrents pre-eminently shape the events themselves. The truth of this axiom is illustrated principally in the recall of the resolute, indefatigable, far and clear-sighted patriot and statesman, General Butler. To jump to a conclusion without much ado, the recall of Butler from New Orleans is due principally, if not even exclusively, to the united efforts--or conspiracy--of Mr. Seward and Mr. Reverdy Johnson. Thirteen months ago Mr. Seward expected, as he still expects for the future, an uprising of a Union Party in the hottest hot-bed of Secessia. That such are the Secretary of State's expectations, I emphatically assert, and as proof, it may be stated that only yesterday, January 9th, Mr. Seward most authoritatively tried to impress upon foreign diplomats the speedy reunion and _restoration_ of the Union as it was, notwithstanding the Proclamation, _still considered by the Secretary of State_ as being _a waste of paper_. How far the foreign diplomats believe the like oracular decisions, is another question; certain it is that they shrug their shoulders. But to return to Butler and New Orleans. The patriotic activity by which General Butler won, conquered and maintained the rebel city for the Union, was emphatically considered by Mr. Seward, as crushing out every spark of any latent Union feeling among the rebels. Thurlow Weed, then abroad, urged Mr. Seward to find out the said Union feeling, to blow it into almighty fire and to rely exclusively upon it. Here Reverdy Johnson was and is, the principal Union crony of the Secretary of State, and Seaton of the _Intelligencer_; but above all, since the murder of Massachusetts men at Baltimore in 1861, Reverdy Johnson was the devoted advocate of all rich traitors, as the Winans and others, who were called by him "misled Union men." When Gen. Butler dealt deserved justice to rich traitors in New Orleans, the Washington Unionists surrounding Mr. Chase and Mr. Seward--some of them from New Orleans--urged an investigation. The Secretary of State eagerly seized the occasion to dispatch to the Crescent City Mr. Reverdy Johnson with the principal secret mission to gather together the elements of the scattered Union feeling in Louisiana and in the South, and to make them blaze--in honor of the Secretary of State. It was a rich harvest in every way for Reverdy Johnson; he harvested it, and on his return fully convinced the Secretary of State, that the Union could not be saved if Gen. Butler remained in his command in the Department of the Gulf. This surreptitious undermining of General Butler by the Secretary of State, is one more evidence of how truly patriotic was the effort of the Republican Senators and Congressmen to liberate the President and the country from the all-choking and all-poisoning influence of Mr. Seward, and how cursed must remain forever the conduct of Mr. Chase, who, after having during two years cried against Seward, accusing him almost of treason, when the hour struck, preferred to embarrass the patriots and the President rather that to let Mr. Seward retire and deprive the people of his _patriotic_ services. It was moreover expected that, thus warned by the patriots, the President would seize the first occasion to infuse energy into his Cabinet. But there is a Mr. Usher, a docile nonentity, made Secretary of the Interior; of course the Secretary of State will be strengthened thereby. _January 10._--Senator Wright of Indiana, in an ardent and lofty--of course, not rhetorical, speech, hit the nail on the head, when, rendering due homage to Rosecrans, he called him "the first general who fights for the people and not for the White House." The greatest praise for the man, and the most saddening picture of our internal sores. _January 10._--As the pure _populus Romanus_ had an inborn aversion to Kings and diadems, and could not patiently bear their neighborhood, so the genuine American Democrat, one by principles and not by a party name or by a party organization, such a Democrat feels it to be death for his institutions to have slavocracy in his country or in its neighborhood. _Jan. 10._--O how is to be pitied the future historian of this bloody tragedy! Through what a loathsome cesspool of documentary evidence, preserved in the various State Archives, the unhappy historian will have to wade, and wade deep to his chin. Original works of Lincoln, Seward, etc. It is easy to play a game at chess with a far superior player, then at least one learns something; but impossible to sit at a chess board with a child who throws all into confusion. The national chessboard is very confused in the White House. Cunning is good for, and only succeeds in dealing with, mean and petty facts. _Jan. 10._--Halleck's congratulatory order to Rosecrans and to the Western heroes. How cold and pedantic. How differently, how enthusiastically and fiery rang Stanton's words on the capture of forts Henry and Donelson and to Lander's (now dead) troops. Why is Stanton silent? Is it the Constitution, the Statute, is it the incarnate four years formula which seals Stanton's heart and brains? or is Stanton eaten up by the rats in the Cabinet? _January 10._--The messages of the loyal Governors, not copperheads, (as is Seymour of N. Y.) above all, the message of Andrew of Massachusetts, throw a ray of hope and promise over this dark, cold, unpatriotic confusion so eminent here in Washington. This confusion, this groping, double-dealing and helplessness can be only cured by a wonder, or else all will be lost. The wonder is daily perpetrated by the all enduring, all-sacrificing people. Those criminals who ought to have been shot, or, at the mildest, cashiered for the slaughter at Fredericksburgh, the engineers, mock-Jominis, the sham soldiers: all these Washington engineers of that recent butchery, assert now, that, after all, the possession of Fredericksburgh was immaterial; that Lee would have then selected a better position. All this is thrown to the public to palliate the crime of the Washington military conclave, and to weaken and invalidate Hooker's evidence before the War Committee. It must be admitted that if Hooker--having fifty thousand in hand, and one hundred thousand in his rear, had seized the Fredericksburgh heights, he would not have allowed Lee to so easily select a position and to fortify it. Nay, I suppose, that not only Hooker, but even a Halleck, a Cullum or a Meigs would have prevented Lee from settling in any comfortable position. However, I might be mistaken. Corinth, Corinth, for Halleck. Those great nightcaps here have so original and so new military conceptions, their general comprehension of warfare so widely differs from science, experience, and from common sense, that, holding Fredericksburgh they might have invited Lee to select whatever he wanted as a strong position. I learn that Halleck is at work to translate some French military book. What an inimitable narrow-minded pedant. If Halleck had brains, he could not have an hour leisure for translation. But in such way he humbugs Mr. Lincoln, who looks on Halleck as the quintessence of military knowledge and genius. A man who can translate a French book must be a genius. Is it not so, Lincoln? And thus Halleck translates a book instead of taking care that the pontoons be sent in time; and Halleck prepared sheets for the press, and our soldiers to be massacred. Burnside prepares a movement; Franklin, to undermine Burnside, to appear great, or to get hold of the army, denounces Burnside secretly to the President: the President forbids the movement. What a confusion! Mr. Lincoln, either accept Burnside's resignation, which he has repeatedly offered, or kick down the denouncers. Accident made me discover almost next day, the names of the two generals sent by Franklin on this denunciatory errand--John Cochran and Newton. I instantly told all to Stanton, who was almost ignorant of Franklin's surreptitiousness. I also told it to several Senators. The Army of the Potomac is altogether demoralized--above all, in the higher grades. It could not be otherwise if they were angels. McClellanism was and is propitious to general disorder, and how Mr. Lincoln improves is exemplified above. Independent men, independent Senators and Representatives who approach Mr. Lincoln, find him peevish, irritable, intractable to all patriots. _All these are criteria of a lofty mind and character._ Weed, Seward, Harris, Blair, and such ones alone, are agreeable in the White House. So much is spoken of the war powers of the President; I study, and study, and cannot find them as absolute as the Lincolnites construe them. All that I read in the Constitution are the real _war powers_ in the Congress, and the President is only the executor of those powers. The President must have permission for every thing, almost at every step--and has no right to issue decrees. He has no war powers over those of Congress, and can act very little on his own hook. It seems to me that Congress, misled, confused by casuists, expounders, and by small intellects worshipping routine, that Congress rather abdicated their powers, and that the bunglers around Lincoln, in his name greedily seized the above powers. Poor Lincoln! As the devil dreads holy water, so Mr. Lincoln dreads to be surrounded with stern, earnest, ardent, patriotic advisers. Such men would not listen to stories! _January 11._--The thus-called metropolitan press is in the hands of old politicians, old hacks--and no new forces or intellects pierce through. It is a phenomenon. In any whatever country in Europe, at every convulsion the press bristles with new, fresh intellects. Here, the old nightcaps have the monopoly. Farther: those respectable fossils reside at a distance from the focus of affairs, are not directly in contact with events and men, and are in no communion with them. The Grand Lamas of the press depend for information upon the correspondents, who catch news and ideas at random, and nourish with them their employers and the public. _January 11._--Senator Sumner has made a motion to give homesteads to the liberated Africo-Americans. That is a better and a nobler action than all his declamations put together. _January 12._--Sentinels in double line surrounding the White House. Odious, ridiculous, unnecessary, and an aspect unwonted in this country--giving the aspect to the White House of an abode of a tyrant, when it is only that of a shifting politician. It is Halleck, who, with the like futilities and absurdities, amuses Lincoln and gets the better of him. Mr. Lincoln is very depressed at the condition of the Army of the Potomac, and decides--nothing for its reorganization. But for Halleck, Stanton would reorganize and give a new and healthy life to the army. I mean the upper grades, and not the rank and file, who are patriotic and healthy. After Corinth, Halleck-Buell disorganized the Western, now Halleck is at work to do the same with the Potomac Army. I know that in the presence of a diplomat, Halleck complained that he is paid only five thousand dollars, and earned by far more in California. He had better return to California and to his pettifogging. Since the beginning of this Administration, Mr. Seward wrote, I am sure, more dispatches than France, England, Prussia, Russia, Austria, Spain, and Italy put together during the Crimean war, and up to this day. Great is ink, and paper is patient! _January 13._--It is more than probable that Mr. Mercier stirred up, or at least heartily supported the mediation scheme. The Frenchmen in New York maintain that Mr. Mercier derives his knowledge of America and his political inspirations from that foul sheet, the _Courrier des États Unis_. There is some truth in this assertion, as the reasons enumerated to justify mediation can be found in various numbers of that sheet. I am sorry that Mr. Mercier has fallen so low; as for his master, he is a fit associate for the _Courrier_. _January 13._--Ralph Waldo Emerson, inspired and not silenced by the storm. He alone stands up from among the Athenian school. He alone is undaunted. So would be Longfellow, but for the terrible domestic calamity whose crushing blow no man's heart could resist. I never was a great admirer of Emerson, but now I bow, and burn to him my humble incense. _January 15._--The patriotic, and at times inspired orator--not rhetor--Kelly, from Pennsylvania, told me that all is at sixes and sevens in the Administration, and in the army. I believe it. How could it be otherwise, with Lincoln, Seward and Halleck at the head? Mr. Seward did his utmost to defeat the re-election of Judge Potter from Wisconsin, one among the best and noblest patriots in the country. For this object Mr. Seward used the influence of the pro-Catholic Bonzes. Then Mr. Seward wrote a letter denying all this--a letter which not in the least convinced the brave Judge, as I have it from himself. If all the lies could only be ferreted out with which Seward bamboozles Lincoln, even the God of Lies himself would shudder. _January 15._--The noble and lofty voice of the genuine English people, the voice of the working classes, begins to be heard. The people re-echo the key-note struck by a J. S. Mills, by a Bright, a Cobden, and others of like pure mind and noble heart. The voice of the genuine English people resounds altogether differently from the shrill _falsetto_ with which turf hunters, rent-roll devourers, lords, lordlings, and all the like shams and whelps try to intimidate the patriotic North, and comfort the traitors, the rebels. _January 16._--But for the truly enlightened and patriotic efforts of the Senators Wade, Lane, (of Kansas) and Trumbull, the debate of yesterday, Thursday, on the appropriation for the West Point Military Academy would have gone to the country, absolutely misleading and stultifying the noble and enlightened people. It was most sorrowful, nay, wholly disgusting to witness how Senators who, until then, had stood firmly against small influences and narrow prejudices, blended together in an unholy alliance to sustain the accursed clique of West Point engineers. Much allowance is to be made for the allied Senators' ignorance of the matter, and for the natural wish to appear wise. The country, the people, ought to treasure the names of the ten patriotic Senators whose voices protested against further sustaining that cursed nursery of arrogance, of pro-slavery, or of something worse. Whatever might have been the efforts of the Senatorial patrons and the allies of the engineers, the following facts remained for ever unalterable: 1st. That the spirit of close educational corporation which have exclusive monopoly and patronage, is perfectly similar to the spirit which prevailed and still prevails in monasteries, and permeates the pupils during their whole after life; 2d. That the prevailing spirit in West Point was and is rather monarchical and altogether Pro-Slavery; 3d, that of course some noble exceptions are to be found and made,--but they are exceptions; 4th, that such educational monasteries nurse conceit and arrogance; and this the mass of West Pointers have prominently shown during this war in their relations with the noble and devoted volunteers, and that this arrogant spirit of clique and of caste works mischievously in the army; 5th, that exceptions, noble and patriotic, as a Reno, a Lyons, a Bayard, a Stevens, and other such heroes and patriots, do not disprove the general rule; 6th, that Lyons, Grant, Rosecrans, Hooker, Heintzelman, etc., have shown glorious qualities not on account of what they learnt in West Point, but by what they did not learn there; 7th, that these heroes rose above the dry and narrow school wisdom, and are what they are, not because educated in West Point, but notwithstanding their education there. And here I interrupt the further enumeration to give an extract from a private letter directed to me by one of the most eminent pupils from West Point, and the ablest _true_, not _mock_, engineer in our army: "In regard to your views of West Point's influence I am at a loss to make any answer," (the writer is a great defender of West Point,) "but would suggest that it may be after all not West Point, but the want of _a supreme hand_ to our military affairs to _combine_ and _use_ the materials West Point furnishes, that is in fault. * * * _West Point cannot make a general_--no military school can--but it can and does furnish good soldiers. All the distinguished Confederate generals are West Pointers, and yet we know the men, and know that neither Lee, nor Johnson nor Jackson, nor Beauregard, nor the Hills are men of any very extraordinary ability," etc., etc., etc. To this I answer: the rebels are with their heart and soul in their cause, and thus their capacities are expanded, they are inspired on the field of battle. (Similar answer I gave to General McDowell about six months ago.) So was our Lyon, so are Rosecrans, Hooker, Grant, and a few others; and for such generals, Senators Trumbull, Wade and Lane ardently called in the above debate. I continue the enumeration: 8th. The military direction of the war is exclusively in the hands of a West Point clique, and of West Point engineers,--not _very much_ with their hearts in the people's cause; 9th, that that clique of West Point engineers from McClellan down to Halleck prevents any truly higher military capacity getting a free untrammelled scope, (General Halleck with all his might opposes giving the command of the army to Hooker,) and this Halleck, an engineer from West Point, who never saw a cartridge burnt or a file of soldiers fighting, to-day decides the military fate of our country on the authority of a book said to be on military science, but if such a book had been written by any officer in the armies of France, Prussia or Russia, the ignorant author would have had the friendly advice from his superiors to resign and select some pursuit in life more congenial to his intellectual capacities; further, this Halleck complains in following words: "that they (the Administration) made him leave a profitable business in San Francisco, and pay him only 5,000 dollars to fight THEIR (not his) battles." So much for a Halleck. 10th. That the West Point clique of engineers, the McClellans, the Hallecks, the Franklins, etc., have brought the country to the verge of the grave, as stated by Senator Lane. Such were the facts established by the patriotic and not would-be-wise Senators; and there is an illustration recorded in history as proof that the above not engineering Senators were right in their assertions. Frederick II. was in no military school; the captains second to Napoleon in the French wars were Hoche, Moreau, and Massena, all of them from private life. --The clique of engineers has the Potomac Army altogether in its grasp, and has reduced and perverted the spirit of the noble children of the people. Oh, the sooner this army shall be torn from the hands of the clique the nearer and surer will be the salvation of the country. The clique accuses the volunteers; but the clique, the engineers in power have disorganized, morally and materially, and disgraced the Army of the Potomac. They did this from the day of the encampments around Washington, in the fall of 1861, down to the day of Fredericksburgh. Fredericksburgh was altogether prepared by engineers; at Fredericksburgh the engineer Franklin did not even mount his horse when his soldiers were misled and miscommanded--by himself. --Stragglers are generated by generals. Besides, to explain straggling, I quote from a _genuine_ book on genuine military science, published in Berlin in 1862, by Captain Boehn, the most eminent professor at the military school in Potsdam: "The greatest losses, during a war, inflicted on an army are by maladies and by straggling. Such losses are five times greater than those of killed and wounded; and an _intelligent administration_ takes preparatory measures to meet the losses and to compensate them. Such measures of foresight consist in organizing depots for battalions, which depots ought to equal one sixth of the number of the active army." O, Halleck, where are the depots? --"In any ordinary campaign, excepting a winter campaign, the losses amount (as established by experience) to one half in infantry, one fourth in cavalry, and to one third in artillery." (Do you know any thing about it, O, Halleck?) Let the people be warned, and they may understand the location of the cause generating further disasters. If the Army of the Potomac shall win glory, it will win it notwithstanding the West Point clique of engineers. The disasters have root in the White House, where the advice of such a Halleck prevails. --I know very well that the formation of the volunteers in respective States and by the Governors of such States raises a great difficulty in organizing and preparing reserves. But talent and genius reveal themselves by overpowering difficulties considered to be insurmountable. And Halleck is a man both of genius and talent. Taking into account the patriotism, the devotion of the governors of the respective states, [not _à la_ Copperhead Seymour], it would have been possible, nay, even easy to organize some kind of reserves. O, Halleck, O, fogies! _January 17._--Mr. Lincoln loads on his shoulders all kinds of responsibilities, more so than even Jackson would have dared to take. Admirable if generated by the boldness of self-consciousness, of faith, and of convictions. True men measure the danger--and the means in their grasp to meet the emergency; others play unconsciously with events, as do children with explosive and death-dealing matters. _January 17._--General and astronomer Mitchel's death may be credited to Halleck. Halleck and Buell's envy--if not worse--paralysed Mitchel and Turtschin's activity in the West. Mitchel and Turtschin were too quick, that is, too patriotic. In early summer, 1862, they were sure to take Chattanooga, a genuine strategic point, one of those principal knots and nurseries in the life of the secesh. How imprudent! Chattanooga is still in the hands of the rebels, and if we ever take it, it will cost streams of blood and millions of money. Down with Mitchel and Turtschin. Mitchel's _excrementa_ were more valuable than are Halleck's heavy, but not expanding, brains. Mitchel revealed at once all the qualities of an eminent, if not of a great general. Quickness of mind, fertility of resources. An astronomer, a mathematician, Mitchel's mind was familiar with broad combinations. Such a mind penetrated space, calculated means and chances, balanced forces and probabilities. Not to compare, however, is it to be borne in mind that Napoleon was a mathematician in the fullest sense, and not an engineer, not a translator. _January 18._--Mr. Lincoln's letter to McClellan when the hero of the Copperheads was in search of mud in the Peninsula. The letter rings as sound common sense; it shows, however, that common sense debarred of strong will remains unproductive of good. Mr. Lincoln commonly shows strong will, in the wrong place. ----ein Theil von jener Krafft, Die stehts das Guthe will, und stehts das Boese schaff. _January 18._--The emancipation proclamation is out. Very well. But until yet not the slightest signs of any measures to execute the proclamation, at once, and in its broadest sense. Now days, even hours, are equal to years in common times. Had Lincoln his heart in the proclamation, on January 2d he would begin to work out its expansion, realization, execution. I wish Lincoln may lift himself, or be lifted by angels to the grandeur of the work. But it is impossible. Surrounded as he is, and led in the strings by Seward, Blair, Halleck, and by border-state politicians, the best that can be expected are belated half measures. Stanton comprehends broadly and thoroughly the question of emancipation and of arming the Africo-Americans. As I intend to realize my plans of last year and organise Africo-American regiments, I had conversations with Stanton, and find him more thorough about the matter than is any body whom I met. He agreed with me, that the cursed land of Secessia ought to be surrounded by camps to enlist and organise the enslaved, as a scorpion surrounded with burning coals. Such organizations introduced rapidly and simultaneously on all points, would shake Secessia to its foundations, and put an end to guerillas, _alias_ murderers and robbers. We will again think and talk it over. But as is wont with Lincoln, he will hesitate, hesitate, until much of precious time will be lost. _January 18._--A surgeon in one of the hospitals in Alexandria writes in a private note: "Our wounded bear their sufferings nobly; I have hardly heard a word of complaint from one of them. A soldier from the 'stern and rock bound coast' of Maine--a victim of the slaughter at Fredericksburgh--lay in this hospital, his life ebbing away from a fatal wound. He had a father, brothers and sisters, a wife, and one little boy of two or three years old, on whom his heart seemed set. Half an hour before he ceased to breathe, I stood by his side, holding his hand. He was in the full exercise of his intellectual faculties, and knew he had but a brief time to live. He was asked if he had any message to leave for his dear ones whom he loved so well. "_Tell them_," said he, "_how I died--they know how I lived!_" _January 19._--Senator Wright, of Indiana, stirred the hearts of the Senate and of the people. It was not the oration of a rhetor--it was the confession of an ardent, pure patriot. I never heard or witnessed anything so inspiring and so kindling to soul and heart. _January 20._--General Butler palsied and shelved, Halleck all powerful and with full steam running the country and the army to destruction--such is the truest photograph of the situation. But as an adamantine rock among storms, so Mr. Lincoln remains unmoved. Unmoved by the yawning, bleeding wounds of the devoted, noble people--unmoved by the prayers and supplication of patriots--of his--once--best friends. Mr. Lincoln answers, with dignity not Roman, and with obstinacy unparallelled even by Jackson, that he will stand or fall with his present advisers, and that he takes the responsibility for all the cursed misdeeds of Seward, Halleck, Chase, and others. So children are ready to set a match to a powder magazine unconscious of the terrible results--unconscious of the awful responsibility for its destructive action. A death pang runs through one's body to see how rapidly the dial marks the disappearing hours, and how unrelentingly approaches March 4th, and the death-knell of this present patriotic, devoted Congress. For this terrible storm and clash of events, the people, perhaps, feel not the immensity of the loss. Paralyzed as Congress has been and now is, by the infernal machinations of Seward, Chase, and others, and by Mr. Lincoln's stubborn helplessness, the patriots in both Houses nevertheless, succeeded in redeeming the pledge which the name of America gives to the expansive progress of humanity. The patriots of both Houses, as the exponents of the noble and loftiest aspirations of the American people, whipped in--and this literally, not figuratively--whipped Mr. Lincoln into the glory of having issued the Emancipation Proclamation. The laws promulgated by this dying Congress initiated the Emancipation--generated the Proclamation of the 22d September, and of January 1st. History will not allow one to wear borrowed plumage. --Congress ought not to have so easily abdicated its well established rights of more absolute and direct control of the deeds of the Administration and of its clerks, _alias_ Secretaries of Departments. It is to be eternally regretted that Congress has shown such unnecessary leniency; but in justice it must be said that the patriotic and high-minded members of Congress wished to avoid the degrading necessity of showing the nation the prurient administrative sores. Advised, directed, tutored and pushed by Seward, Blair and Chase, Mr. Lincoln is--innocently--as grasping for power, as are any of those despots not over respectfully recorded by history. With all this, the presence of Congress keeps in awe the reckless and unscrupulous Administration, as, according to the pious belief of medieval times, holy water awed the devil. But Congress once out of the way, without having succeeded in rescuing Mr. Lincoln from the hands of those mean, ignorant, egotistic bunglers, all the time squinting towards the succession to the White House, and unable to surround the President with men and patriots, then all the plagues of Egypt may easily overrun this fated country. Such conjurors of evil as the Sewards, Hallecks, and others, will have no dread of any holy water before them, and they will be sure that the great party of the "Copperheads" in the future Congress will applaud them for all the mischief done, and lift them sky high, if they succeed in treading down in the gutter, or in any way palsying emancipation, tarnishing the people's noble creed, and endangering the country's holiest cause. General Fitz-John Porter's trial before court-martial ended in his dismissal, but ought punishment to fall on him alone, when the butchers of Fredericksburgh and when the pontoon men are in high command? when a Franklin is still sustained, when a Seward and a Halleck remain firm in their high places as the gates of hell? _January 20._--Wrote a respectful letter to the President on Halleck's military science, his book, and capacity. Told respectfully to Mr. Lincoln that not even the Sultan would dare to palm such a Halleck on his army and on his people. Mr. Lincoln in his greatness says that "he will stand and fall with his Cabinet." O, Mr. Lincoln! O, Mr. Lincoln! purple-born sovereigns can no more speak so! Mr. Lincoln! with the gang of politicians, your advisers and friends, _you all desire immensely, and will feebly_. You desire the reconstruction of the Union, and you almost shun the ways and means to do it. And thus this noble people is dragged to a slaughter house. Parumne campis atque Neptuno super Fusum est--[Yankee] sanguinis? _January 21._--Deep, irreconcilable as is my hatred of slavocrats and rebels, nevertheless I am forced to admire the high intellectual qualities of their chiefs, when compared with that of ours. Of Lincoln _versus_ Jeff Davis I spoke in the first volume. But now Lee, Jackson, Hill, Ewall, _versus_ Halleck, McClellan, McDowell, Franklin, etc. _January 22._--Wendell Phillips's _Amen_ oration to the Proclamation is noble and torrent-like oratory. Greeley is the better Greeley of former times. I heartily wish to admire and speak well of Greeley, as of every body else. Is it my fault that they give me no occasion? _January 23._--General Fitz-John Porter, McClellan's pet, told me to-day, that after the battle at Hanover Court House, he supplicated McClellan to attack Richmond at once--which in Porter's opinion could have been taken without much ado,--and not to change his base to James River; and even Fitz-John could not prevail on this demigod of imbeciles, traitors and intriguers. _January 24._--Here is one of the thousand flagrant lies with which Seward entangles Lincoln, as with a net of steel. Lincoln assured General Ashley that the public is unjust toward Seward in accusing him of having worked for the defeat of Wadsworth. That they have been the best friends for long years; that, when Military Governor of Washington, Wadsworth was a daily visitor in Seward's house; and that, during the canvass, Wadsworth consulted with Seward concerning his (Wadsworth's) actions. Mr. Seward knows that every one of those assertions which he or Thurlow Weed pushed down the throat of Mr. Lincoln is a flagrant lie. Every one knows that for many, many years the high-toned Wadsworth had in utter detestation Mr. Seward's character as a lawyer or as a public man, and that he never spoke to him, and never was his political or private friend. I am sorry to bring such details before the public, but how otherwise convict a liar? As for Thurlow Weed's secret and open machinations against the election of Wadsworth, only an idiot or a s.... doubts them. Ask the New York politicians, provided they have manhood to tell the truth. _January 24th._--_Caveant Senators and Representatives!_ cannot be too often hurled into the ears of the people and of the Congressmen. The time runs lightning like--the 4th of March approaches with comet-like velocity. If the tempest is not roaring, its signs are visible, and most of the helmsmen are blind or unsteady. Oh! could every move of the pendulums of the clocks of the Senate Chamber and the Representatives' Hall, thunder-like repeat that _caveant_, transmitted by the purest and best days of Rome! The Republicans and many of the war Democrats are faithful and true to the people and to its sacred cause; but the names of the "filibustering" traitors in both houses ought to be nailed to the gallows! European winds bring Louis Napoleon's opening speech, and the confession, that although once rebuked, he, the dissolute, the profligate, with his corrosive breath still intends to pollute the virginity of our country; for such is the indelible stain to any nation, to any people which accepts or submits to any, even the most friendly, foreign mediation or arbitration. Never, never any great nation or any self-respecting government, accepted or submitted to any similar foreign interference. Of the peoples, nations and governments, which allowed such interference, some collapsed into degradation for a long time, only slowly recovering, like Spain; others, like Poland, disappeared. Those who advocate such mediation unveil their weakness, their thorough ignorance of the world's history and of the historic and political bearings of the words, _mediation_, and _arbitration_; and to crown all, these advocates bring to market their imbecility. The Africo-Americans ought to receive military organization and be armed. But it ought to be done instantly and without loss of time; it ought to be done earnestly, boldly, broadly; it ought to be done at once on all points and on the largest scale; it ought to be done here in Washington, under the eyes of the chief of the people; here in the heart of the country; here, so to speak, in the face of slave-breeding Virginia, this most intense focus of treason; it ought to be done here, that the loyal freemen of Virginia's soil be enabled to fight and crush the F. F. V's, the progeny of hell; it ought to be done here on every inch of soil covered with shattered shackles; and not partially on the outskirts, in the Carolinas and Louisiana. Stanton, alone, and Welles among the helmsmen, are so inspired; but alas, for the rest of the crew. On the flags of the Africo-Americans under my command, I shall inscribe: _Hic niger est! hunc tu (rebel) caveto!_ I shall inculcate upon my men that they had better not make prisoners in the battle, and not allow themselves to be taken alive. _January 25th._--So Gen. McClellan's services to the rebellion are acknowledged by the gift of a splendid mansion situated in New York, in the social sewer of American society. The donors, are the shavers from Wall Street, individuals who coin money from the blood and from the misfortunes of the people, and who by high rents mercilessly crush the poor; who sacrifice nothing for the sacred cause; who, if they put their names as voluntary contributors of a trifle for the war, thousand and thousand times recover that trifle which they ostentatiously throw to gull the good-natured public opinion; not to speak of those so numerous among the McClellanites, who openly or secretly are in mental communion with treason and rebellion. Naturally, all this gang honors its hero. McClellan's pedestal is already built of the corpses of hundreds of thousands butchered by his generalship, poisoned in the Chickahominy, and decimated by diseases. His trophies are the wooden guns from Centreville and Manassas. _January 25th._--What from the beginning of this war, I witness as administrative acts and dispositions, and further the debates in Congress on the various bills for military organizations and for the organization of the various branches of the military medical, surgical, and quartermaster's service; all this fully convinces me that the military and administrative routine, as transmitted by Gen. Scott, or by his school, and as continued by his pets and remnants, is almost the paramount cause of all mischief and evils. In the medical, surgical, and in the quartermasters' offices, ought have been appointed young civilians and business men as chiefs, having under them some old routinists for the sake of technicalities of the service. Such men would have done by far better than those old intellectual drones. A merchant accustomed to carry on an extensive and complicated business would have been by far a better quartermaster-general--_Intendant des armées_--than the wholly inexperienced Gen. Meigs. This last would serve as an aid to the merchant. At the beginning of the war, I suggested to Senator Wilson to import such quartermasters from France or Russia, men experienced and accustomed to provide for armies of 100,000 men each. By paying well, such men could have been easily found, and the military medical and surgical bureau, as organized by Scott, was about sixty years behind real science. These senile representatives of non-science snubbed off Professor Van Buren of the New York academy, to whom they compare as the light of a common match to that of calcium. If men like Dr. Van Buren, Dr. Barker, and others of real science from New York, Boston, Philadelphia, etc., had been listened to, thousands and thousands of limbs and lives would have been saved and preserved. _January 25th._--Mr. Lincoln relishes the idea that if the cause of the North is victorious, no one can claim much credit for it. I put this on record for some future assumptions. Mr. Lincoln is the best judge of the merits of his clerks and lieutenants. But Mr. Lincoln forgets that the success will be due exclusively to the people--and, _per contra_, he alone will be arrayed for the failure. His friends and advisers, as the Sewards, the Weeds, the Blairs, the Hallecks, will very cleverly wash their gored hands from any complicity with him--Lincoln. The army to be formed from Africo-Americans is to be entrusted to converted conservatives. It is feared that sincere abolitionists if entrusted with the command, may use the forces for some awful, untold aims. It is feared that abolitionists once possessed of arms and troops, may use them indiscriminately, and emancipate right and left, by friend and foe, paying no attention to the shrieks of border-States, of old women, of politicians, of cowards, of Sewardites; nay, it is feared that genuine abolitionists may carry too far their notions of absolute equality of races, and without hesitation treat the white rebels with even more severity than they threaten to treat loyal armed Africo-Americans. And why not?... The history of England, the history of any free country has not on record a position thus anomalous, even humiliating, as is that of the patriots in Congress, thanks to Mr. Lincoln's helpless stubbornness. The patriots forcibly must consider Mr. Lincoln, even Sewardised, Blairised, Halleckised as he is, as being the only legal power for the salvation of the country. The patriots must support him, and instead of exposing the wretched faults, mistakes, often ill-will of his administration, must defend the administration against the attacks of the Copperheads, who try to destroy or disorganize the administration on account of that atom of good that it accidentally carries out on its own hook. And thus the patriots must suffer and bear patiently abuses heaped on them by the treasonable or by the stupid press, by intriguers and traitors; and patriots cannot make even the slightest attempt to vindicate their names. _January 26th._--The visits to the White House and the "_I had a talk with the President_," are among the prominent causes of the distracted condition of affairs. With comparatively few exceptions, almost everybody expands a few inches in his own estimation, when he says to his listeners, nay, to his friends: "I had a talk with the President." Of course it is no harm in private individuals to have such _a talk_, but I have frequently observed and experienced that public men had better refrain from having any talk with him. Very often he is not a jot improved by their talk, and they come out from the interview worsted in some sort or other. Sumner, the Roman, the Cicero, was to-day urged by several abolitionists from Boston to expose the mischief of both the foreign and the domestic policy of Seward. The Senator replied that he is more certain to succeed against that public nuisance and public enemy by not attacking him openly. I vainly ransack my recollection of my classic reading for the name of any Roman who ever made such a reply. _January 26th: Two o'clock P. M._--Hooker is in command! And patriotic hearts thrill with joy! Mud, bad season, mortality, loss of time, demoralization, such is the inheritance left by McClellan, Halleck and Burnside--such are the results prepared by the infamous West Point and other muddy intriguers in Washington, and in the army,--such is the inheritance transmitted to Hooker, by the cursed Administration procrastinations. In all military history there is seldom, if ever, a record of a commander receiving an army under such ominous circumstances. If Hooker succeeds, then his genius will astonish even his warmest friends. When Hooker was wounded, and in the hospital, he repeatedly complained to me of the deficiency of the staffs. I reminded him of it, and he promised to do his best to organize a staff without a flaw. I immediately wrote to Stanton, sending him several pages translated from the German works of Boehn (before spoken of) to give to the Secretary a general idea of what are the qualities, the science, the knowledge and the duties of a good chief of staff. I explained that the staff and the chief of the staff of an army are to it what the brains and the nervous system are to the human body. _9 o'clock, P. M._--I am told that Hooker wished to have for his chief of staff General Stone, (white-washed) who is considered to be one of the most brilliant capacities of the army. If so, it was a good choice, and the opposition made by Stanton is for me--at the best--unintelligible. Hooker selected Butterfield. What a fall from Stone to Butterfield. Between the two extend hundreds, nay, thousands, of various gradations. Gen. Butterfield is brave, can well organize a regiment or a brigade, but he has not and can not have the first atom of knowledge required in a chief of staff of such a large army. Staff duties require special studies, they are the highest military science; and where, in the name of all, could Butterfield have acquired it? I am certain Butterfield is not even aware that staff duties are a special science. All this is a very bad omen, very bad, very bad. Literally they laugh at me; now they hurrah for Hooker. May they not cry very soon on account of Hooker's staff. When I warn, Senators and Representatives tell me that I am very difficult to be satisfied. We will see. _January 27._--It is said that Franklin, Sumner, and even Heintzelman declared they would not serve under Hooker. Let them go. Bow them out, the hole in the army will be invisible. I am sorry that Heintzelman plays such pranks, as he is a very good general and a very good man. Well, a new galaxy of generals and commanders is the inevitable gestation of every war. Seldom if ever the same men end a war who began it. New men will prove better than the present sickly reputations consecrated by Scott, West Point and Washington. _January 27._--Governor Andrew--the man always to the point, or as the French would say _toujours à la hauteur de la question_--insists on forming African or black regiments in Boston from free blacks. Such formations interfere not with my project, as I principally, nay exclusively, look to contrabands, to actual slaves. Governor Andrew wishes to give the start, to stir up the Government and other Governors and to drag them in his footsteps. He is the representative man of the new and better generation which ought to have the affairs of the country in hand, and not these old worn-out hacks who are at it now. If such new men were at the helm in both civil and military affairs, Secesh would have been already crushed and Emancipation accomplished. To such a new generation belongs Coffey, one of the Assistant Attorney Generals, Austin Stevens, Jr., Charles Dana, Woodman, etc., etc. The country bristles with such men, and only prejudices, stupidity, and routine prevents them from becoming really active and from saving the country. _January 27._--The patriotic majorities of both Houses of Congress pass laws after laws concerning the finances, arming the Africo-Americans, increasing the powers of the President, etc., each of which taken alone, would not only save the cause but raise it triumphant over the ruins of crime and of slavery, if used by patriotic, firm, devoted, unegotistic hands and brains. But alas! alas! very little of such, except in one or two individuals, is located in the various edifices in and around the presidential quarters. The military organization of Africo-Americans is a powerful social and military engine by which slavery, secession, rebellion, and all other dark and criminal Northern and Southern excrescences can be crushed and pulverized to atoms, and this in a trice. But as is the case with all other powerful and explosive gases, elements, forces, etc. this mighty element put in the hands of the Administration must be handled resolutely, and with unquivering hands and intellect; otherwise the explosion may turn out useless for the country and for humanity. At present the indications are very small that the administration has a decided, clear comprehension how to use this accession of loyal forces on a large scale; how to bring them boldly into action in Virginia, as the heart of the rebellion. Nothing yet indicates that the administration intends to arm and equip Africo-Americans here under the eyes of the government. Nothing indicates that it intends to do this avowedly and openly, and thereby terrify and strike the proud slave-breeders, the F. F. V's. of Virginia, in the heart of treason, and do it by their own once chattels, now their betters. _January 28._--The Congress almost expires; and will or can the incarnated constitutional formula save the country? It is a chilling thought to doubt, yet how can we have confidence! All in the people! the people alone and its true men will not and cannot fail, and they alone are up to the mission. The dying Congress can no more reconquer its abdicated power. This noble and patriotic majority--many of them, are not re-elected, thanks to Lincoln-Seward--provide the incarnate formula with all imaginable legal, constitutional powers, more than twice sufficient to save the country. Could only the brains and hands entrusted with laws, be able to execute them! Oh for a legal, constitutional, statute Cromwell, ready to behead treason, rebellion, slavocracy and slavo-sympathy, as the great Oliver beheaded and crushed the poisonous weeds of his time. If the democratic-copperhead vermin had the possibility, they would make a McClellan-Seymour dictatorship, and extinguish for a century at least, light, right, justice, and freedom. Not yet! Oh, Copperheads! not yet. _January 29._--They dance to madness in New York, they dance here and give dancing parties! O what a heartlessness, recklessness, flippancy, and crime, of those mothers, wives and young crinolines, when one half of the population is already in mourning, when they have fathers, brothers, husbands in the army. I hope that Boston and New England as well as the towns and villages of the country all over, spit on this example given by New York and Washington. My friend N----, progressive, enlightened and therefore a true Russian, is amazed and displeased with such an intolerable flippancy. During the Crimean war, no one danced in Russia from the Imperial palace down to the remotest village; the people's indignation would have prevented any body--even the Czar, from such a sacrilegious display of recklessness when the country's integrity and honor were at stake, when the nation's blood was pouring in torrents. Unspeakably worse, is the cold indifference with which many generals, many men in power, the rhetors and the politicians, speak of what is more than a sacrifice in a sacred cause, is an unholy and demoniac waste of human life. But some one--some avenging angel, will call them all to a terrible account. _January 30._--I would have ex-Governor Boutwell, of Massachusetts, Secretary of State. The conduct of European affairs requires pure patriotism--that is, conscientiousness of being an American by principle, in the noblest philosophical sense, sound common sense, discretion, simplicity, sobriety of mind, firmness, clear-sightedness. Boutwell would be a Secretary of State similar to Marcy. _January 30._--Wrote a letter to Stanton with the following suggestions for the organization of a large and efficacious force, nay, army, from the Africo-Americans. Some of the points submitted to this genuine patriot have been already variously mentioned above; here are some others. 1. It may be possible--even probable--on account of inveterate prejudices and stupidity, that an Africo-American regiment may be left unsupported during a battle. 2. It would be therefore more available to organize such a force at once on a large scale, so as to be able to have strong brigades, and even divisions. At the head of six to eight thousand men, resistance is possible for several hours if the enemy outnumbers not in too great proportions--four or five to one, and if the terrain is not altogether against the smaller force. 3. The Africo-Americans ought to be formed, drilled and armed principally with the view to constitute light infantry--and, if possible, light cavalry--but above all, for a _set fight_. 4. Their dress must be adapted to such a light service--as ought to be the dress of our whole infantry, facilitating to the utmost the quick and easy movements of the body and of the feet; both impossible or at least difficult in the present equipment of the American infantry. On account of the modern improvements in fire arms, the fights begin at longer distances, and it is important that the soldier be trained to march as quickly as possible, so as to force the enemy from their positions at the point of the bayonet. In this country of clay, bad roads, forests and underbrush, even more than care must be bestowed upon the feet and legs of the infantry. I suggested an imitation of the equipment of the French infantry. 5. In the case of the arsenals not having the requisite number of fire-arms, I would have the third line armed with scythes. As a Pole, I am familiar with that really terrible weapon. 6. To adapt the drill to the object in view--to free it as far as possible from needless technicalities, and to reduce it to the most urgently needed and the most readily comprehended particulars. 7. In view of the above-mentioned reasons, I would have the Tactics now in use very carefully revised, or have an entirely new book of Tactics and Regulations. 8. Suggested that General Casey should be entrusted with the matters treated of in suggestions 6 and 7. _January 31._--The Copperheads in Congress are shedding crocodile tears over the doom that awaits those Africo-Americans who may unfortunately be taken prisoners by the rebels. Now, in the first place enlisted Africo-Americans are under the protection of the United States Government, and that Government will not be guilty of the infamy of seeing its captured soldiers murdered in cold blood--and in the next place the Africo-American will prove anything rather than an easily-made captive to Southern murderers. The Africo-Americans will sell their lives so dearly as to disgust the rebels with the task of attempting to capture them. _January 31._--Few people can understand the intensity of the disgust with which I find myself often obliged to mention Thurlow Weed--that darkest incarnation of all that is evil in black mail, lobbyism, and all hideous corruptions. It is not my fault that such a man is allowed to exert a malign influence on the country's fate, and I am obliged to give the dark as well as the bright parts of the great social picture. How deeply I regret my inability to collect and record, in part at least, if not as a whole, all the deeds of heroism and devotion, of generous and brave self-abnegation, which have been done by thousands, even by millions of those who are both falsely and foolishly called the lower classes. FEBRUARY, 1863. The Problems before the People -- the Circassian -- Department of State and International Laws -- Foresight -- Patriot Stanton and the Rats -- Honest Conventions -- Sanitary Commission -- Harper's Ferry -- John Brown -- the Yellow Book -- the Republican Party -- Epitaph -- Prize Courts -- Suum cuique -- Academy of Sciences -- Democratic Rank and File, etc. etc. etc. _February 1._--The task which this great American people has on its hands is one utterly unexampled in the history of the world. While in the midst of a great civil war, and struggling as it were in very death-throes, to emancipate and organize four millions of men, most of whom, up to this very day, have by deliberate legislation been kept in ignorance and savagery. Thoroughly to comprehend the immensity of such a task, we must also reflect that the men to whom that task is intrusted are anything rather than intellectual giants. Yet the true solution of the problem will be given by the principle of self-government and by the self-governing People. And it is therein that consists the genuine American originality which Europe finds it so impossible to understand. And it is just as little understood by most of the diplomatists here, and what is still worse, it is not even studied by them. It is wretched work to be obliged to witness the low, the actually ignoble parts which many men play in the great farce of political life. I could easily mention a full score of would-be-eminent men, who are unsurpassed by the meanest of the vulgar herd in flippancy and an utter want of self-respect. The diary published in London by Bull Run Russell deserves to be read by every American. Russell deals blows to slavery which will tell in England. However annoying may be to many the disclosures made by this indiscreet confidant of their vanity, Russell's revelations establish firmly the broad historical--not gossipping--fact, that before and after Sumter, the most absolute want of earnestness, of statesmanlike foresight, and the most childish but fathomless vanity inspired all the actions of the American Secretary of State. I am one of the few who, having often met Russell here, never fawned to him, nay who not even took any notice of him; but I am grateful to him for his falsely-called indiscreetness--for his having done the utmost to bring out truth--in his own way. It is the best that I have seen, or heard, or read of him. Flatterers, Secretaries, Senators, and Generals crowded to Russell and to his table, and he exposes them. Among others, General McDowell was Russell's guest, very likely to show his gratitude to the slanderer of the volunteers, whom McDowell did not understand how to lead to victory. Seward showed to Russell his dispatches to Lord John Russell. Mr. Sumner, at Bull Run Russell's table, asked Russell's aid to keep peace with England. Good! Unspeakably good! Not only the Emancipation problem must be solved, so to speak, amidst the storm of battle--but other and very mighty problems, social, constitutional, jurisprudential, and financial, must be similarly and promptly dealt with. And these great questions must be debated to the accompaniment of the music of musketry and cannon. In some respects the situation of America at present may be said to resemble that of France in the days of her great Revolution. But affairs here and now are still more complicated than they were in France from 1789 to 1793. Formerly I took a more active part than I now take in revolutionary and reformatory struggles, and was seldom daunted by their difficult problems, or by their most violent tempests. But now I have a chilling sense of weariness and disgust as I note the strange things that are done under my very eyes. The burden of taxes laid upon a people who have an inborn hatred of taxation, a debt created in a few months surpassing that which England and France contracted in half a century; and that debt contracted as if by magic, and in the very crisis of a civil war such as any foreign war would be mere baby's play to. The people at large see the precipice, and hear the roaring of the breakers ahead, but despair not! Sublime phenomena for the future historian to dwell upon! All this is genuine American originality. In its sublime presence, down, down upon your knees in the dust, all you European wiseacres! The capture of the _Circassian_, an English blockade runner, gave birth to some very delicate international complications. The decision of the Prize Court shows up the absolute destitution of statesmanship in the Department of State, generally coruscated with ignorance of international principles, rules of judicial international decisions, and of belligerent rights and observances. Every day shows what a masterly stroke it was of the Secretary of State to have proclaimed the blockade in April, 1861, and to have been the first to recognize the rebels in the character of independent belligerents. The more blockade runners will be captured by our cruisers, the more the complications will grow. A false first step generates false conditions _ad infinitum_. The question of the _Circassian_ is only the beginning, and not even the worst. The worst will come by and by. But Seward is great before Allah! The truth is, that Mr. Seward and the Department are as innocent of any familiarity with international laws, as can be. The people, the intelligent people would be horror-stricken could they suddenly be made acquainted with all the shameful ignorance which is corrosively fermenting in the State Department. To every intelligent and well regulated Government in Europe, the Department of Foreign Affairs--which in America is called the State Department--has attached to it a board of advisers for the solution of all international questions. In England, for instance, all such questions are referred to the Crown Lawyers, i.e. the Attorney and Solicitor General, and, in specially important cases, to the Lord High Chancellor, and one or two of the Judges. And in order to obtain the advice he obviously stands so much in need of, Mr. Seward ought to have consulted two or three American juriconsults of eminence. Mr. Seward ought to have foreseen that the war would necessarily give rise to international, commercial, and maritime complications. Such men as Charles Eames, Upton, etc. would have been excellent advisers on all international and statutory questions. Presumptuous that I am--to venture upon the mere supposition that Seward the Great can possibly need advice! Not he, of course--not he. Mr. Seward is the Alpha and Omega--knows everything, and can do every thing himself. Happily, the people at large is the genuine statesman, and can correct the mistakes--and worse--of its blundering, bungling servants. American pilots and statesmen! Forget not that foresight is the germ of action. Foresight reveals to the mind the opportuneness of the needed measure by which a solution is to be given, a question decided, and the hoped-for results obtained. American people! How much foresight have your--dearly-paid--servants shown? You, the people alone, you have been far-seeing and prophetic; but not they. _February 2._--All the efforts of the worshippers of treason, of darkness, of barbarism, of cruelty, and of infamy--all their manoeuvres and menaces could not prevail. The majority of the Congress has decided that the powerful element of Africo-Americans is to be used on behalf of justice, of freedom, and of human rights. The bill passed both the Houses. It is to be observed that the "big" diplomats swallowed _col gusto_ all the pro-slavery speeches, and snubbed off the patriotic ones. The noblest eulogy of the patriots! The patriots may throb with joy! The President intends great changes in his policy, and has telegraphed for----Thurlow Weed, that prince of dregs, to get from him light about the condition of the country. The conservative "Copperheads" of Boston and of other places in New England press as a baby to their bosom, and lift to worship McClellan, the conservative, and all this out of deepest hatred towards all that is noble, humane, and lofty in the genuine American people. Well they may! If by his generalship McClellan butchered hundreds of thousands in the field, he was always very conservative of his precious little self. Biting snow storm all over Virginia! Our soldiers! our soldiers in the camp! It is heart-rending to think of them. Conservative McClellan so conservatively campaigned until last November as to preserve--the rebel armies, and make a terrible winter campaign an inevitable necessity. O, Copperheads and Boston conservatives! When you bend your knees before McClellan, you dip them in the best and purest blood of the people! _February 3._--The Secretary of War appointed General Casey to shorten the general tactics for the use of Africo-American regiments to use them as light infantry. The devotion of American women to the sick and wounded soldiers, makes them be envied by the angels in Heaven (provided there are any). This devotion of these genuine gentlewomen atones for the ignoble flippancy of dancing crinolines. Down, down goes slavery notwithstanding the _gates of hell_, and their guard, the McClellans, the Sewards, amorously embracing the Copperheads and all that is dark and criminal. Humanity is avenged and Eternal Justice is satisfied. _February 4._--Sumner is re-elected to the Senate. His re-election vindicates a sound principle, because his opponents were all the Copperheads and slavery-saviours in Massachusetts. Sumner's influence in the Senate is rather limited. Politically he is on all points most honest; but his conduct towards Seward is not calculated to impress one with any very high esteem for his manhood. It is not force, or decision, or power, that is cruel in revolutionary times--but, weakness. All societies have had their epochs of progress and of retrogression. Sylla was a conservative, and so too was Phocion. The Pharisees were reactionists and conservatives. Europe has millions of them, of various hues, shapes, tendencies and convictions. But the reactionists and conservatives in the past of Europe all have been and are of a purer metal than the conservatives here, and their impure organs, as the National Intelligencer, the World, the Boston Courier, and the rest of that fetish creed. _February 4._--The French Yellow Book, or State Correspondence, justifies my forebodings of November last. Mr. Mercier's diplomatic sentimentalism, and his associations, germinated the _Decembriseur's_ scheme for mediation and humiliation. Further is to be found in the Yellow Book the evidence how, from the start of this dark rebellion, Mr. Seward, the master spirit of the Administration, dealt death blows to all energetic, unyielding prosecution of the war for crushing the rebellion, and that he was double-dealing in all his public actions. The published state papers of the French government disclose the fact that nine months ago Mr. Seward sent the French minister to Richmond with a mission to invite the Jeff. Davises, Hunters, Wigfalls, Benjamins and others to come back to their seats in the Senate, and in the name of the cruelly outraged North, Mr. Seward proffered to the traitors a hearty welcome. So says the French diplomat in his official dispatch to the French Secretary of Foreign Affairs. Such underhanded dealings should not be allowed, and most assuredly would be stringently punished, if perpetrated under similar circumstances by the minister of any European government dealing with treason in arms. But here, Mr. Seward's impudence--if not worse--displays its flying colors. The Republican press will swallow all this, and Senator Sumner as Chairman of the Committee will--keep quiet. That confidential mission entrusted to the French diplomat by Mr. Seward, was more than sufficient to evoke the subsequent attempt at mediation, because it revealed to the piercing eye of European statesmanship, how the Administration, and above all how its master spirit had little confidence in the cause; it revealed the want of earnestness in official quarters. I hate and denounce all attempts, even by the most friendly foreign power, to meddle with the internal affairs of our country. But I have some little knowledge of European statecraft, of European diplomacy, of European rulers, and of European diplomats; and I assert, emphatically, that they are emboldened to offer their meddlesome services because they have very little if any respect for our official leaders; and because the want of energy and of good faith to the principles of the North as displayed by Seward, he nevertheless remaining at the helm, has firmly settled the conviction in European minds, that the rebels cannot be crushed by such traffickers and used up politicians as have in their hands the destinies of the Union. _February 5._--The new Copperhead Senators--in their appearance resembling bushwhackers; the pillars of Copperheadism in the House, take umbrage at the sight and the name of New England, and abuse the New England spirit with all their coppery might. Well they may. So did Satan hate and abuse light. Patriot Stanton is earnestly at work concerning the organization of Africo-Americans on a mighty scale; busy against him, likewise, are the intriguers, the traitors, the cavillers, the Sewardites and the McClellanites, all being of the same kidney. Seward sighs for McClellan. But Stanton will override the muddy storm. He has at his side men as pure, energetic and devoted as Watson, a patriot without a flaw. Stanton surrounds himself and selects young men--as far as he can, he crowds out the remains of Scott, so tenderly protected by Lincoln. Could he only have swept out the rest of the old fogies! Undoubtedly these young men in the War Department would give new life to it. _February 6._--The people at large are at a loss to find the cause of the recent disasters. The general axiom is, "we are not a military nation." Neither is the South. But here they forget that every great or small effect has its--not only--cause, but several causes. Many such causes have been repeatedly pointed out. Old routine in military organization stands foremost. Few, if any, understand wherein consists the proper organization of an army, and most have notions reaching back sixty years. The medical and surgical bureaus are obsolete. Governor Andrew of Massachusetts, who is always on the right side, and with him many young men, insisted upon organizing the above services as they are organized in the Continental armies of Europe. But even in the Senate prevailed the respect for dusty, rusty, domestic tradition. The few changes forced by the outcry of the people cure not the evil. Skeletons and not men are at work, and if they are not skeletons they are leeches of the government and of the people's blood. Thus likewise, when the organizations of the staffs was discussed, no one had the first notion of the nature and duties of a staff; and the military authorities were as ignorant as the civilians. Of course a McClellan, then a Halleck, Meigs, Hitchcock, etc., could not disperse the fog. Many Congressmen were thunderstruck by the display of words which, as they were purely technical terms, the Congressmen in question could not understand. Others sought for guidance in the Staff of Wellington, and thus oddly but unmistakably proved themselves completely in the dark as to the difference between the personal staff of the commander of an army, and the Staff of that Army itself. And all this in a country of the most rapid movement and progress, and amongst a people which unhesitatingly adopts and adapts to its own needs and welfare almost every novelty from almost every part of the world. The great fault committed by the People is its too great respect for false authorities and false prophets. The so-called honest Conservatives have exercised and still continue to exercise a most fatal influence on public affairs, and especially on what is called the domestic policy. These same "honest Conservatives" are more dangerous than the out-spoken Copperheads; more dangerous, perhaps, than all the friends of slavery and foes of the Union combined. These "honest Conservatives" have contrived to surround themselves with a halo of honesty and respectability. But they as cordially hate and dread every vivid light and vigorous progress as the traitors themselves do. Those Conservatives opposed every vigorous measure. They spoke tenderly of the "misguided brethren" in the South, and took their own servile and blundering, though quite possibly sincere fancies, for actual and tangible facts. The honest Conservatives will support whatever is slow, double-dealing, and, therefore, conservative. The honest Conservatives took McClellan to their honest hearts, and not one of them has any clear notion of military affairs, and still less can any of them fathom the awful depth of McClellan's military criminality. I repeat what I said in the first volume of my Diary: McClellan and his tail fell, not on account of their Democratism, or their pro-slavery creed, but because McClellan repeatedly displayed all the worst qualities of a thoroughly unsoldierly commander. No one would have uttered a word of censure if McClellan with his hundred and eighty thousand men had surrounded the thirty to forty thousand rebels in Centreville and Manassas in the winter of 1861-2, and taken some nobler trophies than camp manure and maple guns! The honest Conservatives attack and hate Stanton, yet not one of them has any notion whatever of Stanton's action towards McClellan. Stanton would have been the first to raise McClellan sky-high if McClellan had preferred to fight instead of reposing in his bed in Washington, and then in various muds. Such is your knowledge of this and of all other public affairs, O respectable soul and spiritless body of honest Conservatives! Historians of this country! collect the names of the _honest_ Conservatives, but expose them not to the abomination of coming generations. _February 7._--The Sanitary Commission, with all its branches and subdivisions, is among the noblest manifestations of what can be done by a free people, and how private enterprise of intelligent, patriotic and unselfish men can confer benefit. Nor must the praise of that great work be limited to men. Warm-hearted gentlewomen also have done their share in it. The Sanitary Commission is one of the best out-croppings of self-government, and does honor to the people, and softens and ameliorates the warlike roughness of the times. The Sanitary Commission marks a new era in the history of genuine and not bogus and merely verbal philanthropy, and its spontaneity and expansion were only possible in free, and therefore humane and enlightened America. _February 8._--Mr. Seward is busily at work endeavoring to crush the radicals, and to make the Emancipation Proclamation a mere sheet of waste paper. All that is mean and nasty, all that is reeking and foul with all kinds of corruptions, takes Seward for its standard-bearer. The so-called radical press aids Seward with all its might. _February 9._--Gen. Casey adopts some of my ideas and suggestions, which I discussed with him. Gen. Casey is honestly at work, and the new tactics will be in print. Stanton would wish to establish a thorough military camp on a large scale, for organizing Africo-Americans. But the higher powers are against it. Virginia, the most populous slave state, the nursery of slaves, must, scorpion-like, be surrounded with glowing contraband camps. What a splendid position for such a camp is Harper's Ferry under the shadow of immortal John Brown! A few days ago, Mr. Lincoln was full of joy because the defences of Washington are in excellent condition. Thus the country will learn with joy that the----spade is still at work, that the military curse hurled by Scott and McClellan is still influencing the operation of the war, that Halleck is the worthy continuator of his predecessors, that Mr. Lincoln's fears and uneasiness about the fate of the city of Washington are slowly, slowly assuaged, that the President's fancy is nursed, that the construction of the extensive fortifications around the capital is still continued, that new forts are continually erected, that the fear of an attack on Washington is still paramount, and that to-day--sixty to seventy thousand troops are kept idle in these old and new forts--when Rosecrans has no succor, when Texas is lost, and when the whole rebel region trembles under the tread of savage hordes. Through one of its clerks, the State Department intends to sue me for libel, contained, as they say, in the first volume of my _Diary_. Well, great masters, if you swallow me, you may not digest me. Let us try.[2] [Footnote 2: I must here record that Mr. Carlisle, the eminent lawyer in Washington, although in every respect opposed to my political and social views, behaved, in this affair, as a thorough man of honor. I am sorry that on a similar former occasion, not in Washington, my political friends showed themselves not Carlisles.] _February 10._--... mens agitat molem ... oh, could I only believe that such is the case with Mr. Lincoln, how devoted I could become, and loyal to him, according to the new theory of the lickspittles and politicians! _February 10._--Resolute Senator Grimes did what was the duty of Sumner to have done long ago. Grimes presented resolutions relative to the mission of Mercier to Richmond, a mission allowed, almost authorized by Mr. Seward. Mercier cannot be blamed, and his veracity is supported by the fact that Lord Lyons was at once informed of the whole transaction, and Lord Lyons is to be believed. Seward will play the innocent, and take his refuge in the god of--lies. _February 12._--In his answer to the Senate, Mr. Seward gives to Mercier the lie direct. It will be rich if Mercier stands square. _February 12._--Congress draws to its close. Lincoln accumulates powers, responsibilities, and hereafter perhaps curses, sufficient to break the turtle on which stands the elephant that sustains the Sanscrit world. _February 13._--The almost imperceptible ripple on the diplomatic pool of Washington has disappeared. Simple people might have believed that there was an issue of veracity between Mr. Seward and the French Minister. But since a long, a very long time, Seward and veracity have run in different orbits, and diplomats, Talleyrand-like, ought to be the incarnation of equanimity even if any one--diplomatically--treads on their toes. Besides, the answer given to the Senate before it reached its destination _might have been arranged_ at any such confidential chat as was that one where the little innocent, nobody-hurting (no, not even the people's honour) trip to Richmond was concocted. The French Minister's name _appears not_ in the document sent to the Senate; so the lie direct is after all only a constructive lie; nobody is hurt. A general shaking of hands and all is well. But strange things may come out yet, and others may not be so blazened out. The soap bubble of mediation exploded under the nose of the French schemers. The soap used by them was of the finest and most aromatic quality, but the democratic nerves of the American people resisted the Franco-diplomatic cunningly mixed aroma. The applause gained by Mr. Seward's very indifferent document, wherein the great initiator of the Latin race on this free continent was rebuked, the satisfaction shown by the public, ought to open the eyes of the sentimental French trio. They ought to understand, by this time, that Seward's argumentative dispatch, incomplete and below mark as it is, won applause, although it expresses only the hundredth of the patriotic ire bursting from the people's bosom. Otherwise the people would have at once found out all skillfully, cunningly, chameleon-like Seward dodges, which ignore before Europe the sublime character of the struggle forced by treason upon the loyal free States; and in which how he avoids to hurt the slavocracy. The Imperial mediator and bottle-holder to slavocracy belies not his bloody origin and his bloody appetites. The events in Egypt, the negro kidnapping in Alexandria, have torn the mask from his astute policy. If, for his filibustering raid into Mexico, Louis Napoleon wanted colored soldiers accustomed to the climate, he could raise them among the free colored population of the French possessions in Martinique, Guadaloupe, etc. But to use the freemen from the Antilles would have set a bad example to the Africo-Americans in the revolted States; Louis Napoleon wished not to hurt or offend his slaveocratic pets and traitors; by kidnapping slaves in Egypt the French ruler showed how highly he values the stealing qualities of the Southern chivalry--and he paid a tribute to the principle of slavery. But while treating with all possible horror and disrespect the French officiousness, the American people ought not to forget the innermost interconnection of events. If the French diplomacy, if the French Cabinet became sentimental at the sight of our deadly struggle with the demon of treason, it was because they witnessed our helplessness, and witnessed the uninterrupted chain of faults and of bad policy; it was because they and the whole world saw the want of earnestness in our official leaders; and from all this these _Messieurs_ concluded that the patriots of the North never will be able to crush the traitors in the South. So speak the French diplomatic documents, so speaks Mercier, Drouyn de l'Huys and Louis Napoleon; and has not the Seward-Weed influence, paramount in the policy of the Government, brought about all these bad results, palsied the war, and thus almost justified the officiousness of the _Messieurs_? _February 13._--Many forebode the downfall, the dissolution, and the disappearance of the Republican party. That may be, and if so then one of the cardinal laws of human progress, development and ascension, will be fullfilled. _The initiator either perishes by the initiated, or the initiator perishes, disappears because his special mission, his task is done._ The progress of humanity is marked by the sacrifice and death of its initiators. Such was the end of the founders of religions, of societies; such of political bodies. Osiris, Lycurgus, Romulus, Christ, the martyrs, the apostles, are a few from numberless illustrations that might be cited. The Long Parliament, the French Convention, disappeared after having fullfilled the work of destruction pointed out to them by the genius of progress and of our race. As an organized political party the Republican may disappear with the war, for slavery is finally destroyed. This is the noble initiation and solution fulfilled by the Republican party. To destroy slavery and the political defenders and props of slavery, was the mission that was fatally thrown or entrusted by inexorable destiny to the Republican party. With the destruction of slavery, disappears from the political life of America the _Northern man with Southern principles_; those very dregs of dregs of all times and of all political bodies and societies. Slavery is destroyed both virtually and _de facto_, new issues are looming, new solutions will be given, and new men will bear the new word. All in creation, and in every party, has its light and its shadow, its pure principle, its pure men and its dregs. Every party has its faults and its shortcomings. The dregs fall, and the work of the party is done. Some of the chiefs and leaders of the Republican party became faithless, (Seward,) went over to darkness, but thereby the onward march to the sacred aim was not arrested. The irresistible current of events and of human affairs carried onwards the Republican party. Perhaps unconsciously, but nevertheless emphatically, the Republican party in its _ensemble_ was a providential agency; it became the incarnation of the loftiest aspirations of the best among the American people. Against its wish and will, contrary to expectations, the Republican party was challenged to action; the sword of law, of justice and of right, was forcibly thrust into the party's hand, and slavocracy, the challenger, is already bleeding its life-blood, and its death-knell resounds from pole to pole. To speak the language of politicians; abolition, emancipation by the sword, was forced upon the Republican party. And the Republican party carried out the principle of the preamble of the bill of rights; a principle eternal as right, but nevertheless hitherto only partially realized. The Republican party has borne the brunt, and accomplished the appointed evolutions of progress; and the Republican party has deserved well of the American people, of history and of humanity. And the children and grandchildren of those who to-day cavil, defile and stone the party, they hereafter will bless the Republican party, who, with noble consciousness can say to the spirit of light and of duty: _Nunc dimitte in pacem servum tuum Domine._ One of the best evidences of purity and of the elevation of the Republican party in its noblest representative men is that the obtusest among the great diplomats shunned the Republicans as little monsters shun the daylight. I mention this as a collateral illustration without intending to raise a diplomat or the poor diplomacy of the world to an undeserved significance, for I bear in mind the behest, _ne misceantur sacra prophanis_. The nobleness of the accomplished mission, the glorious Sunset wherein will disappear the Republican party, frees, not from reproaches nor from maledictions, those Republicans who, by their selfishness and faithlessness, obstructed its progress, and polluted the party. Their names remain nailed to the pillory. I may here observe that I never belonged and never claimed to belong to the Republican party. For nearly half a century my creed has been--Onward! onward! struggle, fight, sacrifice for light, for progress, for human rights; for that cause fight and struggle under every banner, under every name, and in rank and file with every body. _February 13._--Seward seizes by the hair the occasion proffered to him by the _Decembriseur's_ offer of mediation, and tries to reconquer the confidence of the public. This shows to Drouyn de l'Huys and to his master, that they are misinformed concerning the condition of America, (also M. Mercier misinformed them; how could he do otherwise?) The despatch to Dayton, February 7, will lead astray public opinion. The majority will forget and lose sight of the intercatenation of events and actions perpetrated by Mr. Seward. O Chase! O Sumner! Seward rises with his patient pen and paper in the inky glory of a patriot, and you----cave in. Speaking of Mr. Seward's answer to France, a diplomat observed to me: "The European Cabinets are so accustomed to Mr. Seward's duplicity and want of veracity, that now that Seward refuses to accept mediation, in Europe they will conclude that Seward's acceptation of mediation is at hand." _February 14._--The struggle is for the rights of man, for the Christian idea, purified of all dogma and worship. Those who see it not, are similar to a fish from the Kentucky Cave. _February 14._--Could Mr. Lincoln only be inspired, be warmed by the sacred fire of enthusiasm, then his natural and selected affinities would be other minds than those of a Seward, a Weed, a Halleck, etc.; then what is night could become light; and where he painfully gropes along his path, Mr. Lincoln would march with a firm, almost with a godlike step, at the head of such a peerless people as those of whom he is the Chief Magistrate. But as it is now, I may turn the mind in any direction whatever, all the causes of mishaps and disasters converge on Mr. Lincoln. According to his partisans, Mr. Lincoln's intentions are the best, and he is always trying to conciliate--and to shift. It is useless to discuss Mr. Lincoln's peculiar ways. In most cases, Mr. Lincoln uses old, rotten tools for a new and heavy work. I have it from the most truthful and positive authority, that Mr. Lincoln is fully acquainted with the opinions of the so called _dissatisfied_, of those with Southern propensities, proclivities and affinities, of whom many are in the superior civil and military service. Contrary to the advice of patriots in the Cabinet and out of it, Mr. Lincoln insists upon keeping such at their post--doubtless always expecting that they will _turn round_. Such a heavy difficulty and task as is the present, must be worked out, with absolute devotion and sincerity; and can this logically be expected from men whose hearts and minds are not in their actions? Mr. Lincoln forgets that thousands of lives and millions of money are sacrificed to the experiment as to whether the insincere officials will _turn round_. The cause will not fail, light will not be extinguish, even if the leaders break down or betray, even if the Copperheads frighten some of the pilots, or if some of the faithless pilots shake hands with the Copperheads, as was the case in the elections of November last in New York and elsewhere. The people will save light, dissipate darkness, save the cause, save the leaders, the pilots and the politicians. _February 15._--Some days ago in compliance with summons, that pedler of all corruptions, Thurlow Weed, came to Washington, and with Mr. Seward, his _fidus Achates_, was for days or nights closeted with Mr. Lincoln, pouring into the president's soul as much poison and darkness as was possible. That such was the case can, besides, easily be concluded from what that incarnation of all perversions predicated to all who came within his nauseous preachings here. According to Mr. T. Weed's revelations, "_The proclamation is an absurdity, and the Union will soon--as it ought--be ruled by the rebels._" So it was told me. Perhaps it is already done through Thurlow Weed's mediation and instrumentality. Continually inspired by Weed, Mr. Seward is therefore untiring in his over-patriotic efforts to preserve the former Union and Slavery--to save the matricide slave-holders. In what clutches is Mr. Lincoln! Even I pity him. Even I am forced to give him credit for being what he is--considering his intimacies and his surroundings. Few men entrusted with power over nations have resisted such fatal influences,--not even Cromwell and Napoleon. History has not yet settled how it was with Cæsar, and so far as I know, Frederick the Great of Prussia is of the very few who have been unimpressionable. Pericles coruscates over ruins and the night of the ancient world; Pericles's intimacy was with the best and the manliest Athenians. But has Mr. Lincoln an unlimited confidence in the few men with large brains and with big hearts, brains and hearts burning with the sacred and purest patriotic fire? Or are not rather all his favorites--not even whitened--sepulchres of manhood, of mind and of sacred intellect? _February 16._--It is asserted, and some day or other it will be verified, that the Committee on the Conduct of the War have investigated how far certain generals from the army on the Rappahannock used their influence with the President to paralyze a movement against the enemy ordered by Burnside. That facts discovered may be published or not, for the Administration shuns publicity. _The Committee discovered that Mr. Seward was implicated in that conspiracy of generals against Burnside._ Any qualification of such conduct is impossible, and the vocabulary of crimes has no name for it; let it, therefore, be _Sewardism_. The editors of the New York _Tribune_ did their utmost to prevent _Sewardism_ being exposed. _February 16._--Often, so to speak, the hand refuses to record what the head hears and sees, what the reason must judge. To witness how one of the greatest events in the development of mankind, how the deadly struggle between right and crime, between good and evil, how the blood and sweat of _such a people_ are dealt with by--counterfeits! _February 17._--Poor Banks! He is ruined by having been last year pressed to Seward's bosom, and having been thus initiated into the Seward-Weed Union and slavery-restoring policy. Banks and Louis Napoleon in Mexico and in his mediation scheme; both Banks and Napoleon were ruined by yielding to bad advice--Banks to that of Seward, and Louis Napoleon to that of his diplomats. I hope that Banks will shake off the nightmare that is throttling him now; that he will no more write senseless proclamations, will give up the attempt to save slave-holders, and will march straight to the great task of crushing the rebellion and rebels. He will blot slavery, that Cain's mark on the brow of the Union; blot it and throw it into the marshes of the parishes of Louisiana. I rely upon Banks's sound common sense. He will come out from among the evil ones. _February 18._--Under no other transcendent leadership than that of its patriotism and convictions, the majority of this expiring Congress boldly and squarely faced the emergencies and all the necessities daily, hourly evoked by the Rebellion, and unhesitatingly met them. If the majority was at times confused, the confusion was generated by many acts of the administration, and not by any shrinking before the mighty and crushing task, or by the attempt to evade the responsibility. The impartial historian will find in the Statutes an undisputable confirmation of my assertions. The majority met all the prejudices against taxation, indebtedness, paper currency, draft, and other similar cases. And all the time the majority of Congress was stormed by traitors, by intriguers, by falsifiers and prisoners of public opinion; the minority in Congress taking the lead therein. Many who ought to have supported the majority either fainted or played false. The so-called good press, neither resolute nor clear-sighted, nor far-seeing, more than once confused, and as a whole seldom thoroughly supported the majority. If the good press had the indomitable courage in behalf of good and truth, that the _Herald_ has in behalf of untruth and of mischief, how differently would the affairs look and stand! _February 19._--Jackson first formed, attracted and led on the people's opinion. Has not Mr. Lincoln thrown confusion around? _February 19._--The Supreme Court of the United States has before it the prize cases resulting from captures made by our navy. The counsel for the English and rebel blockade-runners and pilferers find the best point of legal defence in the unstatesmanlike and unlegal wording of the proclamation of the blockade, as concocted and issued by Mr. Seward, and in the repeated declarations contained in the voluminous diplomatic correspondence of our Secretary of State,--declarations asserting that _no war whatever is going on in the Federal Republic_. No war, therefore no lawful prizes on the ocean. So ignorance, and humbug mark every step of this foremost among the pilots of a noble, high-minded, but too confiding people. The facts, the rules, and the principles in these prize cases are almost unprecedented and new; new in the international laws, and new in the history of governments of nations. Seldom, if ever, were so complicated the powers of government, its rights, and the duties of neutrals, the rights and the duties of the captors, and the condition of the captured. This rebellion is, so to speak, _sui generis_, almost unprecedented on land and sea. The difficulties and complications thus arising, became more complicated by the either reckless or unscientific (or both) turn given by the State Department in conceding to the rebels the condition of belligerents. Thus the great statutory power of the sovereign, (that is, of the Union through its president) for the suppression of the rebellion was palsied at the start. The insurrection of the Netherlands alone has some very small similarity with our civil war; however, that insurrection took place at a time when very few, if any, principles of international laws were generally laid down and generally recognized. Here the municipal laws, the right of the sovereign and his duty to save itself and the people, the rights and the laws of war, wrongly applied to such virtual outlaws as the rebels, the maritime code of prize laws and rules, play into and intertwine each other. When Mr. Seward penned his doleful proclamation of the blockade, etc., he never had before his mind what a mess he generated; what complications might arise therefrom. I am sure he never knew that such proclamation was _a priori_ pregnant with complications, and that at least its wording ought to have been very careful. Mr. Seward was not at all cognizant of the fact that the wording of a proclamation of a blockade, for the time being, lays down a rule for the judges in the prize courts. For him it was rather a declamation than a proclamation; he who believed the rebellion would end in July, 1861, and that no occasion would arise to apply the rules of the blockade. Thus Mr. Seward, with his thorough knowledge of international law rendered difficult the position of the captors; he equally increased the difficulty for the judge to administer justice. By this proclamation and the commentaries put on it, Mr. Seward curtailed the rights of the government of which he is a part, conceded undue conditions to the rebels, and facilitated to the neutrals the means of violating his blockade. So much is clear and palpable to-day, and I am sure more complications and imbecilities are in store. If Mr. Seward had had good advisors for these nice and difficult questions, he would not have blundered in this way. Thus Charles Eames, who in the pleadings before the Superior United States Court has shown a consummate mastery in prize questions--Eames could teach Mr. Seward a great deal about the constitutional powers of the president to suppress the rebellion, and about the meaning and the bearing of international maritime laws, rights, duties and rules. _February 20._--A Mr. Funk, a member of the Illinois Senate, a farmer, and a man of sixty-five years, on February 13, made a speech in that body which sounds better than all the rhetories and oratories. It was the sound and genuine utterance of a man from the people, and I hope some future historian will record the speech and the name of the old, indomitable patriot. _February 20._--Stimulated by a pure Athenian breeze, the Congress passed a law organizing an Academy of Sciences. What a gigantic folly; the only one committed by this Congress. The pressure was very great, and exercised by the bottomless vanity of certain scientific, self-styled magnates, and by the Athenians. Up to this day, the American scientific development and progress consisted in its freedom and independence. No legal corporation impeded and trammeled the limitless scope of the intellectual and scientific development. That was the soul and secret of our rapid and luminous onward march. Now fifty patented, incorporated respectabilities will put the curb on, will hamper the expansion. Academies turn to fossils. My hope is that the true American spirit will soar above the vanity and pettiness of corporated wisdom, and that this scientific Academy bubble will end in inanity and in ridicule. I am sorry that Congress was taken in, and committed such a blunder. It was caught napping. Mr. Chase's bank bill, prospective of money, and as many say, prospective of presidency, passed the house. What fools are they already begin to direct their steps and their ardent wishes toward the White House. _February 22._--The, at any price, supporters of the Administration, point with satisfaction to the various successes, and to the space of land already redeemed from rebellion. I protest against such explanation given to events, and call to it the attention of every future historian. Never had the _suum cuique_ required a more stringent, philosophical application. With the various inexhaustible means at its disposal, with the unextinguishable enthusiasm of the people, far different and more conclusive results, _could_ and ought to have been obtained. The ship makes headway if even, by the negligence of the officers and of the crew, she drags a cable or an anchor. The ship is the people dragging its administrators. A western Democrat, but patriot, said to me that Lincoln compares to Jeff Davis, as a wheel-barrow does to a steam engine! The Democrats claim to be the genuine fighting element, and to be possessed of the civic courage, and of governmental capacity. How, then, can the Democrats rave for McClellan, the most unfighting soldier ever known? The future historian must be warned not to look to the newspapers for information concerning facts and concerning the spirit of the people. The _Tribune's_ senile clamor for peace, for arbitration, for meditation, its Jewitt, Mercier, Napoleon, and Switzerland combinations, fell dead and in ridicule before the sound judgment of ninety-nine hundredths of the people. _February 24._--In Europe I had experience of political prisons and of their horror. But I would prefer to rot, to be eaten up by rats, rather than be defended by such arch-copperheads as are the Coxes, the Biddles, the Powells, etc., etc. In the discussion concerning the issue of the letters of marque, Sumner was dwelling in sentimentalities and generalities, altogether losing sight of the means of defense of the country, and the genuine national resources. With all respect for high and sentimental principles and patriotism, with due reverence of the opinion, the applause or the condemnatory verdict to be issued by philanthropists, by doctors, and other Tommities, my heart and my brains prefer the resolute, patriotic, manly Grimes, Wades, etc., the various _skippers_ and masters, all of whom look not over the ocean for applause, but above all have in view to save or to defend the country, whatever be the rules or expectations of the self-constituted Doctors of International laws. _February 25._--The Union-Slavery saviours, led on by the _Herald_, by Seward, by Weed, etc., all are busily at work. _Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us._ I hear that great disorder prevails in the Quartermaster's Department. It is no wonder. In all armies, countries, government and wars, the Quartermaster's Department is always disorderly. Why shall it not be so here, when want of energy is the word? At times Napoleon hung or shot such infamous thieves, as by their thefts skinned and destroyed the soldiers and the army; at times in Russia, such curses are sent to Siberia. But as yet, I have not heard that any body was hurt here, with the exception of the treasury of the country, and of the soldiers. The chain-gang of those quartermaster's thieves, contractors, jobbers and lobbyists must be strong, very long, and composed of all kind of influential and not-influential vampyres. Somebody told me, perhaps in joke, that all of them constitute a kind of free-masonry, and have signs of recognition. After all, that may be true. Impudence, brazen brow, and blank conscience may be among such signs of recognition. _February 26._--O, could I only win confidence in Mr. Lincoln, it would be one of the most cheerful days and events in my life. Perhaps, elephant-like, Mr. Lincoln slowly, cautiously but surely feels his way across a bridge leading over a precipice. Perhaps so; only his slowness is marked with blood and disasters. But the most discouraging and distressing is his _cortège_, his official and unofficial friends. Mars Stanton, Neptune Welles, are good and reliable, but have no decided preponderance. Astrea-Themis-Bates is mostly right when disinfected from border-State's policy, and from fear of direct, unconditional emancipation. But neither in Olympus nor in Tartarus, neither in heaven nor in hell, can I find names of prototypes for the official and unofficial body-guard which, commanded by Seward, surrounds and watches Mr. Lincoln, so that no ray of light, no breath of spirit and energy may reach him. _February 26._--This civil war with its _cortège_ of losses and disasters, which after all fall most bloodily and crushingly on the laborious, and rather comparatively, poorer part of the whole people; perhaps all this will form the education of the rank and file of the political Democratic party. The like Democratic masses are intellectually by far inferior to the Republican masses. Experience will perhaps teach those unwashed Democrats how degrading was their submission to slavocracy, which reduced them to the condition of political helots. This rank and file may find out how they were blindfolded by slave breeders and their northern abettors. A part of the Democratic masses were, and still are kept in as brutal political ignorance and depravity as are the poor whites in the South, under whatever name one may record them. Now, or never, is the time for the _unwashed_ to find out that during their alliance with the Southern traitors, all genuine manhood, all that ennobles, elevates the man and warms his heart, was poisoned or violently torn from them--that brutality is not liberty, and finally, that the Northern leaders have been or are more abject than abjectness itself. If the rank and file finds out all this, the blood and disasters are, in part at least, atoned for. _February 27._--O! could I from every word, from every page of this Diary, for eternities, make coruscate the nobleness, the simple faith with which the people sacrifices all to the cause. To be biblical, the sacrifice of the people is as pure as was that made by Abel; that made by the people's captains, leaders, pilots is Cain-like. _February 27._--All the Copperheads fused together have done less mischief, have less distorted and less thrown out of the track the holy cause, they have exercised a less fatal and sacrilegious influence, they are responsible for less blood and lives, than is Mr. Seward, with all his arguments and spread-eagleism. Even McClellan and McClellanism recede before Seward and Sewardism, the latter having generated the former. In times of political convulsions, perverse minds and intellects at the helm, more fatally influence the fate of a nation than do lost battles. Lost battles often harden the temper of a people; a perverse mind vitiates it. _February 27._--Gold rises, and no panic, a phenomenon upsetting the old theories of political economy. This rise will not affect the public credit, will not even ruin the poor. I am sure it will be so, and political economy, as every thing else in this country, will receive new and more true solutions for its old, absolute problems. The genuine credit, the prosperity of this country, is wholly independent of this or that financial or governmental would-be capacity; is independent of European exchanges, and of the appreciation by the Rothschilds, the Barings, and whatever be the names of the European appraisers. The American credit is based on the consciousness of the people, and on the faith in its own vitality, in its inexhaustible intellectual and material resources. The people credits to itself, it asks not the foreigners to open for it any credit. The foreign capitalists will come and beg. The nation is not composed here as it is composed all over Europe, of a large body of oppressed, who are cheated, taxed by the upper-strata and by a Government. Thus credit and discredit in America have other causes and foundations, their fluctuations differ from all that decides such eventualities in Europe. I am sure that subsequent events will justify these my assertions. _February 28._--Inveterate West Pointers got hold of the dizzy brains of some Senators and of other Congressmen, and Congress wasted its precious time in regulating the military position of engineers. This action of Congress is a _pendant_ to the Academy of Sciences. The leaders in this discussion proved to _nausea_; 1st. Their utter ignorance of the whole military science, of its subdivisions, branches and classifications; 2d. Their ignorance of the nature of intellectual hierarchy in sciences; 3d. Those Congressional wiseacres proved how easily the West Point Engineers humbugged them. Congress consecrates the engineer as number one. Congress had better send a trustful man to Europe, to the continent, and find out what is considered as number one in the science of warfare. But every luminous body throws a shadow; the Academy of Sciences, and this number one, are the shadows thrown by that political body. _February 28._--Seldom, if ever, in history was the vital principle of a society, of a nation, of a Government, so bitterly assailed, and its destruction attempted by combined elements and forces of the most hellish origin and nature, as the vital principle of American institutions is now assailed. The enemies, the sappers, the miners, are the Union-Slavery-Saviours of all kinds and hues. But darkness cannot destroy light, nor cold overpower heat:--so the united conspiracy will not prevail against light and right and justice. _February 28._--The last batch of various generals sent for confirmation to the Senate, reflects and illustrates the manner in which promotion is managed, and military powers and capacity estimated at the White House. Hooker and Heintzelman are made major generals because they brilliantly fought at Williamsburgh, and Sumner is likewise promoted for Williamsburgh, where, in pursuance of McClellan's orders, Sumner looked on when Heintzelman and Hooker were almost cut to pieces. The dignitaries of Halleck's pacific staff are promoted, and colonels who fight, and who, by their bravery and blood correct or neutralize the awful deadly blunders of Halleck and of his staff, such colonels are _not_ promoted! _February 28._--Congress outlawed all foreign intervention, mediation! Catch it, foreign meddlers. Catch it, _Decembriseur_ and your lackeys. _February 28._--Congress by its boldness, saved the immaculate Republican idea, saved the principle of self-government, and deserves the gratitude of all those from pole to pole, who have at heart the triumph of freedom, the triumph of light! To its last hours, this Congress had to overcome all the mean, petty appetites and cravings, which so often palsy, defile, or at the best, neutralize the noblest activity; Congress had to overcome prejudices, narrow-mindedness and bad faith. Many of the so called political friends--_vide_, the great Republican press--are as troublesome, as much nuisances, as are the Sewardites and the Copperheads. Others accuse the Congress for not having done enough. Copperheads and Sewardites accuse Congress of having done too much. And thus, the majority of Congress marches on across impediments and abuses thrown in its way both by friends and by enemies. The _Tribune_ bitterly and boldly attacks Dahlgren, and trembling caves in before Seward. Of course! Dahlgren can only send 11 and 15 inch shells to crush the enemy; brother politician Seward can be useful for some scheme. MARCH, 1863. Press -- Ethics -- President's Powers -- Seward's Manifestoes -- Cavalry -- Letters of Marque -- Halleck -- Siegel -- Fighting -- McDowell -- Schalk -- Hooker -- Etat Major-General -- Gold -- Cloaca Maxima -- Alliance -- Burnside -- Halleckiana -- Had we but Generals, how often Lee could have been destroyed, etc. _March 1._--Unprecedented is the fact in the history of constitutionally-governed nations, that the patriots of a political party in power, that its most devoted and ardent men, as a question of life or death, are forced to support and defend an Administration which they placed at the helm, and whose many, many acts they disapprove. The soldiers in the hospitals die the death of confessors to the great cause. And the hair turns not white on the heads of those whose policy, helplessness, and ignorance, crowd the hospitals with the people's best children. _March 2._--The New-York _Times_--one among the great beacons and authorities in the country--the New York _Times_ belies its title as the "little villain." Gigantically, Atlas-like, that sheet upholds Seward and Weed. The _Times_ makes one admire the senile, compromising, mediating, arbitrating, and, at times, stumbling _Tribune_, and the cautious but often ardent _Evening Post_. The _Times_ joins in the outcry against the radicals. It is Seward-Weed's watchword. It is the watchword of the _Herald_. It is the watchword of the most thickly coppered Copperheads. Genuine, pure convictions and principles are always radical. Christianity could not have been established were not the first Christians most absolute radicals. They compromised not with heathenism, compromised not with Judaism, which in every way was their father. Radicals--true ones--look to the great aim, forget their persons, and are not moved by mean interests and vanities. The press in Europe, above all, on the Continent, is different. Its editors and contributors risk their liberty, their persons, their pockets, and sacrifice all to their convictions. They are not afraid to speak out their convictions, even if under the penalty to lose--subscribers; and that is all the risk run by an American newspaper. The _Herald_, the _World_, the _Express_, all organs of the evil spirit, through thick and thin, stand to their fetish, that McClellan; the Republican papers neither pitilessly attack the enemies, nor boldly and manfully support the friends, of the cause. I nurse no personal likings or dislikings; the times are too mighty, too earnest for such pettiness. For me, men are agencies of principles: bad agencies of an intrinsically good principle are often more mischievous than are bad principles and their confessors. The eternal tendency of human elevation and purification is to eliminate, to dissolve, to uproot social evils, to neutralize or push aside bad men, in whatever skin they may go about. It is a slow and difficult, but nevertheless incessant work of our race. It is consecrated by all founders of religions, by legislators, by philosophers, by moralists; it is an article of human, social and political ethics. As far as I experienced, the European radical press more strictly observes that rule of political ethics than the American press is wont to do. And the press, bad or good, is the high pontifex of our times; more than any other social agency whatever, the press ought, at least, to be manly, elevated, indomitable, vigilant and straight-forward. I mean the respectable press. _March 3._--Senator Wilson's kind of farewell speech to the Copperheads was ringing with fiery and elevated patriotism. It re-echoed the sentiments, the notions, the aspirations of the people. The cobbler of Natick rose above the rhetors, above the deliverers of prosy, classical, polished, elaborated orations, above young and above gray-haired Athenians, high as our fiery and stormy epoch towers over the epochs of quiet, self-satisfied, smooth, cold, elaborate and soulless civilities. _March 4._--Mr. Lincoln hesitates--and, as many assert, is altogether opposed to use all the severity of the laws against the rebels. And shall not our butchered soldiers be avenged? It is sacrilegious to put in the same scales the Union soldier and the rebels; it is the same as to put on equal terms before justice the incendiary and the man who stops or kills the criminal in _flagrante delicto_. _March 3._--After a tedious labor I waded through the State papers. O, what an accumulation of ignorance! Almost every historical and chronological fact misplaced, misunderstood, perverted, distorted, wrongly applied. And how many, many contradictions! Only when Mr. Seward can simply--(very, very seldom) point out to England that by _this_ and _that fact_ and _act_ England violates the international laws and rules of neutrality and of good comity between two _friendly_ governments and nations: then, _only_, Mr. Seward's papers acquire historical and political signification. But not his spread eagleism, not his argumentation; and, still less his broad and inexhaustible and variegated information. Diplomatic and statesmanlike character can not be conceded to his State papers. Few, very few, will read them, although foreign Courts, ministers, statesmen, princes, and the so-called celebrated women are complimented and deluged with them. The most pitiless critics of these productions would be the smaller clerks in the Departments of Foreign Affairs in London and Paris. Only they are not fools to waste their time on such specimens of literature. _March 4._--Congress adjourned. This Thirty-Seventh Congress marks a new era in the American and in the world's history. It inaugurated and directed a new evolution in the onward progress of mankind. The task of this Congress was by far more difficult and heavier than was the task of the revolutionary and of the constitutional Congresses. The revolutionary Congress had to fight an external enemy. The tories of that epoch were comparatively less dangerous than are now all kinds of Copperheads; it had to overcome material wants and impediments, and not moral, nor social ones. That Congress was omnipotent, governed the country, and was backed by its virgin enthusiasm, by unity of purpose, and was not hampered by any formulas and precedents. The Thirty-Seventh Congress had to fight a powerful enemy, spread almost over two-thirds of the territory of the Union; it had to fight and stand, so to speak, at home against inveterate prejudices, against such bitter and dangerous domestic enemies as are the Northern men with Southern principles. This Congress was manacled by constitutional formulas, and had to carry various other deadweights already pointed out. In the first part of the session, Pike, Member of Congress from Maine, laid down as the task for the Congress, _Fight, Tax, Emancipate_--and the Congress fulfilled the task. In a certain aspect the Thirty-Seventh Congress showed itself almost superior to the great immortal French Convention, which ruled, governed, administered, and legislated, while this Congress dragged a Lincoln, a Seward, etc. This Congress accomplished noble and great things without containing the so-called "great" or "representative" men, and thus Congress thoroughly vindicated the great social truth of genuine, democratic self-government. _March 5._--The _good_ press reduces the activity of the Thirty Seventh Congress to its own rather pigmy-like proportions. Congress was powerless to purify the corrosive air prevailing in Washington, above all in the various official strata. Congress ardently wished to purify, but the third side of the Congressional triangle, the executive and administrative power, preferred to nurse the foul elements. Such doubtful, and some worse than doubtful officials, undoubtedly will become more bold, expecting the near-at-hand advent of the Copperhead Democratic Millennium. _March 6._--The Copperhead members of both the Houses have been very prolific and _scientific_ about the inferiority of race. Pretty specimens of superiority are they, with their sham, superficial, at hap-hazard gathered, unvaluable small information, with their inveterate prejudices, with their opaque, heavy, unlofty minds! Give to any Africo-American equal chances with these props of darkness, and he very speedily will assert over them an unquestionable superiority. Are not the humble, suffering, orderly contrabands infinitely superior to the rowdy, unruly, ignorant, savage and bloody whites? Southern papers are filled with accounts of the savage persecutions to which the Union men are exposed in the rebel region. It is the result of what Mr. Seward likes to call his forbearing policy and of the McClellan and Halleck warfare of 1861-62. _March 7._--For the first time in the world's history, for the first time in the history of nations governed and administered by positive, well established, well organised, well defined laws--powers, such as those conferred by Congress on Mr. Lincoln, have been so conferred. Never have such powers been in advance, coolly, legally deliberated, and in advance granted, to any sovereign, as are forced upon Mr. Lincoln by Congress, and forced upon him with the assent of a considerable majority of the people. Never has a nation or an honest political body whatever, shown to any mortal a confidence similar to that shown to Mr. Lincoln. Never in antiquity, in the days of Athens' and Rome's purest patriotism and civic virtue, has the people invested its best men with a trust so boundless as did the last Congress give to Mr. Lincoln. The powers granted to a Roman dictator were granted for a short time, and they were extra legal in their nature and character; in their action and execution the dictatorial powers were rather taken than granted in detail. The powers forced on Mr. Lincoln are most minutely specified; they have been most carefully framed and surrounded by all the sacred rites of law, according to justice and the written Constitution. These powers are sanctioned by all formulas constituting the legal cement of a social structure erected by the freest people that ever existed. These powers deliver into Mr. Lincoln's hand all that is dear and sacred to man--his liberty, his domestic hearth, his family, life and fortune. A well and deliberately discussed and matured statute puts all such earthly goods at Mr. Lincoln's disposal and free use. The sublime axiom, _salus populi suprema lex esto_ again becomes blood and life, and becomes so by the free, deliberate will and decision of the foremost standard-bearer of light and civilization, the first born in the spirit of Christian ethics and of the rights of man.-- The Cromwells, the Napoleons, the absolute kings, the autocrats, and all those whose rule was unlimited and not defined--all such grasped at such powers. They seized them under the pressure of the direst necessity, or to satisfy their personal ambition and exaltation. The French Convention itself exercised unlimited dictatorial powers. But the Convention allowed not these powers to be carried out of the legislative sanctuary. The Committee of Robespierre was a board belonging to and emanating from the Convention; the Commissaries sent to the provinces and to the armies were members of the Convention and represented its unlimited powers. When the Committee of Public Safety wanted a new power to meet a new emergency, the Convention, so to speak, daily adjusted the law and its might to such emergencies. Will Mr. Lincoln realize the grandeur of this unparallelled trust? Has he a clear comprehension of the sacrifice thus perpetrated by the people? I shudder to think about it and to doubt. The men of the people's heart--a Fremont, a Butler, are still shelved, and the Sewards, the Hallecks, are in positions wherein no true patriot wishes them to be. The Republican press had better learn tenacity from the Copperhead press, which never has given up that fetish, McClellan, and never misses the slightest occasion to bring his name in a wreath of lies before the public. _March 8._--A great Union meeting in New York. War Democrats, Republicans, etc., etc., etc. War to the knife with the rebels is the watchword. Of course, Mr. Seward writes a letter to the meeting. The letter bristles with stereotyped generalities and Unionism. The substance of the Seward manifesto is: "Look at me; I, Seward, I am the man to lead the Union party. I am not a Republican nor a Democrat, but Union, Union, Union." The _I_, the No. 1, looks out from every word of that manifesto. With a certain skill, Mr. Seward packs together high-sounding words, but these his phrases, are cold and hollow. Mr. Seward begins by saying that the people are to confer upon him the highest honors. Mr. Seward enlightens, and, so to speak, _pedagogues_ the people concerning what everybody ought to sacrifice. The twenty-two millions of people have already sacrificed every thing, and sacrificed it without being doctrined by you, O, great patriot! and you, great patriot, you have hitherto sacrificed NOTHING! Let Mr. Seward show his patriotic record! To his ambition, selfishness, ignorance and innate insincerity he has sacrificed as much of the people's honor, of the people's interests, and of the people's blood as was feasible. History cannot be cheated. History will compare Mr. Seward's manifestoes and phrases with his actions! _March 8._--The cavalry horses look as if they came from Egypt during the seven years' famine. I inquired the reason from different soldiers and officers of various regiments. Nine-tenths of them agreed that the horses scarcely receive half the ration of oats and hay allotted to them by the government. Somebody steals the other half, but every body is satisfied. All this could very easily be ferreted out, but it seems that no will exists any where to bring the thieves to punishment. _March 8._--During weeks and weeks I watched McDowell's inquiry. What an honest and straight-forward man is Sigel. McDowell would make an excellent criminal lawyer. McDowell is the most cunning to cross-examine; he would shine among all criminal catchers. The Know-Nothing West Point hatred is stirred up against Sigel. I was most positively assured that at Pea Ridge a West Point drunkard and general expressly fired his batteries in Sigel's rear, to throw Sigel's troops into disorder and disgrace. But in the fire Sigel cannot be disgraced nor confused; so say his soldiers and companions. Sigel would do a great deal of good, but the Know-Nothing-West Point-Halleck envy, ignorance and selfishness are combined and bitter against Sigel. In this inquiry Sigel proved that he always fought his whole corps himself. So do all good commanders; so did Reno, Kearney, so do Hooker, Heintzelman, Rosecrans, and very likely all generals in the West. The McClellan-Franklin school, and very probably the Simon-pure West Pointers, fight differently. In their opinion, the commander of a corps relies on his generals of divisions; these on the generals of brigades, who, in their turn rely on colonels, and thus any kind of _ensemble_ disappears. Of course exceptions exist, but in general our battles seem to be fought by regiments and by colonels. O West Point! At the last Bull Run two days' battles, McDowell fought his corps in the West Point-McClellan fashion. His own statements show that his corps was scattered, that he had it not in hand, that he even knew not where the divisions of his corps were located; and during the night of 29-30, he, McDowell, after wandering about the field in search of his corps, spent that night bivouacking amidst Sigel's corps! _March 9._--New York politicians behaved as meanly towards Wadsworth as if they were all from Seward's school. _March 9._--Hooker is at the Herculean work of reorganizing the army. Those who visited it assert that Hooker is very active, very just; and that he has already accomplished the magician's work in introducing order and changing the spirit of the army. Only some few inveterate McClellanites and envious, genuine West Pointers are slandering Hooker. _March 12._--Since the adjournment of Congress, everything looks sluggish and in suspense. The Administration, that is, Mr. Lincoln, is at work preparing measures, etc., to carry out the laws of Congress; Mr. Seward is at work to baffle them; Blair is going over to border-State policy; Stanton, firm, as of old; so is Welles; Bates recognises good principles, but is afraid to see such principles at once brought to light; Chase makes bonds and notes. We shall see what will come from all these preparations. But for Congress, Lincoln or the executive, would have been disabled from executing the laws. Congress, by its laws or statutes, aided the Executive branch in its _sworn duty_. _March 13._--The various Chambers of Commerce petition and ask that the president may issue letters of marque. It is to be supposed, or rather to be admitted, that the Chambers of Commerce know what is the best for them, how our commerce is to be protected, how the rebel pirates swept from the oceans, and how England, treacherous England, perfidious Albion, be punished. But Sumner--of course--knows better than our Chambers of Commerce, and our commercial marine; with all his little might, Sumner opposes what the country's interests demand, and demand urgently. I am sure that already this general demonstration of the national wish and will, the demonstrations made by our Chambers of Commerce, etc., will impress England, or at least the English supporters of piracy. Sumner will believe that his letters to English old women will change the minds of the English semi-pirates. Sumner is a little afraid of losing ground with the English guardians of civilization. Sumner is full of good wishes, of generous conceptions, and is the man for the millennium. Sumner lacks the keen, sharp, piercing appreciation of common events. And thus Sumner cannot detect that England makes war on our commerce, under the piratic flag of the rebels. _March 14._--The primitive Christians scarcely had more terrible enemies, scarcely had to overcome greater impediments, than are opposed to the principle of human rights, and of emancipation. All that is the meanest, the most degraded, the most dastardly and the most treacherous, is combined against us. Many of the former confessors, many of our friends, many, unconscious of it--_Sewardise_ and _Blairise_. Mud is stirred up, flows, rises and penetrates in all directions. The _Cloaca Maxima_ in Rome, during thirty centuries scarcely carried more filth than is here besieging, storming the departments, all the administrative issues, and all the so-called political issues. I am sure that the enemies of emancipation, that Seward, Weed, etc., wait for some great victory, for the fall of Vicksburgh or of Charleston, to renew their efforts to pacify, to unite, to kiss the hands of traitors, and to save slavery. I see positive indications of it. Seward expects in 1864 to ride into the White House on such reconciliation. What a good time then for the Weeds, and for all the Sewardites! _March 15._--Persons who seemed well informed, assured me that Weed got hold of Stanton, and secretly presides over the contracts in the War Department. If so, it is very secretly done; as I investigated, traced it, and found out nothing. At any rate, Weed would never get at a Watson, a man altogether independent of any political influences. Watson is the incarnation of honest and intelligent duty. Wilkes' _Spirit of the Times_ is unrelenting in its haughty independence. It is the only public organ in this country of like character; at least I know not another. _March 15._--It is so saddening to witness how all kinds of incapacities, stupidities, how meanness, hollowness, heartlessness, all incarnated in politicians, in trimmers, in narrow brained; how all of them ride on the shoulders of the masses, and use them for their sordid, mean, selfish and ambitious ends. And the masses are superior to those riders in everything constituting manhood, honesty and intellect! _March 16._--Halleck wrote a letter to Rosecrans, explaining how to deal with all kinds of treason, and with all kinds of traitors. It looks as if Halleck improved, and tried to become energetic. What is in the wind? Is Mr. Lincoln becoming seriously serious? _March 16._--Genuine, social and practical freedom, is generated by individual rational freedom. If a man cannot, or even worse, if a man understands not to act as a free rational being in every daily circumstance of life during the week, then he cannot understand to behave on Sunday as a free man; and act as a free man in all his political and social relations and duties. The North upholds that law of freedom against the slavocracy, and fights to carry and establish a genuine social organism where at present barbarity, oppression, lawlessness and recklessness, prevail and preside. _March 18._--I sent Hooker Schalk's _Summary of the Science of War_. It is the best, the clearest handbook ever published. About six months ago, when Banks commanded the defenses of Washington, I suggested to him to try and get Schalk into head-quarters, or into the staff. The ruling powers proffered to Schalk to make him captain at large, and this was proffered at a time when altogether unmilitary men became colonels, etc., at the head-quarters. I never myself saw Schalk, but he refused the offer, as years ago he was a captain in the Austrian army, is independent, and knows his own value. Any European government, above all when having on hand a great war, with both hands with military grades, would seize upon a capacity such as Schalk's. Here they know better. My hobby is that the president be surrounded by a genuine staff composed either of General Butler or any other capable American general, of Sigel, of Schalk, and of a few more American officers, who easily could organise a staff, _un état Major général_, such as all European governments have. But West Point wisdom, engineers and routine, kill, murder, throttle, everything beyond their reach, and thus murder the people. _March 20._--Every week Mr. Seward pours over the fated country his cold, shallow Union rhetoric. But whoever reads it feels that all this combined phraseology gushes not from a patriotic heart; every one detects therein bids for the next Presidency. Gold is at fifty-five per cent here; in Richmond, gold is four to six hundred per cent. The money bags, and all those who adjust the affairs of the world to the rise and to the fall of all kind of exchanges, they may base their calculations on the above figures, and find out who has more chances of success, the rebels or we! Mud, stench on the increase, and because I see, smell and feel it, "_My friends scorn me, but my eye poureth =tears= into_" [Psalm] the noble American people. _March 21._--The _honest_ Conservatives and the small church of abolitionists are equally narrow-minded, and abuse the last Congress. The one and the other comprehend not, and cannot comprehend the immense social and historical signification of the last Congress. It made me almost sick to find Edward Everett joining in the chorus. But he, too, is growing very old. _March 22._--What are generally called excellent authorities assert that an offensive and defensive alliance is concluded between Seward and Stanton. Further, I am told, that Senator Morgan, Thurlow Weed, and a certain Whiting, a new star on the politician's horizon, have been the attorneys of the two contracting powers. I cannot yet detect any signs of such an alliance, and disbelieve the story. A short time will be necessary to see its fruits. Until I see I wait!... But were it true? Who will be taken in? I am sure it will not be Seward. Is Stanton dragged down by the infuriated fates? _March 23._--Burnside is to save Kentucky, almost lost by Halleck and Buell. Congress adjourned, and no investigation was made into Halleck's conduct after Corinth in 1862. The Western army disappeared; Buell commanded in Kentucky, and rebels, guerillas, cut-throats, murderers and thieves overflow the west, menaced Cincinnati. And all this when the Secretary of War in his report speaks about eight hundred thousand men in the field. But the Secretary of War provides men and means; great Lincoln, the still greater Halleck distribute and use them. This explains all. Burnside is honest and loyal, only give him no army to command. I deeply regret that Burnside's honesty squares not at all with his military capacity. The Government is at a loss what to do with honest, ignorant, useless military big men, who in some way or other rose above their congenial but very low level. Already last year I suggested (in writing) to Stanton to gather together such intellectual military invalids and to establish an honorary military council, to counsel nothing. Occasionally such a council could direct various investigations, give its advice about shoes, pants, horses and horse-shoes. Something like such council really exists in Russia, and I pointed it out to Stanton for imitation. _March 25._--Stanton scorns the slander concerning his alliance with Seward and Weed. It is an invention of Blair, and based on the fact that Stanton sides with Seward in the question _of letters of marque_, opposed by Blair under the influence of Sumner the civiliser. I believe Stanton, and not my former informer. _Halleckiana._ This great, unequalled great man declared that "it were better even to send McClellan to Kentucky, or to the West, than to send there Fremont, as Fremont would at once free the niggers." The admirers of poor argument, of spread-eagleism, and of ignorant quotations stolen from history, make a fuss about Mr. Seward's State papers. The good in these papers is where Mr. Seward, in his confused phraseology, re-echoes the will, the decision of the people, no longer to be humbugged by England's perversion of international laws and of the rights and duties of neutrals; the will of the people sooner or later to take England to account. (I hope it will be done, and no English goods will ever pollute the American soil. It will be the best vengeance.) The repudiation of any mediation is in the marrow of the people, and Seward's muddy arguments only perverted and weakened it. In Europe, the substance of Seward's dispatch, is considered the passage where Seward's highfalutin logomachy offers to the rebels their vacant seats in the Congress. _March 26._--Had we generals, the rebel army in Virginia ought to have been dispersed and destroyed after the first Bull Run: A. McCLELLAN.--Any day in November and December, 1861. B. McCLELLAN.--Any day in January and February, 1862, at Centerville, Manassas. C. McCLELLAN.--At Yorktown, and when the rebels retreated to Richmond. D. McCLELLAN.--After the battle of Fair Oaks, Richmond easily could and ought to have been taken. (See Hurlbut, Hooker, Kearney and Heintzelman.) E. McCLELLAN.--Richmond could have been taken before the fatal change of base. (See January, Fitz John Porter.) F. But for the wailings of McClellan and his stick-in-the-mud do-nothing strategy, McDowell, Banks and Fremont would have marched to Richmond from north, north-west, and west, when we already reached Stanton, and could take Gordonsville. G. General Pope and General McDowell, the McClellan pretorians, at the August 1862, fights between the Rappahannock and the Potomac. H. McCLELLAN.--Invasion of Maryland, 1862. Go in the rear of Lee, cut him from his basis, and then Lee would be lost, even having a McClellan for an antagonist. I. McCLELLAN.--After Antietam battle, won by Hooker, and above all by the indomitable bravery of the soldiers and officers, and not by McClellan's generalship, Lee ought to have been followed and thrown into the Potomac. K. McCLELLAN.--Lay for weeks idle at Harper's Ferry, gave Lee time to reorganize his army and to take positions. Elections. Copperheads, French mediation. L. McCLELLAN.--By not cutting Lee in two when he was near Gordonsville, Jackson at Winchester, and our army around Warrenton. M. BURNSIDE.--By continuing the above mentioned fault of McClellan. N. BURNSIDE.--By his sluggish march to Fredericksburgh, (see Diary, December.) O. HALLECK, MEIGS, etc. The affair of the pontoons. P. BURNSIDE, _Franklin_.--The attack of the Fredericksburg Heights. _March 28._--From the day of Sumter, and when the Massachusetts men hurrying to the defence of the Union, were murdered by the Southern _gentlemen_ in Baltimore, this struggle in reality is carried on between the Southern gentlemen, backed by abettors in the North, (abettors existing even in our army,) all of them united against the YANKEE, who incarnates civilization, right, liberty, intellectual superior development, and therefore is hated by the _gentleman_--this genuine Southern growth embodying darkness, violence, and all the virtues highly prized in hell. The Yankee, that is, the intelligent, laborious inhabitant of New England and of the Northern villages and towns, represents the highest civilization: the best _Southern gentleman_, that lord of plantations, that cotton, tobacco and slavemonger, at the best is somewhat polished, varnished; the varnish covers all kinds of barbarity and of rottenness. It is to be regretted that our army contains officers modelled on the Southern pattern, to whom human rights and civilization are as distasteful as they are to any high-toned slave-whipper in the South. _March 29._--The destruction of slavery, the triumph of self government ought not to be the only fruit of this war. The politician ought to be buried in the offal of the war. The crushing of politicians is a question as vital as the crushing of the rebellion and of treason. All the politicians are a nuisance, a curse, a plague worse than was any in Egypt. All of them are equal, be they Thurlow Weeds or Forneys, or etc. etc. etc. A better and purer race of leaders of the people will, I hope, be born from this terrible struggle. Were I a stump speaker I should day and night campaign against the politician, that luxuriant and poisonous weed in the American Eden. _March 30._--Glorious news from Hooker's army. Even the most inveterate McClellanites admire his activity and indeed are astonished to what degree Hooker has recast, reinvigorated, purified the spirit of the army. To reorganise a demoralised army requires more nerve than to win a battle. Hooker takes care of the soldiers. And now I hope that Hooker, having reorganised the army, will not keep it idly in camp, but move, and strike and crush the traitors. Hooker! _En avant! marchons!_ _March 31._--Some newspapers in New York and the National Intelligencer here in Washington, the paid organ of Seward and likewise organ of treason gilded by Unionism--all of them begin to discuss the necessity of a staff. All of them reveal a West Point knowledge of the subject; and the staff which they demand or which they would organise, would be not a bit better than the existing ones. APRIL, 1863. Lord Lyons -- Blue book -- Diplomats -- Butler -- Franklin -- Bancroft -- Homunculi -- Fetishism -- Committee on the Conduct of the War -- Non-intercourse -- Peterhoff -- Sultan's Firman -- Seward -- Halleck -- Race -- Capua -- Feint -- Letter writing -- England -- Russia -- American Revolution -- Renovation -- Women -- Monroe doctrine, etc., etc., etc. _April 1._--The English Blue Book reveals the fact that Lord Lyons held meetings and semi-official, or if one will, unofficial _talks_ with what he calls "the leaders of the Conservatives in New York;" that is, with the leaders of the Copperheads, and of the slavery and rebellion saviours. The Despatches of Lord Lyons prove how difficult it is to become familiar with the public spirit in this country, even for a cautious, discreet diplomat and an Englishman. But perhaps we should say, _because_ an Englishman, Lord Lyons became confused. Lord Lyons took for reality a bubble emanating from a putrescent fermentation. I am at a loss to understand why Earl Russell divulged the above mentioned correspondence, thus putting Lord Lyons into a false and unpleasant position with the party in power. As for the fact itself, it is neither new nor unwonted. Diplomacy and diplomats meddle with all parties; they do it openly or secretly, according to circumstances. English diplomacy was always foremost in meddling, and above all it has been so during this whole century. The English diplomat is not yet born, who will not meddle or intrigue with all kinds of parties, either in a nation, in a body politic, in a cabinet or at court. When a nation, a dynasty, a government becomes entangled in domestic troubles, the first thing they have to do is to politely bow out of the country all the foreign diplomacy and diplomats, be these diplomats hostile, indifferent, or even friendly. And the longer a diplomat has resided in a country, the more absolutely he ought to be bowed out with his other colleagues; to bow them all in or back, when the domestic struggle is finished. History bristles with evidences of the meddling of diplomats with political parties, and bears evidence of the mischief done, and of the fatal misfortunes accruing to a country that is victimised by foreign diplomacy and by diplomats. Without ransacking history so far back as to the treaty of Vienna, (1815) look to Spain, above all, during Isabella I.'s minority, to Greece, to Turkey, etc. And under my eyes, Mexico is killed by diplomacy and by diplomats. Diplomatic meddlings become the more dangerous when no court exists that might more or less control them, to impress on them a certain curb in their semi-official and non-official conduct. But at times it is difficult, even to a sovereign, to a court, to keep in order the intriguing diplomats, above all to keep them at bay in their semi-official social relations. In principle, and _de facto_, a diplomat, and principally a diplomat representing a powerful sovereign or nation, has no, or very few, private, inoffensive, social, worldly, parlor relations in the country, or in the place to which he is appointed, and where he resides. Every action, step, relation, intimacy of a diplomat has a signification, and is watched by very argus-like eyes; alike by the government to which he is accredited, and by his colleagues, most of whom are also his rivals. Not even the Jesuits watch each other more vigilantly, and denounce each other more pitilessly, than do the diplomats--officially, semi-officially and privately. It requires great tact in a diplomat to bring into harmony his official and his social, and non-official conduct. Lord Lyons generally showed this tact and adroitly avoided the breakers. At times such want of harmony is apparent and is the result of the will, or of the principles of the court and of the sovereign represented by a diplomat. Thus, after the revolution of July, 1830, the sovereign and the diplomats in the Holy Alliance, of Russia, Austria, and Prussia recognised Louis Phillipe's royalty as a fact but not as a principle. Therefore, in their social relations the Ambassadors of Russia, Austria, and Prussia, most emphatically sided with the Carlists, the most bitter and unrelenting enemies of the Orleans and of the order of things inaugurated by the revolution of July, and Carlists always crowded the saloons of the Holy Alliance's diplomats. The Duke d'Orleans, Louis Phillipe's son, scarcely dared to enter the brilliant, highly aristocratic, and purely legitimist saloon of the Countess Appony, wife of the Austrian Ambassador. Of course the conduct of the Count and Countess was approved, and applauded, in Vienna. But at times, for some reason or other, a diplomat puts in contradiction his official and non-official conduct, and does it not only without instructions or approval of his sovereign and government, but in contradiction to the intentions of his master and in contradiction to the prevailing opinion of his country. And thus it happens, that a diplomat presents to a government in trouble the most sincere and the most cheering official expressions of sympathy from his master; and with the same hand the diplomat gives the heartiest shakes to the most unrelenting enemies of the same government. The Russian, skillful, shrewd and proud diplomacy, generally holds an independent, almost an isolated position from England and from France. The Russian diplomacy goes its own way, at times joined or joining according to circumstances, but never, never following in the wake of the two rival powers. During this our war, and doubtless for the first time since Russian diplomacy has existed, a Russian diplomat semi and non-officially, seemingly, limped after the diplomats of England and of France. But such a diplomatic _mistake_ can not last long. _April 2._--Official, lordish, Toryish England, plays treason and infamy right and left. The English money lenders to rebels, the genuine owners of rebel piratical ships, are anxious to destroy the American commerce and to establish over the South an English monopoly. All this because _odiunt dum metuant_ the Yankee. You tories, you enemies of freedom, your time of reckoning will come, and it will come at the hands of your own people. You fear the example of America for your oppressions, for your rent-rolls. _April 3._--The country ought to have had already about one hundred thousand Africo-Americans, either under arms, in the field, or drilling in camps. But to-day Lincoln has not yet brought together more than ten to fifteen thousand in the field; and what is done, is done rather, so to speak, by private enterprise than by the Government. Mr. Lincoln hesitates, meditates, and shifts, instead of going to work manfully, boldly, and decidedly. Every time an Africo-American regiment is armed or created, Mr. Lincoln seems as though making an effort, or making a gracious concession in permitting the increase of our forces. It seems as if Mr. Lincoln were ready to exhaust all the resources of the country before he boldly strikes the Africo American vein. How differently the whole affair should have been conducted! _April 4._--Almost every day I hear very intelligent and patriotic men wonder why every thing is going on so undecidedly, so sluggishly; and all of them, in their despondency, dare not or will not ascend to the cause. And when they finally see where the fault lies, they are still more desponding. Europe, that is, European statesmen, judge the country, the people, by its leaders and governors. European statesmen judge the events by the turn given to them by a Lincoln, a Seward; this furnishes an explanation of many of the misdeeds committed by English and French statesmen. _April 4._--The people at large, with indomitable activity, mends, repairs the disasters resulting from the inability and the selfishness of its official chiefs. One day, however, the people will turn its eyes and exclaim: "_But thou, O God! shalt bring them down into the pit of destruction; bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days._" _April 4._--General Butler's speech in New York, at the Academy of Music, is the best, nay, is the paramount exposition of the whole rebellion in its social, governmental and military aspects. No President's Message, no letter, no one of the emanations of Seward's letter and dispatch-writing, corrosive disease, not an article in any press compares with Butler's speech for lucidity, logic, conciseness and strong reasoning. Butler laid down a law, a doctrine--and what he lays down as such, contains more cardinal truth and reason than all that was ever uttered by the Administration. And Butler is shelved and bartered to France by Seward as long since as 1862; and the people bear it, and the great clear-sighted press subsides, instead of day and night battering the Administration for pushing aside the _only man_, emphatically the ONLY MAN who was always and everywhere equal to every emergency--who never was found amiss, and who never forgot that an abyss separates the condition of a rebel, be he armed or unarmed, (the second even more dangerous,) from a loyal citizen and from the loyal Government. _April 4._--The annals of the Navy during this war will constitute a cheering and consoling page for any future historian. If the Navy at times is unsuccessful, the want of success can be traced to altogether different reasons than many of the disasters on land. Nothing similar to McClellanism pollutes the Navy--and want of vigilance and other mistakes become virtues when compared with want of convictions, with selfishness, and with intrigue. I have not yet heard any justified complaint against the honesty of the Navy Department; I feel so happy not to be disappointed in the tars of all grades, and that Neptune Welles, with his Fox, (but not a red-haired, thieving fox,) keep steady, clean, and as active as possible. _April 5._--Senator Sumner pines and laments, Jeremiah-like, on the ruins of our foreign policy, and accuses Seward of it--behind his back. Why has not _pater conscriptus_ uttered a single word of condemnation from his Senatorial _fauteuil_, and kept mute during three sessions? _Sunt nobis homunculi sed non homines._ _April 5._--A letter in the papers, in all probability written under the eye of General Franklin, tries to exculpate the General from all the blood spilt at Fredericksburgh. It will not do, although the writer has in his hands documents, as orders, etc. Franklin orders General Meade to attack the enemy's lines at the head of 4500 men, (he ought to have given to Meade at least double that number); brave and undaunted Meade breaks through the enemy; and Franklin's excuse for not supporting Meade is, that he had no orders from head-quarters to do it. By God! Those geniuses, West Point No. Ones, suppose that any dust can be thrown to cover their nameless--at the best--helplessness. Franklin commanded a whole wing, sixty thousand men; his part in the battle was the key to the whole attack. Franklin's eventual success must decide the day. Meade was in Franklin's command, and to support Meade, Franklin wants an order from head-quarters. Such an excuse made by a general at the head of a large part of the army--or rather such a crime not to support a part of his own command engaged with the enemy, because no special orders from head-quarters prescribed his doing so--such a case or excuse is almost unexampled in the history of warfare. And when such cases happened, then the guilty was not long kept in command. Three bloody groans for Franklin! _April 6._--George Bancroft has the insight of a genuine historian. Few men, if any, can be compared to him for the clearness, breadth, and justness with which in this war Bancroft comprehends and embraces events and men. Bancroft's judgment is almost faultless, and it is to be regretted that Bancroft, so to speak, is outside of the circle instead of being inside, and in some way among the pilots. _April 6._--The Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War will make the coming generation and the future historian shudder. No one will be able to comprehend how such a McClellan could have been thus long kept in the command of an army, and still less how there could have existed men claiming to have sound reason and heart, and constitute a McClellan party. McClellan is the most disgusting psychological anomaly. It is an evidence how a mental poison rapidly spreads and permeates all. As was repeatedly pointed out in this DIARY, individuals who started the McClellan fetishism, were admirers of the _Southern gentlemen_, were worshippers of slavery, were secret or open partisans of rebellion. Many such subsequently appear as Copperheads, peace men, as Union men, as Conservatives. The other stratum of McClellanism is composed of intriguers. These combined forces, supported by would-be wise ignorance, spread the worship, and poisoned thousands and tens of thousands of honest but not clear-sighted minds. The Report, or rather the investigation was conducted with the utmost fairness; of course Ben Wade could not act otherwise than fairly and nobly. Some critics say that McClellan's case could have been yet more strongly brought out, and the fetish could have been shown to the people in his most disgustingly true nakedness. _April 6._--The people feel how the treason of the English evilwishers slowly extends through its organs. By Butler, Wade, Grimes and others, the people ask for non-intercourse with the English assassin, who surreptitiously, stealthily under cover of darkness, of legal formality, deals, or attempts to deal, a deadly blow. The American sentimentalists strain to the utmost their soft brains, to find excuses for English treason. English lordlings, scholars, moralists of the Carlyleian mental perversion comment Homer, instead of being clear sighted commentators of what passes under their noses. The English phrase-mongering philanthropists all with joy smacked their bloody lips at the, by them ardently wished and expected downfall of a noble, free and self-governing people. Tigers, hyenas and jackals! clatter your teeth, smack your lips! but you shall not get at the prey. _April 7._--The President visits the Potomac army at Falmouth. Seward wished to be of the party, offering to make a stirring speech to the soldiers--that is, to impress the heroes with the notion that in Seward they beheld a still greater hero, a patriot reeking with Unionism and sacrifices, and eventually prepare their votes for the next presidential election. Certain influences took the wind out of Seward's sails, and as a naughty, arrogant boy, he was left behind to bite his nails, and to pour out a logomachy. _April 7._--I am very uneasy about Charleston. It seems that something works foul. Either they have not men enough, or brains enough. A good artillerist, having confidence in the guns, and having the needed insight how and where to use them, ought to command our forces. Will the iron-clads resist the concentric fire from so numerous batteries? The diplomats of the _prospective mediation_ and their tails are scared by the elections in Connecticut. Others, however, of that illustrious European body are out-spoken friends of Union and of freedom. The representatives of the American republics are to be relied upon. St. Domingo, Mexico sufficiently teaches all races, _latin_ (_?_) as well as non-latin, that honey-mouthed governmental Europe is an all-devouring wolf under a sheep's skin. Non-intercourse! no intercourse with England and with France as long as France chooses to be ridden by the _Decembriseur_! Such ought to be the watchword for a long, long time to come. _April 8._--The New York _Times_ is now boiling with patriotic wrath against McClellan. Very well. But when McClellan captured maple guns at Centerville and Manassas, when he digged mud and graves for our soldiers before Yorktown, and in the Chickahominy, the _Times_ was extatic beyond measure and description, extatic over the matured plans, the gigantic strategy of McClellan--and at that epoch the _Times_ powerfully contributed to confuse the public opinion. _April 8._--A Mr. Ockford, (or of similar name,) who for many years, was a ship broker in England, advised our government and above all, Mr. Seward, to institute proceedings before the English courts against the building and arming of the iron-clads for the rebels. Seward, of course, snubbed him off with the Sewardian verdict that the jury in England will give or pronounce no verdict of guilty, in our favor, as our jury would not find any one guilty of treason. Good for a Seward. Patriots from various States, among them Boutwell, now member of Congress from Massachusetts, urged the Cabinet; 1st, to declare peremptorily to the English Government that if the rebel iron-clads are allowed to go out from English ports, our government will consider it as being a deliberate and willful act of hostility; 2d, to publish at once the above declaration, that the English people at large may judge of the affair. Seward opposed such a bold step--Sumner ditto. _April 9._--I am at a loss to find in history, any government whatever that so little took or takes into account the intrinsic and intellectual fitness of an individual for the office entrusted to him, as does the government of Mr. Lincoln. I cannot imagine that it could have been always so, under previous administrations. It seems that in the opinion of the Executive, not only geniuses, but men of studies, and of special and specific preparation and knowledge run in the streets, crowd the villages and states, and the Executive has only to stretch his hand from the window, to take hold of an unmistakable capacity, etc. The Executive ought to have some experience by this time; but alas, _experientia non docet_ in the White House. _April 10._--Agitated as my existence has been, I never fell among so much littleness, meanness, servility as here. To avoid it, and not to despair, or rage, or despond, several times a day, it is necessary to avoid contact with politicians, and reduce to few, very few, all intercourse with them. I cannot complain, as I find compensation--but nevertheless, I am afraid that the study and the analysis of so much mud and offal may tell upon me. Physical monstrosities are attractive to physiologists or rather to pathologists. But an anthropologist prefers normal nobleness of mind, and shudders at sight and contact with intellectual and moral crookedness. _April 11._--Sumter day. Two years elapsed, and treason not yet crushed; Charleston not yet ploughed over and sown with salt; Beauregard still in command, and the snake still keeping at bay the eagle. And all this because in December, 1861, and in January, 1862, McClellan wished not, Seward wished not, and Mr. Lincoln could not decide whether to wish that Charleston and Savannah--defenceless at that time--be taken after the fall of Port Royal. Two years! and the people still bleed, and the exterminating angel strikes not the malefactors, and the earth bursts not, and they are not yet in Gehenna's embrace. Old patriot Everett made an uncompromising speech. That is by far better than to make a hero out of a McClellan. But the misdeeds of the Administration easily confused such impressionable receptive minds as is Edward Everett's. _April 11._--The Report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, discloses how McClellan deliberately ruined General Stone, and I have little doubt that McClellan ruined Fitz-John Porter. _April 12._--Our navy makes brilliant prizes of Anglo-rebel flags and ships. But Mr. Seward does his utmost to render the labor of our cruisers as difficult and as dangerous as possible. Of course he does it not intentionally, only because he so _masterly masters_ the international laws, the laws and rules of search, the rights and duties of neutrals, etc., and as a genuine incarnation of _fiat justitia_, he is indifferent to national interests and to the national flag. I am curious to learn whether the truth will ever be generally known concerning the seizure of the Anglo-rebel steamer Peterhoff. Then the people would learn how old Welles bravely defended what _turpe_ Seward had decided to drag in the mire. The people would learn what an utterly ignorant impudence presided over the restoring to England of the Peterhoff's mail bag of a vessel a contrabandist, a blockade runner, and a forger. The people would know how Mr. Seward, aided by Mr. Lincoln, has done all in his power to make impossible the condemnation of the Anglo-rebel property. The people would know how _turpe_ Seward tried to urge and to persuade Neptune Welles to violate the statutes of the country; how the great Secretary of State declared that he cared very little for law, and how he and Lincoln, by a Sultan's firman, directed the decision of the Judge on his bench. _April 14._--My gloomy forebodings about the attack on Charleston are already partly realized. Beaten off! that is the short solution of a long story. But of course nobody will be at fault. This attack on Charleston to some extent justifies: _parturiunt montes_, etc. _De profundis clamavi_ for light and some inklings of sense and energy. But to search for sense and energy among counterfeits!... The condition here vividly brings to mind Ovid's ...... ...... quem dixere chaos! _April 14._--In a letter to the Loyal League of New York, Mr. Seward is out with his--at least--one hundred and fiftieth prophecy. As fate finds a particular pleasure in quickly giving the lie to the inspired prophet, so we have the affair of Charleston, and some other small disasters. Oh, why has Congress forgotten to pass a law forbidding Seward, for decency's sake, to make himself ridiculous? Among others, hear the following query: _Whether this unconquerable and irresistible nation shall suddenly perish through imbecility?_ etc. O Mr. Seward! how can you thus pointedly and mercilessly criticise your own deeds and policy? Seward squints toward the presidency that he may complete that masterly production. Oh! how the old hacks turn their dizzy heads towards the White House. It would be ludicrous, and the lowest comedy of life, were not the track running through blood and among corpses. I am told that even Halleck squints that way. And why not? All is possible; and Halleck's nag has as long ears as have the nags and hacks of the other race-runners. _April 14._--Halleck consolidates the regiments and incidentally deprives the army of the best and most experienced officers. The numerically smaller regiment is dissolved in the larger one. But most generally the smaller regiment was the bravest and has seen more fire which melted it. Thus good officers are mustered out and thrown on the pavement, and the enthusiasm for the flag of the regiment destroyed, for its victorious memories, for the recollections of common hardships and all the like noble cements of a military life. Certainly, great difficulty exists to remount or to restore a regiment. But O, Hallecks! O, Thomases! O, McDowells! all of you, genii, or genuises, surmount difficulties. _April 14._--In a public speech in New York, General Fremont has explained the duty and the obligations of a soldier in a republic. Few, very few, of our striped and starred citizens, and still less those educated at West Point have a comprehension of what a Republican citizen soldier is. _April 14._--Halleck directly and indirectly exercises a fatal influence on our army. I learn that his book on military not-science largely circulates; above all, in the Potomac Army. _April 14._--It is the mission of the American people to make all the trials and experiences by which all other nations will hereafter profit. So the social experiment of self-government; the same with various mechanical and commercial inventions. The Americans experiment in political and domestic economy, in the art provided for man's well-being and in the art of killing him. New fire-arms, guns, etc., are now first used. The until now undecided question between batteries on land and floating ones will be decided in Charleston harbor. Who will have the best, the Monitors or the batteries? _April 15._--I wrote to Hooker imploring him for the sake of the country, and for the sake of his good name, to put an end to the carousings in his camp, and to sweep out all kind of women, be they wives, sisters, sweethearts or the promiscuous rest of crinolines. _April 15._--Certain Republican newspapers perform now the same capers to please and puff Seward and Halleck, as they did before to puff McClellan when in power. _April 16._--Night after night the White House is serenaded. And why not?... From all sides news of brilliant victories on land and on sea; news that Seward's foreign policy is successful; everywhere Halleck's military science carries before it everything, and lickspittles are numberless. Wild jauchtzend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude, Den Pechkrantz in das brenene Gebaüde! My veins and brains almost bursting to witness all this. But for ... it would be all over. ... tibi desinet. _April 17._--I met one of the best and of the most radical ex-members of Congress. He was very desponding, almost despairing at the condition of affairs. He returned from the White House, and notwithstanding his despair, tried to explain to me how Mr. Lincoln's eminent and matchless civil and military capacities finally will save the country. _Et tu, Brute_, exclaimed I, without the classical accent and meaning. The ex-honorable had in his pocket a nomination for an influential office. _April 17._--Immense inexhaustible means in men, money, beasts, equipment, war material devoured and disappearing in the bottomless abyss of helplessness. The counterfeits ask for more, always for more, and more of the high-minded people grudge not its blood. _Labitur ex oculis ... gutta meis._ A Forney puffs Cameron over Napoleon! A true American gentlewoman as patriotic as patriotism itself, quivering under the disastrous condition of affairs at home and abroad, exclaimed: "that at least the Southern leaders redeem the honor of the American name by their indomitable bravery, their iron will and their fertility of resources." What was to be answered? _April 18._--As long as England is ruled by her aristocracy, whether Tories or Whigs, a Hannibalian hate ought to be the creed of every American. Let the government of England pass into the hands of JOHN S. MILL, and into those of the Lancashire working classes, and then the two peoples may be friends. _April 18._--Hooker is to move. If Hooker brings out the army victorious from the bad strategic position wherein the army was put by Halleck-Burnside, then the people can never sufficiently admire Hooker's genius. Such a manoeuvre will be a revelation. _April 18._--I learn that General Hunter has about seven thousand disposable men in his whole department, for the attack of Charleston. If he is to storm the batteries by land, then Hunter has not men enough to do it; it is therefore folly and crime to order, or to allow, the attack of the defenses of Charleston. _April 18._--Mr. Seward has not at all given up his firm decision to violate the national statutes and the international rules, by insisting upon the restoration to England of the mails of that Anglo-Piratic vessel, the Peterhoff. A mail on a blockade-runner enjoys no immunity, since regular mail steamers, or at least mail agents and carriers are established by England. Even previously, neutral private vessels could not always claim the immunity for the mail, when they are caught in an unlawful trade. But, of course, the State Department knows better. In the case of the ship Labuan, an English blockade-runner, Mr. Seward, backed by Mr. Lincoln, ordered the judge how to decide, ordered the judge to give up the prize, and Mr. Seward urged the English agents not to lose time in prosecuting American captors for costs and damages. The Labuan was a good prize, but Mr. Seward is the incarnation of wisdom and of justice! _April 20._--The not quite heavenly trio--Lincoln, Seward and Halleck--maintain, and find imbeciles and lickspittles enough to believe them, that they, the trio, could not as yet, act decidedly in the Emancipation question, they being in this, as in other questions, too far in advance of the people. What blasphemy! Those _lumina mundi_ believe that the people will forget their records. To be sure, the Americans, good-natured as they are, easily forget the misdeeds of _yesterday_, but this _yesterday_ shall be somehow recalled to their memory. If all the West Pointers were like Grant, Rosecrans, Hooker, Barnard and thousands of them throughout all grades, then West Point would be a blessing for the country. Unhappily, hitherto, the small, bad clique of West Point engineers No. one, exercised a preponderating influence on the conduct of the war, and thus West Point became in disrespect, nay, in horror. I believe that the good West Pointers are more numerous than the altogether bad ones, but they often mar their best qualities by a certain, not altogether admirable, _esprit du corps_. _April 20._--The generation crowding on this fogyish one will sit in court of justice over the evil-doers, over the helpless, over the egotists who are to-day at work. That generation will begin the assizes during the lifetime of these great leaders in Administration, in politics, in war. _Discite justitiam moniti nec temere divos!_ _April 20._--Yesterday, April 19th, Mr. Lincoln and his Aide, Halleck, went to Acquia Creek to visit Hooker, to have a peep into his plans, and, of course to babble about them. I hope Hooker will most politely keep his own secrets. _April 21._--The American people never will and never can know and realize the whole immensity of McClellan's treasonable incapacity, and to what extent all subsequent disasters have their roots in the inactivity of McClellan during 1861-62. Whatever may be the official reports, or private investigations, chronicles, confessions, memoirs, all the facts will never be known. Never will it be known how almost from the day when he was intrusted with the command, McClellan was without any settled plans, always hesitating, irresolute; how almost hourly he (deliberately or not, I will not decide) stuffed Mr. Lincoln with lies, and did the same to others members of the Cabinet. The evidences thereof are scattered in all directions, and it is impossible to gather them all. Mr Lincoln could testify--if he would. Almost every day I learn some such fact, but I could not gather and record them all. Seward mostly sided with McClellan, and so did Blair, _par nobile fratrum_. Few, if any, detailed reports of the campaigns and battles fought by McClellan have been sent by him to the President or to the War Department. Such reports ought to be made immediately; so it is done in every well regulated government. It is the duty of the staff of the army to prepare the like reports. But McClellan did in his own way, and his reports, if ever he sends them, would only be disquisitions elaborated _ex post_, and even apart from their truthfulness--null. All kinds of lies against Stanton have been elaborated by McClellan and his partisans, and circulated in the public. The truth is, that when Stanton became McClellan's superior, Stanton tried in every friendly and devoted way to awake McClellan to the sense of honor and duty, to make him fight the enemy, and not dodge the fight under false pretenses. Stanton implored McClellan to get ready, and not to evade from day to day; and only when utterly disappointed by McClellan's hesitation and untruthfulness, Stanton, so to say, in despair, forced McClellan to action. Stanton was a friend of McClellan, but sacrificed friendship to the sacred duty of a patriot. _April 21._--England plays as false in Europe as she does here. England makes a noise about Poland, and after a few speeches will give up Poland. More than forty years of experience satisfied me about England's political honesty. In 1831, Englishmen made speeches, the Russian fought and finally overpowered us. England hates Russia as it hates this country, and fears them both. I hope a time will come when America and Russia joining hands will throttle that perfidious England. Were only Russia represented here in her tendencies, convictions and aspirations! What a brilliant, elevated, dominating position could have been that of a Russian diplomat here, during this civil war. England and France would have been always in his _ante-chambre_. _April 21._--Letter-writing is the fashion of the day. Halleck treads into Seward's footsteps or shoes. Halleck thunders to Union leagues; to meetings; it reads splendidly, had only Halleck not contributed to increase the "perils" of the country. Letter-writing is to atone for deadly blunders. The same with Seward as with Halleck. If Halleck would not have been fooled by Beauregard, if Halleck had taken Corinth instead of approaching the city by parallels distant _five miles_; the "peril" would no longer exist. _April 21._--Foreign and domestic papers herald that the honorable Sanford, United States Minister to Belgium, and residing in Brussels, has given a great and highly admired diplomatic dinner, etc., etc. I hope the Sewing machine was in honor and exposed as a _surtout_ on the banquet's table, and that only the guano-claim successfully recovered from Venezuela, and other equally innocent pickings paid the piper. _Vive la bagatelle_, and Seward's _alter ego_ at the European courts. _April 22._--I so often meet men pushed into the background of affairs; men young, intelligent, active, clear-sighted, in one word, fitted out with all mental and intellectual requisites for commanders, leaders, pilots and helmsmen of every kind; and nevertheless twenty times a day I hear repeated the question: "Whom shall we put? we have no men."--It is wonderful that such men cannot cut their way through the apathy of public opinion, which seems to prefer old hacks for dragging a steam engine instead of putting to it good, energetic engineers, and let the steam work. Young men! young men, it is likewise your fault; you ought to assert yourselves; you ought to act, and push the fogies aside, instead of subsiding into useless criticism, and useless consideration for _experienced_ narrow-mindedness, for ignorance or for helplessness. In times as trying as ours are, men and not counterfeits are needed. _April 22._--In Europe, they wonder at our manner of carrying on the war, at our General-in-Chief, who, in the eyes and the judgment of European generals, acts without a plan and without _an ensemble_; they wonder at the groping and shy general policy, and nevertheless a policy full of contradictions. The Europeans thus astonished are true friends of the North, of the emancipation, and are competent judges. _April 22._--I hear that Hooker intends to make a kind of feint against Lee. Feints are old, silly tricks, almost impossible with large armies, and therefore very seldom feints are successful. Lee is not to be caught in this way, and the less so as he has as many spies as inhabitants, in, and around Hooker's camp. To cross the river on a well selected point, and, Hooker-like, attack the surprised enemy is the thing. _April 22._--"Loyalty, loyalty," resounds in speeches, is re-echoed in letters, in newspapers. Well, Loyalty, but to whom? I hope not to the person of any president, but to the ever-living principle of human liberty. Next eureka is, "the administration must be sustained." Of course, but not because it intrinsically deserves it, but because no better one can be had, and no radical change can be effected. _April 22._--The English Cabinet takes in sails, and begins to show less impudence in the violation of neutral duties. Lord John Russell's letter to the constructors of the piratical ships. Certainly Mr. Seward will claim the credit of having brought England to terms by his eloquent dispatches. Sumner may dispute with Seward the influence on English fogies. In reality, the bitter and exasperated feeling of the people frightened England. _April 24._--It is repulsive to read how the press exults that the famine in the South is our best ally. Well! I hate the rebels, but I would rather that the superiority of brains may crush them, and not famine. The rebels manfully supporting famine, give evidence of heroism; and why is it in such disgusting cause! _April 23._--Senator Sumner emphatically receives and admits into church and communion, the freshly to emancipation converted General Thomas, Adjutant General, now organizing Africo-American regiments in the Mississippi valley. Better _late than never_, for such Thomases, Hallecks, etc., only I doubt if a Thomas will ever become a Paul. _April 24._--Our State Department does not enjoy a high consideration abroad. I see this from public diplomatic acts, and from private letters. I am sure that Mr. Dayton has found this out long ago, and I suppose so did Mr. Adams. Of course not a Sanford. If the State Department had not at its back twenty-two millions of Americans, foreign Cabinets would treat us--God, alone, knows how. _April 24._--I hope to live long enough to see the end of this war, and then to disentangle my brains from the pursuits which now fill them. Then goodbye, O, international laws, with your customs and rules. England handled them for centuries, as the wolf with the lamb at the spring. When I witness the confusion and worse, here, I seem to see--_en miniature_--reproduced some parts of the Byzantine times. All cracks but not the people, and to ---- I am indebted that my brains hold out. _April 24._--What a confusion Burnside's order No. 8 reveals; the president willing, unwilling, shifting, and time rapidly running on. _April 24._--Senator Sumner, without being called as he ought to have been--to give advice, discovered the Peterhoff case. The Senator laid before the President, all the authorities bearing on the case, showed by them to the President, that the mail was not to be returned to the English Consul, but lawfully ought to be opened by the Prize Court. The Senator so far convinced the President, that Mr. Lincoln, next morning at once violated the statutes, and through Mr. Seward, instructed the District Attorney to instruct the Court to give up the mail unopened to England. Brave and good Sumner exercises influence on Mr. Lincoln. _April 24._--Every one has his word to say about civilized warfare, about international warfare, laws of war, etc. In principle, no laws of public war are applicable to rebels, and if they are, it is only on the grounds of expediency or of humanity. Laws of international warfare are applicable to independent nations, and not to rebels. Has England ever treated the Irish according to the laws of international warfare? Has England considered Napper Tandy and his aids as belligerents? The word _war_ in its legal or international sense ought to have been suppressed at the start from the official, national vocabulary; to suppress a rebellion is not to _wage a war_. _April 25._--When the bloody tornado shall pass over, and the normal condition be restored, then only will begin to germinate the seeds of good and of evil, seeds so broadcast sown by this rebellion. All will become either recast or renovated, the plough of war having penetrated to the core of the people. Customs, habits, notions, modes of thinking and of appreciating events and men, political, social, domestic morals will be changed or modified. The men baptized in blood and fire will shake all. Many of them endowed with all the rays of manhood, others lawless and reckless. Many domestic hearths will be upturned, extinct, destroyed; the women likewise passing through the terrible probation. Many women remained true to the loftiest womanhood, others became carried away by the impure turmoil. All this will tell and shape out the next generations. I ardently hope that this war will breed and educate a population strong, clear-sighted, manly, decided in ideas and in action; and such a population will be scattered all over this extensive country. Men who stood the test of battles, will not submit to the village, township, or to politicians at large, but will judge for themselves, and will take the lead. These men went into the field a common iron ore, they will return steel. The shock will tear the scales from the people's eyes, and the people easily will discern between pure grain and chaff. I am sure that a man who fought for the great cause, who brought home honorable wounds and scars, whose limbs are rotting on fields of battle; such a man will become an authority; and death-knell to the abject race of politicians; the days of shallow, cold, rhetors are numbered, and vanity and selfishness will be doomed. _Non vobis, non vobis--sed populo...._ _April 25._--Mr. Seward is elated, triumphant, grand. Emigration from Europe, evoked, beckoned by him is to replace the population lost in the war. What is to be more scorned? Seward's heartless cruelty or his reckless ignorance, to believe that such a numerous emigration will pour in, as to at once make up for those of whom at least one third were butchered by flippancy of Mr. Seward's policy to which Lincoln became committed. _April 26._--The people are bound onwards _per aspera ad astra_: the giddy brained helmsmen, military and civil chiefs and commanders may hurl the people in an opposite direction. _April 26._--Whoever will dispassionately read the various statutes published by the 37th Congress; will speak of its labors as I do, and the future historian will find in those statutes the best light by which to comprehend and to appreciate the prevailing temper of the people. _April 27._--Rhetors and some abolitionists of the small church--not Wendell Phillips--still are satisfied with mistakes and disasters, because _otherwise slavery would not have been destroyed_. If they have a heart, it is a clump of ice, and their brains are common jelly. With men at the head who would have had faith and a lofty consciousness of their task, the rebellion and slavery could have been both crushed in the year 1861, or any time in 1862. Any one but an idiot ought to have seen at the start, that as the rebels fight to maintain slavery, in striking slavery you strike at the rebels. The blood spilt because of the narrow-mindedness of the leaders, that blood will cry to heaven, whatever be the absolution granted by the rhetors and by the small church. _April 27._--Mr. Seward went on a visit to the army, dragging with him some diplomats. The army was not to forget the existence of the Secretary of State, this foremost Union-saviour, and the candidate for the next Presidency. Others say that Seward ran away to dodge the Peterhoff case. _April 27._--How the politicians of the _Times_ and of the _Chronicle_ lustily attack--NOW--McClellan. If I am well informed, it was the editor of the _Chronicle_, himself a leading politician, and influential in both Houses, who instigated Lovejoy, Member of Congress, to move resolutions in favor of McClellan for the battle at Williamsburgh, where McClellan did what he could to have his own army destroyed. _April 28._--Mr. Seward elaborated for the President a paper in the Peterhoff case--and, _horribile dictu_, as I am told--even the President found the argument, or whatever else it was, very, very light. The President sent for the chief clerk to explain to him the unintelligible document--and more darkness prevailed. Bravo, Mr. Seward! your name and your place in the history of the times are firmly nailed! _April 28._--The time will come, and even I may yet witness it, when these deep wounds struck by the rebellion will be healed; when even the scars of blows dealt to the people by such Lincolns, Sewards, McClellans, Hallecks, the other _minor gens_, will be invisible--and this great people, steeled by events, will be more powerful than it ever was. Then the Monroe doctrine will be applied in all its sternness and rigor, and from pole to pole no European power will defile this continent. The so-called Americo-Hispano-Latin races humbugged by Europe, will have found how cursed is _any whatever_ European influence. The main land and the Isles must be purified therefrom. Will any European government, power, or statesman permit the United States to acquire even the most barren rock on the European continent? The American continent is equal, if not more to Europe, and the degrading stigma of European colonies and possessions must be blotted from this American soil. _April 29._--The President appoints a day of fasting and prayer. Well! it is not for the people to fast and to pray, but for the evil-doers. Lead on, Mr. Lincoln, attended by Seward and Halleck--all in sackcloth and ashes. _April 29._--The President's and General Martindale's proclamations officially recognize the existence of God. It is consoling, and knocks down the far-famed _Deo erexit Voltaire_. _April 29._--To the right and to the left I hear praise of Mr. Chase as the great financier. Well he may be praised, having in his hand thousands and thousands of cows to be milked. The _financier_ is the people, and prevents Chase from ruining the country. _April 29._--A Richmond paper calls McClellan a compound of lies and of cowardice. McClellan, the fetish of Copperheads and of peace-makers. The Richmond paper must have some special reasons which justify this stern appreciation. _April 30._--The _World_, a paper born in barter, in mud and in shamelessness, condemns General Wadsworth's name to eternal infamy. What a court of honor the _World's_ scribblers! The one a hireling of the brothers Woods, and sold by them in the lump to some other Copperhead financier; the other a pants and overcoats stealing beau. The rest must be similar. _April 30._--The abomination of slavery makes such a splendid field to any rhetor attacking that curse. Were it not so, how many rhetors would be abolitionists? MAY, 1863. Advance -- Crossing -- Chancellorsville -- Hooker -- Staff -- Lee -- Jackson -- Stunned -- Suggestions -- Meade -- Swinton -- La Fayette -- Intrigues -- Happy Grant -- Rosecrans -- Halleck -- Foote -- Elections -- Re-elections -- Tracks -- Seward -- 413 -- etc., etc., etc. _May 1._--General anxiety about Hooker. If he successfully crosses the river, this alone will count among the most brilliant actions in military history. To cross a river with a large army under the eyes, almost under the guns of an enemy, concentrated, strong, vigilant, and supported by the population, would honor the name of any world-renowned captain. _May 2._--Mr. Seward forces upon the Department of the Navy, instructions for our cruizers that are so obviously favorable to blockade-runners, that our officers may rather give up capturing. Mr. Seward's instructions concede more to England, than was ever asked by England, or by any neutral from a belligerent of a third class power. _May 2._--How could Mr. Adams to that extent violate all the international proprieties, and deliver a kind of pass to a vessel loaded in England with arms and ammunition for Matamoras. It is an offence against England, and a flagrant violation of neutrality to France. Not yet time to show our teeth to them. And all this in favor of that adventurer and almost pickpocket Zermann, this mock-admiral, mock-general, whom twice here they put up for a general in our army. But for me they would have made him one, and disgraced the American uniform. This police malefactor was patronised by some New Yorkers, by Senator Harris and from Mr. Seward may have got strong letters for Mr. Adams. It is probable that Zermann sold Mr. Adams to secessionists who may have wished to stir up trouble by this passport business. I am sure the affair will be hushed up and entirely forgotten. _May 2._--Glorious! glorious. Hooker crossed--and successfully. The rebels, caught napping, disturbed him not. Now at them, at them, without loss of an hour! The soldiers will perform wonders when in the hands of true soldiers for commanders, when led on by a true soldier. O heaven! Why does Hooker publish such a proclamation? It is the merest nonsense. To thank the soldiers, few words were needed. But to say that the enemy must come and fight us on our own ground. O heaven! Hooker ought not to have had time to write a proclamation, but ought to pitch into the rebels, surprise and confuse them, and not wait for them. What is the matter? I tremble. _May 3._--Rumors, anxiety. The patriots feverish. One might easily become delirious.... Copperheads, Washington secessionists, spread all kinds of disastrous rumors. The secessionists here in Washington, are always invisible when any success attends our arms; but when we are worsted, they are forth coming on all corners, as toads are after a shower of rain. _May 4._--Confused news, but it seems that Hooker is successful. Still not so complete as was expected. Hooker's manoeuvring seems heavy, slow. The Copperheads more dangerous and more envenomed than the secessionists. And very natural. The secesh risks all for a bad cause and a bad creed. But the _World_ has no conviction, only envy and mischief, and risks nothing. _May 5._--Nothing decided; nothing certain. From what I can gather, the new generation or stratum of generals fights differently from the style of the Simon-pure McClellan tribe. They are in front, and not in the rear according to regulations. Halleck digs, digs entrenchments around Washington. I meet battalions with spades. Engineers show their poor skill! and Mr. Lincoln is comforted to be strongly defended! _May 5._--Night, storm, rain. News rather doubtful. Stanton said to me that he believes in Hooker, even if Hooker be unsuccessful. Bravo! Not want of success condemns a general, but the way and manner in which he acted; and how he dealt with events. _May 6._--Seward is bitterly attacked by the _World_, and by other Copperheads. I could not unite with a _World_ and with Copperheads to attack even a Seward. They are too filthy.--_Arcades ambo._ _May 6._--Hooker retreats and recrosses the river. Say now what you will to make it swallow, at the best it is an unsuccessful affair, if not an actual disaster. I believe not in the swelling of the river. Bosh! in three days these rivers fell. Have any generals Franklinized? I dare not ask; I most wish not to know anything. _May 7._--_Nocte pluit tota (not) redeunt spectacula mane_; grim, dark, cold, rainy night. Are the Gods against us? Or has imbecility exasperated even the merciful but rational Christian God to that extent, that God turns his back upon us? _May 7._--Hiob's news come in, confused to sure, but still one finds something like a foothold. I am thunderstruck, annihilated. I listened to Hooker's best friends but can hardly help crying. Hooker is a failure as a commander of a large army. Hooker is good for a corps or two, but not for the whole command and responsibility. From all that I can learn, Hooker fights well, courageously, but he, like the others, _has not the greatest and truest gift_ in a commander: _Hooker cannot manoeuvre his army._ All that I hear up to this moment strengthened my conclusion, and I am sure that the more the details come in, the stronger the truth will come out. Hooker can not manoeuvre an army. Hooker may attack vigorously, stand as a rock, but cannot manoeuvre. Hooker seems to have committed the same faults and mistake as his predecessors did. He kept more men out of the fire than in the fire. And this from Hooker who accused his former chiefs of that very fault. But poor Hooker was unsupported by a good staff. This check may turn out to be a great disaster. At any rate, a whole campaign is lost, and one more commander may go overboard. Hooker will raise against him a terrible storm. God grant that Hooker could be honestly defended. --_La critique est aisée, mais l'art est difficile_ is perhaps again illustrated by Hooker. If Hooker is in fault, then he ought not to survive this disaster. After all that he said, after all that we said and repeated in his favor, to turn out an awful mistake! _May 8._--Worse and worse. I do not learn one single fact exculpating Hooker. I scarcely dare to look in the people's faces. The rain is no justification. Hooker showed no vigor before the rain. After he crossed, and had his army in hand, instead of attacking, he subsided, seemingly trying to find out the plans of the rebels instead of acting so as not to give them time to make plans or to execute them. _Tel brille au second rang qui s'éclipse au premier_, is almost all to be said in Hooker's defense. I tremble to know all the minute details. A paroled prisoner returned from Richmond said to me that terror was terrible in Richmond--that Lee and his army had no supplies. No troops in Richmond--Stoneman cut the bridges. The rebels were on the brink of a precipice, and extricated themselves. _May 8._--Boutwell, Member of Congress, told me that the district of St. Louis paid more new taxes to January than any other district in the United States. Bravo, Missourians. That is loyalty. _May 8: Evening_--More details about this unhappy Chancellorsville. Lee and the rebel generals have been decidedly surprised--in the military sense--by the crossing of the river, and by Hooker coming thus in part in their rear. But we lost time, they retrieved and _manoeuvred_ splendidly; better than they ever have done before. Lee showed that he has learned something. Lee showed that, by a year's practice, he has at length acquired skill in handling a large army. The apprenticeship on our side is not so successful; our generals have no experience therein, and McClellan was worse at Harper's Ferry in November than at Williamsburg in the spring. McClellan learned nothing. Will it be possible to find among our Potomac generals one in whom revelation will supply experience? The more I learn about that affair the more thoroughly I am convinced that Hooker's misfortune had the same cause and source as the misfortunes of those before him. No military scientific staff and chief-of-staff. Butterfield was not even with Hooker, but at Falmouth at the telegraph. If it is so, then no words can sufficiently condemn them all. If Kepler, or Herschel, or Fulton, or Ericcson had violated axioms and laws of mathematics and dynamics, their labors would have been as so much chaff and dust. War is mechanism and science, inspiration and rule; a genuine staff for an army is a scientific law, and if this law is not recognized and is violated, then the disasters become a mathematically certain result. _May 8._--The defenders of Hooker call the result a drawn battle. Mr. Lincoln calls it a lost battle. I call it a miscarried, if not altogether lost, campaign. _May 9._--The poorest defence of Hooker is that the terrain was such that he could not manoeuvre. If the terrain was so bad, Hooker ought to have known it beforehand, and not brought his army there. The rebels have not been prevented from marching and manoeuvring on the same ground, and not prevented from attacking Hooker, all of which ought to have been done by our army. _May 9._--All is again in unspeakable confusion. All seems to crack. This time, more than ever, a powerful mind is necessary to disentangle the country. If all is confirmed concerning Hooker's incapacity, then it is a crime to keep him in command; but who after him? It becomes now only a guess, a lottery. The acting Chief-of Staff on the battle-field was General Van Alen. Brave and devoted; but Van Alen saw the fire for the first time, and makes no claims to be a scientific soldier. _May 10._--I wrote to Stanton to call his attention to, and explain the reasons of Hooker's so-called miscarriage. The insufficiency, the inadequacy of his staff and of chief-of-staff. Hooker attempted what not even Napoleon would have dared to attempt, to fight an army of more than one hundred thousand men, literally without a staff, or without a thorough, scientific and experienced chief-of-staff. I directed Stanton's attention to evidences from military history. Persons interested in such questions read Battle of Ligny and Waterloo, by Thiers. Cobden, Cobden the friend of the Union, can no more stand Mr. Seward's confused logomachy, and in a speech sneers at Mr. Seward's dispatches. The New York _Times_ _dutifully_ perverts Cobden's speech; other papers _dutifully_ keep silent. _May 10._--To extenuate Hooker's misconduct, his supporters assert that he was struck, stunned, and his brains affected. Hooker was stunned on Friday, and his campaign was already lost on Tuesday before, when he wrote his silly proclamation, when he subsided with the army in a _semi-lunar_ (the worst form of all) camp, and challenged Lee to come and fight him. Lee did it. Hooker was intellectually stunned on Tuesday. Further: the results of the material stunning on Friday could never have been so fatal if the army had been organized on the basis of common sense, as are all the armies of intelligent governments in Europe. The chief-of-staff elaborates with the commander the plan of the action; he is therefore familiar with the intentions of the commander. When the commander is disabled, the chief-of-staff continues the action. At the storming of Warsaw, in 1831, Prince Paschkewitsch, the commander, was disabled or stunned, and his chief-of-staff, Count Toll, directed the storm for two days, and Warsaw fell into Russian hands. No more effective is the defence of the defeat, by throwing the fault on the Eleventh Army Corps. The Eleventh Corps was put so much in advance of a very foggishly--if not worse--laid out camp, that it was temptingly exposed to any attack of the enemy. The Eleventh Corps was separated from the rest of the army, as was Casey's division in the Chickahominy. The laying of a camp, the distribution of the corps, in a well organized army, is the work of the staff and of its chief; but Butterfield was not even then in Chancellorsville. Lee, who if caught napping, quickly awoke, wheeled his army as if it were a child's toy, cut his way through woods which amazed Hooker, and arrived before Hooker's semi-lunar camp. We, all the time, as it seems, were ignorant of Lee's movements. A good staff, and what Lee did, we would have accomplished. Lee quietly found out our vulnerable point; and struck the blow. That, if you please, _was_ a stunner. Finally: the Eleventh Corps was eleven or twelve thousand strong. The weakest in the army, equal to a strong division in a European army of one hundred thousand men. The breaking of a division or of twelve thousand men posted at the extreme flank, ought not and could not have been so fatal to the whole campaign. A true captain would have been prepared for such eventuality. Battles are recorded in history when a whole wing broke down and retreated, and nevertheless the true captain restored order and fortunes, and won the battle. I am told that the rebels attacked in columns, and not in lines. The rebels learn and learned, and are not conceited. The terrain here in Virginia is specially fit for attacks in columns, according to continental European tactics. We will not learn, we know all, we have graduated--at West Point. _May 11._--I have it from a very reliable source, that Mr. Lincoln considers Sumner to be not very entertaining. _May 11._--The confusion is on the increase. Statesmen, politicians, honest, dishonest, stupid and intelligent, all huddled together. Their name is legion--and what a stench. It is abominable! And many think, and many may think, that I find pleasure in dwelling on such events, on such men as are here. When I was a child, my tutor ingrained into my memory the _Cum stercore dum certo_, etc. But at any cost, I shall try to preserve the true reflection of events, of times, and of the actors. _May 12._--Jackson dead. Dead invincible! and therefore fell in time for his heroic name. Jackson took a sham, a falsehood, for faith and for truth--but he stood up faithfully, earnestly, devotedly to his convictions. Whatever have been his political errors, Jackson will pass to posterity, the hero of history, of poetry, and of the legend. His name was a terror, it was an army for friend and for enemy. For Jackson _O selig der, dem er in Siegesglantze, Die blutigen Lorbeer'n um die Schlaefe windet._ _May 12._--_Sewardiana._ Lord Lyons, or rather the English government, objects and protests against the instructions given to our cruisers, which instructions are intrinsically faultless. Mr. Lincoln jumps up and writes a clap-trap dispatch, wholly contrary to our statutes. Mr. Seward promises what he cannot perform, and this time the upshot is that his dispatch came before the Cabinet and was quashed, or, at least, recast. The Morning _Chronicle_, of Washington--_magnum_ Administration's _excrementum_--attacks SCHALK and his military reasonings. Oh! great politician. _Sus Minervam docet._ _May 13._--The defenders of Hooker affirm that Sedgwick was in fault, and disobeyed orders. 1st. I have good reasons firmly to believe that Sedgwick heroically obeyed and executed orders sent to him. No doubt can exist about it. 2d. The orders written by _such_ a staff as Hooker's might have been written in _such_ a way as to confuse the God Mars himself. Marshal Soult could fight, but as a chief of Napoleon's staff at Waterloo, could not write intelligible orders. 3d. Setting aside Sedgwick's disobedience of orders, it does not in the least justify Hooker in hearing the roar of cannon, and knowing what was going on, and at the head of eighty thousand men allowing Sedgwick to be crushed; and all this within a few miles. Fitz-John Porter was cashiered for a similar offense. Hooker's action is by far worse, and thus Hooker deserves to be shot. _May 13._--Rumors that Halleck is to take the command of the army, together with Hooker. I almost believe it, because it is nameless, and here all that is illogical is, eventually, probable. Poor Hooker. Undoubtedly, he had a soldier's spark in him. But adulation, flunkeyism, concert, covered the spark with dirt and mud. I pity him, but for all that, down with Hooker! If Hooker or Halleck commands the army, Lee will have the _knack_ to always whip them. _May 14._--Wrote a paper for Senators Wade and Chandler, to point out the reasons of Hooker's failure. Did my utmost to explain to them that warfare to-day is not empiricism, but science, and that empiricism is only better when sham-science has the upper hand. Hooker's staff was worse than sham-science, and was not even empiricism. I explained that such evils, although very deeply rooted, can, nevertheless, be remedied. An energetic government can, and ought to look for and find, the remedy. The army, as it is, contains good materials for every branch of organization; it is the duty of the government to discover them and give them adequate functions. Further: I suggested to these patriotic Senators that as in the present emergency, it is difficult to put the hand on any general inspiring confidence, the President, the Secretary of War and the Senators, ought immediately to go to the army, and call together all the commanders of corps and of divisions. The President ought to explain to the difficulty, nay, the impossibility of making a new choice. But as the generals are well aware that there must be a commander, and that they know each other in the fire, the President appeals to their patriotism, and asks them to elect, by secret ballot on the spot, one from among themselves. _May 14: One o'clock, P. M._--The President, Halleck and Hooker in secret conclave. Stanton, it seems, is excluded. If so, I am glad on his account. God have mercy on this wronged and slaughtered people. No holy spirit will inspire the Conclave. _May 15._--The English Government shelters behind the Enlistment Act. The Act is a municipal law, and a foreign nation has nothing to do with it. We are with England on friendly terms, and England has towards us duties of friendly comity, whatever be the municipal law. To invoke the Enlistment Act against us, is a mean pettifogger's trick. A good-natured imbecile, C----, everybody's friend, and friend of Lincoln, Seward and the Administration in the lump, C---- asked me what I want by thus bitterly attacking everybody. "I want the rebellion crushed, the slaves emancipated; but above all I want human life not to be sacrilegiously wasted; I want men, not counterfeits." "Well, my dear, point out where to find them?" answered everybody's friend. _May 15._--On their return from Falmouth, the patriotic Senators told me that they felt the ground for my proposed election of a commander by his colleagues, and that General Meade would have the greatest chance of being elected. _Va pour Meade._ Some say that Meade is a Copperhead at heart. Nonsense. Let him be a Copperhead at heart, and fight as he fought under Franklin, or fight as he would have fought at Chancellorsville if Hooker had not been trebly _stunned_. _May 15._--Much that I see here reminds me of the debauched times in France; on a microscopic scale, however; as well as of the times of the _Directoire_. The jobbers, contractors, lobbyists, etc., here could perhaps carry the prize even over the supereminently infamous jobbers, etc., during the _Directoire_. _May 15._--"Peel of Halleck, Seward and Sumner," exclaims Wendell Philips, the apostle. Wendell Samson shakes the pillars, and the roof may crush the Philistines, and those who lack the needed pluck. _May 16._--The President visited Falmouth, consoled Hooker and Butterfield, shook hands with the generals, told them a story, and returned as wise as he went concerning the miscarriage at Chancellorsville. The repulse of our army does not frighten Mr. Lincoln, and this I must applaud from my whole heart. It is however another thing to admire the cool philosophy with which are swallowed the causes of a Fredericksburgh and a Chancellorsville--causes which devoured about twenty thousand men, if not more. _May 16._--Strange stories, and incredible, if any thing now-a-days is incredible. Mr. Lincoln, inspired by Hitchcock and Owen, turns spiritualist and rapper. Poor spirits, to be obliged to answer such calls! _May 17._--A high-minded, devoted, ardent patriot, a general of the army, had a long conversation with the President, who was sad, and very earnest. The patriot observed that Mr. Lincoln wanted only encouragement to take himself the command of the Army of the Potomac. As it stands now, this would be even better than any other choice. I am sure that once with the army, separated from Seward & Co., Mr. Lincoln will show great courage. If only Mr. Lincoln could then give the _walking papers_ to General Halleck! On the authority of the above conversation, I respectfully wrote to the President, and urged him to take the army's command, but to create a genuine staff for the army around his person. I submitted to the President that the question relating to a staff for the Commander-in-chief of the Army and Navy [the President] and for the commander-in-chief of the Army, Major-General Halleck, has been often discussed by some New York, Boston and Washington dailies, and the wonted amount of confusion is thereby thrown broadcast among the public. The names of several generals have been mentioned by the press as a staff of the President. I doubt if any of them are properly qualified for such an important position. They are rather fitted for a military council _ad latus_ to the President. Such a council exists in Russia near the person of the emperor; but it has nothing in common with a staff, with staff duties, or with the intellectual qualification for such duties. The project of such a council here was many months ago submitted to the Secretary of War. A Commander-in-chief, as mentioned above--one fighting and manoeuvring on paper--making plans in his office, unfamiliar with every thing constituting a genuine military, scientific or practical soldier--to whom field and battle are uncongenial or improper--to whom grand and even small tactics are a _terra incognita_--such a chief is at best but an imitation of the English military organization, and certainly it is only in this country that obsolete English routine is almost uniformly imitated. Such a Commander-in-chief might have been of some small usefulness when our Army was but thirteen thousand to sixteen thousand strong, was scattered over the country, or warred only with Indians on the frontier. But all the great and highly perfected military powers on the continent of Europe consider such a commander a wholly unnecessary luxury, and not even Austria indulges in it now. During the campaign against Napoleon in 1813-14 the allies were commanded by a generalissimo, the Prince Schwartzenberg; but he moved with the army, actively directed that great campaign. The Continental sovereigns of Europe are born Commanders-in-chief of their respective land and naval forces. As such, each of them has a personal staff; but such a personal staff must not be confused with a general, central staff, the paramount necessity of which for any military organization is similar to the nervous system and the brain for the human body. Special extensive studies as well as practical familiarity with the use of the drill and the tactics of infantry, cavalry and artillery, constitute absolutely essential requirements for an officer of such a staff. The necessary military special information also, as well as the duties, are very varied and complicated (see "_Logistics_" by Jomini and others.) This country has no such school of staff. West Point neither instructs nor provides the Army with officers for staff duties; and of course the difficulty now to obtain efficient officers for a staff, if not insurmountable, is appalling, and is only to be mastered by a great deal of good will, by insight and by discernment. Many months ago, I pointed out, in the press, this paramount deficiency in the organization of the Federal Army. The Prince de Joinville ascribes General McClellan's military failures to the paramount inefficiency of that General's staff. Any one in the least familiar with military organization and military science is thunderstruck to find how the Federal military organization deal with staffs, and what is their comprehension of the qualification for staff duties. It deserves a mention that engineers and engineering constitute what is rather a secondary element in the organization of a special or of a general central staff. Plans of wide comprehensive campaigns are generally elaborated by such general staffs. In the campaigns of 1813-14, the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia were surrounded by their respective general, and not only personal staffs. With the Colonels Dybitsch and Toll, of the Russian general staff, originated that bold, direct march on Paris, whose results changed the destinies of Europe. Other similar, although not so mighty facts are easily found in general military history. Finally, I pointed out to the President, the names of Generals Sedgewick, Meade, Warren, Humphries, and Colonel J. Fry as fit for, and understanding, the duties of the staff. _May 17._--I record a rumor, which I supposed, and found out to be, without much foundation; it is nevertheless worth recording. The rumor in question says that the President wished to dismiss Stanton and to take General Butler; that Mr. Seward was to decide between the two, and that he declined the responsibility. Seward and Butler in the same sack! Butler would have swallowed Seward, hat, international laws and all--and of course Seward declined the responsibility. But now a story comes, which is a sad truth. William Swinton, military reporter for the _Times_, a young man of uncommon ability and truthfulness, prepared for his paper a detailed article about the whole of Hooker's Chancellorsville expedition. Before being published, the article was shown to Mr. Lincoln; and it was telegraphed to New York that if the article comes out, the author may accidentally find himself a boarder in Fort Lafayette. Almost the same day the President telegraphed to a patriot to whom Mr. Lincoln unbuttoned himself, not to reveal to anybody the conversation. Both these occurrences had in view only one object--it was to keep truth out of the people's knowledge. Truth is a dangerous weapon in the hands of a people. _May 19._--The President repeatedly refuses to make General Butler useful to the country's cause, notwithstanding the best men in the country ask Butler's appointment. I am only astonished that the best men can hope and expect anything of the sort; for, when a Butler will come up, then Sewards and Hallecks easily may go down--but--_pia desideria_. _May 20._--From many, many and various quarters, continually unholy efforts are made to excuse Hooker and Butterfield; the President seemingly listens and excuses. Well, I know what a Napoleon, or any other even unmilitary sovereign, would do with both. _May 21._--O, for light! for light! O, to find a man! one to prize, to trust, to have faith in him! It is so sickening to almost hourly dip the pen in--mud! I regret now to have started this _Diary_. I go on because it is started, and because I wish to contribute, even in the smallest manner, towards rendering justice to a great people, besides being always on the watch, always expecting to have to record a chain of brilliant actions, accomplished by noble and eminent men. But day after day passes by, page heaps on page, and I must criticise, when I would be so happy to prize. As a watchdog faithful to the people's cause, I try to stir up the shepherds--but alas! alas.... _May 22._--Wrote a letter to Senator Wade explaining to him how incapable is Hooker of commanding a large army, how his habits and associations are contaminating and ruinous to the spirit of the army, and that Hooker is to return to the command of a corps or two. _May 23._--Vainly! vainly in all directions, among the helmsmen, leaders and commanders I search for a man inspired, or, at least, an enthusiast wholly forgetting himself for the holiness of the aim. Enthusiasm is eliminated from higher regions; is outlawed, is almost spit upon. Enthusiasm! that most powerful stimulus for heart and reason, and which alone expands, purifies, elevates man's intellectual faculties. Here the people, the unnamed, have enthusiasm, and to the people belong those noble patriots so often mentioned. But the men in power are cold, and extinguished as ashes. Jackson the President, Jackson the general, was an enthusiast. Enthusiasts have been the founders of this Republic. Whatever was done great and noble in this world, was done by enthusiasts. The whole scientific progress of the human mind is the work of enthusiasm! _May 24._--Grant and the Western army before Vicksburgh unfold endurance, and fertility of resources, which, if shown by a McClellan and his successors, having in their hands such a powerful engine as was and is the Potomac Army, would have made an end to the rebellion. Happy Grant, Rosecrans and their armies! to be far off from the deleterious Washington influences and adulations. Influences and adulations ruined the commanders and many among the generals of the Potomac army. Adulations, intrigue, and helplessness fill, nay constitute the generals atmosphere. In various ways every body contributes to that atmosphere--participates in it. Every body influences or intrigues in the army. The President, the various Secretaries, Senators, Congressmen, newspapers, contractors, sutlers, jobbers, politicians, mothers, wives, sisters, sweethearts and loose crinolines. Jews, publicans, etc., and the rest of social leprosy. All this cannot thus immediately and directly reach the Western armies, the Western commanders, when it reaches, it is already--to some extent--weakened, oxygenated, purified. Add to it here the direct influence and meddling of the head-quarters. I pity this fated army here, and at times I even pity the commanders and the generals. _May 25._--Grant is an eminent man as to character and as to capacity. To Admiral Foote and to him are due the victories at Fort Henry, of Donelson, and the bold stroke to enter into the interior of Secessia. Had Halleck not intervened, had Halleck and Buell not taken the affairs in their hands, _Foote_ and _Grant_ would have taken Nashville early in the spring of 1862, and cleared perhaps half of the Mississippi. After the capture of Fort Donelson, Foote demanded to be allowed at once to go with his gunboats to Nashville, to clear the Tennessee; but Halleck caved in, or rather comprehended not. Grant and Rosecrans restored what Halleck and Buell brought to the brink of ruin. _May 28._--Mr. Seward, omnipotent in the White House, tries to conciliate the public, and in letters, etc., whitewashes himself from arrests of persons, etc. Mr. Seward is therefore innocent, thereof, as a lamb. But who inaugurated and directed them in 1861? I know the necessities of certain times, and am far from accusing; but how can Seward attempt to throw upon others the first steps made in the direction of arrests? _May 28._--Hooker still in command, and not even his staff changed. I am certain that Stanton is for the change in the staff. _May 28._--I am assured that the Blairs (I am not sure if General Blair is counted in) are the pedlars for Mr. Lincoln's re-election, as stated by the New York _Herald_. If Mr. Lincoln is re-elected, then the self-government is not yet founded on reason, intellect, and on sound judgment. _May 31._--I am assured by a diplomat that four hundred and thirteen is the last number of the correspondence between the Department of State and Lord Lyons. Oh, how much ink and paper wasted, and what a writing dysentery on both sides. The diplomat in question added that it was only from January first--of course it was a joke. JUNE, 1863. Banks -- "The Enemy Crippled" -- Count Zeppelin -- Hooker-Stanton -- "Give Him a Chance" -- Mr. Lincoln's Looks -- Rappahannock -- Slaughter -- North Invaded -- "To be Stirred up" -- Blasphemous Curtin -- Banquetting -- Desperate -- Groping -- Retaliation -- Foote -- Hooker -- Seward -- Panama -- Chase -- Relieved -- Meade -- Nobody's fault -- Staffs, etc., etc., etc. _June 1._--For some time Banks seems to move in the right direction. Banks no more intends to destroy slavery, and not thereby to hurt the slave-holders. So Banks has become himself again, and the Sewardean creed is evaporated. Banks has under him very good officers, and intelligent, fighting generals; some of them left by Butler, others, as for instance, Generals Augur, Stone, etc., who embarked with Banks. _June 2._--I hear it reported that Hooker maintains that he has worsted and crippled the enemy more than if he had taken Richmond. If the enemy in reality was worsted to that extent, it was not in the least done by Hooker, Butterfield & Co.'s generalship, but this time, as always, it was done by the bravery of the troops, notwithstanding the bad generalship, not by, but _in spite of_, that bad generalship. _June 3._--Count Zeppelin, an officer of the staff and aide to the King of Wurtemberg, came here to observe and to learn how _not_ to do it! The Count visited the army at Falmouth. He was horror-struck at the prevailing disorder, and at the general and special miscomprehension of the needed knowledge and of the duties prevailing in the staff of the army. The Count says that if this confusion continues, the rebels may dare almost every thing. Count Zeppelin is what would be called here, a thorough Union man. He revolted greatly at witnessing the _nonchalance_ with which human life is dealt with in the army, and the carelessness of commanders about the condition of soldiers; the latter he most heartily admires, and therefore the more pities their fate. He assured me that rebel agents scattered in Germany tried their utmost to secure for the rebel army officers of the various arms. This explains the organization and the brilliant manoeuvrings of the celebrated Stuart's cavalry, the novel rebel tactics in the use of artillery, and the attack by columns at Chancellorsville. _June 3._--Hooker, they say, waits to see what Lee will do. In other words, we are on the defensive, after such efforts and so much blood wasted. O, Ezekiel! O, Deuteronomy! help me to bless the leaders and the chiefs of this people. I am told by a very good authority, that Mr. Lincoln takes a special care of his fellow-townsmen in Springfield. What a good, honest, neighborly sentiment, provided always that the public good is not suffering by it! _June 3._--A senator, who urged Mr. Lincoln to dismiss Halleck, was answered, that "as Halleck has not a single friend in the country, Mr. Lincoln feels himself in duty bound to stand by him." Admirable, but costly stubbornness. _June 3._--Poor Hooker! He is now the laughingstock of Europe. I wish he may recover what he has lost or squandered. But alas! even now Hooker makes no attempt to surround himself with a genuine staff. I wrote to Stanton, imploring him for the country's and for his own sake, to compel Hooker to reform his staff, and not to allow science to be any longer trodden under foot. I implored Stanton that either the President or he would select and nominate a chief-of-staff for Hooker, or rather for the Potomac army, as it is done in Europe. Stanton understands well the disastrous deficiency, and if he could, he would immediately go at it and change. But, first, the statutes or regulations, obligatory here, leave it with the commander to appoint his own staff and its chief. Stupid, rusty, foggyish and fogyish regulations, so perfectly in harmony with the general ignorance of what ought to be the staff of an army! Second, Stanton must yield to another will, and to what is believed here to be the higher knowledge of military affairs. _June 3._--"Give to Hooker one chance more," says Mr. Lincoln, and so say several members of the Cabinet; "McClellan had so many."--Because they allowed McClellan to waste human life and time, it surely is no reason to repeat the sacrilegious condescension. A general may be unfortunate, lose a battle, or even lose a campaign; all this without being damnable when he has shown capacity, when he did his utmost, but could not conciliate _fatum_ on his side. But such is not the case with Hooker, and such _emphatically_ was _not_ the case with McClellan and with Burnside. _June 3._--During these last fourteen days, the _big men_ have been expecting a raid on Washington. More fortifications are constructed, and rifle pits dug. This time the Administration is perfectly right. All is probable and possible when capacity, decision, and lightning-like execution are on the one side, and on the other sham-science, want of earnestness, slowness and indecision. _June 5._--A very reliable and honorable patriot tells me that _grandissimo_ Chase _looks down_ upon any advice, suggestion, or warning. O, the great man! A time must come when all these great men will be held to a terrible account, will shed tears of blood, and their names will be scorned by coming generations, and the track to the White House may become also the track to the Tarpeian rock. _June 5._--I often meet Mr. Lincoln in the streets. Poor man! He looks exhausted, care-worn, spiritless, extinct. I pity him! Mr. Lincoln's looks are those of a man whose nights are sleepless, and whose days are comfortless. That is the price for a greatness to which he is not equal. Yet Mr. Lincoln, they say, wishes to be re-elected! _June 5._--Mr. Seward makes a speech to the volunteers of Auburn. All the same logomachy, all the same cold patriotism, all the same _I_, and all the same squint towards the next presidential election. _June 6._--Lincoln cannot realize to what extent Seward is and has been his evil spirit. Even the nearest in blood and heart to Lincoln know it, feel it, are awe-struck by it, warn him, and he is insensible. _June 7._--How I sympathize with Stanton, and admire his rude--others call it coarse--contempt of all that is said about him. That impure, lying, McClellan-Copperhead motley crew, accuse Stanton of all the numberless criminal mistakes committed in the conduct of the war--committed by the generals, etc. Stanton never interferes with Mr. Lincoln nor with Halleck in matters that exclusively relate to pure warfare, as where and how to march the respective armies, how and in what way to attack the enemy, etc. Reliable patriots coincide with me, that Stanton as clearly sees every thing to-day, as he saw it when entering on his thorny duty. I only wonder that he holds out in such an atmosphere. Stanton's energy is indomitable. Blair's party says that "Stanton goes off at half-cock." It is not true; but even if true, better to go off at half-cock than not at all. Many say that Stanton ought to retire, if he is hampered by others in the exercise of his duties. But if he were to retire, he could not at this moment reveal to the people the causes of such a step, and by remaining at his post, Stanton prevents still greater disasters and disgraces. He never asks any of his friends to say or to write a word in his defence, or rather to dispel the lies with which McClellanites and copperheads poison the atmosphere all around them. _June 8._--Alexandria fortified, rifle-pits dug, etc. The third year of the war is the third terror upon Washington, and upon those counterfeit penates. _June 8._--What for--for heaven's or devil's sake--Hooker throws a division of cavalry across the Rappahannock, right in the dragon's jaw! All the rebel army is on the other side, and this, our division, can never be decidedly supported. It cannot be a _reconnaissance_--of what? It cannot be a stratagem to surprise Lee. If Lee wants to march anywhere north or west, this demonstration of Hooker's will not for a minute arrest Lee. _June 9._--The great Henry Ward Beecher emigrates for a time to Europe. His parish richly supports him for the trip, and the preacher sells his choice, and as it is said, beloved picture gallery. It is not for want of money. Strange! What a curious manifestation of patriotism! _June 10._--The demonstration over the Rappahannock turned out to be a slaughter of the cavalry. What! Was Hooker again stunned, to make such a deliberate mistake--nay, crime? Such a demonstration never could prevent Stuart from moving, even if our troops had defeated or worried him--even if victorious, our cavalry would have been forced to recross the Rappahannock, and Stuart, having behind him Lee's whole army, which could easily reinforce him, would then move again. Our force of nine thousand men, distant from support, attack a superior force of fifteen thousand, who besides have within supporting distance a whole army! This demonstration prevents nothing, decides nothing, beyond the worst, the most damnable generalship. General Hooker and his chief-of-staff are personally responsible for every soldier lost there. _June 11._--Again visitings to the army. Senators, ladies, magnifico Chase leading on. O, if the guerrillas could sweep them! _June 12._--Crippled men are to be met in all directions, on all the streets. One-third of the amputated limbs undoubtedly could have been saved by the Medical Department, were it in better hands, and above all, if surgeons had been called in from Europe--the domestic surgeons not being sufficient for the demand. _June 13._--The principle of election, the only true one, a principle recognized and asserted as well by antiquity as by the primitive Church, recognized by rationalists, by Fourier, by radical, or any democracy whatever--that principle must undergo an immense improvement before it shall act in all its perfection. The elector must be altogether self-governing, and not governed or influenced by anybody in his choice and vote. The elector himself must stand on an elevated level before by his vote he raises one or several above that level. When the people's vote confers the highest trust to one rather below than in the level, and still less one above the level, then even the most intelligent people in the world, being thus misdirected, misconducted, confused, in a very short time become almost enervated, and, so to speak, loses its self-possession, and its sense of duty and of right becomes shaken, its intellectual light dimmed. _Exempla sunt odiosa._ _June 14._--The cavalry expedition over the Rappahannock was to arrest any further offensive movements of the rebels. But lo! the rebel army, so to speak, spreads in all directions, and takes the offensive. We do not even know positively where Lee is going, where he will appear and strike. We are shaking in, and for, Washington. "Weh, Messina! wehe, wehe, wehe!" Mr. Lincoln is unshaken in his confidence in Hooker and Butterfield. _June 15._--By a bold and rapid manoeuvre Lee has thrown his troops over the valley, over the Potomac, into Maryland, and God alone knows where Lee will stop. Lee's advance must have been already on the Potomac when the slaughter of our cavalry over the Rappahannock was planned at the various head-quarters. How splendidly Lee's movements have been arrested by that demonstration! Lee is on the Potomac, and it seems that his movements have been ignored. His armies, to be sure, have not been surrounded by a cloud, as the Jews were in their exodus from the land of bondage, but the cloud was hanging over the head-quarters in the army and in Washington. _June 16._--The North invaded--threatened, shaken to the marrow! The audacity of the rebels is stimulated by our sluggishness. If the accounts in the War Department are true, then from Fortress Monroe to the Potomac, including Baltimore and Maryland, we have about two hundred thousand men, and the rebels dare! O, the rebels! what a desperate conception, what a lightning-like execution! Dutifully re-echoing the words uttered by their masters, the partisans of the Administration console themselves by saying that "this invasion of the North will have the effect of stirring up the North from its lethargy." O, you blasphemers! worse blasphemers than ever have been stoned or burned alive! Is the North not pouring forth its blood and its treasures, and are they not all squandered by counterfeits? _June 16._--The draft is not put in motion, because for weeks and months Mr. Lincoln adjusts the appointments to be made under this law, adjusts them to the exigencies of politicians. Jeff Davis executes the draft with an iron hand. Mr. Lincoln thus gives time to the Copperheads, to the disciples of the Seymours, of the Woods, of the _World_, to organize a resistance. Bloodshed may come! _June 16._--This invasion of Pennsylvania ought to be investigated. Light must be brought into this dark, muddy, stinking labyrinth. Weeks ago, honest, clear-sighted, patriotic Governor Curtin asked authority to arm the militia of his State, and was snubbed in Washington. Will this new disgrace serve to strengthen the Administration? Quite possible. _June 16._--Pennsylvania invaded, the country disgraced, and our helmsmen, our Secretaries of State and of the Treasury, give banquets! O, what a stoicism! a stoicism _sui generis_. The homes of the farmers whose sons bleed on fields of battle, are invaded, their hearths threatened with desolation, and the helmsmen sip Champagne, paid for by the people! _June 17._--_Halleckiana._ Rosecrans telegraphed to head-quarters that he cannot send any troops to Grant, and that if he, Rosecrans, is to attack Bragg, he must have reinforcements. Answer: "Do what you like, on your own responsibility." _June 17._--Hooker seems to have lost his former _dash_. He must have known that the rebels extended from Gordonsville to Pennsylvania, and he, moving in almost a parallel direction to that line, ought to have cut it, or at least its tail. General Ewell at Winchester. Hooker seems to doubt what he can do. The soldiers of his army can do anything ever done by any soldiers in the world--but lead them on, O Generals! Hooker has ninety-four thousand men, and, McClellan-like, waits for more; laments that he is outnumbered. A good general, having such a number, and of such troops, would never hesitate to attack an enemy numbering one hundred and twenty thousand, and the more so, as Hooker's command is massed, while Lee's is not. And I'll risk my head that Lee's whole army, all over the valley, and over Pennsylvania, and over Maryland, is smaller than Hooker's. It is the same old trick of the rebels and of their friends, to throw dust in our eyes by magnifying their numbers. The trick is always successful, because on our side it is wished to extenuate incapacity by the supposed large numbers of the rebel armies. _June 18._--The North rises. New York sends its militia. The people fails not, but how about the helmsmen? The Democrats--the Copperheads roar for McClellan. Well! the like Democrats glorifying McClellan, show their patriotism, their metal and their judgment. These Copperhead-Democrats may insist upon calling McClellan a captain and a hero, but history will give another verdict, and history will credit to the Democrats the fact that they have adroitly poisoned and perverted the good faith of the honest but credulous Democratic rank and file. _June 18._--The Administration's _simon pure_ echoes, politicians, etc., try to persuade everybody that the invasion of Pennsylvania is nothing, a mere tempest in a tea-pot. Whom do they hope to humbug in this way? The disgrace is nameless, only they are callous enough not to feel it. Their cheeks can no more redden.... However, Stanton is not so optimist. It would look so farcical if it were not so deadly to witness. Hooker groping his way after Lee; Lincoln and the all-knowing head-quarters in the utmost darkness about Lee, his army, his movements, and his plans. And all this while the country, the people, is kept officially ignorant of its honor, of its fate. All publicity and communication is suppressed--not to inform thereby the enemy of our movements. How idiotic, how silly! As if the march and the movements of an army of one hundred thousand men could be kept secret from a vigilant and desperate enemy, and the enemy wanted to read the papers for it. Good for us! I cannot hope against hope, and expect that Hooker, Butterfield, Lincoln, Halleck will out-manoeuvre Lee, bold, quick, and desperate as he is. _June 19._--The jobbers, the contractors, the gold, stock, and exchange speculators wish for the prolongation of the war. For this reason, disasters are rather welcome to them. Oh! to crush those ignoble and demoniac monsters. _June 20._--I cannot comprehend how Lee could have dared such a desperate movement, even if relying on the confusion and senselessness prevailing in _our_ military movements. Lee must have had some kind of encouragement from the Copperheads before he risked a step, which ought to end in his utter destruction, even with a Halleck, Hooker and Butterfield as our commanders. _June 20._--Hooker has more than ninety thousand men in hand--his rear, his supplies, his _depots_ covered by Heintzelman, and by the defences of Washington. This alone is equal to fifty thousand more. And with all this, the treble head-quarters, in the White House in G street, and in the army cannot find Lee, and therefore the rebels are not attacked, and lay Pennsylvania waste. O, staffs, O, staffs! _June 20._--More than any other army in the world, the American army requires to have a thoroughly organized staff, with very intelligent staff officers. Such staff officers carry orders to generals and to colonels who, although brave and devoted, may often not altogether comprehend certain sacramental technicalities of an order delivered by mouth, or written briefly in the saddle. The officer ought to be able to explain the order. Think of it, you wiseacres and organisers of American armies. _June 21._--Small cavalry skirmishes without signification. The curtain is not rended, and the enemy rolls towards the heart of Pennsylvania. How will it end? _June 22._--Nobody of the various upper and lower Chiefs can find Lee. Give twenty thousand men to a bold man even not a general, and in twenty-four hours he will bring you positive news about Lee's army. _June 23._--It seems that Lee waits, if we divide our army, to strike a blow on Washington. Thus he will be baffled; there is a limit even to our military blunders. _June 24._--Incorrigible Seward. France invites our Government to participate in the diplomatic coercion against Russia. Of course, Americans refuse. Mr. Seward, in harmony with the feeling of the people politely snuff off France. But O, Mr. Seward, why pervert history or show your ignorance, even of the national events and of Congressional records. The United States, Adams II., President, sent commissioners to the Congress of Panama, and the United States Congress did it after a discussion of several days. What is the use to deny it now? Then Mr. Seward is insincere to both parties. Speaking of "_a temporary transient revolt here_" he seemingly insinuates, that but for this _transient revolt_ he would perhaps try his hand at the European game. It would look so grand to be in company with the _Decembriseur_. Then the only impediment would be the people's will different from yours, oh, Seward! _The refusal_ in the dispatch re-echoes the convictions of the American people; its shilly-shally conditionality is exclusively Sewardism and only fit to catch a Russian diplomat in Washington. _June 25._--Hooker crosses to Maryland with nearly one hundred thousand men. Lee is still on both sides of the Potomac. By a blow Hooker could cut Lee's army, break it, and retrieve what he lost at Chancellorsville. Oh, how I wish he may do it. But since Hooker has refused to mend his staff, all hope is lost. Stanton sees the condition very clearly, but Butterfield is in good odor in the White House. _June 26._--Lee's movements and invasion puzzle me more and more. The raid into Pennsylvania is the move of a desperate commander, almost of a madman, playing his whole fortune on one card. If Lee comes safe out of it, then doubtless he is the best general of our times, and we the best nincompoops that ever the sun looked upon and blushed for. _June 26._--The reports give to Lee an army of two hundred thousand men. Impossible! Where could the rebels scrabble together such a number? The old trick to frighten us. If, however, Lee should have even only from one hundred to one hundred and fifty thousand, then relying on the high capacity of our various head-quarters, the rebel chiefs may have gathered what they could take from Charleston and from Bragg, and massed it to try a decided blow on Washington. But this cloud, this dust cannot last long; whatever be our head-quarters, light must come, and the cloud burst with blood and thunder. One meets in Washington individuals praising sky-high Mr. Lincoln's military capacity, and saying that he alone embraces all the extensive line of military operations, combines, directs them, etc. Pretty well has all this succeeded, and why cannot the younger generation seize the helm in this terrible crisis? How I ardently wish to see there an Andrew, Boutwell, Coffey, and more, more of those new men. _June 27._--From a very reliable, honest, and _not conspiring_ secessionist in Washington, I learn that a Northern Copperhead visited Jeff Davis in Richmond, and stimulated the rebel chief to carry into the north a war of retaliation by fire and sword, but that Jeff Davis refused to instruct Lee for devastation. I instantly told Stanton my news; and now I doubt not in the least that the invasion is concerted with Northern Copperheads. _June 28._--The following is this morning the military condition of the city with the forts and defences: Hooker took all he could and all he met on his way. To defend the works around Washington Heintzelman has six thousand infantry, and not two hundred cavalry. The rebels have cavalry all around, within six or eight miles. A dash of twenty thousand infantry, and Washington is done! _June 28._--Admiral Foote dead. Irreparable loss. Foote was of the stamp of Lyon, of the stamp of patriot-heroes. He died of exhaustion, that is, of devotion to the country. Foote was an honor to the navy and to the American people. _June 28._--Yesterday, Friday, the candidate for presidency, splendid Chase, stood up mightily for Hooker. Oh, Mr. Chase! you may be a great or a doubtful financier, but keep rather mute on military matters. You know as much about them as this d---- mosquito that is just now biting my nose. _June 28._--At last, Hooker relieved. I pity Meade to receive a command at such a critical moment. But now or never, to show his mettle, his capacity! The army thinks very highly of Meade. Will Halleck soon be sent to California? Then the country's cause will be safe. _June 29._--Yesterday a rebel cavalry raid captured an immense train of provisions, cattle, etc., worth about five hundred thousand dollars, and within eight or twelve miles of Washington! Of course, it is nobody's fault. In other armies and countries, such a large train would have a very strong convoy--here it had scarcely a small squadron of cavalry. The original fault is, first, with Hooker's chief-of-staff, who is responsible for providing the army, and for the security of the provision trains. So at least it is in European armies. Second, with the head-quarters at Washington, who ought to have known that the enemy, ant-like, spreads in the rear of Hooker. The head-quarters ought to have informed the quartermaster thereof, and provided a strong convoy. This train affair is the younger brother of the Fredericksburg pontoons. Third, the head-quarters of the army and the quartermasters ought to have inquired at the head-quarters of the defenses of Washington, if the roads are safe. But of course it was not done, as the _big men_ here possess all the prescience, and need no valuable information. All of them appear to me as ostriches, who hide their heads and eyes, not to see the danger. _June 29._--General Heintzelman is as thorough a soldier as any to-day in Washington--a soldier superior to head-quarters of the army. Heintzelman commands the military district which south, west and north touches on the theatre of the present campaign. In similar conditions and circumstances, any other government, sovereign, commander-in-chief, etc., would consult with the commander of the defences of the capital and of the military district around the city; here Heintzelman is not noticed. _June 30._--How will Meade compose his staff? All depends on that. In the present positions of Meade's and Lee's armies, even a Napoleon could not do much without a very good staff. Were the staffs of the American armies organized as they are in Europe, no difficulty would exist. In Europe the staffs of the armies are independent from the persons of their commanders. When a commander is changed, the staff and its chief remains, and thus the new commander at a glance and in a few hours can become thoroughly familiar with the position and condition of the army, and with the plans of his predecessor, etc., etc. Often such commanders are changed and sent from one end of the country to the other. In 1831, PASCHKEWITSCH was ordered from the Caucasus to Poland, to supersede DIESBITSCH. _June 30._--Since Calhoun, the creed of the _simon pure_ Democratic party intrinsically marked a degradation of man and of humanity. Its logical, unavoidable and final outlets must have been secession, treason, and copperheadism; its apotheosis, South, the rebels; North, the Woods, the Seymours, the Vallandighams and the _World_. The creed of the Republican party is humane. The _simon pure_ democratic rank and file, North and South, intellectually and morally constitute the lowest stratum of American society. Progress, civilization, intellectual, healthy activity principally are embodied in the Republican rank and file. True men, as a Marcy, a Guthrie, and some few similar, throw a pure and bright light on the Democratic party; many from among the official and political Republican notabilities throw a dismal and dark shadow on the intrinsically elevated and pure principles of the party. JULY, 1863. Eneas -- Anchises -- General Warren -- Aldie -- General Pleasanton -- Superior mettle -- Gettysburgh -- Cholera morbus -- Vicksburgh -- Army of heroes -- Apotheosis -- "Not name the Generals" -- Indian warfare -- Politicians -- Spittoons -- Riots -- Council of War -- Lords and Lordlings -- Williamsport -- Shame -- Wadsworth -- "To meet the Empress Eugénie," etc., etc., etc. _July 1._--It is worth while to ascertain if the Administration is prepared to run. During last year's invasion of Maryland, at the foot of C street a swift vessel was, day and night, kept under steam--(in the greatest secrecy)--to carry away the American gods. _Eneas-Seward_ was to carry on his shoulders ANCHISES-LINCOLN. I was told that certain gallant secretaries promised to certain gallant _ladies_ to take them into the ark. _July 1._--Meade makes General Warren his chief-of-staff. For the first time in this war, in-doors and out-doors, a man for the place. I never saw Warren, but have heard much in his favor. Then he is young. Then he is not conceited. Then he is no intriguer. Then he is fighting always and everywhere. Then he speaks not of strategy. A brighter promise. Genuine science and intelligence dawn on our muddy, dark, ignorant horizon. Four weeks ago Meade might have been already in the command of the army. (See after Chancellorsville.) Perhaps Lee would have been to-day shut up in Richmond instead of laying waste Pennsylvania. _July 1._--The people will never know to what extent Mr. Lincoln-Halleck are stumbling-blocks in all military affairs. If Lincoln had even a _Carnot_ for Secretary of War, the affairs would not go better than they go now. _July 1._--General Meade is the pure, simple result of military necessity. His choice is not adulterated by any party spirit. Success may be probable, if Meade is in reality what his colleagues suppose or assert him to be. _July 2._--The property of the great patriot THADDEUS STEVENS destroyed by the rebels. I am as sure as of my existence, that the rebel hordes were urged by the Copperheads and by Northern traitors, by the disciples of the _World_, etc. _July 2._--Copperheads and their organs scream to have McClellan at the head of the armies. This enthusiasm for McClellan soon will be a burning shame. For many it is a mental disease, and almost unparallelled in the history of our race. A man of defeats and of incapacity to be thus worshipped as a hero! To what extent sound intellects can become poisoned by lies! O, Democrats! what a kin and kith you are! The stubborn, undaunted bravery of the people keeps the country above water, when McClellan and his medley of believers dragged and drags her down into the abyss. Soon infamy will cover the names of those who wail for McClellan's glory, the names of these deliberate betrayers of the people's good faith. _July 2._--Count Zeppelin was at the cavalry fight at Aldie. In his appreciation, General Pleasanton is almost the ideal of a general of cavalry, in the manner in which he fought his forces. The Count says that our soldiers are by far superior to the rebels, that our regiments, squadrons, showed the utmost bravery, that in single-handed _mélés_ our soldiers showed a superior mettle, and that during the whole fight he did not see a single soldier back out or retire. Count Zeppelin spent three weeks with Hooker. The Count _never_ saw Hooker intoxicated, but nevertheless, he does not believe Hooker to be the man for the command of a large army. The Count, an educated officer of staff, deplores the utter absence of that special science in the heads of the staff. The Count was with the army during its march from Falmouth to Frederick. He admires the endurance, the good spirit, and the cohesion shown by the army marching under great difficulties, such as bad roads, heat, &c. _July 2._--News of fight at Gettysburgh. It seems that this time a plan was boldly conceived, and carried out with rapidity and bravery. It seems that _now a general_ commands, and has at his side _a chief-of-staff_. _July 2._--A crystalized section of abolitionists has, it seems, dispatched to England a Rev. Dr. _Conway_, who put on airs, began a silly correspondence with Mason the traitor, and has thrown ridicule on the cause and on the men whom he is supposed to represent. _July 3._--Some details from Gettysburgh. Most sanguinary and stubborn fighting. General Reynolds, the flower of our army, killed. The unblemished patriot, General Wadsworth, fought most splendidly, and is reported to be wounded. His son was beside Reynolds. Mark this, you world's offals in the WORLD. Nothing like you can be found in the purlieus of the most stinking social sewers. _July 3._--Whoever wishes to know how, in Mr. Seward's mind, right and law are equipoised, should read the correspondence between the State Department and the Attorney-General in the case of a criminal runaway from Saxony. _Astraea-Themis_-BATES is always bold and manly when right, justice, when individual or general human rights are questioned. BATES' official, legal opinions will remain as a noble record of his official activity during this bloody tornado. _July 3._--Most contradictory news and rumors. To a great extent, the fortunes of the Union may be decided at Gettysburgh. Copperheads alias Peace-Democrats more dangerous than the rebels in arms. The Copperheads poisoned and paralyzed the spirit of the people; the Pennsylvanians look on, and rise not as a man in the defence of their invaded state. _July 4._--General Wallbridge the orator of the day. _O tempora Lincolniana!_ It is fortunate for the country and for General Meade that no telegraphic communication exists between Washington and his camp. _July 8._--July 4th, in the evening, I was struck with _cholera morbus_. In two hours I was delirious, and the end of the DIARY and of myself was at hand. Those who may be interested in the DIARY, be thankful to _fatum_ and to my friend in whose house I was taken sick. I am up and again on the watch. _July 8._--However, I have lost the run of events. I have lost the _piquant_ of observation how the events of Gettysburgh affected the _big men_ here. I may have lost the echo of some stories told on the occasion at the White House. Vicksburgh taken! No words to glorify GRANT, FARRAGUT, PORTER, _and the army of heroes on land and on the waters_. I wake up and open a paper. Apotheosis! Yesterday evening Mr. Seward made a speech and glorified himself into CHRIST. Why not? At the beginning of this internecine war, Mr. Seward repeatedly played the inspired, the prophet, and even the SPIRIT, having the polyglotic gift. _In illo tempore_ Mr. Seward advised the foreign diplomats to bring to him their respective dispatches received from their respective governments, and he, Seward, would explain to each diplomat the meanings of what the dispatches contain. Perhaps the spirit was an after-dinner spirit! In the above-mentioned speech Mr. Seward exclaimed, "If I fall!" O, you will fall, and you will be covered with ... I shall not stain the paper. Plenty of lickspittles glorifying Lincoln-Seward. _July 8._--The battles at Gettysburgh will stand almost unparalleled in history for the courage, tenacity, and martial rage shown on both sides, by the soldiers, the officers and the generals. This four-days' struggle may be put above Attila's fight in the plains of Chalons; it stands above the celebrated battle of giants at Marignan between the French and the Swiss. No legions, no troops ever did more, nay, ever did the same. At Waterloo one-third of the French infantry was not engaged in the previous days of Ligny and of Quatres-bras, and three-fourths of the Anglo-allied army were fresh, and not fatigued even by forced marches. I am sure that no other troops in the world could fight with such a stubborn bravery four consecutive days; not the English, not even the _iron-muscled_ Russians. I learn that during the invasion of Pennsylvania, and above all, during the last days, all the country expected something extraordinary from the army at Fortress Monroe, under General Dix's command. But the affair ended in expectations. A few days ago the President declared in a speech that he dares not introduce the names of the generals. Not to name the victor at Gettysburgh, the undaunted captor of Vicksburgh! The people repeat your names, O heroes! even if the President remains dumb. Already a back-fire against Meade. I cannot believe that his heart fainted, and that other generals kept him from breaking before the enemy. But Meade is the man of their own kith and kin, and they ought to have known him. It is now so difficult to disentangle truth from lies, from stories and from intrigue. It will not do, however, to uphold Hooker--it will not do. Hooker is a brilliant fighter, but was and always will be _stunned_ when in command of an army. It is a crime to put up Hooker as a captain. Somebody put in the head of the patriotic but mercurial Senator Wilson that the terrible onslaught of the rebel columns is not the result of their having adopted European, continental tactics, but that the rebels are formidable because they have adopted the Indian mode of warfare. God forgive him who thus confused my friend's understanding! Indian tactics or warfare for masses of forty, fifty, or one hundred thousand men! I learn that Christ-Seward wishes to force the hoary, but brave, steady, and not at all fogyish Neptune WELLES, to recognize to Spain or Cuba, or to somebody else and to all the world, an extension of the maritime league. It is excellent. Such extension is _altogether_ advantageous to the maritime neutrals--all of them, Russia excepted, our covert or open ill-wishers. Mr. Seward, as a good, scriptural Christian, minds not an offense, and is not rancorous. The Imperial _Decembriseur_, and all the imperialist liveried lackeys, look with contempt on the cause of the people, side with secessionists, with copperheads, etc., etc., and Mr. Seward insists on giving a license for the exportation of tobacco bought in Richmond for French accounts. Again Neptune defends the country's honor and interests. In proportion as the presidential electioneering season approaches, Mr. Seward repeatedly and repeatedly attempts to impress upon the people's mind that he will not accept from the nation any high reward for his services. Well, it is not cunning--as by this time Mr. Seward ought to have found in what estimation he is held by nine-tenths of the people. This is all that I caught in one day, after several days' interruption. _July 9._--Lee retreats towards the Potomac. If they let him recross there, our shame is nameless. Will Meade be after Lee _l'épée dans les reins_. _Halleckiana, minus._ Nobody in Washington, not even the head-quarters, has any notion or idea what means Lee has to recross the Potomac. _Halleckiana, plus._ I am told that Halleck refused to telegraph to Meade Mr. Lincoln's strategical conceptions. _July 9._--Chewing and spitting paramount here, require incalculable numbers of spittoons. The lickspittles outnumber the spittoons. _July 10._--The politicians already begin to broadly _play their game_. I use the sacramental expressions. What a disgusting monstrosity is a thorough politician! Not even a eunuch! There is nothing in a politician to be emasculated: no mind, no heart, no manhood. In what a _galere_ I got--not by personal contact--but by intellectually observing the worms on the body politic of my--at any rate heartily adopted--country. _July 11._--Repeatedly and repeatedly certain newspaper correspondents announce to the world that Senator Sumner exercises considerable influence on the supreme power. All things considered, I wish it may be so, but I see it is not. Sumner's influence ought to have produced some palpable results. I see none. The international maritime complications are watched and defeated by Welles. _Drapez vous, messieurs, drapez vous_--in the statesman toga, history and truth will take it off from your shoulders. _July 12._--Mr. Seward is very ardently at work--Weed marshaling Seward--to reconstruct slavery and Union, to give a very large if not a general amnesty to the rebels, to shake hands with them, in pursuance of the Mercier-Richmond programme, and to be carried into the White House on the shoulders of the grateful Union-saviours, Copperheads, and blood-stained traitors. The _Herald_, the _World_, the _National Intelligencer_ and others of that creed will sing _gloria in excelsis_ to Seward. _July 13._--What is _Meade_ doing? It is exciting to know why a blow is not yet dealt on the head of retreating rebels. Or is it that though West Point generals--on both sides--tolerably understand how to fight a battle, they subside when the finishing stroke is to be dealt. Oh for a general who understands how to manoeuvre against the enemy!!! I hear from a very reliable source, that during the excitement brewing before the day of Gettysburgh, the honorable Post Master General by a special biped message insinuated to the honorable governor of New York that the governor may ask the removal of Stanton for the safety of the country and of patriots of the Postmaster's and the governor's species. _July 13._--Besides what _Meade_ has in hand, there must be a considerable number of troops in Baltimore, in Fortress Monroe and the volunteer militia. Why not, Lincoln-Halleck! mass them on the south side of the Potomac under such generals as Heintzelman, Sigel, etc., and take the enemy between two fires? _July 14._--Bloody riots in New York. The teaching of the Woods, of their former hireling, the _World_, and of those who pay that offal now. Seymour's democracy; mob, pillage, massacre. _July 14._--Lincoln has nominated so many Major-Generals who are relieved from duty, so many of them, that the Major-Generals ought to be formed into a squadron, and, Halleck at the head, McClellan at the tail, make them charge on Lee's centre. In such a way the major-generals would be some use. _July 14._--I meet many who attempt to exculpate Mr. Seward from _this_ or _that_ untruth which he is accused having told to the President. Such _Seward's_ men often contradict not the fact, but attempt to insinuate that somebody else might have told it. To all this I answer with the Roman Prætor: _Ille fecit cui prodest_ _July 14._--GRANT has overpowered men, soil--and elements. GRANT, PORTER, FARRAGUT, and their men overpowered land and waters. They overpowered _the Mississippi_, hear: the Mississippi's and its mighty affluents as the Yazoo, the Red River, and others. McClellan caved in before a brook, as the Chickahominy. McClellan had the most gigantic resources in men and material ever put in the hands of a commander, and caved in. O, worshippers of heavy incapacity, take and digest it if you can. _July 16._--Lee re-crossed the Potomac! Thundering storms, rising waters and about one hundred and fifty thousand at his heels! What a general! And our brave soldiers again baffled, almost dishonored by domestic, know-nothing generalship. We have lost the occasion to crush three-fourths of the rebellion. But where is the responsibility? Foul work somewhere, but, as always, it will be nobody's fault. _July 15._--Stanton in rage and despair. Riots everywhere. All these riots must be the result of a skillfully laid mine. They coincide with the invasion by the rebels. At the best, these riots are generated by Fourth of July Seymourite speeches and by the long uninterrupted series of incendiary articles in New York papers, like World, etc., and in Boston, where emasculated parasites as Hilliard, a Cain Curtis etc., soothingly tried their hands to disgrace their city and to mislead the people. All the Lincoln-Seward-Halleck actions cannot excuse these riots and their matricidal, secret inciters. _July 15._--The Administration ought to recall Wool and put Butler in New York. Butler understands how to deal with riotous traitors. _July 15._--Good news from Banks. Now he comes out and will recover the confidence of all good men. _July 15._--If it is true that _Meade_ convoked a council of war, and that the generals decided not to attack Lee, then whoever voted and decided so, ought, at the best, to be sent to the hospital of mental invalids, and the army put in the hands of fighting men. Lee's escape will henceforth occupy the cardinal place in the annals of disgraceful generalships of the Potomac army. _July 16._--One of the truest men and citizens in this country, George Forbes, of Milton Hill, returned from England. Forbes says that aristocracy and the commercial classes (with few exceptions) are generally against us. But the people at large are on our side. Oh! that some method may be found to separate the interests of the good and noble English people, from the interests of the other classes; then to have intercourse only with the people; and towards the other English fulfil: _Vos autem o Tyrii prolem gentemque futuram,_ and that not one of those lords, lordlings, of inborn snobs and flunkeys, that not one of that English social sham may ever be allowed to tread the sacred American soil. And if such an Englishman ever touches these shores, then be he treated as leprous, and as carrying in him the most contagious plague, and let the house of any American that shall be opened to such an Englishman, be torn down and burned, and its ashes scattered to the winds; and the curse of the people upon any American harboring those snobbish upstarts of liberty. _July 16._--The incendiaries and murderers in New York cheered McClellan and came to his house. Bravo! Can, now, any honest man who is not an idiot, doubt where are the main springs and the animus of those New York blood-thirsty miscreants, and who are those of whose hearts McClellan got hold? What a nice Copperhead combination for saving the Union. Very likely Seymour, Dictator or President, McClellan Commander-in-chief, or Secretary of War, some of the Woods or Duncans or Barlows in the Treasury, their hireling any Marble for Foreign Affairs, and with them some others from among the favorites of the New York blood-thirsty incendiaries. I read in one of the New York poison-dealers, _alias_ Copperhead newspapers, that McClellanites was ruined by politicians. So-called honest, but idiotic conservatives sanctimoniously repeat that lie. It was McClellan, who, inspired by _Barlow_, by the _Herald_ and by his aristocratic West Point pro-slavery friends, introduced democratic politics into the army at a time when the army was yet in an embryo state, already in September and October, 1861. O, impudent liars! history will nail your names to the gallows, together with the name of your fetish and of his military tail. _July 16._--In that fated, cursed council of war which allowed Lee to escape, my patriot WADSWORTH was the most decided, the most out-spoken in favor of attacking Lee. Wadsworth never fails where honor and patriotism are to be sustained. Warren with Wadsworth. So Humphries, Pleasanton and Howard. Those names ought to coruscate as the purest light of patriotism for future generations. Meade's vote is of no account. He, the commander, ought to have acted up to his vote. If only Meade had imitated _Radetzky_. In 1849 after the denunciation of the Armistice of Milan, _Radetzky_ called a council of war to decide whether the _Po_ was to be crossed and Piedmont invaded. All the best Austrian generals--_Hesse_ with them, voted against the proposition. Radetzky quietly listened, then rose and give orders to cross immediately. The result was the battle of Novara and the temporary humiliation of the house of Savoy. That was a model for _Meade_. And this General _French_ who advised to entrench! To entrench in pursuit of a retreating enemy! This French honors West Point and engineering. The generals who voted to entrench and not to attack Lee, and Meade with them, they can never, never retrieve. Whatever be their future or eventual success it will not heal the wound given to the country by thus allowing Lee to escape. O, God! O, God! Such _Frenches_ and others asserted that "Lee will attack before he crosses." Oh what _Marses!_ _Lee's position at Williamsport was on heights_, etc., etc., assert those braves. When a country is hilly and undulating there will always be found one point or hill commanding the others. I shall risk my head on the fact, that around Lee's entrenchments at Williamsport, there exist other elevations which command Williamsport, and are within artillery distance. _Natura semper sibi consona._ I am sure that better positions than that selected by Lee could easily have been occupied by our troops or artillery. The same must have been the case at Hagerstown. And if the generals were afraid to fight Lee's whole army they ought to have more vigilantly watched his crossing. There was a time when a part only of the rebel army was facing us, and at least this part ought to have been attacked and crippled, if not destroyed. Sound common sense teaches it. But it seems that no will to fight Lee, or to impede his safe recrossing, no such will animated the majority of the council of war. It seems that some of the West Point nurslings are still awe-struck at the sight of their slavocratic former companions, as they were at the time of their studies at West Point. I was told by an officer coming from the army that the soldiers are exasperated. The soldiers say that the generals did not wish to destroy Lee's army and finish the rebellion, because their "stars were to set down." Who knows how far the soldiers are right? _July 17._--In New York the _unterrified_ democracy went to arson and murder, hand in hand with the immense majority of Irishry. Meagher, Nugent, Corcoran and thousands like you, are exceptions. The O'Connors, O'Gormans, etc., are the unterrified. For these bloody saturnalia the wedding was consecrated by the Iro-Roman priesthood. As the _unterrified_ Democrats pollute the sacred name of genuine Democracy, so the Irishry stain even the Catholic confession. The Iro-Roman Church in this country is not even a Roman-Catholic end. This Iro-Romanism here is a mixture of cunning, ignorance, brutality and extortion. A European Roman-Catholic at once finds out the difference in the spirit, and even to a certain extent, in the form. The incendiaries and murderers in the New York riots are the nurslings and disciples of the Iro-Roman clergy and the Iro-hierarchy. _July 17._--Mr. Lincoln ought to dismiss every general who voted against fighting; dismiss _Meade_ for not understanding his power as commander of an army, and give the places to such Howards, Warrens, Pleasantons, Humphreys, Wadsworths, and all others, generals, colonels, etc. who clamorously asked an order for attack. If the army shall depend upon such generals who let Lee escape, then lay down arms, and drag not the people's children to a slaughter house. To excuse the generals, it is asserted that at Chancellorsville Lee has allowed to Hooker to recross the river without annoying us, which Lee could easily do, and damage us considerably. Well! are our Generals to carry on a mere war of civilities? If Lee committed a fault, are you, gentlemen, in duty bound to imitate his mistakes? Imitation for imitation, then rather imitate Lee's several splendid manoeuvring and tactics. _July 17._--I learn that the deep-dyed Copperheads and slavery-saviours do not consider Seymour of New York safe enough. They turn now to a certain Seymour in Connecticut. It seems that the Connecticut Seymour still more hates human rights, self-government, light and progress, and is a still more ardent lickspittle of slavocracy, of barbarism, and of the slave-driving whip. _July 18._--Splendid Chase urged Wadsworth to go to Florida and organize that country--very likely to prepare votes for Chase's presidency. It is not such high-toned men as Wadsworth who become tools of schemers. Again rumors say that Stanton joined the scheme of Lincoln's re-election. As far as I can judge, Stanton's cardinal aim is to crush the rebellion. _July 18._--The greatest glory for Wadsworth is that the majority against him in the last November elections is now murdering and _arsoning_ New York. All of them are unterrified, hard shell democrats, and cheer McClellan. These murderers are the "friends" of Seymour--they are the pets of that _World_, itself below the offal of hell--they are the "gentlemen" incendiaries of H. E. the Archbishop Hughes. On your head, most eminent Archbishop, is the whole responsibility. These "gentlemen" are brought up, Christianized and moralized under your care and direction, and under that of your tonsured crew. The "gentlemen" murderers are your herd, O most eminent shepherd! You ought to have and you could have stopped the rioters. And now your _stola_ is a halter and your _pallium_ gored with blood, otherwise innocent as is the blood of the lamb incensed on the altar of Saint Agnes in Rome. Mr. Seward strongly opposed the appointment of General Butler to New York. Mr. Seward wished no harm to the "gentlemen" of his dear friend the Most Eminent Archbishop, and to the select ones who helped him to defeat Wadsworth. _July 19._--Difficult will be the task of the historian of these episodes of riots, as well as of the whole civil war. If gifted with the sacred spark, the future historian must carefully disentangle the various agencies and forces in this convulsion. Some such agencies are-- _a_ The righteousness of the cause of the North, defending civilization, justice, humanity. _b_ The devotion, the self-sacrifice of the people. _c_ The littleness, helplessness, selfishness, cunning, heartlessness, empty-headedness, narrow-mindedness of the various leaders. _d_ The plague of politicians. _e_ The untiring efforts of the heathen, that is, of the Northern worshippers of the slavocrat and of his whip, efforts to uphold and save their idol. _f_ The fatal influence of the press. The republican or patriot press neither sufficiently vigilant, nor clear-sighted, nor intelligent, nor undaunted; not reinvigorated by new, young agencies; the bad press reckless, unprincipled, without honor and conscience, but bold, ferocious in its lies, and sacrificing all that is noble, human and pure to the idol of slavery. _July 19._--The more details about the shame of Hagerstown and of Williamsport, the more it rends heart and mind. I saw many soldiers and officers, sick, wounded and healthy. Their accounts agree, and cut to the quick. Our army was flushed with victory, craving for fight, and in a state of enthusiastic exaltation. But our generals were not therein in communion with the officers, with the rank and file. Enthusiasm! this highest and most powerful element to secure victory, and on which rely all the true captains; enthusiasm, that made invincible the phalanx of Alexander; invincible Cæsar's legions and Napoleon's columns; enthusiasm was of no account for the generals in council. O _Meade_! better were it for you if your council was held among, or with the soldiers. The Rebel army was demoralized, as a retreating army always is; no doubt exists concerning a partial, at least, disorganization of the rebels. But Lee and his generals understood how to make a bold show, and a bold, menacing front, with what was not yet disorganized, and our generals caved in, in the council. This July 19th is heavy, dark and gloomy.... I wish it were all over. _July 19._--Thurlow Weed puffs Stanton and patronises him. O, God! It is a terrible blow to Stanton. How, now, can one have confidence in Stanton's manhood. Are contracts at the bottom of the puff, or is it only one of _Weed's_ tricks to defile and to ruin _Stanton_? _July 20._--It is almost humiliating to witness how mongrels and pigmies attempt to rob the people of their due glory, how they attempt to absorb to their own credit what the pitiless pressure of events forced upon them. All of them limped after events as lame ducks in mud; not one foresaw any thing, not one understood the _to-day_. Neither emancipation nor the transformation of slave into free states, are of your special, individual work, O, great men; but you strut now. _Mirmidons, race féconde, enfin nous commandons._ Some say that the generals who let Lee off, intended not to humiliate their former chief and pet McClellan. _July 20._--Cavalry wanted. Stables and corrals filled with horses, but no saddles. No saddles in this most industrious country! No brains in the Quartermasters or in those to whom it belongs. And perhaps no will, and perhaps no honesty. No saddles! Oh! I am sure it is nobody's fault; no workmen are to be found, and no leather, and no men to look after the country's good. That is the rub. _July 20._--Captain Collins, commanding a United States man-of-war, captures an English blockade-runner near an isolated shoal somewhere in the vicinity of Bermuda. England asserts that the shoal is a shore, and that the maritime league is violated. Mr. Seward at once yields, Neptune defends as he always does, the rights of the national _Tritons_, and of the national flag. The supreme power sides with Seward, and an order is given to reprimand Collins or something like it: it is done, and the prize-court decides that Captain Collins has made a lawful capture. I hope Collins will be consoled, and light his segar with the reprimand. The future historian will duly ponder and establish Mr. Seward's claims to the _salvage_ of the country. _July 20._--From all that I learn, _Meade_ has a better and larger army than Lee; oh, may only Meade establish that he has the biggest brains of the two. _July 20._--From time to time, I read the various statutes issued by the last Congress, and am strengthened in my opinion that Congress served the people well. The various statutes are the triumph of legislation. They are clear, precise, well-worded results of patriotic, devoted, far-seeing and undaunted minds and brains. All glory to the majority of the Thirty-seventh Congress! _July 21._--A manly and patriotic letter from James T. Brady is published in the papers. Such Democrats, Irishmen and lawyers, like Brady, honor the party, the nationality, and the profession. _July 21._--A mystery surrounds the appointment of _Grant_ to the command of the fated Potomac army. _Yes_ and _no_ say the helmsmen. The truth seems to be, it was offered to Grant, and he respectfully refused to accept it. If so, it is an evidence in favor of Grant. To give up glory and devoted companions in arms, to give all this up for the sake of running into the unknown, and into the jaws of the still breathing McClellanism, and into the vicinity of the central telegraphic station! Grant believes in volunteers; and for this reason it is to be regretted that he refused to correct the West Point notions. _July 21._--The draft occasions much bad blood, and evokes violent dissatisfaction. The draft is a dire necessity; but it could have been avoided if time, men, and the people's enthusiasm had not been so sacrilegiously wasted. The three hundred dollar clause is not a happy invention, and its omission would have given a better character to that law. _July 21._--If the New York traitors succeed in preventing the draft, then they will riot against taxes; after breaking down the taxes, they will riot against the greenbacks, against the emancipation, and finally force the reconstruction of the Union with the murderous rebel chiefs in the senatorial chairs, according to the Seward-Mercier-Richmond programme. Any one can see in the Cain-Copperhead newspapers of New York, of Boston, of Philadelphia, and in the letters and speeches of those matricides, what are their aims, and how their plans are laid out. _July 21._--Again I am most positively assured that some time ago a friendly offensive and defensive alliance was concluded between W. H. Seward and Edwin Stanton. The high powers were represented by Thurlow Weed and Morgan for Seward, and the virtuous, lachrymose, white-cravated Whiting acted for Stanton. I was told that this alliance drove Watson, (Assistant Secretary,) from the War Department. This would be infernal, if true. I know that no _Weed_ whatever could approach such a man as Watson; but Watson assured me that he returns back, and I cannot believe that Stanton could consent to be thus sold. _July 22._--Honorable, virtuous, tear-shedding, jockey-dressing Whiting wanted to make a trip to Europe. Sharp and acute, the great expounder found out at once that Mr. Seward is one of the greatest and noblest patriots of all times. Reward followed. Whiting goes to Europe on a special mission--to dine, if he is invited, with all the great and small men to whom Mr. Adams or Mr. Dayton may introduce him, and to convince everybody in Europe that the Sewards, the Whitings, &c., are the _crème de la crème_ of the American people. _Vive la bagatelle._ _July 22._--How putrescent is all around! But it is not the nation, not the people. And as the sun raises above the darkest and heaviest vapors, so in America the spirit of mankind, incarnated in and animating the people, towers above the filth of politicians, of cabinet-makers, of presidential-peddlers, etc. Look to the masses to find consolation. How splendidly acts Massachusetts and New England's sons! And what free State is not New England's son? The youth of Massachusetts are almost all in the field--the rich and the poor, those of the best social standing, and of the genuine good blood and standing; scholars and mechanics, all of them shouldered the musket. _July 23._--How strangely and how slowly Meade manoeuvres! It looks McClellan-like. O, God of battles, warm and inspire Meade! _July 23._--Only boys in the corps of invalids. It has its good. For scores of years to come, these invalids will be the living legend of this treasonable, matricidal rebellion, and of the atrocious misconduct of our helmsmen. I hope that when returned home, these invalids will be as many extirpators of all kinds of _Weeds_ in their respective townships and villages. They will become the lights of the new era. _July 23._--Were it not for the murdered, these New York riots could be considered welcome. The rioting cannibals, and their prompters and defenders showed their hands. No one in his senses can now doubt how heartily and devotedly Jeff Davis was served by his hirelings among the Copperhead leaders and among the New York Copperhead press. The cannibals cheered for McClellan, and the Administration has neither enough courage nor self respect to put that fetish on the retired list. In the old, flourishing times of Romanism and papacy, such a Most Eminent Hughes would long ago have been suspended by the Holy See. The Most Eminent's standing among the continental European Episcopacy is not eminent at all, whatever be Mr. Seward's opinion. The Most Eminent is a curious observer of the canons, of the papal bulls, and of other clerical and episcopal paraphernalia. The spirit animating the Most Eminent is not the spirit of the Roman Sapienzia. I well recollect what I heard lectured in that Roman papal university. _July 24._--As a dark and ominous cloud, Lee with his army hovers around Washington, keeps the Shenandoah valley, and may again cross over to the Cumberland valley. It seems that the generals whose council-of-war allowed Lee to recross the river unhurt, believed that Lee with all speed would run to Richmond; and now they hang to his brow and eye. The crime of Williamsport bears fruit. Never, never in this or in the other life, can the perpetrators of the Williamsport crime atone for it. It may come that the western armies and generals will bring the civil war to an end, the Potomac army all the time marching and countermarching between the Potomac and the Rappahannock. And such a splendid army, such heroic soldiers and officers, to be sacrificed to the ignorant stubbornness of sham military science! _July 25._--I positively learn that Gilmore has scarcely ten thousand men, infantry, and is to storm the various forts and defenses around the Charleston harbor. If Gilmore succeeds, then it is a wonder. But in sound valuation, Gilmore has not men enough to organize columns of attack so that the one shall follow the other within a short, very short supporting distance. And the losses will almost hourly reduce Gilmore's small force. I dread repulse and heavy losses. Some one at the head-quarters deserves to be quartered for such a distribution of troops. With the immense resources and means of transportation, it is so easy to send twenty thousand troops to Gilmore, attack, make short work of it, and then carry the troops back to where they belonged. But to concentrate and act in masses is not the _credo_ of the--not yet quartered--head-quarters. _July 26._--Old--but not slow--Welles again gives to Seward a lesson of good-behavior, of sound sense, and of mastery of international laws. The prize courts side with Welles. Because Neptune has a white wig and beard, he is considered slow, when in reality he is active, unflinching, and progressive. _July 26._--O, could I only exclaim, _Exegi monumentum aere perennius_, to the noble, the patriotic, and the good, as well as to the helpless, the selfish, and the counterfeits. _July 27._--_Philadelphia._ Flags in all the streets, volunteers parading and drilling. Prosperity, activity and devotion permeate the country. So at least I am led to believe. All this is so refreshing, after witnessing in Washington such strenuous efforts how not to do it. Bad news. I learn that Gilmore is repulsed. When the _forlorn hope_ entered Fort Wagner, no support promptly came, and the heroes, black and white, were massacred or expelled. Gilmore ought to have been more cautious, and not to have undertaken an operation which was on its outside stamped with impossibility. Perhaps Gilmore obeyed peremptory orders. Who gave them? Lee's army escapes through Chester Gap, and thus we have not cut the rebels from Richmond, and now they are ahead of us. Again out-manoeuvred! and _nobody's fault_, only the campaign prolonged _ad infinitum_. Perhaps it is in the programme! _July 28._--_Philadelphia._ The petty, narrow, school conceit imbibed in the West Point nursery, is the stumbling-block barring everywhere the expansion of a healthy and vigorous activity. I listened to the heaviest absurdities and fogyism on military affairs _oracularly_ preached by one of the great West Pointers on duty here. _July 31._--_Long Branch._ Away from personal contact, even from the view of politicians, of plotters, of lickspittles. How refreshing, how invigorating, how soothing! Mr. Seward, with a due tail, visits Fortress Monroe. What for? Is it to organize some underground road to reunion on the Mercier-Seward-Richmond programme? One well-informed writes me that the last programme of Lincoln, Halleck and Meade is, that the army of the Potomac is to keep Lee at bay, but not to attack. If true, how well designed to give time to Lee to do what he likes, to reorganize, to send away his troops where he may please, to call them back--in one word to be fully at his ease on our account. Will this country ever escape the tutorship of sham science? _July 31._--_Long Branch._ Seward's concession policy towards France bears fruit in Mexico. Of course the _Decembriseur_ outwitted the Weed-Albany-Auburn politician statesman. But it is not the ignorant foreign policy which strengthened and strengthens the French policy in Mexico. It is the blunders, the tergiversations, the gropings, and the crimes of our internal domestic policy, which, protracting the war, allows the French conspirator to murder the Mexicans. _July 31. L. B._--So the _Decembriseur_ amuses himself in creating an Imperial throne in Mexico for some European princely idiot or intriguer. All right. I have confidence in the Mexicans. The future Emperor, even if established for some time on the cushion of treason propped by French bayonets, that manikin before short or long will be _Iturbidised_. Further: I have confidence in the French people. The upper crust is pestilential. Bonapartists, lickspittles, lackeys and incarnations of all imaginary corruptions compose that upper crust. But I would bet a fortune, had I one, that in the course of the next five years, the _Decembriseur_ and his _Prince Imperial_ will be visible at Barnum's, and that some shoddy grandee from 5th Avenue, will issue cards inviting _to meet the Empress Eugénie_. AUGUST, 1863. Stanton -- Twenty Thousand -- Canadians -- Peterhoff -- Coffey -- Initiation -- Electioneering -- Reports -- Grant -- McClellan -- Belligerent Rights -- Menagerie -- Watson -- Jury -- Democrats -- Bristles -- "Where is Stanton?" -- "Fight the monster" -- Chasiana -- Luminaries -- Ballistic -- Political Economy, etc., etc., etc. _August 2. Long Branch._--The organs of all shades and of all gradations of ill-wishers to the cause of the North, and to that of Emancipation, the secret friends of Jeff Davis, and the open supporters of McClellan are untiring in their open, slanderous, treacherous accusations of _Stanton_; others spread sanctimoniously perfidious suggestions against the Secretary of War, and so does the _National Intelligencer_, this foremost Whig-Conservative, double or treble-faced organ. _Stanton_ is called to account for all mishaps, mismanagement, disasters and disgraces which befall our armies between the Rio Grande and the Potomac. Such accusations, to a certain degree, could be justified if the Secretary of War were clothed with the same powers, and therefore with the same responsibilities as is the case in European governments. But every one knows that here the war machinery is very complicated, because wheels turn within wheels. The Secretary of War is not alone to answer and he is not exclusively responsible for the appointment of good, middling, or wholly bad generals and commanders. Every one knows it. _Stanton_ may have all the possible shortcomings and faults with which his enemies so richly clothe him; one thing is certain, that _Stanton_ advocated and always advocates fighting, and Stanton furnishes the generals and commanders with all means and resources at the country's and the department's disposition. If many respectable men are to be trusted, _Stanton_ never interferes with intrinsic military operations, never orders or insinuates, or dictates to the commanders of our armies where and in what way they are to get at the enemy and to fight him. As far as I know Stanton keeps aloof from strategy. Stanton _is insincere and untruthful_, say his enemies. Granted. I never found a man in power to be otherwise in personal questions or relations. It is almost impossible for the power-holders to be sincere and truthful. Trust in thy sword, Rather than prince's (president's) word; Trust in fortuna's sinister, Rather than prince's minister. But _Stanton_ is truthful and sincere to the cause, and that is all that I want from him. Stanton's alleged _malice_ against McClellan had the noblest and the most patriotic sources, which, of course, could not be understood or appreciated by Stanton's revilers. The organs of treason and of infamy refer always to McClellan. _O race, knitted of the devils excrements mixed with his saliva_, [see Talleyrand about Thiers] your treason is only equal to your impudence and ignorance. If in February, 1862, Stanton had not urged McClellan to move, probably the Potomac Army would have spent all the year in its tents before Washington. McClellan's henchmen and minions thrusted and still thrust the grossest lies down the throat of a certain public, eager to gulp slander as sugar plums. McClellan's stupidity at Yorktown and in the Chickahominy is vindicated by his crew with the following counter accusation: that all disasters have been generated because McDowell with his twenty thousand men did not join McClellan. If McClellan had in him the soldiership of a non-commissioned officer, on his knees he ought to implore his crew not to expose him in this way. When a general has in hand about one hundred and ten thousand men, as McClellan had on entering the peninsula, and accomplishes nothing, then it is a proof that he, the general, is wholly unable and ignorant how to handle large masses. If McClellan could not manage one hundred thousand men, still less would he have been able to manage the twenty thousand more of McDowell's corps. The stupidity of attempting to invest Richmond is beyond words, and for such an operation several hundred thousand men would have been necessary. [Spoke of it in Vol. I.] If twenty thousand men arrive not at a certain day or hour when a battle is raging, most surely this failure may occasion a defeat--Grouchy at Waterloo--but in McClellan's Chickahominy operations, twenty thousand men more would have served only still more plainly to expose his incapacity, and to be a prey to fevers and diseases. The bulk of the rebel army in Richmond was always less numerous than McClellan's; the rebels always understood to have more troops than had McClellan when they attacked him. During that whole cursed and ignominious (for McClellan) Chickahominy campaign, McClellan never fought at once more of his men than about thirty thousand. It was not the absence of twenty thousand men that prevented a commander of one hundred thousand from engaging more of his troops, and for quickly supporting such corps as were attacked by the enemy. _August 3: L. B._--The Colonists, that is, the appendixes of England, as the Canadians, the Nova Scotians, and of any other colonial dignity and name, together with their great statesmen, certain Howes and Johnsons, etc. etc. etc. agitate; they are in trances like little fish out of water. They find it so pleasant to seize an occasion to look like something great. Poor frogs! trying to blow themselves into leviathans. Their whelpish snarling at the North reminds one of little curs snarling at a mastiff. How can these colonists imagine that a royal prince of England could reside among something which is as indefinite as are colonists--something neither fish nor flesh. _August 3._--The _Evening Post_ contains a letter on the difference between the behavior of Union men in Missouri during the treasonable riots in St. Louis in the Spring of 1861, and the conduct of the Union men in New York during the recent riots. But the Saint Louis patriot is silent--has forgotten the immortal Lyons who saved that city and its patriots, who saved Missouri. (General Scott insisted upon courtmartialing Lyons.) Also, have you already forgotten the foremost among heroes and patriots, and whose loss is more telling now than it was in 1861. Forgotten one of the purest and noblest victims of Washington blindness, of General Scott's unmilitary policy and conduct. Forgotten the true son of the people? But O Lyons! thy name will be venerated by coming generations. _August 4: L. B._--_The Cliques._ _a_ The worst, and the womb of all evils is the Weed-Seward clique. Around it group contractors, jobbers, shoddy, and all kinds of other social impurities. _b_ The ambitious, intriguing, selfish, narrow-minded West Point clique. _c_ The not brave, not patriotic, and freedom-hating, unintelligent McClellan clique. _d_ Copperheads of various hues and gradations. Cliques _a_, _b_, and _c_, generated and fostered Copperheads, and facilitated their expansion. _e_ Imbeciles, lickspittles, politicians, etc. _f_ The Lincolnites, closely intertwined with the _genus e_; the Blair men, etc. _g_ The partisans of Chase. This clique is the most variously and most curiously composed. Honest imbeciles, makers of phrases, rhetors, heavy and narrow-minded, office-hunters, office expectants, politicians, contractors, admirers of pompousness and of would-be radicalism, all who turn round and round, and see not beyond their noses, etc. Several minor cliques exist, but deserve not to be mentioned. Behind these mud-hills rises the true people, as the Himalayas rise above the plains of Asia. _August 4._--Why could not Everett, that good and true patriot, preside over our relations with Europe; or why is that thorough American statesman, Governor Marcy, dead! How different, how respected, how truly American would have been the character of our relations with Europe! No prophecies, no lies would have been told, no gross ignorance displayed! _August 4. L. B._--In the columns of the _Times_ a friend of Halleck tries to make a great man of the General-in-chief. Halleck repudiates Burnside and Hooker, but claims the victory at Gettysburgh, because Meade, being a good disciplinarian, executed Halleck's orders. So from his room in G street Washington, Halleck directed the repulse of the furiously attacking columns. Bravo! more bravo as no telegraph connects Washington with Gettysburgh! Meade being a good disciplinarian, the crime of Williamsport falls upon Halleck; the commander-in-chief is the more responsible, as the crime was perpetrated under his nose; about four hours' drive could have brought him to our army, and then Halleck in person could have directed the attack upon the enemy. From all that transpires about Williamsport one must conclude that Lee must have known that he would not be seriously attacked, and that he was not much afraid of the combined disciplinarian generalship. Further: Halleck claims for himself Grant's success, because Grant obeyed orders, and Rosecrans did the same. How astonishing, therefore, that their campaigns ended in victories and not in such shame as Halleck at Corinth, in 1862. Rosecrans was inspired by telegraph to change defeat into victory; the indomitable Grant received by telegraph the fertility of resources shown by him at Vicksburgh. Oh! Halleck! you cannot succeed in thus belittling the two heroes, and you may tell your little story to the marines. _August 4._--The Proclamation on retaliation is a well-written document; but like all Mr. Lincoln's acts it is done almost too late, only when the poor President was so cornered by events, that shifting and escape became impossible. If I am well informed Stanton long ago demanded such a Proclamation, but Lincoln's familiar demons prevented it. Nevertheless Lincoln will be credited for what intrinsically is not his. _August 5: L. B._--Thomas--not Paul--Lincoln's pet, returns to the Mississippi to organise Africo-American regiments. For six months they organize, organize and have not yet fifteen thousand in field. If Stanton had been left alone, we would have to-day in battle order at least fifty thousand Africo-Americans. _August 5: L. B._--All computed together, among all Western Continental European nations, the Germans, both here and in Germany, behave the best towards the North. I mean the genuine German people. Thinkers and rationalists are seldom, if ever, found on the wrong side. I rejoice to see the Germans behave so nobly. _August 5._--The Peterhoff condemned, notwithstanding all the efforts to the contrary of our brilliant, versatile and highly erudite in international laws Secretary of state. But Mr. Seward will not understand the lesson. How could he? _August 5: L. B._--At least for the fiftieth time, Seward insinuates to the public that we are on the eve of a breach with England--but Seward will prevent it. Oh, Oh! Yes, O Seward! when backed by the iron clads and by twenty-two millions of a brave and stubborn people! _August 5: L. B._--Poor Stanton, I pity him! After Weed comes the "little villain," with his puffs. Happily, the _World_ abuses Stanton, and this alone makes up even for the applause of Weed and his consorts. _August 7: L. B._--COFFEY, Assistant Attorney-General, published a legal, official opinion on maritime, commercial _copperheadism_; that is, when an American vessel, from an American port, is sent in ballast to a neutral port to load there, afterwards to run the blockade, Coffey proves it to be treason and criminality. The document is clear, logical, precise and not wordy: not in the style of the State Department logomachy. Why, O why cannot such younger men be at the head! Emancipation would have been carried out, slavery destroyed, the Union restored, rebels crushed, and the French murderers and imperial lackeys would cut very respectful capers to please a great people. _August 8: L. B._--I shudder as I pass in review what little is done at such an enormous expenditure of human limbs and of human life, not to speak of squandered time, labor and money. It seems that the prevailing rule is to reach the smallest results at the greatest possible cost. General Scott, Seward and Lincoln early laid down that rule. McClellan, that quintessence of all unsoldierlike capacities, faithfully continued what was already inaugurated. Halleck almost perfected it; and so it became a chronic disease of the leading spirits in the Administration, Stanton and Welles excepted. That sacrilegious, murderous method and rule, at times was forcibly violated by Grant, by Rosecrans, by Banks, by the glorious Farragut, by Admiral Porter. The would-be statesmen either see nothing or do not wish to see what ill-disposed minds could consider to be an almost premeditated slaughter. I know too well that every initiation is with sacrifice or blood. It is a law of progress, absolute, not made by man, but cut out for him by fate or providence. In a stream of his mother's life-blood man enters this world; by the blood of the Redeemer the Christian becomes initiated to another, called a better world. Sacrifice and blood prevail throughout the eons of the initiation of human societies and religions. Through sacrifice and blood the Reformation became a redeemer. Great results are reached at great cost. I am an atom in a generation which, to assert her deep, earnest convictions, never caved in before blood and sacrifice; a generation that has labored and still labors, spreads seed and begins to harvest; a generation which regrets nothing, and cheerfully takes the responsibility of its actions. And with all this, the men of convictions and of undaunted revolutionary courage in Europe, bestowed and bestow more care upon any unnecessary sacrifice of human life than I witness here. By heavens! Marat, Saint Just, Robespierre, could be considered lambs when compared with the _faiseurs_ here. And Marat, Saint Just, and Robespierre were fanatics of ideas: here they are _fanaticised_ by selfishness, intrigue, helplessness and imbecility. _August 9: L. B._--For the last few months men of sound and dispassionate judgment tried to convince me that there is somewhere, in high regions, a settled purpose to prolong the war until the next presidential election. I always disbelieved such assertions; but now, considering all this criminal sluggishness, I begin to believe in the existence of such a criminal purpose. _August 9: L. B._--All the open and secret Copperhead organs raise a shrill cry on account of what they pervert into McClellan's general Report of his unmilitary campaigns. When a commander is in the field, he is in duty bound, as soon as possible, that is, in the next few weeks, to send to his superior or to the Government, a Report of each of his military movements and operations. McClellan ought to have immediately made a Report to the Government after his _bloodless victory_ at Centreville and Manassas; a victory crowned with maple trophies! Then McClellan ought to have sent another Report after the great success at Yorktown, and so on. Every period of his campaign ought to have been separately reported. It is done in all well organized governments and armies, and it is the duty of the staff of the army to prepare such periodical, successive Reports. Even if the sovereign himself takes the field, the staff of the army sends such Reports to the Secretary of War. Nobody stood in the way of McClellan's doing what it was his imperative duty to do, and to do immediately. But it is unheard of that a commander during a year at the head of an army, should take another year to prepare his Report. No self-respecting government would allow such an insubordination, or accept such a tardy Report. If a government should act upon such a Report, it would be rather by dismissing from service, etc., the sluggish--if not worse--commander. The so-called "McClellan's Report," concocted by a board of choice Copperheads in New York, and of which the _World's_ hireling was an amanuensis, that production is certainly an elaborate essay on McClellan's campaigns, is certainly bristling with afterthoughts and _post facta_, as pedestals for the fetish's altar. It must have on its face the mark of combination, but not of truth. Such a Report--not written on the spot, in the atmosphere of activity, not written by officers of the staff, not by the Chief-of-staff--such a Report cannot command or inspire any confidence; it has not, and ought not to have any worth in the Government's archives. McClellan may publish his memoirs, or essays, or anything else, and therein may shine this labor of a _dasippus_ assisted by vipers. _August 11: L. B._--In Washington they seem to insist that Grant shall take the command of the Potomac Army. If Grant accepts, he will be a ruined man. Grant ought to have Pope in memory. Grant soon will see stained his glorious and matchless military record. He will not withstand the cliques and the underground intrigues of craving, selfish and unsatisfied ambitions. If Halleck could only know what in a European army any tyro knows, Halleck would make Mr. Lincoln understand that such an appointment must produce confusion, as no regular staffs exist in our army. (I spoke somewhere about it.) _August 13: L. B._--Can it be possible that several from among the Republicans, honest leaders, gravitate towards Lincoln, and already begin to agitate for Lincoln's re-election? If it is so--if the people submit to such an imposition--O, then, genius of history, go in mourning! _August 13: L. B._--The Board appointed by Stanton to investigate into the condition of the Africo-Americans, has published its dissertation--very poor--in the shape of a Report. Stanton intended to do a good thing by appointing that Board. It did not turn out so well as Stanton expected. What is the use of expatiating--as do the three wise men in their Report--on certain psychological qualities and _non-qualities_ of the Africo-American? The paramount question is how to organize the emancipated in their condition of freedom. When Stanton appointed that Board he wished to have elucidated, if not settled, the way and manner in which to deal with the new citizens or semi-citizens; but Stanton was the last man to look for an old psychological re-hash, without any social or moral signification whatever; a re-hash whose axioms and apothegms are, at least, a quarter of a century _behind_ the scientific elucidations on races, on Africans, even on Anglo-Saxons. _August 15: L. B._--Weeks ago Grant sent his Report, embracing the various operations connected with the fall of Vicksburgh. Grant did not want a year to make a school-boy like composition, as did McClellan with his quill-holders. Every word of Grant's Report resounds with military spirit and simplicity. Grant has not to put truth on the rack and throw dust into people's eyes. Three cheers for McClellan! Grant has confidence in the volunteers; not so McClellan, who had only confidence in shams. Grant and his army, at the best, were the second sons of the Administration--not of the people; to the last day McClellan was the pet, the spoiled child, and as such he disgraced his parents, tutors, etc., and ruined his parent's house. _August 15._--A letter published by the Honorable W. Whiting, (who is now traveling,) occasions much noise. The letter is pointed and keen, but the writer knows mighty little about international laws. Almost _a priori_ he recognizes in the rebels, as he says, "only the rights of belligerents." Only the rights of belligerents! Such rights are very ample, and for this reason they belong in their plenitude exclusively to absolutely independent nations. To recognize _a priori_ such rights in the rebels, is equivalent to recognizing them as an independent nation. In pure and absolute principle of modern (not Roman) _jus gentium_, rebels have not only no belligerent rights, but not any rights at all. Rebels are _ipso facto_ outlaws in full. Writers like Abbe Galiano, Vatel, etc., for the sake of humanity and expediency, recommend to the lawful sovereign to use mercy, to treat rebels _in parte_ as belligerents, and not as _a priori_ condemned criminals. _August 16: L. B._--Seward is to promenade the diplomats over the country. He is Barnum, the diplomats are the menagerie. Poor Lord Lyons. Very probably it is Seward's last rocket to draw upon himself the attention of the people. _August 16. L. B._--The probabilities of a rupture with France are upon the public mind. I still misbelieve it. I have not the slightest doubt that the _Decembriseur_ is full of treachery towards the North, and that his Imperialist lackeys blow brimstone against the Northern principles. But are the French people so debased as to submit? We shall see. Let that crowned conspirator begin a war of treason against the North. Before long the French people will put an end to the war and to the Decembriseur. _August 16. L. B._--I learn that Watson has very gravely injured his health by labor, that is, by being the most faithful servant of the country and of its cause. I never, anywhere in my life, met a public officer so undaunted at his duties, so unassuming, so quiet as Watson, in his duties of Assistant Secretary of War, which are as thorny as can be imagined. Watson was, and I hope will be for the future, the terror of lobbyists, of bad contractors, of jobbers--in one word, the terror of all the leeches of the people's pocket. And it honors Stanton to have brought into his Department such a man as Watson. I heard and hear, and read a great many accusations against Stanton; but I never found any proofs which could virtually diminish my confidence. To use a classical, stupid, rhetorical figure: Stanton is not of antique mould. And who is now? But he is a sincere, devoted and ardent patriot; he broadly comprehends the task and the duty to save the country, and he sees clearly and distinctly the ways and means to reach the sacred aim. Stanton may have, and very many assert that he has, numerous bristles in his character, in his deportment. Let it be so. It is the worse for him, but not for the cause he serves. _August 16. L. B._--Are the people again to receive a President from the hand of intriguers, from politicians, or from honest imbeciles? If the people will stand it, then they deserve to be kept in leading strings by all that medley. _August 16. L. B._--Rosecrans wants mounted infantry. The men of the day, the men who understand and comprehend the exigencies, the necessities of the war, they pierce through the rotten crust of fogyism. That is promise and hope. The great organizers of the army--the McClellans and the Hallecks--could never have found out that mounted infantry is necessary, and will render good service. Mounted infantry was not considered a necessity in the West Point halls, and Jomini mentions it not. How should a Halleck do so? _August 17. L. B._--A defender of slavery, a Copperhead, and a traitor, differ so little from each other, that a microscope magnifying ten thousand times would not disclose the difference. A proslaveryist, a Copperhead, and a traitor, are the most perfect _tres in unum_. _August 18. L. B._--General Meade is absent from the army, and Humphreys, his chief-of-staff, is temporarily in command. I notice this fact as a proof that a more rational, intelligent comprehension prevails in the military service. A chief-of-staff is the only man to be the _locum-tenens_ of the commander. At Williamsport Humphreys voted for fight. It would be well if Meade should not return to again take the command. _August 18._--A patriotic gentlewoman asked me why I write a diary? "To give conscientious evidence before the jury appointed by history." _August 20._--On the first day of the draft, I had occasion to visit New York. All was quiet. In Broadway and around the City Hall I saw less soldiers than I expected. The people are quiet; the true conspirators are thunderstruck. Before long, the names will be known of the genuine instigators of arson and of murder in July last. The tools are in the hands of justice, but the main spirits are hidden. Smart and keen wretches as are the leading Copperheads, they successfully screen their names; nevertheless before long their names will be nailed to the gallows. The _World_--which, for weeks and weeks, so devotedly, so ardently poisoned the minds, and thus prepared the way for any riot--the _World_ was and is a tool in the hands of the hidden traitors. The _World_ is a hireling, and does the work by order. _August 21. L. B._--The final destiny of the Potomac Army seems to be to keep Lee at bay but not to attack him. Oh! the disgraced soldiers and officers! Chickahominy, Antietam, Fredericksburgh, Gettysburgh, are the indestructible evidences of the mettle of the army, and of the poverty or total eclipse of generalship. _August 21._--Impressionable, excitable, wave-like agitated as are my dear American countrymen, they altogether forget _the yesterday_, and shout the last success. Further: the people cannot see clearly through the stultifying or the dirty dust blown in the peoples' eyes; 1st, by the politicians of all hues, from the Woods, Weeds, Forneys, to the Greeleys, by the simon-pures or the lobby-impures; 2d, by the press of all parties and shades of parties. The people may again make a mistake. Is not Lincoln hailed as the new Moses? as the man for the times, as the only one God sent to direct the people, and to grapple with the stern, earnest emergencies and perils? Emancipation is not Lincoln's, is not Sumner's, is not anybody's personal special work. The necessities, the emergencies of the times and of the hour did it. Their current drifted Mr. Lincoln irresistibly along, and to a shore where he must land or perish. _August 23. L. B._--From the tone of certain papers, and from private letters, I perceive that Weed-Seward are hard at work to pacify, to reunite, to save slavery and to leave unnoticed humanity and national honor. The unterrified Democrats become Weed's allies, and the alliance is to carry Seward into the White House. _Nous verrons._ Chase is to overturn Seward-Weed and to secure the prize. Oh, the intriguers. On the authority of the published "DIARY," I am asked, even by letters, "Where is Stanton?" "I do not know, and I do not care," is my answer. I would however, like to be sure that Stanton is not in that dirty path. I am Stanton's man, as they call it; but only as long as I find him to be _a man_. _August 24. L. B._--The Democrats are arrogant in asserting their superior capacity for government, for carrying on the war, and for other great things. However, I am sure that the so-called Northern Democrats would have managed the affairs even worse than do now those sham representatives of the principles of the Republican party. No faith in a fundamental human, broad principle ever actuated the hard shell Democrats. McClellan and the immense majority of generals, have been, or are full-blooded Democrats, and their warlike prowess dragged the people into deep, deep mire. Democrats have to thank God for not being in power; in this way their incapacity to cope with such gigantic events is not exposed. The other fortunate occurrence for the Democrats is that the power-holders for the Republican party are--what everybody sees. _August 24. L. B._--I very strongly and urgently advised Gen. Wadsworth to resign. No one in the country has fulfilled more nobly his civic and patriotic duty. I urged upon his mind that when the war is finished, the cause of right, of justice, the interests of a genuine self-government will require true men to rescue the people from the hands of the politicians. Vainly I remonstrated. Wadsworth prefers to remain in the service, and to fight the monster. _August 24. L. B._--_Chasiana._ The New York leaders of the Chase scheme make all possible efforts and platitudes to _conciliate_ Weed and win him over. What dregs all around! The immaculate Chase! to look for support to a Weed! To Weed-Seward, who for twenty-five years fanned the anti-slavery flame! Seward, whom the anti-slavery wave elevated where he is, and who now kicks and spits upon the men most ardent in the cause of emancipation! O dregs! O dregs! _August 24: L. B._--The question of confiscation drags itself slowly on, and soon it may resound in the courts of the whole country. If confiscation is ever stringently executed, it will generate law-suits _ad libitum_ and _ad infinitum_. From the first day when the banner of rebellion was unfolded, _each State_ became an _outlaw_ in its relations with the Union. Such a rebel State has not a legal existence, and any legal act whatever between individual members--or rather, politically, sovereigns in and of the State--such acts are valueless in relation to the lawful sovereign, as is the Union. The Confiscation Act is based on a wrong principle--the right to confiscate the whole rebel property in America. This right is derived from the public law. A conqueror of a country becomes _ipso facto_ the proprietor of all that belonged to the conquered sovereign and what is called public property, as domains, taxes, revenues, public institutions, etc. The rebels claim to be sovereigns--that is each freeman in each respective State is a respective sovereign. The area of such revolted State, with all the lands, cultivated or uncultivated, with the farms, and all industrial, mercantile or mining establishments whatever, is the property of the sovereign, or of the sovereigns. Property of a, or of many sovereigns, is in its whole nature a public property, and as such, _ipso facto_, is liable to be confiscated by the conqueror. _August 24: L. B._--The massacre at Lawrence, Kansas, must exclusively be credited to those who appointed for that region a pro-slavery military commander. But the power-holders are not troubled by more or less blood, by more or less victims of their incapacity and double-dealing! _August 25: L. B._--Any future historian must beware not to seek light in the newspapers of this epoch. The so-called good press throws no light on events; that press is not in the hands of statesmen or of thinkers, or of ardent students of human events, or of men having for their aim any pursuits of science or knowledge. The luminaries of the press are no beacons for the people during this bloody and deadly tempest! For the sake of what is called political capital, the most simple fact often becomes distorted and upturned by this political, short-sighted, and selfishly envious press. _August 26: L. B._--All things considered, the inflation of the currency and the rise in gold has proved to be beneficial to the country. The agricultural interest, above all, in the West, was particularly sustained thereby. Wheat and grain would have fallen to prices ruinous for the farmers. When the gold fell, the farmer felt it by the reduction of the price of his produce. The agriculturist, the backbone and marrow of the country, spends less money for manufactured products than he netted clear profits by the rise in gold. If the farmer sold now his wheat for six shillings, without inflation the price might have been four shillings, and then the farmer would have been bankrupt, unable to pay the taxes. The inflation saved the greatest interest in the country. And thus agriculture and industry flourish, the country is not ruined, is not bankrupt, as the European wiseacres took great pleasure in foreboding that it would be. So much for _absolute_ laws of political economy. _August 27: L. B._--The New York Republican papers insinuate that a Mr. Evarts, who was sent to Europe by Mr. Seward, has given assurances to European governments that slavery will be abolished. If such declaration was needed, why not make it through the regular representatives of the country, as are Mr. Adams and Mr. Dayton? Mr. Seward is incorrigible. I am curious to know where he learned this original mode of _diplomatizing_. Such unofficial, confidential, semi-confidential agents confuse European governments. They inspire very little, if any respect for our statesmanship, and are offensive to our regularly appointed ministers. What must the crown lawyers in England have thought of Mr. Evart's great mastery of international laws? _August 30._--Our military powers in Washington, led on and inspired by Halleck, cannot put an end to guerrillas, or rather to those highwaymen who rob, so to speak, at the military gates of Washington. Lieber-Halleck-Hitchcock's treatise frightened not the guerrillas, but most assuredly the gallows will do it. Everywhere else the like banditti would be summarily treated; and these would-be guerrillas here are evidences of the uttermost social dissolution. They are no soldiers, no guerrillas, and deserve no mercy. _August 31: L. B._--According to the _Tribune_, Mr. Lincoln deserves all the credit for General Gilmore's success before Charleston. There we have it! Mr. Lincoln, outdoing Carnot for military sagacity and capacity, Mr. Lincoln approved Gilmore's plans. Mr. Lincoln-Halleck aiding--at once understood the laws of ballistics, and other _et ceteras_ which underlay the plan of every siege. And now to doubt that Lincoln, with his Halleck, are military geniuses! O _Tribune_! _August 31: L. B._--I learned that Grant most positively refused to accept the command of the Potomac Army. They cannot ruin Grant--they will neutralize him. SEPTEMBER, 1863. Jeff Davis -- Incubuerunt -- O, Youth! -- Lucubrations -- Genuine Europe -- It is forgotten -- Fremont -- Prof. Draper -- New Yorkers -- Senator Sumner's Gauntlet -- Prince Gortschakoff -- Governor Andrew -- New Englanders -- Re-elections -- Loyalty -- Cruizers -- Matamoras -- Hurrah for Lincoln -- Rosecrans -- Strategy -- Sabine Pass, etc., etc., etc. _September 1: L. B._--Jeff Davis is to emancipate eight hundred thousand slaves--calls them to arms, and promises fifty acres of land to each. Prodigious, marvellous, wonderful--if true. Jeff Davis will become immortal! With eight hundred thousand Africo-Americans in arms, Secession becomes consolidated--and Emancipation a fixed fact, as the eight hundred thousand armed will emancipate themselves and their kindred. Lincoln emancipates by tenths of an inch, Jeff Davis by the wholesale. But it is impossible, as--after all--such a step of the rebel chiefs is as much or even more, a death-warrant of their political existence, as the eventual and definitive victory of the Union armies would be. If the above news has any foundation in truth, then the sacredness of the principle of right and of liberty is victoriously asserted in such a way as never before was any great principle. The most criminal and ignominious enterprise recorded in history, the attempt to make human bondage the corner-stone of an independent polity, this attempt ending in breaking the corner-stone to atoms, and by the hands of the architects and builders themselves. Satan's revolt was virtuous, when compared with that of the Southern slavers, and Satan's revolt ended not in transforming Hell into an Eden, as will be the South for the slaves when their emancipation is accomplished. Emancipation, _n'importe par qui_, must end in the reconstruction of the Union. _September 2: L. B._--Garibaldi to Lincoln. The letter, if genuine, is well-intentioned trash. I am afraid that this prolific letter-writing will use up Garibaldi. It seems that in letter-writing Garibaldi intends to rival Lincoln or Seward. _September 3: L. B._--More and more manifestations in favor of Lincoln's re-election. All the New York Republican papers begin to be lined with Lincoln. And thus politicians in and out of the press will-- _Incubuerunt mare (people) totumque a sedibus imis._ _September 3: L. B._--In the great Barnum diplomatic tour, Seward killed under him nearly all the diplomats, and returned to Washington in company with one. Poor Europe, and its representatives, to be used up in such a way! But it is only the official Europe, the crowned privileged stratum patched up with rotten relics of massacre (December 2d,) of official, regal heartlessness and of servile cunning. That crust presses down the genuine Europe, the marrow of mankind. The genuine Europe is ardent, noble, progressive and coruscant; and from Cadiz to the White Sea, that genuine Europe is on the side of freedom, on the side of the North. _September 3: L. B._--Lincoln to Grant, July 13. This letter shows how the President dabbles in military operations. It clearly establishes Mr. Lincoln's right to be considered at least a Carnot, if not a Napoleon, _vide_ the Republican newspapers. _September 3: L. B._--State Conventions, and the old party-hacks under arms. Will not the younger generation rise in its might, break the chains of this intellectual subserviency, scatter the hacks to the winds, take the lead, enlighten the masses, find out new, not used-up men, brains and hearts, for the sacred duty of serving the people. To witness so much intelligence, knowledge, ardor, elasticity, clear-sightedness as animate the American youth, to witness all this subdued, curbed by the hacks!--O, youth, awake! It is the most sacred duty of the younger generation, to rescue the country from the hands of the old politicians of every kind; to call to political paramount activity the better and purer agencies. It is a task as emphatically, nay, even more, urgent and meritorious than emancipation of the Africo-Americans. _September 4: L. B._--In their official or unofficial quality, numerous Americans amorously dabble in International questions and laws. How much the _rights of war_, etc., have been discussed; how many letters, signed, anonymous, official and unofficial, have been published--and very little, if any light thrown on these questions. What a cruel fate of a future historian, who, if conscientious, will be obliged to read all these darkness-spreading lucubrations! _September 5: L. B._--Mr. Lincoln's letter to the Illinois Convention stirs up the whole country. It is a very, _very_ good manifesto,--had it not a terrible YESTERDAY. It is a heavy bid for re-election and may secure it. The Americans forget the _yesterday_, and Mr. Lincoln's _yesterday!_ ... is full of shiftings, hesitations, mistakes which draw out the people's life-blood. The people will forget that a man of energy and of firm purpose in the White House, such a man would have at once clearly seen his way, and then a year ago rebellion and slavery would have been crushed. A man of energy would not have had for his familiar demons, the Scotts, the Sewards, the Blairs, the border-state politicians, the Weeds, etc. _September 5: L. B._--The siege of Charleston _tire en longueur_; it has cost thousand of lives and millions upon millions, and will still cost more. And it is already forgotten that when nearly two years ago Sherman and Dupont took Port Royal, Charleston and Savannah were defenceless; it is forgotten that Sherman asked for orders to siege the two cities, _but such were not given_ from Washington, because Mr. Lincoln-Seward (literally) was afraid to get possession of the focuses of rebellion, and General McClellan, with one hundred and fifty thousand men in Washington, could not bear the idea that the rebels should be disturbed either in Centerville or in their _chivalric_ homes in South Carolina. It is forgotten that civil and military leaders and chiefs then and there refused to deal a death blow to the rebellion. And as I am _en train_ to recall to memory what is already forgotten, and what the Illinois letter intends to wholly erase from the people's memory; I go on. In the first days and months after the explosion of the rebellion, Mr. Lincoln was as innocent of any wish to emancipate the slaves, as could be a Seward, or a Yancey, or McClellan, or a Magruder or a Wise or a Halleck. All this is forgotten. It is forgotten that General Butler is the earliest initiator of emancipation, and that to him exclusively belongs the word and the fact of an emancipated _contraband_. It is forgotten that when Butler began to emancipate the contrabands, the _big men_ in the Administration, Lincoln, General Scott, and Seward, became almost frantic against Butler for thus introducing the "nigger" into the struggle. The fate of Fremont is forgotten. Fremont was ahead of the times. Fremont emancipated when Lincoln-Seward-Scott-Blair, etc., heartily wished to save and preserve slavery. Down went Fremont. Early in the summer of 1861 General Fremont wished to do what was now accomplished by the, until yet, _sans pareil_ Grant--that is, to clear the Mississippi at a time when neither Island No. 10, nor Vicksburgh, nor Port Hudson nor any other port was fortified. But the plan displeased and frightened the powers in Washington. Fremont was never to be pardoned for having shown farsightedness when _the great men_ deliberately blindfolded themselves. Fremont might not be a Napoleon, not a captain; Fremont committed military mistakes,--other generals commit military crimes. The angel of justice very easily will white-wash Fremont from military responsibility for the unnecessary waste of human life; and with all his various faults Fremont's aspirations are patriotic and lofty, and he is by far a better and nobler man than all his revilers put together. But all this seems to be forgotten. It is, or will be forgotten, what a bloody trail over the North is left, and has been imprinted by the half measures, the indecisions, and the vascillations of the Administration. The medley composed of politicians, jobbers, contractors, and newspapers, already scream "Hosanna," and attempt to spatter with lies and dust the road to the White House, and thus to prepare the way. And the medley already shakes hands, and enemies kiss each other, because if their _elect_ succeeds, there will be peace over, and pickings for all the world. But the justice of history will overtake them all, and the better, younger generation will crush them to atoms. _September 6. L. B._--Wilkes' _Spirit of the Times_ maintains its paramount, independent position in the American press. I cannot detect any shadow of a politician in its columns. It is all over independent and patriotic. The _Spirit_ fights the miscreants. "_Principles not men_," is an axiom, but the axiom must be well understood and applied, and it has its limitations. Are bad, worthless, insincere, selfish men to be the agencies and the factors of great and lofty principles? Is such a thing possible? Is the example of Judas forgotten? O, you Bible-reading people, can Judases and rotten consciences carry out good principles? The press that teaches and preaches _principles not men_, that never dares to attack bad men in its own ranks, such a press betrays the confidence of the people, and degrades below expression the elevated and noble position which the press ought to occupy in the development of the progress of human society. _September 6._--Computing together and comparing the mental and intellectual characteristics, the manifestations and utterances of passions in the Africo American and in the Irish of the Iro-Roman nursery, the anthropologist, the psychologist and the philosopher must give the palm to the Africo-American. And nevertheless Doctors of Divinity and many truly religious men plead in favor of slavery, that is, of brute force. I ask all such to meditate the words of Professor J. W. DRAPER, in his great and profound _History of the Intellectual Development of Europe: That brute force must give way to intellect, and that even the meanest human being has rights in the sight of God._ _September 10: New York._--Head-quarters of all kinds of politicians, of schemers, of perpetrators of treasonable attempts, of falsifiers, of poisoners of the people's mind. The rendezvous of those who devour the vitals of the country--who, as contractors, jobbers, brokers, stock and gold speculators, _agioteurs_, etc. are the most ardent patriots, and wish that the war may be indefinitely continued. In the columns of the _Herald_ the future historian will find the best information concerning all that--not-blessed race. The race deserves to be recorded and _scavenged_ in the _Herald_. And nevertheless New York contains the most pure and the most devoted patriots. New York and New Yorkers have been foremost in coming to the rescue when the matricide rebels dealt their first blow. From New York came the best and the most energetic urgings on the gasping and vascillating Administration. The New Yorkers originated the Sanitary Commission, for which I can find no words of sufficiently warm praise. New York contains many young, fresh, elevated and noble minds and intellects. Why, O why do some of them disappear in the muddy part of the great city, and others are overawed and overleaped by the hacks and by the politicians, or the so-called wire-pullers. _September 10. New York._--It is the place to ascertain the manoeuvres of political schemers. Those who know, most emphatically assure me of the existence of the following _Sewardiana_. 1. Seward has given up in despair all dreams of finding people to back him for the next Presidency. 2. Seward hesitated between McClellan and Banks, 3. And finally settled on Lincoln; 4. And although afraid of being finally shelved by Lincoln, he advocates Lincoln's re-election-- 5. As being the paramount means to politically murder Chase. Oh American people! Oh American people! how those foul political pilferers dice for thy blood and thy destinies! Years ago, I justified the existence and asserted the necessity of politicians in the political public life of America. I considered them an unavoidable and harmless result of free democratic institutions. [See "America and Europe."] At that time I observed the politician from a distance, and reasoned on him altogether metaphysically, after the so-called German fashion. Since 1861 I have come into personal contact with the genus politician--and oh! what a monstrous breed they are! _September 10. New York._--Senator Sumner on our foreign relations. The Senator enumerates all the violations of good comity, of international duties, of the obligations of neutrals, violations so deliberately and so maliciously perpetrated by England and by France. But why has the Senator forgotten to ascend to one of the paramount causes? Previous to England or France, the State Department in Washington and Mr. Lincoln recognized in the rebels _the condition of belligerents_. It was done by the Proclamation instituting the blockade. The _Blue Book_ fully proves that already months before Mr. Lincoln's inauguration the English Government had a perfect knowledge of the vascillating policy which was to be inaugurated after March 1, 1861. At the same time, the English Government knew well that already previous to March 4, the rebel conspirators were fully decided on carrying out their treacherous aim across streams of blood. A long war was imminent, and a recognition of the rebels as _in parte_ belligerents, could not have been avoided. A part of the English nation, a part of the English Cabinet, was and is overflowing with the most malicious ill will, and such ones crave for an occasion to satisfy their hatred. But our domestic and foreign policy singularly served our English ill-wishers. I deeply regret that the Senator preferred the halls of the Cooper Institute to the hall of the United States Senate; that he threw the gauntlet to Europe as a lecturer, when for days and months he could have done it so authoritatively as a Senator of the United States; could have done it from his senatorial chair, and in the fulfilment of the most sacred public and patriotic duty. How could the Senator thus belittle one of the most elevated political positions in the world, that of a Senator of the United States? Not so happy is the part of the lecture concerning _Intervention_. It is rather sentimental than statesmanlike. _Intervention_ is, and will remain, an act of physical, material force, and history largely teaches that _Intervention_, even for higher moral purposes, was always exercised by the strong against the weak, the strong always invoking "higher motives." Thus did the Romans; and about a century ago, the Powers which partitioned Poland began by an _Intervention_, justified on "higher moral, etc. grounds." _September 11: New York._--Prince Gortschakoff's answer to the demonstration of lying, hypocritical, official diplomatic sympathies made in favor of the Poles by the cabinets of France, of England, and of Austria. The Gortschakoff notes are masterpieces for their clear, quiet, but bold and decided exposition and argument, and in the records of diplomacy those notes will occupy the most prominent place. O, why cannot Mr. Seward learn from Gortschakoff how not to put gas in such weighty documents? Could Seward learn how to be earnest, precise and clear, without spread-eagleism? The greater and stronger a nation, the less empty phraseology is needed when one speaks in the nation's name. _September 15._--Returned to Washington. From what I see and hear, Mr. Lincoln is earnestly and hard at work to secure his re-election. I hope that Mr. Lincoln is as earnest in his efforts to destroy Lee's army and to put an end to the guerrillas who rob to the right and to the left, and under the nose of the supreme military authorities. Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, always the same--active, intelligent, clear and far-sighted. Andrew is the man to act for, and in the name of the most intelligent community on the globe, which the State of Massachusetts undoubtedly is. As I have observed several times, Andrew is among the leading (_Americanize_, tip-top,) men of the younger generation, is no politician, and never was one. If a civilian is to be elected to the Presidency, Andrew ought to be the choice of the people, if the people will be emancipated from the politicians. I learn that that monster, the politician, has almost wholly disappeared from New England, above all from Massachusetts. The New England people are too earnest and too intelligent to be the prey of the monster. Sound reason throttled the politician. All hail to this result of the bloody storm! I hope the other States will soon follow the example of Massachusetts. The State of Massachusetts and the city of Boston noiselessly spend millions for their coast and harbor defences. Governor Andrew has the confidence of the people, and is untiring in procuring the best war material. He sent an agent to England to buy heavy guns. If the English government take in sail, if it come to its senses and cease to be the rebels' army and navy arsenal, then all this will be due to such quiet and decisive active demonstrations as that above mentioned in Boston, in Massachusetts, and the similar activity of the New Yorkers, and not at all to any persuasive arguments of Mr. Seward's dispatches. _September 16._--Mr. Seward is slightly mending his ways. His last circular for the foreign market is considerably sobered, and almost barren of prophecy. Almost no spread-eagleism, no perversion, although geography and history, of course, are a little maltreated. And so, Mr. Prophet, you at least recognize the utility of arming the Africo-Americans. And who is it that openly and by secret advice and influence in the cabinet and out of it, who, during more than a year, did his utmost to counteract all the efforts to emancipate and to arm the oppressed? _September 16._--The draft is seriously complained of, and the drafted desert in all directions. To tell the truth, drafting is odious to every nation, whatever be its government. But it is a dire necessity, and it is impossible to avoid or to turn it. The draft became here imperatively necessary by the long uninterrupted chain of helplessness and mismanagement of events, the sacrifice of blood and of time. But for the advice of the Scotts, of the Sewards, of the Blairs, but for the military prowess of McClellan and his _minions_, but for the high military science of a Halleck, Mr. Lincoln would not have been obliged to draft. In the West, everything is action, operation and victory. Grant, Rosecrans, Banks, their officers and soldiers honor the American name; even good Burnside acts and succeeds;--but here the Army of the Potomac is observing and watching Lee's brow! McClellan's spirit seems still to permeate these blessed generals, and then Halleckiana, and then God knows what. The fear of losing won laurels probably palsies the brains of the commanders; at any rate it is certain that the inactivity of the Potomac army throws unsurpassed splendor on the annals of this war. O, the brave, brave soldiers and officers! how they are maltreated! _September 16._--Matamoras will fall into the hands of the _Decembriseur's_ freebooters, and then Texas will be almost lost. Matamoras ought long ago to have been seized by us, or at least very closely blockaded and surrounded; then all the war-contraband to Texas would have had an end. In 1861, when microscopical specks began to loom over Mexico's destinies, when the _Decembriseur_ began to feel the pulse of Spain and of England, I most respectfully suggested to Mr. Seward to blockade Matamoras. No foreign country or government could call us to account for such a step, if the Mexican government would not protest. And it was so easy to satisfy and hush the Mexican liberals. Besides, a paragraph in the treaty of Mexico expressly stipulates that any violation of the respective territory will not be considered as a _casus belli_, but the case will be peacefully investigated, etc., etc. Surely the Mexican government would have preferred to see Matamoras in our hands, than in those of that bloody Forey's bands. _September 17._--"Loyalty," "loyalty," resounds from all sides. Loyalty to principles? Why, no. Loyalty to Mr. Lincoln and to his official crew. If such maxims mark not the downfall of manhood, then I am at loss to find what does. Such a construction of loyalty brings many otherwise honest and intelligent men to foster Mr. Lincoln's re-election. _September 17._--At the beginning of the war, Lord John Russell issued orders for the regulation of the English ports in cases of belligerents. Our great Doctor of International Law in the State Department mistook such municipal, English regulations; he considers them to be absolute international rules and principles, and concocts instructions for our cruisers, instructions which smell as if written under Lord Lyons' dictation. As always, Neptune stands up for the national interests and for the interests of his tars, because the instructions concocted by the Doctor make it impossible for our cruisers to fulfill their duties. As always, Mr. Lincoln bends rather towards the Doctor, who in his world-embracing _humanitarianism_ defends the interests of all the neutrals at the cost of the interests of the country and of our brave navy. The Doctor was right when, some time ago, he compared himself to Christ. _September 17._--The border-State politicians establish that the revolted States are not out of the Union. The States are no abstractions, no metaphysical notions, but geographical and political entities. They are States because they are peopled with individuals, free, intelligent, and who, to give a legality to their rebellion, claim to be sovereigns. It is not the soil constituting a State that represents a sovereignty, but the soil or State acquires political signification through the population dwelling in or on it. When the population revolted, the State revolted. From Jeff Davis to the lowest "clay-eater," each rebel who took up arms claims to have done this in the exercise of his sovereign will and choice. The revolt quashed all privileges conceded by the Union to a State, and the Union reconquers its property in reconquering the former States. _September 18._--Hurrah for Lincoln! He sends an expedition to Texas, say his admirers. He forgets nothing. Well, why has Lincoln forgotten Texas all this time? Notwithstanding all the prayers of the Texans and of the northern patriots, I am not sure that at this moment it is expedient to break up our armies into smaller expeditions instead of concentrating them in Tennessee, Georgia, and here. Strike on the head or at the heart if you wish to kill the monster, but not at its extremities. But perhaps the Government and Halleck have men enough to do the one and the other. But why not put at the head of the Texan expedition a noble, high-minded, devoted patriot, such as General Hamilton, instead of putting a Franklin, unknown to the Texans, who can inspire no confidence, and of whom the best that can be said is, that he never succeeded in anything, and disorganized everything. See Pope in Virginia, Burnside at Fredericksburgh. If Hamilton, the Texan, is to participate in this expedition, not Lincoln and his advisers put Hamilton there--the pressure exercised by the combined efforts of the governors of New England States did the work. Hurrah for Lincoln and for his crew. _September 19._--Governor Andrew's activity and initiative are admirable. More than any body in the country, Andrew has done to clear up, and to firmly establish the condition of Africo-Americans as soldiers, and to push them up to the level with other men. _September 19._--_Hurrah for Lincoln_, who hurries the organization of Africo-American regiments! Oh yes! he hurries them; _festina lente_. And how many regiments have been organized in Norfolk, which ought to have been established as _the_ central point to attract and to organize contrabands? Is not Virginia the first in the slave States for the number of slaves? In the hands of a clear-sighted man, Norfolk ought to have been used as a glue to which the slaves would have wandered from all parts of Virginia, and even from North Carolina. Norfolk ought to have to-day an army of fifty thousand Africo-Americans born in Virginia, and not a few regiments of them raised in the North. An Africo-American army in Norfolk doubtless would have more impressed Jeff Davis and Lee, than they are impressed by the marches of the commanders of the Potomac army. And what is done? Oh, hurrah for Lincoln! A General Naglee, or of some other name, appointed by Halleck, sustained by Lincoln, and by, who knows whom--commands in Norfolk. This general so appointed, and so sustained is the most devoted worshipper of slavery. This favored general hob-nobs with the slave-making, slave-breeding and slave-selling aristocracy of Norfolk and of the vicinity, looks down upon the _nigger_ with all the haughtiness of a plantation whip, and haughtily snubs off the not slave-breeding Union men in Norfolk, the mechanics, and the small farmers. Mr. Lincoln knows this all and keeps the general. Rhetors roar, Hurrah for Lincoln. _September 19._--Massachusetts and New England men and women! you true apostles! your names are unknown but they are recorded by the genius of humanity. These men and women feel what is the true apostolate. They follow our armies, take care of the contrabands, take care of poor whites, establish schools for the children and for the grown up of both hues, and thus they reorganize society. O sneer at them you fashionables, you flirts, you ...; but such men and women, and not you, make one believe in the highest destinies of our race. _September 20._--Grant is the only general who accomplished an object, showed high, soldier-like qualities, organized and commanded an excellent army. But scarcely had _Grant_ taken Vicksburgh, when his army was broken up and scattered in all directions, he himself was neutralized and reduced to inactivity. It could be considered a crime against the people's cause--but--hurrah for Lincoln. After the shame of Corinth, 1862, the Western army disappeared in the same way. But it was nobody's fault, oh no! So it is nobody's fault that Grant is shelved. Will a man start up in the next Congress and call the malefactors to account? _September 20._--This day, General Meade has about eighty thousand men. General Meade himself estimates the enemy's forces in front of him at no more than forty thousand men, and General Meade does nothing beyond feeling his way. O, cunctator! _September 20._--The partisans of Mr. Lincoln admit that he came slowly _to the mark_, but he came to it. Of course, better late than never, but in Mr. Lincoln's case, the people's honor and the people's blood paid for Mr. Lincoln's experimental ways. Mr. Lincoln may now be serious in a great many matters, but if he could have been serious a year ago--how much money would have been economized? Hurrah for Lincoln! _September 21._--Rosecrans worsted. Burnside joined him not. They say that Burnside disobeyed orders. I doubt it, and would wish to see what orders have been given. Meade or Halleck quietly allow a third of Lee's army to go and help to crush Rosecrans. _September 21._--General Franklin was, in his own way, successful at the Sabine Pass, as every where. But how could the government entrust him with this expedition? He graduated _first_ at West Point. Washingtonians and tip-top West Pointers speak highly of Franklin. Enough!-- _September 22._--The rebels concentrated every available and fighting man on Chattanooga; we scattered our forces to all winds. The rebels march on concentrating lines, we select radii running out in the infinite, or in opposite directions. That is the head quarters paramount strategy. Rosecrans is worsted. Hurrah for Lincoln, who believes in Halleck! And to know, as I know, that our army and country has young men who could carry on the war better in darkness than Lincoln-Halleck do in broad daylight! _September 22._--By depleting the banks by means of loans, by establishing the so-called National Bank, by creating an army of officials, by taking into his hands the traffic in the great staple of the rebel States, by providing the South with the various Northern products, by holding all the money in his hand, Mr. Chase concentrated into his hand a patronage never held by any secretary, nay, scarcely if ever, held by a president. Mr. Chase has more patronage than even any constitutional king. It is to be seen how all this will end. _September 22._--On all sides I hear the question put, Who is Gilmore? It seems to me that Gilmore is one of the men generated by new events and not by Washington or West Point estimation. It seems to me that Gilmore may be one of the representative men of the better generation, so luxuriant here, and whose advent to power would save the country; a generation who alone can give the last solution, and whose advent I expect as the Jews expected the Messiah, and I shall hail it as did Anna, Elizabeth, Simeon, etc. put together. _September 23._--As a result of the Meade-Halleck combined military wisdom, a part of Lee's army fought Rosecrans at Chattanooga, and may in a very short time be again in Virginia, and it is nobody's fault. O strategy! thy name is imbecility! _September 23._--Better news from Rosecrans. The stubbornness of the troops, the stubbornness of General Thomas saved the day. Reinforcements join Rosecrans now. But why not previous to the battle? If Rosecrans had had men enough on the 19th and 20th, then Bragg would have been broken, and the rebels almost on their last legs. But perhaps such glory and victory are not needed! Hurrah for Lincoln! _September 24._--Many of Mr. Lincoln's partisans admit that at the most favorable calculation, the results obtained up to to-day by the war and by emancipation, could easily have been obtained by a smaller expenditure of life, blood, money and time, if any will, and foresight, and energy presided at the helm. And, nevertheless, hurrah for Lincoln! And the highest destinies of the principle of self-government to again be trusted in such hands! _September 24._--How could Meade let Lee send troops to Bragg, and why Meade attacked or attacks not? Those rebel generals show but little consideration for our commanders, and it would be curious to know what Lee and his companions think of our Marses. It seems that a conception of a plan of campaign or of a military operation is altogether beyond the reach of Meade's _cerebellum_. As commander of a division, of a corps, Meade had _dash in him_--he lost all when elevated above the level. I am sure that Stanton urges or urged Meade to do something, without telling him how or where. Had Lincoln, had Halleck meddled? If so, Meade ought to tell it. The best to do for a commander of the Army of the Potomac is to keep his secrets to himself and have in his confidence only his chief-of-staff--not to tell them to any one in the camp, and still less to any one in Washington. But it seems that Meade had no plan whatever in view, and had no secrets to keep or to tell. _September 25._--It is to-day exactly a week since Rosecrans was attacked. At the head-quarters they ought to have known Rosecrans' force, and the imperative, the paramount necessity of reinforcing him in time, as they _ought_ to have known that Lee sent to Bragg a part of his army. But probably the precious head of the head-quarters is confused by some translation, or by reading proof-sheets instead of reports. By simply looking on the map, the head-quarters--perhaps headless--ought to have found out that Chattanooga and Atlanta are the keys of the black country, and that the rebels--who neither write silly books nor translate--will concentrate all available forces to stop Rosecrans's advance, and eventually to crush him. Weeks ago the head-quarters ought to have reinforced Rosecrans; it is done to-day, a week after the defeat. Hurrah for Lincoln, who sustains a Halleck! One of the most cautious men that I met in life, and who is in a position to be well informed, in the most cautious and distant manner suggested to me that Rosecrans is obnoxious to the head-quarters, and that in G street, Washington, they may have wished to see Rosecrans worsted. Hurrah for Lincoln! Halleck is his true prophet! Shake an apple tree, and the foul fruit falls down; and so it is with Halleck's western military combinations. All the army of Grant running dispersed on centrifugal radii, Burnside sent in a direction opposite to Rosecrans. Bravo, Halleck! You outdo McClellan! _September 25._--It seems that with a little, a very little dash, we could go in the rear of Lee, who is weakened by sending troops to crush Rosecrans. But we have given Lee time to fortify his position, and of course we will wait until Lee is again strong, either by position or by numbers. Then we march a few miles onwards, more miles backwards, and what not? What splendid combinations coruscate from the head-quarters here, or in the army! Cæsar, Napoleon, Frederick, bow your heads in dust before our great captains! _September 26._--It seems that at Chattanooga the rebels massed their infantry in columns _per_ battalion, and Crittenden's and McCook's troops could not withstand the attack. It was not at West Point that the rebel generals learned the like continental tactics. It seems that the rebels like to learn. _September 27._--In defence of the _Franklinade_ at the Sabine Pass, it is alleged that the expedition had bad old vessels, and was poorly fitted out. Then why make it? It is a crime in this country to complain of any want of material and of bad vessels--provided no one steals thereby. In America, not to have an adequate material? What an infamous slander on the most industrious people! Not material, but brains, or something else are not adequate. But, of course, it is nobody's fault, and nobody will be taken to account. _September 29._--Hooker is to have a command, and to supersede Burnside. Probably again a separate command. If generals refuse to serve under each other, under the plea of seniority, at once expel such _recalcitrant_ generals from the service; better and younger men will be found. The French Convention beheaded such generals, not on paper, but physiologically. The French Directory was not a master of honesty or energy, but it had sufficient energy to select Napoleon, twenty-six years old, over the heads of older generals, and put him in command of the Army of the Alps, which in his hands became the Army of Italy. And as long as the world shall stand, the consequences of that violation of the rule of seniority will not be forgotten. _September 29._--General Thomas ought to have the command, if Rosecrans failed, but not Hooker or Butterfield. Halleck's _officina_ of military incongruities and to unmilitary combinations ought to be shut up, and the occupants sent about the world. The War Department and the President would get better advice from the young Colonels in the Department, and around Stanton, than it gets from all that concern in G street. _September 29._--The papers say that all over Europe and the rest of the world Seward _ex officio_ scatters Sumner's Cooper Institute oration. Well may Seward do it. Sumner suppressed true events, not to hurt Seward. Now Sumner will find Seward an admirable statesman. _September 30._--The suspension of the _habeas corpus_ makes great noise. It was emphatically necessary. But it would not have been emphatically, indeed not in the least necessary, if the domestic and war policy were different. Then the people would not have been disheartened. If the people's holy enthusiasm--so dreaded in Washington--were not so sacrilegiously misused and squandered, volunteers would be forthcoming. _September 30._--If Lincoln-Halleck could create a military department on the moon, they would instantly send thither some troops and a major-general, so strong is their passion to break up the armies into fragmentary bodies. _September 30._--If this war has already devoured or destroyed three hundred thousand men in dead, crippled, and disabled in various ways, then the responsibility is to be divided as follows: _a_ 100,000 lost by the policy initiated by Lincoln, Seward, Scott. _b_ 100,000 to be credited to McClellan and Halleck's military combinations; Halleck by half with Lincoln. _c_ 100,000 to be credited to the war itself. _September 30._--England mends her ways, and stops the arming of vessels for the rebels. The _Decembriseur_ more and more treacherous--as a matter of course. _September 30._--I understand now, what I never could understand in Europe. I understand how an all polluting power can force into alliance men of strong convictions, but of the most deadly opposite social and political extremes. Such extremes meet in the wish to put an end to a power whom they hate and despise. OCTOBER, 1863. Aghast -- Firing -- Supported -- Russian Fleet -- Opposition -- Amor scelerated -- Cautious -- Mastiffs -- _Grande guerre_ -- Manoeuvring -- Tambour battant -- Warning, etc., etc., etc. _October 1._--Rosecrans, Bragg, Lee, Meade, Gilmore, Dahlgren and the iron-clads keep the nation breathless aghast. A terrible and painful lull. The politicians furiously continue their mole-like work; election, re-election is inscribed on the mole hills. _October 2._--Chase men fire into Blair's men, and Blair's men are supposed to be Lincoln's men. The skirmishing, the scouting before the battle. But the day of battle is yet far off, and the proverb, "many a slip," etc., may yet save the nation from becoming a prey of politicians. _October 3._--News arrives that reinforcements sent from here reached Rosecrans. For the first time the troops have been forwarded with such rapidity. The War Department has brought almost to perfection the system of transportation of large bodies. The head-quarters, who combine, decide and direct the movements, the distribution, and the scattering of troops all over the country could have therefore ordered the troops to Rosecrans, and the War Department would have rapidly forwarded them there. And if Grant's army was not broken, and he himself virtually shelved or neutralized--if he had marched towards Georgia, Secession would have been compressed to two or three States; Bragg crushed, Alabama and Georgia rescued! Hurrah for Lincoln-Halleck. _October 4._--The Russian fleet evokes an unparalleled enthusiasm in New York, and all over the country. _Attrappez_ treacherous England and France! The Russian Emperor, the Russian Statesman Gortschakoff, and the whole Russian people held steadfast and nobly to the North, to the cause of right and of freedom. Diplomatic bickerings here could not destroy the genuine sympathy between the two nations. _October 4._--The probable majority in the next Congress is the great object of present calculation and speculation. The Administration seems to be of the opinion, that a small republican majority will do as well, because it will be more compact and more easily to be played upon. God save the country from a majority _twistable_ by the Administration! If the majority is small, then it may be unable to drag such dead-weight as was the Administration directed by its master spirit. The Administration ought to be dusted and pruned. This Administration especially needs to be shaken and kept always on the _qui vive_ by an honest and a patriotic opposition. The opposition made by Copperheads is neither honest nor patriotic. Opposition is a vital element of parliamentary government; and as by a curse, the opposition here is made not to acts of the Administration--the Copperheads wish to throttle the principle which inspires the best part of the people. If it was possible to have an opposition strong enough to control the misdeeds of the Administration, to serve for the Administration as a telescope to penetrate space, and as a microscope to find out the vermin: if such an opposition could be built up, it would have forced the Administration to act vigorously and decidedly, it could have preserved the Administration from repeated violations of the rules of common sense, and in certain Administrative brains the opposition could have kindled sagacity and farsightedness:--such counterpoise would have spared thousands and thousands of lives, and thousands of millions of money. _October 6._--Meade will retreat or already retreats. The choice of the army, Meade, has not yet greatly justified itself. And Meade, too, builds up in the army a clique of generals, and therein Meade begins to imitate McClellan. Likewise McClellan seems to have been Meade's model at Williamsport, and, McClellan-like, Meade has wasted precious time. And thus the month of October sees us on the defensive on the whole line, from the Potomac to the Rio Grande. After two and a half years of military misdirection, of rivers of blood, of mines of money--there we are. Hurrah for Lincoln and for his apostles! _October 6._--How the world's history is handled, twisted, and _bungled_. Wiseacres put history on the rack to evidence their own ignorance. The one invokes England's example during Wellington's expedition to Spain, as if that war in the Peninsula had been a civil war, and England's integrity, national independence, and political institutions had been endangered. And another compares this war to the civil wars of Rome, and censures the impatience of those who wish for more energy in the Administration. Do the wiseacres wish for an Altera jam teritur bellis civilibus ætas. Others point to Cæsar, and forget that Cæsar fought almost in person everywhere, in Europe, Africa, and Asia. Great commanders-in-chief point out to their subordinates the example of Napoleon and of Frederick visiting their pickets. Yes, great military scholars! Frederick and Napoleon visited the pickets when their armies faced--nay, when they almost touched the lines of the enemy. But Frederick and Napoleon were with the armies--they were in the tents, and directed not the movements of armies from a well warmed and cosy room or office. _October 6._--Blair, a member of the Cabinet, in a public speech delivered in Maryland, most bitterly attacks the emancipationists and emancipation. Blair is perfectly true to himself. That speech would honor a Yancey. Blair peddles for Mr. Lincoln's re-election. Blair thus semi-officially spoke for the President, and for the Cabinet. Such at least is the construction put in England on an out-door speech made by a member of the Cabinet, or else another member takes another occasion to refute the former. Mr. Splendid Chase is a member of the Cabinet, and claims to represent there the aspirations, the tendencies, and the aims of the radicals and of the emancipationists. Such a conflict between two members of the Cabinet shakes the shaky situation. What will Chase do? Nothing, or very little. _October 7._--Months, weeks and days of the most splendid weather, and Meade, the choice of the West Point clique in the army, Meade did nothing. If Meade had not, or has not troops enough, why is not Foster ordered here with all he has? Keep Fortress Monroe well garrisoned, and for a time abandon the few points in North Carolina. Destroy Lee, and then a squad of invalids will reconquer North Carolina, or that State may then reconquer itself. This, or some other combination ought to be made. I am told that more than seven hundred thousand men are now on the Paymasters' rolls. Where are they? Is it forgery or stealing? Where, oh where are the paid men? On paper or in the grave? If the half, three hundred and fifty thousand men, were well kept in hand, Lee and Bragg ought to be annihilated. Hurrah for Lincoln and Halleck! _October 8._--From various sides I am assured that Stanton passed into the camp of Lincoln, with horse, foot and artillery. I doubt it, but--all is possible in this good-natured world. Stanton, like others, may be stimulated by the _amor sceleratus_ of power. _October 8._--Lee's Report, containing the operations after the battle of Chancellorsville, the invasion of Pennsylvania, and his recrossing of the Potomac at Williamsport, is published now. But Lee, a true soldier, made his report in the last days of July, therefore almost instantly after the campaign was finished. Sympathizers with McClellan's essays on military or on other matters! there is another example for you, how and when such things ought to be done. Meade has not yet made his Report. _October 9._--The cautiousness of Meade and his fidelity to McClellan-like warfare are above admiration. General Buford, brave and daring, weeks ago offered to make with his cavalry a raid in the rear of Lee and destroy the railroads to the south-west--those main arteries for Virginia. The offer was vetoed by the commander of the Potomac army. Had Lee ever vetoed Stewart's raids? Lee rather stimulated and directed them. _October 10._--And the power-holders let loose their mastiffs. And the mastiffs ran at my heels and tried to tear my inexpressibles and all. And they did not, because they could not. Because my friends (J. H. Bradley,) stood by me. And the people's justice stepped in between the mastiffs and me, and I exclaim with the miller of Potsdam, "There are judges in Washington." _October 11._--I most positively learn that even Thurlow Weed urged upon the President the immediate removal of Halleck, and even Thurlow Weed could not prevail. Many and many sins be forgiven to the Prince of the Lobby, to the man who understood how to fish out a fortune in these national troubles. _October 12._--_Cæsar morituri te salutant_, say our brave soldiers to Lincoln. The Meades and the McClellans, like most of the greatnesses of the West Point clique, have no impulse, no sense for attack, because what is called _la grande guerre_, that is the offensive war, was not among the special objects of the military education in West Point. This is evident by the pre-eminence given to engineering, and to the engineers who represent the defensive war; and therefore the contrast to the _grande guerre_. Some of our generals, as Grant, Rosecrans, Reno, Reynolds, and others, and as I hear likewise of Warren, made and make up in enthusiasm for the deficiency of the West Point education. But the majority of the _educated_ Potomac commanders and generals were not, and are not much troubled by enthusiasm. _October 12._--In his answer to the Missouri patriotic deputation, Mr. Lincoln, with one eye at least to the re-election, proves to the observer that he, Lincoln, has not yet found out which party will be the stronger when the election shall be at the door. Mr. Lincoln has not yet made his choice between the radical, immediate emancipationists and those who wish a slow, do-nothing, successive, _pro rata_ emancipation. Not having yet found it out, Mr. Lincoln has not yet fully decided which direction finally he has to take; and therefore he shifts a little to the right, a little to the left, and tries to hush up both parties. Our so characteristic military operations are closely connected with the vascillating policy and with the hesitation to cut the knot. _October 13._--Unparalleled in the world's history is the manner in which the war is conducted here, from May, 1861, to this day. The annals of the Asiatic, ancient, and of modern Tartar warfare, the annals of Greece, of Macedon, of Rome, the annals of all wars fought in Europe since the overthrow of the Romans down to the day of Solferino, all have nothing similar to what is done here. This new method henceforth will constitute an epoch in military _un_-science. _October 13._--General Meade in full and quick retreat. The most contradictory rumors and explications of this retreat; some of the explications having even the flavor of official authority. One thing is certain, that when a general who confronted an enemy at once begins to manoeuvre backwards, without having fought or lost a battle, such a general is out-manoeuvred by his enemy. O for a young man with enthusiasm, and with inspiration! Suggested to Stanton to shun the men of Williamsport, or to look for enthusiasts such as Warren. Chaos everywhere; chaos in the direction of affairs, and a disgraceful chaos in the military operations. But as always, so this time, it is nobody's fault. Fetish McClellan finally and distinctly showed his hand, and joined the Copperheads in the Pennsylvania election. McClellan is now ripe for the dictatorship of the Copperheads. Will Mr. Lincoln have courage to dismiss McClellan from the army? A self-respecting Government ought to do it. Let McClellan be taken care of by the _World_. _Par nobile fratrum._ _October 14._-- _Nox erat et coelo fulgebat luna sereno_, and the virtuous city of Washington enjoyed the sleep of innocence: the genius of the country was watchful. Halleck slept not. Orderlies, patrols, generals, officers, cavalry, infantry, all were on their legs. Halleck took the command in person. What a running! First in the rooms, then in the streets and on the roads, and on the bridges whose planks were taken off. And thus about the cock's crow the nightmare vanished, and Halleck, satisfied to have fulfilled his duty towards the country and towards the innocent Washingtonians, Halleck went to bed. _October 15._--Our head-quarters at Fairfax Court House. It is not a retreat. O no! It is only splendid backward manoeuvring! As far as the Virginia campaign is concerned, the situation to-day is below that previous to the first Bull Run. Lee menacing, going we know not where; guerrillas in the rear of our army, at the gates--literally and geographically at the gates of Alexandria and of Washington. Previous to the first Bull Run, the country bled not; to-day the people is minus thousands and thousands of its children, and to see Lee twenty to thirty miles from Washington! What will be the manoeuvring to-morrow? Warren fought well, but if Sykes was within supporting distance, why did they not annihilate the rebel corps? Two corps ought not to have been afraid to be cut off from the rest of the army distant only a few miles. Or perhaps orders exist not to bring about a general engagement? All is now possible and probable. _Our great plans may not yet be ripe._ When the smoke and dust of the manoeuvring will be over, I heartily wish that our losses in the retreat may prove innocent and as insignificant as they are reported to be. On the outside, Lee's movement appears as brilliant as it is desperate. Has not this time Lee overshot the mark? Cunctator Meade may have some lucid moment, and punish Lee for his impertinence. And every and any thing can be done with our brave boys, provided they are commanded and generaled. In military sciences and history, it would be said that Lee has _ramené tambour battant_ Meade under the defences of Washington. Such a result obtained without a battle, counts among the most splendid military accomplishments, and reveals true generalship. _October 17._--Meade was decided to retreat, even before Lee began to move, say the knowing ones, say the military authorities. If Meade wanted not to go to Culpepper Court-house, or to march towards the enemy, or to occupy the head waters of those rivers, then why was our army promenaded in that direction? To amuse the people? to increase losses in men and in material? Was it done without any plan? I supposed, and the country supposed, that Meade marched south to fight Lee where he would have found him; but it turns out that it was done in order to bring Lee towards Washington and towards the Potomac. What a snare! _October 17._--The electoral victory in Pennsylvania marks a new evolution in the internal _polity_ of the country. It is the victory of the younger and better men as represented by Curtin, by Coffey, etc., over the old hacks, old sepulchres, old tricposters and over men who sucked the treasury and the people's pocket; they did it scientifically, thoroughly, and with a coolness of masters. Oh! could other States therein imitate Pennsylvania, then, the salvation of the country is certain. _October 17: Evening._--The knowing ones promise a battle for to-morrow. Yes, if Lee will. But if not, will Meade attack Lee? who I am sure will continue his movement and operation whatever these may be. We are at _guessing_. Repeatedly and repeatedly it is half-officially trumpeted to the country, that this or that general selected his ground and awaits a battle. It reminds one of the wars in Italy during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. And if the general who forced backwards his antagonist, if he prefers not to attack, but continues to manoeuvre, what becomes of the select, own ground? Who ever read that Alexander, or Cesar, or Frederic, or Napoleon, or even captains of lesser fame, selected their ground? All of them fought the enemy where they found him, or by skillful manoeuvring hemmed the enemy or forced him to abandon his select position. Cases where a general can really force the antagonist to attack _such a select, own ground_, such cases are special, and very rare. And so for the second time in this year, Lee shakes and disturbs our quiet in Washington. Oh why is Lee engaged on the bad and damnable side? _October 18._--A new _whereas_ calling for three hundred thousand volunteers. The people will volunteer. Oh this great people is ready for every sacrifice. But you, O you! who so recklessly waste all the people's sacrifices, will you volunteer more brains and less selfishness? _October 18._--And when all the efforts of great men converged to the re-election and election, Lee converged towards Washington. Be the people on their guard and warned! NOTE.--The publication of this book has occurred at a culminating period of annoyances and inconveniences which may possibly have left traces in the volume now finished. The Author's residence in Washington--unprecedented delays of the mails--scarcity of compositors--and beyond all, the confusion from unavoidable duplication of proofs, have so annoyed the Author, that it is but just to make this brief explanation and apology. 
34230	----	SWEETHEARTS AT HOME BY S. R. CROCKETT AUTHOR OF "SWEETHEART TRAVELLERS," ETC. ASSISTED BY SWEETHEART HERSELF, AND WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS BY HUGH JOHN, SIR TOADY LION, MAID MARGARET, AND MISS ELIZABETH FORTINBRAS NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS [Illustration: "WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH AWAY"] List of Illustrations "WHEN I TURNED ABOUT--WHY, IT NEARLY TOOK MY BREATH AWAY" "DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD" "HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!" "I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY SPICY FRUITS" THE EDITOR'S CHAPTERS HE TELLS HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT I _A sleepy Sunday morning--and no need for any one to go to church._ It was at Neuchâtel, under the trees by the lake, that I first became conscious of what wonderful assistance Sweetheart might be to me in my literary work. She corrected me as to the date upon which we had made our pilgrimage to Chaumont, as to the color of the hair of the pretty daughter of the innkeeper whom we had seen there--in her way quite a Swiss Elizabeth Fortinbras. In a word, I became aware that she had kept a diary. Sweetheart, like her nearest literary relative, began with "poetry." That was what we called it then. We have both revised our judgments since. Only Sweetheart has been more wise than I should have been at her age. She has resisted temptation, and rigorously ruled out all verse from the Diary as at present published! This is wonderful. I published mine. Since then, she and I have been preparing the present volume, just as eagerly as if we had "yielded to the solicitations of numerous friends," as the privately-printed books say. No, it was quite the contrary with us. Nobody, except one nice publisher, knows anything about it. He asked us to let him print it, and even he has not seen the very least little scrap. All he knows is that Sweetheart has a good many thousand friends scattered up and down two hemispheres, and he believes (as we also are vain enough to believe) that they will not let _Sweetheart's Diary_ go a-begging to be bought. * * * * * There is something curiously dreamy about the Lake of Neuchâtel. I knew it and the school down by the pier long ago, when the little town still preserved distinct traces of the hundred and fifty years of Prussian drill-sergeants. Here and there the arms of Brandenburg were to be seen curiously mixed, and almost entwined, with the strong red cross of the Swiss Confederation. Specially interesting is the opposite side of the lake, for there the Cantons push forward their narrow necks of territory to the very lake shore--possibly as the price of their support against the Eagles of the North, whose claws have never let go their hold but this once. There, within a day's easy walk, you can pass from Canton Vaud into Canton Friburg and back again into Vaud. Then, Morat-way, you come on a little inset square of Canton Berne, whose emblematic bears also have their claws in every pie thereabout. And all the way, never a hotel for the fleecing of the foreigner! Here and there, indeed, one passes a country inn with sanded floor. More often it is only a rather superior house with a bush hung out French-fashion over the threshold. It is best, as Sweetheart and I found, to make for one of these. Generally I had known them of old, and though since then the years had done some stiff route-marching, most of their hosts and hostesses remembered me. How do you get there? Well, you cross the lake almost at its narrowest part. A little stream drains into it, slowly and in Dutch fashion, as if it were smoking a peaceful pipe by the way. Indeed, for a little while you might fancy yourself actually in Holland, so thickly are the flowers set. Only--only (and oh! the difference!) they are all wild. For I cannot help my heart beating faster when I set foot on any of the untrodden places of the earth, when I know that the next person I meet will be different from anybody I have ever met before--that he will be as frankly interested and very likely amused by me as I am by the moldy and the quaint about him--things that nobody in his senses has ever thought of looking at in that countryside for a hundred years! Privately there is often a quiet, widespread, wholly unspoken doubt of my entire sanity. That dry smile hovering about the mouth of the courteous mayor of the commune says as much. Just the same with the quick, intelligent glance that shoots betwixt husband and wife when you ask to see their barn--once the chapel of a long-destroyed monastery (Carthusians from the Italian valleys driven out by the religious wars). To them it is a barn, commodious--only a little damp. But it is nothing more. A new model one, now--all burnt brick, floor of concrete, with iron roof pillars--now _that_ would be something worth crossing the lake to look at. Hold--there is one at Estavayer! The farmer there would be glad to show it, if only Monsieur and the young lady...? No! Well, there is no accounting for tastes, and that shrug from Master Pierre said quite plainly that he had the poorest opinion of our mental capacity. But all the same Master Pierre is kind to the infirm--to those (as the Catechism says) "of weaker understanding." Yes, there is the key. We can take our own time, and when we have done we can hang it up where we got it. But good Master Pierre is curious too. Where might we be going? If it is a fair question--or, indeed, whether or not! "To Madame Marie Brigue's!" "Yes, but certainly!" "Had we known Madame Marie long?" The Elder of us had known her for some twenty years or more. "When she was with old Monsieur Alexander--yes, at the Upper Riffel House, and everything in her charge?" Sanity was returned to us like a passport examined doubtfully. We should not this time be committed to a House of Retreat for the mentally infirm--no, not if fifty doctors, all specialists, had so certified. _We knew Madame Marie!_ Master Pierre would lay aside everything and come with us. It was not possible that we could know the way. I thanked Master Pierre, but for my own reasons preferred to go alone--that is to say, alone with Sweetheart, which is the best kind of loneliness. "There is going to be a storm!" I said to my Maid, as we paced along side by side. Sweetheart looked at the cloudless September sky, at the boldly-designed splashes of the leaf-shadows making Japanese patterns on the narrow path through the wood. Then she regarded me inquiringly. Of a storm in the heaven above or on the earth beneath there was certainly no visible sign. Then I explained that the tempest was a moral one, and would certainly break when we met in with Madame Marie. And I set her this riddle to read, for she is fond of such. I had always been first favorite with Madame Marie. She had spoiled me as a wandering boy. She has assisted me as a callow youth to the sweetmeats under her control. In my earlier manhood she had taken me to see her brother, who was a _curé_ of a great parish in the Valais. Yes, boy and man, she had always scolded me, railed upon me, declared to my face that I was of a surety "the Last of the Last," and that, altogether apart from my being a heretic, my misdeeds would inevitably render my future far from enviable! According to Madame Marie I was certainly bound for an ice-free port! "And what had you done to her, father, to make her so angry with you--or at least scold you so much?" "Only come in late for my meals!" I said. Sweetheart took one look at me, as one who would say, "Pray remember that I am no more a simple child!" But what she said aloud was, "Did all this happen before I was born?" And I knew instantly that I was underlying an unjust suspicion, from which the very first glimpse of Madame Marie would instantly free me. For even when I knew her Madame had long passed the canonical age, and must now be verging on the three-score years and ten. It was, however, quiet unlikely that she would ever refrain from scolding me, even in the presence of my eldest daughter. By and by we came in sight of a little white house, and upon the path which passed beneath it. Over the door, half hidden by the yellow splashes of _Canariensis_, was the sign, "_Madame Marie Brigue ... Restaurant_." There was a great quiet everywhere about the place. Some pigeons were coo-cooing in the Basse Cour. A cat regarded us with the sleepy dispassion of its race. However, there was certainly a stirring among earthenware somewhere towards the entrance of the cellar. We could make out the grating of carrots, or, as it might be, the scraping of potatoes. I motioned Sweetheart to get behind me--which she did, eager to take a hand in one of "father's ploys." Then I went to the front door, and in the loud, confident voice of one who, after a short absence, has come back at the proper hour, to find his dinner not ready, I called out, "Marie, are those chops not done yet?" A dish clattered on the floor. We could hear the splash of the fragments on the cool flagstones of the inner kitchen. "Marie, old Lazybones! Here have I been twelve hours on the mountains, and not even an omelette ready!" "It is the Herr-with-the-Long-Legs--the Herr who kept my good dinner waiting while he ran about the '_bergen_'! And now--oh, the Good-for-Nothing, the _Vaurien_, he come back to old Marie crying hunger--just as he used to do more than a score of years ago up in the Riffel House!" And before I knew it I was embraced and kissed on both cheeks by this tall, gaunt old woman--greatly, of course, to the joy of Sweetheart. But her turn was yet to come. Madame Marie continued scolding me even in the utmost expansion of her greeting. She held me at arm's length and scolded. She scolded because I had come without warning, and because I had not come sooner. Scolded because I had let the years slip past till her hair was white like the snow on the mountains, on which I had so often tarried till my dinner was burnt to a cinder! While mine--but there--who was this with me? Was I married? "Your daughter!" A daughter like that, and old Marie getting so blind that she had called me bad names--the names of the old time--in her hearing. But Mademoiselle would understand! She would pardon a poor old woman who had known her father, and been a mother to him, years and years before the young lady was born, or even thought of! So, indeed, Mademoiselle understood very well. No forgiveness was necessary. She was all too happy. And while the dinner was preparing, she set down all these facts in her notebook, so that when Madame Marie came to the door to say that the omelette was ready to be put before us on the table, she called to Sweetheart that she was indeed her father's own daughter. For that in the old days at the Riffel House he had always been like that, sitting down on the very glacier to scribble in his notebook all about nothing, and so letting good food spoil because of his foolishness! And so it happened that on our way back from Madame Marie's, Sweetheart let me see the first pages of her Diary. I found them so interesting that we arranged on the spot how they were to be published. And so here they are, ready (if you be simple) to please you as well as they pleased me. II _When the Roads Were Sweet, Safe and Silent._ So, preliminaries being settled, the elder of the _Sweetheart Travelers_ was entrusted with the editing of this book, on the express condition that he must _not_ edit it! Strange but true! It is just sixteen years since, with the assistance of Mr. Gordon Browne's pencil, he began the preparation of the first series of _Sweetheart_. Ever since which, for him, fortunate day, he has been under promise to supply a second volume having for title _Sweethearts at Home_. From all over the world children keep writing to ask him for more adventures with his little companion on the front basket-seat of his tricycle. Gladly would he respond to this wish of unseen baby lips, generally expressed on ruled paper in straggly lines of doubtful spelling. But, alas! Sweetheart is nineteen and tall. She would be the death of her poor father (and of the machine) at the very first hill. Now she rides a "free-wheel" of her own, and saddest of all to relate, prefers Hugh John or other younger company to her ancientest of comrades. That is, on cycling trips. But she makes up to him in other ways, and hardly anything gives her greater pleasure than to "revisit the roads and ridges" where, sixteen years ago, her baby fingers, vigilant on the cycle bell, called the preceding wayfarer to attention. Then we had the world to ourselves, save for a red farm cart or so. Then there were no motor-cars, no motor-buses, no clappering insolent monocycles! It was in some wise the rider's age of gold. The country still lay waste and sweet and silent about him. The ignoble "toot-toot" and rhinoceros snort of the pursuing monster was unknown--unknown, too, the odors which leave the wayfarer fretful and angry behind them. "_Get out of the way, all you mean little people!_" was not yet the commonest of highway sounds. The green hedgerows were not hidden under a gray dust veil. The Trossachs, the Highlands, the English lakes, and our own fair Galloway roads were not splashed with the iridescent fragrance of petrol. Ah, we took Time by the forelock, Sweetheart, you and I, in those old days when the hawthorn was untainted and the wayside honeysuckles still gave forth a good smell. True, Sweetheart (as above stated) sounded a bell. But even she did it with relish, and the trill carried tenderly on the ear, like the mass-bell rung in some great cathedral as the service culminates, each time more thrilling and insistent. And it was good to see the smile of the folk as they stood aside, and the nod which red-cloaked Sweetheart gave them as we glided noiselessly past! Ah, a good time! Neither of us are in the least likely to see a better! For during these fifteen years there has come upon our land a strange thing, a kind of plague of heartlessness; the return, perhaps, of mechanically civilized man to the brute, or (if that be too strong) at least to the ruling-out of all gracious consideration for the rights of wayfarers. I am sure that the "motoring-habit" is more poisonous and more injurious to the nations in this Year of Grace, 1911, than all the poisons that ever were "listed." It is the Indian hemp of the soul, which makes even good men mad. The earth may still belong to the Lord, though, standing afar off, I have sometimes my doubts. But of a certainty the roads between city and city, the creeper-hung village street where, generation after generation, children played, the quiet lanes where the old folk walked arm in arm, are now given over to the Minotaur whose name is "My Lord Teuf-Teuf." Every day in all lands (called civilized) the journals are filled with a lengthening tale of victims--of the little child going to school, bag on back; the bairn playing with his soldiers in the dust; the deaf old lady walking along the lanes, so safe and quiet a few years ago. I can see her pattering about, looking for a few roses to grace her room--roses to dream over, roses to call back the good days now past for ever. "HRRUMPH! HRRUMPH!" It is the trump of doom--behind her, unseen, to her unheard. And in the next number of the local paper there will be the briefest of paragraphs: "No blame attaches to the proprietor or to his excellent and competent chauffeur." Sometimes, if one has the honor to be run over by the Highest of the High Born, they do inquire for you at the hospital, or even send a wreath for the coffin. For this one should even be content to die. And the paragraphs in the papers recording the gift quite make up to the mourners for their loss. But even so, this is on the heights of motoring generosity. For at least _noblesse_ does sometimes oblige. But the more recently and the more ignobly the Over-Slaughterman has been enriched, the more ignorant of all knowledge he is, the less he has seen of other lands, the fewer incursions he has made into the world of books and art, the less he possesses of that kindly natural consideration which the King-Gentleman shares with the Working-Gentleman--the more cruel and selfish he is when he gets himself upon the road, rushing along, disguised to the eyes, fakir-mad in a kind of devilish Juggernaut joy, to the holocaust of innumerable innocent victims. "_The police failed to obtain the number of the car which caused the accident._" Naturally! Excellent Under-Slaughterman, vulgarly called Chauffeur! Knows his business! He will ask for a rise next week and he will get it. That paragraph about the little girl trailed along for fifty yards under the rear wheels, with--Hold your tongue, you understand, Higgins--the details would not look well posted up in my club! Brave Under-Slaughterman! He winks an eye, as he has a right to do when he puts his latest-earned gratuity in his pocket. But, halt there! I will do no man an injustice if I can help it. There are motorists and drivers of motor-cars who are noways "motor-fiends," who conduct a car as safely and carefully as in other times they would a pair of horses. I have friends among such. God keep them in life and the practice of "Unto others as I would that others should do unto me!" But I grow old, at least in experience, and I fear for these my friends. Motoring as practiced in Great Britain to-day (and the northern continent is little better) is the direct and intentional abrogation of the Golden Rule. More, it is the only way in which a man, light-heartedly, taking no thought for the morrow, may kill his neighbor with impunity. In old times it was the pursuit of cent.-per-cent. which damned a man, and delivered him bound body and soul to Satan. We have changed all that. Now it is the pursuit of the mile-a-minute which sucks men's hearts empty of a generous feeling, which is the great open-air school for making iron-bound materialists out of human men--or rather animals fitted with deadly mechanical appliances worse than those of Mr. Wells's Martians. I love my friends who are tied to these chariot wheels. But I fear for them. Temptation is great. Easy is the descent of Avernus, aided by a smart chauffeur, who wants to give you "the value of your money" in speed and the survival of the fittest: _id est_, of himself and you! Better, far better, to take pack on back, pilgrim staff in hand, and then--to the woods and the hills with Sweetheart and me, where never "teuf-teuf" can be heard, nor petrol perfume the land. But at least in Sweetheart's new book you will only find the old sweet things, the pleasures that do but gladden, the record of things at once simple and gracious and tender--such as, if you have been fortunate, must have happened to yourself. She does not once mention any car except that pulled along by honest "gees," or that still more favorite sort of all engineering achievements--the fortifications that the next tide will sweep away. Sweetheart, little Sweetheart, and that "dear diary" of yours--for this relief, much thanks! God keep you ever of the humble, of the wayside-goers, of those who think--first, second and always--of the comfort of their fellow-men, especially of the weak, the friendless, and the poor who foot it along life's way. In brief, may you stay what you have always been, Sweet of heart--and _my Heart_! _Ainsi soit-il!_ S. R. CROCKETT. SWEETHEART'S DIARY I SWEETHEART OBJECTS _In June--Some Day, 3 o'clock. Cool under the Trees._ Some while ago a book was written about me, called _Sweetheart Travelers_. It was father who wrote it, and I think he did his best, saying a lot of nice things. But, of course, how could he really understand little girls? At first I thought I would write a book contradicting the mistakes. But Mr. Dignus, who is a friend of mine and knows about such things, said that would not be very kind to father, and might do him harm in his business. But that if I would write about everything just as it seemed to me as I grew up, he would see to it that it was printed and published. So when father sees it, won't he just get a surprise? Perhaps he will go into a shop and buy _Sweetheart's Diary_, thinking that somebody is poaching on his preserves. I can see him tugging at his big mustache, and walking very solid and determined, same as he does when he says to the boys, "You, sir, come into the study along o' me!" Which makes all the rest of us go sort of cold and trembly all over, like a rabbit smelling fresh lettuce. But it is for what we are NOT going to get that _we_ are sincerely thankful. Only, after a dreadful lecture the boys are generally let off--"for this time only, mind you!"--whereas the rabbit always ends up by eating the lettuce. [Moral somewhere about, but I can't just make it out.] And that reminds me. I will tell you the dreadful history of the Blue Delhi Vase. It is one of the first things I can remember and the one that frightened me the most. It used to sit on our brown, carved-oak table in the little drawing-room. It was pale blue like the color of the beady stones you can't see into--oh, yes--thank you very much--_turquoise_. And somehow I thought that it had come from a fearfully rich uncle in India, who was Prime Minister to a Begum, and would come home one day with an elephant in a huge cattle truck, like what I had seen on the railway. He would then have a scarlet carpet laid to keep his embroidered slippers clean--there is always mud before our station--and he would ride up to our front door on the Begum's state elephant. And the first question he would ask was always, "Is my Blue Delhi Vase in good repair?" And if it wasn't, then he would demand the name of the miscreant who had done it, and bid the elephant, whose name was quite distinctly Ram Punch, t-r-r-rample him to pieces. I suppose when I was very young I must have dreamed this, or heard folk talking, without understanding. At any rate I got things pretty mixed in my mind. You see I was _very_ little then, so little that I don't remember there being any boys. Though I suppose Hugh John was a little trundler in a "pram," looking up at the sky with wide solemn eyes and never saying a word. I suppose so, but I don't remember. All I know is that I wore little red caps, one for Sunday and one for week-days. The Sunday one was put away during the week, and so mostly I had only one. Now, on this great day I happened to be in the garden, and Somebody sent me in for my cap. Because my hair flew all about and got just fearfully "tuggy"--enough to make any one cry, even Hugh John, who never cries at all. But, then, _he_ has hair short like a door-mat and rough as if made of teased string. He has also a head so hard that he will bounce it right through the panel of a door for a penny--that was, of course, afterwards, not when he used to lie in his "prim-pram." But he got whipped, for the doors had to be mended. So he stopped. I was in a great hurry. Indeed I flew. I never remember walking in those days. So in I banged as hard as I could, and coming out of the hot sun, the rooms felt all very still and cool. The parlor smelt of old rose leaves, which I sometimes stirred with my finger. They were in a big bowl, all powdery, and smelt nice--especially on hot days. Then I used to think that the poor old dead things were stirring in their sleep, and trying to "blossom in the dust." I don't know where I got those words--in a hymn, most likely. But I used to say them over and over to myself--yes, till I cried. Because I was sorry for the old roses that tried to live and couldn't. Silly, wasn't it? Well, it seems so now. But then, of course, it was different. Now, when I had got over the queer little catch in my throat that finding myself alone always gave me, I started looking round under all the sofas and chairs to see that there were no lurking Day Ghosts about. They are the worst kind, and I began to wonder where my cap was. I had come for it specially, you see. So I could not go out without it. Also there were awfully nice things going on in the garden; the picking of white raspberries, mainly; each shaped like a thimble; the cap coming easily off, and leaving a small dead white spear-point, and with a taste--oh, to make your mouth water for quite a week! Anyway, mine does now. For a while I could not see my red cap. Then, all in a minute, I caught sight of it on the top of the Delhi Blue Vase. It was dreadfully high, and as for me, I was dreadfully little. More than that, the table was slippery. But I _had_ to get the cap, because all the time I was missing the white raspberries out in the garden. I could hear them pattering into the tin pails with a rustle of waving stems and a _whish_ of nice green leaves when you let them go. So I got up on tiptoe. I was still ever so much too short. Then I took a buffet--the one on which I listened to stories being told. And I mounted on that. I had very nearly got the cap off when the buffet slipped sideways, and--oh, it was dreadful--there on the carpet lay the Delhi Blue Vase all in shreds--no, "shards" is the proper word. I couldn't think. I couldn't cry. I could not even pray. I forgot how. I grew ice-cold. For I had heard it said that of all the valuable things in the house that was the rarest. I knew it could never be put together again, and it was I who had done it. For a moment I thought of running away altogether. It was not fear of being punished. No, if it had only been that, I should not have minded. At least not much. Punishments don't last long up at our house. But now I should never see the uncle from India, nor the elephant being unpacked end-foremost out of the cattle truck, nor the crimson carpet, nor the howdah, nor any of these fine things. Or even if I did I might be stamped to death by the elephant, after all. Oh, I _was_ unhappy. I looked in the glass and, I declare, I hardly knew the white, frightened, peeky face I saw there for my own. You see, I usually see my own face when my hair is being done, or when the soap is just washed off. Then it is shiny and red; but now, in the dusk of the room, it looked very small and pale, and my eyes very big and black, with rims round them. Now our cat was there, and the thought came of itself that everything might be blamed on her. She was our only _not-nice_ pussy, and if I said it was Mir-row who did it, nobody would be the worse. She was always knocking things down anyway. She would only get chased out, and she was always being chased out. So one extra time would not matter to Mir-row. Well, I suppose that is what the ministers and grown-up people call temptation--when you think you can do a thing so as not to be found out. When you do a thing and don't care whether you are found out or not--that is different. That's like Sir Toady (he's my brother, as you shall hear) when he goes bird-nesting and has to watch out for the keeper. But he doesn't really care if he _is_ catched. But the Delhi Vase! Oh, it seemed as if I never could be happy again in this world! I knew--I mean at the time--that I should have prayed. I had been often and often told that I ought. Still, you can't just always pray when you ought to. However, I did manage to kneel down and grab hold of Mir-row. I knew that Mir-row was a bad cat, and did all sorts of things she ought not to do. So I took her to the place where the Delhi Vase had been broken, and asked her if she minded. And she said as plain as possible that she did not care a bit. I should get whipped, that was all, and she would be glad. She was a hard-hearted Thing. For I was in dreadful trouble. But for all that Mir-row would not take a bit of the blame. And she might just as easily, seeing the number of tit-bits I had brought out for her. But cats have no gratitude--at least Mir-row had none. However, I think she must have been a foreign cat, because she could not even pronounce "_Mee-ow_" properly. And that is the reason why her name was "Mir-row." She said so herself. So I said to her, "You, Mir-row, will you come up-stairs and 'fess'?" And Mir-row said just "_Fsssst-Mir-row!_" to show that she was cross. Then I said, "Mir-row, you are a horrid nasty cat, and you don't deserve that you should get off breaking that Delhi Vase. But I will take the blame on myself--yes, I will--just to show you what it is to be noble. _I_ will go up-stairs and 'fess.'" So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing would never have entered my head. But her character was against her. You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that. Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished--though it certainly _was_ a great, great pity. But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise. And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again. No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her. But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on Mir-row. This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the wickedness of Mir-row. II PURPLE "THINKS" _June again. Aged ten. Afternoon of the Day when the first Strawberry was Half-ripe._ It will never be whole-ripe, owing to an accident which happened to it. However, none of the Grown-ups knew except Sandy the gardener, and he only tells us not to. But we don't really mind. Which makes me wonder sometimes if Grown-ups have a world of their own, same as us Children. I don't think so. If they had, they wouldn't always be writing and reading, or paying calls and sitting on chairs, and looking Nim-Pim-Pimmany! They can't really have good times all by themselves, same as us. What do you think? I suppose it is account-books, and postmen, and having to understand the sermon that makes them look like that. But at any rate they have not an idea that children really are thinking--nor how much they know. Perhaps that is just as well. For, as they say about the monkeys, if they only knew how we talk among ourselves, they might set us to work. At least they would not be so ready to believe in us when next they saw us with our "behaving faces" on. Now I will tell you about our house. It is a nice one, and I have a bedroom with greeny paper, and out of the window you can see the Pentland hills and the flagstaff in front of them. The flagstaff is on the drying green, but the hills are a good deal farther away. Maid Margaret and I live there--that is, at nights, and I tell her stories if she will lie on her right side and not kick. Sometimes we have fights, but not such ones as the boys have up above. Often we can hear them stamping and thumping, and then coming down with a huge "bang" that you would think would shake down the house. That is when they clutch and wrestle. Outside there is just the Low Garden and the High Garden, a road between big old yew-trees, and then you are at the library, which is made of wood. And mostly there is a ticking sound inside, which is the typewriter--_tick-a-tack--tick-a-tack_! Then a pause, a few growls, and then the noise of a book being pulled out, rustling leaves, more stamps, more growls, and again--_tick-a-tack_! It goes on like that most of the time, except when the Animal inside must be fed, or on fine afternoons, when he comes out to play. _Then_ we have quite lovely times in the woods and hunting for things, or picnicking. And it is nice to see the white tablecloth, which Somebody has arranged on the green grass or under the shade, all covered with nice things for you to eat. Then all about there are woods--oh! miles and miles of them. There is the Low Park, where there are lots of apples--rather crabby, but not much the worse for that when you are really hungry. The Low Park is pretty big, and has a stream running through it, quite slowly and steadily. Then down below is the river-bed, all rocks and pools. Because the water is drawn off for the mills below. We can play there in the summer-time, and keep fish as safe as in an aquarium. Of course there are nice places higher up--where Esk goes along lipping over the pebbles, tugging at the overhanging branches of trees, or opening out to make a mirror for the purple heather on the slopes above. But of all these you shall hear before I have done. Oh, yes, I mean that you shall. And in the evening all is lovely dark purple except the hills, which are light purple and green in patches, the shape of cloud-shadows. I wonder if ever you got to love words, colors, and things till they grew to be part of yourself? What do I mean? Well, I will try and explain. When I was little, the word "purple" somehow nearly made me cry. Oh, no--I did not like dresses that color, nor even ribbons--much. Only just the word. Sometimes funnily, as in the line-- "A pleasant purple Porpoise, From the Waters of Chili." Sometimes seriously, as in two lines which have always brought the tears to my eyes--I do not know why. I think I must have put them together myself when I was thinking in sermon-time (which is a very good time to think in). Because the first is the line of a Scottish psalm, and the rest is--I know not what--some jingle that ran in my head, I suppose. But they made me cry--they do still, I confess, and it is the color-word that does it!--that, and the feeling that it is years and years ago since first I began to say them over to myself. It seems as if there would never again be such hues on the mountains, never such richness on the heather, never sunsets so arrogant (yes, I got the word that time) as those when I was little. But what, you ask, are the lines? Well, you won't think anything of them. I _know_ you will laugh. They are just--but oh! I am ashamed to put them down to be printed. For they are just altogether mine--all little girls who have been lonely little girls will know what I mean. Boys are pigs and will laugh--except Hugh John. However, I can't put off any longer, can I? Oh, yes, I could, but--it is better to be over and done with it. MY POEM. Made up when I was (about) Four. "I to the hills will lift mine eyes-- The purple hills of Paradise." That's all! Now laugh! And if you do, I shan't ever love you again. Father smiles and says that very likely I did put them together, but that the last line is in a book of poems by a man named Trowbridge. Well, what if it is? Can't _I_ think it and Mr. Trowbridge too? I never saw his old book. Why, I could not read then, and _he_ couldn't know what a little girl was thinking, sitting down by Esk-waterside and watching the purple hills--till I was told to come in and haste-me-fast, because the dew was falling. But of course I don't tell this to everybody. They would call it sentiment. But I pity the little lonely girl who doesn't have "thinks" like that all to herself, which she would die sooner than tell to anybody except to her Dear Diary. After the boys got bigger and could romp, I didn't have nearly so many thinks--not time enough, I suppose. Boys need a heap of watching. At first they have no soul--only a mouth to be silly with, teeth to eat with, and a Little Imp inside each to make them pesterful and like boys. Well, little by little, I made a collection of things that were of my color--all in my head, of course. "League upon rolling league of imperial purple!" I think it was father who wrote that, and I believe his heart was pretty big and proud within him, seeing his own heathery country spread out before him when he did it. I wonder if something went _cluck-cluck_ (like a hen) at the bottom of his throat? It does in mine sometimes. Then there is "the Purple Wine of the Balkans," and "the wine-hearted sea"--but that last I only heard of at school. And I liked a story about an Irish patriot who, when they brought him an address of honor with a green cover, told them to take it away and bind it in purple, the color of the heather. Also I loved to read about heroines with "eyes like the purple twilight," though just at present these are scarce in our part of the country. One of our forbears (funny word--for _we_ are the Four Bears, the little ones! Somebody I know is the Big Big Growly--only don't tell him!) well, one of our ancestors--immediate ancestors, I mean--left us blue eyes, but as we grew older they all turned gray, which I think unfair. Later on, I loved to be told about the "purple Codex"--that is, the Gospels written out on purple vellum in letters all gold. That must be lovely. I tried to stain a sheet with Amethystine ink, and print on it in gold paint. But it only looked blotchy and stupid--you never saw such a mess. So I thought it was better just to dream about the Codex. I wasn't born in the purple myself, but I resolved early never to marry anybody that wasn't. And I should have a purple nursery, and purple bibs, and a purple "prim-pram," and a nurse with purple strings to her caps, and baby should live exclusively on preserved violets (candied) and beautiful purple jelly. Then wouldn't she be a happy child? Not commonplace like me, and compelled to wear a clean white pinafore. They don't half know how to bring up children now-a-days. Oh, how I do wish that I had been "born in the purple!" But I wasn't, and white soils so easily. You see, if the purple were only dark enough, you wouldn't get scolded half so much, and they wouldn't all the time be telling you that milk food is "so wholesome"! Oh, how tired I am of being told that! Still, after all, chocolate isn't bad, and you can easily make believe that it is purple instead of brown. At least _I_ can. And it tastes just the same. Good-by, Dear, my Diary. There's Nurse calling. III PRESENTS _Still the Same Age. But no Date._ I wish we could choose our own presents, don't you? People give you surprises, or think they do. For mostly you can tell pretty well by keeping an eye on the parcels and things as they come in. Or one of the servants tells you, or you hear the Grown-ups whispering when they think you are not attending. Attending! Why, you are always attending. How could you learn else? _They_ did just the same themselves, only they forget. Of all presents, I hate most "useful" ones--"to teach you how to keep your things tidy," and what "you will be sure to need by and by, you know, dear!" For when the time comes you've had it so long that you don't care a button about it. I suppose there are some Miss Polly Prinks who like things to put on. But I haven't got to _that_ yet. Nor yet money that you are told you mustn't spend. There ought to be a "Misfit Presents' Emporium," where you could take all the presents you don't care about and get them exchanged for what you do. "Please, sir, can I have a nice lot of the newest books with the prettiest pictures for four Jack-in-the-boxes, eight dolls (three dressed), a windmill and a Noah's Ark, that only wants Noah and one of his son's wives' legs?" "Let me see them, miss, please!" "Can I look at the books on that shelf?" "Oh, these are the adventure books for Grown-ups," says the man; "children don't read such thing now-a-days--something in the picture-book way, Miss--_Little Sambo and the Seven Pious Pigs_, or _How many Blue Beans make Five?_" But _I_ would know ever so much better, and would have down half-a-dozen Grown-up books that just make your eyes stand out of your head like currants in a ginger-bread bunny. That's what _I_ like. No children's books for me. And I'd have them all chosen as soon as the Presents' Exchange man had made sure that none of the paws were knocked off the green kangaroo, and that the elephant still owned a trunk. It is a good idea, isn't it? What do you think? About the Exchange, I mean. Once my Uncle Tom got a birthday present from Aunt Margaret. It was a set of fire-irons for the drawing-room grate! And when her birthday came round Uncle Tom chose for her present--_a pipe-rack for the smoking-room_! I think that was fine--and so does Hugh John. Now I am not complaining. August the tenth is _my_ birthday, and it is a good time for birthdays--being sufficiently long before Christmas. I pity the poor people who were born in early January. Also presents are good at our house, and there are enough of us to change round among ourselves if any mistakes do occur. But what I really want to tell you about is what happened to Little Sarah Brown, who lives just outside our gate. Sarah's people are very poor and her father makes them poorer by going and drinking--as he says, "To drown Dull Care." My father says if he let Dull Care alone and drowned himself it would be better for every one all round. And that's a good deal for father to say, mind you, because he believes dreadfully in letting people alone. Well, Little Sarah Brown's mother was ill most of the time. She had a cough and couldn't do washing, so Little Sarah came to our house to run messages and go to the post with big letters when father said so. It was pretty nice for Sarah too, because every second Saturday she got half-a-sovereign from father. He grabbled deep in his pocket until he found a piece of about the size, looked if it was gold, and handed it over to Little Sarah. Just fancy carrying about real-for-true gold like that! Some people are dreadfully careless. Well, one time Little Sarah went up to the library to get her Saturday's money. Father was mooning about among his books, and shoved something at her, telling her gruffly to be off. He hadn't time to be thanked then, but would see about it on Monday! And do you know--it was a whole big sovereign he had given her! Now of course _he_ never knew. He wouldn't have found out in twenty centuries, and Little Sarah knew it. She did not notice till she was nearly home, and then she stopped under a lamp-post that was early lighted to look at what was in her hand. Yes, it was a sovereign. Nothing less! And, do you know, a bad, _bad_ boy named Pete Bolton came behind Little Sarah and gave her hand a good knock up. She would have lost it in about two ticks, because Pete Bolton was a perfectly horrid boy, and would have stolen it like nothing at all. Only Little Sarah was upon him with a bound like a tiger, and bit his hand (yes, it _was_ nasty, being very dirty). Only she bit Pete's hand from a sense of duty, and made him let go. She had her face rubbed in the mud, her hair tugged, and all, but she never let go the sovereign--half of which wasn't hers. There was a girl for you, and yet boys will say that only they are brave! Well, don't you think it was pretty hard for Sarah--harder, I think, after fighting for it than before? You see, she thought of all the nice things she could get for her mother with the extra ten shillings, besides new boots for herself that didn't let in the water, and--oh! a lot of things like that. Worst of all, she knew that if she did take it back to father he would only shove it in his pocket without noticing. But she said over and over: "Honesty is the best! Honesty is the best!" You see, she could not remember the word "policy," which does not improve the sentiment anyway--to my mind, at least. So back she went. Father was still mooning about among his books, and just as she expected he took the golden sovereign and shoved it back into his pocket right among pennies and pocket-knives and so on. But he quite forgot to give Sarah her own real half-sovereign. I believe he thought she had picked the coin up off the floor. For he just said, "Thank you," and went on with his work. And Little Sarah stood there fit to cry. By and by he noticed the girl and asked what she was waiting for--not unkindly, you know. But, as usual, he was busy and wanted to be left alone. "Please, sir," said Little Sarah Brown, "my half-sovereign!" "But I paid you your wages, did I not?" "Oh, yes, sir; but--" "Oh, you would like an advance on next week--very well, then." And he pulled out of his pocket the very identical piece of gold that had been Little Sarah's temptation--like mine about the Blue Vase and Mir-row, you remember. "There!" he said; "now go away! I'm busy!" "But, _please_, sir----!" "WHAT?" Then Little Sarah burst into tears, and father stared. But after a while he got at the truth--how he had given a whole sovereign in place of a half---- "Very likely--very likely!" said he. And how Sarah had brought it back--all of her own accord. "Very unlikely!" he muttered. And how he had shoved it back into his pocket without noticing---- "_Very_ likely!" he said--to himself this time. So what did he do, when he had heard all about it, but promise to whack Pete Bolton with his stick the first time he got him. And Sarah began to cry all over again, saying that Pete had no mother and couldn't be expected to know any better. "Well," said he, "that's as may be! But anyway, I'll be a father to Pete the next time I catch him. I'll teach him to let little girls alone. I've dealt with heaps of Pete Boltons before! Oh, often! Don't you trouble, little girl!" And he actually got his hat and walked home with Little Sarah, growling all the time. I don't know what he gave her. But, anyway, what he said to her mother made the poor woman so happy that she nearly forgot to be ill. And on Monday I noticed that Little Sarah had new whole shoes and so had her brother Billy. So something must have happened, and though nothing was said, I can pretty well guess what. So can Hugh John--and you too, my dear Diary. Only we won't tell. But the "Compulsory Man," who makes boys attend school, descended on wicked Pete Bolton, and then the schoolmaster fell on him, so that Pete became a reformed character--this is, so long as he was sore. Then, of course, he forgot, and began playing truant again. Only after that he let Little Sarah alone. Because, you see, he never knew when, in a narrow lane, he might meet a big man, pulling at a big mustache, and carrying a very big stick. Because the sermons that big man preached with his stick were powerful, and Pete Bolton did not forget them easily. The End--moral included free of charge, as Hugh John says. IV MISS POLLY PRETEND _End of June._ Of course there ought to be a story in all this--the story of my life. I have a Relative who can spin you the story of anybody's life if you only tell him what number of shoe he wears. Only I am just a little girl, and have neither been murdered nor married--as yet. So in my life there are no--what is the word?--ingredients for the pudding. Yes, that is it. So it must just come anyhow, like things tumbling out of your pocket when you hang head down from a tree or haystack which you are climbing. All the same I will try always to put one story or one subject into a chapter, though these won't be called "Printed in Gore," or "The House of Crime," or anything like that. For, you see, the stories the boys read are just stuffed with such things. So it will be rather a change to write about "The Dirty Piece of Embroidery" and "The Colored-Silk Work-basket." And that reminds me. Often Grown-ups "give it" to their children for the very identical things they used to do themselves when young. There is a friend of father's down at Dumfries whom he calls Mr. Massa. And once we bribed Mr. Massa to tell us all about when father was young--he was his earliest and dearest friend--though, by his telling, father pounded him shamefully and unmercifully for nothing at all, even after they had vowed eternal friendship. And do you know, the things that father did when he was a boy--well, he would thrash Hugh John and Sir Toady for _now_! But I expect that all fathers and most mothers were like that. When _I_ am a mother, I shan't be. Because, having kept a Diary, I shall only have to take it out and see how I felt. Don't you think that is a first-rate idea? Besides, if it is printed, as Mr. Dignus says that it will be, it is bound to be true, and I shall have to believe it. Oh, just won't my children have a good time! Also Hugh John's. But Sir Toady Lion says he isn't going to have any--being married is ever such a swot, and children are all little pigs. Well, _he_ ought to know. Oh, about this Mr. Massa? He told us some splendid things about father--how he stood on the top of Thrieve Castle with a stone in one hand and his watch in the other to measure the altitude, having just learned how. Only he forgot, and let go the wrong hand. _Smack_--went the watch on the grass about seventy feet below! And there was he left standing with the stone in his hand. But the watch was ticking cheerfully away when they picked it up, and it is that very same old nursery watch that is hung up there now, and tells us when it is time _not_ to get up. I don't think I ever knew what it was to have a true friend with a good memory till that moment. And as for the boys and me, we never thought we should like any of father's friends so much. But Mr. Massa told us more things that we can cast up to him in time of need than we would ever have wormed out of father himself in a century. Funny how close people get about some things when they get older. Oh, I wish I had been born my own little girl. Then I _should_ have been properly brought up! However, that is not my fault. Hugh John says that being naughty is just according as you look at it. Big Folks' job is to make us behave, so that we are as little of a nuisance to them as possible. _Our_ business to get as much fun as we can out of life without getting in the way of the Grown-ups. All their "Don't do this's" and "You mustn't do that's" are just warnings not to give them trouble. Moral (according to Hugh John), "Give as little trouble as possible to Grown-ups. And they will let you do pretty much as you want to." He says that acts first-rate at school. Toe the line with the masters, and then if you _do_ "whale" your fellow-pupil, no questions are asked. The only way to be a bad little boy in peace and quiet is to be a good little boy so far as work is concerned! And as Hugh John does it, this is not hypocritical. He couldn't be that if he tried. He has just thought it out, and now makes it work with the greatest coolness in the world. It is his system. And he says every boy is a fool who gives the masters trouble. He means Grown-ups generally. You do certain things _as_ they say, work out your sums, and keep your drawers tidy. Then you can live in your own world and they in theirs. They won't bother about you. But, of course, Hugh John is pretty safe anyway. He has a reason for everything, and is always ready to give it if asked. If not, he keeps it to himself, wraps it about him like an inky cloak--and is triply armed because he has his quarrel just--and knows it. But, you see, we are really pretty well off at our house, though we do grumble sometimes. When I was a little girl I rode many hundreds of miles with father on his cycle, and now Hugh John and he spend days over glasses of all descriptions, telescopes and binoculars, while Sir Toady talks about birds' eggs for hours, and has succeeded to father's collection. In the library there are the loveliest books on flowers--both editions of _Curtis_, the _Botanical Magazine_, two _Sowerby's English Botanies_, and lots more in foreign languages. Maid Margaret thinks she will go in for botany so as to get these. But I like best just reading books--or browsing among them, rather. For of course you can't really _read_ forty thousand volumes, even if you knew all the languages they are written in. There are sets of all the magazines that ever were: _Annual Registers_, _Scots Magazines_, _Gentleman's_, _Blackwood's_, _Chamber's_, _Leisure Hour_, _Cassell's_, _Magazine of Art_--oh, everything! And the library, being about eighty feet long altogether, is the loveliest place for wet Saturdays--so "mousey," and window-seaty, with big logs burning on a brass fireplace, and the storm pattering above and all about. It has a zinc roof, only nicely painted and covered with creepers. There is room enough for everybody to lie about, and read, and draw, all the time keeping out of Big Growly's way if he is working. Even if he does see us, he only says, "Get out, Imps! I can't be bothered with you just now!" Only if you are careful and have the kitchen key, you can tell by the growling and the "tick-tack" whereabouts the Ogre of Castle Bookworm is, and slip into another part. Best of all is the Old Observatory, where there is a bed in a little cabin, and windows all about, and a big brass telescope high overhead, with shelves and all sorts of fittings as in a ship. It is first-rate, I tell you. Only you have to put the books you have been using back again exactly, or you will get Ursa Major after you, and he will fetch you out of your bed to do it, storming at you all the time. Then maybe he will forget, and show you the first edition of some book that there are only three or four of in all the world! You don't really need to be afraid of Big Growly. It makes rather a noise while It lasts, but once It is finished, there is no more about it. It is like a thunderstorm which you hear sleepily among the hills in the night. All you have to do is just to pull the bed-clothes over your head and put your fingers in your ears. There is not the least danger, not really. Altogether we are about as well off for Grown-ups as it is possible to be, and though lessons are seen to sharply enough--that is all in the day's work. While for the rest, we live less of the Double Life than other children have to do--that is, we don't have to "_pretend_ good," and that makes all the difference. And this brings me to the tale of Polly Pretend. That was what we called her. And by and by other people found her out, and did so too. And it is an awful thing to be going through the world with a name like that. Yet Polly Pretend wasn't half a bad girl either. Indeed, if she had been left alone, she would have been quite nice. It wasn't her fault. Only this tale is a "terrible example" for parents and guardians. _They_ put such things, like nasty medicine, in the books we have to read, and why shouldn't I hit back, when it is only my poor old Dear Diary that sees it? Till Mr. Dignus gets ready to print it, that is. Polly Pretend had a father and mother, but worse than most. If ever they had been young, they had forgotten all about it. Polly mustn't run or romp, nor speak above her breath, nor climb a tree, nor do anything that makes life happy and really worth living. And when we went to see her, it was ever so much worse than going to church four times a Sunday. _We_ only go once, except on special occasions, because our folks believe in making Sunday an extra happy day. And, after all, church is church, and there is always the music, which is nice, and the organist's back hair, which isn't--and the sermon is never very long and sometimes interesting. Then for the boys there are the bees booming in the tall windows, and the flies that will persist in crawling stickily over the old gentlemen's bald heads--really quite pious flies they are. For the old gentlemen would be sure to go to sleep if it were not for the excitement of watching out and moving those flies on! But at Polly Pretend's house it was ever so much worse. You couldn't believe it if you had not been there. And, do my best, I really can't give you an idea. All the toys locked up, of course, all the drawing things, and every book except two--one of which was that everlasting _Josephus_, and the other the _Pilgrim's Progress_. As we knew these by heart, you may guess how cheerful it was. And you had to learn chapters till you hated the sight of an Oxford Bible, and hymns till you wanted to throw the book behind the fire. Hugh John stuck to it and did pretty well, though he is not a quick study. But Sir Toady boldly asserted that he was a true Mahometan, and made a green turban out of an old green baize school-bag to prove that he was a "haji and a holy man"! He had the cheek to brazen it out even when Polly's people threatened to inform his parents and have him sent home to-morrow! Bless you, Toadums wished for nothing better. He missed his fox-terrier, Boss, worse than words can tell, and his eggs and his paint-box and everything. But of course we soon saw how Polly Pretend managed. She pretended. She did not really read the books. She moved back the marker, and, if asked questions, knew all about the chapter. Even if they ticked it in pencil, there was india-rubber in Polly's pocket to rub it out. She played with beads in church--in her muff or under her cloak. And when one rolled on the floor, she said it was her collection money. She got another given her too, which was always a halfpenny saved. At least so thought Polly Pretend. And Hugh John could not make her see it was not the square thing--to buy sweets and thus defraud the Church. He is awfully armor-plated on what is "the Square Thing," my brother Hugh John. But Polly Pretend could not or would not see it. I think _could_ not. For what could be expected of any girl who had such people for parents? Then I saw clearly how well _we_ were off--whacked sometimes, of course, or Big Growly called upon to erupt (which he does very fierce for five minutes). But not expected to do anything except tell the truth and keep on telling it--not behave like reptiles--and if caught, own up prompt. Say your prayers when you feel like it. But don't do it just when you know parents and guardians will be coming into your bedroom, as Polly does--so that father or mother will say, "See how sweet and devotional our little girl is!" And Polly's father and mother thought how good she was, and told all round the countryside what little heathens we were. Not that _we_ cared for that. But Sir Toady went up-stairs to the lumber-room and got an image of some Chinese dragon which had been stowed away there ever since Uncle Peter had been home the last time. And when Polly Pretend's father and mother came to complain of us, he was down on his knees worshiping this false image on the front lawn! Awful, wasn't it? But all the same it would have made you laugh till you cried if you had seen him doing kow-tow to this false god--it was only an old cardboard dragon anyway, like what you see on the Shanghai stamps--and smelling the whole neighborhood by burning brown paper joss-sticks before it, with a penny fire-cracker at every finger-length. [Illustration: "DOING KOW-TOW TO THIS FALSE GOD"] He was had up into the study for that, though, because father said he would have no "mockery" about such things. But I don't think he got it very bad, because we all knew by the noise he made that Big Growly wasn't really very mad. When he is, he goes off and you see no more of him for a long time. He only stops in his den and doesn't growl. That is a good time to keep away and say nothing, till he has done chewing his paws. Only Maid Margaret dare go in then, and even she is wearing out of it--getting too old, I mean. But about Polly Pretend. Of course she did not pretend to us. First of all, she could not--she knew that it was quite in vain. Children don't try on things with one another. They know they will be seen through. Generally they can see through Grown-ups too, though, bless you, _They_ never know it. Oh, poor Polly! I was sorry for Polly. Because she could never be natural, but all the time had got to--what is it the book says?--"assume a virtue when she had it not." At school she knew wads of Scripture and all the Kings of Israel and Judah, but never did a French exercise without copying. Then, because her people were rich, and she so good, she got lots of money sent her--so much for telling what her place in class was. She told lies about that, and got money for being first when really most of the time she was first at the wrong end. Now at our school every fortnight the class was turned upside down, the top girl being put at the bottom and the wooden spoon at the top, so that the clever ones could work their way up again. And so each alternate Monday Polly Pretend was really top girl for about five minutes. It was on that day she wrote to her parents, and often got a golden sovereign or a Post Office Order sent to her for her wonderful cleverness. So, after all, in a way it was true. But there was trouble at the end of term--after the examinations, when Polly Pretend always came out the very last. Because, you see, she had to save money to buy her own prizes, get one of the charwomen to steal the school tickets that they stick in prize-books, and print in her own name in capital letters as "first prize" to show her parents. Then she had to watch for the School Report, which comes a day or two after, and get it safely from the postman. She burned it, after trying to alter the figures, but, of course, was anxious all the holidays. Also she warned me to say nothing about it when I came to see her. As if I would! I knew Polly Pretend too well. So I never said a thing about school, for fear Polly had been telling some lie about it, and I should be giving her away. The visit was an unhappy time for all of us--except, that is, for Sir Toady, who invented new and horrible forms of idolatry every other day, and scared the immortal soul out of Polly Pretend by putting on his day-shirt (the spare one) over his clothes, and letting on to be an Evil Spirit which haunted the gooseberry-bushes. And I will say he did growl most fearfully--especially when he found a good ripe bush. But we knew that was only to keep the rest of us off. So Hugh John chased the Evil Spirit by the sound, and growled too. Because the bush really was a good one--thin-skinned "silver-grays," and quite ripe. I had some. But you should have seen poor Polly. She was frightened till she nearly told the truth. I can't say more than that. Almost--but not quite. I do believe that she would have gone and confessed the most innocent of her lies to her parents, if it had not been for that young Imp, Sir Toady, who laughed out loud, and jumped up and down in the shirt like a white Jack-in-the-Box. But perhaps it was as well that she did not. For they were just the sort of people not to understand that Polly's lies had mostly been their own fault. But of course, as you may imagine, it was only putting off the day of reckoning. It was in holiday-time--midsummer--when school-mistresses are just like other folk; only, if anything, a trifle nicer. Now the head of our school, Miss Gray, came to Romano, which is the name of the town where Polly Pretend lived. And Miss Gray thought it would be a nice thing to call upon the mother of her pupil. Perhaps she might be able to give Mrs. Pretend a hint or two which would keep Polly from entirely wasting her time next term at Olympia. Oh, Miss Gray meant it just as kindly as she could, and that's saying a good deal. She is a nice chicky-biddy, fussy, motherly sort of thing, and wears the nicest satiny gowns at dinner-parties. It was the last thing in the world she would have thought of, to give Polly Pretend away--even to her parents. But it happened that on this day the Pretends had gone for a motor-ride. And as it was hot, Miss Gray said that she would be glad to wait a few minutes in the drawing-room. Because, you see, Mrs. Pretend was expected in every minute. The maid knew her business, of course; there was no "pretend" about her. She brought a cup of tea, and left Miss Gray to do--what do you think?--look over the books on the table. At first Miss Gray thought that something had suddenly gone wrong with her eyes. She opened a fine Macaulay, and saw "First Prize for History, Presented to Miss P. Pretend." Next came "Special Prize for Good Conduct--Miss P. Pretend." There was a whole table covered with them, laid out in the center of the room, and more stuck in decorative oaken shelves, of fine old oak, made by the village handy-man. Then Miss Gray understood, and her feelings were too much for her. But even then she did not give Polly away. You see, Miss Gray was a pretty good sort--that is, a good sort, and a pretty one too--which is the best sort of all, Hugh John says. So she just rang the bell, and told the maid that she could not wait any longer to see Mrs. Pretend, but that she would write. And she did. It was a little letter just saying that circumstances over which she had no control, etc., had caused such a pressure upon Olympia College that she was sorry there would not be a vacancy for Polly that year. Well, you can fancy--Polly's mother and father were very angry. So much so that they determined to start off at once to call on the heads of the college and complain. But Polly herself, as soon as she had heard from Ellen, the housemaid, what had happened, and how Miss Gray had been twenty minutes in the drawing-room, and gone away leaving her tea hardly "sipped," knew at once what was the matter. So she dissuaded her father and mother from going to Olympia College. She was not appreciated, she said. She had always known it. Even Miss Gray was jealous of her. And her mother said to her father, "I do not wonder at it, dear. It is all the effect of our too careful bringing up of Polly. Truly we may say with the Psalmist-- "'Than all her teachers now she has More understanding far!'" And in a way, do you know, she had. And it was the training that did it. But later on, Dear Diary, I shall write more about Polly Pretend, when she got a governess. For then she pretended and the governess pretended, and instead of getting out of the habit, as Hugh John says, seven Pretending Devils worse than the first entered into her. But of that another time. V PRINCIPIA _June continued, but nearer the end, and hotter._ Polly Pretend's governess, after she could not be received at Olympia, was Miss Principia Crow. She had more than three miles of testimonials, if all had been written out in a line in text hand and measured. The only curious thing was that the dates of all these were old, and Miss Principia was still fairly young. Also, she admitted having changed her name "for family reasons." But she seemed just the sort of person for Polly Pretend. She did not know much arithmetic--just enough to cheat at tennis. She had certificates that reached as far as "trig"--the wonderful science which makes the boys stamp and throw their books about the room when they have to study it. Now Pa and Ma Pretend had taken a great deal of trouble in providing a suitable companion for Polly, and in a way they had managed all right. Miss Crow pretended to teach, and Polly pretended to learn, and one knew as much about the matter as the other. Miss Crow passed the time in telling Polly how many people had been in love with her, and the hopes she had of as many more. Polly begged the loan of a pier-glass from her mother, and thought, as she pretended before it, smiling at herself and sweeping imaginary trains, how soon her turn would come to have scores of lovers all willing and anxious to drown themselves for her sake, like Miss Principia Crow. Fragments of conversation were sometimes caught by Mamma Pretend, and she thought to herself, "What strange authors they do set young people to study now-a-days! When I was a girl we had _Magnall's Questions_ and _Little Arthur's History of England_!" It was Miss Crow's voice, however. No mistake about that. "Yes, and he said to me, 'I adore you with all the fervor of a free and untrammeled genius, with the noble indignation of a spirit on fire against wrong and oppression. It is true that in the meantime, though of an exalted race, I am poor, receiving only twelve shillings a week in one of the institutions of trust vulgarly called a pawn-broker's. But next year and every succeeding year I shall have my salary raised by the sum of two shillings--per fortnight. Oh, Principia, my Principia----'" At this moment, overcome by her own pardonable curiosity, Mrs. Pretend entered hurriedly to see what they were doing. She found them busily employed, with head bent over an exercise in dictation.... "From Milton's Essay on Macaulay!" Miss Polly Pretend explained in answer to her mother's question. "Dear me," said Mrs. Pretend, as she went out, "and I always thought that Milton wrote poetry. It's true I never could make out how they could say that blank verse was really poetry--not, I mean, like 'How doth the little busy' and 'Twinkle, twinkle'! But he wrote a long time ago, and perhaps then they had not learned to make the words at the end rhyme!" But now I must tell how Polly Pretend corrupted the whole house. At first we had only called Polly's father and mother "the Pretends" because they belonged to Polly, and so that we might know who was meant. But to begin with, Mrs. Pretend had to make up a lot of things to explain why, after all these prizes, Polly had not gone back to Olympia School. She had to think up something that people would believe. You see, Polly's inventions were really too daring--as that after a year abroad she and Miss Crow were going to set up a college of their own, a far better one than Olympia. And then she would show Miss Gray! Now you will hardly believe me, but old Pretend, who was on the County Council and fussed about roads and drainage--"an innocent enough old duck," Sir Toady calls him--took to magnifying Miss Polly Pretend and her governess. I think he actually began to count up his dollars to see if he had really enough money to start Polly Pretend in a school of her own. But one fine day he met old Lovell, of Castle Lovell, at some joint business meeting about a Combination Poorhouse, or something like that. Now old Lovell is a fearful big-wig, and looked up to by everybody because he is too stupid ever to pretend the least little bit. He would get found out in a moment if he did. But solid as the Bank of England, and as conceited as Mir-row with a rosette tied to her tail last King's birthday! And old Lovell said, "I hear you have a Miss Crow to be governess to your little child! I think I ought to know her!" "Ye-es!" said Father Pretend slowly. He did not like to hear a young lady who was going to set up a school next year to rival Olympia itself called "your little child." But he could not afford to fall out with old Lovell, who always seemed as wise as a bench of judges and as rich-looking as a jeweler's shop which can afford to keep its blinds down. So he only said, "My daughter is not _quite_ a child!" "Oh," said old Lovell, "then it can't be Lizzie you have for governess!" "Certainly not!" said Mr. Pretend, much relieved; "her name is Principia!" "I thought that was a Latin Grammar or something like that!" said old Lovell, scratching his head like a bald old parrot. "Well, perhaps," said Papa Pretend, "it is very likely. Miss Crow has been educated in all the languages that are--from her youth up!" Now all would have gone well if only it had not happened that at that moment Polly and her governess came out of Parkins the pastry-cook's, where they had been stuffing fruit-cakes. "Why, Lizzie!" cried old Lovell, shaking Miss Principia heartily by the hand, "now I am pleased to see you have got on so well. This is my butler's daughter," he explained, turning to Mr. Pretend, whose mouth was the shape of a capital O; "it does Lizzie much credit. Because, you see, she never got any regular schooling, being kept at home to help her mother in the still-room and with the jams. Good-by, Lizzie! I shall not forget to inform your father and mother that I have seen you--also John the gardener, with whom, I understand, you are keeping company, as they call it. Ah, ha! young people will be young people! Good-by, Pretend! Good-by! Congratulate you on having the daughter of a respectable man in your house. She will teach your little girl to make jams, and her gooseberry-fool will be a marvel, if she is a bit like her mother. Sensible man, Pretend! Far better to teach your daughter to brew and bake than all the modern 'ologies' and fiddle-faddle in the world! Keeps their husbands in better temper. Ah, clever fellow, Pretend! But you couldn't take an old fellow in, eh, Pretend? I knew all that about learning Latin grammar was stuff and nonsense. Good-by, good-by! So long, Lizzie! Don't forget about that gooseberry-fool!" So off he went, like the rough timber-sided old bargee he was, and left Mr. Pretend muttering angrily, "Gooseberry-fool! Gooseberry-fool!" As if he knew very well who the "Gooseberry Fool" was--knew, that is, but had promised not to tell. But poor Principia went as white as a sheet and shook like a fly caught in a spider's web. I'm afraid in her heart she called old Lovell names. How did it turn out? Oh, the best way in the world. You would hardly believe. At first, of course, old Pretend was all for packing off Principia for teaching his child deceit! But he calmed down when he thought of the lot of money he owed to old Lovell of Castle Lovell, and of the use that his influence would be to him. Besides, he had boasted so much about her. So had his wife. So he not only let Principia stay on, but actually set her to teach Polly Pretend all she really knew. And she did know about cookery. That was the real college she had been at, and her mother was a better professor than all the ladies who gave lessons there. And Polly was obliged to learn, too, because her father ate all the things she cooked, and if he had indigestion, why, Polly heard about it, that's all. So she stopped pretending and really did learn. And after a while they set up their college with old Pretend's money--old Lovell's too, and it was called THE SCHOOL OF PRACTICAL COOKERY _Classes Afternoon and Evening_ Household Cookery, Preserving, and the Management of Families a Speciality And that sentence was the last little bit of "Pretend." For neither Polly nor Miss Crow has any family. Nor, between ourselves, are they likely to have. VI TORRES VEDRAS _July the first in the year when I was eleven on August tenth._ Father has seen the real place, and, of course, knows all about it. He says that it is just a lot of rough mountains, with bits of wall built into the open places to connect them and make them strong. But _we_ know that there are not one, but two Torres Vedrases--all on one bend of a river. The first one is quite near the Low Park, between the Weir and Jackson's Pool. It is a pebbly bar with a kind of green tufty island. From one side of it there is a rippling ford crossing slantwise, by which you can lose yourself barefooted in the woods on the other side. The water only takes you to about the knee, even if you are pretty little. It is always one of the nicest places in the world. The water makes a soft tinkling over the ford. The grasses and bluebells wave, and the wind goes _sough_ through the big solid walls of pine on either side. Yes, it is first-rate to play there with your oldest things on, especially on a warm day about this time of the year. The river is pretty dry, and there is a great deal of pebbly bar, also the little green island with rough grass on it has grown to about twice the size. You can fortify this island, and it is fine to dig channels through the bar for the water, with all sorts of lovely harbors and pleasure-lakes. Once the boys and I made a channel right from one end of the bar to the other, and father helped--and got wet too! Yes, he did. We always encouraged him to get wet, by saying, "Oh, here is a place we can't reach!" Because if _he_ got wet, we knew very well there would be nothing said to us. Fathers are fearful nice and useful--sometimes. Ours particularly when he helps us to play, and forgets he isn't a boy. Oh, I can see quite well when he says to himself, "I ought to be working--_but_--oh, bother, how much nicer it is to dig in the sand with the other children!" And then he took pictures of us--photographs, I mean--working at our engineering, and building and paddling--oh, whole albums full. They began when we were quite little tots. The best are of Maid Margaret and Sir Toady. For I was too old, I suppose, to look nice stuck among trees, and Hugh John hated so being photographed. When told to, he stood up stiff like a stork on one leg. But Sir Toady was usually as nice as pie, being made that way, and as for the Maid, she always looks natural whatever she is doing. Father has a whole set called the History of a Biscuit. It is only the Maid eating one. But it is funny to see it getting smaller and smaller till it is all gone. They are flashed on quickly by our magic lantern, and we children go wild when it comes to the funny ones. The grand exhibitions are for winter nights. Then we are well wrapped up in gray Harris cloaks and come up, closely marshaled by Somebody to see that we don't snowball too much. They are quite lovely, these nights, with the snow crisping under our feet, and Somebody carrying a swig-swagging lantern before us--everybody's shadow swaying tipsily about, and the sky so near and so thick with stars that it seems as if you had only to put up your hand to catch a whole cluster. There are usually many pictures of this first Torres, because we were younger, and it is a prettier place. We wore little red coats with big white buttons then, and marched regularly like soldiers. Hugh John beat us on the legs if we did not. He had a switch for the purpose, and he said that was the way the father of Frederick the Great did to make his son turn out a good soldier. But we didn't care about such very practical history, and it made our legs sore--especially us girls, who wore thinner stockings. So there was a regular mutiny, and the whole army was degraded. You see, we were all generals--except Boss, our fox-terrier, who was named Inspector-General of Communications, because he ran from side to side of the road sniffing, and nothing or nobody could stop him. So, as Boss did not join the mutiny--not knowing how--he was promoted next in rank after the Commander-in-Chief, who was Hugh John. _He_ was permanent Commander, because, you see, he could lick the whole standing army even if it attacked him on all sides at once. Sir Toady and Bobby Coates were the ring-leaders of the revolt, and they called out, "Hem him in! Hem him in!" But, you see, that was the very thing Hugh John wanted, and the more they "hemmed," the harder he laid into them till Bobby said he would tell his father, which he did. But Mr. Coates was a sensible man, and only said that he was all the better for a "hiding," and that if he came bothering him any more, he would give him another on his own account! So after that Bobby Coates became a good soldier, and lived long as an ornament to the service. Yes, the nursery army was good fun while it lasted, before we all split up and went to different schools. We tried it once after in the first vacation. But somehow it wasn't the same, and ended in a fight. You see, the boys especially had learned a good deal between them, and though it made no difference to Hugh John, the others kept squabbling all the time, and saying how much better they did things at their school than at any other--which was not at all the way they talked about their school in private. _Then_ "school was a beastly hole." The masters were "Old Buster," "Plummy," "Sick Cat," and "The Dishlicker"! But to hear them talking to one another you would have thought that at least half what was said on the prospectus was Gospel Truth. Yes, and ever so much more. And it was "The Doctor," and "Mr. Traynor, the Head of our House, who made a double century in the ''Varsity' match, and is the best bowler in the whole world!" Going down by Torres there is a darkish place, all yew-trees, very ancient, and there sometimes we would see one of the maids walking arm-in-arm with a young man. Of course, though we thought it very silly, we never told the Grown-ups. We knew by instinct that we must not. Then after a month or two the cook or the housemaid or the under-nurse would come and say she was "leaving to get married." Of course we never let on that we knew it all before. But we thought her very silly to leave a place where she could have stayed for ever at good wages (ever so much better than our weekly ones) just to go and do housework for somebody who never paid her any wages at all! All this comes into the history of the First Torres Vedras, and of course I ought to have done it properly, like in a school history, all in order, with dates at the sides and notes at the bottom of each page. But being only a little girl, it has got to be written just so, or not at all. I am so afraid that I shall forget these things as I grow up--so I put them down as I remember them in my Dear Diary. VII TORRES THE SECOND _Written in the fourteenth year of my age._ [The date is July the Second--or Third. I am not sure which, for Mary Housemaid has burned yesterday's paper lighting the fire.] We went to Torres Vedras the Second to-day. I don't quite know why--only there are bigger stones there, and the river rushes more rapidly. We often try to dam it altogether, but we have never quite succeeded. You see, just when we are getting to the last bit, the water always rises and sweeps it all away. But Hugh John said to-day he knew a way, and that was to make the dam like a very blunt capital V with its nose pointing up stream! The book on engineering he had been digging into said this was the proper right way, and it acted very well till the moment came when the very point of the V was put in. Hugh John was to do that, of course. He would yield the honor to no one else, and as for me, I did not want that kind of honor. And, do you know, when he dropped in the big stone and stood on it to make it all safe by plugging up the "interstices" with smaller stones and rubble, as the book said--lo! the river rose again and swept away the whole work from side to side, all except the big bowlder Hugh John was standing on! You never saw such a thing. Horatius, with the bridge going down behind him, was at least on dry land. But there stood Hugh John waving his arms to keep his balance, and crying out, "Oh--I don't care--I don't care--I'll dam it yet!" It was very ignoble, he said afterwards, of any river to behave that way. Why couldn't it have stopped where it was put and done what it was told? Anyway, while we tried to get him a plank to crawl ashore on, the big bowlder swerved, and toppled him right in, and he was wet up to his watch-pocket. He had to go to the top of the Feudal Tower all by himself, and play at being the Lady Godiva riding through Coventry, while his things dried over the ramparts. But he took good care that nobody saw him. He dared Toady Lion to come within half-a-mile. While he was away, we made great excavations and navigable channels. One of these was so huge that Sir Toady says that the ruins will remain even when we are Grown-ups ourselves. But that is a long time yet, and I don't see how Sir Toady can possibly know. He also says that, just as there are the ruins of Memphis, Nineveh, Rome, the Calton Hill, and the Portobello Brickworks, so there will be the ruins of the First and Second Torres Vedras. Digging people in future generations will wonder who made them, and so on each of the big stones he has placed an inscription in the Abracadabrian language to tell the explorers all about it. Now I will tell you about the Abracadabrian language. We made it up ourselves, and we four in the nursery all speak it fluently. Only the curious thing about it is that none of us has the least idea what the others are talking about! This must be owing, says Hugh John, to "some variation of dialect, such as creeps into all languages sooner or later." The Abracadabrian language has suffered _sooner_ than most, that is all. In fact, it was born suffering. But it is the writing of it that is most difficult. It is founded on always putting a Z for an A, and so back through the alphabet. And so difficult to read is it that not even the writer of any sentence in that language has ever been able to make out what he meant, twenty-four hours after! Hugh John and I really labored at it hard, and might have made progress if we had not squabbled about the grammatical rules. But Sir Toady said brazenly, "_Hinky-chinky-pin!_" And stuck to it that it meant, "The enemy of the Nursery Commonwealth has arrived at Leith, burnt his ships, and is now marching on Peebles!" As for Maid Margaret, she said it was so, and would Sir Toady please come with her and fish for minnows with a tin can tied to a string? This they did. They had no souls for true philology. They don't even know what the word means. (_I_ have just looked it up.) After he was dried up all right alone in the Feudal Tower, Hugh John dressed himself, and signaled to me by waving his handkerchief three times, once with his right hand, once with his bare toes, and once holding it between his teeth--pretty intricate when you are not used to it. This, when you can see it, is our fiery cross--that is, Hugh John's and mine. As I say, it takes a good deal of trouble, but it is a worthy summons--and the copy-book says that nothing truly noble is achieved without difficulty. Well, when I got to him, he said that he would take me to his Cave of Mysteries. This was a great favor, for not even Sir Toady had ever been there before. "Not a gamekeeper knows it," he said, "and Fuz says I can use his scouting-glass if I take good care not to drop it." There was a steep wood to climb, all among the fir-trees, some grass fields, then above and quite suddenly we came out on the side of a rugged mountain. The cave was about half-way up, under a slanting rock. You turned quickly to the side, grabbed a little pine-root and swung yourself in. Then you saw the cave. It was not much of a place for size, not like the self-contained villas they have in story-books. Only you could not be seen. The rain did not come in unless it was driving quite level along from the north, which did not happen often. But when I turned about--why, it nearly took my breath away. We could see half-a-dozen counties--Edinburgh dusting the little lion of Arthur's Seat with her smoke, the blue firth beyond, little and narrow, the toy towers of the Big Bridge to the left, and the green country all between dotted with towers and towns innumerable. Oh, it was so unexpected and so fine that I nearly cried. And Hugh John lay watching me, his chin among the heather. But, more than all, he was pleased that his cave had taken me so much by storm. Then he showed me with his glasses he could "spot exactly where each of the gamekeepers was, also the wood-foresters, and Sir Bulleigh Bunny himself, if he were at home." And indeed it was quite true. He could pick them all out one by one. Never once did he make a mistake. Then he would show me them, but often all I could see was no more than a little trembling among the green leaves of some far-distant wood. It was not long till I found the secret of Hugh John's complete security in this his chosen Crusoe's Cave. Chesnay the gamekeeper was passing far below, a gun over his shoulder, and as the wind was blowing off the hill into the valley, it was almost certain that his dogs would scent us. But Hugh John had thought all this out. Trust him for that. He took a gnawed bone out of an inner pocket, removed the wrapping of newspaper, leaned far over, and threw it with the long, sweeping curve of a boomerang upon the path in front of the dog's nose. John Chesnay's retriever made a rush, a snap, and then sidled sidelong into the thick copse-wood. The rest of the dogs were after him in a moment. I had seen him glancing from side to side as if to watch for the fall of the bone. He knew it would come, and that even if the devil took the hindmost, the foremost would be sure of the bone. Therefore he, John Chesnay's big black retriever, would be that foremost. He was far too wise a dog to argue, or bother about where the bone arrived from. His business was to find it, and then--_crunch_--_crunch_--get it stowed away out of harm's way as quickly as possible. Caesar Augustus (that was the dog's name) knew very well that though you may hunt out the causes of bad luck, it is better to leave good luck alone. So at least Hugh John said, and if anybody knew all about such things, _he_ did. There was hardly anything he could not tell you the true explanation of, or, if in doubt, you had only to wait a moment and he would make you up one on the spot quite as good, every bit, as the real one. Furthermore, he would prove to you (and very likely to himself) that it might be, must be, _was_, the only true and proper reason and explanation. Anyway, reason or no reason, it was just as nice as ninepence in the Cave. Away down to the left where the sun was bright on the river we could see Sir Toady and the Maid, little black dots moving to and fro along the green edge of the river. Hugh John had the glass on them in a minute, and behold--they were squabbling! Sir Toady had tossed some of the Maid's fish out, and the Maid had promptly thrown the pail of water in his face. He stood dripping and laughing. The Maid had gone for a fresh supply of ammunition. But war was over. Sir Toady had laughed. After that there was no more to be said. It is different with Hugh John, when he sucks in his cheeks, clenches his fists, and laughs--well, look out for what you are going to get. I asked Hugh John why he had never taken Sir Toady up to his Cave of the Winds, and he said, "Oh, Toady--he would be getting out boxes to stuff with beetles, and skirmishing for birds' eggs. He's all right in a wood, that Toadums--better than me--but no good on the hillside, and too larky all round in places where you can be seen miles off." "And what do you do up here yourself?" I said. "I am _by_ myself," he answered. "I think--I read!" "But you have a room _to_ yourself in the house. You can go there!" For I thought he was exceedingly well off. Because I have to share mine with the Maid, who kicks like a young colt in her sleep. But Hugh John gave me a look of utmost contempt. "Did you never hear of Obermann?" he said, "--the man who made a cave on the Pic de Jaman. I showed it to you when we stopped at Glion on the way to Lausanne." "It was a cow-châlet then," I reminded him. But he swept on without the least heed of details. "Yes, and Mr. Arnold has a lovely poem all about him, and 'the wild bees' hum,' and 'his sad tranquil lore.' This isn't quite the Pic de Jaman, of course, but it is just as lonely, if you don't tell anybody, that is, and I've only told you, Sis! Never mind!" So I swore never to reveal his hiding-place, and he showed me all he had written about his observations. He had a shelf covered in with wood and a lot of copy-books. Here was written all he had seen through the glasses he had borrowed and the three-draw telescope of his own which he carried constantly in his pocket. Oh, it was wonderful what he had observed--all about the changing seasons, the country people, the moor-birds, the gamekeepers, and the comings and goings of Sir Bulleigh Bunny. "Anybody can hide in a wood," he said, "but it takes Obermann and me to do it on a bare hill!" Then he smiled a little and confessed. "I don't really know much about him," he said, "except that his name was Senancour. I got his book out of the library, all marked with father's scribblings, but I really couldn't understand much of it. Only this that I translated--you could do it better, of course. It is about himself when he was as old as we are, and felt just the same. "'I loved all manner of glades, valleys where it was always dusk--and thick woods. I loved heathery hills, ruined pleasaunces, and tumbled rocks fallen in avalanche. Still more I loved vast and shifting sands which never plowshare had furrowed nor human foot crossed--plains abandoned to the mountain doe or the frightened scouring hare. I never liked to sit amid the storming of cataracts, nor on a little hill overlooking a boundless plain. Rather I chose a hiding-place well sheltered, a block of stone wetted lip deep with the brook which glided through the silence of the valley, or better still, a mossy trunk, prone in the deeps of the forest, with the dry rustle of beech-leaves above me which the wind is getting ready to blow down when the time is ripe. Silently I march, my feet deep in last year's fallen leaves--the little worn footpath full of them from side to side.' "Oh, and this is finest of all," said Hugh John, hurrying on, "but don't tell any one. I make you a partner of my solitude. It lasts just a little while. It is selfish, if you like, but sometimes it is good to live alone! Do you know what Senancour says love is?" "No!" I gasped, "how should I know?" And in truth I was more surprised that already Hugh John should be thinking of such things. But when I told father, he just said to let him alone--that the boy was finding his soul. Perhaps it might be in this old, sad, hundred-year-old book that he was to find it. For the soul, father says, is just the capacity a man has of thinking for himself. But Hugh John went on joyously, with his firm, pale, clean-cut face looking out of the Cave's mouth towards the distant sapphire band of the Firth, with the three Lomonds in a paler row of blue mounds behind. "'Often on the breast of some mountain, when the winds, sweeping down from their wild "hopes" and gorges, ruffle the little high-lying solitary lakes, the eternal clatter of the waves, heard only by myself, makes me feel the instability of things, and the eternal reconstruction of the earth out of her own _débris_. "'Thus giving myself up to the influence of all about me, bending to the stoop of the bird which passes above me, thrilled by the falling stone, conferring only with the moaning of the wind, watching the oncoming mist, I become a part of the Peace of Things which is God. All reposes, yet all is in motion, and I become part of it--calm as that higher serenity, cool as that shadow--the hum of an insect or the scent of a trampled herb making my communion with Nature. I also am of the great sweet earth. I live its life, and in time I shall die its death.'" Now, for myself, I did not think that this was the sort of thing a boy ought to be thinking of at Hugh John's age. But, since father said he too had "passed that way," and since Hugh John could eat, sleep, run, and play as well as anybody, I did not say anything. But I foresaw a day of reckoning--yes, I--because I am older, and a girl. And in the world there are other girls. One day Hugh John (or I am greatly mistaken) will turn the leaves of another book, and then Senancour the austere will be forgotten, passed by on his shelf like a chance acquaintance whose very name has become strange. Perhaps I wrong him. But this is what I think. At any rate I resolved to try and guide his thoughts into more cheerful paths (it is a pity we have not Senancour's pretty word '_sentier_'; I have always loved it). "Do you never observe _people_?" I asked him. He stared at me in amazement. "Why, of course I do," he answered, and he got down two more thick copy-books. Everything Hugh John did about this time was original and unexpected. "People!" he said, holding up the two manuscript books; "why, these are stuffed full of people. Enough to make a real book!" Then I confided to Hugh John the great secret that _I_ was making a book. A look of joy flashed over his face. "Let's make one together!" he said, "and not tell anybody!" "Let's!" I answered. Because I felt that I really owed Hugh John something for showing me the Cave. And it was arranged that he was to tell me about his People and Things, and I was to write everything down with my thoughts planted in here and there. VIII HUGH JOHN'S PEOPLE _Through a glass clearly. July, and hot._ If you put your eye to the glass (said Hugh John) you will see where one of my greatest friends lives--Mr. Butcher Donnan. Or rather he used to be a butcher. For now he has given up his trade to his son Nipper, and regrets it every minute of his waking day. Yes, that two-storied cottage with the garden in front, ablaze with flowers, with creepers clambering as high as the roof, that is "New Erin Villa," and the home of the most discontented man in Edam. Butcher Donnan has nothing to do. He hangs over his gate, and almost prays stray passers-by to stop and gossip. He has nothing to say to them or they to him. But when they are gone, he will pull out his big gold watch with a cluck like the cork drawn from a bottle, and say, "Thank God! Five minutes gone!" Then he will stroll down the lanes towards Nipper's shop, making butcher's eyes at all the cows which look at him over the hedges. He is secretly calculating how they will cut up--jealous of Nipper, who has it to do really every day. He lounges into his son's shop--where not long ago he ruled supreme. Nipper, serving a customer, nods cheerfully to his father, and the Butcher, whose fingers itch for the apron and the swinging steel, clutches the gold head of his cane more tightly to keep him from applying the supple part of it to "every lazy man-Jack" in the establishment. Ah, things are not as they were in his time. The floor is not so clean and cool, in spite of the black and white marble squares on which Nipper had insisted. The eye of "Mister" Donnan could detect signs of wasteful cutting-up in the dismembered animals a-swing on the hooks. But Nipper was now "Butcher" Donnan, while he is no more than proprietor of "New Erin Villa," with nothing to do, and too much time and too much money to do it on. Sadly he goes out again. His place is not there. He could not stay in that shop ten minutes without breaking the head of one of these stupid "assistants." Even Nipper might not get off scot-free. But Butcher Donnan knows that his son Nipper is of his own temper, a true Donnan, and, young as he is, will be master within his own gates. So he says sadly, "So long, Nipper!" And, what is the greatest proof of his changed condition, goes out without offering any criticism. Then he "troddles" round the village on the look-out for little jobs, which he considers as his specialities, or even perquisites--though he takes no money for doing them. He can graft rose-trees better than any gardener in the parish. At least he _says_ he can, and by reason of his repeating it often enough and offering to fight anybody who thinks otherwise, people have got to say so too. You believe an old middle-weight champion when he tells you a thing like that, his little eyes twinkling out suspiciously at you, and a fist the size of a mutton ham thrust under your nose. Just now--"Watch him, Sis!" he is on the look-out for wasp nests. Edam is the most wasp-free parish for miles, all owing to him. He marks them down in the daytime, and then in the evening he will come with his utensils and a dark lantern to make an end. With hung nests under eaves, or attached to branches of trees, he deals by drenching them with petroleum and setting a match to them. Sometimes he will drop a big one into a pail of water and stand ready to clap on the lid. The swarming deep-sunk nests in dry banks he attacks more warily. He brings a little apparatus for heating pitch, and pours it, liquid and sinuous, into the hole till the startled hum sinks into silence. Since an accident which happened last year (owing to the wasp-nest operated upon having a back-door) Butcher Donnan has always taken a quick-sighted boy or two to spy out the land. I suspect our Sir Toady has acted as scout pretty often. Do you remember when he came home all bulgy about the eyes and with one of his ears swelled up double? _He_ said he thought he must have taken cold, and I saw from the twinkle in Fuz's eye that he thought he had been fighting. But _I_ took my magnifying glass and got out two of the wasp-stings. Sir Toady had been doing "scout" for Butcher Donnan. He had not "scouted" quite quick enough--that was all. Butcher Donnan, born Irish, had spent some time in America. So he started politics here, and as he hoists the green flag with a harp, and hauls down the Union Jack on the occasion of every Irish debate in Parliament, you may be sure that he gets his windows broken. He does not object. He likes putting the panes in again himself, because it is something for him to do. Sometimes he catches some local Unionist patriot and (what he calls) "lathers" him! Afterwards he supports him liberally during a prolonged convalescence. It is counted rather a good thing to be loyal and get battered by that furious Irish Revolutionary, Butcher Donnan. He has illuminations, too, and has stood for the School Board and County Council on purely Fenian lines. He said nothing, however, when young Nipper was elected instead of him, on that most popular of all municipal tickets which consists in "keeping down the rates." In despair of other employment Butcher Donnan has married a second time, and his wife is a buxom woman, overcome with the glory of living in a villa. But she makes regular first-class custards, I tell you. And for toffee and shortcake there is not the like of her in the whole village of Edam. If it were not for Butcher Donnan's (senior's) dignity, he might be a happy man. For Mrs. Donnan could conduct the finest confectioner's shop that ever was, and if the Butcher could be kept from cutting up a mince-pie with a cleaver, and sharpening a jelly-spoon on a "steel," he might be the best of salesmen and the happiest of men. Meanwhile, he has found the big wasp-nest behind the Mains entrance gate, and he will be off to get his pitch-kettle ready, the mask for his face, and the gloves for his hands. He does not mean to suffer if he can help it. His wife, who cannot be all the time in the kitchen, is miserable because she has to do fancy work and receive callers (or at least sit waiting for them) in the fruit season, which is a clear waste of time. She has been so long making a green Berlin wool cushion for a bazaar--the "Sons of Clan-na-Gael Mutual Assistance Sale"--that it is just chock-full of moths, and in time will pollute the entire household into which it is "raffled." It is wrong to raffle, anyway, says the chief of police, so it will serve them quite right--_I_ shall not take a ticket. Now (said Hugh John, shaking his wise head) if they would only listen to me and start a confectioner's shop, they would both be chirpy as the day is long, and in the winter time long after dark--she over her dishes and patty-pans in the kitchen, and he in a white cap and apron behind the counter, talking to everybody, busy as honey-bees in clover-time, radiating sweetness and coining money. And underneath the white apron Donnan could wear the butcher's "steel" if he liked, just to make him feel like himself. Oh, I could arrange for people to be happy if they would only let me! "And why don't you tell him?" I said to Hugh John, a little impatiently. "Oh," said Hugh John, "you see, I have fought Nipper so long that there is a kind of hereditary household enmity." "Nonsense," I said; "why, I saw Fuz talking to the old fellow for an hour the other day, the two of them sitting and smoking as thick as thieves. Besides, there's Toady!" "Yes," said Hugh John. "Father has no sense of the dignity of the house or of what a 'vendetta' means. He always says that if he has a chance of getting to heaven on that clause about forgiving your enemies, he does not care a dump. Or words that mean just the same. And as for Sir Toady--well, give him liberty to go into the woods at night--only an excuse, mind you, and there is no sin that he will not commit--short, that is, of mutiny. Neither of them knows how to conduct a family quarrel on proper lines. I--you and I, I mean, have to sustain the honor of the house, eh, Sis?" "Oh, nonsense, Hugh John," I said; "you know you have always been good friends with Nipper. And it was you that brought the whole of them here to listen to the Scott Redcap Tales at the Feudal Tower!" "_That_ was quite another matter," said Hugh John, hard pushed for an explanation. "It was a sort of Ossianic gathering where all the chiefs came to Morven, and made truce to listen to the tales and songs of the minstrel!" "Oh, very likely," I said; "but why not put father or Sir Toady on to advise Butcher Donnan? There is need of such a shop as that in Edam. I have often felt the want myself." Hugh John agreed, and added that he had too. But he said that Sir Toady could not be expected to act, seeing that he had already "sucked up" to the maker of the strawberry shortcake, not to mention the maple-sugar toffee. He could therefore get as much as he wanted for himself without paying, owing to Mrs. Donnan's weakness! "And do you think that a young dev--imp like Sir Toady does not know when he is well off?" concluded Hugh John. "As for father, he has too much to do to bother his head about things like that--at least I shan't ask him; no, Sis, if anybody, it is you who ought to suggest to Butcher Donnan, or better, to Mrs. Donnan----" "But," said I, "he is a violent man, and would not listen to a word his wife says. You know that very well!" Hugh John considered, throwing his chin into the air with a gesture which, if he had not worn his hair of military shortness, would have cast it back elegantly and poetically. But he disdained such things. "Oh, yes," he said, "Donnan makes a lot of noise, I know. He pretends to authority, but--don't tell anybody--he has it not. _His wife can wear him down!_ She seems to submit. His authority at home is undisputed. So he tires of it, and finishes by letting her have her own way. That is the secret. Of course at the least word of objection it would be, 'What ho! my highest of high horses!' And crying aloud he would mount and ride. But Mrs. Donnan never gives him a chance. She knows better. And as he is really a good-hearted man--if he does bully, she just waits till he is sorry for it! It does not take long." Thus in the depths of the cave, his chin on his hands and his eye glued to the telescope, spake the Philosopher of Esk Water Side. I could not but admit that in the main he was right. Hugh John follows a truth with a certain slow, patient, tireless, sleuth-hound trot, which never puts him out of breath. But in the end he finishes by getting there. And now without ever moving he extorted from me the promise that, when I could (and as soon as I could) I should take in hand the task of restoring the married happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Donnan--retired from business, and fallen into the practice of idleness as a profession, and unhappiness as the wages thereof. IX THE NEW SHOP _Aged about Fifteen. The Cave, in July._ It wasn't a job I liked. Nor would almost anybody. Still people can't _say_ very much to a girl, and I had been at school and so had lost my--what shall I call it?--"sensitiveness." As Sir Toady says, the golden rule is a first-rate thing--when you leave school. Even with a little addition, it flourishes there too. But you don't want to set up as a Christian martyr at school, I can tell you. It was very noble in the time of St. Francis, and Dr. Livingstone, and these people, and now-a-days there are people to whom we have to send our sixpences--people we never see. Perhaps I shall be one when I am older, but at school--these are Sir Toady's words--you find out what boy has a down on you _and down him first_! It saves trouble. Afterwards you can be as sweet and child-like as possible, and go about the world taking people in with blue Madonna eyes all your life. But at school, if you don't want to have the life of a dog, it has got to be different. Hugh John, of course, says that the principle of school life is for everybody to obey one person. But, you see, that person is Hugh John. If they don't, most likely he will hammer them. And afterwards he will prove how they were wrong. He will do it at length, and at breadth, and at depth, and unto the fourth dimension, till even fellows who can stand up to his fists give in to him so as not to get lectured--or "jawed" as they ignorantly call it. For really what Hugh John says could be taken down and printed right off in a book. And you have got to believe it, too. For he is always ready to support his opinion, in the same manner as the Highland chief in _Kidnapped_. "If any gentleman is not preceesely satisfied, I shall be proud to step outside with him." Joined to this faculty for laying down the law, he possesses an admirable barbaric power of enforcing it, which would have been invaluable in feudal times, and is not without its uses even now. Well, three days after I went and called on Mrs. Donnan. It came about quite naturally. She is a first-class person to call upon. No fuss or anything--only you have to catch her on the hop. This time I saw her in the garden gathering gooseberries, and in a moment she had her sunbonnet half off her head, and the basket dropped in the furrow, but I was upon her before she could get away. "Oh, Mrs. Donnan, do let me help you!" I said. "But, Miss----" she began, not knowing how to go on. "I should love it," I added quickly, "and I promise not to eat a single one. In fact I shall whistle all the time!" "Oh, miss," she said, all in a flurry, "you know it is not that! You or any of your family are only too welcome to come, and take as many as they like." "If you want to keep any for the preserving pot," I said, smiling at her, "I should advise you not to say that to my entire family. There are certain members of it who are capable of cleaning up the branches as your dog Toby there would clean a bone!" "Oh, you mean Master Toady," she said, all dimples in a moment at the recollection. "He comes here often. But the garden is large, and bless him! even he can't eat more than he can. More than that, he often leaves a rabbit, or even a brace--and my man havin' been a butcher, is remarkable fond of a bit o' game." "Yes," I said, "my brother's shootings are like your garden, extensive. Still, it is a wonder how he can keep them up on a shilling a day, and all but twopence of it deferred pay!" "It is a wonder, now I come to think of it!" said the good lady meditatively. "He must be a careful lad with his money!" "What I wonder at,"--I went on talking as soon as I had got her settled back again at the picking of the gooseberries--"is that you never thought of making the prettiest little shop-window in the world of your cakes and pasties and jams and candies. You know nobody can make them in the least like you. Besides, I have spoken to my father and others who know lots more about it, and every one is sure that such a thing would be a great boon to Edam, and that you are the very person to take it in hand. It would not be like an ordinary shop. For every one knows that your husband has made his fortune and retired. But it would give you something to do. Shall I speak to Mr. Donnan about it?" The poor woman flushed with pleasure at the very idea. So much I could see. Yet she hesitated. "HE would never consent--his position--his politics--Oh, no!" Mrs. Donnan considered that I had better not speak to the master--at least not then. However, I thought differently, and it was after the good lady had asked me to stay to tea that my chance came. Donnan came in, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed Panama. Things had not been going well that afternoon. Nipper had been busy on account of a rush of trade, and had not welcomed his father's criticisms too gratefully. You see, the old man was accustomed to find fault with Nipper's management, and that day there had been a shortage of ice in the shop and a corresponding shortage in Nipper's temper. Also, Mr. Donnan's more general perambulation had not turned out well. Some rude and vagrant boys had dug out the pet wasp-nest he had been saving up for the next dark night, and there were green flies all over his best Lasalle rose-tree. Two of his best Dorkings had "laid away." "I don't want any tea to-day, Cynthia!" he grumbled crossly. And without looking at me he went to the sofa and threw himself down with a heavy creaking of furniture. "My dear," said his wife, "surely you have not seen this young lady who has come to do you the honor of taking tea with you?" "Nonsense," said I, "as long as there are such cakes to be had at New Erin Villa, the honor is all on my side." But the polite Irishman was already on his feet. "Miss Sweetheart--Miss Sweetheart!" he said, "what a blind old hedge-carpenter ye must have thought me! And you your own folks' daughter, and your father treating me like a long-lost brother, _and_ instructin' me on hist'ry and the use of the globes!" So we had tea, the prettiest little tea imaginable, with Mrs. Donnan going about as soft-footed as a pussy cat, and purring like one too. Butcher Donnan looked after her with a kind of sudden bitterness. "It's all very well for _her_," he said; "she makes her life out of such things, but what is there for me to do? I'm about at the end of my tether!" "Why, _help her_!" said I. "Help her!" he muttered, not understanding. "Me, Butcher Donnan--why, the girl is mazed! I can't do housework!" [Illustration: "HELP HER! ME, BUTCHER DONNAN!"] But I soon showed him I was not so mazed as he thought. He was tired of doing nothing. He wanted a change. Very well then; here was this little house right at the top of Edam Common, with the railway station opposite, and everybody's business taking him that way two or three times a day. What Edam wanted was a confectioner's shop. His wife was dying to have one. He would look a fine figure of a man in a white overall and cap! Hugh John had said it! He whistled softly, and his little, deep-set eyes twinkled. "I might ha' known," he said, "when I saw that long-legged brother of yours looking at me as if to calculate what I was good for. He's the fellow to make plans. Now the other----" Here he laughed as he remembered Sir Toady Lion. "More like me when I was his age!" he said. "But about the pastry-cook foolishness. What put that into his head?" "It isn't foolishness," I answered, "and nobody that I know of ever puts anything into Hugh John's head!" "He certainly is a wonder!" ("Corker" was what he _said_.) Then I explained. One side of the villa was certainly expressly designed for a shop, the drawing-room and back drawing-room having side connections with the kitchen, only needed to be fitted with shelves and counters. The other side of the house and all above stairs might remain intact. To my surprise Mr. Donnan never said a word concerning his position, his political aspirations, his illuminations, and disporting of the green harp of Ireland. "But what are we to do with Cynthia's parlor furniture?" he asked instead. I could see a look of joy flash across his wife's face. "Donnan," she said, "we will make the empty room above into a parlor. It's a perfect god-send. That boy should be paid by Government to make plans for people!" Butcher Donnan bent his brows a moment on his wife. "Oh, you are in it, are you, Cynthia? Then I suppose I may as well go and order my white apron and cap?" "Think how well they will become you!" said his wife, who also must have kissed the Blarney stone--the old one, not the new. I agreed heartily. Butcher Donnan heaved a sigh. "And me, that never was seen but in decent blue," he said, "me to put on white like a mere bun-baker--and at my time of life!" I said that it was certainly scandalous, but seeing that he would have nothing to do with the work except to sell, and arrange the windows for market-days, it would not matter so much. "I shall need a small oven!" said his wife, "and a new set of French 'casserole molds' (which is to say patty-pans) _and_ some smaller brass pans, also----" "Perhaps I was wrong," I interposed cunningly, "to lead Mr. Donnan into so much expense." I knew that, if anything, this would fetch him, and it did. "Expense, is it? Expense, Miss Sweetheart! Ha, Ha!" He slapped his pocket. "Ask your friend Mr. Anderson down at the Bank (not that he will tell you!) whether Butcher Donnan is a warm man or not? _He_ did not retire on four bare walls and a pocket-handkerchief of front-garden like some I could tell you of. Cynthia, you shall have all the brass pans you want, and as for the front shop--well, there won't be the like of it, not as far as Dumfries! We shall have a van too, gold and blue!" Butcher Donnan was all on fire now, and when Nipper came in he clapped him on the shoulder, crying that he had better look sharp. He, Butcher Donnan, was going to set up such a shop as never was seen in Edam, and people would never be wanting "fresh meat" any more, but live on pies and shortcake and sweets for ever and ever. At this Nipper looked no little relieved, and even listened to the details with a secret satisfaction. "Father," he said, "the shop down town can run itself the first day of the opening of yours. I'm coming up to see you face the public in your new nursing togs!" "You're an impudent young jackanapes," said his father, clenching his fists, "and if it were not that you have to stick to business and pay me the money you owe me, I would thrash you on the spot, old as you are!" "Oh, let Nipper alone," said I, as cheerfully as I could, "he has the sweet tooth. I know it well, and I will wager he will yet be one of your best customers!" "He will bring his money along with him then every time," growled his father. "And now I am off to see Mr. Hetherington, the architect. We must get things ship-shape!" "But," cried his wife, "you have never tasted your tea!" "Oh, bother my tea!" said Butcher Donnan, flouncing out, having fallen a victim to Hugh John's dangerous imagination. But he looked in again, his topper hat of Do-Nothing Pride already exchanged for the cap of Edam Commerce. "Tell that young gentleman of yours," he said, "that, if things turn out well, he is always welcome at our shop, eh, Cynthia? And nothing to pay! And you, Miss Sweetheart, I hope to live long enough to bake your bride's-cake!" "There he goes!" murmured his wife, "in a week Donnan will think that he has made every single thing in the shop, from the brass weights on the counter to the specimen birthday-cake in the window!" X NIPPER NEGLECTS HIS BUSINESS _August eighth. Aged Fifteen._ It is only a month since the Donnans opened their new shop up on the open square facing the market hill, and not far from the railway station. It was one of a row of villas, mostly tenanted by men who had returned from the "pack"--that is, who had made a neat little fortune in the business which calls itself Credit Drapery, but which, perhaps undeservedly, is called much harder names by its clients, especially when its back is turned. These, being the aristocracy of a Shilling-a-Week and Cent.-per-Cent., objected exceedingly to a mere confectioner's shop thrusting its nose into the midst of their blue-stone walls, picked out by window-sills and lintels of raw-beef Locharbriggs freestone. But they could not help it, and after the chief of them all, Oliphant McGill, had smelt the now floury fist of the Reformed Idler, and been informed what would happen if he "heard a wurrrd out of the heads av wan o' them"--there fell a great peace on Whinstone Villas. Some even became customers, and the new business increased with wonderous rapidity. Butcher Donnan became Sweet-Cake Donnan, but that made no difference to his force of arm, or to the respect in which he was universally held. As he had prophesied, it was not long till he had a pale-blue-and-gold covered van on the road, dandily hooded in case of rain, and with two spy-holes so that the driver could see for himself what was coming up behind him. From the Cave of Mystery high up on Hugh John's hill we could see it crawling along the roads (really it was going quite fast), like a lumpy cerulean beetle, the like of which for brilliance is not to be found in _Curtis_. And the driver was Butcher Donnan himself. He knew all the farmers, and as he had made one fortune already, as fortunes went in Edam, the people were the readier to deal with him. Sometimes even the poorest would save up a penny for one of Mrs. Donnan's sponge-cakes. It was soon called the "Watering Cart," because in hot weather you could tell when it had gone along the road by the drip from the ice underneath, by means of which the jellies and confections were kept cool, while in winter the blue-and-gold beetle steamed like a volcano with hot mince-pies. Oh, Butcher Donnan believed in delivering his goods to the customer in the finest possible condition! But this same Butcher Donnan being now driver and salesman-out-of-doors, and Mrs. Donnan equally busy in the kitchen, it was obvious that some one must be found for the shop. How _I_ should have loved the job! But a certain Eben Dickson, apprentice with Nipper at the down town business, was called in, and so thoroughly proved his liking for the place in the course of a single afternoon that a more permanent and less appreciative successor was sought for. Eben was laid up for several days, owing to an accident which happened to him when Butcher Donnan returned from his journeyings afield. It is understood that Nipper also remonstrated with him, without, however, the use of many words. The van had therefore to be put out of commission for several days till another arrangement was possible. And again it was Hugh John who, with his eyelids half closed and looking at the bright landscape through the long three-draw telescope, cut the knot with a carelessly breathed suggestion. "_Why not ask Elizabeth Fortinbras?_" "They would never dare!" said I. "Old Fortinbras thinks himself no end of a swell!" "Yes," said Hugh John, with tranquil irony, "he has failed in at least four businesses--last of all in a stamp-shop at East Dene, while the Donnans have only succeeded in one--and are on the point of making another fortune in the second. But let them ask Elizabeth. She will not say 'no'!" "What of her mother?" I said--"her father?" "Her mother cannot support her--her father won't. In six months she will have to support them both!" said the philosophic Hugh John. "You ask Lizzie. Lizzie is a sensible girl." I asked Hugh John how he knew. "Oh, just--I know!" he answered shortly. And in another than Hugh John I should have suspected something. Because, you know, Elizabeth Fortinbras is a very pretty girl--not beautiful, but with a freshness and charm that does far better, a laugh that is hung on a hair-trigger; not much education, of course, because her stupid old frump of a mother--yes, I can say it, though Lizzie would not--has never permitted her to be long away from her, but must be served like a duchess in her room on pretext of headaches and megrims. Being without a servant, she leaves Elizabeth to do all the housework, and all that she knows she has learned from the books I have lent her--and, as I now begin to suspect, Hugh John also. "And where _is_ Elizabeth?" I said, for I saw the three-draw glass hovering in the neighborhood of the Fortinbras Cottage. "Why, where should she be?" cried Hugh John. "At this hour of Monday morning she will certainly be hanging out the week's wash! There, put your eye down, don't stir the telescope, and you will see her. Also her sister Matilda sitting under a tree doing nothing but reading the latest story her mother has got out of the library!" Hugh John's grasp of detail was something marvelous. And, indeed, as I looked, through the tremble of the heat-mist the slender figure of Elizabeth Fortinbras jigged into view. She was standing on tiptoe, like the girl in the old illustrated nursery Caldecott, when "By came a blackbird and snapped off her nose." Which would certainly have been a pity in Elizabeth's case, for the nose was a very pretty saucy one, and worthy of a better fate. She had on a short skirt. Her feet were thrust into sandals, and her white working blouse, open at the neck, had red peas on it. Concerning all which points Hugh John had nothing to learn. Now I had always liked Elizabeth. There was something wild-wood and gay as a bird about her. She wore the simplest dresses, made by herself, and when she played in our woods there was a good deal of tomboy about her. She was older than any of us, and had often been our leader in high-spy or at running through the wood. I could run faster, but (as Hugh John said) I ran like a boy, with my hands clasped and my elbows in. As for the way that Elizabeth ran, that was quite different. She ran--just like Elizabeth. But the way she tossed about the youngsters was a sight. She romped with them among the hay. She thought nothing of bringing back Maid Margaret on her back for miles and miles, with a hop and a skip at every second pace, as if only to show how lightly her burden sat astride her shoulders, and how entirely impossible it was for Elizabeth herself to walk along in a sedate and ladylike way. Like a questing collie, she constantly left the highway. You could see her mount a bank as if she had wings. She was wayward, uncertain as a bird, fitful as a butterfly, changing her purpose with the whim of the children. Indeed, there was no one, in the opinion of all of us when we were little, like Elizabeth Fortinbras. It was like spying out some shy fleeing wood-nymph to see her, with a few long, easy movements, springing and bounding across the stepping-stones of the upper river--or, the petticoat held daintily high, all in a faint flurry of white spray and whiter feet, negotiating the shallow ford at the first Torres Vedras when we were paddling there in the hot days. Yet, when once across, she never seemed to have "shipped a drop," as Sir Toady Lion asserted in his best naval manner. Rather, be it said, she gave herself a shake like a scudding swallow that has dipped its wing a little too deep in the pond, and lo! our Elizabeth was dry again. She never had so much as to preen a feather. They always tell me that I am a little in love with Elizabeth myself, and I am not ashamed of it. Once, from his hiding-place, Hugh John showed me a young dainty fawn come stepping lightly through the wood. I saw it skip airily across the Esk below the second Torres Vedras, ascend the bank in three bounds, walk demurely across the road like a maiden coming out of church, look about her as if gathering her skirts for something daring, and then, with one sidelong bound, swift and light, lo, she was over the high paling and lost in the wood! Elizabeth Fortinbras would have done it just like that, as gracefully and as unconsciously. But to think of her taking a place in the Donnan's Confectionery shop--surely his good angel had for once forsaken Hugh John--plan-maker to the world in general, and private domestic Solomon! "Go and _ask_ Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John--and he said it as if he had good reason to know that Elizabeth would accept. Though that might only be his usual accent of quiet certainty. You see, Hugh John compels belief. Confidence accrues to his lightest guess, which is not accorded to Sir Toady on his oath. It is a shame that any one should be so favored by nature in the matter of his word. I, being a girl, am suspected of inaccuracy, Sir Toady of "monkeying," and Maid Margaret of knowing nothing about the matter. But Hugh John may be inaccurate. He may be "monkeying" in secret, and he may know less than any one else about any matter. Nevertheless he is accredited like a plenipotentiary. He moves like Diogenes, his tub unseen about him. A calm certainty accompanies him. He inspires confidence, blind as that of a bank cashier in the multiplication table. All, too, without break, without insistence. To look at, he is just a tall lad, with singularly quiet manners, who looks at you fixedly out of gray eyes very wide apart. Only--you believe him. But that is the reason why, in my secretest heart, as soon as Hugh John said, "Ask Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I knew that Elizabeth Fortinbras would accept. I had to ask her myself. Or rather I took Mrs. Donnan with me, who did as she was told, smiling and stammering apologies in the proper places. As for me, I said what Hugh John had advised me to say, in our last long talk together up in the Cave. Of course it was no use in the world consulting Elizabeth's parents. Her father was lost in dreams of making another fortune by a new and original butter-cooler which would put all others out of the market. Her mother, fretful and fine-ladyish, would declare that she could not do without her. But I knew that it would be an exceedingly good thing for her younger sister to get her nose taken out of the _Penny Novelette_. If Elizabeth went, she would have to do the housework, and so might yet save her soul--though as yet she had shown no signs of possessing any. We talked to Elizabeth, however, or at least I did, without any mention of this. There were many knick-knacks about, on the mantelpiece, on the tables, on brackets set in corners--all the work of that ingenious, useless man, Mr. Robert Fortinbras. As we talked, Elizabeth moved gracefully about among these, her duster never hurried, never idle. I never saw any one who could "play at work" as Elizabeth could. Any one else would have sat down and received her guests. Not so Elizabeth. If we chose to come at eleven o'clock in the morning--well, we must take her as we found her. In another quarter of an hour, if we stayed, we would be asked to come into her kitchen, and watch her peeling potatoes. And that would have seemed quite natural--not only to Elizabeth, but to us. Elizabeth did not reply hastily. She heard me out without sign either of consent or of refusal. Mrs. Donnan, stout and motherly, purred acquiescence. Yes, they would give her the warmest welcome--if she cared to stay, the happiest home. But no doubt she would prefer to return to her own home at nights. The next words which reached our ears were Elizabeth all over. "If I come, I shall stay," she said, "because if I went home, the work of the house would simply be left till I got back!" The reason was clear, and almost the consent. "Had you not better consult your father and mother?" I said, a little breathlessly, having been brought up in the faith of obedience to parents. But in this matter Elizabeth, taught by long experience, had evolved other methods. "I will _tell_ them," she said simply. "When do you want me to begin? Monday? Very well!" And it was on Tuesday that Nipper Donnan began to neglect his business. XI ELIZABETH _September 11 of the same year. Going Sixteen now._ Now I suppose you think this is going to be a love-story. But it isn't--at least not so far. And I am sure the hero won't be either of the two _you_ think--not, that is, Hugh John or Nipper Donnan. But I am going to tell the story of the strangest, the delicatest friendship I have ever seen--that of Hugh John, my brother, and Elizabeth Fortinbras. He is the youngest hero you can imagine, but somehow is much more like a young man who has shaved himself very close than the schoolboy he is. Nothing puts Hugh John out. When he has some big festival to attend along with father, he sits quiet and self-possessed, doing his part without a quiver on his face. As far as looks go, he could easily be the chairman. The clean-cut outlines of his face do not denote hardness. Only he is of the Twentieth Century, and an adept at concealing his sensations--even from his parents, with whom he is great friends. But, for all that modernity, there is something essentially knightly, and even knight-errant, about our Hugh John. An elder time has touched him. Ideas growing, alas! extinct--are natural to him. A chivalrous Cromwellian is perhaps the nearest I can come in the way of definition. For years he was the only one in the house (except Fuz, of course) who sustained Roundhead as against Cavalier. Yet all his outer man (surely a boy has an "outer man" when he is six feet high) is that of the Collegians who rallied about the King at Oxford, and swept away the train-bands with Rupert the Prince at Marston Moor. But Hugh John agrees with Mr. Prynne as to the Unloveliness of Love-Locks, and no Sergeant-Major could carry a closer cropped head of hair. Also the mind within him is one that abhors restraint. That is, in thinking. In acting, he obeys as a principle all justly constituted authorities. Also, if _he_ is in authority, he will insist upon obedience even unto the shedding of blood. Only the mind is free and untrammeled. Obedience includes only acts. Thought with him is free, liberal, critical, large. But Hugh John is generally shy with the girls who come to our house. He retires to one of his fastnesses, a lonely David in some unknown Engedi. He blots himself out. Simply, _he is not_--so far, that is, as the rest of the house is concerned. But he has the most sharply defined and sudden affinities. He will see a girl for the first time--the most reserved, unlikely girl, shy as himself. He will go up to her, and lo! as like as not, five minutes afterwards they will pair off like two schoolboys arm in arm. Grown-up People, after a certain while, forget how their own friendships were formed--how much was chance, how little intention, and they judge _us_ in the light of what they now _think_ they were. They are "out" every time with Hugh John. For instance, I know Somebody who was afraid he was going to fall in love with Elizabeth Fortinbras. No such good luck! _I_ knew. The first time I surprised them having a good talk together I saw that Elizabeth would take advice from that gray-eyed boy with a man's thoughts which she would scorn from any one else. It was the day after we had been to see the Donnans. When I got home, Hugh John had merely said, "When does Elizabeth begin?" "Monday," said I; "but how in the world did you know?" "I did not know _that_!" he answered gravely, as usual. You simply can't surprise Hugh John. A momentary glitter in a pair of rather close-lidded gray eyes--that is the most you can expect from him. It was at the stile at the entrance into the High Wood that I found them. Elizabeth Fortinbras was seated on the top spar nursing her knees, and sucking the sorrel stems which Hugh John handed up one by one. They never looked at one another, but I saw in a moment (trust a girl!) that I would interrupt their talk. Just fancy _me_ playing gooseberry! No, thank you, kind sir, she said! Besides, I knew very well that Elizabeth did not consult her father--and her mother was not worth consulting. There remained only Hugh John. Of course she could have asked me, but what girl would have taken my advice when she could get Hugh John's? I don't know what they said--of course not. I did not ask. But what I _do_ know is that Elizabeth and Hugh John talked just as he and I would have done when taking counsel together up in the Cave or at the Feudal Tower. Sir Toady was better advised than to attempt to make fun, and though the Grown-ups might lift their eyebrows, even they had confidence in Hugh John. Sometimes they asked his advice themselves--though I never heard of their going so far as to take it. Grown-ups, to my thinking, get narrow-minded. Perhaps Hugh John will too some day. But now at least he always just sees the one thing to do, and does it--the one thing another ought to do, and tells him of it. Well, he never went to the new confectionery shop. He would pass it without lifting an eyelid--though I will wager that each time he did so Elizabeth Fortinbras saw him--and Hugh John knew that she did. And each was the happier for the knowledge. To me Elizabeth's determination seemed to brighten all that part of Edam. It was quite near our house, only just outside the gates. Behind the counter Elizabeth made a slender figure in black and white. Black dress well fitting, a present from Mrs. Donnan, large turn-back cuffs, and a broad Eton collar. It was no wonder that the business throve--I mean the business which was under the charge of Elizabeth Fortinbras. The other "down town" suffered exceedingly. You see, Nipper Donnan could not be in two places at the one time. And he found he had innumerable occasions to consult his father, or to have something mended by his mother. He could not possibly obtain the information or the reparations down town. Hence he spent much of his time hanging about the new confectionery shop opposite the Market hill. He became learned in the semophore signaling of the trains on the two little railways which diverged at Edam Junction. These he explained to Elizabeth. His step-mother secretly encouraged him. Nothing would have pleased her better than for Nipper to "settle down" with such a daughter-in-law. But she knew, perhaps better than his own mother would have done, that this strong, incult, fighting Nipper had little chance with a girl like Elizabeth Fortinbras, whose chief friend and confidant was a certain gray-eyed lad with a perpendicular frown of thought between his brows. But Nipper kept on. He thrashed one Hector McLean for blowing a kiss towards the shop-window from the far side of the Market dyke. All day long he thought what high and noble thing he could do for Elizabeth's sake--such as having marble slabs, and water running all the time between double plate-glass, or dressing all his assistants in blue, fresh and fresh every day! You see, Nipper's imagination was limited. But once or twice his father came in and surprised him leaning over the counter. He regarded his son for a moment with dull, murky eyes; and then, quite abruptly, ordered him out. The third time this happened he followed Nipper outside and explained to him the consequences of this malingering--_imprimis_, he would get his head broken. _Item_, he would be "backward with his term installment"! _Tertio_, if he were, he need expect no mercy from his father; and in conclusion, he had better "get out of that, and stay out!" He, Butcher Donnan, was not a fool. He knew all about what he was after, if the womenfolk did not! And he was not going to have it! There! Nipper was warned! His comings and goings did not, indeed, make much difference to Elizabeth. Often he was a nuisance, "lounging and suffering"--looking, as she said afterwards, "like a blue undertaker attached to a steel-yard." His expression spoiled sales. He looked acid drops. His jealousies poisoned the very strawberry shortcake on which Mrs. Donnan's heart prided itself. On the other hand, he was useful when there were heavy weights to be lifted, boxes of materials for the little store-room at the back. Elizabeth could not move these, so she had either to unpack them on the street, or wait till Butcher Donnan drove his blue-and-gold wagon into the yard. But Nipper delighted to show his strength, and would pick up a huge case, swing it on his shoulder, and deposit it wherever told. These were his moments of great joy, and almost repaid him for not being able to eat. For Nipper's appetite had suffered. He indulged himself in startling neckties, and, as his girth shrank, the waistcoats which contained it became more and more gorgeous. Poor Nipper! He could only gaze and wonder--that is, when there was no lifting to be done. His tongue forsook him when called upon to answer the simplest remark. When Elizabeth, taking pity upon him, asked about his week's receipts, he answered vaguely that he did not know. Hearing this, she turned about, bearing a tray full of almond-cake fresh from Mrs. Donnan's hand, and said, "Nipper, do you mean to say you do not keep track of your sales? Why, you will get cheated right and left. Bring the books up to-night and I will go over them for you!" To Nipper this seemed an opportunity too good to be lost. He imagined their two heads bent over the records of the down town shop, and perhaps also in time a corresponding approachment of ideas. Beautiful dream! Foredoomed to failure, however. For Elizabeth, after a few questions, took up the books to her own room, and on the morrow furnished the disappointed Nipper with a few startling statistics as to receipts and expenditure. "And what would you advise me to do?" said Nipper humbly. "Oh, I don't know," said Elizabeth. "Ask Hugh John from the House in the Wood. He will tell you, if anybody can. He advised me to come to help your mother. If it had not been for him, I should not have been here now!" The gleam of jealousy (which is yellow, and not green) in his eyes altered Nipper's countenance completely. "Ah, Hugh John indeed!" he thought. That, then, was the explanation, was it? This coldness was owing to Hugh John--a boy, little more than a boy--while he, Nipper, was a man, a Councillor, with a shop and income of his own! Yet he remembered, when he was already well-nigh Hugh John's present age, and the cock of all Edam, tying a pale-faced, determined little boy to a ring in a wall down in the dungeon of an ancient castle. He had determined then to make the cub give in, and there had been some sick work with string-twisting and wire-pincers. He did not care to think about that. But even then the cub had beaten them all. They had been good friends since--that is, in a way. But was it written in the Book of Fate (in which Nipper believed) that they should fight for the mastery on another and far more dangerous arena? It seemed preposterous, but still--well, he would see Hugh John and put the case to him, as Elizabeth had said. Then, so Nipper told himself, he would know! Well--_he might_--supposing that Hugh John had been even as the young butcher, blushing half-a-mile away when a lissom, upright form and gait as of wind-blown corn told the world the important news (for Nipper Donnan) that Elizabeth Fortinbras was coming up the street in a hurry. Hugh John listened quietly. Bygones were long bygones between him and Nipper. The "smoutchies" smoutched no more, but were (most of them) good servants of the King or honorable citizens of Edam. Already one wore the V. C., and for his sake and in the general interests of peace Hugh John tolerated those who remained. He even liked Nipper Donnan, and had no idea of the gusts of angry fury that were tearing his poor ignorant heart to pieces. "Advise you--well, I don't know much about it," said Hugh John. "If it is a matter of your books, you had better show them to your father. No? You don't want to do that. Very well, then, tell me what Elizabeth Fortinbras said--exactly, I mean." "Said I was to come to you--tell you about the week's deficit, and ask your advice." "Then you must tell me _all_ about it!" said Hugh John, calmly impartial. Nipper gave some figures of entrances and exits, marts and sales, gross, retail, and monthly book-debts. "Hum!" said Hugh John, after a minute's thought, "if I were you I should get rid of the whole indoor crowd, and work the business myself for a month or two, with a couple of 'prentices _and_ the toe of my boot!" Hugh John's eyes were distant, grave, thoughtful--Nipper's little, black, and virulent with suppressed anger. But the Thinker had grown man of action also, and Nipper felt no security that he could win a victory against Hugh John even with his fists. As to the mind, he felt instinctively the grip of his master. _That_ was not to be gainsaid. "Yes," he said, jerking out his words like leaden pellets on a table, "I suppose that _is_ the plan. I will fire the whole lot this very night!" Hugh John nodded quietly. "It will be best!" he said, and the advice once given, his mind would have passed to another question had not Nipper recalled him suspiciously. "Has my father not been speaking to you?" he growled ungraciously. "Your father? No, not that I remember!" said Hugh John, staring in wonder. "Nor my--Mrs. Donnan, I mean?" "Never spoke to her in my life, I believe--Sis has, though!" "_Nor Elizabeth?_" Nipper's eyes were like gimlets now, but the calm serenity in those of Hugh John baffled them. "Elizabeth Fortinbras? Oh, yes," said Hugh John tranquilly, "when she wants to ask me about anything--as you are doing now--then she speaks to me." "_Is that all?_" Nipper's face worked. His lips were bitten so close that the words had almost to force themselves between the clenched teeth. Hugh John regarded him a moment gravely, as he did all things, with gaze unhurried, undismayed. Then he put his hands in his pockets and turned his back on Nipper with only the words, "Enough for you to know, anyway!" And if ever Nipper came near striking any one a dastardly blow from behind, it was Hugh John who was in danger and at that moment. XII FIGS AND FIG-LEAVES _September 23. And my Age still going Sixteen._ It was the week before Hugh John went to college that what I am going to tell took place. September is almost always nice about Edam--with the corn standing white in stooks all down the valley, waving blonde half-way up the sides of the wide glen, and looking over into it from the heights of Kingside still as green as grass. Yes, in our part September is wonderfully quiet and windless--generally, that is. Yet withal, there is the stir of harvest about the farm-town, the merry whirr of the "reaper" over the hedge, and always the clatter of voices as the workers go homeward in the twilight. The big scythe is now only used about our house for "opening up" a field. After that the horses pull the red-and-blue "McCormick" round as neatly as a toy. The squares get less and the yellow stooks rise, as it were, out of the very ground. This year it was a specially gay time for us all. Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan had more customers. His wife had taken a laboratory assistant in the shape of an apple-cheeked lass, Meg Linwood, the daughter of the station-master at Bridge of Edam--honest as the day, but at first incapable in the kitchen as a crossing-sweeper of goldsmith work. Mrs. Donnan told me of Meg's iniquities in her frank impulsive Irish way. "There's not a thing breakable the craitur has not broke, or at least tried her best to break. And what she can't knock to flinders with one skelp, she will fall over like an applelaunche (avalanche?) and rowl out flat like so much sheet lead. I dare not show the master the tenth of her breakages, or there would be bloodshed and wounds. And yet she is the honest, well-meaning craitur too, and would not hurt a fly. Only it is the heaven's pity she has no power of her feet! Hear to that now!" Poor Mrs. Donnan ought, of course, to have remained unmoved where she was and entertained me with a stomach-aching smile so long as I chose to stay. But, being an Irishwoman and natural, she sprang up and ran forthwith into the kitchen. She came out with tears in her eyes. "It's the épergne," she said, "I might have known it. The green figs is just come in, and as they are a new thing in Edam I thought to make a kind of trophy out of them. And now----!" Mrs. Donnan's motherly eyes overflowed, good, kindly soul, without very much anger at the breaker, but with real grief for the loss of the "trophy" she had counted upon to display in her plate-glass shop window. I patted her on one plump shoulder, and she murmured my undeserved praises--undeserved, I mean, at that moment. But I had remembered that there was in our china-closet at home a huge épergne of many storys, which Somebody had taken a prejudice against, because when loaded it shut off the entire view of the people at table, and they played at "Bo-peep" all the time around it and about--all right for us little ones who, unseen, could convey extra fruits and comfits to our plates, but abhorred by Somebody who was thus prevented from keeping a kindly, governing eye upon us. So the tall épergne was banished--a life sentence firmly expressed. I went quickly home and excavated it from a general ruck of odd plates and cupless saucers. In triumph I carried it to the good mistress of New Erin Villa. "Oh, Miss Sweetheart," she said, "I cannot--I cannot indeed----" "Suppose that your--that 'Somebody' were to come along and see that épergne in my window--sure they might have in the police!" Finally I satisfied Mrs. Donnan that though I had not asked special permission, it was only because there was no need, and that Somebody, if duly approached, would be the first of her customers, and the most helpful of her friends. _I_ said so because I knew. "It _would_ look like all Dublin Castle and Sackville Street!" said Mrs. Donnan, visibly flinching as her own inner eye built up the green figs, and decorated the épergne with the leaves that had proved so useful early in the history of the world. "Well," I answered, taking my leave, "Hugh John and I will be round about four to see if it is as fine as you say." "It will be finer," cried Mrs. Donnan eagerly; "I have got another idea entirely since I set eyes on it." But after all it was the deft hands of Elizabeth Fortinbras which decorated our long-condemned and dusty épergne. She polished it, she set it on foot again as good as new, mingling the tawny-red-bitten oak-leaves and acorns with the deep green figs, and making the thing a joy, if not for ever, at least for as long as it remained in Mrs. Donnan's window. This, however, was not for long. For Fuz--yes, the very old Fuz as ever was--coming home from a tramp with his eyes apparently mooning, but really registering everything as remorselessly as a calculating machine marshals figures, spied the green figs in Mrs. Donnan's window. Hardly in Edam was there any one else, at that date, who so much as knew what they were. He saw. He admired. There was a little dinner at our house that night to which just a couple of neighbors were coming. The idea of a surprise germinated in the mind of Fuz, and he came home the happy possessor of his own épergne, with the green and yellow leaves cinturing it round! Poor Mrs. Donnan dared not say a word, and as for Elizabeth, it was not her business. Moreover, she had far too great a sense of the ridiculous. You see, Fuz carried his own parcel off, with his invariable remark that "it is a proud horse that will not carry his own corn!" Nothing like Fuz's pride that night! Nothing more knowing than the smiles of the initiated! Only Hugh John did not consider it "quite the square thing," and obstinately refused to attend the banquet, which, however, passed off very well without him. Fuz became quite poetic over his new acquisition. To find such a thing in Edam! These cherubs' heads now! Just look at them. They reminded him of--I think, something in the Cathedral at Florence which you had to strike matches to see--little cublets squirming about a font or something. He had quite forgotten having ordered the identical thing into the ignominy of a dungeon for obscuring the prospect. Now it was the finest piece of "Dresden" he had ever set eyes upon. And he promised--if I were a good girl--to give it to me as a wedding present. That is Fuz all over. He says he is Scotch, but his part of Scotland is so near Ireland that (according to the best authorities) Saint Patrick swam across with his head between his teeth. Perhaps Fuz did too. But don't tell Hugh John that I said so. Well, when Hugh John would not dress and come for dinner on account of us letting Fuz be taken in about the épergne, he went off on one of his long rides. Or so at least he thought. For really he got no farther than the Gypsies' Wood, and then that took place which was bound to take place sooner or later. For, you see, Elizabeth Fortinbras owned a cycle also, and she used it to run home to see her people--even during her short half-hour in the afternoon she would go, no matter how hot it was. And she was teaching her sister Matilda to house-keep. She had had a row the first time or two, of course. But that was to be expected. Once she had gone back between two or three of the afternoon--which was slack time at the confectionery shop opposite the Market Hill, and when she arrived, lo! her mother was deep in one ragged volume, Matilda sat crouched in a corner of the sofa with another, and from the garret came the sound of hammering, where Mr. Fortinbras the unfortunate was working out another epoch-making invention. Flies buzzed about the greasy, unwashed plates and dishes where breakfast had been pushed aside to make way for early dinner. Elizabeth thrust her head into a bedroom. The clothes trailed on the floor, and the very windows had not been opened. The air of night, warmed through blindless windows by an autumn sun, had produced an atmosphere which might have been cut with a knife. Elizabeth shuddered. She demanded the reason why the house had not been "done up." "Well," said Matilda, lifting her head languidly, "you had hidden the knife-board when you went away, and as to the beds, I knew you were coming home to-day, and you might just as well help me as not." Elizabeth helped her by going out without a word, and not returning till her father, who at least could not be called idle, had intimated to her that Matilda was beginning to take her household duties seriously. From the first Elizabeth had given half her wages to her father, on the distinct understanding that the money was to be used for housekeeping, and not for perfecting any new invention which was to alter the center of gravity of the earth, and give back equal rights in sunshine and moisture to all the world. Well, it chanced that this evening of the September dinner Elizabeth Fortinbras was returning from her daily visit of inspection. She was in a happier mood than usual. For Matilda had really made a start, and at home she had discovered less to find fault with than usual. She was reckoning up her wages, which the Donnans, generous in all things, were freely advancing--perhaps even too frequently to suit Elizabeth's spirit of independence. Some day she might manage to let her people have a servant! From the first the two old folk of Erin Villa--old only in the number of their years--had looked upon Elizabeth Fortinbras as doing honor to their business, almost, indeed, as a daughter born to their old age. Hugh John had leaned his bicycle against a tree at the corner of the Gypsies' Wood. Far above, his keen gray eye caught the slight purple stain among the rocks of the hillside which marked the mouth of his Cave of Mystery. For a moment he had an idea of climbing up there and watching the twilight sinking into dark, as he had done so many times before. But the instinctive respect of a good rider for his cycle restrained him. He knew of one or two hiding-places safe enough, it was true. But on such a night, immediately before the Edam September fair, who might not be abroad? All the gypsies of three counties were converging on Edam, and so, with a sigh, Hugh John abode where he was. Now of course anybody who did not know both Hugh John and Elizabeth Fortinbras would have come to a wrong conclusion. For Elizabeth, after a day in the shop followed by an evening visit of inspection and assistance to Matilda, took it into her head that a spin round by the Gypsies' Wood would freshen her up, and so put her in trim for a good day's work on the morrow. That is why she encountered Hugh John, stretched long and lazy by the side of the stream. He rose as soon as he saw Elizabeth. They did not shake hands. They did not say, "How-d'ye-do--Very-well-thank-_you_!" which is the correct Edam fashion for all concerned. But Hugh John indicated the most comfortable portion of an old half-submerged trunk, and Elizabeth sat down without dispute. Hugh John disposed himself where he could see her profile without looking at her. It was only when he was making up his mind about you that Hugh John regarded you fixedly. He had long made up his mind about Elizabeth. "Well, Elizabeth?" said Hugh John (I will tell you afterwards how I know). "Well, Hugh John?" Then ensued a long pause. The water sang its lucid continual song. How many had sat and watched it, thus singing, glide on and on? Well, as Hugh John says, that did not matter. He was only occupied in finding "_soorocks_" for Elizabeth Fortinbras, and Elizabeth busied herself in eating them. "About Nipper?" said Elizabeth softly. "I can't have it, you know." "No, of course not!" said Hugh John. Having known _him_, it was impossible that Elizabeth could decline upon Nipper Donnan. Hugh John did not, as you may well imagine, put it that way. The thing was simply unthinkable, that was all. He could no more let it happen than he would to his sister. He turned ever so little, and saw Elizabeth Fortinbras' face pale against the sunset. Elizabeth looked at the boy, and her lips quivered a little. Hugh John became a shade more rigid. "Let _me_ speak to Nipper Donnan!" said Hugh John in a level tone. "No," said the girl, "I do not wish to go back home again--to _that_!" She meant to slatternly makeshift and lightly disguised lying. "_No need!_" said a fierce voice immediately behind them, and Nipper Donnan leaped the stone wall from behind which he had been watching Elizabeth and Hugh John. "Ah, Nipper!" said Hugh John lazily, handing up another sorrel stem to Elizabeth; "glad to see you, Nipper. Sit down and help to look for fat ones!" "You are mocking me, both of you!" cried poor Nipper blackly. His face was hot and angry, his eyes injected like his father's when in wrath, and his hands were clinched tight. "You came here to talk about me," he said hoarsely, bending forward towards them like a beast ready for the spring. "Nonsense!" said Hugh John; "we met by pure accident. I did not want any dinner, and Elizabeth wanted a breath of fresh air." "You lie! I do not believe you!" cried Nipper. "You will have to, Nipper," said Hugh John, who had not moved an inch. "_And_ why?" "Because _I_ say it!" said Hugh John quietly. "I do not tell lies!" "A likely story!" growled Nipper. "You were talking about me! I heard you. You will have to fight me--Hugh John Picton Smith!" "That we shall see," said Hugh John coolly. "What must be, must be. But there is a word or two to say first." "Talk!" cried Nipper. "Oh, that does no good to a fellow like me. You shall fight me, I tell you!" "Not before Elizabeth Fortinbras!" said Hugh John, taking off his cap with a quick, instinctive gesture of respect. "You and I can't behave like two angry dogs before her!" "You're afraid!" "Possibly," said Hugh John, "but not in any way _you_ would understand." Then Elizabeth Fortinbras took up speech. "Nipper Donnan," she said, "I won't pretend I don't know what you mean. You are driving me from the single happy place of refuge I have on earth. I cannot stay with your father and mother unless you stop pestering me. And then you talk about fighting. Why, Hugh John is nearly five years younger than you are----" "He is as tall!" growled Nipper. "Taller!" corrected Elizabeth coolly. "But if you behave like a whole menagerie of brutes, that won't make me care more about you. Hugh John is my brother; I have no other!" "_Umph!_" snorted Nipper, "he doesn't come and sit out by Esk-waterside with his sisters." I know that at that moment Hugh John's eye sought the deep purple stain of the Cave of Mystery, where he and I so often sat together. But he said nothing at all to his adversary. It might have been mistaken. It was to Elizabeth he spoke. "I have something to say to Nipper which you had better not hear," he remarked quietly. "Here is a special handful of sorrel to take home with you. Let me see you as far as the first lamp-post on my cycle. Then I will come back and speak with Nipper." They went, and Nipper sat on the empty log, gloomily cursing fate--but, educated by the experience of many years, never for a moment doubting that Hugh John would keep his word. He even timed him. He knew to within half-a-minute when the bright bull's-eye of his acetylene lantern would turn the corner of the Gypsies' Tryst. He saw it come. He stood up on his feet, and jerked his clenched hands once or twice forward into the gloaming. Then Hugh John leaped from his cycle by the wall. "Sit down, Nipper," he said. "I have something to say to you." "Oh, I dare say," said Nipper; "you want to get out of fighting." "Very well--you think so. I shall show you!" said Hugh John. "But first you have got to listen. You are troubling Elizabeth Fortinbras. She does not mean to be troubled. She will go away if you do not stop going into the shop. She told me so. She has always been my friend, and my sister's friend. Her father and mother are no use to such a girl. That is why I have tried to be a brother to her----" "Brother, is it?" shouted Nipper, clenching his fists. "I will show you what it is to take a girl from Nipper Donnan. You were making love to her." "I am her brother. She is my sister," Hugh John repeated, with his usual quiet persistency. "She is not yours in any way. Therefore I cannot take from you what you never possessed." "I love her, and I will kill you, Hugh John Picton Smith!" moaned poor Nipper, his whole body shaking with impotent anger. "Very well, you can try, though you are older," said Hugh John; "only, if I win, you will let Elizabeth Fortinbras alone." "All right," said Nipper, "I agree. And if I lick you, you will stop prejudicing her against me!" "You won't win!" prophesied Hugh John still more quietly. * * * * * And that is why Elizabeth Fortinbras' afternoons and evenings at New Erin Villa were thenceforward full of peace. Also why no young butcher hung any more over the counter, and why Mr. Nipper Donnan spent his evenings in the kitchen with Meg Linwood. It explains also why, when he came to say good-by to Elizabeth Fortinbras, Hugh John had a split lip. Yet the girl asked no questions of her champion. She did not appear to notice the slight wound, and she sent away Hugh John with a single token of (sisterly) gratitude, and the curious reflection that a split lip does not spoil kissing nearly so much as a fellow might think. XIII "UNTO US AS A DAUGHTER" _November 2. The same Age._ [It is really the first of the month, but I date it the second, because the first is a Sunday, you see.] After the fine weather of July came a horrid rainy spell. Now I don't mind so much when the days are short, the trees bare, and the time for winter lamps and winter fires is come. Then you can just shut yourself up, get some books you have been promising yourself for a long time to look at--and there you are. But deluged park, dripping shrubbery, Esk-water growling turbidly at the foot of the Low Park, all the noble marine architecture of the two Torres Vedrases deep under swirling froth--that is what I hate, and especially with light to see it by--oh, good fourteen to sixteen hours of it. Pitter, patter on the roof, a sprinkle of broad drops on the window-panes from the trees swishing in the wind outside. After the first three days it grows unbearable. It was a weary time, and a mockery for any one to call "holidays," especially after such a noble summer and autumn. But it cleared after Hugh John had been a week or two at college. During the wet weather I often went into the shop to see Elizabeth Fortinbras. I could now, you see, because Nipper Donnan was not always there. More than once, however, I encountered his father, Butcher Donnan, who went about smiling and rubbing his hands--as if _he_ had stopped the whole business. Of course I let him think so. For it is no good setting Grown-ups right. They always know better. Well, and do you know, every time I went Elizabeth asked all about Hugh John, and if I had heard from him. At first I thought, as, of course, any girl would, that Elizabeth was only foxing to take me in. But afterwards I found out that they really did not write to one another. She owned, though, to having kissed him good-by. But that was only on account of his split lip and what he had done about Nipper. Hugh John's explanation of his silence, given later, was that there were no sorrel stalks near the college, and that if Elizabeth really wanted anything, he knew that she would write and ask him. Now, on the face of it, you would never believe this. It simply could not be, you would say. Yet it was. Even Nipper, who held out longest, ended by believing it. I, who had a sneaking liking for a love-story, of any sort, was secretly disappointed. Mrs. Donnan could not move in her kitchen for Nipper, who came home early now to talk to Meg Linwood. Have you ever noticed that when any one has got a back-set in love, or what they think is love, they are quite apt to fly off at a tangent, and marry the least likely person in the world? To the common eye, no one could have been less likely to engage Nipper's attention--with his lost love still in the front shop--than Meg Linwood in the back. She was plump, rotund, rosy, where Elizabeth Fortinbras was slender, willowy, like Diana in the pictures and statues of her in the old _Art Journals_ and _Illustrated London News_ of the Exhibition year--I mean 1851. (As a child I always liked those volumes. There were such a lot of pictures in them, and so little reading.) But it was lost labor advising Nipper Donnan. He would show Elizabeth Fortinbras what she had missed. He would have the finest shop, the best meat, the most regularly paid monthly accounts, the biggest, squarest stone house with stables for the smartest trap to drive out his wife in. And then Elizabeth would awake to her folly. But too late! Too late! Elizabeth's goose was cooked. Nipper avoided the first outbreak of parental wrath by running off with Meg Linwood, and Mrs. Donnan consoled her husband by her usual reflection that all was for the best. There are, indeed, very few things breakable about a butcher's shop, and if Meg had stayed at New Erin Villa, a complete set of crockery would have been required at an early date. From Dumfries and Glasgow, Nipper sent very brief letters expressive of a desire to come to terms with his father. He was married. That could not be altered or amended. Meg came of a respectable family, and (save the breakages) no fault could be found with her. True, Mrs. Donnan sighed. She would rather have seen Nipper going proudly down the aisle with another than Meg Linwood on his arm. As for Butcher Donnan himself, as soon as he got over dwelling upon the thrashing he meant to give Nipper when he caught him, the outlines of a broader, farther reaching, less arbitrary settlement began to form themselves in his mind. He saw his lawyer, Mr. John Liddesdale, and what they said to one another bore fruit afterwards. But it was a busy ten days for Butcher Donnan. He had to spend the early morning of every day in the down town shop. He had the rooms above it cleaned out, new furniture installed--and he abused his son as he went. "The young fool!" was the best word for Nipper, forgetting that he himself had married at eighteen. Each afternoon he was out in the blue and gold van with the collapsible rain-hood. In the evenings he looked into the ashes of the kitchen fire and thought. It was then that Elizabeth proved herself above rubies to the old folks of New Erin. "Faith, didn't I tell ye, from the first," cried Butcher Donnan, slapping his thigh mightily, "that's the girl, Cynthia! Nothing she will not turn her hand to--as smart as a jay, and all as sweet and natural as the Queen of Sheba coming it over Solomon!" "It strikes me, Butcher Donnan," said his wife, "that for an old man you are getting wonderfully fond o' the lass!" She was smiling also, a loving, caressing, motherly smile, showing mostly about the eyes, as she spoke of Elizabeth Fortinbras, which was very good to see. "Fond of her, is it?" cried Donnan. "I declare, I'm as fond of her as I wad ha' been o' my own daughter, if it had pleased Mary an' the saints to give us one!" "_And why not?_" said Mrs. Donnan, bending suddenly towards her husband, and startling him with the earnestness of her regard. "Why not--Cynthia, woman? You have been talking to Mr. Liddesdale?" "Not I," said his wife, smiling. "_You_ should not talk in your sleep, that's all, Butcher Donnan, if you want to keep your little secrets." "Ah, wife, wife, it's you that are the wonderful woman," cried the Butcher-Pastry-Cook; "but if that be so, faith, it's just as well I don't sleep with that Thief-o'-the-Wurrld Kemp, our sugar merchant. But what say you, wife?" "I say what you say, Butcher Donnan!" "Do you think she would accept? Would she come to us and be our daughter?" "By this and that," said his wife, "mind, I take it for granted that you have done what is right by Nipper, and that he and Meg may come home when they like?" "Not before Saturday!" said the Butcher; "furniture and all won't be in. And if I saw Nipper for the first time on any other day than the blessed Sabbath, I might be tempted even then to break his silly head!" This from Butcher Donnan was equal to a stage benediction from another. But his wife looked for more light, and in answer to the question in her eyes he told her all. "Oh, Nipper is all right. He gets more than he deserves, the rascal. I will let him off what he still owes me on the business. The shop and dwelling-house shall be put in his name, and that's a deal more than ever I dreamed of having at his age. As for the dollars--well, we will see about those, when you and I have done with them!" "What do you think about asking Elizabeth?" said his wife. It was at this moment that I chanced to come in, and had the whole story told me by Mrs. Donnan. Elizabeth had cycled down to her father's house, and so was safely out of the way. Only our conference was interrupted by the various calls upon Mr. Donnan to answer the sharp "_cling_" of the bell in the outer shop. One after the other I heard them in silence, and at last I gave my opinion--which was that they might make their own arrangements, with the help of Mr. John Liddesdale, but that they would do well to wait the return of that long-legged, Minerva-eyed brother of mine, at present engaged in colleging it as hard as need be, to obtain the means of passing with credit through the world. "He may very well be taken in the same way as Nipper!" said the father of the latter grimly. "She's a mighty fine girl, this Elizabeth." "He might, indeed, very well," I answered. "I am sure _I_ should, if I were a man. Only, he isn't, and he won't. I can promise you that. He will advise Elizabeth for the best, with less thought for himself than if _I_ were concerned." "Then he is a most unusual young man!" said Butcher Donnan. "Hugh John _is_ somewhat unusual," I said. "He does not let many people understand him." "No," said Butcher Donnan; "that other young gent now--him with the uniform! Why, he is up to more tricks than a prize monkey with an Irish mother. As I said before, he is more in my own style about his age. Any one can see what _he_ is driving at. If he does not break his neck off somebody else's apple-tree, or get shot in a poaching accident, no doubt he may live to be a great and good Admiral of the Fleet. But this here Hugh John--he is always as quiet as pussy, and as polite as a parliamentary candidate come last night from London. Yet he licked my Nipper, licked him good and square--_and_ said nothing about it. Nipper told me, though. And now he can be a real safe brother to the prettiest girl in Edam--beggin' your pardon, young lady, but _you_ live out o' the town!" Mrs. Donnan reminded her husband that it was owing to Master Hugh John that Elizabeth Fortinbras had come to them first. Also that it was certainly the least they could do to give him the chance of putting the matter to Elizabeth in his own way. Thus, pending the Christmas holidays, Elizabeth Fortinbras became a child of adoption without knowing it. Curiously enough, no one seemed to take into consideration any rights of pre-emption which her own father and mother might be supposed to possess upon her. XIV THE HARVEST FAIR _Written at the Age of Sixteen._ Of all the local events which upheaved the world of children in Edam, undoubtedly the greatest was the Harvest Fair. This happened somewhat late in the year. For Edam lay high on the mountain slopes. Only the herds and the sheep went higher. The harvesting lands were mostly in the valley crofts, in the hidden "hopes" and broad waterside "holms." But here and there a few hundred acres of oats lay angled up against the steep side of a mountain, and in late October afforded a scanty, stocky harvest, "_bleached_" rather than ripened by the slant, chill sun and sweeping winds of the uplands. In brief, then, the Harvest Fair was late in Edam. We were near enough to the Borders, however, to be overstocked with gypsies. And it was after them that the Gypsies' Wood and Tryst had been named. A fine sight was Edam Fair. Far and wide it spread over the green, right down to the verges of Esk-water. Ours was a Fair of the old-fashioned kind. Rustics still stood about unhired with a straw in their mouths--plowmen and "orra" men they! Maidens wore their breast kerchiefs unknotted, and as soon as the bargain for six months was struck, and the silver shilling of "arles" had passed, they knotted it firmly about their throats. They were no longer "mavericks"--masterless cattle. They had the seal of a place and an occupation upon their necks. It was "Bell, the Byre Lass at Caldons"--"Jess Broon, indoor lass at the Nuik"--"Jeannie Sandilands, '_dairy_' at the Boareland of Parton." These were the proud titles of the "engaged" ones who wore the knotted neckerchiefs. But the "shows" were, after all, the most taking and permanent feature. There was the continual joy of "Pepper's Ghost," where (as Fuz has related) on a certain occasion the hero, new to his part, first of all transfixed the ghost, and then threw down his clattering sword, with the noble words, "Cold Fire is Useless!" There was "Johnston's Temple of Terpsichore," on entering which you always looked over your shoulder to see if the minister or any of the elders were in sight. But how the girls danced, and how difficult it was to stop watching those who danced on their hands with their feet in the air, in order to observe those who danced on their feet with only their hands in the air! Thus we lost distinction in our joys. However, both sorts were applauded, and when the people in tights leaped up and stood on each others' feet in order to form a pyramid, the general feeling was that if indeed we were selling our souls to Satan, at least we were getting the worth of our money! We did not care much, after this, for the legitimate drama--though it was funny, certainly, to see Othello's "livery of the burnished sun" grow patchy, and the grease trickle down from the left corner of Desdemona's nose--which, being naturally rubicund, had been worked up for the occasion. I was, of course, too much of a young lady to be allowed to visit the Fair under any available escort. In the evening I might possibly, in company with Somebody, be permitted to peruse the outsides of the booths. But the real delights were for the children. Strong in the possession of a half-crown apiece (to be spent as you please without accounting), Sir Toady and the Maid made havoc among the Aunt Sallies and the Cocoa-nut shysters. A plan of campaign was evolved, simple but effective. Sir Toady, who was a good shot, took over the Maid's half-crown, and bound himself by a great oath to deliver up half the proceeds. As for me, I caught glimpses of His Majesty's uniform darting from stall to stall, from range to range, followed by a butterfly figure in skimp white. This was the Maid, keeping track of profit and loss. She had good cause. Was she not involved to the extent of two-and-sixpence, her maiden mite? Sir Toady appeared to be reckless, and put wholesale propositions before the Cocoa-nut shysters, as thus--"Suppose I give you two shillings cash, how many throws can I have for it, and can I pick my own nuts if I win?" Some refused and some accepted. Those who refused were, commercially speaking, the lucky merchants. Sir Toady's aim was deadly. He did not mind throwing at an Aunt Sally, though this he considered rather old-fashioned play. A bull's-eye trap-door, which opened at the smack of the ball, was his favorite. And he cleaned up one merchant from whom he had secured the easy terms of forty throws for half-a-crown. So completely did he do it that the fellow, who saw his pile of nuts rapidly wasting away, brazenly repudiated his bargain, and would even have tried to lay hands on the pile already in the bag over the Maid's shoulder. But the shyster reckoned without a knowledge of his Toady. You see, there was not in Edam man, woman, or child who did not know Sir Toady. And though at one time or another most had had their private disagreements with that youth, he was still an Edamite of the Edamites. Stained with early (orchard) crime, he yet retained the sympathy of gentle and simple. The very "smoutchies" of a younger time rallied at his call, and if the nuts had not instantly been paid over, the overturned "gallery" would have been sacked on the instant by promiscuous brigandage, the very police looking on with broad, benignant smiles. "Such a young codger as he were!" grumbled the man afterwards, half in anger, half in admiration. "I had made a bad bargain. I see _that_ at once. 'Give me back them nuts. You've 'ad 'em on false pretenses!' sez I. "'Sorry! So I have!' says he, smooth as butter. And with that he outs of his breast-pocket with his lanyard and blows a whistle like a bo'sum's mate! Then they ran from every quarter. My poor ole stall were on its back in half a jerk, and if it hadn't been for my young gent, so should I--_and_ mauled into the bargain! "Served me right, you say, for shovin' of my head into such a wasp's nest! But how was I to know?--I puts it to ye, mates. How was _I_ to know?--_me fresh from London_!" I had gone up to the Cave of Mystery, armed with the three-draw telescopes, which Hugh John had left behind him as too precious to be risked in the give-and-take of school--though, according to information received, it was mostly "give" with Hugh John. I saw a procession detach itself from the dense flow of the crowd, led by the white-frocked Maid and a dark blue Sir Toady, both laden down by sackloads of cocoa-nuts. It was impossible for them to carry them all the way home to the House in the Wood. Equally impossible to trust the youth of Edam, satisfactory enough when fighting was on hand, but unreliable when it came to division of the spoils. The Imps staggered across the road, pursued by a riotous tail of infantry of no known line. Arrived at the shop door of New Erin Villa, they were met by Mrs. Donnan--who, on such a busy day, had come out for a breath of fresh air. "What in the world have you got there, children?" cried the Dame, holding up astonished hands to heaven. "Cocoa-nuts! Wads and lashings of cocoa-nuts!" cried Sir Toady. "I shot for them all. I threw for them. I won them. And when the man would have cheated me, I whistled the whole Fair Green down on him. _Then_ I saved his life! But I don't know what to do with them now I have them! They won't hatch out, and if they would, I haven't got a big enough hen! Here, you!" And opening one of the bags, he bowled half-a-dozen of the nuts among the crowd of smoutchies, who instantly became a swarming, fighting anthill on the plainstones of the street. "Stop, Master Toady," said Mrs. Donnan, "do stop! I will show you what to make of them. Some of them will be good----" "All are good," asserted Sir Toady; "_I_ picked them! At college they teach us, over at the canteen, how to know the good ones from the bad!" By this time I was down at the shop door, having struck the main road near the Station Bridge. I fled to meet them, passing on the way Butcher Donnan, who for the day had turned the blue and gold van into a fine selling booth on the Market Hill, where he presided over half-a-dozen temporary assistants, keeping a wary eye on all, both buyers and sellers. The children were tired, and stood panting. Sir Toady was unexpectedly pessimistic. Maid Margaret looked rather world-weary. Both had begun to think that, after all, there were better ways of spending five shillings than shooting for cocoa-nuts. "What rot!" said Sir Toady, shaking one disgustedly close to his ear. "Can't eat them all--make us ever so sick, and I have to join on Friday! No time to get better! Bah!" "It was all your fault, Toady," moaned the Maid, "_and_ I want my half-crown back!" "Nonsense!" cried Toady. "I never will go into partnership with a girl again. They always are sorry afterwards, whatever a chap does for them! There is your bag full of nuts, good and sound. What more do you want?" Maid Margaret wanted much more. She began to express her wants in terms of candies and chocolates. "Candies!" cried Mrs. Donnan; "why, if I weren't so busy, I would make you two candy to dream about--and of those very cocoa-nuts too!" "Do--oh, do make us some!" "Well, come into the bakehouse, and we shall see!" They went, Elizabeth Fortinbras and I smilingly assisting with the bags of nuts. Elizabeth could not be spared out of the front shop, but I stopped to watch, and of course Sir Toady and Maid Margaret pushed and elbowed for good front seats. Mrs. Donnan, quietly smiling as ever, seized a skewer, and with several skillful taps made a hole in the end of the nut through which she let the milk drop into a basin. Then with a heavy hammer she smashed the shell into pieces. It was a good nut, even as Sir Toady had prophesied. He had been well taught at the canteen. "Now," said the _cordon bleu_ of Edam, "who wants to do a bit of grating for me?" "_I_"--"_I_," shouted the children, and though I did not shout, I was really as ready as any one. The white inside was dealt out to us, and while the Maid and Sir Toady went at it (sometimes scraping their fingers by way of variety), a respectable pile of soft flaky nut, cream-colored and nice, began to appear. When we were finished, Mrs. Donnan went to a bag, and measured out two tablespoonfuls of white sugar to each one of the nut-flake, dropped the whole into a sizeable patty pan, and poured the milk of the cocoa-nut over it. With Mrs. Donnan stirring hard, the whole was soon bubbling away cheerfully--indeed, boiling like what lava does in a volcano (_ought to_, at any rate), the bubbles bursting, and the nice smell making your teeth water, so that it did not seem that you could ever wait for it to cool. Then, just when the bubbles began to burst with a warning "pop," Mrs. Donnan turned everything into a well-buttered shallow dish. It made a cake about as thick as your finger, and oh, but the smell was good! But she laid the dish away in the ice-house--as she said, to cool. Really, I think, to keep us from temptation, and prevent too early experimenting upon the result. Elizabeth Fortinbras would have none of us (not even me) in the front shop that day. She was too busy. So, after one question put and answered (it was about Hugh John), the three of us went out and walked in the garden till the ice-house had done its work. Well, do you know, that candy was famous. Just you try it, with the explanations I have given you! It goes all right, you will find, and no mistake. Indeed, so well did it go that a bargain was soon struck, and Elizabeth's clever fingers were busy printing out a placard: FOR THIS DAY ONLY CANARY ISLANDS COCOA-NUT CANDY A SPECIALTY. Cut into cubes, the result was certainly fascinating. Even Fuz was tempted to try. He came to scoff, but he remained to suck. "_Now_, didn't I tell you!" said Sir Toady, when on the morrow he received twelve silver shillings as his share of the venture from the careful hands of Mrs. Donnan. "Never you grumble about your Admiral Tuppens again. There you are! More cocoa-nut candy than we can eat before next Friday, warranted wholesome by Fuz, and six bob apiece to do what we like with! How about your old half-a-crown now?" And the Maid was properly subdued, as, indeed, she ought to have been. Sir Toady did not mention that without Mrs. Donnan he would have been a very sorrowful investor indeed. But then, male things love to take all the credit to themselves. Bless you, they can't help it! It's born in them, like polywogs in ponds. XV QUIET DAYS _November 23._ We have had our first frost early this year--four days' skating on the High Pond before the middle of November! But it was sad to see the poor folks' corn still out, the stalks, stiffly frozen, piercing the couple of inches of frozen sleet that covers the ground. They have had harvest festivals down in the town churches. But Fuz said that if they had taken up collections to help pay the farmers' rents, _that_ would have been the best sort of festival, and he would have attended. As it was he stopped away, so as to let in somebody who was grateful for a late harvest and spoilt crops! Fuz says that it is no use sending the _Monthly Visitor_ to people who don't have a daily dinner, and that anything he has to spare will go towards the dinners. But then, Fuz does not mean all he says. For though he growls at the Tract Distributors, he always finishes by giving something so that they will not go sorry away. Elizabeth Fortinbras goes to the shop opposite the Market Hill every day. She has a nice gray dress now which she made herself, a water-proof cloak, and a pretty canoeing hat. She is quite ignorant of all that the good people are getting ready to offer her. Will she accept? Possibly Hugh John could tell. Certainly _I_ can't. The young couple down town have come home--Meg Linwood and her husband Nipper, I mean. His father has explained the situation very sharply to him--that is, in so far as the business is concerned. I think he is waiting about the house and furniture till Elizabeth has said "yes" or "no." It is a good time to tell about our churches. Ours is the nicest. For though we are not compelled to go to any particular one, yet Somebody thinks it is a kind of point of honor to attend the one in which we were born and brought up. There are all sorts of things going on, too, and young people who don't have parties and dances get to know each other at _soirées_ and social meetings. It acts just the same--even quicker, I have noticed. They get married to each other all the same. Hugh John, who has studied the subject, says he can stand all sorts of "flirts," except the one who asks you about your soul before she knows whether _she_ has got one herself! Now there is Thomasina Morton, the doctor's daughter, and a smart girl too. Only she never could get away from two or three catchwords, caught up from all sorts of people. She got fearfully anxious about the souls of all the good-looking young men, and made them come into her father's consulting-room so that she could "plead with them." Of course it was all very good and, I dare say, most necessary, but I _don't_ think it was fair on Dr. Morton. You see, he is a good man, but much exposure to all sorts of weather has told on his temper, and really I can't blame him for what he said when he stumbled upon one of these reunions in the dusk of a November afternoon. It was Billy Jackson's legs he fell over, and they say Billy has had to walk with a stick ever since. But Thomasina declared that her father was hard-hearted, and even went to consult her minister about it. But Mr. Taylor is a sensible man, and said that thirty years of Dr. Morton's life would weigh against a good deal of strongish language in the archangel's scales! He also asked Thomasina where her father had been that day, and she said, "Out seeing his country patients, since eight in the morning!" Then Mr. Taylor asked who they were, and Thomasina told him. "The Doctor knows as well as I do," he said, "that he will never see a penny of fees from any of them. Don't you trouble, my young lady, about the hardness of your father's heart. And tell Mr. William Jackson that it will be more suitable for him to come and see _me_ about his soul. I am at his service from eight till ten every evening--except Wednesday and Saturday!" I don't know if Billy Jackson felt that this was not quite the same thing, or whether the minister's hours did not suit him. At all events he never went. Thomasina Morton, however, was not pleased with Mr. Taylor, and left his church. She joined the Salvation Army, but soon left it, because she found the costume unbecoming. She did better as a nurse, and had splendid chances there. Because, you see, the dress was all right, and her patients could not get up and run when she had them good and safe within the four walls of an hospital! I dare say, however, it helped to pass the time for the poor fellows. For, you see, Thomasina was pretty, and knew it. She would sing sad, faint, die-away hymns in the twilight, till she made these bad young men just lie down and cry. They were generally pretty weak, anyway, especially when Thomasina used to talk to them about their mothers. (When they were well, you might have talked those mothers' heads off without reforming their sons the value of a row of pins.) But Thomasina talked to them in a dreamy voice, till they all were willing to go out as missionaries to the most cannibal-haunted regions--that is, if only Thomasina would come along with them. But when they asked her, as they mostly did, Thomasina said she was very sorry, but she had never meant it that way. She was "vowed to a vocation," and mere commonplace marriage would be sinful. Besides (mostly), the young men had nothing to keep themselves on--much less a wife. Oh, Thomasina made the winter very cheerful at Edam, especially after the Cottage Hospital was opened, and the cutting of the new railway brought a good many into the accident ward. To listen to Thomasina (and believe her), all these, though mere "_navvies_" now, were Oxford or Cambridge men, and either the sons of purple Indian colonels, very peppery, or (which she preferred) of white-haired old clergymen, who were never known to smile again after their only sons had left the family roof-tree. Surely there was a lack of imagination in that accident ward. Hugh John would have made cartloads of plans, and as for Sir Toady--well, he could have evolved something fresh each journey, and never charged a penny extra. He would have been ashamed of so many colonels and white-haired clergymen. But Thomasina was quite content, and read all manner of nice uninteresting books to the poor storm-stayed ones, who sometimes looked at the angelic expression on her face, and sometimes had quite a decent little sleep on the quiet. Her voice was naturally soothing. Thus time passed none so evilly in the Cottage Hospital accident ward, and Thomasina came and got nice jellies from Mrs. Donnan, very sustaining, and "let on," as Sir Toady asserted, that she had made them all herself! But there is more--oh, ever so much more about Thomasina Morton. I hope you are not tired hearing about her--I am not of telling. But you will see the funny thing that happened. Among all the imaginary sons of purple colonels and sad, saintly clergymen whom Thomasina had corralled into her hospital ward, there happened to be a real one. His name, he said, was Henry Smith--which is just one of those names that people take, like Jones and Wood and Robinson in England, and Dubois, Durand, Duval in France, thinking to be unknown, and lo! every hotel-keeper and policeman immediately is on the qui vive to find out what bank they have robbed. Well, this young fellow's real name did not matter to anybody. Thomasina called him "dear Harry," and had him to sit beside her in the dining-room of the convalescent home (one of her pet hunting-grounds). And one day after he had been in training to be good for quite a while, he came in to dinner as usual, and, just as he was sitting down at the table, up jumps Master Harry Smith and bolts out of the room! Naturally enough, Nurse Webb thought there was something wrong with him, and would have gone to see, but Thomasina restrained her with a motion of the hand--very solemn, impressive, and "I-know-all-about-it-if-_you_-don't!" "He has forgotten to say his prayers!" she whispered. "He promised me!" And Nurse Webb sank back appalled, wondering what they would have said at "King's." But Thomasina was quite calm, and laid her hand soothingly on that of "dear Harry" when he returned from his (very short) devotions. And do you know, all the time he was what Sir Toady calls "a regular rip." Only he was a real colonel's son, and had been tried everywhere--only no one would have him about on any account. But old Dr. Morton did what Thomasina said, and got this young fellow dressed out in new clothes, till he looked as smart as a paper of new pins. Then who so proud as Thomasina! She was so glad that Harry had turned out so well that she said she would marry him. Then he was fearfully noble, and said that he wasn't worthy of her, but that he would wait for the day when he would lay the world at her feet. Oh, he said ever such a heap of what the boys call, with a certain rude correctness, "tommy-rot." And old Papa Morton got him a place in a ginger-beer factory, to manage the accounts, where Mr. Harry Smith behaved pretty well for three months. But on the eve of his marriage with Thomasina he disappeared, taking with him a whole fortnight's wages of the ginger-beer factory workmen. Instead, he left a letter full of consolatory texts for Thomasina, which I would quote, but Fuz says I must not. Only he concluded by saying that his dear Tommy was not half a bad little thing, only her company and conversation were wearing for a man of his tastes and antecedents. If she had only seen her way to giving him a "let up" every ten days or so, he might have stayed on. But as it was, there was nothing left for him but to borrow her father's fur-lined overcoat, and bid Thomasina a long, last farewell through floods of burning tears. She was to remember, however, that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, he was ever her own Harry. Also that the next time he needed nursing and advice, both of superior quality, he would not fail to think of the happy days in the convalescent ward of Edam Borough Hospital. "Harry Smith" was seen no more on Esk waterside, and by last accounts Dr. Morton is still awaiting the return of his fur-lined overcoat. XVI HUGH JOHN, AMBASSADOR PLENIPOTENTIARY I don't think that Dr. Morton ever really got over the loss of his fur-lined overcoat. You see, it gave him a tone, making many a suffering household feel quite chirpy and consoled only to see him getting carefully out of his gig, and laying back the lapels so as to show the best pieces of fur. But he was never the same man in plain tweed, even when he took to a high velvet collar. People had not the old confidence. He had two favorite methods of treatment--leeches and fly-blisters--and when he began to leech the blister people and blister the leech people, all felt that the end was near. So Mr. Liddesdale persuaded him to sell his practice while he had one to sell--the stock of leeches and Spanish flies being taken at a valuation. So there came a young doctor to Edam, and his name was Dr. Weir Douglas. At first it was feared that he would not be a success, because he went about in gray tweeds and a straw hat. Worse than all, he made 84 in the cricket match against Lockermaben. This showed how little serious he could be, and how little he had to do in his profession. Dr. Morton was often called out of church twice on the same Sunday, and though everybody knew that he kept a boy for the purpose, yet, after all, the summons might be real. No one could tell. At any rate it waked up a sleepy congregation better than peppermint drops, and people whispered that it must be Sandy Paterson's wife, or that loon of Jock Malcolm's who was always climbing and coming to grief. However, when Jock Malcolm did fall from the scaffolding of the Established Church (then being repaired parsimoniously by reluctant heritors) Dr. Weir Douglas saved the boy's life by carrying him to his own house across the way, and, after setting the shoulder, sent to ask Miss Thomasina Morton to come over and nurse Master Jock Malcolm. Then the whole village of Edam began to respect Dr. Morton, calling him "cunning old rascal," and other terms of admiration. Indeed, they respected him for the first time in their lives. Had he not got a good price for his practice, and would not Thomasina do the rest? Indeed, the marriage of Thomasina and Dr. Weir Douglas was regarded on all hands as a settled thing. Any one else in Edam (except perhaps our Hugh John) would have been considered fair game for jest, and congratulated fifty times in a day. But somehow Dr. Weir Douglas did not look the kind of man to be too familiar with, even in a straw hat and gray tweeds--just as no one would take a liberty with our Hugh John in a clown's dress at a fancy ball, if the mind of man can conceive such a thing. Even there, he would probably be found in a retired corner with the prettiest girl (if she were tall and pale and willowy), instructing her on the chances of Siam becoming a second Japan, the resurrection of the Further East, the probability of a Russian Anarchist Republic, and other topics especially adapted for a ball-room. Whereas Sir Toady--but perhaps the less said about that the better. If he had not told at least five girls that they were the prettiest in the room, the young man would have felt that he had thrown away his chances, an accident against which he carefully guarded himself. But to return to the nursing of Master Jock Malcolm--now become so important and necessary a link in the chain of events. Edam gave Thomasina twenty-four hours to bring the young doctor to his knees. But Dr. Weir Douglas spoiled all calculations by charging his coachman's wife to look after the comfort of Miss Morton, and taking up his own quarters for the time being at the Edam Arms, opposite! The entire village agreed that this was not playing the game, and as for Thomasina, she felt that never in the world had there been such a reprobate. She placed tracts in his way. She scattered them all about the house, and neglected her patient to think out plans for wrestling with this stiff-necked and rebellious young man. In the meantime, however, Dr. Weir Douglas began to gain on Edam. Certainly he made a wonderful cure of Jock Malcolm, junior--a young rascal who deserved no such spoiling as he was receiving. He even asked the advice and assistance of his distinguished colleague Dr. Morton, making it a favor that in the meantime he should return to the house which had been his own for so many years. It was really much too large for a bachelor, and Dr. Weir Douglas would consider it a favor to have it taken care of. He himself was perfectly comfortable at the Edam Arms. This, however, could not last for ever. The whole village was more certain than ever that Thomasina and he were "going to make a match of it." It was just at this critical time that Hugh John came home on holiday for Christmas and New Year. I was exceedingly interested to see how these two would get on--the Doctor and Hugh John, I mean. Because my brother is by no means universally amiable, and the new arrival, for all his generosity, carried a good deal of "side"--or at least what seemed so to the Edam people. They did not understand his "antiseptics," the boiling of his medical scissors, his multipled sprayings, and _minima_ of medicines. A whacking black draught, and a fly-blister the size of the _Scotsman_ newspaper, were the popular idea of what a real doctor ought to prescribe. Who would pay a man just to come and look at them? Certainly not the people of Edam. I was present when Hugh John and Dr. Weir Douglas met for the first time. In fact, I made the introduction. I was interested to see what Dr. Douglas would make of Hugh John. For if he treated him like a schoolboy, all was over. It was in our drawing-room. Somebody had had his little afternoon nap over Froude's _History of England_--volume eight. Now if you ask Somebody how long Somebody has slept, Somebody will answer that Somebody _may_ just have dropped off for five minutes. The Doctor had come in to call socially. You see, I had met him at the Tennis Club. Well, Somebody was quite pleased with him because he had read "Froude," and for a while he did not notice the big, gray-eyed boy on the window-seat who had risen at his entrance and then as quietly sat down again. But I said, "Doctor--my brother Hugh John!" Then Hugh John loomed up, with that quiet gravity which deceives strangers sometimes, his finger still keeping the place in William's _Middle Kingdom_, and his eyes meeting those of the Doctor level as the metals on a straight run of the railway line. The Doctor was ready to pass the lad in order to talk with Somebody--who, as usual, lay back looking amused. But that arresting something in Hugh John's eyes, a mixture of equality and authority, halted him, as it has done so many others. "You are reading?" said the Doctor civilly. "Oh, no," said Hugh John, "just picking out favorite bits. Do you know _The Middle Kingdom_?" Now _The Middle Kingdom_ is an exceedingly fine book, highly technical in parts, and has to do with China. So it is no wonder that it was not so familiar to a man who for years has had to specialize on surgery as it was to the omnivorous Hugh John. Dr. Weir Douglas shook his head as he glanced over the volume. "It looks very stiff," he remarked; "are you getting it up for an exam.?" Hugh John looked at him curiously. He did not approve of jests on such subjects. "I read it first when I was about ten," he said. "I only wish exams were as easy." "Is it 'math'?" the Doctor inquired sympathetically. "Yes," said Hugh John, "that--and the idiocies of English spelling!" All this as from man to man, unsmiling, unwinking, each taking the measure of the other. It came to an end in a mutual self-respect, neither yielding an inch. But the boy knew how to make himself respected as well as the man of thirty. That night they took a long walk together in the crisp black frost, while Dr. Weir Douglas talked of "microbes," and Hugh John expounded Chinese transcendental medicine. But the real respect did not arrive till, passing the darkened library as they returned, the Doctor said, "I hear you do something with the gloves. What do you say to a turn?" "Step in!" said Hugh John. What passed I do not know, but when he went away the Doctor said, "I really think those gloves of yours are two or three ounces too light!" * * * * * It was the next day that Hugh John, summoned into solemn council by Butcher Donnan and his wife, was informed what was expected of him in the matter of Elizabeth Fortinbras. Luckily I was again present, and so can tell all about it. Hugh John was not surprised. He was the Red Indian of the family. He took it as quite natural that he should be called in, quite natural that such good luck should befall Elizabeth Fortinbras, and entirely reasonable that he should be chosen as plenipotentiary. Now and then he asked a question, unexpectedly acute, as to Nipper's financial position, and how the proposed arrangement with Elizabeth would affect him. You would have thought it was Nipper's case he was advocating. Only I know that he was anxious to keep clear of all injustice before taking the matter in hand. "_And suppose Elizabeth gets married?_" I saw the two Donnans look one at the other. I don't think either had yet considered the matter in this light. To adopt Elizabeth meant to adopt any possible husband Elizabeth might take to herself. I could tell from Butcher Donnan's twinkle that he was envisaging the possibility of having Hugh John as a son-in-law--by adoption. Hugh John was still an unknown quantity to the good pastry-cook. He would never understand the delicate detachment of the friendship of Elizabeth Fortinbras and my brother. "We hope," said Butcher Donnan cunningly, "that you will let us keep Elizabeth for a long time, Mr. Hugh John?" The boy took the words perfectly seriously and with no personal bearing. "Elizabeth," he answered, "is a very pretty girl, but I shall do my best. At any rate she is sure to consult me before doing anything rash--like getting married, I mean!" There was something about Hugh John which kept any one from laughing at him, and accordingly Butcher Donnan refrained. "You are a confident young man," he said; "at your age I might have had an eye a little wider open for my own good fortune." "Elizabeth trusts me, and I am her friend!" said Hugh John, as if that settled the whole matter. "Well, may I be ... blessed!" cried Butcher Donnan. "Off with you, and let us hear what Elizabeth says." "No," said Hugh John, "it must _happen_, not be dragged in by the collar. To-night, after shop-shutting, Elizabeth will go home to see that all is right with her people. I shall walk with her, and tell you what she says in the morning." "We would rather hear to-night," cried Butcher Donnan, hotly impatient after the manner of his kind. "No--to-morrow!" pronounced Hugh John. "She ought to have the night to think it over. It wouldn't be fair unless!" "No more it would, young fellow!" cried Butcher Donnan, clapping Hugh John on the shoulder. "You found us a new business. You are finding us a daughter--perhaps some day----" "Hush now, Butcher," said his wife, anxious as to what he should say next. But Hugh John, already deep in his mission, took no offense at Butcher Donnan's _innuendoes_. Elizabeth Fortinbras and he were the best of good friends. And when the time came he would stand by the right hand of the bridegroom of her choice and witness his joy. So at least he thought at that moment. XVII THE LITTLE GREEN MAN _Written the Summer we went abroad for the first time._ It was about then that Hugh John suddenly grew up. He had been threatening it for a long time, but had always put it off. This time, however, it was for keeps. We noticed it first when we made Father tell us stories. Hugh John had grown tired of the "Little Green Man"! Now this was a thing so terrible to us that we hardly dared to face it. For, you see, we had been, as it were, brought up on the Little Green Man, and this was like being false to the very salt we had eaten. And the crime was specially bad on Hugh John's part. For, you see, he ate such a lot of salt that the Doctor told him it was bad for his health. However, because there is no chance of Hugh John reading this book, I will try to tell the tale just as Father tells it even yet to Margaret the Maid--and the rest of us who have not grown too old to like such stories. THE TALE OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN. "Of _course_ it is true," Father always began, "because you know yourselves that you have seen the very place and the Bogle Thorn and all. No doubt everything has shrunk a good deal since the time the story tells about. But that is only because you have grown out of all knowledge, and so everything seems smaller to you." "I know," cried the Maid, "last year when we came back from the seaside, the Edam Water looked quite small and shallow, even at the first Torres Vedras!" But Sir Toady nipped her good to make her "shut up"--yes, he had grown so rude in the use of words that that was what he said. But then, most boys are like that. It is school that does it, and, do you know, when they come back they even pervert us girls. That this is true was immediately proved by Maid Margaret giving a fierce kick under the table to Sir Toady, and whispering back, "Shut up yourself!" But Father went on, never heeding in the least. A father who can be conveniently deaf at times is the best kind. Be sure and take no other! The only genuine has a twinkle in his eye, and a dimple instead of smiling. You will know by that. "Well, the Little Green Man," Father went on, "lived in the Bogle Thorn on the road between Laurieston and the Duchrae. I used to go that way to school long ago, and at first I was frightened of the Little Green Man. I used to climb the dyke and go right up by the loch on the moor where the curlers played in winter, so as not to be compelled to pass that way. But after a while I got not to mind him a bit. For, you see, he was a good little man, all clad in green velvet tights, and with a broad green bonnet on his head like a peaky toadstool. Once or twice when I caught sight of him up among the branches, he popped into his little house just as quickly as a rabbit into its hole when you say "Scat!" And, you see, when once I was sure that he was frightened of _me_, I used not to mind him a bit. Then by and by I used to sit down and swop currants and sugar which I had "found" at home for some of the nuts and lovely spicy fruits that the Little Green Man had stored away. He had the loveliest little parlor and bedrooms all in the inside of the tree, everything finished neat as cabinet-making, and the floor carpeted--you never saw the like--and there were little windows, too, with glass in them, and shutters that shut with the bark outside, so that you never could tell there was a window there at all." [Illustration: "I USED TO SWOP CURRANTS AND SUGAR FOR NUTS AND LOVELY SPICY FRUITS"] "And how could you see all that, Father?" asked the Maid, who, as usual, was immensely interested, not having heard it above a thousand times before. So it stayed quite new to her. "Oh," said Father, "the Little Green Man touched a spring, and let me look through the windows. Of course I was too big to get bodily into the inside of the rooms, or run up and down the stairs. But when the Little Green Man got married, he made a beautiful pleasure-ground at the top of his house, with a clipped-hedge parapet all round to keep the Little Green Children from falling over." "Whom did he marry, Father?" said the Maid though, of course, she knew. "Why, he married the Little Green Woman," said Father in a tone of surprise mixed with reproof. He had been asked the same question at least a hundred times before, but he always answered in the same tone of grieved astonishment, which showed how clever he was. For he could not have been astonished--not really, of course. Then he went on with the story of the Little Green Man. The Little Green Man (said he) had a lot of children. There were Toppy, Leafy, Branchy, Twiggy, Flowery, Fruity, and Rooty. That made seven in all, and as they grew up, the Little Green Man made the playground on the top of the Bogle Thorn ever so much bigger. And he built the retaining walls higher, so as to keep them from falling over. Not that that was a very serious matter. For, you see, they could all of them hang on like monkeys. The only two who really ran some risk of danger were Toppy and Rooty. For Toppy, of course, had to stay on top, where he was safest, and knew his way about; and as for Rooty, there was something in his blood that made him want all the time to worm his way down into the hidden places under the earth where nobody but he ever went, and where the corkscrew staircases got perfectly breakneck with steepness. Then, when he found out this, the Little Green Man took Rooty, and gave him regular sound lectures about his "habits"--you know the kind of lecture--you have all got some on your own account. He said that away off on the face of the wild moor, a good bit back from the Bogle Thorn, was the cave of the Ugly Gray Dwarf--so called because that was what he was. He was ugly as a gnarled bit of oak-trunk that they dug up out of the moss. He was gray because he hid among the stones and rocks of the moorland, and, worst of all, he lived on what he could catch to eat--for choice, Little Green Children who had fallen out of tree-tops, or missed their hold of branches, or been naughty and wandered out when a root came to the surface. He had a horrid den where he used to take his prey, and would either roast them before a slow fire, basting them all the time, or else put them into a cauldron of cold water, hung on three sticks, and _boil them alive_! (Here the Maid always grew very pale, and edged as thickly as she could among the crowd of us, while the boys fingered their (unloaded) revolvers.) So you can well imagine that it was not always the greatest fun to wander over the face of that moorland, while this cruel monster, dry as a chip, still as one of the bowlders among the heather, and invisible as Will-o'-the-Wisp by day, lay watching the Bogle Thorn and the Little Green Man's Well, to which some one had to go at least once a day for water. Several times already the Little Green Man had had to fight for his life. But he was a good shot with the little fairy bow-and-arrows--the ones tipped with chips of flint--_you_ know? ("We know!" came from all the children in a breath.) Besides, Father Green Man was so tough when you had him that the Ugly Gray Dwarf thought twice, and even three times, before tackling him. For although he had no heart to pierce, but only a cold, cold stone out of the bottom of a well instead, the heads of the tiny chip arrows came off where they hit him and annoyed him fearfully, wandering about his system and tickling up unexpected organs. So that at long and last he got to know that he had better give the Little Green Man a wide berth. But when he got married, and children began to patter up and down the dainty little turning staircase of the Bogle Thorn, the Gray Dwarf rubbed his knotted clawy hands together, and grumbled over and over to himself--"Fresh Meat! Fresh Meat!! Fresh Meat!!!" And if he did not laugh, it is certainly reported that he chuckled to himself, like thunder among the hills very far away. But of all who went about the passages and ups-and-downs of the Bogle Thorn, there was none so reckless as Little Rooty. He was just as rambling, rampageous a boy as any I know! (Here Father looked at us, and Hugh John nodded at Sir Toady, who nodded back, to show that both considered the other as "catching it.") More than once the Little Green Man had even taken a little green switch, and--well, it just happened the same, so there is no use entering into _that_. But, in spite of all, Rooty would go off foraging where he had no business to, and that came quite near to being the end of Little Rooty, who would not "take a telling," and forgot all about the little green switch as soon as he had stopped smarting--where he frequently smarted. But one dreamy afternoon, when even the bumble-bees fell asleep and only gurgled in the deep fox-glove bells, when his father was lying on the green couch in the parlor, and his mother was telling the others tales about "humans" in a shady green place on the tree-top, Little Rooty slipped away off down-stairs, twenty-five flights to the cellar door where they took in the winter's fuel--that is, fir-cones chopped small, which make the best fires in the world, especially in Green Tree-top Land where fuel is a scarcity, and one has to be careful not to overheat the chimney, because of the insurance people. Well, Little Rooty found the door all right, and after having touched the spring, he went out on the face of the moor. The loch was shining beneath him, but sleepily too. And it looked so warm and bright that Little Rooty forgot all about what he had been told--the Ugly Gray Dwarf, the big black pot swinging on three poles in front of the Grisly Den, with the water just coming to the boil within it. And Rooty ran as hard as ever he could, without ever taking a minute to shut the cellar door. He jumped and shouted, and almost tumbled into Woodhall Loch just as he was, which would have spoiled his clean new suit of gossamer green velvet that his mother had finished that morning, and given him because it was just six months to Christmas, when he got his thicker winter one. However, he did manage to get them off, and was just getting ready to plunge into the nice cool water, when the stranded log, on which he had been sitting taking off his stockings, sat up in its turn and stretched out a kind of wizened claw that caught Little Rooty by the middle and held him in the air, kicking and screaming. Then two horny warty lids winked up, and two eyes like cold gravy looked at him--oh, so coldly and hatefully! It was the Ugly Gray Dwarf, and he had been lying waiting for Little Rooty all the afternoon. Then Rooty thought of everything his father had told him, and wished it had never felt so hot and stuffy and bumble-bee-y inside the house, and he resolved that if he got off this time, nothing would ever induce him to disobey his parents again. He even wished he was back in the wood-cellar, with his father getting the little green switch down off the shelf. Positively he thought he could have enjoyed it. Of course Rooty was the first little boy who ever felt like that, but he did not have a very long time in which to repent, and, indeed, it mattered very little to the Gray Dwarf whether he did or not. That hideous brute just pinched him all over to see how fat he was, gurgling approbation all the time of Little Rooty's "ribs" and "chines" and "cuts off the joint"--all of which Rooty had always liked very much, but had never before thought of in so intimate a connection with himself. Meanwhile, in the little house of the Bogle Thorn, its walls wainscoted with green silk from a fairy Liberty's, its ceilings done in Grass of Parnassus with sprigs and tassels of larch, the afternoon world slept on. But the Little Green Woman paused in her long drowsy tale-telling to the children in the shady corner of the Roof Garden. She thought she heard a cry, so faint and far away that it might have been the squeak of a field-mouse scuttling away from a weasel among the grass roots. Then a sudden thought struck her like a knife. "Where is Rooty? Who saw Rooty last? Toppy, you run and look over the pricklements and see if you see Rooty. I thought I heard him cry." Toppy ran to the green wall of thorn, and was just in time to see the Gray Dwarf toss poor Little Rooty over his shoulder (or at least the knotted crotch of a tree which served him as a shoulder), and away with him to his Grisly Den on the face of the moorland. Toppy just managed to scream, and then his mother ran and caught him, or it might very well have been all over with Little Toppy. By the time the Little Green Man was wakened off the green sofa, and had understood what they were saying (for the entire family talked at once, as is mostly the case with united families), he ran hastily up to the Roof Garden, and saw the Gray Dwarf, very little and flat on the face of the heath, just like a splotch of mildew. And on his shoulder there was a spot of green, hardly visible, which the father knew at once for his Little Rooty. But he did not scold--at least not then. He went for his fairy bow, made tiny like a catapult--not hurrying, you know, but going so fast that it felt as if the wind was rising all over the house of the Bogle Thorn. The Little Green Man dipped each arrow-point--that is, the flint part of it--into a kind of green stuff like porridge, made from hemlock and the berries of deadly nightshade, with other pleasant and effective things only known to the Little Green People. He took great care not to let any drip about, and looked closely to see if there were any scratches on his hands. For it was quite unusual stuff, and precious. So he did not want to waste any of it. He needed it all for that mildewy spot crawling over the moorland towards the Grisly Cave with the green dot on its shoulder which was his own Rooty. Perhaps, being exceptionally good children, _you_ are not sorry for naughty Rooty. ("Oh, yes, we are! We are!") But, anyway, his father was sorry for him, though all the time he was promising him the best "hiding" he had ever had in his life when he got him safe back again. ("Bet he never got a whack!" said Sir Toady, who is an authority on the subject.) So, locking the children in and putting the key in his pocket, the Little Green Man and his wife went away over the moorland to look for the Ugly Gray Dwarf. The man did not want the woman to come. But she begged of him, weeping, saying that she would go "human" if she were left (and among the Green People that is a terrible word, and a yet more terrible thing[1]). So in the end the Little Green Man let her come. [Footnote 1: It is as we say "fey."] Then she wanted to go direct to the cave, but her husband, who had had a lot of experience, showed her how impossible and foolish that was. For the Gray Dwarf would just lie down behind a big bowlder and wait for them. Then he would stun them with a log or strangle them with his long twisty fingers as they went by. So instead they went all the way round by John Knox's Pulpit and the Folds Firs, that they might turn the flank of the enemy, and so come at his cave by a way he would never expect. It was a narrow cleft between two rocks up which they had to come--the Little Green Man and his woman. They crawled and crawled, noiseless as earth-worms on a plowed field. All the while the eyes of the Little Green Man shot out small sparkles of fire, though the lids of them were closed so that they showed like slits in a drying plaster wall. After a long climb they looked over a ridge of many bowlders and much heather--the Little Green Man and his woman close behind him. And at the sight they saw there the wife would have screamed out and run forward. For she was a real woman, you see, though little and green. Only her husband was prepared for her, knowing, after so many years, exactly what she would do. So he first put the palm of his hand across her mouth to keep in the scream, and next gave her the pouch of arrow-heads to hold. Then with a pair of tweezers made of bent wood he lifted the little poisoned flakelets of flint and dropped each into a split in the arrow-head. Then his wife deftly bound each of them about with green cord--for that was _her_ part of the business. She forgot about screaming when she had anything to do. Then the Little Green Man peered cautiously from behind a rock, first giving his wife a good push with his foot as a warning--but, of course, you know, kindly. He found himself looking down into a dell surrounded by many high granite rocks, which made access difficult to the Grisly Cave. The Dwarf was busy about the great black iron pot in which he was getting ready to boil Little Rooty. The Green Man saw his boy stripped of his suit of velvet, and trussed up neck and knee ready for cooking, while every time the Ugly Gray Dwarf approached he gave him a kick in passing to make him more tender, grinning and whetting a carving-knife all the time on a monster "steel" that hung by his side. So you may believe that in a moment the Green Man had his bow strung taut, and his heart beat as the dull glitter of the arrow-point, from which the green stuff was still dripping, came into line with the hairy throat of the wicked Dwarf. "_CLIP!_" That was the smacking sound of the bow-string going back to the straight. "_IZZ--IK!_" That was the sound of the little elf arrow, dropping green juice from its willow-leaf-shaped head, every drop of which was death. The "_IK!_" was when the elf shaft struck the Gray Dwarf and the point broke off in his throat. He said nothing for a moment, but the knife that was in his hand to cut up Little Rooty with clattered on the stones, while he himself fell with a "squelch" like a big heap of wet clothes thrown down on the laundry floor on washing-day morning. Then they cut Little Rooty's bonds, and took him home on his father's back, his mother carrying the bow and the precious bag of arrow-heads. But instead of the sound beating his father had promised him, they gave Rooty (and all the other children) corn-cake and bramble jam, nut paste, raspberry short-bread, and heather honey made into toffee. They danced on the tree-tops all the night long, and illuminated all the windows of the Bogle Thorn with glow-worms--who, in consideration of the circumstances, gave their services _gratis_. As for the Gray Dwarf, they never bothered any more about him, and I dare say if you care to go up by the Grisly Cave at the end of Deep Dooms Wood on the right, as you turn to the Falls of Drumbledowndreary, you may find his bones unto this day. * * * * * The end of the story of the Little Green Man, as Father told it for Fifteen Years, anyway. XVIII THE BEAD CURTAIN Hugh John set about his task of seeing Elizabeth Fortinbras in his own way. He chose his own time--a pleasant blowy afternoon when in all the vale of Edam there was nothing much doing. A sleepy place, Edam, on such a day--the morning calm, the forenoon disturbed only by a rattling red farm cart or two come in to bring meal and take back guano, then the afternoon drowned in the Lethe of a Scottish village in full summer-time. Hugh John looked in at the shop to inquire about the wasps. They had bothered Elizabeth a good deal at first, but Hugh John had devised traps with great ingenuity, though little success, before he thought of a hanging curtain of blue and green beads in the doorway which his father had brought back from Spain. It had lain in the garret ever since, and Hugh John simply appropriated it for the use of Elizabeth Fortinbras. But Butcher Donnan, returning to a waspless shop, was brought up standing on the threshold--his mouth agape, his eyes stocky in his head, and his hand mutely demanding explanations from "Mary-and-the-Saints." I think in her heart Elizabeth Fortinbras was a little afraid. Not only had no such article ever been seen in Edam, but it was out of the power of Edam and the Edamites to conceive such a thing as a door made of large blue and green beads, which they had to lift up and let down behind them, with the clashing of castanets before a play-acting booth. Happily Hugh John was there, sitting calmly in the back kitchen watching Mrs. Donnan making currant short-bread. "Hugh John!" Elizabeth Fortinbras called out, with, it must be owned, a little trouble in her voice. "Certainly; come in, Mr. Donnan!" said Hugh John courteously, running to hold the trickling, clicking curtain aside for the ex-butcher to pass. "A little curious till you get used to it, don't you think, Mr. Donnan? But it will stir Edam. It will draw custom, and--what I put it up for--keep out the wasps and bluebottles! Oh, yes, my father brought it from Spain. It is quite an ordinary thing there. Indeed, I got the idea from him." "But," said Butcher Donnan, slowly recovering his speech, "I must see your father about the price of it to-morrow--if I am to keep it." "My father--sell _that_?" said Hugh John, coldly surprised. "He would as soon eat it!" "But I can't take it from you, young master. It may be a valuable article." "Take it--who asked you to take it?" demanded Hugh John. "I gave it to Elizabeth Fortinbras myself as a present on the occasion of her adoption, and if you want her as a permanence, I am afraid you must take the bead curtain along with her!" "What, she has consented?" cried Butcher Donnan, forgetting everything. But Mrs. Donnan, who was listening, put the short-bread into the oven quickly, and came out. She had begun to learn the tones of Hugh John's voice. She understood at once. "My daughter!" she cried, and, opening wide her arms, kissed her. Butcher Donnan paused a moment, uncertain, and then, nudging his wife: "I ought to, I know," he said, "but just you do it for me--the first time." So Mrs. Donnan kissed Elizabeth again, and the Butcher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he had just had something good to drink. Then they looked about for Hugh John to make him share in the family joy, but that young gentleman, guessing ahead something of their intention, had disappeared with his usual thoroughness and absence of fuss. Some recognition from Elizabeth, privately bestowed, he was in no way averse to, the time being dusky and the place far from the haunts of men. But at mid-afternoon, opposite the railway station, and behind a green and blue bead curtain to which Edam had not yet awakened--on the whole, it is small wonder that Hugh John decided upon the better part of valor. Safe in his cave on the hillside, he wiped his heated brow and congratulated himself on his escape. Perhaps he would not have rejoiced quite so much had he known that Sir Toady, entering at that moment in quest of gratuitous toffee scrapings, found himself at once heir to all the affection which was really his brother's due. Sir Toady accepted such things as they came in his way, much as a cat drinks from stray cream-jugs, but without giving particular thanks for them. His motto, slightly changed from the rhyming proverb, was ever-- "He that will not when he can, He's not at all my sort of man!" XIX THE DISCONTENT OF MRS. NIPPER DONNAN When Mr. Robert Fortinbras heard of his daughter's determination, he declared that he renounced her for ever. But after thinking the matter over, and especially on being reminded by Hugh John that one day she would become heiress of no mean part of the Donnan wealth, he consented to a limited forgiveness, on condition that in the meantime she should do something for her father and mother. But her sister Matilda openly revolted, saying that _she_ always knew Elizabeth meant to shove the housework off on her, and that she did not care if not a dish was ever washed in that house again. Elizabeth reminded her that, far from idling at New Erin Villa, she was on foot from morning till night. Also that nine times out of ten when she came home she found Matilda asleep on the sofa, with a penny novelette flung on the floor beside her. There was a feeling of strain for a moment, but Elizabeth presented her sister with a striped blouse and half-a-dozen stand-up collars, which promptly brought forth the declaration, "Oh, Elizabeth, you mustn't mind what I _say_. It is only mother's nagging that does it, but I do love you!" Which may or may not have had to do with the striped blouse and the half-dozen collars. On the whole, there was a certain feeling of satisfaction in the house of Mr. Robert Fortinbras that Elizabeth was so well provided for, and that in a day of trouble she might even assist the brilliant adventurer with some of the gold of that unimaginative citizen, Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan. But Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, though the best daughter in the world--with only one exception that I know of personally--had no idea of encouraging the busy idleness of her father, or the foolishness of the rest of the family. She had found a business that suited her, and she would in nowise interest herself less in it now that she was, so to speak, the present partner and future heiress in the concern. There was but one person discontented, Mrs. Nipper Donnan. She was jealous of the white-curtained cottage, the trim garden, which began to blossom where she had hung out her clothes. Chiefly, however, she hated Elizabeth Fortinbras and "that Hugh John Picton Smith," who, strangely enough, was her abhorrence--though it was not his habit to ignore any one, but only to pass on his way with a grave bow. Hugh John was an uncomfortable person to quarrel with. His great bodily strength and long practice in the art of boxing rendered him a man of peace whose very presence made for reconciliation. In the neighborhood of Edam he was President Roosevelt's "moral policeman with a big stick." Even at home he held over the head of an offender a baton of honor and "the right thing to do." At school, it is to be feared that his discipline was sterner. There he argued but seldom. He was the centurion who said, "Do this!" and the other fellow did it. But then, it was a good thing to do, and the head master generally considered him as his best ally. He was father's constant companion on his walks, and to hear them debate in that precious half-hour in the dining-room after dinner was to escape suddenly from the smallness of the world about, and find oneself on the high Alps of thought where the sun shone early and late, where the winds blew clean and cold, and thought was free exceedingly. Neither counted anything as to be accepted merely because they had been told it upon authority. They searched and compared, the man and the boy, Hugh John's finely analytic mind steadied and gripped by the elder experience. Their talk was not the talk of father and son, but rather of two seekers--Hugh John declaiming high, direct, often fierce, while through the smoke of a contemplative cigarette father went on smiling gently, now waving a hand in gentle deprecation, dropping a word of moderation here, qualifying a statement there--the son holding strictly for law and justice, of the firmest and most inexorable, the father dropping counsels of mercy and that understanding which is the forgiveness of God, being, as always, a Tolerant of the Tolerants. I know that those who have read the two books called after Sir Toady Lion may fail a little to recognize my elder brother. But nevertheless this is the same who in his time wept because as a little child with a wooden sword he had been saluted by the Scots Grays, the same also who fought the "smoutchies"; and if I have said nothing about a certain notable Cissy Carter, it is only because, though I know, in the meantime I have promised not to tell. It will easily be understood that with such an adversary Mrs. Nipper Donnan, ex-kitchen-maid at Erin Villa, stood little chance. Hugh John listened patiently and gravely, his head slightly bent in the pensive and contemplative way which was then his principal charm. He heard that he had interfered where he had no business, that Mrs. Nipper Donnan knew that he had always hated her husband, that, while as good as engaged to Colonel Carter's daughter, he was walking the lanes with Elizabeth Fortinbras--yes, and plotting and planning to get a fortune for her--a fortune which would make beggars of her husband and herself, and strip an only son of his inheritance. To the angry woman Hugh John made no reply. He only kept silence, with that gentle irony which is his present manner with those who grow quarrelsome--that is, if they are not of his own sex and (approximately) age. He only called Nipper--and by a series of questions ascertained from him that he knew how Hugh John had been the means of obtaining better terms for him than he had ever hoped for, since his marriage had so offended his father. Hugh John Picton Smith could speak no lie. He, Nipper Donnan, would uphold this against all comers. Even in the days of the smoutchies and the prison vault at the old Castle in the Edam Water he had known it. Even his very enemies had known it, and had taken Hugh John's word before the sworn oath of any one of themselves. He would take it now, and as to his wife, if she said another word--out of the shop she should go! She did go, slamming the door behind her. Nipper stepped across and shot a bar with a jarring sound heard all over the house. Then from behind the counter he thrust forth a hand, hard and massive, towards Hugh John, who took it in his strong grip. They looked at each other in the face, eye to eye. There was a slight shrug of Nipper's shoulders and a toss of his head in the direction of the barred door, which said that a man could not be responsible for his womankind, but as for themselves, had they not fought far too often and too fairly ever to go behind backs to do each other an injury? XX TREACHERY! To-day Hugh John let me see a letter which he had received from Cissy Carter in Paris. As no one will see my diary, and also because there is nothing very private in the letter, I have jotted down as much as I can remember in my locked book. It was written from number twenty of the Avenue d'Argenson, and the date was the day before yesterday. It began without any greetings (as was their custom). "HUGH JOHN--People have written to me about you and Elizabeth Fortinbras--not nice people like you, me, and the Rat" (this was their unkind and meaningless name for--me, Miss Priscilla Picton Smith). "I don't much care what any one writes, of course. For I know that if ever you change your mind, you will do as you said, and send back _your_ half of the crooked sixpence. You need not put in a word along with it. Only just send the half of the sixpence by the registered letter post, and I shall understand. I promise to do the same by you.--CISSY." Now it must long have been clear that my brother Hugh John is as careless about his own concerns as he is careful for other people. He naturally took Cissy at her word, and having a conscience quite void of reproach with regard to Elizabeth Fortinbras or any other, very naturally thought no more about the matter. But he should have been cautious how he disposed of the letter--in the fire, for choice. Only, you see, that was not Hugh John's way. He stuck it in his pocket-book, and pulled it out with his handkerchief just in time for Mrs. Nipper Donnan, on her way home with her groceries, to find it. In the little skin-covered book (which had once been "imitation shark"), wrapped in a piece of tissue-paper, was also the half of a crooked sixpence. Next morning but two, in far-away Paris, in front of a tall plastered house with big barren windows, Miss Cecilia Carter, walking to and fro with two of her companions, had an odd-looking, ill-addressed packet put into her hand. She opened it with a little glow of expectation--and there in her hand lay the other half of the crooked sixpence! Cissy Carter did not faint. She did not cry out. There is no record, even, that she went pale. At any rate the school registers bear out the fact that a quarter of an hour after she took her lesson in "theory" from the music-master, Herr Rohrs. She only felt that something had broken within her--something not to be mended or ever set right, something she could not even have the relief of speaking about as the French girls did, rhapsodizing eternally about the officers who rode past the gate, slacking the speed of their horses a little that they might stare up the avenue along which the young girls walked two-and-two, also on the look-out for them. She had told Hugh John often just what had happened. She had cast it in his face, when the pretty spite of her temper got the better of her, that, some day or other, it would come to this. But in her heart of hearts she had never really thought so for a moment. Hugh John untrue! Oh, no! _That_ was impossible! It did not enter into the scheme of things. Yes, certainly, twice, in a fit of "the pet," she had sent hers back to Hugh John. But this was different--oh, so different! How different, only those who knew Hugh John could understand. When _he_ did such a thing, he meant something by it. Hugh John had no silly flashes of temper--like a girl--like her, Cissy Carter. So she thought to herself as she went about her work, the rodent which we children call the "Sorrow Rat" gnawing all day at her heart, the noise of the class-rooms, ordinarily so deafening, dull and distant in her ear. All over! Yes, it was all over. Hugh John had wished it so, and from that, she well knew, there was no appeal! And there was (I know it well) one sad little heart the more in that great city of Paris, where (if one must believe the books) there are too many already. But Cissy did not take offense, and I had my weekly letter as usual. Perhaps it was a little more staid, a little less "newsy," and her interest in Herr Rohrs not quite so profound. But really I put all that down to the cold and headache of which Cissy complained in a postscript--and, not even there, was there a hint as to the other half of the crooked sixpence! Which is a record for one woman--girl, I mean--writing to another. Hugh John was anything but sentimental, and it was not his habit to take out the relic wrapped in the tissue-paper oftener than the rearrangement of his scanty finances compelled. He would just give his pocket a slap, and if he felt a lump--why, he thought no more about the matter. He was preparing for college, and, knowing no reason why he should be uneasy, he had immersed himself in his books. He had not the smallest idea that the sharkskin purse, empty, lay in Mrs. Nipper Donnan's drawer, or that the two pieces of the crooked sixpence were wrapped together in the same tissue-paper in far-away Paris. XXI ADA WINTER AND "YOUNG MRS. WINTER" While these things were pending, I went one day to the north side of Edam Water to call upon Ada Winter. I had known Ada at school--not in the same class or term, of course, but just because we came from the same place we nodded, if we were not in too great a hurry, when we crossed each other in the playground. It was not much, but I have noticed that you get more fond of school after you have left it a while. Before, it was "the beastly hole," "Treadmill House," and other pretty little innocent names. Immediately after leaving school, however, it became "the dear old place," a little walled Paradise; and we used to go regularly to the station to see the girls who were still there going off "with smiling faces veiling sad hearts," as Hugh John said--and, of course, as I know now, wishing us all at Jericho. At any rate I called upon Ada Winter, and among other things we talked about the choir practice at our church, and I asked Ada why she did not go. You see, she had been with me in the school choir, where, as in most choirs, they put the pretty girls in front. (No, I shan't tell where I sat, not I!) "Why," said Ada, with an inflection which would have been bitter but for its sadness, "why I can't go to choir practice is not because I have lost my voice, as mother tells everybody. But because mother wants to go herself! Some one has got to stay at home." "But Mrs. Winter--but your mother," I began, "she does not----" "I know--I know--you need not repeat it," cried Ada, feeling for her handkerchief in a quick, nervous way she always had. "Mother cannot sing a note, and every one there makes fun of the way she dresses! Oh, don't I know!" And she dabbed at her eyes, while I tried to think of something to say--something that obstinately kept away. I wanted to comfort her, you see, but you have no idea till you have tried how difficult it is to comfort (or even to answer) a girl who talks about her mother like that. Of course I knew very well that it was all true. Mrs. Winter's youthful toilettes and girlish airs were the talk of the "visiting" good wives of Edam--and very respectable and noticing women these were, even beyond the average of a Scottish "neighborhood"--half village, half town--which is, they say, the highest in the world. The men thought Mrs. Winter merely "nice looking." A few found her even "nice," and mentioned the fact at home! (Poor ignorant wretches, they deserved what they got!) Was it not evident to every woman (with eyes) in the congregation that Mrs. Winter was obviously, and with malice aforethought, setting her cap at the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, the newly-elected minister of the parish kirk in Edam? No matter! I had been brought up in the ancient way, and (at least knowingly) I had not forsaken it. I thought of the "Honor thy father and thy mother," and during the rest of my visit the words lay uncomfortably in the background of my mind. But for the moment old comradeship prevailed. Even a queer little shamefaced tenderness somehow came over me. "Poor Ada," I said, "it _is_ a shame. You never get anywhere! We have all the fun, and you have to stop on here in this pokey place!" "Oh, no," said Ada, dry-eyed, "you forget. There are the hens. When any one calls, mother sends me out to the back to feed the hens!" We were speaking quietly on the doorstep of a quiet old house in the little main street. The lobby was dusky behind, and the settled smell of ancient furniture, perfectly kept for generations, came through the open door to mingle with the sharp sting of tar, and boats, and the sea which breathed up from the tidal river as through a funnel. As we stood together silent for a moment, both a little moved and strange, even with one another, we heard a quick, decided tread. And round the corner came Ada's mother, "Young Mrs. Winter" as she was called, to distinguish her from Ada's grandmother, "Old Mrs. Winter," who lived in the little cottage by the Ryecroft Bridge at the other end of the town. "Come, Ada," said her mother, "take Prissy in if you want to speak to her. I thought I had told you how much I dislike your standing gossiping on doorsteps like servant maids." "Thank you, Mrs. Winter," I said very quietly. "I must go home. Father will want me to pour out his tea." And Ada Winter did not press me to stay, but only shut the door, with a glance at me, and a sigh as her mother rustled up-stairs to "change for the evening." XXII AN EVENING CALL Now of course it is true that the people of Edam gossip about Young Mrs. Winter. But, to make things quite equal all round, Young Mrs. Winter can give any one of them points at their own game! And she has her own way of doing it too. She is never nasty about it, never spiteful. She looks far too plump for that. She is rather like those people in the Bible who make broad their phylacteries, and thank God in their prayers that they are not as other men are. It says "men" in the text (I looked it up), but I think it must have been women who were really meant. For, about Edam at least, it is mostly _they_ who give thanks that they are not as other women are! Well, at any rate, Young Mrs. Winter was that kind of gossip--oh, far too good-natured ever to say an ill word about any one! But, on the other hand, always "so very sorry" for the people she did not like that she left everybody with the impression that she was in possession of the darkest and deadliest secrets concerning them. Only she was _so_ good and _so_ kind that she only sympathized with these naughty people, instead of (as no doubt she could) putting them altogether outside the pale of society. She did this most often at afternoon teas. Then her sighs could be heard all over the room. They quenched conversation. They aroused curiosity, and in five minutes half tea-sipping Edam knew to how much original sin Miss So-and-so had recently added so many new and unedited actual transgressions. But for the unfortunate impression thus unwittingly given of course poor Young Mrs. Winter was by no means responsible. Indeed, she gently sighed as she went away. "It is _such_ a pity!" she said feelingly, as her hostess accompanied her to the door. Mrs. Winter the Younger dealt at Nipper Donnan's--both on account of the superior quality of the meat, and, still more, because there she encountered a kindred spirit--no, not the Reverend Cosmo Huntly, but Mrs. Nipper Donnan herself. It was not long before Young Mrs. Winter knew all about the abominable devices of Elizabeth Fortinbras, the terrible loss to the legitimate heir, Nipper, brought about by the cunning of a certain Hugh John, the weakness (if no worse) of the elder Donnans--in fact, all, and a great deal more, than Mrs. Nipper knew herself! One evening, going into the shop during Nipper's absence on his "cattle-buying business" among the farms, Young Mrs. Winter found still younger Mrs. Donnan in a state of great excitement. She had just been wrapping up a parcel, and was aching for a confidant. No, of course Young Mrs. Winter would never, never betray a secret. Was she not known and noted for that one thing? Had she not suffered grievously and been much spoken against for that very fault, if fault, indeed, it were? Mrs. Nipper might ask all Edam. There was not, of course, time for that, because Mrs. Nipper was so keen on the track of a confidant. It had to come out. The dam burst suddenly. There was now no means of holding it back. Meg Linwood's private sense of injustice was increased a thousandfold by the purring sympathy of Young Mrs. Winter. No, indeed, she would not sit down under it. She was not now a "slavey" to be treated like that. She had had quite enough! And so on and so on. Young Mrs. Winter incautiously suggested an appeal to Mrs. Nipper's husband, and so very nearly cut off the whole book of the revelation in mid-gush. "Oh, no!" cried Mrs. Nipper, "above all things Nipper must know nothing about it! _He_ would not understand!" Young Mrs. Winter threw up her hands with a little gesture of despair, as much as to say, "I do not quite see, in that case, what is to be done in the matter!" Then came the dread secret. "I have paid them off myself. But oh--it is a great secret! Nipper would never forgive me--he thinks so much of that Hugh John Picton Smith!" "Tell me all about it," purred Young Mrs. Winter. "You know I never speak again of things which have been told me in confidence!" And, indeed, there was more of truth in the statement than the lady herself was aware of. For there were but few people in Edam so foolish as to tell Young Mrs. Winter even what their chickens had had for dinner! "Oh, they shall not mock at me any more," said Mrs. Nipper, half crying with anger, half trembling at her own temerity. The Meg Linwood of the back kitchen had not got over her former wholesome dread of correction. And in her secret heart she always feared (and perhaps also a little hoped) that one day Nipper, put out of patience by her tricks, would snatch up a stick and give her the same sort of moral lesson by which the late Mr. Linwood had recalled his family to a sense of their duty. "They shall not mock at me--yes, I know they do--because I was once a servant." (How little she knew either Hugh John or Elizabeth, if the accusation were made seriously!) "But I have shown them that they cannot tamper with me!" "But how--tell me how you did it?" said Young Mrs. Winter, sinking her voice to a whisper. "I found a letter," said Meg in a solemn whisper, and putting her mouth close to the ear of her listener, "yes, a letter--from that Carter girl in Paris to Hugh John Picton Smith." "Never!" cried Young Mrs. Winter, clasping her hands together in a kind of ecstasy. Then, fearing she had gone too far, she said, "I should like to see it, but I suppose you sent it back immediately." "I did nothing of the kind," Meg Linwood giggled. "I would not be so soft, though I have only been a servant--a common slavey, washing pans in the scullery, while my lady, all dressed up fine, sold candy in the front shop, and talked to _that Hugh John_!" Thus innocently did poor Meg Linwood lay bare to the experienced eyes of Young Mrs. Winter the secret springs of her jealousy. "It _is_ a shame," murmured that lady sympathetically but vaguely. And so, with a little persuasion, Meg Linwood told the whole story of the twin halves of the crooked sixpence as related in the letter found in the sharkskin purse. Young Mrs. Winter felt that perhaps never had virtue been more its own reward. She was in sole possession of a secret that would assuredly set all Edam by the ears. Presently she made her excuses to Mrs. Nipper Donnan, all simmering with sympathy till she was round the corner. And then she actually picked up her skirts and ran. She had so many calls to make, so much to tell, and so little time to do it in. No wonder that Young Mrs. Winter was almost crushed by the weight of her own responsibilities. Suppose that she were to fall sick, or get run over, dying untimely "with all her music in her," as the poet says. Unfortunately nothing of the kind occurred. The people she called on were at home. Nay, more, they had friends. These friends, as soon as they had heard, jostled each other in the lobbies. Nay, so great was their haste to be gone that they made the rudest snatches at each other's umbrellas! Thus quickly was the tale of the crooked sixpence spread about in Edam. You see, the Davenant Carters were the greatest people in the parish, all the more so for not living in the town. And as for Hugh John, he also, though less known, was a citizen of no mean city. * * * * * I think it must have been about eight o'clock of a summer night--it was after dinner, anyway--when a ring came to the door bell, and Cairns went in the dining-room where Hugh John was rearranging the universe with father while he smoked. I was at the organ looking over some music, and trying over little bits very, very softly. Because at that time it is not allowed to interrupt the talk. "A young lady on a bicycle to speak to Mr. Hugh John!" said Cairns. Luckily I had turned a little on the music-stool, so I did not lose a faintest detail of what followed. I saw the single mischievous dimple come and go at the corner of father's cheek, but, as is his silent way, he only flicked the ash off his cigarette with his little finger, and said nothing. "Will you excuse me for a moment, father?" said Hugh John, always master of himself, and consequently, nine times out of ten, of the other person as well. Father nodded gravely, and Hugh John went out. I would have given all I possessed--not usually much at most--to have accompanied my brother. But a look from father checked me. As you can see from his books, it is not so very long since he was young himself. Though, of course, he seems fearfully old to us, I know he does not feel that way himself. So perforce I had to wait patiently, turning over that dreary music till somebody came into the room, and then I was released. I knew it was Elizabeth Fortinbras who was outside, but for all that I did not even go to the door to see. After what seemed a very long while Hugh John came in. He was looking rather pale. "Can I go to the Edam Post Office?" he asked. "I shall not be long." But though he asked politely, he was gone almost before permission could be given. He told me all about it when he came back. I had been at the window, and had seen Hugh John and Elizabeth Fortinbras ride off together. For any one who saw them there was but one thing to think. They looked so handsome that any other explanation seemed inadmissible. Only we at home knew different. "Sis," he said, when at last we got out to the gun-room, which father uses occasionally for smoking in, "there never was a girl like Elizabeth Fortinbras!" At this I whistled softly--a habit for which I am always being checked, and as often forgetting. "_And what about Cissy Carter?_" I asked. He looked at me once with a kind of "If-you-have-any-shame-in-thee, girl, prepare-to-shed-it-now" manner, before which I quailed. Then he told me how Elizabeth had ridden out to tell him of the treachery of Meg Linwood. Together they had made out an urgency telegram, had found the post-master, and had dispatched it to Paris that very night. It said: "_Half silver token lost. If sent you by mischievous persons, please return immediately to its owner, Hugh John Picton Smith._" "And that, I think, covers the case--she will understand!" said Elizabeth Fortinbras. But low in her own heart, as she rode up the long steep street to New Erin Villa, she added the rider, "That is, if she is not a goose!" XXIII HONOR THY DAUGHTER! But, alas! Cissy Carter _was_ a goose! In the well-meant telegram she saw only a new machination of the enemy--perhaps even of Elizabeth Fortinbras. And the heart in the Boulevard d'Argenson became, for the moment, sadder than ever. Also Madame asked for an explanation in a tone to which the proud little daughter of Colonel Davenant Carter had been quite unaccustomed. She resented Madame Rolly's interference rather more sharply than wisely. Whereupon she was told that her father would be requested to remove her, if, on the morrow, she was not ready with an explanation, in addition to the apology which Madame, perhaps correctly, considered her due. Now it chanced that Colonel Carter, finding himself with a week-end to spare in London, had crossed the Channel to give himself the treat (and his daughter the surprise) of dropping in upon her unexpectedly. He could not have come more to the purpose so far as that daughter was concerned. Or more malapropos from the point of view of Madame Rolly. As many people know, the good Colonel, once the devoted slave of Sir Toady Lion, was occasionally exceedingly peppery. And when he arrived with his pockets bulging with good things, only to find "his little girl" in tears--and, indeed, brought hastily down from the room in which she had been locked--his military ardor exploded. "If, Madame," he is reported to have said, "I am to understand that you cannot keep discipline without having resort to methods more suitable to a boy of eight than to a young lady of eighteen, it is time that I undertook the responsibility myself! Cecilia, go up to your room. I will settle with Madame. And by the time that is done--the--ah--baggage-cart will be at the door--as sure as my name is G-rrrrrumph--G-rrrumph--G-rrrummph!" And, indeed, the "baggage-cart" (in the shape of a small omnibus) was at the door. Although really, you know, the Colonel's name was not as he himself affirmed. "And now, Missy," growled the Colonel in his finest Full-Bench-of-Justices manner, "kindly tell me what you have been doing!" For, very characteristically, the Colonel, though entirely declining to listen to a word of accusation against his daughter from Madame Rolly, reserved to himself the right of distributing an even-handed justice afterwards. His method on such occasions is just the reverse of father's, as we have all learned to our cost. Our father would have listened gravely to all that Madame had to recount of our misdeeds. Then he would have nodded, remarked, "You did perfectly right, Madame! In anything that you may propose, I will support you--so long, that is, as I judge it best that my child shall remain at your school!" For father's first principle in all such matters is, "Support authority--receive or make no complaints--and, above all, work out your own salvation, my young friend!" And though it sometimes looks a bit hard at the time, as Hugh John says, "It prepares a fellow for taking his own part in the world, as you soon find you have jolly well to do if you mean to get on." But Cissy knew her father, and promptly set herself to cry as heartbrokenly as she could manage on such short notice. Colonel Davenant Carter gazed at her a moment with a haughty and defiant expression. But as Toady Lion had once said of him, "I teached him to come the High Horsicle wif ME!" So now, as the rickety omnibus jogged and swayed over the Parisian cobbles, Cissy wept ever more bitterly, till the old soldier had to entreat her to stop. They would, so it appeared, soon be at his hotel. Even now they were passing his club, and "that old gossiping beast, Repton Reeves," was at the window. If it got about that he, Colonel Davenant Carter, had been seen driving down the Rue de Rivoli with a damsel drowned in floods of tears--why, by all the bugles of Balaclava, he would never hear the end of it. He might as well resign at the club. All which, as Cissy sobbed out in the French language, was "exceedingly equal" to her! But it was very far indeed from being "égal" to the peppery Colonel. And at last, as the sobs increased in carry and volume, he was reduced to the ignominious expedient of personal bribery. "Look here, Cissy," he said in tremulous tones, "we absolutely _can't_ go into the courtyard of the Grand Hotel like this! Now, if you will be a good girl, and will stop this instant, I will drive you up the Rue de la Paix, and there I will buy----!" "_What?_" said Cissy, looking up with eyes that still brimmed ready for action. "A gold bracelet!" said her father tentatively, but still quite uncertain of his effect. "Boohoo!" said Cissy Carter, dropping her face once more between her hands. "Goodness gracious," cried the Colonel, invoking his favorite divinity, "what can the girl want? A gold watch, then?" "Real gold this time, then!" said Cissy, who had been "had" once before, and, even with an aching heart, was properly cautious. "You shall do the choosing yourself!" said her father, thinking that he had conquered. But Cissy knew her opportunity--and the relative whom fate had given her. The tears welled again. Her bosom was shaken by timely sobs. "Well, what then, Celia--really, this becomes past bearing! Why, we are nearly at the hotel!" Cissy glanced up quickly. "A gold bracelet _with_ a gold watch, then!" she sighed gently. And this is the truth, and the whole truth, as to why Colonel Davenant Carter gave his arm to a radiant and beautiful daughter in the courtyard of the Grand Hotel--a daughter, also, who lifted up a prettily-gloved hand (twelve buttons), and at every fourth step _looked at the time_! XXIV CISSY'S MEANNESS Miss Cecilia Davenant Carter had been at home a good many weeks before she came to see me. Of course Hugh John was now at college, and doubtless that made a difference. But she had never stayed away so long before, and whatever reason Cissy might have to be angry with Master Hugh John, she had not the least right to take it out on ME! However, she came at last--chiefly, I think, to show me the gold watch on her wrist. This she wanted so badly to do that it must have hurt her dreadfully to stay away as long as she did. So she sat fingering it, but not running to ask me to admire it, as a girl naturally does. Of course I took no notice, though it made me feel mean. We talked about the woods and the autumn tints (schoolgirls always like these two words--they remind them that it is the season for blackberries and jam), till at last I was thoroughly ashamed of myself. So I went over to Cissy, and said, "I think that's the prettiest bracelet I ever saw in all my life!" And she said, "Do you?" looking up at me funnily. "Do you really?" she repeated the words, looking straight at me. "Yes, I do indeed!" I answered. And--what do you think?--the next moment she was crying on my shoulder! Of course I understood. Every girl will, without needing to be told. And as for men (and "Old Cats"), it is no use attempting to explain to them. They never could know just how we two felt. But Cissy had really nothing in the least "catty" about her. "Quite the reverse, I assure _you_!" as the East Country folk say. She even took it off and let me try it on without ever warning me to be careful with it. And that, you know, is a good deal for a girl who is "not friends" with your own brother, and has only had a new "real-gold" watch-bracelet for three or four weeks. But then, Cissy could never be calm and restful like Elizabeth Fortinbras. Cissy did everything in a rush, and so, I suppose, got somehow closer to the heart of our impassive Hugh John just on that account. Elizabeth Fortinbras was too like my brother to touch him "where he lived," as Sir Toady would say. Well, after a while Cissy stopped crying, and took my handkerchief without a word and quite as a matter of course (which showed as clearly as anything how things stood between us). Then she said, "Priss, do you know, I did an awfully mean thing, and I want you to help me to make it all right again!" In a book, of course (a proper book, I mean), I ought to have asked Ciss all sorts of questions, and said that in everything which did not affect the honor of the house of Picton Smith I was at her service. And so on. But of course ordinary girls don't talk like that now-a-days. If you have what our sweet Maid calls a "snarl" against anybody--why, mostly every one plays hockey now, and it is the simplest thing in the world to "take a drive at her shins, and say how sorry you are afterwards"! So at least (the Maid informs me) some girls, who shall be nameless, have been known to do at her school. I waited for Cissy to tell me of the dreadfully mean thing she had done. But of course I assured her first that, whatever it was--yes, _whatever_--I should do just what she wanted done to help her. For I knew she would do the same for me. Then she told me that in her first anger about the telegram--for she had been far more angry about that than about the sending back the other half of the crooked sixpence--a thing which really mattered a thousand times more (but of course that was exactly like a girl!)--she had put the telegram, and both parts of the crooked sixpence, and all of Hugh John's letters she could find--chiefly the short and simple annals of a Rugby "forward"--in a lozenge-box--and (here Cissy dropped her voice) _sent them all, registered, to Elizabeth Fortinbras_! XXV "NOT EVEN HUGH JOHN!" "To Elizabeth--Elizabeth Fortinbras!" I cried. Here was a new difficulty. If only people would not do things in a hurry, as Hugh John says, they would mostly end by not doing them at all! "What sort of a girl is this Elizabeth Fortinbras?" Cissy Carter asked. "She is only a shop-girl after all, isn't she?" I set Cissy right on this head. There were shop-girls _and_ shop-girls. And this one not only came of a respectable ancestry, but had been well educated, was the heiress of Erin Villa, and would succeed to one of the best businesses in Edam! "Is she pretty?" Oh, of course I had foreseen the question. It was quite inevitable, and there was but one thing to say-- "Come to the shop and see for yourself!" But Cissy hung back. You see, she had done a perfectly mad thing, and yet was not quite ready to make it up with the person concerned--especially when Cissy was Colonel Davenant Carter's only daughter just home from Paris, and when, in spite of my explanations, Elizabeth was little more to her than a "girl behind a counter"! You may be sure that I put her duty before her--yes, plainly and with point. But Cissy had in her all the pride of the Davenant Carters, and go she would not, till I told her plump and plain that she was afraid! My, how that made her jump! She turned a little pale, rose quietly, adjusted her hat at the mirror, took off her watch-bracelet and gave it to me to keep for her. "I will go and see this Elizabeth Fortinbras now--and alone!" she said, with that nice quiet dignity which became her so well. I would greatly have liked to have gone along with her. But, first of all, she had not asked me, and, secondly, I knew that I had better not. Cissy Carter had to see Elizabeth alone. Only they could arrange matters. Still, of course, both of them told me all about it afterwards, and it is from these two narratives that the following short account is written out. Elizabeth was in the front shop, busy as a bee among the sweet things, white-aproned, and wearing dainty white armlets of linen which came from the wrist to above the elbow. Then these two looked at each other as only girls do--or perhaps more exactly, attractive young women of about the same age. Boys are different--they behave just like strange dogs on being introduced, sulky and ready to snarl. A young man seems to be wondering how such a contemptible fellow as that other fellow could possibly have gained admittance to a respectable house. Only experienced women can manage the business properly, putting just the proper amount of cordiality into the bow and handshake. Grown men--most of them, that is--allow their natural feeling of boredom to appear too obviously. At any rate Cissy and Elizabeth took in each other at a glance, far more searching and exhaustive as to "points" than ever any man's could be. Then they bowed to each other very coldly. "Will you come this way?" said Elizabeth, instantly discerning that Cissy had not come to New Erin Villa as a customer. Accordingly she led the way into the little sitting-room, all in pale creamy _cretonne_ with old-fashioned roses scattered upon it, which her own taste and the full purse of Ex-Butcher Donnan had provided for her. "Be good enough to take a seat," said Elizabeth Fortinbras. But she herself remained standing. Now you never can tell by which end a girl--or a woman, for that matter--will tackle anything. All that you can be sure of is that it will not be the obvious and natural one--the one nearest her hand. So Cissy, instead of coming right out with her confession and having done with it, began by asking Elizabeth if she knew a Mr. Hugh John Picton Smith. "He is my friend!" said Elizabeth, very quiet and grave, standing with one hand in the pocket of her apron and the other hanging easily by her side. "And nothing more?" said Cissy, looking up at her very straight. "I must first know by what right you ask me that question!" said Elizabeth. And then, her lips quivering (I know exactly how) a long minute between pride and pitifulness, Cissy did the best thing in the world she could have done to soften Elizabeth Fortinbras. She struggled an instant with herself. Her pride gave way exactly as it had with me, and she began to sob quietly and continuously. Elizabeth took one step towards her. Presently her cool, strong arms were about Cissy's neck, who struggled a second or two like a captive bird, and then the next Elizabeth was soothing her like an elder sister. "Yes, dear, I know--I know! You did a foolish thing. But then it was to me. I understood! I understand! It does not matter! No one else need know!" Then, in a voice quiet as the falling of summer rain among the misty isles of the West, Elizabeth added, "_Not even Hugh John!_" XXVI HAUNTS REVISITED I think we were all a bit unstrung after this. It was a good many weeks before Cissy could bring herself to speak about Elizabeth Fortinbras, and then it was in a rush, as, indeed, she did everything. It was one afternoon, over at Young Mrs. Winter's. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary (who always was as superior as a pussy-cat with a new blue ribbon about her neck, all because her husband kept three gardeners, one of whom blacked the Camsteary boots) happened to remark that there was "a rather ladylike girl" in those butcher-people's sweet-shop opposite the station. "She _is_ a lady!" said Cissy Carter, lifting up her proud little chin with an air of finality. And, indeed, there was, in Edam at least, no discussing with Miss Davenant Carter on such a matter. Mrs. Christopher Camsteary, whose husband, greatly to his credit, had made a large fortune in cattle-feeding oilcake ("in the wholesale, of course, you know, my dear!"), could not, even if she had wished, contradict the daughter of ten generations of Davenant Carters as to who was a lady and who not! So it was settled that, whenever Cissy Carter was in the room, Elizabeth Fortinbras was a lady. Which must have been a great comfort to her! Well, the following summer-time when the good days came--perhaps because everybody, including even Hugh John, was a little tired and "edgy"--father took us all off to his own country. I was the one who had seen the most of it before, as you may see if ever you have read the book called _Sweetheart Travelers_ that father wrote about our gypsyings and goings-on. Of course (all our family say "of course"--and it all fills up first-rate when the man comes to count the pages up for printing)--well, of course I had forgotten a good deal about it, only I read over the book on the sly, and so was posted for everything as it came along. This time we did not go on "The-Old-Homestead-on-Wheels," as we called the historic tricycle, but in the nicest and biggest of all wagonettes, with two lovely horses driven by a friend of ours with a cleverness which did one's heart good to see. His name was "Jim." We called him so from the first, and he was dreadfully nice to all of us, because he had been at school with father. This made us think for a good while that it was because of his superior goodness and cleverness there that so many people were glad to remember that they had been at school with father. Jim, when we asked him, said that it was so, but Hugh John immediately smelt a rat. So he asked another and yet older friend of father's, named Massa--because, I think, he sang negro melodies so beautifully. (Who would have thought that they sang "coon" songs so long ago?--but I suppose it was really just a kind of "boot-room music," or the sort of thing they play on board trip-steamers, when the trombone is away taking up a collection, and everybody is moving to the other side of the deck!) Well, Massa came along with us and Jim one lovely Saturday to see the place where my great-grandmother had kept sheep "on the bonny banks of the Cluden" a full hundred years ago. Somehow I always liked that. It means more to a girl than even father's misdeeds, the hearing about which amuses the boys so. However, it really was about those that I began. So, reluctantly, I must leave the little hundred-year-old girl keeping her sheep on the green holms of Cluden, and tell about father and his wonderful influence. Massa said that we were not to tell on him, and of course we promised. This is not _telling_, but only writing all about it down in my Diary--quite a different thing. Well, Massa said that when "Mac" and he had "done anything," they used to climb up different trees as quickly as they could, and then, when father came after them (he was not our father then, of course, but only Roman Dictator and Tyrant of Syracuse), he could only get one of them. For while he was climbing the tree occupied by one, the other could drop out of the branches and cut and run. It was a good way, especially for Number Two, who got away--not quite so fine, though, for Number One, who was caught. Whenever a new boy visited the town and the Dictator was seen coming along, they ran the stranger up a tree and introduced him from there, as it were, lest, by mistake, a worse thing should befall him! Really it is difficult to believe all this, even when Massa swears it. Because father, if you let his pet books alone and don't make too big a row outside the _châlet_ when he is working, hardly minds at all what you do. We don't really recognize him in the Roaring Lion, going about seeking whom he might devour, of Mr. Massa's legends. So Sir Toady, in the interests of public information, asked Mr. Massa if the boys of that time were not pretty bad. And Mr. Massa said that they were, but that "they were not a patch on your----" He stopped just at the word "your," for father was coming round the corner. And, do you know, I don't believe he has quite lost his influence with Mr. Massa even now. It is a fine thing, Hugh John says, to be such a power for good among your fellows. He had that sort of power himself at school, and he managed to keep it, even though fellows ever so much bigger came while he was there. Well, no matter; what I keep really in my heart, or maybe like an amulet about my neck, is the memory of the little hundred-year-old girl (that is, she _would_ be if she were alive now) tending sheep and twining daisy-chains on the meadows by the Water of Cluden, with the Kirk of Iron-gray glinting through the trees, and Helen Walker (which is to say Jeanie Deans) calling in the cows to be milked at the farm across the burn. Now I don't know how _you_ feel, but the story of this great-grandmother of mine always seems sort of kind and warm and sacred to me, a mixture of the stillness of an old-fashioned Sabbath and the first awakening hush when you remember that it is your birthday--a sort of religious fairyland, if you know what I mean--like "playing house" (oh, such a long time ago!) with Puck and Ariel and the Queen of the Fairies, while several of the very nicest people out of the Bible stories sat in the shade and watched--perhaps Ruth and, of course, her mother-in-law, and David when he was very young, and kept sheep also. He would certainly come to see our play--his shepherd's crook in his hand, and his eye occasionally taking a survey of great-grandmother's flocks and herds to see that there were no lions or bears about! Yes, I know it's fearfully silly. Of course it is. But, all the same, I have oftener put myself happily to sleep thinking about that, and with the music of the Cluden Water low in my ear, than with all the wisdom that ever I learned at school! So there! Of course you mustn't suppose that at the time I said a word of all this even to the Maid, much less to the others. Though I do think that father, who knows a lot of things without being told, partly guessed what I was thinking of. For once when we had all got down to gather flowers, he led me down to the water's edge, and, pointing across the clear purl of the stream to the opposite bank (where is a little green level, with, in the midst, a still greener Fairy Ring), he took my hand and, standing behind me, pointed with it. "It was there!" he whispered. He did not say a word more. But that was enough. I understood, and he knew that I understood. It was like the old days when we made our travels together, he and I, with the Things of the Wide World running back past us, all beautiful and all sweet as dreaming of plucking flowers in the kindly shade of woods. Soon after this, on our journey through father's country, we came to a little village--the cleanest and dearest that ever was seen. It was the one after which father had called one of his early books of verse--"Dulce Cor." Here we were very happy, for there was a lovely old Abbey, roofless, of course, but all blooming like one great rose when the sun shone on it at evening and morning. The colors of the stones were so rich with age and mellowing that from the little walk on the other side of the valley it seemed as if the whole had been dipped for a thousand years in a bath of sunset clouds, and then left out among the cornstooks to dry! Even more beautiful and kindly was a certain nice Doctor--only he wasn't the sort that come to see you when you are ill, to tap you on the back and write prescriptions. He took me to see the Abbey, and told me about the Last of all the Abbots, who was so kind that the people would not let him be sent away, but kept him always hidden here and there among them. And about how he died at long and last, "much respected and deeply regretted," as the papers say, even by those who did not go to his church--which, indeed, very few in these parts did. And though it was, of course, foolish, and I would never have said it to the Doctor himself for worlds, I could not help thinking that this Last of all the Abbots (Gilbert Brown, I think his name was) must have been a good deal like this friend of mine, with his beautiful silvery head, and maybe the same gentle break in his voice when he gave out such a text as "I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." We went through the cornfields very early next morning, father and I. It was Sunday, at dawn or a little after. The dew was still on all the little fairy cobwebs, but the sun had been before us in getting out of bed, and now was busy as he could be, drinking up the dew. We had to cross the churchyard under the big eastern side of the Abbey, all drowned in level sunshine, yellow as primrose-beds. We crossed a stile, and there, pacing slowly, his hands behind his back, saffron cornstooks on his one side and five centuries of well-peopled holy ground on the other, was the minister. He did not see us--lost in high thoughts, his lips moving with the unspoken prayer. "Come away," whispered father, hurrying me along. "He speaks with his Master! A stranger intermeddleth not therewith!" Then I did not know very well what he meant, nor did I ask. Only the two of us slipped down where, beyond the cornfields, a little road, all fern-grown, saunters half hidden; and where, a bit farther on, there is a bridge and a burn in which, in the daytime, children play and women wash their linen. But this morning all was still and quiet--as father said, "with the Peace of Jubilee, when all the land had rest!" I like to hear things like that--things I only half understand, but can think over afterwards. They make me feel all nice and thrilly, like after a shower-bath--only it is a mind-bath, and not a body-bath! Perhaps a soul-bath, if I knew what that was. We came back another way by a higher path, and through a lane of tall old trees. When we got to our inn, the door was closed just as we had left it, and not a soul astir. We had seen no one at all that Sabbath morn except the silver-haired minister, his hands behind his back--perhaps, as the Psalm says, looking to the hills from which cometh his aid. Going up-stairs, I opened my grandmother's Bible at the metrical Psalms, and the first words that met my eyes were these: "In Salem is his tabernacle--in Sion is his seat!" Now I will confess again that I always like texts and poems out of which I can take my own meaning, without being bothered with notes and explanations. And so I thought how that morning I had surely gone out by Salem His Tabernacle and come back by Sion His Holy Seat! XXVII SIR TOADY RELAPSES Ever such a lot of children whom I don't know have written to me to say how glad they were that I made father take me with him on his cycle such splendid long journeys. Because, you see, _their_ fathers read the book, and had a little seat fitted for them! On the other hand, I suppose parents write and abuse my father for putting such ideas into their little girls' heads. In fact, I know they do. Here is a true story. One irate old fellow wrote to say that "Sir Toady" was quite unfit to associate with clean and properly brought up children! And he put down the references, too, where Toadums had misbehaved, like you find them on the margin of a Bible! How he had sat down in the dusty road at page some-number-or-other, where he had omitted to blow his nose, how he had fought, and thrown mud, and generally broken every law laid down for the good conduct of little boys in the olden times--just exactly what Sir Toady used to do! As if father was responsible for all that! Well, he _was_, in the old gentleman's opinion. For he ended with: "If only your little rascal of a hero were _my_ son, sir----!" This amused my brother Toadums for quite a long time, and one day he sneaked the letter, and wrote himself to the old gentleman to say how that he had reformed, and now always went about with two pocket-handkerchiefs; also how, at school, he had founded the "Admiral Benbow Toilet Club," to which the annual subscription was five shillings. Further, he expressed a willingness to propose the old gentleman's name at the next meeting, and in the meantime he suggested sending on the money! Yes--and would you believe it?--he actually got the five shillings, along with a very nice letter from the old gentleman, couched in a sort of Better-Late-than-Never strain. So Toady Lion, who can be honest when he tries very hard, wrote and asked the old chap whether he would prefer to have the brilliantine supplied by the club in bottle, or like paint in a squeezable tube. But the old gentleman replied that, being completely bald, Sir Toady had better consider himself as a new returned prodigal, and use the five shillings "to kill the fatted calf"! So we killed him, and the noise we made on the top of Low-Hill was spread abroad over three counties. A "gamey" came to tell us that we were trespassing. But we feasted him on the old man's five shillings, while Hugh John explained that there was no such thing as trespass, and Sir Toady, getting hold of the keeper's double-barrel, practiced on bowlders till he nearly slew a stray pointer dog! Then, after braying ourselves hoarse, we had fights, rebellions, revolutions, cabals, which always ended in pushing each other into pitfalls and peat-bogs. We tripped in knotted heather as we chased downhill, skirmishing and yelling. Even Hugh John forgot himself, and all returned home, sated with the slaughter of the old gentleman's fatted calf, tired to death, not a shout left in any of us, but, as it were, stained with mud and crime! Ordinarily now Sir Toady has grown too old for the "sins and faults of youth" already set down against him. But sometimes he relapses--and then he has it bad. He does not say "roo" for "you" any more, but sometimes the house is afflicted for days with an exhibition of what Hugh John calls "Royal Naval Manners." Usually this occurs at table when father is absent, because Toady has a quite real respect for the Fifth Commandment, a respect gained at an early age, and ever since retained. But on this journey there were a good many opportunities. You see, we did not go to bed at the usual time. We got up when we liked, and I often had to say the prayers for the entire family. Because the boys shirked most shamefully, and the Maid was so sleepy with driving in the open air all day that she often would be found sound asleep on her knees when not carefully looked after. "The spirit was willing, though the flesh was weak!" said our good old Doctor of the parish of "Dulce Cor." "I wish all my own prayers had as good a chance of being heard as this little sleeping child's!" After this Toady Lion declared that he would always say his prayers in the same way--_asleep_! Well, of course you could not imagine--nobody could--the new and peculiar wickedness devised by Sir Toady. It was simply _bound_ to be a success. Besides which, it was perfectly safe; after what Mr. Massa had told up at the Communion Stones of Iron-gray, The Powers-That-Be could not say a word. Oh, the beautiful thing it is to have a friend of your youth with a good memory, and, above all, communicative and frank with your own children! Oh, I know that there are people who will say, with some outside show of reason, "Well, just be perfectly good when you are young, and then you don't need to fear the frankest of your intimate friends!" This, of course, is rank nonsense, and nothing but! For that kind of very immaculate young person does not make the best sort of father or mother when the time comes. They don't know anything. They are not up to things, and get "taken the loan of," as the boys say in that rude but expressive speech of theirs. But it is not accounted healthy to "monkey" with ours, who generally can tell beforehand when you are going to do a thing, and after it is done (if you get the chance) will tell you--what very likely you didn't know before--_why_ you did it. If, in spite of all, you get into scrapes, The Powers-That-Be usually sympathize. But (and this is the awkward part) they remember the remedy that proved effectual in former and more personal cases. That remedy is applied, and, generally speaking, the same result follows. With this experience we shall all make excellent heads of families, and shall hire ourselves out--if we do not happen to have any of our own! Only, we are glad that we came into the world too early to be part of Hugh John's family. His methods are altogether too Spartan. And we tell him that the plain English for the name of his favorite hero, Brutus (the one who cut his children's heads off), was just simply Brute! To return to Sir Toady, we were at the time at the little seaside village of the Scaur. Mark Hill is behind it, and Rough Island in front. Nothing could possibly be more delightful. At every low tide, for two or three hours we could walk on a long pebbly trail which led seaward, the wash of the tides coming from two directions round the pleasant green shoulders of the Isle, epauletted with purple heather, and buttoned down the front with white sheep. What dainty coves! What pleasing, friendly-featured lambs with shiny black noses and goggle eyes! How tame the very gulls had become from never being shot at! There never was such a place as Rough Island for us, or, indeed, any children. Away to the right you could see Isle Rathan, certainly more famous in romance. But to go there you had to get kind Captain Cassidy to take you in his boat. And generally it ended (because the Captain is a busy man) in your staying with his wife, and seeing--and being the better for seeing--how the threatening of blindness at once sweetens and strengthens the life of a delicate woman. But to Rough Island we could go by ourselves, so be that we returned with the first flowing of the tide. There is a certain Black Skerry to the south which, when covered, announces to all concerned that haste of the hastiest kind had better be made. Of course we called it Signal Rock. But one fine September forenoon, when the light was mellow and gracious even on the rough slopes of the Island of our choice, Sir Toady set us all (that is, all the children) searching in sheltered coves and little pebbly bays for "leg-o'-mutton" shells--just, he said, what father used to do. It was the bottom of the "neaps," when the water does not go very far out--which, of course, every shore child would have known by instinct. But we were landward bred, and such distinctions as to the ebbing and flowing of salt water were too fine for us! But Sir Toady had had converse with the instructed. He had profited thereby. And so no one will be surprised that, by dint of keeping our backs to the Signal Rock, our noses pointing down, and our eyes well employed in the search for "legs-o'-mutton," we did not discover the treachery of Sir Toady till the Rock was covered, and there was no hope of return! None, that is, for most of us. But Sir Toady, already singing his song of triumph, had reckoned without his Hugh John! That austere stickler for "The Proper-Thing-To-Do-You-Know" made one dash for the rapidly covering causeway, over which the tawny Solway water was already lapping and curling in little oozy whorls, like a very soap-suddy pot coming to the boil. He had only time to shout, "You, Sis, stay where you are! Take care of the Maid. I will make it all right with The-Folk-Over-There!" And at first Toady Lion had laughed, thinking that for once the immaculate Hugh John would be caught along with the rest of us. He did not laugh, however, at all when he saw his elder brother take his watch out of his pocket and place it in his cap. He shouted out, "It's all right, Hugh John; Mr. Massa told me at Iron-gray that he and father often did it--spent ''Tween-Tides' on the Island. He will know all about it. Come back, you fool, you'll be drowned!" But our Old Ironsides only shouted back over his shoulder that father and Mr. Massa had not passed their words to be in for lunch, and that _he_ had! "If the People are anxious Over-Yonder, they can come and fetch us off in a boat. We can say that we forgot!" But by this time Hugh John had made his first dash into the wimpling line of creamy chocolate, like a steamer's wake, which marked the causeway to the land. His last will and testimony came to us in the command to "Stay where we were!" And in the final far-heard rider that, "when he got him," he would quicken Sir Toady's uncertain memory by one of the most complete fraternal "hidings" on record. All the same, as we watched him plod along, the tides sweeping in from both sides upon him, and the struggle swaying him now to one side and now to the other in the effort to keep his feet, Sir Toady burst into a kind of roar (which he now says is a "way they have in the Navy" for long-distance signaling, but which sounded to us very much like a howl). "Come back, Hugh John," he cried, "and I'll take the best 'whaling' you can give me _now_!" But out in the brown pother the struggle went on. Hugh John never so much as turned his head. We stood white and gasping, all pretty close together, I can tell you. And once when we saw him swept from his feet and only recovered his balance with an effort--though my heart was in my throat, I said out loud to comfort the others, "Well, anyway, he has taken the school medal for swimming. He has it on him now!" Then Sir Toady turned on me a face of scorn and anger. He pointed to the gush and swirl of the currents of Solway over the bank of pebbles. "Swim in that!" he cried, "no, he can't! No, nor nobody can. I tell you one of the best swimmers in Scotland was drowned over there in Balcary, within sight of his own house, and a man in a boat within stonethrow!" But for all that, Toady himself pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and made him ready to go to the rescue (oh, how vainly!). So that in the long run the Maid and I had to hold him down on the beach, half weeping, half desperate, calling on Hugh John, his Hugh John, to come back and slay him upon the spot. As if he was _his_ Hugh John, any more than anybody else's Hugh John--and the two of them fighting like cat and dog nine-tenths of the time! But at times, when his elder brother is in danger or ill, Sir Toady is like that. Janet Sheepshanks speaks yet about his face when he came back from Crusoeing-it with Dinky and Saucy Easedale--all drawn and haggard and white it was. Well, it was like that now. I declare, he turned and struck at us every time that Hugh John stumbled, or looked like being carried away. "See here, Sis," he gasped, "you let a fellow go, or I'll kill you. I will, mind--if anything happens to My Hugh John--I'll kill you for holding me back like this." But at this very moment we began to see the lank figure of Hugh John rising higher out of the swirling scum. Presently he scrambled out on the steep beach of pebbles, all dripping. Then he gave himself a shake like a retriever dog, shook his fist at the distant Sir Toady, now sparsely equipped in fluttering linen: "Wait till I get you, you young beast! Just you wait!" That was what he was saying as plain as print. But Sir Toady, completely reassured, only heaved a long sigh, murmuring, "That's all right!" And went on calmly putting on his clothes, and laughing at the Maid and me for having been frightened. He actually had the cheek to ask us what we had been crying about! XXVIII TWICE-TRAVELED PATHS Then we went to Kirkcudbright, where there is an old castle, very dirty, but where we stayed in the loveliest old inn. It was so "comfy" and home-like at the "Selkirk" that it seemed as if the hostelry had wandered out into the country one fine day and--forgot the way to come back again! We liked it so much because it was kept by a nice jolly man, whose mother had been good to father once when he was ill, and who made the nicest cakes. We were in clover there, I can tell you. Specially because "Mac" (the painter whom, when I was very little, I once named "The Little Brown Bear") came for walks with us, and made us laugh at dinner till we youngsters nearly got sent from the table. Yet it wasn't a bit our fault. He told us a lot of things, and I could see father listening with all his ears, and not even checking Sir Toady when he stole the sugar, though he saw him. I was sure that something would come out of that. You see, I know father's ways. And so it comes about that I don't need to write any of the funny things that we heard that night, or the nights that followed. You have only to read them in the chapters of _Little Esson_, the part all about Ladas II, and the trip in the caravan. I think that father ought really to have sent some of the money he got to "The Little Brown Bear"--but I don't believe he ever did. "Mac owes me more than that!" he said, when I asked him about it. "I brought him up by hand!" I presume he meant the way Hugh John, my brother, brings up Sir Toady--though that is with both hands, sometimes feet too. There was one Sunday that I remember very well; at Newton Stewart it was. There had been (or was going to be) a kind of circus in the town. Or maybe they were only resting, as even circus folk must do sometimes. Anyway I looked out at the window in the early morning, and if I had seen a ghost I could not have been more surprised. And so would you--for there, calmly grazing on the field just under my window, as quietly as if it had been a cow, was a huge elephant! I did not see any circus vans, nor the tents, nor anything--save and except this great Indian elephant in the middle of the green field! You may imagine I thought that I was still dreaming. I watched it pad-padding softly about, taking the greatest pleasure in rolling like a donkey when the harness is taken off. It also rubbed the big soft spreads of its feet on the softer grass. I suppose its poor soles were sore with traveling over our hard cycling roads, and now it was keeping Sunday after its kind, doing its best to obey the commandment. And, as father says, what more can any of us do than be fully persuaded in our own minds? One thing I noticed which astonished me, and I think it will most people. The big beast must have weighed a ton, I should think, at the least. And yet, as it went here and there over the field of nice Galloway grass, it walked so softly that the grass "rose elastic from its airy tread." Yes, it actually did. Even Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself could hardly have found a footmark in a quarter of an hour. Why, even the Maid, not to speak of myself, could not get so lightly over the ground as that. We watched the elephant all that day, whenever we could, that is--and thought of him in church, though the minister was a nice man, nice-looking too, and did not preach too long. It was, of course, frightfully wicked of us. Because it was in one of the old "Kirks of the Martyrs" that the service was held. But when the minister came to see us in the evening, we showed him the elephant still grazing away, wig-wagging its long trunk like a supple pendulum, and switching away quite imaginary flies with its tiny tail! The minister was such a very good sort that we thought we ought to own up why we had been restless in church. (He might have seen us, you know.) So I said we were ashamed that we had not attended better to his sermon. And do you know what he answered back, after seeing the elephant take a double donkey roll, with its great sausagey legs in the air? "I'm glad," he said, "that I did not see the elephant do that _before_ sermon. For if I had, I don't believe that I could have preached!" "A pretty nice sort of a minister, that!" said Hugh John afterwards. "I should go to his church myself," cried Toady Lion, and then, checking himself suddenly under the gaze of Hugh John, he added, "I mean, when I had to!" There--that is quite enough to put in my Diary about a circus elephant, though I will admit that it was about the very queerest thing that ever happened to me in all my life--I mean the most unexpected, of course, for when explained it was all perfectly simple. But I must get on with my Diary of this Galloway journey, and the "Sweethearty" things we saw there. Dear me, I had meant to tell about Gatehouse too (which happened before Newton Stewart, only I forgot). There was a nice minister there too, who went about without his hat, and smoked, and called out nice things across the street to Tom and Dick and Harry. Altogether we were fortunate in the ministers we met all through the trip. And I think the children of Gatehouse must have benefited too, owing to the nice bareheaded minister. For certainly they are not nearly so rude and pesterful as I remember them when father and I stopped there--oh, how many years ago? Ten, at least, or maybe more. Then they rang the bell of the tricycle and said horrid things when father was in the baker's shop. They made me so angry--I can remember it yet--I said I would tell father. I nearly cried. But this time there was no one who was not quite nice to us--except, Oh, yes, one person who wouldn't let us any rooms. But that did not matter. Indeed, it was a blessing. For we went farther down the street till we came to a delightful hotel or inn or something, where Miss Blackett, who kept it, was just as good to us as she could be, and gave us nice things to eat on the sly. Also the "Little Brown Bear" came again, and told us more stories in the evenings. Then, at ten or eleven at night, he got on his cycle and wheeled away into the dark. It was so nice and romantic that I wished I could have gone too. It is splendid in the summer to wheel on and on through the archway of the green and sleeping woods. It is best when you are sure of the policemen, and can ride without a light, which does no good, but makes everything dark as pitch, and as uninteresting as the Queensferry Road. Then I saw the two boys at Creetown who once on a time were brought in from playing on the street, and tidied up so that they might be ready to kiss me. They both howled at the thought. For which I don't in the least blame them. But all the same they had high collars on, and I don't think that they would have minded nearly as much now. This, of course, came before the elephant, but then, you see, if things don't go into my Dear Diary just when I think of them, the probability is that they won't go at all. One long lovesome day, that I won't forget in a hurry, we spent driving through Borgue--sunny, sweet, hawthorny Borgue, where the clover is, and the green honey made by the bees that have never so much as sniffed a heather bloom. It is not Galloway, of course. It has not the qualities of Galloway, I mean. But there is something about it that makes the heart grow fonder the longer one stays there--a kind of green "den" such as the bairns have when playing at "soldiers-and-outlaws" in the wood--a sheltered sanctuary, a Peace on Earth among men of good-will. At least all we saw were that sort, and I hope the others were, just as much. Here, I know, Hugh John would shrug his shoulders. But that does not matter. We did not linger in Borgue, however, which, with its still and pensive beauty, was like a kirk-yard on Sunday morning. Indeed, there are many of these along the shores--hidden nooks with tombstones, and beneath wave-washed bights of clean sand. For assuredly it was not the right Galloway. Rather it was like a bit of Devonshire that had floated away and got joined on here, wooded and wind-swept, a carpet of flowers all the summer long, one great bee-swarm booming all over it, from Kirk Andrews, which is its Dan, to the Tower of Plunton, which is its Beersheba. At any rate there is nothing like Borgue anywhere else in Scotland. Which its natives declare, perhaps with truth, is the same as to say in the world! Well, we drove out of Newton Stewart past Palnure, turned sharply up the hill road towards the Loch of the Lilies, past Clatteringshaws--where not a shaw clattered, though in the wagonette there were many "she's" who did--as a very clever lady, a friend of father's, once remarked when her daughters proposed an excursion thither from Kenbank. "Deaved"[2] with their tongues, she broke out at last with "Not Clatteringshaws, but 'Clatteringshe's'!" However, on this occasion not a dog barked. We lunched in the midst of the solitude, and then father wandered away to watch his dear hills through his glasses, while the rest of us washed and cleaned up! [Footnote 2: Deafened] But the best of all days was that on the moors about the little house where father was born. I had not been there for more than ten years, and the ground was littered with memories. Father and I got off a little south of the Raider's Bridge. We skirted the water meadows, and looked back to the bulk of Bennan, still rugged and purple with heather, seeing to the right of it Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, a double molehill of palest blue paint. Then came the "Roman Camp," which, however, father told us had been made by the "Levelers" in the early half of the eighteenth century. But the other story of the farm bull which fell into the ditch, was heard roaring for days, and, when found, had eaten every green thing within reach of its hungry mouth--trees, leaves, branches and all--pleased me most. Then there was the well where once I had drunk from father's palms, and of which there is such a very pretty picture in _Sweetheart Travelers_--a picture which always used to puzzle me dreadfully. For I knew that there were only father and I there. Besides which, there was not nearly light enough for Mr. Gordon Browne to "take" us, even supposing that he had been hid behind the bushes! At any rate we had a drink at the ancient spring, just for old sake's sake. Some kind person had cleaned it out not long before, and the water in the shade of the woods of the Duchrae Bank was as cool and sweet as ever. Then across the cropped meadows, again ankle-deep in aftermath, to the old stepping-stones! Father carried me on his back to the big central bowlder, which perhaps has been brought down by some forgotten flood, and at any rate had long served for the keystone of the arrangement in stepping-stones--which, even in father's day (so he told me), had been variously named "Davie's Ford," "Auld Miss," "Rab's," and "Elphie's," according to the names of the various dwellers in the pretty cottage in the wood above. XXIX HOME-COMING We brushed our way down through the meadows, and father went straight to the place where the Grass of Parnassus had been growing when he was a boy. It was growing there still--and thriving too. We called on a big bumble-bee, of the kind that has its stinging end very blunt and red. It was not at home, but the hole in the bank which it had occupied thirty years ago was now let to a Rabbit family, the younger members of which scuttled away at our approach, though without too much alarm. We could see their tails bobbing among the ferns and undergrowth. And then we came to the Stepping-Stones. It was ten years since I had seen them, and then I was quite a little girl. But I remembered everything at once, even to the small starry green plants that grew beneath the water, and the sharp stones that get between your toes when you wade too far out. The woods were as green and as solitary as ever--cool too, and all the opposite ground elastic with pine-needles that were not nearly so uncomfortable for the bare feet as you would suppose. We waded for quite a long time, and then sat and ate our lunch on the big middle bowlder, alternately dabbling our feet in the clear olive-green water and drying them in the sunshine. Father told stories. No, I don't mean that he made them up--only that, as is usual at such times, all sorts of funny memories went and came in his head--all of the people about whom he told them as completely passed away as the orange-trousered bee we had gone so vainly out of our way to seek. Then we went to the little farmhouse up the loaning, where they took us for ordinary tourists, and pointed out to us the sights. More than once I glanced at father, but he had so grave a face that the kind and pretty girl who showed us over evidently took him for a very severe critic of his own books, an enemy of dialect in any form. So, ceasing her legends, she offered us refreshments instead. After that we tramped away over the "Craigs" and the heather by the very little path along which father used to go his three-and-a-half miles along the lochside to school. I saw the Truant's Bathing-Place, the Far-Away-Turn, the Silver Mine (where once on a time father had found half-a-crown, and dreamed of it for years), and the Bogle Thorn, now sadly worn away since the days of the "Little Green Man." After that I kept on asking questions till we got to Laurieston, when I stopped, not because I had finished, but because tea was waiting for us. They called us names, and said that they had eaten up all the good things. But father answered, laughing, that it was written that man should not live by bread alone, and that what he had seen that day ought to suffice any one. But really I did not see that it made any difference to his appetite, and, for all they said, there were plenty of nice things left for us. Then we came to Castle Douglas, and what I remember best is the big courtyard of the hotel, the noise and rattle of horses' hoofs passing through the narrow entry on to the street, the kind people who welcomed us, and the home-like air of everything about the "Douglas Arms," which I never have seen about an hotel before, though I had been in many. Our journey was done. So it was quite proper that things should begin to look a bit home-like. We had quite a nice homecoming. Cissy Carter met us at the station in a pretty dark-blue dress, smartly belted in at the waist, but with some flour on her right shoulder. And when I asked her what she had been doing to herself, she answered in a matter-of-course tone, "Oh, only helping Elizabeth!" "What Elizabeth?" I had the strength to gasp. "Why, Elizabeth Fortinbras, of course," she answered, quite sharply for her; "whom else?" And this proved to me that the world had not been standing still in Edam while we were whirling through Father's Country at the tails of Jim's spanking chestnuts! I asked how about the pride of all the Davenant Carters, and if her father knew that his only daughter was assisting in a sweet-shop. Cissy held up her rounded chin with a pout that made me at least almost forget our noble family motto: "WE DO NOT KISS AT STATIONS!" "I did not say that I was in the _shop_," said Cissy. "I am learning how to make pastry rise till it is flake-light. And even you, Miss Priscilla Picton Smith, could not do that without getting flour on your shoulder!" * * * * * Now I would quite well like to stop here, and, indeed, I could easily do so. For a Diary, however dear, is not like any other book. When you finish one year's doings, you just get another ruled book and start with January First again. Only it is explained to me that I must not quite do that. At any rate I must absolutely tell what became of my characters! Now this is awfully funny. For, quite different from all the other story-books I ever read--nothing at all happened to any of them. Cissy is not married. No more is Elizabeth Fortinbras. No more, thank goodness, am I. Hugh John can't be--not for a long time yet. As for Toady Lion, he upholds the honor of his country (and of the Benbow Dormitory) by not being sick on the stormiest seas--a thing which none of the rest of the family would even attempt. But there is one thing that I must tell. It is just as well that I wrote down all about Torres Vedras, and the woods, and everything. For--sad it is to tell it--strange children dig and play there now. All our old beloved names for places and things and people would soon have been lost if they had not been written down in this book. We have set up a new home on the other side of the Edam Valley, and in some ways it is nicer. But in others it can never have the charm of the "Wampage," the "Scrubbery," the Low Park where the three bridges are, the Feudal Tower, and Picnicville, up among the Sentinel Pines! They make one's heart warm--only just the names of them said low in the heart, but now never spoken out loud by the tongue! Our new house is on a hill, and not in the howe of a valley. From the front door (and almost from every window) we can see woods and fields, and far-away cows that are no bigger than ants. Then on the hills beyond are sheep that you cannot see at all without one of father's big glasses, such as only the boys can use. Beyond those, again, there are the mountains that run right away down into England in wave after purple wave, each bending over a tiny bit as if it were real water just on the point of breaking. Eastward and southward there are "Pens" and "Muirs" and "Cairns" without number, and out of the window on clear mornings, as I lie in bed, I can watch the tasseled larch and white-stemmed birch sending scaling-parties up every ravine and watercourse, while the big white clouds, hump-backed ones, sail majestically over all. XXX SOME DISCLAIMERS LETTER NO. 1. HUGH JOHN'S LETTER. DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You won't remember me, though once I came to your office with father to see you. You may recall the circumstance, because it was the first day your son went to college. I was quite a little chap then, and did not know what it was to be the son of an author with the habit of making people believe that he is writing about his own family, when half the time he is just making up. Or, as like as not, it was his own very self that did the things he blames on us. Anyway, a fellow has to be pretty stiff on his pins and pretty handy with his knuckles to be a good author's son in a big school. I came through right-side-up, however, but sometimes it must come hard on the little chaps. You see, the fellows want to know all the time if you really said or did some fool thing or other that father has stuffed into the books, and of which you are as innocent as Abel was of the murder of Cain. (He was. It's all right--only sounds rum!) But of course a fellow does not go back on his father at school. He can't afford to let anything like that pass. So of course there's a row--sometimes bigger, sometimes shorter, according to the length of time it takes the other fellow to decide about crying, "Hold, enough!" as they do in plays. Or, as we call it at school, "backing down." Well, I put my time through at school, and by and by the fellows got to know--that is, after several little difficulties had been adjusted. Not that I like having to fight. It is right to be patient just as long as ever you can. And then, when you can't--why, the best way and the quickest is to let her rip. Finish it good, once and for all. As father says, "Keep the peace, my boy! But if the other fellow won't, why, make him! First have your quarrel just, and then remember to open with your left!" Yes, of course, at school I back up what father has written, every word. It is what I am there for, and I mean to do it. That's playing the game. But what I did not bargain for was the whole family chipping in, and making a kind of lop-sided, ice-cream-freezer hero of a chap. Sis had no business with what is _my_ business--about Cissy Carter, I mean. At any rate she knows nothing about it really. Girls imagine all sorts of nonsense, of course. You can't stop them imagining, and if you think you can, why, you're a fool. That's all in the day's work, and I am not whining. But with regard to anything or person not "girlie-girl," I, Hugh John Picton Smith, give due notice that the first chap who turns up to me anything that Sis has imagined about Miss Cissy Carter, and especially about Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, is going to get a calm and peaceful surprise--that may or may not confine him to his room for a day or two, but which, in any case, will afford him matter for reflection. Oh, I don't in the least want to queer Sis, or to say that she has put down anything not quite true, as far as _she_ understands it. It isn't that I did not _do_ these things. But Sis being a girl, and the safety-valves of her imagination-boiler shut tight, and "Full Steam Ahead" ordered--why, I would rather have father on the job any day. He at least only puts things down (or invents them). He does not try to explain what's going on in a chap's inside. Besides, I don't see that it is anybody's business--and after this, on the whole, it had better not be. That "glacial reserve" (wasn't it?) which Sis yarned about might break up, and somebody who wasn't insured get hurt with the pieces. Please put this at the end, Mr. Publisher, to prevent mistakes. And if ever I write a book you shall publish it, and then at last the world will know the right and the wrong of things. Excuse bad writing. Our chaps played Smasherhampton on Saturday. It was pretty thick in the second half. The Smashers got me down and rolled me about a bit on the hardish ground. My arm is still in a sling, but it will be all right for Saturday fortnight, when we play a return on our own ground. _I_ am going to play a return match too, for I know the fellow that did it. (Signed) HUGH JOHN PICTON SMITH. LETTER NO. 2. FROM CADET GEORGE PERCIVAL PICTON SMITH, R. N., ROYAL NAVAL COLL., DARTBOURNE. DEAR MR. PUBLISHER--You can print any ...[3] thing you like about me--true or not, it does not matter. Only in the latter case it will come a little dearer. I am called Toady Lion, and I have stood this sort of thing ever since I can remember. Though I must say father has been awfully decent about it, and I got a Rudge-Whitworth "free-wheel" out of him two years running on the strength of what you sent him. But there's no hope of coming that with Sis, who is always "stony," anyway, and won't believe what an awfully expensive place the Coll. is. My "bike" is going to be awfully dangerous this year--that is, if I don't get a new one somehow. It is only my second best, and much too small for me. I might get killed, very likely, and then you couldn't publish any more books about me! _I suppose you don't feel as if you could_ ... No? That means "Yes," but don't let on to father. For, you see, last summer, when I had measles or something, I sold my best machine to a poor boy who hadn't any. Just think of that--the cruelty of it! But as I have never let my left hand know what my right hand does, I don't want father to do so either. So you won't give me away. (Signed) G. P. PICTON SMITH, R. N. P. S.--I might get a pretty good one for a tenner, but if it _could_ possibly run to fifteen, I know where I could pick up an awfully swell "two-speed-gear" like what some of the masters have at our Coll. But, dear Mr. Publisher, this is only a suggestion.--T. Lion. P. S. No. 2.--If _you_ did see your way to the 2-Speed, I tell you what--you could make up any old thing you liked about me--such as that I killed my grand-aunt Jane, and hid the remains in my Black Sea Chest. I've got one, honor bright. Only no grand-aunt Jane. So the crime could never, never be discovered; and I would never deny it a bit, but back you up like fun. Of course it is understood between gentlemen that this last is on the two-speed-basis, as above. T. LION, Now Cadet G. P. Picton Smith, R. N. (Postal Notes Preferred.) [Footnote 3: The word "blooming" is scored out here, as being too nautical for present publication.--Ed.] LETTER NO. 3. FROM MAID MARGARET. DEAR SIR--(I would put "Publisher," but am not sure whether it is spelt with a B or a P--in the middle, I mean.) The boys want me to join in their protest, but you will excuse me, dear Sir. And the reason is that I sleep in the same room with the authoress. If you have any little girls, they will understand. Yours Afftly, MAID MARGARET. Letter No. 4 Elizabeth Fortinbras's Letter. DEAR SIR--There has been a good deal said about me in these pages, perhaps more than I should have liked if the Editor had given my real name. Of course Miss Sweetheart is far too loving to set down anything untrue or unkind. Indeed, she has made me out far better than I deserve, and has very kindly altered relationships, so that nobody's feelings will be hurt. For they will not know that it is they who are meant--I mean, not in my own family. Now, the Editor tells me that all the people who read the book will be anxious to know what became of me--if I married, and whom! I should be very glad indeed to satisfy the curiosity of these good folk. I know what it is myself to glance over to the last page of a book and see "if it happened all right." But you see that I am still very happy at New Erin Villa, which is no longer a "villa," but a proper shop, with a house at the back big enough for us all to live happily in. We have a good maid for the inside work, and I have added a special "icing" department, where people can have their own home-made cakes iced and fired. Besides, I give cookery lessons twice a week in the evenings to all the mill-girls, and Polly Pretend comes over to help me sometimes. Sweetheart, too, and Miss Davenant Carter come when they can, and are a great encouragement. I don't mean to say, like most girls, that I never will get married. Perhaps I may, but it will be a very long time yet. I am quite content as things are, and, most important of all, I have yet to see the man I would freely marry darken the doors of Erin Villa! All I want to say is that Sweetheart has seen me and my doings through the sunlight of her own loving eyes--just as Hugh John and I have often looked at the long lines of cornstooks in the last rays of a September sun, and thought how much the common hills and holms and cornlands of Edam gained by the warm glow which caressed them. But how much the more I, who sign myself THE GIRL BEHIND THE COUNTER. NO. 5. CERTIFICATE. This is to guarantee that the above letters are whole and exact copies of the originals, without alteration, suppression, or amendment. THE EDITOR. THE END 
11579	----	SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I. BEING THE JOURNALS OF CAPTAIN R. F. SCOTT, R.N., C.V.O. VOL. II. BEING THE REPORTS OF THE JOURNEYS AND THE SCIENTIFIC WORK UNDERTAKEN BY DR. E. A. WILSON AND THE SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION ARRANGED BY LEONARD HUXLEY WITH A PREFACE BY SIR CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, K.C.B., F.R.S. WITH PHOTOGRAVURE FRONTISPIECES, 6 ORIGINAL SKETCHES IN PHOTOGRAVURE BY DR. E. A. WILSON, 18 COLOURED PLATES (10 FROM DRAWINGS BY DR. WILSON), 260 FULL PAGE AND SMALLER ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN BY HERBERT G. PONTING AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION, PANORAMAS AND MAPS VOLUME I NEW YORK 1913 PREFACE Fourteen years ago Robert Falcon Scott was a rising naval officer, able, accomplished, popular, highly thought of by his superiors, and devoted to his noble profession. It was a serious responsibility to induce him to take up the work of an explorer; yet no man living could be found who was so well fitted to command a great Antarctic Expedition. The undertaking was new and unprecedented. The object was to explore the unknown Antarctic Continent by land. Captain Scott entered upon the enterprise with enthusiasm tempered by prudence and sound sense. All had to be learnt by a thorough study of the history of Arctic travelling, combined with experience of different conditions in the Antarctic Regions. Scott was the initiator and founder of Antarctic sledge travelling. His discoveries were of great importance. The survey and soundings along the barrier cliffs, the discovery of King Edward Land, the discovery of Ross Island and the other volcanic islets, the examination of the Barrier surface, the discovery of the Victoria Mountains--a range of great height and many hundreds of miles in length, which had only before been seen from a distance out at sea--and above all the discovery of the great ice cap on which the South Pole is situated, by one of the most remarkable polar journeys on record. His small but excellent scientific staff worked hard and with trained intelligence, their results being recorded in twelve large quarto volumes. The great discoverer had no intention of losing touch with his beloved profession though resolved to complete his Antarctic work. The exigencies of the naval service called him to the command of battleships and to confidential work of the Admiralty; so that five years elapsed before he could resume his Antarctic labours. The object of Captain Scott's second expedition was mainly scientific, to complete and extend his former work in all branches of science. It was his ambition that in his ship there should be the most completely equipped expedition for scientific purposes connected with the polar regions, both as regards men and material, that ever left these shores. In this he succeeded. He had on board a fuller complement of geologists, one of them especially trained for the study of physiography, biologists, physicists, and surveyors than ever before composed the staff of a polar expedition. Thus Captain Scott's objects were strictly scientific, including the completion and extension of his former discoveries. The results will be explained in the second volume of this work. They will be found to be extensive and important. Never before, in the polar regions, have meteorological, magnetic and tidal observations been taken, in one locality, during five years. It was also part of Captain Scott's plan to reach the South Pole by a long and most arduous journey, but here again his intention was, if possible, to achieve scientific results on the way, especially hoping to discover fossils which would throw light on the former history of the great range of mountains which he had made known to science. The principal aim of this great man, for he rightly has his niche among the polar Dii Majores, was the advancement of knowledge. From all aspects Scott was among the most remarkable men of our time, and the vast number of readers of his journal will be deeply impressed with the beauty of his character. The chief traits which shone forth through his life were conspicuous in the hour of death. There are few events in history to be compared, for grandeur and pathos, with the last closing scene in that silent wilderness of snow. The great leader, with the bodies of his dearest friends beside him, wrote and wrote until the pencil dropped from his dying grasp. There was no thought of himself, only the earnest desire to give comfort and consolation to others in their sorrow. His very last lines were written lest he who induced him to enter upon Antarctic work should now feel regret for what he had done. 'If I cannot write to Sir Clements, tell him I thought much of him, and never regretted his putting me in command of the _Discovery_.' CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM. Sept. 1913. Contents of the First Volume CONTENTS CHAPTER I THROUGH STORMY SEAS General Stowage--A Last Scene in New Zealand--Departure--On Deck with the Dogs--The Storm--The Engine-room Flooded--Clearing the Pumps--Cape Crozier as a Station--Birds of the South--A Pony's Memory--Tabular Bergs--An Incomparable Scene--Formation of the Pack--Movements of the Floes ... 1 CHAPTER II IN THE PACK A Reported Island--Incessant Changes--The Imprisoning Ice--Ski-ing and Sledging on the Floes--Movement of Bergs--Opening of the Pack--A Damaged Rudder--To Stop or not to Stop--Nicknames--Ski Exercise--Penguins and Music--Composite Floes--Banked Fires--Christmas in the Ice--The Penguins and the Skua--Ice Movements--State of the Ice-house--Still in the Ice--Life in the Pack--Escape from the Pack--A Calm--The Pack far to the North--Science in the Ice ... 20 CHAPTER III LAND Land at Last--Reach Cape Crozier--Cliffs of Cape Crozier--Landing Impossible--Penguins and Killers--Cape Evans as Winter Station--The Ponies Landed--Penguins' Fatuous Conduct--Adventure with Killer Whales--Habits of the Killer Whale--Landing Stores--The Skuas Nesting--Ponies and their Ways--Dangers of the Rotting Ice ... 53 CHAPTER IV SETTLING IN Loss of a Motor--A Dog Dies--Result of Six Days' Work--Restive Ponies--An Ice Cave--Loading Ballast--Pony Prospects--First Trip to Hut Point--Return: Prospects of Sea Ice--A Secure Berth--The Hut--Home Fittings and Autumn Plans--The Pianola--Seal Rissoles--The Ship Stranded--Ice begins to go. ... 73 CHAPTER V DEPOT LAYING TO ONE TON CAMP Dogs and Ponies at Work--Stores for Depots--Old Stores at Discovery Hut--To Encourage the Pony--Depôt Plans--Pony Snowshoes--Impressions on the March--Further Impressions--Sledging Necessities and Luxuries--A Better Surface--Chaos Without; Comfort Within--After the Blizzard--Marching Routine--The Weakest Ponies Return--Bowers and Cherry-Garrard--Snow Crusts and Blizzards--A Resented Frostbite--One Ton Camp. ... 96 CHAPTER VI ADVENTURE AND PERIL Dogs' and Ponies' Ways--The Dogs in a Crevasse--Rescue Work--Chances of a Snow Bridge--The Dog Rations--A Startling Mail--Cross the Other Party--The End of Weary Willy--The Ice Breaks--The Ponies on the Floe--Safely Back. ... 122 CHAPTER VII AT DISCOVERY HUT Fitting up the Old Hut--A Possible Land Route--The Geological Party Arrives--Clothing--Exceptional Gales--Geology at Hut Point--An Ice Foot Exposed--Stabling at Hut Point--Waiting for the Ice--A Clear Day--Pancake Ice--Life at Hut Point--From Hut Point to Cape Evans--A Blizzard on the Sea Ice--Dates of the Sea Freezing. ... 138 CHAPTER VIII HOME IMPRESSIONS AND AN EXCURSION Baseless Fears about the Hut--The Death of 'Hackenschmidt'--The Dark Room--The Biologists' Cubicle--An Artificer Cook--A Satisfactory Organisation--Up an Ice Face--An Icy Run--On getting Hot ... 158 CHAPTER IX THE WORK AND THE WORKERS Balloons--Occupations--Many Talents--The Young Ice goes out--Football: Inverted Temperatures--Of Rainbows--Football: New Ice--Individual Scientific Work--Individuals at Work--Thermometers on the Floe--Floe Temperatures--A Bacterium in the Snow--Return of the Hut Point Party--Personal Harmony ... 171 CHAPTER X IN WINTER QUARTERS: MODERN STYLE On Penguins--The Electrical Instruments--On Horse Management--On Ice Problems--The Aurora--The Nimrod Hut--Continued Winds--Modern Interests--The Sense of Cold--On the Floes--A Tribute to Wilson ... 190 CHAPTER XI TO MIDWINTER DAY Ventilation--On the Meteorological Instruments--Magnesium Flashlight--On the Beardmore Glacier--Lively Discussions--Action of Sea Water on Ice--A Theory of Blizzards--On Arctic Surveying--Ice Structure--Ocean Life--On Volcanoes--Daily Routine--On Motor Sledging--Crozier Party's Experiments--Midwinter Day Dinner--A Christmas Tree--An Ethereal Glory ... 205 CHAPTER XII AWAITING THE CROZIER PARTY Threats of a Blizzard--Start of the Crozier Party--Strange Winds--A Current Vane--Pendulum Observations--Lost on the Floe--The Wanderer Returns--Pony Parasites--A Great Gale--The Ways of Storekeepers--A Sick Pony--A Sudden Recovery--Effects of Lack of Light--Winds of Hurricane Force--Unexpected Ice Conditions--Telephones at Work--The Cold on the Winter Journey--Shelterless in a Blizzard--A Most Gallant Story--Winter Clothing Nearly Perfect. 228 CHAPTER XIII THE RETURN OF THE SUN The Indomitable Bowers--A Theory of Blizzards--Ponies' Tricks--On Horse Management--The Two Esquimaux Dogs--Balloon Records--On Scurvy--From Tent Island--On India--Storms and Acclimatisation--On Physiography--Another Lost Dog Returns--The Debris Cones--On Chinese Adventures--Inverted Temperature. ... 255 CHAPTER XIV PREPARATIONS: THE SPRING JOURNEY On Polar Clothing--Prospects of the Motor Sledges--South Polar Times, II--The Spring Western Journey--The Broken Glacier Tongue--Marching Against a Blizzard--The Value of Experience--General Activity--Final Instructions ... 276 CHAPTER XV THE LAST WEEKS AT CAPE EVANS Clissold's Accident--Various Invalids--Christopher's Capers--A Motor Mishap--Dog Sickness--Some Personal Sketches--A Pony Accident--A Football Knee--Value of the Motors--The Balance of Heat and Cold--The First Motor on the Barrier--Last Days at Cape Evans. ... 290 CHAPTER XVI SOUTHERN JOURNEY: THE BARRIER STAGE Midnight Lunches--A Motor Breaks Down--The Second Motor Fails--Curious Features of the Blizzard--Ponies Suffer in a Blizzard--Ponies go Well--A Head Wind--Bad Conditions Continue--At One Ton Camp--Winter Minimum Temperature--Daily Rest in the Sun--Steady Plodding--The First Pony Shot--A Trying March--The Second Pony Shot--Dogs, Ponies, and Driving--The Southern Mountains Appear--The Third Blizzard--A Fourth Blizzard--The Fifth and Long Blizzard--Patience and Resolution--Still Held Up--The End of the Barrier Journey. ... 308 CHAPTER XVII ON THE BEARDMORE GLACIER Difficulties with Deep Snow--With Full Loads--After-Effects of the Great Storm--A Fearful Struggle--Less Snow and Better Going--The Valley of the Beardmore--Wilson Snow Blind--The Upper Glacier Basin--Return of the First Party--Upper Glacier Depot. ... 340 CHAPTER XVIII THE SUMMIT JOURNEY TO THE POLE Pressures Under Mount Darwin--A Change for the Better--Running of a Sledge--Lost Time Made Up--Comfort of Double Tent--Last Supporting Party Returns--Hard Work on the Summit--Accident to Evans--The Members of the Party--Mishap to a Watch--A Chill in the Air--A Critical Time--Forestalled--At the Pole. ... 354 CHAPTER XIX THE RETURN FROM THE POLE A Hard Time on the Summit--First Signs of Weakening--Difficulty in Following Tracks--Getting Hungrier--Accidents Multiply--Accident to Scott--The Ice-fall--End of the Summit Journey--Happy Moments on Firm Land--In a Maze of Crevasses--Mid-Glacier Depôt Reached--A Sick Comrade--Death of P.O. Evans. ... 377 CHAPTER XX THE LAST MARCH Snow Like Desert Sand--A Gloomy Prospect--No Help from the Wind--The Grip of Cold--Three Blows of Misfortune--From Bad to Worse--A Sick Comrade--Oates' Case Hopeless--The Death of Oates--Scott Frostbitten--The Last Camp--Farewell Letters--The Last Message. ... 396 APPENDIX ... 419 ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE FIRST VOLUME Photogravure Plates Portrait of Captain Robert F. Scott, R.N., C.V.O. _Frontispiece_ From a Painting by Harrington Mann From Sketches by Dr. Edward A. Wilson A Lead in the Pack 26 On the Way to the Pole 364 'Black Flag Camp'--Amundsen's Black Flag within a Few Miles of the South Pole 367 Amundsen's Tent at the South Pole 371 Cairn left by the Norwegians S.S.W. from Black Flag Camp and Amundsen's South Pole Mark 376 Mount Buckley, One of the Last of Many Pencil Sketches made on the Return Journey from the Pole 386 Coloured Plates From Water-colour Drawings by Dr. Edward A. Wilson The Great Ice Barrier, looking east from Cape Crozier _Facing p_. 51 Hut Point, Midnight, March 27, 1911 138 A Sunset from Hut Point, April 2, 1911 150 Mount Erebus 169 Lunar Corona 176 Paraselene, June 15, 1911 178 'Birdie' Bowers reading the Thermometer on the Ramp, June 6, 1911 214 Iridescent Clouds. Looking North from Cape Evans 257 Exercising the Ponies 288 Mr. Ponting Lecturing on Japan 202 Panoramas From Photographs by Herbert G. Ponting The Western Mountains as seen from Captain Scott's Winter Quarters at Cape Evans _Facing p._ 126 Mount Terror and its Glaciers 126 The Royal Society Mountains of Victoria Land--Telephoto Study from Cape Evans 284 Mount Erebus and Glaciers to the Turk's Head 284 Full Page Plates The Full Page Plates are from photographs by Herbert G. Ponting, except where otherwise stated The Crew of the 'Terra Nova' _Facing p._ 2 Captain Oates and Ponies on the 'Terra Nova' 6 'Vaida' 8 'Krisravitsa' 8 'Stareek' Malingering 8 Manning the Pumps 10 The First Iceberg 10 Albatross Soaring 12 Albatrosses Foraging in the Wake of the 'Terra Nova' 12 Dr. Wilson and Dr. Atkinson loading the Harpoon Gun 14 A. B. Cheetham--the Boatswain of the 'Terra Nova' 14 Evening Scene in the Pack 17 Lieut. Evans in the Crow's Nest 20 Furling Sail in the Pack 20 A Berg breaking up in the Pack 23 Moonlight in the Pack 29 Christmas Eve (1910) in the Pack 36 'I don't care what becomes of Me' 44 An Adelie about to Dive 44 Open Water in the Ross Sea 46 In the Pack--a Lead opening up 48 Cape Crozier: the End of the Great Ice Barrier 54 Ice-Blink over the Barrier 56 The Barrier and Mount Terror 56 The Midnight Sun in McMurdo Sound 58 Entering McMurdo Sound--Cape Bird and Mount Erebus 60 Surf breaking against Stranded Ice at Cape Evans 60 The 'Terra Nova' in McMurdo Sound 62 Disembarking the Ponies 64 Ponies tethered out on the Sea Ice Facing p. 64 Lieut. H. E. de P. Rennick 66 Lieut. Rennick and a Friendly Penguin 66 The Arch Berg from Within 68 Something of a Phenomenon--A Fresh Water Cascade 71 The Arch Berg from Without 74 Ponting Cinematographs the Bow of the 'Terra Nova' Breaking through the Ice-floes 76 Landing a Motor-Sledge 76 Lieut. Evans and Nelson Cutting a Cave for Cold Storage 78 The Condition of Affairs a Week after Landing 78 Killer Whales Rising to Blow 82 Hut Point and Observation Hill 82 The Tenements 84 Plan of Hut Page 85 The Point of the Barne Glacier Facing p. 90 Winter Quarters at Cape Evans 94 Lillie and Dr. Levick Sorting a Trawl Catch 101 Seals Basking on Newly-formed Pancake Ice off Cape Evans 106 Lieut. Tryggve Gran 112 Captain Scott on Skis 118 Summer Time: the Ice opening up 133 Spray Ridges of Ice after a Blizzard 145 A Berg Drifting in McMurdo Sound 155 Pancake Ice Forming into Floes off Cape Evans 155 Ponting Developing a Plate in the Dark Room 160 The Falling of the Long Polar Night 164 Depot Laying and Western Parties on their Return to Cape Evans 166 A Blizzard Approaching across the Sea Ice 171 The Barne Glacier: a Crevasse with a Thin Snow Bridge 174 Dr. Wilson Working up the Sketch which is given at p. 178 180 Dr. Simpson at the Unifilar Magnetometer 182 Dr. Atkinson in his Laboratory 182 Winter Work 184 Dr. Atkinson and Clissold hauling up the Fish Trap 186 The Freezing up of the Sea 188 Whale-back Clouds over Mount Erebus 190 (Photo by F. Debenham) The Hut and the Western Mountains from the Top of the Ramp 194 Cape Royds, looking North 199 The Castle Berg Facing p. 205 Captain Scott's Last Birthday Dinner 210 Captain Scott in his 'Den' 218 Dr. Wilson and Lieut Bowers reading the Ramp Thermometer in the Winter Night, -40° Fahrenheit--a Flashlight Photograph 221 Finnesko 228 Ski-shoes for use with Finnesko 228 Finnesko fitted with the Ski-shoes 228 Finnesko with Crampons 228 Dr. Atkinson's Frostbitten Hand 232 Petty Officer Evans Binding up Dr. Atkinson's Hand 232 Pony takes Whisky 234 The Stables in Winter 234 Oates and Meares at the Blubber Stove in the Stables 238 Petty Officers Crean and Evans Exercising their Ponies in the Winter 240 Oates and Meares out Skiing in the Night 240 Remarkable Cirrus Clouds over the Barne Glacier 244 Lieut. Evans Observing an Occultation of Jupiter 247 Dr. Simpson in the Hut at the Other End of the Telephone Timing the Observation 247 'Birdie' (Lieut. H. R. Bowers) 252 The Summit of Mount Erebus 254 Capt. L. E. G. Oates by the Stable Door 260 Debenham, Gran, and Taylor in their Cubicle 264 Nelson and his Gear 264 Dr. Simpson sending up a Balloon 266 The Polar Party's Sledging Ration 266 An Ice Grotto--Tent Island in Distance 269 Dr. Wilson Watching the First Rays of Sunlight being Recorded after the long Winter Night 271 The Return of the Sun 271 C. H. Meares and 'Osman,' the Leader of the Dogs 274 Meares and Demetri at 'Discovery' Hut 277 The Main Party at Cape Evans after the Winter, 1911 280 The Castle Berg at the End of the Winter 282 Mount Erebus over a Water-worn Iceberg 290 On the Summit of an Iceberg 290 Dr. Wilson and Pony 'Nobby' 292 Cherry-Garrard giving his Pony 'Michael' a roll in the Snow 292 Surveying Party's Tent after a Blizzard Facing p 294 (Photo by Lieut T Gran) Dogs with Stores about to leave Hut Point 296 Dogs Galloping towards the Barrier 296 Meares and Demetri with their Dog-teams leaving Hut Point 296 Dr. Wilson 298 Preparing Sledges for Polar Journey 300 Day's Motor under Way 302 One of the Motor Sledges 302 Meares and Demetri at the Blubber Stove in the 'Discovery' Hut 305 The Motor Party 308 H. G. Ponting and one of his Cinematograph Cameras 311 Members of the Polar Party having a Meal in Camp 316 (Enlarged from a cinematograph film) Members of the Polar Party getting into their Sleeping-bags 322 (Enlarged from a cinematograph film) Ponies behind their Shelter in Camp on the Barrier 328 (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott) Ponies on the March 334 (Photo by F. Debenham) Captain Scott wearing the Wallet in which he carried his Sledging Journals 338 Pressure on the Beardmore below the Cloudmaker Mountain 340 (Photo by C. S. Wright) Mount Kyffin 342 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) Camp under the Wild Range 345 (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott) Dr. Wilson Sketching on the Beardmore 348 (Photo by Capt. R. F. Scott) Some Members of the Supporting Parties as they appeared on their Return from the Polar Journey 350 Camp at Three Degree Depot 352 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) Chief Stoker Lashly 355 Petty Officer Crean 355 Pitching the Double Tent on the Summit 358 (Photo by Lieut H R Bowers) The Polar Party on the Trail 360 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) At the South Pole 374 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) Amundsen's Tent at the South Pole Facing p. 380 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) Sastrugi 382 The Cloudmaker Mountain 390 (Photo by Lieut. H. R. Bowers) Petty Officer Edgar Evans, R.N. 392 Facsimile of the Last Words of the Journal 403 Facsimile of Message to the Public 414 Map British Antarctic Expedition, 1910-1913--Track Chart of Main Southern Journey At end of text British Antarctic Expedition, 1910 Shore Parties Officers Name. Rank, &c. Robert Falcon Scott Captain, R.N., C.V.O. Edward R. G. R. Evans Commander, R.N. Victor L. A. Campbell Lieutenant, R.N. (Emergency List). Henry R. Bowers Lieutenant, R.N. Lawrence E. G. Oates Captain 6th Inniskilling Dragoons. G. Murray Levick Surgeon, R.N. Edward L. Atkinson Surgeon, R.N., Parasitologist. Scientific Staff Edward Adrian Wilson M.A., M.B., Chief of the Scientific Staff, and Zoologist. George C. Simpson D.Sc., Meteorologist. T. Griffith Taylor B.A., B.Sc., B.E., Geologist. Edward W. Nelson Biologist. Frank Debenham B.A., B.Sc., Geologist. Charles S. Wright B.A., Physicist. Raymond E. Priestley Geologist. Herbert G. Ponting F.R.G.S., Camera Artist. Cecil H. Meares In Charge of Dogs. Bernard C. Day Motor Engineer. Apsley Cherry-Garrard B.A., Asst. Zoologist. Tryggve Gran Sub-Lieutenant, Norwegian N.R., Ski Expert. Men W. Lashly Chief Stoker. W. W. Archer Chief Steward. Thomas Clissold Cook, late R.N. Edgar Evans Petty Officer, R.N. Robert Forde Petty Officer, R.N. Thomas Crean Petty Officer, R.N. Thomas S. Williamson Petty Officer, R.N. Patrick Keohane Petty Officer, R.N. George P. Abbott Petty Officer, R.N. Frank V. Browning Petty Officer, 2nd Class, R.N. Harry Dickason Able Seaman, R.N. F. J. Hooper Steward, late R.N. Anton Omelchenko Groom. Demetri Gerof Dog Driver. Ship's Party Officers, &c. Harry L. L. Pennell Lieutenant, R.N. Henry E. de P. Rennick Lieutenant, R.N. Wilfred M. Bruce Lieutenant, R.N.R. Francis R. H. Drake Asst. Paymaster, R.N. (Retired), Secretary & Meteorologist in Ship. Dennis G. Lillie M.A., Biologist in Ship. James R. Denniston In Charge of Mules in Ship. Alfred B. Cheetham R.N.R., Boatswain. William Williams, O.N. Chief Engine-room Artificer, R.N., Engineer. William A. Horton, O.N. Eng. Rm. Art., 3rd Cl., R.N., 2nd Engr. Francis E. C. Davies, O.N. Shipwright, R.N., Carpenter. Frederick Parsons Petty Officer, R.N. William L. Heald Late P.O., R.N. Arthur S. Bailey Petty Officer, 2nd Class, R.N. Albert Balson Leading Seaman, R.N. Joseph Leese, O.N. Able Seaman, R.N. John Hugh Mather, O.N. Petty Officer, R.N.V.R. Robert Oliphant Able Seaman. Thomas F. McLeon ,, ,, Mortimer McCarthy ,, ,, William Knowles ,, ,, Charles Williams ,, ,, James Skelton ,, ,, William McDonald ,, ,, James Paton ,, ,, Robert Brissenden Leading Stoker, R.N. Edward A. McKenzie ,, ,, ,, William Burton Leading Stoker, R.N. Bernard J. Stone ,, ,, ,, Angus McDonald Fireman. Thomas McGillon ,, Charles Lammas ,, W. H. Neale Steward. GLOSSARY _Barrier_. The immense sheet of ice, over 400 miles wide and of still greater length, which lies south of Ross Island to the west of Victoria Land. _Brash_. Small ice fragments from a floe that is breaking up. _Drift_. Snow swept from the ground like dust and driven before the wind. _Finnesko_. Fur boots. _Flense, flence_. To cut the blubber from a skin or carcase. _Frost_ _smoke_. A mist of water vapour above the open leads, condensed by the severe cold. _Hoosh_. A thick camp soup with a basis of pemmican. _Ice-foot_. Properly the low fringe of ice formed about Polar lands by the sea spray. More widely, the banks of ice of varying height which skirt many parts of the Antarctic shores. _Piedmont_. Coastwise stretches of the ancient ice sheet which once covered the Antarctic Continent, remaining either on the land, or wholly or partially afloat. _Pram_. A Norwegian skiff, with a spoon bow. _Primus_. A portable stove for cooking. _Ramp_. A great embankment of morainic material with ice beneath, once part of the glacier, on the lowest slopes of Erebus at the landward end of C. Evans. _Saennegras_. A kind of fine Norwegian hay, used as packing in the finnesko to keep the feet warm and to make the fur boot fit firmly. _Sastrugus_. An irregularity formed by the wind on a snowplain. 'Snow wave' is not completely descriptive, as the sastrugus has often a fantastic shape unlike the ordinary conception of a wave. _Skua_. A large gull. _Working_ _crack_. An open crack which leaves the ice free to move with the movement of the water beneath. NOTE. Passages enclosed in inverted commas are taken from home letters of Captain Scott. A number following a word in the text refers to a corresponding note in the Appendix to this volume. SCOTT'S LAST EXPEDITION CHAPTER I Through Stormy Seas The Final Preparations in New Zealand The first three weeks of November have gone with such a rush that I have neglected my diary and can only patch it up from memory. The dates seem unimportant, but throughout the period the officers and men of the ship have been unremittingly busy. On arrival the ship was cleared of all the shore party stores, including huts, sledges, &c. Within five days she was in dock. Bowers attacked the ship's stores, surveyed, relisted, and restowed them, saving very much space by unstowing numerous cases and stowing the contents in the lazarette. Meanwhile our good friend Miller attacked the leak and traced it to the stern. We found the false stem split, and in one case a hole bored for a long-stem through-bolt which was much too large for the bolt. Miller made the excellent job in overcoming this difficulty which I expected, and since the ship has been afloat and loaded the leak is found to be enormously reduced. The ship still leaks, but the amount of water entering is little more than one would expect in an old wooden vessel. The stream which was visible and audible inside the stern has been entirely stopped. Without steam the leak can now be kept under with the hand pump by two daily efforts of a quarter of an hour to twenty minutes. As the ship was, and in her present heavily laden condition, it would certainly have taken three to four hours each day. Before the ship left dock, Bowers and Wyatt were at work again in the shed with a party of stevedores, sorting and relisting the shore party stores. Everything seems to have gone without a hitch. The various gifts and purchases made in New Zealand were collected--butter, cheese, bacon, hams, some preserved meats, tongues. Meanwhile the huts were erected on the waste ground beyond the harbour works. Everything was overhauled, sorted, and marked afresh to prevent difficulty in the South. Davies, our excellent carpenter, Forde, Abbott, and Keohane were employed in this work. The large green tent was put up and proper supports made for it. When the ship came out of dock she presented a scene of great industry. Officers and men of the ship, with a party of stevedores, were busy storing the holds. Miller's men were building horse stalls, caulking the decks, resecuring the deckhouses, putting in bolts and various small fittings. The engine-room staff and Anderson's people on the engines; scientists were stowing their laboratories; the cook refitting his galley, and so forth--not a single spot but had its band of workers. We prepared to start our stowage much as follows: The main hold contains all the shore party provisions and part of the huts; above this on the main deck is packed in wonderfully close fashion the remainder of the wood of the huts, the sledges, and travelling equipment, and the larger instruments and machines to be employed by the scientific people; this encroaches far on the men's space, but the extent has been determined by their own wish; they have requested, through Evans, that they should not be considered: they were prepared to pig it anyhow, and a few cubic feet of space didn't matter--such is their spirit. The men's space, such as it is, therefore, extends from the fore hatch to the stem on the main deck. Under the forecastle are stalls for fifteen ponies, the maximum the space would hold; the narrow irregular space in front is packed tight with fodder. Immediately behind the forecastle bulkhead is the small booby hatch, the only entrance to the men's mess deck in bad weather. Next comes the foremast, and between that and the fore hatch the galley and winch; on the port side of the fore hatch are stalls for four ponies--a very stout wooden structure. Abaft the fore hatch is the ice-house. We managed to get 3 tons of ice, 162 carcases of mutton, and three carcases of beef, besides some boxes of sweetbreads and kidneys, into this space. The carcases are stowed in tiers with wooden battens between the tiers--it looks a triumph of orderly stowage, and I have great hope that it will ensure fresh mutton throughout our winter. On either side of the main hatch and close up to the ice-house are two out of our three motor sledges; the third rests across the break of the poop in a space formerly occupied by a winch. In front of the break of the poop is a stack of petrol cases; a further stack surmounted with bales of fodder stands between the main hatch and the mainmast, and cases of petrol, paraffin, and alcohol, arranged along either gangway. We have managed to get 405 tons of coal in bunkers and main hold, 25 tons in a space left in the fore hold, and a little over 30 tons on the upper deck. The sacks containing this last, added to the goods already mentioned, make a really heavy deck cargo, and one is naturally anxious concerning it; but everything that can be done by lashing and securing has been done. The appearance of confusion on deck is completed by our thirty-three dogs_1_ chained to stanchions and bolts on the ice-house and on the main hatch, between the motor sledges. With all these stores on board the ship still stood two inches above her load mark. The tanks are filled with compressed forage, except one, which contains 12 tons of fresh water, enough, we hope, to take us to the ice. _Forage_.--I originally ordered 30 tons of compressed oaten hay from Melbourne. Oates has gradually persuaded us that this is insufficient, and our pony food weight has gone up to 45 tons, besides 3 or 4 tons for immediate use. The extra consists of 5 tons of hay, 5 or 6 tons of oil-cake, 4 or 5 tons of bran, and some crushed oats. We are not taking any corn. We have managed to wedge in all the dog biscuits, the total weight being about 5 tons; Meares is reluctant to feed the dogs on seal, but I think we ought to do so during the winter. We stayed with the Kinseys at their house 'Te Han' at Clifton. The house stands at the edge of the cliff, 400 feet above the sea, and looks far over the Christchurch plains and the long northern beach which limits it; close beneath one is the harbour bar and winding estuary of the two small rivers, the Avon and Waimakariri. Far away beyond the plains are the mountains, ever changing their aspect, and yet farther in over this northern sweep of sea can be seen in clear weather the beautiful snow-capped peaks of the Kaikouras. The scene is wholly enchanting, and such a view from some sheltered sunny corner in a garden which blazes with masses of red and golden flowers tends to feelings of inexpressible satisfaction with all things. At night we slept in this garden under peaceful clear skies; by day I was off to my office in Christchurch, then perhaps to the ship or the Island, and so home by the mountain road over the Port Hills. It is a pleasant time to remember in spite of interruptions--and it gave time for many necessary consultations with Kinsey. His interest in the expedition is wonderful, and such interest on the part of a thoroughly shrewd business man is an asset of which I have taken full advantage. Kinsey will act as my agent in Christchurch during my absence; I have given him an ordinary power of attorney, and I think have left him in possession of all facts. His kindness to us was beyond words. The Voyage Out _Saturday, November 26_.--We advertised our start at 3 P.M., and at three minutes to that hour the _Terra Nova_ pushed off from the jetty. A great mass of people assembled. K. and I lunched with a party in the New Zealand Company's ship _Ruapehu_. Mr. Kinsey, Ainsley, the Arthur and George Rhodes, Sir George Clifford, &c._2_ K. and I went out in the ship, but left her inside the heads after passing the _Cambrian_, the only Naval ship present. We came home in the Harbour Tug; two other tugs followed the ship out and innumerable small boats. Ponting busy with cinematograph. We walked over the hills to Sumner. Saw the Terra Nova, a little dot to the S.E. _Monday, November_ 28.--Caught 8 o'clock express to Port Chalmers, Kinsey saw us off. Wilson joined train. Rhodes met us Timaru. Telegram to say _Terra Nova_ had arrived Sunday night. Arrived Port Chalmers at 4.30. Found all well. _Tuesday, November_ 29.--Saw Fenwick _re Central News_ agreement--to town. Thanked Glendenning for handsome gift, 130 grey jerseys. To Town Hall to see Mayor. Found all well on board. We left the wharf at 2.30--bright sunshine--very gay scene. If anything more craft following us than at Lyttelton--Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Evans, and K. left at Heads and back in Harbour Tug. Other tugs followed farther with Volunteer Reserve Gunboat--all left about 4.30. Pennell 'swung' the ship for compass adjustment, then 'away.' _Evening_.--Loom of land and Cape Saunders Light blinking. _Wednesday, November_ 30.--Noon no miles. Light breeze from northward all day, freshening towards nightfall and turning to N.W. Bright sunshine. Ship pitching with south-westerly swell. All in good spirits except one or two sick. We are away, sliding easily and smoothly through the water, but burning coal--8 tons in 24 hours reported 8 P.M. _Thursday, December_ 1.--The month opens well on the whole. During the night the wind increased; we worked up to 8, to 9, and to 9.5 knots. Stiff wind from N.W. and confused sea. Awoke to much motion. The ship a queer and not altogether cheerful sight under the circumstances. Below one knows all space is packed as tight as human skill can devise--and on deck! Under the forecastle fifteen ponies close side by side, seven one side, eight the other, heads together and groom between--swaying, swaying continually to the plunging, irregular motion. One takes a look through a hole in the bulkhead and sees a row of heads with sad, patient eyes come swinging up together from the starboard side, whilst those on the port swing back; then up come the port heads, whilst the starboard recede. It seems a terrible ordeal for these poor beasts to stand this day after day for weeks together, and indeed though they continue to feed well the strain quickly drags down their weight and condition; but nevertheless the trial cannot be gauged from human standards. There are horses which never lie down, and all horses can sleep standing; anatomically they possess a ligament in each leg which takes their weight without strain. Even our poor animals will get rest and sleep in spite of the violent motion. Some 4 or 5 tons of fodder and the ever watchful Anton take up the remainder of the forecastle space. Anton is suffering badly from sea-sickness, but last night he smoked a cigar. He smoked a little, then had an interval of evacuation, and back to his cigar whilst he rubbed his stomach and remarked to Oates 'no good'--gallant little Anton! There are four ponies outside the forecastle and to leeward of the fore hatch, and on the whole, perhaps, with shielding tarpaulins, they have a rather better time than their comrades. Just behind the ice-house and on either side of the main hatch are two enormous packing-cases containing motor sledges, each 16 × 5 × 4; mounted as they are several inches above the deck they take a formidable amount of space. A third sledge stands across the break of the poop in the space hitherto occupied by the after winch. All these cases are covered with stout tarpaulin and lashed with heavy chain and rope lashings, so that they may be absolutely secure. The petrol for these sledges is contained in tins and drums protected in stout wooden packing-cases which are ranged across the deck immediately in front of the poop and abreast the motor sledges. The quantity is 2 1/2 tons and the space occupied considerable. Round and about these packing-cases, stretching from the galley forward to the wheel aft, the deck is stacked with coal bags forming our deck cargo of coal, now rapidly diminishing. We left Port Chalmers with 462 tons of coal on board, rather a greater quantity than I had hoped for, and yet the load mark was 3 inches above the water. The ship was over 2 feet by the stern, but this will soon be remedied. Upon the coal sacks, upon and between the motor sledges and upon the ice-house are grouped the dogs, thirty-three in all. They must perforce be chained up and they are given what shelter is afforded on deck, but their position is not enviable. The seas continually break on the weather bulwarks and scatter clouds of heavy spray over the backs of all who must venture into, the waist of the ship. The dogs sit with their tails to this invading water, their coats wet and dripping. It is a pathetic attitude, deeply significant of cold and misery; occasionally some poor beast emits a long pathetic whine. The group forms a picture of wretched dejection; such a life is truly hard for these poor creatures. We manage somehow to find a seat for everyone at our cabin table, although the wardroom contains twenty-four officers. There are generally one or two on watch, which eases matters, but it is a squash. Our meals are simple enough, but it is really remarkable to see the manner in which our two stewards, Hooper and Neald, provide for all requirements, washing up, tidying cabin, and making themselves generally useful in the cheerfullest manner. With such a large number of hands on board, allowing nine seamen in each watch, the ship is easily worked, and Meares and Oates have their appointed assistants to help them in custody of dogs and ponies, but on such a night as the last with the prospect of dirty weather, the 'after guard' of volunteers is awake and exhibiting its delightful enthusiasm in the cause of safety and comfort--some are ready to lend a hand if there is difficulty with ponies and dogs, others in shortening or trimming sails, and others again in keeping the bunkers filled with the deck coal. I think Priestley is the most seriously incapacitated by sea-sickness--others who might be as bad have had some experience of the ship and her movement. Ponting cannot face meals but sticks to his work; on the way to Port Chalmers I am told that he posed several groups before the cinematograph, though obliged repeatedly to retire to the ship's side. Yesterday he was developing plates with the developing dish in one hand and an ordinary basin in the other! We have run 190 miles to-day: a good start, but inconvenient in one respect--we have been making for Campbell Island, but early this morning it became evident that our rapid progress would bring us to the Island in the middle of the night, instead of to-morrow, as I had anticipated. The delay of waiting for daylight would not be advisable under the circumstances, so we gave up this item of our programme. Later in the day the wind has veered to the westward, heading us slightly. I trust it will not go further round; we are now more than a point to eastward of our course to the ice, and three points to leeward of that to Campbell Island, so that we should not have fetched the Island anyhow. _Friday, December_ 1.--A day of great disaster. From 4 o'clock last night the wind freshened with great rapidity, and very shortly we were under topsails, jib, and staysail only. It blew very hard and the sea got up at once. Soon we were plunging heavily and taking much water over the lee rail. Oates and Atkinson with intermittent assistance from others were busy keeping the ponies on their legs. Cases of petrol, forage, etc., began to break loose on the upper deck; the principal trouble was caused by the loose coal-bags, which were bodily lifted by the seas and swung against the lashed cases. 'You know how carefully everything had been lashed, but no lashings could have withstood the onslaught of these coal sacks for long'; they acted like battering rams. 'There was nothing for it but to grapple with the evil, and nearly all hands were labouring for hours in the waist of the ship, heaving coal sacks overboard and re-lashing the petrol cases, etc., in the best manner possible under such difficult and dangerous circumstances. The seas were continually breaking over these people and now and again they would be completely submerged. At such times they had to cling for dear life to some fixture to prevent themselves being washed overboard, and with coal bags and loose cases washing about, there was every risk of such hold being torn away.' 'No sooner was some semblance of order restored than some exceptionally heavy wave would tear away the lashing and the work had to be done all over again.' The night wore on, the sea and wind ever rising, and the ship ever plunging more distractedly; we shortened sail to main topsail and staysail, stopped engines and hove to, but to little purpose. Tales of ponies down came frequently from forward, where Oates and Atkinson laboured through the entire night. Worse was to follow, much worse--a report from the engine-room that the pumps had choked and the water risen over the gratings. From this moment, about 4 A.M., the engine-room became the centre of interest. The water gained in spite of every effort. Lashley, to his neck in rushing water, stuck gamely to the work of clearing suctions. For a time, with donkey engine and bilge pump sucking, it looked as though the water would be got under; but the hope was short-lived: five minutes of pumping invariably led to the same result--a general choking of the pumps. The outlook appeared grim. The amount of water which was being made, with the ship so roughly handled, was most uncertain. 'We knew that normally the ship was not making much water, but we also knew that a considerable part of the water washing over the upper deck must be finding its way below; the decks were leaking in streams. The ship was very deeply laden; it did not need the addition of much water to get her water-logged, in which condition anything might have happened.' The hand pump produced only a dribble, and its suction could not be got at; as the water crept higher it got in contact with the boiler and grew warmer--so hot at last that no one could work at the suctions. Williams had to confess he was beaten and must draw fires. What was to be done? Things for the moment appeared very black. The sea seemed higher than ever; it came over lee rail and poop, a rush of green water; the ship wallowed in it; a great piece of the bulwark carried clean away. The bilge pump is dependent on the main engine. To use the pump it was necessary to go ahead. It was at such times that the heaviest seas swept in over the lee rail; over and over [again] the rail, from the forerigging to the main, was covered by a solid sheet of curling water which swept aft and high on the poop. On one occasion I was waist deep when standing on the rail of the poop. The scene on deck was devastating, and in the engine-room the water, though really not great in quantity, rushed over the floor plates and frames in a fashion that gave it a fearful significance. The afterguard were organised in two parties by Evans to work buckets; the men were kept steadily going on the choked hand pumps--this seemed all that could be done for the moment, and what a measure to count as the sole safeguard of the ship from sinking, practically an attempt to bale her out! Yet strange as it may seem the effort has not been wholly fruitless--the string of buckets which has now been kept going for four hours, [1] together with the dribble from the pump, has kept the water under--if anything there is a small decrease. Meanwhile we have been thinking of a way to get at the suction of the pump: a hole is being made in the engine-room bulkhead, the coal between this and the pump shaft will be removed, and a hole made in the shaft. With so much water coming on board, it is impossible to open the hatch over the shaft. We are not out of the wood, but hope dawns, as indeed it should for me, when I find myself so wonderfully served. Officers and men are singing chanties over their arduous work. Williams is working in sweltering heat behind the boiler to get the door made in the bulkhead. Not a single one has lost his good spirits. A dog was drowned last night, one pony is dead and two others in a bad condition--probably they too will go. 'Occasionally a heavy sea would bear one of them away, and he was only saved by his chain. Meares with some helpers had constantly to be rescuing these wretched creatures from hanging, and trying to find them better shelter, an almost hopeless task. One poor beast was found hanging when dead; one was washed away with such force that his chain broke and he disappeared overboard; the next wave miraculously washed him on board again and he is now fit and well.' The gale has exacted heavy toll, but I feel all will be well if we can only cope with the water. Another dog has just been washed overboard--alas! Thank God, the gale is abating. The sea is still mountainously high, but the ship is not labouring so heavily as she was. I pray we may be under sail again before morning. _Saturday, December_ 3.--Yesterday the wind slowly fell towards evening; less water was taken on board, therefore less found its way below, and it soon became evident that our baling was gaining on the engine-room. The work was steadily kept going in two-hour shifts. By 10 P.M. the hole in the engine-room bulkhead was completed, and (Lieut.) Evans, wriggling over the coal, found his way to the pump shaft and down it. He soon cleared the suction 'of the coal balls (a mixture of coal and oil) which choked it,' and to the joy of all a good stream of water came from the pump for the first time. From this moment it was evident we should get over the difficulty, and though the pump choked again on several occasions the water in the engine-room steadily decreased. It was good to visit that spot this morning and to find that the water no longer swished from side to side. In the forenoon fires were laid and lighted--the hand pump was got into complete order and sucked the bilges almost dry, so that great quantities of coal and ashes could be taken out. Now all is well again, and we are steaming and sailing steadily south within two points of our course. Campbell and Bowers have been busy relisting everything on the upper deck. This afternoon we got out the two dead ponies through the forecastle skylight. It was a curious proceeding, as the space looked quite inadequate for their passage. We looked into the ice-house and found it in the best order. Though we are not yet safe, as another gale might have disastrous results, it is wonderful to realise the change which has been wrought in our outlook in twenty-four hours. The others have confessed the gravely serious view of our position which they shared with me yesterday, and now we are all hopeful again. As far as one can gather, besides the damage to the bulwarks of the ship, we have lost two ponies, one dog, '10 tons of coal,' 65 gallons of petrol, and a case of the biologists' spirit--a serious loss enough, but much less than I expected. 'All things considered we have come off lightly, but it was bad luck to strike a gale at such a time.' The third pony which was down in a sling for some time in the gale is again on his feet. He looks a little groggy, but may pull through if we don't have another gale. Osman, our best sledge dog, was very bad this morning, but has been lying warmly in hay all day, and is now much better. 'Several more were in a very bad way and needed nursing back to life.' The sea and wind seem to be increasing again, and there is a heavy southerly swell, but the glass is high; we ought not to have another gale till it falls._3_ _Monday, December_ 5.--Lat. 56° 40'.--The barometer has been almost steady since Saturday, the wind rising and falling slightly, but steady in direction from the west. From a point off course we have crept up to the course itself. Everything looks prosperous except the ponies. Up to this morning, in spite of favourable wind and sea, the ship has been pitching heavily to a south-westerly swell. This has tried the animals badly, especially those under the forecastle. We had thought the ponies on the port side to be pretty safe, but two of them seem to me to be groggy, and I doubt if they could stand more heavy weather without a spell of rest. I pray there may be no more gales. We should be nearing the limits of the westerlies, but one cannot be sure for at least two days. There is still a swell from the S.W., though it is not nearly so heavy as yesterday, but I devoutly wish it would vanish altogether. So much depends on fine weather. December ought to be a fine month in the Ross Sea; it always has been, and just now conditions point to fine weather. Well, we must be prepared for anything, but I'm anxious, anxious about these animals of ours. The dogs have quite recovered since the fine weather--they are quite in good form again. Our deck cargo is getting reduced; all the coal is off the upper deck and the petrol is re-stored in better fashion; as far as that is concerned we should not mind another blow. Campbell and Bowers have been untiring in getting things straight on deck. The idea of making our station Cape Crozier has again come on the tapis. There would be many advantages: the ease of getting there at an early date, the fact that none of the autumn or summer parties could be cut off, the fact that the main Barrier could be reached without crossing crevasses and that the track to the Pole would be due south from the first:--the mild condition and absence of blizzards at the penguin rookery, the opportunity of studying the Emperor penguin incubation, and the new interest of the geology of Terror, besides minor facilities, such as the getting of ice, stones for shelters, &c. The disadvantages mainly consist in the possible difficulty of landing stores--a swell would make things very unpleasant, and might possibly prevent the landing of the horses and motors. Then again it would be certain that some distance of bare rock would have to be traversed before a good snow surface was reached from the hut, and possibly a climb of 300 or 400 feet would intervene. Again, it might be difficult to handle the ship whilst stores were being landed, owing to current, bergs, and floe ice. It remains to be seen, but the prospect is certainly alluring. At a pinch we could land the ponies in McMurdo Sound and let them walk round. The sun is shining brightly this afternoon, everything is drying, and I think the swell continues to subside. _Tuesday, December_ 6.--Lat. 59° 7'. Long. 177° 51' E. Made good S. 17 E. 153; 457' to Circle. The promise of yesterday has been fulfilled, the swell has continued to subside, and this afternoon we go so steadily that we have much comfort. I am truly thankful mainly for the sake of the ponies; poor things, they look thin and scraggy enough, but generally brighter and fitter. There is no doubt the forecastle is a bad place for them, but in any case some must have gone there. The four midship ponies, which were expected to be subject to the worst conditions, have had a much better time than their fellows. A few ponies have swollen legs, but all are feeding well. The wind failed in the morning watch and later a faint breeze came from the eastward; the barometer has been falling, but not on a steep gradient; it is still above normal. This afternoon it is overcast with a Scotch mist. Another day ought to put us beyond the reach of westerly gales. We still continue to discuss the project of landing at Cape Crozier, and the prospect grows more fascinating as we realise it. For instance, we ought from such a base to get an excellent idea of the Barrier movement, and of the relative movement amongst the pressure ridges. There is no doubt it would be a tremendous stroke of luck to get safely landed there with all our paraphernalia. Everyone is very cheerful--one hears laughter and song all day--it's delightful to be with such a merry crew. A week from New Zealand to-day. _Wednesday, December_ 7.--Lat. 61° 22'. Long. 179° 56' W. Made good S. 25 E. 150; Ant. Circle 313'. The barometer descended on a steep regular gradient all night, turning suddenly to an equally steep up grade this morning. With the turn a smart breeze sprang up from the S.W. and forced us three points off our course. The sea has remained calm, seeming to show that the ice is not far off; this afternoon temperature of air and water both 34°, supporting the assumption. The wind has come fair and we are on our course again, going between 7 and 8 knots. Quantities of whale birds about the ship, the first fulmars and the first McCormick skua seen. Last night saw 'hour glass' dolphins about. Sooty and black-browed albatrosses continue, with Cape chickens. The cold makes people hungry and one gets just a tremor on seeing the marvellous disappearance of consumables when our twenty-four young appetites have to be appeased. Last night I discussed the Western Geological Party, and explained to Ponting the desirability of his going with it. I had thought he ought to be in charge, as the oldest and most experienced traveller, and mentioned it to him--then to Griffith Taylor. The latter was evidently deeply disappointed. So we three talked the matter out between us, and Ponting at once disclaimed any right, and announced cheerful agreement with Taylor's leadership; it was a satisfactory arrangement, and shows Ponting in a very pleasant light. I'm sure he's a very nice fellow. I would record here a symptom of the spirit which actuates the men. After the gale the main deck under the forecastle space in which the ponies are stabled leaked badly, and the dirt of the stable leaked through on hammocks and bedding. Not a word has been said; the men living in that part have done their best to fend off the nuisance with oilskins and canvas, but without sign of complaint. Indeed the discomfort throughout the mess deck has been extreme. Everything has been thrown about, water has found its way down in a dozen places. There is no daylight, and air can come only through the small fore hatch; the artificial lamplight has given much trouble. The men have been wetted to the skin repeatedly on deck, and have no chance of drying their clothing. All things considered, their cheerful fortitude is little short of wonderful. _First Ice_.--There was a report of ice at dinner to-night. Evans corroborated Cheetham's statement that there was a berg far away to the west, showing now and again as the sun burst through the clouds. _Thursday, December_ 8.--63° 20'. 177° 22'. S. 31 E. 138'; to Circle 191'. The wind increased in the first watch last night to a moderate gale. The ship close hauled held within two points of her course. Topgallant sails and mainsail were furled, and later in the night the wind gradually crept ahead. At 6 A.M. we were obliged to furl everything, and throughout the day we have been plunging against a stiff breeze and moderate sea. This afternoon by keeping a little to eastward of the course, we have managed to get fore and aft sail filled. The barometer has continued its steady upward path for twenty-four hours; it shows signs of turning, having reached within 1/10th of 30 inches. It was light throughout last night (always a cheerful condition), but this head wind is trying to the patience, more especially as our coal expenditure is more than I estimated. We manage 62 or 63 revolutions on about 9 tons, but have to distil every three days at expense of half a ton, and then there is a weekly half ton for the cook. It is certainly a case of fighting one's way South. I was much disturbed last night by the motion; the ship was pitching and twisting with short sharp movements on a confused sea, and with every plunge my thoughts flew to our poor ponies. This afternoon they are fairly well, but one knows that they must be getting weaker as time goes on, and one longs to give them a good sound rest with the ship on an even keel. Poor patient beasts! One wonders how far the memory of such fearful discomfort will remain with them--animals so often remember places and conditions where they have encountered difficulties or hurt. Do they only recollect circumstances which are deeply impressed by some shock of fear or sudden pain, and does the remembrance of prolonged strain pass away? Who can tell? But it would seem strangely merciful if nature should blot out these weeks of slow but inevitable torture. The dogs are in great form again; for them the greatest circumstance of discomfort is to be constantly wet. It was this circumstance prolonged throughout the gale which nearly lost us our splendid leader 'Osman.' In the morning he was discovered utterly exhausted and only feebly trembling; life was very nearly out of him. He was buried in hay, and lay so for twenty-four hours, refusing food--the wonderful hardihood of his species was again shown by the fact that within another twenty-four hours he was to all appearance as fit as ever. Antarctic petrels have come about us. This afternoon one was caught. Later, about 7 P.M. Evans saw two icebergs far on the port beam; they could only be seen from the masthead. Whales have been frequently seen--Balænoptera Sibbaldi--supposed to be the biggest mammal that has ever existed._4_ _Friday, December_ 9.--65° 8'. 177° 41'. Made good S. 4 W. 109'; Scott Island S. 22 W. 147'. At six this morning bergs and pack were reported ahead; at first we thought the pack might consist only of fragments of the bergs, but on entering a stream we found small worn floes--the ice not more than two or three feet in thickness. 'I had hoped that we should not meet it till we reached latitude 66 1/2 or at least 66.' We decided to work to the south and west as far as the open water would allow, and have met with some success. At 4 P.M., as I write, we are still in open water, having kept a fairly straight course and come through five or six light streams of ice, none more than 300 yards across. We have passed some very beautiful bergs, mostly tabular. The heights have varied from 60 to 80 feet, and I am getting to think that this part of the Antarctic yields few bergs of greater altitude. Two bergs deserve some description. One, passed very close on port hand in order that it might be cinematographed, was about 80 feet in height, and tabular. It seemed to have been calved at a comparatively recent date. The above picture shows its peculiarities, and points to the desirability of close examination of other berg faces. There seemed to be a distinct difference of origin between the upper and lower portions of the berg, as though a land glacier had been covered by layer after layer of seasonal snow. Then again, what I have described as 'intrusive layers of blue ice' was a remarkable feature; one could imagine that these layers represent surfaces which have been transformed by regelation under hot sun and wind. This point required investigation. The second berg was distinguished by innumerable vertical cracks. These seemed to run criss-cross and to weaken the structure, so that the various séracs formed by them had bent to different angles and shapes, giving a very irregular surface to the berg, and a face scarred with immense vertical fissures. One imagines that such a berg has come from a region of ice disturbance such as King Edward's Land. We have seen a good many whales to-day, rorquals with high black spouts--_Balænoptera Sibbaldi_. The birds with us: Antarctic and snow petrel--a fulmar--and this morning Cape pigeon. We have pack ice farther north than expected, and it's impossible to interpret the fact. One hopes that we shall not have anything heavy, but I'm afraid there's not much to build upon. 10 P.M.--We have made good progress throughout the day, but the ice streams thicken as we advance, and on either side of us the pack now appears in considerable fields. We still pass quantities of bergs, perhaps nearly one-half the number tabular, but the rest worn and fantastic. The sky has been wonderful, with every form of cloud in every condition of light and shade; the sun has continually appeared through breaks in the cloudy heavens from time to time, brilliantly illuminating some field of pack, some steep-walled berg, or some patch of bluest sea. So sunlight and shadow have chased each other across our scene. To-night there is little or no swell--the ship is on an even keel, steady, save for the occasional shocks on striking ice. It is difficult to express the sense of relief this steadiness gives after our storm-tossed passage. One can only imagine the relief and comfort afforded to the ponies, but the dogs are visibly cheered and the human element is full of gaiety. The voyage seems full of promise in spite of the imminence of delay. If the pack becomes thick I shall certainly put the fires out and wait for it to open. I do not think it ought to remain close for long in this meridian. To-night we must be beyond the 66th parallel. _Saturday, December_ 10.--Dead Reckoning 66° 38'. Long. 178° 47'. Made good S. 17 W. 94. C. Crozier 688'. Stayed on deck till midnight. The sun just dipped below the southern horizon. The scene was incomparable. The northern sky was gloriously rosy and reflected in the calm sea between the ice, which varied from burnished copper to salmon pink; bergs and pack to the north had a pale greenish hue with deep purple shadows, the sky shaded to saffron and pale green. We gazed long at these beautiful effects. The ship made through leads during the night; morning found us pretty well at the end of the open water. We stopped to water ship from a nice hummocky floe. We made about 8 tons of water. Rennick took a sounding, 1960 fathoms; the tube brought up two small lumps of volcanic lava with the usual globigerina ooze. Wilson shot a number of Antarctic petrel and snowy petrel. Nelson got some crustaceans and other beasts with a vertical tow net, and got a water sample and temperatures at 400 metres. The water was warmer at that depth. About 1.30 we proceeded at first through fairly easy pack, then in amongst very heavy old floes grouped about a big berg; we shot out of this and made a détour, getting easier going; but though the floes were less formidable as we proceeded south, the pack grew thicker. I noticed large floes of comparatively thin ice very sodden and easily split; these are similar to some we went through in the _Discovery_, but tougher by a month. At three we stopped and shot four crab-eater seals; to-night we had the livers for dinner--they were excellent. To-night we are in very close pack--it is doubtful if it is worth pushing on, but an arch of clear sky which has shown to the southward all day makes me think that there must be clearer water in that direction; perhaps only some 20 miles away--but 20 miles is much under present conditions. As I came below to bed at 11 P.M. Bruce was slogging away, making fair progress, but now and again brought up altogether. I noticed the ice was becoming much smoother and thinner, with occasional signs of pressure, between which the ice was very thin. 'We had been very carefully into all the evidence of former voyages to pick the best meridian to go south on, and I thought and still think that the evidence points to the 178 W. as the best. We entered the pack more or less on this meridian, and have been rewarded by encountering worse conditions than any ship has had before. Worse, in fact, than I imagined would have been possible on any other meridian of those from which we could have chosen. 'To understand the difficulty of the position you must appreciate what the pack is and how little is known of its movements. 'The pack in this part of the world consists (1) of the ice which has formed over the sea on the fringe of the Antarctic continent during the last winter; (2) of very heavy old ice floes which have broken out of bays and inlets during the previous summer, but have not had time to get north before the winter set in; (3) of comparatively heavy ice formed over the Ross Sea early in the last winter; and (4) of comparatively thin ice which has formed over parts of the Ross Sea in middle or towards the end of the last winter. 'Undoubtedly throughout the winter all ice-sheets move and twist, tear apart and press up into ridges, and thousands of bergs charge through these sheets, raising hummocks and lines of pressure and mixing things up; then of course where such rents are made in the winter the sea freezes again, forming a newer and thinner sheet. 'With the coming of summer the northern edge of the sheet decays and the heavy ocean swell penetrates it, gradually breaking it into smaller and smaller fragments. Then the whole body moves to the north and the swell of the Ross Sea attacks the southern edge of the pack. 'This makes it clear why at the northern and southern limits the pieces or ice-floes are comparatively small, whilst in the middle the floes may be two or three miles across; and why the pack may and does consist of various natures of ice-floes in extraordinary confusion. 'Further it will be understood why the belt grows narrower and the floes thinner and smaller as the summer advances. 'We know that where thick pack may be found early in January, open water and a clear sea may be found in February, and broadly that the later the date the easier the chance of getting through. 'A ship going through the pack must either break through the floes, push them aside, or go round them, observing that she cannot push floes which are more than 200 or 300 yards across. 'Whether a ship can get through or not depends on the thickness and nature of the ice, the size of the floes and the closeness with which they are packed together, as well as on her own power. 'The situation of the main bodies of pack and the closeness with which the floes are packed depend almost entirely on the prevailing winds. One cannot tell what winds have prevailed before one's arrival; therefore one cannot know much about the situation or density. 'Within limits the density is changing from day to day and even from hour to hour; such changes depend on the wind, but it may not necessarily be a local wind, so that at times they seem almost mysterious. One sees the floes pressing closely against one another at a given time, and an hour or two afterwards a gap of a foot or more may be seen between each. 'When the floes are pressed together it is difficult and sometimes impossible to force a way through, but when there is release of pressure the sum of many little gaps allows one to take a zigzag path.' CHAPTER II In the Pack _Sunday, December_ ll.--The ice grew closer during the night, and at 6 it seemed hopeless to try and get ahead. The pack here is very regular; the floes about 2 1/2 feet thick and very solid. They are pressed closely together, but being irregular in shape, open spaces frequently occur, generally triangular in shape. It might be noted that such ice as this occupies much greater space than it originally did when it formed a complete sheet--hence if the Ross Sea were wholly frozen over in the spring, the total quantity of pack to the north of it when it breaks out must be immense. This ice looks as though it must have come from the Ross Sea, and yet one is puzzled to account for the absence of pressure. We have lain tight in the pack all day; the wind from 6 A.M. strong from W. and N.W., with snow; the wind has eased to-night, and for some hours the glass, which fell rapidly last night, has been stationary. I expect the wind will shift soon; pressure on the pack has eased, but so far it has not opened. This morning Rennick got a sounding at 2015 fathoms from bottom similar to yesterday, with small pieces of basic lava; these two soundings appear to show a great distribution of this volcanic rock by ice. The line was weighed by hand after the soundings. I read Service in the wardroom. This afternoon all hands have been away on ski over the floes. It is delightful to get the exercise. I'm much pleased with the ski and ski boots--both are very well adapted to our purposes. This waiting requires patience, though I suppose it was to be expected at such an early season. It is difficult to know when to try and push on again. _Monday, December_ 12.--The pack was a little looser this morning; there was a distinct long swell apparently from N.W. The floes were not apart but barely touching the edges, which were hard pressed yesterday; the wind still holds from N.W., but lighter. Gran, Oates, and Bowers went on ski towards a reported island about which there had been some difference of opinion. I felt certain it was a berg, and it proved to be so; only of a very curious dome shape with very low cliffs all about. Fires were ordered for 12, and at 11.30 we started steaming with plain sail set. We made, and are making fair progress on the whole, but it is very uneven. We escaped from the heavy floes about us into much thinner pack, then through two water holes, then back to the thinner pack consisting of thin floes of large area fairly easily broken. All went well till we struck heavy floes again, then for half an hour we stopped dead. Then on again, and since alternately bad and good--that is, thin young floes and hoary older ones, occasionally a pressed up berg, very heavy. The best news of yesterday was that we drifted 15 miles to the S.E., so that we have not really stopped our progress at all, though it has, of course, been pretty slow. I really don't know what to think of the pack, or when to hope for open water. We tried Atkinson's blubber stove this afternoon with great success. The interior of the stove holds a pipe in a single coil pierced with holes on the under side. These holes drip oil on to an asbestos burner. The blubber is placed in a tank suitably built around the chimney; the overflow of oil from this tank leads to the feed pipe in the stove, with a cock to regulate the flow. A very simple device, but as has been shown a very effective one; the stove gives great heat, but, of course, some blubber smell. However, with such stoves in the south one would never lack cooked food or warm hut. Discussed with Wright the fact that the hummocks on sea ice always yield fresh water. We agreed that the brine must simply run down out of the ice. It will be interesting to bring up a piece of sea ice and watch this process. But the fact itself is interesting as showing that the process producing the hummock is really producing fresh water. It may also be noted as phenomenon which makes _all_ the difference to the ice navigator._5_ Truly the getting to our winter quarters is no light task; at first the gales and heavy seas, and now this continuous fight with the pack ice. 8 P.M.--We are getting on with much bumping and occasional 'hold ups.' _Tuesday, December_ 13.--I was up most of the night. Never have I experienced such rapid and complete changes of prospect. Cheetham in the last dog watch was running the ship through sludgy new ice, making with all sail set four or five knots. Bruce, in the first, took over as we got into heavy ice again; but after a severe tussle got through into better conditions. The ice of yesterday loose with sludgy thin floes between. The middle watch found us making for an open lead, the ice around hard and heavy. We got through, and by sticking to the open water and then to some recently frozen pools made good progress. At the end of the middle watch trouble began again, and during this and the first part of the morning we were wrestling with the worst conditions we have met. Heavy hummocked bay ice, the floes standing 7 or 8 feet out of water, and very deep below. It was just such ice as we encountered at King Edward's Land in the _Discovery_. I have never seen anything more formidable. The last part of the morning watch was spent in a long recently frozen lead or pool, and the ship went well ahead again. These changes sound tame enough, but they are a great strain on one's nerves--one is for ever wondering whether one has done right in trying to come down so far east, and having regard to coal, what ought to be done under the circumstances. In the first watch came many alterations of opinion; time and again it looks as though we ought to stop when it seemed futile to be pushing and pushing without result; then would come a stretch of easy going and the impression that all was going very well with us. The fact of the matter is, it is difficult not to imagine the conditions in which one finds oneself to be more extensive than they are. It is wearing to have to face new conditions every hour. This morning we met at breakfast in great spirits; the ship has been boring along well for two hours, then Cheetham suddenly ran her into a belt of the worst and we were held up immediately. We can push back again, I think, but meanwhile we have taken advantage of the conditions to water ship. These big floes are very handy for that purpose at any rate. Rennick got a sounding 2124 fathoms, similar bottom _including_ volcanic lava. _December_ 13 (_cont_.).--67° 30' S. 177° 58' W. Made good S. 20 E. 27'. C. Crozier S. 21 W. 644'.--We got in several tons of ice, then pushed off and slowly and laboriously worked our way to one of the recently frozen pools. It was not easily crossed, but when we came to its junction with the next part to the S.W. (in which direction I proposed to go) we were quite hung up. A little inspection showed that the big floes were tending to close. It seems as though the tenacity of the 6 or 7 inches of recent ice over the pools is enormously increased by lateral pressure. But whatever the cause, we could not budge. We have decided to put fires out and remain here till the conditions change altogether for the better. It is sheer waste of coal to make further attempts to break through as things are at present. We have been set to the east during the past days; is it the normal set in the region, or due to the prevalence of westerly winds? Possibly much depends on this as concerns our date of release. It is annoying, but one must contain one's soul in patience and hope for a brighter outlook in a day or two. Meanwhile we shall sound and do as much biological work as is possible. The pack is a sunless place as a rule; this morning we had bright sunshine for a few hours, but later the sky clouded over from the north again, and now it is snowing dismally. It is calm. _Wednesday, December_ 14.--Position, N. 2', W. 1/2'. The pack still close around. From the masthead one can see a few patches of open water in different directions, but the main outlook is the same scene of desolate hummocky pack. The wind has come from the S.W., force 2; we have bright sunshine and good sights. The ship has swung to the wind and the floes around are continually moving. They change their relative positions in a slow, furtive, creeping fashion. The temperature is 35°, the water 29.2° to 29.5°. Under such conditions the thin sludgy ice ought to be weakening all the time; a few inches of such stuff should allow us to push through anywhere. One realises the awful monotony of a long stay in the pack, such as Nansen and others experienced. One can imagine such days as these lengthening into interminable months and years. For us there is novelty, and everyone has work to do or makes work, so that there is no keen sense of impatience. Nelson and Lillie were up all night with the current meter; it is not quite satisfactory, but some result has been obtained. They will also get a series of temperatures and samples and use the vertical tow net. The current is satisfactory. Both days the fixes have been good--it is best that we should go north and west. I had a great fear that we should be drifted east and so away to regions of permanent pack. If we go on in this direction it can only be a question of time before we are freed. We have all been away on ski on the large floe to which we anchored this morning. Gran is wonderfully good and gives instruction well. It was hot and garments came off one by one--the Soldier [2] and Atkinson were stripped to the waist eventually, and have been sliding round the floe for some time in that condition. Nearly everyone has been wearing goggles; the glare is very bad. Ponting tried to get a colour picture, but unfortunately the ice colours are too delicate for this. To-night Campbell, Evans, and I went out over the floe, and each in turn towed the other two; it was fairly easy work--that is, to pull 310 to 320 lbs. One could pull it perhaps more easily on foot, yet it would be impossible to pull such a load on a sledge. What a puzzle this pulling of loads is! If one could think that this captivity was soon to end there would be little reason to regret it; it is giving practice with our deep sea gear, and has made everyone keen to learn the proper use of ski. The swell has increased considerably, but it is impossible to tell from what direction it comes; one can simply note that the ship and brash ice swing to and fro, bumping into the floe. We opened the ice-house to-day, and found the meat in excellent condition--most of it still frozen. _Thursday, December_ 15.--66° 23' S. 177° 59' W. Sit. N. 2', E. 5 1/2'.--In the morning the conditions were unaltered. Went for a ski run before breakfast. It makes a wonderful difference to get the blood circulating by a little exercise. After breakfast we served out ski to the men of the landing party. They are all very keen to learn, and Gran has been out morning and afternoon giving instruction. Meares got some of his dogs out and a sledge--two lots of seven--those that looked in worst condition (and several are getting very fat) were tried. They were very short of wind--it is difficult to understand how they can get so fat, as they only get two and a half biscuits a day at the most. The ponies are looking very well on the whole, especially those in the outside stalls. Rennick got a sounding to-day 1844 fathoms; reversible thermometers were placed close to bottom and 500 fathoms up. We shall get a very good series of temperatures from the bottom up during the wait. Nelson will try to get some more current observations to-night or to-morrow. It is very trying to find oneself continually drifting north, but one is thankful not to be going east. To-night it has fallen calm and the floes have decidedly opened; there is a lot of water about the ship, but it does not look to extend far. Meanwhile the brash and thinner floes are melting; everything of that sort must help--but it's trying to the patience to be delayed like this. We have seen enough to know that with a north-westerly or westerly wind the floes tend to pack and that they open when it is calm. The question is, will they open more with an easterly or south-easterly wind--that is the hope. Signs of open water round and about are certainly increasing rather than diminishing. _Friday, December_ 16.--The wind sprang up from the N.E. this morning, bringing snow, thin light hail, and finally rain; it grew very thick and has remained so all day. Early the floe on which we had done so much ski-ing broke up, and we gathered in our ice anchors, then put on head sail, to which she gradually paid off. With a fair wind we set sail on the foremast, and slowly but surely she pushed the heavy floes aside. At lunch time we entered a long lead of open water, and for nearly half an hour we sailed along comfortably in it. Entering the pack again, we found the floes much lighter and again pushed on slowly. In all we may have made as much as three miles. I have observed for some time some floes of immense area forming a chain of lakes in this pack, and have been most anxious to discover their thickness. They are most certainly the result of the freezing of comparatively recent pools in the winter pack, and it follows that they must be getting weaker day by day. If one could be certain firstly, that these big areas extend to the south, and, secondly, that the ship could go through them, it would be worth getting up steam. We have arrived at the edge of one of these floes, and the ship will not go through under sail, but I'm sure she would do so under steam. Is this a typical floe? And are there more ahead? One of the ponies got down this afternoon--Oates thinks it was probably asleep and fell, but the incident is alarming; the animals are not too strong. On this account this delay is harassing--otherwise we should not have much to regret. _Saturday, December_ 17.--67° 24'. 177° 34'. Drift for 48 hours S. 82 E. 9.7'. It rained hard and the glass fell rapidly last night with every sign of a coming gale. This morning the wind increased to force 6 from the west with snow. At noon the barograph curve turned up and the wind moderated, the sky gradually clearing. To-night it is fairly bright and clear; there is a light south-westerly wind. It seems rather as though the great gales of the Westerlies must begin in these latitudes with such mild disturbances as we have just experienced. I think it is the first time I have known rain beyond the Antarctic circle--it is interesting to speculate on its effect in melting the floes. We have scarcely moved all day, but bergs which have become quite old friends through the week are on the move, and one has approached and almost circled us. Evidently these bergs are moving about in an irregular fashion, only they must have all travelled a little east in the forty-eight hours as we have done. Another interesting observation to-night is that of the slow passage of a stream of old heavy floes past the ship and the lighter ice in which she is held. There are signs of water sky to the south, and I'm impatient to be off, but still one feels that waiting may be good policy, and I should certainly contemplate waiting some time longer if it weren't for the ponies. Everyone is wonderfully cheerful; there is laughter all day long. Nelson finished his series of temperatures and samples to-day with an observation at 1800 metres. Series of Sea Temperatures Depth Metres Temp. (uncorrected) Dec. 14 0 -1.67 ,, 10 -1.84 ,, 20 -1.86 ,, 30 -1.89 ,, 50 -1.92 ,, 75 -1.93 ,, 100 -1.80 ,, 125 -1.11 ,, 150 -0.63 ,, 200 0.24 ,, 500 1.18 ,, 1500 0.935 Dec. 17 1800 0.61 ,, 2300 0.48 Dec. 15 2800 0.28 ,, 3220 0.11 ,, 3650 -0.13 no sample ,, 3891 bottom Dec. 20 2300 (1260 fms.) 0.48° C. ,, 3220 (1760 fms.) 0.11° C. ,, 3300 bottom A curious point is that the bottom layer is 2 tenths higher on the 20th, remaining in accord with the same depth on the 15th. _Sunday, December_ 18.--In the night it fell calm and the floes opened out. There is more open water between the floes around us, yet not a great deal more. In general what we have observed on the opening of the pack means a very small increase in the open water spaces, but enough to convey the impression that the floes, instead of wishing to rub shoulders and grind against one another, desire to be apart. They touch lightly where they touch at all--such a condition makes much difference to the ship in attempts to force her through, as each floe is freer to move on being struck. If a pack be taken as an area bounded by open water, it is evident that a small increase of the periphery or a small outward movement of the floes will add much to the open water spaces and create a general freedom. The opening of this pack was reported at 3 A.M., and orders were given to raise steam. The die is cast, and we must now make a determined push for the open southern sea. There is a considerable swell from the N.W.; it should help us to get along. _Evening_.--Again extraordinary differences of fortune. At first things looked very bad--it took nearly half an hour to get started, much more than an hour to work away to one of the large area floes to which I have referred; then to my horror the ship refused to look at it. Again by hard fighting we worked away to a crack running across this sheet, and to get through this crack required many stoppages and engine reversals. Then we had to shoot away south to avoid another unbroken floe of large area, but after we had rounded this things became easier; from 6 o'clock we were almost able to keep a steady course, only occasionally hung up by some thicker floe. The rest of the ice was fairly recent and easily broken. At 7 the leads of recent ice became easier still, and at 8 we entered a long lane of open water. For a time we almost thought we had come to the end of our troubles, and there was much jubilation. But, alas! at the end of the lead we have come again to heavy bay ice. It is undoubtedly this mixture of bay ice which causes the open leads, and I cannot but think that this is the King Edward's Land pack. We are making S.W. as best we can. What an exasperating game this is!--one cannot tell what is going to happen in the next half or even quarter of an hour. At one moment everything looks flourishing, the next one begins to doubt if it is possible to get through. _New Fish_.--Just at the end of the open lead to-night we capsized a small floe and thereby jerked a fish out on top of another one. We stopped and picked it up, finding it a beautiful silver grey, genus _Notothenia_--I think a new species. Snow squalls have been passing at intervals--the wind continues in the N.W. It is comparatively warm. We saw the first full-grown Emperor penguin to-night. _Monday, December_ 19.--On the whole, in spite of many bumps, we made good progress during the night, but the morning (present) outlook is the worst we've had. We seem to be in the midst of a terribly heavy screwed pack; it stretches in all directions as far as the eye can see, and the prospects are alarming from all points of view. I have decided to push west--anything to get out of these terribly heavy floes. Great patience is the only panacea for our ill case. It is bad luck. We first got amongst the very thick floes at 1 A.M., and jammed through some of the most monstrous I have ever seen. The pressure ridges rose 24 feet above the surface--the ice must have extended at least 30 feet below. The blows given us gave the impression of irresistible solidity. Later in the night we passed out of this into long lanes of water and some of thin brash ice, hence the progress made. I'm afraid we have strained our rudder; it is stiff in one direction. We are in difficult circumstances altogether. This morning we have brilliant sunshine and no wind. Noon 67° 54.5' S., 178° 28' W. Made good S. 34 W. 37'; C. Crozier 606'. Fog has spread up from the south with a very light southerly breeze. There has been another change of conditions, but I scarcely know whether to call it for the better or the worse. There are fewer heavy old floes; on the other hand, the one year's floes, tremendously screwed and doubtless including old floes in their mass, have now enormously increased in area. A floe which we have just passed must have been a mile across--this argues lack of swell and from that one might judge the open water to be very far. We made progress in a fairly good direction this morning, but the outlook is bad again--the ice seems to be closing. Again patience, we must go on steadily working through. 5.30.--We passed two immense bergs in the afternoon watch, the first of an irregular tabular form. The stratified surface had clearly faulted. I suggest that an uneven bottom to such a berg giving unequal buoyancy to parts causes this faulting. The second berg was domed, having a twin peak. These bergs are still a puzzle. I rather cling to my original idea that they become domed when stranded and isolated. These two bergs had left long tracks of open water in the pack. We came through these making nearly 3 knots, but, alas! only in a direction which carried us a little east of south. It was difficult to get from one tract to another, but the tracts themselves were quite clear of ice. I noticed with rather a sinking that the floes on either side of us were assuming gigantic areas; one or two could not have been less than 2 or 3 miles across. It seemed to point to very distant open water. But an observation which gave greater satisfaction was a steady reduction in the thickness of the floes. At first they were still much pressed up and screwed. One saw lines and heaps of pressure dotted over the surface of the larger floes, but it was evident from the upturned slopes that the floes had been thin when these disturbances took place. At about 4.30 we came to a group of six or seven low tabular bergs some 15 or 20 feet in height. It was such as these that we saw in King Edward's Land, and they might very well come from that region. Three of these were beautifully uniform, with flat tops and straight perpendicular sides, and others had overhanging cornices, and some sloped towards the edges. No more open water was reported on the other side of the bergs, and one wondered what would come next. The conditions have proved a pleasing surprise. There are still large floes on either side of us, but they are not much hummocked; there are pools of water on their surface, and the lanes between are filled with light brash and only an occasional heavy floe. The difference is wonderful. The heavy floes and gigantic pressure ice struck one most alarmingly--it seemed impossible that the ship could win her way through them, and led one to imagine all sorts of possibilities, such as remaining to be drifted north and freed later in the season, and the contrast now that the ice all around is little more than 2 or 3 feet thick is an immense relief. It seems like release from a horrid captivity. Evans has twice suggested stopping and waiting to-day, and on three occasions I have felt my own decision trembling in the balance. If this condition holds I need not say how glad we shall be that we doggedly pushed on in spite of the apparently hopeless outlook. In any case, if it holds or not, it will be a great relief to feel that there is this plain of negotiable ice behind one. Saw two sea leopards this evening, one in the water making short, lazy dives under the floes. It had a beautiful sinuous movement. I have asked Pennell to prepare a map of the pack; it ought to give some idea of the origin of the various forms of floes, and their general drift. I am much inclined to think that most of the pressure ridges are formed by the passage of bergs through the comparatively young ice. I imagine that when the sea freezes very solid it carries bergs with it, but obviously the enormous mass of a berg would need a great deal of stopping. In support of this view I notice that most of the pressure ridges are formed by pieces of a sheet which did not exceed one or two feet in thickness--also it seems that the screwed ice which we have passed has occurred mostly in the regions of bergs. On one side of the tabular berg passed yesterday pressure was heaped to a height of 15 feet--it was like a ship's bow wave on a large scale. Yesterday there were many bergs and much pressure; last night no bergs and practically no pressure; this morning few bergs and comparatively little pressure. It goes to show that the unconfined pack of these seas would not be likely to give a ship a severe squeeze. Saw a young Emperor this morning, and whilst trying to capture it one of Wilson's new whales with the sabre dorsal fin rose close to the ship. I estimated this fin to be 4 feet high. It is pretty to see the snow petrel and Antarctic petrel diving on to the upturned and flooded floes. The wash of water sweeps the Euphausia [3] across such submerged ice. The Antarctic petrel has a pretty crouching attitude. Notes On Nicknames Evans Teddy Wilson Bill, Uncle Bill, Uncle Simpson Sunny Jim Ponting Ponco Meares Day Campbell The Mate, Mr. Mate Pennell Penelope Rennick Parnie Bowers Birdie Taylor Griff and Keir Hardy Nelson Marie and Bronte Gran Cherry-Garrard Cherry Wright Silas, Toronto Priestley Raymond Debenham Deb Bruce Drake Francis Atkinson Jane, Helmin, Atchison Oates Titus, Soldier, 'Farmer Hayseed' (by Bowers) Levick Toffarino, the Old Sport Lillie Lithley, Hercules, Lithi_6_ _Tuesday, December_ 20.--Noon 68° 41' S., 179° 28' W. Made good S. 36 W. 58; C. Crozier S. 20 W. 563'.--The good conditions held up to midnight last night; we went from lead to lead with only occasional small difficulties. At 9 o'clock we passed along the western edge of a big stream of very heavy bay ice--such ice as would come out late in the season from the inner reaches and bays of Victoria Sound, where the snows drift deeply. For a moment one imagined a return to our bad conditions, but we passed this heavy stuff in an hour and came again to the former condition, making our way in leads between floes of great area. Bowers reported a floe of 12 square miles in the middle watch. We made very fair progress during the night, and an excellent run in the morning watch. Before eight a moderate breeze sprang up from the west and the ice began to close. We have worked our way a mile or two on since, but with much difficulty, so that we have now decided to bank fires and wait for the ice to open again; meanwhile we shall sound and get a haul with tow nets. I'm afraid we are still a long way from the open water; the floes are large, and where we have stopped they seem to be such as must have been formed early last winter. The signs of pressure have increased again. Bergs were very scarce last night, but there are several around us to-day. One has a number of big humps on top. It is curious to think how these big blocks became perched so high. I imagine the berg must have been calved from a region of hard pressure ridges. [Later] This is a mistake--on closer inspection it is quite clear that the berg has tilted and that a great part of the upper strata, probably 20 feet deep, has slipped off, leaving the humps as islands on top. It looks as though we must exercise patience again; progress is more difficult than in the worst of our experiences yesterday, but the outlook is very much brighter. This morning there were many dark shades of open water sky to the south; the westerly wind ruffling the water makes these cloud shadows very dark. The barometer has been very steady for several days and we ought to have fine weather: this morning a lot of low cloud came from the S.W., at one time low enough to become fog--the clouds are rising and dissipating, and we have almost a clear blue sky with sunshine. _Evening_.--The wind has gone from west to W.S.W. and still blows nearly force 6. We are lying very comfortably alongside a floe with open water to windward for 200 or 300 yards. The sky has been clear most of the day, fragments of low stratus occasionally hurry across the sky and a light cirrus is moving with some speed. Evidently it is blowing hard in the upper current. The ice has closed--I trust it will open well when the wind lets up. There is a lot of open water behind us. The berg described this morning has been circling round us, passing within 800 yards; the bearing and distance have altered so un-uniformly that it is evident that the differential movement between the surface water and the berg-driving layers (from 100 to 200 metres down) is very irregular. We had several hours on the floe practising ski running, and thus got some welcome exercise. Coal is now the great anxiety--we are making terrible inroads on our supply--we have come 240 miles since we first entered the pack streams. The sounding to-day gave 1804 fathoms--the water bottle didn't work, but temperatures were got at 1300 and bottom. The temperature was down to 20° last night and kept 2 or 3 degrees below freezing all day. The surface for ski-ing to-day was very good. _Wednesday, December_ 21.--The wind was still strong this morning, but had shifted to the south-west. With an overcast sky it was very cold and raw. The sun is now peeping through, the wind lessening and the weather conditions generally improving. During the night we had been drifting towards two large bergs, and about breakfast time we were becoming uncomfortably close to one of them--the big floes were binding down on one another, but there seemed to be open water to the S.E., if we could work out in that direction. (_Note_.--All directions of wind are given 'true' in this book.) _Noon Position_.--68° 25' S., 179° 11' W. Made good S. 26 E. 2.5'. Set of current N., 32 E. 9.4'. Made good 24 hours--N. 40 E. 8'. We got the steam up and about 9 A.M. commenced to push through. Once or twice we have spent nearly twenty minutes pushing through bad places, but it looks as though we are getting to easier water. It's distressing to have the pack so tight, and the bergs make it impossible to lie comfortably still for any length of time. Ponting has made some beautiful photographs and Wilson some charming pictures of the pack and bergs; certainly our voyage will be well illustrated. We find quite a lot of sketching talent. Day, Taylor, Debenham, and Wright all contribute to the elaborate record of the bergs and ice features met with. 5 P.M.--The wind has settled to a moderate gale from S.W. We went 2 1/2 miles this morning, then became jammed again. The effort has taken us well clear of the threatening bergs. Some others to leeward now are a long way off, but they _are_ there and to leeward, robbing our position of its full measure of security. Oh! but it's mighty trying to be delayed and delayed like this, and coal going all the time--also we are drifting N. and E.--the pack has carried us 9' N. and 6' E. It really is very distressing. I don't like letting fires go out with these bergs about. Wilson went over the floe to capture some penguins and lay flat on the surface. We saw the birds run up to him, then turn within a few feet and rush away again. He says that they came towards him when he was singing, and ran away again when he stopped. They were all one year birds, and seemed exceptionally shy; they appear to be attracted to the ship by a fearful curiosity._7_ A chain of bergs must form a great obstruction to a field of pack ice, largely preventing its drift and forming lanes of open water. Taken in conjunction with the effect of bergs in forming pressure ridges, it follows that bergs have a great influence on the movement as well as the nature of pack. _Thursday, December_ 22.--Noon 68° 26' 2'' S., 197° 8' 5'' W. Sit. N. 5 E. 8.5'.--No change. The wind still steady from the S.W., with a clear sky and even barometer. It looks as though it might last any time. This is sheer bad luck. We have let the fires die out; there are bergs to leeward and we must take our chance of clearing them--we cannot go on wasting coal. There is not a vestige of swell, and with the wind in this direction there certainly ought to be if the open water was reasonably close. No, it looks as though we'd struck a streak of real bad luck; that fortune has determined to put every difficulty in our path. We have less than 300 tons of coal left in a ship that simply eats coal. It's alarming--and then there are the ponies going steadily down hill in condition. The only encouragement is the persistence of open water to the east and south-east to south; big lanes of open water can be seen in that position, but we cannot get to them in this pressed up pack. Atkinson has discovered a new tapeworm in the intestines of the Adélie penguin--a very tiny worm one-eighth of an inch in length with a propeller-shaped head. A crumb of comfort comes on finding that we have not drifted to the eastward appreciably. _Friday, December_ 23.--The wind fell light at about ten last night and the ship swung round. Sail was set on the fore, and she pushed a few hundred yards to the north, but soon became jammed again. This brought us dead to windward of and close to a large berg with the wind steadily increasing. Not a very pleasant position, but also not one that caused much alarm. We set all sail, and with this help the ship slowly carried the pack round, pivoting on the berg until, as the pressure relieved, she slid out into the open water close to the berg. Here it was possible to 'wear ship,' and we saw a fair prospect of getting away to the east and afterwards south. Following the leads up we made excellent progress during the morning watch, and early in the forenoon turned south, and then south-west. We had made 8 1/2' S. 22 E. and about 5' S.S.W. by 1 P.M., and could see a long lead of water to the south, cut off only by a broad strip of floe with many water holes in it: a composite floe. There was just a chance of getting through, but we have stuck half-way, advance and retreat equally impossible under sail alone. Steam has been ordered but will not be ready till near midnight. Shall we be out of the pack by Christmas Eve? The floes to-day have been larger but thin and very sodden. There are extensive water pools showing in patches on the surface, and one notes some that run in line as though extending from cracks; also here and there close water-free cracks can be seen. Such floes might well be termed '_composite_' floes, since they evidently consist of old floes which have been frozen together--the junction being concealed by more recent snow falls. A month ago it would probably have been difficult to detect inequalities or differences in the nature of the parts of the floes, but now the younger ice has become waterlogged and is melting rapidly, hence the pools. I am inclined to think that nearly all the large floes as well as many of the smaller ones are 'composite,' and this would seem to show that the cementing of two floes does not necessarily mean a line of weakness, provided the difference in the thickness of the cemented floes is not too great; of course, young ice or even a single season's sea ice cannot become firmly attached to the thick old bay floes, and hence one finds these isolated even at this season of the year. Very little can happen in the personal affairs of our company in this comparatively dull time, but it is good to see the steady progress that proceeds unconsciously in cementing the happy relationship that exists between the members of the party. Never could there have been a greater freedom from quarrels and trouble of all sorts. I have not heard a harsh word or seen a black look. A spirit of tolerance and good humour pervades the whole community, and it is glorious to realise that men can live under conditions of hardship, monotony, and danger in such bountiful good comradeship. Preparations are now being made for Christmas festivities. It is curious to think that we have already passed the longest day in the southern year. Saw a whale this morning--estimated 25 to 30 feet. Wilson thinks a new species. Find Adélie penguins in batches of twenty or so. Do not remember having seen so many together in the pack. _After midnight, December_ 23.--Steam was reported ready at 11 P.M. After some pushing to and fro we wriggled out of our ice prison and followed a lead to opener waters. We have come into a region where the open water exceeds the ice; the former lies in great irregular pools 3 or 4 miles or more across and connecting with many leads. The latter, and the fact is puzzling, still contain floes of enormous dimensions; we have just passed one which is at least 2 miles in diameter. In such a scattered sea we cannot go direct, but often have to make longish detours; but on the whole in calm water and with a favouring wind we make good progress. With the sea even as open as we find it here it is astonishing to find the floes so large, and clearly there cannot be a southerly swell. The floes have water pools as described this afternoon, and none average more than 2 feet in thickness. We have two or three bergs in sight. _Saturday, December 24, Christmas Eve_.--69° 1' S., 178° 29' W. S. 22 E. 29'; C. Crozier 551'. Alas! alas! at 7 A.M. this morning we were brought up with a solid sheet of pack extending in all directions, save that from which we had come. I must honestly own that I turned in at three thinking we had come to the end of our troubles; I had a suspicion of anxiety when I thought of the size of the floes, but I didn't for a moment suspect we should get into thick pack again behind those great sheets of open water. All went well till four, when the white wall again appeared ahead--at five all leads ended and we entered the pack; at seven we were close up to an immense composite floe, about as big as any we've seen. She wouldn't skirt the edge of this and she wouldn't go through it. There was nothing to do but to stop and bank fires. How do we stand?--Any day or hour the floes may open up, leaving a road to further open water to the south, but there is no guarantee that one would not be hung up again and again in this manner as long as these great floes exist. In a fortnight's time the floes will have crumbled somewhat, and in many places the ship will be able to penetrate them. What to do under these circumstances calls for the most difficult decision. If one lets fires out it means a dead loss of over 2 tons, when the boiler has to be heated again. But this 2 tons would only cover a day under banked fires, so that for anything longer than twenty-four hours it is economy to put the fires out. At each stoppage one is called upon to decide whether it is to be for more or less than twenty-four hours. Last night we got some five or six hours of good going ahead--but it has to be remembered that this costs 2 tons of coal in addition to that expended in doing the distance. If one waits one probably drifts north--in all other respects conditions ought to be improving, except that the southern edge of the pack will be steadly augmenting. Rough Summary of Current in Pack Dec. Current Wind 11-12 S. 48 E. 12'? N. by W. 3 to 5 13-14 N. 20 W. 2' N.W. by W. 0-2 14-15 N. 2 E. 5.2' S.W. 1-2 15-17 apparently little current variable light 20-21 N. 32 E. 9.4 N.W. to W.S.W. 4 to 6 21-22 N. 5 E. 8.5 West 4 to 5 The above seems to show that the drift is generally with the wind. We have had a predominance of westerly winds in a region where a predominance of easterly might be expected. Now that we have an easterly, what will be the result? _Sunday, December_ 25, _Christmas Day_.--Dead reckoning 69° 5' S., 178° 30' E. The night before last I had bright hopes that this Christmas Day would see us in open water. The scene is altogether too Christmassy. Ice surrounds us, low nimbus clouds intermittently discharging light snow flakes obscure the sky, here and there small pools of open water throw shafts of black shadow on to the cloud--this black predominates in the direction from whence we have come, elsewhere the white haze of ice blink is pervading. We are captured. We do practically nothing under sail to push through, and could do little under steam, and at each step forward the possibility of advance seems to lessen. The wind which has persisted from the west for so long fell light last night, and to-day comes from the N.E. by N., a steady breeze from 2 to 3 in force. Since one must have hope, ours is pinned to the possible effect of a continuance of easterly wind. Again the call is for patience and again patience. Here at least we seem to enjoy full security. The ice is so thin that it could not hurt by pressure--there are no bergs within reasonable distance--indeed the thinness of the ice is one of the most tantalising conditions. In spite of the unpropitious prospect everyone on board is cheerful and one foresees a merry dinner to-night. The mess is gaily decorated with our various banners. There was full attendance at the Service this morning and a lusty singing of hymns. Should we now try to go east or west? I have been trying to go west because the majority of tracks lie that side and no one has encountered such hard conditions as ours--otherwise there is nothing to point to this direction, and all through the last week the prospect to the west has seemed less promising than in other directions; in spite of orders to steer to the S.W. when possible it has been impossible to push in that direction. An event of Christmas was the production of a family by Crean's rabbit. She gave birth to 17, it is said, and Crean has given away 22! I don't know what will become of the parent or family; at present they are warm and snug enough, tucked away in the fodder under the forecastle. _Midnight_.--To-night the air is thick with falling snow; the temperature 28°. It is cold and slushy without. A merry evening has just concluded. We had an excellent dinner: tomato soup, penguin breast stewed as an entrée, roast beef, plum-pudding, and mince pies, asparagus, champagne, port and liqueurs--a festive menu. Dinner began at 6 and ended at 7. For five hours the company has been sitting round the table singing lustily; we haven't much talent, but everyone has contributed more or less, 'and the choruses are deafening. It is rather a surprising circumstance that such an unmusical party should be so keen on singing. On Xmas night it was kept up till 1 A.M., and no work is done without a chanty. I don't know if you have ever heard sea chanties being sung. The merchant sailors have quite a repertoire, and invariably call on it when getting up anchor or hoisting sails. Often as not they are sung in a flat and throaty style, but the effect when a number of men break into the chorus is generally inspiriting.' The men had dinner at midday--much the same fare, but with beer and some whisky to drink. They seem to have enjoyed themselves much. Evidently the men's deck contains a very merry band. There are three groups of penguins roosting on the floes quite close to the ship. I made the total number of birds 39. We could easily capture these birds, and so it is evident that food can always be obtained in the pack. To-night I noticed a skua gull settle on an upturned block of ice at the edge of the floe on which several penguins were preparing for rest. It is a fact that the latter held a noisy confabulation with the skua as subject--then they advanced as a body towards it; within a few paces the foremost penguin halted and turned, and then the others pushed him on towards the skua. One after another they jibbed at being first to approach their enemy, and it was only with much chattering and mutual support that they gradually edged towards him. They couldn't reach him as he was perched on a block, but when they got quite close the skua, who up to that time had appeared quite unconcerned, flapped away a few yards and settled close on the other side of the group of penguins. The latter turned and repeated their former tactics until the skua finally flapped away altogether. It really was extraordinarily interesting to watch the timorous protesting movements of the penguins. The frame of mind producing every action could be so easily imagined and put into human sentiments. On the other side of the ship part of another group of penguins were quarrelling for the possession of a small pressure block which offered only the most insecure foothold. The scrambling antics to secure the point of vantage, the ousting of the bird in possession, and the incontinent loss of balance and position as each bird reached the summit of his ambition was almost as entertaining as the episode of the skua. Truly these little creatures afford much amusement. _Monday, December 26_.--Obs. 69° 9' S., 178° 13' W. Made good 48 hours, S. 35 E. 10'.--The position to-night is very cheerless. All hope that this easterly wind will open the pack seems to have vanished. We are surrounded with compacted floes of immense area. Openings appear between these floes and we slide crab-like from one to another with long delays between. It is difficult to keep hope alive. There are streaks of water sky over open leads to the north, but everywhere to the south we have the uniform white sky. The day has been overcast and the wind force 3 to 5 from the E.N.E.--snow has fallen from time to time. There could scarcely be a more dreary prospect for the eye to rest upon. As I lay in my bunk last night I seemed to note a measured crush on the brash ice, and to-day first it was reported that the floes had become smaller, and then we seemed to note a sort of measured send alongside the ship. There may be a long low swell, but it is not helping us apparently; to-night the floes around are indisputably as large as ever and I see little sign of their breaking or becoming less tightly locked. It is a very, very trying time. We have managed to make 2 or 3 miles in a S.W. (?) direction under sail by alternately throwing her aback, then filling sail and pressing through the narrow leads; probably this will scarcely make up for our drift. It's all very disheartening. The bright side is that everyone is prepared to exert himself to the utmost--however poor the result of our labours may show. Rennick got a sounding again to-day, 1843 fathoms. One is much struck by our inability to find a cause for the periodic opening and closing of the floes. One wonders whether there is a reason to be found in tidal movement. In general, however, it seems to show that our conditions are governed by remote causes. Somewhere well north or south of us the wind may be blowing in some other direction, tending to press up or release pressure; then again such sheets of open water as those through which we passed to the north afford space into which bodies of pack can be pushed. The exasperating uncertainty of one's mind in such captivity is due to ignorance of its cause and inability to predict the effect of changes of wind. One can only vaguely comprehend that things are happening far beyond our horizon which directly affect our situation. _Tuesday, December_ 27.--Dead reckoning 69° 12' S., 178° 18' W. We made nearly 2 miles in the first watch--half push, half drift. Then the ship was again held up. In the middle the ice was close around, even pressing on us, and we didn't move a yard. The wind steadily increased and has been blowing a moderate gale, shifting in direction to E.S.E. We are reduced to lower topsails. In the morning watch we began to move again, the ice opening out with the usual astonishing absence of reason. We have made a mile or two in a westerly direction in the same manner as yesterday. The floes seem a little smaller, but our outlook is very limited; there is a thick haze, and the only fact that can be known is that there are pools of water at intervals for a mile or two in the direction in which we go. We commence to move between two floes, make 200 or 300 yards, and are then brought up bows on to a large lump. This may mean a wait of anything from ten minutes to half an hour, whilst the ship swings round, falls away, and drifts to leeward. When clear she forges ahead again and the operation is repeated. Occasionally when she can get a little way on she cracks the obstacle and slowly passes through it. There is a distinct swell--very long, very low. I counted the period as about nine seconds. Everyone says the ice is breaking up. I have not seen any distinct evidence myself, but Wilson saw a large floe which had recently cracked into four pieces in such a position that the ship could not have caused it. The breaking up of the big floes is certainly a hopeful sign. 'I have written quite a lot about the pack ice when under ordinary conditions I should have passed it with few words. But you will scarcely be surprised when I tell you what an obstacle we have found it on this occasion.' I was thinking during the gale last night that our position might be a great deal worse than it is. We were lying amongst the floes perfectly peacefully whilst the wind howled through the rigging. One felt quite free from anxiety as to the ship, the sails, the bergs or ice pressures. One calmly went below and slept in the greatest comfort. One thought of the ponies, but after all, horses have been carried for all time in small ships, and often enough for very long voyages. The Eastern Party [4] will certainly benefit by any delay we may make; for them the later they get to King Edward's Land the better. The depot journey of the Western Party will be curtailed, but even so if we can get landed in January there should be time for a good deal of work. One must confess that things might be a great deal worse and there would be little to disturb one if one's release was certain, say in a week's time. I'm afraid the ice-house is not going on so well as it might. There is some mould on the mutton and the beef is tainted. There is a distinct smell. The house has been opened by order when the temperature has fallen below 28°. I thought the effect would be to 'harden up' the meat, but apparently we need air circulation. When the temperature goes down to-night we shall probably take the beef out of the house and put a wind sail in to clear the atmosphere. If this does not improve matters we must hang more carcasses in the rigging. _Later_, 6 P.M.--The wind has backed from S.E. to E.S.E. and the swell is going down--this seems to argue open water in the first but not in the second direction and that the course we pursue is a good one on the whole. The sky is clearing but the wind still gusty, force 4 to 7; the ice has frozen a little and we've made no progress since noon. 9 P.M.--One of the ponies went down to-night. He has been down before. It may mean nothing; on the other hand it is not a circumstance of good omen. Otherwise there is nothing further to record, and I close this volume of my Journal under circumstances which cannot be considered cheerful. A FRESH MS. BOOK. 1910-11. [_On the Flyleaf_] 'And in regions far Such heroes bring ye forth As those from whom we came And plant our name Under that star Not known unto our North.' 'To the Virginian Voyage.' DRAYTON. 'But be the workemen what they may be, let us speake of the worke; that is, the true greatnesse of Kingdom and estates; and the meanes thereof.' BACON. Still in the Ice _Wednesday, December 28, 1910_.--Obs. Noon, 69° 17' S., 179° 42' W. Made good since 26th S. 74 W. 31'; C. Crozier S. 22 W. 530'. The gale has abated. The sky began to clear in the middle watch; now we have bright, cheerful, warm sunshine (temp. 28°). The wind lulled in the middle watch and has fallen to force 2 to 3. We made 1 1/2 miles in the middle and have added nearly a mile since. This movement has brought us amongst floes of decidedly smaller area and the pack has loosened considerably. A visit to the crow's nest shows great improvement in the conditions. There is ice on all sides, but a large percentage of the floes is quite thin and even the heavier ice appears breakable. It is only possible to be certain of conditions for three miles or so--the limit of observation from the crow's nest; but as far as this limit there is no doubt the ship could work through with ease. Beyond there are vague signs of open water in the southern sky. We have pushed and drifted south and west during the gale and are now near the 180th meridian again. It seems impossible that we can be far from the southern limit of the pack. On strength of these observations we have decided to raise steam. I trust this effort will carry us through. The pony which fell last night has now been brought out into the open. The poor beast is in a miserable condition, very thin, very weak on the hind legs, and suffering from a most irritating skin affection which is causing its hair to fall out in great quantities. I think a day or so in the open will help matters; one or two of the other ponies under the forecastle are also in poor condition, but none so bad as this one. Oates is unremitting in his attention and care of the animals, but I don't think he quite realises that whilst in the pack the ship must remain steady and that, therefore, a certain limited scope for movement and exercise is afforded by the open deck on which the sick animal now stands. If we can get through the ice in the coming effort we may get all the ponies through safely, but there would be no great cause for surprise if we lost two or three more. These animals are now the great consideration, balanced as they are against the coal expenditure. This morning a number of penguins were diving for food around and under the ship. It is the first time they have come so close to the ship in the pack, and there can be little doubt that the absence of motion of the propeller has made them bold. The Adélie penguin on land or ice is almost wholly ludicrous. Whether sleeping, quarrelling, or playing, whether curious, frightened, or angry, its interest is continuously humorous, but the Adélie penguin in the water is another thing; as it darts to and fro a fathom or two below the surface, as it leaps porpoise-like into the air or swims skimmingly over the rippling surface of a pool, it excites nothing but admiration. Its speed probably appears greater than it is, but the ability to twist and turn and the general control of movement is both beautiful and wonderful. As one looks across the barren stretches of the pack, it is sometimes difficult to realise what teeming life exists immediately beneath its surface. A tow-net is filled with diatoms in a very short space of time, showing that the floating plant life is many times richer than that of temperate or tropic seas. These diatoms mostly consist of three or four well-known species. Feeding on these diatoms are countless thousands of small shrimps (_Euphausia_); they can be seen swimming at the edge of every floe and washing about on the overturned pieces. In turn they afford food for creatures great and small: the crab-eater or white seal, the penguins, the Antarctic and snowy petrel, and an unknown number of fish. These fish must be plentiful, as shown by our capture of one on an overturned floe and the report of several seen two days ago by some men leaning over the counter of the ship. These all exclaimed together, and on inquiry all agreed that they had seen half a dozen or more a foot or so in length swimming away under a floe. Seals and penguins capture these fish, as also, doubtless, the skuas and the petrels. Coming to the larger mammals, one occasionally sees the long lithe sea leopard, formidably armed with ferocious teeth and doubtless containing a penguin or two and perhaps a young crab-eating seal. The killer whale (_Orca gladiator_), unappeasably voracious, devouring or attempting to devour every smaller animal, is less common in the pack but numerous on the coasts. Finally, we have the great browsing whales of various species, from the vast blue whale (_Balænoptera Sibbaldi_), the largest mammal of all time, to the smaller and less common bottle-nose and such species as have not yet been named. Great numbers of these huge animals are seen, and one realises what a demand they must make on their food supply and therefore how immense a supply of small sea beasts these seas must contain. Beneath the placid ice floes and under the calm water pools the old universal warfare is raging incessantly in the struggle for existence. Both morning and afternoon we have had brilliant sunshine, and this afternoon all the after-guard lay about on the deck sunning themselves. A happy, care-free group. 10 P.M.--We made our start at eight, and so far things look well. We have found the ice comparatively thin, the floes 2 to 3 feet in thickness except where hummocked; amongst them are large sheets from 6 inches to 1 foot in thickness as well as fairly numerous water pools. The ship has pushed on well, covering at least 3 miles an hour, though occasionally almost stopped by a group of hummocked floes. The sky is overcast: stratus clouds come over from the N.N.E. with wind in the same direction soon after we started. This may be an advantage, as the sails give great assistance and the officer of the watch has an easier time when the sun is not shining directly in his eyes. As I write the pack looks a little closer; I hope to heavens it is not generally closing up again--no sign of open water to the south. Alas! 12 P.M.--Saw two sea leopards playing in the wake. _Thursday, December_ 29.--No sights. At last the change for which I have been so eagerly looking has arrived and we are steaming amongst floes of small area evidently broken by swell, and with edges abraded by contact. The transition was almost sudden. We made very good progress during the night with one or two checks and one or two slices of luck in the way of open water. In one pool we ran clear for an hour, capturing 6 good miles. This morning we were running through large continuous sheets of ice from 6 inches to 1 foot in thickness, with occasional water holes and groups of heavier floes. This forenoon it is the same tale, except that the sheets of thin ice are broken into comparatively regular figures, none more than 30 yards across. It is the hopefullest sign of the approach to the open sea that I have seen. The wind remains in the north helping us, the sky is overcast and slight sleety drizzle is falling; the sun has made one or two attempts to break through but without success. Last night we had a good example of the phenomenon called 'Glazed Frost.' The ship everywhere, on every fibre of rope as well as on her more solid parts, was covered with a thin sheet of ice caused by a fall of light super-cooled rain. The effect was pretty and interesting. Our passage through the pack has been comparatively uninteresting from the zoologist's point of view, as we have seen so little of the rarer species of animals or of birds in exceptional plumage. We passed dozens of crab-eaters, but have seen no Ross seals nor have we been able to kill a sea leopard. To-day we see very few penguins. I'm afraid there can be no observations to give us our position. Release after Twenty Days in the Pack _Friday, December_ 30.--Obs. 72° 17' S. 177° 9' E. Made good in 48 hours, S. 19 W. 190'; C. Crozier S. 21 W. 334'. We are out of the pack at length and at last; one breathes again and hopes that it will be possible to carry out the main part of our programme, but the coal will need tender nursing. Yesterday afternoon it became darkly overcast with falling snow. The barometer fell on a very steep gradient and the wind increased to force 6 from the E.N.E. In the evening the snow fell heavily and the glass still galloped down. In any other part of the world one would have felt certain of a coming gale. But here by experience we know that the barometer gives little indication of wind. Throughout the afternoon and evening the water holes became more frequent and we came along at a fine speed. At the end of the first watch we were passing through occasional streams of ice; the wind had shifted to north and the barometer had ceased to fall. In the middle watch the snow held up, and soon after--1 A.M.--Bowers steered through the last ice stream. At six this morning we were well in the open sea, the sky thick and overcast with occasional patches of fog. We passed one small berg on the starboard hand with a group of Antarctic petrels on one side and a group of snow petrels on the other. It is evident that these birds rely on sea and swell to cast their food up on ice ledges--only a few find sustenance in the pack where, though food is plentiful, it is not so easily come by. A flight of Antarctic petrel accompanied the ship for some distance, wheeling to and fro about her rather than following in the wake as do the more northerly sea birds. It is [good] to escape from the captivity of the pack and to feel that a few days will see us at Cape Crozier, but it is sad to remember the terrible inroad which the fight of the last fortnight has made on our coal supply. 2 P.M.--The wind failed in the forenoon. Sails were clewed up, and at eleven we stopped to sound. The sounding showed 1111 fathoms--we appear to be on the edge of the continental shelf. Nelson got some samples and temperatures. The sun is bursting through the misty sky and warming the air. The snowstorm had covered the ropes with an icy sheet--this is now peeling off and falling with a clatter to the deck, from which the moist slush is rapidly evaporating. In a few hours the ship will be dry--much to our satisfaction; it is very wretched when, as last night, there is slippery wet snow underfoot and on every object one touches. Our run has exceeded our reckoning by much. I feel confident that our speed during the last two days had been greatly under-estimated and so it has proved. We ought to be off C. Crozier on New Year's Day. 8 P.M.--Our calm soon came to an end, the breeze at 3 P.M. coming strong from the S.S.W., dead in our teeth--a regular southern blizzard. We are creeping along a bare 2 knots. I begin to wonder if fortune will ever turn her wheel. On every possible occasion she seems to have decided against us. Of course, the ponies are feeling the motion as we pitch in a short, sharp sea--it's damnable for them and disgusting for us. Summary of the Pack We may be said to have entered the pack at 4 P.M. on the 9th in latitude 65 1/2 S. We left it at 1 A.M. on 30th in latitude 71 1/2 S. We have taken twenty days and some odd hours to get through, and covered in a direct line over 370 miles--an average of 18 miles a day. We entered the pack with 342 tons of coal and left with 281 tons; we have, therefore, expended 61 tons in forcing our way through--an average of 6 miles to the ton. These are not pleasant figures to contemplate, but considering the exceptional conditions experienced I suppose one must conclude that things might have been worse. 9th. Loose streams, steaming. 10th. Close pack. 11th. 6 A.M. close pack, stopped. 12th. 11.30 A.M. started. 13th. 8 A.M. heavy pack, stopped; 8 P.M. out fires. 14th. Fires out. 15th. ... 16th. ... 17th. ... 18th. Noon, heavy pack and leads, steaming 19th. Noon, heavy pack and leads, steaming. 20th. Forenoon, banked fires. 21st. 9 A.M. started. 11 A.M. banked. 22nd. ,, ,, 23rd. Midnight, started. 24th. 7 A.M. stopped 25th. Fires out. 26th. ,, ,, 27th. ,, ,, 28th. 7.30 P.M. steaming. 29th. Steaming. 30th. Steaming. These columns show that we were steaming for nine out of twenty days. We had two long stops, one of _five_ days and one of _four and a half_ days. On three other occasions we stopped for short intervals without drawing fires. I have asked Wright to plot the pack with certain symbols on the chart made by Pennell. It promises to give a very graphic representation of our experiences. 'We hold the record for reaching the northern edge of the pack, whereas three or four times the open Ross Sea has been gained at an earlier date. 'I can imagine few things more trying to the patience than the long wasted days of waiting. Exasperating as it is to see the tons of coal melting away with the smallest mileage to our credit, one has at least the satisfaction of active fighting and the hope of better fortune. To wait idly is the worst of conditions. You can imagine how often and how restlessly we climbed to the crow's nest and studied the outlook. And strangely enough there was generally some change to note. A water lead would mysteriously open up a few miles away or the place where it had been would as mysteriously close. Huge icebergs crept silently towards or past us, and continually we were observing these formidable objects with range finder and compass to determine the relative movement, sometimes with misgiving as to our ability to clear them. Under steam the change of conditions was even more marked. Sometimes we would enter a lead of open water and proceed for a mile or two without hindrance; sometimes we would come to big sheets of thin ice which broke easily as our iron-shod prow struck them, and sometimes even a thin sheet would resist all our attempts to break it; sometimes we would push big floes with comparative ease and sometimes a small floe would bar our passage with such obstinacy that one would almost believe it possessed of an evil spirit; sometimes we passed through acres of sludgy sodden ice which hissed as it swept along the side, and sometimes the hissing ceased seemingly without rhyme or reason, and we found our screw churning the sea without any effect. 'Thus the steaming days passed away in an ever changing environment and are remembered as an unceasing struggle. 'The ship behaved splendidly--no other ship, not even the _Discovery_, would have come through so well. Certainly the _Nimrod_ would never have reached the south water had she been caught in such pack. As a result I have grown strangely attached to the _Terra Nova_. As she bumped the floes with mighty shocks, crushing and grinding a way through some, twisting and turning to avoid others, she seemed like a living thing fighting a great fight. If only she had more economical engines she would be suitable in all respects. 'Once or twice we got among floes which stood 7 or 8 feet above water, with hummocks and pinnacles as high as 25 feet. The ship could have stood no chance had such floes pressed against her, and at first we were a little alarmed in such situations. But familiarity breeds contempt; there never was any pressure in the heavy ice, and I'm inclined to think there never would be. 'The weather changed frequently during our journey through the pack. The wind blew strong from the west and from the east; the sky was often darkly overcast; we had snowstorms, flaky snow, and even light rain. In all such circumstances we were better placed in the pack than outside of it. The foulest weather could do us little harm. During quite a large percentage of days, however, we had bright sunshine, which, even with the temperature well below freezing, made everything look bright and cheerful. The sun also brought us wonderful cloud effects, marvellously delicate tints of sky, cloud, and ice, such effects as one might travel far to see. In spite of our impatience we would not willingly have missed many of the beautiful scenes which our sojourn in the pack afforded us. Ponting and Wilson have been busy catching these effects, but no art can reproduce such colours as the deep blue of the icebergs. 'Scientifically we have been able to do something. We have managed to get a line of soundings on our route showing the raising of the bottom from the ocean depths to the shallow water on the continental shelf, and the nature of the bottom. With these soundings we have obtained many interesting observations of the temperature of different layers of water in the sea. 'Then we have added a great deal to the knowledge of life in the pack from observation of the whales, seals, penguins, birds, and fishes as well as of the pelagic beasts which are caught in tow-nets. Life in one form or another is very plentiful in the pack, and the struggle for existence here as elsewhere is a fascinating subject for study. 'We have made a systematic study of the ice also, both the bergs and sea ice, and have got a good deal of useful information concerning it. Also Pennell has done a little magnetic work. 'But of course this slight list of activity in the cause of science is a very poor showing for the time of our numerous experts; many have had to be idle in regard to their own specialities, though none are idle otherwise. All the scientific people keep night watch when they have no special work to do, and I have never seen a party of men so anxious to be doing work or so cheerful in doing it. When there is anything to be done, such as making or shortening sail, digging ice from floes for the water supply, or heaving up the sounding line, it goes without saying that all the afterguard turn out to do it. There is no hesitation and no distinction. It will be the same when it comes to landing stores or doing any other hard manual labour. 'The spirit of the enterprise is as bright as ever. Every one strives to help every one else, and not a word of complaint or anger has been heard on board. The inner life of our small community is very pleasant to think upon and very wonderful considering the extremely small space in which we are confined. 'The attitude of the men is equally worthy of admiration. In the forecastle as in the wardroom there is a rush to be first when work is to be done, and the same desire to sacrifice selfish consideration to the success of the expedition. It is very good to be able to write in such high praise of one's companions, and I feel that the possession of such support ought to ensure success. Fortune would be in a hard mood indeed if it allowed such a combination of knowledge, experience, ability, and enthusiasm to achieve nothing.' CHAPTER III Land _Saturday, December_ 31. _New Year's Eve_.--Obs. 72° 54' S., 174° 55' E. Made good S. 45 W. 55'; C. Crozier S. 17 W. 286'.--'The New Year's Eve found us in the Ross Sea, but not at the end of our misfortunes.' We had a horrible night. In the first watch we kept away 2 points and set fore and aft sail. It did not increase our comfort but gave us greater speed. The night dragged slowly through. I could not sleep thinking of the sore strait for our wretched ponies. In the morning watch the wind and sea increased and the outlook was very distressing, but at six ice was sighted ahead. Under ordinary conditions the safe course would have been to go about and stand to the east. But in our case we must risk trouble to get smoother water for the ponies. We passed a stream of ice over which the sea was breaking heavily and one realised the danger of being amongst loose floes in such a sea. But soon we came to a compacter body of floes, and running behind this we were agreeably surprised to find comparatively smooth water. We ran on for a bit, then stopped and lay to. Now we are lying in a sort of ice bay--there is a mile or so of pack to windward, and two horns which form the bay embracing us. The sea is damped down to a gentle swell, although the wind is as strong as ever. As a result we are lying very comfortably. The ice is drifting a little faster than the ship so that we have occasionally to steam slowly to leeward. So far so good. From a dangerous position we have achieved one which only directly involved a waste of coal. The question is, which will last longest, the gale or our temporary shelter? Rennick has just obtained a sounding of 187 fathoms; taken in conjunction with yesterday's 1111 fathoms and Ross's sounding of 180, this is interesting, showing the rapid gradient of the continental shelf. Nelson is going to put over the 8 feet Agassiz trawl. Unfortunately we could not clear the line for the trawl--it is stowed under the fodder. A light dredge was tried on a small manilla line--very little result. First the weights were insufficient to carry it to the bottom; a second time, with more weight and line, it seems to have touched for a very short time only; there was little of value in the catch, but the biologists are learning the difficulties of the situation. _Evening_.--Our protection grew less as the day advanced but saved us much from the heavy swell. At 8 P.M. we started to steam west to gain fresh protection, there being signs of pack to south and west; the swell is again diminishing. The wind which started south yesterday has gone to S.S.W. (true), the main swell in from S.E. by S. or S.S.E. There seems to be another from south but none from the direction from which the wind is now blowing. The wind has been getting squally: now the squalls are lessening in force, the sky is clearing and we seem to be approaching the end of the blow. I trust it may be so and that the New Year will bring us better fortune than the old. If so, it will be some pleasure to write 1910 for the last time.--Land oh! At 10 P.M. to-night as the clouds lifted to the west a distant but splendid view of the great mountains was obtained. All were in sunshine; Sabine and Whewell were most conspicuous--the latter from this view is a beautiful sharp peak, as remarkable a landmark as Sabine itself. Mount Sabine was 110 miles away when we saw it. I believe we could have seen it at a distance of 30 or 40 miles farther--such is the wonderful clearness of the atmosphere. Finis 1910 1911 _Sunday, January_ 1.--Obs. 73° 5' S. 174° 11' E. Made good S. 48 W. 13.4; C. Crozier S. 15 W. 277'.--At 4 A.M. we proceeded, steaming slowly to the S.E. The wind having gone to the S.W. and fallen to force 3 as we cleared the ice, we headed into a short steep swell, and for some hours the ship pitched most uncomfortably. At 8 A.M. the ship was clear of the ice and headed south with fore and aft sail set. She is lying easier on this course, but there is still a good deal of motion, and would be more if we attempted to increase speed. Oates reports that the ponies are taking it pretty well. Soon after 8 A.M. the sky cleared, and we have had brilliant sunshine throughout the day; the wind came from the N.W. this forenoon, but has dropped during the afternoon. We increased to 55 revolutions at 10 A.M. The swell is subsiding but not so quickly as I had expected. To-night it is absolutely calm, with glorious bright sunshine. Several people were sunning themselves at 11 o'clock! sitting on deck and reading. The land is clear to-night. Coulman Island 75 miles west. Sounding at 7 P.M., 187 fathoms. Sounding at 4 A.M., 310 ,, _Monday, January_ 2.--Obs. 75° 3', 173° 41'. Made good S. 3 W. 119'; C. Crozier S. 22 W. 159'.--It has been a glorious night followed by a glorious forenoon; the sun has been shining almost continuously. Several of us drew a bucket of sea water and had a bath with salt water soap on the deck. The water was cold, of course, but it was quite pleasant to dry oneself in the sun. The deck bathing habit has fallen off since we crossed the Antarctic circle, but Bowers has kept going in all weathers. There is still a good deal of swell--difficult to understand after a day's calm--and less than 200 miles of water to wind-ward. Wilson saw and sketched the new white stomached whale seen by us in the pack. At 8.30 we sighted Mount Erebus, distant about 115 miles; the sky is covered with light cumulus and an easterly wind has sprung up, force 2 to 3. With all sail set we are making very good progress. _Tuesday, January_ 3, 10 A.M.--The conditions are very much the same as last night. We are only 24 miles from C. Crozier and the land is showing up well, though Erebus is veiled in stratus cloud. It looks finer to the south and we may run into sunshine soon, but the wind is alarming and there is a slight swell which has little effect on the ship, but makes all the difference to our landing. For the moment it doesn't look hopeful. We have been continuing our line of soundings. From the bank we crossed in latitude 71° the water has gradually got deeper, and we are now getting 310 to 350 fathoms against 180 on the bank. The _Discovery_ soundings give depths up to 450 fathoms East of Ross Island. 6 P.M.--No good!! Alas! Cape Crozier with all its attractions is denied us. We came up to the Barrier five miles east of the Cape soon after 1 P.M. The swell from the E.N.E. continued to the end. The Barrier was not more than 60 feet in height. From the crow's nest one could see well over it, and noted that there was a gentle slope for at least a mile towards the edge. The land of Black (or White?) Island could be seen distinctly behind, topping the huge lines of pressure ridges. We plotted the Barrier edge from the point at which we met it to the Crozier cliffs; to the eye it seems scarcely to have changed since _Discovery_ days, and Wilson thinks it meets the cliff in the same place. The Barrier takes a sharp turn back at 2 or 3 miles from the cliffs, runs back for half a mile, then west again with a fairly regular surface until within a few hundred yards of the cliffs; the interval is occupied with a single high pressure ridge--the evidences of pressure at the edge being less marked than I had expected. Ponting was very busy with cinematograph and camera. In the angle at the corner near the cliffs Rennick got a sounding of 140 fathoms and Nelson some temperatures and samples. When lowering the water bottle on one occasion the line suddenly became slack at 100 metres, then after a moment's pause began to run out again. We are curious to know the cause, and imagine the bottle struck a seal or whale. Meanwhile, one of the whale boats was lowered and Wilson, Griffith Taylor, Priestley, Evans, and I were pulled towards the shore. The after-guard are so keen that the proper boat's crew was displaced and the oars manned by Oates, Atkinson, and Cherry-Garrard, the latter catching several crabs. The swell made it impossible for us to land. I had hoped to see whether there was room to pass between the pressure ridge and the cliff, a route by which Royds once descended to the Emperor rookery; as we approached the corner we saw that a large piece of sea floe ice had been jammed between the Barrier and the cliff and had buckled up till its under surface stood 3 or 4 ft. above the water. On top of this old floe we saw an old Emperor moulting and a young one shedding its down. (The down had come off the head and flippers and commenced to come off the breast in a vertical line similar to the ordinary moult.) This is an age and stage of development of the Emperor chick of which we have no knowledge, and it would have been a triumph to have secured the chick, but, alas! there was no way to get at it. Another most curious sight was the feet and tails of two chicks and the flipper of an adult bird projecting from the ice on the under side of the jammed floe; they had evidently been frozen in above and were being washed out under the floe. Finding it impossible to land owing to the swell, we pulled along the cliffs for a short way. These Crozier cliffs are remarkably interesting. The rock, mainly volcanic tuff, includes thick strata of columnar basalt, and one could see beautiful designs of jammed and twisted columns as well as caves with whole and half pillars very much like a miniature Giant's Causeway. Bands of bright yellow occurred in the rich brown of the cliffs, caused, the geologists think, by the action of salts on the brown rock. In places the cliffs overhung. In places, the sea had eaten long low caves deep under them, and continued to break into them over a shelving beach. Icicles hung pendant everywhere, and from one fringe a continuous trickle of thaw water had swollen to a miniature waterfall. It was like a big hose playing over the cliff edge. We noticed a very clear echo as we passed close to a perpendicular rock face. Later we returned to the ship, which had been trying to turn in the bay--she is not very satisfactory in this respect owing to the difficulty of starting the engines either ahead or astern--several minutes often elapse after the telegraph has been put over before there is any movement of the engines. It makes the position rather alarming when one is feeling one's way into some doubtful corner. When the whaler was hoisted we proceeded round to the penguin rookery; hopes of finding a quiet landing had now almost disappeared.8 There were several small grounded bergs close to the rookery; going close to these we got repeated soundings varying from 34 down to 12 fathoms. There is evidently a fairly extensive bank at the foot of the rookery. There is probably good anchorage behind some of the bergs, but none of these afford shelter for landing on the beach, on which the sea is now breaking incessantly; it would have taken weeks to land the ordinary stores and heaven only knows how we could have got the ponies and motor sledges ashore. Reluctantly and sadly we have had to abandon our cherished plan--it is a thousand pities. Every detail of the shore promised well for a wintering party. Comfortable quarters for the hut, ice for water, snow for the animals, good slopes for ski-ing, vast tracks of rock for walks. Proximity to the Barrier and to the rookeries of two types of penguins--easy ascent of Mount Terror--good ground for biological work--good peaks for observation of all sorts--fairly easy approach to the Southern Road, with no chance of being cut off--and so forth. It is a thousand pities to have to abandon such a spot. On passing the rookery it seemed to me we had been wrong in assuming that all the guano is blown away. I think there must be a pretty good deposit in places. The penguins could be seen very clearly from the ship. On the large rookery they occupy an immense acreage, and one imagines have extended as far as shelter can be found. But on the small rookery they are patchy and there seems ample room for the further extension of the colonies. Such unused spaces would have been ideal for a wintering station if only some easy way could have been found to land stores. I noted many groups of penguins on the snow slopes over-looking the sea far from the rookeries, and one finds it difficult to understand why they meander away to such places. A number of killer whales rose close to the ship when we were opposite the rookery. What an excellent time these animals must have with thousands of penguins passing to and fro! We saw our old _Discovery_ post-office pole sticking up as erect as when planted, and we have been comparing all we have seen with old photographs. No change at all seems to have taken place anywhere, and this is very surprising in the case of the Barrier edge. From the penguin rookeries to the west it is a relentless coast with high ice cliffs and occasional bare patches of rock showing through. Even if landing were possible, the grimmest crevassed snow slopes lie behind to cut one off from the Barrier surface; there is no hope of shelter till we reach Cape Royds. Meanwhile all hands are employed making a running survey. I give an idea of the programme opposite. Terror cleared itself of cloud some hours ago, and we have had some change in views of it. It is quite certain that the ascent would be easy. The Bay on the north side of Erebus is much deeper than shown on the chart. The sun has been obstinate all day, peeping out occasionally and then shyly retiring; it makes a great difference to comfort. _Programme_ Bruce continually checking speed with hand log. Bowers taking altitudes of objects as they come abeam. Nelson noting results. Pennell taking verge plate bearings on bow and quarter. Cherry-Garrard noting results. Evans taking verge plate bearings abeam. Atkinson noting results. Campbell taking distances abeam with range finder. Wright noting results. Rennick sounding with Thomson machine. Drake noting results. Beaufort Island looks very black from the south. 10.30.--We find pack off Cape Bird; we have passed through some streams and there is some open water ahead, but I'm afraid we may find the ice pretty thick in the Strait at this date. _Wednesday, January_ 4, 1 A.M.--We are around Cape Bird and in sight of our destination, but it is doubtful if the open water extends so far. We have advanced by following an open water lead close along the land. Cape Bird is a very rounded promontory with many headlands; it is not easy to say which of these is the Cape. The same grim unattainable ice-clad coast line extends continuously from the Cape Crozier Rookery to Cape Bird. West of C. Bird there is a very extensive expanse of land, and on it one larger and several small penguin rookeries. On the uniform dark reddish brown of the land can be seen numerous grey spots; these are erratic boulders of granite. Through glasses one could be seen perched on a peak at least 1300 feet above the sea. Another group of killer whales were idly diving off the penguin rookery; an old one with a very high straight dorsal fin and several youngsters. We watched a small party of penguins leaping through the water towards their enemies. It seemed impossible that they should have failed to see the sinister fins during their frequent jumps into the air, yet they seemed to take no notice whatever--stranger still, the penguins must have actually crossed the whales, yet there was no commotion whatever, and presently the small birds could be seen leaping away on the other side. One can only suppose the whales are satiated. As we rounded Cape Bird we came in sight of the old well-remembered land marks--Mount Discovery and the Western Mountains--seen dimly through a hazy atmosphere. It was good to see them again, and perhaps after all we are better this side of the Island. It gives one a homely feeling to see such a familiar scene. 4 A.M.--The steep exposed hill sides on the west side of Cape Bird look like high cliffs as one gets south of them and form a most conspicuous land mark. We pushed past these cliffs into streams of heavy bay ice, making fair progress; as we proceeded the lanes became scarcer, the floes heavier, but the latter remain loose. 'Many of us spent the night on deck as we pushed through the pack.' We have passed some very large floes evidently frozen in the strait. This is curious, as all previous evidence has pointed to the clearance of ice sheets north of Cape Royds early in the spring. I have observed several floes with an entirely new type of surface. They are covered with scales, each scale consisting of a number of little flaky ice sheets superimposed, and all 'dipping' at the same angle. It suggests to me a surface with sastrugi and layers of fine dust on which the snow has taken hold. We are within 5 miles of Cape Royds and ought to get there. _Wednesday, January_ 4, P.M..--This work is full of surprises. At 6 A.M. we came through the last of the Strait pack some three miles north of Cape Royds. We steered for the Cape, fully expecting to find the edge of the pack ice ranging westward from it. To our astonishment we ran on past the Cape with clear water or thin sludge ice on all sides of us. Past Cape Royds, past Cape Barne, past the glacier on its south side, and finally round and past Inaccessible Island, a good 2 miles south of Cape Royds. 'The Cape itself was cut off from the south.' We could have gone farther, but the last sludge ice seemed to be increasing in thickness, and there was no wintering spot to aim for but Cape Armitage. [5] 'I have never seen the ice of the Sound in such a condition or the land so free from snow. Taking these facts in conjunction with the exceptional warmth of the air, I came to the conclusion that it had been an exceptionally warm summer. At this point it was evident that we had a considerable choice of wintering spots. We could have gone to either of the small islands, to the mainland, the Glacier Tongue, or pretty well anywhere except Hut Point. My main wish was to choose a place that would not be easily cut off from the Barrier, and my eye fell on a cape which we used to call the Skuary a little behind us. It was separated from old _Discovery_ quarters by two deep bays on either side of the Glacier Tongue, and I thought that these bays would remain frozen until late in the season, and that when they froze over again the ice would soon become firm.' I called a council and put these propositions. To push on to the Glacier Tongue and winter there; to push west to the 'tombstone' ice and to make our way to an inviting spot to the northward of the cape we used to call 'the Skuary.' I favoured the latter course, and on discussion we found it obviously the best, so we turned back close around Inaccessible Island and steered for the fast ice off the Cape at full speed. After piercing a small fringe of thin ice at the edge of the fast floe the ship's stem struck heavily on hard bay ice about a mile and a half from the shore. Here was a road to the Cape and a solid wharf on which to land our stores. We made fast with ice anchors. Wilson, Evans, and I went to the Cape, which I had now rechristened Cape Evans in honour of our excellent second in command. A glance at the land showed, as we expected, ideal spots for our wintering station. The rock of the Cape consists mainly of volcanic agglomerate with olivine kenyte; it is much weathered and the destruction had formed quantities of coarse sand. We chose a spot for the hut on a beach facing N.W. and well protected by numerous small hills behind. This spot seems to have all the local advantages (which I must detail later) for a winter station, and we realised that at length our luck had turned. The most favourable circumstance of all is the stronge chance of communication with Cape Armitage being established at an early date. It was in connection with this fact that I had had such a strong desire to go to Mount Terror, and such misgivings if we had been forced to go to Cape Royds. It is quite evident that the ice south of Cape Royds does not become secure till late in the season, probably in May. Before that, all evidence seems to show that the part between Cape Royds and Cape Barne is continually going out. How, I ask myself, was our depot party to get back to home quarters? I feel confident we can get to the new spot we have chosen at a comparatively early date; it will probably only be necessary to cross the sea ice in the deep bays north and south of the Glacier Tongue, and the ice rarely goes out of there after it has first formed. Even if it should, both stages can be seen before the party ventures upon them. After many frowns fortune has treated us to the kindest smile--for twenty-four hours we have had a calm with brilliant sunshine. Such weather in such a place comes nearer to satisfying my ideal of perfection than any condition that I have ever experienced. The warm glow of the sun with the keen invigorating cold of the air forms a combination which is inexpressibly health-giving and satisfying to me, whilst the golden light on this wonderful scene of mountain and ice satisfies every claim of scenic magnificence. No words of mine can convey the impressiveness of the wonderful panorama displayed to our eyes. Ponting is enraptured and uses expressions which in anyone else and alluding to any other subject might be deemed extravagant. The Landing: A Week's Work Whilst we were on shore Campbell was taking the first steps towards landing our stores. Two of the motor sledges were soon hoisted out, and Day with others was quickly unpacking them. Our luck stood again. In spite of all the bad weather and the tons of sea water which had washed over them the sledges and all the accessories appeared as fresh and clean as if they had been packed on the previous day--much credit is due to the officers who protected them with tarpaulins and lashings. After the sledges came the turn of the ponies--there was a good deal of difficulty in getting some of them into the horse box, but Oates rose to the occasion and got most in by persuasion, whilst others were simply lifted in by the sailors. Though all are thin and some few looked pulled down I was agreeably surprised at the evident vitality which they still possessed--some were even skittish. I cannot express the relief when the whole seventeen were safely picketed on the floe. From the moment of getting on the snow they seemed to take a new lease of life, and I haven't a doubt they will pick up very rapidly. It really is a triumph to have got them through safely and as well as they are. Poor brutes, how they must have enjoyed their first roll, and how glad they must be to have freedom to scratch themselves! It is evident all have suffered from skin irritation--one can imagine the horror of suffering from such an ill for weeks without being able to get at the part that itched. I note that now they are picketed together they administer kindly offices to each other; one sees them gnawing away at each other's flanks in most amicable and obliging manner. Meares and the dogs were out early, and have been running to and fro most of the day with light loads. The great trouble with them has been due to the fatuous conduct of the penguins. Groups of these have been constantly leaping on to our floe. From the moment of landing on their feet their whole attitude expressed devouring curiosity and a pig-headed disregard for their own safety. They waddle forward, poking their heads to and fro in their usually absurd way, in spite of a string of howling dogs straining to get at them. 'Hulloa,' they seem to say, 'here's a game--what do all you ridiculous things want?' And they come a few steps nearer. The dogs make a rush as far as their leashes or harness allow. The penguins are not daunted in the least, but their ruffs go up and they squawk with semblance of anger, for all the world as though they were rebuking a rude stranger--their attitude might be imagined to convey 'Oh, that's the sort of animal you are; well, you've come to the wrong place--we aren't going to be bluffed and bounced by you,' and then the final fatal steps forward are taken and they come within reach. There is a spring, a squawk, a horrid red patch on the snow, and the incident is closed. Nothing can stop these silly birds. Members of our party rush to head them off, only to be met with evasions--the penguins squawk and duck as much as to say, 'What's it got to do with you, you silly ass? Let us alone.' With the first spilling of blood the skua gulls assemble, and soon, for them at least, there is a gruesome satisfaction to be reaped. Oddly enough, they don't seem to excite the dogs; they simply alight within a few feet and wait for their turn in the drama, clamouring and quarrelling amongst themselves when the spoils accrue. Such incidents were happening constantly to-day, and seriously demoralising the dog teams. Meares was exasperated again and again. The motor sledges were running by the afternoon, Day managing one and Nelson the other. In spite of a few minor breakdowns they hauled good loads to the shore. It is early to call them a success, but they are certainly extremely promising. The next thing to be got out of the ship was the hut, and the large quantity of timber comprising it was got out this afternoon. And so to-night, with the sun still shining, we look on a very different prospect from that of 48 or even 24 hours ago. I have just come back from the shore. The site for the hut is levelled and the erecting party is living on shore in our large green tent with a supply of food for eight days. Nearly all the timber, &c., of the hut is on shore, the remainder half-way there. The ponies are picketed in a line on a convenient snow slope so that they cannot eat sand. Oates and Anton are sleeping ashore to watch over them. The dogs are tied to a long length of chain stretched on the sand; they are coiled up after a long day, looking fitter already. Meares and Demetri are sleeping in the green tent to look after them. A supply of food for ponies and dogs as well as for the men has been landed. Two motor sledges in good working order are safely on the beach. A fine record for our first day's work. All hands start again at 6 A.M. to-morrow. It's splendid to see at last the effect of all the months of preparation and organisation. There is much snoring about me as I write (2 P.M.) from men tired after a hard day's work and preparing for such another to-morrow. I also must sleep, for I have had none for 48 hours--but it should be to dream happily. _Thursday, January_ 5.--All hands were up at 5 this morning and at work at 6. Words cannot express the splendid way in which everyone works and gradually the work gets organised. I was a little late on the scene this morning, and thereby witnessed a most extraordinary scene. Some 6 or 7 killer whales, old and young, were skirting the fast floe edge ahead of the ship; they seemed excited and dived rapidly, almost touching the floe. As we watched, they suddenly appeared astern, raising their snouts out of water. I had heard weird stories of these beasts, but had never associated serious danger with them. Close to the water's edge lay the wire stern rope of the ship, and our two Esquimaux dogs were tethered to this. I did not think of connecting the movements of the whales with this fact, and seeing them so close I shouted to Ponting, who was standing abreast of the ship. He seized his camera and ran towards the floe edge to get a close picture of the beasts, which had momentarily disappeared. The next moment the whole floe under him and the dogs heaved up and split into fragments. One could hear the 'booming' noise as the whales rose under the ice and struck it with their backs. Whale after whale rose under the ice, setting it rocking fiercely; luckily Ponting kept his feet and was able to fly to security. By an extraordinary chance also, the splits had been made around and between the dogs, so that neither of them fell into the water. Then it was clear that the whales shared our astonishment, for one after another their huge hideous heads shot vertically into the air through the cracks which they had made. As they reared them to a height of 6 or 8 feet it was possible to see their tawny head markings, their small glistening eyes, and their terrible array of teeth--by far the largest and most terrifying in the world. There cannot be a doubt that they looked up to see what had happened to Ponting and the dogs. The latter were horribly frightened and strained to their chains, whining; the head of one killer must certainly have been within 5 feet of one of the dogs. After this, whether they thought the game insignificant, or whether they missed Ponting is uncertain, but the terrifying creatures passed on to other hunting grounds, and we were able to rescue the dogs, and what was even more important, our petrol--5 or 6 tons of which was waiting on a piece of ice which was not split away from the main mass. Of course, we have known well that killer whales continually skirt the edge of the floes and that they would undoubtedly snap up anyone who was unfortunate enough to fall into the water; but the facts that they could display such deliberate cunning, that they were able to break ice of such thickness (at least 2 1/2 feet), and that they could act in unison, were a revelation to us. It is clear that they are endowed with singular intelligence, and in future we shall treat that intelligence with every respect. Notes on the Killer or Grampus (_Orca gladiator_) One killed at Greenwich, 31 feet. Teeth about 2 1/2 inches above jaw; about 3 1/2 inches total length. _'British Quadrupeds'--Bell:_ 'The fierceness and voracity of the killer, in which it surpasses all other known cetaceans.' In stomach of a 21 ft. specimen were found remains of 13 porpoises and 14 seals. A herd of white whales has been seen driven into a bay and literally torn to pieces. Teeth, large, conical, and slightly recurred, 11 or 12 on each side of either jaw. _'Mammals'--Flower and Lydekker:_ 'Distinguished from all their allies by great strength and ferocity.' 'Combine in packs to hunt down and destroy . . . full sized whales.' '_Marine Mammalia'--Scammon_: Adult males average 20 feet; females 15 feet. Strong sharp conical teeth which interlock. Combines great strength with agility. Spout 'low and bushy.' Habits exhibit a boldness and cunning peculiar to their carnivorous propensities. Three or four do not hesitate to grapple the largest baleen whales, who become paralysed with terror--frequently evince no efforts to escape. Instances have occurred where a band of orcas laid siege to whales in tow, and although frequently lanced and cut with boat spades, made away with their prey. Inclined to believe it rarely attacks larger cetaceans. Possessed of great swiftness. Sometimes seen peering above the surface with a seal in their bristling jaws, shaking and crushing their victims and swallowing them apparently with gusto. Tear white whales into pieces. Ponting has been ravished yesterday by a view of the ship seen from a big cave in an iceberg, and wished to get pictures of it. He succeeded in getting some splendid plates. This fore-noon I went to the iceberg with him and agreed that I had rarely seen anything more beautiful than this cave. It was really a sort of crevasse in a tilted berg parallel to the original surface; the strata on either side had bent outwards; through the back the sky could be seen through a screen of beautiful icicles--it looked a royal purple, whether by contrast with the blue of the cavern or whether from optical illusion I do not know. Through the larger entrance could be seen, also partly through icicles, the ship, the Western Mountains, and a lilac sky; a wonderfully beautiful picture. Ponting is simply entranced with this view of Mt. Erebus, and with the two bergs in the foreground and some volunteers he works up foregrounds to complete his picture of it. I go to bed very satisfied with the day's work, but hoping for better results with the improved organisation and familiarity with the work. To-day we landed the remainder of the woodwork of the hut, all the petrol, paraffin and oil of all descriptions, and a quantity of oats for the ponies besides odds and ends. The ponies are to begin work to-morrow; they did nothing to-day, but the motor sledges did well--they are steadying down to their work and made nothing but non-stop runs to-day. One begins to believe they will be reliable, but I am still fearing that they will not take such heavy loads as we hoped. Day is very pleased and thinks he's going to do wonders, and Nelson shares his optimism. The dogs find the day work terribly heavy and Meares is going to put them on to night work. The framework of the hut is nearly up; the hands worked till 1 A.M. this morning and were at it again at 7 A.M.--an instance of the spirit which actuates everyone. The men teams formed of the after-guard brought in good loads, but they are not yet in condition. The hut is about 11 or 12 feet above the water as far as I can judge. I don't think spray can get so high in such a sheltered spot even if we get a northerly gale when the sea is open. In all other respects the situation is admirable. This work makes one very tired for Diary-writing. _Friday, January_ 6.--We got to work at 6 again this morning. Wilson, Atkinson, Cherry-Garrard, and I took each a pony, returned to the ship, and brought a load ashore; we then changed ponies and repeated the process. We each took three ponies in the morning, and I took one in the afternoon. Bruce, after relief by Rennick, took one in the morning and one in the afternoon--of the remaining five Oates deemed two unfit for work and three requiring some breaking in before getting to serious business. I was astonished at the strength of the beasts I handled; three out of the four pulled hard the whole time and gave me much exercise. I brought back loads of 700 lbs. and on one occasion over 1000 lbs. With ponies, motor sledges, dogs, and men parties we have done an excellent day of transporting--another such day should practically finish all the stores and leave only fuel and fodder (60 tons) to complete our landing. So far it has been remarkably expeditious. The motor sledges are working well, but not very well; the small difficulties will be got over, but I rather fear they will never draw the loads we expect of them. Still they promise to be a help, and they are lively and attractive features of our present scene as they drone along over the floe. At a little distance, without silencers, they sound exactly like threshing machines. The dogs are getting better, but they only take very light loads still and get back from each journey pretty dead beat. In their present state they don't inspire confidence, but the hot weather is much against them. The men parties have done splendidly. Campbell and his Eastern Party made eight journeys in the day, a distance over 24 miles. Everyone declares that the ski sticks greatly help pulling; it is surprising that we never thought of using them before. Atkinson is very bad with snow blindness to-night; also Bruce. Others have a touch of the same disease. It's well for people to get experience of the necessity of safeguarding their eyes. The only thing which troubles me at present is the wear on our sledges owing to the hard ice. No great harm has been done so far, thanks to the excellent wood of which the runners are made, but we can't afford to have them worn. Wilson carried out a suggestion of his own to-night by covering the runners of a 9-ft. sledge with strips from the skin of a seal which he killed and flensed for the purpose. I shouldn't wonder if this acted well, and if it does we will cover more sledges in a similar manner. We shall also try Day's new under-runners to-morrow. After 48 hours of brilliant sunshine we have a haze over the sky. List of sledges: 12 ft. 11 in use 14 spare 10 ft. 10 not now used 9 ft. 10 in use To-day I walked over our peninsula to see what the southern side was like. Hundreds of skuas were nesting and attacked in the usual manner as I passed. They fly round shrieking wildly until they have gained some altitude. They then swoop down with great impetus directly at one's head, lifting again when within a foot of it. The bolder ones actually beat on one's head with their wings as they pass. At first it is alarming, but experience shows that they never strike except with their wings. A skua is nesting on a rock between the ponies and the dogs. People pass every few minutes within a pace or two, yet the old bird has not deserted its chick. In fact, it seems gradually to be getting confidence, for it no longer attempts to swoop at the intruder. To-day Ponting went within a few feet, and by dint of patience managed to get some wonderful cinematograph pictures of its movements in feeding and tending its chick, as well as some photographs of these events at critical times. The main channel for thaw water at Cape Evans is now quite a rushing stream. Evans, Pennell, and Rennick have got sight for meridian distance; we ought to get a good longitude fix. _Saturday, January_ 7.--The sun has returned. To-day it seemed better than ever and the glare was blinding. There are quite a number of cases of snow blindness. We have done splendidly. To-night all the provisions except some in bottles are ashore and nearly all the working paraphernalia of the scientific people--no light item. There remains some hut furniture, 2 1/2 tons of carbide, some bottled stuff, and some odds and ends which should occupy only part of to-morrow; then we come to the two last and heaviest items--coal and horse fodder. If we are not through in the week we shall be very near it. Meanwhile the ship is able to lay at the ice edge without steam; a splendid saving. There has been a steady stream of cases passing along the shore route all day and transport arrangements are hourly improving. Two parties of four and three officers made ten journeys each, covering over 25 miles and dragging loads one way which averaged 250 to 300 lbs. per man. The ponies are working well now, but beginning to give some excitement. On the whole they are fairly quiet beasts, but they get restive with their loads, mainly but indirectly owing to the smoothness of the ice. They know perfectly well that the swingle trees and traces are hanging about their hocks and hate it. (I imagine it gives them the nervous feeling that they are going to be carried off their feet.) This makes it hard to start them, and when going they seem to appreciate the fact that the sledges will overrun them should they hesitate or stop. The result is that they are constantly fretful and the more nervous ones tend to become refractory and unmanageable. Oates is splendid with them--I do not know what we should do without him. I did seven journeys with ponies and got off with a bump on the head and some scratches. One pony got away from Debenham close to the ship, and galloped the whole way in with its load behind; the load capsized just off the shore and the animal and sledge dashed into the station. Oates very wisely took this pony straight back for another load. Two or three ponies got away as they were being harnessed, and careered up the hill again. In fact there were quite a lot of minor incidents which seemed to endanger life and limb to the animals if not the men, but which all ended safely. One of Meares' dog teams ran away--one poor dog got turned over at the start and couldn't get up again (Muk/aka). He was dragged at a gallop for nearly half a mile; I gave him up as dead, but apparently he was very little hurt. The ponies are certainly going to keep things lively as time goes on and they get fresher. Even as it is, their condition can't be half as bad as we imagined; the runaway pony wasn't much done even after the extra trip. The station is beginning to assume the appearance of an orderly camp. We continue to find advantages in the situation; the long level beach has enabled Bowers to arrange his stores in the most systematic manner. Everything will be handy and there will never be a doubt as to the position of a case when it is wanted. The hut is advancing apace--already the matchboarding is being put on. The framework is being clothed. It should be extraordinarily warm and comfortable, for in addition to this double coating of insulation, dry seaweed in quilted sacking, I propose to stack the pony fodder all around it. I am wondering how we shall stable the ponies in the winter. The only drawback to the present position is that the ice is getting thin and sludgy in the cracks and on some of the floes. The ponies drop their feet through, but most of them have evidently been accustomed to something of the sort; they make no fuss about it. Everything points to the desirability of the haste which we are making--so we go on to-morrow, Sunday. A whole host of minor ills besides snow blindness have come upon us. Sore faces and lips, blistered feet, cuts and abrasions; there are few without some troublesome ailment, but, of course, such things are 'part of the business.' The soles of my feet are infernally sore. 'Of course the elements are going to be troublesome, but it is good to know them as the only adversary and to feel there is so small a chance of internal friction.' Ponting had an alarming adventure about this time. Bent on getting artistic photographs with striking objects, such as hummocked floes or reflecting water, in the foreground, he used to depart with his own small sledge laden with cameras and cinematograph to journey alone to the grounded icebergs. One morning as he tramped along harnessed to his sledge, his snow glasses clouded with the mist of perspiration, he suddenly felt the ice giving under his feet. He describes the sensation as the worst he ever experienced, and one can well believe it; there was no one near to have lent assistance had he gone through. Instinctively he plunged forward, the ice giving at every step and the sledge dragging through water. Providentially the weak area he had struck was very limited, and in a minute or two he pulled out on a firm surface. He remarked that he was perspiring very freely! Looking back it is easy to see that we were terribly incautious in our treatment of this decaying ice. CHAPTER IV Settling In _Sunday, January 8_.--A day of disaster. I stupidly gave permission for the third motor to be got out this morning. This was done first thing and the motor placed on firm ice. Later Campbell told me one of the men had dropped a leg through crossing a sludgy patch some 200 yards from the ship. I didn't consider it very serious, as I imagined the man had only gone through the surface crust. About 7 A.M. I started for the shore with a single man load, leaving Campbell looking about for the best crossing for the motor. I sent Meares and the dogs over with a can of petrol on arrival. After some twenty minutes he returned to tell me the motor had gone through. Soon after Campbell and Day arrived to confirm the dismal tidings. It appears that getting frightened of the state of affairs Campbell got out a line and attached it to the motor--then manning the line well he attempted to rush the machine across the weak place. A man on the rope, Wilkinson, suddenly went through to the shoulders, but was immediately hauled out. During the operation the ice under the motor was seen to give, and suddenly it and the motor disappeared. The men kept hold of the rope, but it cut through the ice towards them with an ever increasing strain, obliging one after another to let go. Half a minute later nothing remained but a big hole. Perhaps it was lucky there was no accident to the men, but it's a sad incident for us in any case. It's a big blow to know that one of the two best motors, on which so much time and trouble have been spent, now lies at the bottom of the sea. The actual spot where the motor disappeared was crossed by its fellow motor with a very heavy load as well as by myself with heavy ponies only yesterday. Meares took Campbell back and returned with the report that the ice in the vicinity of the accident was hourly getting more dangerous. It was clear that we were practically cut off, certainly as regards heavy transport. Bowers went back again with Meares and managed to ferry over some wind clothes and odds and ends. Since that no communication has been held; the shore party have been working, but the people on board have had a half holiday. At 6 I went to the ice edge farther to the north. I found a place where the ship could come and be near the heavy ice over which sledging is still possible. I went near the ship and semaphored directions for her to get to this place as soon as she could, using steam if necessary. She is at present wedged in with the pack, and I think Pennell hopes to warp her along when the pack loosens. Meares and I marked the new trail with kerosene tins before returning. So here we are waiting again till fortune is kinder. Meanwhile the hut proceeds; altogether there are four layers of boarding to go on, two of which are nearing completion; it will be some time before the rest and the insulation is on. It's a big job getting settled in like this and a tantalising one when one is hoping to do some depot work before the season closes. We had a keen north wind to-night and a haze, but wind is dropping and sun shining brightly again. To-day seemed to be the hottest we have yet had; after walking across I was perspiring freely, and later as I sat in the sun after lunch one could almost imagine a warm summer day in England. This is my first night ashore. I'm writing in one of my new domed tents which makes a very comfortable apartment. _Monday, January_ 9.--I didn't poke my nose out of my tent till 6.45, and the first object I saw was the ship, which had not previously been in sight from our camp. She was now working her way along the ice edge with some difficulty. I heard afterwards that she had started at 6.15 and she reached the point I marked yesterday at 8.15. After breakfast I went on board and was delighted to find a good solid road right up to the ship. A flag was hoisted immediately for the ponies to come out, and we commenced a good day's work. All day the sledges have been coming to and fro, but most of the pulling work has been done by the ponies: the track is so good that these little animals haul anything from 12 to 18 cwt. Both dogs and men parties have been a useful addition to the haulage--no party or no single man comes over without a load averaging 300 lbs. per man. The dogs, working five to a team, haul 5 to 6 cwt. and of course they travel much faster than either ponies or men. In this way we transported a large quantity of miscellaneous stores; first about 3 tons of coal for present use, then 2 1/2 tons of carbide, all the many stores, chimney and ventilators for the hut, all the biologists' gear--a big pile, the remainder of the physicists' gear and medical stores, and many old cases; in fact a general clear up of everything except the two heavy items of forage and fuel. Later in the day we made a start on the first of these, and got 7 tons ashore before ceasing work. We close with a good day to our credit, marred by an unfortunate incident--one of the dogs, a good puller, was seen to cough after a journey; he was evidently trying to bring something up--two minutes later he was dead. Nobody seems to know the reason, but a post-mortem is being held by Atkinson and I suppose the cause of death will be found. We can't afford to lose animals of any sort. All the ponies except three have now brought loads from the ship. Oates thinks these three are too nervous to work over this slippery surface. However, he tried one of the hardest cases to-night, a very fine pony, and got him in successfully with a big load. To-morrow we ought to be running some twelve or thirteen of these animals. Griffith Taylor's bolted on three occasions, the first two times more or less due to his own fault, but the third owing to the stupidity of one of the sailors. Nevertheless a third occasion couldn't be overlooked by his messmates, who made much merriment of the event. It was still funnier when he brought his final load (an exceptionally heavy one) with a set face and ardent pace, vouchsafing not a word to anyone he passed. We have achieved fair organisation to-day. Evans is in charge of the road and periodically goes along searching for bad places and bridging cracks with boards and snow. Bowers checks every case as it comes on shore and dashes off to the ship to arrange the precedence of different classes of goods. He proves a perfect treasure; there is not a single case he does not know or a single article of any sort which he cannot put his hand on at once. Rennick and Bruce are working gallantly at the discharge of stores on board. Williamson and Leese load the sledges and are getting very clever and expeditious. Evans (seaman) is generally superintending the sledging and camp outfit. Forde, Keohane, and Abbott are regularly assisting the carpenter, whilst Day, Lashly, Lillie, and others give intermittent help. Wilson, Cherry-Garrard, Wright, Griffith Taylor, Debenham, Crean, and Browning have been driving ponies, a task at which I have assisted myself once or twice. There was a report that the ice was getting rotten, but I went over it myself and found it sound throughout. The accident with the motor sledge has made people nervous. The weather has been very warm and fine on the whole, with occasional gleams of sunshine, but to-night there is a rather chill wind from the south. The hut is progressing famously. In two more working days we ought to have everything necessary on shore. _Tuesday, January_ 10.--We have been six days in McMurdo Sound and to-night I can say we are landed. Were it impossible to land another pound we could go on without hitch. Nothing like it has been done before; nothing so expeditious and complete. This morning the main loads were fodder. Sledge after sledge brought the bales, and early in the afternoon the last (except for about a ton stowed with Eastern Party stores) was brought on shore. Some addition to our patent fuel was made in the morning, and later in the afternoon it came in a steady stream. We have more than 12 tons and could make this do if necessity arose. In addition to this oddments have been arriving all day--instruments, clothing, and personal effects. Our camp is becoming so perfect in its appointments that I am almost suspicious of some drawback hidden by the summer weather. The hut is progressing apace, and all agree that it should be the most perfectly comfortable habitation. 'It amply repays the time and attention given to the planning.' The sides have double boarding inside and outside the frames, with a layer of our excellent quilted seaweed insulation between each pair of boardings. The roof has a single matchboarding inside, but on the outside is a matchboarding, then a layer of 2-ply 'ruberoid,' then a layer of quilted seaweed, then a second matchboarding, and finally a cover of 3-ply 'ruberoid.' The first floor is laid, but over this there will be a quilting, a felt layer, a second boarding, and finally linoleum; as the plenteous volcanic sand can be piled well up on every side it is impossible to imagine that draughts can penetrate into the hut from beneath, and it is equally impossible to imagine great loss of heat by contact or radiation in that direction. To add to the wall insulation the south and east sides of the hut are piled high with compressed forage bales, whilst the north side is being prepared as a winter stable for the ponies. The stable will stand between the wall of the hut and a wall built of forage bales, six bales high and two bales thick. This will be roofed with rafters and tarpaulin, as we cannot find enough boarding. We shall have to take care that too much snow does not collect on the roof, otherwise the place should do excellently well. Some of the ponies are very troublesome, but all except two have been running to-day, and until this evening there were no excitements. After tea Oates suggested leading out the two intractable animals behind other sledges; at the same time he brought out the strong, nervous grey pony. I led one of the supposedly safe ponies, and all went well whilst we made our journey; three loads were safely brought in. But whilst one of the sledges was being unpacked the pony tied to it suddenly got scared. Away he dashed with sledge attached; he made straight for the other ponies, but finding the incubus still fast to him he went in wider circles, galloped over hills and boulders, narrowly missing Ponting and his camera, and finally dashed down hill to camp again pretty exhausted--oddly enough neither sledge nor pony was much damaged. Then we departed again in the same order. Half-way over the floe my rear pony got his foreleg foul of his halter, then got frightened, tugged at his halter, and lifted the unladen sledge to which he was tied--then the halter broke and away he went. But by this time the damage was done. My pony snorted wildly and sprang forward as the sledge banged to the ground. I just managed to hold him till Oates came up, then we started again; but he was thoroughly frightened--all my blandishments failed when he reared and plunged a second time, and I was obliged to let go. He galloped back and the party dejectedly returned. At the camp Evans got hold of the pony, but in a moment it was off again, knocking Evans off his legs. Finally he was captured and led forth once more between Oates and Anton. He remained fairly well on the outward journey, but on the homeward grew restive again; Evans, who was now leading him, called for Anton, and both tried to hold him, but to no purpose--he dashed off, upset his load, and came back to camp with the sledge. All these troubles arose after he had made three journeys without a hitch and we had come to regard him as a nice, placid, gritty pony. Now I'm afraid it will take a deal of trouble to get him safe again, and we have three very troublesome beasts instead of two. I have written this in some detail to show the unexpected difficulties that arise with these animals, and the impossibility of knowing exactly where one stands. The majority of our animals seem pretty quiet now, but any one of them may break out in this way if things go awry. There is no doubt that the bumping of the sledges close at the heels of the animals is the root of the evil. The weather has the appearance of breaking. We had a strongish northerly breeze at midday with snow and hail storms, and now the wind has turned to the south and the sky is overcast with threatenings of a blizzard. The floe is cracking and pieces may go out--if so the ship will have to get up steam again. The hail at noon made the surface very bad for some hours; the men and dogs felt it most. The dogs are going well, but Meares says he thinks that several are suffering from snow blindness. I never knew a dog get it before, but Day says that Shackleton's dogs suffered from it. The post-mortem on last night's death revealed nothing to account for it. Atkinson didn't examine the brain, and wonders if the cause lay there. There is a certain satisfaction in believing that there is nothing infectious. _Wednesday, January_ ll.--A week here to-day--it seems quite a month, so much has been crammed into a short space of time. The threatened blizzard materialised at about four o'clock this morning. The wind increased to force six or seven at the ship, and continued to blow, with drift, throughout the forenoon. Campbell and his sledging party arrived at the Camp at 8.0 A.M. bringing a small load: there seemed little object, but I suppose they like the experience of a march in the blizzard. They started to go back, but the ship being blotted out, turned and gave us their company at breakfast. The day was altogether too bad for outside work, so we turned our attention to the hut interior, with the result that to-night all the matchboarding is completed. The floor linoleum is the only thing that remains to be put down; outside, the roof and ends have to be finished. Then there are several days of odd jobs for the carpenter, and all will be finished. It is a first-rate building in an extraordinarily sheltered spot; whilst the wind was raging at the ship this morning we enjoyed comparative peace. Campbell says there was an extraordinary change as he approached the beach. I sent two or three people to dig into the hard snow drift behind the camp; they got into solid ice immediately, became interested in the job, and have begun the making of a cave which is to be our larder. Already they have tunnelled 6 or 8 feet in and have begun side channels. In a few days they will have made quite a spacious apartment--an ideal place to keep our meat store. We had been speculating as to the origin of this solid drift and attached great antiquity to it, but the diggers came to a patch of earth with skua feathers, which rather knocks our theories on the head. The wind began to drop at midday, and after lunch I went to the ship. I was very glad to learn that she can hold steam at two hours' notice on an expenditure of 13 cwt. The ice anchors had held well during the blow. As far as I can see the open water extends to an east and west line which is a little short of the glacier tongue. To-night the wind has dropped altogether and we return to the glorious conditions of a week ago. I trust they may last for a few days at least. _Thursday, January_ 12.--Bright sun again all day, but in the afternoon a chill wind from the S.S.W. Again we are reminded of the shelter afforded by our position; to-night the anemometers on Observatory Hill show a 20-mile wind--down in our valley we only have mild puffs. Sledging began as usual this morning; seven ponies and the dog teams were hard at it all the forenoon. I ran six journeys with five dogs, driving them in the Siberian fashion for the first time. It was not difficult, but I kept forgetting the Russian words at critical moments: 'Ki'--'right'; 'Tchui'--'left'; 'Itah'--'right ahead'; [here is a blank in memory and in diary]--'get along'; 'Paw'--'stop.' Even my short experience makes me think that we may have to reorganise this driving to suit our particular requirements. I am inclined for smaller teams and the driver behind the sledge. However, it's early days to decide such matters, and we shall learn much on the depot journey. Early in the afternoon a message came from the ship to say that all stores had been landed. Nothing remains to be brought but mutton, books and pictures, and the pianola. So at last we really are a self-contained party ready for all emergencies. We are LANDED eight days after our arrival--a very good record. The hut could be inhabited at this moment, but probably we shall not begin to live in it for a week. Meanwhile the carpenter will go on steadily fitting up the dark room and various other compartments as well as Simpson's Corner. [6] The grotto party are making headway into the ice for our larder, but it is slow and very arduous work. However, once made it will be admirable in every way. To-morrow we begin sending ballast off to the ship; some 30 tons will be sledged off by the ponies. The hut and grotto parties will continue, and the arrangements for the depot journey will be commenced. I discussed these with Bowers this afternoon--he is a perfect treasure, enters into one's ideas at once, and evidently thoroughly understands the principles of the game. I have arranged to go to Hut Point with Meares and some dogs to-morrow to test the ice and see how the land lies. As things are at present we ought to have little difficulty in getting the depot party away any time before the end of the month, but the ponies will have to cross the Cape [7] without loads. There is a way down on the south side straight across, and another way round, keeping the land on the north side and getting on ice at the Cape itself. Probably the ship will take the greater part of the loads. _Saturday, January_ 14.--The completion of our station is approaching with steady progress. The wind was strong from the S.S.E. yesterday morning, sweeping over the camp; the temperature fell to 15°, the sky became overcast. To the south the land outlines were hazy with drift, so my dog tour was abandoned. In the afternoon, with some moderation of conditions, the ballast party went to work, and wrought so well that more than 10 tons were got off before night. The organisation of this work is extremely good. The loose rocks are pulled up, some 30 or 40 feet up the hillside, placed on our heavy rough sledges and rushed down to the floe on a snow track; here they are laden on pony sledges and transported to the ship. I slept on board the ship and found it colder than the camp--the cabins were below freezing all night and the only warmth existed in the cheery spirit of the company. The cold snap froze the water in the boiler and Williams had to light one of the fires this morning. I shaved and bathed last night (the first time for 10 days) and wrote letters from breakfast till tea time to-day. Meanwhile the ballast team has been going on merrily, and to-night Pennell must have some 26 tons on board. It was good to return to the camp and see the progress which had been made even during such a short absence. The grotto has been much enlarged and is, in fact, now big enough to hold all our mutton and a considerable quantity of seal and penguin. Close by Simpson and Wright have made surprising progress in excavating for the differential magnetic hut. They have already gone in 7 feet and, turning a corner, commenced the chamber, which is to be 13 feet × 5 feet. The hard ice of this slope is a godsend and both grottoes will be ideal for their purposes. The cooking range and stove have been placed in the hut and now chimneys are being constructed; the porch is almost finished as well as the interior; the various carpenters are busy with odd jobs and it will take them some time to fix up the many small fittings that different people require. I have been making arrangements for the depôt journey, telling off people for ponies and dogs, &c._9_ To-morrow is to be our first rest day, but next week everything will be tending towards sledging preparations. I have also been discussing and writing about the provisions of animals to be brought down in the _Terra Nova_ next year. The wind is very persistent from the S.S.E., rising and falling; to-night it has sprung up again, and is rattling the canvas of the tent. Some of the ponies are not turning out so well as I expected; they are slow walkers and must inevitably impede the faster ones. Two of the best had been told off for Campbell by Oates, but I must alter the arrangement. 'Then I am not quite sure they are going to stand the cold well, and on this first journey they may have to face pretty severe conditions. Then, of course, there is the danger of losing them on thin ice or by injury sustained in rough places. Although we have fifteen now (two having gone for the Eastern Party) it is not at all certain that we shall have such a number when the main journey is undertaken next season. One can only be careful and hope for the best.' _Sunday, January_ 15.--We had decided to observe this day as a 'day of rest,' and so it has been. At one time or another the majority have employed their spare hours in writing letters. We rose late, having breakfast at nine. The morning promised well and the day fulfilled the promise: we had bright sunshine and practically no wind. At 10 A.M. the men and officers streamed over from the ship, and we all assembled on the beach and I read Divine Service, our first Service at the camp and impressive in the open air. After Service I told Campbell that I should have to cancel his two ponies and give him two others. He took it like the gentleman he is, thoroughly appreciating the reason. He had asked me previously to be allowed to go to Cape Royds over the glacier and I had given permission. After our talk we went together to explore the route, which we expected to find much crevassed. I only intended to go a short way, but on reaching the snow above the uncovered hills of our Cape I found the surface so promising and so free from cracks that I went quite a long way. Eventually I turned, leaving Campbell, Gran, and Nelson roped together and on ski to make their way onward, but not before I felt certain that the route to Cape Royds would be quite easy. As we topped the last rise we saw Taylor and Wright some way ahead on the slope; they had come up by a different route. Evidently they are bound for the same goal. I returned to camp, and after lunch Meares and I took a sledge and nine dogs over the Cape to the sea ice on the south side and started for Hut Point. We took a little provision and a cooker and our sleeping-bags. Meares had found a way over the Cape which was on snow all the way except about 100 yards. The dogs pulled well, and we went towards the Glacier Tongue at a brisk pace; found much of the ice uncovered. Towards the Glacier Tongue there were some heaps of snow much wind blown. As we rose the glacier we saw the _Nimrod_ depot some way to the right and made for it. We found a good deal of compressed fodder and boxes of maize, but no grain crushed as expected. The open water was practically up to the Glacier Tongue. We descended by an easy slope 1/4 mile from the end of the Glacier Tongue, but found ourselves cut off by an open crack some 15 feet across and had to get on the glacier again and go some 1/2 mile farther in. We came to a second crack, but avoided it by skirting to the west. From this point we had an easy run without difficulty to Hut Point. There was a small pool of open water and a longish crack off Hut Point. I got my feet very wet crossing the latter. We passed hundreds of seals at the various cracks. On the arrival at the hut to my chagrin we found it filled with snow. Shackleton reported that the door had been forced by the wind, but that he had made an entrance by the window and found shelter inside--other members of his party used it for shelter. But they actually went away and left the window (which they had forced) open; as a result, nearly the whole of the interior of the hut is filled with hard icy snow, and it is now impossible to find shelter inside. Meares and I were able to clamber over the snow to some extent and to examine the neat pile of cases in the middle, but they will take much digging out. We got some asbestos sheeting from the magnetic hut and made the best shelter we could to boil our cocoa. There was something too depressing in finding the old hut in such a desolate condition. I had had so much interest in seeing all the old landmarks and the huts apparently intact. To camp outside and feel that all the old comfort and cheer had departed, was dreadfully heartrending. I went to bed thoroughly depressed. It stems a fundamental expression of civilised human sentiment that men who come to such places as this should leave what comfort they can to welcome those who follow. _Monday, January_ 16.--We slept badly till the morning and, therefore, late. After breakfast we went up the hills; there was a keen S.E. breeze, but the sun shone and my spirits revived. There was very much less snow everywhere than I had ever seen. The ski run was completely cut through in two places, the Gap and Observation Hill almost bare, a great bare slope on the side of Arrival Heights, and on top of Crater Heights an immense bare table-land. How delighted we should have been to see it like this in the old days! The pond was thawed and the #confervae green in fresh water. The hole which we had dug in the mound in the pond was still there, as Meares discovered by falling into it up to his waist and getting very wet. On the south side we could see the Pressure Ridges beyond Pram Point as of old--Horseshoe Bay calm and unpressed--the sea ice pressed on Pram Point and along the Gap ice foot, and a new ridge running around C. Armitage about 2 miles off. We saw Ferrar's old thermometer tubes standing out of the snow slope as though they'd been placed yesterday. Vince's cross might have been placed yesterday--the paint was so fresh and the inscription so legible. The flagstaff was down, the stays having carried away, but in five minutes it could be put up again. We loaded some asbestos sheeting from the old magnetic hut on our sledges for Simpson, and by standing 1/4 mile off Hut Point got a clear run to Glacier Tongue. I had hoped to get across the wide crack by going west, but found that it ran for a great distance and had to get on the glacier at the place at which we had left it. We got to camp about teatime. I found our larder in the grotto completed and stored with mutton and penguins--the temperature inside has never been above 27°, so that it ought to be a fine place for our winter store. Simpson has almost completed the differential magnetic cave next door. The hut stove was burning well and the interior of the building already warm and homelike--a day or two and we shall be occupying it. I took Ponting out to see some interesting thaw effects on the ice cliffs east of the Camp. I noted that the ice layers were pressing out over thin dirt bands as though the latter made the cleavage lines over which the strata slid. It has occurred to me that although the sea ice may freeze in our bays early in March it will be a difficult thing to get ponies across it owing to the cliff edges at the side. We must therefore be prepared to be cut off for a longer time than I anticipated. I heard that all the people who journeyed towards C. Royds yesterday reached their destination in safety. Campbell, Levick, and Priestley had just departed when I returned._10_ _Tuesday, January_ 17.--We took up our abode in the hut to-day and are simply overwhelmed with its comfort. After breakfast this morning I found Bowers making cubicles as I had arranged, but I soon saw these would not fit in, so instructed him to build a bulkhead of cases which shuts off the officers' space from the men's, I am quite sure to the satisfaction of both. The space between my bulkhead and the men's I allotted to five: Bowers, Oates, Atkinson, Meares, and Cherry-Garrard. These five are all special friends and have already made their dormitory very habitable. Simpson and Wright are near the instruments in their corner. Next come Day and Nelson in a space which includes the latter's 'Lab.' near the big window; next to this is a space for three--Debenham, Taylor, and Gran; they also have already made their space part dormitory and part workshop. It is fine to see the way everyone sets to work to put things straight; in a day or two the hut will become the most comfortable of houses, and in a week or so the whole station, instruments, routine, men and animals, &c., will be in working order. It is really wonderful to realise the amount of work which has been got through of late. It will be a _fortnight to-morrow_ since we arrived in McMurdo Sound, and here we are absolutely settled down and ready to start on our depôt journey directly the ponies have had a proper chance to recover from the effects of the voyage. I had no idea we should be so expeditious. It snowed hard all last night; there were about three or four inches of soft snow over the camp this morning and Simpson tells me some six inches out by the ship. The camp looks very white. During the day it has been blowing very hard from the south, with a great deal of drift. Here in this camp as usual we do not feel it much, but we see the anemometer racing on the hill and the snow clouds sweeping past the ship. The floe is breaking between the point and the ship, though curiously it remains fast on a direct route to the ship. Now the open water runs parallel to our ship road and only a few hundred yards south of it. Yesterday the whaler was rowed in close to the camp, and if the ship had steam up she could steam round to within a few hundred yards of us. The big wedge of ice to which the ship is holding on the outskirts of the Bay can have very little grip to keep it in and must inevitably go out very soon. I hope this may result in the ship finding a more sheltered and secure position close to us. A big iceberg sailed past the ship this afternoon. Atkinson declares it was the end of the Cape Barne Glacier. I hope they will know in the ship, as it would be interesting to witness the birth of a glacier in this region. It is clearing to-night, but still blowing hard. The ponies don't like the wind, but they are all standing the cold wonderfully and all their sores are healed up. _Wednesday, January_ 18.--The ship had a poor time last night; steam was ordered, but the floe began breaking up fast at 1 A.M., and the rest of the night was passed in struggling with ice anchors; steam was reported ready just as the ship broke adrift. In the morning she secured to the ice edge on the same line as before but a few hundred yards nearer. After getting things going at the hut, I walked over and suggested that Pennell should come round the corner close in shore. The ice anchors were tripped and we steamed slowly in, making fast to the floe within 200 yards of the ice foot and 400 yards of the hut. For the present the position is extraordinarily comfortable. With a southerly blow she would simply bind on to the ice, receiving great shelter from the end of the Cape. With a northerly blow she might turn rather close to the shore, where the soundings run to 3 fathoms, but behind such a stretch of ice she could scarcely get a sea or swell without warning. It looks a wonderfully comfortable little nook, but, of course, one can be certain of nothing in this place; one knows from experience how deceptive the appearance of security may be. Pennell is truly excellent in his present position--he's invariably cheerful, unceasingly watchful, and continuously ready for emergencies. I have come to possess implicit confidence in him. The temperature fell to 4° last night, with a keen S.S.E. breeze; it was very unpleasant outside after breakfast. Later in the forenoon the wind dropped and the sun shone forth. This afternoon it fell almost calm, but the sky clouded over again and now there is a gentle warm southerly breeze with light falling snow and an overcast sky. Rather significant of a blizzard if we had not had such a lot of wind lately. The position of the ship makes the casual transport that still proceeds very easy, but the ice is rather thin at the edge. In the hut all is marching towards the utmost comfort. Bowers has completed a storeroom on the south side, an excellent place to keep our travelling provisions. Every day he conceives or carries out some plan to benefit the camp. Simpson and Wright are worthy of all admiration: they have been unceasingly active in getting things to the fore and I think will be ready for routine work much earlier than was anticipated. But, indeed, it is hard to specialise praise where everyone is working so indefatigably for the cause. Each man in his way is a treasure. Clissold the cook has started splendidly, has served seal, penguin, and skua now, and I can honestly say that I have never met these articles of food in such a pleasing guise; 'this point is of the greatest practical importance, as it means the certainty of good health for any number of years.' Hooper was landed to-day, much to his joy. He got to work at once, and will be a splendid help, freeing the scientific people of all dirty work. Anton and Demetri are both most anxious to help on all occasions; they are excellent boys. _Thursday, January_ 19.--The hut is becoming the most comfortable dwelling-place imaginable. We have made unto ourselves a truly seductive home, within the walls of which peace, quiet, and comfort reign supreme. Such a noble dwelling transcends the word 'hut,' and we pause to give it a more fitting title only from lack of the appropriate suggestion. What shall we call it? 'The word "hut" is misleading. Our residence is really a house of considerable size, in every respect the finest that has ever been erected in the Polar regions; 50 ft. long by 25 wide and 9 ft. to the eaves. 'If you can picture our house nestling below this small hill on a long stretch of black sand, with many tons of provision cases ranged in neat blocks in front of it and the sea lapping the icefoot below, you will have some idea of our immediate vicinity. As for our wider surroundings it would be difficult to describe their beauty in sufficiently glowing terms. Cape Evans is one of the many spurs of Erebus and the one that stands closest under the mountain, so that always towering above us we have the grand snowy peak with its smoking summit. North and south of us are deep bays, beyond which great glaciers come rippling over the lower slopes to thrust high blue-walled snouts into the sea. The sea is blue before us, dotted with shining bergs or ice floes, whilst far over the Sound, yet so bold and magnificent as to appear near, stand the beautiful Western Mountains with their numerous lofty peaks, their deep glacial valley and clear cut scarps, a vision of mountain scenery that can have few rivals. 'Ponting is the most delighted of men; he declares this is the most beautiful spot he has ever seen and spends all day and most of the night in what he calls "gathering it in" with camera and cinematograph.' The wind has been boisterous all day, to advantage after the last snow fall, as it has been drifting the loose snow along and hardening the surfaces. The horses don't like it, naturally, but it wouldn't do to pamper them so soon before our journey. I think the hardening process must be good for animals though not for men; nature replies to it in the former by growing a thick coat with wonderful promptitude. It seems to me that the shaggy coats of our ponies are already improving. The dogs seem to feel the cold little so far, but they are not so exposed. A milder situation might be found for the ponies if only we could picket them off the snow. Bowers has completed his southern storeroom and brought the wing across the porch on the windward side, connecting the roofing with that of the porch. The improvement is enormous and will make the greatest difference to those who dwell near the door. The carpenter has been setting up standards and roof beams for the stables, which will be completed in a few days. Internal affairs have been straightening out as rapidly as before, and every hour seems to add some new touch for the better. This morning I overhauled all the fur sleeping-bags and found them in splendid order--on the whole the skins are excellent. Since that I have been trying to work out sledge details, but my head doesn't seem half as clear on the subject as it ought to be. I have fixed the 25th as the date for our departure. Evans is to get all the sledges and gear ready whilst Bowers superintends the filling of provision bags. Griffith Taylor and his companions have been seeking advice as to their Western trip. Wilson, dear chap, has been doing his best to coach them. Ponting has fitted up his own dark room--doing the carpentering work with extraordinary speed and to everyone's admiration. To-night he made a window in the dark room in an hour or so. Meares has become enamoured of the gramophone. We find we have a splendid selection of records. The pianola is being brought in sections, but I'm not at all sure it will be worth the trouble. Oates goes steadily on with the ponies--he is perfectly excellent and untiring in his devotion to the animals. Day and Nelson, having given much thought to the proper fitting up of their corner, have now begun work. There seems to be little doubt that these ingenious people will make the most of their allotted space. I have done quite a lot of thinking over the autumn journeys and a lot remains to be done, mainly on account of the prospect of being cut off from our winter quarters; for this reason we must have a great deal of food for animals and men. _Friday, January_ 20.--Our house has assumed great proportions. Bowers' annexe is finished, roof and all thoroughly snow tight; an excellent place for spare clothing, furs, and ready use stores, and its extension affording complete protection to the entrance porch of the hut. The stables are nearly finished--a thoroughly stout well-roofed lean-to on the north side. Nelson has a small extension on the east side and Simpson a prearranged projection on the S.E. corner, so that on all sides the main building has thrown out limbs. Simpson has almost completed his ice cavern, light-tight lining, niches, floor and all. Wright and Forde have almost completed the absolute hut, a patchwork building for which the framework only was brought--but it will be very well adapted for our needs. Gran has been putting 'record' on the ski runners. Record is a mixture of vegetable tar, paraffin, soft soap, and linseed oil, with some patent addition which prevents freezing--this according to Gran. P.O. Evans and Crean have been preparing sledges; Evans shows himself wonderfully capable, and I haven't a doubt as to the working of the sledges he has fitted up. We have been serving out some sledging gear and wintering boots. We are delighted with everything. First the felt boots and felt slippers made by Jaeger and then summer wind clothes and fur mits--nothing could be better than these articles. Finally to-night we have overhauled and served out two pairs of finnesko (fur boots) to each traveller. They are excellent in quality. At first I thought they seemed small, but a stiffness due to cold and dryness misled me--a little stretching and all was well. They are very good indeed. I have an idea to use putties to secure our wind trousers to the finnesko. But indeed the whole time we are thinking of devices to make our travelling work easier. 'We have now tried most of our stores, and so far we have not found a single article that is not perfectly excellent in quality and preservation. We are well repaid for all the trouble which was taken in selecting the food list and the firms from which the various articles could best be obtained, and we are showering blessings on Mr. Wyatt's head for so strictly safeguarding our interests in these particulars. 'Our clothing is as good as good. In fact first and last, running through the whole extent of our outfit, I can say with some pride that there is not a single arrangement which I would have had altered.' An Emperor penguin was found on the Cape well advanced in moult, a good specimen skin. Atkinson found cysts formed by a tapeworm in the intestines. It seems clear that this parasite is not transferred from another host, and that its history is unlike that of any other known tapeworm--in fact, Atkinson scores a discovery in parasitology of no little importance. The wind has turned to the north to-night and is blowing quite fresh. I don't much like the position of the ship as the ice is breaking away all the time. The sky is quite clear and I don't think the wind often lasts long under such conditions. The pianola has been erected by Rennick. He is a good fellow and one feels for him much at such a time--it must be rather dreadful for him to be returning when he remembers that he was once practically one of the shore party._11_ The pianola has been his special care, and it shows well that he should give so much pains in putting it right for us. Day has been explaining the manner in which he hopes to be able to cope with the motor sledge difficulty. He is hopeful of getting things right, but I fear it won't do to place more reliance on the machines. Everything looks hopeful for the depot journey if only we can get our stores and ponies past the Glacier Tongue. We had some seal rissoles to-day so extraordinarily well cooked that it was impossible to distinguish them from the best beef rissoles. I told two of the party they were beef, and they made no comment till I enlightened them after they had eaten two each. It is the first time I have tasted seal without being aware of its particular flavour. But even its own flavour is acceptable in our cook's hands--he really is excellent. _Saturday, January_ 21.--My anxiety for the ship was not unfounded. Fearing a little trouble I went out of the hut in the middle of the night and saw at once that she was having a bad time--the ice was breaking with a northerly swell and the wind increasing, with the ship on dead lee shore; luckily the ice anchors had been put well in on the floe and some still held. Pennell was getting up steam and his men struggling to replace the anchors. We got out the men and gave some help. At 6 steam was up, and I was right glad to see the ship back out to windward, leaving us to recover anchors and hawsers. She stood away to the west, and almost immediately after a large berg drove in and grounded in the place she had occupied. We spent the day measuring our provisions and fixing up clothing arrangements for our journey; a good deal of progress has been made. In the afternoon the ship returned to the northern ice edge; the wind was still strong (about N. 30 W.) and loose ice all along the edge--our people went out with the ice anchors and I saw the ship pass west again. Then as I went out on the floe came the report that she was ashore. I ran out to the Cape with Evans and saw that the report was only too true. She looked to be firmly fixed and in a very uncomfortable position. It looked as though she had been trying to get round the Cape, and therefore I argued she must have been going a good pace as the drift was making rapidly to the south. Later Pennell told me he had been trying to look behind the berg and had been going astern some time before he struck. My heart sank when I looked at her and I sent Evans off in the whaler to sound, recovered the ice anchors again, set the people to work, and walked disconsolately back to the Cape to watch. Visions of the ship failing to return to New Zealand and of sixty people waiting here arose in my mind with sickening pertinacity, and the only consolation I could draw from such imaginations was the determination that the southern work should go on as before--meanwhile the least ill possible seemed to be an extensive lightening of the ship with boats as the tide was evidently high when she struck--a terribly depressing prospect. Some three or four of us watched it gloomily from the shore whilst all was bustle on board, the men shifting cargo aft. Pennell tells me they shifted 10 tons in a very short time. The first ray of hope came when by careful watching one could see that the ship was turning very slowly, then one saw the men running from side to side and knew that an attempt was being made to roll her off. The rolling produced a more rapid turning movement at first and then she seemed to hang again. But only for a short time; the engines had been going astern all the time and presently a slight movement became apparent. But we only knew she was getting clear when we heard cheers on board and more cheers from the whaler. Then she gathered stern way and was clear. The relief was enormous. The wind dropped as she came off, and she is now securely moored off the northern ice edge, where I hope the greater number of her people are finding rest. For here and now I must record the splendid manner in which these men are working. I find it difficult to express my admiration for the manner in which the ship is handled and worked under these very trying circumstances. From Pennell down there is not an officer or man who has not done his job nobly during the past weeks, and it will be a glorious thing to remember the unselfish loyal help they are giving us. Pennell has been over to tell me all about it to-night; I think I like him more every day. Campbell and his party returned late this afternoon--I have not heard details. Meares and Oates went to the Glacier Tongue and satisfied themselves that the ice is good. It only has to remain another three days, and it would be poor luck if it failed in that time. _Sunday, January_ 22.--A quiet day with little to record. The ship lies peacefully in the bay; a brisk northerly breeze in the forenoon died to light airs in the evening--it is warm enough, the temperature in the hut was 63° this evening. We have had a long busy day at clothing--everyone sewing away diligently. The Eastern Party ponies were put on board the ship this morning. _Monday, January_ 23.--Placid conditions last for a very short time in these regions. I got up at 5 this morning to find the weather calm and beautiful, but to my astonishment an opening lane of water between the land and the ice in the bay. The latter was going out in a solid mass. The ship discovered it easily, got up her ice anchors, sent a boat ashore, and put out to sea to dredge. We went on with our preparations, but soon Meares brought word that the ice in the south bay was going in an equally rapid fashion. This proved an exaggeration, but an immense piece of floe had separated from the land. Meares and I walked till we came to the first ice. Luckily we found that it extends for some 2 miles along the rock of our Cape, and we discovered a possible way to lead ponies down to it. It was plain that only the ponies could go by it--no loads. Since that everything has been rushed--and a wonderful day's work has resulted; we have got all the forage and food sledges and equipment off to the ship--the dogs will follow in an hour, I hope, with pony harness, &c., that is everything to do with our depôt party, except the ponies. As at present arranged they are to cross the Cape and try to get over the Southern Road [8] to-morrow morning. One breathes a prayer that the Road holds for the few remaining hours. It goes in one place between a berg in open water and a large pool of the glacier face--it may be weak in that part, and at any moment the narrow isthmus may break away. We are doing it on a very narrow margin. If all is well I go to the ship to-morrow morning after the ponies have started, and then to Glacier Tongue. CHAPTER V Depôt Laying To One Ton Camp _Tuesday, January_ 24.--People were busy in the hut all last night--we got away at 9 A.M. A boat from the _Terra Nova_ fetched the Western Party and myself as the ponies were led out of the camp. Meares and Wilson went ahead of the ponies to test the track. On board the ship I was taken in to see Lillie's catch of sea animals. It was wonderful, quantities of sponges, isopods, pentapods, large shrimps, corals, &c., &c.--but the _pièce de résistance_ was the capture of several buckets full of cephalodiscus of which only seven pieces had been previously caught. Lillie is immensely pleased, feeling that it alone repays the whole enterprise. In the forenoon we skirted the Island, getting 30 and 40 fathoms of water north and west of Inaccessible Island. With a telescope we could see the string of ponies steadily progressing over the sea ice past the Razor Back Islands. As soon as we saw them well advanced we steamed on to the Glacier Tongue. The open water extended just round the corner and the ship made fast in the narrow angle made by the sea ice with the glacier, her port side flush with the surface of the latter. I walked over to meet the ponies whilst Campbell went to investigate a broad crack in the sea ice on the Southern Road. The ponies were got on to the Tongue without much difficulty, then across the glacier, and picketed on the sea ice close to the ship. Meanwhile Campbell informed me that the big crack was 30 feet across: it was evident we must get past it on the glacier, and I asked Campbell to peg out a road clear of cracks. Oates reported the ponies ready to start again after tea, and they were led along Campbell's road, their loads having already been taken on the floe--all went well until the animals got down on the floe level and Oates led across an old snowed-up crack. His and the next pony got across, but the third made a jump at the edge and sank to its stomach in the middle. It couldn't move, and with such struggles as it made it sank deeper till only its head and forelegs showed above the slush. With some trouble we got ropes on these, and hauling together pulled the poor creature out looking very weak and miserable and trembling much. We led the other ponies round farther to the west and eventually got all out on the floe, gave them a small feed, and started them off with their loads. The dogs meanwhile gave some excitement. Starting on hard ice with a light load nothing could hold them, and they dashed off over everything--it seemed wonderful that we all reached the floe in safety. Wilson and I drive one team, whilst Evans and Meares drive the other. I withhold my opinion of the dogs in much doubt as to whether they are going to be a real success--but the ponies are going to be real good. They work with such extraordinary steadiness, stepping out briskly and cheerfully, following in each other's tracks. The great drawback is the ease with which they sink in soft snow: they go through in lots of places where the men scarcely make an impression--they struggle pluckily when they sink, but it is trying to watch them. We came with the loads noted below and one bale of fodder (105 lbs.) added to each sledge. We are camped 6 miles from the glacier and 2 from Hut Point--a cold east wind; to-night the temperature 19°. _Autumn Party to start January 25, 1911_ 12 men, [9] 8 ponies, 26 dogs. First load estimated 5385 lbs., including 14 weeks' food and fuel for men--taken to Cache No. 1. Ship transports following to Glacier Tongue: lbs. 130 Bales compressed fodder 13,650 24 Cases dog biscuit 1,400 10 Sacks of oats 1,600 ? ------ 16,650 Teams return to ship to transport this load to Cache No. 1. Dog teams also take on 500 lbs. of biscuit from Hut Point. Pony Sledges lbs. On all sledges Sledge with straps and tank 52 Pony furniture 25 Driver's ski and sleeping-bag, &c. 40 Nos. 1 & 5 Cooker and primus instruments 40 Tank containing biscuit 172 Sack of oats 160 Tent and poles 28 Alpine rope 5 1 oil can and spirit can 15 --- 537 Nos. 2 & 6 Oil 100 Tank contents: food bags 285 Ready provision bag 63 2 picks 20 --- 468 Nos. 3 & 7 Oil 100 Tank contents: biscuit 196 Sack of oats 160 2 shovels 9 --- 465 Nos. 4 & 8 Box with tools, &c. 35 Cookers, &c. 105 Tank contents food bags 252 Sack of oats 160 3 long bamboos and spare gear 15 --- 567 Spare Gear per Man 2 pairs under socks 2 pairs outer socks 1 pair hair socks 1 pair night socks 1 pyjama jacket 1 pyjama trousers 1 woollen mits 2 finnesko Skein = 10 lbs. Books, diaries, tobacco, &c. 2 ,, -- 12 lbs. Dress Vest and drawers Woollen shirt Jersey Balaclava Wind Suit Two pairs socks Ski boots. Dogs No. 1. lbs. Sledge straps and tanks 54 Drivers' ski and bags 80 Cooker primus and instruments 50 Tank contents: biscuit 221 Alpine rope 5 Lamps and candles 4 2 shovels 9 Ready provision bag 63 Sledge meter 2 --- 488 No. 2. lbs. Sledge straps and tanks 54 Drivers' ski and bags 80 Tank contents: food bags 324 Tent and poles 33 --- 491 10-ft. sledge: men's harness, extra tent. _Thursday, January 26_.--Yesterday I went to the ship with a dog team. All went well till the dogs caught sight of a whale breeching in the 30 ft. lead and promptly made for it! It was all we could do to stop them before we reached the water. Spent the day writing letters and completing arrangements for the ship--a brisk northerly breeze sprang up in the night and the ship bumped against the glacier until the pack came in as protection from the swell. Ponies and dogs arrived about 1 P.M., and at 5 we all went out for the final start. A little earlier Pennell had the men aft and I thanked them for their splendid work. They have behaved like bricks and a finer lot of fellows never sailed in a ship. It was good to get their hearty send off. Before we could get away Ponting had his half-hour photographing us, the ponies and the dog teams--I hope he will have made a good thing of it. It was a little sad to say farewell to all these good fellows and Campbell and his men. I do most heartily trust that all will be successful in their ventures, for indeed their unselfishness and their generous high spirit deserves reward. God bless them. So here we are with all our loads. One wonders what the upshot will be. It will take three days to transport the loads to complete safety; the break up of the sea ice ought not to catch us before that. The wind is from the S.E. again to-night. _Friday, January_ 27.--Camp 2. Started at 9.30 and moved a load of fodder 3 3/4 miles south--returned to camp to lunch--then shifted camp and provisions. Our weights are now divided into three loads: two of food for ponies, one of men's provisions with some ponies' food. It is slow work, but we retreat slowly but surely from the chance of going out on the sea ice. We are camped about a mile south of C. Armitage. After camping I went to the east till abreast of Pram Point, finding the ice dangerously thin off C. Armitage. It is evident we must make a considerable détour to avoid danger. The rest of the party went to the _Discovery_ hut to see what could be done towards digging it out. The report is unfavourable, as I expected. The drift inside has become very solid--it would take weeks of work to clear it. A great deal of biscuit and some butter, cocoa, &c., was seen, so that we need not have any anxiety about provisions if delayed in returning to Cape Evans. The dogs are very tired to-night. I have definitely handed the control of the second team to Wilson. He was very eager to have it and will do well I'm sure--but certainly also the dogs will not pull heavy loads--500 pounds proved a back-breaking load for 11 dogs to-day--they brought it at a snail's pace. Meares has estimated to give them two-thirds of a pound of biscuit a day. I have felt sure he will find this too little. The ponies are doing excellently. Their loads run up to 800 and 900 lbs. and they make very light of them. Oates said he could have gone on for some time to-night. _Saturday, January_ 28.--Camp 2. The ponies went back for the last load at Camp 1, and I walked south to find a way round the great pressure ridge. The sea ice south is covered with confused irregular sastrugi well remembered from _Discovery_ days. The pressure ridge is new. The broken ice of the ridge ended east of the spot I approached and the pressure was seen only in a huge domed wave, the hollow of which on my left was surrounded with a countless number of seals--these lay about sleeping or apparently gambolling in the shallow water. I imagine the old ice in this hollow has gone well under and that the seals have a pool above it which may be warmer on such a bright day. It was evident that the ponies could be brought round by this route, and I returned to camp to hear that one of the ponies (Keohane's) had gone lame. The Soldier took a gloomy view of the situation, but he is not an optimist. It looks as though a tendon had been strained, but it is not at all certain. Bowers' pony is also weak in the forelegs, but we knew this before: it is only a question of how long he will last. The pity is that he is an excellently strong pony otherwise. Atkinson has a bad heel and laid up all day--his pony was tied behind another sledge, and went well, a very hopeful sign. In the afternoon I led the ponies out 2 3/4 miles south to the crossing of the pressure ridge, then east 1 1/4 till we struck the barrier edge and ascended it. Going about 1/2 mile in we dumped the loads--the ponies sank deep just before the loads were dropped, but it looked as though the softness was due to some rise in the surface. We saw a dark object a quarter of a mile north as we reached the Barrier. I walked over and found it to be the tops of two tents more than half buried--Shackleton's tents we suppose. A moulting Emperor penguin was sleeping between them. The canvas on one tent seemed intact, but half stripped from the other. The ponies pulled splendidly to-day, as also the dogs, but we have decided to load both lightly from now on, to march them easily, and to keep as much life as possible in them. There is much to be learnt as to their powers of performance. Keohane says 'Come on, lad, you'll be getting to the Pole' by way of cheering his animal--all the party is cheerful, there never were a better set of people. _Sunday, January_ 29.--Camp 2. This morning after breakfast I read prayers. Excellent day. The seven good ponies have made two journeys to the Barrier, covering 18 geographical miles, half with good loads--none of them were at all done. Oates' pony, a spirited, nervous creature, got away at start when his head was left for a moment and charged through the camp at a gallop; finally his sledge cannoned into another, the swingle tree broke, and he galloped away, kicking furiously at the dangling trace. Oates fetched him when he had quieted down, and we found that nothing had been hurt or broken but the swingle tree. Gran tried going on ski with his pony. All went well while he was alongside, but when he came up from the back the swish of the ski frightened the beast, who fled faster than his pursuer--that is, the pony and load were going better than the Norwegian on ski. Gran is doing very well. He has a lazy pony and a good deal of work to get him along, and does it very cheerfully. The dogs are doing excellently--getting into better condition every day. They ran the first load 1 mile 1200 yards past the stores on the Barrier, to the spot chosen for 'Safety Camp,' the big home depot. I don't think that any part of the Barrier is likely to go, but it's just as well to be prepared for everything, and our camp must deserve its distinctive title of 'Safety.' In the afternoon the dogs ran a second load to the same place--covering over 24 geographical miles in the day--an excellent day's work._12_ Evans and I took a load out on foot over the pressure ridge. The camp load alone remains to be taken to the Barrier. Once we get to Safety Camp we can stay as long as we like before starting our journey. It is only when we start that we must travel fast. Most of the day it has been overcast, but to-night it has cleared again. There is very little wind. The temperatures of late have been ranging from 9° at night to 24° in the day. Very easy circumstances for sledging. _Monday, January_ 30.--Camp 3. Safety Camp. Bearings: Lat. 77.55; Cape Armitage N. 64 W.; Camel's Hump of Blue Glacier left, extreme; Castle Rock N. 40 W. Called the camp at 7.30. Finally left with ponies at 11.30. There was a good deal to do, which partly accounts for delays, but we shall have to 'buck up' with our camp arrangement. Atkinson had his foot lanced and should be well in a couple of days. I led the lame pony; his leg is not swelled, but I fear he's developed a permanent defect--there are signs of ring bone and the hoof is split. A great shock came when we passed the depôted fodder and made for this camp. The ponies sank very deep and only brought on their loads with difficulty, getting pretty hot. The distance was but 1 1/2 miles, but it took more out of them than the rest of the march. We camped and held a council of war after lunch. I unfolded my plan, which is to go forward with five weeks' food for men and animals: to depôt a fortnight's supply after twelve or thirteen days and return here. The loads for ponies thus arranged work out a little over 600 lbs., for the dog teams 700 lbs., both apart from sledges. The ponies ought to do it easily if the surface is good enough for them to walk, which is doubtful--the dogs may have to be lightened--such as it is, it is the best we can do under the circumstances! This afternoon I went forward on ski to see if the conditions changed. In 2 or 3 miles I could see no improvement. Bowers, Garrard, and the three men went and dug out the _Nimrod_ tent. They found a cooker and provisions and remains of a hastily abandoned meal. One tent was half full of hard ice, the result of thaw. The Willesden canvas was rotten except some material used for the doors. The floor cloth could not be freed. The Soldier doesn't like the idea of fetching up the remainder of the loads to this camp with the ponies. I think we will bring on all we can with the dogs and take the risk of leaving the rest. The _Nimrod_ camp was evidently made by some relief or ship party, and if that has stood fast for so long there should be little fear for our stuff in a single season. To-morrow we muster stores, build the depot, and pack our sledges. _Tuesday, January_ 31.--Camp 3. We have everything ready to start--but this afternoon we tried our one pair of snow-shoes on 'Weary Willy.' The effect was magical. He strolled around as though walking on hard ground in places where he floundered woefully without them. Oates hasn't had any faith in these shoes at all, and I thought that even the quietest pony would need to be practised in their use. Immediately after our experiment I decided that an effort must be made to get more, and within half an hour Meares and Wilson were on their way to the station more than 20 miles away. There is just the chance that the ice may not have gone out, but it is a very poor one I fear. At present it looks as though we might double our distance with the snow-shoes. Atkinson is better to-day, but not by any means well, so that the delay is in his favour. We cannot start on till the dogs return with or without the shoes. The only other hope for this journey is that the Barrier gets harder farther out, but I feel that the prospect of this is not very bright. In any case it is something to have discovered the possibilities of these shoes. Low temperature at night for first time. Min. 2.4°. Quite warm in tent. _Wednesday, February_ 1.--Camp 3. A day of comparative inactivity and some disappointment. Meares and Wilson returned at noon, reporting the ice out beyond the Razor Back Island--no return to Cape Evans--no pony snow-shoes--alas! I have decided to make a start to-morrow without them. Late to-night Atkinson's foot was examined: it is bad and there's no possibility of its getting right for some days. He must be left behind--I've decided to leave Crean with him. Most luckily we now have an extra tent and cooker. How the ponies are to be led is very doubtful. Well, we must do the best that circumstances permit. Poor Atkinson is in very low spirits. I sent Gran to the _Discovery_ hut with our last mail. He went on ski and was nearly 4 hours away, making me rather anxious, as the wind had sprung up and there was a strong surface-drift; he narrowly missed the camp on returning and I am glad to get him back. Our food allowance seems to be very ample, and if we go on as at present we shall thrive amazingly. _Thursday, February_ 2.--Camp 4. Made a start at last. Roused out at 7, left camp about 10.30. Atkinson and Crean remained behind--very hard on the latter. Atkinson suffering much pain and mental distress at his condition--for the latter I fear I cannot have much sympathy, as he ought to have reported his trouble long before. Crean will manage to rescue some more of the forage from the Barrier edge--I am very sorry for him. On starting with all the ponies (I leading Atkinson's) I saw with some astonishment that the animals were not sinking deeply, and to my pleased surprise we made good progress at once. This lasted for more than an hour, then the surface got comparatively bad again--but still most of the ponies did well with it, making 5 miles. Birdie's [10] animal, however, is very heavy and flounders where the others walk fairly easily. He is eager and tries to go faster as he flounders. As a result he was brought in, in a lather. I inquired for our one set of snow-shoes and found they had been left behind. The difference in surface from what was expected makes one wonder whether better conditions may not be expected during the night and in the morning, when the temperatures are low. My suggestion that we should take to night marching has met with general approval. Even if there is no improvement in the surface the ponies will rest better during the warmer hours and march better in the night. So we are resting in our tents, waiting to start to-night. Gran has gone back for the snow-shoes--he volunteered good-naturedly--certainly his expertness on ski is useful. Last night the temperature fell to -6° after the wind dropped--to-day it is warm and calm. _Impressions_ The seductive folds of the sleeping-bag. The hiss of the primus and the fragrant steam of the cooker issuing from the tent ventilator. The small green tent and the great white road. The whine of a dog and the neigh of our steeds. The driving cloud of powdered snow. The crunch of footsteps which break the surface crust. The wind blown furrows. The blue arch beneath the smoky cloud. The crisp ring of the ponies' hoofs and the swish of the following sledge. The droning conversation of the march as driver encourages or chides his horse. The patter of dog pads. The gentle flutter of our canvas shelter. Its deep booming sound under the full force of a blizzard. The drift snow like finest flour penetrating every hole and corner--flickering up beneath one's head covering, pricking sharply as a sand blast. The sun with blurred image peeping shyly through the wreathing drift giving pale shadowless light. The eternal silence of the great white desert. Cloudy columns of snow drift advancing from the south, pale yellow wraiths, heralding the coming storm, blotting out one by one the sharp-cut lines of the land. The blizzard, Nature's protest--the crevasse, Nature's pitfall--that grim trap for the unwary--no hunter could conceal his snare so perfectly--the light rippled snow bridge gives no hint or sign of the hidden danger, its position unguessable till man or beast is floundering, clawing and struggling for foothold on the brink. The vast silence broken only by the mellow sounds of the marching column. _Friday, February_ 3, 8 A.M.--Camp 5. Roused the camp at 10 P.M. and we started marching at 12.30. At first surface bad, but gradually improving. We had two short spells and set up temporary camp to feed ourselves and ponies at 3.20. Started again at 5 and marched till 7. In all covered 9 miles. Surface seemed to have improved during the last part of the march till just before camping time, when Bowers, who was leading, plunged into soft snow. Several of the others following close on his heels shared his fate, and soon three ponies were plunging and struggling in a drift. Garrard's pony, which has very broad feet, found hard stuff beyond and then my pony got round. Forde and Keohane led round on comparatively hard ground well to the right, and the entangled ponies were unharnessed and led round from patch to patch till firmer ground was reached. Then we camped and the remaining loads were brought in. Then came the _triumph of the snow-shoe_ again. We put a set on Bowers' big pony--at first he walked awkwardly (for a few minutes only) then he settled down, was harnessed to his load, brought that in and another also--all over places into which he had been plunging. If we had more of these shoes we could certainly put them on seven out of eight of our ponies--and after a little I think on the eighth, Oates' pony, as certainly the ponies so shod would draw their loads over the soft snow patches without any difficulty. It is trying to feel that so great a help to our work has been left behind at the station. _Impressions_ It is pathetic to see the ponies floundering in the soft patches. The first sink is a shock to them and seems to brace them to action. Thus they generally try to rush through when they feel themselves sticking. If the patch is small they land snorting and agitated on the harder surface with much effort. And if the patch is extensive they plunge on gamely until exhausted. Most of them after a bit plunge forward with both forefeet together, making a series of jumps and bringing the sledge behind them with jerks. This is, of course, terribly tiring for them. Now and again they have to stop, and it is horrid to see them half engulfed in the snow, panting and heaving from the strain. Now and again one falls and lies trembling and temporarily exhausted. It must be terribly trying for them, but it is wonderful to see how soon they recover their strength. The quiet, lazy ponies have a much better time than the eager ones when such troubles arise. The soft snow which gave the trouble is evidently in the hollow of one of the big waves that continue through the pressure ridges at Cape Crozier towards the Bluff. There are probably more of these waves, though we crossed several during the last part of the march--so far it seems that the soft parts are in patches only and do not extend the whole length of the hollow. Our course is to pick a way with the sure-footed beasts and keep the others back till the road has been tested. What extraordinary uncertainties this work exhibits! Every day some new fact comes to light--some new obstacle which threatens the gravest obstruction. I suppose this is the reason which makes the game so well worth playing. _Impressions_ The more I think of our sledging outfit the more certain I am that we have arrived at something near a perfect equipment for civilised man under such conditions. The border line between necessity and luxury is vague enough. We might save weight at the expense of comfort, but all possible saving would amount to but a mere fraction of one's loads. Supposing it were a grim struggle for existence and we were forced to drop everything but the barest necessities, the total saving on this three weeks' journey would be: lbs. Fuel for cooking 100 Cooking apparatus 45 Personal clothing, &c., say 100 Tent, say 30 Instruments, &c. 100 --- 375 This is half of one of ten sledge loads, or about one-twentieth of the total weight carried. If this is the only part of our weights which under any conceivable circumstances could be included in the category of luxuries, it follows the sacrifice to comfort is negligible. Certainly we could not have increased our mileage by making such a sacrifice. But beyond this it may be argued that we have an unnecessary amount of food: 32 oz. per day per man is our allowance. I well remember the great strait of hunger to which we were reduced in 1903 after four or five weeks on 26 oz., and am perfectly confident that we were steadily losing stamina at that time. Let it be supposed that 4 oz. per day per man might conceivably be saved. We have then a 3 lbs. a day saved in the camp, or 63 lbs. in the three weeks, or 1/100th part of our present loads. The smallness of the fractions on which the comfort and physical well-being of the men depend is due to the fact of travelling with animals whose needs are proportionately so much greater than those of the men. It follows that it must be sound policy to keep the men of a sledge party keyed up to a high pitch of well-fed physical condition as long as they have animals to drag their loads. The time for short rations, long marches and carefullest scrutiny of detail comes when the men are dependent on their own traction efforts. 6 P.M.--It has been blowing from the S.W., but the wind is dying away--the sky is overcast--I write after 9 hours' sleep, the others still peacefully slumbering. Work with animals means long intervals of rest which are not altogether easily occupied. With our present routine the dogs remain behind for an hour or more, trying to hit off their arrival in the new camp soon after the ponies have been picketed. The teams are pulling very well, Meares' especially. The animals are getting a little fierce. Two white dogs in Meares' team have been trained to attack strangers--they were quiet enough on board ship, but now bark fiercely if anyone but their driver approaches the team. They suddenly barked at me as I was pointing out the stopping place to Meares, and Osman, my erstwhile friend, swept round and nipped my leg lightly. I had no stick and there is no doubt that if Meares had not been on the sledge the whole team, following the lead of the white dogs, would have been at me in a moment. Hunger and fear are the only realities in dog life: an empty stomach makes a fierce dog. There is something almost alarming in the sudden fierce display of natural instinct in a tame creature. Instinct becomes a blind, unreasoning, relentless passion. For instance the dogs are as a rule all very good friends in harness: they pull side by side rubbing shoulders, they walk over each other as they settle to rest, relations seem quite peaceful and quiet. But the moment food is in their thoughts, however, their passions awaken; each dog is suspicious of his neighbour, and the smallest circumstance produces a fight. With like suddenness their rage flares out instantaneously if they get mixed up on the march--a quiet, peaceable team which has been lazily stretching itself with wagging tails one moment will become a set of raging, tearing, fighting devils the next. It is such stern facts that resign one to the sacrifice of animal life in the effort to advance such human projects as this. The Corner Camp. [Bearings: Obs. Hill < Bluff 86°; Obs. Hill < Knoll 80 1/2°; Mt. Terror N. 4 W.; Obs. Hill N. 69 W.] _Saturday, February_ 4, 8 A.M., 1911.--Camp 6. A satisfactory night march covering 10 miles and some hundreds of yards. Roused party at 10, when it was blowing quite hard from the S.E., with temperature below zero. It looked as though we should have a pretty cold start, but by the end of breakfast the wind had dropped and the sun shone forth. Started on a bad surface--ponies plunging a good deal for 2 miles or so, Bowers' 'Uncle Bill' walking steadily on his snow-shoes. After this the surface improved and the marching became steadier. We camped for lunch after 5 miles. Going still better in the afternoon, except that we crossed several crevasses. Oates' pony dropped his legs into two of these and sank into one--oddly the other ponies escaped and we were the last. Some 2 miles from our present position the cracks appeared to cease, and in the last march we have got on to quite a hard surface on which the ponies drag their loads with great ease. This part seems to be swept by the winds which so continually sweep round Cape Crozier, and therefore it is doubtful if it extends far to the south, but for the present the going should be good. Had bright moonshine for the march, but now the sky has clouded and it looks threatening to the south. I think we may have a blizzard, though the wind is northerly at present. The ponies are in very good form; 'James Pigg' remarkably recovered from his lameness. 8 P.M.--It is blowing a blizzard--wind moderate--temperature mild. _Impressions_ The deep, dreamless sleep that follows the long march and the satisfying supper. The surface crust which breaks with a snap and sinks with a snap, startling men and animals. Custom robs it of dread but not of interest to the dogs, who come to imagine such sounds as the result of some strange freak of hidden creatures. They become all alert and spring from side to side, hoping to catch the creature. The hope clings in spite of continual disappointment._13_ A dog must be either eating, asleep, or _interested_. His eagerness to snatch at interest, to chain his attention to something, is almost pathetic. The monotony of marching kills him. This is the fearfullest difficulty for the dog driver on a snow plain without leading marks or objects in sight. The dog is almost human in its demand for living interest, yet fatally less than human in its inability to foresee. The dog lives for the day, the hour, even the moment. The human being can live and support discomfort for a future. _Sunday, February_ 5.--Corner Camp, No. 6. The blizzard descended on us at about 4 P.M. yesterday; for twenty-four hours it continued with moderate wind, then the wind shifting slightly to the west came with much greater violence. Now it is blowing very hard and our small frail tent is being well tested. One imagines it cannot continue long as at present, but remembers our proximity to Cape Crozier and the length of the blizzards recorded in that region. As usual we sleep and eat, conversing as cheerfully as may be in the intervals. There is scant news of our small outside world--only a report of comfort and a rumour that Bowers' pony has eaten one of its putties!! 11 P.M.--Still blowing hard--a real blizzard now with dusty, floury drift--two minutes in the open makes a white figure. What a wonderful shelter our little tent affords! We have just had an excellent meal, a quiet pipe, and fireside conversation within, almost forgetful for the time of the howling tempest without;--now, as we lie in our bags warm and comfortable, one can scarcely realise that 'hell' is on the other side of the thin sheet of canvas that protects us. _Monday, February_ 6.--Corner Camp, No. 6. 6 P.M. The wind increased in the night. It has been blowing very hard all day. No fun to be out of the tent--but there are no shirkers with us. Oates has been out regularly to feed the ponies; Meares and Wilson to attend to the dogs--the rest of us as occasion required. The ponies are fairly comfortable, though one sees now what great improvements could be made to the horse clothes. The dogs ought to be quite happy. They are curled snugly under the snow and at meal times issue from steaming warm holes. The temperature is high, luckily. We are comfortable enough in the tent, but it is terribly trying to the patience--over fifty hours already and no sign of the end. The drifts about the camp are very deep--some of the sledges almost covered. It is the old story, eat and sleep, sleep and eat--and it's surprising how much sleep can be put in. _Tuesday, February_ 7, 5 P.M.--Corner Camp, No. 6. The wind kept on through the night, commencing to lull at 8 A.M. At 10 A.M. one could see an arch of clear sky to the S.W. and W., White Island, the Bluff, and the Western Mountains clearly defined. The wind had fallen very light and we were able to do some camp work, digging out sledges and making the ponies more comfortable. At 11 a low dark cloud crept over the southern horizon and there could be no doubt the wind was coming upon us again. At 1 P.M. the drift was all about us once more and the sun obscured. One began to feel that fortune was altogether too hard on us--but now as I write the wind has fallen again to a gentle breeze, the sun is bright, and the whole southern horizon clear. A good sign is the freedom of the Bluff from cloud. One feels that we ought to have a little respite for the next week, and now we must do everything possible to tend and protect our ponies. All looks promising for the night march. _Wednesday, February_ 8.--No. 7 Camp. Bearings: Lat. 78° 13'; Mt. Terror N. 3 W.; Erebus 23 1/2 Terror 2nd peak from south; Pk. 2 White Island 74 Terror; Castle Rk. 43 Terror. Night march just completed. 10 miles, 200 yards. The ponies were much shaken by the blizzard. One supposes they did not sleep--all look listless and two or three are visibly thinner than before. But the worst case by far is Forde's little pony; he was reduced to a weight little exceeding 400 lbs. on his sledge and caved in altogether on the second part of the march. The load was reduced to 200 lbs., and finally Forde pulled this in, leading the pony. The poor thing is a miserable scarecrow and never ought to have been brought--it is the same pony that did so badly in the ship. To-day it is very fine and bright. We are giving a good deal of extra food to the animals, and my hope is that they will soon pick up again--but they cannot stand more blizzards in their present state. I'm afraid we shall not get very far, but at all hazards we must keep the greater number of the ponies alive. The dogs are in fine form--the blizzard has only been a pleasant rest _for them_. _Memo_.--Left No. 7 Camp. 2 bales of fodder. _Thursday, February_ 9.--No. 8 Camp. Made good 11 miles. Good night march; surface excellent, but we are carrying very light loads with the exception of one or two ponies. Forde's poor 'Misery' is improving slightly. It is very keen on its feed. Its fate is much in doubt. Keohane's 'Jimmy Pigg' is less lame than yesterday. In fact there is a general buck up all round. It was a coldish march with light head wind and temperature 5° or 6° below zero, but it was warm in the sun all yesterday and promises to be warm again to-day. If such weather would hold there would be nothing to fear for the ponies. We have come to the conclusion that the principal cause of their discomfort is the comparative thinness of their coats. We get the well-remembered glorious views of the Western Mountains, but now very distant. No crevasses to-day. I shall be surprised if we pass outside all sign of them. One begins to see how things ought to be worked next year if the ponies hold out. Ponies and dogs are losing their snow blindness. _Friday, February_ 10.--No. 9 Camp. 12 miles 200 yards. Cold march, very chilly wind, overcast sky, difficult to see surface or course. Noticed sledges, ponies, &c., cast shadows all round. Surface very good and animals did splendidly. We came over some undulations during the early part of the march, but the last part appeared quite flat. I think I remember observing the same fact on our former trip. The wind veers and backs from S. to W. and even to N., coming in gusts. The sastrugi are distinctly S.S.W. There isn't a shadow of doubt that the prevailing wind is along the coast, taking the curve of the deep bay south of the Bluff. The question now is: Shall we by going due southward keep this hard surface? If so, we should have little difficulty in reaching the Beardmore Glacier next year. We turn out of our sleeping-bags about 9 P.M. Somewhere about 11.30 I shout to the Soldier 'How are things?' There is a response suggesting readiness, and soon after figures are busy amongst sledges and ponies. It is chilling work for the fingers and not too warm for the feet. The rugs come off the animals, the harness is put on, tents and camp equipment are loaded on the sledges, nosebags filled for the next halt; one by one the animals are taken off the picketing rope and yoked to the sledge. Oates watches his animal warily, reluctant to keep such a nervous creature standing in the traces. If one is prompt one feels impatient and fretful whilst watching one's more tardy fellows. Wilson and Meares hang about ready to help with odds and ends. Still we wait: the picketing lines must be gathered up, a few pony putties need adjustment, a party has been slow striking their tent. With numbed fingers on our horse's bridle and the animal striving to turn its head from the wind one feels resentful. At last all is ready. One says 'All right, Bowers, go ahead,' and Birdie leads his big animal forward, starting, as he continues, at a steady pace. The horses have got cold and at the word they are off, the Soldier's and one or two others with a rush. Finnesko give poor foothold on the slippery sastrugi, and for a minute or two drivers have some difficulty in maintaining the pace on their feet. Movement is warming, and in ten minutes the column has settled itself to steady marching. The pace is still brisk, the light bad, and at intervals one or another of us suddenly steps on a slippery patch and falls prone. These are the only real incidents of the march--for the rest it passes with a steady tramp and slight variation of formation. The weaker ponies drop a bit but not far, so that they are soon up in line again when the first halt is made. We have come to a single halt in each half march. Last night it was too cold to stop long and a very few minutes found us on the go again. As the end of the half march approaches I get out my whistle. Then at a shrill blast Bowers wheels slightly to the left, his tent mates lead still farther out to get the distance for the picket lines; Oates and I stop behind Bowers and Evans, the two other sledges of our squad behind the two other of Bowers'. So we are drawn up in camp formation. The picket lines are run across at right angles to the line of advance and secured to the two sledges at each end. In a few minutes ponies are on the lines covered, tents up again and cookers going. Meanwhile the dog drivers, after a long cold wait at the old camp, have packed the last sledge and come trotting along our tracks. They try to time their arrival in the new camp immediately after our own and generally succeed well. The mid march halt runs into an hour to an hour and a half, and at the end we pack up and tramp forth again. We generally make our final camp about 8 o'clock, and within an hour and a half most of us are in our sleeping-bags. Such is at present the daily routine. At the long halt we do our best for our animals by building snow walls and improving their rugs, &c. _Saturday, February_ 11.--No. 10 Camp. Bearings: Lat. 78° 47'. Bluff S. 79 W.; Left extreme Bluff 65°; Bluff A White Island near Sound. 11 miles. Covered 6 and 5 miles between halts. The surface has got a good deal softer. In the next two marches we should know more certainly, but it looks as though the conditions to the south will not be so good as those we have had hitherto. Blossom, Evans' pony, has very small hoofs and found the going very bad. It is less a question of load than one of walking, and there is no doubt that some form of snow-shoe would help greatly. The question is, what form? All the ponies were a little done when we stopped, but the weather is favourable for a good rest; there is no doubt this night marching is the best policy. Even the dogs found the surface more difficult to-day, but they are pulling very well. Meares has deposed Osman in favour of Rabchick, as the former was getting either very disobedient or very deaf. The change appears excellent. Rabchick leads most obediently. Mem. for next year. A stout male bamboo shod with a spike to sound for crevasses. _Sunday, February_ 12.--No. 11 Camp. 10 miles. Depot one Bale of Fodder. Variation 150 E. South True = N. 30 E. by compass. The surface is getting decidedly worse. The ponies sink quite deep every now and again. We marched 6 1/4 miles before lunch, Blossom dropping considerably behind. He lagged more on the second march and we halted at 9 miles. Evans said he might be dragged for another mile and we went on for that distance and camped. The sky was overcast: very dark and snowy looking in the south--very difficult to steer a course. Mt. Discovery is in line with the south end of the Bluff from the camp and we are near the 79th parallel. We must get exact bearings for this is to be called the 'Bluff Camp' and should play an important part in the future. Bearings: Bluff 36° 13'; Black Island Rht. Ex. I have decided to send E. Evans, Forde, and Keohane back with the three weakest ponies which they have been leading. The remaining five ponies which have been improving in condition will go on for a few days at least, and we must see how near we can come to the 80th parallel. To-night we have been making all the necessary arrangements for this plan. Cherry-Garrard is to come into our tent. _Monday, February_ 13.--No. 12 Camp. 9 miles 150 yds. The wind got up from the south with drift before we started yesterday--all appearance of a blizzard. But we got away at 12.30 and marched through drift for 7 miles. It was exceedingly cold at first. Just at starting the sky cleared in the wonderfully rapid fashion usual in these regions. We saw that our camp had the southern edge of the base rock of the Bluff in line with Mt. Discovery, and White Island well clear of the eastern slope of Mt. Erebus. A fairly easy alignment to pick up. At lunch time the sky lightened up and the drift temporarily ceased. I thought we were going to get in a good march, but on starting again the drift came thicker than ever and soon the course grew wild. We went on for 2 miles and then I decided to camp. So here we are with a full blizzard blowing. I told Wilson I should camp if it grew thick, and hope he and Meares have stopped where they were. They saw Evans start back from No. 11 Camp before leaving. I trust they have got in something of a march before stopping. This continuous bad weather is exceedingly trying, but our own ponies are quite comfortable this time, I'm glad to say. We have built them extensive snow walls behind which they seem to get quite comfortable shelter. We are five in a tent yet fairly comfortable. Our ponies' coats are certainly getting thicker and I see no reason why we shouldn't get to the 80th parallel if only the weather would give us a chance. Bowers is wonderful. Throughout the night he has worn no head-gear but a common green felt hat kept on with a chin stay and affording no cover whatever for the ears. His face and ears remain bright red. The rest of us were glad to have thick Balaclavas and wind helmets. I have never seen anyone so unaffected by the cold. To-night he remained outside a full hour after the rest of us had got into the tent. He was simply pottering about the camp doing small jobs to the sledges, &c. Cherry-Garrard is remarkable because of his eyes. He can only see through glasses and has to wrestle with all sorts of inconveniences in consequence. Yet one could never guess it--for he manages somehow to do more than his share of the work. _Tuesday, February_ 14.--13 Camp. 7 miles 650 yards. A disappointing day: the weather had cleared, the night was fine though cold, temperature well below zero with a keen S.W. breeze. Soon after the start we struck very bad surface conditions. The ponies sank lower than their hocks frequently and the soft patches of snow left by the blizzard lay in sandy heaps, making great friction for the runners. We struggled on, but found Gran with Weary Willy dropping to the rear. I consulted Oates as to distance and he cheerfully proposed 15 miles for the day! This piqued me somewhat and I marched till the sledge meter showed 6 1/2 miles. By this time Weary Willy had dropped about three-quarters of a mile and the dog teams were approaching. Suddenly we heard much barking in the distance, and later it was evident that something had gone wrong. Oates and then I hurried back. I met Meares, who told me the dogs of his team had got out of hand and attacked Weary Willy when they saw him fall. Finally they had been beaten off and W.W. was being led without his sledge. W.W. had been much bitten, but luckily I think not seriously: he appears to have made a gallant fight, and bit and shook some of the dogs with his teeth. Gran did his best, breaking his ski stick. Meares broke his dog stick--one way and another the dogs must have had a rocky time, yet they seemed to bear charmed lives when their blood is up, as apparently not one of them has been injured. After lunch four of us went back and dragged up the load. It taught us the nature of the surface more than many hours of pony leading!! The incident is deplorable and the blame widespread. I find W.W.'s load was much heavier than that of the other ponies. I blame myself for not supervising these matters more effectively and for allowing W.W. to get so far behind. We started off again after lunch, but when we had done two-thirds of a mile, W.W.'s condition made it advisable to halt. He has been given a hot feed, a large snow wall, and some extra sacking--the day promises to be quiet and warm for him, and one can only hope that these measures will put him right again. But the whole thing is very annoying. _Memo_.--Arrangements for ponies. 1. Hot bran or oat mashes. 2. Clippers for breaking wires of bales. 3. Pickets for horses. 4. Lighter ponies to take 10 ft. sledges? The surface is so crusty and friable that the question of snow-shoes again becomes of great importance. All the sastrugi are from S.W. by S. to S.W. and all the wind that we have experienced in this region--there cannot be a doubt that the wind sweeps up the coast at all seasons. A point has arisen as to the deposition. David [11] called the crusts seasonal. This must be wrong; they mark blizzards, but after each blizzard fresh crusts are formed only over the patchy heaps left by the blizzard. A blizzard seems to leave heaps which cover anything from one-sixth to one-third of the whole surface--such heaps presumably turn hollows into mounds with fresh hollows between--these are filled in turn by ensuing blizzards. If this is so, the only way to get at the seasonal deposition would be to average the heaps deposited and multiply this by the number of blizzards in the year. _Monday, February_ 15.--14 Camp. 7 miles 775 yards. The surface was wretched to-day, the two drawbacks of yesterday (the thin crusts which let the ponies through and the sandy heaps which hang on the runners) if anything exaggerated. Bowers' pony refused work at intervals for the first time. His hind legs sink very deep. Weary Willy is decidedly better. The Soldier takes a gloomy view of everything, but I've come to see that this is a characteristic of him. In spite of it he pays every attention to the weaker horses. We had frequent halts on the march, but managed 4 miles before lunch and 3 1/2 after. The temperature was -15° at the lunch camp. It was cold sitting in the tent waiting for the ponies to rest. The thermometer is now -7°, but there is a bright sun and no wind, which makes the air feel quite comfortable: one's socks and finnesko dry well. Our provision allowance is working out very well. In fact all is well with us except the condition of the ponies. The more I see of the matter the more certain I am that we must save all the ponies to get better value out of them next year. It would have been ridiculous to have worked some out this year as the Soldier wished. Even now I feel we went too far with the first three. One thing is certain. A good snow-shoe would be worth its weight in gold on this surface, and if we can get something really practical we ought to greatly increase our distances next year. _Mems_.--Storage of biscuit next year, lashing cases on sledges. Look into sledgemeter. Picket lines for ponies. Food tanks to be size required. Two sledges altered to take steel runners. Stowage of pony food. Enough sacks for ready bags. _Thursday, February_ 16.--6 miles 1450 yards. 15 Camp. The surface a good deal better, but the ponies running out. Three of the five could go on without difficulty. Bowers' pony might go on a bit, but Weary Willy is a good deal done up, and to push him further would be to risk him unduly, so to-morrow we turn. The temperature on the march to-night fell to -21° with a brisk S.W. breeze. Bowers started out as usual in his small felt hat, ears uncovered. Luckily I called a halt after a mile and looked at him. His ears were quite white. Cherry and I nursed them back whilst the patient seemed to feel nothing but intense surprise and disgust at the mere fact of possessing such unruly organs. Oates' nose gave great trouble. I got frostbitten on the cheek lightly, as also did Cherry-Garrard. Tried to march in light woollen mits to great discomfort. _Friday, February_ 17.--Camp 15. Lat. 79° 28 1/2' S. It clouded over yesterday--the temperature rose and some snow fell. Wind from the south, cold and biting, as we turned out. We started to build the depot. I had intended to go on half a march and return to same camp, leaving Weary Willy to rest, but under the circumstances did not like to take risk. Stores left in depôt: Lat. 79° 29'. Depot. lbs. 245 7 weeks' full provision bags for 1 unit 12 2 days' provision bags for 1 unit 8 8 weeks' tea 31 6 weeks' extra butter 176 176 lbs. biscuit (7 weeks full biscuit) 85 8 1/2 gallons oil (12 weeks oil for 1 unit) 850 5 sacks of oats 424 4 bales of fodder 250 Tank of dog biscuit 100 2 cases of biscuit ---- 2181 1 skein white line 1 set breast harness 2 12 ft. sledges 2 pair ski, 1 pair ski sticks 1 Minimum Thermometer 1 tin Rowntree cocoa 1 tin matches With packing we have landed considerably over a ton of stuff. It is a pity we couldn't get to 80°, but as it is we shall have a good leg up for next year and can at least feed the ponies full up to this point. Our Camp 15 is very well marked, I think. Besides the flagstaff and black flag we have piled biscuit boxes, filled and empty, to act as reflectors--secured tea tins to the sledges, which are planted upright in the snow. The depot cairn is more than 6 ft. above the surface, very solid and large; then there are the pony protection walls; altogether it should show up for many miles. I forgot to mention that looking back on the 15th we saw a cairn built on a camp 12 1/2 miles behind--it was miraged up. It seems as though some of our party will find spring journeys pretty trying. Oates' nose is always on the point of being frostbitten; Meares has a refractory toe which gives him much trouble--this is the worst prospect for summit work. I have been wondering how I shall stick the summit again, this cold spell gives ideas. I think I shall be all right, but one must be prepared for a pretty good doing. CHAPTER VI Adventure and Peril _Saturday, February_ 18.--Camp 12. North 22 miles 1996 yards. I scattered some oats 50 yards east of depôt. [12] The minimum thermometer showed -16° when we left camp: _inform Simpson!_ The ponies started off well, Gran leading my pony with Weary Willy behind, the Soldier leading his with Cherry's behind, and Bowers steering course as before with a light sledge. [13] We started half an hour later, soon overtook the ponies, and luckily picked up a small bag of oats which they had dropped. We went on for 10 3/4 miles and stopped for lunch. After lunch to our astonishment the ponies appeared, going strong. They were making for a camp some miles farther on, and meant to remain there. I'm very glad to have seen them making the pace so well. They don't propose to stop for lunch at all but to march right through 10 or 12 miles a day. I think they will have little difficulty in increasing this distance. For the dogs the surface has been bad, and one or another of us on either sledge has been running a good part of the time. But we have covered 23 miles: three marches out. We have four days' food for them and ought to get in very easily. As we camp late the temperature is evidently very low and there is a low drift. Conditions are beginning to be severe on the Barrier and I shall be glad to get the ponies into more comfortable quarters. _Sunday, February_ 19.--Started 10 P.M. Camped 6.30. Nearly 26 miles to our credit. The dogs went very well and the surface became excellent after the first 5 or 6 miles. At the Bluff Camp, No. 11, we picked up Evans' track and found that he must have made excellent progress. No. 10 Camp was much snowed up: I should imagine our light blizzard was severely felt along this part of the route. We must look out to-morrow for signs of Evans being 'held up.' The old tracks show better here than on the softer surface. During this journey both ponies and dogs have had what under ordinary circumstances would have been a good allowance of food, yet both are desperately hungry. Both eat their own excrement. With the ponies it does not seem so horrid, as there must be a good deal of grain, &c., which is not fully digested. It is the worst side of dog driving. All the rest is diverting. The way in which they keep up a steady jog trot for hour after hour is wonderful. Their legs seem steel springs, fatigue unknown--for at the end of a tiring march any unusual incident will arouse them to full vigour. Osman has been restored to leadership. It is curious how these leaders come off and go off, all except old Stareek, who remains as steady as ever. We are all acting like seasoned sledge travellers now, such is the force of example. Our tent is up and cooker going in the shortest time after halt, and we are able to break camp in exceptionally good time. Cherry-Garrard is cook. He is excellent, and is quickly learning all the tips for looking after himself and his gear. What a difference such care makes is apparent now, but was more so when he joined the tent with all his footgear iced up, whilst Wilson and I nearly always have dry socks and finnesko to put on. This is only a point amongst many in which experience gives comfort. Every minute spent in keeping one's gear dry and free of snow is very well repaid. _Monday, February_ 20.--29 miles. Lunch. Excellent run on hard wind-swept surface--_covered nearly seventeen miles_. Very cold at starting and during march. Suddenly wind changed and temperature rose so that at the moment of stopping for final halt it appeared quite warm, almost sultry. On stopping found we had covered 29 miles, some 35 statute miles. The dogs are weary but by no means played out--during the last part of the journey they trotted steadily with a wonderfully tireless rhythm. I have been off the sledge a good deal and trotting for a good many miles, so should sleep well. E. Evans has left a bale of forage at Camp 8 and has not taken on the one which he might have taken from the depôt--facts which show that his ponies must have been going strong. I hope to find them safe and sound the day after to-morrow. We had the most wonderfully beautiful sky effects on the march with the sun circling low on the southern horizon. Bright pink clouds hovered overhead on a deep grey-blue background. Gleams of bright sunlit mountains appeared through the stratus. Here it is most difficult to predict what is going to happen. Sometimes the southern sky looks dark and ominous, but within half an hour all has changed--the land comes and goes as the veil of stratus lifts and falls. It seems as though weather is made here rather than dependent on conditions elsewhere. It is all very interesting. _Tuesday, February_ 21.--New Camp about 12 miles from Safety Camp. 15 1/2 miles. We made a start as usual about 10 P.M. The light was good at first, but rapidly grew worse till we could see little of the surface. The dogs showed signs of wearying. About an hour and a half after starting we came on mistily outlined pressure ridges. We were running by the sledges. Suddenly Wilson shouted 'Hold on to the sledge,' and I saw him slip a leg into a crevasse. I jumped to the sledge, but saw nothing. Five minutes after, as the teams were trotting side by side, the middle dogs of our team disappeared. In a moment the whole team were sinking--two by two we lost sight of them, each pair struggling for foothold. Osman the leader exerted all his great strength and kept a foothold--it was wonderful to see him. The sledge stopped and we leapt aside. The situation was clear in another moment. We had been actually travelling along the bridge of a crevasse, the sledge had stopped on it, whilst the dogs hung in their harness in the abyss, suspended between the sledge and the leading dog. Why the sledge and ourselves didn't follow the dogs we shall never know. I think a fraction of a pound of added weight must have taken us down. As soon as we grasped the position, we hauled the sledge clear of the bridge and anchored it. Then we peered into the depths of the crack. The dogs were howling dismally, suspended in all sorts of fantastic positions and evidently terribly frightened. Two had dropped out of their harness, and we could see them indistinctly on a snow bridge far below. The rope at either end of the chain had bitten deep into the snow at the side of the crevasse, and with the weight below, it was impossible to move it. By this time Wilson and Cherry-Garrard, who had seen the accident, had come to our assistance. At first things looked very bad for our poor team, and I saw little prospect of rescuing them. I had luckily inquired about the Alpine rope before starting the march, and now Cherry-Garrard hurriedly brought this most essential aid. It takes one a little time to make plans under such sudden circumstances, and for some minutes our efforts were rather futile. We could get not an inch on the main trace of the sledge or on the leading rope, which was binding Osman to the snow with a throttling pressure. Then thought became clearer. We unloaded our sledge, putting in safety our sleeping-bags with the tent and cooker. Choking sounds from Osman made it clear that the pressure on him must soon be relieved. I seized the lashing off Meares' sleeping-bag, passed the tent poles across the crevasse, and with Meares managed to get a few inches on the leading line; this freed Osman, whose harness was immediately cut. Then securing the Alpine rope to the main trace we tried to haul up together. One dog came up and was unlashed, but by this time the rope had cut so far back at the edge that it was useless to attempt to get more of it. But we could now unbend the sledge and do that for which we should have aimed from the first, namely, run the sledge across the gap and work from it. We managed to do this, our fingers constantly numbed. Wilson held on to the anchored trace whilst the rest of us laboured at the leader end. The leading rope was very small and I was fearful of its breaking, so Meares was lowered down a foot or two to secure the Alpine rope to the leading end of the trace; this done, the work of rescue proceeded in better order. Two by two we hauled the animals up to the sledge and one by one cut them out of their harness. Strangely the last dogs were the most difficult, as they were close under the lip of the gap, bound in by the snow-covered rope. Finally, with a gasp we got the last poor creature on to firm snow. We had recovered eleven of the thirteen._13a_ Then I wondered if the last two could not be got, and we paid down the Alpine rope to see if it was long enough to reach the snow bridge on which they were coiled. The rope is 90 feet, and the amount remaining showed that the depth of the bridge was about 65 feet. I made a bowline and the others lowered me down. The bridge was firm and I got hold of both dogs, which were hauled up in turn to the surface. Then I heard dim shouts and howls above. Some of the rescued animals had wandered to the second sledge, and a big fight was in progress. All my rope-tenders had to leave to separate the combatants; but they soon returned, and with some effort I was hauled to the surface. All is well that ends well, and certainly this was a most surprisingly happy ending to a very serious episode. We felt we must have refreshment, so camped and had a meal, congratulating ourselves on a really miraculous escape. If the sledge had gone down Meares and I _must_ have been badly injured, if not killed outright. The dogs are wonderful, but have had a terrible shaking--three of them are passing blood and have more or less serious internal injuries. Many were held up by a thin thong round the stomach, writhing madly to get free. One dog better placed in its harness stretched its legs full before and behind and just managed to claw either side of the gap--it had continued attempts to climb throughout, giving vent to terrified howls. Two of the animals hanging together had been fighting at intervals when they swung into any position which allowed them to bite one another. The crevasse for the time being was an inferno, and the time must have been all too terribly long for the wretched creatures. It was twenty minutes past three when we had completed the rescue work, and the accident must have happened before one-thirty. Some of the animals must have been dangling for over an hour. I had a good opportunity of examining the crack. The section seemed such as I have shown. It narrowed towards the east and widened slightly towards the west. In this direction there were curious curved splinters; below the snow bridge on which I stood the opening continued, but narrowing, so that I think one could not have fallen many more feet without being wedged. Twice I have owed safety to a snow bridge, and it seems to me that the chance of finding some obstruction or some saving fault in the crevasse is a good one, but I am far from thinking that such a chance can be relied upon, and it would be an awful situation to fall beyond the limits of the Alpine rope. We went on after lunch, and very soon got into soft snow and regular surface where crevasses are most unlikely to occur. We have pushed on with difficulty, for the dogs are badly cooked and the surface tries them. We are all pretty done, but luckily the weather favours us. A sharp storm from the south has been succeeded by ideal sunshine which is flooding the tent as I write. It is the calmest, warmest day we have had since we started sledging. We are only about 12 miles from Safety Camp, and I trust we shall push on without accident to-morrow, but I am anxious about some of the dogs. We shall be lucky indeed if all recover. My companions to-day were excellent; Wilson and Cherry-Garrard if anything the most intelligently and readily helpful. I begin to think that there is no avoiding the line of cracks running from the Bluff to Cape Crozier, but my hope is that the danger does not extend beyond a mile or two, and that the cracks are narrower on the pony road to Corner Camp. If eight ponies can cross without accident I do not think there can be great danger. Certainly we must rigidly adhere to this course on all future journeys. We must try and plot out the danger line. [14] I begin to be a little anxious about the returning ponies. I rather think the dogs are being underfed--they have weakened badly in the last few days--more than such work ought to entail. Now they are absolutely ravenous. Meares has very dry feet. Whilst we others perspire freely and our skin remains pink and soft his gets horny and scaly. He amused us greatly to-night by scraping them. The sound suggested the whittling of a hard wood block and the action was curiously like an attempt to shape the feet to fit the finnesko! Summary of Marches Made on the Depôt Journey Distances in Geographical Miles. Variation 152 E. m. yds. Safety No. 3 to 4 E. 4 2000 S. 64 E. 4 500 | 4 to 5 S. 77 E. 1 312 | 9.359 S. 60 E. 3 1575 | 5 to 6 S. 48 E. 10 270 Var. 149 1/2 E. Corner 6 to 7 S. 10 145 7 to 8 S. ? 11 198 8 to 9 S. 12 325 9 to 10 S. 11 118 Bluff Camp 10 to 11 S. 10 226 Var. 152 1/2 E. 11 to 12 S. 9 150 12 to 13 S. 7 650 13 to 14 S. 7 Bowers 775 14 to 15 S. 8 1450 --- ---- 111 610 Return 17th-18th 15 to 12 N. 22 1994 18th-19th 12 to midway between 9 & 10 N. 48 1825 19th-20th Lunch 8 Camp N. 65 1720 19th-20th 7 Camp N. 77 1820 20th-21st N. 30 to 35 W. 93 950 21st-22nd Safety Camp N. & W. 107 1125 _Wednesday, February_ 22.--Safety Camp. Got away at 10 again: surface fairly heavy: dogs going badly. The dogs are as thin as rakes; they are ravenous and very tired. I feel this should not be, and that it is evident that they are underfed. The ration must be increased next year and we _must_ have some properly thought out diet. The biscuit alone is not good enough. Meares is excellent to a point, but ignorant of the conditions here. One thing is certain, the dogs will never continue to drag heavy loads with men sitting on the sledges; we must all learn to run with the teams and the Russian custom must be dropped. Meares, I think, rather imagined himself racing to the Pole and back on a dog sledge. This journey has opened his eyes a good deal. We reached Safety Camp (dist. 14 miles) at 4.30 A.M.; found Evans and his party in excellent health, but, alas! with only ONE pony. As far as I can gather Forde's pony only got 4 miles back from the Bluff Camp; then a blizzard came on, and in spite of the most tender care from Forde the pony sank under it. Evans says that Forde spent hours with the animal trying to keep it going, feeding it, walking it about; at last he returned to the tent to say that the poor creature had fallen; they all tried to get it on its feet again but their efforts were useless. It couldn't stand, and soon after it died. Then the party marched some 10 miles, but the blizzard had had a bad effect on Blossom--it seemed to have shrivelled him up, and now he was terribly emaciated. After this march he could scarcely move. Evans describes his efforts as pathetic; he got on 100 yards, then stopped with legs outstretched and nose to the ground. They rested him, fed him well, covered him with rugs; but again all efforts were unavailing. The last stages came with painful detail. So Blossom is also left on the Southern Road. The last pony, James Pigg, as he is called, has thriven amazingly--of course great care has been taken with him and he is now getting full feed and very light work, so he ought to do well. The loss is severe; but they were the two oldest ponies of our team and the two which Oates thought of least use. Atkinson and Crean have departed, leaving no trace--not even a note. Crean had carried up a good deal of fodder, and some seal meat was found buried. After a few hours' sleep we are off for Hut Point. There are certain points in night marching, if only for the glorious light effects which the coming night exhibits. _Wednesday, February_ 22.--10 P.M. Safety Camp. Turned out at 11 this morning after 4 hours' sleep. Wilson, Meares, Evans, Cherry-Garrard, and I went to Hut Point. Found a great enigma. The hut was cleared and habitable--but no one was there. A pencil line on the wall said that a bag containing a mail was inside, but no bag could be found. We puzzled much, then finally decided on the true solution, viz. that Atkinson and Crean had gone towards Safety Camp as we went to Hut Point--later we saw their sledge track leading round on the sea ice. Then we returned towards Safety Camp and endured a very bad hour in which we could see the two bell tents but not the domed. It was an enormous relief to find the dome securely planted, as the ice round Cape Armitage is evidently very weak; I have never seen such enormous water holes off it. But every incident of the day pales before the startling contents of the mail bag which Atkinson gave me--a letter from Campbell setting out his doings and the finding of Amundsen established in the Bay of Whales. One thing only fixes itself definitely in my mind. The proper, as well as the wiser, course for us is to proceed exactly as though this had not happened. To go forward and do our best for the honour of the country without fear or panic. There is no doubt that Amundsen's plan is a very serious menace to ours. He has a shorter distance to the Pole by 60 miles--I never thought he could have got so many dogs safely to the ice. His plan for running them seems excellent. But above and beyond all he can start his journey early in the season--an impossible condition with ponies. The ice is still in at the Glacier Tongue: a very late date--it looks as though it will not break right back this season, but off Cape Armitage it is so thin that I doubt if the ponies could safely be walked round. _Thursday, February_ 23.--Spent the day preparing sledges, &c., for party to meet Bowers at Corner Camp. It was blowing and drifting and generally uncomfortable. Wilson and Meares killed three seals for the dogs. _Friday, February_ 24.--Roused out at 6. Started marching at 9. Self, Crean, and Cherry-Garrard one sledge and tent; Evans, Atkinson, Forde, second sledge and tent; Keohane leading his pony. We pulled on ski in the forenoon; the second sledge couldn't keep up, so we changed about for half the march. In the afternoon we pulled on foot. On the whole I thought the labour greater on foot, so did Crean, showing the advantage of experience. There is no doubt that very long days' work could be done by men in hard condition on ski. The hanging back of the second sledge was mainly a question of condition, but to some extent due to the sledge. We have a 10 ft., whilst the other party has a 12 ft.; the former is a distinct advantage in this case. It has been a horrid day. We woke to find a thick covering of sticky ice crystals on everything--a frost _rime_. I cleared my ski before breakfast arid found more on afterwards. There was the suggestion of an early frosty morning at home--such a morning as develops into a beautiful sunshiny day; but in our case, alas! such hopes were shattered: it was almost damp, with temperature near zero and a terribly bad light for travelling. In the afternoon Erebus and Terror showed up for a while. Now it is drifting hard with every sign of a blizzard--a beastly night. This marching is going to be very good for our condition and I shall certainly keep people at it. _Saturday, February_ 25.--Fine bright day--easy marching--covered 9 miles and a bit yesterday and the same to-day. Should reach Corner Camp before lunch to-morrow. Turned out at 3 A.M. and saw a short black line on the horizon towards White Island. Thought it an odd place for a rock exposure and then observed movement in it. Walked 1 1/2 miles towards it and made certain that it was Oates, Bowers, and the ponies. They seemed to be going very fast and evidently did not see our camp. To-day we have come on their tracks, and I fear there are only four ponies left. James Pigg, our own pony, limits the length of our marches. The men haulers could go on much longer, and we all like pulling on ski. Everyone must be practised in this. _Sunday, February_ 26.--Marched on Corner Camp, but second main party found going very hard and eventually got off their ski and pulled on foot. James Pigg also found the surface bad, so we camped and had lunch after doing 3 miles. Except for our tent the camp routine is slack. Shall have to tell people that we are out on business, not picnicking. It was another 3 miles to depot after lunch. Found signs of Bowers' party having camped there and glad to see five pony walls. Left six full weeks' provision: 1 bag of oats, 3/4 of a bale of fodder. Then Cherry-Garrard, Crean, and I started for home, leaving the others to bring the pony by slow stages. We covered 6 1/4 miles in direct line, then had some tea and marched another 8. We must be less than 10 miles from Safety Camp. Pitched tent at 10 P.M., very dark for cooking. _Monday, February_ 27.--Awoke to find it blowing a howling blizzard--absolutely confined to tent at present--to step outside is to be covered with drift in a minute. We have managed to get our cooking things inside and have had a meal. Very anxious about the ponies--am wondering where they can be. The return party [15] has had two days and may have got them into some shelter--but more probably they were not expecting this blow--I wasn't. The wind is blowing force 8 or 9; heavy gusts straining the tent; the temperature is evidently quite low. This is poor luck. _Tuesday, February_ 28.--Safety Camp. Packed up at 6 A.M. and marched into Safety Camp. Found everyone very cold and depressed. Wilson and Meares had had continuous bad weather since we left, Bowers and Oates since their arrival. The blizzard had raged for two days. The animals looked in a sorry condition but all were alive. The wind blew keen and cold from the east. There could be no advantage in waiting here, and soon all arrangements were made for a general shift to Hut Point. Packing took a long time. The snowfall had been prodigious, and parts of the sledges were 3 or 4 feet under drift. About 4 o'clock the two dog teams got safely away. Then the pony party prepared to go. As the clothes were stripped from the ponies the ravages of the blizzard became evident. The animals without exception were terribly emaciated, and Weary Willy was in a pitiable condition. The plan was for the ponies to follow the dog tracks, our small party to start last and get in front of the ponies on the sea ice. I was very anxious about the sea ice passage owing to the spread of the water holes. The ponies started, but Weary Willy, tethered last without a load, immediately fell down. We tried to get him up and he made efforts, but was too exhausted. Then we rapidly reorganised. Cherry-Garrard and Crean went on whilst Oates and Gran stayed with me. We made desperate efforts to save the poor creature, got him once more on his legs and gave him a hot oat mash. Then after a wait of an hour Oates led him off, and we packed the sledge and followed on ski; 500 yards away from the camp the poor creature fell again and I felt it was the last effort. We camped, built a snow wall round him, and did all we possibly could to get him on his feet. Every effort was fruitless, though the poor thing made pitiful struggles. Towards midnight we propped him up as comfortably as we could and went to bed. _Wednesday, March_ 1, A.M.--Our pony died in the night. It is hard to have got him back so far only for this. It is clear that these blizzards are terrible for the poor animals. Their coats are not good, but even with the best of coats it is certain they would lose condition badly if caught in one, and we cannot afford to lose condition at the beginning of a journey. It makes a late start _necessary for next year_. Well, we have done our best and bought our experience at a heavy cost. Now every effort must be bent on saving the remaining animals, and it will be good luck if we get four back to Cape Evans, or even three. Jimmy Pigg may have fared badly; Bowers' big pony is in a bad way after that frightful blizzard. I cannot remember such a bad storm in February or March: the temperature was -7°. Bowers Incident I note the events of the night of March 1 whilst they are yet fresh in my memory. _Thursday, March_ 2, A.M.--The events of the past 48 hours bid fair to wreck the expedition, and the only one comfort is the miraculous avoidance of loss of life. We turned out early yesterday, Oates, Gran, and I, after the dismal night of our pony's death, and pulled towards the forage depot [16] on ski. As we approached, the sky looked black and lowering, and mirage effects of huge broken floes loomed out ahead. At first I thought it one of the strange optical illusions common in this region--but as we neared the depot all doubt was dispelled. The sea was full of broken pieces of Barrier edge. My thoughts flew to the ponies and dogs, and fearful anxieties assailed my mind. We turned to follow the sea edge and suddenly discovered a working crack. We dashed over this and slackened pace again after a quarter of a mile. Then again cracks appeared ahead and we increased pace as much as possible, not slackening again till we were in line between the Safety Camp and Castle Rock. Meanwhile my first thought was to warn Evans. We set up tent, and Gran went to the depot with a note as Oates and I disconsolately thought out the situation. I thought to myself that if either party had reached safety either on the Barrier or at Hut Point they would immediately have sent a warning messenger to Safety Camp. By this time the messenger should have been with us. Some half-hour passed, and suddenly with a 'Thank God!' I made certain that two specks in the direction of Pram Point were human beings. I hastened towards them and found they were Wilson and Meares, who had led the homeward way with the dog teams. They were astonished to see me--they said they feared the ponies were adrift on the sea ice--they had seen them with glasses from Observation Hill. They thought I was with them. They had hastened out without breakfast: we made them cocoa and discussed the gloomiest situation. Just after cocoa Wilson discovered a figure making rapidly for the depot from the west. Gran was sent off again to intercept. It proved to be Crean--he was exhausted and a little incoherent. The ponies had camped at 2.30 A.M. on the sea ice well beyond the seal crack on the previous night. In the middle of the night... _Friday, March_ 3, A.M.--I was interrupted when writing yesterday and continue my story this morning.... In the middle of the night at 4.30 Bowers got out of the tent and discovered the ice had broken all round him: a crack ran under the picketing line, and one pony had disappeared. They had packed with great haste and commenced jumping the ponies from floe to floe, then dragging the loads over after--the three men must have worked splendidly and fearlessly. At length they had worked their way to heavier floes lying near the Barrier edge, and at one time thought they could get up, but soon discovered that there were gaps everywhere off the high Barrier face. In this dilemma Crean volunteering was sent off to try to reach me. The sea was like a cauldron at the time of the break up, and killer whales were putting their heads up on all sides. Luckily they did not frighten the ponies. He travelled a great distance over the sea ice, leaping from floe to floe, and at last found a thick floe from which with help of ski stick he could climb the Barrier face. It was a desperate venture, but luckily successful. As soon as I had digested Crean's news I sent Gran back to Hut Point with Wilson and Meares and started with my sledge, Crean, and Oates for the scene of the mishap. We stopped at Safety Camp to load some provisions and oil and then, marching carefully round, approached the ice edge. To my joy I caught sight of the lost party. We got our Alpine rope and with its help dragged the two men to the surface. I pitched camp at a safe distance from the edge and then we all started salvage work. The ice had ceased to drift and lay close and quiet against the Barrier edge. We got the men at 5.30 P.M. and all the sledges and effects on to the Barrier by 4 A.M. As we were getting up the last loads the ice showed signs of drifting off, and we saw it was hopeless to try and move the ponies. The three poor beasts had to be left on their floe for the moment, well fed. None of our party had had sleep the previous night and all were dog tired. I decided we must rest, but turned everyone out at 8.30 yesterday morning. Before breakfast we discovered the ponies had drifted away. We had tried to anchor their floe with the Alpine rope, but the anchors had drawn. It was a sad moment. At breakfast we decided to pack and follow the Barrier edge: this was the position when I last wrote, but the interruption came when Bowers, who had taken the binoculars, announced that he could see the ponies about a mile to the N.W. We packed and went on at once. We found it easy enough to get down to the poor animals and decided to rush them for a last chance of life. Then there was an unfortunate mistake: I went along the Barrier edge and discovered what I thought and what proved to be a practicable way to land a pony, but the others meanwhile, a little overwrought, tried to leap Punch across a gap. The poor beast fell in; eventually we had to kill him--it was awful. I recalled all hands and pointed out my road. Bowers and Oates went out on it with a sledge and worked their way to the remaining ponies, and started back with them on the same track. Meanwhile Cherry and I dug a road at the Barrier edge. We saved one pony; for a time I thought we should get both, but Bowers' poor animal slipped at a jump and plunged into the water: we dragged him out on some brash ice--killer whales all about us in an intense state of excitement. The poor animal couldn't rise, and the only merciful thing was to kill it. These incidents were too terrible. At 5 P.M. we sadly broke our temporary camp and marched back to the one I had first pitched. Even here it seemed unsafe, so I walked nearly two miles to discover cracks: I could find none, and we turned in about midnight. So here we are ready to start our sad journey to Hut Point. Everything out of joint with the loss of the ponies, but mercifully with all the party alive and well. _Saturday, March_ 4, A.M.--We had a terrible pull at the start yesterday, taking four hours to cover some three miles to march on the line between Safety Camp and Fodder Depot. From there Bowers went to Safety Camp and found my notes to Evans had been taken. We dragged on after lunch to the place where my tent had been pitched when Wilson first met me and where we had left our ski and other loads. All these had gone. We found sledge tracks leading in towards the land and at length marks of a pony's hoofs. We followed these and some ski tracks right into the land, coming at length to the highest of the Pram Point ridges. I decided to camp here, and as we unpacked I saw four figures approaching. They proved to be Evans and his party. They had ascended towards Castle Rock on Friday and found a good camp site on top of the Ridge. They were in good condition. It was a relief to hear they had found a good road up. They went back to their camp later, dragging one of our sledges and a light load. Atkinson is to go to Hut Point this morning to tell Wilson about us. The rest ought to meet us and help us up the hill--just off to march up the hill, hoping to avoid trouble with the pony._14_ _Sunday, March_ 5, A.M.--Marched up the hill to Evans' Camp under Castle Rock. Evans' party came to meet us and helped us up with the loads--it was a steep, stiff pull; the pony was led up by Oates. As we camped for lunch Atkinson and Gran appeared, the former having been to Hut Point to carry news of the relief. I sent Gran on to Safety Camp to fetch some sugar and chocolate, left Evans, Oates, and Keohane in camp, and marched on with remaining six to Hut Point. It was calm at Evans' Camp, but blowing hard on the hill and harder at Hut Point. Found the hut in comparative order and slept there. CHAPTER VII At Discovery Hut _Monday, March_ 6, A.M.--Roused the hands at 7.30. Wilson, Bowers, Garrard, and I went out to Castle Rock. We met Evans just short of his camp and found the loads had been dragged up the hill. Oates and Keohane had gone back to lead on the ponies. At the top of the ridge we harnessed men and ponies to the sledges and made rapid progress on a good surface towards the hut. The weather grew very thick towards the end of the march, with all signs of a blizzard. We unharnessed the ponies at the top of Ski slope--Wilson guided them down from rock patch to rock patch; the remainder of us got down a sledge and necessaries over the slope. It is a ticklish business to get the sledge along the ice foot, which is now all blue ice ending in a drop to the sea. One has to be certain that the party has good foothold. All reached the hut in safety. The ponies have admirably comfortable quarters under the verandah. After some cocoa we fetched in the rest of the dogs from the Gap and another sledge from the hill. It had ceased to snow and the wind had gone down slightly. Turned in with much relief to have all hands and the animals safely housed. _Tuesday, March_ 7, A.M.--Yesterday went over to Pram Point with Wilson. We found that the corner of sea ice in Pram Point Bay had not gone out--it was crowded with seals. We killed a young one and carried a good deal of the meat and some of the blubber back with us. Meanwhile the remainder of the party had made some progress towards making the hut more comfortable. In the afternoon we all set to in earnest and by supper time had wrought wonders. We have made a large L-shaped inner apartment with packing-cases, the intervals stopped with felt. An empty kerosene tin and some firebricks have been made into an excellent little stove, which has been connected to the old stove-pipe. The solider fare of our meals is either stewed or fried on this stove whilst the tea or cocoa is being prepared on a primus. The temperature of the hut is low, of course, but in every other respect we are absolutely comfortable. There is an unlimited quantity of biscuit, and our discovery at Pram Point means an unlimited supply of seal meat. We have heaps of cocoa, coffee, and tea, and a sufficiency of sugar and salt. In addition a small store of luxuries, chocolate, raisins, lentils, oatmeal, sardines, and jams, which will serve to vary the fare. One way and another we shall manage to be very comfortable during our stay here, and already we can regard it as a temporary home. _Thursday, March_ 9, A.M.--Yesterday and to-day very busy about the hut and overcoming difficulties fast. The stove threatened to exhaust our store of firewood. We have redesigned it so that it takes only a few chips of wood to light it and then continues to give great heat with blubber alone. To-day there are to be further improvements to regulate the draught and increase the cooking range. We have further housed in the living quarters with our old _Discovery_ winter awning, and begin already to retain the heat which is generated inside. We are beginning to eat blubber and find biscuits fried in it to be delicious. We really have everything necessary for our comfort and only need a little more experience to make the best of our resources. The weather has been wonderfully, perhaps ominously, fine during the last few days. The sea has frozen over and broken up several times already. The warm sun has given a grand opportunity to dry all gear. Yesterday morning Bowers went with a party to pick up the stores rescued from the floe last week. Evans volunteered to join the party with Meares, Keohane, Atkinson, and Gran. They started from the hut about 10 A.M.; we helped them up the hill, and at 7.30 I saw them reach the camp containing the gear, some 12 miles away. I don't expect them in till to-morrow night. It is splendid to see the way in which everyone is learning the ropes, and the resource which is being shown. Wilson as usual leads in the making of useful suggestions and in generally providing for our wants. He is a tower of strength in checking the ill-usage of clothes--what I have come to regard as the greatest danger with Englishmen. _Friday, March_ 10, A.M.--Went yesterday to Castle Rock with Wilson to see what chance there might be of getting to Cape Evans. [17] The day was bright and it was quite warm walking in the sun. There is no doubt the route to Cape Evans lies over the worst corner of Erebus. From this distance the whole mountain side looks a mass of crevasses, but a route might be found at a level of 3000 or 4000 ft. The hut is getting warmer and more comfortable. We have very excellent nights; it is cold only in the early morning. The outside temperatures range from 8° or so in the day to 2° at night. To-day there is a strong S.E. wind with drift. We are going to fetch more blubber for the stove. _Saturday, March 11, A.M._--Went yesterday morning to Pram Point to fetch in blubber--wind very strong to Gap but very little on Pram Point side. In the evening went half-way to Castle Rock; strong bitter cold wind on summit. Could not see the sledge party, but after supper they arrived, having had very hard pulling. They had had no wind at all till they approached the hut. Their temperatures had fallen to -10° and -15°, but with bright clear sunshine in the daytime. They had thoroughly enjoyed their trip and the pulling on ski. Life in the hut is much improved, but if things go too fast there will be all too little to think about and give occupation in the hut. It is astonishing how the miscellaneous assortment of articles remaining in and about the hut have been put to useful purpose. This deserves description._15_ _Monday, March_ 13, A.M.--The weather grew bad on Saturday night and we had a mild blizzard yesterday. The wind went to the south and increased in force last night, and this morning there was quite a heavy sea breaking over the ice foot. The spray came almost up to the dogs. It reminds us of the gale in which we drove ashore in the _Discovery._ We have had some trouble with our blubber stove and got the hut very full of smoke on Saturday night. As a result we are all as black as sweeps and our various garments are covered with oily soot. We look a fearful gang of ruffians. The blizzard has delayed our plans and everyone's attention is bent on the stove, the cooking, and the various internal arrangements. Nothing is done without a great amount of advice received from all quarters, and consequently things are pretty well done. The hut has a pungent odour of blubber and blubber smoke. We have grown accustomed to it, but imagine that ourselves and our clothes will be given a wide berth when we return to Cape Evans. _Wednesday, March_ 15, A.M.--It was blowing continuously from the south throughout Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday--I never remember such a persistent southerly wind. Both Monday and Tuesday I went up Crater Hill. I feared that our floe at Pram Point would go, but yesterday it still remained, though the cracks are getting more open. We should be in a hole if it went. [18] As I came down the hill yesterday I saw a strange figure advancing and found it belonged to Griffith Taylor. He and his party had returned safely. They were very full of their adventures. The main part of their work seems to be rediscovery of many facts which were noted but perhaps passed over too lightly in the _Discovery_--but it is certain that the lessons taught by the physiographical and ice features will now be thoroughly explained. A very interesting fact lies in the continuous bright sunshiny weather which the party enjoyed during the first four weeks of their work. They seem to have avoided all our stormy winds and blizzards. But I must leave Griffith Taylor to tell his own story, which will certainly be a lengthy one. The party gives Evans [P.O.] a very high character. To-day we have a large seal-killing party. I hope to get in a good fortnight's allowance of blubber as well as meat, and pray that our floe will remain. _Friday, March_ 17, A.M.--We killed eleven seals at Pram Point on Wednesday, had lunch on the Point, and carried some half ton of the blubber and meat back to camp--it was a stiff pull up the hill. Yesterday the last Corner Party started: Evans, Wright, Crean, and Forde in one team; Bowers, Oates, Cherry-Garrard, and Atkinson in the other. It was very sporting of Wright to join in after only a day's rest. He is evidently a splendid puller. Debenham has become principal cook, and evidently enjoys the task. Taylor is full of good spirits and anecdote, an addition to the party. Yesterday after a beautifully fine morning we got a strong northerly wind which blew till the middle of the night, crowding the young ice up the Strait. Then the wind suddenly shifted to the south, and I thought we were in for a blizzard; but this morning the wind has gone to the S.E.--the stratus cloud formed by the north wind is dissipating, and the damp snow deposited in the night is drifting. It looks like a fine evening. Steadily we are increasing the comforts of the hut. The stove has been improved out of all recognition; with extra stove-pipes we get no back draughts, no smoke inside, whilst the economy of fuel is much increased. Insulation inside and out is the subject we are now attacking. The young ice is going to and fro, but the sea refuses to freeze over so far--except in the region of Pram Point, where a bay has remained for some four days holding some pieces of Barrier in its grip. These pieces have come from the edge of the Barrier and some are crumbling already, showing a deep and rapid surface deposit of snow and therefore the probability that they are drifted sea ice not more than a year or two old, the depth of the drift being due to proximity to an old Barrier edge. I have just taken to pyjama trousers and shall don an extra shirt--I have been astonished at the warmth which I have felt throughout in light clothing. So far I have had nothing more than a singlet and jersey under pyjama jacket and a single pair of drawers under wind trousers. A hole in the drawers of ancient date means that one place has had no covering but the wind trousers, yet I have never felt cold about the body. In spite of all little activities I am impatient of our wait here. But I shall be impatient also in the main hut. It is ill to sit still and contemplate the ruin which has assailed our transport. The scheme of advance must be very different from that which I first contemplated. The Pole is a very long way off, alas! Bit by bit I am losing all faith in the dogs--I'm afraid they will never go the pace we look for. _Saturday, March_ 18, A.M.--Still blowing and drifting. It seems as though there can be no peace at this spot till the sea is properly frozen over. It blew very hard from the S.E. yesterday--I could scarcely walk against the wind. In the night it fell calm; the moon shone brightly at midnight. Then the sky became overcast and the temperature rose to +11. Now the wind is coming in spurts from the south--all indications of a blizzard. With the north wind of Friday the ice must have pressed up on Hut Point. A considerable floe of pressed up young ice is grounded under the point, and this morning we found a seal on this. Just as the party started out to kill it, it slid off into the water--it had evidently finished its sleep--but it is encouraging to have had a chance to capture a seal so close to the hut. _Monday, March_ 20.--On Saturday night it blew hard from the south, thick overhead, low stratus and drift. The sea spray again came over the ice foot and flung up almost to the dogs; by Sunday morning the wind had veered to the S.E., and all yesterday it blew with great violence and temperature down to -11° and -12°. We were confined to the hut and its immediate environs. Last night the wind dropped, and for a few hours this morning we had light airs only, the temperature rising to -2°. The continuous bad weather is very serious for the dogs. We have strained every nerve to get them comfortable, but the changes of wind made it impossible to afford shelter in all directions. Some five or six dogs are running loose, but we dare not allow the stronger animals such liberty. They suffer much from the cold, but they don't get worse. The small white dog which fell into the crevasse on our home journey died yesterday. Under the best circumstances I doubt if it could have lived, as there had evidently been internal injury and an external sore had grown gangrenous. Three other animals are in a poor way, but may pull through with luck. We had a stroke of luck to-day. The young ice pressed up off Hut Point has remained fast--a small convenient platform jutting out from the point. We found two seals on it to-day and killed them--thus getting a good supply of meat for the dogs and some more blubber for our fire. Other seals came up as the first two were being skinned, so that one may now hope to keep up all future supplies on this side of the ridge. As I write the wind is blowing up again and looks like returning to the south. The only comfort is that these strong cold winds with no sun must go far to cool the waters of the Sound. The continuous bad weather is trying to the spirits, but we are fairly comfortable in the hut and only suffer from lack of exercise to work off the heavy meals our appetites demand. _Tuesday, March_ 21.--The wind returned to the south at 8 last night. It gradually increased in force until 2 A.M., when it was blowing from the S.S.W., force 9 to 10. The sea was breaking constantly and heavily on the ice foot. The spray carried right over the Point--covering all things and raining on the roof of the hut. Poor Vince's cross, some 30 feet above the water, was enveloped in it. Of course the dogs had a very poor time, and we went and released two or three, getting covered in spray during the operation--our wind clothes very wet. This is the third gale from the south since our arrival here. Any one of these would have rendered the Bay impossible for a ship, and therefore it is extraordinary that we should have entirely escaped such a blow when the _Discovery_ was in it in 1902. The effects of this gale are evident and show that it is a most unusual occurrence. The rippled snow surface of the ice foot is furrowed in all directions and covered with briny deposit--a condition we have never seen before. The ice foot at the S.W. corner of the bay is broken down, bare rock appearing for the first time. The sledges, magnetic huts, and in fact every exposed object on the Point are thickly covered with brine. Our seal floe has gone, so it is good-bye to seals on this side for some time. The dogs are the main sufferers by this continuance of phenomenally terrible weather. At least four are in a bad state; some six or seven others are by no means fit and well, but oddly enough some ten or a dozen animals are as fit as they can be. Whether constitutionally harder or whether better fitted by nature or chance to protect themselves it is impossible to say--Osman, Czigane, Krisravitsa, Hohol, and some others are in first-rate condition, whilst Lappa is better than he has ever been before. It is so impossible to keep the dogs comfortable in the traces and so laborious to be continually attempting it, that we have decided to let the majority run loose. It will be wonderful if we can avoid one or two murders, but on the other hand probably more would die if we kept them in leash. We shall try and keep the quarrelsome dogs chained up. The main trouble that seems to come on the poor wretches is the icing up of their hindquarters; once the ice gets thoroughly into the coat the hind legs get half paralysed with cold. The hope is that the animals will free themselves of this by running about. Well, well, fortune is not being very kind to us. This month will have sad memories. Still I suppose things might be worse; the ponies are well housed and are doing exceedingly well, though we have slightly increased their food allowance. Yesterday afternoon we climbed Observation Hill to see some examples of spheroidal weathering--Wilson knew of them and guided. The geologists state that they indicate a columnar structure, the tops of the columns being weathered out. The specimens we saw were very perfect. Had some interesting instruction in geology in the evening. I should not regret a stay here with our two geologists if only the weather would allow us to get about. This morning the wind moderated and went to the S.E.; the sea naturally fell quickly. The temperature this morning was + 17°; minimum +11°. But now the wind is increasing from the S.E. and it is momentarily getting colder. _Thursday, March_ 23, A.M.--No signs of depot party, which to-night will have been a week absent. On Tuesday afternoon we went up to the Big Boulder above Ski slope. The geologists were interested, and we others learnt something of olivines, green in crystal form or oxidized to bright red, granites or granulites or quartzites, hornblende and feldspars, ferrous and ferric oxides of lava acid, basic, plutonic, igneous, eruptive--schists, basalts &c. All such things I must get clearer in my mind. [19] Tuesday afternoon a cold S.E. wind commenced and blew all night. Yesterday morning it was calm and I went up Crater Hill. The sea of stratus cloud hung curtain-like over the Strait--blue sky east and south of it and the Western Mountains bathed in sunshine, sharp, clear, distinct, a glorious glimpse of grandeur on which the curtain gradually descended. In the morning it looked as though great pieces of Barrier were drifting out. From the hill one found these to be but small fragments which the late gale had dislodged, leaving in places a blue wall very easily distinguished from the general white of the older fractures. The old floe and a good extent of new ice had remained fast in Pram Point Bay. Great numbers of seals up as usual. The temperature was up to +20° at noon. In the afternoon a very chill wind from the east, temperature rapidly dropping till zero in the evening. The Strait obstinately refuses to freeze. We are scoring another success in the manufacture of blubber lamps, which relieves anxiety as to lighting as the hours of darkness increase. The young ice in Pram Point Bay is already being pressed up. _Friday, March_ 24, A.M.--Skuas still about, a few--very shy--very dark in colour after moulting. Went along Arrival Heights yesterday with very keen over-ridge wind--it was difficult to get shelter. In the evening it fell calm and has remained all night with temperature up to + 18°. This morning it is snowing with fairly large flakes. Yesterday for the first time saw the ice foot on the south side of the bay, a wall some 5 or 6 ft. above water and 12 or 14 ft. below; the sea bottom quite clear with the white wall resting on it. This must be typical of the ice foot all along the coast, and the wasting of caves at sea level alone gives the idea of an overhanging mass. Very curious and interesting erosion of surface of the ice foot by waves during recent gale. The depot party returned yesterday morning. They had thick weather on the outward march and missed the track, finally doing 30 miles between Safety Camp and Corner Camp. They had a hard blow up to force 8 on the night of our gale. Started N.W. and strongest S.S.E. The sea wants to freeze--a thin coating of ice formed directly the wind dropped; but the high temperature does not tend to thicken it rapidly and the tide makes many an open lead. We have been counting our resources and arranging for another twenty days' stay. _Saturday, March_ 25, A.M.--We have had two days of surprisingly warm weather, the sky overcast, snow falling, wind only in light airs. Last night the sky was clearing, with a southerly wind, and this morning the sea was open all about us. It is disappointing to find the ice so reluctant to hold; at the same time one supposes that the cooling of the water is proceeding and therefore that each day makes it easier for the ice to form--the sun seems to have lost all power, but I imagine its rays still tend to warm the surface water about the noon hours. It is only a week now to the date which I thought would see us all at Cape Evans. The warmth of the air has produced a comparatively uncomfortable state of affairs in the hut. The ice on the inner roof is melting fast, dripping on the floor and streaming down the sides. The increasing cold is checking the evil even as I write. Comfort could only be ensured in the hut either by making a clean sweep of all the ceiling ice or by keeping the interior at a critical temperature little above freezing-point. _Sunday, March_ 26, P.M.--Yesterday morning went along Arrival Heights in very cold wind. Afternoon to east side Observation Hill. As afternoon advanced, wind fell. Glorious evening--absolutely calm, smoke ascending straight. Sea frozen over--looked very much like final freezing, but in night wind came from S.E., producing open water all along shore. Wind continued this morning with drift, slackened in afternoon; walked over Gap and back by Crater Heights to Arrival Heights. Sea east of Cape Armitage pretty well covered with ice; some open pools--sea off shore west of the Cape frozen in pools, open lanes close to shore as far as Castle Rock. Bays either side of Glacier Tongue _look_ fairly well frozen. Hut still dropping water badly. Held service in hut this morning, read Litany. One skua seen to-day. _Monday, March_ 27, P.M.--Strong easterly wind on ridge to-day rushing down over slopes on western side. Ice holding south from about Hut Point, but cleared 1/2 to 3/4 mile from shore to northward. Cleared in patches also, I am told, on both sides of Glacier Tongue, which is annoying. A regular local wind. The Barrier edge can be seen clearly all along, showing there is little or no drift. Have been out over the Gap for walk. Glad to say majority of people seem anxious to get exercise, but one or two like the fire better. The dogs are getting fitter each day, and all save one or two have excellent coats. I was very pleased to find one or two of the animals voluntarily accompanying us on our walk. It is good to see them trotting against a strong drift. _Tuesday, March_ 28.--Slowly but surely the sea is freezing over. The ice holds and thickens south of Hut Point in spite of strong easterly wind and in spite of isolated water holes which obstinately remain open. It is difficult to account for these--one wonders if the air currents shoot downward on such places; but even so it is strange that they do not gradually diminish in extent. A great deal of ice seems to have remained in and about the northern islets, but it is too far to be sure that there is a continuous sheet. We are building stabling to accommodate four more ponies under the eastern verandah. When this is complete we shall be able to shelter seven animals, and this should be enough for winter and spring operations. _Thursday, March_ 30.--The ice holds south of Hut Point, though not thickening rapidly--yesterday was calm and the same ice conditions seemed to obtain on both sides of the Glacier Tongue. It looks as though the last part of the road to become safe will be the stretch from Hut Point to Turtleback Island. Here the sea seems disinclined to freeze even in calm weather. To-day there is more strong wind from the east. White horse all along under the ridge. The period of our stay here seems to promise to lengthen. It is trying--trying--but we can live, which is something. I should not be greatly surprised if we had to wait till May. Several skuas were about the camp yesterday. I have seen none to-day. Two rorquals were rising close to Hut Point this morning--although the ice is nowhere thick it was strange to see them making for the open leads and thin places to blow. _Friday, March_ 31.--I studied the wind blowing along the ridge yesterday and came to the conclusion that a comparatively thin shaft of air was moving along the ridge from Erebus. On either side of the ridge it seemed to pour down from the ridge itself--there was practically no wind on the sea ice off Pram Point, and to the westward of Hut Point the frost smoke was drifting to the N.W. The temperature ranges about zero. It seems to be almost certain that the perpetual wind is due to the open winter. Meanwhile the sea refuses to freeze over. Wright pointed out the very critical point which zero temperature represents in the freezing of salt water, being the freezing temperature of concentrated brine--a very few degrees above or below zero would make all the difference to the rate of increase of the ice thickness. Yesterday the ice was 8 inches in places east of Cape Armitage and 6 inches in our Bay: it was said to be fast to the south of the Glacier Tongue well beyond Turtleback Island and to the north out of the Islands, except for a strip of water immediately north of the Tongue. We are good for another week in pretty well every commodity and shall then have to reduce luxuries. But we have plenty of seal meat, blubber and biscuit, and can therefore remain for a much longer period if needs be. Meanwhile the days are growing shorter and the weather colder. _Saturday, April_ 1.--The wind yesterday was blowing across the Ridge from the top down on the sea to the west: very little wind on the eastern slopes and practically none at Pram Point. A seal came up in our Bay and was killed. Taylor found a number of fish frozen into the sea ice--he says there are several in a small area. The pressure ridges in Pram Point Bay are estimated by Wright to have set up about 3 feet. This ice has been 'in' about ten days. It is now safe to work pretty well anywhere south of Hut Point. Went to Third Crater (next Castle Rock) yesterday. The ice seems to be holding in the near Bay from a point near Hulton Rocks to Glacier; also in the whole of the North Bay except for a tongue of open water immediately north of the Glacier. The wind is the same to-day as yesterday, and the open water apparently not reduced by a square yard. I'm feeling impatient. _Sunday, April_ 2, A.M.--Went round Cape Armitage to Pram Point on sea ice for first time yesterday afternoon. Ice solid everywhere, except off the Cape, where there are numerous open pools. Can only imagine layers of comparatively warm water brought to the surface by shallows. The ice between the pools is fairly shallow. One Emperor killed off the Cape. Several skuas seen--three seals up in our Bay--several off Pram Point in the shelter of Horse Shoe Bay. A great many fish on sea ice--mostly small, but a second species 5 or 6 inches long: imagine they are chased by seals and caught in brashy ice where they are unable to escape. Came back over hill: glorious sunset, brilliant crimson clouds in west. Returned to find wind dropping, the first time for three days. It turned to north in the evening. Splendid aurora in the night; a bright band of light from S.S.W. to E.N.E. passing within 10° of the zenith with two waving spirals at the summit. This morning sea to north covered with ice. Min. temp, for night -5°, but I think most of the ice was brought in by the wind. Things look more hopeful. Ice now continuous to Cape Evans, but very thin as far as Glacier Tongue; three or four days of calm or light winds should make everything firm. _Wednesday, April_ 5, A.M.--The east wind has continued with a short break on Sunday for five days, increasing in violence and gradually becoming colder and more charged with snow until yesterday, when we had a thick overcast day with falling and driving snow and temperature down to -11°. Went beyond Castle Rock on Sunday and Monday mornings with Griffith Taylor. Think the wind fairly local and that the Strait has frozen over to the north, as streams of drift snow and ice crystals (off the cliffs) were building up the ice sheet towards the wind. Monday we could see the approaching white sheet--yesterday it was visibly closer to land, though the wind had not decreased. Walking was little pleasure on either day: yesterday climbed about hills to see all possible. No one else left the hut. In the evening the wind fell and freezing continued during night (min.--17°). This morning there is ice everywhere. I cannot help thinking it has come to stay. In Arrival Bay it is 6 to 7 inches thick, but the new pools beyond have only I inch of the regular elastic sludgy new ice. The sky cleared last night, and this morning we have sunshine for the first time for many days. If this weather holds for a day we shall be all right. We are getting towards the end of our luxuries, so that it is quite time we made a move--we are very near the end of the sugar. The skuas seem to have gone, the last was seen on Sunday. These birds were very shy towards the end of their stay, also very dark in plumage; they did not seem hungry, and yet it must have been difficult for them to get food. The seals are coming up in our Bay--five last night. Luckily the dogs have not yet discovered them or the fact that the sea ice will bear them. Had an interesting talk with Taylor on agglomerate and basaltic dykes of Castle Rock. The perfection of the small cone craters below Castle Rock seem to support the theory we have come to, that there have been volcanic disturbances since the recession of the greater ice sheet. It is a great thing having Wright to fog out the ice problems, and he has had a good opportunity of observing many interesting things here. He is keeping notes of ice changes and a keen eye on ice phenomena; we have many discussions. Yesterday Wilson prepared a fry of seal meat with penguin blubber. It had a flavour like cod-liver oil and was not much appreciated--some ate their share, and I think all would have done so if we had had sledging appetites--shades of _Discovery_ days!!_16_ This Emperor weighed anything from 88 to 96 lbs., and therefore approximated to or exceeded the record. The dogs are doing pretty well with one or two exceptions. Deek is the worst, but I begin to think all will pull through. _Thursday, April_ 6, A.M.--The weather continued fine and clear yesterday--one of the very few fine days we have had since our arrival at the hut. The sun shone continuously from early morning till it set behind the northern hills about 5 P.M. The sea froze completely, but with only a thin sheet to the north. A fairly strong northerly wind sprang up, causing this thin ice to override and to leave several open leads near the land. In the forenoon I went to the edge of the new ice with Wright. It looked at the limit of safety and we did not venture far. The over-riding is interesting: the edge of one sheet splits as it rises and slides over the other sheet in long tongues which creep onward impressively. Whilst motion lasts there is continuous music, a medley of high pitched but tuneful notes--one might imagine small birds chirping in a wood. The ice sings, we say. P.M.--In the afternoon went nearly two miles to the north over the young ice; found it about 3 1/2 inches thick. At supper arranged programme for shift to Cape Evans--men to go on Saturday--dogs Sunday--ponies Monday--all subject to maintenance of good weather of course. _Friday, April_ 7.--Went north over ice with Atkinson, Bowers, Taylor, Cherry-Garrard; found the thickness nearly 5 inches everywhere except in open water leads, which remain open in many places. As we got away from the land we got on an interesting surface of small pancakes, much capped and pressed up, a sort of mosaic. This is the ice which was built up from lee side of the Strait, spreading across to windward against the strong winds of Monday and Tuesday. Another point of interest was the manner in which the overriding ice sheets had scraped the under floes. Taylor fell in when rather foolishly trying to cross a thinly covered lead--he had a very scared face for a moment or two whilst we hurried to the rescue, but hauled himself out with his ice axe without our help and walked back with Cherry. The remainder of us went on till abreast of the sulphur cones under Castle Rock, when we made for the shore, and with a little mutual help climbed the cliff and returned by land. As far as one can see all should be well for our return to-morrow, but the sky is clouding to-night and a change of weather seems imminent. Three successive fine days seem near the limit in this region. We have picked up quite a number of fish frozen in the ice--the larger ones about the size of a herring and the smaller of a minnow. We imagined both had been driven into the slushy ice by seals, but to-day Gran found a large fish frozen in the act of swallowing a small one. It looks as though both small and large are caught when one is chasing the other. We have achieved such great comfort here that one is half sorry to leave--it is a fine healthy existence with many hours spent in the open and generally some interesting object for our walks abroad. The hill climbing gives excellent exercise--we shall miss much of it at Cape Evans. But I am anxious to get back and see that all is well at the latter, as for a long time I have been wondering how our beach has withstood the shocks of northerly winds. The thought that the hut may have been damaged by the sea in one of the heavy storms will not be banished. A Sketch of the Life at Hut Point We gather around the fire seated on packing-cases to receive them with a hunk of butter and a steaming pannikin of tea, and life is well worth living. After lunch we are out and about again; there is little to tempt a long stay indoors and exercise keeps us all the fitter. The falling light and approach of supper drives us home again with good appetites about 5 or 6 o'clock, and then the cooks rival one another in preparing succulent dishes of fried seal liver. A single dish may not seem to offer much opportunity of variation, but a lot can be done with a little flour, a handful of raisins, a spoonful of curry powder, or the addition of a little boiled pea meal. Be this as it may, we never tire of our dish and exclamations of satisfaction can be heard every night--or nearly every night, for two nights ago [April 4] Wilson, who has proved a genius in the invention of 'plats,' almost ruined his reputation. He proposed to fry the seal liver in penguin blubber, suggesting that the latter could be freed from all rankness. The blubber was obtained and rendered down with great care, the result appeared as delightfully pure fat free from smell; but appearances were deceptive; the 'fry' proved redolent of penguin, a concentrated essence of that peculiar flavour which faintly lingers in the meat and should not be emphasised. Three heroes got through their pannikins, but the rest of us decided to be contented with cocoa and biscuit after tasting the first mouthful. After supper we have an hour or so of smoking and conversation--a cheering, pleasant hour--in which reminiscences are exchanged by a company which has very literally had world-wide experience. There is scarce a country under the sun which one or another of us has not travelled in, so diverse are our origins and occupations. An hour or so after supper we tail off one by one, spread out our sleeping-bags, take off our shoes and creep into comfort, for our reindeer bags are really warm and comfortable now that they have had a chance of drying, and the hut retains some of the heat generated in it. Thanks to the success of the blubber lamps and to a fair supply of candles, we can muster ample light to read for another hour or two, and so tucked up in our furs we study the social and political questions of the past decade. We muster no less than sixteen. Seven of us pretty well cover the floor of one wing of the L-shaped enclosure, four sleep in the other wing, which also holds the store, whilst the remaining five occupy the annexe and affect to find the colder temperature more salubrious. Everyone can manage eight or nine hours' sleep without a break, and not a few would have little difficulty in sleeping the clock round, which goes to show that our extremely simple life is an exceedingly healthy one, though with faces and hands blackened with smoke, appearances might not lead an outsider to suppose it. _Sunday, April_ 9, A.M.--On Friday night it grew overcast and the wind went to the south. During the whole of yesterday and last night it blew a moderate blizzard--the temperature at highest +5°, a relatively small amount of drift. On Friday night the ice in the Strait went out from a line meeting the shore 3/4 mile north of Hut Point. A crack off Hut Point and curving to N.W. opened to about 15 or 20 feet, the opening continuing on the north side of the Point. It is strange that the ice thus opened should have remained. Ice cleared out to the north directly wind commenced--it didn't wait a single instant, showing that our journey over it earlier in the day was a very risky proceeding--the uncertainty of these conditions is beyond words, but there shall be no more of this foolish venturing on young ice. This decision seems to put off the return of the ponies to a comparatively late date. Yesterday went to the second crater, Arrival Heights, hoping to see the condition of the northerly bays, but could see little or nothing owing to drift. A white line dimly seen on the horizon seemed to indicate that the ice drifted out has not gone far. Some skuas were seen yesterday, a very late date. The seals disinclined to come on the ice; one can be seen at Cape Armitage this morning, but it is two or three days since there was one up in our Bay. It will certainly be some time before the ponies can be got back. _Monday, April_ 10, P.M.--Intended to make for Cape Evans this morning. Called hands early, but when we were ready for departure after breakfast, the sky became more overcast and snow began to fall. It continued off and on all day, only clearing as the sun set. It would have been the worst condition possible for our attempt, as we could not have been more than 100 yards. Conditions look very unfavourable for the continued freezing of the Strait. _Thursday, April_ 13.--Started from Hut Point 9 A.M. Tuesday. Party consisted of self, Bowers, P.O. Evans, Taylor, one tent; Evans, Gran, Crean, Debenham, and Wright, second tent. Left Wilson in charge at Hut Point with Meares, Forde, Keohane, Oates, Atkinson, and Cherry-Garrard. All gave us a pull up the ski slope; it had become a point of honour to take this slope without a 'breather.' I find such an effort trying in the early morning, but had to go through with it. Weather fine; we marched past Castle Rock, east of it; the snow was soft on the slopes, showing the shelter afforded--continued to traverse the ridge for the first time--found quite good surface much wind swept--passed both cones on the ridge on the west side. Caught a glimpse of fast ice in the Bays either side of Glacier as expected, but in the near Bay its extent was very small. Evidently we should have to go well along the ridge before descending, and then the problem would be how to get down over the cliffs. On to Hulton Rocks 7 1/2 miles from the start--here it was very icy and wind swept, inhospitable--the wind got up and light became bad just at the critical moment, so we camped and had some tea at 2 P.M. A clearance half an hour later allowed us to see a possible descent to the ice cliffs, but between Hulton Rocks and Erebus all the slope was much cracked and crevassed. We chose a clear track to the edge of the cliffs, but could find no low place in these, the lowest part being 24 feet sheer drop. Arriving here the wind increased, the snow drifting off the ridge--we had to decide quickly; I got myself to the edge and made standing places to work the rope; dug away at the cornice, well situated for such work in harness. Got three people lowered by the Alpine rope--Evans, Bowers, and Taylor--then sent down the sledges, which went down in fine style, fully packed--then the remainder of the party. For the last three, drove a stake hard down in the snow and used the rope round it, the men being lowered by people below--came down last myself. Quite a neat and speedy bit of work and all done in 20 minutes without serious frostbite--quite pleased with the result. We found pulling to Glacier Tongue very heavy over the surface of ice covered with salt crystals, and reached Glacier Tongue about 5.30; found a low place and got the sledges up the 6 ft. wall pretty easily. Stiff incline, but easy pulling on hard surface--the light was failing and the surface criss-crossed with innumerable cracks; several of us fell in these with risk of strain, but the north side was well snow-covered and easy, with a good valley leading to a low ice cliff--here a broken piece afforded easy descent. I decided to push on for Cape Evans, so camped for tea at 6. At 6.30 found darkness suddenly arrived; it was very difficult to see anything--we got down on the sea ice, very heavy pulling, but plodded on for some hours; at 10 arrived close under little Razor Back Island, and not being able to see anything ahead, decided to camp and got to sleep at 11.30 in no very comfortable circumstances. The wind commenced to rise during night. We found a roaring blizzard in the morning. We had many alarms for the safety of the ice on which the camp was pitched. Bowers and Taylor climbed the island; reported wind terrific on the summit--sweeping on either side but comparatively calm immediately to windward and to leeward. Waited all day in hopes of a lull; at 3 I went round the island myself with Bowers, and found a little ice platform close under the weather side; resolved to shift camp here. It took two very cold hours, but we gained great shelter, the cliffs rising almost sheer from the tents. Only now and again a whirling wind current eddied down on the tents, which were well secured, but the noise of the wind sweeping over the rocky ridge above our heads was deafening; we could scarcely hear ourselves speak. Settled down for our second night with little comfort, and slept better, knowing we could not be swept out to sea, but provisions were left only for one more meal. During the night the wind moderated and we could just see outline of land. I roused the party at 7 A.M. and we were soon under weigh, with a desperately cold and stiff breeze and frozen clothes; it was very heavy pulling, but the distance only two miles. Arrived off the point about ten and found sea ice continued around it. It was a very great relief to see the hut on rounding it and to hear that all was well. Another pony, Hackenschmidt, and one dog reported dead, but this certainly is not worse than expected. All the other animals are in good form. Delighted with everything I see in the hut. Simpson has done wonders, but indeed so has everyone else, and I must leave description to a future occasion. _Friday, April_ 14.--Good Friday. Peaceful day. Wind continuing 20 to 30 miles per hour. Had divine service. _Saturday, April_ 15.--Weather continuing thoroughly bad. Wind blowing from 30 to 40 miles an hour all day; drift bad, and to-night snow falling. I am waiting to get back to Hut Point with relief stores. To-night sent up signal light to inform them there of our safe arrival--an answering flare was shown. _Sunday, April_ 16.--Same wind as yesterday up to 6 o'clock, when it fell calm with gusts from the north. Have exercised the ponies to-day and got my first good look at them. I scarcely like to express the mixed feelings with which I am able to regard this remnant. Freezing of Bays. Cape Evans _March_ 15.--General young ice formed. _March_ 19.--Bay cleared except strip inside Inaccessible and Razor Back Islands to Corner Turk's Head. _March_ 20.--Everything cleared. _March_ 25.--Sea froze over inside Islands for good. _March_ 28.--Sea frozen as far as seen. _March_ 30.--Remaining only inside Islands. _April_ 1.--Limit Cape to Island. _April_ 6.--Present limit freezing in Strait and in North Bay. _April_ 9.--Strait cleared except former limit and _some_ ice in North Bay likely to remain. CHAPTER VIII Home Impressions and an Excursion _Impressions on returning to the Hut, April_ 13, 1911 In choosing the site of the hut on our Home Beach I had thought of the possibility of northerly winds bringing a swell, but had argued, firstly, that no heavy northerly swell had ever been recorded in the Sound; secondly, that a strong northerly wind was bound to bring pack which would damp the swell; thirdly, that the locality was excellently protected by the Barne Glacier, and finally, that the beach itself showed no signs of having been swept by the sea, the rock fragments composing it being completely angular. When the hut was erected and I found that its foundation was only 11 feet above the level of the sea ice, I had a slight misgiving, but reassured myself again by reconsidering the circumstances that afforded shelter to the beach. The fact that such question had been considered makes it easier to understand the attitude of mind that readmitted doubt in the face of phenomenal conditions. The event has justified my original arguments, but I must confess a sense of having assumed security without sufficient proof in a case where an error of judgment might have had dire consequences. It was not until I found all safe at the Home Station that I realised how anxious I had been concerning it. In a normal season no thought of its having been in danger would have occurred to me, but since the loss of the ponies and the breaking of the Glacier Tongue I could not rid myself of the fear that misfortune was in the air and that some abnormal swell had swept the beach; gloomy thoughts of the havoc that might have been wrought by such an event would arise in spite of the sound reasons which had originally led me to choose the site of the hut as a safe one. The late freezing of the sea, the terrible continuance of wind and the abnormalities to which I have referred had gradually strengthened the profound distrust with which I had been forced to regard our mysterious Antarctic climate until my imagination conjured up many forms of disaster as possibly falling on those from whom I had parted for so long. We marched towards Cape Evans under the usually miserable conditions which attend the breaking of camp in a cold wind after a heavy blizzard. The outlook was dreary in the grey light of early morning, our clothes were frozen stiff and our fingers, wet and cold in the tent, had been frostbitten in packing the sledges. A few comforting signs of life appeared as we approached the Cape; some old footprints in the snow, a long silk thread from the meteorologist's balloon; but we saw nothing more as we neared the rocks of the promontory and the many grounded bergs which were scattered off it. To my surprise the fast ice extended past the Cape and we were able to round it into the North Bay. Here we saw the weather screen on Wind Vane Hill, and a moment later turned a small headland and brought the hut in full view. It was intact--stables, outhouses and all; evidently the sea had left it undisturbed. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We watched two figures at work near the stables and wondered when they would see us. In a moment or two they did so, and fled inside the hut to carry the news of our arrival. Three minutes later all nine occupants [20] were streaming over the floe towards us with shouts of welcome. There were eager inquiries as to mutual welfare and it took but a minute to learn the most important events of the quiet station life which had been led since our departure. These under the circumstances might well be considered the deaths of one pony and one dog. The pony was that which had been nicknamed Hackenschmidt from his vicious habit of using both fore and hind legs in attacking those who came near him. He had been obviously of different breed from the other ponies, being of lighter and handsomer shape, suggestive of a strain of Arab blood. From no cause which could be discovered either by the symptoms of his illness or the post-mortem held by Nelson could a reason be found for his death. In spite of the best feeding and every care he had gradually sickened until he was too weak to stand, and in this condition there had been no option but to put him out of misery. Anton considers the death of Hackenschmidt to have been an act of 'cussedness'--the result of a determination to do no work for the Expedition!! Although the loss is serious I remember doubts which I had as to whether this animal could be anything but a source of trouble to us. He had been most difficult to handle all through, showing a vicious, intractable temper. I had foreseen great difficulties with him, especially during the early part of any journey on which he was taken, and this consideration softened the news of his death. The dog had been left behind in a very sick condition, and this loss was not a great surprise. These items were the worst of the small budget of news that awaited me; for the rest, the hut arrangements had worked out in the most satisfactory manner possible and the scientific routine of observations was in full swing. After our primitive life at Cape Armitage it was wonderful to enter the precincts of our warm, dry Cape Evans home. The interior space seemed palatial, the light resplendent, and the comfort luxurious. It was very good to eat in civilised fashion, to enjoy the first bath for three months, and have contact with clean, dry clothing. Such fleeting hours of comfort (for custom soon banished their delight) are the treasured remembrance of every Polar traveller. They throw into sharpest contrast the hardships of the past and the comforts of the present, and for the time he revels in the unaccustomed physical contentment that results. I was not many hours or even minutes in the hut before I was haled round to observe in detail the transformation which had taken place during my absence, and in which a very proper pride was taken by those who had wrought it. Simpson's Corner was the first visited. Here the eye travelled over numerous shelves laden with a profusion of self-recording instruments, electric batteries and switchboards, whilst the ear caught the ticking of many clocks, the gentle whir of a motor and occasionally the trembling note of an electric bell. But such sights and sounds conveyed only an impression of the delicate methodical means by which the daily and hourly variations of our weather conditions were being recorded--a mere glimpse of the intricate arrangements of a first-class meteorological station--the one and only station of that order which has been established in Polar regions. It took me days and even months to realise fully the aims of our meteorologist and the scientific accuracy with which he was achieving them. When I did so to an adequate extent I wrote some description of his work which will be found in the following pages of this volume. [21] The first impression which I am here describing was more confused; I appreciated only that by going to 'Simpson's Corner' one could ascertain at a glance how hard the wind was blowing and had been blowing, how the barometer was varying, to what degree of cold the thermometer had descended; if one were still more inquisitive he could further inform himself as to the electrical tension of the atmosphere and other matters of like import. That such knowledge could be gleaned without a visit to the open air was an obvious advantage to those who were clothing themselves to face it, whilst the ability to study the variation of a storm without exposure savoured of no light victory of mind over matter. The dark room stands next to the parasitologist's side of the bench which flanks Sunny Jim's Corner--an involved sentence. To be more exact, the physicists adjust their instruments and write up books at a bench which projects at right angles to the end wall of the hut; the opposite side of this bench is allotted to Atkinson, who is to write with his back to the dark room. Atkinson being still absent his corner was unfurnished, and my attention was next claimed by the occupant of the dark room beyond Atkinson's limit. The art of photography has never been so well housed within the Polar regions and rarely without them. Such a palatial chamber for the development of negatives and prints can only be justified by the quality of the work produced in it, and is only justified in our case by the possession of such an artist as Ponting. He was eager to show me the results of his summer work, and meanwhile my eye took in the neat shelves with their array of cameras, &c., the porcelain sink and automatic water tap, the two acetylene gas burners with their shading screens, and the general obviousness of all conveniences of the photographic art. Here, indeed, was encouragement for the best results, and to the photographer be all praise, for it is mainly his hand which has executed the designs which his brain conceived. In this may be clearly seen the advantage of a traveller's experience. Ponting has had to fend for himself under primitive conditions in a new land; the result is a 'handy man' with every form of tool and in any circumstances. Thus, when building operations were to the fore and mechanical labour scarce, Ponting returned to the shell of his apartment with only the raw material for completing it. In the shortest possible space of time shelves and tanks were erected, doors hung and windows framed, and all in a workmanlike manner commanding the admiration of all beholders. It was well that speed could be commanded for such work, since the fleeting hours of the summer season had been altogether too few to be spared from the immediate service of photography. Ponting's nervous temperament allowed no waste of time--for him fine weather meant no sleep; he decided that lost opportunities should be as rare as circumstances would permit. This attitude was now manifested in the many yards of cinematograph film remaining on hand and yet greater number recorded as having been sent back in the ship, in the boxes of negatives lying on the shelves and a well-filled album of prints. Of the many admirable points in this work perhaps the most notable are Ponting's eye for a picture and the mastery he has acquired of ice subjects; the composition of most of his pictures is extraordinarily good, he seems to know by instinct the exact value of foreground and middle distance and of the introduction of 'life,' whilst with more technical skill in the manipulation of screens and exposures he emphasises the subtle shadows of the snow and reproduces its wondrously transparent texture. He is an artist in love with his work, and it was good to hear his enthusiasm for results of the past and plans of the future. Long before I could gaze my fill at the contents of the dark room I was led to the biologists' cubicle; Nelson and Day had from the first decided to camp together, each having a habit of methodical neatness; both were greatly relieved when the arrangement was approved, and they were freed from the chance of an untidy companion. No attempt had been made to furnish this cubicle before our departure on the autumn journey, but now on my return I found it an example of the best utilisation of space. The prevailing note was neatness; the biologist's microscope stood on a neat bench surrounded by enamel dishes, vessels, and books neatly arranged; behind him, when seated, rose two neat bunks with neat, closely curtained drawers for clothing and neat reflecting sconces for candles; overhead was a neat arrangement for drying socks with several nets, neatly bestowed. The carpentering to produce this effect had been of quite a high order, and was in very marked contrast with that exhibited for the hasty erections in other cubicles. The pillars and boarding of the bunks had carefully finished edges and were stained to mahogany brown. Nelson's bench is situated very conveniently under the largest of the hut windows, and had also an acetylene lamp, so that both in summer and winter he has all conveniences for his indoor work. Day appeared to have been unceasingly busy during my absence. Everyone paid tribute to his mechanical skill and expressed gratitude for the help he had given in adjusting instruments and generally helping forward the scientific work. He was entirely responsible for the heating, lighting, and ventilating arrangements, and as all these appear satisfactory he deserved much praise. Particulars concerning these arrangements I shall give later; as a first impression it is sufficient to note that the warmth and lighting of the hut seemed as good as could be desired, whilst for our comfort the air seemed fresh and pure. Day had also to report some progress with the motor sledges, but this matter also I leave for future consideration. My attention was very naturally turned from the heating arrangements to the cooking stove and its custodian, Clissold. I had already heard much of the surpassingly satisfactory meals which his art had produced, and had indeed already a first experience of them. Now I was introduced to the cook's corner with its range and ovens, its pots and pans, its side tables and well-covered shelves. Much was to be gathered therefrom, although a good meal by no means depends only on kitchen conveniences. It was gratifying to learn that the stove had proved itself economical and the patent fuel blocks a most convenient and efficient substitute for coal. Save for the thickness of the furnace cheeks and the size of the oven Clissold declared himself wholly satisfied. He feared that the oven would prove too small to keep up a constant supply of bread for all hands; nevertheless he introduced me to this oven with an air of pride which I soon found to be fully justified. For connected therewith was a contrivance for which he was entirely responsible, and which in its ingenuity rivalled any of which the hut could boast. The interior of the oven was so arranged that the 'rising' of the bread completed an electric circuit, thereby ringing a bell and switching on a red lamp. Clissold had realised that the continuous ringing of the bell would not be soothing to the nerves of our party, nor the continuous burning of the lamp calculated to prolong its life, and he had therefore added the clockwork mechanism which automatically broke the circuit after a short interval of time; further, this clockwork mechanism could be made to control the emersion of the same warning signals at intervals of time varied according to the desire of the operator;--thus because, when in bed, he would desire a signal at short periods, but if absent from the hut he would wish to know at a glance what had happened when he returned. Judged by any standard it was a remarkably pretty little device, but when I learnt that it had been made from odds and ends, such as a cog-wheel or spring here and a cell or magnet there, begged from other departments, I began to realise that we had a very exceptional cook. Later when I found that Clissold was called in to consult on the ailments of Simpson's motor and that he was capable of constructing a dog sledge out of packing cases, I was less surprised, because I knew by this time that he had had considerable training in mechanical work before he turned his attention to pots and pans. My first impressions include matters to which I was naturally eager to give an early half-hour, namely the housing of our animals. I found herein that praise was as justly due to our Russian boys as to my fellow Englishmen. Anton with Lashly's help had completed the furnishing of the stables. Neat stalls occupied the whole length of the 'lean to,' the sides so boarded that sprawling legs could not be entangled beneath and the front well covered with tin sheet to defeat the 'cribbers.' I could but sigh again to think of the stalls that must now remain empty, whilst appreciating that there was ample room for the safe harbourage of the ten beasts that remain, be the winter never so cold or the winds so wild. Later we have been able to give double space to all but two or three of our animals, in which they can lie down if they are so inclined. The ponies look fairly fit considering the low diet on which they have been kept; their coats were surprisingly long and woolly in contrast with those of the animals I had left at Hut Point. At this time they were being exercised by Lashly, Anton, Demetri, Hooper, and Clissold, and as a rule were ridden, the sea having only recently frozen. The exercise ground had lain on the boulder-strewn sand of the home beach and extending towards the Skua lake; and across these stretches I soon saw barebacked figures dashing at speed, and not a few amusing incidents in which horse and rider parted with abrupt lack of ceremony. I didn't think this quite the most desirable form of exercise for the beasts, but decided to leave matters as they were till our pony manager returned. Demetri had only five or six dogs left in charge, but these looked fairly fit, all things considered, and it was evident the boy was bent on taking every care of them, for he had not only provided shelters, but had built a small 'lean to' which would serve as a hospital for any animal whose stomach or coat needed nursing. Such were in broad outline the impressions I received on my first return to our home station; they were almost wholly pleasant and, as I have shown, in happy contrast with the fears that had assailed me on the homeward route. As the days went by I was able to fill in the detail in equally pleasant fashion, to watch the development of fresh arrangements and the improvement of old ones. Finally, in this way I was brought to realise what an extensive and intricate but eminently satisfactory organisation I had made myself responsible for. _Notes on Flyleaf of Fresh MS. Book_ Genus Homo, Species Sapiens! FLOTSAM Wm. Barents' house in Novaya Zemlya built 1596. Found by Capt. Carlsen 1871 (275 years later) intact, everything inside as left! What of this hut? The ocean girt continent. 'Might have seemed almost heroic if any higher end than excessive love of gain and traffic had animated the design.'--MILTON. 'He is not worthy to live at all, who, for fear and danger of death shunneth his country's service or his own honour, since death is inevitable and the fame of virtue immortal.'--SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. There is no part of the world that _can_ not be reached by man. When the 'can be' is turned to 'has been' the Geographical Society will have altered its status. 'At the whirring loom of time unawed I weave the living garment of God.'--GOETHE. By all means think yourself big but don't think everyone else small! The man who knows everyone's job isn't much good at his own. 'When you are attacked unjustly avoid the appearance of evil, but avoid also the appearance of being too good!' 'A man can't be too good, but he can appear too good.' _Monday, April_ 17.--Started from C. Evans with two 10 ft. sledges. Party 1. Self, Lashly, Day, Demetri. ,, 2. Bowers, Nelson, Crean, Hooper. We left at 8 A.M., taking our personal equipment, a week's provision of sledging food, and butter, oatmeal, flour, lard, chocolate, &c., for the hut. Two of the ponies hauled the sledges to within a mile of the Glacier Tongue; the wind, which had been north, here suddenly shifted to S.E., very biting. (The wind remained north at C. Evans during the afternoon, the ponies walked back into it.) Sky overcast, very bad light. Found the place to get on the glacier, but then lost the track-crossed more or less direct, getting amongst many cracks. Came down in bay near the open water--stumbled over the edge to an easy drift. More than once on these trips I as leader have suddenly disappeared from the sight of the others, affording some consternation till they got close enough to see what has happened. The pull over sea ice was very heavy and in face of strong wind and drift. Every member of the party was frostbitten about the face, several with very cold feet. Pushed on after repairs. Found drift streaming off the ice cliff, a new cornice formed and our rope buried at both ends. The party getting cold, I decided to camp, have tea, and shift foot gear. Whilst tea was preparing, Bowers and I went south, then north, along the cliffs to find a place to ascend--nearly everywhere ascent seemed impossible in the vicinity of Hulton Rocks or north, but eventually we found an overhanging cornice close to our rope. After lunch we unloaded a sledge, which, held high on end by four men, just reached the edge of the cornice. Clambering up over backs and up sledge I used an ice-axe to cut steps over the cornice and thus managed to get on top, then cut steps and surmounted the edge of the cornice. Helped Bowers up with the rope; others followed--then the gear was hauled up piecemeal. For Crean, the last man up, we lowered the sledge over the cornice and used a bowline in the other end of the rope on top of it. He came up grinning with delight, and we all thought the ascent rather a cunning piece of work. It was fearfully cold work, but everyone working with rare intelligence, we eventually got everything up and repacked the sledge; glad to get in harness again. Then a heavy pull up a steep slope in wretched light, making detour to left to avoid crevasses. We reached the top and plodded on past the craters as nearly as possible as on the outward route. The party was pretty exhausted and very wet with perspiration. Approaching Castle Rock the weather and light improved. Camped on Barrier Slope north of Castle Rock about 9 P.M. Night cold but calm, -38° during night; slept pretty well. _Tuesday, April_ 18.--Hut Point. Good moonlight at 7 A.M.--had breakfast. Broke camp very quickly--Lashly splendid at camp work as of old--very heavy pull up to Castle Rock, sweated much. This sweating in cold temperature is a serious drawback. Reached Hut Point 1 P.M. Found all well in excellent spirits--didn't seem to want us much!! Party reported very bad weather since we left, cold blizzard, then continuous S.W. wind with -20° and below. The open water was right up to Hut Point, wind absolutely preventing all freezing along shore. Wilson reported skua gull seen Monday. Found party much shorter of blubber than I had expected--they were only just keeping themselves supplied with a seal killed two days before and one as we arrived. Actually less fast ice than when we left! _Wednesday, April_ 19.--Hut Point. Calm during night, sea froze over at noon, 4 1/2 inches thick off Hut Point, showing how easily the sea will freeze when the chance is given. Three seals reported on the ice; all hands out after breakfast and the liver and blubber of all three seals were brought in. This relieves one of a little anxiety, leaving a twelve days' stock, in which time other seals ought to be coming up. I am making arrangements to start back to-morrow, but at present it is overcast and wind coming up from the south. This afternoon, all ice frozen last night went out quietly; the sea tried to freeze behind it, but the wind freshened soon. The ponies were exercised yesterday and to-day; they look pretty fit, but their coats are not so good as those in winter quarters--they want fatty foods. Am preparing to start to-morrow, satisfied that the _Discovery_ Hut is very comfortable and life very liveable in it. The dogs are much the same, all looking pretty fit except Vaida and Rabchick--neither of which seem to get good coats. I am greatly struck with the advantages of experience in Crean and Lashly for all work about camps. _Thursday, April_ 20.--Hut Point. Everything ready for starting this morning, but of course it 'blizzed.' Weather impossible--much wind and drift from south. Wind turned to S.E. in afternoon--temperatures low. Went for walk to Cape Armitage, but it is really very unpleasant. The wind blowing round the Cape is absolutely blighting, force 7 and temperature below -30°. Sea a black cauldron covered with dark frost smoke. No ice can form in such weather. _Friday, April_ 21.--Started homeward at 10.30. Left Meares in charge of station with Demetri to help with dogs, Lashly and Keohane to look out for ponies, Nelson and Day and Forde to get some idea of the life and experience. Homeward party, therefore: Self Bowers Wilson Oates Atkinson Cherry-Garrard Crean Hooper As usual all hands pulled up Ski slope, which we took without a halt. Lashly and Demetri came nearly to Castle Rock--very cold side wind and some frostbites. We reached the last downward slope about 2.30; at the cliff edge found the cornice gone--heavy wind and drift worse than before, if anything. We bustled things, and after tantalising delays with the rope got Bowers and some others on the floe, then lowered the sledges packed; three men, including Crean and myself, slid down last on the Alpine rope--doubled and taken round an ash stave, so that we were able to unreeve the end and recover the rope--we recovered also most of the old Alpine rope, all except a piece buried in snow on the sea ice and dragged down under the slush, just like the _Discovery_ boats; I could not have supposed this could happen in so short a time._17_ By the time all stores were on the floe, with swirling drift about us, everyone was really badly cold--one of those moments for quick action. We harnessed and dashed for the shelter of the cliffs; up tents, and hot tea as quick as possible; after this and some shift of foot gear all were much better. Heavy plod over the sea ice, starting at 4.30--very bad light on the glacier, and we lost our way as usual, stumbling into many crevasses, but finally descended in the old place; by this time sweating much. Crean reported our sledge pulling much more heavily than the other one. Marched on to Little Razor Back Island without halt, our own sledge dragging fearfully. Crean said there was great difference in the sledges, though loads were equal. Bowers politely assented when I voiced this sentiment, but I'm sure he and his party thought it the plea of tired men. However there was nothing like proof, and he readily assented to change sledges. The difference was really extraordinary; we felt the new sledge a featherweight compared with the old, and set up a great pace for the home quarters regardless of how much we perspired. We arrived at the hut (two miles away) ten minutes ahead of the others, who by this time were quite convinced as to the difference in the sledges. The difference was only marked when pulling over the salt-covered sea ice; on snow the sledges seemed pretty much the same. It is due to the grain of the wood in the runners and is worth looking into. We all arrived bathed in sweat--our garments were soaked through, and as we took off our wind clothes showers of ice fell on the floor. The accumulation was almost incredible and shows the whole trouble of sledging in cold weather. It would have been very uncomfortable to have camped in the open under such conditions, and assuredly a winter and spring party cannot afford to get so hot if they wish to retain any semblance of comfort. Our excellent cook had just the right meal prepared for us--an enormous dish of rice and figs, and cocoa in a bucket! The hut party were all very delighted to see us, and the fittings and comforts of the hut are amazing to the newcomers. _Saturday, April_ 22.--Cape Evans, Winter Quarters. The sledging season is at an end. It's good to be back in spite of all the losses we have sustained. To-day we enjoy a very exceptional calm. The sea is freezing over of course, but unfortunately our view from Observatory Hill is very limited. Oates and the rest are exercising the ponies. I have been sorting my papers and getting ready for the winter work. CHAPTER IX The Work and the Workers _Sunday, April_ 23.--Winter Quarters. The last day of the sun and a very glorious view of its golden light over the Barne Glacier. We could not see the sun itself on account of the Glacier, the fine ice cliffs of which were in deep shadow under the rosy rays. _Impression_.--The long mild twilight which like a silver clasp unites to-day with yesterday; when morning and evening sit together hand in hand beneath the starless sky of midnight. It blew hard last night and most of the young ice has gone as expected. Patches seem to be remaining south of the Glacier Tongue and the Island and off our own bay. In this very queer season it appears as though the final freezing is to be reached by gradual increments to the firmly established ice. Had Divine Service. Have only seven hymn-books, those brought on shore for our first Service being very stupidly taken back to the ship. I begin to think we are too comfortable in the hut and hope it will not make us slack; but it is good to see everyone in such excellent spirits--so far not a rift in the social arrangements. _Monday, April 24_.--A night watchman has been instituted mainly for the purpose of observing the aurora, of which the displays have been feeble so far. The observer is to look round every hour or oftener if there is aught to be seen. He is allowed cocoa and sardines with bread and butter--the cocoa can be made over an acetylene Bunsen burner, part of Simpson's outfit. I took the first turn last night; the remainder of the afterguard follow in rotation. The long night hours give time to finish up a number of small tasks--the hut remains quite warm though the fires are out. Simpson has been practising with balloons during our absence. This morning he sent one up for trial. The balloon is of silk and has a capacity of 1 cubic metre. It is filled with hydrogen gas, which is made in a special generator. The generation is a simple process. A vessel filled with water has an inverted vessel within it; a pipe is led to the balloon from the latter and a tube of india-rubber is attached which contains calcium hydrate. By tipping the tube the amount of calcium hydrate required can be poured into the generator. As the gas is made it passes into the balloon or is collected in the inner vessel, which acts as a bell jar if the stop cock to the balloon is closed. The arrangements for utilising the balloon are very pretty. An instrument weighing only 2 1/4 oz. and recording the temperature and pressure is attached beneath a small flag and hung 10 to 15 ft. below the balloon with balloon silk thread; this silk thread is of such fine quality that 5 miles of it only weighs 4 ozs., whilst its breaking strain is 1 1/4 lbs. The lower part of the instrument is again attached to the silk thread, which is cunningly wound on coned bobbins from which the balloon unwinds it without hitch or friction as it ascends. In order to spare the silk any jerk as the balloon is released two pieces of string united with a slow match carry the strain between the instrument and the balloon until the slow match is consumed. The balloon takes about a quarter of an hour to inflate; the slow match is then lit, and the balloon released; with a weight of 8 oz. and a lifting power of 2 1/2 lbs. it rises rapidly. After it is lost to ordinary vision it can be followed with glasses as mile after mile of thread runs out. Theoretically, if strain is put on the silk thread it should break between the instrument and the balloon, leaving the former free to drop, when the thread can be followed up and the instrument with its record recovered. To-day this was tried with a dummy instrument, but the thread broke close to the bobbins. In the afternoon a double thread was tried, and this acted successfully. To-day I allotted the ponies for exercise. Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Hooper, Clissold, P.O. Evans, and Crean take animals, besides Anton and Oates. I have had to warn people that they will not necessarily lead the ponies which they now tend. Wilson is very busy making sketches. _Tuesday, April_ 28.--It was comparatively calm all day yesterday and last night, and there have been light airs only from the south to-day. The temperature, at first comparatively high at -5°, has gradually fallen to -13°; as a result the Strait has frozen over at last and it looks as though the Hut Point party should be with us before very long. If the blizzards hold off for another three days the crossing should be perfectly safe, but I don't expect Meares to hurry. Although we had very good sunset effects at Hut Point, Ponting and others were much disappointed with the absence of such effects at Cape Evans. This was probably due to the continual interference of frost smoke; since our return here and especially yesterday and to-day the sky and sea have been glorious in the afternoon. Ponting has taken some coloured pictures, but the result is not very satisfactory and the plates are much spotted; Wilson is very busy with pencil and brush. Atkinson is unpacking and setting up his sterilizers and incubators. Wright is wrestling with the electrical instruments. Evans is busy surveying the Cape and its vicinity. Oates is reorganising the stable, making bigger stalls, &c. Cherry-Garrard is building a stone house for taxidermy and with a view to getting hints for making a shelter at Cape Crozier during the winter. Debenham and Taylor are taking advantage of the last of the light to examine the topography of the peninsula. In fact, everyone is extraordinarily busy. I came back with the impression that we should not find our winter walks so interesting as those at Hut Point, but I'm rapidly altering my opinion; we may miss the hill climbing here, but in every direction there is abundance of interest. To-day I walked round the shores of the North Bay examining the kenyte cliffs and great masses of morainic material of the Barne Glacier, then on under the huge blue ice cliffs of the Glacier itself. With the sunset lights, deep shadows, the black islands and white bergs it was all very beautiful. Simpson and Bowers sent up a balloon to-day with a double thread and instrument attached; the line was checked at about 3 miles, and soon after the instrument was seen to disengage. The balloon at first went north with a light southerly breeze till it reached 300 or 400 ft., then it turned to the south but did not travel rapidly; when 2 miles of thread had gone it seemed to be going north again or rising straight upward. In the afternoon Simpson and Bowers went to recover their treasure, but somewhere south of Inaccessible Island they found the thread broken and the light was not good enough to continue the search. The sides of the galley fire have caved in--there should have been cheeks to prevent this; we got some fire clay cement to-day and plastered up the sides. I hope this will get over the difficulty, but have some doubt. _Wednesday, April_ 26.--Calm. Went round Cape Evans--remarkable effects of icicles on the ice foot, formed by spray of southerly gales. _Thursday, April_ 27.--The fourth day in succession without wind, but overcast. Light snow has fallen during the day--to-night the wind comes from the north. We should have our party back soon. The temperature remains about -5° and the ice should be getting thicker with rapidity. Went round the bergs off Cape Evans--they are very beautiful, especially one which is pierced to form a huge arch. It will be interesting to climb around these monsters as the winter proceeds. To-day I have organised a series of lectures for the winter; the people seem keen and it ought to be exceedingly interesting to discuss so many diverse subjects with experts. We have an extraordinary diversity of talent and training in our people; it would be difficult to imagine a company composed of experiences which differed so completely. We find one hut contains an experience of every country and every clime! What an assemblage of motley knowledge! _Friday, April_ 28.--Another comparatively calm day--temp. -12°, clear sky. Went to ice caves on glacier S. of Cape; these are really very wonderful. Ponting took some photographs with long exposure and Wright got some very fine ice crystals. The Glacier Tongue comes close around a high bluff headland of kenyte; it is much cracked and curiously composed of a broad wedge of white névé over blue ice. The faults in the dust strata in these surfaces are very mysterious and should be instructive in the explanation of certain ice problems. It looks as though the sea had frozen over for good. If no further blizzard clears the Strait it can be said for this season that: The Bays froze over on March 25. The Strait ,, ,, ,, April 22. ,, ,, dissipated April 29. ,, ,, froze over on April 30. Later. The Hut Point record of freezing is: Night 24th-25th. Ice forming mid-day 25th, opened with leads. 26th. Ice all out, sound apparently open. 27th. Strait apparently freezing. Early 28th. Ice over whole Strait. 29th. All ice gone. 30th. Freezing over. May 4th. Broad lead opened along land to Castle Rock, 300 to 400 yds. wide. Party intended to start on 11th, if weather fine. Very fine display of aurora to-night, one of the brightest I have ever seen--over Erebus; it is conceded that a red tinge is seen after the movement of light. _Saturday, April_ 29.--Went to Inaccessible Island with Wilson. The agglomerates, kenytes, and lavas are much the same as those at Cape Evans. The Island is 540 ft. high, and it is a steep climb to reach the summit over very loose sand and boulders. From the summit one has an excellent view of our surroundings and the ice in the Strait, which seemed to extend far beyond Cape Royds, but had some ominous cracks beyond the Island. We climbed round the ice foot after descending the hill and found it much broken up on the south side; the sea spray had washed far up on it. It is curious to find that all the heavy seas come from the south and that it is from this direction that protection is most needed. There is some curious weathering on the ice blocks on the N. side; also the snow drifts show interesting dirt bands. The island had a good sprinkling of snow, which will all be gone, I expect, to-night. For as we reached the summit we saw a storm approaching from the south; it had blotted out the Bluff, and we watched it covering Black Island, then Hut Point and Castle Rock. By the time we started homeward it was upon us, making a harsh chatter as it struck the high rocks and sweeping along the drift on the floe. The blow seems to have passed over to-night and the sky is clear again, but I much fear the ice has gone out in the Strait. There is an ominous black look to the westward. _Sunday, April_ 30.--As I feared last night, the morning light revealed the havoc made in the ice by yesterday's gale. From Wind Vane Hill (66 feet) it appeared that the Strait had not opened beyond the island, but after church I went up the Ramp with Wilson and steadily climbed over the Glacier ice to a height of about 650 feet. From this elevation one could see that a broad belt of sea ice had been pushed bodily to seaward, and it was evident that last night the whole stretch of water from Hut Point to Turtle Island must have been open--so that our poor people at Hut Point are just where they were. The only comfort is that the Strait is already frozen again; but what is to happen if every blow clears the sea like this? Had an interesting walk. One can go at least a mile up the glacier slope before coming to crevasses, and it does not appear that these would be serious for a good way farther. The view is magnificent, and on a clear day like this, one still enjoys some hours of daylight, or rather twilight, when it is possible to see everything clearly. Have had talks of the curious cones which are such a feature of the Ramp--they are certainly partly produced by ice and partly by weathering. The ponds and various forms of ice grains interest us. To-night have been naming all the small land features of our vicinity. _Tuesday, May_ 2.--It was calm yesterday. A balloon was sent up in the morning, but only reached a mile in height before the instrument was detached (by slow match). In the afternoon went out with Bowers and his pony to pick up instrument, which was close to the shore in the South Bay. Went on past Inaccessible Island. The ice outside the bergs has grown very thick, 14 inches or more, but there were freshly frozen pools beyond the Island. In the evening Wilson opened the lecture series with a paper on 'Antarctic Flying Birds.' Considering the limits of the subject the discussion was interesting. The most attractive point raised was that of pigmentation. Does the absence of pigment suggest absence of reserve energy? Does it increase the insulating properties of the hair or feathers? Or does the animal clothed in white radiate less of his internal heat? The most interesting example of Polar colouring here is the increased proportion of albinos amongst the giant petrels found in high latitudes. To-day have had our first game of football; a harassing southerly wind sprang up, which helped my own side to the extent of three goals. This same wind came with a clear sky and jumped up and down in force throughout the afternoon, but has died away to-night. In the afternoon I saw an ominous lead outside the Island which appeared to extend a long way south. I'm much afraid it may go across our pony track from Hut Point. I am getting anxious to have the hut party back, and begin to wonder if the ice to the south will ever hold in permanently now that the Glacier Tongue has gone. _Wednesday, May_ 3.--Another calm day, very beautiful and clear. Wilson and Bowers took our few dogs for a run in a sledge. Walked myself out over ice in North Bay--there are a good many cracks and pressures with varying thickness of ice, showing how tide and wind shift the thin sheets--the newest leads held young ice of 4 inches. The temperature remains high, the lowest yesterday -13°; it should be much lower with such calm weather and clear skies. A strange fact is now very commonly noticed: in calm weather there is usually a difference of 4° or 5° between the temperature at the hut and that on Wind Vane Hill (64 feet), the latter being the higher. This shows an inverted temperature. As I returned from my walk the southern sky seemed to grow darker, and later stratus cloud was undoubtedly spreading up from that direction--this at about 5 P.M. About 7 a moderate north wind sprang up. This seemed to indicate a southerly blow, and at about 9 the wind shifted to that quarter and blew gustily, 25 to 35 m.p.h. One cannot see the result on the Strait, but I fear it means that the ice has gone out again in places. The wind dropped as suddenly as it had arisen soon after midnight. In the evening Simpson gave us his first meteorological lecture--the subject, 'Coronas, Halos, Rainbows, and Auroras.' He has a remarkable power of exposition and taught me more of these phenomena in the hour than I had learnt by all previous interested inquiries concerning them. I note one or two points concerning each phenomenon. _Corona_.--White to brown inside ring called Aureola--outside are sometimes seen two or three rings of prismatic light in addition. Caused by diffraction of light round drops of water or ice crystals; diameter of rings inversely proportionate to size of drops or crystals--mixed sizes of ditto causes aureola without rings. _Halos_.--Caused by refraction and reflection through and from ice crystals. In this connection the hexagonal, tetrahedonal type of crystallisation is first to be noted; then the infinite number of forms in which this can be modified together with result of fractures: two forms predominate, the plate and the needle; these forms falling through air assume definite position--the plate falls horizontally swaying to and fro, the needle turns rapidly about its longer axis, which remains horizontal. Simpson showed excellent experiments to illustrate; consideration of these facts and refraction of light striking crystals clearly leads to explanation of various complicated halo phenomena such as recorded and such as seen by us on the Great Barrier, and draws attention to the critical refraction angles of 32° and 46°, the radius of inner and outer rings, the position of mock suns, contra suns, zenith circles, &c. Further measurements are needed; for instance of streamers from mock suns and examination of ice crystals. (Record of ice crystals seen on Barrier Surface.) _Rainbows_.--Caused by reflection and refraction from and through _drops of water_--colours vary with size of drops, the smaller the drop the lighter the colours and nearer to the violet end of the spectrum--hence white rainbow as seen on the Barrier, very small drops. Double Bows--diameters must be 84° and 100°--again from laws of refraction--colours: inner, red outside; outer, red inside--i.e. reds come together. Wanted to see more rainbows on Barrier. In this connection a good rainbow was seen to N.W. in February from winter quarters. Reports should note colours and relative width of bands of colour. _Iridescent Clouds_.--Not yet understood; observations required, especially angular distance from the sun. _Auroras_.--Clearly most frequent and intense in years of maximum sun spots; this argues connection with the sun. Points noticed requiring confirmation: Arch: centre of arch in magnetic meridian. Shafts: take direction of dipping needle. Bands and Curtains with convolutions--not understood. Corona: shafts meeting to form. Notes required on movement and direction of movement--colours seen--supposed red and possibly green rays preceding or accompanying movement. Auroras are sometimes accompanied by magnetic storms, but not always, and vice versa--in general significant signs of some connection--possible common dependents on a third factor. The phenomenon further connects itself in form with lines of magnetic force about the earth. (Curious apparent connection between spectrum of aurora and that of a heavy gas, 'argon.' May be coincidence.) Two theories enunciated: _Arrhenius_.--Bombardments of minute charged particles from the sun gathered into the magnetic field of the earth. _Birkeland_.--Bombardment of free negative electrons gathered into the magnetic field of the earth. It is experimentally shown that minute drops of water are deflected by light. It is experimentally shown that ions are given off by dried calcium, which the sun contains. Professor Störmer has collected much material showing connection of the phenomenon with lines of magnetic force. _Thursday, May_ 4.--From the small height of Wind Vane Hill (64 feet) it was impossible to say if the ice in the Strait had been out after yesterday's wind. The sea was frozen, but after twelve hours' calm it would be in any case. The dark appearance of the ice is noticeable, but this has been the case of late since the light is poor; little snow has fallen or drifted and the ice flowers are very sparse and scattered. We had an excellent game of football again to-day--the exercise is delightful and we get very warm. Atkinson is by far the best player, but Hooper, P.O. Evans, and Crean are also quite good. It has been calm all day again. Went over the sea ice beyond the Arch berg; the ice half a mile beyond is only 4 inches. I think this must have been formed since the blow of yesterday, that is, in sixteen hours or less. Such rapid freezing is a hopeful sign, but the prompt dissipation of the floe under a southerly wind is distinctly the reverse. I am anxious to get our people back from Hut Point, mainly on account of the two ponies; with so much calm weather there should have been no difficulty for the party in keeping up its supply of blubber; an absence of which is the only circumstance likely to discomfort it. The new ice over which I walked is extraordinarily slippery and free from efflorescence. I think this must be a further sign of rapid formation. _Friday, May_ 5.--Another calm day following a quiet night. Once or twice in the night a light northerly wind, soon dying away. The temperature down to -12°. What is the meaning of this comparative warmth? As usual in calms the Wind Vane Hill temperature is 3° or 4° higher. It is delightful to contemplate the amount of work which is being done at the station. No one is idle--all hands are full, and one cannot doubt that the labour will be productive of remarkable result. I do not think there can be any life quite so demonstrative of character as that which we had on these expeditions. One sees a remarkable reassortment of values. Under ordinary conditions it is so easy to carry a point with a little bounce; self-assertion is a mask which covers many a weakness. As a rule we have neither the time nor the desire to look beneath it, and so it is that commonly we accept people on their own valuation. Here the outward show is nothing, it is the inward purpose that counts. So the 'gods' dwindle and the humble supplant them. Pretence is useless. One sees Wilson busy with pencil and colour box, rapidly and steadily adding to his portfolio of charming sketches and at intervals filling the gaps in his zoological work of _Discovery_ times; withal ready and willing to give advice and assistance to others at all times; his sound judgment appreciated and therefore a constant referee. Simpson, master of his craft, untiringly attentive to the working of his numerous self-recording instruments, observing all changes with scientific acumen, doing the work of two observers at least and yet ever seeking to correlate an expanded scope. So the current meteorological and magnetic observations are taken as never before by Polar expeditions. Wright, good-hearted, strong, keen, striving to saturate his mind with the ice problems of this wonderful region. He has taken the electrical work in hand with all its modern interest of association with radio-activity. Evans, with a clear-minded zeal in his own work, does it with all the success of result which comes from the taking of pains. Therefrom we derive a singularly exact preservation of time--an important consideration to all, but especially necessary for the physical work. Therefrom also, and including more labour, we have an accurate survey of our immediate surroundings and can trust to possess the correctly mapped results of all surveying data obtained. He has Gran for assistant. Taylor's intellect is omnivorous and versatile--his mind is unceasingly active, his grasp wide. Whatever he writes will be of interest--his pen flows well. Debenham's is clearer. Here we have a well-trained, sturdy worker, with a quiet meaning that carries conviction; he realises the conceptions of thoroughness and conscientiousness. To Bowers' practical genius is owed much of the smooth working of our station. He has a natural method in line with which all arrangements fall, so that expenditure is easily and exactly adjusted to supply, and I have the inestimable advantage of knowing the length of time which each of our possessions will last us and the assurance that there can be no waste. Active mind and active body were never more happily blended. It is a restless activity, admitting no idle moments and ever budding into new forms. So we see the balloons ascending under his guidance and anon he is away over the floe tracking the silk thread which held it. Such a task completed, he is away to exercise his pony, and later out again with the dogs, the last typically self-suggested, because for the moment there is no one else to care for these animals. Now in a similar manner he is spreading thermometer screens to get comparative readings with the home station. He is for the open air, seemingly incapable of realising any discomfort from it, and yet his hours within doors spent with equal profit. For he is intent on tracking the problems of sledging food and clothing to their innermost bearings and is becoming an authority on past records. This will be no small help to me and one which others never could have given. Adjacent to the physicist's corner of the hut Atkinson is quietly pursuing the subject of parasites. Already he is in a new world. The laying out of the fish trap was his action and the catches are his field of labour. Constantly he comes to ask if I would like to see some new form and I am taken to see some protozoa or ascidian isolated on the slide plate of his microscope. The fishes themselves are comparatively new to science; it is strange that their parasites should have been under investigation so soon. Atkinson's bench with its array of microscopes, test-tubes, spirit lamps, &c., is next the dark room in which Ponting spends the greater part of his life. I would describe him as sustained by artistic enthusiasm. This world of ours is a different one to him than it is to the rest of us--he gauges it by its picturesqueness--his joy is to reproduce its pictures artistically, his grief to fail to do so. No attitude could be happier for the work which he has undertaken, and one cannot doubt its productiveness. I would not imply that he is out of sympathy with the works of others, which is far from being the case, but that his energies centre devotedly on the minutiae of his business. Cherry-Garrard is another of the open-air, self-effacing, quiet workers; his whole heart is in the life, with profound eagerness to help everyone. 'One has caught glimpses of him in tight places; sound all through and pretty hard also.' Indoors he is editing our Polar journal, out of doors he is busy making trial stone huts and blubber stoves, primarily with a view to the winter journey to Cape Crozier, but incidentally these are instructive experiments for any party which may get into difficulty by being cut off from the home station. It is very well to know how best to use the scant resources that nature provides in these regions. In this connection I have been studying our Arctic library to get details concerning snow hut building and the implements used for it. Oates' whole heart is in the ponies. He is really devoted to their care, and I believe will produce them in the best possible form for the sledging season. Opening out the stores, installing a blubber stove, &c., has kept _him_ busy, whilst his satellite, Anton, is ever at work in the stables--an excellent little man. Evans and Crean are repairing sleeping-bags, covering felt boots, and generally working on sledging kit. In fact there is no one idle, and no one who has the least prospect of idleness. _Saturday, May_ 6.--Two more days of calm, interrupted with occasional gusts. Yesterday, Friday evening, Taylor gave an introductory lecture on his remarkably fascinating subject--modern physiography. These modern physiographers set out to explain the forms of land erosion on broad common-sense lines, heedless of geological support. They must, in consequence, have their special language. River courses, they say, are not temporary--in the main they are archaic. In conjunction with land elevations they have worked through _geographical cycles_, perhaps many. In each geographical cycle they have advanced from _infantile_ V-shaped forms; the courses broaden and deepen, the bank slopes reduce in angle as maturer stages are reached until the level of sea surface is more and more nearly approximated. In _senile_ stages the river is a broad sluggish stream flowing over a plain with little inequality of level. The cycle has formed a _Peneplain._ Subsequently, with fresh elevation, a new cycle is commenced. So much for the simple case, but in fact nearly all cases are modified by unequal elevations due to landslips, by variation in hardness of rock, &c. Hence modification in positions of river courses and the fact of different parts of a single river being in different stages of cycle. Taylor illustrated his explanations with examples: The Red River, Canada--Plain flat though elevated, water lies in pools, river flows in 'V' 'infantile' form. The Rhine Valley--The gorgeous scenery from Mainz down due to infantile form in recently elevated region. The Russian Plains--Examples of 'senility.' Greater complexity in the Blue Mountains--these are undoubted earth folds; the Nepean River flows through an offshoot of a fold, the valley being made as the fold was elevated--curious valleys made by erosion of hard rock overlying soft. River _piracy--Domestic_, the short circuiting of a _meander_, such as at Coo in the Ardennes; _Foreign_, such as Shoalhaven River, Australia--stream has captured river. Landslips have caused the isolation of Lake George and altered the watershed of the whole country to the south. Later on Taylor will deal with the effects of ice and lead us to the formation of the scenery of our own region, and so we shall have much to discuss. _Sunday, May_ 7.--Daylight now is very short. One wonders why the Hut Point party does not come. Bowers and Cherry-Garrard have set up a thermometer screen containing maximum thermometers and thermographs on the sea floe about 3/4' N.W. of the hut. Another smaller one is to go on top of the Ramp. They took the screen out on one of Day's bicycle wheel carriages and found it ran very easily over the salty ice where the sledges give so much trouble. This vehicle is not easily turned, but may be very useful before there is much snowfall. Yesterday a balloon was sent up and reached a very good height (probably 2 to 3 miles) before the instrument disengaged; the balloon went almost straight up and the silk fell in festoons over the rocky part of the Cape, affording a very difficult clue to follow; but whilst Bowers was following it, Atkinson observed the instrument fall a few hundred yards out on the Bay--it was recovered and gives the first important record of upper air temperature. Atkinson and Crean put out the fish trap in about 3 fathoms of water off the west beach; both yesterday morning and yesterday evening when the trap was raised it contained over forty fish, whilst this morning and this evening the catches in the same spot have been from twenty to twenty-five. We had fish for breakfast this morning, but an even more satisfactory result of the catches has been revealed by Atkinson's microscope. He had discovered quite a number of new parasites and found work to last quite a long time. Last night it came to my turn to do night watchman again, so that I shall be glad to have a good sleep to-night. Yesterday we had a game of football; it is pleasant to mess about, but the light is failing. Clissold is still producing food novelties; to-night we had galantine of seal--it was _excellent_. _Monday, May_ 8--Tuesday, May 9.--As one of the series of lectures I gave an outline of my plans for next season on Monday evening. Everyone was interested naturally. I could not but hint that in my opinion the problem of reaching the Pole can best be solved by relying on the ponies and man haulage. With this sentiment the whole company appeared to be in sympathy. Everyone seems to distrust the dogs when it comes to glacier and summit. I have asked everyone to give thought to the problem, to freely discuss it, and bring suggestions to my notice. It's going to be a tough job; that is better realised the more one dives into it. To-day (Tuesday) Debenham has been showing me his photographs taken west. With Wright's and Taylor's these will make an extremely interesting series--the ice forms especially in the region of the Koettlitz glacier are unique. The Strait has been frozen over a week. I cannot understand why the Hut Point party doesn't return. The weather continues wonderfully calm though now looking a little unsettled. Perhaps the unsettled look stops the party, or perhaps it waits for the moon, which will be bright in a day or two. Any way I wish it would return, and shall not be free from anxiety till it does. Cherry-Garrard is experimenting in stone huts and with blubber fires--all with a view to prolonging the stay at Cape Crozier. Bowers has placed one thermometer screen on the floe about 3/4' out, and another smaller one above the Ramp. Oddly, the floe temperature seems to agree with that on Wind Vane Hill, whilst the hut temperature is always 4° or 5° colder in calm weather. To complete the records a thermometer is to be placed in South Bay. Science--the rock foundation of all effort!! _Wednesday, May_ 10.--It has been blowing from the South 12 to 20 miles per hour since last night; the ice remains fast. The temperature -12° to -19°. The party does not come. I went well beyond Inaccessible Island till Hut Point and Castle Rock appeared beyond Tent Island, that is, well out on the space which was last seen as open water. The ice is 9 inches thick, not much for eight or nine days' freezing; but it is very solid--the surface wet but very slippery. I suppose Meares waits for 12 inches in thickness, or fears the floe is too slippery for the ponies. Yet I wish he would come. I took a thermometer on my walk to-day; the temperature was -12° inside Inaccessible Island, but only -8° on the sea ice outside--the wind seemed less outside. Coming in under lee of Island and bergs I was reminded of the difficulty of finding shelter in these regions. The weather side of hills seems to afford better shelter than the lee side, as I have remarked elsewhere. May it be in part because all lee sides tend to be filled by drift snow, blown and weathered rock debris? There was a good lee under one of the bergs; in one corner the ice sloped out over me and on either side, forming a sort of grotto; here the air was absolutely still. Ponting gave us an interesting lecture on Burmah, illustrated with fine slides. His descriptive language is florid, but shows the artistic temperament. Bowers and Simpson were able to give personal reminiscences of this land of pagodas, and the discussion led to interesting statements on the religion, art, and education of its people, their philosophic idleness, &c. Our lectures are a real success. _Friday, May_ 12.--Yesterday morning was quiet. Played football in the morning; wind got up in the afternoon and evening. All day it has been blowing hard, 30 to 60 miles an hour; it has never looked very dark overhead, but a watery cirrus has been in evidence for some time, causing well marked paraselene. I have not been far from the hut, but had a great fear on one occasion that the ice had gone out in the Strait. The wind is dropping this evening, and I have been up to Wind Vane Hill. I now think the ice has remained fast. There has been astonishingly little drift with the wind, probably due to the fact that there has been so very little snowfall of late. Atkinson is pretty certain that he has isolated a very motile bacterium in the snow. It is probably air borne, and though no bacteria have been found in the air, this may be carried in upper currents and brought down by the snow. If correct it is an interesting discovery. To-night Debenham gave a geological lecture. It was elementary. He gave little more than the rough origin and classification of rocks with a view to making his further lectures better understood. _Saturday, May_ 13.--The wind dropped about 10 last night. This morning it was calm and clear save for a light misty veil of ice crystals through which the moon shone with scarce clouded brilliancy, surrounded with bright cruciform halo and white paraselene. Mock moons with prismatic patches of colour appeared in the radiant ring, echoes of the main source of light. Wilson has a charming sketch of the phenomenon. I went to Inaccessible Island, and climbing some way up the steep western face, reassured myself concerning the ice. It was evident that there had been no movement in consequence of yesterday's blow. In climbing I had to scramble up some pretty steep rock faces and screens, and held on only in anticipation of gaining the top of the Island and an easy descent. Instead of this I came to an impossible overhanging cliff of lava, and was forced to descend as I had come up. It was no easy task, and I was glad to get down with only one slip, when I brought myself up with my ice axe in the nick of time to prevent a fall over a cliff. This Island is very steep on all sides. There is only one known place of ascent; it will be interesting to try and find others. After tea Atkinson came in with the glad tidings that the dog team were returning from Hut Point. We were soon on the floe to welcome the last remnant of our wintering party. Meares reported everything well and the ponies not far behind. The dogs were unharnessed and tied up to the chains; they are all looking remarkably fit--apparently they have given no trouble at all of late; there have not even been any fights. Half an hour later Day, Lashly, Nelson, Forde, and Keohane arrived with the two ponies--men and animals in good form. It is a great comfort to have the men and dogs back, and a greater to contemplate all the ten ponies comfortably stabled for the winter. Everything seems to depend on these animals. I have not seen the meteorological record brought back, but it appears that the party had had very fine calm weather since we left them, except during the last three days when wind has been very strong. It is curious that we should only have got one day with wind. I am promised the sea-freezing record to-morrow. Four seals were got on April 22, the day after we left, and others have been killed since, so that there is a plentiful supply of blubber and seal meat at the hut--the rest of the supplies seem to have been pretty well run out. Some more forage had been fetched in from the depot. A young sea leopard had been killed on the sea ice near Castle Rock three days ago, this being the second only found in the Sound. It is a strange fact that none of the returning party seem to greatly appreciate the food luxuries they have had since their return. It would have been the same with us had we not had a day or two in tents before our return. It seems more and more certain that a very simple fare is all that is needed here--plenty of seal meat, flour, and fat, with tea, cocoa, and sugar; these are the only real requirements for comfortable existence. The temperatures at Hut Point have not been as low as I expected. There seems to have been an extraordinary heat wave during the spell of calm recorded since we left--the thermometer registering little below zero until the wind came, when it fell to -20°. Thus as an exception we have had a fall instead of a rise of temperature with wind. [The exact inventory of stores at Hut Point here recorded has no immediate bearing on the history of the expedition, but may be noted as illustrating the care and thoroughness with which all operations were conducted. Other details as to the carbide consumed in making acetylene gas may be briefly quoted. The first tin was opened on February 1, the second on March 26. The seventh on May 20, the next eight at the average interval of 9 1/2 days.] _Sunday, May_ 14.--Grey and dull in the morning. Exercised the ponies and held the usual service. This morning I gave Wright some notes containing speculations on the amount of ice on the Antarctic continent and on the effects of winter movements in the sea ice. I want to get into his head the larger bearing of the problems which our physical investigations involve. He needs two years here to fully realise these things, and with all his intelligence and energy will produce little unless he has that extended experience. The sky cleared at noon, and this afternoon I walked over the North Bay to the ice cliffs--such a very beautiful afternoon and evening--the scene bathed in moonlight, so bright and pure as to be almost golden, a very wonderful scene. At such times the Bay seems strangely homely, especially when the eye rests on our camp with the hut and lighted windows. I am very much impressed with the extraordinary and general cordiality of the relations which exist amongst our people. I do not suppose that a statement of the real truth, namely, that there is no friction at all, will be credited--it is so generally thought that the many rubs of such a life as this are quietly and purposely sunk in oblivion. With me there is no need to draw a veil; there is nothing to cover. There are no strained relations in this hut, and nothing more emphatically evident than the universally amicable spirit which is shown on all occasions. Such a state of affairs would be delightfully surprising under any conditions, but it is much more so when one remembers the diverse assortment of our company. This theme is worthy of expansion. To-night Oates, captain in a smart cavalry regiment, has been 'scrapping' over chairs and tables with Debenham, a young Australian student. It is a triumph to have collected such men. The temperature has been down to -23°, the lowest yet recorded here--doubtless we shall soon get lower, for I find an extraordinary difference between this season as far as it has gone and those of 1902-3. CHAPTER X In Winter Quarters: Modern Style _Monday, May_ 15.--The wind has been strong from the north all day--about 30 miles an hour. A bank of stratus cloud about 6000 or 7000 feet (measured by Erebus) has been passing rapidly overhead _towards_ the north; it is nothing new to find the overlying layers of air moving in opposite directions, but it is strange that the phenomenon is so persistent. Simpson has frequently remarked as a great feature of weather conditions here the seeming reluctance of the air to 'mix'--the fact seems to be the explanation of many curious fluctuations of temperature. Went for a short walk, but it was not pleasant. Wilson gave an interesting lecture on penguins. He explained the primitive characteristics in the arrangement of feathers on wings and body, the absence of primaries and secondaries or bare tracts; the modification of the muscles of the wings and in the structure of the feet (the metatarsal joint). He pointed out (and the subsequent discussion seemed to support him) that these birds probably branched at a very early stage of bird life--coming pretty directly from the lizard bird Archaeopteryx of the Jurassic age. Fossils of giant penguins of Eocene and Miocene ages show that there has been extremely little development since. He passed on to the classification and habitat of different genera, nest-making habits, eggs, &c. Then to a brief account of the habits of the Emperors and Adelies, which was of course less novel ground for the old hands. Of special points of interest I recall his explanation of the desirability of embryonic study of the Emperor to throw further light on the development of the species in the loss of teeth, &c.; and Ponting's contribution and observation of adult Adelies teaching their young to swim--this point has been obscure. It has been said that the old birds push the young into the water, and, per contra, that they leave them deserted in the rookery--both statements seemed unlikely. It would not be strange if the young Adelie had to learn to swim (it is a well-known requirement of the Northern fur seal--sea bear), but it will be interesting to see in how far the adult birds lay themselves out to instruct their progeny. During our trip to the ice and sledge journey one of our dogs, Vaida, was especially distinguished for his savage temper and generally uncouth manners. He became a bad wreck with his poor coat at Hut Point, and in this condition I used to massage him; at first the operation was mistrusted and only continued to the accompaniment of much growling, but later he evidently grew to like the warming effect and sidled up to me whenever I came out of the hut, though still with some suspicion. On returning here he seemed to know me at once, and now comes and buries his head in my legs whenever I go out of doors; he allows me to rub him and push him about without the slightest protest and scampers about me as I walk abroad. He is a strange beast--I imagine so unused to kindness that it took him time to appreciate it. _Tuesday, May_ 16.--The north wind continued all night but dropped this forenoon. Conveniently it became calm at noon and we had a capital game of football. The light is good enough, but not much more than good enough, for this game. Had some instruction from Wright this morning on the electrical instruments. Later went into our carbide expenditure with Day: am glad to find it sufficient for two years, but am not making this generally known as there are few things in which economy is less studied than light if regulations allow of waste. Electrical Instruments For measuring the ordinary potential gradient we have two self-recording quadrant electrometers. The principle of this instrument is the same as that of the old Kelvin instrument; the clockwork attached to it unrolls a strip of paper wound on a roller; at intervals the needle of the instrument is depressed by an electromagnet and makes a dot on the moving paper. The relative position of these dots forms the record. One of our instruments is adjusted to give only 1/10th the refinement of measurement of the other by means of reduction in the length of the quartz fibre. The object of this is to continue the record in snowstorms, &c., when the potential difference of air and earth is very great. The instruments are kept charged with batteries of small Daniels cells. The clocks are controlled by a master clock. The instrument available for radio-activity measurements is a modified type of the old gold-leaf electroscope. The measurement is made by the mutual repulsion of quartz fibres acting against a spring--the extent of the repulsion is very clearly shown against a scale magnified by a telescope. The measurements to be made with instrument are various: The _ionization of the air_. A length of wire charged with 2000 volts (negative) is exposed to the air for several hours. It is then coiled on a frame and its rate of discharge measured by the electroscope. The _radio-activity of the various rocks_ of our neighbourhood; this by direct measurement of the rock. The _conductivity of the air_, that is, the relative movement of ions in the air; by movement of air past charged surface. Rate of absorption of + and - ions is measured, the negative ion travelling faster than the positive. _Wednesday, May_ 17.--For the first time this season we have a rise of temperature with a southerly wind. The wind force has been about 30 since yesterday evening; the air is fairly full of snow and the temperature has risen to -6° from -18°. I heard one of the dogs barking in the middle of the night, and on inquiry learned that it was one of the 'Serais,' [22] that he seemed to have something wrong with his hind leg, and that he had been put under shelter. This morning the poor brute was found dead. I'm afraid we can place but little reliance on our dog teams and reflect ruefully on the misplaced confidence with which I regarded the provision of our transport. Well, one must suffer for errors of judgment. This afternoon Wilson held a post-mortem on the dog; he could find no sufficient cause of death. This is the third animal that has died at winter quarters without apparent cause. Wilson, who is nettled, proposes to examine the brain of this animal to-morrow. Went up the Ramp this morning. There was light enough to see our camp, and it looked homely, as it does from all sides. Somehow we loom larger here than at Cape Armitage. We seem to be more significant. It must be from contrast of size; the larger hills tend to dwarf the petty human element. To-night the wind has gone back to the north and is now blowing fresh. This sudden and continued complete change of direction is new to our experience. Oates has just given us an excellent little lecture on the management of horses. He explained his plan of feeding our animals 'soft' during the winter, and hardening them up during the spring. He pointed out that the horse's natural food being grass and hay, he would naturally employ a great number of hours in the day filling a stomach of small capacity with food from which he could derive only a small percentage of nutriment. Hence it is desirable to feed horses often and light. His present routine is as follows: Morning.--Chaff. Noon, after exercise.--Snow. Chaff and either oats or oil-cake alternate days. Evening, 5 P.M.--Snow. Hot bran mash with oil-cake or boiled oats and chaff; finally a small quantity of hay. This sort of food should be causing the animals to put on flesh, but is not preparing them for work. In October he proposes to give 'hard' food, all cold, and to increase the exercising hours. As concerning the food we possess he thinks: The _chaff_ made of young wheat and hay is doubtful; there does not seem to be any grain with it--and would farmers cut young wheat? There does not seem to be any 'fat' in this food, but it is very well for ordinary winter purposes. N.B.--It seems to me this ought to be inquired into. _Bran_ much discussed, but good because it causes horses to chew the oats with which mixed. _Oil-cake_, greasy, producing energy--excellent for horses to work on. _Oats_, of which we have two qualities, also very good working food--our white quality much better than the brown. Our trainer went on to explain the value of training horses, of getting them 'balanced' to pull with less effort. He owns it is very difficult when one is walking horses only for exercise, but thinks something can be done by walking them fast and occasionally making them step backwards. Oates referred to the deeds that had been done with horses by foreigners in shows and with polo ponies by Englishmen when the animals were trained; it is, he said, a sort of gymnastic training. The discussion was very instructive and I have only noted the salient points. _Thursday, May_ 18.--The wind dropped in the night; to-day it is calm, with slight snowfall. We have had an excellent football match--the only outdoor game possible in this light. I think our winter routine very good, I suppose every leader of a party has thought that, since he has the power of altering it. On the other hand, routine in this connection must take into consideration the facilities of work and play afforded by the preliminary preparations for the expedition. The winter occupations of most of our party depend on the instruments and implements, the clothing and sledging outfit, provided by forethought, and the routine is adapted to these occupations. The busy winter routine of our party may therefore be excusably held as a subject for self-congratulation. _Friday, May_ 19.--Wind from the north in the morning, temperature comparatively high (about -6°). We played football during the noon hour--the game gets better as we improve our football condition and skill. In the afternoon the wind came from the north, dying away again late at night. In the evening Wright lectured on 'Ice Problems.' He had a difficult subject and was nervous. He is young and has never done original work; is only beginning to see the importance of his task. He started on the crystallisation of ice, and explained with very good illustrations the various forms of crystals, the manner of their growth under different conditions and different temperatures. This was instructive. Passing to the freezing of salt water, he was not very clear. Then on to glaciers and their movements, theories for same and observations in these regions. There was a good deal of disconnected information--silt bands, crevasses were mentioned. Finally he put the problems of larger aspect. The upshot of the discussion was a decision to devote another evening to the larger problems such as the Great Ice Barrier and the interior ice sheet. I think I will write the paper to be discussed on this occasion. I note with much satisfaction that the talks on ice problems and the interest shown in them has had the effect of making Wright devote the whole of his time to them. That may mean a great deal, for he is a hard and conscientious worker. Atkinson has a new hole for his fish trap in 15 fathoms; yesterday morning he got a record catch of forty-three fish, but oddly enough yesterday evening there were only two caught. _Saturday, May_ 20.--Blowing hard from the south, with some snow and very cold. Few of us went far; Wilson and Bowers went to the top of the Ramp and found the wind there force 6 to 7, temperature -24°; as a consequence they got frost-bitten. There was lively cheering when they reappeared in this condition, such is the sympathy which is here displayed for affliction; but with Wilson much of the amusement arises from his peculiarly scant headgear and the confessed jealousy of those of us who cannot face the weather with so little face protection. The wind dropped at night. _Sunday, May_ 21.--Observed as usual. It blew from the north in the morning. Had an idea to go to Cape Royds this evening, but it was reported that the open water reached to the Barne Glacier, and last night my own observation seemed to confirm this. This afternoon I started out for the open water. I found the ice solid off the Barne Glacier tongue, but always ahead of me a dark horizon as though I was within a very short distance of its edge. I held on with this appearance still holding up to C. Barne itself and then past that Cape and half way between it and C. Royds. This was far enough to make it evident that the ice was continuous to C. Royds, and has been so for a long time. Under these circumstances the continual appearance of open water to the north is most extraordinary and quite inexplicable. Have had some very interesting discussions with Wilson, Wright, and Taylor on the ice formations to the west. How to account for the marine organisms found on the weathered glacier ice north of the Koettlitz Glacier? We have been elaborating a theory under which this ice had once a negative buoyancy due to the morainic material on top and in the lower layers of the ice mass, and had subsequently floated when the greater amount of this material had weathered out. Have arranged to go to C. Royds to-morrow. The temperatures have sunk very steadily this year; for a long time they hung about zero, then for a considerable interval remained about -10°; now they are down in the minus twenties, with signs of falling (to-day -24°). Bowers' meteorological stations have been amusingly named Archibald, Bertram, Clarence--they are entered by the initial letter, but spoken of by full title. To-night we had a glorious auroral display--quite the most brilliant I have seen. At one time the sky from N.N.W. to S.S.E. as high as the zenith was massed with arches, band, and curtains, always in rapid movement. The waving curtains were especially fascinating--a wave of bright light would start at one end and run along to the other, or a patch of brighter light would spread as if to reinforce the failing light of the curtain. Auroral Notes The auroral light is of a palish green colour, but we now see distinctly a red flush preceding the motion of any bright part. The green ghostly light seems suddenly to spring to life with rosy blushes. There is infinite suggestion in this phenomenon, and in that lies its charm; the suggestion of life, form, colour and movement never less than evanescent, mysterious,--no reality. It is the language of mystic signs and portents--the inspiration of the gods--wholly spiritual--divine signalling. Remindful of superstition, provocative of imagination. Might not the inhabitants of some other world (Mars) controlling mighty forces thus surround our globe with fiery symbols, a golden writing which we have not the key to decipher? There is argument on the confession of Ponting's inability to obtain photographs of the aurora. Professor Stormer of Norway seems to have been successful. Simpson made notes of his method, which seems to depend merely on the rapidity of lens and plate. Ponting claims to have greater rapidity in both, yet gets no result even with long exposure. It is not only a question of aurora; the stars are equally reluctant to show themselves on Ponting's plate. Even with five seconds exposure the stars become short lines of light on the plate of a fixed camera. Stormer's stars are points and therefore his exposure must have been short, yet there is detail in some of his pictures which it seems impossible could have been got with a short exposure. It is all very puzzling. _Monday, May_ 22.--Wilson, Bowers, Atkinson, Evans (P.O.), Clissold, and self went to C. Royds with a 'go cart' carrying our sleeping-bags, a cooker, and a small quantity of provision. The 'go cart' consists of a framework of steel tubing supported on four bicycle wheels. The surface of the floes carries 1 to 2 inches of snow, barely covering the salt ice flowers, and for this condition this vehicle of Day's is excellent. The advantage is that it meets the case where the salt crystals form a heavy frictional surface for wood runners. I'm inclined to think that there are great numbers of cases when wheels would be more efficient than runners on the sea ice. We reached Cape Royds in 2 1/2 hours, killing an Emperor penguin in the bay beyond C. Barne. This bird was in splendid plumage, the breast reflecting the dim northern light like a mirror. It was fairly dark when we stumbled over the rocks and dropped on to Shackleton's Hut. Clissold started the cooking-range, Wilson and I walked over to the Black beach and round back by Blue Lake. The temperature was down at -31° and the interior of the hut was very cold. _Tuesday, May_ 23.--We spent the morning mustering the stores within and without the hut, after a cold night which we passed very comfortably in our bags. We found a good quantity of flour and Danish butter and a fair amount of paraffin, with smaller supplies of assorted articles--the whole sufficient to afford provision for such a party as ours for about six or eight months if well administered. In case of necessity this would undoubtedly be a very useful reserve to fall back upon. These stores are somewhat scattered, and the hut has a dilapidated, comfortless appearance due to its tenantless condition; but even so it seemed to me much less inviting than our old _Discovery_ hut at C. Armitage. After a cup of cocoa there was nothing to detain us, and we started back, the only useful articles added to our weights being a scrap or two of leather and _five hymn-books_. Hitherto we have been only able to muster seven copies; this increase will improve our Sunday Services. _Wednesday, May_ 24.--A quiet day with northerly wind; the temperature rose gradually to zero. Having the night duty, did not go out. The moon has gone and there is little to attract one out of doors. Atkinson gave us an interesting little discourse on parasitology, with a brief account of the life history of some ecto- and some endo-parasites--Nematodes, Trematodes. He pointed out how that in nearly every case there was a secondary host, how in some cases disease was caused, and in others the presence of the parasite was even helpful. He acknowledged the small progress that had been made in this study. He mentioned ankylostomiasis, blood-sucking worms, Bilhartsia (Trematode) attacking bladder (Egypt), Filaria (round tapeworm), Guinea worm, Trichina (pork), and others, pointing to disease caused. From worms he went to Protozoa-Trypanosomes, sleeping sickness, host tsetse-fly--showed life history comparatively, propagated in secondary host or encysting in primary host--similarly malarial germs spread by Anopheles mosquitoes--all very interesting. In the discussion following Wilson gave some account of the grouse disease worm, and especially of the interest in finding free living species almost identical; also part of the life of disease worm is free living. Here we approached a point pressed by Nelson concerning the degeneration consequent on adoption of the parasitic habit. All parasites seem to have descended from free living beasts. One asks 'what is degeneration?' without receiving a very satisfactory answer. After all, such terms must be empirical. _Thursday, May_ 25.--It has been blowing from south with heavy gusts and snow, temperature extraordinarily high, -6°. This has been a heavy gale. The weather conditions are certainly very interesting; Simpson has again called attention to the wind in February, March, and April at Cape Evans--the record shows an extraordinary large percentage of gales. It is quite certain that we scarcely got a fraction of the wind on the Barrier and doubtful if we got as much at Hut Point. _Friday, May_ 26.--A calm and clear day--a nice change from recent weather. It makes an enormous difference to the enjoyment of this life if one is able to get out and stretch one's legs every day. This morning I went up the Ramp. No sign of open water, so that my fears for a broken highway in the coming season are now at rest. In future gales can only be a temporary annoyance--anxiety as to their result is finally allayed. This afternoon I searched out ski and ski sticks and went for a short run over the floe. The surface is quite good since the recent snowfall and wind. This is satisfactory, as sledging can now be conducted on ordinary lines, and if convenient our parties can pull on ski. The young ice troubles of April and May have passed away. It is curious that circumstances caused us to miss them altogether during our stay in the _Discovery._ We are living extraordinarily well. At dinner last night we had some excellent thick seal soup, very much like thick hare soup; this was followed by an equally tasty seal steak and kidney pie and a fruit jelly. The smell of frying greeted us on awaking this morning, and at breakfast each of us had two of our nutty little _Notothenia_ fish after our bowl of porridge. These little fish have an extraordinarily sweet taste--bread and butter and marmalade finished the meal. At the midday meal we had bread and butter, cheese, and cake, and to-night I smell mutton in the preparation. Under the circumstances it would be difficult to conceive more appetising repasts or a regime which is likely to produce scorbutic symptoms. I cannot think we shall get scurvy. Nelson lectured to us to-night, giving a very able little elementary sketch of the objects of the biologist. A fact struck one in his explanation of the rates of elimination. Two of the offspring of two parents alone survive, speaking broadly; this the same of the human species or the 'ling,' with 24,000,000 eggs in the roe of each female! He talked much of evolution, adaptation, &c. Mendelism became the most debated point of the discussion; the transmission of characters has a wonderful fascination for the human mind. There was also a point striking deep in the debate on Professor Loeb's experiments with sea urchins; how far had he succeeded in reproducing the species without the male spermatozoa? Not very far, it seemed, when all was said. A theme for a pen would be the expansion of interest in polar affairs; compare the interests of a winter spent by the old Arctic voyagers with our own, and look into the causes. The aspect of everything changes as our knowledge expands. The expansion of human interest in rude surroundings may perhaps best be illustrated by comparisons. It will serve to recall such a simple case as the fact that our ancestors applied the terms horrid, frightful, to mountain crags which in our own day are more justly admired as lofty, grand, and beautiful. The poetic conception of this natural phenomenon has followed not so much an inherent change of sentiment as the intimacy of wider knowledge and the death of superstitious influence. One is much struck by the importance of realising limits. _Saturday, May_ 27.--A very unpleasant, cold, windy day. Annoyed with the conditions, so did not go out. In the evening Bowers gave his lecture on sledging diets. He has shown great courage in undertaking the task, great perseverance in unearthing facts from books, and a considerable practical skill in stringing these together. It is a thankless task to search polar literature for dietary facts and still more difficult to attach due weight to varying statements. Some authors omit discussion of this important item altogether, others fail to note alterations made in practice or additions afforded by circumstances, others again forget to describe the nature of various food stuffs. Our lecturer was both entertaining and instructive when he dealt with old time rations; but he naturally grew weak in approaching the physiological aspect of the question. He went through with it manfully and with a touch of humour much appreciated; whereas, for instance, he deduced facts from 'the equivalent of Mr. Joule, a gentleman whose statements he had no reason to doubt.' Wilson was the mainstay of the subsequent discussion and put all doubtful matters in a clearer light. 'Increase your fats (carbohydrate)' is what science seems to say, and practice with conservativism is inclined to step cautiously in response to this urgence. I shall, of course, go into the whole question as thoroughly as available information and experience permits. Meanwhile it is useful to have had a discussion which aired the popular opinions. Feeling went deepest on the subject of tea versus cocoa; admitting all that can be said concerning stimulation and reaction, I am inclined to see much in favour of tea. Why should not one be mildly stimulated during the marching hours if one can cope with reaction by profounder rest during the hours of inaction? _Sunday, May_ 28.--Quite an excitement last night. One of the ponies (the grey which I led last year and salved from the floe) either fell or tried to lie down in his stall, his head being lashed up to the stanchions on either side. In this condition he struggled and kicked till his body was twisted right round and his attitude extremely uncomfortable. Very luckily his struggles were heard almost at once, and his head ropes being cut, Oates got him on his feet again. He looked a good deal distressed at the time, but is now quite well again and has been out for his usual exercise. Held Service as usual. This afternoon went on ski around the bay and back across. Little or no wind; sky clear, temperature -25°. It was wonderfully mild considering the temperature--this sounds paradoxical, but the sensation of cold does not conform to the thermometer--it is obviously dependent on the wind and less obviously on the humidity of the air and the ice crystals floating in it. I cannot very clearly account for this effect, but as a matter of fact I have certainly felt colder in still air at -10° than I did to-day when the thermometer was down to -25°, other conditions apparently equal. The amazing circumstance is that by no means can we measure the humidity, or indeed the precipitation or evaporation. I have just been discussing with Simpson the insuperable difficulties that stand in the way of experiment in this direction, since cold air can only hold the smallest quantities of moisture, and saturation covers an extremely small range of temperature. _Monday, May_ 29.--Another beautiful calm day. Went out both before and after the mid-day meal. This morning with Wilson and Bowers towards the thermometer off Inaccessible Island. On the way my companionable dog was heard barking and dimly seen--we went towards him and found that he was worrying a young sea leopard. This is the second found in the Strait this season. We had to secure it as a specimen, but it was sad to have to kill. The long lithe body of this seal makes it almost beautiful in comparison with our stout, bloated Weddells. This poor beast turned swiftly from side to side as we strove to stun it with a blow on the nose. As it turned it gaped its jaws wide, but oddly enough not a sound came forth, not even a hiss. After lunch a sledge was taken out to secure the prize, which had been photographed by flashlight. Ponting has been making great advances in flashlight work, and has opened up quite a new field in which artistic results can be obtained in the winter. Lecture--Japan. To-night Ponting gave us a charming lecture on Japan with wonderful illustrations of his own. He is happiest in his descriptions of the artistic side of the people, with which he is in fullest sympathy. So he took us to see the flower pageants. The joyful festivals of the cherry blossom, the wistaria, the iris and chrysanthemum, the sombre colours of the beech blossom and the paths about the lotus gardens, where mankind meditated in solemn mood. We had pictures, too, of Nikko and its beauties, of Temples and great Buddhas. Then in more touristy strain of volcanoes and their craters, waterfalls and river gorges, tiny tree-clad islets, that feature of Japan--baths and their bathers, Ainos, and so on. His descriptions were well given and we all of us thoroughly enjoyed our evening. _Tuesday, May_ 30.--Am busy with my physiological investigations. [23] Atkinson reported a sea leopard at the tide crack; it proved to be a crab-eater, young and very active. In curious contrast to the sea leopard of yesterday in snapping round it uttered considerable noise, a gasping throaty growl. Went out to the outer berg, where there was quite a collection of people, mostly in connection with Ponting, who had brought camera and flashlight. It was beautifully calm and comparatively warm. It was good to hear the gay chatter and laughter, and see ponies and their leaders come up out of the gloom to add liveliness to the scene. The sky was extraordinarily clear at noon and to the north very bright. We have had an exceptionally large tidal range during the last three days--it has upset the tide gauge arrangements and brought a little doubt on the method. Day is going into the question, which we thoroughly discussed to-day. Tidal measurements will be worse than useless unless we can be sure of the accuracy of our methods. Pools of salt water have formed over the beach floes in consequence of the high tide, and in the chase of the crab eater to-day very brilliant flashes of phosphorescent light appeared in these pools. We think it due to a small cope-pod. I have just found a reference to the same phenomena in Nordenskiöld's 'Vega.' He, and apparently Bellot before him, noted the phenomenon. An interesting instance of bi-polarity. Another interesting phenomenon observed to-day was a cirrus cloud lit by sunlight. It was seen by Wilson and Bowers 5° above the northern horizon--the sun is 9° below our horizon, and without refraction we calculate a cloud could be seen which was 12 miles high. Allowing refraction the phenomenon appears very possible. _Wednesday, May_ 31.--The sky was overcast this morning and the temperature up to -13°. Went out after lunch to 'Land's End.' The surface of snow was sticky for ski, except where drifts were deep. There was an oppressive feel in the air and I got very hot, coming in with head and hands bare. At 5, from dead calm the wind suddenly sprang up from the south, force 40 miles per hour, and since that it has been blowing a blizzard; wind very gusty, from 20 to 60 miles. I have never known a storm come on so suddenly, and it shows what possibility there is of individuals becoming lost even if they only go a short way from the hut. To-night Wilson has given us a very interesting lecture on sketching. He started by explaining his methods of rough sketch and written colour record, and explained its suitability to this climate as opposed to coloured chalks, &c.--a very practical method for cold fingers and one that becomes more accurate with practice in observation. His theme then became the extreme importance of accuracy, his mode of expression and explanation frankly Ruskinesque. Don't put in meaningless lines--every line should be from observation. So with contrast of light and shade--fine shading, subtle distinction, everything--impossible without care, patience, and trained attention. He raised a smile by generalising failures in sketches of others of our party which had been brought to him for criticism. He pointed out how much had been put in from preconceived notion. 'He will draw a berg faithfully as it is now and he studies it, but he leaves sea and sky to be put in afterwards, as he thinks they must be like sea and sky everywhere else, and he is content to try and remember how these _should_ be done.' Nature's harmonies cannot be guessed at. He quoted much from Ruskin, leading on a little deeper to 'Composition,' paying a hearty tribute to Ponting. The lecture was delivered in the author's usual modest strain, but unconsciously it was expressive of himself and his whole-hearted thoroughness. He stands very high in the scale of human beings--how high I scarcely knew till the experience of the past few months. There is no member of our party so universally esteemed; only to-night I realise how patiently and consistently he has given time and attention to help the efforts of the other sketchers, and so it is all through; he has had a hand in almost every lecture given, and has been consulted in almost every effort which has been made towards the solution of the practical or theoretical problems of our polar world. The achievement of a great result by patient work is the best possible object lesson for struggling humanity, for the results of genius, however admirable, can rarely be instructive. The chief of the Scientific Staff sets an example which is more potent than any other factor in maintaining that bond of good fellowship which is the marked and beneficent characteristic of our community. CHAPTER XI To Midwinter Day _Thursday, June_ 1.--The wind blew hard all night, gusts arising to 72 m.p.h.; the anemometer choked five times--temperature +9°. It is still blowing this morning. Incidentally we have found that these heavy winds react very conveniently on our ventilating system. A fire is always a good ventilator, ensuring the circulation of inside air and the indraught of fresh air; its defect as a ventilator lies in the low level at which it extracts inside air. Our ventilating system utilises the normal fire draught, but also by suitable holes in the funnelling causes the same draught to extract foul air at higher levels. I think this is the first time such a system has been used. It is a bold step to make holes in the funnelling as obviously any uncertainty of draught might fill the hut with smoke. Since this does not happen with us it follows that there is always strong suction through our stovepipes, and this is achieved by their exceptionally large dimensions and by the length of the outer chimney pipe. With wind this draught is greatly increased and with high winds the draught would be too great for the stoves if it were not for the relief of the ventilating holes. In these circumstances, therefore, the rate of extraction of air automatically rises, and since high wind is usually accompanied with marked rise of temperature, the rise occurs at the most convenient season, when the interior of the hut would otherwise tend to become oppressively warm. The practical result of the system is that in spite of the numbers of people living in the hut, the cooking, and the smoking, the inside air is nearly always warm, sweet, and fresh. There is usually a drawback to the best of arrangements, and I have said 'nearly' always. The exceptions in this connection occur when the outside air is calm and warm and the galley fire, as in the early morning, needs to be worked up; it is necessary under these conditions to temporarily close the ventilating holes, and if at this time the cook is intent on preparing our breakfast with a frying-pan we are quickly made aware of his intentions. A combination of this sort is rare and lasts only for a very short time, for directly the fire is aglow the ventilator can be opened again and the relief is almost instantaneous. This very satisfactory condition of inside air must be a highly important factor in the preservation of health. I have to-day regularised the pony 'nicknames'; I must leave it to Drake to pull out the relation to the 'proper' names according to our school contracts! [24] The nicknames are as follows: James Pigg Keohane Bones Crean Michael Clissold Snatcher Evans (P.O.) Jehu China Christopher Hooper Victor Bowers Snippets (windsucker) Nobby Lashly _Friday, June_ 2.--The wind still high. The drift ceased at an early hour yesterday; it is difficult to account for the fact. At night the sky cleared; then and this morning we had a fair display of aurora streamers to the N. and a faint arch east. Curiously enough the temperature still remains high, about +7°. The meteorological conditions are very puzzling. _Saturday, June_ 3.--The wind dropped last night, but at 4 A.M. suddenly sprang up from a dead calm to 30 miles an hour. Almost instantaneously, certainly within the space of one minute, there was a temperature rise of nine degrees. It is the most extraordinary and interesting example of a rise of temperature with a southerly wind that I can remember. It is certainly difficult to account for unless we imagine that during the calm the surface layer of cold air is extremely thin and that there is a steep inverted gradient. When the wind arose the sky overhead was clearer than I ever remember to have seen it, the constellations brilliant, and the Milky Way like a bright auroral streamer. The wind has continued all day, making it unpleasant out of doors. I went for a walk over the land; it was dark, the rock very black, very little snow lying; old footprints in the soft, sandy soil were filled with snow, showing quite white on a black ground. Have been digging away at food statistics. Simpson has just given us a discourse, in the ordinary lecture series, on his instruments. Having already described these instruments, there is little to comment upon; he is excellently lucid in his explanations. As an analogy to the attempt to make a scientific observation when the condition under consideration is affected by the means employed, he rather quaintly cited the impossibility of discovering the length of trousers by bending over to see! The following are the instruments described: Features The outside (bimetallic) thermograph. The inside thermograph (alcohol) Alcohol in spiral, small lead pipe--float vessel. The electrically recording anemometer Cam device with contact on wheel; slowing arrangement, inertia of wheel. The Dynes anemometer Parabola on immersed float. The recording wind vane Metallic pen. The magnetometer Horizontal force measured in two directions--vertical force in one--timing arrangement. The high and low potential apparatus of the balloon thermograph Spotting arrangement and difference, see _ante_. Simpson is admirable as a worker, admirable as a scientist, and admirable as a lecturer. _Sunday, June_ 4.--A calm and beautiful day. The account of this, a typical Sunday, would run as follows: Breakfast. A half-hour or so selecting hymns and preparing for Service whilst the hut is being cleared up. The Service: a hymn; Morning prayer to the Psalms; another hymn; prayers from Communion Service and Litany; a final hymn and our special prayer. Wilson strikes the note on which the hymn is to start and I try to hit it after with doubtful success! After church the men go out with their ponies. To-day Wilson, Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Lashly, and I went to start the building of our first 'igloo.' There is a good deal of difference of opinion as to the best implement with which to cut snow blocks. Cherry-Garrard had a knife which I designed and Lashly made, Wilson a saw, and Bowers a large trowel. I'm inclined to think the knife will prove most effective, but the others don't acknowledge it _yet_. As far as one can see at present this knife should have a longer handle and much coarser teeth in the saw edge--perhaps also the blade should be thinner. We must go on with this hut building till we get good at it. I'm sure it's going to be a useful art. We only did three courses of blocks when tea-time arrived, and light was not good enough to proceed after tea. Sunday afternoon for the men means a 'stretch of the land.' I went over the floe on ski. The best possible surface after the late winds as far as Inaccessible Island. Here, and doubtless in most places along the shore, this, the first week of June, may be noted as the date by which the wet, sticky salt crystals become covered and the surface possible for wood runners. Beyond the island the snow is still very thin, barely covering the ice flowers, and the surface is still bad. There has been quite a small landslide on the S. side of the Island; seven or eight blocks of rock, one or two tons in weight, have dropped on to the floe, an interesting instance of the possibility of transport by sea ice. Ponting has been out to the bergs photographing by flashlight. As I passed south of the Island with its whole mass between myself and the photographer I saw the flashes of magnesium light, having all the appearance of lightning. The light illuminated the sky and apparently objects at a great distance from the camera. It is evident that there may be very great possibilities in the use of this light for signalling purposes and I propose to have some experiments. N.B.--Magnesium flashlight as signalling apparatus in the summer. Another crab-eater seal was secured to-day; he had come up by the bergs. _Monday, June_ 5.--The wind has been S. all day, sky overcast and air misty with snow crystals. The temperature has gone steadily up and to-night rose to + 16°. Everything seems to threaten a blizzard which cometh not. But what is to be made of this extraordinary high temperature heaven only knows. Went for a walk over the rocks and found it very warm and muggy. Taylor gave us a paper on the Beardmore Glacier. He has taken pains to work up available information; on the ice side he showed the very gradual gradient as compared with the Ferrar. If crevasses are as plentiful as reported, the motion of glacier must be very considerable. There seem to be three badly crevassed parts where the glacier is constricted and the fall is heavier. Geologically he explained the rocks found and the problems unsolved. The basement rocks, as to the north, appear to be reddish and grey granites and altered slate (possibly bearing fossils). The Cloudmaker appears to be diorite; Mt. Buckley sedimentary. The suggested formation is of several layers of coal with sandstone above and below; interesting to find if it is so and investigate coal. Wood fossil conifer appears to have come from this--better to get leaves--wrap fossils up for protection. Mt. Dawson described as pinkish limestone, with a wedge of dark rock; this very doubtful! Limestone is of great interest owing to chance of finding Cambrian fossils (Archeocyathus). He mentioned the interest of finding here, as in Dry Valley, volcanic cones of recent date (later than the recession of the ice). As points to be looked to in Geology and Physiography: 1. Hope Island shape. 2. Character of wall facets. 3. Type of tributary glacierscliff or curtain, broken. 4. Do tributaries enter 'at grade'? 5. Lateral gullies pinnacled, &c., shape and size of slope. 6. Do tributaries cut out gullies--empty unoccupied cirques, hangers, &c. 7. Do upland moraines show tesselation? 8. Arrangement of strata, inclusion of. 9. Types of moraines, distance of blocks. 10. Weathering of glaciers. Types of surface. (Thrust mark? Rippled, snow stool, glass house, coral reef, honeycomb, ploughshare, bastions, piecrust.) 11. Amount of water silt bands, stratified, or irregular folded or broken. 12. Cross section, of valleys 35° slopes? 13. Weather slopes debris covered, height to which. 14. Nunataks, height of rounded, height of any angle in profile, erratics. 15. Evidence of order in glacier delta. Debenham in discussion mentioned usefulness of small chips of rock--many chips from several places are more valuable than few larger specimens. We had an interesting little discussion. I must enter a protest against the use made of the word 'glaciated' by Geologists and Physiographers. To them a 'glaciated land' is one which appears to have been shaped by former ice action. The meaning I attach to the phrase, and one which I believe is more commonly current, is that it describes a land at present wholly or partly covered with ice and snow. I hold the latter is the obvious meaning and the former results from a piracy committed in very recent times. The alternative terms descriptive of the different meanings are ice covered and ice eroded. To-day I have been helping the Soldier to design pony rugs; the great thing, I think, is to get something which will completely cover the hindquarters. _Tuesday, June_ 6.--The temperature has been as high as +19° to-day; the south wind persisted until the evening with clear sky except for fine effects of torn cloud round about the mountain. To-night the moon has emerged from behind the mountain and sails across the cloudless northern sky; the wind has fallen and the scene is glorious. It is my birthday, a fact I might easily have forgotten, but my kind people did not. At lunch an immense birthday cake made its appearance and we were photographed assembled about it. Clissold had decorated its sugared top with various devices in chocolate and crystallised fruit, flags and photographs of myself. After my walk I discovered that great preparations were in progress for a special dinner, and when the hour for that meal arrived we sat down to a sumptuous spread with our sledge banners hung about us. Clissold's especially excellent seal soup, roast mutton and red currant jelly, fruit salad, asparagus and chocolate--such was our menu. For drink we had cider cup, a mystery not yet fathomed, some sherry and a liqueur. After this luxurious meal everyone was very festive and amiably argumentative. As I write there is a group in the dark room discussing political progress with discussions--another at one corner of the dinner table airing its views on the origin of matter and the probability of its ultimate discovery, and yet another debating military problems. The scraps that reach me from the various groups sometimes piece together in ludicrous fashion. Perhaps these arguments are practically unprofitable, but they give a great deal of pleasure to the participants. It's delightful to hear the ring of triumph in some voice when the owner imagines he has delivered himself of a well-rounded period or a clinching statement concerning the point under discussion. They are boys, all of them, but such excellent good-natured ones; there has been no sign of sharpness or anger, no jarring note, in all these wordy contests! all end with a laugh. Nelson has offered Taylor a pair of socks to teach him some geology! This lulls me to sleep! _Wednesday, June_ 7.--A very beautiful day. In the afternoon went well out over the floe to the south, looking up Nelson at his icehole and picking up Bowers at his thermometer. The surface was polished and beautifully smooth for ski, the scene brightly illuminated with moonlight, the air still and crisp, and the thermometer at -10°. Perfect conditions for a winter walk. In the evening I read a paper on 'The Ice Barrier and Inland Ice.' I have strung together a good many new points and the interest taken in the discussion was very genuine--so keen, in fact, that we did not break up till close on midnight. I am keeping this paper, which makes a very good basis for all future work on these subjects. (See Vol. II.) Shelters to Iceholes Time out of number one is coming across rediscoveries. Of such a nature is the building of shelters for iceholes. We knew a good deal about it in the _Discovery_, but unfortunately did not make notes of our experiences. I sketched the above figures for Nelson, and found on going to the hole that the drift accorded with my sketch. The sketches explain themselves. I think wall 'b' should be higher than wall 'a.' My night on duty. The silent hours passed rapidly and comfortably. To bed 7 A.M. _Thursday, June_ 8.--Did not turn out till 1 P.M., then with a bad head, an inevitable sequel to a night of vigil. Walked out to and around the bergs, bright moonlight, but clouds rapidly spreading up from south. Tried the snow knife, which is developing. Debenham and Gran went off to Hut Point this morning; they should return to-morrow. _Friday, June_ 9.--No wind came with the clouds of yesterday, but the sky has not been clear since they spread over it except for about two hours in the middle of the night when the moonlight was so bright that one might have imagined the day returned. Otherwise the web of stratus which hangs over us thickens and thins, rises and falls with very bewildering uncertainty. We want theories for these mysterious weather conditions; meanwhile it is annoying to lose the advantages of the moonlight. This morning had some discussion with Nelson and Wright regarding the action of sea water in melting barrier and sea ice. The discussion was useful to me in drawing attention to the equilibrium of layers of sea water. In the afternoon I went round the Razor Back Islands on ski, a run of 5 or 6 miles; the surface was good but in places still irregular with the pressures formed when the ice was 'young.' The snow is astonishingly soft on the south side of both islands. It is clear that in the heaviest blizzard one could escape the wind altogether by camping to windward of the larger island. One sees more and more clearly what shelter is afforded on the weather side of steep-sided objects. Passed three seals asleep on the ice. Two others were killed near the bergs. _Saturday, June_ 10.--The impending blizzard has come; the wind came with a burst at 9.30 this morning. Simpson spent the night turning over a theory to account for the phenomenon, and delivered himself of it this morning. It seems a good basis for the reference of future observations. He imagines the atmosphere A C in potential equilibrium with large margin of stability, i.e. the difference of temperature between A and C being much less than the adiabatic gradient. In this condition there is a tendency to cool by radiation until some critical layer, B, reaches its due point. A stratus cloud is thus formed at B; from this moment A B continues to cool, but B C is protected from radiating, whilst heated by radiation from snow and possibly by release of latent heat due to cloud formation. The condition now rapidly approaches unstable equilibrium, B C tending to rise, A B to descend. Owing to lack of sun heat the effect will be more rapid in south than north and therefore the upset will commence first in the south. After the first start the upset will rapidly spread north, bringing the blizzard. The facts supporting the theory are the actual formation of a stratus cloud before a blizzard, the snow and warm temperature of the blizzard and its gusty nature. It is a pretty starting-point, but, of course, there are weak spots. Atkinson has found a trypanosome in the fish--it has been stained, photographed and drawn--an interesting discovery having regard to the few species that have been found. A trypanosome is the cause of 'sleeping sickness.' The blizzard has continued all day with a good deal of drift. I went for a walk, but the conditions were not inviting. We have begun to consider details of next season's travelling equipment. The crampons, repair of finnesko with sealskin, and an idea for a double tent have been discussed to-day. P.O. Evans and Lashly are delightfully intelligent in carrying out instructions. _Sunday, June_ 11.--A fine clear morning, the moon now revolving well aloft and with full face. For exercise a run on ski to the South Bay in the morning and a dash up the Ramp before dinner. Wind and drift arose in the middle of the day, but it is now nearly calm again. At our morning service Cherry-Garrard, good fellow, vamped the accompaniment of two hymns; he received encouraging thanks and will cope with all three hymns next Sunday. Day by day news grows scant in this midwinter season; all events seem to compress into a small record, yet a little reflection shows that this is not the case. For instance I have had at least three important discussions on weather and ice conditions to-day, concerning which many notes might be made, and quite a number of small arrangements have been made. If a diary can be so inadequate here how difficult must be the task of making a faithful record of a day's events in ordinary civilised life! I think this is why I have found it so difficult to keep a diary at home. _Monday, June_ 12.--The weather is not kind to us. There has not been much wind to-day, but the moon has been hid behind stratus cloud. One feels horribly cheated in losing the pleasure of its light. I scarcely know what the Crozier party can do if they don't get better luck next month. Debenham and Gran have not yet returned; this is their fifth day of absence. Bowers and Cherry-Garrard went to Cape Royds this afternoon to stay the night. Taylor and Wright walked there and back after breakfast this morning. They returned shortly after lunch. Went for a short spin on ski this morning and again this afternoon. This evening Evans has given us a lecture on surveying. He was shy and slow, but very painstaking, taking a deal of trouble in preparing pictures, &c. I took the opportunity to note hurriedly the few points to which I want attention especially directed. No doubt others will occur to me presently. I think I now understand very well how and why the old surveyors (like Belcher) failed in the early Arctic work. 1. Every officer who takes part in the Southern Journey ought to have in his memory the approximate variation of the compass at various stages of the journey and to know how to apply it to obtain a true course from the compass. The variation changes very slowly so that no great effort of memory is required. 2. He ought to know what the true course is to reach one depôt from another. 3. He should be able to take an observation with the theodolite. 4. He should be able to work out a meridian altitude observation. 5. He could advantageously add to his knowledge the ability to work out a longitude observation or an ex-meridian altitude. 6. He should know how to read the sledgemeter. 7. He should note and remember the error of the watch he carries and the rate which is ascertained for it from time to time. 8. He should assist the surveyor by noting the coincidences of objects, the opening out of valleys, the observation of new peaks, &c._19_ _Tuesday, June_ 13.--A very beautiful day. We revelled in the calm clear moonlight; the temperature has fallen to -26°. The surface of the floe perfect for ski--had a run to South Bay in forenoon and was away on a long circuit around Inaccessible Island in the afternoon. In such weather the cold splendour of the scene is beyond description; everything is satisfying, from the deep purple of the starry sky to the gleaming bergs and the sparkle of the crystals under foot. Some very brilliant patches of aurora over the southern shoulder of the mountain. Observed an exceedingly bright meteor shoot across the sky to the northward. On my return found Debenham and Gran back from Cape Armitage. They had intended to start back on Sunday, but were prevented by bad weather; they seemed to have had stronger winds than we. On arrival at the hut they found poor little 'Mukaka' coiled up outside the door, looking pitifully thin and weak, but with enough energy to bark at them. This dog was run over and dragged for a long way under the sledge runners whilst we were landing stores in January (the 7th). He has never been worth much since, but remained lively in spite of all the hardships of sledging work. At Hut Point he looked a miserable object, as the hair refused to grow on his hindquarters. It seemed as though he could scarcely continue in such a condition, and when the party came back to Cape Evans he was allowed to run free alongside the sledge. On the arrival of the party I especially asked after the little animal and was told by Demetri that he had returned, but later it transpired that this was a mistake--that he had been missed on the journey and had not turned up again later as was supposed. I learned this fact only a few days ago and had quite given up the hope of ever seeing the poor little beast again. It is extraordinary to realise that this poor, lame, half-clad animal has lived for a whole month by himself. He had blood on his mouth when found, implying the capture of a seal, but how he managed to kill it and then get through its skin is beyond comprehension. Hunger drives hard. _Wednesday, June_ 14.--Storms are giving us little rest. We found a thin stratus over the sky this morning, foreboding ill. The wind came, as usual with a rush, just after lunch. At first there was much drift--now the drift has gone but the gusts run up to 65 m.p.h. Had a comfortless stroll around the hut; how rapidly things change when one thinks of the delights of yesterday! Paid a visit to Wright's ice cave; the pendulum is installed and will soon be ready for observation. Wright anticipates the possibility of difficulty with ice crystals on the agate planes. He tells me that he has seen some remarkably interesting examples of the growth of ice crystals on the walls of the cave and has observed the same unaccountable confusion of the size of grains in the ice, showing how little history can be gathered from the structure of ice. This evening Nelson gave us his second biological lecture, starting with a brief reference to the scientific classification of the organism into Kingdom, Phylum, Group, Class, Order, Genus, Species; he stated the justification of a biologist in such an expedition, as being 'To determine the condition under which organic substances exist in the sea.' He proceeded to draw divisions between the bottom organisms without power of motion, benthon, the nekton motile life in mid-water, and the plankton or floating life. Then he led very prettily on to the importance of the tiny vegetable organisms as the basis of all life. In the killer whale may be found a seal, in the seal a fish, in the fish a smaller fish, in the smaller fish a copepod, and in the copepod a diatom. If this be regular feeding throughout, the diatom or vegetable is essentially the base of all. Light is the essential of vegetable growth or metabolism, and light quickly vanishes in depth of water, so that all ocean life must ultimately depend on the phyto-plankton. To discover the conditions of this life is therefore to go to the root of matters. At this point came an interlude--descriptive of the various biological implements in use in the ship and on shore. The otter trawl, the Agassiz trawl, the 'D' net, and the ordinary dredger. A word or two on the using of 'D' nets and then explanation of sieves for classifying the bottom, its nature causing variation in the organisms living on it. From this he took us amongst the tow-nets with their beautiful silk fabrics, meshes running 180 to the inch and materials costing 2 guineas the yard--to the German tow-nets for quantitative measurements, the object of the latter and its doubtful accuracy, young fish trawls. From this to the chemical composition of sea water, the total salt about 3.5 per cent, but variable: the proportions of the various salts do not appear to differ, thus the chlorine test detects the salinity quantitatively. Physically plankton life must depend on this salinity and also on temperature, pressure, light, and movement. (If plankton only inhabits surface waters, then density, temperatures, &c., of surface waters must be the important factors. Why should biologists strive for deeper layers? Why should not deep sea life be maintained by dead vegetable matter?) Here again the lecturer branched off into descriptions of water bottles, deep sea thermometers, and current-meters, the which I think have already received some notice in this diary. To what depth light may extend is the difficult problem and we had some speculation, especially in the debate on this question. Simpson suggested that laboratory experiment should easily determine. Atkinson suggested growth of bacteria on a scratched plate. The idea seems to be that vegetable life cannot exist without red rays, which probably do not extend beyond 7 feet or so. Against this is an extraordinary recovery of _Holosphera Firidis_ by German expedition from 2000 fathoms; this seems to have been confirmed. Bowers caused much amusement by demanding to know 'If the pycnogs (pycnogonids) were more nearly related to the arachnids (spiders) or crustaceans.' As a matter of fact a very sensible question, but it caused amusement because of its sudden display of long names. Nelson is an exceedingly capable lecturer; he makes his subject very clear and is never too technical. _Thursday, June_ 15.--Keen cold wind overcast sky till 5.30 P.M. Spent an idle day. Jimmy Pigg had an attack of colic in the stable this afternoon. He was taken out and doctored on the floe, which seemed to improve matters, but on return to the stable he was off his feed. This evening the Soldier tells me he has eaten his food, so I hope all be well again. _Friday, June_ 16.--Overcast again--little wind but also little moonlight. Jimmy Pigg quite recovered. Went round the bergs in the afternoon. A great deal of ice has fallen from the irregular ones, showing that a great deal of weathering of bergs goes on during the winter and hence that the life of a berg is very limited, even if it remains in the high latitudes. To-night Debenham lectured on volcanoes. His matter is very good, but his voice a little monotonous, so that there were signs of slumber in the audience, but all woke up for a warm and amusing discussion succeeding the lecture. The lecturer first showed a world chart showing distribution of volcanoes, showing general tendency of eruptive explosions to occur in lines. After following these lines in other parts of the world he showed difficulty of finding symmetrical linear distribution near McMurdo Sound. He pointed out incidentally the important inference which could be drawn from the discovery of altered sandstones in the Erebus region. He went to the shapes of volcanoes: The massive type formed by very fluid lavas--Mauna Loa (Hawaii), Vesuvius, examples. The more perfect cones formed by ash talus--Fujiama, Discovery. The explosive type with parasitic cones--Erebus, Morning, Etna. Fissure eruption--historic only in Iceland, but best prehistoric examples Deccan (India) and Oregon (U.S.). There is small ground for supposing relation between adjacent volcanoes--activity in one is rarely accompanied by activity in the other. It seems most likely that vent tubes are entirely separate. _Products of volcanoes_.--The lecturer mentioned the escape of quantities of free hydrogen--there was some discussion on this point afterwards; that water is broken up is easily understood, but what becomes of the oxygen? Simpson suggests the presence of much oxidizable material. CO_2 as a noxious gas also mentioned and discussed--causes mythical 'upas' tree--sulphurous fumes attend final stages. Practically little or no heat escapes through sides of a volcano. There was argument over physical conditions influencing explosions--especially as to barometric influence. There was a good deal of disjointed information on lavas, ropy or rapid flowing and viscous--also on spatter cones and caverns. In all cases lavas cool slowly--heat has been found close to the surface after 87 years. On Etna there is lava over ice. The lecturer finally reviewed the volcanicity of our own neighbourhood. He described various vents of Erebus, thinks Castle Rock a 'plug'--here some discussion--Observation Hill part of old volcano, nothing in common with Crater Hill. Inaccessible Island seems to have no connection with Erebus. Finally we had a few words on the origin of volcanicity and afterwards some discussion on an old point--the relation to the sea. Why are volcanoes close to sea? Debenham thinks not cause and effect, but two effects resulting from same cause. Great argument as to whether effect of barometric changes on Erebus vapour can be observed. Not much was said about the theory of volcanoes, but Debenham touched on American theories--the melting out from internal magma. There was nothing much to catch hold of throughout, but discussion of such a subject sorts one's ideas. _Saturday, June_ 17.--Northerly wind, temperature changeable, dropping to -16°. Wind doubtful in the afternoon. Moon still obscured--it is very trying. Feeling dull in spirit to-day. _Sunday, June_ 18.--Another blizzard--the weather is distressing. It ought to settle down soon, but unfortunately the moon is passing. Held the usual Morning Service. Hymns not quite successful to-day. To-night Atkinson has taken the usual monthly measurement. I don't think there has been much change. _Monday, June_ 19.--A pleasant change to find the air calm and the sky clear--temperature down to -28°. At 1.30 the moon vanished behind the western mountains, after which, in spite of the clear sky, it was very dark on the floe. Went out on ski across the bay, then round about the cape, and so home, facing a keen northerly wind on return. Atkinson is making a new fish trap hole; from one cause and another, the breaking of the trap, and the freezing of the hole, no catch has been made for some time. I don't think we shall get good catches during the dark season, but Atkinson's own requirements are small, and the fish, though nice enough, are not such a luxury as to be greatly missed from our 'menu.' Our daily routine has possessed a settled regularity for a long time. Clissold is up about 7 A.M. to start the breakfast. At 7.30 Hooper starts sweeping the floor and setting the table. Between 8 and 8.30 the men are out and about, fetching ice for melting, &c. Anton is off to feed the ponies, Demetri to see the dogs; Hooper bursts on the slumberers with repeated announcements of the time, usually a quarter of an hour ahead of the clock. There is a stretching of limbs and an interchange of morning greetings, garnished with sleepy humour. Wilson and Bowers meet in a state of nature beside a washing basin filled with snow and proceed to rub glistening limbs with this chilling substance. A little later with less hardihood some others may be seen making the most of a meagre allowance of water. Soon after 8.30 I manage to drag myself from a very comfortable bed and make my toilet with a bare pint of water. By about ten minutes to 9 my clothes are on, my bed is made, and I sit down to my bowl of porridge; most of the others are gathered about the table by this time, but there are a few laggards who run the nine o'clock rule very close. The rule is instituted to prevent delay in the day's work, and it has needed a little pressure to keep one or two up to its observance. By 9.20 breakfast is finished, and before the half-hour has struck the table has been cleared. From 9.30 to 1.30 the men are steadily employed on a programme of preparation for sledging, which seems likely to occupy the greater part of the winter. The repair of sleeping-bags and the alteration of tents have already been done, but there are many other tasks uncompleted or not yet begun, such as the manufacture of provision bags, crampons, sealskin soles, pony clothes, &c. Hooper has another good sweep up the hut after breakfast, washes the mess traps, and generally tidies things. I think it a good thing that in these matters the officers need not wait on themselves; it gives long unbroken days of scientific work and must, therefore, be an economy of brain in the long run. We meet for our mid-day meal at 1.30 or 1.45, and spend a very cheerful half-hour over it. Afterwards the ponies are exercised, weather permitting; this employs all the men and a few of the officers for an hour or more--the rest of us generally take exercise in some form at the same time. After this the officers go on steadily with their work, whilst the men do odd jobs to while away the time. The evening meal, our dinner, comes at 6.30, and is finished within the hour. Afterwards people read, write, or play games, or occasionally finish some piece of work. The gramophone is usually started by some kindly disposed person, and on three nights of the week the lectures to which I have referred are given. These lectures still command full audiences and lively discussions. At 11 P.M. the acetylene lights are put out, and those who wish to remain up or to read in bed must depend on candle-light. The majority of candles are extinguished by midnight, and the night watchman alone remains awake to keep his vigil by the light of an oil lamp. Day after day passes in this fashion. It is not a very active life perhaps, but certainly not an idle one. Few of us sleep more than eight hours out of the twenty-four. On Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning some extra bathing takes place; chins are shaven, and perhaps clean garments donned. Such signs, with the regular Service on Sunday, mark the passage of the weeks. To-night Day has given us a lecture on his motor sledge. He seems very hopeful of success, but I fear is rather more sanguine in temperament than his sledge is reliable in action. I wish I could have more confidence in his preparations, as he is certainly a delightful companion. _Tuesday, June_ 20.--Last night the temperature fell to -36°, the lowest we have had this year. On the Ramp the minimum was -31°, not the first indication of a reversed temperature gradient. We have had a calm day, as is usual with a low thermometer. It was very beautiful out of doors this morning; as the crescent moon was sinking in the west, Erebus showed a heavy vapour cloud, showing that the quantity is affected by temperature rather than pressure. I'm glad to have had a good run on ski. The Cape Crozier party are preparing for departure, and heads have been put together to provide as much comfort as the strenuous circumstances will permit. I came across a hint as to the value of a double tent in Sverdrup's book, 'New Land,' and (P.O.) Evans has made a lining for one of the tents; it is secured on the inner side of the poles and provides an air space inside the tent. I think it is going to be a great success, and that it will go far to obviate the necessity of considering the question of snow huts--though we shall continue our efforts in this direction also. Another new departure is the decision to carry eiderdown sleeping-bags inside the reindeer ones. With such an arrangement the early part of the journey is bound to be comfortable, but when the bags get iced difficulties are pretty certain to arise. Day has been devoting his energies to the creation of a blubber stove, much assisted of course by the experience gained at Hut Point. The blubber is placed in an annular vessel, A. The oil from it passes through a pipe, B, and spreads out on the surface of a plate, C, with a containing flange; _d d_ are raised points which serve as heat conductors; _e e_ is a tin chimney for flame with air holes at its base. To start the stove the plate C must be warmed with spirit lamp or primus, but when the blubber oil is well alight its heat is quite sufficient to melt the blubber in And keep up the oil supply--the heat gradually rises until the oil issues from B in a vaporised condition, when, of course, the heat given off by the stove is intense. This stove was got going this morning in five minutes in the outer temperature with the blubber hard frozen. It will make a great difference to the Crozier Party if they can manage to build a hut, and the experience gained will be everything for the Western Party in the summer. With a satisfactory blubber stove it would never be necessary to carry fuel on a coast journey, and we shall deserve well of posterity if we can perfect one. The Crozier journey is to be made to serve a good many trial ends. As I have already mentioned, each man is to go on a different food scale, with a view to determining the desirable proportion of fats and carbohydrates. Wilson is also to try the effect of a double wind-proof suit instead of extra woollen clothing. If two suits of wind-proof will keep one as warm in the spring as a single suit does in the summer, it is evident that we can face the summit of Victoria Land with a very slight increase of weight. I think the new crampons, which will also be tried on this journey, are going to be a great success. We have returned to the last _Discovery_ type with improvements; the magnalium sole plates of our own crampons are retained but shod with 1/2-inch steel spikes; these plates are rivetted through canvas to an inner leather sole, and the canvas is brought up on all sides to form a covering to the 'finnesko' over which it is laced--they are less than half the weight of an ordinary ski boot, go on very easily, and secure very neatly. Midwinter Day, the turn of the season, is very close; it will be good to have light for the more active preparations for the coming year. _Wednesday, June_ 21.--The temperature low again, falling to -36°. A curious hazy look in the sky, very little wind. The cold is bringing some minor troubles with the clockwork instruments in the open and with the acetylene gas plant--no insuperable difficulties. Went for a ski run round the bergs; found it very dark and uninteresting. The temperature remained low during night and Taylor reported a very fine display of Aurora. _Thursday, June 22_.--MIDWINTER. The sun reached its maximum depression at about 2.30 P.M. on the 22nd, Greenwich Mean Time: this is 2.30 A.M. on the 23rd according to the local time of the 180th meridian which we are keeping. Dinner to-night is therefore the meal which is nearest the sun's critical change of course, and has been observed with all the festivity customary at Xmas at home. At tea we broached an enormous Buzzard cake, with much gratitude to its provider, Cherry-Garrard. In preparation for the evening our 'Union Jacks' and sledge flags were hung about the large table, which itself was laid with glass and a plentiful supply of champagne bottles instead of the customary mugs and enamel lime juice jugs. At seven o'clock we sat down to an extravagant bill of fare as compared with our usual simple diet. Beginning on seal soup, by common consent the best decoction that our cook produces, we went on to roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fried potatoes and Brussels sprouts. Then followed a flaming plum-pudding and excellent mince pies, and thereafter a dainty savoury of anchovy and cod's roe. A wondrous attractive meal even in so far as judged by our simple lights, but with its garnishments a positive feast, for withal the table was strewn with dishes of burnt almonds, crystallised fruits, chocolates and such toothsome kickshaws, whilst the unstinted supply of champagne which accompanied the courses was succeeded by a noble array of liqueur bottles from which choice could be made in the drinking of toasts. I screwed myself up to a little speech which drew attention to the nature of the celebration as a half-way mark not only in our winter but in the plans of the Expedition as originally published. (I fear there are some who don't realise how rapidly time passes and who have barely begun work which by this time ought to be in full swing.) We had come through a summer season and half a winter,and had before us half a winter and a second summer. We ought to know how we stood in every respect; we did know how we stood in regard to stores and transport, and I especially thanked the officer in charge of stores and the custodians of the animals. I said that as regards the future, chance must play a part, but that experience showed me that it would have been impossible to have chosen people more fitted to support me in the enterprise to the South than those who were to start in that direction in the spring. I thanked them all for having put their shoulders to the wheel and given me this confidence. We drank to the Success of the Expedition. Then everyone was called on to speak, starting on my left and working round the table; the result was very characteristic of the various individuals--one seemed to know so well the style of utterance to which each would commit himself. Needless to say, all were entirely modest and brief; unexpectedly, all had exceedingly kind things to say of me--in fact I was obliged to request the omission of compliments at an early stage. Nevertheless it was gratifying to have a really genuine recognition of my attitude towards the scientific workers of the Expedition, and I felt very warmly towards all these kind, good fellows for expressing it. If good will and happy fellowship count towards success, very surely shall we deserve to succeed. It was matter for comment, much applauded, that there had not been a single disagreement between any two members of our party from the beginning. By the end of dinner a very cheerful spirit prevailed, and the room was cleared for Ponting and his lantern, whilst the gramophone gave forth its most lively airs. When the table was upended, its legs removed, and chairs arranged in rows, we had quite a roomy lecture hall. Ponting had cleverly chosen this opportunity to display a series of slides made from his own local negatives. I have never so fully realised his work as on seeing these beautiful pictures; they so easily outclass anything of their kind previously taken in these regions. Our audience cheered vociferously. After this show the table was restored for snapdragon, and a brew of milk punch was prepared in which we drank the health of Campbell's party and of our good friends in the _Terra Nova_. Then the table was again removed and a set of lancers formed. By this time the effect of stimulating liquid refreshment on men so long accustomed to a simple life became apparent. Our biologist had retired to bed, the silent Soldier bubbled with humour and insisted on dancing with Anton. Evans, P.O., was imparting confidences in heavy whispers. Pat' Keohane had grown intensely Irish and desirous of political argument, whilst Clissold sat with a constant expansive smile and punctuated the babble of conversation with an occasional 'Whoop' of delight or disjointed witticism. Other bright-eyed individuals merely reached the capacity to enjoy that which under ordinary circumstances might have passed without evoking a smile. In the midst of the revelry Bowers suddenly appeared, followed by some satellites bearing an enormous Christmas Tree whose branches bore flaming candles, gaudy crackers, and little presents for all. The presents, I learnt, had been prepared with kindly thought by Miss Souper (Mrs. Wilson's sister) and the tree had been made by Bowers of pieces of stick and string with coloured paper to clothe its branches; the whole erection was remarkably creditable and the distribution of the presents caused much amusement. Whilst revelry was the order of the day within our hut, the elements without seemed desirous of celebrating the occasion with equal emphasis and greater decorum. The eastern sky was massed with swaying auroral light, the most vivid and beautiful display that I had ever seen--fold on fold the arches and curtains of vibrating luminosity rose and spread across the sky, to slowly fade and yet again spring to glowing life. The brighter light seemed to flow, now to mass itself in wreathing folds in one quarter, from which lustrous streamers shot upward, and anon to run in waves through the system of some dimmer figure as if to infuse new life within it. It is impossible to witness such a beautiful phenomenon without a sense of awe, and yet this sentiment is not inspired by its brilliancy but rather by its delicacy in light and colour, its transparency, and above all by its tremulous evanescence of form. There is no glittering splendour to dazzle the eye, as has been too often described; rather the appeal is to the imagination by the suggestion of something wholly spiritual, something instinct with a fluttering ethereal life, serenely confident yet restlessly mobile. One wonders why history does not tell us of 'aurora' worshippers, so easily could the phenomenon be considered the manifestation of 'god' or 'demon.' To the little silent group which stood at gaze before such enchantment it seemed profane to return to the mental and physical atmosphere of our house. Finally when I stepped within, I was glad to find that there had been a general movement bedwards, and in the next half-hour the last of the roysterers had succumbed to slumber. Thus, except for a few bad heads in the morning, ended the High Festival of Midwinter. There is little to be said for the artificial uplifting of animal spirits, yet few could take great exception to so rare an outburst in a long run of quiet days. After all we celebrated the birth of a season which for weal or woe must be numbered amongst the greatest in our lives. CHAPTER XII Awaiting the Crozier Party _Friday, June_ 23--_Saturday, June_ 24.--Two quiet, uneventful days and a complete return to routine. _Sunday, June_ 25.--I find I have made no mention of Cherry-Garrard's first number of the revived _South Polar Times_, presented to me on Midwinter Day. It is a very good little volume, bound by Day in a really charming cover of carved venesta wood and sealskin. The contributors are anonymous, but I have succeeded in guessing the identity of the greater number. The Editor has taken a statistical paper of my own on the plans for the Southern Journey and a well-written serious article on the Geological History of our region by Taylor. Except for editorial and meteorological notes the rest is conceived in the lighter vein. The verse is mediocre except perhaps for a quaint play of words in an amusing little skit on the sleeping-bag argument; but an article entitled 'Valhalla' appears to me to be altogether on a different level. It purports to describe the arrival of some of our party at the gates proverbially guarded by St. Peter; the humour is really delicious and nowhere at all forced. In the jokes of a small community it is rare to recognise one which would appeal to an outsider, but some of the happier witticisms of this article seem to me fit for wider circulation than our journal enjoys at present. Above all there is distinct literary merit in it--a polish which leaves you unable to suggest the betterment of a word anywhere. I unhesitatingly attribute this effort to Taylor, but Wilson and Garrard make Meares responsible for it. If they are right I shall have to own that my judgment of attributes is very much at fault. I must find out. [25] A quiet day. Read Church Service as usual; in afternoon walked up the Ramp with Wilson to have a quiet talk before he departs. I wanted to get his ideas as to the scientific work done. We agreed as to the exceptionally happy organisation of our party. I took the opportunity to warn Wilson concerning the desirability of complete understanding with Ponting and Taylor with respect to their photographs and records on their return to civilisation. The weather has been very mysterious of late; on the 23rd and 24th it continuously threatened a blizzard, but now the sky is clearing again with all signs of fine weather. _Monday, June_ 26.--With a clear sky it was quite twilighty at noon to-day. Already such signs of day are inspiriting. In the afternoon the wind arose with drift and again the prophets predicted a blizzard. After an hour or two the wind fell and we had a calm, clear evening and night. The blizzards proper seem to be always preceded by an overcast sky in accordance with Simpson's theory. Taylor gave a most interesting lecture on the physiographic features of the region traversed by his party in the autumn. His mind is very luminous and clear and he treated the subject with a breadth of view which was delightful. The illustrative slides were made from Debenham's photographs, and many of them were quite beautiful. Ponting tells me that Debenham knows quite a lot about photography and goes to work in quite the right way. The lecture being a précis of Taylor's report there is no need to recapitulate its matter. With the pictures it was startling to realise the very different extent to which tributary glaciers have carved the channels in which they lie. The Canadian Glacier lies dead, but at 'grade' it has cut a very deep channel. The 'double curtain' hangs at an angle of 25°, with practically no channel. Mention was made of the difference of water found in Lake Bonney by me in December 1903 and the Western Party in February 1911. It seems certain that water must go on accumulating in the lake during the two or three summer months, and it is hard to imagine that all can be lost again by the winter's evaporation. If it does, 'evaporation' becomes a matter of primary importance. There was an excellent picture showing the find of sponges on the Koettlitz Glacier. Heaps of large sponges were found containing corals and some shells, all representative of present-day fauna. How on earth did they get to the place where found? There was a good deal of discussion on the point and no very satisfactory solution offered. Cannot help thinking that there is something in the thought that the glacier may have been weighted down with rubble which finally disengaged itself and allowed the ice to rise. Such speculations are interesting. Preparations for the start of the Crozier Party are now completed, and the people will have to drag 253 lbs. per man--a big weight. Day has made an excellent little blubber lamp for lighting; it has an annular wick and talc chimney; a small circular plate over the wick conducts the heat down and raises the temperature of combustion, so that the result is a clear white flame. We are certainly within measurable distance of using blubber in the most effective way for both heating and lighting, and this is an advance which is of very high importance to the future of Antarctic Exploration. _Tuesday, June_ 27.--The Crozier Party departed this morning in good spirits--their heavy load was distributed on two 9-feet sledges. Ponting photographed them by flashlight and attempted to get a cinematograph picture by means of a flash candle. But when the candle was ignited it was evident that the light would not be sufficient for the purpose and there was not much surprise when the film proved a failure. The three travellers found they could pull their load fairly easily on the sea ice when the rest of us stood aside for the trial. I'm afraid they will find much more difficulty on the Barrier, but there was nothing now to prevent them starting, and off they went. With helping contingent I went round the Cape. Taylor and Nelson left at the Razor Back Island and report all well. Simpson, Meares and Gran continued and have not yet returned. Gran just back on ski; left party at 5 1/4 miles. Says Meares and Simpson are returning on foot. Reports a bad bit of surface between Tent Island and Glacier Tongue. It was well that the party had assistance to cross this. This winter travel is a new and bold venture, but the right men have gone to attempt it. All good luck go with them. Coal Consumption Bowers reports that present consumption (midwinter) = 4 blocks per day (100 lbs.). An occasional block is required for the absolute magnetic hut. He reports 8 1/2 tons used since landing. This is in excess of 4 blocks per day as follows: 8 1/2 tons in 150 days = 127 lbs. per diem. = 889 lbs. per week, or nearly 8 cwt. = 20 1/2 tons per year. _Report August_ 4. Used to date = 9 tons = 20,160 lbs. Say 190 days at 106 lbs. per day. Coal remaining 20 1/2 tons. Estimate 8 tons to return of ship. Total estimate for year, 17 tons. We should have 13 or 14 tons for next year. A FRESH MS. BOOK _Quotations on the Flyleaf_ 'Where the (Queen's) Law does not carry it is irrational to exact an observance of other and weaker rules.'--RUDYARD KIPLING. Confident of his good intentions but doubtful of his fortitude. 'So far as I can venture to offer an opinion on such a matter, the purpose of our being in existence, the highest object that human beings can set before themselves is not the pursuit of any such chimera as the annihilation of the unknown; but it is simply the unwearied endeavour to remove its boundaries a little further from our little sphere of action.'--HUXLEY. _Wednesday, June_ 28.--The temperature has been hovering around -30° with a clear sky--at midday it was exceptionally light, and even two hours after noon I was able to pick my way amongst the boulders of the Ramp. We miss the Crozier Party. Lectures have ceased during its absence, so that our life is very quiet. _Thursday, June_ 29.--It seemed rather stuffy in the hut last night--I found it difficult to sleep, and noticed a good many others in like case. I found the temperature was only 50°, but that the small uptake on the stove pipe was closed. I think it would be good to have a renewal of air at bed time, but don't quite know how to manage this. It was calm all night and when I left the hut at 8.30. At 9 the wind suddenly rose to 40 m.p.h. and at the same moment the temperature rose 10°. The wind and temperature curves show this sudden simultaneous change more clearly than usual. The curious circumstance is that this blow comes out of a clear sky. This will be disturbing to our theories unless the wind drops again very soon. The wind fell within an hour almost as suddenly as it had arisen; the temperature followed, only a little more gradually. One may well wonder how such a phenomenon is possible. In the middle of a period of placid calm and out of a clear sky there suddenly rushed upon one this volume of comparatively warm air; it has come and gone like the whirlwind. Whence comes it and whither goeth? Went round the bergs after lunch on ski--splendid surface and quite a good light. We are now getting good records with the tide gauge after a great deal of trouble. Day has given much of his time to the matter, and after a good deal of discussion has pretty well mastered the principles. We brought a self-recording instrument from New Zealand, but this was passed over to Campbell. It has not been an easy matter to manufacture one for our own use. The wire from the bottom weight is led through a tube filled with paraffin as in _Discovery_ days, and kept tight by a counter weight after passage through a block on a stanchion rising 6 feet above the floe. In his first instrument Day arranged for this wire to pass around a pulley, the revolution of which actuated the pen of the recording drum. This should have been successful but for the difficulty of making good mechanical connection between the recorder and the pulley. Backlash caused an unreliable record, and this arrangement had to be abandoned. The motion of the wire was then made to actuate the recorder through a hinged lever, and this arrangement holds, but days and even weeks have been lost in grappling the difficulties of adjustment between the limits of the tide and those of the recording drum; then when all seemed well we found that the floe was not rising uniformly with the water. It is hung up by the beach ice. When we were considering the question of removing the whole apparatus to a more distant point, a fresh crack appeared between it and the shore, and on this 'hinge' the floe seems to be moving more freely. _Friday, June_ 30, 1911.--The temperature is steadily falling; we are descending the scale of negative thirties and to-day reached its limit, -39°. Day has manufactured a current vane, a simple arrangement: up to the present he has used this near the Cape. There is little doubt, however, that the water movement is erratic and irregular inside the islands, and I have been anxious to get observations which will indicate the movement in the 'Strait.' I went with him to-day to find a crack which I thought must run to the north from Inaccessible Island. We discovered it about 2 to 2 1/2 miles out and found it to be an ideal place for such work, a fracture in the ice sheet which is constantly opening and therefore always edged with thin ice. Have told Day that I think a bottle weighted so as to give it a small negative buoyancy, and attached to a fine line, should give as good results as his vane and would be much handier. He now proposes to go one better and put an electric light in the bottle. We found that our loose dogs had been attacking a seal, and then came across a dead seal which had evidently been worried to death some time ago. It appears Demetri saw more seal further to the north, and this afternoon Meares has killed a large one as well as the one which was worried this morning. It is good to find the seals so close, but very annoying to find that the dogs have discovered their resting-place. The long spell of fine weather is very satisfactory. _Saturday, July_ 1, 1911.--We have designed new ski boots and I think they are going to be a success. My object is to stick to the Huitfeldt binding for sledging if possible. One must wear finnesko on the Barrier, and with finnesko alone a loose binding is necessary. For this we brought 'Finon' bindings, consisting of leather toe straps and thong heel binding. With this arrangement one does not have good control of his ski and stands the chance of a chafe on the 'tendon Achillis.' Owing to the last consideration many had decided to go with toe strap alone as we did in the _Discovery_. This brought into my mind the possibility of using the iron cross bar and snap heel strap of the Huitfeldt on a suitable overshoe. Evans, P.O., has arisen well to the occasion as a boot maker, and has just completed a pair of shoes which are very nearly what we require. The soles have two thicknesses of seal skin cured with alum, stiffened at the foot with a layer of venesta board, and raised at the heel on a block of wood. The upper part is large enough to contain a finnesko and is secured by a simple strap. A shoe weighs 13 oz. against 2 lbs. for a single ski boot--so that shoe and finnesko together are less weight than a boot. If we can perfect this arrangement it should be of the greatest use to us. Wright has been swinging the pendulum in his cavern. Prodigious trouble has been taken to keep the time, and this object has been immensely helped by the telephone communication between the cavern, the transit instrument, and the interior of the hut. The timekeeper is perfectly placed. Wright tells me that his ice platform proves to be five times as solid as the fixed piece of masonry used at Potsdam. The only difficulty is the low temperature, which freezes his breath on the glass window of the protecting dome. I feel sure these gravity results are going to be very good. The temperature has been hanging in the minus thirties all day with calm and clear sky, but this evening a wind has sprung up without rise of temperature. It is now -32°, with a wind of 25 m.p.h.--a pretty stiff condition to face outside! _Sunday, July_ 2.--There was wind last night, but this morning found a settled calm again, with temperature as usual about -35°. The moon is rising again; it came over the shoulder of Erebus about 5 P.M., in second quarter. It will cross the meridian at night, worse luck, but such days as this will be pleasant even with a low moon; one is very glad to think the Crozier Party are having such a peaceful time. Sunday routine and nothing much to record. _Monday, July_ 3.--Another quiet day, the sky more suspicious in appearance. Thin stratus cloud forming and dissipating overhead, curling stratus clouds over Erebus. Wind at Cape Crozier seemed a possibility. Our people have been far out on the floe. It is cheerful to see the twinkling light of some worker at a water hole or hear the ring of distant voices or swish of ski. _Tuesday, July_ 4.--A day of blizzard and adventure. The wind arose last night, and although the temperature advanced a few degrees it remained at a very low point considering the strength of the wind. This forenoon it was blowing 40 to 45 m.p.h. with a temperature -25° to -28°. No weather to be in the open. In the afternoon the wind modified slightly. Taylor and Atkinson went up to the Ramp thermometer screen. After this, entirely without my knowledge, two adventurous spirits, Atkinson and Gran, decided to start off over the floe, making respectively for the north and south Bay thermometers, 'Archibald' and 'Clarence.' This was at 5.30; Gran was back by dinner at 6.45, and it was only later that I learned that he had gone no more than 200 or 300 yards from the land and that it had taken him nearly an hour to get back again. Atkinson's continued absence passed unnoticed until dinner was nearly over at 7.15, although I had heard that the wind had dropped at the beginning of dinner and that it remained very thick all round, with light snow falling. Although I felt somewhat annoyed, I had no serious anxiety at this time, and as several members came out of the hut I despatched them short distances to shout and show lanterns and arranged to have a paraffin flare lit on Wind Vane Hill. Evans, P.O., Crean and Keohane, being anxious for a walk, were sent to the north with a lantern. Whilst this desultory search proceeded the wind sprang up again from the south, but with no great force, and meanwhile the sky showed signs of clearing and the moon appeared dimly through the drifting clouds. With such a guide we momentarily looked for the return of our wanderer, and with his continued absence our anxiety grew. At 9.30 Evans, P.O., and his party returned without news of him, and at last there was no denying the possibility of a serious accident. Between 9.30 and 10 proper search parties were organised, and I give the details to show the thoroughness which I thought necessary to meet the gravity of the situation. I had by this time learnt that Atkinson had left with comparatively light clothing and, still worse, with leather ski boots on his feet; fortunately he had wind clothing. P.O. Evans was away first with Crean, Keohane, and Demetri, a light sledge, a sleeping-bag, and a flask of brandy. His orders were to search the edge of the land and glacier through the sweep of the Bay to the Barne Glacier and to Cape Barne beyond, then to turn east along an open crack and follow it to Inaccessible Island. Evans (Lieut.), with Nelson, Forde, and Hooper, left shortly after, similarly equipped, to follow the shore of the South Bay in similar fashion, then turn out to the Razor Back and search there. Next Wright, Gran, and Lashly set out for the bergs to look thoroughly about them and from thence pass round and examine Inaccessible Island. After these parties got away, Meares and Debenham started with a lantern to search to and fro over the surface of our promontory. Simpson and Oates went out in a direct line over the Northern floe to the 'Archibald' thermometer, whilst Ponting and Taylor re-examined the tide crack towards the Barne Glacier. Meanwhile Day went to and fro Wind Vane Hill to light at intervals upon its crest bundles of tow well soaked in petrol. At length Clissold and I were left alone in the hut, and as the hours went by I grew ever more alarmed. It was impossible for me to conceive how an able man could have failed to return to the hut before this or by any means found shelter in such clothing in such weather. Atkinson had started for a point a little more than a mile away; at 10.30 he had been five hours away; what conclusion could be drawn? And yet I felt it most difficult to imagine an accident on open floe with no worse pitfall than a shallow crack or steep-sided snow drift. At least I could feel that every spot which was likely to be the scene of such an accident would be searched. Thus 11 o'clock came without change, then 11.30 with its 6 hours of absence. But at 11.45 I heard voices from the Cape, and presently the adventure ended to my extreme relief when Meares and Debenham led our wanderer home. He was badly frostbitten in the hand and less seriously on the face, and though a good deal confused, as men always are on such occasions, he was otherwise well. His tale is confused, but as far as one can gather he did not go more than a quarter of a mile in the direction of the thermometer screen before he decided to turn back. He then tried to walk with the wind a little on one side on the bearing he had originally observed, and after some time stumbled on an old fish trap hole, which he knew to be 200 yards from the Cape. He made this 200 yards in the direction he supposed correct, and found nothing. In such a situation had he turned east he must have hit the land somewhere close to the hut and so found his way to it. The fact that he did not, but attempted to wander straight on, is clear evidence of the mental condition caused by that situation. There can be no doubt that in a blizzard a man has not only to safeguard the circulation in his limbs, but must struggle with a sluggishness of brain and an absence of reasoning power which is far more likely to undo him. In fact Atkinson has really no very clear idea of what happened to him after he missed the Cape. He seems to have wandered aimlessly up wind till he hit an island; he walked all round this; says he couldn't see a yard at this time; fell often into the tide crack; finally stopped under the lee of some rocks; here got his hand frostbitten owing to difficulty of getting frozen mit on again, finally got it on; started to dig a hole to wait in. Saw something of the moon and left the island; lost the moon and wanted to go back; could find nothing; finally stumbled on another island, perhaps the same one; waited again, again saw the moon, now clearing; shaped some sort of course by it--then saw flare on Cape and came on rapidly--says he shouted to someone on Cape quite close to him, greatly surprised not to get an answer. It is a rambling tale to-night and a half thawed brain. It is impossible to listen to such a tale without appreciating that it has been a close escape or that there would have been no escape had the blizzard continued. The thought that it would return after a short lull was amongst the worst with me during the hours of waiting. 2 A.M.--The search parties have returned and all is well again, but we must have no more of these very unnecessary escapades. Yet it is impossible not to realise that this bit of experience has done more than all the talking I could have ever accomplished to bring home to our people the dangers of a blizzard. _Wednesday, July_ 5.--Atkinson has a bad hand to-day, immense blisters on every finger giving them the appearance of sausages. To-night Ponting has photographed the hand. As I expected, some amendment of Atkinson's tale as written last night is necessary, partly due to some lack of coherency in the tale as first told and partly a reconsideration of the circumstances by Atkinson himself. It appears he first hit Inaccessible Island, and got his hand frostbitten before he reached it. It was only on arrival in its lee that he discovered the frostbite. He must have waited there some time, then groped his way to the western end thinking he was near the Ramp. Then wandering away in a swirl of drift to clear some irregularities at the ice foot, he completely lost the island when he could only have been a few yards from it. He seems in this predicament to have clung to the old idea of walking up wind, and it must be considered wholly providential that on this course he next struck Tent Island. It was round this island that he walked, finally digging himself a shelter on its lee side under the impression that it was Inaccessible Island. When the moon appeared he seems to have judged its bearing well, and as he travelled homeward he was much surprised to see the real Inaccessible Island appear on his left. The distance of Tent Island, 4 to 5 miles, partly accounts for the time he took in returning. Everything goes to confirm the fact that he had a very close shave of being lost altogether. For some time past some of the ponies have had great irritation of the skin. I felt sure it was due to some parasite, though the Soldier thought the food responsible and changed it. To-day a tiny body louse was revealed under Atkinson's microscope after capture from 'Snatcher's' coat. A dilute solution of carbolic is expected to rid the poor beasts of their pests, but meanwhile one or two of them have rubbed off patches of hair which they can ill afford to spare in this climate. I hope we shall get over the trouble quickly. The day has been gloriously fine again, with bright moonlight all the afternoon. It was a wondrous sight to see Erebus emerge from soft filmy clouds of mist as though some thin veiling had been withdrawn with infinite delicacy to reveal the pure outline of this moonlit mountain. _Thursday, July_ 6, _continued_.--The temperature has taken a plunge--to -46° last night. It is now -45°, with a ten-mile breeze from the south. Frostbiting weather! Went for a short run on foot this forenoon and a longer one on ski this afternoon. The surface is bad after the recent snowfall. A new pair of sealskin overshoes for ski made by Evans seem to be a complete success. He has modified the shape of the toe to fit the ski irons better. I am very pleased with this arrangement. I find it exceedingly difficult to settle down to solid work just at present and keep putting off the tasks which I have set myself. The sun has not yet risen a degree of the eleven degrees below our horizon which it was at noon on Midwinter Day, and yet to-day there was a distinct red in the northern sky. Perhaps such sunset colours have something to do with this cold snap. _Friday, July_ 7.--The temperature fell to -49° last night--our record so far, and likely to remain so, one would think. This morning it was fine and calm, temperature -45°. But this afternoon a 30-mile wind sprang up from the S.E., and the temperature only gradually rose to -30°, never passing above that point. I thought it a little too strenuous and so was robbed of my walk. The dogs' coats are getting pretty thick, and they seem to take matters pretty comfortably. The ponies are better, I think, but I shall be glad when we are sure of having rid them of their pest. I was the victim of a very curious illusion to-day. On our small heating stove stands a cylindrical ice melter which keeps up the supply of water necessary for the dark room and other scientific instruments. This iron container naturally becomes warm if it is not fed with ice, and it is generally hung around with socks and mits which require drying. I put my hand on the cylindrical vessel this afternoon and withdrew it sharply with the sensation of heat. To verify the impression I repeated the action two or three times, when it became so strong that I loudly warned the owners of the socks, &c., of the peril of burning to which they were exposed. Upon this Meares said, 'But they filled the melter with ice a few minutes ago,' and then, coming over to feel the surface himself, added, 'Why, it's cold, sir.' And indeed so it was. The slightly damp chilled surface of the iron had conveyed to me the impression of excessive heat. There is nothing intrinsically new in this observation; it has often been noticed that metal surfaces at low temperatures give a sensation of burning to the bare touch, but none the less it is an interesting variant of the common fact. Apropos. Atkinson is suffering a good deal from his hand: the frostbite was deeper than I thought; fortunately he can now feel all his fingers, though it was twenty-four hours before sensation returned to one of them. _Monday, July_ 10.--We have had the worst gale I have ever known in these regions and have not yet done with it. The wind started at about mid-day on Friday, and increasing in violence reached an average of 60 miles for one hour on Saturday, the gusts at this time exceeding 70 m.p.h. This force of wind, although exceptional, has not been without parallel earlier in the year, but the extraordinary feature of this gale was the long continuance of a very cold temperature. On Friday night the thermometer registered -39°. Throughout Saturday and the greater part of Sunday it did not rise above -35°. Late yesterday it was in the minus twenties, and to-day at length it has risen to zero. Needless to say no one has been far from the hut. It was my turn for duty on Saturday night, and on the occasions when I had to step out of doors I was struck with the impossibility of enduring such conditions for any length of time. One seemed to be robbed of breath as they burst on one--the fine snow beat in behind the wind guard, and ten paces against the wind were sufficient to reduce one's face to the verge of frostbite. To clear the anemometer vane it is necessary to go to the other end of the hut and climb a ladder. Twice whilst engaged in this task I had literally to lean against the wind with head bent and face averted and so stagger crab-like on my course. In those two days of really terrible weather our thoughts often turned to absentees at Cape Crozier with the devout hope that they may be safely housed. They are certain to have been caught by this gale, but I trust before it reached them they had managed to get up some sort of shelter. Sometimes I have imagined them getting much more wind than we do, yet at others it seems difficult to believe that the Emperor penguins have chosen an excessively wind-swept area for their rookery. To-day with the temperature at zero one can walk about outside without inconvenience in spite of a 50-mile wind. Although I am loath to believe it there must be some measure of acclimatisation, for it is certain we should have felt to-day's wind severely when we first arrived in McMurdo Sound. _Tuesday, July_ 11.--Never was such persistent bad weather. To-day the temperature is up to 5° to 7°, the wind 40 to 50 m.p.h., the air thick with snow, and the moon a vague blue. This is the fourth day of gale; if one reflects on the quantity of transported air (nearly 4,000 miles) one gets a conception of the transference which such a gale effects and must conclude that potentially warm upper currents are pouring into our polar area from more temperate sources. The dogs are very gay and happy in the comparative warmth. I have been going to and fro on the home beach and about the rocky knolls in its environment--in spite of the wind it was very warm. I dug myself a hole in a drift in the shelter of a large boulder and lay down in it, and covered my legs with loose snow. It was so warm that I could have slept very comfortably. I have been amused and pleased lately in observing the manners and customs of the persons in charge of our stores; quite a number of secret caches exist in which articles of value are hidden from public knowledge so that they may escape use until a real necessity arises. The policy of every storekeeper is to have something up his sleeve for a rainy day. For instance, Evans (P.O.), after thoroughly examining the purpose of some individual who is pleading for a piece of canvas, will admit that he may have a small piece somewhere which could be used for it, when, as a matter of fact, he possesses quite a number of rolls of that material. Tools, metal material, leather, straps and dozens of items are administered with the same spirit of jealous guardianship by Day, Lashly, Oates and Meares, while our main storekeeper Bowers even affects to bemoan imaginary shortages. Such parsimony is the best guarantee that we are prepared to face any serious call. _Wednesday, July_ 12.--All night and to-day wild gusts of wind shaking the hut; long, ragged, twisted wind-cloud in the middle heights. A watery moon shining through a filmy cirrostratus--the outlook wonderfully desolate with its ghostly illumination and patchy clouds of flying snow drift. It would be hardly possible for a tearing, raging wind to make itself more visible. At Wind Vane Hill the anemometer has registered 68 miles between 9 and 10 A.M.--a record. The gusts at the hut frequently exceed 70 m.p.h.--luckily the temperature is up to 5°, so that there is no hardship for the workers outside. _Thursday, July_ 13.--The wind continued to blow throughout the night, with squalls of even greater violence than before; a new record was created by a gust of 77 m.p.h. shown by the anemometer. The snow is so hard blown that only the fiercest gusts raise the drifting particles--it is interesting to note the balance of nature whereby one evil is eliminated by the excess of another. For an hour after lunch yesterday the gale showed signs of moderation and the ponies had a short walk over the floe. Out for exercise at this time I was obliged to lean against the wind, my light overall clothes flapping wildly and almost dragged from me; later when the wind rose again it was quite an effort to stagger back to the hut against it. This morning the gale still rages, but the sky is much clearer; the only definite clouds are those which hang to the southward of Erebus summit, but the moon, though bright, still exhibits a watery appearance, showing that there is still a thin stratus above us. The work goes on very steadily--the men are making crampons and ski boots of the new style. Evans is constructing plans of the Dry Valley and Koettlitz Glacier with the help of the Western Party. The physicists are busy always, Meares is making dog harness, Oates ridding the ponies of their parasites, and Ponting printing from his negatives. Science cannot be served by 'dilettante' methods, but demands a mind spurred by ambition or the satisfaction of ideals. Our most popular game for evening recreation is chess; so many players have developed that our two sets of chessmen are inadequate. _Friday, July_ 14.--We have had a horrible fright and are not yet out of the wood. At noon yesterday one of the best ponies, 'Bones,' suddenly went off his feed--soon after it was evident that he was distressed and there could be no doubt that he was suffering from colic. Oates called my attention to it, but we were neither much alarmed, remembering the speedy recovery of 'Jimmy Pigg' under similar circumstances. Later the pony was sent out for exercise with Crean. I passed him twice and seemed to gather that things were well, but Crean afterwards told me that he had had considerable trouble. Every few minutes the poor beast had been seized with a spasm of pain, had first dashed forward as though to escape it and then endeavoured to lie down. Crean had had much difficulty in keeping him in, and on his legs, for he is a powerful beast. When he returned to the stable he was evidently worse, and Oates and Anton patiently dragged a sack to and fro under his stomach. Every now and again he attempted to lie down, and Oates eventually thought it wiser to let him do so. Once down, his head gradually drooped until he lay at length, every now and again twitching very horribly with the pain and from time to time raising his head and even scrambling to his legs when it grew intense. I don't think I ever realised before how pathetic a horse could be under such conditions; no sound escapes him, his misery can only be indicated by those distressing spasms and by dumb movements of the head turned with a patient expression always suggestive of appeal. Although alarmed by this time, remembering the care with which the animals are being fed I could not picture anything but a passing indisposition. But as hour after hour passed without improvement, it was impossible not to realise that the poor beast was dangerously ill. Oates administered an opium pill and later on a second, sacks were heated in the oven and placed on the poor beast; beyond this nothing could be done except to watch--Oates and Crean never left the patient. As the evening wore on I visited the stable again and again, but only to hear the same tale--no improvement. Towards midnight I felt very downcast. It is so very certain that we cannot afford to lose a single pony--the margin of safety has already been far overstepped, we are reduced to face the circumstance that we must keep all the animals alive or greatly risk failure. So far everything has gone so well with them that my fears of a loss had been lulled in a growing hope that all would be well--therefore at midnight, when poor 'Bones' had continued in pain for twelve hours and showed little sign of improvement, I felt my fleeting sense of security rudely shattered. It was shortly after midnight when I was told that the animal seemed a little easier. At 2.30 I was again in the stable and found the improvement had been maintained; the horse still lay on its side with outstretched head, but the spasms had ceased, its eye looked less distressed, and its ears pricked to occasional noises. As I stood looking it suddenly raised its head and rose without effort to its legs; then in a moment, as though some bad dream had passed, it began to nose at some hay and at its neighbour. Within three minutes it had drunk a bucket of water and had started to feed. I went to bed at 3 with much relief. At noon to-day the immediate cause of the trouble and an indication that there is still risk were disclosed in a small ball of semi-fermented hay covered with mucus and containing tape worms; so far not very serious, but unfortunately attached to this mass was a strip of the lining of the intestine. Atkinson, from a humanly comparative point of view, does not think this is serious if great care is taken with the food for a week or so, and so one can hope for the best. Meanwhile we have had much discussion as to the first cause of the difficulty. The circumstances possibly contributing are as follows: fermentation of the hay, insufficiency of water, overheated stable, a chill from exercise after the gale--I think all these may have had a bearing on the case. It can scarcely be coincidence that the two ponies which have suffered so far are those which are nearest the stove end of the stable. In future the stove will be used more sparingly, a large ventilating hole is to be made near it and an allowance of water is to be added to the snow hitherto given to the animals. In the food line we can only exercise such precautions as are possible, but one way or another we ought to be able to prevent any more danger of this description. _Saturday, July_ 15.--There was strong wind with snow this morning and the wind remained keen and cold in the afternoon, but to-night it has fallen calm with a promising clear sky outlook. Have been up the Ramp, clambering about in my sealskin overshoes, which seem extraordinarily satisfactory. Oates thinks a good few of the ponies have got worms and we are considering means of ridding them. 'Bones' seems to be getting on well, though not yet quite so buckish as he was before his trouble. A good big ventilator has been fitted in the stable. It is not easy to get over the alarm of Thursday night--the situation is altogether too critical. _Sunday, July_ 16.--Another slight alarm this morning. The pony 'China' went off his feed at breakfast time and lay down twice. He was up and well again in half an hour; but what on earth is it that is disturbing these poor beasts? Usual Sunday routine. Quiet day except for a good deal of wind off and on. The Crozier Party must be having a wretched time. _Monday, July_ 17.--The weather still very unsettled--the wind comes up with a rush to fade in an hour or two. Clouds chase over the sky in similar fashion: the moon has dipped during daylight hours, and so one way and another there is little to attract one out of doors. Yet we are only nine days off the 'light value' of the day when we left off football--I hope we shall be able to recommence the game in that time. I am glad that the light is coming for more than one reason. The gale and consequent inaction not only affected the ponies, Ponting is not very fit as a consequence--his nervous temperament is of the quality to take this wintering experience badly--Atkinson has some difficulty in persuading him to take exercise--he managed only by dragging him out to his own work, digging holes in the ice. Taylor is another backslider in the exercise line and is not looking well. If we can get these people to run about at football all will be well. Anyway the return of the light should cure all ailments physical and mental. _Tuesday, July_ 18.--A very brilliant red sky at noon to-day and enough light to see one's way about. This fleeting hour of light is very pleasant, but of course dependent on a clear sky, very rare. Went round the outer berg in the afternoon; it was all I could do to keep up with 'Snatcher' on the homeward round--speaking well for his walking powers. _Wednesday, July_ 19.--Again calm and pleasant. The temperature is gradually falling down to -35°. Went out to the old working crack [26] north of Inaccessible Island--Nelson and Evans had had great difficulty in rescuing their sounding sledge, which had been left near here before the gale. The course of events is not very clear, but it looks as though the gale pressed up the crack, raising broken pieces of the thin ice formed after recent opening movements. These raised pieces had become nuclei of heavy snow drifts, which in turn weighing down the floe had allowed water to flow in over the sledge level. It is surprising to find such a big disturbance from what appears to be a simple cause. This crack is now joined, and the contraction is taking on a new one which has opened much nearer to us and seems to run to C. Barne. We have noticed a very curious appearance of heavenly bodies when setting in a north-westerly direction. About the time of midwinter the moon observed in this position appeared in a much distorted shape of blood red colour. It might have been a red flare or distant bonfire, but could not have been guessed for the moon. Yesterday the planet Venus appeared under similar circumstances as a ship's side-light or Japanese lantern. In both cases there was a flickering in the light and a change of colour from deep orange yellow to blood red, but the latter was dominant. _Thursday, July_ 20, _Friday_ 21, _Saturday_ 22.--There is very little to record--the horses are going on well, all are in good form, at least for the moment. They drink a good deal of water in the morning. _Saturday, July_ 22, _continued_.--This and the better ventilation of the stable make for improvement we think--perhaps the increase of salt allowance is also beneficial. To-day we have another raging blizzard--the wind running up to 72 m.p.h. in gusts--one way and another the Crozier Party must have had a pretty poor time. [27] I am thankful to remember that the light will be coming on apace now. _Monday, July_ 24.--The blizzard continued throughout yesterday (Sunday), in the evening reaching a record force of 82 m.p.h. The vane of our anemometer is somewhat sheltered: Simpson finds the hill readings 20 per cent. higher. Hence in such gusts as this the free wind must reach nearly 100 m.p.h.--a hurricane force. To-day Nelson found that his sounding sledge had been turned over. We passed a quiet Sunday with the usual Service to break the week-day routine. During my night watch last night I could observe the rapid falling of the wind, which on dying away left a still atmosphere almost oppressively warm at 7°. The temperature has remained comparatively high to-day. I went to see the crack at which soundings were taken a week ago--then it was several feet open with thin ice between--now it is pressed up into a sharp ridge 3 to 4 feet high: the edge pressed up shows an 18 inch thickness--this is of course an effect of the warm weather. _Tuesday, July_ 25, _Wednesday, July_ 26.--There is really very little to be recorded in these days, life proceeds very calmly if somewhat monotonously. Everyone seems fit, there is no sign of depression. To all outward appearance the ponies are in better form than they have ever been; the same may be said of the dogs with one or two exceptions. The light comes on apace. To-day (Wednesday) it was very beautiful at noon: the air was very clear and the detail of the Western Mountains was revealed in infinitely delicate contrasts of light. _Thursday, July_ 27, _Friday, July_ 28.--Calmer days: the sky rosier: the light visibly advancing. We have never suffered from low spirits, so that the presence of day raises us above a normal cheerfulness to the realm of high spirits. The light, merry humour of our company has never been eclipsed, the good-natured, kindly chaff has never ceased since those early days of enthusiasm which inspired them--they have survived the winter days of stress and already renew themselves with the coming of spring. If pessimistic moments had foreseen the growth of rifts in the bond forged by these amenities, they stand prophetically falsified; there is no longer room for doubt that we shall come to our work with a unity of purpose and a disposition for mutual support which have never been equalled in these paths of activity. Such a spirit should tide us [over] all minor difficulties. It is a good omen. _Saturday, July_ 29, _Sunday, July_ 30.--Two quiet days, temperature low in the minus thirties--an occasional rush of wind lasting for but a few minutes. One of our best sledge dogs, 'Julick,' has disappeared. I'm afraid he's been set on by the others at some distant spot and we shall see nothing more but his stiffened carcass when the light returns. Meares thinks the others would not have attacked him and imagines he has fallen into the water in some seal hole or crack. In either case I'm afraid we must be resigned to another loss. It's an awful nuisance. Gran went to C. Royds to-day. I asked him to report on the open water, and so he went on past the Cape. As far as I can gather he got half-way to C. Bird before he came to thin ice; for at least 5 or 6 miles past C. Royds the ice is old and covered with wind-swept snow. This is very unexpected. In the _Discovery_ first year the ice continually broke back to the Glacier Tongue: in the second year it must have gone out to C. Royds very early in the spring if it did not go out in the winter, and in the _Nimrod_ year it was rarely fast beyond C. Royds. It is very strange, especially as this has been the windiest year recorded so far. Simpson says the average has exceeded 20 m.p.h. since the instruments were set up, and this figure has for comparison 9 and 12 m.p.h. for the two _Discovery_ years. There remains a possibility that we have chosen an especially wind-swept spot for our station. Yet I can scarcely believe that there is generally more wind here than at Hut Point. I was out for two hours this morning--it was amazingly pleasant to be able to see the inequalities of one's path, and the familiar landmarks bathed in violet light. An hour after noon the northern sky was intensely red. _Monday, July_ 31.--It was overcast to-day and the light not quite so good, but this is the last day of another month, and August means the sun. One begins to wonder what the Crozier Party is doing. It has been away five weeks. The ponies are getting buckish. Chinaman squeals and kicks in the stable, Nobby kicks without squealing, but with even more purpose--last night he knocked down a part of his stall. The noise of these animals is rather trying at night--one imagines all sorts of dreadful things happening, but when the watchman visits the stables its occupants blink at him with a sleepy air as though the disturbance could not possibly have been there! There was a glorious northern sky to-day; the horizon was clear and the flood of red light illuminated the under side of the broken stratus cloud above, producing very beautiful bands of violet light. Simpson predicts a blizzard within twenty-four hours--we are interested to watch results. _Tuesday, August_ 1.--The month has opened with a very beautiful day. This morning I took a circuitous walk over our land 'estate,' winding to and fro in gulleys filled with smooth ice patches or loose sandy soil, with a twofold object. I thought I might find the remains of poor Julick--in this I was unsuccessful; but I wished further to test our new crampons, and with these I am immensely pleased--they possess every virtue in a footwear designed for marching over smooth ice--lightness, warmth, comfort, and ease in the putting on and off. The light was especially good to-day; the sun was directly reflected by a single twisted iridescent cloud in the north, a brilliant and most beautiful object. The air was still, and it was very pleasant to hear the crisp sounds of our workers abroad. The tones of voices, the swish of ski or the chipping of an ice pick carry two or three miles on such days--more than once to-day we could hear the notes of some blithe singer--happily signalling the coming of the spring and the sun. This afternoon as I sit in the hut I find it worthy of record that two telephones are in use: the one keeping time for Wright who works at the transit instrument, and the other bringing messages from Nelson at his ice hole three-quarters of a mile away. This last connection is made with a bare aluminium wire and earth return, and shows that we should have little difficulty in completing our circuit to Hut Point as is contemplated. Account of the Winter Journey _Wednesday, August_ 2.--The Crozier Party returned last night after enduring for five weeks the hardest conditions on record. They looked more weather-worn than anyone I have yet seen. Their faces were scarred and wrinkled, their eyes dull, their hands whitened and creased with the constant exposure to damp and cold, yet the scars of frostbite were very few and this evil had never seriously assailed them. The main part of their afflictions arose, and very obviously arose, from sheer lack of sleep, and to-day after a night's rest our travellers are very different in appearance and mental capacity. The story of a very wonderful performance must be told by the actors. It is for me now to give but an outline of the journey and to note more particularly the effects of the strain which they have imposed on themselves and the lessons which their experiences teach for our future guidance. Wilson is very thin, but this morning very much his keen, wiry self--Bowers is quite himself to-day. Cherry-Garrard is slightly puffy in the face and still looks worn. It is evident that he has suffered most severely--but Wilson tells me that his spirit never wavered for a moment. Bowers has come through best, all things considered, and I believe he is the hardest traveller that ever undertook a Polar journey, as well as one of the most undaunted; more by hint than direct statement I gather his value to the party, his untiring energy and the astonishing physique which enables him to continue to work under conditions which are absolutely paralysing to others. Never was such a sturdy, active, undefeatable little man. So far as one can gather, the story of this journey in brief is much as follows: The party reached the Barrier two days after leaving C. Evans, still pulling their full load of 250 lbs. per man; the snow surface then changed completely and grew worse and worse as they advanced. For one day they struggled on as before, covering 4 miles, but from this onward they were forced to relay, and found the half load heavier than the whole one had been on the sea ice. Meanwhile the temperature had been falling, and now for more than a week the thermometer fell below -60°. On one night the minimum showed -71°, and on the next -77°, 109° of frost. Although in this truly fearful cold the air was comparatively still, every now and again little puffs of wind came eddying across the snow plain with blighting effect. No civilised being has ever encountered such conditions before with only a tent of thin canvas to rely on for shelter. We have been looking up the records to-day and find that Amundsen on a journey to the N. magnetic pole in March encountered temperatures similar in degree and recorded a minimum of 79°; but he was with Esquimaux who built him an igloo shelter nightly; he had a good measure of daylight; the temperatures given are probably 'unscreened' from radiation, and finally, he turned homeward and regained his ship after five days' absence. Our party went outward and remained absent for _five weeks_. It took the best part of a fortnight to cross the coldest region, and then rounding C. Mackay they entered the wind-swept area. Blizzard followed blizzard, the sky was constantly overcast and they staggered on in a light which was little better than complete darkness; sometimes they found themselves high on the slopes of Terror on the left of their track, and sometimes diving into the pressure ridges on the right amidst crevasses and confused ice disturbance. Reaching the foothills near C. Crozier, they ascended 800 feet, then packed their belongings over a moraine ridge and started to build a hut. It took three days to build the stone walls and complete the roof with the canvas brought for the purpose. Then at last they could attend to the object of the journey. The scant twilight at midday was so short that they must start in the dark and be prepared for the risk of missing their way in returning without light. On the first day in which they set forth under these conditions it took them two hours to reach the pressure ridges, and to clamber over them roped together occupied nearly the same time; finally they reached a place above the rookery where they could hear the birds squawking, but from which they were quite unable to find a way down. The poor light was failing and they returned to camp. Starting again on the following day they wound their way through frightful ice disturbances under the high basalt cliffs; in places the rock overhung, and at one spot they had to creep through a small channel hollowed in the ice. At last they reached the sea ice, but now the light was so far spent they were obliged to rush everything. Instead of the 2000 or 3000 nesting birds which had been seen here in _Discovery_ days, they could now only count about 100; they hastily killed and skinned three to get blubber for their stove, and collecting six eggs, three of which alone survived, they dashed for camp. It is possible the birds are deserting this rookery, but it is also possible that this early date found only a small minority of the birds which will be collected at a later one. The eggs, which have not yet been examined, should throw light on this point. Wilson observed yet another proof of the strength of the nursing instinct in these birds. In searching for eggs both he and Bowers picked up rounded pieces of ice which these ridiculous creatures had been cherishing with fond hope. The light had failed entirely by the time the party were clear of the pressure ridges on their return, and it was only by good luck they regained their camp. That night a blizzard commenced, increasing in fury from moment to moment. They now found that the place chosen for the hut for shelter was worse than useless. They had far better have built in the open, for the fierce wind, instead of striking them directly, was deflected on to them in furious whirling gusts. Heavy blocks of snow and rock placed on the roof were whirled away and the canvas ballooned up, tearing and straining at its securings--its disappearance could only be a question of time. They had erected their tent with some valuables inside close to the hut; it had been well spread and more than amply secured with snow and boulders, but one terrific gust tore it up and whirled it away. Inside the hut they waited for the roof to vanish, wondering what they could do if it went, and vainly endeavouring to make it secure. After fourteen hours it went, as they were trying to pin down one corner. The smother of snow was on them, and they could only dive for their sleeping-bags with a gasp. Bowers put his head out once and said, 'We're all right,' in as near his ordinary tones as he could compass. The others replied 'Yes, we're all right,' and all were silent for a night and half a day whilst the wind howled on; the snow entered every chink and crevasse of the sleeping-bags, and the occupants shivered and wondered how it would all end. This gale was the same (July 23) in which we registered our maximum wind force, and it seems probable that it fell on C. Crozier even more violently than on us. The wind fell at noon the following day; the forlorn travellers crept from their icy nests, made shift to spread their floor-cloth overhead, and lit their primus. They tasted their first food for forty-eight hours and began to plan a means to build a shelter on the homeward route. They decided that they must dig a large pit nightly and cover it as best they could with their floorcloth. But now fortune befriended them; a search to the north revealed the tent lying amongst boulders a quarter of a mile away, and, strange to relate, practically uninjured, a fine testimonial for the material used in its construction. On the following day they started homeward, and immediately another blizzard fell on them, holding them prisoners for two days. By this time the miserable condition of their effects was beyond description. The sleeping-bags were far too stiff to be rolled up, in fact they were so hard frozen that attempts to bend them actually split the skins; the eiderdown bags inside Wilson's and C.-G.'s reindeer covers served but to fitfully stop the gaps made by such rents. All socks, finnesko, and mits had long been coated with ice; placed in breast pockets or inside vests at night they did not even show signs of thawing, much less of drying. It sometimes took C.-G. three-quarters of an hour to get into his sleeping-bag, so flat did it freeze and so difficult was it to open. It is scarcely possible to realise the horrible discomforts of the forlorn travellers as they plodded back across the Barrier with the temperature again constantly below -60°. In this fashion they reached Hut Point and on the following night our home quarters. Wilson is disappointed at seeing so little of the penguins, but to me and to everyone who has remained here the result of this effort is the appeal it makes to our imagination as one of the most gallant stories in Polar History. That men should wander forth in the depth of a Polar night to face the most dismal cold and the fiercest gales in darkness is something new; that they should have persisted in this effort in spite of every adversity for five full weeks is heroic. It makes a tale for our generation which I hope may not be lost in the telling. Moreover the material results are by no means despicable. We shall know now when that extraordinary bird the Emperor penguin lays its eggs, and under what conditions; but even if our information remains meagre concerning its embryology, our party has shown the nature of the conditions which exist on the Great Barrier in winter. Hitherto we have only imagined their severity; now we have proof, and a positive light is thrown on the local climatology of our Strait. Experience of Sledging Rations and Equipment For our future sledge work several points have been most satisfactorily settled. The party went on a very simple food ration in different and extreme proportions; they took pemmican, butter, biscuit and tea only. After a short experience they found that Wilson, who had arranged for the greatest quantity of fat, had too much of it, and C.-G., who had gone for biscuit, had more than he could eat. A middle course was struck which gave a general proportion agreeable to all, and at the same time suited the total quantities of the various articles carried. In this way we have arrived at a simple and suitable ration for the inland plateau. The only change suggested is the addition of cocoa for the evening meal. The party contented themselves with hot water, deeming that tea might rob them of their slender chance of sleep. On sleeping-bags little new can be said--the eiderdown bag may be a useful addition for a short time on a spring journey, but they soon get iced up. Bowers did not use an eiderdown bag throughout, and in some miraculous manner he managed to turn his reindeer bag two or three times during the journey. The following are the weights of sleeping-bags before and after: Starting Weight. Final Weight. Wilson, reindeer and eiderdown 17 40 Bowers, reindeer only 17 33 C.-Garrard, reindeer and eiderdown 18 45 This gives some idea of the ice collected. The double tent has been reported an immense success. It weighed about 35 lbs. at starting and 60 lbs. on return: the ice mainly collected on the inner tent. The crampons are much praised, except by Bowers, who has an eccentric attachment to our older form. We have discovered a hundred details of clothes, mits, and footwear: there seems no solution to the difficulties which attach to these articles in extreme cold; all Wilson can say, speaking broadly, is 'the gear is excellent, excellent.' One continues to wonder as to the possibilities of fur clothing as made by the Esquimaux, with a sneaking feeling that it may outclass our more civilised garb. For us this can only be a matter of speculation, as it would have been quite impossible to have obtained such articles. With the exception of this radically different alternative, I feel sure we are as near perfection as experience can direct. At any rate we can now hold that our system of clothing has come through a severer test than any other, fur included. _Effect of Journey_.--Wilson lost 3 1/2 lbs.; Bowers lost 2 1/2 lbs.; C.-Garrard lost 1 lb. CHAPTER XIII The Return of the Sun _Thursday, August_ 3.--We have had such a long spell of fine clear weather without especially low temperatures that one can scarcely grumble at the change which we found on waking this morning, when the canopy of stratus cloud spread over us and the wind came in those fitful gusts which promise a gale. All day the wind force has been slowly increasing, whilst the temperature has risen to -15°, but there is no snow falling or drifting as yet. The steam cloud of Erebus was streaming away to the N.W. this morning; now it is hidden. Our expectations have been falsified so often that we feel ourselves wholly incapable as weather prophets--therefore one scarce dares to predict a blizzard even in face of such disturbance as exists. A paper handed to Simpson by David, [28] and purporting to contain a description of approaching signs, together with the cause and effect of our blizzards, proves equally hopeless. We have not obtained a single scrap of evidence to verify its statements, and a great number of our observations definitely contradict them. The plain fact is that no two of our storms have been heralded by the same signs. The low Barrier temperatures experienced by the Crozier Party has naturally led to speculation on the situation of Amundsen and his Norwegians. If his thermometers continuously show temperatures below -60°, the party will have a pretty bad winter and it is difficult to see how he will keep his dogs alive. I should feel anxious if Campbell was in that quarter. [29] _Saturday, August_ 5.--The sky has continued to wear a disturbed appearance, but so far nothing has come of it. A good deal of light snow has been falling to-day; a brisk northerly breeze is drifting it along, giving a very strange yet beautiful effect in the north, where the strong red twilight filters through the haze. The Crozier Party tell a good story of Bowers, who on their return journey with their recovered tent fitted what he called a 'tent downhaul' and secured it round his sleeping-bag and himself. If the tent went again, he determined to go with it. Our lecture programme has been renewed. Last night Simpson gave a capital lecture on general meteorology. He started on the general question of insolation, giving various tables to show proportion of sun's heat received at the polar and equatorial regions. Broadly, in latitude 80° one would expect about 22 per cent, of the heat received at a spot on the equator. He dealt with the temperature question by showing interesting tabular comparisons between northern and southern temperatures at given latitudes. So far as these tables go they show the South Polar summer to be 15° colder than the North Polar, but the South Polar winter 3° warmer than the North Polar, but of course this last figure would be completely altered if the observer were to winter on the Barrier. I fancy Amundsen will not concede those 3°!! From temperatures our lecturer turned to pressures and the upward turn of the gradient in high southern latitudes, as shown by the _Discovery_ Expedition. This bears of course on the theory which places an anticyclone in the South Polar region. Lockyer's theories came under discussion; a good many facts appear to support them. The westerly winds of the Roaring Forties are generally understood to be a succession of cyclones. Lockyer's hypothesis supposes that there are some eight or ten cyclones continually revolving at a rate of about 10° of longitude a day, and he imagines them to extend from the 40th parallel to beyond the 60th, thus giving the strong westerly winds in the forties and easterly and southerly in 60° to 70°. Beyond 70° there appears to be generally an irregular outpouring of cold air from the polar area, with an easterly component significant of anticyclone conditions. Simpson evolved a new blizzard theory on this. He supposes the surface air intensely cooled over the continental and Barrier areas, and the edge of this cold region lapped by warmer air from the southern limits of Lockyer's cyclones. This would produce a condition of unstable equilibrium, with great potentiality for movement. Since, as we have found, volumes of cold air at different temperatures are very loath to mix, the condition could not be relieved by any gradual process, but continues until the stream is released by some minor cause, when, the ball once started, a huge disturbance results. It seems to be generally held that warm air is passing polewards from the equator continuously at the high levels. It is this potentially warm air which, mixed by the disturbance with the cold air of the interior, gives to our winds so high a temperature. Such is this theory--like its predecessor it is put up for cockshies, and doubtless by our balloon work or by some other observations it will be upset or modified. Meanwhile it is well to keep one's mind alive with such problems, which mark the road of advance. _Sunday, August_ 6.--Sunday with its usual routine. Hymn singing has become a point on which we begin to take some pride to ourselves. With our full attendance of singers we now get a grand volume of sound. The day started overcast. Chalky is an excellent adjective to describe the appearance of our outlook when the light is much diffused and shadows poor; the scene is dull and flat. In the afternoon the sky cleared, the moon over Erebus gave a straw colour to the dissipating clouds. This evening the air is full of ice crystals and a stratus forms again. This alternation of clouded and clear skies has been the routine for some time now and is accompanied by the absence of wind which is delightfully novel. The blood of the Crozier Party, tested by Atkinson, shows a very slight increase of acidity--such was to be expected, and it is pleasing to note that there is no sign of scurvy. If the preserved foods had tended to promote the disease, the length of time and severity of conditions would certainly have brought it out. I think we should be safe on the long journey. I have had several little chats with Wilson on the happenings of the journey. He says there is no doubt Cherry-Garrard felt the conditions most severely, though he was not only without complaint, but continuously anxious to help others. Apropos, we both conclude that it is the younger people that have the worst time; Gran, our youngest member (23), is a very clear example, and now Cherry-Garrard at 26. Wilson (39) says he never felt cold less than he does now; I suppose that between 30 and 40 is the best all round age. Bowers is a wonder of course. He is 29. When past the forties it is encouraging to remember that Peary was 52!! _Thursday, August_ 10.--There has been very little to record of late and my pen has been busy on past records. The weather has been moderately good and as before wholly incomprehensible. Wind has come from a clear sky and from a clouded one; we had a small blow on Tuesday but it never reached gale force; it came without warning, and every sign which we have regarded as a warning has proved a bogey. The fact is, one must always be prepared for wind and never expect it. The daylight advances in strides. Day has fitted an extra sash to our window and the light admitted for the first time through triple glass. With this device little ice collects inside. The ponies are very fit but inclined to be troublesome: the quiet beasts develop tricks without rhyme or reason. Chinaman still kicks and squeals at night. Anton's theory is that he does it to warm himself, and perhaps there is something in it. When eating snow he habitually takes too large a mouthful and swallows it; it is comic to watch him, because when the snow chills his inside he shuffles about with all four legs and wears a most fretful, aggrieved expression: but no sooner has the snow melted than he seizes another mouthful. Other ponies take small mouthfuls or melt a large one on their tongues--this act also produces an amusing expression. Victor and Snippets are confirmed wind suckers. They are at it all the time when the manger board is in place, but it is taken down immediately after feeding time, and then they can only seek vainly for something to catch hold of with their teeth. 'Bones' has taken to kicking at night for no imaginable reason. He hammers away at the back of his stall merrily; we have covered the boards with several layers of sacking, so that the noise is cured, if not the habit. The annoying part of these tricks is that they hold the possibility of damage to the pony. I am glad to say all the lice have disappeared; the final conquest was effected with a very simple remedy--the infected ponies were washed with water in which tobacco had been steeped. Oates had seen this decoction used effectively with troop horses. The result is the greater relief, since we had run out of all the chemicals which had been used for the same purpose. I have now definitely told off the ponies for the Southern Journey, and the new masters will take charge on September 1. They will continually exercise the animals so as to get to know them as well as possible. The arrangement has many obvious advantages. The following is the order: Bowers Victor. Evans (P.O.) Snatcher. Wilson Nobby. Crean Bones. Atkinson Jehu. Keohane Jimmy Pigg. Wright Chinaman. Oates Christopher. Cherry-Garrard Michael. Myself & Oates Snippets. The first balloon of the season was sent up yesterday by Bowers and Simpson. It rose on a southerly wind, but remained in it for 100 feet or less, then for 300 or 400 feet it went straight up, and after that directly south over Razor Back Island. Everything seemed to go well, the thread, on being held, tightened and then fell slack as it should do. It was followed for two miles or more running in a straight line for Razor Back, but within a few hundred yards of the Island it came to an end. The searchers went round the Island to try and recover the clue, but without result. Almost identically the same thing happened after the last ascent made, and we are much puzzled to find the cause. The continued proximity of the south moving air currents above is very interesting. The Crozier Party are not right yet, their feet are exceedingly sore, and there are other indications of strain. I must almost except Bowers, who, whatever his feelings, went off as gaily as usual on the search for the balloon. Saw a very beautiful effect on my afternoon walk yesterday: the full moon was shining brightly from a quarter exactly opposite to the fading twilight and the icebergs were lit on one side by the yellow lunar light and on the other by the paler white daylight. The first seemed to be gilded, while the diffused light of day gave to the other a deep, cold, greenish-blue colour--the contrast was strikingly beautiful. _Friday, August_ 11.--The long-expected blizzard came in the night; it is still blowing hard with drift. Yesterday evening Oates gave his second lecture on 'Horse management.' He was brief and a good deal to the point. 'Not born but made' was his verdict on the good manager of animals. 'The horse has no reasoning power at all, but an excellent memory'; sights and sounds recall circumstances under which they were previously seen or heard. It is no use shouting at a horse: ten to one he will associate the noise with some form of trouble, and getting excited, will set out to make it. It is ridiculous for the rider of a bucking horse to shout 'Whoa!'--'I know,' said the Soldier, 'because I have done it.' Also it is to be remembered that loud talk to one horse may disturb other horses. The great thing is to be firm and quiet. A horse's memory, explained the Soldier, warns it of events to come. He gave instances of hunters and race-horses which go off their feed and show great excitement in other ways before events for which they are prepared; for this reason every effort should be made to keep the animals quiet in camp. Rugs should be put on directly after a halt and not removed till the last moment before a march. After a few hints on leading the lecturer talked of possible improvements in our wintering arrangements. A loose box for each animal would be an advantage, and a small amount of litter on which he could lie down. Some of our ponies lie down, but rarely for more than 10 minutes--the Soldier thinks they find the ground too cold. He thinks it would be wise to clip animals before the winter sets in. He is in doubt as to the advisability of grooming. He passed to the improvements preparing for the coming journey--the nose bags, picketing lines, and rugs. He proposes to bandage the legs of all ponies. Finally he dealt with the difficult subjects of snow blindness and soft surfaces: for the first he suggested dyeing the forelocks, which have now grown quite long. Oates indulges a pleasant conceit in finishing his discourses with a merry tale. Last night's tale evoked shouts of laughter, but, alas! it is quite unprintable! Our discussion hinged altogether on the final subjects of the lecture as concerning snow blindness--the dyed forelocks seem inadequate, and the best suggestion seems the addition of a sun bonnet rather than blinkers, or, better still, a peak over the eyes attached to the headstall. I doubt if this question will be difficult to settle, but the snow-shoe problem is much more serious. This has been much in our minds of late, and Petty Officer Evans has been making trial shoes for Snatcher on vague ideas of our remembrance of the shoes worn for lawn mowing. Besides the problem of the form of the shoes, comes the question of the means of attachment. All sorts of suggestions were made last night as to both points, and the discussion cleared the air a good deal. I think that with slight modification our present pony snow-shoes made on the grating or racquet principle may prove best after all. The only drawback is that they are made for very soft snow and unnecessarily large for the Barrier; this would make them liable to be strained on hard patches. The alternative seems to be to perfect the principle of the lawn mowing shoe, which is little more than a stiff bag over the hoof. Perhaps we shall come to both kinds: the first for the quiet animals and the last for the more excitable. I am confident the matter is of first importance. _Monday, August_ 14.--Since the comparatively short storm of Friday, in which we had a temperature of -30° with a 50 m.p.h. wind, we have had two delightfully calm days, and to-day there is every promise of the completion of a third. On such days the light is quite good for three to four hours at midday and has a cheering effect on man and beast. The ponies are so pleased that they seize the slightest opportunity to part company with their leaders and gallop off with tail and heels flung high. The dogs are equally festive and are getting more exercise than could be given in the dark. The two Esquimaux dogs have been taken in hand by Clissold, as I have noted before. He now takes them out with a leader borrowed from Meares, usually little 'Noogis.' On Saturday the sledge capsized at the tide crack; Clissold was left on the snow whilst the team disappeared in the distance. Noogis returned later, having eaten through his harness, and the others were eventually found some two miles away, 'foul' of an ice hummock. Yesterday Clissold took the same team to Cape Royds; they brought back a load of 100 lbs. a dog in about two hours. It would have been a good performance for the best dogs in the time, and considering that Meares pronounced these two dogs useless, Clissold deserves a great deal of credit. Yesterday we had a really successful balloon ascent: the balloon ran out four miles of thread before it was released, and the instrument fell without a parachute. The searchers followed the clue about 2 1/2 miles to the north, when it turned and came back parallel to itself, and only about 30 yards distant from it. The instrument was found undamaged and with the record properly scratched. Nelson has been out a good deal more of late. He has got a good little run of serial temperatures with water samples, and however meagre his results, they may be counted as exceedingly accurate; his methods include the great scientific care which is now considered necessary for this work, and one realises that he is one of the few people who have been trained in it. Yesterday he got his first net haul from the bottom, with the assistance of Atkinson and Cherry-Garrard. Atkinson has some personal interest in the work. He has been getting remarkable results himself and has discovered a host of new parasites in the seals; he has been trying to correlate these with like discoveries in the fishes, in hope of working out complete life histories in both primary and secondary hosts. But the joint hosts of the fishes may be the mollusca or other creatures on which they feed, and hence the new fields for Atkinson in Nelson's catches. There is a relative simplicity in the round of life in its higher forms in these regions that would seem especially hopeful for the parasitologist. My afternoon walk has become a pleasure; everything is beautiful in this half light and the northern sky grows redder as the light wanes. _Tuesday, August_ 15.--The instrument recovered from the balloon shows an ascent of 2 1/2 miles, and the temperature at that height only 5° or 6° C. below that at the surface. If, as one must suppose, this layer extends over the Barrier, it would there be at a considerably higher temperature than the surface Simpson has imagined a very cold surface layer on the Barrier. The acetylene has suddenly failed, and I find myself at this moment writing by daylight for the first time. The first addition to our colony came last night, when 'Lassie' produced six or seven puppies--we are keeping the family very quiet and as warm as possible in the stable. It is very pleasant to note the excellent relations which our young Russians have established with other folk; they both work very hard, Anton having most to do. Demetri is the more intelligent and begins to talk English fairly well. Both are on the best terms with their mess-mates, and it was amusing last night to see little Anton jamming a felt hat over P.O. Evans' head in high good humour. Wright lectured on radium last night. The transformation of the radio-active elements suggestive of the transmutation of metals was perhaps the most interesting idea suggested, but the discussion ranged mainly round the effect which the discovery of radio-activity has had on physics and chemistry in its bearing on the origin of matter, on geology as bearing on the internal heat of the earth, and on medicine in its curative powers. The geologists and doctors admitted little virtue to it, but of course the physicists boomed their own wares, which enlivened the debate. _Thursday, August_ 17.--The weather has been extremely kind to us of late; we haven't a single grumble against it. The temperature hovers pretty constantly at about -35°, there is very little wind and the sky is clear and bright. In such weather one sees well for more than three hours before and after noon, the landscape unfolds itself, and the sky colours are always delicate and beautiful. At noon to-day there was bright sunlight on the tops of the Western Peaks and on the summit and steam of Erebus--of late the vapour cloud of Erebus has been exceptionally heavy and fantastic in form. The balloon has become a daily institution. Yesterday the instrument was recovered in triumph, but to-day the threads carried the searchers in amongst the icebergs and soared aloft over their crests--anon the clue was recovered beyond, and led towards Tent Island, then towards Inaccessible, then back to the bergs. Never was such an elusive thread. Darkness descended with the searchers on a strong scent for the Razor Backs: Bowers returned full of hope. The wretched Lassie has killed every one of her litter. She is mother for the first time, and possibly that accounts for it. When the poor little mites were alive she constantly left them, and when taken back she either trod on them or lay on them, till not one was left alive. It is extremely annoying. As the daylight comes, people are busier than ever. It does one good to see so much work going on. _Friday, August_ 18.--Atkinson lectured on 'Scurvy' last night. He spoke clearly and slowly, but the disease is anything but precise. He gave a little summary of its history afloat and the remedies long in use in the Navy. He described the symptoms with some detail. Mental depression, debility, syncope, petechiae, livid patches, spongy gums, lesions, swellings, and so on to things that are worse. He passed to some of the theories held and remedies tried in accordance with them. Ralph came nearest the truth in discovering decrease of chlorine and alkalinity of urine. Sir Almroth Wright has hit the truth, he thinks, in finding increased acidity of blood--acid intoxication--by methods only possible in recent years. This acid condition is due to two salts, sodium hydrogen carbonate and sodium hydrogen phosphate; these cause the symptoms observed and infiltration of fat in organs, leading to feebleness of heart action. The method of securing and testing serum of patient was described (titration, a colorimetric method of measuring the percentage of substances in solution), and the test by litmus paper of normal or super-normal solution. In this test the ordinary healthy man shows normal 30 to 50: the scurvy patient normal 90. Lactate of sodium increases alkalinity of blood, but only within narrow limits, and is the only chemical remedy suggested. So far for diagnosis, but it does not bring us much closer to the cause, preventives, or remedies. Practically we are much as we were before, but the lecturer proceeded to deal with the practical side. In brief, he holds the first cause to be tainted food, but secondary or contributory causes may be even more potent in developing the disease. Damp, cold, over-exertion, bad air, bad light, in fact any condition exceptional to normal healthy existence. Remedies are merely to change these conditions for the better. Dietetically, fresh vegetables are the best curatives--the lecturer was doubtful of fresh meat, but admitted its possibility in polar climate; lime juice only useful if regularly taken. He discussed lightly the relative values of vegetable stuffs, doubtful of those containing abundance of phosphates such as lentils. He touched theory again in continuing the cause of acidity to bacterial action--and the possibility of infection in epidemic form. Wilson is evidently slow to accept the 'acid intoxication' theory; his attitude is rather 'non proven.' His remarks were extremely sound and practical as usual. He proved the value of fresh meat in polar regions. Scurvy seems very far away from us this time, yet after our _Discovery_ experience, one feels that no trouble can be too great or no precaution too small to be adopted to keep it at bay. Therefore such an evening as last was well spent. It is certain we shall not have the disease here, but one cannot foresee equally certain avoidance in the southern journey to come. All one can do is to take every possible precaution. Ran over to Tent Island this afternoon and climbed to the top--I have not been there since 1903. Was struck with great amount of loose sand; it seemed to get smaller in grain from S. to N. Fine view from top of island: one specially notices the gap left by the breaking up of the Glacier Tongue. The distance to the top of the island and back is between 7 and 8 statute miles, and the run in this weather is fine healthy exercise. Standing on the island to-day with a glorious view of mountains, islands, and glaciers, I thought how very different must be the outlook of the Norwegians. A dreary white plain of Barrier behind and an uninviting stretch of sea ice in front. With no landmarks, nothing to guide if the light fails, it is probable that they venture but a very short distance from their hut. The prospects of such a situation do not smile on us. The weather remains fine--this is the sixth day without wind. _Sunday, August_ 20.--The long-expected blizzard came yesterday--a good honest blow, the drift vanishing long before the wind. This and the rise of temperature (to 2°) has smoothed and polished all ice or snow surfaces. A few days ago I could walk anywhere in my soft finnesko with sealskin soles; to-day it needed great caution to prevent tumbles. I think there has been a good deal of ablation. The sky is clear to-day, but the wind still strong though warm. I went along the shore of the North Bay and climbed to the glacier over one of the drifted faults in the ice face. It is steep and slippery, but by this way one can arrive above the Ramp without touching rock and thus avoid cutting soft footwear. The ice problems in our neighbourhood become more fascinating and elusive as one re-examines them by the returning light; some will be solved. _Monday, August_ 21.--Weights and measurements last evening. We have remained surprisingly constant. There seems to have been improvement in lung power and grip is shown by spirometer and dynamometer, but weights have altered very little. I have gone up nearly 3 lbs. in winter, but the increase has occurred during the last month, when I have been taking more exercise. Certainly there is every reason to be satisfied with the general state of health. The ponies are becoming a handful. Three of the four exercised to-day so far have run away--Christopher and Snippets broke away from Oates and Victor from Bowers. Nothing but high spirits, there is no vice in these animals; but I fear we are going to have trouble with sledges and snow-shoes. At present the Soldier dare not issue oats or the animals would become quite unmanageable. Bran is running low; he wishes he had more of it. _Tuesday, August_ 22.--I am renewing study of glacier problems; the face of the ice cliff 300 yards east of the homestead is full of enigmas. Yesterday evening Ponting gave us a lecture on his Indian travels. He is very frank in acknowledging his debt to guide-books for information, nevertheless he tells his story well and his slides are wonderful. In personal reminiscence he is distinctly dramatic--he thrilled us a good deal last night with a vivid description of a sunrise in the sacred city of Benares. In the first dim light the waiting, praying multitude of bathers, the wonderful ritual and its incessant performance; then, as the sun approaches, the hush--the effect of thousands of worshippers waiting in silence--a silence to be felt. Finally, as the first rays appear, the swelling roar of a single word from tens of thousands of throats: 'Ambah!' It was artistic to follow this picture of life with the gruesome horrors of the ghat. This impressionist style of lecturing is very attractive and must essentially cover a great deal of ground. So we saw Jeypore, Udaipore, Darjeeling, and a confusing number of places--temples, monuments and tombs in profusion, with remarkable pictures of the wonderful Taj Mahal--horses, elephants, alligators, wild boars, and flamingoes--warriors, fakirs, and nautch girls--an impression here and an impression there. It is worth remembering how attractive this style can be--in lecturing one is inclined to give too much attention to connecting links which join one episode to another. A lecture need not be a connected story; perhaps it is better it should not be. It was my night on duty last night and I watched the oncoming of a blizzard with exceptional beginnings. The sky became very gradually overcast between 1 and 4 A.M. About 2.30 the temperature rose on a steep grade from -20° to -3°; the barometer was falling, rapidly for these regions. Soon after 4 the wind came with a rush, but without snow or drift. For a time it was more gusty than has ever yet been recorded even in this region. In one gust the wind rose from 4 to 68 m.p.h. and fell again to 20 m.p.h. within a minute; another reached 80 m.p.h., but not from such a low point of origin. The effect in the hut was curious; for a space all would be quiet, then a shattering blast would descend with a clatter and rattle past ventilator and chimneys, so sudden, so threatening, that it was comforting to remember the solid structure of our building. The suction of such a gust is so heavy that even the heavy snow-covered roof of the stable, completely sheltered on the lee side of the main building, is violently shaken--one could well imagine the plight of our adventurers at C. Crozier when their roof was destroyed. The snow which came at 6 lessened the gustiness and brought the ordinary phenomena of a blizzard. It is blowing hard to-day, with broken windy clouds and roving bodies of drift. A wild day for the return of the sun. Had it been fine to-day we should have seen the sun for the first time; yesterday it shone on the lower foothills to the west, but to-day we see nothing but gilded drift clouds. Yet it is grand to have daylight rushing at one. _Wednesday, August_ 23.--We toasted the sun in champagne last night, coupling Victor Campbell's name as his birthday coincides. The return of the sun could not be appreciated as we have not had a glimpse of it, and the taste of the champagne went wholly unappreciated; it was a very mild revel. Meanwhile the gale continues. Its full force broke last night with an average of nearly 70 m.p.h. for some hours: the temperature has been up to 10° and the snowfall heavy. At seven this morning the air was thicker with whirling drift than it has ever been. It seems as though the violence of the storms which succeed our rare spells of fine weather is in proportion to the duration of the spells. _Thursday, August_ 24.--Another night and day of furious wind and drift, and still no sign of the end. The temperature has been as high as 16°. Now and again the snow ceases and then the drift rapidly diminishes, but such an interval is soon followed by fresh clouds of snow. It is quite warm outside, one can go about with head uncovered--which leads me to suppose that one does get hardened to cold to some extent--for I suppose one would not wish to remain uncovered in a storm in England if the temperature showed 16 degrees of frost. This is the third day of confinement to the hut: it grows tedious, but there is no help, as it is too thick to see more than a few yards out of doors. _Friday, August_ 25.--The gale continued all night and it blows hard this morning, but the sky is clear, the drift has ceased, and the few whale-back clouds about Erebus carry a promise of improving conditions. Last night there was an intensely black cloud low on the northern horizon--but for earlier experience of the winter one would have sworn to it as a water sky; but I think the phenomenon is due to the shadow of retreating drift clouds. This morning the sky is clear to the north, so that the sea ice cannot have broken out in the Sound. During snowy gales it is almost necessary to dress oneself in wind clothes if one ventures outside for the briefest periods--exposed woollen or cloth materials become heavy with powdery crystals in a minute or two, and when brought into the warmth of the hut are soon wringing wet. Where there is no drift it is quicker and easier to slip on an overcoat. It is not often I have a sentimental attachment for articles of clothing, but I must confess an affection for my veteran uniform overcoat, inspired by its persistent utility. I find that it is twenty-three years of age and can testify to its strenuous existence. It has been spared neither rain, wind, nor salt sea spray, tropic heat nor Arctic cold; it has outlived many sets of buttons, from their glittering gilded youth to green old age, and it supports its four-stripe shoulder straps as gaily as the single lace ring of the early days which proclaimed it the possession of a humble sub-lieutenant. Withal it is still a very long way from the fate of the 'one-horse shay.' Taylor gave us his final physiographical lecture last night. It was completely illustrated with slides made from our own negatives, Ponting's Alpine work, and the choicest illustrations of certain scientific books. The preparation of the slides had involved a good deal of work for Ponting as well as for the lecturer. The lecture dealt with ice erosion, and the pictures made it easy to follow the comparison of our own mountain forms and glacial contours with those that have received so much attention elsewhere. Noticeable differences are the absence of moraine material on the lower surfaces of our glaciers, their relatively insignificant movement, their steep sides, &c.... It is difficult to convey the bearing of the difference or similarity of various features common to the pictures under comparison without their aid. It is sufficient to note that the points to which the lecturer called attention were pretty obvious and that the lecture was exceedingly instructive. The origin of 'cirques' or 'cwms,' of which we have remarkably fine examples, is still a little mysterious--one notes also the requirement of observation which might throw light on the erosion of previous ages. After Taylor's effort Ponting showed a number of very beautiful slides of Alpine scenery--not a few are triumphs of the photographer's art. As a wind-up Ponting took a flashlight photograph of our hut converted into a lecture hall: a certain amount of faking will be required, but I think this is very allowable under the circumstances. Oates tells me that one of the ponies, 'Snippets,' will eat blubber! the possible uses of such an animal are remarkable! The gravel on the north side of the hut against which the stable is built has been slowly but surely worn down, leaving gaps under the boarding. Through these gaps and our floor we get an unpleasantly strong stable effluvium, especially when the wind is strong. We are trying to stuff the holes up, but have not had much success so far. _Saturday, August_ 26.--A dying wind and clear sky yesterday, and almost calm to-day. The noon sun is cut off by the long low foot slope of Erebus which runs to Cape Royds. Went up the Ramp at noon yesterday and found no advantage--one should go over the floe to get the earliest sight, and yesterday afternoon Evans caught a last glimpse of the upper limb from that situation, whilst Simpson saw the same from Wind Vane Hill. The ponies are very buckish and can scarcely be held in at exercise; it seems certain that they feel the return of daylight. They were out in morning and afternoon yesterday. Oates and Anton took out Christopher and Snippets rather later. Both ponies broke away within 50 yards of the stable and galloped away over the floe. It was nearly an hour before they could be rounded up. Such escapades are the result of high spirits; there is no vice in the animals. We have had comparatively little aurora of late, but last night was an exception; there was a good display at 3 A.M. P.M.--Just before lunch the sunshine could be seen gilding the floe, and Ponting and I walked out to the bergs. The nearest one has been overturned and is easily climbed. From the top we could see the sun clear over the rugged outline of C. Barne. It was glorious to stand bathed in brilliant sunshine once more. We felt very young, sang and cheered--we were reminded of a bright frosty morning in England--everything sparkled and the air had the same crisp feel. There is little new to be said of the return of the sun in polar regions, yet it is such a very real and important event that one cannot pass it in silence. It changes the outlook on life of every individual, foul weather is robbed of its terrors; if it is stormy to-day it will be fine to-morrow or the next day, and each day's delay will mean a brighter outlook when the sky is clear. Climbed the Ramp in the afternoon, the shouts and songs of men and the neighing of horses borne to my ears as I clambered over its kopjes. We are now pretty well convinced that the Ramp is a moraine resting on a platform of ice. The sun rested on the sunshine recorder for a few minutes, but made no visible impression. We did not get our first record in the _Discovery_ until September. It is surprising that so little heat should be associated with such a flood of light. _Sunday, August_ 27.--Overcast sky and chill south-easterly wind. Sunday routine, no one very active. Had a run to South Bay over 'Domain.' _Monday, August_ 28.--Ponting and Gran went round the bergs late last night. On returning they saw a dog coming over the floe from the north. The animal rushed towards and leapt about them with every sign of intense joy. Then they realised that it was our long lost Julick. His mane was crusted with blood and he smelt strongly of seal blubber--his stomach was full, but the sharpness of back-bone showed that this condition had only been temporary, daylight he looks very fit and strong, and he is evidently very pleased to be home again. We are absolutely at a loss to account for his adventures. It is exactly a month since he was missed--what on earth can have happened to him all this time? One would give a great deal to hear his tale. Everything is against the theory that he was a wilful absentee--his previous habits and his joy at getting back. If he wished to get back, he cannot have been lost anywhere in the neighbourhood, for, as Meares says, the barking of the station dogs can be heard at least 7 or 8 miles away in calm weather, besides which there are tracks everywhere and unmistakable landmarks to guide man or beast. I cannot but think the animal has been cut off, but this can only have happened by his being carried away on broken sea ice, and as far as we know the open water has never been nearer than 10 or 12 miles at the least. It is another enigma. On Saturday last a balloon was sent up. The thread was found broken a mile away. Bowers and Simpson walked many miles in search of the instrument, but could find no trace of it. The theory now propounded is that if there is strong differential movement in air currents, the thread is not strong enough to stand the strain as the balloon passes from one current to another. It is amazing, and forces the employment of a new system. It is now proposed to discard the thread and attach the instrument to a flag and staff, which it is hoped will plant itself in the snow on falling. The sun is shining into the hut windows--already sunbeams rest on the opposite walls. I have mentioned the curious cones which are the conspicuous feature of our Ramp scenery--they stand from 8 to 20 feet in height, some irregular, but a number quite perfectly conical in outline. To-day Taylor and Gran took pick and crowbar and started to dig into one of the smaller ones. After removing a certain amount of loose rubble they came on solid rock, kenyte, having two or three irregular cracks traversing the exposed surface. It was only with great trouble they removed one or two of the smallest fragments severed by these cracks. There was no sign of ice. This gives a great 'leg up' to the 'debris' cone theory. Demetri and Clissold took two small teams of dogs to Cape Royds to-day. They found some dog footprints near the hut, but think these were not made by Julick. Demetri points far to the west as the scene of that animal's adventures. Parties from C. Royds always bring a number of illustrated papers which must have been brought down by the _Nimrod_ on her last visit. The ostensible object is to provide amusement for our Russian companions, but as a matter of fact everyone finds them interesting. _Tuesday, August_ 29.--I find that the card of the sunshine recorder showed an hour and a half's burn yesterday and was very faintly marked on Saturday; already, therefore, the sun has given us warmth, even if it can only be measured instrumentally. Last night Meares told us of his adventures in and about Lolo land, a wild Central Asian country nominally tributary to Lhassa. He had no pictures and very makeshift maps, yet he held us really entranced for nearly two hours by the sheer interest of his adventures. The spirit of the wanderer is in Meares' blood: he has no happiness but in the wild places of the earth. I have never met so extreme a type. Even now he is looking forward to getting away by himself to Hut Point, tired already of our scant measure of civilisation. He has keen natural powers of observation for all practical facts and a quite prodigious memory for such things, but a lack of scientific training causes the acceptance of exaggerated appearances, which so often present themselves to travellers when unfamiliar objects are first seen. For instance, when the spoor of some unknown beast is described as 6 inches across, one shrewdly guesses that a cold scientific measurement would have reduced this figure by nearly a half; so it is with mountains, cliffs, waterfalls, &c. With all deduction on this account the lecture was extraordinarily interesting. Meares lost his companion and leader, poor Brook, on the expedition which he described to us. The party started up the Yangtse, travelling from Shanghai to Hankow and thence to Ichang by steamer--then by house-boat towed by coolies through wonderful gorges and one dangerous rapid to Chunking and Chengtu. In those parts the travellers always took the three principal rooms of the inn they patronised, the cost 150 cash, something less than fourpence--oranges 20 a penny--the coolies with 100 lb. loads would cover 30 to 40 miles a day--salt is got in bores sunk with bamboos to nearly a mile in depth; it takes two or three generations to sink a bore. The lecturer described the Chinese frontier town Quanchin, its people, its products, chiefly medicinal musk pods from musk deer. Here also the wonderful ancient damming of the river, and a temple to the constructor, who wrote, twenty centuries ago, 'dig out your ditches, but keep your banks low.' On we were taken along mountain trails over high snow-filled passes and across rivers on bamboo bridges to Wassoo, a timber centre from which great rafts of lumber are shot down the river, over fearsome rapids, freighted with Chinamen. 'They generally come through all right,' said the lecturer. Higher up the river (Min) live the peaceful Ching Ming people, an ancient aboriginal stock, and beyond these the wild tribes, the Lolo themselves. They made doubtful friends with a chief preparing for war. Meares described a feast given to them in a barbaric hall hung with skins and weapons, the men clad in buckskin dyed red, and bristling with arms; barbaric dishes, barbaric music. Then the hunt for new animals; the Chinese Tarkin, the parti-coloured bear, blue mountain sheep, the golden-haired monkey, and talk of new fruits and flowers and a host of little-known birds. More adventures among the wild tribes of the mountains; the white lamas, the black lamas and phallic worship. Curious prehistoric caves with ancient terra-cotta figures resembling only others found in Japan and supplying a curious link. A feudal system running with well oiled wheels, the happiest of communities. A separation (temporary) from Brook, who wrote in his diary that tribes were very friendly and seemed anxious to help him, and was killed on the day following--the truth hard to gather--the recovery of his body, &c. As he left the country the Nepaulese ambassador arrives, returning from Pekin with large escort and bound for Lhassa: the ambassador half demented: and Meares, who speaks many languages, is begged by ambassador and escort to accompany the party. He is obliged to miss this chance of a lifetime. This is the meagrest outline of the tale which Meares adorned with a hundred incidental facts--for instance, he told us of the Lolo trade in green waxfly--the insect is propagated seasonally by thousands of Chinese who subsist on the sale of the wax produced, but all insects die between seasons. At the commencement of each season there is a market to which the wild hill Lolos bring countless tiny bamboo boxes, each containing a male and female insect, the breeding of which is their share in the industry. We are all adventurers here, I suppose, and wild doings in wild countries appeal to us as nothing else could do. It is good to know that there remain wild corners of this dreadfully civilised world. We have had a bright fine day. This morning a balloon was sent up without thread and with the flag device to which I have alluded. It went slowly but steadily to the north and so over the Barne Glacier. It was difficult to follow with glasses frequently clouding with the breath, but we saw the instrument detached when the slow match burned out. I'm afraid there is no doubt it fell on the glacier and there is little hope of recovering it. We have now decided to use a thread again, but to send the bobbin up with the balloon, so that it unwinds from that end and there will be no friction where it touches the snow or rock. This investigation of upper air conditions is proving a very difficult matter, but we are not beaten yet. _Wednesday, August_ 30.--Fine bright day. The thread of the balloon sent up to-day broke very short off through some fault in the cage holding the bobbin. By good luck the instrument was found in the North Bay, and held a record. This is the fifth record showing a constant inversion of temperature for a few hundred feet and then a gradual fall, so that the temperature of the surface is not reached again for 2000 or 3000 feet. The establishment of this fact repays much of the trouble caused by the ascents. _Thursday, August_ 31.--Went round about the Domain and Ramp with Wilson. We are now pretty well decided as to certain matters that puzzled us at first. The Ramp is undoubtedly a moraine supported on the decaying end of the glacier. A great deal of the underlying ice is exposed, but we had doubts as to whether this ice was not the result of winter drifting and summer thawing. We have a little difference of opinion as to whether this morainic material has been brought down in surface layers or pushed up from the bottom ice layers, as in Alpine glaciers. There is no doubt that the glacier is retreating with comparative rapidity, and this leads us to account for the various ice slabs about the hut as remains of the glacier, but a puzzling fact confronts this proposition in the discovery of penguin feathers in the lower strata of ice in both ice caves. The shifting of levels in the morainic material would account for the drying up of some lakes and the terrace formations in others, whilst curious trenches in the ground are obviously due to cracks in the ice beneath. We are now quite convinced that the queer cones on the Ramp are merely the result of the weathering of big blocks of agglomerate. As weathering results they appear unique. We have not yet a satisfactory explanation of the broad roadway faults that traverse every small eminence in our immediate region. They must originate from the unequal weathering of lava flows, but it is difficult to imagine the process. The dip of the lavas on our Cape corresponds with that of the lavas of Inaccessible Island, and points to an eruptive centre to the south and not towards Erebus. Here is food for reflection for the geologists. The wind blew quite hard from the N.N.W. on Wednesday night, fell calm in the day, and came from the S.E. with snow as we started to return from our walk; there was a full blizzard by the time we reached the hut. CHAPTER XIV Preparations: The Spring Journey _Friday, September_ 1.--A very windy night, dropping to gusts in morning, preceding beautifully calm, bright day. If September holds as good as August we shall not have cause of complaint. Meares and Demetri started for Hut Point just before noon. The dogs were in fine form. Demetri's team came over the hummocky tide crack at full gallop, depositing the driver on the snow. Luckily some of us were standing on the floe. I made a dash at the bow of the sledge as it dashed past and happily landed on top; Atkinson grasped at the same object, but fell, and was dragged merrily over the ice. The weight reduced the pace, and others soon came up and stopped the team. Demetri was very crestfallen. He is extremely active and it's the first time he's been unseated. There is no real reason for Meares' departure yet awhile, but he chose to go and probably hopes to train the animals better when he has them by themselves. As things are, this seems like throwing out the advance guard for the summer campaign. I have been working very hard at sledging figures with Bowers' able assistance. The scheme develops itself in the light of these figures, and I feel that our organisation will not be found wanting, yet there is an immense amount of detail, and every arrangement has to be more than usually elastic to admit of extreme possibilities of the full success or complete failure of the motors. I think our plan will carry us through without the motors (though in that case nothing else must fail), and will take full advantage of such help as the motors may give. Our spring travelling is to be limited order. E. Evans, Gran, and Forde will go out to find and re-mark 'Corner Camp.' Meares will then carry out as much fodder as possible with the dogs. Simpson, Bowers, and I are going to stretch our legs across to the Western Mountains. There is no choice but to keep the rest at home to exercise the ponies. It's not going to be a light task to keep all these frisky little beasts in order, as their food is increased. To-day the change in masters has taken place: by the new arrangement Wilson takes Nobby Cherry-Garrard takes Michael Wright takes Chinaman Atkinson takes Jehu. The new comers seem very pleased with their animals, though they are by no means the pick of the bunch. _Sunday, September_ 3.--The weather still remains fine, the temperature down in the minus thirties. All going well and everyone in splendid spirits. Last night Bowers lectured on Polar clothing. He had worked the subject up from our Polar library with critical and humorous ability, and since his recent journey he must be considered as entitled to an authoritative opinion of his own. The points in our clothing problems are too technical and too frequently discussed to need special notice at present, but as a result of a new study of Arctic precedents it is satisfactory to find it becomes more and more evident that our equipment is the best that has been devised for the purpose, always excepting the possible alternative of skins for spring journeys, an alternative we have no power to adopt. In spite of this we are making minor improvements all the time. _Sunday, September_ 10.--A whole week since the last entry in my diary. I feel very negligent of duty, but my whole time has been occupied in making detailed plans for the Southern journey. These are finished at last, I am glad to say; every figure has been checked by Bowers, who has been an enormous help to me. If the motors are successful, we shall have no difficulty in getting to the Glacier, and if they fail, we shall still get there with any ordinary degree of good fortune. To work three units of four men from that point onwards requires no small provision, but with the proper provision it should take a good deal to stop the attainment of our object. I have tried to take every reasonable possibility of misfortune into consideration, and to so organise the parties as to be prepared to meet them. I fear to be too sanguine, yet taking everything into consideration I feel that our chances ought to be good. The animals are in splendid form. Day by day the ponies get fitter as their exercise increases, and the stronger, harder food toughens their muscles. They are very different animals from those which we took south last year, and with another month of training I feel there is not one of them but will make light of the loads we shall ask them to draw. But we cannot spare any of the ten, and so there must always be anxiety of the disablement of one or more before their work is done. E. R. Evans, Forde, and Gran left early on Saturday for Corner Camp. I hope they will have no difficulty in finding it. Meares and Demetri came back from Hut Point the same afternoon--the dogs are wonderfully fit and strong, but Meares reports no seals up in the region, and as he went to make seal pemmican, there was little object in his staying. I leave him to come and go as he pleases, merely setting out the work he has to do in the simplest form. I want him to take fourteen bags of forage (130 lbs. each) to Corner Camp before the end of October and to be ready to start for his supporting work soon after the pony party--a light task for his healthy teams. Of hopeful signs for the future none are more remarkable than the health and spirit of our people. It would be impossible to imagine a more vigorous community, and there does not seem to be a single weak spot in the twelve good men and true who are chosen for the Southern advance. All are now experienced sledge travellers, knit together with a bond of friendship that has never been equalled under such circumstances. Thanks to these people, and more especially to Bowers and Petty Officer Evans, there is not a single detail of our equipment which is not arranged with the utmost care and in accordance with the tests of experience. It is good to have arrived at a point where one can run over facts and figures again and again without detecting a flaw or foreseeing a difficulty. I do not count on the motors--that is a strong point in our case--but should they work well our earlier task of reaching the Glacier will be made quite easy. Apart from such help I am anxious that these machines should enjoy some measure of success and justify the time, money, and thought which have been given to their construction. I am still very confident of the possibility of motor traction, whilst realising that reliance cannot be placed on it in its present untried evolutionary state--it is satisfactory to add that my own view is the most cautious one held in our party. Day is quite convinced he will go a long way and is prepared to accept much heavier weights than I have given him. Lashly's opinion is perhaps more doubtful, but on the whole hopeful. Clissold is to make the fourth man of the motor party. I have already mentioned his mechanical capabilities. He has had a great deal of experience with motors, and Day is delighted to have his assistance. We had two lectures last week--the first from Debenham dealing with General Geology and having special reference to the structures of our region. It cleared up a good many points in my mind concerning the gneissic base rocks, the Beacon sand-stone, and the dolerite intrusions. I think we shall be in a position to make fairly good field observations when we reach the southern land. The scientific people have taken keen interest in making their lectures interesting, and the custom has grown of illustrating them with lantern slides made from our own photographs, from books, or from drawings of the lecturer. The custom adds to the interest of the subject, but robs the reporter of notes. The second weekly lecture was given by Ponting. His store of pictures seems unending and has been an immense source of entertainment to us during the winter. His lectures appeal to all and are fully attended. This time we had pictures of the Great Wall and other stupendous monuments of North China. Ponting always manages to work in detail concerning the manners and customs of the peoples in the countries of his travels; on Friday he told us of Chinese farms and industries, of hawking and other sports, most curious of all, of the pretty amusement of flying pigeons with aeolian whistling pipes attached to their tail feathers. Ponting would have been a great asset to our party if only on account of his lectures, but his value as pictorial recorder of events becomes daily more apparent. No expedition has ever been illustrated so extensively, and the only difficulty will be to select from the countless subjects that have been recorded by his camera--and yet not a single subject is treated with haste; the first picture is rarely counted good enough, and in some cases five or six plates are exposed before our very critical artist is satisfied. This way of going to work would perhaps be more striking if it were not common to all our workers here; a very demon of unrest seems to stir them to effort and there is now not a single man who is not striving his utmost to get good results in his own particular department. It is a really satisfactory state of affairs all round. If the Southern journey comes off, nothing, not even priority at the Pole, can prevent the Expedition ranking as one of the most important that ever entered the polar regions. On Friday Cherry-Garrard produced the second volume of the S.P.T.--on the whole an improvement on the first. Poor Cherry perspired over the editorial, and it bears the signs of labour--the letterpress otherwise is in the lighter strain: Taylor again the most important contributor, but now at rather too great a length; Nelson has supplied a very humorous trifle; the illustrations are quite delightful, the highwater mark of Wilson's ability. The humour is local, of course, but I've come to the conclusion that there can be no other form of popular journal. The weather has not been good of late, but not sufficiently bad to interfere with exercise, &c. _Thursday, September_ 14.--Another interregnum. I have been exceedingly busy finishing up the Southern plans, getting instruction in photographing, and preparing for our jaunt to the west. I held forth on the 'Southern Plans' yesterday; everyone was enthusiastic, and the feeling is general that our arrangements are calculated to make the best of our resources. Although people have given a good deal of thought to various branches of the subject, there was not a suggestion offered for improvement. The scheme seems to have earned full confidence: it remains to play the game out. The last lectures of the season have been given. On Monday Nelson gave us an interesting little resume of biological questions, tracing the evolutionary development of forms from the simplest single-cell animals. To-night Wright tackled 'The Constitution of Matter' with the latest ideas from the Cavendish Laboratory: it was a tough subject, yet one carries away ideas of the trend of the work of the great physicists, of the ends they achieve and the means they employ. Wright is inclined to explain matter as velocity; Simpson claims to be with J.J. Thomson in stressing the fact that gravity is not explained. These lectures have been a real amusement and one would be sorry enough that they should end, were it not for so good a reason. I am determined to make some better show of our photographic work on the Southern trip than has yet been accomplished--with Ponting as a teacher it should be easy. He is prepared to take any pains to ensure good results, not only with his own work but with that of others--showing indeed what a very good chap he is. To-day I have been trying a colour screen--it is an extraordinary addition to one's powers. To-morrow Bowers, Simpson, Petty Officer Evans, and I are off to the west. I want to have another look at the Ferrar Glacier, to measure the stakes put out by Wright last year, to bring my sledging impressions up to date (one loses details of technique very easily), and finally to see what we can do with our cameras. I haven't decided how long we shall stay away or precisely where we shall go; such vague arrangements have an attractive side. We have had a fine week, but the temperature remains low in the twenties, and to-day has dropped to -35°. I shouldn't wonder if we get a cold snap. _Sunday, October_ 1.--Returned on Thursday from a remarkably pleasant and instructive little spring journey, after an absence of thirteen days from September 15. We covered 152 geographical miles by sledging (175 statute miles) in 10 marching days. It took us 2 1/2 days to reach Butter Point (28 1/2 miles geog.), carrying a part of the Western Party stores which brought our load to 180 lbs. a man. Everything very comfortable; double tent great asset. The 16th: a most glorious day till 4 P.M., then cold southerly wind. We captured many frost-bites. Surface only fairly good; a good many heaps of loose snow which brought sledge up standing. There seems a good deal more snow this side of the Strait; query, less wind. Bowers insists on doing all camp work; he is a positive wonder. I never met such a sledge traveller. The sastrugi all across the strait have been across, the main S. by E. and the other E.S.E., but these are a great study here; the hard snow is striated with long wavy lines crossed with lighter wavy lines. It gives a sort of herringbone effect. After depositing this extra load we proceeded up the Ferrar Glacier; curious low ice foot on left, no tide crack, sea ice very thinly covered with snow. We are getting delightfully fit. Bowers treasure all round, Evans much the same. Simpson learning fast. Find the camp life suits me well except the turning out at night! three times last night. We were trying nose nips and face guards, marching head to wind all day. We reached Cathedral Rocks on the 19th. Here we found the stakes placed by Wright across the glacier, and spent the remainder of the day and the whole of the 20th in plotting their position accurately. (Very cold wind down glacier increasing. In spite of this Bowers wrestled with theodolite. He is really wonderful. I have never seen anyone who could go on so long with bare fingers. My own fingers went every few moments.)We saw that there had been movement and roughly measured it as about 30 feet. (The old Ferrar Glacier is more lively than we thought.) After plotting the figures it turns out that the movement varies from 24 to 32 feet at different stakes--this is 7 1/2 months. This is an extremely important observation, the first made on the movement of the coastal glaciers; it is more than I expected to find, but small enough to show that the idea of comparative stagnation was correct. Bowers and I exposed a number of plates and films in the glacier which have turned out very well, auguring well for the management of the camera on the Southern journey. On the 21st we came down the glacier and camped at the northern end of the foot. (There appeared to be a storm in the Strait; cumulus cloud over Erebus and the whalebacks. Very stormy look over Lister occasionally and drift from peaks; but all smiling in our Happy Valley. Evidently this is a very favoured spot.) From thence we jogged up the coast on the following days, dipping into New Harbour and climbing the moraine, taking angles and collecting rock specimens. At Cape Bernacchi we found a quantity of pure quartz _in situ_, and in it veins of copper ore. I got a specimen with two or three large lumps of copper included. This is the first find of minerals suggestive of the possibility of working. The next day we sighted a long, low ice wall, and took it at first for a long glacier tongue stretching seaward from the land. As we approached we saw a dark mark on it. Suddenly it dawned on us that the tongue was detached from the land, and we turned towards it half recognising familiar features. As we got close we saw similarity to our old Erebus Glacier Tongue, and finally caught sight of a flag on it, and suddenly realised that it might be the piece broken off our old Erebus Glacier Tongue. Sure enough it was; we camped near the outer end, and climbing on to it soon found the depot of fodder left by Campbell and the line of stakes planted to guide our ponies in the autumn. So here firmly anchored was the huge piece broken from the Glacier Tongue in March, a huge tract about 2 miles long, which has turned through half a circle, so that the old western end is now towards the east. Considering the many cracks in the ice mass it is most astonishing that it should have remained intact throughout its sea voyage. At one time it was suggested that the hut should be placed on this Tongue. What an adventurous voyage the occupants would have had! The Tongue which was 5 miles south of C. Evans is now 40 miles W.N.W. of it. From the Glacier Tongue we still pushed north. We reached Dunlop Island on the 24th just before the fog descended on us, and got a view along the stretch of coast to the north which turns at this point. Dunlop Island has undoubtedly been under the sea. We found regular terrace beaches with rounded waterworn stones all over it; its height is 65 feet. After visiting the island it was easy for us to trace the same terrace formation on the coast; in one place we found waterworn stones over 100 feet above sea-level. Nearly all these stones are erratic and, unlike ordinary beach pebbles, the under sides which lie buried have remained angular. Unlike the region of the Ferrar Glacier and New Harbour, the coast to the north of C. Bernacchi runs on in a succession of rounded bays fringed with low ice walls. At the headlands and in irregular spots the gneissic base rock and portions of moraines lie exposed, offering a succession of interesting spots for a visit in search of geological specimens. Behind this fringe there is a long undulating plateau of snow rounding down to the coast; behind this again are a succession of mountain ranges with deep-cut valleys between. As far as we went, these valleys seem to radiate from the region of the summit reached at the head of the Ferrar Glacier. As one approaches the coast, the 'tablecloth' of snow in the foreground cuts off more and more of the inland peaks, and even at a distance it is impossible to get a good view of the inland valleys. To explore these over the ice cap is one of the objects of the Western Party. So far, I never imagined a spring journey could be so pleasant. On the afternoon of the 24th we turned back, and covering nearly eleven miles, camped inside the Glacier Tongue. After noon on the 25th we made a direct course for C. Evans, and in the evening camped well out in the Sound. Bowers got angles from our lunch camp and I took a photographic panorama, which is a good deal over exposed. We only got 2 1/2 miles on the 26th when a heavy blizzard descended on us. We went on against it, the first time I have ever attempted to march into a blizzard; it was quite possible, but progress very slow owing to wind resistance. Decided to camp after we had done two miles. Quite a job getting up the tent, but we managed to do so, and get everything inside clear of snow with the help of much sweeping. With care and extra fuel we have managed to get through the snowy part of the blizzard with less accumulation of snow than I ever remember, and so everywhere all round experience is helping us. It continued to blow hard throughout the 27th, and the 28th proved the most unpleasant day of the trip. We started facing a very keen, frostbiting wind. Although this slowly increased in force, we pushed doggedly on, halting now and again to bring our frozen features round. It was 2 o'clock before we could find a decent site for a lunch camp under a pressure ridge. The fatigue of the prolonged march told on Simpson, whose whole face was frostbitten at one time--it is still much blistered. It came on to drift as we sat in our tent, and again we were weather-bound. At 3 the drift ceased, and we marched on, wind as bad as ever; then I saw an ominous yellow fuzzy appearance on the southern ridges of Erebus, and knew that another snowstorm approached. Foolishly hoping it would pass us by I kept on until Inaccessible Island was suddenly blotted out. Then we rushed for a camp site, but the blizzard was on us. In the driving snow we found it impossible to set up the inner tent, and were obliged to unbend it. It was a long job getting the outer tent set, but thanks to Evans and Bowers it was done at last. We had to risk frostbitten fingers and hang on to the tent with all our energy: got it secured inch by inch, and not such a bad speed all things considered. We had some cocoa and waited. At 9 P.M. the snow drift again took off, and we were now so snowed up, we decided to push on in spite of the wind. We arrived in at 1.15 A.M., pretty well done. The wind never let up for an instant; the temperature remained about -16°, and the 21 statute miles which we marched in the day must be remembered amongst the most strenuous in my memory. Except for the last few days, we enjoyed a degree of comfort which I had not imagined impossible on a spring journey. The temperature was not particularly high, at the mouth of the Ferrar it was -40°, and it varied between -15° and -40° throughout. Of course this is much higher than it would be on the Barrier, but it does not in itself promise much comfort. The amelioration of such conditions we owe to experience. We used one-third more than the summer allowance of fuel. This, with our double tent, allowed a cosy hour after breakfast and supper in which we could dry our socks, &c., and put them on in comfort. We shifted our footgear immediately after the camp was pitched, and by this means kept our feet glowingly warm throughout the night. Nearly all the time we carried our sleeping-bags open on the sledges. Although the sun does not appear to have much effect, I believe this device is of great benefit even in the coldest weather--certainly by this means our bags were kept much freer of moisture than they would have been had they been rolled up in the daytime. The inner tent gets a good deal of ice on it, and I don't see any easy way to prevent this. The journey enables me to advise the Geological Party on their best route to Granite Harbour: this is along the shore, where for the main part the protection of a chain of grounded bergs has preserved the ice from all pressure. Outside these, and occasionally reaching to the headlands, there is a good deal of pressed up ice of this season, together with the latest of the old broken pack. Travelling through this is difficult, as we found on our return journey. Beyond this belt we passed through irregular patches where the ice, freezing at later intervals in the season, has been much screwed. The whole shows the general tendency of the ice to pack along the coast. The objects of our little journey were satisfactorily accomplished, but the greatest source of pleasure to me is to realise that I have such men as Bowers and P.O. Evans for the Southern journey. I do not think that harder men or better sledge travellers ever took the trail. Bowers is a little wonder. I realised all that he must have done for the C. Crozier Party in their far severer experience. In spite of the late hour of our return everyone was soon afoot, and I learned the news at once. E.R. Evans, Gran, and Forde had returned from the Corner Camp journey the day after we left. They were away six nights, four spent on the Barrier under very severe conditions--the minimum for one night registered -73°. I am glad to find that Corner Camp showed up well; in fact, in more than one place remains of last year's pony walls were seen. This removes all anxiety as to the chance of finding the One Ton Camp. On this journey Forde got his hand badly frostbitten. I am annoyed at this, as it argues want of care; moreover there is a good chance that the tip of one of the fingers will be lost, and if this happens or if the hand is slow in recovery, Forde cannot take part in the Western Party. I have no one to replace him. E.R. Evans looks remarkably well, as also Gran. The ponies look very well and all are reported to be very buckish. _Wednesday, October_ 3.--We have had a very bad weather spell. Friday, the day after we returned, was gloriously fine--it might have been a December day, and an inexperienced visitor might have wondered why on earth we had not started to the South, Saturday supplied a reason; the wind blew cold and cheerless; on Sunday it grew worse, with very thick snow, which continued to fall and drift throughout the whole of Monday. The hut is more drifted up than it has ever been, huge piles of snow behind every heap of boxes, &c., all our paths a foot higher; yet in spite of this the rocks are rather freer of snow. This is due to melting, which is now quite considerable. Wilson tells me the first signs of thaw were seen on the 17th. Yesterday the weather gradually improved, and to-day has been fine and warm again. One fine day in eight is the record immediately previous to this morning. E.R. Evans, Debenham, and Gran set off to the Turk's Head on Friday morning, Evans to take angles and Debenham to geologise; they have been in their tent pretty well all the time since, but have managed to get through some work. Gran returned last night for more provisions and set off again this morning, Taylor going with him for the day. Debenham has just returned for food. He is immensely pleased at having discovered a huge slicken-sided fault in the lavas of the Turk's Head. This appears to be an unusual occurrence in volcanic rocks, and argues that they are of considerable age. He has taken a heap of photographs and is greatly pleased with all his geological observations. He is building up much evidence to show volcanic disturbance independent of Erebus and perhaps prior to its first upheaval. Meares has been at Hut Point for more than a week; seals seem to be plentiful there now. Demetri was back with letters on Friday and left on Sunday. He is an excellent boy, full of intelligence. Ponting has been doing some wonderfully fine cinematograph work. My incursion into photography has brought me in close touch with him and I realise what a very good fellow he is; no pains are too great for him to take to help and instruct others, whilst his enthusiasm for his own work is unlimited. His results are wonderfully good, and if he is able to carry out the whole of his programme, we shall have a cinematograph and photographic record which will be absolutely new in expeditionary work. A very serious bit of news to-day. Atkinson says that Jehu is still too weak to pull a load. The pony was bad on the ship and almost died after swimming ashore from the ship--he was one of the ponies returned by Campbell. He has been improving the whole of the winter and Oates has been surprised at the apparent recovery; he looks well and feeds well, though a very weedily built animal compared with the others. I had not expected him to last long, but it will be a bad blow if he fails at the start. I'm afraid there is much pony trouble in store for us. Oates is having great trouble with Christopher, who didn't at all appreciate being harnessed on Sunday, and again to-day he broke away and galloped off over the floe. On such occasions Oates trudges manfully after him, rounds him up to within a few hundred yards of the stable and approaches cautiously; the animal looks at him for a minute or two and canters off over the floe again. When Christopher and indeed both of them have had enough of the game, the pony calmly stops at the stable door. If not too late he is then put into the sledge, but this can only be done by tying up one of his forelegs; when harnessed and after he has hopped along on three legs for a few paces, he is again allowed to use the fourth. He is going to be a trial, but he is a good strong pony and should do yeoman service. Day is increasingly hopeful about the motors. He is an ingenious person and has been turning up new rollers out of a baulk of oak supplied by Meares, and with Simpson's small motor as a lathe. The motors _may_ save the situation. I have been busy drawing up instructions and making arrangements for the ship, shore station, and sledge parties in the coming season. There is still much work to be done and much, far too much, writing before me. Time simply flies and the sun steadily climbs the heavens. Breakfast, lunch, and supper are now all enjoyed by sunlight, whilst the night is no longer dark. Notes at End of Volume 'When they after their headstrong manner, conclude that it is their duty to rush on their journey all weathers; ... '--'Pilgrim's Progress.' 'Has any grasped the low grey mist which stands Ghostlike at eve above the sheeted lands.' A bad attack of integrity!! 'Who is man and what his place, Anxious asks the heart perplext, In the recklessness of space, Worlds with worlds thus intermixt, What has he, this atom creature, In the infinitude of nature?' F.T. PALGRAVE. It is a good lesson--though it may be a hard one--for a man who had dreamed of a special (literary) fame and of making for himself a rank among the world's dignitaries by such means, to slip aside out of the narrow circle in which his claims are recognised, and to find how utterly devoid of significance beyond that circle is all he achieves and all he aims at. He might fail from want of skill or strength, but deep in his sombre soul he vowed that it should never be from want of heart. 'Every durable bond between human beings is founded in or heightened by some element of competition.'--R.L. STEVENSON. 'All natural talk is a festival of ostentation.'--R.L. STEVENSON. 'No human being ever spoke of scenery for two minutes together, which makes me suspect we have too much of it in literature. The weather is regarded as the very nadir and scoff of conversational topics.'--R.L. STEVENSON. CHAPTER XV The Last Weeks at Cape Evans _Friday, October_ 6.--With the rise of temperature there has been a slight thaw in the hut; the drips come down the walls and one has found my diary, as its pages show. The drips are already decreasing, and if they represent the whole accumulation of winter moisture it is extraordinarily little, and speaks highly for the design of the hut. There cannot be very much more or the stains would be more significant. Yesterday I had a good look at Jehu and became convinced that he is useless; he is much too weak to pull a load, and three weeks can make no difference. It is necessary to face the facts and I've decided to leave him behind--we must do with nine ponies. Chinaman is rather a doubtful quantity and James Pigg is not a tower of strength, but the other seven are in fine form and must bear the brunt of the work somehow. If we suffer more loss we shall depend on the motor, and then! ... well, one must face the bad as well as the good. It is some comfort to know that six of the animals at least are in splendid condition--Victor, Snippets, Christopher, Nobby, Bones are as fit as ponies could well be and are naturally strong, well-shaped beasts, whilst little Michael, though not so shapely, is as strong as he will ever be. To-day Wilson, Oates, Cherry-Garrard, and Crean have gone to Hut Point with their ponies, Oates getting off with Christopher after some difficulty. At 5 o'clock the Hut Point telephone bell suddenly rang (the line was laid by Meares some time ago, but hitherto there has been no communication). In a minute or two we heard a voice, and behold! communication was established. I had quite a talk with Meares and afterwards with Oates. Not a very wonderful fact, perhaps, but it seems wonderful in this primitive land to be talking to one's fellow beings 15 miles away. Oates told me that the ponies had arrived in fine order, Christopher a little done, but carrying the heaviest load. If we can keep the telephone going it will be a great boon, especially to Meares later in the season. The weather is extraordinarily unsettled; the last two days have been fairly fine, but every now and again we get a burst of wind with drift, and to-night it is overcast and very gloomy in appearance. The photography craze is in full swing. Ponting's mastery is ever more impressive, and his pupils improve day by day; nearly all of us have produced good negatives. Debenham and Wright are the most promising, but Taylor, Bowers and I are also getting the hang of the tricky exposures. _Saturday, October_ 7.--As though to contradict the suggestion of incompetence, friend 'Jehu' pulled with a will this morning--he covered 3 1/2 miles without a stop, the surface being much worse than it was two days ago. He was not at all distressed when he stopped. If he goes on like this he comes into practical politics again, and I am arranging to give 10-feet sledges to him and Chinaman instead of 12-feet. Probably they will not do much, but if they go on as at present we shall get something out of them. Long and cheerful conversations with Hut Point and of course an opportunity for the exchange of witticisms. We are told it was blowing and drifting at Hut Point last night, whereas here it was calm and snowing; the wind only reached us this afternoon. _Sunday, October_ 8.--A very beautiful day. Everyone out and about after Service, all ponies going well. Went to Pressure Ridge with Ponting and took a number of photographs. So far good, but the afternoon has brought much worry. About five a telephone message from Nelson's igloo reported that Clissold had fallen from a berg and hurt his back. Bowers organised a sledge party in three minutes, and fortunately Atkinson was on the spot and able to join it. I posted out over the land and found Ponting much distressed and Clissold practically insensible. At this moment the Hut Point ponies were approaching and I ran over to intercept one in case of necessity. But the man# party was on the spot first, and after putting the patient in a sleeping-bag, quickly brought him home to the hut. It appears that Clissold was acting as Ponting's 'model' and that the two had been climbing about the berg to get pictures. As far as I can make out Ponting did his best to keep Clissold in safety by lending him his crampons and ice axe, but the latter seems to have missed his footing after one of his 'poses'; he slid over a rounded surface of ice for some 12 feet, then dropped 6 feet on to a sharp angle in the wall of the berg. He must have struck his back and head; the latter is contused and he is certainly suffering from slight concussion. He complained of his back before he grew unconscious and groaned a good deal when moved in the hut. He came to about an hour after getting to the hut, and was evidently in a good deal of pain; neither Atkinson nor Wilson thinks there is anything very serious, but he has not yet been properly examined and has had a fearful shock at the least. I still feel very anxious. To-night Atkinson has injected morphia and will watch by his patient. Troubles rarely come singly, and it occurred to me after Clissold had been brought in that Taylor, who had been bicycling to the Turk's Head, was overdue. We were relieved to hear that with glasses two figures could be seen approaching in South Bay, but at supper Wright appeared very hot and said that Taylor was exhausted in South Bay--he wanted brandy and hot drink. I thought it best to despatch another relief party, but before they were well round the point Taylor was seen coming over the land. He was fearfully done. He must have pressed on towards his objective long after his reason should have warned him that it was time to turn; with this and a good deal of anxiety about Clissold, the day terminates very unpleasantly. _Tuesday, October_ 10.--Still anxious about Clissold. He has passed two fairly good nights but is barely able to move. He is unnaturally irritable, but I am told this is a symptom of concussion. This morning he asked for food, which is a good sign, and he was anxious to know if his sledging gear was being got ready. In order not to disappoint him he was assured that all would be ready, but there is scarce a slender chance that he can fill his place in the programme. Meares came from Hut Point yesterday at the front end of a blizzard. Half an hour after his arrival it was as thick as a hedge. He reports another loss--Deek, one of the best pulling dogs, developed the same symptoms which have so unaccountably robbed us before, spent a night in pain, and died in the morning. Wilson thinks the cause is a worm which gets into the blood and thence to the brain. It is trying, but I am past despondency. Things must take their course. Forde's fingers improve, but not very rapidly; it is hard to have two sick men after all the care which has been taken. The weather is very poor--I had hoped for better things this month. So far we have had more days with wind and drift than without. It interferes badly with the ponies' exercise. _Friday, October_ 13.--The past three days have seen a marked improvement in both our invalids. Clissold's inside has been got into working order after a good deal of difficulty; he improves rapidly in spirits as well as towards immunity from pain. The fiction of his preparation to join the motor sledge party is still kept up, but Atkinson says there is not the smallest chance of his being ready. I shall have to be satisfied if he practically recovers by the time we leave with the ponies. Forde's hand took a turn for the better two days ago and he maintains this progress. Atkinson thinks he will be ready to start in ten days' time, but the hand must be carefully nursed till the weather becomes really summery. The weather has continued bad till to-day, which has been perfectly beautiful. A fine warm sun all day--so warm that one could sit about outside in the afternoon, and photographic work was a real pleasure. The ponies have been behaving well, with exceptions. Victor is now quite easy to manage, thanks to Bowers' patience. Chinaman goes along very steadily and is not going to be the crock we expected. He has a slow pace which may be troublesome, but when the weather is fine that won't matter if he can get along steadily. The most troublesome animal is Christopher. He is only a source of amusement as long as there is no accident, but I am always a little anxious that he will kick or bite someone. The curious thing is that he is quiet enough to handle for walking or riding exercise or in the stable, but as soon as a sledge comes into the programme he is seized with a very demon of viciousness, and bites and kicks with every intent to do injury. It seems to be getting harder rather than easier to get him into the traces; the last two turns, he has had to be thrown, as he is unmanageable even on three legs. Oates, Bowers, and Anton gather round the beast and lash up one foreleg, then with his head held on both sides Oates gathers back the traces; quick as lightning the little beast flashes round with heels flying aloft. This goes on till some degree of exhaustion gives the men a better chance. But, as I have mentioned, during the last two days the period has been so prolonged that Oates has had to hasten matters by tying a short line to the other foreleg and throwing the beast when he lashes out. Even when on his knees he continues to struggle, and one of those nimble hind legs may fly out at any time. Once in the sledge and started on three legs all is well and the fourth leg can be released. At least, all has been well until to-day, when quite a comedy was enacted. He was going along quietly with Oates when a dog frightened him: he flung up his head, twitched the rope out of Oates' hands and dashed away. It was not a question of blind fright, as immediately after gaining freedom he set about most systematically to get rid of his load. At first he gave sudden twists, and in this manner succeeded in dislodging two bales of hay; then he caught sight of other sledges and dashed for them. They could scarcely get out of his way in time; the fell intention was evident all through, to dash his load against some other pony and sledge and so free himself of it. He ran for Bowers two or three times with this design, then made for Keohane, never going off far and dashing inward with teeth bared and heels flying all over the place. By this time people were gathering round, and first one and then another succeeded in clambering on to the sledge as it flew by, till Oates, Bowers, Nelson, and Atkinson were all sitting on it. He tried to rid himself of this human burden as he had of the hay bales, and succeeded in dislodging Atkinson with violence, but the remainder dug their heels into the snow and finally the little brute was tired out. Even then he tried to savage anyone approaching his leading line, and it was some time before Oates could get hold of it. Such is the tale of Christopher. I am exceedingly glad there are not other ponies like him. These capers promise trouble, but I think a little soft snow on the Barrier may effectually cure them. E.R. Evans and Gran return to-night. We received notice of their departure from Hut Point through the telephone, which also informed us that Meares had departed for his first trip to Corner Camp. Evans says he carried eight bags of forage and that the dogs went away at a great pace. In spite of the weather Evans has managed to complete his survey to Hut Point. He has evidently been very careful with it and has therefore done a very useful bit of work. _Sunday, October_ 15.--Both of our invalids progress favourably. Clissold has had two good nights without the aid of drugs and has recovered his good spirits; pains have departed from his back. The weather is very decidedly warmer and for the past three days has been fine. The thermometer stands but a degree or two below zero and the air feels delightfully mild. Everything of importance is now ready for our start and the ponies improve daily. Clissold's work of cooking has fallen on Hooper and Lashly, and it is satisfactory to find that the various dishes and bread bakings maintain their excellence. It is splendid to have people who refuse to recognise difficulties. _Tuesday, October_ 17.--Things not going very well; with ponies all pretty well. Animals are improving in form rapidly, even Jehu, though I have ceased to count on that animal. To-night the motors were to be taken on to the floe. The drifts make the road very uneven, and the first and best motor overrode its chain; the chain was replaced and the machine proceeded, but just short of the floe was thrust to a steep inclination by a ridge, and the chain again overrode the sprockets; this time by ill fortune Day slipped at the critical moment and without intention jammed the throttle full on. The engine brought up, but there was an ominous trickle of oil under the back axle, and investigation showed that the axle casing (aluminium) had split. The casing has been stripped and brought into the hut; we may be able to do something to it, but time presses. It all goes to show that we want more experience and workshops. I am secretly convinced that we shall not get much help from the motors, yet nothing has ever happened to them that was unavoidable. A little more care and foresight would make them splendid allies. The trouble is that if they fail, no one will ever believe this. Meares got back from Corner Camp at 8 A.M. Sunday morning--he got through on the telephone to report in the afternoon. He must have made the pace, which is promising for the dogs. Sixty geographical miles in two days and a night is good going--about as good as can be. I have had to tell Clissold that he cannot go out with the Motor Party, to his great disappointment. He improves very steadily, however, and I trust will be fit before we leave with the ponies. Hooper replaces him with the motors. I am kept very busy writing and preparing details. We have had two days of northerly wind, a very unusual occurrence; yesterday it was blowing S.E., force 8, temp. -16°, whilst here the wind was north, force 4, temp. -6°. This continued for some hours--a curious meteorological combination. We are pretty certain of a southerly blizzard to follow, I should think. _Wednesday, October_ 18.--The southerly blizzard has burst on us. The air is thick with snow. A close investigation of the motor axle case shows that repair is possible. It looks as though a good strong job could be made of it. Yesterday Taylor and Debenham went to Cape Royds with the object of staying a night or two. _Sunday, October_ 22.--The motor axle case was completed by Thursday morning, and, as far as one can see, Day made a very excellent job of it. Since that the Motor Party has been steadily preparing for its departure. To-day everything is ready. The loads are ranged on the sea ice, the motors are having a trial run, and, all remaining well with the weather, the party will get away to-morrow. Meares and Demetri came down on Thursday through the last of the blizzard. At one time they were running without sight of the leading dogs--they did not see Tent Island at all, but burst into sunshine and comparative calm a mile from the station. Another of the best of the dogs, 'Czigane,' was smitten with the unaccountable sickness; he was given laxative medicine and appears to be a little better, but we are still anxious. If he really has the disease, whatever it may be, the rally is probably only temporary and the end will be swift. The teams left on Friday afternoon, Czigane included; to-day Meares telephones that he is setting out for his second journey to Corner Camp without him. On the whole the weather continues wretchedly bad; the ponies could not be exercised either on Thursday or Friday; they were very fresh yesterday and to-day in consequence. When unexercised, their allowance of oats has to be cut down. This is annoying, as just at present they ought to be doing a moderate amount of work and getting into condition on full rations. The temperature is up to zero about; this probably means about -20° on the Barrier. I wonder how the motors will face the drop if and when they encounter it. Day and Lashly are both hopeful of the machines, and they really ought to do something after all the trouble that has been taken. The wretched state of the weather has prevented the transport of emergency stores to Hut Point. These stores are for the returning depots and to provision the _Discovery_ hut in case the _Terra Nova_ does not arrive. The most important stores have been taken to the Glacier Tongue by the ponies to-day. In the transport department, in spite of all the care I have taken to make the details of my plan clear by lucid explanation, I find that Bowers is the only man on whom I can thoroughly rely to carry out the work without mistake, with its arrays of figures. For the practical consistent work of pony training Oates is especially capable, and his heart is very much in the business. '_October,_ 1911.--I don't know what to think of Amundsen's chances. If he gets to the Pole, it must be before we do, as he is bound to travel fast with dogs and pretty certain to start early. On this account I decided at a very early date to act exactly as I should have done had he not existed. Any attempt to race must have wrecked my plan, besides which it doesn't appear the sort of thing one is out for. 'Possibly you will have heard something before this reaches you. Oh! and there are all sorts of possibilities. In any case you can rely on my not doing or saying anything foolish--only I'm afraid you must be prepared for the chance of finding our venture much belittled. 'After all, it is the work that counts, not the applause that follows. 'Words must always fail me when I talk of Bill Wilson. I believe he really is the finest character I ever met--the closer one gets to him the more there is to admire. Every quality is so solid and dependable; cannot you imagine how that counts down here? Whatever the matter, one knows Bill will be sound, shrewdly practical, intensely loyal and quite unselfish. Add to this a wider knowledge of persons and things than is at first guessable, a quiet vein of humour and really consummate tact, and you have some idea of his values. I think he is the most popular member of the party, and that is saying much. 'Bowers is all and more than I ever expected of him. He is a positive treasure, absolutely trustworthy and prodigiously energetic. He is about the hardest man amongst us, and that is saying a good deal--nothing seems to hurt his tough little body and certainly no hardship daunts his spirit. I shall have a hundred little tales to tell you of his indefatigable zeal, his unselfishness, and his inextinguishable good humour. He surprises always, for his intelligence is of quite a high order and his memory for details most exceptional. You can imagine him, as he is, an indispensable assistant to me in every detail concerning the management and organisation of our sledging work and a delightful companion on the march. 'One of the greatest successes is Wright. He is very thorough and absolutely ready for anything. Like Bowers he has taken to sledging like a duck to water, and although he hasn't had such severe testing, I believe he would stand it pretty nearly as well. Nothing ever seems to worry him, and I can't imagine he ever complained of anything in his life. 'I don't think I will give such long descriptions of the others, though most of them deserve equally high praise. Taken all round they are a perfectly excellent lot.' The Soldier is very popular with all--a delightfully humorous cheery old pessimist--striving with the ponies night and day and bringing woeful accounts of their small ailments into the hut. X.... has a positive passion for helping others--it is extraordinary what pains he will take to do a kind thing unobtrusively. 'One sees the need of having one's heart in one's work. Results can only be got down here by a man desperately eager to get them. 'Y.... works hard at his own work, taking extraordinary pains with it, but with an astonishing lack of initiative he makes not the smallest effort to grasp the work of others; it is a sort of character which plants itself in a corner and will stop there. 'The men are equally fine. Edgar Evans has proved a useful member of our party; he looks after our sledges and sledge equipment with a care of management and a fertility of resource which is truly astonishing--on 'trek' he is just as sound and hard as ever and has an inexhaustible store of anecdote. 'Crean is perfectly happy, ready to do anything and go anywhere, the harder the work, the better. Evans and Crean are great friends. Lashly is his old self in every respect, hard working to the limit, quiet, abstemious, and determined. You see altogether I have a good set of people with me, and it will go hard if we don't achieve something. 'The study of individual character is a pleasant pastime in such a mixed community of thoroughly nice people, and the study of relationships and interactions is fascinating--men of the most diverse upbringings and experience are really pals with one another, and the subjects which would be delicate ground of discussion between acquaintances are just those which are most freely used for jests. For instance the Soldier is never tired of girding at Australia, its people and institutions, and the Australians retaliate by attacking the hide-bound prejudices of the British army. I have never seen a temper lost in these discussions. So as I sit here I am very satisfied with these things. I think that it would have been difficult to better the organisation of the party--every man has his work and is especially adapted for it; there is no gap and no overlap--it is all that I desired, and the same might be said of the men selected to do the work.' It promised to be very fine to-day, but the wind has already sprung up and clouds are gathering again. There was a very beautiful curved 'banner' cloud south of Erebus this morning, perhaps a warning of what is to come. Another accident! At one o'clock 'Snatcher,' one of the three ponies laying the depot, arrived with single trace and dangling sledge in a welter of sweat. Forty minutes after P.O. Evans, his driver, came in almost as hot; simultaneously Wilson arrived with Nobby and a tale of events not complete. He said that after the loads were removed Bowers had been holding the three ponies, who appeared to be quiet; suddenly one had tossed his head and all three had stampeded--Snatcher making for home, Nobby for the Western Mountains, Victor, with Bowers still hanging to him, in an indefinite direction. Running for two miles, he eventually rounded up Nobby west of Tent Island and brought him in._20_ Half an hour after Wilson's return, Bowers came in with Victor distressed, bleeding at the nose, from which a considerable fragment hung semi-detached. Bowers himself was covered with blood and supplied the missing link--the cause of the incident. It appears that the ponies were fairly quiet when Victor tossed his head and caught his nostril in the trace hook on the hame of Snatcher's harness. The hook tore skin and flesh and of course the animal got out of hand. Bowers hung to him, but couldn't possibly keep hold of the other two as well. Victor had bled a good deal, and the blood congealing on the detached skin not only gave the wound a dismal appearance but greatly increased its irritation. I don't know how Bowers managed to hang on to the frightened animal; I don't believe anyone else would have done so. On the way back the dangling weight on the poor creature's nose would get on the swing and make him increasingly restive; it was necessary to stop him repeatedly. Since his return the piece of skin has been snipped off and proves the wound not so serious as it looked. The animal is still trembling, but quite on his feed, which is a good sign. I don't know why our Sundays should always bring these excitements. Two lessons arise. Firstly, however quiet the animals appear, they must not be left by their drivers; no chance must be taken; secondly, the hooks on the hames of the harness must be altered in shape. I suppose such incidents as this were to be expected, one cannot have ponies very fresh and vigorous and expect them to behave like lambs, but I shall be glad when we are off and can know more definitely what resources we can count on. Another trying incident has occurred. We have avoided football this season especially to keep clear of accidents, but on Friday afternoon a match was got up for the cinematograph and Debenham developed a football knee (an old hurt, I have since learnt, or he should not have played). Wilson thinks it will be a week before he is fit to travel, so here we have the Western Party on our hands and wasting the precious hours for that period. The only single compensation is that it gives Forde's hand a better chance. If this waiting were to continue it looks as though we should become a regular party of 'crocks.' Clissold was out of the hut for the first time to-day; he is better but still suffers in his back. The Start of the Motor Sledges _Tuesday, October_ 24.--Two fine days for a wonder. Yesterday the motors seemed ready to start and we all went out on the floe to give them a 'send off.' But the inevitable little defects cropped up, and the machines only got as far as the Cape. A change made by Day in the exhaust arrangements had neglected the heating jackets of the carburetters; one float valve was bent and one clutch troublesome. Day and Lashly spent the afternoon making good these defects in a satisfactory manner. This morning the engines were set going again, and shortly after 10 A.M. a fresh start was made. At first there were a good many stops, but on the whole the engines seemed to be improving all the time. They are not by any means working up to full power yet, and so the pace is very slow. The weights seem to me a good deal heavier than we bargained for. Day sets his motor going, climbs off the car, and walks alongside with an occasional finger on the throttle. Lashly hasn't yet quite got hold of the nice adjustments of his control levers, but I hope will have done so after a day's practice. The only alarming incident was the slipping of the chains when Day tried to start on some ice very thinly covered with snow. The starting effort on such heavily laden sledges is very heavy, but I thought the grip of the pattens and studs would have been good enough on any surface. Looking at the place afterwards I found that the studs had grooved the ice. Now as I write at 12.30 the machines are about a mile out in the South Bay; both can be seen still under weigh, progressing steadily if slowly. I find myself immensely eager that these tractors should succeed, even though they may not be of great help to our southern advance. A small measure of success will be enough to show their possibilities, their ability to revolutionise Polar transport. Seeing the machines at work to-day, and remembering that every defect so far shown is purely mechanical, it is impossible not to be convinced of their value. But the trifling mechanical defects and lack of experience show the risk of cutting out trials. A season of experiment with a small workshop at hand may be all that stands between success and failure. At any rate before we start we shall certainly know if the worst has happened, or if some measure of success attends this unique effort. The ponies are in fine form. Victor, practically recovered from his wound, has been rushing round with a sledge at a great rate. Even Jehu has been buckish, kicking up his heels and gambolling awkwardly. The invalids progress, Clissold a little alarmed about his back, but without cause. Atkinson and Keohane have turned cooks, and do the job splendidly. This morning Meares announced his return from Corner Camp, so that all stores are now out there. The run occupied the same time as the first, when the routine was: first day 17 miles out; second day 13 out, and 13 home; early third day run in. If only one could trust the dogs to keep going like this it would be splendid. On the whole things look hopeful. 1 P.M. motors reported off Razor Back Island, nearly 3 miles out--come, come! _Thursday, October_ 26.--Couldn't see the motors yesterday till I walked well out on the South Bay, when I discovered them with glasses off the Glacier Tongue. There had been a strong wind in the forenoon, but it seemed to me they ought to have got further--annoyingly the telephone gave no news from Hut Point, evidently something was wrong. After dinner Simpson and Gran started for Hut Point. This morning Simpson has just rung up. He says the motors are in difficulties with the surface. The trouble is just that which I noted as alarming on Monday--the chains slip on the very light snow covering of hard ice. The engines are working well, and all goes well when the machines get on to snow. I have organised a party of eight men including myself, and we are just off to see what can be done to help. _Friday, October_ 27.--We were away by 10.30 yesterday. Walked to the Glacier Tongue with gloomy forebodings; but for one gust a beautifully bright inspiriting day. Seals were about and were frequently mistaken for the motors. As we approached the Glacier Tongue, however, and became more alive to such mistakes, we realised that the motors were not in sight. At first I thought they must have sought better surface on the other side of the Tongue, but this theory was soon demolished and we were puzzled to know what had happened. At length walking onward they were descried far away over the floe towards Hut Point; soon after we saw good firm tracks over a snow surface, a pleasant change from the double tracks and slipper places we had seen on the bare ice. Our spirits went up at once, for it was not only evident that the machines were going, but that they were negotiating a very rough surface without difficulty. We marched on and overtook them about 2 1/2 miles from Hut Point, passing Simpson and Gran returning to Cape Evans. From the motors we learnt that things were going pretty well. The engines were working well when once in tune, but the cylinders, especially the two after ones, tended to get too hot, whilst the fan or wind playing on the carburetter tended to make it too cold. The trouble was to get a balance between the two, and this is effected by starting up the engines, then stopping and covering them and allowing the heat to spread by conductivity--of course, a rather clumsy device. We camped ahead of the motors as they camped for lunch. Directly after, Lashly brought his machine along on low gear and without difficulty ran it on to Cape Armitage. Meanwhile Day was having trouble with some bad surface; we had offered help and been refused, and with Evans alone his difficulties grew, whilst the wind sprang up and the snow started to drift. We had walked into the hut and found Meares, but now we all came out again. I sent for Lashly and Hooper and went back to help Day along. We had exasperating delays and false starts for an hour and then suddenly the machine tuned up, and off she went faster than one could walk, reaching Cape Armitage without further hitch. It was blizzing by this time; the snow flew by. We all went back to the hut; Meares and Demetri have been busy, the hut is tidy and comfortable and a splendid brick fireplace had just been built with a brand new stove-pipe leading from it directly upward through the roof. This is really a most creditable bit of work. Instead of the ramshackle temporary structures of last season we have now a solid permanent fireplace which should last for many a year. We spent a most comfortable night. This morning we were away over the floe about 9 A.M. I was anxious to see how the motors started up and agreeably surprised to find that neither driver took more than 20 to 30 minutes to get his machine going, in spite of the difficulties of working a blow lamp in a keen cold wind. Lashly got away very soon, made a short run of about 1/2 mile, and then after a short halt to cool, a long non-stop for quite 3 miles. The Barrier, five geographical miles from Cape Armitage, now looked very close, but Lashly had overdone matters a bit, run out of lubricant and got his engine too hot. The next run yielded a little over a mile, and he was forced to stop within a few hundred yards of the snow slope leading to the Barrier and wait for more lubricant, as well as for the heat balance in his engine to be restored. This motor was going on second gear, and this gives a nice easy walking speed, 2 1/2 to 3 miles an hour; it would be a splendid rate of progress if it was not necessary to halt for cooling. This is the old motor which was used in Norway; the other machine has modified gears. [30] Meanwhile Day had had the usual balancing trouble and had dropped to a speck, but towards the end of our second run it was evident he had overcome these and was coming along at a fine speed. One soon saw that the men beside the sledges were running. To make a long story short, he stopped to hand over lubricating oil, started at a gallop again, and dashed up the slope without a hitch on his top speed--the first man to run a motor on the Great Barrier! There was great cheering from all assembled, but the motor party was not wasting time on jubilation. On dashed the motor, and it and the running men beside it soon grew small in the distance. We went back to help Lashly, who had restarted his engine. If not so dashingly, on account of his slower speed, he also now took the slope without hitch and got a last handshake as he clattered forward. His engine was not working so well as the other, but I think mainly owing to the first overheating and a want of adjustment resulting therefrom. Thus the motors left us, travelling on the best surface they have yet encountered--hard windswept snow without sastrugi--a surface which Meares reports to extend to Corner Camp at least. Providing there is no serious accident, the engine troubles will gradually be got over; of that I feel pretty confident. Every day will see improvement as it has done to date, every day the men will get greater confidence with larger experience of the machines and the conditions. But it is not easy to foretell the extent of the result of older and earlier troubles with the rollers. The new rollers turned up by Day are already splitting, and one of Lashly's chains is in a bad way; it may be possible to make temporary repairs good enough to cope with the improved surface, but it seems probable that Lashly's car will not get very far. It is already evident that had the rollers been metal cased and the runners metal covered, they would now be as good as new. I cannot think why we had not the sense to have this done. As things are I am satisfied we have the right men to deal with the difficulties of the situation. The motor programme is not of vital importance to our plan and it is possible the machines will do little to help us, but already they have vindicated themselves. Even the seamen, who have remained very sceptical of them, have been profoundly impressed. Evans said, 'Lord, sir, I reckon if them things can go on like that you wouldn't want nothing else'--but like everything else of a novel nature, it is the actual sight of them at work that is impressive, and nothing short of a hundred miles over the Barrier will carry conviction to outsiders. Parting with the motors, we made haste back to Hut Point and had tea there. My feet had got very sore with the unaccustomed soft foot-gear and crinkly surface, but we decided to get back to Cape Evans. We came along in splendid weather, and after stopping for a cup of tea at Razor Back, reached the hut at 9 P.M., averaging 3 1/2 stat. miles an hour. During the day we walked 26 1/2 stat. miles, not a bad day's work considering condition, but I'm afraid my feet are going to suffer for it. _Saturday, October_ 28.--My feet sore and one 'tendon Achillis' strained (synovitis); shall be right in a day or so, however. Last night tremendous row in the stables. Christopher and Chinaman discovered fighting. Gran nearly got kicked. These ponies are getting above themselves with their high feeding. Oates says that Snippets is still lame and has one leg a little 'heated'; not a pleasant item of news. Debenham is progressing but not very fast; the Western Party will leave after us, of that there is no doubt now. It is trying that they should be wasting the season in this way. All things considered, I shall be glad to get away and put our fortune to the test. _Monday, October_ 30.--We had another beautiful day yesterday, and one began to feel that the summer really had come; but to-day, after a fine morning, we have a return to blizzard conditions. It is blowing a howling gale as I write. Yesterday Wilson, Crean, P.O. Evans, and I donned our sledging kit and camped by the bergs for the benefit of Ponting and his cinematograph; he got a series of films which should be about the most interesting of all his collection. I imagine nothing will take so well as these scenes of camp life. On our return we found Meares had returned; he and the dogs well. He told us that (Lieut.) Evans had come into Hut Point on Saturday to fetch a personal bag left behind there. Evans reported that Lashly's motor had broken down near Safety Camp; they found the big end smashed up in one cylinder and traced it to a faulty casting; they luckily had spare parts, and Day and Lashly worked all night on repairs in a temperature of -25°. By the morning repairs were completed and they had a satisfactory trial run, dragging on loads with both motors. Then Evans found out his loss and returned on ski, whilst, as I gather, the motors proceeded; I don't quite know how, but I suppose they ran one on at a time. On account of this accident and because some of our hardest worked people were badly hit by the two days' absence helping the machines, I have decided to start on Wednesday instead of to-morrow. If the blizzard should blow out, Atkinson and Keohane will set off to-morrow for Hut Point, so that we may see how far Jehu is to be counted on. _Tuesday, October_ 31.--The blizzard has blown itself out this morning, and this afternoon it has cleared; the sun is shining and the wind dropping. Meares and Ponting are just off to Hut Point. Atkinson and Keohane will probably leave in an hour or so as arranged, and if the weather holds, we shall all get off to-morrow. So here end the entries in this diary with the first chapter of our History. The future is in the lap of the gods; I can think of nothing left undone to deserve success. CHAPTER XVI Southern Journey: The Barrier Stage _November_ 1.--Last night we heard that Jehu had reached Hut Point in about 5 1/2 hours. This morning we got away in detachments--Michael, Nobby, Chinaman were first to get away about 11 A.M. The little devil Christopher was harnessed with the usual difficulty and started in kicking mood, Oates holding on for all he was worth. Bones ambled off gently with Crean, and I led Snippets in his wake. Ten minutes after Evans and Snatcher passed at the usual full speed. The wind blew very strong at the Razor Back and the sky was threatening--the ponies hate the wind. A mile south of this island Bowers and Victor passed me, leaving me where I best wished to be--at the tail of the line. About this place I saw that one of the animals ahead had stopped and was obstinately refusing to go forward again. I had a great fear it was Chinaman, the unknown quantity, but to my relief found it was my old friend 'Nobby' in obstinate mood. As he is very strong and fit the matter was soon adjusted with a little persuasion from Anton behind. Poor little Anton found it difficult to keep the pace with short legs. Snatcher soon led the party and covered the distance in four hours. Evans said he could see no difference at the end from the start--the little animal simply romped in. Bones and Christopher arrived almost equally fresh, in fact the latter had been bucking and kicking the whole way. For the present there is no end to his devilment, and the great consideration is how to safeguard Oates. Some quiet ponies should always be near him, a difficult matter to arrange with such varying rates of walking. A little later I came up to a batch, Bowers, Wilson, Cherry, and Wright, and was happy to see Chinaman going very strong. He is not fast, but very steady, and I think should go a long way. Victor and Michael forged ahead again, and the remaining three of us came in after taking a little under five hours to cover the distance. We were none too soon, as the weather had been steadily getting worse, and soon after our arrival it was blowing a gale. _Thursday, November_ 2.--Hut Point. The march teaches a good deal as to the paces of the ponies. It reminded me of a regatta or a somewhat disorganised fleet with ships of very unequal speed. The plan of further advance has now been evolved. We shall start in three parties--the very slow ponies, the medium paced, and the fliers. Snatcher starting last will probably overtake the leading unit. All this requires a good deal of arranging. We have decided to begin night marching, and shall get away after supper, I hope. The weather is hourly improving, but at this season that does not count for much. At present our ponies are very comfortably stabled. Michael, Chinaman and James Pigg are actually in the hut. Chinaman kept us alive last night by stamping on the floor. Meares and Demetri are here with the dog team, and Ponting with a great photographic outfit. I fear he won't get much chance to get results. _Friday, November_ 3.--Camp 1. A keen wind with some drift at Hut Point, but we sailed away in detachments. Atkinson's party, Jehu, Chinaman and Jimmy Pigg led off at eight. Just before ten Wilson, Cherry-Garrard and I left. Our ponies marched steadily and well together over the sea ice. The wind dropped a good deal, but the temperature with it, so that the little remaining was very cutting. We found Atkinson at Safety Camp. He had lunched and was just ready to march out again; he reports Chinaman and Jehu tired. Ponting arrived soon after we had camped with Demetri and a small dog team. The cinematograph was up in time to catch the flying rearguard which came along in fine form, Snatcher leading and being stopped every now and again--a wonderful little beast. Christopher had given the usual trouble when harnessed, but was evidently subdued by the Barrier Surface. However, it was not thought advisable to halt him, and so the party fled through in the wake of the advance guard. After lunch we packed up and marched on steadily as before. I don't like these midnight lunches, but for man the march that follows is pleasant when, as to-day, the wind falls and the sun steadily increases its heat. The two parties in front of us camped 5 miles beyond Safety Camp, and we reached their camp some half or three-quarters of an hour later. All the ponies are tethered in good order, but most of them are tired--Chinaman and Jehu _very tired_. Nearly all are inclined to be off feed, but this is very temporary, I think. We have built walls, but there is no wind and the sun gets warmer every minute. _Mirage_.--Very marked waving effect to east. Small objects greatly exaggerated and showing as dark vertical lines. 1 P.M.--Feeding time. Woke the party, and Oates served out the rations--all ponies feeding well. It is a sweltering day, the air breathless, the glare intense--one loses sight of the fact that the temperature is low (-22°)--one's mind seeks comparison in hot sunlit streets and scorching pavements, yet six hours ago my thumb was frostbitten. All the inconveniences of frozen footwear and damp clothes and sleeping-bags have vanished entirely. A petrol tin is near the camp and a note stating that the motor passed at 9 P.M. 28th, going strong--they have 4 to 5 days' lead and should surely keep it. 'Bones has eaten Christopher's goggles.' This announcement by Crean, meaning that Bones had demolished the protecting fringe on Christopher's bridle. These fringes promise very well--Christopher without his is blinking in the hot sun. _Saturday, November_ 4.--Camp 2. Led march--started in what I think will now become the settled order. Atkinson went at 8, ours at 10, Bowers, Oates and Co. at 11.15. Just after starting picked up cheerful note and saw cheerful notices saying all well with motors, both going excellently. Day wrote 'Hope to meet in 80° 30' (Lat.).' Poor chap, within 2 miles he must have had to sing a different tale. It appears they had a bad ground on the morning of the 29th. I suppose the surface was bad and everything seemed to be going wrong. They 'dumped' a good deal of petrol and lubricant. Worse was to follow. Some 4 miles out we met a tin pathetically inscribed, 'Big end Day's motor No. 2 cylinder broken.' Half a mile beyond, as I expected, we found the motor, its tracking sledges and all. Notes from Evans and Day told the tale. The only spare had been used for Lashly's machine, and it would have taken a long time to strip Day's engine so that it could run on three cylinders. They had decided to abandon it and push on with the other alone. They had taken the six bags of forage and some odds and ends, besides their petrol and lubricant. So the dream of great help from the machines is at an end! The track of the remaining motor goes steadily forward, but now, of course, I shall expect to see it every hour of the march. The ponies did pretty well--a cruel soft surface most of the time, but light loads, of course. Jehu is better than I expected to find him, Chinaman not so well. They are bad crocks both of them. It was pretty cold during the night, -7° when we camped, with a crisp breeze blowing. The ponies don't like it, but now, as I write, the sun is shining through a white haze, the wind has dropped, and the picketing line is comfortable for the poor beasts. This, 1 P.M., is the feeding hour--the animals are not yet on feed, but they are coming on. The wind vane left here in the spring shows a predominance of wind from the S.W. quarter. Maximum scratching, about S.W. by W. _Sunday, November_ 5.--Camp 3. 'Corner Camp.' We came over the last lap of the first journey in good order--ponies doing well in soft surface, but, of course, lightly loaded. To-night will show what we can do with the heavier weights. A very troubled note from Evans (with motor) written on morning of 2nd, saying maximum speed was about 7 miles per day. They have taken on nine bags of forage, but there are three black dots to the south which we can only imagine are the deserted motor with its loaded sledges. The men have gone on as a supporting party, as directed. It is a disappointment. I had hoped better of the machines once they got away on the Barrier Surface. The appetites of the ponies are very fanciful. They do not like the oil cake, but for the moment seem to take to some fodder left here. However, they are off that again to-day. It is a sad pity they won't eat well now, because later on one can imagine how ravenous they will become. Chinaman and Jehu will not go far I fear. _Monday, November_ 6.--Camp 4. We started in the usual order, arranging so that full loads should be carried if the black dots to the south prove to be the motor. On arrival at these we found our fears confirmed. A note from Evans stated a recurrence of the old trouble. The big end of No. 1 cylinder had cracked, the machine otherwise in good order. Evidently the engines are not fitted for working in this climate, a fact that should be certainly capable of correction. One thing is proved; the system of propulsion is altogether satisfactory. The motor party has proceeded as a man-hauling party as arranged. With their full loads the ponies did splendidly, even Jehu and Chinaman with loads over 450 lbs. stepped out well and have finished as fit as when they started. Atkinson and Wright both think that these animals are improving. The better ponies made nothing of their loads, and my own Snippets had over 700 lbs., sledge included. Of course, the surface is greatly improved; it is that over which we came well last year. We are all much cheered by this performance. It shows a hardening up of ponies which have been well trained; even Oates is pleased! As we came to camp a blizzard threatened, and we built snow walls. One hour after our arrival the wind was pretty strong, but there was not much snow. This state of affairs has continued, but the ponies seem very comfortable. Their new rugs cover them well and the sheltering walls are as high as the animals, so that the wind is practically unfelt behind them. The protection is a direct result of our experience of last year, and it is good to feel that we reaped some reward for that disastrous journey. I am writing late in the day and the wind is still strong. I fear we shall not be able to go on to-night. Christopher gave great trouble again last night--the four men had great difficulty in getting him into his sledge; this is a nuisance which I fear must be endured for some time to come. The temperature, -5°, is lower than I like in a blizzard. It feels chilly in the tent, but the ponies don't seem to mind the wind much. The incidence of this blizzard had certain characters worthy of note:-- Before we started from Corner Camp there was a heavy collection of cloud about Cape Crozier and Mount Terror, and a black line of stratus low on the western slopes of Erebus. With us the sun was shining and it was particularly warm and pleasant. Shortly after we started mist formed about us, waxing and waning in density; a slight southerly breeze sprang up, cumulo-stratus cloud formed overhead with a rather windy appearance (radial E. and W.). At the first halt (5 miles S.) Atkinson called my attention to a curious phenomenon. Across the face of the low sun the strata of mist could be seen rising rapidly, lines of shadow appearing to be travelling upwards against the light. Presumably this was sun-warmed air. The accumulation of this gradually overspread the sky with a layer of stratus, which, however, never seemed to be very dense; the position of the sun could always be seen. Two or three hours later the wind steadily increased in force, with the usual gusty characteristic. A noticeable fact was that the sky was clear and blue above the southern horizon, and the clouds seemed to be closing down on this from time to time. At intervals since, it has lifted, showing quite an expanse of clear sky. The general appearance is that the disturbance is created by conditions about us, and is rather spreading from north to south than coming up with the wind, and this seems rather typical. On the other hand, this is not a bad snow blizzard; although the wind holds, the land, obscured last night, is now quite clear and the Bluff has no mantle. [Added in another hand, probably dictated: Before we felt any air moving, during our A.M. march and the greater part of the previous march, there was dark cloud over Ross Sea off the Barrier, which continued over the Eastern Barrier to the S.E. as a heavy stratus, with here and there an appearance of wind. At the same time, due south of us, dark lines of stratus were appearing, miraged on the horizon, and while we were camping after our A.M. march, these were obscured by banks of white fog (or drift?), and the wind increasing the whole time. My general impression was that the storm came up from the south, but swept round over the eastern part of the Barrier before it became general and included the western part where we were.] _Tuesday, November_ 7.--Camp 4. The blizzard has continued throughout last night and up to this time of writing, late in the afternoon. Starting mildly, with broken clouds, little snow, and gleams of sunshine, it grew in intensity until this forenoon, when there was heavy snowfall and the sky overspread with low nimbus cloud. In the early afternoon the snow and wind took off, and the wind is dropping now, but the sky looks very lowering and unsettled. Last night the sky was so broken that I made certain the end of the blow had come. Towards morning the sky overhead and far to the north was quite clear. More cloud obscured the sun to the south and low heavy banks hung over Ross Island. All seemed hopeful, except that I noted with misgiving that the mantle on the Bluff was beginning to form. Two hours later the whole sky was overcast and the blizzard had fully developed. This Tuesday evening it remains overcast, but one cannot see that the clouds are travelling fast. The Bluff mantle is a wide low bank of stratus not particularly windy in appearance; the wind is falling, but the sky still looks lowering to the south and there is a general appearance of unrest. The temperature has been -10° all day. The ponies, which had been so comparatively comfortable in the earlier stages, were hit as usual when the snow began to fall. We have done everything possible to shelter and protect them, but there seems no way of keeping them comfortable when the snow is thick and driving fast. We men are snug and comfortable enough, but it is very evil to lie here and know that the weather is steadily sapping the strength of the beasts on which so much depends. It requires much philosophy to be cheerful on such occasions. In the midst of the drift this forenoon the dog party came up and camped about a quarter of a mile to leeward. Meares has played too much for safety in catching us so soon, but it is satisfactory to find the dogs will pull the loads and can be driven to face such a wind as we have had. It shows that they ought to be able to help us a good deal. The tents and sledges are badly drifted up, and the drifts behind the pony walls have been dug out several times. I shall be glad indeed to be on the march again, and oh! for a little sun. The ponies are all quite warm when covered by their rugs. Some of the fine drift snow finds its way under the rugs, and especially under the broad belly straps; this melts and makes the coat wet if allowed to remain. It is not easy to understand at first why the blizzard should have such a withering effect on the poor beasts. I think it is mainly due to the exceeding fineness of the snow particles, which, like finely divided powder, penetrate the hair of the coat and lodge in the inner warmths. Here it melts, and as water carries off the animal heat. Also, no doubt, it harasses the animals by the bombardment of the fine flying particles on tender places such as nostrils, eyes, and to lesser extent ears. In this way it continually bothers them, preventing rest. Of all things the most important for horses is that conditions should be placid whilst they stand tethered. _Wednesday, November_ 8.--Camp 5. Wind with overcast threatening sky continued to a late hour last night. The question of starting was open for a long time, and many were unfavourable. I decided we must go, and soon after midnight the advance guard got away. To my surprise, when the rugs were stripped from the 'crocks' they appeared quite fresh and fit. Both Jehu and Chinaman had a skittish little run. When their heads were loose Chinaman indulged in a playful buck. All three started with their loads at a brisk pace. It was a great relief to find that they had not suffered at all from the blizzard. They went out six geographical miles, and our section going at a good round pace found them encamped as usual. After they had gone, we waited for the rearguard to come up and joined with them. For the next 5 miles the bunch of seven kept together in fine style, and with wind dropping, sun gaining in power, and ponies going well, the march was a real pleasure. One gained confidence every moment in the animals; they brought along their heavy loads without a hint of tiredness. All take the patches of soft snow with an easy stride, not bothering themselves at all. The majority halt now and again to get a mouthful of snow, but little Christopher goes through with a non-stop run. He gives as much trouble as ever at the start, showing all sorts of ingenious tricks to escape his harness. Yesterday when brought to his knees and held, he lay down, but this served no end, for before he jumped to his feet and dashed off the traces had been fixed and he was in for the 13 miles of steady work. Oates holds like grim death to his bridle until the first freshness is worn off, and this is no little time, for even after 10 miles he seized a slight opportunity to kick up. Some four miles from this camp Evans loosed Snatcher momentarily. The little beast was off at a canter at once and on slippery snow; it was all Evans could do to hold to the bridle. As it was he dashed across the line, somewhat to its danger. Six hundred yards from this camp there was a bale of forage. Bowers stopped and loaded it on his sledge, bringing his weights to nearly 800 lbs. His pony Victor stepped out again as though nothing had been added. Such incidents are very inspiriting. Of course, the surface is very good; the animals rarely sink to the fetlock joint, and for a good part of the time are borne up on hard snow patches without sinking at all. In passing I mention that there are practically no places where ponies sink to their hocks as described by Shackleton. On the only occasion last year when our ponies sank to their hocks in one soft patch, they were unable to get their loads on at all. The feathering of the fetlock joint is borne up on the snow crust and its upward bend is indicative of the depth of the hole made by the hoof; one sees that an extra inch makes a tremendous difference. We are picking up last year's cairns with great ease, and all show up very distinctly. This is extremely satisfactory for the homeward march. What with pony walls, camp sites and cairns, our track should be easily followed the whole way. Everyone is as fit as can be. It was wonderfully warm as we camped this morning at 11 o'clock; the wind has dropped completely and the sun shines gloriously. Men and ponies revel in such weather. One devoutly hopes for a good spell of it as we recede from the windy northern region. The dogs came up soon after we had camped, travelling easily. _Thursday, November_ 9.--Camp 6. Sticking to programme, we are going a little over the 10 miles (geo.) nightly. Atkinson started his party at 11 and went on for 7 miles to escape a cold little night breeze which quickly dropped. He was some time at his lunch camp, so that starting to join the rearguard we came in together the last 2 miles. The experience showed that the slow advance guard ponies are forced out of their place by joining with the others, whilst the fast rearguard is reduced in speed. Obviously it is not an advantage to be together, yet all the ponies are doing well. An amusing incident happened when Wright left his pony to examine his sledgemeter. Chinaman evidently didn't like being left behind and set off at a canter to rejoin the main body. Wright's long legs barely carried him fast enough to stop this fatal stampede, but the ridiculous sight was due to the fact that old Jehu caught the infection and set off at a sprawling canter in Chinaman's wake. As this is the pony we thought scarcely capable of a single march at start, one is agreeably surprised to find him still displaying such commendable spirit. Christopher is troublesome as ever at the start; I fear that signs of tameness will only indicate absence of strength. The dogs followed us so easily over the 10 miles that Meares thought of going on again, but finally decided that the present easy work is best. Things look hopeful. The weather is beautiful--temp. -12°, with a bright sun. Some stratus cloud about Discovery and over White Island. The sastrugi about here are very various in direction and the surface a good deal ploughed up, showing that the Bluff influences the wind direction even out as far as this camp. The surface is hard; I take it about as good as we shall get. There is an annoying little southerly wind blowing now, and this serves to show the beauty of our snow walls. The ponies are standing under their lee in the bright sun as comfortable as can possibly be. _Friday, November_ 10.--Camp 7. A very horrid march. A strong head wind during the first part--5 miles (geo.)--then a snowstorm. Wright leading found steering so difficult after three miles (geo.) that the party decided to camp. Luckily just before camping he rediscovered Evans' track (motor party) so that, given decent weather, we shall be able to follow this. The ponies did excellently as usual, but the surface is good distinctly. The wind has dropped and the weather is clearing now that we have camped. It is disappointing to miss even 1 1/2 miles. Christopher was started to-day by a ruse. He was harnessed behind his wall and was in the sledge before he realised. Then he tried to bolt, but Titus hung on. _Saturday, November_ 11.--Camp 8. It cleared somewhat just before the start of our march, but the snow which had fallen in the day remained soft and flocculent on the surface. Added to this we entered on an area of soft crust between a few scattered hard sastrugi. In pits between these in places the snow lay in sandy heaps. A worse set of conditions for the ponies could scarcely be imagined. Nevertheless they came through pretty well, the strong ones excellently, but the crocks had had enough at 9 1/2 miles. Such a surface makes one anxious in spite of the rapidity with which changes take place. I expected these marches to be a little difficult, but not near so bad as to-day. It is snowing again as we camp, with a slight north-easterly breeze. It is difficult to make out what is happening to the weather--it is all part of the general warming up, but I wish the sky would clear. In spite of the surface, the dogs ran up from the camp before last, over 20 miles, in the night. They are working splendidly so far. _Sunday, November_ 12.--Camp 9. Our marches are uniformly horrid just at present. The surface remains wretched, not quite so heavy as yesterday, perhaps, but very near it at times. Five miles out the advance party came straight and true on our last year's Bluff depot marked with a flagstaff. Here following I found a note from Evans, cheerful in tone, dated 7 A.M. 7th inst. He is, therefore, the best part of five days ahead of us, which is good. Atkinson camped a mile beyond this cairn and had a very gloomy account of Chinaman. Said he couldn't last more than a mile or two. The weather was horrid, overcast, gloomy, snowy. One's spirits became very low. However, the crocks set off again, the rearguard came up, passed us in camp, and then on the march about 3 miles on, so that they camped about the same time. The Soldier thinks Chinaman will last for a good many days yet, an extraordinary confession of hope for him. The rest of the animals are as well as can be expected--Jehu rather better. These weather appearances change every minute. When we camped there was a chill northerly breeze, a black sky, and light falling snow. Now the sky is clearing and the sun shining an hour later. The temperature remains about -10° in the daytime. _Monday, November 13_.--Camp 10. Another horrid march in a terrible light, surface very bad. Ponies came through all well, but they are being tried hard by the surface conditions. We followed tracks most of the way, neither party seeing the other except towards camping time. The crocks did well, all repeatedly. Either the whole sky has been clear, or the overhanging cloud has lifted from time to time to show the lower rocks. Had we been dependent on land marks we should have fared ill. Evidently a good system of cairns is the best possible travelling arrangement on this great snow plain. Meares and Demetri up with the dogs as usual very soon after we camped. This inpouring of warm moist air, which gives rise to this heavy surface deposit at this season, is certainly an interesting meteorological fact, accounting as it does for the very sudden change in Barrier conditions from spring to summer. _Wednesday, November_ 15.--Camp 12. Found our One Ton Camp without any difficulty [130 geographical miles from Cape Evans]. About 7 or 8 miles. After 5 1/2 miles to lunch camp, Chinaman was pretty tired, but went on again in good form after the rest. All the other ponies made nothing of the march, which, however, was over a distinctly better surface. After a discussion we had decided to give the animals a day's rest here, and then to push forward at the rate of 13 geographical miles a day. Oates thinks the ponies will get through, but that they have lost condition quicker than he expected. Considering his usually pessimistic attitude this must be thought a hopeful view. Personally I am much more hopeful. I think that a good many of the beasts are actually in better form than when they started, and that there is no need to be alarmed about the remainder, always excepting the weak ones which we have always regarded with doubt. Well, we must wait and see how things go. A note from Evans dated the 9th, stating his party has gone on to 80° 30', carrying four boxes of biscuit. He has done something over 30 miles (geo.) in 2 1/2 days--exceedingly good going. I only hope he has built lots of good cairns. It was a very beautiful day yesterday, bright sun, but as we marched, towards midnight, the sky gradually became overcast; very beautiful halo rings formed around the sun. Four separate rings were very distinct. Wilson descried a fifth--the orange colour with blue interspace formed very fine contrasts. We now clearly see the corona ring on the snow surface. The spread of stratus cloud overhead was very remarkable. The sky was blue all around the horizon, but overhead a cumulo-stratus grew early; it seemed to be drifting to the south and later to the east. The broken cumulus slowly changed to a uniform stratus, which seems to be thinning as the sun gains power. There is a very thin light fall of snow crystals, but the surface deposit seems to be abating the evaporation for the moment, outpacing the light snowfall. The crystals barely exist a moment when they light on our equipment, so that everything on and about the sledges is drying rapidly. When the sky was clear above the horizon we got a good view of the distant land all around to the west; white patches of mountains to the W.S.W. must be 120 miles distant. During the night we saw Discovery and the Royal Society Range, the first view for many days, but we have not seen Erebus for a week, and in that direction the clouds seem ever to concentrate. It is very interesting to watch the weather phenomena of the Barrier, but one prefers the sunshine to days such as this, when everything is blankly white and a sense of oppression is inevitable. The temperature fell to -15° last night, with a clear sky; it rose to 0° directly the sky covered and is now just 16° to 20°. Most of us are using goggles with glass of light green tint. We find this colour very grateful to the eyes, and as a rule it is possible to see everything through them even more clearly than with naked vision. The hard sastrugi are now all from the W.S.W. and our cairns are drifted up by winds from that direction; mostly, though, there has evidently been a range of snow-bearing winds round to south. This observation holds from Corner Camp to this camp, showing that apparently all along the coast the wind comes from the land. The minimum thermometer left here shows -73°, rather less than expected; it has been excellently exposed and evidently not at all drifted up with snow at any time. I cannot find the oats I scattered here--rather fear the drift has covered them, but other evidences show that the snow deposit has been very small. _Thursday, November_ 16.--Camp 12. Resting. A stiff little southerly breeze all day, dropping towards evening. The temperature -15°. Ponies pretty comfortable in rugs and behind good walls. We have reorganised the loads, taking on about 580 lbs. with the stronger ponies, 400 odd with the others. _Friday, November_ 17.--Camp 13. Atkinson started about 8.30. We came on about 11, the whole of the remainder. The lunch camp was 7 1/2 miles. Atkinson left as we came in. He was an hour before us at the final camp, 13 1/4 (geo.) miles. On the whole, and considering the weights, the ponies did very well, but the surface was comparatively good. Christopher showed signs of trouble at start, but was coaxed into position for the traces to be hooked. There was some ice on his runner and he had a very heavy drag, therefore a good deal done on arrival; also his load seems heavier and deader than the others. It is early days to wonder whether the little beasts will last; one can only hope they will, but the weakness of breeding and age is showing itself already. The crocks have done wonderfully, so there is really no saying how long or well the fitter animals may go. We had a horribly cold wind on the march. Temp. -18°, force 3. The sun was shining but seemed to make little difference. It is still shining brightly, temp. 11°. Behind the pony walls it is wonderfully warm and the animals look as snug as possible. _Saturday, November_ 18.--Camp 14. The ponies are not pulling well. The surface is, if anything, a little worse than yesterday, but I should think about the sort of thing we shall have to expect henceforward. I had a panic that we were carrying too much food and this morning we have discussed the matter and decided we can leave a sack. We have done the usual 13 miles (geog.) with a few hundred yards to make the 15 statute. The temperature was -21° when we camped last night, now it is -3°. The crocks are going on, very wonderfully. Oates gives Chinaman at least three days, and Wright says he may go for a week. This is slightly inspiriting, but how much better would it have been to have had ten really reliable beasts. It's touch and go whether we scrape up to the Glacier; meanwhile we get along somehow. At any rate the bright sunshine makes everything look more hopeful. _Sunday, November_ 19.--Camp 15. We have struck a real bad surface, sledges pulling well over it, but ponies sinking very deep. The result is to about finish Jehu. He was terribly done on getting in to-night. He may go another march, but not more, I think. Considering the surface the other ponies did well. The ponies occasionally sink halfway to the hock, little Michael once or twice almost to the hock itself. Luckily the weather now is glorious for resting the animals, which are very placid and quiet in the brilliant sun. The sastrugi are confused, the underlying hard patches appear as before to have been formed by a W.S.W. wind, but there are some surface waves pointing to a recent south-easterly wind. Have been taking some photographs, Bowers also. _Monday, November_ 20.--Camp 16. The surface a little better. Sastrugi becoming more and more definite from S.E. Struck a few hard patches which made me hopeful of much better things, but these did not last long. The crocks still go. Jehu seems even a little better than yesterday, and will certainly go another march. Chinaman reported bad the first half march, but bucked up the second. The dogs found the surface heavy. To-morrow I propose to relieve them of a forage bag. The sky was slightly overcast during the march, with radiating cirro-stratus S.S.W.-N.N.E. Now very clear and bright again. Temp, at night -14°, now 4°. A very slight southerly breeze, from which the walls protect the animals well. I feel sure that the long day's rest in the sun is very good for all of them. Our ponies marched very steadily last night. They seem to take the soft crusts and difficult plodding surface more easily. The loss of condition is not so rapid as noticed to One Ton Camp, except perhaps in Victor, who is getting to look very gaunt. Nobby seems fitter and stronger than when he started; he alone is ready to go all his feed at any time and as much more as he can get. The rest feel fairly well, but they are getting a very big strong ration. I am beginning to feel more hopeful about them. Christopher kicked the bow of his sledge in towards the end of the march. He must have a lot left in him though. _Tuesday, November_ 21.--Camp 17. Lat. 80° 35'. The surface decidedly better and the ponies very steady on the march. None seem overtired, and now it is impossible not to take a hopeful view of their prospect of pulling through. (Temp. -14°, night.) The only circumstance to be feared is a reversion to bad surfaces, and that ought not to happen on this course. We marched to the usual lunch camp and saw a large cairn ahead. Two miles beyond we came on the Motor Party in Lat. 80° 32'. We learned that they had been waiting for six days. They all look very fit, but declare themselves to be very hungry. This is interesting as showing conclusively that a ration amply sufficient for the needs of men leading ponies is quite insufficient for men doing hard pulling work; it therefore fully justifies the provision which we have made for the Summit work. Even on that I have little doubt we shall soon get hungry. Day looks very thin, almost gaunt, but fit. The weather is beautiful--long may it so continue. (Temp. +6°, 11 A.M.) It is decided to take on the Motor Party in advance for three days, then Day and Hooper return. We hope Jehu will last three days; he will then be finished in any case and fed to the dogs. It is amusing to see Meares looking eagerly for the chance of a feed for his animals; he has been expecting it daily. On the other hand, Atkinson and Oates are eager to get the poor animal beyond the point at which Shackleton killed his first beast. Reports on Chinaman are very favourable, and it really looks as though the ponies are going to do what is hoped of them. _Wednesday, November_ 22.--Camp 18. Everything much the same. The ponies thinner but not much weaker. The crocks still going along. Jehu is now called 'The Barrier Wonder' and Chinaman 'The Thunderbolt.' Two days more and they will be well past the spot at which Shackleton killed his first animal. Nobby keeps his pre-eminence of condition and has now the heaviest load by some 50 lbs.; most of the others are under 500 lbs. load, and I hope will be eased further yet. The dogs are in good form still, and came up well with their loads this morning (night temp. -14°). It looks as though we ought to get through to the Glacier without great difficulty. The weather is glorious and the ponies can make the most of their rest during the warmest hours, but they certainly lose in one way by marching at night. The surface is much easier for the sledges when the sun is warm, and for about three hours before and after midnight the friction noticeably increases. It is just a question whether this extra weight on the loads is compensated by the resting temperature. We are quite steady on the march now, and though not fast yet get through with few stops. The animals seem to be getting accustomed to the steady, heavy plod and take the deep places less fussily. There is rather an increased condition of false crust, that is, a crust which appears firm till the whole weight of the animal is put upon it, when it suddenly gives some three or four inches. This is very trying for the poor beasts. There are also more patches in which the men sink, so that walking is getting more troublesome, but, speaking broadly, the crusts are not comparatively bad and the surface is rather better than it was. If the hot sun continues this should still further improve. One cannot see any reason why the crust should change in the next 100 miles. (Temp. + 2°.) The land is visible along the western horizon in patches. Bowers points out a continuous dark band. Is this the dolerite sill? _Thursday, November_ 23.--Camp 19. Getting along. I think the ponies will get through; we are now 150 geographical miles from the Glacier. But it is still rather touch and go. If one or more ponies were to go rapidly down hill we might be in queer street. The surface is much the same I think; before lunch there seemed to be a marked improvement, and after lunch the ponies marched much better, so that one supposed a betterment of the friction. It is banking up to the south (T. +9°) and I'm afraid we may get a blizzard. I hope to goodness it is not going to stop one marching; forage won't allow that. _Friday, November 24._--Camp 20. There was a cold wind changing from south to S.E. and overcast sky all day yesterday. A gloomy start to our march, but the cloud rapidly lifted, bands of clear sky broke through from east to west, and the remnants of cloud dissipated. Now the sun is very bright and warm. We did the usual march very easily over a fairly good surface, the ponies now quite steady and regular. Since the junction with the Motor Party the procedure has been for the man-hauling people to go forward just ahead of the crocks, the other party following 2 or 3 hours later. To-day we closed less than usual, so that the crocks must have been going very well. However, the fiat had already gone forth, and this morning after the march poor old Jehu was led back on the track and shot. After our doubts as to his reaching Hut Point, it is wonderful to think that he has actually got eight marches beyond our last year limit and could have gone more. However, towards the end he was pulling very little, and on the whole it is merciful to have ended his life. Chinaman seems to improve and will certainly last a good many days yet. The rest show no signs of flagging and are only moderately hungry. The surface is tiring for walking, as one sinks two or three inches nearly all the time. I feel we ought to get through now. Day and Hooper leave us to-night. _Saturday, November 25._--Camp 21. The surface during the first march was very heavy owing to a liberal coating of ice crystals; it improved during the second march becoming quite good towards the end (T.-2°). Now that it is pretty warm at night it is obviously desirable to work towards day marching. We shall start 2 hours later to-night and again to-morrow night. Last night we bade farewell to Day and Hooper and set out with the new organisation (T.-8°). All started together, the man-haulers, Evans, Lashly, and Atkinson, going ahead with their gear on the 10-ft. sledge. Chinaman and James Pigg next, and the rest some ten minutes behind. We reached the lunch camp together and started therefrom in the same order, the two crocks somewhat behind, but not more than 300 yards at the finish, so we all got into camp very satisfactorily together. The men said the first march was extremely heavy (T.-(-2°). The sun has been shining all night, but towards midnight light mist clouds arose, half obscuring the leading parties. Land can be dimly discerned nearly ahead. The ponies are slowly tiring, but we lighten loads again to-morrow by making another depôt. Meares has just come up to report that Jehu made four feeds for the dogs. He cut up very well and had quite a lot of fat on him. Meares says another pony will carry him to the Glacier. This is very good hearing. The men are pulling with ski sticks and say that they are a great assistance. I think of taking them up the Glacier. Jehu has certainly come up trumps after all, and Chinaman bids fair to be even more valuable. Only a few more marches to feel safe in getting to our first goal. _Sunday, November_ 26.--Camp 22. Lunch camp. Marched here fairly easily, comparatively good surface. Started at 1 A.M. (midnight, local time). We now keep a steady pace of 2 miles an hour, very good going. The sky was slightly overcast at start and between two and three it grew very misty. Before we camped we lost sight of the men-haulers only 300 yards ahead. The sun is piercing the mist. Here in Lat. 81° 35' we are leaving our 'Middle Barrier Depôt,' one week for each re unit as at Mount Hooper. Camp 22.--Snow began falling during the second march; it is blowing from the W.S.W., force 2 to 3, with snow pattering on the tent, a kind of summery blizzard that reminds one of April showers at home. The ponies came well on the second march and we shall start 2 hours later again to-morrow, i.e. at 3 A.M. (T.+13°). From this it will be a very short step to day routine when the time comes for man-hauling. The sastrugi seem to be gradually coming more to the south and a little more confused; now and again they are crossed with hard westerly sastrugi. The walking is tiring for the men, one's feet sinking 2 or 3 inches at each step. Chinaman and Jimmy Pigg kept up splendidly with the other ponies. It is always rather dismal work walking over the great snow plain when sky and surface merge in one pall of dead whiteness, but it is cheering to be in such good company with everything going on steadily and well. The dogs came up as we camped. Meares says the best surface he has had yet. _Monday, November_ 27.--Camp 23. (T. +8°, 12 P.M.; +2°, 3 A.M.; +13°, 11 A.M.; +17°, 3 P.M.) Quite the most trying march we have had. The surface very poor at start. The advance party got away in front but made heavy weather of it, and we caught them up several times. This threw the ponies out of their regular work and prolonged the march. It grew overcast again, although after a summery blizzard all yesterday there was promise of better things. Starting at 3 A.M. we did not get to lunch camp much before 9. The second march was even worse. The advance party started on ski, the leading marks failed altogether, and they had the greatest difficulty in keeping a course. At the midcairn building halt the snow suddenly came down heavily, with a rise of temperature, and the ski became hopelessly clogged (bad fahrer, as the Norwegians say). At this time the surface was unspeakably heavy for pulling, but in a few minutes a south wind sprang up and a beneficial result was immediately felt. Pulling on foot, the advance had even greater difficulty in going straight until the last half mile, when the sky broke slightly. We got off our march, but under the most harassing circumstances and with the animals very tired. It is snowing hard again now, and heaven only knows when it will stop. If it were not for the surface and bad light, things would not be so bad. There are few sastrugi and little deep snow. For the most part men and ponies sink to a hard crust some 3 or 4 inches beneath the soft upper snow. Tiring for the men, but in itself more even, and therefore less tiring for the animals. Meares just come up and reporting very bad surface. We shall start 1 hour later to-morrow, i.e. at 4 A.M., making 5 hours' delay on the conditions of three days ago. Our forage supply necessitates that we should plug on the 13 (geographical) miles daily under all conditions, so that we can only hope for better things. It is several days since we had a glimpse of land, which makes conditions especially gloomy. A tired animal makes a tired man, I find, and none of us are very bright now after the day's march, though we have had ample sleep of late. _Tuesday, November_ 28.--Camp 24. The most dismal start imaginable. Thick as a hedge, snow falling and drifting with keen southerly wind. The men pulled out at 3.15 with Chinaman and James Pigg. We followed at 4.20, just catching the party at the lunch camp at 8.30. Things got better half way; the sky showed signs of clearing and the steering improved. Now, at lunch, it is getting thick again. When will the wretched blizzard be over? The walking is better for ponies, worse for men; there is nearly everywhere a hard crust some 3 to 6 inches down. Towards the end of the march we crossed a succession of high hard south-easterly sastrugi, widely dispersed. I don't know what to make of these. Second march almost as horrid as the first. Wind blowing strong from the south, shifting to S.E. as the snowstorms fell on us, when we could see little or nothing, and the driving snow hit us stingingly in the face. The general impression of all this dirty weather is that it spreads in from the S.E. We started at 4 A.M., and I think I shall stick to that custom for the present. These last four marches have been fought for, but completed without hitch, and, though we camped in a snowstorm, there is a more promising look in the sky, and if only for a time the wind has dropped and the sun shines brightly, dispelling some of the gloomy results of the distressing marching. Chinaman, 'The Thunderbolt,' has been shot to-night. Plucky little chap, he has stuck it out well and leaves the stage but a few days before his fellows. We have only four bags of forage (each one 30 lbs.) left, but these should give seven marches with all the remaining animals, and we are less than 90 miles from the Glacier. Bowers tells me that the barometer was phenomenally low both during this blizzard and the last. This has certainly been the most unexpected and trying summer blizzard yet experienced in this region. I only trust it is over. There is not much to choose between the remaining ponies. Nobby and Bones are the strongest, Victor and Christopher the weakest, but all should get through. The land doesn't show up yet. _Wednesday, November_ 29.--Camp 25. Lat. 82° 21'. Things much better. The land showed up late yesterday; Mount Markham, a magnificent triple peak, appearing wonderfully close, Cape Lyttelton and Cape Goldie. We did our march in good time, leaving about 4.20, and getting into this camp at 1.15. About 7 1/2 hours on the march. I suppose our speed throughout averages 2 stat. miles an hour. The land showed hazily on the march, at times looking remarkably near. Sheety white snowy stratus cloud hung about overhead during the first march, but now the sky is clearing, the sun very warm and bright. Land shows up almost ahead now, our pony goal less than 70 miles away. The ponies are tired, but I believe all have five days' work left in them, and some a great deal more. Chinaman made four feeds for the dogs, and I suppose we can count every other pony as a similar asset. It follows that the dogs can be employed, rested, and fed well on the homeward track. We could really get though now with their help and without much delay, yet every consideration makes it desirable to save the men from heavy hauling as long as possible. So I devoutly hope the 70 miles will come in the present order of things. Snippets and Nobby now walk by themselves, following in the tracks well. Both have a continually cunning eye on their driver, ready to stop the moment he pauses. They eat snow every few minutes. It's a relief not having to lead an animal; such trifles annoy one on these marches, the animal's vagaries, his everlasting attempts to eat his head rope, &c. Yet all these animals are very full of character. Some day I must write of them and their individualities. The men-haulers started 1 1/2 hours before us and got here a good hour ahead, travelling easily throughout. Such is the surface with the sun on it, justifying my decision to work towards day marching. Evans has suggested the word 'glide' for the quality of surface indicated. 'Surface' is more comprehensive, and includes the crusts and liability to sink in them. From this point of view the surface is distinctly bad. The ponies plough deep all the time, and the men most of the time. The sastrugi are rather more clearly S.E.; this would be from winds sweeping along the coast. We have a recurrence of 'sinking crusts'--areas which give way with a report. There has been little of this since we left One Ton Camp until yesterday and to-day, when it is again very marked. Certainly the open Barrier conditions are different from those near the coast. Altogether things look much better and everyone is in excellent spirits. Meares has been measuring the holes made by ponies' hooves and finds an average of about 8 inches since we left One Ton Camp. He finds many holes a foot deep. This gives a good indication of the nature of the work. In Bowers' tent they had some of Chinaman's undercut in their hoosh yesterday, and say it was excellent. I am cook for the present. Have been discussing pony snowshoes. I wish to goodness the animals would wear them--it would save them any amount of labour in such surfaces as this. _Thursday, November_ 30.--Camp 26. A very pleasant day for marching, but a very tiring march for the poor animals, which, with the exception of Nobby, are showing signs of failure all round. We were slower by half an hour or more than yesterday. Except that the loads are light now and there are still eight animals left, things don't look too pleasant, but we should be less than 60 miles from our first point of aim. The surface was much worse to-day, the ponies sinking to their knees very often. There were a few harder patches towards the end of the march. In spite of the sun there was not much 'glide' on the snow. The dogs are reported as doing very well. They are going to be a great standby, no doubt. The land has been veiled in thin white mist; it appeared at intervals after we camped and I had taken a couple of photographs. _Friday, December_ 1.--Camp 27. Lat. 82° 47'. The ponies are tiring pretty rapidly. It is a question of days with all except Nobby. Yet they are outlasting the forage, and to-night against some opinion I decided Christopher must go. He has been shot; less regret goes with him than the others, in remembrance of all the trouble he gave at the outset, and the unsatisfactory way he has gone of late. Here we leave a depôt [31] so that no extra weight is brought on the other ponies; in fact there is a slight diminution. Three more marches ought to bring us through. With the seven crocks and the dog teams we _must_ get through I think. The men alone ought not to have heavy loads on the surface, which is extremely trying. Nobby was tried in snowshoes this morning, and came along splendidly on them for about four miles, then the wretched affairs racked and had to be taken off. There is no doubt that these snowshoes are _the_ thing for ponies, and had ours been able to use them from the beginning they would have been very different in appearance at this moment. I think the sight of land has helped the animals, but not much. We started in bright warm sunshine and with the mountains wonderfully clear on our right hand, but towards the end of the march clouds worked up from the east and a thin broken cumulo-stratus now overspreads the sky, leaving the land still visible but dull. A fine glacier descends from Mount Longstaff. It has cut very deep and the walls stand at an angle of at least 50°. Otherwise, although there are many cwms on the lower ranges, the mountains themselves seem little carved. They are rounded massive structures. A cliff of light yellow-brown rock appears opposite us, flanked with black or dark brown rock, which also appears under the lighter colour. One would be glad to know what nature of rock these represent. There is a good deal of exposed rock on the next range also. _Saturday, December_ 2.--Camp 28. Lat. 83°. Started under very bad weather conditions. The stratus spreading over from the S.E. last night meant mischief, and all day we marched in falling snow with a horrible light. The ponies went poorly on the first march, when there was little or no wind and a high temperature. They were sinking deep on a wretched surface. I suggested to Oates that he should have a roving commission to watch the animals, but he much preferred to lead one, so I handed over Snippets very willingly and went on ski myself. It was very easy work for me and I took several photographs of the ponies plunging along--the light very strong at 3 (Watkins actinometer). The ponies did much better on the second march, both surface and glide improved; I went ahead and found myself obliged to take a very steady pace to keep the lead, so we arrived in camp in flourishing condition. Sad to have to order Victor's end--poor Bowers feels it. He is in excellent condition and will provide five feeds for the dogs. (Temp. + 17°.) We must kill now as the forage is so short, but we have reached the 83rd parallel and are practically safe to get through. To-night the sky is breaking and conditions generally more promising--it is dreadfully dismal work marching through the blank wall of white, and we should have very great difficulty if we had not a party to go ahead and show the course. The dogs are doing splendidly and will take a heavier load from to-morrow. We kill another pony to-morrow night if we get our march off, and shall then have nearly three days' food for the other five. In fact everything looks well if the weather will only give us a chance to see our way to the Glacier. Wild, in his Diary of Shackleton's Journey, remarks on December 15, that it is the first day for a month that he could not record splendid weather. With us a fine day has been the exception so far. However, we have not lost a march yet. It was so warm when we camped that the snow melted as it fell, and everything got sopping wet. Oates came into my tent yesterday, exchanging with Cherry-Garrard. The lists now: Self, Wilson, Oates, and Keohane. Bowers, P.O. Evans, Cherry and Crean. Man-haulers: E. R. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, and Lashly. We have all taken to horse meat and are so well fed that hunger isn't thought of. _Sunday, December_ 3.--Camp 29. Our luck in weather is preposterous. I roused the hands at 2.30 A.M., intending to get away at 5. It was thick and snowy, yet we could have got on; but at breakfast the wind increased, and by 4.30 it was blowing a full gale from the south. The pony wall blew down, huge drifts collected, and the sledges were quickly buried. It was the strongest wind I have known here in summer. At 11 it began to take off. At 12.30 we got up and had lunch and got ready to start. The land appeared, the clouds broke, and by 1.30 we were in bright sunshine. We were off at 2 P.M., the land showing all round, and, but for some cloud to the S.E., everything promising. At 2.15 I saw the south-easterly cloud spreading up; it blotted out the land 30 miles away at 2.30 and was on us before 3. The sun went out, snow fell thickly, and marching conditions became horrible. The wind increased from the S.E., changed to S.W., where it hung for a time, and suddenly shifted to W.N.W. and then N.N.W., from which direction it is now blowing with falling and drifting snow. The changes of conditions are inconceivably rapid, perfectly bewildering. In spite of all these difficulties we have managed to get 11 1/2 miles south and to this camp at 7 P.M.-the conditions of marching simply horrible. The man-haulers led out 6 miles (geo.) and then camped. I think they had had enough of leading. We passed them, Bowers and I ahead on ski. We steered with compass, the drifting snow across our ski, and occasional glimpse of south-easterly sastrugi under them, till the sun showed dimly for the last hour or so. The whole weather conditions seem thoroughly disturbed, and if they continue so when we are on the Glacier, we shall be very awkwardly placed. It is really time the luck turned in our favour--we have had all too little of it. Every mile seems to have been hardly won under such conditions. The ponies did splendidly and the forage is lasting a little better than expected. Victor was found to have quite a lot of fat on him and the others are pretty certain to have more, so that vwe should have no difficulty whatever as regards transport if only the weather was kind. _Monday, December_ 4.--Camp 29, 9 A.M. I roused the party at 6. During the night the wind had changed from N.N.W. to S.S.E.; it was not strong, but the sun was obscured and the sky looked heavy; patches of land could be faintly seen and we thought that at any rate we could get on, but during breakfast the wind suddenly increased in force and afterwards a glance outside was sufficient to show a regular white floury blizzard. We have all been out building fresh walls for the ponies--an uninviting task, but one which greatly adds to the comfort of the animals, who look sleepy and bored, but not at all cold. The dogs came up with us as we camped last night arid the man-haulers arrived this morning as we finished the pony wall. So we are all together again. The latter had great difficulty in following our tracks, and say they could not have steered a course without them. It is utterly impossible to push ahead in this weather, and one is at a complete loss to account for it. The barometer rose from 29.4 to 29.9 last night, a phenomenal rise. Evidently there is very great disturbance of atmospheric conditions. Well, one must stick it out, that is all, and hope for better things, but it makes me feel a little bitter to contrast such weather with that experienced by our predecessors. Camp 30.--The wind fell in the forenoon, at 12.30 the sky began to clear, by 1 the sun shone, by 2 P.M. we were away, and by 8 P.M. camped here with 13 miles to the good. The land was quite clear throughout the march and the features easily recognised. There are several uncharted glaciers of large dimensions, a confluence of three under Mount Reid. The mountains are rounded in outline, very massive, with small excrescent peaks and undeveloped 'cwms' (T. + 18°). The cwms are very fine in the lower foot-hills and the glaciers have carved deep channels between walls at very high angles; one or two peaks on the foot-hills stand bare and almost perpendicular, probably granite; we should know later. Ahead of us is the ice-rounded, boulder-strewn Mount Hope and the gateway to the Glacier. We should reach it easily enough on to-morrow's march if we can compass 12 miles. The ponies marched splendidly to-day, crossing the deep snow in the undulations without difficulty. They must be in very much better condition than Shackleton's animals, and indeed there isn't a doubt they would go many miles yet if food allowed. The dogs are simply splendid, but came in wanting food, so we had to sacrifice poor little Michael, who, like the rest, had lots of fat on him. All the tents are consuming pony flesh and thoroughly enjoying it. We have only lost 5 or 6 miles on these two wretched days, but the disturbed condition of the weather makes me anxious with regard to the Glacier, where more than anywhere we shall need fine days. One has a horrid feeling that this is a real bad season. However, sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We are practically through with the first stage of our journey. Looking from the last camp towards the S.S.E., where the farthest land can be seen, it seemed more than probable that a very high latitude could be reached on the Barrier, and if Amundsen journeying that way has a stroke of luck, he may well find his summit journey reduced to 100 miles or so. In any case it is a fascinating direction for next year's work if only fresh transport arrives. The dips between undulations seem to be about 12 to 15 feet. To-night we get puffs of wind from the gateway, which for the moment looks uninviting. Four Days' Delay _Tuesday, December_ 5.--Camp 30. Noon. We awoke this morning to a raging, howling blizzard. The blows we have had hitherto have lacked the very fine powdery snow--that especial feature of the blizzard. To-day we have it fully developed. After a minute or two in the open one is covered from head to foot. The temperature is high, so that what falls or drives against one sticks. The ponies--head, tails, legs, and all parts not protected by their rugs--are covered with ice; the animals are standing deep in snow, the sledges are almost covered, and huge drifts above the tents. We have had breakfast, rebuilt the walls, and are now again in our bags. One cannot see the next tent, let alone the land. What on earth does such weather mean at this time of year? It is more than our share of ill-fortune, I think, but the luck may turn yet. I doubt if any party could travel in such weather even with the wind, certainly no one could travel against it. Is there some widespread atmospheric disturbance which will be felt everywhere in this region as a bad season, or are we merely the victims of exceptional local conditions? If the latter, there is food for thought in picturing our small party struggling against adversity in one place whilst others go smilingly forward in the sunshine. How great may be the element of luck! No foresight--no procedure--could have prepared us for this state of affairs. Had we been ten times as experienced or certain of our aim we should not have expected such rebuffs. 11 P.M.--It has blown hard all day with quite the greatest snowfall I remember. The drifts about the tents are simply huge. The temperature was + 27° this forenoon, and rose to +31° in the afternoon, at which time the snow melted as it fell on anything but the snow, and, as a consequence, there are pools of water on everything, the tents are wet through, also the wind clothes, night boots, &c.; water drips from the tent poles and door, lies on the floorcloth, soaks the sleeping-bags, and makes everything pretty wretched. If a cold snap follows before we have had time to dry our things, we shall be mighty uncomfortable. Yet after all it would be humorous enough if it were not for the seriousness of delay--we can't afford that, and it's real hard luck that it should come at such a time. The wind shows signs of easing down, but the temperature does not fall and the snow is as wet as ever--not promising signs of abatement. Keohane's rhyme! The snow is all melting and everything's afloat, If this goes on much longer we shall have to turn the _tent_ upside down and use it as a boat. _Wednesday, December_ 6.--Camp 30. Noon. Miserable, utterly miserable. We have camped in the 'Slough of Despond.' The tempest rages with unabated violence. The temperature has gone to 33°; everything in the tent is soaking. People returning from the outside look exactly as though they had been in a heavy shower of rain. They drip pools on the floorcloth. The snow is steadily climbing higher about walls, ponies, tents, and sledges. The ponies look utterly desolate. Oh! but this is too crushing, and we are only 12 miles from the Glacier. A hopeless feeling descends on one and is hard to fight off. What immense patience is needed for such occasions! 11 P.M.--At 5 there came signs of a break at last, and now one can see the land, but the sky is still overcast and there is a lot of snow about. The wind also remains fairly strong and the temperature high. It is not pleasant, but if no worse in the morning we can get on at last. We are very, very wet. _Thursday, December_ 7.--Camp 30. The storm continues and the situation is now serious. One small feed remains for the ponies after to-day, so that we must either march to-morrow or sacrifice the animals. That is not the worst; with the help of the dogs we could get on, without doubt. The serious part is that we have this morning started our summer rations, that is to say, the food calculated from the Glacier depot has been begun. The first supporting party can only go on a fortnight from this date and so forth. The storm shows no sign of abatement and its character is as unpleasant as ever. The promise of last night died away about 3 A.M., when the temperature and wind rose again, and things reverted to the old conditions. I can find no sign of an end, and all of us agree that it is utterly impossible to move. Resignation to misfortune is the only attitude, but not an easy one to adopt. It seems undeserved where plans were well laid and so nearly crowned with a first success. I cannot see that any plan would be altered if it were to do again, the margin for bad weather was ample according to all experience, and this stormy December--our finest month--is a thing that the most cautious organiser might not have been prepared to encounter. It is very evil to lie here in a wet sleeping-bag and think of the pity of it, whilst with no break in the overcast sky things go steadily from bad to worse (T. 32°). Meares has a bad attack of snow blindness in one eye. I hope this rest will help him, but he says it has been painful for a long time. There cannot be good cheer in the camp in such weather, but it is ready to break out again. In the brief spell of hope last night one heard laughter. Midnight. Little or no improvement. The barometer is rising--perhaps there is hope in that. Surely few situations could be more exasperating than this of forced inactivity when every day and indeed one hour counts. To be here watching the mottled wet green walls of our tent, the glistening wet bamboos, the bedraggled sopping socks and loose articles dangling in the middle, the saddened countenances of my companions--to hear the everlasting patter of the falling snow and the ceaseless rattle of the fluttering canvas--to feel the wet clinging dampness of clothes and everything touched, and to know that without there is but a blank wall of white on every side--these are the physical surroundings. Add the stress of sighted failure of our whole plan, and anyone must find the circumstances unenviable. But yet, after all, one can go on striving, endeavouring to find a stimulation in the difficulties that arise. _Friday, December_ 8.--Camp 30. Hoped against hope for better conditions, to wake to the mournfullest snow and wind as usual. We had breakfast at 10, and at noon the wind dropped. We set about digging out the sledges, no light task. We then shifted our tent sites. All tents had been reduced to the smallest volume by the gradual pressure of snow. The old sites are deep pits with hollowed-in wet centres. The re-setting of the tent has at least given us comfort, especially since the wind has dropped. About 4 the sky showed signs of breaking, the sun and a few patches of land could be dimly discerned. The wind shifted in light airs and a little hope revived. Alas! as I write the sun has disappeared and snow is again falling. Our case is growing desperate. Evans and his man-haulers tried to pull a load this afternoon. They managed to move a sledge with four people on it, pulling in ski. Pulling on foot they sank to the knees. The snow all about us is terribly deep. We tried Nobby and he plunged to his belly in it. Wilson thinks the ponies finished,_21_ but Oates thinks they will get another march in spite of the surface, _if it comes to-morrow_. If it should not, we must kill the ponies to-morrow and get on as best we can with the men on ski and the dogs. But one wonders what the dogs can do on such a surface. I much fear they also will prove inadequate. Oh! for fine weather, if only to the Glacier. The temperature remains 33°, and everything is disgustingly wet. 11 P.M.--The wind has gone to the north, the sky is really breaking at last, the sun showing less sparingly, and the land appearing out of the haze. The temperature has fallen to 26°, and the water nuisance is already bating. With so fair a promise of improvement it would be too cruel to have to face bad weather to-morrow. There is good cheer in the camp to-night in the prospect of action. The poor ponies look wistfully for the food of which so very little remains, yet they are not hungry, as recent savings have resulted from food left in their nosebags. They look wonderfully fit, all things considered. Everything looks more hopeful to-night, but nothing can recall four lost days. _Saturday, December_ 9.--Camp 31. I turned out two or three times in the night to find the weather slowly improving; at 5.30 we all got up, and at 8 got away with the ponies--a most painful day. The tremendous snowfall of the late storm had made the surface intolerably soft, and after the first hour there was no glide. We pressed on the poor half-rationed animals, but could get none to lead for more than a few minutes; following, the animals would do fairly well. It looked as we could never make headway; the man-haulers were pressed into the service to aid matters. Bowers and Cherry-Garrard went ahead with one 10-foot sledge,--thus most painfully we made about a mile. The situation was saved by P.O. Evans, who put the last pair of snowshoes on Snatcher. From this he went on without much pressing, the other ponies followed, and one by one were worn out in the second place. We went on all day without lunch. Three or four miles (T. 23°) found us engulfed in pressures, but free from difficulty except the awful softness of the snow. By 8 P.M. we had reached within a mile or so of the slope ascending to the gap which Shackleton called the Gateway._22_ I had hoped to be through the Gateway with the ponies still in hand at a very much earlier date and, but for the devastating storm, we should have been. It has been a most serious blow to us, but things are not yet desperate, if only the storm has not hopelessly spoilt the surface. The man-haulers are not up yet, in spite of their light load. I think they have stopped for tea, or something, but under ordinary conditions they would have passed us with ease. At 8 P.M. the ponies were quite done, one and all. They came on painfully slowly a few hundred yards at a time. By this time I was hauling ahead, a ridiculously light load, and yet finding the pulling heavy enough. We camped, and the ponies have been shot. [32] Poor beasts! they have done wonderfully well considering the terrible circumstances under which they worked, but yet it is hard to have to kill them so early. The dogs are going well in spite of the surface, but here again one cannot get the help one would wish. (T. 19°.) I cannot load the animals heavily on such snow. The scenery is most impressive; three huge pillars of granite form the right buttress of the Gateway, and a sharp spur of Mount Hope the left. The land is much more snow covered than when we saw it before the storm. In spite of some doubt in our outlook, everyone is very cheerful to-night and jokes are flying freely around. CHAPTER XVII On the Beardmore Glacier _Sunday, December_ 10.--Camp 32. [33] I was very anxious about getting our loads forward over such an appalling surface, and that we have done so is mainly due to the ski. I roused everyone at 8, but it was noon before all the readjustments of load had been made and we were ready to start. The dogs carried 600 lbs. of our weight besides the depot (200 lbs.). It was greatly to my surprise when we--my own party--with a 'one, two, three together' started our sledge, and we found it running fairly easily behind us. We did the first mile at a rate of about 2 miles an hour, having previously very carefully scraped and dried our runners. The day was gloriously fine and we were soon perspiring. After the first mile we began to rise, and for some way on a steep slope we held to our ski and kept going. Then the slope got steeper and the surface much worse, and we had to take off our ski. The pulling after this was extraordinarily fatiguing. We sank above our finnesko everywhere, and in places nearly to our knees. The runners of the sledges got coated with a thin film of ice from which we could not free them, and the sledges themselves sank to the crossbars in soft spots. All the time they were literally ploughing the snow. We reached the top of the slope at 5, and started on after tea on the down grade. On this we had to pull almost as hard as on the upward slope, but could just manage to get along on ski. We camped at 9.15, when a heavy wind coming down the glacier suddenly fell on us; but I had decided to camp before, as Evans' party could not keep up, and Wilson told me some very alarming news concerning it. It appears that Atkinson says that Wright is getting played out and Lashly is not so fit as he was owing to the heavy pulling since the blizzard. I have not felt satisfied about this party. The finish of the march to-day showed clearly that something was wrong. They fell a long way behind, had to take off ski, and took nearly half an hour to come up a few hundred yards. True, the surface was awful and growing worse every moment. It is a very serious business if the men are going to crack up. As for myself, I never felt fitter and my party can easily hold its own. P.O. Evans, of course, is a tower of strength, but Oates and Wilson are doing splendidly also. Here where we are camped the snow is worse than I have ever seen it, but we are in a hollow. Every step here one sinks to the knees and the uneven surface is obviously insufficient to support the sledges. Perhaps this wind is a blessing in disguise, already it seems to be hardening the snow. All this soft snow is an aftermath of our prolonged storm. Hereabouts Shackleton found hard blue ice. It seems an extraordinary difference in fortune, and at every step S.'s luck becomes more evident. I take the dogs on for half a day to-morrow, then send them home. We have 200 lbs. to add to each sledge load and could easily do it on a reasonable surface, but it looks very much as though we shall be forced to relay if present conditions hold. There is a strong wind down the glacier to-night. '_Beardmore Glacier_.--Just a tiny note to be taken back by the dogs. Things are not so rosy as they might be, but we keep our spirits up and say the luck must turn. This is only to tell you that I find I can keep up with the rest as well as of old.' _Monday, December_ 11.--Camp 33. A very good day from one point of view, very bad from another. We started straight out over the glacier and passed through a good deal of disturbance. We pulled on ski and the dogs followed. I cautioned the drivers to keep close to their sledges and we must have passed over a good many crevasses undiscovered by us, thanks to ski, and by the dogs owing to the soft snow. In one only Seaman Evans dropped a leg, ski and all. We built our depot [34] before starting, made it very conspicuous, and left a good deal of gear there. The old man-hauling party made heavy weather at first, but when relieved of a little weight and having cleaned their runners and re-adjusted their load they came on in fine style, and, passing us, took the lead. Starting about 11, by 3 o'clock we were clear of the pressure, and I camped the dogs, discharged our loads, and we put them on our sledges. It was a very anxious business when we started after lunch, about 4.30. Could we pull our full loads or not? My own party got away first, and, to my joy, I found we could make fairly good headway. Every now and again the sledge sank in a soft patch, which brought us up, but we learned to treat such occasions with patience. We got sideways to the sledge and hauled it out, Evans (P.O.) getting out of his ski to get better purchase. The great thing is to keep the sledge moving, and for an hour or more there were dozens of critical moments when it all but stopped, and not a few in it brought up altogether. The latter were very trying and tiring. But suddenly the surface grew more uniform and we more accustomed to the game, for after a long stop to let the other parties come up, I started at 6 and ran on till 7, pulling easily without a halt at the rate of about 2 miles an hour. I was very jubilant; all difficulties seemed to be vanishing; but unfortunately our history was not repeated with the other parties. Bowers came up about half an hour after us. They also had done well at the last, and I'm pretty sure they will get on all right. Keohane is the only weak spot, and he only, I think, because blind (temporarily). But Evans' party didn't get up till 10. They started quite well, but got into difficulties, did just the wrong thing by straining again and again, and so, tiring themselves, went from bad to worse. Their ski shoes, too, are out of trim. Just as I thought we were in for making a great score, this difficulty overtakes us--it is dreadfully trying. The snow around us to-night is terribly soft, one sinks to the knee at every step; it would be impossible to drag sledges on foot and very difficult for dogs. Ski are the thing, and here are my tiresome fellow-countrymen too prejudiced to have prepared themselves for the event. The dogs should get back quite easily; there is food all along the line. The glacier wind sprang up about 7; the morning was very fine and warm. To-night there is some stratus cloud forming--a hint no more bad weather in sight. A plentiful crop of snow blindness due to incaution--the sufferers Evans, Bowers, Keohane, Lashly, Oates--in various degrees. This forenoon Wilson went over to a boulder poised on the glacier. It proved to be a very coarse granite with large crystals of quartz in it. Evidently the rock of which the pillars of the Gateway and other neighbouring hills are formed. _Tuesday, December_ 12.--Camp 34. We have had a hard day, and during the forenoon it was my team which made the heaviest weather of the work. We got bogged again and again, and, do what we would, the sledge dragged like lead. The others were working hard but nothing to be compared to us. At 2.30 I halted for lunch, pretty well cooked, and there was disclosed the secret of our trouble in a thin film with some hard knots of ice on the runners. Evans' team had been sent off in advance, and we didn't--couldn't!--catch them, but they saw us camp and break camp and followed suit. I really dreaded starting after lunch, but after some trouble to break the sledge out, we went ahead without a hitch, and in a mile or two recovered our leading place with obvious ability to keep it. At 6 I saw the other teams were flagging and so camped at 7, meaning to turn out earlier to-morrow and start a better routine. We have done about 8 or perhaps 9 miles (stat.)--the sledge-meters are hopeless on such a surface. It is evident that what I expected has occurred. The whole of the lower valley is filled with snow from the recent storm, and if we had not had ski we should be hopelessly bogged. On foot one sinks to the knees, and if pulling on a sledge to half-way between knee and thigh. It would, therefore, be absolutely impossible to advance on foot with our loads. Considering all things, we are getting better on ski. A crust is forming over the soft snow. In a week or so I have little doubt it will be strong enough to support sledges and men. At present it carries neither properly. The sledges get bogged every now and again, sinking to the crossbars. Needless to say, the hauling is terrible when this occurs. We steered for the Commonwealth Range during the forenoon till we reached about the middle of the glacier. This showed that the unnamed glacier to the S.W. raised great pressure. Observing this, I altered course for the 'Cloudmaker' and later still farther to the west. We must be getting a much better view of the southern side of the main glacier than Shackleton got, and consequently have observed a number of peaks which he did not notice. We are about 5 or 5 1/2 days behind him as a result of the storm, but on this surface our sledges could not be more heavily laden than they are, in fact we have not nearly enough runner surface as it is. Moreover, the sledges are packed too high and therefore capsize too easily. I do not think the glacier can be so broad as S. shows it. Certainly the scenery is not nearly so impressive as that of the Ferrar, but there are interesting features showing up--a distinct banded structure on Mount Elizabeth, which we think may well be a recurrence of the Beacon Sandstone--more banding on the Commonwealth Range. During the three days we have been here the wind has blown down the glacier at night, or rather from the S.W., and it has been calm in the morning--a sort of nightly land-breeze. There is also a very remarkable difference in temperature between day and night. It was +33° when we started, and without hard work we were literally soaked through with perspiration. It is now +23°. Evans' party kept up much better to-day; we had their shoes into our tent this morning, and P.O. Evans put them into shape again. _Wednesday, December_ 13.--Camp 35. A most _damnably_ dismal day. We started at eight--the pulling terribly bad, though the glide decidedly good; a new crust in patches, not sufficient to support the ski, but without possibility of hold. Therefore, as the pullers got on the hard patches they slipped back. The sledges plunged into the soft places and stopped dead. Evans' party got away first; we followed, and for some time helped them forward at their stops, but this proved altogether too much for us, so I forged ahead and camped at 1 P.M., as the others were far astern. During lunch I decided to try the 10-feet runners under the crossbars and we spent three hours in securing them. There was no delay on account of the slow progress of the other parties. Evans passed us, and for some time went forward fairly well up a decided slope. The sun was shining on the surface by this time, and the temperature high. Bowers started after Evans, and it was easy to see the really terrible state of affairs with them. They made desperate efforts to get along, but ever got more and more bogged--evidently the glide had vanished. When we got away we soon discovered how awful the surface had become; added to the forenoon difficulties the snow had become wet and sticky. We got our load along, soon passing Bowers, but the toil was simply awful. We were soaked with perspiration and thoroughly breathless with our efforts. Again and again the sledge got one runner on harder snow than the other, canted on its side, and refused to move. At the top of the rise I found Evans reduced to relay work, and Bowers followed his example soon after. We got our whole load through till 7 P.M., camping time, but only with repeated halts and labour which was altogether too strenuous. The other parties certainly cannot get a full load along on the surface, and I much doubt if we could continue to do so, but we must try again to-morrow. I suppose we have advanced a bare 4 miles to-day and the aspect of things is very little changed. Our height is now about 1,500 feet; I had pinned my faith on getting better conditions as we rose, but it looks as though matters were getting worse instead of better. As far as the Cloudmaker the valley looks like a huge basin for the lodgement of such snow as this. We can but toil on, but it is woefully disheartening. I am not at all hungry, but pretty thirsty. (T. +15°.) I find our summit ration is even too filling for the present. Two skuas came round the camp at lunch, no doubt attracted by our 'Shambles' camp. _Thursday, December_ 14.--Camp 36. Indigestion and the soggy condition of my clothes kept me awake for some time last night, and the exceptional exercise gives bad attacks of cramp. Our lips are getting raw and blistered. The eyes of the party are improving, I am glad to say. We are just starting our march with no very hopeful outlook. (T. + 13°.) _Evening._ (Height about 2000 feet.) Evans' party started first this morning; for an hour they found the hauling stiff, but after that, to my great surprise, they went on easily. Bowers followed without getting over the ground so easily. After the first 200 yards my own party came on with a swing that told me at once that all would be well. We soon caught the others and offered to take on more weight, but Evans' pride wouldn't allow such help. Later in the morning we exchanged sledges with Bowers, pulled theirs easily, whilst they made quite heavy work with ours. I am afraid Cherry-Garrard and Keohane are the weakness of that team, though both put their utmost into the traces. However, we all lunched together after a satisfactory morning's work. In the afternoon we did still better, and camped at 6.30 with a very marked change in the land bearings. We must have come 11 or 12 miles (stat.). We got fearfully hot on the march, sweated through everything and stripped off jerseys. The result is we are pretty cold and clammy now, but escape from the soft snow and a good march compensate every discomfort. At lunch the blue ice was about 2 feet beneath us, now it is barely a foot, so that I suppose we shall soon find it uncovered. To-night the sky is overcast and wind has been blowing up the glacier. I think there will be another spell of gloomy weather on the Barrier, and the question is whether this part of the glacier escapes. There are crevasses about, one about eighteen inches across outside Bowers' tent, and a narrower one outside our own. I think the soft snow trouble is at an end, and I could wish nothing better than a continuance of the present surface. Towards the end of the march we were pulling our loads with the greatest ease. It is splendid to be getting along and to find some adequate return for the work we are putting into the business. _Friday, December_ 15.--Camp 37. (Height about 2500. Lat. about 84° 8'.) Got away at 8; marched till 1; the surface improving and snow covering thinner over the blue ice, but the sky overcast and glooming, the clouds ever coming lower, and Evans' is now decidedly the slowest unit, though Bowers' is not much faster. We keep up and overhaul either without difficulty. It was an enormous relief yesterday to get steady going without involuntary stops, but yesterday and this morning, once the sledge was stopped, it was very difficult to start again--the runners got temporarily stuck. This afternoon for the first time we could start by giving one good heave together, and so for the first time we are able to stop to readjust footgear or do any other desirable task. This is a second relief for which we are most grateful. At the lunch camp the snow covering was less than a foot, and at this it is a bare nine inches; patches of ice and hard névé are showing through in places. I meant to camp at 6.30, but before 5.0 the sky came down on us with falling snow. We could see nothing, and the pulling grew very heavy. At 5.45 there seemed nothing to do but camp--another interrupted march. Our luck is really very bad. We should have done a good march to-day, as it is we have covered about 11 miles (stat.). Since supper there are signs of clearing again, but I don't like the look of things; this weather has been working up from the S.E. with all the symptoms of our pony-wrecking storm. Pray heaven we are not going to have this wretched snow in the worst part of the glacier to come. The lower part of this glacier is not very interesting, except from an ice point of view. Except Mount Kyffen, little bare rock is visible, and its structure at this distance is impossible to determine. There are no moraines on the surface of the glacier either. The tributary glaciers are very fine and have cut very deep courses, though they do not enter at grade. The walls of this valley are extraordinarily steep; we count them at least 60° in places. The ice-falls descending over the northern sides are almost continuous one with another, but the southern steep faces are nearly bare; evidently the sun gets a good hold on them. There must be a good deal of melting and rock weathering, the talus heaps are considerable under the southern rock faces. Higher up the valley there is much more bare rock and stratification, which promises to be very interesting, but oh! for fine weather; surely we have had enough of this oppressive gloom. _Saturday, December 16_.--Camp 38. A gloomy morning, clearing at noon and ending in a gloriously fine evening. Although constantly anxious in the morning, the light held good for travelling throughout the day, and we have covered 11 miles (stat.), altering the aspect of the glacier greatly. But the travelling has been very hard. We started at 7, lunched at 12.15, and marched on till 6.30--over ten hours on the march--the limit of time to be squeezed into one day. We began on ski as usual, Evans' team hampering us a bit; the pulling very hard after yesterday's snowfall. In the afternoon we continued on ski till after two hours we struck a peculiarly difficult surface--old hard sastrugi underneath, with pits and high soft sastrugi due to very recent snowfalls. The sledges were so often brought up by this that we decided to take to our feet, and thus made better progress, but for the time with very excessive labour. The crust, brittle, held for a pace or two, then let one down with a bump some 8 or 10 inches. Now and again one's leg went down a crack in the hard ice underneath. We drew up a slope on this surface and discovered a long icefall extending right across our track, I presume the same pressure which caused Shackleton to turn towards the Cloudmaker. We made in for that mountain and soon got on hard, crevassed, undulating ice with quantities of soft snow in the hollows. The disturbance seems to increase, but the snow to diminish as we approach the rocks. We shall look for a moraine and try and follow it up to-morrow. The hills on our left have horizontally stratified rock alternating with snow. The exposed rock is very black; the brownish colour of the Cloudmaker has black horizontal streaks across it. The sides of the glacier north of the Cloudmaker have a curious cutting, the upper part less steep than the lower, suggestive of different conditions of glacier-flow in succeeding ages. We must push on all we can, for we are now 6 days behind Shackleton, all due to that wretched storm. So far, since we got amongst the disturbances we have not seen such alarming crevasses as I had expected; certainly dogs could have come up as far as this. At present one gets terrible hot and perspiring on the march, and quickly cold when halted, but the sun makes up for all evils. It is very difficult to know what to do about the ski; their weight is considerable and yet under certain circumstances they are extraordinarily useful. Everyone is very satisfied with our summit ration. The party which has been man-hauling for so long say they are far less hungry than they used to be. It is good to think that the majority will keep up this good feeding all through. _Sunday, December_ 17.--Camp 39. Soon after starting we found ourselves in rather a mess; bad pressure ahead and long waves between us and the land. Blue ice showed on the crests of the waves; very soft snow lay in the hollows. We had to cross the waves in places 30 feet from crest to hollow, and we did it by sitting on the sledge and letting her go. Thus we went down with a rush and our impetus carried us some way up the other side; then followed a fearfully tough drag to rise the next crest. After two hours of this I saw a larger wave, the crest of which continued hard ice up the glacier; we reached this and got excellent travelling for 2 miles on it, then rose on a steep gradient, and so topped the pressure ridge. The smooth ice is again lost and we have patches of hard and soft snow with ice peeping out in places, cracks in all directions, and legs very frequently down. We have done very nearly 5 miles (geo.). Evening.--(Temp. -12°.) Height about 3500 above Barrier. After lunch decided to take the risk of sticking to the centre of the glacier, with good result. We travelled on up the more or less rounded ridge which I had selected in the morning, and camped at 6.30 with 12 1/2 stat. miles made good. This has put Mount Hope in the background and shows us more of the upper reaches. If we can keep up the pace, we gain on Shackleton, and I don't see any reason why we shouldn't, except that more pressure is showing up ahead. For once one can say 'sufficient for the day is the good thereof.' Our luck may be on the turn--I think we deserve it. In spite of the hard work everyone is very fit and very cheerful, feeling well fed and eager for more toil. Eyes are much better except poor Wilson's; he has caught a very bad attack. Remembering his trouble on our last Southern journey, I fear he is in for a very bad time. We got fearfully hot this morning and marched in singlets, which became wringing wet; thus uncovered the sun gets at one's skin, and then the wind, which makes it horribly uncomfortable. Our lips are very sore. We cover them with the soft silk plaster which seems about the best thing for the purpose. I'm inclined to think that the summit trouble will be mostly due to the chill falling on sunburned skins. Even now one feels the cold strike directly one stops. We get fearfully thirsty and chip up ice on the march, as well as drinking a great deal of water on halting. Our fuel only just does it, but that is all we want, and we have a bit in hand for the summit. The pulling this afternoon was fairly pleasant; at first over hard snow, and then on to pretty rough ice with surface snowfield cracks, bad for sledges, but ours promised to come through well. We have worn our crampons all day and are delighted with them. P.O. Evans, the inventor of both crampons and ski shoes, is greatly pleased, and certainly we owe him much. The weather is beginning to look dirty again, snow clouds rolling in from the east as usual. I believe it will be overcast to-morrow. _Monday, December_ 18.--Camp 40. Lunch nearly 4000 feet above Barrier. Overcast and snowing this morning as I expected, land showing on starboard hand, so, though it was gloomy and depressing, we could march, and did. We have done our 8 stat. miles between 8.20 and 1 P.M.; at first fairly good surface; then the ice got very rugged with sword-cut splits. We got on a slope which made matters worse. I then pulled up to the left, at first without much improvement, but as we topped a rise the surface got much better and things look quite promising for the moment. On our right we have now a pretty good view of the Adams Marshall and Wild Mountains and their very curious horizontal stratification. Wright has found, amongst bits of wind-blown debris, an undoubted bit of sandstone and a bit of black basalt. We must get to know more of the geology before leaving the glacier finally. This morning all our gear was fringed with ice crystals which looked very pretty. Afternoon.--(Night camp No. 40, about 4500 above Barrier. T. -11°. Lat. about 84° 34'.) After lunch got on some very rough stuff within a few hundred yards of pressure ridge. There seemed no alternative, and we went through with it. Later, the glacier opened out into a broad basin with irregular undulations, and we on to a better surface, but later on again this improvement nearly vanished, so that it has been hard going all day, but we have done a good mileage (over 14 stat.). We are less than five days behind S. now. There was a promise of a clearance about noon, but later more snow clouds drifted over from the east, and now it is snowing again. We have scarcely caught a gimpse of the eastern side of the glacier all day. The western side has not been clear enough to photograph at the halts. It is very annoying, but I suppose we must be thankful when we can get our marches off. Still sweating horribly on the march and very thirsty at the halts. _Tuesday, December 19_.--Lunch, rise 650. Dist. 8 1/2 geo. Camp 41. Things are looking up. Started on good surface, soon came to very annoying criss-cross cracks. I fell into two and have bad bruises on knee and thigh, but we got along all the time until we reached an admirable smooth ice surface excellent for travelling. The last mile, névé predominating and therefore the pulling a trifle harder, we have risen into the upper basin of the glacier. Seemingly close about us are the various land masses which adjoin the summit: it looks as though we might have difficulties in the last narrows. We are having a long lunch hour for angles, photographs, and sketches. The slight south-westerly wind came down the glacier as we started, and the sky, which was overcast, has rapidly cleared in consequence. Night. Height about 5800. Camp 41. We stepped off this afternoon at the rate of 2 miles or more an hour, with the very satisfactory result of 17 (stat.) miles to the good for the day. It has not been a strain, except perhaps for me with my wounds received early in the day. The wind has kept us cool on the march, which has in consequence been very much pleasanter; we are not wet in our clothes to-night, and have not suffered from the same overpowering thirst as on previous days. (T. -11°.) (Min. -5°.) Evans and Bowers are busy taking angles; as they have been all day, we shall have material for an excellent chart. Days like this put heart in one. _Wednesday, December 20_.--Camp 42. 6500 feet about. Just got off our last best half march--10 miles 1150 yards (geo.), over 12 miles stat. With an afternoon to follow we should do well to-day; the wind has been coming up the valley. Turning this book [35] seems to have brought luck. We marched on till nearly 7 o'clock after a long lunch halt, and covered 19 1/2 geo. miles, nearly 23 (stat.), rising 800 feet. This morning we came over a considerable extent of hard snow, then got to hard ice with patches of snow; a state of affairs which has continued all day. Pulling the sledges in crampons is no difficulty at all. At lunch Wilson and Bowers walked back 2 miles or so to try and find Bowers' broken sledgemeter, without result. During their absence a fog spread about us, carried up the valleys by easterly wind. We started the afternoon march in this fog very unpleasantly, but later it gradually lifted, and to-night it is very fine and warm. As the fog lifted we saw a huge line of pressure ahead; I steered for a place where the slope looked smoother, and we are camped beneath the spot to-night. We must be ahead of Shackleton's position on the 17th. All day we have been admiring a wonderful banded structure of the rock; to-night it is beautifully clear on Mount Darwin. I have just told off the people to return to-morrow night: Atkinson, Wright, Cherry-Garrard, and Keohane. All are disappointed--poor Wright rather bitterly, I fear. I dread this necessity of choosing--nothing could be more heartrending. I calculated our programme to start from 85° 10' with 12 units of food [36] and eight men. We ought to be in this position to-morrow night, less one day's food. After all our harassing trouble one cannot but be satisfied with such a prospect. _Thursday, December_ 21.--Camp 43. Lat. 85° 7'. Long. 163° 4'. Height about 8000 feet. Upon Glacier Depot. Temp. -2°. We climbed the ice slope this morning and found a very bad surface on top, as far as crevasses were concerned. We all had falls into them, Atkinson and Teddy Evans going down the length of their harness. Evans had rather a shake up. The rotten ice surface continued for a long way, though I crossed to and fro towards the land, trying to get on better ground. At 12 the wind came from the north, bringing the inevitable [mist] up the valley and covering us just as we were in the worst of places. We camped for lunch, and were obliged to wait two and a half hours for a clearance. Then the sun began to struggle through and we were off. We soon got out of the worst crevasses and on to a long snow slope leading on part of Mount Darwin. It was a very long stiff pull up, and I held on till 7.30, when, the other team being some way astern, I camped. We have done a good march, risen to a satisfactory altitude, and reached a good place for our depot. To-morrow we start with our fullest summit load, and the first march should show us the possibilities of our achievement. The temperature has dropped below zero, but to-night it is so calm and bright that one feels delightfully warm and comfortable in the tent. Such weather helps greatly in all the sorting arrangements, &c., which are going on to-night. For me it is an immense relief to have the indefatigable little Bowers to see to all detail arrangements of this sort. We have risen a great height to-day and I hope it will not be necessary to go down again, but it looks as though we must dip a bit even to go to the south-west. 'December 21, 1911. Lat. 85° S. We are struggling on, considering all things, against odds. The weather is a constant anxiety, otherwise arrangements are working exactly as planned. 'For your own ear also, I am exceedingly fit and can go with the best of them. 'It is a pity the luck doesn't come our way, because every detail of equipment is right. 'I write this sitting in our tent waiting for the fog to clear--an exasperating position as we are in the worst crevassed region. Teddy Evans and Atkinson were down to the length of their harness this morning, and we have all been half-way down. As first man I get first chance, and it's decidedly exciting not knowing which step will give way. Still all this is interesting enough if one could only go on. 'Since writing the above I made a dash for it, got out of the valley out of the fog and away from crevasses. So here we are practically on the summit and up to date in the provision line. We ought to get through.' CHAPTER XVIII The Summit Journey to the Pole A FRESH MS. BOOK _On the Flyleaf_.--Ages: Self 43, Wilson 39, Evans (P.O.) 37, Oates 32, Bowers 28. Average 36. _Friday, December 22_.--Camp 44, about 7100 feet. T. -1°. Bar. 22.3. This, the third stage of our journey, is opening with good promise. We made our depot this morning, then said an affecting farewell to the returning party, who have taken things very well, dear good fellows as they are._23_ Then we started with our heavy loads about 9.20, I in some trepidation--quickly dissipated as we went off and up a slope at a smart pace. The second sledge came close behind us, showing that we have weeded the weak spots and made the proper choice for the returning party. We came along very easily and lunched at 1, when the sledge-meter had to be repaired, and we didn't get off again till 3.20, camping at 6.45. Thus with 7 hours' marching we covered 10 1/2 miles (geo.) (12 stat.). Obs.: Lat. 85° 13 1/2'; Long. 161° 55'; Var. 175° 46' E. To-morrow we march longer hours, about 9 I hope. Every day the loads will lighten, and so we ought to make the requisite progress. I think we have climbed about 250 feet to-day, but thought it more on the march. We look down on huge pressure ridges to the south and S.E., and in fact all round except in the direction in which we go, S.W. We seem to be travelling more or less parallel to a ridge which extends from Mt. Darwin. Ahead of us to-night is a stiffish incline and it looks as though there might be pressure behind it. It is very difficult to judge how matters stand, however, in such a confusion of elevations and depressions. This course doesn't work wonders in change of latitude, but I think it is the right track to clear the pressures--at any rate I shall hold it for the present. We passed one or two very broad (30 feet) bridged crevasses with the usual gaping sides; they were running pretty well in N. and S. direction. The weather has been beautifully fine all day as it was last night. (Night Temp. -9°.) This morning there was an hour or so of haze due to clouds from the N. Now it is perfectly clear, and we get a fine view of the mountain behind which Wilson has just been sketching. _Saturday, December_ 23.--Lunch. Bar. 22.01. Rise 370? Started at 8, steering S.W. Seemed to be rising, and went on well for about 3 hours, then got amongst bad crevasses and hard waves. We pushed on to S.W., but things went from bad to worse, and we had to haul out to the north, then west. West looks clear for the present, but it is not a very satisfactory direction. We have done 8 1/2' (geo.), a good march. (T. -3°. Southerly wind, force 2.) The comfort is that we are rising. On one slope we got a good view of the land and the pressure ridges to the S.E. They seem to be disposed 'en échelon' and gave me the idea of shearing cracks. They seemed to lessen as we ascend. It is rather trying having to march so far to the west, but if we keep rising we must come to the end of the obstacles some time. _Saturday night_.--Camp 45. T. -3°. Bar. 21.61. ?Rise. Height about 7750. Great vicissitudes of fortune in the afternoon march. Started west up a slope--about the fifth we have mounted in the last two days. On top, another pressure appeared on the left, but less lofty and more snow-covered than that which had troubled us in the morning. There was temptation to try it, and I had been gradually turning in its direction. But I stuck to my principle and turned west up yet another slope. On top of this we got on the most extraordinary surface--narrow crevasses ran in all directions. They were quite invisible, being covered with a thin crust of hardened névé without a sign of a crack in it. We all fell in one after another and sometimes two together. We have had many unexpected falls before, but usually through being unable to mark the run of the surface appearances of cracks, or where such cracks are covered with soft snow. How a hardened crust can form over a crack is a real puzzle--it seems to argue extremely slow movement. Dead reckoning, 85° 22' 1'' S., 159° 31' E. In the broader crevasses this morning we noticed that it was the lower edge of the bridge which was rotten, whereas in all in the glacier the upper edge was open. Near the narrow crevasses this afternoon we got about 10 minutes on snow which had a hard crust and loose crystals below. It was like breaking through a glass house at each step, but quite suddenly at 5 P.M. everything changed. The hard surface gave place to regular sastrugi and our horizon levelled in every direction. I hung on to the S.W. till 6 P.M., and then camped with a delightful feeling of security that we had at length reached the summit proper. I am feeling very cheerful about everything to-night. We marched 15 miles (geo.) (over 17 stat.) to-day, mounting nearly 800 feet and all in about 8 1/2 hours. My determination to keep mounting irrespective of course is fully justified and I shall be indeed surprised if we have any further difficulties with crevasses or steep slopes. To me for the first time our goal seems really in sight. We can pull our loads and pull them much faster and farther than I expected in my most hopeful moments. I only pray for a fair share of good weather. There is a cold wind now as expected, but with good clothes and well fed as we are, we can stick a lot worse than we are getting. I trust this may prove the turning-point in our fortunes for which we have waited so patiently. _Sunday, December_ 24.--Lunch. Bar. 21.48. ?Rise 160 feet. Christmas Eve. 7 1/4 miles geo. due south, and a rise, I think, more than shown by barometer. This in five hours, on the surface which ought to be a sample of what we shall have in the future. With our present clothes it is a fairly heavy plod, but we get over the ground, which is a great thing. A high pressure ridge has appeared on the 'port bow.' It seems isolated, but I shall be glad to lose sight of such disturbances. The wind is continuous from the S.S.E., very searching. We are now marching in our wind blouses and with somewhat more protection on the head. Bar. 21.41. Camp 46. Rise for day ?about 250 ft. or 300 ft. Hypsometer, 8000 ft. The first two hours of the afternoon march went very well. Then the sledges hung a bit, and we plodded on and covered something over 14 miles (geo.) in the day. We lost sight of the big pressure ridge, but to-night another smaller one shows fine on the 'port bow,' and the surface is alternately very hard and fairly soft; dips and rises all round. It is evident we are skirting more disturbances, and I sincerely hope it will not mean altering course more to the west. 14 miles in 4 hours is not so bad considering the circumstances. The southerly wind is continuous and not at all pleasant in camp, but on the march it keeps us cool. (T. -3°.) The only inconvenience is the extent to which our faces get iced up. The temperature hovers about zero. We have not struck a crevasse all day, which is a good sign. The sun continues to shine in a cloudless sky, the wind rises and falls, and about us is a scene of the wildest desolation, but we are a very cheerful party and to-morrow is Christmas Day, with something extra in the hoosh. _Monday, December_ 25. CHRISTMAS.--Lunch. Bar. 21.14. Rise 240 feet. The wind was strong last night and this morning; a light snowfall in the night; a good deal of drift, subsiding when we started, but still about a foot high. I thought it might have spoilt the surface, but for the first hour and a half we went along in fine style. Then we started up a rise, and to our annoyance found ourselves amongst crevasses once more--very hard, smooth névé between high ridges at the edge of crevasses, and therefore very difficult to get foothold to pull the sledges. Got our ski sticks out, which improved matters, but we had to tack a good deal and several of us went half down. After half an hour of this I looked round and found the second sledge halted some way in rear--evidently someone had gone into a crevasse. We saw the rescue work going on, but had to wait half an hour for the party to come up, and got mighty cold. It appears that Lashly went down very suddenly, nearly dragging the crew with him. The sledge ran on and jammed the span so that the Alpine rope had to be got out and used to pull Lashly to the surface again. Lashly says the crevasse was 50 feet deep and 8 feet across, in form U, showing that the word 'unfathomable' can rarely be applied. Lashly is 44 to-day and as hard as nails. His fall has not even disturbed his equanimity. After topping the crevasse ridge we got on a better surface and came along fairly well, completing over 7 miles (geo.) just before 1 o'clock. We have risen nearly 250 feet this morning; the wind was strong and therefore trying, mainly because it held the sledge; it is a little lighter now. Night. Camp No. 47. Bar. 21.18. T. -7°. I am so replete that I can scarcely write. After sundry luxuries, such as chocolate and raisins at lunch, we started off well, but soon got amongst crevasses, huge snowfields roadways running almost in our direction, and across hidden cracks into which we frequently fell. Passing for two miles or so along between two roadways, we came on a huge pit with raised sides. Is this a submerged mountain peak or a swirl in the stream? Getting clear of crevasses and on a slightly down grade, we came along at a swinging pace--splendid. I marched on till nearly 7.30, when we had covered 15 miles (geo.) (17 1/4 stat.). I knew that supper was to be a 'tightener,' and indeed it has been--so much that I must leave description till the morning. Dead reckoning, Lat. 85° 50' S.; Long. 159° 8' 2'' E. Bar. 21.22. Towards the end of the march we seemed to get into better condition; about us the surface rises and falls on the long slopes of vast mounds or undulations--no very definite system in their disposition. We camped half-way up a long slope. In the middle of the afternoon we got another fine view of the land. The Dominion Range ends abruptly as observed, then come two straits and two other masses of land. Similarly north of the wild mountains is another strait and another mass of land. The various straits are undoubtedly overflows, and the masses of land mark the inner fringe of the exposed coastal mountains, the general direction of which seems about S.S.E., from which it appears that one could be much closer to the Pole on the Barrier by continuing on it to the S.S.E. We ought to know more of this when Evans' observations are plotted. I must write a word of our supper last night. We had four courses. The first, pemmican, full whack, with slices of horse meat flavoured with onion and curry powder and thickened with biscuit; then an arrowroot, cocoa and biscuit hoosh sweetened; then a plum-pudding; then cocoa with raisins, and finally a dessert of caramels and ginger. After the feast it was difficult to move. Wilson and I couldn't finish our share of plum-pudding. We have all slept splendidly and feel thoroughly warm--such is the effect of full feeding. _Tuesday, December_ 26.--Lunch. Bar. 21.11. Four and three-quarters hours, 6 3/4 miles (geo.). Perhaps a little slow after plum-pudding, but I think we are getting on to the surface which is likely to continue the rest of the way. There are still mild differences of elevation, but generally speaking the plain is flattening out; no doubt we are rising slowly. Camp 48. Bar. 21.02. The first two hours of the afternoon march went well; then we got on a rough rise and the sledge came badly. Camped at 6.30, sledge coming easier again at the end. It seems astonishing to be disappointed with a march of 15 (stat.) miles, when I had contemplated doing little more than 10 with full loads. We are on the 86th parallel. Obs.: 86° 2' S.; 160° 26' E. The temperature has been pretty consistent of late, -10° to -12° at night, -3° in the day. The wind has seemed milder to-day--it blows anywhere from S.E. to south. I had thought to have done with pressures, but to-night a crevassed slope appears on our right. We shall pass well clear of it, but there may be others. The undulating character of the plain causes a great variety of surface, owing, of course, to the varying angles at which the wind strikes the slopes. We were half an hour late starting this morning, which accounts for some loss of distance, though I should be content to keep up an average of 13' (geo.). _Wednesday, December_ 27.--Lunch. Bar. 21.02. The wind light this morning and the pulling heavy. Everyone sweated, especially the second team, which had great difficulty in keeping up. We have been going up and down, the up grades very tiring, especially when we get amongst sastrugi which jerk the sledge about, but we have done 7 1/4 miles (geo.). A very bad accident this morning. Bowers broke the only hypsometer thermometer. We have nothing to check our two aneroids. Night camp 49. Bar. 20.82. T. -6.3°. We marched off well after lunch on a soft, snowy surface, then came to slippery hard sastrugi and kept a good pace; but I felt this meant something wrong, and on topping a short rise we were once more in the midst of crevasses and disturbances. For an hour it was dreadfully trying--had to pick a road, tumbled into crevasses, and got jerked about abominably. At the summit of the ridge we came into another 'pit' or 'whirl,' which seemed the centre of the trouble--is it a submerged mountain peak? During the last hour and a quarter we pulled out on to soft snow again and moved well. Camped at 6.45, having covered 13 1/3 miles (geo.). Steering the party is no light task. One cannot allow one's thoughts to wander as others do, and when, as this afternoon, one gets amongst disturbances, I find it is very worrying and tiring. I do trust we shall have no more of them. We have not lost sight of the sun since we came on the summit; we should get an extraordinary record of sunshine. It is monotonous work this; the sledgemeter and theodolite govern the situation. _Thursday, December_ 28.--Lunch. Bar. 20.77. I start cooking again to-morrow morning. We have had a troublesome day but have completed our 13 miles (geo.). My unit pulled away easy this morning and stretched out for two hours--the second unit made heavy weather. I changed with Evans and found the second sledge heavy--could keep up, but the team was not swinging with me as my own team swings. Then I changed P.O. Evans for Lashly. We seemed to get on better, but at the moment the surface changed and we came up over a rise with hard sastrugi. At the top we camped for lunch. What was the difficulty? One theory was that some members of the second party were stale. Another that all was due to the bad stepping and want of swing; another that the sledge pulled heavy. In the afternoon we exchanged sledges, and at first went off well, but getting into soft snow, we found a terrible drag, the second party coming quite easily with our sledge. So the sledge is the cause of the trouble, and talking it out, I found that all is due to want of care. The runners ran excellently, but the structure has been distorted by bad strapping, bad loading, this afternoon and only managed to get 12 miles (geo.). The very hard pulling has occurred on two rises. It appears that the loose snow is blown over the rises and rests in heaps on the north-facing slopes. It is these heaps that cause our worst troubles. The weather looks a little doubtful, a good deal of cirrus cloud in motion over us, radiating E. and W. The wind shifts from S.E. to S.S.W., rising and falling at intervals; it is annoying to the march as it retards the sledges, but it must help the surface, I think, and so hope for better things to-morrow. The marches are terribly monotonous. One's thoughts wander occasionally to pleasanter scenes and places, but the necessity to keep the course, or some hitch in the surface, quickly brings them back. There have been some hours of very steady plodding to-day; these are the best part of the business, they mean forgetfulness and advance. _Saturday, December_ 30.--Bar. 20.42. Lunch. Night camp 52. Bar. 20.36. Rise about 150. A very trying, tiring march, and only 11 miles (geo.) covered. Wind from the south to S.E., not quite so strong as usual; the usual clear sky. We camped on a rise last night, and it was some time before we reached the top this morning. This took it out of us as the second party dropped. I went on 6 l/2 miles (when the second party was some way astern) and lunched. We came on in the afternoon, the other party still dropping, camped at 6.30--they at 7.15. We came up another rise with the usual gritty snow towards the end of the march. For us the interval between the two rises, some 8 miles, was steady plodding work which we might keep up for some time. To-morrow I'm going to march half a day, make a depot and build the 10-feet sledges. The second party is certainly tiring; it remains to be seen how they will manage with the smaller sledge and lighter load. The surface is certainly much worse than it was 50 miles back. (T. -10°.) We have caught up Shackleton's dates. Everything would be cheerful if I could persuade myself that the second party were quite fit to go forward. _Sunday, December_ 31.--New Year's Eve. 20.17. Height about 9126. T. -10°. Camp 53. Corrected Aneroid. The second party depoted its ski and some other weights equivalent to about 100 lbs. I sent them off first; they marched, but not very fast. We followed and did not catch them before they camped by direction at 1.30. By this time we had covered exactly 7 miles (geo.), and we must have risen a good deal. We rose on a steep incline at the beginning of the march, and topped another at the end, showing a distance of about 5 miles between the wretched slopes which give us the hardest pulling, but as a matter of fact, we have been rising all day. We had a good full brew of tea and then set to work stripping the sledges. That didn't take long, but the process of building up the 10-feet sledges now in operation in the other tent is a long job. Evans (P.O.) and Crean are tackling it, and it is a very remarkable piece of work. Certainly P.O. Evans is the most invaluable asset to our party. To build a sledge under these conditions is a fact for special record. Evans (Lieut.) has just found the latitude--86° 56' S., so that we are pretty near the 87th parallel aimed at for to-night. We lose half a day, but I hope to make that up by going forward at much better speed. This is to be called the '3 Degree Depot,' and it holds a week's provisions for both units. There is extraordinarily little mirage up here and the refraction is very small. Except for the seamen we are all sitting in a double tent--the first time we have put up the inner lining to the tent; it seems to make us much snugger. 10 P.M.--The job of rebuilding is taking longer than I expected, but is now almost done. The 10-feet sledges look very handy. We had an extra drink of tea and are now turned into our bags in the double tent (five of us) as warm as toast, and just enough light to write or work with. Did not get to bed till 2 A.M. Obs.: 86° 55' 47'' S.; 165° 5' 48'' E.; Var. 175° 40'E. Morning Bar. 20.08. _Monday, January_ 1, 1912.--NEW YEAR'S DAY. Lunch. Bar. 20.04. Roused hands about 7.30 and got away 9.30, Evans' party going ahead on foot. We followed on ski. Very stupidly we had not seen to our ski shoes beforehand, and it took a good half-hour to get them right; Wilson especially had trouble. When we did get away, to our surprise the sledge pulled very easily, and we made fine progress, rapidly gaining on the foot-haulers. Night camp 54. Bar. 19.98. Risen about 150 feet. Height about 9600 above Barrier. They camped for lunch at 5 1/2 miles and went on easily, completing 11.3 (geo.) by 7.30. We were delayed again at lunch camp, Evans repairing the tent, and I the cooker. We caught the other party more easily in the afternoon and kept alongside them the last quarter of an hour. It was surprising how easily the sledge pulled; we have scarcely exerted ourselves all day. We have been rising again all day, but the slopes are less accentuated. I had expected trouble with ski and hard patches, but we found none at all. (T. -14°.) The temperature is steadily falling, but it seems to fall with the wind. We are _very_ comfortable in our double tent. Stick of chocolate to celebrate the New Year. The supporting party not in very high spirits, they have not managed matters well for themselves. Prospects seem to get brighter--only 170 miles to go and plenty of food left. _Tuesday, January 2_.--T. -17°. Camp 55. Height about 9980. At lunch my aneroid reading over scale 12,250, shifted hand to read 10,250. Proposed to enter heights in future with correction as calculated at end of book (minus 340 feet). The foot party went off early, before 8, and marched till 1. Again from 2.35 to 6.30. We started more than half an hour later on each march and caught the others easy. It's been a plod for the foot people and pretty easy going for us, and we have covered 13 miles (geo.). T. -11°: Obs. 87° 20' 8'' S.; 160° 40' 53'' E.; Var. 180°. The sky is slightly overcast for the first time since we left the glacier; the sun can be seen already through the veil of stratus, and blue sky round the horizon. The sastrugi have all been from the S.E. to-day, and likewise the wind, which has been pretty light. I hope the clouds do not mean wind or bad surface. The latter became poor towards the end of the afternoon. We have not risen much to-day, and the plain seems to be flattening out. Irregularities are best seen by sastrugi. A skua gull visited us on the march this afternoon--it was evidently curious, kept alighting on the snow ahead, and fluttering a few yards as we approached. It seemed to have had little food--an extraordinary visitor considering our distance from the sea. _Wednesday, January_ 3.--Height: Lunch, 10,110; Night, 10,180. Camp 56. T.-17°. Minimum -18.5°. Within 150 miles of our goal. Last night I decided to reorganise, and this morning told off Teddy Evans, Lashly, and Crean to return. They are disappointed, but take it well. Bowers is to come into our tent, and we proceed as a five man unit to-morrow. We have 5 1/2 units of food--practically over a month's allowance for five people--it ought to see us through. We came along well on ski to-day, but the foot-haulers were slow, and so we only got a trifle over 12 miles (geo.). Very anxious to see how we shall manage to-morrow; if we can march well with the full load we shall be practically safe, I take it. The surface was very bad in patches to-day and the wind strong. 'Lat. 87° 32'. A last note from a hopeful position. I think it's going to be all right. We have a fine party going forward and arrangements are all going well.' _Thursday, January_ 4.--T. -17°, Lunch T. -16.5°. We were naturally late getting away this morning, the sledge having to be packed and arrangements completed for separation of parties. It is wonderful to see how neatly everything stows on a little sledge, thanks to P.O. Evans. I was anxious to see how we could pull it, and glad to find we went easy enough. Bowers on foot pulls between, but behind, Wilson and myself; he has to keep his own pace and luckily does not throw us out at all. The second party had followed us in case of accident, but as soon as I was certain we could get along we stopped and said farewell. Teddy Evans is terribly disappointed but has taken it very well and behaved like a man. Poor old Crean wept and even Lashly was affected. I was glad to find their sledge is a mere nothing to them, and thus, no doubt, they will make a quick journey back._24_ Since leaving them we have marched on till 1.15 and covered 6.2 miles (geo.). With full marching days we ought to have no difficulty in keeping up our average. Night camp 57. T. -16°. Height 10,280.--We started well on the afternoon march, going a good speed for 1 1/2 hours; then we came on a stratum covered with loose sandy snow, and the pulling became very heavy. We managed to get off 12 1/2 miles (geo.) by 7 P.M., but it was very heavy work. In the afternoon the wind died away, and to-night it is flat calm; the sun so warm that in spite of the temperature we can stand about outside in the greatest comfort. It is amusing to stand thus and remember the constant horrors of our situation as they were painted for us: the sun is melting the snow on the ski, &c. The plateau is now very flat, but we are still ascending slowly. The sastrugi are getting more confused, predominant from the S.E. I wonder what is in store for us. At present everything seems to be going with extraordinary smoothness, and one can scarcely believe that obstacles will not present themselves to make our task more difficult. Perhaps the surface will be the element to trouble us. _Friday, January_ 5.--Camp 58. Height: morning, 10,430; night, 10,320. T. -14.8°. Obs. 87° 57', 159° 13'. Minimum T. -23.5; T. -21°. A dreadfully trying day. Light wind from the N.N.W. bringing detached cloud and constant fall of ice crystals. The surface, in consequence, as bad as could be after the first hour. We started at 8.15, marched solidly till 1.15, covering 7.4 miles (geo.), and again in the afternoon we plugged on; by 7 P.M. we had done 12 l/2 miles (geo.), the hardest we have yet done on the plateau. The sastrugi seemed to increase as we advanced and they have changed direction from S.W. to S. by W. In the afternoon a good deal of confusing cross sastrugi, and to-night a very rough surface with evidences of hard southerly wind. Luckily the sledge shows no signs of capisizing yet. We sigh for a breeze to sweep the hard snow, but to-night the outlook is not promising better things. However, we are very close to the 88th parallel, little more than 120 miles from the Pole, only a march from Shackleton's final camp, and in a general way 'getting on.' We go little over a mile and a quarter an hour now--it is a big strain as the shadows creep slowly round from our right through ahead to our left. What lots of things we think of on these monotonous marches! What castles one builds now hopefully that the Pole is ours. Bowers took sights to-day and will take them every third day. We feel the cold very little, the great comfort of our situation is the excellent drying effect of the sun. Our socks and finnesko are almost dry each morning. Cooking for five takes a seriously longer time than cooking for four; perhaps half an hour on the whole day. It is an item I had not considered when re-organising. _Saturday, January_ 6.--Height 10,470. T. -22.3°. Obstacles arising--last night we got amongst sastrugi--they increased in height this morning and now we are in the midst of a sea of fish-hook waves well remembered from our Northern experience. We took off our ski after the first 1 1/2 hours and pulled on foot. It is terribly heavy in places, and, to add to our trouble, every sastrugus is covered with a beard of sharp branching crystals. We have covered 6 1/2 miles, but we cannot keep up our average if this sort of surface continues. There is no wind. Camp 59. Lat. 88° 7'. Height 10,430-10,510. Rise of barometer? T.-22.5°. Minimum -25.8°. Morning. Fearfully hard pull again, and when we had marched about an hour we discovered that a sleeping-bag had fallen off the sledge. We had to go back and carry it on. It cost us over an hour and disorganised our party. We have only covered 10 1/2 miles (geo.) and it's been about the hardest pull we've had. We think of leaving our ski here, mainly because of risk of breakage. Over the sastrugi it is all up and down hill, and the covering of ice crystals prevents the sledge from gliding even on the down-grade. The sastrugi, I fear, have come to stay, and we must be prepared for heavy marching, but in two days I hope to lighten loads with a depot. We are south of Shackleton's last camp, so, I suppose, have made the most southerly camp. _Sunday, January_ 7.--Height 10,560. Lunch. Temp. -21.3°. The vicissitudes of this work are bewildering. Last night we decided to leave our ski on account of the sastrugi. This morning we marched out a mile in 40 min. and the sastrugi gradually disappeared. I kept debating the ski question and at this point stopped, and after discussion we went back and fetched the ski; it cost us 1 1/2 hours nearly. Marching again, I found to my horror we could scarcely move the sledge on ski; the first hour was awful owing to the wretched coating of loose sandy snow. However, we persisted, and towards the latter end of our tiring march we began to make better progress, but the work is still awfully heavy. I must stick to the ski after this. Afternoon. Camp 60°. T. -23°. Height 10,570. Obs.: Lat. 88° 18' 40'' S.; Long. 157° 21' E.; Var. 179° 15' W. Very heavy pulling still, but did 5 miles (geo.) in over four hours. This is the shortest march we have made on the summit, but there is excuse. Still, there is no doubt if things remained as they are we could not keep up the strain of such marching for long. Things, however, luckily will not remain as they are. To-morrow we depot a week's provision, lightening altogether about 100 lbs. This afternoon the welcome southerly wind returned and is now blowing force 2 to 3. I cannot but think it will improve the surface. The sastrugi are very much diminished, and those from the south seem to be overpowering those from the S.E. Cloud travelled rapidly over from the south this afternoon, and the surface was covered with sandy crystals; these were not so bad as the 'bearded' sastrugi, and oddly enough the wind and drift only gradually obliterate these striking formations. We have scarcely risen at all to-day, and the plain looks very flat. It doesn't look as though there were more rises ahead, and one could not wish for a better surface if only the crystal deposit would disappear or harden up. I am awfully glad we have hung on to the ski; hard as the marching is, it is far less tiring on ski. Bowers has a heavy time on foot, but nothing seems to tire him. Evans has a nasty cut on his hand (sledge-making). I hope it won't give trouble. Our food continues to amply satisfy. What luck to have hit on such an excellent ration. We really are an excellently found party. _Monday, January_ 8.--Camp 60. Noon. T. -19.8°. Min. for night -25°. Our first summit blizzard. We might just have started after breakfast, but the wind seemed obviously on the increase, and so has proved. The sun has not been obscured, but snow is evidently falling as well as drifting. The sun seems to be getting a little brighter as the wind increases. The whole phenomenon is very like a Barrier blizzard, only there is much less snow, as one would expect, and at present less wind, which is somewhat of a surprise. Evans' hand was dressed this morning, and the rest ought to be good for it. I am not sure it will not do us all good as we lie so very comfortably, warmly clothed in our comfortable bags, within our double-walled tent. However, we do not want more than a day's delay at most, both on account of lost time and food and the snow accumulation of ice. (Night T. -13.5°.) It has grown much thicker during the day, from time to time obscuring the sun for the first time. The temperature is low for a blizzard, but we are very comfortable in our double tent and the cold snow is not sticky and not easily carried into the tent, so that the sleeping-bags remain in good condition. (T. -3°.) The glass is rising slightly. I hope we shall be able to start in the morning, but fear that a disturbance of this sort may last longer than our local storm. It is quite impossible to speak too highly of my companions. Each fulfils his office to the party; Wilson, first as doctor, ever on the lookout to alleviate the small pains and troubles incidental to the work, now as cook, quick, careful and dexterous, ever thinking of some fresh expedient to help the camp life; tough as steel on the traces, never wavering from start to finish. Evans, a giant worker with a really remarkable headpiece. It is only now I realise how much has been due to him. Our ski shoes and crampons have been absolutely indispensable, and if the original ideas were not his, the details of manufacture and design and the good workmanship are his alone. He is responsible for every sledge, every sledge fitting, tents, sleeping-bags, harness, and when one cannot recall a single expression of dissatisfaction with any one of these items, it shows what an invaluable assistant he has been. Now, besides superintending the putting up of the tent, he thinks out and arranges the packing of the sledge; it is extraordinary how neatly and handily everything is stowed, and how much study has been given to preserving the suppleness and good running qualities of the machine. On the Barrier, before the ponies were killed, he was ever roaming round, correcting faults of stowage. Little Bowers remains a marvel--he is thoroughly enjoying himself. I leave all the provision arrangement in his hands, and at all times he knows exactly how we stand, or how each returning party should fare. It has been a complicated business to redistribute stores at various stages of re-organisation, but not one single mistake has been made. In addition to the stores, he keeps the most thorough and conscientious meteorological record, and to this he now adds the duty of observer and photographer. Nothing comes amiss to him, and no work is too hard. It is a difficulty to get him into the tent; he seems quite oblivious of the cold, and he lies coiled in his bag writing and working out sights long after the others are asleep. Of these three it is a matter for thought and congratulation that each is sufficiently suited for his own work, but would not be capable of doing that of the others as well as it is done. Each is invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period with the ponies; now he is a foot slogger and goes hard the whole time, does his share of camp work, and stands the hardship as well as any of us. I would not like to be without him either. So our five people are perhaps as happily selected as it is possible to imagine. _Tuesday, January_ 9.--Camp 61. RECORD. Lat. 88° 25'. Height 10,270 ft. Bar. risen I think. T. -4°. Still blowing, and drifting when we got to breakfast, but signs of taking off. The wind had gradually shifted from south to E.S.E. After lunch we were able to break camp in a bad light, but on a good surface. We made a very steady afternoon march, covering 6 1/2, miles (geo.). This should place us in Lat. 88° 25', beyond the record of Shackleton's walk. All is new ahead. The barometer has risen since the blizzard, and it looks as though we were on a level plateau, not to rise much further. Obs.: Long. 159° 17' 45'' E.; Var. 179° 55' W.; Min. Temp. -7.2°. More curiously the temperature continued to rise after the blow and now, at -4°, it seems quite warm. The sun has only shown very indistinctly all the afternoon, although brighter now. Clouds are still drifting over from the east. The marching is growing terribly monotonous, but one cannot grumble as long as the distance can be kept up. It can, I think, if we leave a depot, but a very annoying thing has happened. Bowers' watch has suddenly dropped 26 minutes; it may have stopped from being frozen outside his pocket, or he may have inadvertently touched the hands. Any way it makes one more chary of leaving stores on this great plain, especially as the blizzard tended to drift up our tracks. We could only just see the back track when we started, but the light was extremely poor. _Wednesday, January_ 10.--Camp 62. T. -11°. Last depot 88° 29' S.; 159° 33' E.; Var. 180°. Terrible hard march in the morning; only covered 5.1 miles (geo.). Decided to leave depot at lunch camp. Built cairn and left one week's food together with sundry articles of clothing. We are down as close as we can go in the latter. We go forward with eighteen days' food. Yesterday I should have said certain to see us through, but now the surface is beyond words, and if it continues we shall have the greatest difficulty to keep our march long enough. The surface is quite covered with sandy snow, and when the sun shines it is terrible. During the early part of the afternoon it was overcast, and we started our lightened sledge with a good swing, but during the last two hours the sun cast shadows again, and the work was distressingly hard. We have covered only 10.8 miles (geo.). Only 85 miles (geo.) from the Pole, but it's going to be a stiff pull _both ways_ apparently; still we do make progress, which is something. To-night the sky is overcast, the temperature (-11°) much higher than I anticipated; it is very difficult to imagine what is happening to the weather. The sastrugi grow more and more confused, running from S. to E. Very difficult steering in uncertain light and with rapidly moving clouds. The clouds don't seem to come from anywhere, form and disperse without visible reason. The surface seems to be growing softer. The meteorological conditions seem to point to an area of variable light winds, and that plot will thicken as we advance. _Thursday, January_ 11.--Lunch. Height 10,540. T. -15° 8'. It was heavy pulling from the beginning to-day, but for the first two and a half hours we could keep the sledge moving; then the sun came out (it had been overcast and snowing with light south-easterly breeze) and the rest of the forenoon was agonising. I never had such pulling; all the time the sledge rasps and creaks. We have covered 6 miles, but at fearful cost to ourselves. Night camp 63. Height 10,530. Temp. -16.3°. Minimum -25.8°. Another hard grind in the afternoon and five miles added. About 74 miles from the Pole--can we keep this up for seven days? It takes it out of us like anything. None of us ever had such hard work before. Cloud has been coming and going overhead all day, drifting from the S.E., but continually altering shape. Snow crystals falling all the time; a very light S. breeze at start soon dying away. The sun so bright and warm to-night that it is almost impossible to imagine a minus temperature. The snow seems to get softer as we advance; the sastrugi, though sometimes high and undercut, are not hard--no crusts, except yesterday the surface subsided once, as on the Barrier. It seems pretty certain there is no steady wind here. Our chance still holds good if we can put the work in, but it's a terribly trying time. _Friday, January_ 12.--Camp 64. T. -17.5°. Lat. 88° 57'. Another heavy march with snow getting softer all the time. Sun very bright, calm at start; first two hours terribly slow. Lunch, 4 3/4 hours, 5.6 miles geo.; Sight Lat. 88° 52'. Afternoon, 4 hours, 5.1 miles--total 10.7. In the afternoon we seemed to be going better; clouds spread over from the west with light chill wind and for a few brief minutes we tasted the delight of having the sledge following free. Alas! in a few minutes it was worse than ever, in spite of the sun's eclipse. However, the short experience was salutary. I had got to fear that we were weakening badly in our pulling; those few minutes showed me that we only want a good surface to get along as merrily as of old. With the surface as it is, one gets horribly sick of the monotony and can easily imagine oneself getting played out, were it not that at the lunch and night camps one so quickly forgets all one's troubles and bucks up for a fresh effort. It is an effort to keep up the double figures, but if we can do so for another four marches we ought to get through. It is going to be a close thing. At camping to-night everyone was chilled and we guessed a cold snap, but to our surprise the actual temperature was higher than last night, when we could dawdle in the sun. It is most unaccountable why we should suddenly feel the cold in this manner; partly the exhaustion of the march, but partly some damp quality in the air, I think. Little Bowers is wonderful; in spite of my protest he _would_ take sights after we had camped to-night, after marching in the soft snow all day where we have been comparatively restful on ski. _Night position_.--Lat. 88° 57' 25'' S.; Long. 160° 21' E.; Var. 179° 49' W. Minimum T. -23.5°. Only 63 miles (geo.) from the Pole to-night. We ought to do the trick, but oh! for a better surface. It is quite evident this is a comparatively windless area. The sastrugi are few and far between, and all soft. I should imagine occasional blizzards sweep up from the S.E., but none with violence. We have deep tracks in the snow, which is soft as deep as you like to dig down. _Saturday, January_ 13.--Lunch Height 10,390. Barometer low? lunch Lat. 89° 3' 18''. Started on some soft snow, very heavy dragging and went slow. We could have supposed nothing but that such conditions would last from now onward, but to our surprise, after two hours we came on a sea of sastrugi, all lying from S. to E., predominant E.S.E. Have had a cold little wind from S.E. and S.S.E., where the sky is overcast. Have done 5.6 miles and are now over the 89th parallel. Night camp 65.--Height 10,270. T. -22.5°, Minimum -23.5°. Lat. 89° 9'S. very nearly. We started very well in the afternoon. Thought we were going to make a real good march, but after the first two hours surface crystals became as sandy as ever. Still we did 5.6 miles geo., giving over 11 for the day. Well, another day with double figures and a bit over. The chance holds. It looks as though we were descending slightly; sastrugi remain as in forenoon. It is wearisome work this tugging and straining to advance a light sledge. Still, we get along. I did manage to get my thoughts off the work for a time to-day, which is very restful. We should be in a poor way without our ski, though Bowers manages to struggle through the soft snow without tiring his short legs. Only 51 miles from the Pole to-night. If we don't get to it we shall be d----d close. There is a little southerly breeze to-night; I devoutly hope it may increase in force. The alternation of soft snow and sastrugi seem to suggest that the coastal mountains are not so very far away. _Sunday, January_ 14.--Camp 66. Lunch T. -18°, Night T. -15°. Sun showing mistily through overcast sky all day. Bright southerly wind with very low drift. In consequence the surface was a little better, and we came along very steadily 6.3 miles in the morning and 5.5 in the afternoon, but the steering was awfully difficult and trying; very often I could see nothing, and Bowers on my shoulders directed me. Under such circumstances it is an immense help to be pulling on ski. To-night it is looking very thick. The sun can barely be distinguished, the temperature has risen, and there are serious indications of a blizzard. I trust they will not come to anything; there are practically no signs of heavy wind here, so that even if it blows a little we may be able to march. Meanwhile we are less than 40 miles from the Pole. Again we noticed the cold; at lunch to-day (Obs.: Lat. 89° 20' 53'' S.) all our feet were cold, but this was mainly due to the bald state of our finnesko. I put some grease under the bare skin and found it made all the difference. Oates seems to be feeling the cold and fatigue more than the rest of us, but we are all very fit. It is a critical time, but we ought to pull through. The barometer has fallen very considerably and we cannot tell whether due to ascent of plateau or change of weather. Oh! for a few fine days! So close it seems and only the weather to baulk us. _Monday, January_ 15.--Lunch camp, Height 9,950. Last depot. During the night the air cleared entirely and the sun shone in a perfectly clear sky. The light wind had dropped and the temperature fallen to -25°, minimum -27°. I guessed this meant a hard pull, and guessed right. The surface was terrible, but for 4 3/4 hours yielded 6 miles (geo.). We were all pretty well done at camping, and here we leave our last depot--only four days' food and a sundry or two. The load is now very light, but I fear that the friction will not be greatly reduced. _Night, January_ 15.--Height 9920. T. -25°. The sledge came surprisingly lightly after lunch--something from loss of weight, something, I think, from stowage, and, most of all perhaps, as a result of tea. Anyhow we made a capital afternoon march of 6.3 miles, bringing the total for the day to over 12 (12.3). The sastrugi again very confused, but mostly S.E. quadrant; the heaviest now almost east, so that the sledge continually bumps over ridges. The wind is from the W.N.W. chiefly, but the weather remains fine and there are no sastrugi from that direction. Camp 67. Lunch obs.: Lat. 89° 26' 57''; Lat. dead reckoning, 89° 33' 15'' S.; Long. 160° 56' 45'' E.; Var. 179° E. It is wonderful to think that two long marches would land us at the Pole. We left our depot to-day with nine days' provisions, so that it ought to be a certain thing now, and the only appalling possibility the sight of the Norwegian flag forestalling ours. Little Bowers continues his indefatigable efforts to get good sights, and it is wonderful how he works them up in his sleeping-bag in our congested tent. (Minimum for night -27.5°.) Only 27 miles from the Pole. We _ought_ to do it now. _Tuesday, January_ 16.--Camp 68. Height 9760. T. -23.5°. The worst has happened, or nearly the worst. We marched well in the morning and covered 7 1/2 miles. Noon sight showed us in Lat. 89° 42' S., and we started off in high spirits in the afternoon, feeling that to-morrow would see us at our destination. About the second hour of the March Bowers' sharp eyes detected what he thought was a cairn; he was uneasy about it, but argued that it must be a sastrugus. Half an hour later he detected a black speck ahead. Soon we knew that this could not be a natural snow feature. We marched on, found that it was a black flag tied to a sledge bearer; near by the remains of a camp; sledge tracks and ski tracks going and coming and the clear trace of dogs' paws--many dogs. This told us the whole story. The Norwegians have forestalled us and are first at the Pole. It is a terrible disappointment, and I am very sorry for my loyal companions. Many thoughts come and much discussion have we had. To-morrow we must march on to the Pole and then hasten home with all the speed we can compass. All the day dreams must go; it will be a wearisome return. We are descending in altitude--certainly also the Norwegians found an easy way up. _Wednesday, January_ 17.--Camp 69. T. -22° at start. Night -21°. The Pole. Yes, but under very different circumstances from those expected. We have had a horrible day--add to our disappointment a head wind 4 to 5, with a temperature -22°, and companions labouring on with cold feet and hands. We started at 7.30, none of us having slept much after the shock of our discovery. We followed the Norwegian sledge tracks for some way; as far as we make out there are only two men. In about three miles we passed two small cairns. Then the weather overcast, and the tracks being increasingly drifted up and obviously going too far to the west, we decided to make straight for the Pole according to our calculations. At 12.30 Evans had such cold hands we camped for lunch--an excellent 'week-end one.' We had marched 7.4 miles. Lat. sight gave 89° 53' 37''. We started out and did 6 1/2 miles due south. To-night little Bowers is laying himself out to get sights in terrible difficult circumstances; the wind is blowing hard, T. -21°, and there is that curious damp, cold feeling in the air which chills one to the bone in no time. We have been descending again, I think, but there looks to be a rise ahead; otherwise there is very little that is different from the awful monotony of past days. Great God! this is an awful place and terrible enough for us to have laboured to it without the reward of priority. Well, it is something to have got here, and the wind may be our friend to-morrow. We have had a fat Polar hoosh in spite of our chagrin, and feel comfortable inside--added a small stick of chocolate and the queer taste of a cigarette brought by Wilson. Now for the run home and a desperate struggle. I wonder if we can do it. _Thursday morning, January_ 18.--Decided after summing up all observations that we were 3.5 miles away from the Pole--one mile beyond it and 3 to the right. More or less in this direction Bowers saw a cairn or tent. We have just arrived at this tent, 2 miles from our camp, therefore about 1 1/2 miles from the Pole. In the tent we find a record of five Norwegians having been here, as follows: Roald Amundsen Olav Olavson Bjaaland Hilmer Hanssen Sverre H. Hassel Oscar Wisting. 16 Dec. 1911. The tent is fine--a small compact affair supported by a single bamboo. A note from Amundsen, which I keep, asks me to forward a letter to King Haakon! The following articles have been left in the tent: 3 half bags of reindeer containing a miscellaneous assortment of mits and sleeping socks, very various in description, a sextant, a Norwegian artificial horizon and a hypsometer without boiling-point thermometers, a sextant and hypsometer of English make. Left a note to say I had visited the tent with companions. Bowers photographing and Wilson sketching. Since lunch we have marched 6.2 miles S.S.E. by compass (i.e. northwards). Sights at lunch gave us 1/2 to 3/4 of a mile from the Pole, so we call it the Pole Camp. (Temp. Lunch -21°.) We built a cairn, put up our poor slighted Union Jack, and photographed ourselves--mighty cold work all of it--less than 1/2 a mile south we saw stuck up an old underrunner of a sledge. This we commandeered as a yard for a floorcloth sail. I imagine it was intended to mark the exact spot of the Pole as near as the Norwegians could fix it. (Height 9500.) A note attached talked of the tent as being 2 miles from the Pole. Wilson keeps the note. There is no doubt that our predecessors have made thoroughly sure of their mark and fully carried out their programme. I think the Pole is about 9500 feet in height; this is remarkable, considering that in Lat. 88° we were about 10,500. We carried the Union Jack about 3/4 of a mile north with us and left it on a piece of stick as near as we could fix it. I fancy the Norwegians arrived at the Pole on the 15th Dec. and left on the 17th, ahead of a date quoted by me in London as ideal, viz. Dec. 22. It looks as though the Norwegian party expected colder weather on the summit than they got; it could scarcely be otherwise from Shackleton's account. Well, we have turned our back now on the goal of our ambition and must face our 800 miles of solid dragging--and good-bye to most of the daydreams! CHAPTER XIX The Return from the Pole _Friday, January_ 19.--Lunch 8.1, T. -22.6°. Early in the march we picked up a Norwegian cairn and our outward tracks. We followed these to the ominous black flag which had first apprised us of our predecessors' success. We have picked this flag up, using the staff for our sail, and are now camped about 1 1/2 miles further back on our tracks. So that is the last of the Norwegians for the present. The surface undulates considerably about this latitude; it was more evident to-day than when we were outward bound. Night camp R. 2. [37] Height 9700. T. -18.5°, Minimum -25.6°. Came along well this afternoon for three hours, then a rather dreary finish for the last 1 1/2. Weather very curious, snow clouds, looking very dense and spoiling the light, pass overhead from the S., dropping very minute crystals; between showers the sun shows and the wind goes to the S.W. The fine crystals absolutely spoil the surface; we had heavy dragging during the last hour in spite of the light load and a full sail. Our old tracks are drifted up, deep in places, and toothed sastrugi have formed over them. It looks as though this sandy snow was drifted about like sand from place to place. How account for the present state of our three day old tracks and the month old ones of the Norwegians? It is warmer and pleasanter marching with the wind, but I'm not sure we don't feel the cold more when we stop and camp than we did on the outward march. We pick up our cairns easily, and ought to do so right through, I think; but, of course, one will be a bit anxious till the Three Degree Depot is reached. [38] I'm afraid the return journey is going to be dreadfully tiring and monotonous. _Saturday, January 20._--Lunch camp, 9810. We have come along very well this morning, although the surface was terrible bad--9.3 miles in 5 hours 20 m. This has brought us to our Southern Depot, and we pick up 4 days' food. We carry on 7 days from to-night with 55 miles to go to the Half Degree Depot made on January 10. The same sort of weather and a little more wind, sail drawing well. Night Camp R. 3. 9860. Temp. -18°. It was blowing quite hard and drifting when we started our afternoon march. At first with full sail we went along at a great rate; then we got on to an extraordinary surface, the drifting snow lying in heaps; it clung to the ski, which could only be pushed forward with an effort. The pulling was really awful, but we went steadily on and camped a short way beyond our cairn of the 14th. I'm afraid we are in for a bad pull again to-morrow, luckily the wind holds. I shall be very glad when Bowers gets his ski; I'm afraid he must find these long marches very trying with short legs, but he is an undefeated little sportsman. I think Oates is feeling the cold and fatigue more than most of us. It is blowing pretty hard to-night, but with a good march we have earned one good hoosh and are very comfortable in the tent. It is everything now to keep up a good marching pace; I trust we shall be able to do so and catch the ship. Total march, 18 1/2 miles. _Sunday, January_ 21.--R. 4. 10,010. Temp, blizzard, -18° to -11°, to -14° now. Awoke to a stiff blizzard; air very thick with snow and sun very dim. We decided not to march owing to likelihood of losing track; expected at least a day of lay up, but whilst at lunch there was a sudden clearance and wind dropped to light breeze. We got ready to march, but gear was so iced up we did not get away till 3.45. Marched till 7.40--a terribly weary four-hour drag; even with helping wind we only did 5 1/2 miles (6 1/4 statute). The surface bad, horribly bad on new sastrugi, and decidedly rising again in elevation. We are going to have a pretty hard time this next 100 miles I expect. If it was difficult to drag downhill over this belt, it will probably be a good deal more difficult to drag up. Luckily the cracks are fairly distinct, though we only see our cairns when less than a mile away; 45 miles to the next depot and 6 days' food in hand--then pick up 7 days' food (T. -22°) and 90 miles to go to the 'Three Degree' Depot. Once there we ought to be safe, but we ought to have a day or two in hand on arrival and may have difficulty with following the tracks. However, if we can get a rating sight for our watches to-morrow we shall be independent of the tracks at a pinch. _Monday, January_ 22.--10,000. Temp. -21°. I think about the most tiring march we have had; solid pulling the whole way, in spite of the light sledge and some little helping wind at first. Then in the last part of the afternoon the sun came out, and almost immediately we had the whole surface covered with soft snow. We got away sharp at 8 and marched a solid 9 hours, and thus we have covered 14.5 miles (geo.) but, by Jove! it has been a grind. We are just about on the 89th parallel. To-night Bowers got a rating sight. I'm afraid we have passed out of the wind area. We are within 2 1/2 miles of the 64th camp cairn, 30 miles from our depot, and with 5 days' food in hand. Ski boots are beginning to show signs of wear; I trust we shall have no giving out of ski or boots, since there are yet so many miles to go. I thought we were climbing to-day, but the barometer gives no change. _Tuesday, January_ 23.--Lowest Minimum last night -30°, Temp, at start -28°. Lunch height 10,100. Temp, with wind 6 to 7, -19°. Little wind and heavy marching at start. Then wind increased and we did 8.7 miles by lunch, when it was practically blowing a blizzard. The old tracks show so remarkably well that we can follow them without much difficulty--a great piece of luck. In the afternoon we had to reorganise. Could carry a whole sail. Bowers hung on to the sledge, Evans and Oates had to lengthen out. We came along at a great rate and should have got within an easy march of our depot had not Wilson suddenly discovered that Evans' nose was frostbitten--it was white and hard. We thought it best to camp at 6.45. Got the tent up with some difficulty, and now pretty cosy after good hoosh. There is no doubt Evans is a good deal run down--his fingers are badly blistered and his nose is rather seriously congested with frequent frost bites. He is very much annoyed with himself, which is not a good sign. I think Wilson, Bowers and I are as fit as possible under the circumstances. Oates gets cold feet. One way and another, I shall be glad to get off the summit! We are only about 13 miles from our 'Degree and half' Depôt and should get there to-morrow. The weather seems to be breaking up. Pray God we have something of a track to follow to the Three Degree Depôt--once we pick that up we ought to be right. _Wednesday, January_ 24.--Lunch Temp. -8°. Things beginning to look a little serious. A strong wind at the start has developed into a full blizzard at lunch, and we have had to get into our sleeping-bags. It was a bad march, but we covered 7 miles. At first Evans, and then Wilson went ahead to scout for tracks. Bowers guided the sledge alone for the first hour, then both Oates and he remained alongside it; they had a fearful time trying to make the pace between the soft patches. At 12.30 the sun coming ahead made it impossible to see the tracks further, and we had to stop. By this time the gale was at its height and we had the dickens of a time getting up the tent, cold fingers all round. We are only 7 miles from our depot, but I made sure we should be there to-night. This is the second full gale since we left the Pole. I don't like the look of it. Is the weather breaking up? If so, God help us, with the tremendous summit journey and scant food. Wilson and Bowers are my standby. I don't like the easy way in which Oates and Evans get frostbitten. _Thursday, January_ 25.--Temp. Lunch -11°, Temp. night -16°. Thank God we found our Half Degree Depôt. After lying in our bags yesterday afternoon and all night, we debated breakfast; decided to have it later and go without lunch. At the time the gale seemed as bad as ever, but during breakfast the sun showed and there was light enough to see the old track. It was a long and terribly cold job digging out our sledge and breaking camp, but we got through and on the march without sail, all pulling. This was about 11, and at about 2.30, to our joy, we saw the red depôt flag. We had lunch and left with 9 1/2 days' provisions, still following the track--marched till 8 and covered over 5 miles, over 12 in the day. Only 89 miles (geogr.) to the next depot, but it's time we cleared off this plateau. We are not without ailments: Oates suffers from a very cold foot; Evans' fingers and nose are in a bad state, and to-night Wilson is suffering tortures from his eyes. Bowers and I are the only members of the party without troubles just at present. The weather still looks unsettled, and I fear a succession of blizzards at this time of year; the wind is strong from the south, and this afternoon has been very helpful with the full sail. Needless to say I shall sleep much better with our provision bag full again. The only real anxiety now is the finding of the Three Degree Depot. The tracks seem as good as ever so far, sometimes for 30 or 40 yards we lose them under drifts, but then they reappear quite clearly raised above the surface. If the light is good there is not the least difficulty in following. Blizzards are our bugbear, not only stopping our marches, but the cold damp air takes it out of us. Bowers got another rating sight to-night--it was wonderful how he managed to observe in such a horribly cold wind. He has been on ski to-day whilst Wilson walked by the sledge or pulled ahead of it. _Friday, January_ 26.--Temp. -17°. Height 9700, must be high barometer. Started late, 8.50--for no reason, as I called the hands rather early. We must have fewer delays. There was a good stiff breeze and plenty of drift, but the tracks held. To our old blizzard camp of the 7th we got on well, 7 miles. But beyond the camp we found the tracks completely wiped out. We searched for some time, then marched on a short way and lunched, the weather gradually clearing, though the wind holding. Knowing there were two cairns at four mile intervals, we had little anxiety till we picked up the first far on our right, then steering right by a stroke of fortune, and Bowers' sharp eyes caught a glimpse of the second far on the left. Evidently we made a bad course outward at this part. There is not a sign of our tracks between these cairns, but the last, marking our night camp of the 6th, No. 59, is in the belt of hard sastrugi, and I was comforted to see signs of the track reappearing as we camped. I hope to goodness we can follow it to-morrow. We marched 16 miles (geo.) to-day, but made good only 15.4. Saturday, January 27.--R. 10. Temp. -16° (lunch), -14.3° (evening). Minimum -19°. Height 9900. Barometer low? Called the hands half an hour late, but we got away in good time. The forenoon march was over the belt of storm-tossed sastrugi; it looked like a rough sea. Wilson and I pulled in front on ski, the remainder on foot. It was very tricky work following the track, which pretty constantly disappeared, and in fact only showed itself by faint signs anywhere--a foot or two of raised sledge-track, a dozen yards of the trail of the sledge-meter wheel, or a spatter of hard snow-flicks where feet had trodden. Sometimes none of these were distinct, but one got an impression of lines which guided. The trouble was that on the outward track one had to shape course constantly to avoid the heaviest mounds, and consequently there were many zig-zags. We lost a good deal over a mile by these halts, in which we unharnessed and went on the search for signs. However, by hook or crook, we managed to stick on the old track. Came on the cairn quite suddenly, marched past it, and camped for lunch at 7 miles. In the afternoon the sastrugi gradually diminished in size and now we are on fairly level ground to-day, the obstruction practically at an end, and, to our joy, the tracks showing up much plainer again. For the last two hours we had no difficulty at all in following them. There has been a nice helpful southerly breeze all day, a clear sky and comparatively warm temperature. The air is dry again, so that tents and equipment are gradually losing their icy condition imposed by the blizzard conditions of the past week. Our sleeping-bags are slowly but surely getting wetter and I'm afraid it will take a lot of this weather to put them right. However, we all sleep well enough in them, the hours allowed being now on the short side. We are slowly getting more hungry, and it would be an advantage to have a little more food, especially for lunch. If we get to the next depôt in a few marches (it is now less than 60 miles and we have a full week's food) we ought to be able to open out a little, but we can't look for a real feed till we get to the pony food depot. A long way to go, and, by Jove, this is tremendous labour. _Sunday, January_ 28.--Lunch, -20°. Height, night, 10,130. R. 11. Supper Temp. -18°. Little wind and heavy going in forenoon. We just ran out 8 miles in 5 hours and added another 8 in 3 hours 40 mins. in the afternoon with a good wind and better surface. It is very difficult to say if we are going up or down hill; the barometer is quite different from outward readings. We are 43 miles from the depot, with six days' food in hand. We are camped opposite our lunch cairn of the 4th, only half a day's march from the point at which the last supporting party left us. Three articles were dropped on our outward march--(Oates' pipe, Bowers' fur mits, and Evans' night boots. We picked up the boots and mits on the track, and to-night we found the pipe lying placidly in sight on the snow. The sledge tracks were very easy to follow to-day; they are becoming more and more raised, giving a good line shadow often visible half a mile ahead. If this goes on and the weather holds we shall get our depôt without trouble. I shall indeed be glad to get it on the sledge. We are getting more hungry, there is no doubt. The lunch meal is beginning to seem inadequate. We are pretty thin, especially Evans, but none of us are feeling worked out. I doubt if we could drag heavy loads, but we can keep going well with our light one. We talk of food a good deal more, and shall be glad to open out on it. _Monday, January_ 29.--R. 12. Lunch Temp. -23°. Supper Temp. -25°. Height 10,000. Excellent march of 19 1/2 miles, 10.5 before lunch. Wind helping greatly, considerable drift; tracks for the most part very plain. Some time before lunch we picked up the return track of the supporting party, so that there are now three distinct sledge impressions. We are only 24 miles from our depôt--an easy day and a half. Given a fine day to-morrow we ought to get it without difficulty. The wind and sastrugi are S.S.E. and S.E. If the weather holds we ought to do the rest of the inland ice journey in little over a week. The surface is very much altered since we passed out. The loose snow has been swept into heaps, hard and wind-tossed. The rest has a glazed appearance, the loose drifting snow no doubt acting on it, polishing it like a sand blast. The sledge with our good wind behind runs splendidly on it; it is all soft and sandy beneath the glaze. We are certainly getting hungrier every day. The day after to-morrow we should be able to increase allowances. It is monotonous work, but, thank God, the miles are coming fast at last. We ought not to be delayed much now with the down-grade in front of us. _Tuesday, January_ 30.--R. 13. 9860. Lunch Temp.-25°, Supper Temp. -24.5°. Thank the Lord, another fine march--19 miles. We have passed the last cairn before the depôt, the track is clear ahead, the weather fair, the wind helpful, the gradient down--with any luck we should pick up our depôt in the middle of the morning march. This is the bright side; the reverse of the medal is serious. Wilson has strained a tendon in his leg; it has given pain all day and is swollen to-night. Of course, he is full of pluck over it, but I don't like the idea of such an accident here. To add to the trouble Evans has dislodged two finger-nails to-night; his hands are really bad, and to my surprise he shows signs of losing heart over it. He hasn't been cheerful since the accident. The wind shifted from S.E. to S. and back again all day, but luckily it keeps strong. We can get along with bad fingers, but it (will be) a mighty serious thing if Wilson's leg doesn't improve. _Wednesday, January_ 31.--9800. Lunch Temp. -20°, Supper Temp. -20°. The day opened fine with a fair breeze; we marched on the depôt, [39] picked it up, and lunched an hour later. In the afternoon the surface became fearfully bad, the wind dropped to light southerly air. Ill luck that this should happen just when we have only four men to pull. Wilson rested his leg as much as possible by walking quietly beside the sledge; the result has been good, and to-night there is much less inflammation. I hope he will be all right again soon, but it is trying to have an injured limb in the party. I see we had a very heavy surface here on our outward march. There is no doubt we are travelling over undulations, but the inequality of level does not make a great difference to our pace; it is the sandy crystals that hold us up. There has been very great alteration of the surface since we were last here--the sledge tracks stand high. This afternoon we picked up Bowers' ski [40]--the last thing we have to find on the summit, thank Heaven! Now we have only to go north and so shall welcome strong winds. _Thursday, February_ 1.--R. 15. 9778. Lunch Temp. -20°, Supper Temp. -19.8°. Heavy collar work most of the day. Wind light. Did 8 miles, 4 3/4 hours. Started well in the afternoon and came down a steep slope in quick time; then the surface turned real bad--sandy drifts--very heavy pulling. Working on past 8 P.M. we just fetched a lunch cairn of December 29, when we were only a week out from the depôt. [41] It ought to be easy to get in with a margin, having 8 days' food in hand (full feeding). We have opened out on the 1/7th increase and it makes a lot of difference. Wilson's leg much better. Evans' fingers now very bad, two nails coming off, blisters burst. _Friday, February_ 2.--9340. R. 16. Temp.: Lunch -19°, Supper -17°. We started well on a strong southerly wind. Soon got to a steep grade, when the sledge overran and upset us one after another. We got off our ski, and pulling on foot reeled off 9 miles by lunch at 1.30. Started in the afternoon on foot, going very strong. We noticed a curious circumstance towards the end of the forenoon. The tracks were drifted over, but the drifts formed a sort of causeway along which we pulled. In the afternoon we soon came to a steep slope--the same on which we exchanged sledges on December 28. All went well till, in trying to keep the track at the same time as my feet, on a very slippery surface, I came an awful 'purler' on my shoulder. It is horribly sore to-night and another sick person added to our tent--three out of fine injured, and the most troublesome surfaces to come. We shall be lucky if we get through without serious injury. Wilson's leg is better, but might easily get bad again, and Evans' fingers. At the bottom of the slope this afternoon we came on a confused sea of sastrugi. We lost the track. Later, on soft snow, we picked up E. Evans' return track, which we are now following. We have managed to get off 17 miles. The extra food is certainly helping us, but we are getting pretty hungry. The weather is already a trifle warmer and the altitude lower, and only 80 miles or so to Mount Darwin. It is time we were off the summit--Pray God another four days will see us pretty well clear of it. Our bags are getting very wet and we ought to have more sleep. _Saturday, February_ 3.--R. 17. Temp.: Lunch -20°; Supper -20°. Height 9040 feet. Started pretty well on foot; came to steep slope with crevasses (few). I went on ski to avoid another fall, and we took the slope gently with our sail, constantly losing the track, but picked up a much weathered cairn on our right. Vexatious delays, searching for tracks, &c., reduced morning march to 8.1 miles. Afternoon, came along a little better, but again lost tracks on hard slope. To-night we are near camp of December 26, but cannot see cairn. Have decided it is waste of time looking for tracks and cairn, and shall push on due north as fast as we can. The surface is greatly changed since we passed outward, in most places polished smooth, but with heaps of new toothed sastrugi which are disagreeable obstacles. Evans' fingers are going on as well as can be expected, but it will be long before he will be able to help properly with the work. Wilson's leg much better, and my shoulder also, though it gives bad twinges. The extra food is doing us all good, but we ought to have more sleep. Very few more days on the plateau I hope. _Sunday, February_ 4.--R. 18. 8620 feet. Temp.: Lunch -22°; Supper -23°. Pulled on foot in the morning over good hard surface and covered 9.7 miles. Just before lunch unexpectedly fell into crevasses, Evans and I together--a second fall for Evans, and I camped. After lunch saw disturbance ahead, and what I took for disturbance (land) to the right. We went on ski over hard shiny descending surface. Did very well, especially towards end of march, covering in all 18.1. We have come down some hundreds of feet. Half way in the march the land showed up splendidly, and I decided to make straight for Mt. Darwin, which we are rounding. Every sign points to getting away off this plateau. The temperature is 20° lower than when we were here before; the party is not improving in condition, especially Evans, who is becoming rather dull and incapable. [42] Thank the Lord we have good food at each meal, but we get hungrier in spite of it. Bowers is splendid, full of energy and bustle all the time. I hope we are not going to have trouble with ice-falls. _Monday, February_ 5.--R. 19. Lunch, 8320 ft., Temp. -17°; Supper, 8120 ft, Temp.-17.2°. A good forenoon, few crevasses; we covered 10.2 miles. In the afternoon we soon got into difficulties. We saw the land very clearly, but the difficulty is to get at it. An hour after starting we came on huge pressures and great street crevasses partly open. We had to steer more and more to the west, so that our course was very erratic. Late in the march we turned more to the north and again encountered open crevasses across our track. It is very difficult manoeuvring amongst these and I should not like to do it without ski. We are camped in a very disturbed region, but the wind has fallen very light here, and our camp is comfortable for the first time for many weeks. We may be anything from 25 to 30 miles from our depot, but I wish to goodness we could see a way through the disturbances ahead. Our faces are much cut up by all the winds we have had, mine least of all; the others tell me they feel their noses more going with than against the wind. Evans' nose is almost as bad as his fingers. He is a good deal crocked up. _Tuesday, February_ 6.--Lunch 7900; Supper 7210. Temp. -15°. We've had a horrid day and not covered good mileage. On turning out found sky overcast; a beastly position amidst crevasses. Luckily it cleared just before we started. We went straight for Mt. Darwin, but in half an hour found ourselves amongst huge open chasms, unbridged, but not very deep, I think. We turned to the north between two, but to our chagrin they converged into chaotic disturbance. We had to retrace our steps for a mile or so, then struck to the west and got on to a confused sea of sastrugi, pulling very hard; we put up the sail, Evans' nose suffered, Wilson very cold, everything horrid. Camped for lunch in the sastrugi; the only comfort, things looked clearer to the west and we were obviously going downhill. In the afternoon we struggled on, got out of sastrugi and turned over on glazed surface, crossing many crevasses--very easy work on ski. Towards the end of the march we realised the certainty of maintaining a more or less straight course to the depot, and estimate distance 10 to 15 miles. Food is low and weather uncertain, so that many hours of the day were anxious; but this evening, though we are not as far advanced as I expected, the outlook is much more promising. Evans is the chief anxiety now; his cuts and wounds suppurate, his nose looks very bad, and altogether he shows considerable signs of being played out. Things may mend for him on the glacier, and his wounds get some respite under warmer conditions. I am indeed glad to think we shall so soon have done with plateau conditions. It took us 27 days to reach the Pole and 21 days back--in all 48 days--nearly 7 weeks in low temperature with almost incessant wind. End of the Summit Journey _Wednesday, February 7_.--Mount Darwin [or Upper Glacier] Depot, R. 21. Height 7100. Lunch Temp. -9°; Supper Temp, [a blank here]. A wretched day with satisfactory ending. First panic, certainty that biscuit-box was short. Great doubt as to how this has come about, as we certainly haven't over-issued allowances. Bowers is dreadfully disturbed about it. The shortage is a full day's allowance. We started our march at 8.30, and travelled down slopes and over terraces covered with hard sastrugi--very tiresome work--and the land didn't seem to come any nearer. At lunch the wind increased, and what with hot tea and good food, we started the afternoon in a better frame of mind, and it soon became obvious we were nearing our mark. Soon after 6.30 we saw our depot easily and camped next it at 7.30. Found note from Evans to say the second return party passed through safely at 2.30 on January 14--half a day longer between depots than we have been. The temperature is higher, but there is a cold wind to-night. Well, we have come through our 7 weeks' ice camp journey and most of us are fit, but I think another week might have had a very bad effect on Evans, who is going steadily downhill. It is satisfactory to recall that these facts give absolute proof of both expeditions having reached the Pole and placed the question of priority beyond discussion. _Thursday, February_ 8.--R. 22. Height 6260. Start Temp. -11°; Lunch Temp. -5°; Supper, zero. 9.2 miles. Started from the depot rather late owing to weighing biscuit, &c., and rearranging matters. Had a beastly morning. Wind very strong and cold. Steered in for Mt. Darwin to visit rock. Sent Bowers on, on ski, as Wilson can't wear his at present. He obtained several specimens, all of much the same type, a close-grained granite rock which weathers red. Hence the pink limestone. After he rejoined we skidded downhill pretty fast, leaders on ski, Oates and Wilson on foot alongside sledge--Evans detached. We lunched at 2 well down towards Mt. Buckley, the wind half a gale and everybody very cold and cheerless. However, better things were to follow. We decided to steer for the moraine under Mt. Buckley and, pulling with crampons, we crossed some very irregular steep slopes with big crevasses and slid down towards the rocks. The moraine was obviously so interesting that when we had advanced some miles and got out of the wind, I decided to camp and spend the rest of the day geologising. It has been extremely interesting. We found ourselves under perpendicular cliffs of Beacon sandstone, weathering rapidly and carrying veritable coal seams. From the last Wilson, with his sharp eyes, has picked several plant impressions, the last a piece of coal with beautifully traced leaves in layers, also some excellently preserved impressions of thick stems, showing cellular structure. In one place we saw the cast of small waves on the sand. To-night Bill has got a specimen of limestone with archeo-cyathus--the trouble is one cannot imagine where the stone comes from; it is evidently rare, as few specimens occur in the moraine. There is a good deal of pure white quartz. Altogether we have had a most interesting afternoon, and the relief of being out of the wind and in a warmer temperature is inexpressible. I hope and trust we shall all buck up again now that the conditions are more favourable. We have been in shadow all the afternoon, but the sun has just reached us, a little obscured by night haze. A lot could be written on the delight of setting foot on rock after 14 weeks of snow and ice and nearly 7 out of sight of aught else. It is like going ashore after a sea voyage. We deserve a little good bright weather after all our trials, and hope to get a chance to dry our sleeping-bags and generally make our gear more comfortable. _Friday, February 9_.--R. 23. Height 5,210 ft. Lunch Temp. +10°; Supper Temp. +12.5°. About 13 miles. Kept along the edge of moraine to the end of Mt. Buckley. Stopped and geologised. Wilson got great find of vegetable impression in piece of limestone. Too tired to write geological notes. We all felt very slack this morning, partly rise of temperature, partly reaction, no doubt. Ought to have kept close in to glacier north of Mt. Buckley, but in bad light the descent looked steep and we kept out. Evidently we got amongst bad ice pressure and had to come down over an ice-fall. The crevasses were much firmer than expected and we got down with some difficulty, found our night camp of December 20, and lunched an hour after. Did pretty well in the afternoon, marching 3 3/4 hours; the sledge-meter is unshipped, so cannot tell distance traversed. Very warm on march and we are all pretty tired. To-night it is wonderfully calm and warm, though it has been overcast all the afternoon. It is remarkable to be able to stand outside the tent and sun oneself. Our food satisfies now, but we must march to keep in the full ration, and we want rest, yet we shall pull through all right, D.V. We are by no means worn out. _Saturday, February_ 10.--R. 24. Lunch Temp. +12°; Supper Temp. +10°. Got off a good morning march in spite of keeping too far east and getting in rough, cracked ice. Had a splendid night sleep, showing great change in all faces, so didn't get away till 10 A.M. Lunched just before 3. After lunch the land began to be obscured. We held a course for 2 1/2 hours with difficulty, then the sun disappeared, and snow drove in our faces with northerly wind--very warm and impossible to steer, so camped. After supper, still very thick all round, but sun showing and less snow falling. The fallen snow crystals are quite feathery like thistledown. We have two full days' food left, and though our position is uncertain, we are certainly within two outward marches from the middle glacier depot. However, if the weather doesn't clear by to-morrow, we must either march blindly on or reduce food. It is very trying. Another night to make up arrears of sleep. The ice crystals that first fell this afternoon were very large. Now the sky is clearer overhead, the temperature has fallen slightly, and the crystals are minute. _Sunday, February_ 11.--R. 25. Lunch Temp. -6.5°; Supper -3.5°. The worst day we have had during the trip and greatly owing to our own fault. We started on a wretched surface with light S.W. wind, sail set, and pulling on ski--horrible light, which made everything look fantastic. As we went on light got worse, and suddenly we found ourselves in pressure. Then came the fatal decision to steer east. We went on for 6 hours, hoping to do a good distance, which in fact I suppose we did, but for the last hour or two we pressed on into a regular trap. Getting on to a good surface we did not reduce our lunch meal, and thought all going well, but half an hour after lunch we got into the worst ice mess I have ever been in. For three hours we plunged on on ski, first thinking we were too much to the right, then too much to the left; meanwhile the disturbance got worse and my spirits received a very rude shock. There were times when it seemed almost impossible to find a way out of the awful turmoil in which we found ourselves. At length, arguing that there must be a way on our left, we plunged in that direction. It got worse, harder, more icy and crevassed. We could not manage our ski and pulled on foot, falling into crevasses every minute--most luckily no bad accident. At length we saw a smoother slope towards the land, pushed for it, but knew it was a woefully long way from us. The turmoil changed in character, irregular crevassed surface giving way to huge chasms, closely packed and most difficult to cross. It was very heavy work, but we had grown desperate. We won through at 10 P.M. and I write after 12 hours on the march. I _think_ we are on or about the right track now, but we are still a good number of miles from the depôt, so we reduced rations to-night. We had three pemmican meals left and decided to make them into four. To-morrow's lunch must serve for two if we do not make big progress. It was a test of our endurance on the march and our fitness with small supper. We have come through well. A good wind has come down the glacier which is clearing the sky and surface. Pray God the wind holds to-morrow. Short sleep to-night and off first thing, I hope. _Monday, February_ 12.--R. 26. In a very critical situation. All went well in the forenoon, and we did a good long march over a fair surface. Two hours before lunch we were cheered by the sight of our night camp of the 18th December, the day after we made our depôt--this showed we were on the right track. In the afternoon, refreshed by tea, we went forward, confident of covering the remaining distance, but by a fatal chance we kept too far to the left, and then we struck uphill and, tired and despondent, arrived in a horrid maze of crevasses and fissures. Divided councils caused our course to be erratic after this, and finally, at 9 P.M. we landed in the worst place of all. After discussion we decided to camp, and here we are, after a very short supper and one meal only remaining in the food bag; the depot doubtful in locality. We must get there to-morrow. Meanwhile we are cheerful with an effort. It's a tight place, but luckily we've been well fed up to the present. Pray God we have fine weather to-morrow. [At this point the bearings of the mid-glacier depôt are given, but need not be quoted.] _Tuesday, February_ 13.--Camp R. 27, beside Cloudmaker. Temp. -10°. Last night we all slept well in spite of our grave anxieties. For my part these were increased by my visits outside the tent, when I saw the sky gradually closing over and snow beginning to fall. By our ordinary time for getting up it was dense all around us. We could see nothing, and we could only remain in our sleeping-bags. At 8.30 I dimly made out the land of the Cloudmaker. At 9 we got up, deciding to have tea, and with one biscuit, no pemmican, so as to leave our scanty remaining meal for eventualities. We started marching, and at first had to wind our way through an awful turmoil of broken ice, but in about an hour we hit an old moraine track, brown with dirt. Here the surface was much smoother and improved rapidly. The fog still hung over all and we went on for an hour, checking our bearings. Then the whole place got smoother and we turned outward a little. Evans raised our hopes with a shout of depot ahead, but it proved to be a shadow on the ice. Then suddenly Wilson saw the actual depot flag. It was an immense relief, and we were soon in possession of our 3 1/2 days' food. The relief to all is inexpressible; needless to say, we camped and had a meal. Marching in the afternoon, I kept more to the left, and closed the mountain till we fell on the stone moraines. Here Wilson detached himself and made a collection, whilst we pulled the sledge on. We camped late, abreast the lower end of the mountain, and had nearly our usual satisfying supper. Yesterday was the worst experience of the trip and gave a horrid feeling of insecurity. Now we are right up, we must march. In future food must be worked so that we do not run so short if the weather fails us. We mustn't get into a hole like this again. Greatly relieved to find that both the other parties got through safely. Evans seems to have got mixed up with pressures like ourselves. It promises to be a very fine day to-morrow. The valley is gradually clearing. Bowers has had a very bad attack of snow blindness, and Wilson another almost as bad. Evans has no power to assist with camping work. _Wednesday, February_ 14.--Lunch Temp. 0°; Supper Temp. -1°. A fine day with wind on and off down the glacier, and we have done a fairly good march. We started a little late and pulled on down the moraine. At first I thought of going right, but soon, luckily, changed my mind and decided to follow the curving lines of the moraines. This course has brought us well out on the glacier. Started on crampons; one hour after, hoisted sail; the combined efforts produced only slow speed, partly due to the sandy snowdrifts similar to those on summit, partly to our torn sledge runners. At lunch these were scraped and sand-papered. After lunch we got on snow, with ice only occasionally showing through. A poor start, but the gradient and wind improving, we did 6 1/2 miles before night camp. There is no getting away from the fact that we are not going strong. Probably none of us: Wilson's leg still troubles him and he doesn't like to trust himself on ski; but the worst case is Evans, who is giving us serious anxiety. This morning he suddenly disclosed a huge blister on his foot. It delayed us on the march, when he had to have his crampon readjusted. Sometimes I fear he is going from bad to worse, but I trust he will pick up again when we come to steady work on ski like this afternoon. He is hungry and so is Wilson. We can't risk opening out our food again, and as cook at present I am serving something under full allowance. We are inclined to get slack and slow with our camping arrangements, and small delays increase. I have talked of the matter to-night and hope for improvement. We cannot do distance without the ponies. The next depot [43] some 30 miles away and nearly 3 days' food in hand. _Thursday, February_ 15.--R. 29. Lunch Temp. -10°; Supper Temp. -4°. 13.5 miles. Again we are running short of provision. We don't know our distance from the depot, but imagine about 20 miles. Heavy march--did 13 3/4 (geo.). We are pulling for food and not very strong evidently. In the afternoon it was overcast; land blotted out for a considerable interval. We have reduced food, also sleep; feeling rather done. Trust 1 1/2 days or 2 at most will see us at depot. _Friday, February_ 16.--12.5 m. Lunch Temp.-6.1°; Supper Temp. -7°. A rather trying position. Evans has nearly broken down in brain, we think. He is absolutely changed from his normal self-reliant self. This morning and this afternoon he stopped the march on some trivial excuse. We are on short rations with not very short food; spin out till to-morrow night. We cannot be more than 10 or 12 miles from the depot, but the weather is all against us. After lunch we were enveloped in a snow sheet, land just looming. Memory should hold the events of a very troublesome march with more troubles ahead. Perhaps all will be well if we can get to our depot to-morrow fairly early, but it is anxious work with the sick man. But it's no use meeting troubles half way, and our sleep is all too short to write more. _Saturday, February_ 17.--A very terrible day. Evans looked a little better after a good sleep, and declared, as he always did, that he was quite well. He started in his place on the traces, but half an hour later worked his ski shoes adrift, and had to leave the sledge. The surface was awful, the soft recently fallen snow clogging the ski and runners at every step, the sledge groaning, the sky overcast, and the land hazy. We stopped after about one hour, and Evans came up again, but very slowly. Half an hour later he dropped out again on the same plea. He asked Bowers to lend him a piece of string. I cautioned him to come on as quickly as he could, and he answered cheerfully as I thought. We had to push on, and the remainder of us were forced to pull very hard, sweating heavily. Abreast the Monument Rock we stopped, and seeing Evans a long way astern, I camped for lunch. There was no alarm at first, and we prepared tea and our own meal, consuming the latter. After lunch, and Evans still not appearing, we looked out, to see him still afar off. By this time we were alarmed, and all four started back on ski. I was first to reach the poor man and shocked at his appearance; he was on his knees with clothing disarranged, hands uncovered and frostbitten, and a wild look in his eyes. Asked what was the matter, he replied with a slow speech that he didn't know, but thought he must have fainted. We got him on his feet, but after two or three steps he sank down again. He showed every sign of complete collapse. Wilson, Bowers, and I went back for the sledge, whilst Oates remained with him. When we returned he was practically unconscious, and when we got him into the tent quite comatose. He died quietly at 12.30 A.M. On discussing the symptoms we think he began to get weaker just before we reached the Pole, and that his downward path was accelerated first by the shock of his frostbitten fingers, and later by falls during rough travelling on the glacier, further by his loss of all confidence in himself. Wilson thinks it certain he must have injured his brain by a fall. It is a terrible thing to lose a companion in this way, but calm reflection shows that there could not have been a better ending to the terrible anxieties of the past week. Discussion of the situation at lunch yesterday shows us what a desperate pass we were in with a sick man on our hands at such a distance from home. At 1 A.M. we packed up and came down over the pressure ridges, finding our depôt easily. CHAPTER XX The Last March_25_ _Sunday, February_ 18.--R. 32. Temp. -5.5°. At Shambles Camp. We gave ourselves 5 hours' sleep at the lower glacier depot after the horrible night, and came on at about 3 to-day to this camp, coming fairly easily over the divide. Here with plenty of horsemeat we have had a fine supper, to be followed by others such, and so continue a more plentiful era if we can keep good marches up. New life seems to come with greater food almost immediately, but I am anxious about the Barrier surfaces. _Monday, February_ 19.--Lunch T. -16°. It was late (past noon) before we got away to-day, as I gave nearly 8 hours sleep, and much camp work was done shifting sledges [44] and fitting up new one with mast, &c., packing horsemeat and personal effects. The surface was every bit as bad as I expected, the sun shining brightly on it and its covering of soft loose sandy snow. We have come out about 2' on the old tracks. Perhaps lucky to have a fine day for this and our camp work, but we shall want wind or change of sliding conditions to do anything on such a surface as we have got. I fear there will not be much change for the next 3 or 4 days. R. 33. Temp. -17°. We have struggled out 4.6 miles in a short day over a really terrible surface--it has been like pulling over desert sand, not the least glide in the world. If this goes on we shall have a bad time, but I sincerely trust it is only the result of this windless area close to the coast and that, as we are making steadily outwards, we shall shortly escape it. It is perhaps premature to be anxious about covering distance. In all other respects things are improving. We have our sleeping-bags spread on the sledge and they are drying, but, above all, we have our full measure of food again. To-night we had a sort of stew fry of pemmican and horseflesh, and voted it the best hoosh we had ever had on a sledge journey. The absence of poor Evans is a help to the commissariat, but if he had been here in a fit state we might have got along faster. I wonder what is in store for us, with some little alarm at the lateness of the season. _Monday, February_ 20.--R. 34. Lunch Temp. -13°; Supper Temp. -15°. Same terrible surface; four hours' hard plodding in morning brought us to our Desolation Camp, where we had the four-day blizzard. We looked for more pony meat, but found none. After lunch we took to ski with some improvement of comfort. Total mileage for day 7--the ski tracks pretty plain and easily followed this afternoon. We have left another cairn behind. Terribly slow progress, but we hope for better things as we clear the land. There is a tendency to cloud over in the S.E. to-night, which may turn to our advantage. At present our sledge and ski leave deeply ploughed tracks which can be seen winding for miles behind. It is distressing, but as usual trials are forgotten when we camp, and good food is our lot. Pray God we get better travelling as we are not fit as we were, and the season is advancing apace. _Tuesday, February_ 21.--R. 35. Lunch Temp. -9 1/2°; Supper Temp. -11°. Gloomy and overcast when we started; a good deal warmer. The marching almost as bad as yesterday. Heavy toiling all day, inspiring gloomiest thoughts at times. Rays of comfort when we picked up tracks and cairns. At lunch we seemed to have missed the way, but an hour or two after we passed the last pony walls, and since, we struck a tent ring, ending the march actually on our old pony-tracks. There is a critical spot here with a long stretch between cairns. If we can tide that over we get on the regular cairn route, and with luck should stick to it; but everything depends on the weather. We never won a march of 8 1/2 miles with greater difficulty, but we can't go on like this. We are drawing away from the land and perhaps may get better things in a day or two. I devoutly hope so. _Wednesday, February_ 22.--R. 36. Supper Temp. -2°. There is little doubt we are in for a rotten critical time going home, and the lateness of the season may make it really serious. Shortly after starting to-day the wind grew very fresh from the S.E. with strong surface drift. We lost the faint track immediately, though covering ground fairly rapidly. Lunch came without sight of the cairn we had hoped to pass. In the afternoon, Bowers being sure we were too far to the west, steered out. Result, we have passed another pony camp without seeing it. Looking at the map to-night there is no doubt we are too far to the east. With clear weather we ought to be able to correct the mistake, but will the weather get clear? It's a gloomy position, more especially as one sees the same difficulty returning even when we have corrected the error. The wind is dying down to-night and the sky clearing in the south, which is hopeful. Meanwhile it is satisfactory to note that such untoward events fail to damp the spirit of the party. To-night we had a pony hoosh so excellent and filling that one feels really strong and vigorous again. _Thursday, February_ 23.--R. 37. Lunch Temp.-9.8°; Supper Temp. -12°. Started in sunshine, wind almost dropped. Luckily Bowers took a round of angles and with help of the chart we fogged out that we must be inside rather than outside tracks. The data were so meagre that it seemed a great responsibility to march out and we were none of us happy about it. But just as we decided to lunch, Bowers' wonderful sharp eyes detected an old double lunch cairn, the theodolite telescope confirmed it, and our spirits rose accordingly. This afternoon we marched on and picked up another cairn; then on and camped only 2 1/2 miles from the depot. We cannot see it, but, given fine weather, we cannot miss it. We are, therefore, extraordinarily relieved. Covered 8.2 miles in 7 hours, showing we can do 10 to 12 on this surface. Things are again looking up, as we are on the regular line of cairns, with no gaps right home, I hope. _Friday, February_ 24.--Lunch. Beautiful day--too beautiful--an hour after starting loose ice crystals spoiling surface. Saw depot and reached it middle forenoon. Found store in order except shortage oil_26_--shall have to be _very_ saving with fuel--otherwise have ten full days' provision from to-night and shall have less than 70 miles to go. Note from Meares who passed through December 15, saying surface bad; from Atkinson, after fine marching (2 1/4 days from pony depot), reporting Keohane better after sickness. Short note from Evans, not very cheerful, saying surface bad, temperature high. Think he must have been a little anxious. [45] It is an immense relief to have picked up this depot and, for the time, anxieties are thrust aside. There is no doubt we have been rising steadily since leaving the Shambles Camp. The coastal Barrier descends except where glaciers press out. Undulation still but flattening out. Surface soft on top, curiously hard below. Great difference now between night and day temperatures. Quite warm as I write in tent. We are on tracks with half-march cairn ahead; have covered 4 1/2 miles. Poor Wilson has a fearful attack snow-blindness consequent on yesterday's efforts. Wish we had more fuel. Night camp R. 38. Temp. -17°. A little despondent again. We had a really terrible surface this afternoon and only covered 4 miles. We are on the track just beyond a lunch cairn. It really will be a bad business if we are to have this pulling all through. I don't know what to think, but the rapid closing of the season is ominous. It is great luck having the horsemeat to add to our ration. To-night we have had a real fine 'hoosh.' It is a race between the season and hard conditions and our fitness and good food. _Saturday, February_ 25.--Lunch Temp. -12°. Managed just 6 miles this morning. Started somewhat despondent; not relieved when pulling seemed to show no improvement. Bit by bit surface grew better, less sastrugi, more glide, slight following wind for a time. Then we began to travel a little faster. But the pulling is still _very_ hard; undulations disappearing but inequalities remain. Twenty-six Camp walls about 2 miles ahead, all tracks in sight--Evans' track very conspicuous. This is something in favour, but the pulling is tiring us, though we are getting into better ski drawing again. Bowers hasn't quite the trick and is a little hurt at my criticisms, but I never doubted his heart. Very much easier--write diary at lunch--excellent meal--now one pannikin very strong tea--four biscuits and butter. Hope for better things this afternoon, but no improvement apparent. Oh! for a little wind--E. Evans evidently had plenty. R. 39. Temp. -20°. Better march in afternoon. Day yields 11.4 miles--the first double figure of steady dragging for a long time, but it meant and will mean hard work if we can't get a wind to help us. Evans evidently had a strong wind here, S.E. I should think. The temperature goes very low at night now when the sky is clear as at present. As a matter of fact this is wonderfully fair weather--the only drawback the spoiling of the surface and absence of wind. We see all tracks very plain, but the pony-walls have evidently been badly drifted up. Some kind people had substituted a cairn at last camp 27. The old cairns do not seem to have suffered much. _Sunday, February_ 26.--Lunch Temp. -17°. Sky overcast at start, but able see tracks and cairn distinct at long distance. Did a little better, 6 1/2 miles to date. Bowers and Wilson now in front. Find great relief pulling behind with no necessity to keep attention on track. Very cold nights now and cold feet starting march, as day footgear doesn't dry at all. We are doing well on our food, but we ought to have yet more. I hope the next depôt, now only 50 miles, will find us with enough surplus to open out. The fuel shortage still an anxiety. R. 40. Temp. -21° Nine hours' solid marching has given us 11 1/2 miles. Only 43 miles from the next depôt. Wonderfully fine weather but cold, very cold. Nothing dries and we get our feet cold too often. We want more food yet and especially more fat. Fuel is woefully short. We can scarcely hope to get a better surface at this season, but I wish we could have some help from the wind, though it might shake us badly if the temp. didn't rise. _Monday, February_ 27.--Desperately cold last night: -33° when we got up, with -37° minimum. Some suffering from cold feet, but all got good rest. We _must_ open out on food soon. But we have done 7 miles this morning and hope for some 5 this afternoon. Overcast sky and good surface till now, when sun shows again. It is good to be marching the cairns up, but there is still much to be anxious about. We talk of little but food, except after meals. Land disappearing in satisfactory manner. Pray God we have no further set-backs. We are naturally always discussing possibility of meeting dogs, where and when, &c. It is a critical position. We may find ourselves in safety at next depôt, but there is a horrid element of doubt. Camp R. 41. Temp. -32°. Still fine clear weather but very cold--absolutely calm to-night. We have got off an excellent march for these days (12.2) and are much earlier than usual in our bags. 31 miles to depot, 3 days' fuel at a pinch, and 6 days' food. Things begin to look a little better; we can open out a little on food from to-morrow night, I think. Very curious surface--soft recent sastrugi which sink underfoot, and between, a sort of flaky crust with large crystals beneath. _Tuesday, February_ 28.--Lunch. Thermometer went below -40° last night; it was desperately cold for us, but we had a fair night. I decided to slightly increase food; the effect is undoubtedly good. Started marching in -32° with a slight north-westerly breeze--blighting. Many cold feet this morning; long time over foot gear, but we are earlier. Shall camp earlier and get the chance of a good night, if not the reality. Things must be critical till we reach the depot, and the more I think of matters, the more I anticipate their remaining so after that event. Only 24 1/2 miles from the depot. The sun shines brightly, but there is little warmth in it. There is no doubt the middle of the Barrier is a pretty awful locality. Camp 42. Splendid pony hoosh sent us to bed and sleep happily after a horrid day, wind continuing; did 11 1/2 miles. Temp. not quite so low, but expect we are in for cold night (Temp. -27°). _Wednesday, February_ 29.--Lunch. Cold night. Minimum Temp. -37.5°; -30° with north-west wind, force 4, when we got up. Frightfully cold starting; luckily Bowers and Oates in their last new finnesko; keeping my old ones for present. Expected awful march and for first hour got it. Then things improved and we camped after 5 1/2 hours marching close to lunch camp--22 1/2. Next camp is our depot and it is exactly 13 miles. It ought not to take more than 1 1/2 days; we pray for another fine one. The oil will just about spin out in that event, and we arrive 3 clear days' food in hand. The increase of ration has had an enormously beneficial result. Mountains now looking small. Wind still very light from west--cannot understand this wind. _Thursday, March_ 1.--Lunch. Very cold last night--minimum -41.5°. Cold start to march, too, as usual now. Got away at 8 and have marched within sight of depot; flag something under 3 miles away. We did 11 1/2 yesterday and marched 6 this morning. Heavy dragging yesterday and _very_ heavy this morning. Apart from sledging considerations the weather is wonderful. Cloudless days and nights and the wind trifling. Worse luck, the light airs come from the north and keep us horribly cold. For this lunch hour the exception has come. There is a bright and comparatively warm sun. All our gear is out drying. _Friday, March_ 2.--Lunch. Misfortunes rarely come singly. We marched to the (Middle Barrier) depot fairly easily yesterday afternoon, and since that have suffered three distinct blows which have placed us in a bad position. First we found a shortage of oil; with most rigid economy it can scarce carry us to the next depot on this surface (71 miles away). Second, Titus Oates disclosed his feet, the toes showing very bad indeed, evidently bitten by the late temperatures. The third blow came in the night, when the wind, which we had hailed with some joy, brought dark overcast weather. It fell below -40° in the night, and this morning it took 1 1/2 hours to get our foot gear on, but we got away before eight. We lost cairn and tracks together and made as steady as we could N. by W., but have seen nothing. Worse was to come--the surface is simply awful. In spite of strong wind and full sail we have only done 5 1/2 miles. We are in a very queer street since there is no doubt we cannot do the extra marches and feel the cold horribly. _Saturday, March_ 3.--Lunch. We picked up the track again yesterday, finding ourselves to the eastward. Did close on 10 miles and things looked a trifle better; but this morning the outlook is blacker than ever. Started well and with good breeze; for an hour made good headway; then the surface grew awful beyond words. The wind drew forward; every circumstance was against us. After 4 1/4 hours things so bad that we camped, having covered 4 1/2 miles. (R. 46.) One cannot consider this a fault of our own--certainly we were pulling hard this morning--it was more than three parts surface which held us back--the wind at strongest, powerless to move the sledge. When the light is good it is easy to see the reason. The surface, lately a very good hard one, is coated with a thin layer of woolly crystals, formed by radiation no doubt. These are too firmly fixed to be removed by the wind and cause impossible friction on the runners. God help us, we can't keep up this pulling, that is certain. Amongst ourselves we are unendingly cheerful, but what each man feels in his heart I can only guess. Pulling on foot gear in the morning is getter slower and slower, therefore every day more dangerous. _Sunday, March_ 4.--Lunch. Things looking _very_ black indeed. As usual we forgot our trouble last night, got into our bags, slept splendidly on good hoosh, woke and had another, and started marching. Sun shining brightly, tracks clear, but surface covered with sandy frostrime. All the morning we had to pull with all our strength, and in 4 1/2 hours we covered 3 1/2 miles. Last night it was overcast and thick, surface bad; this morning sun shining and surface as bad as ever. One has little to hope for except perhaps strong dry wind--an unlikely contingency at this time of year. Under the immediate surface crystals is a hard sustrugi surface, which must have been excellent for pulling a week or two ago. We are about 42 miles from the next depot and have a week's food, but only about 3 to 4 days' fuel--we are as economical of the latter as one can possibly be, and we cannot afford to save food and pull as we are pulling. We are in a very tight place indeed, but none of us despondent _yet_, or at least we preserve every semblance of good cheer, but one's heart sinks as the sledge stops dead at some sastrugi behind which the surface sand lies thickly heaped. For the moment the temperature is on the -20°--an improvement which makes us much more comfortable, but a colder snap is bound to come again soon. I fear that Oates at least will weather such an event very poorly. Providence to our aid! We can expect little from man now except the possibility of extra food at the next depot. It will be real bad if we get there and find the same shortage of oil. Shall we get there? Such a short distance it would have appeared to us on the summit! I don't know what I should do if Wilson and Bowers weren't so determinedly cheerful over things. _Monday, March_ 5.--Lunch. Regret to say going from bad to worse. We got a slant of wind yesterday afternoon, and going on 5 hours we converted our wretched morning run of 3 1/2 miles into something over 9. We went to bed on a cup of cocoa and pemmican solid with the chill off. (R. 47.) The result is telling on all, but mainly on Oates, whose feet are in a wretched condition. One swelled up tremendously last night and he is very lame this morning. We started march on tea and pemmican as last night--we pretend to prefer the pemmican this way. Marched for 5 hours this morning over a slightly better surface covered with high moundy sastrugi. Sledge capsized twice; we pulled on foot, covering about 5 1/2 miles. We are two pony marches and 4 miles about from our depot. Our fuel dreadfully low and the poor Soldier nearly done. It is pathetic enough because we can do nothing for him; more hot food might do a little, but only a little, I fear. We none of us expected these terribly low temperatures, and of the rest of us Wilson is feeling them most; mainly, I fear, from his self-sacrificing devotion in doctoring Oates' feet. We cannot help each other, each has enough to do to take care of himself. We get cold on the march when the trudging is heavy, and the wind pierces our warm garments. The others, all of them, are unendingly cheerful when in the tent. We mean to see the game through with a proper spirit, but it's tough work to be pulling harder than we ever pulled in our lives for long hours, and to feel that the progress is so slow. One can only say 'God help us!' and plod on our weary way, cold and very miserable, though outwardly cheerful. We talk of all sorts of subjects in the tent, not much of food now, since we decided to take the risk of running a full ration. We simply couldn't go hungry at this time. _Tuesday, March_ 6.--Lunch. We did a little better with help of wind yesterday afternoon, finishing 9 1/2 miles for the day, and 27 miles from depot. (R. 48.) But this morning things have been awful. It was warm in the night and for the first time during the journey I overslept myself by more than an hour; then we were slow with foot gear; then, pulling with all our might (for our lives) we could scarcely advance at rate of a mile an hour; then it grew thick and three times we had to get out of harness to search for tracks. The result is something less than 3 1/2 miles for the forenoon. The sun is shining now and the wind gone. Poor Oates is unable to pull, sits on the sledge when we are track-searching--he is wonderfully plucky, as his feet must be giving him great pain. He makes no complaint, but his spirits only come up in spurts now, and he grows more silent in the tent. We are making a spirit lamp to try and replace the primus when our oil is exhausted. It will be a very poor substitute and we've not got much spirit. If we could have kept up our 9-mile days we might have got within reasonable distance of the depot before running out, but nothing but a strong wind and good surface can help us now, and though we had quite a good breeze this morning, the sledge came as heavy as lead. If we were all fit I should have hopes of getting through, but the poor Soldier has become a terrible hindrance, though he does his utmost and suffers much I fear. _Wednesday, March_ 7.--A little worse I fear. One of Oates' feet _very_ bad this morning; he is wonderfully brave. We still talk of what we will do together at home. We only made 6 1/2 miles yesterday. (R. 49.) This morning in 4 1/2 hours we did just over 4 miles. We are 16 from our depot. If we only find the correct proportion of food there and this surface continues, we may get to the next depot [Mt. Hooper, 72 miles farther] but not to One Ton Camp. We hope against hope that the dogs have been to Mt. Hooper; then we might pull through. If there is a shortage of oil again we can have little hope. One feels that for poor Oates the crisis is near, but none of us are improving, though we are wonderfully fit considering the really excessive work we are doing. We are only kept going by good food. No wind this morning till a chill northerly air came ahead. Sun bright and cairns showing up well. I should like to keep the track to the end. _Thursday, March_ 8.--Lunch. Worse and worse in morning; poor Oates' left foot can never last out, and time over foot gear something awful. Have to wait in night foot gear for nearly an hour before I start changing, and then am generally first to be ready. Wilson's feet giving trouble now, but this mainly because he gives so much help to others. We did 4 1/2 miles this morning and are now 8 1/2 miles from the depot--a ridiculously small distance to feel in difficulties, yet on this surface we know we cannot equal half our old marches, and that for that effort we expend nearly double the energy. The great question is, What shall we find at the depot? If the dogs have visited it we may get along a good distance, but if there is another short allowance of fuel, God help us indeed. We are in a very bad way, I fear, in any case. _Saturday, March_ 10.--Things steadily downhill. Oates' foot worse. He has rare pluck and must know that he can never get through. He asked Wilson if he had a chance this morning, and of course Bill had to say he didn't know. In point of fact he has none. Apart from him, if he went under now, I doubt whether we could get through. With great care we might have a dog's chance, but no more. The weather conditions are awful, and our gear gets steadily more icy and difficult to manage. At the same time of course poor Titus is the greatest handicap. He keeps us waiting in the morning until we have partly lost the warming effect of our good breakfast, when the only wise policy is to be up and away at once; again at lunch. Poor chap! it is too pathetic to watch him; one cannot but try to cheer him up. Yesterday we marched up the depot, Mt. Hooper. Cold comfort. Shortage on our allowance all round. I don't know that anyone is to blame. The dogs which would have been our salvation have evidently failed. [46] Meares had a bad trip home I suppose. This morning it was calm when we breakfasted, but the wind came from W.N.W. as we broke camp. It rapidly grew in strength. After travelling for half an hour I saw that none of us could go on facing such conditions. We were forced to camp and are spending the rest of the day in a comfortless blizzard camp, wind quite foul. (R. 52.) _Sunday, March_ ll.--Titus Oates is very near the end, one feels. What we or he will do, God only knows. We discussed the matter after breakfast; he is a brave fine fellow and understands the situation, but he practically asked for advice. Nothing could be said but to urge him to march as long as he could. One satisfactory result to the discussion; I practically ordered Wilson to hand over the means of ending our troubles to us, so that anyone of us may know how to do so. Wilson had no choice between doing so and our ransacking the medicine case. We have 30 opium tabloids apiece and he is left with a tube of morphine. So far the tragical side of our story. (R. 53.) The sky completely overcast when we started this morning. We could see nothing, lost the tracks, and doubtless have been swaying a good deal since--3.1 miles for the forenoon--terribly heavy dragging--expected it. Know that 6 miles is about the limit of our endurance now, if we get no help from wind or surfaces. We have 7 days' food and should be about 55 miles from One Ton Camp to-night, 6 × 7 = 42, leaving us 13 miles short of our distance, even if things get no worse. Meanwhile the season rapidly advances. _Monday, March_ 12.--We did 6.9 miles yesterday, under our necessary average. Things are left much the same, Oates not pulling much, and now with hands as well as feet pretty well useless. We did 4 miles this morning in 4 hours 20 min.--we may hope for 3 this afternoon, 7 × 6 = 42. We shall be 47 miles from the depot. I doubt if we can possibly do it. The surface remains awful, the cold intense, and our physical condition running down. God help us! Not a breath of favourable wind for more than a week, and apparently liable to head winds at any moment. _Wednesday, March_ 14.--No doubt about the going downhill, but everything going wrong for us. Yesterday we woke to a strong northerly wind with temp. -37°. Couldn't face it, so remained in camp (R. 54) till 2, then did 5 1/4 miles. Wanted to march later, but party feeling the cold badly as the breeze (N.) never took off entirely, and as the sun sank the temp. fell. Long time getting supper in dark. (R. 55.) This morning started with southerly breeze, set sail and passed another cairn at good speed; half-way, however, the wind shifted to W. by S. or W.S.W., blew through our wind clothes and into our mits. Poor Wilson horribly cold, could not get off ski for some time. Bowers and I practically made camp, and when we got into the tent at last we were all deadly cold. Then temp, now midday down -43° and the wind strong. We _must_ go on, but now the making of every camp must be more difficult and dangerous. It must be near the end, but a pretty merciful end. Poor Oates got it again in the foot. I shudder to think what it will be like to-morrow. It is only with greatest pains rest of us keep off frostbites. No idea there could be temperatures like this at this time of year with such winds. Truly awful outside the tent. Must fight it out to the last biscuit, but can't reduce rations. _Friday, March_ 16 _or Saturday_ 17.--Lost track of dates, but think the last correct. Tragedy all along the line. At lunch, the day before yesterday, poor Titus Oates said he couldn't go on; he proposed we should leave him in his sleeping-bag. That we could not do, and induced him to come on, on the afternoon march. In spite of its awful nature for him he struggled on and we made a few miles. At night he was worse and we knew the end had come. Should this be found I want these facts recorded. Oates' last thoughts were of his Mother, but immediately before he took pride in thinking that his regiment would be pleased with the bold way in which he met his death. We can testify to his bravery. He has borne intense suffering for weeks without complaint, and to the very last was able and willing to discuss outside subjects. He did not--would not--give up hope to the very end. He was a brave soul. This was the end. He slept through the night before last, hoping not to wake; but he woke in the morning--yesterday. It was blowing a blizzard. He said, 'I am just going outside and may be some time.' He went out into the blizzard and we have not seen him since. I take this opportunity of saying that we have stuck to our sick companions to the last. In case of Edgar Evans, when absolutely out of food and he lay insensible, the safety of the remainder seemed to demand his abandonment, but Providence mercifully removed him at this critical moment. He died a natural death, and we did not leave him till two hours after his death. We knew that poor Oates was walking to his death, but though we tried to dissuade him, we knew it was the act of a brave man and an English gentleman. We all hope to meet the end with a similar spirit, and assuredly the end is not far. I can only write at lunch and then only occasionally. The cold is intense, -40° at midday. My companions are unendingly cheerful, but we are all on the verge of serious frostbites, and though we constantly talk of fetching through I don't think anyone of us believes it in his heart. We are cold on the march now, and at all times except meals. Yesterday we had to lay up for a blizzard and to-day we move dreadfully slowly. We are at No. 14 pony camp, only two pony marches from One Ton Depôt. We leave here our theodolite, a camera, and Oates' sleeping-bags. Diaries, &c., and geological specimens carried at Wilson's special request, will be found with us or on our sledge. _Sunday, March_ 18.--To-day, lunch, we are 21 miles from the depot. Ill fortune presses, but better may come. We have had more wind and drift from ahead yesterday; had to stop marching; wind N.W., force 4, temp. -35°. No human being could face it, and we are worn out _nearly_. My right foot has gone, nearly all the toes--two days ago I was proud possessor of best feet. These are the steps of my downfall. Like an ass I mixed a small spoonful of curry powder with my melted pemmican--it gave me violent indigestion. I lay awake and in pain all night; woke and felt done on the march; foot went and I didn't know it. A very small measure of neglect and have a foot which is not pleasant to contemplate. Bowers takes first place in condition, but there is not much to choose after all. The others are still confident of getting through--or pretend to be--I don't know! We have the last _half_ fill of oil in our primus and a very small quantity of spirit--this alone between us and thirst. The wind is fair for the moment, and that is perhaps a fact to help. The mileage would have seemed ridiculously small on our outward journey. _Monday, March_ 19.--Lunch. We camped with difficulty last night, and were dreadfully cold till after our supper of cold pemmican and biscuit and a half a pannikin of cocoa cooked over the spirit. Then, contrary to expectation, we got warm and all slept well. To-day we started in the usual dragging manner. Sledge dreadfully heavy. We are 15 1/2 miles from the depot and ought to get there in three days. What progress! We have two days' food but barely a day's fuel. All our feet are getting bad--Wilson's best, my right foot worst, left all right. There is no chance to nurse one's feet till we can get hot food into us. Amputation is the least I can hope for now, but will the trouble spread? That is the serious question. The weather doesn't give us a chance--the wind from N. to N.W. and -40° temp, to-day. _Wednesday, March_ 11.--Got within 11 miles of depôt Monday night; [47] had to lay up all yesterday in severe blizzard._27_ To-day forlorn hope, Wilson and Bowers going to depot for fuel. _Thursday, March_ 22 _and_ 23.--Blizzard bad as ever--Wilson and Bowers unable to start--to-morrow last chance--no fuel and only one or two of food left--must be near the end. Have decided it shall be natural--we shall march for the depot with or without our effects and die in our tracks. _Thursday, March_ 29.--Since the 21st we have had a continuous gale from W.S.W. and S.W. We had fuel to make two cups of tea apiece and bare food for two days on the 20th. Every day we have been ready to start for our depot _11 miles_ away, but outside the door of the tent it remains a scene of whirling drift. I do not think we can hope for any better things now. We shall stick it out to the end, but we are getting weaker, of course, and the end cannot be far. It seems a pity, but I do not think I can write more. R. SCOTT. For God's sake look after our people. ------------ Wilson and Bowers were found in the attitude of sleep, their sleeping-bags closed over their heads as they would naturally close them. Scott died later. He had thrown back the flaps of his sleeping-bag and opened his coat. The little wallet containing the three notebooks was under his shoulders and his arm flung across Wilson. So they were found eight months later. With the diaries in the tent were found the following letters: TO MRS. E. A. WILSON MY DEAR MRS. WILSON, If this letter reaches you Bill and I will have gone out together. We are very near it now and I should like you to know how splendid he was at the end--everlastingly cheerful and ready to sacrifice himself for others, never a word of blame to me for leading him into this mess. He is not suffering, luckily, at least only minor discomforts. His eyes have a comfortable blue look of hope and his mind is peaceful with the satisfaction of his faith in regarding himself as part of the great scheme of the Almighty. I can do no more to comfort you than to tell you that he died as he lived, a brave, true man--the best of comrades and staunchest of friends. My whole heart goes out to you in pity, Yours, R. SCOTT TO MRS. BOWERS MY DEAR MRS. BOWERS, I am afraid this will reach you after one of the heaviest blows of your life. I write when we are very near the end of our journey, and I am finishing it in company with two gallant, noble gentlemen. One of these is your son. He had come to be one of my closest and soundest friends, and I appreciate his wonderful upright nature, his ability and energy. As the troubles have thickened his dauntless spirit ever shone brighter and he has remained cheerful, hopeful, and indomitable to the end. The ways of Providence are inscrutable, but there must be some reason why such a young, vigorous and promising life is taken. My whole heart goes out in pity for you. Yours, R. SCOTT. To the end he has talked of you and his sisters. One sees what a happy home he must have had and perhaps it is well to look back on nothing but happiness. He remains unselfish, self-reliant and splendidly hopeful to the end, believing in God's mercy to you. TO SIR J. M. BARRIE MY DEAR BARRIE, We are pegging out in a very comfortless spot. Hoping this letter may be found and sent to you, I write a word of farewell. ... More practically I want you to help my widow and my boy--your godson. We are showing that Englishmen can still die with a bold spirit, fighting it out to the end. It will be known that we have accomplished our object in reaching the Pole, and that we have done everything possible, even to sacrificing ourselves in order to save sick companions. I think this makes an example for Englishmen of the future, and that the country ought to help those who are left behind to mourn us. I leave my poor girl and your godson, Wilson leaves a widow, and Edgar Evans also a widow in humble circumstances. Do what you can to get their claims recognised. Goodbye. I am not at all afraid of the end, but sad to miss many a humble pleasure which I had planned for the future on our long marches. I may not have proved a great explorer, but we have done the greatest march ever made and come very near to great success. Goodbye, my dear friend, Yours ever, R. SCOTT. We are in a desperate state, feet frozen, &c. No fuel and a long way from food, but it would do your heart good to be in our tent, to hear our songs and the cheery conversation as to what we will do when we get to Hut Point. _Later_.--We are very near the end, but have not and will not lose our good cheer. We have four days of storm in our tent and nowhere's food or fuel. We did intend to finish ourselves when things proved like this, but we have decided to die naturally in the track. As a dying man, my dear friend, be good to my wife and child. Give the boy a chance in life if the State won't do it. He ought to have good stuff in him. ... I never met a man in my life whom I admired and loved more than you, but I never could show you how much your friendship meant to me, for you had much to give and I nothing. TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR EDGAR SPEYER, BART. Dated March 16, 1912. Lat. 79.5°. MY DEAR SIR EDGAR, I hope this may reach you. I fear we must go and that it leaves the Expedition in a bad muddle. But we have been to the Pole and we shall die like gentlemen. I regret only for the women we leave behind. I thank you a thousand times for your help and support and your generous kindness. If this diary is found it will show how we stuck by dying companions and fought the thing out well to the end. I think this will show that the Spirit of pluck and power to endure has not passed out of our race ... Wilson, the best fellow that ever stepped, has sacrificed himself again and again to the sick men of the party ... I write to many friends hoping the letters will reach them some time after we are found next year. We very nearly came through, and it's a pity to have missed it, but lately I have felt that we have overshot our mark. No one is to blame and I hope no attempt will be made to suggest that we have lacked support. Good-bye to you and your dear kind wife. Yours ever sincerely, R. SCOTT. TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR FRANCIS CHARLES BRIDGEMAN, K.C.V.O., K.C.B. MY DEAR SIR FRANCIS, I fear we have shipped up; a close shave; I am writing a few letters which I hope will be delivered some day. I want to thank you for the friendship you gave me of late years, and to tell you how extraordinarily pleasant I found it to serve under you. I want to tell you that I was not too old for this job. It was the younger men that went under first... After all we are setting a good example to our countrymen, if not by getting into a tight place, by facing it like men when we were there. We could have come through had we neglected the sick. Good-bye, and good-bye to dear Lady Bridgeman. Yours ever, R. SCOTT. Excuse writing--it is -40°, and has been for nigh a month. TO VICE-ADMIRAL SIR GEORGE LE CLEARC EGERTON. K.C.B. MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I fear we have shot our bolt--but we have been to Pole and done the longest journey on record. I hope these letters may find their destination some day. Subsidiary reasons of our failure to return are due to the sickness of different members of the party, but the real thing that has stopped us is the awful weather and unexpected cold towards the end of the journey. This traverse of the Barrier has been quite three times as severe as any experience we had on the summit. There is no accounting for it, but the result has thrown out my calculations, and here we are little more than 100 miles from the base and petering out. Good-bye. Please see my widow is looked after as far as Admiralty is concerned. R. SCOTT. My kindest regards to Lady Egerton. I can never forget all your kindness. TO MR. J.J. KINSEY--CHRISTCHURCH March 24th, 1912. MY DEAR KINSEY, I'm afraid we are pretty well done--four days of blizzard just as we were getting to the last depot. My thoughts have been with you often. You have been a brick. You will pull the expedition through, I'm sure. My thoughts are for my wife and boy. Will you do what you can for them if the country won't. I want the boy to have a good chance in the world, but you know the circumstances well enough. If I knew the wife and boy were in safe keeping I should have little regret in leaving the world, for I feel that the country need not be ashamed of us--our journey has been the biggest on record, and nothing but the most exceptional hard luck at the end would have caused us to fail to return. We have been to the S. pole as we set out. God bless you and dear Mrs. Kinsey. It is good to remember you and your kindness. Your friend, R. SCOTT. Letters to his Mother, his Wife, his Brother-in-law (Sir William Ellison Macartney), Admiral Sir Lewis Beaumont, and Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Smith were also found, from which come the following extracts: The Great God has called me and I feel it will add a fearful blow to the heavy ones that have fallen on you in life. But take comfort in that I die at peace with the world and myself--not afraid. Indeed it has been most singularly unfortunate, for the risks I have taken never seemed excessive. ... I want to tell you that we have missed getting through by a narrow margin which was justifiably within the risk of such a journey ... After all, we have given our lives for our country--we have actually made the longest journey on record, and we have been the first Englishmen at the South Pole. You must understand that it is too cold to write much. ... It's a pity the luck doesn't come our way, because every detail of equipment is right. I shall not have suffered any pain, but leave the world fresh from harness and full of good health and vigour. Since writing the above we got to within 11 miles of our depot, with one hot meal and two days' cold food. We should have got through but have been held for _four_ days by a frightful storm. I think the best chance has gone. We have decided not to kill ourselves, but to fight to the last for that depôt, but in the fighting there is a painless end. Make the boy interested in natural history if you can; it is better than games; they encourage it at some schools. I know you will keep him in the open air. Above all, he must guard and you must guard him against indolence. Make him a strenuous man. I had to force myself into being strenuous as you know--had always an inclination to be idle. There is a piece of the Union Jack I put up at the South Pole in my private kit bag, together with Amundsen's black flag and other trifles. Send a small piece of the Union Jack to the King and a small piece to Queen Alexandra. What lots and lots I could tell you of this journey. How much better has it been than lounging in too great comfort at home. What tales you would have for the boys. But what a price to pay. Tell Sir Clements--I thought much of him and never regretted him putting me in command of the _Discovery_. Message to the Public The causes of the disaster are not due to faulty organisation, but to misfortune in all risks which had to be undertaken. 1. The loss of pony transport in March 1911 obliged me to start later than I had intended, and obliged the limits of stuff transported to be narrowed. 2. The weather throughout the outward journey, and especially the long gale in 83° S., stopped us. 3. The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again reduced pace. We fought these untoward events with a will and conquered, but it cut into our provision reserve. Every detail of our food supplies, clothing and depôts made on the interior ice-sheet and over that long stretch of 700 miles to the Pole and back, worked out to perfection. The advance party would have returned to the glacier in fine form and with surplus of food, but for the astonishing failure of the man whom we had least expected to fail. Edgar Evans was thought the strongest man of the party. The Beardmore Glacier is not difficult in fine weather, but on our return we did not get a single completely fine day; this with a sick companion enormously increased our anxieties. As I have said elsewhere we got into frightfully rough ice and Edgar Evans received a concussion of the brain--he died a natural death, but left us a shaken party with the season unduly advanced. But all the facts above enumerated were as nothing to the surprise which awaited us on the Barrier. I maintain that our arrangements for returning were quite adequate, and that no one in the world would have expected the temperatures and surfaces which we encountered at this time of the year. On the summit in lat. 85° 86° we had -20°, -30°. On the Barrier in lat. 82°, 10,000 feet lower, we had -30° in the day, -47° at night pretty regularly, with continuous head wind during our day marches. It is clear that these circumstances come on very suddenly, and our wreck is certainly due to this sudden advent of severe weather, which does not seem to have any satisfactory cause. I do not think human beings ever came through such a month as we have come through, and we should have got through in spite of the weather but for the sickening of a second companion, Captain Oates, and a shortage of fuel in our depôts for which I cannot account, and finally, but for the storm which has fallen on us within 11 miles of the depôt at which we hoped to secure our final supplies. Surely misfortune could scarcely have exceeded this last blow. We arrived within 11 miles of our old One Ton Camp with fuel for one last meal and food for two days. For four days we have been unable to leave the tent--the gale howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult, but for my own sake I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past. We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of Providence, determined still to do our best to the last. But if we have been willing to give our lives to this enterprise, which is for the honour of our country, I appeal to our countrymen to see that those who depend on us are properly cared for. Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale, but surely, surely, a great rich country like ours will see that those who are dependent on us are properly provided for. R. SCOTT. APPENDIX _Note_ 1, _p._ 3.--Dogs. These included thirty-three sledging dogs and a collie bitch, 'Lassie.' The thirty-three, all Siberian dogs excepting the Esquimaux 'Peary' and 'Borup,' were collected by Mr. Meares, who drove them across Siberia to Vladivostok with the help of the dog-driver Demetri Gerof, whom he had engaged for the expedition. From Vladivostok, where he was joined by Lieutenant Wilfred Bruce, he brought them by steamer to Sydney, and thence to Lyttelton. The dogs were the gift of various schools, as shown by the following list: Dogs Presented by Schools, &c. School's, &c., Russian name Translation, Name of School, &c., name for Dog. of Dog. description, or that presented Dog. nickname of Dog. Beaumont Kumgai Isle off Beaumont College. Vladivostok Bengeo Mannike Noogis Little Leader Bengeo, Herts. Bluecoat Giliak Indian tribe Christ's Hospital. Bristol Lappa Uki Lop Ears Grammar, Bristol. Bromsgrove 'Peary' 'Peary' Bromsgrove School (cost of transport). Colston's Bullet Bullet Colston's School. Danum Rabchick Grouse Doncaster Grammar Sch. Derby I. Suka Lassie Girls' Secondary School, Derby. Derby II. Silni Stocky Secondary Technical School, Derby. Devon Jolti Yellowboy Devonshire House Branch of Navy League. Duns Brodiaga Robber Berwickshire High School. Falcon Seri Grey High School, Winchester. Felsted Visoli Jollyboy Felsted School. Glebe Pestry Piebald Glebe House School. Grassendale Suhoi II. Lanky Grassendale School. Hal Krisravitsa Beauty Colchester Royal Grammar School. Hampstead Ishak Jackass South Hampstead High School (Girls). Hughie Gerachi Ginger Master H. Gethin Lewis. Ilkley Wolk Wolf Ilkley Grammar. Innie Suhoi I. Lanky Liverpool Institute. Jersey Bear Bear Victoria College, Jersey. John Bright Seri Uki Grey Ears Bootham. Laleham Biela Noogis White Leader Laleham. Leighton Pudil Poodle Leighton Park, Reading. Lyon Tresor Treasure Lower School of J. Lyon. Mac Deek I. Wild One Wells House. Manor Colonel Colonel Manor House. Mount Vesoi One Eye Mount, York. Mundella Bulli Bullet Mundella Secondary. Oakfield Ruggiola Sabaka 'Gun Dog' (Hound) Oakfield School, Rugby. Oldham Vaida Christian name Hulme Grammar School, Oldham. Perse Vaska Lady's name Perse Grammar. Poacher Malchick Black Old Man Grammar School, Lincoln. Chorney Stareek Price Llewelyn Hohol Little Russian Intermediate, Llan-dudno Wells. Radlyn Czigane Gipsy Radlyn, Harrogate. Richmond Osman Christian name Richmond, Yorks. Regent Marakas seri Grey Regent Street Polytechnic Steyne Petichka Little Bird Steyne, Worthing. Sir Andrew Deek II. Wild One Sir Andrew Judd's Commercial School. Somerset Churnie kesoi One eye A Somerset School. Tiger Mukaka Monkey Bournemouth School. Tom Stareek Old Man Woodbridge. Tua r Golleniai Julik Scamp Intermediate School, Cardiff. Vic Glinie Long Nose Modern, Southport. Whitgift Mamuke Rabchick Little Grouse Whitgift Grammar. Winston Borup Borup Winston Higher Grade School (cost of transport). Meduate Lion N.Z. Girls' School. _Note_ 2, _p_. 4.--Those who are named in these opening pages were all keen supporters of the Expedition. Sir George Clifford, Bart., and Messrs. Arthur and George Rhodes were friends from Christchurch. Mr. M. J. Miller, Mayor of Lyttelton, was a master shipwright and contractor, who took great interest in both the _Discovery_ and the _Terra Nova_, and stopped the leak in the latter vessel which had been so troublesome on the voyage out. Mr. Anderson belonged to the firm of John Anderson & Sons, engineers, who own Lyttelton Foundry. Mr. Kinsey was the trusted friend and representative who acted as the representative of Captain Scott in New Zealand during his absence in the South. Mr. Wyatt was business manager to the Expedition. _Note_ 3. _p_. 11.--Dr. Wilson writes: I must say I enjoyed it all from beginning to end, and as one bunk became unbearable after another, owing to the wet, and the comments became more and more to the point as people searched out dry spots here and there to finish the night in oilskins and greatcoats on the cabin or ward-room seats, I thought things were becoming interesting. Some of the staff were like dead men with sea-sickness. Even so Cherry-Garrard and Wright and Day turned out with the rest of us and alternately worked and were sick. I have no sea-sickness on these ships myself under any conditions, so I enjoyed it all, and as I have the run of the bridge and can ask as many questions as I choose, I knew all that was going on. All Friday and Friday night we worked in two parties, two hours on and two hours off; it was heavy work filling and handing up huge buckets of water as fast as they could be given from one to the other from the very bottom of the stokehold to the upper deck, up little metal ladders all the way. One was of course wet through the whole time in a sweater and trousers and sea boots, and every two hours one took these off and hurried in for a rest in a greatcoat, to turn out again in two hours and put in the same cold sopping clothes, and so on until 4 A.M. on Saturday, when we had baled out between four and five tons of water and had so lowered it that it was once more possible to light fires and try the engines and the steam pump again and to clear the valves and the inlet which was once more within reach. The fires had been put out at 11.40 A.M. and were then out for twenty-two hours while we baled. It was a weird' night's work with the howling gale and the darkness and the immense seas running over the ship every few minutes and no engines and no sail, and we all in the engine-room, black as ink with the engine-room oil and bilge water, singing chanties as we passed up slopping buckets full of bilge, each man above' slopping a little over the heads of all below him; wet through to the skin, so much so that some of the party worked altogether naked like Chinese coolies; and the rush of the wave backwards and forwards at the bottom grew hourly less in the dim light of a couple of engine-room oil lamps whose light just made the darkness visible, the ship all the time rolling like a sodden lifeless log, her lee gunwale under water every time. _December_ 3. We were all at work till 4 A.M. and then were all told off to sleep till 8 A.M. At 9.30 A.M. we were all on to the main hand pump, and, lo and behold! it worked, and we pumped and pumped till 12.30, when the ship was once more only as full of bilge water as she always is and the position was practically solved. There was one thrilling moment in the midst of the worst hour on Friday when we were realising that the fires must be drawn, and when every pump had failed to act, and when the bulwarks began to go to pieces and the petrol cases were all afloat and going overboard, and the word was suddenly passed in a shout from the hands at work in the waist of the ship trying to save petrol cases that smoke was coming up through the seams in the after hold. As this was full of coal and patent fuel and was next the engine-room, and as it had not been opened for the airing, it required to get rid of gas on account of the flood of water on deck making it impossible to open the hatchways; the possibility of a fire there was patent to everyone and it could not possibly have been dealt with in any way short of opening the hatches and flooding the ship, when she must have floundered. It was therefore a thrilling moment or two until it was discovered that the smoke was really steam, arising from the bilge at the bottom having risen to the heated coal. _Note_ 4, _p_. 15.--_December_ 26. We watched two or three immense blue whales at fairly short distance; this is _Balænoptera Sibbaldi_. One sees first a small dark hump appear and then immediately a jet of grey fog squirted upwards fifteen to eighteen feet, gradually spreading as it rises vertically into the frosty air. I have been nearly in these blows once or twice and had the moisture in my face with a sickening smell of shrimpy oil. Then the bump elongates and up rolls an immense blue-grey or blackish grey round back with a faint ridge along the top, on which presently appears a small hook-like dorsal fin, and then the whole sinks and disappears. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 5, _p_. 21.--_December_ 18. Watered ship at a tumbled floe. Sea ice when pressed up into large hummocks gradually loses all its salt. Even when sea water freezes it squeezes out the great bulk of its salt as a solid, but the sea water gets into it by soaking again, and yet when held out of the water, as it is in a hummock, the salt all drains out and the melted ice is blue and quite good for drinking, engines, &c. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 6, _p_. 32.--It may be added that in contradistinction to the nicknames of Skipper conferred upon Evans, and Mate on Campbell, Scott himself was known among the afterguard as The Owner. _Note_ 7, _p_. 35.--(Penguins.) They have lost none of their attractiveness, and are most comical and interesting; as curious as ever, they will always come up at a trot when we sing to them, and you may often see a group of explorers on the poop singing 'For she's got bells on her fingers and rings on her toes, elephants to ride upon wherever she goes,' and so on at the top of their voices to an admiring group of Adelie penguins. Meares is the greatest attraction; he has a full voice which is musical but always very flat. He declares that 'God save the King' will always send them to the water, and certainly it is often successful. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 8, _p_. 58.--We were to examine the possibilities of landing, but the swell was so heavy in its break among the floating blocks of ice along the actual beach and ice foot that a landing was out of the question. We should have broken up the boat and have all been in the water together. But I assure you it was tantalising to me, for there about 6 feet above us on a small dirty piece of the old bay ice about ten feet square one living Emperor penguin chick was standing disconsolately stranded, and close by stood one faithful old Emperor parent asleep. This young Emperor was still in the down, a most interesting fact in the bird's life history at which we had rightly guessed, but which no one had actually observed before. It was in a stage never yet seen or collected, for the wings were already quite clean of down and feathered as in the adult, also a line down the breast was shed of down, and part of the head. This bird would have been a treasure to me, but we could not risk life for it, so it had to remain where it was. It was a curious fact that with as much clean ice to live on as they could have wished for, these destitute derelicts of a flourishing colony now gone north to sea on floating bay ice should have preferred to remain standing on the only piece of bay ice left, a piece about ten feet square and now pressed up six feet above water level, evidently wondering why it was so long in starting north with the general exodus which must have taken place just a month ago. The whole incident was most interesting and full of suggestion as to the slow working of the brain of these queer people. Another point was most weird to see, that on the under side of this very dirty piece of sea ice, which was about two feet thick and which hung over the water as a sort of cave, we could see the legs and lower halves of dead Emperor chicks hanging through, and even in one place a dead adult. I hope to make a picture of the whole quaint incident, for it was a corner crammed full of Imperial history in the light of what we already knew, and it would otherwise have been about as unintelligible as any group of animate or inanimate nature could possibly have been. As it is, it throws more light on the life history of this strangely primitive bird. We were joking in the boat as we rowed under these cliffs and saying it would be a short-lived amusement to see the overhanging cliff part company and fall over us. So we were glad to find that we were rowing back to the ship and already 200 or 300 yards away from the place and in open water when there was a noise like crackling thunder and a huge plunge into the sea and a smother of rock dust like the smoke of an explosion, and we realised that the very thing had happened which we had just been talking about. Altogether it was a very exciting row, for before we got on board we had the pleasure of seeing the ship shoved in so close to these cliffs by a belt of heavy pack ice that to us it appeared a toss-up whether she got out again or got forced in against the rocks. She had no time or room to turn and get clear by backing out through the belt of pack stern first, getting heavy bumps under the counter and on the rudder as she did so, for the ice was heavy and the swell considerable. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 9, _p_. 81.--Dr. Wilson writes in his Journal: _January_ 14. He also told me the plans for our depôt journey on which we shall be starting in about ten days' time. He wants me to be a dog driver with himself, Meares, and Teddie Evans, and this is what I would have chosen had I had a free choice at all. The dogs run in two teams and each team wants two men. It means a lot of running as they are being driven now, but it is the fastest and most interesting work of all, and we go ahead of the whole caravan with lighter loads and at a faster rate; moreover, if any traction except ourselves can reach the top of Beardmore Glacier, it will be the dogs, and the dog drivers are therefore the people who will have the best chance of doing the top piece of the ice cap at 10,000 feet to the Pole. May I be there! About this time next year may I be there or there-abouts! With so many young bloods in the heyday of youth and strength beyond my own I feel there will be a most difficult task in making choice towards the end and a most keen competition--and a universal lack of selfishness and self-seeking with a complete absence of any jealous feeling in any single one of the comparatively large number who at present stand a chance of being on the last piece next summer. It will be an exciting time and the excitement has already begun in the healthiest possible manner. I have never been thrown in with a more unselfish lot of men--each one doing his utmost fair and square in the most cheery manner possible. As late as October 15 he writes further: 'No one yet knows who will be on the Summit party: it is to depend on condition, and fitness when we get there.' It is told of Scott, while still in New Zealand, that being pressed on the point, he playfully said, 'Well, I should like to have Bill to hold my hand when we get to the Pole'; but the Diary shows how the actual choice was made on the march. _Note_ 10, _p_. 86.--Campbell, Levick, and Priestly set off to the old _Nimrod_ hut eight miles away to see if they could find a stove of convenient size for their own hut, as well as any additional paraffin, and in default of the latter, to kill some seals for oil. _Note_ 11, _p_. 92.--The management of stores and transport was finally entrusted to Bowers. Rennick therefore remained with the ship. A story told by Lady Scott illustrates the spirit of these men--the expedition first, personal distinctions nowhere. It was in New Zealand and the very day on which the order had been given for Bowers to exchange with Rennick. In the afternoon Captain Scott and his wife were returning from the ship to the house where they were staying; on the hill they saw the two men coming down with arms on each other's shoulders--a fine testimony to both. 'Upon my word,' exclaimed Scott, 'that shows Rennick in a good light!' _Note_ 12, _p_. 102.--_January_ 29. The seals have been giving a lot of trouble, that is just to Meares and myself with our dogs. The whole teams go absolutely crazy when they sight them or get wind of them, and there are literally hundreds along some of the cracks. Occasionally when one pictures oneself quite away from trouble of that kind, an old seal will pop his head up at a blowhole a few yards ahead of the team, and they are all on top of him before one can say 'Knife!' Then one has to rush in with the whip--and every one of the team of eleven jumps over the harness of the dog next to him and the harnesses become a muddle that takes much patience to unravel, not to mention care lest the whole team should get away with the sledge and its load and leave one behind to follow on foot at leisure. I never did get left the whole of this depôt journey, but I was often very near it and several times had only time to seize a strap or a part of the sledge and be dragged along helter-skelter over everything that came in the way till the team got sick of galloping and one could struggle to one's feet again. One gets very wary and wide awake when one has to manage a team of eleven dogs and a sledge load by oneself, but it was a most interesting experience, and I had a delightful leader, 'Stareek' by name--Russian for 'Old Man,' and he was the most wise old man. We have to use Russian terms with all our dogs. 'Ki Ki' means go to the right, 'Chui' means go to the left, 'Esh to' means lie down--and the remainder are mostly swear words which mean everything else which one has to say to a dog team. Dog driving like this in the orthodox manner is a very different thing to the beastly dog driving we perpetrated in the Discovery days. I got to love all my team and they got to know me well, and my old leader even now, six months after I have had anything to do with him, never fails to come and speak to me whenever he sees me, and he knows me and my voice ever so far off. He is quite a ridiculous 'old man' and quite the nicest, quietest, cleverest old dog I have ever come across. He looks in face as if he knew all the wickedness of all the world and all its cares and as if he were bored to death by them. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 13, _p_. 111.--_February_ 15. There were also innumerable subsidences of the surface--the breaking of crusts over air spaces under them, large areas of dropping 1/4 inch or so with a hushing sort of noise or muffled report.--My leader Stareek, the nicest and wisest old dog in both teams, thought there was a rabbit under the crust every time one gave way close by him and he would jump sideways with both feet on the spot and his nose in the snow. The action was like a flash and never checked the team--it was most amusing. I have another funny little dog, Mukaka, small but very game and a good worker. He is paired with a fat, lazy and very greedy black dog, Nugis by name, and in every march this sprightly little Mukaka will once or twice notice that Nugis is not pulling and will jump over the trace, bite Nugis like a snap, and be back again in his own place before the fat dog knows what has happened. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 13_a_, _p_. 125.--Taking up the story from the point where eleven of the thirteen dogs had been brought to the surface, Mr. Cherry-Garrard's Diary records: This left the two at the bottom. Scott had several times wanted to go down. Bill said to me that he hoped he wouldn't, but now he insisted. We found the Alpine rope would reach, and then lowered Scott down to the platform, sixty feet below. I thought it very plucky. We then hauled the two dogs up on the rope, leaving Scott below. Scott said the dogs were very glad to see him; they had curled up asleep--it was wonderful they had no bones broken. Then Meares' dogs, which were all wandering about loose, started fighting our team, and we all had to leave Scott and go and separate them, which took some time. They fixed on Noogis (I.) badly. We then hauled Scott up: it was all three of us could do--fingers a good deal frost-bitten at the end. That was all the dogs. Scott has just said that at one time he never hoped to get back the thirteen or even half of them. When he was down in the crevasse he wanted to go off exploring, but we dissuaded him. Of course it was a great opportunity. He kept on saying, 'I wonder why this is running the way it is--you expect to find them at right angles.' Scott found inside crevasse warmer than above, but had no thermometer. It is a great wonder the whole sledge did not drop through: the inside was like the cliff of Dover. _Note_ 14, _p_. 136.--_February_ 28. Meares and I led off with a dog team each, and leaving the Barrier we managed to negotiate the first long pressure ridge of the sea ice where the seals all lie, without much trouble--the dogs were running well and fast and we kept on the old tracks, still visible, by which we had come out in January, heading a long way out to make a wide detour round the open water off Cape Armitage, from which a very wide extent of thick black fog, 'frost smoke' as we call it, was rising on our right. This completely obscured our view of the open water, and the only suggestion it gave me was that the thaw pool off the Cape was much bigger than when we passed it in January and that we should probably have to make a detour of three or four miles round it to reach Hut Point instead of one or two. I still thought it was not impossible to reach Hut Point this way, so we went on, but before we had run two miles on the sea ice we noticed that we were coming on to an area broken up by fine thread-like cracks evidently quite fresh, and as I ran along by the sledge I paced them and found they curved regularly at every 30 paces, which could only mean that they were caused by a swell. This suggested to me that the thaw pool off Cape Armitage was even bigger than I thought and that we were getting on to ice which was breaking up, to flow north into it. We stopped to consider, and found that the cracks in the ice we were on were the rise and fall of a swell. Knowing that the ice might remain like this with each piece tight against the next only until the tide turned, I knew that we must get off it at once in case the tide did turn in the next half-hour, when each crack would open up into a wide lead of open water and we should find ourselves on an isolated floe. So we at once turned and went back as fast as possible to the unbroken sea ice. Obviously it was now unsafe to go round to Hut Point by Cape Armitage and we therefore made for the Gap. It was between eight and nine in the evening when we turned, and we soon came in sight of the pony party, led as we thought by Captain Scott. We were within 1/2 a mile of them when we hurried right across their bows and headed straight for the Gap, making a course more than a right angle off the course we had been on. There was the seals' pressure ridge of sea ice between us and them, but as I could see them quite distinctly I had no doubt they could see us, and we were occupied more than once just then in beating the teams off stray seals, so that we didn't go by either vary quickly or very silently. From here we ran into the Gap, where there was some nasty pressed-up ice to cross and large gaps and cracks by the ice foot; but with the Alpine rope and a rush we got first one team over and then the other without mishap on to the land ice, and were then practically at Hut Point. However, expecting that the pony party was following us, we ran our teams up on to level ice, picketed them, and pitched our tent, to remain there for the night, as we had a half-mile of rock to cross to reach the hut and the sledges would have to be carried over this and the dogs led by hand in couples--a very long job. Having done this we returned to the ice foot with a pick and a shovel to improve the road up for horse party, as they would have to come over the same bad ice we had found difficult with the dogs; but they were nowhere to be seen close at hand as we had expected, for they were miles out, as we soon saw, still trying to reach Hut Point by the sea ice round Cape Armitage thaw pool, and on the ice which was showing a working crack at 30 paces. I couldn't understand how Scott could do such a thing, and it was only the next day that I found out that Scott had remained behind and had sent Bowers in charge of this pony party. Bowers, having had no experience of the kind, did not grasp the situation for some time, and as we watched him and his party--or as we thought Captain Scott and his party--of ponies we saw them all suddenly realise that they were getting into trouble and the whole party turned back; but instead of coming back towards the Gap as we had, we saw them go due south towards the Barrier edge and White Island. Then I thought they were all right, for I knew they would get on to safe ice and camp for the night. We therefore had our supper in the tent and were turning in between eleven and twelve when I had a last look to see where they were and found they had camped as it appeared to me on safe Barrier ice, the only safe thing they could have done. They were now about six miles away from us, and it was lucky that I had my Goerz glasses with me so that we could follow their movements. Now as everything looked all right, Meares and I turned in and slept. At 5 A.M. I awoke, and as I felt uneasy about the party I went out and along the Gap to where we could see their camp, and I was horrified to see that the whole of the sea ice was now on the move and that it had broken up for miles further than when we turned in and right back past where they had camped, and that the pony party was now, as we could see, adrift on a floe and separated by open water and a lot of drifting ice from the edge of the fast Barrier ice. We could see with our glasses that they were running the ponies and sledges over as quickly as possible from floe to floe whenever they could, trying to draw nearer to the safe Barrier ice again. The whole Strait was now open water to the N. of Cape Armitage, with the frost smoke rising everywhere from it, and full of pieces of floating ice, all going up N. to Ross Sea. _March_ 1. _Ash Wednesday_. The question for us was whether we could do anything to help them. There was no boat anywhere and there was no one to consult with, for everyone was on the floating floe as we believed, except Teddie Evans, Forde, and Keohane, who with one pony were on their way back from Corner Camp. So we searched the Barrier for signs of their tent and then saw that there was a tent at Safety Camp, which meant evidently to us that they had returned. The obvious thing was to join up with them and go round to where the pony party was adrift, and see if we could help them to reach the safe ice. So without waiting for breakfast we went off six miles to this tent. We couldn't go now by the Gap, for the ice by which we had reached land yesterday was now broken up in every direction and all on the move up the Strait. We had no choice now but to cross up by Crater Hill and down by Pram Point and over the pressure ridges and so on to the Barrier and off to Safety Camp. We couldn't possibly take a dog sledge this way, so we walked, taking the Alpine rope to cross the pressure ridges, which are full of crevasses. We got to this tent soon after noon and were astonished to find that not Teddie Evans and his two seamen were here, but that Scott and Oates and Gran were in it and no pony with them. Teddie Evans was still on his way back from Corner Camp and had not arrived. It was now for the first time that we understood how the accident had happened. When we had left Safety Camp yesterday with the dogs, the ponies began their march to follow us, but one of the ponies was so weak after the last blizzard and so obviously about to die that Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, and Crean were sent on with the four capable ponies, while Scott, Oates, and Gran remained at Safety Camp till the sick pony died, which happened apparently that night. He was dead and buried when we got there. We found that Scott had that morning seen the open water up to the Barrier edge and had been in a dreadful state of mind, thinking that Meares and I, as well as the whole pony party, had gone out into the Strait on floating ice. He was therefore much relieved when we arrived and he learned for the first time where the pony party was trying to get to fast ice again. We were now given some food, which we badly wanted, and while we were eating we saw in the far distance a single man coming hurriedly along the edge of the Barrier ice from the direction of the catastrophe party and towards our camp. Gran went off on ski to meet him, and when he arrived we found it was Crean, who had been sent off by Bowers with a note, unencumbered otherwise, to jump from one piece of floating ice to another until he reached the fast edge of the Barrier in order to let Capt. Scott know what had happened. This he did, of course not knowing that we or anyone else had seen him go adrift, and being unable to leave the ponies and all his loaded sledges himself. Crean had considerable difficulty and ran a pretty good risk in doing this, but succeeded all right. There were now Scott, Oates, Crean, Gran, Meares, and myself here and only three sleeping-bags, so the three first remained to see if they could help Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, and the ponies, while Meares, Gran, and I returned to look after our dogs at Hut Point. Here we had only two sleeping-bags for the three of us, so we had to take turns, and I remained up till 1 o'clock that night while Gran had six hours in my bag. It was a bitterly cold job after a long day. We had been up at 5 with nothing to eat till 1 o'clock, and walked 14 miles. The nights are now almost dark. _March_ 2. A very bitter wind blowing and it was a cheerless job waiting for six hours to get a sleep in the bag. I walked down from our tent to the hut and watched whales blowing in the semi-darkness out in the black water of the Strait. When we turned out in the morning the pony party was still on floating ice but not any further from the Barrier ice. By a merciful providence the current was taking them rather along the Barrier edge, where they went adrift, instead of straight out to sea. We could do nothing more for them, so we set to our work with the dogs. It was blowing a bitter gale of wind from the S.E. with some drift and we made a number of journeys backwards and forwards between the Gap and the hut, carrying our tent and camp equipment down and preparing a permanent picketing line for the dogs. As the ice had all gone out of the Strait we were quite cut off from any return to Cape Evans until the sea should again freeze over, and this was not likely until the end of April. We rigged up a small fireplace in the hut and found some wood and made a fire for an hour or so at each meal, but as there was no coal and not much wood we felt we must be economical with the fuel, and so also with matches and everything else, in case Bowers should lose his sledge loads, which had most of the supplies for the whole party to last twelve men for two months. The weather had now become too thick for us to distinguish anything in the distance and we remained in ignorance as to the party adrift until Saturday. I had also lent my glasses to Captain Scott. This night I had first go in the bag, and turned out to shiver for eight hours till breakfast. There was literally nothing in the hut that one could cover oneself with to keep warm and we couldn't run to keeping the fire going. It was very cold work. There were heaps of biscuit cases here which we had left in _Discovery_ days, and with these we built up a small inner hut to live in. _March_ 3. Spent the day in transferring dogs in couples from the Gap to the hut. In the afternoon Teddie Evans and Atkinson turned up from over the hills, having returned from their Corner Camp journey with one horse and two seamen, all of which they had left encamped at Castle Rock, three miles off on the hills. They naturally expected to find Scott here and everyone else and had heard nothing of the pony party going adrift, but having found only open water ahead of them they turned back and came to land by Castle Rock slopes. We fed them and I walked half-way back to Castle Rock with them. _March_ 4. Meares, Gran, and I walked up Ski Slope towards Castle Rock to meet Evans's party and pilot them and the dogs safely to Hut Point, but half-way we met Atkinson, who told us that they had now been joined by Scott and all the catastrophe party, who were safe, but who had lost all the ponies except one--a great blow. However, no lives were lost and the sledge loads and stores were saved, so Meares and I returned to Hut Point to make stables for the only two ponies that now remained, both in wretched condition, of the eight with which we started. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 15, _p_. 140.--_March_ 12. Thawed out some old magazines and picture papers which were left here by the _Discovery_, and gave us very good reading. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 16, _p_. 151.--_April_ 4. Fun over a fry I made in my new penquin lard. It was quite a success and tasted like very bad sardine oil. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 17, _p_. 169.--'Voyage of the Discovery,' chap. ix. 'The question of the moment is, what has become of our boats?' Early in the winter they were hoisted out to give more room for the awning, and were placed in a line about one hundred yards from the ice foot on the sea ice. The earliest gale drifted them up nearly gunwale high, and thus for two months they remained in sight whilst we congratulated ourselves on their security. The last gale brought more snow, and piling it in drifts at various places in the bay, chose to be specially generous with it in the neighbourhood of our boats, so that afterwards they were found to be buried three or four feet beneath the new surface. Although we had noted with interest the manner in which the extra weight of snow in other places was pressing down the surface of the original ice, and were even taking measurements of the effects thus produced, we remained fatuously blind to the risks our boats ran under such conditions. It was from no feeling of anxiety, but rather to provide occupation, that I directed that the snow on top of them should be removed, and it was not until we had dug down to the first boat that the true state of affairs dawned on us. She was found lying in a mass of slushy ice, with which also she was nearly filled. For the moment we had a wild hope that she could be pulled up, but by the time we could rig shears the air temperature had converted the slush into hardened ice, and she was found to be stuck fast. At present there is no hope of recovering any of the boats: as fast as one could dig out the sodden ice, more sea-water would flow in and freeze ... The danger is that fresh gales bringing more snow will sink them so far beneath the surface that we shall be unable to recover them at all. Stuck solid in the floe they must go down with it, and every effort must be devoted to preventing the floe from sinking. As regards the rope, it is a familiar experience that dark objects which absorb heat will melt their way through the snow or ice on which they lie. _Note_ 18, _p_. 206. Ponies Presented by Schools, &c. School's, &c., Nickname of Pony. Name of School, &c., name of Pony. presented by. Floreat Etona Snippet Eton College. Christ's Hospital Hackenschmidt Christ's Hospital. Westminster Blossom Westminster. St. Paul's Michael St. Paul's. Stubbington Weary Willie Stubbington House, Fareham. Bedales Christopher Bedales, Petersfield. Lydney Victor The Institute, Lydney, Gloucester. West Down Jones West Down School. Bootham Snatcher Bootham. South Hampstead Bones South Hampstead High School (Girls). Altrincham Chinaman Seamen's Moss School, Altrincham. Rosemark Cuts Captain and Mrs. Mark Kerr (H.M.S. _Invincible_). Invincible James Pigg Officers and Ship's Company of H.M.S. _Invincible_. Snooker King Jehu J. Foster Stackhouse and friend. Brandon Punch The Bristol Savages. Stoker Blucher R. Donaldson Hudson, Esq. Manchester Nobby Manchester various Cardiff Uncle Bill Cardiff ,, Liverpool Davy Liverpool ,, Sleeping-Bags Presented by Schools School's, &c., Name of traveller Name of School, &c., name of Sleeping-bag. using Sleeping-bag. presenting Sleeping-bag. Cowbridge Commander Evans Cowbridge. Wisk Hove Lieutenant Campbell The Wisk, Hove. Taunton Seaman Williamson King's College, Taunton. Bryn Derwen Seaman Keohane Bryn Derwen. Grange Dr. Simpson The Grange, Folkestone. Brighton Lieutenant Bowers Brighton Grammar School. Cardigan Captain Scott The County School, Cardigan. Carter-Eton Mr. Cherry-Garrard Mr. R. T. Carter, Eton College. Radley Mr. Ponting Stones Social School, Radley. Woodford Mr. Meares Woodford House. Bramhall Seaman Abbott Bramhall Grammar School. Louth Dr. Atkinson King Edward VI. Grammar School, Louth. Twyford I. Seaman Forde Twyford School Twyford II. Mr. Day ,, ,, Abbey House Seaman Dickason Mr. Carvey's House, Abbey House School. Waverley Mr. Wright Waverley Road, Birmingham. St. John's Seaman Evans St. John's House Leyton Ch. Stoker Lashly Leyton County High School. St. Bede's Seaman Browning Eastbourne. Sexeys Dr. Wilson Sexeys School. Worksop Mr. Debenham Worksop College. Regent Mr. Nelson Regent Street Polytechnic Secondary School. Trafalgar Captain Oates Trafalgar House School, Winchester. Altrincham Mr. Griffith Taylor Altrincham, various. Invincible Dr. Levick Ship's Company, H.M.S. _Invincible_. Leeds Mr. Priestley Leeds Boys' Modern School. Sledges Presented by Schools, &c. School's, &c., Description Name of School, &c., name of Sledge. of Sledge. presenting Sledge. Amesbury Pony: Uncle Bill Amesbury, Bickley Hall, (Cardiff) Kent. John Bright Dog sledge Bootham. Sherborne Pony: Snippets Sherborne House School. (Floreat Etona) Wimbledon Pony: Blossom King's College School, (Westminster) Wimbledon. Kelvinside Northern sledge Kelvinside Academy. (man-hauled) Pip Dog sledge Copthorne. Christ's Hospital Dog sledge Christ's Hospital. Hampstead Dog sledge University College School, Hampstead. Glasgow Pony: Snatcher High School, Glasgow. (Bootham) George Dixon Pony: Nobby George Dixon (Manchester) Secondary School. Leys Pony: Punch (Brandon) Leys School, Cambridge. Northampton Motor sledge; No. 1 Northampton County School. Charterhouse I. Pony: Blucher (Stoker) Charterhouse. Charterhouse II. Western sledge Charterhouse. (man-hauled) Regent Northern sledge Regent Street Polytechnic (man-hauled) Secondary School. Sidcot Pony: Hackenschmidt Sidcot, Winscombe. (Christ's Hospital) Retford Pony: Michael Retford Grammar School. (St. Paul's) Tottenham Northern sledge Tottenham Grammar School. (man-hauled) Cheltenham Pony: James Pigg The College, Cheltenham. (H.M.S. _Invincible_) Sidcot School, Old Boys. Knight First Summit sledge (man-hauled) Crosby Pony: Christopher Crosby Merchant Taylors'. (Bedales) Grange Pony: Chinaman 'Grange,' Buxton. (Altrincham) Altrincham Pony: Victor (Lydney) Altrincham (various). Probus Pony: Weary Willie Probus. (Stubbington) Rowntree Second Summit sledge Workmen, Rowntree's (man-hauled) Cocoa Works. 'Invincible' I. Third Summit sledge Officers and Men, (man-hauled) H.M.S. _Invincible_. 'Invincible' II. Pony: Jehu Do. (Snooker King) Eton Pony: Bones Eton College. (South Hampstead) Masonic Motor Sledge, No. 2 Royal Masonic School, Bushey. (N.B.--The name of the pony in parentheses is the name given by the School, &c., that presented the pony.) Tents Presented by Schools Name of Tent. Party to which School presenting Tent. attached. Fitz Roy Southern Party Fitz Roy School, Crouch End. Ashdown Northern Party Ashdown House, Forest Row, Sussex. Brighton & Hove Reserve, Cape Evans Brighton & Hove High School, (Girls). Bromyard Do. Grammar, Bromyard. Marlborough Do. The College, Marlborough. Bristol Mr. Ponting Colchester House, Bristol. (photographic artist) Croydon Reserve, Cape Evans Croydon High School. Broke Hall Reserve, Cape Evans Broke Hall, Charterhouse. Pelham Southern Party Pelham House, Folkestone. Tollington Depôt Party Tollington School, Muswell Hill. St. Andrews Southern Party St. Andrews, Newcastle. Richmond Dog Party Richmond School, Yorks. Hymers Depôt Party Scientific Society, Hymers College, Hull. King Edward Do. King Edward's School. Southport Cape Crozier Depôt Southport Physical Training College. Jarrow Reserve, Cape Evans Jarrow Secondary School. Grange Do. The Grange, Buxton. Swindon Do. Swindon. Sir John Deane Motor Party Sir J. Deane's Grammar School. Llandaff Reserve, Cape Evans Llandaff. Castleford Reserve, Cape Evans Castleford Secondary School. Hailey Do. Hailey. Uxbridge Northern Party Uxbridge County School. Stubbington Reserve, Cape Evans Stubbington House, Fareham. _Note_ 19, _p_. 215.--These hints on Polar Surveying fell on willing ears. Members of the afterguard who were not mathematically trained plunged into the very practical study of how to work out observations. Writing home on October 26, 1911, Scott remarks: '"Cherry" has just come to me with a very anxious face to say that I must not count on his navigating powers. For the moment I didn't know what he was driving at, but then I remembered that some months ago I said that it would be a good thing for all the officers going South to have some knowledge of navigation so that in emergency they would know how to steer a sledge home. It appears that "Cherry" thereupon commenced aserious and arduous course of study of abstruse navigational problems which he found exceedingly tough and now despaired mastering. Of course there is not one chance in a hundred that he will ever have to consider navigation on our journey and in that one chance the problem must be of the simplest nature, but it makes matters much easier for me to have men who take the details of one's work so seriously and who strive so simply and honestly to make it successful.' And in Wilson's diary for October 23 comes the entry: 'Working at latitude sights--mathematics which I hate--till bedtime. It will be wiser to know a little navigation on the Southern sledge journey.' _Note_ 20, _p_. 300.--Happily I had a biscuit with me and I held it out to him a long way off. Luckily he spotted it and allowed me to come up, and I got hold of his head again. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 21, _p_. 338.--December 8. I have left Nobby all my biscuits to-night as he is to try and do a march to-morrow, and then happily he will be shot and all of them, as their food is quite done. _December 9_. Nobby had all my biscuits last night and this morning, and by the time we camped I was just ravenously hungry. It was a close cloudy day with no air and we were ploughing along knee deep.... Thank God the horses are now all done with and we begin the heavy work ourselves. [Dr. Wilson's Journal.] _Note_ 22, _p_. 339.--_December_ 9. The end of the Beardmore Glacier curved across the track of the Southern Party, thrusting itself into the mass of the Barrier with vast pressure and disturbance. So far did this ice disturbance extend, that if the travellers had taken a bee-line to the foot of the glacier itself, they must have begun to steer outwards 200 miles sooner. The Gateway was a neck or saddle of drifted snow lying in a gap of the mountain rampart which flanked the last curve of the glacier. Under the cliffs on either hand, like a moat beneath the ramparts, lay a yawning ice-cleft or bergschrund, formed by the drawing away of the steadily moving Barrier ice from the rocks. Across this moat and leading up to the gap in the ramparts, the Gateway provided a solid causeway. To climb this and descend its reverse face gave the easiest access to the surface of the glacier. _Note_ 23, _p_. 359.--Return of first Southern Party from Lat. 85° 72 S. top of the Beardmore Glacier. Party: E. L. Atkinson, A. Cherry-Garrard, C. S. Wright, Petty Officer Keohane. On the morning of December 22, 1911, we made a late start after saying good-bye to the eight going on, and wishing them all good luck and success. The first 11 miles was on the down-grade over the ice-falls, and at a good pace we completed this in about four hours. Lunched, and on, completing nearly 23 miles for the first day. At the end of the second day we got among very bad crevasses through keeping too far to the eastward. This delayed us slightly and we made the depot on the third day. We reached the Lower Glacier Depot three and a half days after. The lower part of the glacier was very badly crevassed. These crevasses we had never seen on the way up, as they had been covered with three to four feet of snow. All the bridges of crevasses were concave and very wide; no doubt their normal summer condition. On Christmas Day we made in to the lateral moraine of the Cloudmaker and collected geological specimens. The march across the Barrier was only remarkable for the extremely bad lights we had. For eight consecutive days we only saw an exceedingly dim sun during three hours. Up to One Ton Depot our marches had averaged 14.1 geographical miles a day. We arrived at Cape Evans on January 28, 1912, after being away for three months. [E.L.A.] _Note_ 24, _p_. 364.--_January_ 3. Return of the second supporting party. Under average conditions, the return party should have well fulfilled Scott's cheery anticipations. Three-man teams had done excellently on previous sledging expeditions, whether in _Discovery_ days or as recently as the mid-winter visit to the Emperor penguins' rookery; and the three in this party were seasoned travellers with a skilled navigator to lead them. But a blizzard held them up for three days before reaching the head of the glacier. They had to press on at speed. By the time they reached the foot of the glacier, Lieut. Evans developed symptoms of scurvy. His spring work of surveying and sledging out to Corner Camp and the man-hauling, with Lashly, across the Barrier after the breakdown of the motors, had been successfully accomplished; this sequel to the Glacier and Summit marches was an unexpected blow. Withal, he continued to pull, while bearing the heavy strain of guiding the course. While the hauling power thus grew less, the leader had to make up for loss of speed by lengthening the working hours. He put his watch on an hour. With the 'turning out' signal thus advanced, the actual marching period reached 12 hours. The situation was saved, and Evans flattered himself on his ingenuity. But the men knew it all the time, and no word said! At One Ton Camp he was unable to stand without the support of his ski sticks; but with the help of his companions struggled on another 53 miles in four days. Then he could go no farther. His companions, rejecting his suggestion that he be left in his sleeping-bag with a supply of provisions while they pressed on for help, 'cached' everything that could be spared, and pulled him on the sledge with a devotion matching that of their captain years before, when he and Wilson brought their companion Shackleton, ill and helpless, safely home to the _Discovery_. Four days of this pulling, with a southerly wind to help, brought them to Corner Camp; then came a heavy snowfall: the sledge could not travel. It was a critical moment. Next day Crean set out to tramp alone to Hut Point, 34 miles away. Lashly stayed to nurse Lieut. Evans, and most certainly saved his life till help came. Crean reached Hut Point after an exhausting march of 18 hours; how the dog-team went to the rescue is told by Dr. Atkinson in the second volume. At the _Discovery_ hut Evans was unremittingly tended by Dr. Atkinson, and finally sent by sledge to the _Terra Nova_. It is good to record that both Lashly and Crean have received the Albert medal. _Note_ 25, _p_. 396.--At this point begins the last of Scott's notebooks. The record of the Southern Journey is written in pencil in three slim MS. books, some 8 inches long by 5 wide. These little volumes are meant for artists' notebooks, and are made of tough, soft, pliable paper which takes the pencil well. The pages, 96 in number, are perforated so as to be detachable at need. In the Hut, large quarto MS. books were used for the journals, and some of the rough notes of the earlier expeditions were recast and written out again in them; the little books were carried on the sledge journeys, and contain the day's notes entered very regularly at the lunch halts and in the night camps. But in the last weeks of the Southern Journey, when fuel and light ran short and all grew very weary, it will be seen that Scott made his entries at lunch time alone. They tell not of the morning's run only, but of 'yesterday.' The notes were written on the right-hand pages, and when the end of the book was reached, it was 'turned' and the blank backs of the leaves now became clean right-hand pages. The first two MS. books are thus entirely filled: the third has only part of its pages used and the Message to the Public is written at the reverse end. Inside the front cover of No. 1 is a 'ready' table to convert the day's run of geographical miles as recorded on the sledgemeter into statute miles, a list of the depots and their latitude, and a note of the sledgemeter reading at Corner Camp. These are followed in the first pages by a list of the outward camps and distances run as noted in the book, with special 'remarks' as to cairns, latitude, and so forth. At the end of the book is a full list of the cairns that marked the track out. Inside the front cover of No. 2 are similar entries, together with the ages of the Polar party and a note of the error of Scott's watch. Inside the front cover of No. 3 are the following words: 'Diary can be read by finder to ensure recording of Records, &c., but Diary should be sent to my widow.' And on the first page: 'Send this diary to my widow. 'R. SCOTT.' The word 'wife' had been struck out and 'widow' written in. _Note_ 26, _p_. 398.--At this, the barrier stage of the return journey, the Southern Party were in want of more oil than they found at the depots. Owing partly to the severe conditions, but still more to the delays imposed by their sick comrades, they reached the full limit of time allowed for between depots. The cold was unexpected, and at the same time the actual amount of oil found at the depots was less than they had counted on. Under summer conditions, such as were contemplated, when there was less cold for the men to endure, and less firing needed to melt the snow for cooking, the fullest allowance of oil was 1 gallon to last a unit of four men ten days, or 1/40 of a gallon a day for each man. The amount allotted to each unit for the return journey from the South was apparently rather less, being 2/3 gallon for eight days, or 1/48 gallon a day for each man. But the eight days were to cover the march from depot to depot, averaging on the Barrier some 70-80 miles, which in normal conditions should not take more than six days. Thus there was a substantial margin for delay by bad weather, while if all went well the surplus afforded the fullest marching allowance. The same proportion for a unit of five men works out at 5/6 of a gallon for the eight-day stage. Accordingly, for the return of the two supporting parties and the Southern Party, two tins of a gallon each were left at each depot, each unit of four men being entitled to 2/3 of a gallon, and the units of three and five men in proportion. The return journey on the Summit had been made at good speed, taking twenty-one days as against twenty-seven going out, the last part of it, from Three Degree to Upper Glacier Depot, taking nearly eight marches as against ten, showing the first slight slackening as P.O. Evans and Oates began to feel the cold; from Upper Glacier to Lower Glacier Depot ten marches as against eleven, a stage broken by the Mid Glacier Depot of three and a half day's provisions at the sixth march. Here, there was little gain, partly owing to the conditions, but more to Evans' gradual collapse. The worst time came on the Barrier; from Lower Glacier to Southern Barrier Depot (51 miles), 6 1/2 marches as against 5 (two of which were short marches, so that the 5 might count as an easy 4 in point of distance);from Southern Barrier to Mid Barrier Depot (82 miles), 6 1/2 marches as against 5 1/2; from Mid Barrier to Mt. Hooper (70 miles), 8 as against 4 3/4, while the last remaining 8 marches represent but 4 on the outward journey. (See table on next page.) At to the cause of the shortage, the tins of oil at the depot had been exposed to extreme conditions of heat and cold. The oil was specially volatile, and in the warmth of the sun (for the tins were regularly set in an accessible place on the top of the cairns) tended to become vapour and escape through the stoppers even without damage to the tins. This process was much accelerated by reason that the leather washers about the stoppers had perished in the great cold. Dr. Atkinson gives two striking examples of this. 1. Eight one-gallon tins in a wooden case, intended for a depot at Cape Crozier, had been put out in September 1911. They were snowed up; and when examined in December 1912 showed three tins full, three empty, one a third full, and one two-thirds full. 2. When the search party reached One Ton Camp in November 1912 they found that some of the food, stacked in a canvas 'tank' at the foot of the cairn, was quite oily from the spontaneous leakage of the tins seven feet above it on the top of the cairn. The tins at the depôts awaiting the Southern Party had of course been opened and the due amount to be taken measured out by the supporting parties on their way back. However carefully re-stoppered, they were still liable to the unexpected evaporation and leakage already described. Hence, without any manner of doubt, the shortage which struck the Southern Party so hard. _Note_ 27, _p_. 409.--The Fatal Blizzard. Mr. Frank Wild, who led one wing of Dr. Mawson's Expedition on the northern coast of the Antarctic continent, Queen Mary's Land, many miles to the west of the Ross Sea, writes that 'from March 21 for a period of nine days we were kept in camp by the same blizzard which proved fatal to Scott and his gallant companions' (Times, June 2, 1913). Blizzards, however, are so local that even when, as in this case, two are nearly contemporaneous, it is not safe to conclude that they are part of the same current of air. TABLE OF DISTANCES showing the length of the Outward and Return Marches on the Barrier from and to One Ton Camp. 3 miles to each sub-division Date Camp No. Note. Distance. Nov. 15, 16 12 One Ton Camp 15 Nov. 17 13 15 Nov. 18 14 15 Nov. 19 15 15 Nov. 20 16 15 Nov. 21 17 Mt. Hooper Depôt 15 Nov. 22 18 15 Nov. 23 19 15 Nov. 24 20 15 Nov. 25 21 Mid Barrier Depôt 15 Nov. 26 22 15 Nov. 27 23 Nov. 28 24 15 Nov. 29 25 15 Nov. 30 26 15 Dec. 1 27 Southern Barrier Depôt 15 Dec. 2 28 11 1/2 Dec. 3 29 13 Dec. 4- 30 8 Dec. 9 31 Shambles 4 Dec. 10 32 Lower Glacier D Date Camp No. Note. Distance. Feb. 17 R. 31 4 Feb. 18 R. 32 4.3 Feb. 19 R. 33 7 Feb. 20 R. 34 8 1/2 Feb. 21 R. 35 11 1/2 Feb. 22 R. 36 8 1/2 Feb. 23 R. 37 6 1/2 Feb. 24 R. 38 11.4 Feb. 25 R. 39 11 1/2 Feb. 26 R. 40 12.2 Feb. 27 R. 41 11 Feb. 28 R. 42 Lunch, 13 to Depôt 11 1/2 Feb. 29 R. 43 Lunch, under 3 to Depôt Mar. 1 R. 44 6 Mar. 2 R. 45 Nearly 10 Mar. 3 R. 46 Lunch, 42 to Depôt 9 Mar. 4 R. 47 9 1/2 Mar. 5 R. 48. 27 to Depôt 6 1/2 Mar. 6 R. 49 7 Mar. 7 R. 50 Lunch, 8 1/2 to Depôt 4 1/2 Mar. 8 R. 51 Mar. 9-10 R. 52 6.9 Mar. 11 R. 53 7 Mar. 12 R. 54 47 to Depôt 5 1/4 Mar. 13 R. 55 6 Mar. 14 R. 56 4 Mar. 15 R. 57 Blizz'd Lunch, 25 1/2 to Depôt Mar. 17 R. 58 Lunch, 21 to Depôt Mar. 18 R. 59 Mar. 19 R. 60 The Last Camp The numbers are Statute Miles. Marches Out Return Lower Glacier to Southern Barrier Depôt 5 6 1/2 Southern Barrier to Mid Barrier Depôt 5 1/2 6 1/2 Mid Barrier to Mount Hooper 4 3/4 8 Thereafter 4 8 It will be noted that of the first 15 Return Marches on the Barrier, 5 are 11 1/2 miles and upwards, and 5 are 8 1/2 to 10. NOTES [1] It was continued a night and a day. [2] Captain Oates' nickname. [3] A species of shrimp on which the seabirds feed. [4] The party headed by Lieutenant Campbell, which, being unable to disembark on King Edward's Land, was ultimately taken by the Terra Nova to the north part of Victoria Land, and so came to be known as the Northern Party. The Western Party here mentioned includes all who had their base at Cape Evans: the depots to be laid were for the subsequent expedition to the Pole. [5] The extreme S. point of the Island, a dozen miles farther, on one of whose minor headlands, Hut Point, stood the _Discovery_ hut. [6] Here were the meteorological instruments. [7] Cape Evans, which lay on the S. side of the new hut. [8] The Southern Road was the one feasible line of communication between the new station at C. Evans and the Discovery hut at Hut Point, for the rugged mountains and crevassed ice slopes of Ross Island forbade a passage by land. The 'road' afforded level going below the cliffs of the ice-foot, except where disturbed by the descending glacier, and there it was necessary to cross the body of the glacier itself. It consisted of the more enduring ice in the bays and the sea-ice along the coast, which only stayed fast for the season. Thus it was of the utmost importance to get safely over the precarious part of the 'road' before the seasonal going-out of the sea-ice. To wait until all the ice should go out and enable the ship to sail to Hut Point would have meant long uncertainty and delay. As it happened, the Road broke up the day after the party had gone by. [9] Viz. Atkinson and Crean, who were left at Safety Camp; E. Evans, Forde and Keohane, who returned with the weaker ponies on Feb. 13; Meares and Wilson with the dog teams; and Scott, Bowers, Oates, Cherry-Garrard, and Lashly. [10] The favorite nickname for Bowers. [11] Professor T. Edgeworth David, C.M.G., F.R.S., of Sydney University, who was the geologist to Shackleton's party. [12] This was done in order to measure on the next visit the results of wind and snow. [13] Scott, Wilson, Meares and Cherry-Garrard now went back swiftly with the dog teams, to look after the return parties at Safety Camp. Having found all satisfactory, Scott left Wilson and Meares there with the dogs, and marched back with the rest to Corner Camp, taking more stores to the depot and hoping to meet Bowers rearguard party. [14] The party had made a short cut where in going out with the ponies they had made an elbow, and so had passed within this 'danger line.' [15] Bowers, Oates, and Gran, with the five ponies. The two days had after all brought them to Safety Camp. [16] This was at a point on the Barrier, one-half mile from the edge, in a S.S.E. direction from Hut Point. [17] I.e. by land, now that the sea ice was out. [18] Because the seals would cease to come up. [19] As a step towards 'getting these things clearer' in his mind two spare pages of the diary are filled with neat tables, showing the main classes into which rocks are divided, and their natural subdivisions--the sedimentary, according to mode of deposition, chemical, organic, or aqueous; the metamorphic, according to the kind of rock altered by heat; the igneous, according to their chemical composition. [20] Viz, Simpson, Nelson, Day, Ponting, Lashly, Clissold, Hooper, Anton, and Demetri. [21] See Chapter X. [22] The white dogs. [23] I.e. in relation to a sledging ration. [24] Officially the ponies were named after the several schools which had subscribed for their purchase: but sailors are inveterate nicknamers, and the unofficial humour prevailed. See Appendix, Note 18. [25] Captain Scott's judgment was not at fault. [26] I.e. a crack which leaves the ice free to move with the movements of the sea beneath. [27] This was the gale that tore away the roofing of their hut, and left them with only their sleeping-bags for shelter. See p. 365. [28] Prof. T. Edgeworth David, of Sydney University, who accompanied Shackleton's expedition as geologist. [29] See Vol. II., Dr. Simpson's Meteorological Report. [30] This form of motor traction had been tested on several occasions; in 1908 at Lauteret in the Alps, with Dr. Charcot the Polar explorer: in 1909 and again 1910 in Norway. After each trial the sledges were brought back and improved. [31] The Southern Barrier Depôt. [32] Camp 31 received the name of Shambles Camp. [33] While Day and Hooper, of the ex-motor party, had turned back on November 24, and Meares and Demetri with the dogs ascended above the Lower Glacier Depot before returning on December 11, the Southern Party and its supports were organised successively as follows: December 10, leaving Shambles Camp-- _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates and P.O. Evans. _Sledge_ 2. E. Evans, Atkinson, Wright, Lashly. _Sledge_ 3. Bowers, Cherry-Garrard, Crean, Keohane. December 21 at Upper Glacier Depôt-- _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates, P.O. Evans. _Sledge_ 2. E. Evans, Bowers, Crean, Lashly, while Atkinson, Wright, Cherry-Garrard and Keohane returned. January 4, 150 miles from the Pole-- _Sledge_ 1. Scott, Wilson, Oates, Bowers, P.O. Evans; while E. Evans, Crean, and Lashly returned. [34] The Lower Glacier Depot. [35] In the pocket journal, only one side of each page had been written on. Coming to the end of it, Scott reversed the book, and continued his entries on the empty backs of the pages. [36] A unit of food means a week's supplies for four men. [37] A number preceded by R. marks the camps on the return journey. [38] Still over 150 miles away. They had marched 7 miles on the homeward track the first afternoon, 18 1/2 the second day. [39] Three Degree Depôt. [40] Left on December 31. [41] The Upper Glacier Depôt, under Mount Darwin, where the first supporting party turned back. [42] The result of concussion in the morning's fall. [43] The Lower Glacier Depot. [44] Sledges were left at the chief depôts to replace damaged ones. [45] It will be remembered that he was already stricken with scurvy. [46] For the last six days the dogs had been waiting at One Ton Camp under Cherry-Garrard and Demetri. The supporting party had come out as arranged on the chance of hurrying the Pole travellers back over the last stages of their journey in time to catch the ship. Scott had dated his probable return to Hut Point anywhere between mid-March and early April. Calculating from the speed of the other return parties, Dr. Atkinson looked for him to reach One Ton Camp between March 3 and 10. Here Cherry-Garrard met four days of blizzard; then there remained little more than enough dog food to bring the teams home. He could either push south one more march and back, at imminent risk of missing Scott on the way, or stay two days at the Camp where Scott was bound to come, if he came at all. His wise decision, his hardships and endurance Ove recounted by Dr. Atkinson in Vol. II., 'The Last Year at Cape Evans.' [47] The 60th camp from the Pole. 
34777	----	[Frontispiece: "But, Hugo dear," she said, "why did you not tell me long ago?"] A LAME DOG'S DIARY S. Macnaughtan Thomas Nelson and Sons, London, Edinburgh, and New York 1908 A LAME DOG'S DIARY. CHAPTER I. Perhaps curiosity has never been more keen, nor mystery more baffling, than has been the case during the last few weeks. There have been "a few friends to tea" at almost every house in the village to see if in this way any reasonable conclusions can be arrived at, and even Palestrina is satisfied with the number of people who have taken the trouble to walk up the hill and chat by my sofa in the afternoons. But although each lady who has called has remarked that she is in the secret, but at present is not at liberty to say anything about it, we are inclined to think that this is vain boasting, or at least selfish reticence. The two Miss Traceys have announced to almost every caller at their little cottage during the last two years that they intend to build. We have all been naturally a good deal impressed by this statement, and although it was never plainly said what the structure was to be, we had had for a long time a notion of a detached house on the Common. And surely enough the foundation-stone was laid last year by Miss Ruby Tracey with some ceremony, and the first turf of the garden was cut by Miss Tracey, and only last month the whole of the Fern Cottage furniture was removed in a van to Fairview, as the new house is called--the handsomer pieces placed upon the outside of the van, and the commoner and least creditable of the bedroom furniture within. Every one was at his or her window on the day that the Miss Traceys' furniture, with the best cabinet and the inlaid card-table duly displayed, was driven in state by the driver of the station omnibus through the town. A rumour got abroad that even more beautiful things were concealed from view inside the van, and the Miss Traceys satisfied their consciences by saying, "We did not spread the rumour, and we shall not contradict it." But the mystery concerns the furniture in quite a secondary sort of way, and it is only important as being the means of giving rise to the much-discussed rumour in the town. For mark, the drawing-room furniture was taken at once and stored in a spare bedroom, and the drawing-room was left unfurnished. This fact might have remained in obscurity, for in winter time, at least, it is not unusual for ladies to receive guests in the dining-room with an apology, the drawing-room being a cold sitting-room during the frost. But Mrs. Lovekin, the lady who acts as co-hostess at every entertainment in our neighbourhood, handing about her friends' cakes and tea, and taking, we are inclined to think, too much upon herself, did, in a moment of expansion, offer to show the Traceys' house to the Blinds, who happened to call there on the day when she was paying her respects to Miss Tracey. Mrs. Lovekin always removes her bonnet and cloak in every house, and this helps the suggestion that she is in some sort a hostess everywhere. Palestrina, who was also calling on the Miss Traceys, gave me a full, true, and particular account of the affair the same evening. "Mind the wet paint," Mrs. Lovekin called from the dining-room window to the Miss Blinds as they came in at the gate, "and I'll open the door," she remarked, as she sailed out into the passage to greet the sisters. Miss Ruby Tracey would rather have done this politeness herself, in order that she might hear the flattering remarks which people were wont to make about the hall paper. It is so well known that she and her sister keep three servants that they never have any hesitation in going to the door themselves. Whereas the Miss Blinds, who have only one domestic, would seem hardly to know where their front door is situated. "What an elegant paper!" exclaimed Miss Lydia Blind, stopping awestruck in the little hall. Miss Lydia would, one knows, have something kind to say if she went to pay a call at a Kaffir hut. "Yes," said Mrs. Lovekin in a proprietary sort of way; "it is one of Moseley's which Smithson got down in his book of patterns. The blue paint is what they call 'eggshell'--quite a new shade. Come this way and have a cup of tea." "I am sure it is all very simple," said Miss Tracey, in a disparaging manner that showed her good breeding, as they sat down in the dining-room. "How do you like the new carpet, Miss Belinda?" "Glory, glory, glory!" said Miss Belinda; "glory, glory, glory!" "Show Miss Lydia the new footstools, Ruby dear," said Miss Tracey; "I am sure she would like to see them." For we all believe--or like to believe--that to praise our property must be Miss Lydia's highest pleasure. Mrs. Lovekin seized the opportunity to act as tea-maker to the party. She poured cream and sugar into the cups with the remark that there was no one in Stowel whose tastes in these respects she did not know, and she handed a plate of cake to Miss Belinda, saying,-- "There, my dear, you sit comfortable and eat that." "Glory, glory, glory!" said Miss Belinda. The Miss Traceys had tea dispensed to them by the same hand, and accepted it with that slight sense of bewilderment which Mrs. Lovekin sometimes makes us feel when she looks after us in our own houses; and Miss Lydia Blind distributed her thanks equally between her and the Miss Traceys. Nothing was talked of that afternoon but the new house--its sunny aspect and its roomy cupboards in particular commanding the heartiest commendation. Presently the ladies were taken to see all over it, with the exception of one of the spare bedrooms and the drawing-room. They knew these rooms existed, because Miss Tracey paused at the door of each, and said lightly, "This is the drawing-room," and "This is another spare bedroom;" and although, as my sister confided to me, they would have given much to see the interior of the rooms, they could not do so, of course, uninvited. They paused to admire something at every turn, even saying generously, but playfully, that there were many of Miss Tracey's possessions which they positively coveted for themselves. The Miss Traceys smilingly repudiated their felicitations, while Mrs. Lovekin accepted them and announced the price of everything. She became quite breathless, hurrying upstairs, while she exhibited stair-rods and carpets, and with shortened breath apostrophized them as being "real brass" or "the best Brussels at five-and-threepence." No one is vulgar in Stowel, but Mrs. Lovekin is, we fear, not genteel. At the close of the visit, Mrs. Lovekin again ushered the visitors into the hall, and opening, "by the merest accident," as she afterwards said--without, however, gaining any credence for her statement--opening by the merest accident the door of the drawing-room, she peeped in. The drawing-room was void of furniture. The wild thought came into Mrs. Lovekin's mind--had the Traceys overbuilt themselves, and had the furniture, which had been carried so proudly through the town on the top of the furniture-van, been sold to pay expenses? The suggestion was immediately put aside. The Miss Traceys' comfortable means were so well known that such an explanation could not be seriously contemplated for a moment. No; putting two and two together, a closed spare bedroom and an empty drawing-room, and bringing a woman's instinct to bear upon the question, it all pointed to one thing--the Miss Traceys were going to give a party, probably an evening party, in honour of the new house, and the drawing-room furniture was being stored for safety in the spare bedroom until the rout was over. Doubtless the first rumour of the Miss Traceys' party was meanly come by, but it was none the less engrossing, all the same. Miss Lydia hoped that no one would believe for a moment that she was in any way connected with the fraudulent intrusion that had been made into Miss Tracey's secret, and Miss Tracey said,-- "I have known Mary Anne Lovekin for thirty years"--this was understating the case, but numbers are not exactly stated as we grow older--"but I never would have believed that she could have done such a thing." "Bad butter," said Miss Belinda, shaking her head in an emphatic fashion; "bad butter, bad butter!" "I do not want to judge people," said Miss Tracey; "but there was a want of delicacy about opening a closed door which I for one cannot forgive." The Miss Traceys' good-breeding is proverbial in Stowel, and it was felt that her uncompromising attitude could not but be excused when it was a matter of her most honourable sensibilities having been outraged. "_I_ shall not say what I think," said Miss Ruby. We often find that when Miss Ruby cannot transcend what her sister has said, she has a way of hinting darkly at a possible brilliance of utterance which for some reason she refrains from making. "Bad butter!" said Miss Belinda; "bad, bad butter!" Many years ago Miss Belinda Blind, who was then a beautiful young woman, was thrown from a pony carriage. The result of the fall was an injury to the spine, and she was smitten with a paralytic stroke which deprived her of all power of speech. She was dumb for some years, and then two phrases came back to her stammering tongue, "glory," and "bad butter." She understands perfectly what is said to her, but she has no means of replying, save in this very limited vocabulary. And, strangely enough, these words can only be made to correspond with Miss Belinda's feelings. However polite her intentions may be, if at heart she disapproves she can only utter her two words of opprobrium. When a sermon displeases her she sits in her pew muttering softly, and her lips show by their movement the words she is repeating; while a particularly good cup of tea will evoke from her the extravagant phrase, "Glory, glory, glory!" "Certainly," I said to Miss Lydia on the day succeeding the famous visit to the Traceys, "Mrs. Lovekin's information, if so it may be called, has been wrongly come by, and yet so frail is human nature one cannot help speculating upon it." "That is what is so sad," said Miss Lydia; "one almost feels as though sharing in Mrs. Lovekin's deceit by dwelling upon her information, and yet one's mind seems incapable of even partially forgetting such an announcement." Perhaps some suggestion of what was forming the topic of conversation in the town may have reached the Miss Traceys, and hastened their disclosure of the mystery. For very shortly afterwards, one morning when a flood of April sunshine had called us out of doors to wander on the damp paths of the garden, and watch bursting buds and listen to the song of birds in a very rural and delightful fashion, we were informed by a servant who tripped out in a white cap and apron, quite dazzling in the sunshine, that the Miss Traceys were within. I appealed to my sister to furnish me with a means of escape. But she replied: "I am afraid they have seen you. Besides, you know I like you to see people." We went indoors, and Miss Ruby apologized for the untimely hour at which she and her sister had come, but explained it by saying, "We wanted to find you alone." And then we knew that the mystery was about to be solved. "You are the first to hear about it," said Miss Tracey in a manner which was distinctly flattering. The Miss Traceys sit very erect on their chairs, and when they come to call I always apologize for having my leg up on the sofa. "The fact is," Miss Tracey went on, "that we knew that we could rely upon your good sense and judgment in a matter which is exercising us very seriously at present." "It is a delicate subject, of course," said Miss Ruby, "but one which we feel certain we may confide to you." "We always look upon Mr. Hugo as a man of the world," said Miss Tracey, "although he is such an invalid, and we rely upon the sound judgment of you both." Well, to state the subject without further preamble--but of course it must be understood that everything spoken this morning was to be in strict confidence--would we consider that they, the Miss Traceys, were sufficiently chaperoned if their brother the Vicar were present at the dance, and promised not to leave until the last gentleman had quitted the house? I do not like to overstate a lady's age, and it is with the utmost diffidence that I suggest that Miss Ruby Tracey, the younger of the two sisters, may be on the other side of forty. "You see, we have not only our own good name to consider," said Miss Tracey, "but the memory of our dear and ever-respected father must, we feel, be our guide in this matter, and we cannot decide how he would have wished us to act. If our brother were married it would simplify matters very much." "You would have had your invitation before now," said Miss Ruby, "if we had been able to come to a decision, but without advice we felt that was impossible. I am sure," she went on, giving her mantle a little nervous composing touch, and glancing aside as though hardly liking to face any eye directly--"I am sure the things one hears of unmarried women doing nowadays ... but of course one would not like to be classed with that sort of person." Palestrina was the first of us who spoke. "I think," she said gravely, "that as you are so well known here, nothing could be said." "You really think so?" said Miss Ruby. But Miss Tracey still demurred. She said: "But it is the fact of our being so well known here that really constitutes my chief uneasiness. We often feel," she added with a sigh, "that in another place we could have more liberty." "I assure you," said Miss Ruby, in a tone of playful confession, "that when we go to visit our cousins in London we are really quite shockingly frivolous. I do not know what it is about London; one always seems to throw off all restraint." "I think you are giving a wrong impression, dear," said Miss Tracey. "There was nothing in the whole of our conduct in London which would not bear repetition in Stowel. Only, in a place like this, one feels one must often explain one's actions, lest they should give rise to misrepresentations; whereas in London, although behaving, I hope, in a manner just as circumspect, one feels that no apology or explanation is needed." "There is a sort of cheerful privacy about London," said the other sister, "which I find it hard to explain, but which is nevertheless enjoyable." To say that there is a dull publicity about the country, was too obvious a retort. "I think we went out every evening when we were in West Kensington," said Miss Tracey. "Counting church in the evening," said Miss Ruby. "Still, those evening services in London almost count as going out," said Miss Tracey; "I mean, they are so lively. I often blame myself for not being able to look upon them more in the light of a religious exercise. I find it as difficult to worship in a strange pew as to sleep comfortably in a strange bed." The Miss Traceys' morning call lasted until one o'clock, and even then, as they themselves said, rising and shaking out their poplin skirts, there was much left undiscussed which they would still have liked to talk over with us. The ball supper, as they called it, was to be cooked at home, and to consist of nothing which could not be "eaten in the hand." Claret-cup was, to use Miss Tracey's own figure of speech, to be "flowing" the whole evening, both in the dining-room with the sandwiches and cakes, and on a tray placed in a recess behind the hall door. "Gentlemen always seem so thirsty," said Miss Tracey, making the remark as though speaking of some animal of strange habits which she had considered with the bars of its cage securely fixed between herself and it at the Zoo. "We have bought six bottles of Essence of Claret-cup," said the younger sister, "which we have seen very highly recommended in advertisements; and although it says that three tablespoonfuls will make a quart of the cup, we thought of putting four, and so having it good." "As regards the music," went on Miss Tracey, "we have come, I think, to a very happy decision. A friend of ours knows a blind man who plays the piano for dances, and by employing him we feel that we shall be giving remunerative work to a very deserving person, as well as ensuring for ourselves a really choice selection of the most fashionable waltzes. Ruby pronounces the floor perfect," said Miss Tracey, glancing admiringly at her younger sister's still neat figure and nimble feet; "she has been practising upon it several times----" "With the blinds down, dear," amended Miss Ruby, simpering a little. "We understand," she continued, "that some chalk sprinkled over the boards before dancing begins is beneficial. You should have known Stowel in the old days, when there was a county ball every winter at the Three Jolly Postboys--such a name!" continued Miss Ruby, who was in that curiously excited state when smiles and even giggles come easily. "Now remember," said Miss Tracey to Palestrina, as she took leave of her, "you must come and help with the decorations on the morning of the dance. You can rest in the afternoon, so as to look your best and rosiest in the evening." In Stowel it is ingenuously admitted that a young lady should try and look her best when gentlemen are to be present, and rosy cheeks are still in vogue. The Miss Traceys' drawing-room is not a very large room, even when empty of furniture, but it certainly had a most festive appearance when we drove up to the famous house-warming. Every curtain was looped with evergreens, and every fireplace was piled with ivy, while two large flags, which were referred to several times as "a display of bunting," festooned the little staircase. Several friends in the village had lent their white-capped maids for the occasion, and these ran against each other in the little linoleum passage in a state of great excitement, and called each other "dear" in an exuberance of affection which relieved their fluttered feelings. A palm had been ordered from London and placed triumphantly in a corner--the palm had been kept as a surprise for us all. In the course of the evening it was quite a common thing to hear some girl ask her partner if he had seen The Palm; and if the reply was in the negative, the couple made a journey to the hall to look at it. And here I must note a curious trait in the conversation prevalent in our select circle at Stowel. We all speak in capitals. The definite article is generally preferred to the "a" or "an" which points out a common noun; and so infectious is the habit, that when writing, for instance, of the Jamiesons, I find myself referring to The Family, with a capital, quite in a royal way, so perspicuously are capital letters suggested by their manner of speech. In the same way, the Taylors' uncle is never referred to by any of us except as The Uncle, and I feel sure that I should be doing the Traceys' plant an injustice if I did not write it down The Palm. This, however, is a digression. The calmness of the Miss Traceys was almost overdone. They stood at the door of their drawing-room, each holding a small bouquet in her hand, and they greeted their guests as though nothing could be more natural than to give a dance, or to stand beneath a doorway draped with white lace curtains, and with a background of dissipated-looking polished boards and evergreens. The elder Miss Tracey, who is tall, was statuesque and dignified; the younger lady was conversational and natural almost to the point of artificiality--so determined was Miss Ruby to repudiate any hint of arrogance this evening. And it may be said of both sisters that they were strikingly well-bred and unembarrassed. Those who had seen them in all the flutter of preparations during the day--washing china and glass, issuing packets of candles from their store cupboard below the stairs, and jingling large bunches of keys--could admire these outward symbols of ease, and appreciate the self-restraint that they involved. I do not remember before, at any dance, seeing so many old young ladies, or so few and such very juvenile young men. The elderly young ladies smiled the whole time, while their boy partners looked preternaturally grave and solemn. They appeared to be shyly conscious of their shirt collars, and these, I fancy, must have been made after some exaggerated pattern which I cannot now recall; I only remember that they appeared to be uncomfortably high and somewhat conspicuous, and that they gave one the idea of being the wearers' first high collars. The Vicar, who had promised to come at eight o'clock so that there should be no mistake about his being in the house from first to last of the dance, and who had been sent for in a panic at a quarter past eight, acted conscientiously throughout the entire entertainment. He began by inviting Mrs. Fielden to dance, and afterwards he asked every lady in turn according to her rank, and I do not think that during the entire evening his feet can have failed to respond to a single bar of the music. The blind musician was a little late in arriving, and we all sat round the drawing-room with our backs to the new blue wallpaper and longed for home. No one dared to offer to play a waltz, in case it should be considered an affront at a party where etiquette was so conspicuous, and where the peculiar Stowel air of mystery pervaded everything. The Jamiesons arrived, a party of nine, in the station omnibus, and chatted in the hearty, unaffected manner peculiar to themselves, waving little fans to and fro in the chilly air of the new drawing-room, and putting an end to the solemn silence which had distinguished the first half-hour of the party. Each of the sisters wore a black dress relieved by a touch of colour, and carried a fan. Their bright eyes shone benignly behind their several pairs of pince-nez; and as they shook hands with an air of delight with every single person in the room when they entered, their arrival caused quite a pleasant stir. Mrs. Lovekin had already, in her character of co-hostess, begun to distribute the Essence of Claret-cup that, diluted with water, formed the staple beverage of the evening and was placed on a small table behind the hall-door. There was rather a curious sediment left at the bottom of the glasses, and the flavour of cucumber suggested vaguely to one that the refreshment might be claret-cup. Very young men in split white kid gloves drank a good deal of it. At last the blind musician was led solemnly across the room, and took up his position at the piano. He always left off playing before a figure of a quadrille or lancers was finished, and then the dancers clapped their hands to make him continue, and the elderly young ladies smiled more than ever. At the second or third waltz my sister was in the proud position of being claimed in turn by the Vicar as his partner; and the position, besides being prominent, was such an enviable one that Palestrina, who is not more given to humility than other good-looking young women of her age, was carried away by popular feeling so far as to remark in a tone of gratitude that this was very kind of him. He replied, "I have made up my mind to sacrifice myself for the night;" and one realized that a lofty position and a prominent place in the world may carry with them sufficient humiliations to keep one meek. The conscientious Vicar did not allow his partner to sit down once throughout the entire waltz, and I think the blind musician played at greater length than usual. I began to wonder if her partner regarded my excellent Palestrina as a sort of Sandow exerciser, and whether he was trying to get some healthy gymnastics, if not amusement, out of their dance together. "There!" he said at last, placing her on a chair beside me as a fulfilled duty; and feeling that she was expected to say "Thank you," Palestrina meekly said it. "I have only danced once in the last twenty years," said the Vicar, "and that was with some choir boys." And the next moment the blind man began to play again, and he was footing it with conscientious energy with Miss Lydia Blind. Young ladies who had sat long with their empty programmes in their hands now began to dance with each other with an air of overdone merriment, protesting that they did not know how to act gentleman, but declaring with emphasis that it was just as amusing to dance with a girl-friend as with a man. The music, as usual, failed before the end of each figure of the dance, and the curate, who wore a pair of very smart shoe-buckles, remarked to me that the lancers was a dance that created much diversion, and I replied that they were too amusing for anything. The Jamiesons' youngest brother, who is in a shipping-office in London, had come down to Stowel especially for this occasion. Once, some years ago, Kennie, as he is called, made a voyage in one of the shipping company's large steamers to South America. He landed at Buenos Ayres armed to the teeth, and walked about the pavement of that highly-civilized town, with its wooden pavements and plate-glass shop windows, in a sombrero and poncho, and with terrible weapons stuck in his belt. At the end of a week he returned in the same ship in which he had made the outward voyage, and since then he has had tales to tell of those wild regions with which any of the stories in the _Boys' Own Paper_ are tame in comparison. In his dress and general appearance he even now suggests a pirate king. His tales of adventure are always accompanied by explanatory gestures and demonstrations, and it is not unusual to see Kennie stand up in the midst of an admiring circle of friends and make some fierce sabre-cuts in the air. He was dressed with a red cummerbund round his waist, and he drew attention to it by an apology to every one of his partners for having it on. "One gets into the habit of dressing like this out there," he said in a tone of excuse. The Pirate Boy was in great demand at the dance. Pretty Mrs. Fielden, who had driven over from Stanby, beautifully dressed as usual, and slightly amused, ordered her carriage early, and had merely come to oblige those quaint old dears, the Miss Traceys. Even at the house-warming Mrs. Fielden would have considered it quite impossible to sit out a dance. She brought an elderly Colonel with her, and she conducted him into a corner behind The Palm, and talked to him there till it was her turn to dance with the Vicar. Had it not been Mrs. Fielden, whose position placed her above criticism, the breath of envy might have whispered that it was hardly fair that one couple should occupy the favourite sitting-out place--two drawing-room chairs beneath The Palm--to the exclusion of others. But Mrs. Fielden being whom she was, the young ladies of Stowel were content to pass and repass the coveted chairs and to whisper admiringly, "How exquisite she is looking to-night!" "Is there anything of me left?" she said to me, looking cool and unruffled when her dance with the Vicar was over. She had only made one short turn of the room with him, and her beautiful dress and her hair were quite undisturbed. "You haven't danced half so conscientiously as his other partners have," I said. "I wanted to talk about the parish," said Mrs. Fielden, "so I stopped. I think I should like to go and get cool somewhere." "I will take you to sit under The Palm again, as Colonel Jardine did," I replied, "and you shall laugh at all the broad backs and flat feet of our country neighbours, and hear everybody say as they pass how beautiful you are." Mrs. Fielden turned her head towards me as if to speak, and I had a sudden vivid conviction that she would have told me I was rude had I not been a cripple with one leg. We sat under The Palm. Mrs. Fielden never rushes into a conversation. Presently she said,-- "Why do you come to this sort of thing? It can't amuse you." "You told me the other day," I said, "that I ought to cultivate a small mind and small interests." "Did I?" said Mrs. Fielden lightly. "If I think one thing one day, I generally think quite differently a day or two after. To-night, for instance, I think it is a mistake for you to lean against the Miss Traceys' new blue walls and watch us dance." "I'm not sure that it isn't better than sitting at home and reading how well my old regiment is doing in South Africa. Besides, you know, I am writing a diary." "Are you?" said Mrs. Fielden. "You advised it," I said. "Did I?" When Mrs. Fielden is provoking she always looks ten times prettier than she does at other times. "A good many people in this little place," I said, "have made up their minds to 'do the work that's nearest' and to help 'a lame dog over stiles.' I think I should be rather a brute if I didn't respond to their good intentions." "I don't think they need invent stiles, though!" said Mrs. Fielden quickly; "wood-carving, and beating brass, and playing the zither----" "I do not play the zither," I said. "--are not stiles. They are making a sort of obstacle race of your life." "Since I have begun to write the diary," I said, "I've been able to excuse myself attempting these things, even when tools are kindly brought to me. And, so far, no one has so absolutely forgotten that there is a lingering spark of manhood in me as to suggest that I should crochet or do cross-stitch." "You know I am going to help to write the diary," said Mrs. Fielden, "only I'm afraid I shall have to go to all their tea-parties, shan't I, to get copy?" "You will certainly have to go," I said. "I'm dreadfully bored to-night; aren't you?" she said confidentially, and in a certain radiant fashion as distant as the Poles from boredom. "No one can really enjoy this sort of thing, do you think? It's like being poor, or anything disagreeable of that sort. People think they ought to pretend to like it, but they don't." "I wish I could entertain you better," I said sulkily; "but I'm afraid I never was the least bit amusing." Mrs. Fielden relapsed into one of her odd little silences, and I determined I would not ask her what she was thinking about. Presently Colonel Jardine joined us, and she said to him: "Please see if you can get my carriage; it must be five o'clock in the morning at least." And the next moment I was made to feel the egotism of imagining I had been punished, when she bade me a charming "good-night." She smiled congratulations on her hostesses on the success of the party, and pleaded the long drive to Stanby as an excuse for leaving early. The Colonel wrapped her in a long, beautiful cloak of some pale coloured velvet and fur--a sumptuous garment at which young ladies in shawls looked admiringly--and Mrs. Fielden slipped it on negligently, and got into her brougham. "Oh, how tired I am!" she said. "It was pretty deadly," said the Colonel. "Did you taste the claret-cup?" he added, making a grimace in the dark. "Oh, I found it excellent," said Mrs. Fielden quickly. Margaret Jamieson now took her place at the piano, to enable the blind man to go and have some supper; but, having had it, he slept so peacefully that no one could bear to disturb him, so between them the young ladies shared his duties till the close of the evening. Palestrina had suggested, as a little occupation for me, that I should write out programmes for the dance, and I had done so. Surely programmes were never so little needed before! Every grown man had left the assembly long before twelve o'clock struck, the feebleness of the excuses for departing thus early being only equalled by the gravity with which they were made. Even the lawyer, who we thought would have remained faithful to the end, pleaded that since he ricked his knee he is obliged to have plenty of rest. The Pirate Boy had had some bitter words with the lawyer at a previous stage in the evening about the way in which the lancers should be danced, and had muttered darkly, "I won't make a disturbance in a lady's house, but I have seen a fellow called out for less." He considered that the lawyer was running away, unable to bear his cold, keen eye upon him during the next lancers, and he watched him depart, standing at the head of the tiny staircase, beneath the display of bunting, with his arms folded in a Napoleonic attitude. All good things come to an end, and even the Vicar of Stowel must have felt that there are limits to the most conscientious energy. And girls, dancing with each other, learn perhaps that the merriment caused by acting as a man is not altogether lasting; while elderly young ladies, although agreed in smiling to the very end, must be aware how fixed in expression such a smile may become towards the end of a long evening. Good-nights were said, and carriages were called up with a good deal of unnecessary shouting, while the Pirate Boy insisted upon going to the heads of the least restive horses and soothing them in a way which he said he had learned from those Gaucho fellows out there. I have never been able to tell what the Miss Traceys thought about their dance. If they were disappointed, the world was not allowed to probe that tender spot. Possibly they were satisfied with its success; the proprietary instinct of admiration applies to entertainments as well as to tangible possessions. But that satisfaction, if it existed, was modestly veiled--the house-warming was less discussed by them than by any one else. Miss Ruby spoke rather wistfully one day about simple pleasures being the best and safest after all, and she alluded with a sigh to the time which must come some day when she would be no longer young. Miss Tracey drew herself up and said: "A woman is only as old as she looks, my dear," and glanced admiringly at her sister. The diluted Essence of Claret-cup was bottled, and formed a nice light luncheon wine at the Miss Tracey's for many weeks afterwards. The furniture was brought down from the spare bedroom by the maids, who walked the heavier pieces in front of them with a curious tip-toeing movement of the castors of the several easy-chairs. The art tiles in the grate were cleared of their faded burden of evergreens, and The Palm was carried into the bay-window, where it could be seen from the road. I drove over to see Mrs. Fielden and to ask her if she thought I had been a sulky brute at the dance. "Were you?" said Mrs. Fielden, lifting her pretty dark eyebrows; "I forget." CHAPTER II. Palestrina and I live in the country, and whenever we are dull or sad, like the sailors in Mr. Gilbert's poem, we decide that our neighbourhood is too deadly uninteresting, and then we go and see the Jamiesons. They are our nearest neighbours, as they are also amongst our greatest friends, and the walk to their house is a distance that I am able to manage. I believe that our visits to the Jamiesons are most often determined by the state of the weather. If we have passed a long wet day indoors I feel that it is going to be a Jamieson day, and I know that my sister will say to me after tea, "Suppose we go over and see the Jamiesons;" and she generally adds that it is much better than settling down for the evening at five o'clock in the afternoon. I do not think that Palestrina was so sociable a young woman, nor did she see so much of her neighbours, before I came home an invalid from South Africa--I got hit in the legs at Magersfontein, and had the left one taken off in the hospital at Wynberg--but she believes, no doubt rightly, that the variety that one gets by seeing one's fellow-men is good for a poor lame dog who lies on a sofa by the fire the greater part of the day, wishing he could grow another leg or feel fit again. Acting upon this unalterable conviction of my sister, we drive about in the afternoon and see people, and they come and see me and suggest occupations for me. In Lent I had a more than usual number of callers, which says much for the piety of the place, as well as for the goodness of heart of its inhabitants. There is a slight coolness between what is known as the "County" and the Jamiesons, and their name is never mentioned without the accompanying piece of information, "You know, old Jamieson married his cook!" To be more exact, Mrs. Jamieson was a small farmer's daughter, and Captain Jamieson fell in love with her when, having left the army, he went to learn practical farming at old Higgins's, and he loved her faithfully to the day of his death. She is a stout, elderly woman who speaks very little, but upon whom an immense amount of affection seems to be lavished by her family of five daughters and two sons. And it has sometimes seemed to my sister and me that her good qualities are of a lasting and passive sort, which exist in large measure in the hearts of those who bestow this boundless affection. Mrs. Jamieson's form of introducing herself to any one she meets consists in giving an account of the last illness and death of her husband. There is hardly a poultice which was placed upon that poor man which her friends have not heard about. And when she has finished, in her flat, sad voice, giving every detail of his last disorder, Mrs. Jamieson's conversation is at an end. She has learned, no doubt unconsciously, to gauge the characters of new acquaintances by the degree of interest which they evince in Captain Jamieson's demise. It is Mrs. Jamieson's test of their true worth. Of the other sorrow which saddened a nature that perhaps was never very gay, Mrs. Jamieson rarely speaks. Possibly because she thinks of it more than of anything else in the world. Among her eight children there was only one who appeared to his mother to combine all perfection in himself. He was killed by an accident in his engineering works seven years ago, and although his friends will, perhaps, only remember him as a stout young fellow who sang sea-songs with a distended chest, his mother buried her heart with him in his grave, and even the voice of strangers is lowered as they say, "She lost a son once." The late Captain Jamieson, a kindly, shrewd man and a Scotchman withal, was agent to Mrs. Fielden, widow of the late member for Stanby, and when he died his income perished with him, and The Family of Jamieson--a large one, as has been told--were thankful enough to subsist on their mother's inheritance of some four or five hundred a year, bequeathed to her by the member of the non-illustrious house of Higgins, late farmer deceased. It is a hospitable house, for all its narrow means, and there live not, I believe, a warmer-hearted or more generous family than these good Jamiesons. The girls are energetic, bright, and honest; their slender purses are at the disposal of every scoundrel in the parish; and their time, as well as their boundless energy, is devoted to the relief of suffering or to the betterment of mankind. Mrs. Fielden is of the opinion that nothing gives one a more perfect feeling of rest than going to Belmont, as the Jamiesons' little house is called, and watching them work. She calls it the "Rest Cure." Every one of the five sisters, except Maud, who is the beauty of the family, wears spectacles, and behind these their bright, intelligent small eyes glint with kindness and brisk energy. The worst feature of this excellent family is their habit of all talking at the same time, in a certain emphatic fashion which renders it difficult to catch what each individual is saying, and this is especially the case when three of the sisters are driving sewing-machines simultaneously. They have a genius for buying remnants of woollen goods at a small price, and converting them into garments for the poor; and their first question often is, as they hold a piece of flannel or serge triumphantly aloft, "What do you think I gave for that?" Palestrina always names at least twice the sum that has purchased the goods, and has thereby gained a character for being dreadfully extravagant but sympathetic. "I do not believe," I said to Palestrina the other day, "that these good Jamiesons have a thought beyond making other people happy." "That and getting married are the sole objects of their existence," said Palestrina. "It is very odd," I said, "that women so devoid of what might be called sentiment are yet so bent upon this very thing." "Eliza told me to-day," said Palestrina, "that as Kate has not mentioned one single man in her letters home, they cannot help thinking that there is something in it." The Jamiesons have the same vigorous, energetic ideas about matrimony that they have about everything else, and almost their sole grievance, naïvely expressed, is that Maud, "who gets them all"--meaning, I believe, offers of marriage--is the only one of the family who is unable to make up her mind clearly on this momentous question. "We should not mind," say the conclave of sisters during one of the numerous family discussions on this subject, "even if she does get all the admirers--for of course she is the pretty one--if only she would accept one of them. But she always gets undecided and silly as soon as they come to the point." It should be observed in passing that the different stages of development in love affairs are shrewdly noted and commented upon by the Jamiesons. The first evidence of a man's preference is that he "is struck;" and the second, when he begins to visit at the house, is known as "hovering." An inquiry after Maud's health will sometimes elicit the unexpected reply that another admirer is hovering at present. The third stage is reached when the lover is said to be "dangling;" and the final triumph, when Maud has received a proposal, is noted as having "come to the point." If Maud's triumphs are watched with small sighs of envy by her sisters, they are a source of nothing but gratification to them to retail to the outside world. There is a strict account kept of Maud's "conquests" in the letters sent to relatives, and the evening's post will sometimes contain the startling announcement that Maud has had a fourth in one year. "Of course, you know how fond we all are of each other," said Eliza Jamieson to me one day with one of those unexpected confidences which the effeminacy of sickness seems to warrant, if not actually to invite, "but we can't help thinking that, humanly speaking, we should all have a better chance if only Maud would marry. No one would wish her to marry without love, but we fear she is looking for perfection, and _that_ she will never get; and it was really absurd of her to be so upset when she discovered, after nearly getting engaged to Mr. Reddy, that he wore a wig. After all, a man may be a good Christian in spite of having no hair." "That is undoubtedly a fact," I said warmly. "And Mr. Reddy had excellent prospects," said Eliza, "although perhaps nothing very tangible at present. Then there was Albert Gore, to whom, one must admit, Maud gave every encouragement, and we had begun to think it quite hopeful; but just at the end she discovered that she could not care for any one called Albert, which was too silly." "She might have called him Bertie," I suggested. "Yes," said Eliza eagerly; "and you see, none of us hope or expect to marry a man who has not some of these little drawbacks, so I really do not see why Maud should expect it." Five matrimonial alliances in one house are, perhaps, not easily arranged in a quiet country neighbourhood, yet there is always a hopeful tone about these family discussions, and it is very common to hear the Miss Jamiesons relate at length what they intend to do when they are married. And there is yet another maiden to be arranged for in the little house; Mettie is the Jamiesons' cousin who lives with them, and I believe that what appeals to me most strongly in this unknown provincial family is their kindness to the little shrunken, tiresome cousin who shares their home. Mettie is like some strange little bright bird, utterly devoid of intelligence, and yet with the alertness of a sparrow. Her beady eyes are a-twinkle in a restless sort of way all day long, and her large thin nose has always the appearance of having the skin stretched unpleasantly tightly across it. The good Jamiesons never seem to be ruffled by her presence among them, and this forbearance certainly commands one's respect. Mettie travesties the Jamiesons in every particular. She has adopted their matrimonial views with interest, and she utters little platitudes upon the subject with quite a surprising air of sapience. One avoids being left alone with Mettie whenever it is possible to do so, for, gentle creature though she is, her remarks are so singularly devoid of interest that one is often puzzled to understand why they are made. Yet I see one or other of the Jamiesons walk to the village with her every day--her little steps pattering beside their giant strides, while the bird-like tongue chirps gaily all the way. Every one in our little neighbourhood walks into the village every day; it is our daily dissipation; and frivolous persons have been known to go twice or three times. On days when Palestrina thinks that I am getting moped she steals the contents of my tobacco-jar, and then says, without blushing, that she has discovered that my tobacco is all finished, and that we had better walk into the village together and get some more. When I am in a grumpy mood, I reply: "It's all right, thank you; I have plenty upstairs." But it generally ends in my taking the walk with my sister. Our house is pleasantly situated where, by peeping through a tangle of shrubs and trees, we can see the lazy traffic of the highroad that leads to the village. Strangers pause outside the screen of evergreens sometimes and peep between the branches to see the quaint gables of the old house. Its walls have turned to a soft yellow colour with old age, and its beams are of oak, gray with exposure to the storms of many winters. "This old hall of yours is much too dark," Mrs. Fielden said, when she came to call the other day muffled up in velvet and fur. She lighted the dull afternoon by something that is radiant and holiday-like about her, and left us envying her for being so pretty and so young and gay. "Oh, I know," she said in her whimsical way, "that it is Jacobean and early Tudor and all sorts of delightful things, but it isn't very cheerful, you know. I'm so glad it is near the road; I think if I built a house I should like it to be in Mansion House Square, or inside a railway station. Don't you love spending a night at a station hotel? I always ask for a room overlooking the platform, for I like the feeling of having the trains running past me all night. I love your house really," she said, "only I'm afraid it preaches peace and resignation and all those things which I consider so wrong." Since I have been laid up I have been recommended to carve wood, to beat brass, to stuff sofa-cushions, and to play the zither; but these things do not amuse me much. It was Mrs. Fielden who suggested that I should write a diary. "You must grumble," she said, raising her pretty eyebrows in the affected way she has. "It wouldn't be human if you didn't; so why not write a diary, and have a real good grumble on paper every night before you go to bed. Of course, if I were in your place I should grumble all day instead, and go to sleep at night. But I'm not the least bit a resigned person. If anything hurts me I scream at once; and if there is anything I don't like doing I leave it alone. Palestrina," she said to my sister, "don't let him be patient; it's so bad for him." Palestrina smiled, and said she was afraid it was very dull for me sometimes. "But if one is impatient enough, one can't be dull," said Mrs. Fielden. "It's like being cross----" "I am constitutionally dull," I said. "I used to be known as the dullest man in my regiment." "You studied philosophy, didn't you?" said Mrs. Fielden. "That must be so depressing." I was much struck by this suggestion. "I dare say you are quite right," I said, "although I had not seen it in that light before. But I'm afraid it has not made me very patient, nor given me a great mind." "Of course, what you want just now," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "is a little mind. You must lie here on your sofa, and take a vivid interest in what all the old ladies say when they come to call on Palestrina. And you must know the price of Mrs. Taylor's last new hat, and how much the Traceys spend on their washing-bill, and you must put it all down in your diary. I'll come over and help you sometimes, and write all the wicked bits for you, only I'm afraid no one ever is wicked down here. "Good-bye," she said, holding out the smallest, prettiest, most useless-looking little hand in the world. "And please," she added earnestly, "get all this oak painted white, and hang some nice muslin curtains in the windows." Kindly folk in Stowel are always ingenuously surprised at any one's caring to live in the country; and although it is but a mile from here to the vestry hall, and much less by the fields, they often question us whether we do not feel lonely at night-time, and they are of the opinion that we should be better in "town." They frequently speak of going into the country for change of air, or on Bank Holidays; but considering that the last house in the village--and, like the City of Zoar, it is but a little one--is built amongst fields, it might be imagined that these rural retreats could readily be found without the trouble of hiring the four-wheeled dog-cart from the inn, or of taking a journey by train. Yet an expedition into the country is often talked of as being a change, and friends and relations living outside the town are considered a little bit behindhand in their views of things--"old-feshioned" they call it in Stowel--and these country cousins are visited with just a touch of kindly condescension by the dwellers in a flower-bordered, tree-shadowed High Street. One is brought rather quaintly into immediate correspondence with the domestic concerns of every one in Stowel, and Palestrina has been coaching me in the etiquette of the place. It is hardly correct to do any shopping at dinner-time, when the lady of the house, busy feeding her family, has to be called from the inner parlour, where that family may all be distinctly seen from the shop. Driving or walking through Stowel at the hour thus consecrated by universal consent to gastronomy, one might almost imagine it to be a deserted village. Even the dogs have gone inside to get a bone; and one says, as one walks down the empty streets, "Stowel dines." When a shop is closed on Thursday, which is early-closing day, one can generally "be obliged" by ringing at the house-bell, and, under conduct of the master of the place, may enter the darkened shop by the side door, and be accommodated with the purchase that one requires. For the old custom still holds of living--where it seems most natural for a merchant to live--in the place where he does his business. There is a pleasurable feeling of excitement even in the purchase of a pot of Aspinall's enamel behind closed shutters, and this is mingled with a feeling of solemnity and privilege, which I can only compare, in its mixed effect upon me, to going behind the scenes of a theatre, or being permitted to enter the vestry of a church. Any purchases except those which may be called necessaries are seldom indulged in in our little town. A shop which contains anything but dress and provisions has few customers, and its merchandise becomes household fixtures. I called at the furniture shop the other day; the place looked bare and unfamiliar to me, but I did not realize what was amiss until my sister exclaimed, "Where is the sofa?" The sofa had been for sale for fifteen years, and had at last been purchased. There are other things in the shop which I think must have been there much longer, and I believe their owner would part with them with regret, even were a very fair profit to be obtained for them. Palestrina tells me she ordered some fish the other day, and was met with the objection that "I fear that piece will be too big for your fish-kettle, ma'am," although she had never suspected that the size of her fish-kettle was a matter known to the outside world. And yet Stowel prides itself more upon its reserve than upon anything else, except perhaps its gentility. There is a distinct air of mystery over any and every one of the smallest affairs of daily life in the little place, and I hardly think that our neighbours would really enjoy anything if it were "spoken about" before the proper time. There is something of secrecy in the very air of the town. No one, I am told, has ever been known to mention, even casually, what he or she intends to have for dinner; and the butcher has been warned against calling across the shop to the lady at the desk, "Two pounds of rumpsteak for Miss Tracey," or, "One sirloin, twelve two, for the Hall." Mr. Tomsett, who was the first butcher to introduce New Zealand mutton to the inhabitants of Stowel, lost his custom by this vulgar habit of assorting his joints in public. And Miss Tracey, who knew him best (he was still something of a stranger, having been in Stowel only five years), warned him that that was not the sort of thing we were accustomed to. "If you must make our private concerns public in this way," she said, "at least it cannot be necessary to mention in what country the mutton was raised." It is even considered a little indelicate to remain in the post-office when a telegram is being handed in. And parcels addressed and laid on the counter at the grocer's, although provocative of interest, are not even glanced at by the best people. On the authority of my sister, I learn that when the ladies of Stowel do a little dusting in the morning the front blinds are pulled down. And keen though the speculation may be as to the extent of our neighbours' incomes, the subject is, of course, a forbidden one. Poor though some of these neighbours are, a very kindly charity prevails in the little town. When the elder Miss Blind was ill--as she very often is, poor thing!--it might seem a matter of coincidence to the uninitiated that during that week every one of her friends happened to make a little strong soup, a portion of which was sent to the invalid--just in case she might fancy it; while the Miss Traceys, who, as all the world knew, had inherited a little wine from their father, the late Vicar of the parish, sent their solitary remaining bottle of champagne, with their compliments, to Miss Belinda. The champagne proved flat after many a year of storage in the lower cupboard of Miss Tracey's pantry, but the two sisters to whom it was sent, not being familiar with the wine, did not detect its faults, and they left the green bottle with the gilt neck casually standing about for weeks afterwards, from an innocent desire to impress their neighbours with its magnificence. Palestrina, with the good intention, I believe, of providing me with what she calls an object for a walk, asked me to call and inquire for Miss Blind on the day that the bottle of champagne was drawn and sampled. Miss Lydia was in the sick-room, and Mrs. Lovekin, who had called to inquire, was sitting in the little parlour when I entered. "How do you do?" she said. "I suppose you have heard about Belinda and the champagne?" The reproachful note in Mrs. Lovekin's voice, which seemed to tax the invalid with ingratitude, subtly conveyed the impression that the flat champagne had not agreed with poor Miss Belinda. CHAPTER III. It is a subject of burning curiosity with every woman in Stowel to know whether it is a fact that the Taylors have taken to having late dinner instead of supper since Mrs. Taylor's uncle was made a K.C.B. There was something in a remark made by Miss Frances Taylor which distinctly suggested that such a change had been effected, but Stowel, on the whole, is inclined to discredit the rumour. A portrait of the General has been made in London, from a photograph in uniform which Mrs. Taylor has of him, and it has been framed, regardless of expense, by the photographer in the High Street. Mr. Taylor at one time had thought of having the whole thing done in London, but it had been decided by an overwhelming majority that it would be only fair to give the commission to provide the frame to some one in our own town; and Mr. and Mrs. Taylor have granted a permission, which amounts to a command, that the portrait of "Sir John" shall be placed in the window for a week before it is sent home, so that Stowel may see it--for the Taylors, it should be remembered, do not receive every one at their own house. To-day I met the younger Miss Blind--Miss Lydia, she is generally called--at the window of the photographer's, to which she had made a pilgrimage, as we all intended to do, to see the famous picture. Probably she had stood there for some time, for she turned nervously towards me, and said in a tone of apology and with something of an effort in her speech, "I used to know him." "Ah!" I replied. "I suppose he has often been down to stay with the Taylors?" "He has not been once in twenty years," said Lydia. I was thinking of other things, and I do not know why it suddenly struck me that there was a tone of regret, even of hopelessness, in Miss Lydia's voice, and that she spoke as one speaks, perhaps, when one has waited long for something. Lydia Blind is a tall woman with a slight, stooping figure. Sometimes I have wondered if it is only her sister's constant ill-health that has made Miss Lydia stoop a little. There is something delicately precise about her, if so gentle a woman can fitly be described as precise. Perhaps her voice explains her best, as a woman's voice will often do; it is low and of a very charming quality, although broken now and then by asthma. Each word has its proper spacing, and does not intrude upon the next; each vowel possesses the rare characteristic of its proper sound. I have never heard her use an out-of-the-way expression; but her simple way of speaking has an old-fashioned gracefulness about it, and her manner, with all its simplicity, is dignified by reason of its perfect sincerity. Her eyes are large and gray, and set somewhat far apart; her hair is worn in a fringe so demure and smooth, so primly curled, that it has the appearance of plainly-brushed hair. It is Mrs. Fielden who says that no good woman can do her hair properly, and she wonders if St. Paul's recommendations as to plain braids has for ever stamped the hairdresser's profession as a dangerous art. To-day when I met Lydia it struck me suddenly to wonder how old she is. Perhaps something in the insolent youthfulness of the springtime suggested the thought, or it may have been because Miss Lydia looked tired. When one meets a friend in Stowel High Street, it is considered very cold behaviour merely to bow to her. Not only do we stop and chat for a few minutes, but it is the friendly fashion of the place for ladies to say to each other, "Which way are you going?" and to accompany their friend a little way along the sunny, uneven pavement, while offers to come in and rest are generally given and accepted at the end of the promenade. Of course it is quite unusual for gentlemen to be detained in this way, and I am sure it cost Miss Lydia an effort to suggest to me that I should come in and sit down for a little while, and that she only did so because I seemed tired. Also I think that a man with a crutch and with but one leg--and that one not very sound--is not considered such a source of danger to ladies living alone as a strong and hale man is supposed to be. We stopped at the little green gate in the village street, with its red flagged pathway beyond, bordered with spring flowers--wall-flowers, early blooming in this warm and sheltered corner, forget-me-nots and primroses, while a brave yellow jasmine starred with golden flowers covered the walls of the cottage. I asked after her sister's health, and Miss Lydia begged me to come in and rest for a few minutes; which I did, for I was horribly tired. But this was one of Miss Belinda's bad days, and her sister, who watches every variation in colour in the hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes of the invalid, saw that she was unable to speak, and motioned me out of the room. She showed me into her own little sanctum, and gave me a cushioned chair by the window, and said: "Do wait for a few minutes and rest. I can see that my sister wants to say something to me, but she is always more than usually inarticulate when she is in one of these nervous states." I have been thinking a good deal about old maids lately--one has time to think about all manner of subjects when one is lying down most of the day. Mrs. Fielden is of opinion that an old maid may have an exaggerated sense of humour. To my mind her danger may be that she is always rather pathetically satisfied with everything. She prefers the front seat of a carriage and the back seat of a dog-cart, and the leg of a chicken and a tiny bedroom. Doubtless this is a form of self-respect. This suitability of tastes on the part of an old maid enables her to say, as she does with almost suspicious frequency, that she gets dreadfully spoiled wherever she goes. Adaptability to environment is the first law of existence, and yet there may have been times, even in the life of an old maid, when she has yearned for the wing of a chicken. The little room into which Miss Lydia ushered me was plainly furnished, but Miss Lydia says that she is always getting something pretty given to her to add to her treasures. Her room is, indeed, rather suggestive of a stationer's shop window, where a card with "Fancy goods in great variety" is placed. It would not be unkind to hint of some of the articles on the table and on the wall-brackets that they must have been purchased more as a kindly remembrance at Christmas-time or on birthdays than from any apparent usefulness to the recipient. There are three twine-cases from which the scissors have long since been abstracted by unknown dishonest persons; and there are four ornamental thermometers, each showing its own fixed and unalterable idea respecting the temperature of the room. A large number of unframed sketches which children have given her are fastened to the wall by pins, or hung on tacks whose uncertain hold bespeaks a feminine hand on the hammer. There are several calendars, and there is quite an uncountable collection of photograph frames, which fall over unless they are propped against something. Most of the photographs are old and faded, and they are nearly all of babies. Babies clothed and unclothed; babies with bare feet and little nightshirts on; babies sucking their thumbs; babies lying prone on fur carriage-rugs; babies riding on their mammas' backs, or sitting on their mammas' knees; babies crowing or crying. No one who has a baby ever fails to send this maiden lady a photograph of it. Miss Lydia settled me with some cushions in my chair, and shut the doorway leading to her bedroom beyond, where I caught sight of a painted iron bedstead, and a small indiarubber hot-water bottle hanging from one of its knobs. It is Miss Lydia's most cherished possession, and she generally speaks of it reverently as "the comfort of my life." Poor Miss Lydia! Hers must be, I think, a lonely life, sacrificed patiently to an invalid and almost inarticulate sister, and yet it is the very solitude of this little chamber which is one of the few privileges to which she lays claim. It is to this little room, with its humble furnishings, that all her troubles are taken, and it is here by the window that she can sit with folded hands and think perhaps of something in life which surely poor Lydia has missed. It is here she prays for those whose sins weigh far more heavily upon her than they do upon themselves, and it is here that she can pause and question with gentle faith the perplexities of life. Miss Lydia tells my sister that she makes a thorough examination of her room every night before she goes to bed, to see if there is a burglar concealed anywhere. The movable property in the tiny house is probably not worth many pounds, as a pawnbroker appraises things, and it would be a hardened thief that could deprive the sisters of their small possessions; but the dread remains--the dread of burglars and the dread of mice. Were it not for the look of the thing, she would almost rather discover a burglar than a mouse--"for at least burglars are human," she explains, "and one might be able to reason with them or pray for them, but who shall control the goings of a mouse?" Sometimes these fears become quite a terror to Lydia Blind, and she once said that she felt so defenceless that she thought it would be a great comfort to have a male defender to protect her. It is the only unmaidenly remark she ever made, and it makes her blush in the dark when she thinks of it. She believes every one remembers it with as vivid a distinctness as she does, and she trembles to think what sort of construction may have been put upon her words by ill-natured or thoughtless persons. It is a real trouble to her; but then all her troubles are real, and so are her bitter repentances over perfectly imaginary sins. But she has her little room and her faded photographs--life has its consolations. CHAPTER IV. Kate Jamieson, who is the independent member of The Family, and has been in a situation for some years as companion to a lady at Bath, has written home what she calls a "joint-letter" to apprise the whole of her family at one and the same time that she is engaged to be married. The excitement which this letter produced in the little household is hardly possible to describe. The news arrived when the Jamiesons were at breakfast. Perhaps I should mention, before going any further, that the Jamiesons' only extravagance is to take in three daily papers. One is an evening paper, which arrives at breakfast-time, and the other two are morning publications, which arrive at the same hour. It is customary for the members of this family each to read his own particular paper aloud during the entire meal, the rest of the party read their letters to each other, and there are still left several voices to demand what you will have for breakfast, to inquire how you have slept, and to comment upon the weather. So that from half-past eight until nine a cross-fire of conversation is going on all the time.... "I see Hearne has scored sixty-eight at cricket, not out. That's not bad, you know. Kent ought to be looking up. The Australians are doing well. Yorkshire might do better. Extraordinary! Here's this chap who promised so well bowled for a duck!" This from the eldest son of the House of Jamieson; while at precisely the same moment may be heard the voice of Maud: "I must say I am rather astonished at the way boleros have remained in. This is one of the prettiest designs I have seen this year. How soon one gets accustomed to small sleeves. Well, I cannot say I like these Chesterfield fronts." Mrs. Jamieson is meanwhile reading aloud the columns of births, deaths, and marriages from beginning to end. Her limited acquaintance with the outside world might seem to preclude her from any vivid interest in those who must necessarily only be names to her, yet she finds subject-matter for comment through the entire perusal of the column. Needless to say, Mrs. Jamieson inclines to regard only the sadder aspects of these natural occurrences, and her comments thereupon are full of a sort of resigned melancholy. From her corner of the table may be heard the plaintive words: "Here's a young fellow of twenty-four taken," or, "Fourscore years, well, well, and then passed away!" While the happier news of birth provokes her to hark back to an announcement of a similar nature in the family, perhaps only a year ago, and to talk of the responsibilities and the expense that the poor young couple will have to undergo. Mettie, who spends the greater part of every day writing letters, and whose chief joy in life is to receive them, reads the whole of her correspondence aloud from beginning to end; while Margaret Jamieson, behind the teapot, is letting off rapid volleys of questions respecting individual tastes about cream and sugar, and the Pirate Boy offers ham-and-eggs or sausages in a deep stentorian bass. In the midst of this confusion of noise, when only a Jamieson, whose ear is curiously trained to it, can possibly hear what is being said, Mrs. Jamieson bursts into tears and, in the strong Kentish dialect of her youth, exclaims: "Here's our Kate going to be married!" After the first burst of delighted surprise, there is a family feeling of apology towards Maud. That Kate should marry first is surely a little disloyal to the beauty of Belmont, and Mrs. Jamieson goes so far as to say: "Never mind, Maud; it will be your turn next." After that, they all, singly and severally, recall their previously-expressed opinion that they knew something was up, and that certainly Kate could not have given them a more pleasant or more unexpected surprise. The letter is then read aloud, and it is so long that one is glad to think that the absent Kate did not attempt to duplicate it, but contented herself with the Pauline method of one general epistle. With the Jamieson characteristic of telling everything exhaustively, Kate writes:-- "Mr. Ward is not at all bad-looking; a little hesitating in his manner, and inclined to be untidy--you see, I am telling you everything quite candidly--but of course I can remedy all these defects when we are married. He has a short brown moustache, and rather a conical-shaped head." (This is a fault that one feels Kate will not be able to remedy, even when she has married him.) "He looks clever, though I do not think he is, very; he is well-connected, but does not know all his best relations. Poor, but with generous instincts"--one feels as though a chiromancist were reading a client's palm--"well-read, but without power of conveying intelligence to others; hair rather thin, and (I am afraid) false teeth; very religious, but I consider this in him more temperament than anything else. He has had a hard life, and not always enough to eat, until his uncle died; but now he could be quite independent if he liked, but he prefers the position which a Government appointment gives him. "I hope to bring him down to stay when I return; please let him have the south bedroom, as that is the warmest, and I do not think James is very strong. I should like him to have a fire at night--I can arrange that with mother, as I feel quite well off now. We are to be married in July, and I am giving up my post here at once, so as to see something of you all before I go away." At this point the letter referred once more to Mr. Ward's personal appearance, and the description was of so great length that when Margaret Jamieson, who had run all the way from her home to ours to give it to us to read, asked me breathlessly what I thought about it, I determined to leave unread the remaining paragraphs, and to judge for myself of the bridegroom when he should come to Belmont and we should be invited to meet him. "There is one thing," said Mrs. Jamieson when, at the request of The Family, Palestrina went to sit with her one afternoon a few weeks later, to support her through the trying ordeal of waiting for Kate and "James," as he is now familiarly called, to arrive; "the girls have nothing to be ashamed of in their home." She looked with a certain amount of pardonable pride at the clean white curtains, and we gathered that we were meant to comment upon their early appearance. The white curtains, Palestrina says, are not usually put up at Belmont until the first week in May. "They look very handsome," I said. It was a Jamieson afternoon--very wet, but clearing up about sundown, and Palestrina had suggested my escorting her as far as Belmont. But the rain came down in torrents again when I would have started to return home, and the good Jamiesons begged me to stay, to avoid the chance of a chill, and to meet James. "It is the first break in the family," said Mrs. Jamieson tearfully, "since poor Robert died. But, as James says, he hopes I am gaining a son and not losing a daughter." From which I gathered that James was a gentleman given to uttering rather a stale form of platitude. All were waiting in a state of great trepidation the arrival of the engaged couple, and it was quite hopeless to avoid the encounter, for the rain descended in sheets outside, and preparations for supper seemed to be going on in the dining-room at Belmont. It was decided, by universal consent, that only Mrs. Jamieson and Palestrina and I should be in the drawing-room at the moment when they should enter. The presence of strangers, it was thought, would make it easier for James at the meeting where all were kinsfolk except himself. With their usual consideration The Family decided that the rest of their large number should afterwards drop in casually, two by two, and be introduced to the new brother-in-law without ceremony. Mrs. Jamieson, who had not left the house that day, nor for many days previously, having been absorbed in preparations for the expected guest, was dressed in a bonnet and her favourite jacket with the storm-collar, which, as she explained to my sister, took away from the roundness of her face and gave her confidence. Her habitual shyness, added to her fears of the unknown in the shape of the future son-in-law, had wrought her into a sort of rigid state in which conversation seemed impossible, and although we did our best to divert her attention I am doubtful if she heard a word we said. "They should be here soon," I remarked presently. Mrs. Jamieson, following some line of thought of her own, remarked that the first marriage in a family was almost like a death; and to this mournful analogy I gave assent. "Kate says he is quite a gentleman," hazarded Mrs. Jamieson, still rigid, and now white with anxiety and shyness. I found myself replying, without overdone brilliance, that that seemed a good thing. The sands of Mrs. Jamieson's courage were running very low. "I hope he is not one of your grandees," she said apprehensively; "I would not like to think of Kate not being up to him. But their father was a gentleman--the most perfect gentleman I ever knew, and I have always that to think of. Still, a gentlemanly man is all I want for any of my girls, with no difference between the two families." Sometimes in this way Mrs. Jamieson gives one an unexpected insight into the difficulties of her life, and one feels that even her admiration for her daughters may be tinged with a slight feeling of being their inferior. I have heard her say, making use of a French expression such as she hazards so courageously, that there is something of the "_grawn dam_ about Maud;" and perhaps the loyal admiration thus expressed may have been mingled with another sensation not so pleasurable to the farmer's daughter. I endeavoured to follow the intricacies of her train of thought, but the station omnibus had stopped at the gate, and the moment of supreme excitement had arrived. Kate entered first. This was probably the crowning moment of her life. She came in with a little air of assurance that already suggested the married woman, and having kissed her mother she said in a proprietary sort of way: "This is Mr. Ward, mamma." Mr. Ward had a curious way of walking on his toes; he came into the room as though tip-toeing across some muddy crossing on a wet day, and shook hands with a degree of nervousness that made even Mrs. Jamieson appear bold. One can hardly be surprised at Kate for having mentioned that he has a conical-shaped head, for it is of the most strange pear-shape, and the sparse hair hangs from a ridge behind like a fringe. He sat down and locked his knees firmly together, with his clasped hands tightly wedged between them, while Kate made inquiries about the rest of the family, and I plunged heavily into remarks about the weather and the state of the roads. It was a great relief when two of the sisters entered, in their best silk blouses, even although they repeated exactly what I had said a moment before about the weather and the mud. Five minutes later, according to preconceived arrangement, two other sisters came in and were kissed by Kate, and introduced by her to James. We had unconsciously taken up our position in two straight lines facing James, and it is no exaggeration to say that by this time shyness was causing great beads of perspiration to stand out on poor James's pear-shaped head. "Surely they will spare him any more introductions before supper," I thought; but the door had again opened, and Mettie and the Pirate Boy entered, and some unhappy chance was causing these last comers to comment upon the weather and the state of the roads, and to extend the line of chairs now facing James. We began to make feverish little remarks to each other, as though we were all strangers, and Palestrina asked Eliza if she were fond of dancing. George Jamieson, the eldest brother, was the last to enter the room, and Kate said: "George, I am sure James would like to unpack before supper;" and the unhappy James tip-toed out between the two lines of chairs, with his eyes fixed upon the carpet. "_Well?_" said Kate. And as The Family was The Family of Jamieson, that of course was a signal for each member of it to say the kindest thing that could possibly be said for the new arrival. Margaret found that he had kind eyes. And Eliza said: "Not intellectual, but a good man." Eliza, it must be remarked in passing, is the intellectual sister, with a passion for accurate information, and for looking up facts in the "Encyclopedia Britannica." Maud found that even his shyness was in his favour, and disliked men who made themselves at home at once. Mettie remarked that marriage was a great risk. This is one of poor little Mettie's platitudes, which she makes with faithful regularity upon all occasions. The Pirate Boy preferred, perhaps, a more robust development, and throwing out his own chest, he beat it with a good deal of violence, and said he would like to put on the gloves with Mr. Ward. Mrs. Jamieson could be got to say nothing but "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" at intervals. But Gracie, the youngest daughter, remarked that she was sure that they would all get to like him immensely in time. Kate looked grateful, and spoke with her usual fine common sense. "What I say is," she remarked, "that of course no one sees James's faults more clearly than I do, but then I don't see why any of us should expect perfection. We haven't much to offer: I am sure I have neither looks, nor money, nor anything. And, after all, it's nice to think of one of us getting married--and I was no bother about it," said the independent Kate. "I mean, The Family had not to help, or chaperon me, or ask James down to stay." The sisters assented to this in a very hearty, congratulatory sort of way; and then, as the rain had ceased, I took my leave, but Palestrina was persuaded to stay and have supper. Kennie offered, in a doughty fashion, to see me home. The boy's kindness of heart constitutes him my defender upon many occasions, and he always looks disappointed if I do not take his arm. I do not think that the peaceful country road in the waning twilight could be considered a dangerous one, even to a cripple like myself; but Kennie, armed with a large stick and wearing a curious felt hat turned up at one side, appeared a most truculent defender, and regarded with suspicion all the pedestrians whom we met. Did but a country cart pass us, Kennie made a movement to ward off the danger of a collision with his arm. There is something in my helpless condition which, quite unconsciously I believe, produces a very valorous frame of mind in the Pirate, and he beguiled the whole of the way home with stories of his own prowess, and of the hair-breadth escapes which he had had. "I only once," he said, "had to take a human life in self-defence. Curiously enough"--Kennie's voice deepened, and he spoke with the air of a man who will spare a weak fellow-mortal all he can in the telling of his tale, and he enunciated all his words with a measured calm which was very impressive--"curiously enough, it was on the Thames Embankment!" Kennie cleared his throat, and dropping the deep bass voice of reminiscence, he began the history in a high-pitched tone of narrative. "I was walking home alone one night from the City, when a very strange, low fellow accosted me, and asked me for some money. The man's destitute appearance appealed to me, and unfortunately I gave him threepence. I suppose the action was about as dangerous a thing as I could have done. It showed that I had money, and I was practically defenceless while feeling in my pockets. The Embankment at that time of the evening was almost deserted; I could see the shipping in the river and the lights, and even passing cabs, but I was strangely alone, and still the man followed me. At last, in desperation, I raised my stick to drive him from me, and the next moment he had grappled with me! Instantly my blood was up!" The Pirate Boy stood still in the middle of the highroad, and went through a series of very forcible pantomimic gestures, and with awful facial contortions, indicative of violent exertion, he raised some imaginary object above his head and flung it from him. "The next moment," said Kennie, "I heard a splash. I had vanquished the man, and flung him far from me, straight from the Thames Embankment into the river." I was prepared to make an exclamation, but was prevented by Kennie, who said in a dramatic sort of way, "Wait!" and went on with his story. "My instinct was to plunge after him, but I heard no sound, no cry, and from that day to this that struggle by the water's edge remains as one of the most vivid experiences of my life--in England, at least. But the man's end remains a mystery: I can tell you nothing more of him." "I think I would have fished the poor wretch out," I said, and moved onwards on our walk, our pause in the public highway having lasted a considerable time. "One learns rough justice out there," said Kennie. CHAPTER V. Miss Taylor was really responsible for the formation of the Stowel Reading Society, but Eliza Jamieson was her staunch supporter. Eliza drew the line at poetry and metaphysics, "Neither of which," she said, "I consider an exact science." Miss Taylor said: "But it is not a scientific course that I propose; it is English literature in its fullest sense. I do think that Stowel is getting behind the rest of the world in its knowledge of the best literature, and I am sure that if a Reading Society were founded The Uncle would be pleased to choose books and send them to us from London." To no one, perhaps, is the specializing definite article felt to be more appropriate than to Sir John. It seems to distinguish him from ordinary human beings; and it is felt to be indicative of a considerable amount of good taste and good feeling on the part of the Taylors to drop the General's title when conversing with their intimate friends, and to refer to him merely as "The Uncle." When we call upon the Taylors we always ask how The Uncle is. Eliza Jamieson became the Society's secretary and treasurer in one, and she it was who in her neat hand transcribed the letter, which all had helped to compose, to ask The Uncle what works in English literature it would be advisable for the Reading Society to get. His reply was read aloud at one of the first meetings, and each eulogized it in turn as being "courtly," "gentlemanly," "manly," and "concise." It could not but be felt, however, that as a guide to a choice of literature the letter was disappointing:-- "DEAR MADAM" (it ran), "I much regret that I am unable to help you in any way about your books. I read very little myself, except the newspapers, though I occasionally take a dip into one of my old favourites by Charles Lever. I think a cookery-book is the most useful reading for a young lady, and she would be best employed studying that, and not filling her head with nonsense. This is the advice of a very old fellow, who remembers many charming girls years ago who knew nothing about advanced culture...." It was a distinct salve to the Society's feelings to note that the letter was written on paper stamped with the address of a military club, and instead of copying it, and making an entry of it in the minutes of the Reading Society, it was pasted into the notebook, as it was thought the autograph and the crest were "interesting." Since the foundation of the Reading Society there has followed a period during which the young ladies of Stowel have written essays, and have met in each other's drawing-rooms to read poetry aloud, to their own individual satisfaction and to the torture of other ears. Mrs. Fielden did not join the Society, her plea being that poetry is merely prose with the stops in the wrong places, and therefore very fatiguing to read, and very obscure in its meaning. But Eliza has worn us out with books of reference, and we have become so learned and so full of culture that it is impossible to say where it will all end. My own library has been ransacked for books--I think it is the fact of my having a library that has made our house a sort of centre for the Reading Society. We criticize freely all contemporary literature, and base our preference for any book upon its "vigorous Saxon style." Eliza has written two reviews for the local newspaper, pointing out some mistakes in grammar in one of the greatest novels of the day, and this naturally makes us feel very proud of Eliza. Those of us who plead for an easy flowing style consider that she has an almost hypersensitive ear for errors in the use of the English accidence. A split infinitive has heretofore hardly arrested our attention; now we shudder at its use: while the misuse of the word to "aggravate," which up to the present we believed in all simplicity to mean to "annoy," causes the gravest offence when employed in the wrong sense. Books from the circulating library have been known to be treated almost like proof-sheets, and corrections are jotted down in pencil on the margin of the leaves. Even the notes which ladies send to each other are subject to revision at the hands of the recipient. Ordinary conversation is now hardly known in Stowel, and tea-parties take the form of discussions. The spring weather is so warm that I generally have my long chair taken on to the lawn in the afternoons, and tea is sometimes brought out there when the meetings of the Reading Society are over. But tea, and even pound-cake, are thrown away upon young ladies who partake of it absently, and to whom all things material and mundane--these words are often used--must now be offered with a feeling of apology. Major Jacobs rode over to see me this afternoon, and we had not long enjoyed the repose of deckchairs and cigarettes under the medlar-tree, and the songs of birds which have begun nesting very early this year, and the quiet rumbling of heavy wagons that pass sometimes in the highroad beyond the garden, when the Reading Society in a body joined us from the house, and I heard my sister give directions for tea to be brought out on to the lawn. The other day I heard Palestrina tell a friend of hers that she nearly always contrived to have some one to tea, or to sit with Hugo in the afternoon, and my sister's satisfaction increases in direct proportion to the number of people who come. We had hardly finished tea when Frances Taylor said suddenly, yet with the manner of one who has risen to make a speech on a platform, "Was Coleridge a genius or a crank?" Eliza, assuming the deep frown of learning which is quite common amongst us nowadays, was upon her in a moment, and said emphatically, "How would you define a genius?" The Socratic habit of asking for a definition is one that is always adopted during our discussions, and it is generally demanded in the tone of voice in which one says "check" when playing chess. Frances Taylor was quite ready for Eliza, and said, "Genius, I think, is like some star----" "Analogy is not argument!" Eliza pounced upon her in the voice that said, "I take your pawn." It will be noticed, I fear, that in Stowel we are not altogether original in our arguments--many of them can be traced, alas! to the "Encyclopædia Britannica," and they are not often the outcome of original thought. Frances Taylor's king was once more in check, and she became a little nervous and irritable. "I do not think we need go into definitions," she said; but Eliza had gone indoors to "look it up." She returned presently with a dictionary, walking across the lawn towards us with its pages held close to her near-sighted eyes. "A genius," she began, and then she glanced disparagingly at the title of the book, and said, "according to Webster, that is--but I do not know if we ought to accept him as a final authority--is explained as being 'a peculiar structure of mind which is given by Nature to an individual which qualifies him for a particular employment; a strength of mind, uncommon powers of intellect, particularly the power of invention.' A crank," she went on, "in its modern meaning, seems hardly to have been known to the writer of this dictionary; the word is rendered literally, as meaning 'a bend or turn.'" "Then I submit," said Miss Taylor, "that Coleridge was a genius." Miss Tracey said in a very sprightly manner--she often astonished us by showing a subtle turn of mind, and a graceful aptitude for epigram which, it was believed, could only have found its proper field in those salons which are now, alas! things of the past--"Let us write him down a genius _and_ a crank! The two"--she advanced her daring view bravely--"the two are often allied." She had a volume of Coleridge on her bookshelves, and prided herself upon her appreciation--unusual in a woman--of the "Ancient Mariner." "A genius in italics, and a crank followed by a mark of interrogation!" said Eliza in a brilliant fashion; and Miss Taylor, not to be beaten in a matter of intellect, said at once, "Did Bacon write Shakespeare's plays?" Mrs. Gallup and Mr. Lee were quoted extensively. Miss Taylor could only suggest, with a good deal of quiet dignity, that she could write to The Uncle and find out who is right. This of course closes the controversy for the present. George Jamieson, who goes to town every day, gains advanced views from the magazines which he reads during his dinner-hour in the City, and he is a great assistance to the Reading Society. I contribute the use of my library, and I have heard the members of the Reading Society say that "women are the true leaders of the present movement, and already their influence is being felt by the male mind." George brought with him the current number of the Nineteenth Century when he came home last Friday, instead of Pearson's or the Strand, and already there are whispers of a Magazine Club in Stowel. Miss Frances Taylor received nothing but books on her last birthday, and Palestrina told me a pathetic little story of how Gracie Jamieson went without a pair of shoes to buy a copy of Browning. Perhaps the climax of culture and learning was felt only to have been reached when Eliza introduced the expression "Hypothesis of Purpose" into an ordinary conversation at the conclusion of one of the meetings of the Reading Society. After this, as Palestrina remarked, it was quite refreshing to hear that the curate's wife had got a new baby. It was born on Sunday, and the anxious father spent his days bicycling wildly to and fro between his own house and the church, hopelessly confusing his reading of the service, and then flying back to inquire about his wife's health. Led by him we prayed successively for fine weather and for rain, while the Sunday-school teachers' meeting was announced for 2 a.m. on the following Saturday, and the Coal Club notices were inextricably confused with the banns of marriage. After each service the distracted little man would leap on his bicycle again, and, scattering the departing congregation with his bicycle bell, he was off down the hill to his house. His perturbation was nothing compared with the confusion at home, where, so far as I could make out, the bewildered household did nothing but run up and down stairs, and madly offer each other cups of tea. My sister's kind heart suggested that we should have Peggy, the eldest child, to stay with us until her mother should be better. Is it necessary to mention the fact that Palestrina is fat and very pretty, and that she spoils me dreadfully? Do I want a book, I generally find that Palestrina has written for it, almost before I had realized that life was a wilderness without it. I have never known her out of temper, nor anything else but placid and serene. And she has a low, gurgling laugh, and a certain way of saying, "Oh, that will be very nice!" to any proposal that one makes, which one must admit makes her a very charming and a very easy person to live with. She is fond of children, and she announced to Peggy with a beaming smile this morning that she had a new little brother. Peggy went on quietly with her breakfast for some time without making any remark; then she gave a little sigh, and said: "Mamma thought she had enough children already, but I suppose God thought otherwise." Peggy has been in low spirits all day, and closely following some line of reasoning of her own she has flatly refused to say her prayers at bedtime. Mrs. Fielden rode over to see us this morning, in her dark habit and the neat boots which she loves to tap with her riding-crop. She came into the dim hall like the embodiment of Spring or of Life, and sat down in her oddly-shaped habit as though she were at home and in no hurry to go off anywhere else. This gives a feeling of repose to a sick man. One knew that she would probably stop to luncheon, and that one would not have to say to her half a dozen times in the morning, "Please don't go." Presently Margaret Jamieson, who had been doing the whole work of the curate's household during the late trying time, came with the baby in her arms to show him to Palestrina. Her manner had a charming air of matronliness about it, and she threw back the fretted silk of the veil that covered the face of the little creature in her arms with an air of pride that was rather pretty to see. But Eliza, who had raced over to our house in the usual Jamieson headlong fashion, to say something to us on the subject of textual criticism, looked severely at the infant through her glasses, and remarked that she had no sympathy whatever with that sort of thing. Margaret hugged the baby closer to her, and Mettie, who had pattered over to see us with her cousin Eliza, remarked that children and their upbringing were doubtless among the great risks of matrimony. "I am sure," said Eliza, "when one sees how happy Kate is with James, it makes one feel that marriage is not so very great a risk after all." That there should be an element of sarcasm in this remark did not even suggest itself to Eliza. "We should all be thankful," piped forth Mettie, who is always ready to talk, "that it has turned out so well. Kate's courage and independence of mind seem exactly suited to Mr. Ward. But that is what I think about us all at Belmont; our characteristics are so different that any gentleman coming amongst us might find something to attract him in one, if not in the others. Margaret is our home-bird, and Eliza is so cultured, and Kate----" The two Miss Jamiesons were looking very uncomfortable, and Margaret said, "O Mettie, dear!" while Mrs. Fielden made an excuse for walking over to the piano. There was a piece of music open upon it. "Do sing it," she said to Palestrina. THE GAY TOM-TIT. "A tom-tit lived in a tip-top tree, And a mad little, bad little bird was he. He'd bachelor tastes, but then--oh dear! He'd a gay little way with the girls, I fear! "Now, a Jenny wren lived on a branch below, And it's plain she was vain as ladies go, For she pinched her waist and she rouged a bit. With a sigh for the eye of that gay tom-tit. She sighed, 'Oh my!' She sighed, 'Ah me!' While the tom-tit sat on his tip-top tree-tree-tree. And she piped her eye A bit-bit-bit For the love of that gay tom-tit-tit-tit. "She saw that her rouge did not attract, So she tried to decide how next to act: She donned a stiff collar and fancy shirt, And she wore, what is more, a divided skirt. Then she bought cigarettes and a big latch-key, And she said, 'He'll be bound to notice me!' But she found her plan did not work one bit, For he sneered, as I feared, did that gay tom-tit. He sneered, 'Oh my!' He sneered, 'Oh lor! What on earth has she done that for-for-for?' And he winked his eye A bit-bit-bit, That giddy and gay tom-tit-tit-tit. "'Alas! no more,' said the poor young wren, 'Will I ape the shape of heartless men!' So she flung cigarettes and big latch-key With a flop from the top of the great green tree. And she wouldn't use rouge or pinch her waist, But she dressed to the best of a simple taste; Then she learned to cook and sew and knit-- 'What a pearl of a girl!' said the gay tom-tit. Said he, 'Good day!' Said she, 'How do?' They were very soon friends, these two-two-two. And I'm bound to say In a bit-bit-bit She married that gay tom-tit-tit-tit." Thus sang Palestrina. "Ethically considered, my dear Palestrina," said Eliza, "that song is distinctly unmoral." "Don't let us consider it ethically," said Palestrina tranquilly; and she went over and sat in the corner of the sofa with several pillows at her back. "Ethically considered," repeated Eliza, "that song, if one pursues its teaching to a logical conclusion, can only mean that all female social development is impossible, and that the whole reason for a woman's existence is that she may gratify man." "They are really not worth it," murmured Mrs. Fielden, who was in a frivolous mood. "And mark you," said Eliza, in quite the best of the Reading Society manner: "it does not suggest that that gratification may be inspired either by our beauty or by our intellect; indeed, it proves that such powers are worthless to inspire it. It postulates the hypothesis"--Eliza is really splendid--"that man is a brute whose appreciation can only be secured by ministering to his desire for food and suitable clothing, and that woman's whole business is to render this creature complacent." "Don't you think things are much pleasanter when people _are_ complacent?" said my sister easily. Eliza fixed her with strong, dark eyes. "Were I describing you in a book," she said--one feels as though Eliza will write a book, probably a clever one, some day--"I should describe you as a typical woman, and therefore a pudding. A dear, tepid pudding, with a pink sauce over it. Very sweet, no doubt, but squashy--decidedly squashy. Some day," said Eliza triumphantly, "you will be squashed into mere pulp, and you will not like that." This did not seem to be a likely end for Palestrina. Eliza continued: "Who will deny that men are selfish?" "But they are also useful," said Mrs. Fielden in an ingenuous way. "They open doors for one, don't you know, and give one the front row when there is anything to be seen, even when one wears a big hat; and they see one into one's carriage--oh! and lots of other useful little things of that sort." "Admitted," said Eliza, "that women have certain privileges--have they any Rights?" Mrs. Fielden admitted that they had not. "But," she said, "I don't really think that that is important. The men whom one knows are always nice to one, and I don't think it matters much what the others are." "Rank individualism," said Eliza. And she said it without a moment's hesitation, which gave us a very high opinion indeed of her powers of speech. "It is the fashion to say that each woman has only one man to manage, and she must be a very stupid woman if she cannot manage him; but there are thousands of women who, being weaker morally and physically than their particular man, can do nothing with him, and it is not fair to leave their wrongs unredressed because you are comfortable and happy." "Still, you know," said Mrs. Fielden thoughtfully, "one cannot help wishing that they could get what they want without involving us in the question. You see, if they got their rights we should probably get ours too, and then I'm afraid we should lose our privileges." "You are like the man," said I, "who could do quite well without the necessaries of life, but he could not do without its luxuries." "What a nice man it must have been who said that!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielden. "It would be quite easy to do without meat on one's table, but it would be impossible to dine without flowers and dessert." It must be admitted that Eliza had the last word in the argument after all. "Just so," she said; "and all life shows just this--that a woman has, with her usual perverseness, chosen a diet of flowers and dessert with intervals of starvation, instead of wholesome meat and pudding." CHAPTER VI. "We shall have to ask the engaged couple to dinner," I said to Palestrina one morning a few days later. "And I suppose one or two more of the rest of The Family would like to be asked at the same time." "I never know in what quantities one ought to ask the Jamiesons," said my sister, "nor how to make a proper selection. It seems invidious to suggest that Kate and Eliza and Margaret should come, and not Maud and Gracie; and yet what is one to do? The last time that you were away from home I wrote and said, 'Will a few of you come?' And Mrs. Jamieson, the Pirate Boy, and four sisters came." "One feels sure," I replied, "that the Jamiesons thought that was quite a modest number to take advantage of your invitation. One knows that had they been inviting some girls from a boarding-school they would have included the entire number of pupils." Palestrina protested that as the meal to which our friends were to come was dinner, it would be only reasonable to invite the same number of ladies and gentlemen; and to this I assented. She suggested asking the Darcey-Jacobs, whom we had not seen for a long time. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is a woman who always affords one considerable inward amusement, being herself, I believe, more conspicuously devoid of humour than any one else I have ever met. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs has never been known to see a joke. That she herself should appear to any one in a humorous light would, I know, appear an inconceivable contingency to her. She has a high Roman nose, and rather faded yellow hair, which was her principal claim to beauty when a girl. It is even now thick and long, and is always worn in a sort of majestic coronet on the top of her head. Her manner is somewhat formidable and emphatic, and the alarm which this engenders in timid or diffident persons is increased by the habit she has of accentuating many of her remarks by a playful but really somewhat severe rap over the knuckles of the person she is addressing, with her fan or lorgnettes. She dresses handsomely in expensive materials somewhat gaudy in colour, and she has an erect carriage, of which she is very proud. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs has a good deal to say on the subject of the feeble-mindedness of the male sex, and when something has been proved impossible of attainment by them she always says, "A woman could have done it in five minutes." At the time of her marriage, Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs (Miss Foljambe she was then) was a dowerless girl with two admirers, Major Jacobs and Mr. Morgan. Not being, it would seem, a young lady of very deep affections, her choice of a husband was decided entirely by the extent of the worldly prospects he could offer, and the Major, being the better match of the two, was accepted. But how cruel are the tricks that fate will sometimes play! Not long after her marriage Mr. Morgan not only inherited a large fortune, but shortly afterwards left this world for a better, and Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is in the habit of remarking, with a good deal of feeling, "If I had only chosen the other I might have been a happy widow now!" Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs lives in our quiet country neighbourhood during the greater part of the year, on the distinct understanding that she loathes every hour of it. When she goes abroad or to London she talks quite cheerfully of having had one breath of life. So fraught with happy successes are these pilgrimages in her brocaded satin gowns into the outer world that she often says that were she but free she might have the world at her feet to-morrow. And she has been known to refer to the Major, still in the tone of cheerful resignation and with her emphasizing tap of the fan, as "a dead weight round her neck." The Major himself is a guileless person, whose very simplicity causes his wife more exquisite suffering than even a husband of keen, vindictive temper could inflict. Does Mrs. Jacobs give a dinner-party, it is not unusual for the master of the house to remark in a congratulatory tone from his end of the table, "What has Mullens been doing to the silver, my dear? it looks unusually bright;" while his greeting to his friends as they arrive at his house, though distinctly cordial, often takes the form of a hearty "I had no idea that we were going to see you to-night." As Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs always sends some kind message from the Major in her notes of invitation, this of course is most disconcerting, both for her and for her guests. This year when they were in Italy a friend of ours in the same hotel overheard a lady ask the Major if he were related to the Darceys of Mugthorpe. "I really can't tell you," said the Major; "the Darcey was my wife's idea." "Four Jamiesons," I said, "and the Darcey-Jacobs, and our two selves. Isn't it humiliating to think that we have invariably to invite the same two men to balance our numbers at a dinner-party? I can't help remarking that Anthony Crawshay and Ellicomb are present at every dinner-party in this neighbourhood, as surely as soup is on the table." "We might ask Mrs. Fielden," said Palestrina; "she is sure to have some colonels with her. Besides, I love Mrs. Fielden, though people say she is a flirt. I think most men are in love with her; some propose to her, and some do not, but they all love her." "Even when she refuses to marry them?" "I have heard Mrs. Fielden say that an offer of marriage should be refused artistically," said Palestrina. "She says young girls hardly ever do it properly, and that they are brusque and brutal. I suppose she herself has some charming way of her own of refusing men which does not hurt their feelings. I believe," said Palestrina, "that she would marry Sir Anthony Crawshay if he could play Bridge." "Anthony is an excellent fellow," I said. Mr. Ellicomb is a young man of High Church principles and artistic tastes who has taken an old Tudor farmhouse in the neighbourhood, and has furnished it very well. He waxes eloquent on the monstrous inelegance of modern dress, and the decadence of Japanese art, and he says he would rather sit in the dark than burn gas in his house, and he dusts his own blue china himself. In his house it is a sign of art to divert anything from its proper use, and to use it for another purpose than that for which it was originally intended. Poor Ellicomb uses a cabbage-strainer as a fern-pot, a drain-tile for an umbrella-stand, his mother's old lace veils as antimacassars, bed-posts as palm-stands, a linen press as a book-case, and a brass spittoon for growing lilies. It is almost like playing at guessing riddles to go over his house with him, and to try and discover for what purpose some of his things were originally created. Their conversion to another use is, I am sure, a very high form of art. "There are the Jamiesons," said my sister, as we sat in the hall ready to receive our guests. It does not require any occult power to sit indoors and to be able to distinguish the Jamiesons' carriage-wheels from those of the other arrivals, for the Jamiesons have, as usual, employed the "six-fifty" bus on its return journey from the station to set them down at our gate. It is quite a subject of interest with our neighbours to find themselves fellow-passengers with the young ladies, in their black skirts and their more dressy style of bodice concealed beneath tweed capes. And it generally gets about in Stowel circles before the evening is over, or certainly soon after the morning shopping has begun, that the Miss Jamiesons have been dining at such or such a house. Even the bus conductor has a sympathetic way of handing the young ladies into his conveyance when they are going out to dinner, and he fetches a wisp of straw and wipes down the step if the night is wet. Mr. Ward piloted the independent Kate up the short carriage-drive with quite an affectionate air of solicitude, frequently inquiring of her if she did not feel her feet a little damp; and Kate answered cheerfully and kindly, feeling, no doubt, that this sort of fussing was one of the drawbacks of prospective matrimony, but that it was only right to accept the little attentions in the spirit in which they were made. The Pirate Boy, who followed with his sister Maud, begged her to take his arm in a burly fashion, and fell a little distance behind. The Pirate Boy thinks that it is etiquette to place himself at a distance from any engaged couple, even during the shortest walk. He does so even when he makes the untoward third in a party. On these occasions he falls behind and puts on an air of abstraction a little overdone. The Jacobs arrived next, and then Anthony Crawshay, who drove over in his high dog-cart, with its flashing lamps and glittering wheels--a very good light-running cart it is; Anthony and I used often to drive in it together--and Ellicomb arrived in a brougham, in which we have a shrewd suspicion that there is a foot-warmer. Maud began to flirt with Mr. Ellicomb directly. I have never known her to be for long in the society of a gentleman without doing so, and her sisters are wont to say of Maud that she certainly has her opportunities, while the criticism of an unprejudiced observer might be that she certainly makes them. Mr. Ellicomb, it is believed, has written an article in one of the magazines on the reformation of men's clothing, and it is hoped he will become a member of the Reading Society. He ate very little at dinner, and talked in a low, cultured voice about Church matters the whole of the evening, and uttered some very decided views upon the subject of the celibacy of the clergy. "I must say," said Major Jacobs, "that I also approve of celibacy in the Church, and I may say in the army and in the navy. If I had my life to live over again----" "William!" said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs in an awful voice. William was about to retreat precipitately from his position, but catching sight perhaps of a sympathetic eye turned upon him from that good comrade of his, Anthony Crawshay, he blundered on,-- "If Confession, now, became more general in the English Church," he said, "secrets confided to the clergy could hardly be kept inviolate. A clergyman's wife might almost--well, not to put too fine a point on it--wring from him by force the secret that had been committed to him." "I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs. "The Anglican Church," said Mr. Ellicomb, "recognizes that difficulty, and has met it in the persons of the Fathers of the Church." Maud Jamieson raised soft eyes to his, and said that a woman might be a help and a comfort to a man. Mr. Ellicomb seemed disposed to admit that it might be so. "I have been in retreat at Cowley for some weeks," he said, "and the cooking was certainly monstrous, and, would you believe it, they did not allow one to bring one's own servant with one." There is nothing monkish about Ellicomb, nor is his asceticism overdone. "I have been reading a book on sects and heresies," said Mrs. Fielden, "and I find I belong to them all." Mr. Ellicomb interposed eagerly by saying, "If I had to state my own convictions exactly, I should certainly say that I was a Manichæan, with just a touch of Sabellianism." "I think," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "that I am a Rosicrucian heretic." Mr. Ellicomb was interested and delighted. "I know," he said, "that many people would think that I had not exactly stated my position. For instance, a lady to whom I described my symptoms the other day, told me at once that I was a Buddhist by nature and an Antinomian by education, and I felt that in part she was right." Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs here interposed, and gave it as her opinion emphatically that man was a contemptible creature whatever his beliefs might be, and that he required a woman to look after him. "To look after him," she repeated, in a tone that said as plainly as possible, "to keep him in order," and she tapped Mr. Ellicomb sharply on the knuckles. The Pirate Boy had some brave notions about what he called The Sex, and here plunged into a long description of how he had rescued a fair creature out of the hands of cut-throats out there, and he illustrated his action of saving the fair one by holding an imaginary six-shooter to Palestrina's head in a very alarming way. He talked of man as The Protector, and thrust his hand into his cummerbund--the action, I suppose, being intended to show that the six-shooter had been replaced--and glanced round the table with an air of defiance. "There is not a man," he remarked, "I don't care who he is, if he fail in respect to a woman when I am present, that shall not get a decanter hurled straight at his head--straight at his head. I have said it!" He laid his hand impetuously upon one of two heavy cut-glass bottles that had been placed in front of me, and one trembled for the safety of one's guests. "I remember," he said, "in one of those gambling-hells in the Far West, where there was about as unruly a set of fellows and cut-throats as ever I came across----" The rest of the story was so evidently culled from the last number of the _Strand Magazine_ that it hardly seemed rude of Palestrina to interrupt it by bowing to Mrs. Fielden, and suggesting that they should adjourn. Maud Jamieson drew my sister aside as they stood grouped round the fire-place in the hall drinking their coffee, and thanked her for introducing Mr. Ellicomb to her. "He is perfectly charming," she said. But Maud's sisters have confided to us that this is her invariable conclusion about the last man she has met, and it is intended as a sort of previndication of herself. Maud, it seems, intends to flirt with every one she sees, but if she pretends that her affections are really touched there can be no upbraidings on the part of The Family. Kate Jamieson sat on the sofa, and twisted her engagement ring complacently round her finger. She thought that Mr. Ward had carried himself very well this evening. His quietness throughout the dinner compared favourably with the conversation of other guests. Kate said once to Palestrina: "He is a man that I shall feel the utmost confidence in taking about with me everywhere." And the remark conveyed the suggestion that Mr. Ward would always be an appendage to Kate Jamieson. Anthony Crawshay is a very good fellow indeed. The most advanced and cultured young lady will never get him to talk about metaphysics in the crush of a ballroom, nor to concern himself about the inartistic shape of the clothes we wear nowadays. "If I didn't like them, I shouldn't wear them," says Anthony. He is a short, spare man, with a voice somewhat out of proportion to his size, and the best cross-country rider in the county. The habit he has of shouting all his remarks seems rather pleasantly in accordance with his honest nature. Anthony very seldom speaks of any one of whom he has not a good word to say; but if he does mention any one whom he dislikes, he does so in a very hearty manner, which is almost as good as many other people's praise. He is as obstinate, as straightforward, and as good a fellow as a country neighbour ought to be. "We have been hunting a May fox, by Gad, Hugo," said Anthony, and he began to tell me about the run--a thing I can hardly get any one to do nowadays. The Pirate Boy, upon whom the word "horse" had a rousing effect, condemned the whole breed of English horses in one short speech. "I assure you," he said, getting up and sawing the air with his hand, "there are some of those wild mustangs out there which would knock spots out of any horses in your stables." Thus challenged, Anthony, who was standing on the hearthrug, turned, and stooping towards me asked, in what he intended to be a whisper, who the young fellow was, and shouted abroad, "Rum chap that, very rum chap!" By-and-by Maud Jamieson went to the piano and began to sing ballads to Mr. Ellicomb; and we have an inward conviction--Palestrina and I--that this evening's report to the Jamieson family will be that Mr. Ellicomb is "struck." Major Jacobs considers himself musical because he likes hearing the words of a song distinctly pronounced. He was charmed with Maud's singing, and Kate encouraged the girl in a little matronly way which she has lately assumed. She called forth Maud's best efforts by saying, "What was the pretty Irish song you sang the other night?" or "You haven't given us 'We'd better bide a wee' yet, dear." Maud responded with several ballads, and wished she had some of Lord Henry Somerset's songs with her, Mr. Ellicomb having expressed a fondness for them. An opportunity was thus given for suggesting a call at Belmont--Maud knows mamma will be delighted--she wished Kennie were better at that sort of thing; the invitation to come in some afternoon might perhaps have come more properly from a brother. It was very gratifying to find that Mr. Ward, fortified by dinner, became more courageous than I have ever known him to be before. He tip-toed almost boldly across the room, and sitting down beside my sister began to make a series of deliberate remarks to her, mostly in the form of interrogation: "Do you care for Scotch songs?" "Have you ever been in Ireland?" "Do you know Wales at all?" And to these important questions Palestrina made suitable replies. "That is _most_ interesting," I heard her say from time to time, using the formula of those who are bored to the extent of complete absence of mind. Mrs. Fielden crossed the room suddenly with a shimmer of silken skirts. In spite of her frivolity she has a way of making herself necessary to every party to which she goes. There used to be an old saying long ago in Scotland that wherever The Macgregor sat was the head of the table. Mrs. Fielden is always the centre of every party, although she has a childish habit, which in another woman might be ascribed to shyness, of taking the least conspicuous seat in the room. Consequently, when she dispersed the little group that was standing or sitting about her, applauding everything she said, and came across the room in pink satin and roses and diamonds, and sat down beside my sofa, the action had something regal about it, as though she had left a throne and come to speak to me. "I am going to teach you to play Bridge," she said. "That is most kind of you." "I am going to carry you off to Stanby next week to give you lessons," she went on. I have a strong conviction that if Mrs. Fielden were to give a beggar a halfpenny he would probably stoop down and kiss the edge of her skirt, or do something equally unconventional and self-abasing. She might, as a great favour, give a courtier who had risked his life for her, her hand to kiss. When she smiles men become foolish about her. "It is very kind of you to want us," I said. "I want Bridge," said Mrs. Fielden, and, as usual when she is going to be provoking, she looked prettier than ever, and began to smile. "Any one will do to make up a rubber, I suppose?" I said. "Oh yes, any one," said Mrs. Fielden. "Consequently, my sister and I need not feel particularly distinguished by being asked," I continued. "I am so glad Palestrina is coming," said Mrs. Fielden, "because several men have written to tell me they are coming to stay, just when my sisters-in-law are leaving, and I suppose I oughtn't to entertain a houseful of men alone, ought I?" Mrs. Fielden does exactly as she pleases upon all occasions, but this does not prevent her from pretending to have acute attacks of propriety sometimes. "We will play Bridge and chaperon you with pleasure," I said. "I thought of drowning myself yesterday," said Mrs. Fielden, "because it rained all day, and I had no one to amuse me, and then I thought I would ask you to come over and play Bridge instead. When I am bored I never can make up my mind whether I shall commit suicide, or go into a convent, or get married. Which do you advise?" "I should advise you to marry," I said. "As far as I can gather, a great source of discord and danger in our neighbourhood would be removed if you did so." Mrs. Fielden said with her eyes, "Hugo, you are very cross." But being the most good-natured woman in the world, and sharing that forbearance which most people extend to an invalid, she smiled instead. "Why do you stay here when you are feeling so tired?" she said to me presently. "Because," I replied, "my sister lies awake half the night and thinks I am going to die, if I show any signs of fatigue, or go to bed early. Besides, for us, you know, this is quite an exciting evening. We have thought about our dinner-party for days past." "If you were nice," said Mrs. Fielden after a pause, "you would ask me to come into your library and smoke." "Do you smoke?" "No," said Mrs. Fielden, "I don't." "I'm glad you don't," I said. "For years," said Mrs. Fielden, "I tried to think it was wrong, and then I quite enjoyed smoking; but there is a certain effort involved in trying to raise an innocent occupation to the level of a crime." "It is a very unfeminine habit," I said; partly because I was in a contradictious mood, and partly because I wanted to snub Mrs. Fielden for being so beautiful and young and charming. "The last man," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "who made that remark died shortly afterwards." She was gathering up my cushions and pillows as she spoke, and she turned to my sister as she crossed the hall, and said, "We are going to study philosophy in the library." The library was lit by a single lamp, and the fire burned low in the grate; but the room was illumined suddenly by a pink dress and roses and diamonds, and Mrs. Fielden was arranging cushions, in the very skilful way she has, on my sofa by the fire. She handed me my cigarette-box and matches, and spread a rug over my leg. For some occult reason the rustling pink dress only whispered softly over the carpet now, like a woman's hushed voice in a sick-room, and Mrs. Fielden, by the simple act of drawing up a chair to the fire and sitting in it, took the head of the table again, and became the centre of the room. "May I really smoke," I asked, "after being such a brute as to say you mustn't?" "I look upon smoking as a purely feminine habit, like drinking tea, or having headaches, or anything of that sort," said Mrs. Fielden. "It was simply because it was so expensive that men took to it in the first place. Ethics should not be based upon accident, should it?" I handed Mrs. Fielden my cigarette-box. "If you are quite sure you disapprove, I will have one," she said. From the hall came the sound of Maud's singing. Her voice is not of great compass, nor very strong, but it is clear and fresh, with a tuneful cadence in it. "You spend nearly all your days here?" said Mrs. Fielden, looking round the room. "Until the afternoon," I said; "and then Palestrina and I go for a little walk, and at tea-time I go to the hall sofa, and she asks people to come up and sit with me." "I am glad you like books," said Mrs. Fielden. "But really," I said, "the good folks in Stowel are all extraordinarily kind to me, and some of the Jamiesons are up nearly every day." "I like the Jamiesons," said Mrs. Fielden; "they are so intelligent. Have you ever noticed that their watches all keep exact time, and that they tell you the hour to the very second? And they always know what day of the month it is, and when Easter falls, and how much stuff it takes to make a blouse." "You wrong Eliza Jamieson," I said; "she studies philosophy." "Oh," said Mrs. Fielden eagerly, "I forgot to tell you, I have begun to study philosophy. I began last week. Will you lend me some books, please? I want to be very wise and learned." "Why?" I asked. "I think," said Mrs. Fielden, "that it might be nice if people did not always call one frivolous; and that if I studied philosophy----" "I shall not lend you any books," I said. "That is rather disobliging of you." "Because," I said, "our lives should always show a perfect equation. If you are a frivolous person you should behave frivolously." "You mean _as_ I am a frivolous person," said Mrs. Fielden. "As you are a frivolous person," I repeated. "And after all," said Mrs. Fielden with a contemplative air, "how silly philosophy is! I asked somebody the other day the meaning of a syllogism, and really I don't think I ever heard anything quite so foolish." "It is quite beneath your notice," I said. "I did think of asking you if I might come over sometimes and read these musty volumes of yours." "You would probably find them as uninteresting as I am," I said. Mrs. Fielden looked as if she thought that might be possible, and did not press the matter. I dislike being disloyal to my books, for they are such good friends of mine. But a great wish came to me then to get up and do something, instead of for ever reading the doings and the thoughts of other people. I thought how much I should like to live again, and just for once sleep on the veldt with the stars overhead, or longed that I could get astride of a horse, and follow a burst of the hounds over the wet fields in England. And so thinking I turned on the sofa and said petulantly, "I wish Maud Jamieson would not sing that song." "Oh, that we two were maying," she sang, in the song that tells of love and separation, and the longings and heartbreaks which it is much better not to speak about, and the things which we want and cannot have. "I hate yearners," I said. "Why can't she sing something cheerful?" Mrs. Fielden rose from her chair by the fire and crossed the hearthrug, and came and sat down on my sofa. She took my hand in hers and said: "Poor boy! is it very hard sometimes?" "Of course," said Palestrina, as we went upstairs to bed after our guests had departed, "you are sure to feel tired. The little party has been too much for you, I'm afraid. It was very tiresome for you having to leave us all." "I felt rather a crock after dinner," I said, "and I think the hall gets hot in the evening." "I wish I could make you better," said Palestrina affectionately; "it is horrid for you being ill." "Every one," I said, "makes far too much fuss about health. Why, ten officers of our regiment are buried in South Africa. I suppose half the pensioners in Chelsea Hospital have had wounds as bad as mine, and a cripple more or less in the world does not matter very much. Women are kind enough to pity me. They even confide their troubles to me sometimes, because I am a poor thing lying on a sofa. I am really quite happy hobbling about with you, Palestrina; and when I am older, I shall probably take an interest in the garden. There is a proper and philosophical attitude of mind in respect of these things." "O Hugo," said Palestrina, "I always know you are not happy when you begin to be philosophical." "Life is very easily explained without the assistance of philosophy when everything goes all right," I replied. CHAPTER VII. Have I ever mentioned that Palestrina is engaged to be married? If I have not done so, it is because it seems an obvious fact that all Palestrinas are engaged to be married. Her _fiancé_, who is called Thomas, is stationed with his regiment in Ireland. A few weeks ago he sent her, as a token of his affection, a yellow dog with long hair. Palestrina does not like dogs, but she is trying to love Down-Jock for Thomas's sake. She says his name is Jock. The dog is a curious creature, with a passion for hurling himself at those who wear clean flannel trousers or light skirts. Thomas says he is full of intelligence. He appears to be quite a young animal, but he can affect the airs of extreme old age, sleeping in a basket a great part of the day, or standing on the doorstep to bark at visitors in an asthmatical manner, as though he would say, "I am too old and too feeble to give chase, but while I am alive this house shall not lack a defender." At other times he is wildly juvenile, and rolls himself over and over in an exuberance of youthful fun. This is chiefly on Sundays, when (his best joke) he pretends he wants to come to church with us. Sunday is Down-Jock's happiest day in all the week. No Christian in the land loves it more than he does. He begins his religious exercises early in the morning by barking outside the doors of all those people who have determined to take an extra half-hour's rest, and he continues barking without ceasing until the sleeper awakes and gets out of bed to open the door for him. He bustles in and wags his tail cheerfully, saying as plainly as a dog can say it, "I am an early riser, you see--and a teetotaler," he adds, trotting across the room to the water-jug, and lapping full red tonguefuls of its contents. Then he stands in the middle of the room and barks at you; runs to the door and barks at it; barks at the servants as they go downstairs, promising--the little tell-tale!--that their lateness shall be reported in the proper quarter. Finally, he climbs on to the bed, and goes to sleep upon your feet. During breakfast he is attentive to every one, and sits on the skirts of those ladies who most dislike dogs, and pulls them down uncomfortably from the waist. He watches every mouthful of food that is eaten, and grudges it to the eater; and his eyes are saying all the time, "How can you be so greedy?" After breakfast his most boisterous juvenile mood begins. He jumps on every one, or rolls himself over and over under every one's feet. He wags his tail, barks in a piercing manner--the bark of the gay young dog--and madly rushes after imaginary rats. All gloves and shoes become his playthings, and he frolics blithely with the hat-brush. On weekdays he pleads old age as an excuse, and refuses to come anywhere with us; but on the Sabbath morning who so ready as Down-Jock to take his walks abroad? He flies after us to the gate, his long hair streaming in the wind, and his short legs racing like a clockwork dog. Palestrina says: "Oh dear, what shall we do? Down-Jock! down, sir! Oh, he has spoilt my dress! Good doggie, mustn't go to church! Go home! go home! Oh, Jock, do get down!--Look, he is following us still, and the church door is always open; he is sure to come in in the middle of the service, and trot up to us in our pew. Do you think Thomas would mind if I were to look as if he didn't belong to us?" Jock flies back with an old bone in his mouth and deposits it at Palestrina's feet, dares her to touch it, and makes flying snatches at her shoes when she kicks the treasure aside. "I must take him back," says Palestrina. "It will make me late of course, but I must go and shut him up." "He won't follow you," I say. "He is quite determined to go to church." Palestrina lifts the heavy beast in her arms, and in an exuberance of joy Down-Jock makes a doormat of her dress, and rubs his paws affectionately against it and licks her hand. Of course he escapes presently and runs after us; that is his best and most killing joke. Inwardly one feels he is in a state of hardly-suppressed laughter as he tears down the road again, barking with glee. And then he gets a sober fit, walks demurely in front of us in the narrow field-path, changes his mind suddenly about going to church, stops dead short, and trips us up; thinks after all he ought to go to the morning service as an example to the servants; toddles on again, and stops to say (with the air of extreme old age again assumed) that, after all, he is not up to the exertion, and would have to sit down at the Psalms, so perhaps it really would be better to stay quietly at home. Another stop. A rapid toilet performed by scratching his head with his hind-leg, "just in case I meet any one coming out of church whom I know;" and then Down-Jock meets a boy friend strolling off to the fields, and running up to him, says: "One must conform to conventionalities, but between you and me I never had the remotest intention of going to church." Down-Jock, in his moments of most restless activity, always reminds me of a servant of ours who has occasional fits of the most intense energy. It begins quite early in the morning, when she gets up some hours before her usual time, and gives a sort of surprise party to the rest of the household. These parties take place two or three times a year, and we do not get over them for weeks afterwards. Every room in the house is visited in turn, and delinquencies of a twelvemonth are laid bare. During the morning cupboards are turned out in a magisterial sort of way, and dusty corners are triumphantly displayed. The most cherished rubbish is freely consigned to the waste-paper baskets, and collections of all sorts are contemptuously swept away. We hastily gather up books and precious oddments, and hurry off with them to my den, where we take refuge till the whirlwind is past. Curtains and tablecloths are shaken with a sort of vindictive energy at the back-door; all windows are flung open, and rugs are rolled up, making a sort of obstacle race in every passage and room. Down-Jock, who never recognizes a superior in any one, is the only member of the party who is not rendered an abject coward. He unrolls rugs, and runs away with dusters, and snaps at the heels of the housemaid in a way that provokes one's wonder at his temerity. My sister and I, having locked away our most cherished possessions, generally contrive to be out of the house as much as possible on one of these tempestuous days. And following the line of reasoning, not of the highest order, which suggests that if one cannot be happy one had better try and be good, Palestrina always visits her old women at the workhouse on these days. "I wish," she said to me, "that you would walk into the village and meet me on my way home. I don't think anybody is coming up to see you this afternoon, and the house is so uncomfortable when Janet is in one of her whirlwind moods. Come as far as the corner, and go in and sit down at old Pettifer's if you get tired." "Shadrach Pettifer tells me," I said, "that his affection for you is based on the fact that you are so like his poor old mother. Perhaps while I am waiting at his cottage he may give me further interesting facts about you." Shadey is an old man with a bent back and curious bright eyes that gleam under a heavy thatch of eyebrow. His wife is the very thinnest old woman that I have ever seen; her cheeks have fallen in and are so very wrinkled that they always remind me of a toy balloon that a child has pricked with a pin. She is always ill and never complaining. Any expression of sympathy seems foreign to her comprehension, and the "Poor thing!" or "I am so sorry," so eagerly accepted by more fortunate folk, is received by her with a certain air of independence. Last winter Mrs. Pettifer was dangerously ill with internal gout, but expressions of condolence were always met with the rather curious reply, "Well, you see, sir, we must have something to bring us to our end." There is a whole world of philosophy in this. To-day the old couple spent the time while I waited for Palestrina in their cottage in describing to me the last days in the life of their tortoise, an old friend, and an animal of evidently strange and unusual qualities. Towards the close of its life it was, on the testimony of the Pettifers, taken with screaming fits, and, it even had to be held down "when the high-strikes was wuss." Later it used to run round and round as never was. And at last Shadey determined to release it from this earthly tabernacle. He asked his friend Bridgeman, Anthony Crawshay's head-keeper, to come round some evening and administer poison to the unfortunate beast, and the effect of the dose was as strange as it was unexpected. The poison was the first thing for weeks that poor Toots the tortoise had seemed to enjoy. It seemed, to quote again from the testimony of those most intimately acquainted with the animal, to "put new life into Toots," and the more poison that was administered the livelier did he become, "until he was that gay it seemed as if he would ha' laughed at yer!" Finally, I understood that when poison sufficient to kill two cart-horses had been given, the afflicted animal yielded to treatment, and its shell now adorns the kitchen dresser. We returned home to find the house smelling of furniture polish, and permeated with a certain cold primness which succeeds a tidying-up, and which can only be dispelled by a glowing fire. One by one things were brought back to the hall, and we felt like snails creeping out in the evening after a day of rain. Banished property strewed the tables again, and Palestrina opened the piano and spread it with music. It was an act of defiance, but comfortable nevertheless, to collect the cushions which had been dotted primly about in clean muslin covers, and to pile them all on to the sofa before the fire. But Down-Jock, who always goes one better than any one else, contributed still more completely to the systematized disorganization of the house. He gaily wiped his muddy feet on clean paint, and tore blithely round after imaginary rats wherever order reigned. Finally, in an exuberance of joy, he made a hearty supper of Palestrina's manuscript book of music, and barked with glee. And yet some people say that dogs are not intelligent! CHAPTER VIII. The Uncle, Sir John, is coming to stay at the Taylors', and the town is in something of a flutter over this event. It was hoped that the Taylors would give a tea-party in honour of their guest, but there is a shrewd notion abroad that no one will be allowed to see very much of him except at a distance. The Taylors had hoped that there would be some occasion during his visit on which The Uncle might speak in public, and Mr. Taylor has tried, half jestingly, to induce his brother townsfolk to arrange what he calls "something in the political line" while the august relative is staying with him. I think we owe it to the fact that the political meeting was found to be an impossibility that we were asked to tea at the Taylors'. Invitations, instead of taking the form of a friendly note, after the pattern of Stowel invitations in general, were conveyed on one of Mrs. Taylor's visiting cards, with "At home, Thursday the 17th, four to seven," upon it. "A little abrupt," ladies of Stowel were inclined to think, but of course the Taylors are people of some importance in the place. No one quite knew how to answer the invitation, and a good many friendly little visits were paid on the afternoon on which it arrived, and the mysterious card was produced from a bag or purse, with the smiling apology, "I am sure fashions change so quickly that one hardly knows how to keep up with them." And then ideas were exchanged as to the reply suitable to such a form of invitation. Miss Tracey said that she always thought that an invitation was accepted in as nearly as possible the same manner in which it was given, and she announced that she and her sister meant to return one of their own visiting-cards to Mrs. Taylor, with the day and the hour named upon it, and "With pleasure" written underneath. This was considered suitable, for the most part; but those who still had doubts upon the subject made elaborate efforts to meet Mrs. Taylor during the morning's shopping, and to say to her in a friendly way, "We are coming, of course, on Thursday. Will you excuse our writing a note, at this busy time?" The Miss Blinds always send their thanks for a "polite invitation" in the old style, but on this occasion Miss Lydia was obliged to offer regrets as well as thanks, as she had not been very well lately. She, I suppose, was the only person in Stowel who did not accept Mrs. Taylor's invitation. Two parties are, of course, never given on the same day, and it would be considered eccentric to prefer staying at home to going out. "I am sorry Miss Lydia cannot come," said Mr. Taylor, when the notes of acceptance were being opened at breakfast-time; "after all, it is not every day that people have a chance of meeting so distinguished a man as the General." "Miss Lydia was never intrusive," said Mrs. Taylor. Mrs. Lovekin was one of those who avoided the difficulty raised by Mrs. Taylor's unusual form of invitation by meeting her accidentally in the baker's shop, where an assortment of cakes was being ordered for the tea-party, and signifying her intention of coming to tea. "No need to write, I suppose," said Mrs. Lovekin lightly, "as I have met you?" Both Mrs. Taylor and the baker's wife thought it would have been in better taste if Mrs. Lovekin had then withdrawn, instead of remaining in the shop and hearing what was ordered. Mrs. Taylor had made up her mind at an early stage in the proceedings that she would be very firm indeed about the matter of dispensing tea herself in her own house. She would appropriate one teapot, and her daughter should have the other, and not even to shake hands with a late-arriving guest would they run the risk of letting this badge of office fall into the hands of the co-hostess. "And if," said Mrs. Taylor, "I find that she is appropriating The Uncle too much, I shall not hesitate to remove him, on the plea of introducing him to some other and more important guests." It was in church on Sunday that we were first allowed to see The Uncle, and this is only following the usual custom in Stowel. Church on Sunday is, as it were, the public life of the town. After a death it is customary to wait until the family has appeared in church to pay visits of condolence--not so much to avoid intrusiveness in the first hour of grief as from a feeling that perhaps the crape mourning will not have arrived. In the same way, if any one moves into a new house--a very unusual proceeding--we are made aware that the carpets are all down, and the drawing-room curtains are hung, when the new arrivals are seen in their pew on Sunday. This, also, is accepted as a token that calling may now begin. Mrs. Taylor said afterwards, in describing that first Sunday when The Uncle appeared in Stowel Church, that her heart beat so painfully at the door that she thought she would have been obliged to turn back. It was a triumphal progress that the party of four made up the centre aisle to their pew, but the inward excitement of the Taylors rendered a natural deportment difficult. Neither Mrs. Taylor nor her daughter joined in the hymns or the responses that Sunday morning. It is doubtful whether they heard a word of the service. Sir John is a very military-looking person, with white whiskers and a bald pink head. He sat between Mrs. and Miss Taylor, who supplied him with hymn and prayer books in as natural a manner as they found it possible to assume; and Mr. Taylor sat at the end of the pew with a genial expression on his face, and a look of tempered pride, due no doubt to the fact that the General was "one of my wife's people," and not a blood relation of his own. It was a disappointment to Mr. Taylor that his own sister, Mrs. Macdonald--widow of a Scotch gentleman, whom the Taylors always talk of as "The Laird"--was not able to come to this family gathering. But Mrs. Macdonald pleaded spring-cleaning as an insuperable objection to leaving home at present. As Miss Taylor, Mrs. Macdonald used to be one of Stowel's central figures, for she was a lady of considerable means and an indefatigable housekeeper; and Mr. Macdonald was considered to have done well when he took her as his bride to the North. The Sunday on which the Taylors appeared in church with The Uncle was curiously hot for the time of year. It was very stuffy in church, and Miss Lydia had a slight fainting attack, and had to leave before the service was over. Following the accepted custom in Stowel, my sister called the next day to ask how she did. But indisposition, usually a matter of solemn pleasure with us, was overshadowed and shorn of its interest by the presence of The Uncle amongst us. Even the Vicar looked keenly at him from the pulpit before his sermon began, but no one except Mrs. Lovekin was forward enough to address the august party as they left the church. Mrs. Lovekin, who always affirmed that she saw no difference in rank, was the very first person in Stowel to shake hands with The Uncle. She overtook the Taylors before they had even reached the gate of the churchyard, and was perforce introduced to their relative, "who," Mrs. Taylor said afterwards, "was almost more cordial than she could have wished him to be; but of course his manners were always perfect." What annoyed every one a little in the days that followed was that Mrs. Lovekin constantly referred to the General as if he had been an old friend; whereas of course it was well known in what an intrusive way her precedence had been gained. During the week, however, we all had an opportunity of seeing Sir John, for he was marched in triumph up and down the village street regularly twice a day. Miss Taylor even condescended to subterfuge in the matter. For having taken The Uncle as far as the baker's at the end of the town, with a view to continuing the walk into the country at The Uncle's request, she pretended to have forgotten something at the draper's, and marched him down the street again, in the proud knowledge that all eyes, whether from pedestrians or from the interior of shops and houses in the High Street, were turned upon her. The tobacconist from whom The Uncle bought some tobacco gave Miss Taylor quite a sympathetic look as he said, "Allow me to send it for you, Sir John." And Miss Taylor said, "Do allow him to send it, uncle! I am sure that you ought not to carry parcels for yourself." On Thursday, when we went to the party, we saw at once that the Taylors meant to make no snobbish distinction between their guests, but that each and every one of them was to be introduced to The Uncle. "I am no good at this sort of thing, Mary," The Uncle said before the party began, "and I think I will walk over and see Willie Jacobs, and spend the afternoon with him." Mrs. Taylor turned pale at the suggestion. "It will ruin it!" she said. "I shall feel as if I had been acting on false pretences." And though the General remained, as he was requested to do, he showed a most irritating tendency to slip away, and sometimes he was not to be found at the most critical moments. Mrs. Taylor stationed him close to herself in the drawing-room where she received her guests. But at the very moment when she turned round to effect an introduction between him and some particular friend, it was discovered that the General had slipped off to the smoking-room or the tea-room, or was wandering aimlessly about the garden, looking at the flower-beds. Altogether, that most successful afternoon (and the Taylors really did feel that it had been a success from the very highest point of view) had still some drawbacks to it, which they regret, and always will regret. For instance, when Miss Taylor had been dispatched into what the Taylors call the "grounds" to see "what The Uncle is doing" (playfully), "and tell him to come and make himself agreeable," she had hardly departed to fulfil her mother's request when Mrs. Lovekin bore down upon the teapot, poured out several of the most distinguished cups of tea, and handed round macaroons as though they were her own. Last of all, as the party was breaking up, and Mrs. Lovekin's vicarious hospitality was therefore at an end, she was actually heard inviting The Uncle to come and call upon her. Even the Miss Blinds, on being told of the incident, admitted that this behaviour on Mrs. Lovekin's part could not be called anything but forward. Miss Lydia could only say, in a sort of sweet distress, "Perhaps she did not mean it;" but Miss Blind shook her head vigorously, and said, "Bad butter, bad butter, bad butter!" Margaret Jamieson had, of course, been helping to prepare the party, for Margaret Jamieson always helps wherever there is anything to be done. And Eliza, we thought, made a deep impression upon The Uncle by her knowledge of literature, and the perfectly easy and natural way in which, without a moment's preparation, she alluded to the "atomic theory." "Ah! you are one of the Reading Society young ladies that I heard about," said he. "Sorry I couldn't do more for you in the way of books, but that's not in my line at all, you know. I was educated at a Grammar School, and I never had the advantages that you young people have nowadays." (Mrs. Taylor thought this statement unnecessary, but reflected that great men often make allusions of this sort.) "However, if I ever can be of any use to you--getting you an order for reading at the British Museum, or anything of that sort--I hope you will let me know." For one brief day the Jamiesons were inclined to tease Eliza about having made a conquest, but the Taylors would not have any nonsense of that sort for a moment. It made Mrs. Taylor quite nervous to think of such a thing, and she remarked that that was the worst of having distinguished people to stop with one; there was always somebody running after them. Eliza Jamieson, we noticed, was treated with marked coldness by the Taylors for some time afterwards, and Miss Taylor recollected darkly that it was Eliza's suggestion, in the first instance, that The Uncle should be consulted on the choice of books for the Reading Society. "She may," said Miss Taylor, "have had an eye on him from the first." A purely visionary affair of this sort, however, could not be considered satisfactory or exciting, even by the Jamiesons; and the Taylors' suspicions and anxieties were put on one side for the time being--ousted from their place, as it were--by the very distinct and exciting rumours which have reached us about Maud. Maud has been staying with friends at Hampstead, and has written home in a certain veiled way which is very provoking, but which, nevertheless, gives the impression that another man has come to the point, and has proposed to Maud Jamieson. Maud seems out of spirits, and has written to say that she is returning; and this makes the sisters think that she must have accepted her present suitor, and is coming home to shed a few natural tears. Eliza, who walked over to tell us the news, voiced The Family's opinion when she said: "We have quite made up our minds that if Maud has said 'Yes,' she is to stick to it this time. She is always in a panic directly she has accepted any one, but we know that it would be the same whoever it was: and doubtless, unless we are firm, she will treat this admirer just as she treated Mr. Reddy and Albert Gore and the others. Mamma says that she will not have Maud coerced, and I am sure no one wants to coerce her; but why should she always get to a certain point, and then begin to have doubts? It is so unbusiness-like." The very next day Maud Jamieson came to tea. She looked well dressed, as usual, and had some pretty spring finery about her--yellow mimosa wreathing a broad hat, and some yellow ribbons about her tasteful dress--but her pretty face looked very white, and she fidgeted nervously for half an hour, and then told me I was so sympathetic she would like to ask me something. "I dare say," she said, "that you have heard something about Mr. Evans from The Family?" I admitted that I had, and then there was a very long pause. "How is one to know," said Maud, "when it is the real thing?" Another pause. I wished with all my heart that I could have been more helpful to this young lady in such evident distress of mind; but the intricacies of Maud's thoughts are most difficult to follow, and I thought it better to wait until she had given me her entire confidence. "Little things," said Maud, "might annoy one so much if one had always to live with a man. For instance, I do not think I could ever truly love a man who sniffs." "Our friend Mrs. Fielden says," I remarked, "that a man generally proposes when he has a cold in his head. But I pointed out to her that these statistics do her no credit." "Mr. Evans doesn't sniff," said Maud. "I was only citing that as an example of what one might find very trying in a companion for life." I assented, and could only suggest hopefully the usual Jamieson remedy that such a defect might be cured after marriage. "But men are so obstinate about some things," said Maud. "For instance, suppose a man were well off and of really excellent character, do you think it would matter much if he wore a white watered-silk waistcoat in the evening? Would it, for instance, appear an insuperable objection to most minds?" I replied that doubtless it was a serious fault, but that I did not consider it an incurable one; and I further remarked, with what I hoped showed a broad and liberal way of looking at things, that all men had their idiosyncrasies. Maud admitted this, and seemed cheered by the reflection; but she pushed the matter further, and said she would like to know what sort of a man I should presume any one to be who wore a white watered-silk waistcoat. "If you care for Mr. Evans--" I began, and regretted that one's articulate expression is sometimes behindhand in the matter of conveying the comprehensiveness of the inner working of one's mind---- "I am afraid I care for some one else," said Maud, bursting into tears. "Let me see you home," I said, unable to think of any but this very doubtful method of consolation; still, it seemed unkind to let her go home alone when she had been crying. On the threshold of the Jamiesons' house several of The Family were waiting for us, and they drew me into the drawing-room, while by tacit consent it seemed to be understood that Maud should not join in the conclave, but should go straight upstairs and take off her hat. "Have you persuaded her?" said Eliza. "I hope you have put a little common sense into her," said Kate. James was admitted to family discussions now, and here remarked that he believed that all girls were happier married. "Though, of course," said Mettie, "it is a great risk." "Did she tell you," asked Gracie, "that she cares for some one else?" I admitted that Maud had said something of the sort. And her family exclaimed triumphantly that this was always Maud's plea for releasing herself from an engagement as soon as that engagement had been made. Mrs. Jamieson remarked that she would not like any of the girls to feel that they were not welcome at home, and all her affectionate daughters kissed her in turn, or patted her hand, and said that they knew that such a thought as wanting to get rid of one of them would never enter her head. Mrs. Jamieson here left the room to seek her banished daughter and to administer comfort, and the members of The Family conclave said that they hoped that Mrs. Jamieson did not think that they had been unkind. "If it had not happened so often!" sighed Eliza. "However, as we do not know Mr. Evans, he can't ask to come down and stay with us, as Mr. Reddy did, so as to have an opportunity of pressing his suit." "He cried so much one afternoon," said Kate, turning in an explanatory sort of way to Mr. Ward, "that I really thought I should have to send for mamma." James looked sympathetic, and Gracie added: "We all really felt quite relieved when he got engaged to some one else three weeks afterwards, and we hear that they are most happy, and have got a dear little baby." CHAPTER IX. Mrs. Fielden's motor car is still a matter of absorbing interest to the inhabitants of Stowel. When it breaks down, as it frequently does, there is always a crowd round it immediately. Our friends and neighbours in the town have an ingenuous respect for anything that costs a great deal of money, and they are quite congratulatory to any one who has been for a drive with Mrs. Fielden, and they talk about the motor and its owner, and who has seen it, and who has not, over their afternoon tea. The motor car is a noisy, evil-smelling vehicle of somewhat rowdy appearance, which leaves a trail behind it as of a smoking lamp. It drew up at our door to-day, and kicked and snorted impatiently until we were ready to get into it. The next moment, with a final angry snort and plunge, it started down the drive and whizzed through the village and up the hill on the other side without pausing to take breath. "The worst of a motor car is," said Mrs. Fielden, "that one gets through everything so quickly. In London I get my shopping done in about a quarter of an hour, and then I take a turn round Regent's Park, and I find I have put away about ten minutes, so I fly down to Richmond, and even then it is too early to go to tea anywhere. Talking of tea--isn't everybody very hungry? I am really ravenous--and that is the motor car's fault, too. Because one has learned to want one's meals by the amount of business one has got through, and when one has done a whole afternoon's work in three-quarters of an hour, one is dying for tea, just as if it were five o'clock." "I have always been ravenous since I was in South Africa," said one of Mrs. Fielden's colonels, who had driven over in the motor car to take care of her and to bring us back. "I don't know when I shall satisfy the pangs of hunger which I acquired on the veldt." "I think I shall call on Mr. Ellicomb," said Mrs. Fielden. "I believe he has excellent afternoon teas, and he is making me an enamel box which I should like to see." Ellicomb said once or twice, as we sat in his picturesque house with its blue china and old brass work, that he only wished we had given him warning that we were coming. We found him with an apron on, working at his enamels; and when he had displayed this work to us, he showed us his bookbinding, and his fretwork-carving, and his type-writing machine. Afterwards we had tea, which Ellicomb poured very deftly into his blue cups, having first warmed the teapot and the cups, and flicked away one or two imaginary specks of dirt from the plates with what appeared to be a small lace-trimmed dinner-napkin. Mrs. Fielden began to admire his majolica ware, of which she knows nothing whatever, and Ellicomb took her for a tour round his rooms, and asked her to guess the original uses of his drain-tiles and spittoons and copper ham-pots. Afterwards we were taken into a very small conservatory adjoining his house, where every plant was displayed to us in turn; and we were subsequently shown his coal-cellar and his larder and his ash-pit before we were allowed to return to the house. Ellicomb smiles more often than any other man I know, and he had only one epithet to apply to his house. "It's so cosy," he said. "Isn't it cosy?" "I do think it's a cosy little place." Mrs. Fielden was charmed with everything, and deprecated the idea that she might consider the little house very small after Stanby. "I always think," she said, "that I should much prefer to live in a place like this, and then the people who come to see one really would pay one a little attention, instead of talking of nothing but the house." The Colonel laughed and apologized. "Oh, I know I'm not half good enough for Stanby," said Mrs. Fielden, smiling. "But I really can't help it! I was brought up in a house with hot and cold water upstairs, and white paint, and I suppose I never can really appreciate anything else." The dignity of Mrs. Fielden's surroundings has never affected her in the very smallest degree, and I do not believe that the traditions of the house interest her in the very least. I am quite aware that she asked me to write out the history of Lady Hylda, for instance, simply because it is part of her charm always to ask one to do something for her. It is the fashion to wait upon Mrs. Fielden's behests, and it would appear almost an unkindness to her many men friends if she did not give them some commission to do when they go up to town. Her manner of thanking one for a service is almost as pretty as her manner of asking for it, and I am really not surprised that she is the most popular woman in the country-side. Mr. Ellicomb said ecstatically that the dim twilight at Stanby was one of the most impressive things he knew; and he added, with a shudder, that he always expected to see ghosts there. Mrs. Fielden does not believe in ghosts except on those occasions when she has some one very charming to defend her, and she spends her evenings in a cheerful white boudoir in the modern part of the house. Having admired all the majolica plates in the house, and having completely bewildered her host by showing an interest in him and his possessions one minute, and complete indifference the next, Mrs. Fielden fell into one of those little silences which are so characteristic of her. Her silence is one of the most provoking things about her. She has been witty and amusing the moment before, and then relapses into silence in the most natural manner possible, and her face takes a certain wistful look, and a man wonders how he can comfort her or whether he has offended her. "I think we ought to go now," she said, coming out of this wistful reverie like a child awaking from sleep. "Is every one ready?" We got into the motor car again, and sped onwards along the smooth white road. Every turn made a picture which I suppose an artist would love to paint. There were red-roofed cottages smothered in orchards of plum blossom, and simple palings set across gaps in the hedges, with gardens beyond filled with spring flowers. Now a labourer, gray-coated and bent with age, passed by like a flash, as he tramped slowly homewards from his work; and some school children, loitering to pick primroses under a hedge, dropped their slates and satchels in the ditch, and called to each other to take care, while they clung together and shouted "Hurrah!" as we passed. The park gates of Stanby are lion guarded and of stone, and then a long carriage-drive takes one up to the house. The park round the old gray pile was starred with primroses, and ghost-like little lambs were capering noiselessly in the fields. The scent of wallflowers was blown to us from a great brown ribbon of them round the walls of the lodgekeeper's house as we swung through the gates. The sheep in the park, bleating to their young, drew away from the palings where they had been rubbing their woolly sides, and made off to the farther corner of the field, and Mrs. Fielden's gray pony in the paddock tossed his heels in a vindictive fashion at us from a distance of fifty yards or more. And the motor car drew up with a jerk at the great doors of the house. Stanby is not quite so large now as it originally was, immense though the house undoubtedly is, and only some ruins on the north side show where the chapel used to stand. A mound within the ruin's walls marks the resting-place of Hylda--Hylda, whose history I wrote out at the request of Mrs. Fielden, and sent to her; but I don't suppose she has ever read it. The evening of our arrival at Stanby it pleased Mrs. Fielden to put on an old-fashioned dress of stiffest brocade, which she had found in some old chest in the house. She wore a high comb of pearls in her dark hair, and she looked a very regal and beautiful figure in the great dining-hall and drawing-rooms of her house. She did not play Bridge, as the others did, but sat on a carved high-backed chair near my sofa, and told me many of the old stories of the house, and asked me to write down some of them for her. "I sent you the story of Hylda more than a week ago," I said, "and I don't suppose you ever read it." "I did read it," said Mrs. Fielden gently, "and I liked it very much." She had put on an unapproachable mood with her beautiful stiff brocade gown, and the gentleness of her voice seemed to heighten rather than to lessen her royalty. The radiance and the holiday air, which are Mrs. Fielden's by divine right, were not dimmed to-night so much as transformed. There was a subtle aromatic scent of dried rose-leaves clinging to the old brocade dress, and about herself a sort of fragrance of old-world dignity and beauty. The pearl comb in her hair made her look taller than usual. A deerhound got up from his place by the fire and came and laid his head on her lap, and some footmen in old-fashioned bright blue liveries came in to arrange the card-tables and hand round coffee. Everything was stately and magnificent in the house. "And you pretend," I said, "that you do nothing; yet probably the whole ordering of this house devolves upon you." "I am quite a domestic person sometimes," said Mrs. Fielden. "It is rather bewildering," I said, "to find that you are everything in turn." And the next morning she wore a short blue skirt, with a silver belt round her waist, and spent the morning punting on the lake with Anthony Crawshay. "I hope I look after you all properly," she said at lunch-time, in a certain charming deprecating way she has of speaking sometimes. "There really are punts, and horses, and motor cars, and things, if you want them. Will you all order what you like?" Each man at the table then offered to take Mrs. Fielden for a ride, or a drive, or a row, and not one of them could be quite sure that she had refused to go with him. "I want to go for a turn in the garden and talk about books," she said to me as we left the dining-room. And then I found that I was sitting in her boudoir having coffee with her, and that every one else was excluded from the room--how it was done I have not the slightest idea--and that by-and-by we left it by the open French windows, and were strolling in the garden in the spring sunshine. The garden, with its high walls, is sheltered from every wind that blows, and there are wide garden-seats in it painted white, and every border was bright with early spring flowers. "I call this my Grove of Academe," said Mrs. Fielden. "Why?" "Because I think it has a nice classical sound; and it is here I come with my friends and discuss metaphysics." "It seems to me you have a great many friends," I said. "I was thinking," said Mrs. Fielden thoughtfully, "of adding another to their number." "I have a constitutional dislike to worshipping in crowded temples," I said. Mrs. Fielden became silent. It would be forging a sword against themselves did men allow women to know what a powerful weapon silence is. A soft answer turneth away wrath, but a woman's silence makes a man's heart cry out: "My dear, did I hurt you? Forgive me!" At the end of five minutes or so of silence Mrs. Fielden turned towards me and smiled, and the garden seemed to be filled with her. There was no room for anything else but herself and that bewildering smile she gave me. "How is the diary getting on?" she said. "The diary," I answered, "continues to record our godly, righteous, and sober life----" "Oh," said Mrs. Fielden quickly, "don't you think it is possible to be too good sometimes? That is really what I wanted to say to you--I brought you into the garden to ask you that." "It is an interesting suggestion," I remarked, "and I think we ought to give it to Eliza Jamieson for one of her discussions." "I do not wish to discuss it with Eliza Jamieson," said Mrs. Fielden, "but with you. You know there really is a great danger in becoming too good; for although I do not think that you would grow wings, or hear passing bells, or anything of that sort, still you might become a little dull, might you not?" "I don't think it would be possible to become duller than I am," I replied. "You have more than once told me that I am not amusing. So long as my sister is not aware of the fact, I do not in the least mind admitting that I find every day most horribly tedious. I suppose I shall get accustomed to it in time, but I don't enjoy being an invalid." "You have watched the Jamiesons making flannel petticoats for the poor," went on Mrs. Fielden, "and you have had the Curate to tea, and you have been to the Taylors' party, and if it does not kill you, I am sure you will become like people in those books which one gives as prizes to choir-boys." "One so often mistakes monotony for virtue," I said. "I believe I was beginning to think that there was almost a merit in getting accustomed to a sofa and a crutch." "Oh, but it is a sin!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielden. "It is a sin to get accustomed to anything that is disagreeable. But that is what comes of studying philosophy!" "I suppose reasoning is always bad," I said humbly. "Yes," said Mrs. Fielden; "and it is so unnatural, too." "I heard a man say the other day," I said, "that solitude is always sententious. And he pointed out that foreigners, who are never alone, base their ethics upon conduct; but that English people, who simply do not understand the life of the boulevards and cafés and family affection, sit apart in the solitude of their garrets or studies, and decide that the right or the wrong of a thing consists in what they think about it." Then I recollected that this garden was the Grove of Academe, and that it was here that Mrs. Fielden discussed metaphysics with all her friends. "What cure do you propose?" I said shortly. "Why not go to London for a little while and enjoy yourselves?" said Mrs. Fielden. "Put off the conventionalities of Stowel, as the Miss Traceys do, and do something amusing and gay." "Did you ever hear of the man in the Bastille," I said, "who had been in prison so long that when he was offered his freedom he elected to remain where he was?" "But you must break out of the Bastille long before it comes to that!" said Mrs. Fielden. "Couldn't you do something exciting? I am sure nothing else will restore your moral tone." "How is it to be done?" I asked. "We must recognize the limitations of our environment." "You are going to be philosophical," said Mrs. Fielden; "you are going to quote Protagoras, or Pythagoras, or Plato, which will not convince me in the least. Philosophy tries to make people believe that things are exactly the reverse of what they are. I don't think that alters the sum total of things very much. Because, by the time that you have proved that all agreeable things are disagreeable, and all unpleasant things are pleasant, you are in exactly the same position as you were before. I dare say it fills up people's time to turn everything upside down and stand everything on its head, but it is not amusing." "What do you want me to do?" I asked. "Couldn't you enjoy yourselves a little?" said Mrs. Fielden, putting on her wistful voice. "As we are in the Grove of Academe, let me point out that the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake was one of the corrupt forms of a decadent epicureanism," I said sternly. "I am quite sure it was," said Mrs. Fielden, smiling; "but we were talking about your visit to London, were we not?" And so I knew that the thing was settled, and I thought it very odd that Palestrina and I had not thought of the plan before. "As it is getting cold," said Mrs. Fielden, "I am going to be a peripatetic philosopher," and she rose from the seat where we were sitting and gave me her hand to help me up, for I am still awkward with my crutch, and then let me lean on her arm as we walked up and down the broad gravel pathway. "Don't you think," she began, "that it is a great waste of opportunity not to be wild and wicked sometimes, when one is very good?" "I am afraid I do not quite follow you." "What I mean is, what is the good of filling up years of curates and Taylors and flannel petticoats, unless you are going to kick them all over some day, and have a good time. You see, if you and Palestrina were not so good you would always have to pretend to be tremendously circumspect. But it seems such waste of goodness not to be bad sometimes." "Your argument being," I said, "that an honest man may sometimes steal a horse?" "Yes, that is what I mean," said Mrs. Fielden delightedly. "A dangerous doctrine, and one----" "Not Plato, please," said Mrs. Fielden. ... It ended in our taking a flat in London for some weeks. It was a small dwelling, with an over-dressed little drawing-room, and a red dining-room, and a roomy cupboard for a smoking-room. "Remember, Palestrina," I said to my sister when we settled down, "that we are under strict orders to live a very rapid and go-ahead life while we are in London. Can you suggest anything very rowdy that a crippled man with a crutch and a tendency to chills and malaria might undertake?" "We might give a supper-party," said Palestrina brilliantly, "and have long-stemmed champagne-glasses, and perhaps cook something in a chafing-dish. I was reading a novel the other day in which the bad characters did this. I made a note of it at the time, meaning to ask you why it should be fast to cook things in a chafing-dish or to have long-stemmed champagne-glasses?" When the evening came Mrs. Fielden dined with us, and she and Palestrina employed themselves after dinner in rehearsing how they should behave. My sister said in her low, gurgling voice: "I think I shall sit on the sofa with my arms spread out on the cushions on either side of me, and I shall thump them sometimes, as the adventuress in a play does." "Or you might be singing at the piano," said Mrs. Fielden, "and then when the door opens you could toss the music aside and sail across the room, and give your left hand to whoever comes in first, and say, 'What a bore! you have come!' or something rude of that sort." Mrs. Fielden's spirit of fun inspired my quiet sister to-night, and the two women, began masquerading in a way that was sufficiently amusing to a sick man lying on a sofa. "Or you might continue playing the piano," Mrs. Fielden went on, "after any one has been announced. I notice that that is very often done, especially in books written by the hero himself in the first person. 'She did not leave the piano as I entered, but continued playing softly, her white hands gliding dreamily over the keys.'" "I shall do my best," Palestrina answered; "and I thought of calling all our guests by their Christian names, if only I could recollect what they are." "Nicknames would be better," said Mrs. Fielden. "We ought to have found out, I think, something about this matter before the night of the party." "What shall we do till they arrive?" said Palestrina. "We must read newspapers and periodicals," Mrs. Fielden replied, "and then fling them down on the carpet. There is something about seeing newspapers on a carpet which is certainly untidy, but has a distinctly Bacchanalian touch about it." "I wish I had a red tea-gown," sighed my sister. "Or a white one trimmed with some costly furs," said Mrs. Fielden. "Almost any tea-gown would do." "One thing I will have!" she exclaimed, starting in an energetic manner to her feet. "I'll turn all the lamps low, and cover them with pink-paper shades. Where is the crinkly paper and some ribbon?" After that we sat in a rose twilight so dim that we couldn't even read the evening newspaper. "I don't think they need have come quite so early," I said, as the first ring was heard at the door-bell. Mrs. Fielden had insisted upon it that one actress at least should be asked. "What is a supper-party without an actress?" she had said. And Mrs. Travers at present acting in Mr. Pinero's new play, was the first to arrive. "I wonder if you know any of our friends who are coming to-night?" said Palestrina. "We expect Squash Bosanquet and Dickie Fenwick." Palestrina then broke down, because we had no idea if these two men had ever answered to these names in their lives. Also she blushed, which spoilt it all, and Mrs. Fielden began to smile. Mrs. Travers came to the party in a very simple black evening gown, and Bosanquet and Charles Fenwick came almost immediately afterwards. Anthony Crawshay was amongst the friends whom we had invited, because, Palestrina said, as we did not seem to know many fast people, we had better have some one who was sporting. There was an artist whom we considered Bohemian because he wore his hair long, but he disappointed us by coming in goloshes. Altogether we were eight at supper. There was an attractive menu, and the long-stemmed champagne-glasses were felt to be a distinct challenge to quiet behaviour. Palestrina thought that if she were going to be really fast she had better talk about divorce, and I heard her ask Anthony in a diffident whisper if he had read any divorce cases lately. Anthony looked startled, and in his loud voice exclaimed, "Egad! I hope _you_ haven't!" Palestrina coloured with confusion, and I frowned heavily at her, which made it worse. Mrs. Travers seemed to have taken it into her head that Palestrina was philanthropic, and she talked a great deal about factory girls, and Bosanquet talked about methylated ether. What it was that provoked his remarks on this subject I cannot now recall, nor why he discussed it without intermission almost throughout the entire evening, but I have a distinct recollection of hearing him dinning out the phrase "methylated ether." It was, I think, the dullest party that even Palestrina and I have ever given, and I blame Mrs. Fielden for this. Mrs. Fielden refused to be the centre of the room. She became an onlooker at the party which she had planned, and she smiled affectionately at us both, and watched, I think, to see how the party would go off. The long-stemmed champagne-glasses were hardly used. Several people said to me jocosely, "How is South Africa?" and to this I could think of no more suitable reply than, "It's all right." We longed for even the Pirate Boy to make a little disturbance. Palestrina whispered to me that she thought I might throw a piece of bread at some one, or do something. But the action she suggested seemed to me to be in too daring contrast to the general tone of the evening; and really, as I murmured back to her, there seemed to be very little point in throwing my bread at a guest who had done me no harm. "I wish," she said to me when we returned to the drawing-room, "that I knew some daring little French songs. In books the girl always sings daring little French songs, and afterwards every one begins to be vulgar and delightful, like those people in 'The Christian.' I think I'll light a cigarette." She did so, and choked a little, and then wondered if Thomas would like her to smoke, and threw the cigarette into the fire. The Bohemian, who had travelled considerably, asked for a map, and told us of his last year's journeyings, tracing out the route of them for us on the map with a pin. And Mrs. Fielden was smiling all the time. "I suppose," I said to my sister when the last guest had departed, and we sat together in the pink light of the drawing-room before going to bed--"I suppose we carry about with us an atmosphere of slowness which it is impossible to penetrate. You are engaged to Thomas, and I am an invalid----" "But in books," said Palestrina wistfully, "men talk about all sorts of things to girls whether they happen to be engaged or not, and they ask them to go to see galleries with them next day, or squeeze their hands. Of course, I should hate it if they did so, but still one rather expected it. To-night," she said regretfully, "no one talked to me of anything but Thomas." "Charles Fenwick," I said, "who used to be considered amusing, has become simply idiotic since he married. He gave me an exact account of his little boy's sayings; he copied the way he asked for sugar, like the chirruping of a bird. You won't believe me, I know, but he put out his lips and chirped." "I remember being positively warned against him," said Palestrina, "when I used to go to dances in London." She sighed, and added, "Do you think Mrs. Fielden enjoyed it?" "I think Mrs. Fielden was distinctly amused," I replied. "Do you think," said Palestrina, still in a disappointed tone, "that the men would have been more--more larky if we had been alone? Mrs. Fielden always looks so beautiful and dresses so well that I think she impresses people too much, and they are all trying to talk to her instead of making a row." "I think we may as well go to bed," I said. Palestrina rose slowly, and went towards the bell to ring for my man to help me. She lingered for a moment by my chair. "Yet books say that men require so much keeping in order," she said sadly. "I wish people would not write about what does not occur." CHAPTER X. The Jamiesons have taken lodgings in West Kensington, which they describe as being "most central"--a phrase which I have begun to think means inexpensive--and near a line of omnibuses. George and the Pirate are assiduous in taking their sisters to the Play and other places of amusement, and are showing them something of London with a zeal which speaks much for their goodness of heart. Even Mrs. Jamieson has been out once or twice, and although doubly tearful on the morning following any little bit of dissipation, her family feel that the variety has been good for her. Eliza has found that London is radio-active, hence enjoyable. And Eliza had been only once to the Royal Institution when she said it! Maud's engagement to the Hampstead young man has been finally broken off, and Maud has cried so much that her family have forgiven her. Maud explains that it is such an upset for a girl to break off an engagement, and The Family say soothingly that she must just try and get over it. "We hope," said Kate, "that next time things will arrange themselves more happily, and at least we can all feel that Maud might have married many times, had she wished to do so." There seems to be a strong feeling in The Family that Maud will go on having opportunities. Arguing from the general to the particular, they have proved, with a sort of tribal feeling of satisfaction, that Maud is undoubtedly very attractive to men, and that if one man likes her, why should not another? Still, we all felt that we could not have sympathized immediately with another love affair of Maud's, and it was refreshing, not to say most pleasing and surprising, to find that since her arrival in Town, it was Margaret who attracted the notice of a gentleman, Mr. Swinnerton by name, a friend of George's, who brought him to supper one Sunday evening. The Jamiesons could see at a glance that Mr. Swinnerton was "struck," and, as he called two or three times in the following week, Margaret made the usual Jamieson opportunity of seeing Palestrina home, one afternoon when she had been to call, to embark in confidences about her lover in the usual Jamieson style. Margaret was diffident, bashful, shy, uncertain about Mr. Swinnerton's feelings for her, and hopelessly nervous lest her family should have had their expectations raised only to be disappointed. She implored Palestrina over and over again to say nothing about it to them, though it has been more than obvious to us all along how full of expectation every member of The Family is. It was a very wet evening as Margaret and my sister left the Jamiesons' lodgings, but she hardly seemed conscious of the inclemency of the weather, and begged Palestrina not to think of taking a cab, as she particularly wished to speak to her. "At first," she began, "I thought it must be Maud, although she has but just broken off her engagement to Mr. Evans; still, one knows she is the pretty one, and if any one calls often, it is generally her." It was a little difficult to follow Margaret's rapid, ungrammatical speech, but Palestrina and I both knew that to the vigorous minds of the Jamiesons there must be a direct purpose in every action, and that therefore if Mr. Swinnerton came to call he must have a purpose, presumably a matrimonial purpose, for paying his visits. After two or three afternoon calls from a gentleman the Jamiesons generally ask each other ingenuously, "Which of us is it?" It hardly seems to them respectable that a man should continue to pay them visits unless he means to show a preference for one of them. Presuming that it was not Maud he came to see, Margaret, with modest hesitation and many blushes, asked Palestrina if she did not think it possible that these visits might be intended for her. "Please do not say anything about it to the others. I always have hoped that if ever I had a love affair it would be when I was away from home. Do you know at all what they think about it?" She did not pause for a reply, but began again: "You see he has called three times in one week, but" (hopelessly) "I am always surrounded by The Family, and he couldn't say anything if he wanted to. Of course I don't think it has come to anything of that sort yet; still, you know, we could get to know each other better if there were not so many of us always about. Maud doesn't mind a bit; she has had love affairs in front of us all, and she does not mind talking about them in the least, or even asking us to let her have the drawing-room to herself on certain afternoons. But I don't feel as if I could bear to have this discussed before anything is settled. And then we have so few opportunities. Maud generally takes them to a distant church, and then they have the walk home together. But I never quite know whether she makes the suggestion about church, or if she merely thinks it would be nice, and leaves the man to make it." "Maud," I remarked parenthetically to Palestrina, "has raised love-making to a science--an exact science." "I hope you don't think for a moment," Margaret had gone on, "that I am abusing Maud; you know how fond we all are of each other." Maud's experiences on matters matrimonial are always quoted as precedent in the Jamieson family, and she is cited whenever anything of the sort is afoot. Each phase in her experience is frankly discussed, and conclusions are drawn from it; and I have heard the Jamiesons say, "Mr. So-and-so must be in love with Miss So-and-so; he looks at her in exactly the same way that Mr. Reddy used to look at Maud." Maud herself, unconsciously as I believe, makes a sort of calendar of her love affairs, and it is quite usual for her to date an event by referring to it as having happened "in the Albert Gore days," or "when Mr. Evans was hovering." Margaret's voice had not ceased from the moment they left the lodgings together. "It is, however, no use trying to copy other people in your love affairs," she said, "because it seems to come to every one so differently, and then of course different people must call forth different feelings. I don't think I could have felt for Mr. Reddy, for instance, quite as I do now, even if he had been in love with me. You feel so bewildered somehow." The walk had by this time become very rapid, and Margaret, in her short-sighted way, knocked against all the foot-passengers whom she met travelling in the opposite direction. Her umbrella showered raindrops upon Palestrina, and she became so incoherent that my sister suggested taking a cab to our flat, and talking things over quietly when they should get there. It was about eleven o'clock that night when Margaret Jamieson took leave of us, and by that time I fancy the bridesmaids' dresses had been arranged. A few days later Palestrina received a note by the hand of a messenger-boy; it bore the word "Immediate" on the cover, and had evidently been addressed in some haste. "DEAR PALESTRINA (it ran), "Can you possibly come to make a fourth at a concert this afternoon? Do come, even if it should be rather inconvenient to you. I want you so much. Mr. Swinnerton has asked mamma and me, and he has taken tickets. They are not reserved places, so we could easily arrange to meet at the door and sit together. Three is such an awkward number. I fear mamma does not care for him, and that is a great grief to me. I will tell you everything this afternoon. "Yours affectionately, "MARGARET JAMIESON. "_P.S._--It is all going to come right, I believe, but I have had immense difficulties. Hardly ten minutes alone with him--you know we have only one sitting-room.--but the family have been sweet." "Hugo," said Palestrina, "this is an occasion when you could give very substantial aid to a deserving family." "I am sorry I am engaged this afternoon," I said, with an instinct of self-preservation, without, however, having any definite idea of what Palestrina might say next. "It is I who am engaged this afternoon," said my sister smiling, "and you are perfectly aware of that fact. Thomas is taking me down to Richmond to introduce me to his aunt. Besides, Hugo, you know you like music." "I am very sorry, Palestrina," I said, "but it is quite impossible." "Margaret is the Jamieson you like best," said Palestrina, "and I hate to think of your being here alone a whole afternoon. What were you thinking of doing?" I had been thinking of going to this concert, and Palestrina guessed it, of course.... I was at the door of the concert hall at two-thirty in the afternoon, and found Mrs. Jamieson and Margaret and the young man already on the pavement, looking as if they had stood there for a considerable time. Mr. Swinnerton is a large, rather stupid-looking man, with a red face, a crooked nose, and curly hair. He wore a dark blue overcoat, so thick and strong that it reminded one of some encasement of plaster of Paris, or of some heavy coat of mail. His hands were covered in yellow dogskin gloves, equally unyielding, so that Mr. Swinnerton appeared deprived of any agility of movement by his garments. Mr. Swinnerton is in the volunteers, and has "Captain Swinnerton" printed on his cards. He gave me the idea of seeming to think that every action of his was some epoch-making event, and during the afternoon he frequently referred to having seen a picture then on view at one of the galleries, as though this were rather an up-to-date, not to say remarkable, proceeding. Margaret seemed a good deal impressed by his manner, and the Jamiesons had decided that he was "smart," which was a further and quite unnecessary addition to Mr. Swinnerton's vanity, and very bad for a gentleman of his complacent character. He ushered us into the Queen's Hall in an important sort of way, which gave one the impression that the place belonged to him; and the fact that I was making a third in a party under his guidance convinced me that I was in some sort adding to his self-satisfaction. Mr. Swinnerton had chosen shilling places, because, as he informed us a great number of times, these were in the best position for hearing the music. Mrs. Jamieson was disappointed. In her class of life a treat is given on a more magnificent scale. "Shall I sit next you, Mrs. Jamieson?" I said, for I believed that this was what I was intended to say; but Mr. Swinnerton remarked to Margaret, "I'll go next; I like to divide myself amongst the ladies." Mrs. Jamieson looked uncomfortable in the small amount of space a shilling had procured for her, and she suggested apologetically that she would like a programme; but the music was beginning, and Mr. Swinnerton put up his large, stiff-gloved hand like a slab, and said, "Hush!" We went faithfully through the orthodox Queen's Hall concert from the very first note to the "Ride of the Valkyries," and after every item on the programme our host turned to us, moving his whole body in his stout coat, and said, "Isn't that nice now?--very nice I call it!" still with an air of ownership. Mrs. Jamieson slept a little; but the hardness of her seat made it an uneasy resting-place, and it is to be feared that her mantle with the storm-collar was too hot; but, she whispered to me in a burst of confidence, she was unable to remove it owing to the fact that the bodice and skirt of her dress did not correspond. "I always like these places," said Mr. Swinnerton again; "they are exactly in the centre of the hall, and another thing is, they are near the door in case of fire." Margaret assented sweetly. I always thought until to-day that Margaret Jamieson was a plain woman; to-day I find she is good-looking. "It is ridiculous," said Mr. Swinnerton, "to see the way people throw their money away on really inferior seats, just because they think they are fashionable." Mrs. Jamieson stirred a little on her uneasy bench, and Mr. Swinnerton said in self-defence, "Don't you agree with me, eh?" "I think," said Mrs. Jamieson politely, "that perhaps for a long concert the _fotoys_ would be more comfortable." "Ah!" cried Mr. Swinnerton, "you want to be fashionable, I see; but there are many of the best people who come to these seats. I know of a Member of Parliament--I don't know him, I know of him" (we felt that some connection with the Member had been established)--"who comes regularly to these very places, and who declares they are the best in the house." "Perhaps," said Mrs. Jamieson simply, "he had never tried the _fotoys_." After the concert was over, Mr. Swinnerton suggested that Margaret and her mother should go and have tea at a bun-shop, qualifying the suggestion with the remark, "I know you ladies can never get on without afternoon tea." When with Mr. Swinnerton ladies are never allowed to forget that he is a gentleman and they are ladies, and that a certain forbearance is therefore extended to them. He offered his arm to Mrs. Jamieson, who gathered up her skirt and umbrella in one hand, and accepted the proffered support in some embarrassment. Margaret fell behind with me, and whispered in a sort of excited way,-- "Hasn't it been lovely? Do tell me what you think--I mean about him." "I haven't had much chance of judging," I replied stupidly; "but he seems all right, although perhaps his ideas are not very large." "Still, you mean that one could always alter that," said Margaret quickly, with the true Jamieson optimism, as applied to the beneficial results of matrimony. There is hardly, I believe, a defect that they think they will not be able to eradicate in a future husband, save, perhaps, the conical shape of Mr. Ward's head. "But I really do not think there is anything that I would like altered," she added simply. "His name is Tudor," she went on. "George calls him that now, and Maud is beginning to do so--Maud is being so kind; she says it promotes a familiar tone which is very helpful, to call him 'Tudor'--but I can't call him anything but Mr. Swinnerton yet." After tea Mr. Swinnerton asked us how we had enjoyed our entertainment, and Margaret expressed herself in the highest terms in praise of it. There seemed to be a lingering tendency on Mrs. Jamieson's part to revert to the superior comfort of seven-and-sixpenny places and armchairs, but we checked this by saying with emphasis that it was a friendly afternoon of this kind that we really enjoyed. Mr. Swinnerton then put the Jamiesons into an omnibus, and directed the conductor to "let these ladies out at the top of Sloane Street," in a tone of voice that suggested that they were to be caged and padlocked until that place of exit was reached. He lifted his hat with a fine air to them, and then, as I had called a hansom, he put me into it rather elaborately, and cautioned the commissionaire at the door to "take care of this gentleman." He will probably call me a South African hero next; I wish he would keep his attentions to himself. CHAPTER XI. Last night we dined at the Darcey-Jacobs'. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is enjoying "one breath of life" at a hotel with the Major, and she has left quite a pathetic number of visiting-cards on all her friends, so that her short London season may be as full of gaiety as possible. Neither of us looked forward to the dinner-party being particularly lively, but we were a good deal amused at the turn the conversation took during dinner. I have often thought since that a certain dumbness which falls upon some entertainments can be dispersed if the subject of matrimony is started, and I will class with it a discussion on food, and personal experience at the hand of the dentist. Any of these three subjects can be thrown, as it were, into the stagnant deep waters of a voiceless party, and the surface will be instantly rippled with eager conversation. Talk flagged a little in the private sitting-room of the hotel where the Darcey-Jacobs gave their dinner-party. Major Jacobs, in his guileless way, gave us an exhaustive list of the friends whom they had invited for that evening, but who had not been able to come; and this had a curiously depressing effect upon us all, and within ourselves we speculated unhappily as to whether we had been asked to fill up vacant places. "Why are men always allowed to blunder?" said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, looking over her high nose at the gentleman next her, and tapping him on the arm with her lorgnettes. Major Jacobs, from his end of the table, looked penitent but mystified. "Happy is the woman," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, "who has no men about her." "I should like to have been born a widow," said a pretty girl with beseeching blue eyes and a soft, confiding expression, who sat a little lower down on my side of the table. And then the subject of matrimony was in full swing. "Marriage is just an experience," said a shrill-voiced American widow who sat opposite. "Every one should try it, but that is no reason why one should not be thankful when it is over." "I am much interested in what you say," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, with a certain profound air suitable to so great a subject. One felt the want of the Jamiesons sadly during the ensuing discussion, and I almost found myself, in the words of Mettie, making the suggestion that marriage was a great risk. "Some one once said," ventured Major Darcey-Jacobs, "that choosing a wife was like choosing a profession--it did not matter much what your choice was, so long as you stuck to it. It was a mere figure of speech, no doubt----" "I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs. "Marriage is the worst form of gambling," broke in an elderly gentleman; "it should be suppressed by law. Talk about lotteries! Talk about sweepstakes! Why, the worst you can do, if you put your money into them, is to draw a blank. Now, this is fair play, I consider; you either get a prize or you get nothing. But matrimony, sir, is a swindle compared with which the Missing Word Competition appears like a legal document beside a forged bank-note." If the old gentleman had a wife present she was evidently of a callous disposition, for I saw no wrathful expression on any face. Mr. Ellicomb--even in London Ellicomb and Anthony Crawshay are asked to meet us--gave it as his opinion that a woman's hand was wanted in the home. The voice was the voice of Ellicomb, the sentiment was the sentiment of Maud, and Palestrina and I very nearly exchanged glances. After this, several people began to describe at one and the same time, in quite a breathless way, their own personal experiences of the happiness of wedded life. "Of course," said Major Darcey-Jacobs, "a deal of forbearance must be exercised if married life is to be a success." And Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs said quickly, "I hope you do not intend to become personal, William." To which William replied that no such intention had been his. Anthony said in his cheery voice, "Of course it is give and take, don't you know, and then it is all right." Every one volunteered ideas on the subject--not once, but several times. And those who applauded the happy state shouted each other down by quoting examples of wedded bliss in such words as: "Look at Hawkins!" "Look at Jones!" "Look at the Menteiths!" Quite suddenly Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs leaned across the table, smiled at her husband, and remarked, "Look at us, William!" I do not think I have ever seen any one look so astonished as Major Jacobs. "That was very pretty of Maria," he said in a low voice; "very pretty of her, by Gad!" And we caught him looking at his wife several times that evening with a puzzled but delighted expression on his face. After dinner we played Bridge. "I disapprove of the game myself," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs, who certainly was the worst player I have ever met, "but Mrs. Fielden likes it, and she has promised to come in in the evening." Mrs. Fielden arrived at the same time as Colonel Jardine, and they played as partners together, with me and the American widow as opponents. Colonel Jardine wore some kind of lead ring on his finger, which he said cured gout, and gathered up his tricks in a stiff sort of way. He had a pet name for almost every card in the pack, and he babbled on without once ceasing throughout the rubber. "Now we'll see where old Mossy Face is. I think that draws the Curse of Scotland. Kinky takes that," and so on. It was perfectly maddening, but Mrs. Fielden seemed quite pleased. I don't suppose she ever feels irritated. The American widow, who was my partner, was only just learning the game. When I said to her, "May I play?" she always replied, if she had a bad hand, "No, certainly not." And when it was pointed out to her that she had either to say, "If you please," or "I double," she replied, "Don't ask me if you may play, if you mean to do it whether I like it or not." She always gave us such items of information as "I know what I should say if it was left to me this time," and she frequently doubled with nothing at all in her hand, because she said she liked to play a plucky game. I have tried to cure Mrs. Fielden of saying "dah-monds" when she means "diamonds," but it is quite useless. She also says (with a radiant smile) "How tarsome!" when she has lost a rubber, although I have pointed out to her that that is not the phonetic pronunciation of the word. When we are all wrangling over the mistakes and misdeeds of the last round, Mrs. Fielden looks hopelessly at us and says, "Is it any one's deal?" And then we laugh and stop arguing. She never keeps the score, or picks up the cards, or deals for herself, or does anything useful. The American widow did not stop talking most of the time, and the Colonel kept up his running commentary upon the cards he was playing, and then Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs joined us to look on, and she and the American widow plunged into a discussion on clothes, which they kept up vigorously all the time. This necessitated a number of questions relating to the game from the American widow, whenever she was recalled to the fact that she was playing Bridge: "May I see that laast trick? What's trumps? Does my hand go down on the table this time?" Mrs. Fielden beamed kindly upon her, even when the widow had debated five minutes which card to lead, and Colonel Jardine had begun to play the chromatic scale of impatience up and down the table with his stiff fingers. "Waal," said the American widow to Mrs. Fielden, "I think you are just lovely, and I would like to play with you always. I believe most people would like to kill me at Bridge. Caan't think why. Colonel Jardine, did you play the lost chord?" "I know the tune," said the Colonel; "but I don't play at all." The American turned bewildered eyes upon Mrs. Fielden, who said, smiling, "Colonel Jardine is practising the chromatic scale. I think he will be a very good player some day." "How was I to know," said the Colonel, spluttering over his whisky-and-soda when the American widow had left, "that she meant the last card? That woman would drive me crazy in six weeks." "I liked her," said Mrs. Fielden, "and she is very pretty." There is a certain large-heartedness about this pretty woman of fashion and of the world which constrains her to say something kind about every one. With her the absent are always right, and I do not think I have ever heard her say an unkind word about any one. At Stanby, when people who are staying there make a newly-departed guest run the gauntlet of criticism--not always of the kindest sort--Mrs. Fielden says, in that royal fashion of hers which makes her approval the final decision in all matters, "I liked him." And the departed guest's character and reputation are safe. Her charity is boundless and quite indiscriminate, save that she sends a trifle more rain and sunshine on the unjust than on the just. "Come to lunch with me some day," she said to me in the off-hand way in which she generally gives an invitation. "I am always at home at two o'clock. Why not come to-morrow? You are leaving town almost immediately, are you not?" Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is also asked to lunch; every one is asked to lunch. When one goes to the pretty widow's house in South Street one generally finds a dozen people lunching with her. ... She came into the room--late, of course--and found ten or twelve people waiting for lunch. "I am so sorry! Do you all know each other?" she asked of the rather constrained group of strangers making frigid conversation to each other in the flower-filled drawing-room. And then she began to introduce us to each other, and forgot half our names, and we went downstairs in a buzz of conversation and laughter, and filled with something that is odd and magnetic, which only comes when Mrs. Fielden arrives. As is always the way at her lunch-parties, her carriage drives up to the door before any one has finished coffee, and then we all say good-bye, complaining of the rush of London. "I want you to drive with me this afternoon," said Mrs. Fielden, when I with the others was saying good-bye. I think she generally singles somebody out for a drive or a long talk, or to take her to a picture-gallery after lunch, and it is done in a way that makes the one thus singled out feel foolishly elated and flattered. "I think we are going to drive down to Richmond and see some trees and grass, and behave in a rural sort of way this afternoon," she announced as she seated herself in the carriage. "And what about all your engagements for this afternoon?" I asked. "And the Red Book, and the visiting-list, and the shopping-list, and the visiting-cards, which I see with you?" "I never keep engagements," said Mrs. Fielden; "and every one knows my memory is so bad that they always forgive me. Some one gave me a little notebook the other day, with my initials in silver upon it--I can't remember who it was--and I put down in it all the tarsome things I ought to do, and then I lost the little pocket-book." "If I ever find it," I said, "I shall bring it to you, and read out all your tarsome engagements to you." "I didn't say 'tarsome,'" said Mrs. Fielden. "I suppose you are whirling through the London season," I said presently; "and going everywhere, and having your frocks chronicled in the magazines, and going to a great many parties?" "No," said Mrs. Fielden; "I have been down at Stanby." "I wish," I remarked, "that you did not always give one unexpected replies. Why have you been down at Stanby? You didn't say anything about it when I saw you last night." "Do you know old Miss Lydia Blind?" said Mrs. Fielden. "She is ill, and I got rather a pathetic letter from her, so I went down to Stanby to look after her." She fumbled for the pocket of her dress, raising first what seemed to be a layer of lace, and then a number of layers of chiffon, and then, after rustling amongst some silk to find her artfully-concealed pocket, she produced a letter and handed it to me. "Am I to read it?" I said; and Mrs. Fielden nodded. "... One so often hears," so the letter ran, "of a case of long illness in which the one who is strong, and who acts as nurse to the invalid, breaks down before the end comes. To me it has always seemed to show that the strong one's courage has failed somehow, and that, had zeal been stronger or faith greater, she might have endured to the end...." And, again, in a postscript: "When I was younger I was very impatient, and I think I could not well have borne it had I known that life was to be a waiting time. I do not say this in any discontented spirit, dear, and I only write to you because you always understand...." And then the letter broke off suddenly, and I handed it back to Mrs. Fielden. "So this is you, as Miss Lydia knows you," I said. "I want you to go and see her when you go back to Stowel. Will you?" said Mrs. Fielden. "Miss Lydia is an angel, I think; the best woman really that ever lived. Will you take her some things I am sending her, and ask how she is when you go back?" We drove under the trees of Richmond Park in Mrs. Fielden's big, luxurious carriage. She generally drives in a Victoria, and I asked her why she had the landau out this afternoon. "A whim," said Mrs. Fielden. "I am full of whims." But of course a landau is the only carriage in which a lame man, who has to sit with his foot up, can put it comfortably on the opposite seat. We drove onwards, and she stopped the carriage to look at the view from Richmond Hill, and the soft air blew up to us in a manner very cool and refreshing; and then we got out and walked about for a time, and Mrs. Fielden gave me her arm. "I don't really require an arm," I said, "but I like taking yours." "It is a very strong arm," said Mrs. Fielden; and she exclaimed quickly, "I believe I am getting fat! My maid tells me all my dresses want altering. I wish it was time to think about beginning to hunt again." "Do you know," I said, "I always thought, till I got back to England, that my leg had been taken off below the knee, and that I should be able to get astride of a horse again. I never used to see it, of course, when they dressed it; and when I counted up the things I should be able to do, riding was always one of them. I didn't sell my horses till just the other day." Mrs. Fielden did not sympathize, but one of her silences fell between us. We did not speak again till she began to tell me an amusing story which made us both laugh; but when she was sitting in the carriage, and the footman was helping me in, and we were still laughing, I could have sworn that her eyes looked larger and softer than I have ever seen them. CHAPTER XII. It is always rather melancholy arriving at home alone, and I miss Palestrina very much at these times, and I feel ill-disposed towards Thomas. Down-Jock pretended not to know me, and barked furiously when I drove up to the door, and then ran away on three legs, making believe, as he sometimes does when he wants to appeal to one's pity, that he is old and lame. It was still early in the afternoon, and the sunshine was blazing over everything when I hobbled down the hill to inquire for Miss Lydia. The houses in Stowel are all roofed with red tiles, and each garden has flowering shrubs in it or beds full of bright-coloured flowers, so that the little place has a very warm and happy look on a sunny summer day. A great heavy horse-chestnut tree hung over the walls of the doctor's house, and scattered fragments of pink blossom when the soft air stirred gently. The wistaria on the post-office was in full bloom. And the place was so full of pleasant sounds this afternoon--of singing birds, and heavy-rolling wagons moving up the broad street, and the laughter of children, and the soft rush of the summer wind through the trees--that one felt that a day like this gave one a very strong leaning in favour of the happy view that life is, after all, a good thing. One had, of course, to stop and speak to several old friends, who said they were thankful to see me back, as though a visit to London was an expedition fraught with many dangers. When I reached the little cottage with the green gate, and the maid opened the door to me, she told me that Lydia Blind had died an hour ago. The staircase of the little house is directly opposite the front door. I could not but believe that if I waited a little while Miss Lydia would descend the stairs, as she always did, with a smile which never failed to welcome every one. Or, if she were not within doors, that I would only have to pass out into the little garden at the back of the house to find her. I thought suddenly of the words of a boy I used to know at school, who, when a young playfellow died, said between his sobs, "It was so hard upon him dying before he had had a good time." Certainly ever since we knew her Lydia's life had been one long sacrifice to a witless invalid, and I couldn't help feeling that perhaps no one would ever know the extent of her patient service. Probably there never lived a more unselfish woman, and I cannot think why she never married. She was a person who lacked worldly wisdom, and in worldly matters she was not prosperous--she never sowed that sort of grain. It was very touching to find that she had not even a few trinkets to leave behind, but that one by one each had been sold to pay for something for the invalid--a doctor's fee, or a chemist's heavy bill. She left the world as unobtrusively as she lived in it. Her last illness was very sudden and brief, and probably she would have been thankful that the little household was spared any extra expense. The news of Lydia's death was unexpected by every one. When I turned and left the house and was walking home again, I met Mrs. Taylor going to inquire about her neighbour's health, with an offering of fruit in a little basket. She begged me, in the Stowel fashion, to turn and walk back with her, declaring that she felt so seriously upset by the news that if I would only see her as far as her gate I should be doing her a kindness. In the garden the General, who had run down to Stowel for a couple of days, was reclining in a deck-chair, Indian fashion. He was reading some cookery recipes in a number of _Truth_, and he turned to his niece as she crossed the lawn and said, "Do you think your cook could manage this, Mary? Select a fine pineapple----" "Oh, uncle," said Mrs. Taylor with a good deal of feeling, "we have had such bad news! Our dear old friend in the village, Miss Lydia Blind, is dead." "What Lydia Blind?" said the General; and Mrs. Taylor replied,-- "You never knew her, dear. She wasn't able to come to the party; indeed, I think she has been ailing ever since about that time, but we had no idea that the end was so near." "It can't be the Lydia Blind I used to know?" said the General. "Oh no, you couldn't have known her," said Mrs. Taylor with a sob; "she was just a dear old maiden lady living in the village on very small means." "She hadn't a sister called Belinda, had she?" said the General. Mrs. Taylor said she had, and I remembered suddenly how I had seen Lydia Blind standing one morning in front of the General's picture in the photographer's shop, and had heard her say, "I used to know him." Mrs. Taylor went indoors, and I said good-bye, but the General said to me abruptly, "I should like to see her; will you take me there?" And he did not speak again until we found ourselves in the little porch of the cottage. He looked very tall standing by the low door of the house, and an odd idea came to me that Miss Lydia would have been proud of her afternoon caller. "Let me go alone," he said gruffly, when he had asked permission to go to her room; and I waited in Lydia's morning-room, with its twine cases and unframed sketches, and the photographs of babies. "I cannot see the sister," said the General irritably, when he had rejoined me in the darkened room. "Is she still dumb, poor thing? If ever there was a case," he went on, "of one life--and, to my mind, the sweeter and the better life--being sacrificed to another, it is in the case of Lydia Blind." He sat down on the little green sofa, and looked about him with eyes that seemed to see nothing. "I never expected such a thing," he said; "I couldn't have expected a thing like this ... I didn't even know she lived here.... Do you remember her," he said, "when she was very pretty? No, no, of course you wouldn't.... It doesn't hurt you to walk a little, does it? I have lived nearly all my life out of doors, and when anything upsets me I cannot stand being within four walls...." We went out and crossed the field-path into the woods beyond. The paths of the wood are narrow and uneven, and at first we walked in single file, until we came to the broader road beyond the stream, and then we walked on side by side, the General suiting his pace to my slow, awkward gait. "... Did you ever know the Bazeleys at all? No, you wouldn't, of course: that would be before your time. They had a very pretty place in Lincolnshire--a charming place--with a veranda round the house, and wicker-chairs with coloured cushions on them--more like an Indian house than an English one.... Harold Bazeley was in love with Lydia too." (I believe the General was talking more to himself than to me.) "It was one night sitting in the veranda that I heard him begin to make love to her for all he was worth, and I had to cut it.... Poor chap! he came into the smoking-room that night, where I was sitting alone, and he sat down by the table and put his head in his hands. He may have been saying his prayers (for he was always a religious man ... he did a lot of good for the men under him in India), and I sat with him till it was time to go to bed. I don't know if it was any comfort to him, but I knew from his face that Lydia must have said no, and I thought perhaps he wouldn't like being alone.... Well, then of course one didn't like to rush in and ask one's best friend's girl to marry one so soon after his disappointment. One had very strict ideas about honour in those days; I hope one has not lost them.... It is very odd that I was never here before, until last spring. Nearly all my service has been abroad, and I generally used to spend my leave hunting or in London, and my niece used to come up and stay with me there.... I didn't care much for Taylor in those days, but he really isn't a bad sort of fellow." The sun began to sink behind the trees, and the General seemed to wake from the reverie in which he had been talking to me, and said: "You oughtn't to be out after sunset, if you have still got malaria about you," and we began to walk slowly homewards. "It was just such an evening as this," he said, "when I bade her good-bye, meaning to come back in a little while and ask her to marry me. She was standing by the gate--fine old gates with stone pillars to them, and the sun shone full in her eyes.... I suppose that gentle, sweet look never left them, did it? They were closed, of course, when I saw them just now.... She was wearing a white dress that evening, I remember--a sort of muslin dress which I suppose would not be fashionable now, but which looked very pretty then. It had a lot of pink ribbons about it, and there was a great bunch of pink moss-roses in the ribbon of her belt.... Do you know I never picture her except as the girl who stood by the gate with the sun behind her, and the roses in her belt. I think I lost my head a little when it came to saying good-bye, and I began to say things which I had not meant to say--she looked so pretty with the red sunlight upon her, and her white muslin dress almost turned to pink in the glare.... I don't think she was surprised, only sweeter and gentler than before, and a curious, happy look was in her eyes. But I stopped in time, and stammered like a fool, thinking of poor Harold Bazeley, and then I said good-bye rather hurriedly. But I came back again to the gate where she was still standing, and asked if I might have one of the roses in her belt. And she gave me the whole bunch. "... It must have been after this that the father died and left them very poor, and then the sister (this one, Belinda) had a stroke of paralysis, and there was no one to look after her but Lydia.... I wrote and proposed to her before I went to India--asked her to come with me as my wife. But she said she could not marry while her sister lived. It isn't as though we could have remained in England, and she could have lived with us; but of course India would have been an impossibility for the poor thing. We never thought in those days that poor Belinda would live long. And then she made a sort of recovery, but was still quite helpless, and Lydia wrote and asked me to wait for her no longer.... I never heard that she had come to live at Stowel." The broad, wide village road was dim with twilight when we walked homewards along it--The Uncle and I. The children had all gone indoors, and the flowers in the little garden had lost their colour in the dim light. As we passed by the cottage the General halted on the quiet, deserted road and took off his hat, then he leaned over the little green paling and drew towards him a branch of a moss-rose tree that Miss Lydia had planted there. He plucked a bud from it and held it to his face. Then he said gently, "They are the same sort, but they do not smell so sweet." CHAPTER XIII. Mrs. Fielden came to Stowel for the funeral, and did not return to London again. She went to pay some visits, I believe, and afterwards she will go to Scotland to stay with the Melfords, as she always does in August. It was a very quiet summer. Anthony went to Ireland to fish, and Major Jacobs went with him instead of me: Anthony and I used to take the fishing together. Even Frances Taylor went north to stay with Mrs. Macdonald, and the Reading Society postponed its future meetings till the winter should come again. Undoubtedly Kate Jamieson's wedding was a stirring event in a very dull time. The festivities connected with it were carried out with the Jamiesons' usual energy and lavishness. It is possible to be lavish on five hundred a year. That is one of the pleasing things that kind-hearted people like the Jamiesons can prove. No one was omitted in the list of invitations to the reception which was held on the lawn in front of the house. And there the whole of the Jamiesons' wide circle of friends was gathered together, forming an assembly which surely only the censorious mind could find fault with. The refreshments, these good Jamiesons informed us, with their ingenuous interest in discussing detail, were prepared by Margaret, and Kate contributed to the payment of their ingredients from her small savings. The group of bride and bridesmaids, which was photographed at the front door, each wearing an expression of acute distress upon her face, was George's own idea, and was nobly paid for by him. It was announced at the wedding-feast--although it had been whispered for a long time--that there was soon to be another break in the Jamieson family. We all instantly prepared a smile of congratulation for Maud, and some disappointment was felt when it was discovered that the remark applied to Mrs. Jamieson's youngest son, Kennie. The Pirate had for some time been informing his friends that the Wild West was "calling to him," and that he had the "go fever," and that "once he had known the perfect freedom of life out there" it was impossible to settle down to the conventionalities of English society again. The Pirate had obtained a post as purser on one of the ships of the company to which he belonged, and he appeared at the wedding-breakfast in a suit of white ducks, a gold-laced cap, and the famous cummerbund. I have a strong suspicion that he had a revolver concealed in a mysterious pocket, from the way his hand, in moments of excitement, occasionally moved towards it; but fortunately the wedding-party was of so peaceful a description that it was not necessary to produce the weapon. Since the exciting news of Kennie's proposed departure for Buenos Ayres Mettie has developed nerves and hysteria. But so limited is the power of imagination or discrimination in the human mind, that I must honestly confess that I never once connected her indisposition and low spirits with the news of her cousin's departure. Mettie has added to a certain helplessness which always distinguishes her a tendency to tears, and to sitting alone in her bedroom and sniffing dolorously; the big thin nose requires constant attention, and there are red rims round poor Mettie's eyes. The Jamiesons, who trace every variation in life to a love affair, are not long of course in coming to the right and the sentimental--nay, from the Jamieson point of view, the only reasonable explanation of this change in their little cousin. But Mettie has entreated them to say nothing, and to let her suffer in silence, and they are too loyal to betray her interesting confidences. Kennie himself is, I believe, still unaware of the interest he is exciting in Mettie's gentle breast, but doubtless the little woman's extreme timidity and her clinging disposition appeal in no small measure to the Defender of the Sex. Mettie raises meek, adoring eyes to the Pirate's ruddy face, under the gold-laced cap, and murmurs with clasped hands: "You will never come back to us--I know it, I feel it! You will be murdered by some gang of cut-throats, and then what will I--I mean your mother, do?" The Pirate plumes himself and struts, and the dangers that his little cousin has so powerfully depicted for him make his young heart swell. The village church was quite full of spectators and friends; nearly all our acquaintances in the village wore new gowns--or apparently new gowns--for the wedding. Mrs. Lovekin, in a black-cloth mantle with bead-trimming, showed guests into their pews, and directed the children at the doorway into giving a ringing cheer as the bride drove up to the church. It was whispered by a wag that Mrs. Lovekin would like to don a surplice and officiate at the interesting ceremony herself. There was a party in white cotton gloves, who banged doors and shouted "Drive on!" and it was hard to realize that this was the Jamiesons' odd man and gardener, transformed for the occasion. He wore a large white ribbon rosette in his button-hole, and all the morning he had been busy erecting an archway over the gate at Belmont with Union Jacks displayed thereon, out of consideration, as he explained, to the late Captain Jamieson, he being military. The Miss Traceys were resplendent in brown dresses and profuse lace neckties, securely anchored to their chests by massive brooches; the dresses were afterwards mentioned in an account of the wedding in the local paper, and it was cut out and carefully kept by the Miss Traceys, who pasted the interesting news in a small album for news-cuttings which they bought for the purpose. At the Jamiesons' little house there was, I understand, a wild state of confusion and energy from a very early hour in the morning, and looking-glasses and hand-mirrors were in great demand. The centre of interest there, it seems, was Kate's bedroom, where the whole of The Family congregated to give Kate a last kiss before the veil was put on, and to wish her happiness again and again. George, who throughout the entire proceedings made a laudable attempt to appear calm, at last told his sister that it really was time to start, and the carriage rolled down the hill, and Kate Jamieson alighted from it, and walked up the aisle of the old church leaning upon her brother's arm. Eliza Jamieson was busy with a note-book the whole time, and almost one seemed to begin to see the wedding through her journalistic eyes. Our curate's wife, who is still far from strong, asked Palestrina to look after Peggy, who expressed a wish to see the wedding, and I was interested to find how many little games Peggy had invented for herself by way of getting through the tedium of a service--games which, I imagine, she had been preparing during the many services which a curate's little girl is supposed to attend. "If you press your eyes to the back of your head as far as you can," she whispered to me, "you can see green and red and blue spots, and then open them and you can see green and red and blue spots round father." And again: "I can say, 'We beseech Thee!' seven times over while the choir are singing it, if we have Jackson's _Te Deum_." And then: "Do you know what Georgie and I do, when we are sent to church alone? We hide in the pew until no one thinks we are there, and then we pop up in the middle of the service and begin to say the responses. When we sit with the Sunday-school children we play at 'My husband and your husband,' and then we each choose in turn which husband we'll have in the congregation. You see, the first man who comes in is to be the first child's husband, and the second the second child's, that's how we manage; last Sunday I got the baker's boy." Mr. Swinnerton was at the wedding, somewhat inclined to be consequential, as usual; but as he devoted his whole attention to Margaret, one could not but feel that his presence was acceptable. (We are on the tip-toe of expectation to know when Mr. Swinnerton will "come to the point.") Margaret Jamieson looked after the needs of the Higginses' relations, and attended to the wants of all the humbler of the guests. There was still another element of interest in the marriage-party in the person of Mr. Evans, who ran down from Hampstead for it. "If Mr. Evans comes," Maud said, with the characteristic fine common sense of the Jamiesons, "I want you all to understand that it is all quite over between him and me. But what I have always thought about Mr. Evans is this--that he is the sort of man who would like The Family, and I do not see why he should not take a fancy to one of the other members of it. I am quite sure his affection for me was based upon my suitability. He often told me, for instance, that he would like a wife who had been brought up to do things for herself, and could manage on a small income and dress cheaply, and I am sure we can all do that. And after all, if that is so, one of us is as suitable as another. He had very definite ideas about a wife; but I couldn't help feeling all the time that it was some one like ourselves that he had in his mind. He seemed to have a great dread of any one who was too smart; and I said to him at the time--for of course we both talked about our families a good deal, as one does in the first stages--that we were all very homely sort of people. I could always put myself in the background if he seemed, for instance, to take a fancy to Gracie. And Gracie herself has often said that she thinks she would like a man to wear a white watered-silk waistcoat." Gracie looked quite pleased with the arrangement, and Mr. Evans was asked down "as a friend." And I should here like to record--only of course it is going too far ahead--that before the summer was over, Mr. Evans, charmed with The Family, as Maud felt he would be, and convinced of their suitability, had chosen Gracie from amongst the remaining Miss Jamiesons who were still at the disposal of those who seek a wife. Gracie's energy charmed Mr. Evans. He often said afterwards that he believed he had got the pick of the basket after all. It was quite evident to me, and I believe to most of the Jamiesons' guests, that one of the mysteries, so dear to the hearts of Stowel, was in preparation for the wedding afternoon. Not even my sister and I had been initiated into the secret; but Mrs. Jamieson, it must be confessed, took away from the shock of surprise which might have been ours, by referring during the whole afternoon to the entertainment which was to take place later. The Jamiesons had decided that the lawn, newly mown, was to be suddenly cleared of trestle-tables and garden-chairs, and that a small band of musicians was to spring up unexpectedly out of the ground, as it were, and that every one was to know suddenly that they were in the midst of an impromptu dance. Now Mrs. Jamieson, nervously expectant, and half fearing from the detached manners of her daughters (so well did the Miss Jamiesons simulate their ignorance of what was before them) that they must indeed have forgotten about the dance, interrupted every conversation by creeping up to them in her melancholy, quiet way, and saying, "Shall I get them to clear away now?" "It's to be impromptu, mamma," entreated the Miss Jamiesons in agitated whispers. It had been decided between them that Gracie, as the youngest of the party, should exclaim suddenly, as if by some happy inspiration, "I vote we dance;" and that then in a perfectly easy and natural manner guests and entertainers alike should, with the utmost friendliness, help to push back the tables and chairs into the lilac bushes, and that then the musicians should be hastily summoned from the kitchen, where they were to have tea. Before that time arrived the unfortunate Mrs. Jamieson had, as one might say, almost skimmed the cream off the whole thing. Her nervousness would not allow her to rest, and in the end she had established the musicians in the three chairs so artlessly prepared for them under the chestnut-tree; and there they were with fiddle and concertina long before Gracie had found an opportunity for making her impromptu suggestion. Their sudden appearance, one could not but feel, detracted from the unprepared effect that had been intended, and they stood waiting to begin with quite a forlorn appearance until the Pirate, for whom the arrival of the hour means the arrival of the man (if the Pirate is anywhere about), called out in his loud tones, "Strike up, you fellows, and let us have a dance!" and the very next moment the white drill suit and the gold-laced cap of Kennie might have been seen in the middle of the lawn. He gallantly seized Mettie round the waist and scattered the guests by the onslaught and the fierce charge he made upon them, and soon had cleared a space in which he footed it gaily. The Higginses, who had been rather shy during the reception, hastened to find partners, and warmed to the occasion at once. Young Abel Higgins, the handsome young farmer from Dorming, said it was the pleasantest entertainment he had ever been at. "There is no cliquism about it," he remarked. "You just say to a girl, 'Will you dance?' and up she comes; it doesn't matter if she's a lord's daughter!" Mr. Swinnerton devoted much of his attention and his conversation to me during the afternoon. He discussed what he calls "military matters" at great length, pointing out the mistakes of every general in South Africa, at the same time clearly stating what Mr. Swinnerton would have done under similar circumstances, and lamenting the inefficiency of the War Office. Later in the afternoon, however, when he found me where, as I hoped, I had effectually concealed myself behind a laurel bush, Mr. Swinnerton plunged heavily into the question of marriage; and this, as Maud would say, was surely a very hopeful sign. I was disappointed, however, to find that his views regarding the happy state of matrimony seemed to have been made almost entirely from one point of view, and that point of view himself. "Don't you think," he began ponderously, as he seated himself beside me after the rather heavy fatigue of dancing on a lawn to the strains of a band that did not keep scrupulous time--"don't you think that a man ought to see a girl in her own home before he makes up his mind?" I dissented on the plea of over-cautiousness, but Mr. Swinnerton did not hear me. "What I think," he went on, "is that marriage is a serious undertaking for a man, and that one ought to be very sure of one's own mind." I admitted the seriousness of matrimony, but thought it applied equally to the woman. This remark also seemed to escape Mr. Swinnerton's attention. Indeed, I found that what is extremely irritating about this fellow is that his mind never diverges from his own topic; he seems quite incapable of excursions into the thoughts and feelings of the persons he addresses, but plods steadily on his own path, pleased to give his own views, and quite unaffected by the differences of opinion that are offered him. There is a legend of my childhood that records that a man once said, "It is bitt----" and then went to sleep for a thousand years, and when he woke up he said, "--erly cold." I am often reminded of this story when I listen to Mr. Swinnerton's plodding conversation. "What I feel is," he went on--and one knew that no fatigue on the part of the listener would be noticed by him--"what I feel is, that the man being the head of the woman he should always choose some one who is docile and good-tempered, and perhaps above all things a good cook. That's the very first thing I would teach a woman--to be a good cook. It's so important for a man to have his meals really nice and nicely served. Don't you agree with me?" "It is very important," I said. "I am so glad you agree with me." Mr. Swinnerton occasionally remarks on an agreeable clause in one's conversation, whereas a disagreement never even penetrates his mind. "Of course, you fellows with your mess and all that can scarcely realize how necessary it is that a man's wife should be a good cook. And then she ought to be thoroughly domesticated," went on Mr. Swinnerton's heavy voice; "a woman should not always be wanting to go out in the evening. What I feel is that the home should constitute the woman's happiness." "And cooking?" I said. "Yes, and cooking," said Mr. Swinnerton. "I do not want my wife to have any money; I had much rather she had to come to me for things. I am not greedy about money. I am comfortably off, but I think a man should have entire control of the purse. One could knock off any expenditure on a wife's dress, if that is the case. Ladies like a new bonnet, and I should always give my wife a new bonnet if things had been nice." I remarked that Mr. Swinnerton was very generous. "I know I am generous. Of course, a man gives up a great deal when he marries, but I do not know that in the matter of expense it would cost me more to keep a small house than to pay for lodgings." "It depends," I said, "what wages you give your wife. An occasional new bonnet would not be an extravagant salary, if she turned out to be a really good cook." For the first time Mr. Swinnerton seemed struck by the wisdom of my remarks. "No, it would not," he said; "it would not. I know that I would make a good husband," he remarked; "and I feel that I have a future before me in the volunteers." Margaret joined us at this moment, and Swinnerton smiled indulgently at her, without offering, however, to give her his seat. I do not think that Margaret noticed this, as she did not notice any omission on Mr. Swinnerton's part. "I hope you are not very tired," she said. "Your journey from London and then this little dance must be very fatiguing, I am afraid." "Men don't get tired," said Mr. Swinnerton grandiosely, and he looked towards me for applause. He did not, however, ask her to dance, and Margaret moved away to attend to other guests. "She's a very nice-looking girl," said Mr. Swinnerton approvingly, "and a well-brought-up girl, too." So I suppose it is still hopeful, as the Jamiesons would say. But I pray that Margaret Jamieson will remove Mr. Swinnerton hence when she has married him. Kate and Mr. Ward drove to the station in the best landau and pair of horses from Stowel Inn. Mr. Ward was so upset from first to last by the ceremonies and the heat that his conical-shaped head, covered with the dew of nervous perspiration, steamed like a kettle; but his affection for his bride and his evident delight and pride in her were undeniable, and although resenting in his mild way the stinging shower of rice with which he was pelted, and the usual facetious jokes that were made on the bride and bridegroom, Mr. Ward nevertheless beamed with good-nature all the time. Palestrina made me laugh when she came home in the evening. She had been down to the village to see the Pettifers and to show them her wedding finery, as she promised to do; for Mrs. Pettifer is ill in bed again, and was unable to stand at the church door with the rest of the crowd to see the wedding-party. My sister found the old lady weeping bitterly, and for a long time she could not guess the cause of her distress, until at last a remark of her husband's explained it. "She do take on like that tur'ble queer," he said, "as soon as ever the wedding-bells ring after a marriage is over." "Yes," said Mrs. Pettifer; "I always say to myself, 'She's got him, and he ain't disappointed her after all.'" Kennie sailed for Buenos Ayres the day after the wedding, and Mettie walked over to see us, being sent on some errand, I have no doubt, wherein she would be more usefully employed than in getting into the way of the staff of workers who were clearing up after yesterday's festivities. Mettie brought over Mrs. Ward's first telegram received that morning from Dover, and said it was too funny to think of Kate being Mrs. Ward. "Kate Ward," she said with one of her curious little chirruping laughs, "Kate Ward--do look at it!" And we dutifully replied that it certainly seemed the height of drollery. Palestrina is not perfectly just to me when Mettie comes to call. She always remembers something important which she has until this moment forgotten, and with apologies to Mettie she flies off to see to it, and I am left with our caller. And then the marriage question is in full swing before one can prevent it. Mettie says she would never, never allow a man to know that she cared for him, and that no nice girl would. Did I think that if a girl never gave any evidence of her love, and died, it would be a very pitiful end? And of course I said that the pathos of the thing would strike one directly. "After death," said Mettie, "she might still be his good angel. It is very strange," she said, "to think of becoming a being with wings. Do you know I often wonder what those wings can be like, and I cannot imagine them made of anything but white ostrich feathers, which I must say would look very pretty.... I am sure it is a brave thing to part and say nothing, but do you think that one might write?" It was only then, at that precise moment, that I in any way connected Mettie's remarks with the thought of the Pirate Boy, now a purser in the ---- Line. "My dear Mettie," I said, "I should certainly write to him--write often, write affectionately, send him your photograph, work him a housewife for his cabin, carve him a frame for your photograph. I am delighted----" "Oh! but nothing is settled yet," simpered Mettie. It has sometimes struck me since, although one generally denies the suggestion, that the first sentiment of love-making may emanate from the woman's mind. But probably the Pirate will never know that it was not his own idea that he should fall in love with Mettie. This evening I was looking over a lot of old letters, such as our fathers and mothers used to keep, put away in drawers with bits of ribbon tied round them in the days when there was more time for that sort of thing than there is now. And I came across the following letter, written in ink that has grown rather faded, and dated 1845. It describes a wedding, and I have saved it from a number of other letters which I have destroyed, to stick it into my diary as an appropriate sort of ending to my entries for to-day. The letter is a genuine one, and I have the original of it beside me now. "MY DEAREST AUNT, "You wished to hear all about our doings on Thursday. Though I dare say you have heard many editions of the affairs of that day, I take the earliest opportunity of relating to you, as I promised, my version of it, though how often was it wished that dear aunt and uncle had themselves been present to illuminate the picture. We all assembled at a quarter-past ten o'clock. The married ladies (and gentlemen, whether they were in that happy state or not) remained in the drawing-room till, at a given signal, the bride descended, followed by her bridesmaids--first Emily and myself, then Anne and Jane Schofield, then Anna and Eliza Schofield. The four first were in pink, the two last in blue. After talking over matters a little, we entered our respective carriages, mamma going in the first carriage, and papa and Mary bringing up the rear. We went through the ceremony very well. Mary responded in a perfectly clear and audible voice; but once the worthy bride-groom faltered, and as I stood next to him could perceive he was somewhat agitated. The ceremony of kissing being finished, we returned from church, when numerous and costly presents were exhibited to the eyes, and amongst them none more beautiful than my dear uncle and aunt's. But, by way of parenthesis, mamma wishes me to ask you, as Mary has two silver canisters, whether you would have any objection to change the kind and elegant expression of your feeling for Mary into a silver waiter. Knowing your kindness, we sent it by Uncle Kershaw. Now to proceed. We descended to breakfast--a most important business, which occupied us a considerable time--in the middle of which Uncle Ainsworth produced a bunch of grapes, and signified his intention of drinking Mary Schofield's health in the red juice of the grape. He immediately expressed the juice and suited the action to the word. Robert Arncliffe made a beautiful speech--quite a gem. We then proceeded to dress the bride in travelling attire. Then came the dreadful moment of parting. Mamma and papa got over it most wonderfully; suffice it to say our sisters' tears flowed most copiously on that day. After her departure, we took a drive to restore us to that harmony of spirits so desirable when persons are the entertainers of others. We drove through Hyde Park and Regent's Park in procession, and stopped to walk in the Zoological Gardens, coveting the society of the brute creation as well as the rational. We then returned to dinner, which was at seven, when, to our indescribable horror, on calling over the names of certain young ladies, we discovered their toilet was not complete when dinner was announced. After a small delay, however, the offenders appeared, and the business of dinner was commenced with astonishing vigour. There is no occasion to describe to you the manners and customs of a dinner-table, as a sameness must naturally pervade all such employments. We ladies at length signified our intention of leaving the gentlemen masters of the field, and Uncle Jesse came out with us and went to bed. We proceeded to enjoy a small quadrille, till I suppose the sound of feet called the other portion of the community from below. After tea and a little display of musical powers, we had another quadrille; but this did not occur till Emily was gone. We finally separated at half-past eleven. We have heard twice or three times from the newly-married people. They are in Bath to-day. Will you excuse, my dear aunt, this dreadful scrawl, but I have had so many notes to write, added to which I have sprained my right arm, which is now pleading to be spared any further exertions. Hoping that dear uncle and yourself, as well as dear Sarah, are well, and again begging to be excused this unconnected epistle, With united love to all, Believe me, "Your very affectionate niece, "MARGARET M. NAYLOR. "MECKLENBURGH SQUARE, _August_ 1845." CHAPTER XIV. My leg, "my best leg," as poor Beau Brummell used to say, has been hurting rather, for the last week or two. I do not know how Palestrina has discovered this, but the dear little woman is looking harassed and anxious, and she is trying to inveigle me into going up to London again, to get further advice from my doctor. She has broached the subject in several ways. There is a play going on at present which she would much like to see, if I will be kind enough to take her to London for a couple of days. Or there is some shopping which she wants to do, and she must have my advice on the subject. I believe that she does not like to allow, even to herself, that I ought to go expressly to see the surgeon, but she means to throw out the suggestion when we shall be in town together, and in this way she has decided, with her usual thoughtfulness, to spare me the anticipation of hearing that I am not going on as well as I ought to be doing. It is, however, much too hot to think of going up to London, so for the present none of Palestrina's deep-laid plans have been successful. It is broiling hot weather even down here in the country, but the mornings are cool and fresh, and, after tossing about half the night, I generally get up and go for a feeble sort of walk before breakfast. It is extraordinary how new and fresh the world feels in the early morning, while the dew is still on the grass, and the birds are singing without any fear that their concert will be stopped or disturbed by passers-by. On my way home this morning I passed the Jamiesons' little house, and was hailed to come in by the flutter of nearly a dozen dinner-napkins waved to me from the window of the breakfast-room. It is impossible to pass Belmont without being asked to come in, or to leave the hospitable little house without an invitation to stay longer. Monday--this was Monday--is what the Jamiesons call "one of our busiest mornings," and I think that our good friends talk almost more than usual on the days on which they are most engaged. As I entered the room, two of The Family had already finished breakfast, and were busy at a side-table, driving their sewing-machines. The whirring noise, added to the amount of talking that was going on, had rather a bewildering effect at first. There was, besides, the added confusion attendant upon what is known as "getting George off." The process seems to consist of shaking George into his City coat, brushing it, patting him on the back, telling him how nice he looks, hoping he will get down in the middle of the week, or at least not later than Friday afternoon, and giving him messages and remembrances to quite half a dozen friends in London. The Family chorus as I entered was something like this:-- "Cream or sugar, weak or strong?" "Mettie, did you get your letters?" "Eliza, which is your napkin-ring?" "Please say what you will have; I have asked you at least half a dozen times." "Do you mind the window open?" "Does any one hear the bus?" "Toast or rolls?" "Which is your napkin-ring?" "Did any one hear the rain last night?" "You haven't said yet if you will have an egg." "Mother is not well, and is not coming down this morning." "Does any one mind if we go on with our machines?" Over and above this, snatches of newspaper were read, and numerous directions were given to a very young servant as to how things should be placed upon the table--a proceeding which usually goes on at every one of the Jamiesons' meals. It is known as "training one of our village girls." Gracie and Eliza were the two who sat at the side-table before their whirring sewing-machines, their very spectacles nearly darting from their heads with energy and speed. George said, "I wish one of you girls would mend my glove before I start;" and Gracie said, "Give it to me; I can spare five minutes off lunch-time to get this finished." Margaret remarked, "Mamma seems very much out of spirits to-day, and I think one of us ought to go and play draughts with her." Eliza took out her watch. "I can play draughts for thirty-five minutes," she remarked--"from eleven-five to eleven-forty--and then Gracie must take my place, as Margaret will be baking, and I have the soup-kitchen accounts to make up." "I did not anticipate draughts this morning," said poor Gracie. "I must just get this done when I go to bed." This is the last refuge of the overdriven, and one which is so frequently alluded to by the Jamiesons that I often fear they deny themselves the proper amount of sleep. George here kissed each of his sisters in turn, and ran upstairs to say good-bye to his mother, while the omnibus waited at the gate. Maud, who was trimming hats for the whole family, and who was surrounded by a curious medley of ribbons and finery, said: "What about the Church Council work? I am afraid we have forgotten it." "That's my business," said Gracie tragically; "and I must give this up;" and she stopped her sewing-machine, and rolled the purple cotton pinafore into a tight ball and placed it on the table. "Dear Gracie," said Margaret, "could I not do it? I could get it in between the Kaffirs and my baking." "I would offer to do it," said Eliza, with that affectionate helpfulness which distinguishes The Family, "only I am so filled up with soup." Eliza referred to her soup-kitchen accounts. The small servant here appeared at the door, and said that an old woman wanted to see Miss Gracie. "My time! my time!" said Gracie, and went to the back door to give the last shilling of her quarter's dress allowance to the poor woman in distress. "The worst of playing draughts is," said Eliza, "that one can do nothing else at the same time, except it be to add up accounts in one's head. Otherwise I should have been only too glad. I tell you what I can do, though--I can play instead of Gracie this morning, if she won't mind my keeping the candle alight to do my Browning article after I have gone to bed." Mettie always offers to help every one, but so slow is the little woman's way of working that the energetic family of Jamieson are quite aware that probably the business will be weeks in doing; so their answers to Mettie's offers, given in a kindly voice, are always: "My dear, you have got your letters to write, and your practising--we could not do without your singing in the evening, you know." Mr. Evans, who was a guest in the house for a few days, was smoking his pipe in a leisurely way in the garden, and Gracie said: "I really do feel that I ought to give more attention to Mr. Evans, if only I had the time for it. Could one of you run into the garden and make a few pleasant remarks to him until I am ready?" And this Eliza did, first glancing at her watch in the characteristic Jamieson fashion, and coming in presently to say that she had sat "for ten solid minutes doing nothing, and that she does wish men had more resources of their own." It would have been useless to suggest that the work should stop for a whole summer day. A child came in with some flowers as an offering to the Miss Jamiesons, and Eliza said: "Would you mind putting them down somewhere, my dear? I will try to get a minute to arrange them by-and-by." And then the machines began again, and I walked on homewards, and enjoyed a long, hot morning in the garden with a book. The garden was very shady and pleasant, and one thought regretfully of the Jamiesons sitting indoors with their sewing-machines. Palestrina came out presently in a gray dress, very soft and cool-looking, and with a big sunshade over her head. She sat down beside me, and said in an off-hand way, and a determination to be congratulatory which was very suspicious: "I have got a pressing invitation for you." And she handed me a letter from Kate Ward. Mrs. Ward wrote upon the almost immaculate notepaper which is affected by brides, I have often noticed that this superfine quality of paper is one of the first extravagances of young married life, as it is one of the first economies of a later date, and a little judgment will soon show how long a woman has been married by merely looking at her notepaper. Cream-laid, with a gold address at the top, bespeaks the early days of matrimony; and a descent through white stamping, no stamping, Hieratica to Silurian note, marks the different stages of the rolling years. Kate said (on the best Court note) that she would never forgive us if we did not come and see her in her new home. James had been generous in the extreme, and they had bought everything "plain but good" for the house. And the whole expense of it had been covered by exactly the sum of money that they had laid by for the purpose. Kate continued, "But I will not bore you with a description of the house, for I want you to see it for yourselves," and then entered upon the usual Jamieson descriptive catalogue of every piece of furniture and every wallpaper which she had purchased. I handed the letter back to Palestrina, who was sitting in an exaggerated attitude of ease and indifference on the edge of my deck-chair, and said to her, "Why leave Paradise? London will be atrocious in this hot weather, and I believe it would be tempting Providence to quit this garden." "I am afraid it will give great disappointment to Kate if we do not go," said Palestrina, in a tone of voice which suggested that she had been prepared for opposition, and had rehearsed her own arguments beforehand. "After all, she lives in the suburbs, and has a garden of her own, and we need not stay more than two or three days." "We shall have to do so much admiring," I said, smothering a yawn. "I know what brides are! You, Palestrina, probably know exactly the right thing to say about newly-laid linoleum and furniture which is plain but good, but I never do." "I think I should like to go," said Palestrina, putting the matter upon personal grounds, as I knew she would do when she had entirely made up her mind that I must go up to London. What pressure she had brought to bear upon Mrs. Ward to induce her to invite us to the new house I cannot say, but some instinct told me that Kate had been warned to write a letter which might be handed to me to read. I pointed out to Palestrina that, much as I should miss her at home, I should not stand in the way of her paying a visit to her old friend. "I have accepted for us both from Thursday to Tuesday," said Palestrina firmly. "Oh, by-the-bye," she said, rising and going indoors, "I just sent a line to Dr. Fergus at the same time to say that you will look in and see him one morning, just to see that you are going on all right." "You also were up early?" I said to the diplomat, who smiled at me from under her big umbrella without a vestige of shame at her own cunning. "I don't think it is fair on a crippled man to get up early and send off letters by the early post. It's a mean trick." "You were up half the night," said Palestrina, nodding her head at me, "for I heard you." And she crossed the lawn and went indoors again. The following Thursday we took train for Clarkham. I had never stayed in this part of the world before, till we came to visit Kate, and the suburb where she lives seems to me to be rather a pleasant place, with broad roads over whose walls and palings shrubs and red maples and other trees hang invitingly. And it is so near London that a very short run in the train takes one to Victoria Station. But the neighbourhood is not fashionable, and I cannot help remarking the apologetic tone in which every one we meet speaks of living here. The Wards' house is a very nice little place, with very new wall-papers and very clean curtains and slippery floors, upon which art rugs slide dangerously. There is a small garden with a lawn and a brown hawthorn tree upon it, and there are two trim little maids who wait upon one excellently well. Kate is a thorough good manager, and her whole household reminds one of those pages on household management which one sees in magazines, describing the perfect equipment of a house--its management, and the rules to be observed by a young housekeeper. There is a place for everything, and Kate says her wedding-presents are a great assistance in giving a home-like look to the house. Mr. Ward leaves home at half-past nine every morning, and Kate shakes him into his coat in exactly the same way George used to be shaken into his, and stands at the hall-door with a bright smile on her face, until James has got into the morning bus and driven away, in a manner that is very wifely and commendable. The unpretentious little household seems to be a very happy one, and Kate was quite satisfied with the praise which Palestrina bestowed upon everything. "Of course," she said, "the great drawback is that the place is so unfashionable;" and we warmly protested against that being of the least consequence. But Kate said with her usual common sense: "It does matter, really. No one thinks anything of you if you live here, and nearly every one who has enough money always leaves directly. Still"--cheerfully--"one must expect some drawbacks, and I do think I have been very lucky. James is goodness itself, and quite a number of people have been to call." We found to our dismay that Kate, with the laudable intention of amusing us, had accepted several invitations to what are called "the last of the summer gaieties." There were tea-parties and garden-parties given by her friends, to which we were expected to go; and her very nearest neighbours, who are generally known as the "Next Doors," actually invited us to dine. "This afternoon," Kate said, "is the day of the Finlaysons' garden-party. They are frightfully rich people--ironmongers in the City; but you never saw such greenhouses and gardens as they have got! Do put on your best dress," she said to Palestrina, "and look nice; people here seem to dress so smartly for this sort of thing." I think, indeed, it was the very grandest party to which I have ever had an invitation. Every one seemed to sail about in a most stately fashion, in a gown of some rich stuff, and there was such an air of magnificence about the whole thing that one hardly dared to speak above a whisper. There was a marquee on the lawn, with most expensive refreshments inside, and a great many waiters handing about things on trays. Mrs. Finlayson spoke habitually--at least at parties--in an exalted tone of voice, which one wondered if she used when, for instance, she was adding up accounts or saying her prayers. It was difficult to imagine that the voice could have been intended for private use---it was such a very public, almost a platform voice, and the accent was most finished and aristocratic. The Miss Finlaysons, in exquisite blue dresses and very thin shoes, also sailed about and shook hands with their guests in a cold, proud way which was very effective. Young Finlayson was frankly supercilious and condescending; and there was a schoolboy in a tall hat, who was always alluded to as "our brother at Eton." The excellent old papa of the firm of Finlayson and Merritt was really the most human and the least alarming of the whole party. He seemed quite pleased when Palestrina, in her soft gurgling way, admired his greenhouses and peaches, and he led her back to where his lady ("wife" is too homely a term) was standing in a throne-room attitude on the lawn, and remarked genially, "This young lady has just been admiring our little place, Lavinia." "Indeed," said my sister, "it seems to me very charming, and----" "Hush, hush!" said Mrs. Finlayson playfully, but with an undercurrent of annoyance in her party voice. "I won't hear a word said in its praise--it is just a step to the West End." "What is the actual distance?" I began. It was old Finlayson who rescued me from my dilemma, and explained that until five years ago they had had a very tidy little 'ouse at 'ampstead, and that this present location, although so magnificent, was, in the eyes of his lady, really a stepping-stone to further grandeur and a more fashionable locality. The Next Doors were introduced to us at this party, and we were much struck by the fact that, although they seemed appropriately lodged in a place well suited to them, and in a society certainly not inferior to themselves, they, too, instantly began to apologize for living at Clarkham. "One feels so lost in a place like this," said Mrs. Next Door; "and although the boys are so happy with their tennis and things on Saturday afternoons, I cannot help feeling that it is a great drawback to the girls to live here." A band began to play under the trees, and Palestrina said to me, with one of her low laughs: "I wonder if I shall begin to sail about soon? Isn't it funny! They all do it, and now that the band has begun I feel that I must do it too." The Miss Finlaysons came up at intervals and introduced young men to her in a spasmodic sort of way. When one least expected it, some one in a tall hat and a long frock-coat was placed before Palestrina, and a Miss Finlayson said quite sharply, "May I introduce--Mr. Smith----" and then as suddenly retired. There was nothing for it but to make a little tepid conversation to the various Mr. Smiths, and Sonnenscheins, and Seligmanns who were in this way presented, and we noticed that almost every one of them began his conversation by saying, "Been going out a great deal lately? Done the Academy?" And then moved off to be introduced to some one else. The young men were very supercilious and grand, and we could only account for it, on discussing the matter afterwards, by supposing that they thought Palestrina was a Clarkham young lady, and that this was their way of showing their superiority to her. One or two had certainly said to us with a dubious air, "Do you live in the Pork?" But it was not until the quieter moments that followed the stress of this regal party that we at all realized that this meant, Did we live in Clarkham Park. Kate Ward was very agreeable and pleasant to every one, and was voted a nobody directly, and we heard it remarked that she had "no style." I think Kate must have overheard the remark, for she became a little nervous towards the end of the afternoon, and presently said, "Perhaps we ought to be going?" But young Finlayson was here suddenly introduced to her by one of his sisters, and Kate thought it necessary to make a few remarks before saying good-bye. She said something pretty about his sisters, who are undoubtedly handsome girls, and Mr. Finlayson said bitterly, "Yes, a good many so-called beauties in London would have to shut up shop if my sisters appeared in the Row. It is a beastly shame they have got to live down here!" Kate said, "But I suppose they go to town occasionally?" "Yes," said Mr. Finlayson; "but they ought to have their Park hacks, and do things in style. It is a shame the governor does not take a house in the West End." My sister tried to look sympathetic. "However," said Mr. Finlayson more hopefully, "we have taken a bit of a shoot in Scotland this year, so I hope the girls will have some society. Well, it is a deer forest really, and a very fine house and grounds," amended Mr. Finlayson, with a burst of candour. Mrs. Finlayson sailed up, and stooped to make a few remarks about the gaiety of the past season to us. She said that she and her daughters were in demand everywhere, and that the other night in a West End theatre every lorgnette in the house was turned towards their box. "Rupert, of course, has his own chambers in St. James's, and knows every one." The Miss Finlaysons shook hands, and said good-bye with their usual lofty condescension, and each said, "Going on anywhere?" to which we could only reply humbly that we had no further engagements for that afternoon. Kate praised the party all the way home, and then said, with a burst of feeling: "Oh, how I do wish I were a swell! I know it's wicked, but I would snub one or two people." The next morning, being Sunday, we went to church, and the feeling of equality with the rest of mankind which this gives one was very refreshing after the magnificence and social distinctions about which we had been learning so much during the last few days. But even in church one may notice how superior some families in Clarkham are to others. The pew-letting of the church seems to have been conducted on principles other than those recommended in Holy Writ. Richer folk--those with gold chains, for whom we learn precedence should not be accorded--occupied the front pews, furnished with red cushions and Prayer-Books with silver corners, while the humbler sort were accommodated with seats under the gallery. The Finlaysons sailed in rather late, with a rustle of their smart dresses, and kneeled to pray on very high hassocks, their elbows just touching the book-board in front of them, their faces inadequately covered with their tightly-gloved hands. The Next Doors had a pew half-way up the middle aisle. The day was hot, and the clergyman, a small devout-looking man, very earnest and really eloquent, was guilty sometimes in moments of excitement of dropping aitches. This of course may have been the result of the hot weather. It was something of a shock to notice that the little Next Doors--terrible children, of high spirits and pugnacious dispositions--were allowed to giggle unreproved at each omission of the aspirate on the part of the preacher. The Next Doors overtook us on our way out of church, and two of the pugnacious children, having dug each other with their elbows, and fought round me for permission to walk home with me and talk about the war, threw light upon their behaviour in church by remarking with smiling self-satisfaction, "Papa says we ought always to giggle when Mr. Elliot drops his aitches, to show that we know better...." Little brutes! We spent a lazy afternoon under the brown hawthorn tree on the little lawn, and Thomas drove down to see Palestrina, and good Kate Ward put forth her very best efforts to give us a sumptuous cold supper. We found, to our surprise, that nightingales sing down here, and we sat on the lawn till quite late listening to them. Mr. and Mrs. Ward slipped their hands into one another's in the dark, and appeared to be most happy and contented. "I am glad we came," said Palestrina that night, when Mrs. Ward had quitted the room. "Dear old Kate!" CHAPTER XV. On Monday I went to see Dr. Fergus about my leg, and did not get a very good report of it. We returned from Clarkham on one of the hottest days I ever remember, and found Mrs. Fielden waiting for us in the hall. "Every one seems to have come over to hear about your London visit," said Mrs. Fielden lightly, "for I found Mr. Ellicomb and Maud Jamieson here when I came in." She began pouring out tea for us both as she spoke, and she signalled something to Palestrina, who replied as she stooped down to cut some cake, "Another operation--yes, four or five weeks in bed at least." "I sent Maud and Mr. Ellicomb home together," said Mrs. Fielden, smiling. "He, poor man, is in a great state of mental perturbation, for it seems that he has heard that in South Africa pigs are fed upon arum lilies, and that so delicate is the flesh of the pork thus produced that some flower-growers in the Channel Isles are cultivating arum lilies for the purpose of feeding pigs, and to produce the same delicious pork. He was so agitated that he got up from his chair and walked up and down the room, repeating over and over again, 'Arum-fed pork! Monstrous, monstrous!' I really did not know how to comfort him, so I sent him home with Maud Jamieson, which seemed to please him very much." "And you," I said, "following the Jamieson train of thought, have been saying to yourself ever since, 'Is there anything in it?'" "She certainly had a soothing effect upon him," said Mrs. Fielden. "Then," said I, "the second stage has been reached. When all the Jamiesons are married, I think I shall feel that romance is over." "I know they have been to tea at the farm," said Mrs. Fielden, "because Mr. Ellicomb talked so much about his blue china, and Maud said a woman's hand was needed in the house." "I wonder," I said, "what will be the special objection that Maud will raise when she becomes engaged to Mr. Ellicomb? He is not called Albert; he does not wear a white watered-silk waistcoat; his hair is certainly his own; and his mother is dead, so it cannot be said that he too closely resembles her." One of the objections raised by Maud to a candidate for her hand, was that he was far too like his mother--a really delightful woman--but Maud declared, with tears, that she could never really look up to a man who was so like his mamma. "At present," said Mrs. Fielden, "the blue china seems to be all in his favour; but one cannot feel sure that it will not be an obstacle later on, or Mr. Ellicomb's High Church principles, perhaps, may prove a deterrent to her ideas of perfect happiness." "I wish," said Palestrina, "that Margaret's affairs were more settled. This summer has been a trying one for her." "Oh, I forgot to tell you," said Mrs. Fielden, "that that was one of Maud's reasons for coming over to see you. She told me that Mr. Swinnerton is coming to pay them a visit. He has written, it seems, to make the offer himself, and Maud says she thinks it will be all right now." Mrs. Fielden was in one of her most light-hearted moods. After the heat of the day there came a delightful coolness, and she stayed chatting till nearly dinner-time, and then decided that she would remain to dinner if we should ask her to do so. "I have three dear old sisters-in-law staying with me," said Mrs. Fielden, "and they will doubtless drag all the ponds for my body." "Won't they be anxious about you?" asked Palestrina. "Perhaps," said Mrs. Fielden, raising her pretty eyebrows in the old affected way; "but then they will appreciate me so much more when I come back to them from the grave." We sat out on the lawn after dinner till it was quite dark, and only Mrs. Fielden's white dress was visible in the gloom. For some reason best known to herself she put off her wilful mood out there in the gloom of the garden. She was not regal, not even amusing, only charming and full of a lovely kindness. Half the conversation between her and Palestrina began with the words, "Do you remember?" as they recalled old jokes and stories. Then her ever-present gaiety broke out again, and she laughed and said: "I believe I am becoming reminiscent. Why doesn't some one sit upon me, or tell me they will order the carriage for me if I really must go? But it is heavenly here in the cool--and in heaven, you know, we shall probably all be reminiscent." Ten o'clock struck from the tower of the church down below in the village, and Mrs. Fielden said that now she really must go, or she would find the sisters-in-law saying a Requiem Mass for her; and Palestrina went indoors to order the carriage. "To-morrow," I said, "I am going to have my last dissipation. I am going to the Traceys' tea-party." "I am certainly going too," said Mrs. Fielden. "I believe I am getting as gay as the Miss Traceys themselves, though I can't help remarking that no one who goes to these tea-parties ever seems to be amused when they get there." "Judging from my own standard of what I find amusing," I said, "I should be inclined to say that Stowel never enjoys itself extravagantly. Our neighbours never refuse invitations to even the smallest party; but the pleasure that they get from them, if it exists at all, is carefully concealed." "I have felt that myself," said Mrs. Fielden. "I really don't begin to enjoy them till I get home." "I believe you always enjoy yourself," I said resentfully. After a little time Mrs. Fielden said wistfully, "You don't think there is only a certain amount of happiness in the world, do you, Hugo? And that if one person gets a great deal, it means that another will get less?" She asks one questions in this way sometimes, as though one were a superior being who could dispel her perplexities for her. "Probably," I said, "you know ten thousand times more about the subject than I do. You are happy, and I philosophize about it. Tell me which of us is most fitted to give a lecture on the subject?" I thought Mrs. Fielden was going to say something after that, for she stretched out her hand in a certain impulsive way she has got, and gave mine just one moment's friendly pressure in the dark. And then Palestrina came back to say the carriage was at the door, and Mrs. Fielden said "Good-night." I remember two things about the Miss Traceys' party--first, that Mrs. Fielden was not there, for one of the old sisters-in-law was ill suddenly, and she could not leave her; and the other thing I remember about it is that it was the last occasion on which I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look pretty. There have been some strange innovations in tea-parties ever since Mrs. Taylor gave hers to meet The Uncle, and sent out visiting-cards instead of notes. Instead of having tea in the dining-room, all sitting round the table, as used to be the custom, it seems that dressing-tables are often brought down from upstairs and extended across the window. These are covered with white tablecloths, and behind them two maids stand and wait. The dressing-tables are called the "buffet," and both tea and coffee are provided, suggesting the elegance and savour of London refreshments. This is distinctly pleasing, though it is felt that a single cup of tea drunk while standing has not got the comfort of former old-fashioned days. Miss Belinda lives on at the little cottage with the green gate; and through the kindness of the General a lady has been found to wait upon her, and take her out to these small gaieties which she loves, and she sits shaking her poor, weak head, and muttering, "Glory, glory, glory!" It does not occur to her to stay at home during her period of mourning, and it is acknowledged on all sides that she does not miss Lydia much. The General has not come to stay with the Taylors again. In a long letter which he wrote to me after he left he said he would probably never come back to the place, and at the same time he thanked me in courteous, old-fashioned phraseology for being with him through what he called "one of the dark days that come sometimes." He would never see Miss Belinda, in spite of the many kind things he did for her; and I always feel that he resented the poor creature's long illness and weak, silly ways--which was only natural, no doubt. The Vicar was present at his sisters' tea-party, "although," as Miss Ruby explained to me, "it is not as though this were an evening entertainment. My sister and I often give these little routs without him. Still, a gentleman is always something of an ornament at a party." There were seven Jamiesons present, and two of them, Margaret and Maud, offered, in their usual friendly way, to walk home with Palestrina and me. Maud, one feels sure, engaged Palestrina in confidences directly; and Margaret whispered in a shy way to me, "Do you mind coming round by the post-office? I am expecting a letter." So we walked round by the High Street, and Margaret told me that Tudor had had to give up his visit to them, but that he was writing. So we went into the post-office, and Margaret had her letter handed to her across the counter by the post-mistress, upon whom she bestowed a radiant smile. When we got outside she opened it and read it without a word; and then, quite suddenly, she gave a cry as though some one had struck her, and she handed the letter to me, and said, "Oh, Hugo, read it!" And I read:-- "I am sure you will be surprised when I tell you that I am going to be married; it will explain to you why it was that I was unable to fulfil my promise to come to see you. But sudden though my engagement to Miss Lloyd has been--very sudden, much more sudden indeed than I ever felt that such a serious step as marriage would be undertaken by me--I cannot but feel that it is for my happiness. Some day I hope you will make Miss Lloyd's acquaintance; she is staying with my mother just now, and she is already a great favourite. I cannot but feel that having seen so much of you and of your family last summer, and during your stay in London, that I may have raised expectations which I find myself unable to fulfil; but I am quite sure that a man's first duty is to himself in these matters, and that he should not undertake matrimony until he is thoroughly convinced it is for his happiness. Had I not met Miss Lloyd, I may say that my intentions to you were of the most serious nature, and I know that I have the power in me to make any girl happy. We shall live with my mother for the first year, and then I hope to settle somewhere near London, where it will be nice for me to get into the fresh air after my work in the City. "Yours very truly, "TUDOR SWINNERTON. "_P.S._--Miss Lloyd and I are to be married next month in St. Luke's Church, quite near here." I handed the letter back to Margaret, and we never spoke the whole way home. And that was the last day I ever saw Margaret Jamieson look pretty. CHAPTER XVI. After the operation on my leg, I was laid up for a long time, and when I got about again, Palestrina and Thomas were married. Thomas has lately come into his kingdom in the shape of a lordly castle in Scotland, and for the life of me I can't say whether or not Palestrina hastened her wedding because the doctor ordered me to the North. If it was so, my sister's plans were frustrated by the fact that Thomas's ancient Scottish seat was pronounced uninhabitable by a sanitary surveyor, just as we proposed entering it under garlanded archways and mottoes on red cotton. Our old friend Mrs. Macdonald, hearing of our dilemma, very kindly invited us to stay with her while Palestrina and Thomas looked about for some little house that would take us in till their own place should be ready. The finding of the little house occupied some days, owing to the powers of imagination displayed by people when describing their property. One lady, to whom Palestrina wrote to ask if her house were to be let, replied, "Yes, madam; this dear, delightful, pretty house is to let;" and she pointed out in a letter, some four pages long, all the advantages that would accrue to us if we took it, ending up with the suggestion, subtly conveyed, that by taking the house we should be turning her into the street, but that she would bear this indignity in consideration of receiving ten guineas a week. Palestrina went to see it, and returned in the evening, almost in tears, to say that the house was a semi-detached villa, and that she had found the week's washing spread out on the front lawn. Thomas said that the railway companies ought to pay a percentage on all misleading advertisements which induce people to make these useless journeys. The following day they returned from another fruitless expedition, having been to see a very small house owned by the widow of a sea-captain, with a strong Scottish accent. I have often noticed that the seafaring man's one idea of well-invested capital is house property--perhaps he alone knows how precarious is the life of the sea. And I shall like to meet the sailor who has invested his money in a shipping concern. The widow's house was so very small that it was almost impossible to believe that it contained the ten bedrooms as advertised in my sister's well-worn house-list. So small indeed were the rooms, that Palestrina said she felt sure that they must have been originally intended for cupboards. Nevertheless, the rent of the house was very high, and my sister ventured gently to hint this to the lady of the house--the sea-captain's widow with the strong Scottish accent. "Of course, it is a very nice house," she said politely; "but the rent is a little more than we thought of paying for a house of this size." "I ken it's mair than the hoose is worth," said the old dame; "but, ye see, I'm that fond o' money--aye, I'm fearfu' fond o' money." Palestrina and Thomas spent most of their days in their search for a suitable house, and Mrs. Macdonald spends the greater part of her life house-keeping, so I was rather bored. What it actually is that occupies my hostess during the hours she spends in the back regions of her house I have never been able to discover. But the fact remains that we have to get up unusually early in the morning to allow time for Mrs. Macdonald's absorbing occupation. An old-fashioned Scotswoman of my acquaintance used to refuse all invitations to leave the house on Thursdays, because, as she explained, "I keep Thursdays for my creestal and my napery." The rest of her week, however, was comparatively free. At Mrs. Macdonald's, housekeeping is never over. And so systematic are the rules and regulations of the house, so many and so various are the lady's keys, that one finds one's self wondering if the rules of a prison or a workhouse can be more strict. The _Times_ newspaper arrives every evening after dinner; by lunch-time next day it is locked away in a cabinet, so that if one has not read the news by two o'clock, one must ask Mrs. Macdonald for the keys; this she does quite good-naturedly, but I have never discovered why old newspapers should be kept with so much care. On Saturdays an old man from the village comes in to do a little extra tidying-up in the garden. At nine o'clock precisely, Mrs. Macdonald is on the doorstep of her house, with a cup of tea in her hand, and a brisk, kindly greeting for John, and she stands over the old man while he drinks his tea, and then returns with the empty cup to the house. Tuesday is the day on which her drawing-room is cleaned. At half-past nine precisely on Monday evenings Mrs. Macdonald says, "Monday, you know, is our early-closing night;" and she fetches you a candle and dispatches you to bed. Mrs. Macdonald and her housemaid--there seem to be plenty of servants to do the work of the house--walk the whole of the drawing-room furniture into the hall, Mrs. Macdonald loops up the curtains herself, and covers some appalling pictures and the mantelpiece ornaments with dust-sheets. At ten o'clock she removes a pair of housemaid's gloves, and an apron which she has donned for the occasion, and says, "There! that's all ready for Tuesday's cleaning;" and she briskly bids her housemaid good-night. On Tuesdays we are not allowed to enter the drawing-room all day, and on Wednesdays the same restrictions are placed upon the dining-room. Indeed, on no day in the week is the whole of the house available, and upon no morning of the week has Mrs. Macdonald a spare moment to herself. After breakfast, when Palestrina and Thomas have gone, she conducts me to the morning-room, and placing the _Scotsman_ (the _Scotsman_ is used for lighting the fires, and is formally handed to the housemaid at six o'clock in the evening) by my chair, she says, "I hope you will be all right," and shuts the door upon me. During the morning she pops her head in from time to time, like an attentive guard who has been told to look after a lady on a journey, and nodding briskly from the door, she asks, "Are you all right? Sure you would not like milk or anything?" and then disappears again. With a little stretch of imagination one can almost believe that the green flag has been raised to the engine-driver, and that the train is moving off. At lunch-time she is so busy giving directions to her servants that she hardly ever hears what one says, and the most interesting piece of news is met with the somewhat irrelevant reply, "The bread-sauce, please, Jane, and then the cauliflower." Turning to one, she explains, "I always train my servants myself.... What were you saying just now?" "I saw in the newspaper this morning," I repeat, "that H.M.S. ---- has foundered with all hands." "In the middle of the table, if you please," says Mrs. Macdonald; "and then the coffee with the crystallized sugar--not the brown--and open the drawing-room windows when you have finished tidying there.... What were you saying? How sad these things are!" The house is charmingly situated, with a most beautiful view over river and hills; but I really think my preoccupied friend hardly ever has time to look out of the window, and that to her the interior of a store-cupboard with neatly-filled shelves is more beautiful than anything which the realms of Nature can offer. When Palestrina is present Mrs. Macdonald gives her recipes for making puddings and for taking stains out of carpets, and she advises her about spring-cleanings and the proper sifting of ashes at the back door. Mrs. Macdonald was brought up in the old days, when a young lady's training and education were frankly admitted to be a training for her as a wife. She belonged to the period when a girl with a taste for music was encouraged to practise "so that some day you may be able to play to your husband in the evenings, my dear," and was advised to be an early riser so that the house might be comfortable and in order when her husband should descend to breakfast. And now that that husband, having been duly administered to, is dead, Mrs. Macdonald's homely talents, once the means to an end, have resolved themselves into an end, a finality of effort. Mrs. Macdonald was brought up to be a housekeeper, and she remains a housekeeper, and jam-pots and preserving-pans form the boundary line of her life and the limit of her horizon. Eliza Jamieson would probably tell us that even though Mrs. Macdonald's soups and preserves are excellent, these culinary efforts should not be the highest things required of a wife by her husband, and that therefore they are not a wife's highest duty, even during the time that her husband remains with her. And she would probably point out that servants and weekly bills, and an endeavour to render this creature complacent, have ruined many a woman's life. And I laugh as I think of Palestrina's rejoinder, "But then it is so much pleasanter when they are complacent." One certainly imagined that the late Mr. Macdonald must have been well looked after during his life, and it was something of a shock to me to hear the account of his death, from the lodgekeeper's wife, one afternoon when she had come in to help with the cleaning, and was arranging my dressing-table for me. The rest of my bedroom furniture was then standing in the passage, and I had found my cap in one of the spare bedrooms, and all the boots of the house in the hall. "He was a rale decent gentleman," said Mrs. Gemmil, "and awfy patient with the cleaning. But I am sure whiles I was sorry for him. He was shuftit and shuftit, and never knew in the morn whichna bed in the hoose he would be sleeping in at nicht. And we a' ken that it was the spring-cleaning, when he was pit to sleep ower the stables, that was, under Providence, the death o' him. He had aye to cross ower in the wat at nicht-time, and he juist took a pair o' cauld feet, and they settled on his lungs." The day following my chat with Mrs. Gemmil was the day Palestrina found a house such as she had been looking for all along. The day was Saturday. Overnight she had announced her intention of being away all day, and Mrs. Macdonald had said delightedly that that would suit her admirably. "I do like the servants to have the entire day for the passages on Saturday," she remarked. Even when the day dawned wet and cloudy, Palestrina had not the courage to suggest that she should stay at home, and thereby interfere with the cleaning of the passages. The house she had found seemed to be everything that was desirable, and Palestrina returned in an elated frame of mind. "It is far away from everything," she said, "except the village people and the minister, and the 'big hoose,' as they call it, which some English bodies have rented for the autumn." "It can't be far from the Melfords," said Thomas, pulling out a map. "Yes, I thought so; they are just the other side of the loch." "We 'mussed the connaketion' on our way back," said Palestrina; "and I do believe there's nothing a Scottish porter enjoys telling one so much as this." "I hope I am not unduly disparaging the railway system of my native land," said Thomas, "when I say that if you go by steamer and by train it is the remark that usually greets one, and it is always made in a tone of humorous satisfaction." And Thomas, with an exaggerated Scottish accent, which he does uncommonly well, began to tell me of their adventures. "We had a rush for the train," he said, "and I told an elderly Scot, who couldn't have hurried if he had had a mad bull behind him, to run and get us two first-class tickets. He walked slowly down the platform, muttering, 'Furrst, furrst,' and then he opened the door of a third-class carriage and shoved us in, saying, 'Ye've no occasion to travel furrst when there's plenty of room in the thurrds.'" CHAPTER XVII. To get to the house one takes a steamer to the head of the loch, and from there old Hughie drives one in the coach, and deposits one at the cross-roads where the turf, short and green, is cut into the shape of a heart. On this green heart, in the old days, the girls and men of the glen were married. They stood side by side on the upper part of the heart, which is indented, and the minister stood at the point and wedded the pair. Here one leaves the coach, and a "machine" must take one on to the little house. A red creeper grows up its white walls, and from the terrace in front of the house one looks down upon the little Presbyterian church and the village, and these in their turn look on to the loch and the hills on the other side. The people in the village afford one a good deal of amusement, but we have observed that the conversation is always about theology or the Royal Family. There is one story of the late Queen and the crown of Scotland which I have heard repeated many times with the utmost gravity in the Highlands. "A gran' wumman," say the old villagers, "but we were no gaein' tae gie her the croon o' Scotland. Na, na. She would hae liked fine tae hev gotten it, but we were no gaein' tae gie her the croon o' Scotland. Ye'll mind when she went tae Scotland, it was the foremost thing that she spiered tae see. And when they showed it tae her, 'I would like fine tae pit it on ma heid,' said she. But they said '_No_.' And syne she says, 'Wad ye no let me haud it in ma haund?' But they say '_No_.' 'Weel,' she says, 'juist haud it aboon ma heid, and let me staun' underneath it.' But they said, '_No_.'" The villagers formed our only society until Evan Sinclair's tenants, who were known as "the folk at the big hoose," came to call upon us. It was very difficult indeed, and for some time we could hardly believe that these were the Finlaysons whom we had met at Clarkham, and who, we now remembered, had told us that they were going to take a place in Scotland. The change in the Finlaysons is startling and complete. It has taken them exactly two months to become Highlanders, and it is not too much to affirm that now the whole family may be said to reek of tartan. Only Mrs. Finlayson is unaffected by her life in the Highlands, although she says that she knows it is fashionable to be Scottish. "And so written up as it is at present," she adds; "and all the best people taking the deer-moors. Papa and the girls think all the world of Scotland. But no one can say it is comfortable, I'm sure." The Finlaysons have a piper, and young Mr. Finlayson wears a kilt, and I think they are, without exception, the most strenuous supporters of Scottish customs I have ever met. The young ladies, who had always been associated in our mind with silk dresses and thin shoes, came to call clad in the very shortest and roughest tweed skirts that I have ever seen; and old Mr. Finlayson, whose mother was a Robinson, has discovered that that is pretty much the same as being a Robertson, and that therefore, in some mysterious way, he is entitled to wear the Macdonald tartan. They asked us to tea in a very polite and friendly way, and the old rooms were shown off to us with a good deal of pride. The architecture of the house seemed to throw a reflected glory on Mr. Finlayson. "Pure Early Scottish," he said, pointing to the tall narrow windows with their shelving ledges. "So dangerous," said Mrs. Finlayson, "for the servants cleaning the windows." The drawing-room vases were all filled with heather, and the room smelt of damp dog and herrings. The Miss Finlaysons came in to tea in thick skirts and brogues, and they wore tartan tam-o'-shanters very becomingly placed upon their heads, and affixed to their hair with ornamental bonnet-pins. They ate cake with damp red hands, and seemed to pride themselves upon the fish-scales which still clung to their skirts, and imparted the rather unpleasant odour which I noticed in the room. Young Finlayson in his kilt showed a great expanse of red knee, and told tales of remarks made to him by the boatmen, which he considered equal to anything in Ian Maclaren's books. Mrs. Finlayson took us out after tea to see the garden and tennis-court and the game-larder. "I always like a walled garden," she said; "it is so stylish." Mr. Finlayson found a reflected glory even in the loch and the hills, and he waved his fat hand towards them, and said: "We are able to do you a nice bit of view here, aren't we?" "I tell papa," said Mrs. Finlayson, "that he will ruin the girls for anything else after this. The only thing we regret is the want of society. However, a few of the best people round about have called, and we are giving quite an informal little dinner-party to-morrow night." Mrs. Finlayson then invited us to dinner, and when we hesitated, on the plea that we should have one or two friends with us, Mrs. Finlayson, in the most hospitable manner possible, said that she always had a "profusion on their own table," so there was nothing for it but to accept her invitation. The dinner was one of those rather purposeless feasts which are given in the country, and the Finlaysons' neighbours who had been bidden to it bore upon their faces the peculiarly homeless look which one observes in the expressions of one's men friends especially, when they go out to a rural dinner--the look that says as plainly as possible that they are moving about in worlds not realized nor found particularly comfortable, and that they would infinitely prefer their own armchairs at home. The minister took Palestrina in to dinner, and occupied himself throughout the evening by putting the most searching questions to her of an inquisitive nature. He asked how many servants we had, whether we were satisfied with our cook, where we came from, and why we had come. And he did it all with such keen interest and intelligence that Palestrina admitted that she really had felt flattered rather than provoked. His friend Evan Sinclair, who, having let his house to the Finlaysons, is living on a little farm close by, contradicted everything that the minister said, and the two quarrelled the whole evening. Old Tyne Drum, who lives a good many miles away, but who with his wife had already been to call upon us, brewed himself the very largest glasses of whisky-toddy that I have ever seen, even on a big night at mess, and he proposed healths and drank the steaming mixture throughout dinner in a very commendable national spirit. His piper, who stood behind his chair, refused at last to pour out any further libations, and I heard him mutter to himself, "Ye'll no need tae say that Sandy Macnichol ever helpit ye tae the deil." Young Finlayson is always very jocose upon the subject of whisky, as befits his ideas about the Highlands; and even the Misses Finlayson, in their faithful loyalty to all things Scottish, were quite pleased with Tyne Drum's performance, and would have scorned to look as though a whisky-drinking laird was a novelty to them. Mrs. Finlayson told Thomas, in a very severe manner, and in her platform voice which I always find so impressive, that she considered intemperance a sin, but that that was what came of all this nonsense about Scotland. She gave him quite a lecture upon the subject, as though he, being Scottish born, was responsible for the old laird's backsliding. When the unfortunate old gentleman came into the drawing-room to join the ladies and sat down next him, Mrs. Finlayson looked at Thomas as though she thought he was in some sort to blame for this behaviour. Tyne Drum dropped heavily on to the ottoman, and I heard him say, "Do you know my wife?" "Yes," replied Thomas. "I have met her several times since we came to the cottage." "Hoo old should ye think she was?" (Tyne Drum is always broadly Doric in his speech.) Thomas calculated that the lady must be a long way the wrong side of sixty, and humbly suggested that she might perhaps be forty-five. "Presairve us!" said the Laird. "This lad here says my wife is forty-five!" He began to sob bitterly, and, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, cried, "My pretty wee Jeannie, my bonnie wee wife, wha daurs tae say ye was forty-five!" Thomas was so sorry for him and for what he had done that he did his best to cheer him up by telling him that what he had meant to say was twenty-five; but Tyne Drum was inconsolable, and went to sleep with the tear-drops on his cheeks. When we got home in the evening Palestrina said, "We are far behind the Finlaysons in all things Scottish. I shall buy a Harris tweed skirt, and you and Thomas must buy something too." So we drove down in the coach to the ferry on a very wet and windy day to cross over to the "toon." Our place on the coach was shared with a Scot, who was the most truculent defender of the Free Kirk I have ever met. He argued every single point of his creed, and became quite abusive at last, as he denounced the "Established" and all who belong to it. The wind was high as we drove in the coach, and the rain fell heavily once or twice, but the voice of the gentleman rose higher and higher as the rain descended. Hughie, the coachman, chided him with no stint of words, and at every burst of eloquence on the passenger's part he remarked, "Anither worrd, and I'll pit ye in the ditch!" This method of treating the argumentative passenger suggested the possibility of the coach being overturned in order to punish him, and Palestrina grew alarmed. "I do hope," she said to Hughie, "that you will remember that we are not all Wee Frees, and that therefore we do not all require the same treatment meted out to us." The guard at the back of the coach here showed his head over the pile of boxes covered with tarpaulin on the roof, and called out, "Pit him inside the coach wi' Mrs. Macfadyen, and she'll sort him! She'll gie him the Gaelic!" Hughie chuckled and remarked, "Ay, she's the gran' wumman wi' her tongue!" And during the rest of the drive his threats to the eloquent passenger took the form of, "Anither worrd, and I'll pit ye in wi' Mrs. Macfadyen!" There was a marked improvement in our friend's behaviour after this. He was in great difficulties when he came to get into the ferry-boat. It was easy enough to throw his first leg over the side while holding on by a thole-pin, but the balance required to convey the remaining limb into the boat was quite out of his power. And having made one or two ineffectual hops on the beach with the shore-loving member, he turned to the boatmen, and said gravely,-- "Lift in my leg, Angus! Juist gie me a hand wi' ma last leg!" Palestrina chose the tweed for our coats and her skirt, and then we walked up to the Castle and called on the Melfords, who told us that Mrs. Fielden was coming to stay with them. They sang her praises, as most people do; she has heaps of friends. Then Palestrina did some shopping at the "flesher's" and the baker's, and we went down to the ferry again--a boy behind us laden with queer-looking parcels containing provisions, and Alloa yarn to knit into stockings, and paper-bags with ginger-bread cakes in them. When we got in and sat down under the brown sail of the heavy boat, the two sailors remained in their places, and did not show the least sign of getting under way. Thomas said to the elder of the two men, a fine old fellow with a face such as one connects with stories of the Covenanters,-- "Why don't you get off?" And the old man replied unmoved, "I'm waiting for the Lord." Palestrina, who is sympathetic in every matter, put on an expression of deep religious feeling, and we thought of the Irvingites, and wished that we had Eliza Jamieson with us "to look it up." As far as we knew, the Irvingites wait to perform every action until inspired to perform it. We had heard that in the smallest matter, such as beginning to eat their dinner, they will wait until this inspiration, as I suppose one must call it, is given to them. The question then arose, how long would it be before we would be likely to get under way? The two sailors sat on without moving, and the elder of them cut a wedge of tobacco and was filling his pipe, preparing to smoke. We wondered if the Irvingites often waited for an inspiration in this contented way. The big red-funnelled steamer from Greenock was, meanwhile, preparing to depart. It had poured its daily output of tourists for their half-hour's run in the town, which time they employ in buying mementoes of the place, and we had hurried down to the sailing-boat to escape this influx. Thomas endeavoured to assist inspiration by saying it didn't seem much use waiting any longer, and that as time was getting on, did not our friend (the gray-bearded Covenanter) think that it was time to be moving? The Covenanter wrinkled up his nose, which already was a good deal wrinkled, and gazed upwards at the sail, or, as we interpreted it, to Heaven. Palestrina pressed Thomas's hand, and said gently, "Don't urge him, dear; we shall get off in time." And the younger sailor said, "We are waiting for the Lord." So we knew that they were both Irvingites, and the only scepticism that intruded itself upon us was this: Suppose inspiration never came, how should we get home? The steamer now began to move away from the pier, with a great churning and hissing of water, and seething white foam fizzing round the staples of the pier. A band began to play on board, and the paddles broke the water with a fine sweep. Two youngsters on shore, to whom "the stimmer" is a daily excitement, then called out in shrill, high voices, "There's the Lord! She's aff!" The _Lord of the Isles_ had moved off on her return journey to Greenock, and the notes on Scottish religion which Palestrina was carefully preparing were hastily destroyed. The _Lord_ had departed, and we sailed across the loch without waiting any longer. When we got home, we found the minister awaiting us in the drawing-room, he having suggested that as we were not at home, he had better stay till our return. I found out, in the course of conversation, that he is a distant relation of old Captain Jamieson--the Jamiesons' father--so we had quite a long talk about our friends. The minister is one of those Scots whose national characteristics are always stronger than individual character. Take away his nationality from him, and Mr. Macorquodale would be nothing at all. His qualities being entirely Scottish, it is only logical to assume that if Mr. Macorquodale were not Scottish, he would be non-existent. Palestrina came out on to the little terrace where we were sitting, and I explained to her that the minister was a cousin of the Jamiesons. "How interesting!" said Palestrina in her usual kind way. "Why?" said the minister. He has sandy hair and very round gray eyes, and looks like a football player. "Oh, I don't know," said my sister; "it's always interesting, isn't it, to find that people are related?" "Every one must have some relations," said Mr. Macorquodale; "and if my choice had been given me, I do not think I should have chosen those five gurrls." "We like them so much," Palestrina said, smiling. "Is that the truth?" said Mr. Macorquodale; and she replied firmly that it was. "Um umph!" he said, as though considering a perfectly new problem, and then added: "Well, each man to his taste. How many of them have got husbands?" I replied that Kate was married and Gracie engaged. "Gracie?" said the minister simply. "Was that the one with a nose like a scone?" We considered Grade's nose silently for a moment, and then admitted that perhaps the simile was not unjust. "How did she get him?" said the minister presently. The minister has a curious way of eating, which fascinates one to look at, while all the time there is a distinct feeling that an accident may happen at any moment. When tea was brought out he accepted some, and filled his mouth very full of cookie, stowing into it nearly a whole one at a time, and then raised his tea-cup to his lips. He persists in keeping his spoon in his cup as he drinks, and he prevents it from tumbling out by holding it with his thumb. A long draught of tea is then partaken of with a gurgling sound, and the minister swallows audibly. It is almost impossible to prevent one's self watching this process of eating and drinking during the whole of tea-time. For it seems so uncertain whether the spoon will remain in its place, and the cookie and the tea. The minister is a very young man, with the pugnacity of an Edinburgh High School boy, and with the awful truthfulness which distinguishes his nation, but which is accentuated in such an alarming degree in a minister of the Kirk. "I sent Kate a scent-bottle when she married," he remarked. "I won it at a bazaar for sixpence, so it was not expensive. I don't disapprove of raffles," he added, although he had not been asked for this piece of information--"that is, if ladies do not cheat over it, as they often do." Palestrina bristled at the insinuation, and the minister consoled her by saying: "Women sin in such wee ways--that's what I can't understand about them. However," he said, "I have never known a woman steal a thing yet that a man has not reaped some benefit by it. I can quote authority for my views from Adam and Eve downwards, to the newspapers of yesterday. I am engaged to be married myself, and I find the subject of feminine ethics absorbing. Good-bye," he said presently; "I hope you will not be disappointed with the clothes I hear you've ordered." Alas! the tweed coat and skirt in which my sister hoped to rival the Miss Finlaysons proved an utter misfit, and she drove round the loch on the following day to take the garments back. Palestrina had prepared a severe reprimand for the tailor, but the old man took the wind out of her sails by stopping in amazement at the first word of annoyance which she uttered, and standing in the middle of the little fitting-room, with a yellow tape measure round his neck, and a piece of chalk in his hand, he shook his gray beard at us with something of apostolic fervour, and thus addressed us:-- "I'm amazed at ye! Do ye ever consider the system of planets, and that this world is one of the lesser points of light in space, and that even here there are countless millions of human beings, full of great resolves and high purposes. Get outside yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, and realize in the magnitude of the universe, and the immeasurable majesty of the planetary system, how small a thing is the ill-fit of a jacket." We felt much humbled, Palestrina and I. And it was only when we were driving home afterwards that it even dimly suggested itself to us that we had right on our side at all. "After all," Palestrina said, "the coats did not fit; I really do not think he need have lectured us so severely." At the time, however, I confess that our feelings were distinctly apologetic. One wonders how a tailor who advanced the planetary system as a reproof to complaining customers would get on in London, and one realizes that English people have a great deal still to learn. CHAPTER XVIII. When Mrs. Fielden came to stay at the Melfords we saw a good deal of her. Their yacht used to steam up in the early morning, and they would take us off for a day's cruise on the loch or for a trip round to Oban. Mrs. Fielden used to sit on deck with a big red umbrella over her head and a white yachting gown on, and seemed serenely unconscious that she was looking very pretty and very smart. My sister tells me she never feels badly dressed till she meets Mrs. Fielden. The Melfords have very pleasant people stopping with them always, and there are very jolly little parties on board their yacht. Mrs. Fielden, however, is in her most provoking and wilful mood. Every day it is the same thing--laughter and smiles for every one. But she has absolutely no heart. All the beautiful, kindly things she does are only the whim of the moment. They bespeak a generous nature, as easily moved to tears as to laughter; but she loves every one a little, and probably has no depth of affection or constancy in her. Lately, she has added another provoking habit to the many she already possesses. She exaggerates her pretence of having no memory, and indeed it may be she has not any. When I left home, rather a wreck as regards health, and drove to the station in Mrs. Fielden's luxurious carriage, it was her hand that piled the cushions, as no one else can, behind me. And the last thing I saw was her smile as she waved her hand to me from my own door. Last week, when we met again at the Melfords', she nodded to me in a little indifferent sort of way. She sat under a big cedar-tree on one of the lawns, and laughed, and talked a sort of brilliant nonsense the whole afternoon. By-and-by I said to her--probably clumsily, certainly at the wrong time--"I never half thanked you for being so good to me when I was ill;" for she had come in like some radiant vision, day after day, in her beautiful summer gowns and rose-garlanded hats, and had sat by my couch, reading to me sometimes, talking to me at others in a voice as gentle as a dove's. Why will she not allow one to admire her? One only wants to do so humbly and at a distance. It was so pleasant up here in the Highlands, with the dear memory of those long days to look back upon. But Mrs. Fielden ruthlessly robbed me and sent me away empty the very first day of our meeting. "Was I kind to you? I don't believe I was, really. If I was, I'm sure I forget all about it. Let me see, how long were you ill? It can't have been a bit amusing for you," and so on, laughing at my dull face and serious ways. And this has gone on for a whole week. At the Melfords' parties she selects, quite indiscriminately, and in a royal way which she has, this man or that to be her escort or her companion. Now it is a mere boy whom she bewilders with a few of her radiant smiles, and now one of her elderly colonels whom she reduces to a state of abject admiration in a few hours. One man goes fishing with her, and another rows her on the loch. A third, hearing that Mrs. Fielden's life will be a blank if she does not possess a certain rare fern which may be found sometimes on the hillsides of Scotland, spends a whole day scrambling about looking for it, and returns triumphant in the evening. Mrs. Fielden has forgotten that she ever wanted it. When we sulk she does not notice it. When her colonels offer her their fatuous admiration she goes to sleep, and then, waking up, is so very, very sorry. "But you can't have amused me properly," she says, "or I should have stayed awake." When any one tries by avoiding her to show displeasure, Mrs. Fielden is oblivious of the fact. And when the penitence and boredom which immediately ensue when one has deprived Mrs. Fielden of one's company have led to ending the one-sided quarrel with an apology, it is only to find that Mrs. Fielden has been blissfully unconscious of one's absence. Summer and the air of the Highlands seem to be in her veins. Her happiness, like the quality of mercy, is twice blessed, making her, through her talent for enjoyment, diffuse something beautiful and gay about her. After all, why should she care? Life was evidently made to give her pleasure. Why should a woman always be blamed for being loved? Mrs. Fielden's charm is of the irresponsible sort. To live and to be lovely are all one ought to demand of her, and at least she is without vanity. She seems to be entirely unconscious of the admiration she receives, or perhaps she is simply indifferent to it. The Melfords adore her, and allow her to see it. They say no one knows her as they do. Probably we all feel that. This is one of Mrs. Fielden's most maddening charms. We have all found something in her that seems to belong to ourselves alone. Lately I have discovered that she loves to wander up the hillside by herself, and listen to the plover's solitary cry, and sit in the sunshine with no companion near her. And one wonders why so frivolous a woman should care for this, and why when she comes back amongst us again her eyes should wear the wistful look which covers them like a veil sometimes. When she left the Melfords' Palestrina asked her to come and stay with us; and rather to my surprise, Mrs. Fielden came. It seems to me she must find us a very dull lot after the Melfords' cheery house-parties. She arrived late one afternoon in the yacht, and the whole party came up to dine with us before returning to the castle. The little house was taxed to its utmost capacity, even to provide teacups for our guests. But the Melfords have a happy knack of seeming to find pleasure in everything. Mrs. Fielden's gaiety was infectious, and her lightheartedness knocked all one's serious world to pieces, while her beauty seemed almost extravagant in the plain setting of the little house. She began to give us some of her experiences in Scotland. "Do you know," she said, putting on a charming gravity and lifting her eyebrows in a provoking, childish way, "that every single person in Scotland gets up at five o'clock in the morning? and all the coaches and excursions start at daybreak, and when you want to hit off what they call a 'connection' anywhere, you have to get up in the middle of the night?" "I am afraid you had a horribly early start to join the yacht the other day," said Lord Melford, "but it was the only way we could manage to get to the Oban Gathering in time." "I was there before you," said Mrs. Fielden; "and I had to rouse up the people at the inn to take me in and give me breakfast. Even they were not up at that hour! But after ringing twice, such a nice boots came and opened the door to me, and brought me some breakfast." "The gathering was very good this year," said Lord Melford. "Why didn't some of you come? By-the-bye, your friend Mrs. Macdonald was there. Indeed, it was she who insisted on taking Mrs. Fielden to the Gaelic concert." "Gaelic is rather an alarming language," said Mrs. Fielden. "I always feel as if I were being sworn at when I hear it." One of Mrs. Fielden's admirers who had reached the savage and sarcastic stage here interposed, and said: "Poor Mrs. Fielden! I saw you at the concert. How did you manage to sit throughout a whole evening between Mrs. Macdonald and a wall?" "Mrs. Macdonald is quite a dear!" said Mrs. Fielden. (Whom, in the name of Fortune, would Mrs. Fielden not find charming?) "I don't know what you and Mrs. Macdonald can have found to talk about," said Palestrina, laughing. "We discussed the training of servants most of the time," said Mrs. Fielden simply. Every one laughed; and my sister, with a recollection of our visit to Mrs. Macdonald, said at once, "Did she give you any useful household recipes?" "It is very odd that you should have asked me that," said Mrs. Fielden. "Do you know, that the whole of to-day I have been puzzling over a letter which I received this morning? I did not know the handwriting, and it was merely headed, 'Two recipes for boiling a ham, as requested.' Now, I cannot really have asked Mrs. Macdonald for recipes for boiling a ham, can I?" We thought it highly probable that she had done so, and had done it, too, with an air of profound interest; and I think we said this, which Mrs. Fielden did not mind in the least. "There is something rather horrible, don't you think so," she said, "in knowing how a thing is cooked?" The minister, who is assiduous in calling, walked up after tea with his friend Evan Sinclair; and as we were already far too large a party for dinner, we asked them to stay too. Mr. Macorquodale has frequently described himself to us as a grand preacher. He and Evan Sinclair live quite close to each other, and they are friends whose affection is rooted and maintained in warfare. For the minister and Sinclair to meet is one strenuous contest as to who shall have the last word. Politeness is not a strong motive with either of them--indeed, one would imagine that from the first it has been ruled out of place. The friendship and the warfare began at the Edinburgh High School years ago, and both the friendship and the warfare have lasted without intermission ever since. They meet every day, and often twice a day; they fish together, and in the winter they spend every evening with each other. Scottish people seem to have a sneaking liking for those who dislike them, and a certain pity mingled with contempt for those who show them favour and affection. The friendship of Evan and the minister is based upon feelings of the most respectful admiration for their mutual antipathy. To keep alive this laudable and self-respecting warfare is the highest effort of genius of both Mr. Sinclair and the Reverend Alexander. To foster it they apply themselves to what they call "plain speaking" whenever they meet, and they conceal as much as possible from each other every single good quality that they possess. The minister, who is a big man, always talks of Evan as "Wee Sinkler," and sneers at "heritors;" and Evan invariably addresses Macorquodale as "Taurbarrels," a name which he considers appropriate to the minister's black clothes and portly figure. "The minister," said Evan, when he had walked up the hill to see us, "has been reading Josephus. We shall have some erudite learning from the pulpit for the next Sunday or two." The minister was announced a moment later, and, before taking the trouble to shake hands with us, he looked Evan Sinclair over from top to toe, and remarked, "Ye're very attentive in calling upon ladies." "I was just talking about your fine preaching," said Evan. "I admit my gift," said the minister; "but I fear that I very often preach to a deaf adder which stops its ears." He nodded triumphantly at us, and it then occurred to him to shake hands. Evan said at once that he got a better sleep in kirk on Sundays than he got during the whole of the week. "Evan Sinclair," said the minister, "if I find you sleeping under me I'll denounce you from my pulpit, as a minister has the right to do." "And we'll settle it in the graveyard afterwards," said Evan dryly. "And ye're not in very good training, my man." Palestrina broke in gently to discuss a theological point which had puzzled us for several Sundays. On each Lord's Day as it came round we had prayed that we might become "a little beatle to the Lord." Doubtless the simile is a beautiful one, but its immediate bearing upon our needs was not too grossly evident. And it seemed almost dangerous to those who believe in the efficacy of prayer to put up this petition in its literal sense. We had decided for some time past that we should ask Mr. Macorquodale what it was exactly for which we made petition, when we prayed that we might become "a little beatle to the Lord." "Similes," said Palestrina in her serious way, "are beautiful sometimes, but we can't quite understand one of the references that you make in your prayers on Sundays." "We have prayed so fervently," said Mrs. Fielden, "without perhaps entirely understanding the portent of the petition, that we might become 'a little beatle to the Lord.'" The thing was out now, and our curiosity, we hoped, would be gratified. There was a pause which suggested that our hearers were puzzled, and then Mr. Sinclair put a large pocket-handkerchief into his mouth and roared with laughter, and Mr. Macorquodale turned to my sister, who was trembling now, and remarked in an awful voice that he wondered that we didn't understand plain English. Of course she apologized, and an explanation came afterwards from Evan Sinclair, who told us that the minister's prayer was that we--the church--might become a little Bethel, and that Beethel was his Doric pronunciation of the word. It began to rain on Sunday, as it often does in Scotland--Nature itself seems to put on a more serious expression on the Sabbath--and it continued raining for four whole days. The rain came down steadily and mercilessly, shutting out the view of the hills, and turning the whole landscape into a big damp gray blanket. "I suppose," said Mrs. Fielden, who is never affected by bad weather, "that we shall all get very cross and quarrel with each other if the rain continues much longer." "I think I shall write a number of unnecessary letters to absent friends," said Palestrina. "And Mr. Ellicomb and Sir Anthony Crawshay will arrive to-morrow, and we must tell them to amuse us." It was a disappointment to find that Mr. Ellicomb's nerves and temper were seriously affected by the weather, and in moments of extreme depression his low spirits vented themselves in a rabid abuse of the Presbyterian Kirk. I cannot understand why Ellicomb should elect to wear a brown velvet shooting-jacket, and a pale-green tie, and neat boots laced half-way up his legs, in Scotland. He went to the village church in the rain on Sunday, and he has not been the same man since. "Don't call it a church!" he cried as we went homewards up the hill, where the road was a watercourse and each tree poured down moisture. He seemed to think that he had done his soul an irreparable injury by entering a Presbyterian kirk. Anthony said, "Oh! don't be an ass, Ellicomb." But even on Monday morning poor Ellicomb was still suffering from the weather and the effects of his churchgoing. "Can he be in love?" said Palestrina; "and if so, as the Jamiesons would say, which is it?" Palestrina is prettier than ever since her marriage. She still says, "Oh, that will be delightful!" to whatever Thomas and I suggest, and she never seems to have any occupation except to be with us when we want her, and to accede to everything we say, which of course, from a man's point of view, is a very delightful trait in a woman. "I rather wonder," said Palestrina, "that I have not heard from any of the Jamiesons lately. They are usually such good writers." "Depend upon it, there is a great bit of news coming," said Thomas. "The Jamiesons always maintain a dramatic silence just before announcing some tremendous piece of intelligence." Thomas had hardly spoken the words before a telegram was handed to Palestrina, containing the following enigmatical words:--- "Engaged Cuthbertson. Greatly surprised. Deeply thankful.--ELIZA." This rather mysterious message was followed, later in the day, by a letter four pages in length, and marked on the outside, for some reason best known to Eliza, "Immediate." The letter explained more fully the cause of Eliza's thankfulness, and who it was that was greatly surprised. "If you had told me," wrote Eliza, "six weeks ago that I should now be engaged to Mr. Cuthbertson, I should hardly have believed it. I really had not a notion that he cared for me until he actually said the words. Is it not too strange to think that perhaps, after all, Maud may be one of the last of us to get married?" Here followed the usual descriptive catalogue, so characteristic of the Jamiesons' letters. "Mr. Cuthbertson looks like a widower, though he is not one." Strangely enough, I could never think of any other words, when I came to know Mr. Cuthbertson, that described him so well as these, and I can only account for it by saying that the man's deep melancholy and the crape band that he habitually wore round his hat must have given one the feeling that at some time Mr. Cuthbertson had suffered a heavy bereavement. "I have only known him," Eliza's letter went on, "for six weeks, but even that time has shown me his worth. He has a very straight nose and a black beard, and his forehead is distinctly intellectual. I met him first at Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs', where, as you know, I had gone to stay to catalogue their library, and to do a little typewriting for her. You know, of course, that she has become a member of the S.R.S., and their library is a _mine of information_. "At first I was afraid to say, or even to allow myself to think, he showed me any preference, but Maud thought from the first that he was struck, and I asked her not to appear at all until everything was settled, for you know how attractive she is. But I really don't think that even then I thought that there was anything serious in it." (For an intelligent woman Eliza's letter strikes one as being strangely lacking in concentration.) "I have just been to the meeting of the Browning Society--our first appearance in public together--and I read my paper on "The Real Strafford," but I could hardly keep my voice steady all the time. I wear his own signet-ring for the present, but we are going up to London next week, when he will buy me a hoop of pearls. I am sure that you will be glad to hear that he is comfortably off. When the right man comes preconceived objections to matrimony vanish, _but it must be the right man_." Palestrina said that she was "thrilled" to hear of Eliza's engagement, because an engagement was always thrilling, and she instantly went to tell the news to Mr. Ellicomb. She told me afterwards that when she had said that one of the Jamiesons was engaged Mr. Ellicomb became suddenly very pale in his complexion, and exclaimed, in a most anxious tone of voice, "Which?" The cold weather has set in very suddenly, and already there is a sprinkling of snow on some of the distant hills. The robins still sing cheerily, but the gulls on the shore, flying over the yellow seaweed, call to each other plaintively in the gray of the early twilight. The heavy-winged herons stand in an attitude of serious thought for hours on the cold rocks; then, as if suddenly making up their minds to something, they stretch out their red legs behind them, and flop with large wings over the waters of the loch. The red Virginian creeper has begun to drop its leaves regretfully, after a night or two of white frost, and the dahlias hang their heads, heavy with the moisture which their cups contain. The sun wakes late in the mornings now, but shines strong and warm when it does get up. Cottage lights and fires burn cheerily o' nights, and within the cottages the old folks and the young ones draw round the fires and speak eerily of wraiths and whaurlochs, and some will tell of death-lights which they have seen on the lonely shore road. The herring fishers who sail away in the early twilight wear good stout jerseys now, and red woollen "crauvats" which the "wumman at hame" has knitted. The _Lord_ has sailed away to Dunoon to lay up for the winter, and the shepherds have gone away down South "to winter the hogs." The shepherds' wives sit alone in the little hillside cottages away up on the face of the brae, and "mak dae" with their slender money till their men come home again. The old women in the village have begun their winter spinning, and the tap, tap, tap of the treadle on the floor gives a pleasant sound as one passes outside on the dark road. Old men tell tales of snow in the passes in winter-time, and of death on the bleak hillsides, and some wife, shuddering, will say, "Ay, I mind I saw his corp-licht the very evening he was lost." And then they tell tales of fantasy and signs and premonitions of death. The Finlaysons are going to wind up their very successful autumn in the Highlands by giving what they insist upon calling a gillies' dance, though probably the revels will mostly be indulged in by their large retinue of English servants. Good-natured old Finlayson has more than once said that he hopes we shall all come to the gillies' dance, and that it will give ourselves and our guests a chance of seeing some Highland customs. A good many of us come to Scotland most years, and have seen gillies and pipers before, but our good-natured neighbours certainly out-distance any one I know in their Highland sympathies. They invited us to dine with them before the dance should begin, and six of us went, feeling very like the Jamiesons, and resolved that when we got home we should never put a limit to their numbers when we send them an invitation again. We talk of returning home at the end of next week, and Mrs. Fielden and our other two guests are leaving on Monday, I believe. Mrs. Fielden looks much prettier in the Highlands, I think, than anywhere else. Young Finlayson is in love with her, and I believe has offered her his heart and the ironmongery business with it; but I think of all her lovers Anthony Crawshay is the one she likes best. He is the only one for whom her moods never alter, and to whom she is always gracious and charming and sweet. Perhaps it is in a quiet, less radiant way than that in which she treats others, but it is with an unvarying loving-kindness which I have not seen her bestow elsewhere. And Anthony Crawshay is a good fellow--one of the best. Old Mr. Finlayson actually donned a kilt for the gillies' dance; young Finlayson also wore the national dress, and Thomas tells me that they have sported the Macdonald tartan, and wants to know why. Old Finlayson met us at the door of his baronial hall in a clannish, feudal sort of way, and seizing his glengarry bonnet from his head he flung it down upon the oak settle in the hall, and exclaimed in hearty accents, "Welcome to the Glen." The Misses Finlayson wore sashes of royal Stuart tartan put plaid-wise across their shoulders. Mrs. Finlayson was dressed in a very regal manner which I cannot attempt to describe, and her platform voice was in use throughout the entire evening. Ellicomb said the dance was barbaric, but Thomas enjoyed the evening immensely, and so did Crawshay, who said in his hearty way, "The Finlaysons did us uncommonly well," and shouted out, "Not at all bad people, not at all bad." After dinner old Finlayson showed us all the pictures in the hall by the light of a long wax taper which he held above his head, and he pointed out the beauties of the house in a proprietary way, even to Evan himself, to whom the place belongs. Evan Sinclair, in a shabby green doublet, accepted all Mr. Finlayson's wildest statements about his own house with a queer, humorous grin on his face, and submitted to being patronized by the Miss Finlaysons, whose commercial instincts, no doubt, caused them to despise a young man who was obliged to let his place. One of the Highland axioms which the Finlaysons have accepted is that "a man's a man for a' that," and they shook hands with every one in an effusive way, and condescended to a queer sort of familiarity with the boatmen and keepers about the place. The daughters of the house, with flying tartan ribbons, swung the young gillies about in the intricate figures of the hoolichan, and talked to them with a heartiness which one would hardly have thought possible of the Clarkham young ladies. The Finlaysons had a large number of English guests staying in the house for the dance. These all made the same joke when the pipes began to play. "Is the pig being killed?" they asked, and looked very pleased with their own ready wit. Red-headed Evan Sinclair carried his old green doublet and battered silver ornaments very well, and his neat dancing was in pleasant contrast to the curious bounds and leaps of the Finlaysons. Old Mr. Finlayson spent his evening strutting about in a kindly, important fashion, and in making Athole Brose after a recipe supplied by Tyne Drum, who superintended the brewing of it himself. I hope I am not fanciful when I say that the pipes when I hear them have to me something irresistibly sad about them, and that they conjure up many fantasies in my head which I am half ashamed to put down on paper. They seem to me to gather up in their bitter sobbings all the sorrows of a people who have suffered much and have said very little about it. There is the cry in them of children dying in the lonely glens in winter-time, when the wind howls round the clachan and the snow fills the passes. One almost sees the little procession of black-coated men bearing away a tiny burden from the cottage door into the whiteness beyond, with its one heaped-up patch of brown earth on either side of the little grave. They wail, too, of the Killing Time, when the Covenanters were crushed but never broken under persecution; and one seems to see the defiant gray-haired old men, with their splendid obstinacy, unmoved by threats--not defiant, but simply unbreakable. Thinking of the Covenanters as they pass slowly before one to the sighing of the pipes, one wonders if it is possible to punish by death the man who is content to die. The tuneful reeds sob out, too, the story of the Prince for whom so many brave men bled, and they tell again of the days of song, and of noble legends and deeds of daring when the nation spent its passionate love on its King. "Come back! come back!" The desolate cry of the times. Almost one hears it sounding across the hills, and it seems to me that all that it is so hard to speak, so hard even to look, may perhaps be told in music. And I think loyalty and love speak very beautifully in the old Jacobite airs. Again, as Evan's piper marches up and down in the moonlight playing a lament, the romance of life seems lost in the hardness of it, its stress and its loss. "Hame, hame, hame!" the pipes sob forth, crying for the homes that are sold to strangers, and for the hills and the glens which pass away from the old hands. It is "Good-bye, good-bye," an eternity of farewells. And still, wherever life is most difficult, wherever comforts are fewest and work is most hard, in the distant parts of the world are the Scottish exiles. But I know that all the world over the sons of the heather and the mist, in however distant or alien lands they may be, feel always, as they steer their way through life, that there is a pole-star by which they set their compass; and that some day, perhaps, they or their children may steer the boat to a haven on some rocky shore, where the whaup calls shrilly on the moors above the loch, and the heather grows strong and tough on the hillside, and the peat reek rises almost like the incense of an evening prayer, against a gray, soft sky in the land of the North. I suppose that even in a diary I have no business to mix this up with an account of the Finlaysons' dance. Palestrina came up to me after conscientiously dancing reels with Thomas, looking very pink and pretty, and thoughtful of me, as usual. "Don't stay longer than you feel inclined," she said. "I told them to come for you in the dog-cart, and to wait about for you between twelve and one." "I will take a turn down on the shore," I said, "and have a cigar, and then I will come back and see how you are getting on." Palestrina gave me my crutch, and I went down towards the loch, which looked like a sheet of silver in the moonlight, and I found Anthony and Mrs. Fielden sitting on a garden bench beneath some wind-torn beeches by the shore. To-night there was not a breath of air stirring, and Mrs. Fielden had only thrown a light wrap round her. "Have you come to tell me that I am to go in and dance reels with old Mr. Finlayson?" she said. "It is really so much pleasanter out here. Do sit down and talk to Sir Anthony and me." She would never have allowed one to know that one was in the way, even if one had interrupted a proposal of marriage. Anthony made room for me on the bench, and said heartily, "I am awfully glad to see you able to sit up like this, Hugo. Why, man, you're getting as strong as a horse!" "Oh. I'm all right again," I said. "I'll begin to grow a new leg soon. And the first thing I mean to do when that happens is to dance reels like the Finlaysons." "I believe I ought to be going in to supper now with Mr. Finlayson," said Mrs. Fielden. "Does any one know what time it is? He said he would 'conduct me to the dining-hall' at twelve o'clock." "It is a quarter past now," said Anthony, looking at his watch in the moonlight. "Don't go in, Mrs. Fielden. Wait out here, and talk to Hugo and me." But old Finlayson in his kilt had tracked us to our seat underneath the beech-trees, and he took instant possession of our fair neighbour, and told us to follow presently. He thought all the supper-tables were full just now. "We shan't eat everything before you come," said hospitable old Finlayson, walking away with his beautiful partner on his arm. Mrs. Fielden was dressed in white satin, with some pretty soft stuff about her, and she wore some white heather in her hair. "What a good sort she is!" said Anthony in a loud voice, almost before Mrs. Fielden was out of hearing. It wasn't, perhaps, the most poetical way in which he could have put it, but one didn't want or expect Anthony to express himself poetically. "Utterly spoilt!" I replied, because at that moment I happened to be feeling supremely miserable, and I did not want Anthony to know it. "Not a bit," he replied; "and you know that as well as I do, old chap." "Allow me, Anthony," I said, "to be as savage as I like; it is one of the privileges of a cripple." "Oh, blow cripples!" said Anthony. "You will be shooting next autumn, man." "And what will you be doing?" I said. After all, we have been pals all our lives, and I think Anthony might tell me about it if there is anything to tell. "Oh, I'll be shooting too, I suppose," said Anthony. We smoked for some time in silence. And then Anthony began, and said that he had enjoyed himself amazingly up here in the North, and he went on to say a good word for every one. Old Finlayson had been a brick about his shooting and deer-stalking, and it was beastly hard luck that I hadn't been able to come too. The minister wasn't a bad fellow, even when he was jocose; and Evan Sinclair was one of the best; and so on. "What shall you be doing when you go back, Anthony?" I said, harking back to my old question, and hoping for more information than I actually asked for. "Are you going straight home?" "I'll be at the first shoot at Stanby. Shall you be there?" "I'm afraid not," I said. "I haven't learned to do cross-stitch yet, and I'm sure all the women would think me a great bore, sitting about in their morning-rooms all day. Except Mrs. Fielden, of course! Mrs. Fielden would probably persuade me into thinking that the only thing that made her house-party successful, or saved herself from boredom, was the presence of a lame man in the house." "I don't think you are quite just about Mrs. Fielden, Hugo," said Anthony, moving rather resentfully on the garden bench. "That doesn't matter much," I replied. "One voice will not be missed from the general chorus of praise that follows Mrs. Fielden wherever she goes." "No; but still----" began Anthony; and then he stopped, and we smoked on for some time without speaking. "You see," he began at last, "she is the best friend I ever had." He did not lower his voice, because I suppose Anthony finds it impossible to do so, but went on steadily: "You see, I once cared for a little cousin of hers, and she died when she was eighteen. I don't think anybody ever knew about it, except Mrs. Fielden. But she knows how much cut up I was, and I suppose that is why she is so nice to me always." "I'm awfully sorry!" I said. "I never meant to speak about it," said Anthony in a brisk, cheerful voice. "Oh, don't you bother about it, Hugo! I mean I'm awfully keen about hunting, and I have an excellent time, only I don't suppose I shall ever care for any one else." "Thanks for telling me, Tony." "I wouldn't have said anything about it," said Anthony, "if it hadn't been for what you said about Mrs. Fielden. Y'see, she has been so awfully good to me, and I don't think you quite understand all she is really." "Why, man," I cried, "I love her with every bit of my heart! And I worship her--how does one say one worships a woman?--as if she were the sun!" And I think that was the very first moment that I told myself that I loved Mrs. Fielden. CHAPTER XIX. The minister and Evan Sinclair came to say good-bye; the minister has accepted our approaching departure with his usual philosophy. "You would soon tire of this place in the winter-time," he said. "And even looking at it from the other point of view, I believe that summer visitors should not prolong their stay above a few months. I admit that we have enjoyed your sojourn amongst us; but were you and your sister to become residenters in the place, our intercourse would have to be reconstructed from the foundation." The minister crossed his legs, and, without being pressed to continue the subject, he went on: "There is a certain conventionality, not to say forbearance, admitted and allowed between friends with whom one's acquaintance is to be short; but there is a basis stronger than that upon which any lengthy friendship must be made." "And that basis?" I asked. "That basis, I take it," said the minister, "should be a straightforward disregard for one another. I do not believe in politeness between near neighbours; it cannot last." "I had hoped," said Palestrina, pouting a little, "that you would all miss us, Mr. Macorquodale." "We shall miss you," said the minister quickly, but with judgment. "We shall see the merits as well as the demerits of the case. For instance, one of your friends cost me a sovereign for a favourite charity of hers." Evan Sinclair said very kindly, blinking his fair eyelashes in a shy way, "Well, I know I shall miss you. The place will seem very dull with only Alexander and me left in it." "_I_ shall have my wife," said the minister brutally. "Yes," said Sinclair; "and her mother! You have kept that pretty dark from us, Taurbarrels." "It is only a visit," said Mr. Macorquodale shortly. And he went on in a truculent tone, "And I need not have her unless I want to." "I hear she is strict," murmured Evan. "I hope you will be allowed to look out of the window on the Sabbath, my man." "I am master in my own house," said Mr. Macorquodale magnificently. "Believe me," said Evan, "that's a courtesy title, supported by no valid claim, and still less precedent. A man never has been master of his own house when there is a mistress in it. I remember when my brother got married he had just your very ideas, and he gave his wife the keys of the linen-press and the store-cupboard, 'But the rest of the bunch,' he said, 'I keep to myself.' And he put them all in his pocket. It was not six months after that," said Evan, "that I went to stay with them, and I heard him ask my sister-in-law if she would mind his having two pocket-handkerchiefs on Sundays." Palestrina and I were alone, for Ellicomb had left us a few days before, and we hear from the Jamiesons that he is a daily visitor at their house. Thomas and Anthony were out shooting, and Mrs. Fielden had gone for a walk over the hills. "I have a thousand things to do," said Palestrina, when Evan and the minister had departed. "I also have a thousand things to do," I replied. "Don't tire yourself," said Palestrina. "What are you going to do?" "I am going to re-write my diary," I said. "But, my dear," said Palestrina, "that would be the work of months." "I am only going to correct all the mistakes I have made in it," I replied; and I took my book and a pen, and went and sat in the little room on the ground-floor which they call my den. We once had an old aunt, Palestrina and I, who kept a diary all her life, and when any of the relatives whom she mentioned in its pages came to die, she used to go through all the back numbers of her journal and insert affectionate epithets in front of the names of the deceased. For instance (my aunt's existence was not marked by any thrilling events), the entry would perhaps be as follows: "Maria was late for breakfast this morning. In the afternoon she had her singing-lesson, and afterwards we did some shopping, when Maria tried on her new gown." But the amended entry after Maria's death would be, "Our darling Maria was (a little) late for breakfast this morning; in the afternoon she had her singing-lesson"--and here would probably be a footnote praising Maria's voice--"afterwards we did some shopping, and"--Maria struck out--"my sweet girl tried on her new gown." Any one's death, or even a successful marriage of one of the family, would cause her to revise and correct her diary in this way, and she used to fan the wet ink with a piece of blotting-paper to make it dry black, and thus prevent posterity from knowing that the words written over the lines were an afterthought induced by subsequent events. It was manifestly an unfair way of keeping a diary. But I can claim her example and hereditary taint as an excuse for my own dishonesty this afternoon. I read through my diary with a sense of utter shame, and wherever I found, for instance, that I had said that Mrs. Fielden was frivolous, or even that she raised her eyebrows in an affected way, I corrected the misstatement by the light of the magnificent discovery I had made that Mrs. Fielden was faultless, and that I loved her. Oh, the beauty of this woman and her blessed kindness! the cunning with which she conceals her unselfishness, and her ridiculous attempts at pretending she is frivolous or worldly. Alas! there were so many misstatements to correct, and so many dear adjectives to fill in, that I was not halfway through my task before Mrs. Fielden herself tapped at the window and looked in. I believe I must have grinned foolishly, but what I wanted to do was to stretch out my arms to the beautiful vision, framed in the hectic Virginian creeper round the window, and call out to her to come to me. Mrs. Fielden came in for a minute, and said with the adorable lift of the eyebrows: "I have been educating a pair of young boots by walking through all the bogs on the hillside. Listen, they are quite full of water." She raised herself on her toes with a squelching sound of the leather, and gave one of her joyous soft laughs. "You must change directly," I said, with an idiotic sense of proprietorship. "When I have done so I think I shall come and have tea with you," said Mrs. Fielden. And of course then I knew that she had come home early on purpose to have tea with me, and that probably she had given up something else which she wanted to do, in order that she might sit by me when I was alone--because of course I have found Mrs. Fielden out now, and exposed her hypocrisy. Fortunately she took nearly a quarter of an hour to change her wet boots, and this gave me time to ask myself why I was behaving like a raving idiot, because I had found out that Mrs. Fielden was absolutely perfect, and that I loved her. It was quite the worst quarter of an hour that I have ever spent, because in it I had time to remember that I was a crippled man with one leg, and that Mrs. Fielden was a beautiful young woman whom of course every one loved, and that she owned an old historical place called Stanby, and probably--I realized this also--that she would continue to come over and sit with a dull man and bewilder him with her beauty and her kindness only so long as he did not allow her to know the supremely impertinent fact that he had fallen in love with her. I must plead ill-health, and a certain weakness of nerve which no doubt always follows a surgical operation, for the fact that I turned round and put my face in the pillows for a moment and groaned. Mrs. Fielden came in in my favourite pale-blue gown which she sometimes wears when she changes her frock at tea-time. She came and took a seat beside me, and as she never hurriedly plunges into a conversation we sat silent for a time. The afternoon was darkening now, and the light of a blazing fire leaped and played upon her pale-blue dress, and turned her brown hair to a sort of red-gold. Mrs. Fielden thinks she is the only person in the world who can make up a fire. And she is perfectly right. She arranged the logs with a long brass poker, shifting them here and there, while her dear face glowed in the light of the fire. She is not a luxurious woman, in spite of being surrounded always by luxury. For instance, she stands and walks in a very erect way, and I have never seen her stuff a lot of sofa cushions at her back in a chair, nor lounge on a sofa. Her glorious, buoyant health seems to exempt her from need of support or ease, and her figure is too pretty for lounging. When she had finished arranging the logs she put down the poker and looked at me with that dear kindliness of hers, and said in her pretty voice, "What have you been doing with yourself this afternoon?" "The minister and Evan Sinclair came up to say good-bye," I said. "And since then?" I took my diary, which still lay on my knee, and hid it under the sofa cushions. "Since then," I said, "I have been correcting--that is, writing my diary." "Oh, the diary!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielden delightedly. "I had forgotten about that!" "No, you hadn't," I said to myself. "It is only part of your wilful, uncomprehendable, untranslatable charm that makes you pretend sometimes that you have no memory. As a matter of fact, you knew from the first that it would be a relief to an egotistical grumbler to get rid of his spleen sometimes on blue ruled essay paper, and so you set him a task to do, and you have often wondered since how he is getting on with it. "I think I must see the diary," said Mrs. Fielden. "That you certainly shall not," I said; and I pushed the book still farther under the sofa cushions--just as if it was necessary to fight with Mrs. Fielden for anything, or any use either! "I thought you promised," said Mrs. Fielden. "If I did I have changed my mind," I said firmly. "You know you mean all the time to let me see it," said Mrs. Fielden. "I know I do not mean to let you see it for even a minute of time," I replied. One of Mrs. Fielden's special odd little silences fell between us. "No," I said to myself. "I will _not_ say I am sorry. I will _not_ say I have been a brute, I will _not_ feel a desire to comfort her, even if her eyes have the wistful look in them." Mrs. Fielden sat still and looked into the fire. What unexpected thing will she do next, I wonder? Will she suddenly burst out laughing, or will she turn and take every bit of manhood out of me by smiling? Or shall I find, when I turn and look at her face, simply that she has gone to sleep? Good heavens! What if she should be crying? In an agony of compunction I turned and looked at her; and Mrs. Fielden not only smiled, but held out her hand for the book.... I rummaged underneath the sofa cushions, and passed it over to her. She bent forward till the firelight from the blazing logs fell full on the open page, and she read every one of those corrected lines. She saw where I had once put "affected" I had now put "beautiful," and for "frivolous" I put a "lovely gaiety," and she read till she came to the last correction of all. I had run a line through the words "Mrs. Fielden came to sit with me," and had written over it, "My darling came to see me----" Then Mrs. Fielden closed the book, and left her chair where she had been sitting. She crossed the hearthrug quite slowly till she reached my sofa. And then she kneeled down and took both my hands in her dear strong ones, and looked at me with misty blue eyes, like wet forget-me-nots. "But, Hugo dear," she said, "why did you not tell me long ago?" THE END. _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_ BY Miss MACNAUGHTAN. THE FORTUNE OF CHRISTINA M'NAB. THE DUENNA OF A GENIUS. M. E. Francis. OWD BOB. Alfred Ollivant. EIGHT DAYS. R. E. Forrest. LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET. Miss Braddon. THE OCTOPUS. Frank Norris. THE PIT. Frank Norris. MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE, Etc. Booth Tarkington. WOODSIDE FARM. Mrs. W. K. Clifford. WHITE FANG. Jack London. THE PRINCESS PASSES. C. N. & A. M. Williamson. THE MAN FROM AMERICA. Mrs. H. de la Pasture. SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. "Q" INCOMPARABLE BELLAIRS. A. and E. Castle. IF YOUTH BUT KNEW! A. and E. Castle. MATTHEW AUSTIN. W. E. Norris. HIS GRACE. W. E. Norris. THE AMERICAN PRISONER. Eden Phillpotts. THE HOSTS OF THE LORD. Mrs. F. A. Steel. THE LADY OF THE BARGE. W. W. Jacobs. THE GOD IN THE CAR. Anthony Hope. QUISANTE. Anthony Hope. THE INTRUSIONS OF PEGGY. Anthony Hope. THE KING'S MIRROR. Anthony Hope. THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. Sir G. Parker. AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH. Sir G. Parker. THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG. Sir G. Parker. MARRIAGE OF WILLIAM ASHE. Mrs. Humphry Ward HISTORY OF DAVID GRIEVE. Mrs. Humphry Ward. ROBERT ELSMERE. Mrs. Humphry Ward. CLEMENTINA. A. E. W. Mason. THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS. C. J. Cutcliffe Hyne. THE WAGES OF SIN. Lucas Malet. _Etc., Etc._ _NELSON'S LIBRARY._ 
3535	----	whitespace; small checks; poetry; italics; dashes; gut; A NARRATIVE OF THE EXPEDITION TO BOTANY BAY by Watkin Tench INTRODUCTION In offering this little tract to the public, it is equally the writer's wish to conduce to their amusement and information. The expedition on which he is engaged has excited much curiosity, and given birth to many speculations, respecting the consequences to arise from it. While men continue to think freely, they will judge variously. Some have been sanguine enough to foresee the most beneficial effects to the Parent State, from the Colony we are endeavouring to establish; and some have not been wanting to pronounce the scheme big with folly, impolicy, and ruin. Which of these predictions will be completed, I leave to the decision of the public. I cannot, however, dismiss the subject without expressing a hope, that the candid and liberal of each opinion, induced by the humane and benevolent intention in which it originated, will unite in waiting the result of a fair trial to an experiment, no less new in its design, than difficult in its execution. As this publication enters the world with the name of the author, candour will, he trusts, induce its readers to believe, that no consideration could weigh with him in an endeavour to mislead them. Facts are related simply as they happened, and when opinions are hazarded, they are such as, he hopes, patient inquiry, and deliberate decision, will be found to have authorised. For the most part he has spoken from actual observation; and in those places where the relations of others have been unavoidably adopted. He has been careful to search for the truth, and repress that spirit of exaggeration which is almost ever the effect of novelty on ignorance. The nautical part of the work is comprized in as few pages as possible. By the professional part of my readers this will be deemed judicious; and the rest will not, I believe, be dissatisfied at its brevity. I beg leave, however, to say of the astronomical calculations, that they may be depended on with the greatest degree of security, as they were communicated by an officer, who was furnished with instruments, and commissioned by the Board of Longitude, to make observations during the voyage, and in the southern hemisphere. An unpractised writer is generally anxious to bespeak public attention, and to solicit public indulgence. Except on professional subjects, military men are, perhaps, too fearful of critical censure. For the present narrative no other apology is attempted, than the intentions of its author, who has endeavoured not only to satisfy present curiosity, but to point out to future adventurers, the favourable, as well as adverse circumstances which will attend their settling here. The candid, it is hoped, will overlook the inaccuracies of this imperfect sketch, drawn amidst the complicated duties of the service in which the Author is engaged, and make due allowance for the want of opportunity of gaining more extensive information. Watkin Tench, Capt. of the Marines. Sydney Cove, Port Jackson, New South Wales, 10 July, 1788. CHAPTER I From the Embarkation of the Convicts, to the Departure of the Ships from England. The marines and convicts having been previously embarked in the River, at Portsmouth, and Plymouth, the whole fleet destined for the expedition rendezvoused at the Mother Bank, on the 16th of March 1787, and remained there until the 13th of May following. In this period, excepting a slight appearance of contagion in one of the transports, the ships were universally healthy, and the prisoners in high spirits. Few complaints or lamentations were to be heard among them, and an ardent wish for the hour of departure seemed generally to prevail. As the reputation, equally with the safety of the officers and soldiers appointed to guard the convicts, consisted in maintaining due subordination, an opportunity was taken, immediately on their being embarked, to convince them, in the most pointed terms, that any attempt on their side, either to contest the command, or to force their escape, should be punished with instant death; orders to this effect were given to the centinels in their presence; happily, however, for all parties, there occurred not any instance in which there was occasion to have recourse to so desperate a measure; the behavior of the convicts being in general humble, submissive, and regular: indeed I should feel myself wanting in justice to those unfortunate men, were I not to bear this public testimony of the sobriety and decency of their conduct. Unpleasant as a state of inactivity and delay for many weeks appeared to us, it was not without its advantages; for by means of it we were enabled to establish necessary regulations among the convicts, and to adopt such a system of defence, as left us little to Apprehend for our own security, in case a spirit of madness and desperation had hurried them on to attempt our destruction. Among many other troublesome parts of duty which the service we were engaged on required, the inspection of all letters brought to, or sent from the ships, was not one of the least tiresome and disagreeable. The number and contents of those in the vessel I was embarked in, frequently surprised me very much; they varied according to the dispositions of the writers: but their constant language was, an apprehension of the impracticability of returning home, the dread of a sickly passage, and the fearful prospect of a distant and barbarous country. But this apparent despondency proceeded in few instances from sentiment. With too many it was, doubtless, an artifice to awaken compassion, and call forth relief; the correspondence invariably ending in a petition for money and tobacco. Perhaps a want of the latter, which is considered a great luxury by its admirers among the lower classes of life, might be the more severely felt, from their being debarred in all cases whatever, sickness excepted, the use of spirituous liquors. It may be thought proper for me to mention, that during our stay at the Mother Bank, the soldiers and convicts were indiscriminately served with fresh beef. The former, in addition, had the usual quantity of beer allowed in the navy, and were at what is called full allowance of all species of provisions; the latter, at two thirds only. CHAPTER II. From the Departure, to the Arrival of the Fleet at Teneriffe. Governor Phillip having at length reached Portsmouth, and all things deemed necessary for the expedition being put on board, at daylight on the morning of the 13th, the signal to weigh anchor was made in the Commanding Officer's ship the Sirius. Before six o'clock the whole fleet were under sail; and, the weather being fine and wind easterly, proceeded through the Needles with a fresh leading breeze. In addition to our little armament, the Hyena frigate was ordered to accompany us a certain distance to the westward, by which means our number was increased to twelve sail: His Majesty's ships 'Sirius', 'Hyena', and 'Supply', three Victuallers with two years stores and provisions on board for the Settlement, and six Transports, with troops and convicts. In the transports were embarked four captains, twelve subalterns, twenty-four serjeants and corporals, eight drummers, and one hundred and sixty private marines, making the whole of the military force, including the Major Commandant and Staff on board the Sirius, to consist of two hundred and twelve persons, of whom two hundred and ten were volunteers. The number of convicts was five hundred and sixty-five men, one hundred and ninety-two women, and eighteen children; the major part of the prisoners were mechanics and husbandmen, selected on purpose by order of Government. By ten o'clock we had got clear of the Isle of Wight, at which time, having very little pleasure in conversing with my own thoughts, I strolled down among the convicts, to observe their sentiments at this juncture. A very few excepted, their countenances indicated a high degree of satisfaction, though in some, the pang of being severed, perhaps for ever, from their native land, could not be wholly suppressed; in general, marks of distress were more perceptible among the men than the women; for I recollect to have seen but one of those affected on the occasion, "Some natural tears she dropp'd, but wip'd them soon." After this the accent of sorrow was no longer heard; more genial skies and change of scene banished repining and discontent, and introduced in their stead cheerfulness and acquiescence in a lot, now not to be altered. To add to the good disposition which was beginning to manifest itself, on the morning of the 20th, in consequence of some favorable representations made by the officers commanding detachments, they were hailed and told from the Sirius, that in those cases where they judged it proper, they were at liberty to release the convicts from the fetters in which they had been hitherto confined. In complying with these directions, I had great pleasure in being able to extend this humane order to the whole of those under my charge, without a single exception. It is hardly necessary for me to say, that the precaution of ironing the convicts at any time reached to the men only. In the evening of the same day, the Hyena left us for England, which afforded an early opportunity of writing to our friends, and easing their apprehensions by a communication of the favourable accounts it was in our power to send them. From this time to the day of our making the land, little occurred worthy of remark. I cannot, however, help noticing the propriety of employing the marines on a service which requires activity and exertion at sea, in preference to other troops. Had a regiment recruited since the war been sent out, sea-sickness would have incapacitated half the men from performing the duties immediately and indispensably necessary; whereas the marines, from being accustomed to serve on board ship, accommodated themselves with ease to every exigency, and surmounted every difficulty. At daybreak, on the morning of the 30th of May we saw the rocks named the Deserters, which lie off the south-east end of Madeira; and found the south-east extremity of the most southerly of them, to be in the latitude of 32 deg 28 min north, longitude 16 deg 17 1/2 min west of Greenwich. The following day we saw the Salvages, a cluster of rocks which are placed between the Madeiras and Canary Islands, and determined the latitude of the middle of the Great Salvage to be 30 deg 12 min north, and the longitude of its eastern side to be 15 deg 39 min west. It is no less extraordinary than unpardonable, that in some very modern charts of the Atlantic, published in London, the Salvages are totally omitted. We made the island of Teneriffe on the 3d of June, and in the evening anchored in the road of Santa Cruz, after an excellent passage of three weeks from the day we left England. CHAPTER III. From the Fleet's Arrival at Teneriffe, to its Departure for Rio de Janeiro, in the Brazils. There is little to please a traveller at Teneriffe. He has heard wonders of its celebrated Peak, but he may remain for weeks together at the town of Santa Cruz without having a glimpse of it, and when its cloud-topped head emerges, the chance is, that he feels disappointed, for, from the point of view in which he sees it, the neighbouring mountains lessen its effect very considerably. Excepting the Peak, the eye receives little pleasure from the general face of the country, which is sterile and uninviting to the last degree. The town, however, from its cheerful white appearance, contrasted with the dreary brownness of the back ground, makes not an unpleasing coup d'oeil. It is neither irregular in its plan, nor despicable in its style of building; and the churches and religious houses are numerous, sumptuous, and highly ornamented. The morning of our arrival, as many officers as could be spared from the different ships were introduced to the Marquis de Brancifort, Governor of the Canary Islands, whose reception was highly flattering and polite. His Excellency is a Sicilian by birth, and is most deservedly popular in his government. He prefers residing at Teneriffe, for the conveniency of frequent communication with Europe, to the Grand Canary, which is properly the seat of power; and though not long fixed here, has already found means to establish a manufactory in cotton, silk, and thread, under excellent regulations, which employs more than sixty persons, and is of infinite service to the common people. During our short stay we had every day some fresh proof of his Excellency's esteem and attention, and had the honour of dining with him, in a style of equal elegance and splendor. At this entertainment the profusion of ices which appeared in the desert was surprising, considering that we were enjoying them under a sun nearly vertical. But it seems the caverns of the Peak, very far below its summit, afford, at all seasons, ice in abundance. The restless importunity of the beggars, and the immodesty of the lowest class of women, are highly disgusting. From the number of his countrymen to be found, an Englishman is at no loss for society. In the mercantile houses established here, it is from gentlemen of this description that any information is derived, for the taciturnity of the Spaniards is not to be overcome in a short acquaintance, especially by Englishmen, whose reserve falls little short of their own. The inland country is described as fertile, and highly romantic; and the environs of the small town of Laguza mentioned as particularly pleasant. Some of our officers who made an excursion to it confirmed the account amply. It should seem that the power of the Church, which has been so long on the decline in Europe, is at length beginning to be shaken in the colonies of the Catholic powers: some recent instances which have taken place at Teneriffe, evince it very fully. Were not a stranger, however, to be apprized of this, he would hardly draw the conclusion from his own observations. The Bishop of these islands, which conjunctively form a See, resides on the Grand Canary. He is represented as a man in years, and of a character as amiable as exalted, extremely beloved both by foreigners and those of his own church. The bishopric is valued at ten thousand pounds per annum; the government at somewhat less than two. In spite of every precaution, while we lay at anchor in the road, a convict had the address, one night, to secrete himself on the deck, when the rest were turned below; and after remaining quiet for some hours, let himself down over the bow of the ship, and floated to a boat that lay astern, into which he got, and cutting her adrift, suffered himself to be carried away by the current, until at a sufficient distance to be out of hearing, when he rowed off. This elopement was not discovered till some hours after, when a search being made, and boats sent to the different parts of the island, he was discovered in a small cove, to which he had fled for refuge. On being questioned, it appeared he had endeavoured to get himself received on board a Dutch East Indiaman in the road; but being rejected there, he resolved on crossing over to the Grand Canary, which is at the distance of ten leagues, and when detected, was recruiting his strength in order to make the attempt. At the same time that the boats of the fleet were sent on this pursuit, information was given to the Spanish Governor of what had happened, who immediately detached parties every way in order to apprehend the delinquent. Having remained a week at Teneriffe, and in that time completed our stock of water, and taken on board wine, &c. early on the morning of the 10th of June we weighed anchor, and stood out to sea with a light easterly breeze. The shortness of our stay, and the consequent hurry, prevented our increasing much any previous knowledge we might have had of the place. For the information of those who may follow us on this service, it may not, however, be amiss to state the little that will be found of use to them. The markets afford fresh meat, though it is neither plentiful nor good. Fish is scarce; but poultry may be procured in almost any quantity, at as cheap a rate as in the English sea-ports. Vegetables do not abound, except pumpkins and onions, of which I advise all ships to lay in a large stock. Milch goats are bought for a trifle, and easily procured. Grapes cannot be scarce in their season; but when we were here, except figs and excellent mulberries, no fruit was to be procured. Dry wines, as the merchants term them, are sold from ten to fifteen pounds a pipe; for the latter price, the very best, called the London Particular, may be bought: sweet wines are considerably dearer. Brandy is also a cheap article. I would not advise the voyager to depend on this place for either his hogs or sheep. And he will do well to supply himself with dollars before he quits England, to expend in the different ports he may happen to touch at. Should he, however, have neglected this precaution, let him remember when he discounts bills, or exchanges English money here, not to receive his returns in quarter dollars, which will be tendered to him, but altogether in whole ones, as he will find the latter turn to better account than the former, both at Rio de Janeiro and the Cape of Good Hope. The latitude of the town of Santa Cruz is 28 deg 27 1/2 min north, the longitude 16 deg 17 1/2 min west of Greenwich. CHAPTER IV. The Passage from Teneriffe to Rio de Janeiro, in the Brazils. In sailing from Teneriffe to the south-east, the various and picturesque appearances of the Peak are beautiful to the highest degree. The stupendous height, which before was lost on the traveller, now strikes him with awe and admiration, the whole island appearing one vast mountain with a pyramidal top. As we proceeded with light winds, at an easy rate, we saw it distinctly for three days after our departure, and should have continued to see it longer, had not the haziness of the atmosphere interrupted our view. The good people of Santa Cruz tell some stories of the wonderful extent of space to be seen from the summit of it, that would not disgrace the memoirs of the ever-memorable Baron Munchausen. On the 18th of June we saw the most northerly of the Cape de Verd Islands, at which time the Commodore gave the fleet to understand, by signal, that his intention was to touch at some of them. The following day we made St. Jago, and stood in to gain an anchorage in Port Praya Bay. But the baffling winds and lee current rendering it a matter of doubt whether or not the ships would be able to fetch, the signal for anchoring was hauled down, and the fleet bore up before the wind. In passing along them we were enabled to ascertain the south end of the Isle of Sal to be in 16 deg 40 min north latitude, and 23 deg 5 min west longitude. The south end of Bonavista to be in 15 deg 57 min north, 23 deg 8 min west. The south end of the Isle of May in 15 deg 11 min north, 23 deg 26 min west; and the longitude of the fort, in the town of Port Praya, to be 23 deg 36 1/2 min west of Greenwich. By this time the weather, from the sun being so far advanced in the northern tropic, was become intolerably hot, which, joined to the heavy rains that soon after came on, made us very apprehensive for the health of the fleet. Contrary, however, to expectation, the number of sick in the ship I was embarked on was surprisingly small, and the rest of the fleet were nearly as healthy. Frequent explosions of gunpowder, lighting fires between decks, and a liberal use of that admirable antiseptic, oil of tar, were the preventives we made use of against impure air; and above all things we were careful to keep the men's bedding and wearing apparel dry. As we advanced towards the Line, the weather grew gradually better and more pleasant. On the 14th of July we passed the Equator, at which time the atmosphere was as serene, and the temperature of the air not hotter than in a bright summer day in England. From this period, until our arrival on the American coast, the heats, the calms, and the rains by which we had been so much incommoded, were succeeded by a series of weather as delightful as it was unlooked for. At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 2nd of August, the 'Supply', which had been previously sent a-head on purpose, made the signal for seeing the land, which was visible to the whole fleet before sunset, and proved to be Cape Frio, in latitude 23 deg 5 min south, longitude 41 deg 40 1/4 min west. Owing to light airs we did not get a-breast of the city of St. Sebastian, in the harbour of Rio de Janeiro, until the 7th of the month, when we anchored about three quarters of a mile from the shore. CHAPTER V. From the Arrival of the Fleet at Rio de Janeiro, till its Departure for the Cape of Good Hope; with some Remarks on the Brazils. Brazil is a country very imperfectly known in Europe. The Portugueze, from political motives, have been sparing in their accounts of it. Whence our descriptions of it, in the geographical publications in England, are drawn, I know not: that they are miserably erroneous and defective, is certain. The city of St. Sebastian stands on the west side of the harbour, in a low unhealthy situation, surrounded on all sides by hills, which stop the free circulation of air, and subject its inhabitants to intermittents and putrid diseases. It is of considerable extent: Mr. Cook makes it as large as Liverpool; but Liverpool, in 1767, when Mr. Cook wrote, was not two-thirds of its present size. Perhaps it equals Chester, or Exeter, in the share of ground it occupies, and is infinitely more populous than either of them. The streets intersect each other at right angles, are tolerably well built, and excellently paved, abounding with shops of every kind, in which the wants of a stranger, if money is not one of them, can hardly remain unsatisfied. About the centre of the city, and at a little distance from the beach, the Palace of the Viceroy stands, a long, low building, no wise remarkable in its exterior appearance; though within are some spacious and handsome apartments. The churches and convents are numerous, and richly decorated; hardly a night passes without some of the latter being illuminated in honour of their patron saints, which has a very brilliant effect when viewed from the water, and was at first mistaken by us for public rejoicings. At the corner of almost every street stands a little image of the Virgin, stuck round with lights in an evening, before which passengers frequently stop to pray and sing very loudly. Indeed, the height to which religious zeal is carried in this place, cannot fail of creating astonishment in a stranger. The greatest part of the inhabitants seem to have no other occupation, than that of paying visits and going to church, at which times you see them sally forth richly dressed, en chapeau bras, with the appendages of a bag for the hair, and a small sword: even boys of six years old are seen parading about, furnished with these indispensable requisites. Except when at their devotions, it is not easy to get a sight of the women, and when obtained, the comparisons drawn by a traveller, lately arrived from England, are little flattering to Portugueze beauty. In justice, however, to the ladies of St. Sebastian, I must observe, that the custom of throwing nosegays at strangers, for the purpose of bringing on an assignation, which Doctor Solander, and another gentleman of Mr. Cook's ship, met with when here, was never seen by any of us in a single instance. We were so deplorably unfortunate as to walk every evening before their windows and balconies, without being honoured with a single bouquet, though nymphs and flowers were in equal and great abundance. Among other public buildings, I had almost forgot to mention an observatory, which stands near the middle of the town, and is tolerably well furnished with astronomical instruments. During our stay here, some Spanish and Portuguese mathematicians were endeavouring to determine the boundaries of the territories belonging to their respective crowns. Unhappily, however, for the cause of science, these gentleman have not hitherto been able to coincide in their accounts, so that very little information on this head, to be depended upon, could be gained. How far political motives may have caused this disagreement, I do not presume to decide; though it deserves notice, that the Portuguese accuse the Abbee de la Caille, who observed here by order of the King of France, of having laid down the longitude of this place forty-five miles too much to the eastward. Until the year 1770, all the flour in the settlement was brought from Europe; but since that time the inhabitants have made so rapid a progress in raising grain, as to be able to supply themselves with it abundantly. The principal corn country lies around Rio Grande, in the latitude of 32 deg south, where wheat flourishes so luxuriantly, as to yield from seventy to eighty bushels for one. Coffee also, which they formerly received from Portugal, now grows in such plenty as to enable them to export considerable quantities of it. But the staple commodity of the country is sugar. That they have not, however, learnt the art of making palatable rum, the English troops in New South Wales can bear testimony; a large quantity, very ill flavoured, having been bought and shipped here for the use of the garrison of Port Jackson. It was in 1771 that St. Salvador, which had for more than a century been the capital of Brazil, ceased to be so; and that the seat of Government was removed to St. Sebastian. The change took place on account of the colonial war, at that time carried on by the Courts of Lisbon and Madrid. And, indeed, were the object of security alone to determine the seat of Government, I know but few places better situated in that respect than the one I am describing; the natural strength of the country, joined to the difficulties which would attend an attack on the fortifications, being such as to render it very formidable. It may be presumed that the Portuguese Government is well apprized of this circumstance and of the little risque they run in being deprived of so important a possession, else it will not be easy to penetrate the reasons which induce them to treat the troops who compose the garrison with such cruel negligence. Their regiments were ordered out with a promise of being relieved, and sent back to Europe at the end of three years, in conformity to which they settled all their domestic arrangements. But the faith of Government has been broken, and at the expiration of twenty years, all that is left to the remnant of these unfortunate men, is to suffer in submissive silence. I was one evening walking with a Portuguese officer, when this subject was started, and on my telling him, that such a breach of public honour to English troops would become a subject of parliamentary enquiry, he seized my hand with great eagerness, "Ah, Sir!" exclaimed he, "yours is a free country--we"!----His emotions spoke what his tongue refused. As I am mentioning the army, I cannot help observing, that I saw nothing here to confirm the remark of Mr. Cook, that the inhabitants of the place, whenever they meet an officer of the garrison, bow to him with the greatest obsequiousness; and by omitting such a ceremony, would subject themselves to be knocked down, though the other seldom deigns to return the compliment. The interchange of civilities is general between them, and seems by no means extorted. The people who could submit to such insolent superiority, would, indeed, deserve to be treated as slaves. The police of the city is very good. Soldiers patrole the streets frequently, and riots are seldom heard of. The dreadful custom of stabbing, from motives of private resentment, is nearly at an end, since the church has ceased to afford an asylum to murderers. In other respects, the progress of improvement appears slow, and fettered by obstacles almost insurmountable, whose baneful influence will continue, until a more enlightened system of policy shall be adopted. From morning to night the ears of a stranger are greeted by the tinkling of the convent bells, and his eyes saluted by processions of devotees, whose adoration and levity seem to keep equal pace, and succeed each other in turns. "Do you want to make your son sick of soldiering? Shew him the Trainbands of London on a field-day." Let him who would wish to give his son a distaste to Popery, point out to him the sloth, the ignorance, and the bigotry of this place. Being nearly ready to depart by the 1st of September, as many officers as possible went on that day to the palace to take leave of his Excellency, the Viceroy of the Brazils, to whom we had been previously introduced; who on this, and every other occasion, was pleased to honour us with the most distinguished marks of regard and attention. Some part, indeed, of the numerous indulgencies we experienced during our stay here, must doubtless be attributed to the high respect in which the Portuguese held Governor Phillip, who was for many years a captain in their navy, and commanded a ship of war on this station: in consequence of which, many privileges were extended to us, very unusual to be granted to strangers. We were allowed the liberty of making short excursions into the country, and on these occasions, as well as when walking in the city, the mortifying custom of having an officer of the garrison attending us was dispensed with on our leaving our names and ranks, at the time of landing, with the adjutant of orders at the palace. It happened, however, sometimes, that the presence of a military man was necessary to prevent imposition in the shopkeepers, who frequently made a practice of asking more for their goods than the worth of them. In which case an officer, when applied to, always told us the usual price of the commodity with the greatest readiness, and adjusted the terms of the purchase. On the morning of the fourth of September we left Rio de Janeiro, amply furnished with the good things which its happy soil and clime so abundantly produce. The future voyager may with security depend on this place for laying in many parts of his stock. Among these may be enumerated sugar, coffee, rum, port wine, rice, tapioca, and tobacco, besides very beautiful wood for the purposes of household furniture. Poultry is not remarkably cheap, but may be procured in any quantity; as may hops at a low rate. The markets are well supplied with butcher's meat, and vegetables of every sort are to be procured at a price next to nothing; the yams are particularly excellent. Oranges abound so much, as to be sold for sixpence a hundred; and limes are to be had on terms equally moderate. Bananas, cocoa nuts, and guavas, are common; but the few pineapples brought to market are not remarkable either for flavour, or cheapness. Besides the inducements to lay out money already mentioned, the naturalist may add to his collection by an almost endless variety of beautiful birds and curious insects, which are to be bought at a reasonable price, well preserved, and neatly assorted. I shall close my account of this place by informing strangers, who may come here, that the Portuguese reckon their money in rees, an imaginary coin, twenty of which make a small copper piece called a 'vintin', and sixteen of these last a 'petack'. Every piece is marked with the number of rees it is worth, so that a mistake can hardly happen. English silver coin has lost its reputation here, and dollars will be found preferable to any other money. CHAPTER VI. The Passage from the Brazils to the Cape of Good Hope; with an Account of the Transactions of the Fleet there. Our passage from Rio de Janeiro to the Cape of Good Hope was equally prosperous with that which had preceded it. We steered away to the south-east, and lost sight of the American coast the day after our departure. From this time until the 13th of October, when we made the Cape, nothing remarkable occurred, except the loss of a convict in the ship I was on board, who unfortunately fell into the sea, and perished in spite of our efforts to save him, by cutting adrift a life buoy and hoisting out a boat. During the passage, a slight dysentery prevailed in some of the ships, but was in no instance mortal. We were at first inclined to impute it to the water we took on board at the Brazils, but as the effect was very partial, some other cause was more probably the occasion of it. At seven o'clock in the evening of the 13th of October, we cast anchor in Table Bay, and found many ships of different nations in the harbour. Little can be added to the many accounts already published of the Cape of Good Hope, though, if an opinion on the subject might be risqued, the descriptions they contain are too flattering. When contrasted with Rio de Janeiro, it certainly suffers in the comparison. Indeed we arrived at a time equally unfavourable for judging of the produce of the soil and the temper of its cultivators, who had suffered considerably from a dearth that had happened the preceding season, and created a general scarcity. Nor was the chagrin of these deprivations lessened by the news daily arriving of the convulsions that shook the republic, which could not fail to make an impression even on Batavian phlegm. As a considerable quantity of flour, and the principal part of the live stock, which was to store our intended settlement, were meant to be procured here, Governor Phillip lost no time in waiting on Mynheer Van Graaffe, the Dutch Governor, to request permission (according to the custom of the place) to purchase all that we stood in need of. How far the demand extended, I know not, nor Mynheer Van Graaffe's reasons for complying with it in part only. To this gentleman's political sentiments I confess myself a stranger; though I should do his politeness and liberality at his own table an injustice, were I not to take this public opportunity of acknowledging them; nor can I resist the opportunity which presents itself, to inform my readers, in honor of M. Van Graaffe's humanity, that he has made repeated efforts to recover the unfortunate remains of the crew of the Grosvenor Indiaman, which was wrecked about five years ago on the coast of Caffraria. This information was given me by Colonel Gordon, commandant of the Dutch troops at the Cape, whose knowledge of the interior parts of this country surpasses that of any other man. And I am sorry to say that the Colonel added, these unhappy people were irrecoverably lost to the world and their friends, by being detained among the Caffres, the most savage set of brutes on earth. His Excellency resides at the Government house, in the East India Company's garden. This last is of considerable extent, and is planted chiefly with vegetables for the Dutch Indiamen which may happen to touch at the port. Some of the walks are extremely pleasant from the shade they afford, and the whole garden is very neatly kept. The regular lines intersecting each other at right angles, in which it is laid out, will, nevertheless, afford but little gratification to an Englishman, who has been used to contemplate the natural style which distinguishes the pleasure grounds of his own country. At the head of the centre walks stands a menagerie, on which, as well as the garden, many pompous eulogiums have been passed, though in my own judgment, considering the local advantages possessed by the Company, it is poorly furnished both with animals and birds; a tyger, a zebra, some fine ostriches, a cassowary, and the lovely crown-fowl, are among the most remarkable. The table land, which stands at the back of the town, is a black dreary looking mountain, apparently flat at top, and of more than eleven hundred yards in height. The gusts of wind which blow from it are violent to an excess, and have a very unpleasant effect, by raising the dust in such clouds, as to render stirring out of doors next to impossible. Nor can any precaution prevent the inhabitants from being annoyed by it, as much within doors as without. At length the wished-for day, on which the next effort for reaching the place of our destination was to be made, appeared. The morning was calm, but the land wind getting up about noon, on the 12th of November we weighed anchor, and soon left far behind every scene of civilization and humanized manners, to explore a remote and barbarous land; and plant in it those happy arts, which alone constitute the pre-eminence and dignity of other countries. The live animals we took on board on the public account from the Cape, for stocking our projected colony, were, two bulls, three cows, three horses, forty-four sheep, and thirty-two hogs, besides goats, and a very large quantity of poultry of every kind. A considerable addition to this was made by the private stocks of the officers, who were, however, under a necessity of circumscribing their original intentions on this head very much, from the excessive dearness of many of the articles. It will readily be believed, that few of the military found it convenient to purchase sheep, when hay to feed them costs sixteen shillings a hundred weight. The boarding-houses on shore, to which strangers have recourse, are more reasonable than might be expected. For a dollar and a half per day we were well lodged, and partook of a table tolerably supplied in the French style. Should a traveller's stock of tea run short, it is a thousand chances to one that he will be able to replenish it here at a cheaper rate than in England. He may procure plenty of arrack and white wine; also raisins, and dried fruits of other sorts. If he dislikes to live at a boarding-house, he will find the markets well stored, and the price of butcher's meat and vegetables far from excessive. Just before the signal for weighing was made, a ship, under American colours, entered the road, bound from Boston, from whence she had sailed one hundred and forty days, on a trading voyage to the East Indies. In her route, she had been lucky enough to pick up several of the inferior officers and crew of the Harcourt East-Indiaman, which ship had been wrecked on one of the Cape de Verd Islands. The master, who appeared to be a man of some information, on being told the destination of our fleet, gave it as his opinion, that if a reception could be secured, emigrations would take place to New South Wales, not only from the old continent, but the new one, where the spirit of adventure and thirst for novelty were excessive. CHAPTER VII. The Passage from the Cape of Good Hope to Botany Bay. We had hardly cleared the land when a south-east wind set in, and, except at short intervals, continued to blow until the 19th of the month; when we were in the latitude of 37 deg 40 min south, and by the time-keeper, in longitude 11 deg 30 min east, so that our distance from Botany Bay had increased nearly an hundred leagues since leaving the Cape. As no appearance of a change in our favour seemed likely to take place, Governor Phillip at this time signified his intention of shifting his pennant from the Sirius to the 'Supply', and proceeding on his voyage without waiting for the rest of the fleet, which was formed in two divisions. The first consisting of three transports, known to be the best sailors, was put under the command of a Lieutenant of the navy; and the remaining three, with the victuallers, left in charge of Captain Hunter, of his Majesty's ship Sirius. In the last division was the vessel, in which the author of this narrative served. Various causes prevented the separation from taking place until the 25th, when several sawyers, carpenters, blacksmiths, and other mechanics, were shifted from different ships into the 'Supply', in order to facilitate his Excellency's intention of forwarding the necessary buildings to be erected at Botany Bay, by the time the rest of the fleet might be expected to arrive. Lieutenant Governor Ross, and the Staff of the marine battalion, also removed from the Sirius into the Scarborough transport, one of the ships of the first division, in order to afford every assistance which the public service might receive, by their being early on the spot on which our future operations were to be conducted. From this time a succession of fair winds and pleasant weather corresponded to our eager desires, and on the 7th of January, 1788, the long wished for shore of Van Diemen gratified our sight. We made the land at two o'clock in the afternoon, the very hour we expected to see it from the lunar observations of Captain Hunter, whose accuracy, as an astronomer, and conduct as an officer, had inspired us with equal gratitude and admiration. After so long a confinement, on a service so peculiarly disgusting and troublesome, it cannot be matter of surprise that we were overjoyed at the near prospect of a change of scene. By sunset we had passed between the rocks, which Captain Furneaux named the Mewstone and Swilly. The former bears a very close resemblance to the little island near Plymouth, whence it took its name: its latitude is 43 deg 48 min south, longitude 146 deg 25 min east of Greenwich. In running along shore, we cast many an anxious eye towards the land, on which so much of our future destiny depended. Our distance, joined to the haziness of the atmosphere, prevented us, however, from being able to discover much. With our best glasses we could see nothing but hills of a moderate height, cloathed with trees, to which some little patches of white sandstone gave the appearance of being covered with snow. Many fires were observed on the hills in the evening. As no person in the ship I was on board had been on this coast before, we consulted a little chart, published by Steele, of the Minories, London, and found it, in general, very correct; it would be more so, were not the Mewstone laid down at too great a distance from the land, and one object made of the Eddystone and Swilly, when, in fact, they are distinct. Between the two last is an entire bed of impassable rocks, many of them above water. The latitude of the Eddystone is 43 deg 53 1/2 min, longitude 147 deg 9 min; that of Swilly 43 deg 54 min south, longitude 147 deg 3 min east of Greenwich. In the night the westerly wind, which had so long befriended us, died away, and was succeeded by one from the north-east. When day appeared we had lost sight of the land, and did not regain it until the 19th, at only the distance of 17 leagues from our desired port. The wind was now fair, the sky serene, though a little hazy, and the temperature of the air delightfully pleasant: joy sparkled in every countenance, and congratulations issued from every mouth. Ithaca itself was scarcely more longed for by Ulysses, than Botany Bay by the adventurers who had traversed so many thousand miles to take possession of it. "Heavily in clouds came on the day" which ushered in our arrival. To us it was "a great, an important day," though I hope the foundation, not the fall, of an empire will be dated from it. On the morning of the 20th, by ten o'clock, the whole of the fleet had cast anchor in Botany Bay, where, to our mutual satisfaction, we found the Governor, and the first division of transports. On inquiry, we heard, that the 'Supply' had arrived on the 18th, and the transports only the preceding day. Thus, after a passage of exactly thirty-six weeks from Portsmouth, we happily effected our arduous undertaking, with such a train of unexampled blessings as hardly ever attended a fleet in a like predicament. Of two hundred and twelve marines we lost only one; and of seven hundred and seventy-five convicts, put on board in England, but twenty-four perished in our route. To what cause are we to attribute this unhoped for success? I wish I could answer to the liberal manner in which Government supplied the expedition. But when the reader is told, that some of the necessary articles allowed to ships on a common passage to West Indies, were withheld from us; that portable soup, wheat, and pickled vegetables were not allowed; and that an inadequate quantity of essence of malt was the only antiscorbutic supplied, his surprise will redouble at the result of the voyage. For it must be remembered, that the people thus sent out were not a ship's company starting with every advantage of health and good living, which a state of freedom produces; but the major part a miserable set of convicts, emaciated from confinement, and in want of cloaths, and almost every convenience to render so long a passage tolerable. I beg leave, however, to say, that the provisions served on board were good, and of a much superior quality to those usually supplied by contract: they were furnished by Mr. Richards, junior, of Walworth, Surrey. CHAPTER VIII. From the Fleet's Arrival at Botany Bay to the Evacuation of it; and taking Possession of Port Jackson. Interviews with the Natives; and an Account of the Country about Botany Bay. We had scarcely bid each other welcome on our arrival, when an expedition up the Bay was undertaken by the Governor and Lieutenant-Governor, in order to explore the nature of the country, and fix on a spot to begin our operations upon. None, however, which could be deemed very eligible, being discovered, his Excellency proceeded in a boat to examine the opening, to which Mr. Cook had given the name of Port Jackson, on an idea that a shelter for shipping within it might be found. The boat returned on the evening of the 23rd, with such an account of the harbour and advantages attending the place, that it was determined the evacuation of Botany Bay should commence the next morning. In consequence of this decision, the few seamen and marines who had been landed from the squadron, were instantly reimbarked, and every preparation made to bid adieu to a port which had so long been the subject of our conversation; which but three days before we had entered with so many sentiments of satisfaction; and in which, as we had believed, so many of our future hours were to be passed. The thoughts of removal banished sleep, so that I rose at the first dawn of the morning. But judge of my surprize on hearing from a serjeant, who ran down almost breathless to the cabin where I was dressing, that a ship was seen off the harbour's mouth. At first I only laughed, but knowing the man who spoke to me to be of great veracity, and hearing him repeat his information, I flew upon deck, on which I had barely set my foot, when the cry of "another sail" struck on my astonished ear. Confounded by a thousand ideas which arose in my mind in an instant, I sprang upon the barricado and plainly descried two ships of considerable size, standing in for the mouth of the Bay. By this time the alarm had become general, and every one appeared lost in conjecture. Now they were Dutchmen sent to dispossess us, and the moment after storeships from England, with supplies for the settlement. The improbabilities which attended both these conclusions, were sunk in the agitation of the moment. It was by Governor Phillip, that this mystery was at length unravelled, and the cause of the alarm pronounced to be two French ships, which, it was now recollected, were on a voyage of discovery in the southern hemisphere. Thus were our doubts cleared up, and our apprehensions banished; it was, however, judged expedient to postpone our removal to Port Jackson, until a complete confirmation of our conjectures could be procured. Had the sea breeze set in, the strange ships would have been at anchor in the Bay by eight o'clock in the morning, but the wind blowing out, they were driven by a strong lee current to the southward of the port. On the following day they re-appeared in their former situation, and a boat was sent to them, with a lieutenant of the navy in her, to offer assistance, and point out the necessary marks for entering the harbour. In the course of the day the officer returned, and brought intelligence that the ships were the Boussole and Astrolabe, sent out by order of the King of France, and under the command of Monsieur De Perrouse. The astonishment of the French at seeing us, had not equalled that we had experienced, for it appeared, that in the course of their voyage they had touched at Kamschatka, and by that means learnt that our expedition was in contemplation. They dropped anchor the next morning, just as we had got under weigh to work out of the Bay, so that for the present nothing more than salutations could pass between us. Before I quit Botany Bay, I shall relate the observations we were enabled to make during our short stay there; as well as those which our subsequent visits to it from Port Jackson enabled us to complete. The Bay is very open, and greatly exposed to the fury of the S.E. winds, which, when they blow, cause a heavy and dangerous swell. It is of prodigious extent, the principal arm, which takes a S.W. direction, being not less, including its windings, than twenty four miles from the capes which form the entrance, according to the report of the French officers, who took uncommon pains to survey it. At the distance of a league from the harbour's mouth is a bar, on which at low water, not more than fifteen feet are to be found. Within this bar, for many miles up the S.W. arm, is a haven, equal in every respect to any hitherto known, and in which any number of ships might anchor, secured from all winds. The country around far exceeds in richness of soil that about Cape Banks and Point Solander, though unfortunately they resemble each other in one respect, a scarcity of fresh water. We found the natives tolerably numerous as we advanced up the river, and even at the harbour's mouth we had reason to conclude the country more populous than Mr. Cook thought it. For on the Supply's arrival in the Bay on the 18th of the month, they were assembled on the beach of the south shore, to the number of not less than forty persons, shouting and making many uncouth signs and gestures. This appearance whetted curiosity to its utmost, but as prudence forbade a few people to venture wantonly among so great a number, and a party of only six men was observed on the north shore, the Governor immediately proceeded to land on that side, in order to take possession of his new territory, and bring about an intercourse between its old and new masters. The boat in which his Excellency was, rowed up the harbour, close to the land, for some distance; the Indians keeping pace with her on the beach. At last an officer in the boat made signs of a want of water, which it was judged would indicate his wish of landing. The natives directly comprehended what he wanted, and pointed to a spot where water could be procured; on which the boat was immediately pushed in, and a landing took place. As on the event of this meeting might depend so much of our future tranquillity, every delicacy on our side was requisite. The Indians, though timorous, shewed no signs of resentment at the Governor's going on shore; an interview commenced, in which the conduct of both parties pleased each other so much, that the strangers returned to their ships with a much better opinion of the natives than they had landed with; and the latter seemed highly entertained with their new acquaintance, from whom they condescended to accept of a looking glass, some beads, and other toys. Owing to the lateness of our arrival, it was not my good fortune to go on shore until three days after this had happened, when I went with a party to the south side of the harbour, and had scarcely landed five minutes, when we were met by a dozen Indians, naked as at the moment of their birth, walking along the beach. Eager to come to a conference, and yet afraid of giving offence, we advanced with caution towards them, nor would they, at first approach nearer to us than the distance of some paces. Both parties were armed; yet an attack seemed as unlikely on their part, as we knew it to be on our own. I had at this time a little boy, of not more than seven years of age, in my hand. The child seemed to attract their attention very much, for they frequently pointed to him and spoke to each other; and as he was not frightened, I advanced with him towards them, at the same time baring his bosom and, shewing the whiteness of the skin. On the cloaths being removed, they gave a loud exclamation, and one of the party, an old man, with a long beard, hideously ugly, came close to us. I bade my little charge not to be afraid, and introduced him to the acquaintance of this uncouth personage. The Indian, with great gentleness, laid his hand on the child's hat, and afterwards felt his cloaths, muttering to himself all the while. I found it necessary, however, by this time to send away the child, as such a close connection rather alarmed him; and in this, as the conclusion verified, I gave no offence to the old gentleman. Indeed it was but putting ourselves on a par with them, as I had observed from the first, that some youths of their own, though considerably older than the one with us, were, kept back by the grown people. Several more now came up, to whom, we made various presents, but our toys seemed not to be regarded as very valuable; nor would they for a long time make any returns to them, though before we parted, a large club, with a head almost sufficient to fell an ox, was obtained in exchange for a looking-glass. These people seemed at a loss to know (probably from our want of beards) of what sex we were, which having understood, they burst into the most immoderate fits of laughter, talking to each other at the same time with such rapidity and vociferation as I had never before heard. After nearly an hour's conversation by signs and gestures, they repeated several times the word whurra, which signifies, begone, and walked away from us to the head of the Bay. The natives being departed, we set out to observe the country, which, on inspection, rather disappointed our hopes, being invariably sandy and unpromising for the purposes of cultivation, though the trees and grass flourish in great luxuriancy. Close to us was the spring at which Mr. Cook watered, but we did not think the water very excellent, nor did it run freely. In the evening we returned on board, not greatly pleased with the latter part of our discoveries, as it indicated an increase of those difficulties, which before seemed sufficiently numerous. Between this and our departure we had several more interviews with the natives, which ended in so friendly a manner, that we began to entertain strong hopes of bringing about a connection with them. Our first object was to win their affections, and our next to convince them of the superiority we possessed: for without the latter, the former we knew would be of little importance. An officer one day prevailed on one of them to place a target, made of bark, against a tree, which he fired at with a pistol, at the distance of some paces. The Indians, though terrified at the report, did not run away, but their astonishment exceeded their alarm, on looking at the shield which the ball had perforated. As this produced a little shyness, the officer, to dissipate their fears and remove their jealousy, whistled the air of Malbrooke, which they appeared highly charmed with, and imitated him with equal pleasure and readiness. I cannot help remarking here, what I was afterwards told by Monsieur De Perrouse, that the natives of California, and throughout all the islands of the Pacific Ocean, and in short wherever he had been, seemed equally touched and delighted with this little plaintive air. CHAPTER IX. The taking Possession of Port Jackson, with the Disembarkation of the Marines and Convicts. Our passage to Port Jackson took up but few hours, and those were spent far from unpleasantly. The evening was bright, and the prospect before us such as might justify sanguine expectation. Having passed between the capes which form its entrance, we found ourselves in a port superior, in extent and excellency, to all we had seen before. We continued to run up the harbour about four miles, in a westerly direction, enjoying the luxuriant prospect of its shores, covered with trees to the water's edge, among which many of the Indians were frequently seen, till we arrived at a small snug cove on the southern side, on whose banks the plan of our operations was destined to commence. The landing of a part of the marines and convicts took place the next day, and on the following, the remainder was disembarked. Business now sat on every brow, and the scene, to an indifferent spectator, at leisure to contemplate it, would have been highly picturesque and amusing. In one place, a party cutting down the woods; a second, setting up a blacksmith's forge; a third, dragging along a load of stones or provisions; here an officer pitching his marquee, with a detachment of troops parading on one side of him, and a cook's fire blazing up on the other. Through the unwearied diligence of those at the head of the different departments, regularity was, however, soon introduced, and, as far as the unsettled state of matters would allow, confusion gave place to system. Into the head of the cove, on which our establishment is fixed, runs a small stream of fresh water, which serves to divide the adjacent country to a little distance, in the direction of north and south. On the eastern side of this rivulet the Governor fixed his place of residence, with a large body of convicts encamped near him; and on the western side was disposed the remaining part of these people, near the marine encampment. From this last two guards, consisting of two subalterns, as many serjeants, four corporals, two drummers, and forty-two private men, under the orders of a Captain of the day, to whom all reports were made, daily mounted for the public security, with such directions to use force, in case of necessity, as left no room for those who were the object of the order, but to remain peaceable, or perish by the bayonet. As the straggling of the convicts was not only a desertion from the public labour, but might be attended with ill consequences to the settlement, in case of their meeting the natives, every care was taken to prevent it. The Provost Martial with his men was ordered to patrole the country around, and the convicts informed, that the severest punishment would be inflicted on transgressors. In spite, however, of all our precautions, they soon found the road to Botany Bay, in visits to the French, who would gladly have dispensed with their company. But as severity alone was known to be inadequate at once to chastize and reform, no opportunity was omitted to assure the convicts, that by their good behaviour and submissive deportment, every claim to present distinction and future favour was to be earned. That this caution was not attended with all the good effects which were hoped from it, I have only to lament; that it operated in some cases is indisputable; nor will a candid and humane mind fail to consider and allow for the situation these unfortunate beings so peculiarly stood in. While they were on board ship, the two sexes had been kept most rigorously apart; but, when landed, their separation became impracticable, and would have been, perhaps, wrong. Licentiousness was the unavoidable consequence, and their old habits of depravity were beginning to recur. What was to be attempted? To prevent their intercourse was impossible; and to palliate its evils only remained. Marriage was recommended, and such advantages held out to those who aimed at reformation, as have greatly contributed to the tranquillity of the settlement. On the Sunday after our landing divine service was performed under a great tree, by the Rev. Mr. Johnson, Chaplain of the Settlement, in the presence of the troops and convicts, whose behaviour on the occasion was equally regular and attentive. In the course of our passage this had been repeated every Sunday, while the ships were in port; and in addition to it, Mr. Johnson had furnished them with books, at once tending to promote instruction and piety. The Indians for a little while after our arrival paid us frequent visits, but in a few days they were observed to be more shy of our company. From what cause their distaste: arose we never could trace, as we had made it our study, on these occasions, to treat them with kindness, and load them with presents. No quarrel had happened, and we had flattered ourselves, from Governor Phillip's first reception among them, that such a connection might be established as would tend to the interest of both parties. It seems, that on that occasion, they not only received our people with great cordiality, but so far acknowledged their authority as to submit, that a boundary, during their first interview, might be drawn on the sand, which they attempted not to infringe, and appeared to be satisfied with. CHAPTER X. The reading of the Commissions, and taking Possession of the Settlement, in form. With an Account of the Courts of Law, and Mode of administering Public Justice in this Country. Owing to the multiplicity of pressing business necessary to be performed immediately after landing, it was found impossible to read the public commissions and take possession of the colony in form, until the 7th of February. On that day all the officers of guard took post in the marine battalion, which was drawn up, and marched off the parade with music playing, and colours flying, to an adjoining ground, which had been cleared for the occasion, whereon the convicts were assembled to hear His Majesty's commission read, appointing his Excellency Arthur Phillip, Esq. Governor and Captain General in and over the territory of New South Wales, and its dependencies; together with the Act of Parliament for establishing trials by law within the same; and the patents under the Great Seal of Great Britain, for holding the civil and criminal courts of judicature, by which all cases of life and death, as well as matters of property, were to be decided. When the Judge Advocate had finished reading, his Excellency addressed himself to the convicts in a pointed and judicious speech, informing them of his future intentions, which were, invariably to cherish and render happy those who shewed a disposition to amendment; and to let the rigour of the law take its course against such as might dare to transgress the bounds prescribed. At the close three vollies were fired in honour of the occasion, and the battalion marched back to their parade, where they were reviewed by the Governor, who was received with all the honours due to his rank. His Excellency was afterwards pleased to thank them, in public orders, for their behaviour from the time of their embarkation; and to ask the officers to partake of a cold collation at which it is scarce necessary to observe, that many loyal and public toasts were drank in commemoration of the day. In the Governor's commission, the extent of this authority is defined to reach from the latitude of 43 deg 49 min south, to the latitude of 10 deg 37 min south, being the northern and southern extremities of the continent of New Holland. It commences again at 135th degree of longitude east of Greenwich, and, proceeding in an easterly direction, includes all islands within the limits of the above specified latitudes in the Pacific Ocean. By this partition it may be fairly presumed, that every source of future litigation between the Dutch and us will be for ever cut off, as the discoveries of English navigators alone are comprized in this territory. Nor have Government been more backward in arming Mr. Phillip with plenitude of power, than extent of dominion. No mention is made of a Council to be appointed, so that he is left to act entirely from his own judgment. And as no stated time of assembling the Courts of justice is pointed out, similar to the assizes and gaol deliveries of England, the duration of imprisonment is altogether in his hands. The power of summoning General Courts Martial to meet he is also invested with, but the insertion in the marine mutiny act, of a smaller number of officers than thirteen being able to compose such a tribunal, has been neglected: so that a Military court, should detachments be made from headquarters, or sickness prevail, may not always be found practicable to be obtained, unless the number of officers, at present in the Settlement, shall be increased. Should the Governor see cause, he is enabled to grant pardons to offenders convicted, "in all cases whatever, treason and wilful murder excepted," and even in these, has authority to stay the execution of the law, until the King's pleasure shall be signified. In case of the Governor's death, the Lieutenant Governor takes his place; and on his demise, the senior officer on the spot is authorised to assume the reins of power. Notwithstanding the promises made on one side, and the forbearance shewn on the other, joined to the impending rod of justice, it was with infinite regret that every one saw, in four clays afterwards, the necessity of assembling a Criminal Court, which was accordingly convened by warrant from the Governor, and consisted of the judge Advocate, who presided, three naval, and three marine officers. As the constitution of this court is altogether new in the British annals, I hope my reader will not think me prolix in the description I am about to give of it. The number of members, including the judge Advocate, is limited, by Act of Parliament, to seven, who are expressly ordered to be officers, either of His Majesty's sea or land forces. The court being met, completely arrayed and armed as at a military tribunal, the Judge Advocate proceeds to administer the usual oaths taken by jurymen in England to each member; one of whom afterwards swears him in a like manner. This ceremony being adjusted, the crime laid to the prisoner's charge is read to him, and the question of Guilty, or Not guilty, put. No law officer on the side of the crown being appointed, (for I presume the head of the court ought hardly to consider himself in that light, notwithstanding the title he bears) to prosecute the criminal is left entirely to the party, at whose suit he is tried. All the witnesses are examined on oath, and the decision is directed to be given according to the laws of England, "or as nearly as may be, allowing for the circumstances and situation of the settlement," by a majority of votes, beginning with the youngest member, and ending with the president of the court. In cases, however, of a capital nature, no verdict can be given, unless five, at least, of the seven members present concur therein. The evidence on both sides being finished, and the prisoner's defence heard, the court is cleared, and, on the judgement being settled, is thrown open again, and sentence pronounced. During the time the court sits, the place in which it is assembled is directed to be surrounded by a guard under arms, and admission to every one who may choose to enter it, granted. Of late, however, our colonists are supposed to be in such a train of subordination, as to make the presence of so large a military force unnecessary; and two centinels, in addition to the Provost Martial, are considered as sufficient. It would be as needless, as impertinent, to anticipate the reflections which will arise in reading the above account, wherein a regard to accuracy only has been consulted. By comparing it with the mode of administering justice in the English courts of law, it will be found to differ in many points very essentially. And if we turn our eyes to the usage of military tribunals, it no less departs from the customs observed in them. Let not the novelty of it, however, prejudice any one so far as to dispute its efficacy, and the necessity of the case which gave it birth. The court, whose meeting is already spoken of, proceeded to the trial of three convicts, one of whom was convicted of having struck a marine with a cooper's adze, and otherwise behaving in a very riotous and scandalous manner, for which he was sentenced to receive one hundred and fifty lashes, being a smaller punishment than a soldier in a like case would have suffered from the judgement of a court martial. A second, for having committed a petty theft, was sent to a small barren island, and kept there on bread and water only, for a week. And the third was sentenced to receive fifty lashes, but was recommended by the court to the Governor, and forgiven. Hitherto, however, (February) nothing of a very atrocious nature had appeared. But the day was at hand, on which the violation of public security could no longer be restrained, by the infliction of temporary punishment. A set of desperate and hardened villains leagued themselves for the purposes of depredation, and, as it generally happens, had art enough to persuade some others, less deeply versed in iniquity, to be the instruments for carrying it on. Fortunately the progress of these miscreants was not of long duration. They were detected in stealing a large quantity of provisions at the time of issuing them. And on being apprehended, one of the tools of the superiors impeached the rest, and disclosed the scheme. The trial came on the 28th of the month, and of four who were arraigned for the offence, three were condemned to die, and the fourth to receive a very severe corporal punishment. In hopes that his lenity would not be abused, his Excellency was, however, pleased to order one only for execution, which took place a little before sun-set the same day. The name of the unhappy wretch was Thomas Barret, an old and desperate offender, who died with that hardy spirit, which too often is found in the worst and most abandoned class of men. During the execution the battalion of marines was under arms, and the whole of the convicts obliged to be present. The two associates of the sufferer were ordered to be kept close prisoners, until an eligible place to banish them to could be fixed on; as were also two more, who on the following day were condemned to die for a similar offence. Besides the Criminal court, there is an inferior one composed of the Judge Advocate, and one or more justices of the peace, for the trial of small misdemeanours. This court is likewise empowered to decide all law suits, and its verdict is final, except where the sum in dispute amounts to more than three hundred pounds, in which case an appeal to England can be made from its decree. Should necessity warrant it, an Admiralty court, of which Lieutenant Governor Ross is judge, can also be summoned, for the trial of offences committed on the high seas. From being unwilling to break the thread of my narrative, I omitted to note in its proper place the sailing of the 'Supply', Lieut. Ball, on the 15th of the month, for Norfolk Island, which the Governor had instructions from the ministry to take possession of. Lieut. King of the Sirius was sent as superintendent and commandant of this place, and carried with him a surgeon, a midshipman, a sawyer, a weaver, two marines, and sixteen convicts, of whom six were women. He was also supplied with a certain number of live animals to stock the island, besides garden seeds, grain, and other requisites. CHAPTER XI A Description of the Natives of New South Wales, and our Transactions with them. I doubt not my readers will be as glad as I feel myself, to conclude the dull detail of the last chapter. If they please, they may turn from the subtle intricacies of the law, to contemplate the simple, undisguised workings of nature, in her most artless colouring. I have already said, we had been but very few days at Port Jackson, when an alteration in the behaviour of the natives was perceptible; and I wish I could add, that a longer residence in their neighbourhood had introduced a greater degree of cordiality and intermixture between the old, and new, lords of the soil, than at the day on which this publication is dated subsists. From their easy reception of us in the beginning, many were induced to call in question the accounts which Mr. Cook had given of this people. That celebrated navigator, we were willing believe, had somehow by his conduct offended them, which prevented the intercourse that would otherwise have taken place. The result, however, of our repeated endeavours to induce them to come among us has been such as to confirm me in an opinion, that they either fear or despise us too much, to be anxious for a closer connection. And I beg leave at once, to apprize the reader, that all I can here, or in any future part of this work, relate with fidelity of the natives of New South Wales, must be made up of detached observations, taken at different times, and not from a regular series of knowledge of the customs and manners of a people, with whom opportunities of communication are so scarce, as to have been seldom obtained. In their persons, they are far from being a stout race of men, though nimble, sprightly, and vigorous. The deficiency of one of the fore teeth of the upper jaw, mentioned by Dampier, we have seen in almost the whole of the men; but their organs of sight so far from being defective, as that author mentions those of the inhabitants of the western side of the continent to be, are remarkably quick and piercing. Their colour, Mr. Cook is inclined to think rather a deep chocolate, than an absolute black, though he confesses, they have the appearance of the latter, which he attributes to the greasy filth their skins are loaded with. Of their want of cleanliness we have had sufficient proofs, but I am of opinion, all the washing in the world would not render them two degrees less black than an African negro. At some of our first interviews, we had several droll instances of their mistaking the Africans we brought with us for their own countrymen. Notwithstanding the disregard they have invariably shewn for all the finery we could deck them with, they are fond of adorning themselves with scars, which increase their natural hideousness. It is hardly possible to see any thing in human shape more ugly, than one of these savages thus scarified, and farther ornamented with a fish bone struck through the gristle of the nose. The custom of daubing themselves with white earth is also frequent among both sexes: but, unlike the inhabitants of the Islands in the Pacific Ocean, they reject the beautiful feathers which the birds of their country afford. Exclusive of their weapons of offence, and a few stone hatchets very rudely fashioned, their ingenuity is confined to manufacturing small nets, in which they put the fish they catch, and to fish-hooks made of bone, neither of which are unskilfully executed. On many of the rocks are also to be found delineations of the figures of men and birds, very poorly cut. Of the use or benefit of cloathing, these people appear to have no comprehension, though their sufferings from the climate they live in, strongly point out the necessity of a covering from the rigour of the seasons. Both sexes, and those of all ages, are invariably found naked. But it must not be inferred from this, that custom so inures them to the changes of the elements, as to make them bear with indifference the extremes of heat and cold; for we have had visible and repeated proofs, that the latter affects them severely, when they are seen shivering, and huddling themselves up in heaps in their huts, or the caverns of the rocks, until a fire can be kindled. Than these huts nothing more rude in construction, or deficient in conveniency, can be imagined. They consist only of pieces of bark laid together in the form of an oven, open at one end, and very low, though long enough for a man to lie at full length. There is reason, however, to believe, that they depend less on them for shelter, than on the caverns with which the rocks abound. To cultivation of the ground they are utter strangers, and wholly depend for food on the few fruits they gather; the roots they dig up in the swamps; and the fish they pick up along shore, or contrive to strike from their canoes with spears. Fishing, indeed, seems to engross nearly the whole of their time, probably from its forming the chief part of a subsistence, which, observation has convinced us, nothing short of the most painful labour, and unwearied assiduity, can procure. When fish are scarce, which frequently happens, they often watch the moment of our hauling the seine, and have more than once been known to plunder its contents, in spite of the opposition of those on the spot to guard it: and this even after having received a part of what had been caught. The only resource at these times is to shew a musquet, and if the bare sight is not sufficient, to fire it over their heads, which has seldom failed of dispersing them hitherto, but how long the terror which it excites may continue is doubtful. The canoes in which they fish are as despicable as their huts, being nothing more than a large piece of bark tied up at both ends with vines. Their dexterous management of them, added to the swiftness with which they paddle, and the boldness that leads them several miles in the open sea, are, nevertheless, highly deserving of admiration. A canoe is seldom seen without a fire in it, to dress the fish by, as soon as caught: fire they procure by attrition. From their manner of disposing of those who die, which will be mentioned hereafter, as well as from every other observation, there seems no reason to suppose these people cannibals; nor do they ever eat animal substances in a raw state, unless pressed by extreme hunger, but indiscriminately broil them, and their vegetables, on a fire, which renders these last an innocent food, though in their raw state many of them are of a poisonous quality: as a poor convict who unguardedly eat of them experienced, by falling a sacrifice in twenty-four hours afterwards. If bread be given to the Indians, they chew and spit it out again, seldom choosing to swallow it. Salt beef and pork they like rather better, but spirits they never could be brought to taste a second time. The only domestic animal they have is the dog, which in their language is called Dingo, and a good deal resembles the fox dog of England. These animals are equally shy of us, and attached to the natives. One of them is now in the possession of the Governor, and tolerably well reconciled to his new master. As the Indians see the dislike of the dogs to us, they are sometimes mischievous enough to set them on single persons whom they chance to meet in the woods. A surly fellow was one day out shooting, when the natives attempted to divert themselves in this manner at his expense. The man bore the teazing and gnawing of the dog at his heels for some time, but apprehending at length, that his patience might embolden them to use still farther liberties, he turned round and shot poor Dingo dead on the spot: the owners of him set off with the utmost expedition. There is no part of the behaviour of these people, that has puzzled us more, than that which relates to their women. Comparatively speaking we have seen but few of them, and those have been sometimes kept back with every symptom of jealous sensibility; and sometimes offered with every appearance of courteous familiarity. Cautious, however, of alarming the feelings of the men on so tender a point, we have constantly made a rule of treating the females with that distance and reserve, which we judged most likely to remove any impression they might have received of our intending aught, which could give offence on so delicate a subject. And so successful have our endeavours been, that a quarrel on this head has in no instance, that I know of, happened. The tone of voice of the women, which is pleasingly soft and feminine, forms a striking contrast to the rough guttural pronunciation of the men. Of the other charms of the ladies I shall be silent, though justice obliges me to mention, that, in the opinion of some amongst us, they shew a degree of timidity and bashfulness, which are, perhaps, inseparable from the female character in its rudest state. It is not a little singular, that the custom of cutting off the two lower joints of the little finger of the left hand, observed in the Society Islands, is found here among the women, who have for the most part undergone this amputation. Hitherto we have not been able to trace out the cause of this usage. At first we supposed it to be peculiar to the married women, or those who had borne children; but this conclusion must have been erroneous, as we have no right to believe that celibacy prevails in any instance, and some of the oldest of the women are without this distinction; and girls of a very tender age are marked by it. On first setting foot in the country, we were inclined to hold the spears of the natives very cheap. Fatal experience has, however, convinced us, that the wound inflicted by this weapon is not a trivial one; and that the skill of the Indians in throwing it, is far from despicable. Besides more than a dozen convicts who have unaccountably disappeared, we know that two, who were employed as rush cutters up the harbour, were (from what cause we are yet ignorant) most dreadfully mangled and butchered by the natives. A spear had passed entirely through the thickest part of the body of one of them, though a very robust man, and the skull of the other was beaten in. Their tools were taken away, but some provisions which they had with them at the time of the murder, and their cloaths, were left untouched. In addition to this misfortune, two more convicts, who were peaceably engaged in picking of greens, on a spot very remote from that where their comrades suffered, were unawares attacked by a party of Indians, and before they could effect their escape, one of them was pierced by a spear in the hip, after which they knocked him down, and plundered his cloaths. The poor wretch, though dreadfully wounded, made shift to crawl off, but his companion was carried away by these barbarians, and his fate doubtful, until a soldier, a few days afterwards, picked up his jacket and hat in a native's hut, the latter pierced through by a spear. We have found that these spears are not made invariably alike, some of them being barbed like a fish gig, and others simply pointed. In repairing them they are no less dexterous than in throwing them. A broken one being given by a gentleman to an Indian, he instantly snatched up an oyster-shell, and converted it with his teeth into a tool with which he presently fashioned the spear, and rendered it fit for use: in performing this operation, the sole of his foot served him as a work-board. Nor are their weapons of offence confined to the spear only, for they have besides long wooden swords, shaped like a sabre, capable of inflicting a mortal wound, and clubs of an immense size. Small targets, made of the bark of trees, are likewise now and then to be seen among them. From circumstances which have been observed, we have sometimes been inclined to believe these people at war with each other. They have more than once been seen assembled, as if bent on an expedition. An officer one day met fourteen of them marching along in a regular Indian file through the woods, each man armed with a spear in his right hand, and a large stone in his left: at their head appeared a chief, who was distinguished by being painted. Though in the proportion of five to one of our people they passed peaceably on. That their skill in throwing the spear sometimes enables them to kill the kangaroo we have no right to doubt, as a long splinter of this weapon was taken out of the thigh of one of these animals, over which the flesh had completely closed; but we have never discovered that they have any method of ensnaring them, or that they know any other beasts but the kangaroo and dog. Whatever animal is shewn them, a dog excepted, they call kangaroo: a strong presumption that the wild animals of the country are very few. Soon after our arrival at Port Jackson, I was walking out near a place where I observed a party of Indians, busily employed in looking at some sheep in an inclosure, and repeatedly crying out, 'kangaroo, kangaroo!' As this seemed to afford them pleasure, I was willing to increase it by pointing out the horses and cows, which were at no great distance. But unluckily, at the moment, some female convicts, employed near the place, made their appearance, and all my endeavours to divert their attention from the ladies became fruitless. They attempted not, however, to offer them the least degree of violence or injury, but stood at the distance of several paces, expressing very significantly the manner they were attracted. It would be trespassing on the reader's indulgence were I to impose on him an account of any civil regulations, or ordinances, which may possibly exist among this people. I declare to him, that I know not of any, and that excepting a little tributary respect which the younger part appear to pay those more advanced in years, I never could observe any degrees of subordination among them. To their religious rites and opinions I am equally a stranger. Had an opportunity offered of seeing the ceremonies observed at disposing of the dead, perhaps, some insight might have been gained; but all that we at present know with certainty is, that they burn the corpse, and afterwards heap up the earth around it, somewhat in the manner of the small tumuli, found in many counties of England. I have already hinted, that the country is more populous than it was generally believed to be in Europe at the time of our sailing. But this remark is not meant to be extended to the interior parts of the continent, which there is every reason to conclude from our researches, as well as from the manner of living practised by the natives, to be uninhabited. It appears as if some of the Indian families confine their society and connections within their own pale: but that this cannot always be the case we know; for on the north-west arm of Botany Bay stands a village, which contains more than a dozen houses, and perhaps five times that number of people; being the most considerable establishment that we are acquainted with in the country. As a striking proof, besides, of the numerousness of the natives, I beg leave to state, that Governor Phillip, when on an excursion between the head of this harbour and that of Botany Bay, once fell in with a party which consisted of more than three hundred persons, two hundred and twelve of whom were men: this happened only on the day following the murder of the two convict rush cutters, before noticed, and his Excellency was at the very time in search of the murderers, on whom, could they have been found, he intended to inflict a memorable and exemplary punishment. The meeting was unexpected to both parties, and considering the critical situation of affairs, perhaps not very pleasing to our side, which consisted but of twelve persons, until the peaceable disposition of the Indians was manifest. After the strictest search the Governor was obliged to return without having gained any information. The laudable perseverance of his Excellency to throw every light on this unhappy and mysterious business did not, however stop here, for he instituted the most rigorous inquiry to find out, if possible, whether the convicts had at any time ill treated or killed any of the natives; and farther, issued a proclamation, offering the most tempting of all rewards, a state of freedom, to him who should point out the murderer, in case such an one existed. I have thus impartially stated the situation of matters, as they stand, while I write, between the natives and us; that greater progress in attaching them to us has not been made, I have only to regret; but that all ranks of men have tried to effect it, by every reasonable effort from which success might have been expected, I can testify; nor can I omit saying, that in the higher stations this has been eminently conspicuous. The public orders of Governor Phillip have invariably tended to promote such a behaviour on our side, as was most likely to produce this much wished-for event. To what cause then are we to attribute the distance which the accomplishment of it appears at? I answer, to the fickle, jealous, wavering disposition of the people we have to deal with, who, like all other savages, are either too indolent, too indifferent, or too fearful to form an attachment on easy terms, with those who differ in habits and manners so widely from themselves. Before I close the subject, I cannot, however, omit to relate the following ludicrous adventure, which possibly may be of greater use in effecting what we have so much at heart, than all our endeavours. Some young gentlemen belonging to the Sirius one day met a native, an old man, in the woods; he had a beard of considerable length, which his new acquaintance gave him to understand, by signals, they would rid him of, if he pleased; stroaking their chins, and shewing him the smoothness of them at the same time; at length the old Indian consented, and one of the youngsters taking a penknife from his pocket, and making use of the best substitute for lather he could find, performed the operation with great success, and, as it proved, much to the liking of the old man, who in a few days after reposed a confidence in us, of which we had hitherto known no example, by paddling along-side the Sirius in his canoe, and pointing to his beard. Various arts were ineffectually tried to induce him to enter the ship; but as he continued to decline the invitation, a barber was sent down into the boat along-side the canoe, from whence, leaning over the gunnel, he complied with the wish of the old beau, to his infinite satisfaction. In addition to the consequences which our sanguine hopes led us to expect from this dawning of cordiality, it affords proof, that the beard is considered by this people more as an incumbrance than a mark of dignity. CHAPTER XII. The Departure of the French from Botany Bay; and the Return of the 'Supply' from Norfolk Island; with a Discovery made by Lieutenant Ball on his Passage to it. About the middle of the month our good friends the French departed from Botany Bay, in prosecution of their voyage. During their stay in that port, the officers of the two nations had frequent opportunities of testifying their mutual regard by visits, and every interchange of friendship and esteem. These ships sailed from France, by order of the King, on the 1st of August, 1785, under the command of Monsieur De Perrouse, an officer whose eminent qualifications, we had reason to think, entitle him to fill the highest stations. In England, particularly, he ought long to be remembered with admiration and gratitude, for the humanity which marked his conduct, when ordered to destroy our settlement at Hudson's Bay, in the last war. His second in command was the Chevalier Clonard, an officer also of distinguished merit. In the course of the voyage these ships had been so unfortunate as to lose a boat, with many men and officers in her, off the west of California; and afterwards met with an accident still more to be regretted, at an island in the Pacific Ocean, discovered by Monsieur Bougainville, in the latitude of 14 deg 19 min south, longitude 173 deg 3 min 20 sec east of Paris. Here they had the misfortune to have no less than thirteen of their crews, among whom was the officer at that time second in command, cut off by the natives, and many more desperately wounded. To what cause this cruel event was to be attributed, they knew not, as they were about to quit the island after having lived with the Indians in the greatest harmony for several weeks; and exchanged, during the time, their European commodities for the produce of the place, which they describe as filled with a race of people remarkable for beauty and comeliness; and abounding in refreshments of all kinds. It was no less gratifying to an English ear, than honourable to Monsieur De Perrouse, to witness the feeling manner in which he always mentioned the name and talents of Captain Cook. That illustrious circumnavigator had, he said, left nothing to those who might follow in his track to describe, or fill up. As I found, in the course of conversation, that the French ships had touched at the Sandwich Islands, I asked M. De Perrouse what reception he had met with there. His answer deserves to be known: "During the whole of our voyage in the South Seas, the people of the Sandwich Islands were the only Indians who never gave us cause of complaint. They furnished us liberally with provisions, and administered cheerfully to all our wants." It may not be improper to remark, that Owhyee was not one of the islands visited by this gentleman. In the short stay made by these ships at Botany Bay, an Abbe, one of the naturalists on board, died, and was buried on the north shore. The French had hardly departed, when the natives pulled down a small board, which had been placed over the spot where the corpse was interred, and defaced everything around. On being informed of it, the Governor sent a party over with orders to affix a plate of copper on a tree near the place, with the following inscription on it, which is a copy of what was written on the board: Hic jacet L. RECEVEUR, E.F.F. minnibus Galliae, Sacerdos, Physicus, in circumnavigatione mundi, Duce De La Perrouse. Obiit die 17 Februarii, anno 1788. This mark of respectful attention was more particularly due, from M. De Perrouse having, when at Kamschatka, paid a similar tribute of gratitude to the memory of Captain Clarke, whose tomb was found in nearly as ruinous a state as that of the Abbe. Like ourselves, the French found it necessary, more than once, to chastise a spirit of rapine and intrusion which prevailed among the Indians around the Bay. The menace of pointing a musquet to them was frequently used; and in one or two instances it was fired off, though without being attended with fatal consequences. Indeed the French commandant, both from a regard to the orders of his Court as well as to our quiet and security, shewed a moderation and forbearance on this head highly becoming. On the 20th of March, the 'Supply' arrived from Norfolk Island, after having safely landed Lieutenant King and his little garrison. The pine-trees growing there are described to be of a growth and height superior, perhaps, to any in the world. But the difficulty of bringing them away will not be easily surmounted, from the badness and danger of the landing place. After the most exact search not a single plant of the New Zealand flax could be found, though we had been taught to believe it abounded there. Lieutenant Ball, in returning to Port Jackson, touched at a small island in latitude 31 deg 36 min south, longitude 159 deg 4 min east of Greenwich, which he had been fortunate enough to discover on his passage to Norfolk, and to which he gave the name of Lord Howe's Island. It is entirely without inhabitants, or any traces of any having ever been there. But it happily abounds in what will be infinitely more important to the settlers on New South Wales: green turtle of the finest kind frequent it in the summer season. Of this Mr. Ball gave us some very handsome and acceptable specimens on his return. Besides turtle, the island is well stocked with birds, many of them so tame as to be knocked down by the seamen with sticks. At the distance of four leagues from Lord Howe Island, and in latitude 31 deg 30 min south, longitude 159 deg 8 min east, stands a remarkable rock, of considerable height, to which Mr. Ball gave the name of Ball's Pyramid, from the shape it bears. While the 'Supply' was absent, Governor Phillip made an excursion to Broken Bay, a few leagues to the northward of Port Jackson, in order to explore it. As a harbour it almost equals the latter, but the adjacent country was found so rocky and bare, as to preclude all possibility of turning it to account. Some rivulets of fresh water fall into the head of the Bay, forming a very picturesque scene. The Indians who live on its banks are numerous, and behaved attentively in a variety of instances while our people remained among them. CHAPTER XIII. Transactions at Port Jackson in the Months of April and May. As winter was fast approaching, it became necessary to secure ourselves in quarters, which might shield us from the cold we were taught to expect in this hemisphere, though in so low a latitude. The erection of barracks for the soldiers was projected, and the private men of each company undertook to build for themselves two wooden houses, of sixty-eight feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth. To forward the design, several saw-pits were immediately set to work, and four ship carpenters attached to the battalion, for the purpose of directing and completing this necessary undertaking. In prosecuting it, however, so many difficulties occurred, that we were fain to circumscribe our original intention; and, instead of eight houses, content ourselves with four. And even these, from the badness of the timber, the scarcity of artificers, and other impediments, are, at the day on which I write, so little advanced, that it will be well, if at the close of the year 1788, we shall be established in them. In the meanwhile the married people, by proceeding on a more contracted scale, were soon under comfortable shelter. Nor were the convicts forgotten; and as leisure was frequently afforded them for the purpose, little edifices quickly multiplied on the ground allotted them to build upon. But as these habitations were intended by Governor Phillip to answer only the exigency of the moment, the plan of the town was drawn, and the ground on which it is hereafter to stand surveyed, and marked out. To proceed on a narrow, confined scale, in a country of the extensive limits we possess, would be unpardonable: extent of empire demands grandeur of design. That this has been our view will be readily believed, when I tell the reader, that the principal street in our projected city will be, when completed, agreeable to the plan laid down, two hundred feet in breadth, and all the rest of a corresponding proportion. How far this will be accompanied with adequate dispatch, is another question, as the incredulous among us are sometimes hardy enough to declare, that ten times our strength would not be able to finish it in as many years. Invariably intent on exploring a country, from which curiosity promises so many gratifications, his Excellency about this time undertook an expedition into the interior parts of the continent. His party consisted of eleven persons, who, after being conveyed by water to the head of the harbour, proceeded in a westerly direction, to reach a chain of mountains, which in clear weather are discernible, though at an immense distance, from some heights near our encampment. With unwearied industry they continued to penetrate the country for four days; but at the end of that time, finding the base of the mountain to be yet at the distance of more than twenty miles, and provisions growing scarce, it was judged prudent to return, without having accomplished the end for which the expedition had been undertaken. To reward their toils, our adventurers had, however, the pleasure of discovering and traversing an extensive tract of ground, which they had reason to believe, from the observations they were enabled to make, capable of producing every thing, which a happy soil and genial climate can bring forth. In addition to this flattering appearance, the face of the country is such, as to promise success whenever it shall be cultivated, the trees being at a considerable distance from each other, and the intermediate space filled, not with underwood, but a thick rich grass, growing in the utmost luxuriancy. I must not, however, conceal, that in this long march, our gentlemen found not a single rivulet, but were under a necessity of supplying themselves with water from standing pools, which they met with in the vallies, supposed to be formed by the rains that fall at particular seasons of the year. Nor had they the good fortune to see any quadrupeds worth notice, except a few kangaroos. To their great surprize, they observed indisputable tracks of the natives having been lately there, though in their whole route none of them were to be seen; nor any means to be traced, by which they could procure subsistence so far from the sea shore. On the 6th of May the 'Supply' sailed for Lord Howe Island, to take on board turtle for the settlement; but after waiting there several days was obliged to return without having seen one, owing we apprehended to the advanced season of the year. Three of the transports also, which were engaged by the East India Company to proceed to China, to take on board a lading of tea, sailed about this time for Canton. The unsuccessful return of the 'Supply' cast a general damp on our spirits, for by this time fresh provisions were become scarcer than in a blockaded town. The little live stock, which with so heavy an expense, and through so many difficulties, we had brought on shore, prudence forbade us to use; and fish, which on our arrival, and for a short time after had been tolerable plenty, were become so scarce, as to be rarely seen at the tables of the first among us. Had it not been for a stray kangaroo, which fortune now and then threw in our way, we should have been utter strangers to the taste of fresh food. Thus situated, the scurvy began its usual ravages, and extended its baneful influence, more or less, through all descriptions of persons. Unfortunately the esculent vegetable productions of the country are neither plentiful, nor tend very effectually to remove this disease. And, the ground we had turned up and planted with garden seeds, either from the nature of the soil, or, which is more probable, the lateness of the season, yielded but a scanty and insufficient supply of what we stood so greatly in need of. During the period I am describing, few enormous offences were perpetrated by the convicts. A petty theft was now and then heard of, and a spirit of refractory sullenness broke out at times in some individuals: one execution only, however, took place. The sufferer, who was a very young man, was convicted of a burglary, and met his fate with a hardiness and insensibility, which the grossest ignorance, and most deplorable want of feeling, alone could supply. CHAPTER XIV. From the Beginning of June, to the Departure of the Ships for Europe. Hours of festivity, which under happier skies pass away unregarded, and are soon consigned to oblivion, acquire in this forlorn and distant circle a superior degree of acceptable importance. On the anniversary of the King's birthday all the officers not on duty, both of the garrison and his Majesty's ships, dined with the Governor. On so joyful an occasion, the first too ever celebrated in our new settlement, it were needless to say, that loyal conviviality dictated every sentiment, and inspired every guest. Among other public toasts drank, was, Prosperity to Sydney Cove, in Cumberland county, now named so by authority. At day-light in the morning the ships of war had fired twenty-one guns each, which was repeated at noon, and answered by three vollies from the battalion of marines. Nor were the officers alone partakers of the general relaxation. The four unhappy wretches labouring under sentence of banishment were freed from their fetters, to rejoin their former society; and three days given as holidays to every convict in the colony. Hospitality too, which ever acquires a double relish by being extended, was not forgotten on the 4th of June, when each prisoner, male and female, received an allowance of grog; and every non-commissioned officer and private soldier had the honor of drinking prosperity to his royal master, in a pint of porter, served out at the flag staff, in addition to the customary allowance of spirits. Bonfires concluded the evening, and I am happy to say, that excepting a single instance which shall be taken notice of hereafter, no bad consequence, or unpleasant remembrance, flowed from an indulgence so amply bestowed. About this time (June) an accident happened, which I record with much regret. The whole of our black cattle, consisting of five cows and a bull, either from not being properly secured, or from the negligence of those appointed to take care of them, strayed into the woods, and in spite of all the search we have been able to make, are not yet found. As a convict of the name of Corbet, who was accused of a theft, eloped nearly at the same time, it was at first believed, that he had taken the desperate measure of driving off the cattle, in order to subsist on them as long as possible; or perhaps to deliver them to the natives. In this uncertainty, parties to search were sent out in different directions; and the fugitive declared an outlaw, in case of not returning by a fixed day. After much anxiety and fatigue, those who had undertaken the task returned without finding the cattle. But on the 21st of the month, Corbet made his appearance near a farm belonging to the Governor, and entreated a convict, who happened to be on the spot, to give him some food, as he was perishing for hunger. The man applied to, under pretence of fetching what he asked for, went away and immediately gave the necessary information, in consequence of which a party under arms was sent out and apprehended him. When the poor wretch was brought in, he was greatly emaciated and almost famished. But on proper restoratives being administered, he was so far recovered by the 24th, as to be able to stand his trial, when he pleaded Guilty to the robbery with which he stood charged, and received sentence of death. In the course of repeated examinations it plainly appeared, he was an utter stranger to the place where the cattle might be, and was in no shape concerned in having driven them off. Samuel Peyton, convict, for having on the evening of the King's birth-day broke open an officer's marquee, with an intent to commit robbery, of which he was fully convicted, had sentence of death passed on him at the same time as Corbet; and on the following day they were both executed, confessing the justness of their fate, and imploring the forgiveness of those whom they had injured. Peyton, at the time of his suffering, was but twenty years of age, the greatest part of which had been invariably passed in the commission of crimes, that at length terminated in his ignominious end. The following letter, written by a fellow convict to the sufferer's unhappy mother, I shall make no apology for presenting to the reader; it affords a melancholy proof, that not the ignorant and untaught only have provoked the justice of their country to banish them to this remote region. Sydney Cove, Port Jackson, New South Wales, 24th June, 1788. "My dear and honoured mother! "With a heart oppressed by the keenest sense of anguish, and too much agitated by the idea of my very melancholy condition, to express my own sentiments, I have prevailed on the goodness of a commiserating friend, to do me the last sad office of acquainting you with the dreadful fate that awaits me. "My dear mother! with what agony of soul do I dedicate the few last moments of my life, to bid you an eternal adieu! my doom being irrevocably fixed, and ere this hour to-morrow I shall have quitted this vale of wretchedness, to enter into an unknown and endless eternity. I will not distress your tender maternal feelings by any long comment on the cause of my present misfortune. Let it therefore suffice to say, that impelled by that strong propensity to evil, which neither the virtuous precepts nor example of the best of parents could eradicate, I have at length fallen an unhappy, though just, victim to my own follies. "Too late I regret my inattention to your admonitions, and feel myself sensibly affected by the remembrance of the many anxious moments you have passed on my account. For these, and all my other transgressions, however great, I supplicate the Divine forgiveness; and encouraged by the promises of that Saviour who died for us all, I trust to receive that mercy in the world to come, which my offences have deprived me of all hope, or expectation of, in this. The affliction which this will cost you, I hope the Almighty will enable you to bear. Banish from your memory all my former indiscretions, and let the cheering hope of a happy meeting hereafter, console you for my loss. Sincerely penitent for my sins; sensible of the justice of my conviction and sentence, and firmly relying on the merits of a Blessed Redeemer, I am at perfect peace with all mankind, and trust I shall yet experience that peace, which this world cannot give. Commend my soul to the Divine mercy. I bid you an eternal farewell. "Your unhappy dying Son, "SAMUEL PEYTON." After this nothing occurred with which I think it necessary to trouble the reader. The contents of the following chapters could not, I conceive, be so properly interwoven in the body of the work; I have, therefore, assigned them a place by themselves, with a view that the conclusions adopted in them may be more strongly enforced on the minds of those, to whom they are more particularly addressed. CHAPTER XV. The Face of the Country; its Productions, Climate, &c. To the geographical knowledge of this country, supplied by Captain Cook, and Captain Furneaux, we are able to add nothing. The latter explored the coast from Van Diemen's land to the latitude of 39 deg south; and Cook from Point Hicks, which lies in 37 deg 58 min, to Endeavour Streights. The intermediate space between the end of Furneaux's discovery and Point Hicks, is, therefore, the only part of the south-east coast unknown, and it so happened on our passage thither, owing to the weather, which forbade any part of the ships engaging with the shore, that we are unable to pronounce whether, or not, a streight intersects the continent hereabouts: though I beg leave to say, that I have been informed by a naval friend, that when the fleet was off this part of the coast, a strong set-off shore was plainly felt. At the distance of 60 miles inland, a prodigious chain of lofty mountains runs nearly in a north and south direction, further than the eye can trace them. Should nothing intervene to prevent it, the Governor intends, shortly, to explore their summits: and, I think there can be little doubt, that his curiosity will not go unrewarded. If large rivers do exist in the country, which some of us are almost sceptical enough to doubt, their sources must arise amidst these hills; and the direction they run in, for a considerable distance, must be either due north, or due south. For it is strikingly singular that three such noble harbours as Botany Bay, Port Jackson, and Broken Bay, alike end in shallows and swamps, filled with mangroves. The general face of the country is certainly pleasing, being diversified with gentle ascents, and little winding vallies, covered for the most part with large spreading trees, which afford a succession of leaves in all seasons. In those places where trees are scarce, a variety of flowering shrubs abound, most of them entirely new to an European, and surpassing in beauty, fragrance, and number, all I ever saw in an uncultivated state: among these, a tall shrub, bearing an elegant white flower, which smells like English May, is particularly delightful, and perfumes the air around to a great distance. The species of trees are few, and, I am concerned to add, the wood universally of so bad a grain, as almost to preclude a possibility of using it: the increase of labour occasioned by this in our buildings has been such, as nearly to exceed belief. These trees yield a profusion of thick red gum (not unlike the 'sanguis draconis') which is found serviceable in medicine, particularly in dysenteric complaints, where it has sometimes succeeded, when all other preparations have failed. To blunt its acrid qualities, it is usual to combine it with opiates. The nature of the soil is various. That immediately round Sydney Cove is sandy, with here and there a stratum of clay. From the sand we have yet been able to draw very little; but there seems no reason to doubt, that many large tracts of land around us will bring to perfection whatever shall be sown in them. To give this matter a fair trial, some practical farmers capable of such an undertaking should be sent out; for the spots we have chosen for experiments in agriculture, in which we can scarce be supposed adepts, have hitherto but ill repaid our toil, which may be imputable to our having chosen such as are unfavourable for our purpose. Except from the size of the trees, the difficulties of clearing the land are not numerous, underwood being rarely found, though the country is not absolutely without it. Of the natural meadows which Mr. Cook mentions near Botany Bay, we can give no account; none such exist about Port Jackson. Grass, however, grows in every place but the swamps with the greatest vigour and luxuriancy, though it is not of the finest quality, and is found to agree better with horses and cows than sheep. A few wild fruits are sometimes procured, among which is the small purple apple mentioned by Cook, and a fruit which has the appearance of a grape, though in taste more like a green gooseberry, being excessively sour: probably were it meliorated by cultivation, it would become more palatable. Fresh water, as I have said before, is found but in inconsiderable quantities. For the common purposes of life there is generally enough; but we know of no stream in the country capable of turning a mill: and the remark made by Mr. Anderson, of the dryness of the country round Adventure Bay, extends without exception to every part of it which we have penetrated. Previous to leaving England I remember to have frequently heard it asserted, that the discovery of mines was one of the secondary objects of the expedition. Perhaps there are mines; but as no person competent to form a decision is to be found among us, I wish no one to adopt an idea, that I mean to impress him with such a belief, when I state, that individuals, whose judgements are not despicable, are willing to think favourably of this conjecture, from specimens of ore seen in many of the stones picked up here. I cannot quit this subject without regretting, that some one capable of throwing a better light on it, is not in the colony. Nor can I help being equally concerned, that an experienced botanist was not sent out, for the purpose of collecting and describing the rare and beautiful plants with which the country abounds. Indeed, we flattered ourselves, when at the Cape of Good Hope, that Mason, the King's botanical gardener, who was employed there in collecting for the royal nursery at Kew, would have joined us, but it seems his orders and engagements prevented him from quitting that beaten track, to enter on this scene of novelty and variety. To the naturalist this country holds out many invitations. Birds, though not remarkably numerous, are in great variety, and of the most exquisite beauty of plumage, among which are the cockatoo, lory, and parroquet; but the bird which principally claims attention is, a species of ostrich, approaching nearer to the emu of South America than any other we know of. One of them was shot, at a considerable distance, with a single ball, by a convict employed for that purpose by the Governor; its weight, when complete, was seventy pounds, and its length from the end of the toe to the tip of the beak, seven feet two inches, though there was reason to believe it had not attained its full growth. On dissection many anatomical singularities were observed: the gall-bladder was remarkably large, the liver not bigger than that of a barn-door fowl, and after the strictest search no gizzard could be found; the legs, which were of a vast length, were covered with thick, strong scales, plainly indicating the animal to be formed for living amidst deserts; and the foot differed from an ostrich's by forming a triangle, instead of being cloven. Goldsmith, whose account of the emu is the only one I can refer to, says, "that it is covered from the back and rump with long feathers, which fall backward, and cover the anus; these feathers are grey on the back, and white on the belly." The wings are so small as hardly to deserve the name, and are unfurnished with those beautiful ornaments which adorn the wings of the ostrich: all the feathers are extremely coarse, but the construction of them deserves notice--they grow in pairs from a single shaft, a singularity which the author I have quoted has omitted to remark. It may be presumed, that these birds are not very scarce, as several have been seen, some of them immensely large, but they are so wild, as to make shooting them a matter of great difficulty. Though incapable of flying, they run with such swiftness, that our fleetest greyhounds are left far behind in every attempt to catch them. The flesh was eaten, and tasted like beef. Besides the emu, many birds of prodigious size have been seen, which promise to increase the number of those described by naturalists, whenever we shall be fortunate enough to obtain them; but among these the bat of the Endeavour River is not to be found. In the woods are various little songsters, whose notes are equally sweet and plaintive. Of quadrupeds, except the kangaroo, I have little to say. The few met with are almost invariably of the opossum tribe, but even these do not abound. To beasts of prey we are utter strangers, nor have we yet any cause to believe that they exist in the country. And happy it is for us that they do not, as their presence would deprive us of the only fresh meals the settlement affords, the flesh of the kangaroo. This singular animal is already known in Europe by the drawing and description of Mr. Cook. To the drawing nothing can be objected but the position of the claws of the hinder leg, which are mixed together like those of a dog, whereas no such indistinctness is to be found in the animal I am describing. It was the Chevalier De Perrouse who pointed out this to me, while we were comparing a kangaroo with the plate, which, as he justly observed, is correct enough to give the world in general a good idea of the animal, but not sufficiently accurate for the man of science. Of the natural history of the kangaroo we are still very ignorant. We may, however, venture to pronounce this animal, a new species of opossum, the female being furnished with a bag, in which the young is contained; and in which the teats are found. These last are only two in number, a strong presumptive proof, had we no other evidence, that the kangaroo brings forth rarely more than one at a birth. But this is settled beyond a doubt, from more than a dozen females having been killed, which had invariably but one formed in the pouch. Notwithstanding this, the animal may be looked on as prolific, from the early age it begins to breed at, kangaroos with young having been taken of not more than thirty pounds weight; and there is room to believe that when at their utmost growth, they weigh not less than one hundred and fifty pounds. A male of one hundred and thirty pounds weight has been killed, whose dimensions were as follows: ------------------------------------------------------------------ Feet. Inches. Extreme length 7 3 Ditt of the tail 3 4 1/2 Ditto of the hinder legs 3 2 Ditto of the fore paws 1 7 1/2 Circumference of the tail of the root 1 5 ------------------------------------------------------------------ After this perhaps I shall hardly be credited, when I affirm that the kangaroo on being brought forth is not larger than an English mouse. It is, however, in my power to speak positively on this head, as I have seen more than one instance of it. In running, this animal confines himself entirely to his hinder, legs, which are possessed with an extraordinary muscular power. Their speed is very great, though not in general quite equal to that of a greyhound; but when the greyhounds are so fortunate as to seize them, they are incapable of retaining their hold, from the amazing struggles of the animal. The bound of the kangaroo, when not hard pressed, has been measured, and found to exceed twenty feet. At what time of the year they copulate, and in what manner, we know not: the testicles of the male are placed contrary to the usual order of nature. When young the kangaroo eats tender and well flavoured, tasting like veal, but the old ones are more tough and stringy than bullbeef. They are not carnivorous, and subsist altogether on particular flowers and grass. Their bleat is mournful, and very different from that of any other animal: it is, however, seldom heard but in the young ones. Fish, which our sanguine hopes led us to expect in great quantities, do not abound. In summer they are tolerably plentiful, but for some months past very few have been taken. Botany Bay in this respect exceeds Port Jackson. The French once caught near two thousand fish in one day, of a species of grouper, to which, from the form of a bone in the head resembling a helmet, we have given the name of light horseman. To this may be added bass, mullets, skait, soles, leather-jackets, and many other species, all so good in their kind, as to double our regret at their not being more numerous. Sharks of an enormous size are found here. One of these was caught by the people on board the Sirius, which measured at the shoulders six feet and a half in circumference. His liver yielded twenty-four gallons of oil; and in his stomach was found the head of a shark, which had been thrown overboard from the same ship. The Indians, probably from having felt the effects of their voracious fury, testify the utmost horror on seeing these terrible fish. Venomous animals and reptiles are rarely seen. Large snakes beautifully variegated have been killed, but of the effect of their bites we are happily ignorant. Insects, though numerous, are by no means, even in summer, so troublesome as I have found them in America, the West Indies, and other countries. The climate is undoubtedly very desirable to live in. In summer the heats are usually moderated by the sea breeze, which sets in early; and in winter the degree of cold is so slight as to occasion no inconvenience; once or twice we have had hoar frosts and hail, but no appearance of snow. The thermometer has never risen beyond 84, nor fallen lower than 35, in general it stood in the beginning of February at between 78 and 74 at noon. Nor is the temperature of the air less healthy than pleasant. Those dreadful putrid fevers by which new countries are so often ravaged, are unknown to us: and excepting a slight diarrhoea, which prevailed soon after we had landed, and was fatal in very few instances, we are strangers to epidemic diseases. On the whole, (thunder storms in the hot months excepted) I know not any climate equal to this I write in. Ere we had been a fortnight on shore we experienced some storms of thunder accompanied with rain, than which nothing can be conceived more violent and tremendous, and their repetition for several days, joined to the damage they did, by killing several of our sheep, led us to draw presages of an unpleasant nature. Happily, however, for many months we have escaped any similar visitations. CHAPTER XVI. The Progress made in the Settlement; and the Situation of Affairs at the Time of the Ship, which conveys this Account, sailing for England. For the purpose of expediting the public work, the male convicts have been divided into gangs, over each of which a person, selected from among themselves, is placed. It is to be regretted that Government did not take this matter into consideration before we left England, and appoint proper persons with reasonable salaries to execute the office of overseers; as the consequence of our present imperfect plan is such, as to defeat in a great measure the purposes for which the prisoners were sent out. The female convicts have hitherto lived in a state of total idleness; except a few who are kept at work in making pegs for tiles, and picking up shells for burning into lime. For the last time I repeat, that the behaviour of all classes of these people since our arrival in the settlement has been better than could, I think, have been expected from them. Temporary wooden storehouses covered with thatch or shingles, in which the cargoes of all the ships have been lodged, are completed; and an hospital is erected. Barracks for the military are considerably advanced; and little huts to serve, until something more permanent can be finished, have been raised on all sides. Notwithstanding this the encampments of the marines and convicts are still kept up; and to secure their owners from the coldness of the nights, are covered in with bushes, and thatched over. The plan of a town I have already said is marked out. And as freestone of an excellent quality abounds, one requisite towards the completion of it is attained. Only two houses of stone are yet begun, which are intended for the Governor and Lieutenant Governor. One of the greatest impediments we meet with is a want of limestone, of which no signs appear. Clay for making bricks is in plenty, and a considerable quantity of them burned and ready for use. In enumerating the public buildings I find I have been so remiss as to omit an observatory, which is erected at a small distance from the encampments. It is nearly completed, and when fitted up with the telescopes and other astronomical instruments sent out by the Board of Longitude, will afford a desirable retreat from the listlessness of a camp evening at Port Jackson. One of the principal reasons which induced the Board to grant this apparatus was, for the purpose of enabling Lieutenant Dawes, of the marines, (to whose care it is intrusted) to make observations on a comet which is shortly expected to appear in the southern hemisphere. The latitude of the observatory, from the result of more than three hundred observations, is fixed at 33 deg 52 min 30 sec south, and the longitude at 151 deg 16 min 30 sec east of Greenwich. The latitude of the south head which forms the entrance of the harbour, 33 deg 51 min, and that of the north head opposite to it at 33 deg 49 min 45 sec south. Since landing here our military force has suffered a diminution of only three persons, a serjeant and two privates. Of the convicts fifty-four have perished, including the executions. Amidst the causes of this mortality, excessive toil and a scarcity of food are not to be numbered, as the reader will easily conceive, when informed, that they have the same allowance of provisions as every officer and soldier in the garrison; and are indulged by being exempted from labour every Saturday afternoon and Sunday. On the latter of those days they are expected to attend divine service, which is performed either within one of the storehouses, or under a great tree in the open air, until a church can be built. Amidst our public labours, that no fortified post, or place of security, is yet begun, may be a matter of surprise. Were an emergency in the night to happen, it is not easy to say what might not take place before troops, scattered about in an extensive encampment, could be formed, so as to act. An event that happened a few evenings since may, perhaps, be the means of forwarding this necessary work. In the dead of night the centinels on the eastern side of the cove were alarmed by the voices of the Indians, talking near their posts. The soldiers on this occasion acted with their usual firmness, and without creating a disturbance, acquainted the officer of the guard with the circumstance, who immediately took every precaution to prevent an attack, and at the same time gave orders that no molestation, while they continued peaceable, should be offered them. From the darkness of the night, and the distance they kept at, it was not easy to ascertain their number, but from the sound of the voices and other circumstances, it was calculated at near thirty. To their intentions in honouring us with this visit (the only one we have had from them in the last five months) we are strangers, though most probably it was either with a view to pilfer, or to ascertain in what security we slept, and the precautions we used in the night. When the bells of the ships in the harbour struck the hour of the night, and the centinels called out on their posts "All's well," they observed a dead silence, and continued it for some minutes, though talking with the greatest earnestness and vociferation but the moment before. After having remained a considerable time they departed without interchanging a syllable with our people. CHAPTER XVII. Some Thoughts on the Advantages which may arise to the Mother Country from forming the Colony. The author of these sheets would subject himself to the charge of presumption, were he to aim at developing the intentions of Government in forming this settlement. But without giving offence, or incurring reproach, he hopes his opinion on the probability of advantage to be drawn from hence by Great Britain, may be fairly made known. If only a receptacle for convicts be intended, this place stands unequalled from the situation, extent, and nature of the country. When viewed in a commercial light, I fear its insignificance will appear very striking. The New Zealand hemp, of which so many sanguine expectations were formed, is not a native of the soil; and Norfolk Island, where we made sure to find this article, is also without it. So that the scheme of being able to assist the East Indies with naval stores, in case of a war, must fall to the ground, both from this deficiency, and the quality of the timber growing here. Were it indeed possible to transport that of Norfolk Island, its value would be found very great, but the difficulty, from the surf, I am well informed, is so insuperable as to forbid the attempt. Lord Howe Island, discovered by Lieut. Ball, though an inestimable acquisition to our colony, produces little else than the mountain cabbage tree. Should a sufficient military force be sent out to those employed in cultivating the ground, I see no room to doubt, that in the course of a few years, the country will be able to yield grain enough for the support of its new possessors. But to effect this, our present limits must be greatly extended, which will require detachments of troops not to be spared from the present establishment. And admitting the position, the parent country will still have to supply us for a much longer time with every other necessary of life. For after what we have seen, the idea of being soon able to breed cattle sufficient for our consumption, must appear chimerical and absurd. From all which it is evident, that should Great Britain neglect to send out regular supplies, the most fatal consequences will ensue. Speculators who may feel inclined to try their fortunes here, will do well to weigh what I have said. If golden dreams of commerce and wealth flatter their imaginations, disappointment will follow: the remoteness of situation, productions of the country, and want of connection with other parts of the world, justify me in the assertion. But to men of small property, unambitious of trade, and wishing for retirement, I think the continent of New South Wales not without inducements. One of this description, with letters of recommendation, and a sufficient capital (after having provided for his passage hither) to furnish him with an assortment of tools for clearing land, agricultural and domestic purposes; possessed also of a few household utensils, a cow, a few sheep and breeding sows, would, I am of opinion, with proper protection and encouragement, succeed in obtaining a comfortable livelihood, were he well assured before he quitted his native country, that a provision for him until he might be settled, should be secured; and that a grant of land on his arrival would be allotted him. That this adventurer, if of a persevering character and competent knowledge, might in the course of ten years bring matters into such a train as to render himself comfortable and independent, I think highly probable. The superfluities of his farm would enable him to purchase European commodities from the masters of ships, which will arrive on Government account, sufficient to supply his wants. But beyond this he ought not to reckon, for admitting that he might meet with success in raising tobacco, rice, indigo, or vineyards (for which last I think the soil and climate admirably adapted), the distance of a mart to vend them at, would make the expense of transportation so excessive, as to cut off all hopes of a reasonable profit; nor can there be consumers enough here to take them off his hands, for so great a length of time to come, as I shall not be at the trouble of computing. Should then any one, induced by this account, emigrate hither, let him, before he quits England, provide all his wearing apparel for himself, family, and servants; his furniture, tools of every kind, and implements of husbandry (among which a plough need not be included, as we make use of the hoe), for he will touch at no place where they can be purchased to advantage. If his sheep and hogs are English also, it will be better. For wines, spirits, tobacco, sugar, coffee, tea, rice, poultry, and many other articles, he may venture to rely on at Teneriffe or Madeira, the Brazils and Cape of Good Hope. It will not be his interest to draw bills on his voyage out, as the exchange of money will be found invariably against him, and a large discount also deducted. Drafts on the place he is to touch at, or cash (dollars if possible) will best answer his end. To men of desperate fortune and the lowest classes of the people, unless they can procure a passage as indented servants, similar to the custom practised of emigrating to America, this part of the world offers no temptation: for it can hardly be supposed, that Government will be fond of maintaining them here until they can be settled, and without such support they must starve. Of the Governor's instructions and intentions relative to the disposal of the convicts, when the term of their transportation shall be expired, I am ignorant. They will then be free men, and at liberty, I apprehend, either to settle in the country, or to return to Europe. The former will be attended with some public expense; and the latter, except in particular cases, will be difficult to accomplish, from the numberless causes which prevent a frequent communication between England and this continent. POSTSCRIPT Sydney Cove, Port Jackson, New South Wales. October 1st, 1788. Little material has occurred in this colony since the departure of the ships for England, on the 14th July last. On the 20th of that month His Majesty's ship Supply, Captain Ball, sailed for Norfolk Island, and returned on the 26th August. Our accounts from thence are more favourable than were expected. The soil proves admirably adapted to produce all kinds of grain, and European vegetables. But the discovery which constitutes its value is the New Zealand flax, plants of which are found growing in every part of the island in the utmost luxuriancy and abundance. This will, beyond doubt, appear strange to the reader after what has been related in the former part of my work: and in future, let the credit of the testimony be as high as it may, I shall never without diffidence and hesitation presume to contradict the narrations of Mr. Cook. The truth is, that those sent to settle and explore the island knew not the form in which the plant grows, and were unfurnished with every particular which could lead to a knowledge of it. Unaccountable as this may sound, it is, nevertheless, incontestably true. Captain Ball brought away with him several specimens for inspection, and, on trial, by some flax-dressers among us, the threads produced from them, though coarse, are pronounced to be stronger, more likely to be durable, and fitter for every purpose of manufacturing cordage, than any they ever before dressed. Every research has been made by those on the island to find a landing-place, whence it might be practicable to ship off the timber growing there, but hitherto none has been discovered. A plan, however, for making one has been laid before the Governor, and is at present under consideration, though (in the opinion of many here) it is not such an one as will be found to answer the end proposed. Lieut. King and his little garrison were well when the 'Supply' left them: but I am sorry to add, that, from casualties, their number is already five less than it originally was. A ship from hence is ready to sail with an increase of force, besides many convicts for the purpose of sawing up timber, and turning the flax-plant to advantage. So much for Norfolk. In Port Jackson all is quiet and stupid as could be wished. We generally hear the lie of the day as soon as the beating of the Reveille announces the return of it; find it contradicted by breakfast time; and pursue a second through all its varieties, until night, welcome as to a lover, gives us to sleep and dream ourselves transported to happier climes. Let me not, however, neglect telling you the little news which presents itself. All descriptions of men enjoy the highest state of health; and the convicts continue to behave extremely well. A gang of one hundred of them, guarded by a captain, two subalterns and 20 marines, is about to be sent up to the head of the harbour, at the distance of 3 leagues, in a westerly direction, from Sydney Cove, for the purpose of establishing a settlement there. The convicts are to be employed in putting the land around into cultivation, as it appears to be of a more promising nature than that near the encampment. Indeed this last hitherto succeeds but very indifferently, though I do not yet despair, that when good seeds can be procured, our toil will be better rewarded. But as this is an event at a distance, and in itself very precarious, Governor Phillip has determined on procuring a supply of flour and other necessaries from the Cape of Good Hope, as our stock on hand is found to be, on examination, not quite so ample as had been reckoned upon. To execute this purpose his Excellency has ordered the Sirius to prepare for the voyage; by which conveyance the opportunity of writing to you is afforded me. It was at first intended to dispatch the Sirius to some of the neighbouring islands (the Friendly or Society) in the Pacific Ocean, to procure stock there, but the uselessness of the scheme, joined to the situation of matters here, has, happily for us, prevented its being put into execution. 
13518	----	THE JOURNEY TO THE POLAR SEA BY SIR JOHN FRANKLIN Everyman, I will go with thee, and be thy guide, In thy most need to go by thy side. (This is Number 447 of Everyman's Library) INTRODUCTION BY CAPTAIN R.F. SCOTT. JOHN FRANKLIN, born in 1786. Many naval experiences, including Trafalgar, before heading an expedition across northern Canada in 1819. Elected F.R.S. and knighted after a second expedition. Lieutenant-Governor of Van Diemen's Land, 1836 to 1843. Last expedition, 1845, was lost, and Franklin died in 1847 near the Arctic. Subsequent investigations have established him as the discoverer of the North-West Passage. THE JOURNEY TO THE POLAR SEA. SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. INTRODUCTION. In days of hurried action I have been astonished at the depth of interest which a re-perusal of this wonderful old narrative has held for me. Wonderful it is in its simplicity and its revelation of the simplicity of character and faith of the man who wrote it. It is old only by comparison--scarcely ninety years have elapsed since the adventures it described were enacted--yet such a period has never held a fuller measure of change or more speedily passed current events into the limbo of the past. Nothing could more vividly impress this change than the narrative itself. We are told that Mr. Beck missed his ship at Yarmouth but succeeded in rejoining her at Stromness, having travelled "nine successive days almost without rest." What a vision of post-chaises, sweating horses and heavy roads is suggested! And if the contrast with present-day conditions in our own Islands is great, how much greater is it in that vast Dominion through which Franklin directed his pioneer footsteps. As he followed the lonely trails to Fort Cumberland, or sailed along the solitary shores of Lake Winnipeg, how little could he guess that in less than a century a hundred thousand inhabitants would dwell by the shore of the great lake, or that its primeval regions would one day provide largely the bread of his countrymen. There civilisation has followed fast indeed, and ever it presses forward on the tracks of the pioneer. But even today if we follow Franklin we must come again to the wild--to the great Barren Lands and to the ice-bound limit of a Continent--regions where for ninety years season has succeeded season without change--where few have passed since his day and Nature alone holds sway. For those who would know what IS as well as for those who would know what HAS BEEN, this narrative still holds its original interest; all must appreciate that it records the work of a great traveller and a gallant man whose fame deserves to live. R.F. SCOTT. ... SIR JOHN FRANKLIN'S VOYAGES INTO THE POLAR SEAS: F.W. Beechey: Voyage of Discovery toward the North Pole in H.M. Ships Dorothea and Trent (with summary of earlier attempts to reach the Pacific by the North) 1818. Narrative of a Journey to the Shores of the Polar Sea, in the Years 1819 to 1822, by John Franklin, 1823, 1824. Narrative of a Second Expedition to the Shores of the Polar Sea in the Years 1825 to 1827, by John Franklin, 1828. PUBLICATIONS CONCERNING THE SEARCH FOR SIR JOHN FRANKLIN: Report of the Committee appointed by the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to inquire into and report on the Recent Arctic Expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin, 1851. Papers relative to the Recent Arctic Expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin and the Crews of H.M.S. Erebus and Terror, 1854. Further Papers relative to the Search, 1855. R. King, The Franklin Expedition from First to Last, 1855. R. Huish, Recent Expeditions to the Polar Regions, including all the Voyages in search of Sir J. Franklin, 1855. E.K. Kane, Arctic Explorations, the Second Grinnell Expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, 1856. MacClintock, The Voyage of the Fox in the Arctic Seas. A narrative of the discovery of the fate of Sir John Franklin, 1859, 1861, 1869, 1908. Sir J. Leslie, Discovery and Adventure in the Polar Seas, with a Narrative of the Recent Expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin, 1860. J.A. Browne, The North-West Passage, and the Fate of Sir John Franklin, 1860. Sir Allen M. Young, The Search for Sir John Franklin, etc., 1875. Schwatka's Search, Sledging in the Arctic in search of Franklin Records, 1881. The Search for Franklin. American Expedition under Lieutenant Schwatka, 1878 to 1880, 1882. J.H. Skewes, The True Secret of the Discovery of the Fate of Sir John Franklin, 1889. LIFE: S. Osborn, Career, Last Voyage and Fate of Sir John Franklin (Once a Week, 1859) 1860. A Brave Man and his Belongings, by a Niece of the first Mrs. Franklin, 1874. A.H. Beesley, Sir John Franklin; the Narrative of his Life (The New Plutarch) 1881. A.H. Markham (The World's Great Explorers) 1891. G.B. Smith, Sir John Franklin and the Romance of the North-West Passage, 1895. H.D. Traill, 1896. H. Harbour, Arctic Explorers, 1904. E.C. Buley, Into the Polar Seas; The Story of Sir J. Franklin, etc., 1909. ... CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. CHAPTER 1. Departure from England. Transactions at Stromness. Enter Davis Straits. Perilous situation on the shore of Resolution Island. Land on the coast of Labrador. Esquimaux of Savage Islands. York Factory. Preparations for the Journey into the Interior. CHAPTER 2. Passage up Hayes, Steel and Hill Rivers. Cross Swampy Lake. Jack River. Knee Lake and Magnetic Islet. Trout River. Holy Lake. Weepinapannis River. Windy Lake. White Fall Lake and River. Echemamis and Sea Rivers. Play Green Lakes. Lake Winnipeg. River Saskatchewan. Cross, Cedar and Pine Island Lakes. Cumberland House. CHAPTER 3. Dr. Richardson's residence at Cumberland House. His account of the Cree Indians. CHAPTER 4. Leave Cumberland House. Mode of Travelling in Winter. Arrival at Carlton House. Stone Indians. Visit to a Buffalo Pound. Goitres. Departure from Carlton House. Isle a la Crosse. Arrival at Fort Chipewyan. CHAPTER 5. Transactions at Fort Chipewyan. Arrival of Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood. Preparations for our Journey to the Northward. CHAPTER 6. Mr. Hood's Journey to the Basquiau Hill. Sojourns with an Indian Party. His Journey to Chipewyan. CHAPTER 7. Departure from Chipewyan. Difficulties of the various Navigations of the Rivers and Lakes, and of the Portages. Slave Lake and Fort Providence. Scarcity of Provisions, and Discontent of the Canadian Voyagers. Difficulties with regard to the Indian Guides. Refusal to proceed. Visit of Observation to the upper part of Copper-Mine River. Return to the winter quarters of Fort Enterprise. CHAPTER 8. Transactions at Fort Enterprise. Mr. Back's Narrative of his Journey to Chipewyan, and Return. CHAPTER 9. Continuation of Proceedings at Fort Enterprise. Some Account of the Copper Indians. Preparations for the Journey to the Northward. CHAPTER 10. Departure from Fort Enterprise. Navigation of the Copper-Mine River. Visit to the Copper Mountain. Interview with the Esquimaux. Departure of the Indian Hunters. Arrangements made with them for our Return. CHAPTER 11. Navigation of the Polar Sea, in two Canoes, as far as Cape Turnagain, to the Eastward, a distance exceeding Five Hundred and Fifty Miles. Observations on the probability of a North-West Passage. CHAPTER 12. Journey across the barren grounds. Difficulty and delay in crossing Copper-Mine River. Melancholy and Fatal Results thereof. Extreme Misery of the whole Party. Murder of Mr. Hood. Death of several of the Canadians. Desolate State of Fort Enterprise. Distress suffered at that Place. Dr. Richardson's Narrative. Mr. Back's Narrative. Conclusion. ... INTRODUCTION. His Majesty's Government having determined upon sending an Expedition from the Shores of Hudson's Bay by land to explore the Northern Coast of America from the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River to the eastward, I had the honour to be appointed to this service by Earl Bathurst, on the recommendation of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty; who at the same time nominated Doctor John Richardson, a Surgeon in the Royal Navy, Mr. George Back, and Mr. Robert Hood, two Admiralty Midshipmen, to be joined with me in the enterprise. My instructions in substance informed me that the main object of the Expedition was that of determining the latitudes and longitudes of the Northern Coast of North America, and the trending of that Coast from the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River to the eastern extremity of that Continent; that it was left for me to determine according to circumstances whether it might be most advisable to proceed at once directly to the northward till I arrived at the sea-coast, and thence westerly towards the Copper-Mine River; or advance in the first instance by the usual route to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, and from thence easterly till I should arrive at the eastern extremity of that Continent; that in the adoption of either of these plans I was to be guided by the advice and information which I should receive from the wintering servants of the Hudson's Bay Company, who would be instructed by their employers to cooperate cordially in the prosecution of the objects of the Expedition, and who would provide me with the necessary escort of Indians to act as guides, interpreters, game-killers, etc.; and also with such articles of clothing, ammunition, snowshoes, presents, etc., as should be deemed expedient for me to take. That as another principal object of the Expedition was to amend the very defective geography of the northern part of North America I was to be very careful to ascertain correctly the latitude and longitude of every remarkable spot upon our route, and of all the bays, harbours, rivers, headlands, etc., that might occur along the Northern Shore of North America. That in proceeding along the coast I should erect conspicuous marks at places where ships might enter, or to which a boat could be sent; and to deposit information as to the nature of the coast for the use of Lieutenant Parry. That in the journal of our route I should register the temperature of the air at least three times in every twenty-four hours; together with the state of the wind and weather and any other meteorological phenomena. That I should not neglect any opportunity of observing and noting down the dip and variation of the magnetic needle, and the intensity of the magnetic force; and should take particular notice whether any, and what kind or degree of, influence the Aurora Borealis might appear to exert on the magnetic needle; and to notice whether that phenomenon were attended with any noise; and to make any other observations that might be likely to tend to the further development of its cause and the laws by which it is governed. Mr. Back and Mr. Hood were to assist me in all the observations above-mentioned, and to make drawings of the land, of the natives, and of the various objects of Natural History; and particularly of such as Dr. Richardson who, to his professional duties was to add that of naturalist, might consider to be most curious and interesting. I was instructed, on my arrival at or near the Mouth of the Copper-Mine River, to make every inquiry as to the situation of the spot whence native copper had been brought down by the Indians to the Hudson's Bay establishment, and to visit and explore the place in question; in order that Dr. Richardson might be enabled to make such observations as might be useful in a commercial point of view, or interesting to the science of mineralogy. From Joseph Berens, Esquire, the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and the gentlemen of the Committee I received all kinds of assistance and information, communicated in the most friendly manner previous to my leaving England; and I had the gratification of perusing the orders to their agents and servants in North America, containing the fullest directions to promote by every means the progress of the Expedition. I most cheerfully avail myself of this opportunity of expressing my gratitude to these gentlemen for their personal kindness to myself and the other officers, as well as for the benefits rendered by them to the Expedition; and the same sentiment is due towards the Gentlemen of the North-West Company, both in England and America, more particularly to Simon McGillivray, Esquire, of London, from whom I received much useful information and cordial letters of recommendation to the partners and agents of that Company resident on our line of route. A short time before I left London I had the pleasure and advantage of an interview with the late Sir Alexander Mackenzie who was one of the two persons who had visited the coast we were to explore. He afforded me, in the most open and kind manner, much valuable information and advice. The provisions, instruments, and other articles, of which I had furnished a list by direction of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, were embarked on board the Hudson's Bay Company's ship Prince of Wales, appointed by the Committee to convey the Expedition to York Factory, their principal establishment in Hudson's Bay. It will be seen in the course of the Narrative how much reason I had to be satisfied with, and how great my obligations are to, all the gentlemen who were associated with me in the Expedition, whose kindness, good conduct, and cordial cooperation have made an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. The unfortunate death of Mr. Hood is the only drawback which I feel from the otherwise unalloyed pleasure of reflecting on that cordial unanimity which at all times prevailed among us in the days of sunshine, and in those of sickness and sorrow. To Dr. Richardson in particular the exclusive merit is due of whatever collections and observations have been made in the department of Natural History; and I am indebted to him in no small degree for his friendly advice and assistance in the preparation of the present narrative. The charts and drawings were made by Lieutenant Back and the late Lieutenant Hood. Both these gentlemen cheerfully and ably assisted me in making the observations and in the daily conduct of the Expedition. The observations made by Mr. Hood on the various phenomena presented by the Aurora Borealis* will it is presumed present to the reader some new facts connected with this meteor. Mr. Back was mostly prevented from turning his attention to objects of science by the many severe duties which were required of him and which obliged him to travel almost constantly every winter that we passed in America; to his personal exertions, indeed, our final safety is mainly to be attributed. And here I must be permitted to pay the tribute due to the fidelity, exertion and uniform good conduct in the most trying situations of John Hepburn, an English seaman and our only attendant, to whom in the latter part of our journey we owe, under Divine Providence, the preservation of the lives of some of the party. (*Footnote. Given in the Appendix to the Quarto Edition.) I ought perhaps to crave the reader's indulgence towards the defective style of this work, which I trust will not be refused when it is considered that mine has been a life of constant employment in my profession from a very early age. I have been prompted to venture upon the task solely by an imperious sense of duty when called upon to undertake it. In the ensuing Narrative the notices of the moral condition of the Indians as influenced by the conduct of the traders towards them refer entirely to the state in which it existed during our progress through the country; but lest I should have been mistaken respecting the views of the Hudson's Bay Company on these points I gladly embrace the opportunity which a Second Edition affords me of stating that the junction of the two Companies has enabled the Directors to put in practice the improvements which I have reason to believe they had long contemplated. They have provided for religious instruction by the appointment of two Clergymen of the established church under whose direction schoolmasters and mistresses are to be placed at such stations as afford the means of support for the establishment of schools. The offspring of the voyagers and labourers are to be educated chiefly at the expense of the Company; and such of the Indian children as their parents may wish to send to these schools are to be instructed, clothed, and maintained at the expense of the Church Missionary Society which has already allotted a considerable sum for these purposes and has also sent out teachers who are to act under the superintendence of the Reverend Mr. West, the principal chaplain of the Company. We had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman at York Factory, and witnessed with peculiar delight that great benefit which already marked his zealous and judicious conduct. Many of the traders and of the servants of the Company had been induced to marry the women with whom they had cohabited; a material step towards the improvement of the females in that country. Mr. West, under the sanction of the Directors, has also promoted a subscription for the distribution of the Bible in every part of the country where the Company's Fur Trade has extended, and which has met with very general support from the resident chief factors, traders, and clerks. The Directors of the Company are continuing to reduce the distribution of spirits gradually among the Indians, as well as towards their own servants, with a view to the entire disuse of them as soon as this most desirable object can be accomplished. They have likewise issued orders for the cultivation of the ground at each of the posts, by which means the residents will be far less exposed to famine whenever, through the scarcity of animals, the sickness of the Indians, or any other cause, their supply of meat may fail. It is to be hoped that intentions, so dear to every humane and pious mind, will, through the blessing of God, meet with the utmost success. ... FRANKLIN'S JOURNEY TO THE POLAR SEA. CHAPTER 1. DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. TRANSACTIONS AT STROMNESS. ENTER DAVIS STRAITS. PERILOUS SITUATION ON THE SHORE OF RESOLUTION ISLAND. LAND ON THE COAST OF LABRADOR. ESQUIMAUX OF SAVAGE ISLANDS. YORK FACTORY. PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR. DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. May, 1819. On Sunday the 23rd of May the whole of our party embarked at Gravesend on board the ship Prince of Wales, belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, just as she was in the act of getting under weigh with her consorts the Eddystone and Wear. The wind being unfavourable on the ebb tide being finished, the vessels were again anchored; but they weighed in the night and beat down as far as the Warp, where they were detained two days by a strong easterly wind. Having learned from some of the passengers, who were the trading Officers of the Company, that the arrival of the ships at either of the establishments in Hudson's Bay gives full occupation to all the boatmen in their service, who are required to convey the necessary stores to the different posts in the interior; that it was very probable a sufficient number of men might not be procured from this indispensable duty; and, considering that any delay at York Factory would materially retard our future operations, I wrote to the Under Secretary of State requesting his permission to provide a few well-qualified steersmen and bowmen at Stromness to assist our proceedings in the former part of our journey into the interior. May 30. The easterly wind, which had retarded the ship's progress so much that we had only reached Hollesley Bay after a week's beating about, changed to West-South-West soon after that anchorage had been gained. The vessels instantly weighed and, by carrying all sail, arrived in Yarmouth Roads at seven P.M.; the pilots were landed and our course was continued through the anchorage. At midnight the wind became light and variable and gradually drew round to the North-West and, as the sky indicated unsettled weather and the wind blew from an unfavourable quarter for ships upon that coast, the commander bore up again for Yarmouth and anchored at eight A.M. This return afforded us at least the opportunity of comparing the longitude of Yarmouth church, as shown by our chronometers, with its position as laid down by the Ordnance Trigonometrical Survey; and it was satisfactory to find, from the small difference in their results, that the chronometers had not experienced any alteration in their rates in consequence of their being changed from a horizontal position in a room to that of being carried in the pocket. An untoward circumstance while at this anchorage cast a damp on our party at this early period of the voyage. Emboldened by the decided appearance of the North-West sky, several of our officers and passengers ventured on shore for a few hours; but we had not been long in the town before the wind changed suddenly to South-East, which caused instant motion in the large fleet collected at this anchorage. The commander of our ship intimated his intention of proceeding to sea by firing guns; and the passengers hastened to embark. Mr. Back however had unfortunately gone upon some business to a house two or three miles distant from Yarmouth along the line of the coast; from whence he expected to be able to observe the first symptoms of moving which the vessels might make. By some accident however he did not make his appearance before the captain was obliged to make sail that he might get the ships through the intricate passage of the Cockle Gat before it was dark. Fortunately, through the kindness of Lieutenant Hewit of the Protector, I was enabled to convey a note to our missing companion, desiring him to proceed immediately by the coach to the Pentland Firth, and from thence across the passage to Stromness, which appeared to be the only way of proceeding by which he could rejoin the party. TRANSACTIONS AT STROMNESS. June 3. The wind continuing favourable after leaving Yarmouth, about nine this morning we passed the rugged and bold projecting rock termed Johnny Groat's house and soon afterwards Duncansby Head, and then entered the Pentland Firth. A pilot came from the main shore of Scotland and steered the ship in safety between the different islands to the outer anchorage at Stromness, though the atmosphere was too dense for distinguishing any of the objects on the land. Almost immediately after the ship had anchored the wind changed to north-west, the rain ceased and a sight was then first obtained of the neighbouring islands and of the town of Stromness, the latter of which from this point of view and at this distance presented a pleasing appearance. Mr. Geddes, the agent of the Hudson's Bay Company at this place, undertook to communicate my wish for volunteer boatmen to the different parishes by a notice on the church door, which he said was the surest and most direct channel for the conveyance of information to the lower classes in these islands as they invariably attend divine service there every Sunday. He informed me that the kind of men we were in want of would be difficult to procure on account of the very increased demand for boatmen for the herring fishery which had recently been established on the shores of these islands; that last year sixty boats and four hundred men only were employed in this service whereas now there were three hundred boats and twelve hundred men engaged; and that owing to this unexpected addition to the fishery he had been unable to provide the number of persons required for the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. This was unpleasant information as it increased the apprehension of our being detained at York Factory the whole winter if boatmen were not taken from hence. I could not therefore hesitate in requesting Mr. Geddes to engage eight or ten men well adapted for our service on such terms as he could procure them, though the Secretary of State's permission had not yet reached me. Next to a supply of boatmen our attention was directed towards the procuring of a house conveniently situated for trying the instruments and examining the rates of the chronometers. Mr. Geddes kindly offered one of his which, though in an unfinished state, was readily accepted, being well situated for our purpose as it was placed on an eminence, had a southern aspect, and was at a sufficient distance from the town to secure us from frequent interruption. Another advantage was its proximity to the Manse, the residence of the Reverend Mr. Clouston, the worthy and highly respected minister of Stromness whose kind hospitality and the polite attention of his family the party experienced almost daily during their stay. For three days the weather was unsettled and few observations could be made except for the dip of the needle which was ascertained to be 74 degrees 37 minutes 48 seconds, on which occasion a difference of eight degrees and a half was perceived between the observations when the face of the instrument was changed from the east to the west, the amount being the greatest when it was placed with the face to the west. But on the 8th a westerly wind caused a cloudless sky which enabled us to place the transit instrument in the meridian and to ascertain the variation of the compass to be 27 degrees 50 minutes west. The sky becoming cloudy in the afternoon prevented our obtaining the corresponding observations to those gained in the morning; and the next day an impervious fog obscured the sky until noon. On the evening of this day we had the gratification of welcoming our absent companion Mr. Back. His return to our society was hailed with sincere pleasure by everyone and removed a weight of anxiety from my mind. It appears that he had come down to the beach at Caistor just as the ships were passing by and had applied to some boatmen to convey him on board, which might have been soon accomplished but they, discovering the emergency of his case, demanded an exorbitant reward which he was not at the instant prepared to satisfy; and in consequence they positively refused to assist him. Though he had travelled nine successive days, almost without rest, he could not be prevailed upon to withdraw from the agreeable scene of a ballroom in which he joined us until a late hour. On the 10th, the rain having ceased, the observations for ascertaining the dip of the needle were repeated; and the results compared with the former ones gave a mean of 74 degrees 33 minutes 20 seconds. Nearly the same differences were remarked in reversing the face of the instrument as before. An attempt was also made to ascertain the magnetic force but the wind blew too strong for procuring the observation to any degree of accuracy. The fineness of the following day induced us to set up the different instruments for examination and to try how nearly the observations made by each of them would agree; but a squall passed over just before noon, accompanied by heavy rain, and the hoped-for favourable opportunity was entirely lost. In the intervals between the observations, and at every opportunity, my companions were occupied in those pursuits to which their attention had been more particularly directed in my instructions. Whilst Dr. Richardson was collecting and examining the various specimens of marine plants, of which these islands furnish an abundant and diversified supply, Mr. Back and Mr. Hood took views and sketches of the surrounding scenery which is extremely picturesque in many parts, and wants only the addition of trees to make it beautiful. The hills present the bold character of rugged sterility, whilst the valleys at this season are clothed with luxuriant verdure. It was not till the 14th that, by appointment, the boatmen were to assemble at the house of Mr. Geddes to engage to accompany the Expedition. Several persons collected but, to my great mortification, I found they were all so strongly possessed with the fearful apprehension either that great danger would attend the service, or that we should carry them further than they would agree to go, that not a single man would engage with us; some of them however said they would consider the subject and give me an answer on the following day. This indecisive conduct was extremely annoying to me especially as the next evening was fixed for the departure of the ships. At the appointed time on the following morning four men only presented themselves and these, after much hesitation, engaged to accompany the Expedition to Fort Chipewyan if they should be required so far. The bowmen and steersmen were to receive forty pounds wages annually and the middle men thirty-five pounds. They stipulated to be sent back to the Orkney Islands free of expense and to receive their pay until the time of their arrival. Only these few men could be procured although our requisition had been sent to almost every island, even as far as the northernmost point of Ronaldsha. I was much amused with the extreme caution these men used before they would sign the agreement; they minutely scanned all our intentions, weighed every circumstance, looked narrowly into the plan of our route, and still more circumspectly to the prospect of return. Such caution on the part of the northern mariners forms a singular contrast with the ready and thoughtless manner in which an English seaman enters upon any enterprise, however hazardous, without inquiring or desiring to know where he is going or what he is going about. The brig Harmony, belonging to the Moravian Missionary Society and bound to their settlement at Nain on the coast of Labrador, was lying at anchor. With the view of collecting some Esquimaux words and sentences, or gaining any information respecting the manners and habits of that people, Doctor Richardson and myself paid her a visit. We found the passengers who were going out as Missionaries extremely disposed to communicate; but as they only spoke the German and Esquimaux languages, of which we were ignorant, our conversation was necessarily much confined; by the aid however of an Esquimaux and German Dictionary some few words were collected which we considered might be useful. There were on board a very interesting girl and a young man who were natives of Disco in old Greenland; both of them had fair complexions, rather handsome features, and a lively manner; the former was going to be married to a resident Missionary and the latter to officiate in that character. The commander of the vessel gave me a translation of the Gospel of St. John in the Esquimaux language printed by the Moravian Society in London. June 16. The wind being unfavourable for sailing I went on shore with Dr. Richardson and took several lunar observations at the place of our former residence. The result obtained was latitude 58 degrees 56 minutes 56 seconds North; longitude 3 degrees 17 minutes 55 seconds West; variation 27 degrees 50 minutes West; dip of the magnetic needle 74 degrees 33 minutes 20 seconds. In the afternoon the wind changed in a squall some points towards the north and the Prince of Wales made the preparatory signal for sea. At three P.M. the ships weighed, an hour too early for the tide; as soon as this served we entered into the passage between Hoy and Pomona, and had to beat through against a very heavy swell which the meeting of a weather tide and a strong breeze had occasioned. Some dangerous rocks lie near the Pomona shore and on this side also the tide appeared to run with the greatest strength. On clearing the outward projecting points of Hoy and Pomona we entered at once into the Atlantic and commenced our voyage to Hudson's Bay, having the Eddystone, Wear and Harmony, Missionary brig, in company. The comparisons of the chronometers this day indicated that Arnold's Numbers 2148 and 2147 had slightly changed their rates since they had been brought on board; fortunately the rate of the former seems to have increased nearly in the same ratio as the other has lost, and the mean longitude will not be materially affected. Being now fairly launched into the Atlantic I issued a general memorandum for the guidance of the officers during the prosecution of the service on which we were engaged, and communicated to them the several points of information that were expected from us by my instructions. I also furnished them with copies of the signals which had been agreed upon between Lieutenant Parry and myself to be used in the event of our reaching the northern coast of America and falling in with each other. At the end of the month of June our progress was found to have been extremely slow owing to a determined North-West wind and much sea. We had numerous birds hovering round the ship; principally fulmars (Procellaria glacialis) and shearwaters (Procellaria puffinus) and not unfrequently saw shoals of grampusses sporting about, which the Greenland seamen term finners from their large dorsal fin. Some porpoises occasionally appeared and whenever they did the crew were sanguine in their expectation of having a speedy change in the wind which had been so vexatiously contrary but they were disappointed in every instance. Thursday, July 1. The month of July set in more favourably; and aided by fresh breezes we advanced rapidly to the westward, attended daily by numerous fulmars and shearwaters. The Missionary brig had parted company on the 22nd of June. We passed directly over that part of the ocean where the Sunken Land of Buss is laid down in the old, and continued in the Admiralty charts. Mr. Bell, the commander of the Eddystone, informed me that the pilot who brought his ship down the Thames told him that he had gained soundings in twelve feet somewhere hereabout; and I am rather inclined to attribute the very unusual and cross sea we had in this neighbourhood to the existence of a bank than to the effect of a gale of wind which we had just before experienced; and I cannot but regret that the commander of the ship did not try for soundings at frequent intervals. ENTER DAVIS STRAITS. By the 25th July we had opened the entrance of Davis Straits and in the afternoon spoke the Andrew Marvell, bound to England with a cargo of fourteen fish. The master informed us that the ice had been heavier this season in Davis Straits than he had ever recollected, and that it lay particularly close to the westward, being connected with the shore to the northward of Resolution Island and extending from thence within a short distance of the Greenland coast; that whales had been abundant but the ice so extremely cross that few could be killed. His ship, as well as several others, had suffered material injury, and two vessels had been entirely crushed between vast masses of ice in latitude 74 degrees 40 minutes North, but the crews were saved. We inquired anxiously but in vain for intelligence respecting Lieutenant Parry and the ships under his command; but as he mentioned that the wind had been blowing strong from the northward for some time, which would probably have cleared Baffin's Bay of ice, we were disposed to hope favourably of his progress. The clouds assumed so much the appearance of icebergs this evening as to deceive most of the passengers and crew; but their imaginations had been excited by the intelligence we had received from the Andrew Marvell that she had only parted from a cluster of them two days previous to our meeting. On the 27th, being in latitude 57 degrees 44 minutes 21 seconds North, longitude 47 degrees 31 minutes 14 seconds West and the weather calm, we tried our soundings but did not reach the bottom. The register thermometer was attached to the line just above the lead, and is supposed to have descended six hundred and fifty fathoms. A well-corked bottle was also fastened to the line two hundred fathoms above the lead and went down four hundred and fifty fathoms. The change in temperature shown by the register thermometer during the descent was from 52 to 40.5 degrees; and it stood at the latter point when taken out of the tin case. The temperature of the water brought up in the bottle was 41 degrees, being half a degree higher at four hundred and fifty than at six hundred and fifty fathoms and four degrees colder than the water at the surface which was then at 45 degrees, whilst that of the air was 46 degrees. This experiment in showing the water to be colder at a great depth than at the surface, and in proportion to the increase of the descent, coincides with the observations of Captain Ross and Lieutenant Parry on their late voyage to these seas, but is contrary to the results obtained by Captain Buchan and myself on our recent voyage to the north between Spitzbergen and Greenland, in which sea we invariably found the water brought from any great depth to be warmer than that at the surface. On the 28th we tacked to avoid an extensive stream of sailing ice. The temperature of the water fell to 39.5 degrees when we were near it, but was at 41 degrees when at the distance of half a mile. The thermometer in the air remained steadily at 40 degrees. Thus the proximity of this ice was not so decidedly indicated by the decrease of the temperature of either the air or water as I have before witnessed, which was probably owing to the recent arrival of the stream at this point and its passing at too quick a rate for the effectual diffusion of its chilling influence beyond a short distance. Still the decrease in both cases was sufficient to have given timely warning for a ship's performing any evolution that would have prevented the coming in contact with it had the thickness of the weather precluded a distant view of the danger. The approach to ice would be more evidently pointed out in the Atlantic, or wherever the surface is not so continually chilled by the passing and the melting of ice as in this sea; and I should strongly recommend a strict hourly attention to the thermometrical state of the water at the surface in all parts where ships are exposed to the dangerous concussion of sailing icebergs, as a principal means of security. The following day our ship came near another stream of ice and the approach to it was indicated by a decrease of the temperature of the water at the surface from 44 to 42 degrees. A small pine-tree was picked up much shattered by the ice. In the afternoon of the 30th a very dense fog came on; and about six P.M. when sailing before a fresh breeze we were suddenly involved in a heavy stream of ice. Considerable difficulty was experienced in steering through the narrow channels between the different masses in this foggy weather, and the ship received several severe blows. The water, as usual in the centre of the stream, was quite smooth, but we heard the waves beating violently against the outer edge of the ice. There was some earthy matter on several of the pieces, and the whole body bore the appearance of recent separation from the land. In the space of two hours we again got into the open sea, but had left our two consorts far behind; they followed our track by the guns we discharged. The temperature of the surface water was 35 degrees when amongst the ice, 38 degrees when just clear of it, and 41.5 degrees at two miles distant. On the 4th of August, when in latitude 59 degrees 58 minutes North, longitude 59 degrees 53 minutes West, we first fell in with large icebergs; and in the evening were encompassed by several of considerable magnitude, which obliged us to tack the ship in order to prevent our getting entangled amongst them. The estimated distance from the nearest part of the Labrador coast was then eighty-eight miles; here we tried for soundings without gaining the bottom. The ship passed through some strong ripplings, which evidently indicated a current, but its direction was not ascertained. We found however by the recent observations that the ship had been set daily to the southward since we had opened Davis Straits. The variation of the compass was observed to be 52 degrees 41 minutes West. At nine P.M. brilliant coruscations of the Aurora Borealis appeared, of a pale ochre colour with a slight tinge of red, in an arched form, crossing the zenith from North-West to South-East, but afterwards they assumed various shapes and had a rapid motion. On the 5th of August a party of the officers endeavoured to get on one of the larger icebergs, but ineffectually, owing to the steepness and smoothness of its sides and the swell produced by its undulating motion. This was one of the largest we saw, and Mr. Hood ascertained its height to be one hundred and forty-nine feet; but these masses of ice are frequently magnified to an immense size through the illusive medium of a hazy atmosphere, and on this account their dimensions have often been exaggerated by voyagers. PERILOUS SITUATION ON THE SHORE OF RESOLUTION ISLAND. In the morning of the 7th the island of Resolution was indistinctly seen through the haze but was soon afterwards entirely hidden by a very dense fog. The favourable breeze subsided into a perfect calm and left the ship surrounded by loose ice. At this time the Eddystone was perceived to be driving with rapidity towards some of the larger masses; the stern-boats of this ship and of the Wear were despatched to assist in towing her clear of them. At ten a momentary clearness presented the land distinctly at the distance of two miles; the ship was quite unmanageable and under the sole governance of the currents which ran in strong eddies between the masses of ice. Our consorts were also seen, the Wear being within hail and the Eddystone at a short distance from us. Two attempts were ineffectually made to gain soundings, and the extreme density of the fog precluded us from any other means of ascertaining the direction in which we were driving until half-past twelve when we had the alarming view of a barren rugged shore within a few yards towering over the mastheads. Almost instantly afterwards the ship struck violently on a point of rocks projecting from the island; and the ship's side was brought so near to the shore that poles were prepared to push her off. This blow displaced the rudder and raised it several inches but it fortunately had been previously confined by tackles. A gentle swell freed the ship from this perilous situation but the current hurried us along in contact with the rocky shore and the prospect was most alarming. On the outward bow was perceived a rugged and precipitous cliff whose summit was hid in the fog, and the vessel's head was pointed towards the bottom of a small bay into which we were rapidly driving. There now seemed to be no probability of escaping shipwreck, being without wind and having the rudder in its present useless state; the only assistance was that of a boat employed in towing which had been placed in the water between the ship and the shore at the imminent risk of its being crushed. The ship again struck in passing over a ledge of rocks and happily the blow replaced the rudder, which enabled us to take advantage of a light breeze and to direct the ship's head without the projecting cliff. But the breeze was only momentary and the ship was a third time driven on shore on the rocky termination of the cliff. Here we remained stationery for some seconds and with little prospect of being removed from this perilous situation; but we were once more extricated by the swell from this ledge also and carried still farther along the shore. The coast became now more rugged and our view of it was terminated by another high projecting point on the starboard bow. Happily, before we had reached it, a light breeze enabled us to turn the ship's head to seaward and we had the gratification to find, when the sails were trimmed, that she drew off the shore. We had made but little progress however when she was violently forced by the current against a large iceberg lying aground. Our prospect was now more alarming than at any preceding period; and it would be difficult for me to portray the anxiety and dismay depicted on the countenances of the female passengers and children who were rushing on deck in spite of the endeavours of the officers to keep them below, out of the danger which was apprehended if the masts should be carried away. After the first concussion the ship was driven along the steep and rugged side of this iceberg with such amazing rapidity that the destruction of the masts seemed inevitable, and everyone expected we should again be forced on the rocks in the most disabled state; but we providentially escaped this perilous result, which must have been decisive. The dense fog now cleared away for a short time and we discovered the Eddystone close to some rocks, having three boats employed in towing; but the Wear was not visible. Our ship received water very fast; the pumps were instantly manned and kept in continual use, and signals of distress were made to the Eddystone, whose commander promptly came on board and then ordered to our assistance his carpenter and all the men he could spare together with the carpenter and boat's crew of the Wear, who had gone on board the Eddystone in the morning and were prevented from returning to their own vessel by the fog. As the wind was increasing and the sky appeared very unsettled it was determined the Eddystone should take the ship in tow, that the undivided attention of the passengers and crew might be directed to pumping and clearing the holds to examine whether there was a possibility of stopping the leak. We soon had reason to suppose the principal injury had been received from a blow near the stern-post, and after cutting away part of the ceiling the carpenters endeavoured to stop the rushing in of the water by forcing oakum between the timbers; but this had not the desired effect and the leak, in spite of all our efforts at the pumps, increased so much that parties of the officers and passengers were stationed to bail out the water in buckets at different parts of the hold. A heavy gale came on, blowing from the land, as the night advanced; the sails were split, the ship was encompassed by heavy ice and, in forcing through a closely-connected stream, the tow-rope broke and obliged us to take a portion of the seamen from the pumps and appoint them to the management of the ship. Fatigue indeed had caused us to relax in our exertions at the pumps during a part of the night of the 8th, and on the following morning upwards of five feet of water was found in the well. Renewed exertions were now put forth by every person, and before eight A.M. the water was so much reduced as to enable the carpenters to get at other defective places; but the remedies they could apply were insufficient to repress the water from rushing in, and our labours could but just keep the ship in the same state throughout the day until six P.M.; when the strength of everyone began to fail the expedient of thrusting in felt, as well as oakum, was resorted to, and a plank nailed over all. After this operation a perceptible diminution in the water was made and, being encouraged by the change, we put forth our utmost exertion in bailing and pumping; and before night to our infinite joy the leak was so overpowered that the pumps were only required to be used at intervals of ten minutes. A sail covered with every substance that could be carried into the leaks by the pressure of the water was drawn under the quarter of the ship and secured by ropes on each side. As a matter of precaution in the event of having to abandon the ship, which was for some time doubtful, the elderly women and children were removed to the Eddystone when the wind was moderate this afternoon, but the young women remained to assist at the pumps, and their services were highly valuable, both for their personal labour and for the encouragement their example and perseverance gave to the men. At daylight on the 9th every eye was anxiously cast around the horizon in search of the Wear but in vain; and the recollection of our own recent peril caused us to entertain considerable apprehensions for her safety. This anxiety quickened our efforts to exchange our shattered sails for new ones that the ship might be got as speedily as possible near to the land, which was but just in sight, and a careful search be made for her along the coast. We were rejoiced to find that our leak did not increase by carrying sail, and we ventured in the evening to remove the sail which had been placed under the part where the injury had been received as it greatly impeded our advance. We passed many icebergs on the 10th and in the evening we tacked from a level field of ice which extended northward as far as the eye could reach. Our leak remained in the same state; the pumps discharged in three minutes the quantity of water which had been received in fifteen. LAND ON THE COAST OF LABRADOR. The ship could not be got near to the land before the afternoon of the 11th. At four P.M. we hove to, opposite to and about five miles distant from the spot on which we had first struck on Saturday. Every glass was directed along the shore (as they had been throughout the day) to discover any trace of our absent consort; but as none was seen our solicitude respecting her was much increased, and we feared the crew might be wrecked on this inhospitable shore. Guns were frequently fired to apprise any who might be near of our approach; but as no one appeared and no signal was returned and the loose ice was setting down towards the ship we bore up to proceed to the next appointed rendezvous. At eight P.M. we were abreast of the south-west end of the island called Cape Resolution, which is a low point but indicated at a distance by a lofty round-backed hill that rises above it. We entered Hudson's Straits soon afterwards. The coast of Resolution Island should be approached with caution as the tides appear to be strong and uncertain in their course. Some dangerous rocks lie above and below the water's edge at the distance of five or six miles from East Bluff bearing South 32 degrees East. August 12. Having had a fresh gale through the night we reached Saddleback Island by noon--the place of rendezvous; and looked anxiously but in vain for the Wear. Several guns were fired, supposing she might be hid from our view by the land; but as she did not appear Captain Davidson, having remained two hours, deemed further delay inexpedient and bore up to keep the advantage of the fair wind. The outline of this island is rugged; the hummock on its northern extremity appeared to me to resemble a decayed martello tower more than a saddle. Azimuths were obtained this evening that gave the variation 58 degrees 45 minutes West, which is greater than is laid down in the charts, or than the officers of Hudson's Bay ships have been accustomed to allow. ESQUIMAUX OF SAVAGE ISLANDS. We arrived abreast of the Upper Savage Island early in the morning and, as the breeze was moderate, the ship was steered as near to the shore as the wind would permit to give the Esquimaux inhabitants an opportunity of coming off to barter, which they soon embraced. Their shouts at a distance intimated their approach some time before we descried the canoes paddling towards us; the headmost of them reached us at eleven; these were quickly followed by others, and before noon about forty canoes, each holding one man, were assembled around the two ships. In the afternoon when we approached nearer to the shore five or six larger ones containing the women and children came up. The Esquimaux immediately evinced their desire to barter and displayed no small cunning in making their bargains, taking care not to exhibit too many articles at first. Their principal commodities were oil, sea-horse teeth, whalebone, seal-skin dresses, caps and boots, deerskins and horns, and models of their canoes; and they received in exchange small saws, knives, nails, tin-kettles, and needles. It was pleasing to behold the exultation and to hear the shouts of the whole party when an acquisition was made by any one; and not a little ludicrous to behold the eagerness with which the fortunate person licked each article with his tongue on receiving it, as a finish to the bargain and an act of appropriation. They in no instance omitted this strange practice, however small the article; the needles even passed individually through the ceremony. The women brought imitations of men, women, animals, and birds, carved with labour and ingenuity out of sea-horse teeth. The dresses and the figures of the animals were not badly executed, but there was no attempt at the delineation of the countenances; and most of the figures were without eyes, ears and fingers, the execution of which would perhaps have required more delicate instruments than they possess. The men set most value on saws; kutteeswabak, the name by which they distinguish them, was a constant cry. Knives were held next in estimation. An old sword was bartered from the Eddystone and I shall long remember the universal burst of joy on the happy man's receiving it. It was delightful to witness the general interest excited by individual acquisitions. There was no desire shown by anyone to over-reach his neighbour, or to press towards any part of the ship where a bargain was making until the person in possession of the place had completed his exchange and removed; and if any article happened to be demanded from the outer canoes the men nearest assisted willingly in passing the thing across. Supposing the party to belong to one tribe the total number of the tribe must exceed two hundred persons, as there were probably one hundred and fifty around the ships, and few of these were elderly persons or male children. Their faces were broad and flat, the eyes small. The men were in general stout. Some of the younger women and the children had rather pleasing countenances, but the difference between these and the more aged of that sex bore strong testimony to the effects which a few years produce in this ungenial climate. Most of the party had sore eyes, all of them appeared of a plethoric habit of body; several were observed bleeding at the nose during their stay near the ship. The men's dresses consisted of a jacket of seal-skin, the trousers of bear-skin, and several had caps of the white fox-skin. The female dresses were made of the same materials but differently shaped, having a hood in which the infants were carried. We thought their manner very lively and agreeable. They were fond of mimicking our speech and gestures; but nothing afforded them greater amusement than when we attempted to retaliate by pronouncing any of their words. The canoes were of seal-skin and similar in every respect to those used by the Esquimaux in Greenland; they were generally new and very complete in their appointments. Those appropriated to the women are of ruder construction and only calculated for fine weather; they are however useful vessels, being capable of containing twenty persons with their luggage. An elderly man officiates as steersman and the women paddle, but they have also a mast which carries a sail made of dressed whale-gut. When the women had disposed of all their articles of trade they resorted to entreaty; and the putting in practice many enticing gestures was managed with so much address as to procure them presents of a variety of beads, needles, and other articles in great demand among females. It is probable these Esquimaux go from this shore to some part of Labrador to pass the winter, as parties of them have been frequently seen by the homeward-bound Hudson's Bay ships in the act of crossing the Strait. They appear to speak the same language as the tribe of Esquimaux who reside near to the Moravian settlements in Labrador: for we perceived they used several of the words which had been given to us by the Missionaries at Stromness. Towards evening the Captain, being desirous to get rid of his visitors, took an effectual method by tacking from the shore; our friends then departed apparently in high glee at the harvest they had reaped. They paddled away very swiftly and would doubtless soon reach the shore though it was distant ten or twelve miles. Not having encountered any of the ice which usually arrests the progress of ships in their outward passage through the Straits, and being consequently deprived of the usual means of replenishing our stock of water which had become short, the Captain resolved on going to the coast of Labrador for a supply. Dr. Richardson and I gladly embraced this opportunity to land and examine this part of the coast. I was also desirous to observe the variation on shore as the azimuths which had been taken on board both ships since our entrance into the Straits had shown a greater amount than we had been led to expect; but unluckily the sun became obscured. The beach consisted of large rolled stones of gneiss and sienite, amongst which many pieces of ice had grounded, and it was with difficulty that we effected a landing in a small cove under a steep cliff. These stones were worn perfectly smooth; neither in the interstices nor at the bottom of the water, which was very clear, were there any vestiges of seaweed. The cliff was from forty to fifty feet high and quite perpendicular, and had at its base a small slip of soil formed of the debris of a bed of clay-slate. From this narrow spot Dr. Richardson collected specimens of thirty different species of plants; and we were about to scramble up a shelving part of the rock and go into the interior when we perceived the signal of recall which the master had caused to be made in consequence of a sudden change in the appearance of the weather. On the evening of the 19th we passed Digge's Islands, the termination of Hudson's Strait. Here the Eddystone parted company, being bound to Moose Factory at the bottom of the Bay. A strong north wind came on, which prevented our getting round the north end of Mansfield; and as it continued to blow with equal strength for the next five days we were most vexatiously detained in beating along the Labrador coast and near the dangerous chain of islands, the Sleepers, which are said to extend from the latitude of 60 degrees 10 minutes to 57 degrees 00 minutes North. The press of sail which of necessity we carried caused the leak to increase and the pumps were kept in constant use. A favouring wind at length enabled us on the 25th to shape our course across Hudson's Bay. Nothing worthy of remark occurred during this passage except the rapid decrease in the variation of the magnetic needle. The few remarks respecting the appearance of the land which we were able to make in our quick passage through these Straits were transmitted to the Admiralty; but as they will not be interesting to the general reader, and may not be sufficiently accurate for the guidance of the Navigator, they are omitted in this narrative. YORK FACTORY. On the 28th we discovered the land to the southward of Cape Tatnam, which is so extremely low that the tops of the trees were first discerned; the soundings at the time were seventeen fathoms, which gradually decreased to five as the shore was approached. Cape Tatnam is not otherwise remarkable than as being the point from which the coast inclines rather more to the westward towards York Factory. The opening of the morning of the 30th presented to our view the anchorage at York Flats, and the gratifying sight of a vessel at anchor, which we recognised after an anxious examination to be the Wear. A strong breeze blowing from the direction of the Flats caused the water to be more shallow than usual on the sandy bar which lies on the seaward side of the anchorage, and we could not get over it before two P.M. when the tide was nearly at its height. Immediately after our arrival Mr. Williams, the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts, came on board accompanied by the Commander of the Wear. The pleasure we felt in welcoming the latter gentleman can easily be imagined when it is considered what reason we had to apprehend that he and his crew had been numbered with the dead. We learned that one of the larger masses of ice had providentially drifted between the vessel's side and the rocks just at the time he expected to strike, to which he secured it until a breeze sprang up and enabled him to pursue his voyage. PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR. The Governor acquainted me that he had received information from the Committee of the Hudson's Bay Company of the equipment of the Expedition, and that the officers would come out in their first ship. In the evening Dr. Richardson, Mr. Hood, and I accompanied him to York Factory which we reached after dark; it is distant from the Flats seven miles. Early next morning the honour of a salute was conferred on the members of the Expedition. Having communicated to the Governor the objects of the Expedition, and that I had been directed to consult with him and the senior servants of the Company as to the best mode of proceeding towards the execution of the service, I was gratified by his assurance that his instructions from the Committee directed that every possible assistance should be given to forward our progress, and that he should feel peculiar pleasure in performing this part of his duty. He introduced me at once to Messrs. Charles, Swaine, and Snodie, masters of districts who, from long residence in the country, were perfectly acquainted with the different modes of travelling, and the obstructions which might be anticipated. At the desire of these gentlemen I drew up a series of questions respecting the points on which we required information; to which two days afterwards they had the kindness to return very explicit and satisfactory answers; and on receiving them I requested the Governor to favour me with his sentiments on the same subject in writing, which he delivered to me on the following day. Having learned that Messrs. Shaw, McTavish, and several other partners of the North-West Company were under detention at this place we took the earliest opportunity of visiting them; when, having presented the general circular and other introductory letters with which I had been furnished by their agent Mr. Simon McGillivray, we received from them the most friendly and full assurance of the cordial endeavours of the wintering partners of their company to promote the interests of the Expedition. The knowledge we had now gained of the state of the violent commercial opposition existing in the country rendered this assurance highly gratifying; and these gentlemen added to the obligation by freely communicating that information respecting the interior of the country which their intelligence and long residence so fully qualified them to give. I deemed it expedient to issue a memorandum to the officers of the Expedition strictly prohibiting any interference whatever in the existing quarrels, or any that might arise, between the two Companies; and on presenting it to the principals of both the parties they expressed their satisfaction at the step I had taken. The opinions of all the gentlemen were so decidedly in favour of the route by Cumberland House and through the chain of posts to the Great Slave Lake that I determined on pursuing it, and immediately communicated my intention to the Governor with a request that he would furnish me with the means of conveyance for the party as speedily as possible. It was suggested in my instructions that we might probably procure a schooner at this place to proceed north as far as Wager Bay; but the vessel alluded to was lying at Moose Factory, completely out of repair; independently of which the route directly to the northward was rendered impracticable by the impossibility of procuring hunters and guides on the coast. I found that, as the Esquimaux inhabitants had left Churchill a month previous to our arrival, no interpreter from that quarter could be procured before their return in the following spring. The Governor however undertook to forward to us, next season, the only one amongst them who understood English, if he could be induced to go. The Governor selected one of the largest of the Company's boats for our use on the journey, and directed the carpenters to commence refitting it immediately; but he was only able to furnish us with a steersman; and we were obliged to make up the rest of the crew with the boatmen brought from Stromness and our two attendants. York Factory, the principal depot of the Hudson's Bay Company, stands on the west bank of Hayes River, about five miles above its mouth, on the marshy peninsula which separates the Hayes and Nelson Rivers. The surrounding country is flat and swampy and covered with willows, poplars, larch, spruce, and birch-trees; but the requisition for fuel has expended all the wood in the vicinity of the fort and the residents have now to send for it to a considerable distance. The soil is alluvial clay and contains imbedded rolled stones. Though the bank of the river is elevated about twenty feet it is frequently overflown by the spring floods, and large portions are annually carried away by the disruption of the ice which, grounding in the stream, have formed several muddy islands. These interruptions, together with the various collection of stones that are hid at high-water, render the navigation of the river difficult; but vessels of two hundred tons burden may be brought through the proper channels as high as the Factory. The principal buildings are placed in the form of a square having an octagonal court in the centre; they are two storeys in height and have flat roofs covered with lead. The officers dwell in one portion of this square, and in the other parts the articles of merchandise are kept: the workshops, storehouses for the furs, and the servants' houses are ranged on the outside of the square, and the whole is surrounded by a stockade twenty feet high. A platform is laid from the house to the pier on the bank for the convenience of transporting the stores and furs, which is the only promenade the residents have on this marshy spot during the summer season. The few Indians who now frequent this establishment belong to the Swampy Crees. There were several of them encamped on the outside of the stockade. Their tents were rudely constructed by tying twenty or thirty poles together at the top, and spreading them out at the base so as to form a cone; these were covered with dressed moose-skins. The fire is placed in the centre and a hole is left for the escape of the smoke. The inmates had a squalid look and were suffering under the combined afflictions of the whooping-cough and measles; but even these miseries did not keep them from an excessive indulgence in spirits, which they unhappily can procure from the traders with too much facility; and they nightly serenaded us with their monotonous drunken songs. Their sickness at this time was particularly felt by the traders, this being the season of the year when the exertion of every hunter is required to procure their winter's stock of geese, which resort in immense flocks to the extensive flats in this neighbourhood. These birds during the summer retire far to the north and breed in security; but when the approach of winter compels them to seek a more southern climate they generally alight on the marshes of this bay and fatten there for three weeks or a month before they take their final departure from the country. They also make a short halt at the same spots in their progress northwards in the spring. Their arrival is welcomed with joy, and the goose hunt is one of the most plentiful seasons of the year. The ducks frequent the swamps all the summer. The weather was extremely unfavourable for celestial observations during our stay, and it was only by watching the momentary appearances of the sun that we were enabled to obtain fresh rates for the chronometers and allow for their errors from Greenwich time. The dip of the needle was observed to be 79 degrees 29 minutes 07 seconds, and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 11 degrees 3 minutes 40 seconds. A succession of fresh breezes prevented our ascertaining the intensity of the magnetic force. The position of York Factory by our observations is in latitude 57 degrees 00 minutes 03 seconds North, longitude 92 degrees 26 minutes West. The variation of the compass 6 degrees 00 minutes 21 seconds East. CHAPTER 2. PASSAGE UP HAYES, STEEL AND HILL RIVERS. CROSS SWAMPY LAKE. JACK RIVER. KNEE LAKE AND MAGNETIC ISLET. TROUT RIVER. HOLY LAKE. WEEPINAPANNIS RIVER. WINDY LAKE. WHITE FALL LAKE AND RIVER. ECHEMAMIS AND SEA RIVERS. PLAY GREEN LAKES. LAKE WINNIPEG. RIVER SASKATCHEWAN. CROSS, CEDAR AND PINE ISLAND LAKES. CUMBERLAND HOUSE. PASSAGE UP HAYES, STEEL, AND HILL RIVERS. September 1819. On the 9th of September, our boat being completed, arrangements were made for our departure as soon as the tide should serve. But when the stores were brought down to the beach it was found that the boat would not contain them all. The whole therefore of the bacon and part of the flour, rice, tobacco, and ammunition were returned into the store. The bacon was too bulky an article to be forwarded under any circumstances; but the Governor undertook to forward the rest next season. In making the selection of articles to carry with us I was guided by the judgment of Governor Williams who assured me that tobacco, ammunition, and spirits could be procured in the interior, otherwise I should have been very unwilling to have left these essential articles behind. We embarked at noon and were honoured with a salute of eight guns and three cheers from the Governor and all the inmates of the fort who had assembled to witness our departure. We gratefully returned their cheers and then made sail, much delighted at having now commenced our voyage into the interior of America. The wind and tide failing us at the distance of six miles above the Factory, and the current being too rapid for using oars to advantage, the crew had to commence tracking, or dragging the boat by a line to which they were harnessed. This operation is extremely laborious in these rivers. Our men were obliged to walk along the steep declivity of a high bank, rendered at this season soft and slippery by frequent rains, and their progress was often further impeded by fallen trees which, having slipped from the verge of the thick wood above, hung on the face of the bank in a great variety of directions. Notwithstanding these obstacles we advanced at the rate of two miles an hour, one-half of the crew relieving the other at intervals of an hour and a half. The banks of the river and its islands, composed of alluvial soil, are well covered with pines, larches, poplars, and willows. The breadth of the stream some distance above the Factory is about half a mile, and its depth during this day's voyage varied from three to nine feet. At sunset we landed and pitched the tent for the night, having made a progress of twelve miles. A large fire was quickly kindled, supper speedily prepared and as readily despatched, when we retired with our buffalo robes on and enjoyed a night of sound repose. It may here be stated that the survey of the river was made by taking the bearings of every point with a pocket compass, estimating the distances, and making a connected eye-sketch of the whole. This part of the survey was allotted to Messrs. Back and Hood conjointly: Mr. Hood also protracted the route every evening on a ruled map, after the courses and distances had been corrected by observations for latitude and longitude taken by myself as often as the weather would allow. The extraordinary talent of this young officer in this line of service proved of the greatest advantage to the Expedition, and he continued to perform that duty until his lamented death with a degree of zeal and accuracy that characterised all his pursuits. The next morning our camp was in motion at five A.M., and we soon afterwards embarked with the flattering accompaniment of a fair wind: it proved however too light to enable us to stem the stream, and we were obliged to resume the fatiguing operation of tracking; sometimes under cliffs so steep that the men could scarcely find a footing, and not unfrequently over spots rendered so miry by the small streams that trickled from above as to be almost impassable. In the course of the day we passed the scene of a very melancholy accident. Some years ago two families of Indians, induced by the flatness of a small beach which lay betwixt the cliff and the river, chose it as the site of their encampment. They retired quietly to rest, not aware that the precipice, detached from the bank and urged by an accumulation of water in the crevice behind, was tottering to its base. It fell during the night and the whole party was buried under its ruins. The length of our voyage today was in a direct line sixteen miles and a quarter on a South-South-West course. We encamped soon after sunset and the tent was scarcely pitched when a heavy rain began, which continued all night. Sixteen miles on the 11th and five on the following morning brought us to the commencement of Hayes River which is formed by the confluence of the Shamattawa and Steel Rivers. Our observations place this spot in latitude 56 degrees 22 minutes 32 seconds North, longitude 93 degrees 1 minute 37 seconds West. It is forty-eight miles and a half from York Factory including the windings of the river. Steel River, through which our course lay, is about three hundred yards wide at its mouth; its banks have more elevation than those of Hayes River, but they shelve more gradually down to the stream and afford a tolerably good towing path, which compensates in some degree for the rapids and frequent shoals that impede its navigation. We succeeded in getting about ten miles above the mouth of the river before the close of day compelled us to disembark. We made an effort on the morning of the 13th to stem the current under sail but, as the course of the river was very serpentine, we found that greater progress could be made by tracking. Steel River presents much beautiful scenery; it winds through a narrow but well wooded valley which at every turn disclosed to us an agreeable variety of prospect, rendered more picturesque by the effect of the season on the foliage, now ready to drop from the trees. The light yellow of the fading poplars formed a fine contrast to the dark evergreen of the spruce, whilst the willows of an intermediate hue served to shade the two principal masses of colour into each other. The scene was occasionally enlivened by the bright purple tints of the dogwood, blended with the browner shades of the dwarf birch and frequently intermixed with the gay yellow flowers of the shrubby cinquefoil. With all these charms the scene appeared desolate from the want of human species. The stillness was so great that even the twittering of the whiskey-johneesh, or cinereous crow caused us to start. Our voyage today was sixteen miles on a South-West course. September 14. We had much rain during the night and also in the morning, which detained us in our encampment later than usual. We set out as soon as the weather cleared up and in a short time arrived at the head of Steel River where it is formed by the junction of Fox and Hill Rivers. These two rivers are nearly of equal width but the latter is the most rapid. Mr. McDonald, on his way to Red River in a small canoe manned by two Indians, overtook us at this place. It may be mentioned as a proof of the dexterity of the Indians and the skill with which they steal upon their game that they had on the preceding day, with no other arms than a hatchet, killed two deer, a hawk, a curlew, and a sturgeon. Three of the Company's boats joined us in the course of the morning and we pursued our course up Hill River in company. The water in this river was so low and the rapids so bad that we were obliged several times in the course of the day to jump into the water and assist in lifting the boat over the large stones which impeded the navigation. The length of our voyage today was only six miles and three-quarters. The four boats commenced operations together at five o'clock the following morning but, our boat being overladen, we soon found that we were unable to keep pace with the others; and therefore proposed to the gentlemen in charge of the Company's boats that they should relieve us of part of our cargo. This they declined doing under the plea of not having received orders to that effect, notwithstanding that the circular with which I was furnished by Governor Williams strictly enjoined all the Company's servants to afford us every assistance. In consequence of this refusal we dropped behind, and our steersman, who was inexperienced, being thus deprived of the advantage of observing the route followed by the guide, who was in the foremost boat, frequently took a wrong channel. The tow-line broke twice and the boat was only prevented from going broadside down the stream and breaking to pieces against the stones by the officers and men leaping into the water and holding her head to the current until the line could be carried again to the shore. It is but justice to say that in these trying situations we received much assistance from Mr. Thomas Swaine who with great kindness waited for us with the boat under his charge at such places as he apprehended would be most difficult to pass. We encamped at sunset, completely jaded with toil. Our distance made good this day was twelve miles and a quarter. The labours of the 16th commenced at half-past five, and for some time the difficulty of getting the boats over the rapids was equal to what we experienced the day before. Having passed a small brook however, termed Halfway Creek, the river became deeper and although rapid it was smooth enough to be named by our Orkney boatmen Stillwater. We were further relieved by the Company's clerks consenting to take a few boxes of our stores into their boats. Still we made only eleven miles in the course of the day. The banks of Hill River are higher and have a more broken outline than those of Steel or Hayes Rivers. The cliffs of alluvial clay rose in some places to the height of eighty or ninety feet above the stream and were surmounted by hills about two hundred feet high, but the thickness of the wood prevented us from seeing far beyond the mere banks of the river. September 17. About half-past five in the morning we commenced tracking and soon came to a ridge of rock which extended across the stream. From this place the boat was dragged up several narrow rocky channels until we came to the Rock Portage where the stream, pent in by a range of small islands, forms several cascades. In ascending the river the boats with their cargoes are carried over one of the islands, but in the descent they are shot down the most shelving of the cascades. Having performed the operations of carrying, launching, and restowing the cargo we plied the oars for a short distance and landed at a depot called Rock House. Here we were informed that the rapids in the upper parts of Hill River were much worse and more numerous than those we had passed, particularly in the present season owing to the unusual lowness of the water. This intelligence was very mortifying, especially as the gentlemen in charge of the Company's boats declared that they were unable to carry any part of our stores beyond this place; and the traders, guides, and most experienced of the boatmen were of opinion that, unless our boat was still further lightened, the winter would put a stop to our progress before we could reach Cumberland House or any eligible post. Sixteen pieces we therefore necessarily left with Mr. Bunn, the gentleman in charge of the post, to be forwarded by the Athabasca canoes next season, this being their place of rendezvous. After this we recommenced our voyage and, having pulled nearly a mile, arrived at Borrowick's Fall, where the boat was dragged up with a line after part of the cargo had been carried over a small portage. From this place to the Mud Portage, a distance of a mile and three-quarters, the boats were pushed on with poles against a very rapid stream. Here we encamped, having come seven miles during the day on a South-West course. We had several snow showers in the course of the day and the thermometer at bedtime stood at 30 degrees. On the morning of the 18th the country was clothed in the livery of winter, a heavy fall of snow having taken place during the night. We embarked at the usual hour and in the course of the day crossed the Point of Rocks and Brassa Portages and dragged the boats through several minor rapids. In this tedious way we only made good about nine miles. On Sunday the 19th we hauled the boats up several short rapids or, as the boatmen term them, expressively enough, spouts, and carried them over the Portages of Lower Burntwood and Morgan's Rocks, on the latter of which we encamped, having proceeded during the whole day only one mile and three-quarters. The upper part of Hill River swells out considerably, and at Morgan's Rocks where it is three-quarters of a mile wide we were gratified with a more extensive prospect of the country than any we had enjoyed since leaving York Factory. The banks of the river here, consisting of low flat rocks with intermediate swamps, permitted us to obtain views of the interior, the surface of which is broken into a multitude of cone-shaped hills. The highest of these hills, which gives a name to the river, has an elevation not exceeding six hundred feet. From its summit thirty-six lakes are said to be visible. The beauty of the scenery, dressed in the tints of autumn, called forth our admiration and was the subject of Mr. Hood's accurate pencil. On the 20th we passed Upper Burntwood and Rocky Ledge Portages besides several strong spouts; and in the evening arrived at Smooth Rock Portage where we encamped, having come three miles and a half. It is not easy for any but an eye-witness to form an adequate idea of the exertions of the Orkney boatmen in the navigation of this river. The necessity they are under of frequently jumping into the water to lift the boats over the rocks compels them to remain the whole day in wet clothes at a season when the temperature is far below the freezing-point. The immense loads too which they carry over the portages is not more a matter of surprise than the alacrity with which they perform these laborious duties. CROSS SWAMPY LAKE. At six on the morning of the 21st we left our encampment and soon after arrived at the Mossy Portage where the cargoes were carried through a deep bog for a quarter of a mile. The river swells out above this portage to the breadth of several miles and as the islands are numerous there are a great variety of channels. Night overtook us before we arrived at the Second Portage, so named from its being the second in the passage down the river. Our whole distance this day was one mile and a quarter. On the 22nd our route led us amongst many wooded islands which, lying in long vistas, produced scenes of much beauty. In the course of the day we crossed the Upper Portage, surmounted the Devil's Landing Place, and urged the boat with poles through Groundwater Creek. At the upper end of this creek, our bowman having given the boat too great a sheer to avoid a rock, it was caught on the broadside by the current and in defiance of our utmost exertions hurried down the rapid. Fortunately however it grounded against a rock high enough to prevent the current from oversetting it, and the crews of the other boats having come to our assistance we succeeded after several trials in throwing a rope to them with which they dragged our almost sinking vessel stern foremost up the stream and rescued us from our perilous situation. We encamped in the dusk of evening amidst a heavy thunderstorm, having advanced two miles and three-quarters. About ten in the morning of the 23rd we arrived at the Dramstone which is hailed with pleasure by the boats' crews as marking the termination of the laborious ascent of Hill River. We complied with the custom from whence it derives its name and soon after landing upon Sail Island prepared breakfast. In the meantime our boatmen cut down and rigged a new mast, the old one having been thrown overboard at the mouth of Steel River, where it ceased to be useful. We left Sail Island with a fair wind and soon afterwards arrived at a depot situated on Swampy Lake where we received a supply of mouldy pemmican.* Mr. Calder and his attendant were the only tenants of this cheerless abode, and their only food was the wretched stuff with which they supplied us, the lake not yielding fish at this season. (*Footnote. Buffalo meat, dried and pounded and mixed with melted fat.) JACK RIVER. After a short delay at this post we sailed through the remainder of Swampy Lake and slept at the Lower Portage in Jack River; the distance sailed today being sixteen miles and a half. Jack River is only eight miles long but, being full of bad rapids, it detained us considerably. At seven in the morning of the 24th we crossed the Long Portage where the woods, having caught fire in the summer, were still smoking. This is a common accident owing to the neglect of the Indians and voyagers in not putting out their fires, and in a dry season the woods may be seen blazing to the extent of many miles. We afterwards crossed the Second, or Swampy, Portage and in the evening encamped on the Upper Portage, where we were overtaken by an Indian bringing an answer from Governor Williams to a letter I had written to him on the 15th in which he renewed his injunctions to the gentlemen of the boats accompanying us to afford us every assistance in their power. The Aurora Borealis appeared this evening in form of a bright arch extending across the zenith in a North-West and South-East direction. The extent of our voyage today was two miles. KNEE LAKE AND MAGNETIC ISLET. About noon on the 25th we entered Knee Lake which has a very irregular form and near its middle takes a sudden turn from whence it derives its names. It is thickly studded with islands and its shores are low and well wooded. The surrounding country as far as we could see is flat, being destitute even of the moderate elevations which occur near the upper part of Hill River. The weather was remarkably fine and the setting sun threw the richest tints over the scene that I remember ever to have witnessed. About half a mile from the bend, or knee, of the lake there is a small rocky islet composed of magnetic iron ore which affects the magnetic needle at a considerable distance. Having received previous information respecting this circumstance we watched our compasses carefully and perceived that they were affected at the distance of three hundred yards both on the approach to and departure from the rock: on decreasing the distance they became gradually more and more unsteady and on landing they were rendered quite useless; and it was evident that the general magnetic influence was totally overpowered by the local attraction of the ore. When Kater's compass was held near to the ground on the North-West side of the island the needle dipped so much that the card could not be made to traverse by any adjustment of the hand; but on moving the same compass about thirty yards to the west part of the islet the needle became horizontal, traversed freely, and pointed to the magnetic north. The dipping needle, being landed on the South-West point of the islet, was adjusted as nearly as possible on the magnetic meridian by the sun's bearings, and found to vibrate freely when the face of the instrument was directed to the east or west. The mean dip it gave was 80 degrees 37 minutes 50 seconds. When the instrument was removed from the North-West to the South-East point about twenty yards distant and placed on the meridian the needle ceased to traverse but remained steady at an angle of 60 degrees. On changing the face of the instrument so as to give a South-East and North-West direction to the needle it hung vertically. The position of the slaty strata of the magnetic ore is also vertical. Their direction is extremely irregular, being much contorted. Knee Lake towards its upper end becomes narrower and its rocky shores are broken into conical and rounded eminences, destitute of soil, and of course devoid of trees. We slept at the western extremity of the lake, having come during the day nineteen miles and a half on a South-West course. TROUT RIVER. We began the ascent of Trout River early in the morning of the 27th and in the course of the day passed three portages and several rapids. At the first of these portages the river falls between two rocks about sixteen feet and it is necessary to launch the boat over a precipitous rocky bank. This cascade is named the Trout Fall, and the beauty of the scenery afforded a subject for Mr. Hood's pencil. The rocks which form the bed of this river are slaty and present sharp fragments by which the feet of the boatmen are much lacerated. The Second Portage in particular obtains the expressive name of Knife Portage. The length of our voyage today was three miles. HOLY LAKE. On the 28th we passed through the remainder of Trout River; and at noon arrived at Oxford House on Holy Lake. This was formerly a post of some consequence to the Hudson's Bay Company but at present it exhibits unequivocal signs of decay. The Indians have of late years been gradually deserting the low or swampy country and ascending the Saskatchewan where animals are more abundant. A few Crees were at this time encamped in front of the fort. They were suffering under whooping-cough and measles and looked miserably dejected. We endeavoured in vain to prevail on one of them to accompany us for the purpose of killing ducks which were numerous but too shy for our sportsmen. We had the satisfaction however of exchanging the mouldy pemmican obtained at Swampy Lake for a better kind, and received moreover a small but very acceptable supply of fish. Holy Lake, viewed from an eminence behind Oxford House, exhibits a pleasing prospect; and its numerous islands, varying much in shape and elevation, contribute to break that uniformity of scenery which proves so palling to a traveller in this country. Trout of a great size, frequently exceeding forty pounds' weight, abound in this lake. We left Oxford House in the afternoon and encamped on an island about eight miles distant, having come during the day nine miles and a quarter. WEEPINAPANNIS RIVER. At noon on the 29th, after passing through the remainder of Holy Lake, we entered the Weepinapannis, a narrow grassy river which runs parallel to the lake for a considerable distance and forms its south bank into a narrow peninsula. In the morning we arrived at the Swampy Portage where two of the boats were broken against the rocks. The length of the day's voyage was nineteen miles and a half. In consequence of the accident yesterday evening we were detained a considerable time this morning until the boats were repaired, when we set out and, after ascending a strong rapid, arrived at the portage by John Moore's Island. Here the river rushes with irresistible force through the channels formed by two rocky islands; and we learned that last year a poor man, in hauling a boat up one of these channels, was, by the breaking of the line, precipitated into the stream and hurried down the cascade with such rapidity that all efforts to save him were ineffectual. His body was afterwards found and interred near the spot. The Weepinapannis is composed of several branches which separate and unite again and again, intersecting the country in a great variety of directions. WINDY LAKE. We pursued the principal channel and, having passed the Crooked Spout with several inferior rapids and crossed a small piece of water named Windy Lake, we entered a smooth deep stream about three hundred yards wide which has got the absurd appellation of the Rabbit Ground. The marshy banks of this river are skirted by low barren rocks behind which there are some groups of stunted trees. As we advanced the country, becoming flatter, gradually opened to our view and we at length arrived at a shallow, reedy lake, the direct course through which leads to the Hill Portage. This route has however of late years been disused and we therefore turned towards the north and, crossing a small arm of the lake, arrived at Hill Gates by sunset; having come this day eleven miles. October 1. Hill Gates is the name imposed on a romantic defile whose rocky walls, rising perpendicularly to the height of sixty or eighty feet, hem in the stream for three-quarters of a mile, in many places so narrowly that there is a want of room to ply the oars. In passing through this chasm we were naturally led to contemplate the mighty but probably slow and gradual effects of the water in wearing down such vast masses of rock; but in the midst of our speculations the attention was excited anew to a grand and picturesque rapid which, surrounded by the most wild and majestic scenery, terminated the defile. The brown fishing-eagle had built its nest on one of the projecting cliffs. WHITE FALL LAKE AND RIVER. In the course of the day we surmounted this and another dangerous portage called the Upper and Lower Hill Gate Portages, crossed a small sheet of water, termed the White Fall Lake and, entering the river of the same name, arrived at the White Fall about an hour after sunset, having come fourteen miles on a South-West course. The whole of the 2nd of October was spent in carrying the cargoes over a portage of thirteen hundred yards in length and in launching the empty boats over three several ridges of rock which obstruct the channel and produce as many cascades. I shall long remember the rude and characteristic wildness of the scenery which surrounded these falls; rocks piled on rocks hung in rude and shapeless masses over the agitated torrents which swept their bases, whilst the bright and variegated tints of the mosses and lichens that covered the face of the cliffs, contrasting with the dark green of the pines which crowned their summits, added both beauty and grandeur to the scene. Our two companions, Back and Hood, made accurate sketches of these falls. At this place we observed a conspicuous lop-stick, a kind of landmark which I have not hitherto noticed, notwithstanding its great use in pointing out the frequented routes. It is a pine-tree divested of its lower branches and having only a small tuft at the top remaining. This operation is usually performed at the instance of some individual emulous of fame. He treats his companions with rum and they in return strip the tree of its branches and ever after designate it by his name. In the afternoon, whilst on my way to superintend the operations of the men, a stratum of loose moss gave way under my feet and I had the misfortune to slip from the summit of a rock into the river betwixt two of the falls. My attempts to regain the bank were for a time ineffectual owing to the rocks within my reach having been worn smooth by the action of the water; but after I had been carried a considerable distance down the stream I caught hold of a willow by which I held until two gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Company came in a boat to my assistance. The only bad consequence of this accident was an injury sustained by a very valuable chronometer (Number 1733) belonging to Daniel Moore, Esquire, of Lincoln's Inn. One of the gentlemen to whom I delivered it immediately on landing in his agitation let it fall, whereby the minutehand was broken, but the works were not in the smallest degree injured and the loss of the hand was afterwards supplied. During the night the frost was severe; and at sunrise on the 3rd the thermometer stood at 25 degrees. After leaving our encampment at the White Fall we passed through several small lakes connected with each other by narrow, deep, grassy streams, and at noon arrived at the Painted Stone. Numbers of muskrats frequent these streams; and we observed in the course of the morning many of their mud-houses rising in a conical form to the height of two or three feet above the grass of the swamps in which they were built. The Painted Stone is a low rock, ten or twelve yards across, remarkable for the marshy streams which arise on each side of it, taking different courses. On the one side the watercourse which we had navigated from York Factory commences. This spot may therefore be considered as one of the smaller sources of Hayes River. ECHEMAMIS AND SEA RIVERS. On the other side of the stone the Echemamis rises and, taking a westerly direction, falls into Nelson River. It is said that there was formerly a stone placed near the centre of this portage on which figures were annually traced and offerings deposited by the Indians; but the stone has been removed many years and the spot has ceased to be held in veneration. Here we were overtaken by Governor Williams who left York Factory on the 20th of last month in an Indian canoe. He expressed much regret at our having been obliged to leave part of our stores at the Rock depot, and would have brought them up with him had he been able to procure and man a boat, or a canoe, of sufficient size. Having launched the boats over the rock we commenced the descent of the Echemamis. This small stream has its course through a morass and in dry seasons its channel contains, instead of water, merely a foot or two of thin mud. On these occasions it is customary to build dams that it may be rendered navigable by the accumulation of its waters. As the beavers perform this operation very effectually endeavours have been made to encourage them to breed in this place, but it has not hitherto been possible to restrain the Indians from killing that useful animal whenever they discover its retreats. On the present occasion there was no want of water, the principal impediment we experienced being from the narrowness of the channel, which permitted the willows of each bank to meet over our heads and obstruct the men at the oars. After proceeding down the stream for some time we came to a recently-constructed beaver dam through which an opening was made sufficient to admit the boat to pass. We were assured that the breach would be closed by the industrious creature in a single night. We encamped about eight miles from the source of the river, having come during the day seventeen miles and a half. On the 4th we embarked amidst a heavy rain and pursued our route down the Echemamis. In many parts of the morass by which the river is nourished and through which it flows, is intersected by ridges of rock which cross the channel and require the boat to be lifted over them. In the afternoon we passed through a shallow piece of water overgrown with bulrushes and hence named Hairy Lake; and in the evening encamped on the banks of Blackwater Creek, by which this lake empties itself into Sea River; having come during the day twenty miles and three-quarters. On the morning of the 5th we entered Sea River, one of the many branches of Nelson River. It is about four hundred yards wide and its waters are of a muddy white colour. After ascending the stream for an hour or two and passing through Carpenter's Lake, which is merely an expansion of the river to about a mile in breadth, we came to the Sea River Portage where the boat was launched across a smooth rock to avoid a fall of four or five feet. PLAY GREEN LAKES. Reembarking at the upper end of the portage we ran before a fresh gale through the remainder of Sea River, the lower part of Play Green Lake and, entering Little Jack River, landed and pitched our tents. Here there is a small log hut, the residence of a fisherman who supplies Norway House with trout and sturgeon. He gave us a few of these fish which afforded an acceptable supper. Our voyage this day was thirty-four miles. October 6. Little Jack River is the name given to a channel that winds among several large islands which separate Upper and Lower Play Green Lakes. At the lower end of this channel Big Jack River, a stream of considerable magnitude, falls into the lake. Play Green is a translation of the appellation given to that lake by two bands of Indians who met and held a festival on an island situated near its centre. After leaving our encampment we sailed through Upper Play Green Lake and arrived at Norway Point in the forenoon. LAKE WINNIPEG. The waters of Lake Winnipeg and of the rivers that run into it, the Saskatchewan in particular, are rendered turbid by the suspension of a large quantity of white clay. Play Green Lake and Nelson River, being the discharges of the Winnipeg, are equally opaque, a circumstance that renders the sunken rocks, so frequent in these waters, very dangerous to boats in a fresh breeze. Owing to this one of the boats that accompanied us, sailing at the rate of seven miles an hour, struck upon one of these rocks. Its mast was carried away by the shock but fortunately no other damage sustained. The Indians ascribe the muddiness of these lakes to an adventure of one of their deities, a mischievous fellow, a sort of Robin Puck, whom they hold in very little esteem. This deity, who is named Weesakootchaht, possesses considerable power but makes a capricious use of it and delights in tormenting the poor Indians. He is not however invincible and was foiled in one of his attempts by the artifice of an old woman who succeeded in taking him captive. She called in all the women of the tribe to aid in his punishment, and he escaped from their hands in a condition so filthy that it required all the waters of the Great Lake to wash him clean; and ever since that period it has been entitled to the appellation of Winnipeg, or Muddy water. Norway Point forms the extremity of a narrow peninsula which separates Play Green and Winnipeg Lakes. Buildings were first erected here by a party of Norwegians who were driven away from the colony at Red River by the commotions which took place some time ago. It is now a trading post belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. On landing at Norway House we met with Lord Selkirk's colonists who had started from York Factory the day before us. These poor people were exceedingly pleased at meeting with us again in this wild country; having accompanied them across the Atlantic they viewed us in the light of old acquaintances. This post was under the charge of Mr. James Sutherland, to whom I am indebted for replacing a minutehand on the chronometer which was broken at the White Fall, and I had afterwards the satisfaction of finding that it went with extraordinary regularity. The morning of the 7th October was beautifully clear and the observations we obtained place Norway House in latitude 53 degrees 41 minutes 38 seconds North, and longitude 98 degrees 1 minute 24 seconds West; the variation of the magnetic needle 14 degrees 12 minutes 41 seconds East, and its dip 83 degrees 40 minutes 10 seconds. Though our route from York Factory has rather inclined to the South-West the dip, it will be perceived, has gradually increased. The difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 7 degrees 39 minutes. There was too much wind to admit of our observing with any degree of accuracy the quantity of the magnetic force. We left Norway House soon after noon and, the wind being favourable, sailed along the northern shore of Lake Winnipeg the whole of the ensuing night; and on the morning of the 8th landed on a narrow ridge of sand which, running out twenty miles to the westward, separates Limestone Bay from the body of the Lake. When the wind blows hard from the southward it is customary to carry boats across this isthmus and to pull up under its lee. From Norwegian Point to Limestone Bay the shore consists of high clay cliffs against which the waves beat with violence during strong southerly winds. When the wind blows from the land and the waters of the lake are low a narrow sandy beach is uncovered and affords a landing-place for boats. The shores of Limestone Bay are covered with small fragments of calcareous stones. During the night the Aurora Borealis was quick in its motions and various and vivid in its colours. After breakfasting we reembarked and continued our voyage until three P.M., when a strong westerly wind arising we were obliged to shelter ourselves on a small island which lies near the extremity of the above-mentioned peninsula. This island is formed of a collection of small rolled pieces of limestone and was remembered by some of our boatman to have been formerly covered with water. For the last ten or twelve years the waters of the lake have been low, but our information did not enable us to judge whether the decrease was merely casual, or going on continually, or periodical. The distance of this island from Norway House is thirty-eight miles and a half. RIVER SASKATCHEWAN. The westerly winds detained us all the morning of the 9th but at two P.M. the wind chopped round to the eastward; we immediately embarked and the breeze afterwards freshening we reached the mouth of the Saskatchewan at midnight having run thirty-two miles. Sunday, October 10. The whole of this day was occupied in getting the boats from the mouth of the river to the foot of the grand rapid, a distance of two miles. There are several rapids in this short distance during which the river varies its breadth from five hundred yards to half a mile. Its channel is stony. At the grand rapid the Saskatchewan forms a sudden bend from south to east and works its way through a narrow channel deeply worn into the limestone strata. The stream, rushing with impetuous force over a rocky and uneven bottom, presents a sheet of foam and seems to bear with impatience the straightened confinement of its lofty banks. A flock of pelicans and two or three brown fishing-eagles were fishing in its agitated waters, seemingly with great success. There is a good sturgeon fishery at the foot of the rapid. Several golden plovers, Canadian grosbeaks, crossbills, woodpeckers and pin-tailed grouse were shot today; and Mr. Back killed a small striped marmot. This beautiful little animal was busily employed in carrying in its distended pouches the seeds of the American vetch to its winter hoards. The portage is eighteen hundred yards long and its western extremity was found to be in 53 degrees 08 minutes 25 seconds North latitude and 99 degrees 28 minutes 02 seconds West longitude. The route from Canada to the Athabasca joins that from York Factory at the mouth of the Saskatchewan, and we saw traces of a recent encampment of the Canadian voyagers. Our companions in the Hudson's Bay boats, dreading an attack from their rivals in trade, were on the alert at this place. They examined minutely the spot of encampment to form a judgment of the number of canoes that had preceded them; and they advanced, armed, and with great caution, through the woods. Their fears however on this occasion were fortunately groundless. By noon on the 12th, the boats and their cargoes having been conveyed across the portage, we embarked and pursued our course. The Saskatchewan becomes wider above the Grand Rapid and the scenery improves. The banks are high, composed of white clay and limestone, and their summits are richly clothed with a variety of firs, poplars, birches and willows. The current runs with great rapidity and the channel is in many places intricate and dangerous from broken ridges of rock jutting into the stream. We pitched our tents at the entrance of Cross Lake, having advanced only five miles and a half. CROSS, CEDAR AND PINE ISLAND LAKES. Cross Lake is extensive, running towards the north-east it is said for forty miles. We crossed it at a narrow part and, pulling through several winding channels formed by a group of islands, entered Cedar Lake which, next to Lake Winnipeg, is the largest sheet of fresh water we had hitherto seen. Ducks and geese resort hither in immense flocks in the spring and autumn. These birds are now beginning to go off owing to its muddy shores having become quite hard through the nightly frosts. At this place the Aurora Borealis was extremely brilliant in the night, its coruscations darting at times over the whole sky and assuming various prismatic tints of which the violet and yellow were predominant. After pulling, on the 14th, seven miles and a quarter on the lake, a violent wind drove us for shelter to a small island, or rather a ridge of rolled stones thrown up by the frequent storms which agitate this lake. The weather did not moderate the whole day and we were obliged to pass the night on this exposed spot. The delay however enabled us to obtain some lunar observations. The wind having subsided we left our resting place the following morning, crossed the remainder of the lake, and in the afternoon arrived at Muddy Lake which is very appropriately named as it consists merely of a few channels winding amongst extensive mudbanks which are overflowed during the spring floods. We landed at an Indian tent which contained two numerous families amounting to thirty souls. These poor creatures were badly clothed and reduced to a miserable condition by the whooping-cough and measles. At the time of our arrival they were busy in preparing a sweating-house for the sick. This is a remedy which they consider, with the addition of singing and drumming, to be the grand specific for all diseases. Our companions having obtained some geese in exchange for rum and tobacco, we proceeded a few more miles and encamped on Devil's Drum Island, having come during the day twenty miles and a half. A second party of Indians were encamped on an adjoining island, a situation chosen for the purpose of killing geese and ducks. On the 16th we proceeded eighteen miles up the Saskatchewan. Its banks are low, covered with willows, and lined with drift timber. The surrounding country is swampy and intersected by the numerous arms of the river. After passing for twenty or thirty yards through the willow thicket on the banks of the stream we entered an extensive marsh, varied only by a distant line of willows which marks the course of a creek or branch of the river. The branch we navigated today is almost five hundred yards wide. The exhalations from the marshy soil produced a low fog although the sky above was perfectly clear. In the course of the day we passed an Indian encampment of three tents whose inmates appeared to be in a still more miserable condition than those we saw yesterday. They had just finished the ceremony of conjuration over some of their sick companions; and a dog which had been recently killed as a sacrifice to some deity was hanging to a tree where it would be left (I was told) when they moved their encampment. We continued our voyage up the river to the 20th with little variation of scenery or incident, travelling in that time about thirty miles. The near approach of winter was marked by severe frosts which continued all day unless when the sun chanced to be unusually bright and the geese and ducks were observed to take a southerly course in large flocks. On the morning of the 20th we came to a party of Indians encamped behind the bank of the river on the borders of a small marshy lake for the purpose of killing waterfowl. Here we were gratified with the view of a very large tent. Its length was about forty feet, its breadth eighteen, and its covering was moose-deer leather with apertures for the escape of the smoke from the fires which are placed at each end; a ledge of wood was placed on the ground on both sides the whole length of the tent, within which were the sleeping-places, arranged probably according to families; and the drums and other instruments of enchantment were piled up in the centre. Amongst the Indians there were a great many half-breeds who led an Indian life. Governor Williams gave a dram and a piece of tobacco to each of the males of the party. On the morning of the 21st a heavy fall of snow took place which lasted until two in the afternoon. In the evening we left the Saskatchewan and entered the Little River, one of the two streams by which Pine Island Lake discharges its waters. We advanced today fourteen miles and a quarter. On the 22nd the weather was extremely cold and stormy and we had to contend against a strong head wind. The spray froze as it fell and the oars were so loaded with ice as to be almost unmanageable. The length of our voyage this day was eleven miles. CUMBERLAND HOUSE. The following morning was very cold; we embarked at daylight and pulled across a part of Pine Island Lake about three miles and a half to Cumberland House. The margin of the lake was so encrusted with ice that we had to break through a considerable space of it to approach the landing-place. When we considered that this was the effect of only a few days' frost at the commencement of winter we were convinced of the impractibility of advancing further by water this season, and therefore resolved on accepting Governor Williams' kind invitation to remain with him at this post. We immediately visited Mr. Connolly, the resident partner of the North-West Company, and presented to him Mr. McGillivray's circular letter. He assured us that he should be most desirous to forward our progress by every means in his power, and we subsequently had ample proofs of his sincerity and kindness. The unexpected addition of our party to the winter residents at this post rendered an increase of apartments necessary; and our men were immediately appointed to complete and arrange an unfinished building as speedily as possible. November 8. Some mild weather succeeded to the severe frosts we had at our arrival; and the lake had not been entirely frozen before the 6th; but this morning the ice was sufficiently firm to admit of sledges crossing it. The dogs were harnessed at a very early hour and the winter operations commenced by sending for a supply of fish from Swampy River where men had been stationed to collect it just before the frost set in. Both men and dogs appeared to enjoy the change; they started in full glee and drove rapidly along. An Indian who had come to the house on the preceding evening to request some provision for his family, whom he represented to be in a state of starvation, accompanied them. His party had been suffering greatly under the epidemic diseases of whooping-cough and measles; and the hunters were still in too debilitated a state to go out and provide them with meat. A supply was given to him and the men were directed to bring his father, an old and faithful hunter, to the house, that he might have the comforts of nourishment and warmth. He was brought accordingly but these attentions were unavailing as he died a few days afterwards. Two days before his death I was surprised to observe him sitting for nearly three hours, in a piercingly sharp day, in the saw-pit, employed in gathering the dust and throwing it by handfuls over his body, which was naked to the waist. As the man was in possession of his mental faculties I conceived he was performing some devotional act preparatory to his departure, which he felt to be approaching and, induced by the novelty of the incident, I went twice to observe him more closely; but when he perceived that he was noticed he immediately ceased his operation, hung down his head and, by his demeanour, intimated that he considered my appearance an intrusion. The residents at the fort could give me no information on the subject and I could not learn that the Indians in general observe any particular ceremony on the approach of death. November 15. The sky had been overcast during the last week; the sun shone forth once only and then not sufficiently for the purpose of obtaining observations. Faint coruscations of the Aurora Borealis appeared one evening but their presence did not in the least affect the electrometer or the compass. The ice daily became thicker in the lake and the frost had now nearly overpowered the rapid current of the Saskatchewan River; indeed parties of men who were sent from both the forts to search for the Indians and procure whatever skins and provisions they might have collected crossed that stream this day on the ice. The white partridges made their first appearance near the house, which birds are considered as the infallible harbingers of severe weather. Monday, November 22. The Saskatchewan and every other river were now completely covered with ice except a small stream not far from the fort through which the current ran very powerfully. In the course of the week we removed into the house our men had prepared since our arrival. We found it at first extremely cold notwithstanding that a good fire was kept in each apartment and we frequently experienced the extremes of heat and cold on opposite sides of the body. November 24. We obtained observations for the dip of the needle and intensity of the magnetic force in a spare room. The dip was 83 degrees 9 minutes 45 seconds and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument 13 degrees 3 minutes 6 seconds. When the needle was faced to the west it hung nearly perpendicular. The Aurora Borealis had been faintly visible for a short time the preceding evening. Some Indians arrived in search of provision having been totally incapacitated from hunting by sickness; the poor creatures looked miserably ill and they represented their distress to have been extreme. Few recitals are more affecting than those of their sufferings during unfavourable seasons and in bad situations for hunting and fishing. Many assurances have been given me that men and women are yet living who have been reduced to feed upon the bodies of their own family to prevent actual starvation; and a shocking case was cited to us of a woman who had been principal agent in the destruction of several persons, and amongst the number her husband and nearest relatives, in order to support life. November 28. The atmosphere had been clear every day during the last week, about the end of which snow fell, when the thermometer rose from 20 degrees below to 16 degrees above zero. The Aurora Borealis was twice visible but faint on both occasions. Its appearance did not affect the electrometer nor could we perceive the compass to be disturbed. The men brought supplies of moose meat from the hunter's tent which is pitched near the Basquiau Hill, forty or fifty miles from the house and whence the greatest part of the meat is procured. The residents have to send nearly the same distance for their fish and on this service horse-sledges are used. Nets are daily set in Pine Island Lake which occasionally procure some fine sturgeon, tittameg and trout, but not more than sufficient to supply the officers' table. December 1. This day was so remarkably fine that we procured another set of observations for the dip of the needle in the open air; the instrument being placed firmly on a rock the results gave 83 degrees 14 minutes 22 seconds. The change produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 12 degrees 50 minutes 55 seconds. There had been a determined thaw during the last three days. The ice on the Saskatchewan River and some parts of the lake broke up and the travelling across either became dangerous. On this account the absence of Wilks, one of our men, caused no small anxiety. He had incautiously undertaken the conduct of a sledge and dogs in company with a person going to Swampy River for fish. On their return, being unaccustomed to driving, he became fatigued and seated himself on his sledge where his companion left him, presuming that he would soon rise and hasten to follow his track. He however returned safe in the morning and reported that, foreseeing night would set in before he could get across the lake, he prudently retired into the woods before dark where he remained until daylight, when the men who had been despatched to look for him met him returning to the house, shivering with cold, he having been unprovided with the materials for lighting a fire, which an experienced voyager never neglects to carry. We had mild weather until the 20th of December. On the 13th there had been a decided thaw that caused the Saskatchewan, which had again frozen, to reopen and the passage across it was interrupted for two days. We now received more agreeable accounts from the Indians who were recovering strength and beginning to hunt a little; but it was generally feared that their spirits had been so much depressed by the loss of their children and relatives that the season would be far advanced before they could be roused to any exertion in searching for animals beyond what might be necessary for their own support. It is much to be regretted that these poor men, during their long intercourse with Europeans, have not been taught how pernicious is the grief which produces total inactivity, and that they have not been furnished with any of the consolations which the Christian religion never fails to afford. This however could hardly have been expected from persons who have permitted their own offspring the half-casts to remain in lamentable ignorance on a subject of such vital importance. It is probable however that an improvement will soon take place among the latter class, as Governor Williams proposes to make the children attend a Sunday school and has already begun to have divine service performed at his post. The conversations which I had with the gentlemen in charge of these posts convinced me of the necessity of proceeding during the winter into the Athabasca department, the residents of which are best acquainted with the nature and resources of the country to the north of the Great Slave Lake; and whence only guides, hunters and interpreters can be procured. I had previously written to the partners of the North-West Company in that quarter requesting their assistance in forwarding the Expedition and stating what we should require. But, on reflecting upon the accidents that might delay these letters on the road, I determined on proceeding to the Athabasca as soon as I possibly could, and communicated my intention to Governor Williams and Mr. Connolly with a request that I might be furnished by the middle of January with the means of conveyance for three persons, intending that Mr. Back and Hepburn should accompany me whilst Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood remained till the spring at Cumberland House. After the 20th of December the weather became cold, the thermometer constantly below zero. Christmas Day was particularly stormy but the gale did not prevent the full enjoyment of the festivities which are annually given at Cumberland House on this day. All the men who had been despatched to different parts in search of provision or furs returned to the fort on the occasion and were regaled with a substantial dinner and a dance in the evening. January 1, 1820. The New Year was ushered in by repeated discharges of musketry; a ceremony which has been observed by the men of both the trading Companies for many years. Our party dined with Mr. Connolly and were treated with a beaver which we found extremely delicate. In the evening his voyagers were entertained with a dance in which the Canadians exhibited some grace and much agility; and they contrived to infuse some portion of their activity and spirits into the steps of their female companions. The half-breed women are passionately fond of this amusement but a stranger would imagine the contrary on witnessing their apparent want of animation. On such occasions they affect a sobriety of demeanour which I understand to be very opposite to their general character. January 10. This day I wrote to Governor Williams and Mr. Connolly requesting them to prepare two canoes with crews and appointments for the conveyance of Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, with our stores, to Chipewyan as soon as the navigation should open, and had the satisfaction of receiving from both these gentlemen renewed assurances of their desire to promote the objects of the Expedition. I conceived it to be necessary, previous to my departure, to make some arrangement respecting the men who were engaged at Stromness. Only one of them was disposed to extend his engagement and proceed beyond the Athabasca Lake and, as there was much uncertainty whether the remaining three could get from the Athabasca to York Factory sufficiently early to secure them a passage in the next Hudson's Bay ship, I resolved not to take them forward unless Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood should fail in procuring other men from these establishments next spring, but to despatch them down to York to bring up our stores to this place: after which they might return to the coast in time to secure their passage in the first ship. I delivered to Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood a memorandum containing the arrangements which had been made with the two Companies respecting their being forwarded in the spring, and some other points of instruction for their guidance in my absence together with directions to forward the map of our route which had been finished, since our arrival, by Mr. Hood, the drawing and the collections of natural history by the first opportunity to York Factory for conveyance to England.* (*Footnote. As Samuel Wilks, who had accompanied the Expedition from England, proved to be quite unequal to the fatigue of the journey I directed him to be discharged in the spring and sent to England by the next ship.) The houses of the two Companies at this post are situated close to each other at the upper extremity of a narrow island which separates Pine Island Lake from the Saskatchewan River, and are about two miles and three-quarters from the latter in a northern direction. They are log-houses, built without much regard to comfort, surrounded by lofty stockades and flanked with wooden bastions. The difficulty of conveying glass into the interior has precluded its use in the windows where its place is poorly supplied by parchment, imperfectly made by the native women from the skin of the reindeer. Should this post however continue to be the residence of Governor Williams it will be much improved in a few years, as he is devoting his attention to that point. The land around Cumberland House is low but the soil, from having a considerable intermixture of limestone, is good and capable of producing abundance of corn and vegetables of every description. Many kinds of pot-herbs have already been brought to some perfection and the potatoes bid fair to equal those of England. The spontaneous productions of nature would afford ample nourishment for all the European animals. Horses feed extremely well even during the winter and so would oxen if provided with hay which might be easily done.* Pigs also improve but require to be kept warm in the winter. Hence it appears that the residents might easily render themselves far less dependent on the Indians for support and be relieved from the great anxiety which they too often suffer when the hunters are unsuccessful. The neighbourhood of the houses has been much cleared of wood from the great demand for fuel; there is therefore little to admire in the surrounding scenery, especially in its winter garb; few animated objects occur to enliven the scene; an occasional fox, marten, rabbit or wolf and a few birds contribute the only variety. The birds which remained were ravens, magpies, partridges, crossbills and woodpeckers. In this universal stillness the residents at a post feel little disposed to wander abroad except when called forth by their occupations; and as ours were of a kind best performed in a warm room we imperceptibly acquired a sedentary habit. In going out however we never suffered the slightest inconvenience from the change of temperature though the thermometer in the open air stood occasionally thirty degrees below zero. (*Footnote. The wild buffalo scrapes away the snow with its feet to get at the herbage beneath, and the horse, which was introduced by the Spanish invaders of Mexico and may be said to have become naturalised, does the same; but it is worthy of remark that the ox more lately brought from Europe has not yet acquired an art so necessary for procuring its food. Extract from Dr. Richardson's Journal.) The tribe of Indians who reside in the vicinity and frequent these establishments is that of the Crees, or Knisteneaux. They were formerly a powerful and numerous nation which ranged over a very extensive country and were very successful in their predatory excursions against their neighbours, particularly the northern Indians and some tribes on the Saskatchewan and Beaver Rivers; but they have long ceased to be held in any fear and are now perhaps the most harmless and inoffensive of the whole Indian race. This change is entirely to be attributed to their intercourse with Europeans; and the vast reduction in their numbers occasioned, I fear, principally by the injudicious introduction of ardent spirits. They are so passionately fond of this poison that they will make any sacrifice to obtain it. They are good hunters and in general active. Having laid the bow and arrow altogether aside and the use of snares, except for rabbits and partridges, they depend entirely on the Europeans for the means of gaining subsistence as they require guns and a constant supply of powder and shot; so that these Indians are probably more completely under the power of the trader than any of the other tribes. As I only saw a few straggling parties of them during short intervals, and under unfavourable circumstances of sickness and famine, I am unable to give from personal observation any detail of their manners and customs; and must refer the reader to Dr. Richardson's account of them in the following chapter. That gentleman during his longer residence at the post had many opportunities of seeing them and acquiring their language. January 17. This morning the sporting part of our society had rather a novel diversion: intelligence having been brought that a wolf had borne away a steel trap in which he had been caught, a party went in search of the marauder and took two English bulldogs and a terrier which had been brought into the country this season. On the first sight of the animal the dogs became alarmed and stood barking at a distance, and probably would not have ventured to advance had they not seen the wolf fall by a shot from one of the gentlemen; they then however went up and behaved courageously, and were enraged by the bites they received. The wolf soon died of its wounds and the body was brought to the house where a drawing of it was taken by Mr. Hood and the skin preserved by Dr. Richardson. Its general features bore a strong resemblance to many of the dogs about the fort, but it was larger and had a more ferocious aspect. Mr. Back and I were too much occupied in preparing for our departure on the following day to join this excursion. The position of Cumberland House by our observations is latitude 53 degrees 56 minutes 40 seconds North; longitude 102 degrees 16 minutes 41 seconds West by the chronometers; variations 17 degrees 17 minutes 29 seconds East; dip of the needle 83 degrees 12 minutes 50 seconds. The whole of the travelling distance between York Factory and Cumberland House is about six hundred and ninety miles. CHAPTER 3. DR. RICHARDSON'S RESIDENCE AT CUMBERLAND HOUSE. HIS ACCOUNT OF THE CREE INDIANS. DR. RICHARDSON'S RESIDENCE AT CUMBERLAND HOUSE. January 19, 1820. From the departure of Messrs. Franklin and Back on the 19th of January for Chipewyan until the opening of the navigation in the spring the occurrences connected with the Expedition were so much in the ordinary routine of a winter's residence at Fort Cumberland that they may be perhaps appropriately blended with the following general but brief account of that district and its inhabitants. Cumberland House was originally built by Hearne, a year or two after his return from the Copper-Mine River, and has ever since been considered by the Hudson's Bay Company as a post of considerable importance. Previous to that time the natives carried their furs down to the shores of Hudson's Bay or disposed of them nearer home to the French Canadian traders who visited this part of the country as early as the year 1697. The Cumberland House district, extending about one hundred and fifty miles from east to west along the banks of the Saskatchewan, and about as far from north to south, comprehends, on a rough calculation, upwards of twenty thousand square miles, and is frequented at present by about one hundred and twenty Indian hunters. Of these a few have several wives but the majority only one; and as some are unmarried we shall not err greatly in considering the number of married women as only slightly exceeding that of the hunters. The women marry very young, have a custom of suckling their children for several years, and are besides exposed constantly to fatigue and often to famine; hence they are not prolific, bearing upon an average not more than four children, of whom two may attain the age of puberty. Upon these data the amount of each family may be stated at five, and the whole Indian population in the district at five hundred. This is but a small population for such an extent of country, yet their mode of life occasionally subjects them to great privations. The winter of our residence at Cumberland House proved extremely severe to the Indians. The whooping-cough made its appearance amongst them in the autumn, and was followed by the measles which, in the course of the winter, spread through the tribe. Many died and most of the survivors were so enfeebled as to be unable to pursue the necessary avocations of hunting and fishing. Even those who experienced only a slight attack, or escaped the sickness altogether, dispirited by the scenes of misery which environed them, were rendered incapable of affording relief to their distressed relations and spent their time in conjuring and drumming to avert the pestilence. Those who were able came to the fort and received relief, but many who had retired with their families to distant corners to pursue their winter hunts experienced all the horrors of famine. One evening early in the month of January a poor Indian entered the North-West Company's House, carrying his only child in his arms and followed by his starving wife. They had been hunting apart from the other bands, had been unsuccessful and, whilst in want, were seized with the epidemical disease. An Indian is accustomed to starve and it is not easy to elicit from him an account of his sufferings. This poor man's story was very brief; as soon as the fever abated he set out with his wife for Cumberland House, having been previously reduced to feed on the bits of skin and offal which remained about their encampment. Even this miserable fare was exhausted and they walked several days without eating, yet exerting themselves far beyond their strength that they might save the life of the infant. It died almost within sight of the house. Mr. Connolly, who was then in charge of the post, received them with the utmost humanity and instantly placed food before them; but no language can describe the manner in which the miserable father dashed the morsel from his lips and deplored the loss of his child. Misery may harden a disposition naturally bad but it never fails to soften the heart of a good man. HIS ACCOUNT OF THE CREE INDIANS. The origin of the Crees, to which nation the Cumberland House Indians belong, is, like that of the other aborigines of America, involved in obscurity; but the researches now making into the nature and affinities of the languages spoken by the different Indian tribes may eventually throw some light on the subject. Indeed the American philologists seem to have succeeded already in classing the known dialects into three languages: 1. The Floridean, spoken by the Creeks, Chickesaws, Choctaws, Cherokees, Pascagoulas, and some other tribes who inhabit the southern parts of the United States. 2. The Iroquois, spoken by the Mengwe, or Six Nations, the Wyandots, the Nadowessies, and Asseeneepoytuck. 3. The Lenni-lenape, spoken by a great family more widely spread than the other two and from which, together with a vast number of other tribes, are sprung our Crees. Mr. Heckewelder, a missionary who resided long amongst these people and from whose paper (published in the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society) the above classification is taken, states that the Lenape have a tradition amongst them of their ancestors having come from the westward and taken possession of the whole country from the Missouri to the Atlantic, after driving away or destroying the original inhabitants of the land whom they termed Alligewi. In this migration and contest, which endured for a series of years, the Mengwe, or Iroquois, kept pace with them, moving in a parallel but more northerly line, and finally settling on the banks of the St. Lawrence and the great lakes from whence it flows. The Lenape, being more numerous, peopled not only the greater part of the country at present occupied by the United States, but also sent detachments to the northward as far as the banks of the River Mississippi and the shores of Hudson's Bay. The principal of their northern tribes are now known under the names of Saulteurs or Chippeways, and Crees; the former inhabiting the country betwixt Lakes Winnipeg and Superior, the latter frequenting the shores of Hudson's Bay from Moose to Churchill, and the country from thence as far to the westward as the plains which lie betwixt the forks of the Saskatchewan. The Crees, formerly known by the French Canadian traders under the appellation of Knisteneaux, generally designate themselves as Eithinyoowuc (men) or, when they wish to discriminate themselves from the other Indian nations, as Nathehwywithinyoowuc (Southern-men).* (*Footnote. Much confusion has arisen from the great variety of names applied without discrimination to the various tribes of Saulteurs and Crees. Heckewelder considers the Crees of Moose Factory to be a branch of that tribe of the Lenape which is named Minsi, or Wolf Tribe. He has been led to form this opinion from the similarity of the name given to these people by Monsieur Jeremie, namely, Monsonies; but the truth is that their real name is Mongsoaeythinyoowuc, or Moose-deer Indians; hence the name of the factory and river on which it is built. The name Knisteneaux, Kristeneaux, or Killisteneaux, was anciently applied to a tribe of Crees, now termed Maskegons, who inhabit the river Winnipeg. This small tribe still retains the peculiarities of customs and dress for which it was remarkable many years ago, as mentioned by Mr. Henry in the interesting account of his journeys in these countries. They are said to be great rascals. The great body of the Crees were at that time named Opimmitish Ininiwuc, or Men of the Woods. It would however be an endless task to attempt to determine the precise people designated by the early French writers. Every small band naming itself from its hunting grounds was described as a different nation. The Chippeways who frequented the Lake of the Woods were named from a particular act of pillage Pilliers, or Robbers: and the name Saulteurs, applied to a principal band that frequented the Sault St. Marie, has been by degrees extended to the whole tribe. It is frequently pronounced and written Sotoos.) The original character of the Crees must have been much modified by their long intercourse with Europeans; hence it is to be understood that we confine ourselves in the following sketch to their present condition, and more particularly to the Crees of Cumberland House. The moral character of a hunter is acted upon by the nature of the land he inhabits, the abundance or scarcity of food, and we may add, in the present case, his means of access to spiritous liquors. In a country so various in these respects as that inhabited by the Crees the causes alluded to must operate strongly in producing a considerable difference of character amongst the various hordes. It may be proper to bear in mind also that we are about to draw the character of a people whose only rule of conduct is public opinion and to try them by a morality founded on divine revelation, the only standard that can be referred to by those who have been educated in a land to which the blessings of the Gospel have extended. Bearing these considerations in mind then we may state the Crees to be a vain, fickle, improvident, and indolent race, and not very strict in their adherence to truth, being great boasters; but on the other hand they strictly regard the rights of property,* are susceptible of the kinder affections, capable of friendship, very hospitable, tolerably kind to their women, and withal inclined to peace. (*Footnote. This is perhaps true of the Cumberland House Crees alone: many of the other tribes of Crees are stated by the traders to be thieves.) Much of the faulty part of their character no doubt originates in their mode of life; accustomed as a hunter to depend greatly on chance for his subsistence the Cree takes little thought of tomorrow; and the most offensive part of his behaviour--the habit of boasting--has been probably assumed as a necessary part of his armour which operates upon the fears of his enemies. They are countenanced however in this failing by the practice of the ancient Greeks, and perhaps by that of every other nation in its ruder state. Every Cree fears the medical or conjuring powers of his neighbour, but at the same time exalts his own attainments to the skies. "I am God-like," is a common expression amongst them, and they prove their divinity-ship by eating live coals and by various tricks of a similar nature. A medicine bag is an indispensable part of a hunter's equipment. It is generally furnished with a little bit of indigo, blue vitriol, vermilion, or some other showy article, and is, when in the hands of a noted conjurer, such an object of terror to the rest of the tribe that its possessor is enabled to fatten at his ease upon the labours of his deluded countrymen. A fellow of this description came to Cumberland House in the winter of 1819. Notwithstanding the then miserable state of the Indians the rapacity of this wretch had been preying upon their necessities, and a poor hunter was actually at the moment pining away under the influence of his threats. The mighty conjurer, immediately on his arrival at the House, began to trumpet forth his powers, boasting among other things that, although his hands and feet were tied as securely as possible yet, when placed in a conjuring house, he would speedily disengage himself by the aid of two or three familiar spirits who were attendant on his call. He was instantly taken at his word and, that his exertions might not be without an aim, a capot or great coat was promised as the reward of his success. A conjuring-house having been erected in the usual form, that is by sticking four willows in the ground and tying their tops to a hoop at the height of six or eight feet, he was fettered completely by winding several fathoms of rope round his body and extremities and placed in its narrow apartment, not exceeding two feet in diameter. A moose-skin being then thrown over the frame secluded him from our view. He forthwith began to chant a kind of hymn in a very monotonous tone. The rest of the Indians, who seemed in some doubt respecting the powers of a devil when put in competition with those of a white man, ranged themselves around and watched the result with anxiety. Nothing remarkable occurred for a long time. The conjurer continued his song at intervals and it was occasionally taken up by those without. In this manner an hour and a half elapsed; but at length our attention, which had begun to flag, was roused by the violent shaking of the conjuring-house. It was instantly whispered round the circle that at least one devil had crept under the moose-skin. But it proved to be only the "God-like man" trembling with cold. He had entered the lists stripped to the skin and the thermometer stood very low that evening. His attempts were continued however with considerable resolution for half an hour longer, when he reluctantly gave in. He had found no difficulty in slipping through the noose when it was formed by his countrymen; but in the present instance the knot was tied by Governor Williams who is an expert sailor. After this unsuccessful exhibition his credit sunk amazingly, and he took the earliest opportunity of sneaking away from the fort. About two years ago a conjurer paid more dearly for his temerity. In a quarrel with an Indian he threw out some obscure threats of vengeance which passed unnoticed at the time but were afterwards remembered. They met in the spring at Carlton House after passing the winter in different parts of the country, during which the Indian's child died. The conjurer had the folly to boast that he had caused its death and the enraged father shot him dead on the spot. It may be remarked however that both these Indians were inhabitants of the plains and had been taught, by their intercourse with the turbulent Stone Indians, to set but comparatively little value on the life of a man. It might be thought that the Crees have benefited by their long intercourse with civilised nations. That this is not so much the case as it ought to be is not entirely their own fault. They are capable of being and, I believe, willing to be, taught; but no pains have hitherto been taken to inform their minds,* and their white acquaintances seem in general to find it easier to descend to the Indian customs and modes of thinking, particularly with respect to women, than to attempt to raise the Indians to theirs. Indeed such a lamentable want of morality has been displayed by the white traders in their contests for the interests of their respective companies that it would require a long series of good conduct to efface from the minds of the native population the ideas they have formed of the white character. Notwithstanding the frequent violations of the rights of property they have witnessed and but too often experienced in their own persons, these savages, as they are termed, remain strictly honest. During their visits to a post they are suffered to enter every apartment in the house without the least restraint and, although articles of value to them are scattered about, nothing is ever missed. They scrupulously avoid moving anything from its place although they are often prompted by curiosity to examine it. In some cases indeed they carry this principle to a degree of self-denial which would hardly be expected. It often happens that meat which has been paid for (if the poisonous draught it procures them can be considered as payment) is left at their lodges until a convenient opportunity occurs of carrying it away. They will rather pass several days without eating than touch the meat thus entrusted to their charge, even when there exists a prospect of replacing it. (*Footnote. Since these remarks were written the union of the rival Companies has enabled the gentlemen who have now the management of the fur trade to take some decided steps for the religious instruction and improvement of the natives and half-breed Indians, which have been more particularly referred to in the introduction.) The hospitality of the Crees is unbounded. They afford a certain asylum to the half-breed children when deserted by their unnatural white fathers; and the infirm, and indeed every individual in an encampment, share the provisions of a successful hunter as long as they last. Fond too as a Cree is of spiritous liquors he is not happy unless all his neighbours partake with him. It is not easy however to say what share ostentation may have in the apparent munificence in the latter article; for when an Indian, by a good hunt, is enabled to treat the others with a keg of rum he becomes the chief of the night, assumes no little stateliness of manner, and is treated with deference by those who regale at his expense. Prompted also by the desire of gaining a NAME they lavish away the articles they purchase at the trading posts and are well satisfied if repaid in praise. Gaming is not uncommon amongst the Crees of all the different districts, but it is pursued to greater lengths by those bands who frequent the plains and who, from the ease with which they obtain food, have abundant leisure. The game most in use amongst them, termed puckesann, is played with the stones of a species of prunus which, from this circumstance, they term puckesann-meena. The difficulty lies in guessing the number of stones which are tossed out of a small wooden dish and the hunters will spend whole nights at the destructive sport, staking their most valuable articles, powder and shot. It has been remarked by some writers that the aboriginal inhabitants of America are deficient in passion for the fair sex. This is by no means the case with the Crees; on the contrary their practice of seducing each other's wives proves the most fertile source of their quarrels. When the guilty pair are detected the woman generally receives a severe beating, but the husband is for the most part afraid to reproach the male culprit until they get drunk together at the fort; then the remembrance of the offence is revived, a struggle ensues and the affair is terminated by the loss of a few handfuls of hair. Some husbands however feel more deeply the injury done to their honour and seek revenge even in their sober moments. In such cases it is not uncommon for the offended party to walk with great gravity up to the other and, deliberately seizing his gun or some other article of value, to break it before his face. The adulterer looks on in silence, afraid to make any attempt to save his property. In this respect indeed the Indian character seems to differ from the European that an Indian, instead of letting his anger increase with that of his antagonist, assumes the utmost coolness lest he should push him to extremities. Although adultery is sometimes punished amongst the Crees in the manner above described yet it is no crime provided the husband receives a valuable consideration for his wife's prostitution. Neither is chastity considered as a virtue in a female before marriage, that is before she becomes the exclusive property of one hunter. The Cree women are not in general treated harshly by their husbands and possess considerable influence over them. They often eat and even get drunk in consort with the men; a considerable portion of the labour however falls to the lot of the wife. She makes the hut, cooks, dresses the skins, and for the most part carries the heaviest load: but when she is unable to perform her task the husband does not consider it beneath his dignity to assist her. In illustration of this remark I may quote the case of an Indian who visited the fort in winter. This poor man's wife had lost her feet by the frost and he was compelled not only to hunt and do all the menial offices himself but in winter to drag his wife with their stock of furniture from one encampment to another. In the performance of this duty as he could not keep pace with the rest of the tribe in their movements he more than once nearly perished of hunger. These Indians however, capable as they are of behaving thus kindly, affect in their discourse to despise the softer sex and on solemn occasions will not suffer them to eat before them or even come into their presence. In this they are countenanced by the white residents, most of whom have Indian or half-breed wives but seem afraid of treating them with the tenderness or attention due to every female lest they should themselves be despised by the Indians. At least this is the only reason they assign for their neglect of those whom they make partners of their beds and mothers of their children. Both sexes are fond of and excessively indulgent to their children. The father never punishes them and if the mother, more hasty in her temper, sometimes bestows a blow or two on a troublesome child her heart is instantly softened by the roar which follows and she mingles her tears with those that streak the smoky face of her darling. It may be fairly said then that restraint or punishment forms no part of the education of an Indian child, nor are they early trained to that command over their temper which they exhibit in after years. The discourse of the parents is never restrained by the presence of their children, every transaction between the sexes being openly talked of before them. The Crees, having early obtained arms from the European traders, were enabled to make harassing inroads on the lands of their neighbours and are known to have made war excursions as far to the westward as the Rocky Mountains, and to the northward as far as Mackenzie's River; but their enemies being now as well armed as themselves the case is much altered. They show great fortitude in the endurance of hunger and the other evils incident to a hunter's life; but any unusual accident dispirits them at once, and they seldom venture to meet their enemies in open warfare or to attack them even by surprise unless with the advantage of superiority of numbers. Perhaps they are much deteriorated in this respect by their intercourse with Europeans. Their existence at present hangs upon the supplies of ammunition and clothing they receive from the traders and they deeply feel their dependent situation. But their character has been still more debased by the passion for spiritous liquors so assiduously fostered among them. To obtain the noxious beverage they descend to the most humiliating entreaties and assume an abjectness of behaviour which does not seem natural to them and of which not a vestige is to be seen in their intercourse with each other. Their character has sunk among the neighbouring nations. They are no longer the warriors who drove before them the inhabitants of the Saskatchewan and Missinippi. The Cumberland House Crees in particular have been long disused to war. Betwixt them and their ancient enemies, the Slave nations, lie the extensive plains of Saskatchewan, inhabited by the powerful Asseeneepoytuck or Stone Indians who, having whilst yet a small tribe entered the country under the patronage of the Crees, now render back the protection they received. The manners and customs of the Crees have, probably since their acquaintance with Europeans, undergone a change at least equal to that which has taken place in their moral character; and although we heard of many practises peculiar to them yet they appeared to be nearly as much honoured in the breach as the observance. We shall however briefly notice a few of the most remarkable customs. When a hunter marries his first wife he usually takes up his abode in the tent of his father-in-law and of course hunts for the family; but when he becomes a father the families are at liberty to separate or remain together as their inclinations prompt them. His second wife is for the most part the sister of the first but not necessarily so for an Indian of another family often presses his daughter upon a hunter whom he knows to be capable of maintaining her well. The first wife always remains the mistress of the tent and assumes an authority over the others which is not in every case quietly submitted to. It may be remarked that whilst an Indian resides with his wife's family it is extremely improper for his mother-in-law to speak or even look at him; and when she has a communication to make it is the etiquette that she should turn her back upon him and address him only through the medium of a third person. This singular custom is not very creditable to the Indians if it really had its origin in the cause which they at present assign for it namely that a woman's speaking to her son-in-law is a sure indication of her having conceived a criminal affection for him. It appears also to have been an ancient practice for an Indian to avoid eating or sitting down in the presence of the father-in-law. We received no account of the origin of this custom and it is now almost obsolete amongst the Cumberland House Crees, though still partially observed by those who frequent Carlton. Tattooing is almost universal with the Crees. The women are in general content with having one or two lines drawn from the corners of the mouth towards the angles of the lower jaw; but some of the men have their bodies covered with a great variety of lines and figures. It seems to be considered by most rather as a proof of courage than an ornament, the operation being very painful and, if the figures are numerous and intricate, lasting several days. The lines on the face are formed by dextrously running an awl under the cuticle and then drawing a cord, dipped in charcoal and water, through the canal thus formed. The punctures on the body are formed by needles of various sizes set in a frame. A number of hawk bells attached to this frame serve by their noise to cover the suppressed groans of the sufferer and, probably for the same reason, the process is accompanied with singing. An indelible stain is produced by rubbing a little finely-powdered willow-charcoal into the punctures. A half-breed whose arm I amputated declared that tattooing was not only the most painful operation of the two but rendered infinitely more difficult to bear by its tediousness having lasted in his case three days. A Cree woman at certain periods is laid under considerable restraint. They are far however from carrying matters to the extremities mentioned by Hearne in his description of the Chipewyans, or Northern Indians. She lives apart from her husband also for two months if she has borne a boy and for three if she has given birth to a girl. Many of the Cree hunters are careful to prevent a woman from partaking of the head of a moose-dear lest it should spoil their future hunts; and for the same reason they avoid bringing it to a fort, fearing lest the white people should give the bones to the dogs. The games or sports of the Crees are various. One termed the game of the mitten is played with four balls, three of which are plain and one marked. These being hid under as many mittens the opposite party is required to fix on that which is marked. He gives or receives a feather according as he guesses right or wrong. When the feathers, which are ten in number, have all passed into one hand a new division is made, but when one of the parties obtains possession of them thrice he seizes on the stakes. The game of Platter is more intricate and is played with the claws of a bear or some other animal marked with various lines and characters. These dice which are eight in number and cut flat at their large end are shook together in a wooden dish, tossed into the air and caught again. The lines traced on such claws as happen to alight on the platter in an erect position indicate what number of counters the caster is to receive from his opponent. They have however a much more manly amusement termed the Cross although they do not engage even in it without depositing considerable stakes. An extensive meadow is chosen for this sport and the articles staked are tied to a post or deposited in the custody of two old men. The combatants, being stripped and painted and each provided with a kind of battledore or racket, in shape resembling the letter P with a handle about two feet long and a head loosely wrought with network so as to form a shallow bag, range themselves on different sides. A ball being now tossed up in the middle each party endeavours to drive it to their respective goals and much dexterity and agility is displayed in the contest. When a nimble runner gets the ball in his cross he sets off towards the goal with the utmost speed and is followed by the rest who endeavour to jostle him and shake it out; but, if hard pressed, he discharges it with a jerk, to be forwarded by his own party or bandied back by their opponents until the victory is decided by its passing the goal. Of the religious opinions of the Crees it is difficult to give a correct account, not only because they show a disinclination to enter upon the subject but because their ancient traditions are mingled with the information they have more recently obtained by their intercourse with Europeans. None of them ventured to describe the original formation of the world but they all spoke of a universal deluge caused by an attempt of the fish to drown Woesackootchacht, a kind of demigod with whom they had quarrelled. Having constructed a raft he embarked with his family and all kinds of birds and beasts. After the flood had continued for some time he ordered several waterfowl to dive to the bottom; they were all drowned but a muskrat, having been despatched on the same errand, was more successful and returned with a mouthful of mud out of which Woesackootchacht, imitating the mode in which the rats construct their houses, formed a new earth. First a small conical hill of mud appeared above the water; by and by, its base gradually spreading out, it became an extensive bank which the rays of the sun at length hardened into firm land. Notwithstanding the power that Woesackootchacht here displayed his person is held in very little reverence by the Indians; and in return he seizes every opportunity of tormenting them. His conduct is far from being moral and his amours and the disguises he assumes in the prosecution of them are more various and extraordinary than those of the Grecian Jupiter himself; but as his adventures are more remarkable for their eccentricity than their delicacy it is better to pass them over in silence. Before we quit him however we may remark that he converses with all kinds of birds and beasts in their own languages, constantly addressing them by the title of brother but, through an inherent suspicion of his intentions, they are seldom willing to admit of his claims of relationship. The Indians make no sacrifices to him, not even to avert his wrath. They pay a kind of worship however and make offerings to a being whom they term Kepoochikawn. This deity is represented sometimes by rude images of the human figure but more commonly merely by tying the tops of a few willow bushes together; and the offerings to him consist of everything that is valuable to an Indian; yet they treat him with considerable familiarity, interlarding their most solemn speeches with expostulations and threats of neglect if he fails in complying with their requests. As most of their petitions are for plenty of food they do not trust entirely to the favour of Kepoochikawn but endeavour at the same time to propitiate the animal, an imaginary representative of the whole race of larger quadrupeds that are objects of the chase. In the month of May whilst I was at Carlton House the Cree hunter engaged to attend that post resolved upon dedicating several articles to Kepoochikawn and, as I had made some inquiries of him respecting their modes of worship, he gave me an invitation to be present. The ceremony took place in a sweating-house or, as it may be designated from its more important use, a temple which was erected for the occasion by the worshipper's two wives. It was framed of arched willows, interlaced so as to form a vault capable of containing ten or twelve men ranged closely side by side, and high enough to admit of their sitting erect. It was very similar in shape to an oven or the kraal of a Hottentot and was closely covered with moose-skins except at the east end which was left open for a door. Near the centre of the building there was a hole in the ground which contained ten or twelve red-hot stones having a few leaves of the taccohaymenan, a species of prunus, strewed around them. When the women had completed the preparations the hunter made his appearance, perfectly naked, carrying in his hand an image of Kepoochikawn, rudely carved and about two feet long. He placed his god at the upper end of the sweating-house with his face towards the door and proceeded to tie round its neck his offerings, consisting of a cotton handkerchief, a looking-glass, a tin pan, a piece of riband, and a bit of tobacco which he had procured the same day at the expense of fifteen or twenty skins. Whilst he was thus occupied several other Crees who were encamped in the neighbourhood, having been informed of what was going on arrived and, stripping at the door of the temple, entered and ranged themselves on each side; the hunter himself squatted down at the right hand of Kepoochikawn. The atmosphere of the temple having become so hot that none but zealous worshippers would venture in the interpreter and myself sat down on the threshold and the two women remained on the outside as attendants. The hunter who throughout officiated as high priest commenced by making a speech to Kepoochikawn in which he requested him to be propitious, told him of the value of the things now presented, and cautioned him against ingratitude. This oration was delivered in a monotonous tone and with great rapidity of utterance, and the speaker retained his squatting posture but turned his face to his god. At its conclusion the priest began a hymn of which the burden was, "I will walk with God, I will go with the animal"; and at the end of each stanza the rest joined in an insignificant chorus. He next took up a calumet filled with a mixture of tobacco and bear-berry leaves and, holding its stem by the middle in a horizontal position over the hot stones, turned it slowly in a circular manner, following the course of the sun. Its mouth-piece being then with much formality held for a few seconds to the face of Kepoochikawn it was next presented to the earth, having been previously turned a second time over the hot stones; and afterwards with equal ceremony pointed in succession to the four quarters of the sky then, drawing a few whiffs from the calumet himself, he handed it to his left-hand neighbour by whom it was gravely passed round the circle; the interpreter and myself, who were seated at the door, were asked to partake in our turn but requested to keep the head of the calumet within the threshold of the sweating-house. When the tobacco was exhausted by passing several times round the hunter made another speech, similar to the former but was if possible still more urgent in his requests. A second hymn followed and, a quantity of water being sprinkled on the hot stones, the attendants were ordered to close the temple, which they did by very carefully covering it up with moose-skins. We had no means of ascertaining the temperature of the sweating-house; but before it was closed not only those within but also the spectators without were perspiring freely. They continued in the vapour bath for thirty-five minutes, during which time a third speech was made and a hymn was sung and water occasionally sprinkled on the stones which still retained much heat, as was evident from the hissing noise they made. The coverings were then thrown off and the poor half-stewed worshippers exposed freely to the air; but they kept their squatting postures until a fourth speech was made in which the deity was strongly reminded of the value of the gifts and exhorted to take an early opportunity of showing his gratitude. The ceremony concluded by the sweaters scampering down to the river and plunging into the stream. It may be remarked that the door of the temple and of course the face of the god was turned to the rising sun; and the spectators were desired not to block up entirely the front of the building but to leave a lane for the entrance or exit of some influence of which they could not give me a correct description. Several Indians, who lay on the outside of the sweating-house as spectators, seemed to regard the proceedings with very little awe and were extremely free in the remarks and jokes they passed upon the condition of the sweaters and even of Kepoochikawn himself. One of them made a remark that the shawl would have been much better bestowed upon himself than upon Kepoochikawn, but the same fellow afterwards stripped and joined in the ceremony. I did not learn that the Indians worship any other god by a specific name. They often refer however to the Keetchee-Maneeto, or Great Master of Life, and to an evil spirit, or Maatche-Maneeto. They also speak of Weettako, a kind of vampire or devil into which those who have fed on human flesh are transformed. Whilst at Carlton I took an opportunity of asking a communicative old Indian of the Blackfoot nation his opinion of a future state; he replied that they had heard from their fathers that the souls of the departed have to scramble with great labour up the sides of a steep mountain, upon attaining the summit of which they are rewarded with the prospect of an extensive plain, abounding in all sorts of game and interspersed here and there with new tents pitched in agreeable situations. Whilst they are absorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene they are descried by the inhabitants of the happy land who, clothed in new skin-dresses, approach and welcome with every demonstration of kindness those Indians who have led good lives, but the bad Indians, who have imbrued their hands in the blood of their countrymen, are told to return from whence they came and, without more ceremony, precipitated down the steep sides of the mountain. Women who have been guilty of infanticide never reach the mountain at all but are compelled to hover round the seats of their crimes with branches of trees tied to their legs. The melancholy sounds which are heard in the still summer evenings and which the ignorance of the white people considers as the screams of the goat-sucker are really, according to my informant, the moanings of these unhappy beings. The Crees have somewhat similar notions but, as they inhabit a country widely different from the mountainous lands of the Blackfoot Indians, the difficulty of their journey lies in walking along a slender and slippery tree laid as a bridge across a rapid stream of stinking and muddy water. The night owl is regarded by the Crees with the same dread that it has been viewed by other nations. One small species, which is known to them by its melancholy nocturnal hootings (for as it never appears in the day few even of the hunters have ever seen it) is particularly ominous. They call it the cheepai-peethees, or death bird, and never fail to whistle when they hear its note. If it does not reply to the whistle by its hootings the speedy death of the inquirer is augured. When a Cree dies that part of his property which he has not given away before his death is burned with him, and his relations take care to place near the grave little heaps of firewood, food, pieces of tobacco, and such things as he is likely to need in his journey. Similar offerings are made when they revisit the grave, and as kettles and other articles of value are sometimes offered they are frequently carried off by passengers, yet the relations are not displeased provided sufficient respect has been shown to the dead by putting some other article, although of inferior value, in the place of that which has been taken away. The Crees are wont to celebrate the returns of the seasons by religious festivals but we are unable to describe the ceremonial in use on these joyous occasions from personal observation. The following brief notice of a feast which was given by an old Cree chief according to his annual custom on the first croaking of the frogs is drawn up from the information of one of the guests. A large oblong tent or lodge was prepared for the important occasion by the men of the party, none of the women being suffered to interfere. It faced the setting sun and great care was taken that everything about it should be as neat and clean as possible. Three fireplaces were raised within it at equal distances and little holes were dug in the corners to contain the ashes of their pipes. In a recess at its upper end one large image of Kepoochikawn and many smaller ones were ranged with their faces towards the door. The food was prepared by the chief's wife and consisted of marrow pemmican, berries boiled with fat, and various other delicacies that had been preserved for the occasion. The preparations being completed and, a slave whom the chief had taken in war having warned the guests to the feast by the mysterious word peenasheway, they came, dressed out in their best garments, and ranged themselves according to their seniority, the elders seating themselves next the chief at the upper end and the young men near the door. The chief commenced by addressing his deities in an appropriate speech in which he told them that he had hastened as soon as summer was indicated by the croaking of the frogs to solicit their favour for himself and his young men, and hoped that they would send him a pleasant and plentiful season. His oration was concluded by an invocation to all the animals in the land and, a signal being given to the slave at the door, he invited them severally by their names to come and partake of the feast. The Cree chief having by this very general invitation displayed his unbounded hospitality next ordered one of the young men to distribute a mess to each of the guests. This was done in new dishes of birch bark, and the utmost diligence was displayed in emptying them, it being considered extremely improper in a man to leave any part of that which is placed before him on such occasions. It is not inconsistent with good manners however but rather considered as a piece of politeness that a guest who has been too liberally supplied should hand the surplus to his neighbour. When the viands had disappeared each filled his calumet and began to smoke with great assiduity, and in the course of the evening several songs were sung to the responsive sounds of the drum and seeseequay, their usual accompaniments. The Cree drum is double-headed but, possessing very little depth, it strongly resembles a tambourine in shape. Its want of depth is compensated however by its diameter which frequently exceeds three feet. It is covered with moose-skin parchment, painted with rude figures of men and beasts having various fantastic additions, and is beat with a stick. The seeseequay is merely a rattle formed by enclosing a few grains of shot in a piece of dried hide. These two instruments are used in all their religious ceremonies except those which take place in a sweating-house. A Cree places great reliance on his drum and I cannot adduce a stronger instance than that of the poor man who is mentioned in a preceding page as having lost his only child by famine, almost within sight of the fort. Notwithstanding his exhausted state he travelled with an enormous drum tied to his back. Many of the Crees make vows to abstain from particular kinds of food either for a specific time or for the remainder of their life, esteeming such abstinence to be a certain means of acquiring some supernatural powers, or at least of entailing upon themselves a succession of good fortune. One of the wives of the Carlton hunter, of whom we have already spoken as the worshipper of Kepoochikawn, made a determination not to eat of the flesh of the Wawaskeesh or American stag; but during our abode at that place she was induced to feed heartily upon it, through the intentional deceit of her husband who told her that it was buffalo meat. When she had finished her meal her husband told her of the trick and seemed to enjoy the terror with which she contemplated the consequences of the involuntary breach of her vow. Vows of this nature are often made by a Cree before he joins a war party, and they sometimes, like the eastern bonzes, walk for a certain number of days on all fours or impose upon themselves some other penance equally ridiculous. By such means the Cree warrior becomes god-like; but unless he kills an enemy before his return his newly-acquired powers are estimated to be productive in future of some direful consequence to himself. As we did not witness any of the Cree dances ourselves we shall merely mention that, like the other North American nations, they are accustomed to practice that amusement on meeting with strange tribes before going to war and on other solemn occasions. The habitual intoxication of the Cumberland House Crees has induced such a disregard of personal appearance that they are squalid and dirty in the extreme; hence a minute description of their clothing would be by no means interesting. We shall therefore only remark in a general manner that the dress of the male consists of a blanket thrown over the shoulders, a leathern shirt or jacket, and a piece of cloth tied round the middle. The women have in addition a long petticoat; and both sexes wear a kind of wide hose which, reaching from the ankle to the middle of the thigh, are suspended by strings to the girdle. These hose or, as they are termed, Indian stockings, are commonly ornamented with beads or ribands, and from their convenience have been universally adopted by the white residents as an essential part of their winter clothing. Their shoes, or rather short boots for they tie round the ankle, are made of soft dressed moose-skins, and during the winter they wrap several pieces of blanket round their feet. They are fond of European articles of dress, considering it as mean to be dressed entirely in leather, and the hunters are generally furnished annually with a capot or great coat, and the women with shawls, printed calicoes, and other things very unsuitable to their mode of life but which they wear in imitation of the wives of the traders; all these articles, however showy they may be at first, are soon reduced to a very filthy condition by the Indian custom of greasing the face and hair with soft fat or marrow instead of washing them with water. This practice they say preserves the skin soft and protects it from cold in the winter and the mosquitoes in summer, but it renders their presence disagreeable to the olfactory organs of an European, particularly when they are seated in a close tent and near a hot fire. The only peculiarity which we observed in their mode of rearing children consists in the use of a sort of cradle extremely well adapted to their mode of life. The infant is placed in the bag having its lower extremities wrapped up in soft sphagnum or bog-moss, and may be hung up in the tent or to the branch of a tree without the least danger of tumbling out; or in a journey suspended on the mother's back by a band which crosses the forehead so as to leave her hands perfectly free. It is one of the neatest articles of furniture they possess, being generally ornamented with beads and bits of scarlet cloth, but it bears a very strong resemblance in its form to a mummy case. The sphagnum in which the child is laid forms a soft elastic bed which absorbs moisture very readily and affords such a protection from the cold of a rigorous winter that its place would be ill supplied by cloth. The mothers are careful to collect a sufficient quantity in autumn for winter use; but when through accident their stock fails they have recourse to the soft down of the typha, or reed mace, the dust of rotten wood, or even feathers, although none of these articles are so cleanly or so easily changed as the sphagnum. The above is a brief sketch of such parts of the manners, character and customs of the Crees as we could collect from personal observation or from the information of the most intelligent half-breeds we met with; and we shall merely add a few remarks on the manner in which the trade is conducted at the different inland posts of the Fur Companies. The standard of Exchange in all mercantile transactions with the natives is a beaver skin, the relative value of which as originally established by the traders differs considerably from the present worth of the articles it represents; but the Indians are averse to change. Three marten, eight muskrat, or a single lynx or wolverine skin, are equivalent to one beaver; a silver fox, white fox, or otter, are reckoned two beavers, and a black fox or large black bear are equal to four; a mode of reckoning which has very little connection with the real value of these different furs in the European market. Neither has any attention been paid to the original cost of European articles in fixing the tariff by which they are sold to the Indians. A coarse butcher's knife is one skin, a woollen blanket or a fathom of coarse cloth eight, and a fowling-piece fifteen. The Indians receive their principal outfit of clothing and ammunition on credit in the autumn to be repaid by their winter hunts; the amount entrusted to each of the hunters varying with their reputations for industry and skill from twenty to one hundred and fifty skins. The Indians are generally anxious to pay off the debt thus incurred but their good intentions are often frustrated by the arts of the rival traders. Each of the Companies keeps men constantly employed travelling over the country during the winter to collect the furs from the different bands of hunters as fast as they are procured. The poor Indian endeavours to behave honestly and, when he has gathered a few skins, sends notice to the post from whence he procured his supplies but, if discovered in the meantime by the opposite party, he is seldom proof against the temptation to which he is exposed. However firm he may be in his denials at first his resolutions are enfeebled by the sight of a little rum and, when he has tasted the intoxicating beverage, they vanish like smoke and he brings forth his store of furs which he has carefully concealed from the scrutinising eyes of his visitors. This mode of carrying on the trade not only causes the amount of furs collected by either of the two Companies to depend more upon the activity of their agents, the knowledge they possess of the motions of the Indians, and the quantity of rum they carry, than upon the liberality of the credits they give, but is also productive of an increasing deterioration of the character of the Indians and will probably ultimately prove destructive to the fur trade itself. Indeed the evil has already in part recoiled upon the traders; for the Indians, long deceived, have become deceivers in their turn, and not unfrequently, after having incurred a heavy debt at one post, move off to another to play the same game. In some cases the rival posts have entered into a mutual agreement to trade only with the Indians they have respectively fitted out, but such treaties, being seldom rigidly adhered to, prove a fertile subject for disputes and the differences have been more than once decided by force of arms. To carry on the contest the two Companies are obliged to employ a great many servants whom they maintain often with much difficulty and always at a considerable expense.* (*Footnote. As the contending parties have united the evils mentioned in this and the two preceding pages are now in all probability at an end.) There are thirty men belonging to the Hudson's Bay Fort at Cumberland and nearly as many women and children. The inhabitants of the North-West Company's House are still more numerous. These large families are fed during the greatest part of the year on fish which are principally procured at Beaver Lake, about fifty miles distant. The fishery, commencing with the first frosts in autumn, continues abundant till January, and the produce is dragged over the snow on sledges, each drawn by three dogs and carrying about two hundred and fifty pounds. The journey to and from the lake occupies five days and every sledge requires a driver. About three thousand fish averaging three pounds apiece were caught by the Hudson's Bay fishermen last season; in addition to which a few sturgeon were occasionally caught in Pine Island Lake; and towards the spring a considerable quantity of moose meat was procured from the Basquiau Hill, sixty or seventy miles distant. The rest of our winter's provision consisted of geese, salted in the autumn, and of dried meats and pemmican obtained from the provision posts on the plains of the Saskatchewan. A good many potatoes are also raised at this post and a small supply of tea and sugar is brought from the depot at York Factory. The provisions obtained from these various sources were amply sufficient in the winter of 1819-20; but through improvidence this post has in former seasons been reduced to great straits. Many of the labourers and a great majority of the agents and clerks employed by the two Companies have Indian or half-breed wives, and the mixed offspring thus produced has become extremely numerous. These metifs, or, as the Canadians term them, bois brules, are upon the whole a good-looking people and, where the experiment has been made, have shown much aptness in learning and willingness to be taught; they have however been sadly neglected. The example of their fathers has released them from the restraint imposed by the Indian opinions of good and bad behaviour; and generally speaking no pains have been taken to fill the void with better principles. Hence it is not surprising that the males, trained up in a high opinion of the authority and rights of the Company to which their fathers belonged and, unacquainted with the laws of the civilised world, should be ready to engage in any measure whatever that they are prompted to believe will forward the interests of the cause they espouse. Nor that the girls, taught a certain degree of refinement by the acquisition of an European language, should be inflamed by the unrestrained discourse of their Indian relations, and very early give up all pretensions to chastity. It is however but justice to remark that there is a very decided difference in the conduct of the children of the Orkney men employed by the Hudson's Bay Company and those of the Canadian voyagers. Some trouble is occasionally bestowed in teaching the former and it is not thrown away, but all the good that can be said of the latter is that they are not quite so licentious as their fathers are. Many of the half-breeds both male and female are brought up amongst and intermarry with the Indians; and there are few tents wherein the paler children of such marriages are not to be seen. It has been remarked, I do not know with what truth, that half-breeds show more personal courage than the pure Crees.* (*Footnote. A singular change takes place in the physical constitution of the Indian females who become inmates of a fort, namely they bear children more frequently and longer but at the same time are rendered liable to indurations of the mammae and prolapsus of the uterus, evils from which they are in a great measure exempt whilst they lead a wandering and laborious life.) The girls at the forts, particularly the daughters of Canadians, are given in marriage very young; they are very frequently wives at twelve years of age and mothers at fourteen. Nay, more than once instance came under our observation of the master of a post having permitted a voyager to take to wife a poor child that had scarcely attained the age of ten years. The masters of posts and wintering partners of the Companies deemed this criminal indulgence to the vices of their servants necessary to stimulate them to exertion for the interest of their respective concerns. Another practice may also be noticed as showing the state of moral feeling on these subjects amongst the white residents of the fur countries. It was not very uncommon amongst the Canadian voyagers for one woman to be common to and maintained at the joint expense of two men; nor for a voyager to sell his wife, either for a season or altogether, for a sum of money proportioned to her beauty and good qualities but always inferior to the price of a team of dogs. The country around Cumberland House is flat and swampy and is much intersected by small lakes. Limestone is found everywhere under a thin stratum of soil and it not unfrequently shows itself above the surface. It lies in strata generally horizontal but in one spot near the fort dipping to the northward at an angle of 40 degrees. Some portions of this rock contain very perfect shells. With respect to the vegetable productions of the district the Populus trepida, or aspen, which thrives in moist situations, is perhaps the most abundant tree on the banks of the Saskatchewan and is much prized as firewood, burning well when cut green. The Populus balsamifera or taccamahac, called by the Crees matheh meteos, or ugly poplar, in allusion to its rough bark and naked stem, crowned in an aged state with a few distorted branches, is scarcely less plentiful. It is an inferior firewood and does not been well unless when cut in the spring and dried during the summer; but it affords a great quantity of potash. A decoction of its resinous buds has been sometimes used by the Indians with success in cases of snow-blindness, but its application to the inflamed eye produces much pain. Of pines the white spruce is the most common here: the red and black spruce, the balsam of Gilead fir, and Banksian pine also occur frequently. The larch is found only in swampy spots and is stunted and unhealthy. The canoe birch attains a considerable size in this latitude but from the great demand for its wood to make sledges it has become rare. The alder abounds on the margin of the little grassy lakes so common in the neighbourhood. A decoction of its inner bark is used as an emetic by the Indians who also extract from it a yellow dye. A great variety of willows occur on the banks of the streams and the hazel is met with sparingly in the woods. The sugar maple, elm, ash, and the arbor vitae,* termed by the Canadian voyagers cedar, grow on various parts of the Saskatchewan but that river seems to form their northern boundary. Two kinds of prunus also grow here, one of which,** a handsome small tree, produces a black fruit having a very astringent taste whence the term choke-cherry applied to it. The Crees call it tawquoymeena, and esteemed it to be when dried and bruised a good addition to pemmican. The other species*** is a less elegant shrub but is said to bear a bright red cherry of a pleasant sweet taste. Its Cree name is passeeaweymeenan, and it is known to occur as far north as Great Slave Lake. (*Footnote. Thuya occidentalis.) (**Footnote. Prunus virginiana.) (***Footnote. Prunus pensylvanica.) The most esteemed fruit of the country however is the produce of the Aronia ovalis. Under the name of meesasscootoomena it is a favourite dish at most of the Indian feasts and, mixed with pemmican, it renders that greasy food actually palatable. A great variety of currants and gooseberries are also mentioned by the natives under the name of sappoommeena but we only found three species in the neighbourhood of Cumberland House. The strawberry, called by the Crees oteimeena, or heart-berry, is found in abundance and rasps are common on the sandy banks of the rivers. The fruits hitherto mentioned fall in the autumn but the following berries remained hanging on the bushes in the spring and are considered as much mellowed by exposure to the colds in winter. The red whortleberry (Vaccinium vitis idea) is found everywhere but is most abundant in rocky places. It is aptly termed by the Crees weesawgummeena, sour-berry. The common cranberry (Oxycoccos palustris) is distinguished from the preceding by its growing on moist sphagnous spots and is hence called maskoegomeena, swamp-berry. The American guelder rose whose fruit so strongly resembles the cranberry is also common. There are two kinds of it (Viburnum oxycoccos and edule) one termed by the natives peepoonmeena, winter-berry, and the other mongsoameena, moose-berry. There is also a berry of a bluish white colour, the produce of the white cornel tree, which is named musquameena, bear-berry, because these animals are said to fatten on it. The dwarf Canadian cornel bears a corymb of red berries which are highly ornamental to the woods throughout the country but are not otherwise worthy of notice for they have an insipid farinaceous taste and are seldom gathered. The Crees extract some beautiful colours from several of their native vegetables. They dye their porcupine quills a beautiful scarlet with the roots of two species of bed-straw (Galium tinctorium and boreale) which they indiscriminately term sawoyan. The roots, after being carefully washed, are boiled gently in a clean copper kettle, and a quantity of the juice of the moose-berry, strawberry, cranberry, or arctic raspberry, is added together with a few red tufts of pistils of the larch. The porcupine quills are plunged into the liquor before it becomes quite cold and are soon tinged of a beautiful scarlet. The process sometimes fails and produces only a dirty brown, a circumstance which ought probably to be ascribed to the use of an undue quantity of acid. They dye black with an ink made of elder bark and a little bog-iron-ore, dried and pounded, and they have various modes of producing yellow. The deepest colour is obtained from the dried root of a plant which from their description appears to be cowbane (Cicuta virosa). An inferior colour is obtained from the bruised buds of the Dutch myrtle and they have discovered methods of dyeing with various lichens. The quadrupeds that are hunted for food in this part of the country are the moose and the reindeer, the former termed by the Crees mongsoa, or moosoa, the latter attekh. The buffalo or bison (moostoosh) the red-deer or American stag (wawaskeeshoo) the apeesee-mongsoos, or jumping deer, the kinwaithoos, or long-tailed deer, and the apistat-chaekoos, a species of antelope; animals that frequent the plains above the forks of the Saskatchewan are not found in the neighbourhood of Cumberland House. Of fur-bearing animals various kinds of foxes (makkeeshewuc) are found in the district, distinguished by the traders under the names of black, silver, cross, red, and blue foxes. The two former are considered by the Indians to be the same kind, varying accidentally in the colour of the pelt. The black foxes are very rare and fetch a high price. The cross and red foxes differ from each other only in colour being of the same shape and size. Their shades of colour are not disposed in any determinate manner, some individuals approaching in that respect very nearly to the silver fox, others exhibiting every link of the chain down to a nearly uniform deep or orange-yellow, the distinguishing colour of a pure red fox. It is reported both by Indians and traders that all the varieties have been found in the same litter. The blue fox is seldom seen here and is supposed to come from the southward. The gray wolf (mahaygan) is common here. In the month of March the females frequently entice the domestic dog from the forts although at other seasons a strong antipathy seemed to subsist between them. Some black wolves are occasionally seen. The black and red varieties of the American bear (musquah) are also found near Cumberland House though not frequently; a black bear often has red cubs, and vice versa. The grizzly bear, so much dreaded by the Indians for its strength and ferocity, inhabits a track of country nearer the Rocky Mountains. It is extraordinary that although I made inquiries extensively amongst the Indians I met with but one who said that he had killed a she-bear with young in the womb. The wolverine, in Cree okeekoohawgees, or ommeethatsees, is an animal of great strength and cunning and is much hated by the hunters on account of the mischief it does to their marten-traps. The Canadian lynx (peeshew) is a timid but well-armed animal which preys upon the American hare. Its fur is esteemed. The marten (wapeestan) is one of the most common furred animals in the country. The fisher, notwithstanding its name, is an inhabitant of the land, living like the common marten principally on mice. It is the otchoek of the Crees, and the pekan of the Canadians. The mink (atjackash) has been often confounded by writers with the fisher. It is a much smaller animal, inhabits the banks of rivers, and swims well; its prey is fish. The otter (neekeek) is larger than the English species and produces a much more valuable fur. The muskrat (watsuss, or musquash) is very abundant in all the small grassy lakes. They build small conical houses with a mixture of hay and earth, those which build early raising their houses on the mud of the marshes, and those which build later in the season founding their habitations upon the surface of the ice itself. The house covers a hole in the ice which permits them to go into the water in search of the roots on which they feed. In severe winters when the small lakes are frozen to the bottom and these animals cannot procure their usual food they prey upon each other. In this way great numbers are destroyed. The beaver (ammisk) furnish the staple fur of the country. Many surprising stories have been told of the sagacity with which this animal suits the form of its habitation, retreats, and dam, to local circumstances; and I compared the account of its manners given by Cuvier in his Regne Animal with the reports of the Indians and found them to agree exactly. They have been often seen in the act of constructing their houses in the moonlight nights, and the observers agree that the stones, wood, or other materials are carried in their teeth and generally leaning against the shoulder. When they have placed it to their mind they turn round and give it a smart blow with their flat tail. In the act of diving they give a similar stroke to the surface of the water. They keep their provision of wood under water in front of the house. Their favourite food is the bark of the aspen, birch and willow; they also eat the alder, but seldom touch any of the pine tribe unless from necessity; they are fond of the large roots of the Nuphar lutea, and grow fat upon it but it gives their flesh a strong rancid taste. In the season of love their call resembles a groan, that of the male being the hoarsest, but the voice of the young is exactly like the cry of a child. They are very playful as the following anecdote will show: One day a gentleman, long resident in this country, espied five young beavers sporting in the water, leaping upon the trunk of a tree, pushing one another off and playing a thousand interesting tricks. He approached softly under cover of the bushes and prepared to fire on the unsuspecting creatures, but a nearer approach discovered to him such a similitude betwixt their gestures and the infantile caresses of his own children that he threw aside his gun. This gentleman's feelings are to be envied but few traders in fur would have acted so feelingly. The muskrat frequently inhabits the same lodge with the beaver and the otter also thrusts himself in occasionally; the latter however is not always a civil guest as he sometimes devours his host. These are the animals most interesting in an economical point of view. The American hare and several kinds of grouse and ptarmigan also contribute towards the support of the natives; and the geese, in their periodical flights in the spring and autumn, likewise prove a valuable resource both to the Indians and white residents; but the principal article of food after the moose-deer is fish; indeed it forms almost the sole support of the traders at some of the posts. The most esteemed fish is the Coregonus albus, the attihhawmeg of the Crees and the white-fish of the Americans. Its usual weight is between three and four pounds, but it has been known to reach sixteen or eighteen pounds. Three fish of the ordinary size is the daily allowance to each man at the fort and is considered as equivalent to two geese or eight pounds of solid moose-meat. The fishery for the attihhawmeg lasts the whole year but is most productive in the spawning season from the middle of September to the middle of October. The ottonneebees (Coregonus artedi) closely resembles the last. Three species of carp (Catastomus hudsonius, C. forsterianus, and C. lesueurii) are also found abundantly in all the lakes, their Cree names are namaypeeth, meethquawmaypeeth, and wapawhawkeeshew. The occuw, or river perch, termed also horn-fish, piccarel, or dore, is common, but is not so much esteemed as the attihhawmeg. It attains the length of twenty inches in these lakes. The methy is another common fish; it is the Gadus lota, or burbot, of Europe. Its length is about two feet, its gullet is capacious and it preys upon fish large enough to distend its body to nearly twice its proper size. It is never eaten, not even by the dogs, unless through necessity but its liver and roe are considered as delicacies. The pike is also plentiful and, being readily caught in the wintertime with the hook, is so much prized on that account by the natives as to receive from them the name of eithinyoocannooshoeoo, or Indian fish. The common trout, or nammoecous, grows here to an enormous size, being caught in particular lakes, weighing upwards of sixty pounds; thirty pounds is no uncommon size at Beaver Lake, from whence Cumberland House is supplied. The Hioden clodalis, oweepeetcheesees, or gold-eye, is a beautiful small fish which resembles the trout in its habits. One of the largest fish is the mathemegh, cat-fish, or barbue. It belongs to the genus silurus. It is rare but is highly prized as food. The sturgeon (Accipenser ruthenus) is also taken in the Saskatchewan and lakes communicating with it and furnishes an excellent but rather rich article of food. CHAPTER 4. LEAVE CUMBERLAND HOUSE. MODE OF TRAVELLING IN WINTER. ARRIVAL AT CARLTON HOUSE. STONE INDIANS. VISIT TO A BUFFALO POUND. GOITRES. DEPARTURE FROM CARLTON HOUSE. ISLE A LA CROSSE. ARRIVAL AT FORT CHIPEWYAN. LEAVE CUMBERLAND HOUSE. January 18, 1820. This day we set out from Cumberland House for Carlton House but, previously to detailing the events of the journey, it may be proper to describe the necessary equipments of a winter traveller in this region which I cannot do better than by extracting the following brief but accurate account of it from Mr. Hood's journal: MODE OF TRAVELLING IN WINTER. A snowshoe is made of two light bars of wood fastened together at their extremities and projected into curves by transverse bars. The side bars have been so shaped by a frame and dried before a fire that the front part of the shoe turns up like the prow of a boat and the part behind terminates in an acute angle; the spaces between the bars are filled up with a fine netting of leathern thongs except that part behind the main bar which is occupied by the feet; the netting is there close and strong, and the foot is attached to the main bar by straps passing round the heel but only fixing the toes so that the heel rises after each step, and the tail of the shoe is dragged on the snow. Between the main bar and another in front of it a small space is left, permitting the toes to descend a little in the act of raising the heel to make the step forward, which prevents their extremities from chafing. The length of a snowshoe is from four to six feet and the breadth one foot and a half, or one and three-quarters, being adapted to the size of the wearer. The motion of walking in them is perfectly natural for one shoe is level with the snow when the edge of the other is passing over it. It is not easy to use them among bushes without frequent overthrows, nor to rise afterwards without help. Each shoe weighs about two pounds when unclogged with snow. The northern Indian snowshoes differ a little from those of the southern Indians, having a greater curvature on the outside of each shoe, one advantage of which is that when the foot rises the over-balanced side descends and throws off the snow. All the superiority of European art has been unable to improve the native contrivance of this useful machine. Sledges are made of two or three flat boards curving upwards in front and fastened together by transverse pieces of wood above. They are so thin that, if heavily laden, they bend with the inequalities of the surface over which they pass. The ordinary dog-sledges are eight or ten feet long and very narrow, but the lading is secured to a lacing round the edges. The cariole used by the traders is merely a covering of leather for the lower part of the body, affixed to the common sledge which is painted and ornamented according to the taste of the proprietor. Besides snowshoes each individual carries his blanket, hatchet, steel, flint, and tinder, and generally firearms. ... The general dress of the winter traveller is a capot, having a hood to put up under the fur cap in windy weather or in the woods to keep the snow from his neck, leathern trousers and Indian stockings which are closed at the ankles round the upper part of his moccasins or Indian shoes to prevent the snow from getting into them. Over these he wears a blanket or leathern coat which is secured by a belt round his waist to which his fire-bag, knife, and hatchet are suspended. Mr. Back and I were accompanied by the seaman John Hepburn; we were provided with two carioles and two sledges, their drivers and dogs being furnished in equal proportions by the two Companies. Fifteen days' provision so completely filled the sledges that it was with difficulty we found room for a small sextant, one suit of clothes, and three changes of linen, together with our bedding. Notwithstanding we thus restricted ourselves and even loaded the carioles with part of the luggage instead of embarking in them ourselves we did not set out without considerable grumbling from the voyagers of both Companies respecting the overlading of their dogs. However we left the matter to be settled by our friends at the fort who were more conversant with winter travelling than ourselves. Indeed the loads appeared to us so great that we should have been inclined to listen to the complaints of the drivers. The weight usually placed upon a sledge drawn by three dogs cannot at the commencement of a journey be estimated at less than three hundred pounds, which however suffers a daily diminution from the consumption of provisions. The sledge itself weighs about thirty pounds. When the snow is hard frozen or the track well trodden the rate of travelling is about two miles and a half an hour, including rests, or about fifteen miles a day. If the snow be loose the speed is necessarily much less and the fatigue greater. At eight in the morning of the 18th we quitted the fort and took leave of our hospitable friend Governor Williams whose kindness and attention I shall ever remember with gratitude. Dr. Richardson, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Connolly accompanied us along the Saskatchewan until the snow became too deep for their walking without snowshoes. We then parted from our associates with sincere regret at the prospect of a long separation. Being accompanied by Mr. Mackenzie of the Hudson's Bay Company who was going to Isle a la Crosse with four sledges under his charge we formed quite a procession, keeping in an Indian file on the track of the man who preceded the foremost dogs; but as the snow was deep we proceeded slowly on the surface of the river, which is about three hundred and fifty yards wide, for the distance of six miles which we went this day. Its alluvial banks and islands are clothed with willows. At the place of our encampment we could scarcely find sufficient pine branches to floor the hut, as the Orkney men term the place where travellers rest. Its preparation however consists only in clearing away the snow to the ground and covering that space with pine branches, over which the party spread their blankets and coats and sleep in warmth and comfort by keeping a good fire at their feet without any other canopy than the heaven, even though the thermometer should be far below zero. The arrival at the place of encampment gives immediate occupation to every one of the party; and it is not until the sleeping-place has been arranged and a sufficiency of wood collected as fuel for the night that the fire is allowed to be kindled. The dogs alone remain inactive during this busy scene, being kept harnessed to their burdens until the men have leisure to unstow the sledges and hang upon the trees every species of provision out of their reach. We had ample experience before morning of the necessity of this precaution as they contrived to steal a considerable part of our stores almost from underneath Hepburn's head, notwithstanding their having been well fed at supper. This evening we found the mercury of our thermometer had sunk into the bulb and was frozen. It rose again into the tube on being held to the fire but quickly redescended into the bulb on being removed into the air; we could not therefore ascertain by it the temperature of the atmosphere either then or during our journey. The weather was perfectly clear. January 19. We rose this morning after the enjoyment of a sound and comfortable repose and recommenced our journey at sunrise but made slow progress through the deep snow. The task of beating the track for the dogs was so very fatiguing that each of the men took the lead in turn for an hour and a half. The scenery of the banks of the river improved as we advanced today; some firs and poplars were intermixed with the willows. We passed through two creeks formed by islands, and encamped on a pleasant spot on the north shore, having only made six miles and three-quarters actual distance. The next day we pursued our course along the river; the dogs had the greatest difficulty in dragging their heavy burdens through the snow. We halted to refresh them at the foot of Sturgeon River and obtained the latitude 53 degrees 51 minutes 41 seconds North. This is a small stream which issues from a neighbouring lake. We encamped near to Mosquito Point having walked nine miles. The termination of the day's journey was a great relief to me who had been suffering during the greater part of it in consequence of my feet having been galled by the snowshoes; this however is an evil which few escape on their initiation to winter travelling. It excites no pity from the more experienced companions of the journey who travel on as fast as they can regardless of your pain. Mr. Isbester and an Orkney man joined us from Cumberland House and brought some pemmican that we had left behind, a supply which was very seasonable after our recent loss. The general occupation of Mr. Isbester during the winter is to follow or find out the Indians and collect their furs, and his present journey will appear adventurous to persons accustomed to the certainty of travelling on a well-known road. He was going in search of a band of Indians of whom no information had been received since last October, and his only guide for finding them was their promise to hunt in a certain quarter; but he looked at the jaunt with indifference and calculated on meeting them in six or seven days, for which time only he had provision. Few persons in this country suffer more from want of food than those occasionally do who are employed on this service. They are furnished with a sufficiency of provision to serve until they reach the part where the Indians are expected to be; but it frequently occurs that on their arrival at the spot they have gone elsewhere, and that a recent fall of snow has hidden their track, in which case the voyagers have to wander about in search of them; and it often happens when they succeed in finding the Indians that they are unprovided with meat. Mr. Isbester had been placed in this distressing situation only a few weeks ago and passed four days without either himself or his dogs tasting food. At length when he had determined on killing one of the dogs to satisfy his hunger he happily met with a beaten track which led him to some Indian lodges where he obtained food. The morning of the 21st was cold but pleasant for travelling. We left Mr. Isbester and his companion and crossed the peninsula of Mosquito Point to avoid a detour of several miles which the river makes. Though we put up at an early hour we gained eleven miles this day. Our encampment was at the lower extremity of Tobin's Falls. The snow being less deep on the rough ice which enclosed this rapid we proceeded on the 22nd at a quicker pace than usual but at the expense of great suffering to Mr. Back, myself and Hepburn, whose feet were much galled. After passing Tobin's Falls the river expands to the breadth of five hundred yards, and its banks are well wooded with pines, poplars, birch and willow. Many tracks of moose-deer and wolves were observed near the encampment. On the 23rd the sky was generally overcast and there were several snow showers. We saw two wolves and some foxes cross the river in the course of the day and passed many tracks of the moose and red-deer. Soon after we had encamped the snow fell heavily which was an advantage to us after we had retired to rest by its affording an additional covering to our blankets. The next morning at breakfast time two men arrived from Carlton on their way to Cumberland. Having the benefit of their track we were enabled, to our great joy, to march at a quick pace without snowshoes. My only regret was that the party proceeded too fast to allow of Mr. Back's halting occasionally to note the bearings of the points and delineate the course of the river* without being left behind. As the provisions were getting short I could not therefore with propriety check the progress of the party; and indeed it appeared to me less necessary as I understood the river had been carefully surveyed. In the afternoon we had to resume the encumbrance of the snowshoes and to pass over a rugged part where the ice had been piled over a collection of stones. The tracks of animals were very abundant on the river, particularly near the remains of an old establishment called the Lower Nippeween. (*Footnote. This was afterwards done by Dr. Richardson during a voyage to Carlton in the spring.) So much snow had fallen on the night of the 24th that the track we intended to follow was completely covered and our march today was very fatiguing. We passed the remains of two red-deer lying at the bases of perpendicular cliffs from the summits of which they had probably been forced by the wolves. These voracious animals, who are inferior in speed to the moose or red-deer, are said frequently to have recourse to this expedient in places where extensive plains are bounded by precipitous cliffs. Whilst the deer are quietly grazing the wolves assemble in great numbers and, forming a crescent, creep slowly towards the herd so as not to alarm them much at first but, when they perceive that they have fairly hemmed in the unsuspecting creatures and cut off their retreat across the plain, they move more quickly and with hideous yells terrify their prey and urge them to flight by the only open way, which is that towards the precipice, appearing to know that when the herd is once at full speed it is easily driven over the cliff, the rearmost urging on those that are before. The wolves then descend at their leisure and feast on the mangled carcasses. One of these animals passed close to the person who was beating the track but did not offer any violence. We encamped at sunset after walking thirteen miles. On the 26th we were rejoiced at passing the halfway point between Cumberland and Carlton. The scenery of the river is less pleasing beyond this point as there is a scarcity of wood. One of our men was despatched after a red-deer that appeared on the bank. He contrived to approach near enough to fire twice, though without success, before the animal moved away. After a fatiguing march of seventeen miles we put up at the Upper Nippeween, a deserted establishment, and performed the comfortable operations of shaving and washing for the first time since our departure from Cumberland, the weather having been hitherto too severe. We passed an uncomfortable and sleepless night and agreed next morning to encamp in future in the open air as preferable to the imperfect shelter of a deserted house without doors or windows. The morning was extremely cold but fortunately the wind was light which prevented our feeling it severely; experience indeed had taught us that the sensation of cold depends less upon the state of temperature than the force of the wind. An attempt was made to obtain the latitude which failed in consequence of the screw that adjusts the telescope of the sextant being immovably fixed from the moisture upon it having frozen. The instrument could not be replaced in its case before the ice was thawed by the fire in the evening. In the course of the day we passed the confluence of the south branch of the Saskatchewan, which rises from the Rocky Mountains near the sources of the northern branch of the Missouri. At Coles Falls, which commence a distance from the branch, we found the surface of the ice very uneven and many spots of open water. We passed the ruins of an establishment which the traders had been compelled to abandon in consequence of the intractable conduct and pilfering habits of the Assineboine or Stone Indians; and we learned that all the residents at a post on the south branch had been cut off by the same tribe some years ago. We travelled twelve miles today. The wolves serenaded us through the night with a chorus of their agreeable howling but none of them ventured near the encampment. But Mr. Back's repose was disturbed by a more serious evil: his buffalo robe caught fire and the shoes on his feet being contracted by the heat gave him such pain that he jumped up in the cold and ran into the snow as the only means of obtaining relief. On the 28th we had a strong and piercing wind from North-West in our faces and much snow-drift; we were compelled to walk as quick as we could and to keep constantly rubbing the exposed parts of the skin to prevent their being frozen, but some of the party suffered in spite of every precaution. We descried three red-deer on the banks of the river and were about to send the best marksmen after them when they espied the party and ran away. A supply of meat would have been very seasonable as the men's provision had become scanty and the dogs were without food except a little burnt leather. Owing to the scarcity of wood we had to walk until a late hour before a good spot for an encampment could be found and had then attained only eleven miles. The night was miserably cold; our tea froze in the tin pots before we could drink it and even a mixture of spirits and water became quite thick by congelation; yet after we lay down to rest we felt no inconvenience and heeded not the wolves though they were howling within view. The 29th was also very cold until the sun burst forth when the travelling became pleasant. The banks of the river are very scantily supplied with wood through the part we passed today. A long track on the south shore called Holms Plains is destitute of anything like a tree and the opposite bank has only stunted willows; but after walking sixteen miles we came to a spot better wooded and encamped opposite to a remarkable place called by the voyagers The Neck of Land. A short distance below our encampment, on the peninsula formed by the confluence of the Net-setting river with the Saskatchewan, there stands a representation of Kepoochikawn which was formerly held in high veneration by the Indians and is still looked upon with some respect. It is merely a large willow bush having its tops bound into a bunch. Many offerings of value such as handsome dresses, hatchets, and kettles, used to be made to it, but of late its votaries have been less liberal. It was mentioned to us as a signal instance of its power that a sacrilegious moose-deer, having ventured to crop a few of its tender twigs, was found dead at the distance of a few yards. The bush having now grown old and stunted is exempted from similar violations. On the 30th we directed our course round The Neck of Land which is well clothed with pines and firs; though the opposite or western bank is nearly destitute of wood. This contrast between the two banks continued until we reached the commencement of what our companions called the Barren Grounds when both the banks were alike bare. Vast plains extend behind the southern bank which afford excellent pasturage for the buffalo and other grazing animals. In the evening we saw a herd of the former but could not get near to them. After walking fifteen miles we encamped. The men's provision having been entirely expended last night we shared our small stock with them. The poor dogs had been toiling some days on the most scanty fare; their rapacity in consequence was unbounded; they forced open a deal box containing tea, etc. to get at a small piece of meat which had been incautiously placed in it. ARRIVAL AT CARLTON HOUSE. As soon as daylight permitted the party commenced their march in expectation of reaching Carlton House to breakfast, but we did not arrive before noon although the track was good. We were received by Mr. Prudens, the gentleman in charge of the post, with that friendly attention which Governor Williams' circular was calculated to ensure at every station; and were soon afterwards regaled with a substantial dish of buffalo steaks which would have been excellent under any circumstances but were particularly relished by us after our travelling fare of dried meat and pemmican, though eaten without either bread or vegetables. After this repast we had the comfort of changing our travelling dresses which had been worn for fourteen days; a gratification which can only be truly estimated by those who have been placed under similar circumstances. I was still in too great pain from swellings in the ankles to proceed to La Montee, the North-West Company's establishment distant about three miles; but Mr. Hallet, the gentleman in charge, came the following morning and I presented to him the circular from Mr. S. McGillivray. He had already been furnished however with a copy of it from Mr. Connolly, and was quite prepared to assist us in our advance to the Athabasca. Mr. Back and I, having been very desirous to see some of the Stone Indians who reside on the plains in this vicinity, learned with regret that a large band of them had left the house on the preceding day, but our curiosity was amply gratified by the appearance of some individuals on the following and every subsequent day during our stay. The looks of these people would have prepossessed me in their favour but for the assurances I had received from the gentlemen of the posts of their gross and habitual treachery. Their countenances are affable and pleasing; their eyes large and expressive, nose aquiline, teeth white and regular, the forehead bold, the cheek-bones rather high. Their figure is usually good, above the middle size with slender but well proportioned limbs. Their colour is a light copper and they have a profusion of very black hair which hangs over the ears and shades the face. Their dress, which I think extremely neat and convenient, consists of a vest and trousers of leather fitted to the body; over these a buffalo robe is thrown gracefully. These dresses are in general cleaned with white-mud, a sort of marl, though some use red-earth, a kind of bog-iron-ore; but this colour neither looks so light nor forms such an agreeable contrast as the white with the black hair of the robe. Their quiver hangs behind them and in the hand is carried the bow with an arrow always ready for attack or defence, and sometimes they have a gun; they also carry a bag containing materials for making a fire, some tobacco, the calumet or pipe, and whatever valuables they possess. This bag is neatly ornamented with porcupine quills. Thus equipped the Stone Indian bears himself with an air of perfect independence. The only articles of European commerce they require in exchange for the meat they furnish to the trading post are tobacco, knives, ammunition, and spirits, and occasionally some beads, but more frequently buttons which they string in their hair as ornaments. A successful hunter will probably have two or three dozen of them hanging at equal distances on locks of hair from each side of the forehead. At the end of these locks small coral bells are sometimes attached which tinkle at every motion of the head, a noise which seems greatly to delight the wearer; sometimes strings of buttons are bound round the head like a tiara; and a bunch of feathers gracefully crowns the head. The Stone Indians steal whatever they can, particularly horses; these animals they maintain are common property sent by the Almighty for the general use of man and therefore may be taken wherever met with; still they admit the right of the owners to watch them and to prevent theft if possible. This avowed disposition on their part calls forth the strictest vigilance at the different posts; notwithstanding which the most daring attacks are often made with success, sometimes on parties of three or four but oftener on individuals. About two years ago a band of them had the audacity to attempt to take away some horses which were grazing before the gate of the North-West Company's fort and, after braving the fire from the few people then at the establishment through the whole day and returning their shots occasionally, they actually succeeded in their enterprise. One man was killed on each side. They usually strip defenceless persons whom they meet of all their garments, but particularly of those which have buttons, and leave them to travel alone in that state, however severe the weather. If resistance be expected they not unfrequently murder before they attempt to rob. The traders when they travel invariably keep some men on guard to prevent surprise whilst the others sleep; and often practise the stratagem of lighting a fire at sunset, which they leave burning, and move on after dark to a more distant encampment--yet these precautions do not always baffle the depredators. Such is the description of men whom the traders of this river have constantly to guard against. It must require a long residence among them and much experience of their manners to overcome the apprehensions their hostility and threats are calculated to excite. Through fear of having their provisions and supplies entirely cut off the traders are often obliged to overlook the grossest offences, even murder, though the delinquents present themselves with unblushing effrontery almost immediately after the fact and perhaps boast of it. They do not on detection consider themselves under any obligation to deliver up what they have stolen without receiving an equivalent. STONE INDIANS. The Stone Indians keep in amity with their neighbours the Crees from motives of interest; and the two tribes unite in determined hostility against the nations dwelling to the westward which are generally called Slave Indians--a term of reproach applied by the Crees to those tribes against whom they have waged successful wars. The Slave Indians are said greatly to resemble the Stone Indians, being equally desperate and daring in their acts of aggression and dishonesty towards the traders. These parties go to war almost every summer and sometimes muster three or four hundred horsemen on each side. Their leaders, in approaching the foe, exercise all the caution of the most skilful generals; and whenever either party considers that it has gained the best ground, or finds it can surprise the other, the attack is made. They advance at once to close quarters and the slaughter is consequently great though the battle may be short. The prisoners of either sex are seldom spared but slain on the spot with wanton cruelty. The dead are scalped and he is considered the bravest person who bears the greatest number of scalps from the field. These are afterwards attached to his war dress and worn as proofs of his prowess. The victorious party during a certain time blacken their faces and every part of their dress in token of joy, and in that state they often come to the establishment, if near, to testify their delight by dancing and singing, bearing all the horrid insignia of war, to display their individual feats. When in mourning they completely cover their dress and hair with white mud. The Crees in the vicinity of Carlton House have the same cast of countenance as those about Cumberland but are much superior to them in appearance, living in a more abundant country. These men are more docile, tractable, and industrious than the Stone Indians and bring greater supplies of provision and furs to the posts. Their general mode of dress resembles that of the Stone Indians; but sometimes they wear cloth leggings, blankets, and other useful articles when they can afford to purchase them. They also decorate their hair with buttons. The Crees procure guns from the traders and use them in preference to the bow and arrow; and from them the Stone Indians often get supplied either by stealth, gaming, or traffic. Like the rest of their nation these Crees are remarkably fond of spirits and would make any sacrifice to obtain them. I regretted to find the demand for this pernicious article had greatly increased within the last few years. The following notice of these Indians is extracted from Dr. Richardson's Journal: The Asseenaboine, termed by the Crees Asseeneepoytuck or Stone Indians, are a tribe of Sioux who speak a dialect of the Iroquois, one of the great divisions under which the American philologists have classed the known dialects of the aborigines of North America. The Stone Indians or, as they name themselves, Eascab, originally entered this part of the country under the protection of the Crees and, in concert with them, attacked and drove to the westward the former inhabitants of the banks of the Saskatchewan. They are still the allies of the Crees but have now become more numerous than their former protectors. They exhibit all the bad qualities ascribed to the Mengwe or Iroquois, the stock whence they are sprung. Of their actual number I could obtain no precise information but it is very great. The Crees who inhabit the plains, being fur hunters, are better known to the traders. They are divided into two distinct bands, the Ammiskwatchhethinyoowuc or Beaver Hill Crees, who have about forty tents and the Sackaweethinyoowuc or Thick Wood Crees who have thirty-five. The tents average nearly ten inmates each, which gives a population of seven hundred and fifty to the whole. The nations who were driven to the westward by the Eascab and Crees are termed, in general, by the latter, Yatcheethinyoowuc, which has been translated Slave Indians but more properly signifies Strangers. They now inhabit the country around Fort Augustus, and towards the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and have increased in strength until they have become an object of terror to the Eascab themselves. They rear a great number of horses, make use of firearms, and are fond of European articles, in order to purchase which they hunt the beaver and other furred animals, but they depend principally on the buffalo for subsistence. They are divided into five nations: First, the Pawausticeythinyoowuc, or Fall Indians, so named from their former residence on the falls of the Saskatchewan. They are the Minetarres with whom Captain Lewis's party had a conflict on their return from the Missouri. They have about four hundred and fifty or five hundred tents; their language is very guttural and difficult. Second, the Peganooeythinyoowuc Pegans, or Muddy River Indians named in their own language Peganoekoon, have four hundred tents. Third, the Meethcothinyoowuc, or Blood Indians, named by themselves Kainoekoon, have three hundred tents. Fourth, the Cuskoetehwawthesseetuck, or Blackfoot Indians, in their own language Saxoekoekoon, have three hundred and fifty tents. The last three nations or tribes, the Pegans, Blood Indians, and Blackfeet, speak the same language. It is pronounced in a slow and distinct tone, has much softness, and is easily acquired by their neighbours. I am assured by the best interpreters in the country that it bears no affinity to the Cree, Sioux, or Chipewyan languages. Lastly the Sassees, or Circees, have one hundred and fifty tents; they speak the same language with their neighbours, the Snare Indians, who are a tribe of the extensive family of the Chipewyans.* (*Footnote. As the subjects may be interesting to philologists I subjoin a few words of the Blackfoot language: Peestah kan: tobacco. Moohksee: an awl. Nappoeoohkee: rum. Cook keet: give me. Eeninee: buffalo. Pooxapoot: come here. Kat oetsits: none, I have none. Keet sta kee: a beaver. Naum: a bow. Stooan: a knife. Sassoopats: ammunition. Meenee: beads. Poommees: fat. Miss ta poot: keep off. Saw: no. Stwee: cold; it is cold. Pennakomit: a horse. Ahseeu: good.) ... VISIT TO A BUFFALO POUND. On the 6th of February we accompanied Mr. Prudens on a visit to a Cree encampment and a buffalo pound about six miles from the house; we found seven tents pitched within a small cluster of pines which adjoined the pound. The largest, which we entered, belonged to the chief who was absent but came in on learning our arrival. The old man (about sixty) welcomed us with a hearty shake of the hand and the customary salutation of "What cheer!" an expression which they have gained from the traders. As we had been expected they had caused the tent to be neatly arranged, fresh grass was spread on the ground, buffalo robes were placed on the side opposite the door for us to sit on, and a kettle was on the fire to boil meat for us. After a few minutes' conversation an invitation was given to the chief and his hunters to smoke the calumet with us as a token of our friendship: this was loudly announced through the camp and ten men from the other tents immediately joined our party. On their entrance the women and children withdrew, their presence on such occasions being contrary to etiquette. The calumet having been prepared and lighted by Mr. Prudens' clerk was presented to the chief who performed the following ceremony before he commenced smoking: He first pointed the stem to the south, then to the west, north, and east, and afterwards to the heavens, the earth and the fire, as an offering to the presiding spirits; he took three whiffs only and then passed the pipe to his next companion who took the same number of whiffs and so did each person as it went round. After the calumet had been replenished the person who then commenced repeated only the latter part of the ceremony, pointing the stem to the heavens, the earth and the fire. Some spirits mixed with water were presented to the old man who before he drank demanded a feather which he dipped into the cup several times and sprinkled the moisture on the ground, pronouncing each time a prayer. His first address to the Keetchee Manitou, or Great Spirit, was that buffalo might be abundant everywhere and that plenty might come into their pound. He next prayed that the other animals might be numerous and particularly those which were valuable for their furs, and then implored that the party present might escape the sickness which was at that time prevalent and be blessed with constant health. Some other supplications followed which we could not get interpreted without interrupting the whole proceeding; but at every close the whole Indian party assented by exclaiming Aha; and when he had finished the old man drank a little and passed the cup round. After these ceremonies each person smoked at his leisure and they engaged in a general conversation which I regretted not understanding as it seemed to be very humorous, exciting frequent bursts of laughter. The younger men in particular appeared to ridicule the abstinence of one of the party who neither drank nor smoked. He bore their jeering with perfect composure and assured them, as I was told, they would be better if they would follow his example. I was happy to learn from Mr. Prudens that this man was not only one of the best hunters but the most cheerful and contented of the tribe. Four Stone Indians arrived at this time and were invited into the tent but one only accepted the invitation and partook of the fare. When Mr. Prudens heard the others refuse he gave immediate directions that our horses should be narrowly watched as he suspected these fellows wished to carry them off. Having learned that these Crees considered Mr. Back and myself to be war chiefs possessing great power and that they expected we should make some address to them I desired them to be kind to the traders, to be industrious in procuring them provision and furs, and to refrain from stealing their stores and horses; and I assured them that if I heard of their continuing to behave kindly I would mention their good conduct in the strongest terms to their Great Father across the sea (by which appellation they designate the King) whose favourable consideration they had been taught by the traders to value most highly. They all promised to follow my advice and assured me it was not they but the Stone Indians who robbed and annoyed the traders. The Stone Indian who was present heard this accusation against his tribe quite unmoved, but he probably did not understand the whole of the communication. We left them to finish their rum and went to look round the lodges and examine the pound. The greatest proportion of labour in savage life falls to the women; we now saw them employed in dressing skins, and conveying wood, water, and provision. As they have often to fetch the meat from some distance they are assisted in this duty by their dogs which are not harnessed in sledges but carry their burdens in a manner peculiarly adapted to this level country. Two long poles are fastened by a collar to the dog's neck; their ends trail on the ground and are kept at a proper distance by a hoop which is lashed between them immediately behind the dog's tail; the hoop is covered with network upon which the load is placed. The boys were amusing themselves by shooting arrows at a mark and thus training to become hunters. The Stone Indians are so expert with the bow and arrow that they can strike a very small object at a considerable distance and will shoot with sufficient force to pierce through the body of a buffalo when near. The buffalo pound was a fenced circular space of about a hundred yards in diameter; the entrance was banked up with snow to a sufficient height to prevent the retreat of the animals that once have entered. For about a mile on each side of the road leading to the pound stakes were driven into the ground at nearly equal distances of about twenty yards; these were intended to represent men and to deter the animals from attempting to break out on either side. Within fifty or sixty yards from the pound branches of trees were placed between these stakes to screen the Indians who lie down behind them to await the approach of the buffalo. The principal dexterity in this species of chase is shown by the horsemen who have to manoeuvre round the herd in the plains so as to urge them to enter the roadway which is about a quarter of a mile broad. When this has been accomplished they raise loud shouts and, pressing close upon the animals, so terrify them that they rush heedlessly forward towards the snare. When they have advanced as far as the men who are lying in ambush they also rise and increase the consternation by violent shouting and firing guns. The affrighted beasts having no alternative run directly to the pound where they are quickly despatched either with an arrow or gun. There was a tree in the centre of the pound on which the Indians had hung strips of buffalo flesh and pieces of cloth as tributary or grateful offerings to the Great Master of Life; and we were told that they occasionally place a man in the tree to sing to the presiding spirit as the buffaloes are advancing who must keep his station until the whole that have entered are killed. This species of hunting is very similar to that of taking elephants on the island of Ceylon but upon a smaller scale. The Crees complained to us of the audacity of a party of Stone Indians who two nights before had stripped their revered tree of many of its offerings and had injured their pound by setting their stakes out of the proper places. Other modes of killing the buffalo are practised by the Indians with success; of these the hunting them on horseback requires most dexterity. An expert hunter, when well mounted, dashes at the herd and chooses an individual which he endeavours to separate from the rest. If he succeeds he contrives to keep him apart by the proper management of his horse though going at full speed. Whenever he can get sufficiently near for a ball to penetrate the beast's hide he fires and seldom fails of bringing the animal down; though of course he cannot rest the piece against the shoulder nor take a deliberate aim. On this service the hunter is often exposed to considerable danger from the fall of his horse in the numerous holes which the badgers make in these plains, and also from the rage of the buffalo which when closely pressed often turns suddenly and, rushing furiously on the horse, frequently succeeds in wounding it or dismounting the rider. Whenever the animal shows this disposition which the experienced hunter will readily perceive he immediately pulls up his horse and goes off in another direction. When the buffaloes are on their guard horses cannot be used in approaching them; but the hunter dismounts at some distance and crawls in the snow towards the herd, pushing his gun before him. If the buffaloes happen to look towards him he stops and keeps quite motionless until their eyes are turned in another direction; by this cautious proceeding a skilful person will get so near as to be able to kill two or three out of the herd. It will easily be imagined this service cannot be very agreeable when the thermometer stands 30 or 40 degrees below zero as sometimes happens in this country. As we were returning from the tents the dogs that were harnessed to three sledges, in one of which Mr. Back was seated, set off in pursuit of a buffalo-calf. Mr. Back was speedily thrown from his vehicle and had to join me in my horse-cariole. Mr. Heriot, having gone to recover the dogs, found them lying exhausted beside the calf which they had baited until it was as exhausted as themselves. Mr. Heriot, to show us the mode of hunting on horseback or as the traders term it, running of the buffalo, went in chase of a cow and killed it after firing three shots. The buffalo is a huge and shapeless animal quite devoid of grace or beauty; particularly awkward in running but by no means slow; when put to his speed he plunges through the deep snow very expeditiously; the hair is dark brown, very shaggy, curling about the head, neck, and hump, and almost covering the eye, particularly in the bull which is larger and more unsightly than the cow. The most esteemed part of the animal is the hump, called by the Canadians bos, by the Hudson's Bay people the wig; it is merely a strong muscle on which nature at certain seasons forms a considerable quantity of fat. It is attached to the long spinous processes of the first dorsal vertebrae and seems to be destined to support the enormous head of the animal. The meat which covers the spinal processes themselves after the wig is removed is next in esteem for its flavour and juiciness and is more exclusively termed the hump by the hunters. The party was prevented from visiting a Stone Indian encampment by a heavy fall of snow, which made it impracticable to go and return the same day. We were dissuaded from sleeping at their tents by the interpreter at the North-West post who told us they considered the whooping-cough and measles, under which they were now suffering, to have been introduced by some white people recently arrived in the country, and that he feared those who had lost relatives, imagining we were the persons, might vent their revenge on us. We regretted to learn that these diseases had been so very destructive among the tribes along the Saskatchewan as to have carried off about three hundred persons, Crees and Asseenaboines, within the trading circle of these establishments. The interpreter also informed us of another bad trait peculiar to the Stone Indians. Though they receive a visitor kindly at their tents and treat him very hospitably during his stay yet it is very probable they will despatch some young men to waylay and rob him in going towards the post: indeed all the traders assured us it was more necessary to be vigilantly on our guard on the occasion of a visit to them than at any other time. Carlton House (which our observations place in latitude 52 degrees 50 minutes 47 seconds North, longitude 106 degrees 12 minutes 42 seconds West, variation 20 degrees 44 minutes 47 seconds East) is pleasantly situated about a quarter of a mile from the river's side on the flat ground under the shelter of the high banks that bound the plains. The land is fertile and produces with little trouble ample returns of wheat, barley, oats, and potatoes. The ground is prepared for the reception of these vegetables about the middle of April and when Dr. Richardson visited this place on May 10th the blade of wheat looked strong and healthy. There were only five acres in cultivation at the period of my visit. The prospect from the fort must be pretty in summer owing to the luxuriant verdure of this fertile soil; but in the uniform and cheerless garb of winter it has little to gratify the eye. Beyond the steep bank behind the house commences the vast plain whose boundaries are but imperfectly known; it extends along the south branch of the Saskatchewan and towards the sources of the Missouri and Asseenaboine Rivers, being scarcely interrupted through the whole of this great space by hills or even rising grounds. The excellent pasturage furnishes food in abundance to a variety of grazing animals of which the buffalo, red-deer, and a species of antelope are the most important. Their presence naturally attracts great hordes of wolves which are of two kinds, the large, and the small. Many bears prowl about the banks of this river in summer; of these the grizzly bear is the most ferocious and is held in dread both by Indians and Europeans. The traveller in crossing these plains not only suffers from the want of food and water but is also exposed to hazard from his horse stumbling in the numerous badger-holes. In many large districts the only fuel is the dried dung of the buffalo; and when a thirsty traveller reaches a spring he has not unfrequently the mortification to find the water salt. Carlton House and La Montee are provision-posts, only an inconsiderable quantity of furs being obtained at either of them. The provisions are procured in the winter season from the Indians in the form of dried meat and fat and, when converted by mixture into pemmican, furnish the principal support of the voyagers in their passages to and from the depots in summer. A considerable quantity of it is also kept for winter use at most of the fur-posts as the least bulky article that can be taken on a winter journey. The mode of making pemmican is very simple, the meat is dried by the Indians in the sun or over a fire, and pounded by beating it with stones when spread on a skin. In this state it is brought to the forts where the admixture of hair is partially sifted out and a third part of melted fat incorporated with it, partly by turning the two over with a wooden shovel, partly by kneading them together with the hands. The pemmican is then firmly pressed into leathern bags, each capable of containing eighty-five pounds and, being placed in an airy place to cool, is fit for use. It keeps in this state if not allowed to get wet very well for one year and with great care it may be preserved good for two. Between three and four hundred bags were made here by each of the Companies this year. There were eight men besides Mr. Prudens and his clerk belonging to Carlton House. At La Montee there were seventy Canadians and half-breeds and sixty women and children who consumed upwards of seven hundred pounds of buffalo meat daily, the allowance per diem for each man being eight pounds: a portion not so extravagant as may at first appear when allowance is made for bone and the entire want of farinaceous food or vegetables. There are other provision posts, Fort Augustus and Edmonton farther up the river, from whence some furs are also procured. The Stone Indians have threatened to cut off the supplies in going up to these establishments to prevent their enemies from obtaining ammunition and other European articles; but as these menaces have been frequently made without being put in execution the traders now hear them without any great alarm though they take every precaution to prevent being surprised. Mr. Back and I were present when an old Cree communicated to Mr. Prudens that the Indians spoke of killing all the white people in that vicinity this year which information he received with perfect composure and was amused as well as ourselves with the man's judicious remark which immediately followed, "A pretty state we shall then be in without the goods you bring us." GOITRES. The following remarks on a well-known disease are extracted from Dr. Richardson's Journal: Bronchocele or Goitre is a common disorder at Edmonton. I examined several of the individuals afflicted with it and endeavoured to obtain every information on the subject from the most authentic sources. The following facts may be depended upon. The disorder attacks those only who drink the water of the river. It is indeed in its worst state confined almost entirely to the half-breed women and children who reside constantly at the fort and make use of river water drawn in the winter through a hole cut in the ice. The men, being often from home on journeys through the plain, when their drink is melted snow, are less affected; and if any of them exhibit during the winter some incipient symptoms of the complaint the annual summer voyage to the sea-coast generally effects a cure. The natives who confine themselves to snow-water in the winter and drink of the small rivulets which flow through the plains in the summer are exempt from the attacks of this disease. These facts are curious inasmuch as they militate against the generally received opinion that the disease is caused by drinking snow-water; an opinion which seems to have originated from bronchocele being endemial to subalpine districts. The Saskatchewan at Edmonton is clear in the winter and also in the summer except during the May and July floods. This distance from the Rocky Mountains (which I suppose to be of primitive formation) is upwards of one hundred and thirty miles. The neighbouring plains are alluvial, the soil is calcareous and contains numerous travelled fragments of limestone. At a considerable distance below Edmonton the river, continuing its course through the plains, becomes turbid and acquires a white colour. In this state it is drunk by the inmates of Carlton House where the disease is known only by name. It is said that the inhabitants of Rocky Mountain House, sixty miles nearer the source of the river are more severely affected than those at Edmonton. The same disease occurs near the sources of the Elk and Peace Rivers; but in those parts of the country which are distant from the Rocky Mountain Chain it is unknown although melted snow forms the only drink of the natives for nine months of the year. A residence of a single year at Edmonton is sufficient to render a family bronchocelous. Many of the goitres acquire great size. Burnt sponge has been tried and found to remove the disease but an exposure to the same cause immediately reproduces it. A great proportion of the children of women who have goitres are born idiots with large heads and the other distinguishing marks of cretins. I could not learn whether it was necessary that both parents should have goitres to produce cretin children: indeed the want of chastity in the half-breed women would be a bar to the deduction of any inference on this head. ... DEPARTURE FROM CARLTON HOUSE. February 8. Having recovered from the swellings and pains which our late march from Cumberland had occasioned we prepared for the commencement of our journey to Isle a la Crosse, and requisitions were made on both the establishments for the means of conveyance and the necessary supply of provisions for the party which were readily furnished. On the 9th the carioles and sledges were loaded and sent off after breakfast; but Mr. Back and I remained till the afternoon as Mr. Prudens had offered that his horses should convey us to the encampment. At three P.M. we parted from our kind host and, in passing through the gate, were honoured with a salute of musketry. After riding six miles we joined the men at their encampment which was made under the shelter of a few poplars. The dogs had been so much fatigued in wading through the very deep snow with their heavy burdens, having to drag upwards of ninety pounds' weight each, that they could get no farther. Soon after our arrival the snow began to fall heavily and it continued through the greater part of the night. Our next day's march was therefore particularly tedious, the snow being deep and the route lying across an unvarying level, destitute of wood except one small cluster of willows. In the afternoon we reached the end of the plain and came to an elevation on which poplars, willows, and some pines grew, where we encamped, having travelled ten miles. We crossed three small lakes, two of fresh water and one of salt, near the latter of which we encamped and were in consequence obliged to use for our tea water made from snow which has always a disagreeable taste. We had scarcely ascended the hill on the following morning when a large herd of red-deer was perceived grazing at a little distance; and though we were amply supplied with provision our Canadian companions could not resist the temptation of endeavouring to add to our stock. A half-breed hunter was therefore sent after them. He succeeded in wounding one but not so as to prevent its running off with the herd in a direction wide of our course. A couple of rabbits and a brace of wood partridges were shot in the afternoon. There was an agreeable variety of hill and dale in the scenery we passed through today, and sufficient wood for ornament but not enough to crowd the picture. The valleys were intersected by several small lakes and pools whose snowy covering was happily contrasted with the dark green of the pine-trees which surrounded them. After ascending a moderately high hill by a winding path through a close wood we opened suddenly upon Lake Iroquois and had a full view of its picturesque shores. We crossed it and encamped. Though the sky was cloudless yet the weather was warm. We had the gratification of finding a beaten track soon after we started on the morning of the 12th and were thus enabled to walk briskly. We crossed at least twenty hills and found a small lake or pool at the foot of each. The destructive ravages of fire were visible during the greater part of the day. The only wood we saw for miles together consisted of pine-trees stripped of their branches and bark by this element: in other parts poplars alone were growing which we have remarked invariably to succeed the pine after a conflagration. We walked twenty miles today but the direct distance was only sixteen. The remains of an Indian hut were found in a deep glen and close to it was placed a pile of wood which our companions supposed to cover a deposit of provision. Our Canadian voyagers, induced by their insatiable desire of procuring food, proceeded to remove the upper pieces and examine its contents when, to their surprise, they found the body of a female, clothed in leather, which appeared to have been recently placed there. Her former garments, the materials for making a fire, a fishing-line, a hatchet, and a bark dish were laid beside the corpse. The wood was carefully replaced. A small owl, perched on a tree near to the spot, called forth many singular remarks from our companions as to its being a good or bad omen. We walked the whole of the 13th over flat meadow-land which is much resorted to by the buffalo at all seasons. Some herds of them were seen which our hunters were too unskilful to approach. In the afternoon we reached the Stinking Lake which is nearly of an oval form. Its shores are very low and swampy to which circumstances and not to the bad quality of the waters it owes its Indian name. Our observations place its western part in latitude 53 degrees 25 minutes 24 seconds North, longitude 107 degrees 18 minutes 58 seconds West, variation 20 degrees 32 minutes 10 seconds East. After a march of fifteen miles and a half we encamped among a few pines at the only spot where we saw sufficient wood for making our fire during the day. The next morning about an hour after we had commenced our march we came upon a beaten track and perceived recent marks of snowshoes. In a short time an Iroquois joined us, who was residing with a party of Cree Indians, to secure the meat and furs they should collect for the North-West Company. He accompanied us as far as the stage on which his meat was placed and then gave us a very pressing invitation to halt for the day and partake of his fare which, as the hour was too early, we declined, much to the annoyance of our Canadian companions who had been cherishing the prospect of indulging their amazing appetites at this well-furnished store ever since the man had been with us. He gave them however a small supply previous to our parting. The route now crossed some ranges of hills on which fir, birch and poplar grew so thickly that we had much difficulty in getting the sledges through the narrow pathway between them. In the evening we descended from the elevated ground, crossed three swampy meadows, and encamped at their northern extremity within a cluster of large pine-trees, the branches of which were elegantly decorated with abundance of a greenish yellow lichen. Our march was ten miles. The weather was very mild, almost too warm for the exercise we were taking. We had a strong gale from the North-West during the night which subsided as the morning opened. One of the sledges had been so much broken the day before in the woods that we had to divide its cargo among the others. We started after this had been arranged and, finding almost immediately a firm track, soon arrived at some Indian lodges to which it led. The inhabitants were Crees belonging to the posts on the Saskatchewan from whence they had come to hunt beaver. We made but a short stay and proceeded through a swamp to Pelican Lake. Our view to the right was bounded by a range of lofty hills which extended for several miles in a north and south direction which, it may be remarked, was that of all the hilly land we had passed since quitting the plain. Pelican Lake is of an irregular form, about six miles from east to west and eight from north to south; it decreases to the breadth of a mile towards the northern extremity and is there terminated by a creek. We went up this creek for a short distance and then struck into the woods and encamped among a cluster of the firs which the Canadians term cypres (Pinus banksiana) having come fourteen miles and a half. February 16. Shortly after commencing the journey today we met an Indian and his family who had come from the houses at Green Lake; they informed us the track was well beaten the whole way. We therefore put forth our utmost speed in the hope of reaching them by night but were disappointed, and had to halt at dark about twelve miles from them in a fisherman's hut which was unoccupied. Frequent showers of snow fell during the day and the atmosphere was thick and gloomy. We started at an early hour the following morning and reached the Hudson's Bay Company's post to breakfast, and were received very kindly by Mr. MacFarlane, the gentleman in charge. The other establishment, situated on the opposite side of the river, was under the direction of Mr. Dugald Cameron, one of the partners of the North-West Company on whom Mr. Back and I called soon after our arrival and were honoured with a salute of musketry. These establishments are small but said to be well situated for procuring furs; as the numerous creeks in their vicinity are much resorted to by the beaver, otter and musquash. The residents usually obtain a superabundant supply of provision. This season however they barely had sufficient for their own support, owing to the epidemic which has incapacitated the Indians for hunting. The Green Lake lies nearly north and south, is eighteen miles in length and does not exceed one mile and a half of breadth in any part. The water is deep and it is in consequence one of the last lakes in the country that is frozen. Excellent tittameg and trout are caught in it from March to December but after that time most of the fish remove to some larger lake. We remained two days awaiting the return of some men who had been sent to the Indian lodges for meat and who were to go on with us. Mr. Back and I did not need this rest, having completely surmounted the pain occasioned by the snowshoes. We dined twice with Mr. Cameron and received from him many useful suggestions respecting our future operations. This gentleman, having informed us that provisions would probably be very scarce next spring in the Athabasca department in consequence of the sickness of the Indians during the hunting season, undertook at my request to cause a supply of pemmican to be conveyed from the Saskatchewan to Isle a la Crosse for our use during the winter, and I wrote to apprise Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood that they would find it at the latter post when they passed, and also to desire them to bring as much as the canoes would stow from Cumberland. The atmosphere was clear and cold during our stay; observations were obtained at the Hudson's Bay Fort, latitude 54 degrees 16 minutes 10 seconds North, longitude 107 degrees 29 minutes 52 seconds West, variation 22 degrees 6 minutes 35 seconds East. February 20. Having been equipped with carioles, sledges and provisions from the two posts, we this day recommenced our journey and were much amused by the novelty of the salute given at our departure, the guns being principally fired by the women in the absence of the men. Our course was directed to the end of the lake and for a short distance along a small river; we then crossed the woods to the Beaver River which we found to be narrow and very serpentine, having moderately high banks. We encamped about one mile and a half farther up among poplars. The next day we proceeded along the river; it was winding and about two hundred yards broad. We passed the mouths of two rivers whose waters it receives; the latter one we were informed is a channel by which the Indians go to the Lesser Slave Lake. The banks of the river became higher as we advanced and were adorned with pines, poplars and willows. Though the weather was very cold we travelled more comfortably than at any preceding time since our departure from Cumberland as we had light carioles which enabled us to ride nearly the whole day warmly covered up with a buffalo robe. We were joined by Mr. McLeod of the North-West Company who had kindly brought some things from Green Lake which our sledges could not carry. Pursuing our route along the river we reached at an early hour the upper extremity of the Grand Rapid where the ice was so rough that the carioles and sledges had to be conveyed across a point of land. Soon after noon we left the river, inclining North-East, and directed our course North-West until we reached Long Lake and encamped at its northern extremity, having come twenty-three miles. This lake is about fourteen miles long and from three-quarters to one mile and a half broad, its shores and islands low but well wooded. There were frequent snow-showers during the day. ISLE A LA CROSSE. February 23. The night was very stormy but the wind became more moderate in the morning. We passed today through several nameless lakes and swamps before we came to Train Lake which received its name from being the place where the traders procured the birch to make their sledges or traineaux; but this wood has been all used and there only remain pines and a few poplars. We met some sledges laden with fish, kindly sent to meet us by Mr. Clark of the Hudson's Bay Company on hearing of our approach. Towards the evening the weather became much more unpleasant and we were exposed to a piercingly cold wind and much snowdrift in traversing the Isle a la Crosse Lake; we were therefore highly pleased at reaching the Hudson's Bay House by six P.M. We were received in the most friendly manner by Mr. Clark and honoured by volleys of musketry. Similar marks of attention were shown to us on the following day by Mr. Bethune, the partner in charge of the North-West Company's fort. I found here the letters which I had addressed from Cumberland in November last to the partners of the North-West Company in the Athabasca, which circumstance convinced me of the necessity of our present journey. These establishments are situated on the southern side of the lake and close to each other. They are forts of considerable importance being placed at a point of communication with the English River, the Athabasca and Columbia Districts. The country around them is low and intersected with water, and was formerly much frequented by beavers and otters which however have been so much hunted by the Indians that their number is greatly decreased. The Indians frequenting these forts are the Crees and some Chipewyans; they scarcely ever come except in the spring and autumn, in the former season to bring their winter's collection of furs and in the latter to get the stores they require. Three Chipewyan lads came in during our stay to report what furs the band to which they belonged had collected and to desire they might be sent for, the Indians having declined bringing either furs or meat themselves since the opposition between the Companies commenced. Mr. Back drew a portrait of one of the boys. Isle a la Crosse Lake receives its name from an island situated near the forts on which the Indians formerly assembled annually to amuse themselves at the game of the Cross. It is justly celebrated for abundance of the finest tittameg, which weigh from five to fifteen pounds. The residents live principally upon this most delicious fish which fortunately can be eaten a long time without disrelish. It is plentifully caught with nets throughout the year except for two or three months. March 4. We witnessed the Aurora Borealis very brilliant for the second time since our departure from Cumberland. A winter encampment is not a favourable situation for viewing this phenomenon as the trees in general hide the sky. Arrangements had been made for recommencing our journey today but the wind was stormy and the snow had drifted too much for travelling with comfort; we therefore stayed and dined with Mr. Bethune who promised to render every assistance in getting pemmican conveyed to us from the Saskatchewan to be in readiness for our canoes when they might arrive in the spring; Mr. Clark also engaged to procure six bags for us and to furnish our canoes with any other supplies which might be wanted and could be spared from his post, and to contribute his aid in forwarding the pemmican to the Athabasca if our canoes could not carry it all. I feel greatly indebted to this gentleman for much valuable information respecting the country and the Indians residing to the north of Slave Lake and for furnishing me with a list of stores he supposed we should require. He had resided some years on Mackenzie's River and had been once so far towards its mouth as to meet the Esquimaux in great numbers. But they assumed such a hostile attitude that he deemed it unadvisable to attempt opening any communication with them and retreated as speedily as he could. The observations we obtained here showed that the chronometers had varied their rates a little in consequence of the jolting of the carioles, but their errors and rates were ascertained previous to our departure. We observed the position of this fort to be latitude 55 degrees 25 minutes 35 seconds North, longitude 107 degrees 51 minutes 00 seconds West, by lunars reduced back from Fort Chipewyan, variation 22 degrees 15 minutes 48 seconds West, dip 84 degrees 13 minutes 35 seconds. March 5. We recommenced our journey this morning, having been supplied with the means of conveyance by both the Companies in equal proportions. Mr. Clark accompanied us with the intention of going as far as the boundary of his district. This gentleman was an experienced winter traveller and we derived much benefit from his suggestions; he caused the men to arrange the encampment with more attention to comfort and shelter than our former companions had done. After marching eighteen miles we put up on Gravel Point in the Deep River. At nine the next morning we came to the commencement of Clear Lake. We crossed its southern extremes and then went over a point of land to Buffalo Lake and encamped after travelling twenty-six miles. After supper we were entertained till midnight with paddling songs by our Canadians who required very little stimulus beyond their natural vivacity to afford us this diversion. The next morning we arrived at the establishments which are situated on the western side of the lake near a small stream called the Beaver River. They were small log buildings hastily erected last October for the convenience of the Indians who hunt in the vicinity. Mr. MacMurray, a partner in the North-West Company, having sent to Isle a la Crosse an invitation to Mr. Back and I, our carioles were driven to his post and we experienced the kindest reception. These posts are frequented by only a few Indians, Crees, and Chipewyans. The country round is not sufficiently stocked with animals to afford support to many families and the traders subsist almost entirely on fish caught in the autumn prior to the lake being frozen but, the water being shallow, they remove to a deeper part as soon as the lake is covered with ice. The Aurora Borealis was brilliantly displayed on both the nights we remained here, but particularly on the 7th when its appearances were most diversified and the motion extremely rapid. Its coruscations occasionally concealed from sight stars of the first magnitude in passing over them, at other times these were faintly discerned through them; once I perceived a stream of light to illumine the under surface of some clouds as it passed along. There was no perceptible noise. Mr. MacMurray gave a dance to his voyagers and the women; this is a treat which they expect on the arrival of any stranger at the post. We were presented by this gentleman with the valuable skin of a black fox which he had entrapped some days before our arrival; it was forwarded to England with other specimens. Our observations place the North-West Company's House in latitude 55 degrees 53 minutes 00 seconds North, longitude 108 degrees 51 minutes 10 seconds West, variation 22 degrees 33 minutes 22 seconds East. The shores of Buffalo Lake are of moderate height and well wooded but immediately beyond the bank the country is very swampy and intersected with water in every direction. At some distance from the western side there is a conspicuous hill which we hailed with much pleasure as being the first interruption to the tediously uniform scene we had for some time passed through. On the 10th we recommenced our journey after breakfast and travelled quickly as we had the advantage of a well-beaten track. At the end of eighteen miles we entered upon the river Loche which has a serpentine course and is confined between alluvial banks that support stunted willows and a few pines; we encamped about three miles farther on and in the course of the next day's march perceived several holes on the ice and many unsafe places for the sledges. Our companions said the ice of this river is always in the same insecure state, even during the most severe winter, which they attributed to warm springs. Quitting the river we crossed a portage and came upon the Methye Lake and soon afterwards arrived at the trading posts on its western side. These were perfect huts which had been hastily built after the commencement of the last winter. We here saw two hunters who were Chipewyan half-breeds and made many inquiries of them respecting the countries we expected to visit, but we found them quite ignorant of every part beyond the Athabasca Lake. They spoke of Mr. Hearne and of his companion Matonnabee, but did not add to our stock of information respecting that journey. It had happened before their birth but they remembered the expedition of Sir Alexander Mackenzie towards the sea. This is a picturesque lake about ten miles long and six broad and receives its name from a species of fish caught in it but not much esteemed; the residents never eat any part but the liver except through necessity, the dogs dislike even that. The tittameg and trout are also caught in the fall of the year. The position of the houses by our observations is latitude 56 degrees 24 minutes 20 seconds North, longitude 109 degrees 23 minutes 06 seconds West, variation 22 degrees 50 minutes 28 seconds East. On the 13th we renewed our journey and parted from Mr. Clark to whom we were much obliged for his hospitality and kindness. We soon reached the Methye Portage and had a very pleasant ride across it in our carioles. The track was good and led through groups of pines, so happily placed that it would not have required a great stretch of imagination to fancy ourselves in a well-arranged park. We had now to cross a small lake and then gradually ascended hills beyond it until we arrived at the summit of a lofty chain of mountains commanding the most picturesque and romantic prospect we had yet seen in this country. Two ranges of high hills run parallel to each other for several miles until the faint blue haze hides their particular characters, when they slightly change their course and are lost to the view. The space between them is occupied by nearly a level plain through which a river pursues a meandering course and receives supplies from the creeks and rills issuing from the mountains on each side. The prospect was delightful even amid the snow and though marked with all the cheerless characters of winter; how much more charming must it be when the trees are in leaf and the ground is arrayed in summer verdure! Some faint idea of the difference was conveyed to my mind by witnessing the effect of the departing rays of a brilliant sun. The distant prospect however is surpassed in grandeur by the wild scenery which appeared immediately below our feet. There the eye penetrates into vast ravines two or three hundred feet in depth that are clothed with trees and lie on either side of the narrow pathway descending to the river over eight successive ridges of hills. At one spot termed the Cockscomb the traveller stands insulated as it were on a small slip where a false step might precipitate him into the glen. From this place Mr. Back took an interesting and accurate sketch to allow time for which we encamped early, having come twenty-one miles. The Methye Portage is about twelve miles in extent and over this space the canoes and all their cargoes are carried, both in going to and from the Athabasca department. It is part of the range of mountains which separates the waters flowing south from those flowing north. According to Sir Alexander Mackenzie "this range of hills continues in a South-West direction until its local height is lost between the Saskatchewan and Elk Rivers, close on the banks of the former in latitude 53 degrees 36 minutes North, longitude 113 degrees 45 minutes West, when it appears to take its course due north." Observations taken in the spring by Mr. Hood place the north side of the portage in latitude 56 degrees 41 minutes 40 seconds North, longitude 109 degrees 52 minutes 15 seconds West, variation 25 degrees 2 minutes 30 seconds East, dip 85 degrees 7 minutes 27 seconds. At daylight on the 14th we began to descend the range of hills leading towards the river, and no small care was required to prevent the sledges from being broken in going down these almost perpendicular heights, or being precipitated into the glens on each side. As a precautionary measure the dogs were taken off and the sledges guided by the men, notwithstanding which they descended with amazing rapidity and the men were thrown into the most ridiculous attitudes in endeavouring to stop them. When we had arrived at the bottom I could not but feel astonished at the laborious task which the voyagers have twice in the year to encounter at this place in conveying their stores backwards and forwards. We went across the Clear Water River which runs at the bases of these hills, and followed an Indian track along its northern bank, by which we avoided the White Mud and Good Portages. We afterwards followed the river as far as the Pine Portage, when we passed through a very romantic defile of rocks which presented the appearance of Gothic ruins, and their rude characters were happily contrasted with the softness of the snow and the darker foliage of the pines which crowned their summits. We next crossed the Cascade Portage which is the last on the way to the Athabasca Lake, and soon afterwards came to some Indian tents containing five families belonging to the Chipewyan tribe. We smoked the calumet in the chief's tent, whose name was the Thumb, and distributed some tobacco and a weak mixture of spirits and water among the men. They received this civility with much less grace than the Crees, and seemed to consider it a matter of course. There was an utter neglect of cleanliness and a total want of comfort in their tents; and the poor creatures were miserably clothed. Mr. Frazer, who accompanied us from the Methye Lake, accounted for their being in this forlorn condition by explaining that this band of Indians had recently destroyed everything they possessed as a token of their great grief for the loss of their relatives in the prevailing sickness. It appears that no article is spared by these unhappy men when a near relative dies; their clothes and tents are cut to pieces, their guns broken, and every other weapon rendered useless if some person do not remove these articles from their sight, which is seldom done. Mr. Back sketched one of the children which delighted the father very much, who charged the boy to be very good since his picture had been drawn by a great chief. We learned that they prize pictures very highly and esteem any they can get, however badly executed, as efficient charms. They were unable to give us any information respecting the country beyond the Athabasca Lake which is the boundary of their peregrinations to the northward. Having been apprised of our coming they had prepared an encampment for us; but we had witnessed too many proofs of their importunity to expect that we could pass the night near them in any comfort whilst either spirits, tobacco or sugar remained in our possession; and therefore preferred to go about two miles farther along the river and to encamp among a cluster of fine pine-trees after a journey of sixteen miles. On the morning of the 15th, in proceeding along the river, we perceived a strong smell of sulphur, and on the north shore found a quantity of it scattered, which seemed to have been deposited by some spring in the neighbourhood: it appeared very pure and good. We continued our course the whole day along the river, which is about four hundred yards wide, has some islands, and is confined between low land extending from the bases of the mountains on each side. We put up at the end of thirteen miles and were then joined by a Chipewyan who came, as we supposed, to serve as our guide to Pierre au Calumet but, as none of the party could communicate with our new friend otherwise than by signs, we waited patiently until the morning to see what he intended to do. The wind blew a gale during the night and the snow fell heavily. The next day our guide led us to the Pembina River which comes from the southward where we found traces of Indians who appeared to have quitted this station the day before; we had therefore the benefit of a good track which our dogs much required as they were greatly fatigued, having dragged their loads through very deep snow for the last two days. A moose-deer crossed the river just before the party: this animal is plentiful in the vicinity. We encamped in a pleasant well-sheltered place, having travelled fourteen miles. A short distance on the following morning brought us to some Indian lodges which belonged to an old Chipewyan chief named the Sun and his family consisting of five hunters, their wives and children. They were delighted to see us and, when the object of our expedition had been explained to them, expressed themselves much interested in our progress; but they could not give a particle of information respecting the countries beyond the Athabasca Lake. We smoked with them and gave each person a glass of mixed spirits and some tobacco. A Canadian servant of the North-West Company who was residing with them informed us that this family had lost numerous relatives, and that the destruction of property which had been made after their deaths was the only cause for the pitiable condition in which we saw them as the whole family were industrious hunters and therefore were usually better provided with clothes and other useful articles than most of the Indians. We purchased from them a pair of snowshoes in exchange for some ammunition. The Chipewyans are celebrated for making them good and easy to walk in; we saw some here upwards of six feet long and three broad. With these unwieldy clogs an active hunter, in the spring when there is a crust on the surface of the snow, will run down a moose or red-deer. We made very slow progress after leaving this party on account of the deep snow, but continued along the river until we reached its junction with the Athabasca or Elk River. We obtained observations on an island a little below the Forks which gave longitude 111 degrees 8 minutes 42 seconds West, variation 24 degrees 18 minutes 20 seconds East. Very little wood was seen during this day's march. The western shore near the Forks is destitute of trees; it is composed of lofty perpendicular cliffs which were now covered with snow. The eastern shore supports a few pines. March 18. Soon after our departure from the encampment we met two men from the establishment at Pierre au Calumet, who gave us correct information of its situation and distance. Having the benefit of their track we marched at a tolerably quick pace and made twenty-two miles in the course of the day though the weather was very disagreeable for travelling, being stormy with constant snow. We kept along the river the whole time: its breadth is about two miles. The islands appear better furnished with wood than its banks, the summits of which are almost bare. Soon after we had encamped our Indian guide rejoined us; he had remained behind the day before without consulting us to accompany a friend on a hunting excursion. On his return he made no endeavour to explain the reason of his absence but sat down coolly and began to prepare his supper. This behaviour made us sensible that little dependence is to be placed on the continuance of an Indian guide when his inclination leads him away. Early the next morning we sent forward the Indian and a Canadian to apprise the gentleman in charge of Pierre au Calumet of our approach; and after breakfast the rest of the party proceeded along the river for that station which we reached in the afternoon. The senior partner of the North-West Company in the Athabasca department, Mr. John Stuart, was in charge of the post. Though he was quite ignorant until this morning of our being in the country we found him prepared to receive us with great kindness and ready to afford every information and assistance agreeably to the desire conveyed in Mr. Simon McGillivray's circular letter. This gentleman had twice traversed this continent and reached the Pacific by the Columbia River; he was therefore fully conversant with the different modes of travelling and with the obstacles that may be expected in passing through unfrequented countries. His suggestions and advice were consequently very valuable to us but, not having been to the northward of the Great Slave Lake, he had no knowledge of that line of country except what he had gained from the reports of Indians. He was of opinion however that positive information on which our course of proceedings might safely be determined could be procured from the Indians that frequent the north side of the lake when they came to the forts in the spring. He recommended my writing to the partner in charge of that department, requesting him to collect all the intelligence he could and to provide guides and hunters from the tribe best acquainted with the country through which we proposed to travel. To our great regret Mr. Stuart expressed much doubt as to our prevailing upon any experienced Canadian voyagers to accompany us to the sea in consequence of their dread of the Esquimaux who, he informed us, had already destroyed the crew of one canoe which had been sent under Mr. Livingstone to open a trading communication with those who reside near the mouth of the Mackenzie River; and he also mentioned that the same tribe had driven away the canoes under Mr. Clark's direction, going to them on a similar object, to which circumstance I have alluded in my remarks at Isle a la Crosse. This was unpleasant information but we were comforted by Mr. Stuart's assurance that himself and his partners would use every endeavour to remove their fears as well as to promote our views in every other way; and he undertook as a necessary part of our equipment in the spring to prepare the bark and other materials for constructing two canoes at this post. Mr. Stuart informed us that the residents at Fort Chipewyan, from the recent sickness of their Indian hunters, had been reduced to subsist entirely on the produce of their fishing-nets, which did not yield more than a bare sufficiency for their support; and he kindly proposed to us to remain with him until the spring but, as we were most desirous to gain all the information we could as early as possible and Mr. Stuart assured us that the addition of three persons would not be materially felt in their large family at Chipewyan, we determined on proceeding thither and fixed on the 22nd for our departure. Pierre au Calumet receives its name from the place where the stone is procured, of which many of the pipes used by the Canadians and Indians are made. It is a clayey limestone, impregnated with various shells. The house, which is built on the summit of a steep bank rising almost perpendicular to the height of one hundred and eighty feet, commands an extensive prospect along this fine river and over the plains which stretch out several miles at the back of it, bounded by hills of considerable height and apparently better furnished with wood than the neighbourhood of the fort where the trees grow very scantily. There had been an establishment belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company on the opposite bank of the river but it was abandoned in December last, the residents not being able to procure provision from their hunters having been disabled by the epidemic sickness which has carried off one-third of the Indians in these parts. They belong to the Northern Crees, a name given them from their residing in the Athabasca department. There are now but few families of these men who formerly by their numbers and predatory habits spread terror among the natives of this part of the country. There are springs of bituminous matter on several of the islands near these houses; and the stones on the riverbank are much impregnated with this useful substance. There is also another place remarkable for the production of a sulphureous salt which is deposited on the surface of a round-backed hill about half a mile from the beach and on the marshy ground underneath it. We visited these places at a subsequent period of the journey and descriptions of them will appear in Dr. Richardson's Mineralogical Notices. The latitude of the North-West Company's House is 57 degrees 24 minutes 06 seconds North, but this was the only observation we could obtain, the atmosphere being cloudy. Mr. Stuart had an excellent thermometer which indicated the lowest state of temperature to be 43 degrees below zero. He told me 45 degrees was the lowest temperature he had ever witnessed at the Athabasca or Great Slave Lake after many years' residence. On the 21st it rose above zero and at noon attained the height of 43 degrees; the atmosphere was sultry, snow fell constantly, and there was quite an appearance of a change in the season. On the 22nd we parted from our hospitable friend and recommenced our journey, but under the expectation of seeing him again in May, at which time the partners of the Company usually assemble at Fort Chipewyan where we hoped the necessary arrangements for our future proceedings would be completed. We encamped at sunset at the end of fourteen miles, having walked the whole way along the river which preserves nearly a true north course and is from four hundred to six hundred yards broad. The banks are high and well clothed with the liard, spruce, fir, alder, birch-tree and willows. Having come nineteen miles and a half on the 23rd we encamped among pines of a great height and girth. Showers of snow fell until noon on the following day but we continued our journey along the river whose banks and islands became gradually lower as we advanced and less abundantly supplied with wood except willows. We passed an old Canadian who was resting his wearied dogs during the heat of the sun. He was carrying meat from some Indian lodges to Fort Chipewyan, having a burden exceeding two hundred and fifty pounds on his sledge which was dragged by two miserable dogs. He came up to our encampment after dark. We were much amused by the altercation that took place between him and our Canadian companions as to the qualifications of their respective dogs. This however is such a general topic of conversation among the voyagers in the encampment that we should not probably have remarked it had not the old man frequently offered to bet the whole of his wages that his two dogs, poor and lean as they were, would drag their load to the Athabasca Lake in less time than any three of theirs. Having expressed our surprise at his apparent temerity he coolly said the men from the lower countries did not understand the management of their dogs and that he depended on his superior skill in driving, and we soon gathered from his remarks that the voyagers of the Athabasca department consider themselves very superior to any other. The only reasons which he could assign were that they had borne their burdens across the terrible Methye Portage and that they were accustomed to live harder and more precariously. March 25. Having now the guidance of the old Canadian we sent forward the Indian and one of our men with letters to the gentleman at the Athabasca Lake. The rest of the party set off afterwards and kept along the river until ten when we branched off by portages into the Embarras River, the usual channel of communication in canoes with the lake. It is a narrow and serpentine stream confined between alluvial banks which support pines, poplars and willows. We had not advanced far before we overtook the two men despatched by us this morning. The stormy weather had compelled them to encamp as there was too much drifting of the snow for any attempt to cross the lake. We were obliged, though most reluctantly, to follow their example but comforted ourselves with the reflection that this was the first time we had been stopped by the weather during our long journey which was so near at an end. The gale afterwards increased, the squalls at night became very violent, disburdened the trees of the snow and gave us the benefit of a continual fall of patches from them, in addition to the constant shower. We therefore quickly finished our suppers and retired under the shelter of our blankets. ARRIVAL AT FORT CHIPEWYAN. March 26. The boisterous weather continued through the night and it was not before six this morning that the wind became apparently moderate and the snow ceased. Two of the Canadians were immediately sent off with letters to the gentlemen at Fort Chipewyan. After breakfast we also started but our Indian friend, having a great indisposition to move in such weather, remained by the fire. We soon quitted the river and, after crossing a portage, a small lake and a point of land, came to the borders of the Mammawee Lake. We then found our error as to the strength of the wind, and that the gale still blew violently and there was so much drifting of the snow as to cover the distant objects by which our course could be directed. We fortunately got a glimpse through this cloud of a cluster of islands in the direction of the houses, and decided on walking towards them; but in doing this we suffered very much from the cold and were obliged to halt under the shelter of them and await the arrival of our Indian guide. He conducted us between these islands, over a small lake, and by a swampy river into the Athabasca Lake, from whence the establishments were visible. At four P.M. we had the pleasure of arriving at Fort Chipewyan and of being received by Messrs. Keith and Black, the partners of the North-West Company in charge, in the most kind and hospitable manner. Thus terminated a winter's journey of eight hundred and fifty-seven miles, in the progress of which there was a great intermixture of agreeable and disagreeable circumstances. Could the amount of each be balanced I suspect the latter would much preponderate; and amongst these the initiation into walking in snowshoes must be considered as prominent. The suffering it occasions can be but faintly imagined by a person who thinks upon the inconvenience of marching with a weight of between two and three pounds constantly attached to galled feet and swelled ankles. Perseverance and practice only will enable the novice to surmount this pain. The next evil is the being constantly exposed to witness the wanton and unnecessary cruelty of the men to their dogs, especially those of the Canadians who beat them unmercifully and habitually vent on them the most dreadful and disgusting imprecations. There are other inconveniences which, though keenly felt during the day's journey, are speedily forgotten when stretched out in the encampment before a large fire, you enjoy the social mirth of your companions who usually pass the evening in recounting their former feats in travelling. At this time the Canadians are always cheerful and merry and the only bar to their comfort arises from the frequent interruption occasioned by the dogs who are constantly prowling about the circle and snatching at every kind of food that happens to be within their reach. These useful animals are a comfort to them afterwards by the warmth they impart when lying down by their side or feet as they usually do. But the greatest gratifications a traveller in these regions enjoys are derived from the hospitable welcome he receives at every trading post, however poor the means of the host may be; and from being disrobed even for a short time of the trappings of a voyager and experiencing the pleasures of cleanness. The following are the estimated distances in statute miles which Mr. Back and I had travelled since our departure from Cumberland: From Cumberland House to Carlton House: 263. From Carlton House to Isle a la Crosse: 230. From Isle a la Crosse to north side of the Methye Portage: 124. From the Methye Portage to Fort Chipewyan: 240. Total: 857 miles. CHAPTER 5. TRANSACTIONS AT FORT CHIPEWYAN. ARRIVAL OF DR. RICHARDSON AND MR. HOOD. PREPARATIONS FOR OUR JOURNEY TO THE NORTHWARD. TRANSACTIONS AT FORT CHIPEWYAN. March 26, 1820. On the day after our arrival at Fort Chipewyan we called upon Mr. MacDonald, the gentleman in charge of the Hudson's Bay Establishment called Fort Wedderburne, and delivered to him Governor Williams' circular letter which desired that every assistance should be given to further our progress, and a statement of the requisitions which we should have to make on his post. Our first object was to obtain some certain information respecting our future route and accordingly we received from one of the North-West Company's interpreters, named Beaulieu, a half-breed who had been brought up amongst the Dog-ribbed and Copper Indians, some satisfactory information which we afterwards found tolerably correct respecting the mode of reaching the Copper-Mine River which he had descended a considerable way, as well as of the course of that river to its mouth. The Copper Indians however he said would be able to give us more accurate information as to the latter part of its course as they occasionally pursue it to the sea. He sketched on the floor a representation of the river and a line of coast according to his idea of it. Just as he had finished an old Chipewyan Indian named Black Meat unexpectedly came in and instantly recognised the plan. He then took the charcoal from Beaulieu and inserted a track along the sea-coast which he had followed in returning from a war excursion made by his tribe against the Esquimaux. He detailed several particulars of the coast and the sea which he represented as studded with well-wooded islands and free from ice close to the shore in the month of July, but not to a great distance. He described two other rivers to the eastward of the Copper-Mine River which also fall into the Northern Ocean, the Anatessy, which issues from the Contwayto or Rum Lake, and the Thloueeatessy or Fish River, which rises near the eastern boundary of the Great Slave Lake; but he represented both of them as being shallow and too much interrupted by barriers for being navigated in any other than small Indian canoes. Having received this satisfactory intelligence I wrote immediately to Mr. Smith of the North-West Company and Mr. McVicar of the Hudson's Bay Company, the gentlemen in charge of the posts at the Great Slave Lake, to communicate the object of the Expedition and our proposed route, and to solicit any information they possessed or could collect from the Indians relative to the countries we had to pass through and the best manner of proceeding. As the Copper Indians frequent the establishment on the north side of the lake I particularly requested them to explain to that tribe the object of our visit and to endeavour to procure from them some guides and hunters to accompany our party. Two Canadians were sent by Mr. Keith with these letters. The month of April commenced with fine and clear but extremely cold weather; unfortunately we were still without a thermometer and could not ascertain the degrees of temperature. The coruscations of the Aurora Borealis were very brilliant almost every evening of the first week and were generally of the most variable kind. On the 3rd they were particularly changeable. The first appearance exhibited three illuminated beams issuing from the horizon in the north, east, and west points, and directed towards the zenith; in a few seconds these disappeared and a complete circle was displayed, bounding the horizon at an elevation of fifteen degrees. There was a quick lateral motion in the attenuated beams of which this zone was composed. Its colour was a pale yellow with an occasional tinge of red. On the 8th of April the Indians saw some geese in the vicinity of this lake but none of the migratory birds appeared near the houses before the 15th when some swans flew over. These are generally the first that arrive; the weather had been very stormy for the four preceding days and this in all probability kept the birds from venturing farther north than where the Indians had first seen them. In the middle of the month the snow began to waste daily and by degrees it disappeared from the hills and the surface of the lake. On the 17th and 19th the Aurora Borealis appeared very brilliant in patches of light bearing North-West. An old Cree Indian having found a beaver-lodge near to the fort, Mr. Keith, Back, and I accompanied him to see the method of breaking into it and their mode of taking those interesting animals. The lodge was constructed on the side of a rock in a small lake having the entrance into it beneath the ice. The frames were formed of layers of sticks, the interstices being filled with mud, and the outside was plastered with earth and stones which the frost had so completely consolidated that to break through required great labour with the aid of the ice chisel and the other iron instruments which the beaver hunters use. The chase however was unsuccessful as the beaver had previously vacated the lodge. On the 21st we observed the first geese that flew near the fort and some were brought to the house on the 30th but they were very lean. On the 25th flies were seen sporting in the sun and on the 26th the Athabasca River, having broken up, overflowed the lake along its channel; but except where this water spread there was no appearance of decay in the ice. May. During the first part of this month the wind blew from the North-West and the sky was cloudy. It generally thawed during the day but froze at night. On the 2nd the Aurora Borealis faintly gleamed through very dense clouds. We had a long conversation with Mr. Dease of the North-West Company who had recently arrived from his station at the bottom of the Athabasca Lake. This gentleman, having passed several winters on the Mackenzie's River and at the posts to the northward of Slave Lake, possessed considerable information respecting the Indians and those parts of the country to which our inquiries were directed, which he very promptly and kindly communicated. During our conversation an old Chipewyan Indian named the Rabbit's Head entered the room, to whom Mr. Dease referred for information on some point. We found from his answer that he was a stepson of the late chief Matonnabee who had accompanied Mr. Hearne on his journey to the sea, and that he had himself been of the party but, being then a mere boy, he had forgotten many of the circumstances. He confirmed however the leading incidents related by Hearne and was positive he reached the sea, though he admitted that none of the party had tasted the water. He represented himself to be the only survivor of that party. As he was esteemed a good Indian I presented him with a medal which he received gratefully and concluded a long speech upon the occasion by assuring me he should preserve it carefully all his life. The old man afterwards became more communicative and unsolicited began to relate the tradition of his tribe respecting the discovery of the Copper-Mine, which we thought amusing: and as the subject is somewhat connected with our future researches I will insert the translation of it which was given at the time by Mr. Dease, though a slight mention of it has been made by Hearne. The Chipewyans suppose the Esquimaux originally inhabited some land to the northward which is separated by the sea from this country; and that in the earliest ages of the world a party of these men came over and stole a woman from their tribe whom they carried to this distant country and kept in a state of slavery. She was very unhappy in her situation and effected her escape after many years residence among them. The forlorn creature wandered about for some days in a state of uncertainty what direction to take, when she chanced to fall upon a beaten path which she followed and was led to the sea. At the sight of the ocean her hope of being able to return to her native country vanished and she sat herself down in despair and wept. A wolf now advanced to caress her and, having licked the tears from her eyes, walked into the water, and she perceived with joy that it did not reach up to the body of the animal; emboldened by this appearance she instantly arose, provided two sticks to support herself, and determined on following the wolf. The first and second nights she proceeded on without finding any increase in the depth of the water and, when fatigued, rested herself on the sticks whose upper ends she fastened together for the purpose. She was alarmed on the third morning by arriving at a deeper part, but resolved on going forward at any risk rather than return; and her daring perseverance was crowned with success by her attaining her native shore on the fifth day. She fortunately came to a part where there was a beaten path which she knew to be the track made by the reindeer in their migrations. Here she halted and prepared some sort of weapon for killing them; as soon as this was completed she had the gratification to behold several herds advancing along the road, and had the happiness of killing a sufficient number for her winter's subsistence, which she determined to pass at that place, and therefore formed a house for herself after the manner she had learned from the Esquimaux. When spring came and she emerged from her subterraneous dwelling (for such the Chipewyans suppose it to have been) she was astonished by observing a glittering appearance on a distant hill which she knew was not produced by the reflection of the sun and, being at a loss to assign any other cause for it, she resolved on going up to the shining object and then found the hill was entirely composed of copper. She broke off several pieces and, finding it yielded so readily to her beating, it occurred to her that this metal would be very serviceable to her countrymen if she should find them again. While she was meditating on what was to be done the thought struck her that it would be advisable to attach as many pieces of copper to her dress as she could and then proceed into the interior in search of some inhabitants who, she supposed, would give her a favourable reception on account of the treasure she had brought. It happened that she met her own relations and the young men, elated with the account she had given of the hill, made her instantly return with them, which she was enabled to do, having taken the precaution of putting up marks to indicate the path. The party reached the spot in safety but the story had a melancholy catastrophe. These youths, overcome by excess of joy, gave loose to their passions and offered the grossest insults to their benefactress. She powerfully resisted them for some time and, when her strength was failing, fled to the point of the mountain as the only place of security. The moment she had gained the summit the earth opened and ingulphed both herself and the mountain to the utter dismay of the men who were not more astonished at its sudden disappearance than sorrowful for this just punishment of their wickedness. Ever since this event the copper has only been found in small detached pieces on the surface of the earth. ... On the 10th of May we were gratified by the appearance of spring though the ice remained firm on the lake. The anemone (pulsatilla, pasque flower) appeared this day in flower, the trees began to put forth their leaves, and the mosquitoes visited the warm rooms. On the 17th and 18th there were frequent showers of rain and much thunder and lightning. This moist weather caused the ice to waste so rapidly that by the 24th it had entirely disappeared from the lake. The gentlemen belonging to both the Companies quickly arrived from the different posts in this department, bringing their winter's collection of furs which are forwarded from these establishments to the depots. I immediately waited on Mr. Colin Robertson, the agent of the Hudson's Bay Company, and communicated to him, as I had done before to the several partners of the North-West Company, our plan and the requisitions we should have to make on each Company, and I requested of all the gentlemen the favour of their advice and suggestions. As I perceived that the arrangement of their winter accounts and other business fully occupied them I forbore further pressing the subject of our concerns for some days until there was an appearance of despatching the first brigade of canoes. It then became necessary to urge their attention to them; but it was evident from the determined commercial opposition and the total want of intercourse between the two Companies that we could not expect to receive any cordial advice or the assurance of the aid of both without devising some expedient to bring the parties together. I therefore caused a tent to be pitched at a distance from both establishments and solicited the gentlemen of both Companies to meet Mr. Back and myself there for the purpose of affording us their combined assistance. With this request they immediately complied and on May 25th we were joined at the tent by Mr. Stuart and Mr. Grant of the North-West Company and Mr. Colin Robertson of the Hudson's Bay Company, all of whom kindly gave very satisfactory answers to a series of questions which we had drawn up for the occasion and promised all the aid in their power. PREPARATIONS FOR OUR JOURNEY TO THE NORTHWARD. Furnished with the information thus obtained we proceeded to make some arrangements respecting the obtaining of men and the stores we should require for their equipment as well as for presents to the Indians; and on the following day a requisition was made on the Companies for eight men each and whatever useful stores they could supply. We learned with regret that, in consequence of the recent lavish expenditure of their goods in support of the opposition, their supply to us would of necessity be very limited. The men too were backward in offering their services, especially those of the Hudson's Bay Company who demanded a much higher rate of wages than I considered it proper to grant. June 3. Mr. Smith, a partner of the North-West Company, arrived from the Great Slave Lake bearing the welcome news that the principal chief of the Copper Indians had received the communication of our arrival with joy and given all the intelligence he possessed respecting the route to the sea-coast by the Copper-Mine River; and that he and a party of his men, at the instance of Mr. Wentzel, a clerk of the North-West Company whom they wished might go along with them, had engaged to accompany the Expedition as guides and hunters. They were to wait our arrival at Fort Providence on the north side of the Slave Lake. Their information coincided with that given by Beaulieu. They had no doubt of our being able to obtain the means of subsistence in travelling to the coast. This agreeable intelligence had a happy effect upon the Canadian voyagers, many of their fears being removed: several of them seemed now disposed to volunteer; and indeed on the same evening two men from the North-West Company offered themselves and were accepted. June 5. This day Mr. Back and I went over to Fort Wedderburne to see Mr. Robertson respecting his quota of men. We learned from him that, notwithstanding his endeavours to persuade them, his most experienced voyagers still declined engaging without very exorbitant wages. After some hesitation however six men engaged with us who were represented to be active and steady; and I also got Mr. Robertson's permission for St. Germain, an interpreter belonging to this Company, to accompany us from Slave Lake if he should choose. The bowmen and steersmen were to receive one thousand six hundred livres Halifax per annum, and the middle men one thousand two hundred, exclusive of their necessary equipments; and they stipulated that their wages should be continued until their arrival in Montreal or their rejoining the service of their present employers. I delivered to Mr. Robertson an official request that the stores we had left at York Factory and the Rock Depot with some other supplies might be forwarded to Slave Lake by the first brigade of canoes which should come in. He also took charge of my letters addressed to the Admiralty. Five men were afterwards engaged from the North-West Company for the same wages and under the same stipulations as the others, besides an interpreter for the Copper Indians; but this man required three thousand livres Halifax currency which we were obliged to give him as his services were indispensable. The extreme scarcity of provision at the posts rendered it necessary to despatch all our men to the Mammawee Lake where they might procure their own subsistence by fishing. The women and children resident at the fort were also sent away for the same purpose; and no other families were permitted to remain at the houses after the departure of the canoes than those belonging to the men who were required to carry on the daily duty. The large party of officers and men which had assembled here from the different posts in the department was again quickly dispersed. The first brigade of canoes laden with furs was despatched to the depot on May 30th and the others followed in two or three days afterwards. Mr. Stuart, the senior partner of the North-West Company, quitted us for the same destination on June 4th; Mr. Robertson for his depot on the next day; and on the 9th we parted with our friend Mr. Keith, to whose unremitting kindness we felt much indebted. I entrusted to his care a box containing some drawings by Mr. Back, the map of our route from Cumberland House, and the skin of a black beaver (presented to the Expedition by Mr. Smith) with my official letters addressed to the Under-Secretary of State. I wrote by each of these gentlemen to inform Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood of the scarcity of stores at these posts and to request them to procure all they possibly could on their route. Mr. Smith was left in charge of this post during the summer; this gentleman soon evinced his desire to further our progress by directing a new canoe to be built for our use which was commenced immediately. June 21. This day an opportunity offered of sending letters to the Great Slave Lake and I profited by it to request Mr. Wentzel would accompany the Expedition agreeably to the desire of the Copper Indians, communicating to him that I had received permission for him to do so from the partners of the North-West Company. Should he be disposed to comply with my invitation I desired that he would go over to Fort Providence and remain near the Indians whom he had engaged for our service. I feared lest they should become impatient at our unexpected delay and, with the usual fickleness of the Indian character, remove from the establishment before we could arrive. It had been my intention to go to them myself, could the articles with which they expected to be presented on my arrival have been provided at these establishments; but as they could not be procured I was compelled to defer my visit until our canoes should arrive. Mr. Smith supposed that my appearance amongst them without the means of satisfying any of their desires would give them an unfavourable impression respecting the Expedition which would make them indifferent to exertion if it did not even cause them to withdraw from their engagements. The establishments at this place, Forts Chipewyan and Wedderburne, the chief posts of the Companies in this department, are conveniently situated for communicating with the Slave and Peace Rivers from whence the canoes assemble in the spring and autumn; on the first occasion they bring the collection of furs which has been made at the different outposts during the winter; and at the latter season they receive a supply of stores for the equipment of the Indians in their vicinity. Fort Wedderburne is a small house which was constructed on Coal Island about five years ago when the Hudson's Bay Company recommenced trading in this part of the country. Fort Chipewyan has been built many years and is an establishment of very considerable extent, conspicuously situated on a rocky point of the northern shore; it has a tower which can be seen at a considerable distance. This addition was made about eight years ago to watch the motions of the Indians who intended, as it was then reported, to destroy the house and all its inhabitants. They had been instigated to this rash design by the delusive stories of one among them who had acquired great influence over his companions by his supposed skill in necromancy. This fellow had prophesied that there would soon be a complete change in the face of their country, that fertility and plenty would succeed to the present sterility, and that the present race of white inhabitants, unless they became subservient to the Indians, would be removed and their place be filled by other traders who would supply their wants in every possible manner. The poor deluded wretches, imagining they would hasten this happy change by destroying their present traders, of whose submission there was no prospect, threatened to extirpate them. None of these menaces however were put in execution. They were probably deterred from the attempt by perceiving that a most vigilant guard was kept against them. The portion of this extensive lake which is near the establishments is called The Lake of the Hills, not improperly as the northern shore and the islands are high and rocky. The south side however is quite level, consisting of alluvial land, subject to be flooded, lying betwixt the different mouths of the Elk River and much intersected by water. The rocks of the northern shore are composed of syenite over which the soil is thinly spread; it is however sufficient to support a variety of firs and poplars and many shrubs, lichens and mosses. The trees were now in full foliage, the plants generally in flower, and the whole scene quite enlivening. There can scarcely be a higher gratification than that which is enjoyed in this country in witnessing the rapid change which takes place in the course of a few days in the spring; scarcely does the snow disappear from the ground before the trees are clothed with thick foliage, the shrubs open their leaves and put forth their variegated flowers, and the whole prospect becomes animating. The spaces between the rocky hills, being for the most part swampy, support willows and a few poplars. These spots are the favourite resort of the mosquitoes, which incessantly torment the unfortunate persons who have to pass through them. Some of the hills attain an elevation of five or six hundred feet at the distance of a mile from the house; and from their summits a very picturesque view is commanded of the lake and of the surrounding country. The land above the Great Point at the confluence of the main stream of the Elk River is six or seven hundred feet high and stretches in a southern direction behind Pierre au Calumet. Opposite to that establishment, on the west side of the river, at some distance in the interior, the Bark Mountain rises and ranges to the North-West until it reaches Clear Lake, about thirty miles to the southward of these forts, and then goes to the south-westward. The Cree Indians generally procure from this range their provision as well as the bark for making their canoes. There is another range of hills on the south shore which runs towards the Peace River. The residents of these establishments depend for subsistence almost entirely on the fish which this lake affords; they are usually caught in sufficient abundance throughout the winter though at the distance of eighteen miles from the houses; on the thawing of the ice the fish remove into some smaller lakes and the rivers to the south shore. Though they are nearer to the forts than in winter it frequently happens that high winds prevent the canoes from transporting them thither and the residents are kept in consequence without a supply of food for two or three days together. The fish caught in the net are the attihhawmegh, trout, carp, methye, and pike.* (*Footnote. See above.) The traders also get supplied by the hunters with buffalo and moose-deer meat (which animals are found at some distance from the forts) but the greater part of it is either in a dried state or pounded ready for making pemmican and is required for the men whom they keep travelling during the winter to collect the furs from the Indians, and for the crews of the canoes on their outward passage to the depots in spring. There was a great want of provision this season, and both the Companies had much difficulty to provide a bare sufficiency for their different brigades of canoes. Mr. Smith assured me that after the canoes had been despatched he had only five hundred pounds of meat remaining for the use of the men who might travel from the post during the summer and that, five years preceding, there had been thirty thousand pounds in store under similar circumstances. He ascribed this amazing difference more to the indolent habits which the Indians had acquired since the commercial struggle commenced than to their recent sickness, mentioning in confirmation of his opinion that they could now, by the produce of little exertion, obtain whatever they demanded from either establishment. At the opening of the water in spring the Indians resort to the establishments to settle their accounts with the traders and to procure the necessaries they require for the summer. This meeting is generally a scene of much riot and confusion as the hunters receive such quantities of spirits as to keep them in a state of intoxication for several days. This spring however, owing to the great deficiency of spirits, we had the gratification of seeing them generally sober. They belong to the great family of the Chipewyan or Northern Indians, dialects of their language being spoken in the Peace and Mackenzie's Rivers and by the populous tribes in New Caledonia, as ascertained by Sir Alexander Mackenzie in his journey to the Pacific. They style themselves generally Dinneh men or Indians, but each tribe or horde adds some distinctive epithet taken from the name of the river or lake on which they hunt, or the district from which they last migrated. Those who come to Fort Chipewyan term themselves Saweessawdinneh (Indians from the rising sun or Eastern Indians) their original hunting grounds being between the Athabasca and Great Slave Lakes and Churchill River. This district, more particularly termed the Chipewyan lands or barren country, is frequented by numerous herds of reindeer which furnish easy subsistence and clothing to the Indians, but the traders endeavour to keep them in the parts to the westward where the beavers resort. There are about one hundred and sixty hunters who carry their furs to the Great Slave Lake, forty to Hay River, and two hundred and forty to Fort Chipewyan. A few Northern Indians also resort to the posts at the bottom of the Lake of the Hills, on Red Deer Lake, and to Churchill. The distance however of the latter post from their hunting grounds and the sufferings to which they are exposed in going thither from want of food have induced those who were formerly accustomed to visit it to convey their furs to some nearer station. These people are so minutely described by Hearne and Mackenzie that little can be added by a passing stranger whose observations were made during short interviews and when they were at the forts, where they lay aside many of their distinguishing characteristics and strive to imitate the manners of the voyagers and traders. The Chipewyans are by no means prepossessing in appearance: they have broad faces, projecting cheek-bones and wide nostrils; but they have generally good teeth and fine eyes. When at the fort they imitate the dress of the Canadians except that instead of trousers they prefer the Indian stockings, which only reach from the thigh to the ankle, and in place of the waistband they have a piece of cloth round the middle which hangs down loosely before and behind. Their hunting dress consists of a leathern shirt and stockings over which a blanket is thrown, the head being covered with a fur cap or band. Their manner is reserved and their habits are selfish; they beg with unceasing importunity for everything they see. I never saw men who either received or bestowed a gift with such bad grace; they almost snatch the thing from you in the one instance and throw it at you in the other. It could not be expected that such men should display in their tents the amiable hospitality which prevails generally amongst the Indians of this country. A stranger may go away hungry from their lodges unless he possess sufficient impudence to thrust uninvited his knife into the kettle and help himself. The owner indeed never deigns to take any notice of such an act of rudeness except by a frown, it being beneath the dignity of a hunter to make disturbance about a piece of meat. As some relief to the darker shades of their character it should be stated that instances of theft are extremely rare amongst them. They profess strong affection for their children and some regard for their relations who are often numerous, as they trace very far the ties of consanguinity. A curious instance of the former was mentioned to us and so well authenticated that I shall venture to give it in the words of Dr. Richardson's Journal: A young Chipewyan had separated from the rest of his band for the purpose of trenching beaver when his wife, who was his sole companion and in her first pregnancy, was seized with the pains of labour. She died on the third day after she had given birth to a boy. The husband was inconsolable and vowed in his anguish never to take another woman to wife, but his grief was soon in some degree absorbed in anxiety for the fate of his infant son. To preserve its life he descended to the office of nurse, so degrading in the eyes of a Chipewyan as partaking of the duties of a woman. He swaddled it in soft moss, fed it with broth made from the flesh of the deer and, to still its cries, applied it to his breast, praying earnestly to the great Master of Life to assist his endeavours. The force of the powerful passion by which he was actuated produced the same effect in his case as it has done in some others which are recorded: a flow of milk actually took place from his breast. He succeeded in rearing his child, taught him to be a hunter and, when he attained the age of manhood, chose him a wife from the tribe. The old man kept his vow in never taking a second wife himself but he delighted in tending his son's children and, when his daughter-in-law used to interfere, saying that it was not the occupation of a man, he was wont to reply that he had promised to the Great Master of Life, if his child were spared, never to be proud like the other Indians. He used to mention too, as a certain proof of the approbation of Providence that, although he was always obliged to carry his child on his back while hunting, yet that it never roused a moose by its cries, being always particularly still at those times. Our informant* added that he had often seen this Indian in his old age and that his left breast even then retained the unusual size it had acquired in his occupation of nurse. (*Footnote. Mr. Wentzel.) ... We had proof of their sensibility towards their relations in their declining to pitch their tents where they had been accustomed for many years, alleging a fear of being reminded of the happy hours they had formerly spent there in the society of the affectionate relatives whom the sickness had recently carried off. The change of situation however had not the effect of relieving them from sorrowful impressions, and they occasionally indulged in very loud lamentations as they sat in groups within and without their tents. Unfortunately the spreading of a severe dysentery amongst them at this time gave occasion for the renewal of their grief. The medicinal charms of drumming and singing were plentifully applied and once they had recourse to conjuring over a sick person. I was informed however that the Northern Indians do not make this expedient for the cure of a patient so often as the Crees; but when they do the conjurer is most assiduous and suffers great personal fatigue. Particular persons only are trained in the mysteries of the art of conjuring to procure the recovery of the sick or to disclose future events. On extraordinary occasions the man remains in his narrow conjuring tents for days without eating before he can determine the matter to his satisfaction. When he is consulted about the sick the patient is shut up with him; but on other occasions he is alone and the poor creature often works his mind up to a pitch of illusion that can scarcely be imagined by one who has not witnessed it. His deluded companions seat themselves round his tent and await his communication with earnest anxiety, yet during the progress of his manoeuvres they often venture to question him as to the disposition of the Great Spirit. These artful fellows usually gain complete ascendancy over the minds of their companions. They are supported by voluntary contributions of provision that their minds may not be diverted by the labour of hunting from the peculiar duties of their profession. The chiefs among the Chipewyans are now totally without power. The presents of a flag and a gaudy dress still bestowed upon them by the traders do not procure for them any respect or obedience except from the youths of their own families. This is to be attributed mainly to their living at peace with their neighbours and to the facility which the young men find in getting their wants supplied independent of the recommendation of the chiefs which was formerly required. In war excursions boldness and intrepidity would still command respect and procure authority; but the influence thus acquired would probably cease with the occasion that called it forth. The traders however endeavour to support their authority by continuing towards them the accustomed marks of respect hoisting the flag and firing a salute of musketry on their entering the fort. The chief halts at a distance from the house and despatches one of his young men to announce his approach and to bring his flag, which is carried before him when he arrives. The messenger carries back to him some vermilion to ornament the faces of his party, together with a looking-glass and comb, some tobacco, and a few rounds of ammunition that they may return the salute. These men paint round the eyes, the forehead, and the cheekbones. The Northern Indians evince no little vanity by assuming to themselves the comprehensive title of The People, whilst they designate all other nations by the name of their particular country. If men were seen at a distance and a Chipewyan was asked who those persons were he would answer The People if he recognised them to belong to his tribe and never Chipewyans; but he would give them their respective names if they were Europeans, Canadians, or Cree Indians. As they suppose their ancestors to come originally from the east those who happen to be born in the eastern part of their territory are considered to be of the purest race. I have been informed that all the Indians who trade at the different posts in the north-west parts of America imagine that their forefathers came from the east, except the Dog-Ribs who reside between the Copper Indian Islands and the Mackenzie's River and who deduce their origin from the west, which is the more remarkable as they speak a dialect of the Chipewyan language. I could gather no information respecting their religious opinions except that they have a tradition of the deluge. The Chipewyans are considered to be less expert hunters than the Crees, which probably arises from their residing much on the barren lands where the reindeer are so numerous that little skill is requisite. A good hunter however is highly esteemed among them. The facility of procuring goods since the commercial opposition commenced has given great encouragement to their native indolence of disposition, as is manifested by the difference in the amount of their collections of furs and provision between the late and former years. From six to eight hundred packs of furs used formerly to be sent from this department, now the return seldom exceeds half that amount. The decrease in the provision has been already mentioned. The Northern Indians suppose that they originally sprang from a dog; and about five years ago a superstitious fanatic so strongly impressed upon their minds the impropriety of employing these animals, to which they were related, for purposes of labour that they universally resolved against using them any more and, strange as it may seem, destroyed them. They now have to drag everything themselves on sledges. This laborious task falls most heavily on the women; nothing can more shock the feelings of a person accustomed to civilised life than to witness the state of their degradation. When a party is on a march the women have to drag the tent, the meat, and whatever the hunter possesses, whilst he only carries his gun and medicine case. In the evening they form the encampment, cut wood, fetch water, and prepare the supper; and then, perhaps, are not permitted to partake of the fare until the men have finished. A successful hunter sometimes has two or three wives; whoever happens to be the favourite assumes authority over the others and has the management of the tent. These men usually treat their wives unkindly and even with harshness; except indeed when they are about to increase the family and then they show them much indulgence. Hearne charges the Chipewyans with the dreadful practice of abandoning, in extremity, their aged and sick people. The only instance that came under our personal notice was attended with some palliating circumstances: An old woman arrived at Fort Chipewyan during our residence with her son, a little boy about ten years old, both of whom had been deserted by their relations and left in an encampment when much reduced by sickness: two or three days after their departure the woman gained a little strength and, with the assistance of the boy, was enabled to paddle a canoe to the fishing station of this post where they were supported for some days until they were enabled to proceed in search of some other relations who they expected would treat them with more kindness. I learned that the woman bore an extremely bad character, having even been guilty of infanticide and that her companions considered her offences merited the desertion. This tribe since its present intimate connection with the traders has discontinued its war excursions against the Esquimaux, but they still speak of that nation in terms of the most inveterate hatred. We have only conversed with four men who have been engaged in any of those expeditions; all these confirm the statements of Black Meat respecting the sea-coast. Our observations concerning the half-breed population in this vicinity coincided so exactly with those which have been given of similar persons in Dr. Richardson's account of the Crees that any statement respecting them at this place is unnecessary. Both the Companies have wisely prohibited their servants from intermarrying with pure Indian women, which was formerly the cause of many quarrels with the tribes. The weather was extremely variable during the month of June; we scarcely had two clear days in succession, and the showers of rain were frequent; the winds were often strong and generally blowing from the north-east quarter. On the evening of the 16th the Aurora Borealis was visible but after that date the nights were too light for our discerning it. The mosquitoes swarmed in great numbers about the house and tormented us so incessantly by their irritating stings that we were compelled to keep our rooms constantly filled with smoke which is the only means of driving them away: the weather indeed was now warm. Having received one of Dollond's eighteen-inch spirit thermometers from Mr. Stuart, which he had the kindness to send us from his post at Pierre au Calumet after he had learned that ours had been rendered useless, I observed the temperature at noon on the 25th of June to be 63 degrees. On the following morning we made an excursion accompanied by Mr. Smith round the fishing stations on the south side of the lake for the purpose of visiting our men; we passed several groups of women and children belonging to both the forts, posted wherever they could find a sufficiently dry spot for an encampment. At length we came to our men, pitched upon a narrow strip of land situated between two rivers. Though the portion of dry ground did not exceed fifty yards yet they appeared to be living very comfortably, having formed huts with the canoe's sail and covering, and were amply supported by the fish their nets daily furnished. They sometimes had a change in their fare by procuring a few ducks and other waterfowl which resort in great abundance to the marshes by which they were surrounded. July 2. The canoe which was ordered to be built for our use was finished. As it was constructed after the manner described by Hearne and several of the American travellers a detail of the process will be unnecessary. Its extreme length was thirty-two feet six inches, including the bow and stern pieces, its greatest breadth was four feet ten inches, but it was only two feet nine inches forward where the bowman sat, and two feet four inches behind where the steersman was placed, and its depth was one foot eleven and a quarter inches. There were seventy-three hoops of thin cedar and a layer of slender laths of the same wood within the frame. These feeble vessels of bark will carry twenty-five pieces of goods, each weighing ninety pounds exclusive of the necessary provision and baggage for the crew of five or six men, amounting in the whole to about three thousand three hundred pounds' weight. This great lading they annually carry between the depots and the posts in the interior; and it rarely happens that any accidents occur if they be managed by experienced bowmen and steersmen, on whose skill the safety of the canoe entirely depends in the rapids and difficult places. When a total portage is made these two men carry the canoe, and they often run with it though its weight is estimated at about three hundred pounds exclusive of the poles and oars which are occasionally left in where the distance is short. On the 5th we made an excursion for the purpose of trying our canoe. A heavy gale came on in the evening which caused a great swell in the lake and in crossing the waves we had the satisfaction to find that our birchen vessel proved an excellent sea-boat. July 7. This morning some men and their families, who had been sent off to search for Indians with whom they intended to pass the summer, returned to the fort in consequence of a serious accident having befallen their canoe in the Red Deer River; when they were in the act of hauling up a strong rapid the line broke, the canoe was overturned, and two of the party narrowly escaped drowning; fortunately the women and children happened to be on shore or in all probability they would have perished in the confusion of the scene. Nearly all their stores, their guns and fishing nets were lost, and they could not procure any other food for the last four days than some unripe berries. Some gentlemen arrived in the evening with a party of Chipewyan Indians from Hay River, a post between the Peace River and the Great Slave Lake. These men gave distressing accounts of sickness among their relatives and the Indians in general along the Peace River, and they said many of them have died. The disease was described as dysentery. On the 10th and 11th we had very sultry weather and were dreadfully tormented by mosquitoes. The highest temperature was 73 degrees. ARRIVAL OF DR. RICHARDSON AND MR. HOOD. July 13. This morning Mr. Back and I had the sincere gratification of welcoming our long-separated friends, Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood, who arrived in perfect health with two canoes, having made a very expeditious journey from Cumberland notwithstanding they were detained near three days in consequence of the melancholy loss of one of their bowmen by the upsetting of a canoe in a strong rapid but, as the occurrences of this journey together with the mention of some other circumstances that happened previous to their departure from Cumberland, which have been extracted from Mr. Hood's narrative, will appear in the following chapter, it will be unnecessary to enter further into these points now. The zeal and talent displayed by Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood in the discharge of their several duties since my separation from them drew forth my highest approbation. These gentlemen had brought all the stores they could procure from the establishments at Cumberland and Isle a la Crosse; and at the latter place they had received ten bags of pemmican from the North-West Company, which proved to be mouldy and so totally unfit for use that it was left at the Methye Portage. They got none from the Hudson's Bay post. The voyagers belonging to that Company, being destitute of provision, had eaten what was intended for us. In consequence of these untoward circumstances the canoes arrived with only one day's supply of this most essential article. The prospect of having to commence our journey from hence almost destitute of provision and scantily supplied with stores was distressing to us and very discouraging to the men. It was evident however that any unnecessary delay here would have been very imprudent as Fort Chipewyan did not at the present time furnish the means of subsistence for so large a party, much less was there a prospect of our receiving a supply to carry us forward. We therefore hastened to make the necessary arrangements for our speedy departure. All the stores were demanded that could possibly be spared from both the establishments; and we rejoiced to find that, when this collection was added to the articles that had been brought up by the canoes, we had a sufficient quantity of clothing for the equipment of the men who had been engaged here, as well as to furnish a present to the Indians, besides some few goods for the winter's consumption; but we could not procure any ammunition which was the most essential article, or spirits, and but little tobacco. We then made a final arrangement respecting the voyagers who were to accompany the party; and fortunately there was no difficulty in doing this as Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood had taken the very judicious precaution of bringing up ten men from Cumberland who were engaged to proceed forward if their services were required. The Canadians whom they brought were most desirous of being continued, and we felt sincere pleasure in being able to keep men who were so zealous in the cause and who had given proofs of their activity on their recent passage to this place by discharging those men who were less willing to undertake the journey; of these three were Englishmen, one American, and three Canadians. When the numbers were completed which we had been recommended by the traders to take as a protection against the Esquimaux we had sixteen Canadian voyagers and our worthy and only English attendant John Hepburn, besides the two interpreters whom we were to receive at the Great Slave Lake; we were also accompanied by a Chipewyan woman. An equipment of goods was given to each of the men who had been engaged at this place similar to what had been furnished to the others at Cumberland; and when this distribution had been made the remainder were made up into bales preparatory to our departure on the following day. We were cheerfully assisted in these and all our occupations by Mr. Smith who evinced an anxious desire to supply our wants as far as his means permitted. Mr. Hood having brought up the dipping needle from Cumberland House, we ascertained the dip to be 85 degrees 23 minutes 42 seconds, and the difference produced by reversing the face of the instrument was 6 degrees 2 minutes 10 seconds. The intensity of the magnetic force was also observed. Several observations had been procured on both sides of the moon during our residence at Fort Chipewyan, the result of which gave for its longitude 111 degrees 18 minutes 20 seconds West, its latitude was observed to be 58 degrees 42 minutes 38 seconds North, and the variation of the compass 22 degrees 49 minutes 32 seconds East. Fresh rates were procured for the chronometers and their errors determined for Greenwich time by which the survey to the northward was carried on. CHAPTER 6. MR. HOOD'S JOURNEY TO THE BASQUIAU HILL. SOJOURNS WITH AN INDIAN PARTY. HIS JOURNEY TO CHIPEWYAN. MR. HOOD'S JOURNEY TO THE BASQUIAU HILL. March, 1820. Being desirous of obtaining a drawing of a moose-deer, and also of making some observation on the height of the Aurora Borealis, I set out on the 23rd to pass a few days at the Basquiau Hill. Two men accompanied me with dogs and sledges who were going to the hill for meat. We found the Saskatchewan open and were obliged to follow it several miles to the eastward. We did not then cross it without wading in water which had overflowed the ice, and our snowshoes were encumbered with a heavy weight for the remainder of the day. On the south bank of the Saskatchewan were some poplars ten or twelve feet in circumference at the root. Beyond the river we traversed an extensive swamp bounded by woods. In the evening we crossed the Swan Lake, about six miles in breadth and eight in length, and halted on its south side for the night, twenty-four miles South-South-West of Cumberland House. At four in the morning of the 24th we continued the journey and crossed some creeks in the woods and another large swamp. These swamps are covered with water in summer to the depth of several feet which arises from the melted snow from the higher grounds. The tracks of foxes, wolves, wolverines and martens were very numerous. The people employed in carrying meat set traps on their way out and take possession of their captures at their return, for which they receive a sum from the Company proportioned to the value of the fur. In the evening we crossed the Goose Lake which is a little longer than Swan Lake and afterwards the river Sepanach, a branch of the Saskatchewan forming an island extending thirty miles above and forty below Cumberland House. We turned to the westward on the Root River which enters the Sepanach and halted on its banks, having made in direct distance not more than twenty miles since the 23rd. We passed the Shoal Lake on the 25th and then marched twelve miles through woods and swamps to a hunting tent of the Indians. It was situated in a grove of large poplars and would have been no unpleasant residence if we could have avoided the smoke. A heavy gale from the westward with snow confined us for several days to this tent. On the 30th two Indians arrived, one of whom, named the Warrior, was well known at the House. We endeavoured to prevail upon them to set out in quest of moose which they agreed to do on receiving some rum. Promises were of no avail; the smallest present gratification is preferred to the certainty of ample reward at another period; an unfailing indication of strong animal passions and a weak understanding. On our compliance with their demand they departed. The next day I went to the Warrior's tent distant about eleven miles. The country was materially changed: the pine had disappeared and gentle slopes with clumps of large poplars formed some pleasing groups: willows were scattered over the swamps. When I entered the tent the Indians spread a buffalo robe before the fire and desired me to sit down. Some were eating, others sleeping, many of them without any covering except the breechcloth and a blanket over the shoulders, a state in which they love to indulge themselves till hunger drives them forth to the chase. Besides the Warrior's family there was that of another hunter named Long-legs whose bad success in hunting had reduced him to the necessity of feeding on moose leather for three weeks when he was compassionately relieved by the Warrior. I was an unwilling witness of the preparation of my dinner by the Indian women. They cut into pieces a portion of fat meat, using for that purpose a knife and their teeth. It was boiled in a kettle and served in a platter made of birch bark from which, being dirty, they had peeled the surface. However the flavour of good moose meat will survive any process that it undergoes in their hands except smoking. Having provided myself with some drawing materials I amused the Indians with a sketch of the interior of the tent and its inhabitants. An old woman who was relating with great volubility an account of some quarrel with the traders at Cumberland House broke off from her narration when she perceived my design, supposing perhaps that I was employing some charm against her; for the Indians have been taught a supernatural dread of particular pictures. One of the young men drew with a piece of charcoal a figure resembling a frog on the side of the tent and, by significantly pointing at me, excited peals of merriment from his companions. The caricature was comic, but I soon fixed their attention by producing my pocket compass and affecting it with a knife. They have great curiosity which might easily be directed to the attainment of useful knowledge. As the dirt accumulated about these people was visibly of a communicative nature I removed at night into the open air where the thermometer fell to 15 degrees below zero although it was the next day 60 degrees above it. In the morning the Warrior and his companion arrived; I found that, instead of hunting, they had passed the whole time in a drunken fit at a short distance from the tent. In reply to our angry questions the Warrior held out an empty vessel as if to demand the payment of a debt before he entered into any new negotiation. Not being inclined to starve his family we set out for another Indian tent ten miles to the southward, but we found only the frame or tent poles standing when we reached the spot. The men, by digging where the fireplace had been, ascertained that the Indians had quitted it the day before and, as their marches are short when encumbered with the women and baggage, we sought out their track and followed it. At an abrupt angle of it which was obscured by trees the men suddenly disappeared and, hastening forward to discover the cause, I perceived them both still rolling at the foot of a steep cliff over which they had been dragged while endeavouring to stop the descent of their sledges. The dogs were gazing silently with the wreck of their harness about them and the sledges deeply buried in the snow. The effects of this accident did not detain us long and we proceeded afterwards with greater caution. SOJOURNS WITH AN INDIAN PARTY. The air was warm at noon and the solitary but sweet notes of the jay, the earliest spring bird, were in every wood. Late in the evening we descried the ravens wheeling in circles round a small grove of poplars and, according to our expectations, found the Indians encamped there. The men were absent hunting and returned unsuccessful. They had been several days without provisions and, thinking that I could depend upon the continuance of their exertions, I gave them a little rum; the next day their set out and at midnight they swept by us with their dogs in close pursuit. In the morning we found that a moose had eaten the bark of a tree near our fire. The hunters however again failed; and they attributed the extreme difficulty of approaching the chase to the calmness of the weather, which enabled it to hear them at a great distance. They concluded, as usual when labouring under any affliction, that they were tormented by the evil spirit, and assembled to beat a large tambourine and sing an address to the Manito or deity, praying for relief according to the explanation which I received; but their prayer consisted of only three words constantly repeated. One of the hunters yet remained abroad and, as the wind rose at noon, we had hopes that he was successful. In the evening he made his appearance and, announcing that he had killed a large moose, immediately secured the reward which had been promised. The tidings were received with apparent indifference by people whose lives are alternate changes from the extremity of want to abundance. But as their countenances seldom betray their emotions it cannot be determined whether their apathy is real or affected. However the women prepared their sledges and dogs with the design of dismembering and bringing home the carcass, a proceeding to which, in their necessitous condition, I could have had neither reasonable nor available objections without giving them a substitute. By much solicitation I obtained an audience and offered them our own provisions on condition of their suspending the work of destruction till the next day. They agreed to the proposition and we set out with some Indians for the place where the animal was lying. The night advancing we were separated by a snowstorm and, not being skilful enough to follow tracks which were so speedily filled up, I was bewildered for several hours in the woods, when I met with an Indian who led me back at such a pace that I was always in the rear, to his infinite diversion. The Indians are vain of their local knowledge which is certainly very wonderful. Our companions had taken out the entrails and young of the moose, which they buried in the snow. The Indians then returned to the tents and one of my men accompanied them; he was the person charged with the management of the trade at the hunting tent; and he observed that the opportunity of making a bargain with the Indians while they were drinking was too advantageous to be lost. It remained for us to prevent the wolves from mangling the moose; for which purpose we wrapped ourselves in blankets between its feet and placed the hatchets within our reach. The night was stormy and apprehension kept me long awake but, finding my companion in so deep a sleep that nothing could have roused him except the actual gripe of a wolf, I thought it advisable to imitate his example as much as was in my power rather than bear the burden of anxiety alone. At daylight we shook off the snow which was heaped upon us and endeavoured to kindle a fire, but the violence of the storm defeated all our attempts. At length two Indians arrived with whose assistance we succeeded, and they took possession of it to show their sense of our obligations to them. We were ashamed of the scene before us; the entrails of the moose and its young, which had been buried at our feet, bore testimony to the nocturnal revel of the wolves during the time we had slept. This was a fresh subject of derision for the Indians whose appetites however would not suffer them to waste long upon us a time so precious. They soon finished what the wolves had begun and with as little aid from the art of cookery, eating both the young moose and the contents of the paunch raw. I had scarcely secured myself by a lodge of branches from the snow and placed the moose in a position for my sketch when we were stormed by a troop of women and children with their sledges and dogs. We obtained another short respite from the Indians but our blows could not drive, nor their caresses entice, the hungry dogs from the tempting feast before them. I had not finished my sketch before the impatient crowd tore the moose to pieces and loaded their sledges with meat. On our way to the tent a black wolf rushed out upon an Indian who happened to pass near its den. It was shot and the Indians carried away three black whelps to improve the breed of their dogs. I purchased one of them, intending to send it to England, but it perished for want of proper nourishment. The latitude of these tents was 53 degrees 12 minutes 46 seconds North, and longitude by chronometers 103 degrees 13 minutes 10 seconds West. On the 5th of April we set out for the hunting tent by our former track and arrived there in the evening. As the increasing warmth of the weather had threatened to interrupt communication by removing the ice orders had been sent from Cumberland House to the people at the tent to quit it without delay, which we did on the 7th. Some altitudes of the Aurora Borealis were obtained. We had a fine view at sunrise of the Basquiau Hill, skirting half the horizon with its white sides chequered by forests of pine. It is seen from Pine Island Lake at the distance of fifty miles and cannot therefore be less than three-fourths of a mile in perpendicular height; probably the greatest elevation between the Atlantic Ocean and the Rocky Mountains. A small stream runs near the hunting tent, strongly impregnated with salt. There are several salt springs about it which are not frozen during the winter. The surface of the snow, thawing in the sun and freezing at night, had become a strong crust which sometimes gave way in a circle round our feet, immersing us in the soft snow beneath. The people were afflicted with snow blindness, a kind of ophthalmia occasioned by the reflection of the sun's rays in the spring. The miseries endured during the first journey of this nature are so great that nothing could induce the sufferer to undertake a second while under the influence of present pain. He feels his frame crushed by unaccountable pressure, he drags a galling and stubborn weight at his feet, and his track is marked with blood. The dazzling scene around him affords no rest to his eye, no object to divert his attention from his own agonising sensations. When he arises from sleep half his body seems dead till quickened into feeling by the irritation of his sores. But fortunately for him no evil makes an impression so evanescent as pain. It cannot be wholly banished nor recalled by the force of reality by any act of the mind, either to affect our determinations or to sympathise with another. The traveller soon forgets his sufferings and at every future journey their recurrence is attended with diminished acuteness. It was not before the 10th or 12th of April that the return of the swans, geese, and ducks gave certain indications of the advance of spring. The juice of the maple-tree began to flow and the women repaired to the woods for the purpose of collecting it. This tree which abounds to the southward is not I believe found to the northward of the Saskatchewan. The Indians obtain the sap by making incisions into the tree. They boil it down and evaporate the water, skimming off the impurities. They are so fond of sweets that after this simple process they set an extravagant price upon it. On the 15th fell the first shower of rain we had seen for six months, and on the 17th the thermometer rose to 77 degrees in the shade. The whole face of the country was deluged by the melted snow. All the nameless heaps of dirt accumulated in the winter now floated over the very thresholds, and the long-imprisoned scents dilated into vapours so penetrating that no retreat was any security from them. The flood descended into the cellar below our house and destroyed a quantity of powder and tea; a loss irreparable in our situation. The noise made by the frogs which this inundation produced is almost incredible. There is strong reason to believe that they outlive the severity of winter. They have often been found frozen and revived by warmth, nor is it possible that the multitude which incessantly filled our ears with its discordant notes could have been matured in two or three days. The fishermen at Beaver Lake and the other detached parties were ordered to return to the post. The expedients to which the poor people were reduced to cross a country so beset with waters presented many uncouth spectacles. The inexperienced were glad to compromise with the loss of property for the safety of their persons and, astride upon ill-balanced rafts with which they struggled to be uppermost, exhibited a ludicrous picture of distress. Happy were they who could patch up an old canoe though obliged to bear it half the way on their shoulders through miry bogs and interwoven willows. But the veteran trader, wedged in a box of skin with his wife, children, dogs, and furs, wheeled triumphantly through the current and deposited his heterogeneous cargo safely on the shore. The woods reechoed with the return of their exiled tenants. A hundred tribes, as gaily dressed as any burnished natives of the south, greeted our eyes in our accustomed walks, and their voices, though unmusical, were the sweetest that ever saluted our ears. From the 19th to the 26th the snow once more blighted the resuscitating verdure, but a single day was sufficient to remove it. On the 28th the Saskatchewan swept away the ice which had adhered to its banks, and on the morrow a boat came down from Carlton House with provisions. We received such accounts of the state of vegetation at that place that Dr. Richardson determined to visit it in order to collect botanical specimens, as the period at which the ice was expected to admit of the continuation of our journey was still distant. Accordingly he embarked on the 1st of May. In the course of the month the ice gradually wore away from the south side of the lake but the great mass of it still hung to the north side with some snow visible on its surface. By the 21st the elevated grounds were perfectly dry and teeming with the fragrant offspring of the season. When the snow melted the earth was covered with the fallen leaves of the last year, and already it was green with the strawberry plant and the bursting buds of the gooseberry, raspberry, and rose bushes, soon variegated by the rose and the blossoms of the choke-cherry. The gifts of nature are disregarded and undervalued till they are withdrawn and in the hideous regions of the Arctic Zone she would make a convert of him for whom the gardens of Europe had no charms or the mild beauties of a southern climate had bloomed in vain. Mr. Williams found a delightful occupation in his agricultural pursuits. The horses were brought to the plough and fields of wheat, barley, and Indian corn promised to reward his labours. His dairy furnished us with all the luxuries of an English farm. On the 25th the ice departed from Pine Island Lake. We were however informed that Beaver Lake, which was likewise in our route, would not afford a passage before the 4th of June. According to directions left by Mr. Franklin applications were made to the chiefs of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies' posts for two canoes with their crews and a supply of stores for the use of the Expedition. They were not in a condition to comply with this request till the arrival of their respective returns from Isle a la Crosse and the Saskatchewan departments. Of the six men whom we brought from England the most serviceable, John Hepburn, had accompanied Mr. Franklin, and only one other desired to prosecute the journey with us. Mr. Franklin had made arrangements with Mr. Williams for the employment of the remaining five men in bringing to Cumberland House the ammunition, tobacco, etc., left at York Fort, which stores were if possible to be sent after us in the summer. On the 30th Dr. Richardson returned from Carlton House, and on the 31st the boats arrived belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company's Saskatchewan department. We obtained a canoe and two more volunteers. On the 1st of June the Saskatchewan, swelled by the melting of the snow near the Rocky Mountains, rose twelve feet and the current of the little rivers bounding Pine Island ran back into the lake, which it filled with mud. On the 5th the North-West Company's people arrived and Mr. Connolly furnished us with a canoe and five Canadians. They were engaged to attend us till Mr. Franklin should think fit to discharge them and bound under the usual penalties in case of disobedience or other improper conduct. These poor people entertained such dread of a ship of war that they stipulated not to be embarked in Lieutenant Parry's vessels if we should find them on the coast, a condition with which they would gladly have dispensed had that desirable event taken place. As we required a Canadian foreman and steersman for the other canoe we were compelled to wait for the appearance of the Isle a la Crosse canoes under Mr. Clark. On the 8th Mr. Williams embarked for York Fort. He gave us a circular letter addressed to the chiefs of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts directing them to afford us all possible assistance on our route, and he promised to exert every endeavour to forward the Esquimaux interpreter, upon whom the success of our journey so much depended. He was accompanied by eight boats. With him we sent our collections of plants, minerals, charts, and drawings to be transmitted to England by the Hudson's Bay ships. After this period our detention, though short, cost us more vexation than the whole time we had passed at Cumberland House because every hour of the short summer was invaluable to us. On the 11th Mr. Clark arrived and completed our crews. He brought letters from Mr. Franklin dated March 28th at Fort Chipewyan where he was engaged procuring hunters and interpreters. A heavy storm of wind and rain from the north-east again delayed us till the morning of the 13th. The account we had received at York Factory of the numerous stores at Cumberland House proved to be very erroneous. The most material stores we received did not amount in addition to our own to more than two barrels of powder, a keg of spirits, and two pieces of tobacco, with pemmican for sixteen days. The crew of Dr. Richardson's canoe consisted of three Englishmen and three Canadians and the other carried five Canadians; both were deeply laden and the waves ran high on the lake. No person in our party being well acquainted with the rivers to the northward, Mr. Connolly gave us a pilot on condition that we should exchange him when we met with the Athabasca brigade of canoes. At four A.M. we embarked. We soon found that birchen-bark canoes were not calculated to brave rough weather on a large lake, for we were compelled to land on the opposite border to free them from the water which had already saturated their cargoes. The wind became more moderate and we were enabled, after traversing a chain of smaller lakes, to enter the mouth of the Sturgeon River at sunset, where we encamped. The lading of the canoes is always if possible carried on shore at night and the canoes taken out of the water. The following evening we reached Beaver Lake and landed to repair some damages sustained by the canoes. A round stone will displace the lading of a canoe without doing any injury but a slight blow against a sharp corner penetrates the bark. For the purpose of repairing it, a small quantity of gum or pitch, bark and pine roots are embarked, and the business is so expeditiously performed that the speed of the canoe amply compensates for every delay. The Sturgeon River is justly called by the Canadians La Riviere Maligne from its numerous and dangerous rapids. Against the strength of a rapid it is impossible to effect any progress by paddling and the canoes are tracked or, if the bank will not admit of it, propelled with poles, in the management of which the Canadians show great dexterity. Their simultaneous motions were strongly contrasted with the awkward confusion of the inexperienced Englishmen, defended by the torrent, who sustained the blame of every accident which occurred. At sunset we encamped on an island in Beaver Lake and, at four A.M. the next morning, passed the first portage in the Ridge River. Beaver Lake is twelve miles in length and six in breadth. The flat limestone country rises into bold rocks on its banks and at the mouth of the Ridge River the limestone discontinues. The lake is very deep and has already been noticed for the number and excellence of its fish. The Ridge River is rapid and shallow. We had emerged from the muddy channels through an alluvial soil, and the primitive rocks interrupted our way with frequent portages through the whole route to Isle a la Crosse Lake. At two P.M. we passed the mouth of the Hay River, running from the westward, and the ridge above its confluence takes the name of the Great River, which rises at the height of land called Frog Portage. The thermometer was this day 100 degrees in the sun and the heat was extremely oppressive from our constant exposure to it. We crossed three portages in the Great River and encamped at the last; here we met the director of the North-West Company's affairs in the north, Mr. Stuart, on his way to Fort William in a light canoe. He had left the Athabasca Lake only thirteen days and brought letters from Mr. Franklin who desired that we would endeavour to collect stores of every kind at Isle a la Crosse and added a favourable account of the country to the northward of the Slave Lake. On the 16th at three A.M. we continued our course, the river increasing to the breadth of half a mile with many rapids between the rocky islands. The banks were luxuriantly clothed with pines, poplars, and birch trees, of the largest size, but the different shades of green were undistinguishable at a distance and the glow of autumnal colours was wanting to render the variety beautiful. Having crossed two portages at the different extremities of the Island Lake we ran under sail through two extensive sheets of water called the Heron and Pelican Lakes, the former of which is fifteen miles in length and the latter five; but its extent to the southward has not been explored. An intricate channel with four small portages conducted us to the Woody Lake. Its borders were indeed walls of pines, hiding the face of steep and high rocks; and we wandered in search of a landing-place till ten P.M., when we were forced to take shelter from the impending storm on a small island where we wedged ourselves between the trees. But though we secured the canoes we incurred a personal evil of much greater magnitude in the torments inflicted by the mosquitoes, a plague which had grown upon us since our departure from Cumberland House and which infested us during the whole summer; we found no relief from their attacks by exposing ourselves to the utmost violence of the wind and rain. Our last resource was to plunge ourselves in the water, and from this uncomfortable situation we gladly escaped at daylight, and hoisted our sails. The Woody Lake is thirteen miles in length and a small grassy channel at its north-western extremity leads to the Frog Portage, the source of the waters descending by Beaver Lake to the Saskatchewan. The distance to the Missinippi or Churchill River is only three hundred and eighty yards and, as its course crosses the height nearly at rightangles to the direction of the Great River, it would be superfluous to compute the elevation at this place. The portage is in latitude 55 degrees 26 minutes 0 seconds North, and longitude 103 degrees 34 minutes 50 seconds West. Its name according to Sir Alexander Mackenzie is derived from the Crees having left suspended a stretched frog's skin in derision of the Northern Indian mode of dressing the beaver. The part of the Missinippi in which we embarked we should have mistaken for a lake had it not been for the rapidity of the current against which we made our way. At four P.M. we passed a long portage occasioned by a ledge of rocks three hundred yards in length over which the river falls seven or eight feet. After crossing another portage we encamped. On the 18th we had rain, wind, and thunder the whole day but this weather was much preferable to the heat we had borne hitherto. We passed three portages and at six P.M. encamped on the north bank. Below the third portage is the mouth of the Rapid River, flowing from a large lake to the southward, on which a post was formerly maintained by the North-West Company. Next morning we found ourselves involved in a confused mass of islands through the openings of which we could not discern the shore. The guide's knowledge of the river did not extend beyond the last portage, and our perplexity continued till we observed some foam floating on the water and took the direction from which it came. The noise of a heavy fall at the Mountain Portage reached our ears at the distance of four miles and we arrived there at eight A.M. The portage was a difficult ascent over a rocky island between which and the main shore were two cataracts and a third in sight above them, making another portage. We surprised a large brown bear which immediately retreated into the woods. To the northward of the second portage we again found the channels intricate but, the shores being sometimes visible, we ventured to proceed. The character of the country was new and more interesting than before. The mountainous and strong elevations receded from the bank and the woods crept through their openings to the valleys behind, the adventurous pine alone ascending their bases and braving storms unfelt below. At noon we landed at the Otter Portage where the river ran with great velocity for half a mile among large stones. Having carried across the principal part of the cargo the people attempted to track the canoes along the edge of the rapid. With the first they succeeded but the other, in which were the foreman and steersman, was overset and swept away by the current. An account of this misfortune was speedily conveyed to the upper end of the portage and the men launched the remaining canoe into the rapid, though wholly unacquainted with the dangers of it. The descent was quickly accomplished and they perceived the bottom of the lost canoe above water in a little bay whither it had been whirled by the eddy. One man had reached the bank but no traces could be found of the foreman Louis Saint Jean. We saved the canoe out of which two guns and a case of preserved meats had been thrown into the rapid.* So early a disaster deeply affected the spirits of the Canadians, and their natural vivacity gave way to melancholy forebodings while they erected a wooden cross in the rocks near the spot where their companion perished. (*Footnote. Mr. Hood himself was the first to leap into the canoe and incite the men to follow him and shoot the rapid to save the lives of their companions. Dr. Richardson's Journal.) The loss of this man's services and the necessity of procuring a guide determined us to wait for the arrival of the North-West Company's people from Fort Chipewyan and we encamped accordingly. The canoe was much shattered but, as the gunwales were not broken, we easily repaired it. In the evening a North-West canoe arrived with two of the partners. They gave us an account of Mr. Franklin's proceedings and referred us to the brigade following them for a guide. During the 20th it rained heavily and we passed the day in anxious suspense confined to our tents. A black bear came to the bank on the opposite side of the river and, on seeing us, glided behind the trees. Late on the 21st Mr. Robertson of the Hudson's Bay Company arrived and furnished us with a guide, but desired that he might be exchanged when we met the northern canoes. We took advantage of the remainder of the day to cross the next portage which was three-fourths of a mile in length. On the 22nd we crossed three small portages and encamped at the fourth. At one of them we passed some of the Hudson's Bay Company's canoes and our application to them was unsuccessful. We began to suspect that Isle a la Crosse was the nearest place at which we might hope for assistance. However on the morning of the 23rd, as we were about to embark, we encountered the last brigades of canoes belonging to both the Companies and obtained a guide and foreman from them. Thus completely equipped we entered the Black Bear Island Lake, the navigation of which requires a very experienced pilot. Its length is twenty-two miles and its breadth varies from three to five, yet it is so choked with islands that no channel is to be found through it exceeding a mile in breadth. At sunset we landed and encamped on an island, and at six A.M. on the 24th left the lake and crossed three portages into another which has probably several communications with the last, as that by which we passed is too narrow to convey the whole body of the Missinippi. At one of these portages called the Pin Portage is a rapid about ten yards in length with a descent of ten or twelve feet and beset with rocks. Light canoes sometimes venture down this fatal gulf to avoid the portage, unappalled by the warning crosses which overhang the brink, the mournful records of former failures. The Hudson's Bay Company's people whom we passed on the 23rd going to the rock house with their furs were badly provided with food, of which we saw distressing proofs at every portage behind them. They had stripped the birch trees of their rind to procure the soft pulpy vessels in contact with the wood which are sweet but very insufficient to satisfy a craving appetite. The lake to the westward of the Pin Portage is called Sandfly Lake; it is seven miles long and a wide channel connects it with the Serpent Lake, the extent of which to the southward we could not discern. There is nothing remarkable in this chain of lakes except their shapes, being rocky basins filled by the waters of the Missinippi, insulating the massy eminences and meandering with almost imperceptible current between them. From the Serpent to the Sandy Lake it is again confined in a narrow space by the approach of its winding banks, and on the 26th we were some hours employed in traversing a series of shallow rapids where it was necessary to lighten the canoes. Having missed the path through the woods we walked two miles in the water upon sharp stones, from which some of us were incessantly slipping into deep holes and floundering in vain for footing at the bottom, a scene highly diverting notwithstanding our fatigue. We were detained in Sandy Lake till one P.M. by a strong gale when, the wind becoming moderate, we crossed five miles to the mouth of the river and at four P.M. left the main branch of it and entered a little rivulet called the Grassy River, running through an extensive reedy swamp. It is the nest of innumerable ducks which rear their young among the long rushes in security from beasts of prey. At sunset we encamped on the banks of the main branch. At three A.M. June 28th we embarked in a thick fog occasioned by a fall of the temperature of the air ten degrees below that of the water. Having crossed Knee Lake which is nine miles in length and a portage at its western extremity we entered Primeau Lake with a strong and favourable wind, by the aid of which we ran nineteen miles through it and encamped at the river's mouth. It is shaped like the barb of an arrow with the point towards the north and its greatest breadth is about four miles. During the night a torrent of rain washed us from our beds accompanied with the loudest thunder I ever heard. This weather continued during the 29th and often compelled us to land and turn the canoes up to prevent them from filling. We passed one portage and the confluence of a river said to afford by other rivers beyond a height of land a shorter but more difficult route to the Athabasca Lake than that which is generally pursued. On the 28th we crossed the last portage and at ten A.M. entered the Isle a la Crosse Lake. Its long succession of woody points, both banks stretching towards the south till their forms were lost in the haze of the horizon, was a grateful prospect to us after our bewildered and interrupted voyage in the Missinippi. The gale wafted us with unusual speed and as the lake increased in breadth the waves swelled to a dangerous height. A canoe running before the wind is very liable to burst asunder when on the top of a wave so that part of the bottom is out of the water, for there is nothing to support the weight of its heavy cargo but the bark and the slight gunwales attached to it. On making known our exigencies to the gentlemen in charge of the Hudson's Bay and North-West Companies' forts they made up an assortment of stores amounting to five bales, for four of which we were indebted to Mr. McLeod of the North-West Company who shared with us the ammunition absolutely required for the support of his post, receiving in exchange an order for the same quantity upon the cargo which we expected to follow us from York Factory. We had heard from Mr. Stuart that Fort Chipewyan was too much impoverished to supply the wants of the Expedition and we found Isle a la Crosse in the same condition; which indeed we might have foreseen from the exhausted state of Cumberland House but could not have provided against. We never had heard before our departure from York that the posts in the interior only received annually the stores necessary for the consumption of a single year. It was fortunate for us that Mr. Franklin had desired ten bags of pemmican to be sent from the Saskatchewan across the plains to Isle a la Crosse for our use. This resource was untouched but we could not embark more than five pieces in our own canoes. However Mr. McLeod agreed to send a canoe after us to the Methye Portage with the pemmican, and we calculated that the diminution of our provision would there enable us to receive it. The Beaver River enters this lake on the South-East side, and another river which has not been named on the South-West. Both these rivers are branches of the Missinippi as it is the only outlet from the lake. The banks appeared to be rocky and the beach in many places sandy but its waters are yellow and muddy. It produces a variety of fish among which its white-fish are esteemed the best in the country. The only birds visible at this season are common to every part of the Missinippi; gulls, ducks, pigeons, goatsuckers, and the raven; and geese and swans pay a momentary visit in passing to the north and returning. There was little in the forts differing from the establishments that we had before seen. The ground on which they are erected is sandy and favourable to cultivation. Curiosity however was satisfied by the first experiment and utility alone has been unable to extend it. Isle a la Crosse is frequented by the Crees and the Chipewyans. It is not the dread of the Indians but of one another that has brought the rival Companies so close together at every trading post, each party seeking to prevent the other from engaging the affections of the natives and monopolising the trade. Whenever a settlement is made by the one the other immediately follows, without considering the eligibility of the place, for it may injure its opponent though it cannot benefit itself, and that advantage, which is the first object of all other commercial bodies, becomes but the second with the fur traders. On the evening of the 30th we embarked and entered a wide channel to the northward of the forts and extending towards the north-west. It gradually decreased in breadth till it became a river which is the third fork of the Missinippi and, its current being almost insensible, we entered the Clear Lake at ten A.M. on the 1st of July. Of this lake, which is very large, no part is known except the south border, but its extent would lead us to conclude that its evaporation must be supplied by another river to the northward, especially as the small channel that communicates with Buffalo Lake is motionless. The existence of such a river is asserted by the Indians, and a shorter passage might be found by it across the height of land to Clear Water River than the portage from the Methye Lake. In Buffalo Lake the wind was too strong for us to proceed and we therefore encamped upon a gravel beach thrown up by the waves. We embarked at three A.M. July 2nd and at four P.M. entered the mouth of the Methye River. The lake is thirty-four miles in length and fourteen in breadth. It is probably very deep for we saw no islands on this wide expanse except at the borders. On the south-west side were two forts belonging to the Companies and near them a solitary hill seven or eight hundred feet high. At eight P.M. we encamped in the Methye River at the confluence of the river Pembina. A route has been explored by it to the Red Willow River across the height of land, but the difficulties of it were so great that the ordinary route is preferred. On the 3rd we passed through the Methye River and encamped on the borders of the Methye Lake. The soil from Isle a la Crosse to this place is sandy with some portion of clay and the trees numerous; but the Methye River is stony and so shallow that, to lighten the canoes, we made two portages of five and two miles. The paths were overflowed with cold spring water and barricaded by fallen trees; we should have been contented to immerse ourselves wholly had the puddle been sufficiently deep for the mosquitoes devoured every part that was exposed to them. On the 4th we crossed the Methye Lake and landed at the portage on the north-west side in one of the sources of the Missinippi. The lake is seventeen miles in length with a large island in the middle. We proceeded to the north side of the portage with two men carrying a tent and some instruments, leaving the canoes and cargoes to be transported by daily journeys of two or three miles. The distance is fourteen statute miles and there are two small lakes about five miles from the north side. Several species of fish were found in them though they have no known communication with any other body of water, being situated on the elevation of the height. The road was a gentle ascent, miry from the late rainy weather and shaded by pines, poplars, birches, and cypresses, which terminated our view. On the north side we discovered through an opening in the trees that we were on a hill eight or nine hundred feet high and at the edge of a steep descent. We were prepared to expect an extensive prospect, but the magnificent scene before us was so superior to what the nature of the country had promised that it banished even our sense of suffering from the mosquitoes which hovered in clouds about our heads. Two parallel chains of hills extended towards the setting sun, their various projecting outlines exhibiting the several gradations of distance and the opposite bases closing at the horizon. On the nearest eminence the objects were clearly defined by their dark shadows; the yellow rays blended their softening hues with brilliant green on the next, and beyond it all distinction melted into gray and purple. In the long valley between, the smooth and colourless Clear Water River wound its spiral course, broken and shattered by encroaching woods. An exuberance of rich herbage covered the soil and lofty trees climbed the precipice at our feet, hiding its brink with their summits. Impatient as we were and blinded with pain we paid a tribute of admiration, which this beautiful landscape is capable of exciting unaided by the borrowed charms of a calm atmosphere, glowing with the vivid tints of evening. We descended to the banks of the Clear Water River and, having encamped, the two men returned to assist their companions. We had sometimes before procured a little rest by closing the tent and burning wood or flashing gunpowder within, the smoke driving the mosquitoes into the crannies of the ground. But this remedy was now ineffectual though we employed it so perseveringly as to hazard suffocation: they swarmed under our blankets, goring us with their envenomed trunks and steeping our clothes in blood. We rose at daylight in a fever and our misery was unmitigated during our whole stay. The mosquitoes of America resemble in shape those of Africa and Europe but differ essentially in size and other particulars. There are two distinct species, the largest of which is brown and the smallest black. Where they are bred cannot easily be determined for they are numerous in every soil. They make their first appearance in May and the cold destroys them in September; in July they are most voracious and, fortunately for the traders, the journeys from the trading posts to the factories are generally concluded at that period. The food of the mosquito is blood which it can extract by penetrating the hide of a buffalo; and if it is not disturbed it gorges itself so as to swell its body into a transparent globe. The wound does not swell like that of the African mosquito, but it is infinitely more painful; and when multiplied a hundredfold and continued for so many successive days it becomes an evil of such magnitude that cold, famine, and every other concomitant of an inhospitable climate must yield the pre-eminence to it. It chases the buffalo to the plains, irritating him to madness; and the reindeer to the seashore, from which they do not return till the scourge has ceased. On the 6th the thermometer was 106 degrees in the sun and on the 7th 110 degrees. The mosquitoes sought the shade in the heat of the day. It was some satisfaction to us to see the havoc made among them by a large and beautiful species of dragonfly called the mosquito hawk, which wheeled through their retreats swallowing their prey without a momentary diminution of speed. But the temporary relief that we had hoped for was only an exchange of tormentors: our new assailant, the horsefly, or bulldog, ranged in the hottest glare of the sun and carried off a portion of flesh at each attack. Another noxious insect, the smallest but not the least formidable, was the sandfly known in Canada by the name of the brulot. To such annoyance all travellers must submit, and it would be unworthy to complain of that grievance in the pursuit of knowledge which is endured for the sake of profit. This detail of it has only been as an excuse for the scantiness of our observations on the most interesting part of the country through which we passed. The north side of the Methye Portage is in latitude 56 degrees 41 minutes 40 seconds North and longitude 109 degrees 52 minutes 0 seconds West. It is of course one hundred and twenty-four miles from Isle a la Crosse and considered as a branch of the Missinippi, five hundred and ninety-two miles from the Frog Portage. The Clear Water River passing through the valley, described above, evidently rises not far to the eastward. The height, computed by the same mode as that of the Echiamamis, by allowing a foot for each mile of distance and six feet on an average for each fall and rapid, is two thousand four hundred and sixty-seven feet above the level of the sea, admitting it to be nine hundred feet above the Clear Water River. The country in a line between it and the mouth of Mackenzie's River is a continual descent, although to the eastward of that line there may be several heights between it and the Arctic Sea. To the eastward the lands descend to Hudson's Bay, and to the westward also, till the Athabasca River cuts through it, from whence it ascends to the Rocky Mountains. Daring was the spirit of enterprise that first led Commerce with her cumbrous train from the waters of Hudson's Bay to those of the Arctic Sea, across an obstacle to navigation so stupendous as this; and persevering has been the industry which drew riches from a source so remote. HIS JOURNEY TO CHIPEWYAN. On the 8th two men arrived and informed us that they had brought us our ten bags of pemmican from Isle a la Crosse, but that they were found to be rotten. Thus were we unexpectedly deprived of the most essential of our stores for we knew Fort Chipewyan to be destitute of provisions and that Mr. Franklin depended upon us for a supply, whereas enough did not remain for our own use. On the 9th the canoes and cargoes reached the north side of the portage. Our people had selected two bags of pemmican less mouldy than the rest which they left on the beach. Its decay was caused by some defect in the mode of mixing it. On the 10th we embarked in the Clear Water River and proceeded down the current. The hills, the banks, and bed of the river were composed of fine yellow sand with some limestone rocks. The surface soil was alluvial. At eight A.M. we passed a portage on which the limestone rocks were singularly scattered through the woods, bearing the appearance of houses and turrets overgrown with moss. The earth emitted a hollow sound and the river was divided by rocks into narrow crooked channels, every object indicating that some convulsion had disturbed the general order of nature at this place. We had passed a portage above it and after two long portages below it we encamped. Near the last was a small stream so strongly impregnated with sulphur as to taint the air to a great distance around it. We saw two brown bears on the hills in the course of the day. At daylight on the 11th we embarked. The hills continued on both sides of the mouth of the river, varying from eight hundred to one thousand feet in height. They declined to the banks in long green slopes diversified by woody mounds and copses. The pines were not here in thick impenetrable masses but perched aloft in single groups on the heights or shrouded by the livelier hues of the poplar and willow. We passed the mouth of the Red Willow River on the south bank flowing through a deep ravine. It is the continuation of the route by the Pembina before mentioned. At noon we entered the majestic Athabasca or Elk River. Its junction with the Clear Water River is called the Forks. Its banks were inaccessible cliffs, apparently of clay and stones about two hundred feet high, and its windings in the south were encircled by high mountains. Its breadth exceeded half a mile and was swelled to a mile in many places by long muddy islands in the middle covered with trees. No more portages interrupted our course but a swift current hurried us towards the quarter in which our anticipated discoveries were to commence. The passing cliffs returned a loud confusion of echoes to the sprightly canoe song and the dashing paddles and the eagles, watching with half-closed eyes on the pine-tops, started from their airy rest and prepared their drowsy pinions for the flight. About twenty miles from the Forks are some salt pits and plains, said to be very extensive. The height of the banks was reduced to twenty or thirty feet and the hills ranged themselves at an increased distance from the banks in the same variety as those of the Clear Water River. At sunset we encamped on a small sandy island but the next morning made a speedy retreat to the canoes, the water having nearly overflown our encampment. We passed two deserted settlements of the fur traders on opposite banks at a place called Pierre au Calumet. Beyond it the hills disappeared and the banks were no longer visible above the trees. The river carries away yearly large portions of soil which increases its breadth and diminishes its depth, rendering the water so muddy as to be scarcely drinkable. Whole forests of timber are drifted down the stream and choke up the channels between the islands at its mouth. We observed the traces of herds of buffaloes where they had crossed the river, the trees being trodden down and strewed as if by a whirlwind. At four P.M. we left the main branch of the Athabasca, entering a small river called the Embarras. It is narrow and muddy with pines of an enormous size on its banks. Some of them are two hundred feet high and three or four feet in diameter. At nine P.M. we landed and encamped but, finding ourselves in a nest of mosquitoes, we continued our journey before daybreak; and at eight A.M. emerged into the Athabasca Lake. A strong wind agitated this sea of fresh water which however we crossed without any accident, and landed on the north side of it at Fort Chipewyan where we had the satisfaction of finding our companions in good health, and of experiencing that sympathy in our anxiety on the state of affairs, which was only to be expected from those who were to share our future fortunes. CHAPTER 7. DEPARTURE FROM CHIPEWYAN. DIFFICULTIES OF THE VARIOUS NAVIGATIONS OF THE RIVERS AND LAKES, AND OF THE PORTAGES. SLAVE LAKE AND FORT PROVIDENCE. SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS, AND DISCONTENT OF THE CANADIAN VOYAGERS. DIFFICULTIES WITH REGARD TO THE INDIAN GUIDES. REFUSAL TO PROCEED. VISIT OF OBSERVATION TO THE UPPER PART OF COPPER-MINE RIVER. RETURN TO THE WINTER QUARTERS OF FORT ENTERPRISE. DEPARTURE FROM CHIPEWYAN. July 18, 1820. Early this morning the stores were distributed to the three canoes. Our stock of provision unfortunately did not amount to more than sufficient for one day's consumption exclusive of two barrels of flour, three cases of preserved meats, some chocolate, arrowroot, and portable soup, which we had brought from England and intended to reserve for our journey to the coast the next season. Seventy pounds of moose meat and a little barley were all that Mr. Smith was enabled to give us. It was gratifying however to perceive that this scarcity of food did not depress the spirits of our Canadian companions who cheerfully loaded their canoes and embarked in high glee after they had received the customary dram. At noon we bade farewell to our kind friend Mr. Smith. The crews commenced a lively paddling song on quitting the shore which was continued until we had lost sight of the houses. We soon reached the western boundary of the lakem and at two entered the Stony River, one of the discharges of the Athabasca Lake into the Slave Lake and, having a favouring current, passed swiftly along. This narrow stream is confined between low swampy banks which support willows, dwarf birch, and alder. At five we passed its conflux with the Peace River. The Slave River, formed by the union of these streams, is about three-quarters of a mile wide. We descended this magnificent river with much rapidity and, after passing through several narrow channels, formed by an assemblage of islands, crossed a spot where the waters had a violent whirling motion which, when the river is low, is said to subside into a dangerous rapid; on the present occasion no other inconvenience was felt than the inability of steering the canoes which were whirled about in every direction by the eddies until the current carried them beyond their influence. We encamped at seven on the swampy bank of the river but had scarcely pitched the tents before we were visited by a terrible thunderstorm; the rain fell in torrents and the violence of the wind caused the river to overflow its banks so that we were completely flooded. Swarms of mosquitoes succeeded the storm and their tormenting stings, superadded to other inconveniences, induced us to embark and, after taking a hasty supper, to pursue our voyage down the stream during the night. At six on the following morning we passed the Reindeer Islands and at ten reached the entrance of the Dog River where we halted to set the fishing nets. These were examined in the evening but, to our mortification, we obtained only four small trout and were compelled to issue part of our preserved meats for supper. The latitude of the mouth of Dog River was observed 59 degrees 52 minutes 16 seconds North. DIFFICULTIES OF THE VARIOUS NAVIGATIONS OF THE RIVERS AND LAKES, AND OF THE PORTAGES. The nets were taken up at daylight but they furnished only a solitary pike. We lost no time in embarking and crossed the crooked channel of the Dog Rapid when two of the canoes came in such violent contact with each other that the sternmost had its bow broken off. We were fortunately near the shore or the disabled canoe would have sunk. The injury being repaired in two hours we again embarked and, having descended another rapid, arrived at the Cassette Portage of four hundred and sixty paces, over which the cargoes and canoes were carried in about twenty-six minutes. We next passed through a narrow channel full of rapids, crossed the Portage d'Embarras of seventy yards, and the portage of the Little Rock of three hundred yards, at which another accident happened to one of the canoes by the bowman slipping and letting it fall upon a rock and breaking it in two. Two hours were occupied in sewing the detached pieces together and covering the seam with pitch but, this being done, it was as effective as before. After leaving this place we soon came to the next portage of two hundred and seventy-three paces; and shortly afterwards to the Mountain Portage of one hundred and twenty, which is appropriately named as the path leads over the summit of a high hill. This elevated situation commands a very grand and picturesque view for some miles along the river which at this part is about a mile wide. We next crossed a portage of one hundred and twenty yards; and then the Pelican Portage of eight hundred paces. Mr. Back took an accurate sketch of the interesting scenery which the river presents at this place. After descending six miles farther we came to the last portage on the route to Slave Lake which we crossed and encamped in its lower end. It is called The Portage of the Drowned and it received that name from a melancholy accident which took place many years ago. Two canoes arrived at the upper end of the portage in one of which there was an experienced guide. This man, judging from the height of the river, deemed it practicable to shoot the rapid and determined upon trying it. He accordingly placed himself in the bow of his canoe, having previously agreed that, if the passage was found easy, he should, on reaching the bottom of the rapid, fire a musket as a signal for the other canoe to follow. The rapid proved dangerous and called forth all the skill of the guide and the utmost exertion of his crew and they narrowly escaped destruction. Just as they were landing an unfortunate fellow, seizing the loaded fowling-piece, fired at a duck which rose at the instant. The guide, anticipating the consequences, ran with the utmost haste to the other end of the portage but he was too late: the other canoe had pushed off and he arrived only to witness the fate of his comrades. They got alarmed in the middle of the rapid, the canoe was upset, and every man perished. The various rapids we passed this day are produced by an assemblage of islands and rocky ledges which obstruct the river and divide it into many narrow channels. Two of these channels are rendered still more difficult by accumulations of drift timber, a circumstance which has given a name to one of the portages. The rocks which compose the bed of the river and the numerous islands belong to the granite formation. The distance made today was thirteen miles. July 21. We embarked at four A.M. and pursued our course down the river. The rocks ceased at the last portage and below it the banks are composed of alluvial soil which is held together by the roots of trees and shrubs that crown their summits. The river is about a mile wide and the current is greatly diminished. At eight we landed at the mouth of the Salt River and pitched our tents, intending to remain there that and the next day for the purpose of fishing. After breakfast, which made another inroad on our preserved meats, we proceeded up the river in a light canoe to visit the salt springs, leaving a party behind to attend the nets. This river is about one hundred yards wide at its mouth. Its waters did not become brackish until we had ascended it seven or eight miles but, when we had passed several rivulets of fresh water which flowed in, the main stream became very salt, at the same time contracting its width to fifteen or twenty yards. At a distance of twenty-two miles, including the windings of the river, the plains commence. Having pitched the tent at this spot we set out to visit the principal springs and had walked about three miles when the mosquitoes compelled us to give up our project. We did not see the termination of the plains toward the east, but on the north and west they are bounded by an even ridge about six or seven hundred feet in height. Several salt springs issue from the foot of this ridge and spread their waters over the plain which consists of tenacious clay. During the summer much evaporation takes place and large heaps of salt are left behind crystallised in the form of cubes. Some beds of grayish compact gypsum were exposed on the sides of the hills. The next morning after filling some casks with salt for our use during winter we embarked to return, and had descended the river a few miles when, turning round a point, we perceived a buffalo plunge into the river before us. Eager to secure so valuable a prize we instantly opened a fire upon him from four muskets and in a few minutes he fell, but not before he had received fourteen balls. The carcass was towed to the bank and the canoe speedily laden with meat. After this piece of good fortune we descended the stream merrily, our voyagers chanting their liveliest songs. On arrival at the mouth of the river we found that our nets had not produced more than enough to supply a scanty meal to the men whom we had left behind, but this was now of little importance as the acquisition of meat we had made would enable us to proceed without more delay to Slave Lake. The poisson inconnu mentioned by Mackenzie is found here. It is a species of the Genus Salmo, and is said by the Indians to ascend from the Arctic Sea but, being unable to pass the cascade of the Slave River, is not found higher than this place. In the evening a violent thunderstorm came on with heavy rain, thermometer 70 degrees. At a very early hour on the following morning we embarked and continued to paddle against a very strong wind and high waves under the shelter of the bank of the rivers until two P.M. when, having arrived at a more exposed part of the stream, the canoes took in so much water that we were obliged to disembark on a small island. The river here is from one mile and a quarter to one mile and three-quarters wide. Its banks are of moderate height, sandy, and well wooded. SLAVE LAKE AND FORT PROVIDENCE. July 24. We made more progress notwithstanding the continuance of the wind. The course of the river is very winding, making in one place a circuit of seven or eight miles round a peninsula which is joined to the west bank by a narrow isthmus. Near the foot of this elbow a long island occupies the centre of the river which it divides into two channels. The longitude was obtained near to it 113 degrees 25 minutes 36 seconds and variation 27 degrees 25 minutes 14 seconds North, and the latitude 60 degrees 54 minutes 52 seconds North, about four miles farther down. We passed the mouth of a broad channel leading to the north-east termed La Grande Riviere de Jean, one of the two large branches by which the river pours its waters into the Great Slave Lake; the flooded delta at the mouth of the river is intersected by several smaller channels through one of which, called the Channel of the Scaffold, we pursued our voyage on the following morning and by eight A.M. reached the establishment of the North-West Company on Moose-Deer Island. We found letters from Mr. Wentzel, dated Fort Providence, a station on the north side of the lake, which communicated to us that there was an Indian guide waiting for us at that post; but that the chief and the hunters who were to accompany the party had gone to a short distance to hunt, having become impatient at our delay. Soon after landing I visited the Hudson's Bay post on the same island and engaged Pierre St. Germain, an interpreter for the Copper Indians. We regretted to find the posts of both the Companies extremely bare of provision but, as the gentlemen in charge had despatched men on the preceding evening to a band of Indians in search of meat and they promised to furnish us with whatever should be brought, it was deemed advisable to wait for their return as the smallest supply was now of importance to us. Advantage was taken of the delay to repair effectually the canoe which had been broken in the Dog Rapid. On the next evening the men arrived with the meat and enabled Mr. McLeod of the North-West Company to furnish us with four hundred pounds of dried provisions. Mr. McVicar of the Hudson's Bay Company also supplied one hundred and fifty pounds. This quantity we considered would be sufficient until we could join the hunters. We also obtained three fishing-nets, a gun, and a pair of pistols, which were all the stores these posts could furnish, although the gentlemen in charge were much disposed to assist us. Moose-Deer Island is about a mile in diameter and rises towards the centre about three hundred feet above the lake. Its soil is in general sandy, in some parts swampy. The varieties of the northern berries grow abundantly on it. The North-West Company's fort is in latitude 61 degrees 11 minutes 8 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 51 minutes 37 seconds West, being two hundred and sixty statute miles distant from Fort Chipewyan by the river course. The variation of the compass is 25 degrees 40 minutes 47 seconds East. The houses of the two Companies are small and have a bleak northern aspect. There are vast accumulations of driftwood on the shores of the lake, brought down by the river, which afford plenty of fuel. The inhabitants live principally on the fish, which the lake at certain seasons furnishes in great abundance; of these the white-fish, trout, and poisson inconnu are considered the best. They also procure moose, buffalo, and reindeer meat occasionally from their hunters; but these animals are generally found at the distance of several days' walk from the forts. The Indians who trade here are Chipewyans. Beavers, martens, foxes, and muskrats are caught in numbers in the vicinity of this great body of water. The mosquitoes here were still a serious annoyance to us but less numerous than before. They were in some degree replaced by a small sandfly, whose bite is succeeded by a copious flow of blood and considerable swelling but is attended with incomparably less irritation than the puncture of the mosquito. On the 27th of July we embarked at four A.M. and proceeded along the south shore of the lake through a narrow channel, formed by some islands, beyond the confluence of the principal branch of the Slave River; and as far as Stony Island, where we breakfasted. This island is merely a rock of gneiss that rises forty or fifty feet above the lake and is precipitous on the north side. As the day was fine and the lake smooth we ventured upon paddling across to the Reindeer Islands, which were distant about thirteen miles in a northern direction, instead of pursuing the usual track by keeping farther along the south shore which inclines to the eastward from this point. These islands are numerous and consist of granite, rising from one hundred to two hundred feet above the water. They are for the most part naked; but towards the centres of the larger ones there is a little soil and a few groves of pines. At seven in the evening we landed upon one of them and encamped. On the following morning we ran before a strong breeze and a heavy swell for some hours, but at length were obliged to seek shelter on a large island adjoining to Isle a la Cache of Mackenzie, where the following observations were obtained: latitude 61 degrees 50 minutes 18 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 21 minutes 40 seconds West, and variation 31 degrees 2 minutes 06 seconds East. The wind and swell having subsided in the afternoon we reembarked and steered towards the western point of the Big Island of Mackenzie and, when four miles distant from it, had forty-two fathoms soundings. Passing between this island and a promontory of the main shore, termed Big Cape, we entered into a deep bay which receives the waters from several rivers that come from the northward; and we immediately perceived a decrease in the temperature of the waters from 59 to 48 degrees. We coasted along the eastern side of the bay, its western shore being always visible, but the canoes were exposed to the hazard of being broken by the numerous sunken rocks which were scattered in our track. We encamped for the night on a rocky island and by eight A.M. on the following morning arrived at Fort Providence which is situated twenty-one miles from the entrance of the bay. The post is exclusively occupied by the North-West Company, the Hudson's Bay Company having no settlement to the northward of Great Slave Lake. We found Mr. Wentzel and our interpreter Jean Baptiste Adam here with one of the Indian guides: but the chief of the tribe and his hunters were encamped with their families some miles from the fort in a good situation for fishing. Our arrival was announced to him by a fire on the top of a hill, and before night a messenger came to communicate his intention of seeing us next morning. The customary present of tobacco and some other articles was immediately sent to him. Mr. Wentzel prepared me for the first conference with the Indians by mentioning all the information they had already given to him. The duties allotted to this gentleman were the management of the Indians, the superintendence of the Canadian voyagers, the obtaining and the general distribution of the provision, and the issue of the other stores. These services he was well qualified to perform, having been accustomed to execute similar duties during a residence of upwards of twenty years in this country. We also deemed Mr. Wentzel to be a great acquisition to our party as a check on the interpreters, he being one of the few traders who speak the Chipewyan language. As we were informed that external appearances made lasting impressions on the Indians we prepared for the interview by decorating ourselves in uniform and suspending a medal round each of our necks. Our tents had been previously pitched and over one of them a silken union flag was hoisted. Soon after noon on July 30th several Indian canoes were seen advancing in a regular line and, on their approach, the chief was discovered in the headmost which was paddled by two men. On landing at the fort the chief assumed a very grave aspect and walked up to Mr. Wentzel with a measured and dignified step, looking neither to the right nor to the left at the persons who had assembled on the beach to witness his debarkation, but preserving the same immovability of countenance until he reached the hall and was introduced to the officers. When he had smoked his pipe, drank a small portion of spirits and water himself, and issued a glass to each of his companions, who had seated themselves on the floor, he commenced his harangue by mentioning the circumstances that led to his agreeing to accompany the Expedition, an engagement which he was quite prepared to fulfil. He was rejoiced he said to see such great chiefs on his lands; his tribe were poor but they loved white men who had been their benefactors; and he hoped that our visit would be productive of much good to them. The report which preceded our arrival he said had caused much grief to him. It was at first rumoured that a great medicine chief accompanied us who was able to restore the dead to life; at this he rejoiced; the prospect of again seeing his departed relatives had enlivened his spirits, but his first communication with Mr. Wentzel had removed these vain hopes and he felt as if his friends had a second time been torn from him. He now wished to be informed exactly of the nature of our Expedition. In reply to this speech, which I understood had been prepared for many days, I endeavoured to explain the objects of our mission in a manner best calculated to ensure his exertions in our service. With this view I told him that we were sent out by the greatest chief in the world who was the sovereign also of the trading companies in the country; that he was the friend of peace and had the interest of every nation at heart. Having learned that his children in the north were much in want of articles of merchandise, in consequence of the extreme length and difficulty of the present route, he had sent us to search for a passage by the sea which, if found, would enable large vessels to transport great quantities of goods more easily to their lands. That we had not come for the purpose of traffic but solely to make discoveries for their benefit as well as that of every other people. That we had been directed to inquire into the nature of all the productions of the countries we might pass through and particularly respecting their inhabitants. That we desired the assistance of the Indians in guiding us and providing us with food; finally that we were most positively enjoined by the great chief to recommend that hostilities should cease throughout this country, and especially between the Indians and the Esquimaux, whom he considered his children in common with other natives and, by way of enforcing the latter point more strongly, I assured him that a forfeiture of all the advantages which might be anticipated from the Expedition would be a certain consequence if any quarrel arose between his party and the Esquimaux. I also communicated to him that, owing to the distance we had travelled, we had now few more stores than was necessary for the use of our own party, a part of these, however, should be forthwith presented to him; on his return he and his party should be remunerated with cloth, ammunition, and tobacco, and some useful iron materials, besides having their debts to the North-West Company discharged. The chief whose name is Akaitcho or Big-foot replied by a renewal of his assurances that he and his party would attend us to the end of our journey, and that they would do their utmost to provide us with the means of subsistence. He admitted that his tribe had made war upon the Esquimaux but said they were now desirous of peace and unanimous in their opinion as to the necessity of all who accompanied us abstaining from every act of enmity against that nation. He added however that the Esquimaux were very treacherous and therefore recommended that we should advance towards them with caution. The communications which the chief and the guides then gave respecting the route to the Copper-Mine River and its course to the sea coincided in every material point with the statements which were made by Boileau and Black Meat at Chipewyan, but they differed in their descriptions of the coast. The information however, collected from both sources, was very vague and unsatisfactory. None of his tribe had been more than three days' march along the sea-coast to the eastward of the river's mouth. As the water was unusually high this season the Indian guides recommended our going by a shorter route to the Copper-Mine River than that they had first proposed to Mr. Wentzel, and they assigned as a reason for the change that the reindeer would be sooner found upon this track. They then drew a chart of the proposed route on the floor with charcoal, exhibiting a chain of twenty-five small lakes extending towards the north, about one-half of them connected by a river which flows into Slave Lake near Fort Providence. One of the guides named Keskarrah drew the Copper-Mine River running through the Upper Lake in a westerly direction towards the Great Bear Lake and then northerly to the sea. The other guide drew the river in a straight line to the sea from the above-mentioned place but, after some dispute, admitted the correctness of the first delineation. The latter was elder brother to Akaitcho and he said that he had accompanied Mr. Hearne on his journey and, though very young at the time, still remembered many of the circumstances and particularly the massacre committed by the Indians on the Esquimaux. They pointed out another lake to the southward of the river, about three days' journey distant from it, on which the chief proposed the next winter's establishment should be formed as the reindeer would pass there in the autumn and spring. Its waters contained fish and there was a sufficiency of wood for building as well as for the winter's consumption. These were important considerations and determined me in pursuing the route they now proposed. They could not inform us what time we should take in reaching the lake until they saw our manner of travelling in the large canoes, but they supposed we might be about twenty days, in which case I entertained the hope that, if we could then procure provision, we should have time to descend the Copper-Mine River for a considerable distance, if not to the sea itself, and return to the lake before the winter set in. It may here be proper to mention that it had been my original plan to descend the Mackenzie's River and to cross the Great Bear Lake, from the eastern side of which, Boileau informed me, there is a communication with the Copper-Mine River by four small lakes and portages; but under our present circumstances this course could not be followed because it would remove us too far from the establishments at the Great Slave Lake to receive the supplies of ammunition and some other stores in the winter which were absolutely necessary for the prosecution of our journey, or to get the Esquimaux interpreter whom we expected. If I had not deemed these circumstances paramount I should have preferred the route by Bear Lake. Akaitcho and the guides having communicated all the information they possessed on the different points to which our questions had been directed I placed my medal round the neck of the chief, and the officers presented theirs to an elder brother of his and the two guides, communicating to them that these marks of distinction were given as tokens of our friendship and as pledges of the sincerity of our professions. Being conferred in the presence of all the hunters their acquisition was highly gratifying to them, but they studiously avoided any great expression of joy because such an exposure would have been unbecoming the dignity which the senior Indians assume during a conference. They assured us however of their being duly sensible of these tokens of our regard and that they should be preserved during their lives with the utmost care. The chief evinced much penetration and intelligence during the whole of this conversation, which gave us a favourable opinion of his intellectual powers. He made many inquiries respecting the Discovery ships under the command of Captain Parry which had been mentioned to him, and asked why a passage had not been discovered long ago, if one existed. It may be stated that we gave a faithful explanation to all his inquiries, which policy would have prompted us to do if a love of truth had not; for whenever these northern nations detect a falsehood in the dealings of the traders they make it an unceasing subject of reproach, and their confidence is irrecoverably lost. We presented to the chief, the two guides, and the seven hunters who had engaged to accompany us some cloth, blankets, tobacco, knives, daggers, besides other useful iron materials, and a gun to each; also a keg of very weak spirits and water which they kept until the evening as they had to try their guns before dark and make the necessary preparations for commencing the journey on the morrow. They however did not leave us so soon, as the chief was desirous of being present with his party at the dance which was given in the evening to our Canadian voyagers. They were highly entertained by the vivacity and agility displayed by our companions in their singing and dancing, and especially by their imitating the gestures of a Canadian who placed himself in the most ludicrous postures and, whenever this was done, the gravity of the chief gave way to violent bursts of laughter. In return for the gratification Akaitcho had enjoyed he desired his young men to exhibit the Dog-Rib Indian dance; and immediately they ranged themselves in a circle and, keeping their legs widely separated, began to jump simultaneously sideways; their bodies were bent, their hands placed on their hips, and they uttered forcibly the interjection tsa at each jump. Devoid as were their attitudes of grace and their music of harmony we were much amused by the novelty of the exhibition. In the midst of this scene an untoward accident occurred which for a time interrupted our amusements. The tent, in which Dr. Richardson and I lodged having caught fire from some embers that had been placed in it to expel the mosquitoes, was entirely burnt. Hepburn, who was sleeping within it close to some powder, most providentially awoke in time to throw it clear of the flame and rescue the baggage before any material injury had been received. We dreaded the consequences of this disaster upon the fickle minds of the Indians and wished it not to be communicated to them. The chief however was soon informed of it by one of his people and expressed his desire that no future misfortune should be concealed from him. We found that he was most concerned to hear that the flag had been burnt, but we removed his anxiety on that point by the assurance that it could easily be repaired. We were advised by Mr. Wentzel to recommence the dancing after this event lest the Indians should imagine, by our putting a stop to it, that we considered the circumstance as an unfavourable commencement of our undertaking. We were however deeply impressed with a grateful sense of the Divine Providence in averting the threatened destruction of our stores, which would have been fatal to every prospect of proceeding forward this season. August 1. This morning the Indians set out, intending to wait for us at the mouth of the Yellow-Knife River. We remained behind to pack our stores in bales of eighty pounds each, an operation which could not be done in the presence of these Indians as they are in the habit of begging for everything they see. Our stores consisted of two barrels of gunpowder, one hundred and forty pounds of ball and small shot, four fowling-pieces, a few old trading guns, eight pistols, twenty-four Indian daggers, some packages of knives, chisels, nails, and fastenings for a boat; a few yards of cloth, some blankets, needles, looking-glasses, and beads, together with nine fishing-nets, having meshes of different sizes. Our provision was two casks of flour, two hundred dried reindeer tongues, some dried moose-meat, portable soup, and arrowroot, sufficient in the whole for ten days' consumption, besides two cases of chocolate, and two canisters of tea. We engaged another Canadian voyager at this place and the Expedition then consisted of twenty-eight persons, including the officers, and the wives of three of our voyagers, who were brought for the purpose of making shoes and clothes for the men at the winter establishment; there were also three children belonging to two of these women.* (*Footnote. The following is the list of the officers and men who composed the Expedition on its departure from Fort Providence: John Franklin, Lieutenant of the Royal Navy and Commander. John Richardson, M.D., Surgeon of the Royal Navy. Mr. George Back, of the Royal Navy, Admiralty Midshipman. Mr. Robert Hood, of the Royal Navy, Admiralty Midshipman. Mr. Frederick Wentzel, Clerk to the North-West Company. John Hepburn, English seaman. Canadian voyagers: Joseph Peltier, Matthew Pelonquin, dit Credit, Solomon Belanger, Joseph Benoit, Joseph Gagne, Pierre Dumas, Joseph Forcier, Ignace Perrault, Francois Samandre, Gabriel Beauparlant, Vincenza Fontano, Registe Vaillant, Jean Baptiste Parent, Jean Baptiste Belanger, Jean Baptiste Belleau, Emanuel Cournoyee, Michel Teroahaute, an Iroquois, Interpreters: Pierre St. Germain, Jean Baptiste Adam, Chipewyan Bois Brules.) Our observations place Fort Providence in latitude 62 degrees 17 minutes 19 seconds North, longitude 114 degrees 9 minutes 28 seconds West; the variation of the compass is 33 degrees 35 minutes 55 seconds East and the dip of the needle 86 degrees 38 minutes 02 seconds. It is distant from Moose-Deer Island sixty-six geographic miles. This is the last establishment of the traders in this direction, but the North-West Company have two to the northward of it on the Mackenzie River. It has been erected for the convenience of the Copper and Dog-Rib Indians who generally bring such a quantity of reindeer meat that the residents are enabled, out of their superabundance, to send annually some provision to the fort at Moose-Deer Island. They also occasionally procure moose and buffalo meat, but these animals are not numerous on this side of the lake. Few furs are collected. Les poissons inconnus, trout, pike, carp, and white-fish are very plentiful, and on these the residents principally subsist. Their great supply of fish is procured in the latter part of September and the beginning of October, but there are a few taken daily in the nets during the winter. The surrounding country consists almost entirely of coarse-grained granite, frequently enclosing large masses of reddish felspar. These rocks form hills which attain an elevation of three hundred or four hundred feet about a mile behind the house; their surface is generally naked but in the valleys between them grow a few spruce, aspen, and birch trees, together with a variety of shrubs and berry-bearing plants. On the afternoon of the 2nd of August we commenced our journey, having, in addition to our three canoes, a smaller one to convey the women; we were all in high spirits, being heartily glad that the time had at length arrived when our course was to be directed towards the Copper-Mine River and through a line of country which had not been previously visited by any European. We proceeded to the northward along the eastern side of a deep bay of the lake, passing through various channels formed by an assemblage of rocky islands; and at sunset encamped on a projecting point of the north main shore eight miles from Fort Providence. To the westward of this arm, or bay of the lake, there is another deep bay that receives the waters of a river which communicates with Great Marten Lake where the North-West Company had once a post established. The eastern shores of the Great Slave Lake are very imperfectly known: none of the traders have visited them and the Indians give such loose and unsatisfactory accounts that no estimation can be formed of its extent in that direction. These men say there is a communication from its eastern extremity by a chain of lakes with a shallow river which discharges its waters into the sea. This stream they call the Thloueetessy, and report it to be navigable for Indian canoes only. The forms of the south and western shores are better known from the survey of Sir Alexander Mackenzie and in consequence of the canoes having to pass and repass along these borders annually between Moose-Deer Island and Mackenzie's River. Our observations made the breadth of the lake between Stony Island and the north main shore sixty miles less than it is laid down in Arrowsmith's map; and there is also a considerable difference in the longitude of the eastern side of the bay, which we entered. This lake, owing to its great depth, is seldom completely frozen over before the last week in November and the ice, which is generally seven feet thick, breaks up about the middle of June, three weeks later than that of the Slave River. The only known outlet to this vast body of water which receives so many streams on its north and south shores is the Mackenzie River. August 3. We embarked at three A.M. and proceeded to the entrance of the Yellow-Knife River of the traders, which is called by the natives Begholodessy or River of the Toothless Fish. We found Akaitcho and the hunters with their families encamped here. There were also several other Indians of his tribe who intended to accompany us some distance into the interior. This party was quickly in motion after our arrival and we were soon surrounded by a fleet of seventeen Indian canoes. In company with them we paddled up the river, which is one hundred and fifty yards wide, and in an hour came to a cascade of five feet where we were compelled to make a portage of one hundred and fifty-eight yards. We next crossed a dilatation of the river, about six miles in length, upon which the name of Lake Prosperous was bestowed. Its shores, though scantily supplied with wood, are very picturesque. Akaitcho caused himself to be paddled by his slave, a young man of the Dog-Rib nation whom he had taken by force from his friends; when he thought himself however out of reach of our observation he laid aside a good deal of his state and assisted in the labour; and after a few days' further acquaintance with us he did not hesitate to paddle in our presence or even carry his canoe on the portages. Several of the canoes were managed by women who proved to be noisy companions, for they quarrelled frequently, and the weakest was generally profuse in her lamentations, which were not at all diminished when the husband attempted to settle the difference by a few blows from his paddle. An observation near the centre of the lake gave 114 degrees 13 minutes 39 seconds West and 33 degrees 8 minutes 06 seconds East variation. Leaving the lake we ascended a very strong rapid and arrived at a range of three steep cascades situated in the bend of the river. Here we made a portage of one thousand three hundred yards over a rocky hill which received the name of the Bowstring Portage from its shape. We found that the Indians had greatly the advantage of us in this operation; the men carried their small canoes, the women and children the clothes and provisions, and at the end of the portage they were ready to embark, whilst it was necessary for our people to return four times before they could transport the weighty cargo with which we were burdened. After passing through another expansion of the river and over the Steep Portage of one hundred and fifteen yards we encamped on a small rocky isle, just large enough to hold our party, and the Indians took possession of an adjoining rock. We were now thirty miles from Fort Providence. As soon as the tents were pitched the officers and men were divided into watches for the night, a precaution intended to be taken throughout the journey, not merely to prevent our being surprised by strangers but also to show our companions that we were constantly on our guard. The chief, who suffered nothing to escape his observation, remarked that he should sleep without anxiety among the Esquimaux for he perceived no enemy could surprise us. After supper we retired to rest but our sleep was soon interrupted by the Indians joining in loud lamentations over a sick child whom they supposed to be dying. Dr. Richardson however immediately went to the boy and administered some medicine which relieved his pain and put a stop to their mourning. The temperatures this day were at four A.M. 54 degrees, three P.M. 72 degrees, at seven P.M. 65 degrees. On the 4th we crossed a small lake and passed in succession over the Blueberry Cascade and Double Fall Portages where the river falls over ridges of rocks that completely obstruct the passages for canoes. We came to three strong rapids beyond these barriers, which were surmounted by the aid of the poles and lines, and then to a bend of the river in which the cascades were so frequent that to avoid them we carried the canoes into a chain of small lakes. We entered them by a portage of nine hundred and fifty paces, and during the afternoon traversed three other grassy lakes and encamped on the banks of the river, at the end of the Yellow-Knife Portage, of three hundred and fifty paces. This day's work was very laborious to our men. Akaitcho however had directed his party to assist them in carrying their burdens on the portages, which they did cheerfully. This morning Mr. Back caught several fish with a fly, a method of fishing entirely new to the Indians, and they were not more delighted than astonished at his skill and success. The extremes of temperature today were 54 and 65 degrees. SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS, AND DISCONTENT OF THE CANADIAN VOYAGERS. On August 5th we continued the ascent of the river, which varied much in breadth, as did the current in rapidity. It flows between high rocky banks on which there is sufficient soil to support pines, birch, and poplars. Five portages were crossed, then the Rocky Lake, and we finished our labours at the end of the sixth portage. The issue of dried meat for breakfast this morning had exhausted all our stock, and no other provision remained but the portable soups and a few pounds of preserved meat. At the recommendation of Akaitcho the hunters were furnished with ammunition and desired to go forward as speedily as possible to the part where the reindeer were expected to be found, and to return to us with any provision they could procure. He also assured us that in our advance towards them we should come to some lakes abounding in fish. Many of the Indians, being likewise in distress for food, decided on separating from us and going on at a quicker pace than we could travel. Akaitcho himself was always furnished with a portion at our meals as a token of regard which the traders have taught the chiefs to expect and which we willingly paid. The next morning we crossed a small lake and a portage before we entered the river; shortly afterwards the canoes and cargoes were carried a mile along its banks to avoid three very strong rapids, and over another portage into a narrow lake; we encamped on an island in the middle of it to set the nets; but they only yielded a few fish and we had a very scanty supper as it was necessary to deal out our provision sparingly. The longitude 114 degrees 27 minutes 03 seconds West and variation 33 degrees 00 minutes 04 seconds East were observed. We had the mortification of finding the nets entirely empty next morning, an untoward circumstance that discouraged our voyagers very much; and they complained of being unable to support the fatigue to which they were daily exposed on their present scanty fare. We had seen with regret that the portages were more frequent as we advanced to the northward and feared that their strength would fail if provision were not soon obtained. We embarked at six, proceeded to the head of the lake, and crossed a portage of two thousand five hundred paces leading over ridges of sandhills which nourished pines of a larger size than we had lately seen. This conducted us to Mossy Lake whence we regained the river after traversing another portage. The Birch and Poplar Portages next followed, and beyond these we came to a part where the river takes a great circuit and its course is interrupted by several heavy falls. The guide therefore advised us to quit it and proceed through a chain of nine lakes extending to the north-east which we did and encamped on Icy Portage where the nets were set. The bottom of the valley through which the track across this portage led was covered with ice four or five feet thick, the remains of a large iceberg which is annually formed there by the snow drifting into the valley and becoming consolidated into ice by the overflowing of some springs that are warm enough to resist the winter's cold. The latitude is 63 degrees 22 minutes 15 seconds North, longitude 114 degrees 15 minutes 30 seconds West. We were alarmed in the night by our fire communicating to the dry moss which, spreading by the force of a strong wind, encircled the encampment and threatened destruction to our canoes and baggage. The watch immediately aroused all the men who quickly removed whatever could be injured to a distant part and afterwards succeeded in extinguishing the flame. August 8. During this day we crossed five portages, passing over a very bad road. The men were quite exhausted with fatigue by five P.M. when we were obliged to encamp on the borders of the fifth lake, in which the fishing-nets were set. We began this evening to issue some portable soup and arrowroot which our companions relished very much; but this food is too unsubstantial to support their vigour under their daily exhausting labour, and we could not furnish them with a sufficient quantity even of this to satisfy their desires. We commenced our labours on the next day in a very wet uncomfortable state as it had rained through the night until four A.M. The fifth grassy lake was crossed and four others, with their intervening portages, and we returned to the river by a portage of one thousand four hundred and fifteen paces. The width of the stream here is about one hundred yards, its banks are moderately high and scantily covered with wood. We afterwards twice carried the cargoes along its banks to avoid a very stony rapid and then crossed the first Carp Portage in longitude 114 degrees 2 minutes 01 seconds West, variation of the compass 32 degrees 30 minutes 40 seconds East, and encamped on the borders of Lower Carp Lake. The chief having told us that this was a good lake for fishing we determined on halting for a day or two to recruit our men, of whom three were lame and several others had swelled legs. The chief himself went forward to look after the hunters and promised to make a fire as a signal if they had killed any reindeer. All the Indians had left us in the course of yesterday and today to seek these animals except the guide Keskarrah. August 10. The nets furnishing only four carp we embarked for the purpose of searching for a better spot and encamped again on the shores of the same lake. The spirits of the men were much revived by seeing some recent traces of reindeer at this place, which circumstance caused them to cherish the hope of soon getting a supply of meat from the hunters. They were also gratified by finding abundance of blueberries near the encampment, which made an agreeable and substantial addition to their otherwise scanty fare. We were teased by sandflies this evening although the thermometer did not rise above 45 degrees. The country through which we had travelled for some days consists principally of granite, intermixed in some spots with mica-slate, often passing into clay-slate. But the borders of Lower Carp Lake where the gneiss formation prevails are composed of hills having less altitude, fewer precipices, and more rounded summits. The valleys are less fertile, containing a gravelly soil and fewer trees, so that the country has throughout a more barren aspect. August 11. Having caught sufficient trout, white-fish, and carp yesterday and this morning to afford the party two hearty meals, and the men having recovered from their fatigue, we proceeded on our journey, crossed the Upper Carp Portage, and embarked on the lake of that name where we had the gratification of paddling for ten miles. We put up at its termination to fish by the advice of our guide and the following observations were then taken: longitude 113 degrees 46 minutes 35 seconds West, variation of the compass 36 degrees 45 minutes 30 seconds East, dip 87 degrees 11 minutes 48 seconds. At this place we first perceived the north end of our dipping-needle to pass the perpendicular line when the instrument was faced to the west. We had scarcely quitted the encampment next day before an Indian met us with the agreeable communication that the hunters had made several fires which were certain indications of their having killed reindeer. This intelligence inspired our companions with fresh energy and they quickly traversed the next portage and paddled through the Reindeer Lake; at the north side of it we found the canoes of our hunters and learned from our guide that the Indians usually leave their canoes here as the water communication on their hunting grounds is bad. The Yellow-Knife River had now dwindled into an insignificant rivulet and we could not trace it beyond the next lake except as a mere brook. The latitude of its source 64 degrees 1 minute 30 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 36 minutes 00 seconds West, and its length is one hundred and fifty-six statute miles. Though this river is of sufficient breadth and depth for navigating in canoes yet I conceive its course is too much interrupted by cascades and rapids for its ever being used as a channel for the conveyance of merchandise. Whilst the crews were employed in making a portage over the foot of Prospect Hill we ascended to the top of it and, as it is the highest ground in the neighbourhood, its summit, which is about five hundred feet above the water, commands an extensive view. Akaitcho who was here with his family pointed out to us the smoke of the distant fires which the hunters had made. The prospect is agreeably diversified by an intermixture of hill and valley and the appearance of twelve lakes in different directions. On the borders of these lakes a few thin pine groves occur, but the country in general is destitute of almost every vegetable except a few berry-bearing shrubs and lichens, and has a very barren aspect. The hills are composed of gneiss but their acclivities are covered with a coarse gravelly soil. There are many large loose stones both on their sides and summits composed of the same materials as the solid rock. We crossed another lake in the evening, encamped and set the nets. The chief made a large fire to announce our situation to the hunters. DIFFICULTIES WITH REGARD TO THE INDIAN GUIDES. REFUSAL TO PROCEED. August 13. We caught twenty fish this morning but they were small and furnished but a scanty breakfast for the party. Whilst this meal was preparing our Canadian voyagers, who had been for some days past murmuring at their meagre diet and striving to get the whole of our little provision to consume at once, broke out into open discontent, and several of them threatened they would not proceed forward unless more food was given to them. This conduct was the more unpardonable as they saw we were rapidly approaching the fires of the hunters and that provision might soon be expected. I therefore felt the duty incumbent on me to address them in the strongest manner on the danger of insubordination and to assure them of my determination to inflict the heaviest punishment on any that should persist in their refusal to go on, or in any other way attempt to retard the Expedition. I considered this decisive step necessary, having learned from the gentlemen most intimately acquainted with the character of the Canadian voyagers that they invariably try how far they can impose upon every new master and that they will continue to be disobedient and intractable if they once gain any ascendancy over him. I must admit however that the present hardships of our companions were of a kind which few could support without murmuring, and no one could witness without a sincere pity for their sufferings. After this discussion we went forward until sunset. In the course of the day we crossed seven lakes and as many portages. Just as we had encamped we were delighted to see four of the hunters arrive with the flesh of two reindeer. This seasonable supply, though only sufficient for this evening's and the next day's consumption, instantly revived the spirits of our companions and they immediately forgot all their cares. As we did not after this period experience any deficiency of food during this journey they worked extremely well and never again reflected upon us as they had done before for rashly bringing them into an inhospitable country where the means of subsistence could not be procured. Several blue fish resembling the grayling were caught in a stream which flows out of Hunter's Lake. It is remarkable for the largeness of the dorsal fin and the beauty of its colours. August 14. Having crossed the Hunter's Portage we entered the Lake of the same name in latitude 64 degrees 6 minutes 47 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 25 minutes 00 seconds West; but soon quitted it by desire of the Indian guide and diverged more to the eastward that we might get into the line upon which our hunters had gone. This was the only consideration that could have induced us to remove to a chain of small lakes connected by long portages. We crossed three of these and then were obliged to encamp to rest the men. The country is bare of wood except a few dwarf birch bushes which grow near the borders of the lakes, and here and there a few stunted pines, and our fuel principally consisted of the roots of decayed pines which we had some difficulty to collect in sufficient quantity for cooking. When this material is wanting the reindeer lichen and other mosses that grow in profusion on the gravelly acclivities of the hills are used as substitutes. Three more of the hunters arrived with meat this evening which supply came very opportunely as our nets were unproductive. At eight P.M. a faint Aurora Borealis appeared to the southward, the night was cold, the wind strong from North-West. We were detained some time in the following morning before the fishing-nets, which had sunk in the night, could be recovered. After starting we first crossed the Orkney Lake, then a portage which brought us to Sandy Lake and here we missed one of our barrels of powder which the steersman of the canoe then recollected had been left the day before. He and two other men were sent back to search for it in the small canoe. The rest of the party proceeded to the portage on the north side of the Grizzly-Bear Lake, where the hunters had made a deposit of meat, and there encamped to await their return which happened at nine P.M. with the powder. We perceived from the direction of this lake that considerable labour would have been spared if we had continued our course yesterday, instead of striking off at the guide's suggestion, as the bottom of this lake cannot be far separated from either Hunter's Lake or the one to the westward of it. The chief and all the Indians went off to hunt accompanied by Pierre St. Germain the interpreter. They returned at night bringing some meat and reported that they had put the carcasses of several reindeer en cache. These were sent for early next morning and, as the weather was unusually warm, the thermometer at noon being 77 degrees, we remained stationary all day that the women might prepare the meat for keeping by stripping the flesh from the bones and drying it in the sun over a slow fire. The hunters were again successful and by the evening we had collected the carcasses of seventeen deer. As this was a sufficient store to serve us until we arrived at Winter Lake the chief proposed that he and his hunters should proceed to that place and collect some provision against our arrival. He also requested that we would allow him to be absent ten days to provide his family with clothing as the skin of the reindeer is unfit for that purpose after the month of September. We could not refuse to grant such a reasonable request but caused St. Germain to accompany him that his absence might not exceed the appointed time. Previous to his departure the chief warned us to be constantly on our guard against the grizzly bears which he described as being numerous in this vicinity and very ferocious; one had been seen this day by an Indian, to which circumstance the lake owes its appellation. We afterwards learned that the only bear in this part of the country is the brown bear and that this by no means possesses the ferocity which the Indians, with their usual love of exaggeration, ascribe to it. The fierce grizzly bear which frequents the sources of the Missouri is not found on the barren grounds. The shores of this lake and the neighbouring hills are principally composed of sand and gravel; they are much varied in their outline and present some picturesque scenery. The following observations were taken here: latitude 64 degrees 15 minutes 17 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 2 minutes 39 seconds West; variation of the compass 36 degrees 50 minutes 47 seconds East; and dip of the needle 87 degrees 20 minutes 35 seconds. On August the 17th, having finished drying the meat which had been retarded by the heavy showers of rain that fell in the morning, we embarked at one P.M. and crossed two lakes and two portages. The last of these was two thousand and sixty-six paces long and very rugged so that the men were much fatigued. On the next day we received the flesh of four reindeer by the small canoe which had been sent for it and heard that the hunters had killed several more deer on our route. We saw many of these animals as we passed along; and our companions, delighted with the prospect of having food in abundance, now began to accompany their paddling with singing, which they had discontinued ever since our provisions became scarce. We passed from one small lake to another over four portages, then crossed a lake about six miles in diameter and encamped on its border where, finding pines, we enjoyed the luxury of a good fire, which we had not done for some days. At ten P.M. the Aurora Borealis appeared very brilliant in an arch across the zenith from north-west to south-east which afterwards gave place to a beautiful corona borealis. August 19. After crossing a portage of five hundred and ninety-five paces, a small lake and another portage of two thousand paces, which occupied the crews seven hours, we embarked on a small stream running towards the north-west which carried us to the lake where Akaitcho proposed that we should pass the winter. The officers ascended several of the loftiest hills in the course of the day, prompted by a natural anxiety to examine the spot which was to be their residence for many months. The prospect however was not then the most agreeable as the borders of the lake seemed to be scantily furnished with wood and that of a kind too small for the purposes of building. We perceived the smoke of a distant fire which the Indians suppose had been made by some of the Dog-Ribbed tribe who occasionally visit this part of the country. Embarking at seven next morning we paddled to the western extremity of the lake and there found a small river which flows out of it to the South-West. To avoid a strong rapid at its commencement we made a portage and then crossed to the north bank of the river where the Indians recommended that the winter establishment should be erected, and we soon found that the situation they had chosen possessed all the advantages we could desire. The trees were numerous and of a far greater size than we had supposed them to be in a distant view, some of the pines being thirty or forty feet high and two feet in diameter at the root. We determined on placing the house on the summit of the bank which commands a beautiful prospect of the surrounding country. The view in the front is bounded at the distance of three miles by round-backed hills; to the eastward and westward lie the Winter and Round-rock Lakes which are connected by the Winter River whose banks are well clothed with pines and ornamented with a profusion of mosses, lichens, and shrubs. In the afternoon we read divine service and offered our thanksgiving to the Almighty for His goodness in having brought us thus far on our journey; a duty which we never neglected when stationary on the Sabbath. The united length of the portages we had crossed since leaving Fort Providence is twenty-one statute miles and a half and, as our men had to traverse each portage four times, with a load of one hundred and eighty pounds, and return three times light, they walked in the whole upwards of one hundred and fifty miles. The total length of our voyage from Chipewyan is five hundred and fifty-three miles.* (*Footnote. Stony and Slave Rivers: 260 statute miles. Slave Lake: 107 statute miles. Yellow-Knife River: 156.5 statute miles. Barren country between the source of the Yellow-Knife River and Fort Enterprise: 29.5 statute miles. Total: 553 statute miles.) A fire was made on the south side of the river to inform the chief of our arrival, which, spreading before a strong wind, caught the whole wood, and we were completely enveloped in a cloud of smoke for the three following days. On the next morning our voyagers were divided into two parties, the one to cut the wood for the building of a storehouse and the other to fetch the meat as the hunters procured it. An interpreter was sent with Keskarrah the guide to search for the Indians who had made the fire seen on Saturday, from whom we might obtain some supplies of provision. An Indian was also despatched to Akaitcho with directions for him to come to this place directly and bring whatever provision he had as we were desirous of proceeding without delay to the Copper-Mine River. In the evening our men brought in the carcasses of seven reindeer which two hunters had shot yesterday and the women commenced drying the meat for our journey. We also obtained a good supply of fish from our nets today. A heavy rain on the 23rd prevented the men from working either at the building or going for meat; but on the next day the weather was fine and they renewed their labours. The thermometer that day did not rise higher than 42 degrees and it fell to 31 degrees before midnight. On the morning of the 25th we were surprised by some early symptoms of the approach of winter; the small pools were frozen over and a flock of geese passed to the southward. In the afternoon however a fog came on which afterwards changed into rain and the ice quickly disappeared. We suffered great anxiety all the next day respecting John Hepburn who had gone to hunt before sunrise on the 25th and had been absent ever since. About four hours after his departure the wind changed and a dense fog obscured every mark by which his course to the tents could be directed, and we thought it probable he had been wandering in an opposite direction to our situation as the two hunters who had been sent to look for him returned at sunset without having seen him. Akaitcho arrived with his party and we were greatly disappointed at finding they had stored up only fifteen reindeer for us. St. Germain informed us that, having heard of the death of the chief's brother-in-law, they had spent several days in bewailing his loss instead of hunting. We learned also that the decease of this man had caused another party of the tribe, who had been sent by Mr. Wentzel to prepare provision for us on the banks of the Copper-Mine River, to remove to the shores of the Great Bear Lake, distant from our proposed route. Mortifying as these circumstances were they produced less painful sensations than we experienced in the evening by the refusal of Akaitcho to accompany us in the proposed descent of the Copper-Mine River. When Mr. Wentzel, by my direction, communicated to him my intention of proceeding at once on that service he desired a conference with me upon the subject which, being immediately granted, he began by stating that the very attempt would be rash and dangerous as the weather was cold, the leaves were falling, some geese had passed to the southward, and the winter would shortly set in and that, as he considered the lives of all who went on such a journey would be forfeited, he neither would go himself nor permit his hunters to accompany us. He said there was no wood within eleven days' march, during which time we could not have any fire as the moss which the Indians use in their summer excursions would be too wet for burning in consequence of the recent rains; that we should be forty days in descending the Copper-Mine River, six of which would be expended in getting to its banks, and that we might be blocked up by the ice in the next moon; and during the whole journey the party must experience great sufferings for want of food as the reindeer had already left the river. He was now reminded that these statements were very different from the account he had given both at Fort Providence and on the route hither; and that up to this moment we had been encouraged by his conversation to expect that the party might descend the Copper-Mine River accompanied by the Indians. He replied that at the former place he had been unacquainted with our slow mode of travelling and that the alteration in his opinion arose from the advance of winter. We now informed him that we were provided with instruments by which we could ascertain the state of the air and water and that we did not imagine the winter to be so near as he supposed; however we promised to return on discovering the first change in the season. He was also told that, all the baggage being left behind, our canoes would now of course travel infinitely more expeditiously than anything he had hitherto witnessed. Akaitcho appeared to feel hurt that we should continue to press the matter further and answered with some warmth: "Well, I have said everything I can urge to dissuade you from going on this service on which it seems you wish to sacrifice your own lives as well as the Indians who might attend you: however if after all I have said you are determined to go some of my young men shall join the party because it shall not be said that we permitted you to die alone after having brought you hither; but from the moment they embark in the canoes I and my relatives shall lament them as dead." We could only reply to this forcible appeal by assuring him and the Indians who were seated around him that we felt the most anxious solicitude for the safety of every individual and that it was far from our intention to proceed without considering every argument for and against the proposed journey. We next informed him that it would be very desirable to see the river at any rate, that we might give some positive information about its situation and size in our next letters to the Great Chief; and that we were very anxious to get on its banks for the purpose of observing an eclipse of the sun which we described to him and said would happen in a few days. He received this communication with more temper than the preceding, though he immediately assigned as a reason for his declining to go that "the Indians must now procure a sufficient quantity of deer-skins for winter clothing for themselves, and dresses for the Canadians who would need them if they had to travel in the winter." Finding him so averse to proceed and feeling at the same time how essential his continuance with us was, not only to our future success but even to our existence during the winter, I closed the conversation here, intending to propose to him next morning some modification of the plan which might meet his approbation. Soon after we were gone however he informed Mr. Wentzel, with whom he was in the habit of speaking confidentially, that, as his advice was neglected, his presence was useless and he should therefore return to Fort Providence with his hunters after he had collected some winter provision for us. Mr. Wentzel having reported this to me the night was passed in great anxiety and, after weighing all the arguments that presented themselves to my mind, I came reluctantly to the determination of relinquishing the intention of going any distance down the river this season. I had considered that, could we ascertain what were the impediments to the navigation of the Copper-Mine River, what wood grew on its banks, if fit for boat building, and whether drift timber existed where the country was naked, our operations next season would be much facilitated; but we had also cherished the hope of reaching the sea this year for the Indians in their conversations with us had only spoken of two great rapids as likely to obstruct us. This was a hope extremely painful to give up for, in the event of success, we should have ascertained whether the sea was clear of ice and navigable for canoes, have learned the disposition of the Esquimaux, and might have obtained other information that would have had great influence on our future proceedings. I must confess however that my opinion of the probability of our being able to attain so great a desideratum this season had been somewhat altered by the recent changes in the weather although, had the chief been willing to accompany us with his party, I should have made the attempt, with the intention however of returning immediately upon the first decided appearance of winter. On the morning of August 27th, having communicated my sentiments to the officers on the subject of the conference last evening, they all agreed that the descent to the sea this season could not be attempted without hazarding a complete rupture with the Indians; but they thought that a party should be sent to ascertain the distance and size of the Copper-Mine River. These opinions being in conformity with my own I determined on despatching Messrs. Back and Hood on that service in a light canoe as soon as possible. We witnessed this morning an instance of the versatility of our Indian companions which gave us much uneasiness as it regarded the safety of our faithful attendant Hepburn. When they heard on their arrival last night of his having been so long absent they expressed the greatest solicitude about him, and the whole party immediately volunteered to go in search of him as soon as daylight permitted. Their resolutions however seem to have been changed in consequence of the subsequent conversation we had with the chief, and we found all of them indisposed to proceed on that errand this morning; and it was only by much entreaty that three of the hunters and a boy were prevailed upon to go. They fortunately succeeded in their search and we were infinitely rejoiced to see Hepburn return with them in the afternoon, though much jaded by the fatigue he had undergone. He had got bewildered, as we had conjectured, in the foggy weather on the 25th, and had been wandering about ever since except during half an hour that he slept yesterday. He had eaten only a partridge and some berries for his anxiety of mind had deprived him of appetite; and of a deer which he had shot he took only the tongue, and the skin to protect himself from the wind and rain. This anxiety we learned from him was occasioned by the fear that the party which was about to descend the Copper-Mine River might be detained until he was found, or that it might have departed without him. He did not entertain any dread of the white bears of whose numbers and ferocious attacks the Indians had been constantly speaking since we had entered the barren grounds. Our fears for his safety however were in a considerable degree excited by the accounts we had received of these animals. Having made a hearty supper he retired to rest, slept soundly, and arose next morning in perfect health. On the 28th of August Akaitcho was informed of our intention to send a party to the river and of the reasons for doing so, of which he approved when he found that I had relinquished the idea of going myself, in compliance with the desire which he and the Indians had expressed; and he immediately said two of the hunters should go to provide them with food on the journey and to serve as guides. During this conversation we gathered from him for the first time that there might still be some of his tribe near to the river from whom the party could get provision. Our next object was to despatch the Indians to their hunting-ground to collect provision for us, and to procure the fat of the deer for our use during the winter, and for making the pemmican we should require in the spring. They were therefore furnished with some ammunition, clothing, and other necessary articles, and directed to take their departure as soon as possible. Akaitcho came into our tent this evening at supper and made several pertinent inquiries respecting the eclipse of which we had spoken last night. He desired to know the effect that would be produced and the cause of it, which we endeavoured to explain and, having gained this information, he sent for several of his companions that they might also have it repeated to them. They were most astonished at our knowing the time at which this event should happen and remarked that this knowledge was a striking proof of the superiority of the whites over the Indians. We took advantage of this occasion to speak to them respecting the Supreme Being, who ordered all the operations of nature, and to impress on their minds the necessity of paying strict attention to their moral duties, in obedience to His will. They readily assented to all these points and Akaitcho assured us that both himself and his young men would exert themselves in obtaining provision for us in return for the interesting communications we had just made to them. Having received a supply of dried meat from the Indian lodges we were enabled to equip the party for the Copper-Mine River, and at nine A.M. on the 29th Mr. Back and Mr. Hood embarked on that service in a light canoe with St. Germain, eight Canadians, and one Indian. We could not furnish them with more than eight days' provision which, with their blankets, two tents, and a few instruments, composed their lading. Mr. Back, who had charge of the party, was directed to proceed to the river and, if when he arrived at its banks the weather should continue to be mild and the temperature of the water was not lower than 40 degrees, he might embark and descend the stream for a few days to gain some knowledge of its course, but he was not to go so far as to risk his being able to return to this place in a fortnight with the canoe. But if the weather should be severe and the temperature of the water below 40 degrees he was not to embark but return immediately and endeavour to ascertain the best track for our goods to be conveyed thither next spring. We had seen that the water decreases rapidly in temperature at this season and I feared that if he embarked to descend the river when it was below 40 degrees the canoe might be frozen in and the crew have to walk back in very severe weather. As soon as the canoe had started Akaitcho and the Indians took their departure also, except two of the hunters who stayed behind to kill deer in our neighbourhood, and old Keskarrah and his family who remained as our guests. The fishing-nets were this day transferred from the river in which they had been set since our arrival to Winter Lake, whither the fish had removed, and the fishermen built a log-hut on its borders to reside in that they might attend more closely to their occupation. The month of September commenced with very disagreeable weather. The temperature of the atmosphere ranged between 39 and 31 degrees during the first three days, and that of the water in the river decreased from 49 to 44 degrees. Several reindeer and a large flight of white geese passed to the southward. These circumstances led us to fear for the comfort, if not for the safety, of our absent friends. On the 4th of September we commenced building our dwelling-house, having cut sufficient wood for the frame of it. In the afternoon of September the 6th we removed our tent to the summit of a hill about three miles distant for the better observing the eclipse, which was calculated to occur on the next morning. We were prevented however from witnessing it by a heavy snow-storm, and the only observation we could then make was to examine whether the temperature of the atmosphere altered during the eclipse, but we found that both the mercurial and spirit thermometers remained steadily at 30 degrees for a quarter of an hour previous to its commencement, during its continuance, and for half an hour subsequent to its termination; we remarked the wind increased very much and the snow fell in heavier flakes just after the estimated time of its commencement. This boisterous weather continued until three P.M. when the wind abated and the snow changed to rain. VISIT OF OBSERVATION TO THE UPPER PART OF COPPER-MINE RIVER. As there was now no immediate occasion for my remaining on the spot, the eclipse being over and the Indians having removed to their hunting grounds, Dr. Richardson and I determined on taking a pedestrian excursion to the Copper-Mine River, leaving Mr. Wentzel in charge of the men and to superintend the buildings. On the morning of September the 9th we commenced our journey under the guidance of old Keskarrah, and accompanied by John Hepburn and Samandre, who carried our blankets, cooking utensils, hatchets, and a small supply of dried meat. Our guide led us from the top of one hill to the top of another, making as straight a course to the northward as the numerous lakes with which the country is intersected, would permit. At noon we reached a remarkable hill with precipitous sides, named by the Copper Indians the Dog-Rib Rock, and its latitude, 64 degrees 34 minutes 52 seconds South, was obtained. The canoe-track passes to the eastward of this rock but we kept to the westward as being the more direct course. From the time we quitted the banks of the Winter River we saw only a few detached clumps of trees; but after we passed the Dog-Rib Rock even these disappeared and we travelled through a naked country. In the course of the afternoon Keskarrah killed a reindeer and loaded himself with its head and skin, and our men also carried off a few pounds of its flesh for supper; but their loads were altogether too great to permit them to take much additional weight. Keskarrah offered to us as a great treat the raw marrow from the hind legs of the animal, of which all the party ate except myself and thought it very good. I was also of the same opinion when I subsequently conquered my then too fastidious taste. We halted for the night on the borders of a small lake which washed the base of a ridge of sandhills about three hundred feet high, having walked in direct distance sixteen miles. There were four ancient pine-trees here which did not exceed six or seven feet in height but whose branches spread themselves out for several yards and we gladly cropped a few twigs to make a bed and to protect us from the frozen ground, still white from a fall of snow which took place in the afternoon. We were about to cut down one of these trees for firewood but our guide solicited us to spare them and made us understand by signs that they had been long serviceable to his nation and that we ought to content ourselves with a few of the smaller branches. As soon as we comprehended his request we complied with it and our attendants, having with some trouble grubbed up a sufficient quantity of roots of the dwarf birch to make a fire, we were enabled to prepare a comfortable supper of reindeer's meat which we despatched with the appetites which travelling in this country never fails to ensure. We then stretched ourselves out on the pine brush and, covered by a single blanket, enjoyed a night of sound repose. The small quantity of bed-clothes we carried induced us to sleep without undressing. Old Keskarrah followed a different plan; he stripped himself to the skin and, having toasted his body for a short time over the embers of the fire, he crept under his deer-skin and rags, previously spread out as smoothly as possible and, coiling himself up in a circular form, fell asleep instantly. This custom of undressing to the skin even when lying in the open air is common to all the Indian tribes. The thermometer at sunset stood at 29 degrees. Resuming our journey next morning we pursued a northerly course but had to make a considerable circuit round the western ends of two lakes whose eastern extremities were hidden from our view. The march was very uncomfortable as the wind was cold and there was a constant fall of snow until noon; our guide too persisted in taking us over the summit of every hill that lay in the route so that we had the full benefit of the breeze. We forded two streams in the afternoon flowing between small lakes and, being wet, did not much relish having to halt whilst Keskarrah pursued a herd of reindeer; but there was no alternative as he set off and followed them without consulting our wishes. The old man loaded himself with the skin and some meat of the animal he killed in addition to his former burden; but after walking two miles, finding his charge too heavy for his strength, he spread the skin on the rock and deposited the meat under some stones, intending to pick them up on our return. We put up at sunset on the borders of a large lake, having come twelve miles. A few dwarf birches afforded us but a scanty fire yet, being sheltered from the wind by a sandy bank, we passed the night comfortably though the temperature was 30 degrees. A number of geese passed over us to the southward. We set off early next morning and marched at a tolerably quick pace. The atmosphere was quite foggy and our view was limited to a short distance. At noon the sun shone forth for a few minutes and the latitude 64 degrees 57 minutes 7 seconds was observed. The small streams that we had hitherto crossed run uniformly to the southward. At the end of sixteen miles and a half we encamped amongst a few dwarf pines and were much rejoiced at having a good fire as the night was very stormy and cold. The thermometer fluctuated this day between 31 and 35 degrees. Though the following morning was foggy and rainy we were not sorry to quit the cold and uncomfortable beds of rock upon which we had slept and commence our journey at an early hour. After walking about three miles we passed over a steep sandy ridge and found the course of the rivulets running towards the north and north-west. Our progress was slow in the early part of the morning and we were detained for two hours on the summit of a hill exposed to a very cold wind whilst our guide went in an unsuccessful pursuit of some reindeer. After walking a few miles farther the fog cleared away and Keskarrah pointed out the Copper-Mine River at a distance and we pushed towards it with all the speed we could put forth. At noon we arrived at an arm of Point Lake, an extensive expansion of the river, and observed the latitude 65 degrees 9 minutes 06 seconds North. We continued our walk along the south end of this arm for about a mile farther and then halted to breakfast amidst a cluster of pines. Here the longitude 112 degrees 57 minutes 25 seconds was observed. After breakfast we set out and walked along the east side of the arm towards the main body of the lake, leaving Samandre to prepare an encampment amongst the pines against our return. We found the main channel deep, its banks high and rocky, and the valleys on its borders interspersed with clusters of spruce-trees. The latter circumstance was a source of much gratification to us. The temperature of its surface water was 41 degrees, that of the air being 43 degrees. Having gained all the information we could collect from our guide and from personal observation we retraced our steps to the encampment, and on the way back Hepburn and Keskarrah shot several waveys (Anas hyperborea) which afforded us a seasonable supply, our stock of provision being nearly exhausted. These birds were feeding in large flocks on the crow-berries which grew plentifully on the sides of the hills. We reached the encampment after dark, found a comfortable hut prepared for our reception, made an excellent supper, and slept soundly though it snowed hard the whole night. The hills in this neighbourhood are higher than those about Fort Enterprise; they stand however in the same detached manner without forming connected ranges; and the bottom of every valley is occupied either by a small lake or a stony marsh. On the borders of such of these lakes as communicate with the Copper-Mine River there are a few groves of spruce-trees, generally growing on accumulations of sand on the acclivities of the hills. We did not quit the encampment on the morning of September 13th until nine o'clock in consequence of a constant fall of snow; but at that hour we set out on our return to Fort Enterprise and, taking a route somewhat different from the one by which we came, kept to the eastward of a chain of lakes. Soon after noon the weather became extremely disagreeable; a cold northerly gale came on attended by snow and sleet, and the temperature fell very soon from 43 to 34 degrees. The waveys, alarmed at the sudden change, flew over our heads in great numbers to a milder climate. We walked as quickly as possible to get a place that would furnish some fuel and shelter; but the fog occasioned us to make frequent halts from the inability of our guide to trace his way. At length we came to a spot which afforded us plenty of dwarf birches but they were so much frozen and the snow fell so thick that upwards of two hours were wasted in endeavouring to make a fire, during which time our clothes were freezing upon us. At length our efforts were crowned with success and after a good supper we laid or rather sat down to sleep, for the nature of the ground obliged us to pass the night in a demi-erect position with our backs against a bank of earth. The thermometer was 16 degrees at six P.M. After enjoying a more comfortable night's rest than we had expected we set off at daybreak, the thermometer then standing at 18 degrees. The ground was covered with snow, the small lakes were frozen, and the whole scene had a wintry appearance. We got on but slowly at first owing to an old sprained ankle which had been very troublesome to me for the last three days and was this morning excessively painful. In fording a rivulet however the application of cold water gave me immediate relief and I walked with ease the remainder of the day. In the afternoon we rejoined our track outwards and came to the place where Keskarrah had made his deposit of provision, which proved a very acceptable supply as our stock was exhausted. We then crossed some sandhills and encamped amidst a few small pines, having walked thirteen miles. The comfort of a good fire made us soon insensible to the fatigue we had experienced through the day in marching over the rugged stones whose surface was rendered slippery by the frost. The thermometer at seven P.M. stood at 27 degrees. RETURN TO THE WINTER QUARTERS OF FORT ENTERPRISE. We set off at sunrise next morning and our provision being expended pushed on as fast as we could to Fort Enterprise where we arrived at eight P.M., almost exhausted by a harassing day's march of twenty-two miles. A substantial supper of reindeer steaks soon restored our vigour. We had the happiness of meeting our friends Mr. Back and Mr. Hood who had returned from their excursion on the day succeeding that on which we set out; and I received from them the following account of their journey. They proceeded up the Winter River to the north end of the Little Marten Lake and then the guide, being unacquainted with the route by water to the Copper-Mine River, proposed that the canoe should be left. Upon this they ascended the loftiest hill in the neighbourhood to examine whether they could discover any large lakes or water communication in the direction where the guide described the river to be. They only saw a small rivulet which was too shallow for the canoe and also wide of the course and, as they perceived the crew would have to carry it over a rugged hilly track, they judiciously decided on leaving it and proceeding forward on foot. Having deposited the canoe among a few dwarf birch bushes they commenced their march, carrying their tents, blankets, cooking utensils, and a part of the dried meat. St. Germain however had previously delineated with charcoal a man and a house on a piece of bark which he placed over the canoe and the few things that were left to point out to the Dog-Ribs that they belonged to white people. The party reached the shores of Point Lake through which the Copper-Mine River runs on the 1st of September. The next day was too stormy for them to march but on the 3rd they proceeded along its shores to the westward round a mountainous promontory and, perceiving the course of the lake extending to the West-North-West, they encamped near some pines and then enjoyed the luxury of a good fire for the first time since their departure from us. The temperature of the water in the lake was 35 degrees and of the air 32 degrees, but the latter fell to 20 degrees in the course of that night. As their principal object was to ascertain whether any arm of the lake branched nearer to Fort Enterprise than the part they had fallen upon, to which the transport of our goods could be more easily made next spring, they returned on its borders to the eastward, being satisfied by the appearance of the mountains between south and west that no further examination was necessary in that direction; and they continued their march until the 6th at noon without finding any part of the lake inclining nearer the fort. They therefore encamped to observe the eclipse which was to take place on the following morning but, a violent snowstorm rendering the observation impossible, they commenced their return and after a comfortless and laborious march regained their canoe on the 10th and, embarking in it, arrived the same evening at the house. Point Lake varied, as far as they traced, from one to three miles in width. Its main course was nearly east and west, but several arms branched off in different directions. I was much pleased with the able manner in which these officers executed the service they had been despatched upon, and was gratified to learn from them that their companions had conducted themselves extremely well and borne the fatigues of their journey most cheerfully. They scarcely ever had more than sufficient fuel to boil the kettle and were generally obliged to lie down in their wet clothes and consequently suffered much from cold. The distance which the parties travelled in their journey to and from Point Lake may be estimated at one hundred and ten statute miles which, being added to the distances given in the preceding pages, amount to one thousand five hundred and twenty miles that the Expedition travelled in 1820 up to the time of its residence at Fort Enterprise. CHAPTER 8. TRANSACTIONS AT FORT ENTERPRISE. MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE OF HIS JOURNEY TO CHIPEWYAN, AND RETURN. TRANSACTIONS AT FORT ENTERPRISE. September 1820. During our little expedition to the Copper-Mine River Mr. Wentzel had made great progress in the erection of our winter-house having nearly roofed it in. But before proceeding to give an account of a ten months' residence at this place, henceforth designated Fort Enterprise, I may premise that I shall omit many of the ordinary occurrences of a North American winter as they have been already detailed in so able and interesting a manner by Ellis* and confine myself principally to the circumstances which had an influence on our progress in the ensuing summer. The observations on the magnetic needle, the temperature of the atmosphere, the Aurora Borealis, and other meteorological phenomena, together with the mineralogical and botanical notices, being less interesting to the general reader, are omitted in this edition. (*Footnote. Voyage to Hudson's Bay in the Dobbs and California.) The men continued to work diligently at the house and by the 30th of September had nearly completed it for our reception when a heavy fall of rain washed the greater part of the mud off the roof. This rain was remarked by the Indians as unusual after what they had deemed so decided a commencement of winter in the early part of the month. The mean temperature for the month was 33 3/4 degrees, but the thermometer had sunk as low as 16 degrees and on one occasion rose to 53 degrees. Besides the party constantly employed at the house two men were appointed to fish and others were occasionally sent for meat as the hunters procured it. This latter employment, although extremely laborious, was always relished by the Canadians as they never failed to use a prescriptive right of helping themselves to the fattest and most delicate parts of the deer. Towards the end of the month the reindeer began to quit the barren grounds and came into the vicinity of the house on their way to the woods and, the success of the hunters being consequently great, the necessity of sending for the meat considerably retarded the building of the house. In the meantime we resided in our canvas tents which proved very cold habitations although we maintained a fire in front of them and also endeavoured to protect ourselves from the piercing winds by a barricade of pine branches. On the 6th of October, the house being completed, we struck our tents and removed into it. It was merely a log building, fifty feet long and twenty-four wide, divided into a hall, three bedrooms and a kitchen. The walls and roof were plastered with clay, the floors laid with planks rudely squared with the hatchet, and the windows closed with parchment of deer-skin. The clay which, from the coldness of the weather, required to be tempered before the fire with hot water, froze as it was daubed on and afterwards cracked in such a manner as to admit the wind from every quarter yet, compared with the tents, our new habitation appeared comfortable and, having filled our capacious clay-built chimney with fagots, we spent a cheerful evening before the invigorating blaze. The change was peculiarly beneficial to Dr. Richardson who, having in one of his excursions incautiously laid down on the frozen side of a hill when heated with walking, had caught a severe inflammatory sore throat which became daily worse whilst we remained in the tents but began to mend soon after he was enabled to confine himself to the more equable warmth of the house. We took up our abode at first on the floor but our working party, who had shown such skill as house carpenters, soon proved themselves to be, with the same tools (the hatchet and crooked knife) excellent cabinetmakers and daily added a table, chair, or bedstead to the comforts of our establishment. The crooked knife generally made of an old file, bent and tempered by heat, serves an Indian or Canadian voyager for plane, chisel, and auger. With it the snowshoe and canoe-timbers are fashioned, the deals of their sledges reduced to the requisite thinness and polish, and their wooden bowls and spoons hollowed out. Indeed though not quite so requisite for existence as the hatchet yet without its aid there would be little comfort in these wilds. On the 7th we were gratified by a sight of the sun after it had been obscured for twelve days. On this and several following days the meridian sun melted the light covering of snow or hoarfrost on the lichens which clothe the barren grounds, and rendered them so tender as to attract great herds of reindeer to our neighbourhood. On the morning of the 10th I estimated the numbers I saw during a short walk at upwards of two thousand. They form into herds of different sizes from ten to a hundred according as their fears or accident induce them to unite or separate. The females being at this time more lean and active usually lead the van. The haunches of the males are now covered to the depth of two inches or more with fat which is beginning to get red and high flavoured and is considered a sure indication of the commencement of the rutting season. Their horns, which in the middle of August were yet tender, have now attained their proper size and are beginning to lose their hairy covering which hangs from them in ragged filaments. The horns of the reindeer vary not only with its sex and age but are otherwise so uncertain in their growth that they are never alike in any two individuals. The old males shed theirs about the end of December; the females retain them until the disappearance of the snow enables them to frequent the barren grounds which may be stated to be about the middle or end of May, soon after which period they proceed towards the sea-coast and drop their young. The young males lose their horns about the same time with the females or a little earlier, some of them as early as April. The hair of the reindeer falls in July and is succeeded by a short thick coat of mingled clove, deep reddish and yellowish browns; the belly and under parts of the neck, etc., remaining white. As the winter approaches the hair becomes longer and lighter in its colours and it begins to loosen in May, being then much worn on the sides from the animal rubbing itself against trees and stones. It becomes grayish and almost white before it is completely shed. The Indians form their robes of the skins procured in autumn when the hair is short. Towards the spring the larvae of the oestrus, attaining a large size, produce so many perforations in the skins that they are good for nothing. The cicatrices only of these holes are to be seen in August but a fresh set of ova have in the meantime been deposited.* (*Footnote. "It is worthy of remark that in the month of May a very great number of large larvae exist under the mucous membrane at the root of the tongue and posterior part of the nares and pharynx. The Indians consider them to belong to the same species with the oestrus that deposits its ova under the skin: to us the larvae of the former appeared more flattened than those of the latter. Specimens of both kinds preserved in spirits were destroyed by the frequent falls they received on the portages." Dr. Richardson's Journal.) The reindeer retire from the sea-coast in July and August, rut in October on the verge of the barren grounds and shelter themselves in the woods during the winter. They are often induced by a few fine days in winter to pay a transitory visit to their favourite pastures in the barren country, but their principal movement to the northward commences generally in the end of April when the snow first begins to melt on the sides of the hills and early in May, when large patches of the ground are visible, they are on the banks of the Copper-Mine River. The females take the lead in this spring migration and bring forth their young on the sea-coast about the end of May or beginning of June. There are certain spots or passes well-known to the Indians, through which the deer invariably pass in their migrations to and from the coast and it has been observed that they always travel against the wind. The principal food of the reindeer in the barren grounds consists of the Cetraria nivalis and cucullata, Cenomyce rangiferina, Cornicularia ochrileuca, and other lichens, and they also eat the hay or dry grass which is found in the swamps in autumn. In the woods they feed on the different lichens which hang from the trees. They are accustomed to gnaw their fallen antlers and are said also to devour mice. The weight of a full-grown barren-ground deer, exclusive of the offal, varies from ninety to one hundred and thirty pounds. There is however a much larger kind found in the woody parts of the country whose carcass weighs from two hundred to two hundred and forty pounds. This kind never leaves the woods but its skin is as much perforated by the gadfly as that of the others, a presumptive proof that the smaller species are not driven to the sea-coast solely by the attacks of that insect. There are a few reindeer occasionally killed in the spring whose skins are entire and these are always fat whereas the others are lean at that season. This insect likewise infests the red-deer (wawaskeesh) but its ova are not found in the skin of the moose or buffalo, nor, as we have been informed, of the sheep and goat that inhabit the Rocky Mountains, although the reindeer found in those parts (which are of an unusually large kind) are as much tormented by them as the barren-ground variety. The herds of reindeer are attended in their migrations by bands of wolves which destroy a great many of them. The Copper Indians kill the reindeer in the summer with the gun or, taking advantage of a favourable disposition of the ground, they enclose a herd upon a neck of land and drive them into a lake where they fall an easy prey but, in the rutting season and in the spring, when they are numerous on the skirts of the woods, they catch them in snares. The snares are simple nooses, formed in a rope made of twisted sinew, which are placed in the aperture of a slight hedge constructed of the branches of trees. This hedge is so disposed as to form several winding compartments and, although it is by no means strong, yet the deer seldom attempt to break through it. The herd is led into the labyrinth by two converging rows of poles and one is generally caught at each of the openings by the noose placed there. The hunter too, lying in ambush, stabs some of them with his bayonet as they pass by and the whole herd frequently becomes his prey. Where wood is scarce a piece of turf turned up answers the purpose of a pole to conduct them towards the snares. The reindeer has a quick eye but the hunter, by keeping to leeward and using a little caution, may approach very near, their apprehensions being much more easily roused by the smell than the sight of any unusual object. Indeed their curiosity often causes them to come close up and wheel around the hunter; thus affording him a good opportunity of singling out the fattest of the herd, and upon these occasions they often become so confused by the shouts and gestures of their enemy that they run backwards and forwards with great rapidity but without the power of making their escape. The Copper Indians find by experience that a white dress attracts them most readily and they often succeed in bringing them within shot by kneeling and vibrating the gun from side to side in imitation of the motion of a deer's horns when he is in the act of rubbing his head against a stone. The Dog-Rib Indians have a mode of killing these animals which though simple is very successful. It was thus described by Mr. Wentzel who resided long amongst that people. The hunters go in pairs, the foremost man carrying in one hand the horns and part of the skin of the head of a deer and in the other a small bundle of twigs against which he from time to time rubs the horns, imitating the gestures peculiar to the animal. His comrade follows, treading exactly in his footsteps and holding the guns of both in a horizontal position so that the muzzles project under the arms of him who carries the head. Both hunters have a fillet of white skin round their foreheads and the foremost has a strip of the same kind round his wrists. They approach the herd by degrees, raising their legs very slowly but setting them down somewhat suddenly after the manner of a deer, and always taking care to lift their right or left feet simultaneously. If any of the herd leave off feeding to gaze upon this extraordinary phenomenon it instantly stops and the head begins to play its part by licking its shoulders and performing other necessary movements. In this way the hunters attain the very centre of the herd without exciting suspicion and have leisure to single out the fattest. The hindmost man then pushes forward his comrade's gun, the head is dropped, and they both fire nearly at the same instant. The herd scampers off, the hunters trot after them; in a short time the poor animals halt to ascertain the cause of their terror, their foes stop at the same instant and, having loaded as they ran, greet the gazers with a second fatal discharge. The consternation of the deer increases, they run to and fro in the utmost confusion, and sometimes a great part of the herd is destroyed within the space of a few hundred yards. A party who had been sent to Akaitcho returned bringing three hundred and seventy pounds of dried meat and two hundred and twenty pounds of suet, together with the unpleasant information that a still larger quantity of the latter article had been found and carried off, as he supposed, by some Dog-Ribs who had passed that way. The weather becoming daily colder all the lakes in the neighbourhood of the house were completely, and the river partially, frozen over by the middle of the month. The reindeer now began to quit us for more southerly and better-sheltered pastures. Indeed their longer residence in our neighbourhood would have been of little service to us, for our ammunition was almost completely expended though we had dealt it of late with a very sparing hand to the Indians. We had however already secured in the storehouse the carcasses of one hundred deer together with one thousand pounds of suet and some dried meat, and had moreover eighty deer stowed up at various distances from the house. The necessity of employing the men to build a house for themselves before the weather became too severe obliged us to put the latter en cache, as the voyagers term it, instead of adopting the more safe plan of bringing them to the house. Putting a deer en cache means merely protecting it against the wolves and still more destructive wolverines by heavy loads of wood or stones; the latter animal however sometimes digs underneath the pile and renders the precautions abortive. On the 18th Mr. Back and Mr. Wentzel set out for Fort Providence accompanied by Beauparlant, Belanger, and two Indians, Akaiyazza and Tholezzeh, with their wives, the Little Forehead and the Smiling Marten. Mr. Back had volunteered to go and make the necessary arrangements for transporting the stores we expected from Cumberland House and to endeavour to obtain some additional supplies from the establishments at Slave Lake. If any accident should have prevented the arrival of our stores and the establishments at Moose-Deer Island should be unable to supply the deficiency he was, if he found himself equal to the task, to proceed to Chipewyan. Ammunition was essential to our existence and a considerable supply of tobacco was also requisite, not only for the comfort of the Canadians, who use it largely and had stipulated for it in their engagements, but also as a means of preserving the friendship of the Indians. Blankets, cloth, and iron-work were scarcely less indispensable to equip our men for the advance next season. Mr. Wentzel accompanied Mr. Back to assist him in obtaining from the traders, on the score of old friendship, that which they might be inclined to deny to our necessities. I forwarded by them letters to the Colonial Office and Admiralty detailing the proceedings of the Expedition up to this period. On the 22nd we were surprised by a visit from a dog; the poor animal was in low condition and much fatigued. Our Indians discovered by marks on his ears that he belonged to the Dog-Ribs. This tribe, unlike the Chipewyans and Copper Indians, had preserved that useful associate of man although, from their frequent intercourse with the latter people, they were not ignorant of the prediction alluded to in a former page. One of our interpreters was immediately despatched with an Indian to endeavour to trace out the Dog-Ribs, whom he supposed might be concealed in the neighbourhood from their dread of the Copper Indians; although we had no doubt of their coming to us were they aware of our being here. The interpreter however returned without having discovered any traces of strange Indians, a circumstance which led us to conclude that the dog had strayed from his masters a considerable time before. Towards the end of the month the men completed their house and took up their abode in it. It was thirty-four feet long and eighteen feet wide, was divided into two apartments and was placed at rightangles to the officers' dwelling and facing the storehouse, the three buildings forming three sides of a quadrangle. On the 26th Akaitcho and his party arrived, the hunting in this neighbourhood being terminated for the season by the deer having retired southward to the shelter of the woods. The arrival of this large party was a serious inconvenience to us from our being compelled to issue them daily rates of provision from the store. The want of ammunition prevented us from equipping and sending them to the woods to hunt and, although they are accustomed to subsist themselves for a considerable part of the year by fishing or snaring the deer, without having recourse to firearms, yet on the present occasion they felt little inclined to do so and gave scope to their natural love of ease as long as our storehouse seemed to be well stocked. Nevertheless as they were conscious of impairing our future resources they did not fail occasionally to remind us that it was not their fault, to express an ardent desire to go hunting, and to request a supply of ammunition although they knew that it was not in our power to give it. The summer birds had by this time entirely deserted us, leaving for our winter companions the raven, cinereous crow, ptarmigan, and snow-bird. The last of the waterfowl that quitted us was a species of diver of the same size with the Colymbus arcticus but differing from it in the arrangement of the white spots on its plumage, and in having a yellowish-white bill. This bird was occasionally caught in our fishing-nets. The thermometer during the month of October at Fort Enterprise never rose above 37 degrees or fell below 5 degrees; the mean temperature for the month was 23 degrees. In the beginning of October a party had been sent to the westward to search for birch to make snowshoe frames, and the Indian women were afterwards employed in netting the shoes and preparing leather for winter clothing to the men. Robes of reindeer skins were also obtained from the Indians and issued to the men who were to travel as they were not only a great deal lighter than blankets but also much warmer and altogether better adapted for a winter in this climate. They are however unfit for summer use as the least moisture causes the skin to spoil and lose its hair. It requires the skins of seven deer to make one robe. The finest are made of the skins of young fawns. The fishing having failed as the weather became more severe was given up on the 5th. It had procured us about one thousand two hundred white-fish, from two to three pounds each. There are two other species of Coregoni in Winter Lake, Back's grayling and the round-fish; and a few trout, pike, methye, and red carp were also occasionally obtained from the nets. It may be worthy of notice here that the fish froze as they were taken out of the nets, in a short time became a solid mass of ice and, by a blow or two of the hatchet, were easily split open, when the intestines might be removed in one lump. If in this completely frozen state they were thawed before the fire they recovered their animation. This was particularly the case with the carp and we had occasion to observe it repeatedly as Dr. Richardson occupied himself with examining the structure of the different species of fish and was always in the winter under the necessity of thawing them before he could cut them. We have seen a carp recover so far as to leap about with much vigour after it had been frozen for thirty-six hours. From the 12th to the 16th we had fine and, for the season, warm weather; and the deer, which had not been seen since the 26th of October, reappeared in the neighbourhood of the house, to the surprise of the Indians who attributed their return to the barren grounds to the unusual mildness of the season. On this occasion, by melting some of our pewter cups, we managed to furnish five balls to each of the hunters, but they were all expended unsuccessfully, except by Akaitcho who killed two deer. By the middle of the month Winter River was firmly frozen over except the small rapid at its commencement which remained open all the winter. The ice on the lake was now nearly two feet thick. After the 16th we had a succession of cold, snowy, and windy weather. We had become anxious to hear of the arrival of Mr. Back and his party at Fort Providence. The Indians, who had calculated the period at which a messenger ought to have returned from thence to be already passed, became impatient when it had elapsed and, with their usual love of evil augury, tormented us by their melancholy forebodings. At one time they conjectured that the whole party had fallen through the ice; at another that they had been waylaid and cut off by the Dog-Ribs. In vain did we urge the improbability of the former accident, or the peaceable character of the Dog-Ribs, so little in conformity with the latter. "The ice at this season was deceitful," they said "and the Dog-Ribs, though unwarlike, were treacherous." These assertions, so often repeated, had some effect upon the spirits of our Canadian voyagers who seldom weigh any opinion they adopt, but we persisted in treating their fears as chimerical for, had we seemed to listen to them for a moment, it is more than probable that the whole of our Indians would have gone to Fort Providence in search of supplies, and we should have found it extremely difficult to have recovered them. The matter was put to rest by the appearance of Belanger on the morning of the 23rd and the Indians, now running into the opposite extreme, were disposed to give us more credit for our judgment than we deserved. They had had a tedious and fatiguing journey to Fort Providence and for some days were destitute of provisions. Belanger arrived alone; he had walked constantly for the last six-and-thirty hours, leaving his Indian companions encamped at the last woods, they being unwilling to accompany him across the barren grounds during the storm that had prevailed for several days and blew with unusual violence on the morning of his arrival. His locks were matted with snow and he was encrusted with ice from head to foot so that we scarcely recognised him when he burst in upon us. We welcomed him with the usual shake of the hand but were unable to give him the glass of rum which every voyager receives on his arrival at a trading post. As soon as his packet was thawed we eagerly opened it to obtain our English letters. The latest were dated on the preceding April. They came by way of Canada and were brought up in September to Slave Lake by North-West Company's canoes. We were not so fortunate with regard to our stores; of ten pieces, or bales of 90 pounds weight, which had been sent from York Factory by Governor Williams five of the most essential had been left at the Grand Rapid on the Saskatchewan, owing, as far as we could judge from the accounts that reached us, to the misconduct of the officer to whom they were entrusted and who was ordered to convey them to Cumberland House. Being overtaken by some of the North-West Company's canoes he had insisted on their taking half of his charge as it was intended for the service of Government. The North-West gentlemen objected that their canoes had already got a cargo in and that they had been requested to convey our stores from Cumberland House only, where they had a canoe waiting for the purpose. The Hudson's Bay officer upon this deposited our ammunition and tobacco upon the beach and departed without any regard to the serious consequences that might result to us from the want of them. The Indians, who assembled at the opening of the packet and sat in silence watching our countenances, were necessarily made acquainted with the non-arrival of our stores and bore the intelligence with unexpected tranquillity. We took care however in our communications with them to dwell upon the more agreeable parts of our intelligence, and they seemed to receive particular pleasure on being informed of the arrival of two Esquimaux interpreters at Slave Lake, on their way to join the party. The circumstance not only quieted their fears of opposition from the Esquimaux on our descent to the sea next season, but also afforded a substantial proof of our influence in being able to bring two people of that nation from such a distance. Akaitcho, who is a man of great penetration and shrewdness, duly appreciated these circumstances; indeed he has often surprised us by his correct judgment of the character of individuals amongst the traders of our own party, although his knowledge of their opinions was in most instances obtained through the imperfect medium of interpretation. He was an attentive observer however of every action, and steadily compared their conduct with their pretensions. By the newspapers we learned the demise of our revered and lamented sovereign George III and the proclamation of George IV. We concealed this intelligence from the Indians lest the death of their Great Father might lead them to suppose that we should be unable to fulfil our promises to them. The Indians who had left Fort Providence with Belanger arrived the day after him and, amongst other intelligence, informed Akaitcho of some reports they had heard to our disadvantage. They stated that Mr. Weeks, the gentleman in charge of Fort Providence, had told them that, so far from our being what we represented ourselves to be, the officers of a great King, we were merely a set of dependent wretches whose only aim was to obtain subsistence for a season in the plentiful country of the Copper Indians, that out of charity we had been supplied with a portion of goods by the trading Companies, but that there was not the smallest probability of our being able to reward the Indians when their term of service was completed. Akaitcho, with great good sense, instantly came to have the matter explained, stating at the same time that he could not credit it. I then pointed out to him that Mr. Wentzel, with whom they had long been accustomed to trade, had pledged the credit of his Company for the stipulated rewards to the party that accompanied us, and that the trading debts due by Akaitcho and his party had already been remitted, which was of itself a sufficient proof of our influence with the North-West Company. I also reminded Akaitcho that our having caused the Esquimaux to be brought up at a great expense was evidence of our future intentions, and informed him that I should write to Mr. Smith, the senior trader in the department, on the subject when I had no doubt that a satisfactory explanation would be given. The Indians retired from the conference apparently satisfied, but this business was in the end productive of much inconvenience to us, and proved very detrimental to the progress of the Expedition. In conjunction also with other intelligence conveyed in Mr. Back's letters respecting the disposition of the traders towards us, particularly a statement of Mr. Weeks that he had been desired not to assist us with supplies from his post, it was productive of much present uneasiness to me. On the 28th St. Germain the interpreter set out with eight Canadian voyagers and four Indian hunters to bring up our stores from Fort Providence. I wrote by him to Mr. Smith at Moose-Deer Island and Mr. Keith at Chipewyan, both of the North-West Company, urging them in the strongest manner to comply with the requisition for stores which Mr. Back would present. I also informed Mr. Simpson, principal agent in the Athabasca for the Hudson's Bay Company who had proffered every assistance in his power, that we should gladly avail ourselves of the kind intentions expressed in a letter which I had received from him. We also sent a number of broken axes to Slave Lake to be repaired. The dog that came to us on the 22nd of October and had become very familiar followed the party. We were in hopes that it might prove of some use in dragging their loads but we afterwards learned that on the evening after their departure from the house they had the cruelty to kill and eat it although they had no reason to apprehend a scarcity of provision. A dog is considered to be delicate eating by the voyagers. The mean temperature of the air for November was minus 0.7 degrees. The greatest heat observed was 25 degrees above and the least 31 degrees below zero. On the 1st of December the sky was clear, a slight appearance of stratus only being visible near the horizon, but a kind of snow fell at intervals in the forenoon, its particles so minute as to be observed only in the sunshine. Towards noon the snow became more apparent and the two limbs of a prismatic arch were visible, one on each side of the sun near its place in the heavens, the centre being deficient. We have frequently observed this descent of minute icy spiculae when the sky appears perfectly clear, and could even perceive that its silent but continued action added to the snowy covering of the ground. Having received one hundred balls from Fort Providence by Belanger we distributed them amongst the Indians, informing the leader at the same time that the residence of so large a party as his at the house, amounting with women and children to forty souls, was producing a serious reduction in our stock of provision. He acknowledged the justice of the statement and promised to remove as soon as his party had prepared snowshoes and sledges for themselves. Under one pretext or other however their departure was delayed until the 10th of the month when they left us, having previously received one of our fishing-nets and all the ammunition we possessed. The leader left his aged mother and two female attendants to our care, requesting that if she died during his absence she might be buried at a distance from the fort that he might not be reminded of his loss when he visited us. Keskarrah the guide also remained behind with his wife and daughter. The old man has become too feeble to hunt and his time is almost entirely occupied in attendance upon his wife who has been long affected with an ulcer on the face which has nearly destroyed her nose. Lately he made an offering to the water spirits whose wrath he apprehended to be the cause of her malady. It consisted of a knife, a piece of tobacco, and some other trifling articles which were tied up in a small bundle and committed to the rapid with a long prayer. He does not trust entirely however to the relenting of the spirits for his wife's cure, but comes daily to Dr. Richardson for medicine. Upon one occasion he received the medicine from the Doctor with such formality and wrapped it up in his reindeer robe with such extraordinary carefulness that it excited the involuntary laughter of Mr. Hood and myself. The old man smiled in his turn and, as he always seemed proud of the familiar way in which we were accustomed to joke with him, we thought no more upon the subject. But he unfortunately mentioned the circumstance to his wife who imagined in consequence that the drug was not productive of its usual good effects and they immediately came to the conclusion that some bad medicine had been intentionally given to them. The distress produced by this idea was in proportion to their former faith in the potency of the remedy and the night was spent in singing and groaning. Next morning the whole family were crying in concert and it was not until the evening of the second day that we succeeded in pacifying them. The old woman began to feel better and her faith in the medicine was renewed. While speaking of this family I may remark that the daughter, whom we designated Green-stockings from her dress, is considered by her tribe to be a great beauty. Mr. Hood drew an accurate portrait of her although her mother was averse to her sitting for it. She was afraid she said that her daughter's likeness would induce the Great Chief who resided in England to send for the original. The young lady however was undeterred by any such fear. She has already been an object of contest between her countrymen and, although under sixteen years of age, has belonged successively to two husbands and would probably have been the wife of many more if her mother had not required her services as a nurse. The weather during this month was the coldest we experienced during our residence in America. The thermometer sank on one occasion to 57 degrees below zero and never rose beyond 6 degrees above it; the mean for the month was minus 29.7 degrees. During these intense colds however the atmosphere was generally calm and the woodcutters and others went about their ordinary occupations without using any extraordinary precautions yet without feeling any bad effects. They had their reindeer shirts on, leathern mittens lined with blankets, and furred caps; but none of them used any defence for the face, or needed any. Indeed we have already mentioned that the heat is abstracted most rapidly from the body during strong breezes and most of those who have perished from cold in this country have fallen a sacrifice to their being overtaken on a lake or other unsheltered place by a storm of wind. The intense colds were however detrimental to us in another way. The trees froze to their very centres and became as hard as stones and more difficult to cut. Some of the axes were broken daily and by the end of the month we had only one left that was fit for felling trees. By entrusting it only to one of the party who had been bred a carpenter and who could use it with dexterity it was fortunately preserved until the arrival of our men with others from Fort Providence. A thermometer hung in our bedroom at the distance of sixteen feet from the fire but exposed to its direct radiation stood even in the daytime occasionally at 15 degrees below zero, and was observed more than once previous to the kindling of the fire in the morning to be as low as 40 degrees below zero. On two of these occasions the chronometers 2149 and 2151 which during the night lay under Mr. Hood's and Dr. Richardson's pillows stopped while they were dressing themselves. The rapid at the commencement of the river remained open in the severest weather although it was somewhat contracted in width. Its temperature was 32 degrees, as was the surface of the river opposite the house about a quarter of a mile lower down tried at a hole in the ice through which water was drawn for domestic purposes. The river here was two fathoms and a half deep and the temperature at its bottom was at least 42 degrees above zero. This fact was ascertained by a spirit thermometer in which, probably from some irregularity in the tube, a small portion of the coloured liquid usually remained at 42 degrees when the column was made to descend rapidly. In the present instance, the thermometer standing at 47 degrees below zero with no portion of the fluid in the upper part of the tube, was let down slowly into the water but drawn cautiously and rapidly up again, when a red drop at plus 42 degrees indicated that the fluid had risen to that point or above it. At this period the daily visits of the sun were very short and, owing to the obliquity of his rays, afforded us little warmth or light. It is half-past eleven before he peeps over a small ridge of hills opposite to the house, and he sinks in the horizon at half-past two. On the 28th Mr. Hood, in order to attain an approximation to the quantity of terrestrial refraction, observed the sun's meridian altitude when the thermometer stood at 46 degrees below zero, at the imminent hazard of having his fingers frozen. He found the sextant had changed its error considerably, and that the glasses had lost their parallelism from the contraction of the brass. In measuring the error he perceived that the diameter of the sun's image was considerably short of twice the semi-diameter, a proof of the uncertainty of celestial observations made during these intense frosts. The results of this and another similar observation are given in the footnote.* (*Footnote. The observed meridian altitude of sun upper limb was 2 degrees 52 minutes 51 seconds. Temperature of the air minus 45.5 degrees. By comparing this altitude, corrected by the mean refraction and parallax with that deduced from the latitude which was observed in autumn, the increase of refraction is found to be 6 minutes 50 seconds, the whole refraction therefore for the altitude 2 degrees 52 minutes 51 seconds is 21 minutes 49 seconds. Admitting that the refraction increases in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere at a mean state of temperature the horizontal refraction will be 47 degrees 22 seconds. But the diameter of the sun, measured immediately after the observation, was only 27 minutes 7 seconds, which shows an increase of refraction at the lower limb of 3 minutes 29 seconds. The horizontal refraction calculated with this difference and the above-mentioned ratio is 56 minutes 3 seconds at the temperature minus 45.5 degrees. So that in the parallel 68 degrees 42 minutes where, if there is no refraction, the sun would be invisible for thirty-four days, his upper limb with the refraction 56 minutes 3 seconds is in fact above the horizon at every noon. The wind was from the westward a moderate breeze and the air perfectly clear. January 1st, 1821. Observed meridian altitude of sun lower limb 2 degrees 35 minutes 20 seconds, sun apparent diameter 29 degrees 20 minutes. For apparent altitude 2 degrees 35 minutes 20 seconds the mean refraction is 16 minutes 5 seconds (Mackay's Tables) and the true, found as detailed above, is 20 minutes 8 seconds which, increasing in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere at a mean state of temperature, is 41 minutes 19 seconds at the horizon. But the difference of refraction at the upper and lower limbs increasing also in that ratio gives 55 minutes 16 seconds for the horizontal refraction. Temperature of the air minus 41 degrees. Wind north, a light breeze, a large halo visible about the sun. January 15th, 1821. Observed an apparent meridian altitude sun lower limb 4 degrees 24 minutes 57 seconds. Sun apparent diameter 31 minutes 5 seconds. For apparent altitude 4 degrees 24 minutes 57 seconds the mean refraction is 10 minutes 58 seconds (Mackay's Tables) and the true, found as detailed above, is 14 minutes 39 seconds which, increasing in the same ratio as that of the atmosphere at a mean state of temperature, is 43 minutes 57 seconds at the horizon. But the difference of refraction between the upper and lower limbs increasing also in that ratio gives 48 minutes 30 seconds for the horizontal refraction. Temperature of the air minus 35 degrees, a light air from the westward, very clear. The extreme coldness of the weather rendered these operations difficult and dangerous; yet I think the observations may be depended upon within 30 seconds, as will appear by their approximate results in calculating the horizontal refraction, for it must be considered that an error of 30 seconds in the refraction in altitude would make a difference of several minutes in the horizontal refraction. Mr. Hood's Journal.) The Aurora Borealis appeared with more or less brilliancy on twenty-eight nights of this month and we were also gratified by the resplendent beauty of the moon which for many days together performed its circle round the heavens, shining with undiminished lustre and scarcely disappearing below the horizon during the twenty-four hours. During many nights there was a halo round the moon although the stars shone brightly and the atmosphere appeared otherwise clear. The same phenomenon was observed round the candles even in our bedrooms, the diameter of the halo increasing as the observer receded from the light. These halos, both round the moon and candles, occasionally exhibited faintly some of the prismatic colours. As it may be interesting to the reader to know how we passed our time at this season of the year I shall mention briefly that a considerable portion of it was occupied in writing up our journals. Some newspapers and magazines that we had received from England with our letters were read again and again and commented upon at our meals; and we often exercised ourselves with conjecturing the changes that might take place in the world before we could hear from it again. The probability of our receiving letters and the period of their arrival were calculated to a nicety. We occasionally paid the woodmen a visit or took a walk for a mile or two on the river. In the evenings we joined the men in the hall and took part in their games which generally continued to a late hour; in short we never found the time to hang heavy upon our hands; and the peculiar occupations of each of the officers afforded them more employment than might at first be supposed. I recalculated the observations made on our route; Mr. Hood protracted the charts, and made those drawings of birds, plants and fishes, which cannot appear in this work but which have been the admiration of everyone who has seen them. Each of the party sedulously and separately recorded their observations on the Aurora Borealis; and Dr. Richardson contrived to obtain from under the snow specimens of most of the lichens in the neighbourhood, and to make himself acquainted with the mineralogy of the surrounding country. The Sabbath was always a day of rest with us; the woodmen were required to provide for the exigencies of that day on Saturday and the party were dressed in their best attire. Divine service was regularly performed and the Canadians attended and behaved with great decorum although they were all Roman Catholics and but little acquainted with the language in which the prayers were read. I regretted much that we had not a French Prayer-Book but the Lord's Prayer and Creed were always read to them in their own language. Our diet consisted almost entirely of reindeer meat, varied twice a week by fish and occasionally by a little flour, but we had no vegetables of any description. On the Sunday mornings we drank a cup of chocolate but our greatest luxury was tea (without sugar) of which we regularly partook twice a day. With reindeer's fat and strips of cotton shirts we formed candles; and Hepburn acquired considerable skill in the manufacture of soap from the wood-ashes, fat and salt. The formation of soap was considered as rather a mysterious operation by our Canadians and in their hands was always supposed to fail if a woman approached the kettle in which the ley was boiling. Such are our simple domestic details. On the 30th two hunters came from the leader to convey ammunition to him as soon as our men should bring it from Fort Providence. The men at this time coated the walls of the house on the outside with a thin mixture of clay and water which formed a crust of ice that for some days proved impervious to the air; the dryness of the atmosphere however was such that the ice in a short time evaporated and gave admission to the wind as before. It is a general custom at the forts to give this sort of coating to the walls at Christmas time. When it was gone we attempted to remedy its defect by heaping up snow against the walls. January 1, 1821. This morning our men assembled and greeted us with the customary salutation on the commencement of the new year. That they might enjoy a holiday they had yesterday collected double the usual quantity of firewood and we anxiously expected the return of the men from Fort Providence with some additions to their comforts. We had stronger hope of their arrival before the evening as we knew that every voyager uses his utmost endeavour to reach a post upon or previous to the jour de l'an that he may partake of the wonted festivities. It forms, as Christmas is said to have done among our forefathers, the theme of their conversation for months before and after the period of its arrival. On the present occasion we could only treat them with a little flour and fat; these were both considered as great luxuries but still the feast was defective from the want of rum although we promised them a little when it should arrive. The early part of January proved mild, the thermometer rose to 20 degrees above zero, and we were surprised by the appearance of a kind of damp fog approaching very nearly to rain. The Indians expressed their astonishment at this circumstance and declared the present to be one of the warmest winters they had ever experienced. Some of them reported that it had actually rained in the woody parts of the country. In the latter part of the month however the thermometer again descended to minus 49 degrees and the mean temperature for the month proved to be minus 15.6 degrees. Owing to the fogs that obscured the sky the Aurora Borealis was visible only upon eighteen nights in the month. On the 15th seven of our men arrived from Fort Providence with two kegs of rum, one barrel of powder, sixty pounds of ball, two rolls of tobacco and some clothing. They had been twenty-one days on their march from Slave Lake and the labour they underwent was sufficiently evinced by their sledge-collars having worn out the shoulders of their coats. Their loads weighed from sixty to ninety pounds each, exclusive of their bedding and provisions which at starting must have been at least as much more. We were much rejoiced at their arrival and proceeded forthwith to pierce the spirit cask and issue to each of the household the portion of rum which had been promised on the first day of the year. The spirits which were proof were frozen but, after standing at the fire for some time, they flowed out with the consistency of honey. The temperature of the liquid even in this state was so low as instantly to convert into ice the moisture which condensed on the surface of the dram-glass. The fingers also adhered to the glass and would doubtless have been speedily frozen had they been kept in contact with it; yet each of the voyagers swallowed his dram without experiencing the slightest inconvenience or complaining of toothache. After the men had retired an Indian who had accompanied them from Fort Providence informed me that they had broached the cask on their way up and spent two days in drinking. This instance of breach of trust was excessively distressing to me; I felt for their privations and fatigues and was disposed to seize every opportunity of alleviating them but this, combined with many instances of petty dishonesty with regard to meat, showed how little confidence could be put in a Canadian voyager when food or spirits were in question. We had been indeed made acquainted with their character on these points by the traders; but we thought that when they saw their officers living under equal if not greater privations than themselves they would have been prompted by some degree of generous feeling to abstain from those depredations which under ordinary circumstances they would scarcely have blushed to be detected in. As they were pretty well aware that such a circumstance could not long be concealed from us one of them came the next morning with an artful apology for their conduct. He stated that as they knew it was my intention to treat them with a dram on the commencement of the new year they had helped themselves to a small quantity on that day, trusting to my goodness for forgiveness and, being unwilling to act harshly at this period, I did forgive them after admonishing them to be very circumspect in their future conduct. The ammunition and a small present of rum were sent to Akaitcho. On the 18th Vaillant the woodman had the misfortune to break his axe. This would have been a serious evil a few weeks sooner but we had just received some others from Slave Lake. On the 27th Mr. Wentzel and St. Germain arrived with the two Esquimaux, Attannoeuck and Hoeootoerock (the belly and the ear). The English names which were bestowed upon them at Fort Churchill in commemoration of the months of their arrival there are Augustus and Junius. The former speaks English. We now learned that Mr. Back proceeded with Beauparlant to Fort Chipewyan on the 24th of December to procure stores, having previously discharged J. Belleau from our service at his own request and according to my directions. I was the more induced to comply with this man's desire of leaving us as he proved to be too weak to perform the duty of bowman which he had undertaken. Four dogs were brought up by this party and proved a great relief to our wood-haulers during the remainder of the season. By the arrival of Mr. Wentzel who is an excellent musician and assisted us (con amore) in our attempts to amuse the men we were enabled to gratify the whole establishment with an occasional dance. Of this amusement the voyagers were very fond and not the less so as it was now and then accompanied by a dram as long as our rum lasted. On the 5th of February two Canadians came from Akaitcho for fresh supplies of ammunition. We were mortified to learn that he had received some further unpleasant reports concerning us from Fort Providence and that his faith in our good intentions was somewhat shaken. He expressed himself dissatisfied with the quantity of ammunition we had sent him, accused us of an intention of endeavouring to degrade him in the eyes of his tribe, and informed us that Mr. Weeks had refused to pay some notes for trifling quantities of goods and ammunition that had been given to the hunters who accompanied our men to Slave Lake. Some powder and shot and a keg of diluted spirits were sent to him with the strongest assurances of our regard. On the 12th another party of six men was sent to Fort Providence to bring up the remaining stores. St. Germain went to Akaitcho for the purpose of sending two of his hunters to join this party on its route. On comparing the language of our two Esquimaux with a copy of St. John's Gospel printed for the use of the Moravian Missionary Settlements on the Labrador coast it appeared that the Esquimaux who resort to Churchill speak a language essentially the same with those who frequent the Labrador Coast. The Red Knives too recognise the expression Teyma, used by the Esquimaux when they acost strangers in a friendly manner, as similarly pronounced by Augustus and those of his race who frequent the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. The tribe to which Augustus belongs resides generally a little to the northward of Churchill. In the spring before the ice quits the shores they kill seal but during winter they frequent the borders of the large lakes near the coast where they obtain fish, reindeer, and musk-oxen. There are eighty-four grown men in the tribe only seven of whom are aged. Six chiefs have each two wives; the rest of the men have only one; so that the number of married people may amount to one hundred and seventy. He could give me no certain data whereby I might estimate the number of children. Two great Chiefs or Ackhaiyoot have complete authority in directing the movements of the party and in distributing provisions. The Attoogawnoeuck or lesser chiefs are respected principally as senior men. The tribe seldom suffers from want of food if the chief moves to the different stations at the proper season. They seem to follow the eastern custom respecting marriage. As soon as a girl is born the young lad who wishes to have her for a wife goes to her father's tent and proffers himself. If accepted a promise is given which is considered binding and the girl is delivered to her betrothed husband at the proper age. They consider their progenitors to have come from the moon. Augustus has no other idea of a Deity than some confused notions which he has obtained at Churchill. When any of the tribe are dangerously ill a conjurer is sent for and the bearer of the message carries a suitable present to induce his attendance. Upon his arrival he encloses himself in the tent with the sick man and sings over him for days together without tasting food; but Augustus as well as the rest of the uninitiated are ignorant of the purport of his songs and of the nature of the Being to whom they are addressed. The conjurors practise a good deal of jugglery in swallowing knives, firing bullets through their bodies, etc., but they are at these times generally secluded from view and the bystanders believe their assertions without requiring to be eye-witnesses of the fact. Sixteen men and three women amongst Augustus' tribe are acquainted with the mysteries of the art. The skill of the latter is exerted only on their own sex. Upon the map being spread before Augustus he soon comprehended it and recognised Chesterfield Inlet to be the opening into which salt-waters enter at spring tides and which receives a river at its upper end. He termed it Kannoeuck Kleenoeuck. He has never been farther north himself than Marble Island, which he distinguishes as being the spot where the large ships were wrecked, alluding to the disastrous termination of Barlow and Knight's Voyage of Discovery.* He says however that Esquimaux of three different tribes have traded with his countrymen and that they described themselves as having come across land from a northern sea. One tribe who named themselves Ahwhacknanhelett he supposes may come from Repulse Bay; another designated Ootkooseekkalingmoeoot or Stone-Kettle Esquimaux reside more to the westward; and the third the Kangorrmoeoot or White Goose Esquimaux describe themselves as coming from a great distance and mentioned that a party of Indians had killed several of their tribe in the summer preceding their visit. Upon comparing the dates of this murder with that of the last massacre which the Copper Indians have perpetrated on these harmless and defenceless people they appear to differ two years; but the lapse of time is so inaccurately recorded that this difference in their accounts is not sufficient to destroy their identity; besides, the Chipewyans, the only other Indians who could possibly have committed the deed, have long since ceased to go to war. If this massacre should be the one mentioned by the Copper Indians the Kangorrmoeoot must reside near the mouth of the Anatessy, or River of Strangers. (Footnote. See Introduction to Hearne's Journey page 24.) The winter habitations of Esquimaux who visit Churchill are built of snow and, judging from one constructed by Augustus today, they are very comfortable dwellings. Having selected a spot on the river where the snow was about two feet deep and sufficiently compact he commenced by tracing out a circle twelve feet in diameter. The snow in the interior of the circle was next divided with a broad knife having a long handle into slabs three feet long, six inches thick, and two feet deep, being the thickness of the layer of snow. These slabs were tenacious enough to admit of being moved about without breaking or even losing the sharpness of their angles and they had a slight degree of curvature corresponding with that of the circle from which they were cut. They were piled upon each other exactly like courses of hewn stone around the circle which was traced out and care was taken to smooth the beds of the different courses with the knife, and to cut them so as to give the wall a slight inclination inwards, by which contrivance the building acquired the properties of a dome. The dome was closed somewhat suddenly and flatly by cutting the upper slabs in a wedge-form instead of the more rectangular shape of those below. The roof was about eight feet high, and the last aperture was shut up by a small conical piece. The whole was built from within and each slab was cut so that it retained its position without requiring support until another was placed beside it, the lightness of the slabs greatly facilitating the operation. When the building was covered in a little loose snow was thrown over it to close up every chink and a low door was cut through the walls with a knife. A bed-place was next formed and neatly faced up with slabs of snow, which was then covered with a thin layer of pine branches to prevent them from melting by the heat of the body. At each end of the bed a pillar of snow was erected to place a lamp upon, and lastly a porch was built before the door and a piece of clear ice was placed in an aperture cut in the wall for a window. The purity of the material of which the house was framed, the elegance of its construction, and the translucency of its walls which transmitted a very pleasant light, gave it an appearance far superior to a marble building and one might survey it with feelings somewhat akin to those produced by the contemplation of a Grecian temple reared by Phidias; both are triumphs of art, inimitable in their kinds. Annexed there is a plan of a complete Esquimaux snow-house and kitchen and other apartments copied from a sketch made by Augustus with the names of the different places affixed. The only fireplace is in the kitchen, the heat of the lamps sufficing to keep the other apartments warm. (Not included in this ebook.) REFERENCES TO THE PLAN. A. Ablokeyt, steps. B. Pahloeuk, porch. C. Wadl-leek, passage. D. Haddnoeweek, for the reception of the sweepings of the house. E. G. Tokheuook, antechamber, or passage. F. Annarroeartoweek. H. Eegah, cooking-house. I. Eegah-natkah, passage. K. Keidgewack, for piling wood upon. L. Keek kloweyt, cooking side. M. Keek loot, fireplace built of stone. N. Eegloo, house. O. Kattack, door. P. Nattoeuck, clear space in the apartment. a. d. Eekput, a kind of shelf where the candle stands; and b. c. a pit where they throw their bones and other offal of their provision. Q. Eegl-luck, bed-place. R. Eegleeteoet, bedside or sitting-place. S. Bed-place, as on the other side. T. Kie'gn-nok, small pantry. U. Hoergloack, storehouse for provisions. ... Several deer were killed near the house and we received some supplies from Akaitcho. Parties were also employed in bringing in the meat that was placed en cache in the early part of the winter. More than one half of these caches however had been destroyed by the wolves and wolverines, a circumstance which, in conjunction with the empty state of our storehouse, led us to fear that we should be much straitened for provisions before the arrival of any considerable number of reindeer in this neighbourhood. A good many ptarmigan were seen at this time and the women caught some in snares, but not in sufficient quantity to make any further alteration in the rations of deers' meat that were daily issued. They had already been reduced from eight to the short allowance of five pounds. Many wolves prowled nightly about the house and even ventured upon the roof of the kitchen, which is a low building, in search of food; Keskarrah shot a very large white one, of which a beautiful and correct drawing was made by Mr. Hood. The temperature in February was considerably lower than in the preceding month although not so low as in December, the mean being minus 25.3 degrees. The greatest temperature was 1 degree above zero and the lowest 51 degrees below. On the 5th of March the people returned from Slave Lake bringing the remainder of our stores consisting of a cask of flour, thirty-six pounds of sugar, a roll of tobacco, and forty pounds of powder. I received a letter from Mr. Weeks wherein he denied that he had ever circulated any reports to our disadvantage, and stated that he had done everything in his power to assist us, and even discouraged Akaitcho from leaving us when he had sent him a message saying that he wished to do so if he was sure of being well received at Fort Providence. We mentioned the contents of the letter to the Indians who were at the house at the time, when one of the hunters, who had attended the men on their journey, stated that he had heard many of the reports against us from Mr. Weeks himself and expressed his surprise that he should venture to deny them. St. Germain soon afterwards arrived from Akaitcho and informed us that he left him in good humour and apparently not harbouring the slightest idea of quitting us. On the 12th we sent four men to Fort Providence, and on the 17th Mr. Back arrived from Fort Chipewyan, having performed since he left us a journey of more than one thousand miles on foot. I had every reason to be much pleased with his conduct on this arduous undertaking, but his exertions may be best estimated by the perusal of the following narrative. MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE OF HIS JOURNEY TO CHIPEWYAN, AND RETURN. On quitting Fort Enterprise with Mr. Wentzel and two Canadians, accompanied by two hunters and their wives, our route lay across the barren hills. We saw during the day a number of deer and occasionally a solitary white wolf, and in the evening halted near a small knot of pines. Owing to the slow progress made by the wives of the hunters we only travelled the first day a distance of seven miles and a half. During the night we had a glimpse of the fantastic beauties of the Aurora Borealis and were somewhat annoyed by the wolves whose nightly howling interrupted our repose. Early the next morning we continued our march, sometimes crossing small lakes (which were just frozen enough to bear us) and at other times going large circuits in order to avoid those which were open. The walking was extremely bad throughout the day for, independent of the general unevenness of the ground and the numberless large stones which lay scattered in every direction, the unusual warmth of the weather had dissolved the snow which not only kept us constantly wet but deprived us of a firm footing, so that the men with their heavy burdens were in momentary apprehension of falling. In the afternoon a fine herd of deer was descried and the Indians, who are always anxious for the chase and can hardly be restrained from pursuing every animal they see, set out immediately. It was late when they returned, having had good success and bringing with them five tongues and the shoulder of a deer. We made about twelve miles this day. The night was fine and the Aurora Borealis so vivid that we imagined more than once that we heard a rustling noise like that of autumnal leaves stirred by the wind; but after two hours of attentive listening we were not entirely convinced of the fact. The coruscations were not so bright nor the transition from one shape and colour to another so rapid as they sometimes are, otherwise I have no doubt from the midnight silence which prevailed that we should have ascertained this yet undecided point. The morning of the 20th was so extremely hazy that we could not see ten yards before us; it was therefore late when we started and during our journey the hunters complained of the weather and feared they should lose the track of our route. Towards the evening it became so thick that we could not proceed, consequently we halted in a small wood situated in a valley, having only completed a distance of six miles. The scenery consisted of high hills which were almost destitute of trees, and lakes appeared in the valleys. The cracking of the ice was so loud during the night as to resemble thunder and the wolves howled around us. We were now at the commencement of the woods and at an early hour on the 21st continued our journey over high hills for three miles, when the appearance of some deer caused us to halt and nearly the remainder of the day was passed in hunting them. In the evening we stopped within sight of Prospect Hill having killed and concealed six deer. A considerable quantity of snow fell during the night. The surrounding country was extremely rugged, the hills divided by deep ravines and the valleys covered with broken masses of rocks and stones; yet the deer fly (as it were) over these impediments with apparent ease, seldom making a false step, and springing from crag to crag with all the confidence of the mountain goat. After passing Reindeer Lake (where the ice was so thin as to bend at every step for nine miles) we halted, perfectly satisfied with our escape from sinking into the water. While some of the party were forming the encampment one of the hunters killed a deer, a part of which was concealed to be ready for use on our return. This evening we halted in a wood near the canoe track after having travelled a distance of nine miles. The wind was South-East and the night cloudy with wind and rain. On the 24th and 25th we underwent some fatigue from being obliged to go round the lakes which lay across our route and were not sufficiently frozen to bear us. Several rivulets appeared to empty themselves into the lakes, no animals were killed and few tracks seen. The scenery consisted of barren rocks and high hills covered with lofty pine, birch, and larch trees. October 26. We continued our journey, sometimes on frozen lakes and at other times on high craggy rocks. When we were on the lakes we were much impeded in our journey by different parts which were unfrozen. There was a visible increase of wood, consisting of birch and larch, as we inclined to the southward. About ten A.M. we passed Icy Portage where we saw various tracks of the moose, bear and otter and, after a most harassing march through thick woods and over fallen trees, we halted a mile to the westward of Fishing Lake; our provisions were now almost expended; the weather was cloudy with snow. On the 27th we crossed two lakes and performed a circuitous route, frequently crossing high hills to avoid those lakes which were not frozen; during the day one of the women made a hole through the ice and caught a fine pike which she gave to us; the Indians would not partake of it from the idea (as we afterwards learnt) that we should not have sufficient for ourselves: "We are accustomed to starvation," said they, "but you are not." In the evening we halted near Rocky Lake. I accompanied one of the Indians to the summit of a hill where he showed me a dark horizontal cloud extending to a considerable distance along the mountains in the perspective, which he said was occasioned by the Great Slave Lake and was considered as a good guide to all the hunters in the vicinity. On our return we saw two untenanted bears' dens. The night was cloudy with heavy snow, yet the following morning we continued our tedious march; many of the lakes remained still open and the rocks were high and covered with snow which continued to fall all day, consequently we effected but a trifling distance and that too with much difficulty. In the evening we halted, having only performed about seven miles. One of the Indians gave us a fish which he had caught though he had nothing for himself; and it was with much trouble that he could be prevailed upon to partake of it. The night was again cloudy with snow. On the 29th we set out through deep snow and thick woods and after crossing two small lakes stopped to breakfast, sending the women on before as they had already complained of lameness and could not keep pace with the party. It was not long before we overtook them on the banks of a small lake which, though infinitely less in magnitude than many we had passed, yet had not a particle of ice on its surface. It was shoal, had no visible current, and was surrounded by hills. We had nothing to eat and were not very near an establishment where food could be procured; however as we proceeded the lakes were frozen and we quickened our pace, stopping but twice for the hunters to smoke. Nevertheless the distance we completed was but trifling, and at night we halted near a lake, the men being tired and much bruised from constantly falling amongst thick broken wood and loose stones concealed under the snow. The night was blowing and hazy with snow. On the 30th we set out with the expectation of gaining the Slave Lake in the evening; but our progress was again impeded by the same causes as before so that the whole day was spent in forcing our way through thick woods and over snow-covered swamps. We had to walk over pointed and loose rocks which, sliding from under our feet, made our path dangerous and often threw us down several feet on sharp-edged stones lying beneath the snow. Once we had to climb a towering and almost perpendicular rock which not only detained us but was the cause of great anxiety for the safety of the women who, being heavily laden with furs and one of them with a child at her back, could not exert themselves with the activity which such a task required. Fortunately nothing serious occurred though one of them once fell with considerable violence. During the day one of the hunters broke through the ice but was soon extricated; when it became dark we halted near the Bow String Portage, greatly disappointed at not having reached the lake. The weather was cloudy, accompanied with thick mist and snow. The Indians expected to have found here a bear in its den and to have made a hearty meal of its flesh, indeed it had been the subject of conversation all day and they had even gone so far as to divide it, frequently asking me what part I preferred, but when we came to the spot--oh! lamentable! it had already fallen a prey to the devouring appetites of some more fortunate hunters who had only left sufficient evidence that such a thing had once existed, and we had merely the consolation of realising an old proverb. One of our men however caught a fish which, with the assistance of some weed scraped from the rocks (tripe de roche) which forms a glutinous substance, made us a tolerable supper; it was not of the most choice kind yet good enough for hungry men. While we were eating it I perceived one of the women busily employed scraping an old skin, the contents of which her husband presented us with. They consisted of pounded meat, fat, and a greater proportion of Indians' and deers' hair than either; and though such a mixture may not appear very alluring to an English stomach it was thought a great luxury after three days' privation in these cheerless regions of America. Indeed had it not been for the precaution and generosity of the Indians we must have gone without sustenance until we reached the fort. On the 1st of November our men began to make a raft to enable us to cross a river which was not even frozen at the edges. It was soon finished and three of us embarked, being seated up to the ankles in water. We each took a pine branch for a paddle and made an effort to gain the opposite shore in which, after some time (and not without strong apprehensions of drifting into the Slave Lake) we succeeded. In two hours the whole party was over, with a comfortable addition to it in the shape of some fine fish which the Indians had caught: of course we did not forget to take these friends with us and, after passing several lakes, to one of which we saw no termination, we halted within eight miles to the fort. The Great Slave Lake was not frozen. In crossing a narrow branch of the lake I fell through the ice but received no injury; and at noon we arrived at Fort Providence and were received by Mr. Weeks, a clerk of the North-West Company in charge of the establishment. I found several packets of letters for the officers, which I was desirous of sending to them immediately but, as the Indians and their wives complained of illness and inability to return without rest, a flagon of mixed spirits was given them and their sorrows were soon forgotten. In a quarter of an hour they pronounced themselves excellent hunters and capable of going anywhere; however their boasting ceased with the last drop of the bottle when a crying scene took place which would have continued half the night had not the magic of an additional quantity of spirits dried their tears and once more turned their mourning into joy. It was a satisfaction to me to behold these poor creatures enjoying themselves for they had behaved in the most exemplary and active manner towards the party, and with a generosity and sympathy seldom found even in the more civilised parts of the world, and the attention and affection which they manifested towards their wives evinced a benevolence of disposition and goodness of nature which could not fail to secure the approbation of the most indifferent observer. The accounts I here received of our goods were of so unsatisfactory a nature that I determined to proceed, as soon as the lake was frozen, to Moose-Deer Island or if necessary to the Athabasca Lake, both to inform myself of the grounds of the unceremonious and negligent manner in which the Expedition had been treated and to obtain a sufficient supply of ammunition and other stores to enable it to leave its present situation and proceed for the attainment of its ultimate object. November 9. I despatched to Fort Enterprise one of the men with the letters and a hundred musket-balls which Mr. Weeks lent me on condition that they should be returned the first opportunity. An Indian and his wife accompanied the messenger. Lieutenant Franklin was made acquainted with the exact state of things, and I awaited with much impatience the freezing of the lake. November 16. A band of Slave Indians came to the fort with a few furs and some bear's grease. Though we had not seen any of them it appeared that they had received information of our being in the country and knew the precise situation of our house, which they would have visited long ago but from the fear of being pillaged by the Copper Indians. I questioned the chief about the Great Bear and Marten Lakes, their distance from Fort Enterprise, etc., but his answers were so vague and unsatisfactory that they were not worth attention; his description of Bouleau's Route (which he said was the shortest and best and abundant in animals) was very defective though the relative points were sufficiently characteristic had we not possessed a better route. He had never been at the sea and knew nothing about the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. In the evening he made his young men dance and sometimes accompanied them himself. They had four feathers in each hand. One commenced moving in a circular form, lifting both feet at the same time, similar to jumping sideways. After a short time a second and third joined and afterwards the whole band was dancing, some in a state of nudity, others half dressed, singing an unmusical wild air with (I suppose) appropriate words, the particular sounds of which were ha! ha! ha! uttered vociferously and with great distortion of countenance and peculiar attitude of body, the feathers being always kept in a tremulous motion. The ensuing day I made the chief acquainted with the object of our mission and recommended him to keep at peace with his neighbouring tribes and to conduct himself with attention and friendship towards the whites. I then gave him a medal, telling him it was the picture of the King whom they emphatically term their Great Father. November 18. We observed two mock moons at equal distances from the central one, and the whole were encircled by a halo, the colour of the inner edge of the large circle was a light red inclining to a faint purple. November 20. Two parhelia were observable with a halo; the colours of the inner edge of the circle were a bright carmine and red lake intermingled with a rich yellow, forming a purplish orange; the outer edge was pale gamboge. December 5. A man was sent some distance on the lake to see if it was sufficiently frozen for us to cross. I need scarcely mention my satisfaction when he returned with the pleasing information that it was. December 7. I quitted Fort Providence, being accompanied by Mr. Wentzel, Beauparlant, and two other Canadians, provided with dogs and sledges. We proceeded along the borders of the lake, occasionally crossing deep bays, and at dusk encamped at the Gros Cap, having proceeded twenty-five miles. December 8. We set out on the lake with an excessively cold north-west wind and were frequently interrupted by large pieces of ice which had been thrown up by the violence of the waves during the progress of congelation, and at dusk we encamped on the Reindeer Islands. The night was fine with a faint Aurora Borealis. Next day the wind was so keen that the men proposed conveying me in a sledge that I might be the less exposed, to which after some hesitation I consented. Accordingly a reindeer skin and a blanket were laid along the sledge and in these I was wrapped tight up to the chin and lashed to the vehicle, just leaving sufficient play for my head to perceive when I was about to be upset on some rough projecting piece of ice. Thus equipped we set off before the wind (a favourable circumstance on the lake) and went on very well until noon, when the ice, being driven up in ridges in such a manner as to obstruct us very much, I was released, and I confess not unwillingly though I had to walk the remainder of the day. There are large openings in many parts where the ice had separated and, in attempting to cross one of them, the dogs fell into the water and were saved with difficulty. The poor animals suffered dreadfully from the cold and narrowly escaped being frozen to death. We had quickened our pace towards the close of the day but could not get sight of the land, and it was not till the sun had set that we perceived it about four miles to our left, which obliged us to turn back and head the wind. It was then so cold that two of the party were frozen almost immediately about the face and ears. I escaped from having the good fortune to possess a pair of gloves made of rabbits' skin with which I kept constantly chafing the places which began to be affected. At six P.M. we arrived at the fishing-huts near Stony Island and remained the night there. The Canadians were not a little surprised at seeing us whom they had already given up for lost--nor less so at the manner by which we had come--for they all affirmed that the lake near them was quite free from ice the day before. December 10. At an early hour we quitted the huts, lashed on sledges as before, with some little addition to our party; and at three hours thirty minutes P.M. arrived at the North-West Fort on Moose-Deer Island where I was received by Mr. Smith with whom I had been acquainted at the Athabasca. He said he partly expected me. The same evening I visited Messrs. McVicar and McAulay at Hudson's Bay Fort when I found the reports concerning our goods were but too true, there being in reality but five packages for us. I also was informed that two Esquimaux, Augustus the chief, and Junius his servant, who had been sent from Fort Churchill by Governor Williams to serve in the capacity of interpreters to the Expedition, were at the fort. These men were short of stature but muscular, apparently good-natured, and perfectly acquainted with the purpose for which they were intended. They had built themselves a snow-house on an adjacent island where they used frequently to sleep. The following day I examined the pieces and to my great disappointment found them to consist of three kegs of spirits, already adulterated by the voyagers who had brought them, a keg of flour and thirty-five pounds of sugar, instead of sixty. The ammunition and tobacco, the two greatest requisites, were left behind. I lost no time in making a demand from both parties and, though their united list did not furnish the half of what was required, yet it is possible that everything was given by them which could be spared consistently with their separate interests, particularly by Mr. McVicar who in many articles gave me the whole he had in his possession. These things were sent away immediately for Fort Enterprise, when an interpreter arrived with letters from Lieutenant Franklin which referred to a series of injurious reports said to have been propagated against us by someone at Fort Providence. Finding a sufficiency of goods could not be provided at Moose-Deer Island I determined to proceed to the Athabasca Lake and ascertain the inclinations of the gentlemen there. With this view I communicated my intentions to both parties but could only get dogs enough from the North-West Company to carry the necessary provisions for the journey. Indeed Mr. Smith informed me plainly he was of opinion that nothing could be spared at Fort Chipewyan, that goods had never been transported so long a journey in the winter season, and that the same dogs could not possibly go and return; besides it was very doubtful if I could be provided with dogs there; and finally that the distance was great and could take sixteen days to perform it. He added that the provisions would be mouldy and bad and that from having to walk constantly on snowshoes I should suffer a great deal of misery and fatigue. Notwithstanding these assertions on the 23rd of December I left the fort with Beauparlant and a Bois-brule, each having a sledge drawn by dogs, laden with pemmican. We crossed an arm of the lake and entered the Little Buffalo River which is connected with the Salt River and is about fifty yards wide at its junction with the lake--the water is brackish. This route is usually taken in the winter as it cuts off a large angle in going to the Great Slave River. In the afternoon we passed two empty fishing-huts and in the evening encamped amongst some high pines on the banks of the river having had several snow-showers during the day which considerably impeded the dogs so that we had not proceeded more than fifteen miles. December 24 and 25. We continued along the river, frequently making small portages to avoid going round to the points, and passed some small canoes which the Indians had left for the winter. The snow was so deep that the dogs were obliged to stop every ten minutes to rest; and the cold so excessive that both the men were badly frozen on both sides of the face and chin. At length, having come to a long meadow which the dogs could not cross that night, we halted in an adjoining wood and were presently joined by a Canadian who was on his return to the fort and who treated us with some fresh meat in exchange for pemmican. During the latter part of the day we had seen numerous tracks of the moose, buffalo, and marten. December 26. The weather was so cold that we were compelled to run to prevent ourselves from freezing; our route lay across some large meadows which appeared to abound in animals, though the Indians around Slave Lake are in a state of great want. About noon we passed a sulphur-stream which ran into the river; it appeared to come from a plain about fifty yards distant. There were no rocks near it and the soil through which it took its course was composed of a reddish clay. I was much galled by the strings of the snowshoes during the day and once got a severe fall occasioned by the dogs running over one of my feet and, dragging me some distance, my snowshoe having become entangled with the sledge. In the evening we lost our way from the great similarity of appearance in the country and it was dark before we found it again when we halted in a thick wood after having come about sixteen miles from the last encampment. Much snow fell during the night. At an early hour on the 27th of December we continued our journey over the surface of a long but narrow lake and then through a wood which brought us to the grand detour on the Slave River. The weather was extremely cloudy with occasional falls of snow which tended greatly to impede our progress from its gathering in lumps between the dogs' toes; and though they did not go very fast yet my left knee pained me so much that I found it difficult to keep up with them. At three P.M. we halted within nine miles of the Salt River and made a hearty meal of mouldy pemmican. December 28 and 29. We had much difficulty in proceeding owing to the poor dogs being quite worn out and their feet perfectly raw. We endeavoured to tie shoes on them to afford them some little relief but they continually came off when amongst deep snow so that it occupied one person entirely to look after them. In this state they were hardly of any use among the steep ascents of the portages, when we were obliged to drag the sledges ourselves. We found a few of the rapids entirely frozen. Those that were not had holes and large spaces about them from whence issued a thick vapour, and in passing this we found it particularly cold; but what appeared most curious was the number of small fountains which rose through the ice and often rendered it doubtful which way we should take. I was much disappointed at finding several falls (which I had intended to sketch) frozen almost even with the upper and lower parts of the stream; the ice was connected by a thin arch and the rushing of the water underneath might be heard at a considerable distance. On the banks of these rapids there was a constant overflowing of the water but in such small quantities as to freeze before it had reached the surface of the central ice so that we passed between two ridges of icicles, the transparency of which was beautifully contrasted by the flakes of snow and the dark green branches of the overhanging pine. Beauparlant complained bitterly of the cold whilst among the rapids but no sooner had he reached the upper part of the river than he found the change of the temperature so great that he vented his indignation against the heat. "Mais c'est terrible," said he, to be frozen and sunburnt in the same day. The poor fellow, who had been a long time in the country, regarded it as the most severe punishment that could have been inflicted on him and would willingly have given a part of his wages rather than this disgrace had happened; for there is a pride amongst old Voyagers which makes them consider the state of being frost-bitten as effeminate and only excusable in a Pork-eater or one newly come into the country. I was greatly fatigued and suffered acute pains in the knees and legs, both of which were much swollen when we halted a little above the Dog River. December 30 and 31. Our journey these days was by far the most annoying we had yet experienced but, independent of the vast masses of ice that were piled on one another, as well as the numerous open places about the rapids (and they did not a little impede us) there was a strong gale from the north-west and so dreadfully keen that our time was occupied in rubbing the frozen parts of the face and in attempting to warm the hands in order to be prepared for the next operation. Scarcely was one place cured by constant friction than another was frozen; and though there was nothing pleasant about it yet it was laughable enough to observe the dexterity which was used in changing the position of the hand from the face to the mitten and vice versa. One of the men was severely affected, the whole side of his face being nearly raw. Towards sunset I suffered so much in my knee and ankle from a recent sprain that it was with difficulty I could proceed with snowshoes to the encampment on the Stony Islands. But in this point I was not singular for Beauparlant was almost as bad and without the same cause. January 1, 1821. We set out with a quick step, the wind still blowing fresh from the north-west, which seemed in some measure to invigorate the dogs; for towards sunset they left me considerably behind. Indeed my legs and ankles were now so swelled that it was excessive pain to drag the snowshoes after me. At night we halted on the banks of Stony River, when I gave the men a glass of grog to commemorate the new year, and the next day, January 2, we arrived at Fort Chipewyan, after a journey of ten days and four hours--the shortest time in which the distance had been performed at the same season. I found Messrs. G. Keith and S. McGillivray in charge of the fort, who were not a little surprised to see me. The commencement of the New Year is the rejoicing season of the Canadians when they are generally intoxicated for some days. I postponed making any demand till this time of festivity should cease; but on the same day I went over to the Hudson's Bay fort and delivered Lieutenant Franklin's letters to Mr. Simpson. If they were astonished on one side to see me, the amazement was still greater on the other for reports were so far in advance that we were said to have already fallen by the spears of the Esquimaux. January 3. I made a demand from both parties for supplies such as ammunition, gun-flints, axes, files, clothing, tobacco and spirits. I stated to them our extreme necessity and that without their assistance the Expedition must be arrested in its progress. The answer from the North-West gentlemen was satisfactory enough; but on the Hudson's Bay side I was told that any further assistance this season entirely depended on the arrival of supplies expected in a few weeks from a distant establishment. I remained at Fort Chipewyan five weeks during which time some laden sledges did arrive, but I could not obtain any addition to the few articles I had procured at first. A packet of letters for us from England having arrived I made preparations for my return, but not before I had requested both Companies to send next year from the depots a quantity of goods for our use specified in lists furnished to them. The weather during my abode at Chipewyan was generally mild with occasional heavy storms, most of which were anticipated by the activity of the Aurora Borealis; and this I observed had been the case between Fort Providence and the Athabasca in December and January, though not invariably so in other parts of the country. One of the partners of the North-West Company related to me the following singular story: He was travelling in a canoe in the English River and had landed near the Kettle Fall when the coruscations of the Aurora Borealis were so vivid and low that the Canadians fell on their faces and began praying and crying, fearing they should be killed; he himself threw away his gun and knife that they might not attract the flashes for they were within two feet from the earth, flitting along with incredible swiftness and moving parallel to its surface. They continued for upwards of five minutes as near as he could judge and made a loud rustling noise like the waving of a flag in a strong breeze. After they had ceased the sky became clear with little wind. February 9. Having got everything arranged and had a hearty breakfast with a coupe de l'eau de vie (a custom amongst the traders) I took my departure or rather attempted to do so for, on going to the gate, there was a long range of women who came to bid me farewell. They were all dressed (after the manner of the country) in blue or green cloth, with their hair fresh greased, separated before, and falling down behind, not in careless tresses but in a good sound tail, fastened with black tape or riband. This was considered a great compliment and the ceremony consisted in embracing the whole party. I had with me four sledges laden with goods for the Expedition and a fifth belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company. We returned exactly by the same route, suffering no other inconvenience but that arising from the chafing of the snowshoe and bad weather. Some Indians whom we met on the banks of the Little Buffalo River were rather surprised at seeing us, for they had heard that we were on an island which was surrounded by Esquimaux. The dogs were almost worn out and their feet raw when on February the 20th we arrived at Moose-Deer Island with our goods all in good order. Towards the end of the month two of our men arrived with letters from Lieutenant Franklin containing some fresh demands, the major part of which I was fortunate enough to procure without the least trouble. Having arranged the accounts and receipts between the Companies and the Expedition, and sent everything before me to Fort Providence, I prepared for my departure; and it is but justice to the gentlemen of both parties at Moose-Deer Island to remark that they afforded the means of forwarding our stores in the most cheerful and pleasant manner. March 5. I took leave of the gentlemen at the forts and in the afternoon got to the fisheries near Stony Island where I found Mr. McVicar who was kind enough to have a house ready for my reception; and I was not a little gratified at perceiving a pleasant-looking girl employed in roasting a fine joint and afterwards arranging the table with all the dexterity of an accomplished servant. March 6. We set out at daylight and breakfasted at the Reindeer Islands. As the day advanced the heat became so oppressive that each pulled off his coat and ran till sunset when we halted with two men who were on their return to Moose-Deer Island. There was a beautiful Aurora Borealis in the night; it rose about North by West and divided into three bars, diverging at equal distances as far as the zenith and then converging until they met in the opposite horizon; there were some flashes at rightangles to the bars. March 7. We arrived at Fort Providence and found our stores safe and in good order. There being no certainty when the Indian who was to accompany me to our house would arrive, and my impatience to join my companions increasing as I approached it, after making the necessary arrangements with Mr. Weeks respecting our stores, on March the 10th I quitted the fort with two of our men who had each a couple of dogs and a sledge laden with provision. On the 13th we met the Indian near Icy Portage who was sent to guide me back. On the 14th we killed a deer and gave the dogs a good feed; and on the 17th at an early hour we arrived at Fort Enterprise, having travelled about eighteen miles a day. I had the pleasure of meeting my friends all in good health after an absence of nearly five months, during which time I had travelled one thousand one hundred and four miles on snowshoes, and had no other covering at night in the woods than a blanket and deer-skin with the thermometer frequently at minus 40 degrees and once at minus 57 degrees, and sometimes passing two or three days without tasting food. ... CHAPTER 9. CONTINUATION OF PROCEEDINGS AT FORT ENTERPRISE. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE COPPER INDIANS. PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY TO THE NORTHWARD. CONTINUATION OF PROCEEDINGS AT FORT ENTERPRISE. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE COPPER INDIANS. March 18, 1821. I shall now give a brief account of the Copper Indians termed by the Chipewyans Tantsawhotdinneh, or Birch-rind Indians. They were originally a tribe of the Chipewyans and, according to their own account, inhabited the south side of Great Slave Lake at no very distant period. Their language, traditions, and customs, are essentially the same with those of the Chipewyans but in personal character they have greatly the advantage of that people, owing probably to local causes or perhaps to their procuring their food more easily and in greater abundance. They hold women in the same low estimation as the Chipewyans do, looking upon them as a kind of property which the stronger may take from the weaker whenever there is just reason for quarrelling, if the parties are of their own nation, or whenever they meet if the weaker party are Dog-Ribs or other strangers. They suffer however the kinder affections to show themselves occasionally; they in general live happily with their wives, the women are contented with their lot, and we witnessed several instances of strong attachment. Of their kindness to strangers we are fully qualified to speak; their love of property, attention to their interests, and fears for the future made them occasionally clamorous and unsteady; but their delicate and humane attention to us in a season of great distress at a future period are indelibly engraven on our memories. Of their notions of a Deity or future state we never could obtain any satisfactory account; they were unwilling perhaps to expose their opinions to the chance of ridicule. Akaitcho generally evaded our questions on these points but expressed a desire to learn from us and regularly attended Divine Service during his residence at the fort, behaving with the utmost decorum. This leader indeed and many others of his tribe possess a laudable curiosity which might easily be directed to the most important ends; and I believe that a well-conducted Christian mission to this quarter would not fail of producing the happiest effect. Old Keskarrah alone used boldly to express his disbelief of a Supreme Deity and state that he could not credit the existence of a Being whose power was said to extend everywhere but whom he had not yet seen, although he was now an old man. The aged sceptic is not a little conceited as the following exordium to one of his speeches evinces: "It is very strange that I never meet with anyone who is equal in sense to myself." The same old man in one of his communicative moods related to us the following tradition: The earth had been formed but continued enveloped in total darkness, when a bear and a squirrel met on the shores of a lake; a dispute arose as to their respective powers, which they agreed to settle by running in opposite directions round the lake, and whichever arrived first at the starting point was to evince his superiority by some signal act of power. The squirrel beat, ran up a tree, and loudly demanded light which, instantly beaming forth, discovered a bird dispelling the gloom with its wings; the bird was afterwards recognised to be a crow. The squirrel next broke a piece of bark from the tree, endowed it with the power of floating, and said, "Behold the material which shall afford the future inhabitants of the earth the means of traversing the waters." The Indians are not the first people who have ascribed the origin of nautics to the ingenuity of the squirrel. The Copper Indians consider the bear, otter, and other animals of prey, or rather some kind of spirits which assume the forms of these creatures, as their constant enemies and the cause of every misfortune they endure; and in seasons of difficulty or sickness they alternately deprecate and abuse them. Few of this nation have more than one wife at a time and none but the leaders have more than two. Akaitcho has three and the mother of his only son is the favourite. They frequently marry two sisters and there is no prohibition to the intermarriage of cousins but a man is restricted from marrying his niece. The last war excursion they made against the Esquimaux was ten years ago when they destroyed about thirty persons at the mouth of what they term Stony-Point River, not far from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. They now seem desirous of being on friendly terms with that persecuted nation and hope through our means to establish a lucrative commerce with them. Indeed the Copper Indians are sensible of the advantages that would accrue to them were they made the carriers of goods between the traders and Esquimaux. At the time of Hearne's visit the Copper Indians, being unsupplied with firearms, were oppressed by the Chipewyans; but even that traveller had occasion to praise their kindness of heart. Since they have received arms from the traders the Chipewyans are fearful of venturing upon their lands; and all of that nation who frequent the shores of Great Slave Lake hold the name of Akaitcho in great respect. The Chipewyans have no leader of equal authority among themselves. The number of the Copper Indians may be one hundred and ninety souls namely eighty men and boys and one hundred and ten women and young children. There are forty-five hunters in the tribe. The adherents of Akaitcho amount to about forty men and boys; the rest follow a number of minor chiefs. For the following notices of the nations on Mackenzie's River we are principally indebted to Mr. Wentzel who resided for many years in that quarter. The Thlingchadinneh or Dog-Ribs or as they are sometimes termed after the Crees, who formerly warred against them, Slaves, inhabit the country to the westward of the Copper Indians as far as Mackenzie's River. They are of a mild, hospitable, but rather indolent disposition; spend much of their time in amusements and are fond of singing and dancing. In this respect and in another they differ very widely from most of the other aborigines of North America. I allude to their kind treatment of the women. The men do the laborious work whilst their wives employ themselves in ornamenting their dresses with quill-work and in other occupations suited to their sex. Mr. Wentzel has often known the young married men to bring specimens of their wives' needlework to the forts and exhibit them with much pride. Kind treatment of the fair sex being usually considered as an indication of considerable progress in civilisation it might be worthwhile to inquire how it happens that this tribe has stepped so far beyond its neighbours. It has had undoubtedly the same common origin with the Chipewyans, for their languages differ only in accent, and their mode of life is essentially the same. We have not sufficient data to prosecute the inquiry with any hope of success but we may recall to the reader's memory what was formerly mentioned, that the Dog-Ribs say they came from the westward, whilst the Chipewyans say that they migrated from the eastward. When bands of Dog-Ribs meet each other after a long absence they perform a kind of dance. A piece of ground is cleared for the purpose, if in winter of the snow, or if in summer of the bushes; and the dance frequently lasts for two or three days, the parties relieving each other as they get tired. The two bands commence the dance with their backs turned to each other, the individuals following one another in Indian file and holding the bow in the left hand and an arrow in the right. They approach obliquely after many turns and, when the two lines are closely back to back, they feign to see each other for the first time and the bow is instantly transferred to the right hand and the arrow to the left, signifying that it is not their intention to employ them against their friends. At a fort they use feathers instead of bows. The dance is accompanied with a song. These people are the dancing-masters of the country. The Copper Indians have neither dance nor music but what they borrow from them. On our first interview with Akaitcho at Fort Providence he treated us as has already been mentioned with a representation of the Dog-Rib Dance; and Mr. Back during his winter journey had an opportunity of observing it performed by the Dog-Ribs themselves. The chief tribe of the Dog-Rib nation, termed Horn Mountain Indians, inhabit the country betwixt Great Bear Lake and the west end of Great Slave Lake. They muster about two hundred men and boys capable of pursuing the chase. Small detachments of the nation frequent Marten Lake and hunt during the summer in the neighbourhood of Fort Enterprise. Indeed this part of the country was formerly exclusively theirs, and most of the lakes and remarkable hills bear the names which they imposed upon them. As the Copper Indians generally pillage them of their women and furs when they meet they endeavour to avoid them and visit their ancient quarters on the barren grounds only by stealth. Immediately to the northward of the Dog-Ribs, on the north side of Bear Lake River, are the Kawchodinneh or Hare Indians who also speak a dialect of the Chipewyan language and have much of the same manners with the Dog-Ribs, but are considered both by them and by the Copper Indians to be great conjurors. These people report that in their hunting excursions to the northward of Great Bear Lake they meet small parties of Esquimaux. Immediately to the northward of the Hare Indians on both banks of Mackenzie's River are the Tykotheedinneh, Loucheux, Squint-Eyes, or Quarrellers. They speak a language distinct from the Chipewyan. They war often with the Esquimaux at the mouth of Mackenzie's River but have occasionally some peaceable intercourse with them, and it would appear that they find no difficulty in understanding each other, there being considerable similarity in their languages. Their dress also resembles the Esquimaux and differs from that of the other inhabitants of Mackenzie's River. The Tykotheedinneh trade with Fort Good-Hope, situated a considerable distance below the confluence of Bear Lake River with Mackenzie's River and, as the traders suppose, within three days' march of the Arctic Sea. It is the most northern establishment of the North-West Company, and some small pieces of Russian copper coin once made their way thither across the continent from the westward. Blue or white beads are almost the only articles of European manufacture coveted by the Loucheux. They perforate the septum of the nose and insert in the opening three small shells which they procure at a high price from the Esquimaux. On the west bank of Mackenzie's River there are several tribes who speak dialects of the Chipewyan language that have not hitherto been mentioned. The first met with on tracing the river to the southward from Fort Good-Hope are the Ambawtawhootdinneh, or Sheep Indians. They inhabit the Rocky Mountains near the sources of the Dawhootdinneh River which flows into Mackenzie's and are but little known to the traders. Some of them have visited Fort Good-Hope. A report of their being cannibals may have originated in an imperfect knowledge of them. Some distance to the southward of this people are the Rocky Mountain Indians, a small tribe which musters about forty men and boys capable of pursuing the chase. They differ but little from the next we are about to mention, the Edchawtawhootdinneh, Strong-bow, Beaver, or Thickwood Indians who frequent the Riviere aux Liards or south branch of Mackenzie's River. The Strong-bows resemble the Dog-Ribs somewhat in their disposition; but when they meet they assume a considerable degree of superiority over the latter who meekly submit to the haughtiness of their neighbours. Until the year 1813 when a small party of them, from some unfortunate provocation, destroyed Fort Nelson on the Riviere aux Liards and murdered its inmates, the Strong-bows were considered to be a friendly and quiet tribe and esteemed as excellent hunters. They take their names in the first instance from their dogs. A young man is the father of a certain dog but when he is married and has a son he styles himself the father of the boy. The women have a habit of reproving the dogs very tenderly when they observe them fighting: "Are you not ashamed," say they, "are you not ashamed to quarrel with your little brother?" The dogs appear to understand the reproof and sneak off. The Strong-bows and Rocky Mountain Indians have a tradition in common with the Dog-Ribs that they came originally from the westward, from a level country where there was no winter, which produced trees and large fruits now unknown to them. It was inhabited also by many strange animals, amongst which there was a small one whose visage bore a striking resemblance to the human countenance. During their residence in this land their ancestors were visited by a man who healed the sick, raised the dead, and performed many other miracles, enjoining them at the same time to lead good lives and not to eat of the entrails of animals, nor to use the brains for dressing skins until after the third day; and never to leave the skulls of deer upon the ground within the reach of dogs and wolves but to hang them carefully upon trees. No one knew from whence this good man came or whither he went. They were driven from that land by the rising of the waters and, following the tracks of animals on the seashore, they directed their course to the northward. At length they came to a strait which they crossed upon a raft but the sea has since frozen and they have never been able to return. These traditions are unknown to the Chipewyans. The number of men and boys of the Strong-bow nation who are capable of hunting may amount to seventy. There are some other tribes who also speak dialects of the Chipewyan upon the upper branches of the Riviere aux Liards such as the Nohhannies and the Tsillawdawhootdinneh or Brushwood Indians. They are but little known but the latter are supposed occasionally to visit some of the establishments on Peace River. Having now communicated as briefly as I could the principal facts that came to our knowledge regarding the Indians in this quarter I shall resume the narrative of events at Fort Enterprise. The month of March proved fine. The thermometer rose once to 24 degrees above zero and fell upon another day 49 degrees below zero but the mean was minus 11 1/2 degrees. On the 23rd the last of our winter's stock of deer's meat was expended and we were compelled to issue a little pounded meat which we had reserved for making pemmican for summer use. Our nets which were set under the ice on the 15th produced only two or three small fish daily. Amongst these was the round-fish, a species of Coregonus which we had not previously seen. On the following day two Indians came with a message from the Hook, the chief next to Akaitcho in authority amongst the Copper Indians. His band was between West Marten and Great Bear Lakes and he offered to provide a quantity of dried meat for us on the banks of the Copper-Mine River in the beginning of summer, provided we sent him goods and ammunition. It was in his power to do this without inconvenience as he generally spends the summer months on the banks of the river near the Copper Mountain; but we had no goods to spare and I could not venture to send any part of our small stock of ammunition until I saw what the necessities of our own party required. I told them however that I would gladly receive either provisions or leather when we met and would pay for them by notes on the North-West Company's post; but to prevent any misunderstanding with Mr. Weeks I requested them to take their winter's collection of furs to Fort Providence before they went to the Copper-Mine River. They assured me that the Hook would watch anxiously for our passing as he was unwell and wished to consult the doctor. Several circumstances having come lately to my knowledge that led me to suspect the fidelity of our interpreters they were examined upon this subject. It appeared that in their intercourse with the Indians they had contracted very fearful ideas of the danger of our enterprise which augmented as the time of our departure drew near, and had not hesitated to express their dislike to the journey in strong terms amongst the Canadians, who are accustomed to pay much deference to the opinions of an interpreter. But this was not all; I had reason to suspect they had endeavoured to damp the exertions of the Indians with the hope that the want of provision in the spring would put an end to our progress at once. St. Germain in particular had behaved in a very equivocal way since his journey to Slave Lake. He denied the principal parts of the charge in a very dogged manner but acknowledged he had told the leader that we had not paid him the attention which a chief like him ought to have received; and that we had put a great affront on him in sending him only a small quantity of rum. An artful man like St. Germain, possessing a flow of language and capable of saying even what he confessed, had the means of poisoning the minds of the Indians without committing himself by any direct assertion; and it is to be remarked that, unless Mr. Wentzel had possessed a knowledge of the Copper Indian language, we should not have learned what we did. Although perfectly convinced of his baseness I could not dispense with his services; and had no other resource but to give him a serious admonition and desire him to return to his duty, after endeavouring to work upon his fears by an assurance that I would certainly convey him to England for trial if the Expedition should be stopped through his fault. He replied, "It is immaterial to me where I lose my life, whether in England or in accompanying you to the sea, for the whole party will perish." After this discussion however he was more circumspect in his conduct. On the 28th we received a small supply of meat from the Indian lodges. They had now moved into a lake about twelve miles from us, in expectation of the deer coming soon to the northward. PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY TO THE NORTHWARD. On the 29th Akaitcho arrived at the house, having been sent for to make some arrangements respecting the procuring of provision and that we might learn what his sentiments were with regard to accompanying us on our future journey. Next morning we had a conference which I commenced by showing him the charts and drawings that were prepared to be sent to England, and explaining fully our future intentions. He appeared much pleased at this mark of attention and, when his curiosity was satisfied, began his speech by saying that although a vast number of idle rumours had been floating about the barren grounds during the winter he was convinced that the representations made to him at Fort Providence regarding the purport of the Expedition were perfectly correct. I next pointed out to him the necessity of our proceeding with as little delay as possible during the short period of the year that was fit for our operations, and that to do so it was requisite we should have a large supply of provisions at starting. He instantly admitted the force of these observations and promised that he and his young men should do their utmost to comply with our desires, and afterwards in answer to my questions informed us that he would accompany the Expedition to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River or, if we did not meet with Esquimaux there, for some distance along the coast; he was anxious he said to have an amicable interview with that people, and he further requested that, in the event of our meeting with Dog-Ribs on the Copper-Mine River, we should use our influence to persuade them to live on friendly terms with his tribe. We were highly pleased to find his sentiments so favourable to our views and, after making some minor arrangements, we parted mutually content. He left us on the morning of the 31st, accompanied by Augustus who, at his request, went to reside for a few days at his lodge. On the 4th of April our men arrived with the last supply of goods from Fort Providence, the fruits of Mr. Back's arduous journey to the Athabasca Lake, and on the 17th Belanger le gros and Belanger le rouge, for so our men discriminated them, set out for Slave Lake with a box containing the journals of the officers, charts, drawings, observations, and letters addressed to the Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs. They also conveyed a letter for Governor Williams in which I requested that he would if possible send a schooner to Wager Bay with provisions and clothing to meet the exigencies of the party should they succeed in reaching that part of the coast. Connoyer, who was much tormented with biliary calculi and had done little or no duty all the winter, was discharged at the same time and sent down in company with an Indian named the Belly. The commencement of April was fine and for several days a considerable thaw took place in the heat of the sun which, laying bare some of the lichens on the sides of the hills, produced a consequent movement of the reindeer to the northward and induced the Indians to believe that the spring was already commencing. Many of them therefore quitted the woods and set their snares on the barren grounds near Fort Enterprise. Two or three days of cold weather however towards the middle of the month damped their hopes, and they began to say that another moon must elapse before the arrival of the wished-for season. In the meantime their premature departure from the woods caused them to suffer from want of food and we were in some degree involved in their distress. We received no supplies from the hunters, our nets produced but very few fish, and the pounded meat which we had intended to keep for summer use was nearly expended. Our meals at this period were always scanty and we were occasionally restricted to one in the day. The Indian families about the house, consisting principally of women and children, suffered most. I had often requested them to move to Akaitcho's lodge where they were more certain of receiving supplies but, as most of them were sick or infirm, they did not like to quit the house, where they daily received medicines from Dr. Richardson, to encounter the fatigue of following the movements of a hunting camp. They cleared away the snow on the site of the autumn encampments to look for bones, deer's feet, bits of hide, and other offal. When we beheld them gnawing the pieces of hide and pounding the bones for the purpose of extracting some nourishment from them by boiling we regretted our inability to relieve them, but little thought that we should ourselves be afterwards driven to the necessity of eagerly collecting these same bones a second time from the dunghill. At this time, to divert the attention of the men from their wants, we encouraged the practice of sliding down the steep bank of the river upon sledges. These vehicles descended the snowy bank with much velocity and ran a great distance upon the ice. The officers joined in the sport and the numerous overturns we experienced formed no small share of the amusement of the party, but on one occasion, when I had been thrown from my seat and almost buried in the snow, a fat Indian woman drove her sledge over me and sprained my knee severely. On the 18th at eight in the evening a beautiful halo appeared round the sun when it was about 8 degrees high. The colours were prismatic and very bright, the red next the sun. On the 21st the ice in the river was measured and found to be five feet thick and, in setting the nets in Round Rock Lake, it was there ascertained to be six feet and a half thick, the water being six fathoms deep. The stomachs of some fish were at this time opened by Dr. Richardson and found filled with insects which appear to exist in abundance under the ice during the winter. On the 22nd a moose-deer was killed at the distance of forty-five miles; St. Germain went for it with a dog-sledge and returned with unusual expedition on the morning of the third day. This supply was soon exhausted and we passed the 27th without eating, with the prospect of fasting a day or two longer, when old Keskarrah entered with the unexpected intelligence of having killed a deer. It was divided betwixt our own family and the Indians and during the night a seasonable supply arrived from Akaitcho. Augustus returned with the men who brought it, much pleased with the attention he had received from the Indians during his visit to Akaitcho. Next day Mr. Wentzel set out with every man that we could spare from the fort for the purpose of bringing meat from the Indians as fast as it could be procured. Dr. Richardson followed them two days afterwards to collect specimens of the rocks in that part of the country. On the same day the two Belangers arrived from Fort Providence having been only five days on the march from thence. The highest temperature in April was plus 40 degrees, the lowest minus 32 degrees, the mean plus 4.6 degrees. The temperature of the rapid, examined on the 30th by Messrs. Back and Hood, was 32 degrees at the surface, 33 degrees at the bottom. On the 7th of May Dr. Richardson returned. He informed me that the reindeer were again advancing to the northward but that the leader had been joined by several families of old people and that the daily consumption of provision at the Indian tents was consequently great. This information excited apprehensions of being very scantily provided when the period of our departure should arrive. The weather in the beginning of May was fine and warm. On the 2nd some patches of sandy ground near the house were cleared of snow. On the 7th the sides of the hills began to appear bare and on the 8th a large house-fly was seen. This interesting event spread cheerfulness through our residence and formed a topic of conversation for the rest of the day. On the 9th the approach of spring was still more agreeably confirmed by the appearance of a merganser and two gulls, and some loons or arctic divers, at the rapid. This day to reduce the labour of dragging meat to the house the women and children and all the men except four were sent to live at the Indian tents. The blueberries, crow-berries, eye-berries, and cranberries, which had been covered and protected by the snow during the winter might at this time be gathered in abundance and proved indeed a valuable resource. The ground continued frozen but the heat of the sun had a visible effect on vegetation; the sap thawed in the pine-trees and Dr. Richardson informed me that the mosses were beginning to shoot and the calyptrae of some of the jungermanniae already visible. On the 11th Mr. Wentzel returned from the Indian lodges having made the necessary arrangements with Akaitcho for the drying of meat for summer use, the bringing fresh meat to the fort and the procuring a sufficient quantity of the resin of the spruce fir, or as it is termed by the voyagers gum, for repairing the canoes previous to starting and during the voyage. By my desire he had promised payment to the Indian women who should bring in any of the latter article and had sent several of our own men to the woods to search for it. At this time I communicated to Mr. Wentzel the mode in which I meant to conduct the journey of the approaching summer. Upon our arrival at the sea I proposed to reduce the party to what would be sufficient to man two canoes in order to lessen the consumption of provisions during our voyage or journey along the coast and, as Mr. Wentzel had expressed a desire of proceeding no farther than the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, which was seconded by the Indians who wished him to return with them, I readily relieved his anxiety on this subject, the more so as I thought he might render greater service to us by making deposits of provision at certain points than by accompanying us through a country which was unknown to him, and amongst a people with whom he was totally unacquainted. My intentions were explained to him in detail but they were of course to be modified by circumstances. On the 14th a robin (Turdus migratorius) appeared; this bird is hailed by the natives as the infallible precursor of warm weather. Ducks and geese were also seen in numbers and the reindeer advanced to the northward. The merganser (Mergus serrator) which preys upon small fish, was the first of the duck tribe that appeared; next came the teal (Anas crecca) which lives upon small insects that abound in the waters at this season; and lastly the goose which feeds upon berries and herbage. Geese appear at Cumberland House in latitude 54 degrees usually about the 12th of April; at Fort Chipewyan in latitude 59 degrees on the 25th of April; at Slave Lake in latitude 61 degrees on the 1st of May; and at Fort Enterprise in latitude 64 degrees 28 minutes on the 12th or 14th of the same month. On the 16th a minor chief amongst the Copper Indians attended by his son arrived from Fort Providence to consult Dr. Richardson. He was affected with snow-blindness which was soon relieved by the dropping of a little laudanum into his eyes twice a day. Most of our own men had been lately troubled with this complaint but it always yielded in twenty or thirty hours to the same remedy. On the 21st all our men returned from the Indians and Akaitcho was on his way to the fort. In the afternoon two of his young men arrived to announce his visit and to request that he might be received with a salute and other marks of respect that he had been accustomed to on visiting Fort Providence in the spring. I complied with his desire although I regretted the expenditure of ammunition and sent the young man away with the customary present of powder to enable him to return the salute, some tobacco, vermilion to paint their faces, a comb and a looking-glass. At eleven Akaitcho arrived; at the first notice of his appearance the flag was hoisted at the fort and upon his nearer approach a number of muskets were fired by a party of our people and returned by his young men. Akaitcho, preceded by his standard-bearer, led the party and advanced with a slow and stately step to the door where Mr. Wentzel and I received him. The faces of the party were daubed with vermilion, the old men having a spot on the right cheek, the young ones on the left. Akaitcho himself was not painted. On entering he sat down on a chest, the rest placed themselves in a circle on the floor. The pipe was passed once or twice round and in the meantime a bowl of spirits and water and a present considerable for our circumstances of cloth, blankets, capots, shirts, etc., was placed on the floor for the chief's acceptance and distribution amongst his people. Akaitcho then commenced his speech but I regret to say that it was very discouraging and indicated that he had parted with his good humour, at least since his March visit. He first inquired whether, in the event of a passage by sea being discovered, we should come to his lands in any ship that might be sent? And being answered that it was probable but not quite certain that someone amongst us might come, he expressed a hope that some suitable present should be forwarded to himself and nation, "for" said he, "the great Chief who commands where all the goods come from must see from the drawings and descriptions of us and our country that we are a miserable people." I assured him that he would be remembered, provided he faithfully fulfilled his engagement with us. He next complained of the non-payment of my notes by Mr. Weeks, from which he apprehended that his own reward would be withheld. "If," said he, "your notes to such a trifling amount are not accepted whilst you are within such a short distance and can hold communication with the fort, it is not probable that the large reward which has been promised to myself and party will be paid when you are far distant on your way to your own country. It really appears to me," he continued, "as if both the Companies consider your party as a third company, hostile to their interests, and that neither of them will pay the notes you give to the Indians." Afterwards in the course of a long conference he enumerated many other grounds of dissatisfaction, the principal of which were our want of attention to him as chief, the weakness of the rum formerly sent to him, the smallness of the present now offered, and the want of the chief's clothing, which he had been accustomed to receive at Fort Providence every spring. He concluded by refusing to receive the goods now laid before him. In reply to these complaints it was stated that Mr. Weeks' conduct could not be properly discussed at such a distance from his fort, that no dependence ought to be placed on the vague reports that floated through the Indian territory, that for our part, although we had heard many stories to his (Akaitcho's) disadvantage, we discredited them all, that the rum we had sent him, being what the great men in England were accustomed to drink, was of a milder kind but in fact stronger than what he had been accustomed to receive, and that the distance we had come and the speed with which we travelled precluded us from bringing large quantities of goods like the traders, that this had been fully explained to him when he agreed to accompany us and that, in consideration of his not receiving his usual spring outfit, his debts to the Company had been cancelled and a present, much greater than any he had ever received before, ordered to be got ready for his return. He was further informed that we were much disappointed in not receiving any dried meat from him, an article indispensable for our summer voyage and which he had led us to believe there was no difficulty in procuring, and that in fact his complaints were so groundless in comparison with the real injury we sustained from the want of supplies that we were led to believe they were preferred solely for the purpose of cloaking his own want of attention to the terms of his engagement. He then shifted his ground and stated that if we endeavoured to make a voyage along the sea-coast we should inevitably perish, and he advised us strongly against persisting in the attempt. This part of his harangue, being an exact transcript of the sentiments formerly expressed by our interpreters, induced us to conclude that they had prompted his present line of conduct by telling him that we had goods or rum concealed. He afterwards received a portion of our dinner in the manner he had been accustomed to do, and seemed inclined to make up matters with us in the course of the evening, provided we added to the present offered to him. Being told however that this was impossible since we had already offered him all the rum we had and every article of goods we could spare from our own equipment his obstinacy was a little shaken, and he made some concessions but deferred giving a final answer until the arrival of Humpy his elder brother. The young men however did not choose to wait so long and at night came for the rum, which we judged to be a great step towards a reconciliation. St. Germain, the most intelligent of our two interpreters and the one who had most influence with the Indians, being informed that their defection was in a great measure attributed to the unguarded conversations he had held with them, and which he had in part acknowledged, exerted himself much on the following day in bringing about a change in their sentiments and with some success. The young men, though they declined hunting, conducted themselves with the same good humour and freedom as formerly. Akaitcho being as he said ashamed to show himself kept close in his tent all day. On the 24th one of the women who accompanied us from Athabasca was sent down to Fort Providence under charge of the old chief who came some days before for medicine for his eyes. Angelique and Roulante, the other two women, having families, preferred accompanying the Indians during their summer hunt. On the 25th clothing and other necessary articles were issued to the Canadians as their equipment for the ensuing voyage. Two or three blankets, some cloth, ironwork, and trinkets were reserved for distribution amongst the Esquimaux on the sea-coast. Laced dresses were given to Augustus and Junius. It is impossible to describe the joy that took possession of the latter on the receipt of this present. The happy little fellow burst into ecstatic laughter as he surveyed the different articles of his gay habiliments.* (*Footnote. These men kept their dresses and delighted in them. An Indian chief on the other hand only appears once before the donor in the dress of ceremony which he receives and then transfers it to some favourite in the tribe whom he desires to reward by this robe of honour.) In the afternoon Humpy the leader's elder brother, Annoethaiyazzeh, another of his brothers, and one of our guides arrived with the remainder of Akaitcho's band; as also Long-legs, brother to the Hook, with three of his band. There were now in the encampment thirty hunters, thirty-one women, and sixty children, in all one hundred and twenty-one of the Copper Indian or Red-Knife tribe. The rest of the nation were with the Hook on the lower part of the Copper-Mine River. Annoethaiyazzeh is remarkable amongst the Indians for the number of his descendants; he has eighteen children living by two wives, of whom sixteen were at the fort at this time. In the evening we had another formidable conference. The former complaints were reiterated and we parted about midnight without any satisfactory answer to my questions as to when Akaitcho would proceed towards the river and where he meant to make provision for our march. I was somewhat pleased however to find that Humpy and Annoethaiyazzeh censured their brother's conduct and accused him of avarice. On the 26th the canoes were removed from the places where they had been deposited as we judged that the heat of the atmosphere was now so great as to admit of their being repaired without risk of cracking the bark. We were rejoiced to find that two of them had suffered little injury from the frost during the winter. The bark of the third was considerably rent but it was still capable of repair. The Indians sat in conference in their tents all the morning and in the afternoon came into the house charged with fresh matter for discussion. Soon after they had seated themselves and the room was filled with the customary volume of smoke from their calumets the goods which had been laid aside were again presented to the leader, but he at once refused to distribute so small a quantity amongst his men and complained that there were neither blankets, kettles, nor daggers amongst them, and in the warmth of his anger he charged Mr. Wentzel with having advised the distribution of all our goods to the Canadians and thus defrauding the Indians of what was intended for them. Mr. Wentzel of course immediately repelled this injurious accusation and reminded Akaitcho again that he had been told on engaging to accompany us that he was not to expect any goods until his return. This he denied with an effrontery that surprised us all, when Humpy, who was present at our first interview at Fort Providence, declared that he heard us say that no goods could be taken for the supply of the Indians on the voyage; and the first guide added, "I do not expect anything here, I have promised to accompany the white people to the sea and I will therefore go, confidently relying upon receiving the stipulated reward on my return." Akaitcho did not seem prepared to hear such declarations from his brothers and, instantly changing the subject, began to descant upon the treatment he had received from the traders in his concerns with them with an asperity of language that bore more the appearance of menace than complaint. I immediately refused to discuss this topic as foreign to our present business and desired Akaitcho to recall to memory that he had told me on our first meeting that he considered me the father of every person attached to the Expedition, in which character it was surely my duty to provide for the comfort and safety of the Canadians as well as the Indians. The voyagers, he knew, had a long journey to perform and would in all probability be exposed to much suffering from cold on a coast destitute of wood, and therefore required a greater provision of clothing than was necessary for the Indians who, by returning immediately from the mouth of the river, would reach Fort Providence in August and obtain their promised rewards. Most of the Indians appeared to assent to this argument but Akaitcho said, "I perceive the traders have deceived you; you should have brought more goods but I do not blame you." I then told him that I had brought from England only ammunition, tobacco, and spirits and that, being ignorant what other articles the Indians required, we were dependent on the traders for supplies, but he must be aware that every endeavour had been used on our parts to procure them, as was evinced by Mr. Back's journey to Fort Chipewyan. With respect to the ammunition and tobacco we had been as much disappointed as themselves in not receiving them, but this was to be attributed to the neglect of those to whom they had been entrusted. This explanation seemed to satisfy him. After some minutes of reflection his countenance became more cheerful and he made inquiry whether his party might go to either of the trading posts they chose on their return, and whether the Hudson's Bay Company were rich, for they had been represented to him as a poor people? I answered him that we really knew nothing about the wealth of either Company, having never concerned ourselves with trade, but that all the traders appeared to us to be respectable. Our thoughts I added are fixed solely on the accomplishment of the objects for which we came to the country. Our success depends much on your furnishing us with provision speedily, that we may have all the summer to work and, if we succeed, a ship will soon bring goods in abundance to the mouth of the Copper-Mine River. The Indians talked together for a short time after this conversation and then the leader made an application for two or three kettles and some blankets to be added to the present to his young men; we were unable to spare him any kettles but the officers promised to give a blanket each from their own beds. Dinner was now brought in and relieved us for a time from their importunity. The leading men as usual received each a portion from the table. When the conversation was resumed the chief renewed his solicitations for goods, but it was now too palpable to be mistaken that he aimed at getting everything he possibly could and leaving us without the means of making any presents to the Esquimaux or other Indians we might meet. I resolved therefore on steadily refusing every request and, when he perceived that he could extort nothing more, he rose in an angry manner and, addressing his young men, said: "There are too few goods for me to distribute; those that mean to follow the white people to the sea may take them." This was an incautious speech as it rendered it necessary for his party to display their sentiments. The guides and most of the hunters declared their readiness to go and came forward to receive a portion of the present which was no inconsiderable assortment. This relieved a weight of anxiety from my mind and I did not much regard the leader's retiring in a very dissatisfied mood. The hunters then applied to Mr. Wentzel for ammunition that they might hunt in the morning and it was cheerfully given to them. The officers and men amused themselves at prison-bars and other Canadian games till two o'clock in the morning, and we were happy to observe the Indians sitting in groups enjoying the sport. We were desirous of filling up the leisure moments of the Canadians with amusements, not only for the purpose of enlivening their spirits but also to prevent them from conversing upon our differences with the Indians, which they must have observed. The exercise was also in a peculiar manner serviceable to Mr. Hood. Ever ardent in his pursuits he had, through close attention to his drawings and other avocations, confined himself too much to the house in winter, and his health was impaired by his sedentary habits. I could only take the part of a spectator in these amusements, being still lame from the hurt formerly alluded to. The sun now sank for so short a time below the horizon that there was more light at midnight than we enjoyed on some days at noon in the wintertime. On the 27th the hunters brought in two reindeer. Many of the Indians attended divine service this day and were attentive spectators of our addresses to the Almighty. On the 28th I had a conversation with Long-legs whose arrival two days before has been mentioned. I acquainted him with the objects of our Expedition and our desire of promoting peace between his nation and the Esquimaux, and learned from him that his brother the Hook was by this time on the Copper-Mine River with his party and that, although he had little ammunition, yet it was possible he might have some provision collected before our arrival at his tents. I then decorated him with a medal similar to those given to the other chiefs. He was highly pleased with this mark of our regard and promised to do everything for us in his power. Akaitcho came in during the latter part of our conversation with a very cheerful countenance. Jealousy of the Hook and a knowledge that the sentiments of the young men differed from his own with respect to the recent discussions had combined to produce this change in his conduct, and next morning he took an opportunity of telling me that I must not think the worse of him for his importunities. It was their custom he said to do so however strange it might appear to us, and he as the leader of his party had to beg for them all; but as he saw we had not deceived him by concealing any of our goods and that we really had nothing left he should ask for no more. He then told me that he would set out for the river as soon as the state of the country admitted of travelling. The snow he remarked was still too deep for sledges to the northward and the moss too wet to make fires. He was seconded in this opinion by Long-legs whom I was the more inclined to believe knowing that he was anxious to rejoin his family as soon as possible. Akaitcho now accepted the dress he had formerly refused and next day clothed himself in another new suit which he had received from us in the autumn. Ever since his arrival at the fort he had dressed meanly and pleaded poverty but, perceiving that nothing more could be gained by such conduct, he thought proper to show some of his riches to the strangers who were daily arriving. In the afternoon however he made another though a covert attack upon us. He informed me that two old men had just arrived at the encampment with a little pounded meat which they wished to barter. It was evident his intention was merely to discover whether we had any goods remaining or not. I told him that we had nothing at present to give for meat, however much we stood in need of it, but that we would pay for it by notes on the North-West Company in any kind of goods they pleased. After much artful circumlocution and repeated assurances of the necessities of the men who owned the meat he introduced them and they readily agreed to give us the provision on our own terms. I have deemed it my duty to give the details of these tedious conversations to point out to future travellers the art with which these Indians pursue their objects, their avaricious nature, and the little reliance that can be placed upon them when their interests jar with their promises. In these respects they agree with other tribes of northern Indians but, as has been already mentioned, their dispositions are not cruel and their hearts are readily moved by the cry of distress. The average temperature for May was nearly 32 degrees, the greatest heat was 68 degrees, the lowest 8 degrees. We had constant daylight at the end of the month and geese and ducks were abundant, indeed rather too much so for our hunters were apt to waste upon them the ammunition that was given to them for killing deer. Uncertain as to the length of time that it might be required to last we did not deem a goose of equal value with the charge it cost to procure it. Dr. Richardson and Mr. Back having visited the country to the northward of the Slave Rock and reported that they thought we might travel over it I signified my intention of sending the first party off on Monday the 4th of June. I was anxious to get the Indians to move on before, but they lingered about the house, evidently with the intention of picking up such articles as we might deem unnecessary to take. When Akaitcho was made acquainted with my purpose of sending away a party of men he came to inform me that he would appoint two hunters to accompany them and at the same time requested that Dr. Richardson or, as he called him, the Medicine Chief, might be sent with his own band. These Indians set a great value upon medicine and made many demands upon Dr. Richardson on the prospect of his departure. He had to make up little packets of the different articles in his chest, not only for the leader but for each of the minor chiefs who carefully placed them in their medicine bags, noting in their memories the directions he gave for their use. The readiness with which their requests for medical assistance were complied with was considered by them as a strong mark of our good intentions towards them and the leader often remarked that they owed much to our kindness in that respect, that formerly numbers had died every year but that not a life had been lost since our arrival amongst them. In the present instance however the leader's request could not be complied with. Dr. Richardson had volunteered to conduct the first party to the Copper-Mine River whilst the rest of the officers remained with me to the last moment to complete our astronomical observations at the house. He therefore informed the leader that he would remain stationary at Point Lake until the arrival of the whole party, where he might be easily consulted if any of his people fell sick as it was in the neighbourhood of their hunting grounds. On the 2nd the stores were packed up in proper-sized bales for the journey. I had intended to send the canoes by the first party but they were not yet repaired, the weather not being sufficiently warm for the men to work constantly at them without the hazard of breaking the bark. This day one of the new trading guns which we had recently received from Fort Chipewyan burst in the hands of a young Indian, fortunately however without doing him any material injury. This was the sixth accident of the kind which had occurred since our departure from Slave Lake. Surely this deficiency in the quality of the guns, which hazards the lives of so many poor Indians, requires the serious consideration of the principals of the trading Companies. On the 4th at three in the morning the party under the charge of Dr. Richardson started. It consisted of fifteen voyagers, three of them conducting dog sledges, Baldhead and Basil, two Indian hunters with their wives, Akaiyazzeh a sick Indian and his wife, together with Angelique and Roulante, so that the party amounted to twenty-three exclusive of children. The burdens of the men were about eighty pounds each, exclusive of their personal baggage which amounted to nearly as much more. Most of them dragged their loads upon sledges but a few preferred carrying them on their backs. They set off in high spirits. After breakfast the Indians struck their tents, and the women, the boys, and the old men who had to drag sledges, took their departure. It was three P.M. however before Akaitcho and the hunters left us. We issued thirty balls to the leader and twenty to each of the hunters and guides with a proportionate quantity of powder, and gave them directions to make all the provision they could on their way to Point Lake. I then desired Mr. Wentzel to inform Akaitcho in the presence of the other Indians that I wished a deposit of provision to be made at this place previous to next September as a resource should we return this way. He and the guides not only promised to see this done but suggested that it would be more secure if placed in the cellar or in Mr. Wentzel's room. The Dog-Ribs, they said, would respect anything that was in the house as knowing it to belong to the white people. At the close of this conversation Akaitcho exclaimed with a smile, "I see now that you have really no goods left (the rooms and stores being completely stripped) and therefore I shall not trouble you any more but use my best endeavours to prepare provision for you, and I think if the animals are tolerably numerous we may get plenty before you can embark on the river." Whilst the Indians were packing up this morning one of the women absconded. She belongs to the Dog-Rib tribe and had been taken by force from her relations by her present husband who treated her very harshly. The fellow was in my room when his mother announced the departure of his wife and received the intelligence with great composure as well as the seasonable reproof of Akaitcho. "You are rightly served," said the chief to him, "and will now have to carry all your things yourself instead of having a wife to drag them." One hunter remained after the departure of the other Indians. On the 5th the Dog-Rib woman presented herself on a hill at some distance from the house, but was afraid to approach us until the interpreter went and told her that neither we nor the Indian who remained with us would prevent her from going where she pleased. Upon this she came to solicit a fire-steel and kettle. She was at first low-spirited from the non-arrival of a countrywoman who had promised to elope with her, but had probably been too narrowly watched. The Indian hunter however, having given her some directions as to the proper mode of joining her own tribe, she became more composed and ultimately agreed to adopt his advice of proceeding at once to Fort Providence instead of wandering about the country all summer in search of them at the imminent hazard of being starved. On the 7th the wind, shifting to the southward, dispersed the clouds which had obscured the sky for several days and produced a change of temperature under which the snow rapidly disappeared. The thermometer rose to 73 degrees, many flies came forth, mosquitoes showed themselves for the first time, and one swallow made its appearance. We were the more gratified with these indications of summer that St. Germain was enabled to commence the repair of the canoes, and before night had completed the two which had received the least injury. Augustus killed two deer today. On the 10th the dip of the magnetic needle, being observed, showed a decrease of 22 minutes 44 seconds since last autumn. The repairs of the third canoe were finished this evening. The snow was now confined to the bases of the hills and our Indian hunter told us the season was early. The operations of nature however seemed to us very tardy. We were eager to be gone and dreaded the lapse of summer before the Indians would allow it had begun. On the 11th the geese and ducks had left the vicinity of Fort Enterprise and proceeded to the northward. Some young ravens and whiskey-johns made their appearance at this time. On the 12th Winter River was nearly cleared of ice and on the 13th the men returned, having left Dr. Richardson on the borders of Point Lake. Dr. Richardson informed me by letter that the snow was deeper in many parts near his encampment than it had been at any time last winter near Fort Enterprise, and that the ice on Point Lake had scarcely begun to decay. Although the voyagers were much fatigued on their arrival, and had eaten nothing for the last twenty-four hours, they were very cheerful and expressed a desire to start with the remainder of the stores next morning. The Dog-Rib woman, who had lingered about the house since the 6th of June, took alarm at the approach of our men, thinking perhaps that they were accompanied by Indians, and ran off. She was now provided with a hatchet, kettle, and fire-steel, and would probably go at once to Fort Providence in the expectation of meeting with some of her countrymen before the end of summer. CHAPTER 10.* (*Footnote. It will be seen hereafter that I had the misfortune to lose my portfolio containing my journals from Fort Enterprise to the 14th of September. But the loss has been amply redeemed by my brother officers' journals from which the narrative up to that period has been chiefly compiled.) DEPARTURE FROM FORT ENTERPRISE. NAVIGATION OF THE COPPER-MINE RIVER. VISIT TO THE COPPER MOUNTAIN. INTERVIEW WITH THE ESQUIMAUX. DEPARTURE OF THE INDIAN HUNTERS. ARRANGEMENTS MADE WITH THEM FOR OUR RETURN. DEPARTURE FROM FORT ENTERPRISE. June 14, 1821. The trains for the canoes having been finished during the night the party attached to them commenced their journey at ten this morning. Each canoe was dragged by four men assisted by two dogs. They took the route of Winter Lake with the intention of following, although more circuitous, the watercourse as far as practicable, it being safer for the canoes than travelling overland. After their departure the remaining stores, the instruments, and our small stock of dried meat, amounting only to eighty pounds, were distributed equally among Hepburn, three Canadians, and the two Esquimaux; with this party and two Indian hunters we quitted Fort Enterprise, most sincerely rejoicing that the long-wished-for day had arrived when we were to proceed towards the final object of the Expedition. We left in one of the rooms a box containing a journal of the occurrences up to this date, the charts and some drawings, which was to be conveyed to Fort Chipewyan by Mr. Wentzel on his return from the sea and thence to be sent to England. The room was blocked up and, by the advice of Mr. Wentzel, a drawing representing a man holding a dagger in a threatening attitude was affixed to the door to deter any Indians from breaking it open. We directed our course towards the Dog-Rib Rock but, as our companions were loaded with the weight of near one hundred and eighty pounds each, we of necessity proceeded at a slow pace. The day was extremely warm and the mosquitoes, whose attacks had hitherto been feeble, issued forth in swarms from the marshes and were very tormenting. Having walked five miles we encamped near a small cluster of pines about two miles from the Dog-Rib Rock. The canoe party had not been seen since they set out. Our hunters went forward to Marten Lake, intending to wait for us at a place where two deer were deposited. At nine P.M. the temperature of the air was 63 degrees. We resumed our march at an early hour and crossed several lakes which lay in our course as the ice enabled the men to drag their burdens on trains formed of sticks and deers' horns with more ease than they could carry them on their backs. We were kept constantly wet by this operation as the ice had broken near the shores of the lakes but this was little regarded as the day was unusually warm, the temperature at two P.M. being at 82 1/2 degrees. At Marten Lake we joined the canoe party and encamped with them. We had the mortification of learning from our hunters that the meat they had put en cache here had been destroyed by the wolverines, and we had in consequence to furnish the supper from our scanty stock of dried meat. The wind changed from South-East to North-East in the evening and the weather became very cold, the thermometer being at 43 degrees at nine P.M. The few dwarf birches we could collect afforded fire insufficient to keep us warm and we retired under the covering of our blankets as soon as the supper was despatched. The North-East breeze rendered the night so extremely cold that we procured but little sleep, having neither fire nor shelter for, though we carried our tents, we had been forced to leave the tent-poles which we could not now replace; we therefore gladly recommenced the journey at five in the morning and travelled through the remaining part of the lake on the ice. Its surface being quite smooth the canoes were dragged along expeditiously by the dogs, and the rest of the party had to walk very quick to keep pace with them, which occasioned many severe falls. By the time we had reached the end of the lake the wind had increased to a perfect gale and the atmosphere was so cold that we could not proceed farther with the canoes without the risk of breaking the bark and seriously injuring them; we therefore crossed Winter River in them and put up in a well-sheltered place on a ridge of sandhills but, as the stock of provision was scanty, we determined on proceeding as quick as possible and leaving the canoe party under the charge of Mr. Wentzel. We parted from them in the afternoon, and first directed our course towards a range of hills where we expected to find Antonio Fontano, who had separated from us in the morning. In crossing towards these hills I fell through the ice into the lake with my bundle on my shoulders but was soon extricated without any injury, and Mr. Back, who left us to go in search of the straggler, met with a similar accident in the evening. We put up on a ridge of sandhills where we found some pines, and made a large fire to apprise Mr. Back and Fontano of our position. St. Germain having killed a deer in the afternoon we received an acceptable supply of meat. The night was stormy and very cold. At five the next morning our men were sent in different directions after our absent companions, but as the weather was foggy we despaired of finding them unless they should chance to hear the muskets our people were desired to fire. They returned however at ten, bringing intelligence of them. I went immediately with Hepburn to join Mr. Back and directed Mr. Hood to proceed with the Canadians and halt with them at the spot where the hunters had killed a deer. Though Mr. Back was much fatigued he set off with me immediately, and in the evening we rejoined our friends on the borders of the Big Lake. The Indians informed us that Fontano only remained a few hours with them and then continued his journey. We had to oppose a violent gale and frequent snowstorms through the day, which unseasonable weather caused the temperature to descend below the freezing-point this evening. The situation of our encampment being bleak, and our fuel stunted green willows, we passed a very cold and uncomfortable night. June 18. Though the breeze was moderate this morning the air was piercingly keen. When on the point of starting we perceived Mr. Wentzel's party coming, and awaited his arrival to learn whether the canoes had received any injury during the severe weather of yesterday. Finding they had not we proceeded to get upon the ice on the lake, which could not be effected without walking up to the waist in water for some distance from its borders. We had not the command of our feet in this situation and the men fell often; poor Junius broke through the ice with his heavy burden on his back but fortunately was not hurt. This lake is extensive and large arms branch from its main course in different directions. At these parts we crossed the projecting points of land and on each occasion had to wade as before, which so wearied everyone that we rejoiced when we reached its north side and encamped, though our resting-place was a bare rock. We had the happiness of finding Fontano at this place. The poor fellow had passed the three preceding days without tasting food and was exhausted by anxiety and hunger. His sufferings were considered to have been a sufficient punishment for his imprudent conduct in separating from us, and I only admonished him to be more cautious in future. Having received information that the hunters had killed a deer we sent three men to fetch the meat, which was distributed between our party and the canoe-men who had been encamped near to us. The thermometer at three P.M. was 46 degrees, at nine 34 degrees. We commenced the following day by crossing a lake about four miles in length and then passed over a succession of rugged hills for nearly the same distance. The men, being anxious to reach some pine-trees which they had seen on their former journey, walked at a quick pace though they were suffering from swelled legs and rheumatic pains; we could not however attain the desired point and therefore encamped on the declivity of a hill which sheltered us from the wind, and used the reindeer moss for fuel, which afforded us more warmth than we expected. Several patches of snow were yet remaining on the surrounding hills. The thermometer varied today between 55 and 45 degrees. On the 20th of June we began our march by crossing a small lake, not without much risk as the surface of the ice was covered with water to the depth of two feet and there were many holes into which we slipped in spite of our efforts to avoid them. A few of the men, being fearful of attempting the traverse with their heavy loads, walked round the eastern end of the lake. The parties met on the sandy ridge which separates the streams that fall into Winter Lake from those that flow to the northward; and here we killed three deer. Near the base of this ridge we crossed a small but rapid stream in which there is a remarkable cascade of about fifty feet. Some Indians joined us here and gave information respecting the situation of Dr. Richardson's tent, which our hunters considered was sufficient for our guidance, and therefore proceeded as quickly as they could. We marched a few miles farther in the evening and encamped among some pines; but the comfort of a good fire did not compensate for the torment we suffered from the host of mosquitoes at this spot. The temperature was 52 degrees. We set off next morning at a very early hour. The men took the course of Point Lake that they might use their sledges, but the officers pursued the nearest route by land to Dr. Richardson's tent, which we reached at eleven A.M. It was on the western side of an arm of the lake and near the part through which the Copper-Mine River runs. Our men arrived soon after us and in the evening Mr. Wentzel and his party, with the canoes in excellent condition. They were much jaded by their fatiguing journey and several were lame from swellings of the lower extremities. The ice on the lake was still six or seven feet thick and there was no appearance of its decay except near the edges and, as it was evident that, by remaining here until it should be removed, we might lose every prospect of success in our undertaking, I determined on dragging our stores along its surface until we should come to a part of the river where we could embark, and directions were given this evening for each man to prepare a train for the conveyance of his portion of the stores. I may remark here, as a proof of the strong effect of radiation from the earth in melting the ice, that the largest holes in the ice were always formed at the base of the high and steep cliffs which abound on the borders of this lake. We found Akaitcho and the hunters encamped here but their families and the rest of the tribe had gone off two days before to the Bethseeto, a large lake to the northward where they intended passing the summer. Long-legs and Keskarrah had departed to desire the Hook to collect as much meat as he could against our arrival at his lodge. We were extremely distressed to learn from Dr. Richardson that Akaitcho and his party had expended all the ammunition they had received at Fort Enterprise without having contributed any supply of provision. The Doctor had however, through the assistance of two hunters he kept with him, prepared two hundred pounds of dried meat, which was now our sole dependence for the journey. On the following morning I represented to Akaitcho that we had been greatly disappointed by his conduct which was so opposite to the promise of exertion he had made on quitting Fort Enterprise. He offered many excuses but, finding they were not satisfactory, admitted that the greater part of the ammunition had been given to those who accompanied the women to the Bethseeto, and promised to behave better in future. I then told him that I intended in future to give them ammunition only in proportion to the meat which was brought in, and that we should commence upon that plan by supplying him with fifteen balls, and each of the hunters with ten. The number of our hunters was now reduced to five as two of the most active declined going any farther, their father, who thought himself dying, having solicited them to remain and close his eyes. These five were furnished with ammunition and sent forward to hunt on the south border of the lake, with directions to place any meat they might procure near the edge of the lake and set up marks to guide us to the spots. Akaitcho, his brother, the guide, and three other men remained to accompany us. We were much surprised to perceive an extraordinary difference in climate in so short an advance to the northward as fifty miles. The snow here was lying in large patches on the hills. The dwarf-birch and willows were only just beginning to open their buds which had burst forth at Fort Enterprise many days before our departure. Vegetation seemed to be three weeks or a month later here than at that place. We had heavy showers of rain through the night of the 22nd which melted the snow and visibly wasted the ice. On the 23rd the men were busily employed in making their trains and in pounding the meat for pemmican. The situation of the encampment was ascertained latitude 65 degrees 12 minutes 40 seconds North, longitude 113 degrees 8 minutes 25 seconds West, and the variation 43 degrees 4 minutes 20 seconds East. The arrangements being completed we purposed commencing our journey next morning, but the weather was too stormy to venture upon the lake with the canoes. In the afternoon a heavy fall of snow took place, succeeded by sleet and rain. The north-east gale continued but the thermometer rose to 39 degrees. June 25. The wind having abated in the night we prepared for starting at an early hour. The three canoes were mounted on sledges and nine men were appointed to conduct them, having the assistance of two dogs to each canoe. The stores and provisions were distributed equally among the rest of our men, except a few small articles which the Indians carried. The provision consisted of only two bags of pemmican, two of pounded meat, five of suet, and two small bundles of dried provision, together with fresh meat sufficient for our supper at night. It was gratifying to witness the readiness with which the men prepared for and commenced a journey which threatened to be so very laborious, as each of them had to drag upwards of one hundred and eighty pounds on his sledge. Our course led down the main channel of the lake, which varied in breadth from half a mile to three miles; but we proceeded at a slow pace as the snow which fell last night and still lay on the ice very much impeded the sledges. Many extensive arms branched off on the north side of this channel and it was bounded on the south by a chain of lofty islands. The hills on both sides rose to six or seven hundred feet and high steep cliffs were numerous. Clusters of pines were occasionally seen in the valleys. We put up at eight P.M. in a spot which afforded us but a few twigs for fuel. The party was much fatigued and several of the men were affected by an inflammation on the inside of the thigh attended with hardness and swelling. The distance made today was six miles. We started at ten next morning. The day was extremely hot and the men were soon jaded; their lameness increased very much and some not previously affected began to complain. The dogs too showed symptoms of great weakness, and one of them stretched himself obstinately on the ice and was obliged to be released from the harness. We were therefore compelled to encamp at an early hour, having come only four miles. The sufferings of the people in this early stage of our journey were truly discouraging to them and very distressing to us, whose situation was comparatively easy. I therefore determined on leaving the third canoe which had been principally carried to provide against any accident to the others. We should thus gain three men to lighten the loads of those who were most lame, and an additional dog for each of the other canoes. It was accordingly properly secured on a stage erected for the purpose near the encampment. Dried meat was issued for supper but in the course of the evening the Indians killed two deer for which we immediately sent. The channel of the lake through which we had passed today was bounded on both sides by islands of considerable height, presenting bold and rugged scenery. We were informed by our guide that a large body of the lake lies to the northward of a long island which we passed. Another deer was killed next morning but, as the men breakfasted off it before they started, the additional weight was not materially felt. The burdens of the men being considerably lightened by the arrangements of last evening, the party walked at the rate of one mile and three-quarters an hour until the afternoon, when our pace was slackened as the ice was more rough and our lame companions felt their sores very galling. At noon we passed a deep bay on the south side which is said to receive a river. Throughout the day's march the hills on each side of the lake bore a strong resemblance in height and form to those about Fort Enterprise. We encamped on the north main shore among some spruce trees, having walked eight miles and a half. Three or four fish were caught with lines through holes which the water had worn in the ice. We perceived a light westerly current at these places. It rained heavily during the night and this was succeeded by a dense fog on the morning of the 28th. Being short of provisions we commenced our journey though the points of land were not discernible beyond a short distance. The surface of the ice, being honeycombed by the recent rains, presented innumerable sharp points which tore our shoes and lacerated the feet at every step. The poor dogs too marked their path with their blood. NAVIGATION OF THE COPPER-MINE RIVER. In the evening the atmosphere became clear and at five P.M. we reached the rapid by which Point Lake communicates with Red-Rock Lake. This rapid is only one hundred yards wide and we were much disappointed at finding the Copper-Mine River such an inconsiderable stream. The canoes descended the rapid but the cargoes were carried across the peninsula and placed again on the sledges as the next lake was still frozen. We passed an extensive arm branching to the eastward, and encamped just below it on the western bank among spruce pines, having walked six miles of direct distance. The rolled stones on the beach are principally red clay slate, hence its Indian appellation which we have retained. We continued our journey at the usual hour next morning. At noon the variation was observed to be 47 degrees East. Our attention was afterwards directed to some pine branches scattered on the ice which proved to be marks placed by our hunters to guide us to the spot where they had deposited the carcasses of two small deer. This supply was very seasonable and the men cheerfully dragged the additional weight. Akaitcho, judging from the appearance of the meat, thought it had been placed here three days ago and that the hunters were considerably in advance. We put up at six P.M. near the end of the lake, having come twelve miles and three-quarters, and found the channel open by which it is connected with the Rock-nest Lake. A river was pointed out bearing south from our encampment, which is said to rise near Great Marten Lake. Red-Rock Lake is in general narrow, its shelving banks are well clothed with wood and even the hills, which attain an elevation of four hundred or five hundred feet, are ornamented halfway up with stunted pines. On June 30 the men, having gummed the canoes, embarked with their burdens to descend the river; but we accompanied the Indians about five miles across a neck of land, when we also embarked. The river was about two hundred yards wide and, its course being uninterrupted, we cherished a sanguine hope of now getting on more speedily, until we perceived that the waters of Rock-nest Lake were still bound by ice and that recourse must again be had to the sledges. The ice was much decayed and the party were exposed to great risk of breaking through in making the traverse. In one part we had to cross an open channel in the canoes, and in another were compelled to quit the Lake and make a portage along the land. When the party had got upon the ice again our guide evinced much uncertainty as to the route. He first directed us towards the west end of the lake but, when we had nearly gained that point, he discovered a remarkable rock to the north-east, named by the Indians the Rock-nest, and then recollected that the river ran at its base. Our course was immediately changed to that direction, but the traverse we had then to make was more dangerous than the former one. The ice cracked under us at every step and the party were obliged to separate widely to prevent accidents. We landed at the first point we could approach but, having found an open channel close to the shore, were obliged to ferry the goods across on pieces of ice. The fresh meat being expended we had to make another inroad on our pounded meat. The evening was very warm and the mosquitoes numerous. A large fire was made to apprise the hunters of our advance. The scenery of Rock-nest Lake is picturesque, its shores are rather low except at the Rock-nest, and two or three eminences on the eastern side. The only wood is the pine which is twenty or thirty feet high and about one foot in diameter. Our distance today was six miles. July 1. Our guide directed us to proceed towards a deep bay on the north side of the lake where he supposed we should find the river. In consequence of the bad state of the ice we employed all the different modes of travelling we had previously followed in attaining this place and, in crossing a point of land, had the misfortune to lose one of the dogs, which set off in pursuit of some reindeer. Arriving at the bay we only found a stream that fell into it from the north-east and looked in vain for the Copper-Mine River. This circumstance confused the guide and he confessed that he was now doubtful of the proper route; we therefore halted and despatched him with two men to look for the river from the top of the high hills near the Rock-nest. During this delay a slight injury was repaired which one of the canoes had received. We were here amused by the sight of a wolf chasing two reindeer on the ice. The pursuer, being alarmed at the sight of our men, gave up the chase when near to the hindmost, much to our regret for we were calculating upon the chance of sharing in his capture. At four P.M. our men returned with the agreeable information that they had seen the river flowing at the base of the Rock-nest. The canoes and stores were immediately placed on the ice and dragged thither; we then embarked but soon had to cut through a barrier of drift ice that blocked up the way. We afterwards descended two strong rapids and encamped near the discharge of a small stream which flows from an adjoining lake. The Copper-Mine River at this point is about two hundred yards wide and ten feet deep, and flows very rapidly over a rocky bottom. The scenery of its banks is picturesque, the hills shelve to the waterside and are well covered with wood, and the surface of the rocks is richly ornamented with lichens. The Indians say that the same kind of country prevails as far as Mackenzie's River in this parallel, but that the land to the eastward is perfectly barren. Akaitcho and one of the Indians killed two deer which were immediately sent for. Two of the hunters arrived in the night and we learned that their companions, instead of being in advance as we supposed, were staying at the place where we first found the river open. They had only seen our fires last evening and had sent to examine who we were. The circumstance of having passed them was very vexatious as they had three deer en cache at their encampment. However an Indian was sent to desire those who remained to join us and bring the meat. We embarked at nine A.M. on July 2nd and descended a succession of strong rapids for three miles. We were carried along with extraordinary rapidity, shooting over large stones upon which a single stroke would have been destructive to the canoes; and we were also in danger of breaking them, from the want of the long poles which lie along their bottoms and equalise their cargoes, as they plunged very much, and on one occasion the first canoe was almost filled with the waves. But there was no receding after we had once launched into the stream, and our safety depended on the skill and dexterity of the bowmen and steersmen. The banks of the river here are rocky and the scenery beautiful, consisting of gentle elevations and dales wooded to the edge of the stream and flanked on both sides at the distance of three or four miles by a range of round-backed barren hills, upwards of six hundred feet high. At the foot of the rapids the high lands recede to a greater distance and the river flows with a more gentle current in a wider channel through a level and open country consisting of alluvial sand. In one place the passage was blocked up by drift ice still deeply covered with snow. A channel for the canoes was made for some distance with the hatchets and poles but, on reaching the more compact part, we were under the necessity of transporting the canoes and cargoes across it, an operation of much hazard as the snow concealed the numerous holes which the water had made in the ice. This expansion of the river being mistaken by the guide for a lake which he spoke of as the last on our route to the sea, we supposed that we should have no more ice to cross, and therefore encamped after passing through it, to fit the canoes properly for the voyage and to provide poles, which are not only necessary to strengthen them when placed in the bottom, but essentially requisite for the safe management of them in dangerous rapids. The guide began afterwards to doubt whether the lake he meant was not farther on, and he was sent with two men to examine into the fact, who returned in the evening with the information of its being below us but that there was an open channel through it. This day was very sultry and several plants appeared in flower. The men were employed in repairing their canoes to a late hour and commenced very early next morning as we were desirous of availing ourselves of every part of this favourable weather. The hunters arrived in the course of the night. It appeared that the dog which escaped from us two days ago came into the vicinity of their encampment, howling piteously; seeing him without his harness they came to the hasty conclusion that our whole party had perished in a rapid and, throwing away part of their baggage and leaving the meat behind them, they set off with the utmost haste to join Long-legs. Our messenger met them in their flight but too far advanced to admit of their returning for the meat. Akaitcho scolded them heartily for their thoughtlessness in leaving the meat, which we so much wanted. They expressed their regret and, being ashamed of their panic, proposed to remedy the evil as much as possible by going forward without stopping until they came to a favourable spot for hunting, which they expected to do about thirty or forty miles below our present encampment. Akaitcho accompanied them but previous to setting off he renewed his charge that we should be on our guard against the bears, which was occasioned by the hunters having fired at one is morning as they were descending a rapid in their canoe. As their small canoes would only carry five persons two of the hunters had to walk in turns along the banks. In our rambles round the encampment we witnessed with pleasure the progress which vegetation had made within the few last warm days; most of the trees had put forth their leaves and several flowers ornamented the moss-covered ground; many of the smaller summer birds were observed in the woods, and a variety of ducks, gulls, and plovers, sported on the banks of the river. It is about three hundred yards wide at this part, is deep and flows over a bed of alluvial sand. We caught some trout of considerable size with our lines, and a few white-fish in the nets, which maintained us with a little assistance from the pemmican. The repair of our canoes was completed this evening. Before embarking I issued an order that no rapid should in future be descended until the bowman had examined it and decided upon its being safe to run. Wherever the least danger was to be apprehended or the crew had to disembark for the purpose of lightening the canoe, the ammunition, guns, and instruments were always to be put out and carried along the bank, that we might be provided with the means of subsisting ourselves in case of any accident befalling the canoes. The situation of our encampment was ascertained to be 65 degrees 43 minutes 28 seconds North, longitude 114 degrees 26 minutes 45 seconds West, and the variation 42 degrees 17 minutes 22 seconds East. At four in the morning of July 4th we embarked and descended a succession of very agitated rapids, but took the precaution of landing the articles mentioned yesterday wherever there appeared any hazard; notwithstanding all our precautions the leading canoe struck with great force against a stone and the bark was split, but this injury was easily repaired and we regretted only the loss of time. At eleven we came to an expansion of the river where the current ran with less force and an accumulation of drift ice had in consequence barred the channel; over this the canoes and cargoes were carried. The ice in many places adhered to the banks and projected in wide ledges several feet thick over the stream, which had hollowed them out beneath. On one occasion as the people were embarking from one of these ledges it suddenly gave way and three men were precipitated into the water but were rescued without further damage than a sound ducking, and the canoe fortunately (and narrowly) escaped being crushed. Perceiving one of the Indians sitting on the east bank of the river we landed and, having learned from him that Akaitcho and the hunters had gone in pursuit of a herd of musk-oxen, we encamped, having come twenty-four miles and a half. In the afternoon they brought us the agreeable intelligence of having killed eight cows, of which four were full-grown. All the party were immediately despatched to bring in this seasonable supply. A young cow, irritated by the firing of the hunters, ran down to the river and passed close to me when walking at a short distance from the tents. I fired and wounded it, when the animal instantly turned and ran at me, but I avoided its fury by jumping aside and getting upon an elevated piece of ground. In the meantime some people came from the tents and it took to flight. The musk-oxen, like the buffalo, herd together in bands and generally frequent the barren grounds during the summer months, keeping near the rivers, but retire to the woods in winter. They seem to be less watchful than most other wild animals and, when grazing, are not difficult to approach provided the hunters go against the wind; when two or three men get so near a herd as to fire at them from different points these animals, instead of separating or running away, huddle closer together and several are generally killed; but if the wound is not mortal they become enraged and dart in the most furious manner at the hunters, who must be very dextrous to evade them. They can defend themselves by their powerful horns against the wolves and bears which, as the Indians say, they not unfrequently kill. The musk-oxen feed on the same substances with the reindeer, and the prints of the feet of these two animals are so much alike that it requires the eye of an experienced hunter to distinguish them. The largest killed by us did not exceed in weight three hundred pounds. The flesh has a musky disagreeable flavour, particularly when the animal is lean which, unfortunately for us, was the case with all that we now killed. During this day's march the river varied in breadth from one hundred to two hundred feet, and except in two open spaces a very strong current marked a deep descent the whole way. It flows over a bed of gravel, of which also its immediate banks are composed. Near to our encampment it is bounded by cliffs of fine sand from one hundred to two hundred feet high. Sandy plains extend on a level with the summit of these cliffs, and at the distance of six or seven miles are terminated by ranges of hills eight hundred or one thousand feet high. The grass on these plains affords excellent pasturage for the musk-oxen and they generally abound here. The hunters added two more to our stock in the course of the night. As we had now more meat than the party could consume fresh we delayed our voyage next day to dry it. The hunters were supplied with more ammunition and sent forward; but Akaitcho, his brother, and another Indian remained with us. It may here be proper to mention that the officers had treated Akaitcho more distantly since our departure from Point Lake, to mark their opinion of his misconduct. The diligence in hunting however which he had evinced at this place induced us to receive him more familiarly when he came to the tent this evening. During our conversation he endeavoured to excite suspicions in our minds against the Hook by saying, "I am aware that you consider me the worst man of my nation; but I know the Hook to be a great rogue and I think he will disappoint you." On the morning of the 6th we embarked and descended a series of rapids, having twice unloaded the canoes where the water was shallow. After passing the mouth of the Fairy Lake River* the rapids ceased. The main stream was then about three hundred yards wide and generally deep, though in one part the channel was interrupted by several sandy banks and low alluvial islands covered with willows. It flows between banks of sand thinly wooded and as we advanced the barren hills approached the water's edge. (*Footnote. This is an Indian name. The Northern Indian fairies are six inches high, lead a life similar to the Indians, and are excellent hunters. Those who have had the good fortune to fall in with their tiny encampments have been kindly treated and regaled on venison. We did not learn with certainty whether the existence of these delightful creatures is known from Indian tradition or whether the Indians own their knowledge of them to their intercourse with the traders, but think the former probable.) At ten we rejoined our hunters who had killed a deer and halted to breakfast. We sent them forward; one of them who was walking along the shore afterwards fired upon two brown bears and wounded one of them, which instantly turned and pursued him. His companions in the canoes put ashore to his assistance but did not succeed in killing the bears, which fled upon the reinforcement coming up. During the delay thus occasioned we overtook them and they continued with us the rest of the day. We encamped at the foot of a lofty range of mountains which appear to be from twelve to fifteen hundred feet high; they are in general round-backed but the outline is not even, being interrupted by craggy conical eminences. This is the first ridge of hills we have seen in this country that deserves the appellation of a mountain range; it is probably a continuation of the Stony Mountains crossed by Hearne. Many plants appeared in full flower near the tents and Dr. Richardson gathered some high up on the hills. The distance we made today was fifty miles. There was a hoar frost in the night and the temperature at four next morning was 40 degrees: embarking at that hour we glided quickly down the stream and by seven arrived at the Hook's encampment which was placed on the summit of a lofty sand cliff whose base was washed by the river. This chief had with him only three hunters and a few old men and their families, the rest of the band having remained at their snares in Bear Lake. His brother Long-legs and our guide Keskarrah, who had joined him three days before, had communicated to him our want of provision, and we were happy to find that, departing from the general practice of Indian chiefs, he entered at once upon the business without making a long speech. As an introductory mark of our regard I decorated him with a medal similar to those which had been given to the other leaders. The Hook began by stating that he was aware of our being destitute of provision, and of the great need we had of an ample stock to enable us to execute our undertaking, and his regret that the unusual scarcity of animals this season, together with the circumstance of his having only just received a supply of ammunition from Fort Providence, had prevented him from collecting the quantity of meat he had wished to do for our use. "The amount indeed," he said, "is very small, but I will cheerfully give you what I have: we are too much indebted to the white people to allow them to want food on our lands whilst we have any to give them. Our families can live on fish until we can procure more meat, but the season is too short to allow of your delaying to gain subsistence in that manner." He immediately desired aloud that the women should bring all the meat they had to us; and we soon collected sufficient to make three bags and a half of pemmican, besides some dried meat and tongues. We were truly delighted by this prompt and cheerful behaviour and would gladly have rewarded the kindness of himself and his companions by some substantial present, but we were limited by the scantiness of our store to a small donation of fifteen charges of ammunition to each of the chiefs. In return for the provision they accepted notes on the North-West Company to be paid at Fort Providence, and to these was subjoined an order for a few articles of clothing as an additional present. I then endeavoured to prevail upon the Hook to remain in this vicinity with his hunters until the autumn, and to make deposits of provision in different parts of the course to the sea as a resource for our party, in the event of our being compelled to return by this route. He required time however to consider this matter, and promised to give me an answer next day. I was rejoiced to find him then prepared to meet my wish and the following plan was agreed upon: As the animals abound at all times on the borders of Bear Lake he promised to remain on the east side of it until the month of November, at that spot which is nearest to the Copper-Mine River, from whence there is a communication by a chain of lakes and portages. There the principal deposit of provision was to be made, but during the summer the hunters were to be employed in putting up supplies of dried meat at convenient distances, not only along the communication from this river, but also upon its banks as far down as the Copper Mountain. They were also to place particular marks to guide our course to their lodges. We contracted to pay them liberally, whether we returned by this way or not; if we did they were to accompany us to Fort Providence to receive the reward, and at any rate I promised to send the necessary documents by Mr. Wentzel from the sea-coast to ensure them an ample remuneration. With this arrangement they were perfectly satisfied and we could not be less so, knowing they had every motive for fulfilling their promises, as the place they had chosen to remain at is their usual hunting ground. The uncommon anxiety these chiefs expressed for our safety appeared to us likely to prompt them to every care and attention, and I record their expressions with gratitude. After representing the numerous hardships we should have to encounter in the strongest manner, though in language similar to what we had often heard from our friend Akaitcho, they earnestly entreated we would be constantly on our guard against the treachery of the Esquimaux, and no less forcibly desired we would not proceed far along the coast, as they dreaded the consequences of our being exposed to a tempestuous sea in canoes, and having to endure the cold of the autumn on a shore destitute of fuel. The Hook having been an invalid for several years rejoiced at the opportunity of consulting Dr. Richardson, who immediately gave him advice and supplied him with medicine. The pounded meat and fat were converted into pemmican preparatory to our voyage. The result of our observations at the Hook's encampment was latitude 66 degrees 45 minutes 11 seconds North, longitude 115 degrees 42 minutes 23 seconds West, variation of the compass 46 degrees 7 minutes 30 seconds East. We embarked at eleven to proceed on our journey. Akaitcho and his brother the guide being in the first canoe and old Keskarrah in the other. We wished to dispense with the further attendance of two guides and made a proposition that either of them might remain here, but neither would relinquish the honour of escorting the Expedition to the sea. One of our hunters however was less eager for this distinction and preferred remaining with Green-stockings, Keskarrah's fascinating daughter. The other four, with the Little Singer accompanied us, two of them conducting their small canoes in turns and the rest walking along the beach. The river flows over a bed of sand and winds in an uninterrupted channel of from three-quarters to a mile broad between two ranges of hills, which are pretty even in their outline and round-backed, but having rather steep acclivities. The immediate borders of the stream consist either of high banks of sand or steep gravel cliffs and sometimes, where the hills recede to a little distance, the intervening space is occupied by high sandy ridges. At three P.M., after passing along the foot of a high range of hills, we arrived at the portage leading to the Bear Lake, to which we have previously alluded. Its position is very remarkable, being at the most westerly part of the Copper-Mine River and at the point where it resumes a northern course and forces a passage through the lofty ridge of mountains to which it has run parallel for the last thirty miles. As the Indians travel from hence with their families in three days to the point where they have proposed staying for us, the distance I think cannot exceed forty miles and, admitting the course to be due west, which is the direction the guide pointed, it would place the eastern part of Bear Lake in 118 1/4 degrees West longitude. Beyond this spot the river is diminished in breadth and a succession of rapids are formed but, as the water was deep, we passed through them without discharging any part of the cargoes. It still runs between high ranges of mountains, though its actual boundaries are banks of mud mixed with clay which are clothed with stunted pines. We picked up a deer which the hunters had shot and killed another from the canoe, and also received an addition to our stock of provision of seven young geese which the hunters had beaten down with their sticks. About six P.M. we perceived a mark on the shore which on examination was found to have been recently put up by some Indians: and on proceeding farther we discerned stronger proofs of their vicinity; we therefore encamped and made a large fire as a signal which they answered in a similar way. Mr. Wentzel was immediately sent in expectation of getting provision from them. On his return we learned that the party consisted of three old Copper Indians with their families, who had supported themselves with the bow and arrow since last autumn, not having visited Fort Providence for more than a year, and so successful had they been that they were enabled to supply us with upwards of seventy pounds of dried meat, and six moose skins fit for making shoes, which were the more valuable as we were apprehensive of being barefooted before the journey could be completed. The evening was sultry and the mosquitoes appeared in great numbers. The distance made today was twenty-five miles. On the following morning we went down to these Indians and delivered to them notes on the North-West Company for the meat and skins they had furnished, and we had then the mortification of learning that, not having people to carry a considerable quantity of pounded meat which they intended for us, they had left it upon the Bear Lake Portage. They promised however to get it conveyed to the banks of this river before we could return and we rewarded them with a present of knives and files. After reembarking we continued to descend the river which was now contracted between lofty banks to about one hundred and twenty yards wide; the current was very strong. At eleven we came to a rapid which had been the theme of discourse with the Indians for many days, and which they had described to us as impassable in canoes. The river here descends for three-quarters of a mile in a deep but narrow and crooked channel which it has cut through the foot of a hill of five hundred or six hundred feet high. It is confined between perpendicular cliffs resembling stone walls, varying in height from eighty to one hundred and fifty feet, on which lies a mass of fine sand. The body of the river pent within this narrow chasm dashed furiously round the projecting rocky columns and discharged itself at the northern extremity in a sheet of foam. The canoes, after being lightened of part of their cargoes, ran through this defile without sustaining any injury. Accurate sketches of this interesting scene were taken by Messrs. Back and Hood. Soon after passing this rapid we perceived the hunters running up the east side of the river to prevent us from disturbing a herd of musk-oxen which they had observed grazing on the opposite bank; we put them across and they succeeded in killing six, upon which we encamped for the purpose of drying the meat. The country below the Rocky Defile Rapid consists of sandy plains, broken by small conical eminences also of sand, and bounded to the westward by a continuation of the mountain chain which we had crossed at the Bear Lake Portage, and to the eastward and northward at the distance of twelve miles by the Copper Mountains, which Mr. Hearne visited. The plains are crowned by several clumps of moderately large spruces about thirty feet high. This evening the Indians made a large fire as a signal to the Hook's party that we had passed the TERRIFIC rapid in safety. The position of our encampment was ascertained to be latitude 67 degrees 1 minute 10 seconds North, longitude 116 degrees 27 minutes 28 seconds West, variation of the compass 44 degrees 11 minutes 43 seconds East, dip of the needle 87 degrees 31 minutes 18 seconds. Some thundershowers retarded the drying of the meat and our embarkation was delayed till the next day. The hunters were sent forward to hunt at the Copper Mountains under the superintendence of Adam the interpreter who received strict injunctions not to permit them to make any large fires lest they should alarm straggling parties of the Esquimaux. The mosquitoes were now very numerous and annoying but we consoled ourselves with the hope that their season would be short. VISIT TO THE COPPER MOUNTAIN. On the 11th we started at three A.M. and, as the guide had represented the river below our encampment to be full of shoals, some of the men were directed to walk along the shore, but they were assailed so violently by the mosquitoes as to be compelled to embark very soon; and we afterwards passed over the shallow parts by the aid of the poles without experiencing much interruption. The current ran very rapidly, having been augmented by the waters of the Mouse River and several small streams. We rejoined our hunters at the foot of the Copper Mountains and found they had killed three musk-oxen. This circumstance determined us on encamping to dry the meat as there was wood at the spot. We availed ourselves of this delay to visit the Copper Mountains in search of specimens of the ore, agreeably to my Instructions; and a party of twenty-one persons, consisting of the officers, some of the voyagers, and all the Indians, set off on that excursion. We travelled for nine hours over a considerable space of ground but found only a few small pieces of native copper. The range we ascended was on the west side of the river extending West-North-West and East-South-East. The mountains varied in height from twelve to fifteen hundred feet. The uniformity of the mountains is interrupted by narrow valleys traversed by small streams. The best specimens of metal we procured were among the stones in these valleys, and it was in such situations that our guides desired us to search most carefully. It would appear that, when the Indians see any sparry substance projecting above the surface, they dig there, but they have no other rule to direct them, and have never found the metal in its original repository. Our guides reported that they had found copper in large pieces in every part of this range for two days' walk to the north-west, and that the Esquimaux come hither to search for it. The annual visits which the Copper Indians were accustomed to make to these mountains, when most of their weapons and utensils were made of copper, have been discontinued since they have been enabled to obtain a supply of ice chisels and other instruments of iron by the establishment of trading posts near their hunting grounds. That none of those who accompanied us had visited them for many years was evident from their ignorance of the spots most abundant in metal. The impracticability of navigating the river upwards from the sea, and the want of wood for forming an establishment, would prove insuperable objections to rendering the collection of copper at this part worthy of mercantile speculation. We had the opportunity of surveying the country from several elevated positions. Two or three small lakes only were visible, still partly frozen, and much snow remained on the mountains. The trees were reduced to a scanty fringe on the borders of the river and every side was beset by naked mountains. The day was unusually warm and therefore favourable for drying meat. Our whole stock of provision, calculated for preservation, was sufficient for fourteen days without any diminution of the ordinary allowance of three pounds to each man per day. The situation of our tents was 67 degrees 10 minutes 30 seconds North, longitude 116 degrees 25 minutes 45 seconds West. June 12. The Indians, knowing the course of the river below this point to be only a succession of rapids, declined taking their canoes any farther but, as I conceived one of them would be required, should we be compelled to walk along the coast, two of our men were appointed to conduct it. As we were now entering the confines of the Esquimaux country our guides recommended us to be cautious in lighting fires lest we should discover ourselves, adding that the same reason would lead them to travel as much as possible in the valleys, and to avoid crossing the tops of the hills. We embarked at six A.M., taking with us only old Keskarrah. The other Indians walked along the banks of the river. Throughout this day's voyage the current was very strong, running four or five miles an hour, but the navigation was tolerable and we had to lighten the canoes only once, in a contracted part of the river where the waves were very high. The river is in many places confined between perpendicular walls of rock to one hundred and fifty yards in width, and there the rapids were most agitated. Large masses of ice twelve or fourteen feet thick were still adhering to many parts of the bank, indicating the tardy departure of winter from this inhospitable land, but the earth around them was rich with vegetation. In the evening two musk-oxen, being seen on the beach, were pursued and killed by our men. Whilst we were waiting to embark the meat the Indians rejoined us and reported they had been attacked by a bear which sprung upon them whilst they were conversing together. His attack was so sudden that they had not time to level their guns properly, and they all missed except Akaitcho who, less confused than the rest, took deliberate aim and shot the animal dead. They do not eat the flesh of the bear but, knowing that we had no such prejudice, they brought us some of the choice pieces which upon trial we found to be very excellent meat. The Indians having informed us that we were now within twelve miles of the rapid where the Esquimaux have invariably been found, we pitched our tents on the beach under the shelter of a high hill whose precipitous side is washed by the river, intending to send forward some persons to determine the situation of their present abode. Some vestiges of an old Esquimaux encampment were observed near the tents and the stumps of the trees bore marks of the stone hatchets they use. A strict watch was appointed consisting of an officer, four Canadians, and an Indian, and directions were given for the rest of the party to sleep with their arms by their side. That as little delay as possible might be experienced in opening a communication with the Esquimaux we immediately commenced arrangements for sending forward persons to discover whether there were any in our vicinity. Akaitcho and the guides proposed that two of the hunters should be despatched on this service who had extremely quick sight and were accustomed to act as scouts, an office which requires equal caution and circumspection. A strong objection however lay against this plan in the probability of their being discovered by a straggling hunter, which would be destructive to every hope of accommodation. It was therefore determined to send Augustus and Junius, who were very desirous to undertake the service. These adventurous men proposed to go armed only with pistols concealed in their dress, and furnished with beads, looking-glasses, and other articles, that they might conciliate their countrymen by presents. We could not divest our minds of the apprehension that it might be a service of much hazard if the Esquimaux were as hostile to strangers as the Copper Indians have invariably represented them to be, and we felt great reluctance in exposing our two little interpreters, who had rendered themselves dear to the whole party, to the most distant chance of receiving injury, but this course of proceeding appeared in their opinion and our own to offer the only chance of gaining an interview. Though not insensible to the danger they cheerfully prepared for their mission, and clothed themselves in Esquimaux dresses which had been made for the purpose at Fort Enterprise. Augustus was desired to make his presents and to tell the Esquimaux that the white men had come to make peace between them and all their enemies, and also to discover a passage by which every article of which they stood in need might be brought in large ships. He was not to mention that we were accompanied by the Indians but to endeavour to prevail on some of the Esquimaux to return with him. He was directed to come back immediately if there were no lodges at the rapid. The Indians were not suffered to move out of our sight, but in the evening we permitted two of them to cross the river in pursuit of a musk-ox, which they killed on the beach and returned immediately. The officers, prompted by an anxious solicitude for Augustus and Junius, crawled up frequently to the summit of the mountain to watch their return. The view however was not extensive, being bounded at the distance of eight miles by a range of hills similar to the Copper Mountains but not so lofty. The night came without bringing any intelligence of our messengers, and our fears for their safety increased with the length of their absence. As everyone had been interested in the welfare of these men through their vivacity and good nature and the assistance they had cheerfully rendered in bearing their portion of whatever labour might be going on, their detention formed the subject of all our conversation and numerous conjectures were hazarded as to the cause. Dr. Richardson, having the first watch, had gone to the summit of the hill and remained seated, contemplating the river that washed the precipice under his feet long after dusk had hid distant objects from his view. His thoughts were perhaps far distant from the surrounding scenery, when he was roused by an indistinct noise behind him and, on looking round, perceived that nine white wolves had ranged themselves in form of a crescent and were advancing, apparently with the intention of driving him into the river. On his rising up they halted, and when he advanced they made way for his passage down to the tents. He had his gun in his hand but forbore to fire lest there should be Esquimaux in the neighbourhood. During Mr. Wentzel's middle watch the wolves appeared repeatedly on the summit of the hill, and at one time they succeeded in driving a deer over the precipice. The animal was stunned by the fall but, recovering itself, swam across the stream and escaped up the river. I may remark here that at midnight it was tolerably dark in the valley of the river at this time but that an object on the eminence above could be distinctly seen against the sky. The following observations were taken at this encampment, latitude 67 degrees 23 minutes 14 seconds North, longitude 116 degrees 6 minutes 51 seconds West, variation 49 degrees 46 minutes 24 seconds East. Thermometer 75 degrees at three P.M. Sultry weather. Augustus and Junius not having returned next morning we were more alarmed respecting them, and determined on proceeding to find out the cause of their detention, but it was eleven A.M. before we could prevail upon the Indians to remain behind, which we wished them to do lest the Esquimaux might be suspicious of our intentions if they were seen in our suite. We promised to send for them when we had paved the way for their reception, but Akaitcho, ever ready to augur misfortune, expressed his belief that our messengers had been killed and that the Esquimaux, warned of our approach, were lying in wait for us, and "although," said he, "your party may be sufficiently strong to repulse any hostile attack, my band is too weak to offer effectual resistance when separated from you, and therefore we are determined to go on with you or to return to our lands." After much argument however he yielded and agreed to stay behind, provided Mr. Wentzel would remain with him. This gentleman was accordingly left with a Canadian attendant and they promised not to pass a range of hills then in view to the northward unless we sent notice to them. The river during the whole of this day's voyage flowed between alternate cliffs of looses and intermixed with gravel and red sandstone rocks, and was everywhere shallow and rapid. As its course was very crooked much time was spent in examining the different rapids previous to running them, but the canoes descended, except at a single place, without any difficulty. Most of the officers and half the men marched along the land to lighten the canoes and reconnoitre the country, each person being armed with a gun and a dagger. Arriving at a range of mountains which had terminated our view yesterday, we ascended it with much eagerness, expecting to see the rapid that Mr. Hearne visited near its base, and to gain a view of the sea; but our disappointment was proportionably great when we beheld beyond a plain, similar to that we had just left, terminated by another range of trap hills, between whose tops the summits of some distant blue mountains appeared. Our reliance on the information of the guides, which had been for some time shaken, was now quite at an end, and we feared that the sea was still far distant. The flat country here is covered with grass and is devoid of the large stones so frequent in the barren grounds, but the ranges of trap hills which seem to intersect it at regular distances are quite barren. A few decayed stunted pines were standing on the borders of the river. In the evening we had the gratification of meeting Junius who was hastening back to inform us that they had found four Esquimaux tents at the Fall which we recognised to be the one described by Mr. Hearne. The inmates were asleep at the time of their arrival but rose soon afterwards, and then Augustus presented himself and had some conversation across the river. He told them the white people had come, who would make them very useful presents. The information of our arrival seemed to alarm them very much but, as the noise of the rapid prevented them from hearing distinctly, one of them approached him in his canoe and received the rest of the message. He would not however land on his side of the river, but returned to the tents without receiving the present. His language differed in some respects from Augustus's but they understood each other tolerably well. Augustus, trusting for a supply of provision to the Esquimaux, had neglected to carry any with him, and this was the main cause of Junius's return. We now encamped, having come fourteen miles. After a few hours' rest Junius set off again to rejoin his companion, being accompanied by Hepburn who was directed to remain about two miles above the fall to arrest the canoes on their passage, lest we should too suddenly surprise the Esquimaux. About ten P.M. we were mortified by the appearance of the Indians with Mr. Wentzel, who had in vain endeavoured to restrain them from following us. The only reason assigned by Akaitcho for this conduct was that he wished for a reassurance of my promise to establish peace between his nation and the Esquimaux. I took this occasion of again enforcing the necessity of their remaining behind until we had obtained the confidence and goodwill of their enemies. After supper Dr. Richardson ascended a lofty hill about three miles from the encampment and obtained the first view of the sea; it appeared to be covered with ice. A large promontory, which I named Cape Hearne, bore North-East and its lofty mountains proved to be the blue land we had seen in the forenoon, and which had led us to believe the sea was still far distant. He saw the sun set a few minutes before midnight from the same elevated situation. It did not rise during the half hour he remained there, but before he reached the encampment its rays gilded the tops of the hills. The night was warm and we were much annoyed by the mosquitoes. June 15. We this morning experienced as much difficulty as before in prevailing upon the Indians to remain behind, and they did not consent until I had declared that they should lose the reward which had been promised if they proceeded any farther before we had prepared the Esquimaux to receive them. We left a Canadian with them and proceeded, not without apprehension that they would follow us and derange our whole plan by their obstinacy. Two of the officers and a party of men walked on the shore to lighten the canoes. The river in this part flows between high and stony cliffs, reddish slate clay rocks, and shelving banks of white clay, and is full of shoals and dangerous rapids. One of these was termed Escape Rapid, both the canoes having narrowly escaped foundering in its high waves. We had entered the rapid before we were aware and, the steepness of the cliffs preventing us from landing, we were indebted to the swiftness of our descent for preservation. Two waves made a complete breach over the canoes; a third would in all probability have filled and overset them, which must have proved fatal to everyone in them. The powder fortunately escaped the water, which was soon discharged when we reached the bottom of the rapid. At noon we perceived Hepburn lying on the left bank of the river and landed immediately to receive his information. As he represented the water to be shoal the whole way to the rapid (below which the Esquimaux were) the shore party were directed to continue their march to a sandy bay at the head of the fall and there await the arrival of the canoes. The land in the neighbourhood of the rapid is of the most singular form: large irregular sandhills bounding both banks, apparently so unconnected that they resemble icebergs, the country around them consisting of high round green hills. The river becomes wide in this part and full of shoals, but we had no difficulty in finding a channel through them. On regaining the shore party we regretted to find that some of the men had incautiously appeared on the tops of the hills just at the time Augustus was conversing with one of the Esquimaux, who had again approached in his canoe and was almost persuaded to land. The unfortunate appearance of so many people at this instant revived his fears, and he crossed over to the eastern bank of the river, and fled with the whole of his party. We learned from Augustus that this party, consisting of four men and as many women, had manifested a friendly disposition. Two of the former were very tall. The man who first came to speak to him inquired the number of canoes that we had with us, expressed himself to be not displeased at our arrival, and desired him to caution us not to attempt running the rapid, but to make the portage on the west side of the river. Notwithstanding this appearance of confidence and satisfaction it seems they did not consider their situation free from danger, as they retreated the first night to an island somewhat farther down the river, and in the morning they returned and threw down their lodges, as if to give notice to any of their nation that might arrive that there was an enemy in the neighbourhood. From seeing all their property strewed about, and ten of their dogs left, we entertained the hope that these poor people would return after their first alarm had subsided, and therefore I determined on remaining until the next day, in the expectation of seeing them as I considered the opening of an early communication a matter of the greatest importance in our state of absolute ignorance respecting the sea-coast. The canoes and cargoes were carried across the portage and we encamped on the north side of it. We sent Augustus and Junius across the river to look for the runaways but their search was fruitless. They put a few pieces of iron and trinkets in their canoes, which were lying on the beach. We also sent some men to put up the stages of fish and secure them as much as possible from the attacks of the dogs. Under the covering of their tents were observed some stone kettles and hatchets, a few fish spears made of copper, two small bits of iron, a quantity of skins, and some dried salmon, which was covered with maggots and half putrid. The entrails of the fish were spread out to dry. A great many skins of small birds were hung up to a stage, and even two mice were preserved in the same way. Thus it would appear that the necessities of these poor people induce them to preserve every article that can be possibly used as food. Several human skulls, which bore the marks of violence, and many bones were strewed about the ground near the encampment and, as the spot exactly answers the description given by Mr. Hearne of the place where the Chipewyans who accompanied him perpetrated the dreadful massacre on the Esquimaux, we had no doubt of this being the place, notwithstanding the difference in its position as to latitude and longitude given by him and ascertained by our observation. We have therefore preserved the appellation of Bloody Fall which he bestowed upon it. Its situation by our observations is in latitude 67 degrees 42 minutes 35 seconds North, longitude 115 degrees 49 minutes 33 seconds West, variation 50 degrees 20 minutes 14 seconds East. This rapid is a sort of shelving cascade, about three hundred yards in length, having a descent of from ten to fifteen feet. It is bounded on each side by high walls of red sandstone, upon which rests a series of lofty green hills. On its north side close to the east bank is the low rocky island which the Esquimaux had deserted. The surrounding scenery was accurately delineated in a sketch taken by Mr. Hood. We caught forty excellent salmon and white-fish in a single net below the rapid. We had not seen any trees during this day's journey; our fuel consisted of small willows and pieces of dried wood that were picked up near the encampment. The ground is well clothed with grass and nourishes most of the shrubs and berry-bearing plants that we have seen north of Fort Enterprise; and the country altogether has a richer appearance than the barren lands of the Copper Indians. We had a distinct view of the sea from the summit of a hill behind the tents; it appeared choked with ice and full of islands. INTERVIEW WITH THE ESQUIMAUX. On the morning of the 16th three men were sent up the river to search for dried wood to make floats for the nets. Adam the interpreter was also despatched with a Canadian to inform Akaitcho of the flight of the Esquimaux. We were preparing to go down to the sea in one of the canoes, leaving Mr. Back to await the return of the men who were absent but, just as the crew were putting the canoe in the water, Adam returned in the utmost consternation and informed us that a party of Esquimaux were pursuing the men whom we had sent to collect floats. The orders for embarking were instantly countermanded and we went with a part of our men to their rescue. We soon met our people returning at a slow pace and learned that they had come unawares upon the Esquimaux party, which consisted of six men with their women and children, who were travelling towards the rapid with a considerable number of dogs carrying their baggage. The women hid themselves on the first alarm, but the men advanced and, stopping at some distance from our men, began to dance in a circle, tossing up their hands in the air and accompanying their motions with much shouting, to signify I conceive their desire of peace. Our men saluted them by pulling off their hats and making bows, but neither party was willing to approach the other, and at length the Esquimaux retired to the hill from whence they had descended when first seen. We proceeded in the hope of gaining an interview with them but lest our appearance in a body should alarm them we advanced in a long line, at the head of which was Augustus. We were led to their baggage, which they had deserted, by the howling of the dogs, and on the summit of a hill we found lying behind a stone an old man who was too infirm to effect his escape with the rest. He was much terrified when Augustus advanced and probably expected immediate death but, that the fatal blow might not be unrevenged, he seized his spear and made a thrust with it at his supposed enemy. Augustus however easily repressed the feeble effort and soon calmed his fears by presenting him with some pieces of iron and assuring him of his friendly intentions. Dr. Richardson and I then joined them and, after receiving our presents, the old man was quite composed and became communicative. His dialect differed from that used by Augustus but they understood each other tolerably well. It appeared that his party consisted of eight men and their families who were returning from a hunting excursion with dried meat. After being told who we were he said that he had heard of white people from different parties of his nation which resided on the sea-coast to the eastward and, to our inquiries respecting the provision and fuel we might expect to get on our voyage, he informed us that the reindeer frequent the coast during the summer, the fish are plentiful at the mouths of the rivers, the seals are abundant, but there are no sea-horses nor whales, although he remembered one of the latter, which had been killed by some distant tribe, having been driven on shore on his part of the coast by a gale of wind. That musk-oxen were to be found a little distance up the rivers, and that we should get driftwood along the shore. He had no knowledge of the coast to the eastward beyond the next river, which he called Nappaarktoktowock, or Tree River. The old man, contrary to the Indian practice, asked each of our names and, in reply to a similar question on our part, said his name was Terregannoeuck, or the White Fox, and that his tribe denominated themselves Naggeooktormoeoot, or Deer-Horn Esquimaux. They usually frequent the Bloody Fall during this and the following moons for the purpose of salting salmon, and then retire to a river which flows into the sea a short way to the westward (since denominated Richardson's River) and pass the winter in snow-houses. After this conversation Terregannoeuck proposed going down to his baggage, and we then perceived he was too infirm to walk without the assistance of sticks. Augustus therefore offered him his arm which he readily accepted and, on reaching his store, he distributed pieces of dried meat to each person which, though highly tainted, were immediately eaten, this being a universal token among the Indians of peaceable intention. We then informed him of our desire to procure as much meat as we possibly could and he told us that he had a large quantity concealed in the neighbourhood which he would cause to be carried to us when his people returned. I now communicated to him that we were accompanied by some Copper Indians who were very desirous to make peace with his nation, and that they had requested me to prevail upon the Esquimaux to receive them in a friendly manner, to which he replied he should rejoice to see an end put to the hostility that existed between the nations and therefore would most gladly welcome our companions. Having despatched Adam to inform Akaitcho of this circumstance we left Terregannoeuck, in the hope that his party would rejoin him but, as we had doubts whether the young men would venture upon coming to our tents on the old man's bare representation, we sent Augustus and Junius back in the evening to remain with him until they came, that they might fully detail our intentions. The countenance of Terregannoeuck was oval with a sufficiently prominent nose and had nothing very different from a European face, except in the smallness of his eyes and perhaps in the narrowness of his forehead. His complexion was very fresh and red and he had a longer beard than I had seen on any of the aboriginal inhabitants of America. It was between two and three inches long and perfectly white. His face was not tattooed. His dress consisted of a shirt, or jacket with a hood, wide breeches reaching only to the knee, and tight leggings sewed to the shoes, all of deer skins. The soles of the shoes were made of seal-skin and stuffed with feathers instead of socks. He was bent with age but appeared to be about five feet ten inches high. His hands and feet were small in proportion to his height. Whenever Terregannoeuck received a present he placed each article first on his right shoulder then on his left, and when he wished to express still higher satisfaction he rubbed it over his head. He held hatchets and other iron instruments in the highest esteem. On seeing his countenance in a glass for the first time he exclaimed, "I shall never kill deer more," and immediately put the mirror down. The tribe to which he belongs repair to the sea in spring and kill seals; as the season advances they hunt deer and musk-oxen at some distance from the coast. Their weapon is the bow and arrow and they get sufficiently nigh the deer, either by crawling or by leading these animals by ranges of turf towards a spot where the archer can conceal himself. Their bows are formed of three pieces of fir, the centrepiece alone bent, the other two lying in the same straight line with the bowstring; the pieces are neatly tied together with sinew. Their canoes are similar to those we saw in Hudson's Straits but smaller. They get fish constantly in the rivers and in the sea as soon as the ice breaks up. This tribe do not make use of nets but are tolerably successful with the hook and line. Their cooking utensils are made of pot-stone, and they form very neat dishes of fir, the sides being made of thin deal, bent into an oval form, secured at the ends by sewing, and fitted so nicely to the bottom as to be perfectly water-tight. They have also large spoons made of the horns of the musk-oxen. Akaitcho and the Indians arrived at our tents in the evening and we learned that they had seen the Esquimaux the day before and endeavoured without success to open a communication with them. They exhibited no hostile intention but were afraid to advance. Akaitcho, keeping out of their sight, followed at a distance, expecting that, ultimately finding themselves enclosed between our party and his, they would be compelled to come to a parley with one of us. Akaitcho had seen Terregannoeuck soon after our departure; he was much terrified and thrust his spear at him as he had done at Augustus, but was soon reconciled after the demonstrations of kindness the Indians made in cutting off the buttons from their dress to present to him. July 17. We waited all this forenoon in momentary expectation of the return of Augustus and Junius but as they did not appear at two P.M. I sent Mr. Hood with a party of men to inquire into the cause of their detention and to bring the meat which Terregannoeuck had promised us. He returned at midnight with the information that none of the Esquimaux had yet ventured to come near Terregannoeuck except his aged wife, who had concealed herself amongst the rocks at our first interview, and she told him the rest of the party had gone to a river a short distance to the westward where there was another party of Esquimaux fishing. Augustus and Junius had erected the tent and done everything in their power to make the old man comfortable in their absence. Terregannoeuck, being unable to walk to the place where the meat was concealed, readily pointed the spot out to Mr. Hood who went thither but, after experiencing much difficulty in getting at the column of rock on which it was deposited, he found it too putrid for our use. The features of Terregannoeuck's wife were remarkable for roundness and flatness; her face was much tattooed and her dress differed little from the old man's. In the afternoon a party of nine Esquimaux appeared on the east bank of the river about a mile below our encampment, carrying their canoes and baggage on their backs, but they turned and fled as soon as they perceived our tents. The appearance of so many different bands of Esquimaux terrified the Indians so much that they determined on leaving us the next day lest they should be surrounded and their retreat cut off. I endeavoured, by the offer of any remuneration they would choose, to prevail upon one or two of the hunters to proceed but in vain; and I had much difficulty even in obtaining their promise to wait at the Copper Mountains for Mr. Wentzel and the four men, whom I intended to discharge at the sea. The fears which our interpreters, St. Germain and Adam, entertained respecting the voyage were now greatly increased and both of them came this evening to request their discharge, urging that their services could be no longer requisite as the Indians were going from us. St. Germain even said that he had understood he was only engaged to accompany us as long as the Indians did, and persisted in this falsehood until his agreement to go with us throughout the voyage had been twice read to him. As these were the only two of the party on whose skill in hunting we could rely I was unable to listen for a moment to their desire of quitting us and, lest they should leave us by stealth, their motions were strictly watched. This was not an unnecessary precaution as I was informed that they had actually laid a plan for eloping; but the rest of the men, knowing that their own safety would have been compromised had they succeeded, kept a watchful eye over them. We knew that the dread of the Esquimaux would prevent these men from leaving us as soon as the Indians were at a distance, and we trusted to their becoming reconciled to the journey when once the novelty of a sea voyage had worn off. DEPARTURE OF THE INDIAN HUNTERS. ARRANGEMENTS MADE WITH THEM FOR OUR RETURN. July 18. As the Indians persevered in their determination of setting out this morning I reminded them, through Mr. Wentzel and St. Germain, of the necessity of our having the deposit of provision made at Fort Enterprise, and received a renewed assurance of their attending to that point. They were also desired to put as much meat as they could en cache on the banks of the Copper-Mine River on their return. We then furnished them with what ammunition we could spare and they took their departure promising to wait three days for Mr. Wentzel at the Copper Mountains. We afterwards learned that their fears did not permit them to do so, and that Mr. Wentzel did not rejoin them until they were a day's march to the southward of the mountains. We embarked at five A.M. and proceeded towards the sea which is about nine miles beyond the Bloody Fall. After passing a few rapids the river became wider and more navigable for canoes, flowing between banks of alluvial sand. We encamped at ten on the western bank at its junction with the sea. The river is here about a mile wide but very shallow, being barred nearly across by sandbanks which run out from the mainland on each side to a low alluvial island that lies in the centre and forms two channels, of these the westernmost only is navigable even for canoes, the other being obstructed by a stony bar. The islands to seaward are high and numerous and fill the horizon in many points of the compass; the only open space seen from an eminence near the encampment being from North by East to North-East by North. Towards the east the land was like a chain of islands, the ice apparently surrounding them in a compact body, leaving a channel between its edge and the main of about three miles. The water in this channel was of a clear green colour and decidedly salt. Mr. Hearne could have tasted it only at the mouth of the river, when he pronounced it merely brackish. A rise and fall of four inches in the water was observed. The shore is strewed with a considerable quantity of drift timber, principally of the Populus balsamifera, but none of it of great size. We also picked up some decayed wood far out of the reach of the water. A few stunted willows were growing near the encampment. Some ducks, gulls, and partridges were seen this day. As I had to make up despatches for England to be sent by Mr. Wentzel the nets were set in the interim and we were rejoiced to find that they produced sufficient fish for the party. Those caught were the Copper-Mine River salmon, white-fish, and two species of pleuronectes. We felt a considerable change of temperature on reaching the sea-coast, produced by the winds changing from the southward to the North-West. Our Canadian voyagers complained much of the cold but they were amused with their first view of the sea and particularly with the sight of the seals that were swimming about near the entrance of the river, but these sensations gave place to despondency before the evening had elapsed. They were terrified at the idea of a voyage through an icy sea in bark canoes. They speculated on the length of the journey, the roughness of the waves, the uncertainty of provisions, the exposure to cold where we could expect no fuel, and the prospect of having to traverse the barren grounds to get to some establishment. The two interpreters expressed their apprehensions with the least disguise and again urgently applied to be discharged, but only one of the Canadians made a similar request. Judging that the constant occupation of their time as soon as we were enabled to commence the voyage would prevent them from conjuring up so many causes of fear, and that familiarity with the scenes on the coast would in a short time enable them to give scope to their natural cheerfulness, the officers endeavoured to ridicule their fears and happily succeeded for the present. The manner in which our faithful Hepburn viewed the element to which he had been so long accustomed contributed not a little to make them ashamed of their fears. On the morning of the 19th Dr. Richardson, accompanied by Augustus, paid another visit to Terregannoeuck to see if he could obtain any additional information respecting the country to the eastward, but he was disappointed at finding that his affrighted family had not yet rejoined him, and the old man could add nothing to his former communication. The Doctor remarked that Terreganoeuck had a great dislike to mentioning the name of the Copper-Mine River, and evaded the question with much dexterity as often as it was put to him, but that he willingly told the name of a river to the eastward and also of his tribe. He attempted to persuade Augustus to remain with him and offered him one of his daughters for a wife. These Esquimaux strike fire with two stones, catching the sparks in the down of the catkins of a willow. The despatches being finished were delivered this evening to Mr. Wentzel, who parted from us at eight P.M. with Parent, Gagnier, Dumas, and Forcier, Canadians whom I discharged for the purpose of reducing our expenditure of provision as much as possible. The remainder of the party including officers amounted to twenty persons. I made Mr. Wentzel acquainted with the probable course of our future proceedings and mentioned to him that, if we were far distant from this river when the season or other circumstances rendered it necessary to put a stop to our advance, we should in all probability be unable to return to it and should have to travel across the barren grounds towards some established post, in which case I told him that we should certainly go first to Fort Enterprise, expecting that he would cause the Indians to place a supply of dried provision there, as soon as possible after their arrival in its vicinity. My instructions to him were that he should proceed to Point Lake, transport the canoe that was left there to Fort Enterprise, where he was to embark the instruments and books and carry them to Slave Lake, and to forward the box containing the journals, etc., with the present despatches by the next winter packet to England. But before he quitted Fort Enterprise he was to be assured of the intention of the Indians to lay up the provision we required and, if they should be in want of ammunition for that purpose, to procure it if possible from Fort Providence or the other Forts in Slave Lake, and send it immediately to them by the hunters who accompanied him thither. I also requested him to ascertain from Akaitcho and the other leading Indians where their different parties would be hunting in the months of September and October, and to leave this information in a letter at Fort Enterprise for our guidance in finding them, as we should require their assistance. Mr. Wentzel was furnished with a list of the stores that had been promised to Akaitcho and his party as a remuneration for their services, as well as with an official request to the North-West Company that these goods might be paid to them on their next visit to Fort Providence, which they expected to make in the latter part of November. I desired him to mention this circumstance to the Indians as an encouragement to exertion in our behalf and to promise them an additional reward for the supply of provision they should collect at Fort Enterprise. If Mr. Wentzel met the Hook or any of his party he was instructed to assure them that he was provided with the necessary documents to get them payment for any meat they should put en cache for our use, and to acquaint them that we fully relied on their fulfilling every part of the agreement they had made with us. Whenever the Indians, whom he was to join at the Copper Mountains, killed any animals on their way to Fort Enterprise, he was requested to put en cache whatever meat could be spared, placing conspicuous marks to guide us to them, and I particularly begged he would employ them in hunting in our service immediately after his arrival at the house. When Mr. Wentzel's party had been supplied with ammunition our remaining stock consisted of one thousand balls and rather more than the requisite proportion of powder. A bag of small shot was missing and we afterwards discovered that the Canadians had secreted and distributed it among themselves in order that when provision should become scarce they might privately procure ducks and geese and avoid the necessity of sharing them with the officers. The situation of our encampment was ascertained to be latitude 67 degrees 47 minutes 50 seconds North, longitude 115 degrees 36 minutes 49 seconds West, the variation of the compass 46 degrees 25 minutes 52 seconds East, and dip of the needle 88 degrees 5 minutes 07 seconds. It will be perceived that the position of the mouth of the river given by our observations differs widely from that assigned by Mr. Hearne, but the accuracy of his description, conjoined with Indian information, assured us that we were at the very part he visited. I therefore named the most conspicuous cape we then saw Cape Hearne as a just tribute to the memory of that persevering traveller. I distinguished another cape by the name of Mackenzie in honour of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the only other European* who had before reached the Northern Ocean. I called the river which falls into the sea to the westward of the Copper-Mine Richardson as a testimony of sincere regard for my friend and companion Dr. Richardson, and named the islands which were in view from our encampment Couper's Isles in honour of a friend of his. The sun set this night at thirty minutes after eleven apparent time. (*Footnote. Captain Parry's success was at this time unknown to us.) The travelling distance from Fort Enterprise to the north of the Copper-Mine River is about three hundred and thirty-four miles. The canoes and baggage were dragged over snow and ice for one hundred and seventeen miles of this distance. CHAPTER 11. NAVIGATION OF THE POLAR SEA, IN TWO CANOES, AS FAR AS CAPE TURNAGAIN, TO THE EASTWARD, A DISTANCE EXCEEDING FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES. OBSERVATIONS ON THE PROBABILITY OF A NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. NAVIGATION OF THE POLAR SEA, IN TWO CANOES, AS FAR AS CAPE TURNAGAIN, TO THE EASTWARD, A DISTANCE EXCEEDING FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES. July 20, 1821. We intended to have embarked early this morning and to have launched upon an element more congenial with our habits than the freshwater navigations with their numerous difficulties and impediments which we had hitherto encountered, but which was altogether new to our Canadian voyagers. We were detained however by a strong north-east gale which continued the whole day with constant thundershowers, the more provoking as our nets procured but few fish and we had to draw upon our store of dried meat, which, with other provision for the journey, amounted only to fifteen days' consumption. Indeed we should have preferred going dinnerless to bed rather than encroach on our small stock had we not been desirous of satisfying the appetites and cheering the spirits of our Canadian companions at the commencement of our voyage. These thoughtless people would at any time incur the hazard of absolute starvation at a future period for the present gratification of their appetites, to indulge which they do not hesitate, as we more than once experienced, at helping themselves secretly, it being in their opinion no disgrace to be detected in pilfering food. Our only luxury now was a little salt which had long been our substitute both for bread and vegetables. Since our departure from Point Lake we had boiled the Indian tea plant Ledum palustre which provided a beverage in smell much resembling rhubarb, notwithstanding which we found it refreshing and were gratified to see this plant flourishing abundantly on the sea shore though of dwarfish growth. July 21. The wind which had blown strong through the night became moderate in the morning, but a dense fog prevented us from embarking until noon when we commenced our voyage on the Hyperborean Sea. Soon afterwards we landed on an island where the Esquimaux had erected a stage of drift timber, and stored up many of their fishing implements and winter sledges, together with a great many dressed seal, musk-ox, and deer skins. Their spears, headed with bone and many small articles of the same material, were worked with extreme neatness, as well as their wooden dishes and cooking utensils of stone, and several articles, very elegantly formed of bone, were evidently intended for some game, but Augustus was unacquainted with their use. We took from this deposit four seal-skins to repair our shoes and left in exchange a copper-kettle, some awls and beads. We paddled all day along the coast to the eastward on the inside of a crowded range of islands and saw very little ice; the blink of it however was visible to the northward, and one small iceberg was seen at a distance. A tide was distinguishable among the islands by the foam floating on the water but we could not ascertain its direction. In the afternoon St. Germain killed on an island a fat deer which was a great acquisition to us; it was the first we had seen for some months in good condition. Having encamped on the main shore after a run of thirty-seven miles we set up a pole to ascertain the rise and fall of the water, which was repeated at every halting-place, and Hepburn was ordered to attend to the result. We found the coast well covered with vegetation of moderate height, even in its outline, and easy of approach. The islands are rocky and barren, presenting high cliffs of a columnar structure. I have named the westernmost group of those we passed Berens' Isles in honour of the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, and the easternmost Sir Graham Moore's Islands. At the spot where we landed some mussel-shells and a single piece of seaweed lay on the beach; this was the only spot on the coast where we saw shells. We were rejoiced to find the beach strewed with abundance of small driftwood none of it recent. It may be remarked that the Copper-Mine River does not bring down any driftwood, nor does any other known stream except Mackenzie's River, hence from its appearance on this part of the coast an easterly current may be inferred. This evening we were all in high glee at the progress we had made; the disappearance of the ice and the continuance of the land in an eastern direction and our future prospects formed an enlivening subject of conversation. The thermometer varied during the day between 43 and 45 degrees. The fishing-nets were set but produced nothing. On the 22nd we embarked at four A.M. and, having the benefit of a light breeze, continued our voyage along the coast under sail until eleven when we halted to breakfast and to obtain the latitude. The coast up to this point presented the same general appearance as yesterday, namely a gravelly or sandy beach skirted by green plains, but as we proceeded the shore became exceedingly rocky and sterile and at last, projecting considerably to the northward, it formed a high and steep promontory. Some ice had drifted down upon this cape which we feared might check our progress but, as the evening was fine, we ventured upon pushing the canoes through the small channels formed among it. After pursuing this kind of navigation with some danger and more anxiety we landed and encamped on a smooth rocky point whence we perceived with much satisfaction that the ice consisted only of detached pieces which would be removed by the first breeze. We sounded in seventeen fathoms close to the shore this day. The least depth ascertained by the lead since our departure from the river was six fathoms, and any ship might pass safely between the islands and the main. The water is of a light green colour but not very clear and much less salt than that of the Atlantic, judging from our recollection of its taste. In the course of the day we saw geese and ducks with their young and two deer, and experienced very great variations of temperature from the light breezes blowing alternately from the ice and the land. The name of Lawford's Islands was bestowed on a group we passed in the course of the day as a mark of my respect for Vice-Admiral Lawford, under whose auspices I first entered the naval service. A fresh breeze blowing through the night had driven the ice from the land and opened a channel of a mile in width; we therefore embarked at nine A.M. to pursue our journey along the coast but, at the distance of nine miles were obliged to seek shelter in Port Epworth, the wind having become adverse and too strong to admit of our proceeding. The Tree River of the Esquimaux which discharges its waters into this bay appears to be narrow and much interrupted by rapids. The fishing-nets were set but obtained only one white-fish and a few bull-heads. This part of the coast is the most sterile and inhospitable that can be imagined. One trap-cliff succeeds another with tiresome uniformity and their debris cover the narrow valleys that intervene, to the exclusion of every kind of herbage. From the summit of these cliffs the ice appeared in every direction. We obtained the following observations during our stay: latitude 67 degrees 42 minutes 15 seconds North, longitude 112 degrees 30 minutes 00 seconds West, variation 47 degrees 37 minutes 42 seconds East. The wind abating, at eight P.M. we reembarked and soon afterwards discovered on an island a reindeer, which the interpreters fortunately killed. Resuming our voyage we were much impeded by the ice and at length, being unable to force a passage through a close stream that had collected round a cape, we put ashore at four A.M. On the 24th several stone fox-traps and other traces of the Esquimaux were seen near the encampment. The horizontal refraction varied so much this morning that the upper limb of the sun twice appeared at the horizon before it finally rose. For the last two days the water rose and fell about nine inches. The tides however seemed to be very irregular and we could not determine the direction of the ebb or flood. A current setting to the eastward was running about two miles an hour during our stay. The ice having removed a short distance from the shore by eleven A.M. we embarked, and with some difficulty effected a passage, then, making a traverse across Gray's Bay,* we paddled up under the eastern shore against a strong wind. The interpreters landed here and went in pursuit of a deer but had no success. This part of the coast is indented by deep bays which are separated by peninsulas formed like wedges, sloping many miles into the sea and joined by low land to the main, so that, often mistaking them for islands, we were led by a circuitous route round the bays. Cliffs were numerous on the islands which were all of the trap formation. (*Footnote. Named after Mr. Gray principal of the Belfast Academy. An island which lies across the mouth of this bay bears the name of our English sailor Hepburn.) At seven, a thunderstorm coming on, we encamped at the mouth of a river about eighty yards wide and set four nets. This stream, which received the name of Wentzel after our late companion, discharges a considerable body of water. Its banks are sandy and clothed with herbage. The Esquimaux had recently piled up some drift timber here. A few ducks, ravens, and snow-birds were seen today. The distance made was thirty-one miles. July 25. We had constant rain with thunder during the night. The nets furnished only three salmon-trout. We attributed the want of greater success to the entrance of some seals into the mouth of the river. Embarking at six A.M. we paddled against a cold breeze until the spreading of a thick fog caused us to land. The rocks here consisted of a beautiful mixture of red and gray granite, traversed from north to south by veins of red felspar which were crossed in various directions by smaller veins filled with the same substance. At noon the wind coming from a favourable quarter tempted us to proceed, although the fog was unabated. We kept as close as we could to the main shore but, having to cross some bays, it became a matter of doubt whether we had not left the main and were running along an island. Just as we were endeavouring to double a bold cape the fog partially cleared away and allowed us an imperfect view of a chain of islands on the outside, and of much heavy ice which was pressing down upon us. The coast near us was so steep and rugged that no landing of the cargoes could be effected and we were preserved only by some men jumping on the rocks and thrusting the ice off with poles. There was no alternative but to continue along this dreary shore seeking a channel between the different masses of ice which had accumulated at the various points. In this operation both the canoes were in imminent danger of being crushed by the ice which was now tossed about by the waves that the gale had excited. We effected a passage however and, keeping close to the shore, landed at the entrance of Detention Harbour at nine P.M., having come twenty-eight miles. An old Esquimaux encampment was traced on this spot, and an ice chisel, a copper knife, and a small iron knife were found under the turf. I named this cape after Mr. Barrow of the Admiralty to whose exertions are mainly owing the discoveries recently made in Arctic geography. An opening on its eastern side received the appellation of Inman Harbour after my friend the Professor at the Royal Naval College, Portsmouth, and to a group of islands to seaward of it we gave the name of Jameson in honour of the distinguished Professor of Mineralogy at Edinburgh. We had much wind and rain during the night and by the morning of the 26th a great deal of ice had drifted into the inlet. We embarked at four and attempted to force a passage, when the first canoe got enclosed and remained for some time in a very perilous situation: the pieces of ice, crowded together by the action of the current and wind, pressing strongly against its feeble sides. A partial opening however occurring we landed without having sustained any serious injury. Two men were then sent round the bay and it was ascertained that, instead of having entered a narrow passage between an island and the main, we were at the mouth of a harbour having an island at its entrance, and that it was necessary to return by the way we came and get round a point to the northward. This was however impracticable, the channel being blocked up by drift ice, and we had no prospect of release except by a change of wind. This detention was extremely vexatious as we were losing a fair wind and expending our provision. In the afternoon the weather cleared up and several men went hunting but were unsuccessful. During the day the ice floated backwards and forwards in the harbour, moved by currents not regular enough to deserve the name of tide, and which appeared to be governed by the wind. We perceived great diminution by melting in the pieces near us. That none of this ice survives the summer is evident from the rapidity of its decay and because no ice of last year's formation was hanging on the rocks. Whether any body of it exists at a distance from the shore we could not determine. The land around Cape Barrow and to Detention Harbour consists of steep craggy mountains of granite rising so abruptly from the water's edge as to admit few landing-places even for a canoe. The higher parts attain an elevation of fourteen or fifteen hundred feet and the whole is entirely destitute of vegetation. On the morning of the 27th, the ice remaining stationary at the entrance, we went to the bottom of the harbour and carried the canoes and cargoes about a mile and a half across the point of land that forms the east side of it, but the ice was not more favourable there for our advancement than at the place we had left. It consisted of small pieces closely packed together by the wind extending along the shore but leaving a clear passage beyond the chain of islands with which the whole of this coast is girt. Indeed when we left the harbour we had little hope of finding a passage, and the principal object in moving was to employ the men in order to prevent their reflecting upon and discussing the dangers of our situation which we knew they were too apt to do when leisure permitted. Our observations place the entrance of Detention Harbour in latitude 67 degrees 53 minutes 45 seconds, longitude 110 degrees 41 minutes 20 seconds West, variation 40 degrees 49 minutes 34 seconds East. It is a secure anchorage being sheltered from the wind in every direction; the bottom is sandy. July 28. As the ice continued in the same state several of the men were sent out to hunt, and one of them fired no less than four times at deer but unfortunately without success. It was satisfactory however to ascertain that the country was not destitute of animals. We had the mortification to discover that two of the bags of pemmican which was our principal reliance had become mouldy by wet. Our beef too had been so badly cured as to be scarcely eatable through our having been compelled from haste to dry it by fire instead of the sun. It was not however the quality of our provision that gave us uneasiness but its diminution and the utter incapacity to obtain any addition. Seals were the only animals that met our view at this place and these we could never approach. Dr. Richardson discovered near the beach a small vein of galena traversing gneiss rocks, and the people collected a quantity of it in the hope of adding to our stock of balls, but their endeavours to smelt it were as may be supposed ineffectual. The drift timber on this part of the coast consists of pine and taccamahac (Populus balsamifera) most probably from Mackenzie's or some other river to the westward of the Copper-Mine. It all appears to have lain long in the water, the bark being completely worn off and the ends of the pieces rubbed perfectly smooth. There had been a sharp frost in the night which formed a pretty thick crust of ice in a kettle of water that stood in the tents, and for several nights thin films of ice had appeared on the salt water amongst the cakes of stream ice.* Notwithstanding this state of temperature we were tormented by swarms of mosquitoes; we had persuaded ourselves that these pests could not sustain the cold in the vicinity of the sea but it appears they haunt every part of this country in defiance of climate. Mr. Back made an excursion to a hill at seven or eight miles distance and from its summit he perceived the ice close to the shore as far as his view extended. (Footnote. This is termed bay-ice by the Greenland men.) On the morning of the 29th the party attended divine service. About noon, the ice appearing less compact, we embarked to change our situation, having consumed all the fuel within our reach. The wind came off the land just as the canoes had started and we determined on attempting to force a passage along the shore, in which we happily succeeded after seven hours' labour and much hazard to our frail vessels. The ice lay so close that the crews disembarked on it and effected a passage by bearing against the pieces with their poles, but in conducting the canoes through the narrow channels thus formed the greatest care was requisite to prevent the sharp projecting points from breaking the bark. They fortunately received no material injury though they were split in two places. At the distance of three miles we came to the entrance of a deep bay whose bottom was filled by a body of ice so compact as to preclude the idea of a passage through it, whilst at the same time the traverse across its mouth was attended with much danger from the approach of a large field of ice which was driving down before the wind. The dread of further detention however prevented us from hesitating, and we had the satisfaction of landing in an hour and a half on the opposite shore, where we halted to repair the canoes and to dine. I have named this bay after my friend Mr. Daniel Moore of Lincoln's Inn, to whose zeal for science the Expedition was indebted for the use of a most valuable chronometer. Its shores are picturesque, sloping hills receding from the beach and closed with verdure bound its bottom and western side, and lofty cliffs of slate clay with their intervening grassy valleys skirt its eastern border. Embarking at midnight we pursued our voyage without interruption, passing between the Stockport and Marcet Islands and the main, until six A.M. on July 30th when, having rounded Point Kater, we entered Arctic Sound and were again involved in a stream of ice, but after considerable delay extricated ourselves and proceeded towards the bottom of the inlet in search of the mouth of a river which we supposed it to receive, from the change in the colour of the water. About ten A.M. we landed to breakfast on a small deer which St. Germain had killed, and sent men in pursuit of some others in sight but with which they did not come up. Reembarking we passed the river without perceiving it and entered a deep arm of the sound which I have named Baillie's Cove in honour of a relative of the lamented Mr. Hood. As it was too late to return we encamped and, by walking across the country, discovered the river whose mouth, being barred by low sandy islands and banks, was not perceived when we passed it. Course and distance from Galena Point to this encampment were South-East 3/4 South forty miles. From the accounts of Black-Meat and Boileau at Fort Chipewyan we considered this river to be the Anatessy, and Cape Barrow to be the projection which they supposed to be the North-East termination of America. The outline of the coast indeed bears some resemblance to the chart they sketched, and the distance of this river from the Copper-Mine nearly coincides with what we estimated the Anatessy to be from their statements. In our subsequent journey however across the barren grounds we ascertained that this conjecture was wrong, and that the Anatessy, which is known to come from Rum Lake, must fall into the sea to the eastward of this place. Our stock of provision being now reduced to eight days' consumption it had become a matter of the first importance to obtain a supply and, as we had learned from Terregannoeuck that the Esquimaux frequent the rivers at this season, I determined on seeking a communication with them here, in the hope of obtaining relief for our present wants or even shelter for the winter if the season should prevent us from returning either to the Hook's party or Fort Enterprise, and I was the more induced to take this step at this time as several deer had been seen today and the river appeared good for fishing, which led me to hope we might support the party during our stay if not add to our stock by our own exertions in hunting and fishing. Augustus, Junius, and Hepburn were therefore furnished with the necessary presents and desired to go along the bank of the river as far as they could on the following day in search of the natives to obtain provision and leather as well as information respecting the coast. They started at four A.M. and at the same time our hunters were sent off in search of deer, and the rest of the party proceeded in the canoes to the first cascade in the river, at the foot of which we encamped and set four nets. This cascade, produced by a ridge of rocks crossing the stream, is about three or four feet in height and about two hundred and fifty yards wide. Its position by our observations in latitude 67 degrees 19 minutes 23 seconds North, longitude 109 degrees 44 minutes 30 seconds West, variation 41 degrees 43 minutes 22 seconds, dip 88 degrees 58 minutes 48 seconds. I have named this river Hood as a small tribute to the memory of our lamented friend and companion. It is from three to four hundred yards wide below the cascade but in many places very shallow. The banks, bottom, and adjacent hills are formed of a mixture of sand and clay. The ground was overspread with small willows and the dwarf birch, both too diminutive for fuel, and the stream brought down no driftwood. We were mortified to find the nets only procured one salmon and five white-fish, and that we had to make another inroad upon our dried meat. August 1. At two this morning the hunters returned with two small deer and a brown bear. Augustus and Junius arrived at the same time, having traced the river twelve miles farther up without discovering any vestige of inhabitants. We had now an opportunity of gratifying our curiosity respecting the bear so much dreaded by the Indians, and of whose strength and ferocity we had heard such terrible accounts. It proved to be a lean male of a yellowish brown colour and not longer than a common black bear. It made a feeble attempt to defend itself and was easily despatched. The flesh was brought to the tent but, our fastidious voyagers supposing, from its leanness, that the animal had been sickly, declined eating it; the officers however being less scrupulous boiled the paws and found them excellent. We embarked at ten A.M. and, proceeding down the river, took on board another deer that had been killed by Credit that evening. We then ran along the eastern shore of Arctic Sound, distinguished by the name of Banks' Peninsula in honour of the late Right Honourable Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society and, rounding Point Wollaston at its eastern extremity, opened another extensive sheet of water, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in endeavouring to ascertain from the tops of the hills whether it was another bay or merely a passage enclosed by a chain of islands. Appearances rather favouring the latter opinion we determined on proceeding through it to the southward. During the delay four more deer were killed, all young and lean. It appeared that the coast is pretty well frequented by reindeer at this season, but it was rather singular that hitherto we had killed none (excepting the first) but young ones of last season which were all too lean to have been eaten by any but persons who had no choice. We paddled along the western shore with the intention of encamping but were prevented by the want of driftwood on the beach. This induced us to make a traverse to an island where we put up at midnight, having found a small bay whose shores furnished us with a little firewood. A heavy gale came on from the westward attended with constant rain, and one of the squalls overthrew our tents. The course and distance made this day were north-east sixteen miles and a half. I may here mention that Arctic Sound appeared the most convenient and perhaps the best place for ships to anchor that we had seen along the coast, at this season especially, when they might increase their stock of provision, if provided with good marksmen. Deer are numerous in its vicinity, musk-oxen also may be found up Hood's River, and the fine sandy bottom of the bays promises favourably for fishing with the seine. The hills on the western side are even in their outline and slope gradually to the water's edge. The rocks give place to an alluvial sandy soil towards the bottom of the Sound, but on Banks' Peninsula rocky eminences again prevail which are rugged and uneven but intersected by valleys, at this time green; along their base is a fine sandy beach. From Point Wollaston to our encampment the coast is skirted with trap cliffs which have often a columnar form and are very difficult of access. These cliffs lie in ranges parallel to the shore and the deer that we killed were feeding in small marshy grassy plats that lie in the valleys between them. Being detained by the continuance of the gale on the 2nd of August some men were sent out to hunt and the officers visited the tops of the highest hills to ascertain the best channels to be pursued. The wind abating at ten P.M. we embarked and paddled round the southern end of the island and continued our course to the south-east. Much doubt at this time prevailed as to the land on the right being the main shore or merely a chain of islands. The latter opinion was strengthened by the broken appearance of the land and the extensive view we had up Brown's Channel (named after my friend Mr. Robert Brown) the mouth of which we passed and were in some apprehension of being led away from the main shore and, perhaps after passing through a group of islands, of coming to a traverse greater than we durst venture upon in canoes: on the other hand the continuous appearance of the land on the north side of the channel and its tending to the southward excited the fear that we were entering a deep inlet. In this state of doubt we landed often and endeavoured, from the summits of the highest hills adjoining the shore, to ascertain the true nature of the coast but in vain, and we continued paddling through the channel all night against a fresh breeze, which at half-past four increased to a violent gale and compelled us to land. The gale diminished a short time after noon on the 3rd and permitted us to reembark and continue our voyage until four P.M., when it returned with its former violence and finally obliged us to encamp, having come twenty-four miles on a south-east three-quarter south course. From the want of driftwood to make a fire we had fasted all day and were under the necessity in the evening of serving out pemmican, which was done with much reluctance, especially as we had some fresh deers' meat remaining. The inlet when viewed from a high hill adjoining to our encampment exhibited so many arms that the course we ought to pursue was more uncertain than ever. It was absolutely necessary however to see the end of it before we could determine that it was not a strait. Starting at three A.M. on the 4th we paddled the whole day through channels from two to five or six miles wide, all tending to the southward. In the course of the day's voyage we ascertained that the land which we had seen on our right since yesterday morning consisted of several large islands which have been distinguished by the names of Goulburn, Elliott, and Young, but the land on our left preserved its unbroken appearance and when we encamped we were still uncertain whether it was the eastern side of a deep sound or merely a large island. It differed remarkably from the main shore, being very rugged, rocky, and sterile, whereas the outline of the main on the opposite side was even and its hills covered with a comparatively good sward of grass exhibiting little naked rock. There was no drift timber but the shores near the encampment were strewed with small pieces of willow which indicated our vicinity to the mouth of a river. This fuel enabled us to make a hearty supper from a small deer killed this evening. The shallows we passed this day were covered with shoals of capelin, the angmaggoeuk of the Esquimaux. It was known to Augustus who informed us that it frequents the coast of Hudson's Bay and is delicate eating. The course and distance made was south by east-half-east, thirty-three miles. After paddling twelve miles in the morning of the 5th we had the mortification to find the inlet terminated by a river, the size of which we could not ascertain as the entrance was blocked by shoals. Its mouth lies in latitude 66 degrees 30 minutes North, longitude 107 degrees 53 minutes West. I have named this stream Back as a mark of my friendship for my associate.* We were somewhat consoled for the loss of time in exploring this inlet by the success of Junius in killing a musk-ox, the first we had seen on the coast; and afterwards by the acquisition of the flesh of a bear that was shot as we were returning up the eastern side in the evening. The latter proved to be a female in very excellent condition; and our Canadian voyagers whose appetite for fat meat is insatiable were delighted. (*Footnote. From subsequent conversation with the Copper Indians we were inclined to suppose this may be the Thlueetessy described by Black Meat mentioned in a former part of the narrative.) We encamped on the shores of a sandy bay and set the nets and, finding a quantity of dried willows on the beach, we were enabled to cook the bear's flesh which was superior to any meat we tasted on the coast. The water fell two feet at this place during the night. Our nets produced a great variety of fish, namely a salmon trout, some round-fish, tittameg, bleak, star-fish, several herrings and a flat fish resembling plaice, but covered on the back with horny excrescences. On the 6th we were detained in the encampment by stormy weather until five P.M. when we embarked and paddled along the northern shore of the inlet, the weather still continuing foggy but the wind moderate. Observing on the beach a she-bear with three young ones we landed a party to attack them but, being approached without due caution, they took the alarm and scaled a precipitous rocky hill with a rapidity that baffled all pursuit. At eight o'clock, the fog changing into rain, we encamped. Many seals were seen this day but as they kept in deep water we did not fire at them. On August 7th the atmosphere was charged with fog and rain all the day, but as the wind was moderate we pursued our journey; our situation however was very unpleasant, being quite wet and without room to stretch a limb, much less to obtain warmth by exercise. We passed a cove which I have named after my friend Mr. W.H. Tinney, and proceeded along the coast until five P.M. when we put up on a rocky point nearly opposite to our encampment on the 3rd, having come twenty-three miles on a north-north-west course. We were detained on the 8th by a northerly gale which blew violently throughout the day attended by fog and rain. Some of the men went out to hunt but they saw no other animal than a white wolf which could not be approached. The fresh meat being expended a little pemmican was served out this evening. The gale abated on the morning of the 9th and the sea, which it had raised, having greatly subsided, we embarked at seven A.M. and, after paddling three or four miles, opened Sir J.A. Gordon's Bay into which we penetrated thirteen miles and then discovered from the summit of a hill that it would be in vain to proceed in this direction in search of a passage out of the inlet. Our breakfast diminished our provision to two bags of pemmican and a single meal of dried meat. The men began to apprehend absolute want of food and we had to listen to their gloomy forebodings of the deer entirely quitting the coast in a few days. As we were embarking however a large bear was discovered on the opposite shore which we had the good fortune to kill, and the sight of this fat meat relieved their fears for the present. Dr. Richardson found in the stomach of this animal the remains of a seal, several marmots (Arctomys richardsonii) a large quantity of the liquorice root of Mackenzie (hedysarum) which is common on these shores, and some berries. There was also intermixed with these substances a small quantity of grass. We got again into the main inlet and paddled along its eastern shore until forty minutes after eight A.M. when we encamped in a small cove. We found a single log of driftwood; it was pine and sufficiently large to enable us to cook a portion of the bear which had a slight fishy taste but was deemed very palatable. August 10. We followed up the east border of the inlet about twenty-four miles and at length emerged into the opens sea, a body of islands to the westward concealing the channel by which we had entered. Here our progress was arrested by returning bad weather. We killed a bear and its young cub of this year on the beach near our encampment. We heartily congratulated ourselves at having arrived at the eastern entrance of this inlet which had cost us nine invaluable days in exploring. It contains several secure harbours, especially near the mouth of Back's River where there is a sandy bottom in forty fathoms. On the 3rd and 4th of August we observed a fall of more than two feet in the water during the night. There are various irregular and partial currents in the inlet which may be attributed to the wind. I have distinguished it by the name of Bathurst's Inlet after the noble Secretary of State under whose orders I had the honour to act. It runs about seventy-six miles south-east from Cape Everitt but in coasting its shores we went about one hundred and seventy-four geographical miles. It is remarkable that none of the Indians with whom we had spoken mentioned this inlet, and we subsequently learned that in their journeys they strike across from the mouth of one river to the mouth of another without tracing the intermediate line of coast. August 11. Embarking at five A.M. we rounded Point Everitt and then encountered a strong breeze and heavy swell which, by causing the canoes to pitch very much, greatly impeded our progress. Some deer being seen grazing in a valley near the beach we landed and sent St. Germain and Adam in pursuit of them who soon killed three which were very small and lean. Their appearance however quite revived the spirits of our men who had suspected that the deer had retired to the woods. It would appear from our not having seen any in passing along the shores of Bathurst's Inlet that at this season they confine themselves to the sea-coast and the islands. The magpie-berries (Arbutus alpina) were found quite ripe at this place, and very abundant on the acclivities of the hills. We also ascended the highest hill and gained a view of a distant chain of islands extending as far as the eye could reach, and perceived a few patches of ice still lingering round to some of them, but in every other part the sea was quite open. Resuming our voyage after noon we proceeded along the coast which is fringed by islands, and at five P.M. entered another bay where we were for some time involved in our late difficulties by the intricacy of the passages, but we cleared them in the afternoon and encamped near the northern entrance of the bay at a spot which had recently been visited by a small party of Esquimaux, as the remains of some eggs containing young were lying beside some half-burnt firewood. There were also several piles of stones put up by them. I have named this bay after my friend Captain David Buchan of the Royal Navy. It appears to be a safe anchorage, well sheltered from the wind and sea by islands; the bottom is sandy, the shores high and composed of red sandstone. Two deer were seen on its beach but could not be approached. The distance we made today was eighteen miles and three-quarters. Embarking at four on the morning of the 12th we proceeded against a fresh piercing north-east wind which raised the waves to a height that quite terrified our people, accustomed only to the navigation of rivers and lakes. We were obliged however to persevere in our advance, feeling as we did that the short season for our operations was hastening away, but after rounding Cape Croker the wind became so strong that we could proceed no farther. The distance we had made was only six miles on a north-east by east course. The shore on which we encamped is formed of the debris of red sandstone and is destitute of vegetation. The beach furnished no driftwood and we dispensed with our usual meal rather than expend our pemmican. Several deer were seen but the hunters could not approach them; they killed two swans. We observed the latitude 68 degrees 1 minute 20 seconds where we had halted to breakfast this morning. August 13. Though the wind was not much diminished we were urged by the want of firewood to venture upon proceeding. We paddled close to the shore for some miles and then ran before the breeze with reefed sails scarcely two feet in depth. Both the canoes received much water and one of them struck twice on sunken rocks. At the end of eighteen miles we halted to breakfast in a bay which I have named after Vice-Admiral Sir William Johnstone Hope, one of the Lords of the Admiralty. We found here a considerable quantity of small willows such as are brought down by the rivers we had hitherto seen, and hence we judged that a river discharges itself into the bottom of this bay. A paddle was also found which Augustus on examination declared to be made after the fashion of the White Goose Esquimaux, a tribe with whom his countrymen had had some trading communication as has been mentioned in a former part of the narrative. This morning we passed the embouchure of a pretty large stream and saw the vestiges of an Esquimaux encampment not above a month old. Having obtained the latitude 68 degrees 6 minutes 40 seconds North we recommenced our voyage under sail, taking the precaution to embark all the pieces of willow we could collect, as we had found the driftwood become more scarce as we advanced. Our course was directed to a distant point which we supposed to be a cape, and the land stretching to the westward of it to be islands, but we soon found ourselves in an extensive bay from which no outlet could be perceived but the one by which we had entered. On examination however from the top of a hill we perceived a winding shallow passage running to the north-west which we followed for a short time and then encamped, having come twenty-three miles north by east half east. Some articles left by the Esquimaux attracted our attention; we found a winter sledge raised upon four stones, with some snow-shovels and a small piece of whalebone. An ice-chisel, a knife and some beads were left at this pile. The shores of this bay, which I have named after Sir George Warrender, are low and clayey and the country for many miles is level and much intersected with water, but we had not leisure to ascertain whether they were branches of the bay or freshwater lakes. Some white geese were seen this evening and some young gray ones were caught on the beach being unable to fly. We fired at two reindeer but without success. On August 14th we paddled the whole day along the northern shores of the sound, returning towards its mouth. The land we were now tracing is generally so flat that it could not be descried from the canoes at the distance of four miles and is invisible from the opposite side of the sound, otherwise a short traverse might have saved us some days. The few eminences that are on this side were mistaken for islands when seen from the opposite shore; they are for the most part cliffs of basalt and are not above one hundred feet high; the subjacent strata are of white sandstone. The rocks are mostly confined to the capes and shores, the soil inland being flat, clayey, and barren. Most of the headlands showed traces of visits from the Esquimaux but none of them recent. Many ducks were seen, belonging to a species termed by the voyagers from their cry caccawees. We also saw some gray geese and swans. The only seal we procured during our voyage was killed this day; it happened to be blind and our men imagining it to be in bad health would not taste the flesh; we however were less nice. We encamped at the end of twenty-four miles' march on the north-west side of the bay to which I have given the name of my friend Captain Parry, now employed in the interesting research for a North-West Passage. Driftwood had become very scarce and we found none near the encampment; a fire however was not required as we served out pemmican for supper and the evening was unusually warm. On the following morning the breeze was fresh and the waves rather high. In paddling along the west side of Parry's Bay we saw several deer but, owing to the openness of the country, the hunters could not approach them. They killed however two swans that were moulting, several cranes and many gray geese. We procured also some caccawees which were then moulting and assembled in immense flocks. In the evening, having rounded Point Beechy and passed Hurd's Islands, we were exposed to much inconvenience and danger from a heavy rolling sea, the canoes receiving many severe blows and shipping a good deal of water, which induced us to encamp at five P.M. opposite to Cape Croker which we had passed on the morning of the 12th; the channel which lay between our situation and it being about seven miles wide. We had now reached the northern point of entrance into this sound which I have named in honour of Lord Viscount Melville, the first Lord of the Admiralty. It is thirty miles wide from east to west and twenty from north to south, and in coasting it we had sailed eighty-seven and a quarter geographical miles. Shortly after the tents were pitched Mr. Back reported from the steersman that both canoes had sustained material injury during this day's voyage. I found on examination that fifteen timbers of the first canoe were broken, some of them in two places, and that the second canoe was so loose in the frame that its timbers could not be bound in the usual secure manner, and consequently there was danger of its bark separating from the gunwales if exposed to a heavy sea. Distressing as were these circumstances they gave me less pain than the discovery that our people, who had hitherto displayed in following us through dangers and difficulties no less novel than appalling to them a courage beyond our expectation, now felt serious apprehensions for their safety which so possessed their minds that they were not restrained even by the presence of their officers from expressing them. Their fears we imagined had been principally excited by the interpreters, St. Germain and Adam, who from the outset had foreboded every calamity; and we now strongly suspected that their recent want of success in hunting had proceeded from an intentional relaxation in their efforts to kill deer in order that the want of provision might compel us to put a period to our voyage. I must now mention that many concurrent circumstances had caused me during the few last days to meditate on the approach of this painful necessity. The strong breezes we had encountered for some days led me to fear that the season was breaking up and severe weather would soon ensue which we could not sustain in a country destitute of fuel. Our stock of provision was now reduced to a quantity of pemmican only sufficient for three days' consumption and the prospect of increasing it was not encouraging for, though reindeer were seen, they could not be easily approached on the level shores we were now coasting, besides it was to be apprehended they would soon migrate to the south. It was evident that the time spent in exploring the Arctic and Melville Sounds and Bathurst's Inlet had precluded the hope of reaching Repulse Bay, which at the outset of the voyage we had fondly cherished, and it was equally obvious that, as our distance from any of the trading establishments would increase as we proceeded, the hazardous traverse across the barren grounds which we should have to make if compelled to abandon the canoes upon any part of the coast would become greater. I this evening communicated to the officers my sentiments on these points as well as respecting our return and was happy to find that their opinions coincided with my own. We were all convinced of the necessity of putting a speedy termination to our advance as our hope of meeting the Esquimaux and procuring provision from them could now scarcely be retained, but yet we were desirous of proceeding until the land should be seen trending again to the eastward, that we might be satisfied of its separation from what we had conceived, in passing from Cape Barrow to Bathurst's Inlet, to be a great chain of islands. As it was needful however at all events to set a limit to our voyage I announced my determination of returning after four days' examination, unless indeed we should previously meet the Esquimaux and be enabled to make some arrangement for passing the winter with them. This communication was joyfully received by the men and we hoped that the industry of our hunters being once more excited we should be able to add to our stock of provision. It may here be remarked that we observed the first regular return of the tides in Warrender's and Parry's Bays, but their set could not be ascertained. The rise of water did not amount to more than two feet. Course today south one quarter east-nine miles and a quarter. August 16. Some rain fell in the night but the morning was unusually fine. We set forward at five A.M. and the men paddled cheerfully along the coast for ten miles when a dense fog caused us to land on Slate-clay Point. Here we found more traces of the Esquimaux and the skull of a man placed between two rocks. The fog dispersed at noon and we discerned a group of islands to the northward which I have named after Vice-Admiral Sir George Cockburn, one of the Lords of the Admiralty. Reembarking we rounded the point and entered Walker's Bay (so-called after my friend Admiral Walker) where as in other instances the low beach which lay between several high trap cliffs could not be distinguished until we had coasted down the east side nearly to the bottom of the bay. When the continuity of the land was perceived we crossed to the western shore and on landing discovered a channel leading through a group of islands. Having passed through this channel we ran under sail by the Porden Islands, across Riley's Bay and, rounding a cape which now bears the name of my lamented friend Captain Flinders, had the pleasure to find the coast trending north-north-east, with the sea in the offing unusually clear of islands, a circumstance which afforded matter of wonder to our Canadians who had not previously had an uninterrupted view of the ocean. Our course was continued along the coast until eight P.M. when a change in the wind and a threatening thunder-squall induced us to encamp, but the water was so shallow that we found some difficulty in approaching the shore. Large pieces of driftwood gave us assurance that we had finally escaped from the bays. Our tents were scarcely pitched before we were assailed by a heavy squall and rain, which was succeeded by a violent gale from west-north-west which thrice overset the tents during the night. The wind blew with equal violence on the following day and the sea rolled furiously upon the beach. The Canadians had now an opportunity of witnessing the effect of a storm upon the sea and the sight increased their desire of quitting it. Our hunters were sent out and saw many deer but the flatness of the country defeated their attempts to approach them; they brought however a few unfledged geese. As there was no appearance of increasing our stock of provision the allowance was limited to a handful of pemmican and a small portion of portable soup to each man per day. The thermometer this afternoon stood to 41 degrees. The following observations were obtained: latitude 68 degrees 18 minutes 50 seconds North, longitude 110 degrees 5 minutes 15 seconds West, but 109 degrees 25 minutes 00 seconds West was used in the construction of the chart as the chronometers were found, on our return to Hood's River, to have altered their rates; variation 44 degrees 15 minutes 46 seconds East and dip of the needle 89 degrees 31 minutes 12 seconds. On August 18th, the stormy weather and sea continuing, there was no prospect of our being able to embark. Dr. Richardson, Mr. Back, and I therefore set out on foot to discover whether the land within a day's march inclined more to the east. We went from ten to twelve miles along the coast, which continued flat, and kept the same direction as the encampment. The most distant land we saw had the same bearing north-north-east, and appeared like two islands which we estimated to be six or seven miles off; the shore on their side seemingly tended more to the east so that it is probable Point Turnagain, for so this spot was named, forms the pitch of a low flat cape. Augustus killed a deer in the afternoon but the men were not able to find it. The hunters found the burrows of a number of white foxes and Hepburn killed one of these animals, which proved excellent eating, equal to the young geese with which it was boiled and far superior to the lean deer we had upon the coast. Large flocks of geese passed over the tents flying to the southward. The lowest temperature today was 38 degrees. Though it will appear from the chart that the position of Point Turnagain is only six degrees and a half to the east of the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, we sailed, in tracing the deeply-indented coast, five hundred and fifty-five geographical miles, which is little less than the direct distance between the Copper-Mine River and Repulse Bay, supposing the latter to be in the longitude assigned to it by Middleton. When the many perplexing incidents which occurred during the survey of the coast are considered in connection with the shortness of the period during which operations of the kind can be carried on, and the distance we had to travel before we could gain a place of shelter for the winter, I trust it will be judged that we prosecuted the enterprise as far as was prudent and abandoned it only under a well-founded conviction that a farther advance would endanger the lives of the whole party and prevent the knowledge of what had been done from reaching England. The active assistance I received from the officers in contending with the fears of the men demands my warmest gratitude. OBSERVATIONS ON THE PROBABILITY OF A NORTH-WEST PASSAGE. Our researches, as far as they have gone, favour the opinion of those who contend for the practicability of a North-West Passage. The general line of coast probably runs east and west, nearly in the latitude assigned to Mackenzie's River, the Sound into which Kotzebue entered, and Repulse Bay, and I think there is little doubt of a continued sea in or about that line of direction. The existence of whales too on this part of the coast, evidenced by the whalebone we found in Esquimaux Cove, may be considered as an argument for an open sea; and a connection with Hudson's Bay is rendered more probable from the same kind of fish abounding on the coasts we visited, and on those to the north of Churchill River. I allude more particularly to the Capelin or Salmo arcticus which we found in large shoals in Bathurst's Inlet and which not only abounds, as Augustus told us, in the bays in his country, but swarms in the Greenland firths.* The portion of the sea over which we passed is navigable for vessels of any size; the ice we met, particularly after quitting Detention Harbour, would not have arrested a strong boat. The chain of islands affords shelter from all heavy seas and there are good harbours at convenient distances. I entertain indeed sanguine hopes that the skill and exertions of my friend Captain Parry will soon render this question no longer problematical. His task is doubtless an arduous one and if ultimately successful may occupy two and perhaps three seasons but, confiding as I do from personal knowledge in his perseverance and talent for surmounting difficulties, the strength of his ships, and the abundance of provisions with which they are stored, I have very little apprehension of his safety. As I understand his object was to keep the coast of America close on board he will find in the spring of the year, before the breaking up of the ice can permit him to pursue his voyage, herds of deer flocking in abundance to all parts of the coast, which may be procured without difficulty, and even later in the season additions to his stock of provision may be obtained on many parts of the coast, should circumstances give him leisure to send out hunting parties. With the trawl or seine nets also he may almost everywhere get abundance of fish even without retarding his progress. Under these circumstances I do not conceive that he runs any hazard of wanting provisions should his voyage be prolonged even beyond the latest period of time which is calculated upon. Drift timber may be gathered at many places in considerable quantities and there is a fair prospect of his opening a communication with the Esquimaux who come down to the coast to kill seals in the spring previous to the ice breaking up, and from whom, if he succeeds in conciliating their goodwill, he may obtain provision and much useful assistance. (*Footnote. Arctic Zoology volume 2 page 394.) If he makes for Copper-Mine River, as he probably will do, he will not find it in the longitude as laid down on the charts, but he will probably find what would be more interesting to him, a post which we erected on the 26th August at the mouth of Hood's River which is nearly, as will appear hereafter, in that longitude, with a flag upon it and a letter at the foot of it, which may convey to him some useful information. It is possible however that he may keep outside of the range of islands which skirt this part of the coast. CHAPTER 12. JOURNEY ACROSS THE BARREN GROUNDS. DIFFICULTY AND DELAY IN CROSSING COPPER-MINE RIVER. MELANCHOLY AND FATAL RESULTS THEREOF. EXTREME MISERY OF THE WHOLE PARTY. MURDER OF MR. HOOD. DEATH OF SEVERAL OF THE CANADIANS. DESOLATE STATE OF FORT ENTERPRISE. DISTRESS SUFFERED AT THAT PLACE. DR. RICHARDSON'S NARRATIVE. MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE. CONCLUSION. JOURNEY ACROSS THE BARREN GROUNDS. August 17, 1821. My original intention, whenever the season should compel us to relinquish the survey, had been to return by the Copper-Mine River and, in pursuance of my arrangement with the Hook, to travel to Slave Lake through the line of woods extending thither by the Great Bear and Marten Lakes, but our scanty stock of provision and the length of the voyage rendered it necessary to make for a nearer place. We had already found that the country between Cape Barrow and the Copper-Mine River would not supply our wants, and this it seemed probable would now be still the case, besides at this advanced season we expected the frequent recurrence of gales which would cause great detention if not danger in proceeding along that very rocky part of the coast. I determined therefore to make at once for Arctic Sound where we had found the animals more numerous than at any other place and, entering Hood's River, to advance up that stream as far as it was navigable and then to construct small canoes out of the materials of the larger ones, which could be carried in crossing the barren grounds to Fort Enterprise. August 19. We were almost beaten out of our comfortless abodes by rain during the night and this morning the gale continued without diminution. The thermometer fell to 33 degrees. Two men were sent with Junius to search for the deer which Augustus had killed. Junius returned in the evening, bringing part of the meat but, owing to the thickness of the weather, his companions parted from him and did not make their appearance. Divine service was read. On the 20th we were presented with the most chilling prospect, the small pools of water being frozen over, the ground covered with snow, and the thermometer at the freezing-point at midday. Flights of geese were passing to the southward. The wind however was more moderate, having changed to the eastward. Considerable anxiety prevailing respecting Belanger and Michel, the two men who strayed from Junius yesterday, the rest were sent out to look for them. The search was successful and they all returned in the evening. The stragglers were much fatigued and had suffered severely from the cold, one of them having his thighs frozen and, what under our present circumstances was most grievous, they had thrown away all the meat. The wind during the night returned to the north-west quarter, blew more violently than ever, and raised a very turbulent sea. The next day did not improve our condition, the snow remained on the ground, and the small pools were frozen. Our hunters were sent out but they returned after a fatiguing day's march without having seen any animals. We made a scanty meal off a handful of pemmican, after which only half a bag remained. The wind abated after midnight and the surf diminished rapidly, which caused us to be on the alert at a very early hour on the 22nd, but we had to wait until six A.M. for the return of Augustus who had continued out all night on an unsuccessful pursuit of deer. It appears that he had walked a few miles further along the coast than the party had done on the 18th and, from a sketch he drew on the sand, we were confirmed in our former opinion that the shore inclined more to the eastward beyond Point Turnagain. He also drew a river of considerable size that discharges its waters into Walker's Bay, on the banks of which stream he saw a piece of wood such as the Esquimaux use in producing fire, and other marks so fresh that he supposed they had recently visited the spot. We therefore left several iron materials for them and, embarking without delay, prepared to retrace our steps.* Our men, cheered by the prospect of returning, showed the utmost alacrity and, paddling with unusual vigour, carried us across Riley's and Walker's Bays, a distance of twenty miles before noon, when we landed on Slate-clay Point as the wind had freshened too much to permit us to continue the voyage. The whole party went to hunt but returned without success in the evening, drenched with the heavy rain which commenced soon after they had set out. Several deer were seen but could not be approached in this naked country and, as our stock of pemmican did not admit of serving out two meals, we went dinnerless to bed. (*Footnote. It is a curious coincidence that our Expedition left Point Turnagain on August 22--on the same day that Captain Parry sailed out of Repulse Bay. The parties were then distant from each other 539 miles.) Soon after our departure this day a sealed tin-case, sufficiently buoyant to float, was thrown overboard, containing a short account of our proceedings and the position of the most conspicuous points. The wind blew off the land, the water was smooth and, as the sea is in this part more free from islands than in any other, there was every probability of its being driven off the shore into the current which, as I have before mentioned, we suppose, from the circumstance of Mackenzie's River being the only known stream that brings down the wood we have found along the shores, to set to the eastward. August 23. A severe frost caused us to pass a comfortless night. At two P.M. we set sail and the men voluntarily launched out to make a traverse of fifteen miles across Melville Sound before a strong wind and heavy sea. The privation of food under which our voyagers were then labouring absorbed every other terror; otherwise the most powerful persuasion could not have induced them to attempt such a traverse. It was with the utmost difficulty that the canoes were kept from turning their broadsides to the waves, though we sometimes steered with all the paddles. One of them narrowly escaped being overset by this accident, which occurred in a mid-channel where the waves were so high that the masthead of our canoe was often hid from the other, though it was sailing within hail. The traverse however was made; we were then near a high rocky lee shore on which a heavy surf was beating. The wind being on the beam, the canoes drifted fast to leeward and, on rounding a point, the recoil of the sea from the rocks was so great that they were with difficulty kept from foundering. We looked in vain for a sheltered bay to land in but at length, being unable to weather another point, we were obliged to put ashore on the open beach which fortunately was sandy at this spot. The debarkation was effected fortunately without further injury than splitting the head of the second canoe, which was easily repaired. Our encampment being near the spot where we killed the deer on the 11th, almost the whole party went out to hunt, but returned in the evening without having seen any game. The berries however were ripe and plentiful and with the addition of some country tea furnished a supper. There were some showers in the afternoon and the weather was cold, the thermometer being 42 degrees, but the evening and night were calm and fine. It may be remarked that the mosquitoes disappeared when the late gales commenced. August 24. Embarking at three A.M. we stretched across the eastern entrance of Bathurst's Inlet and arrived at an island which I have named after the Right Honourable Colonel Barry of Newton Barry. Some deer being seen on the beach the hunters went in pursuit of them and succeeded in killing three females which enabled us to save our last remaining meal of pemmican. They saw also some fresh tracks of musk-oxen on the banks of a small stream which flowed into a lake in the centre of the island. These animals must have crossed a channel at least three miles wide to reach the nearest of these islands. Some specimens of variegated pebbles and jasper were found here embedded in the amygdaloidal rock. Reembarking at two P.M. and continuing through what was supposed to be a channel between two islands we found our passage barred by a gravelly isthmus of only ten yards in width; the canoes and cargoes were carried across it and we passed into Bathurst's Inlet through another similar channel bounded on both sides by steep rocky hills. The wind then changing from South-East to North-West brought heavy rain, and we encamped at seven P.M. having advanced eighteen miles. August 25. Starting this morning with a fresh breeze in our favour we soon reached that part of Barry's Island where the canoes were detained on the 2nd and 3rd of this month and, contrary to what we then experienced, the deer were now plentiful. The hunters killed two and relieved us from all apprehension of immediate want of food. From their assembling at this time in such numbers on the islands nearest to the coast we conjectured that they were about to retire to the main shore. Those we saw were generally females with their young and all of them very lean. The wind continued in the same direction until we had rounded Point Wollaston and then changed to a quarter which enabled us to steer for Hood's River, which we ascended as high as the first rapid and encamped. Here terminated our voyage on the Arctic Sea during which we had gone over six hundred and fifty geographical miles. Our Canadian voyagers could not restrain their joy at having turned their backs on the sea, and passed the evening in talking over their past adventures with much humour and no little exaggeration. The consideration that the most painful, and certainly the most hazardous, part of the journey was yet to come did not depress their spirits at all. It is due to their character to mention that they displayed much courage in encountering the dangers of the sea, magnified to them by their novelty. The shores between Cape Barrow and Cape Flinders, including the extensive branches of Arctic and Melville Sounds and Bathurst's Inlet, may be comprehended in one great gulf which I have distinguished by the appellation of George IV's Coronation Gulf in honour of His Most Gracious Majesty, the latter name being added to mark the time of its discovery. The archipelago of islands which fringe the coast from Copper-Mine River to Point Turnagain I have named in honour of His Royal Highness the Duke of York. It may be deserving of notice that the extremes in temperature of the seawater during our voyage were 53 and 35 degrees, but its general temperature was between 43 and 48 degrees. Throughout our return from Point Turnagain we observed that the sea had risen several feet above marks left at our former encampments. This may perhaps be attributed to the north-west gales. August 26. Previous to our departure this morning an assortment of iron materials, beads, looking-glasses, and other articles were put up in a conspicuous situation for the Esquimaux and the English Union was planted on the loftiest sandhill where it might be seen by any ships passing in the offing. Here also was deposited in a tin box a letter containing an outline of our proceedings, the latitude and longitude of the principal places, and the course we intended to pursue towards Slave Lake. Embarking at eight A.M. we proceeded up the river which is full of sandy shoals but sufficiently deep for canoes in the channels. It is from one hundred to two hundred yards wide and is bounded by high and steep banks of clay. We encamped at a cascade of eighteen or twenty feet high which is produced by a ridge of rock crossing the river and the nets were set. A mile below this cascade Hood's River is joined by a stream half its own size which I have called James' Branch. Bear and deer tracks had been numerous on the banks of the river when we were here before but not a single recent one was to be seen at this time. Credit however killed a small deer at some distance inland which, with the addition of berries, furnished a delightful repast this evening. The weather was remarkably fine and the temperature so mild that the mosquitoes again made their appearance, but not in any great numbers. Our distance made today was not more than six miles. The next morning the net furnished us with ten white-fish and trout. Having made a further deposit of ironwork for the Esquimaux we pursued our voyage up the river, but the shoals and rapids in this part were so frequent that we walked along the banks the whole day and the crews laboured hard in carrying the canoes thus lightened over the shoals or dragging them up the rapids, yet our journey in a direct line was only about seven miles. In the evening we encamped at the lower end of a narrow chasm through which the river flows for upwards of a mile. The walls of this chasm are upwards of two hundred feet high, quite perpendicular and in some places only a few yards apart. The river precipitates itself into it over a rock, forming two magnificent and picturesque falls close to each other. The upper fall is about sixty feet high and the lower one at least one hundred but perhaps considerably more, for the narrowness of the chasm into which it fell prevented us from seeing its bottom and we could merely discern the top of the spray far beneath our feet. The lower fall is divided into two by an insulated column of rock which rises about forty feet above it. The whole descent of the river at this place probably exceeds two hundred and fifty feet. The rock is very fine felspathose sandstone. It has a smooth surface and a light red colour. I have named these magnificent cascades Wilberforce Falls as a tribute of my respect for that distinguished philanthropist and Christian. Messrs. Back and Hood took beautiful sketches of this majestic scene. The river, being surveyed from the summit of a hill above these falls, appeared so rapid and shallow that it seemed useless to attempt proceeding any farther in the large canoes. I therefore determined on constructing out of their materials two smaller ones of sufficient size to contain three persons for the purpose of crossing any river that might obstruct our progress. This operation was accordingly commenced and by the 31st, both the canoes being finished, we prepared for our departure on the following day. The leather which had been preserved for making shoes was equally divided among the men, two pairs of flannel socks were given to each person, and such articles of warm clothing as remained were issued to those who most required them. They were also furnished with one of the officers' tents. This being done I communicated to the men my intention of proceeding in as direct a course as possible to the part of Point Lake opposite our spring encampment, which was only distant one hundred and forty-nine miles in a straight line. They received the communication cheerfully, considered the journey to be short, and left me in high spirits to arrange their own packages. The stores, books, etc., which were not absolutely necessary to be carried were then put up in boxes to be left en cache here, in order that the men's burdens might be as light as possible. The next morning was warm and very fine. Everyone was on the alert at an early hour, being anxious to commence the journey. Our luggage consisted of ammunition, nets, hatchets, ice chisels, astronomical instruments, clothing, blankets, three kettles, and the two canoes, which were each carried by one man. The officers carried such a portion of their own things as their strength would permit; the weight carried by each man was about ninety pounds, and with this we advanced at the rate of about a mile an hour including rests. In the evening the hunters killed a lean cow out of a large drove of musk-oxen; but the men were too much laden to carry more than a small portion of its flesh. The alluvial soil which, towards the mouth of the river, spreads into plains covered with grass and willows, was now giving place to a more barren and hilly country, so that we could but just collect sufficient brushwood to cook our suppers. The part of the river we skirted this day was shallow and flowed over a bed of sand, its width about one hundred and twenty yards. About midnight our tent was blown down by a squall and we were completely drenched with rain before it could be repitched. On the morning of the 1st of September a fall of snow took place; the canoes became a cause of delay from the difficulty of carrying them in a high wind, and they sustained much damage through the falls of those who had charge of them. The face of the country was broken by hills of moderate elevation but the ground was plentifully strewed with small stones which, to men bearing heavy burdens and whose feet were protected only by soft moose-skin shoes, occasioned great pain. At the end of eleven miles we encamped and sent for a musk-ox and a deer which St. Germain and Augustus had killed. The day was extremely cold, the thermometer varying between 34 and 36 degrees. In the afternoon a heavy fall of snow took place on the wind changing from north-west to south-west. We found no wood at the encampment but made a fire of moss to cook the supper and crept under our blankets for warmth. At sunrise the thermometer was at 31 degrees and the wind fresh from north-west, but the weather became mild in the course of the forenoon and the snow disappeared from the gravel. The afternoon was remarkably fine and the thermometer rose to 50 degrees. One of the hunters killed a musk-ox. The hills in this part are lower and more round-backed than those we passed yesterday, exhibiting but little naked rock; they were covered with lichens. Having ascertained from the summit of the highest hill near the tents that the river continued to preserve a west course and, fearing that by pursuing it farther we might lose much time and unnecessarily walk over a great deal of ground, I determined on quitting its banks the next day and making as directly as we could for Point Lake. We accordingly followed the river on the 3rd only to the place where the musk-ox had been killed last evening and, after the meat was procured, crossed the river in our two canoes lashed together. We now emerged from the valley of the river and entered a level but very barren country, varied only by small lakes and marshes, the ground being covered with small stones. Many old tracks of reindeer were seen in the clayey soil and some more recent traces of the musk-ox. We encamped on the borders of Wright's River which flows to the eastward, the direct distance walked today being ten miles and three-quarters. The next morning was very fine and as the day advanced the weather became quite warm. We set out at six A.M. and, having forded the river, walked over a perfectly level country interspersed with small lakes which communicated with each other by streams running in various directions. No berry-bearing plants were found in this part, the surface of the earth being thinly covered in the moister places with a few grasses, and on the drier spots with lichens. Having walked twelve miles and a half we encamped at seven P.M. and distributed our last piece of pemmican and a little arrowroot for supper which afforded but a scanty meal. This evening was warm but dark clouds overspread the sky. Our men now began to find their burdens very oppressive and were much fatigued by this day's march but did not complain. One of them was lame from an inflammation in the knee. Heavy rain commenced at midnight and continued without intermission until five in the morning, when it was succeeded by snow on the wind changing to north-west, which soon increased to a violent gale. As we had nothing to eat and were destitute of the means of making a fire, we remained in our beds all the day, but the covering of our blankets was insufficient to prevent us from feeling the severity of the frost and suffering inconvenience from the drifting of the snow into our tents. There was no abatement of the storm next day; our tents were completely frozen and the snow had drifted around them to a depth of three feet, and even in the inside there was a covering of several inches on our blankets. Our suffering from cold in a comfortless canvas tent in such weather with the temperature at 20 degrees and without fire will easily be imagined; it was however less than that which we felt from hunger. The morning of the 7th cleared up a little but the wind was still strong and the weather extremely cold. From the unusual continuance of the storm we feared the winter had set in with all its rigour and that by longer delay we should only be exposed to an accumulation of difficulties; we therefore prepared for our journey although we were in a very unfit condition for starting, being weak from fasting and our garments stiffened by the frost. We had no means of making a fire to thaw them, the moss, at all times difficult to kindle, being now covered with ice and snow. A considerable time was consumed in packing up the frozen tents and bed clothes, the wind blowing so strong that no one could keep his hands long out of his mittens. Just as we were about to commence our march I was seized with a fainting fit in consequence of exhaustion and sudden exposure to the wind but, after eating a morsel of portable soup, I recovered so far as to be able to move on. I was unwilling at first to take this morsel of soup, which was diminishing the small and only remaining meal for the party, but several of the men urged me to it with much kindness. The ground was covered a foot deep with snow, the margins of the lakes were encrusted with ice, and the swamps over which we had to pass were entirely frozen but the ice, not being sufficiently strong to bear us, we frequently plunged knee-deep in water. Those who carried the canoes were repeatedly blown down by the violence of the wind and they often fell from making an insecure step on a slippery stone; on one of these occasions the largest canoe was so much broken as to be rendered utterly unserviceable. This we felt was a serious disaster as the remaining canoe having through mistake been made too small, it was doubtful whether it would be sufficient to carry us across a river. Indeed we had found it necessary in crossing Hood's River to lash the two canoes together. As there was some suspicion that Benoit, who carried the canoe, had broken it intentionally, he having on a former occasion been overheard by some of the men to say that he would do so when he got it in charge, we closely examined him on the point; he roundly denied having used the expressions attributed to him, and insisted that it was broken by his falling accidentally and, as he brought men to attest the latter fact who saw him tumble, we did not press the matter further. I may here remark that our people had murmured a good deal at having to carry two canoes, though they were informed of the necessity of taking both in case it should be deemed advisable to divide the party, which it had been thought probable we should be obliged to do if animals proved scarce, in order to give the whole the better chance of procuring subsistence, and also for the purpose of sending forward some of the best walkers to search for Indians and to get them to meet us with supplies of provision. The power of doing this was now at an end. As the accident could not be remedied we turned it to the best account by making a fire of the bark and timbers of the broken vessel and cooked the remainder of our portable soup and arrowroot. This was a scanty meal after three days' fasting but it served to allay the pangs of hunger and enabled us to proceed at a quicker pace than before. The depth of the snow caused us to march in Indian file, that is in each other's steps, the voyagers taking it in turn to lead the party. A distant object was pointed out to this man in the direction we wished to take and Mr. Hood followed immediately behind him to renew the bearings and keep him from deviating more than could be helped from the mark. It may be here observed that we proceeded in this manner throughout our route across the barren grounds. In the afternoon we got into a more hilly country where the ground was strewed with large stones. The surface of these was covered with lichens of the genus gyrophora which the Canadians term tripe de roche. A considerable quantity was gathered and with half a partridge each (which we shot in the course of the day) furnished a slender supper which we cooked with a few willows dug up from beneath the snow. We passed a comfortless night in our damp clothes but took the precaution of sleeping upon our socks and shoes to prevent them from freezing. This plan was afterwards adopted throughout the journey. At half-past five in the morning we proceeded and after walking about two miles came to Cracroft's River, flowing to the westward with a very rapid current over a rocky channel. We had much difficulty in crossing this, the canoe being useless, not only from the bottom of the channel being obstructed by large stones, but also from its requiring gumming, an operation which, owing to the want of wood and the frost, we were unable to perform. However after following the course of the river some distance we effected a passage by means of a range of large rocks that crossed a rapid. As the current was strong and many of the rocks were covered with water to the depth of two or three feet, the men were exposed to much danger in carrying their heavy burdens across, and several of them actually slipped into the stream but were immediately rescued by the others. Junius went farther up the river in search of a better crossing-place and did not rejoin us this day. As several of the party were drenched from head to foot and we were all wet to the middle, our clothes became stiff with the frost and we walked with much pain for the remainder of the day. The march was continued to a late hour from our anxiety to rejoin the hunters who had gone before, but we were obliged to encamp at the end of ten miles and a quarter without seeing them. Our only meal today consisted of a partridge each (which the hunters shot) mixed with tripe de roche. This repast, although scanty for men with appetites such as our daily fatigue created, proved a cheerful one and was received with thankfulness. Most of the men had to sleep in the open air in consequence of the absence of Credit who carried their tent, but we fortunately found an unusual quantity of roots to make a fire, which prevented their suffering much from the cold though the thermometer was at 17 degrees. We started at six on the 9th and at the end of two miles regained our hunters who were halting on the borders of a lake amidst a clump of stunted willows. This lake stretched to the westward as far as we could see and its waters were discharged by a rapid stream one hundred and fifty yards wide. Being entirely ignorant where we might be led by pursuing the course of the lake, and dreading the idea of going a mile unnecessarily out of the way, we determined on crossing the river if possible, and the canoe was gummed for the purpose, the willows furnishing us with fire. But we had to await the return of Junius before we could make the traverse. In the meantime we gathered a little tripe de roche and breakfasted upon it and a few partridges that were killed in the morning. St. Germain and Adam were sent upon some recent tracks of deer. Junius arrived in the afternoon and informed us that he had seen a large herd of musk-oxen on the banks of Cracroft's River, and had wounded one of them but it escaped. He brought about four pounds of meat, the remains of a deer that had been devoured by the wolves. The poor fellow was much fatigued, having walked throughout the night but, as the weather was particularly favourable for our crossing the river, we could not allow him to rest. After he had taken some refreshment we proceeded to the river. The canoe being put into the water was found extremely ticklish, but it was managed with much dexterity by St. Germain, Adam, and Peltier, who ferried over one passenger at a time, causing him to lie flat in its bottom, by no means a pleasant position owing to its leakiness, but there was no alternative. The transport of the whole party was effected by five o'clock and we walked about two miles farther and encamped, having come five miles and three-quarters on a south-west course. Two young alpine hares were shot by St. Germain which with the small piece of meat brought in by Junius furnished the supper of the whole party. There was no tripe de roche here. The country had now become decidedly hilly and was covered with snow. The lake preserved its western direction as far as I could see from the summit of the highest mountain near the encampment. We subsequently learned from the Copper Indians that the part at which we had crossed the river was the Congecathawhachaga of Hearne, of which I had little idea at the time, not only from the difference of latitude, but also from its being so much farther east of the mouth of the Copper-Mine River than his track is laid down, he only making one degree and three-quarters' difference of longitude and we upwards of four. Had I been aware of the fact several days' harassing march and a disastrous accident would have been prevented by keeping on the western side of the lake instead of crossing the river. We were informed also that this river is the Anatessy or River of Strangers and is supposed to fall into Bathurst's Inlet, but although the Indians have visited its mouth their description was not sufficient to identify it with any of the rivers whose mouths we had seen. It probably discharges itself in that part of the coast which was hid from our view by Goulbourn's or Elliott's Islands. September 10. We had a cold north wind and the atmosphere was foggy. The thermometer 18 degrees at five A.M. In the course of our march this morning we passed many small lakes and the ground, becoming higher and more hilly as we receded from the river, was covered to a much greater depth with snow. This rendered walking not only extremely laborious but also hazardous in the highest degree, for the sides of the hills, as is usual throughout the barren grounds, abounding in accumulations of large angular stones, it often happened that the men fell into the interstices with their loads on their backs, being deceived by the smooth appearance of the drifted snow. If anyone had broken a limb here his fate would have been melancholy indeed; we could neither have remained with him nor carried him on. We halted at ten to gather tripe de roche but it was so frozen that we were quite benumbed with cold before a sufficiency could be collected even for a scanty meal. On proceeding our men were somewhat cheered by observing on the sandy summit of a hill, from whence the snow had been blown, the summer track of a man, and afterwards by seeing several deer tracks on the snow. About noon the weather cleared up a little and, to our great joy, we saw a herd of musk-oxen grazing in a valley below us. The party instantly halted and the best hunters were sent out; they approached the animals with the utmost caution, no less than two hours being consumed before they got within gunshot. In the meantime we beheld their proceedings with extreme anxiety, and many secret prayers were doubtless offered up for their success. At length they opened their fire and we had the satisfaction of seeing one of the largest cows fall; another was wounded but escaped. This success infused spirit into our starving party. To skin and cut up the animal was the work of a few minutes. The contents of the stomach were devoured upon the spot, and the raw intestines which were next attacked were pronounced by the most delicate amongst us to be excellent. A few willows whose tops were seen peeping through the snow in the bottom of the valley were quickly grubbed, the tents pitched, and supper cooked and devoured with avidity. This was the sixth day since we had had a good meal, the tripe de roche, even where we got enough, only serving to allay the pangs of hunger for a short time. After supper two of the hunters went in pursuit of the herd but could not get near them. I do not think that we witnessed through the course of our journey a more striking proof of the wise dispensation of the Almighty and of the weakness of our own judgment than on this day. We had considered the dense fog which prevailed throughout the morning as almost the greatest inconvenience that could have befallen us, since it rendered the air extremely cold and prevented us from distinguishing any distant object towards which our course could be directed. Yet this very darkness enabled the party to get to the top of the hill which bounded the valley wherein the musk-oxen were grazing without being perceived. Had the herd discovered us and taken alarm our hunters in their present state of debility would in all probability have failed in approaching them. We were detained all the next day by a strong southerly wind and were much incommoded in the tents by the drift snow. The temperature was 20 degrees. The average for the last ten days about 24 degrees. We restricted ourselves to one meal this day as we were at rest and there was only meat remaining sufficient for the morrow. The gale had not diminished on the 12th and, as we were fearful of its continuance for some time, we determined on going forward; our only doubt regarded the preservation of the canoe, but the men promised to pay particular attention to it, and the most careful persons were appointed to take it in charge. The snow was two feet deep and the ground much broken, which rendered the march extremely painful. The whole party complained more of faintness and weakness than they had ever done before; their strength seemed to have been impaired by the recent supply of animal food. In the afternoon the wind abated and the snow ceased; cheered with the change we proceeded forward at a quicker pace and encamped at six P.M. having come eleven miles. Our supper consumed the last of our meat. We set out on the 13th in thick hazy weather and, after an hour's march, had the extreme mortification to find ourselves on the borders of a large lake; neither of its extremities could be seen and, as the portion which lay to the east seemed the widest, we coasted along to the westward portion in search of a crossing-place. This lake being bounded by steep and lofty hills our march was very fatiguing. Those sides which were exposed to the sun were free from snow and we found upon them some excellent berries. We encamped at six P.M. having come only six miles and a half. Credit was then missing and he did not return during the night. We supped off a single partridge and some tripe de roche; this unpalatable weed was now quite nauseous to the whole party and in several it produced bowel complaints. Mr. Hood was the greatest sufferer from this cause. This evening we were extremely distressed at discovering that our improvident companions since we left Hood's River had thrown away three of the fishing-nets and burnt the floats; they knew we had brought them to procure subsistence for the party when the animals should fail, and we could scarcely believe the fact of their having wilfully deprived themselves of this resource, especially when we considered that most of them had passed the greater part of their servitude in situations where the nets alone had supplied them with food. Being thus deprived of our principal resource, that of fishing, and the men evidently getting weaker every day, it became necessary to lighten their burdens of everything except ammunition, clothing, and the instruments that were required to find our way. I therefore issued directions to deposit at this encampment the dipping needle, azimuth compass, magnet, a large thermometer, and a few books we had carried, having torn out of these such parts as we should require to work the observations for latitude and longitude. I also promised, as an excitement to the efforts in hunting, my gun to St. Germain, and an ample compensation to Adam or any of the other men who should kill any animals. Mr. Hood on this occasion lent his gun to Michel the Iroquois, who was very eager in the chase and often successful. September 14. This morning, the officers being assembled round a small fire, Perrault presented each of us with a small piece of meat which he had saved from his allowance. It was received with great thankfulness, and such an act of self-denial and kindness being totally unexpected in a Canadian voyager filled our eyes with tears. In directing our course to a river issuing from the lake we met Credit who communicated the joyful intelligence of his having killed two deer in the morning. We instantly halted and, having shared the deer that was nearest to us, prepared breakfast. After which the other deer was sent for and we went down to the river, which was about three hundred yards wide and flowed with great velocity through a broken rocky channel. Having searched for a part where the current was most smooth, the canoe was placed in the water at the head of a rapid, and St. Germain, Solomon Belanger, and I embarked in order to cross. We went from the shore very well, but in mid-channel the canoe became difficult to manage under our burden as the breeze was fresh. The current drove us to the edge of the rapid, when Belanger unluckily applied his paddle to avert the apparent danger of being forced down it, and lost his balance. The canoe was overset in consequence in the middle of the rapid. We fortunately kept hold of it until we touched a rock where the water did not reach higher than our waists; here we kept our footing, notwithstanding the strength of the current, until the water was emptied out of the canoe. Belanger then held the canoe steady whilst St. Germain placed me in it and afterwards embarked himself in a very dexterous manner. It was impossible however to embark Belanger, as the canoe would have been hurried down the rapid the moment he should have raised his foot from the rock on which he stood. We were therefore compelled to leave him in his perilous situation. We had not gone twenty yards before the canoe, striking on a sunken rock, went down. The place being shallow we were again enabled to empty it and the third attempt brought us to the shore. In the meantime Belanger was suffering extremely, immersed to his middle in the centre of a rapid, the temperature of which was very little above the freezing-point, and the upper part of his body covered with wet clothes, exposed in a temperature not much above zero to a strong breeze. He called piteously for relief and St. Germain on his return endeavoured to embark him but in vain. The canoe was hurried down the rapid and when he landed he was rendered by the cold incapable of further exertion and Adam attempted to embark Belanger but found it impossible. An attempt was next made to carry out to him a line made of the slings of the men's loads. This also failed, the current acting so strongly upon it as to prevent the canoe from steering and it was finally broken and carried down the stream. At length when Belanger's strength seemed almost exhausted the canoe reached him with a small cord belonging to one of the nets and he was dragged perfectly senseless through the rapid. By the direction of Dr. Richardson he was instantly stripped and, being rolled up in blankets, two men undressed themselves and went to bed with him: but it was some hours before he recovered his warmth and sensations. As soon as Belanger was placed in his bed the officers sent over my blankets and a person to make a fire. Augustus brought the canoe over and in returning he was obliged to descend both the rapids before he could get across the stream, which hazardous service he performed with the greatest coolness and judgment. It is impossible to describe my sensations as I witnessed the various unsuccessful attempts to relieve Belanger. The distance prevented my seeing distinctly what was going on and I continued pacing up and down upon the rock on which I landed, regardless of the coldness of my drenched and stiffening garments. The canoe in every attempt to reach him was hurried down the rapid, and was lost to view amongst the rocky islets with a rapidity that seemed to threaten certain destruction; once indeed I fancied that I saw it overwhelmed in the waves. Such an event would have been fatal to the whole party. Separated as I was from my companions without gun, ammunition, hatchet, or the means of making a fire, and in wet clothes, my doom would have been speedily sealed. My companions too, driven to the necessity of coasting the lake, must have sunk under the fatigue of rounding its innumerable arms and bays which as we have learned from the Indians are very extensive. By the goodness of Providence however we were spared at that time and some of us have been permitted to offer up our thanksgivings in a civilised land for the signal deliverances we then and afterwards experienced. By this accident I had the misfortune to lose my portfolio containing my journal from Fort Enterprise together with all the astronomical and meteorological observations made during the descent of the Copper-Mine River and along the sea-coast (except those for the dip and variation). I was in the habit of carrying it strapped across my shoulders but had taken it off on entering the canoe to reduce the upper weight. The results of most of the observations for latitude and longitude had been registered in the sketch-books so that we preserved the requisites for the construction of the chart. The meteorological observations not having been copied were lost. My companions, Dr. Richardson, Mr. Back, and Mr. Hood, had been so careful in noting every occurrence in their journals that the loss of mine could fortunately be well supplied. These friends immediately offered me their documents and every assistance in drawing up another narrative, of which kindness I availed myself at the earliest opportunity afterwards. September 15. The rest of the party were brought across this morning and we were delighted to find Belanger so much recovered as to be able to proceed, but we could not set out until noon as the men had to prepare substitutes for the slings which were lost yesterday. Soon after leaving the encampment we discerned a herd of deer and after a long chase a fine male was killed by Perrault, several others were wounded but they escaped. After this we passed round the north end of a branch of the lake and ascended the Willingham Mountains, keeping near the border of the lake. These hills were steep, craggy, and covered with snow. We encamped at seven and enjoyed a substantial meal. The party were in good spirits this evening at the recollection of having crossed the rapid and being in possession of provision for the next day. Besides we had taken the precaution of bringing away the skin of the deer to eat when the meat should fail. The temperature at six P.M. was 30 degrees. We started at seven next morning and marched until ten when the appearance of a few willows peeping through the snow induced us to halt and breakfast. Recommencing the journey at noon we passed over a more rugged country where the hills were separated by deep ravines whose steep sides were equally difficult to descend and to ascend, and the toil and suffering we experienced were greatly increased. The party was quite fatigued when we encamped, having come ten miles and three-quarters. We observed many summer deer roads and some recent tracks. Some marks that had been put up by the Indians were also noticed. We have since learned that this is a regular deer pass and, on that account, annually frequented by the Copper Indians. The lake is called by them Contwoyto or Rum Lake in consequence of Mr. Hearne having here given the Indians who accompanied him some of that liquor. Fish is not found here. We walked next day over a more level country but it was strewed with large stones. These galled our feet a good deal; we contrived however to wade through the snow at a tolerably quick pace until five P.M., having proceeded twelve miles and a half. We had made today our proper course south by east which we could not venture upon doing before for fear of falling again upon some branch of the Contwoyto. Some deer were seen in the morning but the hunters failed of killing any and in the afternoon we fell into the track of a large herd which had passed the day before but did not overtake them. In consequence of this want of success we had no breakfast and but a scanty supper, but we allayed the pangs of hunger by eating pieces of singed hide. A little tripe de roche* was also obtained. These would have satisfied us in ordinary times but we were now almost exhausted by slender fare and travel and our appetites had become ravenous. We looked however with humble confidence to the Great Author and Giver of all good for a continuance of the support which had hitherto been always supplied to us at our greatest need. The thermometer varied today between 25 and 28 degrees. The wind blew fresh from the south. (*Footnote. The different kinds of gyrophora are termed indiscriminately by the voyagers tripe de roche.) On the 18th the atmosphere was hazy but the day was more pleasant for walking than usual. The country was level and gravelly and the snow very deep. We went for a short time along a deeply-beaten road made by the reindeer which turned suddenly off to the south-west, a direction so wide of our course that we could not venture upon following it. All the small lakes were frozen and we marched across those which lay in our track. We supped off the tripe de roche which had been gathered during our halts in the course of the march. Thermometer at six P.M. 32 degrees. Showers of snow fell without intermission through the night but they ceased in the morning and we set out at the usual hour. The men were very faint from hunger and marched with difficulty, having to oppose a fresh breeze and to wade through snow two feet deep. We gained however ten miles by four o'clock and then encamped. The canoe was unfortunately broken by the fall of the person who had it in charge. No tripe de roche was seen today but in clearing the snow to pitch the tents we found a quantity of Iceland moss which was boiled for supper. This weed not having been soaked proved so bitter that few of the party could eat more than a few spoonfuls. Our blankets did not suffice this evening to keep us in tolerable warmth; the slightest breeze seeming to pierce our debilitated frames. The reader will probably be desirous to know how we passed our time in such a comfortless situation: the first operation after encamping was to thaw our frozen shoes if a sufficient fire could be made, and dry ones were put on; each person then wrote his notes of the daily occurrences and evening prayers were read; as soon as supper was prepared it was eaten, generally in the dark, and we went to bed and kept up a cheerful conversation until our blankets were thawed by the heat of our bodies and we had gathered sufficient warmth to enable us to fall asleep. On many nights we had not even the luxury of going to bed in dry clothes for when the fire was insufficient to dry our shoes we durst not venture to pull them off lest they should freeze so hard as to be unfit to put on in the morning and therefore inconvenient to carry. On the 20th we got into a hilly country and the marching became much more laborious, even the stoutest experienced great difficulty in climbing the craggy eminences. Mr. Hood was particularly weak and was obliged to relinquish his station of second in the line which Dr. Richardson now took to direct the leading man in keeping the appointed course. I was also unable to keep pace with the men who put forth their utmost speed, encouraged by the hope which our reckoning had led us to form of seeing Point Lake in the evening, but we were obliged to encamp without gaining a view of it. We had not seen either deer or their tracks through the day, and this circumstance, joined to the disappointment of not discovering the lake, rendered our voyagers very desponding, and the meagre supper of tripe de roche was little calculated to elevate their spirits. They now threatened to throw away their bundles and quit us, which rash act they would probably have committed if they had known what track to pursue. September 21. We set out at seven this morning in dark foggy weather and changed our course two points to the westward. The party were very feeble and the men much dispirited; we made slow progress, having to march over a hilly and very rugged country. Just before noon the sun beamed through the haze for the first time for six days and we obtained an observation in latitude 65 degrees 7 minutes 06 seconds North, which was six miles to the southward of that part of Point Lake to the way our course was directed. By this observation we discovered that we had kept to the eastward of the proper course, which may be attributed partly to the difficulty of preserving a straight line through an unknown country, unassisted by celestial observations and in such thick weather that our view was often limited to a few hundred yards, but chiefly to our total ignorance of the amount of the variation of the compass. We altered the course immediately to west-south-west and fired guns to apprise the hunters who were out of our view and ignorant of our having done so. After walking about two miles we waited to collect the stragglers. Two partridges were killed and these with some tripe de roche furnished our supper. Notwithstanding a full explanation was given to the men of the reasons for altering the course, and they were assured that the observation had enabled us to discover our exact distance from Fort Enterprise, they could not divest themselves of the idea of our having lost our way, and a gloom was spread over every countenance. At this encampment Dr. Richardson was obliged to deposit his specimens of plants and minerals collected on the sea-coast, being unable to carry them any farther. The way made today was five miles and a quarter. September 22. After walking about two miles this morning we came upon the borders of an extensive lake whose extremities could not be discerned in consequence of the density of the atmosphere but, as its shores seemed to approach nearer to each other to the southward than to the northward, we determined on tracing it in that direction. We were grieved at finding the lake expand very much beyond the contracted part we had first seen and incline to the eastward of south. As however it was considered more than probable, from the direction and size of the body of water we were now tracing, that it was a branch of Point Lake, and as in any case we knew that by passing round its south end we must shortly come to the Copper-Mine River, our course was continued in that direction. The appearance of some dwarf pines and willows, larger than usual, induced us to suppose the river was near. We encamped early having come eight miles. Our supper consisted of tripe de roche and half a partridge each. Our progress next day was extremely slow from the difficulty of managing the canoe in passing over the hills as the breeze was fresh. Peltier, who had it in charge, having received several severe falls, became impatient and insisted on leaving his burden as it had already been much injured by the accidents of this day, and no arguments we could use were sufficient to prevail on him to continue carrying it. Vaillant was therefore directed to take it and we proceeded forward. Having found that he got on very well and was walking even faster than Mr. Hood could follow in his present debilitated state, I pushed forward to stop the rest of the party who had got out of sight during the delay which the discussion respecting the canoe had occasioned. I accidentally passed the body of the men and followed the tracks of two persons who had separated from the rest until two P.M. when, not seeing any person, I retraced my steps, and on my way met Dr. Richardson who had also missed the party whilst he was employed gathering tripe de roche, and we went back together in search of them. We found they had halted among some willows where they had picked up some pieces of skin and a few bones of deer that had been devoured by the wolves last spring. They had rendered the bones friable by burning and eaten them as well as the skin; and several of them had added their old shoes to the repast. Peltier and Vaillant were with them, having left the canoe which they said was so completely broken by another fall as to be rendered incapable of repair and entirely useless. The anguish this intelligence occasioned may be conceived but it is beyond my power to describe it. Impressed however with the necessity of taking it forward, even in the state these men represented it to be, we urgently desired them to fetch it, but they declined going and the strength of the officers was inadequate to the task. To their infatuated obstinacy on this occasion a great portion of the melancholy circumstances which attended our subsequent progress may perhaps be attributed. The men now seemed to have lost all hope of being preserved and all the arguments we could use failed in stimulating them to the least exertion. After consuming the remains of the bones and horns of the deer we resumed our march, and in the evening reached a contracted part of the lake which, perceiving it to be shallow, we forded and encamped on the opposite side. Heavy rain began soon afterwards and continued all night. On the following morning the rain had so wasted the snow that the tracks of Mr. Back and his companions, who had gone before with the hunters, were traced with difficulty, and the frequent showers during the day almost obliterated them. The men became furious at the apprehension of being deserted by the hunters and some of the strongest, throwing down their bundles, prepared to set out after them, intending to leave the more weak to follow as they could. The entreaties and threats of the officers however prevented their executing this mad scheme, but not before Solomon Belanger was despatched with orders for Mr. Back to halt until we should join him. Soon afterwards a thick fog came on, but we continued our march and overtook Mr. Back, who had been detained in consequence of his companions having followed some recent tracks of deer. After halting an hour, during which we refreshed ourselves with eating our old shoes and a few scraps of leather, we set forward in the hope of ascertaining whether an adjoining piece of water was the Copper-Mine River or not, but were soon compelled to return and encamp for fear of a separation of the party, as we could not see each other at ten yards' distance. The fog diminishing towards evening, Augustus was sent to examine the water but, having lost his way, he did not reach the tents before midnight when he brought the information of its being a lake. We supped upon tripe de roche and enjoyed a comfortable fire, having found some pines seven or eight feet high in a valley near the encampment. The bounty of Providence was most seasonably manifested to us next morning in our killing five small deer out of a herd which came in sight as we were on the point of starting. This unexpected supply reanimated the drooping spirits of our men and filled every heart with gratitude. The voyagers instantly petitioned for a day's rest which we were most reluctant to grant, being aware of the importance of every moment at this critical period of our journey. But they so earnestly and strongly pleaded their recent sufferings and their conviction that the quiet enjoyment of two substantial meals after eight days' famine would enable them to proceed next day more vigorously, that we could not resist their entreaties. The flesh, the skins, and even the contents of the stomachs of the deer were equally distributed among the party by Mr. Hood who had volunteered, on the departure of Mr. Wentzel, to perform the duty of issuing the provision. This invidious task he had all along performed with great impartiality, but seldom without producing some grumbling amongst the Canadians, and on the present occasion the hunters were displeased that the heads and some other parts had not been added to their portions. It is proper to remark that Mr. Hood always took the smallest portion for his own mess, but this weighed little with these men as long as their own appetites remained unsatisfied. We all suffered much inconvenience from eating animal food after our long abstinence, but particularly those men who indulged themselves beyond moderation. The Canadians, with their usual thoughtlessness, had consumed above a third of their portions of meat that evening. We set out early on the 26th and, after walking about three miles along the lake, came to the river which we at once recognised from its size to be the Copper-Mine. It flowed to the northward and, after winding about five miles terminated in Point Lake. Its current was swift, and there were two rapids in this part of its course which in a canoe we could have crossed with ease and safety. These rapids, as well as every other part of the river, were carefully examined in search of a ford but, finding none, the expedients occurred of attempting to cross on a raft made of the willows which were growing there, or in a vessel framed with willows and covered with the canvas of the tents, but both these schemes were abandoned through the obstinacy of the interpreters and the most experienced voyagers, who declared that they would prove inadequate to the conveyance of the party and that much time would be lost in the attempt. The men in fact did not believe that this was the Copper-Mine River and, so little confidence had they in our reckoning, and so much had they bewildered themselves on the march, that some of them asserted it was Hood's River and others that it was the Bethetessy. (A river which rises from a lake to the northward of Rum Lake and holds a course to the sea parallel with that of the Copper-Mine.) In short their despondency had returned, and they all despaired of seeing Fort Enterprise again. However the steady assurances of the officers that we were actually on the banks of the Copper-Mine River, and that the distance to Fort Enterprise did not exceed forty miles, made some impression upon them, which was increased upon our finding some bear-berry plants (Arbutus uva ursi) which are reported by the Indians not to grow to the eastward of that river. They then deplored their folly and impatience in breaking the canoe, being all of opinion that had it not been so completely demolished on the 23rd it might have been repaired sufficiently to take the party over. We again closely interrogated Peltier and Vaillant as to its state, with the intention of sending for it; but they persisted in the declaration that it was in a totally unserviceable condition. St. Germain, being again called upon to endeavour to construct a canoe frame with willows, stated that he was unable to make one sufficiently large. It became necessary therefore to search for pines of sufficient size to form a raft and, being aware that such trees grow on the borders of Point Lake, we considered it best to trace its shores in search of them; we therefore resumed our march, carefully looking but in vain for a fordable part, and encamped at the east end of Point Lake. As there was little danger of our losing the path of our hunters whilst we coasted the shores of this lake I determined on again sending Mr. Back forward with the interpreters to hunt. I had in view in this arrangement the further object of enabling Mr. Back to get across the lake with two of these men to convey the earliest possible account of our situation to the Indians. Accordingly I instructed him to halt at the first pines he should come to and then prepare a raft and, if his hunters had killed animals so that the party could be supported whilst we were making our raft, he was to cross immediately with St. Germain and Beauparlant and send the Indians to us as quickly as possible with supplies of meat. We had this evening the pain of discovering that two of our men had stolen part of the officers' provision which had been allotted to us with strict impartiality. This conduct was the more reprehensible as it was plain that we were suffering even in a greater degree than themselves from the effects of famine, owing to our being of a less robust habit and less accustomed to privations. We had no means of punishing this crime but by the threat that they should forfeit their wages, which had now ceased to operate. Mr. Back and his companions set out at six in the morning and we started at seven. As the snow had entirely disappeared and there were no means of distinguishing the footsteps of stragglers, I gave strict orders previously to setting out for all the party to keep together, and especially I desired the two Esquimaux not to leave us, they having often strayed in search of the remains of animals. Our people however, through despondency, had become careless and disobedient and had ceased to dread punishment or hope for reward. Much time was lost in halting and firing guns to collect them, but the labour of walking was so much lightened by the disappearance of the snow that we advanced seven or eight miles along the lake before noon, exclusive of the loss of distance in rounding its numerous bays. At length we came to an arm running away to the north-east and apparently connected with the lake which we had coasted on the 22nd, 23rd and 24th of the month. The idea of again rounding such an extensive piece of water and of travelling over so barren a country was dreadful, and we feared that other arms equally large might obstruct our path, and that the strength of the party would entirely fail long before we could reach the only part where we were certain of finding wood, distant in a direct line twenty-five miles. While we halted to consider of this subject and to collect the party, the carcass of a deer was discovered in the cleft of a rock into which it had fallen in the spring. It was putrid but little less acceptable to us on that account in our present circumstances and, a fire being kindled, a large portion was devoured on the spot, affording us an unexpected breakfast for, in order to husband our small remaining portion of meat we had agreed to make only one scanty meal a day. The men, cheered by this unlooked-for supply, became sanguine in the hope of being able to cross the stream on a raft of willows, although they had before declared such a project impracticable, and they unanimously entreated us to return back to the rapid, a request which accorded with our own opinion and was therefore acceded to. Credit and Junius however were missing, and it was also necessary to send notice of our intention to Mr. Back and his party. Augustus, being promised a reward, undertook the task and we agreed to wait for him at the rapid. It was supposed he could not fail meeting with the two stragglers on his way to or from Mr. Back, as it was likely they would keep on the borders of the lake. He accordingly set out after Mr. Back whilst we returned about a mile towards the rapid and encamped in a deep valley amongst some large willows. We supped on the remains of the putrid deer and the men, having gone to the spot where it was found, scraped together the contents of its intestines which were scattered on the rock and added them to their meal. We also enjoyed the luxury today of eating a large quantity of excellent blueberries and cranberries (Vaccinium uliginosum and V. vitis idaea) which were laid bare by the melting of the snow, but nothing could allay our inordinate appetites. In the night we heard the report of Credit's gun in answer to our signal muskets, and he rejoined us in the morning, but we got no intelligence of Junius. We set out about an hour after daybreak, and encamped at two P.M. between the rapids where the river was about one hundred and thirty yards wide, being its narrowest part. DIFFICULTY AND DELAY IN CROSSING COPPER-MINE RIVER. Eight deer were seen by Michel and Credit who loitered behind the rest of the party, but they could not approach them. A great many shots were fired by those in the rear at partridges but they missed, or at least did not choose to add what they killed to the common stock. We subsequently learned that the hunters often secreted the partridges they shot and ate them unknown to the officers. Some tripe de roche was collected which we boiled for supper with the moiety of the remainder of our deer's meat. The men commenced cutting the willows for the construction of the raft. As an incitement to exertion I promised a reward of three hundred livres to the first person who should convey a line across the river by which the raft could be managed in transporting the party. MELANCHOLY AND FATAL RESULTS THEREOF. September 29. Strong south-east winds with fog in the morning, more moderate in the evening. Temperature of the rapid 38 degrees. The men began at an early hour to bind the willows in fagots for the construction of the raft, and it was finished by seven but, as the willows were green, it proved to be very little buoyant, and was unable to support more than one man at a time. Even on this however we hoped the whole party might be transported by hauling it from one side to the other, provided a line could be carried to the other bank. Several attempts were made by Belanger and Benoit, the strongest men of the party, to convey the raft across the stream, but they failed for want of oars. A pole constructed by tying the tent poles together was too short to reach the bottom at a short distance from the shore, and a paddle which had been carried from the sea-coast by Dr. Richardson did not possess sufficient power to move the raft in opposition to a strong breeze which blew from the other side. All the men suffered extremely from the coldness of the water in which they were necessarily immersed up to the waists in their endeavours to aid Belanger and Benoit and, having witnessed repeated failures, they began to consider the scheme as hopeless. At this time Dr. Richardson, prompted by a desire of relieving his suffering companions, proposed to swim across the stream with a line and to haul the raft over. He launched into the stream with the line round his middle but when he had got a short distance from the bank his arms became benumbed with cold and he lost the power of moving them; still he persevered and, turning on his back, had nearly gained the opposite bank when his legs also became powerless and, to our infinite alarm, we beheld him sink. We instantly hauled upon the line and he came again on the surface and was gradually drawn ashore in an almost lifeless state. Being rolled up in blankets he was placed before a good fire of willows and fortunately was just able to speak sufficiently to give some slight directions respecting the manner of treating him. He recovered strength gradually and through the blessing of God was enabled in the course of a few hours to converse and by the evening was sufficiently recovered to remove into the tent. We then regretted to learn that the skin of his whole left side was deprived of feeling in consequence of exposure to too great heat. He did not perfectly recover the sensation of that side until the following summer. I cannot describe what everyone felt at beholding the skeleton which the Doctor's debilitated frame exhibited. When he stripped the Canadians simultaneously exclaimed "Ah! que nous sommes maigres!" I shall best explain his state and that of the party by the following extract from his journal: "It may be worthy of remark that I should have had little hesitation in any former period of my life at plunging into water even below 38 degrees Fahrenheit, but at this time I was reduced almost to skin and bone and, like the rest of the party, suffered from degrees of cold that would have been disregarded in health and vigour. During the whole of our march we experienced that no quantity of clothing would keep us warm whilst we fasted, but on those occasions on which we were enabled to go to bed with full stomachs we passed the night in a warm and comfortable manner." In following the detail of our friend's narrow escape I have omitted to mention that when he was about to step into the water he put his foot on a dagger which cut him to the bone, but this misfortune could not stop him from attempting the execution of his generous undertaking. In the evening Augustus came in. He had walked a day and a half beyond the place from whence we turned back but had neither seen Junius nor Mr. Back. Of the former he had seen no traces but he had followed the tracks of Mr. Back's party for a considerable distance until the hardness of the ground rendered them imperceptible. Junius was well equipped with ammunition, blankets, knives, a kettle, and other necessaries; and it was the opinion of Augustus that when he found he could not rejoin the party he would endeavour to gain the woods on the west end of Point Lake and follow the river until he fell in with the Esquimaux who frequent its mouth. The Indians too with whom we have since conversed upon this subject are confident that he would be able to subsist himself during the winter. Credit on his hunting excursion today found a cap which our people recognised to belong to one of the hunters who had left us in the spring. This circumstance produced the conviction of our being on the banks of the Copper-Mine River which all the assertions of the officers had hitherto failed in effecting with some of the party, and it had the happy consequence of reviving their spirits considerably. We consumed the last of our deer's meat this evening at supper. Next morning the men went out in search of dry willows and collected eight large fagots with which they formed a more buoyant raft than the former but, the wind being still adverse and strong, they delayed attempting to cross until a more favourable opportunity. Pleased however with the appearance of this raft they collected some tripe de roche and made a cheerful supper. Dr. Richardson was gaining strength but his leg was much swelled and very painful. An observation for latitude placed the encampment in 65 degrees 00 minutes 00 seconds North, the longitude being 112 degrees 20 minutes 00 seconds West, deduced from the last observation. On the morning of the 1st of October the wind was strong and the weather as unfavourable as before for crossing on the raft. We were rejoiced to see Mr. Back and his party in the afternoon. They had traced the lake about fifteen miles farther than we did and found it undoubtedly connected, as we had supposed, with the lake we fell in with on the 22nd of September and, dreading as we had done, the idea of coasting its barren shores, they returned to make an attempt at crossing here. St. Germain now proposed to make a canoe of the fragments of painted canvas in which we wrapped our bedding. This scheme appearing practicable, a party was sent to our encampment of the 24th and 25th last to collect pitch amongst the small pines that grew there to pay over the seams of the canoe. In the afternoon we had a heavy fall of snow which continued all night. A small quantity of tripe de roche was gathered and Credit, who had been hunting, brought in the antlers and back bone of a deer which had been killed in the summer. The wolves and birds of prey had picked them clean but there still remained a quantity of the spinal marrow which they had not been able to extract. This, although putrid, was esteemed a valuable prize and the spine being divided into portions was distributed equally. After eating the marrow, which was so acrid as to excoriate the lips, we rendered the bones friable by burning and ate them also. On the following morning the ground was covered with snow to the depth of a foot and a half and the weather was very stormy. These circumstances rendered the men again extremely despondent; a settled gloom hung over their countenances and they refused to pick tripe de roche, choosing rather to go entirely without eating than to make any exertion. The party which went for gum returned early in the morning without having found any, but St. Germain said he could still make the canoe with the willows covered with canvas, and removed with Adam to a clump of willows for that purpose. Mr. Back accompanied them to stimulate his exertion as we feared the lowness of his spirits would cause him to be slow in his operations. Augustus went to fish at the rapid but, a large trout having carried away his bait, we had nothing to replace it. The snow-storm continued all the night and during the forenoon of the 3rd. Having persuaded the people to gather some tripe de roche I partook of a meal with them and afterwards set out with the intention of going to St. Germain to hasten his operations, but though he was only three-quarters of a mile distant I spent three hours in a vain attempt to reach him, my strength being unequal to the labour of wading through the deep snow, and I returned quite exhausted and much shaken by the numerous falls I had got. My associates were all in the same debilitated state and poor Hood was reduced to a perfect shadow from the severe bowel complaints which the tripe de roche never failed to give him. Back was so feeble as to require the support of a stick in walking, and Dr. Richardson had lameness superadded to weakness. The voyagers were somewhat stronger than ourselves but more indisposed to exertion on account of their despondency. The sensation of hunger was no longer felt by any of us, yet we were scarcely able to converse upon any other subject than the pleasures of eating. We were much indebted to Hepburn at this crisis. The officers were unable from weakness to gather tripe de roche themselves and Samandre, who had acted as our cook on the journey from the coast, sharing in the despair of the rest of the Canadians, refused to make the slightest exertion. Hepburn on the contrary, animated by a firm reliance on the beneficence of the Supreme Being, tempered with resignation to His will, was indefatigable in his exertions to serve us and daily collected all the tripe de roche that was used in the officers' mess. Mr. Hood could not partake of this miserable fare, and a partridge which had been reserved for him was I lament to say this day stolen by one of the men. October 4. The canoe being finished it was brought to the encampment and, the whole party being assembled in anxious expectation on the beach, St. Germain embarked and, amidst our prayers for his success, succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. The canoe was then drawn back again and another person transported, and in this manner, by drawing it backwards and forwards, we were all conveyed over without any serious accident. By these frequent traverses the canoe was materially injured, and latterly it filled each time with water before reaching the shore, so that all our garments and bedding were wet and there was not a sufficiency of willows upon the side on which we now were to make a fire to dry them. That no time might be lost in procuring relief I immediately despatched Mr. Back with St. Germain, Solomon Belanger, and Beauparlant to search for the Indians, directing him to go to Fort Enterprise where we expected they would be or where at least a note from Mr. Wentzel would be found to direct us in our search for them. If St. Germain should kill any animals on his way a portion of the meat was to be put up securely for us and conspicuous marks placed over it. It is impossible to imagine a more gratifying change than was produced in our voyagers after we were all safely landed on the southern banks of the river. Their spirits immediately revived, each of them shook the officers cordially by the hand and declared they now considered the worst of their difficulties over as they did not doubt of reaching Fort Enterprise in a few days, even in their feeble condition. We had indeed every reason to be grateful and our joy would have been complete had it not been mingled with sincere regret at the separation of our poor Esquimaux, the faithful Junius. EXTREME MISERY OF THE WHOLE PARTY. The want of tripe de roche caused us to go supperless to bed. Showers of snow fell frequently during the night. The breeze was light next morning, the weather cold and clear. We were all on foot by daybreak but, from the frozen state of our tents and bedclothes, it was long before the bundles could be made and as usual the men lingered over a small fire they had kindled so that it was eight o'clock before we started. Our advance from the depth of the snow was slow, and about noon, coming to a spot where there was some tripe de roche, we stopped to collect it and breakfasted. Mr. Hood, who was now very feeble, and Dr. Richardson, who attached himself to him, walked together at a gentle pace in the rear of the party. I kept with the foremost men to cause them to halt occasionally until the stragglers came up. Resuming our march after breakfast we followed the track of Mr. Back's party and encamped early as all of us were much fatigued, particularly Credit who, having today carried the men's tent, it being his turn so to do, was so exhausted that when he reached the encampment he was unable to stand. The tripe de roche disagreed with this man and with Vaillant in consequence of which they were the first whose strength totally failed. We had a small quantity of this weed in the evening and the rest of our supper was made up of scraps of roasted leather. The distance walked today was six miles. As Credit was very weak in the morning his load was reduced to little more than his personal luggage, consisting of his blanket, shoes and gun. Previous to setting out the whole party ate the remains of their old shoes and whatever scraps of leather they had to strengthen their stomachs for the fatigue of the day's journey. We left the encampment at nine and pursued our route over a range of black hills. The wind, having increased to a strong gale in the course of the morning, became piercingly cold and the drift rendered it difficult for those in the rear to follow the track over the heights, whilst in the valleys where it was sufficiently marked from the depth of the snow the labour of walking was proportionably great. Those in advance made as usual frequent halts, yet being unable from the severity of the weather to remain long still they were obliged to move on before the rear could come up and the party of course straggled very much. About noon, Samandre coming up, informed us that Credit and Vaillant could advance no farther. Some willows being discovered in a valley near us I proposed to halt the party there whilst Dr. Richardson went back to visit them. I hoped too that when the sufferers received the information of a fire being kindled at so short a distance they would be cheered, and use their utmost efforts to reach it, but this proved a vain hope. The Doctor found Vaillant about a mile and a half in the rear, much exhausted with cold and fatigue. Having encouraged him to advance to the fire, after repeated solicitations he made the attempt, but fell down amongst the deep snow at every step. Leaving him in this situation the Doctor went about half a mile farther back to the spot where Credit was said to have halted and, the track being nearly obliterated by the snowdrift, it became unsafe for him to go farther. Returning he passed Vaillant who, having moved only a few yards in his absence, had fallen down, was unable to rise, and could scarcely answer his questions. Being unable to afford him any effectual assistance he hastened on to inform us of his situation. When J.B. Belanger had heard the melancholy account he went immediately to aid Vaillant and bring up his burden. Respecting Credit we were informed by Samandre that he had stopped a short distance behind Vaillant, but that his intention was to return to the encampment of the preceding evening. When Belanger came back with Vaillant's load he informed us that he had found him lying on his back, benumbed with cold and incapable of being roused. The stoutest men of the party were now earnestly entreated to bring him to the fire, but they declared themselves unequal to the task, and on the contrary urged me to allow them to throw down their loads and proceed to Fort Enterprise with the utmost speed. A compliance with their desire would have caused the loss of the whole party, for the men were totally ignorant of the course to be pursued, and none of the officers who could have directed the march were sufficiently strong to keep up at the pace they would then walk, besides, even supposing them to have found their way, the strongest men would certainly have deserted the weak. Something however was absolutely necessary to be done to relieve them as much as possible from their burdens, and the officers consulted on the subject. Mr. Hood and Dr. Richardson proposed to remain behind with a single attendant at the first place where sufficient wood and tripe de roche should be found for ten days' consumption, and that I should proceed as expeditiously as possible with the men to the house and thence send them immediate relief. They strongly urged that this arrangement would contribute to the safety of the rest of the party by relieving them from the burden of a tent and several other articles, and that they might afford aid to Credit if he should unexpectedly come up. I was distressed beyond description at the thought of leaving them in such a dangerous situation and for a long time combated their proposal, but they strenuously urged that this step afforded the only chance of safety for the party and I reluctantly acceded to it. The ammunition, of which we had a small barrel, was also to be left with them, and it was hoped that this deposit would be a strong inducement for the Indians to venture across the barren grounds to their aid. We communicated this resolution to the men who were cheered at the slightest prospect of alleviation to their present miseries and promised with great appearance of earnestness to return to those officers upon the first supply of food. The party then moved on; Vaillant's blanket and other necessaries were left in the track at the request of the Canadians, without any hope however of his being able to reach them. After marching till dusk without seeing a favourable place for encamping, night compelled us to take shelter under the lee of a hill amongst some willows, with which, after many attempts, we at length made a fire. It was not sufficient however to warm the whole party, much less to thaw our shoes, and the weather not permitting the gathering of tripe de roche we had nothing to cook. The painful retrospection of the melancholy events of the day banished sleep, and we shuddered as we contemplated the dreadful effects of this bitterly cold night on our two companions, if still living. Some faint hopes were entertained of Credit's surviving the storm as he was provided with a good blanket and had leather to eat. The weather was mild next morning. We left the encampment at nine and at a little before noon came to a pretty extensive thicket of small willows near which there appeared a supply of tripe de roche on the face of the rocks. At this place Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood determined to remain with John Hepburn who volunteered to stop with them. The tent was securely pitched, a few willows collected, and the ammunition and all other articles were deposited, except each man's clothing, one tent, a sufficiency of ammunition for the journey, and the officers' journals. I had only one blanket which was carried for me and two pair of shoes. The offer was now made for any of the men who felt themselves too weak to proceed to remain with the officers but none of them accepted it. Michel alone felt some inclination to do so. After we had united in thanksgiving and prayers to Almighty God I separated from my companions, deeply afflicted that a train of melancholy circumstances should have demanded of me the severe trial of parting in such a condition from friends who had become endeared to me by their constant kindness and cooperation, and a participation of numerous sufferings. This trial I could not have been induced to undergo but for the reasons they had so strongly urged the day before, to which my own judgment assented and for the sanguine hope I felt of either finding a supply of provision at Fort Enterprise or meeting the Indians in the immediate vicinity of that place, according to my arrangements with Mr. Wentzel and Akaitcho. Previously to our starting Peltier and Benoit repeated their promises to return to them with provision if any should be found at the house or to guide the Indians to them if any were met. Greatly as Mr. Hood was exhausted, and indeed incapable as he must have proved of encountering the fatigue of our very next day's journey, so that I felt his resolution to be prudent, I was sensible that his determination to remain was chiefly prompted by the disinterested and generous wish to remove impediments to the progress of the rest. Dr. Richardson and Hepburn, who were both in a state of strength to keep pace with the men besides, this motive which they shared with him, were influenced in their resolution to remain, the former by the desire which had distinguished his character throughout the Expedition of devoting himself to the succour of the weak, and the latter by the zealous attachment he had ever shown towards his officers. We set out without waiting to take any of the tripe de roche and, walking at a tolerable pace, in an hour arrived at a fine group of pines about a mile and a quarter from the tent. We sincerely regretted not having seen these before we separated from our companions as they would have been better supplied with fuel here and there appeared to be more tripe de roche than where we had left them. Descending afterwards into a more level country we found the snow very deep and the labour of wading through it so fatigued the whole party that we were compelled to encamp after a march of four miles and a half. Belanger and Michel were left far behind and when they arrived at the encampment appeared quite exhausted. The former, bursting into tears, declared his inability to proceed and begged me to let him go back next morning to the tent and shortly afterwards Michel made the same request. I was in hopes they might recover a little strength by the night's rest and therefore deferred giving any permission UNTIL morning. The sudden failure in the strength of these men cast a gloom over the rest, which I tried in vain to remove by repeated assurances that the distance to Fort Enterprise was short and that we should in all probability reach it in four days. Not being able to find any tripe de roche we drank an infusion of the Labrador tea plant (Ledum palustre) and ate a few morsels of burnt leather for supper. We were unable to raise the tent and found its weight too great to carry it on; we therefore cut it up and took a part of the canvas for a cover. The night was bitterly cold and though we lay as close to each other as possible, having no shelter, we could not keep ourselves sufficiently warm to sleep. A strong gale came on after midnight which increased the severity of the weather. In the morning Belanger and Michel renewed their request to be permitted to go back to the tent, assuring me they were still weaker than on the preceding evening and less capable of going forward, and they urged that the stopping at a place where there was a supply of tripe de roche was their only chance of preserving life; under these circumstances I could not do otherwise than yield to their desire. I wrote a note to Dr. Richardson and Mr. Hood informing them of the pines we had passed and recommending their removing thither. Having found that Michel was carrying a considerable quantity of ammunition I desired him to divide it among my party, leaving him only ten balls and a little shot to kill any animals he might meet on his way to the tent. This man was very particular in his inquiries respecting the direction of the house and the course we meant to pursue; he also said that if he should be able he would go and search for Vaillant and Credit; and he requested my permission to take Vaillant's blanket if he should find it, to which I agreed and mentioned it in my notes to the officers. Scarcely were these arrangements finished before Perrault and Fontano were seized with a fit of dizziness and betrayed other symptoms of extreme debility. Some tea was quickly prepared for them and after drinking it and eating a few morsels of burnt leather they recovered and expressed their desire to go forward, but the other men, alarmed at what they had just witnessed, became doubtful of their own strength and, giving way to absolute dejection, declared their inability to move. I now earnestly pressed upon them the necessity of continuing our journey as the only means of saving their own lives as well as those of our friends at the tent, and after much entreaty got them to set out at ten A.M. Belanger and Michel were left at the encampment and proposed to start shortly afterwards. By the time we had gone about two hundred yards Perrault became again dizzy and desired us to halt which we did until he, recovering, offered to march on. Ten minutes more had hardly elapsed before he again desired us to stop and, bursting into tears, declared he was totally exhausted and unable to accompany us farther. As the encampment was not more than a quarter of a mile distant we recommended that he should return to it and rejoin Belanger and Michel whom we knew to be still there from perceiving the smoke of a fresh fire, and because they had not made any preparation for starting when we quitted them. He readily acquiesced in the proposition and, having taken a friendly leave of each of us, and enjoined us to make all the haste we could in sending relief, he turned back, keeping his gun and ammunition. We watched him until he was nearly at the fire and then proceeded. During these detentions Augustus becoming impatient of the delay had walked on and we lost sight of him. The labour we experienced in wading through the deep snow induced us to cross a moderate-sized lake which lay in our track, but we found this operation far more harassing. As the surface of the ice was perfectly smooth we slipped at almost every step and were frequently blown down by the wind with such force as to shake our whole frames. Poor Fontano was completely exhausted by the labour of this traverse and we made a halt until his strength was recruited, by which time the party was benumbed with cold. Proceeding again he got on tolerably well for a little time but, being again seized with faintness and dizziness, he fell often and at length exclaimed that he could go no farther. We immediately stopped and endeavoured to encourage him to persevere until we should find some willows to encamp; he insisted however that he could not march any longer through this deep snow, and said that, if he should even reach our encampment this evening, he must be left there, provided tripe de roche could not be procured to recruit his strength. The poor man was overwhelmed with grief and seemed desirous to remain at that spot. We were about two miles from the place where the other men had been left and, as the track to it was beaten, we proposed to him to return thither as we thought it probable he would find the men still there; at any rate he would be able to get fuel to keep him warm during the night, and on the next day he could follow their track to the officers' tent and, should the path be covered by the snow, the pines we had passed yesterday would guide him as they were yet in view. I cannot describe my anguish on the occasion of separating from another companion under circumstances so distressing. There was however no alternative. The extreme debility of the rest of the party put the carrying him quite out of the question, as he himself admitted, and it was evident that the frequent delays he must occasion if he accompanied us and did not gain strength would endanger the lives of the whole. By returning he had the prospect of getting to the tent where tripe de roche could be obtained, which agreed with him better than with any other of the party, and which he was always very assiduous in gathering. After some hesitation he determined on going back and set out, having bid each of us farewell in the tenderest manner. We watched him with inexpressible anxiety for some time, and were rejoiced to find, though he got on slowly, that he kept on his legs better than before. Antonio Fontano was an Italian and had served for many years in De Meuron's regiment. He had spoken to me that very morning and after his first attack of dizziness about his father, and had begged that, should he survive, I would take him with me to England and put him in the way of reaching home. The party was now reduced to five persons, Adam, Peltier, Benoit, Samandre and myself. Continuing the journey we came after an hour's walk to some willows and encamped under the shelter of a rock, having walked in the whole four miles and a half. We made an attempt to gather some tripe de roche but could not, owing to the severity of the weather. Our supper therefore consisted of tea and a few morsels of leather. Augustus did not make his appearance but we felt no alarm at his absence, supposing he would go to the tent if he missed our track. Having fire we procured a little sleep. Next morning the breeze was light and the weather mild which enabled us to collect some tripe de roche and to enjoy the only meal we had had for four days. We derived great benefit from it and walked with considerably more ease than yesterday. Without the strength it supplied we should certainly have been unable to oppose the strong breeze we met in the afternoon. After walking about five miles we came upon the borders of Marten Lake and were rejoiced to find it frozen so that we could continue our course straight for Fort Enterprise. We encamped at the first rapid in Winter River amidst willows and alders, but these were so frozen and the snow fell so thick that the men had great difficulty in making a fire. This proving insufficient to warm us or even thaw our shoes, and having no food to prepare, we crept under our blankets. The arrival in a well-known part raised the spirits of the men to a high pitch, and we kept up a cheerful conversation until sleep overpowered us. The night was very stormy and the morning scarcely less so but, being desirous to reach the house this day, we commenced our journey very early. We were gratified by the sight of a large herd of reindeer on the side of the hill near the track, but our only hunter Adam was too feeble to pursue them. Our shoes and garments were stiffened by the frost and we walked in great pain until we arrived at some stunted pines, at which we halted, made a good fire, and procured the refreshment of tea. The weather becoming fine in the afternoon we continued our journey, passed the Dog-Rib Rock, and encamped among a clump of pines of considerable growth about a mile farther on. Here we enjoyed the comfort of a large fire for the first time since our departure from the sea-coast, but this gratification was purchased at the expense of many severe falls in crossing a stony valley to get to these trees. There was no tripe de roche and we drank tea and ate some of our shoes for supper. Next morning after taking the usual repast of tea we proceeded to the house. Musing on what we were likely to find there our minds were agitated between hope and fear and, contrary to the custom we had kept up of supporting our spirits by conversation, we went silently forward. DESOLATE STATE OF FORT ENTERPRISE. At length we reached Fort Enterprise and to our infinite disappointment and grief found it a perfectly desolate habitation. There was no deposit of provision, no trace of the Indians, no letter from Mr. Wentzel to point out where the Indians might be found. It would be impossible to describe our sensations after entering this miserable abode and discovering how we had been neglected; the whole party shed tears, not so much for our own fate as for that of our friends in the rear, whose lives depended entirely on our sending immediate relief from this place. I found a note however from Mr. Back, stating that he had reached the house two days before and was going in search of the Indians at a part where St. Germain deemed it probable they might be found. If he was unsuccessful he purposed walking to Fort Providence and sending succour from thence, but he doubted whether either he or his party could perform the journey to that place in their present debilitated state. It was evident that any supply that could be sent from Fort Providence would be long in reaching us, neither could it be sufficient to enable us to afford any assistance to our companions behind, and that the only relief for them must be procured from the Indians. I resolved therefore on going also in search of them, but my companions were absolutely incapable of proceeding and I thought by halting two or three days they might gather a little strength whilst the delay would afford us the chance of learning whether Mr. Back had seen the Indians. DISTRESS SUFFERED AT THAT PLACE. We now looked round for the means of subsistence and were gratified to find several deer-skins which had been thrown away during our former residence. The bones were gathered from the heap of ashes; these with the skins and the addition of tripe de roche we considered would support us tolerably well for a time. As to the house, the parchment being torn from the windows, the apartment we selected for our abode was exposed to all the rigour of the season. We endeavoured to exclude the wind as much as possible by placing loose boards against the apertures. The temperature was now between 15 and 20 degrees below zero. We procured fuel by pulling up the flooring of the other rooms, and water for cooking by melting the snow. Whilst we were seated round the fire, singeing the deer-skin for supper, we were rejoiced by the unexpected entrance of Augustus. He had followed quite a different course from ours and the circumstance of his having found his way through a part of the country he had never been in before must be considered a remarkable proof of sagacity. The unusual earliness of this winter became manifest to us from the state of things at this spot. Last year at the same season and still later there had been very little snow on the ground and we were surrounded by vast herds of reindeer; now there were but few recent tracks of these animals and the snow was upwards of two feet deep. Winter River was then open, now it was frozen two feet thick. When I arose the following morning my body and limbs were so swollen that I was unable to walk more than a few yards. Adam was in a still worse condition, being absolutely incapable of rising without assistance. My other companions happily experienced this inconvenience in a less degree and went to collect bones and some tripe de roche which supplied us with two meals. The bones were quite acrid and the soup extracted from them excoriated the mouth if taken alone, but it was somewhat milder when boiled with tripe de roche and we even thought the mixture palatable with the addition of salt, of which a cask had been fortunately left here in the spring. Augustus today set two fishing-lines below the rapid. On his way thither he saw two deer but had not strength to follow them. On the 13th the wind blew violently from south-east and the snow drifted so much that the party were confined to the house. In the afternoon of the following day Belanger arrived with a note from Mr. Back stating that he had seen no trace of the Indians, and desiring further instructions as to the course he should pursue. Belanger's situation however required our first care as he came in almost speechless and covered with ice, having fallen into a rapid and, for the third time since we left the coast, narrowly escaped drowning. He did not recover sufficiently to answer our questions until we had rubbed him for some time, changed his dress, and given him some warm soup. My companions nursed him with the greatest kindness and the desire of restoring him to health seemed to absorb all regard for their own situation. I witnessed with peculiar pleasure this conduct, so different from that which they had recently pursued when every tender feeling was suspended by the desire of self-preservation. They now no longer betrayed impatience or despondency but were composed and cheerful and had entirely given up the practice of swearing, to which the Canadian voyagers are so lamentably addicted. Our conversation naturally turned upon the prospect of getting relief and upon the means which were best adapted for obtaining it. The absence of all traces of Indians on Winter River convinced me that they were at this time on the way to Fort Providence and that, by proceeding towards that post, we should overtake them as they move slowly when they have their families with them. This route also offered us the prospect of killing deer in the vicinity of Reindeer Lake, in which neighbourhood our men in their journey to and fro last winter had always found them abundant. Upon these grounds I determined on taking the route to Fort Providence as soon as possible, and wrote to Mr. Back, desiring him to join me at Reindeer Lake and detailing the occurrences since we parted, that our friends might receive relief in case of any accident happening to me. Belanger did not recover sufficient strength to leave us before the 18th. His answers as to the exact part of Round-Rock Lake in which he had left Mr. Back were very unsatisfactory, and we could only collect that it was at a considerable distance, and that he was still going on with the intention of halting at the place where Akaitcho was encamped last summer, about thirty miles off. This distance appeared so great that I told Belanger it was very unsafe for him to attempt it alone and that he would be several days in accomplishing it. He stated however that, as the track was beaten, he should experience little fatigue, and seemed so confident that I suffered him to depart with a supply of singed hide. Next day I received information which explained why he was so unwilling to acquaint us with the situation of Mr. Back's party. He dreaded that I should resolve upon joining it when our numbers would be so great as to consume at once everything St. Germain might kill, if by accident he should be successful in hunting. He even endeavoured to entice away our other hunter, Adam, and proposed to him to carry off the only kettle we had and without which we could not have subsisted two days. Adam's inability to move however precluded him from agreeing to the proposal but he could assign no reason for not acquainting me with it previous to Belanger's departure. I was at first inclined to consider the whole matter as a fiction of Adam's, but he persisted in his story without wavering, and Belanger when we met again confessed that every part of it was true. It is painful to have to record a fact so derogatory to human nature but I have deemed it proper to mention it to show the difficulties we had to contend with, and the effect which distress had in warping the feelings and understanding of the most diligent and obedient of our party, for such Belanger had been always esteemed up to this time. In making arrangements for our departure Adam disclosed to me for the first time that he was affected with oedematous swellings in some parts of the body to such a degree as to preclude the slightest attempt at marching and, upon my expressing my surprise at his having hitherto concealed from me the extent of his malady, among other explanations the details of the preceding story came out. It now became necessary to abandon the original intention of proceeding with the whole party towards Fort Providence and, Peltier and Samandre having volunteered to remain with Adam, I determined on setting out with Benoit and Augustus, intending to send them relief by the first party of Indians we should meet. My clothes were so much torn as to be quite inadequate to screen me from the wind and Peltier and Samandre, fearing that I might suffer on the journey in consequence, kindly exchanged with me parts of their dress, desiring me to send them skins in return by the Indians. Having patched up three pairs of snowshoes and singed a quantity of skin for the journey we started on the morning of the 20th. Previous to my departure I packed up the journals of the officers, the charts, and some other documents, together with a letter addressed to the Under-Secretary of State detailing the occurrences of the Expedition up to this period, which package was given in charge to Peltier and Samandre with directions that it should be brought away by the Indians who might come to them. I also instructed them to send succour immediately on its arrival to our companions in the rear, which they solemnly promised to do, and I left a letter for my friends, Richardson and Hood, to be sent at the same time. I thought it necessary to admonish Peltier, Samandre, and Adam to eat two meals every day in order to keep up their strength, which they promised me they would do. No language that I can use could adequately describe the parting scene. I shall only say there was far more calmness and resignation to the Divine will evince by everyone than could have been expected. We were all cheered by the hope that the Indians would be found by the one party and relief sent to the other. Those who remained entreated us to make all the haste we could and expressed their hope of seeing the Indians in ten or twelve days. At first starting we were so feeble as scarcely to be able to move forwards and the descent of the bank of the river through the deep snow was a severe labour. When we came upon the ice where the snow was less deep we got on better, but after walking six hours we had only gained four miles and were then compelled by fatigue to encamp on the borders of Round-Rock Lake. Augustus tried for fish here but without success so that our fare was skin and tea. Composing ourselves to rest we lay close to each other for warmth. We found the night bitterly cold and the wind pierced through our famished frames. The next morning was mild and pleasant for travelling and we set out after breakfast. We had not however gone many yards before I had the misfortune to break my snowshoes by falling between two rocks. This accident prevented me from keeping pace with Benoit and Augustus and in the attempt I became quite exhausted. Feeling convinced that their being delayed on my account might prove of fatal consequence to the rest I resolved on returning to the house and letting them proceed alone in search of the Indians. I therefore halted them only whilst I wrote a note to Mr. Back, stating the reason of my return, and desiring he would send meat from Reindeer Lake by these men if St. Germain should kill any animals there. If Benoit should miss Mr. Back I directed him to proceed to Fort Providence and furnished him with a letter to the gentleman in charge of it, requesting that immediate supplies might be sent to us. On my return to the house I found Samandre very dispirited and too weak, as he said, to render any assistance to Peltier, upon whom the whole labour of getting wood and collecting the means of subsistence would have devolved. Conscious too that his strength would have been unequal to these tasks they had determined upon taking only one meal each day, so that I felt my going back particularly fortunate as I hoped to stimulate Samandre to exertion and at any rate could contribute some help to Peltier. I undertook the office of cooking and insisted they should eat twice a day whenever food could be procured but, as I was too weak to pound the bones, Peltier agreed to do that in addition to his more fatiguing task of getting wood. We had a violent snow-storm all the next day and this gloomy weather increased the depression of spirits under which Adam and Samandre were labouring. Neither of them would quit their beds and they scarcely ceased from shedding tears all day; in vain did Peltier and myself endeavour to cheer them. We had even to use much entreaty before they would take the meals we had prepared for them. Our situation was indeed distressing but in comparison with that of our friends in the rear we thought it happy. Their condition gave us unceasing solicitude and was the principal subject of our conversation. Though the weather was stormy on the 26th Samandre assisted me to gather tripe de roche. Adam, who was very ill and could not now be prevailed upon to eat this weed, subsisted principally on bones, though he also partook of the soup. The tripe de roche had hitherto afforded us our chief support, and we naturally felt great uneasiness at the prospect of being deprived of it by its being so frozen as to render it impossible for us to gather it. We perceived our strength decline every day and every exertion began to be irksome; when we were once seated the greatest effort was necessary in order to rise, and we had frequently to lift each other from our seats, but even in this pitiable condition we conversed cheerfully, being sanguine as to the speedy arrival of the Indians. We calculated indeed that if they should be near the situation where they had remained last winter our men would have reached them by this day. Having expended all the wood which we could procure from our present dwelling, without danger of its fall, Peltier began this day to pull down the partitions of the adjoining houses. Though these were only distant about twenty yards yet the increase of labour in carrying the wood fatigued him so much that by the evening he was exhausted. On the next day his weakness was such, especially in the arms of which he chiefly complained, that he with difficulty lifted the hatchet; still he persevered whilst Samandre and I assisted him in bringing in the wood, but our united strength could only collect sufficient to replenish the fire four times in the course of the day. As the insides of our mouths had become sore from eating the bone-soup we relinquished the use of it and now boiled the skin, which mode of dressing we found more palatable than frying it, as we had hitherto done. On the 29th Peltier felt his pains more severe and could only cut a few pieces of wood. Samandre, who was still almost as weak, relieved him a little time and I aided them in carrying in the wood. We endeavoured to pick some tripe de roche but in vain as it was entirely frozen. In turning up the snow, in searching for bones, I found several pieces of bark which proved a valuable acquisition as we were almost destitute of dry wood proper for kindling the fire. We saw a herd of reindeer sporting on the river about half a mile from the house; they remained there a long time but none of the party felt themselves strong enough to go after them, nor was there one of us who could have fired a gun without resting it. MURDER OF MR. HOOD. DEATH OF SEVERAL OF THE CANADIANS. Whilst we were seated round the fire this evening, discoursing about the anticipated relief, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by Peltier's exclaiming with joy "Ah! le monde!" imagining that he heard the Indians in the other room; immediately afterwards to his bitter disappointment Dr. Richardson and Hepburn entered, each carrying his bundle. Peltier however soon recovered himself enough to express his delight at their safe arrival and his regret that their companions were not with them. When I saw them alone my own mind was instantly filled with apprehensions respecting my friend Hood and our other companions, which were immediately confirmed by the Doctor's melancholy communication that Mr. Hood and Michel were dead. Perrault and Fontano had neither reached the tent nor been heard of by them. This intelligence produced a melancholy despondency in the minds of my party and on that account the particulars were deferred until another opportunity. We were all shocked at beholding the emaciated countenances of the Doctor and Hepburn as they strongly evidenced their extremely debilitated state. The alteration in our appearance was equally distressing to them for since the swellings had subsided we were little more than skin and bone. The Doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tone of our voices which he requested us to make more cheerful if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key. Hepburn, having shot a partridge which was brought to the house, the Doctor tore out the feathers and, having held it to the fire a few minutes, divided it into six portions. I and my three companions ravenously devoured our shares as it was the first morsel of flesh any of us had tasted for thirty-one days, unless indeed the small gristly particles which we found occasionally adhering to the pounded bones may be termed flesh. Our spirits were revived by this small supply and the Doctor endeavoured to raise them still higher by the prospect of Hepburn's being able to kill a deer next day, as they had seen and even fired at several near the house. He endeavoured too to rouse us into some attention to the comfort of our apartment, and particularly to roll up in the day our blankets which (expressly for the convenience of Adam and Samandre) we had been in the habit of leaving by the fire where we lay on them. The Doctor having brought his prayer-book and testament, some prayers and psalms and portions of scripture appropriate to our situation were read and we retired to bed. Next morning the Doctor and Hepburn went out early in search of deer, but though they saw several herds and fired some shots they were not so fortunate as to kill any, being too weak to hold their guns steadily. The cold compelled the former to return soon but Hepburn persisted until late in the evening. My occupation was to search for skins under the snow, it being now our object immediately to get all that we would, but I had not strength to drag in more than two of those which were within twenty yards of the house until the Doctor came and assisted me. We made up our stock to twenty-six but several of them were putrid and scarcely eatable, even by men suffering the extremity of famine. Peltier and Samandre continued very weak and dispirited and they were unable to cut firewood. Hepburn had in consequence that laborious task to perform after he came back. The Doctor having scarified the swelled parts of Adam's body a large quantity of water flowed out, and he obtained some ease but still kept his bed. After our usual supper of singed skin and bone-soup Dr. Richardson acquainted me with the afflicting circumstances attending the death of Mr. Hood and Michel, and detailed the occurrences subsequent to my departure from them which I shall give from his Journal in his own words, but I must here be permitted to express the heart-felt sorrow with which I was overwhelmed at the loss of so many companions, especially of my friend Mr. Hood to whose zealous and able cooperation I had been indebted for so much invaluable assistance during the Expedition, whilst the excellent qualities of his heart engaged my warmest regard. His scientific observations together with his maps and drawings (a small part of which only appear in this work) evince a variety of talent which, had his life been spared, must have rendered him a distinguished ornament to his profession, and which will cause his death to be felt as a loss to the service. ... DR. RICHARDSON'S NARRATIVE. After Captain Franklin had bidden us farewell we remained seated by the fireside as long as the willows the men had cut for us before they departed lasted. We had no tripe de roche that day but drank an infusion of the country tea-plant, which was grateful from its warmth although it afforded no sustenance. We then retired to bed where we remained all the next day as the weather was stormy, and the snow-drift so heavy as to destroy every prospect of success in our endeavours to light a fire with the green and frozen willows which were our only fuel. Through the extreme kindness and forethought of a lady the party, previous to leaving London, had been furnished with a small collection of religious books, of which we still retained two or three of the most portable, and they proved of incalculable benefit to us. We read portions of them to each other as we lay in bed, in addition to the morning and evening service, and found that they inspired us on each perusal with so strong a sense of the omnipresence of a beneficent God that our situation even in these wilds appeared no longer destitute, and we conversed not only with calmness but with cheerfulness, detailing with unrestrained confidence the past events of our lives and dwelling with hope on our future prospects. Had my poor friend been spared to revisit his native land I should look back to this period with unalloyed delight. On the morning of the 9th the weather although still cold was clear, and I went out in quest of tripe de roche, leaving Hepburn to cut willows for a fire and Mr. Hood in bed. I had no success as yesterday's snow-drift was so frozen on the surface of the rocks that I could not collect any of the weed, but on my return to the tent I found that Michel the Iroquois had come with a note from Mr. Franklin which stated that, this man and Jean Baptiste Belanger being unable to proceed, were about to return to us, and that a mile beyond our present encampment there was a clump of pine-trees to which he recommended us to remove the tent. Michel informed us that he quitted Mr. Franklin's party yesterday morning but that having missed his way he had passed the night on the snow a mile or two to the northward of us. Belanger he said, being impatient, left the fire about two hours earlier and, as he had not arrived, he supposed must have gone astray. It will be seen in the sequel that we had more than sufficient reason to doubt the truth of this story. Michel now produced a hare and a partridge which he had killed in the morning. This unexpected supply of provision was received by us with a deep sense of gratitude to the Almighty for His goodness, and we looked upon Michel as the instrument He had chosen to preserve all our lives. He complained of cold and Mr. Hood offered to share his buffalo robe with him at night. I gave him one of two shirts which I wore whilst Hepburn in the warmth of his heart exclaimed "How I shall love this man if I find that he does not tell lies like the others." Our meals being finished we arranged that the greatest part of the things should be carried to the pines the next day and, after reading the evening service, retired to bed full of hope. Early in the morning Hepburn, Michel, and myself, carried the ammunition and most of the other heavy articles to the pines. Michel was our guide and it did not occur to us at the time that his conducting us perfectly straight was incompatible with his story of having mistaken his road in coming to us. He now informed us that he had on his way to the tent left on the hill above the pines a gun and forty-eight balls which Perrault had given to him when with the rest of Mr. Franklin's party he took leave of him. It will be seen on a reference to Mr. Franklin's journal that Perrault carried his gun and ammunition with him when they parted from Michel and Belanger. After we had made a fire and drank a little of the country tea Hepburn and I returned to the tent where we arrived in the evening, much exhausted with our journey. Michel preferred sleeping where he was and requested us to leave him the hatchet, which we did after he had promised to come early in the morning to assist us in carrying the tent and bedding. Mr. Hood remained in bed all day. Seeing nothing of Belanger today we gave him up for lost. On the 11th, after waiting until late in the morning for Michel who did not come, Hepburn and I loaded ourselves with the bedding and, accompanied by Mr. Hood, set out for the pines. Mr. Hood was much affected with dimness of sight, giddiness, and other symptoms of extreme debility, which caused us to move very slowly and to make frequent halts. On arriving at the pines we were much alarmed to find that Michel was absent. We feared that he had lost his way in coming to us in the morning, although it was not easy to conjecture how that could have happened, as our footsteps of yesterday were very distinct. Hepburn went back for the tent and returned with it after dusk, completely worn out with the fatigue of the day. Michel too arrived at the same time and relieved our anxiety on his account. He reported that he had been in chase of some deer which passed near his sleeping-place in the morning and, although he did not come up with them, yet that he found a wolf which had been killed by the stroke of a deer's horn and had brought a part of it. We implicitly believed this story then, but afterwards became convinced from circumstances, the detail of which may be spared, that it must have been a portion of the body of Belanger or Perrault. A question of moment here presents itself, namely whether he actually murdered these men, or either of them, or whether he found the bodies in the snow. Captain Franklin, who is the best able to judge of this matter from knowing their situation when he parted from them, suggested the former idea, and that both Belanger and Perrault had been sacrificed. When Perrault turned back Captain Franklin watched him until he reached a small group of willows which was immediately adjoining to the fire and concealed it from view, and at this time the smoke of fresh fuel was distinctly visible. Captain Franklin conjectures that Michel, having already destroyed Belanger, completed his crime by Perrault's death in order to screen himself from detection. Although this opinion is founded only on circumstances and is unsupported by direct evidence it has been judged proper to mention it, especially as the subsequent conduct of the man showed that he was capable of committing such a deed. The circumstances are very strong. It is not easy to assign any other adequate motive for his concealing from us that Perrault had turned back, while his request overnight that we should leave him the hatchet and his cumbering himself with it when he went out in the morning, unlike a hunter who makes use only of his knife when he kills a deer, seem to indicate that he took it for the purpose of cutting up something that he knew to be frozen. These opinions however are the result of subsequent consideration. We passed this night in the open air. On the following morning the tent was pitched; Michel went out early, refused my offer to accompany him, and remained out the whole day. He would not sleep in the tent at night but chose to lie at the fireside. On the 13th there was a heavy gale of wind and we passed the day by the fire. Next day about two P.M., the gale abating, Michel set out as he said to hunt but returned unexpectedly in a very short time. This conduct surprised us and his contradictory and evasory answers to our questions excited some suspicions but they did not turn towards the truth. October 15th. In the course of this day Michel expressed much regret that he had stayed behind Mr. Franklin's party, and declared that he would set out for the house at once if he knew the way. We endeavoured to sooth him and to raise his hopes of the Indians speedily coming to our relief but without success. He refused to assist us in cutting wood but about noon, after much solicitation, he set out to hunt. Hepburn gathered a kettleful of tripe de roche but froze his fingers. Both Hepburn and I fatigued ourselves much today in pursuing a flock of partridges from one part to another of the group of willows in which the hut was situated, but we were too weak to be able to approach them with sufficient caution. In the evening Michel returned, having met with no success. Next day he refused either to hunt or cut wood, spoke in a very surly manner, and threatened to leave us. Under these circumstances Mr. Hood and I deemed it better to promise if he would hunt diligently for four days that then we would give Hepburn a letter for Mr. Franklin, a compass, inform him what course to pursue, and let them proceed together to the fort. The non-arrival of the Indians to our relief now led us to fear that some accident had happened to Mr. Franklin, and we placed no confidence in the exertions of the Canadians that accompanied him but we had the fullest confidence in Hepburn's returning the moment he could obtain assistance. On the 17th I went to conduct Michel to where Vaillant's blanket was left and after walking about three miles pointed out the hills to him at a distance, and returned to the hut, having gathered a bagful of tripe de roche on the way. It was easier to gather this weed on a march than at the tent, for the exercise of walking produced a glow of heat which enabled us to withstand for a time the cold to which we were exposed in scraping the frozen surface of the rocks. On the contrary when we left the fire to collect it in the neighbourhood of the hut we became chilled at once and were obliged to return very quickly. Michel proposed to remain out all night and to hunt next day on his way back. He returned in the afternoon of the 18th, having found the blanket together with a bag containing two pistols and some other things which had been left beside it. We had some tripe de roche in the evening but Mr. Hood, from the constant griping it produced, was unable to eat more than one or two spoonfuls. He was now so weak as to be scarcely able to sit up at the fireside and complained that the least breeze of wind seemed to blow through his frame. He also suffered much from cold during the night. We lay close to each other but the heat of the body was no longer sufficient to thaw the frozen rime formed by our breaths on the blankets that covered him. At this period we avoided as much as possible conversing upon the hopelessness of our situation and generally endeavoured to lead the conversation towards our future prospects in life. The fact is that with the decay of our strength our minds decayed, and we were no longer able to bear the contemplation of the horrors that surrounded us. Each of us, if I may be allowed to judge from my own case, excused himself from so doing by a desire of not shocking the feelings of others, for we were sensible of one another's weakness of intellect though blind to our own. Yet we were calm and resigned to our fate, not a murmur escaped us, and we were punctual and fervent in our addresses to the Supreme Being. On the 19th Michel refused to hunt or even to assist in carrying a log of wood to the fire which was too heavy for Hepburn's strength and mine. Mr. Hood endeavoured to point out to him the necessity and duty of exertion, and the cruelty of his quitting us without leaving something for our support, but the discourse, far from producing any beneficial effect, seemed only to excite his anger and, amongst other expressions, he made use of the following remarkable one: "It is no use hunting, there are no animals, you had better kill and eat me." At length however he went out but returned very soon with a report that he had seen three deer which he was unable to follow from having wet his foot in a small stream of water thinly covered with ice and being consequently obliged to come to the fire. The day was rather mild and Hepburn and I gathered a large kettleful of tripe de roche; Michel slept in the tent this night. Sunday, October 20. In the morning we again urged Michel to go a-hunting that he might if possible leave us some provision, tomorrow being the day appointed for his quitting us, but he showed great unwillingness to go out and lingered about the fire under the pretence of cleaning his gun. After we had read the morning service I went about noon to gather some tripe de roche, leaving Mr. Hood sitting before the tent at the fireside arguing with Michel; Hepburn was employed cutting down a tree at a short distance from the tent, being desirous of accumulating a quantity of firewood before he left us. A short time after I went out I heard the report of a gun, and about ten minutes afterwards Hepburn called to me in a voice of great alarm to come directly. When I arrived I found poor Hood lying lifeless at the fireside, a ball having apparently entered his forehead. I was at first horror-struck with the idea that in a fit of despondency he had hurried himself into the presence of his Almighty Judge by an act of his own hand, but the conduct of Michel soon gave rise to other thoughts, and excited suspicions which were confirmed when, upon examining the body, I discovered that the shot had entered the back part of the head and passed out at the forehead, and that the muzzle of the gun had been applied so close as to set fire to the night-cap behind. The gun, which was of the longest kind supplied to the Indians, could not have been placed in a position to inflict such a wound except by a second person. Upon inquiring of Michel how it happened he replied that Mr. Hood had sent him into the tent for the short gun and that during his absence the long gun had gone off, he did not know whether by accident or not. He held the short gun in his hand at the time he was speaking to me. Hepburn afterwards informed me that previous to the report of the gun Mr. Hood and Michel were speaking to each other in an elevated angry tone, that Mr. Hood, being seated at the fireside, was hid from him by intervening willows, but that on hearing the report he looked up and saw Michel rising up from before the tent-door, or just behind where Mr. Hood was seated, and then going into the tent. Thinking that the gun had been discharged for the purpose of cleaning it he did not go to the fire at first, and when Michel called to him that Mr. Hood was dead a considerable time had elapsed. Although I dared not openly to evince any suspicion that I thought Michel guilty of the deed, yet he repeatedly protested that he was incapable of committing such an act, kept constantly on his guard, and carefully avoided leaving Hepburn and me together. He was evidently afraid of permitting us to converse in private and whenever Hepburn spoke he inquired if he accused him of the murder. It is to be remarked that he understood English very imperfectly yet sufficiently to render it unsafe for us to speak on the subject in his presence. We removed the body into a clump of willows behind the tent and, returning to the fire, read the funeral service in addition to the evening prayers. The loss of a young officer of such distinguished and varied talents and application may be felt and duly appreciated by the eminent characters under whose command he had served, but the calmness with which he contemplated the probable termination of a life of uncommon promise, and the patience and fortitude with which he sustained, I may venture to say, unparalleled bodily sufferings, can only be known to the companions of his distresses. Owing to the effect that the tripe de roche invariably had when he ventured to taste it, he undoubtedly suffered more than any of the survivors of the party. Bickersteth's Scripture Help was lying open beside the body as if it had fallen from his hand, and it is probable that he was reading it at the instant of his death. We passed the night in the tent together without rest, everyone being on his guard. Next day, having determined on going to the fort, we began to patch and prepare our clothes for the journey. We singed the hair off a part of the buffalo robe that belonged to Mr. Hood and boiled and ate it. Michel tried to persuade me to go to the woods on the Copper-Mine River and hunt for deer instead of going to the fort. In the afternoon, a flock of partridges coming near the tent, he killed several which he shared with us. Thick snowy weather and a head-wind prevented us from starting the following day but on the morning of the 23rd we set out, carrying with us the remainder of the singed robe. Hepburn and Michel had each a gun and I carried a small pistol which Hepburn had loaded for me. In the course of the march Michel alarmed us much by his gestures and conduct, was constantly muttering to himself, expressed an unwillingness to go to the fort, and tried to persuade me to go to the southward to the woods where he said he could maintain himself all the winter by killing deer. In consequence of this behaviour and the expression of his countenance I requested him to leave us and to go to the southward by himself. This proposal increased his ill-nature, he threw out some obscure hints of freeing himself from all restraint on the morrow, and I overheard his muttering threats against Hepburn whom he openly accused of having told stories against him. He also for the first time assumed such a tone of superiority in addressing me as evinced that he considered us to be completely in his power and he gave vent to several expressions of hatred towards the white people or as he termed us in the idiom of the voyagers, the French, some of whom he said had killed and eaten his uncle and two of his relations. In short, taking every circumstance of his conduct into consideration, I came to the conclusion that he would attempt to destroy us on the first opportunity that offered, and that he had hitherto abstained from doing so from his ignorance of his way to the fort, but that he would never suffer us to go thither in company with him. In the course of the day he had several times remarked that we were pursuing the same course that Mr. Franklin was doing when he left him and that, by keeping towards the setting sun, he could find his way himself. Hepburn and I were not in a condition to resist even an open attack, nor could we by any device escape from him. Our united strength was far inferior to his and, beside his gun, he was armed with two pistols, an Indian bayonet, and a knife. In the afternoon, coming to a rock on which there was some tripe de roche, he halted and said he would gather it whilst we went on and that he would soon overtake us. Hepburn and I were now left together for the first time since Mr. Hood's death, and he acquainted me with several material circumstances which he had observed of Michel's behaviour and which confirmed me in the opinion that there was no safety for us except in his death, and he offered to be the instrument of it. I determined however, as I was thoroughly convinced of the necessity of such a dreadful act, to take the whole responsibility upon myself and, immediately upon Michel's coming up, I put an end to his life by shooting him through the head with a pistol. Had my own life alone been threatened I would not have purchased it by such a measure, but I considered myself as entrusted also with the protection of Hepburn's, a man who, by his humane attentions and devotedness, had so endeared himself to me that I felt more anxiety for his safety than for my own. Michel had gathered no tripe de roche and it was evident to us that he had halted for the purpose of putting his gun in order with the intention of attacking us, perhaps whilst we were in the act of encamping. I have dwelt in the preceding part of the narrative upon many circumstances of Michel's conduct, not for the purpose of aggravating his crime, but to put the reader in possession of the reasons that influenced me in depriving a fellow-creature of life. Up to the period of his return to the tent his conduct had been good and respectful to the officers, and in a conversation between Captain Franklin, Mr. Hood, and myself, at Obstruction Rapid, it had been proposed to give him a reward upon our arrival at a post. His principles however, unsupported by a belief in the divine truths of Christianity, were unable to withstand the pressure of severe distress. His countrymen, the Iroquois, are generally Christians, but he was totally uninstructed and ignorant of the duties inculcated by Christianity, and from his long residence in the Indian country seems to have imbibed or retained the rules of conduct which the southern Indians prescribe to themselves. On the two following days we had mild but thick snowy weather and, as the view was too limited to enable us to preserve a straight course, we remained encamped amongst a few willows and dwarf pines about five miles from the tent. We found a species of cornicularia, a kind of lichen that was good to eat when moistened and toasted over the fire, and we had a good many pieces of singed buffalo hide remaining. On the 26th, the weather being clear and extremely cold, we resumed our march which was very painful from the depth of the snow, particularly on the margins of the small lakes that lay in our route. We frequently sunk under the load of our blankets and were obliged to assist each other in getting up. After walking about three miles and a half however we were cheered by the sight of a large herd of reindeer and Hepburn went in pursuit of them but, his hand being unsteady through weakness, he missed. He was so exhausted by this fruitless attempt that we were obliged to encamp upon the spot although it was a very unfavourable one. Next day we had fine and clear but cold weather. We set out early and, in crossing a hill, found a considerable quantity of tripe de roche. About noon we fell upon Little Marten Lake, having walked about two miles. The sight of a place that we knew inspired us with fresh vigour and, there being comparatively little snow on the ice, we advanced at a pace to which we had lately been unaccustomed. In the afternoon we crossed a recent track of a wolverine which, from a parallel mark in the snow, appeared to have been dragging something. Hepburn traced it and upon the borders of the lake found the spine of a deer that it had dropped. It was clean picked and at least one season old, but we extracted the spinal marrow from it which, even in its frozen state, was so acrid as to excoriate the lips. We encamped within sight of the Dog-Rib Rock and from the coldness of the night and the want of fuel rested very ill. On the 28th we rose at daybreak, but from the want of the small fire that we usually made in the mornings to warm our fingers, a very long time was spent in making up our bundles. This task fell to Hepburn's share as I suffered so much from the cold as to be unable to take my hands out of my mittens. We kept a straight course for the Dog-Rib Rock but, owing to the depth of the snow in the valleys we had to cross, did not reach it until late in the afternoon. We would have encamped but did not like to pass a second night without fire and, though scarcely able to drag our limbs after us, we pushed on to a clump of pines about a mile to the southward of the rock and arrived at them in the dusk of the evening. During the last few hundred yards of our march our track lay over some large stones amongst which I fell down upwards of twenty times, and became at length so exhausted that I was unable to stand. If Hepburn had not exerted himself far beyond his strength and speedily made the encampment and kindled a fire, I must have perished on the spot. This night we had plenty of dry wood. On the 29th we had clear and fine weather. We set out at sunrise and hurried on in our anxiety to reach the house, but our progress was much impeded by the great depth of the snow in the valleys. Although every spot of ground over which we travelled today had been repeatedly trodden by us yet we got bewildered in a small lake. We took it for Marten Lake, which was three times its size, and fancied that we saw the rapids and the grounds about the fort, although they were still far distant. Our disappointment when this illusion was dispelled by our reaching the end of the lake so operated on our feeble minds as to exhaust our strength, and we decided upon encamping but, upon ascending a small eminence to look for a clump of wood, we caught a glimpse of the Big Stone, a well-known rock upon the summit of a hill opposite to the fort, and determined upon proceeding. In the evening we saw several large herds of reindeer but Hepburn, who used to be considered a good marksman, was now unable to hold the gun straight and although he got near them all his efforts proved fruitless. In passing through a small clump of pines we saw a flock of partridges, and he succeeded in killing one after firing several shots. We came in sight of the fort at dusk and it is impossible to describe our sensations when, on attaining the eminence that overlooks it, we beheld the smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. From not having met with any footsteps in the snow as we drew nigh our once cheerful residence we had been agitated by many melancholy forebodings. Upon entering the now desolate building we had the satisfaction of embracing Captain Franklin, but no words can convey an idea of the filth and wretchedness that met our eyes on looking around. Our own misery had stolen upon us by degrees and we were accustomed to the contemplation of each other's emaciated figures, but the ghastly countenances, dilated eyeballs, and sepulchral voices of Captain Franklin and those with him were more than we could at first bear. CONCLUSION OF DR. RICHARDSON'S NARRATIVE. ... The morning of the 31st was very cold, the wind being strong from the north. Hepburn went again in quest of deer and the Doctor endeavoured to kill some partridges, both were unsuccessful. A large herd of deer passed close to the house, the Doctor fired once at them but was unable to pursue them. Adam was easier this day and left his bed. Peltier and Samandre were much weaker and could not assist in the labours of the day. Both complained of soreness in the throat and Samandre suffered much from cramps in his fingers. The Doctor and Hepburn began this day to cut the wood and also brought it to the house. Being too weak to aid in these laborious tasks I was employed in searching for bones and cooking and attending to our more weakly companions. In the evening Peltier, complaining much of cold, requested of me a portion of a blanket to repair his shirt and drawers. The mending of these articles occupied him and Samandre until past one A.M. and their spirits were so much revived by the employment that they conversed even cheerfully the whole time. Adam sat up with them. The Doctor, Hepburn, and myself went to bed. We were afterwards agreeably surprised to see Peltier and Samandre carry three or four logs of wood across the room to replenish the fire, which induced us to hope they still possessed more strength than we had supposed. November 1. This day was fine and mild. Hepburn went hunting but was as usual unsuccessful. As his strength was rapidly declining we advised him to desist from the pursuit of deer, and only to go out for a short time and endeavour to kill a few partridges for Peltier and Samandre. The Doctor obtained a little tripe de roche but Peltier could not eat any of it, and Samandre only a few spoonfuls, owing to the soreness of their throats. In the afternoon Peltier was so much exhausted that he sat up with difficulty and looked piteously; at length he slid from his stool upon his bed, as we supposed to sleep, and in this composed state he remained upwards of two hours without our apprehending any danger. We were then alarmed by hearing a rattling in his throat and on the Doctor's examining him he was found to be speechless. He died in the course of the night. Samandre sat up the greater part of the day and even assisted in pounding some bones but, on witnessing the melancholy state of Peltier, he became very low and began to complain of cold and stiffness of the joints. Being unable to keep up a sufficient fire to warm him we laid him down and covered him with several blankets. He did not however appear to get better and I deeply lament to add he also died before daylight. We removed the bodies of the deceased into the opposite part of the house but our united strength was inadequate to the task of interring them or even carrying them down to the river. It may be worthy of remark that poor Peltier, from the time of Benoit's departure, had fixed on the first of November as the time when he should cease to expect any relief from the Indians, and had repeatedly said that if they did not arrive by that day he should not survive. Peltier had endeared himself to each of us by his cheerfulness, his unceasing activity, and affectionate care and attentions ever since our arrival at this place. He had nursed Adam with the tenderest solicitude the whole time. Poor Samandre was willing to have taken his share in the labours of the party had he not been wholly incapacitated by his weakness and low spirits. The severe shock occasioned by the sudden dissolution of our two companions rendered us very melancholy. Adam became low and despondent, a change which we lamented the more as we had perceived he had been gaining strength and spirits for the two preceding days. I was particularly distressed by the thought that the labour of collecting wood must now devolve upon Dr. Richardson and Hepburn, and that my debility would disable me from affording them any material assistance; indeed both of them most kindly urged me not to make the attempt. They were occupied the whole of the next day in tearing down the logs of which the storehouse was built but the mud plastered between them was so hard frozen that the labour of separation exceeded their strength, and they were completely exhausted by bringing in wood sufficient for less than twelve hours' consumption. I found it necessary in their absence to remain constantly near Adam and to converse with him in order to prevent his reflecting on our condition, and to keep up his spirits as far as possible. I also lay by his side at night. On the 3rd the weather was very cold though the atmosphere was cloudy. This morning Hepburn was affected with swelling in his limbs, his strength as well as that of the Doctor was rapidly declining; they continued however to be full of hope. Their utmost exertions could only supply wood to renew the fire thrice and on making it up the last time we went to bed. Adam was in rather better spirits but he could not bear to be left alone. Our stock of bones was exhausted by a small quantity of soup we made this evening. The toil of separating the hair from the skins, which in fact were our chief support, had now become so wearisome as to prevent us from eating as much as we should otherwise have done. November 4. Calm and comparatively mild weather. The Doctor and Hepburn, exclusive of their usual occupation, gathered some tripe de roche. I went a few yards from the house in search of bones and returned quite fatigued, having found but three. The Doctor again made incisions in Adam's leg which discharged a considerable quantity of water and gave him great relief. We read prayers and a portion of the New Testament in the morning and evening, as had been our practice since Dr. Richardson's arrival, and I may remark that the performance of these duties always afforded us the greatest consolation, serving to reanimate our hope in the mercy of the Omnipotent, who alone could save and deliver us. On the 5th the breezes were light with dark cloudy weather and some snow. The Doctor and Hepburn were getting much weaker and the limbs of the latter were now greatly swelled. They came into the house frequently in the course of the day to rest themselves and when once seated were unable to rise without the help of one another, or of a stick. Adam was for the most part in the same low state as yesterday, but sometimes he surprised us by getting up and walking with an appearance of increased strength. His looks were now wild and ghastly and his conversation was often incoherent. The next day was fine but very cold. The swellings in Adam's limbs having subsided he was free from pain and arose this morning in much better spirits, and spoke of cleaning his gun ready for shooting partridges or any animals that might appear near the house, but his tone entirely changed before the day was half over; he became again dejected and could scarcely be prevailed upon to eat. The Doctor and Hepburn were almost exhausted. The cutting of one log of wood occupied the latter half an hour, and the other took as much time to drag it into the house, though the distance did not exceed thirty yards. I endeavoured to help the Doctor but my assistance was very trifling. Yet it was evident that in a day or two if their strength should continue to decline at the same rate I should be the strongest of the party. I may here remark that owing to our loss of flesh the hardness of the floor from which we were only protected by a blanket produced soreness over the body, and especially those parts on which the weight rested in lying, yet to turn ourselves for relief was a matter of toil and difficulty. However during this period and indeed all along after the acute pains of hunger, which lasted but three or four days, had subsided, we generally enjoyed the comfort of a few hours' sleep. The dreams which for the most part but not always accompanied it were usually (though not invariably) of a pleasant character, being very often about the enjoyments of feasting. In the daytime we fell into the practice of conversing on common and light subjects, although we sometimes discussed with seriousness and earnestness topics connected with religion. We generally avoided speaking directly of our present sufferings or even of the prospect of relief. I observed that in proportion as our strength decayed our minds exhibited symptoms of weakness, evinced by a kind of unreasonable pettishness with each other. Each of us thought the other weaker in intellect than himself, and more in need of advice and assistance. So trifling a circumstance as a change of place, recommended by one as being warmer and more comfortable and refused by the other from a dread of motion, frequently called forth fretful expressions which were no sooner uttered than atoned for, to be repeated perhaps in the course of a few minutes. The same thing often occurred when we endeavoured to assist each other in carrying wood to the fire; none of us were willing to receive assistance although the task was disproportioned to our strength. On one of these occasions Hepburn was so convinced of this waywardness that he exclaimed, "Dear me, if we are spared to return to England, I wonder if we shall recover our understandings." November 7. Adam had passed a restless night, being disquieted by gloomy apprehensions of approaching death, which we tried in vain to dispel. He was so low in the morning as to be scarcely able to speak. I remained in bed by his side to cheer him as much as possible. The Doctor and Hepburn went to cut wood. They had hardly begun their labour when they were amazed at hearing the report of a musket. They could scarcely believe that there was really anyone near until they heard a shout and immediately espied three Indians close to the house. Adam and I heard the latter noise and I was fearful that a part of the house had fallen upon one of my companions, a disaster which had in fact been thought not unlikely. My alarm was only momentary, Dr. Richardson came in to communicate the joyful intelligence that relief had arrived. He and myself immediately addressed thanksgivings to the throne of mercy for this deliverance but poor Adam was in so low a state that he could scarcely comprehend the information. When the Indians entered he attempted to rise but sank down again. But for this seasonable interposition of Providence his existence must have terminated in a few hours, and that of the rest probably in not many days. The Indians had left Akaitcho's encampment on the 5th November, having been sent by Mr. Back with all possible expedition after he had arrived at their tents. They brought but a small supply of provision that they might travel quickly. It consisted of dried deer's meat, some fat, and a few tongues. Dr. Richardson, Hepburn and I eagerly devoured the food which they imprudently presented to us in too great abundance, and in consequence we suffered dreadfully from indigestion and had no rest the whole night. Adam, being unable to feed himself, was more judiciously treated by them and suffered less; his spirits revived hourly. The circumstance of our eating more food than was proper in our present condition was another striking proof of the debility of our minds. We were perfectly aware of the danger, and Dr. Richardson repeatedly cautioned us to be moderate, but he was himself unable to practise the caution he so judiciously recommended. Boudell-kell, the youngest of the Indians, after resting about an hour, returned to Akaitcho with the intelligence of our situation, and he conveyed a note from me to Mr. Back, requesting another supply of meat as soon as possible. The two others, Crooked-Foot and the Rat, remained to take care of us until we should be able to move forward. The note received by the Indians from Mr. Back communicated a tale of distress with regard to himself and his party as painful as that which we had suffered, as will be seen hereafter by his own narrative. November 8. The Indians this morning requested us to remove to an encampment on the banks of the river as they were unwilling to remain in the house where the bodies of our deceased companions were lying exposed to view. We agreed but the day proved too stormy and Dr. Richardson and Hepburn, having dragged the bodies to a short distance and covered them with snow, the objections of the Indians to remain in the house were dissipated, and they began to clear our room of the accumulation of dirt and fragments of pounded bones. The improved state of our apartment and the large and cheerful fires they kept up produced in us a sensation of comfort to which we had long been strangers. In the evening they brought in a pile of dried wood which was lying on the riverside and towards which we had often cast a wishful eye, being unable to drag it up the bank. The Indians set about everything with an activity that amazed us. Indeed contrasted with our emaciated figures and extreme debility their frames appeared to us gigantic and their strength supernatural. These kind creatures next turned their attention to our personal appearance and prevailed upon us to shave and wash ourselves. The beards of the Doctor and Hepburn had been untouched since they left the sea-coast and were become of a hideous length and peculiarly offensive to the Indians. The Doctor and I suffered extremely from distension and therefore ate sparingly.* Hepburn was getting better and Adam recovered his strength with amazing rapidity. (*Footnote. The first alvine discharges after we received food were, as Hearne remarks on a similar occasion, attended with excessive pain. Previous to the arrival of the Indians the urinary secretion was extremely abundant and we were obliged to rise from bed in consequence upwards of ten times in a night. This was an extreme annoyance in our reduced state. It may perhaps be attributed to the quantity of the country tea that we drank.) November 9. This morning was pleasantly fine. Crooked-Foot caught four large trout in Winter Lake which were very much prized, especially by the Doctor and myself, who had taken a dislike to meat in consequence of our sufferings from repletion which rendered us almost incapable of moving. Adam and Hepburn in a good measure escaped this pain. Though the night was stormy and our apartment freely admitted the wind we felt no inconvenience, the Indians were so very careful in covering us up and in keeping a good fire, and our plentiful cheer gave such power of resisting the cold, that we could scarcely believe otherwise than that the season had become milder. On the 13th the weather was stormy with constant snow. The Indians became desponding at the non-arrival of the supply and would neither go to hunt nor fish. They frequently expressed their fears of some misfortune having befallen Boudel-kell, and in the evening went off suddenly without apprising us of their intention, having first given to each of us a handful of pounded meat which they had reserved. Their departure at first gave rise to a suspicion of their having deserted us, not meaning to return, especially as the explanations of Adam, who appeared to be in their secret, were very unsatisfactory. At length by interrogations we got from him the information that they designed to march night and day until they should reach Akaitcho's encampment whence they would send us aid. As we had combated their fears about Boudell-kell they perhaps apprehended that we should oppose their determination and therefore concealed it. We were now left a second time without food, and with appetites recovered and strongly excited by recent indulgence. On the following day the Doctor and Hepburn resumed their former occupation of collecting wood and I was able to assist a little in bringing it into the house. Adam, whose expectation of the arrival of the Indians had been raised by the fineness of the weather, became towards night very desponding and refused to eat the singed skin. The night was stormy and there was a heavy fall of snow. The next day he became still more dejected. About eleven Hepburn, who had gone out for the wood, came in with the intelligence that a party appeared upon the river. The room was instantly swept and, in compliance with the prejudices of the Indians, every scrap of skin was carefully removed out of sight, for these simple people imagine that burning deer-skin renders them unsuccessful in hunting. The party proved to be Crooked-Foot, Thooeeyorre, and the Fop, with the wives of the two latter dragging provisions. They were accompanied by Benoit, one of our own men. We were rejoiced to learn by a note from Mr. Back dated November 11 that he and his companions had so recruited their strength that they were preparing to proceed to Fort Providence. Adam recovered his spirits on the arrival of the Indians and even walked about the room with an appearance of strength and activity that surprised us all. As it was of consequence to get amongst the reindeer before our present supply should fail we made preparations for quitting Fort Enterprise the next day and accordingly, at an early hour on the 16th, having united in thanksgiving and prayer, the whole party left the house after breakfast. Our feelings on quitting the fort where we had formerly enjoyed much comfort, if not happiness, and latterly experienced a degree of misery scarcely to be paralleled, may be more easily conceived than described. The Indians treated us with the utmost tenderness, gave us their snowshoes, and walked without themselves, keeping by our sides that they might lift us when we fell. We descended Winter River and about noon crossed the head of Round-Rock Lake, distant about three miles from the house, where we were obliged to halt as Dr. Richardson was unable to proceed. The swellings in his limbs rendered him by much the weakest of the party. The Indians prepared our encampment, cooked for us, and fed us as if we had been children, evincing humanity that would have done honour to the most civilised people. The night was mild and fatigue made us sleep soundly. From this period to the 26th of November we gradually improved through their kindness and attention, and on that day arrived in safety at the abode of our chief and companion Akaitcho. We were received by the party assembled in the leader's tent with looks of compassion and profound silence which lasted about a quarter of an hour and by which they meant to express their condolence for our sufferings. The conversation did not begin until we had tasted food. The chief Akaitcho showed us the most friendly hospitality and all sorts of personal attention, even to cooking for us with his own hands, an office which he never performs for himself. Annoethaiyazzeh and Humpy, the chief's two brothers, and several of our hunters, with their families were encamped here together with a number of old men and women. In the course of the day we were visited by every person of the band, not merely from curiosity, but a desire to evince their tender sympathy in our late distress. We learned that Mr. Back with St. Germain and Belanger had gone to Fort Providence and that, previous to his departure, he had left a letter in a cache of pounded meat which we had missed two days ago. As we supposed that this letter might acquaint us with his intentions more fully than we could gather from the Indians, through our imperfect knowledge of their language, Augustus, the Esquimaux, whom we found here in perfect health, and an Indian lad were despatched to bring it. We found several of the Indian families in great affliction for the loss of three of their relatives who had been drowned in the August preceding by the upsetting of a canoe near Fort Enterprise. They bewailed the melancholy accident every morning and evening by repeating the names of the persons in a loud singing tone which was frequently interrupted by bursts of tears. One woman was so affected by the loss of her only son that she seemed deprived of reason and wandered about the tents the whole day, crying and singing out his name. On the 1st of December we removed with the Indians to the southward. On the 4th we again set off after the Indians about noon, and soon overtook them, as they had halted to drag from the water and cut up and share a moose-deer that had been drowned in a rapid part of the river, partially covered with ice. These operations detained us a long time which was the more disagreeable as the weather was extremely unpleasant from cold low fogs. We were all much fatigued at the hour of encampment, which was after dark, though the day's journey did not exceed four miles. At every halt the elderly men of the tribe made holes in the ice and put in their lines. One of them shared the produce of his fishery with us this evening. In the afternoon of the 6th Belanger and another Canadian arrived from Fort Providence, sent by Mr. Weeks with two trains of dogs, some spirits and tobacco for the Indians, a change of dress for ourselves, and a little tea and sugar. They also brought letters for us from England and from Mr. Back and Mr. Wentzel. By the former we received the gratifying intelligence of the successful termination of Captain Parry's voyage, and were informed of the promotion of myself and Mr. Back, and of poor Hood, our grief for whose loss was renewed by this intelligence. The letter from Mr. Back stated that the rival Companies in the fur trade had united but that, owing to some cause which had not been explained to him, the goods intended as rewards to Akaitcho and his band which we had demanded in the spring from the North-West Company were not sent. There were however some stores lying for us at Moose-Deer Island, which had been ordered for the equipment of our voyagers, and Mr. Back had gone across to that establishment to make a selection of the articles we could spare for a temporary present to the Indians. The disappointment at the non-arrival of the goods was seriously felt by us as we had looked forward with pleasure to the time when we should be enabled to recompense our kind Indian friends for their tender sympathy in our distresses, and the assistance they had so cheerfully and promptly rendered. I now regretted to find that Mr. Wentzel and his party, in their return from the sea, had suffered severely on their march along the Copper-Mine River, having on one occasion, as he mentioned, had no food but tripe de roche for eleven days. All the Indians flocked to our encampment to learn the news and to receive the articles brought for them. Having got some spirits and tobacco they withdrew to the tent of the chief and passed the greater part of the night in singing. We had now the indescribable gratification of changing our linen which had been worn ever since our departure from the sea-coast. December 8. After a long conference with Akaitcho we took leave of him and his kind companions and set out with two sledges, heavily laden with provision and bedding, drawn by the dogs, and conducted by Belanger and the Canadian sent by Mr. Weeks. Hepburn and Augustus jointly dragged a smaller sledge laden principally with their own bedding. Adam and Benoit were left to follow with the Indians. We encamped on the Grassy-Lake Portage, having walked about nine miles, principally on the Yellow Knife River. It was open at the rapids and in these places we had to ascend its banks and walk through the woods for some distance, which was very fatiguing, especially to Dr. Richardson whose feet were severely galled in consequence of some defect in his snowshoes. On the 11th however we arrived at the fort which was still under the charge of Mr. Weeks. He welcomed us in the most kind manner, immediately gave us changes of dress, and did everything in his power to make us comfortable. Our sensations on being once more in a comfortable dwelling after the series of hardships and miseries we had experienced may be imagined. Our first act was again to return our grateful praises to the Almighty for the manifold instances of His mercy towards us. Having found here some articles which Mr. Back had sent across from Moose-Deer Island I determined on awaiting the arrival of Akaitcho and his party in order to present these to them and to assure them of the promised reward as soon as it could possibly be procured. In the afternoon of the 14th Akaitcho with his whole band came to the fort. He smoked his customary pipe and made an address to Mr. Weeks in the hall previous to his coming into the room in which Dr. Richardson and I were. We discovered at the commencement of his speech to us that he had been informed that our expected supplies had not come. He spoke of this circumstance as a disappointment indeed sufficiently severe to himself, to whom his band looked up for the protection of their interests, but without attaching any blame to us. "The world goes badly," he said "all are poor; you are poor, the traders appear to be poor, I and my party are poor likewise, and since the goods have not come in we cannot have them. I do not regret having supplied you with provisions for a Copper Indian can never permit white men to suffer from want of food on his lands without flying to their aid. I trust however that we shall, as you say, receive what is due next autumn, and at all events," he added in a tone of good humour, "it is the first time that the white people have been indebted to the Copper Indians." We assured him the supplies should certainly be sent to him by the autumn if not before. He then cheerfully received the small present we made to himself and, although we could give a few things only to those who had been most active in our service, the others who perhaps thought themselves equally deserving did not murmur at being left out in the distribution. Akaitcho afterwards expressed a strong desire that we should represent the character of his nation in a favourable light to our countrymen. "I know," he said, "you write down every occurrence in your books, but probably you have only noticed the bad things we have said and done, and have omitted the good." In the course of the desultory conversation which ensued he said that he had been always told by us to consider the traders in the same light as ourselves, and that for his part he looked upon both as equally respectable. This assurance, made in the presence of Mr. Weeks, was particularly gratifying to us as it completely disproved the defence that had been set up respecting the injurious reports circulated against us amongst the Indians in the spring, namely that they were in retaliation for our endeavours to lower the traders in the eyes of the Indians. I take this opportunity of stating my opinion that Mr. Weeks, in spreading these reports, was actuated by a mistaken idea that he was serving the interest of his employers. On the present occasion we felt indebted to him for the sympathy he displayed for our distresses, and the kindness with which he administered to our personal wants. After this conference such Indians as were indebted to the Company were paid for the provision they had given us by deducting a corresponding sum from their debts; in the same way we gave a reward of sixteen skins of beaver to each of the persons who had come to our relief at Fort Enterprise. As the debts of Akaitcho and his hunters had been effaced at the time of his engagement with us we placed a sum equal to the amount of provision they had recently supplied to their credit on the Company's books. These things being, through the moderation of the Indians, adjusted with an unexpected facility, we gave them a keg of mixed liquors (five parts water) and distributed among them several fathoms of tobacco, and they retired to their tents to spend the night in merriment. Adam, our interpreter, being desirous of uniting himself with the Copper Indians, applied to me for his discharge which I granted, and gave him a bill on the Hudson's Bay Company for the amount of his wages. These arrangements being completed we prepared to cross the lake. Mr. Weeks provided Dr. Richardson and I with a cariole each and we set out at eleven A.M. on the 15th for Moose-Deer Island. Our party consisted of Belanger who had charge of a sledge laden with the bedding and drawn by two dogs, our two cariole men, Benoit and Augustus. Previous to our departure we had another conference with Akaitcho who, as well as the rest of his party, bade us farewell with a warmth of manner rare among the Indians. The badness of Belanger's dogs and the roughness of the ice impeded our progress very much and obliged us to encamp early. We had a good fire made of the driftwood which lines the shores of this lake in great quantities. The next day was very cold. We began the journey at nine A.M. and encamped at the Big Cape, having made another short march in consequence of the roughness of the ice. On the 17th we encamped on the most southerly of the Reindeer Islands. This night was very stormy but, the wind abating in the morning, we proceeded and by sunset reached the fishing-huts of the Company at Stony Point. Here we found Mr. Andrews, a clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company, who regaled us with a supper of excellent white-fish for which this part of Slave Lake is particularly celebrated. Two men with sledges arrived soon afterwards, sent by Mr. McVicar, who expected us about this time. We set off in the morning before daybreak with several companions and arrived at Moose-Deer Island about one P.M. Here we were received with the utmost hospitality by Mr. McVicar, the chief trader of the Hudson's Bay Company in this district, as well as by his assistant Mr. McAuley. We had also the happiness of joining our friend Mr. Back; our feelings on this occasion can be well imagined and we were deeply impressed with gratitude to him for his exertions in sending the supply of food to Fort Enterprise, to which under Divine Providence we felt the preservation of our lives to be owing. He gave us an affecting detail of the proceedings of his party since our separation, the substance of which I shall convey to the reader by the following extracts from his Journal. MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE. October 4, 1821. Captain Franklin having directed me to proceed with St. Germain, Belanger, and Beauparlant to Fort Enterprise, in the hope of obtaining relief for the party, I took leave of my companions and set out on my journey through a very swampy country which, with the cloudy state of the weather and a keen north-east wind, accompanied by frequent snow-showers, retarded us so much that we had scarcely got more than four miles before we halted for the night and made a meal of tripe de roche and some old leather. On the 5th we set out early amidst extremely deep snow, sinking frequently in it up to the thighs, a labour in our enfeebled and almost worn-out state that nothing but the cheering hopes of reaching the house and affording relief to our friends could have enabled us to support. As we advanced we found to our mortification that the tripe de roche, hitherto our sole dependence, began to be scarce, so that we could only collect sufficient to make half a kettleful which, with the addition of a partridge each that St. Germain had killed, yielded a tolerable meal; during this day I felt very weak and sore in the joints, particularly between the shoulders. At eight we encamped among a small clump of willows. On the 6th we set out at an early hour, pursuing our route over a range of hills at the foot of one of which we saw several large pines and a great quantity of willows, a sight that encouraged us to quicken our pace as we were now certain we could not be far from the woods. Indeed we were making considerable progress when Belanger unfortunately broke through the ice and sank up to the hips. The weather being cold, he was in danger of freezing, but some brushwood on the borders of the lake enabled us to make a fire to dry him. At the same time we took the opportunity of refreshing ourselves with a kettle of swamp tea. My increasing debility had for some time obliged me to use a stick for the purpose of extending my arms, the pain in my shoulders being so acute that I could not bear them to remain in the usual position for two minutes together. We halted at five among some small brushwood and made a sorry meal of an old pair of leather trousers and some swamp tea. The night was cold with a hard frost and though two persons slept together yet we could not by any means keep ourselves warm, but remained trembling the whole time. The following morning we crossed several lakes, occasionally seeing the recent tracks of deer, and at noon we fell upon Marten Lake; it happened to be at the exact spot where we had been the last year with the canoes yet, though I immediately recognised the place, the men would not believe it to be the same; at length by pointing out several marks and relating circumstances connected with them they recovered their memory, and a simultaneous expression of "Mon Dieu, nous sommes sauves," broke from the whole. Contrary to our expectations the lake was frozen sufficiently to bear us, so that we were excused from making the tours of the different bays. This circumstance seemed to impart fresh vigour to us and we walked as fast as the extreme smoothness of the ice would permit, intending to reach the Slave Rock that night, but an unforeseen and almost fatal accident prevented the prosecution of our plan: Belanger (who seemed the victim of misfortune) again broke through the ice in a deep part near the head of the rapid, but was timely saved by our fastening our worsted belts together and pulling him out. By urging him forwards as quick as his icy garments would admit to prevent his freezing, we reached a few pines and kindled a fire, but it was late before he even felt warm, though he was so near the flame as to burn his hair twice, and to add to our distress (since we could not pursue them) three wolves crossed the lake close to us. The night of the 7th was extremely stormy and about ten the following morning, on attempting to go on, we found it totally impossible, being too feeble to oppose the wind and drift which frequently blew us over and, on attempting to cross a small lake that lay in our way, drove us faster backwards than with every effort we could get forwards; we therefore encamped under the shelter of a small clump of pines, secure from the south-west storm that was raging around us. In the evening, there being no tripe de roche we were compelled to satisfy, or rather allay, the cravings of hunger by eating a gun cover and a pair of old shoes; at this time I had scarcely strength to get on my legs. The wind did not in the least abate during the night but in the morning of the 9th it changed to north-east and became moderate. We took advantage of this circumstance and, rising with great difficulty, set out, though had it not been for the hope of reaching the house I am certain, from the excessive faintness which almost overpowered me, that I must have remained where I was. We passed the Slave Rock and, making frequent halts, arrived within a short distance of Fort Enterprise, but as we perceived neither any marks of Indians nor even of animals, the men began absolutely to despair, on a nearer approach however the tracks of large herds of deer which had only passed a few hours tended a little to revive their spirits, and shortly after we crossed the ruinous threshold of the long-sought spot, but what was our surprise, what our sensations, at beholding everything in the most desolate and neglected state; the doors and windows of that room in which we expected to find provision had been thrown down and the wild animals of the woods had resorted there as to a place of shelter and retreat. Mr. Wentzel had taken away the trunks and papers but had left no note to guide us to the Indians. This was to us the most grievous disappointment: without the assistance of the Indians, bereft of every resource, we felt ourselves reduced to the most miserable state, which was rendered still worse from the recollection that our friends in the rear were as miserable as ourselves. For the moment however hunger prevailed and each began to gnaw the scraps of putrid and frozen meat that were lying about without waiting to prepare them. A fire however was made and the neck and bones of a deer found in the house were boiled and devoured. I determined to remain a day here to repose; then to go in search of the Indians and, in the event of missing them, to proceed to the first trading establishment which was distant about one hundred and thirty miles, and from thence to send succour to my companions. This indeed I should have done immediately as the most certain manner of executing my purpose, had there been any probability of the river and lakes being frozen to the southward, or had we possessed sufficient strength to have clambered over the rocks and mountains which impeded the direct way, but as we were aware of our inability to do so I listened to St. Germain's proposal, which was to follow the deer into the woods (so long as they did not lead us out of our route to the Indians) and if possible to collect sufficient food to carry us to Fort Providence. We now set about making mittens and snowshoes whilst Belanger searched under the snow and collected a mass of old bones which, when burned and used with a little salt, we found palatable enough and made a tolerable meal. At night St. Germain returned, having seen plenty of tracks but no animals; the day was cloudy with fresh breezes and the river was frozen at the borders. On the 11th we prepared for our journey, having first collected a few old skins of deer to serve us as food, and written a note to be left for our commander to apprise him of our intentions. We pursued the course of the river to the lower lake when St. Germain fell in, which obliged us to encamp directly to prevent his being frozen; indeed we were all glad to rest for, in our meagre and reduced state, it was impossible to resist the weather which at any other time would have been thought fine; my toes were frozen and, although wrapped up in a blanket, I could not keep my hands warm. The 12th was exceedingly cold with fresh breezes. Our meal at night consisted of scraps of old deer-skins and swamp tea and the men complained greatly of their increasing debility. The following morning I sent St. Germain to hunt, intending to go some distance down the lake, but the weather becoming exceedingly thick with snow-storms we were prevented from moving. He returned without success, not having seen any animals. We had nothing to eat. In the morning of the 14th the part of the lake before us was quite frozen. There was so much uncertainty in St. Germain's answers as to the chance of any Indians being in the direction we were then going (although he had previously said that the leader had told him he should be there) and he gave so much dissatisfaction in his hunting excursions that I was induced to send a note to the Commander, whom I supposed to be by this time at Fort Enterprise, to inform him of our situation; not that I imagined for a moment he could amend it, but that by all returning to the fort we might perhaps have better success in hunting; with this view I despatched Belanger, much against his inclination, and told him to return as quickly as possible to a place about four miles farther on where we intended to fish and to await his arrival. The men were so weak this day that I could get neither of them to move from the encampment, and it was only necessity that compelled them to cut wood for fuel, in performing which operation Beauparlant's face became so dreadfully swelled that he could scarcely see; I myself lost my temper on the most trivial circumstances and was become very peevish; the day was fine but cold with a freezing north-east wind. We had nothing to eat. October 15. The night was calm and clear but it was not before two in the afternoon that we set out, and the one was so weak and the other so full of complaints that we did not get more than three-quarters of a mile from our last encampment before we were obliged to put up, but in this distance we were fortunate enough to kill a partridge, the bones of which were eaten and the remainder reserved for baits to fish with. We however collected sufficient tripe de roche to make a meal and I anxiously awaited Belanger's return to know what course to take. I was now so much reduced that my shoulders were as if they would fall from my body, my legs seemed unable to support me and, in the disposition in which I then found myself, had it not been for the remembrance of my friends behind who relied on me for relief as well as the persons of whom I had charge, I certainly should have preferred remaining where I was to the miserable pain of attempting to move. October 16. We waited until two in the afternoon for Belanger but, not seeing anything of him on the lake, we set out, purposing to encamp at the Narrows, the place which was said to be so good for fishing and where, according to St. Germain's account, the Indians never failed to catch plenty; its distance at most could not be more than two miles. We had not proceeded far before Beauparlant began to complain of increasing weakness, but this was so usual with us that no particular notice was taken of it, for in fact there was little difference, all being alike feeble: among other things he said whilst we were resting that he should never get beyond the next encampment for his strength had quite failed him. I endeavoured to encourage him by explaining the mercy of the Supreme Being who ever beholds with an eye of pity those that seek His aid. This passed as common discourse. When he inquired where we were to put up St. Germain pointed to a small clump of pines near us, the only place indeed that offered for fuel. "Well," replied the poor man, "take your axe, Mr. Back, and I will follow at my leisure, I shall join you by the time the encampment is made." This is a usual practice of the country and St. Germain and myself went on towards the spot; it was five o'clock and not very cold but rather milder than we had experienced it for some time when, on leaving the ice, we saw a number of crows perched on the top of some high pines near us. St. Germain immediately said there must be some dead animal thereabouts and proceeded to search, when we saw several heads of deer half buried in the snow and ice without eyes or tongues, the previous severity of the weather having obliged the wolves and other animals to abandon them. An expression of "Oh merciful God! we are saved," broke from us both, and with feelings more easily imagined than described we shook hands, not knowing what to say for joy. It was twilight and a fog was rapidly darkening the surface of the lake when St. Germain commenced making the encampment; the task was too laborious for me to render him any assistance and, had we not thus providentially found provision, I feel convinced that the next twenty-four hours would have terminated my existence. But this good fortune in some measure renovated me for the moment and, putting out my whole strength, I contrived to collect a few heads and with incredible difficulty carried them singly about thirty paces to the fire. Darkness stole on us apace and I became extremely anxious about Beauparlant; several guns were fired to each of which he answered. We then called out and again heard his responses though faintly, when I told St. Germain to go and look for him as I had not strength myself, being quite exhausted. He said that he had already placed a pine branch on the ice and he could then scarcely find his way back, but if he went now he should certainly be lost. In this situation I could only hope that, as Beauparlant had my blanket and everything requisite to light a fire, he might have encamped at a little distance from us. October 17. The night was cold and clear but we could not sleep at all from the pains of having eaten. We suffered the most excruciating torments though I in particular did not eat a quarter of what would have satisfied me; it might have been from using a quantity of raw or frozen sinews of the legs of deer, which neither of us could avoid doing, so great was our hunger. In the morning, being much agitated for the safety of Beauparlant, I desired St. Germain to go in search of him and to return with him as quick as possible, when I would have something prepared for them to eat. It was however late when he arrived, with a small bundle which Beauparlant was accustomed to carry and, with tears in his eyes, told me that he had found our poor companion dead. Dead! I could not believe him. "It is so sir," said St. Germain, "after hallooing and calling his name to no purpose I went towards our last encampment about three-quarters of a mile and found him stretched upon his back on a sandbank frozen to death, his limbs all extended and swelled enormously and as hard as the ice that was near him; his bundle was behind him as if it had rolled away when he fell, and the blanket which he wore around his neck and shoulders thrown on one side. Seeing that there was no longer life in him I threw your covering over him and placed his snowshoes on the top of it." I had not even thought of so serious an occurrence in our little party and for a short time was obliged to give vent to my grief. Left with one person and both of us weak, no appearance of Belanger, a likelihood that great calamity had taken place amongst our other companions, still upwards of seventeen days' march from the nearest establishment, and myself unable to carry a burden; all these things pressed heavy on me, and how to get to the Indians or to the fort I did not know but, that I might not depress St. Germain's spirits, I suppressed the feelings to which these thoughts gave rise and made some arrangements for the journey to Fort Providence. October 18. While we were this day occupied in scraping together the remains of some deer's meat we observed Belanger coming round a point apparently scarcely moving. I went to meet him and made immediate inquiries about my friends. Five, with the Captain, he said, were at the house, the rest were left near the river unable to proceed, but he was too weak to relate the whole. He was conducted to the encampment and paid every attention to, and by degrees we heard the remainder of his tragic tale, at which the interpreter could not avoid crying. He then gave me a letter from my friend the Commander which indeed was truly afflicting. The simple story of Belanger I could hear, but when I read it in another language, mingled with the pious resignation of a good man, I could not sustain it any longer. The poor man was much affected at the death of our lamented companion but his appetite prevailed over every other feeling and, had I permitted it, he would have done himself an injury; for after two hours' eating, principally skin and sinews, he complained of hunger. The day was cloudy with snow and fresh breezes from the north-east by east. The last evening as well as this morning the 19th I mentioned my wishes to the men that we should proceed towards Reindeer Lake, but this proposal met with a direct refusal. Belanger stated his inability to move and St. Germain used similar language, adding for the first time that he did not know the route, and that it was of no use to go in the direction I mentioned, which was the one agreed upon between the Commander and myself. I then insisted that we should go by the known route and join the Commander, but they would not hear of it; they would remain where they were until they had regained their strength; they said I wanted to expose them again to death (faire perir). In vain did I use every argument to the contrary for they were equally heedless to all. Thus situated I was compelled to remain, and from this time to the 25th we employed ourselves in looking about for the remnants of the deer and pieces of skin which even the wolves had left and, by pounding the bones, we were enabled to make a sort of soup which strengthened us greatly, though each still complained of weakness. It was not without the greatest difficulty that I could restrain the men from eating every scrap they found, though they were well aware of the necessity there was of being economical in our present situation and to save whatever they could for our journey; yet they could not resist the temptation and whenever my back was turned they seldom failed to snatch at the nearest piece to them, whether cooked or raw. We had set fishing-lines but without any success, and we often saw large herds of deer crossing the lake at full speed and wolves pursuing them. The night of the 25th was cold with hard frost. Early the next morning I sent the men to cover the body of our departed companion Beauparlant with the trunks and branches of trees which they did and, shortly after their return, I opened his bundle and found it contained two papers of vermilion, several strings of beads, some fire-steels, flints, awls, fish-hooks, rings, linen, and the glass of an artificial horizon. My two men began to recover a little as well as myself, though I was by far the weakest of the three; the soles of my feet were cracked all over and the other parts were as hard as horn from constant walking. I again urged the necessity of advancing to join the Commander's party but they said they were not sufficiently strong. On the 27th we discovered the remains of a deer on which we feasted. The night was unusually cold and ice formed in a pint-pot within two feet of the fire. The coruscations of the Aurora Borealis were beautifully brilliant; they served to show us eight wolves which we had some trouble to frighten away from our collection of deer's bones and, between their howling and the constant cracking of the ice, we did not get much rest. Having collected with great care and by self-denial two small packets of dried meat or sinews sufficient (for men who knew what it was to fast) to last for eight days at the rate of one indifferent meal per day, we prepared to set out on the 30th. I calculated that we should be about fourteen days in reaching Fort Providence and, allowing that we neither killed deer nor found Indians, we could but be unprovided with food six days and this we heeded not whilst the prospect of obtaining full relief was before us. Accordingly we set out against a keen north-east wind in order to gain the known route to Fort Providence. We saw a number of wolves and some crows on the middle of the lake and, supposing such an assemblage was not met idly, we made for them and came in for a share of a deer which they had killed a short time before, and thus added a couple of meals to our stock. By four P.M. we gained the head of the lake or the direct road to Fort Providence and, some dry wood being at hand, we encamped; by accident it was the same place where the Commander's party had slept on the 19th, the day on which I supposed they had left Fort Enterprise, but the encampment was so small that we feared great mortality had taken place amongst them, and I am sorry to say the stubborn resolution of my men not to go to the house prevented me from determining this most anxious point, so that I now almost dreaded passing their encampments lest I should see some of our unfortunate friends dead at each spot. Our fire was hardly kindled when a fine herd of deer passed close to us. St. Germain pursued them a short distance but with his usual want of success so that we made a meal off the muscles and sinews we had dried, though they were so tough that we could scarcely cut them. My hands were benumbed throughout the march and we were all stiff and fatigued. The marching of two days weakened us all very much and the more so on account of our exertion to follow the tracks of our Commander's party, but we lost them and concluded that they were not before us. Though the weather was not cold I was frozen in the face and was so reduced and affected by these constant calamities, as well in mind as in body, that I found much difficulty in proceeding even with the advantages I had enjoyed. November 3. We set out before day, though in fact we were all much fitter to remain from the excessive pain which we suffered in our joints, and proceeded till one P.M. without halting, when Belanger who was before stopped and cried out "Footsteps of Indians." It is needless to mention the joy that brightened the countenances of each at this unlooked-for sight; we knew relief must be at hand and considered our sufferings at an end. St. Germain inspected the tracks and said that three persons had passed the day before, and that he knew the remainder must be advancing to the southward as was customary with these Indians when they sent to the trading establishment on the first ice. On this information we encamped and, being too weak to walk myself, I sent St. Germain to follow the tracks, with instructions to the chief of the Indians to provide immediate assistance for such of our friends as might be at Fort Enterprise, as well as for ourselves, and to lose no time in returning to me. I was now so exhausted that, had we not seen the tracks this day, I must have remained at the next encampment until the men could have sent aid from Fort Providence. We had finished our small portion of sinews and were preparing for rest when an Indian boy made his appearance with meat. St. Germain had arrived before sunset at the tents of Akaitcho whom he found at the spot where he had wintered last year, but imagine my surprise when he gave me a note from the Commander and said that Benoit and Augustus, two of the men, had just joined them. The note was so confused by the pencil marks being partly rubbed out that I could not decipher it clearly, but it informed me that he had attempted to come with the two men but, finding his strength inadequate to the task, he relinquished his design and returned to Fort Enterprise to await relief with the others. There was another note for the gentleman in charge of Fort Providence desiring him to send meat, blankets, shoes, and tobacco. Akaitcho wished me to join him on the ensuing day at a place which the boy knew where they were going to fish, and I was the more anxious to do so on account of my companions, but particularly that I might hear a full relation of what had happened and of the Commander's true situation, which I suspected to be much worse than he had described. In the afternoon I joined the Indians and repeated to Akaitcho what St. Germain had told him; he seemed much affected and said he would have sent relief directly though I had not been there; indeed his conduct was generous and humane. The next morning at an early hour three Indians with loaded sledges of meat, skins, shoes, and a blanket, set out for Fort Enterprise; one of them was to return directly with an answer from Captain Franklin to whom I wrote but, in the event of his death, he was to bring away all the papers he could find, and he promised to travel with such haste as to be able to return to us on the fourth day. I was now somewhat more at ease, having done all in my power to succour my unfortunate companions, but was very anxious for the return of the messenger. The Indians brought me meat in small quantities though sufficient for our daily consumption and, as we had a little ammunition, many were paid on the spot for what they gave. On the 9th I had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian arrive from Fort Enterprise. At first he said they were all dead but shortly after he gave me a note which was from the Commander and then I learned all the fatal particulars which had befallen them. I now proposed that the chief should immediately send three sledges loaded with meat to Fort Enterprise, should make a cache of provision at our present encampment, and also that he should here await the arrival of the Commander. By noon two large trains laden with meat were sent off for Fort Enterprise. The next day we proceeded on our journey and arrived at Fort Providence on the 21st of November. CONCLUSION OF MR. BACK'S NARRATIVE. ... CONCLUSION. I have little now to add to the melancholy detail into which I felt it proper to enter, but I cannot omit to state that the unremitting care and attentions of our kind friends Mr. McVicar and Mr. McAuley, united with our improved diet to promote to the restoration of our health, so that by the end of February the swellings of our limbs which had returned upon us entirely subsided, and we were able to walk to any part of the island. Our appetites gradually moderated and we nearly regained our ordinary state of body before the spring. Hepburn alone suffered from a severe attack of rheumatism which confined him to his bed for some weeks. The usual symptoms of spring having appeared, on the 25th of May we prepared to embark for Fort Chipewyan. Fortunately on the following morning a canoe arrived from that place with the whole of the stores which we required for the payment of Akaitcho and the hunters. It was extremely gratifying to us to be thus enabled, previous to our departure, to make arrangements respecting the requital of our late Indian companions, and the more so as we had recently discovered that Akaitcho and the whole of his tribe, in consequence of the death of the leader's mother and the wife of our old guide Keskarrah, had broken and destroyed every useful article belonging to them and were in the greatest distress. It was an additional pleasure to find our stock of ammunition more than sufficient to pay them what was due, and that we could make a considerable present of this most essential article to every individual that had been attached to the Expedition. We quitted Moose-Deer Island at five P.M. on the 26th, accompanied by Mr. McVicar and Mr. McAuley and nearly all the voyagers at the establishment, having resided there about five months, not a day of which had passed without our having cause of gratitude for the kind and unvaried attentions of Mr. McVicar and Mr. McAuley. These gentlemen accompanied us as far as Fort Chipewyan where we arrived on the 2nd of June, here we met Mr. Wentzel and the four men who had been sent with him from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River, and I think it due to that gentleman to give his own explanation of the unfortunate circumstances which prevented him from fulfilling my instructions respecting the provisions to have been left for us at Fort Enterprise. (See below.) In a subsequent conversation he stated to me that the two Indians who were actually with him at Fort Enterprise whilst he remained there altering his canoe were prevented from hunting, one by an accidental lameness, the other by the fear of meeting alone some of the Dog-Rib Indians. We were here furnished with a canoe by Mr. Smith and a bowman to act as our guide and, having left Fort Chipewyan on the 5th, we arrived on the 4th of July at Norway House. Finding at this place that canoes were about to go down to Montreal I gave all our Canadian voyagers their discharges and sent them by those vessels, furnishing them with orders on the Agent of the Hudson's Bay Company for the amount of their wages. We carried Augustus down to York Factory where we arrived on the 14th of July, and were received with every mark of attention and kindness by Mr. Simpson the Governor, Mr. McTavish, and indeed by all the officers of the United Companies. And thus terminated our long, fatiguing, and disastrous travels in North America, having journeyed by water and by land (including our navigation of the Polar Sea) five thousand five hundred and fifty miles. ... MR. WENTZEL'S EXPLANATION. After you sent me back from the mouth of the Copper-Mine River and I had overtaken the Leader, Guides, and Hunters, on the fifth day, leaving the sea-coast, as well as our journey up the River, they always expressed the same desire of fulfilling their promises, although somewhat dissatisfied at being exposed to privation while on our return from a scarcity of animals for, as I have already stated in my first communication from Moose-Deer Island, we had been eleven days with no other food but tripe de roche. In the course of this time an Indian with his wife and child, who were travelling in company with us, were left in the rear and are since supposed to have perished through want, as no intelligence had been received of them at Fort Providence in December last. On the seventh day after I had joined the Leader, etc. etc., and journeying on together, all the Indians excepting Petit Pied and Bald-Head left me to seek their families and crossed Point Lake at the Crow's Nest, where Humpy had promised to meet his brother Ekehcho (Akaitcho the Leader) with the families but did not fulfil, nor did any of my party of Indians know where to find them, for we had frequently made fires to apprise them of our approach yet none appeared in return as answers. This disappointment as might be expected served to increase the ill-humour of the Leader and party, the brooding of which (agreeably to Indian custom) was liberally discharged on me, in bitter reproach for having led them from their families and exposed them to dangers and hardships which, but for my influence, they said they might have spared themselves. Nevertheless they still continued to profess the sincerest desire of meeting your wishes in making caches of provisions and remaining until a late season on the road that leads from Fort Enterprise to Fort Providence, through which the Expedition-men had travelled so often the year before, remarking however at the same time that they had not the least hopes of ever seeing one person return from the Expedition. These alarming fears I never could persuade them to dismiss from their minds; they always sneered at what they called my credulity. "If," said the Gros Pied (also Akaitcho) "the Great Chief (meaning Captain Franklin) or any of his party should pass at my tents, he or they shall be welcome to all my provisions or anything else that I may have." And I am sincerely happy to understand by your communication that in this he had kept his word, in sending you with such promptitude and liberality the assistance your truly dreadful situation required. But the party of Indians on whom I had placed the utmost confidence and dependence was Humpy and the White Capot Guide with their sons and several of the discharged hunters from the Expedition. This party was well-disposed and readily promised to collect provisions for the possible return of the Expedition, provided they could get a supply of ammunition from Fort Providence, for when I came up with them they were actually starving and converting old axes into ball, having no other substitute; this was unlucky. Yet they were well inclined and I expected to find means at Fort Providence to send them a supply, in which I was however disappointed, for I found that establishment quite destitute of necessaries, and then shortly after I had left them they had the misfortune of losing three of their hunters who were drowned in Marten Lake; this accident was of all others the most fatal that could have happened, a truth which no one who has the least knowledge of the Indian character will deny, and as they were nearly connected by relationship to the Leader, Humpy, and White Capot Guide, the three leading men of this part of the Copper Indian Tribe, it had the effect of unhinging (if I may use the expression) the minds of all these families and finally destroying all the fond hopes I had so sanguinely conceived of their assisting the Expedition, should it come back by the Annadesse River of which they were not certain. As to my not leaving a letter at Fort Enterprise it was because by some mischance you had forgot to give me paper when we parted.* (*Footnote. I certainly offered Mr. Wentzel some paper when he quitted us but he declined it, having then a notebook, and Mr. Back gave him a pencil.) I however wrote this news on a plank in pencil and placed it in the top of your former bedstead where I left it. Since it has not been found there some Indians must have gone to the house after my departure and destroyed it. These details, Sir, I have been induced to enter into (rather unexpectedly) in justification of myself and hope it will be satisfactory. 
26170	----	file made from images generously made available by Seforim Online.) [Illustration: REPRODUCED FROM A PHOTOGRAPH ON PORCELAIN IN THE POSSESSION OF MRS LOEWE TAKEN AT THE AGE OF 80 HELIOG LEMERCIER Et Cie PARIS] DIARIES OF SIR MOSES AND LADY MONTEFIORE COMPRISING THEIR LIFE AND WORK AS RECORDED IN THEIR DIARIES FROM 1812 TO 1883. WITH THE ADDRESSES AND SPEECHES OF SIR MOSES; HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH MINISTERS, AMBASSADORS, AND REPRESENTATIVES OF PUBLIC BODIES; PERSONAL NARRATIVES OF HIS MISSIONS IN THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY; FIRMANS AND EDICTS OF EASTERN MONARCHS; HIS OPINIONS ON FINANCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS, AND ANECDOTES AND INCIDENTS REFERRING TO MEN OF HIS TIME, AS RELATED BY HIMSELF. EDITED BY DR L. LOEWE, MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND OF THE SOCIETE ASIATIQUE OF PARIS OF THE NUMISMATIC SOCIETY OF LONDON, ETC (ONE OF THE MEMBERS OF THE MISSION TO DAMASCUS AND CONSTANTINOPLE UNDER THE LATE SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE BART, IN THE YEAR 1840). ASSISTED BY HIS SON. In Two Volumes _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_ VOL. I. CHICAGO: BELFORD-CLARKE CO. 1890. [Illustration: ANCIENT COAT OF ARMS OF THE MONTEFIORE FAMILY, _explained on page 6_.] (_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._) Copyright--Belford-Clarke Co., Chicago. PREFACE. In submitting to the public the Memoirs, including the Diaries, of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, I deem it desirable to explain the motives by which I have been actuated, as well as the sources from which most of my information has been drawn. The late Sir Moses Montefiore, from a desire to show his high appreciation of the services rendered to the cause of humanity by Judith, Lady Montefiore, his affectionate partner in life, directed the executors of his last will "to permit me to take into my custody and care all the notes, memoranda, journals, and manuscripts in his possession written by his deeply lamented wife, to assist me in writing a Memoir of her useful and blessed life." The executors having promptly complied with these instructions, I soon found myself in possession of five journals by Lady Montefiore, besides many valuable letters and papers, including documents of great importance, as well as of no less than eighty-five diaries of Sir Moses Montefiore, dating from 1814 to 1883, all in his own handwriting. In addition to such facilities for producing a Memoir, I had the special advantage of personally knowing both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore for many years. There is an entry in the diaries referring to a dinner at the house of one of their relatives on the 27th of November 1835 (where I met them for the first time), and to a visit I subsequently paid them at East Cliff Lodge, Ramsgate, by special invitation, from the 3rd to the 13th of December of the same year. I also had the privilege of accompanying them on thirteen philanthropic missions to foreign lands, some of which were undertaken by both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and others by Sir Moses alone after Lady Montefiore's death. The first of these missions took place in the year 1839, and the last in 1874. A no less important circumstance, which I may perhaps be allowed to mention, is, that I was with Sir Moses on the last day of his life, until he breathed his last, and had the satisfaction of hearing from his own lips, immediately before his death, the expression of his approval of my humble endeavours to assist him, as far as lay in my power, in attaining the various objects he had in view. However desirous I might have been to adhere strictly to his wishes, I found it impossible to write a Memoir of Lady Montefiore without making it, at the same time, a Memoir of Sir Moses himself, both of them having been so closely united in all their benevolent works and projects. It appeared to me most desirable, therefore, in order to convey to the reader a correct idea of the contents of the book, to entitle it "The Diaries of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore." In order, however, to comply with the instructions of the will, I shall, in giving the particulars of their family descent, first introduce the parentage of Lady Montefiore. To assist the reader in finding the exact month and year referring to Hebrew Communal affairs, I have always given the Hebrew date conjointly with that of the Christian era, more especially as all the entries in the diaries invariably have these double dates. L. LOEWE. 1 Oscar Villas, Broadstairs, Kent, _21st June 1887_ (5647 A.M.). CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Birth of Sir Moses Montefiore at Leghorn--His Family--Early Years 1 CHAPTER II. Early Education--Becomes a Stockbroker--His Marriage 12 CHAPTER III. Extracts from the Diaries--Financial Transactions--Public Events before and after Waterloo--Elected President of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew Community 19 CHAPTER IV. Daily Life--Death of his Brother Abraham--An early Panama Canal Project 25 CHAPTER V. First Journey to Jerusalem 36 CHAPTER VI. Mr and Mrs Montefiore leave Alexandria--A Sea Voyage Sixty Years ago 47 CHAPTER VII. Arrival in England--Illness of Mr Montefiore--The Struggle for Jewish Emancipation 55 CHAPTER VIII. Lady Hester Stanhope--Her Eccentricities--Parliament and the Jews 63 CHAPTER IX. Mr Montefiore presented to the King--Spanish and Portuguese Jews in London in 1829 69 CHAPTER X. Interview with the Duke of Wellington in furtherance of the Jewish--Cause--The Duke's Dilatory Tactics--Laying the Foundation-stone of the Synagogue at Hereson 78 CHAPTER XI. Lord Brougham and the Jews--The Jewish Poor in London--Mr Montefiore hands his Broker's Medal to his Brother--Dedication of the Synagogue at Hereson--The Lords reject the Jewish Disabilities Bill 86 CHAPTER XII. Illness of Mr Montefiore--His Recovery--Sir David Salomons proposed as Sheriff--Visit of the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria to Ramsgate--Mr Montefiore's Hospitals--Naming of the Vessel _Britannia_ by Mrs Montefiore--A Loan of Fifteen Millions 93 CHAPTER XIII. Death of Mr N. M. Rothschild--Mr Montefiore visits Dublin--Becomes the First Jewish Member of the Royal Society--Death of William IV.--Mr Montefiore elected Sheriff 103 CHAPTER XIV. The Jews' Marriage Bill--Mr Montefiore at the Queen's Drawing-Room--His Inauguration as Sheriff 111 CHAPTER XV. Death of Mr Montefiore's Uncle--Mr Montefiore rides in the Lord Mayor's Procession--Is Knighted--His Speech at the Lord Mayor's Banquet--Presents Petition on behalf of the Jews to Parliament 119 CHAPTER XVI. Destruction of the Royal Exchange--City Traditions--"Jews' Walk"--Sir Moses dines at Lambeth Palace 130 CHAPTER XVII. Another Petition to Parliament--Sir Moses intercedes successfully for the Life of a Convict--Death of Lady Montefiore's Brother 137 CHAPTER XVIII. Bartholomew Fair--Sir Moses earns the Thanks of the City--Preparations for a Second Journey to the Holy Land--The Journey--Adventures on Road and River in France 145 CHAPTER XIX. Genoa, Carrara, Leghorn, and Rome--Disquieting Rumours--Quarantine Precautions--Arrival at Alexandria--Travel in the Holy Land 153 CHAPTER XX. Reception at Safed--Sad Condition of the People--Sir Moses' Project for the Cultivation of the Land in Palestine by the Jews--Death of the Chief Rabbi of the German Congregation in Jerusalem--Tiberias 162 CHAPTER XXI. Invitation from the Portuguese Congregation at Jerusalem--Sanitary Measures in the Holy City--The Wives of the Governor of Tiberias visit Lady Montefiore--A Pleasant Journey--Arrival at Jerusalem 171 CHAPTER XXII. The Tomb of David--Spread of the Plague--Mussulman Fanaticism--Suspicious Conduct of the Governor of Jerusalem--Nayani, Beth Dagon, Jaffa, Emkhalet, and Tantura 180 CHAPTER XXIII. Encampment near Mount Carmel--State of the Country--Child Marriages in the Portuguese Community at Haifa--Arrival in Beyrout 188 CHAPTER XXIV. On Board the _Acheron_--Sir Moses' Plans on behalf of the Jews in Palestine--Interview with Boghoz Bey--Proposed Joint Stock Banks in the East 196 CHAPTER XXV. Arrival at Malta--Home again--Boghoz Bey returns no Answer--Touching Appeal from the Persecuted Jews of Damascus and Rhodes--Revival of the old Calumny about killing Christians to put their Blood in Passover Cakes 204 CHAPTER XXVI. Indignation Meetings in London--M. Crémieux--Lord Palmerston's Action--Sir Moses starts on a Mission to the East--Origin of the Passover Cake Superstition 213 CHAPTER XXVII. Arrival at Leghorn--Alexandria--Sir Moses' Address to the Pasha--Action of the Grand Vizir 222 CHAPTER XXVIII. Authentic Accounts of the Circumstances attending the Accusations against the Jews--Terrible Sufferings of the Accused--Evidence of their Innocence--Witnesses in their favour Bastinadoed to Death 229 CHAPTER XXIX. Affairs in the East--Ultimatum from the Powers--Gloomy Prospects of the Mission--Negotiations with the Pasha--Excitement in Alexandria--Illness of Lady Montefiore 240 CHAPTER XXX. The English Government and the Pasha--Mohhammad Ali and the Slaves--The Pasha promises to release the Damascus Prisoners--He grants them an "Honourable Liberation" 248 CHAPTER XXXI. Interview with the Pasha--Liberation of the Jews of Damascus--Public Rejoicings and Thanksgiving--Departure of Sir Moses for Constantinople 256 CHAPTER XXXII. Constantinople--Condition of the Jewish Residents--Interview with Rechid Pasha--Audience with the Sultan--He grants a Firman 266 CHAPTER XXXIII. Distress among the Jews at Salonica--Oppressive Laws with regard to them--Text of the Firman--Its Promulgation 275 CHAPTER XXXIV. Departure from Malta--Naples--Rome--A Shameful Inscription--Prejudices against the Jews at the Vatican 282 CHAPTER XXXV. Monsignor Bruti and his Hints--Cardinal Riverola--Ineffectual Attempts to Interview the Pope--Returning Homewards--Alarming Accident--The Governor of Genoa--Interview with King Louis Philippe 289 CHAPTER XXXVI. Home again--Sir Moses presents a Facsimile of the Firman to the Queen--Her Majesty's Special Mark of Favour--Reform Movement among the London Jews--Appeal for English Protection from the Jews in the East 298 CHAPTER XXXVII. Presentation from Hamburg--Sir Moses meets the King of Prussia--Address to Prince Albert--Attempt on the Queen's Life--Petitions to Sir Moses from Russia 305 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Address and Testimonial from the Jews--Sir Moses' Speech in reply--Death of the Duke of Sussex--The Deportation Ukase in Russia--Opening of the New Royal Exchange--Sir Moses made Sheriff of Kent 313 CHAPTER XXXIX. Affairs in Morocco--Letter to the Emperor--His Reply--Deputation to Sir Robert Peel--Death of Lady Montefiore's Brother Isaac--Sir Moses sets out for Russia 320 CHAPTER XL. Perils of Russian Travelling in Winter--Arrival at St Petersburg--Interviews with Count Nesselrode and the Czar--Count Kisseleff's Prejudices 328 CHAPTER XLI. Count Kisseleff is more Conciliatory--Sir Moses sets out for Wilna--Arrival at Wilna--The Jews' Answers to the Charges of Russian Officials 339 CHAPTER XLII. The Jewish Schools at Wilna--Wilcomir--Deplorable Condition of the Hebrew Community in that Town--Kowno--Warsaw 344 CHAPTER XLIII. Deputation from Krakau--The Polish Jews and their Garb--Sir Moses leaves Warsaw--Posen, Berlin, and Frankfort--Home 351 CHAPTER XLIV. Sir Moses receives the Congratulations of his English Co-religionists--His Exhaustive Report to Count Kisseleff--Examination of the Charges against the Jews--Their Alleged Disinclination to engage in Agriculture 359 CHAPTER XLV. Report to Count Ouvaroff on the State of Education among the Jews in Russia and Poland--Vindication of the Loyalty of the Jews 374 CHAPTER XLVI. Report to Count Kisseleff on the State of the Jews in Poland--Protest against the Restrictions to which they were subjected 381 CHAPTER XLVII. The Czar's Reply to Sir Moses' Representations--Count Ouvaroff's Views--Sir Moses again writes to Count Kisseleff--Sir Moses is created a Baronet 385 DIARIES OF Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore CHAPTER I. BIRTH OF SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE AT LEGHORN--HIS FAMILY--EARLY YEARS. The neighbourhood of the Tower of London was, a hundred years ago, the centre of attraction for thousands of persons engaged in financial pursuits, not so much on account of the protection which the presence of the garrison might afford in case of tumult, as of the convenience offered by the locality from its vicinity to the wharves, the Custom House, the Mint, the Bank, the Royal Exchange, and many important counting-houses and places of business. For those who took an interest in Hebrew Communal Institutions, it possessed the additional advantage of being within ten minutes or a quarter of an hour's walk of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue and the Great German Synagogue, together with their Colleges and Schools, and several minor places of worship. Tower Hill, the Minories, and the four streets enclosing the Tenter Ground were then favourite places of residence for the merchant; and in one of these, Great Prescott Street, lived Levi Barent Cohen, the father of Judith, afterwards Lady Montefiore. He was a wealthy merchant from Amsterdam, who settled in England, where fortune favoured his commercial undertakings. In his own country his name is to this day held in great respect. He not only during his lifetime kept up a cordial correspondence with his friends and relatives--who were indebted to him for many acts of kindness--but, wishing to have his name commemorated in the House of Prayer by some act of charity, he bequeathed a certain sum of money to be given annually to the poor, in consideration of which, he desired to have some of the Daily Prayers offered up from the very place which he used to occupy in the Synagogue of his native city. He was a man, upright in all his transactions, and a strict adherent to the tenets of his religion. He was of a very kind and sociable disposition, which prompted him to keep open house for his friends and visitors, whom he always received with the most generous hospitality. He was first married to Fanny, a daughter of Joseph Diamantschleifer of Amsterdam, by whom he had three children: two sons, Solomon and Joseph, and one daughter, Fanny. Solomon became the father-in-law of the late Sir David Salomons, and Joseph the father of the late Mr Louis Cohen. Fanny married Salomon Hyman Cohen Wessels, of Amsterdam, a gentleman who was well known at that time for his philanthropy, and whose family, at the period of Napoleon I., was held in great esteem among the aristocracy of Holland. Mrs Levi Barent Cohen unfortunately died at an early age, and Mr Cohen married her sister Lydia, by whom he had seven children: five daughters--Hannah, Judith, Jessy, Adelaide, and Esther; and two sons--Isaac and Benjamin. Hannah became the wife of Mr N. M. Rothschild; Judith was married to Mr Moses Montefiore; Jessy to Mr Davidson; Adelaide to Mr John Hebbert; and Esther to Mr S. M. Samuel, the father of Mr George Samuel, and grandfather of Baron Henry de Worms, M. P. Isaac became the father-in-law of Baron Meyer de Rothschild, and Benjamin the father of Mr Arthur Cohen, Q. C., and Mr Nath. B. Cohen. Judith, one of the subjects of these Memoirs, was born, according to the entry in one of Sir Moses' Diaries, on the 20th February 1784; her birthday, however, was generally celebrated at East Cliff Lodge in the month of October, in conjunction with another festivity held there on the first Saturday after the Tabernacle Holidays. With regard to most persons noted for their character or ability, there exists a tradition of some unusual occurrence happening during their early life. In the case of Lady Montefiore, there is an event which she once related to me herself. "When I was a little girl," she said, "about three or four years old, I fell over the railing of a staircase, quite two storeys high, into the hall below. Everybody in the house thought I must be killed, but when they came to pick me up they found me quietly seated as if nothing in the world had happened to me." It was a characteristic of hers which was subsequently much noticed by those around her, that, no matter in what circumstances she was placed, when others were excited or depressed by some painful event or the fear of approaching peril, she would remain calm, and retain her presence of mind. She would endeavour to cheer and strengthen others by words of hope, and where it was possible to avoid any threatened danger, she would quietly give her opinion as to the best course to be pursued. She received from her earliest childhood an excellent English education, and her studies in foreign languages were most successful. She spoke French, German, and Italian fluently, and read and translated correctly the Hebrew language of her prayers, as well as portions of the Pentateuch, generally read in the Synagogues on Sabbaths and Festivals. Nor were the accomplishments of music and drawing neglected; but that which characterised and enhanced the value of her education most was "the fear of God," which, she had been taught, constituted "the beginning of knowledge." By the example set in her parents' house, this lesson took an especially deep root in her heart. One day at Park Lane the conversation happened to turn on the practice of religious observances, and Lady Montefiore related what had occurred when she was still under the parental roof. "Once," she said, "on the fast-day for the destruction of Jerusalem, we were sitting, as is customary, in mourning attire, on low stools, reciting the Lamentations of Jeremiah. Suddenly the servant entered the room, closely followed by Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, and several other gentlemen. My sisters became somewhat embarrassed, not liking to be thus surprised in our peculiar position, but I quietly kept my seat, and when Sir Sidney asked the reason of our being seated so low, I replied, This is the anniversary of the destruction of Jerusalem, which is kept by conforming Jews as a day of mourning and humiliation. The valour exhibited by our ancestors on this sad occasion is no doubt well known to you, Sir Sidney, and to the other gentlemen present, and I feel sure that you will understand our grief that it was unavailing to save the Holy City and the Temple. But we treasure the memory of it as a bright example to ourselves and to all following generations, how to fight and to sacrifice our lives for the land in which we were born and which gives us shelter and protection." "Sir Sidney and the other gentlemen," she said, "appeared to be much pleased with the explanation I gave them; they observed that it was a most noble feeling which prompts the true patriot to mourn for the brave who have fallen on the field of battle for their country; and that the memory of the struggles of the Jews in Palestine to remain the rightful masters of the land which God had apportioned to them as an inheritance, would ever remain, not only in the heart of every brave man in the British realm, but also in that of every right-thinking man in all other parts of the world as a glorious monument of their dauntless valour and fervent devotion to a good and holy cause." Lady Montefiore not only appreciated the education she received, but also remembered with deep gratitude all those who had imparted instruction to her. Her friends have often been the bearers of generous pensions to gentlemen who had been her teachers when she was young, and they never heard her mention their names without expressions of gratitude. In addition to her other good qualities, there was one which is not always to be met with among those who happen to be in possession of great wealth, and with whom a few shillings are not generally an object worth entering in an account-book. With her, when her turn came among her sisters to superintend the management of the house, the smallest item of expense was entered with scrupulous accuracy, and whilst ever generous towards the deserving and needy who applied to her for assistance, she would never sanction the slightest waste. I shall presently, as I proceed in my description of her character, have an opportunity of showing how, in her future position as a wife and philanthropist, all the excellences of her character were turned to the best account for the benefit of those to whom she and her husband rendered assistance in times of distress. The reader being now in full possession of all that is necessary for him to know of the parentage and education of Miss Judith Cohen, I propose to leave her for the present under her parental roof, in Angel Court, Throgmorton Street, with a loving father and a tenderly affectionate mother, and surrounded by excellent brothers and sisters; some of them employed in commercial pursuits, others in study, but all united in the contemplation and practice of works of brotherly love and charity towards their fellow-beings. To proceed with the lineage of Sir Moses. Sir Moses Montefiore was born at Leghorn, whither his parents happened to repair, either on business or on a visit to their relations, a few weeks before that event took place. According to an entry in the archives of the Hebrew Community of that city, he first saw the light on the 9th of Héshván 5545 A.M., corresponding to the 24th of October 1784. During his visit to Leghorn in the year 1841, an opportunity was offered to him, when visiting the schools of the community, to inspect the archives in my presence, and he expressed his satisfaction at their accuracy. Some doubt having been entertained by several of his biographers of the correctness of the date of his birth, and Sir Moses having generally received and accepted the congratulations of his friends on the the 8th of Héshván, it will not be out of place to give here an exact copy of the original entry in the archives in the Italian language, just as it has recently been forwarded to me by the Cavaliere Costa of Leghorn. It reads as follows:-- "_Nei registri di Nascite che esistone nell' archivìe delle Università Israelitica a C. 8, si trova la seguente nascita_:-- "9 Héshván, 5545--24 Ottobre 1784. "Domenica. "A Joseph di Moise Haim e Raquel Montefiore un figlio, che chiamarone Moise Haim." (_Translation._) "In the registers of births, which are preserved in the archives of the Hebrew community, there is to be found on p. 8 the following entry of birth:-- "9th Héshván 5545 A.M., 24th October 1784. "Sunday. "Unto Joseph, son of Moses Haim, and Rachel Montefiore, a son was born, whom they call Moses Haim." Sir Moses never signed his name "Haim," nor did his mother in her letters to him ever call him so. His father Joseph, after recovering from a dangerous illness, adopted the name of Eliyáhoo (the Eternal is my God) in addition to that of Joseph. Various opinions have been expressed respecting the early history of Sir Moses Montefiore's ancestors, and the place whence they originally came, to Modena, Ancona, Fano, Rome, and Leghorn. A manuscript in the library of "Judith Lady Montefiore's Theological College" at Ramsgate--containing a design of the original armorial bearings of the Montefiore family, surrounded by suitable mottoes, and a biographical account of the author of the work to which the manuscript refers--will greatly help us in elucidating the subject. The manuscript is divided into two parts: one bears the name of "Kán Tsippor" ([Hebrew]), "The bird's nest," and treats of the Massorah of the Psalms, _i.e._, their divisions, accents, vowels, grammatical forms, and letters necessary for the preservation of the text; and the other, the name of "Gán Perákhim" ([Hebrew]), "The garden of flowers," containing poems, special prayers, family records, and descriptions of important events. The hereditary marks of honour which served to denote the descent and alliances of the Montefiore family consisted of "a lion rampant," "a cedar tree," and "a number of little hills one above the other," each of these emblems being accompanied by a Hebrew inscription. Thus the lion rampant has the motto-- [Hebrew] HOY GIBOR CAARI LAASOT RATSON AVIKHA SHEBASHEMAIM "Be strong as a lion to perform the will of thy Father in Heaven." The hills bear the motto-- [Hebrew] ESA AYNAI EL HEHARIM MEAIN YAVO EZRI "(When) I lift up mine eyes unto the hills (I ask) whence cometh my help? [Answer] My help cometh from the Eternal." And the cedar tree-- [Hebrew] TSADIK KATAMAR VEFRAKH CAEREZ BALEBANON ISGEH "The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree; he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon." These emblems are precisely the same as those which Sir Moses had in his coat-of-arms, with the exception of the inscriptions. Probably he thought they were too long to be engraved on a signet, and he substituted for them the words "Jerusalem" and "Think and Thank." The author of the manuscript bears the name of Joseph, and designates himself, on the title-page, as the son of the aged and learned Jacob Montefiore of Pesaro, adding the information that he is a resident of Ancona, and a son-in-law of the Rev. Isaac Elcostantin, the spiritual head of the Hebrew congregation in that place. The manuscript bears the date of 5501 A.M.--1740. In his biography, the author, after rendering thanks to Heaven for numerous mercies which had been bestowed on him, gives the following account of himself and family:-- "I was eleven years old when I was called upon to assist, conjointly with my three brothers, Moses, Raphael, and Mazliakh, and five sisters, in providing for the maintenance of the family." Moses, the eldest of his brothers, died at the age of thirty-two, and Joseph (the biographer) entered the business of Sabbati Zevi Morini of Pesaro. Being prosperous in his commercial pursuits, he provided for his sisters, probably by giving to each of them a suitable dowry. One of them, Flaminia by name, became the wife of a celebrated preacher, Nathaniel Levi, the minister of the congregation of Pesaro. The father, Jacob Montefiore, died at the age of eighty-three, and his sons went into business with a certain Cartoni of Lisina. They appear at first to have met with success, but the sudden death of the head of the firm caused the collapse of the business. Joseph Montefiore subsequently married Justa or Justina, the granddaughter of the Rev. Abraham Elcostantin of Ancona. With a view of carrying on their business to greater advantage the brothers separated and removed to different parts of Italy, and Joseph himself, guided by the counsel of his wife, left Pesaro for Ancona for a similar purpose. His brother-in-law died at that time in Modena, and Joseph was in a sufficiently prosperous position to be able to assist the widow and her children. The latter grew up and married. One of them, a daughter, went with her husband, Samuel Nachman, to Jerusalem, where, from religious motives, they settled. One of his nephews, Nathaniel Montefiore, became a distinguished poet, and the manuscript in question contains a very beautiful composition of his in praise of the book (Kán Tsippor) and its author. Joseph Montefiore resided for some time in Rome, also in Fano. There are prayers in the book which he composed during his stay in each of those places. From these statements it would appear that the family of Montefiore, from which Sir Moses descended, first came to Pesaro. Signor P. M. Arcantoni, the Syndic of the Municipality of Montefiore dell'aso, in the province of Ascoli-Picerno, expressed his strong belief, on the occasion of his offering to Sir Moses the congratulations of the commune on his completing the hundredth year of his life, that the ancestors of Sir Moses had settled in that place. From Ancona, as has been stated, several members of the Montefiore family came to Leghorn, from which city at a very early period they emigrated to England. The grandfather of Sir Moses, Moses Haim (or Vita) Montefiore, and his grandmother, Esther Racah, a daughter of Mássa'ood Racah of Leghorn, also left Italy and settled in London, where their son Joseph (born 15th October 1759, died 11th January 1804) married Rachel, the daughter of Abraham Lumbroso de Mattos Mocatta, who became the mother of Sir Moses. They resided after their marriage at No. 3 Kennington Terrace, Vauxhall, and were blessed with eight children, three sons, Moses (the subject of these memoirs), Abraham, and Horatio, and five daughters, Sarah, Esther, Abigail, Rebecca, and Justina. Abraham first married a daughter of Mr George Hall, of the London Stock Exchange; on her death, he married Henrietta Rothschild, a sister of the late N. M. Rothschild, by whom he had two sons, Joseph Meyer of Worth Park, and Nathaniel Meyer of Coldeast, and two daughters, Charlotte and Louise. The latter became the wife of Sir Antony de Rothschild. [Illustration: House at Leghorn in which Sir Moses was born. _See Vol. I., page 9._] Horatio married Sarah, a daughter of David Mocatta, by whom he had six sons, one of whom (Mr Emanuel Montefiore) is now a lieutenant-colonel in the British Army, and six daughters. After her death he married a daughter of Abraham Montefiore. Sarah, the eldest daughter of Joseph and Rachel Montefiore, became the wife of Mr Solomon Sebag, and was the mother of Mr Joseph Sebag (now J. Sebag-Montefiore) and of Mrs Jemima Guadalla, who is married to Mr Haim Guadalla. After the death of her husband, Mrs Sebag married Mr Moses Asher Goldsmid, the brother of Sir Isaac Goldsmid. Esther, the second daughter, unfortunately lost her life at the age of fifteen through an accident she met with during a fire that broke out in the house. Abigail, the third, married Mr Benjamin Gompertz, a distinguished mathematician. Rebecca, the fourth, married Mr Joseph Salomons, a son of Levi Salomons, of Crosby Square, father of the late Sir David Salomons, Bart. Justina, the fifth, became the wife of Mr Benjamin Cohen, the brother of Lady Montefiore, and mother of Mr Arthur Cohen, Q. C., M. P., and Mr Nathaniel B. Cohen. The reader is now invited to retrace his steps, for it is to Moses, the first-born son of Joseph and Rachel Montefiore, that I have to direct his attention. He must leave No. 3 Kennington Terrace and follow me in imagination to Leghorn. Mr Joseph Montefiore having some business in that city, informed his wife of his intention to proceed to Italy, and Mrs Montefiore prevailed upon him to take her with him. After they arrived at Leghorn, we find them in the house of Signer Moses Haim Racah, celebrating the happy event of the birth of a son, destined to become the champion of Israel. The festivity on the day of naming (the eighth day after the birth of a son) is generally an occasion which brings together relatives, friends, heads of the congregation, and officers of the Synagogue. Offerings are made by all present for charitable institutions, and prayers recited for the life and prosperity of the child. It is therefore not a matter of surprise that there was a large assembly of the Hebrew community of Leghorn on that occasion. Signor Racah, being his great-uncle, performed the duties of godfather and ever from that day, and up to the year of his death, he evinced the liveliest interest in the welfare of his godson; when the latter was grown up the affection proved mutual. Sir Moses when speaking of him used to say that he had greatly endeared himself to the people in Leghorn by his abilities and high character. He cherished the most benevolent feelings towards all good and honest men, and often, in times of grief and calamity, rendered help and consolation to all classes of the community. Sir Moses held him in great veneration, and during his stay in Italy gave special orders to have a copy of his likeness procured for him. A facsimile of the portrait is here given, with an inscription in Sir Moses' own handwriting. In his will, Sir Moses, referring to him and to the Synagogue at Leghorn, thus expresses himself-- "To the trustees of the Synagogue at Leghorn in Italy, of which my honoured godfather (deceased) was a member, in augmentation of the fund for repairing that building, I bequeath £500; and to the same trustees, as a fund for keeping in repair the tomb of my said godfather and my godmother, Esther Racah, his wife, £200." Two or three years before his death, Sir Moses ordered a coloured drawing of these tombs, with a complete copy of the epitaphs, to be sent to him, and it is now preserved in the library of the College at Ramsgate. After a stay of several months at Leghorn, Mr and Mrs Montefiore returned to England. I have often heard descriptions of that homeward journey from Mrs Montefiore, when she used to visit her son at Park Lane. "Moses," she said, "was a beautiful, strong, and very tall child, but yet on our return journey to England, during a severe winter, I was unwilling to entrust him to a stranger; I myself acted as his nurse, and many and many a time I felt the greatest discomfort through not having more than a cup of coffee, bread and butter, and a few eggs for my diet." "No meat of any description," she added, "passed my lips; my husband and myself being strict observers of the Scriptural injunctions as to diet." "But I am now," she said, with a pleasant smile, "amply repaid for the inconvenience I then had to endure." "What I thought a great privation, in no way affected the state of my health, nor that of the child; and I feel at present the greatest satisfaction on account of my having strictly adhered to that which I thought was right." [Illustration: Moses Racah of Leghorn, Godfather and Great Uncle of Sir Moses. _See Vol. I., page 10._] In the course of time several more children were born to them, all of whom they reared most tenderly, and over whose education they watched with the greatest care. They had the happiness of seeing them grow up in health and strength, endowed with excellent qualities, Moses, the eldest, and the subject of these memoirs, being already conspicuous for his strength of understanding and kindness of disposition. They continued for many years to reside at Kennington Terrace, Vauxhall, in the same house in which they took up their residence immediately after their marriage. After their death it was occupied by members of their family till a few years ago, when it passed into the hands of strangers. It was there that Mr Benjamin Gompertz (the author of the "Principles and Application of Imaginary Quantities") resided and the mother of Sir Moses breathed her last. Joseph Eliahu, his father, was a well educated and God-fearing man, upright in all his dealings. He was extremely fond of botany and gardening. There is still in the library of Lady Montefiore's Theological College at Ramsgate, a book which formerly belonged to him, and in which remarks on the cultivation of plants are written in his own handwriting. Sir Moses, when speaking of him, used to say, "He was at one time of a most cheerful disposition, but after he had the misfortune to lose one of his daughters at a fire which occurred in his house, he was never seen to smile." CHAPTER II. EARLY EDUCATION--BECOMES A STOCKBROKER--HIS MARRIAGE. At an early age, we find young Moses Montefiore attending school in the neighbourhood of Kennington. After he had completed his elementary studies, he was removed to a more advanced class in another school, where he began to evince a great desire to cultivate his mind, independently of his class lessons. He was observed to copy short moral sentences from books falling into his hands, or interesting accounts of important events, which he endeavoured to commit to memory. Afterwards, as he grew up in life, this became a habit with him, which he did not relinquish even when he had attained the age of ninety years. His diaries all contain either at the beginning or the end of the record of his day's work, some beautiful lines of poetry referring to moral or literary subjects: mostly quotations or extracts from standard works. Young Montefiore showed on all occasions the greatest respect for his teachers, bowing submissively to their authority in all cases of dispute between his fellow-students and himself. He was acknowledged to be most frank and loyal in all his intercourse with his superiors. The respect due to constituted authorities he always used to consider, when he had become a man in active life, as a sacred duty. He was in the habit of saying, in the words of the royal philosopher, "Fear thou the Lord and the King, and meddle not with them that are given to change." Whatever might be his private opinion on any subject, he would in all his public and private transactions be guided only by the decision of an acknowledged authority. Montefiore did not remain many years at school. There was at that time no prospect for him to enter life as a professor at a university, or as a member of the bar. There was no sphere of work open to him in any of the professions; and even to enter the medical profession would have been difficult. There was nothing left for him, therefore, but to enter a commercial career. He used often to speak about the days of his apprenticeship in the business of one of their neighbours in Kennington, and how hard he had to work; when subsequently he was in a counting-house in the city, the hours were late, and he sometimes had to take letters to the post on the stroke of midnight. There were no copying machines, and all letters had to be copied by hand. He also spoke of the great distance he had to walk every night from the city to Kennington Terrace, during the cold winter months as well as in the summer time. There were then no omnibuses or other conveyances at hand such as we have now, and if there had been, he was of too saving a disposition to make any unnecessary outlay on his own person; he used to keep a strict account of the smallest item of his expenses. It was not with the object of complaining, or of regretting his early mode of life that he gave his friends these descriptions; his object was to impress on the mind of the rising generation the necessity of working hard and spending little, in order to make their way in the world. By his habits of industry, by his strict compliance with the instructions of his superiors, and more especially by his own clear judgment in all matters connected with the business entrusted to him, he soon succeeded in obtaining promotion. Having had the opportunity of seeing business transactions among brokers on the Stock Exchange, he decided upon securing for himself the privilege of being one of the limited number of Jewish brokers. According to the law of England at that time only twelve such brokers could be admitted, but Moses Montefiore had the satisfaction of soon seeing himself in possession of the much-coveted privilege. He took an office, and this owing to the prosperity with which his straightforward dealing and courteous manners were rewarded, he soon had to change for a larger one, which again he did not keep long. As his business had now to be conducted near the bank, he took up his quarters in Bartholomew Lane, where he remained to the last day of his life. It was there, after nearly the whole of that thoroughfare had become the property of the Alliance Life and Fire Assurance Company, and the houses had been rebuilt, that many an important meeting of the Board of Deputies of British Jews and other boards of benevolent institutions was held; and the very book-case, in which all important papers connected with his business in that office were preserved, is now in one of the houses of Lady Montefiore's College, where he used now and then to take his breakfast on a Sabbath morning, when it was his intention to be present at a lecture in the college. His brother Abraham, seeing young Moses successful in business, subsequently joined him as a partner, and the firm of Montefiore Bros. soon became known in England as one entitled to the respect of all honourable men. However profitable or urgent the business may have been, the moment the time drew near, when it was necessary to prepare for the Sabbath or solemn festivals, Moses Montefiore quitted his office, and nothing could ever induce him to remain. Sir Moses was scrupulously honourable in all his transactions, and it is a noteworthy fact, that during all his long life no whisper was ever heard against his reputation, although he was intimately connected with the management of financial and commercial undertakings of great magnitude and international character. His name stood so high, that thousands of people from all parts of the world entrusted him with money to be forwarded to the Holy Land, or for other charitable purposes, never asking for a receipt, and in many instances leaving the distribution of it to his own discretion. In the year 1809, in the reign of George III., an act of parliament was passed enabling His Majesty to establish a local Militia Force for the defence of the country. Young Montefiore, who was then twenty-five years old, having attained his majority in 1805, deemed it his duty to be one of the first volunteers. Loyalty to the country in which he lived and prospered, and sincere devotion to his king, afterwards proved to be special traits in his character. In all foreign countries whither his philanthropic missions subsequently led him, his addresses to the people and his counsels, even to those who suffered under heavy oppression, contained exhortations to them to remain firm in their loyalty to their government. We must now salute him as Captain Montefiore, for thus we find him styled, on a card among his papers, Third Surrey Local Militia, Colonel Alcock, No. I, Seventh Company. "Captain Montefiore." [Illustration: Lady Montefiore when young, copied from an oil painting in the Montefiore College, Ramsgate. _See Vol. I., page 15._] There are still in the Gothic library, at East Cliff Lodge, details of guard mounted by the 3rd Regiment of Surrey Local Militia, standing orders, &c., also the orderly books showing that he was in the service from the year 1810 to 1814. On the 22nd February in the latter year, after the parade on Duppas Hill, Croydon, when the regiment arrived at the depôt, the commanding officers of companies had to receive the signatures of all those who wished to extend their services, when called upon for any period in that same year not exceeding forty-two days. The feeling of the regiment on the subject was obtained in less time than was anticipated, and the commanding officer ordered the men to be paid and dismissed immediately. Sir Moses used to say, when speaking to his friends on this subject, "I did all in my power to persuade my company to re-enlist, but I was not successful." In the same year, he took lessons in sounding the bugle, and also devoted several hours a week to the study of French; it appears that he would not allow one hour of the day to pass without endeavouring to acquire some useful art or knowledge. He was very particular in not missing a lesson, and entered them all in his diary of the year 1814. In the midst of business, military duties, and studies, in which he passed the five years, 1810 to 1814, there was one date which he most justly considered the happiest of his life. I am alluding to the 10th of June 1812 (corresponding, in that year, to the 30th of Siván, 5573 A.M., according to the Hebrew date), on which day he was permitted to take to himself as a partner in life, Judith, the daughter of Levi Barent Cohen. He thoroughly appreciated the great blessing which that union brought upon him. Henceforth, for every important act of his, where the choice was left to him, whether it was the laying of a foundation stone for a house of prayer, a charitable institution, or a business office, he invariably fixed the date on the anniversary of his wedding day. Setting out on an important mission in the month of June, he would, when a short delay was immaterial, defer it to the anniversary of his wedding. This was not, as some might suppose, from mere superstition, for in all his doings he was anxious to trust to the will of God alone; it was with the idea of uniting every important act in his life with one which made his existence on earth, as he affirmed, a heavenly paradise. His own words, taken from the diary of 1844, will best express his feelings on the subject. "On this happy day, the 10th of June," he writes, "thirty-two years have passed since the Almighty God of Israel, in His great goodness, blessed me with my dear Judith, and for ever shall I be most truly grateful for this blessing, the great cause of my happiness through life. From the first day of our happy union to this hour I have had every reason for increased love and esteem, and truly may I say, each succeeding year has brought with it greater proofs of her admirable character. A better and kinder wife never existed, one whose whole study has been to render her husband good and happy. May the God of our fathers bestow upon her His blessing, with life, health, and every other felicity. Amen." As a lasting remembrance of the day he treasured the prayer-shawl which, according to the custom (in Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew communities), had been held over his head and that of his bride during the marriage ceremony and the offering up of the prayers. In compliance with his wish the same shawl was again put over his head when his brethren performed the melancholy duty of depositing his mortal remains in their last resting-place. But I will not further digress, and I resume my narrative of his happy life after his union with his beloved wife. Henceforth the reader may consider them as one person, and every act of benevolence recorded further on in these Memoirs must be regarded as an emanation of the generous and kindly impulses which so abundantly filled the hearts of both. In order to indicate the places to which the young couple would resort after the duties of the day, I need only remind the reader of the residences of their numerous relatives, with whom they were always on affectionate terms. At Highgate, Clapham, Lavender Hill, and Hastings, in all of these places they were most heartily welcomed, and they often went there to dine, take tea, or spend a few days in the family circle. But the place to which they repaired for the enjoyment of a complete rest, or for considering and maturing a plan for some very great and important object, was an insignificant little spot of the name of "Smithembottom" in Surrey. They used to go there on Sunday and remain until the next day, sometimes until the middle of the week, occasionally inviting a friend to join them. They greatly enjoyed the walk over hills, while forming pleasing anticipations of the future; and they always found on their return to the little inn, an excellent dinner, which their servants had brought with them from London--never forgetting, by the order of their master, a few bottles of his choice wine. "Wine, good and pure wine," Mr Montefiore used to say, "God has given to man to cheer him up when borne down by grief and sorrow; it gladdens his heart, and causes him to render thanks to heaven for mercies conferred upon him." In holy writ we find "give wine unto those that be of heavy heart;" also, "wine maketh glad the heart of man." No sanctification of our Sabbaths and festivals, and no union between two loving hearts, can be solemnised, without partaking of wine over which the blessing has been pronounced. It was his desire to be happy, and make others around him happy, for such he said was the will of God (Deut. xxvi. II). When certain friends of his, who intended taking the total abstinence pledge, ventured to raise an argument on the desirability of his substituting water for wine, he would reply in the words which the vine said to the trees when they came to anoint him as king over them, "Should I leave my wine which cheereth God and man" (Judges ix. 13)? His friends smiled at this reasoning, and on their next visit to him drank to each other's health in the choice wine of his cellar. I invariably heard him pronounce the blessing before he touched the exhilarating beverage, in such a tone as to leave no doubt in the minds of those present that he fully appreciated this gift of God. He never gave up the habit of taking wine himself, and it was his greatest pleasure to see his friends enjoy it with him. To the sick and the poor he would frequently send large quantities. The year 1812 passed very happily. Every member of the family was delighted with the young couple. They said, "such a suitable union of two young people had not been seen for many years." In No. 4 New Court, where they took up their abode, they had Mr N. M. Rothschild their brother-in-law (in whose financial operations Montefiore was greatly interested), for a neighbour and friend. Young Mrs Montefiore had but a short distance to walk to see her parents, at Angel Court, Throgmorton Street, where Mrs Barent Levi Cohen now lived. The Stock Exchange and the Bank being in their immediate neighbourhood, where all their relatives had business transactions every day in the week except Sabbath and festivals, they often had the opportunity of seeing the whole family circle in their house. CHAPTER III. 1813-1820. FINANCIAL TRANSACTIONS--PUBLIC EVENTS BEFORE AND AFTER WATERLOO--ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE HEBREW COMMUNITY. I am now at the starting point of my narrative of the public life and work of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore in connection more especially with the communities of their own race, and this I propose to give in the form of extracts from their diaries. These extracts contain the most material references to important events, accompanied by explanatory remarks of my own. With a view of making the reader acquainted with the passing opinions and feelings of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore and their earnestness of purpose and energy in every good cause, as well as with a desire to draw attention to the variety and multiplicity of the work they would accomplish in a single day, I shall frequently give these entries as I find them, in brief and at times abrupt sentences. 1813 (5573 A.M.).--Owing to the eventful vicissitudes of European wars, the greatest activity prevails on the Stock Exchange. Mr Montefiore is in constant intercourse with Mr N. M. Rothschild, through whose prudence and judicious recommendations with regard to the Bullion Market and Foreign Exchanges, he is enabled not only to avoid hazardous monetary transactions, but also to make successful ventures in these difficult times. 1814 (5574 A.M.).--The first peace in Paris is signed. The allied sovereigns visit England, and are received by the Prince Regent. Great festivities in the city, while considerable excitement prevails in all financial circles. Commerce is stagnant; taxation excessive, in consequence of the great debt the country had incurred during the war; the labouring classes cry out; food is scarce; there is no demand for labour, and wages are low. Nevertheless, Mr Montefiore and his wife entertain the hope of a continuance of peace, which, they say, will soon remedy all evils. They frequently visit Highgate, where Mr N. M. Rothschild has his country house; go to Hastings, where their brother-in-law Mr S. M. Samuel, has taken a summer residence, and visit their mother, Mrs Montefiore, at Kennington Terrace. They contrive to devote a portion of the day or evening to the study of the French language and literature. Mr Montefiore, as captain of the local militia, continues taking lessons on the bugle. 1815 (5575 A.M.).--Mr Montefiore agrees with Lord Mayor Birch (grandfather of Dr Samuel Birch of the British Museum) to pay £600, for the transfer to himself, of Medina's Broker's medal (at that time the few Jewish brokers admitted had to pay an extraordinarily high fee for the privilege); he is engaged in his financial transactions with Mr N. M. Rothschild, and goes, in the interest of the latter and in his own, to Dunkirk and Yarmouth. On his return he frequently attends the meetings of the representatives of the Spanish and Portuguese synagogues; checks and signs the synagogue books, as treasurer, and is present at the meetings of a committee, representing four Hebrew congregations in London, for devising proper regulations to ensure the provision of meat prepared in accordance with Scriptural injunctions. 1816 (5576 A.M.).--He frequently attends the meetings of the Velhos (Elders) of the Spanish and Portuguese community, and the society for granting marriage portions to orphans. His work in connection with finance daily increases. Great agitation prevails throughout the country; the Government having, in the previous year, passed a Corn Act to favour the English farmer, forbidding the importation of foreign grain, the price of wheat had reached 80s. per quarter; political societies, under the name of "Hampden Clubs," are formed all over the country. There is a cry for reform in the House of Commons; the Ministry, influenced by Lord Castlereagh, refuses all change; the price of wheat continues to rise daily after the peace. Financiers feel very anxious about the result, but Mr and Mrs Montefiore, less apprehensive of serious disturbances, and desirous of change of scene and climate, purpose setting out to visit France and Italy. 1816 (5576 A.M.).--They travel in France and Italy, visit public institutions, and make it a rule to see every object of interest. They take notice and make memoranda of the explanations given them by their _Ciceroni_, independently of the information derived from guide-books; they frequent theatres and operas as well as hospitals and schools. A beautiful and comfortable travelling chariot, procured in Paris from Beaupré, a famous coach builder, at the price of 4072 francs, and abundant provisions for themselves and friends, making them independent of inferior hotels for food, make their travels most agreeable to themselves and to all who accompany them. Mr Montefiore and his wife were not only diligent observers of whatever they saw, but also possessed the good quality of never objecting to any difficulties to be overcome in order to add to their stock of knowledge or experiences. During their travels in France and Italy, their pleasure was greatly enhanced by the kind attention they received at the hands of their friends, especially in Paris, where Mr Solomon de Rothschild and all the members of the family vied with each other in their efforts to make their stay as agreeable as possible. At Lausanne, Mr Montefiore was very ill for three days with rheumatism in the face and ear, but he soon recovered, and was able to continue his journey. On August the 30th, after an absence of three months from England, they returned and arrived safely at Dover. On September 20th he is appointed treasurer to the "Beth Holim" hospital of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew community. _November 26th._--A private account is opened with Jones, Lloyd & Co. and the Bank of England; on the 29th of the same month he dissolves partnership with his brother Abraham, "God grant," he says, "it may prove fortunate for us both." 1817 (5577 A.M.).--This was a year of riot in England; in spite of the Royal proclamation against unlawful assemblages the riots increased; the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended, but the seditious meetings continued. A motion in the House of Commons for reform had only seventy-seven supporters, two hundred and sixty-six voting for its rejection. Mr Montefiore, like most financiers in London, was in constant anxiety, his state of health suffered, and it was desirable for him to leave England again for change of climate. He completes the purchase of Tinley Lodge farm on July 30th. On October 7th he signs his will; and on the 13th of the same month, accompanied by his wife and several of their relatives, sets out on his second journey to France and Italy. On the road, he and Mrs Montefiore resume their Hebrew studies. They visit Paris, Lyons, Turin, Milan, and Carrara; the latter place being of special interest to them on account of their meeting with persons who had been connected in business transactions with Mr Montefiore's father. 1818 (5578 A.M.).--They arrive on the 1st of January at Leghorn, and meet several members of their family. They visit the house where Mr Montefiore was born, and are welcomed there by Mr Isaac Piccioto, who occupied the house at that time; they proceed thence to the burial ground to see the tomb of their uncle Racah, and on the following day leave for Pisa. There they visit the house and garden of the said uncle Racah, Mr Montefiore observing, that it is a good garden, but a small house; thence they continue their journey to Sienna. "I had a dispute," he says, "with the postmaster at a place called Bobzena, and was compelled to go to the Governor, who sent with me two gendarmes to settle the affair." "The road to Viterbo," he observes, "I found very dangerous; the country terribly dreary, wild and mountainous, with terrific caverns and great forests." "On the 15th of January," he continues, "we became greatly alarmed by the vicinity of robbers on the road, and I had to walk upwards of seven miles behind the carriage until we arrived at Rome, whither we had been escorted by two gendarmes." "In Rome," he says, "we saw this time in the Church of St John, the gate of bronze said to be that of the temple of Jerusalem; we also revisited the workshop of Canova, his studio, and saw all that a traveller could possibly see when under the guidance of a clever cicerone. "We left Rome on the 11th of February, and passed a man lying dead on the road; he had been murdered in the night. This incident damped our spirits and rendered the journey, which would otherwise have been delightful, rather _triste_." On the 3rd of April they arrive at Frankfort-on-the-Main; in May they are again in London, and on the 13st inst., Mr Montefiore, dismissing from his mind (for the time) all impressions of gay France and smiling Italy, is to be found in the house of mourning, expressing his sympathy with the bereaved, and rendering comfort by the material help which he offers in the hour of need. It is in the house of a devoted minister of his congregation, the Rev. Hazan Shalom, that we find him now performing the duties of a Lavadore, preparing the dead for its last resting-place. The pleasures of his last journey, and the change of scene and climate appear to have greatly invigorated him, for we find him on another mournful occasion, exhibiting a degree of physical strength such as is seldom met with. His mother-in-law having been taken ill on Saturday, the 14th of November, he went on foot from Smithembottom to Town, a walk of five hours, in order to avoid breaking one of the commandments, by riding in a carriage on the Sabbath. Unfortunately on his arrival, he found she had already expired. Prompted by religious fervour and attachment to the family, he attended during the first seven days the house of mourning, where all the relatives of the deceased assembled, morning and evening, for devotional exercises, and, with a view of devoting the rest of the day to the furtherance of some good cause, he remained in the city to be present at all the meetings of the representatives of his community. In the month of December he went down to Brighton to intercede with General Bloomfield for three convicts. (The particulars of the case are not given in the diary), and on his return he resumed his usual financial pursuits. 1818 (5579 A.M.). He is elected President of the Spanish and Portuguese congregation. "I am resolved," he says, "to serve the office unbiassed, and to the best of my conscience." Mr Montefiore keeps his word faithfully, for he attends punctually all the meetings of the elders; and, on several occasions, goes about in a post-chaise to collect from his friends and acquaintances contributions towards the fund required for the hospital "Beth Holim" of his community. This was the year in which the political crisis came, when public meetings, in favour of Parliamentary reform were held everywhere, and Parliament passed six Acts restricting public liberty. In the midst of these troubles, on the 24th of May, the Princess Victoria, daughter of the Duke of Kent, the fourth son of the king, was born at Kensington Palace. 1820 (5580 A.M.). The Diary opens this year with observations on the life of man, and with a view of affording the reader an opportunity of reflecting on Mr Montefiore's character, I append a record of his pursuits such as we seldom meet with in a man in the prime of life, at the age of 30. In full enjoyment of health, wealth, and every pleasure a man could possibly desire, he thus writes on the first page:-- "He who builds his hopes in the air of men's fair looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on the mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. "With moderate blessings be content, Nor idly grasp at every shade, Peace, competence, a life well spent, Are blessings that can never fade; And he that weakly sighs for more Augments his misery, not his store." CHAPTER IV. 1820-1826. DAILY LIFE--DEATH OF HIS BROTHER ABRAHAM--AN EARLY PANAMA CANAL PROJECT. Mr Montefiore's occupations may best be described in his own words, and may furnish a useful hint to those who neglect to keep an account of the way in which their time is spent. He writes:-- "With God's blessing,--Rise, say prayers at 7 o'clock. Breakfast at 9. Attend the Stock Exchange, if in London, 10. Dinner, 5. Read, write, and learn, if possible, Hebrew and French, 6. Read Bible and say prayers, 10. Then retire. "Monday and Thursday mornings attend the Synagogue. Tuesday and Thursday evenings for visiting." "I attended," he says, "many meetings at the City of London Tavern, also several charitable meetings at Bevis Marks, in connection with the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue; sometimes passing the whole day there from ten in the morning till half-past eleven at night (January 25, 1820), excepting two hours for dinner in the Committee room; answered in the evening 350 petitions from poor women, and also made frequent visits to the Villa Real School." In the course of the year he went to Cambridge and to Norwich, visiting many of the colleges, the Fitzwilliam Museum, and other interesting institutions, and on February the 16th he attended the funeral sermon of his late Majesty George the Third (who died on the 29th of January). He often went to his farm, near Tinley Lodge, and sometimes for special recreation to the English Opera, together with his wife and members of the family, always finding time for work and pleasure alike. "Mr N. M. Rothschild," he records in an entry, "being taken ill, I stayed with him several days at Stamford Hill." Subsequently Mr Montefiore had some very important business in connection with a loan, and experienced much uneasiness, owing to a riot among the soldiers of the third regiment of the Guards, which, no doubt, affected the financial world. He frequently went to the House of Commons and the House of Lords to ascertain the state of politics, and the progress of the Jews Emancipation Bill in particular; for the Roman Catholic Emancipation Bill, which, side-by-side with Parliamentary reform, and the demand for free trade, was at that time agitating the public mind, naturally prompted the Jews to bring before the House their own grievances. Mr Montefiore also visited the Female Freemasons' Charity, and generously supported the craft which, as has been said, has had a being "ever since symmetry began and harmony displayed her charms." _October 30._--An important event in his financial career takes place: he gives up his counting-house. 1821 (5581 A.M.)--The first day of this year corresponding with the Hebrew date, Tebet 28, on which his father, he writes, entered into eternal glory, 11th of January 1804 (5564 A.M.), he repairs morning and evening to the house of prayer, offering up the customary prayer in memory of the dead. "I visited his tomb, distributing gifts to the poor and needy, and on my return passed the whole of the day in fasting and religious meditation." The next entries refer to his frequent visits to the hospital, "Beth Holim," going to see King George IV. at Drury Lane, dining with the Directors of the Atlas Fire Assurance Company at the Albion, going afterwards with the Lord Mayor of Dublin to Covent Garden Theatre to see His Majesty again, his excursions to the country, together with his wife, and their visits to Finchley Lodge Farm, where they sometimes pass the day together. On his return to London, he attends, as in the preceding year, the meetings of the elders of his community and those of the communal institutions. On 8th May they set out for Scotland. Of this tour Mrs Montefiore kept an interesting journal, which not only describes the state of the country and the mode of travelling sixty six years ago, but shows her good temper under difficulties, her gratitude to Providence for the blessings they enjoyed, and for their safety after apparent danger, as also her keen appreciation of the beauties of nature and art. It contains, however, no information likely to be serviceable to the present generation travelling in Scotland. In October we meet them again in London, in the House of Prayer, offering up thanks for their safe return from Scotland. During the rest of the year Mr Montefiore resumed his usual occupations, always combining the work of finance with that intended for the welfare of his community and charitable institutions of all classes of society, while Mrs Montefiore devoted herself to responding to every appeal for help commensurately with the merit of the case, comforting every sufferer by her kind acts of sympathy, and promoting peace and harmony among those whose friendship seemed likely to be interrupted. An incident which, at the time, afforded Mr Montefiore special gratification, he refers to as follows:-- "I was present, on the Feast of Haunkah (the anniversary of the victory of the Maccabees), at a discourse delivered by the spiritual head of the congregation, in the College of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew Community. The interest was greatly enhanced by the completion of the study of one of their theological books in the presence of all the students. The latter evinced great love for their study, and appeared well acquainted with the subject to which the lecturer referred." Mrs Montefiore presented each student with a generous gift, as an encouragement to continued zeal in their work. 1822 (5582 A.M.).--He agrees to rent East Cliff Lodge for one year from the 15th of April, for £550 clear, and signs the agreement on 12th February. On the eve of the Day of Atonement, in the presence of his assembled friends, he completes, by adding the last verse in his own handwriting, a scroll of the Pentateuch, for the use of the Synagogue, offering on the following day £140 for the benefit of various charitable institutions of his community as a token of his appreciation of the Synagogue Service. The depressed state of trade in this and the preceding year, owing to serious apprehensions of war, had caused a great diminution in the importation and manufacture of goods, so that much anxiety prevailed. Referring to this subject, Mr Montefiore makes an entry to the effect that a statement had been made in high quarters by the Duke of Wellington, that peace would be maintained, in consequence of which, says Mr Montefiore, all the public funds rose. 1823 (5583 A.M.).--Opens with a joyous event in the family. His brother Horatio, on the first of January, marries a daughter of David Mocatta, thus allying more closely the two most prominent families in the Hebrew community. _August 20th._--Mr and Mrs Montefiore leave England for the third time for France, Germany, and Italy. The entry this day refers to something which happened to him seventeen years previously (1806), (for obvious reasons I do not give the name, which is written in full in the diary):--"N. N. robbed me of all and more than I had. Blessed be the Almighty, that He has not suffered my enemies to triumph over me." On their arrival at Rome they find Mr Abraham Montefiore very ill; much worse, Mr Montefiore says, than they had expected. His critical state induces them to remain with him to the end of the year. About the same time, his brother Horatio was elected an elder in his synagogue: "affording him many opportunities," Mr Montefiore observes, "to make himself useful to the congregation." 1824 (5584 A.M.).--His brother Abraham continues very ill, but Montefiore can remain with him no longer, his presence being much required in London. _February 13th._--Mr and Mrs Montefiore arrive in London, and on the 17th he again goes to the Stock Exchange, this being the first time for more than a year that he has done so. _July 28th._--The deed of settlement of the Alliance Life Assurance Company is read to the general court. On August 4th he has the gratification of affixing his name to it. "On the same day," he says, evidently with much pleasure, "I have received many applications for shares of the Imperial Continental Gas Association." The diary introduces the subject of Insurance Companies by quoting the words of Suetonius. "Suetonius conjectures," Mr Montefiore writes on the first page of the book, "that the Emperor Claudius was the original projector of insurances on ships and merchandise." "The first instances of the practice recorded in modern history," he observes, "occur in 1560, in consequence of the extensive wool trade between England and the Netherlands; though it was probably in use before that period, and seems to have been introduced by the Jews in 1182." "It is treated of in the laws of Oleron, relating to sea affairs, as early as the year 1194." "About the period of the great fire in London, 1666, an office was established for insuring houses from fire." This information is probably no novelty to the reader, but my object in quoting it is to show how attentively Mr Montefiore studied every subject connected with his financial and other pursuits. We have in the College library a great variety of books bearing on insurance offices, all of which, it appears, he had at some time consulted for information. Of both the above companies he was elected president, offices which he held to the last moment of his life. They are now numbered among the most prosperous companies in England. His presence at the board was always a cause of the highest satisfaction, not only to the directors and shareholders, all of whom appreciated his sound judgment, cautious disposition and energy in the promotion and welfare of the company, but also to all the officers and employees of the respective offices. In conversing with his friends on this subject, he used to say, "When our companies prosper, I wish to see everyone employed by us, from the highest to the lowest, derive some benefit from them in proportion to the position he occupies in the office." He also strongly advocated the promotion of harmony and friendliness among the officers of the companies, for which purpose, he used annually to give them an excellent dinner in one of the large hotels, inviting several of his personal friends to join them. When travelling on the Continent, he invariably made a point of visiting every one of the branches of the Imperial Gas Association, making strict enquiries on every subject connected with the operations, and inviting all the officers to his table. I have frequently (after the year 1839) accompanied him on such occasions, and often wondered at his minute knowledge of every item entered in the books of the respective offices. He often gave proof, in the last years of his life, of his special interest in the prosperity of these companies by the exertions he would make in signing every document sent down to him at Ramsgate for that purpose, even when he appeared to experience a difficulty in holding a pen. He strongly objected to a system of giving high dividends to the shareholders. "Let us be satisfied," he used to say, "with five per cent., so that we may always rest in the full enjoyment of undisturbed life on the firm rock of security,"--the emblem represented on the office seal of the Alliance. On August the 15th of that year he received a letter from Genoa stating that his brother Abraham was getting worse, and on Saturday, the 28th, he received the sad news of his death, which took place at Lyons whilst on his way back from Cannes. "It was only in the month of January last," Mr Montefiore says of his brother, "that when his medical attendant recommended him to take a sea voyage, he agreed to go with me to Jerusalem, if I would hire a ship to take us there." "Seize, mortal," Mr Montefiore continues, quoting the words of the poet: "Seize the transient hour, Improve each moment as it flies; Life a short summer--man a flower; He dies, alas! how soon he dies." 1825 (5855 A.M.).--The lessons he sets for himself this year are given in quotations from authors, the selections showing the reflex of the impressions made on his mind by current events. The first is an Italian proverb: "Chi parla semina, chi tace racolta," corresponding to the English, "The talker sows, the silent reaps." Those which follow are from our own moralists:-- "A wise man will desire no more than what he may get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and live upon contentedly." "He that loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheerful companion, or an effective comforter." "The studies afford nourishment to our youth, delight to our old age, adorn prosperity, supply a refuge in adversity, and are a constant source of pleasure at home; they are no impediment while abroad, and attend us in the night season, in our travels, and in our retirement." "He may be well content that need not borrow nor flatter." He attends this year regularly all the meetings of eight companies or associations: the Alliance British and Foreign Life and Fire Assurance, the Alliance Marine Assurance, the Imperial Continental Gas Association, the Provincial Bank of Ireland, the Imperial Brazilian Mining, the Chilian and Peruvian Mining, the Irish Manufactory, and the British Colonial Silk Company. With all this, no doubt often very exciting work, he still finds time for attending all the meetings of charitable institutions of which he is a member, more especially those of his own community; while he is often met in the house of mourning performing duties sometimes most painful and distressing to a sympathising heart. _February 11th._--He attends for the first time the General Board of the Provincial Bank of Ireland. Being now considered an authority of high standing in the financial world, various offers were made to him by promoters to join their companies or become one of their directors. Among these undertakings is one which I will name on account of the interest every man of business now takes in it. I allude to a company which had for its object the cutting of a ship canal for uniting the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. He refused the directorship of that gigantic undertaking, which, after having been abandoned for nearly sixty years, was again taken up, under the name of the Panama Canal, by M. de Lesseps. Thirty years later Mr Montefiore also refused to take a leading part or directorship in the Suez Canal Company, which M. de Lesseps had offered him when in Egypt. I happened to be present at the time when M. de Lesseps called on him with that object. It was in the year 1855, when Mr Montefiore had become Sir Moses Montefiore, and was enjoying the hospitality of his late Highness Said Pasha, who gave him one of his palaces to reside in during his stay at Alexandria. M. de Lesseps spoke to him for several hours on the subject, but he could not be persuaded that so great an undertaking was destined to be a pecuniary success. _May 8th._--Mr and Mrs Montefiore leave for Paris. On their return they proceed in July to Oxford; and, at the end of the same month, we see them in Ireland, whither Mr Montefiore went as a member of the deputation sent by the Provincial Bank. In recognition of the services rendered to the Board by himself and the other members of the deputation, a resolution was passed, a copy of which is here subjoined. "Provincial Bank of Ireland, "_Friday, September 9th, 1825_. "At a meeting of the Court--Present:--John Morris, Esq., in the chair; M. Attwood, Esq., M. P.; H. A. Douglas, Esq.; S. A. Madgan, Esq.; J. T. Thorp, Esq.; Jas. Brogdon, Esq., M. P.; J. R. Macqueen, Esq., M. P.; C. E. Prescott, Esq.; S. N. Ward, Esq. "Resolved unanimously, That the cordial thanks of the Court are due to Messrs Medley, Montefiore, and Blount for the zeal and ability they have evinced in the management of the business committed to their care, the result of which has fully realised the expectations of the Court, and will conduce most essentially to the prosperity of the Company. "The Chairman is requested to communicate the resolution to the gentlemen of the deputation on their return from Ireland." 1826 (5586 A.M.).--The diary begins with the prayer, "Renew in me, O Lord, the right spirit." For the information of the general reader I quote a short statement from some historical records of the state of financial transactions in this and the previous year which will explain the importance of the entries Mr Montefiore made in these years, referring to monetary transactions. On the 12th of January there is an entry stating "the Government will lend the merchants five millions of Exchequer Bills, and the Bank directors have agreed to advance the money. They will not fund till June or July, and then only five or six millions." "This," Mr Montefiore thinks, "is much in favour of stocks." One of his acquaintance died suddenly at this time, an unfortunate event which he considered was the fatal result of large speculations. "These two years," the historian says, "were characterised by an extraordinary activity in all departments of trade and commerce. Mr Huskisson, a minister who was a high authority on commercial matters, originated several important measures, especially those relating to the repeal of all duties on goods passing between Great Britain and Ireland, an alteration in the duties affecting the silk manufacture, and the repeal of the combination laws and of the law against the emigration of artisans; while the Executive formed commercial treaties, on the reciprocity system, with various countries in Europe, and, acknowledging the independence of the revolted Spanish colonies in America, drew them as additional customers into the British market. Capital now so far exceeded the ordinary means of its employment, that many joint-stock companies were formed as a means of giving it a wider scope. Some of these associations professed objects which were by long established usage the proper business of individuals alone, and others involved hazardous and visionary projects to be carried into effect in remote countries. The depressed state of trade in 1821 and 1822 had led to a diminished importation and production of goods, and was succeeded by an advance of prices in 1823. The consequence was a sudden and unusually large demand and a powerful reaction of supply, which did not cease till production had far exceeded the bounds of moderation. Through the facilities afforded by a large issue of paper money, the delusion was kept up longer than it would otherwise have been. The first symptom of something wrong was the turning of the exchange against England. A diminution of issues at the bank followed. Merchants began to experience difficulties in meeting pecuniary obligations. Then took place a run upon the banks, some of which, both in London and the country, were obliged to stop payment. Between October 1825 and February 1826, fifty-nine commissions of bankruptcy were issued against English country banks, and four times the number of private compositions were calculated to have taken place during the same period. While merchants and manufacturers were without credit, their inferiors were without employment, and distress reached almost every class of the community. Some liberal pecuniary measures on the part of the Bank of England helped in a short time, rather by inspiring confidence than by actual disbursement of money, to retrieve in some measure the embarrassed circumstances of the country. "On the same day," Mr Montefiore says, "when the death of an unfortunate speculator caused a general gloom to prevail in the financial world, I was asked by a gentleman if I had the courage to join him in a speculation, my reply was I would see to-morrow." "I fear," Mr Montefiore observes, "this day's awful lesson is quite lost upon him." The entries I am now giving are very brief, sometimes abrupt, showing (probably) the excited state of affairs in the political and financial world, which appear to have induced him to form a resolution to withdraw entirely from all the turmoil of London. _March 5th._--Heard there will be no war. The ministers' plan of funding and repaying six millions of the bank has lowered the funds. _March 17th._--Attended the meeting of the schools; meeting of the society for granting marriage portions to orphans (Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew community). _March 20th._--The King of Portugal died; The Emperor of Austria dangerously ill; our good king much better. _April 9th._--Dined with Mr N. M. Rothschild; met there Prince Esterhazy, Duke of St Albans, his brother and two sisters, Lady Augusta Cotton, a son of Lord Coventry, and the Earl of Lauderdale. _April 13th._--The Emperor Nicholas insists upon the Turks evacuating Moldavia. _April 16th._--Attended meeting of the elders (Sp. and Port. Synagogue); signed 1171 cheques, dividends of the Alliance, sixteen shillings per share. _June 20th._--War commences again in India, after Bhurtpore had been stormed by Lord Combermere and peace made with the Burmese, when they had to pay £100,000 sterling, and cede a great extent of the territory. During the following three months he again devotes much time to communal affairs, attending committees of schools and charitable institutions. _October 15th._--Political events of great importance attract his attention. He calls with Mr N. M. Rothschild on Prince Esterhazy, who says that Canning and Villele are trying every means to settle a representative constitution for Spain. _October 22nd._--The entry states, "Received an express that the differences between the Russians and Turks are amicably settled." _October 29th._--He frequently attends meetings of the elders in this and the following month, also orders blankets for distribution among the poor. _December 12th._--The king sends a message to the House to the effect that five hundred troops would be sent to Portugal. _December 14th._--The King of France's speech is considered very warlike. The diary concludes with the following memorandum:-- "By the blessings of God, prepare for a trip to Jerusalem. Get letters of introduction from Lord Auckland for Malta, and from J. Alexander for Constantinople. Study Italian, French, and Hebrew." CHAPTER V. 1827. FIRST JOURNEY TO JERUSALEM. The reader having accompanied Mr and Mrs Montefiore through the first period of their life and work, and seen them deservedly raised to a position enabling them, if so disposed, to take a prominent part in important public movements, I shall now describe all the incidents of note in connection with their pursuits in the second period of their lives. In the year 1827 they decided to visit Jerusalem. Their sole reason for this determination was a wish to visit the Holy Land, a land with which their race is connected by so many associations, and of which the name is kept in loving remembrance in the prayers recited daily by every true Israelite. Mrs Montefiore has given a most interesting account of that journey in her private journal, printed, but not published, and the following narrative is based upon the entries made therein, and in the diaries of Mr Montefiore. For the better understanding of those extracts which bear upon politics, it may not be out of place to briefly recapitulate the circumstances of the one important event that occurred in the administration of Viscount Goderich (Mr Robinson), who succeeded Canning as Premier under George IV. This event was the battle of Navarino, which was followed by the establishment of Greek independence. The cause of Greece was supported, from different motives (see Brewer's "Hume"), by Russia, France, and England. These Powers had their squadrons in the Levant, the English being under the command of Sir Edward Codrington. War had not yet been declared; the Turkish and Egyptian fleet, under Ibrahim Pasha, lay in the Bay of Navarino, and there was an understanding that it should remain till the affairs of Greece were arranged. As the Turks attempted to violate this agreement a general engagement ensued, and the Turkish and Egyptian fleets were completely destroyed in the course of a few hours. By this impolitic act England and France played into the hands of Russia, who was anxious to weaken the power of Turkey, and thus they gave some help towards the long-cherished object of her ambition--the possession of Constantinople. On May 1st, 1827 (5587-8 A.M.), Mr and Mrs Montefiore repaired to Synagogue as was their custom early in the morning before undertaking any important work, for the purpose of invoking the blessing of Divine Providence on this their first and long-projected journey to Jerusalem. Fortified with letters of introduction, in the first instance, to Admiral Codrington, then commanding on the Mediterranean Station, and taking with them their own carriages, they travelled _viâ_ Dover, Calais, Turin, Milan, Florence, and Rome to Naples. Here a nephew of Mr Amschel Rothschild assisted them in obtaining a vessel to take them to Malta, where they visited the plantations of the Silk Company on the ditch of Porto Reale. There were about 5000 mulberry trees at this place, as well as about 400 at Sal Marson, "all looking healthy. We were present," says Mrs Montefiore, "at a dinner given by us in the Palace to the men, women, and children, who were and had been employed by the Silk Company, to the number of 140. The hall was beautifully decorated with shrubs and flowers, and 'Welcome' was written in large letters at the top of the room. There were many joints of beef, a sheep roasted whole, macaroni, rice, bread, cheese, water melons, and good wine. Everyone had as much as he could eat and drink. The broken victuals and wine were afterwards distributed among the poor to the number of thirty. A band of music then entered the hall, and all present danced, as happy as people could be." At the Palace Mr Montefiore delivered Lord Auckland's and Lord Strangford's letters to the Governor, the Hon. F. C. Ponsonby, who advised him to go to the East in a ship of war, on account of the Greek pirates. Amidst numerous kind and flattering attentions from the residents, amongst whom were Sir John Stoddart, Mr and Mrs St John, Captain Roberts, Colonel Bathurst, and Miss Hamilton, amidst amusements and excursions to Gozo and Marfa, Mr and Mrs Montefiore did not forget on Thursday, the 2nd of August, the fast which was kept on the day of the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. "Thank God," he says in his diary, "we are quite well after breaking our fast, which we did at 9.35, several stars being then visible. The day has been dreadfully hot and fatiguing. My poor wife suffered so much that I endeavoured to persuade her to break her fast about four o'clock, but she would not. I felt extremely weak, but was free from headache." The next day, Captain Anderson of the _Leonidas_ called and agreed to take Mr and Mrs Montefiore and two servants to Alexandria, for a consideration of £400, and to wait there twenty days, and then take them to Jaffa. At this stage Mrs Montefiore was taken ill, but owing to the kind attention of Lady Stoddart, and the assistance of Mr Milan, the Governor's medical adviser, she soon recovered. Mr and Mrs Montefiore now embarked on board the _Leonidas_, and sailed under convoy of the _Garnet_, with four other vessels to Alexandria. From here they proceeded to Cairo and the Pyramids, where, by the courtesy of Mr Salt, the British Consul General, Mr Montefiore had the honour of being presented to Mohhammad 'Ali Pasha in full divan. Mr Maltass, the Vice Consul, acted as interpreter, the Pacha speaking Turkish and his visitor French. "We were graciously received," Mr Montefiore says, "and remained in conversation three quarters of an hour. We had coffee with him. He spoke much of his wishes to improve his people, enquired where I was going, if I was pleased with Egypt, and paid me some compliments. After the interview I rode to the Obelisk. On my return I called on Mr Salt. I found him much alarmed at the non-arrival of a despatch which had been sent by an English sloop of war. The Porte had refused the mediation, and the English Admiral had orders to act. Mr Salt was to see the Pasha in the morning, and would then set off for Alexandria. The Pasha wrote to him saying that Mr Canning had died on the 22nd." The party now returned to Alexandria, where they heard conflicting news with regard to the possibility of war. Meanwhile they visited all places of interest, especially the Synagogues, where the services appeared somewhat strange to them. Special mention is made of the Synagogue of Signor Fua, which they visited on New Year's Day, many of the tunes sung there being the same as those used in the London Synagogues. The portion of the Sacred Scriptures was admirably read there by a young boy, "more in the German manner than in the Portuguese." The Scroll of the Pentateuch was in a wooden case, over which was the cloak, and the President called up as many as twenty to hear the Law read to them. The day of Atonement and the Tabernacle Holidays had to be spent here in consequence of the impossibility of obtaining means of proceeding further. "I have still every desire," says Mr Montefiore, "to proceed to Jerusalem, but cannot find any person willing to go with me. Although the plague was at Acre, the whole of Syria in revolt, the Christians fleeing to the mountains for safety, the question of peace or war still undecided, he himself ill, and Mrs Montefiore by no means recovered from her recent attack, he nevertheless determined at all risks to proceed to Jaffa and Jerusalem." "I find," he observed to his anxious wife, "my health and strength failing me so fast in this city, that I deem it now prudent to flee from it, even at the chance of encountering the 'Greek pirates.'" He engaged for this purpose the _Henry Williams_, a brig of 167 tons, under Captain Jones, to take them to Jaffa and bring them back for £50. "I think," he says, "I more ardently desire to leave Egypt than ever our forefathers did. No one will ever recite the passover service" (which gives an account of the exodus from Egypt) "with more true devotion than I shall do, when it pleases Providence to restore me to my own country, and redeem me and my dear wife from this horrible land of misery and plague, the hand of God being still upon it." These are expressions to which most persons in Egypt might frequently give utterance, when in a state of great pain and irritation, tormented by thousands of mosquitoes, and more especially when living in small confined apartments like those of the casino then occupied by Mr Montefiore. Only those who have been in Egypt fifty or sixty years ago can form an idea of the discomfort a traveller then had to put up with, and this was naturally keenly felt by those who, like Mr Montefiore, had been used to every comfort and attention in an English home. _Tuesday, October 16th._--They arrive at Jaffa. The Governor at first refused to allow any Franks to land, and ordered Captain Jones off, but the British Consul having procured permission for them, they landed at mid-day. They found the road level and very sandy, lined with prickly pear, pomegranate, fig, orange, and lemon trees, the finest they had ever seen. On reaching Ramlah, Mr Montefiore was so fatigued he could scarcely dismount; almost too weak to walk. _Wednesday, October 17th._--They left Ramlah at 7 A.M., and entered the gate of David at Jerusalem at 5 P.M. On approaching the holy city they dismount, manifesting their grief at the sight of Jerusalem in ruins, as mourners do when bewailing the loss of some dear relative. Mr and Mrs Montefiore then offered up a fervent prayer, giving thanks to God for having brought them safely to Jerusalem, the great and long desired object of their journey, and praying for His blessing on all they loved. They then repaired to the house of Mr Joseph Amzalak, while the gentlemen who accompanied them took up their quarters in the Greek convent. _Thursday, October 18th._--They attend Synagogue at break of day in the house of their host. "Thanks to Providence," Mr Montefiore says, "I feel better, though still very weak." They receive visits from the head and representatives of the Spanish Hebrew community, also from the head and representatives of the German Hebrew community, all making the kindest offers of their services. Great complaints were made of poverty in Jerusalem, and oppression by the Governors, who were for ever calling for more money. "There are," they said, "fifty Portuguese families, consisting of about 200 individuals; forty German families, or 160 persons; and near 200 elderly widows in great distress." Mr and Mrs Montefiore subsequently went to see the foundation stones of the ancient Temple, generally called the "Western Wall"; also to a house, from the roof of which they had a fine view of the Mosque of Omar, which is built on the site of Solomon's Temple. On their return they called on the Rev. Hahám Moses Soozin (the spiritual head of the Portuguese community), but as he happened to be out, they went to take coffee with the Rev. Rabbi Mendel, who occupied a like position in the German community. "He had prepared an excellent room for us," writes Mr Montefiore, "but our kind host would not allow us to leave him." During their absence from home the Governor sent to say, that he expected Mr Montefiore to come and take coffee, and that he regretted that Mr Montefiore should have gone to the Jews: if he did not like going to the convent, he would have given him a house in the city. Mr Montefiore, on hearing the message, said, "I hope I shall ever live and die in the society of my brethren of Israel." _Friday, 19th._--This being the Mohammedan Sabbath, the Governor was at the Mosque, and Mr Montefiore could not call on him. Mrs Montefiore, accompanied by some ladies and travelling companions, went to see the tomb of Rachel. Mr Montefiore and his host, Mr Amzalak, proceeded to a college bearing the name of "Etz-Khayim" (tree of life), for the cultivation of theological studies. It belongs to the Portuguese community, and was established 148 years ago by an English gentleman of the name of "Franco." Mr Montefiore then went to the ancient burial ground, where he obtained some terra santa to take home with him. On his return to the house of his host, he found every member of the family prepared to welcome the Sabbath. The apartments were beautifully clean and ready one hour before the time fixed for the commencement of prayers. After having attended Synagogue, they had an excellent dinner, their host and hostess being most kind and chatty. "I was in better spirits," said Mr Montefiore, "than I had been for months." _Saturday, October 20th._--They again attended the house of God. Mr Montefiore took the opportunity to offer a special prayer in grateful recognition of the great mercy it had pleased heaven to bestow upon him and his wife, in permitting them to behold the Land of Promise. The President of the congregation requested Mr Montefiore not to make any offering of a large amount, otherwise the local authorities might hear of it, and would still further raise their taxes. At 12 o'clock they called on the Rev. Hahám Moses Soozin, after which they went to dine with the Rev. Rabbi Mendel. Here Mr Montefiore expressed his hope that both the German and Portuguese communities would always remain united in the blessed bonds of harmony. In the afternoon he paid his respects to the Governor at the Palace. The Governor offered him coffee and other refreshments, and was extremely civil and friendly. On Mr Montefiore's expressing a wish to see Jerusalem again, his Excellency said he would be happy to let him have his guard. Mr Montefiore sent him a valuable telescope as a souvenir of the pleasant interviews, while hoping that the Governor might behave better to the Jews in future. His Excellency, in return, as a token of his appreciation of Mr Montefiore's visit, affixed the Visa to his passport in most flattering terms. As these were very peculiar, I append a translation. "We declare that to-day arrived at Jerusalem our friend the English gentleman, Mr Montefiore. He has visited all the holy places, and all the grandees of the town, as well as several of lesser note, who have been highly gratified by making his acquaintance, he being a person of the greatest merit, and unequalled among the nation for propriety and amiability of manners; and having ourselves experienced the highest pleasure in his society we have written this to testify our sense of his politeness. "Given in the last day of Rubic-el-owal, 1243. "El Hha'jj Háfiz Mohhammad Ráshid Sathashour (or Selhhoor) Hassa, _Governor of Jerusalem_." "No city in the world," Mr Montefiore observes in his diary, "can have a finer situation than this; nor is there a better climate;" and he concludes his record of his day's proceedings by wishing "Many happy returns of the day to his dear Judith." The 20th of October being his wife's birthday, which was generally signalised, whether at home or abroad, by the distribution of numerous gifts to the poor and to the charitable institutions, it was, as a matter of course, thus observed in the Holy City, and in an unusually liberal spirit. _Sunday, October 21st._--Their short sojourn in Jerusalem was now concluded. Mr Montefiore rose at half-past two in the morning, and joined a number of persons who had been sitting up all night in the house of his host praying for his safe return, and for the welfare of all friends and lovers of Zion. Both the Rev. Moses Soozin and the Rev. Rabbi Mendel, accompanied by more than one hundred of the principal inhabitants, came to see them off. At 7.38 they took leave of their kind host and hostess, who had most liberally housed and fed them without asking for the smallest remuneration, and had loaded them with cakes, wine, &c., for their journey. After a charming ride of over five hours between the mountains they came to the first well at the commencement of the plains, and arrived at the Greek convent of Ramlah. The road was very stony, rough, and steep, but no precipices; on the sides of the mountains were olives and fruit trees; the valleys well cultivated, the plain sandy. They saw nothing of Aboo-Goosh, who was then the terror of the land, but they went rather in fear of him. _Tuesday, 23rd._--They started from Ramlah at 7 A.M., and reached Jaffa at 10.30, where they stayed a day, and then embarked on board the _Henry Williams_. The next day, being the anniversary of Mr Montefiore's birthday, he makes an entry of the event in his diary in the following words:-- "This day I begin a new era. I fully intend to dedicate much more time to the welfare of the poor, and to attend Synagogue as regularly as possible on Monday, Thursday, and Saturday." _Thursday, October 25th._--They were hailed about 1.30 P.M. by seven large boats, Turkish men-of-war, full of soldiers, who mistook them for Greeks. These boats came alongside and continued very close, appearing to entertain great suspicions of them, as several Greek vessels had been cruising off the port during the day. At dawn, however, they were convinced of their mistake. The following day, when close to the harbour of Alexandria, the travellers saw a Turkish corvette blown up. It had been used as a training ship for the Pasha's midshipmen, and it was supposed that two hundred persons perished. This awful occurrence greatly terrified them. They offered up additional thanks to heaven for having hitherto held them under its merciful protection. At 9.52 A.M. they returned to the harbour of Alexandria, went on shore, and paid a visit to Mr and Mrs Barker, where they met the Austrian Consul. They also called on other friends, who were pleasantly surprised to see them return so speedily, having been uneasy about them on account of the many Greek vessels which had been off the harbour for some time past. In the evening they went on board the _Leonidas_, where they purposed remaining. _Saturday, October 27th._--Mr and Mrs Barker, Captain Richard of the _Pelorus_, Messrs Bell and Harris, paid them a visit, bringing the news that the Pasha had received an account of the British Admiral having fired on a Turkish ship, obliging her to put back into port. Mr Barker said that the Pasha had told him on the previous night that he expected war, that it would be one of religion, and would last fifty years. "These were the words," Mr Montefiore writes in his diary, "Mr Salt had uttered to me on the 5th of September. Captain Richards also thought there would be war. Six vessels came into the harbour, and every one had been plundered by Greek pirates. A fine Genoese sloop which they passed on Thursday near Rosetta had been boarded in the evening and robbed; two other ships were also plundered in sight of the harbour of Alexandria on the same day, and although witnessed by the men-of-war, the wind prevented any of them giving chase." "In truth," Mr Montefiore says, "I have every reason to believe that for the last three months we are the only persons, sailing without a convoy, who have escaped." _Tuesday, October 30th._--They went on shore to be present at the naming of Mr S. M. Fua's infant son. The women who generally attend on festive as well as on mournful occasions, made a horrid noise, which, however, appeared to please the Egyptian guests very much. Mr Montefiore called on Mr Barker, and the latter gave him the firman from the Pasha, which was to facilitate his travelling in Egypt. Mr Barker also begged of him, in the event of Mr Salt's death, to use his influence to obtain for him the post of consul general. Mr Salt, it afterwards appeared, must have been already dead when Mr Barker made this request, but, in all probability, he did not like to break the sad news to one just coming from a place of festivity. "I little expected," says Mr Montefiore, "when I took leave of him on the 9th of this month, previous to my departure for Jerusalem, that it would be the last time I should see him. Upon my enquiring then of him if I could do anything for him in the Holy City, he thanked me, and said, 'only pray for me.' To the will of God we must all submit." _Wednesday, October 31st._--The Pasha has this day made a proclamation in Alexandria, calling upon all true Mussulmans to come forward immediately for the protection of their religion, and to commence work at the fortification instantly. Capt. Richards, who paid Mr and Mrs Montefiore a late visit in the evening, said that he should sail the next day after the funeral. He had just come from the Pasha, who told him that the Grand Signor (the Sultan) had given orders to proceed to sea at all hazards. _Thursday, November 1st._--Mr Montefiore attended the funeral of Mr Salt. All the foreign Consuls were present in full uniform, also Capt. Richards of the _Pelorus_, with his officers, and many others--merchants, captains, &c. "The procession," he writes, "was headed by two handsome horses of the Pasha, without riders, then followed twelve of his janizaris (yenitjeri), twelve English marines, with arms reversed, and the English naval officers. The coffin was carried by six British sailors, and the pall was supported by six consuls, Mr Barker acting as chief mourner, and being followed by other consuls, merchants, captains, &c. Mr Salt was buried in the garden attached to his cottage, the Latin Convent having refused him burial, although his wife is interred there, he being a Protestant." After the funeral service, the marines fired three rounds. The _Pelorus_ fired minute guns during the procession. The distance was nearly half-a-mile, and the dust and heat were so unbearable that Mr Montefiore says, "I was apprehensive of getting the fever." _Friday, 2nd._--A Turkish corvette brings news that the allied admirals off Navarino had, a fortnight before, sent word to Ibrahim Pasha to send the Egyptian fleet to Alexandria and the Ottoman fleet to Constantinople, which he had refused to do. The allied fleet then entered the ports in defiance of all the batteries, destroyed thirteen of the Pasha's finest ships, and thirty-two of the Sultan's, with a reported loss of 6000 or 8000 lives on the side of the Turks. The allied fleet then sailed from Navarino, probably for Constantinople. All the Franks in Alexandria are in the greatest alarm, dreading the revenge of the soldiers and Turks. _Saturday, November 3rd._--Mr Barker sent a note with an extract of the Admiral's letter to him, confirming yesterday's news. The battle was fought on the 20th October, the Turks being said to have been the aggressors. The Turco-Egyptian fleet was annihilated, with a loss of 5000 men. "We are extremely uneasy," Mr Montefiore says, "at the prospect of not being allowed to sail next Tuesday with the French convoy, the French captain having refused to give instructions to, or to take charge of, any but French ships. He said we might sail at the same time, and if we could keep up with him, he would defend us, but he could not stop one moment, or shorten sail for us to keep company. Mr Barker has promised to go on board the _Commodore_ and solicit the captain, as a personal favour, to direct the schooner to give us instructions. _Sunday, November 4th._--Mr Barker has been with the Pasha, who spoke lightly of the loss of his fleet, and said he would soon have another. His sentiments continued unchanged with regard to the Franks, and he pledged himself for their security; he said it was contrary to the Mooslim religion to destroy Christians, and in the event of the Sultan permitting such violence, he could not be called a good Mooslim afterwards. "A poor satisfaction for those he murdered," writes Mr Montefiore. _Monday, November 5th._--They went on shore to take leave of all their friends. Mr Barker gave Mr Montefiore a letter to Lord Dudley, soliciting the post of consul-general. He advised Capt. Anderson, as a friend, not to start, and the person who had chartered the captain's vessel also insisted on her waiting for a proper convoy, as the French schooner had refused to be delayed at sea for any but French ships. Mr Barker advised Mr Montefiore to go by one of the French vessels. "They had the conscience," Mr Montefiore says, "to ask 10,000 francs. Capt. Anderson, however, has resolved to go, and we shall go with him." CHAPTER VI. 1827-1828. MR AND MRS MONTEFIORE LEAVE ALEXANDRIA--A SEA VOYAGE SIXTY YEARS AGO. _Wednesday, November 7th, 1827._--Mr and Mrs Montefiore left Egypt. At 11 A.M. they were out of the harbour, sailing under the protection of the French schooner _La Dauphinoise_, Capt. Auvray, the convoy consisting of four French, one Austrian, three English, and one Russian vessel. _Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday._--They proceeded with some difficulty, but on Friday, November 30, all on board thought they would be able to enter the harbour of Malta, as the weather was favourable, and Captain Anderson had resolved to make the attempt, although the sun had already set. In about two hours they were so near the shore that they could see the lights distinctly, and they could not have been more than a mile from the mouth of the port. All were extremely happy, expecting to anchor within an hour. "How frail are human joys," exclaims Mr Montefiore; "most suddenly the wind had changed again to the west, and commenced blowing in a terrific manner. Thus, in an instant, were our hopes gone, and we were blown off the land, a tremendous sea obliging us to take to our beds. God only knows when we shall reach Malta." _Saturday, December 1._--"The last was a dreadful night," he writes, "it blew almost a hurricane: a frightful sea: the ship rolled and pitched so as to occasion serious alarm to all on board. Poor Judith suffered severely. The captain had never in his life experienced a worse night, and to prevent our being blown further off Malta, he carried a press of sail. I shall never forget the night, but on each Sabbath eve shall recollect with gratitude God's mercy in saving us from destruction. This morning, at daybreak, we were five miles off Malta, having retained this situation by tacking backwards and forwards during the night. The weather continued rough and stormy, but thanks be to the Almighty God, we anchored safely in the quarantine harbour at half-past seven, after a long and boisterous voyage of twenty-four days." In commemoration of this merciful event, it became a custom of Mr Montefiore, from the year in which it took place, to the last year of his life, to read on the first night of the Passover Festival, the entry he then made in his journal, consisting of several appropriate verses from the Psalms of David. "Sir John Stoddart wrote me a very friendly note, and came to the waterside to see us. After dinner we left the _Leonidas_, having spent more than three months in Captain Anderson's company, and slept sixty-eight nights on board his ship. He was most attentive and obliging, and we left him with regret." At five minutes past five they entered the Lazaretto. _Sunday, December 2nd._--The Governor sent his private secretary to thank them for a turtle which they had brought him as a present, and to enquire after their health, requesting particularly to be informed how the news of the battle of Navarino had been received at Alexandria. Mr Montefiore replied by a special letter. Sir John Stoddart, the chief judge, with his daughter and Mr Maxwell, came to pay them a visit, but they were not allowed to approach within two yards of them. Captains Anderson and Jones called and brought the news that the _Martha_, Captain Smart, had come into harbour; they had been plundered and dreadfully ill-treated by the Greeks. In the course of their stay at Malta, Mr and Mrs Montefiore had the pleasure of receiving a visit from Captain Lewis Davies of the _Rose_, the hero of Navarino; they had met him before at the houses of Mr Barker and the late Mr Salt in Alexandria. He remained with them a full hour, giving a most interesting description of the battle. After so long an absence abroad, Mr Montefiore, one might have thought, would have been longing to be back in England to take a rest, but he has no such idea; on the contrary, he is already planning another tour in connection with business. On Sunday, December 9th, he writes, "I much wish it may be in my power, after our return to England, to see Vienna, and visit our Gas Establishments at Berlin, Hanover, Rotterdam, and Ghent. I shall strive to do so, provided I succeed in reaching London by the end of February. As soon as we get pratique, we shall endeavour to procure a vessel for Palermo, remain there a couple of days, thence to Naples, where I hope to get letters from our dear mother and friends." In the course of this narrative we shall have frequent opportunities of witnessing a peculiar characteristic of his. When he had achieved some great work, and was yet engaged in affixing his signature to a report on the same, whilst all his fellow-workers were exhausted with fatigue, his restless activity would impel him to begin a fresh scheme for the alleviation of distress or for the cause of humanity, notwithstanding his own exertions, and in spite of many nights of anxiety which may have attended his former enterprise. _Thursday, December 13th._--This being the 1966th anniversary of the victory of the Maccabees, Mr and Mrs Montefiore celebrated it by special prayers and thanksgivings, an additional number of lights being burnt in honour of the occasion. A Russian officer, who happened to be their neighbour in the Lazaretto, spoke in glowing terms of the bravery of Jewish soldiers in Russia, and of their wonderful endurance in the days of want and distress so often experienced during the war. When Mr (then Sir Moses) Montefiore appeared before the Emperor Nicholas in the year 1846 to plead the cause of his brethren, he had the satisfaction of hearing similar remarks from His Majesty's lips. _Friday, 14th December._--Lady Stoddart and her son paid them a visit; Captain and Mrs Copeland also came to see them. The Captain said there was great probability of war, adding that the Franks had escaped from Constantinople, and that the Ambassadors were expected to leave immediately. _Monday, December 17th._--They visited every part of the Lazaretto, and found the hospital clean, and in excellent order, but untenanted. They also went to see the English cemetery, where those who die whilst in quarantine or on board ship in the harbour are buried. About a dozen graves are always kept ready for immediate use. Describing the process of fumigating letters and papers, which they saw that day, Mr Montefiore says: "The letters are opened and placed in an iron closet, or on an iron grid; a saucepan containing burning bran and sulphur is then placed on the ground beneath them, and the closet is shut for fifteen minutes. They are then taken out again, and the process is complete." _Tuesday, December 18th._--Several vessels came into the quarantine harbour, and Mr Montefiore had an interesting conversation with Mr de Wimmer, a "Lieutenant au Corps de Chasseurs d'Ordonnance de S.M. l'Empereur de toutes les Russies," who had been with the Emperor Alexander at the time of his death. They also received a letter from Monsieur Peynado Correa, informing them that the Governor had confirmed the constitution given to the Jews by Sir Thomas Maitland. _Wednesday, December 19th._--A ship arrived from Constantinople, having performed the journey in twelve days. It brought the news that the Ambassadors had left the same day, and that all ships of the Allied Powers were put under embargo. While at dinner Mr Montefiore received a polite note from Mr Greig, containing the welcome intelligence that they should have pratique on the next day. "This indulgence," Mr Montefiore observes, "is extremely kind on the part of the Governor, although we have been very comfortable, and had not one irksome hour during the whole time we have been confined in the Lazaretto." _Thursday, December 20th._--They left the Lazaretto. _Saturday, December 22nd._--Mr Montefiore, accompanied by Sir John Stoddart, called on Admiral Codrington. He had a very polite reception both from the Admiral and Lady Codrington. The Admiral said he had been very much interested in the account which Mr Montefiore sent him of the manner in which the Pasha received the news of the battle of Navarino, and took much pains to explain his motives for commencing hostilities. He said the ministers did not seem aware of all the instructions he had received from Stratford Canning. In reply to Mr Montefiore's enquiry, the Admiral said that if the Turks would not listen to his speaking-trumpet, he would have to make use of the cannon. He had on several occasions made signal for battle before the 20th of October, but his good star had attended him, and he had been prevented; the first time by adverse winds, and on the second occasion the French fleet came up in time to over-awe the Turks, and they returned. The Pasha had expressed his intention of throwing off his allegiance to the Porte, and professed great friendship for the French Admiral, commanding his son, Ibrahim Pasha, to follow his directions; he also wished to write to the English himself afterwards. Admiral Codrington did not give the Pasha credit for much sincerity. He then spoke about the Greek pirates and Greek Government, and promised Mr Montefiore a passage to Naples, after which the latter took his leave. _Sunday, December 23rd._--They took a walk over the Silk Company's estate, which they had visited early in the autumn. Since that time about 3000 young trees had been transplanted, new walls had been erected, ditches cut, and ground prepared for the reception of French and Neapolitan shrubs. They were disappointed to learn that the sale of the garden produce scarcely brought enough to cover the expense of sending it to market, fruit and vegetables being so plentiful and cheap. The orange trees were almost breaking down under their load of fruit, which scarcely paid for the gathering. The "nopal" or prickly pears have been rooted up, as well as most of the vines and figs. A few young nopals have been planted, and some preparation made for experiments in cochineal. Mr Montefiore writes: "The ditches discovered on the south side of the valley have evidently been ancient tombs. Those on the hill, round and near the palace, were no doubt planted with trees, and there is every reason to believe that they may be found running in every direction on the estate." Sir Edward Codrington offered them a convoy for the next day, but Mr Montefiore requested him to permit the _Mastiff_, Captain Copeland, to take them to Naples, which request was kindly granted. _Sunday, December 30th._--In the evening the Admiral sent his Secretary to Mr Montefiore with the letters, requesting that he would deliver them personally--one to Lord Burghersh at Florence, and another to the Duke of Clarence. _Monday, December 31st._--"A very tempestuous day," he writes; "the wind is so high that it is impossible for any vessel to get out of the harbour. We must have patience, and wait a little longer. I feel rather better," he adds, "but my neck still continues troublesome." This being the last day of the civil year, a feeling of deep thankfulness prompts him to end his diary with a prayer similar to the one he uttered on the conclusion of the Jewish year. The homeward journey was not marked by any incidents which call for special description. Wherever the travellers halted they followed the daily itinerary, which, once settled, was never departed from, and it was as follows:--First they repaired to Synagogue, then they went to the principal Jewish communal schools and institutions, and in the course of the afternoon exchanged visits with friends or with those to whom they had letters of introduction, whilst the local sights were by no means forgotten. _Friday, January 11th, 1828._--The _Mastiff_, having left Malta on the 2nd of January, was towed into the harbour of Naples, where they anchored. Mr and Mrs Montefiore proceeded at once to the hotel, where they met Baron and Baroness Amschel Rothschild, their handsome son, Baron Charles Rothschild, and Baroness Charlotte Rothschild. A few days later they visited Herculaneum and Pompeii. _Wednesday, January 16th._--Mrs Montefiore dined at Baron Charles', but Mr Montefiore was not well enough to accompany her. It was a large dinner party, and the guests included the Austrian Ambassador with his wife, the Duke and Duchess D'Ascoli, the Duke and Duchess Theodore, Sir Henry and Lady Lushington, and others. _Thursday, January 17th._--Mr Montefiore was still obliged to keep his room the whole day. Captain Copeland gave an entertainment on board the _Mastiff_ to Baroness Charlotte Rothschild, Mrs Montefiore, and Barons Charles and Anselm Rothschild, who afterwards dined with Mr Montefiore. In the evening Mrs Montefiore accompanied Baroness Charlotte to a ball at the Sardinian Embassy, to which both she and Mr Montefiore had been invited by the Marquis and Marchioness di S. Saturius. Mrs Montefiore said there were about five hundred of the nobility present, who had been invited in honour of the Princess Salerno, a daughter of the Emperor of Austria, whom she saw there enjoying a waltz. _Friday, January 18th._--The Duke and Duchess D'Ascoli paid Mrs Montefiore a long visit. The Duchess appeared to take great interest in the Holy Land, making many enquiries on subjects connected with Sacred Scripture. When she had obtained all the information Mrs Montefiore could give her, she asked to see the curiosities which the latter had brought with her. Mrs Montefiore produced the whole of her collection. The Duchess seemed especially pleased with a shell engraved with historical subjects by a Bethlehem artist. Mrs Montefiore requested her acceptance of it, and the Duchess appeared much gratified. _Sunday, January 20th._--Mr Montefiore called on the Secretary of the British Legation, with whom he left the Admiral's letter for Lord Burghersh. _Thursday, January 24th._--We find them at Rome, visiting some of the principal studios of the sculptors, Albertus Thorwaldsen, Canova, his successor Cincinnato Baruzzi, and others. At the studio of Guiseppe Pacetti in the Via Sisterno they saw an ancient statue of a negress with flowers, for which Mr Montefiore intended to make an offer. _Friday, January 25th._--They visited the Vatican, and all the museums, galleries, and places of interest. _Sunday, January 27th._--In the course of the day they received a deputation from the community, who informed them that there were in Rome 3500 of their brethren, of whom the majority were poor, and Mr Montefiore requested their acceptance of his and Mrs Montefiore's offerings to alleviate the distress. He purchased the female figure, in black marble, representing Abundance, which he had seen on the previous Thursday in the Via Sisterno, with the intention of placing it in the hall of his house at Park Lane. The next day they left Rome. _Friday, February 1st._--They reached Leghorn safely, where Mr Montefiore at once offered up the following prayer:-- "Praise and most humble and sincere thanks to the Giver of all Good, the Creator of heaven and earth, for all His manifold mercies towards me, for having preserved me from so many perils and brought me safe to the city of my birth, and in the enjoyment of one of the greatest blessings Providence has bestowed on me, the company of my dear Judith, the companion and sharer of all my danger." _Saturday, February 2nd._--They visited the Synagogue. It was crowded. The state of Mr Montefiore's health not being as satisfactory as he could have wished, he sent for a physician. _Sunday, February 3rd._--They remained in the hotel, Mr Montefiore not feeling well. "Were it not," he writes, "for the extreme anxiety I feel to see my dear mother, I should, without the slightest hesitation, resolve upon remaining in Italy for six months at the Baths of Casciana, about twenty miles from here. I find my complaint gets worse every day. God help me!" _Monday, February 4th._--They visit the schools. A deputation from the Institution "Or Tora," consisting of Messrs Joseph Uzielli, Abram Pardo, Michael Buznah, and Salomoni Mortara, received them. "I was much delighted," says Mr Montefiore, "with the appearance and behaviour of the boys, who have made great progress in their studies. Most of the seniors, although not more than fourteen, are perfect masters of the Hebrew language, and can write in the same on any subject of their studies that may be given them. They receive a most liberal education, even music and drawing. There are about sixty boys; some few pay six francs a month. After the portion of the Pentateuch is read on Sabbath in the Synagogue, the boys draw lots which one should read the portion from the Prophets. All must therefore be well prepared." Mr Montefiore next went to a school open to all children of poor Jews who are in Leghorn. There were about 150 boys present. They are taught reading, writing, and arithmetic on the Lancastrian principle. They then proceeded to the girls' schools, where, in addition to the above subjects, children are taught needlework and straw-plaiting for bonnets. Some of the girls, not more than eight or nine years old, translated the Hebrew prayers. Mr and Mrs Montefiore, in token of the satisfaction they had felt at the inspection of the schools, left generous presents for the pupils. They then journeyed through La Spezia, Chiavari, Genoa, Novi, Turin, Suza, Lanslebourg, Maltaveme, Sava, Les Echelles, Lyons, La Palisse, and Neuville, in their own carriage, then on to Paris and Calais, where they arrived on Wednesday. "I am still," Mr Montefiore says, "very unwell indeed. I feel that some disorder is making daily and rapid strides; am most anxious to reach home for the benefit of rest and quiet. The newspapers appear very warlike, and I think there can be but little doubt as to the truth of their reports. I hope I shall not be induced to enter into any large speculation; never having been endowed with courage in my younger days, it would now be nothing less than downright folly. May heaven guard me from my friends as well as from my enemies." CHAPTER VII. 1828-1829. ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND--ILLNESS OF MR MONTEFIORE-THE STRUGGLE FOR JEWISH EMANCIPATION. _Thursday, February 28th._--They arrived safely in Dover harbour, and had the pleasure of seeing some of their near relatives who had come down to welcome them. They proceeded next day to their home in London, where they immediately paid a visit to Mr Montefiore's mother. Having discharged this pleasing duty, they repaired to the Admiralty, to leave the letters which had been entrusted by Admiral Codrington to Mr Montefiore for delivery. They reached their home at five o'clock, again to enjoy their Sabbath, a day of hallowed peace and rest, at Park Lane. The following morning they attended Synagogue to offer up prayers for their safe return, and were received by the ecclesiastical authorities and representatives of the community with manifestations of pleasure at their reappearance among them. Later in the day Mr Montefiore waited on the Duke of Clarence to deliver into his hands the letter from the Admiral. Mr Montefiore returned much pleased with the audience he had had with His Royal Highness. The great object which Mr and Mrs Montefiore had in view, when setting out for the Holy Land, had so far been accomplished, that they had made a sojourn of three days in the City of Jerusalem, a gratification, however, which they had been permitted to enjoy only in return for unusually great sacrifices. Mr Montefiore now placed himself under the care of an eminent physician, who for a long time visited him almost daily. As his doctor did not, however, forbid Mr Montefiore's leaving the house or following his usual pursuits, he went regularly, except on the Sabbath and Festivals, to the city, attending the Boards of the Alliance Marine and Alliance Life and Fire Offices, the Imperial Continental Gas Association, the Silk Company, and those of all his various communal and charitable institutions. His physician would often accompany him on his way to the city. In accordance with the injunction in Deut. xxiii. 23, "That which has gone out of thy lips thou shalt keep and perform," he endeavoured to fulfil the promises he had made in Egypt, Jaffa, and Malta. He spoke to Sir Robert Farquhar in favour of Mr Barker's appointment as Consul General in Egypt in place of the late Mr Salt. He gave Signor Damiani's letter to Mr George Canning, first Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, soliciting him to appoint young Damiana British Consul at Jaffa, in succession to his father. Finally, he called on Dr Lee of Doctors' Commons, leaving the manuscript, "The Story of Gaiffa," which the author had requested him, when at Malta, to take there. He had the satisfaction of hearing afterwards that his friendly intercession on behalf of the applicants had been partially successful. He was now called upon to fulfil a promise of a mournful nature, which, previously to his setting out for the Holy Land, he had made at the request of the Ecclesiastical Chief of his community. _19th Sivan_ 5588 A.M.--"It was Sunday morning, the 1st of June 1828, when the Rev. Hazan de Sola informed me that it had pleased heaven to call to eternal glory our most worthy Haham Meldola, this morning suddenly, and that he had appointed me his executor conjointly with two other gentlemen. "Tuesday has been a very fatiguing day. At half-past eight I was at Mansell Street attending as Lavador. I took care to see that all the Rev. Haham's requests were strictly complied with. At twelve the funeral cortege proceeded to Bevis Marks. The Rev. Dr Hirschel preached an excellent discourse over the coffin at the old burial ground. The body was carried by all the representatives of the congregation. I assisted in lowering it into the grave. I subsequently returned to the house of the mourners, there joining the assembly at vesper prayers. It was seven o'clock when I left." Mr Montefiore frequently called at the house of the bereaved relatives, conveying to them his sympathy and making friendly offers of his services. Always feeling an interest in objects connected with the Holy Land, he went to look at the drawings and sketches made by Mr Thomas Wyse, jun. (son-in-law of Lucien Bonaparte), during his stay in that part of the world. Some of them he found beautiful and faithful representations of views in and about Jerusalem. But what engages his mind most now is the desirability of procuring the necessary means for the support of educational institutions in the Holy Land. The spread of education and the establishment of schools and colleges have justly been regarded by all enlightened nations as a barometer of civilisation, a sign of the pulsation of life in the heart of a people, and the gladdening light and comforting joy for both rich and poor. But all who are acquainted with the history of the Jews, both ancient and modern, will readily admit that no other nation or class of people have ever shown their appreciation of it under more unfavourable circumstances and at a greater sacrifice. They never relaxed their exertions to benefit by education, notwithstanding the numerous and painful checks from which their progress has often suffered. As the grain of seed under the rough and stony surface, trodden down by the heavy steps of the wanderer, only after turning and twisting in many directions, finally sends forth its tender blade into the pure atmosphere and reviving light of the sun, so the seed of intellect in the brain of the Jew had to pass through many trials and troubles before its first shoot was permitted to show itself and to thrive in the beneficent rays of liberty. An opportunity presented itself to Mr Montefiore to assist the good cause of education by the arrival of a special messenger from Jerusalem, sent to draw his attention to an important case referring to a legacy bequeathed to a theological college in the Holy City. This messenger, the Rev. A. J., who was a member of the college in question belonging to the Spanish and Portuguese community in Jerusalem, said that he was sent by the representatives of that institution to make their case known to the head of the Spanish and Portuguese community in London, and to receive £2600 consols from a certain person. The interest of that stock having been bequeathed to the said college by two friends of Zion residing in England, the representatives should have received the same in regular remittances. The person mentioned, however, being the only surviving trustee, had sold the stock, and had for some years discontinued the remittance of dividends. Mr Montefiore gave the messenger a most polite and friendly reception, and called on two gentlemen who, he knew, would take an interest in the case, asking them to associate themselves with him in furtherance of the above object. A few days later he gave an entertainment at Park Lane, inviting most of the leading and influential members of the community to meet the messenger from Jerusalem, who, it was here suggested, should be asked to deliver a discourse in the Portuguese Synagogue. The Rev. A. J. consented to do so, and gave an interesting address to the community in pure Biblical Hebrew. Mr Montefiore went with his friends to the solicitor to hear the trustee's answer to the Bill filed in Chancery, and he promised to give them his opinion on the subject in a few days. Whilst awaiting the solicitor's opinion, the Rev. A. J. was taken seriously ill, and was received into the hospital of the Spanish and Portuguese community, where at Mr Montefiore's expense he was visited by the most eminent physicians. Eventually he recovered. Ten days later the Rev. A. J. sent for J. M. B., a particular friend of the trustee, to whom he made the following proposition:--"That the trustee should pay him (the Rev. A. J.) his expenses and all law charges, and also £500 down, the balance to be invested in the names of trustees, and the present trustee to enjoy the interest during his lifetime, the capital at his decease reverting to Jerusalem." J. M. B. promised to communicate the offer to his friend. The solicitor informed Mr Montefiore that this gentleman's attorney had returned to England, and would lose no time in giving an answer to the messenger's Amendment Bill in the Court of Chancery. Some time afterwards Mr Montefiore met by appointment with two other friends at the house of the messenger, leaving him the power of attorney, to act for the recovery of the funds. Three months later, however, he and two friends had to undertake the very unpleasant task of informing the rev. gentleman that, in their opinion, he would not be able to obtain any money from the trustee, and a sum of money had to be given him to enable him to return to Jerusalem. With a sorrowful heart at the result of his mission he left England. "But never," he writes in a letter addressed to Mr Montefiore from Jerusalem, "will the recollection of the great kindness, sympathy, and attention which I have met from yourself and my many friends be effaced from my memory." This misappropriation of trust funds intended for poor students in the Holy City roused the utmost indignation in the community. It was deemed a sacrilege, and the strongest terms of reprobation were expressed against the individual who had thus outraged the feelings of humanity. "There can be no doubt," said Mr Montefiore many years later, speaking on the same subject, "that trusts connected with charitable or strictly religious institutions are more liable than others to be, if not strictly speaking misappropriated, at least misdirected, though it may probably be unintentional, more especially when the religious views of the trustees differ from those of the testator. The trust in this particular instance being connected with the study of a language held in esteem by all religious denominations, the act becomes much aggravated, nay, unpardonable." The fervent attachment which Mr Montefiore evinced to the Holy Land did not in any way interfere with his devotion to England. I have already pointed out to the reader the great zeal which he manifested for the defence of his country when serving as a volunteer, and on all occasions he continued to declare that he was ever ready to fulfil his duties by going on active service. In common with his brethren in all parts of the world, he felt it most painfully that, in a country like England, where so many well-meaning citizens evinced their sympathy with the sufferers from oppression, he as a Jew should still be debarred from many of those rights and privileges to which every loyal subject is fully entitled. The sacrifices which the Jews all over Europe had made during the war of 1815, by shedding their blood in defence of the country in which they lived, and by their liberal contributions to the funds for the relief of the wounded, and the support of the soldiers' widows and orphans, had been acknowledged and appreciated. In Holland and France the Jews were fully emancipated, filling high municipal offices in their respective districts, whereas in England the Jews who, since the year 1753, when the Ministry was compelled to withdraw the Naturalisation Act, after it had passed the House of Lords, had been in vain endeavouring to secure their civil rights, thought that the time had now arrived when they might hope to be more successful in the just demands they made upon an enlightened assembly of legislators in both Houses of Parliament. On June 26th Mr Montefiore went with Mr I. L. Goldsmid to the Duke of Norfolk to meet various committees of Dissenters and Catholics, for the purpose of consulting as to the best mode of obtaining privileges for the Jews. They there met Messrs Blount, C. Butler (Catholics), Foa, Bowany, and Aspenhill (Dissenters), and interchanged views on the subject of obtaining relief from all religious disabilities. Similar meetings were held in other localities which were attended by several members of the community, the result being, as is well known, the repeal of the Test and Corporation Act. Greatly encouraged by the result of these meetings, Mr Montefiore, conjointly with Mr N. M. Rothschild, Mr I. L. Goldsmid, and others, pursued with great energy the object in view. In the month of August, Mr and Mrs Montefiore set out for a little excursion to Exeter, Bath, and other places, for the purpose of giving Mr Montefiore a short respite from the fatigue entailed upon him by his onerous duties. We find them again at Park Lane about the end of that month. The diary of 1829 continues to record the great exertions made by Mr Montefiore and other members of his community to attain their civil rights. He attends besides to all his various duties, and has headed the volume by the three following lessons for his own guidance:-- "Be content with what God has allotted you, and you are rich." "To learn, listen. To be safe, be silent." "No man can be happy who does not devote at least five or six hours daily to some useful employment." On Sunday, 22nd February, he writes: "Mr Isaac L. Goldsmid paid me a long visit, consulting as to the best mode of procuring general toleration for the Jews. Judith and self took a ride to see Hannah Rothschild and her husband. We had a long conversation on the subject of liberty for the Jews. He said he would shortly go to the Lord Chancellor and consult him on the matter. Hannah said if he did not, she would. "The spirit manifested here by Mrs Rothschild, and the brief but impressive language she used, reminded me most strikingly of her sister, Mrs Montefiore." Mr Montefiore called the next day on Mr I. L. Goldsmid and Mr Moses Mocatta, and conversed with them on the present state of the Jews. Subsequently he went with Mr N. M. Rothschild to Sir James Mackintosh, to request him to bring a Bill into Parliament to allow aliens (Jews) to hold freehold land and to vote for members of Parliament. In the cause of emancipation friendly dinners and entertainments were occasionally given for the purpose of affording friends of religious and civil liberty an opportunity of exchanging their views on the subject. To many of these, given by N. M. Rothschild at Piccadilly, Mr and Mrs Montefiore were invited. At one of them they met the Duke and Duchess of St Albans, Lady Louisa Beauclerk, the Hon. Shaw Stewart, Lord and Lady Kinnwell, Sir William and Lady Rowly, the Spanish Ambassador and his wife, the Brazilian Ambassador, Sir Charles Beresford, Sir William Abdy, Mr George Harrison, Mr Kelly Addenston. "Twenty-three," says Mr Montefiore, "sat down to table. Moschelles came in the evening, played on the piano, and accompanied Miss Rothschild. It was near twelve before the party broke up." Mr Montefiore was highly gratified with the result of the conversations he had with several influential noblemen on the subject he had so much at heart. On a similar occasion at the house of Mr John Pearce, St Swithin's Lane, he met a number of gentlemen interested in the emancipation of the Jews. He there spoke to Daniel O'Connell and his son, to the O'Gorman Mahon, I. L. Goldsmid, young Attwood, Samuel Gurney and his son, Fowell Buxton, Charles Pearce, Pearce Mahony, and Dr Hume. O'Connell and the O'Gorman were very chatty. On the 17th of March, Mr and Mrs Montefiore called on Mr N. M. Rothschild. They read there the petition of the Jews to both Houses of Parliament prepared by Mr Tooke, and "both Hannah and Rothschild," he observes, "approve of it." On the evening of the same day he attended a meeting of deputies from the several London Synagogues held at the Mocattas', in Russell Square. Mr Mocatta was elected Chairman, and Joseph Cohen Honorary Secretary. There were also present Dr Joshua Van Oven, Lyon Samuel, Levy Solomon, Hart Micholls, David Brandon, Moses Montefiore, jun. Mr Isaac Lyon Goldsmid, who had written a letter to the Chairman, was sent for. He came in shortly afterwards, and laid before the meeting a statement of the favourable prospect of obtaining the removal of the Jewish disabilities. "It was half-past ten," says Mr Montefiore, "before we separated, first passing a vote of thanks to Mr I. L. Goldsmid and to our Chairman." A few days later Mr I. L. Goldsmid informed him of what had passed between Mr N. M. Rothschild and the Lord Chancellor on Tuesday, 17th March. He went to the House of Lords with Mr Rothschild. The Chancellor was very polite, and regretted that he had not time that day to go into the business, but requested him to come the following Wednesday at half-past four. CHAPTER VIII. 1829. LADY HESTER STANHOPE--HER ECCENTRICITIES--PARLIAMENT AND THE JEWS. On his return to Park Lane from the House of Lords he found that Mr Pope (Upper Marylebone) had brought letters from the Holy City for him and Lord Stanhope, the purport of which was to endeavour to recover a debt against Lady Hester Stanhope, of Djouni, or "The Tower of Lebanon," as it is generally called, near Zidon in the Holy Land. I had the privilege of spending several very pleasant days with Lady Hester Stanhope in that Tower. My visit to her has been mentioned in a book entitled "The Memoirs of Lady Hester Stanhope, as related by herself in conversation with her Physician, &c.," pp. 233 and 238. I may therefore be justified in expressing an opinion on the merits of her case. Lady Hester Stanhope, the niece of Mr Pitt, Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1782, undertook the self-imposed and benevolent task of educating the Maronite, Druze, and Mahommedan children. It was her pleasing endeavour to help, according to her means, every distressed person requiring relief, to disseminate feelings of humanity among husbands, who in the East treated their wives like slaves, and even to expostulate with Emirs and Pachas if they happened to disregard the laws of justice in the performance of their duties. She reprimanded Abdallah Pasha for his cruel treatment of his household, and particularly for having caused one of his wives to be brutally disfigured for some wrong which he thought she had done him. For these her good qualities she was held in high regard by all classes of society, not only in Syria, but also among all the nomadic tribes of the desert. Any traveller wishing to proceed to Palmyra unmolested by the marauding Bedouins of the desert, had only to provide himself with a tezkeree (kind of passport) from Lady Hester Stanhope, and he was not only at liberty to move about safely in any direction he pleased, but was welcomed with the utmost cordiality by every chief on the road. Lady Hester was very fond of Biblical studies, and of entering into discussions on these matters, although very few of those who visited her were competent to guide her in these studies. In consequence of this she imbibed some strange notions, among others, the belief that there existed only three correct Bible manuscripts in the world; unfortunately of the three she believed in, one is of doubtful authenticity, and one contains only the New Testament. She was greatly astonished when I told her that many correct Bible manuscripts exist, and on hearing my description of the celebrated Farkhi Bible manuscript at Damascus, which has been valued at £1000, she became quite excited, and declared her intention of going as soon as possible to Damascus to inspect this treasure. When conversing with her on religious subjects, her ideas at first appeared peculiar, but on hearing the reasons she gave for them, one could not but appreciate her noble intentions. She abhorred the idea of cruelty to any dumb creature. Having convinced herself that the Jewish mode of slaughtering animals for consumption is less cruel than any other, and that the examination of the meat prescribed by the Jewish law is most beneficial from a sanitary point of view, she adopted both, and kept for the purpose a person at Djouni, competent to perform these duties in her household. One day she invited me to accompany her to her stables; here two beautiful horses, one grey, and the other chestnut, came towards her, and laid their heads on her shoulder. She called my attention to the peculiar formation of their backs, which showed a tendency to rise in two places at a slight distance from each other, leaving room for the rider to sit between them as in a Turkish saddle. According to the certificate she held from the person who sold them, they were descended from a famous sire in a stud belonging to one of the Kaleefahs. "One of these," she said, "might well be suitable for such a man (referring to the much hoped for emissary of peace) when entering the city known by the name of the 'City of Peace,' on his mission of humanity, and the other for myself, when co-operating with him in the work of establishing tranquillity and happiness among the inhabitants of Syria." She complained of her words being often misinterpreted by strangers who came to visit her, hence her great reluctance to admit travellers into her presence. Mr Montefiore, Mr Hope, and Lord Stanhope would have done all in their power to satisfy the party who sent the letters to England, as well as to co-operate with Lady Hester Stanhope in all her benevolent exertions, but it had been suggested to them to communicate first with the Consul at Beyrout, before taking any decisive steps in the matter, and the letters from the Holy Land had to be laid aside for a time. Returning again to Mr Montefiore's exertions for emancipation, it should be mentioned that he went to a dinner given by Mr I. L. Goldsmid to meet Lords Lansdowne, Suffield, and Auckland, the Dutch Minister, the American Minister, Daniel O'Connell and his son, P. Mahony, the O'Gorman Mahon, Thos. Wyse, Tooke, Fowell Buxton, &c. He spoke to all of them on the subject he had so much at heart. The O'Gorman was very sociable; he wished to see the Portuguese Synagogue, also to have the opportunity of presenting the Jews' petition to Parliament. On the 1st of April, Mr Montefiore accompanied Mr N. M. Rothschild to the House of Lords. On their entry they were informed that the Lord Chancellor had just sent word that he would not come down to the House that day. Lowdham however promised them to make an appointment for the following Monday. On his return from the House Mr Montefiore repaired to the city, to attend the anniversary dinner of the Jews' Hospital at the City of London Tavern. Mr Bing, the Member for Middlesex, took the chair. J. Alexander, T. A. Curtis, and J. M. Pearce were present, and made excellent speeches in favour of civil and religious liberty. A few days later he went again with Mr N. M. Rothschild to the House of Lords to see Lord Lyndhurst, but it being five o'clock, his Lordship was obliged to go into the House immediately, promising however, to see them on the following Wednesday. They saw the Duke of Wellington, who said he wished to see Mr Rothschild on Wednesday, on his own private affairs. On the appointed day they again went to the House of Lords to see the Lord Chancellor. He said they were at the time so occupied with the Catholic business, they could attend to nothing else. He advised them to remain quiet till this was settled, but if they thought it more to their own interest to bring the matter forward immediately, to set Lord Holland to do so, and he would support him, as he considered it right that the Jews should be relieved from their present disabilities; at the same time they must be guided by public opinion. They assured the Lord Chancellor they would be entirely guided by his advice, and would do nothing for the present. He said he would consult the Duke of Wellington, and would write to Mr Rothschild what had best be done. On leaving the House, Mr Montefiore called on Mr I. L. Goldsmid to tell him what had passed. The 13th of April was one of those days which he spent in attending to his Companies and Associations. He then called on Messrs Garry & Curtis to solicit a presentation to Christ's Hospital for Captain Anderson's boy. Attended the Irish Bank, and in the evening was present, together with Mrs Montefiore, at a dinner given by Mr Fairlie of York Terrace. They found there "a most splendid party and elegant entertainment." They met Lord Fife, Sir Herbert and Lady Taylor, Sir Thomas Clark, Sir John Ogleby, Mr Towncan, Mr P. and his wife, Mr J. Pearce, bank director, Colonel Blackburn and his wife, Sir James Shaw, and Sir Thomas, an Indian General, who had been confined in irons for three years and four months at Seringapatam. They had the opportunity of hearing the opinion of most of the party on the subject of civil and religious liberty, and it proved in every case highly satisfactory. What occupied Mr Montefiore's mind this day more than other subjects was his intended presentation to the King at the approaching levee. Mr Edward Blount said he believed it would be sufficient if the Duke of Norfolk merely sent his card with Mr Montefiore's to the Lord Chancellor's office, but he would enquire further of the Duke. Mr Montefiore, however, differed from him, and did not wish to be introduced at the levee in that way, unless Mr Blount was so convinced of its propriety as to be introduced in the same way with him. The next day Mr Blount showed him a note he had received from Sir George Naylor of the Herald's office, who said that any gentleman introduced at the levee by a peer who has the privilege of the _entrée_, has his name announced by the Lord-in-Waiting in the usual manner, the peer standing at the same time near the King. In this way Mr Blount was to be introduced, and Mr Montefiore was to accompany him. The Duke of Norfolk, Mr Blount said, would send Mr Montefiore's card with his own to the Lord Chamberlain's office. There is an incident of a touching nature recorded in his diary about this time. "On the 15th April I called on Mrs Zaccaria Laurence at Bury Court, and gave her the receipt for the further share of the residue of the estate of my much respected grandmother, Esther Hannah Montefiore. With gratitude I recall to my mind her words to me on her deathbed. She lamented not having left me more in her will, and added, 'God bless you, and God will bless you.' Peace be to her memory. O that I may follow her excellent and most exemplary conduct, and may my deathbed be as happy as it pleased Providence to make hers. Amen." On April 16th, accompanied by Mr N. M. Rothschild, he attended a meeting of the Deputies at Mr M. Samuels' house, 19 Leman Street. There were present Messrs Moses Mocatta, Joseph Cohen, Michells, Van-Oven, Goodman, Levy Salamon, David and Joseph Brandon, Moses Montefiore, I. L. Goldsmid, S. Samuel, and John M. Pearce. After a long debate it was resolved that Pearce should prepare a petition, and that they should then meet again. A few days later he called with Mr Moses Mocatta on Mr Pearce, to read and make alterations in the proposed petition of the Jews to Parliament. The Feast of the Passover was now approaching. Those who know the distance from Park Lane to Bevis Marks in the city, will appreciate Mr and Mrs Montefiore's zeal which led them to walk from their own home in all weather to the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Bevis Marks. As they always desired to be in their places even before the prayers commenced, they were obliged to leave home at a very early hour of the morning. After the conclusion of the service, which lasted about two hours and a half, they breakfasted with one of the officers of the Synagogue, and then proceeded to pay visits to all their friends in the vicinity. It was often nearly four o'clock when they again walked back to Park Lane, where in the evening they entertained the members of their family and several friends at dinner. The second day of the Festival was passed in the same manner. Few would now willingly undergo such fatigue, but Mr and Mrs Montefiore's religious fervour and warm attachment to their friends would not allow them to plead weariness as an excuse either for not joining their community in the House of Prayer, or for neglecting their friends. They continued this practice until their advanced age and uncertain state of health no longer permitted it. CHAPTER IX. 1829-1830. MR MONTEFIORE PRESENTED TO THE KING--SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE JEWS IN LONDON IN 1829. Immediately after the Passover Festival Mr Montefiore was present at an important meeting, convened by the elders of the Spanish and Portuguese congregation, to consider the propriety of introducing the English language for the delivery of sermons and addresses in the synagogues and colleges. The debate was very long and stormy, as many members of the congregation were greatly attached to the Spanish tongue, in which their ancestors in many cases had made their names famous. This is scarcely to be wondered at, when we consider that the Jews at one time were highly esteemed in Spain. From the works of Abbot Bartolocci de Cellens, we learn that they were regarded among the learned as scholars, and among financiers as honorable, intelligent, and enterprising men; and that they filled high offices in colleges and universities, as well as in the councils of kings and assemblies of merchants and bankers. We must, therefore, not be surprised that they still clung to that language in spite of the terrible persecutions which drove them from the Spanish peninsula, but which do not seem to have weakened the affection they felt for their native land. The language of the country must always constitute the strongest bond of union between that country and its people, although intelligent men emigrating to a land where all are treated with justice and humanity, must consider it their first duty to make themselves thoroughly acquainted with its language. In a land where justice and humanity are unknown, however, or hidden under the dark shadows of prejudice, ignorance, and fanaticism; where some of the children of the land would scarcely dare to speak of it as "my fatherland" or "my mother country," because it disowns those who would designate it by these terms; in such a land the language is often disliked by its oppressed children themselves, who long for some other country where they may learn to forget the injustice they have encountered there. Yet, as it may appear, this was not the case with the Spanish Jews. Although the many years of prosperity which they had enjoyed in Spain had terminated in persecutions, almost unparalleled in history; although thousands of them perished under the terrible reign of the Inquisition, in the awful tortures of the "Auto da fé," and the rest were finally banished in the year 1492, yet, as their continued use of the Spanish language seems to prove, they only remembered their days of happiness in that land. Even those who settled in Turkey, Morocco, Algiers, Egypt, Palestine, Austria, or Holland, still used the Spanish language in their prayer-books, Bibles, and codes of communal laws. Such was also the case with the Jews who settled in England. Though they had all gladly adopted the language of the land which they had made their home under the sway of a just and enlightened monarch, they still clung to the Spanish tongue as that of their fatherland, and were loth to banish its use entirely. But in all the schools and colleges in England so much time was in those days devoted to the various branches of English study, that little was left for the acquirement of what was now to them a foreign language. The rising Jewish generation was, therefore, not well acquainted with the language into which the prayers had been translated, and hence the desire of several members of the community to replace it by the English tongue. The struggle between the two parties--those advanced in years, who naturally wished to adhere to the old ways, and the young and energetic members, who desired to adopt the innovation--proved long and hard. Finally, a resolution was carried by eighteen votes to eleven, "To have all religious discourses delivered in the synagogues in English, and also henceforth to have all proclamations made in the same tongue." The meeting, which opened its deliberations at 11 A.M., did not adjourn until half-past four. On Tuesday, April 28th, Mr Montefiore called at the Lord Chamberlain's office and left his card, on which he had written, "To be presented by the Duke of Norfolk." After communicating with Mr N. M. Rothschild, he went, accompanied by Messrs I. L. Goldsmid and Moses Mocatta, to Mr Pearce to consider some points in connection with the petition, and subsequently resolved to consult Lord Brougham and Dr Lushington on the matter. Later in the day he went with Mr N. M. Rothschild and I. L. Goldsmid to see the Lord Chancellor, who recommended their presenting the petition either through Lord Bexley or Lord Holland; he preferred the former, as the latter, he thought, would make some sensation. When presented, he said, they would see how it was received; if quietly, they could immediately bring in a Bill. In the event of its occasioning any unpleasant feeling, they would not attempt to advance farther that session, more particularly as the public, and even the King himself, were not yet reconciled to the measure in favour of the Catholics. Mr Montefiore and Mr Rothschild afterwards spoke with Lord Bexley, and explained their wishes to him. He appeared to be doubtful of their obtaining all the privileges that year, but said he would speak to the Chancellor, and see them again the following Thursday. Mr Montefiore dined that day with Mrs Rothschild, at whose house he met several political friends, as well as Mr I. L. Goldsmid, who told him that Lord Auckland had requested the Marquis of Lansdowne to introduce him (Mr Goldsmid) at the levee. _Wednesday, April 29th._--He gives the following particulars of his first presentation to the King:-- "At 1 P.M. Mr G. Blount, with his son and his nephew Sir Edward Blount, Bart., came for me. I accompanied them to the levee. Our carriage fell into the rank about the middle of Bond Street. It was twenty minutes past two when we reached St James Palace. We entered the first room, and gave a card to the page-in-waiting--'Mr Montefiore, presented by the Duke of Norfolk.' There appeared to be four or five hundred persons in the waiting-room, mostly naval and military officers in full uniform, also many bishops, clergymen, and barristers. The crush was most fatiguing and annoying. It was four o'clock when we reached the second room. Here, as only a few were admitted at a time, we were much more at our ease. In the third room the King was seated about ten paces from the entrance, surrounded by, or rather having on each side of him, his grand officers. Six or seven persons entered at a time; those who had been introduced before merely gave their cards to the lord-in-waiting, made their bow, and passed on. When I reached His Majesty, I gave my card to the lord-in-waiting, who was standing on his right hand, and who announced in a distinct voice, 'Mr Montefiore, presented to your Majesty by the Duke of Norfolk.' I thereupon bent my left knee to the ground. The King very graciously smiled, and held out his right hand to me, which I kissed. I then rose, and made my bow, and passed on. We passed the King from left to right, and not as I expected from right to left. We were only permitted to remain a few minutes in the audience room. "Colonel French was standing a few paces from his Majesty, on the right; he spoke with me in a very friendly manner. I was much pleased with the gracious reception I met with. It was twenty-five minutes past four when we left the audience room. We then had to get through a great crowd before we could reach the doors of the palace." On the following day Mr Montefiore, together with Messrs Rothschild and Goldsmid, went to Lord Bexley, and gave him their petition to read. He read it over, and said he would speak to Lord Eldon and the Bishops, and would see them the next day. He recommended that Mr Thomas Baring should bring the Bill into the Commons. In the course of the afternoon he called at New Court, and there heard the report of the Duke of Wellington's going out of office, also of the funding of eight millions of Exchequer bills, important topics for consideration to the financiers of the day. Mr Montefiore, however, did not allow this news to disturb his peace of mind, for we find him the same evening accompanying his wife to a grand fancy dress ball given by Mr Goldsmid on the occasion of the coming of age of his eldest son. On returning home after the ball, a little incident occurred as a consequence of the rumours of a change of Ministry. Their coachman, considering himself somewhat of a politician, took the opportunity, while they were at the ball, of entering one of the neighbouring taverns, where the reported change in the Ministry was being discussed in a lively manner by a large number of his friends. It appears that during the excitement of the debate he had indulged too much in "the cup that cheers," but, unfortunately, does inebriate, although whether from joy or grief at the anticipated change does not transpire; anyhow, the result was that on attempting to drive Mr and Mrs Montefiore back from the ball he was found totally incapable of guiding the horses, and, notwithstanding the efforts made by the footman to come to his assistance, they had to leave the carriage before arriving at their destination, and complete the journey on foot. The next morning Mr Montefiore proceeded, in company with Messrs Goldsmid and Rothschild, to the House of Lords, where they spoke to Lord Bexley. He had not yet had an opportunity of conversing with Lord Eldon or the Bishops on the subject of the Jews' petition, but said he would endeavour to do so before Tuesday, on which day he agreed to meet them again. He had conferred with the Chancellor, who said the Duke would not make it a government measure, but expressed himself in favour of it. The arrival of the Baroness Anselm de Rothschild and her brother Lionel from Paris took Mr and Mrs Montefiore to Piccadilly. But Mr Montefiore allowed himself no relaxation in the furtherance of the great cause he had at heart. On Sunday, 13th of May, he attended in the morning a meeting of the Elders, which lasted from eleven o'clock till a quarter to five. In the evening he was present at a meeting of the Deputies of several Synagogues at Mr Mocatta's residence in Russell Square, where after considerable discussion the petition was finally agreed to, and was to be signed the next day. Mr Montefiore, in his diary, gives a further account of the matter. "I accompanied Mr Rothschild," he says, "to the House of Lords. Lord Bexley had already left, so we proceeded to his own house. He said he had spoken with Lord Eldon and several of the Bishops, and ascertained that they had no objection to a Bill to omit the words, 'On the true faith of a Christian,' introduced into the Dissenters' Act last session. What would be its effect in law he could not state; he would, however, confer with Lord Brougham and Dr Lushington. He suggested some slight alteration in the wording of the petition. We are to bring it back to him signed on Thursday, and he has promised to present it. He again recommended that Sir Thos. Baring should present it the Commons." At the meeting of the Deputies they at first objected to the petition as altered by Lord Bexley, but finally agreed to sign it. Mr Montefiore then went, with Messrs Rothschild and Goldsmid, to Lord Bexley with the petition. The latter thought that everything would be granted to the Jews except seats in Parliament. Before he could present it, he said, he must confer once more with the Lord Chancellor and the Duke of Wellington. Lord Bexley further said, that he would have to see Dr Lushington the next day, but as that would be Saturday, Mr Montefiore declined attending. A few days later Lord Bexley stated distinctly that the Duke of Wellington would decidedly oppose any application the Jews might make this year in Parliament, but would not pledge himself as to next session. Dr Lushington and Lords Bexley and Holland strongly advised a delay till next year. Mr Montefiore, in his diary, gives some account of a dinner at which he and Mrs Montefiore were present, given by Mr N. M. Rothschild to Mr Mahoney, in payment of a wager which he had lost to that gentleman, on the subject of the agitation for the removal of the Jewish disabilities. He says: "The party included many important personages. Many of the nobility with whom we conversed on the subject expressed themselves much in favour of the Bill. The Lords Darnley, Lauderdale, and Glenelg, Sir Robert Farquhar, and Messrs Spring-Rice, Jennings, Otway, Cave, and Horace Twiss, whom we met there, were most zealous for the success of the cause. Admiral Sir Ed. Codrington and a Russian Prince, who were among the guests, discussed the subject with great warmth until a late hour." It was the month of June, and Mr Montefiore required relief, even if only for a short time, from this incessant mental work, accompanied as it often was by the anxiety which falls to the lot of most prominent men in the financial world. He therefore gladly accepted for Mrs Montefiore and himself an invitation to make a tour in the Isle of Wight with the Baron and Baroness Anselm de Rothschild, and Messrs Nathaniel and Meyer de Rothschild. The genial atmosphere of the island, and the cheerful conversation of their friends and relatives, coupled with the polite attention he received from Sir John Campbell, the Governor, and his officers, soon made Mr Montefiore forget for a while Banks, Insurance Offices, Stock Exchanges, and Gas Associations, whether in England, France, or Germany. The time for resuming his usual business pursuits now arrived, and his own words show how well every hour of his day was employed. "11 A.M. At St James' Palace to thank Colonel Boten for the General Post book he left for me. 11.15. At Alliance and Marine. 12. Attended Committee of Irish Bank till 2. 2.15. Signed policies at Marine. Called on Mr Rothschild at New Court; solicited him to speak with Wertheimer the printer to take N. N.'s son as apprentice. 2.30. Attended Board of Gas till nearly 5. A special meeting of Directors summoned for next Thursday to receive the report of the special committee." At the close of the year Mr Montefiore was invited by a friend to go to Paris, to be present at the bidding for a new French loan, but he thought proper to decline, remaining firm in his resolution not to further extend his financial operations. He deemed it important to enter that year in his diary a kind of census of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews in London--another proof of the great desire he felt to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the affairs of his community. I bring it under the notice of the reader whom it may interest, to enable him to compare it with the census of that community at the present day. Privileged members and their families, About 750 Unprivileged members and their families, " 550 Persons receiving relief from the Synagogues, " 1200 ---- Total, 2500 In consequence of unsuccessful speculations in connection with political changes in England, France, and Spain, there was a general panic in the financial world at the beginning of 1830, but Mr Montefiore, by cautious foresight and firm resolution, had withstood all temptations and remained unaffected by it. Referring to this panic, he says, on finding several persons very depressed: "I have a thousand times given them my opinion on that subject, and can only regret that they have not benefited by it. I am most uneasy and unhappy about them; God only knows what the result of this state of things will be." After entering into further details, he concludes by observing, "At all events I stand relieved from reproach, having so repeatedly cautioned them against what appeared to me a desperate situation." There are several entries, important as historical records, concerning the steps taken in the Jewish emancipation movement. On the 27th January he consulted M. Mocatta and I. L. Goldsmid respecting the application to Parliament in favour of removing the disabilities of the Jews. On the 31st January he attended a meeting of the deputies of the Synagogues at the house of Moses Mocatta; there were twelve present, besides Mr I. L. Goldsmid and Mr Thomas M. Pearce. They read the opinions of Dr Lushington and Mr Humphries on the present state of the civil disabilities of the Jews. It was resolved to petition Parliament for the removal of the said disabilities, and to request Messrs N. M. Rothschild, I. L. Goldsmid, and Moses Montefiore to see the Duke of Wellington on the subject. The following day Mr Montefiore received a note from Mr I. L. Goldsmid, requesting that he would endeavour to see Mr N. M. Rothschild, and persuade him to go that day at twelve to the Duke of Wellington. Accordingly he went out in his carriage with the intention of proceeding to Stamford Hill. Mr Montefiore here introduces a little incident which may perhaps please some of my readers, and I give it in his own words-- "On reaching Newington, I met N. M. Rothschild in his carriage. Lionel and Anthony were with him; the two latter got into my chariot, and I drove with the former to Prince Esterhazy, whither he was proceeding with the intention of conferring with him on the subject of emancipation in Austria. "On our arrival I remained for some time with Anthony in the prince's dining-room. An elderly gentleman, who had the appearance of a Catholic priest, was taking his lunch there. When he had finished his repast, he moved to one of the windows, and kneeling down, continued in that position for about ten minutes, apparently deeply engaged in his devotions. He then rose, and bowing to us, left the room." "I fear," observes Mr Montefiore, "that some of my brethren would have hesitated to have even put their hats on to say the blessing after their meal, instead of acting as this good man did." CHAPTER X. 1830 1831. INTERVIEW WITH THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON IN FURTHERANCE OF THE JEWISH CAUSE--THE DUKE'S DILATORY TACTICS--LAYING THE FOUNDATION-STONE OF THE SYNAGOGUE AT HERESON. Resuming the thread of our narrative, we find that Mr N. M. Rothschild promised to see the Duke of Wellington. On the 7th of February this interview with the Duke took place. Mr N. M. Rothschild, having addressed him on financial subjects connected with the affairs of Government, said to him, "God has given your grace power to do good--I would entreat you to do something for the Jews," to which the Duke replied, that God bestowed benefits moderately, but that he would read over the petition that day, and Mr N. M. Rothschild might call any morning for his answer. Mr Rothschild then began to speak of Prince Polignac, the minister of Charles X. (who, a few months later, had to fly from the country with all the other members of the ministry, in consequence of the conflicts in Paris between the populace and the army), but the Duke instantly stopped him, saying he did not wish to know anything of foreign politics. "The next day," writes Mr Montefiore, "Charles Grant declined to present the petition in favour of the Jews, and Mr N. M. Rothschild thought it would be better to defer calling on the Duke for his answer, as, he was much plagued by the unsettled state of parties in the House of Commons. This determination, however," observes Mr Montefiore, "is greatly against the wishes of I. L. Goldsmid and those whom he has consulted on the subject." _February 12th._--Mr Montefiore went with Messrs N. M. Rothschild, I. L. Goldsmid, and Lionel Rothschild to the Duke, who told them that he would not commit the Government on the question of the Jews, and advised them to defer their application to Parliament, or, if they did not, he said, it must be at their own risk, and he would make no promise. Mr Montefiore thought the answer on the whole favourable, that is, that the Duke had no determined prejudice against the removal of the civil disabilities of the Jews, but would, nevertheless, take no active steps in their favour. Should the Commons suffer it to pass quietly, Mr Montefiore had no doubt the Duke would take no part against them. The 19th of the same month Mr Montefiore says: "Robert Grant gave notice last night in the House of Commons that he would on Monday next present a petition in favour of the Jews." It was accordingly presented on February 22nd. It was tolerably well received, W. Ward and D. O'Connell speaking in its favour, Sir R. Inglis against it. A few months later Mr Grant desired to be informed whether the Jews insisted on obtaining the privilege of sitting in Parliament, and if they would refuse all other privileges if this was not obtained. It was Mr Montefiore's opinion that they should take what they could get. _April 14th._--Mr N. M. Rothschild and his son Lionel came to report that they had seen Mr Herries, who informed them that the Government had determined to consult Dr Lushington and R. Grant on the following morning. I. L. Goldsmid, they said, had declared he should prefer losing all, than to give up Parliament. "I," observed Mr Montefiore in return, "decidedly differ with him; we should accept all we can get." Two days later he writes: "I returned from the House of Commons delighted with the speeches of Robert Grant, Mr Macaulay, Sir James Mackintosh, Lord Morpeth, and Mr W. Smith, in our favour. Sir Robert Inglis, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and the Solicitor-General (Sugden) were against us. The numbers were--For, 115; against, 97,--majority, 18. We called to congratulate N. M. Rothschild and Hannah on the result of last night's debate." On the 21st, at a dinner given by Mr I. L. Goldsmid, he met Lord Holland, Sir Robert Wilson, A. J. Robarts, ---- Tooke, John Abel Smith, Macaulay, Easthope, Robinson (the member for Worcester), Dr Lushington, and Lord Nugent, all of them most friendly to the cause. On a previous occasion, at a meeting held at the house of Mr Moses Mocatta, Mr Montefiore, I. L. Goldsmid, D. Brandon, J. M. Pearce, and others being present, it was resolved to advertise that petitions to both Houses in favour of the Jews were lying for signature at several places as named. For his own community, the Spanish and Portuguese, and for the German Jewish congregation, he worked with equal zeal. On the 14th we find him, together with several other members of a Committee appointed for that purpose, visiting the houses of all the Jewish poor. "We were," he says, "from soon after 10 in the morning till 5 P.M. about Petticoat Lane and the alleys, courts, &c. We there visited the rooms of about 112 persons. To 108 we gave cards to obtain relief from the General Committee on Thursday. We witnessed many very distressing scenes: parents surrounded by children, frequently six or seven, seldom less than two or three, with little or no fire or food, and scarcely a rag to cover them; without bed or blanket, but merely a sack or rug for the night, a bed being almost out of the question. Few had more than one room, however large the family. The rent was from 1s. 6d. to 3s. per week. Of those who had two rooms, the upper one was most miserable, scarcely an article of furniture. In fact, the distress and suffering appeared so great, that although we had agreed, according to a resolution of the General Committee, only to give cards, we could not refrain from giving what money we had in our pockets. We only met with six or eight cases of sickness, which is really surprising, considering their destitute condition." He attends a meeting of the Elders, where he strongly supports a resolution for the delivery of a moral discourse every alternate Saturday afternoon in the Synagogue; he is also present at a meeting of the Society for the cultivation of the Hebrew language and its literature, where he offers encouragement to those who excel in literary work. Mr Montefiore seeks the society of learned and distinguished men of all classes, and is elected on the 3rd of July a member of the "Athenæum." In the month of July he sets out, in company with his wife, on a tour through France, Holland, Belgium, and Germany. In September we find them again in England, and Mr Montefiore is presented by the Duke of Norfolk to the King at the levee, "on his return from the Continent." It was in this year that Mr and Mrs Montefiore first visited East Cliff Lodge, which was about to be sold by auction. They felt a great desire to purchase it, although much out of repair. After discussing with his wife the probable price it would fetch, he said, "If, please God, I should be the purchaser, it is my intention to go but seldom to London, and after two or three years to reside entirely at Ramsgate. I would build a small but handsome Synagogue, and engage a good and clever man as reader." Leaving the limit of his offer with an agent in Broadstairs, Mr and Mrs Montefiore left Ramsgate and proceeded on a journey to the Continent. Whilst in Berlin they received information that the estate had been bought by the Duchess of St Albans. "It fetched so much more," he says, "than I had anticipated, that I can only regret it was thought so valuable." He, however, soon recovered from his disappointment, and took a suite of rooms for business purposes in the new house of the Alliance Marine Assurance. Politics again caused considerable uneasiness in the financial world. Dr Hume informed Mr Montefiore that the Duke of Wellington and all the ministers had resigned, and that the Duke would communicate the fact to the Lords on that day at four o'clock, the King having accepted their resignation. Mr Montefiore, notwithstanding, did not for a moment cease in his exertions on behalf of the Emancipation, and on November 18th, he and Mr Mocatta signed the Jews' petition to both Houses, it being the same petition as that of last year. Serious disturbances having taken place, he left London, at the request of his wife, without entering into any speculations, and proceeded to Hastings, where they remained till the end of December. We find an entry at the conclusion of his diary for that year, to the effect that he had resolved to persuade a few of his friends, as well as two gentlemen well versed in the Law of Moses and Hebrew and theological literature, to dine with them regularly every week, for the purpose of conversing on those subjects. The year 1831 (5591-5592 A.M.) presents the reader with a record of events equally stirring and important in their career. Political, financial, or communal matters follow each other rapidly, continually occupying the thoughts of Mr and Mrs Montefiore, until the day when they succeeded in becoming the owners of East Cliff Lodge, the much wished for estate in Ramsgate, after which they devoted for several months the greater portion of their time to settling and arranging all matters connected with their new property. Early in the year is the following entry: "The Irish Bank is under considerable alarm owing to a letter published by Daniel O'Connell, threatening, in the event of the press being assailed, to cause a run on the banks, so that in a week's time there shall not be a single bank-note in circulation." This exciting entry is followed by one referring to the Holy Land. "The Rev. Enoch Sundel of Jerusalem brought letters of introduction to enable him to proceed to the West Indies and America, in the interests of the Holy Land; a noble cause, which the Rev. Dr Hirschel, who accompanied him to Park Lane, strongly advocates." A little later comes a report that the Duke of Wellington will be appointed Commander-in-Chief; the French will have war: Prince Esterhazy said, "France had offered to disarm if the other Powers would do the same." Mr Montefiore then turns from the apprehensions of war abroad to enter into the struggle for emancipation at home. "Robert Grant, Lord Holland, the Lord Chancellor, and others of the Administration," he says, "all advise us to put off the 'Jewish Relief Bill' till next session, the Ministers having so much important business now on hand. At all events, Robert Grant is desirous of seeing the same gentlemen who were with him last year on Monday next." Mr Montefiore then went to Mr Mocatta, who had called a meeting of the Committee of Deputies for next day, and proceeded with Mr I.L. Goldsmid, by appointment, to Dr Lushington. [Illustration: East Cliff Lodge, Ramsgate. _See Vol. I., page 83._] Dr Lushington advised that the same Bill should be brought forward again, that the Jews should not accept less than all privileges, and that no application for an audience should be made to Earl Grey, lest he should recommend deferring the measure. Mr Montefiore informed Dr Lushington that he was sure the Deputies, if asked, would gladly accept anything the Government might offer, however short of the repeal of all their disabilities. Lord Holland, who was afterwards consulted by Mr I.L. Goldsmid, concurred in opinion with Dr Lushington. Mr Montefiore here observes that Mr I.L. Goldsmid was greatly displeased with the Deputies, saying that he did not care about the measure, and would establish a new Synagogue with the assistance of the young men; he would alter the present form of prayer to that in use in the Synagogue at Hamburg. Thus it often happens that two parties, both with the best intentions, will, according to certain impressions made on their minds, differ more or less in their mode of obtaining an object dear alike to the hearts of both; and unless some equally zealous, yet impartial, friend steps in to remove or lessen the cause of their dissension, grave consequences, to the disadvantage of both, commonly follow. "Ireland," says Mr Montefiore, "is in a very disturbed state, and the Continent ripe for war." Under these circumstances he thought he could not do better than leave London, the seat of financial struggles, and go to Ramsgate. There he completed the purchase of East Cliff Lodge, with twenty-four acres of land belonging to the estate, henceforth his marine residence to the day of his death. So much interest being centred in this spot, I give many entries made on the subject. "I met John Cumming; he signed the conveyance of East Cliff to me. I paid him" (the purchase money and the value of the furniture), "after he had executed all the deeds. I also paid Messrs Dawes and Chatfield for the conveyance, &c., £124, 4s. 4d. May the Almighty bless and preserve my dear Judith and myself to enjoy the possession of it for many years, that we may also have the happiness of seeing our intended Synagogue completed, and always have a large congregation." They engaged Mr A. D. Mocatta as architect; he submitted drawings for the Synagogue, which were at once put into the hands of the builders. The architect estimated the cost for erecting the Synagogue at between £1500 and £1600, exclusive of the interior, which was to cost £300 or £400. The work was commenced, and on the 29th of July the excavations for the foundation walls were complete. "Please heaven," said Mr Montefiore to his wife as they walked round the adjoining field, "to-morrow night, after Sabbath, we shall have the happiness of placing the two first bricks preparatory to our laying the foundation stone on the eve of the new moon of Tamooz," 5691 A.M. (9th August 1831). In accordance with this arrangement, they proceeded to Hereson the next evening at nine o'clock, accompanied by Mrs Justina Cohen, her daughter Lucy, and Mr Benjamin Gomperz. On the ground they were met by Cresford the builder, with his nephew, also Grundy with his son, and Craven his partner. Everything having been properly prepared, Mr Montefiore covered the part on which the wall near the Holy Ark for the reception of the sacred scrolls of the Pentateuch was to be built, with _Terra Santa_, which they had brought with them from Jerusalem. Upon this Mr Montefiore, having spread some mortar, fixed four bricks. Mrs Montefiore, Mrs Cohen, Miss Lucy Cohen, and Mr Gomperz each spread some _Terra Santa_, and fixed two bricks, praying the Almighty to prosper the undertaking and bless them. The following is the account given by Mr Montefiore of the ceremony of laying the foundation stone. "_Tuesday, 9th August._--New moon of Tamooz. After reading my prayers and reciting the Psalms cxiii. and cxviii., I called at seven A.M. on David Mocatta, the architect, and informed him that we should lay the first stone at eight o'clock. We walked to Hereson, and with the blessing of the Almighty, we laid the first stone of a Holy Synagogue, assisted by our dear and honoured mother, by Abby Gompertz, her daughter Juliana, Solomon and Sarah Sebag, Rebecca Salomons, Justina Cohen, and her daughter Lucy, Louis Cohen, Floretta, his wife, and their son Henry, Nathaniel Lindo, David Mocatta, my dear Judith, and myself. The builders were also present. After the stone was placed, we deposited in a hole, made in it for that purpose, a glass bottle containing the inscription, signed by myself and my dear Judith; a large stone was then placed above it, they were then firmly riveted together with iron bolts and boiling lead. Louis Cohen, Solomon Sebag, Rebecca, and I went afterwards into the cottage, and read the Psalms known by the Hebrew name of Hallel (special praise). They all breakfasted with us at the Albion Hotel, where we were joined by Adelaide Israel, whose delicate state of health would not permit her to witness the ceremony." Mr Montefiore gives the following: "This day, 20th August, five and twenty years ago, in 1806, J. E. D. robbed me of all I possessed in the world, and left me deeply in debt; but it pleased the Almighty in His great mercy to enable me in the course of a few years to pay everyone who had been a sufferer through me to the full extent of their loss." CHAPTER XI. 1831-1833. LORD BROUGHAM AND THE JEWS--THE JEWISH POOR IN LONDON--MR MONTEFIORE HANDS HIS BROKER'S MEDAL TO HIS BROTHER--DEDICATION OF THE SYNAGOGUE AT HERESON--THE LORDS REJECT THE JEWISH DISABILITIES BILL. On his return to London he called on Mr Wood at the Earl Marshal's office, and paid him £32, 17s. 6d., the fees on the grant for having the word Jerusalem in Hebrew characters in his crest. In October 1831 his friends brought him the account of the Reform Bill having been thrown out at its second reading by the Lords--majority, 41. Mr Montefiore, on hearing that Lord-Chancellor Brougham had spoken in a very illiberal spirit of the Jews, observed, "So much for Whig friends." Still he did not despair, and entertained the belief that their just cause would ultimately meet with better success. A month later he attended an important meeting of the Board of Representatives of the Spanish and Portuguese Community, established to watch over the general sanitary condition of the poor of the congregation. He generously contributed to the funds to enable the Board to purchase warm clothing, blankets, &c., for the poor. In the same year he completed the purchase, and took possession of, a cottage and garden near the site on which his Synagogue was being erected. The Rev. Dr Hirschel having submitted for his approval a number of circular letters addressed to the Hebrew communities in America, wherein he reminds them of their duty to support their indigent brethren in the Holy Land, Mr Montefiore affixes his name to each letter as requested by the Chief Rabbi, in token of his appreciation of the good cause. Among the entries referring again to financial matters is the following interesting record:-- "On the 31st of January 1815 I was admitted a sworn broker of the city of London. This day, 16th May 1831, I signed over my medal to my brother Horatio, free; it cost me £1625. May heaven prosper his endeavours with it." On the 25th of the same month he gave £100 to be handed to the Lord Mayor for the transfer of the said medal. Happily in our days it is less difficult for a Jew to become a sworn broker. A gentle breeze of justice for all human beings alike has begun to disperse the dark clouds of prejudice and oppression, and the more the light of wisdom and truth illumines the world, the greater will be the happiness and loyalty of those who have hitherto been deprived of the rights of ordinary citizens. On Wednesday evening, the 27th of June 1832 (5592-3 A.M.), corresponding this year to the Hebrew date of the anniversary of their wedding day, they took possession of East Cliff Lodge, Mr Montefiore having, in accordance with an injunction of the Sacred Scriptures (Deuteronomy vi. 9), previously affixed mezuzas (phylacteries) to all the doors. Mr and Mrs Montefiore had intended to have an inscription placed over the entrance to the Synagogue. It appears, however, that the idea was finally abandoned, though there is a square moulding over the door, and a parallelogram on the northern wall of the Synagogue purposely made for it. I once asked him the reason of this omission, and from his reply I gathered that he did not wish the building to unduly attract the attention of strangers. The modest appearance of the Synagogue as it now stands, having neither steeple nor turret, windows in the walls nor arches over the door, evidently confirms this idea. Mr H. Lehren, of Amsterdam, a gentleman well known for the interest he took in promoting the welfare of the inhabitants of Jerusalem, had appealed to him this year for his intercession in a lawsuit which brought him to England, and Mr Montefiore gladly helped him by his personal exertions to accomplish his object. Mr Lehren, thus encouraged, asked of Mr Montefiore yet another favour, which was to permit his name to be enlisted in the ranks of the "Friends of Zion." Mr Montefiore, in answer, assured Mr Lehren that his heart had ever been filled with a love for Jerusalem, and that he had been a staunch supporter of a resolution, recently adopted at a Committee consisting of members of his congregation, to the effect that £60 should be sent annually to the Holy Land as a contribution to the fund intended for the support of the poor. Mr Lehren expressed great satisfaction at what he had heard, and enquired in what proportion the above amount would be distributed among the four Holy Cities. Mr Montefiore informed him that the Committee had divided the sum into thirty shares, of which they gave twelve to Jerusalem, seven to Safed, six to Hebron, and five to Tiberias. To complete the number of Sacred Scrolls which Mr Montefiore wished to deposit in his Synagogue, he made a purchase of one particularly recommended to him, and also procured prayer-books for the members of the congregation. In this year, 1833, Mr and Mrs Montefiore had the happiness of seeing their heartfelt wish realised in the completion of the Synagogue at Hereson. Invitations were sent out on the 23rd of May to the ecclesiastical chiefs of both the Spanish and Portuguese and the German congregations; to the readers, wardens, and other officers of the Synagogue; to presidents and representatives of all important institutions, and to more than two hundred private friends and acquaintances, requesting the honour of their company at the dedication of the Synagogue at Ramsgate on Sunday, the 16th of June, at 5 o'clock, and at dinner after the ceremony at East Cliff Lodge. Bands of music and first-class singers were engaged, 4000 lamps for the illumination of the gardens were ordered, fireworks and balloons tastefully prepared, and a large temporary room erected, occupying the whole quadrangle of the court at East Cliff Lodge. Handsome chandeliers and large tablets beautifully inscribed with the prayer for the Royal Family were ordered for the Synagogue. [Illustration: View of Interior of Ramsgate Synagogue, taken from the Ladies' Gallery. _See Vol. I., page 89._] The morning of the 16th was ushered in by a deluge of rain and a heavy gale of wind, much to the mortification of the visitors. Mr Montefiore and his brother Horatio, who had brought a silver cup and spice-box as a present for the Synagogue, went together to Ramsgate, and engaged all the sedan chairs in the town to take the ladies from the public road to the Synagogue, and ordered several loads of sand to cover the walk. About two o'clock the Rev. Dr Hirschel arrived. The rain was actually falling in torrents at the moment, but he consoled Mr and Mrs Montefiore, saying, "All things must not go as we wish, since the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem." He had, however, scarcely been in the house ten minutes when the clouds dispersed and the sun appeared. At ten o'clock, when they had a rehearsal in the Synagogue, all were much out of spirits at the deplorable appearance of the weather; but by three the rain had ceased, and the evening proved delightful. The dedication commenced at six o'clock. The founder and his friends brought the Sacred Scrolls of the Law to the door of the Synagogue, where, standing, they chanted: "Open unto us the gates of righteousness, we will enter them and praise the Lord." "This is the gate of the Lord, the righteous shall enter therein." The doors being then opened, they said on entering: "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob! thy tabernacle, O Israel! O Lord, I have ever loved the habitation of Thy house and the dwelling-place of Thy glory. We will come unto Thy Tabernacle and worship at Thy footstool." They then advanced, and the readers and choristers sang, "Blessed be he who cometh in the name of the Lord: we will bless ye from the House of the Lord," and other verses from the Sacred Scriptures bearing on the same subject. The procession then went round the almember in the Synagogue seven times, during each circuit one of the seven Psalms--xclxi., xxx., xxiv., lxxxiv., cxxii., cxxx., c.--being chanted, after which Mr Montefiore ascended the pulpit and offered up a Hebrew prayer, of which the following is a translation:-- "Almighty God! whose eyes are upon all the ways of the sons of men, and by whose will their paths are established; wherewith shall I come before Thee, how shall I acknowledge the kindness Thou hast shown me from my youth? How great the goodness Thou hast vouchsafed unto me, in granting the fulfilment of the ardent desire Thou didst awaken in my heart and in that of the companion of my life, to visit the inheritance of our forefathers, to traverse the sea and behold the Holy Land, a land which is under Thy special providence. Thou hast protected us on our departure and aided our return: our steps failed not, we have passed through the Land, our feet have stood within thy gates, O Jerusalem! From the sight of our own eyes are we conscious of the refulgent light that once shone brightly on our country, and which yet faintly glimmers, though she has become desolate. Thou hast inspired us with a contrite spirit to perceive and declare Thy Almighty power over all the inhabitants of the world, therefore has Thy servant found in his heart to offer this public thanksgiving for Thy past bounties, and earnestly to implore Thy future protection in this humble sanctuary. Out of Thine own gifts I dedicated it to Thee as a freewill offering and a lasting testimony to show forth Thy loving-kindness in the morning and Thy faithfulness every night. O Lord God of Israel! incline Thine ear to the prayer of Thy servant. Bless, I beseech Thee, my revered and honoured mother, grant her length of days in the fulness of joy, and happiness with me, my beloved wife, my brothers and sisters, and with all their descendants, even unto the third and fourth generation. Strengthen our hearts to observe Thy precepts at all times. Truly nothing has failed of that of which Thou hast forewarned us through Moses Thy servant, for we have broken Thy covenant and not observed Thy Commandments; so are we surely convinced that we shall receive from Thee the promised good, and our days will be renewed as of old; Thou wilt fulfil Thy words unto Ezekiel Thy prophet, that 'The nations shall know that I the Lord rebuild the ruined places and plant that which was desolate; I the Lord have spoken it; I will do it.' Let our prayer and supplication, which we offer towards Thy chosen city, ascend to heaven, Thy dwelling-place. Gather together our dispersed in our days and in the lifetime of the whole House of Israel, that all nations, even from the ends of the earth, shall approach Thee, to call, all of them, on the name of the Lord, and the Lord shall be King over all the earth. Then the Lord alone shall be acknowledged, and His name be one. Amen." Mr Montefiore, having concluded the prayer, descended from the pulpit, and the congregation chanted several Hebrew hymns. The prayer for the Royal Family was then said, and the service concluded with Psalm cl. "At eight o'clock," writes Mr Montefiore, "the dedication finished, all delighted with the ceremony as well as with the music. May Heaven's blessing attend it." At nine about eighty-two sat down to dinner. The gardens were beautifully illuminated, and during dessert a band played in the tent. The next morning Mr Montefiore accompanied Dr Herschel to the Synagogue, followed by all their friends and visitors. After prayers they returned to East Cliff Lodge, where the time was spent in receiving the congratulations of their friends. The day was brought to a close by a most agreeable entertainment, a description of which I give in his own words. "Soon after nine in the evening our company began to assemble, consisting of all our neighbours as well as our own party. The wind had been exceedingly high, almost too much for the lamps to keep alight. Providence kindly allayed it, and the night was beautifully calm. Our garden was splendidly illuminated; we had a band of twenty-four performers on the lawn and another in the dining-room. All our rooms were filled, many visitors strolling about the grounds to witness the illumination. Before eleven the fireworks were displayed, and exceeded our most sanguine expectations; the company was delighted. This over, the tent-room was opened for supper; it made a splendid appearance. All seemed happy and gratified; dancing was kept up till about two o'clock. The gardens looked magnificent, nothing could have added to the grandeur of the scene. I glory in the occasion, and that the Almighty has most bountifully provided us with the means. To my dear and much-valued wife I am indebted for the success of the entertainment. We can never forget the two last days." The next day his mother and the greater number of relatives and friends left Ramsgate, and in the month of July we find Mr and Mrs Montefiore again in London, Mr Montefiore following his usual vocations, though only for a short time; for on the 13th of the same month there is an entry in his diary dated East Cliff, which gives striking evidence of the love and veneration he felt for the sacred edifice he had raised to the honour and glory of God. "We had the happiness," he writes, "of attending our Synagogue morning, afternoon, and evening. Thanks to Heaven for a very happy day. Our Synagogue looked like Paradise. I pointed out to my dear Judith the spot, not more than ten or fifteen steps from the Synagogue, in which I should like my mortal remains to rest when it shall please the Almighty to take my soul to Eternal Glory, should I depart this world at or near East Cliff." His wife consented. Their love was great, and they did not wish even in death to be parted. Mr Montefiore's attention having now been drawn to the urgency of continued exertions in the furtherance of the Emancipation Bill, he requested Mr G. R. Dawson to intercede with his brother-in-law, Sir Robert Peel, to withdraw his opposition to the Bill, and also took other steps in the interest of the cause. A Bill was again brought before the Committee of the whole House of Commons, "That it is expedient to remove all civil disabilities affecting Her Majesty's subjects of the Jewish religion with the like exceptions as are provided by the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829, with reference to Her Majesty's subjects professing the Roman Catholic religion." The second reading was carried by a majority of 137; it was also read a third time, but in the Upper House, where the Duke of Sussex presented a petition signed by 7000 inhabitants of Westminster in favour of the Jews, the Bill was thrown out by a majority of 50. Mr Montefiore continued to take the greatest interest in all important meetings of various committees, especially in those of his own community. Referring to one of the latter charged with the appointment of a lecturer, Mr Montefiore says: "The committee recommended a salary of £35 a year, but afterwards reduced it to £30. The resolution, however, was amended, and only £20 was granted." The particulars of this salary are interesting when compared with a salary to which a competent lecturer of the present day may consider himself fully entitled. It sounds strange to hear of fixing the salary for the services of a gentleman who has completed a University education, combined with special studies of theology, much lower than that which is generally offered to an upper servant in a gentleman's house. It can only be explained by the supposition that the candidate may have been simultaneously filling another and more lucrative office, which did not interfere with his duties as lecturer. CHAPTER XII. 1834-1835. ILLNESS OF MR MONTEFIORE--HIS RECOVERY--SIR DAVID SALOMONS PROPOSED AS SHERIFF--VISIT OF THE DUCHESS OF KENT AND PRINCESS VICTORIA TO RAMSGATE--MR MONTEFIORE'S HOSPITALS--NAMING OF THE VESSEL _BRITANNIA_ BY MRS MONTEFIORE--A LOAN OF FIFTEEN MILLIONS. In the year 1834 much anxiety was felt for Mr Montefiore by his friends in consequence of a severe illness by which he was attacked. For several months he was under the treatment of eminent surgeons, and on his recovery his strength was so low, that a journey to the South of France was deemed necessary. He accordingly left England, accompanied by his devoted wife, who had during his whole illness tended him with loving care. Mr Ashton Rey, one of his medical advisers, in a letter he once wrote to Mr Montefiore, observed that Mrs Montefiore was one of the best wives he had ever seen, never moving from her husband's bedside day or night except to snatch a few hours' necessary repose. They remained abroad till August, the change of air having had the desired effect upon him, and on his arrival at East Cliff he was again in the enjoyment of his usual health. They were both much disappointed on their return to hear the result of the Jewish Disabilities Bill, which, after having been passed in the Lower House, had been sent to the Upper House, where it was lost by 130 votes against 38. But still they did not lose courage, and hoped for the ultimate victory of the good cause. There is only one entry after this referring to political matters. It is to the effect that Mr N. M. Rothschild had been with the Duke of Wellington and advised him to form a Liberal Government, and to consent to some reforms; saying to His Grace that he must go with the world, for the world would not go with him. On the last page of the diary he writes: "This night (31st December) brings me to the end of my book as well as to that of the year 1834. When I reflect on the situation I was in during a long period of this year, languishing on a bed of sickness, in severe pain and affliction, on the eve of undergoing a dangerous operation, how can I be sufficiently thankful to the Almighty for manifold blessings I now enjoy, saved by His great mercy from the grave." Praying for a continuation of former mercies, he concludes with a copy of the 85th Psalm. The year 1835 will ever be noted in the history of civilisation as one in which the dawning light of liberty began to inspire comfort in the hearts of the unwearied strugglers for equal rights for the Jews. On May the 7th Mr Montefiore writes: "I called at Downing Street on the Right Hon. Spring-Rice, Chancellor of the Exchequer. I was immediately admitted, and received by him in the most friendly manner. I thanked him for having at my request appointed Jacob Montefiore one of Her Majesty's Commissioners for the Colonisation of South Australia. The Chancellor spoke of the many new schemes now afloat of companies with small capital, and said he would always be glad to see me." A month later he went to the Guildhall, and heard David Salomons proposed to the Livery as one of the Sheriffs for London and Middlesex. Sir John Campbell having introduced a measure, the Sheriffs Declaration Bill, which by the repeal of the Test and Corporation Act in 1828 enabled a Jew to enter into the office without violating his own religious convictions, Mr David Salomons was elected without opposition and "made a very good speech," Mr Montefiore observes, "in returning thanks." The arrival in Ramsgate of the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria (Her present Majesty) is described by Mr Montefiore as follows:-- "This (September 29th) is a very busy day. At ten I was at the Town Hall; at 11 the committee and many of the inhabitants, both on horse and on foot, went to the extremity of the parish to receive their Royal Highnesses the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria. The Deputy of the Town and myself headed the procession; we walked by the side of the Royal carriage bareheaded all the way to Albion House. Thousands of people were in the streets, the houses all gaily ornamented with flags and boughs of trees. The Duchess, on entering the house, sent Sir George Conroy to request that the gentlemen of the committee would come in to receive her thanks for their attention. I went in among the number, and was introduced. She expressed herself delighted; the Princess was also much pleased. They had appointed to-morrow at eleven o'clock to receive the address. About four I again joined the committee at the head of the pier. Sir William Curtis was most polite. The Belgian Ambassador, with whom I had dined at N. M. Rothschild's, was also there, and introduced me to Sir John Conroy. Soon after five one of the King's steamers entered the harbour with the King and Queen of the Belgians. Several members of the committee went on board to welcome them on their arrival, I among the number. They had had a very rough passage from Calais. The King appeared greatly altered, looking very old, the Queen is young and pleasant looking. They proceeded on foot to the Albion Hotel. The town was handsomely decorated and the principal streets illuminated, but the wind was so high as to put out most of the lamps." The next morning at half-past ten Mr Montefiore went to the Town Hall, and accompanied Sir William Curtis, Mr Warren, Mr Tomson (the Deputy), Colonel Clarke, and about a dozen more to Albion House, to present to the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria the address from the inhabitants and visitors of Ramsgate and its vicinity. They were all introduced, and were most kindly received by the Royal party. The Duchess honoured the committee with a gracious reply, which she read. The committee then returned to the Town Hall, and prepared an address to the King and Queen of the Belgians, and at one o'clock walked to the Albion Hotel. They were introduced and very graciously received, the King speaking to Mr Montefiore and several other members of the committee. The King read a reply to the Address, and after a few minutes the Committee withdrew, much gratified with their reception. Subsequently Mr and Mrs Montefiore attended a ball given by the Master of the Ceremonies at the Albion Hotel, where they met many acquaintances. Sir John Conroy was particularly polite to them. Mr Montefiore offered him the use of the key of his grounds for the Duchess, which he accepted with pleasure. Accordingly both Mr and Mrs Montefiore called the next day on the Duchess, and left a key there for the use of Her Royal Highness, Sir John Conroy and his family. On Wednesday, October 21st. the Duchess, accompanied by one of her ladies of honour, and attended by a footman, made use of the key, and walked through their grounds. Sir John Conroy, meeting Mr Montefiore next day at Burgess' Library, said that the Duchess regretted that his gardener had suddenly disappeared yesterday, which had prevented her sending to inform Mrs Montefiore that she was in the grounds as she had wished to have done. Her Royal Highness having repeated her visits to his grounds, Mr Montefiore ordered an opening to be made in the field on the side next to Broadstairs for the convenience of the Duchess. In recognition of this attention he received the following note from Sir John Conroy:-- "Sir John Conroy presents his compliments, and in obedience to a command he has just received from the Duchess of Kent, hastens to acquaint Mr Montefiore that Her Royal Highness is exceedingly gratified and obliged by his attention in making a new access to his charming grounds from Broadstairs for her convenience, but Her Royal Highness fears she has given a great deal of trouble. "Ramsgate, _24th October 1835_. There were several incidents which afforded them much gratification this year. Mrs Montefiore was invited to name a new steamer. "This morning," writes Mr Montefiore on July 9, "we embarked from the Custom House stairs on board the _Harlequin_, to witness the launch of a new steamship built by Fletcher & Fearnaly. On reaching the dockyard near Limehouse, Mr Woolverly Attwood and Judith went on shore; I followed with Horatio at half-past one. My dear wife named the ship by throwing a bottle of wine against the side of the vessel at the moment she left the stocks and plunged into the water. 'May every success,' she said, 'attend the _Britannia_.' We then went on board the _Royal Sovereign_. There was a large party; about a hundred sat down to dinner. Several members of Parliament with their ladies were present, G. R. Dawson, Medley, T. M. Pearce, Pepys, and Col. Lawrence. Many speeches, all drinking my dear wife's health." Another entry refers to his having been admitted to the freedom of the Merchant Taylors Company. Mr Montefiore received a letter from Mr Matthias Attwood, informing him that he had proposed his name at the Court of the above Company for admission to the freedom and livery of the same. The proposition, said Mr Attwood, was carried unanimously, many of the members expressing the high respect they entertained for Mr Montefiore's personal character. On the 4th of November he was accordingly admitted and sworn a freeman of the said Company. "Matthias Attwood," says Mr Montefiore, "has acted with the greatest kindness in procuring me this honour, I being the first Jew admitted to their Company. At the next meeting of the Court I am to be made one of the livery." A printed slip of a newspaper is affixed to one of the leaves of the diary, referring to a loan raised under the authority of the Act 3 and 4 of William IV., cap. 73, for the compensation to owners of slaves; it reads as follows:-- "The parties to the contract for the £15,000,000 loan are N. M. Rothschild and Moses Montefiore on the one part, and Lord Melbourne, Mr F. Spring-Rice, Lord Seymour, and Messrs W. H. Old, R. Steward, and R. More, on the other; witnesses, Messrs James Pattison, Governor, and T. A. Curtis, Deputy-Governor of the Bank of England." There is another slip attached to it, showing the interest on this loan to have been lower than several preceding ones. The interest on the loan of 1812 was £3, 5s. 7d., and of 1813, £5, 10s. Second loan of 1813, £5, 6s. 2d.; 1814, £4, 12s. 1d.; 1815, £5, 12s. 4d.; 1819, £4, 5s. 9d.; 1820, £4, 3s. 3d.; and on the present loan, £3, 7s. 6d. The particulars of that loan are given in the _Money Market and City Intelligence_, dated Monday evening, 3rd August 1835: "The bidding for the West Indian loan took place this morning. Mr Rothschild and his friends waited upon Lord Melbourne and the Chancellor at ten o'clock. Mr Rothschild's tender, the only one prepared, the other lists having been withdrawn, was then opened, when that gentleman's bidding was found to be 14s. 11d. in long annuities. The offer having been declined, the sealed minimum of ministers, as previously arranged, was opened, and it appeared they were not willing to give more than 13s. 7d. of annuities in addition to £75 consols and £25 redeemed 3 per cents, for every £100 in money subscribed. It was for Mr Rothschild, therefore, either to agree to those terms or to abandon the contract. That gentleman and his friends retired for a short time to consult on the subject, and finally agreed to accept them. An important concession was, however, obtained in regard to the discount for paying up the instalments, which is to be at the rate of 4 per cent. on the payment, as in all former contracts for loans, and gives a bonus of £1, 19s. 10d. in favour of the contractors. The subscribers to the loan have now an inducement which did not exist under the arrangement at first proposed, for completing the instalments and turning their omnium into stock. Though it is an advantage, therefore, to them, it is considered somewhat against the present price of consols, as a large supply may at any time be thrown upon the market. The Chancellor of the Exchequer assured the gentlemen who attended the bidding, that all means would be taken on his part to bring back into circulation the money that might come into his hands beyond the amount called for to meet the West Indian claims. On the subject of debentures (they are not named in the contract specially) against which, as a security not yet created, there were many objections, it is agreed that they shall be at all times made receivable to the instalments of the loan. When the terms were first made known, the scrip bore a premium of 2-3/4 to 3 per cent., but they produced a decline in consols, which went back to 89, a fall of nearly 1 per cent. at the highest price of the morning. A large amount of business was done both in the stock and in the scrip; the fluctuations in them were not, however, very considerable afterwards. The following are the concluding quotations:-- "Consols for the account, 89-3/4 to ----; omnium 2-3/4, 3 premium; Exchequer bills, 18s. to 20s. premium." On the same day he makes the following entry in his journal: "I accompanied N. M. R. Pattison and J. A. Curtis to the City; called at the Alliance, Irish Bank, &c.; at six we dined, and took our fast, &c., this being the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem." Few financiers, perhaps would feel inclined, after all the excitement incidental to the successful contracting of a loan for £15,000,000, to comply with so exacting a religious observance as a fast of twenty-four hours duration. With a mind pre-occupied with business details, the rise and fall of the public funds, and other matters, such an observance must be more than ordinarily trying. Nevertheless Mr Montefiore would not, on this occasion any more than any other, allow worldly interests to prevail over religious duties. The loan for the abolition of slavery reminded him of the words of the Prophet Isaiah (ch. lii., v. 3) to Israel: "Ye have sold yourselves for nought, and ye shall be redeemed without money," and attuned his mind to reflection on the former glory of Zion and its present state of sorrow. On the 2nd of November we find a record of his having paid £400 to the Blue Coat School to constitute him one of the governors. The manner in which he was led to take this step is noteworthy. A young man who was a complete stranger to them, wrote and implored Mr and Mrs Montefiore to take his wife and child under their protection. He acknowledged that, as a stranger and one professing a different religion, he had no claim whatever to make such a request, but he had heard so much of their kind-heartedness that he felt sure they would not refuse to accede to the dying prayer of one who was driven by unmerited misfortunes to despair and suicide. Sir Moses enquired into the case, and finding that the poor man had really deserved a better fate, he assisted the widow in her distressing position, and bought the governorship, as recorded, for the express purpose of being able to provide for the boy. There is another entry of his having attended a meeting of the Committee of the Cock Court Alm's Houses, which he had erected and presented to the Spanish and Portuguese community. His object in attending was to remind the Elders to rebuild some of the houses on one side of the court, at an expense not exceeding £900, the funds in hand being £1400. Turning to politics, he mentions a dinner party at Sir Robert Campbell's, where Mr and Mrs Montefiore met the Duke and Duchess of Cleveland, Lord and Lady Darlington, Lady Augusta Powlett, Colonel Lushington, and other friends of emancipation. The reader having seen Mr and Mrs Montefiore in the circle of royalty and high nobility, I will ask him to accompany me into the circle of their own family and friends. On November 27th I was invited to a dinner party given by one of his relatives in London, the late Mr Louis Cohen. It was here that I met Mr and Mrs Montefiore for the first time. During the course of the evening I had many opportunities of conversing with them, and before parting, they invited me to spend a week with them at East Cliff Lodge, Ramsgate. A few days later I was informed that a place had been taken for me to Ramsgate, at the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch Street, in the name of Mr Montefiore. There is a special entry of this little journey, which I copy. _Thursday, 3rd December 1835._--"Walked with Judith to Gracechurch Street. We met Louis and Florette (the late Mr Louis Cohen, of 5 South Street, Finsbury, their nephew, and his wife) and Dr Loewe. We all went with the Tally-Ho at three o'clock; they having the whole inside, and I riding outside on the box seat. We took tea at Sittingbourne, and proceeded from Canterbury about ten o'clock by the night stage coach with post horses to East Cliff. "I found it extremely cold; it was near one when we arrived at East Cliff, thanks to Heaven, in safety, and found all well. Our library looked delightfully comfortable, with a good fire and lamps. I was almost perishing with cold. We took tea, &c., and when our visitors retired to their chambers it was near two o'clock." The inconvenient mode of travelling at that time did not prevent his making such journeys whenever required, and however much he may have suffered by taking his seat outside the coach (which he evidently always did from politeness to his visitors), his comfortable home soon made him forget the unpleasantness of a long cold ride. During my stay in East Cliff, the time of the party was generally devoted either to little excursions in the neighbourhood, or to conversations on literary subjects. Sometimes Mr and Mrs Montefiore entertained us by giving their reminiscences of travels in Italy, France, and Egypt. There was a kind of charm which the visitor felt in their company; a very short time after his arrival a delightful sensation of comfort overcame him, and soon made him feel at home. The amiability of both the hostess and host made the days pass agreeably and rapidly, and they were always loth to retire when the midnight hour was announced. Mrs Montefiore showed us all the curiosities she brought with her from Egypt, and told us how much she had been entertained in that country by the number of languages spoken around her. There was an amusing incident that day, which particularly induced her to speak on the study of languages. Mr Montefiore had laid a wager with her to the effect that if, at a stated time, she would be able to pass an examination by him in Italian grammar, he would give her a cheque for £100. She was fortunate enough to acquit herself most creditably in our presence, and received the amount in question. Mr Montefiore was delighted at the perseverance and ability displayed by his wife, and she was truly happy to have again succeeded (as she always did) in obtaining the approbation of her husband. The conversation of the visitors being frequently in French and German, many an hour was spent in reading letters and poems addressed to Mr and Mrs Montefiore in these languages. Mrs Montefiore, however, was not content with the study of modern languages, and expressed a wish to acquire also a knowledge of Eastern languages, especially of Turkish and Arabic. To give her an idea of the grammatical construction of the latter, I used to write out lessons for her, and she at once commenced to learn them. The following morning she surprised the whole party by saying by heart every Turkish and Arabic word that I had written out. It was amusing to all of us, and to Mr Montefiore a cause of great delight, to notice the zeal with which she took up the subject. One day she produced from her cabinet a scarabæus and a little Egyptian clay figure, which had been given to her by Mr Salt, the English Consul in Egypt. Both the scarabæus and the little figure had hieroglyphical inscriptions, and she requested me to give her a translation of the same. In compliance with her request I explained the inscriptions, and gave her a short account of the Rosetta stone and the works of Young and Champollion and other Egyptologists. I concluded my visit to East Cliff Lodge on the 13th of December. Mr Montefiore requested me to draw up a plan for some future travels in the Holy Land; I promised to comply with his wish, and then took leave. There is an entry of this date in the diary, in which he says: "If my dear Judith consents to our again visiting the Holy Land, I should be glad to obtain the company of the Doctor on our pilgrimage." A few days later I sent him the plan for the journey, also a second copy of the translation which I had made of the hieroglyphical inscription on the Osiris or sepulchral figure. He acknowledged the receipt of the same in two letters, one written in Mrs Montefiore's handwriting, the other in his own. Mr Montefiore subsequently told me that his wife now commenced to take a special interest in antiquities, enriching her cabinet with curiosities whenever an opportunity presented itself. The year 1835 is also noted for the particular interest which Mr Montefiore took in the affairs of his own community. He was elected President of the London Committee of Deputies of British Jews, his predecessor, Mr Moses Mocatta, having resigned the office. [Illustration: Hand-written letter] CHAPTER XIII. 1836-1837. DEATH OF MR N. M. ROTHSCHILD--MR MONTEFIORE VISITS DUBLIN--BECOMES THE FIRST JEWISH MEMBER OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY--DEATH OF WILLIAM IV.--MR MONTEFIORE ELECTED SHERIFF. In the Diary for 1836, the first entry is on the 17th July, which is accounted for by its being the second journal for that year, the one containing his entries for the early months having been lost. On the date mentioned he records his grief at the death of an aunt to whom he was much attached, and for whom he entertained a sincere respect. About this time he was also much affected by the illness of Mr N. M. Rothschild, and on the 19th we find him busily engaged in making preparations for a journey to Frankfort-on-the-Main, on purpose to visit this "kind friend." Only ten months ago they had together signed the contract for the loan of £15,000,000, and now they were to see each other for the last time. Mr Montefiore writes: "We arrived there in time to see him alive, but death was fast approaching. At four o'clock on the same day (28th July) his brother, Anselm, asked him to say prayers, which he did, and all present joined him; he then kissed his wife and said 'good night' quite distinctly. At five he breathed his last, and passed away without the slightest struggle. I was with him the whole time, and remained in the room an hour after all the others had left it. I had thus the melancholy satisfaction of paying the last respect to his remains. Oh! may this mournful sight remind me of the nothingness of this world's grandeur, and may I daily become more prepared for a blessed Eternity! He was a good friend to me and my dear Judith in our early life. Peace to his memory. Hannah (his wife) did not leave him for a moment during his illness, and remained in the room for some time after his death, returning there again the same evening." On the day of the funeral, which took place in London, Mr Montefiore writes: "I remained at the burial ground above an hour after the mourners had left, and saw the grave of my kind and truly lamented friend arched over, filled up, and a large slab of Yorkshire stone placed upon it. Thus have I witnessed all that was mortal of my dear friend consigned to the earth; his spirit the Almighty, in His great mercy, has taken to a better world, there to enjoy in glorious eternity the reward of his charitable actions." We will now, however, turn to more cheerful matters. On October 8th he writes: "I had the honour of receiving a card of invitation to dine with Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent on Tuesday next;" then, true to his motto, which bids him "think and thank," he adds, "Praised be He from whom all honour and distinction flows." _Tuesday, the 11th._ The words of his entry are as follows:--"I attended Synagogue, and a little before seven went in our chariot to West Cliff, where I had the honour of dining with their Royal Highnesses the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria. The other guests were, Sir John Conroy, the Dean of Chester, Mr Justice Gaselee, the Rector of St Lawrence, the Hon. Col. Stopford and his wife, the Ladies Jane and Charlotte Seymour, and one other lady and gentleman. I took down the Colonel's wife and sat opposite to the Princess. There were thirteen at table, and it was impossible for it to have been more agreeable. I never felt myself more at ease at any dinner party within my recollection. The behaviour of the Duchess was most kind and condescending, and all the party were extremely amiable and chatty. The entertainment was truly Royal, and after dinner, when the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing-room, where tea and coffee were served, the Duchess again spoke to each of us. The Princess Sophia Matilda was also present. I returned home quite enraptured with the very kind and obliging manner in which I had been distinguished by her Royal Highness." In the same year Mr and Mrs Montefiore received the congratulations of their friends on a providential escape from the horrors of shipwreck. They had left Margate in the _Magnet_ at nine o'clock in the morning of the 17th October. The weather was foggy, but they thought it would soon clear up. They had only proceeded a short distance, however, when they got on to a sandbank, where they were obliged to remain for two hours, feeling the gravest anxiety all the time. At last the tide floated them off again, and they endeavoured to grope their way through the fog, passing several vessels, which were only visible when quite close upon them. Mr Montefiore was standing near the bow of the ship, when suddenly a steamer was seen to be quite close to them, and before it was possible to avoid her, she struck their bow with a dreadful crash. Mr Montefiore threw himself on deck to escape injury. The screams of the people on board both boats were terrible. It was soon seen that the _Red Rover_, the vessel they had encountered, was sinking fast. Her passengers and crew lost no time in getting on board the _Magnet_, and in five minutes the _Red Rover_ was engulfed in the sea, which was immediately covered with spars, boxes, and other wreckage. The alarm was dreadful. The _Magnet_, having sustained serious damage, her situation was most critical. She was making a great deal of water, and the pumps were instantly set to work, while the vessel made for the shore. Happily they were boarded by a fishing smack and taken to Sheerness, where they landed, but where, unfortunately, their troubles did not end. No sort of conveyance was to be found in Sheerness, and they were obliged to go by boat to Chatham, and thence in a post-chaise to town. It was nearly 1 P.M. when the Marine Office was reached. "My poor dear wife," writes Mr Montefiore, "conducted herself with her usual admirable courage. We were, in all probability, never in our lives in more imminent danger. God be praised for His great mercy for granting us His protection." At seven o'clock the next morning Mr Montefiore proceeds to the Synagogue, where he renders thanks to the Almighty. At the same time he gives £600 in charity--£50 for the Portuguese and £50 for the German poor in London, and £500 for the poor of Jerusalem. The journal of this year contains but few entries relating to politics. In the session of 1836 the Ministry, in their attempt to carry several important measures of reform, were defeated in the House of Lords, but succeeded in passing an Act enabling Dissenters to be married otherwise than by the Established clergy. Bills were also passed for commuting tithes into a corn-rent charge payable in money, and for a general registry of births, deaths, and marriages. The second reading of the Bill for the removal of civil disabilities from His Majesty's Jewish subjects was postponed in the House of Lords. The Jews were, however, satisfied with the progress their cause had hitherto made, and they considered themselves justified in hoping for a speedy and complete emancipation. The election of Mr David Salomons as Sheriff of London and Middlesex, and Alderman for the ward of Aldgate, took place about this time. The particulars I shall give of the next few years will show the progress of good feeling between the Jews and their fellow-citizens, and, in particular, the esteem in which Mr Montefiore was held by men of all sects. On the 1st of January 1837 we meet Mr Montefiore in Dublin, whither he had gone with a deputation from the Provincial Bank of Ireland (in London). "My companions, Messrs Th. Masterman and James Marshall," he writes, "accompanied me to the new house of our agency, and we were present at the commencement of business. We remained there till five o'clock, and found that all was conducted comfortably." He then called with the Directors on Lord Morpeth and other influential persons, in the interests of their business. Whilst in Ireland he gave handsome donations to various charitable institutions, including £100 to the Dublin Bluecoat School. He also visited the Synagogue, where he made generous offerings. On the 13th he is again in London, receiving the thanks of the Board of Directors of the Irish Bank for the valuable services he and his colleagues had rendered by their visit to Ireland. On the 23rd February, at the Royal Society, he is introduced to the vice-president, the Earl of Burlington, by Mr W. H. Pepys, Mr Montefiore being the only Jewish member as yet admitted. Writing in his journal on the subject, he says: "I think I may be proud of the honour of enrolling my name in the same book which has already been signed by several of the kings of England." In March Mr Montefiore had a deed of gift prepared by T. M. Pearce, conferring the "Upper French Farm" on his brother Horatio and his children. He also returns £500 to a friend who had repaid that sum which he had borrowed from him in the year 1819 to commence business with; Mr Montefiore observing that he was more than repaid in witnessing his friend's success. On the 20th of the same month I find the first entry referring to an offer of the Shrievalty of London and Middlesex. Mr A. H. Thornborough called on Mr Montefiore, saying he was deputed by some of the most influential members of the Corporation of London to offer him the Shrievalty at the ensuing election, if he would accept the office. Mr Montefiore candidly stated that he was not desirous of the honour, but if he were elected, he wished to be free either to accept or decline it; he also stated that he could not attend church, but had no objection to send his money, and at all the city feasts he must be allowed to have his own meat, dishes, &c. To all of which Mr Thornborough said there could be no possible objection. It was nearly twelve o'clock before he left. "I suppose," writes Mr Montefiore, "I shall hear nothing more of the business, but whatever is, is for the best. Praise be to God alone." Till the 2nd of June there is no entry of any importance in the diary, but on that day the death of the King of England (William IV.) is recorded, and a further reference is made to the subject of the Shrievalty. Mr Montefiore says, "This morning at 2 A.M. it pleased the Almighty to call to a better world our beloved King William IV. Oaths of allegiance were taken to-day by the members of both Houses of Parliament to the Queen Alexandrina Victoria. May her reign be long, glorious, and happy. Amen." After entering various particulars relating to his financial transactions, and to some visits which he paid to different friends and relations, he writes: "Mr Lucas, one of the aldermen, having written to me yesterday to ascertain my intention respecting the proposal made to me some time ago to be Sheriff next year, I requested he would inform the parties that I did not give my consent to my being proposed to the Livery, and in the event of its being done, and of my being elected, I most distinctly stated that I considered myself perfectly free either to accept or decline the honour." On the 22nd of June he wrote a note to L. Lucas, begging him to inform Mr Thornborough that his state of health would not allow him to accept the office of Sheriff if the citizens of London did him the honour to elect him. He also acquainted T. M. Pearce with his intention of declining the Shrievalty in the event of its being conferred on him. It appears, however, that many friends and relatives spoke to him on the subject, and prevailed on him to accept the office if elected. On the 24th June Mr Huffam called to bring the news that Mr Montefiore had been unanimously elected Sheriff of London and Middlesex. He had been proposed by Mr T. A. Curtis, Governor of the Bank of England, the resolution being seconded by Mr Samuel Gurney. Mr Huffam said that both gentlemen had spoken most highly of him, and that there were over four hundred persons present. In the evening, Mr Montefiore, accompanied by his good wife, paid a visit to his mother, to tell her of the honour he had received from the Livery of London, and to ask and receive her blessing on his undertaking. He then prayed for the blessing of heaven, so to guide his conduct that he might discharge the duties of the office to the satisfaction of his own conscience, to the gratification of the citizens, and to the honour of the Jews. He received congratulations from numerous friends and relatives, which seemed however to give him but little satisfaction. The following extract from his diary will show why this was so:--"I shall have the greatest difficulties to contend with," he writes, "in the execution of my duty; difficulties which I shall meet with at the very outset. The day I enter on my office is the commencement of our New Year. I shall therefore have to walk to Westminster instead of going in my state carriage, nor, I fear, shall I be able to dine with my friends at the inauguration dinner which, from time immemorial, is given on the 30th of September. I shall, however, endeavour to persuade my colleague to change the day to the 5th of October. Some of our readers will perhaps smile at his difficulties, but when his friends observed how differently other persons would act in a similar position, he used to say: "Very well, I will not deviate from the injunctions of my religion; let them call me a bigot if they like; it is immaterial to me what others do or think in this respect. God has given man the free will to act as he may think proper. He has set before him life and death, blessing and curse (Deut. ch. xxx, v. 15). I follow the advice given in Holy Writ, and choose that which is considered life, which is accounted a blessing." His first visit in the city was to Messrs T. A. Curtis and Samuel Gurney, to thank the former for having proposed the resolution for his election, and the latter for having seconded it. He then received congratulations from Messrs Pearce, Thornborough, and Wire at the Alliance Office, and appointed Mr Wire as his under-sheriff. On the same day he addressed a formal letter of thanks to "The worthy and independent Livery of London." The next day Messrs Thornborough, Lucas, and Carrol called, and it was agreed to have the Sheriffs' inauguration dinner on the 5th October instead of the 30th September. Sir James Duke, one of the outgoing Sheriffs, also came, and was most friendly. He offered Mr Montefiore every assistance, and invited him to dine at the Old Bailey on Thursday, the 4th July. Two days later he attended with his colleague, Mr George Carrol, a meeting of the subscribers to the Sheriffs' Fund, at the City of London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, where he was introduced to Mr Sheriff Johnson, who was in the chair. There he also met Sir James Duke, Mr Wire, Mr Anderson, the Governor of Bridewell, and other gentlemen, and a committee was appointed to prepare a plan for a more extensive employment of the funds of the above-named Charity. Both Sheriffs were most polite to Messrs Carrol and Montefiore, and invited them to be present on all occasions at the Sessions in the Old Bailey, when they were also to breakfast and dine with them. _July the 4th._--Mr T. A. Curtis kindly accompanied Mr Montefiore to the Court of Aldermen, where both he and Mr George Carrol signed bonds engaging to take upon themselves the office of Sheriff, under penalty of £1000 fine. "The Lord Mayor," writes Mr Montefiore, "and every Alderman present shook hands with me, each paid me some neat compliment, and every attention was shown to my religious feelings." At a meeting of the Livery, where a resolution to send an address to the Queen was proposed by Mr David Salomons and carried unanimously, twelve of the Livery were appointed to present the same, amongst whom, besides the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and Aldermen, were Messrs David Salomons, G. Carrol, and M. Montefiore. _July 6th._--Mr Montefiore went to the Old Bailey at half-past eight, and breakfasted with the Under Sheriff, Mr G. Carrol, and other gentlemen. The Sheriffs and Aldermen came in a little before ten, at which time Baron Vaughan, Baron Alderson, and the Lord Mayor also came. He was introduced, and received by all in a very friendly manner, and then went with them into Court. At eleven he went with Sheriff Johnson and Mr George Carrol over every part of Newgate. "It was half-past one before we had finished our tour of inspection. I find my new post will give me very serious occupation, and much more trouble than I had expected, but I hope the blessing of Heaven will attend my endeavours to fulfil its various duties to the satisfaction of my fellow-citizens." This did, however, not prevent him from turning his mind, when necessary, also to the affairs of his own community. He accompanied T. M. Pearce to Downing Street, and had an interview with Mr Lister, the Registrar-General. "We agreed," he says, "that it would not be safe for Jews to marry by licence under the present Marriage Bill, and that they must give twenty-one days' notice to the Registrar." On the same day he dined at five with the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and other distinguished persons at the Old Bailey. "A capital dinner," he observes, "dessert and wine; I had part of a fowl which had been sent from home." Every one was most attentive to him. The Judges and the Lord Mayor left at seven, but the Sheriffs stayed till eight o'clock. CHAPTER XIV. 1837. THE JEWS' MARRIAGE BILL--MR MONTEFIORE AT THE QUEEN'S DRAWING-ROOM--HIS INAUGURATION AS SHERIFF. On July 7th he called on the Chief Rabbi to discuss the marriage laws, a subject which was causing much uneasiness in the community. He was detained there so long that it became too late for him to attend the committee meeting at the Irish Bank. He wrote a letter to the Archbishop of Dublin on the subject of the Jews' Marriage Bill, requesting him to take charge of it in the House of Lords. In the course of the day he received a card of invitation to a dinner of the Merchant Taylors Company from J. Allison, the new Master, with a most friendly note, requesting him to name the dishes he would wish to have placed before him. On July 9th Mr Montefiore went with a member of the Board of Deputies to consult T. M. Pearce on the subject of the Jews' Marriage Bill, and in the evening attended a meeting of the Deputies, at which it was resolved to petition the House of Lords in favour of the measure. He writes: "I am most firmly resolved not to give up the smallest part of our religious forms and privileges to obtain civil rights." One of the members of the board also gave notice of a motion for "a more popular election of the Deputies." On July 10th Mr Montefiore met T. M. Pearce at the House of Lords. Mr Blake, the legal adviser of the Archbishop of Dublin, made several important alterations in the Bill, which, in Mr Montefiore's opinion, greatly improved it. He then called at Downing Street to see Mr Spring-Rice, but that gentleman had just left town for Cambridge. Mr Montefiore immediately resolved to go and see him there. At 5 P.M. he again met Pearce, also Mr Buxton, at the House of Lords. The Archbishop of Dublin and several other Lords had declined to propose the second reading of the Marriage Act Bill. Mr Buxton exerted himself greatly, and spoke to several Peers in his presence without success. At last he prevailed on Lord Glenelg to promise that he would speak with Lord Duncannon, and would give notice the next day. In accordance with his resolution, Mr Montefiore went the same day by the "Cambridge Mail" to see Mr Spring-Rice. On his return he went to the House of Lords with Pearce and saw Lord Glenelg. "But," writes Mr Montefiore, "he would have nothing to do with the Bill, and Pearce could get no Peer to move the second reading, consequently, the Bill will be lost, and with it all the expenses, £400." _Wednesday, July 19._--He attended the Queen's first levee at St James' Palace; it was very crowded. He was one of the Deputation of the Livery of London, by whom an address of congratulation was to be presented to Her Majesty. The Lord Mayor introduced them. Mr Montefiore was afterwards presented a second time. On his card was written, "Mr Montefiore, presented by the Duke of Norfolk." "The Queen," he observes, "looked very pretty and most interesting." "May she be happy!" is his prayer to heaven. It was after four o'clock when he left the Palace. He had spoken to a great number of acquaintances there. The next day he went with Mrs Montefiore to St James' Palace to attend the Queen's drawing-room. Mrs Montefiore was presented to Her Majesty by the Countess of Albemarle, and was most graciously received. "I followed her," writes Mr Montefiore. "The Queen smiled good-humouredly at me, and the Duchess of Kent said she was pleased to see us. No reception at a drawing-room could have been more flattering." At five o'clock he went to dine at the Merchant Taylors Hall. Mr Alliston, the Master, was most civil and kind to him, and to Mr George Carrol. It was a most splendid banquet, about one hundred and twenty sat down to table. The entertainment was given by the Merchant Taylors to the Skinners Company, in accordance with an old custom, which owed its origin to the following occurrence. A difference having arisen between the two companies, it was referred to the Lord Mayor, who decided that "they were both wrong and both right," and decreed that each company should annually entertain the other at a dinner. This has been kept up, without a single exception, ever since the Lord Mayor gave his verdict, which was more than three hundred years ago. "Nothing," says Mr Montefiore, "could have been more magnificent than the entertainment. I sat next to Mr Charles Culling Smith, the Duke of Wellington's brother-in-law, and my health and that of Mr George Carrol was drunk." Mr Montefiore now wished to go to Ramsgate for a few days' rest, but before leaving town he sent a letter to the Master, Wardens, and Assistants of the Worshipful Company of Merchant Taylors, requesting the use of their hall for the inauguration dinner in October. In August we find him again in London, attending a dinner of the Skinners' Company, where he meets Mr Attwood and his colleague Mr George Carrol, also several friends belonging to the Merchant Taylors' Company. His health is proposed, and he returns thanks. One of the party, Dr Knox, the Master of the Skinners' Company's school at Tonbridge, expressed himself in very flattering terms to Mr Montefiore after the entertainment, but observed that he ought not to be one of the Court Assistants, as the latter had to protect their church. Mr Montefiore, in reply, assured him that he would never ask anything of the Company that they might not be willing to grant. Dr Knox appeared fully satisfied with what he heard, and continued the conversation in a friendly spirit. On the 20th of August there is a very affectionate entry, dated from Tonbridge, and referring to his brother, Horatio Montefiore. "Horatio," he writes, "joined us this morning at breakfast; he left Ramsgate and his family last evening, and travelled all night. At eleven o'clock my dear Judith, Horatio, Mr Ridge, and myself went in the britzka to Tinley Lodge, Upper French Farm. The houses, barns, stables, and outhouses had all been put in the most substantial and complete repair, and looked extremely well, as did the land. With the full and willing consent of my dear wife, I informed Horatio that I made him a present of the estate, and after him to his children, strictly entailing it on the eldest son from generation to generation, and recommended him to grant Shetfield, the present tenant, a lease at a moderate rent for fourteen years, say at £70. Horatio appeared well pleased with the gift." This entry is followed by another equally pleasing. He dined with his sister-in-law, Mrs Hannah Rothschild, and met there, among others, the Count and Countess Ludolf. In the course of conversation, the Count said that several English physicians had offered to go to Naples, where the cholera was then raging, and assist in relieving the sufferers, but, unfortunately, they had no funds. Mr Montefiore, upon hearing this, immediately promised £200 for the purpose, and of course kept his word. In the following record of a visit paid by Mr and Mrs Montefiore to H.R.H. the Princess Sophia Matilda during her stay at Ramsgate, we find one of the many gratifying instances of the esteem in which they were both held by the highest in the land. On September the 12th he writes:--"At three we went in our britzka with post horses, through a torrent of rain, to West Cliff House, by appointment, to visit H.R.H. the Princess Sophia Matilda. She received us most kindly, and was very chatty. She spoke on many different subjects, including the slave trade and the prevailing epidemics; also of her proposed visit to Brighton, which she hoped would agree with her. We then spoke of the Queen and the Duchess of Kent. Judith said she hoped the Queen would build a palace at Ramsgate. Her Royal Highness replied, she could not recommend the expense, as it would be talked of a hundred years after; it was all very well just at first. We remained more than half-an-hour, and on our taking leave, Her Royal Highness shook hands with Judith most kindly, and said she was happy in having made her acquaintance. During our visit she also spoke of her brother, the late King, and on each occasion the tears came into her eyes. She appeared in very good health, and fond of retirement." On the 24th of September Mr Montefiore writes:--"Her Royal Highness the Princess Sophia Matilda paid Judith a visit yesterday, and remained with her an hour and a half. She had first appointed to come on Friday if I had been at home, then on Monday or Tuesday, but Judith wrote that we were going to London in the middle of the week, and would be happy to see Her Royal Highness on Saturday. She was most gracious and agreeable." _Wednesday, September 27th._--Mr Montefiore called at the Mansion House and saw the Lord Mayor and Mr Croft, who accepted the new Sheriffs' invitation for Wednesday, the 11th October. According to an ancient custom Mr Montefiore, as Sheriff, should have dined with the Lord Mayor on Friday, the 29th, but he apologized for his inability to do so on account of the Sabbath commencing in the evening. _Thursday, the 28th._--"I cannot," he says, "but reflect with gratitude on the Almighty's goodness to me: may He bless my endeavours to be useful." He then gives the following account of the day's proceedings:--"At ten I entered our state carriage, Mr Wire having come for me in his, and we drove to Cavendish Square, where Mr George Carrol in his state carriage took the lead, he being the senior Sheriff, on account of his having been proposed to the Livery by the Lord Mayor. We proceeded to the Merchant Taylors' Hall, where we found sixteen of their members, and sixteen of the Spectacle makers, besides some few friends of Mr George Carrol. The following gentlemen were also present:--Barons Lionel, Nathaniel, and Anthony de Rothschild, Messrs T. A. Curtis, Benjamin Cohen, Isaac Cohen, Solomon Cohen, S. M. Samuel, John Helbert, and M. Davidson, the six last named being the brothers and brothers-in-law of my dear wife. At one o'clock we went in grand procession to the Guildhall, accompanied by a band of music. At two we were sworn into office, and about three I returned to Park Lane. I changed my official costume for plain clothes, and went at half-past five to Cavendish Square. Mr George Carrol then accompanied me to the London Tavern, and we dined with Sir James Duke and Mr Sheriff Johnson." _Monday, 2nd October._--Mr Montefiore and his colleague went to Newgate. In the afternoon they proceeded to Windsor, and inscribed their names in the Duchess of Kent's visitors' book. The next day Mr Montefiore called on the Lord Mayor, who introduced him to Alderman Cowan, the Lord Mayor elect; he also attended the Hustings at the Guildhall in his violet gown, the Lord Mayor and Mr George Carrol being present. He afterwards settled, with Messrs Maynard, Carrol, and Wire, the toasts and the grace before dinner, and proceeded with these gentlemen to the Lord Mayor to submit them for his approval. This having been obtained, he went to the Merchant Taylors' Hall to see that the arrangement of the tables was satisfactory. The inauguration dinner of the new Sheriffs took place at the Merchant Taylors' Hall in Threadneedle Street. The number of guests who sat down to dinner was not less than four hundred; and the Lord Mayor presided. After the cloth was removed, the usual toasts were proposed by the Lord Mayor, and the two Sheriffs returned thanks, each in a separate speech. Mr Sheriff Montefiore said: "My Lord Mayor, my Lords and gentlemen, if I consulted my own feelings of diffidence on this occasion, I confess I should have remained silent, and have allowed my friend and colleague to return our united thanks for the honour conferred on us by the distinguished company. But as custom demands that I should say a few words, I rise to express briefly, and I fear imperfectly, my feelings of gratitude for the flattering manner in which my health has been proposed, and the warm and affectionate greeting with which it has been received. New to the high and important office I have been called upon by the kind wishes of my fellow-citizens to fill, it will readily be conceived that I cannot be acquainted with all its various duties. But I can assure you it shall be my study to understand their nature, and my earnest endeavour to fulfil them in such a manner as to justify my fellow-citizens in the choice they have made. Although I cannot pretend to say that I will do what your late Sheriffs have done, still less to surpass them in their efforts to be useful, yet I hope, so far, to imitate their example as to show my anxiety to transmit to my successors the functions of my office unimpaired in their usefulness, and its privileges undiminished in their value. Believing that it is not a political office, and yet that it has duties both to the Queen and to the public, I hope, in the execution of those duties, to swerve neither to the right nor the left, but on the one hand to uphold the rightful prerogatives of the Crown, and on the other to support the just liberties of the people. Called upon by the free, intelligent, and wealthy citizens of this great city to fill so important an office, I trust that I shall never be found wanting in any efforts to prove that the great privilege of electing their own Sheriffs may be safely entrusted to the people. May I add that in choosing the humble individual before you to fill so important an office, they have shown that private character, when based on integrity, will secure public honour and respect? Nor is it less gratifying to find that, though professing a different faith from the major it of my fellow-citizens, yet this has presented no barrier to my desire of being useful to them in a situation to which my forefathers would in vain have aspired; and I hail this as a proof that those prejudices are passing away, and will pass away, which prevent our feelings from being as widely social, as just, as comprehensive in their effect as the most amiable and best-instructed mind can desire. Nor can I forget, while alluding to kindly feelings, how much I am indebted to those friends who, unasked and unsolicited, proposed and elected me to the office which now gives me the opportunity of addressing you. To them, to you, to the Livery at large, I again tender my thanks, and I beg to assure you that, whatever may be necessary to enhance the high, respectability of my office, to support its splendour, to maintain its rights, to add to its honour, and to make it more useful to my fellow-citizens--if it can be made more useful--I will attempt, and with your countenance and support, I trust, accomplish. Thus acting, I shall hope to receive the only reward I seek--the thanks of my fellow-citizens, and the approbation of my own conscience." The Attorney-General in replying to the toast, "The health of Her Majesty's Ministers," given by the Lord Mayor, alluded to Mr Montefiore in the following words:--"There could be no more honourable or important office than that of Sheriff, and although Mr Montefiore differed in faith from the established religion, there could be no doubt that he would discharge the duties which devolved on him with equal credit to himself and advantage to the city. He (the Attorney-General) was one of those who thought that the only qualification which should exist for such offices was that the holder should be a good citizen; and he recollected with no small degree of satisfaction, that it was he who had brought in the Bill, a measure that passed through the Legislature by, he might say, the unanimous vote of both Houses of Parliament, which entitled Mr Montefiore to occupy the position he then held. He was happy to say that the ancient prejudices, founded on difference of religious belief, were fast wearing away, and he only hoped the time was at hand when objections on such grounds would altogether cease to operate. It was the desire of Her Majesty's Government to promote such a state of things by all the means in their power; and for his own part, his opinion was that, so far from injuring the Constitution, it would tend materially to uphold and strengthen it." Mr and Mrs Montefiore returned to Park Lane at two o'clock from the inauguration dinner, much pleased with the reception they had met with from their fellow-citizens. CHAPTER XV. 1837. DEATH OF MR MONTEFIORE'S UNCLE--MR MONTEFIORE RIDES IN THE LORD MAYOR'S PROCESSION--IS KNIGHTED--HIS SPEECH AT THE LORD MAYOR'S BANQUET--PRESENTS PETITION ON BEHALF OF THE JEWS TO PARLIAMENT. We may now consider Mr Montefiore as almost entirely occupied with the discharge of the duties of his office as Sheriff. We shall give here the entries he made referring to the subject, some of which are particularly interesting. From the following entry one can form an idea of the way in which he spent his days during his year of office:-- "8.30 A.M., left Park Lane; 9 o'clock, breakfasted at the Old Bailey; 10, attended the Recorder into the Court, was present at a meeting of the subscribers to the Sheriffs' Fund, met the Lord Mayor at the Guildhall, and attended the Hustings. At 12.30 went back to the Old Bailey, had lunch there, re-entered Court, and remained there till near five, then returned to Park Lane. Accompanied by my wife, proceeded at 6.30 to the Mansion House, where we dined with the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, and a very large and elegant party; had music, and singing and dancing; returned home at one o'clock." On the 11th of October Mr Montefiore in his turn gave a dinner to the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, the Sheriffs and Aldermen and their ladies, after which Mrs Montefiore held a reception, which was followed by a concert. The next day he went to Newgate, and saw the prisoners who had just been received. He went through the male and female wards, and spoke to many of the prisoners. He then proceeded to Whitecross Prison, and gave Mr Barrett, the governor, a cheque for £20 for distribution among such cases of distress as he thought most deserving. There are entries in the diary which show that on many occasions Mr Montefiore did not leave the Old Bailey before nine o'clock in the evening. "Sometimes," he remarks, "the duties of Shrievalty cause me much trouble." But however numerous or onerous his duties may have been, they never prevented his leaving the Old Bailey in time to attend Synagogue, on the eve of the Sabbath and festivals, the Judges in Court always, in the most kind manner, giving him permission to do so. About that time one of his near relatives happening to be dangerously ill, he more than once, after having performed the daily duties of his office, and been present at an entertainment which lasted till midnight or later, instead of returning home, proceeded to the house of sickness, where he watched at the bedside of the patient till morning. On Monday, November 6th, his uncle died. "I have always," Mr Montefiore said, "regarded him as a second father, but I must not grieve at his being taken from us, for he is gone to receive the reward of a well-spent life in a better world; very many of his relatives will miss his kind liberality." Mr Montefiore remained with the family that day for a considerable time, but had afterwards to leave them to attend to the necessary preparations for the important day of the 9th of November. If the many thousands of spectators who fill the streets and occupy the balconies and windows on Lord Mayor's day, and witness the glorious institutions of the Livery of the largest and most wealthy city of the world, and to gaze at the magnificent cavalcade preceding the state carriage of the Lord Mayor, think that the Aldermen, Sheriffs, and under-Sheriffs have but to mount their chargers, and be comfortably seated in the saddle, to receive the shouts of approbation from the multitude, they are in error. As the glorious entry of a victorious army on its return from the field of battle requires previous organisation, so as to ensure the perfect regularity of the marching and evolution of each respective battalion, even thus does the entry into the metropolis of the assembly of citizens, almost equal in number to a powerful army, require much previous organisation. Mr Montefiore, in order to prepare himself for the duties he would have to perform at the forthcoming procession, went to Davis' riding school, where he met the Lord Mayor and the Lord Mayor elect, as also most of the Aldermen, Sheriffs, and Court of Common Council. They each had a horse appointed for their use. A troop of artillerymen, with their horses, headed by Colonel Jones, were also present. After trying the horses they went through the plan of the procession, and it was five o'clock before they returned home. On November 7th he called at the Mansion House, attended the Court of Hustings in the Guildhall, went with the Lord Mayor, the Lord Mayor elect, and Mr George Carrol to the Entertainment Committee, and then to Downing Street to see the Lord Chancellor. On finding him absent he went to his house, where he met with a most friendly reception. In the evening he went to the house of his late uncle. While the Lavadores were performing their mournful duties, he and his wife read, in an adjoining room, the prayers which his lamented uncle had selected during his extreme illness. Greatly fatigued, they both returned to Park Lane, with the intention of retiring to rest. They had scarcely been home an hour when Mr Montefiore's colleague, Mr George Carrol, called. The cause of his coming at so late an hour, that gentleman said, was his desire to be the first to inform him that Lord John Russell had that day acquainted the City Remembrancer with his intention of recommending Her Majesty to bestow a baronetcy on the Lord Mayor, and to confer the honour of knighthood on the Sheriffs. "It was very kind," Mr Montefiore said, "of Carrol to come, and to acquaint me with the pleasing news, for which I am very grateful to the Almighty." On Wednesday, the 8th November, he left home soon after eight in the morning, and was at the Mansion House at nine. It was half-past when the Lord Mayor elect made his appearance; there was a large party assembled. At ten they set out in procession for the Guildhall, where Alderman Cowan was sworn into office; the hall was very full. Mr Montefiore introduced Chevalier Benthausen and two Russian noblemen to the Lord Mayor, and then left the hall. He then went to the Alliance Marine, attended the Board of the Alliance Life and Fire Assurance Company, returned to the Guildhall, and thence repaired again to the house of mourning, to attend the funeral of his late uncle. At six he was again at the Mansion House, to be present at the farewell dinner of the retiring Lord Mayor. Many Aldermen, he says, were present; also the companies of the two Lord Mayors. At half-past nine he went for the third time to the mourners to read prayers with them, and afterwards he and his wife took up their quarters for the night at their chambers at the Marine Office in the city. "A very fatiguing day," he says, "and one in which I have seen the last of a dear and near relative. I hope I may imitate his virtues." _Thursday, 9th of November._--"With unspeakable but heartfelt gratitude to the Almighty God," he writes, "I note the occurrences of the day, a day that can never be forgotten by me; it is a proud one: with the exception of the day I had the happiness of dedicating our Synagogue at Ramsgate, and the day of my wedding, the proudest day of my life. I trust the honour conferred by our most gracious Queen on myself and my dear Judith may prove the harbinger of future good to the Jews generally, and though I am sensible of my unworthiness, yet I pray the Almighty to lead and guide me in the proper path, that I may observe and keep His Holy Law. "At half-past eight I went to the Mansion House, at nine set off in grand procession to London Bridge; there I embarked with the Lord Mayor, &c., for Westminster. The new Lord Mayor was presented to the Judges in several Courts. We then returned the same way to the Mansion House. I went to the Marine. My dear Judith was beautifully dressed, but very unwell. We went to the Mansion House, and soon left there in procession. Our state carriage being in advance, I got out at Temple Bar, and the carriage went on with Judith to the Guildhall. I mounted on horseback, with my brother Sheriffs, some Aldermen, and Members of the Common Council. After many of the Royal carriages had passed, we set forward two and two before the Queen. On her arrival in the hall she reposed herself for some time. The Recorder then read the address, to which she replied. The Lord Mayor was introduced, and made a Baronet; the Aldermen were introduced, and then the Sheriffs were knighted, first George Carrol. On my kneeling to the Queen, she placed a sword on my left shoulder and said, 'Rise, Sir Moses.' I cannot express all I felt on this occasion. I had, besides, the pleasure of seeing my banner with 'Jerusalem' floating proudly in the hall. I hope my dear mother will be pleased. The entertainment was most magnificent, but my poor wife dreadfully ill." _Friday, November 10th._--The new knight, now Sir Moses, proceeded to Buckingham Palace to enter his name in the Duchess of Kent's visiting-book. On his return he received numerous visits of congratulation. He then went to the house of the mourners in the city, and also visited his mother. _Saturday, November 11th._--Although Sir Moses might have gone on that day to a place of worship near Park Lane, he preferred walking to the city on the first Sabbath after the honour of knighthood had been conferred upon him, to return thanks to the Almighty in the ancient Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in Bevis Marks, a structure which commemorates the first step towards religious liberty in England, and which had from his earliest days been an object of love and veneration to him. He started from home early in the morning, and joined the congregation before nine o'clock. After service he attended an entertainment given by one of his friends on the occasion of his son attaining his thirteenth year (the age which constitutes religious majority). The remainder of the day he passed in visiting his relatives, and again attending the Synagogue to join in prayers with the mourners. On Sunday, November 12th, he went to Newgate, where he found all well; his colleagues had already been there three hours. He then went to the residences of the Duke of Cambridge, the Princess Sophia Matilda, the Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke of Sussex, the Princess Sophia, and Princess Augusta, and entered his and Lady Montefiore's names in their visitors' books. On his return to Park Lane he dined with his wife, and spent a pleasant evening in reading and writing. "One of our old-fashioned happy East Cliff evenings," he says. On Monday, November 13th, he attended the general meetings of some of his companies, and in the evening dined with the directors of the Imperial Continental Gas Association. The next day he was actively engaged in performing the duties of his office, attending the Lord Mayor at the Court of Hustings, and afterwards making arrangements with his under-Sheriff respecting the invitations for the dinner on the 16th inst. Having sent fifty invitations, and received but twenty-eight tickets, "I passed the whole day," he says, "in a state of much anxiety as to the best mode of acting. At last I have determined to seat the ladies, and send the gentlemen tickets for the Council Chamber, should they be unable to find seats in the hall. I most sincerely hope I may give no offence, as I am sure none was intended; my desire to oblige the family has brought me into this dilemma." On Thursday, the 16th of November, Sir Moses walked to the city in the morning, called at the Alliance, Guildhall, and Mansion House, returning home at two o'clock. A few minutes before four, he and Lady Montefiore started in their state carriage, with the servants in full livery, for the Guildhall. "We called," he says, "at Cavendish Square, and followed Sir George and Lady Carrol in their state carriage to the Guildhall. At five the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress made their appearance long after many of Her Majesty's Ministers had arrived. We sat down to dinner soon after six. The hall presented a splendid appearance; there were between eleven and twelve hundred present, including nearly all the Ambassadors, Ministers, and Judges." The health of the Sheriffs was not drunk till long after the ladies had left the table. Each of them returned thanks, Sir Moses doing so in the following words:-- "My excellent friend and colleague has so fully expressed my sentiments and feelings, that I ought, perhaps, to apologise for trespassing on your attention, but as this is the first time I have had the honour of addressing so large an assembly of distinguished guests and of my fellow-citizens, I cannot resist the temptation of offering you my congratulations on the auspicious event which has distinguished the commencement of our year of office. The recent visit of our most gracious Queen to this ancient hall, the kindness which induced Her Majesty to present herself, at the earliest possible period, to her faithful subjects of this great and opulent city, must have made a deep impression on every heart, must have strongly rooted the feelings of loyalty with which Britons naturally regard their sovereign; and, if I may judge of others by myself, must have awed all emotions save those of fervent hope and prayer, that the reign of our now youthful Queen may be long and peaceful, and that her greatest glories may be connected with the universal education of her subjects, the diffusion of the most comprehensive principles of benevolence, charity, and love--principles which shall unite all in a desire to accomplish the proud wish that England may possess and exercise the great prerogative of teaching other nations how to live. What we have seen is a proof, in my opinion, that we are fairly on our way to the full completion of the wish: for do not the recent events demonstrate to us, and will they not demonstrate far beyond the precincts of our city, that the purest freedom, and the warmest attachment to religion, may co-exist, and may safely co-exist, with the forms of monarchy and with feelings of affection to the sovereign, especially when that sovereign evinces the dispositions which we all recognise in our amiable, youthful, and illustrious Queen? Let, then, other countries boast of natural advantages, denied perhaps to ours, let our pride be in our civil advantages, in the security of our person and property, under a system of law and government which, whatever be its defects--and what is perfect on earth?--is at least as near to perfection as any government that has existed, or does now exist. But I am carried away by my feelings from the main object I had in view in rising to address you. That object was to tender you my thanks, warm from the heart, for the honour you have conferred on myself and colleague. I can sincerely say that the kindness of our fellow-citizens is a full reward for the performance of our duties, and will be a full inducement to devote ourselves cheerfully to the service of those who, unasked, have placed us in a position of so much trust and honour. We feel satisfied that in the performance of our duties we shall not betray the trust reposed in us, nor tarnish the honour of the Corporation. No; it will be our pride and pleasure to enhance the dignity of our office, in order that the distinction it confers may be more and more an object of laudable ambition to the most worthy and opulent of our fellow-citizens. Connected with the Corporation by high office, I feel a deep interest in its prosperity; and I pray that it may long exist to prove that popular corporate institutions are a bulwark to the throne, while they offer to the people a security for the preservation of their laws, and pure administration of justice." Sir Moses was much pleased with the manifest approbation of the sentiments he expressed. "Lord Glenelg," he says, "spoke in a very friendly manner with me, as did the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The Vice-Chancellor also made a very complimentary speech, saying he hoped to see me enjoy high city honours." Most of the time of Sir Moses was now occupied in the discharge of the duties imposed on him by his office, which included his attendance at numerous meetings, dinners, and balls. Some of them are recorded in the diary. In making an entry of the Polish ball, which took place on the 21st of November, he says: "We left home at nine o'clock, and got to the Guildhall with great care between eleven and twelve. The hall was crowded, and presented a splendid appearance. There were above 2500 people present, including the Lord Mayor, the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, Miss Burdett-Coutts, Mr P. M. Stewart, Lord Dudley Coutts Stewart, &c. All were most friendly. In consequence of the absence of the Lady Mayoress, Lady Carrol and my wife did the honours. It was quite a fairy scene; I never saw anything like it before, and I daresay it will be some time before we again witness so brilliant an assembly. Before the hall became crowded, I was much pleased with the effect of my crest and arms, which had been chalked in colours on the floor, the crest with the word 'Jerusalem' in Hebrew being nearest the throne." From the hall of splendour our attention is directed to the home of misery. We find him next visiting the Whitecross Street Prison. "I went," he says, "over the whole building, and found 428 unfortunate individuals confined within its walls. The men's wards were very unclean, but the women's extremely clean; there were only twenty-four females. The day rooms of the male prisoners were crowded with visitors. The prisoners were in good health, not more than seventeen in the infirmary, and all only slight cases of cold." On Monday, the 27th of November, he went at half-past eight in his state carriage to the Mansion House, and at 9.30 he and his colleague accompanied the Lord Mayor, in grand state, to open the first session in his Lordship's mayoralty at the Old Bailey. On the 29th he attended a meeting of the Deputies of British Jews, and a sub-committee was appointed to endeavour to get Mr Baines--the originator of a Bill for the purpose of altering the declaration contained in the Act 9 George IV., cap. 17, to be made by persons on their admission to municipal offices--to obtain an extension of its provisions to the Jews. The Bill, as it then stood, limited the indulgence to Quakers and Moravians. When, on the following day, the Lord Mayor, accompanied by the Sheriffs, attended the meeting of the first Common Council, Mr David Salamons presented a petition, calling on the Court to petition both the Houses of Parliament to amend Mr Baines' Bill. "Charles Pearson," Sir Moses says, "proposed the motion, which was carried unanimously." On the 3rd of December, Sir Moses was particularly requested by Mr David Salamons, to go with him to H.R.H. the Duke of Sussex, to inform him of their intentions respecting Mr Baines' Bill; but His Royal Highness was not well enough to see them. On the same day, Barons Lionel and Nathaniel Rothschild called on Sir Moses, to say that Sir Robert Peel had appointed the following Monday to see a deputation of the Jews. In accordance with that appointment they called, with Mr David Salamons, on Sir Moses, the next day at the Old Bailey, and requested him to go with them to Sir Robert Peel; but, as it was expected that the Recorder would pass the sentences at twelve, he could not leave the Courts. The Recorder, however, did not make his appearance till three o'clock, and then made great difficulty before permitting him and Sir George Carrol to go to the House of Commons with the petition, positively refusing to allow their under-Sheriffs to accompany them, under the penalty of a fine. At about five o'clock Sir Moses and Sir George Carrol proceeded in their state carriages with their servants to the Guildhall for the Remembrancer, who went with them to the House of Commons with the three petitions. On entering the House, led by the Sergeant-at-Arms with the Mace, the Speaker said: "Sir George Carrol and Sir Moses Montefiore, what have you there?" "A petition from the Lord Mayor and Common Council to the Honourable House," replied Sir George. "You may withdraw," returned the Speaker. They then withdrew in the same manner as they had advanced, bowing three times. They took their seats under the gallery, and listened to the debate on Mr Baines' Bill. "I very much regret," Sir Moses says, "that we, the Jews, allowed the House to divide." A week later, on December 10th, after having gone over every part of Newgate Prison, and spoken with the prisoners, both male and female, he called, on his way back to Park Lane, on Dr Sims at Cavendish Square, to inform him that Lord John Russell would see that the Jews were relieved from the effect of the resolution passed by the London University, as to the examination of candidates for the degree of Bachelor of Arts, &c. He then accompanied Messrs Isaac Cohen and David Salamons to Kensington. The Duke of Sussex saw them immediately, and was most kind. He approved of the Jews getting a Bill into the House of Commons to relieve them from the declaration on taking municipal offices, but not before the Bill relieving the Quakers had passed the Lords. On Sunday, 17th December, he wrote a letter to Lord Melbourne to solicit the honour of an interview, previously to the Municipal Corporation Declaration Bill going into Committee. In the course of an hour his Lordship sent him a note in his own handwriting, saying he would be glad to see him the next day at half-past three, at Downing Street. Sir Moses immediately communicated with Messrs David Salamons and I. L. Goldsmid, and requested them to accompany him there on the following day. Agreeably to this intimation they were at the appointed time in Downing Street. Lord Melbourne received them at once, the Marquis of Lansdowne being with him. Both of them, Sir Moses says, were very polite, but gave them to understand that they could not include the Jews in the present Bill, as they would not be able to carry it through the Lords. On the same day he was officially informed of his having been elected President for the year of the Jews' Free School, but the duties of the Shrievalty prevented his accepting the honour. After calling at Newgate and Whitecross Street Prison, and speaking to all the prisoners, he attended at Doctors Commons to administer the will of his late uncle. On December 19th he wrote a letter to Mr Alteston, Master of the Merchant Taylors' Company, offering to give £50 as a prize to the best Hebrew scholar in the Company's schools, as a token of his appreciation of the benevolence of the Company. The diary of the year 1837 concludes with an entry referring to a banquet given at the London Coffee House by the Commercial Travellers' Society, under the presidency of Sir Chapman Marshall, at which Sir Moses was present. Two hundred persons sat down to table, among whom £1200 was collected for the benefit of the institution. This entry is followed by an account of a narrow escape of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. "We have been much alarmed," he writes, "by some person firing a pistol at us, near Welling, on the road from Rochester to London; happily it missed both horses and carriage; the postboy was much frightened." CHAPTER XVI. 1838. DESTRUCTION OF THE ROYAL EXCHANGE--CITY TRADITIONS--"JEWS' WALK"--SIR MOSES DINES AT LAMBETH PALACE. The diary of 1838, like that of the preceding year, abounds in descriptions of Sir Moses' official duties, as well as records of events. _January 11th._--Early in the morning, before he was dressed, Sir Moses was informed that the Royal Exchange had been burnt down in the night. He at once rode to the Alliance, and found the news true; only the walls of the Exchange were still standing. "I called at the Mansion House," he says, "and accompanied a deputation of the Gresham Company to see the ruins; the loss of books, papers, and securities is said to be immense. In the evening I repaired again to the Mansion House to attend a Court of Aldermen, which sat till after ten. It was a full meeting; the Town Clerk and all the Law Officers of the city were present. There were long and grave discussions respecting the making of a new city seal, the old one, as it was thought, having been destroyed in the fire at the Royal Exchange." On January 14th he was present at a meeting of the Elders of his community at Bevis Marks. The resignation of the Deputies was received, and a resolution passed, that "for the future Deputies be elected by the Elders and seat-holders, generally known by the appellation of 'Yehidim,' and out of either body." After the meeting he called at Newgate, and went over the female wards and the infirmary. It may interest some of my readers to hear that the ancient custom of presenting each of the Sheriffs with three does by the Crown is still kept up. When Sir Moses was told that those intended for him were at Richmond, he sent a person (authorised by the Ecclesiastical Board) to kill the does in accordance with the Jewish custom, and then distribute them among his friends. He attended the first dinner given by the new Lord Mayor at the Mansion House on the 16th. The next day he dined at the London Tavern with the City Committee for General Purposes, and in the evening was present at a ball for the benefit of the Watch and Clock Makers' Institution. On the 19th, Sir Moses, in his turn, gave a dinner to the Vice-Chancellor, and there were also present, Sir L. Shadwell and Lady Shadwell, the Common Sergeant and his wife, Sir John Conroy and his daughters, Mr J. A. Curtis and his daughters, the Baron and Baroness de Rothschild, Baron Nathaniel and Baroness Louisa de Rothschild, and many other guests of distinction. The following extracts from the diaries show the nature of Sir Moses' multifarious duties at this time:-- "_February 2nd._--Was sworn in as Commissioner of the London Lieutenancy, consisting mostly of the Court of Aldermen and their deputies, the Directors of the Bank of England and of the East India Company. "_February 5th._--Proceeded with my colleague, the City Remembrancer, and Alderman Venables to the House of Commons, to present two petitions; one respecting the night watch, and the other respecting a new street from Farringdon Street. "_February 6th._--Attended the meeting of the sub-committees of the several Synagogues at 7 P.M. It was within a few minutes of twelve when the meeting broke up. "_February 14th._--Attended the Queen's levee. Was presented to Her Majesty by Lord John Russell, and had the honour of kissing hands, after which I drove to my mother, that she might see the state carriage and liveries. "_February 16th._--Present at the Court of Common Council, where they voted the freedom of the City of London to Mr Stephenson, the American Minister, to be presented to him in a gold box of the value of 100 guineas. The following evening I went to Kensington Palace to a soiree given by the Duke of Sussex to the members of the Royal Society. The rooms were crowded. Spoke with a great many persons I knew, Mr Spring-Rice, the Dean of Chester, and others." _February 22nd._--On the occasion of the funeral of a friend which he attended, Sir Moses observes: "It was a funeral such as I much approve. I think no funeral should have more than eight mourning coaches, and the coachmen should wear neither cloaks nor bands; in fact, in my opinion, the less pomp on such an occasion the better." In the evening he dined at the London Orphan Society; "took my own cold beef," he says. The Duke of Cambridge presided. The collection amounted to £1960. _February 27th._--After having been occupied all day with the duties of his office, he went in the evening to a meeting of Conference of all the Synagogues, to consider the subject of the constitution of the new Board of Deputies. "There was a full meeting," he says, "and we remained in debate till after eleven o'clock. The conference was carried on in the most friendly manner; and, with some alterations, the resolutions of the Great Synagogue were agreed to." I give these entries referring to the Board of Deputies in the interest of those of my readers of the Hebrew community in England who may wish to trace the development and progress of that institution. The 13th of March is a day which will be remembered with much gratification by the promoters of civil and religious liberty. The occurrence noted in the diary will always remind them of the lesson, never to neglect an opportunity of serving a good cause when it presents itself. When returning, in company with the Lord Mayor and Sir George Carrol, from the Court of Hustings to the place where the words "Jews' Walk" were written up, Sir Moses mentioned to the Lord Mayor that many persons had complained that, in these enlightened times, the walls of the Guildhall should be disgraced by such a mark of intolerance as the tablet bearing the above inscription. The Lord Mayor very kindly ordered it to be taken down immediately. The same tablet was subsequently given to Sir Moses by the Lord Mayor, and is now preserved in Lady Montefiore's Theological College in Ramsgate as a souvenir of bygone times. March 16th records an instance of the danger to which, as Sheriff, he was sometimes exposed in the discharge of his official duties, as also his sympathy with others who equally endangered their lives in the service of the Livery. Sir Moses attended on that day a Committee of Criminal Justice, and accompanied them all over the gaol; later he and his colleague had to be present at the inquest on a prisoner who had died of fever. "I am sorry to say," he remarks, "that something like typhoid fever is prevailing in the prison; the matrons and turnkeys are greatly alarmed." On his return home he sent a dozen of port to the keeper of Newgate and a dozen to the matron. Wishing for a day's repose, he and Lady Montefiore repaired to their favourite spot, Smithambottom. "The appearance of the Red Lion" (the inn in which they usually took up their abode), he says, "we found much altered for the worse. The house, its inmates, and furniture, all wear a decayed look; they have very little custom there. Caroline Paget, daughter of Pearce the landlord, having heard of our arrival, came immediately to see us. She is also much altered; time, poverty, and care have made sad havoc with her appearance. Fourteen years have passed since we were last in Pearce's house, and we viewed the place with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain. In spite of the gloom of the house, I dearly like the place, and shall be most grateful to Providence to be permitted the enjoyment of frequent walks over the Downs. But we must see what we can do for the Pearces." He assisted both father and daughter by providing for their immediate wants, and, on his return to town, procured, not without great personal exertion, a presentation to the Blue Coat School for Caroline Paget's daughter. As President of the Jews' Free School, Sir Moses took the chair at a dinner given at the London Tavern in aid of that Institution. He was supported on his right and left by Sir George Carrol, Mr T. A. Curtis, the Governor of the Bank; Mr M. Attwood, M. P.; Mr David Salamons, Mr Jno. Alteston, Mr Edward Fletcher, Mr T. M. Pearce, Mr Aston Key, Mr Nugent Daniel, Mr F. H. Goldsmid, Mr B. Cohen, Mr Isaac Cohen, Mr Under-Sheriff Wire, and a large company of friends. Some excellent addresses were delivered by Sir Moses and others of the gentlemen present. In the entry he made of the proceedings, he observes, "I did my best, and had the pleasure to find the company was satisfied, for £841 was collected." It was nearly twelve when he left the London Tavern in company with Sir George Carrol, and went to Hanover Square Rooms, where they met their ladies at the Polish ball. On the 3rd of April he was summoned to the Guildhall to a Court of Lieutenancy to take the oath and subscribe to the Declaration; but he could not do so, and therefore did not attend. In the evening he was present at the Conference of the Deputies from all the Synagogues, who, he says, would not agree to reconsider their former resolution. On April 4th Lady Montefiore had a narrow escape from what might have proved a most serious accident. She had promised to dine with her sister, Mrs Hannah de Rothschild (Sir Moses, owing to his official duties, was unable to accompany her). While driving to Piccadilly the horses took fright, broke the pole and harness, and much injured the carriage. Fortunately no one was hurt. The next day Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore attended the Queen's Drawing-Room, accompanied by Sir George and Lady Carrol, Mr and Mrs Maynard, and Mr and Mrs Wire, all in their state carriages. The ladies of the party were presented by the Marchioness of Lansdowne. The Queen and the Duchess of Kent were most gracious to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. On April 9th he writes: "I was at the Old Bailey at 8.30, and breakfasted at nine; attended the Common-Sergeant into the New Court; at ten I attended the Chief-Justice Tindall to the Old Court. The Common-Sergeant having left the New Court, I accompanied Baron Parke into it. Being the eve of Passover, I had to my regret to leave the Old Bailey at five o'clock. It caused great inconvenience, there being a judge in each Court, and most important trials being on, not likely to be finished before to-morrow evening." It was the duty of the Sheriffs to attend on the following day, first at the Old Bailey, then on the Lord Mayor in state at the Court of Aldermen, to witness the swearing in of the new Alderman (Magnay), then to accompany him in state to the Mansion House to dine with his Lordship and a large party. On the following Monday and Tuesday he had again to attend the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress in state to receive the Blue Coat boys at the Mansion House, then to be present at a sermon at the Hospital, and to return and dine with the Lord Mayor, the Aldermen, &c., it being Easter Monday, a public day. They were also expected on the following morning again to breakfast at the Mansion House. Sir Moses, however, observes, "My duty to God, and my respect for our holy religion, are above all other duties, and I must give up my official occupations for these days," a resolve which he acted upon. After having attended the levee of the Queen, which was held on Wednesday, 2nd May, Sir Moses proceeded to the London Tavern to be present at the anniversary festival of the City of London School for the benefit of the children of the indigent, under the presidency of the Duke of Wellington. There was a very large and representative gathering, and the amount collected and handed to His Grace, including the steward's fines, was £1320. _Thursday, May 3rd._--Sir Moses attended a state dinner, which the Lord Mayor gave the judges, at the Mansion House. The entries continue as follows:-- _Monday, May 7th._--Presided at the dinner of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew Schools; 120 persons were present, and Mr Samuel Gurney addressed the assembly before the children left. _May 9th._--Attended a meeting at the City of London Tavern for the abolition of slavery, and in the evening joined Sir George Carrol at a dinner of the City Dispensary, given at the same place. The same evening he also went to Lady Cottenham's party. _May 10th._--Dined with the Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy. It was a very large assembly, and Sir Moses' donations amounted to £44. Mr Justice Parke introduced him to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who most politely invited him for Tuesday, the 22nd inst. _May 14th._--Gave a grand dinner at Park Lane to the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress, Sir George and Lady Carrol, and the Aldermen. Several friends and relatives were also present at this dinner. _May 15th._--Attended the Court of Hustings, and at Sir Moses' request the Lord Mayor consented to adjourn it over the 29th inst., to enable him to go to Ramsgate for the holy days. He went to the Old Bailey, and in the evening was present at the anniversary dinner in aid of the Magdalen Hospital, Mr Justice Parke being in the chair. He was informed that the Sheriffs had received the "entrée" from the Duke of Argyll during their Shrievalty. _Thursday, May 17th._--Sir George and Lady Carrol came in their state carriage to Park Lane, in order to go with Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to the Queen's Drawing-Room. This being the Queen's birthday, the Drawing-Room was very crowded, and the ladies had some difficulty in reaching the palace. It was five o'clock when they returned to Park Lane. Sir Moses then called at Buckingham Palace, where he placed his and Lady Montefiore's name in the Duchess of Kent's visitors' book. In the evening he dined with Lord John Russell, and there met the Lord Chancellor, the Judges, the Master of the Rolls, Lord Morpeth, the City members, the Lord Mayor, and his colleague as Sheriff. Afterwards he attended, with Lady Montefiore, the Marchioness of Lansdowne's party. "Nothing," he observes, "could have been more splendid." _Friday, May 18th._--At five o'clock he went to a dinner at the Mansion House, given by the Lord Mayor to the Bishops. There were sixteen bishops present, besides several aldermen, the sheriffs, and about half-a-dozen ladies. The Bishop of Exeter asked for an introduction to Sir Moses, and was extremely civil to him. After six the company adjourned to the dining-room, but Sir Moses withdrew and returned to Park Lane, it being near the time for the commencement of Sabbath. _Monday, May 21st._--He went in full court dress, in his state carriage, with his servants in full state liveries, to dine at Lambeth Palace with the Archbishop of Canterbury. On his way he called for the Recorder, who went with him. "It is impossible," says Sir Moses, "to describe the magnificence and splendour of the palace, and equally so the great kindness and urbanity shown to me by the Primate. About forty sat down to table, including the Duke of Sussex, the Duke of Cambridge, Prince George, several Bishops, the Lord Mayor, John Capel, Jno. Alteston, and many Aldermen. The Duke of Sussex told me he would send me an invitation for the 30th inst. After dinner I requested of his Royal Highness a card for my dear wife and Lady Carrol, which he kindly promised me. The Recorder returned home with me, appearing much pleased at the reception he had met with." CHAPTER XVII. 1838. ANOTHER PETITION TO PARLIAMENT--SIR MOSES INTERCEDES SUCCESSFULLY FOR THE LIFE OF A CONVICT--DEATH OF LADY MONTEFIORE'S BROTHER. _Wednesday, May 23rd._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore drove to Kensington Palace, and put their names in the visitors' book of the Duke of Sussex; they then called on the Archbishop of Canterbury and left cards there. In the evening Sir Moses attended the anniversary dinner of the North London University Hospital, Lord Brougham in the chair. "I sat next to him on his right," he writes. "There was a large collection, Mr I. L. Goldsmid alone bringing £200." _Thursday, May 24th._--The two Sheriffs proceeded in their state carriages to the Guildhall to attend a meeting of the Common Council. In the afternoon they drove to the House of Commons, and presented two petitions respecting the rebuilding of the Royal Exchange and the registering of voters. At five they sat down to a dinner at Bellamy's, having invited several members, Sir Matthew Wood being in the chair. Sir Moses returned to Park Lane at seven o'clock, and then accompanied Lady Montefiore to an entertainment given by one of their relatives. _Friday, May 25th._--He again went to the House of Commons with his colleague, and presented a petition from the city, returning to Park Lane before the commencement of Sabbath. _May 26th._--In the morning Sir Moses walked to the St Alban's Synagogue, and on his way back called on Mr N. M. de Rothschild. On the evening of the same day he attended the anniversary meeting of the Society for the management and distribution of the Literary Fund, the Marquis of Lansdowne in the chair, supported by the Marquis of Northampton, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and many literary celebrities, including Thomas Moore, Bulwer, and Dickens. The President paid the Sheriffs a handsome compliment in proposing their healths. Messrs Rothschild had requested Sir Moses to give £20 in their names, which, he remarked, was extremely well received. _May 27th._--He went in the forenoon to the Vestry of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew Community, it being the day appointed for the election of their Deputies. The ballot was to close at three o'clock, and he was subsequently told that he had been elected. _May 28th._--On his way to the city Sir Moses called on his colleague, and gave him an invitation he had received from the Duke of Sussex for himself and Lady Carrol. They then went to the Lord Mayor and invited him to take the chair at their dinner on the 13th June, at the Merchant Taylors' Hall, which he agreed to do. Sir Moses writes: "He had not yet received his invitation from the Duke of Sussex, and seemed rather uneasy about it." _May 30th._--As this was the first day of the Pentecost Festival, Sir Moses walked to the city, and attended service in the Synagogue there. On his return to Park Lane he walked with Lady Montefiore to the King's Arms, Kensington, where they had taken rooms the day before, and where they found a cold collation spread for them. This last, as well as both their court dresses, had been conveyed there from Park Lane on the preceding day. "From our sitting-room," Sir Moses writes, "we had an excellent view of the company going to the palace, as well as of the Queen and her attendants in three royal carriages, escorted by a troop of Horse Guards. After ten o'clock dear Judith went to the palace in a sedan chair, and I walked there. There were many hundred carriages, and thousands of persons. The appearance of the rooms, galleries, and company was magnificent beyond description. The Duke of Sussex received the company, and spoke very kindly to Judith and myself. In the second chamber Lady Cecilia Underwood was at the door, and greeted us most kindly. The Queen was also in this room, and near to her the Duchess of Kent and the other members of the Royal Family. On our making our bow to the Queen, she smiled most graciously, and the Duchess left her side, came out of the circle, and spoke to us. She said she was pleased to see us, and enquired whether we had lately been to Ramsgate. This was a most distinguished honour, and we were highly gratified with the same. We remained at the palace till one o'clock, then returned in same way as we came to the hotel. We changed our dresses and walked home, where we arrived dreadfully fatigued, but highly delighted with our reception." _Wednesday, June 6th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to Richmond, where they met the Duke of Cambridge whilst walking in the gardens. He came up and spoke to them, and was extremely polite. The Duke was walking with the Bishop of Winchester, who had come to Richmond to preside at some charitable meeting. Sir Moses only learned after he and Lady Montefiore had left the gardens the purpose for which the Bishop was there, so he returned and begged to be allowed to contribute his mite, giving at the same time £10, with which they seemed greatly pleased. On Thursday, June 7th, he had to be present in his official robes at St Paul's Cathedral; Lady Montefiore was with him. "We witnessed," he says, "the most splendid of sights: nearly six thousand charity children, and double that number of poor men and women. The Duke of Cambridge, Lord Eldon, the Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, and many others were present. Later in the day Sir George Carrol and I attended the anniversary dinner of the Society of Patrons of Charity Schools. The Lord Mayor was in the chair, and the Bishop of Rochester on his right, the latter being extremely civil to me and speaking in the most friendly manner. Sir Frederick Pollock, who was on my left, made a beautiful speech: he said he had been educated at St Paul's School and sent thence to college, after leaving which he had been obliged to work hard, his talents being the only patrimony he possessed." _Friday, June 8th._--Sir Moses attended the Queen's levee. "Her Majesty," he writes, "appeared in very good spirits; nearly all the company wore stars, orders, or ribbons." _June 11th._--He dined at the Merchant Taylors' Hall. There were present the Duke of Cambridge, Prince George, the Archbishop of Armagh, the Bishop of Exeter, Lord Londonderry, and many other noblemen--in all, about two hundred. Several ladies were in the gallery, Lady Montefiore among the number. _June 13th._--Sir Moses attended a meeting at the City of London Tavern, for the benefit of the London Fever Hospital; Lord Devon in the chair. It was not well attended, but the collection was good. He was afterwards present at a dinner given by the Sheriffs to the Judges. Justice Allan Parke sat next to him, and the Vice-Chancellor next to Sir George Carrol, who was in the chair. _Friday, June 15th._--Sir Moses left home at twelve o'clock in his state carriage, the servants in full livery, and himself in black court dress, sword and chain. He called on the Recorder, who accompanied him to the Mansion House, where a luncheon was prepared. At one o'clock the Lord Mayor in his half-state carriage with four horses and outriders, the Sheriffs in their state carriages, and some of the Aldermen in theirs, set out in procession for the Swan Tavern, Stratford. They held there a Court of Conservancy for the county of Essex, after which they proceeded to Blackwall, and crossed the water in the city state barge, which was decorated in grand style with banners and flags. At four they held a Court for the county of Kent, at the Crown and Sceptre, and dined there. _June 19th._--Sir Moses accompanied the Common Sergeant to the Court at the Old Bailey, after which he attended the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House, and proceeded in state to the Borough Town Hall, where a Court of Conservancy was held for the county of Surrey. Thence the procession moved on towards the Swan Hotel, near Westminster Bridge, where a Court was held for the county of Middlesex. "Afterwards," says Sir Moses, "we drove to the city, and I left the Recorder at the Old Bailey. Then I joined the Lord Mayor and Sir George Carrol, and held a Court of Hustings." _Thursday, June 21st._--After spending the morning at the Old Bailey, he went with Lady Montefiore to the Queen's Drawing-Room, Sir George and Lady Carrol accompanying them in their state carriage. On June 22nd Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to Ramsgate for a few days, where they celebrated the anniversary of the dedication of their Synagogue, and that of their wedding day, returning three days later to London. The time having arrived for the election of Sheriffs for the ensuing year, Sir Moses went in his state carriage to the Mansion House, thence in procession with the Lord Mayor in his state carriage (drawn by six horses with six footmen walking before him) and Sir George Carrol in his state equipage, to the Guildhall. "About six hundred of the Livery were present," he says, "and the show of hands was in favour of Josiah Wilson and A. Moore, but a poll was demanded for Alderman Johnson and Thomas Ward." _Tuesday, June 26th._--The Recorder passed the sentences at the Old Bailey, and "Thanks to heaven!" Sir Moses exclaims, "the Sessions ended at one o'clock." The numbers at the close of the poll for sheriffs that day were: Ward, 450; Wilson, 479; Johnson, 479; and Moore, 429. In the evening Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore dined with the Vice-Chancellor and Lady Shadwell, where they met Lady and Miss Denman, Baron and Baroness Bolland, and Justice Coleridge. _June 27th._--Sir Moses attended a meeting of the Common Council, where it was resolved to invite the foreign Ministers to a dinner at the Guildhall. On returning home in the evening he found the park sparkling with lamps from booths and tents, erected in preparation for the coronation festival. He at once gave orders to have the balcony of his house propped and got ready for the illumination. "The park," he writes, "was all life and bustle, brilliantly illuminated, and the booths thronged with people. I understand that dancing was carried on in most of the booths, and that refreshments of all kinds and qualities were to be had." _June 30th._--Lord John Russell gave a grand dinner on this day to the Lord Chancellor, the judges, the members for the city of London, and the Sheriffs. Being Sabbath, Sir Moses did not accept the invitation, but called there and left his card. During the day, he and Lady Montefiore walked in the park, and were much amused by the fair. Afterwards they watched the scene from their drawing-room window. Thousands of people took part in the amusements, and as soon as it was dark, the whole park was again brilliantly illuminated. On the 13th Sir Moses had to attend an entertainment at the Guildhall, given by the Corporation to distinguished foreigners, and representatives of sovereigns at the coronation. The Duke of Sussex and many others of the highest nobility were present, but Sir Moses only remained there until they were seated at dinner, and then left in his state carriage. _July 17th._--Accompanied by his Under-Sheriff, Mr Wire, and Mr Maynard, he went to the Home Office to intercede on behalf of a prisoner named Rickie. The man was a soldier, who had always borne an excellent character, but, in a state of drunkenness, had fired at an officer and killed him. Rickie had been condemned and sentenced to death. Sir Moses and his friends were soon admitted to an audience with Lord John Russell, to whom they fully explained the subject. His Lordship said he would like to see them again. _Wednesday, July 18th._--Sir Moses went in full state to the Queen's levee, calling on his way at Cavendish Square for Sir George Carrol. "It was very splendid," he writes. "The Queen looked very happy and beautiful; she was most gracious, as was also the Duke of Sussex." On his return home he went with Lady Montefiore to a splendid fête at Gunnersbury Park, the seat of the Baroness Rothschild. About five hundred persons were present, including foreign Princes of distinction, the Ambassadors, the Duke of Sussex, Prince George of Cambridge, the Duchess of Cambridge, the Dukes of Wellington and Somerset, and most of the highest nobility of the land. The proceedings commenced with a concert, at which several great artistes, including Grisi, Lablache, Tamburini, and Rubini performed. This was succeeded by a déjeuner, and in the evening a grand ball was given in a magnificent tent erected for the purpose. The gardens were illuminated with six thousand variegated lamps. The company remained until near midnight, all the guests complimenting the Rothschild family most highly on their taste and hospitality. _Saturday, July 21st._--Sir Moses went by appointment to the Home Office, and had an interview with Lord John Russell and Mr Phillips, Sir George Carrol, Mr Maynard, and Mr Clark being also present. His Lordship informed them that he had "consulted the legal advisers of the Crown, and they had decided that Rickie's sentence could not be commuted. The Sheriffs must therefore fix the day for his execution." _Monday, July 23d._--The Prince and Princess of Schwarzenberg invited Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to a breakfast at Richmond, which Sir Moses describes as a magnificent fête. "On our arrival at the Castle," he says, "Prince Esterhazy, at Lady Montefiore's request, very kindly introduced us to the Princess of Schwarzenberg, our beautiful hostess. I never witnessed a more splendid party. In the evening seven hundred sat down to dinner, and there was every luxury that could be imagined. The Princess walked round the rooms to see that all her guests were seated comfortably before she would take her own seat. The Duke of Sussex, the Duchess of Cambridge, Prince George and Princess Mary of Cambridge, all the foreign Princes in London, and great part of the English nobility were present. The gardens were beautifully illuminated, and a grand display of fireworks concluded the entertainment. It was near midnight when we left, but the place was so crowded that we had great difficulty in reaching the hotel where we had taken rooms." _Tuesday, July 24th._--After the enjoyment of the previous day's fête came a day of great sorrow for them, Lady Montefiore sustaining a severe loss in the death of her brother, Mr Joseph Cohen. This occurrence caused the deepest grief to herself and every member of the family. On the same day Sir Moses was obliged to attend at Newgate to speak with Rickie, a reprieve having, after all, been sent to him by Lord John Russell. _Thursday, July 26th._--Sir Moses went to the funeral of his brother-in-law, while Lady Montefiore remained with the ladies of the family. The funeral was largely attended by friends and relatives, Mr Cohen having been highly esteemed by all who knew him. Sir Moses had then to interview 142 prisoners at Newgate, which occupied him three hours. Having fulfilled this duty, he returned to the house of the mourners, where he was present at evening prayers. He remained there with Lady Montefiore till ten o'clock. _Monday, July 30th._--Sir Moses accompanied Mr Pearce to the House of Lords, and was present at the Committee on the Royal Exchange Bill; the clause affecting the Alliance was not inserted in the Bill. _Tuesday, July 31st._--This being a fast-day, in memory of the destruction of the Temple at Jerusalem, he attended the service held in Prescot Street at the residence of the late Mr Cohen. He remained there till twelve o'clock, when prayers were concluded. He then walked to the Guildhall, and attended the Court of Hustings with the Lord Mayor and Sir George Carrol, this being the last that these two Sheriffs would hold. Subsequently he attended the Court of Aldermen, the Irish Bank, and the Alliance Marine Office. At seven o'clock he again repaired to Prescot Street, where he joined the mourners and a large congregation in the recital of evening prayers, after which they all broke the fast, and enjoyed a good breakfast. The reader will no doubt feel surprised at the amount of work Sir Moses was able to accomplish on a fast-day, when for twenty-four hours neither a crumb of bread nor a drop of water passed his lips; but we shall yet have many other instances of his extraordinary powers of endurance. The next day, August 1st, we find him at a public gathering which took place at the London Tavern. The meeting was called to consider the erection of a public monument as a memorial of the achievements of Lord Nelson. The Duke of Wellington was in the chair, and the great room was crowded to overflowing. The amount collected was about £300, of which Sir Moses gave £15, 15s., in addition to £5 which he had given previously. _Friday, August 3rd._--He visited Whitecross Street Prison and Newgate. He there met Lady Harriet de Blanquiere of Hampton Court Palace. She had seen Rickie, and expressed a hope that his sentence might be commuted to transportation. The 4th of August of this year was an important day for Sir Moses, as the prospect of a speedy release from his official duties as Sheriff enabled him to make the following entry in his diary. "Now," he writes, "with the blessing of the Almighty we will commence preparations for revisiting the Holy Land." _Sunday, August 12th._--The first meeting of the new Board of Deputies of British Jews taking place on this day, Sir Moses attended as President. He appears to have apprehended some difficulty in managing the new Board. _Wednesday, August 29th._--At eight o'clock in the morning he left home for the Old Bailey. He and his colleague accompanied the Recorder and Alderman Sir C. Marshall into Court at nine, when sentence was pronounced on several prisoners. "A most solemn and affecting scene," Sir Moses remarks. "Sir J. Carrol and I went into the prison, and spoke with most of them afterwards. We then went to the Alliance, and from there to 4 Canonbury Place, to intercede with two ladies who had prosecuted their servant for robbery, but they gave her such a bad character that we could not further interfere." CHAPTER XVIII. 1838. BARTHOLOMEW FAIR--SIR MOSES EARNS THE THANKS OF THE CITY--PREPARATIONS FOR A SECOND JOURNEY TO THE HOLY LAND--THE JOURNEY--ADVENTURES ON ROAD AND RIVER IN FRANCE. On Monday, September 3rd, Sir Moses went in full state to join his colleague, and proceeded with him to the Mansion House. The Lord Mayor, in his state coach, drawn by six horses, and preceded by a body of police, went with the Sheriffs, and the City Marshal on horseback, to Smithfield, and proclaimed "Bartholomew Fair." Sir Moses observes, "There were not so many booths and shows as in former years, but all were crowded to excess." _Thursday, September 13th._--He attended the dedication of the new Synagogue at Great St Helens. "It is," he says, "a most splendid edifice, and does the greatest credit to all concerned in the building. The music and psalms on the occasion were very similar to those used at the dedication of my own Synagogue at Ramsgate." The following day he and Lady Montefiore went to spend a couple of days at Gunnersbury with their sister, Mrs N. M. de Rothschild. In the entry he makes of the Sabbath, Sir Moses writes: "We all assembled in the library, where Louise Rothschild read the Sabbath morning service aloud exceedingly well. At three o'clock we lunched, and then walked in the garden, after which we re-entered the house and recited the afternoon prayers. About eight we were seated at dinner. There were twenty-four at table, including the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince George and the Princess Mary, two foreign princes with a lady, and Col. Jones, who accompanied them. There were also present Sir C. Bagot, Lord and Lady Cawdor, and Miss Wellesley, Baron Bulow, Monsieur Didel, and Lady Maryborough. The entertainment, or rather the Banquet, was magnificent, and the guests did not leave till after eleven. Wester on the guitar, and Benedict on the piano, amused the company at the conclusion of the dinner, and Louise sang one song beautifully. We left about twelve and returned home." _Tuesday, September 18th._--"My dear Judith," he writes, "with the Baronesses Charlotte, Anselm, and Lionel de Rothschild, came to the Session House at three o'clock, and sat on the bench till near five, but no trial of interest took place. A few minutes later I joined the dinner in the hall, as it was the last time I should have to visit the Old Bailey in my capacity as Sheriff of London and Middlesex. There were present: Alderman Lawson, in the chair; Common-Sergeant S. Arabin, Ed. Blount, John Masterman, Henry Alexander, Matthias Attwood, H. de Castro, G. H. Mine, Mr Maynard, Mr Wire, Sir George Carrol, and two or three others. It was a most pleasant party; a kind of leave-taking dinner, and the Sheriffs had the gratification of hearing that their conduct during their year of office had given general satisfaction. It was impossible to leave the room without a feeling of regret at parting from very pleasant acquaintances whom we were so little likely to see again. Very quickly has the year flown away, with its pleasures and fatigues, leaving only the satisfaction of having accomplished our arduous duties to the best of our abilities." _Wednesday, September 19th._--He went early to the Old Bailey, and breakfasted there, as he had generally done during the year when his attendance was required. "These early repasts," he observes, "have been, without exception, most comfortable; although they preceded long days of confinement in a hot and close court, they have left pleasing remembrances of the many marks of attention and kindness shown to me by the city Judges who used to join these early meals." After this, his last breakfast there, he accompanied Lady Carrol, her daughters, and some other visitors round the prison and cells. He then left some money for the prisoners, and conducted the Judges and a large party into the dining-room, after which he bade adieu to the Old Bailey, "I expect," he says, "for ever." He then returned home and prepared for the Holy days which were to commence the same evening. On Monday, October 1st, the following official notice appeared:-- "Cowen, Mayor.--In a meeting or assembly of the Mayor, Aldermen, and Liverymen of the several Companies of the city of London, in Common Council assembled, at the Guildhall of the said city, on Saturday, the 29th day of September 1838. Resolved unanimously, that the thanks of this Common Hall are eminently due, and are hereby given, to Sir George Carrol and Sir Moses Montefiore, Knights, Sheriffs of this City, and Sheriffs of the County of Middlesex, for the past year, for the splendour with which they have maintained the dignity of that high office; for their hospitality; for the punctuality, zeal, and judgment with which they have executed their various official duties; for their munificent and constant support of the charities which adorn the metropolis; for their humanity to the prisoners entrusted to their care; for their various efforts to preserve, unimpaired, the privileges of this city; and for their universal courtesy to all their fellow-citizens. "Woodthorpe." The particulars of that meeting are thus given:--"Mr Timothy Curtis, the Governor of the Bank of England, came forward to move a vote of thanks to the late Sheriffs, Sir George Carrol and Sir Moses Montefiore, for the dignity, splendour, humanity, and hospitality with which they had distinguished themselves in the high situation to which they had been chosen by the unanimous voice of their fellow-citizens. Mr Gurney, in seconding the motion of thanks, said he rejoiced that the day had arrived when the citizens could be served by any one, whatever his religious opinions might be." Mr T. Curtis then read the following letter--a letter of thanks to the Livery--from Sir Moses Montefiore, in the course of which he said:-- "I need not tell you that many of the duties of office myself and colleague have just passed through are of a painful nature. We have often been called upon to witness scenes of agony occasioned by want and crime. Some of this distress, however painful, we could not alleviate; but we have endeavoured to mitigate the sufferings of the prisoners, and to open to them better and happier courses of life, as far as public justice and the necessarily strict rules of a prison would permit. "If, on the one hand, there have been scenes of distress to witness, on the other I have found many sources of unmingled gratification. I have had opportunities of forming friendships with the members of the Corporation, and of cementing a friendship of long standing with my excellent colleague--friendships which I am sure, as regards my own wishes, will still remain, and cause me to look back on the past year as one of the happiest of my life." Whilst these proceedings took place at the Guildhall, Sir Moses was fasting and reciting prayers with his community in the ancient and venerable Synagogue called "The Gate of Heaven," as the day on which the meeting took place happened to be the Day of Atonement, appointed in the Bible as a day of repentance and prayer for the forgiveness of sins. The fast does not seem to have affected Sir Moses' health or spirits in the least, as we find him attending service again in the House of Prayer at twenty minutes before seven the next morning. His devotions concluded, he takes an early opportunity of visiting his friends and enquiring how they have passed the previous day. The same evening he dined with his mother, who, he writes, "was, thanks to Heaven, pretty well after her fast." _Monday, October 1st._--He called on Mr Curtis, the Governor of the Bank of England, to thank him for proposing the vote of thanks to the Sheriffs; also on Mr Gurney, who seconded the vote. Later in the day he accompanied Sir George Carrol to Westminster, and at three o'clock the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, the Recorder, and Sheriffs elect came there to receive Her Majesty's approval of the newly elected Sheriffs. The Recorder in his address to the Bench again highly complimented Sir George and Sir Moses on the efficient manner in which they discharged their duties. Sir Moses then returned in great haste to the city, having summoned a meeting at the Alliance Office at four, for the election of a solicitor to the Board of Deputies. At five o'clock he had to attend the new Sheriffs' inauguration dinner at the London Tavern. "There were 150 persons present," he says, "the Lord Mayor in the chair. We had the foremost places, next to the new Sheriffs, and our health was drunk in a most complimentary manner." _Wednesday, October 3rd._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to Ramsgate, where they spent the Tabernacle holidays very happily, surrounded by relatives and friends whom they had invited for the occasion. On the 19th they returned again to London. Here they had the satisfaction of finding letters of introduction from Lord Palmerston to Her Majesty's Ambassadors and Consuls in Paris, Florence, Rome, Naples, Malta, Alexandria, and Constantinople, as also to the Admiral on the Mediterranean Station, which Sir Moses had asked for through Mr Spring-Rice. _Monday, October 22nd._--At a meeting of the Deputies of the British Jews, Sir Moses resigned the Presidency on account of his going abroad. The next day he called at the Foreign Office to thank Lord Palmerston for the letters of introduction he had so kindly sent; he also called on Mr Spring-Rice, who was very friendly, and promised him a letter to the Governor of Malta, at the same time requesting Sir Moses to write to him from the East. A few days later he received several letters from Baron Lionel de Rothschild, which Baron Anthony, at the request of Baron Anselm de Rothschild, had procured for him from the French Ministry, to the French Admiral on the Mediterranean Station, and to their Ministers and Consuls. Before leaving England Sir Moses sent for his solicitor to read over the will he had prepared, and which he signed in his presence, and in the presence of another gentleman whom he had brought as witness. I notice this item in the entries of his diary to show the completeness of all his arrangements. There is a book entitled "Notes from a Private Journal of a Visit to Egypt and Palestine by way of Italy and the Mediterranean," written by Lady Montefiore, and printed in the year 1844: a second edition was printed shortly before the death of Sir Moses. Both, having only been intended for private circulation among friends, are unpublished. The account of the journey which I give here is taken partly from Sir Moses' and Lady Montefiore's diaries, and partly from my own, which I kept when travelling with them, with a view of supplying the reader with information on subjects which they have omitted to write down. _Thursday, November 1st._--"We have finished," Sir Moses writes, "all the preparations for our journey, and have taken leave of all our dear relatives. I have left to Benjamin Cohen the key of a box in which there are 1300 Portuguese Bonds which I have destined for the poor of the Holy Land; if necessary he is to sell them for me. After that we set out from Park Lane in our travelling carriage with four post horses, attended by our servants. May the blessing of the Almighty accompany us. We stopped a short time at Kennington for the blessing of our dear mother, whom I pray God to protect, that we may have the happiness to find her in health on our return, and then proceeded as far as Sittingbourne, where we remained overnight." Travelling _viâ_ Strasburg and Avignon they reached Lyons, where they rested for Sabbath. Thus far their way had been through the most lovely scenery, but their enjoyment was marred by the inclemency of the weather, and the difficulty of the roads, which lay for the most part at the sides or on the top of high steep mountains, close to immense precipices or rushing rivers, which were swollen by the torrents of water streaming down the sides of the mountains from the melting snow. "My dear Judith," says Sir Moses, "was often so frightened that she persisted in getting out of the carriage, although the snow was deep on the ground. Our courier and the postillions had to walk a great part of the way, and to lead the horses, as the ice had made the roads so slippery. I certainly would not recommend this season for travelling." From Lyons they took the steamboat to Avignon, thinking this mode of travelling would be an improvement on the roads, but they were mistaken. The boat was to start at six o'clock in the morning. The moon still shone brightly, but the gale was so strong that for some time the captain was doubtful whether he should start. After much consideration he decided to venture. The boat went at a good speed until they came to the first bridge, where it was found that the river was so swollen that it did not seem possible to pass under. The vessel was moored to the bank by the side of the bridge, and the captain proceeded in a small boat to measure the height of the arch. It was pronounced to be just sufficient; the funnel was lowered nearly flat. Sir Moses says he was certain there was not six inches between the top of the funnel and the bridge; the smallest wave might have dashed their boat against it, and they might have been drowned. Twice more they had to undergo this anxiety; all the passengers were panic stricken. "I must confess," says Sir Moses, "I would rather be in the open sea in a hurricane." The second day's journey was not so bad, as during the night the river had fallen a foot, and they reached Avignon in safety. "But I am mortified," he writes, "to find that, though there are many Jews in this place, there is no Synagogue. No meat, prepared according to Jewish law, can be procured. We could manage with fish and vegetables, but I exceedingly regret not being able to join public worship on Sabbath. Tomorrow will be the first time we have omitted so doing since we left London, and shall be happy if it is the last." Leaving Avignon, they proceeded, _viâ_ Marseilles, Toulon, and Cannes, to Nice. Writing from here, Sir Moses says: "We find the climate here very different to that of England, the sun even now, at the end of December, being almost too powerful to be pleasant. Notwithstanding all the advantages Nice may afford, nothing would induce me to live here. I was shocked and grieved to hear that our brethren are treated in the most intolerant manner, not being allowed even to educate their children for any profession. I was told that when the King and Queen of Sardinia visited Nice in 1826, all classes of the inhabitants, Jews among the number, tried to show their loyalty, by sending deputations to present addresses, but the King refused to receive the deputation from the Jews. They then addressed him through the Minister of State, and solicited permission to erect an obelisk in commemoration of the Royal visit, and the joy they felt, in common with their fellow-subjects, at seeing their King and Queen. After some time this humble petition was granted, and the column stands now in the city, bearing a Hebrew and Italian inscription." Amongst the many friends and acquaintances they had met at this place, there was one of some historical importance, Isaak Samuel Avigdor, who, on account of his knowledge of the French and Italian languages, acted as one of the secretaries to the French Synhedrion under Napoleon I., in the year 1806. At the last session of that assembly he had moved a resolution to the effect that "the Jews in France, Germany, and Italy do now forget all the misfortunes (_i.e._, persecution) which befell them, and only engrave in their hearts the kind acts which have been done towards them, and that they acknowledge with deep gratitude the kind reception which the Popes and other representatives of the Catholic Church had given them at a time when barbarity, prejudice, and ignorance had persecuted and expelled them from society." The resolution was unanimously adopted, and entered in the minutes of the proceedings. Unfortunately, Pius VII., the Pope who declared that he represented Aaron, the Prophet of God, cannot be numbered among those who protected the Jews. Immediately after the restoration of the Bourbons, in the year 1814, as soon as he was able to resume the government of the Papal States, he re-established the Inquisition. Monsieur Avigdor had the mortification of witnessing the distressing consequences of the Pope's new edicts. The Jews in Rome were obliged to quit the houses which, under the French Government, they had been permitted to own in all parts of the city, and return to the Ghetto. They had to give up counting-houses and other places of business which they had in the Corso. In vain did they offer large sums of money to induce the Minister of State to withdraw his order. The applications made by numerous deputations from Jewish communitiesin various towns likewise proved fruitless. They were even forced to attend sermons preached in the churches for the purpose of their conversion, heavy fines being imposed upon all those who absented themselves; and those who were detected either asleep, or not paying sufficient attention to the sermon, were unceremoniously aroused by one of the priests. I noticed during my stay in Rome a Hebrew inscription over the entrance of one of these churches (Chiesa della divina pietà), which runs as follows: "I have spread out my hands all the day unto a rebellious people, which walketh in a way that was not good, after their own thoughts, a people that provoketh me to anger continually to my face." (Isaiah lxv., 3 and 4) Mr Avigdor often spoke on the above subject to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. He related some interesting incidents in connection with the Synhedrion, how the members were put to much inconvenience on the first day of the opening of their Sessions, the day fixed by the Emperor being their Sabbath. Mr Avigdor pressed Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to prolong their stay in Nice, but they were anxious to proceed, without unnecessary delay, on their projected pilgrimage, and they left on the 31st of December. CHAPTER XIX. 1839. GENOA, CARRARA, LEGHORN, AND ROME--DISQUIETING RUMOURS--QUARANTINE PRECAUTIONS--ARRIVAL AT ALEXANDRIA--TRAVEL IN THE HOLY LAND. They reached Genoa on January 2nd, 1839, and after a few days' rest, continued their journey to Carrara. On the following day, the Dottore A. Passani, an advocate of Carrara, called, and brought Sir Moses several of his father's letters, some dated as far back as 1790; they were all in Italian, and beautifully written. Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were much pleased at the sight of the handwriting of their father, and would have been glad if the gentleman had been willing to part with them, but it appears he desired to preserve them himself as souvenirs of the late Mr Montefiore. On their way to Rome they visited Leghorn, a period of eleven years having elapsed since their last sojourn in that place, and made special arrangements there for having the graves of their kind god-parents, Moses and Esther Racah, kept in proper order. "I was desirous," writes Sir Moses, "once more to offer up prayers in the Synagogue so near to the house in which I was born; we therefore drove to Synagogue, where my dear Judith and I humbly thanked the Almighty for all His great goodness to us. We left Leghorn on the 16th January; it was a beautiful day, the sun smiling on us, and returned to Carrara, where we wished to purchase some more souvenirs of Italy, and also gave orders to Vincenzo Bonami for our coat-of-arms to be executed in marble for East Cliff Lodge." On the 18th January we find them at Florence, where they remained until the 2nd February. It appears that the climate there did not agree with either Lady Montefiore or Sir Moses. They had to take medical advice, and Dr Usiglio strongly dissuaded them from going to Jerusalem, advising them on the contrary to return to England before the hot season. But they were reluctant to give up their cherished object, and, trusting in God, who had always protected them, they started for Rome, where they arrived on the 6th February. "I am informed," observes Sir Moses, "that there are 3500 Jews here, two-thirds poor. Four times a year, 200 are obliged to attend a sermon preached in church for their conversion. Leo XII. had deprived them of their privilege of keeping shops and warehouses out of the Ghetto. But the present most excellent Pontiff, Gregory XVI., has permitted them to have warehouses in the city. He frequently sends them money from his own purse, and is always willing to give an audience to their deputies and to attend to their requests. "Yesterday we were shown some very rich and splendid silk Damask, embroidered in silver and gold, for hangings for the Synagogue, Holy Ark, and pulpit. There are many silver bells, crowns, and chains, enriched with precious stones, for the scrolls of the Holy Law, and in the Synagogue there are beautiful marbles, mosaics, and columns." Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore did not prolong their stay in Rome. On the 13th February they quitted the city for Naples, remaining there till March 22nd, when they again returned to Rome, apartments having been previously taken for them at 54 Via della Fontanella di Borghese. It was now nearly four years since I had first the pleasure of meeting Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore in London. I had since that time been travelling in Egypt, Nubia, Ethiopia, Syria, and the Holy Land, and had during these travels the gratification to receive some letters from Sir Moses. It was therefore a very pleasant surprise for me to meet them in Rome and to visit with them the museums, picture galleries, and most places of importance. They spoke to me of their intended pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and invited me to accompany them. Having had many opportunities when in Eyn Zetoon, Upper Galilee, during the revolt of the Druses, to become fully acquainted with the character and peculiarities of the various classes of inhabitants of the land, I felt a great interest in all measures that could be devised for the improvement of their condition; and, anticipating good results from Sir Moses' visit to the Holy Land, I gladly accepted the invitation. On the 28th March they received a letter from the Baroness James de Rothschild, in which she informed them that intelligence had been received from the Austrian Consul of great military preparations being made in Alexandria, and that war would not long be delayed between the Pasha of Egypt and the Sultan. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, nothing daunted by the news, determined not to relinquish their plans. They were frequently visited by the Abbate Farrari and Monsignor Bruti, two ecclesiastics of liberal ideas and agreeable manners, who kept them _au fait_ of all interesting ceremonies and festivals in the church, presenting them with tickets for the best places on all important occasions. Signor Pietro Rittig, of Coblenz, having called their attention to one of his pictures in the museum of modern painters, entitled "Students in the Academy of Painting," they bought it, together with several others, namely, "A Greek Girl," by Isidore; "A Buffalo," by Linden; "A Mandolino," by Cavalleri; "Two Peasants," by Pelletti, and others. Signor Salvadore Taglicozzo recommended an eminent scribe, to whom Sir Moses gave the order to write a Pentateuch scroll for him, also to procure a richly embroidered mantle for it. During the Passover festival they attended Synagogue, which was very crowded and splendidly decorated. They were much struck by the presence of several gendarmes and soldiers. Two, with fixed bayonets, were placed opposite the Ark containing the sacred scrolls of law; each time one of the latter was removed or returned, they presented arms as a mark of respect. Sir Moses remembered having seen something similar in the Great Synagogue of Leghorn, yet it had always appeared strange to him that in a building bearing the appellation, "Temple of Peace," the representatives of war should be on duty, carrying with them implements of destruction: the Altar of the Lord being considered according to an injunction of Holy Writ, as desecrated by the mere touch of a sword. _Friday, April 12th._--We left Rome, embarking on the following Sunday in the _Sesostris_ for Malta, where we arrived on the 17th. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, requiring some rest after the voyage, resolved to remain there a few days. He called on the Governor, Sir Henry Bouverie, to present to him his letter of introduction from Mr Spring-Rice, also on Admiral Sir Robert Stopford, and on many friends whose acquaintance they had made on a former visit to Malta. He had not long returned to the hotel when an invitation came from the Governor for Sir Moses, Lady Montefiore, and myself to dine at the Palace on the following Saturday. To spend her time usefully and agreeably, Lady Montefiore applied herself with much diligence to the study of Arabic, and both she and Sir Moses read daily three Psalms in Hebrew, which they requested me to translate into English, and explain. The old agent of the Silk Company called on them, and also Captain Austen of the _Bellerophon_, with his wife and daughter. The representatives of the Hebrew community in the Island came to pay their respects, and report on the affairs of the Synagogue. _April 20th._--They attended divine service, after which they paid a few visits, and returned to their hotel, where they remained till the evening, when they proceeded to the Palace. The Sabbath not being yet terminated, Lady Montefiore went in a sedan-chair, while Sir Moses and I walked. The Governor was in full uniform, wearing all his orders. About twenty-four sat down to table, amongst whom were the Duke of Devonshire (just out of quarantine, on his return from Constantinople), Admiral Sir Robert Stopford and his family, Captain Hyde Parker, Sir Hector Gray, Secretary of Government, Lady Stopford's sister with her daughter, the Duke's physician, and many military officers. Admiral Stopford took Lady Montefiore down to dinner, and promised to do all in his power to obtain a steamboat to take them to Jaffa. Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were much pleased with their reception at the Palace. _Monday 22nd._--Sir Moses and I dined with Sir Hector Grey; it was a gentleman's party. The Governor, the Admiral and his son, the Duke of Devonshire, Sir John Lewis, Mr Frere (uncle of the late Sir Bartle Frere), Mr Bourchier (who was private secretary to Sir Frederick C. Ponsonby, Governor of the Island in 1824), Captain Best, Captain Goulbourne, and two other gentlemen were present. On Wednesday we all dined with the Admiral, and met there Sir John and Lady Mackenzie, Captain Cosnier, Captain Fisher, and several other naval officers of distinction. Lady Stopford held a reception afterwards, which was well attended. _Sunday, April 28th._--The French Consul sent us the _Journal de Smyrne_, in which it was stated that accounts had been received that the plague had broken out in Jerusalem, and that the mortality in that city had already reached from forty to fifty per day. In another number of the same paper information was given to the effect that letters had been received from Cairo that hostilities had commenced in Syria. Though very little credit was attached to these articles they gave us all some uneasiness, and in consequence of a renewed report of the plague, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to the quarantine harbour, where they saw the captain of the _Blazer_, lately arrived from Beyrout. He informed them that Mr and Mrs Freemantle were in Fort Manuel, after returning from the Holy Land. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore then called on Mr and Mrs Freemantle, who informed them that while they were in Jerusalem the plague was raging there, and they had to perform eighteen days quarantine before entering Beyrout, but they believed the city to be now healthy, although Sir Moses would probably find Jerusalem shut up, as the warm weather would bring back the plague. They gave a most distressing account of the Jews under the present government. All were more or less ill-treated, many being actually in slavery. Mr Freemantle said that the Jews were looking most anxiously for the arrival of Sir Moses. _Friday, May 3rd._--Sir Moses took leave of the Admiral, and then went to the Palace, and there met H.R.H. Prince George of Cambridge, who received him most kindly, and they had a friendly conversation. Soon after twelve, having taken leave of his remaining friends, Sir Moses went with Lady Montefiore to the quarantine harbour, thence in a boat to the _Megara_, a steam vessel. Captain Goldsmith, the commander, received them on board, and at two o'clock we left the harbour for Alexandria. _Wednesday, May 8th._--This morning, soon after six, land was discovered, the masts of the ships in the harbour being the first objects caught sight of. A pilot came on board about eight. As we entered the port the French steamer for Marseilles left, so that we just missed the opportunity of sending letters by her. We were much amused at the great precautions taken by the people who came alongside in the boat belonging to the Board of Health. They received our Bill of Health, which we had brought from Malta, with a pair of tongs, every one alarmed lest he should touch it; it was opened with the aid of the tongs and a thin iron rod; but as soon as they saw that it was a clean bill, certifying that at the date of our leaving Malta was free from plague and every other contagious distemper, the officers came on board with Colonel Campbell's janissary. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore now landed, proceeding to an hotel, where they remained overnight; and the next morning we all rode off to the Custom House, opposite to which we found the _Megara's_ boat, which Captain Goldsmith had politely sent to take us on board. Sir Moses took particular note of the Pasha's troops. There were on the quay about a thousand soldiers; they all appeared to him to be quite little boys, scarce able to carry a musket; he did not believe any were above fourteen years old, while some seemed not more than nine. "If the troops are all like these," he said, "Heaven help Mohhammad Ali!" _Saturday, May 11th._--At an early hour the anchor was cast in the Bay of Beyrout, but we remained on board ship till the evening, when the commander conducted us on shore in his boat. As the boat left the ship all the company on board, comprising officers and men, saluted Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore with many huzzas. We repaired to the house selected for us by Mr Niven Moore, the British Consul, and in the morning Sir Moses paid his respects to the Governor, Mohamed Bey, who received him most politely. He asked him for letters of introduction to the governors of several towns which it was probable we should visit, also his assistance to procure horses for us, all of which he promised. We then went to the English Consul, who sent in the course of the day his janissary to attend Sir Moses while we continued in Beyrout. Several representatives of the Hebrew community called to welcome them, and many letters from Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed, and Tiberias were handed to them by special messenger. They have all been anxiously looking forward to their arrival in the Holy Land, "but our visit," Sir Moses observed, "is not the most timely for our comfort, pleasure, or safety; the political state of the country is most unsatisfactory and uncertain; a single day may bring about a complete change in the government of Syria and Palestine. The forces of the Sultan have certainly crossed the frontier, and Ibrahim Pasha will positively resist any further advance. Mohhammad Ali has sent his son every man he had at his disposal." _Monday, 13th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore rode on horseback to the Synagogue, which was very full in honour of their visit. We were told that there were sixty Jewish families in Beyrout, none of them rich. During the day they received visits from the Rev. Mr and Mrs Thompson of the American Mission, and also from many ladies and gentlemen of the Jewish community. Mr Ed. Kilbee, of the firm of Kilbee, Haugh & Co., Bankers, came to inform Sir Moses that he could find no one to take charge of the money for Jerusalem. Sir Moses immediately wrote to the Governor to request that he would provide him with messengers to carry the money to Safed, Tiberias, and Jerusalem. The Governor wrote a very civil answer, but regretted he could not comply with this request. He then addressed himself to the British Consul, but no answer reached him that day. The next morning the Consul's dragoman came with a message that he had been with the Governor, who was extremely sorry not to be able to provide us with an escort, but the roads were not so unsafe as reported, and he hoped a large party, well armed like ours, would travel with safety. Sir Moses was much troubled in making the arrangements, to divide the money into smaller parcels, putting these into bags and baskets, altogether eleven. This we were obliged to do ourselves. Mr Kilbee passed some time with us, giving us much encouragement, though he was unable to find any person who would risk taking the money, either to Safed, Tiberias, Jerusalem, or Hebron, in spite of the most tempting offers. Sir Moses imploring the protection of the Almighty, we set forward on our pilgrimage at 4 P.M. The way was over sand and through stony lanes, which opened on a sandy plain; we rested at Beer Hássán, till our luggage came up. There were fourteen mules and three horses, besides several donkeys for the moukeries. Having taken some coffee we proceeded on our way. The scenery was beautiful, especially the mountains of Lebanon, many of the highest being covered with snow. At eight we reached Khán Kháldáh, the "Mutatio Heldua," according to Pococke, in the Jerusalem Itinerary. "Thanks to Heaven," says Sir Moses, "we rested well in our tent, and set forward on our journey the next day, May 15th, at five. We rode on till one, then reposed till three o'clock under a mulberry tree; they were cutting off the young boughs and gathering the leaves. The road ran on the sands and rocks close to the sea. At three we sent off our tents and baggage to Náhr el Kasmiyah, said to be three hours' distance, and we followed. Before reaching Sidon, we were met by many Jews, the representatives of congregations; they said they had been waiting three hours for us. They accompanied us to the tomb of Zebulon, where we recited prayers. We then took leave of our brethren and continued riding till seven o'clock, when I was so fatigued I could go no further. A mat was spread in a garden near the water, and I gladly threw myself upon it. We sent a man to order our tents to be brought back. In about an hour great screams were heard; we sent to see what was the matter, when it was ascertained that the cries proceeded from our messenger who had gone for the tent. He said he had been attacked, severely beaten, and his donkey almost killed. This intelligence alarmed Dr Loewe very much for the safety of our lives, to say nothing of our luggage. He remained walking round our mats during the night, with his loaded pistols, Judith and I having ours under our heads. About midnight we with difficulty persuaded two men to ride after our luggage to see what had become of it; they returned at three in the morning with the news of its being all safe. Our road after passing Sidon was like going through a beautiful garden. At a short distance on our right we had a view of the sea, on our left mountains; they were pretty well cultivated--wheat, barley, figs and mulberries; but few can imagine the anxiety we suffered during the night, when we were exposed to the winds of heaven." _Thursday, May 16th._--We started at 6 A.M., and rode till nine, after which we reposed for some time. We met three persons sent from Safed with letters from the Spiritual Head of the community to welcome us; he was at Tiberias, and prevented by indisposition from coming to meet us. We rested in a beautiful valley, noticing much cattle, small cows, calves, and a number of goats. We then crossed the Náhr el Kasmiyah, a river which divides the lot of Asher from that of Dan. There was a heavy dew in the night. Sir Moses was much fatigued, and still felt the bad effects of having slept exposed to the night air on the previous day. The next morning was cloudy; we started at five o'clock, riding over mountains and through fertile valleys till ten. While resting, we received a letter by a private messenger from the three representatives of the Hebrew Congregation at Safed, where each had prepared his own house for our use, and was waiting to receive us. About two hours later we caught the first glimpse of Safed. The town looked very beautiful, being situate on the summit of the mountain, which was crowned with beautiful olive trees of immense growth and great age. CHAPTER XX. 1839. RECEPTION AT SAFED--SAD CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE--SIR MOSES' PROJECT FOR THE CULTIVATION OF THE LAND IN PALESTINE BY THE JEWS--DEATH OF THE CHIEF RABBI OF THE GERMAN CONGREGATION IN JERUSALEM--TIBERIAS. After four hours' ride we met two of the chiefs of the Portuguese community, sent to escort us as a guard of honour. On reaching half-way up the mountain, the ecclesiastical chief of the German Hebrew community, accompanied by many of his congregation, came to welcome us. He is an old man of benevolent countenance. I dismounted, giving the chief my horse to ride. This special mark of respect I showed to him in commemoration of the holy resignation manifested by the venerable chief only a year before on the occasion of the revolt of the Druses against Mohhammad Ali. These marauders, having pillaged and maltreated the whole community, wished to enforce from them an additional sum of five hundred Turkish purses or £2500, a sum which of course the Hebrews could not produce. The Druses thereupon bound the aged chief hand and foot, and laying the edge of a naked sword upon his neck, threatened to instantly sever his head if the demanded sum were not handed over without delay. The good man did not ask them to spare his life, which he would willingly sacrifice to save his community; all he requested of them was to allow a little clean water to be poured over his hands, that he might recite a prayer and acknowledge the justice of God in all His ways. At this a heartrending cry burst from all present, and even the Druses themselves appear to have been touched. They withdrew the sword and entered upon some arrangements with the community, who had to borrow the required amount from some of the convents. I had been to see him the day after this occurrence, and found him reciting his morning prayers as calmly as if nothing had happened. Sir Moses in his description of the journey continues--"As we were descending the mountain a man, who had been placed there to give notice to the inhabitants of our approach, fired a musket, and the salute was answered by our party, who discharged their guns and pistols. Our firing had a cheerful effect, as the echo was taken up by the distant hills. We were soon met by Signor Mirrachi (ecclesiastical chief of the Portuguese community) with a great number of his congregation. He expressed his regret that I would not accept the house he had prepared for us. The scene became most interesting. Men, women, and children covered the sides and top of the hill as well as the roofs of all houses; but I was nearly dead with fatigue." As soon as Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore reached their apartments, preparations were made for the Sabbath, but Sir Moses had not the strength to walk to Synagogue. He had for some time expressed uneasiness lest we should not reach the town before sunset, yet he had the happiness of seeing the sun above the horizon, after we had entered our house. By special invitation ten gentlemen were soon with him in his room, and the evening service was commenced, but he could scarcely stand, and as soon as prayers were ended he retired. The following day Sir Moses being still too unwell to leave his bed, numbers of visitors called to enquire after his health, all expressing their regret at his indisposition. During the next two days, on which the festival of Pentecost was celebrated, Sir Moses recovered sufficiently to accompany Lady Montefiore to the Portuguese Synagogue, where a sacred scroll of great antiquity is preserved. On Sir Moses being called to the rostrum to pronounce the blessing, the portion of the day was read to him out of the above scroll. On the following day, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received visits from the governor, judge, and all other dignitaries of the place. Some of the Druses also intimated their desire to come and pay their respects, but upon my suggestion this was declined, it being considered undesirable to encourage their presence in Safed. Having been amongst the sufferers at the time of their invasion of this place the year before, I surmised the object they had in view, in seeking to come with their friends to see the English pilgrims. _Tuesday, May 21st._--Sir Moses now occupied himself in obtaining information as to the actual state of the Jews in this city, as well as the probable prospect of success for his project, viz., to encourage the Jews and enable them to gain a livelihood by the cultivation of the land. They had frequent interviews with T. and N. Drucker, two clever and enterprising men, father and son, who had come originally from Poland, and had possessed a handsome fortune. They had brought with them a printing press, and had printed prayer-books. They had also begun to print a Bible, when the Druses came, destroyed their press, robbed them of all their property, and beat them most unmercifully, breaking the father's thigh, so that he barely escaped with his life. _Wednesday, May 22nd._--All the afternoon was spent both by Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore in seeing people, in listening to their complaints and sorrows, and also in obtaining information respecting the cultivation of land. The German and Portuguese Chief Rabbis came, and after some conversation, Sir Moses decided to distribute personally the money he had brought for the relief of the sufferers by the earthquake, according to the number of souls. A Spanish dollar was given to every man, woman, and child over thirteen, while two dollars were given to the blind, and no distinction was made between Portuguese and German. The money sent from London soon after the earthquake had been distributed by the Portuguese, who gave the greatest part to those learned in our Holy Law, leaving but little for all the other sufferers, which Sir Moses considered unjust. The spiritual head of the German congregation, the Rev. A. Dob, said that the money was divided amongst their congregation according to the amount of loss sustained by each individual. Nor did the German committee ever retain one penny more for themselves than for the other members of the congregation. "This," said Sir Moses, "appears to me the most honest way of acting." The Portuguese gentlemen, however, in justification of their own course of action in this matter, explained that those who are engaged in imparting religious instruction to the community, taking charge of all their institutions, devoting their time to the interest of the rising generation, having no business or occupation that would adequately secure their maintenance, ought naturally to have some additional share in the offerings of their wealthier brethren abroad, offerings intended not only for the relief of distress, but also for the preservation of a religious community. The same, they said, would be done in Europe, where the teachers in schools and colleges, or the managers of communal institutions, happen to be without income or salary for their maintenance. Sir Moses having inspected the new buildings, regretted to find that most of them were but poor miserable hovels, built over the ruins of the old ones, high up the hill, close to the edge of the mountain, so that the slightest shock of earthquake would bury the inhabitants one above the other without hope of escape. The houses were built on the side of the mountain, row above row. On inquiring the reason of this, he was informed that by building over the old houses they were saved the expense of making excavations, these being already there; they had no fear of earthquakes, all they dreaded being the Mooslemin inhabitants and the visits of the Druses. _Thursday, May 23rd._--At ten we rode to Djermek, a village two hours distant, to the farm of Israel Drucker, one of his tenants having a son who was to be received that day into the covenant of Abraham. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore had been invited to act as god-parents to the child. On reaching the house Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were most respectfully saluted, and the ceremony was immediately performed. We then sat down for a short time to partake of some refreshment; and, having offered presents and congratulations to the parents of the infant, we descended the mountain, to visit the tomb of R. Simeon ben Yókháï, in Miroon. There we were met by the principal inhabitants of Safed. We then visited the tomb of Hillel, celebrated in Jewish history for his great learning and for his noble character and humility. "One of the most interesting sights," says Sir Moses, "I have seen in the Holy Land. There is one cave within the other, a spring of the clearest water flowing through both; it appears to spring from the spot where the mortal remains of Hillel repose. In the vicinity of the tomb we saw a splendid marble portal of a Synagogue now in ruins; the marble was handsomely carved, and many of the stones adjoining the portal were still standing, all of them being of great size." _Friday, May 24th._--Sir Moses was again engaged from nine to six with the distribution of the money. He also gave special donations to the heads of schools and colleges, and endeavoured to alleviate the distress among the poor of all non-Israelitish communities. Sir Moses found his brethren most anxious to be employed and to earn their own bread. They appeared to prefer the cultivation of land as the most likely means to raise them from their present destitute condition. There were a few Jews who had some interest with Mussulmans in cultivating some small farms about three or four hours from Safed, but their means were so limited that they could ill afford to keep a pair of oxen to till the ground. There was no lack of spirit, and Sir Moses thought that some trifling assistance from the proper persons in Europe would speedily restore health and plenty, should such be the will of Heaven. On the same day we received the sad tidings of the death of the Rev. Israel, Chief Rabbi of the German congregation in Jerusalem, which had taken place at Tiberias on the 22nd inst. It had been his intention to come to Sir Moses to welcome him and Lady Montefiore on their entry into the Holy Land. He was renowned for his great learning and noble character, which he had so often manifested in the performance of his official duties, as spiritual guide of the community; and being a disciple of the celebrated Rabbi Eliahu Wilna, he was held in high esteem by all the congregations in the four holy cities. Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were much affected by the mournful event, and lost no time in considering what steps should be taken to evince their sympathy with the bereaved family. The following day being Sabbath, they attended divine service, afterwards receiving numerous visits from the inhabitants of the place. One gentleman from Tiberias gave a most melancholy account of the state of the country; he assured them that the roads to Jerusalem were very unsafe, and the plague actually in the city. Only a few days before the holidays the son-in-law of the late Rev. Israel, and his servant, had died of it. The visits they received from the Druses caused us much uneasiness, as we apprehended an attack from their body to plunder not only us, but all Jews in the town; and we should have proceeded early the next morning to Tiberias had we not feared such a course would give the appearance of flight. The heads of the Portuguese and German congregations came to pay their respects to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. Two of these gentlemen, the Rev. Abraham Shoshana and Samuel Aboo, were land owners in a neighbouring village, and gave their opinion on the subject of agriculture. Sir Moses, referring in his diary, to their conversation, says: "From all information I have been able to gather, the land in this neighbourhood appears to be particularly favourable for agricultural speculation. There are groves of olive trees, I should think, more than five hundred years old, vineyards, much pasture, plenty of wells and abundance of excellent water; also fig trees, walnuts, almonds, mulberries, &c., and rich fields of wheat, barley, and lentils; in fact it is a land that would produce almost everything in abundance, with very little skill and labour. I am sure if the plan I have in contemplation should succeed, it will be the means of introducing happiness and plenty into the Holy Land. In the first instance, I shall apply to Mohhammad Ali for a grant of land for fifty years; some one or two hundred villages; giving him an increased rent of from ten to twenty per cent., and paying the whole in money annually at Alexandria, but the land and villages to be free, during the whole term, from every tax or rate either of Pasha or governor of the several districts; and liberty being accorded to dispose of the produce in any quarter of the globe. This grant obtained, I shall, please Heaven, on my return to England, form a company for the cultivation of the land and the encouragement of our brethren in Europe to return to Palestine. Many Jews now emigrate to New South Wales, Canada, &c.; but in the Holy Land they would find a greater certainty of success; here they will find wells already dug, olives and vines already planted, and a land so rich as to require little manure. By degrees I hope to induce the return of thousands of our brethren to the Land of Israel. I am sure they would be happy in the enjoyment of the observance of our holy religion, in a manner which is impossible in Europe." The scene we witnessed yesterday amply repaid us for the fatigues of the journey. We saw nearly every individual inhabitant of Safed. Sir Moses gave to each at least one Spanish dollar, and some fathers of families received eight or ten dollars. To those persons who came to meet him and Lady Montefiore at Náhr el Rasmiyah, fifteen hours' journey from Safed, and who, when invited to sleep in the tent, preferred, from their intense love to the country, to sleep in the open air of the Holy Land, he made handsome presents. "I hope," said Sir Moses in the course of conversation, "that the money I have had the pleasure of distributing yesterday, will produce some comfort and give assistance to the Jews in Safed, especially in their present forlorn situation. Their sufferings during the last five years must have been truly deplorable. First the plundering of the inhabitants, then the earthquake, and finally the attack by the Druses, to fill the cup of their misfortune. At the present moment the ruins of the town present an awful spectacle of destruction; the few miserable hovels they have erected are for the most part little better than caves, more fit for the beast of the field than for human beings. Many are merely four mud walls, with a mat for a roof. I think the poverty of the Jews in Safed to be great beyond anything that can be imagined either in England or on the Continent of Europe; it must be seen to be credited. I am informed, and do believe, that many are actually starving, and that great numbers died last year of hunger. Nearly all are stamped with want and wretchedness, though many of them are tall men and have handsome features. The women are very pretty; they have large black eyes, are of refined manners, and exhibit much intelligence in their conversation. I have found all the men anxious to be employed in agriculture." _Monday, May 27th._--We repaired early in the morning to the house of the spiritual head of the German congregation, where we attended divine service. His wife, who had prepared quite a treat for us, consisting of coffee, sweetmeats, wine and cakes, gave us a most hearty welcome. In the presence of the reverend gentleman Sir Moses engaged one of the scribes to write a scroll of the Pentateuch for his Synagogue at Ramsgate. The first sheet of the parchment was at once prepared, and he had the happiness of writing the first three words. Sir Moses on his return affixed his signature to an Arabic letter, which he had requested me to prepare at the urgent entreaties of all the inhabitants, praying the Governor of St Jean d'Acre to send them some soldiers for their protection. On the same day at half-past twelve we set out on our way to Tiberias. In spite of Sir Moses' entreaties for them to return, we were accompanied for about half-an-hour by the principal authorities and most of the people of the town, who, in taking leave, called down upon Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore all the blessings of heaven. We passed through a beautiful country, a very long descent, winding round hills covered with olives, figs, and pomegranates. In the plain we saw the richest land imaginable, though but a very small part of it was under cultivation, large fields being covered with thistles five and six feet high. The path was rocky and difficult. After riding three hours we reached the plain, and dismounting near a stream of water reposed for an hour. Our road then lay near the foot of the mountains; it was one continual ascent and descent. When we were about two hours' ride from Tiberias, while saying the afternoon prayers, we heard the sound of the dárábuca (Turkish drum), with shouts of joy, and soon beheld a large party coming to meet us, dancing and singing. They joined us in prayer, and when we had finished, the head of the German congregation bade us welcome in glowing terms. We then proceeded on our way, the people dancing and running before us, playing on the drum and fife, and singing in Hebrew in a general chorus. The spiritual heads of both German and Portuguese communities and the principal representatives of all scholastic and charitable institutions of the town now joined our cavalcade. They were all singing in Arabic and Hebrew, to express their delight at our visit to their city. We had gone but a short distance when we were met by the Mooselim or Governor, well mounted and armed, and attended by about a dozen officers and servants. He told Sir Moses he came to offer him his services and to do him honour, and that in this Holy Land he respected persons of all religions. He directed his soldiers to skirmish up and down the sides of the mountain, charging and retreating for our amusement. The Cadi (Judge) and his son also joined our party, paying Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore many compliments. "The evening," says Lady Montefiore, "was beautiful, and the gaiety of the scene beyond my feeble powers of description; the music, singing, and dancing of the people, the firing of guns, the horsemen at full gallop up and down the steep sides of the mountain, discharging their pistols, throwing the jareed, stopping their horses when at full speed, and then riding round our party; and now, as we approached the town, the moon shone brightly on the lake; it was a complete fairy scene. At a short distance from the town we were met by a great concourse of people, men, women, and children, many bearing large torches. They formed, as it were, a lane on either side for us to pass through, the same merriment, music, singing, and dancing continuing. We found the whole town illuminated, it was as light as in the day; we were saluted on all sides with expressions of joy and heartfelt wishes. Not only were the streets crowded, but even the roofs of houses were covered with gaily-attired females. All cheered us as we passed, joining in the chorus, 'They are come, they are come, our happiness is come.' Never will the scene be effaced from our memory." We proceeded to the house of Rev. H. N. Abu-el-afia, which he had prepared for our reception. Here the Governor and good people took their leave, thinking we must need repose after so much fatigue. All appeared greatly pleased, Mussulmans as well as Jews. The house looked very clean and comfortable, with good sized rooms neatly furnished in the Turkish style. Mrs Abu-el-afia, a pretty and clever woman, made us partake of some coffee and sherbet, which was soon followed by a good supper. CHAPTER XXI. 1839. INVITATION FROM THE PORTUGUESE CONGREGATION AT JERUSALEM--SANITARY MEASURES IN THE HOLY CITY--THE WIVES OF THE GOVERNOR OF TIBERIAS VISIT LADY MONTEFIORE--A PLEASANT JOURNEY--ARRIVAL AT JERUSALEM. _Tuesday, May 28th._--The heat was very great. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore did not leave the house till nine o'clock, when they went for a little while to the shore of the lake. Sir Moses received letters from the heads of the Portuguese congregation at Jerusalem, dated ten days back, informing him that they had prepared a house for him, but were sorry they could not come out of the town to receive him, as there was a cordon round the city. They did not mention one word as to the state of the city, but in two other letters brought by the same messenger, we learned that many Jews, whose names they gave, had died of the plague, all the individuals in four houses being stricken with it. In conversation with the messenger, the latter informed Sir Moses that the plague was in Jerusalem and in all the villages surrounding it; also at Gaza and Jaffa, adding that Sir Moses might cut off his head if he had not spoken the truth. Sir Moses determined to despatch a messenger to Mr W. T. Young, the British Consul at Jerusalem. On applying to the Governor of Tiberias to let him have a messenger with a good horse, he immediately sent us a fine, handsome fellow, armed with pistols, sabre, &c. Sir Moses gave him the letters, and he started instantly, at three o'clock in the afternoon. The Governor sent early in the morning to say that he wished to come and pay his respects; at the same time he sent a small, very beautiful gazelle for Lady Montefiore, which was there considered a valuable present. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, having appointed twelve o'clock for the interview, he came punctually at that hour, accompanied by the Judge of the town and some half dozen of their officers. Pipes, coffee, and sherbet were handed round. The Governor was most friendly. He said he had made that day a holiday in the town in honour of their visit, which had given joy and peace to all the inhabitants, and that Sir Moses might command his services in any way he pleased. Houses, servants, horses, &c., all were at his disposal. He much regretted being obliged to leave the town himself with some soldiers he had collected, who had to join Ibrahim Pasha. He would be away about twenty days, but had desired his secretary to attend to any request Sir Moses might make in his absence. He added a hope that Sir Moses would come and settle in that part of the world, as the Jews were in great need of a chief or leader; they could then take land and engage in agriculture. Soon after he left, Lady Montefiore received an invitation from the Governor's wives to come and dine with them, saying that they had had a lamb killed and prepared for the occasion by a person specially sent by the Jewish authorities of the place. Lady Montefiore was anxious to accept the invitation that she might see the interior of the harem, but it was thought she had better not go, and an apology was sent, she pleading fatigue from the journey. The Jews all agree in acknowledging that the present Governor is an excellent friend to them. The Judge is not friendly to them, but the Governor prevents him from doing them any mischief. The representatives of the German and Portuguese congregations, each attended by about twenty of their members, paid them visits, remaining for about an hour in earnest conversation. They promised to have ready, by the next day, statistical accounts of their communities, which Sir Moses desired to have for his special guidance in the distribution of the money he had brought for them. _Wednesday, May 29th._--The heat during the night was most oppressive. Most of the inhabitants placed their mattresses either on the roofs of their houses or in the yards, and slept in the open air. In the morning, before five, we rode on horseback to the hot baths, about half-an-hour's distance from the town. These are natural hot springs. Sir Moses did not find them sulphurous, but rather salt. They are situated close to the lake, but the hot spring has its source in the mountains. Ibrahim Pasha had erected a handsome building, with some rooms for the use of bathers. The large bath, which is circular, would accommodate one hundred persons. There are also two chambers with handsome marble baths. There is a room, commanding a beautiful view of the lake and distant mountains, where, after having taken the bath, one can enjoy an hour's rest, and partake of coffee and sherbet prepared by the attendants there. On their return from the bath they visited the tombs of some distinguished teachers in Israel, whose resting-places were pointed out by the gentlemen who accompanied them. In the course of the day the Governor's wives sent to say they wished to have the pleasure of paying Lady Montefiore a visit. They also sent for her acceptance a fine large sheep. Lady Montefiore, in her diary, gives full particulars of the visit. The Governor, she was told, had four wives, but only three of them came. They were attended by a black girl, and by a man as their guard, as well as by the mother of the Governor's youngest wife. The first wife, who is considered to be, and is also called, "The Great Lady," was a pleasing and intelligent woman; the other two were somewhat younger, but equally good-looking, the age of the youngest being about eighteen, and the eldest thirty. All of them were exceedingly good-tempered. When Sir Moses asked them if they could read, the eldest one replied in the negative, "but," said she, "the Agha intends marrying another lady, so that she may teach us to do so; we shall all be pleased if he does." They became very chatty, and were most desirous that Lady Montefiore should visit them, and go on the water with them to the bath. "The great lady" smoked a chibouk, but did not offer it to the others. Lady Montefiore made each of them a present of a neat gold ring set with mosaics, with which they were much pleased. They said it was the first visit they had ever paid; they were not even allowed to visit their own brothers, but the Agha was so pleased with Lady Montefiore, that he wished his wives to see her. The ladies remained two hours, and I had to act as interpreter. About fifty members of the Portuguese community came to see us, and we had a long conversation with them on the subject of the cultivation of land in the vicinity of the town. Many members of the German congregation arrived at the same time to pay their respects to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and also joined our conversation on the subject. The early marriages, which are customary in the East amongst all classes of society, were warmly discussed by all present. To Europeans the custom appears strange, and a great drawback to the promotion of happiness among the contracting parties, as well as to society in general. Orientals, on the contrary, think it most desirable to preserve a custom which they consider beneficial, and conducive to the happiness of families. _Thursday, May 30th._--On this day the distribution of money took place. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore themselves put their gifts into the hand of every man, woman, and child of the Hebrew, as well as of the Mussulman and Christian congregations. Their labour was not finished before ten in the evening, the trouble and fatigue of the distribution being exceptionally great, in consequence of the lists containing the names and descriptions of the recipients not having been correctly prepared. Of the sheep brought to Lady Montefiore by the Governor's wives, Sir Moses distributed to the descendants of Aaron those parts which, according to an injunction of Holy Writ, belong to them, a proceeding which afforded much gratification both to donor and the recipients. _Friday, May 31st._--Another visit was paid to the different localities in which the tombs of the renowned teachers in Israel had been pointed out to them. In the afternoon they attended the Portuguese Synagogue, and in the evening, after the Sabbath repast, hundreds of members of the community sat down in the spacious courtyard in order to enjoy a full view of the honoured pilgrims, who were singing Psalms and Sabbath hymns. The evening was beautiful; the whole place was illuminated with variegated lamps, and the Oriental holiday attire of the many ladies who surrounded the fountain of cool and refreshing water, made the scene charming and picturesque in the extreme. The next day they attended divine service in the German Synagogue, and were present at the naming of a child, the son of a distinguished member of the community, to whom they had been requested to act as god-parents. In the afternoon, having attended service in the Russian place of worship, they visited the heads of that congregation, and spent the evening at home in receiving the numerous friends who called on them. _Sunday, June 2nd._--At half-past 5 P.M. we left Tiberias. Hundreds of persons came to see us off, and followed us. The officers of the Governor (he having gone with some troops to Damascus), with about a dozen soldiers and some attendants, also accompanied us for nearly half-an-hour. We rode for two hours and a half over the hills. Towards the west the land was very rich, and sown with wheat, barley, and oats, but not well cultivated. We pitched our tents at Eyn Louba. The effect of the numerous glowworms and fireflies in the darkness of the night was extremely beautiful. Late in the evening a messenger arrived from Caiffa, bringing Sir Moses a letter from Beyrout. There had been no battle, but both parties were in daily expectation of hostilities. The plague, it was reported, had broken out in Damascus, and the country, both around that city and Beyrout, had begun to be in a very disturbed state. Several travellers had been robbed, but the post still passed. All vessels from Alexandria had to perform quarantine; most of the villages in Palestine were infected with the plague. _Monday, June 3rd._--We started at five and halted at 6.40 for the mules with our luggage. We were not travelling the usual way, as we wished to avoid the villages as much as possible. We were then near the highest point of Mount Tabor; we had crossed some of the richest land imaginable, and seen many fig and almond trees, pomegranates, prickly pears, &c. We reposed under an almond tree till our luggage came up. The servants had mistaken the way, and one of the janissaries was obliged to go in search of them. We set forward again at eight, and rode till 1.30 P.M. We then rested near a rivulet, in the shade of a small cavern in the front of the mountain, commanding an extensive view of the rich plain, nearly the whole of which was in a state of cultivation. Almost all the crops were cut. On the mountain above us, Jacob and Laban made their league together, and called it Gál-éd. We started again at 4 P.M., and rode till seven, when we pitched our tents in a very pretty orchard of fig-trees and pomegranates, the latter covered with blossoms. _Tuesday, June 4th._--After taking a cup of coffee, we set off at five in the morning from Djouni, riding through a lovely country of mountains, hills, dales, valleys, and plains, all truly splendid, and in the highest state of cultivation (wheat, barley, oats, &c.). We passed many towns and villages, but did not enter them. This part of the country appeared well populated. The inhabitants were good farmers, and possessed horses, cows, oxen, sheep, and goats in great abundance. There were also olive and mulberry trees of very great age, apparently many centuries old, and there was more skill displayed in their cutting than we had hitherto noticed in the Holy Land. It was a complete garden. "I have never seen," Sir Moses observed, "any country so rich and beautiful. We rested under a grove of fig-trees, in a garden surrounded by the most magnificent scenery; the spot might well have been termed, 'a garden of Eden, a very Paradise.'" We amused ourselves by discussing the writings of Hillel the elder, and reading extracts from the works of Maimonides. At two we proceeded on our journey till six. The road was very rocky, and the ride, especially the descent to Nablous, the ancient city of Shéchém, exceedingly difficult. We encamped close to the well of Jacob. Many of our brethren came from the city to welcome us, and brought with them some fine poultry and fruit, which they requested Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to accept. They did not enter our tents, as we were fearful of contagion. Sir Moses had, eight or ten days previously, sent them a number of printed forms, for the purpose of inserting under particular headings any statistical information they could give respecting their own community. These he now requested them to let him have, as he desired to distribute some money among those who stood in need of assistance. Fortunately they had already prepared the papers required, and it did not take long to send a messenger to the Synagogue, who brought them without delay. _Wednesday, June 5th._--We visited the tomb of Joseph, and copied the inscription on the wall. We said our prayers there, and proceeded to the village of Awarta, where we copied the Samaritan and Arabic inscriptions on the tombs of Phineas, Eleazar, and Ithamar, the sons of Aaron the High Priest. We also visited the tombs said to be those of the seventy elders, and then continued our way to Jerusalem. At twelve o'clock we rejoined our attendants, who had already prepared various refreshments for us in a tent pitched for our accommodation, near a well called "Eyn" or Khán Lebbán. We were much fatigued, and the heat was excessive. While we were partaking of our repast, many persons, travellers and others, came to water their beasts. Some of the Mussulmans, after performing their ablutions at the well, said their prayers, and a number of young women, with pitchers on their heads, came from the neighbourhood to fetch the cool water from the inexhaustible spring of Laban. At four o'clock we left this pleasing scene, and ascended a high mountain by a desperately stoney road, on the edge of precipices. On the summit we were surprised at finding a very lovely plain, well cultivated, and with many gardens, containing fig, olive, and almond trees, as well as vines. We erected our tents at six o'clock in the corner of a field near the village of Snidgil. Both on that and the previous day we met many families, Jews, Christians, and Mussulmans, flying from Jerusalem to escape the plague; the accounts which they gave us were extremely alarming. _Thursday, June 6th._--We were on horseback at half-past four in the morning. The day was cool and pleasant. Our road lay between the mountains, in a narrow pass, formed by the dry bed of a torrent, with gardens on each side. The mountains were cultivated in terraces, and planted to the summit with vines and olives--"a lovely scene," Sir Moses observed. Indeed it would have been impossible to travel through a richer or more beautiful country. We stopped to rest and take some refreshments, and started again, ascending an extremely barren mountain, and at two o'clock reached Shabia, or Gibeah, the commencement of the scene of destruction. We dismounted, and read some of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, then continued our journey till three o'clock, when we had the first view of Jerusalem. Dismounting once again, we recited the usual prayers. Hearing that the plague was yet in the city, Sir Moses deemed it prudent not to enter. We therefore passed the walls and went up the Mount of Olives, where we pitched our tents on a spot commanding a magnificent view of the Holy City and Mosque of Omar, near the tomb of "Huldah" the prophetess. For two hours before reaching Jerusalem, the road by which we travelled was stoney and deserted. Not a blade of grass or a tree was visible. "Most fervently do I pray," Sir Moses remarked, "that the wilderness of Zion may again be like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord." _Friday, June 7th._--Before Sir Moses was up, the Governor of the city came to pay him his respects, and waited till he was ready to receive him, which he did under one of the olive trees, as we had declared ourselves in quarantine. The Governor was exceedingly friendly, and offered to accompany Sir Moses to the Jordan, Dead Sea, and Hebron, and to do him any service in his power; he also sent a present of five sheep. All the representatives of the Portuguese and German congregations, accompanied by crowds of their members, came up to give a heartfelt welcome to their future champion and his excellent wife, bringing with them numerous presents of choice wines, fruit, and cakes, besides articles of rich embroidery. _Saturday, June 8th._--We recited our prayers under the shade of an olive tree, directly opposite the spot where stood the Temple of Solomon. Our situation commanded a splendid view of every part of the city and the surrounding mountains. Our happy moments were unfortunately disturbed by the wailing of the Mohammedan mourning women who followed no less than four funerals. In the course of the day all the leading members of the community came to visit us. When Sir Moses spoke to them on the desirability of procuring work for the poor, the majority of those present expressed themselves in favour of agriculture. In the evening, while sitting in our tent, a jackal stole noiselessly in. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were a little alarmed at the incident, which recalled to their minds the words of the prophet, "For this our heart is faint, for these things our eyes are dim, because of the mountain of Zion, which is desolate, the foxes (jackals) walk upon it" (Lamentations v. 17, 18). In the course of conversation with Mr Young, the English Consul, the latter expressed his approval of the Jews being employed in agriculture. He advised beginning in a small way, so as not to excite the suspicions of Mohhammad Ali. Mrs Young gave Lady Montefiore some distressing accounts of the poverty of the people, and pointed out the necessity of at once finding them some means of earning a livelihood. Money, the Consul said, was very scarce in Jerusalem; he had lost by every bill he had cashed for travellers. Five weeks previously he had sent his servant to Beyrout for £300, and he was fearful he had either been robbed of the money, or else had run away with it. _Sunday, June 9th._--More than three hundred visitors came to see Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. The Governor also called again to say that he was very anxious they should enter the city, that the people might have an opportunity of showing their esteem for them. Sir Moses, in reply, said that he and Lady Montefiore would visit the city on the following Wednesday. The Governor then arranged that he would come himself with some soldiers to conduct them, that they might run no risk, and begged Sir Moses would ride his horse. _Monday, June 10th._--We rose early and rode round the walls of the city, and through the valley of Jehoshaphat. Having descended Mount Zion, we passed the Pool of Siloam, and crossing the bridge over the Brook Kidron, visited all the important tombs and monuments in the valley. We then read our Psalms, and returned to our tents for breakfast. Again hundreds of visitors arrived, amongst whom were four Scotch clergymen, who were making a tour in the Holy Land to enquire into the state of the Jews there; they intended going through Poland for the same purpose. The following day, being the anniversary of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore's wedding, they gave a special feast to all their attendants, which prompted the janissaries, guides, and moukaries to sing praises of the devout pilgrims, and invoke heavenly blessings on their benefactors. CHAPTER XXII. 1839. THE TOMB OF DAVID--SPREAD OF THE PLAGUE--MUSSULMAN FANATICISM--SUSPICIOUS CONDUCT OF THE GOVERNOR OF JERUSALEM--NAYANI, BETH DAGON, JAFFA, EM-KHALET, AND TANTURA. _Tuesday, June 11th._--We rode before breakfast through the valley of Jehoshaphat, then to the tomb of King David. The keeper of the place produced an order from Ibrahim Pasha, which prohibited the entrance of Europeans to the tomb. We addressed a letter to the Governor, informing him that the keeper would not admit us. A short time afterwards the Governor arrived. He approved of the conduct of the keeper, but thought, nevertheless, that the Pasha's order did not refer to a gentleman who, like Sir Moses, was the bearer of letters of introduction from the highest authorities in the land, and, leading the way, he invited us all to follow him to the tomb. It was a spacious vaulted chamber, supported in the centre by a column. At the further end we saw a trellised window, on the right of which was an arched folding door. Being led to the spot, we beheld through the lattice the tomb, covered with richly embroidered carpets. In the centre was an Arabic inscription, "This is the tomb of our Lord David," on either side of which were the double triangles known by the name of "the shield of David." On one corner of the tomb hung a rich silk sash and a pistol, the offerings of Ibrahim Pasha. The Governor, addressing Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, said, "I will now leave you to your religious devotions," and then left the place. We recited several psalms, and went away much gratified with the opportunity which we had had of visiting the sacred spot. On our return we visited the cave of Jeremiah and the tombs of the Kings. In the evening a number of people came up to pass the night on the Mount of Olives, so as to be ready in the morning to join the procession which had been arranged for our entry into the city. Many of our brethren from Hebron, including the spiritual heads and representatives of their congregations, came to offer us their congratulations, and to accompany us the next day to the Synagogue. In the evening a large number of friends, and students from the colleges, assembled round our tents, to recite the evening prayers in front of the place formerly occupied by Solomon's temple. _Wednesday, 12th._--We rose before four o'clock. The Governor offered to attend us at daybreak, but Sir Moses said he would let him know when we were ready. At six o'clock Sir Moses sent for the Governor, who came attended by the representatives of the several congregations, a number of soldiers, and many of his officers and servants. They took coffee, pipes, etc., and after sitting down some time we set out at eight o'clock in procession. Sir Moses rode a beautiful white Arabian horse, which the Governor had sent him the day before; Lady Montefiore rode her own. We entered the city by the Gate of the Tribes, and passed through most of the streets, which were crowded with men, women, and children, the Governor having made it a holiday. We proceeded to the Portuguese Synagogue, where the Governor left us. His officers and men remained with us till we again reached the Mount of Olives. The Synagogue was beautifully decorated, and attended by as many of the congregation as space would permit. Special prayers were offered up by the Ecclesiastical Chief, who invoked the blessings of Heaven on the pious pilgrims. At the conclusion of the service we received a hearty welcome to the Holy City from all present. We then went to the German Synagogue, where a similar service was held, addresses delivered, and prayers offered up for the friends of Zion, after which we proceeded to the Western Wall, and recited there the usual prayers in the presence of a large assembly. Having thanked the representatives of the several communities, we repaired to the house of the Governor, Lady Montefiore awaiting our return in the Synagogue of the late Mr Lehren. Sir Moses then rejoined Lady Montefiore, and paid a visit to Mr and Mrs Young and some other friends, returning to the Mount of Olives about four o'clock P.M. The record of this day in his diary concludes with the following words, expressive of the grateful sentiments which filled his heart:-- "The Lord God of Israel be praised and thanked for permitting our feet to stand a second time within thy gates, O Jerusalem, may the city soon be rebuilt, in our days. Amen." "I believe," he continues, "the whole population was looking at us, and bestowing blessings on us." _Thursday, 13th._--We were engaged all day in speaking to persons who came with petitions. Some of Sir Moses' friends, fearing the ravages of the plague, informed him of their intention to accompany him to Hebron. A man to whom we had spoken, only a few days previously, had since died of the plague, so that their apprehensions of serious danger seemed to be fully justified. Sir Moses distributed the money he had brought with him from England, and made arrangements for the further distribution of £500, which he promised to send either from Beyrout or Alexandria. _Friday, 14th._--With feelings of deep regret we left the Mount of Olives for Hebron, and after three hours' journey reached Rachel's Tomb. Seeing that it was greatly out of repair and going fast to ruin, Lady Montefiore gave directions for an estimate for its restoration to be made. Half way to Hebron we rested for an hour near a fortress and a great reservoir. Our route lay through a mountainous country, little cultivated. On the summit of a mountain at some distance we saw the tombs of Nathan the prophet and Gad the seer. About an hour's ride from Hebron we were met by the representatives of the Hebrew community, accompanied by hundreds of their members, many of whom danced and sang psalms to manifest their delight. They preceded us to the place where we pitched our tents, in an olive grove near the town. The vicinity of the town was beautiful, very mountainous, but covered with vines, olives, and pomegranates. We attended the Portuguese Synagogue, and then returned to our tent. _Saturday, 15th._--Early in the morning, the representatives of the community came to accompany us to Synagogue, where both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were received with the highest respect. At the conclusion of the service the same gentlemen accompanied us back to our encampment. Whilst at breakfast the Governor was announced; he brought with him a present of four sheep. As we kept ourselves in quarantine, and our place of encampment was surrounded by a cordon, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore could not receive him in the tent. After having finished their repast, however, they went out to him, although they did not consider it advisable to accept his present, as he had not paid the pilgrims the attention due to them on their arrival. The Governor, feeling that he had not acted as he should have done, offered profound apologies, but blamed the community for not having given him due notice of their arrival. In consideration of his polite excuses, his present was accepted. When he offered his services, Sir Moses asked whether he could take us to the Cave of Machpelah, but he could not give a favourable reply. We had visitors the whole day. _Sunday, 16th._--There were assembled in front of our tents no fewer than two hundred people, men, women, and children, including all the representatives of the congregation, together with their wives and children. They presented us with certificates entitling us to free seats in their several Synagogues, both Portuguese and German. They also requested Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to accept the presidency of their charities and schools. The Governor also paid them another visit, as a special mark of respect, repeating his apologies for not having come to meet them, and volunteering his services during our visits to the holy places. After he left, the whole congregation united in prayers for the evening service. The scene was most interesting. Numerous presents had again been sent by various members of the community; also a jar of fresh butter and another of honey, by the Sheik of the place. After the prayers, the four sheep which the Governor had sent were prepared for the repast. The parts appropriated to the descendants of Aaron, the High Priest, were given to them, the hind quarters were presented to the Mussulman and Druse attendants and moukaries, and the forequarters to poor Jewish families. All present appeared happy. Singing, playing, dancing, and performances with sword and gun, afforded amusement to old and young, to Druse, Mussulman, Christian, and Jew. _Monday, June 17th._--The Governor and Sheik having, on the previous day, promised to accompany us to the Cave of Machpelah, they came this morning before nine o'clock, together with their attendants. After having partaken of coffee and sherbet, with the usual accompaniment of a chibouk, we set out for the tombs of our forefathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Many members of the Hebrew community followed us. On reaching the steps of the Mosque, even before we had dismounted, there was a great cry against us entering. We nevertheless ascended the steps, and entered the passage leading to the interior of the Mosque. It was filled with people, all screaming and threatening us with sticks. But the situation soon became much more serious. The Mussulmans began to beat back those of the Jews who had followed us, and the screams were truly frightful. The soldiers of the Governor of Beyrout and the janissary from Mr Moore, the English Consul, behaved admirably; they struck right and left with all their might, and the entrance gate was soon closed. We remained inside, and following the Governor, attempted to enter the Mosque, but we were for some time prevented by the cries of the people, which were greatly increased by a dervish, who threw himself before the door, shrieking in a most frightful manner, and calling on the people not to allow us to enter. Sir Moses, however, drew Lady Montefiore along past him, and we made good our entrance; but, perceiving that we were in great danger, the Mosque being filled with at least five hundred persons, many of whom were armed with sticks, Sir Moses did not deem it prudent to remain. We therefore immediately passed through the opposite door, and left the Mosque by a different gate to the one through which we had entered. The only objects we saw in the passage deserving notice were two large stones in the wall; they were similar to those in the Western Wall at Jerusalem, at least nine yards long and one yard broad. We also saw an iron gate which, we thought, might perhaps lead to the cave, but Sir Moses felt certain that they were determined we should not enter to see any part of it. The Governor appeared in great alarm, and had not the least influence with the people. "To say the truth," Sir Moses remarked, "I did not see him make any exertions for our safety." He accompanied us to our tents, making many apologies for the unhappy result of our visit; but Sir Moses would not speak to him, as he (the Governor) was bound in honour and duty not to have subjected us to such an insult. We were scarcely in our tents before many people came running to us from the Jews' quarter, saying that the Mussulmans were beating them most unmercifully, and they were fearful of being murdered. Sir Moses received letters from the representatives of the community, one of whom had been so severely beaten that he was obliged to write from his bed. Several others called who had also been very much ill-used. We feared that perhaps we should also be attacked as soon as it was dark, although Sir Moses felt no serious apprehension, should such an event take place, as we had seventeen people with us, many of them well armed. Nevertheless, as we strongly recommended it, he wrote a letter to the Governor of Jerusalem, acquainting him with what had occurred, and requesting him to send a few men as a guard. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore then attended both the German and Portuguese Synagogues, and distributed their benevolent gifts to the men, women, and children in the same way as at Safed and Tiberias. We then returned to our tents, took our dinner, and afterwards received many visitors. Having looked to our arms and said our prayers, we retired to rest, "confiding," Sir Moses observed, "in the protection of Heaven." _Tuesday, June 18th._--Our tents and luggage having been placed on our mules, we left the olive ground, followed by the heads of the community and many of our brethren. A few minutes later we were joined by the Governor of the town and the Sheik, with his officers. They again made many apologies for the occurrences of the previous day, and accompanied us on our road for half-an-hour. The Jews also followed us, singing psalms. Sir Moses entreated them to leave us, which they did, after bestowing thousands of blessings on him and on Lady Montefiore. In less than a quarter of an hour we met the janissary whom Sir Moses had sent to the Governor of Jerusalem. He came at full gallop, and had several horsemen with him. He brought Sir Moses an answer from the Governor, who had sent him twenty brave fellows, all well mounted and armed. We waited a few moments till they all came up. They were commanded by an Agha, who promised to defend us with his blood and that of his men. Sir Moses then requested our co-religionists to return to the town, giving them numerous tokens of his love for the Holy City of Abraham "the beloved." (This latter attribute the Mussulmans always attach to the name of Abraham.) They departed with many blessings for their devoted friends and protectors. The soldiers, janissaries, moukaries, and our own attendants continued feasting and firing their muskets the whole night, and making so desperate a noise as to render sleep impossible. Sir Moses afterwards learned that the Governor of Hebron had already commenced showing his authority, much to the advantage of the Jews. Having heard that one of them had been ill-treated by a Mussulman, the Governor immediately caused the offender to be severely punished in his presence as a caution to the Mussulmans against again committing a similar offence. _Wednesday, June 19th._--We left our encampment at seven, reaching the tombs of Nathan the Prophet and Gad the Seer at half-past nine. Our guards amused us on the way with a complete sham fight with lance, sabre, musket, and pistol, advancing and retreating at full gallop. They were all capital horsemen, and it was a most pleasing and lively sight. We read our prayers at the tombs, which are situated near the village of Halhool. Our road lay between the mountains, a continuous desert, until we reached the plain. Sir Moses there discharged our escort, made presents to the Agha and every one of his soldiers, and sent a letter of thanks to the Governor of Jerusalem, accompanied by a valuable telescope. We encamped for the night near the village of Zaccariah, and started again the next morning at six. _Thursday, 20th._--We proceeded _viâ_ Nayani to Beth Dagon, near Ashdod, and reached Jaffa the next day. We encamped on the sands close to the sea. The British and Russian Consuls soon after called, bringing with them the sad intelligence that the plague was in the town and neighbourhood. The superintendent of the Quarantine then came to see Sir Moses, and gave him a certificate which, we thought, would enable us to proceed to Beyrout without performing quarantine. The Cadi and the Governor of the town also called to pay their respects. The latter, being the brother of the Governor of Jerusalem, was particularly attentive, and sent presents of sheep and various kinds of fruit. We left Jaffa on Sunday, reached the village of Emkhalet in the evening, and encamped in a large and beautiful plain near Mount Carmel. The next day we started at two o'clock in the morning, and at seven arrived at Cæsarea, where once stood the proud city of Herod. It must have been a place of great magnificence, to judge from the splendid remains of the granite columns; there is also every appearance of its having had a fine harbour, most beautifully situated. It is now, with the exception of some portions of the wall which formerly surrounded the city, little more than an immense pile of ruins. We had a very pleasant ride nearly the whole way, on the sands close to the sea. We left Emkhalet early in the morning. It was very dark, and we ran great risk of serious accident, having to pass many deep holes, like wells, in which the corn is laid up for the year. These were at that time being filled in, so that they were left uncovered. We breakfasted and rested till twelve, when we again set forward and encamped in the evening at Tantura, the ancient city of Dor, of which we read in the first Book of Kings that it was inhabited by the son-in-law of King Solomon. We left our tents a few minutes after one o'clock. We had a pleasant ride, great part of the way through a beautiful plain between Mount Carmel and the sea. We passed not far from some splendid ruins of a castle and town. On proceeding to the spot, we found it to be "Athlit," some of the Arabs called it "Atlik," the Castellum Perigrinorum frequently mentioned by the Crusaders. There are still many arches and vaults to be seen, as well as some granite pillars. The remains of a church also attract the traveller's attention; by the style of its architecture it is supposed to be of Christian origin. There are some stones in the walls round the building as large as, and similar to, those in the Western Wall at Jerusalem. CHAPTER XXIII. 1839. ENCAMPMENT NEAR MOUNT CARMEL--STATE OF THE COUNTRY--CHILD MARRIAGES IN THE PORTUGUESE COMMUNITY AT HAIFA--ARRIVAL IN BEYROUT. At 8 P.M. we reached the quarantine cordon at the foot of Mount Carmel, a narrow pass between the sea and the mountain, about two miles from Haifa, where we had intended to rest, fully relying on our certificate from the superintendent of the quarantine at Jaffa. Having always kept ourselves in quarantine since we left Beyrout, and lodged in our own tents, avoiding all villages, we expected to have been allowed to pass without any detention, but to our great mortification the officer in command informed Sir Moses that, having come to his cordon, he and his party must perform quarantine, but that he might send a messenger to the Governor of Beyrout, under whose orders he acted. This Sir Moses at once did, and having addressed an Arabic letter to him, he charged one of the soldiers of his suite to take it to the Governor with all possible speed. In the meanwhile, the superintendent suggested that we should have all our things dipped twice into the sea, once on that day, and after seven days a second time. Some members of the Hebrew community came to us and promised to bring us all the provisions we might require during our stay in quarantine, and we became reconciled to our detention. Mr Young, the British Consul in Jerusalem, when forwarding to Sir Moses his letters from England, took the opportunity of adding some information respecting the state of the Holy City, which was far from satisfactory. He also informed Sir Moses that several of his friends had been attacked by serious illness. Mr Kilby, of Beyrout, sent a report, in which he said that war was inevitable, that all the country was in a disturbed state and the roads infested with robbers. Several assassinations had taken place even at Beyrout, and he recommended us to apply to the Governor of Acre for an escort. "Last week," he wrote, "two Jews left Beyrout with three hundred dollars for Hebron, which had been sent from Amsterdam for the congregations; they were stopped near Kasmia, robbed of the money and dreadfully beaten, one of them being shot in the struggle. Although severely injured, the wounded man contrived to reach Sidon, but died there." "How wonderful are the ways of Heaven!" observed Sir Moses. "The second night after we left Beyrout we thought ourselves most unfortunate in being compelled to sleep in the open air, as we were too fatigued to reach our tents and luggage, which were already at Kasmia. Had we continued our journey and succeeded in reaching that place, we should in all probability have shared the same fate as the other two Jews." A messenger had also been robbed, and had lost several of his fingers by a sword cut. Signor M. di A. Finzi, the British consular agent at St Jean d'Acre, came to present his respects to Sir Moses, and brought some valuable information respecting agriculture in the environs of Tiberias and Safed. This gentleman had acted most benevolently towards the unfortunate people who had been attacked by Druses. The British Consul of Haifa also came to see Sir Moses, and reported that Ibrahim Pasha had advanced on Aleppo. It was rumoured that there had been some fighting, and all the troops in quarantine had received orders to leave the next day and join Ibrahim Pasha. All the country was in a most disturbed state, and the Jews of Safed were so much alarmed, that they fled from their homes and had reached Haifa in a very distressed condition. The people at Safed had received information that the Druses were coming to pillage the place. The Governor of the town had left it with the few soldiers he had under his command. Every one appeared very uneasy at the unprotected state of the country, as a hundred men from the mountains could, with the greatest facility, have plundered every town and village in Palestine. On the previous evening the Governor of Acre had brought his thirty-five wives to the Carmellite convent as a place of security; he remained there overnight and left in the morning. The convent was just above the spot where the quarantine ground was situated. _Thursday, 27th June._--Even the discomforts of a detention in quarantine were sometimes varied by pleasing incidents, such as making the acquaintance of distinguished travellers. In this case we had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with several eminent men, including the Rev. Dr Alex. Keith and Dr Black, who happened to be performing their quarantine in the same locality. These gentlemen called on Sir Moses, and he returned their visit the next day. The time passed so agreeably to all that these visits were frequently renewed. The superior of the convent on Mount Carmel addressed a very polite letter to Sir Moses, regretting that our being in quarantine prevented his having the pleasure of receiving us in his convent, but making an offer of his services, and sending a present of the best wine of Mount Lebanon. _Saturday, June 29th._--The day was spent in repose, with prayers and reading the Sacred Scriptures. Being so close to Mount Carmel, our thoughts naturally turned to the Prophet Elijah; and in addition to the usual Sabbath prayers, Sir Moses read to us the 18th chapter of 1st Kings in a most solemn manner, and with such fervour that every one present was deeply affected. In the course of the day the messenger returned, bringing the following reply to Sir Moses' letter:--"The Governor cannot allow a shorter quarantine than seven days." In the evening, after the conclusion of Sabbath, letters from Mr Kilbee were opened, containing the correspondence from England. There had been disturbances in some of the manufacturing towns at home and in Paris; the Melbourne ministry had resigned, but had again accepted office. This was all the news we received from England, but Mr Kilbee added unsatisfactory intelligence from Beyrout. He wrote that the Druses had plundered Damascus, and the whole country was in a state little short of rebellion, and that poor Lady Hester Stanhope had died on the night of the 21st inst., having been without medical aid or the attendance of any European. Mr Moore, the British Consul, and the Rev. Mr Thomson had been to her house on the 23rd, and they buried her the same night by moonlight. The accounts which the messenger brought from Beyrout of the disturbed state of the country induced some of our men to beg Sir Moses to discharge them, as they were fearful of continuing the journey, and all appeared much alarmed. Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were undecided by which way they should proceed to Alexandria, as they were unwilling to go by sea, the boats from Haifa to Alexandria being very small; nor did they wish to risk an attack of the Druses by going to Beyrout. _Sunday, June 30th._--We heard heavy firing at Acre, about two hours' ride from here, which caused some uneasiness; but at ten o'clock the guardians informed us that Ibrahim Pasha had defeated the Sultan's army near Aleppo, and had taken many prisoners. The firing of cannon at Acre was in celebration of the victory. Sir Moses feared it was but a proof of hostilities having actually commenced. Many gifts arrived daily from the Agha of the place, from the Superior of the convent, and from several Sheiks in the neighbourhood; and as Sir Moses invariably returned handsome presents to these parties, as well as to their servants, it is not surprising that, in every town and village which they visited, the gifts they received were so numerous. The chief of the quarantine visited us with the physician, and requested me to feel the pulses of every one of our party, including Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and to declare on my honour whether they were in good health. They evidently mistook me for a doctor of medicine, and I gladly complied with their request. I felt the pulse of everyone, and reported it to be in a most satisfactory state. During this examination Sir Moses was in a state of great uneasiness, as the least indisposition would have subjected him and the rest of the party to an addition of forty days extra quarantine at the least, which he prayed heaven to avert, as he feared it would make us all seriously ill. The same evening Drs Keith and Black came to our tents and acquainted us with the news they had just received from Haifa. The road to Beyrout by the sea shore was infested with thieves, and the road they had intended to take, through Nablous, was quite impassable; they had therefore determined to proceed by sea, and intended leaving at six o'clock the next morning. Sir Moses, however, relying on the Almighty's protection, decided to go by land with Mr Finzi, the English Consular Agent at Acre, who had offered to accompany us. _Monday, July 1st._--"We left with a grateful heart," writes Sir Moses, "the place of our encampment in the morning, and were accompanied by the superintendent of the quarantine, the British Consul at Haifa, and Signor Finzi, who rode with us as far as the Synagogue in Haifa. They wished to wait for us there, and then accompany us to Acre, but I thanked them for their intentions and begged them not to do so; they therefore took leave of us with many good wishes." We entered the Synagogue, which was but a small and mean looking room, and after divine service Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore distributed gifts to the poor to the same amount he had given in the other towns. He expressed his displeasure to the Portuguese community for allowing marriages among such very young people to take place, and begged them to follow the example of their co-religionists in Jerusalem, who allowed no such early marriages as those which must have taken place in Haifa. Of the few German Jewish families whom he saw there he spoke in terms which showed his great satisfaction with them. _Tuesday, July 2nd._--We set off this morning at two. Our road for three hours lay through a well cultivated plain, but after that we had to cross a steep and rugged mountain. At seven o'clock we stopped in a beautifully situated spot to rest. We sat down under a fine tree in a garden which commanded an extensive sea view, but we were informed that snakes had been seen in the garden, so we started again at 2 P.M. Our road led over a mountain pass, one of the most difficult, Sir Moses said, he had ever seen. The pass ran many hundred feet above the sea and close to the edge of a precipice nearly all the way. On descending into the plain we found it well cultivated, being almost covered with white mulberry trees. We noticed several women engaged in stripping them of their foliage, whilst others were winding the silk off the cocoons. At three o'clock we reached the fountain, "Ain el Gaml," or "Sebeel Iskandrooni," and from there to "Ain el Medfooni;" the road was again very rocky and in some parts precipitous. Lady Montefiore being an excellent rider, galloped along rather heedlessly, and her horse rushed right into the sea. Apprehending danger, I galloped after and succeeded in overtaking her, and in seizing the bridle of her horse. In doing so my own horse stumbled and threw me rather heavily, but fortunately the fall was not attended by any serious consequences. The waters of the fountain just named bear a great reputation among the natives in that neighbourhood for their healing qualities, and numerous invalids may always be found there, who come for the cure of their various ailments. At six we encamped near the famous fountain known by the name of "Râs el-'ain," where the ruins of its great aqueduct leading to "El Ma'-shûk" (an isolated hill in the plain) and the ancient Tyre were still to be seen. This fountain and those previously named were considered by several writers of the middle ages to be identical with those alluded to by King Solomon in the Song of Songs (iv. 15): "A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon." _July 3rd._--We rose about one o'clock, set off at three, and reached "Nahr el Kasimiyah" at five. When we had crossed the river of that name, we saw a wolf under some rocks, about thirty yards distant. One of our guards fired immediately, but only succeeded in frightening it, and it ran away. The shock of the musket threw the man off his horse! "So much for guards!" exclaimed Sir Moses. "This was one of the three men we took from Acre, on account of the dangerous condition which the roads were reported to be in." Afterwards we saw four beautiful young deer bounding along the sea shore, and the British Consular Agent hurried on in the hope of getting a shot at them; but he was disappointed, much to the satisfaction of the soldier who had been so unsuccessful in attempting to kill the wolf. He slyly observed that he was pleased to find some one equally clever in the party; nevertheless, he continued, "our will was good, even if we failed in the deed." We rested at "El Kantare." During the day we came across quantities of wheat that was being cut and carried, and observed many men in the fields, but they were all Druses. They were the only able-bodied men we had seen engaged in agriculture during the whole of our tour. The crops were everywhere most abundant, and of excellent quality. Indian corn and tobacco covered much land, and had likewise a most promising appearance. Sir Moses now sent a messenger to Mr Kilbee, of Beyrout, requesting him to engage a house for us. We started at four, and reached Bassatin towards the evening, where we encamped for the night. On the road we met three men, who were recognised as belonging to the sect of the Metouáli by the peculiar turbans which they wore. Our guides begged them to let us have a little water to drink, but this they refused to do. As it is a most unusual thing in the East not to allow a traveller to quench his thirst, they were ultimately compelled to hand us their jars of water, though not before some unpleasant arguments as to their right of giving or withholding had taken place. Our people, having slaked their thirst, returned the jars to the Metouális, who took them, and immediately dashed them against the stones, where they were shattered to pieces. The strangers assigned as their excuse for doing so, that their religion forbade their using any vessel after it had been touched by a person of a different creed. _July 4th._--We rose soon after midnight, and started at two o'clock. Our road lay for some distance along the sands, close to the sea, and over rocks, from which we obtained fine views of the distant mountains. We reached "Chadi" at eight, and reposed there till 4 P.M., when we again set forward, and proceeded as far as "Bir Khassan," a small tavern on the road side. Here we recited a prayer of thanks for our safe return. A number of our brethren came to meet us, and in their company we continued our journey to Beyrout, which place we reached at eight o'clock. The afternoon's ride had been extremely beautiful, our route taking us through what seemed a succession of gardens. Sir Moses, however, felt very weak, and thought he could not have endured another day's journey. We found a house, which had formerly been inhabited by the Rev. Mr Thomson, comfortably prepared for us. _Friday, July 5th._--_Beyrout._--Sir Moses received a visit from the Governor of the town, who said he was happy to see us safely returned, as he had been uneasy on our account. "Indeed," he observed, "you displayed more courage than prudence in attempting such a journey under existing circumstances, and I am delighted to think you met with so little inconvenience." He also gave us the official account he had received of the victory. He said 12,000 prisoners had been captured, besides 140 pieces of cannon, and 25,000 stands of arms, the killed and wounded on both sides being 9000. The victory had been most decisive, and the whole of the Turkish army was annihilated. "Before this battle," the Governor continued, "the country was in a state little short of open rebellion. There being no troops left to keep the Druses in check, they came down from the mountains, and pillaged the towns at their pleasure. Many of the inhabitants of Damascus and Safed fled to Beyrout and Acre for refuge." The residence which Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore occupied was so pleasant, that it contributed greatly towards their recovery from the fatigue and excitement of the journey. The house stood very high, in the midst of a beautiful garden. It was about three quarters of an hour's ride from the town, and commanded beautiful views of the sea, the adjacent country, and the mountains of Lebanon. The gardens in the neighbourhood were mostly filled with mulberry trees (white) for the cultivation of silk-worms, and, at a short distance, we noticed several sand hills. These hills move progressively, and destroy the country in their course by burning the land and trees. Of many fig trees only the tops remain visible. In the evening several visitors belonging to the Hebrew community arrived, and joined in divine service for the Sabbath. _July 6th._--The Austrian steamer from Jaffa arrived, bringing reports that Russia had chartered 400 transports to convey 25,000 troops from Odessa to Constantinople. _July 7th._--Many visitors came to offer their congratulations on our safe return from the journey; among others, Mr Moore, the British Consul, who told us that English, French, and Austrian steamers were expected with further information respecting the political state of Egypt, Turkey, and Syria. CHAPTER XXIV. 1839. ON BOARD THE _ACHERON_--SIR MOSES' PLANS ON BEHALF OF THE JEWS IN PALESTINE--INTERVIEW WITH BOGHOZ BEY--PROPOSED JOINT STOCK BANKS IN THE EAST. _Monday, July 8th._--We sent the greater part of our luggage on board the _Acheron_, under the command of Captain Kennedy, and prepared to start at a moment's notice. Sir Moses occupied himself with writing letters to Mr Young, the British Consul at Jerusalem, to whom he sent money for distribution among the indigent Christians of the Holy City, as well as for their burial ground. To Mr Joseph Amsaleg he sent £500 for the poor of the Hebrew communities, and to the Rev. Mr Thomson he sent a donation for the Christian poor of Beyrout, as well as a souvenir for himself, in consideration of the accommodation afforded to Sir Moses in his house. To the poor of Safed he gave, through R. Moses Schmerling, 53,500 piastres, and to those of Hebron he gave, through Nissan Drucker, 11,770 piastres, being the amount he had promised for these two Holy Cities. The following day Sir Moses concluded his arrangements with the representatives of the Hebrew community in Beyrout, respecting the distribution of his gifts for their Synagogue and poor. This being accomplished, his work for the day was over. "I am now anxious," said Sir Moses, "to have an interview with the Pasha at Alexandria, for the purpose of claiming of his Highness security for the persons and property of the Jews in Palestine, and particularly for those at Safed and Tiberias where they are continually exposed to insult, robbery, and murder. I have also several other requests to make of him, viz., that he will order the walls of Tiberias to be repaired; that he will admit the evidence of Jews in cases brought before the judges or governors of the land; that he will permit land and villages to be rented on a lease of fifty years, free from all taxes or claims of governors, the rent to be paid at Alexandria; that he will allow me to send people to assist and instruct the Jews in a better mode of cultivating land, the olive, the vine, cotton, and mulberries, as well as the breeding of sheep; finally, that he will give me a firman to open banks in Beyrout, Jaffa, Jerusalem, and Cairo. I sincerely pray," he continued, "that my journey to the Holy Land may prove beneficial to the Jews; not only to those who are already there, but to many others who may come to settle in the Holy Cities, either from love for the Land of Promise, or from a desire to quit countries where persecution prevents their living in peace. I shall then be amply repaid for the fatigue and anxiety of my journey." _July 10th._--Sir Moses had been extremely unwell on Tuesday and confined to his room, but feeling a little better the next morning, he gave orders for our immediate departure, as the English Consul had informed us of the arrival of the Indian Mail Packet, adding that we must embark at once, as the boat would get under weigh about noon. Having taken leave of all our friends, we proceeded to the wharf, where Captain Kennedy's boat took us on board the _Acheron_. We were under weigh at seven o'clock. The weather was extremely sultry, and a terrible swell, with a head wind, contributed greatly to the discomfort of all on board. _July 12th._--At five o'clock in the morning we had a sight of land off Rosetta, and at half-past nine we passed the Egyptian fleet; fourteen ships under full sail, standing to the east, about twelve miles from Alexandria. They made a very imposing appearance. All had new sails; they kept an equal distance ship from ship, a cable and a half's length apart (900 feet), and formed an excellent line. The second ship, with a flag at the foremast, was the Vice-Admiral's. The Admiral was in the centre of the line, which consisted of eleven line of battleships with three tiers of guns, two large frigates, and one large corvette. The Rear-Admiral's flag was at the mizzen of the last ship. We anchored safely in the harbour of Alexandria at 11 A.M. The men-of-war in the harbour were all dressed with flags, and over the houses of the Consuls floated the flags of their several nations. The captain took us on shore in his boat, and at one o'clock we reached the hotel. The first news we learned on our arrival was that the Sultan was dead, and that his son and successor had accorded the Dominion of Egypt to Mohhammad Ali and his successors. Sir Moses called on Colonel Campbell, but he had to wait some time before seeing him, as the Colonel was with the Pasha. The Colonel willingly consented to introduce Sir Moses to Boghoz Bey, and fixed four o'clock for the purpose. Colonel Campbell said he would call for Sir Moses, and bring one of his horses for him. The Colonel was punctual, and we rode together to the residence of Boghoz Bey. Sir Moses gave him his three requests in writing, and he promised to lay them before Mohhammad Ali and explain them to him. The Bey appeared well inclined to forward his requests, and offered to present him to the Pasha either the same evening or the next morning. Sir Moses fixed nine o'clock the next day, although Colonel Campbell wished it to be the same evening, Sir Moses was, however, desirous that the Pasha should have time to consider and talk over the matter with his minister before the interview, and it being near Sabbath, he knew not how to get there. _July 13th._--We rose at five in the morning; recited the Sabbath morning prayers. About half-past seven we proceeded to the Pasha's palace. The Sardinian Consul kindly lent Sir Moses his sedan chair, the only one to be found in Egypt at that time. We could not ride in a carriage on account of the Sabbath. Sir Moses was in full uniform, and wore his Sheriff's chain. The palace was situated about half-an-hour's distance from the Hotel de l'Europe, and commanded an extensive view of both harbours, as well as the outer roads. The Pasha's fleet was in full sail nearly opposite to his window. Sir Moses gives the following account of his interview with the Pasha:-- "I had to wait," he writes, "for Colonel Campbell in one of the attendance rooms, being before the time I had appointed to meet him; he came very punctually at nine o'clock. We were immediately admitted to the presence of Mohhammad Ali. He received me standing, then taking his seat on the divan, he motioned me to a seat on his right hand, Dr Loewe next to me, and Colonel Campbell on the left of the Pasha. His Highness gave me a very gracious reception, and spoke on each of my requests. Referring to the one for renting land of him in Palestine, he said he had no land there, but any contract I might make with the Mussulmans should have his approval, and he would send it to Constantinople for confirmation. "On repeating that I had been led to believe that his Highness possessed land there, from information I had received when in the country, he replied that if I could point out the parts belonging to him, I could have them. "He said he would be glad to see the land better cultivated, and I might send proper persons with agricultural implements. "I then spoke to him on the subject of the Jews being admitted as witnesses at Safed, Tiberias, and Hebron, in the same manner as in Jerusalem. He first said that on account of their religion they could not be permitted to give evidence against Mussulmans, but on my again repeating that they were so permitted in Jerusalem, he replied that Jews and Christians should be treated alike, and there should be no difference between them. "I then spoke to him as to the rebuilding of the wall round the town of Tiberias, which had been destroyed by the earthquake. I said there were plenty of stones on the spot, and people willing to do the work free of expense, as the inhabitants were at present so much exposed to robbers. At first he misunderstood me, and asked which wall it was that the Jews wished to repair. I explained to him that both Mussulmans and Jews were equally anxious that the city wall should be repaired: both had written and spoken to me on the subject whilst I was at Tiberias, begging me to represent to him the present insecure state of the city; all that was required was his order to have the work done. He said he would order a report to be made immediately to him, and the wall repaired. "I told him that in the cultivation of land, security was necessary for both land and person, and I hoped they would have it. This he also promised. "I then spoke of establishing joint stock banks with a capital of £1,000,000 sterling, with power to increase it, if necessary. His eyes sparkled at this; he appeared delighted, and assured me the bank should have his protection, and he should be happy to see it established. "I mentioned the branches: Alexandria, Beyrout, Damascus, Jaffa, Jerusalem, and Cairo. "I said I was happy to see him looking so well; he did not appear to me older than when I had the honour of being presented to him at Cairo in 1827. This is really the fact. I then congratulated him on the fine appearance of his fleet, which I had passed yesterday. He replied, 'At present it is very small.' "I presented him with a bronze medal of our most gracious queen, struck by the city of London to commemorate Her Majesty's visit to the Guildhall on the 9th of November 1837. He appeared pleased, examined it attentively on both sides, asked me if it was a good likeness of the Queen, then thanked me for it. I took leave, and returned to the hotel the same way I came, being followed the whole way by crowds of curious people. "Boghoz Bey, the Pasha's Minister of Commerce, had read over and explained my requests to him on, the previous evening, that he might be fully aware of the object of my visit to him. Being anxious to have Mohhammad Ali's answers in writing, which he said Boghoz Bey should give me, as he had been present at our interview, I called on the Bey, but he had not returned from the Palace. "Between four and five I walked there with Dr Loewe. Boghoz Bey received me most politely, and said as I had not put my signature to the written requests, he could not give me an answer in writing, but he hoped I was perfectly satisfied with what Mohhammad Ali had promised me this morning. He added that as soon as I had made my several requests in writing, and signed them, he would write me the answer, agreeably with the Pasha's words, as he had accorded me all I required. "I thanked him, and immediately after the conclusion of Sabbath I wrote, and sent the several requests to Boghoz Bey, properly signed in the form of letters." Numbers of visitors came to pay their respects to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and offered congratulations on their safe return from Palestine. Mr Waghorn (the originator of the short overland route between England and India), read to Sir Moses the letters he had just addressed to Lord Palmerston, Mr Hobhouse, and the _Times_ newspaper on the subject. The heat was intense, and we were so terribly persecuted by insects that the pleasure of our interesting discussions was greatly marred. Sir Moses indeed observed that he could not live in Egypt, even to be king of the land. _Sunday, July 14th._--A deputation from the Hebrew community, headed by their Ecclesiastical Chief, and the representatives of their schools and charitable institutions, waited on Sir Moses to report on the state of their Synagogues, &c. Sir Moses, with his usual liberality, contributed towards the funds of all their charities. He then requested me to wait on Boghoz Bey to receive the letter which the minister had promised him. Accompanied by Lady Montefiore, Sir Moses afterwards paid some visits, and took leave of all who had called on them; and, this being accomplished, they proceeded to the harbour, where a boat belonging to the Pasha was waiting to take them on board the _Acheron_. The peculiar phraseology of the conversation I held with Boghoz Bey, partly in Arabic and partly in Turkish, made it desirable to give Sir Moses, on my return, an exact translation of it in writing, but it may be briefly related as follows. After the usual exchange of compliments, I endeavoured to obtain a definite answer to the letter addressed by Sir Moses to the Pasha, but the Bey did not care to express himself on any other subject than that of the proposed bank, and the elaborate manner in which he sought to induce Sir Moses to establish the bank without delay, the enticing promises of protection, patronage, and personal profit which he held out, left no room for doubt as to the interest he took in the scheme. I, on my part, enumerated in detail all the points to which Sir Moses attached so much importance, and the concessions which he asked in favour of religious toleration, justice, and the practice of agriculture and the establishment of colonies. Upon my pressing for an early reply, the Bey again endeavoured to gain time, and for that purpose changed the subject by opening a religious discussion, taking for his theme the interpretation of the prophet's words, "And the Eternal shall be King over all the earth; on that day there shall be one Lord, and His name One." He seemed to be under the impression that this would be an earthly king. I soon succeeded in allaying his fears, and convincing him that the words of the prophet Zachariah referred to the King of kings, the Almighty in Heaven. Eventually he fixed ten o'clock as the time for receiving my reply, and after a repetition of the customary Eastern complimentary phrases I withdrew. It had struck me that the strange question the minister had put to me regarding the expectation of having one King over all the world, had been brought to his mind by the promoters of the colony which he told me intended to settle in Syria. Possibly they might have been informed of Sir Moses' plans, and made some remarks which had come to the ears of the minister. I therefore deemed it right to reassure him on the subject, so that no one should for a moment be led to believe that Sir Moses had any other object in view than that distinctly stated in his letter to the Pasha. I went once more to Boghoz Bey, but not finding him at home, proceeded at once to the Palace. On my arrival there, I went to the secretary's hall and wrote a few lines, stating that I had come to see His Excellency Boghoz Bey for the promised reply, intending to send it in to him, notwithstanding his being with the Pasha. As I was in the act of handing the note to one of the attendants, the minister came out saying, "Come, my friend, immediately with me to His Highness." After having made my first and second bow, Boghoz Bey said to the Pasha, "This is the very person," alluding probably to the subject of their recent conversation. The Pasha smiled. Artim Bey then said, "You will hear word for word just as I said to you yesterday." The Pasha--"I received the letter from Sir Moses just this very moment, that is, the official letter, and I shall send him two letters in reply, one which will reach him when he will be performing quarantine in Malta; acknowledging the receipt of his letter, and informing him that I will take steps to ascertain all particulars respecting the land he wishes to take on lease; but with regard to the protection of the people, the admission of evidence given by Jewish witnesses, and the repair of the wall of Tiberias, I shall immediately give orders. The latter shall be done, whether the stones and materials are to be found there or not, whether people will come forward willing to work or not; all will be done. I shall also write to Sir Moses in the same letter respecting the establishment of banks; all will be satisfactory. The second letter, in which all particulars respecting the contract, and the pointing out of land which belongs to me, or which I shall have to take for Sir Moses from others, he will receive as soon as we shall have obtained all the required information. Be sure of all I have told you." I thereupon said: "But perhaps His Highness would be so gracious as to give me even these few words in writing." Upon this both Boghoz Bey and Artim Bey at once began: "My dear L., yesterday was your Sabbath and to-day is ours; I know you are strict in the observance of your religious tenets, therefore we beg you will not insist on our writing." The Pasha smiled, so did all present. Boghoz Bey made several observations to the Pasha respecting our conversation of yesterday. Having expressed my thanks to the Pasha, in the name of Sir Moses, I withdrew from his presence. At 3 P.M. the _Acheron_ left the harbour. Our bill of health from Alexandria stated, "With regard to the health of the place, occasional cases of plague occur in this town." This was signed by John Wingfield Larking, Her Britannic Majesty's Consul. We were naturally all glad to quit the place. CHAPTER XXV. 1839. ARRIVAL AT MALTA--HOME AGAIN--BOGHOZ BEY RETURNS NO ANSWER--TOUCHING APPEAL FROM THE PERSECUTED JEWS OF DAMASCUS AND RHODES--REVIVAL OF THE OLD CALUMNY ABOUT KILLING CHRISTIANS TO PUT THEIR BLOOD IN PASSOVER CAKES. _July 18th._--About ten o'clock at night we entered the quarantine harbour at Malta, where we were ordered to remain till August 7th. To be confined for twenty days, during the hot summer months, with three hundred pilgrims, at Fort Manoel, was already a cause of great discomfort to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, but the circumstances were here made especially painful to them by the loss of a faithful servant, whose death occurred during their stay in the Lazaretto. In addition to this they received news that the Turkish fleet had been delivered up to Mohhammad Ali, in Alexandria, by Kapoudan Pasha; that the Sultan was dead, and 150,000 Russian troops had arrived at Constantinople. This change in the political horizon frustrated almost all Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore's hopes of seeing their schemes for the amelioration of the condition of Syria realised. There was no chance now of receiving letters from Mohhammad Ali. _August 6th._--The captain of the Lazaretto was there before five o'clock in the morning to give us _pratique_. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to the Synagogue, presented some ornaments for the Ark, and various gifts to the officers. They also called on the Governor, and after paying visits to Sir Hector Grey and their many other friends, went on board our steamer the _Lycurgus_. _August 7th._--About twelve o'clock the steamer moved out of the harbour, and we all bade farewell to the island. On Saturday we cast anchor in the roads of Leghorn. When leaving that place, Sir Moses remained looking at the city as long as it continued in sight. "Heaven only knows," he said, "whether I have seen the place of my birth for the last time; the state of my health and my age would lead me to believe that I can scarcely hope to visit it again. May peace, happiness, and prosperity attend my relatives and all its other inhabitants!" _August 11th._--At Marseilles, Sir Moses visited the gas-works, and expressed great pleasure at seeing the new gas holder and coal shed nearly finished. In the evening he invited all the gentlemen connected with the Imperial Continental Gas Association to take tea with him. _August 13th._--We left Marseilles and proceeded _viâ_ Aix, Avignon, Valence, and Lyons to Châlons. Here we had an instance of the great attention which Sir Moses invariably paid to everything he saw. Having noticed a man lighting the street lamps without the aid of a ladder, he sent for the man to come to our hotel, desiring him to bring with him the long stick he had used in lighting the lamps. The man came and showed it to him; it had a small lantern near the top, and was furnished with a hook. In explaining its use the man pointed out that the burners had no taps but valves, which were raised or lowered by the hook. "It appears to me," said Sir Moses, "a very simple and neat contrivance, a saving of time, and consequently expense, both in lighting and extinguishing the flame." He requested me to make an exact drawing of the stick, with the lantern and hook attached to it, and before leaving the hotel, made the man promise to bring him one of the burners to look at. _Thursday, August 22nd._--We reached Paris. Baron Anselm de Rothschild, who had been with the King at Eu, told Sir Moses that the Pasha had refused to give up the Turkish fleet, and the King would not compel him. Sir Moses called on Mr Bulwer, who informed him that the King would probably be in Paris in five or six days, and wished Sir Moses to remain there, so as to be presented to him. Mr Bulwer also promised to take him to an evening party, to be given on September 3rd by Marshal Soult. But Sir Moses was longing to return to England, and would not prolong his stay. _August 30th._--We left the French capital for Beauvais, where we remained over Sabbath. On Sunday we proceeded to Boulogne, and on Thursday, September 5th, we arrived safely at Dover. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore continued their journey on the same day to Ramsgate, where they arrived in time to be present at the evening service in their Synagogue, and to offer up fervent thanks to the Most High for their safe return after so long an absence and so dangerous an excursion. The next day they left Ramsgate for Richmond, where they were received with most tender affection by their mother, sisters, and brothers, and every member of their family. On their return their correspondence with the East increased rapidly, and engaged much of their attention. Messengers frequently arrived from Jerusalem to entreat them to do what they possibly could to improve the condition of the Jews there. Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore took great pleasure in relieving, as far as in their power, every deserving case. At the end of December Sir Moses thought he might, without impropriety, remind His Excellency Boghoz Bey, Minister of Finance in Egypt, of the promise the Viceroy had made him, when he was at Alexandria, respecting the purchase of land in Syria, and the establishment of banks there and in Egypt. He addressed a letter to Boghoz Bey, recapitulating all the particulars which he had verbally explained to him and the Pasha. Weeks and months passed, and no reply came from Egypt. Sir Moses meanwhile occupied himself with other subjects, thinking that perhaps another and more favourable opportunity might present itself for bringing the matter forward again. His duties in connection with his financial companies took up his time till about the month of March, when the report of an outrage in the East roused sorrow and indignation in the heart of every upright man. In a letter from the Elders of the Hebrew community in Constantinople, addressed to Messrs de Rothschild in London, dated March the 27th, 1840, we read:-- "Independently of the tie which so strongly binds together the whole Jewish community, of which you, gentlemen, are distinguished ornaments, having always been prominent in assisting our distressed brethren, whose appeals to you are not infrequent, your hearts cannot but be greatly moved to sympathise with two Jewish communities (viz., that of Damascus, under the Egyptian jurisdiction, and that of Rhodes, one of the Ottoman States) oppressed by the tyrannies of the Pashas who govern them. "These persecutions originated in calumnies, which the oppressors themselves have invented, and which have been long rankling in their hearts, to the prejudice of the Jewish community. Our brethren are accused of being accomplices in murder, in order to make their Passover cakes with the blood of the murdered men--a thing in itself incredible, as being forbidden in our holy religion. This report has, however, found credence with the governing Pashas of Damascus and Rhodes, and they have oppressed and incarcerated not only several old men and Rabbins, but even a number of children, putting them to tortures, of which it makes men shudder to hear. Such is the afflicting picture drawn in the letters of our persecuted brethren, of which, with deep regret, we hand you copies. "The community now addressing you, although implored by the sufferers to put an end to these persecutions, and to prevent, if possible, their recurrence, is deeply grieved to find itself incapacitated from affording any relief, in consequence of being subject to a Government not on friendly terms with the Pasha of Egypt. "There remain, therefore, no means of salvation for the oppressed, except an appeal to your innate goodness and pity. We entreat you to interpose your valuable mediation, in such manner and with such persons as you may deem most desirable, for the safety of our unhappy brethren languishing in chains and in prison, so as to obtain, from the Pasha of Egypt, the liberation of the Jews of Damascus, and a compensation, not only from the governing Pasha of Damascus, commensurate with the excesses committed by him, but also from the Consular Agents at Rhodes, who have oppressed persons not subject to them. "We, the Rabbins and Elders of this place, impressed with the urgency of the case, and moved by compassion for our brethren, and further induced by the report which is current throughout the world, of the generous and philanthropic sentiments which animate you and fill your hearts, ever open to the miseries of the oppressed, feel persuaded that you will exert yourselves to do all you possibly can, in these distressing circumstances. "(Signed) I. Camondo. Salamon Qm. Mco. Fua. Samuel de N. Treves. "The Jews of Damascus, addressing Messrs Abram Conorte and Aaron Cohen, Elders of the Congregation at Constantinople, after expressing their wishes for their health, say as follows:-- "To our deep regret, we address you these few lines to inform you of the continued state of misery in which our brethren, inhabitants of Damascus, still remain, as communicated to you in my letter of the 17th of Adar (February), forwarded to you by the steam-packet. We had hoped to advise you in this letter that the circumstances of the murder, respecting which the Jewish community were calumniated, had been ascertained, but in this hope we have been sadly disappointed. We will now, therefore, repeat everything in detail, and it is this:-- "On Wednesday, the 1st day of the month of Adar (February) there disappeared from Damascus a priest, who with his servant had dwelt for forty years in the city. He exercised the profession of physician, and visited the houses of Catholics, Jews, and Armenians, for the purpose of vaccination. "The day following, viz., Thursday, there came people into the Jewish quarter to look for him, saying they had seen both him and his servant in that quarter on the previous day. In order to put into execution their conspiracy they seized a Jewish barber, telling him that he must know all about the matter, and took him to the Governor, who on hearing the accusation, immediately ordered him to receive five hundred stripes. He was also subjected to other cruelties. During the intervals between these inflictions he was urged to accuse all the Jews as accomplices, and he, thinking by this means to relieve himself, accused Messrs David, Isaac, and Aaron Harari, Joseph Legnado, Moses Abulafia, Moses Becar Juda, and Joseph Harari, as accomplices, who had offered him three hundred piastres to murder the above mentioned priest, inasmuch as the Passover holidays were approaching, and they required blood for their cakes. He said that he did not, however, give ear to their instigations, and did not know what had happened to the priest and his servant. Upon this the Pasha caused the persons named to be arrested as instigators, and punished with blows and other torments of the most cruel nature; but as they were innocent they could not confirm as true that which was a calumny, and therefore, in contradiction, they asserted their innocence, appealing to the sacred writings, which strictly prohibit the Jews from feeding upon _any_ blood, much less that of a fellow-creature, a thing totally repugnant to nature. Nevertheless they were imprisoned with chains round their necks, and had daily inflicted on them the most severe beatings and cruelties, and were compelled to stand upright without food of any kind for fifty hours together. "Subsequently the Hebrew butchers were cited to appear; they were put in chains together with the Rabbins Jacob Antubi, Salomon Harari, and Asaria Jalfon; and they too were beaten to such an extent that their flesh hung in pieces upon them; and these atrocities were perpetrated in order to induce them to confess that they used blood in making the Passover cakes. They replied that, if such had been the case, many Jewish proselytes would have published the fact. This, however, was not sufficient. "After this, the same Governor went to the boy's college; he had the boys carried to prison, bound them with chains, and forbade the mothers to visit their imprisoned children, to whom only ten drachms of bread and a cup of water per day were allowed, the Governor expecting that the fathers, for the sake of liberating their children, would confess the truth of the matter. "Subsequently a Jew, who was still at liberty, presented himself before the Governor, stating that the calumny of our using blood for our Passover cakes had been discussed before all the Powers, who, after consulting their divines, had declared the falsehood of the charge; and he added that either others had killed the priest and his servant, or they had clandestinely absented themselves from the country, and that the barber, in order to save himself from persecution, had stated that which, was not true. "Upon this the Governor replied that, as he had accused other persons of killing them, he must know who the murderers were; and in order that he should confess, he was beaten to such an extent that he expired under the blows. "After this, the Governor, with a body of six hundred men, proceeded to demolish the houses of his Jewish subjects, hoping to find the bodies of the dead, but not finding anything, he returned, and again inflicted on his victims further castigations and torments, some of them too cruel and disgusting to be described. At last, being incapable of bearing further anguish, they said that the charge was true!!! "The Governor, hearing this statement, asked them where they had secreted the blood of the murdered men, to which one of them replied, that it had been put into a bottle, and delivered to Moses Abulafia, who, however, declared he knew nothing of it. In order to make him confess he received a thousand stripes, but this infliction not extorting any confession from him, he was subjected to other insupportable tortures, which at length compelled him to declare that the bottle was at home in a chest of drawers. Upon this the Governor ordered him to be carried on the shoulders of four men (for he could not walk), that he might open the bureau. This was opened, but nothing was found in it, except a quantity of money which the Governor seized, asking at the same time where the blood was. Whereupon Abulafia replied that he made the statement in order that the Governor should see the money in the bureau, trusting by this means to escape. Upon this the tortures were again repeated, and Abulafia, to save himself, embraced the Mohammedan religion. "In this manner they treated all the prisoners who have been for one month in this misery. In Beyrout and in Damascus the Jews are not permitted to go out. "After this an individual came forward, and stated that by means of astrology he had discovered and ascertained that the seven individuals above named assassinated the priest, and that the servant was killed by Raphael Farkhi, Nathan and Aaron Levy, Mordecai Farkhi, and Asher of Lisbon. The two first were immediately arrested, the others, it appears, sought safety in flight. "You will judge from this--the Elders of Damascus say--what sort of justice is administered by means of astrology, and how such justice is exercised. And there is no one who is moved to compassion in favour of the unfortunate victims. Even Bekhor Negri, the Governor's banker, unable to bear these afflictions, became a Mussulman. "Read this, dearest friends,--they continue,--to Messrs Camondo, Hatteni, and Carmona, in order that they may co-operate for the safety of our unfortunate and calumniated brethren, with such persons as they may deem most fitting. "The Jews of Rhodes describe their state of misery to the elders of the congregation in Constantinople in the following statement:-- "A Greek boy, about ten years old, son of an inhabitant of the country, is said to have been lost, and the Christians have calumniated us by saying that we have killed him. All the European Consuls came forward to demand an elucidation of the affair. They went in a body, with the exception of the Austrian Consul, to the Pasha, and requested that he would entrust to them the conduct of the business, which request the Pasha granted. They then summoned before them two Greek women who dwelt near the city, who stated that on Tuesday some Jews were passing from the villages to the city, and that one of them had a Greek boy with him. The Consuls immediately cited the Jew to appear before them, and questioned him on the subject. He replied that he could prove that during the whole of Tuesday he was in the village, and did not come into the city until Wednesday. He added, moreover, that even if this boy did enter the city by that road, and at the time the Jews were going into it, it ought not therefore to be believed that the Jews had killed him, as the road was the chief and public thoroughfare through which any one might pass. "These reasons were not admitted by the Consuls, and the unfortunate Jew was immediately put in irons, and tortured in a manner never yet seen or heard of. Having been loaded with chains, many stripes were inflicted on him, red hot wires were run through his nose, burning bones applied to his head, and a heavy stone was laid upon his breast, so that he was reduced to the point of death; all this time his tormentors were accusing him, saying, 'You have stolen the Greek boy, to deliver him up to the Rabbi--confess at once, if you wish to save yourself." "Their object was to calumniate our Rabbi, and to take vengeance on all the community; and they stated openly that this was done for the purpose of exterminating the Jews in Rhodes, or to compel them to change their religion, so that they might be able to boast in Europe of having converted an entire community. "Meanwhile the poor Jew cried out in the midst of these torments, praying for death as a relief, to which they replied, that he must confess to whom he had given the boy, and then he should be immediately set at liberty. The poor Jew, oppressed by tortures beyond endurance, resorted to falsehood in order to save himself. He calumniated first one and then another, but many whom he accused had been absent from the town some time, which clearly proved that his assertions had no other object than to free himself from these tortures. Nevertheless all those who could be found were immediately imprisoned, and subjected to insupportable torments, to extort from them the confession that they had delivered the boy to the Chief Rabbi, or to the elders of the community, and night and day they were tormented, because they would not accuse innocent persons. Meanwhile, goaded by continual tortures, these poor creatures cried out and prayed that they might be killed rather than be subjected to the endurance of such anguish; especially seven of them, who anxiously courted death, and indeed were all but dead in consequence of these tortures. To increase the misery, the Jewish quarter was closed and surrounded by guards, in order that none might go out, or learn what had happened to their unfortunate brethren. "You must know--they say--that during the day at such times as there is no one in the Jewish quarter, the Christians are going about endeavouring clandestinely to leave the dead body of a Turk or Christian in the court of some Jewish house, for the purpose of having the individual brought before the Governor, in order to give a colouring to their calumny. Such is the misery that weighs upon our hearts and blinds our eyes. We have even been refused the favour of presenting a petition to the Pasha of the city. "After three days spent in this wretchedness, they refused even to supply us with bread in our quarter, for our families shut up with us; but by dint of entreaty we have obtained, as a favour, the supply at high prices of salt fish and black bread. "From what we can gather from the Europeans who are about the Pasha, he acts in concert with the Consuls, as he has done from the beginning. We except the Austrian Consul, who at first endeavoured to protect us, but who was at length compelled to join with the multitude." CHAPTER XXVI. 1840. INDIGNATION MEETINGS IN LONDON--M. CRÉMIEUX--LORD PALMERSTON'S ACTION--SIR MOSES STARTS ON A MISSION TO THE EAST--ORIGIN OF THE PASSOVER CAKE SUPERSTITION. These communications, together with all the letters which had been addressed to Sir Moses on the same subject, were submitted to the consideration of the Board of Deputies and others at a meeting held at Grosvenor Gate, Park Lane, the residence of Sir Moses. There were present--Mr Joseph Gutteres Henriques, President; Baron de Rothschild, Sir Moses Montefiore, Messrs Moses Mocatta, I. L. Goldsmid, Jacob Montefiore, Isaac Cohen, Henry H. Cohen, Samuel Bensusan, Dr Loewe, Messrs Louis Lucas, A. A. Goldsmid, Louis Cohen, H. de Castro, Haim Guedalla, Simon Samuel, Joel Davis, David Salamons, Abraham Levy, Jonas Levy, Laurence Myers, Solomon Cohen, Barnard van Oven, M.D., S. J. Waley, and F. H. Goldsmid. The following resolutions were unanimously adopted:-- "That this meeting has learned with extreme concern and disgust that there have been lately revived in the East those false and atrocious charges, so frequently brought against the Jews during the middle ages, of committing murders in order to use the blood of the murdered as an ingredient in the food during the religious ceremony of Passover, charges which, in those times, repeatedly served as a pretext for the robbery and massacre of persons of the Jewish faith, but which have long disappeared from this part of the world, with the fierce and furious prejudices that gave them birth. "That this meeting is anxious to express its horror at finding that, on the ground of these abominable calumnies, numbers of Jews have been seized at Damascus and at Rhodes; that many children have been imprisoned, and almost totally deprived of food; that of the adults seized, several have been tortured till they died, and others have been sentenced to death, and, it is believed, executed, although the only evidence of their guilt was the pretended confessions wrung by torture from their alleged accomplices. "That this meeting earnestly request the Governments of England, France, and Austria to remonstrate with those Governments under which these atrocities have taken place, against their continuance. "That this meeting confidently relies on the sympathy and humanity of the British nation to exert its influence and authority to stay such abominable proceedings, and that the President, Joseph Gutteres Henriques, Esq.; The Baron de Rothschild, Sir Moses Montefiore, and Messrs I. L. Goldsmid, Jacob Montefiore, David Salamons, A. A. Goldsmid, and F. H. Goldsmid do form a deputation to request a conference on the subject with Her Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. "That these resolutions be advertised in the newspapers." A letter was read from the Rev. Dr Hirschel, Chief Rabbi, expressive of his regret that his infirmities prevented his attendance at the meeting, and declaring his concern at the revival of such false and calumnious assertions, and his horror at such atrocious cruelties. The meeting was attended by Monsieur Crémieux, Vice-President of the _Consistoire Central des Israelites Français_, who addressed the meeting, expressing his concurrence and sympathy in its proceedings. On April 30th the Committee proceeded to Downing Street, and were most kindly received by Lord Palmerston. He promised to use his influence with Mohhammad Ali and the Turkish Government to put a stop to such atrocities. Sir Moses mentioned on this occasion, when Lord Palmerston was speaking of his visit to Palestine, Mr Young's humanity at Jerusalem, and also the fact that the Jews were desirous of being employed in agricultural pursuits. On June 15th at a meeting of the Deputies and Representatives of all the Synagogues, including the Rev. Dr Hirschel, Rev. D. Meldola, Monsieur Crémieux, and Rev. D. Bibas, Sir Moses was requested to proceed, with Monsieur Crémieux, to Alexandria and Damascus, to which request he acceded. On June 23rd he attended a meeting at the Great Synagogue, where the resolutions adopted at the previous meeting (June 15th) were confirmed, and he declared his readiness to go. On the 24th of June he went with Baron Lionel de Rothschild to the Foreign Office. Lord Palmerston was most friendly, and read to them the despatches to Colonel Hodges and Lord Ponsonby. That to Colonel Hodges was most strongly worded, calling on him to address Mohhammad Ali in writing to urge him to compensate the sufferers and remove those officers who had misconducted themselves in Damascus. Lord Palmerston further said he would give Sir Moses letters to Colonel Hodges, telling him to afford him every protection and assistance, and desiring him to apply to Mohhammad Ali to give him (Sir Moses) every facility for the investigation of the affair. His Lordship also added that he would give him any other letters he might require. On Friday, July 3rd, there was a crowded and enthusiastic meeting in the Egyptian Hall at the Mansion House, of bankers, merchants, and many influential and learned British Christians, for the purpose of expressing their sympathy with the Israelites, and their earnest wishes for the success of Sir Moses Montefiore previous to his starting on the mission to the East. Mr Alderman Thompson took the chair. The principal speakers were the Lord Mayor, Sir Chapman Marshall, J. Abel Smith, John Masterman, S. Gurney, Sir Charles Forbes, Dr Bowring, Daniel O'Connell, and the Hon. and Rev. Noel. The result of the meeting was highly satisfactory. In the interval between these meetings Sir Moses attended the Queen's Drawing-Room, and was most graciously addressed there by Prince George of Cambridge, who said he was glad to see him, and reminded him of his having met him at Malta. At a meeting of the Board of Deputies on the 26th Sir Moses was unanimously elected their president, on the resignation of Mr J. H. Henriques. He attended the annual festival dinner of the Jews' Hospital, when the Duke of Sussex presided. On the 11th of June he went to the Merchant Taylors' Hall to meet the Duke of Cambridge and Prince George, the latter being made an honorary member of the Company. Taking special interest in the abolition of slavery, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore both attended the grand meeting of the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade, when Prince Albert took the chair and addressed the company. On June 15th he was present at a meeting of the Board of Deputies of the British Jews, and agreed to the addresses of congratulation prepared by the Hon. Secretary, to be sent to Her Majesty, Prince Albert, and the Duchess of Kent, on the occasion of the escape of the Queen from the attempt made on her life in the Park on the 10th of June. The address to Her Majesty was subsequently presented by him, as President of the Board of Deputies, accompanied by four other gentlemen, at St James' Palace; and Sir Moses was then presented to the Queen by the Duke of Norfolk, on his going to the East. The next day Sir Moses and the same four gentlemen presented the address to the Duchess of Kent, who received them most amiably, and enquired particularly after Sir Moses' health. He then proceeded with them to Buckingham Palace, and presented the address to Prince Albert, who also received them very graciously. Sir Moses, as the representative of the Jews in the British Empire, now commenced making his arrangements for the departure of the Mission, and Monsieur Crémieux, as representative of the Jews in France, took similar steps. Sir Moses selected for his companions Mr D. W. Wire (his former under-Sheriff and afterwards Lord Mayor of London), Dr Madden, a distinguished author and well-known traveller in the East, and myself. Monsieur Crémieux engaged as his companion Monsieur Solomon Munk, a distinguished savant of Paris. Before I proceed to give the account of the present mission, as taken from the entries in Sir Moses' diary and from my own personal observation, I deem it necessary to direct the attention of the reader to the origin of accusations similar to those made at Damascus, which were brought against the Jews in former times; and to point out the reason why, even to this day, they are not without effect in some of the most enlightened countries. Tertullianus (J. Septimus Florens), one of the Fathers of the Church, who lived in the second century, complains in his work entitled "Apologet. advers. gentes" (chap. 8), of the adherents to the religion to which he himself belonged being accused of sacrificing and eating children. Upon which, Pamelius, in his commentary on the same chapter (which he dedicated to Philip II. and Pope Gregory VIII.), observes, that the accusation has its origin in the misunderstanding of the sense of all those passages in the New Testament which refer to the Agapes. These verses have been taken by the uninitiated in their literal sense. The heathens at that time asserted that the Christians used human blood at their Passover. Thus we find the origin of that horrible accusation in the first three centuries of the Christian era; not until the thirteenth century was it brought against the Jews, viz., in the year 1235 in Fulda, 1250 in Spain, 1264 in London, 1283 in Bachrach, Moravia, 1285 in Munich. If these charges were true, it might be asked, how is it that the Jews, who celebrated the Passover festival fifteen hundred years before the Christian era, had never been accused of such a crime before? The answer to this question is to be found in the history of the thirteenth century. It was in this century, when fanaticism and hatred of race prevailed, and when persecutions for witchcraft and the burning of heretics and sorcerers were of frequent occurrence, that it appeared opportune to bring against the Jews the same accusation which had been formerly brought against the ancestors of their accusers, viz., the using of Christian blood for the Passover. The wealth of the Jews in several parts of Europe, as well as the high position to which they were raised in Spain by the rulers of the land, had aroused the jealousy of their adversaries. The unfounded nature of the accusation against them was so palpable that the heads of the Church deemed it necessary to defend and protect them. Thus Pope Innocent IV. published a Bull on the 5th of July 1247, addressed to the heads of the Church in France and Germany, officially refuting the demoniacal accusation (S. Baronitas Annales eccles. ad annum 1247, No. 84). I give here a translation of it in order to afford the reader the opportunity of acquainting himself with the contents of that important document:-- "Lyons, _3rd July 1248_. "Pope Innocent, the servant of the servants of God, sends his apostolic greeting and blessing to the right reverend Fathers, Bishops, and Archbishops in Germany. "We have received from Germany the sad news that in your towns and dioceses there is a wish to despoil the Jews, in an illegal manner, of their property, and that, for this purpose, malicious counsels and different false accusations are brought against them. Without considering that they were, in a certain way, entrusted with the care of the Christian faith; that the command of Holy Scripture, 'Thou shalt not commit murder,' was given to them; and that, by their law, they are forbidden to touch corpses on the Passover, they are accused of eating in company the heart of a murdered child, and if the dead body of any human being is found, they are believed to be the murderers, although such practices are in direct contradiction to their laws. By such false accusations they are oppressed, and deprived of all their goods, although they have never been brought before any judge and found guilty, in spite of the privileges graciously granted them by the Apostolic Chair. This is against all human and divine law, and brings these said Jews into a worse condition than that of their forefathers under the Pharaohs of Egypt, and forces them, in their misery, to leave the places where their fathers had been settled from time immemorial. In their fear of being exterminated entirely, they have sought the protection of the Apostolic Chair, and we hereby forbid every unjust oppression of the said Jews, whose conversion we trust to the mercy of God, according to the promise of the Prophet, that those of them who remain shall be saved; and we commend them to you, our brethren, through this Apostolic letter, that you may show favour to them, and help them to their right, when they have been unjustly imprisoned; and that you in no case permit them to be oppressed for the said or similar causes. Those who are guilty of molesting them in this way are to be punished by doing penance in the Church, without regard to their station. "Given at Lyons, on the 3rd of July, in the fifth year of our Pontificate." In 1275 the Emperor Rudolf of Hapsburgh confirmed this Bull, in a decree, sealed with his great seal, which is still to be seen in the Archives of the Town of Cologne. The title of this decree is, "I, Rudolphus, Rex Rom., do hereby confirm the privileges granted to the Jews by Popes Gregory and Innocent, and declare to be untrue, that which some Christians say, that they do eat the heart of a dead child on the day of their Passover." The contents of this decree are a literal translation of the Bull given above. Another Bull issued by Gregory, says, amongst other things:-- "Gregory, &c.... Following the example set us by our predecessors of blessed memory, Calixt, Cugen, Alexander, Cölöstin, Honorius, and Gregory, we agree to the prayer of the Jews, and will hold the shield of our protection over them. We also strictly forbid, that any Christian force them, against their will, to be baptised, as only those can be considered as Christians who, from their own free will, accept baptism. Nor shall any Christian dare, without a judgment from us, to wound or to kill them, to deprive them of their money, or in any way to molest them in the privileges granted to them in the places where they live." The Emperor concludes his decree with the following words: "We confirm and permit, in our Royal mercy, by this act to the said Jews, all and everything which was granted and given to them by the Roman Popes, so that they may live securely under the shadow of our protection, and that they shall not be condemned, in any case whatever, unless properly judged and found guilty by the righteous testimony of Jews and Christians." Considering that M. Achille Laurent has published a book, in which he presumes to give what he calls a "Procédure complète dirigée en 1840 contre des Juifs de Damas,"--a book which is replete with outbursts of hatred against the Jews, and has, since its publication, unfortunately served almost as a text-book in the hands of their adversaries,--I think it desirable, in addition to the declaration of the Pope given above, to introduce to the reader the names of some eminent Christian scholars, who have but recently (since the accusations of Kohling and Geza roused the attention of the public) expressed their opinion in the works they have published; some of which were written by the special order of the Courts of Law in Austria, and the Universities of Amsterdam, Leyden, Utrecht, and Copenhagen. The Right Rev. Bishop Dr Kopp, of Fulda; the Right. Rev. Dr J. H. Reinkens, in Bonn; Professor Dr Franz Delitzsch; Professor Dr A. Dillman; Professor Dr G. Ebers; Professor Dr H. L. Fleischer, in Leipzig; Professor Dr H. Kalkar, in Copenhagen; Professor Dr Paul de Lagarde, in Göttingen; Professor Dr Merx, in Heidelberg; Dr Alois Muller, in Vienna; Professor Dr Th. Nöldecke, in Straszburg; Professor Dr Riehm, Professor Dr Carl Siegfried of Vienna, Professor Dr B. Stade of Gieszen, Professor Dr Sommer of Königsberg, Professor Dr Strack of Berlin, and Dr August Wunsche of Dresden. A book entitled, "Christliche Zeugnisse gegen die Blutbeschuldigung der Juden," published by Walther and Apolant, Berlin, 1882, gives a compilation of all the statements on the subject made by these authors, all proving the accusation to be a calumny. To take possession of the wealth accumulated by the industrious and sober habits of the Jews, and to deprive them of the important positions which they had, by their uprightness and ability, obtained, was the object their adversaries had in view in raising this accusation in the thirteenth century, and the same object can be traced in the persecutions which, in the present century, in some parts of the world, continue to affect individuals, and sometimes even whole communities. _July 7th._--We proceeded to the London Bridge Wharf, where we were met by the members of the Ecclesiastical Courts, both of the German and Portuguese congregations, and many others of our brethren. "I should think," Sir Moses observes in his diary, "there were more than one hundred Jews waiting to see us set off, all giving us their blessing, and wishing us health, success, and a safe return. May the Almighty hearken to their prayers, and grant their petition." It was blowing very hard when we reached Gravesend, and we determined to land, which was not effected without some difficulty and inconvenience. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were much fatigued, having spent nearly the whole of the previous night in writing letters and arranging various important matters relative to the Mission. _July 8th._--We went on board the _Arrow_ a little before eight, and reached the French coast before eleven o'clock. The weather being squally and the sea rough, we and several others remained on board till the vessel could enter the port. We came to anchor, and continued to roll about till half-past four, when we landed in safety. _Thursday, July 9th._--Found our carriages, and servants all well at Boulogne, and ready to receive us. Having taken some refreshment, we proceeded to Abbeville, and travelled all night, arriving shortly after mid-day in Paris. During our stay there we had frequent interviews with the members of the Rothschild family, who took a deep interest in our Mission. A meeting of the Consistoire de France on the subject was held at the house of Baron Anselm de Rothschild, which I attended together with Dr Loewe and Mr Wire. Monsieur Crémieux made a fervent appeal to all present, and the result was very satisfactory. We left Paris on the 13th July, together with Dr Madden, who had come from London to join us. Monsieur and Madame Crémieux joined our party at Avignon, and together we reached Marseilles on the 20th. The Grand Rabbin, with the principal members of the community, immediately came to welcome us; afterwards we went on board the _Minos_ to inspect our cabins. _Tuesday, July 31st._--Repaired early in the morning to the Synagogue, and prayed for the safety and success of our Mission. At 4.30 P.M. we went on board the _Minos_; Messrs Palmer and Taylor, of the Imperial Continental Gas Association, accompanied us. Mr Moore, the Queen's messenger, and Mr Doyle, of the _Chronicle_, were fellow passengers. The wind blew very fresh when first we started, but the evening was very fine. CHAPTER XXVII. 1840. ARRIVAL AT LEGHORN--ALEXANDRIA--SIR MOSES' ADDRESS TO THE PASHA--ACTION OF THE GRAND VIZIR. _July 23rd._--Landed at Leghorn, and went at once to the Hotel du Globe. Many visitors called. A deputation from the Synagogue came, and Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore asked to have the evening prayers read in the presence of all their brethren. They accordingly gave notice to the members of the community, who assembled in great numbers. Before the service commenced we all joined them. Subsequently the Ecclesiastical Chief opened the Holy Ark, and offered up a special prayer for the Mission. At the conclusion of the service we returned to our ship, accompanied by the representatives of the community, and at four o'clock we left the harbour. _July 24th._--At ten we dropped anchor at Civita Vecchia. We had been advised in Leghorn not to land in the city, as there had been some little movement against the Israelites, occasioned by the writings of a priest called Meyer, a converted Jew. We were visited by Signor Scala and Signor Samuel Alatri, a deputation from Rome. Their account was very unfavourable as to the opinion of the Papal Government, and murmurs, not loud but deep, were heard in Rome. They strongly recommended our going from Malta in an English steamboat to Egypt. They related an incident which had taken place a few days previously, and caused them much uneasiness. A Hebrew woman was delivered of a daughter by a Christian midwife, who immediately baptized the child, and the authorities refused to restore her to the mother. At Leghorn, just before Passover, a woman had lost a child, and accused the Jews of stealing it, but the Governor put her in prison, saying she should remain there till the child was found. This had the desired effect, and the child was discovered the next day. We left Civita Vecchia at 3 P.M. and anchored the following day at 8 A.M. in the harbour of Naples. Baron Charles de Rothschild and his son came on board to see us, and to converse with us respecting the Mission. It was nine when our captain and his companions returned, and we immediately started. _July 27th._--Entered the harbour of Malta at 5 A.M.; landed, and went to Dunford's Hotel. Subsequently paid our respects to the Governor, at the Palace, also to Sir Hector Grey. _Tuesday, July 28._--Rose at five. Went to Synagogue. Having left cards at the Palace and called on some friends, we went on board the _Eurotas_ at half-past eleven. The sea was terribly rough and disagreeable. "Those who have the happiness of remaining at home," said Sir Moses, "can have no idea of the miseries of the sea." _July 29th._--Had some heavy squalls. While Lady Montefiore was sitting on deck, a lurch of the vessel threw her backwards with great force. Both she and Sir Moses were much alarmed. The weather continued very rough. _July 31st._--Were close in with Falkner's Island and the Island of Milo to the E.S.E.; every one was delighted with the change in the weather. The appearance of the Islands was barren and monotonous. At five o'clock we cast anchor in the bay, pretty close to Syra. The water here is extremely blue, and so clear that we could see the-bottom at a depth of sixty feet. We had made all preparations for immediately embarking on board the vessel which was to take us to Alexandria, but we learnt, to our regret, that she had not yet arrived from Athens. We were consequently compelled to remain on the _Eurotas_. _August 1st._--At twelve left the _Eurotas_ and went on board the _Tancrede_, which had arrived in the night from Athens, having made the voyage in seven and a half hours. We had very few passengers besides our own party,--one a brother of Count Capo D'Istria. He had been imprisoned during eight months, and was being sent out of Greece. A boat with soldiers remained close to the steamer till we left Syra. _August 2nd._--In sight of Candia, near Cape Soloman. The morning was fine, with a pleasant breeze. Lady Montefiore was well and in very good spirits, active and studious as ever. _Tuesday, August 4th._--Dropped anchor in the harbour of Alexandria at a quarter to eight in the morning. The harbour was filled with ships of war, Turkish and Egyptian. We noticed particularly the _Mahmudie_, 130 guns, and two vessels of sixty-eight guns. We immediately went on shore to see the Ecclesiastical Chief of the Hebrew community, and ascertain from him the latest news from Damascus. Later Sir Moses went to Colonel Hodges, the English Consul General, who received him most politely. The Colonel said he wished to go over the whole business with him. It had assumed, he said, a political character. Sir Moses would find Monsieur Cochelet, the French Consul, very plausible, but very firm; another Consul, he remarked, had been charged with taking bribes. Colonel Hodges recommended Sir Moses to keep clear of all parties, and requested him to call again in two hours. The Colonel had seen, with much satisfaction, Dr Hirschel's letter addressed to Sir Moses previous to his departure from England, which had been translated into the Arabic, Turkish, Armenian, and modern Greek languages, for distribution in the East. He had shown it to Mohhammad Ali. At twelve Colonel Hodges accompanied Sir Moses to the French Consul, where they met Mons. Crémieux. They afterwards called on Mons. Laurin, the Austrian Consul, with whom they saw the Prussian Consul. They finally called on the Russian Consul, who, however, happened to be asleep. _August 5th._--It was nearly two o'clock this morning before we could retire, having read over and arranged various documents. We rose soon after five, and at eight Colonel Hodges called to accompany us to the Palace. Sir Moses was dressed in uniform, and the gentlemen who went with him wore either their court or official costume. Messrs Crémiere and Munk did not join us, as their appearance before Mohammad Ali on that day was not considered advisable by Monsieur Cochelet, for reasons best known to himself. Sir Moses, who rode in the carriage with Colonel Hodges, read to him the petition which he had to present to the Pasha. He said he approved of it and hoped it would be granted, but did not appear from his manner to think it would. On our arrival we were immediately ushered into the hall of audience. Mohhammad Ali was seated in the same spot as when last we had seen him. Colonel Hodges presented Sir Moses, saying he had the pleasure of presenting an old acquaintance of His Highness. The Pasha greeted Sir Moses very graciously, after which we were all introduced. Colonel Hodges then said that Sir Moses desired to present a petition to His Highness on behalf of his Government, to which the Pasha gave a most gracious assent. Sir Moses addressed His Highness as follows:-- "Your Highness,--We have heard in Europe that false accusations have been brought against the Israelites of Damascus, who are the subjects of your Highness, and that tortures and fearful sufferings have been inflicted upon them, in order to extract evidence against themselves. As it is well known that our religion not only does not approve the crime of which they are accused, but strictly commands us to abhor the use of blood in every form, we have been delegated by our co-religionists in the whole of Europe, to implore your Highness' justice for our brethren. It gives us the highest satisfaction to hear that your Highness, as soon as informed of the tortures, gave orders to suspend them immediately. Being firmly convinced that your Highness, who has already earned such great renown in Europe for bravery in war, wisdom in council, and tolerance towards all your subjects without distinction, will, with your usual benevolence, grant our request, we appear before your Highness. We come, not in anger nor with hatred, but solely with the most earnest desire to have the truth made known. We therefore entreat your Highness to grant us authority to go to Damascus, and there to institute such enquiries as will lead to satisfactory information on the subject of this accusation, which has caused consternation to the Jews of the whole world, and untold sufferings to the Jewish population of Damascus; that the information thus obtained may be officially authenticated by the Governor of Damascus and put before your Highness. "We further beg that your Highness will cause every facility to be given us for procuring evidence, and will grant absolute protection to the members of this Mission, and perfect security to all who give evidence. "We entreat your Highness to grant us permission to see and interrogate the accused as often as may be necessary, and that the authority and permission, which your Highness will be pleased to grant us, may be, by a firman, registered in the Archives, and sent officially to the Governor of Damascus, who shall cause its contents to be proclaimed in the streets of that town. "In conclusion, we beg to be permitted to state that the eyes of all Europe are fixed on your Highness, and that by your granting our prayer the whole civilised world will be much gratified. It is well understood that the Great Man, who has already earned such a glorious name, must love justice dearly. There cannot be a greater homage rendered to your Highness' genius and benevolence, than this Mission sent to you by the Israelites of the whole world, to appeal for justice. It is the highest tribute paid to your genius, to your love of truth, and to your earnest desire to secure justice to all your subjects, that this Mission addresses itself to your Highness with the greatest confidence, and feels sure that its appeal will not have been in vain." The Pasha had kept his eyes upon him the whole time. Sir Moses, when he had finished, requested that his interpreter might be permitted to read it to His Highness in Turkish. The Pasha said it was too long; he would have it translated, and would then read it and give an answer. Sir Moses then begged that the heads of the petition might be read to him; he repeated, "It is long, it is long; shall be translated!" Sir Moses then stated that the petition referred to the Jews of Damascus, to which the Pasha replied, "I know it." Dr Madden then presented an address of thanks on behalf of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery. The Pasha appeared pleased to be able to turn the conversation from the petition, and spoke at considerable length on the subject of slavery. Sir Moses tried, through Colonel Hodges, to bring his business again to the fore. An ineffectual attempt was made several times, when Colonel Hodges said Sir Moses should leave it to him. Before leaving, Sir Moses told His Highness that the English people were looking forward with great anxiety to his answer, for which he would wait on His Highness in two days' time. The Pasha told Sir Moses to come, and he should have it, adding that if it was an affair of justice, and Sir Moses had brought a French advocate with him for that purpose, then this could not be permitted. Upon which Colonel Hodges informed the Pasha that Monsieur Crémieux, though an advocate, had come solely from motives of humanity, and was himself a Jew. Sir Moses, on his return, remarked that nothing could have been less satisfactory than this interview, very different from the two former occasions, when His Highness was most friendly and chatty. Sir Moses now heard that Monsieur Cochelet, the French Consul, had been with His Highness for an hour and a half on the previous night. _August 6th._--We had many visitors; the captains of two English war-ships were of the number, and also Captain Lyons. Sir Moses, on receiving a message from Colonel Hodges, informing him that the Pasha was going to the Delta early on the following morning, immediately went to the Consul. The latter read to him the letter he had sent to the Pasha on the subject of the Jews in Damascus; it could not have been stronger. Sir Moses determined upon going to the Pasha. It was nearly nine when he entered the Palace. His reception was most affable and kind, very different from that of the previous day. Sir Moses said he had heard that His Highness was going away. The Pasha replied that he would be back on Friday. _August 7th._--Monsieur Laurin sent a message to the effect that the Pasha had told him that he would grant our request. Colonel Hodges called to confer with Sir Moses on the subject. _August 8th._--The Grand Vizier directed a letter to the Pasha, of which the following is a translation:-- "His Excellency, the Ambassador of Great Britain, to the Sublime Porte, stated in a letter which he presented, that Sir Moses Montefiore, Mr David William Wire, and Dr Madden, English subjects and distinguished members of society, also Mr Adolphe Crémieux and Dr Louis Loewe, form a distinguished deputation to the East, for the purpose of making a thorough investigation respecting the persecutions to which the Jews have been subjected at Damascus and the island of Rhodes. The above-named Ambassador asked that the members of the Deputation should be treated with due respect, and should have every facility afforded them for accomplishing their mission. "This is the purpose of my writing to your Highness. "10 Gema-zil-Akhar, 1256. "Reouf." We attended divine service morning and evening, and received visits from the leading members of the community. Colonel Hodges and Monsieur Laurin conferred a long time with us on the subject of the Mission. _Monday, August 10th._--Sir Moses, Monsieur Crémieux, Monsieur Munk, Mr Wire, and I went to Monsieur Laurin, who read to us all the papers and despatches respecting the Damascus affair. We remained with him for more than three hours, making notes of all that appeared likely to serve our cause. From the following letters _subsequently_ addressed to Sir Moses by the Rev. Joseph Marshall, Chaplain of H.M.S. _Castor_, Lieutenant Shadwell of the same ship, and the Rev. Schlientz, of Malta, all referring to their visit to Damascus on the 16th August, in the year 1840, the reader will be able to gather important information respecting the accused. CHAPTER XXVIII. 1840. AUTHENTIC ACCOUNTS OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING THE ACCUSATIONS AGAINST THE JEWS--TERRIBLE SUFFERINGS OF THE ACCUSED--EVIDENCE OF THEIR INNOCENCE--WITNESSES IN THEIR FAVOUR BASTINADOED TO DEATH. _Copy of a Letter from the Rev. Joseph Marshall, Chaplain of H.M.S. "Castor."_ Sir,--In reference to the enquiries you make concerning your brethren in Damascus, I have much pleasure in informing you, that when I visited that city about the middle of last August, I took considerable pains in making myself acquainted with the nature of the charge preferred against them, the evidence on which it rested, the treatment to which they were exposed. The result of my enquiries I will briefly submit to you. That two men, the Padre Tommaso and his servant, are missing, is beyond dispute. There is not the least reason to believe that the servant is murdered or dead; there is but little evidence that the Padre has been murdered, and not the slightest that he was murdered by Jews; on the contrary, evidence _a priori_ is entirely in their favour, and that extorted by torture, if fairly considered, is equally so. However, as some others who have visited Damascus have expressed a contrary opinion, I think it necessary to state, in a few words, some of the grounds upon which I establish mine. I need not allude to their ceremonial and moral law; both are equally abhorrent of the act imputed to them; but perhaps they were fanatics influenced by an inward light stronger than their law. Fanaticism is not usually found among such men as Soloman Murad and Meyer Farki, with their compeers, the leading men of a highly respectable and wealthy community, as was evident from the appearance of their families even in distress. Indeed I was answered by both Moslem and Franks, that the higher order of Jews at Damascus were less to be remarked for enthusiasm than coldness in religion. I have the same authority for believing that worldly competitions and commercial jealousy made it very improbable that they would unite so closely as the commission of such a crime would imply. What testimony is there then to overcome these probabilities? Confession wrung from mortal agony and unsupported by circumstantial evidence. Their enemies do, to be sure, appeal to certain circumstances, such as the identity of the extorted confession itself: true, I believe it to be so perfectly identical as to lose all character of independence. But there were other circumstances. There were animal remains found twenty-five days after the Friar had disappeared, in a running sewer in closer proximity to a butcher's stall than to David Arari's house. There was said also to be the mark of fire on the white marble pavement of the same gentleman's court. I saw it not, though the stone was pointed out. This mark, which did not exist, was supposed to be caused by the burning of the Padre's clothes, but there were certain stains on a wall which might be blood; I thought they might be anything else rather. Again, with the aforesaid animal remains there was found a piece of cloth such as might identify it with part of the Friar's cap. Is this circumstance consistent with the burning of his apparel, or did they spare that part only, which would most easily lead to detection? But there was another circumstance much dwelt on, viz., the posting of a notice at the barber's door, at too great a height for the Friar's stature; therefore, evidently the work of a Jew. I can positively say, it was at the natural height for such fixtures, within the reach of any middle-sized person, and with the slightest trouble might be placed there by anyone. But what was the object of the gigantic Jew in posting the advertisement at all? He had taken it, it was _supposed_, from the Synagogue door, where it was _supposed_ the Friar had posted it. And for the purpose of destroying all trace of the Friar having been in the Jews' quarter, he transferred it to the barber's door, which was actually within the Jews' quarter. He might, to be sure, have destroyed it and all trace of the Padre at once; but this would have been an expedient too simple for the sagacity of this Hebrew, which appears to have been in an inverse ratio to his bulk. The dulness of such reasoning defeats its malice. And this is all the evidence for the charge procured by the bastinadoing of one hundred and twenty persons, in several instances to death. I think its meagreness proves the negative, viz., that the poor victims had nothing really to confess; and this in addition to the positive evidence of those who died under the torture, sealing their testimony with their blood. But might not the accused have brought forward positive evidence in their favour? One person did come forward to prove that he had seen the Friar in another part of the town subsequently to the date of the supposed murder. He was bastinadoed to death--a consummation not likely to encourage other witnesses to come forward; and indeed the Jews assert that Moslems of the first rank in Damascus, if they dared speak, could have established an _alibi_ for them in many cases. To have anything like an adequate idea of what these unfortunate people suffered, after the heads of their families had been thrown into prison, you must be on the spot to hear, as one of themselves expressed it, "their hearts speaking." Insults of all kinds heaped upon them by the refuse of mankind, their houses broken into and plundered with impunity, jewels torn from the persons of their female relatives, young children imprisoned and tortured with starvation, the son bastinadoed before the mother's eyes to make her betray her husband's place of concealment, the most exorbitant bribes demanded to permit the common necessaries of life to pass the gates of the prison for its bruised and wretched inhabitants. These, sir, were some of their sufferings, and of these I had undoubted evidence. Surely the correspondent of the _Times_, to whom you allude, if he had not confined himself while in Damascus to Frank society, and that, too, of a particular caste, would have seen and heard enough to make him hesitate before he declared his belief in the guilt of the Jews, the mildness of their sufferings, and the mercy of their persecutors! Had he gone to the house of David Arari, he would have learned that _women_ had been tortured, and in vain. He might have seen with his own eyes the heroic conduct of the poor negro girl, a Moslem and a slave, whom the torture could not force to bear false witness against the Jew, her master. He might there also have learned that if Madame Arari had consented to sacrifice her daughter's virtue, she might have preserved her husband's person from violence, his property from plunder, and her people from slander. He might have ascertained the amount of sympathy and mercy which Madame Lagnado received at the hands of a European functionary, when she visited him on behalf of her husband, who died under the torture. Had he visited Signor Merlato, the Austrian Consul, a man whom all Christendom must respect, he might have satisfied his eyes respecting the barbarity of the torture, and that the sufferers had not at that time recovered from its effects. Long after that period I saw men who, after the lapse of five months from the infliction of the bastinado, had their feet and legs swelled to a form as if produced by elephantiasis. The correspondent of the _Times_, whose very just description of the state of Syria and Palestine lends an undue importance to his opinion on the case of the Jews, would have been persuaded that there were cases in which foreign influence was used with the Pasha to encourage the application of the torture when some old men, too feeble to survive for a moment the infliction of the bastinado, were subjected a second time to the torment of sleeplessness, under the bayonets of the Egyptian soldiers. But it is indeed too unreasonable and unjust to lay on the Pasha of Damascus the whole blame of these proceedings, unequalled in atrocity since the days of the fourth Antiochus. The guilt must be equally shared by those who delivered up an innocent people into his hands; indeed, their share is greater. He may plead that he was obliged to do these things by the nature of his office. The persecutors of the Jews cannot even shelter themselves under such a plea as that. Indeed, if they be blameless, then is the Spanish Inquisition blameless also; the Auto-da-Fé being, in the last result, certainly the result of the civil power. In short, the charges and recommendations of the Jews against their persecutors are of such enormity as to make them, it is to be hoped, if they be conscious of their innocence, anxious that the whole matter should be sifted to the bottom by a process more rational than the bastinado, and before a judge less suspected of foreign influence than Sheriff Pasha. Although I trust you will persevere in your meritorious exertions for the sake of humanity and truth, yet, as you ask my opinion as to the practicability or prudence of proceeding at once to Damascus, I must say that I do not think it advisable. Though Damascus may have submitted to the Sultan, and the Emir Béshir would be happy to grant you, if necessary, an escort through the mountains, yet I am afraid a short time must elapse before the people of Damascus can be made aware of the important changes in their social condition, when the Hatti Sherif of Gulhane shall be no longer to them a dead letter, when violence shall no longer usurp the place of justice, nor men endanger their lives by bearing witness to the truth. You will be able to return to Syria in a few months under better auspices, and cover the slanderers of your people with confusion. The example of Rhodes should give you encouragement. I was there last summer when the atrocious charge of the same malignity which was made against the Jews of that place, resulted in like violence, and which, if tried by a similar process, would have led to the same results as at Damascus. Justice was done to them at Constantinople, and they triumphed. In the same way will you find the cloud clearing away from Damascus. Indeed, there exists not at present the shadow of evidence against them, except you so call a most unnatural and suspicious identity of confession, to be found in all false accusations where torture has been applied, such as in trials for witchcraft. A remarkable instance of this you may have seen recorded in _Chambers' Journal_ a few months ago. It happened in the reign of James I. of England. The accused, if I rightly remember, was the "wise wife of Kent." In the meantime, if this testimony of mine can be of any service in comforting your distressed people, I shall not consider I have visited Damascus in vain. Accept, Sir, my best wishes and esteem, and believe me to be your very obedient servant, Joseph Marshall. To Sir Moses Montefiore, Bart, &c., &c., &c. _Copy of a Letter addressed to Sir Moses Montefiore by Lieutenant Shadwell of H.M.S. "Castor."_ H.M.S. _Castor_, Malta, _December 5th, 1840_. Sir,--In compliance with your request, I beg leave to submit to you some observations relative to the affairs of the Jews at Damascus, which I was enabled to make in my recent visit to that city, and also to lay before you the general impression on my mind at that time, as to the weight and credibility of the evidence addressed in support of the charges which have been advanced against them. My visit to Damascus took place in the early part of the month of August of the present year, my fellow-travellers being the Rev. Mr Marshall, Chaplain of H.M.S. _Castor_, and the Rev. Mr Schlientz, of Malta, and his lady. On the 10th of August, soon after my arrival at Damascus, accompanied by Mr Marshall, I went to the Jewish quarter of that city, and proceeded in the first instance to the house of David Arari, one of the accused persons, who was then in confinement, and at whose house the Father Tommaso is said to have been murdered. We were shown into an apartment where the atrocious deed is said to have been committed. It is a small room to the left of the Divan, with windows in front looking into the interior court, and high windows behind looking into the street. The latter circumstance is important as tending to throw doubts on the credibility of the accusation, as it is scarcely possible to conceive that any person could submit quietly to the pains of death without uttering cries for assistance, and that, if those cries had been uttered, they should not have been heard in the street outside. In the corresponding apartment on the other side of the Divan, we were shown a stain of dirt upon the wall, which the zeal of the accusers branded with the imputation of being blood. This room was in a dismantled state, all the furniture having been removed, and the marble flooring torn up in order to search for bones or other remains of the supposed crime. We afterwards visited the house of Mourad Farki, Mayer Farki, and Solomon Farki. The two former, being accused of participating in the murder, were in confinement. We were shown the room where the murder of Tommaso's servant is said to have been perpetrated, and saw the privy and the sewer in the street where the remains of the two are alleged to have been thrown. We also went to the house of Halil Said Naivi, one of the accusers, and saw that individual. He is the keeper of a low grog-shop of disreputable character. It must be admitted that the nature of the man's calling does not afford any guarantee for the credibility of his testimony. On the following day, August 11, we went to visit the Latin Convent of the Capuchins, of which Father Tommaso was an inmate. In the chapel is a tomb with an inscription to the following effect:-- "Qui reposano le ossa de Pre. Tommaso da Sardegna Missionano Cappuccino assassinato dagli Ebrei il giorno 5 di Febrajo 1840." I will not be exactly certain whether the above is a literal copy of the inscription, having written it down from memory after my return home, but I can confidently state that it is substantially correct, especially in so far as concerns the use of the obnoxious word "assassinato." By this it will be seen that these enlightened Capuchins, following the example of popular credulity, assume the murder of their colleague as a fact before it has been proved judicially. On the same day, in company with Mr and Mrs Schlientz, we repeated our visit to the Jewish quarter, and afterwards, having obtained permission from Sheriff Pasha through the British Consul, Mr Werry, went to the Seraglio to see the Jewish prisoners. Sixteen individuals were implicated in the charge of murder; of these, two had died under torture, four had absconded. One, Mr Picchioto, being, fortunately for himself, an Austrian subject, was under the protection of the Imperial Consulate, the remaining nine were then in prison, and also a venerable Rabbi. We were accompanied on our visit by the British Consul's dragoman and a writer in the service of the Pasha. The rooms in which the prisoners were confined were in the second floor of a large exterior building attached to the Pasha's palace, principally used as a barrack. The apartment opened into a covered corridor or gallery running round the whole length of the building. None of the doors were closed, but sentries were planted at intervals along the gallery. The prisoners were almost all of them elderly men, and seemed very unhappy. Mr Schlientz, who is both an Arabic and a Hebrew scholar, spoke to several of them on the subject of religion, pointing out to them, in their affliction, the consolations of Scriptures, which appeared greatly to excite the mirth of our attendants and other bystanders. The prisoners confined here were either six or seven in number, the remainder, amongst whom was the Rabbi, were in custody in another part of the Seraglio, in apartments on the ground floor. The chambers in which the prisoners were lodged were tolerably comfortable, and spacious enough to afford them the means of taking partial exercise. An obvious desire existed on the part of our attendants to represent matters in the most favourable light, and to convince us that the prisoners, in their confinement, were treated with the greatest leniency. I have been particular, at the risk of being thought tedious, in giving a circumstantial detail of our various visits, as it will impress upon this statement the stamp of authenticity, and at least serve to show that we were anxious by all the means in our power to arrive at a knowledge of the truth. In the course of these visits we had a great deal of conversation with the families and friends of the accused, persons who, far from appearing desirous of concealing anything, seemed on the contrary anxious to have everything fairly enquired into, and submitted to the most ample investigation. We saw several people who had been subjected to torture, amongst whom was one woman, a female servant of David Arari; we saw their wounds yet unhealed, and heard from their own lips the description of the sufferings they had endured. The tortures to which they had been subjected were of the most cruel and disgraceful nature, and some of them even too disgusting to be mentioned with propriety. We also had, during our stay at Damascus, many opportunities of discussing the question with various people with various shades of opinion, and of canvassing the evidence adduced in support of the charges. My own opinion, in which I may, I believe, also safely state my fellow-travellers fully concur, is that the Jews of Damascus are NOT GUILTY of the atrocious charges which have been preferred against them. My grounds for this opinion are simply this, that there is no admissible evidence to support the charge. I at once reject _in limine_, as repulsive to every principle of reason and equity, and as unworthy to be considered as legal evidence, all the admissions and confessions of the witnesses and accused persons which were extorted by torture or the fear of torture, however plausible they may seem, or however compatible with one another they may appear, particularly when I find them at variance with conflicting testimony on the one hand, and inconsistent with the general probabilities on the other. Any absurdities, as the annals of witchcraft fully show, might be proved by the agency of torture. It was through fear of the application of this beauteous engine for the elucidation of the truth, that the Inquisition extorted from Galileo the admission that the doctrine of the earth's motion was heretical; yet, notwithstanding this confession, as that illustrious man observed on rising from his knees, "e pur si muove." So also might the unhappy Jews of Damascus, whilst yielding to bodily suffering and confessing their guilt, exclaim the moment afterwards, "but yet we are innocent." The whole of the pretended evidence against the prisoners was obtained either by torture or fear of torture, and the alleged agreement between the statements of the different witnesses, on which great stress has been laid, may easily be accounted for when it is considered how impossible it would be for people writhing under agonies of intense bodily suffering to give their evidence in a clear and connected manner, and how absolutely necessary it would be to extract their confession from them word by word, affirmatively or negatively--yes or no--through the agency of leading questions. On the other hand, the only two witnesses who appeared in favour of the Jews were conveniently disposed of by being bastinadoed to death. These were a young man, who deposed to having spoken to Tommaso and his servant on the evening of the alleged murder as they were proceeding from the Jewish quarter, and the porter of the gate near the house of David Arari, who stated that he had heard or seen nothing of the priest's remains being thrown into the sewer. The evidence was awkward, and not at all suited to the wishes of the prosecutors; and it proved fatal to the witnesses who gave it. But, exclaim those who argue in favour of the guilt of the Jews, even although there is not sufficient legal evidence to convict them of the crimes laid to their charge, surely you must admit that, morally speaking, there can be no doubt that they are actually guilty. Far from it. Every reasonable consideration appears to my mind to throw discredit on the statements of their accusers, while the whole of the evidence teems with obvious and palpable improbabilities. For instance, to say nothing of the absence of any rational assignable motive which could induce frontier merchants--men of rank and influence among their own people--men of wealth and consideration among their neighbours--with everything to lose and nothing to gain, to conspire together to commit two such atrocious murders, is it likely for one moment, even if they did so, that they should be so utterly devoid of all common prudence, and so grossly infatuated, as to place themselves in the power of two such inferior persons as a barber and a servant as accomplices? And again, even on the hypothesis that they had been actuated by some such fanatical motive as has been imputed to them, is it at all probable that they would have selected for their victim an individual so certain to be missed as the Father Tommaso? From his long residence at Damascus, and the nature of his calling, his absence was sure to be noticed. Why not have selected for their victim some more obscure individual, on whom their barbarous fanaticism might have exercised their impious rites with impunity? Bah! why waste time by pursuing the ridiculous absurdities of these suppositions any further? Then, again, all the accusers, with Halil Said Naivi at their head, were persons of low degree and disreputable character, whose testimony on any ordinary occasion would have been received with extreme caution; while the recollection of the pillaging and extortions to which the Jewish families have been subjected, affords a clue to the motives which have instigated the persecutors. Considerable importance has been attached to the finding of the bones, but it should be remembered that they were not discovered till twenty-five days after the disappearance of Father Tomasso; that the sewer where the bones were found was the common receptacle of all the filth and offal of the neighbourhood, and that considerable difference of opinion existed among the medical men by whom they were examined as to the fact of their being human bones at all; while there are strong grounds for believing in the existence of the most fraudulent collusion with reference to their discovery. In conclusion, to the reiteration of my already expressed opinion, I can merely add that I conceive the whole charge to be a base and odious calumny, unsupported by any credible testimony; a mere renewal of those disgusting persecutions which disgraced the annals of the dark ages, and one which would not for one moment be tolerated in the present day among a civilised and enlightened people. It is much to be regretted that the disturbed condition of the East at the period of your Mission to Alexandria prevented Mohhammad Ali from ordering a full and fair judicial enquiry into the whole of the proceedings of the Damascus affair, as there is no doubt that the enemies of the Jews will not be slow to represent the edict which Mohhammad Ali has accorded to your requests, as granted more through pressure of external political embarrassments than freely given as a mere matter of justice and righteous dealing; more as a political compromise of a difficult and troublesome question than as the solemn act of the Government of the country, vindicating the Jews from the aspersions which had been foully cast upon them, and branding with the stamp of official disapprobation those who had dared to utter them. You have, however, done all that circumstances permitted you to accomplish. In the present excited condition of these countries, your attempting to reach Damascus would be highly dangerous, if not altogether impracticable; and even if you got there, I do not see how you could accomplish any good while the Government is yet unsettled, and in the absence of any constituted authority to aid your efforts with the influence of the British Government. "Magna est veritas et prævalebit." Go on and prosper in your righteous endeavours to protect the cause of innocence and truth. Let us hope for better times, when the advancing tide of knowledge and civilisation will sweep away the last remains of ignorance and fanaticism, and the vindictive spirit of persecution flee at the scowl of the genius of truth. Trusting you will excuse my having so long trespassed on your attention, I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, Charles F. A. Shadwell. The evidence of two such witnesses, given in an English Court of Justice, would surely have been considered decisive. CHAPTER XXIX. 1840. AFFAIRS IN THE EAST--ULTIMATUM FROM THE POWERS--GLOOMY PROSPECTS OF THE MISSION--NEGOTIATIONS WITH THE PASHA--EXCITEMENT IN ALEXANDRIA--ILLNESS OF LADY MONTEFIORE. _Tuesday, August 11th._--We called on Colonel Hodges, who informed us of the arrival of a Turkish steamer from Constantinople. He said it must have brought the Ultimatum of the four great Powers to the Pasha; that the door of negotiation was now not only shut, but locked, and the Pasha must give an immediate answer. Colonel Hodges advised Sir Moses to act in the same way as he should do; if he (Colonel Hodges) left Alexandria, Sir Moses should do the same, and also go to the same place as he did. He said he expected every hour some ships belonging to the English fleet, but did not wish Sir Moses to mention this fact. Sir Moses said this interview and conversation reminded him forcibly of those he had had in 1827 with the late Mr Salt, English Consul General in Cairo, but he felt even less uneasy than he did at that time, as he did not apprehend war, though things looked serious. _Wednesday, August 12th._--A French war steamer arrived from Toulon, and returned the same afternoon to Smyrna; the reports were all very black. We called on Colonel Hodges, but seeing he was occupied on important business, we left him. Mr Thorburn called, and told us that Mr Larkin had summoned a meeting of all the British residents at his house at one o'clock, to inform them that the four great Powers had sent their Ultimatum to Mohhammad Ali. Colonel Hodges warned them to limit their credits as much as possible, and to prepare for the worst. The meeting occasioned much alarm. In the afternoon Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, with their friends, visited the Turkish line of battleship _Mahmudie_, under Colonel Reale Bey, who received them most politely, and showed them over his ship. On their return they found that one of their party had been taken ill. _August 13th._--Mr and Mrs Tibaldi called, and Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore accompanied them to a small palace near the Pasha's, where they were introduced to Sa'eed Bey, Mohhammad Ali's son, a very chatty and good-tempered young man about eighteen years of age. He understood English and spoke French well. He conversed about his studies, his horses, &c., and had his favourite grey led under the window where the party were assembled. Mr Thurburn was present. They afterwards went over the Pasha's palace, were much pleased with the building, and admired the elegance with which it was furnished. In the evening Monsieur and Madame Laurin, Monsieur and Madame Crémieux, Captain Lyons, Captain Austin, and Mr Thurburn dined with us. They told Sir Moses that the Count de Walewski, a natural son of Napoleon, had arrived from France, and it was confidently stated that he brought offers of men, money, and ships from the King of the French to the Pasha. The news was credited in the town, and it was therefore supposed that the Pasha would not accept the Ultimatum of the Powers, and a general war in Europe as well as in the East would be the consequence. Sir Moses did not believe that this would be the case, but thought the affair would be arranged satisfactorily. The Pasha had ten days to consider his answer, and by that time Sir Moses hoped to be at Damascus. _August 14th._--Sir Moses called on Colonel Hodges, who gave him Mr Werry's reply to the enquiries respecting the unfortunate Jews at Damascus; the Colonel also showed him a letter from Beyrout, dated the 8th inst., from which it appeared that the insurrection in Syria had not been entirely put down; and he advised Sir Moses not to venture just then to Damascus, as our situation there might be very perilous, in the event of the Pasha's not agreeing to the Ultimatum of the Powers. In the evening we attended the European Synagogue, which was beautifully illuminated, while the floor was thickly strewn with flowers. The building was crowded, and the utmost decorum prevailed during the service. Subsequently the representatives of the community were invited to join our dinner party, on which occasion many excellent speeches, in various Oriental and European languages, were made, referring principally to the object of our Mission. _August 15th._--We selected the Synagogue of the natives for attending divine service on this day. The heat there was very great and oppressive, but the devotion of the congregation and the mode of chanting the prayers afforded us much satisfaction. Between two and three Sir Moses called on Colonel Hodges to express his extreme regret that Mr Werry had done so little towards improving the condition of the unhappy men at Damascus, and to request him to write to the Consul, which the Colonel promised to do. The Sabbath did not prevent Sir Moses from attending to the object of his Mission, as in a case like this, where life and death are at stake, exertion and work are considered permissible. Colonel Hodges said that the Pasha would give us no answer till the political question was settled. Monsieur de Wagner, the Prussian Consul-General, was present and confirmed this. Both advised Sir Moses not to venture on a journey to Damascus while affairs were in such a serious state. Syria was in open rebellion, and in Damascus he would only be looked upon as a Jew coming to screen the guilt of his brethren, while the fanaticism of the Christian populace of that place was so great, that he would certainly be murdered. Both Colonel Hodges and the Prussian Consul said that the Pasha would refuse the Ultimatum, and war was inevitable. Sir Moses returned home, very unhappy on account of the nine unfortunate prisoners at Damascus, but determined to do everything in his power, and to go to the Palace after Sabbath. At seven he proceeded to the Pasha's residence, accompanied by Monsieur Crémieux and the members of the Mission. His Highness received us kindly, but said he was so much engaged with affairs of high importance, that he could not give us an answer then. Sir Moses urged him strongly, in the cause of humanity, to give his decision, as there were nine prisoners; he replied that he had given orders for their being well treated, and he would send a letter to Sir Moses next day to the same effect. Sir Moses then asked pardon for the trouble he had given him, but the Pasha said, on the contrary he ought rather to apologise to Sir Moses. Mr S. Briggs, who was present at the audience, very frequently added kind words, which appeared to influence the Pasha. We took leave much dispirited; but scarcely had we returned to our hotel, when Mr Briggs came, and informed Sir Moses that the Pasha had given him more than half a promise that he would liberate all the prisoners, declaring at the same time his entire belief in their innocence of the murder, and of the other charges made against them. _August 16th._--Having prepared with great care the document proposed by Mr Briggs for the approval and signature of the Pasha, Sir Moses took it to Mr Briggs. The petition had been drawn up in strict accordance with what Mr Briggs said His Highness would agree to. On his return he sent for Monsieur Crémieux, so that his signature might also be attached to it. Mr and Mrs Briggs then called, and Sir Moses gave them the document for the Pasha. In the evening Mr Briggs called again, and informed us that he had seen the Pasha, to whom the paper had been explained, but he had declined to grant the request it contained, saying that there was so much excitement on the subject that he could not determine; he appeared, however, willing to allow the prisoners their freedom, and so end the matter. Mr Briggs had afterwards spoken with the Secretary, who took the paper, said he would alter it, and show it him the next day. "The fact is," said Sir Moses, "they wish the atrocious transaction to be hushed up, but I will never consent to that." In the morning we went to the Austrian Consul to obtain from him the names of all the prisoners, as well as a list of those who had already fallen victims to the outrageous tyranny of Sheriff Pasha and of the French Consul Rattimenton. Monsieur Laurin informed us that the four ambassadors had arrived from Constantinople with the Ultimatum, and would visit the Pasha. _Monday, August 17th._--Sir Moses called on Mr Briggs, and gave him copies of several Bulls of the Pope, with some letters and Smyrna papers; also a list of merchants at Damascus, with their supposed amount of capital. Mr Briggs promised he would see the Pasha in the evening, but his manner of speaking was much less sanguine of success. On the same day Dr Madden and Mr Wire left us for a trip to Cairo and the Pyramids. Sir Moses writes: "I would gladly have accompanied them with my dear wife and Dr Loewe, as I am sure it would have been most beneficial to our health, but it did not appear to me right to leave my post, even for an hour." _August 18th._--Mr Briggs went in the morning to the Pasha. Colonel Hodges informed Sir Moses (confidentially) that three of his Highness' transport ships, with provisions and arms, had left the harbour for Syria, and that he (Colonel Hodges) had sent the _Gorgon_ to bring them back. They were not to be allowed to land on the coast; if they refused they were to be compelled to return, and if force was used they were to be sent to Malta. When this was accomplished, notice would be given to the Pasha that none of his war-ships would be allowed to leave the harbour. Nothing could be more warlike than the momentary aspect of affairs. The Pasha sent Mr Briggs and one of his Secretaries to Sir Moses with a copy of a despatch he had received from Sheriff Pasha, of Damascus, giving an account of the manner in which prisoners were treated by him. Of course it was stated to be most lenient, and it was denied that tortures had been used. Monsieur Cochelet made the following proposal to Monsieur Crémieux for the solution of the Damascus difficulty:-- That the Pasha was to declare that the Jews who had died had committed the murder from motives of private vengeance, but that the nine Jews still in prison were innocent, and were to be set at liberty. The Pasha would also publish his opinion that there was nothing in the Jewish religion or writings that in any way sanctioned the shedding of blood for the Passover. Sir Moses told Monsieur Crémieux that it was impossible for him to consent to such an arrangement. He never would allow that any Jew committed the murder of Father Tommaso and his servant, either from vengeance or any other motive; were he base enough to admit such a thing, its effect would be most mischievous, for in every part of the world it would be said that the Jews were guilty, and the same awful charges would be brought against them over and over again. This proposal of Monsieur Cochelet caused a most painful sensation in the heart of every member of the Mission; but, from a man whose official position compelled him to justify the proceedings of Rattimenton, a different suggestion could scarcely have been anticipated. _August 19th._--All this anxiety preyed so much on the minds of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore that their health was greatly affected by it, and Lady Montefiore became so ill that the immediate attendance of a physician was required. The weather, also, was extremely close and oppressive, which greatly aggravated the discomfort of both. Monsieur Crémieux called, and brought the news that the British fleet, with Albanian troops which they intended landing, was off Beyrout. He requested Sir Moses not to go to the Pasha, as Monsieur Cochelet did not deem it prudent; but Sir Moses did not feel justified in making a promise to that effect, and explained to Monsieur Crémieux, as his reason, that it would not be advisable to adopt any suggestion made to the latter by Monsieur Cochelet. The town had been in a state of great consternation all day, and most warlike reports were spreading everywhere. Nevertheless Sir Moses would not agree to the proposal which had been made by Monsieur Cochelet. _August 20th._--Lady Montefiore felt somewhat better, and the doctor entertained hopes of her speedy recovery. Early in the morning Sir Moses called on Colonel Hodges, and remained with him fully two hours. Captains Napier and Walker were off the coast of Syria with six thousand Albanians, and had summoned Beyrout. A serious occurrence took place in the forenoon, which added greatly to the already troubled state of the town. The Dutch Vice-Consul, whose horse had accidentally kicked one of the National Guards, was immediately set upon by the mob and grossly ill-treated. It was with great difficulty that some of the officers rescued him from being murdered. Two large Austrian frigates anchored near the _Bellerophon_, and the _Cyclops_ took soundings outside the harbour. Mr Briggs called to inform Sir Moses that he was going to England in three days. He brought a paper which he had drawn up, similar to that which Sir Moses had given him for the Pasha's signature, but not couched in such strong terms. He wished Sir Moses to see it, and he would then take it to the Pasha, and endeavour to procure his consent to it. Sir Moses sent for Monsieur Crémieux to approve it, and then returned it to Mr Briggs, who promised to speak to the Pasha either the same evening or the next evening. _August 21st._--Lady Montefiore continued poorly, and Dr Laidlow advised our removing to the Nile. Sir Moses was also unwell, and the uncertain state of politics did not afford any consolation; every person we saw had alarm depicted on his countenance. Monsieur Crémieux spoke of leaving on the following Tuesday for Athens or Constantinople in the French steamer. Sir Moses wrote to Mr Wire and Doctor Madden, begging them to hasten their return. Mr Briggs called to say that he feared the Pasha would do nothing against the wishes of Monsieur Cochelet. Mr Galloway and Mr Tibaldi also paid us a visit, both much out of spirits. Sir Moses said he would not move till Dr Madden and Mr Wire returned, unless Colonel Hodges left, in which case he almost feared he would be compelled to do so. The weather was dreadfully oppressive; the sickly season had commenced, and fever was prevalent. We attended divine service in the evening, and afterwards Monsieur and Madame Crémieux dined with us. Monsieur Crémieux told Sir Moses that Clot Bey had introduced him to the Pasha in the garden, and that he (Monsieur Crémieux) had made a speech to the Pasha, wishing him success with Egypt and Syria, but had _not referred to the Mission_. _Saturday, August 22nd._--Lady Montefiore continued ill, and too weak to leave the house. At seven o'clock in the morning we repaired to the Synagogue where we attended service. A large and devout congregation was assembled. On our return Mr Larkins, the English Consul, called. He had just left the Pasha, with whom he had been conversing for more than an hour on the subject of our Mission. He had read to His Highness the letters he had received from England from Colonel Campbell, Mr Thurburn, and Dr Bowring, all entreating him, in his own interest, to grant our request, that he might stand well in the opinion of Europe. They also assured him that the affair had caused a great sensation in England; but Mr Larkins said that the Pasha remained firm, and declared it was impossible for him to do anything in the business just then. Mr Briggs also spoke to the Pasha, but without success. He gave the papers we had prepared for the Pasha's signature to Khosrev, the principal interpreter at the Palace, so that he should be fully acquainted with the contents. Mr Larkins told the Pasha that Sir Moses intended coming for his answer in the evening. In reply to his application for a simple "firman" to go to Damascus, the Pasha said that Syria was in too disturbed a state to permit of his travelling there with security. In the evening, after the conclusion of Sabbath, as we were setting out for the Palace, Sir Moses received a note from Mr Briggs, enclosing one from Khosrev, requesting Sir Moses to defer the visit to His Highness, as it was a most unfavourable moment. Affairs appeared decidedly alarming, and the English fleet was expected every moment with Admiral Stopford. Captain Austen of the _Bellerophon_ and Captain Austen of the _Cyclops_ both called on Sir Moses, and most kindly offered to receive us on board their ships in the event of our being obliged to leave Alexandria for safety. The Pasha was making great preparations for war, including new batteries and arrangements for the better armament of the fleet. It was rumoured that he intended leaving Alexandria in a few days. _August 23rd._--Lady Montefiore passed a very bad night, and her illness caused Sir Moses much anxiety. The doctor came twice during the day. In the evening he found her less feverish, and reported more favourably upon her state of health generally. He advised her to change her bedroom, which appeared damp, and might have caused the fever. Madame Crémieux came to tell us that she intended spending the day in the country, and talked of visiting Cairo as soon as the French boat arrived. Colonel Hodges, Mr Bell, Mr and Mrs Briggs, and Mr Stephens also called. The latter informed us that it was generally believed that the Pasha had agreed to leave the settlement of the whole question to the King of the French. It was also stated that Monsieur Guizot was to have an audience with His Majesty on the 12th inst., and the result would be known in Alexandria on the following Tuesday. It was thought that the troops in Syria would probably be influenced by the Sultan's money, as they had not received any pay for the last eleven months. The English Admiral with the fleet was expected to arrive on the following day. Monsieur Crémieux called, and we agreed to send a letter to the Pasha, soliciting him to set at liberty the unfortunate Jews at Damascus. Monsieur Laurin, the Austrian Consul, promised to call upon all the other Consuls, and, if possible, prevail on them to sign a recommendation to the Pasha to grant our request. Sir Moses did not think he would succeed with Monsieur Cochelet or the Sardinian Consul. Mr Briggs announced his intention of going to the former with the original document that we prepared for the Pasha, and of using his influence to remove Monsieur Cochelet's hostility. _August 24th._--Dr Laidlaw found Lady Montefiore rather better and tolerably free from fever. CHAPTER XXX. 1840. THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT AND THE PASHA--MOHHAMMAD ALI AND THE SLAVES--THE PASHA PROMISES TO RELEASE THE DAMASCUS PRISONERS--HE GRANTS THEM AN "HONOURABLE" LIBERATION. The French steamer from Marseilles arrived; our letters from London gave confident hopes of peace being preserved. The Ministry was stronger than ever, being supported by both Whigs and Tories. There would be no half measures, and the Pasha would be obliged to submit. Baron Charles de Rothschild wrote from Naples, that Lord Palmerston had made a pacific speech on the 7th, and amicable relations would be preserved with France. Baron Charles enclosed a letter of introduction to the Neapolitan Consul for Sir Moses. We immediately went there to present the same, and had a very long conversation with him. He knew all about the Damascus affair, and the painful reports of Sheriff Pasha. He told us that the latter was an adopted son of Mohhammad Ali, who had had him educated with his own children. Sheriff Pasha's own father had been an officer, and was killed in battle when he (Sheriff) was only four months old. The Consul observed that the trial of the Jews had been conducted according to Turkish law, and any interference would be improper. He had sent all the accounts to his Government. He considered the business had been badly managed by the Consuls, but he could not sign any paper, as it would do no good with the Pasha. On the same day we received a letter from Constantinople, enclosing a firman from the Sublime Porte in favour of the deputation of the Jews; from the Grand Vizier to Mohhammad Ali, and to the Governor of the Island of Rhodes. We called on Colonel Hodges and Monsieur Laurin, who had both signed the petition which Sir Moses and Monsieur Crémieux had prepared on the preceding evening. The Consuls of the four Powers signed it very readily, but Monsieur de Wagner called on Sir Moses and recommended his not presenting it to the Pasha, as it would do no good unless signed by Monsieur Cochelet. It is impossible to describe the distress of Sir Moses as he became more and more convinced that, with a few exceptions, every one in the place, great and small, was opposed to the object of his Mission. Dr Madden and Mr Wire returned from Cairo, and Admiral Stopford arrived with part of the fleet. Sir Moses thought we should be obliged to leave very shortly. _August 25th._--Lady Montefiore continued to mend, but was not sufficiently recovered to venture out. Sir Moses went at an early hour to Monsieur Crémieux, and requested him not to part with the petition bearing both their signatures. The rest of the day we were engaged in preparing letters and reports for the London Committee. Mr Charles Allison called and reported that the aspect of affairs was less warlike, but there appeared no doubt of the Pasha's refusal. We were only to have a military blockade of the Port and the Coast of Syria, and all merchants would be allowed to pass freely. This sort of blockade would cause but little annoyance, and the Pasha would no doubt laugh at the English and their allies. At eight o'clock the following morning the Consuls of the four Powers were to wait on Mohhammad Ali for his answer. _August 26th._--Lady Montefiore was much better and able to leave her room. While we were at breakfast, Mr Briggs called and took leave of us. He expressed great regret that his endeavours with the Pasha on behalf of the Damascus prisoners had failed. Afterwards Sir Moses visited the slave-market, accompanied by Dr Madden, as he was desirous of learning how far the present state of the market corresponded to the humane act of the Pasha in abolishing slavery. During the first interview which Sir Moses had had with Mohhammad Ali, the latter had spoken for a considerable time on the subject, and appeared much pleased with the address of thanks presented to him by Dr Madden from the London Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade. The conversation led Sir Moses to hope that a heart which could be thus moved by humane sentiments, would surely not sanction such tortures and sufferings as the Damascus prisoners had been made to endure. At the slave-market, Sir Moses found about one hundred slaves, mostly girls and boys; he noticed a few women among them, but no men. The price of the girls was 1000 piastres (£10), and of the boys, 600 or £6. There were two Albanian women for whom they asked 1500 or 2000 piastres (£15 to £20). The girls appeared to be well treated and contented with their situation, but not so the boys. He observed two boys weeping most bitterly, and on enquiring the cause, he heard that the children had been brought from Nubia together, that they were most likely brothers, much attached to each other, and one had just been sold. He spoke to the man who had purchased the youth, and he said he had paid 600 piastres. The master took the lad away, and in all probability the boys never saw each other again. "Oh! the horrors of slavery!" exclaimed Sir Moses, and added, "Perhaps Mohhammad Ali may not be aware of what we have seen, else he could not conscientiously have spoken as he did, and evinced such pleasure in the vote of thanks which the London Society would certainly not have sent had they known the true state of affairs." Sir Moses returned home much depressed by what he had witnessed. There was nothing new in politics, but two English men-of-war had left for the East. _August 28th._--About nine o'clock in the morning Sir Moses received a letter from Monsieur Crémieux, informing him that he had started for Cairo. Sir Moses, who felt himself in duty bound not to quit his post for fear of injuring his cause, determined, notwithstanding the disheartening state of politics, to go to the Pasha and ask for an answer to the petition that he had presented on the day after his arrival. At two o'clock we went to the Palace. We were shown into the audience hall, and a beautiful pipe was handed to Sir Moses. About twenty minutes afterwards we heard that the Pasha was leaving his room for the hall of audience. On Sir Moses going to the door, the Pasha smiled and beckoned him to follow him. Sir Moses did so, and the Pasha motioned him to be seated. Sir Moses then informed His Highness that he came for an answer to the paper which he had presented at his first interview. Mohhammad Ali replied that he would release all the prisoners, upon which, Sir Moses said his desire was to have the guilty punished, and requested therefore a "firman" to go to Damascus. The Pasha said he had better not go there, as that place was in a very excited condition; the country was disturbed and politics unsettled. Sir Moses agreed to postpone his journey for a short time, but begged for the firman, that he might proceed there as soon as things changed, and the Pasha then promised to give it him. Sir Moses further petitioned for permission for the Jews who had fled to return to Damascus, and the Pasha granted his request. Finally Sir Moses requested Mohhammad Ali to give him a copy of his letter to the Governor of Damascus. His Highness promised to send it to him with the firman, and desired him to write to his co-religionists at Damascus, and he (the Pasha) would send the letter by his post, by which means they would receive it in five days. "Thanks to Heaven," Sir Moses said, "the Mission has gained something; the lives of nine innocent persons are thus preserved." Sir Moses wrote immediately to Monsieur Crémieux, and Mr Galloway sent a man off with it to Cairo. He also sent for Messrs Sonino, Valencen, and Toria, and the Spiritual Head of the Hebrew community, to acquaint them with the good news, enjoining them at the same time to keep it secret till the papers arrived from the Pasha. Sir Moses then prepared for Sabbath, and attended divine service in the European Synagogue. Subsequently went to the Palace for a copy of the letter to the Governor of Damascus, but we had to wait there several hours, as the Ambassador from Constantinople and the Consuls of the four great Powers were with the Pasha. They remained with him some time, and on their withdrawal, the Capudan Basha had an interview with His Highness, lasting fully two hours; then the French Consul came and also stopped a couple of hours, so that it became very late. On our enquiring whether we should still wait, Monsieur Boufort told me to come the following morning, when I should be able to take with me the firman enabling us to go to Damascus, and a copy of the order for the Governor at that place. It was after ten o'clock when we returned to our hotel, at which hour Monsieur Crémieux also came. _August 29th._--In the morning we attended divine service. Seeing Monsieur Crémieux and Monsieur Munk there, Sir Moses desired me to invite the latter to accompany me to the Palace. On our arrival there we went to the room of Negib Effendi (one of the chief secretaries of the Pasha), to order several copies of the firman and the letter to the Governor of Damascus. On perusing a copy of the original, we noticed the word "Afoo" (pardon), and pointed it out to Negib Effendi. I told him that Sir Moses would never be satisfied with such an expression, as the Jews could not for one moment be considered guilty, according to the proceedings which had taken place at Damascus. Negib Effendi and another secretary, who happened to be present at the time, entered into an argument with me on the subject, maintaining their idea that the word in question might be used and understood without absolutely conveying the meaning of "_pardon_." Nevertheless, I insisted on the necessity of removing that word altogether. As I could not leave the Palace, I requested Monsieur Munk, who had with him an Arabic translation of the Turkish order, to go and inform Sir Moses and Monsieur Crémieux that it was desirable they should immediately tell the Pasha that they could not sanction the introduction of a word so grossly misrepresenting the truth, and request him to substitute a word which would correctly convey his sentiments. Monsieur Munk went at once to Monsieur Crémieux, but apparently forgot to call on Sir Moses. Monsieur Crémieux, being probably anxious to see the misleading word removed as soon as possible, came at once to the Palace, without informing Sir Moses of what had occurred. The Pasha, without the least hesitation, immediately ordered that the word "Afoo" should be taken out, and the words "itlak ve Tervîhh," signifying "an honourable liberation," substituted (literally an order for their liberation, and for procuring them peace). On my return from the Palace I acquainted Sir Moses with what had taken place, and he expressed much regret at not having being informed of it in time. He said, "Had I known it, I should have been most indignant with the Pasha for inserting the word, it being in complete opposition to my request, as I would never, for an instant, admit any guilt, either of the living or the dead." He went again to the Pasha, and His Highness told him that he had given the order to remove the objectionable word. The Neapolitan Consul and his wife, and Monsieur Laurin came to offer their congratulations. _August 30th._--We hastily sent despatches to London and other places, and on the following day a letter of thanks to His Highness the Pasha was signed by Sir Moses and Monsieur Crémieux. Wishing to do all the good in their power, they added to the letter a petition in which they entreated him to abolish the use of torture in his dominions. In the morning, Admiral Sir Robert Stopford came on shore, and went immediately to Colonel Hodges. Sir Moses went to see the Admiral, who gave him a very kind reception. About three o'clock the Pasha sent a strong body of horse guards in full uniform, accompanied by a capital military band, to attend the Admiral. It was a handsome compliment on the part of Mohhammad Ali, but the Admiral declined it, and they soon returned. About four o'clock Sir Robert Stopford and his suite, the Austrian Admiral and his suite, with the English and Austrian Consuls, proceeded to the Palace to pay their respects to the Pasha. The Pasha's carriage with four horses had been placed at their service, as well as Boghoz Bey's carriage and that of Mr Anastasia. They were preceded by sixteen janissaries, the two Captains Austen, and many others on horseback. They were absent about an hour. Admiral Rifaat Bey gave the "Four Combined Powers," and Colonel Hodges, the "Five Powers," meaning that he included the Sublime Porte. After dinner, Admiral Stopford inquired whether Sir Moses intended going to Damascus, and said he would send a brig with us. Sir Moses replied that he wished to wait till Thursday, when he would inform Sir Robert of his plan of action. The two Admirals and the English and Austrian Consuls were to dine with the Pasha on the following day. Sir Moses, accompanied by Mr Alison, then paid visits to Rifaat Bey, Sáeed Bey, and Colonel Hodges. On his return he found that the Austrian Admiral (Contre-Amiral Baron Baudiera), the Austrian Consul, and Mr Andrew Doyle, had called. Mr Galloway informed Sir Moses that Sáeed Bey had obtained the permission of his father, Mohhammad Ali, to dine with him any day he liked. Sir Moses thereupon invited him for Thursday, September 3rd, and also sent invitations to Admiral Stopford, the Austrian Admiral, and others. The day's reports led Sir Moses to believe that the Pasha would refuse to give an answer to the four Powers on Saturday. The Admiral would do nothing without further orders from home, and it was Sir Moses' opinion that the Pasha would laugh at them all, and most probably succeed at last, or involve Europe in war. _September 2nd._--During the morning we were occupied in examining numerous papers and documents referring to the Mission, while Lady Montefiore amused herself by taking daguerreotype views of Cleopatra's Needle. _September 3rd._--Sir Moses went this morning on board the Turkish steamer, _Bird-of-the-Sea_, Rifaat Bey having invited him to a _déjeuner_ he was giving to Admiral Stopford and Sáeed Bey on board that vessel. The guests included Captains Fisher and Austin, Colonel Hodges, Count Medem, Monsieur de Wagner, Monsieur Laurin, Mr Alison, Mr Stoddard, and others. The wind was so high that the Admiral could scarcely get to the ship. While they were at breakfast Sáeed Bey invited Admiral Stopford and Sir Moses to go over his corvette. The latter, with Captains Fisher and Austin and Colonel Hodges, accompanied the Admiral in his boat after they had taken leave of Rifaat Bey, and all went on board the corvette. Sáeed Bey received the party in a distinguished manner; he took them over the vessel, and made his men go through their exercises with great guns and small arms. Sir Moses then landed with the Admiral, and drove him to Colonel Hodges. _September 4th._--The French papers continued very warlike, and great demonstrations had been made in France. Sir Moses and Monsieur Crémieux decided that we should go next evening to present the letter they had prepared to the Pasha. Should the English Consul leave Egypt, Sir Moses thought that it would be useless for us to remain there any longer. Dr Madden informed Sir Moses that he would be obliged to leave us on the following Monday. _September 5th._--We called on Colonel Hodges, and saw Admiral Stopford; the latter supposed our going to Damascus was out of the question. Sir Moses told him that he should remain a short time longer at Alexandria, unless the British Consul left, in which case we should leave also. Rifaat Bey (Conseilleur d'Etat au département de l'intérieur) paid us a visit previous to his departure; also Mr Charles Alison, Attaché to Her Britannic Majesty's Embassy at Constantinople; also Captain Austen and Lieutenant Ralph, R.N. Mr Alison had been present at the interview with the Pasha's Minister. The Pasha being ill, could not see the four Ministers, but had sent his answer. "He accepted the Sovereignty of Egypt, and would petition the Sultan for Syria." This was virtually a refusal, but the Consuls did not intend striking their flags. The Admiral went on board this morning. At five we walked in the square and met Colonel Hodges. From his conversation he expected the Pasha would order them to quit Egypt in about a week. He told Sir Moses the Admiral had left him the _Cyclops_, and that he was going in her, on the following Monday, to Beyrout. _September 6th._--We called on Colonel Hodges. Sir Moses told him that he had determined to leave as soon as the Colonel should do so. Colonel Hodges said he was going on the following day for a few days to Beyrout, but assured Sir Moses he need be under no apprehensions; there would be no hostilities till the Admiral received orders from England, which he did not expect for another fortnight; and that if he (Colonel Hodges) should be obliged to leave, he would give Sir Moses timely notice, and both he and Lady Montefiore should go with him in his vessel. From his manner of speaking, we gathered that he expected an outbreak in Syria, but no direct attack on the part of the English; Admiral Stopford had told him that we were by no means prepared; the ministers had been much deceived. The letter to the Pasha could not be presented that day. _September 7th._--We met Colonel Hodges; he told us that the Pasha had seized £6000 in bullion, British property, and if it was not given up to-morrow morning, he would strike his flag and go on board ship. He told Sir Moses that he must be prepared to leave at a moment's notice, and that he had spoken to Captain Fisher of the _Asia_, who had kindly promised to take us in his ships in the event of our being obliged to leave. CHAPTER XXXI. 1840. INTERVIEW WITH THE PASHA--LIBERATION OF THE JEWS OF DAMASCUS--PUBLIC REJOICINGS AND THANKSGIVING--DEPARTURE OF SIR MOSES FOR CONSTANTINOPLE. We arranged with Monsieur Crémieux to go to-morrow to the Pasha and present our letter. _September 8th._--We drove this morning to Mohharem Bey's garden, where the Pasha is staying. We found him in the garden, with his Admiral, also Anastasi, the Turkish Consul, and Mr Tibaldi. He desired us to be seated. Sir Moses then said to him, "We come to offer to your Highness our thanks," and presented to him the letter, to which we had added the request to abolish the use of torture. There was a Turkish translation affixed to the letter. The Pasha gave the letter to one of his officers, who put it in his pocket; but on Sir Moses expressing a desire that the Pasha should have it read, he took it himself and appeared to read several lines, when one of his secretaries came and read the whole to him. We remained some moments in silence. Mr Tibaldi then told Sir Moses that the Pasha had been pleased to give him a granite column from the ancient temple of Serapis in Alexandria. Sir Moses thanked His Highness in suitable terms. After waiting some time in silence, the Pasha having twice looked at his watch, we took our leave without having uttered a single sentence on the principal subject of our visit. Sir Moses was much out of spirits. On our return we went to Colonel Hodges, who said that Boghoz Bey had refused to give up the bullion seized on the previous day, but added that he should go himself to the Pasha, and if it was not restored in twenty-four hours, he would strike his flag and go on board the _Asia_, and would take Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore with him. Sir Moses hoped the Pasha would not hasten his ruin by his rashness. Colonel Hodges replied that he was already ruined; he had been declared a rebel by the Sultan; another Pasha had been appointed for Egypt and one for Syria; and the Russian fleet with the Russian troops was already moving. This news the Colonel had received from Constantinople. Sir Moses begged him, should any vessel be going to that city, to procure a passage for us; this he promised to do. Sir Moses was now anxious to leave Egypt, thinking he could do no more good there. _September 9th._--Monsieur Crémieux came in the morning to ascertain Sir Moses' intentions, as he wished to go on the following Monday to Cairo, and should Sir Moses decide to remain in Egypt, he would go to Thebes. Sir Moses suggested taking three days' time for consideration. _September 10th._--We called on Colonel Hodges. The Pasha had not yet given up the bullion; the Colonel said he should write to him the same evening at five, and send at eight the next day for an answer, and should tell him that unless he received satisfaction he should strike his flag and embark, leaving the English under the protection of the Dutch Consul. Colonel Hodges had already sent on board several camel-loads of books, papers, &c. Sir Moses felt confident that the Colonel would soon follow, whether the Pasha gave up the money or not, and believed the best thing for us to do would be to go by the next French packet, which would leave Alexandria on the 16th, pass the quarantine at Syra, and afterwards proceed to Constantinople, thank the Sultan for all he had done in the affair of Rhodes, and then, should the state of Syra permit, go to Damascus, and failing this, to return _viâ_ Vienna to England. _September 11th._--Again visited Colonel Hodges. He still talked of embarking, but advised us to wait for the French steamers, and if it should still be our intention to visit Damascus before leaving the East, he would recommend our making quarantine at Syra, thence to proceed to Constantinople, and await events. "It would be madness," he added, "to go now to Damascus. I will hold myself responsible for the advice I now give." _Saturday, September 12th._--Attended divine service, afterwards called on the Spiritual Head of the congregation, who showed us his large and valuable library. Later in the day Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received many visitors: two gentlemen from Salonica especially interested them in their accounts of communal matters in that city. They informed us that there were about five thousand Jewish families, and they possessed thirty-six Synagogues, and fifty-six colleges for the study of Hebrew and theological literature, and over one thousand gentlemen were distinguished for their knowledge of Hebrew. They had suffered greatly by the fire which had broken out (in the previous year) in their city, and had destroyed over two thousand houses belonging to the Jews. Our dinner party on that day included Colonel Hodges, Monsieur Laurin, Captain and Mrs Lyons, Mr Paton, Mr Stoddart, Mr Drummond Hay, and Monsieur and Madame Crémieux. Colonel Hodges said he had given the Pasha time till Monday at twelve o'clock for his reply, failing to receive which he would strike his flag. Sir Moses informed Monsieur Crémieux that he felt convinced of the impossibility of obtaining anything more from the Pasha, owing to the present serious state of politics. The Consuls, he said, were making every preparation for leaving Alexandria, and as our proceeding to Damascus at that time was considered to be not only a most rash and unwarrantable act, but almost an impossibility, he was of opinion that we should proceed to Constantinople, and there await a favourable change in politics. Should Damascus hereafter belong to the Sultan, then to request from him the same justice for the Jews of that city as he had afforded to those of Rhodes, but if Damascus continued under the Pasha, then we should be forced to return to Egypt and thence to Damascus, and should then, if politics still continued unsettled, return to Europe. Monsieur Crémieux agreed with Sir Moses, and said he would go to Constantinople, but first to Cairo. He then proposed to Sir Moses to build an hospital for the Jews in Cairo, as he (Monsieur Crémieux) intended building a house there for school purposes, having in hand one thousand ducats from the Baroness de Rothschild in Paris for that purpose. Sir Moses, however, did not feel justified in spending large sums in Egypt. "Were it for the Holy Land," he said, "I should be delighted to establish both hospital and school." _September 14th._--It was reported that St Jean d'Acre was being bombarded by the English fleet; everything looked most threatening. We met Colonel Hodges, who was hourly expecting to receive orders from Constantinople to quit Egypt. A Russian and an Austrian ship of war had arrived. The French steamer due that morning had not arrived; they said it had been detained at Syra for the mail from Constantinople. _September 15th._--We were caused much anxiety by the absence of any account from Damascus, and by hearing that Mohhammad Ali had had a despatch from Sherif Pasha, stating that he had received His Highness' orders for the liberation of the Jews, but without further notice of it. Monsieur Cochelet, we were told, had had a letter from Rattimenton, violently exclaiming against the Viceroy's order, by which he had been compromised, adding that he had warmly protested to Sherif Pasha against his complying with His Highness' order. But soon after this, writes Sir Moses, "Thanks to Heaven, this day has happily put an end to our fears for the delay of the execution of the Pasha's firman. We have received letters that all the Jews were liberated on the 5th inst, in the most gracious manner, by Sherif Pasha, to the great joy, not only of the Jews of Damascus, but also of all the Mussulmans of that city. The unfortunate men were accompanied by bands of music, and thousands of persons, Jews and Moslems. They first went to Synagogue to return thanks for their delivery, and then to their respective dwellings. All the distinguished Mussulman merchants paid them visits of congratulation, expressing their firm belief in their innocence. The Christians maintained silence, denoting thereby their dissatisfaction at the justice of the Pasha. The blood of the four unhappy men who have died under torture has not been sufficient to satisfy these people. The suffering of the Jews appears to have been unbounded, as is their gratitude to God for their deliverance." The copy of the Pasha's order, which we sent by a courier with our letters to the prisoners, had not arrived on the 7th when the mail left. We were all anxious for news from the unfortunate men themselves, but as we knew that all were at liberty, Sir Moses considered that no further good could be achieved by remaining in Egypt. Syria was in a state of revolt, and the post between Beyrout and Damascus closed. The British Consul, with all the other European Consuls, excepting the French, had left Beyrout, and were on board the ships of war. Commodore Napier had given notice that he should bombard the town on the following day. Monsieur Cochelet, we were told, had heard accounts of several thousand men having been landed from the fleet between Beyrout and Sidon; no action had, however, as yet taken place. Sulieman Pasha had declared he would destroy Beyrout, though he should be compelled to withdraw his troops. _September 16th._--Sir Moses writes in his diary: "I sent to Monsieur Crémieux, but he and Madame Crémieux, with Monsieur Munk and Signor Morpurgo, had already left for Cairo. Mr Wire, Dr Loewe, and I went to Mohhammad Bey's palace. He is the son-in-law of Mohhammad Ali. We entered the garden. As soon as the Pasha saw us he beckoned me to approach him. He was seated in a kiosk. Boufort, the interpreter, was translating to him one of Galignani's papers. On our entering the kiosk, he motioned me to be seated. I took my seat opposite him, Dr Loewe next to me, and Mr Wire next to the doctor. I informed the Pasha that we had received letters from Damascus, and that, agreeably to his orders, the Jews had been honourably liberated by Sherif Pasha on Saturday, September 5th. The Mussulman population had expressed much joy on the occasion. They had accompanied the unfortunate men, when liberated, to the Synagogue, and the Jews had thrown themselves on the ground before the Holy Ark, blessing the God of Israel for their deliverance from the hands of their persecutors, and praying for the happiness of His Highness, whose justice and humanity had restored them with honour to liberty. I also told the Pasha how they had been visited and congratulated by all the Mussulmans of Damascus, who confidently believed in their innocence. Mohhammad Ali replied he was glad to hear it, and informed me that he had received letters from Sherif Pasha with the same intelligence, and also that that Jews who had fled from the city had returned. This we did not know. I expressed much gratitude to His Highness for his humanity, and entreated him to protect my brethren in his dominion. I also said that as it was impossible for me to go to Damascus at present, I intended returning to Europe, and therefore begged to take leave of His Highness; but before doing so I hoped he would allow me to speak a few words in favour of the poor Jews who had suffered by pillage at Safed, and that he would graciously make them compensation. He replied he would see; he would do it. I again repeated my thanks, and rose to leave, but he motioned me to remain. In a few moments he beckoned me to come quite close to him, which I did. He then said that he frequently gave orders for ships, guns, and other things to be sent from England, that six months elapsed before they were ready to be shipped, and that as I was going there he would like to make some arrangement with me to guarantee the parties, and said that I should always have the money before the things were shipped. He repeated several times that he did not desire that I should ever be in advance, as he would always send the money beforehand. He did not wish the arrangement to take place immediately, but as soon as affairs were settled. I told His Highness that I would consult with my friends in England, and would write to him as soon as I got back to London; he expressed his satisfaction, and we retired. "I have omitted to notice that I gave Mohhammad Ali a copy of Dr Hirschel's letter to me, respecting the charge brought against the Jews of using blood in their religious ceremonies. I gave him copies of the same in Turkish and French; he looked at them, and promised to read them. "We then went to the Palace of Sáeed Bey. Mr Thurburn was with him. 'Excellency,' I said, 'I have come to take leave of you previous to my return to Europe,' and repeated to him all the accounts we had from Damascus. He was very civil to us, and invited us to take wine and coffee, but, being much pressed for time, we declined. I said I hoped to see him in London. He replied that as soon as affairs were settled he should travel, and would certainly pay us a visit. We then took leave of Count Medem, the Russian Consul. He congratulated me on the success of our Mission, having attained all that was possible in the present unfortunate state of affairs. I told him I was most anxious to visit Damascus, to trace the whole transaction respecting the charges against the Jews. He said it was quite impossible to go just now, the country was in revolt; Beyrout was threatened with bombardment, and all accommodation for travellers stopped. "We next went to Monsieur de Wagner, the Prussian Consul (who expressed the same opinion), and to Colonel Hodges and Monsieur Laurin, expressing to both our sincere thanks for what they had done in favour of the Jews in Damascus, Safed, and the Holy Land in general." _September 17th._--We embarked in one of the Pasha's large boats, being escorted to the water side by three janissaries, and were safely on board the _Leonidas_ at 3 P.M. _September 18th._--We are detained in the harbour for despatches. Mr Reinlin, the Dutch Vice Consul, came on board with letters. He went with me into our berth, and informed me that news had been received last night from Beyrout; the English had entirely destroyed that town, and had landed two thousand English and four thousand Turks. The French Consul had taken a house in a garden about a mile out of town, with the French flag flying on it, nevertheless four cannon balls had struck the house. Ibrahim Pasha was at Beyrout, and Suleiman Pasha was in the neighbourhood. At 10 A.M., the anchor being weighed, we started, and were soon safely out of the port. "Then," Sir Moses writes in his Diary, "we sang the 'Song of Moses,' and with joy and thanks, left the land of Egypt." _September 21st._--After eighty hours at sea, with a strong north wind, we arrived at five in the morning at Syra. The captain and the surgeon went on shore with letters and despatches; they soon returned. When a boat with the health officers came alongside, we learned to our great dismay that we had a man dangerously ill on board. The officers insisted on seeing him. The poor man was carried on deck with much difficulty; they asked him many questions, but he was so weak that he could scarcely answer. The officers then left us, to make their report to their superior; they did not know whether we should be allowed to go that night into the Lazaretto. This was a serious matter, as the _Leonidas_ was to start at twelve for Alexandria. Our ship was soon surrounded with boats, occupied by Turks, male and female, with their luggage, who had secured their berths for Alexandria. The captain would not allow them or their luggage to be received on board till he had got rid of those he had brought with him. The noise and confusion that arose in consequence were dreadful. It was nearly nine o'clock when permission arrived for our leaving the ship for the Lazaretto; the captain put us in his long boat. It was blowing hard, the sea was rough, and the night very dark. Sir Moses was dreadfully uneasy, but there was no choice. We all went in the same boat, which was long and narrow. It was half-an-hour before we reached the landing place, and it was not without great difficulty that we scrambled up the rocks in the dark. On getting into the Lazaretto we found that the guardian and officers had left for the night, and there were but two miserably dark rooms for the whole party. We were told to make the best we could of them for the night. All our luggage had been left at the water's edge, and there was not a soul to assist in bringing it to the Lazaretto. After much time and trouble, our servants got one bedstead and mattress for Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and a few mattresses for the rest of our party. In our small room, more than nine of us, including a Greek lady, her servant and one child, had to remain the whole night; the servants and all other passengers were obliged to manage as they could in the other room. After a night passed with little or no sleep, we rose from our weary couches. Mr Ralli, the son-in-law of Mr Wilkinson, called. He had procured us an order from the Superintendent of the Lazaretto, giving us the apartments set aside for noblemen. We were soon admitted to them. They were very comfortable rooms, beautifully situated, commanding a fine view of the town and port. They were quite empty, but our servants soon brought up our bedsteads and camp-stools, and we hired two or three tables, which was all we required. Being informed that we might shorten our confinement by five days, if we and our servants took a bath and changed all our clothes, and had all our luggage fumigated, we readily consented. By two o'clock, all our boxes having been opened, and the contents spread over the room and hung up on lines, dishes with pots of burning sulphur were placed in each room, and the doors kept closed for half-an-hour. In the meantime we took a bath and changed every article of dress. Sir Moses put the whole quarantine into confusion, and compelled a repetition of the fumigating ceremony, by inadvertently putting his finger on the wrapper which contained Lady Montefiore's dress. This caused much vexation to all the "guardiani" and ourselves. However, the fumigation was performed once more, and by four o'clock the whole ceremony was ended. September 28th being the first day of the Jewish New Year, we all met early in the morning, and read the service appointed for the day. It was nearly twelve before we breakfasted. The afternoon we spent in reading subjects connected with Hebrew literature. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore spent a most happy day, and said they had only felt the want of their Synagogue and of the society of their relatives. The physician paid us a visit on the same day, and said we might, if we pleased, go out of quarantine on the morrow. He enquired if we were all well, then desired us to strike our fists under each arm and other parts of the body. Having seen this ceremony performed, he made his tour round the Lazaretto. We were much amused at seeing him go through the same ceremony with more than one hundred persons, who were to leave the next day. The following day, being the ninth day of our quarantine, and having performed the "Spoglio" the morning after our arrival, we could have received _pratique_ this morning; but as we were most comfortable, Sir Moses requested to be allowed to remain till Thursday. We received the greatest kindness from all the officers of the quarantine, who came frequently to enquire if they could do anything to promote the comfort of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. We all quitted the Lazaretto on the 1st of October, grateful to the Almighty for permitting us to pass the ten days we spent there so pleasantly. We walked to the town, which was built round the bay, nearly opposite the Lazaretto. The road was very rough, and Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were extremely fatigued by the walk. Syra was very gay; the town was thronged with well-dressed people, as the King and Queen were expected that day from Athens. On the wharf, which was strewn with laurel, there were some four hundred little boys and girls dressed in white with blue ribbons, some of them carrying branches of laurel, and others the Greek flag. It was four o'clock when the first cannon announced the arrival of the steamboat with the King and Queen on board. From Terenzio House, where we were accommodated, we had a good view of them as they landed. The King was dressed in a Greek uniform, and the Queen in Western costume. To our great disappointment, the steamer which was to take us to Constantinople had not arrived, and at Syra we could not even find a room to pass the night, so that we were compelled to return to the Lazaretto. Lady Montefiore was most fatigued and poorly, and quite happy when she could throw herself on the ground with the luxury of a mattress. We received an invitation from the Governor of the town to a grand ball, to be given to the King and Queen. The next morning at five o'clock we were informed that the _Mentor_ had not yet arrived, but about two hours later we ascertained that she had come into port in the night. We lost no time in preparing to embark, and before eight again took leave of the Lazaretto, very thankful for the accommodation it had afforded us. At eight we were on board, but it was nearly twelve before we started. We expected to reach Smyrna towards noon on the following day, but not to be able to land, as it would be our Sabbath. We entered the harbour of Smyrna on the 3rd October. Sir Moses received immediately a large number of letters and visits from the heads of the congregation and principal inhabitants, all offering their services. The Dutch Consul spoke much of the sad state of the Jews at Smyrna, and requested Sir Moses' intercession on their behalf. CHAPTER XXXII. 1840. CONSTANTINOPLE--CONDITION OF THE JEWISH RESIDENTS--INTERVIEW WITH RECHID PASHA--AUDIENCE WITH THE SULTAN--HE GRANTS A FIRMAN. From Smyrna we went to Constantinople. Of our arrival in that place Sir Moses gives the following account:-- "_Constantinople, October 5th._--The appearance of the city was most beautiful from the steamboat; we anchored at half-past eleven. Many persons came on board to welcome us, including Monsieur Commundo, who had prepared one of his houses for us. Lady Montefiore and Mr Wire went there immediately. Dr Loewe and I, accompanied by Mr Nugent, a Queen's messenger, who had special despatches for Lord Ponsonby, started for Terapia, and were allowed to leave the vessel at once. It took two hours to row there, the current being very strong. On reaching Terapia we went to Lord Ponsonby's, and found that he was out. Mr Nugent remained, but we returned. There was a strong wind blowing against the current, which made a heavy sea. I passed two hours in the utmost anxiety, and would gladly have landed and walked back, but it was impossible; we should not have found our way. At last we landed safely, but our troubles were not over. We had the greatest difficulty in finding Monsieur Commundo's house. We found two Germans in a little tailor's shop, and they became our guides. I found my dear Judith in a state of great anxiety on our account. It being between seven and eight before we arrived, they had sent in every direction after us; however, we sat down to a good supper, and soon forgot our troubles." The day after our arrival the Spiritual Heads of the Hebrew communities, accompanied by several of their members, came to pay their respects to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and to invite them to attend divine service in one of their Synagogues on the Day of Atonement, which commenced the same evening, an invitation which was accepted. During the whole of the following day (the Day of Atonement) Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore remained in Synagogue, returning in the evening at the conclusion of the service, accompanied by many members of the congregation. They were preceded by two men bearing two large wax candles, which had been lighted in the Synagogue the evening before. They received a hearty welcome from their host, Monsieur Commundo, and, having broken their fast, soon retired to rest. _October 8th._--Signor Commundo, with his wife, two sons, and a daughter, paid us a visit in the morning. The little girl, a lovely child about seven years of age, was already engaged, as well as the two boys, aged nine and ten respectively, both handsome, intelligent lads. It reminded Sir Moses of what he had once found fault with when at Haifa. Certain allowances, however, must be made for the peculiarities of the East. Turkey would certainly not yield in this respect to any remonstrances. We called on the British Consul General, and in the evening Sir Moses received a deputation from the European Hebrew community; they spoke much of the necessity for an hospital and schools. _October 9th._--We set off to the Porte to-day, as soon as our visitors had left, with the intention of going later on to Terapia to see Lord Ponsonby. After rowing nearly two hours and a half, we found that it would take us a full hour longer to reach our destination, and that, wind and current being both against us, we should not be able to get back before the Sabbath. Sir Moses, therefore, gave orders to return home. _Saturday, October 10th._--We attended divine service in a very large Synagogue; all the worshippers appeared to be natives of Turkey. At the conclusion of the service we accompanied the Chief Rabbi to his house. He was preceded by three soldiers and six attendants; on passing the guard-house we found the officer with his men in front. They saluted him with every token of respect, as did all the people in the densely-crowded streets. His house was full of people. We partook of some refreshment, and took leave. As we appeared again in the street we noticed a guard of honour walking before us, and an officer with two soldiers following in the rear. Sir Moses wished them to return after going a few paces, but they insisted on accompanying us to the end of the street, an honour Sir Moses was but little desirous of receiving. _Sunday, October 11th._--We afterwards went into three large and handsome Synagogues in the same quarter; adjoining one of these we observed three school-rooms, occupied by about 250 boys. We entered the school, and found the boys divided into three classes, their ages varying from three to twelve. At the request of Sir Moses I examined two boys. They read the Talmud and translated it into Spanish very fluently. Sir Moses was much pleased. The children all appeared to belong to the poorest classes. We had much difficulty in escaping the importunities of the people; many seemed to be in very distressed circumstances. In one room, scarcely six feet square, we saw a mother and five children. _October 4th._--An Austrian steamer arrived in the afternoon from Smyrna, with an English messenger from Syria. It was reported that Commodore Napier had concluded a treaty with the Emir Besheer, by which the latter had engaged to join his forces to the Sultan's. Napier had landed with his marines, and, assisted by the Turks and the troops of the Emir, was in pursuit of Ibrahim Pasha. Many of the Pasha's soldiers had joined the Sultan's party. _October 15th._--Sir Moses went to Lord Ponsonby. Having thanked him for his great assistance in the affair of the Jews at Rhodes and Damascus, he informed him that he wished to have an audience with the Sultan, to thank him for his justice to the Jews, to claim his special protection for them in all his dominions, and to obtain from him a declaration similar to that made by Selim the Second. Lord Ponsonby said he would give Sir Moses a letter of introduction to Rechid Pasha, who would perhaps be able to forward his wishes. Lord and Lady Ponsonby then begged him to fix a day to dine with them, and Sir Moses returned, much pleased with the interview. The next five days were spent by Sir Moses in making himself acquainted with the communal affairs of various congregations. Being very anxious to assist them in their endeavours to introduce improvements in their method of education, he had frequent communications with their teachers and school committees. In support of his exertions, at the special request of the ecclesiastical chief and representatives of the congregation, I delivered an address in one of their large Synagogues at Galata, on the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles, the aim of which was to exhort the audience to give more attention than hitherto to the acquisition of a liberal education. _October 22nd._--Mr George Samuel, Mr Pisani, Mr Wire, and myself accompanied Sir Moses to an interview with Rechid Pasha, who received us most kindly. Sir Moses informed His Excellency that he had come to express his thanks, and those of all his co-religionists in Europe, for the humanity and justice which His Excellency and the Sultan had shown in respect to the affair at Rhodes. The Pasha said he was sorry they had not been able to do the same at Damascus. Sir Moses hoped that His Excellency would do him and the gentlemen who accompanied him the honour of introducing them to the Sultan, to which he replied that he thought it might be done. Sir Moses then said that formerly Sultan Selim had issued a Hatti-Sherif, declaring his conviction of the innocence of the Jews of the charge brought against them, and it would be a great satisfaction if the present Sultan would do the same. Sir Moses had prepared a paper, which he requested His Excellency to hear read. Mr Pisani read it to him in French; he thought it very good, and said it might be done. Having had pipes and coffee, we returned home, being engaged to dine with Lord Ponsonby. We had great difficulty in procuring a carriage to take us, and at last agreed with a man to take Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and fetch them back, for the sum of £6 sterling. It was a miserable four-horse concern. Mr Wire and I preferred riding on horseback. It was a most agreeable party, and we met there several of our acquaintances. His Lordship spoke with Sir Moses on the subject of a bank for Constantinople, and said he wished him and another gentleman, whom he named, to speak with Rechid Pasha about it, and he would be present at the interview. Sir Moses said he would do so, but could not say anything before he returned to England. On the following day the Rev. Dr Samuel Bennet, the Chaplain of the Embassy, lunched with us. He had just delivered an excellent sermon in favour of the Jews in the Damascus affair. _October 26th._--As no appointment had been made, and that evening was the commencement of the Rámázan, during which month the Turks attend to no business, Sir Moses determined to call on Mr Pisani to inquire if he had heard from Rechid Pasha. We went accordingly, and Mr Pisani informed him that he had just received a letter from the Minister of Foreign Affairs, acquainting him that the Sublime Porte would receive a deputation headed by Sir Moses Montefiore on Wednesday evening, three hours after sunset, at the Palace of Beshik Tash. "How great and good," exclaimed Sir Moses, "is the Almighty! At the moment when I most despaired of success, He has granted our petition." Mr Pisani said he had no doubt he should get the Hatti Sherif, but he could not say when. Before we reached home it was six o'clock, and we found by the brilliant illumination of the minarets and mosques that the Rámázan had been declared. _Tuesday, October 27th._--In the course of the day the Háhám Bashi, Signor M. H. Fresco, came to Sir Moses by appointment, together with several leading members of the community and the secretary of the congregation. Sir Moses recommended him to issue an order that every school should have a well-qualified master, to teach the children to read and write the Turkish language. Sir Moses offered to pay the first expenses they would have to incur. The Háhám readily consented. An order to that effect had been drawn up in the Turkish, Spanish, and Hebrew languages, and promulgated all over the country. The Háhám Bashi is the head of all the Jews in the Turkish Empire, and his decrees are law. Sir Moses promised him to speak on the subject to Rechid Pasha before leaving Constantinople. The following is the account, as given in Sir Moses' diary, of his audience with the Sultan:-- "_Wednesday, October 28th._--Sir David Wilkie, Mr Pisani, and George Samuel dined with us, and at seven afterwards we set out. Our cavalcade consisted of one carriage with four horses, and one with two horses, six kávásses or police officers, eight men carrying large wax torches, two horsemen with each coach, a sedan chair with each coach, and three men to close the procession. As the carriages could not drive up to our door I was carried in a sedan chair to the foot of the hill, the other gentlemen walked, and I went in the first carriage with Mr Pisani, the British Dragoman; George Samuel, Mr Wire, and Dr Loewe in the second. I wore my full uniform. The streets were crowded; many of the Jews had illuminated their houses. We reached the Palace in rather less than an hour. On descending from the carriages we found in the courtyard a large guard of honour, who presented arms. We were shown into a handsome drawing-room, furnished in the European style. Two magnificent silver candlesticks with large wax candles stood on the ground in the centre of a richly embroidered velvet carpet. We had not been seated two minutes when Rechid Pasha entered; he was most friendly in his manner. We were soon joined by Rizá Pasha, and all were served with coffee and pipes, the mouthpieces and bowls of the latter being richly embellished with diamonds. "Rechid Pasha asked me how long I remained at Alexandria, how often I had seen Mohhammad Ali, and how he looked? In a few moments it was announced that the Sultan was ready to receive us. The two Pashas walked first, I next, and the rest of our party followed, a large throng of officers bringing up the rear. "We crossed a garden about sixty yards in length, and entered a handsome marble hall; having descended a grand staircase, likewise of marble, we entered into the presence chamber. "The Sultan was seated on a sofa, clad in his cloak of state, which was fastened at the neck with two large clasps of the finest diamonds. The cloak itself was of a violet colour, similar in cut to our own. He was a good-looking young man, and appeared about twenty-six years of age, though in reality but nineteen. The two Pashas took their station on his left, I and my party on his right. After having received some courteous signs of welcome from him, I delivered the speech I had intended to have read to him, but instead of reading it, I spoke it, as I knew it well by heart, and there was not sufficient light to read it without spectacles. I said as follows:-- "'May it please your Imperial Majesty,--In the name of my brethren, who have deputed me, I come to lay at the foot of your Imperial Throne the grateful homage of their respect. "'England, my country, and other enlightened nations of the earth, heard the cries of the suffering and persecuted Jews at Damascus and at Rhodes, and they hastened to offer to the sufferers their sympathy and affection. But the Lord God, who ruleth over all, prevented the necessity of their aid at Rhodes, and inspired your Imperial Majesty with wisdom, justice, and the love of truth. Under your righteous direction the oppressor was laid low, the designs of the wicked made known, and the innocent delivered. I therefore crave permission to offer to your Imperial Majesty the profound gratitude of the hearts of our people, and to utter our prayers that the merciful God may bless your Imperial Majesty with length of days, with wisdom, honour, and riches, and so direct all your actions, that your name may be inscribed in golden characters for ever, and the memory of your deeds smell as sweet as a garden of roses. "'In ancient times the Lord God brought our people out of Egypt, and for ages they dwelt in Palestine; to them were committed the oracles of God, and though now dispersed among the nations of the earth, they are numbered with the most peaceful and loyal subjects, and by their industry they have augmented the riches and prosperity of the countries in which they live. "'They look with love and veneration upon that land where their forefathers dwelt; they pray that all who live therein may enjoy the shadow of your sublime protection, and in peace be permitted to worship the God of their fathers. "'Their prayers ascend to Him whose wisdom is absolute, whose decrees are fixed and immutable, whom none can withstand, imploring that he will make your enemies eat the dust, that they may vanish as the morning dew, and flee away as chaff before the wind; that your throne may endure for ever, and that all who live under your sceptre may have peace, sitting under their own vine and their own fig-tree, none daring or wishing to make them afraid.' "The Sultan listened with great attention, and as soon as I had finished, Mr Pisani repeated it in Turkish. The Sultan smiled whilst he was reading, and showed that he well understood the address and was pleased with it. As soon as Mr Pisani had concluded, the Sultan fixed his eyes on me, and spoke in a mild and pleasing voice. 'I am perfectly satisfied,' he said, 'with the communication made and the sentiments expressed by the deputation. "'I have been affected by the events which have taken place in Damascus, but I have endeavoured to offer some satisfaction to the Israelitish nation, by giving orders that justice should be done in the affair of Rhodes. "'The Israelitish nation shall always have, from me, the same protection and enjoy the same advantages as all other subjects of my Empire. "'I will grant the deputation the firman they have asked. "'I know, gentlemen, how to appreciate the pure philanthropy which has led you to this capital.' "Having given his reply, the Sultan requested me to come nearer. Rechid Pasha again presented me by name. The Sultan smiled most graciously, and said, 'Present your friends to me.' I first presented George Samuels, my relative, then Mr Wire of the City of London, and Dr Loewe. When Mr Pisani repeated the last name and the Doctor made a bow, Mr Pisani informed the Sultan that the Doctor had presented to the late Sultan a translation of the hieroglyphical inscription on the Obelisk in the Hippodrome. The Sultan spoke with Rechid Pasha to explain it, and then said he remembered seeing it, and seemed much pleased, and said the Doctor must be a learned man. "The Sultan could not have given us a more flattering reception; it was at the same time most dignified. The room in which he received us was well proportioned, and neatly furnished in European style. The curtains were of rich yellow satin and embroidered damask and velvet, most probably of French manufacture; the carpet was English; there were two large wax torches standing in elegantly carved candelabras. We descended a flight of marble stairs, and were shown into a large and handsome room, splendidly furnished, and more brilliantly illuminated than the other room. We chatted with Rechid and Riza Pashas, expressed our thanks to them for their great kindness in procuring for us at so unusual a time an audience with His Imperial Majesty, and our gratitude to His Majesty for his gracious reception and reply. I asked Rechid Pasha when I might hope to receive the firman which the Sultan had promised me, as I was most desirous of returning to England the moment I got it. He replied that he supposed I should not go before the next steamer left (on the 7th of November), and that I should have it by that time; but as it was the Rámázan, there was some difficulty in preparing it. We returned in state as we came, the guard of honour saluting us as we passed them in the court of the palace. We were again served, after the audience, in the lower room of the palace with sherbet in elegant glasses, and we had splendidly embroidered table napkins. A military band played during the greater part of the time we were at the Palace. We found the streets still more crowded than when we went; not a window in the whole street through which we passed but was filled with female faces. As we approached the Jewish street we experienced even more difficulty in passing. At the end of the same street Signor Commundo, with the ecclesiastical chief of Galata and about twenty of our acquaintances, insisted on walking with us to our house. I was delighted to see my dear Judith, and to acquaint her with our happy reception and the complete success of our Mission, for which we return our grateful thanks to Heaven." CHAPTER XXXIII. 1840. DISTRESS AMONG THE JEWS AT SALONICA--OPPRESSIVE LAWS WITH REGARD TO THEM--TEXT OF THE FIRMAN--ITS PROMULGATION. On the 30th of October all the representatives of the Hebrew congregations called to express their thanks to Sir Moses for introducing the study of the Turkish language and its literature in their schools. The letter on the subject, addressed by the Háhám Bashi to all the congregations, had been printed, and was to be read publicly on the following day in all the Synagogues in Constantinople. On Saturday we had the happiness of receiving from Mr Pisani the answer of His Imperial Majesty, which he had delivered to Sir Moses in reply to his address on Wednesday evening, which His Majesty promised should be delivered in writing. Rechid Pasha sent it by Mr Pisani, saying that he was preparing the firman which Sir Moses had requested from the Sultan. The same day the letter of the Háhám Bashi was read in all the Synagogues, and caused great satisfaction to all present, as they considered that the introduction of the Turkish language in the Jewish schools would raise the Jews in the estimation of both Moslems and Greeks. We had again many visitors, and received a deputation from Salonica, where there were 5000 Jewish families. Much distress, they said, prevailed there, in consequence of a fire which had destroyed 20,000 houses, of which 2000 belonged to Jews. They had presented a petition to the Sultan for assistance to rebuild the houses, as he had sent money for that purpose to the other inhabitants, but not to the Jews. They also complained that they were forced to pay the Governor large sums of money before he would allow them to bury any one. Sir Moses asked them if persons of other religions were also charged for the privilege of burying their dead; they replied in the affirmative, but said the sum that others paid was very trifling as compared to the charges made to the Jews. Mr Isaac Picciotto, who had just arrived from Damascus, paid us a visit. He was one of the unfortunate persons accused there, and had only been saved from torture by the protection of the Austrian Consul, he being an Austrian subject. He was kept seven months in the Consul's house, and had only had courage to leave it that week, after the other persons had returned to their homes. He expressed great gratitude for our exertions on their behalf, and shed tears on seeing us. _November 1st._--Mr Alison called, with a request from Rifaat Bey to Sir Moses to fix a day to dine with him, and he would invite Colonel Hodges to meet him. Sir Moses accepted the invitation for the following Wednesday. The intervening days were spent in receiving deputations and friends, and visiting various charitable institutions, where he distributed generous gifts. _November 7th._--Having seen much poverty at Kháskoey, Sir Moses went there, accompanied by Lady Montefiore and myself, to attend prayers at the Synagogue "Major." On leaving the Synagogue, Sir Moses, according to previous arrangements, commenced distributing among the poor the money he had brought with him. But he was overpowered by the crowd, and had he not been rescued by the guard (two officers and six men) who attended him as a mark of honour, he would not have been able to pass. It required all their force to keep back the crowd till we had reached our abode. Sir Moses was obliged to leave the money with the wardens of the Synagogue to be distributed by them, observing that he had never in any other place witnessed so much poverty and distress. Poor, however, as the people of Kháskoey were, they devoted a great part of their humble earnings to education, and not only to the education of their children, but also to that of grown-up members of their community; nor did they neglect to contribute to the support of their Synagogues. My attention was here called to a rather amusing notice affixed to the portals of the Synagogue, containing strict orders and regulations, issued by the heads of the congregation, regarding the best mode of effecting economy in the affairs of the community, collectively and individually. The members and their families were interdicted from wearing costly furs, dresses and head-dresses embroidered with gold or silver. Expensive shawls, gold and silver fringes on the costume, and similar luxuries are likewise prohibited. The women are not to bring their jewellery to the hamám (public bath), where they were in the habit of spending hours chatting with their friends and exhibiting their wealth. Similar restrictions were placed on festivities at weddings and at the naming of boys. Even at funerals the use of costly shawls on the biers of females was not permitted. The poor of Galata were considered the following day, and we repaired to the Synagogue, there to distribute Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore's gifts. In the course of the day Mr Pisani called, informing Sir Moses that he would receive a decoration from the Sultan. Subsequently Sir Moses called on Lord Ponsonby, who promised to do what he could to relieve the distress in Rhodes. Being pressed for time we soon returned, and proceeded to Rifáat Bey's. "It was already late," says Sir Moses, "when we came there, and found waiting there Lords Canning and Louvain, Colonel Hodges, Captain Gordon, Dr M'Carthy, Mr C. Alison, Rifáat Bey, and several Turkish gentlemen." The conversation on the events in Syria was very interesting. About nine o'clock we left the party, much pleased with the novelty of the scene. _November 6th._--We went first to the Austrian Ambassador and then to Rechid Pasha. The latter, who received us in a very friendly manner, said that the Hatti-Sherif was ready, but had not yet been signed by the Sultan. Sir Moses expressed his anxiety to have it as soon as possible, as he was desirous of leaving the next day. The Pasha said that if Mr Pisani came at ten o'clock the same evening to the Porte, he should have it, as he himself would go to Riza Pasha about it, and appointed twelve o'clock the next day to see Sir Moses. _Saturday evening, November 7th._--Sir Moses writes in his diary: "I sat up last night till after twelve, awaiting with great anxiety the return of Mr Wire, who had gone to Mr Pisani's house to fetch the firman for me as soon as Mr Pisani should return from the Porte, where Rechid Pasha had appointed him to be at ten o'clock. I had just fallen asleep when Mr Wire knocked at my door, and showed me the firman which the Sultan had signed. It was beautifully written on thick parchment, and was enclosed in a coloured satin bag. I sent it to Dr Loewe, who had also retired, begging of him to read it and let me know if it was all we could desire for the satisfaction of our brethren. In a little while Mr Wire returned it to me, saying that Dr Loewe had read it, and had assured him it was written in the strongest possible terms as to the innocence of the Jews, as well as for their future protection. "I then blessed the Lord God for His great goodness, placed the firman under my pillow, and fell asleep." The next day I walked with Dr Loewe to Rechid Pasha's residence. I took the firman with me, as it had to be deposited in the Archives of the Ottoman Empire, and the Pasha had only sent it to me that I might be convinced of its authenticity. An official copy was, by order of the Sultan, forwarded to the Háhám Bashi. His Excellency, Rechid Pasha, received us immediately, and said he hoped I was satisfied with what the Sultan had done for us. Mr Pisani then handed me an official copy of the firman, and I gave the original to the Pasha. I had first begged to be allowed to keep it, but His Excellency said it was impossible, and my copy of it was in every respect accurate. The following is an exact translation of the firman Hatti-Sherif (addressed to the Chief Judge at Constantinople), at the head of which His Imperial Majesty the Sultan Abd-ool-medjid wrote with his own hand the following words: "Let that be executed which is prescribed in this Firman:"-- "An ancient prejudice prevailed against the Jews. The ignorant believed that the Jews were accustomed to sacrifice a human being to make use of his blood at their feast of Passover. "In consequence of this opinion, the Jews of Damascus and Rhodes (who are subjects of our Empire) have been persecuted by other nations. The calumnies which have been uttered against the Jews, and the vexations to which they have been subjected, have at last reached our Imperial Throne. "But a short time has elapsed since some Jews dwelling in the Island of Rhodes have been brought from thence to Constantinople, where they have been tried and judged according to the new regulations, and their innocence of the accusations made against them fully proved. That, therefore, which justice and equity required has been done on their behalf. "Besides which the religious books of the Hebrews have been examined by learned men, well versed in their theological literature, the result of which examination is, that it is found that the Jews are strongly prohibited, not only from using human blood, but even that of animals. It therefore follows that the charges made against them and their religion are nothing but pure calumny. "For this reason, and for the love we bear to our subjects, we cannot permit the Jewish nation (whose innocence of the crime alleged against them is evident) to be vexed and tormented upon accusations which have not the least foundation in truth, but in conformity to the Hatti-Sherif which has been proclaimed at Gulhani, the Jewish nation shall possess the same advantages and enjoy the same privileges as are granted to the numerous other nations who submit to our authority. "The Jewish nation shall be protected and defended. "To accomplish this object, we have given the most positive orders that the Jewish nation, dwelling in all parts of our empire, shall be perfectly protected, as well as all other subjects of the sublime Porte, and that no person shall molest them in any manner whatever (except for a just cause), neither in the free exercise of their religion, nor in that which concerns their safety and tranquillity. In consequence, the present firman, which is ornamented at the head with our 'Hoomaioon' (sign-manual), and emanates from our Imperial Chancellerie, has been delivered to the Israelitish nation. "Thus you, the above-mentioned judge, when you know the contents of this firman, will endeavour to act with great care in the manner therein prescribed. And in order that nothing may be done in opposition to this firman, at any time hereafter, you will register it in the Archives of the Tribunal; you will afterwards deliver it to the Israelitish nation, and you will take great care to execute our orders, and this our sovereign will. "Given at Constantinople, 12th Rámázan, 1256 (November 6th, 1840)." I gave Rechid Pasha the order issued by the Háhám Bashi respecting the instruction henceforth to be given in all the Hebrew public schools in the Turkish language. He read the paper carefully, and said he was much pleased; he also made the following remark: "If you had done nothing else in Constantinople than that, you ought to consider yourself amply compensated for the trouble and fatigue you have undergone, by the consciousness of having been instrumental in affording your brethren the opportunity of raising their position, by a knowledge of the Turkish language." He then told me of his having written to the Pasha of Rhodes to take special care that the Jews were always under proper protection, so that, if they wished to leave the town, they might do so without fear of molestation. On our return home we found a great many visitors who had come to bid us farewell. Towards evening the representatives of all the congregations called, and prayers were recited at the conclusion of the Sabbath. Soon after dark, Monsieur Le Goff, who had promised to call for us when it would be time to embark, came, and we all went on board. Hundreds of people pressed round us as we embarked, offering prayers and good wishes for our safe return to England. On the 9th November we landed at Smyrna, where Sir Moses left Greek translations of the firman, as well as many charitable gifts for distribution. Six days later we arrived at Malta, where we learned that St Jean d'Acre had been taken, after three hours' fight, but with very little loss. This, Sir Moses thought, would settle the affair of Syria, and he had some hope that Egypt itself would soon return to the Sultan. The officer of the Lazaretto came, and advised us to remain on board that day and the next. He told us we should have excellent apartments in Fort Manoel, as the Emir Besheer and his attendants, about 120 persons, would then leave the Lazaretto. Sir Moses agreed to this, and the next day the commandant, Monsieur Le Goff, took us in his boat to Fort-Manoel. The Emir Besheer and his suite only left at nine o'clock. We saw them going in two boats on their way to St Antonio. The Emir Besheer was in the Governor's boat with some of the attendants; the ladies, about twelve of them, were in another boat. The Emir was a noble-looking old man, with a long white beard; the ladies were all dressed in white, and had their faces veiled. I once had the opportunity of seeing the Emir in his mountains at Ebtedeen. His proper name was Emir Sa'ad ed-deen Esh-shehâbi. His political movements, as well as his general course of life, from a religious point of view, could not stand the test of a strict investigation. He spoke on one occasion, in the presence of French officers, disrespectfully of the Queen, and also of the Sultan. The British Consul at Damascus, now Sir Richard Wood, escorted him to Constantinople, where he received a serious reprimand from the English Ambassador and the Turkish authorities. We found that our apartments were not ready for immediate occupation, and we therefore had to remain a long time in the open air, until they had undergone a process of fumigation and ventilation. _November 19th._--A French war steamer arrived in the morning from Alexandria, reporting the recall of Ibrahim Pasha from Syria, and the countermanding of troops under orders for Syria, and of the levy of Bedáwees. We also learned that the Pasha had given up the Turkish fleet, and contented himself, with the vice-regal power in Egypt; and that all this had been approved by a council. Sir Moses remarked, "that all this might be true, but if the Sultan allowed Mohhammad Ali to retain Egypt, he would not suffer Syria to remain quiet for twelve months, but would excite insurrections. The English government," he said, "had the game in their own hands, and he hoped they would not throw it away; Syria would never be safe while Mohhammad Ali ruled in Egypt." _September 23rd._--Sir Hector Grey sent the welcome tidings that our imprisonment would be reduced to fifteen days instead of twenty. A few days later, Captain H. M. Austin, of Her Majesty's steam frigate _Cyclops_, arrived from Beyrout, and gave us a most interesting account of all that had been passing in Syria. He expected that Ibrahim Pasha would be taken, and that Mohhammad Ali would retain Egypt, as our ministers, he said, wished it. _Friday, September 27th._--We had many visitors at Fort Manoel Lazaretto (Malta) this day: Lady Stopford and her daughter, Captain and Mrs Copeland, and the Greek Consul; also Captain Le Goff of the _Minos_. All of them gave accounts of the state of politics. The French steamer brought us letters from Signor Communda, in which he informed Sir Moses, that Rechid Pasha had sent his chief secretary, accompanied by many officers, to the Jews with the Hatti-Sherif. It was publicly read amidst the universal joy of the people, and prayers were offered up for the Sultan, also for Sir Moses. CHAPTER XXXIV. 1840. DEPARTURE FROM MALTA--NAPLES--ROME--A SHAMEFUL INSCRIPTION--PREJUDICES AGAINST THE JEWS AT THE VATICAN. _November 30th._--Sir Hector Grey called, bringing news (in confirmation of previous reports) to the effect that Commodore Napier had made a convention with Mohhammad Ali: the latter was to give up Syria, recall Ibrahim Pasha, and restore the Turkish fleet, on being guaranteed by the four Powers in his authority over Egypt. Having accepted an invitation from the Governor to dine with him, we repaired to the Palace, and met a very pleasant party of twenty-four persons. The Governor repeatedly expressed, to Sir Moses his satisfaction with the result of his Mission. _December 2nd._--Major Churchill called, bringing with him Colonel Hugh Rose and Colonel Golquhoun; all offered to take letters and parcels for us to Damascus. Sir Moses availed himself of their kindness, and entrusted Major Churchill with a box containing letters, newspapers, and copies of the Sultan's Hatti-Sherif for transmission to the representatives of the Hebrew community at Damascus. At ten in the evening we went, by invitation from Colonel Winchester and officers of the 92nd Highlanders, to a splendid ball. All the _élite_ of the island were present, the Governor, the Admiral, &c. Sir Moses was introduced to General Mitchel and all the officers then going to Syra. They offered him every assistance he might desire, and promised to protect the Jews. Lady Lewis called to invite Lady Montefiore to go with her to see the Emir Besheer's lady, Báheeyát Eddoonyá (the beauty of the world), and Sir Moses and party to accompany them, and call on the Emir. The invitation was gladly accepted. We were detained there a long time, the Emir having a great deal to say to Sir Moses respecting his own affairs, as he wished him to intercede on his behalf with the English government. _Saturday, December 5th._--Attended divine service early in the morning, and received in the course of the day the representatives of the Hebrew community. They came to thank Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore for what they had done for them, and wished us a safe voyage home. The Emir Besheer sent his Bishop to Sir Moses, and begged he would speak with Lord Palmerston. He had written himself to the Queen, praying Her Majesty for his return to the mountains. He wished him to say that his family had ruled there two hundred years, and himself fifty. Sir Moses promised the Emir to comply with his request, and Lady Montefiore returned compliments and good wishes to the Princess Báheeyát Eddoonyá. _December 6th._--Early in the morning we went on board the French steamer _Dante_ at Malta, and after a two days' pleasant sea voyage, dropped anchor in the Bay of Naples. _December 8th._--Sir Moses was very anxious to prepare here for the important work he would have to do at Rome regarding the removal of a scandal that might, at some future period, become a source of great vexation and misery to thousands of innocent Jews. I allude to the libellous epitaph which the Capuchins at Damascus had inscribed on the stone erected over an opening in which some bones of animals had been put. The inscription, which had been copied by two monks, was in the Italian and Arabic language, as follows:-- "D. O. M. "Qui riposano le ossa del P^re Tomaso da Sardegna Miss^o Cappuccino assassinato dagli Ebrei il giorno 5 de Febraro l'anno 1840." _Translation of Italian Inscription._ "Here rest the bones of Father Tomaso of Sardinia, a Capuchin missionary, murdered by the Hebrews on the 5th of February 1840." _Translation of Arabic Inscription._ "The outward appearance of the tomb of Father Tomaso the Capuchin, and its place of wailing. He zealously discharged the duties of his calling as one of the missionaries in Damascus--the Jews slaughtered him--his goodness did not save him. "The laying down of his bones took place on the 5th of February 1840." The Baron and the Baroness Charles de Rothschild called soon after our arrival. They considered with us what was best to be done to facilitate the intended proceedings at Rome, and agreed to seek an interview with the Pope's Nuncio. Permission was obtained the same day from the Minister of Police to have the Hatti Sherif printed and published in Italian papers. His Excellency had them printed for Sir Moses, and forwarded him several hundred copies for distribution among friends. Mr Briggs paid them a visit, and having discussed all that had taken place in Alexandria, expressed much pleasure at the result of the Mission. _Naples, December 10th._--Sir Moses went with Baron Charles to the Pope's Nuncio, who received them most kindly. He complimented Sir Moses, saying that he was an excellent ambassador, as was proved by his success. On acquainting him with the object of his visit, and asking for his advice as to the best mode of proceeding when at Rome to procure the removal of the stone in the Latin Convent of the Capuchins at Damascus, the Nuncio said that the business must be hinted with much delicacy at Rome; he was going there on the 13th January, and would do it himself if Sir Moses would remain at Naples. Sir Moses, however, could not remain so long, and the Nuncio promised to prepare a letter, to a friend at Rome and send it to him. In the evening we all dined with the Baron and Baroness de Rothschild. The entertainment was given in honour of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore; twenty-four at table--Princes and Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, the _élite_ of the Neapolitan nobility, as well as Admiral Gowley and other distinguished officers in the navy. We were also invited to a ball, but Sir Moses was not sufficiently well to go, and Lady Montefiore would not go without him. _December 16th._--A visit was paid to the Austrian Ambassador, Count de Lebselter. Both Sir Moses and Baron de Rothschild were much pleased with his remarks on the recent events in the East. _December 19th._--Sir Moses and Baron Charles went to the French Ambassador, who received them most kindly. Sir Moses recounted to him Count Ratti-Menton's conduct in the affair of Damascus, with the full particulars. He also told him what he had effected in Constantinople, and he had the happiness of hearing the Ambassador state that it had been his opinion from the first that the Jews were innocent of the crime imputed to them. He several times congratulated Sir Moses on his success; said that he was glad the latter intended going to Paris, and that he should make the government acquainted with the conduct of Ratti-Menton, but without publishing it to the world. The Duke was the first Frenchman that Sir Moses had heard express in so decided a manner his conviction of the innocence of the Jews. It was reported that the Sultan had refused to ratify Commodore Napier's convention, at the request of the Ambassadors of the four Powers. They would not consent to the Pasha having Candia. _Naples, December 20th._--"We entered our good old carriage this morning," Sir Moses writes in his diary, "at eight; the weather was mild and pleasant. We had four horses to our carriage, and only a pair to the carriage for Mr Wire and Dr Loewe, though I was obliged to pay for three, as we do not intend travelling at night, and are anxious to get on as fast as we can. We hope to save much time and obtain better accommodation on the road by having a courier." _December 22nd._--Through the carelessness of the postilions, Sir Moses' carriage was driven against a cart, the pole of the former being broken. Our carriage also met with an accident, but we nevertheless all reached Rome safely. Soon after entering the gates of the city we were greeted by a deputation of our brethren, who followed us to our hotel, and expressed their pleasure at seeing us return in good health. We then proceeded to the Synagogue, which had been most brilliantly illuminated in our honour. The people of Rome were delighted with our success at Constantinople; the firman, they considered, gave some reparation for the past and security for the future. _December 23rd._--Sir Moses presented his letter of introduction to Prince Alexander Torlonia, who likewise congratulated him on the success of the Mission. Another deputation from the Jews of Rome came to express their thanks to Sir Moses for his exertions on behalf of his co-religionists, regretting that it was not in their power to prove their gratitude by something more than words. _Rome, December 24th._--We then called on Baron de Binder, the Attaché to the Austrian Embassy. Sir Moses intimated his desire to be introduced to the Austrian Ambassador, in order to thank him for the lively interest he had taken in favour of the Jews of Damascus. The Baron said he should be happy to introduce him, but as the following day was Christmas day, and the New Year holidays were so near, he feared some few days must elapse before he would be able to get an appointment. Sir Moses informed the Baron of his earnest desire to be presented to the Pope, to express his gratitude to him for not having permitted the public press of Rome to insert the charges made against the Jews at Rhodes and Damascus, also to present His Holiness with a copy of the firman granted by the Sultan, and to intimate the great act of kindness it would be on his part to advise the removal of the inscription from the stone in the convent at Damascus, over some bones said to be those of Father Tommaso. The Sultan would doubtless, if applied to, order the removal of the stone, as soon as his Governor was in the city; but Sir Moses, well knowing His Holiness' love of truth and peace, felt confident that, if made known to him, he would not permit such a libel to remain. _December 25th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, while visiting one of the public institutions, met the Princess Augusta of Cambridge, who spoke to them most kindly. Prince A. Torlonia sent them the key of his box at the opera. They availed themselves of this kindness in company with several friends. "Being the first representation of the season," writes Sir Moses, "the house was filled to overflowing in every part. The Queen of Spain, the Duchess of Cambridge and her daughter were present, as well as every person of note in Rome. It is customary for the Governor of the city, on the first night of the season, to offer to the audience in the second and third tiers of boxes, ices, cakes, &c., twice during the evening, between the acts. Simultaneously, as if by magic, two waiters entered into each of the sixty-two boxes, one bearing wax candles in silver candlesticks and the other trays with the choicest refreshments. We had one of the best and largest boxes in the house, and remained till nearly twelve." The following day Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received a beautiful address from the Consistoire Israélite of France, offering congratulations and deep gratitude for their noble exertions. _December 29th._--Sir Moses went with Baron Binder to Count Lebselter, the Austrian Minister. The Count expressed himself most handsomely, saying that he was perfectly convinced of the innocence of the Jews, and that he knew the people well, having been Ambassador at Constantinople for four years. He said he had frequently spoken with the Cardinals on the subject of the Damascus affair, but he did not succeed in converting them to his opinion. He recommended Sir Moses to see Mr Aubin, who then acted as agent for the British Government, and to request Mr Aubin to present him to Signor Capuccini, Under Secretary of State, and explain to him his wishes. _December 30th._--Sir Moses had a long conversation with Mr Aubin, who consented to speak to Signor Capuccini and acquaint him with Sir Moses' desire to be introduced to the Pope. Mr Aubin said, as to the presentation he feared he should not succeed, but thought perhaps he might with the request referring to the firman. At four o'clock Sir Moses saw Mr Aubin again. He had been with Signor Capuccini, but could not succeed in any way, and was, indeed, most anxious that Sir Moses should not even call upon him. Mr Aubin said that all the people about the Pope were persuaded that the Jews had murdered Father Tommaso, and even _if all the witnesses in the world were brought before the Pope to prove the contrary_, neither he nor his people would be convinced, and he could do nothing more. Sir Moses, on hearing this, determined at once to leave his card, together with his letters of introduction, with Signor Capuccini and the Cardinal Tosti, which he did, also leaving cards on Monsignor Bruti and the Abbé Ferrari, and was informed two days later that the Secretary of State had appointed eleven on the following day to receive him. Sir Moses called on Torlonia, and spoke to him respecting his introduction to the Pope, to solicit his directions for the removal of the stone. The Prince promised to consult his brother, the Duke, and see what could be done; personally he thought it should be done through the Propaganda. Sir Moses left him a translation of Mr Shadwell's letter on the subject. It was again reported that the Sultan would not ratify Commodore Napier's convention with Mohhammad Ali, but that Lord Palmerston would insist upon the ratification. We then visited the Ghetto, where we were met by a deputation of our brethren, who took us to see the workshops. We saw many Jewish children at work, some weaving, others making shoes. Sir Moses gave to each child a Spanish dollar, and two Napoleons to each teacher. We next went to the four schools. Sir Moses gave to each boy half a dollar, and fourteen dollars to the students, for the study of the Holy Law. On our return, Sir Moses found that cards had been left by the Abbé Ferrari; Monsignor Bruti, private chamberlain to the Pope; and Baron de Binder Kriegelstein. Great anxiety was felt by Sir Moses as to the result of his endeavours to get an audience with the Pope. His petition was already prepared, and he hoped by some means to get it into the Pope's hands. If this could be effected, he thought some good might be done. "Heaven only knows," he said, "my fears are much greater than my hopes; neither the Austrian Minister nor Baron de Binder will do anything." The Hanoverian Minister had expressed to Baron de Binder his total inability to assist Sir Moses in obtaining an audience with His Holiness. Mr Aubin said he had done all he could, but ineffectually, and Signer Capuccini entreated that Sir Moses would not insist upon seeing the Pope, as the Cardinal Tosti had taken no notice of either Sir Moses' letter or card. "This is the last night of the year 1840," Sir Moses said. "It has been a year of much anxiety, fatigue, and danger to Lady Montefiore and myself, but thanks to the God of our Fathers, we trust its fruits will be productive of much good to His children, not only in the East, but in the West as well." CHAPTER XXXV. 1841. MONSIGNOR BRUTI AND HIS HINTS--CARDINAL RIVEROLA--INEFFECTUAL ATTEMPTS TO INTERVIEW THE POPE--RETURNING HOMEWARDS--ALARMING ACCIDENT--THE GOVERNOR OF GENOA--INTERVIEW WITH KING LOUIS PHILIPPE. At Rome, 1st January 1841, Sir Moses writes: "Monsignor Bruti called on us, and I asked his advice as to the best means of obtaining the removal of the stone, &c. He advised my first trying the head of the Capuchins here, also of the Propaganda, before I went to the Secretary of State, and offered, if I would postpone my visit to the Secretary of State, which I had arranged with Mr Kolb for to-morrow, to make enquiries in some influential quarters, and see me again to-morrow to acquaint me with the best mode of proceeding. He spoke in a liberal manner, and appeared to think I might succeed. In consequence of this, Mr Wire wrote to Mr Kolb to postpone the appointment. "_January 2nd._--Monsignor Bruti came in. He said he had spoken to several influential persons, but the one he particularly wished to see was out of town; if he did not return in a few days, he would go to him. Monsignor Bruti thought the petition I had prepared for the Pope very likely to meet with success, if I first gained the concurrence of some of the Capuchins, and he advised my making some presents of money. I instantly stopped him, and assured him that, in the execution of my Mission, I had not given a single dollar, nor would I do so in Rome, even if I was sure to obtain by it the object I had so much at heart. This information had a great effect on his manner of speaking, and he left us in two minutes. I daresay we shall see little more of him." _January 4th._--Mr Kolb went with us to the Monastery to endeavour to see Cardinal Riverola, the head of the Capuchins; he was unwell, but appointed to see us the next day at twelve. Monsignor Bruti called; he seemed very desirous to know how Sir Moses was going on; the latter, however, did not think Monsignor Bruti could assist him. _January 5th._--"I received a letter," Sir Moses writes in his diary, "from Prince Torlonia, expressing his regret that he had not succeeded in his application for me, and enclosing a letter he received from the Chamberlain of His Holiness, stating that at present His Holiness did not give any audiences. At twelve, I and Dr Loewe went to Monsieur C. de Kolb; he joined us, and we went to the Monastery. We were admitted immediately to his Eminence, Cardinal Agostino Riverola. Mr Kolb introduced me. I acquainted the Cardinal with the object of my visit to him, as he was the chief of the Capuchins. I urged the injustice of allowing such a libel to exist in the Convent at Damascus, pointing out that the inscription stated that Padre Tommaso was assassinated by the Hebrews. I said that both Mohhammad Ali and the Sultan were satisfied as to the innocence of the accused, and they had both given me firmans confirming their opinion. The Cardinal said the firman was most important, and he would at once sanction the removal of the stone, whether the firman had been obtained by Rothschild's fortune or by other means. I instantly stopped the Cardinal, and assured him that I had not given a dollar for the firman, nor would I have attempted to obtain justice by bribery. He said that was immaterial, he would not enter into the subject; the firman was of great importance. The inscription, he said, was most improper, as it charged all the Israelites with the murder. What would be said if a Florentine committed a crime, and all Florentines were charged with it? I assured the Cardinal that Padre Tommaso had not been murdered by a Jew, but he did not seem to credit my assurance. I said I thought it possible that the Padre might still be living in one of the Monasteries of Lebanon. The Cardinal laughed, and turning to Mr Kolb, said, perhaps Cardinal Fesch was still living. It was his opinion, however, that the stone should be removed, and he would confer with the general of the Capuchins on the subject, as he could not give instructions for its removal without his concurrence. I asked if he would see him to-day, but he replied, 'Look at the weather; it is impossible, but I will in a day or two.' I enquired when I might call again; he said, 'whenever I pleased.' I gave the Cardinal two copies of the firman, also translations of the letters sent me by Mr Shadwell and the Rev. J. Marshall. The result of my interview leads me to hope that with patience and perseverance I may succeed in getting the inscription removed. "_January 6th._--Signer Scala paid us a visit, and advised me to forward the petition I had prepared for His Holiness to the Cardinal. I and Dr Loewe then went to the Cardinal's house; we sent in the petition, enclosed in one to himself. We then had an interview with him in his library. He told us that he had read the petition, but that it was not his department to present petitions to His Holiness. I asked him kindly to inform me in whose department it was. He replied, the Cardinal's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. I gave him two of my pamphlets with the firman, and we took our leave. We returned to our hotel, and I immediately wrote to Cardinal Luigi Lambruschini, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. We took the letter to his house, but he was at dinner, and the servant informed us he must not be disturbed. We could leave the paper, and it would be given to the Cardinal. If we returned at six o'clock we should have an answer. We left the papers. At six, Dr Loewe went to Cardinal Lambruschini. His servant said the Cardinal had read the papers, but he had nothing to do with them; that the application had been made before, and that he returned them. Thus, it appears, all doors are closed against my petition finding its way to His Holiness. "Mr Kolb said I must be prepared to hear bad news to-morrow from the Cardinal Riverola, as the Cardinal felt great surprise at my boldness in replying to him respecting the Rothschilds having purchased the firman with their fortunes, and also about the Jews not having murdered Father Tommaso. I believe it is not of much consequence, but, at all events, I would not suffer any one to suppose for a moment that I had been base enough to bribe any one for the purpose of freeing the Jews from false and base accusations. At twelve I went with Dr Loewe and Mr Wire to Mr Kolb. He joined us, and we proceeded to the Convent of the Frati di St Marcello to Cardinal Riverola, the protector of the Capuchins. We were all presented to him. I took my seat next to him by his desire. He informed me that he would write to advise the removal of the stone from the Convent of the Capuchins at Damascus; that he could not order the removal of the stone, but would advise it; that the Convent was under the protection of the French authority, who had caused it to be erected; that all the monks belonging to that Convent, except one, had died, and that several monks would be sent there as soon as Syria became more tranquil. The Cardinal was most friendly in his manner. Before I left he returned me the copies of the letters of Mr Shadwell, &c., I gave him to read at my last interview, but he kept the copy of the firman, as well as the copy of the firman of Mohhammad Ali which I gave Mr Kolb for him. Cardinal Riverola had consulted with the Chief of the Capuchins at Rome. It was this person who assured the Cardinal that he had not the power to remove the stone, but if he advised it, the advice would certainly be followed. I must see when I get to Paris what can be done with the French Minister." Sir Moses then called on Baron Binder and Prince Torlonia, and informed them of what he had done. In the course of the day Signor Scala came to inform him that the Pope had appointed the next day at eleven o'clock to receive the deputation of the Jews of Rome who annually paid their homage to him at that season. _January 8th._--We called on Mr Aubin to ask his advice respecting the petition to His Holiness. He was of opinion that Sir Moses had better not present it unless Cardinal Riverola advised it. We afterwards called on Mr Kolb. He said he was satisfied the Cardinal would keep his promise, and Sir Moses would only do mischief if he attempted to petition the Pope. Signor Scala and the deputation that accompanied him were received by the Pope, who said he was well satisfied with his Hebrew subjects, and would grant them all the privileges his religion permitted. We quitted Rome on Monday evening (January 11th), and travelling _viâ_ Viterbo and Sienna, reached Leghorn on the 14th January. "Most grateful do I feel," said Sir Moses, "to the Almighty for having conducted me and my dear Judith in safety and peace to this my native city." _Saturday, January 16th._--About one o'clock the Chancellor of the Congregation came, saying that he had received an intimation from the Governor of the town that the latter wished to make the acquaintance of Sir Moses, but that etiquette prevented his calling on him, and he had therefore sent his card by his aide-de-camp. In consequence of this we all went to His Excellency, accompanied by the Chancellor, Signer Basevi. He received us most politely, and paid Sir Moses a great many compliments. He said, among other things, that every friend of humanity owed him a debt of gratitude. He was delighted to have made his personal acquaintance, and hoped to see him again. _January 17th._--Accompanied by Signor Basevi, we went to the old burial-ground, where we met seventeen old men who knew Signor R. H. Racah, Sir Moses' uncle and godfather. Sir Moses distributed money among them, and proceeded to the new burial-ground, where, on seeing the grave of one of his relations without a tombstone, he gave the order to have one made at his expense. _19th January._--We left Leghorn at 1 P.M., Sir Moses being obliged to leave by a side door to escape the great numbers of people who were waiting in front of the hotel to pay their respects to the Champion of Israel. About two o'clock we were all much alarmed by Lady Montefiore being suddenly taken seriously ill, with a numbness of her hand and arm, and a dizziness and great pain in the head, which almost deprived her of speech and motion. She was just able to ask for the Prayer Book. Gradually she recovered from the attack, which Sir Moses hoped was only spasmodic, though she remained weak and very unwell. From Genoa we made our way to Savona, but in consequence of a serious carriage accident, in which Buck, one of the servants, was badly hurt, we immediately returned to Genoa to obtain medical assistance. By some misunderstanding which had arisen between our couriers and the postillions of another carriage on the road, that of the Prince and Princess Marc de Beauvaix, in changing horses, ours took fright and went off down a hill. On the one side there was a deep precipice, of at least a hundred feet, into the sea; on the other a deep ditch. The carriage was thrown into the ditch, and fell on the side of the hill, which prevented it from being entirely overturned. Sir Moses, on getting Lady Montefiore out of the carriage, found she had lost all power to help herself, and placed her on the side of the road, while he endeavoured to restore her. As soon as the carriages were ready again, the invalids were carefully placed in them, and we all returned to the Hotel Croce di Malta, our old quarters, where we found everything prepared for us, all having been ordered by the young couple who were the innocent cause of our misfortune. We soon had Robert carried to bed, and Dr Bennett, an English surgeon and a very clever man, very carefully examined the patient, and did all that was necessary for his comfort and recovery. He said the wound in his leg would be of no consequence, but if it had been extended the hundredth part of an inch it would have cut the artery, and he would have bled to death before we could have even placed him in the carriage. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were much fatigued and agitated, but full of deep gratitude to Heaven for the mercy shown to them and to their faithful servant, Robert, whom they would not leave; and they remained at Genoa till he was sufficiently recovered to travel. _January 26th._--Mr Yates Brown, the British Consul, called with the compliments of the Governor of Genoa, who desired to make Sir Moses' acquaintance. The latter agreed to accompany him the next day to His Excellency. _January 27th._--I accompanied Sir Moses to His Excellency the Marchese Paulucca, the Governor of Genoa, who received him most kindly, enquired as to the result of his voyage to the East, and was happy to hear of its success. "He had never," he said, "for a moment believed the charges against the Israelites; he had been Governor of Georgia, where there were many of that nation, and he had never heard of such a thing; he had known many Jews for eighteen years, and respected them. He had allowed a contradiction of the charge to appear in the Genoa _Gazette_, for which he said he had been reprimanded by the Government; nevertheless, he was glad he had done it. Sir Moses gave His Excellency two copies of the firman, with which he seemed much pleased. The Rev. E. Bondi subsequently related to Sir Moses an anecdote concerning the Marchese. About three months previously an Englishman, a Protestant, with a large family, had given much trouble to the British Government respecting a claim he had on the Sardinian Government, but not having succeeded in gaining his object, in a fit of spleen he embraced the Catholic religion with all his family. The ceremony took place in the great church at Genoa, in the presence of the King, the Royal family, and the great officers. On the following day the King inquired of the Marchese Paulucca if he was not delighted with the beautiful ceremony (supposing him to have been present), but the latter informed His Majesty that he was not in the church at the time. The King expressed his surprise, and inquired the reason. The Marchese replied that he disliked hypocrisy of all kinds. The King was silent, but did not speak to him for three days." Monsieur Blaurie, the Consul General of France, sent us the key of his box at the opera, and begged we would go there in the evening, but Sir Moses declined the favour. _Friday, January 29th._--Mr Wire left us to-day to proceed by sea to Marseilles and thence to England, accompanied by a French courier whom Sir Moses engaged to attend him. The _Gazette_ of Genoa (a paper which contained many articles unfavourable to the Jews) now published the firman, and other journals followed the example. The representatives of the Hebrew community requested to be favoured with some copies, to be distributed among their acquaintances, not only in this city, but in every town where there were Israelites, as they had all suffered more or less by the infamous calumny. In Genoa a song had been printed and sung about the streets, relating the particulars of the supposed murder of Padre Tommaso, and the confessions of the persons accused of the crime. _February 1st._--Lord and Lady Roden and Lady Stratford Canning came to see Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. They spoke much on the subject of our Mission. His lordship told Sir Moses that the upper classes even of that place were ignorant and fanatic. An Italian lady only three days before told him at a large party that a young woman was missing in the city, and she believed the Jews had taken her, with the intention of keeping her for a time to see if her blood was pure, and then to kill her to use the blood in the Passover cakes. His lordship asked her the name of the person who gave her the information, and on what authority they did so, but she could not answer that question. _February 9th._--We travelled by Marseilles and Avignon, and reached Lyons the next day. _February 17th._--Reached Auxerre. During the last three days we had noticed some reports in the papers to the effect that Sherif Pasha, the late Governor of Damascus, had incurred the displeasure of Ibrahim Pasha, the latter having threatened to have him tried by court martial. His troubles were therefore beginning, and he would perhaps regret the injustice he committed when enjoying the favour of his Highness. _February 18th._--On our arrival at Paris, Mr S. Almosnino, the Secretary of the Spanish and Portuguese Hebrew congregation of London, came expressly to Sir Moses to deliver some letters to him from the representatives of that body. Sir Moses was much pleased to see this worthy and faithful officer of his community, and gave him a hearty welcome. After paying visits to the Barons James and Solomon de Rothschild, to report to them on the result of the Mission, Sir Moses left his card at Lord Granville's. _Friday, February 19th._--Sir Moses called on Lord Granville, and told his lordship that he was anxious to present to His Majesty the King a copy of the firman Hatti-Sherif granted by the Sultan to the Israelites in his dominions. His Lordship said, as Monsieur Thiers had taken a prominent part in the affair of Damascus, it was probable the King might not wish to receive the firman. Sir Moses replied that he thought His Majesty too great a lover of justice to refuse his request. His Lordship then asked him whether he would publish the refusal, in case the King's reply should be unfavourable. Sir Moses immediately replied in the negative; that his object was to promote peace, and not to create animosity. Upon which his Lordship said he would consult Monsieur Guizot, and let him know the result. The next day Sir Moses received a note from Lord Granville, informing him that His Majesty had notified his willingness to receive him at the Tuileries the same evening. _Saturday, February 20th._--At half-past eight his Lordship also informed him in a second note that he would be at the Palace to present him. The following is an account of the interview with the King in Sir Moses' own words:-- "I was so fatigued that I could eat no dinner, but dressed myself in my uniform, and at half-past eight I went to the Palace, accompanied by Dr Loewe. A minute or two afterwards Lord Granville came in, and we were immediately conducted into the presence of the King and the Royal family. There were a number of officers in the room. His Majesty came up the moment we entered. Lord Granville presented me. I then offered to the King the translation of the Hatti-Sherif; he accepted it of me in a most gracious manner, said he was happy to receive it, and enquired if I had been at Damascus. I informed him that the disturbed state of the country had prevented me, but His Majesty would perceive by the firman I had the honour of placing in his hands, that there was no longer any occasion for my going, as the Sultan had expressed his entire conviction that the accusations against the Jews at Damascus were calumnies. His Majesty said he was happy it was so. He said he feared he had put me to some inconvenience by the very short notification he had given me, but as to-morrow was Sunday, he was fearful it would be detaining me longer at Paris than I wished. He then turned to Lord Granville, and said he also feared he had occasioned him some inconvenience. Dr Loewe was then presented, and Lord Granville took me to the Queen, and afterwards to the King's sister; both were very gracious, and spoke to us in French for a long time. "There was a Member of the Chamber who appeared to know me, and spoke to me about the Damascus affair. He began to rail against Monsieur Thiers, but I stopped him, saying that the result of my Mission had been so completely successful, I was desirous of having everything of an unpleasant nature forgotten." Sir Moses expressed himself to all his friends as being greatly pleased with his reception by the King. Numerous visitors called and left cards. Some of them came expressly from England, so as to be able to offer their hearty welcome to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore a few days sooner than they could have done by awaiting their arrival at home. _February 22nd._--Sir Moses went to Monsieur Guizot, who was very civil, and spoke much on the Mission. He requested Sir Moses to give him copies of the letters he had received from the Rev. Joseph Marshall, Lieutenant Shadwell, and the Rev. E. Schlientz. On his return to the hotel the members of the Consistoire Israélite, the spiritual chiefs of the community, and deputations from all the charitable institutions called, and presented to him and Lady Montefiore addresses of congratulation. _February 24th._--We left Paris, and reached Dover on Friday, where we rested over the Sabbath. CHAPTER XXXVI. 1841. HOME AGAIN--SIR MOSES PRESENTS A FACSIMILE OF THE FIRMAN TO THE QUEEN--HER MAJESTY'S SPECIAL MARK OF FAVOUR--REFORM MOVEMENT AMONG THE LONDON JEWS--APPEAL FOR ENGLISH PROTECTION FROM THE JEWS IN THE EAST. _February 28th._--In the evening we arrived at Park Lane, London, where Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received a hearty welcome from their relatives and friends. The next morning, and for many days afterwards, visitors called in great numbers. Deputations from various communal institutions, literary societies, and financial companies arrived and presented addresses. In most of the Synagogues special services were held, and the exertions of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore in the cause of suffering humanity, and in the vindication of the purity of the religious tenets of Israel, were warmly acknowledged by all present. The Hebrew communities of Paris, Hamburg, Frankfort-on-the-Main, and Magdeburg, together with those established in Italy, the United States of America, the Barbary States, Egypt, and Turkey, all sent testimonials, which are now preserved in Judith, Lady Montefiore's Theological College at Ramsgate. _March 3rd._--Sir Moses went to Lord Palmerston to thank him for his great kindness and assistance in his Mission, and to give him an account of all that had occurred at Alexandria and Constantinople. He also spoke to him of the Emir Béshir, having promised the latter when at Malta to intercede in his behalf with the British Government. Sir Moses asked his Lordship whether he might present the Queen with a copy of the firman Hatti-Sherif, to which Lord Palmerston replied that he had no doubt Her Majesty would be happy to receive it. In accordance with his Lordship's permission, Sir Moses presented the copy of the firman to the Queen on Wednesday, the 24th of March. The following is a copy of his entry in the diary referring to the subject:--"Attended the Marine Board at 11.30; the Alliance Board at 12; at 12.45 returned home and dressed in my uniform. Mr H. de Castro, Mr Waley, Mr H. H. Cohen, Mr Wire, and Dr Loewe came, and we proceeded to St James' Palace to attend the levee. I had the honour to present the Queen with the firman. The following is the copy of the card that was read to Her Majesty:--'Sir Moses Montefiore, F.R.S., presented by the Right Honourable Viscount Palmerston on his return from the East, to present a facsimile and translation of the firman granted by the Sultan to His Imperial Majesty's subjects professing the Jewish religion.' Mr Wire and Dr Loewe were presented by me to the Queen. I had a most gracious reception, and kissed hands." As a token of royal approbation, Sir Moses had the satisfaction of being informed, three months later, that Lord Normanby would have great satisfaction in recommending the grant of supporters to his armorial bearings. "The supporters I wish for," Sir Moses writes in his diary, "are to exalt our holy religion by displaying 'Jerusalem' in a more distinguished manner than I could otherwise have done." My readers may perhaps care to have the opportunity of perusing the material portions of this document, which are as follows:-- "Victoria R. "Victoria, by the grace of God, &c.--Whereas it has been represented unto us, that our trusty and well-beloved Sir Moses Montefiore, &c., &c., in consequence of information having been received from the East, that a number of Jews had been imprisoned and tortured at Damascus and at Rhodes, and that he had, in conformity to a voluntary offer, made at a General Meeting of the London Committee of Deputies of the British Jews and others, held on the 15th of June last, proceeded (accompanied by Lady Montefiore) to Alexandria, with the view of proving the falsity of the accusation, and of advocating the cause of his unfortunate and persecuted brethren." [Here follows an account of what Sir Moses had accomplished in the East.] "We, taking the premises into our Royal consideration, and being desirous of giving an especial mark of our Royal favour to the said Sir Moses Montefiore, in commemoration of these his unceasing exertions on behalf of his injured and persecuted brethren in the East, and the Jewish nation at large, have been graciously pleased to allow him to bear Supporters to his Arms, although the privilege of bearing Supporters be limited to the Peers of our Realm, the Knights of our Orders, and the Proxies of Princes of our Blood, at Installations, except in such cases wherein, under particular circumstances, We have been pleased to grant our Licence for the use thereof." The document proceeds to describe the supporters as follows:-- "On the Dexter side, Lion guardant, and on the Sinister side, a Stag, each supporting a Flagstaff, therefrom flowing a Banner to the dexter, inscribed 'Jerusalem' in Hebrew characters." During his stay at Alexandria, and on his return to London, Sir Moses addressed letters to the Jews at Damascus, advising them to endeavour to conciliate the Christians in that city, as well as those who were known to be their most violent enemies. In connection with these letters, Raphael Farkhi, the principal representative of the Damascus community, now forwarded to him the following important communication, wherein he satisfactorily refuted certain calumnies, which, according to the _Times_ newspaper, had been renewed against the Jews in Damascus. "In addition to what I have already stated," Signor Farkhi writes, "I have already mentioned to Sir Moses, in a former letter, that as soon as the Pashas of His Majesty the Sultan arrived at Damascus, they reinstated me in my former office, the duties of which are to assist in the magistrates' department in managing the affairs of the city; this honour was conferred on me in accordance with a direction in the Sultan's firman. When the English Consul (Mr Wherry) and the detractors whom I have spoken of, heard of this distinction, so auspicious to our people, they were moved with the same mortification as that which they had exhibited when the arrival of Sir Moses at Alexandria destroyed their plans and rescued us from the cruel fate to which they had destined us; and the English Consul immediately repaired to the Governor of the city, and recommended him to dismiss me and put a non-Israelite in my place, under whom I might act as servant or deputy. But, by the blessing of the Almighty, this attempt against my interest utterly failed; for the Governor declined to adopt the plan thus suggested to him. In consequence of their envious scheme being thus defeated, they are seeking other means to inflict injury on us, by making a false charge against the Israelites of having insulted their religion, which they communicated to his Excellency the Governor Ali Pasha, and to the three Consuls, in order that the charge might be circulated in other and distant countries, and a universal prejudice created against the Israelites. "As a further proof that the Israelites are innocent of the crime imputed to them, I have to mention that His Excellency Ali Pasha sent for me one day, and after having received an assurance from myself that such a deed would be contemplated with abhorrence by all our nation, he made many rigid enquiries amongst various honourable and respectable gentlemen concerning what had been disseminated by our enemies, the result of which was, that he declared himself convinced of the utter groundlessness of the foul report; and he replied to the heads of the Christians in the city that henceforth they ought to treat us with justice and equity; and he then commanded me that I should take upon myself to see that my people should behave themselves as might best become them, which commands I have been mindful to fulfil. "Our enemies endeavoured to engage the Russian Consul at Beyrout on their side, but he was not disposed to give any credit to their statement, and therefore despatched his faithful interpreter to Damascus, to make proper inquiries; and the result of his interpreter's labours was an opinion which to us was most flattering. The Most Reverend the Patriarch of the Greek Church has also recorded his testimony, with the Russian Consul at Beyrout, that the accusation was utterly false, and could only have emanated from a malicious spirit. "Every member of our community behaves with the greatest courtesy to every Christian, whether rich or poor, and often with marked humility. We seek not to gratify any revengeful feeling for what has passed, but yet all our endeavours have hitherto proved ineffectual. There can be no other reason for that than the anger and jealousy of the men, for they wished and intended to kill us, and since Moses, our brother, rescued us from their hands, destroyed their plans, and frustrated their intentions, this jealousy has rankled in their hearts, and they seek to bring more accusations against us, although we are not guilty of any wrong." Sir Moses sent a letter on the subject, with a translation of the original, to the _Morning Chronicle_, which was inserted on the 5th July 1841. His attention after this time was directed to matters of a business character. On the 7th of May Mr Hananel de Castro, who rendered most efficient services in connection with the Mission to Damascus, informed Sir Moses that he had been elected President of the London Committee of Deputies of the British Jews. On the 16th of that month he attended an important meeting of the Elders of his Synagogue, at which a motion was brought forward respecting a reform movement in the community. Four days later he presided over a meeting of the Board of Deputies held at his own house for the same purpose, at which every member of the Board, with only one exception, attended. The debate was warm, but not personal. Sir Moses, nevertheless, apprehended great agitation in the community, and felt much anxiety as to the result. He entertained the most liberal principles in matters of religion; although himself a staunch supporter of the time-honoured usages of his religion, he did not interfere with the opinions or acts of those who differed from him unless compelled to do so by actual duty. But when, as President of the Board of Deputies, or of any other institution, he had to give his opinion on religious matters, he invariably referred to the Spiritual Head of the community for guidance; he regarded a word from him as decisive, and obeyed its injunctions at whatever cost to himself. There was never any doubt in his mind as to the spirit which should prevail in their deliberations on the intended reform in the community; and he maintained that the religious tenets of Israel, as revealed in the Code of Sinai, would invariably stand the test of reason. "They are," he would add in the words of Scripture, "to show our wisdom and understanding in the sight of nations;" and he did not consider that he would be acting in accordance with the dictates of truth and justice if he were to accept laymen, however learned they might be, as authorities on religious subjects for the guidance of the whole community. Some of his colleagues at the Board, however, did not acknowledge the authority of the Ecclesiastical Chief of the community, and relying entirely on their own judgment, would not accept the dictates of the ancient teachers by whose decisions and interpretations of the sacred text Hebrew communities had been guided for thousands of years. The result was that the debates at their meetings became very heated, and bore evidence of the fervour displayed in a cause they had so deeply at heart, thus foreshadowing a struggle which threatened to extend beyond the confines of the Board. _May 21st._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore attended the Queen's Drawing-Room, and met with a most gracious reception. The Duchess of Kent and the Princess Sophia Matilda expressed pleasure at seeing them. The Duke of Cambridge shook Sir Moses by the hand in a very friendly manner, and said he was glad to see him safe back, that his efforts had done him great honour, and that he deserved much praise. _May 23rd._--He presented an address to Mr H. de Castro, voted to him by the Deputies, in appreciation of his services in connection with the Mission of Damascus. On this occasion all the Deputies were entertained by Sir Moses at his house in Park Lane. A week later he attended a meeting to consider the means for establishing a branch Synagogue in the West End, which, when opened to the community, would afford a practical proof that the statutes of their ancient community hitherto prohibiting divine service to be held in any other building than that at Bevis Marks, had been reconsidered. The events of the year continued to bring with them much anxiety, owing to the agitated state of the community in connection with the reform movement. In the month of August the Ecclesiastical Chief took what he considered necessary measures to express his opinion publicly for the guidance of those who adhered to his rule, which naturally raised the excitement of the contending parties, and not unfrequently disturbed the peace of many a family circle. The death of the mother of Sir Moses, a most virtuous daughter of Israel, spread a deep gloom over the whole family, and more especially over her beloved son Moses, and Judith his wife. His brethren in the East appealed to Sir Moses to intercede with the English Government to take them under their protection. They complained of being compelled by local governors to pay heavier taxes than any of the non-Israelite inhabitants. Both Lord Palmerston and his successor, Lord Aberdeen, listened with great kindness to the statements made to them on that subject by Sir Moses. Lord Palmerston, in reply to his representations, said the Christians had suffered more than the Jews from the Governor being a fanatic, and added that he (Sir Moses) had his authority to write to the Jews in the East that if they had any serious complaints to make, the English Consuls would attend to them, and forward them to the Ambassador at Constantinople, who would represent them to the Ministers of the Porte. Sir Moses took the opportunity of speaking to his Lordship respecting Smyrna, Safed, and Damascus, and he had the satisfaction of hearing from him that the Governor of the latter city would be changed in consequence of the reports which had been made. Lord Aberdeen, with whom he subsequently had an interview on the same subject, said that he saw no objection to the British Consul receiving the statements of grievances made by the Jews, and transmitting such statements to the British Ambassador at Constantinople, who would be directed to confer thereon with the Ministers of the Porte, with a view to the redress of the grievances complained of. On Sir Moses pressing the desire of the Jews in the East to be brought under British protection, his Lordship replied that he did not see how it could be accomplished. All the European Powers were extremely jealous of any interference on the part of England. His Lordship added, however, that he would consider the best means to afford the Jews protection for the sake of humanity and justice. On the 7th of November, Sir Stratford Canning, previous to leaving for Constantinople, called on Sir Moses, and afterwards sent him a note, appointing to see him on the following day at twelve o'clock. Sir Moses accordingly went to him. The purport of this interview was to solicit protection for the Israelites in the East. Sir Moses informed him of the directions given by Lord Palmerston, and Sir Stratford said he should be happy to do all that his duty permitted, and to hear from Sir Moses whenever he pleased. They had a long and interesting conversation respecting the Jews and the Holy Land, and Sir Moses was exceedingly gratified by Sir Stratford's kindness. Amongst the numerous letters received by Sir Moses on this matter was one from Messrs Grindlay, Christian & Matthews, East India Agency, containing an extract from a letter from Commodore Brucks, of the Indian navy, which showed that the great esteem in which both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were held by the people in the far East sometimes proved detrimental to the interest of their admirers. "A Jew," it stated, "and his wife had been passing themselves off for Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. Under this supposition the Government Agent at Muscat, a Jew of the highest respectability, received them, and did all in his power to make them comfortable. They eventually left, telling him they would pay when they came back, leaving him more than a thousand dollars out of pocket." On reading this, Sir Moses at once expressed a desire to ascertain the name of the victim of the fraud, in order that he should not suffer any loss on his account. CHAPTER XXXVII. 1842. PRESENTATION FROM HAMBURG--SIR MOSES MEETS THE KING OF PRUSSIA--ADDRESS TO PRINCE ALBERT--ATTEMPT ON THE QUEEN'S LIFE--PETITIONS TO SIR MOSES FROM RUSSIA. The entries of the next five years in the diaries refer to numerous important events, interspersed with appeals from communities to Sir Moses to plead the cause of their brethren before the Emperor of Russia. The Hamburg Jews, who were among the first to support their British friends in the mission to Damascus, had a gold medal struck, which was presented to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore by Mr H. de Castro. The complimentary address which accompanied it, in speaking of the Queen, says:-- "God bless Her Majesty, and prosper her, whose enlightenment knows how to appreciate and reward such exertions as are performed for the benefit of us and ours." The obverse of the medal bears a representation of the arms of Sir Moses Montefiore. The margin has a verse in Hebrew, taken from Psalm cxxii. 8: "[Hebrew] LEMANN AKHAI VEREAI ADABERA NA SHALOM BEKHA" ("For the sake of my brethren and companions I will declare peace unto thee"); and a chronogram in Hebrew: [Hebrew] "SHNAT GAON ISREAL LEP'AK" signifying, "The year of the pride of Israel," the numerical value of the dotted lines representing the date of the Damascus Mission, viz.: 5601. The reverse has a German inscription, which, rendered in English, is: "Dedicated to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, after their return from Egypt, in the year 1841, by their co-religionists of Hamburg." My esteemed friend, the late Mr M. Haarbleicher, exerted himself greatly in this matter. Unfortunately, one night burglars got into the drawing-room of Sir Moses' house at Park Lane, and took the medal, together with many other valuable articles. There is only a facsimile of the medal in bronze now left in my cabinet, which the Committee in Hamburg kindly presented to me. _January 31st._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received an invitation from the Duke of Sussex and the Duchess of Inverness to lunch with them on the first of February, as His Majesty the King of Prussia had intimated to them his intention of honouring them with his company. Sir Moses went early in the morning of the following day to Somerset House to see the King of Prussia admitted as fellow of the Royal Society, together with Baron Alexander von Humboldt; and before two o'clock he and Lady Montefiore were at Kensington Palace. The Duke and Duchess received them very kindly, and the Duke promised to introduce them to his Royal visitor. He said he was anxious that his invitation should be forwarded in time, as he was desirous of introducing Sir Moses to the King of Prussia, which he did almost as soon as the King entered; informing His Majesty, at the same time, of the journey of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to the East. The King, Sir Moses says, was very gracious; but remarked (speaking of Padre Tommaso), "but the poor man is dead;" upon which Sir Moses ventured to point out to His Majesty, that it was by no means certain that the man was dead. "It was a truly Royal banquet," Sir Moses writes, "about sixty persons being present. The Duke made a liberal and excellent speech about religions in general, but the King did not notice it in his reply." They were delighted with the kindness of their Royal Highnesses, and of those they knew. Lord Lansdowne hoped they had not forgotten him. Lord Palmerston enquired what reports he had from the East, and whether the English Consuls were behaving better. On the following day, Mr Attwood, one of the Directors of the Imperial Continental Gas Association, expressed a wish that Sir Moses should accompany him to see the King of Prussia, who had consented to receive a deputation from the Association; and in compliance with this wish he went with them. He met Sir J. L. Goldsmid at the office, and they proceeded to Buckingham Palace. "There were," Sir Moses observes, "many persons waiting." He saw there Lord Roxley, Sir Robert Inglis, Sir Robert Adair, and many noblemen and clergymen. They were soon admitted to the King's presence, and were very graciously received. Mr Attwood read the address, and the King spoke a few words to each of them. He recognised Sir Moses, observing that he had spoken to him on the previous day, and enquired whether he was settled in England; the King thought he lived in Italy. He spoke to Mr Attwood about Parliament and the new buildings, and laughingly said, he supposed that the Association would light them. _February 5th._--About this time Sir Moses pointed out the spot at Ramsgate where it was his wish, when it should please the Almighty to call him, that his earthly remains might repose, with those of his beloved wife. The spot was marked out by four hurdles, which he assisted in placing there. Possibly the illness of his brother's wife, which, a few days after, terminated in her death, cast a gloom over his mind, which made him consider it advisable to prepare himself for such an event. He was much grieved by this family affliction, and remained in the house for several days; owing to which he was unable to present an address of congratulation to the Queen on the birth of the Prince of Wales. Mr De Castro and two other Deputies of the London Committee of the Board had to present it instead; as also an address to Prince Albert, and later on, one to the Duchess of Kent. They were most graciously received, and Her Royal Highness desired them to express her great regret at Sir Moses' absence, and at the cause of it. Colonel Cooper, the next day, by desire of the Duchess, wrote him a letter, to assure him of her sympathy on this melancholy occasion. In the same month he made a donation of £200 for the repair of the ancient Synagogue of the Spanish and Portuguese community, as it was greatly needed, and thereby induced others to follow his example. He also took steps to have the Synagogue included in the clause of exemption from property tax, in which he succeeded, by the kindness of Mr John Masterman, who wrote a letter to Mr Goulbourn on the subject. The Chancellor of the Exchequer promised that he would so alter the wording of the Income-Tax Bill as to meet Sir Moses' wishes. Sir Robert Peel also wrote to him a letter to the same effect. _May 31st._--There is an entry referring to an attempt on the Queen's life. "Last evening," he writes, "an attempt was made on the life of our gracious Sovereign, which, through the protection of Almighty God, was happily preserved. It is most difficult to believe that any mortal in his senses could attempt such a thing. May the God of Israel shield the Queen from all harm, and bless her with every happiness and long life. I convened a meeting of Deputies to forward letters of congratulation to the Queen, Prince Albert, and the Duchess of Kent, on the providential escape of the Queen, and went with Lady Montefiore and Dr Loewe to Kensington Palace to enter our names in the visitors' books of the Duke of Sussex and the Duchess of Inverness; afterwards to Buckingham Palace, in Prince Albert's book; and Clarence House, to the Duchess of Kent." _July 2nd._--Attended a meeting at the Thatched House Tavern, St James Street, for the purpose of selecting an artist to carry out the resolution agreed to at a previous meeting for the erection of a statue to Sir David Wilkie. Sir R. Peel, who took the chair, proposed that a sub-committee should be appointed, consisting (in addition to the officers already appointed) of the Duke of Sutherland, the Duke of Buccleuch, Lord Mahon, Sir Francis Clark, Sir Thomas Mahon, Sir Martin Archer Shee, Sir William Newton, Mr Phillips, Sir Moses Montefiore, Mr Burnett, Mr Rogers, and Mr Henry Labouchere, M.P. Sir Moses was also one of the Committee appointed to watch the progress of the statue. He had entertained a high regard for Sir David since making his acquaintance at Constantinople, and was glad to have the opportunity of showing it on this occasion. _July 24th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were honoured by a visit from Viscount and Viscountess Ponsonby. His Lordship, who had shown them much kindness and attention during their sojourn in the Turkish Capital, spoke of the benefit which the people of the East would derive from the encouragement of industry among them. This reminded Sir Moses of a promise which he had made to a very industrious person in the Holy Land, and on the same day he sent a printing press and fount of type to the value of £105 to Israel Drucker in Jerusalem, whose acquaintance he had made at Safed, during his second journey to the Holy Land. It was this same printing press which the recipient, out of gratitude to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, called "Massat Moshe Ve Yehoodit" (a gift of Moses and Judith), that, forty-three years later, caused Professor Röhling of Prague to accuse Sir Moses of having printed a book which he (Professor Röhling) said was intended to prove the use of blood for Jewish ritual purposes. The printing press which Sir Moses sent was accompanied by a beautifully written Scroll of the Pentateuch. _August 2nd._--Sir Moses received a deputation from the representatives of the New Synagogue at Liverpool, requesting his mediation in a communal dispute. He strongly advised their reunion with the old Synagogue, and promised to see the deputation again. A few days later he and Lady Montefiore left England for Paris, to be present at the wedding of the daughter of Baron James de Rothschild. He describes that event in the following words:-- "_Paris, Hotel Windsor, Wednesday, August 17th._--The great day has at length arrived, and, happily, our presents also: they were sent last night to the Bois de Boulogne. Ours was similar to that we gave to Baron Charles and Louisa de Rothschild; a large and handsomely-carved ewer and basin, worth £180. We left Paris before twelve o'clock, and on reaching the Bois de Boulogne, found the party already assembled, all the ladies most elegantly dressed. A procession was formed by a number of choristers, led by the _ministre officiant_, and preceded by the Grand Rabbin. Then followed the bridegroom with his brother, Baron Lionel de Rothschild, as best man, and on his left Baron James; afterwards, Barons Salamon, Anthony, and the other relatives and friends present. We proceeded to a magnificent canopy of white satin and gold embroidery, erected in the garden: the ground was covered with velvet carpets. The path leading to the canopy was covered with crimson cloth strewn with roses. The choir was singing Hebrew hymns all the time. Then followed the bride, led by her mother and Mrs de Rothschild, the other ladies following. Under the canopy stood the bride and bridegroom, their parents, Barons Anselm, Lionel, and myself. The marriage ceremony was performed by the Grand Rabbin, who delivered an excellent discourse in French. After the ceremony the whole party walked to the Swiss cottage in the garden, where a sumptuous breakfast was laid. No toasts or healths were drunk, but grace was said. Afterwards the gentlemen went back to Paris to dress, the ladies being accommodated in the house. We were back again by four o'clock, and now found the ladies most magnificently attired. At seven we entered the banquetting room. It was in a perfect blaze of light: only once, at the Archbishop of Canterbury's, have I seen such splendour. The repast consisted of all the luxuries the world produces. The gardens were brilliantly illuminated. The host and hostess were most attentive. It was past eleven when we left." On the day after the wedding he called on Rechid Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador, and writes in his Diary:-- "The Pasha received me instantly, and told me how pleased he was to meet me in Paris, and how happy it made him that he was able to assist me in Constantinople to further the cause of justice and humanity. He said he hoped to see me again in Turkey. He asked me whether I had seen Lord Ponsonby, and what I thought of the disturbances in Manchester and the manufacturing districts. I assured him that they were of no consequence. He asked me to be permitted to introduce his sons to me: three very fine boys, the eldest about sixteen, the others ten and eight years old. The youngest was very fair, and appeared to be the favourite. The Ambassador told me that the note he had sent me yesterday was written by the youngest. After chatting a little longer I took my leave, the Pasha begging of me to preserve him my friendship. I gave him Dr Loewe's Circassian-Turkish and English Dictionary, with which he seemed much pleased, and asked me to thank Dr Loewe in his name for it. Later we paid our farewell visits to all the Barons de Rothschild and their families, and prepared for our departure." _September 15th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received at Park Lane, through the Baroness Lionel de Rothschild, a beautiful silver gilt cup made from a design by Professor Oppenheim, and sent to them as a present by the Hebrew community of Frankfurt-on-Main, accompanied by an address signed by all the members. He also received a splendid album from Magdeburg, the covers of which were ornamented with two beautiful paintings, also executed by Professor Oppenheim, one representing Moses installing Joshua in his office as leader of Israel, and the other a copy of Benda's picture "By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down; yea, we wept when we remembered Zion" (Psalm cxxxvii.), copied by the same artist, and signed by Dr Philipson, the Spiritual Head of the Hebrew congregation of Magdeburg, and near 1500 other persons, many of them non-Israelites belonging to the clergy and nobility. These two testimonials are now, with many others, preserved in the Lecture Hall of the College in Ramsgate. _October 11th._--Colonel C. H. Churchill paid them a visit at Ramsgate previous to his leaving England for the East. The Colonel having married a young widow at Damascus was very anxious to return to her at Beyrout, where he intends residing, having adopted Syria as his country. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore requested him to take with him some contributions towards the support of the poor Jews in the East, which he gladly promised to do for them, expressing his high regard for the character and industrious habits of the Jews. _October 17th._--A petition was received from the Hebrew congregation of Riga, imploring Sir Moses to intercede on their behalf with the Emperor of Russia. Many others, from various places, on the same subject followed. Most of the principal communities in Germany, France, Italy, and America entreated him to accede to the petitions of their brethren in Russia and Poland; and Sir Moses now began seriously to consider the desirability of serving the cause of humanity anew. In the same month he and the Hebrew communities in England sustained a severe loss by the death of their Ecclesiastical Chief, the Rev. Dr Solomon Hirschell. "I was at Bury Street at twelve o'clock," he writes in his diary, "on October 31st, and found our esteemed Chief Rabbi apparently in a state of insensibility; his chamber was filled with his friends, and his bed closely surrounded by the members of the Ecclesiastical Court, and other persons. They were saying prayers; he was very calm, and at 12.25 his spirit fled from its earthly tenement to receive that reward which his righteousness in this world secured to him; eternal happiness and peace to his memory!" Sir Moses was entirely guided by him in all matters concerning religion, and felt the loss of such a friend and counsellor acutely. He appears to have been roused by that sorrowful event to fresh acts of benevolence, and believing it possible to render some service to the Jews in Russia, he thought it necessary now to make himself fully acquainted with all the recent publications referring to that country and its inhabitants, and obtained information from German and English travellers who had just returned from visiting Warsaw, St Petersburg, Moscow, and other important cities in the Czar's vast empire. _November 5th._--The entry in his diary contains the following lines:--"Extremely cold morning; nevertheless dear Judith and I left Park Lane before eight o'clock to walk to Synagogue. It was very well attended, and prayers were offered up for the late lamented Chief Rabbi. We remained in the city, and attended afternoon and evening prayers at our own (the Portuguese) Synagogue. Afterwards we rode home to Park Lane. Dr Loewe accompanied us, and agreed to go with us to Russia and Poland whenever that should seem necessary." _November 15th, 19th, and 27th._--The number of petitions to go to Russia increased considerably, especially entreating Sir Moses to accept an invitation from Count Ouvaroff, the Minister of Public Instruction, who wished him to be present at the deliberation of the government referring to the improvement of the method of education among the Hebrews in the Russian Empire. The following entries refer to the subject:-- "_December 8th._--Went to Chevalier Benkhausen, the Russian Consul-General, and spoke with him respecting a letter I had received from Dr Lilienthal of St Petersburg, referring to an invitation from Count Ouvaroff to proceed to the Russian metropolis, and he recommended my seeing the Russian Ambassador. "Accordingly I wrote to the latter, requesting the honour of an interview with him, and received his reply that he would receive me the next day. "_December 9th._--Had an audience of the Russian Ambassador, Baron Brunnow, and spoke to him regarding our intended journey. He entered into all particulars with me, and promised to make all necessary enquiries. "The next day we dined at Mrs de Rothschild's, and met Baron and Baroness Brunnow, the Austrian Ambassador and his wife, Lady Pellew and her daughter Lady Walpole, and many other distinguished persons. Baron Brunnow spoke to me about Dr Lilienthal's letter, and said he would write to Count Ouvaroff, and would ascertain for him the authenticity of Dr Lilienthal's communication. The Baron advised me, if I went to Russia, to proceed in the first instance to St Petersburg, and speak with the Emperor himself, and not to go, as I had intended, to the several cities in Poland previously to my going to St Petersburg." _December 25th._--Notwithstanding the multiplicity of matters referring to the North which now filled his mind, he did not for a moment neglect the interest of the East. He made an agreement with a physician, Dr S. Frankel, to allow him a salary for three years, to furnish the requisite medicines, and to pay his expenses to Jerusalem, on condition that he should attend the poor of the Holy Land gratuitously. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 1843. ADDRESS AND TESTIMONIAL FROM THE JEWS--SIR MOSES' SPEECH IN REPLY--DEATH OF THE DUKE OF SUSSEX--THE DEPORTATION UKASE IN RUSSIA--OPENING OF THE NEW ROYAL EXCHANGE--SIR MOSES MADE SHERIFF OF KENT. _January 26th, 1843._--Sir Moses ordered from the Apothecaries' Hall drugs, surgical instruments, and fittings for a dispensary in Jerusalem, and saw them packed and forwarded to the Holy City. _February 27th._--A large number of his Jewish brethren in the United Kingdom, Jamaica, Barbadoes, and Gibraltar, presented him with a testimonial of respect and gratitude in commemoration of the many personal sacrifices made, and the philanthropy displayed by him and Lady Montefiore during his Mission to the East, Anno Mundi 5600 (1840). It was designed by Sir George Hayter, modelled by E. Bailey, R.A., and executed by Messrs Mortimer & Hunt, and is an exquisite piece of workmanship, both as regards the design and execution. It is exclusively ornamental, adapted for no special purpose, and is, as it were, a kind of miniature monument. It is three and a half feet high, weighs 1319 ounces of silver, and has a large base. The most prominent figure, which surmounts the whole work, represents David conquering the lion and rescuing the lamb (as in First Book of Samuel xvii. 34 and 35), and is emblematical of the victory over oppressive force, and the delivery of innocence effected by the Mission. This is the _chef d'oeuvre_ of the work, which is full of fine allegorical details. Immediately under this figure are four bas-reliefs, representing respectively, (1) the landing of Sir Moses and his party at Alexandria; (2) the audience with the Sultan at Constantinople on the granting of the firman; (3) the liberation of the prisoners at Damascus; and (4) the public thanksgiving on the return of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to London. On the four corners of the base are exquisite figures in frosted silver, two representing Moses and Ezra, the great deliverers of their people in ancient times, and the other two some of the accused Jews of Damascus, one in chains, bowed down by grief, the other in an attitude of thanksgiving, with the fetters lying broken at his feet. The chairman (Mr H. de Castro), accompanied by the Committee, prefaced the presentation by reading an address, engrossed on vellum. A vellum scroll was also added, containing the series of resolutions adopted at the public meeting in 1840, and the name of every contributor to the testimonal, copied from the lists furnished to the Committee, and arranged according to residence. The following is a copy of the address:-- "Esteemed Sir,--We have long looked forward to the present as a moment of high and honourable gratification, when we should come forward on behalf of the Jewish community to present to you this manifestation of their gratitude and esteem. The services which, at a period of excitement, you rendered, in a foreign clime, to religion and humanity, were such as are rarely called into requisition. The alacrity, spirit, and zeal with which you embarked into the cause, were only equalled by the liberality, judgment, and decision you evinced in the accomplishment of the end you had in view. The restoration of the oppressed to liberty, and a full refutation of the vile calumnies brought against our faith--both these great objects, by the aid of Gracious Providence, have been attained. The grateful thanksgivings of the liberated prisoners pronounce you their deliverer. The firman of the Sultan, denies these calumnies, of which they had been the unfortunate victims. "It may be truly said of you, Sir, and of your amiable Lady--the companion of your anxieties and dangers--that your services were 'the labours of the heart,' works of all others most deserving of distinction and reward. "May you ever be the 'harbinger of glad tidings to Zion,' and long live to continue your watchful care to all who need your solace and support. How will your suffering brethren in Jerusalem hail your late acts of munificence--the founding a dispensary for the poor of our community, now dwelling in the land of our fathers. "In the name of the Jewish people we present to you this testimonial of your great and successful labours, with the hope that the blessing of our Heavenly Father may vouchsafe, to you and Lady Montefiore, many, many happy years to contemplate and enjoy it.--On behalf of the Committee, "Hananel de Castro, _Chairman_." "27 Adar 5603--27th February 1843." [Illustration: Testimonial of respect and gratitude, presented to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore by their Jewesh Brethen in the United Kingdom and the Colonies. _See Vol. I., page 314._] To this address. Sir Moses made the following reply:-- "Mr De Castro and Gentlemen,--I receive with unfeigned satisfaction, and, I trust, with humility, the address which you have offered to me. I accepted with fear and trembling the responsible yet honourable task confided to me by my brethren, not trusting in my own strength or wisdom, but relying upon the saving strength of the Lord our God. I felt that I should be sustained by the prayers and sympathies of my brethren, and of the enlightened friends of humanity throughout the world. Aided by these prayers and sympathies, and supported by the Government of our country, your Mission was permitted by Divine providence, while in Egypt, to become the instruments of giving liberty to the captive, of opening the prison to them that were bound, of restoring to their wives and families those who, by unjust persecution, had been compelled to abandon their homes. We have everywhere asserted their innocence of the atrocious crime laid to their charge, and in the face of all men have vindicated the purity and divinity of our holy religion. "At Constantinople our success was complete. There we had the satisfaction of obtaining from the Sultan a Haiti Sherif, which asserts the innocence of our brethren after a full examination of the witnesses against them, and of their religious writings, and declares that the accusations against our religion were based in falsehood, and entertained only by the prejudiced and the ignorant. That noble writing has also laid the foundation for improving the civil condition of our brethren in the Turkish Dominions. To that, as well as to the documents which have been transmitted to the committee, I refer with exultation, as proofs that the rulers of the East have imbibed more liberal notions, have set themselves against the use of torture, have secured to our brethren an equality of civil rights, and thus given them a deeper interest in the prosperity of the countries in which they reside. That you approve of these acts, and testify your approbation of the whole proceedings of the Mission, and believe that I have, to the best of my ability, fulfilled its objects, will be to me a source of continual satisfaction through life, and when I am about to quit this earthly scene will cheer the last moments of my existence. "You are pleased to speak of the dangers and perils to which I have been exposed. I assure you that I count them as nothing when I consider the noble object of the Mission, and the entire success with which it has pleased God to crown our labours. Without, however, your continual advice and support, I might not have been able to accomplish that which has been done, because, when all around appeared gloomy and dark, and I thought that amidst the contending struggles of nations for power the rights of humanity would be sacrificed and the liberties of our brethren utterly destroyed, I was cheered and sustained by the recollection of your prayers and support, and, relying upon the God of our fathers, I persevered until I was satisfied that the objects of the Mission had been fully accomplished. Nor is it one of the least consequences attending our labours, that, in accomplishing such objects, we have been enabled to dissipate prejudice and to remove ignorance, so that now our persecutors are compelled to look with respect upon our nation. May I not, therefore, assert that a new and brighter era is dawning upon those who have for ages been the subjects of calumny and oppression. "In prosecuting the labours of your Mission I received most valuable assistance from our friends the family de Rothschild, from each of its members at London, Paris, Naples, Frankfort, and Vienna, both by introductions to their extensive connections in the East, as well as by their unremitted personal exertions in Europe; nor can I forget my friend Mr George Samuel, who was ever ready to lend his aid at Constantinople. I should also be doing great injustice to my own feelings were I to let this opportunity pass without referring to the valuable assistance of my friends, Mr Wire and Dr Loewe, who accompanied me throughout the whole of my long journey, and whom I shall ever esteem as men devoted to the interests of humanity. "I cannot conclude this short and imperfect reply to your congratulations without referring to the kind expressions in which you speak of my beloved wife, whom you truly characterise as the participator in all my toils and anxieties. She has, indeed, shared my toils but diminished my anxieties, and aided me in the prosecution of my labours. "Gentlemen, to you, to your excellent president, but, above all, to the God of our fathers, I offer thanks that I have been permitted to fulfil the objects of your Mission, and with devout gratitude I resign into your hands the trust committed to my care, praying that peace, prosperity, truth, and union may ever prevail in Israel." The death of the Duke of Sussex took place at this time, and Sir Moses deeply lamented the loss sustained by his demise. The Lord Chamberlain sent him a command to attend the funeral on the 4th of May, and Lord Dinorben wrote a letter to inform him that a card of invitation had been sent, and that he would be permitted to follow in his own carriage. Sir Moses, describing the funeral, says:-- "I left home after six in the morning, and was at Kensington Palace a quarter before seven. The company began to assemble between seven and eight: I suppose there were more than one hundred and fifty persons. The procession commenced at half-past eight; the roads were lined with people, every window filled, also many scaffoldings. The chapel at Kensal Green was solemn and grand, being filled with the grand officers of state, the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, &c., &c. We saw none of the Tories or Royal Family at the palace, but in the chapel there were the Duke of Cambridge, chief mourner; Prince Albert, &c. The ceremony was over at twelve. I reached home at a quarter to one, and after breakfast proceeded at once with Lady Montefiore to the city to attend the funeral service in the Portuguese Synagogue, where Dr Loewe (who filled the office of oriental linguist and Hebrew lecturer to his late Royal Highness) delivered a discourse, at the conclusion of which we repaired to the great Synagogue of the German community. There was a funeral service, but no discourse." "The Jews," Sir Moses says, "have lost an excellent friend: may he be rewarded with eternal bliss for his kindness to suffering humanity." On May 30th the Earl of Thanet informed Sir Moses that Lord Lyndhurst had given directions for the insertion of his name in the commission of the peace for the County of Kent. On July 13th the first step was made for the repeal of the Deportation Ukase in Russia. "I called at Baron Brunnow's," he writes. "He was just stepping into his carriage, dressed in full uniform, going to celebrate a mass on some public occasion; but he very kindly insisted on my going into his library, and returned with me. I gave him the letter I had received from Königsberg, which he read, also the Ukase. He said he believed the Minister of Justice thought it was an act of mercy to remove the Jews from the temptation of smuggling, of which crime many had been guilty, and, no doubt, the Emperor was of that opinion, which was the cause of the order. 'It was possible,' he continued, 'if I were to be at St Petersburg, by speaking with one and another, my influence might cause its revocation;' but he advised me to write to Count Ouvaroff, and, if I showed him the letter, he would suggest such alterations as he thought would be advisable. He recommended that no public steps should be taken in the way of petition to the Emperor, as there were two years still before the Ukase would take effect; he thought it a bad measure." This statement corroborated what some of the letters from Russia previously addressed to him on the subject had already stated. A few days later Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore were present at an entertainment given by Mrs Rothschild to the King of Hanover, and met the Duke of Cambridge, the Duchess of Gloucester, and most of the nobility, besides all the Ambassadors. They were introduced to the Marchioness of Ely at her own request, and she complimented them on the result of the Damascus Mission. Several of the Ambassadors spoke to him on the recent reports respecting the state of the Jews in Russia. _June 1st, 1844._--The Emperor of Russia arrived in London. _June 6th._--The entry states:--"I have been looking with deep anxiety from morning till evening for a letter from Baron Brunnow. I wrote this week to Lord Aberdeen, soliciting an interview to-morrow. I will do everything I possibly can to approach the Emperor, and pray for our brethren in his dominions. I also wrote to Mr Dawson on the same subject; it engrosses all my thoughts." _June 8th._--"Baron Lionel de Rothschild accompanied me to see Lord Aberdeen. He said Baron Brunnow had intimated to him the impossibility of His Imperial Majesty receiving any deputation. I showed his Lordship the Address from the London Committee of Deputies of the British Jews, and asked his advice about sending it to Baron Brunnow, for him to present it on our behalf, and whether he thought there was anything in it that could do harm. His Lordship thought there was not: the Emperor, he said, was very firm when he had once made up his mind on a subject. "Lionel and I then walked to Sir Robert Peel's. He was just going to mount his horse, on his way to the Queen. He heard all we had to say respecting the address, and said he had heard it whispered that the Emperor would see Sir Moses Montefiore, but the Emperor's stay was so short that he could not tell whether he would be able to do so." The address was subsequently given by Sir Moses to Baron Brunnow, who promised to send it to St Petersburg. In the following month, on July 29th, an entry states that the Emperor received the address graciously, but his visit to this country would be so short that it was impossible for him to receive the deputation. On August 9th Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore proceeded to Birmingham, in company with several of their relatives and friends, Sir Moses having been invited by the Hebrew congregation of that town to lay the first stone of a Hebrew National School, a task which he performed amid the cheers of many hundreds of persons of various religious denominations. _September 1st._--The cause of two poor Poles who had been imprisoned for hawking without a licence attracted Sir Moses' attention. The men having excellent characters, he determined on going to Chelmsford, to see them there in the Springfield Gaol, where they were then confined under sentence for three months, and to endeavour, if possible, to obtain their release. They had only been six or seven weeks in England, and could speak but a few words of English. Next morning he went to Springfield Gaol and saw the Governor, who had the two men brought to him. One had been a dyer, and the other had kept a hardware shop near Warsaw. Both men lived whilst in prison on bread and water, refusing to eat either the soup or meat allowed to the prisoners. The Governor recommended him a man to draw up a petition for them. Sir Moses immediately sent for him, and instructed him as to the matter of the petition. The Governor kindly sent a man to wait till it was written, and Sir Moses then forwarded the petition to the prison, where the Governor had it signed by the two prisoners, and returned to Sir Moses, who was just able to take the last train back. _September 3rd._--He called at Somerset House, and left the petition from Springfield Gaol, and three days later had the gratification of receiving a letter from the Secretary of Stamps and Taxes to say that the Board had been pleased to remit the Crown's share of the penalties against the two prisoners. _October 24th._--Sir Moses is present at the opening of the New Royal Exchange by the Queen; he had a seat in the subscribers' room, where the Royal banquet was given. The Queen, Prince Albert, the Duke of Cambridge, &c., presided at the head table: about two hundred persons dined there. _October 28th._--The Baroness Brunnow invited him to meet the Grand Duke of Russia; and Sir Moses, entertaining the hope of finding there the opportunity to serve the cause of his brethren, gladly accepted the invitation. _November 12th._--He was nominated Sheriff of Kent, and on the 17th inst. his friends and most of his neighbours congratulated him on being elected to that high office. His mind, however, was not joyfully attuned to the occasion. His thoughts at one moment were wandering away from happy England to the burning sands of the African deserts, and at another, to the frozen rivers and the snow-covered forests of the north of Russia. This was owing to a visit which he had received from Mr Erith, a Mogador merchant, who gave him a very cheering prospect of the success which might be expected if he were to appeal to the Emperor of Morocco for a firman, to place the Jews in the same position as his other subjects; and to some letters he received from several trustworthy sources, giving disheartening accounts of the state of the Jews in Russia, to the following effect:-- "The Ukase ordering the Jews to remove from the frontier provinces to the interior is now being carried into effect. This measure affects nearly one hundred thousand persons. The families receive passports, delivered by the Magistrates, indicating the place to which they are to go, and only a few days after they have received the passport, they must sell all their property and convert it into money." CHAPTER XXXIX. 1844. AFFAIRS IN MOROCCO--LETTER TO THE EMPEROR--HIS REPLY--DEPUTATION TO SIR ROBERT PEEL--DEATH OF LADY MONTEFIORE'S BROTHER ISAAC--SIR MOSES SETS OUT FOR RUSSIA. The first few months of the year 1844 appeared, according to a statement in the _Königsberg Gazette_, to give some hope for an improvement in the condition of Sir Moses' co-religionists in Russia. The paper says:-- "The famous Ukase against the Jews, of the 20th April 1844 (2nd May), seems to be adjourned. The Emperor himself has given orders to the Minister of the Interior to present him with a minute report on the situation and property of the Jews in the villages and frontier towns, before the terrible Ukase is put into execution. This sudden change has produced so much the more joy among the unfortunate Jews, as rigorous measures had already been taken for the execution of the Ukase, as well as the decree of the Senate, dated January 10 (22) 1884. It is to Sir Moses Montefiore and the interference of many members _of the nobility_ that thirty thousand Jews perhaps owe the entire revocation of this law." As for Morocco, where, during the bombardment of Mogador, the Jews, together with other inhabitants, had been great sufferers, Sir Moses wrote a letter to the editor of the _Times_, directing his attention to the fact, and showing that the committee in London had correctly estimated the number of the sufferers. Consignments of money, food, and clothing, had, he observed, already been transmitted to Mogador to trustworthy agents, for immediate distribution among the sufferers. The subscriptions to the day he wrote exceeded £2500. Sir Moses also attended a meeting of the Mogador Committee, at which they agreed to send a letter to the Emperor of Morocco, and to request the Earl of Aberdeen to instruct Mr E. W. Drummond Hay, H.B. Majesty's Consul-General at Tangiers, to forward it to the Emperor. By desire of Sir Moses I wrote an Arabic letter to the Emperor, which Sir Moses signed and despatched to his Lordship, for transmission to His Majesty. _February 10th._--Sir Moses proceeded to the Judges' Chambers, Chancery Lane, accompanied by Mr D. W. Wire, and then went before Baron Parke, and was sworn into office (as Sheriff of the County of Kent). The Baron very kindly wished him a pleasant year, and hoped to have the pleasure of coming down and seeing him at the Assizes. Mr Wire was also sworn as his Under-Sheriff. _February 18th._--The fees due for his Shrievalty, £2, 6s. 8d., had already been offered to him, but on seeing Mr Temple, he requested him to send them to his Under-Sheriff. Notwithstanding the duties his new office imposed on him, he endeavoured scrupulously to discharge those of his Presidency of the Board of Deputies of British Jews. Agreeably to a resolution adopted at a previous meeting of that body, held for the consideration of a petition to Parliament for the removal of all civil disabilities, he and the other members of the Board waited the next day on Sir Robert Peel. The subject being of interest to friends of civil and religious liberty, I here give the words of Sir Moses, and those of Sir Robert Peel's reply. Sir Moses, addressing Sir Robert, said: "We have the honour of waiting on you as a deputation from the Metropolitan and Provincial Congregations of British Jews, to ascertain whether Her Majesty's Government be favourably disposed to meet their wishes for the removal of the civil disabilities under which they labour, and, from the advancement of liberal feeling in all classes where religious questions are concerned, they are led to believe the present moment most fitting for them to be placed on an equal footing with their fellow-subjects." Sir Robert replied that he had been considering some measure on the subject to propose to his colleagues, when he received a letter from Sir J. L. Goldsmid, which stated that the Jews would not be satisfied with any measure less than the whole. Seeing there was some difference he would not proceed. However, after some consideration, he said he would see Sir J. L. Goldsmid, and would write to them to come to him within a fortnight, adding that he was fully aware that they would feel as well satisfied with a part, and that they should not thereby be precluded from hereafter getting more. _March 3rd._--As High Sheriff of the County of Kent, Sir Moses opened the Court at Canterbury for the election of a member of Parliament in the room of Sir E. Knatchbull. After delivering an appropriate address to the electors, the meeting was proceeded with, and eventually Mr William Deedes was returned. The meeting was conducted in a most orderly manner. Mr William Deedes of Sandling Park was elected to represent them in Parliament, and thanks were voted to the High Sheriff. _March 5th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore attended the levee, where Sir Moses was presented to the Queen by Sir James Graham, and had the honour to kiss hands on his appointment as Sheriff of the County of Kent. Sir Robert Peel, who was standing within three or four paces of the Queen, came out of the circle as Sir Moses came up, and spoke to him. He said the suggestion made the previous day respecting the removal of civil disabilities seemed good; and he requested Sir Moses to be so good as to communicate with Baron Rothschild and Sir David Salomons. _March 10th._--At Maidstone Sir Moses went in state to meet Lord Denman. About a mile from town his Lordship got out of his own carriage and entered that of Sir Moses, the Rev. G. W. Sicklemore being with the latter. They proceeded to the Sessions House, and opened the Commission; then went to the Judge's lodgings, where Lord Denman robed, and received the Mayor and Corporation. They left to go before the Judge to church. Lord Denman said to him that he was ready to go, but Sir Moses might do as he pleased. The latter therefore only conducted him to his carriage, and returned to his lodgings to wait there for him instead of accompanying him and the Rev. G. W. Sicklemore to church. They went there in Sir Moses' carriage. Baron Alderson arrived a few minutes after they had left, and remained with Sir Moses till Lord Denman returned, when Sir Moses took his leave and went home. At seven he and Rev. G. W. Sicklemore went to fetch the Judges, and dined with Lord and Lady Romney. _March 14th._--At nine Sir Moses went, as usual, to fetch the Judges--the Lord Denman and Sir Edward Hall Alderson. On their way to the Court they called for Mr Serjeant Dowling. As they were going there Sir Moses requested their Lordships' permission to be absent the next day, as it was his Sabbath, to which they very kindly consented. Sir Moses sat for some time in each Court. Lord Denman told him he had received a letter from the Bishop of Durham, expressing his desire to vote for the Jews' Relief Bill, and sent his proxy for the purpose; but Lord Denman said there would be no occasion for it, as their Lordships would not divide. At five, on his asking Baron Alderson's consent to his leaving, the latter most kindly said to him, "I know; six o'clock," and shook him warmly and kindly by the hand. Sir Moses then took leave, and returned to his lodgings. _Friday 28th._--"I received a letter," the entry in his diary reads, "from Mr Addington, forwarding another to me by desire of the English Ambassador in Morocco. Dr Loewe read to me his translation of the same. It is from Ben Idrees, the Wazeer of the Emperor of Morocco, written to me by order of His Majesty, in reply to the petition of the Mogador Committee. It states that the Hebrew nation enjoys throughout the empire the same privileges as the Mooslimeen, and the Hebrew nation is highly regarded by him." _May 19th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore attended Her Majesty's State Ball at Buckingham Palace. Sir Moses was dressed in his uniform, and Lady Montefiore wore a dress of superb tissue "d'or et cerise," elegantly trimmed with gold lace and ribbons, and a profusion of diamonds. They left Park Lane at nine, and it was ten when the long string of carriages allowed them to reach the Palace. "During the evening," Sir Moses wrote, "1500 persons were there; the rooms were magnificently decorated; the dancing was in two rooms; supper at two o'clock. Nothing could have been more splendid. The Queen, God bless her, looked very beautiful, and in good health and spirits. We left much delighted and pleased with the honour we had enjoyed." After witnessing the splendour of the State Ball we find him actively engaged at Birmingham and Preston, visiting most of the humble dwelling-houses of the working classes. Being desirous of having three persons from Jerusalem taught the art of weaving, he went to see a man in Preston, who had been recommended to him as an intelligent and clever workman, and made an agreement with him for the above purpose. "I wish," Sir Moses said, "to help our brethren in the Holy Land in all their efforts to get bread by their own industry, and pray to Heaven they may succeed." _July 1st._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to welcome the Rev. Dr N. M. Adler, Chief Rabbi elect of the German Hebrew Congregations in the British Empire, on his arrival at Dover, and were present the next day at his installation in the Great Synagogue in London. The Synagogue was handsomely decorated, and crowded with the _élite_ of all the Jewish congregations. A most appropriate and solemn service was performed, and our Gentile brethren showed their interest in the event, by causing the bells of the neighbouring churches to be rung. _November 16th._--A special delegate arrived from Poland to entreat Sir Moses, in the name of many thousands of his brethren, to intercede in their behalf with the Russian Government, and to proceed at once to St Petersburg to make known their cause to the Emperor himself. The subject at that time greatly engrossed his mind; he had no rest, either by day or by night, on account of his anxiety to hasten to their succour, and determined to set out on his journey as soon as his year of Shrievalty expired. Meanwhile he called on Baron Brunnow, who promised to give him letters of introduction to his friends, and to several ministers at St Petersburg, if he went there. He thought the Emperor would ask him to visit his co religionists in his Empire. His going to St Petersburg could do no harm, or he would not give him letters. Sir Moses, Baron Brunnow remarked, had received an invitation from the Minister of Public Instruction, two years previously, to go there, as he wished to have the benefit of his counsel respecting the establishment of Hebrew schools, and he thought this constituted a claim on Sir Moses to go. Baron Brunnow also recommended Sir Moses to obtain permission to act as he thought best, with reference to the address of the Board of Deputies of the British Jews to the Emperor; and advised his going as an English gentleman, his character being so well known, remarking that the cause would not be benefited by his acting as representative of the Board of Deputies. The year 1846 begins with a sad occurrence in the family. Mr Isaac Cohen, the brother of Lady Montefiore, a man highly esteemed for his excellent character and benevolent disposition, died suddenly. Though this was a cause of much grief to both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, they did not consider themselves in any way justified in delaying the necessary preparations for their self-imposed Mission to Russia. Sir Moses called again on Baron Brunnow, who said that he could neither advise him to go or to stay, but said he might be assured that the Emperor's object was not that of conversion, but rather to render the Jews more useful subjects. He advised him not to go till Count Nesselrode returned from Rome to St Petersburg. Soon after this interview, Sir Moses again saw the Ambassador at which the latter recommended him not to go to Russia, and held out very little hope of the object of his journey being accomplished. Nevertheless, Sir Moses resolved on going, saying that as he had been invited to discuss the subject of schools, and was then out of office, he should go. Baron Brunnow then advised its being kept as quiet as possible. He promised to give him a letter to Count Nesselrode, and suggested that he should go direct, and as quickly as possible. Subsequently he advised him to see Lord Aberdeen, and get a letter of introduction to Lord Bloomfield, the British Ambassador at St Petersburg; also, to see Sir Roderick Murchison, who could give him useful advice, and to endeavour to obtain an introduction to Prince Michael. _February 18th._--Sir Moses called on Lord Aberdeen, who received him kindly, and promised to give him letters to the British Ministers at St Petersburg and Berlin. _February 27th._--A solemn prayer was offered by the united congregations of the British Empire for the success of his philanthropic mission to Russia. _March 1st._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went to Dover, and arrived safely the same day at Ostend; and on the following Sunday I met them in Berlin, according to our previous arrangement, to accompany them to St Petersburg. _March 10th._--Sir Moses called on the Earl of Westmoreland to present to him his letter of introduction from the Earl of Aberdeen. Having acquainted him with the object of his journey to St Petersburg, and mentioned Baron Brunnow's suggestion to facilitate our journey, his Lordship replied that the Russian Ambassador was absent, but that he would give him a letter to Monsieur Fonton, his representative. His Lordship hoped to see him on his return. We then went to the Russian Embassy, and delivered to Monsieur Fonton his Lordship's letter. That gentleman said he would give Sir Moses a letter to the officer at the frontier, but he had chosen a very unfavourable time for his journey, and had better remain five or six days longer at Berlin. The waters were out, it would be impossible to pass, and he would be detained on the road. There was a gentleman present in the office who told us he had arrived on the previous night from St Petersburg, but had experienced the greatest difficulty, and was the only person who had succeeded in getting through, as it was quite out of the question for a carriage to pass, and we should be compelled to remain on the road. This information was very distressing, but Sir Moses was determined to go on, and only stop when we should find it too dangerous to go forward. The same day we left Berlin, and proceeded _viâ_ Königsberg and Tilsid to Mitau. _Friday, the 20th March._--A deputation of the Hebrew community came to welcome Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore at the Post House, at St Olia, the last stage before Mitau, to express their gratitude to them for what they had effected in the Damascus Mission, and to beg they would accept their hospitality during their sojourn at Mitau. Sir Moses thanked them for their kindness in coming so many miles to meet us, but declined accepting their offer, as he wished to travel as privately as possible. As we entered the town, hundreds of persons ran by the side of the carriage to the hotel. We had splendid apartments there, and were grateful for our safety, as we had suffered very much from cold, heavy snows, and horrible roads, and had frequently been obliged to travel all night. Not wishing to attract any notice (in compliance with the suggestion of Baron Brunnow), we refrained from leaving the house for the whole day, and from attending Synagogue, which was a painful deprivation to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. Many persons called, but Sir Moses was under the necessity of refusing to see anyone. We had excellent dinners--a dozen dishes, served on silver; but when, in the evening, we sent for the bill, wishing to pay for our dinners of that and the previous day, we found that they had been prepared at the house of Madame Johanna Davidoff, a lady of this town, and she would not allow us to pay for anything. Sir Moses wanted to give her a costly present, but she declined accepting it. "I am," she said, "amply repaid by the great happiness afforded me to prepare a humble meal for those who come from a distant land, and brave the inclemency of a Russian winter, to serve the cause of humanity. May all the Heavenly blessings alight on them!" We left Mitau in the evening. In front of the hotel hundreds of persons were waiting to see us set off. When we reached Obay, on the south side of the Dwina, opposite Riga, at 10.35, we found the river still covered with ice, but in a weak and dangerous condition. Our carriages were deemed too heavy to be passed over; but after considerable hesitation, they were allowed to be conveyed across, though at a great expense and at our own risk. The wheels were taken off, as well as all the luggage, and they were then placed on sledges and drawn by men to the opposite side of the river. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore and their attendants were waiting at the inn till 1.30 P.M., when we all walked across. We had great difficulty in walking; the ice was wet and slippery, with numerous dangerous holes. Not two minutes before we passed, a man fell into one of these holes, and was drowned. A similar accident nearly awaited one of our party: the ice broke under him, and one leg went through, but his body falling across the ice, he was soon extricated from his perilous position. It was impossible, Sir Moses said, "to express the alarm we felt in crossing." It took us twenty minutes to accomplish. We walked to the hotel, and were followed by hundreds of people. Shortly afterwards a deputation of the Hebrew community, and many others, came to welcome us, but Sir Moses declined seeing them, for the reasons already stated. He requested me to see them, and explain to them his object in depriving himself of the pleasure of expressing personally to them his thanks for their civilities and attention. We only remained at Riga a short time, to recover a little, and to dry our clothes, and then proceeded on our journey. _March 26th._--We arrived at Narva, where we remained over Sabbath. The weather was most dismal. CHAPTER XL. 1846. PERILS OF RUSSIAN TRAVELLING IN WINTER--ARRIVAL AT ST PETERSBURG--INTERVIEWS WITH COUNT NESSELRODE AND THE CZAR--COUNT KISSELEFF'S PREJUDICES. _March 29th._--Snow had again fallen heavily, and on arriving at Jamburg we found the ice in such a bad state that grave fears were entertained as to the possibility of crossing the River Lugu. The officer in charge repeatedly refused to allow us to cross. Neither bedsteads nor bedding being obtainable, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore had a kind of bed prepared on the floor in a very small and low room, and I had a bundle of straw, in another room, for my couch; it was, however, so warm there, and the air so very oppressive, that I was obliged to get up in the middle of the night, and take a walk outside the house. _Jamburg, March 30th._--At seven in the morning I crossed the Lugu; there was not much ice on the river. The officer told me he would have three boats lashed together to take the carriages over. I returned to Sir Moses to bring him the good news, and to prepare for our departure. I had scarcely been at home an hour when the ice came down the river in great quantities. Sir Moses accompanied me to look at it, and decided not to cross, as we should have incurred a great risk by doing so. At last towards evening the officer came and told us that he would employ soldiers to launch the great barge, and would come for us when he was ready. We continued in painful suspense awaiting his arrival till a few minutes before seven, when he came and said "All was ready." Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore went in their carriage. I and the rest of the party walked down to the water side. The carriages were safely put on a large barge, and soon launched into the stream, but when in the middle it struck on some large stones, and they were in the greatest peril. The barge remained for nearly an hour fixed to one spot. Happily, after great exertions on the part of the soldiers, it was got off. The officer then conducted us into his own boat, in which, besides Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, were also two servants, the officer, and a gentleman with despatches from the Russian Government, and we were towed across, though not without some danger from the ice which was driving down the current in great masses, and which our boatman found great difficulty in avoiding. Had they struck it must have proved fatal, but Heaven guarded us, and we landed in safety. We were one hour in crossing from the house on the west bank to the Post House at Jamburg, and had more than a hundred men to assist us. The officer was most civil and attentive, and refused to accept any present. _March 31st._--We left Jamburg last night with the intention of travelling through the night, but we found the road so dreadfully bad, in many places covered with snow and ice and full of ruts, that Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore deemed it most prudent to stop at Opolje, which was reached at one in the morning. We found warm and excellent accommodation at the station, and instantly threw ourselves on the sofas in our clothes, and slept soundly. We started again after six. The roads were so extremely bad that we were at last compelled to leave our carriages, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, as well as myself and the rest of our party, having to walk through the snow, between six and seven versts, and arrived dreadfully fatigued at Ischerkowitz, where we remained three hours for rest and refreshment. We then had a pleasant drive in a little open carriage placed on a sledge and drawn by two horses, but it was very cold. We reached Kaskowa one hour before our own carriages. _April 1st._--We left Kaskowa, passed through Kipeen, and a stage later arrived at Stretna. From this place to St Petersburg is seventeen and a half versts. The road is here well macadamised; on either side of it are the country seats of the nobility. Up to this place we had had as many as eight, ten, or twelve, and sometimes even a greater number of horses put to the carriage, now the number was limited to three, we were told, by order of the Government. The driver remained standing all the time (while driving furiously) on a small piece of iron, which served as a step to get up to the coachman's seat. At about three o'clock we arrived at St Petersburg. After our passports had undergone the necessary examination, we drove to the place where apartments had been taken for us, but found them unsuitable, and had to search some time before we succeeded in engaging rooms at the Hotel de Prusse. _St Petersburg, April 2nd._--We went to His Excellency the Hon. T. A. D. Bloomfield, who received us immediately. Sir Moses gave him his letters of introduction, and acquainted him with the object of his visit to the Russian metropolis. He also showed him the letters of introduction to Count Nesselrode which he had received from Sir Robert Peel and Baron Brunnow. His Excellency received Sir Moses very kindly, wrote to Count Nesselrode, enclosing Sir Moses' letters to him, and eventually obtained an appointment for Sir Moses for the following Sunday. _April 4th._--Both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore found the climate very trying. Visitors who called on them reported that there was not a house in the city that had not three or four of its inmates confined by illness (an epidemic catarrh, generally called in Russia and Germany, "Grippe"), which had greatly increased the mortality of the city. _April 5th._--At one o'clock Sir Moses visited Count Nesselrode. We were at once received by him in a very friendly manner. He said he had already spoken to the Emperor about Sir Moses. The latter informed the Count of the two purposes for which he came to St Petersburg, viz., the establishment of Jewish schools, and the repeal of the two Ukases for the removal of the Jews from the frontiers. This, the Count said, was not in his department, but the Government was at present engaged on the amendment of those Ukases, and that he should be happy to render Sir Moses all the assistance in his power in furtherance of his objects. Sir Moses then spoke to him respecting the cultivation of land, and the Count said that his views were in strict accordance with those of the Government; that he wished to raise the Jews, and make them more useful members of society; that the cream of the Jews were in England, France, and Germany, but that those in the ancient provinces of the Russian Empire and Poland were engaged in low traffic and contraband pursuits. Sir Moses expressed his deep regret to hear the Minister's opinion, for which he was not prepared. He then said to his Excellency that he should be happy to be presented to the Emperor; the Count told him he would ask His Majesty, and requested Sir Moses to call on Count Ouvaroff, the Minister of Public Instruction, at one o'clock on the following day. He again repeated his desire to render him every assistance. In the course of the day Sir Moses left his card and letters of introduction at Count Orloff's. _April 6th._--We called to-day on Count Ouvaroff, with whom we remained an hour and a half in conversation. He assured Sir Moses, for himself and on the part of his colleagues, that the measures of the Government for the organisation of the Jewish schools were designed for their improvement and happiness, and not with the slightest intention of conversion to another religion, but to make them more useful members of society, and to fit them for advancement. He also assured Sir Moses that the Government had some plans for a more liberal treatment, but that the Jews must first prepare themselves. "The Jews of Russia," he said, "were different from the Jews in other parts of the world; they were orthodox, and believed in the Talmud," which he considered false. "They were ignorant of their own religion; and he was obliged to force them to study Hebrew, their own language." Sir Moses defended the principles of those who strictly adhere to the doctrines of their religion. As to the Talmud, he pointed out to the Minister the great esteem in which that work is held by pious and learned Christians. In support of this view, I reminded His Excellency of what Buxtorf said on the subject in his "Abbreviations,"[A] and in the preface to his great Chaldaic and Talmudical Lexicon:-- "The Talmud," that Christian Divine states, "is a learned work, or a large corpus of erudition; it contains manifold learning in all sciences; it teaches the most explicit and most complete, civil and canonical law of the Jews, so that the whole nation, as well as their Synagogue, might live thereby in a state of happiness,--in the most desirable way. "It is the most luminous commentary of the Scriptural law as well as its supplement and support. "It contains much excellent teaching on jurisprudence, medicine, natural philosophy, ethics, politics, astronomy, and other branches of science, which make one think highly of the history of that nation and of the time in which the work was written." [Footnote A: De abreviat. hebr. (auct. Joh. Buxt. I.), p. 1.] I mentioned to His Excellency the names of Buxtorf the younger, Dr Johannus Reuchlin, Johannes Meyer, Selden, Joh. Morinus, Sebastian Munster, Surenhusius, and quoted most of their statements on the subject. With reference to the Russian Jews' knowledge of Hebrew and of their own religion, I called His Excellency's attention to the numerous works they had produced on all subjects connected with Hebrew literature and poetry. The Minister, however, resumed his arguments, saying they should first be educated before full facilities to gain a living should be given them; although he allowed that, to a certain degree, persecution had made them what they are. He further said that the Government were now adopting a new plan, and were treating the Jews with toleration, liberality, and love, but it would take a long time, he remarked--perhaps a century--before any difference would be perceptible. He did not consider the present generation, and only thought of the future. He concluded by observing the Jews were loyal subjects, and immediately complied with every order of the Government. Sir Moses pressed repeatedly upon His Excellency the necessity of relieving them from the anxiety and suffering to which they were subjected in respect to the Ukases for their removal from the frontiers and villages; upon which the Minister observed, "They were not executed, and were very different in effect to what they appeared on paper, and that the Government were engaged on their consideration;" and he several times repeated that the Government were desirous of raising the Jews and removing the prejudices which still exist against them, but it required time, and the Jews must assist by their improvement and attendance at the schools. Sir Moses assured him that the fear of attempts at conversion was the only cause of their hesitation to conform to his wishes. The interview then terminated, His Excellency having throughout been most friendly and polite. On our return home Mr and Mrs Bloomfield paid a long visit to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and spoke principally on the subject connected with our visit to St Petersburg. He gave Sir Moses a letter just received from Count Nesselrode, stating that the Emperor would receive him on the following day at one o'clock. Sir Moses showed him the address which he wished to deliver to His Majesty. His Excellency thought it would do very well. Sir Moses then said he was anxious that Count Nesselrode should see it. Mr Bloomfield thought he might call on him to-morrow morning. Sir Moses, however, was of opinion that it would be better to go there at once, and take his chance of seeing him. Immediately after the British Ambassador and his wife had left us we went to Count Nesselrode, who received us, read the paper over, and suggested some alterations. In the evening we dined with the British Ambassador. Mr Bloomfield being unwell, could not join the company at table. There were present Count Nesselrode's daughter and her husband, the Saxon Ambassador, the Austrian Ambassador, Mr and Mrs Buchanan, and several other gentlemen. _Wednesday, April 8th._--Sir Moses, in order to be ready to attend His Majesty, had just put on his uniform when he received a message from Count Nesselrode, saying that the Emperor would see him on the morrow instead of on that day. _April 9th._--The entry of this day in the diary records the audience with His Majesty the Emperor:--"Praised be the God of our fathers. At one o'clock this day I had the honour of an interview with His Imperial Majesty the Emperor. I made the strongest appeal in my power for the general alteration of all laws and edicts that pressed heavily on the Jews under His Majesty's sway." The following is a copy of the address to the Emperor:-- "May it please your Imperial Majesty. With deep veneration for your Majesty's person and government, and with fervent prayers to the Most High, that your Majesty may continue to be for many, many years the happy and exalted ruler of a powerful, virtuous, and prosperous people, I crave your Majesty's permission to offer my humble thanks for the honour conferred upon me by your Majesty's government, by the intimation that my presence in your Imperial metropolis might become beneficial to my brethren of the Hebrew nation in the organisation of schools for the education of their youths; a measure which emanated from your Majesty's watchful and paternal care for the improvement of their situation and the promotion of their happiness. May I be permitted to embrace this favourable moment to express my earnest prayer that your Majesty may deign to give your most humane consideration to the condition of my co-religionists under your Majesty's sway, and that your Majesty may exert that power which God has placed in your august hands, to alleviate, to the utmost extent, which your Majesty's justice and wisdom may think fit, all such laws and edicts as may be proved to press heavily upon the Israelites. I implore your Majesty, therefore, to bend an eye of merciful consideration upon them, and thus, by the revival of their hopes, they may be restored to their proper standing among their fellowmen, and have the opportunity of proving themselves most loyal and faithful subjects, as well as useful and honourable citizens, true to the Eternal God, to whom their prayers daily ascend, that your Majesty's throne may endure to the latest generations, and that your Majesty may long live to secure and to witness the happiness and the prosperity of a great and mighty nation." The entry in the diary continues:-- "His Imperial Majesty said that I should have the satisfaction of receiving his assurance, as well as that of his Ministers, that they were most desirous for the improvement of their situation in every way possible. His Majesty spoke for about twenty minutes. He said I should go and see them; and referring to the army, that he had put Jews in his guards. I expressed a hope that he would promote them if found as deserving as his other soldiers, to which he assented. I repeatedly said that the Jews were faithful, loyal subjects, industrious and honourable citizens. He said, 'S'ils vous ressemblent' ('If they are like you'). His Majesty heartily shook hands with me as I entered and on my retiring. It is a happiness to me to hear from every person, from the very highest to the lowest classes, that my visit to this country will raise the Jews in the estimation of the people, and that His Majesty's reception of me will be of the utmost importance." _April 10th._--Several persons left their cards, among which we noticed those of Count Orloff, Lieutenant-General Doubett, Chief of the Secret Police, the Chevalier Russi di Castilevala. In the course of the day we went to the office of the Secret Police; they were very civil. We were given to understand that it was customary for visitors to St Petersburg to pay a visit to that office. At two o'clock we called, by appointment, on Count Kisseleff, the Minister in whose charge Jewish affairs are placed. He received Sir Moses most politely, and we were with him more than an hour. Sir Moses went over all the particulars referring to the alleviation of the unfortunate position of the Jews. The Minister (like Count Nesselrode and Count Ouvaroff) said they were great fanatics, and he complained of the Talmud being the cause of their degraded position. Again Sir Moses and myself defended the Talmud, giving the names of Christian divines who have spoken in high praise of that ancient work. Count Kisseleff wished the Jews to cultivate the land, to establish manufactories, to undertake more laborious work than that to which they had hitherto been accustomed; and, respecting the removal from the frontiers, he said they might go fifty versts on either side. He did not wish to keep them, five or six hundred thousand might leave altogether. Sir Moses might, if he liked, take ten thousand or more to Palestine or elsewhere. He shewed him a Ukase about to be published, which gave them some privileges, but compelled them, within a certain number of years, to adopt some occupation of an active nature, or to be punished as vagrants. He said many Jews had gone to settle in Siberia, but the Governor had taken steps to prevent more of them going there. The Count further said that the Jews were fanatics, praying for the coming of the Messiah and their return to the Holy Land, and that they starved themselves all the week in order to have candles and fish for the Sabbath. Sir Moses having explained to His Excellency the groundlessness of these charges, the Minister then said he should always be pleased to see us, that his doors would be open to Sir Moses every day, and requested he would call again. _April 11th._--At about twelve o'clock an officer came from the Minister of War to inform Sir Moses that the Emperor, having been informed of his wish to assist at the service in the soldier's Synagogue at the barracks, had desired him to escort Sir Moses, and to say that the service was held at seven in the evening, and from eight till twelve in the morning. At 6.30 we walked through the rain to the barracks, a very long distance from our hotel. The Synagogue was a large room, well fitted up, with the Ark, containing the sacred Scrolls of the Pentateuch, and the pulpit and reading desk. The prayer for the ruling Sovereign and the Royal Family was painted on a tablet affixed to the wall, as in other places of worship among Hebrew communities. The prayers were read by one of the soldiers, who officiated as precentor to a congregation of three hundred of his companions. They all appeared very devout, and joined loudly in the prayers. Sir Moses was so much fatigued that it was with the greatest difficulty and pain that he walked to the Synagogue and back through mud and rain. The barracks were near the English quay, at least two miles distant. CHAPTER XLI. 1846. COUNT KISSELEFF IS MORE CONCILIATORY--SIR MOSES SETS OUT FOR WILNA--ARRIVAL AT WILNA--THE JEWS' ANSWERS TO THE CHARGES OF RUSSIAN OFFICIALS. _April 15th._--We went to see Count Kisseleff. His Excellency told Sir Moses that the Emperor had inquired what he thought of the Synagogue. The Count assured him they had determined to adopt a new plan with the Jews, more mild and conciliatory. The Emperor wished them to amalgamate with their fellow subjects, and to cultivate the land. But he would not force them; they would be left to their own free will, and less under the control of the police than they had been, and all who wished to leave the Empire might do so. The Count said he would write to Sir Moses to that effect, and would give him the list of towns to be visited, but the roads, he observed, were dreadfully bad. Sir Moses expressed a strong desire to see Wilna, to which the Minister acceded, giving him introductions to the different places, and writing to the postmasters for horses. When Sir Moses spoke of religion, Count Kisseleff said he did not care what was between man and his God, but he wished the Jews to become useful citizens, and that they had as many privileges as those in England. He spoke much of their poverty and distress. Sir Moses was pleased to observe that his manner of speaking of the Jews was more friendly. Count Kisseleff said that Jewish artisans and mechanics might come and work at St Petersburg, but that they might not bring their wives and children. He promised to give Sir Moses copies of the Ukase relating to their removal from the villages, and he showed him the _Journal des Débats_, which stated that Mr Gilbert had put a question to Sir Robert Peel on the subject. "I am satisfied," Sir Moses records in his diary, "that the Jews will be better off in consequence of our visit to this city. Praise be to God alone!" _April 17th._--We attended service in the soldiers' Synagogue. Two of the superior officers accompanied Sir Moses to the gate of the barracks, and expressed a hope that he was satisfied with the arrangements. The soldiers told us that the coming of Sir Moses had been of the utmost benefit to them, and that their officers treated them much better since his arrival. _April 20th._--We proceeded to Count Ouvaroff, and remained with him one hour. He offered Sir Moses a letter of introduction to the Inspector of Public Instruction at Wilna, and promised to attend to any suggestion that he might send to him after his tour. We then called and took leave of Count Kisseleff, who assured Sir Moses that his report and suggestions should have his best consideration, that he would put his letter into the hands of the Emperor, and that he would send Sir Moses an answer. He could not have been more friendly. Count Ouvaroff was equally amiable. Orders were sent to all the postmasters along the route to have horses ready for us. At one o'clock we visited Count Nesselrode, and were equally well received. His Excellency said that he would send Sir Moses a letter of introduction to the Governor of Wilna, and promised to give every consideration to any suggestion he might send him for the improvement of the condition of his co-religionists. Sir Moses again received the assurances of all the Ministers that their measures for the better education of the Jews was in no way actuated by a desire for their conversion, and that this might be depended upon. Count Kisseleff told him, in reply to his inquiry, that the Jews did not serve as long in the army as others. He spoke much in favour of the establishment of manufactories, and said that the Government would grant them privileges. Returning to the hotel Sir Moses, accompanied by Lady Montefiore, went to take leave of Mr and Mrs Bloomfield, from whom they had received the kindest attention and assistance. His Excellency said that if Sir Moses wanted anything at St Petersburg he should recollect he was there, and would always be happy to render his best assistance. He gave him a letter of introduction to the British Consul at Warsaw. This was a memorable day here. The Emperor inspected the Guards, and gave each soldier one and a half silver roubles. The Isaac Square was thronged with holiday folks, enjoying the national sports. Count Kisseleff told Sir Moses that four hundred recruits had just arrived from a place near Wilna without a single man having fallen sick or deserted. The Emperor had seen them, was pleased with them, and gave them money. Sir Moses spoke with several of the Jews who had served from ten to fifteen years. They said that after twenty years they were free, if they served in the Guards; but if they were attendants, or served in the hospitals, or as mechanics, then their service was extended to twenty-five years. As far as Sir Moses could judge, they did not appear to be discontented with their situation, and observed their religion. They were together in barracks, with their wives and children. Among the visitors who called during the day was Sheikh Mouhhammad Ayyád Ettántáwy, Professor of the Arabic Language and Literature in the Asiatic Institution (who had been my Arabic master during my stay at Cairo). The Sheikh expressed great admiration for the character of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and their noble exertions to ameliorate the condition of their brethren; and he composed two poems in commemoration of their visit to St Petersburg, which he himself copied in the Arabic language in their diaries. He had been sent to St Petersburg at the instance of Count Medem, the Russian Consul General in Alexandria. Owing to his great learning the Mooslim professor had already received two decorations--the Orders of St Anne and of St Stanislas--from the Emperor Nicholas, and had become a great favourite with all the students who attended his lectures. The Hebrew soldiers brought the books from the charitable institutions and schools which they had established among themselves. Various authors and poets sent their literary compositions in honour to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore's arrival, hospitals, schools, and institutions of all kinds sent their representatives to enlist their sympathies for a good cause, and the latter endeavoured, as much as possible, to satisfy all deserving applicants. The number of visitors from the nobility, since Sir Moses had been received by the Emperor, greatly increased; but there was no time for him to return their visits or accept their invitations, as he was anxious to proceed without further delay to visit the places pointed out to him by the Government. A great many Israelites from different parts of the empire came and gave us their blessings; nearly all were soldiers. One of them had two distinguished orders for his bravery in Poland; he had been in the army eighteen years. Count Nesselrode sent a letter of introduction to the Governor of Warsaw, and Count Kisseleff one to the Postmaster of Wilcomir, that we might find no difficulty in proceeding from that place to Wilna. All arrangements for our departure being now completed, Sir Moses gave the order to start. For the first two days of our journey the weather was beautiful and the roads excellent, as smooth as a bowling green; but just before entering Ostroff we encountered terribly rough weather and desperately bad roads, full of ruts and holes. We were ferried over several rivers before reaching Roubelove, where we resolved on remaining for the night. _Regiza, Friday, April 24th._--"We find," as the entry in the diary says, "the post stations get worse as we proceed, both in respect to cleanliness and comfort. Last night there was no bread, no beer, wine, or spirits, and very bad water, and beds out of the question. We have slept on sofas since we left St Petersburg, with the greater part of our clothes on, being covered with our cloaks. It is indeed roughing it. We have travelled 418-1/4 posts. This is the first town from St Petersburg inhabited by Israelites, and poor indeed they appear. My dear Judith has a very bad cough, but bears the fatigue and deprivation of all comfort most admirably; she is cheerful and content. We noticed the land ready to be cultivated, and observed many ploughs at work, but with only one horse to each. We continue to pass through large forests of firs, birch, &c.; the ground being very sandy and marshy, very poor for cultivation." The Sabbath enabled us to enjoy the repose we so much required. _Sunday, April 26th._--We proceeded to Düneberg, thence to Wilcomir, where, on our arrival, a deputation from Wilna came to bid us welcome. _April 29th._--We continued our journey to Wilna. This town may be described as the most important centre of Hebrew literature in Russia, and numbers among its inhabitants very many distinguished Hebrew authors and poets. The works written by them on all subjects connected with the elucidation of the Sacred Scriptures may be counted by hundreds. They also excel in works of industry of every description, and are the principal artisans in the place. In their commercial transactions they show great ability, and are often, for their sound judgment, consulted by their non-Israelite neighbours on subjects which require special consideration. The Jewish settlement in Wilna dates from long before 1326. According to a statement given in the _Otsherki Wilenskoi Gubernii_ (Wilna, 1852), they had at that time (in the year 1326) already in their community a special Chamber of Commerce, which they could only have established there after a long residence in the country. Cardinal Commendoni, the Nuncio of the Pope at the Court of King Sigismund-Auguste in the year 1561, though he reproached the Poles for having granted too many privileges to the infidels, nevertheless expressed himself favourably when speaking of the Jews in Lithuania, of which Wilna is the capital. The following is the substance of his remarks on the subject, as given in the book entitled "Rosprawa O Zydach, Czackiego," p. 93:--There are still a great many Jews in these provinces, including Lithuania, who are not, as in many other places, regarded with disrespect; they do not maintain themselves miserably by base profits; they are landed proprietors, are engaged in commerce, and even devote themselves to the study of literature, and more especially to medicine and astrology. They hold almost everywhere the commission of levying the customs duties; they are classed among the most honest people; they wear no outward mark to distinguish them from Christians, and are permitted to carry a sword and walk about with their arms; in a word, they enjoy the same privileges as other citizens. The Jews of Wilna determined to give a most hearty welcome to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. The Spiritual Head of the community, all the members of his Ecclesiastical Court, the representatives of all the educational, industrial and charitable institutions, and all the officers connected with them, came to meet Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore at a place called Krisanke (Krigeanki), seventeen versts from Wilna. A deputation from among them proceeded five versts further. On meeting us they presented Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore with a poem written in the purest Biblical Hebrew, which was gratefully acknowledged by Sir Moses. They then left in great haste to apprise their colleagues of our approach. On our arrival at Krisanke we found all the members of the Committee of Welcome drawn up in a line. As the carriage stopped, the Spiritual Head of the community, accompanied by the representatives of the various institutions, approached Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and delivered an address to them, which Sir Moses answered in his own name and that of Lady Montefiore. They were then requested to alight and enter a room, most tastefully decorated for the occasion, and where an excellent breakfast awaited them. We left Krisanke and directed our course towards Wilna. For the whole distance of seventeen versts the fields to the right and left of the road were crowded by people, who shouted in Hebrew, "Blessed be those who come in the name of the Lord;" and when, on approaching the carriage of Sir Moses, they beheld the Hebrew word "Jerusalem" on the banner attached to the supporters of his coat of arms, joy filled their hearts, and they showered innumerable blessings on the heads of its occupants. We arrived safely at the house of Mr Isaac A. L. Setil, which had been specially prepared for our reception, and there met three gentlemen of the Hebrew community waiting to receive Sir Moses' orders. A comfortable night's rest made both Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore soon forget the discomforts which they had to endure on the road from St Petersburg. I now give Sir Moses' own words, as entered in the diary. "_Wilna, April 30th._--I took my letter of introduction to the Governor, and he received me instantly. Dr Loewe accompanied me. The Governor was extremely polite, and spoke much of the Jews. He attributed their present unhappy state to great poverty, but could not suggest any other remedy than colonisation; the want of capital will render this measure very slow. He did not think the Jews could be removed from the villages till the autumn, when some arrangement would be adopted for their employment. The Jews might have land near to Christians, and he thought it desirable that they should be more together. I am of opinion that the Jewish population has increased more rapidly than the others, and consequently their means of obtaining a livelihood by barter is more difficult. We were introduced to the Governor's wife, a very handsome and agreeable lady, and extremely well informed. She expressed the kindest sentiments towards the Jews. I called with Monsieur Ouvaroff's letter on His Excellency Monsieur E. Gruber, Councillor of State. He was much in favour of the Jews. At five I received those persons who formed the deputation and came twenty versts to see me. Dr Loewe addressed them in German, related all that had passed at St Petersburg, and read them the papers I had received. They will write me their observations." The reader will probably remember the charges which the Ministers brought against the Jews; also the special reports referring to the unsuccessful endeavours to raise their status, with which the Russian Government provided Sir Moses, to enable him to ascertain the exact state of the Hebrew communities. It was therefore necessary, however painful it must have been to him, to make fully known to the deputation all the wrong-doings of which they stood accused before the Government, and to afford them the opportunity of clearing their character. I addressed them in the name of Sir Moses, saying that "this fatiguing journey over land and sea had been exclusively undertaken by him for their sakes. The guiding hand of the Eternal God, which always accompanied him on his travels, had not forsaken him on the present occasion, and made him arrive at an opportune time at St Petersburg, when His Majesty the Emperor had just returned from a journey to Moscow. He was fortunate enough to be received by His Imperial Majesty in a private audience, where His Majesty deigned to receive him most kindly, and afterwards sent him to his three Imperial Ministers, Count Nesselrode, Minister of State; Count Ouvaroff, Minister of Public Instruction; and Count Kisseleff, Minister of the Crown Lands, to receive from them their reports. His Majesty had promised Sir Moses that he would treat the Jews paternally, and with forbearance. But to Sir Moses' great sorrow, he had also heard complaints against them. He therefore entreated the deputation to give him all the information they could on all the subjects to which he had drawn their attention." Having listened, with tears in their eyes, to the accusations brought against them, the deputation promised to provide him, with a statement in which all the questions brought to his notice would be treated _seriatim_, and containing many historically interesting notices on the civil condition of the Russian Jews, also many letters from Jewish families that had, at that time, been expelled from villages and taverns. "The Civil Governor of the town," Sir Moses enters in his diary, "sent the chief officer of police to say he should be happy to accompany me at any time I might fix, to the several public institutions. We cannot move a step without being surrounded by hundreds of people, all giving us their blessing." _Wilna, May 1st._--Sir Moses went to the Civil Governor, and was with him an hour. The Governor repeated all that the other Ministers had said, and told him that the Jews were not obliged to leave the villages, but only to discontinue selling brandy. This, at least, was something gained. During our absence, Monsieur E. Gruber left his card. The Military Governor paid us a visit, and invited Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to a ball on Sunday, the 17th inst. Sir Moses, not expecting to be present at a ball in Wilna, had left his uniform at Wilcomir, and intended for this reason to decline accepting the invitation; but the Governor at once observed that a special messenger would bring his uniform from Wilcomir in due time, and hoped to see him at the ball. Many members of the aristocracy called, among whom was Count Wittgenstein. CHAPTER XLII. 1846. THE JEWISH SCHOOLS AT WILNA--WILCOMIR--DEPLORABLE CONDITION OF THE HEBREW COMMUNITY IN THAT TOWN--KOWNO--WARSAW. On the following morning, Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore offered up prayers amidst thousands of their brethren, and many visitors, who "from curiosity," as they said, "came to see the English philanthropist." The rest of the day was devoted to the reception of the members of the community, their wives and children, so as to have the opportunity of becoming acquainted with their manners and mode of conversation. It being customary in that place to send wine and sweetmeats of every description to a person of distinction on the first Sabbath of his arrival, many hundreds of bottles of the best wine, with cakes and sweetmeats from the most skilful confectioners, were sent to us, and these were several times handed round by Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore themselves. The amiability with which they received every new comer induced the visitors to speak without restraint on all subjects. In the evening a scribe of great ability was summoned before Sir Moses, to prepare a scroll of parchment, upon which the latter was desirous to commence writing the first line of the Pentateuch for Synagogual purposes. The scribe soon made his appearance, and Sir Moses, in the presence of the Chief Rabbi and the principal lecturer of the community, performed the task assigned to him. _Wilna, May 3rd._--Sir Moses paid a visit to the Governor, where he met most of the nobility of the place, and representatives of various communities, who came to pay their respects on the occasion of the birthday of the Czarewitch. Among those present we also noticed the Ecclesiastical Chief of the Hebrew community. On our return from the Governor, we proceeded to inspect the various colleges and schools, where we examined the pupils, and conversed with the teachers and directors regarding the subjects to which Sir Moses' attention had been called at St Petersburg. From each of these establishments full accounts were given to us, of which Sir Moses made the best use in his report to the Czar. In the evening, by special invitation from the Governor, Sir Moses visited the theatre, and subsequently, he, Lady Montefiore, and myself attended the ball at His Excellency's. We were received by all present with every possible attention and courtesy, and the appearance of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore made a most favourable impression. On our return from the entertainment we found some beautiful embroidery, poems, drawings, &c., sent to Lady Montefiore by the pupils of some of the girls' schools of the place. We had had an opportunity, in the morning, of inspecting the schools. In some of them the pupils acquitted themselves satisfactorily in the French, Russian, German, and Hebrew languages; their handwriting was beautiful, and in arithmetic they were far advanced. _Monday, May 4th._--We went to-day to see the printing office of the Brothers Rom, Rundsinsky, Königsberg, and Torkin. Sir Moses was accompanied by His Excellency the Civil Governor Terebzow. They presented us with a number of valuable works, each of which was adorned with a poem written by the gifted poet A. B. Lebensohn. We then proceeded to the Jewish Hospital, the Infant School, under the patronage of the wife of the Military Governor, the Orphan Asylum of Mr Chiya Danzig, and many schools and colleges, everywhere exhorting the pupils to study the Russian language and literature, and everywhere leaving charitable gifts. Sir Moses took every means to make himself thoroughly acquainted with all the matters on which he had been asked to report to the Emperor, and invited ten of the most prominent men of the community to attend morning and evening prayers at his hotel, and afterwards to report and discuss matters generally. _May 5th._--With a view of showing his respect for the Chief Rabbi and the representatives of the community, and, at the same time, of forming an idea of the domestic arrangements for the comfort of their families, Sir Moses devoted many hours to calling on those persons. He had the satisfaction of seeing among them many well-educated wives, sons, and daughters; their dwellings were scrupulously clean, the furniture plain, but suitable for the purpose, and the appearance of the family healthy. Some of them were very good looking. The number of letters from Jews and Christians hourly increased; whole nights were often devoted to reading them, and making extracts from those which required special and immediate attention. _May 6th._--We were indoors all this day, engaged from morning till evening in conversation with numerous persons on the subject of our journey. His Excellency, Monsieur Gruber, came just when the room was filled with visitors, including the Chief Rabbi, the principal lecturer of the Synagogue, and many of the leading members of the community. Taking advantage of the opportunity, these gentlemen spoke of the state of the Jews in Russia, and stated to him that the Government would not permit them to have land, nor would they employ them as labourers; adding that they could bring to His Excellency, within a few minutes, if he desired it, five thousand men, women, and children who would be ready to do any work, however laborious, merely for a piece of bread a day. They had frequently petitioned the Government, they said, for liberty to take land, but had never received the required permission. The conversation was carried on with great spirit. Subsequently a large deputation was introduced, who requested Sir Moses to remain till after Sabbath. The Burgomaster of Wilna being present, joined in the request, and Sir Moses at last consented, especially as the deputation observed that they could not sooner get their papers ready for him. _Friday, May 8th._--The representatives of the Hebrew congregation of this town, together with those of other Hebrew congregations from some of the principal towns in Russia, under the presidency of the Chief Rabbi, held a meeting for the purpose of examining the papers which had been prepared for presentation to Sir Moses, in reply to the charges brought against them at St Petersburg. It was arranged to request Sir Moses to appoint the following day, in the evening, after the termination of the Sabbath, for their reception, and to invite the writer of these lines to address the congregation on the following morning in the principal Synagogue of the town, so as to afford to thousands of their brethren and visitors the opportunity of becoming acquainted with any suggestion which it might be deemed desirable to communicate to them relative to the Mission of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. With this view a deputation waited on Sir Moses, and he agreed to receive them at the appointed time. The same deputation also brought me the invitation to deliver an address in their Synagogue, which I willingly accepted. _Saturday, May 9th._--Divine service was held in the apartments of Sir Moses early in the morning. In the afternoon, at about two o'clock, he and Lady Montefiore proceeded to the Synagogue, where I delivered the address in the presence of a very large assembly of members of various communities and visitors. In the evening all the representatives of Wilna, and those of the principal towns in Russia, together with the gentlemen who wrote the reports in the Hebrew, French, and Russian languages, and others of high standing in the community, headed by their Ecclesiastical Chief, presented the papers which Sir Moses was so anxiously expecting. It is often a grave and exciting moment for those present in a court of justice, when the accused, however humble his station in life may be, pleads his cause and vindicates his innocence against a vigorous prosecutor; graver, however, and considerably more exciting was the scene which I now witnessed, when not merely a private individual, but the representatives of three millions of loyal subjects of the Emperor of Russia, pleaded their cause and vindicated their innocence against the most serious charges brought against them and their religious tenets by the Ministers of the Empire. I repeatedly noticed tears rolling down the cheeks of the venerable elders of the community. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore themselves could hardly suppress their emotion. Every word contained in the written statements had been translated by me into English, and the whole was read aloud to the assembly. Sir Moses addressed questions to the representatives of the various communities, and elicited numerous replies; but the more voluminous ones had to be taken away with us, to be read next day by Sir Moses on the road. Thus many hours of the night passed; it was two o'clock in the morning when the conference terminated. Refreshments were handed round. Sir Moses drank to "better times, and to the health and prosperity of his brethren in Russia." The Chief Rabbi, the representatives of the community, and all present shed tears at the contemplation of our departure. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore left many souvenirs to those who had so kindly attended them during their stay in Wilna, and sent hundreds of bottles of the best wine, and many kinds of meat, and cakes of every description to the hospitals. All the charitable institutions and all deserving cases were remembered by most generous gifts, and nothing more was left for him to do. The favourable impression which the people of Wilna made on Sir Moses prompted him to say to those present, as he stepped into his carriage: "I leave you, but my heart will ever remain with you. When my brethren suffer, I feel it painfully; when they have reason to weep, my eyes shed tears." At four o'clock in the morning, when no one in the town expected our departure, we left Wilna for Wilcomir. The recent rains had made the roads very bad; heavy sand and numerous ruts prevented our proceeding at the average rate of travelling. In one spot our conveyance stuck fast in a deep hole, and we were detained for fully half-an-hour. This unpleasant circumstance was much aggravated by the hundreds of poor Russian men, women, and children following the carriage for miles on the road. The more they had given to them, the more they appeared to want. After a ride of seventy-six and a half versts we reached Wilcomir, where a deputation from the Hebrew community brought us wine and cake. The account which they gave of their brethren was but sorrowful. Of five hundred families, they said, one-fourth died last year from destitution. We visited the school and charitable institutions, and next day continued our journey to Kowno. Hundreds of persons, with lighted candles in their hands, greeted us on our arrival at Kowno. We found an elegant house prepared for us, all the rooms and passages brilliantly lighted with wax candles. The host and hostess, Mr and Mrs Kadisohn, attended on Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore themselves. "We have not had," Lady Montefiore said, "such beds or accommodation since leaving England." Sir Moses had an important interview with the Governor of the town respecting the employment of Jews to repair the high roads, they being willing to work for twenty kopeks a day, while labourers of other denominations receive thirty. We here received information regarding the Jews, in general, living in that district; and the representatives of the community, headed by their Chief Rabbi, supplemented this by numerous statements made to Sir Moses in writing. _May 12th._--We left Kowno early in the morning, were ferried over the river, and detained two hours on the frontier of the former kingdom of Poland. Proceeded through Calvarie, Souvalky, Stavesey. In each of these places we had interviews with the authorities, and elders of the Hebrew community, and visited their schools and charitable institutions. _May 13th._--Our arrival at Warsaw was announced to thousands of the Hebrew community who were anxious to see Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. Mr Blumberg, one of the leading merchants, came to request Sir Moses' acceptance of his house during our stay at Warsaw; but Sir Moses, while thanking him for his hospitality, thought it desirable to live at an hotel, in preference to a private house. The first visit paid by Sir Moses was to Colonel du Plat, the British Consul for Poland; he was absent from home, but sent in the course of the day, a message to Sir Moses that he would be pleased to see him on the following day. The Chief Rabbi and the representatives of the Hebrew community came to congratulate us on our safe arrival. They said it had been their wish to have made a more public display of their gratitude to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, but they were prevented from doing so. They had asked the Governor if they might go out of the city to meet us, and received the reply that he could say neither "Yes" nor "No." The accounts which Sir Moses continued to receive from the Jews, of their position in this country, were most distressing. _Warsaw, May 17th._--"This morning," Sir Moses writes in his diary, "I called on Colonel du Plat with Dr Loewe. He proposed to accompany me immediately to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Minister of the Interior, and the Military Governor of the city. We accordingly visited each of them, and I was received with much politeness. The two former Ministers conversed with me for a considerable time about the condition of the Jews. The Minister of Foreign Affairs is to ask His Highness the Viceroy for an audience for me. I have heard repeated the same complaints, that the Jews will not cultivate the land, and from the Jews themselves that they cannot get permission to purchase land. This afternoon I received a letter from the Minister of Foreign Affairs, that His Highness will be happy to see me to-morrow at twelve. I received a deputation, consisting of the principal Jews of this city, headed by the Chief Rabbi. They give a deplorable account of the present position of the Jews in this kingdom. "_May 15th._--Colonel du Plat came and accompanied me and Dr Loewe to the Palace. We were received by Prince Paskiewitch (who is the Viceroy of the kingdom) with much politeness. I was in full uniform. We were one hour and a half in conversation respecting the Jews. He expressed the same sentiments as those we heard in St Petersburg; also said that the Jews would not cultivate the land, though the law allowed them to purchase it. I said that hundreds of Jews had expressed to me their ardent desire to obtain land, and that I feared there existed some difficulty in the requisite formalities. The Prince does not wish for further education, and is by no means disposed to give any privilege to them. His Highness invited me and the Consul to dine with him at six. It was a very pleasant and chatty party. I sat on the right of the Prince, but took nothing except asparagus, salad, ices, and dessert. The Princess was most agreeable, and conversed freely with me; indeed, all were most friendly. "The Countess Rzewuska, _née_ Princess Lubomirska; M. de Hilferilling, Conseiller d'Etat-actuel, Head of the Chancellerie Diplomatique of the Prince; the Minister of the Interior, General L. Se ater Storozenko; the Postmaster-General, Prince Galitzin; the Head of the Police, General Abramowicz; and the Governor-General of Warsaw, General Okouneff, were also present on that occasion. "_Warsaw, May 16th._--A deputation, consisting of at least twenty gentlemen from all the charitable institutions belonging to the Jews, presented my dear wife and myself with a beautiful address and a very elegant silver cup, as a mark of their gratitude for our exertions on their behalf. The house has been surrounded from morning till night by hundreds of our co-religionists, anxious to get a glimpse of us. Two gendarmes and a police officer have had great difficulty in keeping the people out of the house. We had the honour of a long visit to-day from the Military Governor." CHAPTER XLIII. 1846. DEPUTATION FROM KRAKAU--THE POLISH JEWS AND THEIR GARB--SIR MOSES LEAVES WARSAW--POSEN, BERLIN, AND FRANKFORT--HOME. "_Sunday, May 17th._--My dear wife, Dr Loewe, and myself paid a visit to the Princess Paskiewitch, the wife of the Viceroy. She was very kind in her manner, and spoke for a considerable time with us. We afterwards accompanied Mr Epstein to the Jewish Hospital, where we found the directors and most of the governors and their ladies waiting to receive us." In order to show how desirous the Jews here are, under the most unfavourable circumstances, to promote the welfare of their poorer brethren, Sir Moses gives a long description of the hospital, containing 355 beds, baths, kitchens, a dispensary, laundry, and Synagogue; and of Mr Matthias Rosen's Aged Needy Asylum, and speaks in terms of the highest praise of all the arrangements. He also alludes to the important fact that the poor children are taught and apprenticed to various trades. After inspecting the whole establishment, we were conducted to the Committee room. Sir Moses was here presented with a beautiful little statue of Moses, a copy in bronze of the statue by Michael Angelo, the President delivering a most suitable address. It is now in the Lecture Hall of Judith, Lady Montefiore's Theological College in Ramsgate, and is an object of great interest to visitors. They were there met by the governor and directors, with their ladies. The way was covered with green baize, and about a dozen children walked before them strewing flowers. "On our return home," Sir Moses continues in his diary, "I found Colonel du Plat waiting to accompany me to Monsieur Hilferilling, Head of the Chancellerie Diplomatique of the Prince. I thanked him for the paper he sent me yesterday, and also for the Ukase published last evening, allowing the Jews to retain their present costume for three months, till after the 1st of July. This will be a great relief to the poor, though I am happy to find that there will be no difficulty made by the Jews in complying with the wishes of the Government." The dress worn by the Jews in Poland is that which was formerly worn in that country by Christians as well as by Jews. In the course of time the Jews became so used to it that the change for the European dress appeared to them almost a transgression of some religious injunction. The appearance of Sir Moses, dressed in European costume, while rigidly observing the injunctions of his religion, contributed greatly to their conviction that a change of dress need not involve any serious consequences. Turning again to the entry of the diary, Sir Moses says: "I then informed His Excellency that I should be very happy if it were possible to have an audience of the Emperor, as His Majesty is every moment expected to arrive; that I did not ask for it, but I should be glad if it could be made known to His Majesty that I was in the city. His Excellency said he would speak with Count Orloff to-morrow morning." _May 18th._--This morning Sir Moses received a note from Colonel du Plat, stating that His Majesty was going to the Greek Cathedral, and recommending him to put on his uniform, and to be there, as it would most likely obtain for him an earlier intimation of His Majesty's wishes; but Sir Moses thought it advisable not to avail himself of the opportunity in a place of public worship. The stream of visitors continued all day long, some even remaining in the house as a "guard of honour." Our rooms were comfortable, and the attentions of our friends unceasing, and yet there was a great drawback, inasmuch as we could not even converse with friends without the subject being immediately made known to others. I remember an instance of this. On one occasion Sir Moses received a letter in the evening relative to an appointment with a gentleman at six o'clock the next morning. I entered his room to confer with him on the subject, and before the appointed hour, a letter arrived from that gentleman, repeating almost word for word what Sir Moses had said to me, concerning him and the appointment. We could not explain to ourselves how it was possible for him thus to have received information of what we thought no one had heard. But on looking round in the room, we noticed, not far from the sofa, a large portrait, the eyes of which had round holes instead of pupils. We at once went into the corridor, and, to our great surprise, we found we could hear every word spoken within by Lady Montefiore and others. _May 19th._--Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore received a deputation from Praga, who presented them with a very small, beautifully written scroll of the Pentateuch, with a costly silver crown thereon, ornamented with precious stones; also with a silver pointer for the use of the reader, all being deposited in a beautiful little Ark. The deputation invited them to visit their elementary schools and Rabbinical colleges. At the appointed hour Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore proceeded to the house of Mr Blumberg, where they met a very considerable number of students. In compliance with a request from the college and school committees, and from Sir Moses, I examined the Rabbinical students for nearly three hours. The result being most satisfactory, Sir Moses consented to become the patron of the college. On our return from Praga, a deputation from the Hebrew congregation of Krakau was introduced. They had important communications to make, relating to questions in connection with the state of education among Jews in Poland; and several hours passed in conversation with them. _May 20th._--Sir Moses being apprehensive that his continued stay in this city might not be agreeable to the Government, as there were always hundreds of people near his hotel, and many more following him about in the streets, he called on the British Consul, Colonel du Plat, and informed him of his feelings on the subject; adding that he thought he had better leave on the morrow. The Consul said he would first see the Minister, and acquaint him with Sir Moses' sentiments, and he would let him know the Minister's reply. The United Committee of the Elementary Schools and the New Synagogue presented to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore a beautifully written scroll of the Pentateuch, somewhat larger than that they had previously received, with a silver crown, accompanied by an Ark for its reception. Like other souvenirs, it is now preserved in the Lecture Hall of the College in Ramsgate. Colonel du Plat paid us a long visit, and discussed the object of Sir Moses' Mission to Russia, and subsequently we went to the garden of the "Little Palace," in which the Emperor resided. We saw His Majesty there, in an open carriage, and met the Viceroy, all the Cabinet Ministers, their ladies, and the _élite_ of the city. The Princess Paskiewitch and the Ministers spoke to Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore, and appeared most friendly in their conversation. _May 22nd._--"I received to-day," the entry in the diary records, "two or three deputations from congregations, distant from thirty to three hundred miles, with addresses, and called at one o'clock on Colonel du Plat. He had just returned from a review, where Count Orloff told him 'he had received my card; that he was much pleased with the whole of my conduct; it had given general satisfaction; that I was a man _comme il faut_, and that my visit would be very useful.' "Dr Loewe and I rode to the Prince Marshal to take leave, unless His Highness had any commands for me. Dr Loewe got out of the carriage to enquire if he was at home, and, at the instant, His Highness was leaving the house to attend the Council. He regretted he could not stop to speak with me, but requested I would come to him to-morrow at six. As I could not walk as far as the Palace (the sanctity of the Sabbath not permitting me to ride in a carriage), I requested Dr Loewe to call on the Minister of Diplomacy, and to beg of him to arrange with the Prince for paying my respects on Sunday instead of to-morrow, which he promised to do, and to acquaint me with the result." The same day a deputation of that pre-eminently conservative class of the Hebrew community, known by the appellation of "Khasseedim," paid us a visit. They wore hats, according to European fashion, instead of the Polish "czapka," or the "mycka," which is similar to that of the Circassian's. They were headed by Mr Posener, a gentleman who had done much for the promotion of industry in Poland, and his son; and he informed Sir Moses that he would, though an old man, comply with the desire of the Government, and change the Polish for the German costume. Being a man held in high esteem by the Jews, and well spoken of by the Prince, his example would have a most favourable effect upon others. _Warsaw, Saturday Evening, May 23rd._--Divine service was held in our apartments in the morning, afternoon, and evening. We had intended going to the New Synagogue, but were deterred from doing so by the great difficulties which we had encountered last evening in going to and returning from the Great Synagogue. Thousands of persons had followed us nearly the whole way, and the gallery of the Synagogue was so dreadfully crowded with ladies, that serious apprehensions were entertained lest it might fall, when hundreds must have been killed. A strong body of police had secured our retreat. At least five hundred ladies, the wives and daughters of our co-religionists, called on Lady Montefiore. A girl twelve years old sang several Hebrew melodies; she had a fine voice. In the evening we had with us, for the second time, a little boy, eight years old, who played exquisitely on the violin. He also recited the portion of the Pentateuch selected for the Sabbath reading in the Synagogue, with several of the commentaries on the same, by heart; a very handsome child. By his extraordinary talent he supports his parents and family--in all ten persons. Sir Moses made him a present of a sum of money to enable him to pay for a master. We again noticed that the walls of our room were admirably arranged, so that every word we speak could be distinctly overheard outside in a dark passage. _Warsaw, Sunday, May 24th._--Colonel du Plat called, having been requested by Sir Moses to accompany him to the Palace. Going there, we met the Prince as he was descending from his carriage; he was most polite, and begged us to come into the Palace. He was very sorry he could not see Sir Moses on Friday. Sir Moses told His Highness that he had come to take leave of him, and to inquire if he had any commands for him. The Prince said he was very sorry that he had been prevented from showing him more attention, but since the arrival of the Emperor his presence was required every quarter of an hour. Sir Moses spoke of the great desire of the Jews to be allowed to purchase land, and to cultivate it themselves; he also told the Prince that Mr Posener had promised to change his dress, which pleased him greatly, and his example would, he said, have great effect, and he had no doubt that Sir Moses' visit would produce much good. They then had some conversation respecting the repeal of the Corn Laws in England, the Bill having passed by a majority of ninety-three. They also spoke of the death of an English Admiral, and our victories in India. Their parting was most friendly. Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore then left cards on the Princess, all the Ministers, the Spiritual Head of the Hebrew community, and the representatives of the several institutions they had visited; and orders were given for their departure at three o'clock in the morning. In the course of the day, Colonel du Plat called to bid us farewell. A great number of persons came in the evening for a similar purpose, and remained till one o'clock in the morning. Sir Moses then entrusted some of the gentlemen with his generous donations for the poor of all denominations, also for schools, hospitals, and charitable institutions; and, with the most favourable impressions of the good intentions of his brethren in Poland, we left Warsaw at the appointed hour. On the same day, May 25th, we arrived at Posen. Wherever we had stopped on the road, even at the post-houses, where we could only remain for a few minutes to change horses, deputations with addresses awaited our arrival. Early in the morning of Tuesday, a deputation from the Old Synagogue came to conduct Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to divine service. The venerable edifice, which is very ancient, large, and of handsome proportions, was lighted up, and the paths leading to the seats strewn with flowers. At eleven o'clock the Rev. S. Eger, Chief Rabbi of the community; the Rev. S. Plessner, Chief Lecturer; the officers, of the Synagogue, and the representatives of all the Hebrew charities, in all about sixty gentlemen, waited upon them with an address. The streets were crowded, and on reaching the Synagogue, all the passages were filled with ladies and gentlemen, with lighted wax candles in their hands, a number of young and beautiful girls strewing roses and other fragrant flowers before us. The Synagogue was one blaze of light, from hundreds of wax candles, ornamented with flowers. Sir Moses was placed in the body of the Synagogue, and Lady Montefiore in the ladies' gallery, under beautiful canopies with rich drapery and flowers. The Rev. S. Plessner presented a beautiful poem, in which he expressed a hearty welcome and the deep gratitude of his community; others, equally zealous in conveying their appreciation of Sir Moses' and Lady Montefiore's services, presented addresses in German or French; and we found it necessary to have special cases made to contain them. We left Posen in the evening, travelled the whole night, and reached Berlin next day at ten o'clock in the evening, taking up our quarters at the Hotel de St Petersbourg. _Berlin, Friday, May 29th._--Called at the British Embassy, but learned that Lord and Lady Westmoreland were in England. Sir Moses saw Sir George B. Hamilton (who was acting for him), and expressed his desire to be presented to His Majesty, the King of Prussia; but His Majesty, Sir George said, was at Torgau, and would not return before the 6th of June. Sir Moses then left his card on Monsieur Fonton, at the Russian Embassy. Mr Bleichroder, father of the present Consul General for England, called, also the Chief Rabbi, and three gentlemen from Krakau, to present an address to Sir Moses, requesting him to speak to the King of Prussia in favour of the Jews of that place. The following three days, being the Sabbath and Pentecost festival, most of the time was taken up by attending divine service and receiving visitors. _June 2nd._--We went to take leave of Sir George Hamilton. Sir Moses expressed regret at not being able to have the honour of being presented to His Majesty, as he had hoped to have the opportunity of praying for his gracious efforts to cause the Jews of Cracow to be placed in the same position as their brethren in His Majesty's other dominions. Sir George said that if Sir Moses wrote him a letter to that effect, he would place it in the King's hands. In the course of conversation, Sir George told Sir Moses that he had received an express from Lord Aberdeen, desiring him to repair to Florence, as things were in so uncertain a state in London (alluding to the Corn Bill); he could not tell how soon a change might take place; but Lord Brougham and Lady Westmoreland, he said, had written, that they thought Sir Robert Peel would weather the storm. _Berlin, June 3rd._--Soon after six, an elegant carriage sent by the deputies of the Hebrew community of the city, stopped at our door to convey Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore to the railway station. There were also thirty other carriages with a deputation, and the ladies of their families, to accompany us; but as Sir Moses had not yet received the memorial from the Cracow deputation, which Sir George Hamilton so kindly promised to put into His Majesty's hands for him, we could not leave until half-past twelve. At eleven o'clock, when the memorial was brought, we at once proceeded to Sir George, and gave it to him. Sir Moses stated all the particulars of the degraded and oppressed state of the Jews, and Sir George repeated the promise he had made, adding that he should be most happy to render every service in his power for their relief; and he would call upon Sir Moses at Park Lane when in London. On our arrival at the station, we found all the principal Jewish families waiting to bid us farewell. _June 8th._--At Frankfort-on-the-Main a brilliant reception awaited them. The Rothschild family and all the principal Jewish inhabitants of the city, together with the Spiritual Heads of the community, vied with each other in evincing their appreciation of the noble work that Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore had done in the cause of humanity. Between eleven and twelve o'clock in the night they were serenaded by a band of Jewish musicians (permission having been previously obtained from the Governor). The streets were crowded, and numbers of coloured lamps gave animation to the scene. When Sir Moses appeared on the balcony, bowing his warm acknowledgments, hearty cheers re-echoed from all sides. Among the numerous persons who called was Professor Oppenheim, of whose works of art there are three fine specimens in Lady Montefiore's Theological College. _June 16th._--They left Calais and arrived safely at Dover, on their way to Ramsgate; but on hearing a report that an epidemic of scarlet fever had broken out near East Cliff, they altered their route and proceeded direct to London. CHAPTER XLIV. 1846 SIR MOSES RECEIVES THE CONGRATULATIONS OF HIS ENGLISH CO-RELIGIONISTS--HIS EXHAUSTIVE REPORT TO COUNT KISSELEFF--EXAMINATION OF THE CHARGES AGAINST THE JEWS--THEIR ALLEGED DISINCLINATION TO ENGAGE IN AGRICULTURE. In London, as at Dover, numerous friends were waiting to welcome them, but Sir Moses did not remain long in their company; he deemed it his duty, before entering his house at Park Lane, to call on Sir Robert Peel, Lord Aberdeen, and Baron Brunnow, and leave his cards. The next day he called again on the latter, and remained with him for an hour; also on Sir Robert Peel, and on Lord Aberdeen at the Foreign Office. His Lordship said he should be most happy at all times to do what he could. Sir Moses also called on Sir Roderick Murchison, and left his card, with the letter from Colonel de Helmerson of St Petersburg; thence he went to the Palace, to enter his name in Prince Albert's visitors' book, and also called on Lord Bloomfield. _Saturday, June 20th._--Prayers and thanksgivings were offered up in all the Synagogues for the safe return of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore from Russia; and, during the week following, numerous addresses from all the Hebrew congregations in England, as well as from those in other parts of the world, were presented. All these are now preserved in the Lecture Hall of the College at Ramsgate. Notwithstanding his natural desire for rest, after the labours of his recent missions, Sir Moses felt that the greatest and most important part of his work yet remained to be done. He had to make a report to the Emperor of Russia. He had to show His Majesty the groundlessness of the accusations brought against his brethren, and to place before the Emperor their humble petition for the removal of all those causes which prevented them from attaining that degree of prosperity which His Majesty so graciously desired that they, in common with his other faithful subjects, should enjoy. He also had to report on the state of their education, with a view to removing from the minds of His Majesty's Ministers the unfavourable impressions which incorrect representations had made on them. Sir Moses having made the subject in question his principal study, was enabled, after mature consideration, to draw up and forward to the Ministers, to be placed in the Emperor's hands, three reports--one, on the state of the Jews in Russia; another, on that of the Jews in Poland; and the third, on the state of their education in Russia and Poland. Sir Moses, however, being mindful of the condescension shown to and confidence reposed in him by his late Imperial Majesty the Emperor Nicholas, considered the reports as private and confidential communications, and would not publish them during His Majesty's lifetime. Now that both the Emperor and Sir Moses are no more in the land of the living, history demands the publication of what Sir Moses communicated to His Majesty. I therefore place before the reader in the following pages exact copies of the reports in question, the full particulars of which he has undoubtedly, in the interests of humanity, the right to know. I shall also give the Ministers' reply, made by command of the Emperor, showing that His Majesty was fully informed of all the communications which Sir Moses made to him, and had given orders for the formation of a committee to examine the statements therein made to him, with a view to improve the condition of his Jewish subjects. The first and second of Sir Moses' reports are addressed to Count Kisseleff, and the third to Count Ouvaroff. "To His Excellency, le Comte de Kisseleff, Ministre du domaine de l'Empire, de sa Majesté l'Empereur de Russie, &c., &c., &c. "May it please your Excellency,--In addressing your Excellency after my return from Russia to this country, I deem it an imperative duty to express again to your Excellency the deep sense of gratitude I feel for the distinguished honour which has been conferred upon me by His Imperial Majesty, in granting me so gracious a reception, and to assure your Excellency that the kind promises which I have received from that most exalted and magnanimous Monarch, and his enlightened Ministers, to promote the welfare of my co-religionists dwelling in His Majesty's vast empire, have not only been a source of great delight to the Israelites in Russia, and to their brethren in England, but have very extensively afforded great satisfaction to the friends of humanity throughout Europe. "The perusal of the very important documents which your Excellency was pleased to place in my hands previously to my departure from Saint Petersburg, gave me an additional proof of the paternal principle entertained by His Imperial Majesty towards his Hebrew subjects; and when that august Monarch graciously intimated to me that I should go and see the state of my brethren, I hailed the opportunity which was thus afforded to me to communicate to them the good intentions of the Government, and to persuade them cheerfully to conform to the benevolent intentions of their wise and powerful Monarch. "It is now my momentous task in compliance with your Excellency's benign suggestion, to report to your Excellency the result of my visit to His Majesty's Hebrew subjects, and I feel confident that your Excellency will deign to regard my communication with the indulgent attention and consideration which the cause of philanthropy has ever received from your Excellency, the more so as I have the gratifying promise of your Excellency to place my representation in the hands of His Majesty, whose great object it has ever been to adopt every suitable measure for securing the moral and physical welfare of every subject under His Imperial sway. "From the information which I gathered during my sojourn among the various Hebrew congregations in Russia, confirmed by my own personal observation, I am enabled to affirm that my brethren in His Majesty's empire are fully sensible of the good intentions of His Majesty's Government, that they speak with enthusiasm of the magnanimity of their mighty Sovereign; and declare their readiness at all times and under all circumstances to serve their country to their latest breath. "It did not, however, escape my notice that there exist some obstacles which prevent the benign rays of His Majesty's mercy from imparting to His Hebrew subjects the full measure of comfort to which the wise and just general laws of the Russian Government would entitle them; I therefore, with your Excellency's permission, will now briefly repeat the advantages granted to them by their excellent Monarch, and venture to describe briefly to what extent and by what measures they are administered to the Israelites. I shall, at the same time, not withhold from your Excellency some observations upon the charges preferred against them, which I will leave to the wise and profound judgment and candid and indulgent consideration of your Excellency. "In the document your Excellency was pleased to hand me it is stated to the effect--That the union of the Polish Provinces with Russia was for the Israelites a new epoch; that the Imperial Government not only allowed them, like its other subjects, to partake of all civil rights, and granted them permission to be received in the corporation of the body of town merchants, but also accorded them the privilege of taking part in the elections, and of being themselves eligible to become members of common councils, and to fill other local offices. Besides this, they were permitted to acquire immoveable property, and to settle as agriculturists, either on their own estates or on the lands of the crown, in which latter case Government also granted them support and freedom from all taxes, the Israelites also enjoying the right of settling in seventeen Governments (a superficies of 17,000 square miles) among a population of twenty millions of inhabitants, in countries where, by means of the harbours of the Black Sea (and in part through those of the Baltic), a lively commercial intercourse is kept up both in Russia and with foreign countries, have had, it is stated, all possible means in their hands of turning their activity to useful objects, and of establishing their prosperity upon a safe basis. "The knowledge that such privileges have been accorded cannot but excite a deep and universal gratitude towards His Imperial Majesty for the paternal care which has thus been taken of his Hebrew subjects. But on a careful examination into the condition of the Israelites in some places situated within the above named 17,000 square miles, causes appear to prevail owing to which they do not actually derive from these enlightened measures the advantages they were intended to confer. "I would respectfully invite your Excellency's attention to the circumstance that in the entire Government of Livonia there is only the city of Riga in which the Israelites are permitted to dwell, and there only to the number of about one hundred families. In Courland only those Israelites who were present in the year 1799 and their families are permitted to remain, but even those who have acquired the rights of citizenship are greatly restricted in their respective trades, for a Ukase, dated in April 1835, declares the Israelites in Mitau, in consequence of a privilege granted to the Christians of that city in the year 1785, disqualified to be received into the Christian corporations of the body of tradesmen or mechanics. The result of such a restriction is that the Israelite is never regarded as a master tradesman, and therefore cannot employ in his service either a journeyman professing the Christian religion or one who adheres to the principles of his own religion. He is likewise prohibited from keeping apprentices even of his own creed. Thus the Israelite is prevented from following any trade that requires particular assistants; he cannot with any prospect of success become a joiner, locksmith, blacksmith, or bricklayer, nor can he do the work of any mechanic where the aid of other persons is absolutely requisite. The disadvantages which he must labour under are indeed numerous. Where there is a large family, and the children are of tender ages, it becomes scarcely possible for the parent to maintain them, and it must be evident that when men become enfeebled by old age, or afflicted by bodily infirmity, they can no longer exert personally the labour which their business requires, and thus they become utterly destitute; and when a parent dies his children, if not sufficiently advanced in years to have acquired from him a knowledge of his trade (to which he dared not apprentice them), must relinquish it altogether. "Your Excellency may perhaps think me wrong in this assertion, the former Governor General, the Marquis Paulucci, having in the year 1820 interceded in the Israelites' behalf, and obtained permission that they should in future enjoy the privilege of teaching their children their respective trades. This privilege has, however, again been taken away from them. In the course of time most of the operative class thus naturally became poor, to such a frightful degree that the community is obliged to furnish them with the necessaries of life. It may be said that Israelites who cannot follow the trade of their parents need not become a burthen on the congregation; an imperial Ukase having been issued in April 1835 to the effect that the Israelites in Courland should enjoy the right of keeping, either by rent or obrok, farms, inns, or baiting stables; but your Excellency will please to remember that this privilege was soon recalled. And, moreover, for some cause the Hebrews were ordered to quit the frontiers of Courland, as well as all the other places situated near the sea shores; and to withdraw fifty wersts into the interior of the country, which latter decree deprives them of the right to inhabit nearly one-third of that Gubernium. In the same province the Israelites are not only prohibited from settling with their families, but are prevented by the law from becoming contractors to the Crown and undertaking the erection of any government building, even though they might be merchants of the first or second guild. Neither are they suffered to sell goods by wholesale under their own firm. "Your Excellency will give me leave also to advert to the expulsion of my brethren from the city of Kiew, where they are at present not allowed to remain even a single night; from the city of Nicolaiew, in the Gubernium of Kherson; the city of Swart-opol, in the Gubernium of Ekat-erinaslow; and all the villages situated in the Gubernium of Whitebsk, Moghilew, Tchornigow, and Voltawa, as well as all the other villages of those Guberniums situated within fifty wersts along the frontiers. "If in consequence of the last Ukases the Israelites are also to be removed from all the towns and villages situate within fifty wersts of the Austrian and Prussian frontiers, and must quit every house where the sale of spirituous liquors is offered to the peasant, the number of exiles would surely equal the number of those who are already settled in the interior, and their fate cannot be any other than epidemic, disease, destitution, and starvation. This, as I had the honour of hearing personally from your Excellency, is not and never can be the intention of that great and most benevolent Monarch whose anxiety for the welfare of all his faithful subjects is so well known to all the world. "With respect to commerce, the above-named space of land of seventeen thousand square miles, if available to the Israelites, as was originally intended, would, in the opinion of most of them, afford sufficient scope for securing a flourishing state of commerce amongst them. There are, however, some disadvantages against which the Hebrew merchants have daily to contend, and unless these be removed, the mere extent of land constituting the field for their exertions would not insure to them those advantages which they might have expected to realise from the benevolent intentions of their illustrious monarch. Merchants professing any other faith, either purchase their stock in the interior of Russia, or proceed to foreign countries and import it from them. But the Hebrew merchants have no permission to travel into the interior of Russia, with the exception only of those of the first and second guilds, whose privilege is restricted to making one journey for goods in the course of the year to Moscow; their sojourn in that city being limited--as respects the former to six months, and the latter to three months. Were they permitted to visit Moscow and other places at such times as their business might require, they would thus have sufficient opportunity for the necessary replenishment of their warehouses with the newest fashions in proper season during the year, which they cannot do if they are bound to lay in at once a stock for the whole year; and it is often the case that the purchases they have made in Moscow by the time they arrive at their destination are out of fashion. The Hebrew merchant is obliged to appear personally at Moscow, and dares not send his agent there to transact his business. "Your Excellency will be pleased to consider the great expenses he must incur before he has the opportunity of offering his goods for sale, and the impossibility of his becoming prosperous in business whilst he is obliged to repair to Moscow for such goods as his Christian neighbour can import from the nearest factory in the interior of the land. "The imperial city of Saint Petersburg the Israelite must never visit on commercial business; he is only allowed to appear there in connection with a law suit, or in some other particular occasion, of very rare occurrence. The Hebrew merchant thus has to contend with numerous difficulties in being obliged to import his goods from foreign countries, for the duty he has to pay on them is exceedingly high, therefore making it impossible for him to compete with his Christian neighbour. These disadvantages have reduced the commerce of the Israelites to a deplorably low ebb, and are banishing prosperity from amongst them. And it is a fact that in one of the principal cities where formerly there were thirty Hebrew Moscow merchants, there are at present only two, and these can only preserve their commercial standing by extreme exertion. "Your Excellency will further condescend to take into consideration that there are various other disadvantages which the Israelites have to contend with, and which I shall merely mention in a few words for fear of encroaching upon your Excellency's most valuable time. His Majesty's Hebrew subjects are deprived of their congregational unions known by the Hebrew term Kahal, and are thus debarred from the advantage of any great measure for their common relief, which might otherwise be effected through the community. The Kahal served as a central point in which every individual had an interest, and there were able to do something for the amelioration of their own town in particular cases, which cannot be done now. It is true their financial affairs are generally under the best care, being administered by the members of the Town Hall (Dume), where according to His Majesty's gracious Ukase, Israelites are entitled to be admitted; yet it appears they are excluded from the enjoyment of this privilege in some important cities where they were first refused admission as members of the magistracy, and subsequently excluded from participating in the administration in the Town Hall. The Israelites, under these circumstances, greatly suffer from the dissolution of their congregational unions. A Hebrew is not allowed to engage the assistance of any Christian servant, neither is he permitted to settle as an agriculturist within four or five wersts from the habitation of a Christian. He is not permitted to keep posting establishments. He is further prohibited from keeping brewhouses either in towns or villages. A Hebrew, when serving in the army or navy of His Majesty, can never rise even to become a subaltern. The Israelite suffers from all the above-named restrictions, notwithstanding the distinct desire of His Imperial Majesty that he should be allowed to partake of all civil rights like all the other subjects of His Imperial Majesty. I have thus endeavoured to present to your Excellency a brief view of some of the causes which operate to deprive my brethren of the full enjoyment of those privileges intended for them by their illustrious and most humane Sovereign. "There are, however, other causes which I fear also tend to this unhappy result. I refer more particularly to certain charges made against the Israelites, too important to be passed over unnoticed, and which, entreating your Excellency's kind attention, I will now proceed to enumerate and comment upon. "I have ascertained on enquiry that the following charges are preferred against the Israelites, viz.: "That they are inclined to an idle course of life, and prefer petty commerce to agriculture; hence the prohibition not to live in Old Russia. "That they impose upon the peasant, and in return for a small quantity of spirit, deprive him of all his property (hence the removal from all the villages in the Guberniums of Whitebsk and Moghelew). "That all of them living near the frontiers have the reputation of dealing in contraband goods; hence the removal from all the towns and villages within the fifty wersts. "In answer to the above accusations in general, your Excellency will permit me to say that I am far from being inclined to aver that an Israelite of a bad disposition is less capable of doing wrong than any other individual of bad principles belonging to any other creed, but I feel confident that a wise and just Government, like that of His Imperial Majesty, will not deem it right to punish many thousands of its Hebrew subjects for the transgressions of a few. Let him who offends against the law of the country, or violates the rights of his fellow creatures, be punished, but let all the rest enjoy the comfort designed for them by their magnanimous Monarch. I entreat your Excellency to consider that the number of Hebrews who maintain themselves by commercial enterprises is but a small portion of the whole, for, as I had the opportunity of seeing, most of them are either mechanics or common labourers; they do not appear to be of idle disposition; on the contrary, they seek work as far as they are permitted to extend their movements. In all those Guberniums where Israelites have the privilege of settling, there are some of them who are tailors, shoemakers, farriers, glaziers, &c., &c., others who employ themselves with a more laborious occupation, as that of a blacksmith, locksmith, bricklayer, carpenter, &c. There is a class which may be reckoned amongst the artizans, such as watchmakers and goldsmiths, and another, which may be considered as a most numerous one, is that which consists of people who break stones on the chaussees, cut wood for fuel, or dig the ground and carry water, or remove heavy loads from one place to another. Your Excellency will, I believe, bear me out in this statement, for the Israelites to this very day remember with gratitude when your Excellency, in the spring of 1845, feelingly expressed your approbation to General Bulmering of his having allowed the Israelites to break stones on the road. There is also another instance which speaks favourably for the Israelites in this respect. I allude to two of the finest houses at Wilna, the one belonging to Count Teschkewetz, and the other to the nobleman Wilgatzke, but inhabited by the present civil Governor, both of which were entirely constructed by the Israelites. This, I venture to say, is a satisfactory proof of their being most anxious to work, and if the fact of their being seen walking about the streets without any occupation be urged against my assertion, I may be permitted to answer in their defence that want of work (within the boundary of those places where they are authorised to live) may be assigned as the cause of it; for the Israelite cannot, like his Christian neighbour, quit one Gubernium and repair to another, where he may be sure to find occupation. "Indeed there are often a great many Christian labourers to be seen in the Jewish Guberniums, in consequence of their business being slack in their own district. "Your Excellency will now permit me to state my humble opinion with regard to the accusation of the Israelites feeling disinclined to cultivate the land. The great facilities which His Majesty's benevolent Government afforded me for the purpose of having the necessary intercourse with my brethren, enabled me to learn that they were always desirous, and are at present most anxious to devote themselves to agriculture. I shall adduce the following statement in support of this assertion:--In the year 1835, when His Imperial Majesty most graciously declared that the Israelites should cultivate the land, a great many of them shewed their willingness to desert their homes and move even to the remotest parts of the country. Unfortunately after several hundreds of Israelites had sold all their moveable and immoveable property to repair to Tobolsk and Omsk, in Siberia (these two places having been assigned to them), and actually succeeded, though not without great sufferings on the road, in reaching, with their wives and children, the above-named colonies, it was intimated to them that the land was not to be cultivated by the Israelites. In the year 1840, a great many families went to Kherson for the same purpose, but a considerable number of them on their arrival found their plans frustrated. They were most kindly treated, it is true, by His Excellency the Governor of Wilna. Every adult received forty-eight copecks banco assignations, and every child half that sum. They were also provided with the necessary vehicles for their conveyance, one being assigned to each family; but as they proceeded thence into the other Guberniums the adults received only twenty-four copecks banco and the children twelve copecks banco each, and the number of vehicles was reduced to one for every two families. The emigrants had to wait several days before the vehicles were ready for their use, during which time they were not provided with the necessary diet money. They were further furnished with boats for the purpose of performing part of the journey on the river Berezina and Dnieper. The money requisite to pay the hire of these boats was deducted from the amount allotted for their diet. The Israelites were assured that it would take them only a fortnight's time to make the passage on the rivers, and for this reason only received money to defray the expenses of their diet during that period; but the passage occupied seven weeks, and they had to sustain themselves out of their own means. Many of them were great sufferers from severe cold and hunger, and a considerable number who had not even the smallest coin beyond that which they received from Government, being left without food, whilst they had to endure the inclemency of the season, necessarily perished. "The survivors, on arriving at the places of their destination, found that they could not obtain possession of the houses, agricultural implements, and cattle assigned for them in the month of May in accordance with the decree of His Majesty's Government, but had to wait for them until the month of August, and for the articles furnished to them which were of a very bad description, they were subject to a charge considerably exceeding their value. "The rye seed which the Israelites ought to have received in the month of August, was not given to them before the month of October; the consequence was, that the crops of the first year did not prosper, and they were obliged to take provision from the Government for the next year also. The seed for the summer crops which ought to have been given them in the month of March, they did not receive before the month of May; thus they were obliged to put the seed into the ground very late in the season, and heavy rains which followed again caused the crops to fail. The habitations assigned for their occupation being of very bad materials, and badly constructed, most of them soon fell to the ground. "Then followed an epidemic disease among the cattle, and the Israelites suffered a considerable loss. In consequence of this misfortune the Government benevolently ordered passports to be granted in order that they might repair to other places for the purpose of gaining their daily bread; but instead of paying for a passport valid for a year, according to the law of the country, they had sometimes to pay most exorbitantly. "In addition to this and other similar hardships, I may mention the fact of the Poll Tax being demanded from the old settlers who are not liable to it. "In the year 1844, when an Imperial Ukase appeared again inviting the Hebrews to agriculture, with a grant of support out of the Korabka, His Majesty's Hebrew subjects, desirous to avail themselves of this Ukase, not only forwarded their humble petitions on the subject to the Governors of their respective towns and villages, but even made voluntary offers to defray the necessary expenses from their own means. Your Excellency has full evidence of this fact in the numerous applications addressed to your illustrious person, and I feel convinced that your Excellency will be surprised to hear that difficulties are thrown in the way on occasions like the following. "Some Crown land situate in the vicinity of Wilna and Kowno was offered to the public by auction, and Israelites were prohibited from being amongst the applicants, although many of them distinctly declared their willingness to cultivate the land in question personally. All this, I trust, will be sufficient to satisfy your Excellency that the Israelites are not averse to agricultural pursuits, and that there is no foundation for the charge brought against them in this respect. "Having thus, I trust, convinced your Excellency that there is no just ground for the accusation that my brethren are disinclined to work laboriously and cultivate the land, I now humbly request your Excellency to consider with your wonted justice the two other charges brought against them, viz.:-- "That they impose upon the peasant and deal in contraband goods, these vices being traceable to a disposition to idleness. I trust, however, I have succeeded in proving that idleness is unjustly charged against them, and in further refutation of these two imputations against the Israelites generally, I may also be justified in observing that a man, however inclined he may be to accumulate riches, will not readily give up an occupation which insures him bread in comfort, and respectability for a business that is attended with little profit and great risk of life. I have already stated to your Excellency that only the fourth part of the Hebrew population in each town or village is engaged in commercial pursuits, and supposing even for a moment, that all the merchants in any one town might be liable to transgress the law of excise and customs (which case, I think, almost impossible, as the Hebrew law distinctly forbids such transgressions), surely so wise and benevolent a Government will not cause the removal of the entire Hebrew population from the Austrian and Prussian frontiers, because a few among them may have acted in opposition to the law? For these delinquents I do not intercede, His Majesty's wise and paternal Government will treat them like similar offenders in the Imperial cities of Saint Petersburg and Moscow, where I believe it will appear from the records preserved by His Majesty's Minister of Finance, there exists a great number of them notwithstanding the entire absence of Israelites. I implore only the extension of its merciful protection to the rest of the Hebrew inhabitants. "The presence of the Israelites in the various villages throughout the Empire is said to be pernicious to the peasants. From the information I received, your Excellency will perceive that this cannot be the case. My informants assured me that since the Israelites were obliged to leave the Guberniums of White Russia and Little Prussia, the peasants have found themselves in a most deplorable state, and are very often in such an unfortunate condition that they are even without the seeds necessary for the future crops, which never happened whilst the Israelites were amongst them. "There is also another striking proof which your Excellency, I am confident, will agree with me to be in their favour. If the Israelites had indeed imposed upon the peasants and impoverished them, the former, as they were obliged to quit the villages and join their brethren in the towns, would undoubtedly have carried some property with them, but their utter destitution was apparent from almost all of them becoming immediately a heavy burthen on the congregation, and many of them actually perished from want before they could reach the town fixed upon for their future abode. "Your Excellency will also be pleased to reflect that the proprietors of the various establishments let on rent to the Israelites being themselves good and charitable Christians, and naturally most benevolently inclined towards their brethren in faith, would not have suffered their Hebrew tenants to impose upon them, and had the Israelites in reality been guilty of the crime, the proprietors would of themselves have driven them away. "The circumstances, explanations of which I have now had the honour of submitting to your Excellency, have, however, in consequence perhaps of similar endeavours not having been made previously to the present moment, produced an unfavourable impression on the mind of His Majesty's Government; so much so, that His Majesty the Emperor, in his august solicitude for the welfare of the Hebrew population resident in his dominions, appointed a special committee to investigate the causes of the unsatisfactory state in which the population remains to this day, and to deliberate on the means fittest to be applied as remedies. The result of these enquiries was that the Israelites were represented to the Committee in very erroneous and unfavourable colours. Those who were characterised as rebellious and disobedient were therefore subjected to coercive measures as idlers who prove a burthen to the society of which they are members, and in order to be able to institute a just discrimination between such Israelites as have sought to make themselves useful, and such as do not yet carry on a trade or some other legal occupation, His Majesty's Government calls upon the latter to enrol themselves in one of the four following classes: 1st, one of the three guilds of merchants; 2nd, the burgess of a town by the purchase of a piece of land or a house; 3rd, a corporation of artizans, after having given the proof of ability required by the law; or 4th, the grand body of agriculturists, whether on their own property or under a proprietor. And such Israelites as shall not have placed themselves by the appointed time (the 1st January 1850) in one of the four classes are to be subject to such restrictive measures as the Government shall think it right to employ. "Believing that in consequence of such classification more than four-fifths of the Hebrew population will necessarily have to be enlisted amongst those who, according to the above declaration, will be regarded as a burthen on society at large, I feel it a duty humbly and earnestly to make a few observations to your Excellency, and beg at the same time that your Excellency will be pleased to give credit to my assurance that in this instance I am regarding the Israelites not with the sympathy natural to a brother in faith, but with the impartiality of a perfect stranger; the sentiments which I now shall have the honour to express to your Excellency being those only of a friend to humanity. "There cannot exist a doubt that the above imperial decree will be a most beneficial incentive to a large number of the Hebrew communities to enrol themselves in some one of the four classes in question; and his most gracious Majesty will now have the high gratification of knowing that in future those amongst his Hebrew subjects can, under no pretence whatever, be accused of idleness, the nature of their occupation being registered in the archives of the respective Guberniums they inhabit. I, however, humbly venture to suggest the addition of two other classes to the four already specified, as a proceeding in accordance with the enlightened views of His Majesty's Government. I allude, first, to labourers of every description, domestic servants, clerks, commercial agents, brokers and employees, water-carriers, porters, waggoners and carmen, provision dealers, cutters of wood for fuel, and persons engaged in similar occupations. The nature of their pursuits does not qualify them to be enrolled in any of the four classes, yet they are a body of people who, as your Excellency will admit, deserve to be looked upon with an eye of mercy for two reasons. First, because they are continually exerting themselves by their incessant labours to maintain themselves and their families in an honest and respectable way; and, secondly, because the existence of such individuals is most essential to the promotion of the welfare and comfort of His Majesty's Hebrew subjects belonging to any of the four classes. For if the latter were obliged to devote their time and attention to all the work originally intended to be executed by their inferiors, what would become of their business? Would it then not appear quite natural that in the course of time their situation would become precarious to such a degree that they would have to give up their avocations altogether. Another class of people which I am particularly anxious to introduce to the consideration of His Majesty's Government is that which comprises the spiritual leaders of the congregations, assessors of the Hebrew ecclesiastical courts, scribes qualified to write the sacred scrolls of the Pentateuch, and other religious documents, persons qualified to slay animals for food in conformity with the Jewish law, readers of prayers in the Synagogue, readers of the Pentateuch to the congregation, operators of circumcision, students who devote themselves to the study of Hebrew theology, and teachers of religion. The body of people just mentioned, your Excellency will give me leave to say, I regard as the very soul of the congregation, for it is religion alone that makes a man true and faithful to his fellow creatures, and sincere and loyal to the Government under which he lives. "His Imperial Majesty being sensible of this sacred truth, in his great mercy and paternal love to all his subjects without reference to their religious creeds, granted permission to his Hebrew subjects, the soldiers at St Petersburg, to have Synagogues of their own, and I assure your Excellency that I cherish with feelings of the deepest gratitude to His Majesty, the memory of those days when, by his gracious permisssion, I was enabled to join my brethren in prayer. This event alone is a sufficient assurance to me that His Majesty's Government will in its wisdom add all those individuals to the classes of those who are considered as subjects useful to society. There are also individuals, though they cannot be brought under any of these various classes, to whom the Government will, I dare hope, extend its mercy. I mean persons advanced in age, or in an infirm state of health, and others who have no choice but to cultivate the soil, but have not the means to purchase land and agricultural implements. In short, these observations are merely to show that an immense number of people still exist who may be in every respect useful, honest, industrious, learned, and distinguished in various branches without finding a place in any of the four classes. A wise and humane Government then will surely not suffer them to be regarded as a burthen to the congregations, and cause them to be subjected to coercive measures. "I have now shown (I trust clearly) to your Excellency that the reasons advanced for not extending to the Israelites the mercy of their most illustrious and benevolent Monarch are unfounded incorrect representations, a circumstance which, of course, I am far from attributing to the most honourable and distinguished Committee appointed for the purpose, but to parties for unaccountable reasons inimically inclined towards the Israelites. I have further proved to your Excellency that the Israelites in general are not of an idle disposition; that, moreover, most of them are anxious to cultivate the land, and even pray for such occupation; that the majority of the Israelites dwelling near the Austrian and Prussian frontiers are so circumstanced that an accusation of transgressing the laws of excise and customs cannot in justice be preferred against them. I have also represented to your Excellency that the numerous restrictions under which the Israelites of all classes suffer are a cause that their commerce can have no chance whatever of prospering, but that, on the contrary, they must from day to day sink into deeper distress; and, further, that the last measure adopted for the amelioration of their condition would tend to a contrary effect, unless the number of classes be increased. It is an unquestionable fact that the great body of the Israelites in His Majesty's empire are in a state of extreme misery. I do not venture to discuss again the causes of these evils, but only speak of the reality and depth of their existence. His Majesty himself has seen them, the Special Commission has verified the fact, and I myself having had His Majesty's most gracious permission to visit my brethren, have been a sorrowful witness of it. This, then, being so, I am convinced His Majesty and his Government will bear with me while, with heartfelt gratitude for the goodness which His Majesty has already extended to the House of Israel in his solicitude to be made acquainted with their real condition, I venture to submit to your Excellency my own very humble but earnest belief of the principles of policy which, if brought into action, would surely remedy most extensively the evils already described, and bring the work of investigation which His Majesty and his Government have begun to a most happy, glorious, and honourable consummation. "I venture to hold my own views on this subject with confidence and decision, only because I know most intimately the feelings of my brethren. I have observed them closely in different parts of the world; have watched over them through a long life with very anxious attention; and could now, if it would benefit them, lay down that life for what I know to be their true character. "Their natural disposition as a body, your Excellency, is not what it may have appeared to be. Expelled long ago with fearful slaughter from their ancient country, and dispersed in every land under heaven, the oppression of ages may have given them, in the eyes of His Majesty's Government, the semblance of a character which is not their own. That which they may appear to have may be artificial and superficial, forced upon them by long existing, most extraordinary, and peculiar circumstances. For these evils His Majesty the Emperor holds the full and most efficacious remedy in his own most gracious heart and most powerful hands, under the blessing of Almighty God, which would surely rest upon him in the prosecution of such an unspeakably benign object. "Will His Majesty deign to hear my most humble and most earnest petition, and graciously put this remedy into application? "I beseech indulgent consideration while, confiding in the nobleness of His Majesty's mind, and in the high wisdom of His Majesty's Ministers, I proceed to describe it. "It consists primarily in nothing more than the full and real accordance to Israelites of the boon which His Majesty's Ministers have informed me has been already designed for them by the Imperial Government--videlicit, "Equal rights with all other subjects of the empire." This great favour bestowed by His Majesty publicly, immediately, and without reserve would, I am deeply persuaded, produce the most beneficial results. It would cancel at once the heavy despondency produced by the degradation of ages; it would call forth the ardent gratitude which I assure your Excellency abounds in the hearts of my brethren, and it would present to His Majesty's other subjects, and to the world at large, a most distinguished proof of His Majesty's paternal mercy, wisdom, condescension, and high magnanimity. "I would not argue that this favour, if it had been granted without limit at other times, and under other circumstances, would have been productive of the same advantages. I would only humbly urge that now at this moment, when the minds of my brethren and of other men have been so powerfully drawn to observe His Majesty's attention to their condition, such a measure must be followed by most happy consequences. "Entering with the deepest respect into the details of this subject, I would most earnestly solicit and supplicate-- "_1st._ That my brethren should enjoy without reserve the fullest and completest right of settling at their own choice in any part of the Russian territory comprised within seventeen governments or provinces, a surface occupying 17,000 square miles, and that to this end His Majesty the Emperor would be most graciously pleased to cancel all laws and customs which prevent them from settling in any towns and villages of the Guberniums of Livonia and Courland, in the cities of Kiew (formerly a most considerable Hebrew congregation), Nicolaiew, and Swatopol, and in the villages situated in the Guberniums of Whitebsk, Mogilew, Tschornigow, and Poltawa, and that His Majesty would further graciously and mercifully deign to cancel entirely the Ukases which order the removal of all Israelites for fifty wersts from the frontiers and sea shores, leaving to summary individual punishment any evil disposed persons who might participate in offences against the revenue, and by His Majesty's great kindness exciting the good and loyal to combine amongst themselves to put down all such nefarious practices, as I faithfully believe that moved by His Majesty's high policy and favour they would do. "_2nd._ That they should be allowed to live in every town or village situated within the already mentioned space of 17,000 square miles without being confined to any particular street or restricted locality, and to establish manufactories. It should be borne in mind that the Hebrew population has greatly increased since the period (December 9, 1804) when they were first confined to the above-named space. From my own observation I can affirm that in many places the Hebrew people live crowded together to such a degree, that four or five families have no more room to occupy than that which would barely suffice for one family in any other Gubernium inhabited by His Majesty's subjects of another creed. "_3rd._ The suspension of the Ukase respecting the removal from the inns in the villages, and permission to the Hebrew inhabitants of the Gubernium of Courland to keep farms, inns, and baiting stables agreeably to an Imperial Ukase of the 13th April 1835-64. "_4th._ The admission of the Hebrew mechanics, artizans, and tradesmen inhabiting Courland into the Christian corporations of their respective trades, or to substitute the privilege of forming their own corporations so that the Israelite might have the advantage of being allowed to keep his journeymen, apprentices, or other assistants to his trade belonging to his own creed or to any other, and thus avert inevitable distress. "_5th._ Permission to Hebrew merchants throughout Russia belonging to any one of the three guilds to travel into the interior of Russia for commercial purposes, and to visit Moscow and St Petersburg with the same freedom as the merchants of other creeds, and the extension of this permission to their agents, and also to mechanics of every description, and to carmen, waggoners, and labourers for the more successful prosecution of their business; of course upon the condition of their being provided with the customary passports. Respecting those individuals who do not belong to any of the four classes, my humble petition to His Majesty's Government would be to permit them to go into the neighbouring Guberniums for the purpose of their making purchases of the produce of the land and necessary provisions. Such privileges to Hebrew merchants and others, instead of being a disadvantage to commercial persons of other creeds, would, I think, operate to their great benefit, for competition and activity are the mainsprings of prosperous commerce, and these elements would become increased universally amongst the trading classes by this act of favour. "_6th._ Permission to re-establish the congregational unions called Kahals, which serve them as their natural point of centralization; and to leave all congregational offices in the hands of Israelites, so that their finances, their charitable institutions, and their minor duties may be under their own administration. This boon would, I am sure, be particularly satisfactory to my brethren, and would especially call forth at the same time their confidence and affection towards His Majesty's person and his Government, and that proper feeling of self-respect without which they cannot be expected to rise from their present condition of despondent degradation. "_7th._ Permission to Israelites to avail themselves of the assistance of Christians in the various occupations of life--a measure which would tend strongly to soften down those feelings of difference which now exist between these two classes of His Majesty's subjects, and to obliterate that line of demarcation which His Majesty and his Government justly regard with so much regret. "_8th._ Permission to the Israelites to live as agriculturists in the vicinity of their Christian neighbours. "_9th._ The right of keeping brewhouses. "_10th._ Promotion from the ranks of Hebrew soldiers or sailors who distinguish themselves in the Imperial army or navy. "_11th._ And, in fine, the removal from the Israelites of all such taxes and restrictions as at present they are made to bear in a greater number and to a greater extent than other classes of His Majesty's subjects, and in particular that of the Sabbath Light, which presses so heavily on the poor. "Such are the general details of the request that I most respectfully solicit your Excellency to lay before His Majesty the Emperor. I most humbly and earnestly pray, that in the great opportunity which Divine Providence has opened to His Majesty, he will raise the fallen, relieve the oppressed, cheer the desolate, and by a high and magnanimous measure of policy set an example which the whole world, and especially my brethren, will never cease to remember with gratitude and admiration. "Your Excellency will observe that what I here entreat in the name of my brethren, as well as in that of every friend of humanity, amounts in fact to nothing more than that which your Excellency's most enlightened and benevolent Sovereign has already accorded to His Hebrew subjects, by the declaration contained in the document with which your Excellency obligingly furnished me. "Under existing circumstances, deprived as they are of the means adverted to in that declaration, of turning their activity to useful objects, and of establishing their prosperity upon a safe basis, poverty, distress, and the annihilation of all hope must be the fate of His Imperial Majesty's most faithful and loyal Hebrew subjects, and indeed they appear already reduced to the lowest depth of distress. "I therefore most humbly approach His Majesty's philanthropic Government with my fervent prayer, that it will be pleased to carry out without delay the good and humane intentions of His Most Gracious Majesty the Emperor, manifested in his decrees. "With respect to the real disposition of my brethren, I feel it right to mention that from communications which I held with the Russian authorities during my permitted visit to the Israelites in His Majesty's dominions, I have reason to think that my co-religionists have been generally exempt from the commission of capital crimes, and that even in regard to ordinary morality and the greater proportion of minor offences, their conduct is of a very exemplary kind. I sincerely hope that this statement will accord with the reports in the possession of His Majesty's Government. I feel confident that His Majesty's Government will reflect upon another pleasing fact of which I was also informed, that the Israelites have never been connected with the formation of any plot or scheme against those in authority, but on the contrary have endeavoured on all occasions to serve their country with earnest zeal, and with most unanimous sacrifices of life and property. As an instance, I shall only mention their exertions in favour of the Empire which they have the happiness to inhabit, during the presence of the French in Russia, in the year 1812, and more particularly in the revolt of the year 1830. On the latter occasion the Israelites were highly gratified by a proclamation, which their magnanimous Monarch caused to be issued in his name, by the Adjutant General Prince Nikolai Andrewitz Dolgarukow, in which His Majesty condescended to express his great satisfaction with my brethren, and, moreover, renewed his assurance to them that they should find in Russia, under the glorious sceptre of their exalted Monarch, a fatherland and security of their property and privileges. "I am happy to repeat my statement to your Excellency that the same loyal sentiments towards His Majesty's Government, which they have invariably cherished, still animate their hearts, and that they embrace with avidity every opportunity to accede to the wishes of the Government. "The following fact will, I trust, bear me out in my assertion. On His Majesty's desiring that the Israelites should change their costume, for which, as having been peculiar to themselves and their ancestors, they had a natural predilection, they have shown their obedience to this desire, though this was not done without considerable pecuniary sacrifice and ruinous loss to many whose warehouses were well provided with furs and silks. "I beg to assure your Excellency they are ready to cultivate the land; they are prepared to undertake any work however laborious; they wish to establish manufactories of every description; they are desirous to cultivate their minds to the best of their power by the study of modern science and literature. Be assured that poverty, restriction, and disproportioned taxation have alone heretofore prevented them from effecting these objects. But it is in the power of His Majesty's Government to raise and revive them all, by simply decreeing the removal of existing impediments to their full enjoyment of all the privileges which their most humane and paternal Emperor has granted them. "I beg to assure your Excellency that I well know how to appreciate the great confidence which His Majesty's Government has placed in me, in granting the privilege of personally witnessing the state of my brethren in Russia. The influence which I flatter myself that I have with them, I have exercised for the purpose of strengthening them in their continual efforts to meet the wishes of His Majesty's Government. "With your Excellency's kind permission I shall have the honour from time to time to address your Excellency on the important matter which forms the subject of my present communication, and to which His Majesty's enlightened Government has devoted itself with so much zeal and humanity. "I shall ever gratefully remember the kindness and attention which your Excellency was always pleased to evince towards me during my stay in the Imperial city, and your Excellency will give me leave to say that my visit to Russia will ever be remembered with heartfelt gratitude for the greatest condescension and humanity of the most illustrious and magnanimous Emperor Nicholas, from whose royal lips I heard that I should have the satisfaction of taking with me his assurances and the assurances of his Ministers that he was desirous to improve the condition of my co-religionists. "In most fervent prayers I unite with two millions of His Majesty's faithful Hebrew subjects, supplicating the most High to grant long life and everlasting glory to their beneficent Sovereign, who we further pray may behold the fruition of his desire to ensure the happiness of every class in his dominions, and thus reap the sincerest gratitude of every humane and philanthropic heart. "It may be proper to observe that, mindful of the condescension and confidence reposed in me by His Imperial Majesty, I consider this report, together with the two reports by which it is accompanied, a private and confidential communication. "In conclusion, I entreat your Excellency's indulgence to pardon the length at which I have ventured to intrude on your Excellency's attention, and with feelings of the most profound respect, I have the honour to be your Excellency's most faithful and devoted humble servant, (Signed) "Moses Montefiore." CHAPTER XLV. 1846. REPORT TO COUNT OUVAROFF ON THE STATE OF EDUCATION AMONG THE JEWS IN RUSSIA AND POLAND--VINDICATION OF THE LOYALTY OF THE JEWS. The report to Count Ouvaroff, Minister of Public Instruction at St Petersburg, was as follows:-- "To His Excellency, le Comte Ouvaroff, Ministre de l'Instruction publique de sa Majesté l'Empereur de Russie, &c., &c., &c. "May it please your Excellency,--The zealous and untiring energy which your Excellency evinces in continual efforts to promote education, and to diffuse amongst all classes of His Imperial Majesty's subjects that important blessing, Knowledge, will, I feel assured, induce you to pardon me if I venture to lay before your Excellency such observations on the present condition of my brethren in Russia, with respect to their educational establishments, as by your Excellency's favour I have been enabled to make. "Previously to my doing so, I beg leave to present my warmest acknowledgments for the very kind and condescending manner in which your Excellency was pleased to convey to me the sentiments of His Imperial Majesty's Government. I shall ever remember with gratitude the assurances your Excellency gave me, that the Russian Government was anxious to promote only such education as is based upon pure religion; that it did not entertain sentiments inimical to the Jewish faith; that on the contrary the Government was anxious to institute with respect to the Israelites such measures as would tend to prove to them the paternal kindness of His Majesty; and that for this reason the Government had called together a Committee of Chief Rabbis, eminent for their piety, in order to gain the perfect confidence of all their brethren. "These assurances enabled me with pleasure to undertake the task, the result of which I now have the honour to submit to your Excellency, feeling convinced that your Excellency's noble and enlightened sentiments will induce you to give a due consideration to a subject of such infinite importance. "It must be to your Excellency a source of the highest gratification to hear that His Imperial Majesty's Hebrew subjects are far from depreciating the advantages which the human mind in general derives from education. Wherever and whenever I had an opportunity of addressing them on that subject, they assured me that they were ever ready most zealously to assist in the promotion of their mental and social improvement, and they joyfully hailed every opportunity presented to them of enriching their minds by pure and wholesome knowledge. 'An Israelite,' they said, 'cannot underrate the value of knowledge. Every page in our history proves the reverse. Our ancestors, from the earliest period of that history, have been remarkable for their zeal to uphold science and literature as the greatest and holiest acquisitions. We refer the enquirer to the works of Bartholocci, Wolf, De Rossi, Rodriguez de Castro, by which it will be at once ascertained that Israelites have always kept pace in useful learning with their neighbours, and that all circumstances considered, they possess in most instances fully as much general knowledge as falls to the share of their non-Israelite fellow-subjects in a corresponding grade of society.' And in corroboration of this statement, I beg to inform your Excellency that many of the Israelites in His Imperial Majesty's dominions have distinguished themselves by their writings in Hebrew theology and literature, and that their works are very highly appreciated by the learned in Germany. 'To improve the mind and promote every kind of useful and sound information which tends to elevate a man before God and his fellow-creatures, they deem to be an important injunction of the sacred law.' I therefore had no difficulty whatever in persuading them of the good intentions which His Majesty's Government entertained with respect to the organisation of schools for their benefit. They overwhelmed me with quotations from the sacred writings, tending to show that with the Israelite it is an imperative duty to give the best effect to such benevolence. "Their notions of religion in general, and of the sacred books which treat thereon, are not less correct, and I had opportunities of hearing them frequently elucidate many Scriptural texts, in a manner which proved to me that they were possessed with the true spirit of their religion, and that they derive from the perusal of the Oral Law such beneficial instruction as must tend to make them faithful to their God, loyal to the Government of the country in which they live, and good men to all their fellow creatures. "Their arguments on this subject, and the excellent quotations which they advanced in support of them, appeared to me to be of so much importance that I cannot forbear submitting them to your Excellency's kind consideration, bearing particularly in mind that the adherents to the Oral Law, as the sacred and only authorized commentary to the holy Scripture, have been represented to your Excellency in a light certainly not calculated to throw much lustre on Israel at large. "The Talmud distinctly forbids us appropriating unlawfully from our neighbour, whether he be Israelite or non-Israelite, any object whatever, even of the smallest value. ('Khoshen Mishpat, Hálákhot Génébah,' ch. ccclxxviii., secs. 1, 2.) Every kind of deception is interdicted without respect to the person subject thereto being Israelite or non-Israelite. (Maimonides, 'Hálákhot Déot,' ch. ii., sec. 6.) By the same authority we are bound to act with equal fairness in the sale of any article, be the purchaser Israelite or the follower of any other faith. ('Khoshen Mishpat,' ch. ccxxviii.; Maimonides, 'Hálákhot Makhiva,' ch. xviii., sec. 1.) That every temptation to do wrong may be avoided, an Israelite is enjoined not to keep under his roof any bad coin, unless he deface it so that it cannot be used as current coin in dealing with any person, whatever be his religious faith. ('Peroosh Hamishnayot tehárámbam Tract Kelim,' ch. xii., Mishna 7.) The prohibition of such practices is understood in the sacred text in Deuteronomy, ch. xxv., v. 16: 'For all that do such things, and all that do unrighteously, are an abomination unto the Lord thy God.' "Principles like these must surely tend to create good feeling between all Israelites and their neighbours of every faith. "Sincere attachment and perfect obedience, the strictest loyalty we are enjoined to evince towards the Government of the country in which we live, and this is a truth, my brethren rightly aver, prominently taught in our sacred writings. Therefore, in the first place, we look upon the monarch, though of another faith and nation, as the anointed of the Lord (Isaiah ch. xlv., v. 1), and consider his Government as a resplendence of the heavenly Government ('Tract Berakhot,' p. 58). We are enjoined to fear the Eternal Being and the King, and not to confederate with those who are given to change (Proverbs xxiv., v. 21). The prophets, in speaking of a non-Israelite ruler, say: 'Serve the King of Babylon, and ye shall live;' and they also command us to 'seek the peace of the city whither the Almighty has caused us to be carried away captives, and pray unto the Lord for it' (Jer. xxix., v. 7). The reverence we are enjoined to testify towards our earthly sovereign is further shown in our glorifying the Almighty Power for conferring a similitude of His boundless Majesty upon a mortal. We are enjoined not to swear against the King even in thought (Kohelit ch. x., v. 20), and to regard the decrees of the Monarch as inviolable ('Tract Baba Kama,' p. 112). We are distinctly ordered not to act in opposition to the King's laws relating to the customs and excise, _even though the Israelite be the most heavily taxed_ ('Baba Kama,' 112; 'Pesakhim,' cxii. p. 2; Maimonides, 'Hálákhot Melakhim,' ch. iv., sec. 1; 'Khoshen Mishpat,' ch. ccclxix., sec. 6); and from the same authority it is incumbent on us to show the same veneration to those who are representatives of the monarch as to himself ('Tract Shébuot,' xlvii. p. 2). "The high esteem in which the Israelite holds every human being who is distinguished by moral and mental qualities, is clearly stated in Maimonides, 'Hálákhot Shemita Weyóbel,' ch. xiii., sec. 13, and of this the most striking confirmation is found in the words of our Talmud ('Baba Kama,' xxxviii. p. 1), where we are told that a Gentile who applies himself to the study of the sacred law is to be held in equal esteem with the High Priest, which is likewise declared in the book 'Tana debé Eliyahoo,' in the beginning of the ninth chapter. "I had another most gratifying instance of the sound and clear perceptions which they have of the pure doctrines of our religion and the traditional commentary to the sacred Scripture, in the sublime elucidation which they gave to that most important point in our creed which refers to the Messiah. "'We are praying for a time,' said they, 'when the ideas of mankind at large are to be noble and sublime; for a time when, as the prophet describes, Gentiles will come to the light of Zion and kings to the brightness of her rising (Isaiah lx., v. 3); when nations will fear the name of the Lord, and all the kings of the earth His glory (Psalms ch. cii., v. 10; Daniel ch. vii., v. 27). "Our sentiments are more distinctly stated by the immortal Maimonides in the following words ('Hálákhot Melakhim,' ch. xii, secs. 4, 5): 'The wise men and the prophets did not desire the advent of the Messiah, that they might attain the power of any terrestrial government, that they should be elevated in worldly rank by the nations, or enjoy every terrestrial comfort. No! this was not the object of their fervent prayer; their object was, in that glorious period, to be enabled to devote themselves wholly and in perfect freedom to the study of the holy law and its sacred literature, through which they might, at the end of their worldly career, attain the bliss of immortality. That period is expected to be full of peace; no war, no disturbance, no hatred; no jealousy between men will then exist; happiness will be the lot of every creature, and the whole world will only be anxious to acquire the knowledge of the law. Then will Israel be enlightened by the Word of God, for the world is to be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, even as the waters cover the sea.' "A most remarkable feature in the purity of that particular article of our creed is, that whilst the prayer for the Messiah regards the welfare of the whole human race, it also strongly inculcates a sentiment that no kind of coercive measures ought to be used by any person for the purpose of hastening the advent of that blissful period. Our Talmud declares that the Omnipotent enjoined the Israelites not to press events to bring on that promised season of peace, nor ever to oppose the nations ('Tract Ketubot," 1. cx. p. 1). "Having made these preliminary remarks, I shall now proceed to describe to your Excellency the state of the schools which I visited in the course of my journey through Russia and Poland. "Being anxious to convince myself of the real condition of my brethren, I often took them by surprise, and I am happy to say, although they had not teachers of profane sciences, still most of the pupils in some schools knew how to write and to read in the Russian, Hebrew, and German languages. In Wilna I found the schools organised agreeably to the command of His Imperial Majesty's Government; they were well provided with competent masters, and the pupils answered most satisfactorily questions in the various branches of tuition--in Latin, Russian, and German grammars, geography, arithmetic, and history. "In Hebrew, however, they could only obtain instruction during three hours each week. The pupils who frequent the gymnasium also attended whilst I was there the schools thus organised, and I had an opportunity of ascertaining that a considerable number of them were well versed in various branches of science and secular education. The girls' schools are in a most flourishing state, and your Excellency will be pleased to hear that the pupils excel in the knowledge of the Russian, Polish, French, Hebrew, and German languages, in addition to their knowledge of geography, Russian history, and arithmetic. With respect to the Talmud Tora schools (your Excellency having expressed so zealous a desire to advance the study of the Hebrew language and its literature), I feel much pleasure in assuring your Excellency that I examined a great number of pupils, and their knowledge of Hebrew was surprising. Sometimes they were addressed in that language, and they translated it into German, or _vice versâ_; on various occasions they continued to recite any sacred text in the Bible after the first word of the chapter or verse was given to them. At Warsaw also I found the schools organised upon the principles laid down by His Imperial Majesty's Government in a flourishing state. The pupils are well versed in the Russian, Polish, French, Hebrew, and German languages, independently of their knowledge of geography, history, arithmetic, and composition. I was equally satisfied in inspecting the girls' school. Like those at Wilna, these schools may be regarded as models, for they are upon an equality with similar establishments in my own country. The school of industry I also found to be a most excellent establishment, which, in the course of time, will confer great benefits upon the rising generation. With respect to the Talmud Tora schools, in which a knowledge of Hebrew language and its literature is exclusively taught, I beg leave to assert that there is not any school in the most distinguished Hebrew congregation in Europe that deserves to rank higher than those established in Warsaw and Wilna. Of the various Hebrew schools which I visited in the smaller towns on my route, I was frequently surprised in a most agreeable manner. At those where I expected it the least the pupils were well acquainted with the Hebrew language and its literature, and on many occasions wrote in my presence various sentences in the Russian, Hebrew, and German languages. "I particularly inquired the reason why the Talmud Tora schools had no professors appointed for the Russian language and other branches of secular science and literature, this deficiency having struck me the more after having heard such powerful arguments in favour of studying these, showing that a knowledge of worldly science and literature, when combined with that of Hebrew and the observance of pure religion, was well adapted to improve an Israelite. The answer to my inquiry was, that they had not the means to procure such professors; that to have a master of that description would have given them the highest pleasure, but that having themselves to contend with innumerable difficulties in obtaining the ordinary and most urgent necessaries of life, they deemed it their first duty morally and religiously to procure, with the limited means they had, such instruction for their children as is essential for the enjoyment of their religion, leaving other kinds of learning for more favourable opportunities. Of their real feeling on this head the following incident is an example. I offered the means of procuring masters for the Russian language, geography, history, writing, and arithmetic in several schools, and my offer was most eagerly accepted, and the following day masters were engaged. "With respect to the inclination of the Israelites to frequent public schools, I found that a considerable number of the Jewish youth do attend these institutions, and many more would do so were it not that a most difficult question arises to their parents, who say, 'We thoroughly appreciate the great advantages derivable from additional acquirements, but what is to become of our children after their minds shall have been so instructed in the higher branches of knowledge and their sensibilities thereby necessarily refined? or how are we to provide them with proper habiliments and books required for the purpose if we can hardly afford to satisfy them with bread?' Very many Israelites are also much afraid that the mode of instruction at some public schools, and at some established for the Israelites exclusively, may induce their children to abjure the Jewish faith, which of course is dear to Israelites, and which they are ready to defend with their lives. For there are schools where persons, who are apostates from the Hebrew religion, are allowed to instruct the pupils, a course of tuition which must give rise to the most painful anxiety in the minds of those by whom that religion is still cherished. "I beg leave now to state, with the most profound respect for your Excellency's judgment on this important subject, that I have given it most serious consideration, and knowing from ample evidence that my brethren in the Russian empire are most anxious to advance their mental and social improvement, I humbly submit to your Excellency that they are in a fit condition for receiving the benefits which their most benevolent and merciful monarch intended to bestow upon them. "My humble petition to your Excellency is, that by your humane and kind intercession supplications may be brought effectually before His Imperial Majesty's Government. "Those supplications I will thus set forth. In the first place, that they may be permitted to have the management themselves of their Hebrew theological schools. This is essential to their dearest sympathies and interests, as no other persons could promote the study of Hebrew literature more effectually. In all regions where civilisation has made any marked progress, wherever its blessings are really experienced, Hebrew literature is regarded as its most precious feature, and all nations ardently cultivate its study and render homage to its worth. May it therefore please the Imperial Government to allow the Israelites themselves, the people by whose agency this boon has been given to mankind, to have the direction of those establishments in which they are to be trained in the true knowledge of their own inalienable inheritance. For the acquirement of knowledge in secular science and literature they should also have the appointment of their own teachers, such whose competency may be approved of by His Majesty's Minister of Public Instruction, or should be allowed to avail themselves of the public educational establishments, subject, of course, to such periodical examinations as may be deemed necessary to test the progress of the pupil. "Secondly, they consider it a just regulation that, in those schools which His Majesty's Government has originated solely for their benefit, no convert from Judaism be appointed a teacher. Particular allusion is here made to the Rabbinical school at Warsaw, where a person who was tutor, whilst belonging to that faith, continues to hold that situation even after having abjured it and embraced another. No permanent satisfaction can result from such an anomaly, which will surely deter sincere Israelites from sending their children to institutions placed in similar circumstances, as they will naturally suppose that His Imperial Majesty's Government encourages conversion, but which I am assured, by a statement from your Excellency, it does not desire. Such appointments of instructors should be made as would remove all misconception on this vitally important subject. "Thirdly, I submit to your Excellency that it is just that the Ukase issued on the 24th November 1836, declaring that all such Hebrew books as are pronounced by the Chief Rabbi not to contain inimicable sentiments to the government of the country, be permitted to remain with the Israelites, do continue in full force, because unfortunately during the last eleven months, the Hebrew libraries of private individuals have been in the hands of the police, and many books which they were authorized to keep by the Chief Rabbi, having thereon his seal and signature, were taken away from them, and even those books on which the Committee of Censors would find nothing wrong, are still kept back by the Committee. May it therefore please your Excellency to order that the books be returned to the owners. "Finally, I have to petition your Excellency to take seriously into consideration all that I have here advanced on my suffering brethren's behalf. Your Excellency, I am aware, entertains the most philanthropic views, and when your Excellency reflects on the earnest desire of my brethren in His Imperial Majesty's dominions to benefit by education in the most comprehensive and useful sense of the word, and the restrictions which as Israelites impede a beneficial progress therein, I am sure that your Excellency's enlightened judgment will accord them your powerful advocacy with His Imperial Majesty's Government. "Your Excellency may indeed believe that I assert as my solemn conviction, that when they shall fully enjoy those privileges and opportunities which their paternal and beneficent Sovereign has designed for them, the result will be surprising to those who have underrated their talents and inclinations, and most gratifying to all who like your Excellency have evinced a sincere desire to promote their welfare, equally with that of the other numerous people over whom His Imperial Majesty reigns.--I have the honour to be, with the highest consideration and the most profound respect, your Excellency's most faithful servant. (Signed) "Moses Montefiore." CHAPTER XLVI. 1846. REPORT TO COUNT KISSELEFF ON THE STATE OF THE JEWS IN POLAND--PROTEST AGAINST THE RESTRICTIONS TO WHICH THEY WERE SUBJECTED. The last of the three important reports made by Sir Moses Montefiore to the Ministers of the Emperor of Russia was to Count Kisseleff, and ran as follows:-- "To his Excellency Le Comte de Kisseleff, Ministre du domaine de l'Empire de sa Majesté l'Empereur de Russie, &c., &c., &c. "May it please your Excellency,--My first and principal report had reference, as your Excellency will have seen, to the condition and wants of my brethren in Russia. In obedience, however, to the permission which His Majesty the Emperor most graciously gave me, and to your Excellency's most benevolent desire, it is incumbent on me to make some remarks (which for the sake of clearness I prefer submitting in a distinct paper) in regard to those who are inhabitants of the kingdom of Poland. In so doing, I would humbly beseech His Majesty the Emperor, your Excellency, and His Majesty's Government at large, so far as it may be made acquainted with the subject, to receive such remarks, and any requests that may stand connected with them, with great and indulgent consideration. "Humble as is my position in life, when compared with the most exalted stations of the high persons to whom I venture to address myself, I nevertheless have laid upon me by the high benevolence itself which I have experienced, a heavy responsibility to Almighty God, to His Majesty the Emperor and his Government, to my brethren, and I believe to the whole civilized world. "I most sincerely believe that the human race at large would experience solid and lasting benefit, if His Majesty would deign to carry out fully and completely his gracious expressions of desire for the welfare of his Hebrew subjects. With these views I would most humbly and earnestly supplicate that the great and sublime course of proceeding already commenced by His Majesty, which I have ventured to solicit for the Israelites in Russia, should be extended as fully to those of my brethren who are resident in Poland. I supplicate the powerful Russian Government to prove to the whole civilized world that the amelioration of the condition of the Hebrew race, for which it is so graciously desirous, can be produced with completeness and effect, by measures that would appeal to the gratitude and love of a loyal and warm-hearted people. "Permit me in the first place to direct your Excellency's attention to two paragraphs, the fifth and seventh of the Organization Statute of Poland promulgated in the year 1832, and which are immediately connected with the subject in question. "Therein His Majesty the Emperor and King of Poland declares that 'the difference from the Christian modes of worship cannot be regarded as a cause of exclusion to any person whatever from the rights and privileges granted to all other inhabitants professing the Christian religion. "'The protection of the law equally extends to all the inhabitants of the kingdom without any distinction of rank or social condition.' "With the profoundest respect I will now proceed to lay before your Excellency the following brief enumeration of serious restrictions under which my brethren in Poland are weighed down. "_1st._ Concerning their confined habitations. "(_a_) There are towns in Poland in which Israelites are never allowed to reside. "(_b_) In these towns or marts where they have permission to live it extends only to a few streets. "(_c_) From every habitation situated near the high roads they are entirely excluded. "(_d_) They are prohibited from settling within three geographical miles of the frontier, which, in a country of the dimensions of Poland, excludes them from a considerable tract of territory. "_2nd._ Regarding mechanics (trade). "(_a_) An Israelite following any trade or mechanical operation is not allowed to keep apprentices, neither can he declare such as journeymen. This naturally involves the Hebrew mechanic in innumerable difficulties, for he is entirely dependent upon his own personal exertions, and can never avail himself of the assistance of his fellow-mechanics. "(_b_) He is prohibited from working with a Christian master, and in consequence of his not being acknowledged as a master among the corporations, he is always considered as a person who injures the trade. "_3rd._ With respect to agriculture, crown lands, or ecclesiastical property. "The Israelite is prohibited from taking on lease, nor is he ever allowed to be the proprietor of any lands, however small in extent; for even the property of private individuals he can only rent by paying heavy taxes for the patent, and then even is not allowed to employ Christian assistants. "_4th._ Additional taxes. "(_a_) An Israelite has to pay a tax of three kopecs, besides the usual tax, upon each pound of beef or veal lawfully prepared for his use; fifteen kopecs silver for a turkey, five kopecs silver for a fowl, eight kopecs silver for a duck, and nine kopecs silver for a goose. "(_b_) A Hebrew labourer living in the vicinity of Warsaw cannot enjoy the advantage of bringing his goods or the produce of his land into the capital, there being a law that every Israelite from the provinces who comes to town should pay, daily, ten silver kopecs for permission to stay, and seven and a-half silver kopecs for the duty on the stamp. "(_c_) An Israelite dealing in spirituous liquors lies exclusively under taxes for such a privilege. Thus an individual having a brewhouse and brandy distillery has to pay 25 dollars to the City Exchequer, 66-2/3 dollars to the finances of the State, 66-2/3 for the distillery, 66-2/3 for the brewery, amounting to 291-2/3 dollars annually; and although he pays for such a privilege dearly, he cannot bequeath it to his child, for only those are allowed to enjoy it who obtained permission in the year 1809. "_5th._ Other restrictions. "(_a_) An Israelite is not allowed to appear as a witness in a case of lawsuit against a Christian, for his evidence is not considered valid. The great injury he must sustain from such a law or practice is incalculable. "(_b_) As soldiers, although they may distinguish themselves in the army or navy, they are not permitted to rise in rank. The mode of enrolling recruits is also most painful; for, notwithstanding a distinct decree having been issued by His Majesty's Government in the year 1843, that recruits should be given up to the authorities by the community, without the interference of any officer, still great wrongs are committed by some of the petty officers, which cause the ruin of numerous families. "(_c_) They have not the advantage, like other subjects of His Majesty, of renting the local revenues derived from the sale of spirits. Not, however, that I would consider this restriction a hardship, excepting so far as it is a distinctive mark upon the Israelites in Poland. "(_d_) They are excluded from the great advantages derivable from the acquirement of science and literature, by being prohibited from following the professions of chemists, architects, lawyers, and several other similar avocations. "Like their brethren in Russia, the Israelites of Poland are accused of great aversion to every kind of manual labour, preferring to gain a livelihood by devotion to petty commerce. It is alleged also, that they are disinclined to agriculture, avoid every mechanical pursuit, and defraud the Government of the excise and customs; that they distinguish themselves from the rest of the inhabitants by their particular costume; and finally, that the precepts of their religion, to which they most scrupulously adhere, are of antisocial tendency. "I entreat your Excellency's kind consideration of the few observations which I deem it essential to offer, in reference to the foregoing imputations. The statistical accounts of Poland shew that, in proportion to the number of Hebrew inhabitants, there are more mechanics amongst them than amongst any other class of His Majesty's Polish subjects; they devote themselves to the most laborious occupations, and it may be easily ascertained that there is not only a great number of Hebrew brickmakers, blacksmiths, paviors, and carpenters, but there may be found two thousand Israelites who break stones on the chaussees. As a most striking instance, I shall name to your Excellency a small town of the name of Kalnary, where there exist no less than 486 families following mechanical pursuits, amongst a Hebrew population of 1500 families, as I believe may be proved by the official accounts of the police. "Your Excellency, I am confident, will be of opinion that it may be justly inferred, if, under the restrictions against which the Hebrew mechanic has daily to contend, he still perseveres in his pursuits with honesty, and remains spotless in his character, this class of persons would be greatly augmented if all those obstacles were to be removed which now press so heavily on industrial exertion. "With respect to agriculture, permit me to mention that in the year 1823, when the decree was issued, under his late Majesty, the Emperor Alexander of blessed memory, that the Polish Jews should cultivate the land, though they were denied the privilege of becoming proprietors, and though they had to contend with various other restrictions connected with agriculture, under the hand of an Israelite, to which I have already alluded in the preceding pages, nevertheless a considerable number of them offered themselves to cultivate the land, but, unfortunately, could not succeed in their applications. The local authorities always replied to the petitioners that the land in question was not qualified for them as Israelites, that they should look out for some other piece of ground which the Government could dispose of to them. In consequence of these answers, the applicants petitioned for a list of all the land which might be accessible to Israelites, yet I regret to say that twenty-three years have since passed without any reply having been given to this humble request. Thus circumstanced, they petitioned to the effect that the wealthier classes amongst them might be permitted to purchase land from private individuals, either to cultivate the same in person, or to let it out in small portions to the poor, yet under the condition that the space of land should not extend to more than would be sufficient for five or ten farmers to cultivate. Moreover, the proposed purchasers declared their willingness to relinquish any right and privilege any other (non-Israelite) proprietor of land might be entitled to. They went still further, for in their anxious desire to secure the honest object of their petition, they offered the forfeiture of the land in case any of the parties connected with its agriculture were to be found withdrawing from personally cultivating it, or were to be proved guilty of calling in Christian peasants, however few, for the assistance of the new agriculturists. "I have no doubt that, equally with their Russian brethren, the Israelites of Poland are most desirous to adopt agricultural pursuits. "It has been charged against the Israelites of Poland, that they do not render any personal service to the country in which they live. This charge might not have been without foundation eighteen or twenty years ago, when they paid an annual tribute of many hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of being exempted from personal military service, but not so at present, for many thousand Israelites have evinced their devotion to the cause of their native land, by sacrificing their lives on numerous occasions, and their services in the army and in the navy have already been appreciated by their exalted Monarch himself. "With respect to the peculiar costume which most of the Israelites have been accustomed to wear for many centuries, from what I had an opportunity of seeing I can assure your Excellency that most of them have already adopted the European habit, and I have not the least doubt that, in the course of time, the ancient dress will have entirely disappeared. It is erroneous to suppose that the ancient costume is enjoined by, or has any foundation in religion. Such is not the fact. It originated from a decree of the Government in existence three hundred years ago, when the Israelites were commanded under a most severe punishment to assume this garb to distinguish them as members of the Jewish faith. The truth of this statement may be ascertained by referring to 'Vol. Leg. Polon. Sub. Anno 1538,' Vol. I., p. 254. "Having now, as I trust to the satisfaction of your Excellency, refuted all the arguments which have hitherto been held of sufficient moment to deprive many hundred thousands of Israelites of the rights and privileges which, as faithful subjects, they, in accordance with His Imperial Majesty's humane intention, ought to enjoy, I most humbly implore His Majesty's Government in its great wisdom to remove from His Majesty's Hebrew subjects all restrictions which may prove obstacles to their honest pursuits in life, and in particular those restrictions which I have previously alluded to, and which I have endeavoured to classify. "Possibly your Excellency, though animated with the noblest feelings of humanity, may, in the fulfilment of the duty your high position imposes, deem it necessary to call my attention to the existence of certain restrictions which, on account of the pecuniary advantages the State derives from them, cannot easily be removed; such, for instance, as the meat tax, which annually amounts, to 300,000 silver roubles. But in answer to this, permit me to observe that in conformity to His Majesty's most gracious decree issued in the year 1817, the Israelites were, on entering the army or navy, to be free from paying the exemption money, and in addition to this were to enjoy the same privileges in every respect as all the other inhabitants of the country. "The Israelites are now acting to the very letter of the Imperial Ukase, for they serve personally in the army and navy, and are acknowledged to be good, brave, and faithful. I submit, therefore, that they are now entitled to the same privileges as are granted to all other inhabitants, and as a matter of course, to be free from the payment of exemption money. Considerations of economy will not, I feel persuaded, be permitted to overrule the just and humane intentions of His Imperial Majesty. "I entreat your Excellency distinctly to understand that I have not written with this comparative brevity on the subject of the Israelites in Poland, because I think their position less deserving the attention of the Imperial Government than that of the Russian brethren. On the contrary, in Poland affliction and degradation are the more severe; and what stronger fact can be offered in support of the urgency of the claim of the Israelites of the last named country on the justice and humanity of His Imperial Majesty than this, that these persons constitute one fourth of the whole population. "I have written less fully concerning my Polish brethren, only because I am most unwilling to trespass more than my absolute duty requires upon the gracious consideration which I supplicate; and I would further observe, that my report as to my brethren in Russia has been drawn up with the intention that those who are resident in Poland should be included in its general arguments. "It would be to me a source of the deepest regret, if from any observations made in this or the preceding letter the impressions were produced on the mind of His Majesty that I had responded to his most gracious conduct towards me by a tone of unsuitable complaint in regard to the state of my brethren. Such a course, I earnestly assure your Excellency, I have been most desirous to avoid. I have given the most anxious care to the investigation of the facts to which I have adverted, and I have made no representation of the truth of which I have not received very strong evidence. "I have endeavoured to elucidate the causes which tend to produce the evils to which I have directed the attention of your Excellency, and if I have commented on them with frankness, I trust it will be conceded that this was my duty, and that in so doing I have best fulfilled the wishes of His Imperial Majesty, who, by experience, I know to be as condescending as he is powerful. "I therefore call upon the unbounded justice of His Majesty's Government; I pray, in the name of suffering humanity, to that most exalted and mighty Monarch, whose noble heart is filled with love and deep affection towards his faithful subjects, to consider the case of my brethren, and show mercy to the many hundred thousands of them who daily send up to the Eternal Ruler of myriads of worlds their most devout and fervent prayers to prolong the glorious life of His Majesty, their Emperor and King. I feel myself in sacred duty bound to impress upon your Excellency's noble mind that the benign words I had the honour of hearing from your illustrious person, to promote the welfare of Israel, was one of the principal causes which emboldened me to lay the case of my brethren so close at your heart. I therefore entreat your Excellency's powerful influence with His Majesty's Government on behalf of those who look up for help with the greatest anxiety to their benevolent and magnanimous Sovereign. "Everlasting blessings will be showered down from Him in whose hand the welfare of every creature lies upon the exalted throne of His Imperial Majesty. Generation to generation will proclaim his glory and righteousness; every mouth will sing praise to the Lord, and every heart will bear gratitude for being permitted to live under the benign rays of the merciful sceptre of Russia.--I have the honour to be, with the highest consideration and the most profound respect, your Excellency's most faithful servant, (Signed) "Moses Montefiore." CHAPTER XLVII. 1847. THE CZAR'S REPLY TO SIR MOSES' REPRESENTATIONS--COUNT OUVAROFF'S VIEWS--SIR MOSES AGAIN WRITES TO COUNT KISSELEFF--SIR MOSES IS CREATED A BARONET. The reports given in the foregoing chapters were forwarded to Lord Bloomfield, the British Ambassador at St Petersburg, who in letter dated January 3rd, 1847, informed Sir Moses that he had forwarded them to their respective addresses. Lord Bloomfield, having read the reports, adds: "I need scarcely assure you that I have perused them with great interest, and have gleaned much useful information from this result of your labours." Count Kisseleff prefaces his reply to Sir Moses, dated November 5th, 1847, with the following words:-- "Monsieur,--J'ai en l'honneur de recevoir les deux memoires que vous avez bien voulu m'adresser en date du 10 Novembre dernier (1846) sur la situation des Israélites de l'Empire et du Royaume de Pologne. L'une et l'autre de ces pieces out été placées sous les yeux de l'Empereur, et Sa Majésté Impériale, appréciant les sentimens de philantropie qui les out dictées, a daigné a cette occasion exprimer une fois de plus tout l'intérêt qu' Elle porte à Ses sujets Israélites, dont le bien-être et l'avancement moral ne cesseront d'être l'objet de sa constante sollicitude. "Vos deux mémoires seront portés, par ordre de l'Empereur, à la connaissance du Comité, et serviront à appeler son attention sur différens détails. Cette disposition vous prouvera, combien Sa Majésté Impériale s'est plue à rendre justice aux intentions qui ont dicté votre travail et à l'esprit dans lequel il est conçu. "Agréez, Monsieur, l'assurance de ma considération distinguée, "Le Cte. de Kisseleff." (_Translation._) "Sir,--I have had the honour to receive the two memorials which you addressed to me on the 10th of November last (1846) respecting the situation of the Israelites in the Empire and in the Kingdom of Poland. "Both documents have been placed before the Emperor, and His Imperial Majesty, appreciating the feelings of humanity which have dictated them, has been pleased to express once more the interest which he takes in his Israelite subjects, whose welfare and moral advancement will not cease to be the object of his constant solicitude. "Your two memorials will be brought to the knowledge of the Committee, by order of the Emperor, and they will serve to direct its attention to various details. This proceeding will show you how much His Imperial Majesty has been pleased to do justice to the intentions which have dictated your labour, and to the spirit in which it has been conceived.--I have the honour to be, &c., "Count Kisseleff." Count Ouvaroff, the Minister of Public Instruction, acknowledged the receipt of the report addressed to him as follows:-- "Monsieur,--J'ai reçu la lettre que vous m'avez fait l'honneur de m'adresser en date du 10 Novembre 1846. Vos observations, sur l'état, de nos écoles Israélites, m'ont vivement intéressé, et je vous sais gré de les juger favorablement car ce ne sont que les premiers commencements, d'une ère nouvelle dans l'éducation de vos corréligionaires en Russie. Il est cependant permis d'espérer que l'organisation des fonds, spécialement destinés à cet effet, nous applanira la voie des améliorations désirées. "Quant à votre sollicitude sur l'éducation réligieuse des Israélites, vous connaissez, Monsieur, mes sentiments à cet égard et vous avez pu apprécier vous-même le soin, avec lequel on évite dans nos reglements scolaires tout ce qui pourvait choquer, leurs moeurs on exciter leur susceptibilité réligieuse. "Agréez, Monsieur, l'assurance de ma considération distinguée. "Le Cte. Ouvaroff." "St Petersbourg, "_ce 26 Février_ _______________ "_10 Mars 1847._" (_Translation._) "Sir,--I have received the letter which you did me the honour to address to me under date of November 10th, 1846. "Your observations on the state of our Israelite schools have greatly interested me, and I thank you for expressing a favourable opinion of them, as they are only the first beginning of a new era in the education of your co-religionists in Russia. But we may be permitted to hope that the organisation of the funds specially intended for this purpose will smooth the way to the desired improvements. "With regard to your solicitude about the religious education of the Israelites, you know my feeling with regard to this matter, and you were able to judge for yourself of the care we take to avoid in our school regulation all that could give offence to their observances or awaken their religious susceptibilities." (Signed) "Count Ouvaroff." Sir Moses, with a view of both conveying his gratitude to the Ministers for their very courteous communications and of making an additional effort to impress on their minds the object of his visit to Russia, addressed each of them again in a special letter. To Count Kisseleff he wrote (1848):-- "May it please your Excellency,--I have had the honour to receive, through the kindness of Baron Brunnow, your Excellency's esteemed favour of the 5th November last, the contents of which were highly gratifying to me. "I was delighted to learn that the reports (in which, by His Imperial Majesty's gracious permission, I was enabled to represent the condition of the Russian and Polish subjects of His Imperial Majesty professing the Jewish faith) had come under the personal notice of the Emperor, that on that occasion His Imperial Majesty was pleased to reiterate his anxious desire to promote the welfare of his Jewish subjects, and that by His Imperial Majesty's directions, these reports would be submitted to the consideration of the Committee specially appointed to investigate the state of the Jews in the vast Empire of His Imperial Majesty, so that the attention of the Committee might be called to the several details contained in such reports. These evidences of His Imperial Majesty's paternal solicitude have made a deep impression on my heart, and cannot fail to be gratefully appreciated by every friend of humanity. "The sentiments which your Excellency has been pleased to express in the name of the Emperor, fully confirm the high opinion of His Majesty's exalted principles, entertained by myself in common with all who have had the good fortune to visit the numerous nations living under His Majesty's benignant sway. "I notice with sincerest satisfaction that the honourable committee in question have at present under consideration a measure to facilitate the presence of my co-religionists, for commercial purposes, in the capitals of Russia, and also the allowance of the privilege to cultivate land in the vicinity of Christian settlements. "These acts of His Majesty's high favour cannot fail to elevate the commercial standing of His Majesty's Jewish subjects, and by affording them still greater encouragement, to the maintenance of social intercourse with their fellow countrymen of other religious denominations, must necessarily lead to the improvement of all as citizens of one great Empire. "I am confidently convinced that my brethren in Russia and Poland understand and appreciate the benevolent intentions of His Imperial Majesty; that they feel assured that the Emperor's sole object is to improve their condition, and that they are impressed with the conviction that their truest wisdom will be to acquiesce cheerfully in the measures designed for their welfare by their powerful and enlightened Sovereign, and to adopt with alacrity the course which, in his paternal care, His Majesty may direct. "The gracious reception which His Imperial Majesty has already given to my reports, emboldens me to hope that the existing restrictions calculated to impede the well-being of my Russian brethren will be speedily removed. By this means I feel assured will not only their happiness and prosperity be promoted, but their character as good, useful, and most loyal subjects will be abundantly testified. "I trust that the documents to which I have referred will satisfy the Committee that the Israelites of His Majesty's Empire are not of an idle disposition, but, on the contrary, most of them are anxious to cultivate land, and even pray for such occupation, and that under the fostering protection of His Imperial Majesty they will gladly apply themselves to industrial pursuits. "On the whole, my heart is filled with hope that the honourable and distinguished Committee will take into consideration, the circumstances of extreme misery in which the great body of Israelites in His Majesty's Empire is placed, and that the Committee will kindly and speedily proceed to the arduous, but noble and sacred, task of carrying out the intentions of His Imperial Majesty to a most happy and glorious conclusion. "In fine I beg to express to your Excellency my sincerest acknowledgments for the kind and condescending manner in which your Excellency was pleased to convey to me your very gratifying communication; and with fervent prayers that your Excellency may soon find the happy opportunity of signifying to me some good tidings of the progress which may have been made in the further extension of His Imperial Majesty's favour to my brethren, I have the honour to remain, with the most profound respect, your Excellency's humble servant, (Signed) "Moses Montefiore." We now return to the diary of 1846, in the entries of which, from June 20th to the end of the year, we find a succession of pleasing evidences of the motives which prompted him and Lady Montefiore to undertake the journey to Russia. In an interview which he had with Sir Robert Peel, the latter told him that he would be happy to do everything, either privately or publicly, to forward his benevolent objects; that he would write to Count Nesselrode to say that he had seen the favourable impression made on the public mind by Sir Moses' report of the promises made to him; and that, if His Excellency rightly valued its effect, those promises would in the result be confirmed by their strict fulfilment. _June 28th._--Sir Robert conveyed to Sir Moses, in a letter dated from Osborne, Isle of Wight, the gratifying news that Her Majesty had conferred on him the dignity of Baronet of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. "I have the satisfaction of acquainting you," he writes, "that the Queen has been graciously pleased to confer on you the dignity of a baronet. This mark of Royal favour is bestowed upon you in consideration of your high character and eminent position in the ranks of a loyal and estimable class of Her Majesty's subjects agreeing with you in religious profession, and in the hope that it may aid your truly benevolent efforts to improve the social condition of the Jews in other countries by temperate appeals to the justice and humanity of their rulers." The honour thereby conferred on Sir Moses by Her Majesty was not only a cause of great happiness to himself, individually, but also a source of the highest gratification to all his brethren in the British Empire and on the continent, inasmuch as it undoubtedly manifested Her Majesty's solicitude for the welfare of all the Jews in other parts of the world. A deputation from the elders of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews Synagogue, headed by their President, Mr Hananel de Castro, waited on Sir Moses to request, in the name of their co-religionists, that he would sit for his portrait, to be placed in the Vestry-room, to which he consented. Sir George Hamilton, whom he had requested, when at Berlin, to present a petition to the King of Prussia in favour of the Jews at Krakau, informs him (June 12th) that, when dining with his Majesty at Sans Souci, he had an opportunity of speaking to him on the subject which Sir Moses had entreated him to explain to His Majesty. "The King," he wrote, "was very gracious on the occasion;" and he sent to His Majesty the petition prepared by Sir Moses. The King regretted very much not to have seen him at Berlin, and wished Sir Moses could have remained there until his return. The good offices rendered by Sir George in engaging His Majesty's favourable consideration on the subject became a cause of much happiness to Sir Moses. _July 11th._--He attended the Lord Mayor's grand entertainment given to His Highness Ibrahim Pasha. His Lordship introduced him to the latter before dinner, and proposed his health to the company, which was extremely well received. Sir Moses concludes his diary for the year with expressions of deep gratitude to Heaven for all mercies bestowed on him and his affectionate consort. END OF VOL. I. Transcriber's Note: Some Hebrew text has been transliterated into Latin characters if one was not already provided. These passages are marked with [Hebrew] where they occur. 
36126	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) Transcriber's note Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other inconsistencies are as in the original. Characters that could not be displayed directly in Latin-1 are transcribed as follows: _ - italics ^ - superscript YALE HISTORICAL MANUSCRIPTS I PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY FROM THE INCOME OF THE FREDERICK JOHN KINGSBURY MEMORIAL FUND A Journey to Ohio in 1810 As Recorded in the Journal of MARGARET VAN HORN DWIGHT Edited with an Introduction by MAX FARRAND New Haven YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS Printed in the United States of America First published, October, 1912 Second printing, December, 1912 Third printing, December, 1913 Fourth printing, April, 1920 Fifth printing, October, 1933 All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publishers. INTRODUCTION "If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue;" and Rosalind might well have added that a good story needs no prologue. The present journal is complete in itself, and it is such a perfect gem, that it seems a pity to mar its beauty by giving it any but the simplest setting. There are many readers, however, with enough human interest to wish to know who Rosalind really was, and to be assured that she "married and lived happily ever after." That is the reason for this introduction. Margaret Van Horn Dwight was born on December 29, 1790. She was the daughter of Doctor Maurice William Dwight, a brother of President Timothy Dwight of Yale, and Margaret (DeWitt) Dwight. The death of her father in 1796, and the subsequent marriage of her mother, was probably the reason for Margaret Dwight being taken by her grandmother, Mary Edwards Dwight, a daughter of Jonathan Edwards, who trained her as her own child in her family in Northampton. The death of her grandmother, February 7, 1807, was the occasion of her going to live in New Haven in the family of her aunt, Elizabeth Dwight, who had married William Walton Woolsey, and whose son was President Theodore Woolsey. Three years later, in 1810, Margaret Dwight left New Haven to go to her cousins in Warren, Ohio. It was doubtless there that she met Mr. Bell, whom she married, December 17, 1811, a year after her arrival. William Bell, Jr., was born in Ireland, February 11, 1781, and after 1815 he was a wholesale merchant in Pittsburgh. The family genealogy formally records that Margaret Dwight Bell became the mother of thirteen children, that she died on October 9, 1834, and that she was "a lady of remarkable sweetness and excellence, and devotedly religious." Family tradition adds a personal touch in relating that her home was a center of hospitality and that she herself was active and very vivacious. The journal of the rough wagon trip to Ohio in 1810 was evidently kept by Margaret Dwight in fulfilment of a promise to her cousin, Elizabeth Woolsey, to whom it was sent as soon as the journey was over. A good many years later the journal was given to a son of the author, and the original is now in the possession of a granddaughter, Miss Katharine Reynolds Wishart of Waterford, Pennsylvania. It has been well cared for and is in excellent condition, except that the first two pages are missing. This is of less importance from the fact that two independent copies had been made. The text of the journal here printed is taken from the original manuscript, and is reproduced as accurately as typographical devices permit. MAX FARRAND. A JOURNEY TO OHIO Milford Friday Eve. at Capt Pond's. Shall I commence my journal, my dear Elizabeth, with a description of the pain I felt at taking leave of all my friends, or shall I leave you to imagine?--The afternoon has been spent by me in the most painful reflections & in almost total silence by my companions- I have thought of a thousand things unsaid, a thousand kindnesses unpaid with thanks that I ought to have remembered more seasonably; and the neglect of which causes me many uneasy feelings- my neglecting to take leave of Sally, has had the same effect- I hope she did not feel hurt by it, for it proceeded from no want of gratitude for her kindness to me. I did not imagine parting with any friend could be so distressing as I found leaving your Mama. I did not know till then, how much I loved her & could I at that moment have retraced my steps! but it was too late to repent-- Deacon Wolcott & his wife are very kind, obliging, people, & Miss Wolcott is a very pleasant companion, I do not know what I should do without her. We came on to Butler's this afternoon & I came immediately down to Uncle Pond's & drank tea. Miss W. came with me & both Uncle & Aunt invited her to stay and sleep with me, which she accordingly did. Cousin Patty has been with me, to say good bye, to all my friends, & to-morrow we proceed to Stamford. Sat. night, D. Nash's Inn. Middlesex- We had a cold, unsociable ride today, each one of us being occupied in thinking of the friends we had left behind & of the distance, which was every moment increasing, between them & us. Mrs W has left an aged father in the last stages of consumption, that was a sufficient excuse for silence on her part. Mr W. made several attempts to dispel & by kind words & _phebeish_[A] looks but without success; he appears to be a very fond husband. We stopt to _eat oats_ at a Tavern in Fairfield, West Farms, an old Lady came into the room where Miss W. (whose name, by the way, is Susan, not Hannah, Sally, or Abby) & we were sitting. "Well! Gals where are you going?" "To New Connecticut" "You bant tho- To New Connecticut? Why what a long journey! do you ever expect to get there? How far is it?" "Near 600 miles" "Well Gals, you Gals & your husbands with you?" "No Ma'am"- "Not got your husbands! Well I don't know- they say there's wild Indians there!" The poor woman was then call'd out to her daughter (the mistress of the house) who she told us has been ill five months with a swelling & she had come that afternoon to see it _launch'd_ by the Physicians who were then in the house-- She went out but soon return'd & told us they were "cutting her poor child all to pieces"- She did not know but she should as lieve see a wild Indian as to see that scene over again-- I felt very sorry for the poor old Lady- I could not help smiling at the comparison. The country we pass thro' till we are beyond N. York, I need not describe to you, nor indeed could I; for I am attended by a very unpleasant tho' not uncommon, companion- one to whom I have bow'd in subjection ever since I left you-Pride-- It has entirely prevented my seeing the country lest I should be known-- You will cry "for shame" & so did I but it did no good- I could neither shame nor reason it away, & so I suppose it will attend me to the mountains, then I am sure it will bid me adieu- "for you know the proverb" 'pride dwelleth not among the mountains'- I don't certainly know where this proverb is to be found, but Julia can tell you- for if I mistake not it is on the next page to "There is nothing sweet" &c- I do not find it so unpleasant riding in a waggon as I expected-nor am I very much fatigued with it- but four weeks to ride all the time, is fatigueing to think of- We came on to Nash's tavern where we found no company excepting one gentleman who looks like a D^r Susannah (M^r Nash's granddaughter) says he is a "particular bit" one who likes good eating & a great deal of waiting upon, better than he likes to pay for it- Here we stay over the Sabbath. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: For the description at the word _Phebeish_, the reader is referred to Miss Julia.] Sunday eve-- This morning Susannah came & invited us to attend meeting- we at first refused but I afterwards chang'd my mind, & "took a notion" (as Susannah told her friends to whom she did me the honour to introduce me) to go- so taking an apple to eat on the road we set out for the church- It was "situated on an eminence" but was a small old wooden building-The minister; who I found was brother to M^r Fisher, Susannah told me was not very well liked by some "he hadn't so good a gait to deliver his sermons as some," but she believ'd he was a very serious good man- She then gave me his history but I cannot spend time to give it to you- - The sermon had nothing very striking in it but if I had time I would write you the text heads &c just to let you see I remember it, though I fear it has done me no good for I heard it like a stranger and did not realize that I was interested in it _at_ all- I was entirely of Susannah's opinion respecting the preacher, for I thought his "gait to deliver" was better than his voice, for he has a most terrible _nasal twang_--Before we got home at noon, I had found out the squire & half the parish, Susannah's history & many other _interesting_ things which I have almost forgotten--I saw 4 or 5 well dress'd good looking girls, & as many young men answering the first part of the description, one of whom was chorister- & another, from the resemblance he bears them, I imagine must be brother to Miss Haines or the N York Sexton---- I went all day to meeting & am now very tir'd, for our walk was a very long one, I should think almost 2 miles each way which would make almost 4 miles for one poor sermon---- October 22- Monday- Cook's inn--County West Chester-- I never will go to New Connecticut with a _Deacon_ again, for we put up at every byeplace in the country to _save expence_- It is very grating to my pride to go into a tavern & furnish & cook my own provision- to ride in a wagon &c &c- but that I can possibly get along with- but to be oblig'd to pass the night in such a place as we are now in, just because it is a little cheaper, is more than I am willing to do- I should even rather drink clear rum out of the wooden bottle after the deacon has drank & wip'd it over with his band, than to stay here another night-- The house is very small & very dirty- it serves for a tavern, a store, & I should imagine hog's pen stable & every thing else- The air is so impure I have scarcely been able to swallow since I enter'd the house- The landlady is a fat, dirty, ugly looking creature, yet I must confess very obliging- She has a very suspicious countenance & I am very afraid of her- She seems to be master, as well as mistress & storekeeper, & from the great noise she has been making directly under me for this half hour, I suspect she has been "stoning the raisins & watering the rum"- All the evening there has been a store full of noisy drunken fellows, yet M^r Wolcott could not be persuaded to bring in but a small part of the baggage, & has left it in the waggon before the door, as handy as possible- Miss W's trunk is in the bar-room unlock'd the key being broken today- it contains a bag of money of her father's, yet she could not persuade him to bring it up stairs-- I feel so uneasy I cannot sleep & had therefore rather write than not this hour- some one has just gone below stairs after being as I suppos'd in bed this some time- for what purpose I know not-unless to go to our trunks or waggon- the old woman, (for it was her who went down,) tells me I must put out my candle so good night---- Tuesday Morn--I went to bed last night with fear & trembling, & feel truly glad to wake up & find myself alive & well- if our property is all safe, we shall have double cause to be thankful-- The old woman kept walking about after I was in bed, & I then heard her in close confab with her husband a long time-- Our room is just large enough to contain a bed a chair & a very small stand- our bed has one brown sheet & one pillow- the sheet however appear'd to be clean, which was more than we got at Nash's- there we were all oblig'd to sleep in the same room without curtains or any other screen- & our sheets there were so dirty I felt afraid to sleep in them- We were not much in favor at our first arrival there; but before we left them, they appear'd quite to like us- & I don't know why they should not, for we were all very clever, notwithstanding we rode in a waggon-- M^rs Nash said she should reckon on't to see us again (Miss W & me) so I told her that in 3 years she might expect to see me- She said I should never come back alone, that I would certainly be married in a little while- but I am now more than ever determin'd not to oblige myself to spend my days there, by marrying should I even have an opport^y-- I am oblig'd to write every way so you must not wonder at the badness of the writing- I am now in bed & writing in my lap- Susan has gone to see if our baggage is in order-- I hear the old woman's voice talking to the good deacon- & an "I beg your pardon" comes out at every breath almost--Oh I cannot bear to see her again she is such a disgusting object-- The men have been swearing & laughing in the store under me this hour- & the air of my room is so intolerable, that I must quit my writing to go in search of some that is _breathable_- I don't know how far I shall be oblig'd to go for it- but there is none very near I am certain-- Having a few moments more to spare before we set out, with my book still in my lap, I hasten to tell you we found everything perfectly safe, & I believe I wrong'd them all by suspicions--The house by day light looks worse then ever- every kind of thing in the room where they live- a chicken half pick'd hangs over the door- & pots, kettles, dirty dishes, potatoe barrels- & every thing else- & the old woman- it is beyond my power to describe her- but she & her husband & both very kind & obliging- it is as much as a body's life is worth to go near them-- The air has already had a medicinal effect upon me-- I feel as if I had taken an emetic- & should stay till night I most certainly should be oblig'd to take my bed, & that would be certain death-- I did not think I could eat in the house- but I did not dare refuse- the good deacon nor his wife did not mind it, so I thought I must not-- The old creature sits by eating, & we are just going to my great joy so good bye, good bye till to-night---- Tuesday Noon- Ferry House near State Prison- It has been very cold & dusty riding to day-- We have met with no adventure yet, of any kind-- We are now waiting at the ferry house to cross the river as soon as wind & tide serve- The white waves foam terribly how we shall get across I know not, but I am in great fear- If we drown there will be an end of my journal---- Hobuck, Wednesday Morn-Buskirck's Inn-- After waiting 3 or 4 hours at the ferry house, we with great difficulty cross'd the ferry & I, standing brac'd against one side of the boat involuntarily endeavouring to balance it with my weight & groaning at every fresh breeze as I watch'd the side which almost dipt in the water- & the ferrymen swearing at every breath- M^r, M^{rs} & Miss Wolcott viewing the city and vainly wishing they had improv'd the time of our delay to take a nearer view---- At length we reach'd this shore almost frozen- The Ferry is a mile & an half wide-- I was too fatigued to write last night & soon after we came retired to bed- We were again oblig'd all to sleep in one room & in dirty sheets- but pass'd the night very comfortably--If good wishes have any influence, we shall reach our journey's end in peace- for we obtain them from everyone-- The morning is pleasant & we are soon to ride----M^{rs} Buskirck the landlady, I should imagine is about 60 years of age & she sits by with a three year old child in her lap- She wears a long ear'd cap & looks so old I thought she must be Grandmother till I enquir'd-- Springfield-New Jersey- Pierson's Inn-Wed^y-PM 4 oclock- "What is every body's business is no body's" for instance- it is nobody's business where we are going, yet every body enquires- every toll gatherer & child that sees us---- I am almost discouraged- we shall never get to New Connecticut or any where else, at the rate we go on- We went but eleven miles yesterday & 15 to day-- Our Waggon wants repairing & we were oblig'd to put up for the night at about 3 oclock.---- I think the country so far, much pleasanter than any part of Connecticut we pass'd thro'-but the Turnpike roads are not half as good- The Deacon & his family complain most bitterly of the gates & toll bridges- tho' the former is very good-natur'd with his complaints-- Also the tavern expenses are a great trouble- As I said before I will never go with a Deacon again- for we go so slow & so cheap, that I am almost tir'd to death. The horses walk, walk hour after hour while M^r W sits _reckoning his expenses_ & forgetting to drive till some of us ask when we shall get there?- then he remembers the longer we are on the road the more _expensive_ it will be, & whips up his horses--and when Erastus the son, drives, we go still slower for fear of hurting the horses-- Since I left you I have conceived such an aversion for Doctors & the words, expense, expensive, cheap & expect, that I do not desire ever to see the one (at least to need them) or hear the others again, in my life-- I have just found out that Elizabeth Town is but 5 miles off & have been to the landlord to enquire if I cannot possibly get there & he encourages me a little, I cannot write more till I am certain- Oh if I can but see my brother! After a long crying spell, I once more take up my pen to tell you I cannot go,- there is no chair or side saddle to be got, & I will, by supposing him at New York, try to content myself- to describe my disappointment would be impossible--it is such an agravation of my pain, to know myself so near & then not see him-- I have the greater part of the time till now, felt in better spirits than I expected-my journal has been of use to me in that respect----I did not know but I should meet with the same fate that a cousin of M^r Hall's did, who like me, was journeying to a new, if not a western country- She was married on her way & prevented from proceeding to her journey's end- There was a man to day in Camptown where we stopt to eat, not oats but gingerbread, who enquired, or rather _expected_ we were going to the Hio- we told him yes & he at once concluded it was to get husbands- He said winter was coming on & he wanted a wife & believ'd he must go there to get him one- I concluded of course the next thing would be, a proposal to Miss W or me to stay behind to save trouble for us both; but nothing would suit him but a rich widow, so our hopes were soon at an end- Disappointment is the lot of man & we may as well bear them with a good grace- this thought restrain'd my tears at that time, but has not been able to since-- What shall I do? My companions say they shall insist upon seeing my journal & I certainly will not show it to them, so I told them I would bring it with me the first time I came to Henshaw (the place where they live) & read it to them; but I shall do my utmost to send it to you before I go- that would be a sufficient excuse for not performing my promise which must be conditional--I will not insist upon your reading this thro' my dear Elizabeth & I suspect by this time you feel quite willing to leave it unread further- I wish I could make it more interesting-- I write just as I feel & think at the moment & I feel as much in haste to write every thing that occurs, as if you could know it the moment it was written- I must now leave you to write to my brother, for if I cannot see him I will at least write him- I cannot bear the idea of leaving the state without once more seeing him-- I hope next to write you from 30 miles hence at least--Poor Susan feels worse to night than me, & M^{rs} Wolcott to cheer us, tells us what we have yet to expect- this you may be sure has the desir'd effect & raises our spirits at once-- Friday morn- Chester N J. We left Springfield yesterday about nine oclock & came on to Chester about 22 miles from Spring^d----Patience & perseverance will get us to N C in time-but I fear we shall winter on our way there, for instead of four weeks, I fear we shall be four times four---- We found an excellent tavern here compar'd with any we have yet found, & we had for the first time clean sheets to sleep in- We pass'd thro' Morristown yesterday, & 3 small villages- one called Chatham I do not know the names of the others-- It is very hilly in N Jersey, & what is very strange, we appear almost always to be going up hill, but like the squirrel, never rise 2 inches higher- The hills look very handsomely at a little distance,- but none of them are very high---- M^r & M^{rs} Wolcott, after telling us every thing dreadful, they could think of, began encouraging us by changing sides & relating the good as well as the bad- They are sure I shall like Warren better than I expect & think I shall not regret going in the least---- The weather yesterday was very pleasant, & is this morning also- We wish to reach Easton to day, but I am sure we shall not, for it is 32 miles distant- 5 or 600 hundred miles appears like a short journey to me now- indeed I feel as if I could go almost any distance- My courage & spirits & both very good--one week is already gone of the 4-- I wish I could fly back to you a few minutes while we are waiting---- Mansfield-N J-Sat-morn October 27- We yesterday travell'd the worst road you can imagine- over mountains & thro' vallies- We have not I believe, had 20 rods of level ground the whole day- and the road some part of it so intolerably bad on every account, so rocky & so gullied, as to be almost impassable- 15 miles this side Morristown, we cross'd a mountain call'd Schyler or something like it- We walk'd up it, & M^{rs} W told us it was a little like some of the mountains only not half so bad--indeed every difficulty we meet with is compar'd to something worse that we have yet to expect- We found a house built in the heart of the mountain near some springs- in a romantic place-Whether the springs are medicinal or not, I do not know- but I suspect they are, & that the house is built for the accommodation of those who go to them- for no human creature, I am sure, would wish to live there- Opposite the house are stairs on the side of the mountain & a small house resembling a bathing house, at the head of them-- Soon after we cross'd the mountain, we took a wrong road, owing to the neglect of those whose duty it is to erect guide boards, & to some awkward directions given-- This gave us a great deal of trouble, for we were oblig'd in order to get right again, to go across a field where the stones were so large & so thick that we scarcely touch'd the ground the whole distance- At last the road seem'd to end in a hogs pen, but we found it possible to get round it, & once more found ourselves right again- We met very few people, yet the road seem'd to have been a great deal travelled- One young man came along & caus'd us some diversion, for he eyed us very closely & then enter'd into conversation with M^r W who was walking a little forward-He told him he should himself set out next week for Pittsburg- & we expect to see him again before we get there-- Erastus enquir'd the road of him & he said we must go the same way he did; so we follow'd on till we put up for the night; he walking his horse all the way & looking back at the waggon-As soon as we came to the inn he sat on his horse at the door till he saw us all quietly seated in the house & then rode off- Which of us made a conquest I know not, but I am sure one of us did----We have pass'd thro' but 2 towns in N J- but several small villages- Dutch valley, between some high hills & the Mountain- Batestown, where we stopt to _bait_-& some others- all too small to deserve a name- At last we stopt at Mansfield at an Inn kept by Philip fits (a little f). We found it kept by 2 young women, whom I thought _amazoons_- for they swore & flew about "like _witches_" they talk & laugh'd about their sparks &c &c till it made us laugh so as almost to affront them- There was a young woman visiting them who reminded me of Lady Di Spanker-for sprung from the ground to her horse with as much agility as that Lady could have done-- They all took their pipes before tea---- one of them appears to be very unhappy- I believe she has a very cross husband if she is married- She has a baby & a pretty one-- Their manners soften'd down after a while & they appear to be obliging & good natur'd---- Pennsylvania- Saturday eve- 2 miles from Bethlehem- Hanover- Oct 27^{th} Before I write you anything I will tell you where & how we are- We are at a dutch tavern almost crazy- In one corner of the room are a set of dutchmen talking singin & laughing in dutch so loud, that my brain is almost turn'd- they one moment catch up a fiddle & I expect soon to be pulled up to dance- I am so afraid of them I dare hardly stay in the house one night; much less over the sabbath- I cannot write so good night-- Sunday Morn- I have hesitated a long time whether I ought to write or not, & have at length concluded I may as well write as anything else, for I cannot read or listen to Deacon W who is reading- for I am almost distracted. We have determin'd (or rather M^r W has & we must do as he says) to spend the Sabbath among these wicked wretches- It would not be against my conscience to ride to day rather than stay here, for we can do no good & get none- & how much harm they may do us I know not- but they look as if they had sufficient inclination to do us evil-- Sunday eve- Sundown- I can wait no longer to write you, for I have a great deal to say- I should not have thought it possible to pass a Sabbath in our country among such a dissolute vicious set of wretches as we are now among--I believe at least 50 dutchmen have been here to day to smoke, drink, swear, pitch cents, almost dance, laugh & talk dutch & stare at us- They come in, in droves young & old- black & white- women & children- It is dreadful to see so many people that you cannot speak to or understand-- They are all high dutch, but I hope not a true specimen of the Pennsylvanians generally-- Just as we set down to tea, in came a dozen or two of women, each with a child in her arms, & stood round the room- I did not know but they had come in a body to claim me as one of their kin, for they all resemble me- but as they said nothing to me, I concluded they came to see us _Yankees_, as they would a learned pig-- The women dress in striped linsey woolsey petticoats & short gowns not 6 inches in length- they look very strangely- The men dress much better- they put on their best cloaths on sunday, which I suppose is their only holiday, & "keep it up" as they call it-- A stage came on from Bethlehem & stopt here, with 2 girls & a well dress'd _fellow_ who sat between them an arm round each-- They were probably going to the next town to a dance or a frolic of some kind-for the driver, who was very familiar with them, said he felt just right for a frolic-- I suspect more liquor has been sold to day than all the week besides-- The children have been calling us Yankees (which is the only english word they can speak) all day long-Whether it was meant as a term of derision or not, I neither know nor care- of this I am sure, they cannot feel more contempt for me than I do for them;-tho' I most sincerely pity their ignorance & folly- There seems to be no hope of their improvement as they will not attend to any means- After saying so much about the people, I will describe our yesterday's ride- but first I will describe our last nights lodging- Susan & me ask'd to go to bed- & Mrs W spoke to M^r Riker the landlord-(for no woman was visible)- So he took up a candle to light us & we ask'd M^{rs} W to go up with us, for we did not dare go alone- when we got into a room he went to the bed & open'd it for us, while we were almost dying with laughter, & then stood waiting with the candle for us to get into bed- but M^{rs} W- as soon as she could speak, told him she would wait & bring down the candle & he then left us- I never laugh'd so heartily in my life- Our bed to sleep on was straw, & then a feather bed for covering- The pillows contain'd nearly a single handful of feathers, & were cover'd with the most curious & dirty patchwork, I ever saw-We had one bedquilt & one sheet- I did not undress at all, for I expected dutchmen in every moment & you may suppose slept very comfortably in that expectation----M^r & M^{rs} W, & another woman slept in the same room- When the latter came to bed, the man came in & open'd her bed also, after we were all in bed in the middle of the night, I was awaken'd by the entrance of three dutchmen, who were in search of a bed- I was almost frightened to death- but M^r W at length heard & stopt them before they had quite reach'd our bed- Before we were dress'd the men were at the door- which could not fasten, looking at us- I think _wild Indians_ will be less terrible to me, than these creatures- Nothing vexes me more than to see them set & look at us & talk in dutch and laugh-- Now for our ride- After we left Mansfield, we cross'd the longest hills, and the worst road, I ever saw- two or three times after riding a little distance on turnpike, we found it fenced across & were oblig'd to turn into a wood where it was almost impossible to proceed- large trees were across, not the road for there was none, but the only place we could possibly ride- It appear'd to me, we had come to an end of the habitable part of the globe- but all these difficulties were at last surmounted, & we reach'd the Delaware- The river where it is cross'd, is much smaller than I suppos'd- The bridge over it is elegant I think-- It is covered & has 16 windows each side-- As soon as we pass'd the bridge, we enter'd Easton, the first town in Pennsylvania- It is a small but pleasant town- the houses are chiefly small, & built of stone- very near together- The meeting house, Bank, & I think, market, are all of the same description- There are a few very handsome brick houses, & some wooden buildings--From Easton, we came to Bethlehem, which is 12 miles distant from it- M^r W. went a mile out of his way, that we might see the town- It contains almost entirely dutch people-- The houses there are nearly all stone- but like Easton it contains some pretty brick houses- It has not half as many stores as Easton---- The meeting house is a curious building-it looks like a castle- I suppose it is stone,- the outside is plaister'd- We left our waggon to view the town- we did not know whether the building was a church or the moravian school, so we enquir'd of 2 or 3 men who only answer'd in dutch- M^r & M^{rs} W were purchasing bread, & Susan & I walk'd on to enquire- we next saw a little boy on horseback, & he could only say "me cannot english" but he I believe, spoke to another, for a very pretty boy came near us & bow'd & expecting us to speak, which we soon did; & he pointed out the school & explained the different buildings to us as well as he was able; but we found it difficult to understand him, for he could but just "english"- We felt very much oblig'd to him, though we neglected to tell him so- He is the only polite dutchman small or great, we have yet seen; & I am unwilling to suppose him a _dutchman_. The school buildings are low, long stone houses- the stone houses are not at all handsome- but rather ugly--Where we stopt to bait yesterday, we found another waggon containing a widow Jackson, her 2 sons & a daughter in law- They enquir'd where we were going & told us they were going to the same place & immediately join'd our party- We were sorry as we did not wish an addition to our party, & thought by not travvelling on sunday we should lose their company, but rather than lose ours, they wait till monday-They are very clever people apparently, & we may possibly be benefited by them before we end our journey--We now find the benefit of having our own provision- for I would not eat anything we could get here. Monday morn-October 29- It rains & we shall have a dismal day I am afraid-M^r W's harness last night was very much injur'd by being chew'd to pieces by a cow- I have broken my parasol handle a little, but it will not much injure it-I have a bad cold to day- which I know not how I have taken- I more than ever wish to reach Warren-- Pennsylvania- Monday-eve- A Dutchman's inn- I dont know where. Palks County-or some thing like it-- We have only pass'd thro' 2 small towns to day, Allenstown & Kluztown- The former is about 3 miles from Hannover, where we spent the sabbath, & 6 from Bethlehem- Before we enter'd the town, we cross'd the Lehi in 2 places- It was not deep, & we forded it to save time & _expence_- It runs I believe through Bethlehem or at the side of it & is a very small river- Allentown is not a pleasant place-The houses are almost all stone- It contains 2 small stone churches- We went into a store, where I bought me a coarse tooth comb for 15 cents- I should never get accustom'd to the Pensylvania currency- It diverts me to hear them talk of their fippenny bits (as they pronounce it) & their eleven penny bits-- Kluztown is but a few miles from Allentown-It has but one short street which is very thickly built with Stone & log houses-- It is rather a dirty street & not more pleasant than the others Stone is used for everything in this state- The barns & houses are almost entirely built of it- I imagine the dutch pride themselves on building good barns, for a great many of than are very elegant- they are 3 & 4 stories high, have windows & one or 2. I saw with blinds- They are larger & handsomer than most of the houses- The dutch women are all out as we pass, dressing flax, picking up apples &c &c-The dress of the women grows worse & worse-We find them now with very short petticoats, no short gown & barefoot-- The country is not pleasant, at least does not appear so as we ride thro' it at all- I should think the land must be good as we see large fields of grain very frequently- There does not appear to be as much fruit as in N Y & N J--We saw immense quantities of apples in each of those states, particularly N J- there would be thousands of bushels at the cider presses, & still the trees would be borne down with them-- The roads in this state are pretty good, where, dame Nature has not undertaken to pave them- but she has so much other business on hand that she has never learn'd to pave, & makes a wretched hand at it- I wish she could be persuaded to leave it to Art for the future; for we are very great sufferers for her work- It is quite amusing to see the variety of paintings on the innkeeper's signs- I saw one in N J with Tho^s Jeff'^{ns} head & shoulders & his name above it- to day I saw Gen G Washington- his name underneath- Gen Putnam riding down the steps at Horseneck- one sign was merely 3 little kegs hanging down one after the other- They have the sun rising, setting, & at Meridian, here a full moon, a new moon, the moon & 7 stars around her, the Lion & Unicorn "fighting &c", & every thing else that a dutchman has ever seen or heard of- I do not believe one of them has wit enough to invent any thing, even for a sign----Several of these creatures sit by Jabbering dutch so fast, that my brain is turn'd & my thoughts distracted, & I wonder I have been able to write a word- If you find it unintelligible you must not wonder or blame me- A dozen will talk at once & it is really intolerable- I wish Uncle Porter was here-How can I live among them 3 weeks? We have come about 24 miles to day- it rain'd a very little this morning & the rest of the day has been quite pleasant tho' somewhat cold- Tomorrow we pass thro' Reading-- Wednesday Oct^ber 31^st Highdleburg-Penn- We pass'd through Reading yesterday which is one of the largest & prettiest towns I have seen-We stopt about 2 hours in the town, & I improved my time in walking about to see it- I went into the stores enquiring for a scissor case- Almost every one could talk english- but I believe the greatest part of them were dutch people- As soon as we left Reading, we cross'd the Schuylkill- It was not deeper than the Lehi, & we rode thro' it in our waggon. A bridge was begun over it, but the man broke & was unable to finish it- It would have been an excellent one had it been completed- It is now grown over with grass & serves as a walk for the ladies---- We put up for the night at Leonard Shaver's tavern-He is a dutchman, but has one of the most agreeable women for his wife I have seen in this State-I was extremely tir'd when we stopt, & went immediately to bed after tea- & for the first time for a long while, undress'd me & had a comfortable nights rest- We are oblig'd to sleep every & any way- at most of the inns now---- My companions were all disturb'd by the waggoners who put up here & were all night in the room below us, eating, drinking, talking, laughing & swearing- Poor M^r W- was so disturb'd that he is not well this morning, & what is more unpleasant to us, is not good natur'd, & M^rs W has been urging him this half hour, to eat some breakfast- he would only answer "I shan't eat any"-but at length swallow'd some in sullen silence- but is in a different way preparing to ride-- If I were going to be married I would give my _intended_, a gentle emetic, or some such thing to see how he would bear being sick a little- for I could not coax a husband as I would a child, only because he was a little sick & a great deal cross- I trust I shall never have the trial- I am sure I should never bear it with temper & patience. M^r W is I believe a very pious good man, but not naturally pleasant temper'd- religion however, has corrected it in a great degree, but not wholly overcome it- M^{rs} W- is an amiable sweet temper'd woman, as I ever saw; the more I know her, the better I love her- Susan is a charming girl-but Erastus is rather an obstinate boy- he feels superiour to his father & every one else, in wisdom--M^{rs} Jackson is a clever woman I believe, but I have a prejudice against her which I cannot overcome- She is very inquisitive and very communicative- She resembles Moll Lyman or rather crazy Moll of Northampton in her looks- She has considerable property & feels it very sensibly- Her youngest son is almost eighteen & has his wife with him, who is not quite as old- They have been married 2 months, & are a most loving couple- I cannot help thinking whenever I see them together, of "love I Sophia?" &c-- Her name is Eliza & his, John-- The other son is a very obliging but not a very polish'd young man- I like them all better than at first---- Wednesday Eve- Miller's town- Penn- Oct-31^{st} We have come 24 miles to day, & just begin to shorten the distance between Pittsburgh & us, & to increase it between Phildelphy (as the dutchmen call it,) & us- It has for a long time been 250 miles to Pitts^g & 60 to Phil^{hia}- but is now 218 to one & more than 80 to the other-- It began snowing this morning which rendered our ride more unpleasant than before- M^r W has continued just as he was in the morning- scarcely a word has been spoken by any of us- I never felt more low spirited & discouraged in my life- We have pass'd through 2 little towns to day- Moyerstown & the other I don't know the name of- We also pass'd thro Lebanon which appear'd to be a town of considerable size & pleasant- we did not stop at all in it- The other towns were merely one short dirty street- this town is one street only, but a tolerably pretty one- There are a number of good houses in it- We have once more got among people of our own nation & language- & they appear very clever-- Harrisburg- P- Thursday- Eve-November-1^{st} 1810- It has been snowing fast all the afternoon & we found it very difficult travelling & were oblig'd to put up just in the edge of the town- It was M^r W's intention to cross the Susquehannah which is the other side the town- we shall not pass thro' it- We cross'd the Sweet Arrow, a little river about 8 miles from the Susquehannah-- we cross'd it in our waggon-M^r Jeremiah Rees is our landlord- his wife is sick with a fever arising from the Hives at first- He has a sister who seems to take the direction of the female part of the business- She is a strange creature- Friday morn- I have been very much diverted at hearing some part of her history which she told last night, after drinking a little too much I suppose-She says she has property if she is not married- she had her fortune told a short time since- & was told to think of a certain gentleman living about 300 miles off- which she did, & thought so hard that a drop of blood fell from her nose- She was telling M^{rs} Jackson of this & ask'd how far she was going- being told about 300 miles- well she said she really believ'd her oldest son was the young man she was to have, for he looks just like the one she thought of- The young man will be quite flatter'd no doubt---- We are all in tolerably good spirits notwithstanding we are unable to proceed on our journey- It still continues snowing, & we shall stay here till tomorrow morning & how much longer I do not know---- There was a cockfighting in the house last night & a great many of the "finest young men in the town" got so intoxicated as to be unable to get home without assistance---- M. V. D. Sunday eve- East pensboro' township- P- We left M^r Rees' yesterday ten oclock- & after waiting some time at the ferry house, cross'd the Susquehanna with considerable difficulty- The river is a mile wide & so shallow that the boat would scrape across the large stones so as almost to prevent it from proceeding- We only came 8 miles- the riding was awful- & the weather so cold that I thought I should perish riding 4 miles- This will do well for us, 8 miles in 3 days- We were to have seen the mountains yesterday, but are 50 miles from it-- I should like to have staid at M^r Rees' till we reach home if it was possible, notwithstanding we had like to have all lost our characters there- While we were at breakfast, the black wench miss'd nearly 4 dollars of money, & very impudently accused us with taking it, in rather an indirect manner-- I felt at first very angry, but anger soon gave place to pity for the poor girls loss- It was money she had been saving for a long time that she might get enough to buy her a dress- but she left it about very carelessly in the closet where any one might have taken it who was so disposed-- But had I been inclined to steal, I could not have stolen from a poor black girl- I would rather have given her as much- I never felt so queerly in my life- To be suspected of theft was so new & unexpected to me, that I was wholly unprepar'd for it-- We went to M^r Rees & begg'd him to take some method to satisfy the girl we were innocent but we could not prevail on him to, tho' we really wish'd it-He gave the girl a severe scolding & desir'd us not to remember it against them, or to suffer ourselves to be made a moment uneasy by it, & both himself and M^rs Rees were extremely sorry any thing of the kind had happen'd- The girl continued crying & assuring us her money had been safe all summer till then & nobody had been near it but us- I, nor any of us had any doubt that the landlord's sister, whom I before mention'd, had taken it- She had the day before 2 or 3 ninepences in her shoes, & when M^r W ventur'd to ask her if she had not taken it to tease the wench, she swore by every thing she had not touch'd it- She said it was fashionable for ladies to carry money in their shoes- I suppose she had long been eyeing it, & thought then would be a good opper^ty to take it but did not intend it should be discover'd till we were gone & unable to defend ourselves from the charge which she then meant to make against us-- She is so worthless a character in every respect, that I am certain she could be guilty of stealing upon occasion-- She was very fond of telling what ladies, like _her_ & _me_, did & wore-- She is between 30 & 40 y^{rs} of age- It was an honour I was not very tenacious of, to be rank'd with her ladyship-The money was not found before we left there & I suppose the poor girl feels as certain some one of us have it, as that she has lost it- Should I ever return this way I would call & enquire about it- I hope it will be found with Babby (for that is the creatures name)-- We put up for the Sabbath at a tavern where none but the servants deign to look at us- When I am with such people, my proud spirit rises & I feel superior to them all-- I believe no regard is paid to the sabbath any where in this State- It is only made a holiday of-- So much swearing as I have heard amongst the Pensylvanians both men & women I have never heard before during my whole life- I feel afraid I shall become so accustom'd to hearing it, as to feel no uneasiness at it. Harrisburgh is a most dissipated place I am sure- & the small towns seem to partake of the vice & dissipation of the great ones-- I believe M^{rs} Jackson has cast her eyes on Susan or me for a daughter in law- for my part, though I feel very well disposed toward the young man, I had not thought of _making a bargain_ with him, but I have jolted off most of my high notions, & perhaps I may be willing to descend from a judge to a blacksmith- I shall not absolutely determine with respect to him till I get to Warren & have time to look about me & compare him with the judges Dobson & Stephenson- It is clever to have two or three strings to ones bow-- But in spite of my prejudices, they are _very clever_-- Among my list of _cast offs_, I would rank Dutchmen, a Pensylvania waggoner, ditto gentlemen- for their prophanity- & a Slut- The words, Landlord & lady, terrible,- get married,- get a husband-&c &c-- I do not find it as easy to write a journal as I had hoped- for we are seldom favour'd with any more than the barroom, & there is always as many men as the room will hold besides our party, & there is nine of us- so you may judge whether I find it difficult or not- I frequently begin a sentence & forget how to finish it,- for the conversation grows so loud, that I am oblig'd to listen to it & write between whiles- I sometimes get quite discouraged & think I will not try again, but I take too much pleasure in writing, to give it up willingly-- 10 miles West of Carlisle- Penn-Monday Nov-5^{th}- We came but a little peice as the Dutchmen say, to day, & are in a most curious place to night- If possible I will describe it- It is a log hut built across the road from the tavern, for _movers-_ that the landlord need not be _bother'd_ with them-- Had it been possible for our horses to have reached another inn we should not have staid with the cross old dutch fellow-we have a good fire, a long dirty table, a few boards nailed up for a closet, a dozen long boards in one side & as many barrels in the other- 2 benches to sit on, two bottomless chairs, & a floor containing dirt enough to plant potatoes-- The man says he has been so bother'd with movers, that he has taken down his sign, for he does not need his tavern to live-- If we had a mind to stay we might but if we chose to go on he had no objection-- Cross old witch- I had rather have walk'd 10 miles than stay, but the poor horses could not-- We are going to sleep on the floor all in a room together in the old stile without bothering the old Scamp, for any thing-Mrs Jackson has beds-- If I did not feel provok'd with the wretch I should rest comfortably- Tues- morn- The old man I believe feels a little asham'd of his treatment of us & was going to make some apology, but concluded by saying with a forced laugh, that if we ever came there again, he would treat us just so- He may if has oppor^{ty}-- Tuesday night- Nov-6^{th}- We have only counted 17 miles to day although the riding has been much better than for several days past- We stopt in Shippenburgh at noon- The town contains only one street a mile & a half in length & very thickly built- The street is some part of it pleasant, & some part dirty-- I saw in it a handsome young gentleman who was both a dutchman & Pennsylvanian, yet in an hour & half I did not hear him make use of a single oath or prophane word- It was a remarkable instance, the only one I have known, & I could not but remark it- Prophanity is the characteristic of a Pennsylvanian---- We are 4 miles from Strasburgh & the mountains, & one of our horses is ill, owing to Erastus giving him too many oats- Erastus is master rather than his father, & will do as he pleases for all any one- He is a stubborn fellow, & so impudent to his mother & sister, that I have no patience with him-- We are not as bless'd as the Israelites were, for our shoes wax old & our cloaths wear out-- I don't know that mine will last till I get there---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- Wed- morn- Last night Susan & I went to bed early, as we slept ill the night before- we expected to get good beds & were never so disappointed- We were put in an old garret that had holes in the roof big enough to crawl through- Our bed was on the floor, harder it appear'd to me, than boards could be- & dirty as possible- a dirty feather bed our only covering- After lying an hour or two, we complain'd to M^{rs} Wolcott who applied to the landlady for a bedstead, but could only obtain leave for us to sleep on one bed with another over us- I slept wretchedly & feel very little like climbing a mountain--M^r & M^{rs} W could not sleep at all & got up at about eleven oclock-- She had good beds in the house or I would not have complained so much-- Jennyauter-P--Wednesday 2 oclock P M-between 2 brothers---- This morning we cross'd the first mountain call'd first brother, & are in an inn between the first & second brother; the latter we are soon to ascend-The first m-n is 3-1/2 miles over,- better road than we expected- but bad enough to tire the horses almost to death- We met & were overtaken by a number of people-- We all walk'd the whole distance over- I did not stop at all to rest till I reach'd the top- I was then oblig'd to wait for some of them to overtake me, as I had outwalk'd them all. It is not a little fatiguing to walk up a long mountain I find--When we had nearly reach'd the foot of it, we heard some music in the valey below, & not one of us could imagine from what it proceeded; but soon found it was from the bells of a waggoner- He had twelve bells on the collars of his horses, (not sleigh bells) & they made a great variety of sounds which were really musical at a distance-- We found at the tavern where we are now, or rather they came after us, a M^r Beach, & his wife who was confin'd nine days after she set out on her journey, with a little son-It is just a fortnight since she was confin'd, & this morning she ventur'd to set out on her journey again- They came from Morristown- N J- & are going to some part of the Ohio, much farther than we are going. M^{rs} B- appears to be a very pretty woman & quite a lady- Her father & mother, a sister & 3 little children, set out with them, but were oblig'd to leave them & go on, as soon as M^{rs} B was confin'd- I feel afraid she will catch her death, tho' every care is taken to render her journey safe & comfortable-- She & babe are both very well now-- Fannitsburg- Penn- M^cAllen's Inn-Wednesday night- Nov- 6^{th}- We have over come 2 mountains to day- & are between the 2^d & 3^d brothers- We walked over it-I have walked about 8 miles to day & feel as much fatigued as I have almost ever been in my life- It was 4 _long_ miles over- We met a number of waggons on it- but no other travellers- This is a very small but pretty place- The 3 first m-ns are very near each other- the 4^{th} is 40 or 50 miles distant--They are higher than I expected, & make a formidable appearance- It has been very smoky all day- I am so tir'd I can neither think or write, so good night---- Thursday morn- We had a good nights rest, but I am so lame I can scarcely walk this morning- I have a mountain to walk over, notwithstanding-- M^r W's horses grow so dull that he expects to be oblig'd to put up for a few days, & we are all almost discouraged--The weather looks stormy & where we shall get to or what we shall do, I cannot imagine--The Jacksons enquire about the road & the mountains &c &c, of every one they see, & get such different & contradictory answers from each one, that it perplexes & discourages us all- I wish they would be contented to wait patiently till time & experience inform them what they cannot find out any other way- M^r W says I have now an oppor^{ty} to experience the truth of a text of scripture which says "all men are liars"- I found that out long ago- & this journey confirms the truth of it. Peach Orchard, P- Thursday night-Phelps' Tavern-- I do not feel to night, my dear Elizabeth, as if I should ever see you again- 3 mountains & more hundreds of miles part us; & tho' I cannot give up the idea of returning, I cannot think of traversing this road again- If I live to return I will wait till the new turnpike is finished-- We cross'd the last brother this morning, & found the greater part of it, better than the other two- but about 60 rods near the top it was excessively steep-- We found a house at the foot of the steepest part- A woman & her 2 sons live there & keep cakes & beer-- The woman told us she had no husband at _present_--I suppose, she has one in expectation--On the first mountain, I found some sweet Williams-- We stopt at noon, at a dismal looking log hut tavern- The landlady (I hate the word but I must use it,) talk'd about bigotry, bigotted notions, liberty of conscience &c- She did not look as if she knew the meaning of conscience, much less of bigotry-- All this afternoon we have been walking over young mountains, distant relations of the 3 brothers, but not half as clever- I was so lame & so tir'd that for an hour I did not know but I must set down & die- I could not ride- the road was so bad, it was worse than walking- I would not tell you all this, if you were to receive this before it is all over---- It rain'd a very little all day, but just at night it began to rain very fast, & I expected we should all catch our death, walking thro' mud & mire, with no umbrella, or but one that would not cover us all- We were wet thro before we reach'd this dreadful place where we now are-- The Woman is cross & the Man sick---- Friday night- It rain'd all day yesterday, & such a shocking place as this is, I never saw- A dozen Waggoners are here, some half drunk & no place for us to stay in but our waggons or a little chamber with 3 squares of glass in it- with scarcely room to sit or stand-- Saturday morn---- I am now in despair, it continues raining faster than ever- The house full of drunken prophane wretches, the old woman cross as a witch- We have nothing to eat & can get nothing but some slapjacks at a baker's some distance off, & so stormy we cannot get there---- M^{rs} Jackson frets all the time, I wish they would go on & leave us, we should do as well again---- M^r Beach & his wife & child & the woman who is with them, are here, & the house is full- M^{rs} Beach rode in all the rain Thursday, but took no cold & bears it well as any one- It rains most dreadfully & they say it is the clearing off shower- Oh, if it only proves so---- "Oh had I the wings of a dove, how soon would I meet you again"- We have never found the wretches indelicate till last evening, but while we were at tea, they began talking & singing in a most dreadful manner---- We are 4 miles from Sidling hill, the next mountain, & a mile & a half from this, there is a creek which we must cross, that is so rais'd by the rain, as to render it impossible to pass it---- Saturday night- Our "clearing up shower" has lasted all day with unabated violence,-- Just at sunset we had a pretty hard thunder shower, & at dusk there was clear sky visible & the evening star shone bright as possible, but now it is raining fast again--After giving an emetic I would take a long journey with my _intended_, to try his patience---- mine is try'd sorely now- I wish you could just take a peep at me-my frock is wet & dirty a quarter of a yard high, only walking about the house- I have been in my chamber almost the whole day, but was oblig'd to go down just at night to eat, & look at the sky- I was very much frighten'd by a drunken waggoner, who came up to me as I stood by the door waiting for a candle, he put his arm round my neck, & said something which I was too frighten'd to hear- It is the first time the least insult has been offer'd to any of us- One waggoner very civilly offer'd to take Susan or me, on to Pitts^g in his waggon if we were not like to get there till spring- It is not yet determin'd which shall go with him-- One waggon in crossing the creek this afternoon, got turn'd over & very much injur'd-- We have concluded the reason so few are willing to return from the Western country, is not that the country is so good, but because the journey is so bad-- M^r W. has gone to & from there, 5 times, but thinks this will be the last time- Poor Susan groans & sighs & now then sheds a few tears-I think I exceed her in patience & fortitude----M^{rs} Wolcott is a woman of the most perfect equanimity I ever saw- She is a woman of great feeling & tenderness, but has the most perfect command over her feelings- She is not _own_ mother to these children, but she is a very good one---- I have learn'd Elizabeth, to eat raw _pork_ & drink whisky-dont you think I shall do for a new country? I shall not know how to do either when I end my journey, however- We have almost got out of the land of dutchmen, but the waggoners are worse---- The people here talk curiously, they all reckon instead of expect-- Youns is a word I have heard used several times, but what it means I don't know, they use it so strangely-- M^r Rees used to exclaim at any thing wonderful, "Only look at that now"-- "I reckon you are going into the back countries" is now our usual salutation from every one---- Susan is in bed for want of some employment & I will join her, after telling you, it has really clear'd off now, & the moon is shining in full splendor.- I hope to-morrows sun will deign to smile upon us- It is long since we have seen it---- I expect to be oblig'd to go thro' a process of fire & brimstone at my journeys end & shall feel thankful, if that will remedy all the evils arising from dirty beds &c-- I find no necessity for even that yet, but I fear I shall soon----good night---- Sunday 2 oclock P M- We left the Inn this morning in the hope of getting a _little piece_ on our way, but have only reach'd the baker's, half a mile from where we set out- The creek is so high we cannot cross it yet- An old man & his wife live here, & appear to be very kind clever people, & what is more than we have found before, they appear to regard the Sabbath- They are Methodists- This is a small log hut, but clean & comfortable- There are no waggoners here-- I shall be oblig'd to colour my frock I believe, for it attracts the attention of those creatures so much, that I dare not go in sight of them scarcely- I often think of the 2 lines your Mama repeated to us "In Silk, &c" Sunday night. About sunset, we left the baker's & came down to the Creek, but found it was impossible to get over the waggon, & the road was so intolerable between the place we had left & the creek, that we could not go back, & what to do, it took a long time to determine; but at length M^r W concluded we had better come over to a dirty tavern this side, & let Erastus sleep in the wagon-- The stream runs so fast, that we did not dare cross it alone, as there was nothing but a log to cross on; so the waggoners & our own party, were oblig'd to lead & pilot us, over the stream & thro' a most shocking place as I ever saw- The men were all very civil- they are waiting this line is the shape of a Pensylvania waggon-- with of us---- We fare their the rest waggons, like worse & worse, & still M^r W- & his wife, tell us this is nothing to what will come- I do not fully believe them, for we cannot endure much more & live--Susan & young M^{rs} Jackson have been quite unwell all day-- I never felt in better health, & my spirits are pretty good, considering all things-- We are not able to get beds here, & are to sleep on the floor to night- There is another family here, with several little children-- They say there has been a _heap_ of people moving this fall;- I don't know exactly how many a heap is, or a _sight_ either, which is another way of measuring people-- I would be _apt_ to think it was a _terrible_ parcel, to use the language of the people round me---- I have such an enormous appetite the whole time, that I have been in some fear of starving- for food of every kind, is very scarce with us- Money will not procure it, & nothing else I am sure, will- for they love money better than life, if possible-- 4 Sabbaths we have pass'd on the road, & I suppose 2 or 3 more will pass before we get among people who "remember the sabbath day to keep it holy"-- We find no books to read, only at the bakers to day I found part of a bible, a methodist hymn book & a small book containing an account of the progress of Methodism throughout the country; in letters from Ministers & others----We left M^r Beach & family, at the tavern we left to day-- I hope tomorrow to write you from a comfortable place 6 or 8 miles at least from the next mountain-- Monday morn- We have now I think met with as bad as can befal us-- Never, never did I pass such a night---- We could get no bed & for a long time expected to be oblig'd to set up all night- but we could get no room nor fire to stay by, & the landlady was so kind as to give up her bed to us; so M^rs W & Susan went to bed there, while I went to bed with M^rs Jackson in another room- I took off my frock & boots, & had scarcely lain down, when one of the wretches came into the room & lay down by me on the outside of the bed- I was frighten'd almost to death & clung to M^{rs} Jackson who did not appear to mind it- & I lay for a quarter of an hour crying, & scolding & trembling, begging of him to leave me-At last, when persuaded I was in earnest, he begg'd of me not to take it amiss, as he intended no harm & only wish'd to become acquainted with me-- A good for nothing brute, I wonder what he suppos'd I was- I don't know of any thought word or action of mine that could give him reason to suppose I would authorise such abominable insolence---- The man & his wife, who are here, & their family, John Jackson & his wife, & M^{rs} Jackson, were all in the room-The moment he left the room, I put on my frock & was going in to M^{rs} W & Susan, but I could not get to them without going thro' the room where all the waggoners were, & M^{rs} Jackson did not think it safe, so I got on another part of the bed where none of them could come near me, & had been there about 10 minutes when M^{rs} W & Susan came into the room both crying, & as much frighten'd as I had been, for one of the creatures had been into their room, & they could scarcely get him out- M^r W- was in the waggon, & the landlord was so afraid of these wag^gs that he did not dare stay in his own house, for they threaten'd to put him into the creek, if he did not continue giving them liquor- I wish they had put him in- a mean sneaking fellow!-- His poor wife was then oblig'd to bear it all, & she was very much distress'd on our account- She was not to blame for any thing that happen'd, for as long as her husband suffer'd it, she could not prevent it-At last M^{rs} W- went to bed with M^{rs} Jackson & me, & Susan lay down with John & his wife- We lay but a few minutes, when one of them came into our room again crawling on his hands & knees- M^{rs} W & I sprung & run out into the mud in our stocking feet & were going to call M^r W.- but the creatures came out to us & begg'd us not to, & pledg'd their honor (of which you may suppose they possess'd a great share) that we should not be disturb'd more- & tenderness for M^r W- who we knew would be sick to day if depriv'd of rest, at length determin'd us to go back; but we did not go to bed again till just morning, when some of us slept nearly or quite an hour- which was every wink of sleep we could obtain during the whole night- The fellows were all but one, very still afterwards- Indeed there was but 2 who made any disturbance, & only one of those was very bad- but one, was a complete child of the evil one- the vilest, worst, most blasphemous wretch, that ever liv'd-- M^r W- came back to the house before 2 oclock, & this morning, threaten'd them with a prosecution- They are quite angry- they are in the employ of this man who is moving; he is a merchant & they carry his goods to Pitts^g-- Nov^{br}-12^{th} Monday night- Nail Shop-on the 4^{th} Mountain We have got 8-1/2 miles on our journey to day, & now it rains again-- If I could describe to you our troubles from roads, waggoners & creeks, I would,- but it is impossible-- The waggoners set out just before we did & the bad one being foremost has taken all the pains in his power to hinder our progress, by driving as slow as possible & stopping every other moment- The road was too narrow to pass them, unless they would turn out for us- all but one did, but he swore he would not- We came by them as they stopp'd at noon, & put up to night at an inn on the mountain, out of the direct road, where we should peaceably pass the night- but the waggoners have follow'd us, & the house is full- They are not in our room-- Our party now consists of M^{rs} Jackson's, M^r Beach's & M^r W's familys-- The woman who is with M^r Beach, is such a foolish old creature, that we are all out of patience with her----She is aunt to them, I believe---- If I were to choose, I would never have company on a long journey- such company at least- Our chairs here are taken from us for the Waggoners---- Our road over the mountains, has not even a good prospect to render it pleasant-- I have been repeating to Susan all day, "Comfort damsel &c"- M^{rs} Jackson is scolding because she has no chair to set on.- M^r W- tells her, "Fret not thyself because of evil doers"---- There is another impassable creek a head, & a hundred waggons waiting to cross it- Our prospect brightens fast-dont you think so? good night-- Tuesday eve- Nov- 13^{th}- 4 miles east of Bedford- Penn- We have at length escap'd the waggoners & Mr Beach- The former did not trouble us last night at all in the night- When we went to bed they watch'd us narrowly, & after we were in bed we heard them talking about us, enquiring of each other where we slept &c- We were in the room with M^r & M^{rs} Wolcott, directly over the room they were in, but still I felt afraid of them- The worst one is quite mad, & says he intends if possible, to give us more trouble than he has done already- The other is quite asham'd of his conduct & I suspect would be willing to make any amends in his power- He told this to M^{rs} Jackson who is much too familiar with them, & I believe it was owing entirely to that, that they conducted so- for the rest of us always avoid even the sight of them, as much as possible; & much more any conversation with them-- We got up very early indeed & set out before breakfast, because the horses could have no hay, & we have got quite out of their reach--We cross'd a little stream call'd the Juniaatta- I spell the names as they are pronounced, but I do not spell them right, I am sure, nor can I find out how they are spelt many of them- The river is long & narrow- It takes a winding course thro' the mountains, & is a very pretty stream-- We rode some distance on its banks, & the road been tolerable, it would have been pleasant- I have said so much about the badness of the roads that you will hardly believe me when I tell you we seen some of the worst to day we have ever found- & some, as good as any in this state---- I should not have suppos'd it possible for any thing to pass it- M^{rs} W said it seem'd like going into the lower regions, but I had always an idea, that road was smooth & easy- I am sure if it was as bad as that, it would have fewer travellers-We went down however till we came to a lower region-It was really awful-- We saw some men to day, mending the roads- I did not think a Pennsylvanian ever touch'd a road or made a bridge, for we are oblig'd to ride thro' every stream we come to-We have been nearly 20 miles to day; & have been oblig'd to walk up hill, till we are all very tir'd- I felt too much so to write, but I am unwilling to omit it- We are now, comfortably & quietly seated, in a private house- I only wish now, we could get rid of what company we have left- but that we cannot do---- Wednesday night. A private house-10 miles w- of Bedford We cross'd the Juniaatta again to day, with a great deal of trouble, after waiting on its banks about 3 hours- It is astonishing how the last week's rain, rais'd every stream & overflow'd every place-The like here, has not been known for 30 years it is said-- A waggoner last week, with 4 horses, was drown'd crossing a creek- He was advis'd by those who were by, not to venture- & answer'd "he would be damn'd to hell if he did not cross it"- he made the attempt & in a few minutes was sent into eternity, & probably to that awful place---- It has been raining very fast this afternoon, & we put up at a little log hut, a few miles west of Bedford- we came about 10 miles to day- The house is very small & there is scarcely room to move- Thursday night-- Allegany M^{tn} Nov- 16- We have had a warm & pleasant day till towards night, when it began to rain, as it has done every day for a fortnight- We are now at a tavern half a mile from the top of the Allegany Mt-this Mountain is 14 miles over- At the highest part of it is a most beautiful prospect of mountains- 5 or 6 ridges one after the other-- We clamber'd up a high rock near to the highest part, but found the prospect little better than the one from the road- I wish I could describe it to you- We have had no prospect of any consequence from any of the mountains before- I have been quite disappointed at not seeing any--We found winter green berrys in abundance on it-I pick'd a sprig of ivy from the top, which I will send you- call it laurel & preserve it, as it came from the very _backbone of America_, as they all tell us--We have walk'd a great deal to day, & indeed we are oblig'd to every day, for the whole country seems one continued m^{tn}- I thought we had reach'd the top of this, for we began to descend a little; but we have half a mile more to ascend yet---- This house is full of travvellers & wag'^{nrs} but all are very peacable-There is a curiosity in the house- a young lady who has come from N Connecticut _unmarried_-- after staying in Warren a year--a thing I never before heard of, & had begun to think impossible. I feel quite encouraged by it- & do not believe the place as dangerous as is generally reported---- I find in every family a _Paggy_- every body is dutch-- the children & girls, are all very much attracted by my little black buttons, & the manner in which my frock is made-& the Wag'^{rs} by the colour of it- There will be little of it left by the time I get to Warren, for it is almost gone-- Friday night- Allegany M^{tn}-- After a comfortable nights rest, we set out on foot to reach the height of the m^{tn}- It rain'd fast for a long time, & at length began snowing- We found the roads bad past description,- worse than you can possibly imagine- Large stones & deep mud holes every step of the way- We were oblig'd to walk as much as we possibly could, as the horses could scarcely stir the waggon the mud was so deep & the stones so large---- It has grown so cold that I fear we shall all perish tomorrow- We suffer'd with cold excessively, to day- From what I have seen and heard, I think the State of Ohio will be well fill'd before winter,-Waggons without number, every day go on- One went on containing _forty_ people- We almost every day, see them with 18 or 20- one stopt here to night with 21-- We are at a baker's, near a tavern which is fill'd with movers & waggoners- It is a comfortable place, but rather small- One old man has been in examining my writing, & giving his opinion of it in dutch, to a young fellow who was with him- He said he could not read a word of any thing-- He found fault with the ink, but commended the straitness & facility with which I wrote- in english- I was glad he had not on his specs---- We came but 10 miles to day, & are yet on the Allegany- It is up hill almost all the way down the mountains-- I do not know when we are down them for my part--_I'm thinking_ as they say here, we shall be oblig'd to winter on it, for I _reckon_ we shall be unable to proceed on our journey, on account of roads, weather, &c-- We are on the old Pennsylvania road- the Glade road is said to be ten times worse than this-That is utterly impossible- We thought we should escape the waggoners this way; but find as many of them as ever- they are a very great annoyance---- What would the old man say hereto?-- I am very tir'd, so good night-- Saturday eve-2 miles from Laurel Hill-Penn- We came but 9 or 10 miles to day, & are now near the 6^{th} Mountain- in a tavern fill'd with half drunken noisy waggoners-- One of them lies singing directly before the fire; proposing just now to call for a song from the young ladies---- I can neither think nor write he makes so much noise with his _love songs_; I am every moment expecting something dreadful & dare not lay down my pen lest they should think me listening to them- They are the very worst wretches that ever liv'd, I do believe,--I am out of all patience with them- The whole world nor any thing in it, would tempt me to stay in this State three months- I dislike everything belonging to it--I am not so foolish as to suppose there are no better people in it than those we have seen; but let them be ever so good, I never desire to see any of them----We overtook an old waggoner whose waggon had got set in the mud, & I never heard a creature swear so- & whipt his horses till I thought they would die--I could not but wonder at the patience and forbearance of the Almighty, whose awful name was so blasphem'd-- We also overtook a young _Doctor_-who is going with his father to Mad river in the state of Ohio---- He has been studying physic in New Jersey,- but appears to be an uneducated man from the language he makes use of----I believe both himself & his father are very clever- I heard them reproving a swearer-- He dresses smart, & was so polite as to assist us in getting over the mud-- Susan & I walk'd on before the waggon as usual, & he overtook us and invited us into the house & call'd for some brandy sling- we did not drink, which he appear'd not to like very well, & has scarcely spoken to us since---- He thinks himself a gentleman of the _first chop_, & takes the liberty of coining words for himself- Speaking of the people in this state, he said they were very ignorant & very _superstitionary_ --perhaps you have heard the word before- I never did-- Sunday morn- We had good beds last night, contrary to my expectation,- and we are going on our journey this morning- It is extremely cold & very bad riding or walking- M^r W- has been so long detain'd by bad weather & riding, that he thinks himself justifiable in riding on the sabbath- I thought so some time ago-- Sunday noon- We are on the top of Laurel Hill, the 6^{th} mountain-- We women & girls, have walk'd between 5 & 6 miles this morning-- We left the waggons getting along very slowly, & came on to a house to warm us- It is a log hut & full of children, as is every one we come to-- The wind whistles about us, & it looks very much like snow---- One waggon got set this morning, & hinder'd us this long time-- The young Doctor & his father are still in company with us-- The former, who has got over his pouting fit, leaves his father to drive,- while he walks on with the ladies- he is not with us just now-- He has not conquer'd the antipathy I bear a young physician-- or rather a _young Doctor_-- How little it seems like the sabbath-- I would not write if I could do any thing else-- but I can not even think good thoughts---- Sunday eve-- Nov-19^{th}-- Foot of Laurel Hill--Penn-- I wish my dear Elizabeth, you could be here for half an hour, & hear the strangest man talk, that you or I ever saw in this world-- He is either mad or a fool-- I don't know which, but he looking over me & telling me I _can_ make a writer-- He is the most rating, ranting fellow-- I wish you could hear him----I begin to think him mad-- His name is Smith-- He & his wife are journeying either to New Orleans or the Ohio---- I never was more diverted than to hear him (he is certainly crazy-- repeating a prayer & a sermon & forty other things in a breath) talk about the Dutchmen in Pennsylvania-- He & his wife came amongst them one evening & stopt at several houses to get entertainment, but was sent on by each one to the tavern-- He began by stating his religious tenets, & at length after every body & thing was created, he says the _under Gods_ (of whom he supposes there were a great number) took some of the skum & stir'd it up, & those fellows came out--or rather Hell boil'd over & they were form'd of the skum----I believe he has been studying all his life for hard words & pompous speeches, & he rattled them off at a strange rate-- His language is very ungrammatical--but the Jacksons are all in raptures with him--They cannot understand his language (nor indeed could any one else) & therefore concluded he must be very learned- Their observations are almost as diverting as his conversation- I could make them believe in ten minutes, that I was a girl of great larnin-if I were to say over Kermogenious- Heterogenious & a few such words without any connection--no matter if I do but bring them in some how-- We are over the 6^{th} mountain & at an Inn at the foot of it- This m^{tn} is called worse than any of them- it is only about 6 miles over- We have only come 8 to day, & I have not been in the waggon- The horses once or twice got set, & cast &c- we have had a deal of bad luck-- There is a great many travellers here-the house is full---- The young D^r told me he was married, to day-- I like him rather better than I did, before, & ventured to walk on a mile or two with him- He gave me the history of his courtship &c-and some information respecting the part of Ohio he is going to, that was quite interesting-- Susan chose to ride down the hill, & I outwalk'd M^{rs} W, so we were quite alone till we reach'd this house- M^{rs} Jackson & Eliza had gone on before us, and I every moment expected to overtake them, but did not see them till we got here-- I am very tir'd & have laughed myself into a headache; so I can write no more to night. Monday morn- Last night we were again cheated out of our beds, & oblig'd to pass the night as we could, & that was most uncomfortably- I was quite unwell with the headache, & had waited for a bed an hour & a half longer than I felt able to set up; & when I found I could get none, I had a long crying spell-- This morning I feel almost sick-- M^r W-is so much afraid of making trouble, that he will wait till every body else is served, & let them cheat him out of his eyes, & say nothing. Our party here consists of English, Irish, German, & Americans-2 of the first- 4 of the second- 1 of the third- & a house full of the last-- This strange man is an everlasting talker- He knows every body & every thing about them- He has been repeating one of M^r Pierpont Edwards' speeches to me- & one of M^r Hilhouse's-Not one second elapses between his words-He is a very pompous fellow & takes great pains to display what he does know- He has been a schoolmaster-& now I suspect is crazy & running away with a girl he calls his wife- but who seems to be nobody---- It rain'd very fast last night- & is more muddy than ever-- Monday night- a mile west of the mountains- Rejoice with me my dear Elizabeth, that we are at length over all the mountains, so call'd-- I do not suppose we shall be much better off than we were before, as it respects roads- for I had just as lieve go over a mountain, as to go over the same distance of any part of the road we have had this fortnight or three weeks- But it sounds well to say we are over the mountains-- We cross'd Chesnut Ridge, the 7th & last M^{tn} this afternoon- It is 5 miles over--12 miles we have come to day-- There is a pretty prospect of hills as you come down the M^{tn}- One house on the top of it-- We have taken a great deal of pains to get rid of company to day, by going forward & staying behind- but it is an _unpossibility_ (M^r Newington) I am more out of patience than ever-- We came on to the 4^{th} tavern after we got down,- because we thought those behind us, would stop sooner- M^{rs} Jackson & her tribe were with us-but we thought all the rest were out of the reach of us- This is a little hut, one window in front- but it is neat & comfortable inside, & we were all quietly seated round the fire, congratulating ourselves on our escape, when in came the young doctor- I thought we should all scream out- M^{rs} Jackson told him she thought we had lost him- he said he lik'd not to have found us- I wish with all my heart, they had got fast in the mud a little while. The rattlebrain'd fellow is not here, to talk us to death-- He pass'd us on the road, singing & screaming, advising us to go back & learn hog latin- alias German- or dutch-- We are now 41 miles from Pitt---- Nov^{br} 21^{st} Tuesday Night-A mile from Greensburg-Penn- We have had better roads to day, but only came 10 miles-- Last night we had good beds, but were oblig'd to sleep in the room with the D^r & his father-M^r & M^{rs} W- of course, as we have determin'd not to sleep out of their room again-- The landlord & his wife were extremely clever- they gave us a great many apples & some cherry bounce- Such treatment, after being refus'd even the privilege of getting any victuals,- as we were the night before, was very welcome-- The landlord has been a waggoner-"Only look at that now"-A clever waggoner! I cannot but think his cleverness (is there such a word?) came after he gave up his waggon---- After riding a little way, we overtook M^r Smith again, & found he had been fighting with a waggoner, who began to insult him, by calling him a damn'd Yankee-before they ended M^r S- whipt 3 of them- I was glad they got whipt, for almost every one deserves it-- M^r S- lamented we were not there to see the fun- He declar'd, or rather swore, he would not leave us again, but would stand by and fight for all- He lets his wife ride alone, & he walks on to talk to every one that will listen to him-- As for the D^r, he is "nothing but a pester"- Susan & I took a great deal of pains to go either before or behind to get rid of his company, but it does no good, for he will either wait, or walk faster- I had a great mind to ask him, if he expected to lose his wife soon-We pass'd thro Greensburg, a pretty little town, situated on a high hill- the other waggons had gone on, & were bating in the town- but M^r W- did not stop, so the D^r follow'd on & left his father, & waited at another place for us to bait- We were only able to come a mile farther, as the horses fail'd-The rest of the company had gone on, expecting us to follow- The D^r came in here with us & I thought intended to stay, by his actions, but he at length walk'd on to join the rest of his company-- We have escap'd hearing M^r S- talk, which I would not be oblig'd to do for 9 pence an hour- Wednesday morn- I have not spent so pleasant an evening this long time as the last- Will you believe me, when I tell you we heard some waggoners conversing upon religious subjects- instead of swearing & cursing- One is an Irish waggoner, & appears to be sensible, well inform'd man- & what is more, has read his bible- 2 clever waggoners! I think I will never condemn a whole race again- I can now, even believe it possible to find a clever Dutchman in Pennsylvania. I hope we shall lose all our company this morning- but I expect they will wait for us- This is a good tavern- We have had sun shine for 2 days past- The weather, as it respects heat & cold, is very variable- but it invariably rains every day-- Thursday Morn- Sewel's tavern-Versailes-township- Yesterday morning, we did not set out till quite late, but had the good fortune to overtake all our company within an hour or two, & were oblig'd once more to put up with them- We had also, a considerable addition to our party-- We were oblig'd to walk a great deal, & just at night, I happen'd to be on before the waggon some distance & prevented M^r W- from stopping at a private house, which we pass'd- I did not think of his wishing it till M^{rs} J-mentioned it, I then set out to return, but saw the waggon coming & sat down on a log- We did not reach a tavern till some time after dark- & M^r W-got hurt & his waggon got set-, & he feels unpleasantly towards me, & thinks me the whole cause of his trouble-- The whole family feel & treat me differently this morning, & I can not think myself to blame- for we are oblig'd to walk almost all the time, & if we are behind the waggon M^r W- always is angry-- M^{rs} W- Susan & I, were oblig'd to walk, till we found a house, & if the young D^r had not been with us, I don't know but we should have pass'd the night in the woods - but he was so good as to assist us - The gentlemen all reach'd the tavern before us, & when M^r W- came & told his trouble, they very kindly went back & assisted him-- There were but two beds to be had, so M^r Smith gave up his place to me, & M^r & M^{rs} W took the other-- The gentlemen were very noisy all night, as they could not lie down-- I am much better pleas'd with M^r & M^{rs} Smith, than I was before- He is a lawyer- & I believe knows more, than I at first suspected-- He is a great talker, & has a story for everything- We came 14 miles yesterday-- To day I am so dreadfully lame that every step I take, almost brings tears- my feet are sore with walking- Nov-24- Friday morn- Turtle Creek-Penn- One misfortune follows another, and I fear we shall never reach our journey's end-- Yesterday we came about 3 miles-- After coming down an awful hill, we were oblig'd to cross a creek; but before we quite came to it, the horses got mired, & we expected every moment one of them would die-but Erastus held his head out of water, while M^r W-was attempting to unharness them, & M^{rs} W- & Susan were on the bank, calling for help-- I sat by, to see the horse breathe his last; but was happily disappointed in my expectation-- No assistance could be got- till M^r W- waded though the water, & then 2 men with 3 horses came over-- We came to this Inn, & M^r W- thought it best to stay till this morning- All our company have gone on- M^r Smith invited me to ride with his wife, on to Pitts'^g- & I on some accounts, wish I had accepted his invitation-indeed I could scarcely get beside it-- We found a gentleman (Doctor I presume by his looks-) here, who was very sociable & staid an hour with us- He appear'd to be a man of good information & considerable politeness-- We found the landlord very good natur'd & obliging, & his wife directly the contrary-- We find the men generally, much more so than their wives-- We are 12 miles from Pitt----& here like to be- The landlord offers to keep Susan & me, till spring, & let the old folks go on-- We got into the slough of Despond yesterday-& are now at the foot of the hill Difficulty- which is half a mile long- one waggon is already fast in the mud on it- & M^r W- is afraid to attempt it himself--I think I will winter here---- Friday eve- 9 miles past Pitts'^g- Penn- This morning we set out once more & proceeded 4 miles- It was snowing very fast, & one of our horses was taken sick & could scarcely get that little distance-M^r W- was oblig'd to whip it almost every step to keep it from lying down-- We could not ride at all & stopt at the first tavern we came to--We are afraid the horse will die & then what will become of us?---- I am more than ever discouraged- Sat-morn- Our horse is better & we are going to set out again---- Nov^{br} 26- Saturday night- 3-1/2 miles beyond Pittsburg- Just as we were getting into the waggon this morning, M^r W- found he had left his great coat 4 miles back, & went back on foot after it, while we proceeded to Pitts- which we reach'd about noon-- M^r W- came about an hour after---- After getting well warm, Susan & I were going out to view the town, when M^r W- came & hurried us away, as he wished to cross the river before night- From the little we did see of the town, I was extremely disappointed at its appearance- It is not one half as large as I suppos'd- but I am unable to give you any account of it, from my own observation-- It is situated at the confluence of the 2 rivers, the Alleghany, & Monongahela- The town suffer'd very much by the flood- One house floated down the river- its inhabitants were in the upper part of it calling for assistance-none could be render'd & what became of them I did not learn- I believe it is not known- It was late before we could cross the river (Alleghany) & we came on but 3 miles & a half to a very good tavern- The man & his wife are both good natur'd--We found the road to day, better than for a long time-- We left almost all the stones when we cross'd the last mountain- & to day I believe we have cross'd the last hills of any consequence- We are now- "on the banks of the pleasant Ohio"---- Sunday eve- It has been all day & still is, raining another flood I fear- All the men in the neighborhood came here to keep the sabbath by drinking whiskey &c &c- but no swearing-- I sat reading very quietly & one of them came & desir'd to look over me- I very much doubted whether he could read, but he convinc'd me he could by his observations, which were given with such a tobacco breath as almost suffocated me- He was not more than half shaved, & could read without spelling more than half the words- for he would read a page & half in an hour, nearly-- There is a sweet little boy here about 3 years old- He has been writing with me some time & talks so much to me that I am as slow writing as this man was reading-- This is the 6th sabbath since I left you-- We have lost our company--I quite want to see some of them again-- Wednesday Nov- 28- 7 miles from Greersburg-Penn- I have had no opport^y of writing you for 3 days-before now- We set out in the rain on Monday, & came on 13 miles- to a hut- with a sign up call'd a tavern- & such a place!- I found the people belong'd to a very ancient & noble family- They were first & second cousins to his _Satanic Majesty_- I could but wonder that he should suffer them to lead so laborious a life, for they are among his most faithful friends & subjects-- Probably they are more useful to him in that station, by increasing the number of his subjects-- Their dwelling resembles that of their royal cousin- for it is very dark & gloomy & only lighted by a great fire- No one who is once caught in it, ever wishes to be again-- The man is only related by marriage to his lordship---- Wednesday eve-- The house had only one room in it-- There was a number of travellers & we got but one bed- that was straw or something harder- The pillow case had been on 5 or 6 years I _reckon_, so I pin'd over my handkerchief- & put night gown over my frock--We rose an hour before day break, got breakfast & set out in the snow for another hut- We rode several miles on the Northern bank of the Ohio- We saw a very large rock containing a great many names-we added ours to the number-- The road was at the foot of a very high hill or mountain, & so near the river, there was scarcely room for a waggon- I rode in constant fear, for the bank down to the river, was very high and steep-- We came on 12 miles, to Beaver town, on Tuesday- We cross'd the big Beaver, a stream which empties into the Ohio- It is generally, fordable, but is at present so rais'd by the rain, that a flat is used-- We found a very good Inn at Beaver town; & soon after supper, Judge Austin & a M^r Weatherby (Merchant-) of Warren, came in--Not Dobson nor Stephenson)-- I felt as glad to see them & as well acquainted with them in a few minutes, as if we had all our lives been neighbors--The Judge, resembles D^r Goodsel in his looks:- but is older & larger- M^r Weatherby looks like T. Devereaux--They both, told me they were sorry M^r Edwards did not know I was on the road, that he might have sent an horse after me-- They were on their way to Pitt^g but Judge A, had some idea of returning immediately back to Warren, & they had a mind to hire a horse & have me return with him, but M^r Wolcott objected-- I can guess his reason for it, but I will not write it-- I very much wish'd it, as I fear I shall be oblig'd to walk a good part of the way- M^r W- says it would not hurt any of us to walk 9 miles every day of our lives- I told him I should not like to walk it in stormy weather, as we are now oblig'd to; but he said it would not hurt me if I shouldn't-- I have already worn out my boots almost entirely, with walking-- M^r W- is a very strange man- I don't know what to make of him --I shall be so thankful to get thro'- & then if I am caught with a Deacon of any name, again, I shall deserve to suffer-- We are within 40 miles of Warren, & to be unable to get there under 4 or 5 days, is perfectly tantalizing-- We came 10-1/2 miles to day, & are at a very comfortable Inn, just in the edge of Greersburg- We expected to get a little further, to Hart's tavern quite in the town: & there I hop'd to see judge Austin again, & I determin'd at any rate to accept his offer of getting me a horse, & go directly on with him, for I do not intend to walk 9 miles a day till we get there, if I can help it- even if it will not hurt me-- I won't take the _good_ deacon's word for that. The horses are really tir'd out & out, & every day by the time we get 4 miles they will stop & it is extremely difficult to get them on at all- but it is so _expensive_ hiring a horse to go on, that as long as the waggon alone, can be drawn 3 or 4 miles a day, it will not be done--but I feel provoked, as you will easily see, so I will write no more on this subject---- I am so anxious to end my journey, that I have lost all interest about the country I pass through-- it snows or rains every day, constantly-- I think in good weather, the ride from Warren to Pitts^g must be pleasant- If that were at present the case, my journal would be as much more interesting, as my journey would be pleasanter-- I am quite tir'd of both, but still so habituated to them, that I think it will seem very strange for a few days after I end them, (if I _live_ after that time) not to run out the waggon as soon as I have eaten my breakfast--& not to have my journal in my work-bag to fill it up-- It is very troublesome I assure you-- I fear it will be worn out before you get it- it is already very dirty, & so badly written you will never read half of it-- Thursday eve- 10 miles as usual has been our days ride-- I have not walk'd my 9 miles, but I walk'd as much as I could- We are in a comfortable house before an excellent fire- It is snowing very fast-- Saturday- P M- WARREN- After so long a time-- Friday morning we set out early with the hope of getting to Youngstown at night & to Warren to night, but 4 miles from Y----n, the horses were so tir'd they would not stir, so we stopt at a private house for the night, an hour before sun down-- We had been in the house but a little time, when Susan look'd out & told me she thought there was some one after me, & I soon saw M^r Edwards & 2 horses-- "I was never so happy I think"-- I ran out to meet him- He came in & set a while, & just at dark we started for Youngstown-- M^r Edwards insisted upon Susan's going with us, so she rode behind him, and I rode the single horse-- We reach'd _Cousin_ Joseph Woodbridge's about the middle of the eve-- They got us a good supper & gave us a bed-- M^{rs} W- is a very pretty woman (I mean pleasing)- They have 3 children, & appear to be very well off, (you understand me) & happy-- They live in a very comfortable log house, pleasantly situated-A cousin in this country, is not to be slighted I assure you- I would give more for one in this country, than for 20 in old Connecticut-- This morning M^{rs} Todd came over to see us, & urg'd us to stay & spend the day with her-- But spite of her solicitations, we set out for Warren soon after breakfast--My horse was extremely dull & we did not get here till near 2 oclock-- Cousin Louisa was as happy to see me as I could wish, & I think I shall be very happy & contented-- The town is pleasanter than I expected- The house better- & the children as fine--Cousin has alter'd very little, in any way--I found a M^rs Waldo here just going to Connecticut, & lest I should not have another opport^y, I intend sending this by them, without even time to read it over & correct it-- I _am_ asham'd of it My dear Elizabeth, & were it not for my promise to you, I don't know that I should dare to send it-- I will write your Mama by mail, I have not time for a letter now--My very best love to every body-- I have a great deal more to say, but no more time than just to tell you, I am ever & most affect^{ly} Yours- M V D---- Let no one see this but your own family-- * * * * * Transcriber's note The following changes have been made to the text: Page vi: "doutbless" changed to "doubtless". Page 8: "to night" changed to "to-night". Page 15: "the appear" changed to "they appear". Page 19: "where we going" changed to "where we were going". Page 53: "but is is an" changed to "but it is an". 
36204	----	Eyewitness Accounts of the American Revolution Diary of Ezra Green, M.D. from November 1, 1777, to September 27, 1778 The New York Times & Arno Press Reprinted from a copy in The State Historical Society of Wisconsin Library Reprint Edition 1971 by Arno Press Inc. LC# 75-140867 ISBN 0-405-01190-3 Eyewitness Accounts of the American Revolution, Series III ISBN for complete set: 0-405-01187-3 Manufactured in the United States of America [Illustration: Ezra Green When 100 years old.] DIARY OF EZRA GREEN, M.D., SURGEON ON BOARD THE CONTINENTAL SHIP-OF-WAR "RANGER," UNDER JOHN PAUL JONES, FROM NOVEMBER 1, 1777, TO SEPTEMBER 27, 1778. BORN IN 1746; DIED IN 1847. WITH HISTORICAL NOTES AND A BIOGRAPHY, BY COMMO. GEO. HENRY PREBLE, U.S.N., AND WALTER C. GREEN. Reprinted, with Additions, from the HISTORICAL AND GENEALOGICAL REGISTER for January and April, 1875. BOSTON: _FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION_. 1875. DAVID CLAPP & SON, PRINTERS, 334 Washington Street. Transcriber's Note: Printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained. A caret (^) indicates that the following character is printed as superscript. PREFATORY NOTE. A few words may be necessary in respect to the Diary of my father, Dr. Ezra Green, which I am quite sure he never suspected would appear in print before the public eye. When quite a lad I was, out of curiosity, rummaging over an upper chamber closet, where in promiscuous order were odd volumes,--school books, speeches, sermons, &c.,--when this unpretentious pamphlet turned up in marbled paper-cover. All the particulars of it I had heard my father frequently recount, and hence did not at that early age appreciate its value, and so I gave it to my cousin James D. Green, who, after preserving it with scrupulous care for more than sixty years, has deposited it in the library of the New-England Historic, Genealogical Society, together with important authentic remarks relative to his and my father's progenitors. There this Diary came under the eye of Commodore George Henry Preble, who requested my permission for its publication in the HISTORICAL AND GENEALOGICAL REGISTER, together with such facts as he might gather of my father's public life during five years service as surgeon in the army and navy during the American revolution. To this request I gave my willing assent, promising as a sequel thereto a memoir of his private life. WALTER C. GREEN. _Boston, Nov. 16, 1874._ BIOGRAPHY OF DR. EZRA GREEN. I. HIS PUBLIC CAREER. By Commodore GEO. HENRY PREBLE, U.S.N. In June, 1775, the Sunday after the battle of Bunker Hill, Dr. Ezra Green, in the capacity of surgeon, joined the American army, then under the command of Gen. Artemas Ward, and was stationed with Reed's New-Hampshire regiment on Winter Hill in Charlestown. Here he received the smallpox by inoculation, and was secluded in the hospital at Fresh Pond, Cambridge, for seventeen days, returning to his regiment in camp on Winter Hill the 20th of March, 1776. After the evacuation of Boston by the British, he left with our army for New-York, going by way of Providence, Norwich and New-London, where they embarked. Having remained in New-York a few weeks, they proceeded up the Hudson to Albany, thence by batteaux to Saratoga; landed, and marched to Lake George; remained about a fortnight; went down Lake George in batteaux, and stopped at Ticonderoga; thence proceeded by Lake Champlain to St. John's; thence to Montreal, and joined Arnold. There the army suffered greatly from sickness. Dr. Green was with the troops which occupied Mount Independence until December, when, on the advance of the British under Sir Guy Carleton, the American forces retreated to Ticonderoga. The following letter, addressed to his friend Mr. Nath'l Cooper, at Dover, New-Hampshire, graphically describes the situation of the American army at that time. _Ticonderoga_, Oct. 30, 1776. DEAR SIR: I must beg your pardon for troubling you with so many of my letters, but I am a good deal at leisure, and so lucky an opportunity of conveyance offers, that I can't let it pass without sending you one line or two. Since my last, our Fleet is destroyed, of which I suppose you have heard, but 5 vessels remaining to us out of 16 sail. The engagement began on Friday morning, October 11th, and held out all day. They surrounded our Fleet, but in the night succeeding the engagement they very narrowly and fortunately made their escape and came up towards Crown Point, but were overtaken and attacked again Sunday morning, within about 25 miles of this place. Our men fought bravely, but the enemy were of so much greater force than we had any suspicion of that our little fleet stood no chance; most of the vessels lost were blown up, sunk, or burnt by our own people, they escaping by land. We lost, killed, about 50; taken prisoners, about 100, which are dismissed on parole. The Indians have done us no damage till very lately they waylaid three men, kill'd one, took the other two prisoners, who are sent back on parole. They were treated very kindly by the Indians as well as by the King's troops who were at the time at Crown Point within 15 miles of this place, where they have been ever since the destruction of our Fleet. We have lately been alarm'd several times. On Monday morning last, there was a proper alarm, occasioned by a number of the enemies boats which hove in sight, and a report from a scouting party that the Enemy were moving on; where the Fleet is now, I can't learn, or what is the reason they don't come on I can't conceive. 'Tis thought they are 10 or 12 thousand strong, including Canadians and Indians. We are in a much better situation now than we were fourteen days ago, and the militia are continually coming in. Our sick are recovering, and it is thought we are as ready for them now as ever we shall be. There has been a vast deal of work done since the fight, and we think ourselves in so good a position that we shall be disappointed if they don't attack us. However, I believe they wait for nothing but a fair wind. In my next, I'll tell you more about it. In the meantime I am yours to command. EZRA GREEN. My respects to your lady and love to your children. P.S. I have some thought of leaving the army and joining the navy, provided I can get a berth as surgeon of a good continental ship or a privateer. Should be glad if you would enquire, if you don't know, and send me word what Incouragement is given; and let me know if any ships are fitting out from Portsmouth, and you'll oblige your friend, E. G. Dr. Green remained with the troops which occupied Mount Independence until they left the position in December, when he returned to Albany, and there left the army and returned to Dover, New-Hampshire. All through the following summer, he was afflicted with fever and ague, but in October, 1777, accepted an appointment as surgeon of the continental ship-of-war Ranger, then fitting out in Portsmouth, N.H., under the command of Capt. John Paul Jones, and nearly ready for sea. They sailed, as his diary shows, on the 1st of November, 1777, for France. The following letter, written to his friend Mr. Cooper, describes the passage out. _On Board the Ranger, Peanbeauf Road_, Dec. 4, 1777. "SIR: By a Gentleman who is writing I have an opportunity just to present my respects to yourself and lady, and to inform you of my safe arrival at Peanbeauf 27 miles below Nantz on the 2d of December current, after a passage of 32 days. Our people all in good health and high spirits. We had as good weather as we could wish 'till within a week of our arrival. In the Bay of Biscay we had a very heavy Gale of Wind, but it continued but about 48 hours. Saw but one ship of war, and she was in the chops of the English Channel, with a Fleet under convoy. ---- ---- I have the happiness to inform you of the Capture of two Brigs, on the 25th and 27th of November, both from Malaga laden with wine and fruit, which on my own and friends account could wish with all my heart were in Portsmouth, New-Hampshire. They were ordered to some part of France, but have not yet heard of their arrival. There is nothing new here. The French say but little about a war, being very intent on getting money. Here are a number of vessels fitting out for America in the trading way. The news of Gen. Burgoine affair got here just before us, and before this time is in all parts of Europe. I don't expect we shall go from this Place these six weeks, as there is a great deal wanting to be done to the ship before she will go to sea again. It seems probable to me that she will be ordered directly back to America, as soon as may be. In the meantime I am, With the greatest sincerity & respect, Your humble servant, E. GREEN. Please to present my best regards to Susy[1], & love to your little children, & salutations to all enquiring Friends. Mr. Nathaniel Cooper, of Dover, New-Hampshire, New-England. [1] This was Susannah Hayes, whom he subsequently married. Dr. Green continued in the Ranger until her return to Portsmouth in October, 1778, when he left her, and returned to Dover. When the Ranger was refitted in the following spring, under the command of his friend, Capt. T. Simpson, he rejoined her as surgeon, and sailed in her on a cruise in company with the Warren, 32 guns, Commodore J. B. Hopkins, and Queen of France, 28, Capt. J. Olney; the latter a French ship, which had been purchased at Nantes for the American government. While on this cruise, in March, they captured a privateer schooner of 14 guns, and on the 6th of April the schooner Hibernia, of 8 guns and 45 men, and the next morning, off Cape Henry, six more of a fleet of nine vessels, viz.: the ship Jason, Capt. Porterfield, 20 guns, 150 men; ship Maria, letter of marque, 16 guns, 80 men, cargo of flour, &c.; and brigs Prince Frederick, Patriot, Bachelors John, and schooner Chance, all laden with stores for the British army. Among the prisoners taken was a Colonel Campbell, and twenty-three army officers of lesser rank, on their way to join their regiments at the south.[2] All these vessels were brought into Portsmouth, N.H., three weeks after the squadron sailed from thence. [2] Emmons's History U.S. Navy, 1776-1853. On another cruise, the Ranger, still commanded by Simpson, in company with the Providence, 28, Commodore A. Whipple, and Queen of France, 28, Capt. J. P. Rathburn,[3] on the 17th of July, 1779, when on the Banks of Newfoundland, fell in with the Jamaica fleet, homeward bound, consisting of one hundred and fifty sail, convoyed by a ship-of-the-line, and several cruisers, and succeeded in capturing eleven large ships, of seven to eight hundred tons, three of which were re-taken; but seven of them, whose cargoes were estimated to be worth $1,000,000, were brought safely into Boston. All Boston was alarmed at the sight of the little continental squadron and its prizes,--ten large ships standing directly into the harbor,--believing them to be a British fleet. The buildings were covered with spectators. The cargoes, consisting of rum, sugar, logwood, pimento, &c, were delivered one half to the government and one half to the captors.[4] [3] The Queen of France, Providence and Ranger, all three under the same commanders, were sunk at Charleston, S.C., May 12, 1780, by the British Squadron, after that city had surrendered to the forces under Sir Henry Clinton. [4] The Rev. Dr. Lothrop's Centennial Sermon in Dover, N.H., June 28, 1846 (Appendix). On his return from this successful cruise, Dr. Green resigned his position as surgeon of the Hanger in favor of Dr. Parker, of Exeter, and returned to Dover. In 1780 he sailed on another cruise in the Alexander, Captain Mitchell, 14 guns, but they accomplished nothing. In 1781, the vessel having been fitted up as a letter of marque, under Captain Simpson, he went in her to Fredericksburg, Virginia, and they took thence a load of tobacco to l'Orient in France. He returned in the Alexander to the United States in the autumn of that year, which concluded his revolutionary services. II. DR. GREEN'S PRIVATE LIFE AND CHARACTER. By WALTER C. GREEN. My father, Dr. Ezra Green, was born in Maiden, Mass., June 17, 1746, and, after he was graduated at Harvard College in 1765, he commenced the study of medicine and surgery with Dr. Sprague, of Maiden, finishing his course with Dr. Fisher, of Newburyport. He then went to Dover, New-Hampshire, to reside, in 1767, where he was in successful practice up to his appointment as surgeon in the army. Dr. Green's five years service in the army and navy I need not describe, it having been already narrated by Commodore Preble. About the same time that Dr. Green went to reside in Dover, his friend the Rev. Jeremy Belknap, from Boston, was by unanimous vote invited there and ordained minister of the Congregational Society on a salary of £150, payable semi-annually, and there he preached for eighteen years. This small pittance being inadequate for the support of himself, his wife, two sons and two daughters, he asked a dismissal, and returning to Boston, he was soon settled as minister over the Federal Street Society, and there remained until his greatly lamented death, June 20, 1798, at the early age of 55 years. Dr. Belknap was my father's next-door neighbor, and the close intimacy so early commenced between the two families, never abated during their lives. When Dr. Green and the Rev. Mr. Belknap went to Dover, my dear mother was eight years of age, and being of a lively, pleasant disposition and quick apprehension, with an ardent fondness for books and study, she early enlisted their kind offices in the direction of her various studies; and to them she was largely indebted for her excellent education. On the 13th of December, 1778, my father was married to my mother, Susannah Hayes, of Dover, by the Rev. Jeremy Belknap. This fortunate union remained unbroken, save for his absence during the remainder of his service in the navy, until it was severed by her death,--a period of fifty-seven years. In a letter from on board the Ranger dated March 12, 1779, Dr. Green wrote to his then young married wife: "I never felt so uneasy on account of your absence. I pray we may not long be separated from each other, but as Providence seems to have pointed out this to me as a duty, I desire to pursue it cheerfully and with good courage, and I know you would not wish me to turn or look back; and I wish you all the happiness of this world and that to come." As soon as he had discharged the duty here mentioned, that is, on the termination of the revolutionary war, Dr. Green relinquished his medical practice to his friend and successor, Dr. Jacob Kittredge, to whom he gave his surgical instruments, books and medicines, and then commenced a mercantile business. Early after this he was made post-master in Dover, which office he voluntarily resigned after several years of faithful duty. Dr. Green was made deacon of the First Congregational Society in Dover, and was a most devout, unfailing attendant on all Sunday or week day religious services, despite the adverse weather of severest cold or snow of winter, or scorching heat of summer. My father's religious education gave to his early and middle life a degree of asceticism that controlled his thoughts and conduct; but from this in his later years, with a wider range of religious and theological information, and with greater experience and reflection, he happily emerged into broader views of the truths of Christianity. These gave him fresh vitality, and added a more gentle influence and sweetness to his character. In the year 1827, Dr. Green, with many others of similar religious belief, withdrew from the First Congregational Church, and formed the First Unitarian or Second Congregational Society in Dover. In the affairs of the new society, though nearly 80 years of age, he took an active and prominent part, and especially in erecting, during the year 1828, a large commodious church, in which the Rev. Samuel Kirkland Lothrop soon after was called to preach as the first pastor of the society; presiding in that ministry with satisfactory zeal and fidelity for five years, until 1834, when he was called away to a wider field of usefulness, to the pastorship of the Brattle Square Church in Boston, where he happily officiates to this late day with no diminution of ardor and faith. Dr. Green and family were fond of friendly social intercourse, and his doors were ever open and largely frequented by the refined and cultivated persons of both sexes, who appreciated their society and liberal hospitality. In the various affairs of the town, he took a lively interest, and under his charge the first school-house was built; and for educational and religious purposes, the dissemination of the Scriptures at home and abroad, and support of the ministry, he was always a willing contributor. From time to time he served as selectman, or as surveyor of the highways and by-ways, and now and then as moderator at the town-meetings, where the clashing parties of Federalists and Democrats met, with passionate party feelings, which at times raged with scarce controllable fury. From active mercantile business in 1811, he sought that domestic quietude with his devoted wife and family he so fondly cherished, and there he largely indulged his taste in reading to their ever attentive ears. He was no hum-drum reader, but with a clear voice and superior elocutionary powers he rendered his various readings pleasingly attractive, and this was his fondest daily enjoyment, up to the very verge of his prolonged years. My dear mother had but a feeble constitution, yet I never knew her depressed in spirits. Her well-stored, retentive memory made her society attractive to the old and young who frequented her house; and as a wife and mother, she was in all her duties watchfully diligent and greatly endeared by her family. Her life was that of a liberal Christian, and she awaited her exit from this world with patient resignation, and in the happy belief of an immediate entrance into a future life of endless duration and happiness; and thus she passed away, on the 3d of April, 1836, in the 77th year of her age. During those early times it was the prevailing fashion, whatever the hour of a friendly call, to invite the guest to imbibe as he might prefer from the several potations before him. The custom was a pernicious one, and when the temperance societies sprung up, Dr. Green, though always a most temperate person, was the first to enter his name on the list of "total abstinents," not from the least necessary restrictive requirement on his part, but because he hoped it might prove an efficient example for many of his fellow-townsmen, who were more or less demoralized by this habitual indulgence. He had no craving desire for official position or for public notoriety. He was, however, honored by several governors of the state with a commission as justice of the peace, and was also chosen one of the delegates at large, and chairman of the state convention for the adoption of the constitution of the United States. His vote gave a majority in its favor, an event of profound importance for New-Hampshire, to which the other assenting states were looking for this hoped for result, with no small doubt and distrust of feeling. He had a fond taste for horticulture, and in his garden it was his daily enjoyment to spend a few hours in healthful exercise, where he gloried over his various fruits and delicacies. From his wife's farm of 150 acres, four miles from town, most of the staple necessaries of life were produced, so that at his table, where there was no needless waste, there was a sufficiency to satisfy the keenest appetite or most dainty palate. His garden at one time had more than thirty peach trees, most of which were killed by an untimely snow-storm in June, when they were in full blossom. The few which escaped during my boyhood I well remember for their luscious flavor. He was no less fond of pomology, and during the fall season he took me behind him on his horse Whitey to the farm to assist in carrying the implements for ingrafting his young thrifty apple orchard, and with eager eyes I watched the sound selected branch from which with fine saw he lopped off the upper portion. Next with mallet and chisel midway the stalk was cleft for the wedge-cut scion's insertion where the two barks met to catch the up flowing sap in spring. Then with trowel the plastic clay was overlaid to hold firm the scions against the rude blasts of winter, and then the flaxen tow was wound around, and last of all a bandage deftly fastened, and all so artistically done, as in a few years well repaid him with its ample fruitage. Several trees were grafted with scions cut from an aged tree in Massachusetts, the bark nearly destroyed by the wood-peckers, and hence its name of "Pecker-Apple." It attained a large size, resembling the well-known Baldwin, though firmer and handsomer; and when ripe in mid-winter, it was with its crisp golden pulp and juicy flavor the most delicious apple I have ever eaten. Dr. Green was an ardent patriot and Federalist, a brave and consistent champion of that independence he had helped to win, and a zealous advocate for that constitution he had aided to establish. From early life to the last he was an opponent of the institution of slavery, and predicted that sooner or later the free and slave states would be involved in a bitter controversy on that account. That he was spared the realization of his fears, was a mercy to his sensitive heart. In his mode of life he aimed at no ostentatious show. Polite and affable in his deportment, he won the respect due to courteous manners. In personal appearance and contour of face, he was not unlike Gen. Washington, for whom he was often taken while in the army. In stature he was six feet three inches tall and proportionately large in frame; and whether walking or sitting, he always maintained a very erect position. The woodcut engraving which accompanies this sketch represents Dr. Green at the age of fifty-five years, and is a very perfect outline likeness. The steel engraved portrait is taken from a rather indistinct daguerreotype likeness when he was one hundred years of age. He had a sound, vigorous constitution, strengthened and preserved by uniform temperate habits, daily physical exercise, early hours for retirement, and rising with the opening day. At the age of 82 years he fell and broke his thigh bone where it entered its socket; and little did he or his physician believe that at his advanced age it would ever unite, as it did after several months confinement to his bed; so that in the course of time, with the aid of crutch or cane, he was enabled to hobble about his house and garden, and occasionally to attend church. Ten years more had nearly elapsed, when another more serious accident befel him. From an early morning stroll in front of his house, he came in doors, and standing by the window reading, was suddenly prostrated backward to the floor, seemingly, to him, by a violent blow on his cranium, and so wrenching his spinal column, as deprived him ever after of all power of locomotion. Happily this accident was unattended with pain, and there in his cosey easy chair, with books, papers, &c. around him, his days and years flew apace without weariness or complaint, and with that sweet serenity of mind and calm christian patience which won the most devotioned care and affectionate love of his two only surviving daughters. From his personal friends, he had frequent social visits, and from strangers not a few, from far and near, attracted by his venerable age, or a desire to hear him recount his varied experience during our revolutionary war. Groups too of merry children, for whom he had a kindly fondness, came often with tasteful flowers to greet him. Such indeed was his uniform gentleness of disposition, and lively interest in all public and domestic affairs, that he left questionable evidence on the minds of not a few strangers, as to the extreme old age attributed to him. Here, in conclusion, I will add that, on learning my dear father's indisposition, I hastened to see him, and found him suffering somewhat, as it seemed, from the effects of a cold and cough. To gratify me he took some homoeopathic pellets I recommended, smilingly remarking that such an infinitesimal potion could neither kill nor cure. Finding himself the next morning much relieved, he exclaimed that that was not what he desired, "for it has been my daily prayer the last year to my Heavenly Father, to take me to himself, and I believe he has kept me here a year longer, for my ceaseless importunity." Whereat I asked, have you not enjoyed your usual good health and happy intercourse with your devoted daughters and friends? O yes! that I have, and every worldly comfort and enjoyment I desire, but now I long to depart. Like the late renowned Mrs. Mary Somerville, of England, he dreaded the possibility of his physical powers outliving his mental faculties; and then said, "what an incubus I should be to my loving daughters, who would then wish me in my grave." Happily was it that he was exempt from all those fretful, fractious feelings to which aged people are occasionally subject. Such was his universal cheerful temperament and mental activity, that his death to his idolizing daughters was no less grievous than that of a darling child to a fond mother; and so it was, that this eminently good and venerable man's prayer was soon after my visit indulged, and on July 25, 1847, he expired at the very advanced age of 101 years and 28 days, retaining to his last hour a clear unclouded mind, and with the full faith and confiding hope of entering a future world of progressive improvement and happiness. On the one hundredth anniversary of Dr. Green's birth-day, the 28th of June, 1846, his former friend and pastor, the Rev. Samuel K. Lothrop, of Boston, preached in Dover a commemorative discourse[5] on this event, and from its appendix I make the following extract:-- [5] THE CONSOLATIONS OF OLD AGE. | A | Sermon | Preached at the | First Unitarian Church, in Dover, N. H | On the 28th of June, 1846, | Being the One Hundredth Birth-day | of | Ezra Green, M.D. | The Oldest Living Graduate of Harvard College. | By S. K. Lothrop, | Pastor of the Church in Brattle Square, Boston: | 1846. | Eastburn's Press. | [8vo. pp. 25.] Dr. Green is still able to employ himself with books for several hours every day. He reads the papers, and keeps himself well informed upon all public affairs, and retains his interest in them. As an evidence of the declaration that "the intellect and the heart have been slightly touched by time," I am permitted to publish the following extracts from a record, made in my journal, of an interesting interview had with him after service on the Sunday on which the sermon was preached. I had said that he was so well and strong that perhaps his life would still be prolonged some years; to which he replied--"I know not how long I may live. Death was always a very solemn and affecting thing to me. When a young man nothing affected or impressed me so much as a funeral. It has been so through life and is so now. I contemplate death with awe. It is a solemn thing to die, to exchange worlds, to enter upon an untried, spiritual, eternal state of being, of which we can form no adequate conceptions. To appear before an omniscient God, to account for the deeds done in the body, _all_ of them, through a _long_ life, is a solemn thing; I feel it to be so--I have always felt it. But I thank God that I am able to contemplate him as my Father in Heaven. Through Jesus Christ, the mediator, I have hope in his mercy, and a perfect trust in his paternal goodness." * * * * These observations, and others in a similar strain, were made spontaneously, with pauses in which he seemed to be collecting his thoughts, but with only a single question put to him on my part. I publish them, not on account of the particular religious opinions which they express, but for the evidence they afford of the unabated vigor and activity of his intellect at the age of an hundred years. I have given very nearly his exact words. He was much affected during the utterance of these sentiments, and evidently spoke from the bottom of an earnest and sincere heart. The interview was exceedingly interesting, and left on those present the impression that he was ripe for the Kingdom of Heaven, and that an old age surrounded by so many comforts, with the intellect and the heart so little impaired, was not so sad and gloomy a period as we sometimes imagine. In June, 1846, he received the following letter from Daniel Webster: WASHINGTON, June 17, 1846. MY DEAR SIR:--I hope you remember me at that period of my life, when I was in the habit of attending the Courts at Dover, and when I had the pleasure of enjoying your society and hospitality. And I hope that in subsequent life I have made some efforts which you have approved, for the maintenance of those political principles to which, as a friend and follower of Washington, you have ever been attached, and which I have heard you so often and so intelligently defend. This is the day[6] on which you complete the hundredth year of your age. Will you allow me, therefore, to greet you, to-day, with a respectful and friendly letter, congratulating you on the degree of strength, mental and bodily, which Providence allows you to enjoy, so far beyond the lot of man, and tendering to you my cordial and affectionate good wishes for your continued health and happiness. I send you a copy of a speech lately made by me in the senate, and remain, dear sir, Your friend and obedient servant, Dr. Ezra Green. DANIEL WEBSTER. [6] Mr. Webster fixed the date according to the "old style" of reckoning, which explains the apparent discrepancy between his statement and the date named in Dr. Lothrop's sermon. * * * * * To my cousin the Hon. James D. Green, of Cambridge, Mass., I am indebted for the following authentic annals from his manuscript volume, in the library of the New-England Historic, Genealogical Society, in Boston, relative to his and my father's earliest progenitors. Dr. Green's earliest ancestor who came from England to this country, was: 1. JAMES^1 GREEN, yeoman, 24 years. He was an inhabitant of Charlestown, 1634, and admitted freeman of the colony in 1647, purchasing lands and settling in "Mystic Fields," since called Maiden. He died March 29, 1687, aged 77 years, leaving a widow and two sons, John and James. After a proper provision for his widow and son James, he willed his "lands and housing thereon" to his son John. 2. JOHN^2 (_James^1_), the eldest son of James, was born about 1650 and died at the age of 59, leaving a widow, three daughters and one son, Samuel, to whom, after providing for his widow and daughters, he by will gave all his lands in Maiden and Charlestown "to him and his heirs forever." 3. SAMUEL^3 (_John,^2_ _James^1_), who was born in 1679, was a representative of the town in the general court in 1742. His wife died at the age of 72, and he died February 21, 1761, at the age of 82, leaving four sons: James, John, Timothy and Ezra, and one daughter, Mary Daua. To his beloved son Ezra, he by will gave all the remainder and residue of his real and personal estate, he paying his debts, funeral expenses and the various bequests to his other children and granddaughters. 4. EZRA^4 (_Samuel,^3_ _John,^2_ _James^1_), was born in 1714, and married Sarah Hutchinson, who died July 7, 1741, at the age of 26 years. His second wife, Eunice Burrell, of Lynn, died October 20, 1760, aged 47, leaving two sons, Ezra and Bernard. For his third wife, he married Mary Vinton, by whom he had one son, Aaron. Said Ezra Green was deacon of the church in Maiden, selectman and representative in the general court during the years of 1760, '61 and '62. He died April 28, 1768, at the age of 54 years. By his will, after providing for his beloved widow Mary, he gave to his son Ezra twenty acres of land in Chelsea, and about five acres near "Penny Ferry," apart from what he had paid for his collegiate and medical education, and the gift of a horse, which he deemed equivalent to the homestead, real and personal (except what he had disposed of to his son Aaron, besides his collegiate educational expenses), which he bequeathed to his son Bernard, making as it did the fifth generation, and embracing more than two hundred years since its first purchase by James Green in 1610. Dr. Green was in his second year's naval service, when, by the Rev. Jeremy Belknap, he was married to Susanna Hayes in the twentieth year of her age. She was then reputed to have been quite handsome and a great favorite with all her acquaintance. She had a delicate and petite figure, nut-brown hair, shading bright hazel eyes that lit up her regular cut features with a winning expression, which played over a soft transparent complexion, lovely as a fresh-blown rose. Her father's will, making his estate reversionary in the event of his daughter's decease without issue, happily placed her and her husband in no such unpleasant dilemma; for in the brief time of nineteen years, thirteen children were born to them, viz.: i. EUNICE, b. July 1, 1780; d. Oct. 7, 1782. ii. REUBEN HAYES, b. Aug. 20, 1783. iii. CHARLES, b. March 26, 1785; d. April 5, 1854. iv. DEBORAH SHACKFORD, b. March 20, 1787; d. May 7, 1860. v. SARAH, b. Oct. 19, 1788; d. Nov. 2, 1874. vi. SAMUEL, b. Jan. 4, 1790; d. Jan. 23, 1791. vii. MARTHA, b. July 13, 1791; d. Nov. 25, 1792. viii. EUNICE, b. Oct. 8, 1792; d. May 25, 1839. ix. A DAUGHTER, b. July 15, 1794; still-born. x. MARTHA, b. June 9, 1795; d. Aug. 3, 1795. xi. A SON, b. April 27, 1796; still-born. xii. SAMUEL, b. Oct. 5, 1797; d. Nov. 3, 1823. xiii. WALTER COOPER, b. July 1, 1799. My mother's earliest paternal ancestor[7] in America, 1. JOHN^1 HAYES, is said to have emigrated from Scotland about 1680, and settled in Dover, New-Hampshire. He had a grant of land in 1693. By his wife Mary Horn, he had seven sons and three daughters, viz.: 2. i. JOHN, b. 1686. ii. PETER. iii. REUBEN. iv. ICHABOD, b. March 13, 1691-2. v. SAMUEL, b. March 16, 1694-5. vi. WILLIAM, b. Sept. 6, 1698. vii. BENJAMIN, b. ----, 1700. viii. A DAUGHTER, m. Phipps. ix. A DAUGHTER, m. Ambrose. x. A DAUGHTER. 2. JOHN^2 (_John^1_), married Mrs. Tomson, and lived at Tole-End, four miles from Dover corner. He was a deacon of the First Congregational Society in Dover. They had eight children, viz.: i. ANN, b. June 3, 1718. 3. ii. REUBEN, b. May 8, 1720; d. 1762. iii. JOSEPH, b. March 15, 1722. iv. BENJAMIN, b. March 6, 1723. v. MEHITABEL, b. Dec. 11, 1725. vi. JOHN, went to North Yarmouth, Maine, to reside. vii. ELIJAH, went to Berwick, Maine. viii. ICHABOD, went to Berwick, Maine. 3. REUBEN^3 (_John^2_, _John^1_), was born May 8, 1720. He lived at Tole-End and married Abigail Shackford, by whom he had only one child, viz.: i. SUSANNA, b. March 23, 1759. Reuben Hayes died in 1762, at the early age of 42 years, and by his will, after a liberal provision for his wife Abigail, he gave all the residue of his estate, real and personal, to his only child Susanna Hayes, consisting of his farm of 150 acres at Tole-End, with this reservation that, in case "his said daughter Susanna, at her decease, should leave no issue of her body lawfully begotten surviving, then my will is that, my whole estate that shall then be remaining, both real and personal, shall revert and be divided among my four Brethren, namely, Benjamin, John, Ichabod and Elijah Hayes." [7] I am mainly indebted for the annals of my mother's paternal ancestry to John R. Ham, M.D., of Dover, N.H. DIARY OF DR. EZRA GREEN. _Portsmouth Road, Nov. 1st, 1777. Saturday._--Between the hours of 8 & 9 this morning weigh'd anchor and proceeded to Sea with a moderate breeze, before night lost sight of the American shore.[8] [8] The Ranger 18, was built 1777, on Langdon's Island, Portsmouth Harbor, by order of Congress, under the direction of Colonel James Hackett. On the 14th of June, 1777, Congress _Resolved_, That Capt. John Paul Jones be appointed to command the ship Ranger, and under date Philadelphia, June 18, 1777, the marine committee write to him, "You are appointed to the command of the Ranger, lately built at Portsmouth. Col. Whipple, the bearer of this, carries with him the resolves of Congress appointing you to this command, and authorizing him, Col. Langdon, and you to appoint the other commissioned as well as warrant officers necessary for this ship, and he has with him blank commissions and warrants for this purpose." Though great diligence was used by Jones in equipping the Ranger, she was not ready to proceed on her destination until the middle of October. Twenty-six guns had been provided for the ship, but Jones exercised great judgment in mounting only eighteen on her, as he considered from her size and slight construction, that she would be more serviceable with eighteen than with a greater number. The following extracts from his letter to the marine committee, dated Oct. 29, 1777, two days before sailing, gives a lively idea of the difficulties he had to contend with, and the poverty of our resources. "With all my industry I could not get a single suit of sails completed until the 20th current. Since that time winds and weather have laid me under the necessity of continuing in port. At this time it blows a very heavy gale from the northeast. The ship with difficulty rides it out, with yards and topmasts struck and whole cables ahead. When it clears up I expect the wind from the northwest, and shall not fail to embrace it, although I have not now a spare sail nor materials to make one. Some of those I have are made of hissings. I never before had such disagreeable service to perform, as that which I have now accomplished and of which another will claim the credit as well as the profit. However, in doing my utmost I am sensible that I have done no more than my duty." Thus imperfectly equipped, having a very good crew, but "only thirty gallons of rum," as Jones laments, for them to drink on the passage, the Ranger sailed from Portsmouth on the 1st of November, 1777.--_Mackenzie's Life of Paul Jones._ _Sunday, Nov. 2nd._--A very fine morning and a favorable wind, all well on board--except some few who are a little Seasick. _Friday, Nov. 7th._--A strong gale at Northwest which carrys us 10 knots. _Thursday, Nov. 13th._--About seven this morning saw a sail on our lee Bow distant about 2 Leagues, gave chase and spoke her about 12 o'clock, a Brig from Carolina bound for Bordeaux with several Tory Passengers on Board, among whom were Hartley the Organist & his wife. _Friday, Nov. 14th._--This Morning at 5 o'clock came up a severe Thunder Storm from the southwest. _Saturday, 15th._--Last evening came on a gale of wind which increas'd till about 3 this morning when it began to abate, in the hight of the gale a sail was seen under our lee Quarter, hove too till she came up, a Schooner from St. Peters bound to Bordeaux. _Sunday, 16th._--A fresh Breeze, and high Sea from the late Gale, about 10 o'clock our tiller Rope broke by which we were in great Danger of the Consequences of the Ship's broaching to. _Wednesday, 19th._--About six this morning saw a Sail under our lee Quarter, gave Chase or rather bore away till we came within about a mile of Her found Her to be a large Ship standing Our course clued up Our Courses and hawl'd Our wind--got ready for Action she standing on her course close to the wind, wore Ship when it was too late, continued the chase till night and lost Her. _Saturday, Nov. 22nd._--At nine o'clock this morning saw a Sail on our weather Beam--little wind; One of Our People fell from the Chains but was saved by a Rope's End handed Him. _Sunday, Nov. 23rd._--Early in the morning saw a Sail supposed to be the same we saw yesterday, came up with and made a Prize of--about 8 o'clock, a Brig laden with fruit and wine from Malaga bound to Yarmouth, Riches Comm^r.--She is called the Mary--there are no less than six sail in sight at this Time. _Monday, Nov. 24th._--Spoke a Schooner from Malaga bound to Liverpool vessel and Cargo owned by a Portugal Merch^t. _Tuesday, 25th._--Last night spoke a Ship & Snow bound to France,--and are now chasing a vessel under Our lee Bow, at 11 at night came up with & made a Prize of the Brig George from Malaga bound to London laden with fruit and wine, she was commanded by Bulfinch. _Wednesday, 26th._--Early in the morning gave chase to a Brig under our lee Bow, but were obliged to give over Chase on seeing a very large Ship to windward with several other Sail in Company she appeared to be standing athwart us, about 2 she hove too with a Fleet of 13 Sail of Ships & Brigs at 2 Leagues Distance, clewed up Our Courses & stopp'd our Ship's way expecting every minute when she would come down upon us about 4 she stood on her Course, we made sail close to the wind with a design to cut off a Brig which could not keep up with the Convoy, lost her in the night. _Thursday, 27._--A fresh gale from the S.W. in the afternoon vear'd a Barrel of Beef astern for the Brig, Sea running High she carelessly ran upon our Larboard Quarter but did no other Damage than breaking our Driver Boom--at 10 at Night saw several Sail spoke one of them found them all to be Dutch Daugers. _Saturday, 29th._--A very heavy gale, hove too at night in the Bay of Biscay 60 Leagues distant from Land. _Sunday, 30th._--Fine weather and a strong wind in the night hove too and sounded in 80 Fathom water. _Monday, Dec. 1._--Saw Land from mast Head at 10 in the morning, with fine weather. _Tuesday, Dec. 2nd._--Ran in for the Land with a fine moderate Breeze, narrowly escap'd running on a Sand through want of a Pilot and arrived all in good spirits at Peanbeauf on the River Loire and came to anchor in the evening. _Wednesday, 3rd._--Wrote a Letter to Capt. Shackford at L'Orient and inclos'd one to my very good friend Cooper--favour'd by Cap^t. Mutchemore.[9] [9] The letter to his friend Cooper is given in the Memoir. _Friday, Dec. 5th._--The Prize Brig Mary arrived here safe--went to Nantez with Capt. Simpson arriv'd at 9 in the Evening this is a very considerable City distant 10 Leagues from Peanbeauf am told there are 12 Parishes in Nantes in one of which are 30,000 Souls. _Saturday, Dec. 6._--Went to the Tragedy but it was to me in an unknown Tongue, was not much pleased or entertained, however the Musick was good. _Sunday, Dec. 7._--Returned to Peanbeauf, and on board the Ranger. _Friday, 13 Feb._--Set sail for Quiberon Bay M^r. Williams & Brother on board, in company with us Brig Independence, anchored in the Bay about six in the Evening, 4 Ships of the Line besides Frigates in the Bay. _Saturday, 14th Feby._--Very Squaly weather, came to Sail at 4 o'clock P.M. saluted the french Admiral & rec'd nine guns in return this is the first salute ever pay'd the American flagg. _Sunday, 15th Feb'y._--Brig Independence saluted the french Flagg which was return'd.[10] [10] Jones, in his letter to the naval committee, dated Feb. 22, 1778, reporting this important recognition of our flag, says:-- "I am happy to have it in my power to congratulate you on my having seen the American flag, for the first time, recognized in the fullest and completest manner by the flag of France. I was off this bay [Quiberon Bay] on the 13th inst., and sent my boat in the next day to know if the Admiral would return my salute. He answered that he would return to me as the senior continental officer in Europe, the same salute as he was authorized to return to an Admiral of Holland, or any other republic, which was four guns less than the salute given. I hesitated at this, _for I had demanded gun for gun_. "Therefore I anchored in the entrance of the Bay at a distance from the French fleet; but after a very particular inquiry, on the 14th, finding that he really told the truth, I was induced to accept his offer, the more _as it was an acknowledgment of American Independence_. "The wind being contrary and blowing hard, it was after sunset before the Ranger was near enough to salute La Motte Piquet with thirteen guns, which he returned with nine. However, to put the matter beyond a doubt, I did not suffer the Independence to salute until the next morning, when I sent word to the Admiral that I would sail through his fleet in the Brig and would salute him in open day. He was exceedingly pleasant, and returned the compliment also with nine guns." _Wednesday, 25th Feb'y._--Fleet got underway and left us at anchor contrary to Expectations, about 12 o'clock it being very windy we came to sail, ran out of the Bay without a Pilot, attempted to the Northward of Belisle, but did not succeed, put back hoping to run into the Bay again, but could not weather the Rocks, in the midst of our Trouble having narrowly escap'd over setting the Ship, were alarm'd with the cry of Fire--after all our endeavours to procure a Pilot were in vain, & night coming on, bore away and ran out to the Leward of the Island, very squaly still. _Thursday, 26._--Arrived in Quiberon-Bay again the Evening after a short but very tedious & unprofitable Cruize. _Tuesday, March 3rd._--Weigh'd anchor and came to Sail in fine weather & smooth water, sail'd along the Coast about 25 Leagues and came to anchor in a small Bay near a small village called Benodett, had a curious Adventure with a french Pilot who came on Board to pilot the Ship but would not be compell'd to take charge of her. _Thursday, March 5th._--Went with Joseph Ratcliff to Pontlably and procured good lodgings for Him supposing the Eruption (which came out last night) to be Small Pox--we were treated with great respect as we were Americans, were waited on near half a mile to the Boat and on parting gave them 3 Cheers which was answered with vive Le Congres. _Friday, March 6th._--This morning (being fine weather) came to sail, in the morning went through of Passage Duroi; saw a large Ship to the leeward which we thought was a Frigate & the same we saw yesterday: She fail'd in attempting to get through the Passage and stood off. _Saturday, March 7th._--Came to anchor in Baldavids Bay not far from the River of Brest. _Sunday, March 8th._--Weigh'd and beat up towards Brest came too in Camaritt's Bay 4 Leagues from Brest. [At Brest] _Tuesday, March 10th._--Last night eight of our People took the Cutter and went on shore and ran off leaving the Boat on the Rocks. _Friday, March 13th._--Seven of eight Deserters were bro't back under guard & confined in Irons. _Saturday, 14th March._--Went to Brest with Capt. Jones & Lt. Simpson; had a slight view of the Fortifications, Shipping, and Dock-Yards--return'd in the Evening. _Sunday, 15th._--I had the pleasure of entertaining the Commissaries Lady & two Sisters on Board the Ranger. _Wednesday, 18th._--Last night died after a lingering Illness for more than three weeks Will^m. Reading--His remains were decently interr'd about 11 o'clock A.M.--P.M. the Ladies came to pay Capt. Jones a visit as he was absent when they pay'd us the first Visit. _Monday, 23rd March._--Got under way and ran up to Brest; saluted the Admiral, rec'd the news of L^d. Stormont's having left Paris on receiving a copy of the Treaty with America. _Thursday, 2nd April._--Got up anchor pay'd the french flagg another Salute rec'd. 11 for 13--One of our Seamen narrowly escap'd drowning; when the Ship was coming to sail was turned off from the Spritsail Yard the Ship went over Him, but He was luckily taken up by the Man who was in the Cutter which was vear'd astern arriv'd at Camaritt about 5 o'clock P.M. and came to anchor. _Friday, 3rd April._--Our Ship being laid on Shore for cleaning I went with our Pilot & L^t. Wallingsford to take a view of the New Fort which is building on an Eminence at the distance of three miles from Camaritt. _Sunday, 5 April._--Attempted to get out to sea with the Fortuna of 36 guns but were oblig'd to return to Brest. _Wednesday, 8th._--Made a second Attempt to get out & fail'd. _Friday, 10th._--About 5 o'clock P.M. came to Sail in Company with the Frigate [Fortuna]--were detained by the Cutter which was sent after Sand to Camaritt. _Saturday, 12th._[11]--Fine weather but no Convoy to be seen, about 10 in the morning saw a sail to windward which prov'd quite contrary to our fears to be the Fortuna--we were all ready for action when she came alongside of us. [11] Saturday was the 11th April, 1778. From this entry to that on Friday the 24th, there is a discrepancy of one day between the day of the week and the month. _Monday, 14th._--Our Convoy left us, sooner than Capt. Jones Expected which He resented but could not prevent. _Tuesday, 15 April._--Early in the morning saw a Brig under our Lee Bow, about 8 o'clock spoke her: from Ostend to Galway laden with Flaxseed took the People their Baggage &c. on board scuttled and left Her.[12] [12] Jones, in his report to the American commissioners, written on the 27th of May, from Brest, says: "On the 14th I took a Brigantine between Scilly and Cape Clear, bound for Ostend, with a cargo of flaxseed for Ireland, sunk her, and proceeded into St. George's Channel." _Wednesday, 16th._--Made some part of Ireland in the morning suppos'd to be the high Land of Dungarvin. _Thursday 17th._--Saw a Ship in the afternoon under our lee Bow, at Sun's setting spoke Her--a Ship of about 350 Tons from London for Dublin laden with Hemp Iron Porter &c &c. ordered her to Brest.[13] [13] Jones calls this ship the Lord Chatham, and says that she was captured almost within sight of her port. _Saturday, 19th._--Made a warm attempt to take a Cutter mounting 8 Guns, she slipped through Our Fingers, had the Captain have permitted the Marines to fire on them when they first came under our lee Quarter might have taken Her with great Ease. _Sunday, 20th._--In the morning near the Isle of Man sunk a schooner laden with Barley & Oats about 60 Tons burthen from some part of Scotland, in the Evening sunk a Sloop in ballast from Ireland.[14] _Monday, 21st._--Bore down for Belfast Loch, took a fishing Boat with 4 Men in sight of a Ship at anchor they informed Us that she was a Man of war of 20 guns; we made sail and stood off about an Hour, when the Capt. ordered the ship to be put about in order to go in and cut her out, but the wind blowing fresh and the people unwilling to undertake it we stood off and on till midnight when the People consenting and the wind having lulled a little we stood into the River but it being somewhat Dark did not drop our Anchor so as to lay her along side, therefore were oblig'd to cut and run out, which we were very lucky in effecting.[14] [14] Jones says with regard to these affairs: "On the 18th, in Glentine bay, on the south coast of Scotland, I met with a revenue wherry; it being the common practice of these vessels to board merchant ships, the Ranger then having no external appearance of war, it was expected that this rover would come alongside. I was, however, mistaken; for though the men were at their quarters, yet this vessel outsailed the Ranger, and got clear in spite of a severe cannonade. "The next morning (19th) off the Mull of Galloway, I found myself so near a Scotch Coasting Schooner, loaded with barley, that I could not avoid sinking her. Understanding that there were ten or twelve sail of merchant ships, besides a Tender brigantine with a number of impressed men on board, at anchor in Lochran in Scotland, I thought this enterprise worthy my attention; but the wind, which at the first would have served equally well to sail in or out of the Loch, shifted in a hard squall, so as to blow almost directly in, with an appearance of bad weather. I was therefore obliged to abandon my project. "Seeing a cutter off the lee bow steering for the Clyde, I gave chase, in hopes of cutting her off; but finding my endeavors ineffectual, I pursued no further than the Rock of Ailson. In the evening I fell in with a sloop from Dublin, which I sunk." _Tuesday, 22nd._--Stood off and on all Day with a design to make another Trial if the wind lull'd at night there being no signs of more moderate weather wore ship and stood back towards Galway Mull--Our people very much fatigued. _Wednesday, 23rd._[15]--Weather somewhat more moderate & our people a little recruited, Our enterprising Capt. with about 30 men went on shore about 11 P.M. with a Design to fire the Town of Whitehaven.[16] [15] Jones in his report says: "The 21st, being near Carrickfergus, a fishing boat came off which I detained. I saw a ship at anchor in the road, which I was informed by the fishermen was the British ship of war Drake, of twenty guns. I determined to attack her in the night; my plan was to overlay her cable, and to fall upon her bow, so as to have all her decks open and exposed to our musquetry, &c.; at the same time, it was my intention to have secured the enemy by grapplings, so that, had they cut their cables, they would not have attained any advantage. The wind was high, and unfortunately the anchor was not let go as soon as the order was given, so that the Hanger was brought to upon the enemy's quarters at the distance of half a cable's length. We had made no warlike appearance, of course had given no alarm; this determined me to cut immediately, which might appear as if the cable had parted, and at the same time enable me, after making a tack out of the Loch, to return with the same prospect of advantage which I had at first. I was however prevented from returning, as I with difficulty weathered the light-house on the lee-side of the Loch, and as the gale increased. The weather now became so very stormy and severe, and the sea ran so high, that I was obliged to take shelter under the south shore of Scotland." [16] Jones's account of this important affair is as follows:-- "The 22d introduced fair weather, though the three kingdoms were, as far as the eye could reach, covered with snow. I now resolved once more to attempt Whitehaven; but the wind became very light, so that the ship would not in proper time approach so near as I had intended. At midnight I left the ship with two boats and thirty-one volunteers; when we reached the outer pier the day began to dawn; I would not, however, abandon my enterprise, but despatched one boat under the direction of Mr. Hill and Lieut. Wallingford, with the necessary combustibles to set fire to the shipping on the north side of the harbor, while I went with the other party to attempt the south side. I was successful in scaling the walls and spiking up all the cannon in the first fort; finding the sentinels shut up in the guard house, they were secured without being hurt. Having fixed sentinels, I now took with me one man only (Mr. Green), and spiked up all the cannon in the southern fort, distant from the others a quarter of a mile. "On my return from this business, I naturally expected to see the fire of the ships on the north side, as well as to find my own party with every thing in readiness to set fire to the shipping on the south; instead of this, I found the boat under the direction of Mr. Hill and Mr. Wallingford returned, and the party in some confusion, their light having burnt out at the instant when it became necessary. By the strangest fatality, my own party were in the same situation, the candles being ail burnt out. The day too came on apace, yet I would by no means retract while any hopes of success remained. Having again placed sentinels, a light was obtained at a house disjoined from the town, and a fire was kindled in the steerage of a large ship, which was surrounded by at least one hundred and fifty others, chiefly from two to four hundred tons burden, and lying side by side, aground unsurrounded by the water. There were, besides, from seventy to a hundred large ships on the north arm of the harbor, aground clear of the water, and divided from the rest only by a stone pier of a ship's height. I should (would) have kindled fires in other places if the time had permitted; as it did not, our care was to prevent the one kindled from being easily extinguished. After some search, a barrel of tar was found, and poured into the flames, which now ascended from all the hatchways. The inhabitants began to appear in thousands, and individuals ran hastily towards us. I stood between them and the ship on fire, with a pistol in my hand, and ordered them to retire, which they did with precipitation. The flames had already caught in the rigging, and began to ascend the mainmast; the sun was a full hour's march above the horizon, and as sleep no longer ruled the world, it was time to retire. We re-embarked without opposition, having released a number of prisoners, as our boats could not carry them. After all my people had embarked, I stood upon the pier for a considerable space, yet no person advanced; I saw all the eminences around the town covered with the amazed inhabitants. "When we had rowed to a considerable distance from the shore, the English began to run in vast numbers to their forts; their disappointments may easily be imagined when they found, I suppose, at least thirty heavy cannon rendered useless. At length, however, they began to fire, having, as I apprehend, either brought down ship's guns, or used one or two cannon which lay on the beach at the foot of the walls, dismounted, and which had not been spiked. They fired with no direction, and the shot falling short of the boats, instead of doing us any damage afforded some diversion; which my people could not help showing, by discharging their pistols, &c. in return of the salute. Had it been possible to have landed a few hours sooner, my success would have been complete. Not a single ship, out of more than two hundred, could possibly have escaped, and all the world would not have been able to save the town. What was done, however, is sufficient to show, that not all their boasted navy can protect their own coasts; and that the scenes of distress, which they have occasioned in America, may soon be brought home to their own door. One of my people was missing; and must, I fear, have fallen into the enemy's hands after our departure. I was pleased that in this business we neither killed or wounded any person. I brought off three prisoners as a _sample_." In a memorial to congress Jones says, "His first object was to secure an exchange of prisoners in Europe, and his second to put an end, by one good fire in England, of shipping, to all the burnings in America," and he expresses the opinion, that had his officers in the Providence and Alfred been with him in the Ranger, two hundred and fifty to three hundred large ships at Whitehaven would have been laid in ashes. In the Ranger's logbook the man left on shore is named David Smith, and it was thought he remained on shore voluntarily, and that under the name of Freeman, he gave information at several houses that fire had been set to the ships. _Thursday, 24th._--After watching the night and all the morning till broad day light in expectation of seeing the smoke of the Town and Shipping (ascend as the smoke of a Furnace) began to fear that Our People had fallen into the Enemies Hands; however about half an hour after sun rise we discovered two small Boats at a great Distance coming out of the Rivers mouth, and clouds of smoke arising from the Shipping, soon after we saw them fire on the Boats from the Shore, but most of the Cannon being spiked up by our People they could do but very little the Boats were soon out of their Reach and came along-side with 3 prisoners for one left behind. The same Day crossed over to the other side of the Bay to the Mull of Galway Capt. Jones with Lt. Wallingsford and about 12 Men went on shore [at St. Mary's Isle] with design to take L^d. Selkirk, Prisoner. As he was not at Home and no man in the House, for the sake of his Lady & her Company they came off without doing any further Damage than plundering Him of Plate to the amount of (as near as I can judge) 160lb. weight of Silver.[17] [17] _The attempted Seizure of the Earl of Selkirk_, &c.--On the 8th of May following, Jones wrote from Brest to the Countess of Selkirk, with regard to the taking of this plate, that he was obliged to command while he did not approve of the act, and thus expresses the object of the expedition. "Knowing Lord Selkirk's interest with the King, and esteeming as I do his private character, I wished to make him the happy instrument of alleviating the horrors of a hopeless captivity, when the brave are overpowered and made prisoners of war," and "it was my intention to have taken him on board the Ranger, and to have detained him until, through this means, a general and fair exchange of prisoners, as well in Europe as in America, had been effected. When I was informed, by some men whom I met at the landing, that his Lordship was absent, I walked back to my boat, determined to leave the Island. By the way, however, some officers who were with me, could not forbear expressing their discontent, observing that, in America, no delicacy was shown by the English, who took away all sorts of moveable property--setting fire not only to towns, and to the houses of the rich, without distinction, but not even sparing the wretched hamlets and milch cows of the poor and helpless, at the approach of an inclement winter. That party had been with me the same morning at Whitehaven; some complaisance, therefore, was their due. I had but a moment to think how I might gratify them, and at the same time do your ladyship the least injury. I charged two officers to permit none of the seamen to enter the house, or to hurt anything about it,--to treat you, Madam, with the utmost respect, to accept of the plate which was offered, and to come away without making a search, or demanding any thing else. "I am induced to believe I was punctually obeyed; since I am informed, that the plate which they brought away is far short of the quantity expressed in the inventory which accompanied it. I have gratified my men; and when the plate is sold I shall become the purchaser, and will gratify my own feelings by restoring it to you, by such conveyance as you shall please to direct." Lord Selkirk wrote a letter in reply, intimating that he would accept the return of the plate, if made by order of congress, but not if redeemed by individual generosity. The letter, however, was detained in the general post office, London, and returned to the earl, who requested a gentleman to communicate the cause of its miscarriage and its tenor orally to Dr. Franklin, who at once informed Jones of the substances of the communication. Meanwhile the plate had fallen into the hands of the prize agents, and it was not until the beginning of 1780, and by the purchase of seventeen twentieths of it, that Jones obtained possession of it. When he had succeeded in effecting this object, he wrote again to the Countess of Selkirk; but his voyage to America retarded its delivery until 1784. It was eventually returned in the same condition in which it had been removed, and Lord Selkirk subsequently acknowledged, as the following extracts from his letter to Paul Jones, dated _London, August 4, 1789_, the unwearied pains Jones had taken to secure its restoration. "I received the letter you wrote to me at the time you sent off my plate, in order for restoring it. Had I known where to direct a letter to you, at the time it arrived in Scotland, I would then have wrote you. * * * Notwithstanding all the precaution you took for the easy and uninterrupted conveyance of the plate, yet it met with considerable delays; first at Calais, next at Dover, then at London; however, it at last arrived at Dumfries, and I dare say quite safe, though as yet I have not seen it, being then in Edinburgh." "I intended to have put an article in the newspapers about your having returned it * * and on all occasions both now and formerly, I have done you the justice to tell, that you made an offer of returning the plate very soon after your return to Brest; and although you yourself was not at my house, but remained at the shore with your boat, that yet you had your officers and men in such extraordinary good discipline, that your having given them the strictest orders to behave well, to do no injury of any kind, to make no search, but only to bring off what plate was given them; that in reality they did exactly as ordered, and that not one man offered to stir from his post on the outside of the house, nor entered the doors, nor said an uncivil word; that the two officers staid not a quarter of an hour in the parlor and the butler's pantry, while the butler got the plate together, behaved politely, and asked for nothing but the plate, and instantly marched their men oft' in regular order, and that both officers and men behaved in all respects so well, that it would have done credit to the best disciplined troops whatever." _Friday, 24th._--Early in the morning our Capt. proposed making a second attempt to cut out the Ship in Caraefergus, which was now within a small Distance, the People both officers & men discovr'd great unwillingness to make the attempt. Capt. Jones notwithstanding declar'd publickly his determination to go in, in short it seem'd impossible to avoid it for the Tide & what little wind there was, had imperceptably carry'd us in so far that there was very little chance for an Escape, and now which was about sun-rise we saw the Ship with Her Sails loos'd and had nothing to do but to get ready for Action Our People at the same Time discovering the greatest readiness to engage Her. When she [the Sloop of war Drake] came out at 11 almost Calm about 12 Saw a Boat coming from the Ship which we Decoy'd and took on board a Midshipman & 5 Men; there being a light Breeze of Wind & understanding by the People from the Ship that she was coming Out to us; clung our wind and stood out under easy sail till 4 o'clock, P.M. & hove too for Her, she came up about 6 and hailed after the usual Compliments were pass'd we wore Ship and gave her a whole broad side, without receiving a Shot: the Action continued till 5 minutes after seven very warm when her 2 Commanding Officers being the one Capt. Brurdon killed & the other Lt. Dobbs mortally wounded and about 20 of Her Men disabled and the Ships Rigging Sails &c. very much damaged they were oblig'd to give her up by the wave of the Hat; & a call for Quarters for having the Second Time cut away their Ensign staff they had no Colours to Strike. Lost on our side,--Lt. Wallingsford[18] killed by a musket shot in the head. John W. Dangle by a double H^d. shot cut in two in the Fore Top. [18] Lieut. Wallingford's christian name was Samuel. Doct. Green told his son he was a lieutenant of marines. His son George Washington Wallingford, born in Somersworth, N.H.; and an infant two months old at the time of his father's death, was a distinguished lawyer of Maine. (See Willis's _Law and Lawyers of Maine_, pp. 252,256.) Wounded,--Pierce Powers lost his right Hand, & his left badly wounded. James Falls by a musket shot through the Shoulder. Tho^s. Taylor lost his little Finger by a musket shot at the wheel. _Saturday, 25th._--Very pleasant and almost Calm a fine Opportunity for repairing and fitting for Sea from on board the Drake buried the Remains of Capt. Burdon with the Honors of war--spoke a Brigg from white Haven of about 300 Tons commanded by Capt. More, put a Prize Master and Hands on Board Her: at 12 we were not far from the place of action about 2 o'clock P.M. having a light Breeze sent away the Fishing Boat's crew with a present of Money 17 Guineas and the Drakes Main Sail & M^n. Top Sail; in the Evening committed the Body of Lt. Wallingsford to the deep with the Honours due to so brave an Officer. _Monday, 4th May._--Died of his wounds and the same day were decently buried the Remains of Nath^1. Wells of Portsmouth, America. _Thursday, May 7th._--Arrived at Brest with the Ship Drake in Company. _May 9th, Saturday._--Sent on Shore to the Hospital Pierce Powers, James Falls & Tho^s. Taylor from the Ranger at the same Time sent from the Drake 13 Prisoners. _Sunday, 10th May._--Arrived here the Prize Brig Patience. _Wednesday, 13th._--Sent to the Hospital John Mott a Prisoner taken in the Drake. _Friday, 29 May._--Drew a petition in behalf of my good Friend Simpson now in gaol in Brest which was sign'd by Lt. Hall M^r. Cullam and myself & sent on shore to the Office in order to go to the Commissioners at Paris. _Thursday, 18th June._--Rec'd the news of an Engagement between a French & English Frigate not far from Morleaux, the French Frig. was ordered out to Adm^l. Byron to speak, she refus'd to Obey therefore were fired on by the Eng--the action began about half past 4 on the afternoon of yesterday and continued 5 hours, though the Eng^h. struck they were prevented bringing her off by Adm^l. Byron's Squadron 12 sail of the Line besides Frigates--the French Frigate lost 1 Lt. 1 officer of Marines and 38 men killed, and about 60 wounded. _Thursday, 2nd July._--Had the company of Col. Frazier & M^r. Pringle to Dine, afternoon went with them & Lieut^s. Simpson & Hall on board the Britaigne of 110 Guns & 1400 Men were treated with the greatest civility & Respect from all on Board. _Friday, 3rd July._--This day arrived a Schooner called the Spy from New London with Dispatches from Congress. _Saturday, July 4th._--This being the Anniversary of American Independence, was observed as such Our Ship was dressed 13 guns discharg'd at 10 o'clock; At undressing 13 more; on drinking the Duke de Chartre's Health 9 guns were fired; a number of Patriotic Toast were drank; and universal Joy was diffused throughout the whole Ship's company. _Wednesday, July 8th._--This day the Fleet sail'd from this Place about 33 sail of the Line besides Frigates. _Thursday, 9th._--This Day arrived here a Brig from Carolina with Rice--no news C. Ray. _Friday, July 10th._--This Day the Lively Ship of war was brought into this harbour. On her refusing to comply with the commands of Capt. of the Frigate by which she was taken, she receiv'd a broadside from the Cannon & the fire from the Swivels & musketry both from below and aloft, which was returned by 3 guns when she struck. Her loss was about 20 kill'd & 40 wounded most of whom are since dead. _Friday, July 17th._--This day was brought in here the prize Cutter Alert of 12 guns the same which took the Lexington Brig of 14 guns Johnson Comm^r. She was taken by a Frigate. _Sunday, 28 June_ last were brought in here Two Cutters from Guernsey taken by Frigate Snow. _Wednesday, 22 July._--Rec'd the news of C. De Astangs arrival in Boston. _Monday, July 27th._--This day Thomas Simpson Esq^r.[19] came on board with orders to take command of the Ranger; to the joy and Satisfaction of the whole Ships company. [19] This change of commanders was at Jones's request on the 4th of July. He wrote to the commissioners at Paris,--"When Congress thought proper to order me to France it was proposed that the Ranger should remain under my direction, not be commanded by a Lieutenant. And as the French ministry have now in contemplation plans which promise honor to the American flag, the Ranger might be very useful in carrying them into execution. Lieut. Simpson has certainly behaved amiss; yet I can forgive, as well as resent; and upon his making a proper concession, I will with your approbation not only forgive the past, but leave him the command of the Ranger. By this means, and by some little promotions and attentions, I hope to be able to satisfy the Ranger's crew, so that they will postpone their return as long as the service may require." On the 13th of August, he wrote the commissioners from Brest, "I have been five days in this place since my return from Passy, during which time I have neither seen nor heard from Lieut. Simpson; but Mr. Hill, who was last winter at Passy, and who sailed with me from Nantes, informs me truly, that it is generally reported in the Ranger, and of course throughout the French fleet and on shore, that I am turned out of the service; that you gentlemen have given Mr. Simpson my place, with a Captain's commission, and that my letter to you of the 16th of July, was involuntary on my part, and in obedience only to your orders. That these reports prevail, is not an idle conjecture, but a melancholy tact. Therefore, I beseech you; I demand of you to afford me redress--redress by a court martial," &c. On the 15th of August, he wrote Capt. Abraham Whipple, then at Brest, requesting that a court martial might be summoned for the trial of Simpson, but Capt. Whipple writes him, explaining the impossibility of forming a court, and expressing it as his opinion, that as he had given up the parole of Simpson, in the most ample manner without asking for concessions, nothing could be done. Lieut. Simpson sailed in the Ranger for America. On the 30th of August, Jones's friend Mr. Williams, writing to him from Nantes, in relation to the pending sale of the Drake, said, "I am sorry your affair with Lieut. Simpson was not settled with mutual satisfaction. If he was not gone, I should answer his charge of falsehood with the following paragraph of his own letter to me, of the 1st of August, to mine, which you say he calls false, viz: 'I recollect my telling you when at Brest, that if Capt. Jones had condescended to have made any inquiry, or permitted him to speak to me on the matter of my confinement, I was ready to give him any satisfaction consonant with truth.' It is strange he should recollect this when he wrote me the letter, and forget it again when he told Mr. Hill it was false. Lieut. Simpson's letter to me is in very respectful terms, and I wrote him a letter of thanks in return. He desired me to present his respects to you, and tell you that 'your recommendation to the commissioners, which I mentioned, would, with any services you had done him, be ever remembered with gratitude.'" The Ranger arrived safe in America, and Lieut. Simpson was continued in command of her until she was destroyed at Charleston, after which we hear no more of him in the naval service. In February following, the commissioners addressed a letter to Jones, stating, that as his separation from the Ranger, and the appointment of Lieut. Simpson to the command of her would be liable to misrepresentation, they certified that his leaving her was by their consent, at the express request of M. de Sartine, who informed them that he had occasion to employ Jones in some public service; that Simpson was appointed to the command by the consent of Jones, who had released him from the arrest he had placed him under; that Jones's rank in the navy was not prejudiced by his leaving the Ranger; and that his commission remained in full force. In a letter addressed to Robert Morris, dated Oct. 10, 1783, Jones says, he "received orders to proceed to Europe, to command the great frigate building at Amsterdam, for the U.S.; then called the Indien, and since the South Carolina,"--and "it was proposed that he should proceed to France in a ship belonging to that kingdom; but, some difficulties arising, the sloop of war Ranger of 18 guns was put under his command for that service, and to serve afterwards as a tender to the Indien, but political reasons defeated the plan, and after seeing the commissioners in Paris, agreeably to their order to consult on the means of carrying it into execution, he returned to Nantes and resumed the command of the Ranger." _Tuesday, July 28th._--This Day arrived from the Lamp [illegible] of 60 guns, with news of an Engagement between the Fleets. _Wednesday, July 29th._--Last night arrived a 74 This Day arrived the Fleet, excepting 1 of 80 1 of 60 and 1 Frigate, which they say parted from them in the Fog--they appear to have sustained no very considerable Damage in the late Fight. _Saturday, Augt. 8th._--Sent to the Hospital three of the Drake's People viz: Jn^o. Wilkinson Pilot John Colbert & John Rickets Seamen. _Sunday, Augt. 9th._--Sent to the Hospital Joseph Larcher a Prisoner from y^e Drake. _Saturday 15._--Last night arrived Here the Barton & Providence, Whipple & Tucker from Nantes. _Thursday, 20th Augt._--Moved down in Company with the Providence & Boston Frigates, about four Leagues & came too, to give the People an Opportunity of expending their Prize Money. I had a very Fatiguing Time up to Brest on Business for Capt. Simpson and the widow of my deceas'd Friend Lt. Wallingford for whom I bought 32 Crowns worth. _Friday, 21st._--Very little wind this morning came to Sail & got down about 2 Leagues & anchored. At 3 P.M. came to Sail again and ran out with a fine Breeze. _Saturday, 22._--Very fine weather in the morning saw a Sail ahead were order'd by our Commodore to give chase came up with Her about 5 P.M. a Spanish Snow bound to Haver du Grace. _Sunday, 23rd Aug._--Chased a Dutchman all Day. _Monday, 24._--Spoke Brig call'd the Sally from London laden with Provisions, Beef Flour & Butter, 150 Tons Burthen. Sent her to America. Lat. 45.32 Long. 10.22. _Wednesday, September 2nd._--Being in chase in Latt. 47.21 Long. 27.24 at 3 P.M. carry'd away Our fore Top Mast and Main Top gall. Mast. _Wednesday, Sept. 9th._--Latt. 46.7 Long. 36.29. Took a Brig called the Friends from Granada bound to Glasco with Rum & Cotton about 100 Tons Burden. 10 Bags Cotton 134 Puncheons Rum. _Wednesday, 16th Sept^r._ in Latt. 45.45 Long. 41.47 Took a Snow from Newfoundland Laden with Fish 150 Tons Burthen. _Thursday 17th._--7 Morn gave chase to a large Ship to windward as far as we could see them from Top of mast head 7 in the Evening, came very near them but night coming on lost sight of them. _Friday, 25th September._--In Latt. 44.45 had soundings on the Banks of Newfoundland in 82 Fathoms, Foggy. _Sunday, 27th Sept._--Spoke a Brig from Amsterdam called the William Robert Stonehouse Comm^r. bound to Boston the same Day saw an Island of Ice at a Distance which had the appearance of a Lofty Sail we pass'd within a League of it to windward. The Brig is Laden with Tea and Cordage. 
39641	----	[Illustration: Cover] GEORGINA'S SERVICE STARS [Illustration: "If anyone comes along I begin knitting."] GEORGINA'S SERVICE STARS BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON _Author of "Georgina of the Rainbows," "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," "The Giant Scissors," "The Desert of Waiting," Etc._ _Illustrations by Thelma Gooch_ "For the deed's sake have I done the deed." --"Idylls of the King." NEW YORK BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY Copyright, 1918 BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. Made in U. S. A. All rights reserved. _To THOSE BEHIND THE SERVICE FLAGS_ _whose part in this world-struggle can never be chronicled. Their sacrifices are unnumbered and their wounds are within._ _To the silent Heroism which shoulders the double load and faces the loneliness undaunted._ _To the Patriotism which, denied the sword, takes up whatever weapon lies at hand and wields it valiantly at home._ _To the Love which "beareth all things, endureth all things," that in its "Service Stars" may be written a righteous destiny for the Nations, and the prophecy of a lasting peace._ CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER PAGE I. GEORGINA BEGINS HER MEMOIRS 13 II. THE MISUNDERSTOOD 'TEENS 26 III. IN THE SHADOW OF WAR 37 IV. HER IDEAL GIRL STEPS IN 46 V. A PHOTOGRAPH AND SOME DAY-DREAMS 56 VI. THE ONE AND ONLY STAR 66 VII. A MODERN SIR GARETH 79 VIII. DISILLUSIONED 91 IX. SEVEN MONTHS LATER 104 X. AT HARRINGTON HALL 116 XI. THE MIDSHIPMAN HOP 126 XII. "SHOD GOES SURE" 140 XIII. A WORK-A-DAY VACATION 151 PART II XIV. THE CALL TO ARMS 163 XV. "THE GATES AJAR" 173 XVI. HOME-COMINGS 184 XVII. BACK WITH THE OLD CROWD 198 XVIII. A WAR WEDDING 210 XIX. THE VIGIL IN THE SWING 224 XX. THE HIGHWAY OF THE ANGELS 238 XXI. "PIRATE GOLD" 243 XXII. "THE MAID WHO BINDS HER WARRIOR'S SASH" 257 XXIII. MARKED ON THE CALENDAR 267 XXIV. BRAVE LITTLE CARRIER PIGEON! 277 XXV. "MISSING" 289 XXVI. "THE SERVICE OF SHINING" 300 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "If anyone comes along I begin knitting"--_Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE "I don't think compliments are good for the male mind" 56 Richard salutes "Sallie Jane" 216 "Lieutenant Richard Moreland Missing----" 298 BARON: "What guerdon will ye?" GARETH: "_None._ For the deed's sake have I done the deed." --_Idylls of the King._ GEORGINA'S SERVICE STARS PART I "_My salad days, when I was green in judgment._" GEORGINA'S SERVICE STARS CHAPTER I GEORGINA BEGINS HER MEMOIRS UP the crooked street which curves for three miles around the harbor comes the sound of the Towncrier's bell. It seems strange that he should happen along this morning, just as I've seated myself by this garret window to begin the story of my life, for it was the sound of his bell five years ago which first put it into my head to write it. And yet, it isn't so strange after all, when one remembers the part the dear old man has had in my past. "Uncle Darcy," as I've always called him, has been mixed up with most of its important happenings. That day, when I first thought of writing my memoirs, was in Spring house-cleaning time, and I had been up here all morning, watching them drag out old heirlooms from the chests and cubby-holes under the rafters. Each one had a history. From one of the gable windows I could look down on the beach at the very spot where the Pilgrims first landed, and away over on the tongue of sand, which ends the Cape, I could see the place where they say the old Norse Viking, Thorwald, was buried nine hundred years ago. From this window where I am sitting, I looked down as I do now, on the narrow street with the harbor full of sails on one side and the gardens of the Portuguese fishermen spread out along the other, like blocks in a gay patchwork quilt. I remember as I stood looking out I heard Uncle Darcy's bell far down the street. He was crying a fish auction. And suddenly the queer feeling came over me that I was living in a story-book town, and that I was a part of it all, and some day I must write that story of it and me. I did not begin it then, being only ten years old at that time and not strong on spelling. It would have kept me continually hunting through the dictionary, or else asking Tippy how to spell things, and that would have led to her knowing all. Her curiosity about my affairs is almost unbelievable. But there is no reason why I should not begin it now. "The Life and Letters of Georgina Huntingdon" ought to make interesting reading some of these days when I am famous, as I have a right to expect, me being the granddaughter of such a great Kentucky editor as Colonel Clayton Shirley. To write is in my blood, although on the Huntingdon side it's only dry law books. I am going to jot down all sorts of innermost things in this blank book which will not be in the printed volume, because I might pass away before it is published, and if any one else had to undertake it he could do it more understandingly if he knew my secret ambitions and my opinion of life and people. But I shall bracket all such private remarks with red ink, and put a warning on the fly-leaf like the one on Shakespeare's tomb: "Cursed be he who moves these bones." He would have been dug up a thousand times, probably, if it had not been for that, so I shall protect the thoughts buried here between these red brackets in the same way. "Cursed be he who prints this part From the inmost sanctum of my heart." Up to this time there has been little in my life important enough to put into a record, so it is just as well that I waited. But now that this awful war is going on over in Europe, all sorts of thrilling things may begin to happen to us any minute. Father says there's no telling how soon our country may be fighting, too. He thinks it's shameful we haven't been doing our part all along. As he is a naval surgeon and has been in the service so many years, he will be among the first to be drawn into the thick of danger and adventure. I am old enough now to understand what that will mean to us all, for I am fifteen years and eleven months, and could easily pass for much older if Barby would only let me put my hair up. Barby is the dearest mother that ever lived, and I wouldn't for worlds appear to be criticizing her, but she _is_ a bit old-fashioned in some of her ideas about bringing up children. I believe she and Tippy would like to keep me the rest of my mortal life, "standing with reluctant feet where the brook and river meet," regardless of the fact that I am all ready to wade in and fully able to do so. I asked Tippy why nobody ever quotes that verse farther along in the poem, which exactly expresses my sentiments: "Then why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian?" It stumped her to think of an answer for a moment, and she made an excuse of putting the cat out, in order to give herself more time. But when she came back all she had found to say was that I needn't think being grown up was any field Elysian. I was eating my white bread now, and if a girl only knew all that lay ahead of her she'd let well enough alone. She'd wait for trouble to come to her instead of running to meet it. Somehow I don't believe Tippy ever had any bright angels beckoning her, else she couldn't be so pessimistic about my growing up. I can't think of her as ever being anything but an elderly widow with her hair twisted into a peanut on the back of her head. And yet she had a lover once, and a wedding day, or she couldn't be Mrs. Maria Triplett now. But it's impossible to think of her as being gay fifteen and dancing down the stairs to meet the morning with a song. One feels that she met it with a broom, saying: "Shall birds and bees and ants be wise While I my moments waste? O let me with the morning rise And to my duties haste." She's said that to me probably as much as five hundred times. I shall bracket this part about her just as soon as I can get a bottle of red ink. But how I'm going to account to her for having red ink in my possession is more than I know. That's the worst about being the only child in a family. They're all so fond of you and so interested in your sayings and doings, that they watch every movement of your mind and body. You're like a clock in a glass case with your works open to the gaze of the older people. It's all very well during the first years for them to keep tab on your development, but the trouble is most relatives never seem to know when you're developed, and have reached the point where a little privacy is your _right_. It's maddening to have to give a reason every time you turn around. All the lives of noted people which I have read begin with the person's birthplace and who his parents were, and his early acts which showed he gave promise of being a genius. So I'll pause right here for a brief outline of such things. My name is Georgina Huntingdon. A name to be proud of--so Tippy has always impressed on me--and one hard to live up to. She used to show it to me on the silver christening cup that came down to me from the great-great-aunt for whom I am named. She'd take the tip of my finger in hers and solemnly trace the slim-looped letters around the rim, till I came to feel that it was a silver name, and that I must keep it shining by growing up unusually smart and good. That I owed it to the cup or the great-aunt or the Pilgrim monument or _something_, to act so as to add lustre to the name. Tippy is a distant cousin on father's side. She has lived with us ever since Barby brought me up here from Kentucky, where I was born. Father, being a naval surgeon, was off in foreign ports most of the time, and Barby, being such a young and inexperienced mother, needed her companionship. Barby is lots younger than father. It was hard for her at first, coming away with just me, from that jolly big family down South who adored her, to this old Cape Cod homestead that had been boarded up so long. Lonely and gray, it stands at the end of town, up by the breakwater, facing the very spot on the beach where the Pilgrims landed. One of them was an ancestor of mine, so the big monument overlooking the harbor and the tip of the Cape was put up partly in his honor. Really, several pages might well be devoted to my ancestors, for one was a minute-man whose name is in the history I studied at school. His powder-horn hangs over the dining-room mantel, and Tippy used to shame me with it when I was afraid of rats or the dark cellarway. If I were asked to name three things which have influenced me most in arousing my ambition to overcome my faults and to do something big and really worth while in the world, I'd name my christening cup, that Pilgrim monument and the old powder-horn. With such a heritage it is unthinkable that I should settle down to an ordinary career. Something inside of me tells me that I am destined to make my name an honored household word in many climes. I've considered doing this in several ways. It might be well to mention here that my earliest passion was for the stage. That will explain why quotations came so trippingly from my tongue at times. I learned yards and yards of poems and Shakespeare's plays for declamation, and I'm always given one of the leading parts in the amateur theatricals at the High School or the Town Hall. My looks may have something to do with that, however. As it might seem conceited for me to describe myself as my mirror shows me, I'll just paste some newspaper clippings on this page describing different plays I've been in. Several of them speak of my dark eyes and glowing complexion, also my "wealth of nut-brown curls," and my graceful dancing. But in my Sophomore year at High School I began to feel that literature might be my forte, even more than acting. R. B. (which initials will stand for "red brackets" until I get the ink). The reason for that feeling is that my themes in English were always marked so high that the class nicknamed me "Abou ben Ahdem." Last summer I began a novel called "Divided," which the girls were crazy about. It was suggested by Jean Ingelow's poem by that name and is awfully sad. Really, it kept me so depressed that I found I wasn't half enjoying my vacation. I simply lived the heroine's part myself. Now that I am a Senior, it seems to me that Journalism offers a greater field than fiction. We had a debate last term which convinced me of it. George Woodson had the affirmative, and I didn't mind being beaten because he used grandfather for one of his arguments, and said so many nice things about his editorials being epoch-making and his inspired phrases moulding public opinion, and being caught up as slogans by all parties, leading on to victory. He spoke, too, of them being quoted not only by _Punch_ and the London _Times_, but by papers in France and Australia. R. B. (I am fully determined either to write the leading novel of the century, or to own and edit a newspaper which shall be a world-power.) The seashore was my first schoolroom. Barby taught me to write in the sand and to spell words with shells and pebbles. I learned Arithmetic by adding and subtracting such things as the sails in the harbor and the gulls feeding at ebb-tide. On stormy days when we were home-bound, I counted the times the fog-bell tolled, or in the early dark counted how often Wood End lighthouse blinked its red eye at me. But I must get on with my story. If I am to have room in this book for all the big happenings of life, which I feel sure lie ahead of me, I cannot devote too much space to early memories, no matter how cherished. Probably in the final revision all the scenes I have lived through will be crowded into one act or chapter. I may start it in this fashion: _Time_ First fifteen years of life just ended. _Place_ An ancient fishing town between the sand-dunes and the sea, where artists flock every summer to paint, its chief attraction for them seeming to be its old streets and wharves, the Cape Cod people whom they call "quaint" and the Portuguese fisher-folk. _Principal characters besides myself and family, already described._ DANIEL DARCY The old Towncrier, whom I call "Uncle Darcy" and love as dearly as if he were really kin to me. AUNT ELSPETH His wife. They are my ideal Darby and Joan. CAPTAIN KIDD A darling Irish terrier, half mine and half Richard's. RICHARD MORELAND Who comes every summer to stay with his cousin, Mr. James Milford, in the bungalow with the Green Stairs. He has been like an own brother to me since the days when we first played pirate together, when he was "Dare-devil Dick, the Dread Destroyer," and I was "Gory George, the Menace of the Main." Barby took him under her wing then because his own mother was dead and they've been devoted to each other ever since. This summer Richard came alone, because his father, who always spends his vacations with him, did not come back from his Paris studio as usual. He is in the trenches now, fighting with the Allies. His friends shake their heads when they speak of him, and say what a pity such a brilliantly gifted fellow should run the risk of being killed or maimed. It would be such a terrible waste. He could serve his age better with his brush than a bayonet. But when Richard talks of him his face lights up as if he fairly worships him for being such a hero as to sacrifice his art for the cause and go in just as a private. He has said to me a dozen times, "That is why the Allies will win this war, Georgina, because men like _Dad_ are putting it through. They are fighting with their souls as well as their bodies." That's all Richard talks about now. He's perfectly wild to go himself. Though he's only seventeen and a half, he is six feet tall and so strong he could take a man's place. He says if they'd so much as give him a chance to drive an ambulance he'd be satisfied, but his father won't consent. He's running his Cousin James' car this summer instead of the regular chauffeur, and keeping it in repair. Mr. Milford pays him a small salary, and (nobody knows it but me) Richard is saving every cent. He says if he can once get across the water he'll find some way to do his part. In the meantime he's digging away at his French, and Uncle Darcy's son Dan is teaching him wireless. He's so busy some days I scarcely see him. It's so different from the way it was last summer when he was at our house from morning till night. The same jolly crowds are back this summer at the Gray Inn and the Nelson cottage, and Laura Nelson's midshipman cousin from Annapolis is here for a week. I shall not name and describe them now, but simply group them as minor characters. Laura says, however, that she feels sure that the midshipman is destined to be anything but a minor character in my life. She prophecies he will be leading man in a very short while. That is so silly in Laura, although, of course, she couldn't know just how silly, because I've never explained to her that I am dedicated to a Career. I have not said positively that I shall never marry, and sometimes I think I might be happier to have a home and about four beautiful and interesting children; that is, if it could be managed without interfering with my one great ambition in life. But positively, that must come first, _no matter what the cost_. Only thus can I reach the high goal I have set for myself and write mine as "one of the few, the immortal names that were not born to die." [Illustration] CHAPTER II THE MISUNDERSTOOD 'TEENS "O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness" where I could write without anybody butting in to ask what I'm doing! I suppose it's the penalty I must pay now for having been such a vain little peacock in the beginning. Because father praised my first letters when I was learning to write, I passed them over to the family for more praise before sealing them. Now they've grown to feel that it is their right to read them, and to expect it as a matter of course. It is the same way with all my attempts at stories and verses. If I should take to turning the key in the door at this late day, they'd think it queer, and I'm afraid Barby would feel a bit hurt and shut out of my life, because we've always shared everything of that sort. So I just carry the book around with me in my knitting bag, and scribble a few lines whenever there is an opportunity. Most of this will have to be written down on the beach where I am now. It's too hot up in the garret these days. I sit cross-legged in the sand behind an overturned rowboat, drawn up out of reach of the tide. All that can be seen of me from the house is a big garden hat flopping down over the shoulders of my pink smock. Smocks and flopping hats are as common as clams in this old fishing town, full of artists and summer girls, so when I tuck my "wealth of nut-brown curls" up out of sight, nobody recognizes me at a little distance. If any one comes along I begin knitting on a bright blue muffler that I'm making for a Belgian orphan. It seems dreadfully deceitful, but what else can I do? I haven't any place where I can keep the book between times. Tippy is such a thorough-going housekeeper that she knows what is in every drawer and closet in this house, from top to bottom. Neither she nor Barby would dream of reading a diary or even a scrap of writing belonging to any one else but me. But they think of me as a part of themselves, I suppose, or as still such an infant that if they were to come across this they'd smile indulgently and say, "The dear child. Was anything ever so diverting and clever!" And they'd read it with that pleased, proud expression you see on a family's face when they discover the baby's first tooth or find that it can stand alone. I'd keep it at Uncle Darcy's, down at Fishburn Court, but I seldom go down there now oftener than once a week, and I want to make a practice of filling a few pages every day. Fishburn Court would be an ideal place in which to write. It's a cluster of little old houses set around the edge of a sand dune, and hidden away from the heart of the town by some tall buildings. A crooked, sandy lane leads into it from one of the back streets. There's an apple-tree in Uncle Darcy's yard with thick grass under it, and a two-seated wooden swing where an old yellow-nosed cat sleeps all day. You can look up and see billowy white clouds floating in the blue overhead, and smell the salt of the sea, but it's so shut in that although it's only a short distance from the beach you barely hear the chug of the motor boats, and the street cries are so faint, that you feel you're far, far away from the world, like a nun in a cloister. Sitting there, I've sometimes thought I'd like to be that--a nun in a cloister, to walk with rapt, saint-like face, my hands folded lily-wise over my breast. It must be lovely to feel that one is a pure white saint, a bride of heaven. Sometimes I think I'd rather be that than a world-renowned author. I often wonder what great part I'm destined to play in the universe. Really the world is so full of things to do and be, that one needs as many lives as a cat. I'd like one life in which to be a nun, another an actress, another in which to shine as a peerless wit and beauty, the social leader in a brilliant salon like that great French madame--I can't think of her name. Then, of course, there's the life I want for my literary career, and one in which to be just a plain wife and mother. One thing is certain, if I ever have a daughter I'll try to remember how a girl feels at my age; although I don't see how one who has been one can ever forget. And there are _some_ things she shall be allowed to decide for herself. R. B. (As long as I was a mere child Barby seemed to understand me perfectly. But now that I lack only one paltry inch of being as tall as she is, she doesn't seem able to get my point of view at all. She doesn't seem to realize that I've put away childish things, and that when you're in your teens you're done with doll-rags.) There is nothing so bitter in life as being misunderstood. If you have cruel step-parents who mistreat you out of pure meanness, everybody sympathizes with you. But if you have devoted own parents who hurt you through a mistaken idea that they're doing it for your own good, nobody sympathizes with you. I'd rather be beaten or locked in my room on bread and water than have Minnie Waite or Daisy Poole tagging after me forevermore. I wasn't at home the day Mrs. Saxe came around, organizing the "Busy Bees" to do Red Cross work for the Belgians. But Barby put my name down and paid the fifty cents dues, and said I'd be _glad_ to do my part. Well, I am glad, but I'd already been trying to do it ever since the war started "over there." I've rolled bandages every Saturday afternoon and taken part in two plays and waited on the table at all the lawn fetes, and I'm knitting my sixth sweater for French and Belgian orphans. But I draw the line at being a "Busy Bee," and meeting around with a lot of little girls not one of them over thirteen and most of them younger. And Minnie Waite has a crush on me anyhow, and is harder to get rid of than a plague of sand-fleas. I could have cried when Barby told me what she had let me in for, and I couldn't help sounding cross when I said she might at least have consulted me first. It was too much to have that miserable bunch of kids wished on to me. But Barby only reminded me that I was using slang, and said cheerfully, "Did it ever occur to you, Baby Mine, that you are three whole years younger than Laura Nelson, and yet you want to be with her every moment? Possibly she may feel that _you_ are tagging." Laura is one of the summer girls, and Barby never has approved of our intimacy, just because she is so much older and has college men coming to see her now instead of High School boys and all that sort of thing. I didn't attempt to explain to Barby that we are as congenial as twins, and that Laura seeks my society quite as much as I do hers. I think Barby hoped that I'd become so interested in the Busy Bees that I wouldn't have any time for Laura, and she said a great deal about them needing a leader, and how much good I could do if I went into it as an enthusiastic president instead of a half-hearted one. Of course, when she put it that way, the privilege and duty of being an inspiration whenever possible, I had to give in as gracefully as I could. But I'm done now, after yesterday's performance. I was over at Laura's to lunch. Her midshipman cousin, Mr. Tucker, was off on a fishing trip, but he was to be back early in the afternoon and she wanted me to take him off her hands while she talked to some one else. Her most ardent admirer was coming to call. So she put my hair up for me the way she wears hers, flat over her ears and a sort of soft, fluffy whirl on top, and loaned me a pair of her green silk stockings and high-heeled white slippers, instead of my "growing girl" pumps that Father insists upon. I have somewhere read that "The consciousness of being well dressed imparts a blissfulness to the human heart that even religion is powerless to give or take away, and its importance can hardly be over-estimated by the feminine mind." I heartily agree, for just that difference in hair and heels made me feel and act perfectly grown up. I knew that Mr. Tucker thought I was as old as I seemed from the way he called me "Miss Huntingdon." And he had such a complimentary way of looking at me, and was so appreciative of my repartee that I found it easier to talk to him than any one I had ever met before. I found myself discussing the deep questions of life with him with an ease I couldn't have had, if I had been conscious of juvenile curls bobbing over my shoulders. But right in the middle of our interesting conversation came the most awful racket. A donkey-cart full of girls drove in from the street, past the window where we were sitting. Minnie Waite was standing up, driving, her hair streaming like a wild Amazon. And they all yodelled and catcalled till I went out on the porch. It was the dreadfullest noise you ever heard, for the donkey balks every other step unless he's headed for home, and the only way they can make him travel is to shake a tin can half-full of pebbles behind him. They asked had I forgotten that the Busy Bees were to have an extra meeting at my house to dress dolls for the Bazaar, and the whole bunch was over there waiting. They couldn't start till I got there, me being president, and my mother said for me to get straight into the cart and go back with them. I knew perfectly well that Barby had never sent any such sounding message as that, but I also knew the only way to keep them from making matters worse was to get them away as soon as possible. They were talking at the tops of their voices, and nobody knew what they'd say next. The quickest way to stop them was to climb into that babyish donkey-cart and jolt off with them, just like a kid myself. So I ran back and explained to Laura and made my hurried adieux. Mr. Tucker went down the steps with me to help me in. Of course, those horrid children noticed my green stockings, as I'd never worn that color before, and they made remarks about them and my high heels, when I tripped going down the steps, not being used to them. I would have fallen all over myself if Mr. Tucker hadn't caught me. He didn't seem to hear what they were saying, but Laura's little sister Dodo, who was hanging over the railing of the upstairs porch, listening like the long-eared little pitcher that she is, called down in her high, shrill voice: "Oh, Georgina! You've forgotten your pumps, and are going off in Laura's. Wait. I'll throw them down to you." Well, of course the donkey balked just then and wouldn't start till they began rattling the tin can full of stones, and in the midst of the pandemonium there was a whack-bang! on the porch steps, and down came my old flat-heeled Mary-Jane pumps, with my white stockings stuffed inside of them. Mr. Tucker picked them up and put them in the cart. He made some awfully nice, polite speech about Cinderella, but I was so mortified and so mad that I turned perfectly plum-colored I am sure. As we dashed off I wished I could be a _real_ busy bee for about a minute. A vicious one. Now I feel that I never want to lay eyes on Mr. Tucker again after such a humiliating experience. It is a pity, for he is the most congenial man I ever met. Our views on the deeper things of life are exactly the same. The worst of it is I can't explain all that to Barby. She made light of the affair when I cried, and told her how the girls had mortified and embarrassed me. Said it was foolish to take such a trifle to heart so bitterly; that probably Mr. Tucker would never give it a second thought, or if he did he would laugh over the incident and the little girl, and forget them entirely. But that was cold comfort. I couldn't tell her that I didn't want to be laughed at, and I didn't want to be forgotten by the first and only really congenial man I had ever met. Yet I might have told her all that if she had approached me differently. I long to confide in her if she would talk to me as one woman to another. Instead, she referred to a little Rainbow Club that Richard and I started long ago. We pretended that every time we made anyone happy it was the same as making a rainbow in the world. She asked me if I was tired of being her little prism, and to think how happy I could make those girls by interesting myself in their affairs, and a whole lot more like that. It made me so cross to be soothed in that kind, kindergarten way that while she was talking I burrowed back in my closet as if looking for something and said "_Darn!_" in a hollow whisper, between set teeth. One can't "be a kitten and cry mew" always. [Illustration] CHAPTER III IN THE SHADOW OF WAR LAST Wednesday I spent the day at Fishburn Court. My visits seem to mean so much to Aunt Elspeth, now that her time is divided between her bed and wheeled chair. I improvised a costume and did the song and dance for her that I am going to give in the French Relief entertainment next week. And I made a blueberry pie for dinner, and set the little kitchen in shining order, and put fresh bows on her cap, and straightened out all the bureau drawers. When everything you do is appreciated and admired and praised until you are fairly basking in approval, it makes you feel so good inside that you want to keep on that way forever. You just _love_ to be sweet and considerate. But afterwards it's such a comedown to go back home to those who take it as a matter of course that you should be helpful, and who feel it is their duty to improve your character by telling you what _your_ duty is. It rubs you the wrong way, and makes life much harder. Somehow, going to Fishburn Court is like climbing up into the Pilgrim monument and looking down on the town. Seen from that height, the things that loomed up so big when you were down on their level shrink to nothing. Maybe it is because Uncle Darcy and Aunt Elspeth have lived so very, very long that they can look down on life that way and see it from a great height as God does. I always think of them when I read that verse, "A thousand years in thy sight is but as yesterday." That is why nothing seems to matter to them very much but loving each other and their neighbors as themselves. I came away from there resolved to turn over a new leaf. I am sorry now that I said what I did the other day in the closet, but I don't feel that I have a right to blot it out of this record. The good and the bad should stand together in one's memoirs. It makes a character seem more human. I never felt that I had anything in common with Washington until I read that he sometimes gave away to violent fits of anger. I am now resolved to make those Busy Bees the power for good which Barby thinks I can, and quit thinking of my own feelings in the matter, of how disagreeable it is to have them eternally tagging after me. After all, what difference will it make a thousand years from now if they do tag? What difference if one little ant in the universe is happy or unhappy for one atom of time? When you think of yourself that way, as just a tiny ant sitting on the equator of eternity you can put up with almost anything. * * * * * A whole week has gone by since I wrote the above sentence, and in that time the most exciting thing has happened, in addition to celebrating my sixteenth birthday. The birthday came first. Barby's gift to me was a darling rowboat, light and graceful as a cockle-shell. Uncle Darcy carved my initials on the oars, and Richard came after dark the night before and dragged it up into the yard, and tied it under the holiday tree. Next morning my presents were all piled in the boat instead of being tied to the branches, for which I was very thankful. It made me feel that I had come to a boundary line which the family recognized, when they discarded the old custom of decorating the holiday-tree. They no longer considered me an infant. I have been wild for a boat of my own for two years, and was so excited I could scarcely eat my breakfast. I was out in it all day, first with Barby and Richard, and, afterward, with Babe Nolan and Judith Gilfred, who came to lunch. Ordinarily, I would fill pages describing my presents and what we did, but I can't wait to tell the climax. Late in the afternoon Richard came again and rowed me over to the Lighthouse and back. When we came up the beach on our way home to supper the sun was just setting. It was all so beautiful and I was so happy that I began humming "The End of a Perfect Day." But it wasn't the end, for when we went into the house the exciting thing happened. Who should rise up suddenly in the dusk and put his arms around me but _Father_, home on unexpected shore leave. I hadn't seen him for a year. Even Barby didn't know he was coming. It seemed too good to be true that he should be in time for the lighting of my birthday candles. As if it wasn't more than enough just to have him back again, safe and sound, he brought me the most adorable little wrist-watch, and from then on till midnight when my eyes weren't on him they were on it. It's so heavenly to have everybody in the world that you love best and everything you want most all together at the same time. We had to talk fast and crowd as much as possible into the hours. I felt that I had at last stepped into my field Elysian, when nobody said a word about my running along to bed. I think they would have let me sit up though, even if I hadn't been sixteen, the time was so precious. Up till this time the war had seemed a faraway, unreal thing, just like the tales we used to shudder over, of the heathen babies thrown to the crocodiles. I had been working for the Red Cross and the Belgian orphans in the same spirit that I've worked for the Missionary Society, wanting to help the cause, but not feeling it a personal matter. But when Father talked about it in his grave, quiet way, I began to understand what war really is. It is like a great wild beast, devouring our next-door neighbors and liable to spring at our throats any minute. It is something everybody should rise up and help to throttle. I understand now why Richard is so crazy on the subject. It isn't just thirst for adventure, as his cousin James says, although "Dare-devil Dick" is a good name for him. He sees the danger as Father sees it, and wants to do his part to rid the world of it. He talked a long time with Father, begging him to use his influence to get him into some kind of service over there. But Father says the same thing that Mr. Moreland did. That he's too young, and the only thing for him to do is to go back to school in the fall and fit himself for bigger service when his country has greater need of him. Richard went off whistling, but I knew he was horribly disappointed from the way his hat was pulled down over his eyes. The next morning when I went down to breakfast I felt as if the wild beast had already sprung as far as our door-step, if not actually at our throats, for Barby sat pale and anxious-eyed behind the coffee urn, and her lips were trembly when I kissed her good-morning. Father had received his orders to report in Washington in forty-eight hours, and we had hoped to keep him with us at least two weeks. He is called to a consultation about some extensive preparations to be made for marine hospital work. He had already been notified that he was to be put at the head of it, and he may have to go abroad to study conditions, almost immediately. I knew from the dumb misery in Barby's eyes she was thinking of the same things I was--submarines and sunken mines, etc., but neither of us mentioned them, of course. Instead, we tried to be as jolly as possible, and began to plan the nicest way we could think of to spend our one day together. Suddenly Father said he'd settle it. He'd spend it all with me, any way I chose, while Barby packed her trunk and got ready to go back to Washington with him. He'd probably be there a week or ten days and he wasn't going one step without her. Then I realized how grown-up one really is at sixteen. A year ago I would have teased to be taken along, and maybe would have gone off in a corner and cried, and felt dreadfully left out over such an arrangement. But I saw the glance that passed between them when he said it, and I understood perfectly. Barby's face was radiant. You may adore your only child, but the love of your life comes first. And it should. I was _glad_ they wanted to go off that way on a sort of second honeymoon trip. It would be dreadfully sad to have one's parents cease to be all in all to each other. Babe Nolan's mother and stepfather seem that way, bored to death with each other. Two things stand out so vividly in that last day that I never can forget them. One is our walk down through the town, when I almost burst with pride, going along beside Father, so tall and distinguished looking in his uniform, and seeing the royal welcome people gave him at every step. They came out of the stores and the houses to shake hands with him, the people who'd known him as a little boy and gone to school with him, and they seemed so really fond of him and so glad to have him back, that I fairly loved them for it, even people I hadn't liked especially before. The second thing was the talk we had up here in the garret in the gable window-seat, when he came up to look for some things he had packed away in one of the chests, twenty years ago. We did lots of other things, of course; went rowing in the new boat to a place on the beach where he used to picnic when he was a boy. We took our lunch along and ate it there. Afterwards we tramped back into the dunes a little way, just to let him feel the Cape Cod sand in his shoes once more, he said. It was high tide when we got back to the boat-house, so we got our bathing suits and went in. He was so surprised and pleased at some of my diving stunts, and taught me a new one. He is a magnificent swimmer himself. His hair is iron gray at the temples, and I've always been halfway afraid of him before--that is, afraid to say right out whatever I happened to think or feel. But it was different this time. I felt that he understood me better than anybody else in the world, even as well as Barby used to, when I was younger. As we went back home he said the nicest thing. He said it seemed to him that we must have been boys together at some time in our lives. That I was such a jolly good chum. I can't think about that last evening or the going away yesterday morning without the tears starting. But I'm thankful I didn't break down at the station. I couldn't have kept from it if it hadn't been for Captain Kidd, who frisked along with us. Just at the hardest moment he stood up on his hind legs and saluted. I'd never seen him do it before. It's a trick Richard taught him lately. It was so cunning everybody laughed, and I managed to pull myself together till the train started. But I made up for it when I got back home and came up here to the gable window-seat where Father and I had that last precious talk together, with his arm around me and my head on his shoulder. I nearly bawled my eyes out as I recalled each dear thing he said about my being old enough now to understand business matters, and what he wanted me to do in case the United States went to war; how I was to look after Barby if anything happened to him; and what I was to do for Uncle Darcy and Dan's children. That he relied on me just as if I were a son, because I was a true Huntingdon, and no Huntingdon woman had ever flinched from a duty or failed to measure up to what was expected of her. I keep thinking, what if he should never come back to talk to me again in that near, dear way. But ... I'll have to stop before any more splashes blot up this page. CHAPTER IV HER IDEAL GIRL STEPS IN ALL the time Barby was gone I didn't write a line in this record. I couldn't. Things seemed too trivial. Besides, the house had that strange, hushed air that you feel at a funeral when you're waiting for it to begin. I couldn't bear to touch the piano. It didn't seem right to be playing gay tunes while there was such awful sorrow in the world, and in all probability Father and Barby were spending their last days together. I declined the invitation to Laura Nelson's dance on that account, and after Tippy had gone to bed I put on Barby's only black dress, a chiffon dinner gown that she had left behind in her closet, and sat by the window in the moonlight, listening to the music of piano and drum floating up from the Nelson cottage. I had turned the silver trimming in so as not to show, and looking down on the clinging black folds that trailed around me, I pictured to myself so vividly the way an orphan or a young widow must feel, that the tears splashed down into my lap till I was afraid it would make the chiffon all crinkly. The dance music sounded perfectly heartless to me. I could understand how bitter it might make one feel who was really in mourning. When Barby came home and I told her about it, she said that I should have gone to the dance; that our first duty to ourselves and the world is to keep ourselves normal. After I'd spent the morning helping her unpack and hearing everything she had to tell about her week with Father and his departure to some unknown port, she told me she wanted me to stay out of doors all the rest of the day. I must go on the Quest of Cheerful Things, and she hoped that I'd be able to report at least two adventures. The two things which happened are that I went to a furniture auction and met my ideal girl. While they're not particularly cheerful things, they're important enough to be recorded here. It began by Babe Nolan bumping into me as I turned a corner, after I'd been out nearly half the afternoon. Babe is a far cry from anybody's ideal girl, that is, as far as looks and manners are concerned, but she has her good points. For one thing she is absolutely sincere, and it's always interesting to hear what new trouble she's been in. She had her bathing suit bundled carelessly under her arm, and said she couldn't stay because she'd promised to be up at the West End beach by four o'clock, and it was almost that time then. But she'd heard that there was a furniture auction going on in front of the old Holloway house, which has been vacant for years, and she just had to go by and see if there was a white bedstead in the lot, with hollow brass balls on the posts. She was sure that there couldn't be, because she'd been told that the furniture had been brought up from Truro or Wellfleet, or some place down the Cape. It belonged to relatives of the Holloway family. Still she felt possessed to look, and she supposed she'd go through life like the Wandering Jew, looking for that bedstead and never finding it. Then she told me why. Babe is very unfortunate in her family life, having a stepfather which complicates matters. All her brothers and sisters are either steps or halves. She has no whole ones. And they are all socialists in a way, believing in a community of interests, such as wearing each other's clothes without asking, and using each other's things. Right while Babe was talking to me she had on one of her half-brother Jim's outing shirts, turned in V at the neck instead of her own middy blouse, because Viola had walked off with her last clean one. With everybody free to root through her bureau drawers, and with no locks in the house that work, of course she has absolutely no privacy, and she had several letters that she wouldn't have the family read for worlds. They were too sacred, and she couldn't bear to destroy them, for they breathed devotion in every line, and were her first of the kind. She thought of burying them under the garden hedge, but that would have necessitated digging them up every time she wanted to re-read them, and there was danger of the puppy trailing her and unearthing them if she went too often to that hallowed spot. One night just before she and Viola went to Yarmouth for a visit, she found, quite by accident, that the brass balls on her bedposts were screwed on and were hollow. So she folded the letters up small and stuffed them into one, with a dried rose and a broken cuff-link that had associations, and screwed it back tight. What was her horror when she came home two weeks later to find that her mother had had the room done over in their absence as a surprise for her and Viola. She had bought twin beds of bird's-eye maple and given one old bed to a Salvation Army man who was going through town collecting junk, and sent the other to a camp up in the White Mountains where her mother's people go every year. She didn't know which went where. Now there's no telling how, when or where those letters will next see the light of day. It was bad enough to lose the letters, but Babe says she'll simply die if they fall into her Aunt Mattie's hands. She's the prim, cold kind who makes you feel that anything sentimental should never be mentioned. It's something to be ashamed of. Tippy's that kind. I have written all this out not because it's important in itself, but because it's a link in a chain. If I hadn't happened to meet Babe and go with her to hunt for that bedstead, I wouldn't have been at the auction when my ideal girl came along, or when Richard drove by and I hailed him to borrow a quarter, and he stopped and saw her. What she said and what he said, and what happened afterward was like a game of "Consequences." All sorts of stuff lay around on the grass--dishes and bed-slats and odd andirons. There was a beaded mat and a glass case of wax flowers, and a motto, "The Lord is my Shepherd," cross-stitched in pink and gray worsted, sitting right out on the grass. Babe said probably it was the work of hands long dead and gone, and didn't it seem sad that they should come to this end? But the tide was in and she'd have to go. She might have known she'd not find that bedstead. Would I walk up to the beach with her? But I told her no, I'd just rummage around awhile longer to see what else there was for sale. Maybe I could get some "local color" that way. Babe knows about my writing. She is one of the girls I read my novel to, and she respects my talent. So she left me. I did get some local color by staying, and took out my pencil and pad, which I always carry around in my knitting bag, and made a note of it. An old-fashioned hoop-skirt was thrown across a rose-bush, and a black silk bonnet lay under it, beside a pair of worn shoes. Both the bonnet and the shoes had what Tippy calls a "genteel" air, and made me think they must have belonged to a prim maiden lady with proud nose and slender feet, probably called "Miss Althea." The name came to me like an inspiration, I could almost see her standing by the rose-bush. Just then some boys, who were wrestling around, bumping into everything, upset a barrel on the grass, and a great pile of framed photographs came rolling out. Some of them were comical enough for a Sunday supplement, women in tight basques and little saucer hats, and men with whiskers--beards or perfectly ridiculous bushy "burnsides." A crowd of summer people began making joking remarks about them to set each other to laughing. But there was one in an oval walnut frame that I couldn't bear to have them make fun of, the photograph of a lady with a little boy leaning against her shoulder. She had a strong, kind face, with such steadfast eyes looking straight at you, that you just knew everybody went to her with their troubles. The boy was a dear little fellow, serious as a judge, with his hair brushed in a long roll on the top of his head in one of those old-fashioned coxcomb curls. One of the girls from the hotel picked it up and began declaiming a verse from "Somebody's Darling," that's in one of our school readers. "Kiss him once for somebody's sake. * * * * * * One bright curl from its fair mates take---- They were somebody's pride you know." It came over me in a great wave how I would feel if it were Barby's picture thrown out that way for strangers to ridicule and step on, or the one I've always loved of Father, when he was a little boy, hugging his white rabbit. I felt that I simply must save it from further desecration. The only way was to buy it. The man said I could have any frame in the barrel, picture thrown in free, for twenty-five cents, without waiting for it to be put up at auction. They were in a hurry to get through. I told him I'd take it, then I discovered I hadn't a penny left in my knitting bag. I'd spent my last one on the way down, treating Babe to a soda water. It was right while I was standing there with the frame in my hands, uncertain whether to go to the bakery and borrow a quarter or ask the man if he'd take my note for it till next day, that Judith Gilfred came into the yard with a girl I'd never seen before. I knew at a glance that it must be the cousin she'd been expecting from the South. She's talked about her for a month, and said such gushing things that I was prepared to see quite a pretty girl, but not the most beautiful one I had ever seen in my life. That's what she is, and also my ideal of all that is gracious and lovely and sweet. She's a blonde with the most exquisite hair, the color of amber or honey, with little gold crinkles in it. And her eyes--well, they make you think of clear blue sapphires. I loved her from the moment Judith introduced us. Loved her smile, the way it lights up her face, and her voice, soft and slow, blurring her r's the way Barby does. From her little white-slippered feet to the jewelled vanity box on a slender chain around her neck, she looks exactly as I'd choose to look if I could make myself over. Her name is Esther Gilfred. Judith must have told her as much about me as me about her, for she was so cordial and dear. Judith has been my most intimate friend ever since I started to school. Esther was so interested in the auction. One of her greatest charms I think is her enthusiasm for whatever you happen to be interested in. She made the picture I was carrying around seem doubly desirable, just by saying in that indescribably charming way of hers that antique frames are quite the rage now. There is such a fad for them in her town. We must have spent more than half an hour poking around among all the queer old things being auctioned off, when I heard the honk of an automobile horn, which I recognized as Richard's. He was signaling me. He had slowed down as he came opposite the place, to see why such a crowd was gathered in there, and, as he did so, caught sight of us. He stopped when I waved to him, and I ran out and asked him to loan me a quarter. As he fished one out of his pocket, he told me he'd take me home if I was ready to go. So I ran back to pay for the frame, and ask the girls what time they'd be ready to go rowing next morning. While Judith was answering, Esther laid her hand on my arm in her enthusiastic way and exclaimed in a low tone, "Who is that young Apollo you spoke to? He has the most gorgeous dark eyes I ever saw, and the shoulders of an athlete. He's simply stunning!" On the way home I told Richard what Esther said about him. He looked so pleased and conscious, that it was funny to watch his face. "Which one said it?" he asked. "The little goldilocks in blue, or the one under the red parasol?" I surely was astonished, for I had no idea that Richard was so observing. Heretofore, he had never seemed to notice how girls looked, or what they wore. [Illustration] CHAPTER V A PHOTOGRAPH AND SOME DAY-DREAMS I DON'T believe compliments are good for the male mind. They go to their heads. Up to this time in all the years I've known Richard, I'd never seen him walk up to a mirror and deliberately stare at himself, except when we were having a face-making contest, and trying to see which could look the ugliest. [Illustration: "I don't think compliments are good for the male mind."] But the first thing he did after we went into the house was to stop in front of the hall mirror and square back his shoulders. Then he turned and looked at himself, a long, slow glance out of the corner of his eyes, and walked away with such a satisfied air that I was dying to laugh. All the rest of the evening he had a sort of set-up, lordly way about him that he had never had before. I am sure that it was the effect of Esther's compliment. Barby asked him to stay to supper, and he did, to hear all about her Washington trip. He talked to her sort of over my head, as if I were a little girl who couldn't understand the great war measures which interested him. It amused me immensely, for every one knows that a girl of sixteen is far more mature than a boy of seventeen and a half. But I didn't say anything, just smiled to myself as I sat and knit and listened. After supper when I brought out the oval frame to show the family what a bargain I got for a quarter, I had the surprise of my life. Tippy recognized the photograph in the frame. She said there were probably a dozen like it hanging up in various parlors in Wellfleet. It was the picture of a minister's wife she had known years ago. "Sister Wynne," everybody called her, whether they went to that church or not, because she was so widely beloved. The little boy's name was John. When this little John was just a baby, Brother Wynne had a call to a big church out West. On the way there they came up to Provincetown to take the boat, and they stayed all night with Grandfather Huntingdon in this very house. Tippy was here on a visit at the time, and remembers it perfectly. Several years later the Wynnes had this picture taken to send back to friends in their old parish, and let them see how little John had grown. Miss Susan Triplett at Wellfleet has one. It seems too strange for words to think that once upon a time they slept in our big downstairs guest chamber in the bed with the bird-o'-paradise valance and the pink silk tester, and that years and years afterward I should find their picture in a barrel at an auction, and bring it home and hang it up in that very room. That's what I did after supper while Richard was drawing maps on the margin of the _Boston Transcript_, showing Barby where the Allies were entrenched. I washed the glass and drove a nail, and hung it up over a little serving table between the windows. Then I stepped back and held up the lamp to see the effect. It seemed to belong there, and the little fellow's big, serious eyes looked straight out at me, as if they were saying: "Yes, I know you, and I came back on purpose to be put into your story." He seemed so real to me that as I went out, carrying the lamp, I looked back over my shoulder and whispered, "Good-night, little John Wynne." Then I went upstairs to get another skein of yarn and wind it on Tippy's swift. All the time I was doing it I kept thinking of the events of the afternoon, and how beautiful Esther Gilfred looked--how adorable she was in every way. Those lines from Wordsworth came to my mind: "She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight." Also she suggested that line "Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls!" Suddenly I thought, why not write a poem to her my own self. At that, a whole list of lovely words went slipping through my mind like beads along a string: lily ... pearl ... snow-crystal ... amber ... blue-of-deep-waters ... blue-of-sapphire-skies ... heart of gold. She makes me think of such fair and shining things. But it was hard to get started. After trying ever so long I concluded to look in the dictionary in the list of Christian names for the meaning of Esther. I thought that might suggest something which would do for a starter. When I went back downstairs Richard had finished his map drawing. He was lying on the leather couch, as he so often does, his eyes closed, and his hands clasped under his head, listening to Barby play the piano. He certainly did look long, stretched out full length that way, longer than he had ever seemed before. Maybe Esther's calling my attention to him the way she did made me see him in a new light, for, after staring at him critically a moment, I had to admit that he really was as good-looking as she said he was. I carried the big dictionary over to the library table and opened it under the reading lamp. Years ago we had looked up the meaning of our names, but I had forgotten what Richard meant until my eye chanced on the word, as I glanced down the page. I didn't want to interrupt the music, but I couldn't resist leaning towards him and saying in an undertone, just to get a rise out of him: "Listen to this, 'Apollo,' the name Richard means 'strong like a ruler, or powerful.' That's why you have the 'shoulders of an athlete.'" But he didn't even open his eyes. Just gave an indulgent sort of smile, in rather a bored, superior way that made me want to slap him. It was as much as to say that I was carrying coals to Newcastle in telling him that. "Well," I said, in Tippy's own tone, quoting what she always tells me when anybody compliments me in her presence, "'There's nothing lasting you will find but the treasures of the mind.' So you needn't be so uppity, mister." He ignored the remark so completely that I determined not to speak to him again all evening. But presently I was forced to on account of the interesting fact I found on the next page. It was too interesting not to be shared. "Beauteous Being," I remarked in a half whisper, "don't trouble to open those gorgeous dark eyes, but listen to this. The name Esther means _A Star_. Isn't that wonderfully appropriate?" His eyes flew open quickly enough at that. He turned over on his side and exclaimed in the most interested way: "Say, I was just thinking what a peach she is, but somehow peach didn't seem the right word. But _Star_--that fits her right down to the ground." And that from Richard, who never looks at girls! Seeing how interested he was in her I confided in him that I was trying to write a poem to her. That she seemed to be set to music in my thoughts, and that she continually reminded me of lines of poetry like that one of Tennyson's: "Shine out little head, running over with curls, to the flowers, and be their sun." He asked me what that was in. When I told him "Maude," he turned over on his back again and shut his eyes, with no more to say. But when Barby finished the "Reverie" she was playing and he got up to go home, he walked over to the bookcase and began hunting along the shelves. He always helps himself to whatever he wants. When he slipped a book into his pocket I looked up in time to see that it was one of the little blue and gold volumes of our set of Tennyson. Later I found he had carried off the one with "Maude" in it. I have wondered since if he would have taken the same interest in Esther if I hadn't repeated her compliment--if it was that which started him. Tippy lost no time next morning in hunting up the auctioneer and finding whose furniture he was selling, and all about it. What he told her sent her to Wellfleet on the noon train to talk over old times with her cousin Susan Triplett. She came back at supper time with a piece of news wonderfully interesting to me. Little John Wynne is alive and really is back on the Cape. But he's grown up now, of course. He's a physician. He worked his way through a Western college and then went to Harvard for his medical degree. This summer he is in Yarmouth, taking care of old Doctor Rawlins' practice, while he's off on a long vacation. I was so thrilled over all that Tippy told, that on my way up to bed I slipped across the hall for another look at the picture which I had rescued. It is a pity that "Sister Wynne" died before she knew how splendidly he turned out. She would have been so proud of him. But she must have known that he'd grow up to be the kind of man that Miss Susan says he is, because they look so much alike--the same steadfast, dependable sort of eyes and mouth. As I stood there, holding the flickering candle, with the wax melting and running down its side, I thought how wonderful it would be if fate should some time bring our paths in life together. There are so many ways that might be done. He might be called here in consultation any day. Dr. Rawlins often is. Or he might come up here to spend a week-end as hundreds of people do, because the town is quaint and has historic associations. I wondered if I'd recognize him from his likeness to this baby picture or to his mother, if I should happen to meet him suddenly--say going into the post-office or strolling along the wharf. I felt sure something would tell me that it might be he. Then I began imagining the most dramatic scene, just as if I were reading it in a novel of which I was the heroine. I would be taking part in an entertainment at the Town Hall, giving the Fire-fly dance maybe, first with the spot-light following me, and then with hall and stage darkened to give that wonderful fire-fly effect, and all the tiny points of electric lights hidden in my costume flashing on and off. And _he_ would be watching out there in the darkness, from the front row, watching intently every graceful move. Then all at once something would go wrong behind the scenes. A cloud of fire and smoke would suddenly sweep across the stage, shutting me off from escape and almost suffocating me. There would be a moment of awful silence while the audience gazed transfixed with horror. Then out of the darkness _he_ would leap forth, tearing off his coat as he sprang up on the stage to wrap it around my filmy dress, already aflame, and I would fall unconscious in his arms, overcome by the smoke. Long hours afterward when I opened my eyes, his face would be bending anxiously over me, and I'd smile wanly up at him, and he'd say in a choking whisper, "Thank heaven, she lives!" I would be lying in this downstairs guest chamber instead of my own room, this being handier, and presently he'd see this picture of himself hanging on the wall. Then--well, suffice it to say, it would lead finally to a beautiful and touching scene like the one I saw at the movies Wednesday afternoon, in the last act of "The Harvest Moon." After I went upstairs that night, I thought of still another way for us to meet, which I shall write down because it would make a good scene in a novel, and I am beginning to think I shall start another one soon instead of "Divided," which now seems amateurish and childish to me. This is the scene. I would be a beautiful Red Cross nurse, serving with the Allies somewhere in France. Into the ward, where I was keeping vigil some night, would be brought a wounded officer, a member of the medical corps who had risked his life giving aid to the dying in the trenches. He would be too badly hurt for me to recognize him at first, till I found his mother's picture over his heart, and my calling his name would bring him back to consciousness. "How did you find me?" he would murmur feebly. "How did you know?" And I'd say, "Because, far away across the seas in my old home on Cape Cod, hangs the picture of 'little John Wynne,' as he used to be. My guardian angel led me hither." "You ... are my ... angel," he would whisper, and relapse into unconsciousness. I could make it awfully effective to have him die, after I'd nursed him tenderly for weeks, but I can't bear to. I'd rather have it end the way I'd want it to end in real life if I should really meet him on a foreign battle-field. Probably, though, if I ever do meet him, it'll be just my luck to be coming in from blue-berrying the way I was last week with a bee-sting on my lip that swelled it up till I was a sight for the gods. Oh, if we could only make things happen actually the way we can in our day-dreams, what a thrilling thing Life would be from start to finish! CHAPTER VI THE ONE AND ONLY STAR "Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky." THAT'S Esther. She has been here two weeks, and all that time I've been trying to write a poem to her which would do her justice. It is impossible. So, since coming across the above line from Wordsworth, I've simply called her "Star" and given up trying. She likes to have me call her that. She is so wonderful that it is a privilege just to be in the same town with her. Merely to feel when I wake in the morning that I may see her some time during the day makes life so rich, so full, so beautiful! How I long to be like her in every way! Since that cannot be I try to live each hour in a way that is good for my character, so as to make myself as worthy as possible of her friendship. For instance, I dust the hind legs of the piano and the backs of the picture frames as conscientiously as the parts that show. I work overtime on my music instead of skipping practice hours as I have sometimes done in the past. The most unpleasant tasks I go through gladly, feeling that the rubbing of such, although disagreeable, puts a shine on one's soul in the same way that a buffer polishes the nails. At first Richard laughed at what he called my infatuation, and said it didn't pay to take Emerson's advice and "hitch your wagon to a star." You have to jerk along at such a rattling gait to keep up that it soon wears out an ordinary mortal. But before he realized what had happened to him his wagon was hitched as firmly as mine, and to the same star. Esther loves to motor, so he takes her for a long drive every day when his cousin James doesn't want the machine. As he furnishes his own gasoline for such pleasure trips, he hasn't saved very much of his wages since she's been here, to put in his "Going abroad" fund. Every time I go to the Gilfred's, Esther passes me a freshly opened box of candy. All the boys send it to her, but twice in the last week I've been sure it was from Richard. The first one had a card lying on top that she turned around for me to read. No name--just a pencilled line--"Queen Rose of the rose-bud garden of girls." But I know Richard's handwriting as well as I know my own. Besides he learned that very quotation from me. The next time the card was printed instead of written, but there was a pansy drawn in the corner, and the sentence was in French. Esther asked me to read it. She said she was so rusty in her French she wasn't sure she had translated it correctly. It said "Pansies are for thought." Then I remembered the pansy bed out by the Gilfreds' side porch. Richard had a big purple one in his button-hole the other day when he came back from there. But that was no proof, of course, because I'd seen George Woodson with one, and also Truman Long. Truman draws almost as well as Richard and is always making marginal sketches on things, but Truman never took any of the languages but dead ones. But later on when Esther said she and Richard were going to read some fables together to help her brush up her French, I was pretty sure he had sent that second box. I was altogether sure when he came over the second time with that same pansy in his buttonhole, so dry and dead it was all shriveled up. I knew just how he felt about it, that it was too sacred to throw away. I feel the same way about whatever her fingers touch. So just to let him know that I understood and sympathized like a real sister I picked up Barby's guitar and in an off-hand sort of way began to sing an old song of hers that he knows quite as well as I do. "Only a pansy blossom, only a withered flower, Yet to me far dearer than all in earth's fair bower." I hadn't the faintest intention of teasing him, but he seemed to take it that way. He got as red as fire and shrugged his shoulders impatiently and strode out of the room as if he were provoked. It seems so queer to think of _him_ having any sentiment in connection with a girl, when he's always been so indifferent towards them. Still, Esther is so star-like, so high above all other girls that I don't wonder that even he has yielded to her magic influence. All the boys are crazy about her. George Woodson spends most of his waking hours there. He sits around in the hammock with his ukelele, waiting for her to come out, and if they have an engagement and go off and leave him, he just sits and waits for them to come back. Truman Long has composed a serenade dedicated to her that's really awfully sweet, and when they dance at the Gilfreds' of an evening the boys break in so continually that Esther doesn't get to dance around the room without changing partners. It must be heavenly to be so popular. Babe Nolan has a sentence copied in her memory book which she says is a test of whether one is truly in love or not. She thinks it is from Emerson. "When a single tone of one voice can make the heart beat, and the most trivial circumstance associated with one form is put in the amber of memory. When we become all eye when one is present and all memory when one is gone." She says she was all eye when she used to be with the One who wrote those letters which are now in that bedpost somewhere in the Salvation Army or the White Mountains, and she was all memory when he was gone. And if it happened that it was his voice which answered when she called up the grocery where he clerked, she was all of a flutter, and couldn't remember whether her mother told her to order starch or stove polish. I wonder if I shall ever know that blissful sensation. According to Babe's test I am sure of the last two items in Richard's case. He certainly is all eye when Esther is present, and the most trifling thing she says or does is cherished in the amber of his memory. I can tell from the way he keeps coming back to them in a round-about way without mentioning her name. Barby has noticed the difference in him, too. He doesn't come to the house as often as usual for one thing, and he talks about something besides war. He doesn't mention Esther's name to Barby, but he brings up subjects connected with her that he's never been interested in before. Things they've discussed at the Gilfreds', such as the difference between Southern and Northern girls, and what constitutes charm in a woman, and why angels are always painted with golden hair and nobody ever thinks of there being brunette angels with snappy dark eyes. When I told Barby he was helping Esther brush up her French, she gave a funny sort of a groan, and said, "Of all the arrows in the little god's quiver that is the deadliest." When I asked what arrow, she said, "Conjugating a familiar verb in a foreign tongue with a----" Then she broke off suddenly and asked what kind of a girl I thought Esther really was. She said if she were the right kind it would do Richard worlds of good to be interested in her, but she couldn't bear to think of the dear boy being disillusioned this early, or having his confidence in woman-kind shaken by a shallow little flirt. I told her that shallowness and coquetry were not to be mentioned in the same breath with Esther. That while Richard's a nice boy, and feeling towards him as I do, as if he were a real brother, I want him to have the very best things Life can give him, I don't consider him fine enough and noble enough for such an angel as Esther. With her lofty ideals only a Sir Galahad or King Arthur himself is worthy of her. Barby has met her several times, but only when there were a lot of others present. She had no chance to talk with her and see what a truly fine and strong character she has. She could see only in a general way that she is lovely and gracious. So, not knowing her as I know her, she reminded me again of that old prism of mine and the way I used to go about with it in front of my eyes, putting rainbows around everything in sight. She asked if I was sure I wasn't looking at Esther in some such way, putting a halo of perfection around her that was largely of my own making. She said she did that twice when she was in her early teens. Once it was a music teacher she was infatuated with, and once her roommate at boarding school. She looked upon them as perfect, and nearly died of disappointment when she discovered they were only ordinary mortals. It hurt me dreadfully to have her think my adoration of Esther was nothing but a schoolgirl infatuation. She must have seen how I felt and she must have changed her mind about Esther, for lately she has been perfectly lovely about encouraging our intimacy. She says she'd like for me to invite her to the house often, and that I may have her here for a week after her visit with Judith is over. And she suggested several things we might do for her entertainment, such as a picnic at Highland Light, and a motor-boat trip over to the weirs to see the nets hauled in. * * * * * An age has gone by since I wrote of the above plans. There has been no chance to carry them out, because the very next day Mrs. Gilfred went to Boston and took Judith and Esther with her for a week. Ever since they left I've gone around humming: "What's this dull town to me? Robin's not here." Only I change it to "My Star is not here." The only thing that makes the loneliness bearable is that Barby has a guest, a Miss Helen Crewes, who is a Red Cross nurse. She is going to Flanders very soon, and she is up here resting. She gives "First Aid" lessons to Barby, Tippy and me in the evenings. Tuesday when the Busy Bees met here she put on her uniform and went down and talked to the girls. She seemed so wonderful and so set apart, all in white with the Red Cross blazing on her forehead, and she talked so inspiringly that the girls were ready to rise up and follow her to the death. They didn't want to go home when the time came, but hung around begging her to tell some more. And Minnie Waite said that if anybody in town would start a Melting Pot like the one Miss Crewes told about to put your jewels in for the cause, she'd throw in her gold thimble and her locket and her silver friendship bracelet that needs only one more link to complete it. Barby hasn't invited any of our friends to meet Miss Crewes yet, because she's just off a hard case that nearly wore her out. She says she must store up every bit of strength she can get from the dunes and the sea, for what lies ahead. So she sits down on the beach hours at a time, and goes on long walks by herself. When I take her out in the boat she scarcely says a word. But in the evenings while she's teaching us first aid bandaging, etc., she talks so thrillingly of her experiences and what her friends are doing over there that I could listen all night. Barby made several attempts to get Richard to come over and meet her, but he hasn't been near here since Esther went to Boston. He always makes some excuse when Barby telephones. Barby says it would do him good to meet a woman like Miss Crewes. That she'd wake him up out of the trance he is in, and rekindle his old enthusiasms. Miss Crewes is middle-aged, for she's at least thirty-eight, and she's very plain, except when she talks. Then her face lights up till you feel as if a lamp had suddenly been brought into the room. I know now what Barby meant by trance. It is the same thing as being "all memory when one is gone." Yesterday Babe Nolan and I were walking along the street together, she eating an apple, when Richard drove by without seeing us. It was up along in one of the narrowest turns, where he had to pass so close to the board walk that the machine nearly grazed it. Yet he went by, perfectly unconscious of us. Never looked to the right nor the left, and never even heard when I called to him. Usually he is on the look-out to wave his hand to anybody he knows. When he had gone by Babe said: "That boy doesn't know whether he's in the body or out of the body. Somebody ought to tell him about Esther Gilfred. It's a shame to let him go on that way making a goose of himself." "Tell him _what_ about her?" I demanded. "Oh, that it's all a bluff about her brushing up her French. She doesn't know enough French to brush. All she does is to hold the dictionary while he reads. She can't even find the words by herself half the time. Besides she's years older than he is, although she passes for the same age. And worse yet--_she's engaged_." I was so furious that I contradicted her hotly, but she just looked at me over the apple she was biting into, with the calm, unruffled gaze of an old Aztec. Babe can be the most provoking person at times that ever lived. She prides herself on having a mathematical mind, and being exact about facts and figures. The worst of it is she usually is, and will go any length to prove she's right. Although I know in this case she _must_ be mistaken, it worries me in spite of myself. She said that one day at the Gilfreds' they were laughing over some old photographs of Esther and Judith, taken when they were babies. On the back of one was written: "This is our little Esther at the age of six months and six days." It was signed with her father's name and the date. Esther snatched it away and tore it up before anyone else saw it, but, Babe says, counting up from that date to this, Esther is all of three years older than Richard. She is twenty and a half. And she said that twice while she and Viola were visiting in Yarmouth, their Aunt Rachel took them to a hop in Barnstable. Both times Esther, who was visiting in Barnstable then, was there with the man she's engaged to. He's a doctor. They met at a house-party when he was a medical student at Harvard and she was at a finishing school near Boston. Her aunt told Babe's aunt all about it. They've been engaged nearly a year, but Esther won't have it announced because she says it would spoil her good times wherever she goes. She'd never make any more conquests. He's so busy establishing his practice that he can't pay her the attention and give her the things that the other men do. When Babe told me that I felt as if the solid ground were giving away under my feet. She seemed perfectly sure that what she was telling was the straight, unvarnished truth. And yet, I cannot, I _will_ not believe that Esther would stoop to deceit in the smallest matter. She is the soul of honor. She _couldn't_ be sacredly betrothed to one man and then go on acting exactly as if she wasn't, with another. Besides, I heard her say one day that she is just Judith's age, which is seventeen, and another time that she was "heart whole and fancy free." When I triumphantly quoted that last to Babe to prove she was wrong she swallowed another bite of apple and then said, "Well, a coquette might be all that and at the same time engaged. And she _is_ engaged, and I can prove it." All I could trust myself to say was, "Babe Nolan, your remarks are perfectly insulting. I'll thank you to remember you're talking about my very best friend and the very finest and sweetest girl I've ever known in my whole life." With that I drew myself up in my most freezing manner and walked off and left her. I've wished since that I'd thought in time to hurl that quotation from Shakespeare over my shoulder at her, but I didn't think of it till I was nearly home: "Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, Thou shalt not escape calumny." Those statements of Babe's were nothing but out and out calumny. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII A MODERN SIR GARETH YESTERDAY morning, just to oblige me, Miss Crewes put on her Red Cross uniform and went out in the garden with me to let me take some snapshots of her. Barby came out to watch us, sitting on the stone bench under the apple tree, with her knitting. I was using my last film, posing Miss Crewes among the hollyhocks by the garden wall, when we heard a machine drive up and stop out in front. The next minute Richard came dashing around the corner of the house, bareheaded, and calling Barby in such a breathless way that I knew he had exciting news from the front. Then he caught sight of her under the apple-tree, and came striding across the grass to her, his head up and his face fairly shining. As we walked over towards them we caught parts of his sentences, "It's Dad--all banged up and in the hospital. One of the bravest things--so proud of him--it chokes me." He didn't even see us when we joined them, for he had pulled a handful of letters out of his pocket, and was shuffling them over to find the one that brought the news. A comrade of Mr. Moreland's had written it and his nurse added a postscript. No one thought to introduce Miss Crewes and he never seemed to notice a stranger was present till he finished reading. And then there didn't seem to be any need of an introduction. She just held out her hand with tears in her eyes and that wonderful light in her face which comes when she talks of sacrifice and heroism, and he gripped it as if they were old friends. That's what they've seemed to be ever since. I think the sight of that red cross blazing on her uniform waked him up to the fact that she is connected in a way with the same cause his father is suffering for now in the hospital, and that she would be in sympathy with his desire to get into the service, and possibly might be able to help him. He couldn't stay then, because his Cousin James was in the machine out in front, waiting for him. But he promised to come back later, said there were a hundred questions he wanted to ask her. It seems strange that, in the midst of hearing such a big vital piece of news about a real hero, I should notice a trifle like the following. When Richard took the handful of letters from his pocket and began shuffling through them to find the one from France, I saw without being conscious that I was staring at them, that they were all strangely familiar--square and pale blue. In his excitement he dropped one, and there on the flap of the envelope were the two long slim silver initials that I know so well, "E. G." I had several notes written on that same silver and blue stationery before Esther went to Boston, though none since. I wasn't conscious of counting them as he passed them from hand to hand, but I must have done so automatically, for I seem to remember as far as five, and that it was the sixth one he dropped. He was so absorbed in the news that he didn't realize he was making a public display of Esther's letters, though of course nobody could recognize them but me. I think maybe for the moment she was so far in the background of his thoughts that she lost her importance for him. But not so with me. Mingled with a thrill of happiness over Richard's news, was a feeling that my faith in Esther had been vindicated. She _couldn't_ have written to him six times in seven days if she had been sacredly pledged to another. Babe Nolan is wrong for once in her life, and I shall have the joy of telling her so before this week is out. I know I am not putting a rainbow around Esther. It is simply that love gives me a clearer vision than the others have--the power to see the halo of charm which encircles her. * * * * * This has been such a wonderful day that I can't close my eyes until I have made a record of it. First, _I have seen Doctor John Wynne_! And second, I've found out something about him which makes me honor and admire him more than any man I know except Father. Miss Crewes told us the story, but she didn't intend to tell us his name, nurses being bound to respect a confidence. It came out quite by accident. She was dreadfully distressed at the slip and made us promise we'd never repeat it to a soul. It happened this way: Richard had the machine to do as he pleased with today, Mr. Milford being out of town, and he and Barby arranged a little picnic for Miss Crewes. He's taken the greatest fancy to her. We started out soon after breakfast and drove for hours through the perfectly heavenly summer morning, stopping at each little village along the Cape as we came to it, to tack up some posters. They were posters different artists had painted for that French Relief entertainment, which has been postponed so many times. At lunch time we stopped by the side of the road in the shade of a pine grove, so close to the water that we could see the blue shining through the trees. It was such a fascinating, restful spot that we sat there a long time after we finished our lunch. Richard stretched out full length on the pine needles with his hat over his eyes, and the rest of us took out our knitting. I knew he was thinking of Esther, for presently he brought up a subject which we have discussed several times at the Gilfreds', which she was particularly interested in. It's whether the days of chivalry are dead or not, and if men were not nobler in the days of King Arthur, when they rode forth to deeds of prowess and to redress wrongs, than they are now when their highest thought is making money or playing golf. Esther always took the side that nobody nowadays measures up to the knights of the Round Table, and that she wished she could have lived when life was picturesque and romantic instead of in these prosaic times. I think what she said rather rankled in Richard's mind, because I've heard him refer to it several times. Naturally I sided with Esther, for her arguments seemed unanswerable. Today I quoted some of them. That is what led to Miss Crewes telling one of her experiences. She was red-hot for the other side, and said I might name any deed of chivalry mentioned in the "Idylls of the King," and she could match it by something equally fine, done in this day of the world, by some man she was personally acquainted with. Instantly I thought of the story of "Gareth and Lynette," for that is one that Esther and George Woodson had the biggest argument over. The part where Gareth saves the baron's life, and when asked what reward he would have--"_What guerdon will ye?_"--answers, "_None! For the deed's sake have I done the deed_." Esther once said she thought that was one of the noblest sentences in all literature. As soon as I quoted it Richard raised himself on one elbow and then sat up straight. He could see by Miss Crewes' face that she had a story worth telling. "For the deed's sake have I done the deed," she repeated to herself as if searching through her memory. Then after a moment she said triumphantly, "Yes, I have a Sir Gareth to more than match yours. He is a young physician just beginning to make good in his practise, and he's had a far harder apprenticeship to win his professional spurs than ever Gareth served, as scullion in the King's kitchen." Of course, it being a nurse's confidential experience, she had to tell the story in the most impersonal way, like the censored war reports that begin "Somewhere in France." She began it: "Somewhere in a little seaport where I was resting one summer," and we didn't know till she finished it that it was Yarmouth she was talking about, and that it was this summer it happened, only two weeks ago, and that she was talking about the last case she nursed, the one that exhausted her so. She wouldn't have taken it, as she had given up regular nursing and was taking a vacation before going abroad in the Red Cross service, but the doctor was a good friend of hers and seemed to think it was a life and death matter to have her help in such a critical case. The patient was a fine-looking young fellow, not much more than a boy, although they found out later he had a wife and baby down in New Jersey. All they knew about him was that he had been in that neighborhood about three months, as agent for an insurance company, and was taken ill in the house where he was boarding. It was typhoid fever and a desperate case from the beginning. The first night they discovered why. It came out in his delirium, in broken sentences. He had been using the company's money, holding back the premiums in some way. Of course he always expected to replace the amounts in a short time, but his speculations were unfortunate and he had not succeeded in doing so when he was taken ill. And now he was in an agony of fear, tortured by the thought of exposure and disgrace. His ravings were something pitiful. He kept starting up in bed, thinking the detectives were after him, and begging them not to arrest him--to give him one more chance. He had a lucid interval next morning when the doctor questioned him and he made a full confession. There was no one he could apply to for help. His own people had nothing, and the thought of his wife finding out his dishonesty almost crazed him. Miss Crewes said it was one of the most harrowing experiences she ever lived through. There was no place for her to go but out on the tiny balcony. She stepped through the window and sat on the railing out of sight of the bed, but she couldn't help hearing. The way she told it made us feel that we were right there with her, watching the doctor's face, and reading in it as she did the struggle going on in his mind. He was turned so he could not see her, but she could see every expression that crossed his face. This stranger had no claim on him whatsoever. He had gotten into trouble through extravagance and a fast life, while what the doctor had managed to save after putting himself through school had been earned by the hardest work and most frugal living. It would take all his savings to replace the stolen funds, and he had been piling it up, bit by bit, for a cherished purpose of his own. Why should he sacrifice it for this careless young fellow, who by his own confession had never denied himself anything? And yet, to stand back and see him go down that path abhorred of all men to exposure and public disgrace probably would take away his one chance of recovery. For a long time the doctor sat there, looking past the restless form on the white bed to the sky-line of the little town that showed through the open window. It was a hard decision for him to make. Finally he said cheerfully: "It's all right, old chap. Don't worry about it any more. I'll stand between you and trouble. I'll send my check to the company for you this very day." Then the boy broke down again, and his relief and gratitude were almost as distressing as his fear had been. Well, he died after all, though they worked to the utmost to save him. There were some complications. And it was all so pitiful, the little wife's coming on with the baby to be with him those last few days, and her frantic imploring of them to save him, when they were already doing everything in human power. And the funeral and everything, and her going back home with his body. The one thing she clung to--the only thing that comforted her--was the thought of his goodness and nobility of character, and that she must live to bring up her little son to be worthy of his father's memory. She went away never knowing what she had been spared. The doctor didn't have even her gratitude to reward him, because she didn't know what he had done. And nobody will ever know but Miss Crewes how much he gave to wipe out a stranger's dishonor and let him die with his reputation unstained. Not that he ever mentioned the matter to Miss Crewes. All she knew was what she couldn't help overhearing. But, being old friends, he had told her in the beginning of the summer why he was working so hard and living so frugally. He was engaged to the loveliest girl in Christendom, and expected to marry her as soon as his bank account reached the place where he could give her the things she was accustomed to having. "And so you see," said Miss Crewes in ending the story, "there was no _possible_ 'guerdon' for him. It was done solely, purely, for the deed's sake." "I'd like to know that chap," said Richard thoughtfully. Then for a moment or two there was a deep silence. It was broken by the sound of a noisy little automobile rattling down the road. As it came nearer Miss Crewes recognized it and started to her feet in surprise. "Well, this is the most remarkable coincidence that ever was!" she exclaimed. "There he is this blessed minute!" If the man had driven on by we wouldn't have known his name, and probably might never have discovered it. But the surprise of seeing him made her forget that she was disclosing the identity of the hero of her story. At sight of her he stopped his car, got out and came over to where we were sitting, to speak to her. After a cordial greeting she introduced him to us. _And he was Doctor John Wynne._ My heart beat so hard that I was sure everybody must hear it. To meet in this unexpected fashion by the roadside when I had been picturing all sorts of romantic ways! And yet it wasn't a bit strange that he should happen by, for we were only a couple of miles out of Yarmouth, and his calls were liable to bring him along that road almost any hour of the day or night. He is an older looking man than I imagined him to be. He has that keen X-ray gaze that doctors have when they're asking you your symptoms, and I was afraid that he'd know just by looking at me how hard my heart was beating, and that I'd made up all those romantic day-dreams about him. My guilty conscience made my face burn like fire. I looked away every time he glanced at me. I'd never really expected to have him appear so unexpectedly. Fortunately he stayed only a few minutes and then was off again in a cloud of dust. Richard stood and looked after him till he was out of sight and then said slowly, "There's nothing picturesque about a rickety second-hand machine like that, and nothing heroic looking about an ordinary village doctor, but when it comes to a choice between them and one of your old guys in armor, it's me for the modern knight every time." Not till then did it dawn on Miss Crewes that she had unwittingly betrayed a confidence. Then she felt perfectly awful about it, and said so much that we swore over and over we'd never repeat what she told us, under any circumstance. But I'm glad she did let it slip. So glad I know that "little John Wynne" grew up to be that kind of a man. I wonder if the "loveliest girl in Christendom" is worthy of him. If she appreciates him as he deserves. CHAPTER VIII DISILLUSIONED MANY times since making that promise to Miss Crewes I have wished I could take it back. I'd give a fortune to tell just one person in this world what Dr. Wynne did, but Barby says no. Miss Crewes has sailed and I can't reach her for weeks to get her permission, and under the circumstances I'd not be justified in breaking my promise. I must keep my word. But I almost know it would right a great wrong if I could tell, and it almost breaks my heart not to be able to do it. The way of it is this. The French Relief entertainment took place last Saturday night, after being postponed four times, and I did the Spanish dance in my lovely green and gold costume. Esther got back Saturday morning, just in time for it. I was too busy to go over to see her, but she telephoned that she would be at the entertainment, and that I must look my prettiest. Some of her Yarmouth friends were coming. The posters had attracted people from all over the Cape. My heart sang for joy all the rest of the day. Everybody says that I am at my best in that Spanish dance and look my best in that costume, and naturally if one is to do any shining one wants one's best beloved there to see it. Babe Nolan was behind the scenes with me before the performance began. Jim and Viola were both on the program, and she was there to help them make up and prompt them if they forgot. It was the first chance I had to mention those letters of Esther to her, and I took advantage of it a few minutes before the curtain went up. Of course I didn't tell her it was Richard whom I saw with the six letters written in the seven days of Esther's absence. I just mentioned the fact that I had seen them and added, "So, of course, she couldn't be engaged to that doctor she danced with in Barnstable." Babe was standing with one eye glued to a peep-hole in the curtain, trying to see who was in the audience. She never turned her head but just kept on looking with one eye, and said in that flat, cocksure way of hers, "Well, that doesn't prove anything." It made me so mad I didn't know what to do. It wasn't what she said so much as the way she said it that was so odious. There have been a few times in my life when I've been sorry that I was born a Huntingdon with the family manners to live up to, and this was one of them. Before I could think of an answer she added in that calm, I'll-prove-it-to-you-voice: "She's down there with him right now, in the third row, next to the middle aisle, on the left." Then she stepped aside for me to put my eye to the peep-hole, and for one giddy instant I thought I was going to faint. The shock of the surprise was so great. There sat Esther looking like a dream and the man with her was Doctor John Wynne. So _she_ was the "loveliest girl in Christendom" whom he was working and waiting for, and whom he'd have to go on working and waiting for no telling how long, because he had acted the part of a true knight, helping an unfortunate stranger who had no claim on him whatsoever. When Babe talked about the doctor who was attentive to Esther, I took it for granted he was a Barnstable man. It never occurred to me that he had gone from Yarmouth to see her. My head was in such a whirl that I was thankful the orchestra struck up just then, and we had to scurry to seats in the wing before the curtain went up. My dance didn't come till near the last, so I had plenty of time to think it all over. My first and greatest feeling after the tremendous surprise was one of gladness for both of them. It seemed too good to be true that my ideal girl and my ideal man should have found each other--should belong to each other. It is exactly what I could have wished for each of them. But a little doubt kept raising its head like a tiny snake in a rose-bower. If she were really engaged to him how could she be writing daily to Richard, those long fat letters, and carrying on with him in that fascinating, flirtatious, little way of hers that keeps him simply out of his head about her? My mind went round and round in that same circle of questions like a squirrel in a cage, never getting anywhere, till all of a sudden my name was called. It was my time to go on the stage and I had forgotten my steps--forgotten everything. For a second I was as cold as ice. But at the first notes of the fandango my castanets seemed to click of their own accord, and I glided on to the stage feeling as light as a bubble and as live as a flash of fire. I was dancing for those two down there in the third row, next to the middle aisle. I would do my best, and not a doubt should cloud my belief in my beautiful Star. After the performance they were among the first to come up and congratulate me. This time I could meet his gaze fearlessly, and I saw his eyes were just like the little boy's in the picture. They hadn't changed a bit, but looked out on the world as if they trusted everybody in it and everybody could trust him. When he put Esther's scarf around her shoulders he did it in such a masterful, taking-care-of-her sort of way, and she looked up at him so understandingly that I realized Babe Nolan was right about their caring for each other. I could hardly go to sleep that night for thinking about them. I felt as if I had stepped into a real live story where I actually knew and loved both hero and heroine, and was personally interested in everything that happened to them. I didn't think of Richard's part in it. And now--oh how can I tell what followed, or how it began? I scarcely know how the change came about, or how it started--that "little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening, slowly silence all." Maybe Barby's suggestion that I was seeing Esther through a prism started me to looking at her more critically. And Babe Nolan's statements dropped with such calm precision every time we met, stuck in my memory like barbed arrows with poison on them. I had been mistaken in one thing, why not in others? At first I made excuses for everything. When Esther counted the pile of photographs given her by the different boys who have rushed her this summer, and said she would have plenty of scalps to show when she went back home, I thought it was just as Judith had said. It wasn't because she was a born flirt that she made each boy think his picture was the only one she cared for. They all did that way back in her home town. She was brought up to think that was part of the game. But if she were really engaged to Doctor Wynne, as Judith admitted when I asked her, then she had no business to treat Richard as she did. It wasn't fair to him to lead him on so far and to accept so much from him, and it wasn't fair to Dr. Wynne. But Judith said, "For the land sakes, Esther wasn't ready to settle down to any one person yet. Besides, Richard was too young for her to take him seriously, and John Wynne was too deadly in earnest for a girl like Esther. He was too intense. He couldn't understand a little butterfly like her whose only thought was to have a good time. She'd be utterly miserable tied for life to a man like him, who put duty ahead of her and her pleasure. It would probably end in her marrying one of the men back home that she'd been engaged to off and on ever since she was fifteen. She said of course it would make things dreadfully uncomfortable when it came to breaking her engagement with John Wynne, because he was so horribly in earnest that he considered her actually his. It was a mistake to let the affair go so far. When I asked how about Richard, Judith just shrugged her shoulders and said it wasn't to be wondered at that Esther should have a little summer affair with him, such a good-looking boy and so entertaining, with that lovely car at his disposal. Just then Esther came downstairs in a soft white dress, beaded in crystal, looking like such an angel with the lamplight falling on her amber hair and sweet upturned face, that all my old faith in her came back in a rush. "The loveliest girl in Christendom." No wonder he called her that. It was then that I first thought, oh, if I could only tell her the story that Miss Crewes told us, of that knightly deed her John Wynne did without any hope of guerdon, she wouldn't want to break tryst with him. But I couldn't tell then. I had given my promise. The next week-end he came up to Provincetown again. He was to stay all night at the hotel and take Esther down to Chatham next day to a house-party. Some old school friends of hers were giving it. But he went back without her. When she found he had come for her in the same shabby little old automobile that he had last Spring when she was in Barnstable, she refused to go with him. Said she'd be ashamed to have the girls know he drove such an old rattletrap, and that he'd promised her last Spring--at least halfway promised her--that he'd get a new one in time for this house-party, so that he could join them sometimes and take them on picnics. He explained to her that he had fully intended to do so, but that something came up lately which made it impossible. He wouldn't tell her what, although she coaxed and pouted. He just stuck to it doggedly that it was something he couldn't talk about. Somebody needed his help and he felt forced to give it. Then he grew stern and told her that she must believe him when he said the sacrifice was necessary, and forgive him if he couldn't humor her wishes. It was Judith who told me about it. She said that Esther has always queened it over everybody, and is so used to being considered first in everything that she wouldn't stand for his putting some old charity patient ahead of her wishes and her comfort. She just gave him his ring back and he went home that night. I wanted to cry out that I knew the reason. That I could tell her something that should make her proud to be seen in that shabby old machine, because of the gallant sacrifice it stood for. But my lips were sealed by my promise. Only once before in my whole life have I ever had such a gone-to-pieces feeling. That was when our old gardener, Jeremy Clapp sneezed his teeth into the fire. I was so little then I didn't know that teeth could be false, and when I saw all of his fly out of his mouth I thought he was coming apart right before my eyes. The shock was so awful I screamed myself almost into spasms. My faith in everything seemed crumbling. I felt the same way this time. I had been so sure of Esther, so absolutely sure of her high standards of honor, that the slightest flaw in her was harder to forgive than a crime in a less shining soul. And now to think that she had cruelly hurt and disappointed the man who, to me, was the knightliest of all men, was more than I could bear. I felt I could never take another person on trust as long as I lived. I wished I could have died before I found out that she wasn't all I believed her to be. Barby had guests when I reached home. I could hear their voices as I paused an instant on the front door-step. I knew that if I tried to slip up the stairs she'd see me and call me to come in, so I tip-toed across the hall into the big downstairs guest chamber, and threw myself on the couch by the open window. I was too miserable to face anybody. Too miserable even for tears. But the tears came presently when I looked up and caught sight of the picture that I had rescued at the auction, "little John Wynne," leaning against his mother's shoulder, looking out on the world so trustingly from that safe refuge. As I looked at the curl her fingers had brushed so carefully into shape, and the curve of the baby lips that had never known anything but truth, I just couldn't bear to think of him growing up to be deceived and disappointed. I had to admit that Esther wasn't worthy of him, but I recalled the way he looked at her as he put her scarf around her that night, and I felt that if he still wanted her as much as he did then, I wanted him to have her. It didn't seem fair for her not to be told about his Sir Gareth sacrifice. I believe I cried more for his disappointment than for my own, as I pictured his blighted future, although mine seemed empty enough, goodness knows. I wished I was old enough to be a trained nurse and go to Flanders right away. It was almost dark when the guests left. I had cried myself into a blinding headache. I hadn't intended to tell Barby, but she happened to glance in as she passed the door, and, seeing me face downward on the couch, came in with an exclamation of surprise, and before I knew it the whole miserable story was out. Then I was glad I told, for she was so sweet and comforting as she sat and stroked my forehead with her cool fingers. Some of the ache went away as she talked. It helped a lot to know that she had gone through the same kind of an experience. Everyone does, she said, "in their salad days." One can't expect to be an expert at reading character then. But she insisted that I mustn't tell Esther about the typhoid fever patient. She said it wouldn't help matters. That John Wynne had been looking through a prism too. He saw her pretty, fascinating, gracious ways and imagined her perfect as I had done. He hadn't seen what a shallow little creature she really is, vain and selfish. It was better for his disillusionment to come now than later. "But how is one ever to be sure?" I wailed. "There was Richard and Doctor Wynne and me, all three of us mistaken. She was like a star to each of us. I called her 'Star.' It seemed the most beautiful name in the world and I thought it fitted her perfectly." "Don't be too hard on her," Barby said. "It was your mistake in taking her measure, and giving her a misfit name. Remember how many mistakes the prince made before he found a perfect fit for Cinderella's slipper. But cheer up! You'll find some one worthy of the name some day." I didn't want to cheer up, so I just closed my eyes, and Barby, seeing that I didn't wish to talk, went on rubbing the headache away in silence. When I opened them again it was twilight, so I must have dozed off for a while. Barby was sitting across the room in the window-seat, her elbow on the sill. Her dress glimmered white. Beyond her, through the open casement, glowed the steady harbor lights and the winking red eye of the Wood End lighthouse. I went over to her and leaned out into the sweet-smelling summer dusk. It made me feel better just to sniff that delightful mingling of sea salt and garden fragrances. "Look up," said Barby. "Did you ever see the stars so bright? I've been sitting here taking a world of comfort out of them. It's good to feel that no matter what else goes wrong they keep right on, absolutely true to their orbits and their service of shining; so unfailingly true that the mariner can always steer his course by them. And Georgina--you don't believe it possible now, but I want you to take my word for it--_there are people in the world like that--there are friendships like that--there is love like that--just as dependable as the stars_!" She said it in a way I can never forget. It brought back the old feeling Tippy used to give me when she traced my name on my silver christening cup, the feeling that it was up to me to keep it shining. I've thought about it quite a lot since, but I am all mixed up as to which is the best way to do it. Maybe after all it would be more star-like of me to renounce my dream of becoming a famous author, and go in for duty alone, like Miss Crewes. [Illustration] CHAPTER IX SEVEN MONTHS LATER ONE might think, seeing that I am keeping two diaries now, that I am leading a double life. But such is not the case. When it was decided that I was to go to Washington this year, to the same school that Barby attended when she was my age, she suggested that I keep a journal, as she did while here. She called hers "Chronicles of Harrington Hall." So I am calling mine "The Second Book of Chronicles." Next vacation we are to read them together. Naturally I want to make mine as interesting as possible, so I've spent considerable time describing life here at school as I see it, and making character sketches of the different girls, teachers, etc. It would have been more satisfactory if I could have put all that in my Memoirs, thus making one continuous story, but it's too great a task to write it all out twice. So I have put a footnote in my Memoirs for the benefit of whoever my biographer may be, saying, "For what happened at Harrington Hall, see my Book of Chronicles." All during the first term I did not make a single entry in this old blank book, now open before me. It lay out of sight and out of mind in the back of my desk. But this morning I came across it while looking for something, and tonight I have just finished reading it from start to finish. I realize I have left quite a gap in the story by failing to record several things which happened after Esther went home. As I sit and re-read these last pages, how far away I seem now from that unhappy August afternoon when I came home from the Gilfreds', feeling that I could never take anyone on trust again. It was days before I got over the misery of that experience, and I really believe it was on account of the way I went moping around the house that Barby decided to send me away to school. Father had been urging it for some time, but she wanted to keep me at home with her one more year. It wasn't the excitement of getting ready to go away and trying on all my new clothes that restored me to my former cheerfulness, although Barby thinks so. It was just two little words that Richard said the last day he was with us, before going back to school. I wouldn't have believed that a mere exclamation could have brought about such an amazing change in my feelings, and I still wonder how it did. Next year I'm going to study psychology just to find out about such queer happenings in our brains. We were out in the boat, he and Captain Kidd and I, taking a farewell row. He hadn't mentioned Esther's name since the day she left, but Judith told me he never went back to the house after he found out the double game she had been playing. Remembering how infatuated he'd been I knew he must have felt almost as broken up as Babe says John Wynne was. I kept hoping he'd bring up the subject. I thought it would make it easier for him if he would confide in one who had known the same adoration and disappointment. Besides I brooded over it all the time. It was all I thought about. So on the way back I sat in pensive silence, trailing my hand languidly over the side of the boat through the water. Richard talked now and then, but of trivial things that could not possibly interest one communing with a secret sorrow, so I said nothing in reply. When we were almost at the pier he rested on the oars and let the boat drift, while we sat and listened to the waves tumbling up against the breakwater. As we paused thus in the gathering dusk, a verse came to me that seemed a fitting expression of the sad twilight time as well as both my mood and his. For his face looked sad as he sat there gazing out to sea, sad and almost stern. So I repeated it softly and so feelingly that the tears sprang to my eyes, and there was a little catch in my voice at the last line: "Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea, But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me." I had expected some sort of sympathetic response, at least an eloquent silence, for he knew I meant Esther, and it was like a dash of cold water to hear him exclaim in an exasperated sort of way, "_Oh rats!_" Captain Kidd took the exclamation to himself, and barked till he nearly fell out of the boat. And Richard laughed and rolled him over on the seat and asked him what he meant by making such a fuss about nothing. That was no way for a good sport to do. Then he began pulling for the landing with all his might. Considering that I had just bared to him one of the most sacred emotions of my heart, his answer seemed as unfeeling as it was rude and inappropriate, something I could never forgive nor forget. He couldn't help seeing that I was hurt and indignant, for I ran up the beach ahead of him and only answered in monosyllables when he called after me, pretending nothing had happened. But later when I was upstairs brushing my hair, I heard him down in the dining-room, teasing Tippy and telling her what he wanted for his farewell supper, in that jolly, audacious way of his that makes a joke of everything. I knew perfectly well that he felt blue about going back to school and that he was all broken up over the affair with Esther, but he was too good a sport to show it. And _that's_ what he meant by saying "Oh rats," in such an exasperated way! He had expected me to measure up to his idea of a good sport and I hadn't done it! My brooding over "a day that is dead" till it spoiled our enjoyment of the present one, seemed silly and sentimental to him. As he told the dog, "that was no way to do." From away back in our pirate-playing days the thought that Richard expected a thing of me, always spurred me on to do it, from walking the ridgepole to swinging down the well rope. He expected me to be as game and cheerful a chum as he is, and here I had spoiled our last boat-ride together by relapsing into that moody silence. It was as if those two words held a mirror before my eyes, in which I saw myself as I looked to him. "But I'll show him I _can_ be game," I declared between my teeth, and as soon as I had tied the ribbon on my hair I ran downstairs, determined to make that last evening the jolliest one we had ever had. I am so thankful that we did have such a gay time, for now that things can never be the same again, he will have it to look back on and remember happily. He went away next morning, but I did not leave until nearly two weeks later. It was the day before I started to Washington that I heard the news which changed things. I was down in the post-office, sending a money order, when Mr. Bart, the famous portrait painter, came in. Some other artist-looking man followed him in, and I heard him say as he caught up with him: "Bart, have you heard the news about Moreland? He's reported killed in action. No particulars yet, but, it goes without saying that when he went, he went bravely." Mr. Bart started as if he had been hit, and said something I didn't quite catch about dear old Dick, the most lovable man he ever knew. All the time the clerk was filling my money-order blank they stood there at the same window, talking about him and the winters they had spent together in Paris, their studios all in the same building, and how they'd never want to go back there now with so many of the old crowd gone. They said all sorts of nice things about Mr. Moreland. But not till one of them asked, "Where's the boy now?" did I realize the awfulness of what I had just heard. It was _Richard's_ father they were talking about, _and he was dead_. But I couldn't really believe that it was true until I got home and found Barby at the telephone. Mr. Milford had just called her up to tell her about it. And she was saying yes, she thought he ought to go to Richard at once by all means. He would feel so utterly desolate and alone in the world, for his father had been everything to him. Now that his Aunt Letty was dead he had no relatives left except Mr. Milford. She'd go herself if she thought she could be any comfort to the dear boy. Mr. Milford said he'd catch the _Dorothy Bradford_ within an hour, and he'd convey her messages. And that's the last I heard for ever so long. I wanted to write to Richard, but I just couldn't. There wasn't any way of telling him how sorry I was. But that night I scribbled a postscript at the end of Barby's letter to him, and signed it, "Your loving sister, Georgina." I wanted him to feel that he still had somebody who thought of him as their really own, and as belonging to the family. I had been here at school over two weeks before any news came about him. Then Barby wrote that Mr. Milford was back, and had told her that they had a trying interview. Richard was more determined than ever to get into the war. He kept saying, "I've _got_ to go, Cousin James. There's a double reason now, don't you see, with _Dad_ to be avenged? I'm not asking you to advance any of my money. All I want is your consent as my guardian. They won't let me in without that." Richard can't get the money his Aunt Letty left him till he is twenty-one. It's in trust. But he'll have a lot then, and there ought to be considerable when his father's affairs are settled. But because Mr. Moreland had said that Richard was too young to go now and must keep on in school, Mr. Milford feels it is his duty to be firm and carry out his cousin's wishes. But he told Barby he came away feeling that with the boy in that frantic frame of mind, school would do him no more good than it would a young lion. A caged and wounded one at that. The next news of him was that he had disappeared from the school and his Cousin James couldn't find a trace of him. About that time the expressman left a big flat box for Barby with a note inside that said, "Take care of this for me, please. If I shouldn't come back I'd like for you and Georgina to have it. Dad thought it was the best thing he ever did." In the box was the portrait that Mr. Moreland painted of Richard the first summer he came to Provincetown, called, "The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts." It has been given first place in every art exhibition in which it has been hung, and, besides being a wonderful piece of painting, is the darlingest portrait of Richard as he was at the age of ten that one could imagine. It was not until after Thanksgiving that I heard directly from him myself. Then I had a note from him, written up in Canada. He said, "I know you won't give me away, Georgina, even to Barby. She might feel it was her duty to tell Cousin James where I am. I couldn't enlist, even up here without his consent, but I've found a way that I can do my bit and make every lick count. I'm at the front, _by proxy_, and _more_. So I am satisfied. I haven't much time to write but that's no reason I wouldn't appreciate all the home news available. If you have any on hand just pass it along to yours truly who will be duly grateful." I was wild to know what he was doing, and exactly what he meant by being at the front "by proxy and more." But, although I wrote regularly after that and underscored the question each time, he never paid any attention to that part of my letters. I could see he was purposely ignoring it. I would have ignored his questions, just to get even, if they hadn't showed so plainly how hungry he was for news of us all. Remembering that he is all alone in the world now, since he and his Cousin James are at outs, and that I am the only one of his home folks who knows his whereabouts, I make my letters as entertaining as possible. Sometimes Babe Nolan, who is at this school, rooming just across the hall, hands over her brother Jim's letters. The spelling is awful and his grammar a disgrace, but he certainly has a nose for news. He tells about everybody in town from the Selectmen to the Portuguese fishermen. Babe never wants the letters back, so I send them on to Richard, also the Provincetown _Advocate_, which Tippy mails me every week as soon as she is done reading it. Hardly had I written the above when my roommate, Lillian Locke, came in. Being a Congressman's daughter, she is allowed to spend a lot of her spare time with her family, who are living at a hotel. She had been out all afternoon with them, consequently had not received her pile of letters which came in the last mail. The elevator boy gave them to her as she came up. One of mine had been put in with hers by mistake. That is why I didn't get it earlier. I was surprised to see that it was from Barby, because I had one from her only this morning. Late as it is I'll have to sit up and add a few more lines to this record, for it's all about Richard and fits right in here. Mr. Milford finally got track of him in some way and followed him to Canada. He has just returned. He found Richard working in what had once been an automobile factory. It is now turning out aeroplanes for the Canadian government. One of the first persons Richard met when he reached the town was a workman in this factory who was eager to go to the front, but couldn't for two reasons. He was badly needed in the factory, and he had a family dependent on his wages, two little children and a half-blind mother. His wife is dead. When Richard found he couldn't enlist, big and strong as he is, without swearing falsely as to his age, he went to the man and offered to take his place both in the factory and as a breadwinner for his family. It was the foreman who told Mr. Milford about it. He said there was no resisting a boy like him. He was in such dead earnest and such a likable sort of a lad. He walked into everybody's good graces from the start. They took him on trial and he went to work as if every blow was aimed at a Hun. When the man saw that he actually meant business and wanted it put down in black and white that he would look after the family left behind, the matter was arranged in short order. And now Richard feels that not only is there a man on the firing line who wouldn't be there but for him, but every day as he fashions some part of the aircraft, he is doing a man's work in helping to win the war. The foreman said, "He's the kind that won't be satisfied till he knows everything about airships there is to know," and Mr. Milford said he didn't feel that he was justified in opposing him any longer. A job like the one he had undertaken would do him more good than all the colleges in the country. Down at the bottom of the letter Barby said, "I have written all this to Miss Crewes, that she may have another Sir Gareth to add to her list of knightly souls who do their deed and ask no guerdon." CHAPTER X AT HARRINGTON HALL THE other day Miss Everett, the English teacher, took a book away from Jessica Archibald. She said it wasn't suitable for a girl in her teens. It was too sentimental and romantic. Jess didn't mind it very much, for she is one of the worshippers at Miss Everett's shrine. When a bunch of girls are so devoted to a person that they'll go to her room and take the hairs out of her comb to put in their lockets or their memory books, that is the limit. I don't see how any novel ever written could beat that for being sentimental. But Babe Nolan doesn't agree with me. She never does. She said, "Look at the old Romans. Didn't I remember in Anthony over Caesar's dead body: "Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, and dying, mention it within their wills, bequeathing it as a rich legacy." But Babe admits that Jessica is disgustingly sentimental. They are room-mates. And Babe says how any grown person can be the blind bat that Jess's mother is, is a mystery to her. Mrs. Archibald told Miss Everett that her little daughter is "an unawakened child as yet, just a shy, budding, white violet," and she wants to keep her so till she's through school. She says Jessica has always been totally indifferent to boys, never gives them a thought, and she doesn't want her to until she is grown and Prince Charming arrives on the scene. She's just fifteen now. And all the time, Babe says, shy little Jessica is having the worst kind of a case with one of the Military Academy cadets, who started up an acquaintance with her one day on the street-car, behind the chaperone's back. She's slipped off and gone alone to movies several times to meet him, when she was supposed to be taking tea with her aunt. Yet she looks up in such an innocent, wide-eyed way, and seems so shocked when such escapades are mentioned, that you wouldn't suspect her any more than you would a little gray kitten. But it's making her dreadfully deceitful. Babe came up to our room to talk to Lillian and me about it, for she's really worried over those clandestine meetings. She says the whole trouble is that Jess doesn't know boys as they exist in the flesh. She knows only the demi-gods created by her own imagination. She has been brought up on fairy-tales in which princes often go around disguised as swine-herds, and, not having any brothers which would give her the key to the whole species, she doesn't know a swineherd when she meets him. Babe told her no real prince would ask anything clandestine, and that this cadet she's mooning around about is only an overgrown schoolboy with a weak chin and a bad complexion, and if she could see him as he really is and as he looks to the rest of us girls, it would cure her of her romantic infatuation. And Babe told her, moreover, that no real prince would pretend to be a poet when he wasn't, and that the verses he sent her were not original as she fondly believed, wearing them around inside her middy blouse. Babe couldn't remember just what poem they were taken from, but said they were as well known to the public as "Casey at the bat." She is so blunt that when she begins handing out plain truths she never stops for anyone's feelings. Babe says that if she ever marries and is left a widow in poor circumstances, she will support herself by starting a Correspondence School in a branch that will do more good than all the curriculums of all the colleges. It will be a sort of Geography of Life, teaching maps and boundaries of the "_United States_" and general information to fit one for entering it. She said we shouldn't be left to stumble into it, in blindfold ignorance like Jessica's. Right there I couldn't resist breaking in to say, "Oh, speaking of a _correspondence_ course, Babe, did you ever find that brass-balled bedstead you were looking for at the auction?" Of course the question had no significance for Lillian, but it pointedly reminded Babe of the correspondence she had with the One for whom she was once all eyes when he was present, and all memory when he was gone. She's entirely over that foolishness now, but she turned as red as fire, just the same, and to keep Lillian from noticing, she turned to the bureau and began talking about the first thing she looked at. It happened to be a photograph of Lillian's brother, Duffield, who is an upper classman at Annapolis. Lillian is awfully proud of him, although from his picture you wouldn't call him anything extraordinary. His nose is sort of snub, but he has a nice face as if he really might be the jolly kind of a big brother that Lillian says he is. She's always quoting him. I've heard so much about what "Duff thinks" and "Duff used to say and do" that I feel that I know him as well as if we'd been brought up in the same house. So when she began singing his praises again, declaring that Duffield wouldn't ask a girl to meet him clandestinely and he wouldn't have any respect for one who wanted to, I withdrew from the conversation. It was time for me to go on copying the theme which Babe's entrance had interrupted. She must have been responsive enough to have pleased even Lillian, for when next I was conscious of what they were saying, Lillian was including Babe in the invitation she had given me some time ago, to go along with them next time her mother motored down to Annapolis to see Duff. They're going down to a hop in April, which is only a few days off now, and again in June week, and stay at John Carrol Hall. Mrs. Locke has already written to Barby, inviting me, and Barby has given her permission. Mrs. Locke is from Kentucky, and knows all the Shirleys. She always introduces me as "the granddaughter of our illustrious editor, you know." In that way I've met a lot of Barby's old friends when I've been invited to take dinner at the hotel with Lillian. That accounts also for my being included in their invitation to an informal musicale at the White House where I met the President and his wife. (See Book of Chronicles for six pages describing that grand occasion.) Of all the legacies in the world, nothing is more desirable for children to inherit than old friendships. One day when Mrs. Locke took Lillian and me shopping with her, we met a lady in one of the stores whom she introduced as Mrs. Waldon. No sooner had she been told who I am than she held out both hands to me, saying in the dearest way, "Not Barby Shirley's daughter, and half a head taller than I! Why, my dear, I was at your mother's wedding, and it seems only yesterday. Our families have been neighbors for three generations, so you see we inherited our friendship, and now here you come, walking into the same heritage." She insisted on taking us home to lunch with her. Mrs. Locke had another engagement, but Lillian and I went. She has the dearest apartment, on the top floor with a stairway running up to a little roof garden. Her husband served in the Civil War and was a general in the Cuban war, and two of her daughters have recently married naval officers. They were living in Annapolis when that happened, so she knows all about the place. Her other daughter, Miss Catherine, has just come back from a visit down there, and she told us so much about the place and the good times she has there that we are simply wild to go. I can hardly wait for the time to come. * * * * * We have just come to our rooms from the Current Events class. If it wasn't for Miss Allen's little lecture every Friday afternoon, reviewing the happenings of the week, we'd hardly know what is going on outside of the school premises. We rarely see the papers, and it is as sweet and peaceful as a cloister, here at the Hall, with its high-hedged park around it. We forget, sometimes, the awful suffering and horrors that have been shocking the world for nearly two years. Our lessons and recreations and friendships fill our days to the brim, and crowd the other things out. While we're digging into our mathematics or playing basketball with all our might, if we think of war at all, it's in the back of our heads, like the memory of a bad dream. But when Miss Allen tells us of some new horror as she did today, of the torpedoing of the _Sussex_, crowded with passengers and many Americans aboard, then we realize we are living on the edge of a smouldering volcano, which may burst into action any moment. It doesn't seem possible that our country can keep out of it much longer. I know Father thinks so. His letters are few and far between because he's so very busy, but there's always that same note of warning running through them. "Make the most of this year at school, Georgina. Nobody knows what is coming. So get all you can out of it in the way of preparation to meet the time of testing that lies ahead for all of us." After one of those letters I go at my lessons harder than ever, and the little school happenings, its games and rivalries and achievements, seem too trivial for words. I keep measuring them by Father and his work, and what Richard is doing so splendidly up there in Canada, and I wish there was something I could do to make them as proud of me as I am of them. If the family would only consent to my going in for a nurse's training! I'm going to talk Barby into letting me stop school this vacation, and beginning this fall to fit myself for Red Cross service. When Richard found that Mr. Milford had told us about him being the temporary head of a family, he began mentioning his proteges now and then in a joking way. But two snapshots which he sent of them told more than all his brief descriptions. The one labelled "Granny" shows more than just a patient-faced little woman knitting in the doorway. The glimpse of cottage behind her and the neat door-yard in front shows that he has something to go back to every night that has a real touch of home about it. He boards there, so that he can keep an eye on the boys. One is five, the other seven. He said he had to give the older one, Cuthbert, a fatherly spanking one day, but it didn't seem to make any difference in the kid's feeling towards him. They seem to be very fond of each other, judging from the second snapshot, labelled "Uncle Dick and his acrobats." The two boys were climbing up on his shoulders like little monkeys, all three in overalls and all grinning as if they enjoyed it. It seems too queer for words to think of Richard being dignified and settled down enough for anybody to look up to him as authority. But the sights he sees are enough to make him old and grave beyond his years. He has written several times of going to the station to help with a train-load of soldiers returned from the front. They are constantly coming back, crippled and blinded and maimed in all sorts of ways. He says that sights like that make him desperate to get a whack at the ones who did it. He'll soon be in shape to do something worth while, for he's learning to fly, so he can test the machines they are making. Lillian looked at the acrobat picture rather sniffily when it came. I think she took him for just an ordinary mechanic in his working clothes. But when I told her what a Sir Gareth deed he is doing her indifference changed almost to hero-worship. She's so temperamental. Not long ago he sent another picture of himself, a large one, in the act of seating himself in the plane, ready for flight. She wanted to know if she had anything I'd be willing to trade with her for it. She'd gladly give me one of Duff in place of it. It put me in rather an awkward position for I didn't want Duffield's picture, and I most certainly didn't want her to have Richard's. [Illustration] CHAPTER XI THE MIDSHIPMAN HOP IT is all in my Book of Chronicles, written out for Barby to read, how we motored down to Annapolis in the fresh April sunshine, and what we wore and what we did. But it is only in this "inmost sanctum" of these pages that "my tongue can utter the thoughts that arose in me." Mrs. Waldon was with us, as enthusiastic as a girl over going back to her old home, and she kept us amused most of the way with her reminiscences of different midshipmen, especially the two who married her daughters. But in between times my thoughts kept wandering forward uneasily to the hop, in spite of the reassuring knowledge of a lovely new coral-pink party dress, stowed away in the suitcase under my feet, and I couldn't help feeling a bit nervous over the coming event. It would be the first dance I had ever gone to among strangers, and I kept thinking, "Suppose I'd be a wall-flower!" Then, too, I was a trifle agitated over the prospect of seeing Mr. Tucker again, the most congenial man I had ever met. Naturally I wanted to meet him again, but I shrank from doing so, certain that the sight of me would recall to his mind that humiliating affair of the borrowed slippers and my old Mary-Jane pumps. I was wild to know if he still remembered me, or if he had forgotten "both the incident and the little girl" as Barby predicted he would. Besides I wanted him to see how mature I had grown since then--how boarding school broadened and developed my views of life. I made up several little opening speeches on the way down, but couldn't decide which to use. Whether to assume a rather indifferent air with a tinge of hauteur, or to be frankly and girlishly glad to see him, and ignore the past. I was still debating the question in my mind when we drove into "little old Crabtown" as Mrs. Waldon calls Annapolis. She asked the chauffeur to drive by the house where she used to live, so she could point out the place where the midshipmen used to swarm in for their favorite "eats" whenever they could get away from the Academy, and where she and her girls and their guests had those funny "guinea-hen teas" that she'd been telling us about. While we were drawn up by the curb in front of the house, a big, blond boy in midshipman uniform, swinging past at a lively gait, stopped and saluted, the surprise on his face spreading into a vast grin as he recognized Mrs. Waldon. The next instant he was on the running board, shaking hands with her, and they began talking a dialect none of us could understand, about "dragging" and "queens" and "Jimmy-legs." The regular Midshipman "lingo" she explained afterward when she had introduced him to us in ordinary English. He was Mac Gordon, a sort of a cousin of hers from out West. The conversation that we couldn't understand was nothing but that she was asking him if he intended taking a girl to the dance, and telling him that we would be there, and asking if the same old guards were at the gates, because she intended to take us over the Academy grounds next day and hoped someone she knew would be detailed to escort us. I could see right then and there that Mac was making up his mind to give Lillian a good time, from the way he kept looking at her, sort of bashfully, through his eyelashes. Well, I needn't have worried about anything. I had "crossed my bridge before I got to it," as Uncle Darcy often says, when I was fearing I'd be a wall flower. I had the first dance with Duffield, and the moment the band struck up I went into it, feeling as I did that night in the Spanish fandango. After that my card filled up so fast that I had to split dances. Mac Gordon was among the first, and Bailey Burrell, who once spent a summer in Provincetown, so long ago that I'd nearly forgotten him. But he remembered lots of things about me; the first time he ever saw me, for instance, dressed up at a bazaar as "A Little Maid of Long Ago." He even told how I was dressed, with a poke bonnet trimmed in rosebuds over my curls, sitting in a little rocking chair on a table. And he remembered about his sister Peggy breaking my prism. She's cured of her lameness now, and is grown up to be a very pretty girl, Bailey said. He promised to bring her picture around to the hotel next day. He and Duffield were so entertaining, that as I talked and danced with them, suddenly Mr. Tucker and his opinions ceased to interest me any more. When he came hurrying up to speak to me and to ask for a dance, it was the strangest thing--his personality seemed to have changed since last summer. I looked up to him then as being quite intellectual and fascinating, but, seeing him now with Duffield and Bailey and Bob Mayfield, he seemed really rather insignificant. They called him "Watty," and that expresses him exactly. But Babe seemed to find him very entertaining, and they danced together a lot. Good old Babe, so homely and so plain. Her nose was shiney and her hair straggling and her dress all sagging crooked before she'd been at it an hour. But she was having a beautiful time, and there's not a bit of jealousy in her nature. She came up to me once to ask for a pin and whispered, "Georgina, you're perfectly wonderful tonight--all sparkle and glow." It made me very happy, for Babe's compliments are few and far between. She is more apt to speak of your bad points than your good ones, and to be moved to say anything like _that_ meant a lot from her. When I took her over to Mrs. Waldon to get some pins out of her "chaperone bag," because I didn't have any and she needed nearly a dozen, I heard Mrs. Waldon and Mrs. Locke saying nice things about me in an undertone, that made me think of that little line in "The Battle of Waterloo," about "cheeks that blushed with praise of their own loveliness." It seemed to me that if the band would only keep on playing I could float on and on forever to the music. Oh, it's so wonderful to be a-tingle to the very finger-tips with the joy of just being alive--_radiantly_ alive! To have all eyes following you admiringly as if you were a flower swaying on its stem! Oh I know this sounds conceited, written out in black and white in plain daylight, but that night as they played the strains of "Poor Butterfly" again and again, I felt to the fullest the joy of being a social success, such as Esther was. I felt all wings and as if I really were--at least inwardly--"all sparkle and glow." I wished that the night need never, never end, and the music and the heavenly floating motion need never stop. I wonder if a time can ever come when I'll be so old and stiff and feeble like Aunt Elspeth, that the strains of "Poor Butterfly" will not give me wings again. How does one ever become reconciled to being old? Next morning when we went over to the Naval Academy none of the boys could get off to accompany us, but the "Jimmy-legs" detailed to escort us was an old acquaintance of Mrs. Waldon's, and she has seen the sights so many times that she is as good as a guide-book. Nothing escaped us. I could have spent a week in the building where the trophy flags are, especially in the room that is lined with them, ceiling and all. By the time we had seen them, from Commodore Perry's "Don't give up the ship" down to the Chinese flag captured from the Boxers, we were worked up to such a pitch of patriotic pride that we wanted to go right off and do something ourselves to add a guidon or an ensign to that "long honor roll of heroic victories on the high seas." We stayed so long looking at the flags that we didn't have time to go through the chapel before lunch, but we did take time to watch the boys a few moments as the signal sounded for formation and they came marching in every direction to form in front of Bancroft Hall. We sat down on some benches under the trees to watch them, and they did look so fine, marching along with their precise military swing that we girls were wildly enthusiastic about them. I couldn't understand why Mrs. Locke's eyes filled with tears, till Mrs. Waldon said reminiscently: "It seems only yesterday that my girls and I sat here, watching Oliver and Roy in that same line, and now one is on a submarine and the other on a destroyer." And then I remembered that out from this peaceful spot where the April flowers were springing up everywhere and robins hopping across the green grass, these boys might have to go right off after "June week" into a storm of shot and shell. A storm far worse than any that ever rained around those tattered old flags we had just been looking at, because now there is the added frightfulness of mines and U-boats, and aircraft overhead, dropping death from the very skies. And yet (it's shocking to confess) last night, while we were dancing in the very place where the boys are being made strong and fit for such fighting, I actually forgot that war is going on. I forgot it again when the boys came over after lunch to take us back to the Academy to finish our sight-seeing. There were five of them, one apiece on the way over. But after we got inside the grounds Mrs. Locke said she was too tired to climb any more stairs, and she'd seen everything several times before, anyhow. So she and Mrs. Waldon found a bench under the trees facing the water, where a boat drill was going on, and took out their knitting. We strolled off in the direction of the boathouse. Presently I noticed that no matter how we shifted positions as we went up steps or paused to look out of windows, three of the boys always came drifting back to me: Duff and Bob Mayfield and Bailey. And I wasn't doing a single thing to keep them with me, only laughing at their bright remarks and trying to be agreeable in a general way, for naturally I wanted them all to like me. But all of a sudden I realized that I was having the same effect on them that Esther had on the boys at home. They were falling all over themselves to make me like _them_. It was the queerest sensation, that feeling of power that came over me. And, although I didn't care for one a bit more than for the others, I was curious to see what would happen if I were to exert that mysterious influence that I seemed to have over each of them. I began to feel that maybe I had not been fair to Esther in judging her so harshly. Maybe she had felt that same way, and drifted into those different affairs without thinking of consequences. Pretty soon I could see that Duffield was maneuvering to get the other boys out of the way, and finally he succeeded after talking in an aside with his sister a moment. She immediately developed a great interest in an old wooden Indian which sits out on the campus on a pedestal. It was once a figurehead on the prow of a ship, and is supposed to be a likeness of the old war-chief Tecumpseh. The boys count it as their mascot. They decorate it with their colors before a football game and run around it for luck before exams, and all that sort of thing. Before I realized how it happened, Duff and I were walking off towards the chapel alone, and all the others were going down to watch Babe and Lillian run around old Tecumpseh for luck. It was nearly an hour before they joined us. We strolled around inside the chapel and read the tablets put up in memory of the heroes who had once been merely boyish midshipmen like the one beside me. One had lost his life in some Asiatic expedition among savages. It was awfully interesting to me, seeing it for the first time, but Duffield kept interrupting my thrills to talk about personal matters. By this time I felt as if I had known him all my life, for Lillian's daily reminiscences of him had done more to make me acquainted with him than years of occasional meetings could have done. So it didn't seem as startling as it would have been otherwise when he suddenly became very personal. We were sitting in one of the seats back under the gallery. The few tourists wandering about were up near the chancel, whispering together and looking up at the memorial windows. We talked almost in whispers, too, of course, being in this shrine of heroes as well as a place of worship, and that in itself gave a more intimate tone to our conversation. Duffield told me that he liked me better than any girl he ever met in his life. That he felt he had known me for years, for Lillian quoted me so often both in her letters and visits. And he wanted me to promise to correspond with him, and to give him my picture to put in the back of his watch, so's he'll have it with him when he goes off on his long cruise this summer. Of course I wouldn't promise. I told him I didn't know him well enough, but he wouldn't give up, and we kept on arguing about it for a long time, in a half-joking, half-serious way, till I was almost tempted to say I would, just to see what would happen. Then the others came in, and we all went down in the crypt to see the tomb of John Paul Jones. And even down there in that solemn place where a guard keeps vigil all the time, and the massive bronze wreaths and the flags and the silence make it so impressive, he edged in between Bailey and me and stooped down to whisper laughingly, "I won't give up the ship. You might as well promise." But just at that moment Bailey called my attention to the ceiling above the tomb. A map of the heavens is painted on it, with all the constellations that the mariners steer their ships by. Looking up at those stars set above the last resting place of the old Admiral, Barby's words came back to me as if she were right at my elbow: "There are people like that--there are friendships like that--there is love like that--_as dependable as the stars_." If Esther had been the "Star" I thought her she never would have drifted into those affairs with Richard and John Wynne and all the others. I think if it hadn't been for that I might have let myself drift a bit, for it certainly was a temptation to see how much Duffield might grow to care for me, although I was sure I could never feel any deep and lasting sentiment for him--the real Uncle-Darcy-and-Aunt-Elspeth kind. While I stood looking up at that map of the heavens, with these thoughts chasing through my mind, Babe came up and nudged me and told me for mercy's sake to quit star-gazing in a cellar. They were all ready and waiting to go. Babe has a lot of curiosity. As we started towards the stairs she gave me a puzzled look which said as plainly as words, "Now what did you do _that_ for?" I had stopped to lay my hand on a banner bearing the name of the old Admiral's flag-ship. It was a blue one with the name of the ship in white--_Bonhomme Richard_. I could not have told her why I did it, had she asked in words, instead of with her eyes. Even to myself I could not explain the impulse, save that the name brought a thought of Richard Moreland, and the feeling that what he had done made him, in his boyish way, as worthy of bronze wreaths and blue banners as any of those whose tablets shone in the chapel above. Seeing those tablets and the tomb and that map of stars, made my old dreams come back, my old longing to do something and be something in the world really worth while. I simply couldn't stand it to go through life and not write my name on the world's memory as it was written in the silver of my christening cup. Then I wondered what Richard would think of Duffield. That evening the same five boys who had been with us in the afternoon were lucky enough to get off again and come down to the hotel. Duffield and Mrs. Waldon's cousin were allowed to come earlier, in time for dinner. Afterwards we danced in the parlors and had just as an entrancing a time as we had the night before, "Where Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." Duffield was all that Lillian had bragged he was. The more I saw him the better I liked him. He was so sweet to her and so dear to his mother and so lovely to me, that I began to have a real pang at the thought of him going off on that long cruise and our never meeting again perhaps, as long as we lived. I found myself liking him so much better as the evening wore on, and discovering so many attractive things about him, that I was halfway frightened. I was afraid that I was doing what Barby said--"putting a rainbow around him." That the charm I saw about him was maybe partly of my own imagining. It worried me dreadfully. How is one to know? As we floated through the last dance together I began to think that if we were thrown together often I might find that he was the one person in the world I would care for above all others. And yet, John Wynne had thought that about Esther and so had Richard. I wished I had some absolutely sure test, some magic charm, by which I could _know_ the gold of real love from the imitation that glitters like it. I lost the rhinestone buckle off one of my slippers and my coral dress caught on a jagged hoop of one of the tubs that the palms were in, and tore such a long slit in it that I can never wear it again. But it has served its purpose in the world. I've had two perfectly heavenly evenings in it. I've saved a handsbreadth of its pink loveliness to put away and keep in memory of that happy time. The boys wouldn't go home until Mrs. Locke promised to bring us down again for June week. She promised, but I'm almost sure Barby won't let me go. The last thing Duffield did was to ask me again for that picture. "Please," he said in an undertone when he stooped to pick up my handkerchief. And he said it again in a meaning half-whisper as we shook hands all around in the general chorus of "Goodbye till June week." CHAPTER XII "SHOD GOES SURE" JUNE week has come and gone, but I was not there when the midshipmen went marching by in their white uniforms across the green mall, and the band played and parasols and summer dresses fluttered their gay colors from the Armory to the training ship. Father wrote that he was coming, and would take me home with him if I didn't mind missing commencement. I did mind, terribly, but it was nothing when weighed in the balance with travelling back to the Cape with him and being with him a whole week. So Babe and Lillian went without me, but it was some comfort afterward to hear that the boys all seemed disappointed because I wasn't there. They sent ever so many nice messages. Duffield sent me a _Lucky Bag_, the midshipmen's Annual, full of jokes about each other and some very attractive pictures both of the men and the buildings. There was a splendid one of him, and he drew a little sketch of Commodore Perry's flag on the margin, changing the motto to the words, "_Won't_ give up the ship." Babe brought back a _Lucky Bag_, too; Watson gave it to her. She also had a postal card of that old Indian figurehead, Tecumpseh. I believe Babe must have made some wish while running around it which came true, or else Watson gave her the postal. It surely must have some association for her, for she brought it back to Provincetown and has it now, framed in a carved ivory frame, the handsomest one in the house, and wholly unsuitable for an old wooden Indian. She keeps it on her side of the bureau, and Viola simply loathes it. Father and I had a delightfully cosy visit on the way home. We stayed all night in Boston and came over on the boat. He has been under a frightful strain and shows it; looks so worn and tired and has ever so many more gray hairs than he had a year ago. He came right from the war zone, and twice has been on ships that had to go to the rescue of torpedoed vessels and pick up passengers adrift in life-boats. I couldn't get him to talk much about such things. He said he was trying to put them out of his mind as much as possible, and was hungry to get back to the sand dunes and just peaceful women folks. His eyes followed Barby's every movement. At times they had a grave, wistful expression which gave me dreadful forebodings. Coming over on the boat he questioned me about the course of study at Harrington Hall--how far I'd gone in mathematics and everything. Then he asked what I thought about learning typewriting this summer, and taking a short practical business course in Mr. Carver's office. I was so astonished I couldn't speak for a moment. All I could think of was Chicken-Little's cry--"The sky's a-failing. I was sitting under a rose-bush and a piece fell on _me_." Finally, instead of answering his question, I blurted out the one I was fixing to ask him later on, after I'd paved the way for it and led up to it diplomatically, about my stopping school and taking the training for a Red Cross nurse. The moment it was out I knew I had bungled it by being so abrupt. He simply waved it aside as impossible. He said I didn't understand the conditions at the front at all. They needed women there, not immature girls unfitted both physically and mentally to cope with its horrors. They would be nervous wrecks in a short time. He said he was speaking from a physician's standpoint. He recognized the Joan of Arc spirit in the school-girls who offered themselves. It was one of the most beautiful and touching things the war had called forth, but they needed something more than youthful enthusiasm and a passion for sacrifice. When I was through school if I still wanted to take the training he wouldn't say a word, but now---- The shake of his head and the gesture of his hand as he said that one word dismissed the subject so utterly that I simply couldn't insist. I couldn't offer a single one of the arguments which I had stored up to answer him with in case he objected, as I knew he would. Then he said he'd always hoped to give me some practical business training, just as if I'd been a boy, and now the war was making it even more necessary that I should have it. If I'd been a boy he would have wanted me to go into the Cold Storage Plant here that we have an interest in, long enough for me to learn how it is carried on and what its success depends upon. Mr. Samuel Carver II is at the head of it, and Titcomb Carver and Sammy III will take it up when they're through college. But they'll be the first to enlist when the call comes. They're that kind. And if they never come back the business will be eventually turned over to strangers. He wants me to know enough about it to safeguard our interests. I was perfectly aghast at the idea. Me, not seventeen till next month, spending all my vacation shut up in an office, banging on a typewriter, with the whole free sparkling harbor outside calling to me. I'd planned such good times for this summer, a regular "under-the-rose-bush" kind, no lessons, no rules. Now not only was the sky a-falling over my particular bush, it was hitting me hard. The boat had just rounded the point when Father finished unfolding his plan, and we were leaning over the railing of the upper deck watching for the old town to come in view. For the first time it failed to look beautiful to me. The straight, ugly lines of the huge Storage plant loomed up till it seemed the biggest thing alongshore except the Pilgrim monument. That, of course, stretched up grim and stern above everything else, and looked across at me as if it knew the hard thing Father had just asked me to do. I felt that it heard the rebellious answer I was making to myself. "I can't." "You must," it answered back, as it had done all my life. "It's your duty. The idea of a descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers and the Minute Men shirking her duty!" It always gets back at me that way. It knows that the stern and rockbound Huntingdon part of me could make only one answer when Father put the matter to me the way he did. It was a sacrifice, for I had hoped to begin my new novel this summer. But I had a sort of righteous, uplifted feeling after I had consented, such as I think the martyrs must have had, which is the reward of sacrifice. It's queer what a satisfaction one can get out of that martyr feeling at times. But I was ashamed of it next morning. I was going through the hall to join Barby and Father on the porch when I heard them talking about me. "No, Judson, she's only a child. I can't bear to have her go out into the rough business world this early. There'll be time enough for that if some actual need should arise." "But, Barbara, to let her grow up unprepared for what is almost sure to happen, would be like sending her out on a stony road in her little bare feet. 'Shod goes sure,' Uncle Darcy used to say. If she's properly shod she'll be spared much pain and weariness. If you could only realize what lies ahead of us--if you could only see what I have seen----" I walked out on the porch just then and he put out his hand to draw me to a seat beside him. Then he began to tell us of what he has just seen in France and England, the splendid way the women and girls over there are rising up and shouldering their burdens. Of their work in the munitions factories and on farms and in railroad yards. From peeresses to peasants they stop at nothing which needs doing, from oiling a locomotive to cleaning out a stable. Personal affairs are no longer regarded. Personal comfort no longer counts. Safety doesn't count. Life itself doesn't count. The only thing that does count is winning the war, and they are giving themselves magnificently, body and soul, "as one who does a deed for love nor counts it sacrifice." It's like listening to one of the old Crusaders when Father talks that way. It's a holy war to him. When I compared the selfish, easy existence I had planned for myself this vacation with what the girls over there are doing, and remembered how noble I had considered myself for giving it up, I felt ashamed of having called _it_ a sacrifice. I made up my mind then and there that I'll make good in the way Father wants me to if it kills me. He shall never have cause to regret my being just a girl. I'm sure he has envied Mr. Carver his sons many a time, but I'll show him I can answer my Country's call when it comes, fully as well as Titcomb or Sammy III. In the meantime, I'll put in my best licks at getting shod for whatever road that lies ahead. Of course I didn't start till Father's visit was over, but he took me down to the office one morning and made all the arrangements. It is the old Mr. Carver, Grandfather Huntingdon's friend, who is to take me in hand. Sammy Senior, everybody calls him. He doesn't do much now but sign checks and attend to some of the correspondence, so he'll have plenty of time to attend to me, and seems glad to do it. It was a solemn sort of morning, for we went into Mr. Sammy Senior's office, and Father took his private box out of the safe and looked over the papers in it. He made a lot of changes and told both of us what he told me up in the garret last time he was home, and a lot more besides. There are certain bonds he wants turned over to Uncle Darcy's grandchildren, Elspeth and little Judson, when they are old enough to go to college. Judson is Father's namesake. He explained to Mr. Sammy Senior that their father, Dan Darcy, saved his life once over in China, nursing him, that time he caught the strange disease which was attacking the sailors. Father had gone over there to study it for the government. Dan married Tippy's niece, Belle Triplett, after he came home and is working now in the wireless station over at Highland Light, but the government wants him for more important work in the Navy, and Father wants to make sure those children are provided for in case anything happens to Dan. Naturally that led to our going over the whole story. How Dan disappeared from town under a cloud years ago, everybody thinking he was the thief, instead of his friend Emmet Potter. (Dan just went away, like a scapegoat into the wilderness to shield him.) And how a year later Emmet was drowned, trying to save some people from a wreck on Peaked Hill bars, and the town put up a monument in his memory. And then a long time after that Richard and I found his confession in an old musket that we were cleaning up to play pirate with. It was as dramatic as a real play, the finding of that confession, and I enjoyed telling it again to such an appreciative audience. How Richard and I were sitting in the swing in front of Uncle Darcy's door, polishing the brass plate on the stock, when we found it, and I went screaming into the house that Danny was innocent. How Belle, who happened to be there by the strangest coincidence, read the confession over Uncle Darcy's shoulder, and cried out "Emmet a thief! God in heaven, it will kill me!" and how she carried on like a crazy woman till she made Uncle Darcy promise he'd never tell till she gave him permission, although he would have given his life to wipe the stain from Danny's name. She was engaged to Emmett when he died, and had been worshipping him as a hero up to this time. She didn't know till later that one of the reasons that Dan took Emmet's disgrace on himself was to shield her, because he had cared for her all along as much as Emmet did. Then Father took up the story again, and told how my letter reached him over there in China and led to the discovery that the silent young American who had saved his life was no other than Dan, who didn't know till then that Emmet had confessed and that exile was no longer necessary. "And so," said Father in conclusion, "he came back and married Belle, and, thanks to the little pirates, they lived happily ever after." "That would make a rattling good movie," Mr. Carver said. "That ship-wreck scene, and finding the confession, and you children burying that pouch of gold-pieces in the sand, for the storm to cover up forever. If the little pirate can write it as well as she can tell it there's the material all right." All the way home I kept thinking of his suggestion. I had never used material from real life before. I had always made up my characters. But now I began to see some of the familiar town people in a new light. Plain, quiet Dan, doing his deed regardless of the disgrace it brought upon him, was a real Sir Gareth. And dear old Uncle Darcy, vowed to silence so long, what a heroic part he had played! "I'll try it some day on the typewriter," I resolved. Then I thought Father was right when he said "shod goes sure." Knowing how to use the typewriter will be a help in my literary career. It begins to look as if every road I happen to take leads into the one of my great ambition. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIII A WORK-A-DAY VACATION IT was late in the afternoon when we crossed the sandy court and went through the picket gate into Uncle Darcy's grassy dooryard. As usual the old yellow-nosed cat was curled up in one of the seats in the wooden swing, and the place was so quiet and cool after the glare of the sun and sand we had tramped through, that Father took off his hat with a sigh of relief. Belle and Dan live next door now in the cottage where Mrs. Saggs used to live. We could see little Elspeth's flaxen head bobbing up and down as she played in the sandpile on the other side of the fence. I was just thinking that I was no bigger than she is now when I first began coming down to Fishburn Court, when Father startled me by saying the same thing. _He_ was just Elspeth's size when he began tagging after Uncle Darcy all day long. Aunt Elspeth sat dozing in her wheeled chair inside the screen door. When we went in she didn't recognize Father. Had to be told who he was. But when she got it through her head that it was "Judson, grown up and come back from sea," she was fairly childish in her welcome of him. She wanted him to hide as he used to do when he was a boy and let "Dan'l" guess who was there when he came home. And Father humored her, and we went out into the kitchen when we heard Uncle Darcy click the gate-latch. Then in her childish delight at his home-coming she forgot everything else. She even forgot we were in the house, so, of course, couldn't ask him to guess who was there. He came in breathing hard, for the length of the town is a long walk when one is "eighty odd." He had been crying a church supper, and was so tired his feet could scarcely drag him along. But he didn't sit down--just put the big bell on the mantel and went over to Aunt Elspeth. And then, somehow, the tenderness of a lifetime seemed expressed in the way he bent down and laid his weatherbeaten old cheek against her wrinkled one for a moment, and took her helpless old hands in his, feeling them anxiously and trying to warm them between his rough palms. There was something so touching in his unspoken devotion and the way she clung to him, as if the brief separation of a few hours had been one of days, that I felt a lump in my throat and glanced up to see that the little scene seemed to affect Father in the same way. Then Uncle Darcy fumbled in his pocket and brought out a paper bag and laid it in her lap, watching her with a pleased twinkle in his dim eyes, while she eagerly untwisted the neck and peered in to find a big, sugary cinnamon bun. "You're so good to me, Dan'l," she said quaveringly. "Always so good. You're the best man the Lord ever made." And he patted her shoulder and pulled the cushions up behind her, saying, "Tut, lass! You'll spoil me, talking that way." Then Father cleared his throat and went into the room, and Uncle Darcy's delight at seeing him was worth going far to see. You'd have thought it was his own son come home again. But even in the midst of all they had to say to each other it was plain that his mind was on Aunt Elspeth's comfort. Twice he got up to slap at a fly which had found its way in through the screens to her annoyance, and another time to change the position of her chair when the shifting sunlight reached her face. On the way home I asked, "Did you ever see such devotion?" I was so sure that Father would answer that he never had, that I was surprised and somewhat taken aback by his emphatic yes. His face looked so stern and sad that I couldn't understand it. We walked nearly a block before he added, "It was an old, old couple, just like Uncle Darcy and Aunt Elspeth. I kept thinking of them all the time I was at Fishburn Court. Their home was just as peaceful, their devotion to each other as absolute. It was in Belgium. The Huns came and tore them apart. Bayoneted _her_ right before the old man's agonized eyes, and drove him off with the other villagers like frightened, helpless sheep, to die in the open. When he wandered back weeks afterward, dazed and half-starved, he found every home in the village in ruins. His was burned to the ground. Only the well was left, but when he drank of it he nearly died. It had been poisoned. He's in an asylum now, near Paris. Fortunately, his memory is gone." When I cried out at the hideousness of it, Father put his arm across my shoulder a moment saying, "Forgive me, dear. I wish I might keep the knowledge of such horrors from you, but we are at a place now where even the youngest must be made to realize that the only thing in the world worth while is the winning of this war. Sometimes I feel that I must stop every one I meet and tell them of the horrors I have seen, till they feel and see as I do." I understood what was in his mind when a little farther along we met two young Portuguese fishermen. They were Joseph and Manuel Fayal. He had known them ever since the days when they used to go past our place dragging their puppy in a rusty tin pan tied to a string, and using such shocking language that I was forbidden to play with them. They are big, handsome men now, with black mustaches and such a flashing of white teeth and black eyes when they smile that the sudden illumination of their faces makes me think of a lightning-bug. They flashed that kind of a smile at Father, when he stopped to shake hands with them, plainly flattered at his remembering their names. I could see them eyeing his uniform admiringly, and they seemed much impressed when he said, "We need you in the navy, boys," and went on in his grave way to put the situation before them in a few forceful sentences. He was that way all the time he was at home. It made no difference where we went or what we were doing, he couldn't shake off the horror of things he had seen, and the knowledge that they were still going on. Several times he said he felt he oughtn't to be taking even a week's rest. It was like taking a vacation from fighting mad dogs. Every moment should be spent in beating them off. It worried Barby dreadfully to see him in such a state. She's afraid he'll break down under the strain. He's promised her that when the war is over he'll ask for a year's leave. * * * * * Father has been gone two weeks. It was hard to see him go this time, so much harder than usual, that I am glad to have my days filled up with work as well as play. Down at the office I'm so busy there isn't time to remember things that hurt. This arrangement isn't half as bad as it sounded at first. In fact, it isn't at all bad, and there's lots about it that I enjoy immensely. For one thing I go only in the mornings. The stenographer is a nice Boston girl who gives me lessons in shorthand in between times when she isn't busy, and I'm getting a lot by myself, just out of a text book. I can already run the typewriter, and I certainly bless Tippy these days for giving me such a thorough training in spelling. Old Mr. Carver is a darling. He likes taking me around inside the business and showing me how the wheels go round. It may sound disrespectful, to say it gives him a chance to show off, but I don't mean it that way. I'm learning all about the weirs and the fisheries connected with the Plant, and where our markets are, and what makes the prices go up and down, and where we buy chemicals to freeze with and what companies we're insured with and all that sort of thing. It's amazing to discover how many things one has to know--banking and payrolls and shipping and important clauses in contracts. I never before realized how pitifully ignorant I am and what a world full of things there is to learn outside of the school room. One of his ways of testing how much I have learned about shipments and prices and things, is to hand me a letter to answer, just for practice, not to send away. I've always been told that I write such good letters that I was awfully mortified over the way that he smiled at my first attempt. I had prided myself on its being quite a literary production. But I caught on right away what he meant, when he told me in his whimsical fashion that "frills are out of place in a business letter. They must be severely plain and tailor-made." Then he gave me a sample and after that it was easy enough. I've answered three "according to my lights," as he puts it, that were satisfactory enough to send, without any dictation from him. Often he drifts into little anecdotes about grandfather, and lots of things I never heard before about the Huntingdon family and the older town people. Usually the mornings fly by so fast that I'm surprised when the noon whistle blows and it's time to go home. At first I brought my knitting along to pick up at odd moments, such as the times when he gets to reminiscing. Then I got so interested in practising shorthand, that I began taking down his conversations, as much as I could get of them. That old saying of Uncle Darcy's, "All's fish that comes to my net," seems to be a true one. For everything that comes my way seems to help along towards the goal of my ambition. These very tales I am taking down in shorthand, once I am proficient enough to catch more than one word in a sentence, may prove to be very valuable material for future stories. * * * * * It isn't turning out to be a very gay summer after all. Babe and Viola are up in the White Mountains, and Judith is tied at home so closely, keeping house and nursing her mother who has been ill all vacation, that I never see her except when I go to the house. George Woodson is a reporter on a Boston paper, and comes home only on Sunday now and then, and Richard seems to have dropped entirely out of my life. He says he is so busy these days that there's never any time to write, except when he's so dead tired he can't spell his own name. There's so little going on here of interest to him that my letters to him are few and far between. It's strange how absence makes people drift apart. When he was home he was one of the biggest things in my landscape. If he were here now I'd find plenty of time to boat and ride and talk with him, but now it's hard to find a moment for even a short note; that is, when I'm in a mood for writing one. I surely do miss him, though. We've spent so many summers together. * * * * * For the few things that happened between my seventeenth birthday and this last day of August, see my "Book of Second Chronicles." Barby was so interested in reading my Harrington Hall record, and so very complimentary, that I have been writing in it this summer, to the neglect of this old blank book. But I'm going to put it in the bottom of my trunk and take it back to school with me. Babe is back home. She had a chance to investigate the brass balls of that bedstead in the White Mountains. She did it in fear and trembling, for it was in her Aunt Mattie's room, and she was afraid she'd walk in any minute and ask what she was doing. The balls were empty. So she's still wondering where in the Salvation Army those letters can be. We are going back to Washington together next week. To think of our being Seniors! Father is going to be pleased when he gets Mr. Carver's report of me. I never had a vacation fly by so fast. [Illustration] PART II "_True to One's Orbit and the Service of Shining._" CHAPTER XIV THE CALL TO ARMS IT has come at last--the call to arms--the biggest thing that may ever be my lot to record in all my life, or the life of my country. So I have hunted up this old book of Memoirs that I have not written in for months, in order that I may put down the date. _April 6, 1917. On this day the United States declared war against Germany!_ Far down the street a band is playing, and in every direction flags are flying in the warm April breeze. All Washington is a-flutter with banners. The girls are so excited that they can't talk of anything else. Some of them have been in tears ever since the announcement came. Many of them have brothers in Yale or Princeton or Harvard who've only been waiting for this to break away and enlist. Not that the girls don't glory in the fact that they've got some one to go, just as I glory in the thought that Father is in the service. But we've been on a fearful nervous strain ever since the last of January, when Germany declared she'd sink at sight all vessels found in certain zones, and those zones are the very waters where our ships are obliged to go. Lillian Locke's Uncle Charlie went down in one of the merchant ships they sank last month. He was her favorite uncle, and most of us girls knew him. He came to the school twice last year, and whenever he sent Lillian "eats" he sent enough for her to treat the entire class. Then there is Duffield, and Bailey Burrell and Watson Tucker all off on the high seas somewhere. Sometimes at vespers when we sing: "O hear us when we cry to Thee For those in peril on the sea," the thought of Father and of all those boys who danced with us just a year ago, and who went marching so gaily across the green mall, chokes me so that I can't sing another note. Sometimes all over the chapel voices waver and stop till only the organ is left to finish it alone. We Seniors have voted to cut out all frills in our Commencement exercises, and give the money to the Red Cross. We're going to wear simple white shirt-waist suits. It'll make it such a plain affair it won't be worth while for our families to come on to see us get our diplomas. Barby is coming anyhow, and I know she'll be disappointed. She has all the old-time ideas about flowers and fluffy ruffles for the "sweet girl graduates." She had them herself, with so many presents and congratulations that her graduation was almost as grand an occasion as her wedding. Her Aunt Barbara's pearl necklace which she inherited was handed over to her then, and I think she has visions of my wearing it on the same stage, on the occasion of my Commencement. There are only a few strands in the necklace and the pearls are quite small, though exquisitely beautiful, but, of course, I couldn't wear it with just a plain shirt-waist. * * * * * Easter has come and gone, and nothing of importance has happened here at school, but a letter from Barby brings news of happenings at home which have a place in this record, so I am copying it. "What a cold and snowy Spring this has been! All week we have had to pile on the wood as we do in midwinter. I am glad that you are away from this bleak tongue of sand, far enough inland and far enough South to escape these cold winds from the Atlantic, and to have Spring buds and Spring bird-calls in the school garden. "Yesterday, just before supper, while I sat knitting in the firelight, the front doorbell rang. Not hearing Tippy go out into the hall, I started to answer it. You know how she opens a door by degrees, one cautious inch and then another-- well, I was just in time to see a big man in a fur cap and burly overcoat shoulder his way in and throw his arms around her in a hearty embrace. I couldn't see his face in the dusk, nor did I recognize the deep voice that cried out--'Ah, Tippy! But you look good to me!' "The next instant I was caught up in a great bear hug by those same strong arms. It was Richard, home again after two long years, and so glad to be back that it was a joy to see his delight. He had come home to enlist. "You can easily picture for yourself the scene at the table a little while later. He teased and flattered Tippy till she was almost beside herself. She kept getting up to open some new jar of pickle or preserves, or to bring on something else from the pantry which she remembered he had an especial liking for. Afterwards he insisted on tying one of her aprons around him and wiping the dishes for her. He kept her quivering with concern as usual for the safety of the cups and saucers, when he tried his old juggling tricks of keeping several in the air at the same time. "But later, when we were alone, he dropped all his gay foolery and sat down on the hearthrug at my feet, as he used to do when he was a little lad, and, leaning his head against my knee, looked into the fire. "'You're all I've got now, Barby,' he said, and took my knitting away that my hand might be free to stray over his forehead as it used to do when he came to me for sympathy and comfort. After a moment he began talking about his father. It was the first time I had seen him, you know, since Mr. Moreland was killed. "Then he told me how circumstances had made it possible for him to come back to the States to enlist, as soon as war was declared. He is no longer bound by his promise to the Canadian whose family he was caring for. The man was sent back home two months ago, dismissed from a hospital in France. He was wounded twice so badly that one leg had to be amputated. But though he came home on crutches he came back with something which he values more than his leg--the Victoria Cross. He won it in an awful battle, one in which nearly his whole regiment was wiped out. "Richard sprang up from the rug and paced the floor as he talked about it. His face glowed so that I couldn't help asking, 'But how did you feel when you saw him with the cross that might have been yours had you gone in his stead!' "He stood a moment with one elbow resting on the mantel, looking down into the fire. Then he said slowly, 'Well, it would have been ripping, of course, to have had it one's self--worth dying for in fact; but after all, you know, little Mother, it isn't the "guerdon" any of us are after in this war. It's just that the deed gets done. I believe that is the spirit in which all America is going into it. Not for any gain--not for any glory--she's simply saying to herself and to the world, "_For the deed's sake_ will I do this."' "As he said that, he looked so like his father in one of his inspired moods, that I realized the two years in which he has been away has made a man of him. It was only that he was so boyishly glad to be at home again that I hadn't noticed before how earnest and mature he had grown to be. "Within a month after the Canadian's return, he was able to take a place in the factory. His artificial limb made it possible. Richard went at once to an aviation field to complete his training. He intended to go from there to join a flying squadron in France, for his Cousin James is ready now to do anything for him he asks. But just as he was about to start, the United States declared war, and he hurried home to enlist under his own flag. He has been promised a commission and an opportunity to go soon in some special capacity, for he passed all the tests in expert flying. He will probably be kept at Newport News while he is waiting for some bit of red tape to be untied. "He did not stay late, for there were some business matters he had to discuss with Mr. Milford, and he left town early this morning. Several times while here, he glanced around saying, 'Somehow I keep expecting Georgina to pop in every time the door opens. It doesn't seem like home without her here to keep things stirred up.' "He asked many questions about you and said that he hopes mightily to see you before he sails. I told him that was highly improbable as Commencement is to be so late this year owing to the enforced vacation in January when over half the school was in quarantine on account of mumps and measles. That was the first he had heard of it, and he said to congratulate you for him on your lucky escape." I am glad that Barby wrote in detail as she did, for I have not had a line from Richard in three months. Evidently he did not get my last letter, for in that I told him all about that quarantine, and the fun we girls had who escaped the contagion, but who were kept in durance vile on account of the others. I wish I had been at home when he surprised them. I wish I were a boy and could do what he is doing. It would be simply glorious to go winging one's way into battle as he will do. It's one thing to give your life for your country in one exalted moment of renunciation, and quite another to give it in little dribs of insignificant sacrifices and petty duties, the way we stay-at-home girls have to do. It is maddening to have the soul of an "Ace" who would dare any flight or of a "Sammie" who would endure any trench, and then have nothing but a pair of knitting needles handed out to you. * * * * * Another letter from Barby this week. Of course I knew the war would come close home in many ways, but I hadn't expected it would get that little mother-o'-mine first thing. This is what she writes: "It is quite possible that I may be in Washington by the last of May. Mrs. Waldon has written, begging me to come and stay with her while Catherine goes back to Kentucky for a visit. She writes that she is 'up to her ears' in the Army and Navy League work, and that is where I belong. She says I should be there getting inspiration for all this end of the state, and lending a hand in the grand drive they are planning for. Her letter is such a veritable call to arms that I feel that I'll be shirking my duty if I don't go. Tippy says there is no reason why I shouldn't go. She can get Miss Susan Triplett to come up from Wellfleet to stay with her till you come home. "Her patriotic old soul is fired with joy at no longer being under the ban of a 'neutral' silence. When it comes to her powers of speech, Tippy on the war-path is a wonder. I wish the Kaiser could hear her when she is once thoroughly warmed up on the subject. She'd be in the first soup-kitchen outfit that leaves for the front if it wasn't for her rheumatism. As it is, she is making the best self-appointed recruiting officer on the whole Cape. "I have written to your father, asking him if he can find me a place where I can be useful on one of the hospital ships; I can't nurse, but there ought to be many things I can do if it's nothing more than scrubbing the operating rooms and sterilizing instruments. And maybe in that way I could see him occasionally. Of course it isn't as if he were stationed on one particular ship. I believe he could manage it then, but being needed in many places and constantly moving he may not want me to go. In that case I shall join Mrs. Waldon. She says she can put me into a place where every hour's work will count for something worth while." It made the tears come to my eyes when I read that. Little Barby, out in the world doing things for her country! Since I have grown to be half a head taller than she, and especially since my office training last summer and Father's leaving her in my care, I've been thinking of her as _little_ Barby. She's never done anything in public but read her graduating essay. The tables are turned now. It is _she_ who is going out on a stony road in her little bare feet, and she's never been shod for such going. But she's got the spirit of the old Virginia Cavaliers, even if she didn't inherit a Pilgrim-father backbone as the Huntingdons did. She'll never stop for the stones, and she'll get to any place she starts out to reach. I'm as proud of her as I am of Father. I've simply _got_ to do something myself, as soon as school is out. [Illustration] CHAPTER XV "THE GATES AJAR" COMMENCEMENT is over, the good-byes are said and most of the girls have departed for home. Babe and I leave this morning at ten 'clock when Mrs. Waldon's machine is to come for us and take us to her apartment for a week's visit. Babe is included in the invitation because she can't go home till I do. Her family won't let her travel alone, although she's nineteen, a year and a month older than I. Father wasn't willing for Barby to leave this country, so she went into the Army and Navy League work with Mrs. Waldon, the first month she was here. But now she's at the head of one of the departments in the Red Cross and will be in Washington all summer, and longer if necessary. I've finished my Book of Second Chronicles and shall leave it for her to read whenever she can find an opportunity. But I'm keeping my Memoirs out of my trunk till the last moment, because there's something I want to write in it about Babe. It was agreed that nobody was to wear flowers at Commencement, and we asked our families not to send any, so it was generally understood that there was to be no display of any kind. But yesterday an enormous florist box arrived for Babe Nolan. If she hadn't been so mysterious about it we wouldn't have thought anything of it. Any one of us would have opened it right then and there in the hall, and passed it around to be sniffed and admired. But she got as red as fire and, grabbing the box, hurried into her room with it and shut the door. That's the last anybody saw of it. A little later when I had occasion to go to her room there wasn't a sign of a flower to be seen, not even the box or a piece of string. The girls all thought it was queer they should disappear so absolutely, and wondered why she didn't put them in the dining-room or the chapel if she didn't want them in her own room, and they teased her a good deal about her mysterious suitor. But last night, after Lillian and Jessica had started to the train, she called me to her room and threw open the wardrobe door with a tragic gesture, and asked me what on earth she was to do with _that_. Her trunk wouldn't hold another thing, and she supposed she'd have to go all the way to the Cape with it in her two hands, and it smelled so loud of tuberoses and such things she was afraid people would think she was taking it to a funeral. There on the wardrobe flood stood a floral design fully three feet high, that looked exactly as if intended for a funeral, for it was one of those pieces called "Gates Ajar." I didn't dare laugh because Babe stood there looking so worried and so deeply in earnest that I knew she'd be offended if I did. I suggested simply leaving it behind, or taking out the flowers and chucking the wire frame into the ash can. Then I saw my advice was unacceptable. Evidently she hadn't told me all, and didn't intend to for fear I'd laugh at the person who sent such a design. But when I said in a real sympathetic and understanding way that it was _so_ appropriate for a Commencement offering because everybody thinks of Commencement Day as being a gate ajar, through which a school girl steps into the wider life beyond, she gave me a sharp glance and then took me into her confidence. She had on one of those new sport skirts with two enormous side pockets, the most stylish thing I ever saw Babe wear. She drew a card out of one of the pockets. On it was engraved, "Lieutenant Watson Tucker." I nearly dropped with surprise, for two reasons. First, I didn't think he was the sort of a man to send such a queer thing. It would have been more like him to have sent a bunch of sweet peas. And second, I didn't know he had kept up with Babe enough to know the date of her graduation. She said yes, they correspond occasionally, and in his last letter he said he was expecting to have a two-weeks' shore leave soon. She wouldn't be surprised any day to hear that the ship was in. Although she said it airily, I know Babe. She couldn't fool me. She over-acted her indifference, and when she said she supposed she might as well box up the flowers and take them along when the machine came, I knew positively that she cared far more for Watty Tucker than she'd have me know. * * * * * Babe says it's like visiting in the Hall of Fame to be here at Mrs. Waldon's. Every way we turn are autographed pictures on the walls of celebrities who have helped to make history. Every time the door bell rings it is a call from somebody who is helping to make it now. And they're not Admirals and Generals and diplomats and their wives to Mrs. Waldon. They're just Joe and Ned and Nancy who took "pot luck" with her in the old army days on the frontier before they got to be famous or else somebody who knew her intimately in the Philippines. It is so thrilling to meet them and so interesting to hear intimate bits of their family history afterward. People she hasn't heard of in years are constantly turning up, brought to Washington by the war. Only this morning, a Major whom she thought was out among the "head-hunters" dropped in and stayed to lunch. We have spent the greater part of every day sight-seeing. Not the usual places like Mount Vernon and the Smithsonian, etc. We've been doing them for the last two years in school excursions with the teachers. But places that have taken on unusual interest because of these stirring war times. We went over to Fort Meyer in time for "Retreat" one afternoon, and again to see the trench-digging and the dummies being put up for bayonet practice. And we spent hours at the Wadsworth House, a palace of a home which has been turned over to relief work. There is where Barby spends most of her time. I was so thrilled when I found her there at a desk, directing things in her department, and looking so lovely in her uniform, white with a band around her sleeve, and a blue veil floating over her shoulders, bound on the forehead by a white band and a red cross. Two retired Admirals in their shirt sleeves were filling huge packing boxes in one of the side rooms. They give their services, working like Trojans all day long. Upstairs in the great dismantled ballroom, and the apartments adjoining, were long tables surrounded by the women working on surgical dressings and hospital garments and comfort kits. Downstairs, near the entrance, was the desk of the Motor Service Corps. A pretty society girl in a stunning uniform came in while we stood there, saluted her superior officer, received her orders and started out to drive her machine on some Red Cross errand, with all the neatness and dispatch of a regular enlisted soldier. That's what I'd love to do, if I only had a machine of my own. She looked too adorable for words in that uniform. One afternoon we went out to see the President receive the Sanitary Corps of a thousand men trained to carry litters. A temporary platform gay with bunting and flags was erected on the edge of the green where the President and his guests of honor sat. Barby was one of them in her floating blue veil, on account of the position she holds now. We parked the machine and sat down tailor-fashion on the grass in the front row of the crowd, which pressed against the rope that barred our entrance to the mall. After awhile there was a sound of music down the street, and the marine band came marching across the great field towards us, at the head of the litter-bearers. It was a sunny afternoon, and the band played a gay marching tune as they advanced. I was feeling so uplifted over Barby's being on the grandstand among the honor guests, looking her prettiest, that I didn't realize the significance of the scene at first. Then the thought stabbed me like a knife, that on every one of those litters somebody's best beloved might some day be stretched, desperately wounded maybe, dead or dying. I couldn't help thinking "suppose I should see Father brought in that way, or Richard." When I glanced across at Babe the tears were running down her cheeks, so it evidently affected her the same way. I'd have been willing to wager she was seeing Watson on one of those stretchers. When we got back to our room, which is a large one with twin beds in it, she dived under hers and pulled out the big florist's box and carried it to the bathroom to sprinkle the flowers. It's wonderful how fresh the thing has kept. She's had it nearly a week. She treats it like a mother would an idiot child, keeps it out of sight of the public, but hangs over it when alone with a tenderness that is positively touching. Babe's the funniest thing! Every time the hall door opens she is out and up the little stairway to the roof, like a cat. It is a nice place to go, for there is a magnificent view of the city from there, and at night it's entrancing, with the Monument illuminated, and the great dome showing up when the searchlights play. But I don't believe it's the view Babe is after. She wants to be alone. Twice when I went up after her to tell her it was time to start somewhere, I found her sitting staring at a rubber plant in front of her, as if she didn't see even that. And once she was leaning against the iron railing which surrounds the roof, oblivious to the fact that that section of it was rusty. It simply ruined her best evening dress, a delicate blue veiling made over white silk. When we got downstairs to the light there were great streaks of iron rust across the whole front, where the bars had pressed against it. Saturday night Mrs. Waldon had a long-distance call from her cousin, Mac Gordon. His ship was in from the long cruise, and the boys were scattering to their homes for a short visit before being sent to join the fleet abroad. He wanted to know if he could stop by next day to see her, on his way home. She told him to come and welcome, and bring any of the other boys who cared to come. That Babe and I were with her. Well, Sunday afternoon when Mac walked in there was a whole string of boys behind him; Bob Mayfield and Billy Burrell and Watty Tucker. Only four in all by actual count, but added to the six already in the room, the little apartment seemed brim full and running over. Two of her old army cronies were there besides Barby. I wondered what Mrs. Waldon was going to do about feeding them all, because the cook is always away on Sunday night. But when the time came she simply announced they'd serve supper in the time-honored Crabtown fashion. At that the men all got up and crowded out into the little kitchenette to see what she had on her "emergency shelf" and to announce what part each one would be responsible for on the menu. When we were ready to sit down to the table we noticed that Babe and Watson were missing, and when I tried to recall when I had seen them last, I was sure they had slipped away during the general exodus to the kitchen. And I am sure that when I ran up the steps to the roof garden with the announcement, "The rarebit is ready," neither one of them was a bit grateful to me. I was sorry Duffield Locke wasn't with the boys. His family met him in New York and they went on to New York together. Bob Mayfield tried to tease me about him. He said Duff had my picture in the back of his watch. When I hotly denied it, and vowed I had never given him one, except a little snapshot taken with Lillian of just our heads, he said, "Well, Duff had a pair of scissors." After we went to our room that night, late as it was, Babe re-packed her trunk and deliberately squeezed all her hats into one compartment, thereby ruining two of them for life, to make room in the tray for that florist box. The flowers were badly shriveled up by that time. Seeing from my face that an explanation was necessary, she said she couldn't carry it back on the train as she had intended, because Watson was going up to Provincetown the same time we were, to visit his cousins, the Nelsons, and she didn't want him to see it. "But the Nelsons aren't in Provincetown this summer," I answered. "And he knows it, because I told him what Laura said in her last letter. Besides, why shouldn't he see his own floral offering? He'd be complimented to think you cared enough for it to lug it all the way home." She seemed a bit confused at my answer, but I couldn't tell at which part of it. Then she said that he didn't pick it out. He thinks he sent roses, and he'd have a fit if he knew it was that awful Gates Ajar. He sent his card to some old relative in Georgetown with a check and asked him to order something appropriate for the occasion. I asked Babe then, why, if the design wasn't Watty's choice, and she thought it was so dreadful, _why_ did she cling to it so fondly, and take it back to the Cape at the risk of all her hats and the sure ruin of two of them. But she paid no attention to my remark, just went on with her packing. I know she's relieved to find out it wasn't Watty's taste. If they are not actually engaged, they have almost reached the gate, and it _is_ ajar. [Illustration] CHAPTER XVI HOME-COMINGS I MIGHT as well have traveled alone, for all the company Babe and Watson proved to be. They were so absorbed in their conversation with each other that they never once glanced out of the window, even when we were going along the Cape where one is apt to see a familiar face every time the train stops. I was so glad to get back to familiar scenes like cranberry bogs and dunes and marshes, with the pools of water shining in them like mirrors, that I kept exclaiming, "Oh, look!" I said it several times before I realized that the landscape had no attractions for them. Neither had the stuffy car any discomforts, although the hot July sunshine streamed in across the red velvet upholstery. With their chairs swung facing each other, they sat and talked like two Robinson Crusoes who had just found each other after aeons of solitude on separate islands. For a while I watched them over the top of my magazine; Watson mopping his shiny red face with his handkerchief, and Babe with her hat tilted crooked over one eye and a little wisp of hair straggling over her neck, and her collar all rumpled up behind. I kept wondering what on earth was the attraction that each had for the other. One can understand it when the heroine is beautiful and the hero fascinating, but how two such plain, average people as Babe Nolan and Watson Tucker can inspire the grand passion is a puzzle. I couldn't help smiling to myself when I looked back on the time when I had once imagined Watson to be the most congenial man I ever met. I was heartily glad that our acquaintance had been interrupted at that point, until I grew older and wiser. Suppose I had gone on looking at him through the prism of my ideals until I actually believed that the halo which my imagination put around him was a real one! What a little fool a girl of fifteen can be! It seems to me I have aged more in this last year at school, than in all the years that went before it put together. Only a few more days until I can count myself actually grown up--till I have reached that magic milestone, my eighteenth birthday! Growing up is like the dawning of Spring. For a long time there are just a few twitters, a hint of buds in the hedgerows. Then, suddenly as an April shower, a mist of green drops down over the bare branches like a delicate veil, and one awakens to a world of bloom and birdsong and romance. (That's a good paragraph to start a story with. I'll put an asterisk on the margin to mark it.) I had expected to awaken to my Springtime and romance this very summer--to find it perhaps, in Kentucky. Barby and I have planned for years that my eighteenth birthday should be spent there. The very word, Kentucky, suggests romance to me. But now that the war has upset everyone's plans, I'll have to give it up. And Romance is not likely to come riding by to such a gray old fishing port as Provincetown. This is what I told myself as we went along between the cranberry bogs and the dunes. But suddenly we made a turn that showed us the entire end of the Cape. There, with the sunset light upon it, was the town, curving around the harbor like a golden dream city, rising above a "sea of glass mingled with fire." Spires and towers and chimney tops, with the great shaft of the Pilgrims high above them all, stood transfigured in that wonderful shining. I took it as an omen--a good omen of all sorts of delightful and unexpected happenings that might come to me. When we reached the station, I had two completely separate and distinct impulses, which made me afraid that I still lack considerable of being grown up. The first fishy smell of the harbor which greeted me, with its tang of brine and tar, gave me the impulse to send my suitcase up to the house by the baggage man, and run all the way home. I wanted to go skipping along the streets as I used to when my skirts were knee high and my curls bobbing over my shoulders. I wanted to speak to everyone I met and have everyone call back at me, "Hello, Georgina," in friendly village fashion. I wanted to smell what was cooking for supper in every house I passed, and maybe if the baker's cart came along with its inviting step in the rear, "hang on behind" for a block or two. The second impulse was to powder my nose a trifle, put on a little face veil and a pair of perfectly fitting gloves, and then when the panel mirror between the car windows showed a modish and tailor-made young lady, correct in every detail, step into the bus and drive home to make an impression on Tippy. The latter impulse dominated, and I am glad it did, for Judith and George Woodson and several others of the old crowd were at the station to meet us. Babe hadn't even set her hat straight, but she didn't know it. Neither did Watson. They just went along, smiling vacuously (I guess that's as good a word as any, though I'm not exactly sure of it) on everything and everybody. It seemed so strange to come home to a house with no Barby in it, but it was such a satisfaction to feel that my arrival put Tippy into her little company flutter. It was the face veil which did it, I am sure, and the urban air which I acquired in Washington. I am taller than she, now, and I had to stoop a little to kiss her. Instead of her saying, as I expected, for me to run along and take my things off, because supper was getting cold, she led the way upstairs to my room, just as if I'd been the visiting missionary's wife, or relatives from out of the state. And she went around setting things straighter, which were already straight, and asking if there was anything I'd have to make me comfortable, till I hardly knew myself, her making such company out of me. Miss Susan Triplett has been here ever since Barby went to Washington, but she's going home soon, now that I have come back. Between them I got all the news of the town during supper. Aunt Elspeth is very, very ill. They're afraid she can't last long at this rate. They have a trained nurse for her and Belle has to spend so much of her time over there that Tippy has been taking care of little Elspeth and Judson in the daytime. Titcomb Carver and Sammy III have both enlisted, and the two Fayal boys, Manuel and Joseph, are in the Navy. Nearly everyone I asked about was in some kind of government service. Tippy says the Portuguese boys have responded splendidly, and she keeps tab on the whole town. But she said it is a tragedy about George Woodson. He's tried four times to enlist, but he can't pass the physical examination. His sight is imperfect and the old trouble with his knee that he got from a football accident in his Junior year bars him out. Tippy never liked George. He was impudent to her one time, years ago. Ran his tongue out at her when she told him to quit doing something that she thought he had no business to do, and she never forgave him. But now she respects him so much for the desperate way he has tried to get into the service, and is so sorry for his disappointment, that she can't say nice enough things about him. It was late when the expressman brought my trunk. Miss Susan had already gone upstairs and was putting up her front hair in crimping pins. But Tippy never made any objections when I started to unpack. I simply can't get used to being treated with so much deference. It's worth growing up just to have her listen so respectfully to my opinions and to know that she feels that my advice is worth asking for. I only unpacked the top tray to get some things Barby and I had bought for her in the Washington shops, and to take out something she was even more interested in than her gifts. It was a little silk service flag to hang up in honor of Father. She took it in her hands as if it were sacred. I never saw her so moved to admiration over anything, as she was over that little blue star in its field of white with the red border around it. Her voice didn't sound natural, because there was a queer sort of choke in it when she said: "I never before wanted to be a man. But I do now, just for the chance to be what that star stands for." I had intended to wait till morning before hanging it in the front window, but she had a hammer and a push-pin out of a box in the hall closet before I knew what she was looking for, and carried the lamp ahead of me down the stairs. "Liberty enlightening the World," I called it, as she stood holding the lamp up for me to see, while I drove the push-pin into the window sash. But she didn't laugh with me. It was a solemn thing to her, this placing of the symbol which showed the world that a patriot had gone out from the house in defence of his country. Although she's a thin, gaunt figure with her hair twisted into a hard little knot on the back of her head, and there's nothing statuesque about a black silk dress gathered full at the waist, and a ruffled white apron, her waiting attitude seemed to dignify the occasion and make a ceremony of it. I started to say something, jokingly, about firing a salute with our ancestral musket, or singing "America," but the expression on her face stopped me. The spirit of some old Revolutionary forbear seemed shining in her eyes. I hadn't dreamed that Patriotism meant _that_ to Tippy; something exalted enough to transform her homely old features with a kind of inner shining. Something wakened me very early next morning, soon after daybreak. Sitting up to look out of the window nearest my bed, I saw somebody hoeing in the garden. A Portuguese woman I supposed, who was taking the place of the regular gardener. Ever since old Jeremy Clapp reached his nineties, we've had his nephew, young Jeremy. But they told me the night before, that he's gone to be a surfman in the U. S. Coast patrol. It was especially hard to give him up as the war garden he had just put in was twice the size we usually have. Then I recognized the flapping old sport hat which the woman wore. It was one which I discarded last year. Underneath it, her skirts tucked up to her shoe-tops to avoid the heavy dew, was Tippy, hoeing weeds as if she were making a personal attack on the Hindenburg line and intended demolishing it before breakfast. Funny as she looked in her scare-crow working outfit, there was something in the sight that made me want to stand and salute. It gave me the kind of thrill one has when the troops march by, and everyone cheers as the colors pass. I can't put it into words, but it was the feeling that brusque, rheumatic old Tippy with her hoe, stood for as fine a kind of patriotism as there is in the world. She's just as eager to do some splendid, big, thrilling thing for her country as any man in khaki, yet all she can do is to whack weeds. I wish I were artist enough to make a companion piece for the poster I brought home in my trunk--a goddess of liberty unfurling a star-spangled banner across the world. I'd make a homely work-roughened old woman in her kitchen apron, her face shining like Tippy's did last night, when she looked at the star and wished she could be the hero it stood for. I made up my mind to say something like that to her, something to show her how fine I think it is for a woman of her age to put in such valiant licks in a vegetable garden when greater things are denied her. But when I went downstairs and found she had changed from her garden clothes into her immaculate gingham house dress, and was stepping around in the brisk, capable way that used to make me afraid of taking any liberties with her, I couldn't have made such a speech to her any more than I could have made it to the refrigerator. My first glance showed me she had lost her company flutter. I saw she would soon have me back in my old place of doing as I was bid and not questioning her authority, if I did not assert myself at once. The chance came while we were at breakfast. A man came with a great lot of blueberries that she had ordered last week. Not expecting them so soon she had promised Belle to spend most of the day in Fishburn Court, because the nurse wanted to get off for a while. She was dreadfully put out about the berries, afraid they wouldn't keep. She was starting to carry them down cellar when I rose and took the pails away from her, and announced that _I'd_ can the whole lot of them, myself. Goodness knows I didn't want to. I was simply aching to get down to the beach and go for a long row, and look in on the neighbors long enough to say howdy to everybody. But having once said I'd do it and been flatly refused, I simply had to carry my point. I grabbed her by the elbows in a laughing sort of scuffle and sat her down hard in a chair, and told her to stay put. To my astonishment, she gave right up, but for a reason that completely took the wind out of my sails. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "I suppose you do want to do your bit for Uncle Sam. It's about all a young thing like you _can_ do, so I oughtn't to stand in your way if you feel that way about it." Then I found out she has been canning and preserving everything she can get her hands on, as a patriotic measure, and she supposed that was my motive. It gave me a jolt to think that while I was saying: "Poor old thing, there's so little she can do," she was feeling the same pity for my youth and inefficiency. Many a time I've helped put up fruit, but this was the first time I'd ever been allowed the whole responsibility. The minute she took herself off I began. Miss Susan was upstairs, starting to pack her trunk, so I had the kitchen all to myself. It is an attractive old kitchen, every tin silver-bright, and all in such perfect order that I could go to any nail or shelf in the dark, absolutely sure of finding on it the utensil it is expected to hold. Just outside the screen door, on the back step, Captain Kidd lay with his head on his paws, watching every movement through his shaggy bangs. I think he is happy to have me at home again, but the house has been so quiet during my long absence, that my singing disconcerts him. He sleeps a lot now that he is such an old dog, and he couldn't take his usual nap while I was canning those berries. At Harrington Hall I never could let my voice out as I wanted to for fear of disturbing the public peace. Now with the whole downstairs to myself, I sang and sang, all the time I stirred and sweetened and weighed and screwed the tops on the long rows of waiting glass jars. I was pretty hot by the time I came to the last kettleful. My hands were stained, and I had burned my wrist and spilled juice all down the front of my bungalow apron. But the end was in sight, and I swung into the tune of "Tipperary" as the soldiers sometimes do on the last lap of a long march. All of a sudden, Captain Kidd, who had been drowsing for awhile, lifted his head with such an alert air that I stopped singing to listen, too. He seldom shows excitement now. Then with an eager little yelp that was half bark, half whine, he bounded off the step and tore around the house like a crazy thing. That cry meant but one thing. It had never meant anything else since he was a puppy. _Richard was coming._ He always heralded him that way. If I had had any doubt of that first little cry of announcement there could be none about the fury of barking which followed. That ecstasy of greeting was reserved for one person alone. It couldn't be any one but Richard. A figure in khaki strode past the window, the dog leaping up on him and almost turning somersaults in his efforts to lick his face. Then splash went the ladle into the kettle (I had been holding it suspended in my surprise), and the juice splashed all over the stove. The next instant Richard was in the kitchen, both hands outstretched to grasp mine, and we were looking questioningly into each others eyes. It was a long gaze, for we were each frankly curious to see if the other had changed. Barby was right. The two years had, made a man of him. He was larger in every way, and in his lieutenant's uniform looked every inch a soldier. He spoke first, smiling broadly. "The same old girl, only taller than Barby now!" "The same old Dare-devil Dick!" I retorted, "only----" I started to add "so tremendously good-looking in that uniform," but instead just laughed, as I drew my hands away. "Only what?" he persisted in his old teasing fashion. But I wouldn't tell, and there we were, right back again on our old squabbling grounds, just where we left off two years ago. [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII BACK WITH THE OLD CROWD RICHARD couldn't stay a minute, he said. It wasn't treating his Cousin James decently to throw his bag in at the door and rush off up here before he'd barely spoken to him. But he never felt that he'd really reached home till he'd been up here, and he couldn't wait to tell Barby about his good luck. He was dreadfully disappointed to find that she wasn't at home. He wouldn't sit down at first, just perched on the edge of the table, regardless of what the spattered blueberry juice might do to his new uniform, and hastily outlined his plans. He was so happy over the prospect of getting into active service that will count for a lot, that he couldn't talk fast enough. We both had so much to say, not having seen each other for two years, that first thing we knew the telephone rang, and it was his Cousin James saying that dinner was ready, and would he please come on. And here we'd been talking an hour and ten minutes by the clock, when all the time he "didn't have a minute to stay," and was in such a rush to be off that he couldn't sit down except on the edge of the table. He couldn't help laughing at himself, it was so absurd. Thinking about it after he'd gone, I was sure from the keen way he kept glancing at me that he did find me changed, after all. His recollection of me didn't fit the real me, any more than my last season's dresses do. He had to keep letting out seams and making allowance for my mental growth, as I had to for his. That's why neither of us noticed how time flew. We were so busy sort of exploring each other. That's why I found myself looking forward with such interest to his coming back after supper. It's like going back to a house you've known all your life, whose every nook and corner is familiar, and finding it done over and enlarged. You enjoy exploring it, to find what's left unchanged and what's been added. Miss Susan and I had a cold lunch together. Then it took me half the afternoon to put the kitchen back into its original order and get the blueberry stains off my fingernails. Tippy was pleased with the way she found things when she came back, though she wouldn't have complimented my achievement for worlds. But I know her silences now, which ones are approving and which displeased. I know I went up several pegs in her respect. I heard her intimating as much to Miss Susan. I wasn't out on the front porch with them when Richard came back after supper. A few minutes before he came I suddenly decided to change my dress--to put on a new one that Barby bought me the last day I was in Washington. It's a little love of a gown, white and rose-color. I'd never worn it before, so it took some time to locate all the hooks and snappers and get them fastened properly. Richard came before I was half through. I could hear quite plainly what he was saying to Tippy and Miss Susan, down on the front porch. After I was all ready to go down, I went to the mirror for one more look. There was no doubt about it. It was the most becoming dress I ever owned, so pretty and unusual, in fact, that I dreaded to face Tippy in it. She'd wonder why I put it on just to sit at home all evening, when the one I changed from was perfectly fresh. Too often she does her wondering aloud, and it's embarrassing. I was thankful they were sitting out on the porch. The rose vines darkened it, although the world outside was flooded with brilliant moonlight. She wouldn't be so apt to notice out there. Just as I put out the lamp and started towards the stairs, I heard Tippy say something about moving into the house because the night air was bad for her rheumatism. I didn't want to meet her in the full glare of the hall chandelier, so I waited on the upper landing long enough to give them time to go in. But Richard was slow about following them, and when I was half way down the stair he was only as far as the newel post. Glancing up, he saw me and stopped. I knew without his saying a word that he liked my dress. His eyes said it. He has wonderfully expressive eyes. It was nice to feel that I was making what theatrical people call an effective stage entrance. Quoting from a play we had been in together a long time ago, I held my head high in the haughty-princess manner and said airily, "Hath waited long, my lord?" He remembered the spirit of the reply if not the right words, and made up an answer that would have done credit to Sir Walter Raleigh for courtliness. We swept into the room, carrying on in a ridiculous stagey fashion for a moment or two, not giving Tippy a chance to comment on my dress. I saw her looking at it hard, but before she could get in a word edgeways, Richard asked me to go over to the Gilfreds' with him. He met Judith on the way up here and she asked him to bring me over. She said some others of the old crowd would be there. George Woodson was already there, sitting in the hammock as usual, but with Judith's guitar on his knees, instead of the ukelele that he used to tinkle. We could hear him tuning it as we went up the path. After we had been there a few minutes Babe and Watson strolled in. Evidently they had had some sort of a quarrel. The effect was to make Watson unmistakably grouchy and Babe sarcastic. It was so noticeable that George said to me in an aside, "Babe is singing in sharps to-night, and Watty's gone completely off the key." We'd been away so long that naturally our first wish was to find out where everybody was and what they were doing. The conversation was such for awhile that Watson was decidedly out of it. He doesn't know many Provincetown people, having been here only a few times on visits to the Nelsons, and now they're gone he is staying at the Gifford House, where everybody's strange. So he sat in one end of the porch swing, smoking. Sat in the kind of a silence that makes itself felt for the radius of half a mile. Nearly everybody brought up for discussion was away at some training camp or flying school, or getting ready for naval service. Naturally that cast a gloom on George's spirits, as he is always cursing his lot whenever he sees any one in khaki, because he feels left out of the game. I was feeling a bit gloomy myself because of the damper they cast, when in the midst of the questions about other people, Richard suddenly turned to Judith to ask about Esther. "By the way, Judith, where is that fascinating little flirt of a cousin of yours?" It was the first time I had heard him speak her name since she left, two years ago. For him to be able to refer to her as naturally as that, just as he would to any other human being, certainly took a load off my mind. Whenever I thought of these two in connection with each other, I've been afraid that the jolt she gave him had shaken his faith in some things. But evidently the old wound had healed without a scar. There was nothing but plain, ordinary curiosity in the questions he asked, when Judith answered that Esther was married last winter. She married Claude Millins, the man she's been engaged to off and on ever since she was a kid. Judith went down to the wedding. She said it was a brilliant affair. They started out with a rosy future ahead of them, but it was like that old missionary hymn, "Every prospect pleases, and only man is vile." They've been having a perfectly heathenish time ever since the war threw a bomb into their domestic relations. Claude is crazy about Esther, but he isn't crazy about enlisting. He is a pacifist. She had forty-one relatives in the Civil War on the Confederate side. Over half of them were killed in the battle of Chicamaugua, and she's ashamed of having a husband who's a slacker. She wants him to be a hero. He said wasn't it "better to be a live dog than a dead lion?" and she said in that honey-sweet way of hers, "a yellow dog?" "Gee!" said Watson suddenly, for the first time breaking into the conversation. "Did they quarrel that way _before_ they were married?" Judith said, "Evidently. She always spoke of it as an off and on engagement." "Well," said Richard reminiscently, "she certainly had _me_ going some, but after all, I don't know which she hit the hardest, old George here, or myself." "Or John Wynne," spoke up Babe, who was in the other end of the swing. "What's become of that good-looking doctor?" Richard was the only one who could answer that question. By the queerest coincidence they had met in a hotel lobby in Boston, and had lunched together afterward. The doctor will soon be in France. He's to take the place of a Harvard classmate of his, who was killed recently when the Ambulance Corps he was serving with was nearly wiped out. Babe said she wondered that he hadn't gone over long before. She expected him to right after Esther broke up his life the way she did. She imagined he'd be like Francesco, in the story of Ginevra--"Francesco, weary of his life, flew to Venice, and embarking, threw it away in battle with the Turks." "He isn't that kind of a man, Babe," said Richard. "You haven't got his right measure. He's too big and too fine to fling his life away for a little personal grievance. It's not morbid sentiment but a matter of principle that's taking him over. He asked for the place he's getting, because he thinks it's unattached men like himself who ought to fill them. Neither he nor I have any next of kin left now, who are near enough to worry over us or to mourn very long if we don't get back." It did me a world of good to hear Richard speak of that affair as "a little personal grievance." Evidently it didn't hurt him in the least to recall Esther and the incidents of that summer. Under cover of some anecdote that George began telling, Richard said in an aside to me, "You remember that story Miss Crewes told us about him, Georgina--his doing the deed for the deed's sake. He's just like that all the way through, keeping himself so modestly in the background that he never gets the appreciation that is his rightful due." It seems so nice to have a little secret like that Sir Gareth story with Richard. I can't explain just what it is, but I love the way he turns to me when he puts an intimate little parenthesis like that into the general conversation, just for me. Presently Judith mentioned Miss Crewes, and then Richard remembered to tell us what Doctor Wynne told him about her. He had news of her death recently. Two years of nursing at the front was too much for her. She died from exposure and overwork, and it was no wonder she went to pieces as she did, witnessing so much German frightfulness. She was in one of the hospitals that they bombed. Judith shivered and put her hands over her ears an instant. "Somehow we keep getting back to those awful subjects no matter what we talk about," she said. "And George has been strumming nothing but minors on that guitar ever since he picked it up. For goodness' sake, strike up something to make us forget such horrors--something more befitting such a glorious night." It was a glorious night. The Gilfred place runs right down to the water. By this time the moon was high overhead, flooding the porch steps with such a bright light one could almost see to read by it. We did read by it presently, when Lowry Gilfred came spinning up on his bicycle. He always goes downtown the minute he hears the night train whistling for the bridge, and brings up the Boston and New York papers. He held one up. The headlines were so big and black we could read them easily several feet away. "More atrocities by the Huns. Inhuman U-boat commander fires on life-boats escaping from torpedoed vessel." "Well, Moreland," said Watson, "that's what we'll be coming up against in a week or two." His face was turned towards Richard as he spoke, but I saw him glance at Babe out of the corner of his eye to see how she took his remark. Richard answered cheerfully that he looked on the prospect the same way that old "Horatius at the bridge" did. "To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late," and as long as he had to die some time, he'd rather go in a good cause than linger to a doddering old age, or be killed inch at a time by the germs that get you even when you do watch out. He was sitting on the porch railing with his back against one of the white pillars, and the moon shone full on his upturned face. Remarking something about the way he used to spout Horatius on Friday afternoons, when he was a kid at school, he went on repeating from it. The expression on his face must have been the one Barby spoke of when she said he reminded her of his father in his inspired moments. He said it in a low, intense voice, as if he were speaking to himself, and thrilled with the deep meaning of it: "_And how can men die better than facing fearful odds For the ashes of their fathers and the temples of their gods?_" Babe said afterwards it made the cold chills go down her back to hear him say it in such an impressive way, as if he'd really count it joy to die, "facing fearful odds." She was afraid maybe it was a sign he was going to. And she said that his saying what he did, _as_ he did, suddenly made her see things in a different light, herself. That's why she got up soon after, and said that they must be going. She wanted a chance to tell Watson she'd changed her mind, and that he was right in whatever matter it was they'd been arguing about. But before they went, George Woodson started a new song that's lately come to town. They say all the soldiers are singing it. It has a catchy sort of tune you can't resist, and in a few minutes we were all chiming in with him. It sounded awfully sweet, for George sings a lovely tenor and Richard a good bass, so we had a full quartette. It was just like old times. "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingales are singing And a white moon beams. There's a long, long night of waiting Until my dreams all come true, Till the day--when I'll be--going down That long, long trail with you." We sang it over till we had learned the words, and then we couldn't get rid of it. It has such a haunting sweetness that Richard and I hummed scraps of it all the way home. After we said good night and I went up to my room, I could hear him whistling it. I leaned out of my window to listen. He whistled it all the way down the street, until he reached the Green Stairs. It sounded so happy. I wished Babe hadn't said what she did about his facing fearful odds. CHAPTER XVIII A WAR WEDDING TALK about a clap of thunder out of a clear sky--that's nothing to the surprise Babe gave us the very next night. About nine o'clock she called me by telephone to say: "Listen, Georgina. Is Richard still there? Is it too late for you to come down for a few minutes? _Watson and I are to be married tomorrow afternoon._ We've just decided. Everything's in a dreadful tangle. We want you to help straighten us out." I was so surprised I could hardly speak. Tippy thought someone must be dead from the horrified way I gasped out, "Oh, you don't mean it!" The suddenness of it did horrify me in a way. It seems so dreadful to be snatched through the most beautiful and sacred occasion of one's life so fast that there's no chance to do any of the time-honored things that make it beautiful and impressive. For all Babe seems so matter of fact she's full of sentiment, and has always looked forward to doing those romantic things that brides do, such as filling a "hope chest" with Stitches set in long white seams To the silent music of tender dreams. Hurrying up a wedding in one day in such a combination family as the Nolan-Dorseys would be like scrambling eggs. Of course, we went right down. We had had an awfully nice day together, exploring the town to see how much it had changed, and calling on Uncle Darcy and dropping into the studios where we have been welcomed on Mr. Moreland's account since the first summer he joined the Artist's colony. We'd been in every store on Commercial street to speak to the clerks, and out to the end of Railroad Wharf to see how many of our old fishermen friends we could find. Down on the beach an art class pitched their easels and went on painting their favorite model, a Portuguese girl under a green parasol, quite as usual, and we sat on the sand in the shadow of a boathouse and watched them lazily, as if there weren't any Huns and their horrors in the universe. It had been a peaceful day up to the time we reached Babe's house. The tangle she spoke of was the usual kind in her family. Her stepfather, Mr. Dorsey, is a traveling man. He couldn't get home in time to give her away, and Babe's mother thought they ought to wait for him. It wasn't showing him proper respect not to; besides Jim wasn't old enough to do it. Jim didn't want to do it, but he objected to being thought too young, and Watson couldn't wait because he'd received his orders. That's why they were hurrying things up. He wants to be married in the Church of the Pilgrims because his people are the kind that'd feel better if it was done there. Circumstances were such that none of them could be present, so he wanted to do that much to please them. And Babe couldn't be married at the church unless Viola would loan her her new white dress that Miss Doan had just sent home after keeping her waiting three weeks for it. Her own white ones were out of commission and she wouldn't feel like a bride if she were married in anything but white. But Viola wanted to wear her own dress her own self, and be a bridesmaid. She always gets her own way when she cries, so she was beginning to sob on her mother's shoulder when we went in. And Mrs. Dorsey was saying she didn't see why they couldn't be married right there in the parlor, either in the bay window or under the chandelier with a wedding bell hung from it. Babe's shirt-waist suit that she graduated in was good enough for a home affair and could be laundered in a hurry. Babe wouldn't hear to that because Watson had expressed his preference for the church and had such a good reason, and Watson was provoked because Viola wouldn't give in to Babe. It was her wedding, he said, and ought to be run to suit her. Poor old Babe. Among them they worked her up into such a nervous, excited state that she was half crying, and when her mother said in an exasperated tone--"Oh, these war weddings! Why don't you wait till it's all over and he comes back in peace times?" Babe threw herself down on the library couch and wept. "How do I know he'll ever come back?" she wailed. "It's you who are making a war wedding out of it with all your disagreeing and arguing." Then Mrs. Dorsey explained all over again to me the way she thought things ought to be settled, and Viola explained her way and Babe sobbed out hers, and Jim made a few remarks till it made me think of the old nursery tale: "Fire won't burn stick, stick won't beat pig, pig won't get over the stile, and I sha'n't get home tonight." It was awfully embarrassing for Watson and uncomfortable for Richard. Presently they disappeared--went out on the front steps for a smoke. When I suggested the different dressmakers who might be persuaded to rush something through, there was a reason why each one on the list was unavailable. Miss Doan and the two next best had left town on a vacation. Then I happened to think of that evening dress Babe ruined up on Mrs. Waldon's roof, leaning against the rusty railing. It had a white silk under-dress, and in a flash an inspiration came to me. With that silk slip for a foundation _I_ would attempt to make that wedding gown myself, although there was less than a day in which to do it. I'd seen a lovely piece of tulle that morning, when we stopped in the Emporium. It didn't occur to me at first what a daring thing I was offering to do, or what a mess I'd make of everything if I failed. I was sure of the needlework part, for Tippy began my sewing-lessons so far back I can't remember the first one, and what passed muster with her was good enough for any bride or anybody. And I'd made simple wash dresses under Barby's direction. Babe accepted my offer with the sublime confidence and joy that Cinderella showed in her godmother's ability to get a ball gown out of a pumpkin, and then I began to have an awful panic. But there was no chance to back out. She rapturously called Watson in to tell him that everybody could be happy now, for I'd found the end of the string that would untangle the whole skein. From then on "stick began to beat pig, pig began to get over the stile, and the little old woman got home that night." During the next ten minutes two people were routed out of bed by telephone, but neither one minded it when they found it was for something as romantic as a war wedding. Miss Clara, chief clerk at the Emporium, promised to get the store keys early in the morning, cut off the goods with her own hands, and have it delivered to me by seven o'clock. The other was Mrs. Doan, mother of the dressmaker who had just left town. "Yes, indeed, we could have Sallie's dress form," she said cordially. "Send Jim right over for it." The dress form was collapsible, so Jim brought it over in a box, but it was a very startling and human-like figure that Richard had to carry up the street for me over his shoulder. There being no time for Babe to stand for fittings herself, we blew up the dummy like a balloon, till it was adjusted to fit the silk slip. Richard kept calling it Sallie Jane, and making such ridiculous remarks to it, that we were nearly hysterical from laughing when we finally started home with it. It was bright moonlight, but so late that we passed only a few people on the street. These few stared in open-mouthed wonder at the stiff lady in white thrown over Richard's shoulder, and one man turned and followed us half a block to satisfy his curiosity. [Illustration: Richard salutes "Sallie Jane."] Tippy would have helped next morning, but she had to bring Belle's children up to spend the day. Aunt Elspeth was very much worse. I took the downstairs guest chamber for my workshop. By five minutes past seven the tulle was spread out on the big four poster, and my scissors were slashing into it. From then on until noon I worked in nightmarish haste. Of course I couldn't have finished it if it had been satin goods or something like that, but the tulle was easy to handle, and I pinned and patted it into shape on patient Sallie Jane till it began to look like the picture I had in mind. Richard came up about the middle of the morning. I heard him go striding through the hall. Then his laugh rang out from the kitchen where Tippy was letting the children help her make oatmeal cookies. Then I heard him coming back, and looked up to see him in the doorway. He only saluted and did not venture in, as I was down on my knees before Sallie Jane, making the bridal skirts hang evenly. He could see it was a critical moment. He said he merely dropped in to report that everything was going smoothly at the Nolan-Dorseys. The license and the ring were ready, the auto engaged to take the happy couple to Chatham. They would proceed from there to Boston by rail next day. Judith was at the house now, helping the family keep their head between their ears, and the only trouble was the telephoning. The list of people who would be slighted if not notified was so long that Jim suggested sending out the town crier, and being done with it. "Poor Uncle Darcy," I said. "He won't be able to see the wedding. Aunt Elspeth is so much worse. He's always been mixed up in the important happenings of my life, and he would have taken such pride in seeing us march up the aisle, you as best man and me as maid of honor----" Then I broke off short and whirled Sallie Jane around on her pivot as if I had found something the matter which absorbed my attention. But in reality I had just remembered that it was my eighteenth birthday, and came very near reminding him of the fact. To think of having forgotten it myself till the morning was half gone! I had come to my "Field Elysian," and it was a lonely place, for nobody else remembered. The surest sign that I had reached it was that I did not frankly proclaim the fact, frankly expectant of birthday offerings. I didn't want anything if people had to be reminded of the date. I took the corner of a paper of pins between my teeth and stood up to pin the sleeves in place. Richard looked on approvingly. "That really begins to look like something," he said. "Looks like a white cloud. Even on old Sallie Jane you'd know it was a bridal outfit. You're a trump, Georgina, for rushing things through this way. Babe ought to be everlastingly grateful. But while it's 'Very nice for Mary Ann, it's rather hard on Abraham.' Do you realize I've only four more days left to spend in this old town? This wedding is knocking a whole quarter of it out of my calculations." Something made me glance up. He was looking down at me so intently it flustered me. I found myself trying to pin the left sleeve into the right arm. "I don't believe in these war weddings," he said almost fiercely. "Watt hadn't any right to ask her to marry him now and take such chances. Suppose he'd be killed?" "She'd feel that he was hers, at any rate," I said between my teeth, still holding on to the paper of pins. "She'd have the memory of this wedding, and the few happy days to follow, and she'd have the proud feeling that she was the wife of a man who'd given his life bravely. She'd be giving something to the cause herself, a continuing sacrifice, for it would keep on all the rest of her life." "But suppose he wasn't killed outright. Suppose he'd come back to her crippled or blinded or frightfully disfigured. He oughtn't to want to tie her for life to just a part of a man." Then I took up for Babe so emphatically that I dropped the pins. "Then she'd be eyes to him and feet to him and hands to him--and everything else. And she'd _glory_ in it. _I_ would if I loved a man as Babe does Watson Tucker, though I don't see what she sees in him to care for." "I believe you would," he answered slowly. Then after a long pause he added, "It certainly must make a difference to a man over there to know he's got somebody back home, caring for him like _that_!" He left in a few moments, and I had to work harder than ever for I had slowed up a bit while we talked. The wedding was at four. I am sure I was the happiest one in the crowd, for not only was the dress done in time, it was pronounced a real "creation." Babe never looked so well in her life. Judith had worked some sort of miracle on her hair, and in that simple fluff of white tulle she was almost pretty. Never did a Maid of Honor have less time for her own arraying. I hurriedly slipped into the same dress of rose-color and white that I wore the night of Richard's arrival, and put on the little pearl necklace that had been Barby's. When he came for me in his Cousin James' machine he brought a big armful of roses for me to carry. It made me awfully happy to have him say, "Many happy returns of the day" when he gave them to me, even when he laughingly confessed that he hadn't remembered the date himself. It was Judith who reminded them that the wedding day and my birthday were the same. Even so, it was nice to have the event marked by his lovely roses. Despite all Judith's precautions we had a wild scramble to get all the little Dorseys corralled for a final dress review. Each one of them came up with some important article missing, which had to be hunted for. Then a sudden calm descended. We found ourselves at the door of the Church of the Pilgrims. We were going slowly, very slowly up the aisle to the solemn organ music, conscious of a white blur of faces on each side. The church was packed. There had been no time for a rehearsal, but, for once, luck was with the Nolan-Dorseys. Nobody stumbled, nobody dropped anything, nobody responded in the wrong place. As Jim remarked afterward, "We did real well for a bunch of amateurs. We flocked all right though not even birds of a feather; one man in naval uniform, one in aviator's, and one in civilian's." Jim gave the bride away. I was strung up to such a nervous tension for fear it wouldn't go off all right that I never took a full breath till Jim was through his part, the ring on Babe's finger and her bouquet safely back in her hands again. It was only at the very last when the old minister who was perfectly devoted to Babe began to falter through a prayer, that I realized I hadn't really heard the ceremony. It had gone in one ear and out the other, leaving no impression of its sacred meaning. But if I missed the impressiveness of it Babe and Watson did not. He was as pale as a ghost, and her hands trembled so they could hardly hold her flowers. It was a solemn time for them. Then it grew solemn for me, as a sentence of the last prayer caught my attention. "_And take now, into Thy especial care and keeping, those who go forth from this altar to defend us, both upon the high seas and in the boundless battle plains of the air._" He was praying for Richard too. I glanced across at him and found that he was looking intently at me. I had never seen such an expression in his eyes before--a sort of goodbye, as if he were looking at me for the last time, and was sorry. It was the dearest look. Our eyes met gravely for an instant, then just the shadow of a smile crept into his, and mine dropped. I couldn't understand why that little half-smile should make me so sort of happy and confused. Then the "Amen!" sounded and the organ pealed out the wedding march, and with my hand on his arm we followed the bridal couple down the aisle, and out through the door to the automobile, waiting to take them to Chatham. Once out of the door Babe wasn't a bit dignified. In her hurry to get away before the crowd could follow and hold a curbstone reception, she chased down the long board walk leading from the church to the street so fast that Watson could hardly keep up. They didn't pretend to keep step. She had a long coat and a hat waiting for her in the machine. She had kissed her family all around before leaving the house, so she just piled in as she was, and began pulling off her veil while the chauffeur cranked up. "I'll change at Chatham," she called back to us. "No, Mrs. Tucker," Richard remarked as the machine dashed off, "you'll never change. You'll always be just like that." "The whole affair has been more like a whirlwind than a wedding," said Judith as she joined us. "I'm limp." [Illustration] CHAPTER XIX THE VIGIL IN THE SWING WHEN I look back on that hot July day it seems a week long; so much was crowded into it. After the ceremony we took Tippy up home in the machine with the children, and then went for a drive. I hadn't realized how tired I was till I sank back into the comfortable seat beside Richard. Nothing could have rested me more than that rapid spin toward Wellfleet with the salt breeze in my face. As we started out of town Richard glanced at his watch. "Only sixty-three hours more for this old burg," he announced. "I've got it figured down to a fine point now. Even to the minutes." "So anxious to get away?" I asked. "Oh, it isn't that. I'm keen enough to get busy over there, but----" He did not finish but presently nodded toward the water where a great fleet of fishing boats was putting into port. They filled the harbor with a flashing of sails in the late afternoon sunshine, like a flock of white-winged birds. "I'm wondering how long it will be before I see _that_ again." I answered with a line from "Kathleen Mavourneen," humming it airily: "It may be for years and it may be forever." "Don't you care?" he demanded almost crossly, with his eyes intent on the triple curve just ahead. "Of course I care," I answered. "If you were a truly own brother I couldn't feel any worse about your going off into all that danger, and I couldn't be any prouder of you. And I think that under the circumstances we might be allowed to put another star on our service flag, one for you as well as for Father. You belong to us more than anyone else now." "_Will_ you do that?" he asked quickly, and with such eagerness that I saw he was both touched and pleased. "It makes a tremendous difference to a fellow to feel that he's got some sort of family ties--that he isn't just floating around in space like a stray balloon. It's a mighty lonesome feeling to think that there's nobody left to miss you or care what becomes of you." "Oh, we'll care all right," I promised him. "We'll be a really truly family to you, and we'll miss you and write to you and _knit_ for you." He was in the midst of the triple curve now, with a machine honking somewhere ahead, but he turned to flash a pleased smile at me and we came very near to a collision. He had to veer to one side so suddenly that we were nearly thrown out. For two years he has been so eager to go overseas that I hadn't an idea he would have any homesick qualms when the time came, but to find that he was hanging on to each hour as something precious made me twice as sorry to see him go as I would have been otherwise. As we came back into town he glanced at his watch again but said nothing until I leaned over to look too. "How many hours now?" I asked. "Only sixty-one and a half," he answered, "and they'll whiz by like a streak of lightning." From then on I began counting them too. There was a birthday letter from Barby waiting for me when I got home, such a dear one that I took it off to my room to read by myself. The package she mentioned sending was evidently delayed. As I sat in front of my mirror, brushing my hair before going down to supper, I thought what a very, very different birthday this was from the one we had planned for my eighteenth anniversary. Still it had been a happy day. I felt repaid for my wild rush every time I recalled Babe's face when she saw herself for the first time in her wedding gown. Her delight was pathetic, and her gratitude will be something to remember always, that and the fact that I was a bridesmaid for the first time--and a Maid of Honor at that. Suddenly I came to myself with a start to find myself with my hair down over my shoulders and my brush held in mid air, while I gazed at something in the depths of the mirror. Something that wasn't there. The altar and the bridal party before it, and the Best Man looking across at me with that grave, wistful expression that was like a leave-taking. And then his smile as our eyes met. It seems strange that just recalling a little thing like that should make me glowingly happy, yet in some unaccountable way it did. Judith and George Woodson came up after supper. I was almost sorry they did, for Richard had asked me to play the "Reverie" that he always asks Barby for. He was stretched out on the leather couch with his hands clasped under his head, looking so comfortable and contented it seemed a pity to disturb him. He'll think of that old couch and the times he's lain on it listening to Barby play, many a time when he's off there in range of the enemy's guns. They stayed till after ten o'clock, talking aeroplanes mostly, for George got Richard started to describing nose dives and spirals and all the wonderful somersault stunts they do above the clouds. He knows so much about machines, having helped build them, that he could sketch the different parts of them while he was talking, and he knows the record of all the famous pilots, just as a baseball fan knows all about the popular players. While he was up in Canada he met two of the most daring aces who ever flew, one from the French Escadrille, and one an Englishman of the Royal Flying Corps. It was his acquaintance with the Englishman which led to Richard's being assigned to the Royal Naval Air Service. He's to learn the British methods of handling sea-planes, and he's hoping with all his heart that he won't be brought home as an instructor when he has learned it. He wants to stay right there patrolling the Channel and making daring raids now and then over the enemy's lines. It must have been torture for George to listen to his enthusiastic description of duels above the clouds and how it feels to whiz through space at a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, because it was the dream of his life to get into that branch of the service. His disappointment makes him awfully bitter. Still he persisted in talking about it, because he's so interested he can't keep off the subject. It's a thousand times more thrilling than any of the old tales of knight errantry, and I'm glad George kept on asking questions. Otherwise I'd never have found out what an amazing lot Richard knows that I never even suspected. During the last few minutes of their visit I heard Tippy out in the hall, answering the telephone. She came in just as they were all leaving, to tell us it was a message from Belle. Aunt Elspeth was sinking rapidly. The end was very near now. Uncle Darcy had asked for Barby, forgetting she was away, and Belle thought it would be a comfort to him to feel that some of the family were in the house, keeping the vigil with him. Tippy had intended to go down herself as soon as the children were asleep, but little Judson kept waking up and crying at finding himself in a strange bed. He seemed a bit feverish and she was afraid to leave him. So Richard and I went. When Judith and George left we walked with them part of the way. I've seen many a moonlight night on the harbor before, when the water was turned to a glory of rippling silver, but never have I seen it such a sea of splendor as it was that night we strolled along beside it. It was entrancingly beautiful--that luminous path through the water, and the boats lifting up their white sails in the shining silence were like pearl-white moths spreading motionless wings. None of us felt like talking, the beauty was so unearthly, so we went along with scarcely a word, until we reached the business part of the town. There the buildings on the beach side of the street hid the view of the water. Both picture-shows were just out, and the gay summer crowds surging up and down the narrow board walk and overflowing into the middle of the street were as noisy as a flock of jaybirds. George and Judith left us at the drug-store corner, going in for ice-cream soda. When we turned into Fishburn Court, there on the edge of the dunes, we seemed entering a different world. It was so still, shut in by the high warehouses between it and town. We opened the gate noiselessly and went up the path past the old wooden swing. The full moon shining high overhead made the little doorway almost as bright as day, except for the circle of shadow under the apple tree. Even there the light filtered through in patches. All the doors and windows stood open. A candle flickered on the high black mantel in the sitting-room. In the bedroom beyond the lamp on the bureau was turned low. Belle met us at the door, motioning us toward the bedroom. Coming in from the white radiance outside the light seemed dim at first, but it was enough to show the big four-posted bed with Aunt Elspeth lying motionless on it. Such a frail little body she was, but her delicate, flower-like sort of beauty had lasted even into her silver-haired old age. She did not seem to be breathing, but Uncle Darcy, sitting beside her holding her hand, was leaning over talking to her as if she could still hear. Just bits of sentences, but with a cadence of such infinite tenderness in the broken words that it hurt one to hear them. "Dan'l's right here, lass.... He won't leave you.... No, no, my dear." I drew back, but Belle's motioning hand insisted. "Just let him see that you're here to keep watch with him," she whispered. "It'll be a comfort to him." So we went in. When I laid my hand on his shoulder he looked up with a dazed expression till he saw who it was and who was with me. Then he smiled at us both, and after that one welcoming glance turned back to the bed. We went back to the sitting room and stood there a moment, uncertainly. Then Richard opened the screen door, beckoning me to follow. He led the way to the swing, and we stepped in and sat down, facing each other. It stood so close to the cottage that to sit there opposite the open window was almost like being in the room. The glow from the lamp streamed out across the grass towards us, dimly yellow. We could see every movement, hear every rustle. Belle and the nurse tiptoed back and forth. Danny went out and came in again. Then they settled back into the shadowy corners. Somewhere away up in the town, a phonograph began playing "The Long, Long Trail." The notes came to us faintly a few moments, then stopped, and the silence grew deeper and deeper. Nothing broke it except a cricket's chirp in the grass, and now and then a half-whispered word of soothing from Uncle Darcy. He crooned as he would to a sleepy child. "There's naught to fear, lass.... All's well.... Dan'l's holding you." Already she was beyond the comfort of his voice, but he kept on murmuring reassuringly, as if the protecting care that had never failed her in a long half-century of devotion was great enough now in this extreme hour to push aside even Death. He would go with her down into the very Valley of the Shadow. As I sat there listening, dozens of little scenes came crowding up out of the past like mute witnesses to their beautiful love for each other. There was the day Mrs. Saggs found a nightgown of Aunt Elspeth's in the work-basket with a bungling patch half-stitched on by Uncle Darcy's stiff old fingers, and what she said about those old hands making a botch of patches, but never any botch in being kind. And the day Father and I, waiting in the kitchen, saw her cling to him and tell him quaveringly, "You're always so good to me, Dan'l. You're the best man the Lord ever made." I do not know how long we sat there, but there was time to review all the many happy days I had spent with them in the little cottage. Then some very new and startling thoughts came crowding up in the overwhelming way they do when one is drowning. It seems to me I grew years older in that time of waiting. I had always been afraid of Death before, but suddenly the fear left me. It was no longer to be dreaded as the strongest thing in the world, if Love could thrust it aside like that and walk on past it, immortal and unafraid. I didn't know I was crying till two tears splashed down on my hands, which were pressed tightly together in my lap. A little shiver ran over me. Richard leaned forward and took my white sweater from the back of the seat where I had thrown it, motioning for me to put it on. I shook my head but he kept on holding it out for me to slip my arms into, in that insistent, masterful way of his, till finally I did so. I hadn't known I was cold till I felt the warmth of it around me. Then I noticed that a breeze had sprung up and was stirring the boughs of the apple tree, and my hands were like ice from the long nervous strain. But even more comforting than the wrap which enveloped me was the inward warmth that came from the sense of being watched over and taken care of. The long vigil went on. Suddenly the nurse leaned over and said something. And then--Belle pulled down the shade. After a few moments Uncle Darcy came stumblingly out to the doorway and sat down on the step, burying his face in his hands. Richard and I looked at each other, uncertain what to do or to say, hesitating as the two children had done so long ago, when the old rifle gave up its secret. But this time we did not run away. This time we went up to him, each with a silent handclasp. Then putting my arm around the bent old shoulders I held him close for a moment. He leaned against me and reaching up with his stiff, crooked fingers gently patted my hand. "Aye," he said brokenly. "She's gone ... but--_her love abides_! Death couldn't take _that_ from me!" CHAPTER XX THE HIGHWAY OF THE ANGELS IT was so late when we started home that the streets were deserted. The only noise was the hollow sound our own footsteps made on the board walk. Even that ceased the last half of the way, for we crossed over and went along the beach, walking close to the curling edges of the tide. Several times we paused to stand and look at the path the moon made on the water--wide miles of rippling silver, like a highway for the feet of passing angels. I kept thinking of Aunt Elspeth as I looked. It took away my sadness to feel that she must have passed up that radiant road. And everything--the white night itself--seemed throbbing with the words, "But Love abides! Death cannot take that." I think Richard heard them too, for once as we stood looking back he said, "Somehow that belief of Uncle Darcy's changes one's conception of death, just as that moon changes the night and the sea. It takes all the blackness out. It gives ... Dad ... back to me again. It makes me feel differently about saying goodbye to you all." "I wish you didn't have to say goodbye," I exclaimed impetuously. "I wish that this awful war were over and you could stay right on here." "Without my having done my part to win it?" he asked in a reproachful sort of tone. "You've done your part," I told him. "And a big one. And I want you to know before you go away what we think about it. Barby wrote to Miss Crewes all about what you did up in Canada, and said, 'I am telling you this in order that you may have another Sir Gareth to add to your list of knightly souls who do their deed and ask no guerdon.' Ever since then we've thought of _you_, as Sir Gareth." Even in the moonlight I could see that he was embarrassed. He protested that we were giving him more credit than he deserved. Then to make light of the affair he went on about how he hadn't begun to do his part. He couldn't feel it was done till he'd bombed at least one Hun. "A hundred Huns" was his slogan, and the number he'd set for himself to get. We started to walk on again. I was making some teasing remark about his being a bloodthirsty creature, when I stepped on the end of a broken oar. It turned with me and almost tripped me up. He put out a steadying hand, then slipped my arm through his to help me along. "I know you're tired," he said as we walked on. "You had to rush through all that sewing this morning, and there was the excitement of the wedding and tonight--the waiting. It's been a hard day for you." His voice sounded almost as sympathetic and comforting as Uncle Darcy's. Away out across the dunes some belated home-goer began whistling. Clear and sweet the notes came dropping through the still night, as if blown from a far-off silver flute: "Till the day when I'll be going down That long, long trail with you." Instinctively we both turned to look at that shining path on the water, as if that were the trail, and stood listening till the last whistled note died away. Then suddenly Richard put his hand over mine as it lay on his arm, and held it close. After that there didn't seem to be any need of words. Somehow his very silence seemed to be saying something to me. I could feel it thrilling through me as one violin string thrills to the vibration of another. I know now, after the experience of that night, that I shall never be able to write the leading novel of the century, as I have long hoped to do. I shall never attempt one of any kind now, even a little mediocre one. And the reason is this: The greatest thing in the story of any life is that moment of miracle when love enters in and transfigures it. It is impossible to describe the coming of Dawn on a mountain-top so that another really feels the glory of it. If he has witnessed it himself anything one could say seems inadequate and commonplace. If he has never experienced such a revelation, all the words in the dictionary couldn't help him to see it. If I were to put down here the few words Richard said as he was leaving me at the door, they might seem incoherent and ordinary to anyone else, but uttered with his arms around me, the touch of his lips on mine--how _could_ one put into any story the sacredness of such an experience? The wonder of it, the rapture of it? And even if you did partially succeed, there would always be people like Tippy, for instance, to purse up their lips at the attempt, as if to say, "Sentimental!" So I shall never try. When Tippy, in her bathrobe and with a candle, came down the dark hall to fumble at the door and let me in, I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I just walked past her, so awed by the throbbing happiness that filled me that I couldn't think of anything else, and not for worlds would I have had her know. If it had been Barby I would have thrown my arms around her and whispered, "Oh, Barby! I'm so happy!" and she would have held me close and understood. But I felt that Tippy would say, "Tut, you're too young to be thinking of such things yet." She has shamed me that way, making me feel that she considered me a sentimental silly young thing, several times in the past. "Well?" she said questioningly, when I did not speak. Her waiting attitude reminded me that she was expecting me to tell her something. Then I remembered--about Aunt Elspeth--and I was conscience-smitten to think I had forgotten her entirely. It seemed ages since we had left Fishburn Court, with the sadness of her death the uppermost thing in our mind, but in reality it hadn't been more than a half an hour. But it had been long enough for the beginning of "a new heaven and a new earth" for me. My voice trembled so that I could hardly speak the words--"She's gone." Then I saw that Tippy attributed my agitation to grief. She questioned me for details, but there was little to tell. When we left no arrangements had been made for the funeral. "How did Uncle Darcy take it?" she asked as we reached the top of the stairs. I told her, repeating his own words. My voice shook again, but this time it was because I was remembering the stricken old figure on the doorstep, pathetic loneliness in every line of it, despite the brave words with which he tried to comfort himself. A tear started to roll down Tippy's cheek. She made a dab at it with the sleeve of her bathrobe. "Poor old soul!" she exclaimed. "Their devotion to each other was beautiful. Over sixty years they've been all in all to each other. Pity they both couldn't have been taken at the same time." A wonder came over me which I have often felt before. Why is it that people like Tippy, who show such tenderness for a love-story when it is flowing to its end in old age, are so unsympathetic with it at its beginning. What is there about it at the source that Youth cannot understand or should not talk about? At my door she waited till I struck a match and lighted my lamp. I wondered why she held up her candle and gave me such a keen glance as she said goodnight. When she closed the door behind her and I walked over to the dressing-table, I was suddenly confronted by the reason. The face that looked out at me from the mirror was not the face of one who has just looked on a great sorrow. I was startled by my own reflection. It had a sort of shining, exalted look. I wondered what she could have thought. I hurried with my undressing so that I could put out the lamp and swing open the casement window that looks down on the sea. The air came cool and salt against my hot cheeks. The silver radiance that flooded the harbor streamed in across me as I knelt down with my elbows on the sill and my hands folded to pray. Presently I realized with a guilty start that I wasn't following my usual petitions. I had prayed only for Richard, and then, gazing down on the beach where we stood such a short time ago, I re-lived that moment and the ones that followed. The memory was as sacred as any prayer. It was not for its intrusion that my conscience smote me, but it seemed wickedly selfish to be forgetting those whom I had knelt purposely to remember: Father and Barby, all those in peril on the sea, all the victims of war and the brave souls everywhere, fighting for the peace of the world. And dear old Uncle Darcy--in the very first hour of his terrible loneliness--how could I forget to ask comfort for _him_? Stretching out my arms to that shining space above the water I whispered, "Dear God, is it _right_ for me to be so happy with such awful heartache in the world?" But no answer came to me out of that wonderful glory. All I seemed to hear was Uncle Darcy's quavering words--"_But love abides! Death cannot take that!_" And presently as I kept on kneeling there I knew _that_ was the answer: "Love that beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things" is God-given. Heartache and Death may touch every life for a time, but Love abides through the ages. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXI "PIRATE GOLD" IF this were a novel instead of my memoirs, I'd skip now to Richard's part of it, and tell his thoughts and feelings as he lay awake for hours, trying to adjust himself to his new outlook on the future. But I didn't know about that till afterward. It only came out bits at a time in the few hours we had together before he went away. We had so little time by ourselves. The thing that worried him was the discovery that he no longer wanted to hurry off to the front. He was still as eager as ever to do his part. It wasn't that. It was _me_. He told me down at Uncle Darcy's next morning. I was staying there until time for the funeral, doing the little things that Barby would have done had she been here. Belle had gone home, worn out, and Tippy was over there with her, getting dinner for some of the out-of-town relatives who were expected on the noon train. It seemed as if everybody on the Cape must have sent flowers. The little house overflowed with them. Richard helped me find places for them and carry out the empty boxes. Uncle Darcy was so wonderful. He went about just as usual, talking in cautious half-whispers as he always did when Aunt Elspeth was asleep, tiptoeing into the darkened room now and then, to lean over and look at her. Sometimes he touched her hair caressingly, and sometimes smoothed down the long, soft folds of her white robe. Once when I took in a great basket full of ferns and roses to put on the table beside her he looked up with a smile. "That's right," he said. "Fix it all nice and pretty for her, Georgina. Mother likes to have things pretty." He was so calm, and seemingly so oblivious to the fact that she was no longer conscious of his presence, that we were awed by his wonderful composure. So when we were out by the pump, giving some of the floral designs a fresh sprinkling, it did not seem out of place for Richard to ask me if I had told Uncle Darcy--about us. It might have seemed strange at any other house of mourning for us to put our own affairs in the foreground, but not here. I said no, I couldn't tell anybody until Barby knew. She must be the very first. He said all right, if I felt that way, but we'd have to send a telegram, because he couldn't go away till he'd claimed me before the footlights as well as behind the scenes. I didn't see how we could put such a thing in a telegram, but he was so determined that finally I consented to try. Together we composed one that we thought would enlighten Barby, and at the same time mystify the telegraph operator, who happened to be one of the old High School boys. When the noon whistle blew Uncle Darcy's composure suddenly left him. He looked around, startled by the familiar sound as if its shrill summons pierced him with a realization of the truth. It was the signal for him to wheel Aunt Elspeth to the table; to uncover the tray Belle always sent in, to urge her appetite with the same old joke that never lost its flavor to her. It seemed to come over him in a terrifying wave of realization that all that was ended. He could never do it again, could never do anything for her. He looked at the clock and then turned stricken eyes on me, asking when they would take her away. When I told him his distress was pitiful. It is awful to hear an old man sob. It sent me hurrying from the room, fumbling for my handkerchief. Richard followed me and put his arms about me. The cheek pressed against mine was wet too. "Dearest," he whispered, "that's the way I care for _you_. That's what I want to do--stay with you to the end--be to you all he's been to her. I _can't_ go and leave you with so many chances of never getting back to you. I'm clinging to the few hours still left to us as desperately as he is." At the funeral that afternoon, as we stood together on the old burying-ground on the hill, listening to the brief service at the grave, such a comforting thought came to me. It was about the mantle of Elijah falling on Elisha as the chariot of fire bore him heavenward. He dropped it in token that a double portion of his spirit should rest on the younger prophet. I felt that Richard and I, in keeping vigil as the soul of Aunt Elspeth took its flight, had witnessed the earthly ending of the most beautiful devotion we had ever known. And its mantle had fallen on us. We would go down to old age as they had done. And we surely needed a double portion of their spirit, for we faced a long, uncertain separation, beset by danger and death. _They_ had gone all the way hand in hand. After it was all over and the crowd straggled away we stayed behind with Uncle Darcy for a while, telling Dan and Belle we would take him home in the machine when he was ready to go. We left him sitting beside the flower-covered mound under a scraggly old pine, and strolled off to the top of the hill. Richard asked me if I remembered that the very first day we ever saw each other he brought me out to this old burying-ground. He dared me to slip in through the picket fence and touch ten tombstones to test my courage. And after I'd touched them I went tearing down the hill with eyes as big as saucers, to tell him there was a whole row of pirates' graves up there, with a skull and cross bones on each headstone, and how disappointed we were when we found out that they were only early settlers. And I asked him if he remembered that the first compliment he ever paid me was that same day on our way home. I was so stuck up over it I never forgot it. It was, "You're a partner worth having. You've got a _head_." He said yes our partnership dated from that very first day. It certainly was a deep-rooted affair. Then I told him the lovely thought that had come to me about the mantle of those two old lovers falling on our shoulders, and he reached out and took my hand in the gentlest way, and said that all that they had been to one another _we'd_ be to each other, and more. And then we sat there on the hillside talking in low tones and watching the wind from the harbor blowing through the long sedge grass, till it was time to take Uncle Darcy home. He was ready to go when we went down to him. On the way home he talked about Aunt Elspeth in the most wonderful way, as if he'd been up in some high place where he could look down on life as God does and see how short the earth part of it is. He said "'Twould be a sin to fret for her." That she was safe in port now and he'd soon follow. He was so glad that she wasn't the one to be left behind. She'd have been so helpless without him. On the way home to supper we noticed an unusual number of boats putting into the harbor. The sky was overcast and the wind was rising. It was a disappointment because we'd planned for a moonlight row. We could see at a glance there wasn't going to be any moonlight. When we reached the house we found that Miss Susan Triplett was there. She had come back to town for the funeral and was going to stay all night with us. My heart sank when I thought of one of our last precious evenings being interrupted by her. She always takes the centre of the stage wherever she is. But to my unbounded surprise Tippy took Miss Susan upstairs with her after supper, to help her spread the batting in a quilt that she was getting ready to put in the quilting frames. It took them till bedtime. Richard vowed Tippy took her off purposely, out of pure goodness of heart, knowing that we wanted to be alone. I was positive that if she had thought that, or even suspected it, she wouldn't have budged an inch. She wouldn't approve of my being engaged. But Richard insisted that she was chuck full of sentiment herself, in spite of her apparent scorn of it, and that she not only suspected which way the wind was blowing, but knew it positively. We didn't have any difference of opinion about what Barby would say, however. So I did not feel that I had to wait for an answer to our telegram before I let him slip the ring on my finger which he brought for me. It's a beautiful solitaire in a quaint Florentine setting. "It's the one Dad gave mother," he said, "but if you'd rather have it in a modern setting----" I love the tone of his voice when he says "Dad" that way, and I wouldn't have the setting changed if it had been as ugly as sin, instead of what it is, the most artistic one I ever saw. It was blowing hard when he left the house. The waves were lashing angrily against the breakwater. We knew the fishermen must be expecting a storm. The night was so black we couldn't see the fleets they had brought in, but the harbor was full of lights, hundreds of them gleaming from the close-reefed boats lying at anchor. It was not until late in the night that the storm struck. Then a terrific wind swept the Cape. Shutters banged and windows rattled. The house itself shook at times, and now and then sand struck the window panes even of the second story, as if thrown against them in giant handfuls. Once there was a crash, and a big limb of the old willow went down. It has been years since we have had such a storm. Part of the willow went down that time. Lying there unable to sleep I recalled that other storm. I could remember distinctly old Jeremy's coming in next morning to report the damage, and saying it was so wild it was a wonder the dunes hadn't all blown into the sea. Some of them had. Captain Ames' cranberry bog was buried so deep in sand you couldn't see a leaf of it, and there was sand drifted over everything, as if a cyclone had swirled through the dunes, lifting them bodily and scattering them over the face of the earth. I had cause to remember that storm. It buried still deeper the little pouch of "pirate gold" which Richard and I had buried temporarily, and we had never been able to find it since. For days we dug with a hoe and the brass-handled fire shovel, trying to unearth it, but even the markers we had set above it never came to light. Lying there in the dark I could remember exactly how Richard looked then, in his little grass-stained white suit with a hole in the knee of his stocking. What a dear little dare-devil he was in those days, always coming to grief with his clothes, because of his thirst for adventure. All through the storm I lay thinking about him. I am so glad that I have those memories of him as a boy to add to my knowledge of him as a man. If I knew him only as I have known him since his return, a handsome young officer in his immaculate uniform and with his fascinating ways, I'd be afraid I was being attracted by his outward charm, and might be disillusioned some day as I was about Esther. But in all the years we've been growing up together I've had time to learn every one of his faults and short-comings. Though I've frankly told him of them in times past for his own good, I realize now that he never had as many as most boys, and he has outgrown the few he did have. I wouldn't have him changed now in any way whatever. An attachment like ours that blossoms out of such a long and intimate acquaintance must have deeper roots than one like Babe's and Watson's. Theirs hasn't any background, any past tense. Babe married him without having seen a single member of his family nearer than cousins, which is an awful risk, I think. Suppose one of his next of kin were a miser or a fanatic, and the same traits would crop out in him later in life. Knowing Richard's father as I did makes me feel that I know Richard in the future tense. They are so much alike. He'll always keep that sense of humor which was one of Mr. Moreland's charms, and the same feeling for things with old happy associations, like my ring. When I thought of that adorable ring I just couldn't wait till morning to see it again. Reaching for the little pocket flashlight which I keep on the stand beside my bed, I sat up and flashed it on the stone, turning it in every possible direction to see it sparkle. It was much more dazzling under the electric light than it had been under the lamp. I wondered if it made Richard's mother as happy when she wore it as it makes me. I wondered if she ever sat up in the dark to admire it as I was doing, and what she would think if she could see me press it to my lips in the consciousness that it is the precious link which binds me to Richard. I don't believe she would think it silly. She would be glad that I care so much--so very much. Next morning Richard was over early to take me out with him to see how much damage the storm had done. The beach was strewn with wreckage, trees were uprooted on every street, and roofs and chimneys had suffered all over town. But the strangest thing was that we found our little pouch of pirate gold. It was like the sea giving up its dead for the dunes to give up the treasure we'd buried in it so long ago. We hadn't the faintest expectation of such a thing when we started out; merely thought we'd go over for a look at the place where it was buried. When we ploughed through the sand to the fringe of bayberry bushes and wild beach plums that was our landmark, we found that the last storm had undone the work of that first one. It had scooped out the sand and left a hollow as it used to be years ago. Even then we hadn't any thought of really finding the money, but Captain Kidd was along, and just to give him some excitement Richard called "Rats!" That started him to digging frantically, and the first thing that flew out from under his paws was one of the pieces of broken crock which we had used as a marker. Then we tried him in other places, poking around ourselves with sticks, and presently he gave a short bark and stopped digging, to nose something else he had unearthed. It actually was the old baking-powder can. It was almost eaten up with rust, and the names and date we had scratched on it were almost illegible. But everything inside was intact. I watched Richard's face as he unrolled layer after layer of tin foil that was wrapped around the pouch, and thought again how nice it was that I shared his memories. I could understand the smile that curved his lips, for I knew the scenes that tin foil brought back to him. He had been weeks saving it. "Off Dad's tobacco," was all he said. But more than once I had climbed the Green Stairs up the cliff to the bungalow in time to see the laughing scuffle which invariably took place before it was handed over to him. They had been rare play-fellows, he and his father. In the pouch was the letter, the black rubber ring, the handful of change. "We'll pass all that over to Dan," I said, "but the gold we'll divide and gloat over." But Richard insisted that it shouldn't be divided. He wanted to take it down to the Arts and Crafts shop and have it made into a ring for me. Just a little circle, that I could wear as a guard for the other one. I wanted half of it made into some token for him "to have and to hold" but we couldn't think of anything suitable. He wouldn't wear a ring himself, and there wasn't time to make a locket. There's so little that a soldier going abroad can carry with him. It was the artist who does the lovely jewel work at the Shop who settled the question. We had to take her partly into our confidence in order to show her how necessary it was to have the keepsake done before Richard's departure. She was dear about it, and so thrilled with the romance of the affair that she said she'd sit up all night if necessary to finish it. Yes, she understood perfectly, she said. She would melt the two gold pieces together, and out of part would fashion the ring, just a little twist of a lover's knot, and out of the rest--well, why not an identification tag? The gentleman would have to wear one anyhow, and, being an officer could have it of gold if he wished. Richard liked the idea immensely, but it gave me a gruesome feeling at first. There would be no need of identification tags, were it not that possible death and wounds and capture face every man who wears one. Besides it seemed such a cold-blooded sort of token to give to one's best beloved, just starting off to the Field of Honor. About as romantic as a trunk check. But suddenly I thought of something which made me agree instantly. There was a name which I could have engraved upon the reverse side, which would make the little tag seem almost like a decoration, in commemoration of a noble deed. I managed to write it down and slip it to the artist without Richard's seeing it. Now whenever he looks at it he will remember it is the name I call him in my heart of hearts. He will know that I think of him as my true knight, as worthy of a royal accolade as any of those who fared forth in Arthur's time to redress the wrongs of the world. He is my "_Sir Gareth_." [Illustration] CHAPTER XXII "THE MAID WHO BINDS HER WARRIOR'S SASH" I COULDN'T tell Tippy. The way we did I just handed her Barby's night letter without a word and Richard gave her his. She read them with no more change of expression than if they'd been weather reports. Then she said that she'd known it all along. A wooden Indian couldn't have been less demonstrative, but later I found that nothing could have pleased her more. Richard says she can't help being born a Plymouth Rock. She's like an ice-bound brook that can't show the depth and force underlying the surface coldness. But her tenderness leaked out for us both afterwards, in all sorts of ways, and I began to understand her for the first time in my life. She watched me take down the service flag in the window and replace it with one bearing two stars, and I'm sure she read my thoughts. She's always had an uncanny way of doing that. I was thinking how much harder it was to put up that second star than the first one, because I hadn't really given Father to the service. He was in it before I was born. But the second star was the symbol of a real sacrifice that I was laying on the altar of my country. There was no laughing this time, or joking suggestion to make a ceremony of it. I felt to the bottom of my heart what I was doing, and did it in reverent silence. Soon after she followed me to my room and laid a couple of books on the table, open at the places marked for me to read. I smiled after she went out when I saw that one was an antiquated volume of poems. All my life she has tried to teach me morals and manners by the aid of such verse as "The boy stood on the burning deck" and "Fie! What a naughty child to pout." So I picked up the books wondering what lesson she thought I needed now. The poem she marked was "The Maid who binds her Warrior's sash." As I read I understood. Dear old Tippy! It was _courage_ she would teach me. Richard was right. She couldn't say these things to me, so she brought me the words of another to help me, knowing the lesson would soon be sorely needed. The other book was a new one she had just drawn from the library, the adventures of a young gunner in the Navy. He had won the Croix de Guerre for distinguished service and escaped the horrors of a German prison camp, so he knew what he was talking about when he wrote the words she left for me to read. "When you say goodbye to your son or your husband or your sweetheart, take it from me that what he will like to remember the best of all is your face _with a smile on it_. It will be hard work; you will feel more like crying and so will he, maybe. That smile is your bit. I will back a smile against the weeps in a race to Berlin any time. So I am telling you, and I can't make it strong enough--_send him away with a smile_." This is the verse: "The maid, who binds her warrior's sash With smile, which well the pain dissembles, The while, beneath the drooping lash, One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though heaven alone record the tear And fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As ever dewed the field of glory." I didn't realize then how hard it was going to be to live up to those quotations, but Tippy, with so much of her life behind her full of its hard lessons--Tippy knew and took this mute way of warning me. The storm did us a good turn in more ways than unearthing our buried treasure. It brought such cold weather in its wake that when we came in glowing from a tramp along shore just before supper, we found a jolly big fire waiting for us in the living-room. Such a one, Richard said, as would warm him many a time, thinking of it, nights when he was miles up in the air, numb as the North Pole. We had such a long cosy evening afterward, there in the firelight. "We'll have it just like this in our own little home when I get back," Richard kept saying. We planned the dearest house. We decided to make his Cousin James sell us his bungalow studio, not only because the Green Stairs running up the cliff to it is the place where we first saw each other when we were infants, but because it's such an artistic place, and has such a wonderful view of the sea. It's a place far too delightful to be wasted on a single person, even such a nice old bachelor as his Cousin James. We even planned what we'd have for our first breakfast when we started to housekeeping, with Aunt Georgina's coffee urn shining at one end of the table and an old beaten-silver chop dish, that is one of Richard's memories of their studio days in Paris, at the other. "If I could only see that picture in reality before I go!" Richard exclaimed--"if I could only sit down at that table once with you across from me, and know that it was my home and my little wife----" Then he confessed that he wanted to take back everything he'd said about Watson and war weddings. He believed in 'em now and _couldn't_ I, _wouldn't_ I----? But without waiting to finish the question he hurried on to answer it himself. No, he mustn't ask it. He wouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to me, young as I was, with Barby gone, nor to her. But if he could only feel that I really belonged to him---- I told him I didn't see how rushing through a whirlwind ceremony as Babe did could make us feel we belonged to each other any more than we already did, and I _couldn't_ do it without Barby, but we could say the betrothal part to each other, and that would make him feel that we were almost married. So we hunted it up in the prayer book and each repeated the part that says, "I take thee ... from this day forward ... to love and to cherish ... and thereto I plight thee my troth." But after we said it I couldn't see that it made the thought of parting any easier. Really it seemed even harder after we'd solemnly promised ourselves to each other that way. After a while he said there were several things he wanted to speak of before he went away. One was that his Cousin James has all his belongings in charge. Among them is a beautiful old Venetian jewel casket with his mother's rings and necklaces and things in it. His Cousin James understands that everything in it is to be mine and he hoped that I'd wear them sometimes--even if--in any event---- He didn't go on to say even if _what_, but the unfinished sentence filled me with its unspoken dread, more than if he'd really said it. After a long silence he said lightly that there was some satisfaction in the thought that I'd always be comfortably provided for no matter what happened, and that I could have the bungalow and the motor-boat and all the other things we'd planned. He'd made his will the day before and his Cousin James had promised to see it was carried out in every detail. At the thought of what his speech implied and the mere idea of me having or doing any of those lovely things without _him_, I couldn't stand it any longer. I simply hid my face in the sofa cushions and let the dykes wash out to sea. It must have broken him up somewhat himself, to see the way I took it, for his voice was shaky when he tried to comfort me. But it was so dear and tender, just like Uncle Darcy's that time he kept saying, "There's naught to fear lass, Dan'l's holding you." Every word only made me cry that much harder. Presently he cleared his throat and asked if I supposed there was any powder left in the old powder horn over the mantel, and did I remember the time we fed some to Captain Kidd to make him game. He'd confess now, after all these years, he ate some himself that day when I wasn't looking, but its effect was about worn off by this time, and if I kept on that way much longer he'd have to have another nip at that old horn or go to pieces himself. I sat up then and laughed, despite the big, gulpy sobs that nearly choked me. For I had to tell him that I'd eaten some of that powder myself that same time. I licked it out of the palm of my hand when his back was turned. And if the powder had lost its effect on me the horn itself hadn't. The mere mention of it made me stiffen. Hereafter I'd be just as brave as that old Revolutionary grandmother of mine who snatched it from the wall with the musket, and hustled her Minute Man off with the one grim word, "Hurry!" I promised him that hereafter he shouldn't see me shed another drop. And he didn't. Mr. Milford came up for me early next morning to take me down to the station to see Richard off. Maybe it was because I had had that spell of wild weeps the night before, that I felt like the-morning-after-a-storm, all cleared up and shiney. At any rate I sent him off laughing. He looked so fit and so fine, starting off on his great adventure like some knight of old, that I told him I pined to go along; that under the circumstances I'd gladly change places with him. I'd much rather be Richard Moreland than G. Huntingdon. But he said right before his Cousin James that he'd much rather I'd be _Mrs._ Richard Moreland. It was my blushing so furiously at hearing that name applied to me for the first time which made him laugh. Then there was only time to be caught up in a good-bye embrace before the train pulled out. He swung himself up on the rear platform just as it started. He did look so handsome and so dear and I was so proud of him in his khaki that there was nothing forced in the last smile I gave him. It was the real spangled-bannery kind; such as shines in your eyes when the band plays martial music and the troops march by. Your heart beats awfully fast and you hold your breath, but you have the feeling that in your soul you are one of the color bearers yourself. You are keeping step with your head held high. Afterwards when Mr. Milford helped me into the machine he said, "Georgina, you're a trump. You wear your service stars in your eyes." When I looked at him questioningly, wondering what he meant, he said, "Oh, I know they're brown, not blue, but you showed my boy the star of 'true blue' courage in them, and I was horribly afraid for a few minutes there that maybe you wouldn't." He talked about service flags all the way home, for we kept coming across them in the windows in every street. Over two hundred men have gone out from this little fishing town. When I told him how I felt that way, about "keeping step," he said he wished I could make some other people he knew feel the same way. "There's poor Mrs. Carver, for instance, crying her eyes out over Titcomb and Sammy III, and talking as if she's the only mother in the world who's sacrificing anything. If you could suggest that those boys would be a bit prouder of her if she could keep step with the rest of the mothers, make her sacrifice with her head up, it would do her a world of good. She mustn't fly service stars in her window unless she can back them on the inside with the same true blue courage they stand for on the outside--the kind that sends the men to the front." [Illustration] CHAPTER XXIII MARKED ON THE CALENDAR IT'S queer what a way Doctor Wynne has of stepping abruptly into my life and out again. It's been so ever since I found his picture in the barrel. A few days after Richard left he unexpectedly opened the front gate and came up to the porch where Tippy and I sat knitting. I did not recognize him at first in his captain's uniform, and no one could have been further from my thoughts. I supposed he had already sailed for France. Some business with old Mr. Carver, who is giving an ambulance to the Red Cross, brought him to Provincetown, and, happening to hear that Miss Susan Triplett was at our house, he came up to say goodbye to her before starting to join the unit to which he's been assigned. He was disappointed when he found that Miss Susan had gone back to Wellfleet. He said she was one of the few people left who had known his family intimately, and who remembered him as a child. It gave him a sense of kinship to have her call him "Johnny" in a world where everyone else said "Doctor." That was enough for Tippy. In her opinion any man in khaki is entitled to all the "sugar and spice and everything nice" the world can give. When she found that he has no home ties now, she adopted him on the spot. He didn't know he was being adopted, but I did, just from the positive tone of her voice. She told him her claim on him was about as old as Susan's. She'd known him when he was a bald-headed baby--held him in her arms in this very house, and sat under his father's preaching many a time in Wellfleet. And indeed he'd stay to supper. He needn't think she'd let a son of Sister Wynne's leave the house without breaking bread with her, especially when he was starting off to a far country where he was liable to get nothing but husks. If what Tippy wanted was to give him a little slice of home to pack up and take away in his "old kit bag," she certainly succeeded. It will be many a moon before he can forget the table she spread for him, the advice she gave him and the sock she hurried to "toe off" in order that there might be a full half dozen in the package she thrust upon him at parting. An own aunt could not have been more solicitous for his comfort, and she did all but call him Johnny. It's the first time I ever had any conversation with him more than a sentence or two. Now as he "reminisced" with Tippy, and told experiences of his boyhood on a Western farm and of his medical student days, I saw that the real John Wynne was not the person I imagined him to be. What a sentimental little goose I must have been at sixteen; truly "green in judgment" to have woven such a fabric of dreams around him. Miss Crewes' story started it, putting him on a sort of pedestal, and the affair with Esther added to it, till I imagined him a romantic and knightly figure, "wrapped in the solitude" of a sad and patient melancholy. The real John Wynne is a busy, matter-of-fact physician, absorbingly interested in the war and keen to be into it, also ready to talk about anything from "cabbages to kings." Yet I suppose if anyone had told me then that I was mistaken in that early estimate of him I would have resented it. I _wanted_ him to fit the role I assigned him. It made him more interesting to my callow mind to imagine him like that king in the poem when,--"The barque which held the prince went down he never smiled again." He was so warmly interested in my account of finding his picture at that auction and keeping it all these years, that I took him across the hall to look at it. The thought came to me that maybe he'd like to have it, but when I offered it to him he said no, he had a more recent one of his mother, one more like her as he remembered her. He stood looking at it a long while and finally said it seemed so much at home there on the wall that he hoped I'd keep it there. It would sort of anchor him to the old Cape to look back and know that it was hanging in the very room where they had once been together. Then he added almost wistfully: "If _she_ were here to wish me Godspeed, I could go away better equipped, perhaps, for what lies ahead." Some sudden impulse prompted me to open the table drawer and take out the little service flag with the one star which I had thrust in there when I put up the new one. As I hung it under the picture I was surprised to hear myself saying, "See! She _does_ wish you Godspeed." It was exactly as if someone else put the words into my mouth, for I had never thought of them before, and I'm sure I never quoted Scripture that way before, outside of Sunday school. It gave me the queerest sensation to be doing it as if some force outside of myself were impelling me to speak. "Don't you suppose," I said slowly, "that if God so loved the world that He could give His only son to die for it, that he must know how _human_ fathers and mothers feel when they do the same thing? Don't you believe that He'd let a mother, even up in heaven, have some way to comfort and help a son who was offering _his_ life to save the world? The men in the trenches can't see the stars we hang out for them here at home, but they feel our spirit of helpfulness flowing out to them. How do we know that the windows of heaven are not hung with stars that mean the same thing? How do we know but what those who watch and wait for us up there are not aiding us in ways greater than we dream possible? Helping us as Israel was helped, by the invisible hosts and chariots of fire, in the mountain round about Elisha?" The tenderest smile lit up his face. "It's strange you should have hit upon that particular story," he said. "It was one of my mother's favorites. She began telling it to me when I was no bigger than that little chap there, leaning against her shoulder." Then he turned and held out his hand, saying, "You've given me more than you can ever know, Miss Huntingdon. Thank you for hanging that little service star there. She does say Godspeed, and its help will go with me overseas." A little while later he went away, and I've wondered a dozen times since what made me say that to him. * * * * * The month of July in my 1917 calendar is a motley page, the first half of it being marked with a perfect jumble of red rings and black crosses. They stand for all that happened between my home-coming after Commencement and Richard's goodbye. When you consider that into one day alone was crowded my birthday anniversary, Babe's wedding, Aunt Elspeth's death, and the greatest experience of my life, it's no wonder that in looking back over it all July seems almost as long and eventful as all the years which went before it. There is a triple ring around the twenty-seventh. I couldn't make it red enough, for that is the joyful day that Richard's cablegram came, saying that he was safe in England. It was also the day that Babe came home from her honeymoon, alone, of course. Watson joined his ship two days after they left here, and she visited his people the rest of the time. I've not marked that event but I'll not forget it soon, because she was so provoking when I ran in to tell her my news. Not that she wasn't interested in hearing of Richard's safety, or that she wasn't enthusiastic about my engagement and my solitaire, but she had such a superior married air, as if the mere fact of her being Mrs. Watson Tucker made all she said and felt important. She gave me to understand that while it was natural that she should worry about Watson, and almost die of anxiety when the mails were late, I oughtn't to feel the separation as keenly as she, because I was merely engaged. "My _dear_, you can't realize the difference until you've had the experience," she said patronizingly. I told her Richard had been a part of my life ever since I was a child, and it stood to reason that he filled a larger place in it than Watson could in hers, having only come into it recently. It's no use arguing with Babe. You never get anywhere. So I just looked down on my little ring of pirate gold and felt sorry for her. She has no link like that to remind her of such buried treasure as Richard and I share--the memory of all those years when we were growing up together. Early in August I had the joy of putting a big red capital L on my calendar, to mark the day that Richard's first letter came. He was well, he had had a comfortable crossing, he had passed all his tests and begun his special training for the coast patrol. It is almost worth the separation to have a letter like that. Not only did he tell me right out in the dearest way how much he cares for me, regardless of the censor's possible embarrassment, but every line showed his buoyant spirits over the chance that has come to him at last. He has wanted it so desperately, tried for it so gallantly and worked and waited so patiently that I would be a selfish pig not to be glad too, and I _am_ glad. Judith asked how I had the heart to go into the tableaux that Mrs. Tupman is getting up for the Yarn fund. She was sure she couldn't if she were in my place. She'd be thinking all the time of the danger he is in. She wondered if I realized that the elements themselves conspire against an aviator--fire, earth and even water, if he's in the naval force, to say nothing of the risk of the enemy's guns. She couldn't understand it when I said I wasn't going to make myself miserable thinking of such things. And I'm not. He's having his heart's desire at last, and I'm so happy for him that I won't let myself be sorry for me. His next letter was written five thousand feet up in the air. He went to twenty thousand feet that trip, but couldn't write at such a height, because his hand got so cold he had to put his glove on. Of course it was only a short scribbled note, but it thrilled me to the core to have one written under such circumstances. In the postscript, added after landing, he said, "I never go up without wishing you could share with me the amazing sensations of such a flight. You would love the diving and twirling and swooping. You were always such a good little sport I don't like to have you left out of the game. Never mind, we'll have a flier of our own when I come back, and we'll go up every day. We had an exciting chase after some enemy planes the other day. We sent down one raiding Boche and came near getting winged ourselves. I wish I might tell you the important particulars, but the things which would interest you most are the very ones we are not at liberty to write about. All I can say is that life over here now is one perpetual thrill, and it's a source of constant thanksgiving to me that Fate landed me in this branch of the service instead of the one I was headed for when I skipped off to Canada." Even Richard's reference to the enemy planes which came near winging them did not fill me with uneasiness, because all his life he's gone through accidents unscathed. Once when he was only half-grown he brought his sailboat safely into port through a squall which crippled it, and old Captain Ames declared if it had been any other boy alongshore he'd have been drowned. That for level head and steady nerve he'd never seen his beat. Even back in the days when his crazy stunts in bicycle riding made the town's hair stand on end, he never had a bad fall. So I didn't worry when two weeks went by without bringing further word from him. But when three passed and then a whole month, I began to get anxious. Now that it's beginning on the second month, I'm awfully worried. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXIV BRAVE LITTLE CARRIER PIGEON! WE have had another storm. It wrecked so many vessels and sent so many fishermen to their death that the dreadful tenth of August will go down in the annals of Provincetown as a day of dole for the whole Cape. So many families suffered from it. Most of them are Portuguese, and many of them are totally unprovided for, now that their breadwinners are taken. At first it seemed to me that I just couldn't go down to the Fayals', but Tippy, who had been several times, said I ought to, because Mrs. Fayal has always been so good about coming in for an extra day's cleaning and has done our washing so many years, and I used to play with Rosalie. I didn't know what to say or do that could be of any possible comfort. But Rosalie clung to me so the night that her father was brought home, that I sat with them till morning. There wasn't a stronger, sturdier fisherman along the coast than Joe Fayal. I've seen him go clumping past our house a thousand times in his high boots and yellow oilskins, and the flash of his white teeth and black eyes always gave the impression of his being more alive than most people. When I saw the white drowned thing they brought home in place of him I began to be afraid--afraid of the "peril of the sea." If it can do _that_ to one strong man it can do it to another. All night Mrs. Fayal sat in a corner behind the stove. Sometimes she wrung her hands without a word, and sometimes she kept up a sort of moaning whimper--"The War took both my boys and now the Sea's taken my man!" I can hear her yet. The days that followed were too full for me to worry as much as I would have done otherwise over Richard's long silence. The poverty of all those desolate families came uppermost. A fund was started for the widows and orphans, and all parts of New England came to the rescue. Artists, actors, the summer people, the home folks--everybody responded. A series of benefits and tag days began. I was asked to serve on so many committees and to help in so many enterprises that I raced through the days as if I were a fast express train, trying to make connections. I didn't have time to think during the day, but at night when I lay counting up the time since I'd had a letter, the waves booming up against the breakwater took to repeating that wail of Mrs. Fayal's, and the fog bell tolled it: "_The Sea's taken my man_." And I'd be so afraid I'd pull the covers over my ears to shut out the sound. Then seven letters came in a bunch. The long silence had not been Richard's fault, nor was anything the matter. There had simply been delays in the mail service. I vowed I'd let that be a lesson to me, not to worry next time. Barby came home late in the summer, and the very day of her arrival I had to go to Brewster on a "war-bread" campaign. I had promised to be demonstrator any time they called for me. It was tough luck to have the call hit that first day. I hadn't had her to myself for ages, and after the wild scramble of the summer I longed for a quiet day in a rocking chair at home, where we could talk over all the things that had happened since the last time we were together--principally Richard. If there were no war now, I suppose that's about all we'd be doing these days, spending long, placid hours together, embroidering dainty lingerie and putting my initials on table linen and such things. But there'll be no "hope chest" for me while there's a soldier left in a hospital to need pajamas and bandages, or one in the trenches who needs socks. The wild beast is not only on our door-steps now, he has us by the very throats. Barby came with the intention of taking me back with her, and Tippy, too, if she could persuade her to go. Although we're not the very important hub of a very important wheel as she is in Washington, we are the hubs of a good many little wheels which we have started, and which would stop if we left. I was wild to go, but Tippy has no patience with people who put their hands to the plow and then look back. She kept reminding me of the various things that I have gotten into good running order, such as the Junior Red Cross, and a new Busy Bees Circle which Minnie Waite is running, under my direction and prodding. They are doing wonderfully well as long as the prodding never lets up. While we were debating the question it was settled for us in a most unexpected way. Old Mr. Carver telephoned that he needed me dreadfully in the office. Could I come and help him hold the fort for awhile? His son was very ill and had been taken to Boston for an operation. The draft had called so many men that practically the whole office force was new, and his stenographer had just left to take a government position. Much as Barby wanted me with her, she said that that settled it. Nothing a girl of my age could find to do in Washington was as important as that. Fish is a big item in the Nation's food supply and anything I could do to help carry on that business helped carry on the war. Also some of our income depended on the success of the Plant, and if old Mr. Sammy broke down under the responsibility, strangers would have to step in. Besides, Father would be gratified to have me called on in the emergency, just as Titcomb and Sammy III would have been if they were not in training camp. It was wonderful the way that old man rose up and took the reins again, after having been little more than a figurehead in the business for some years. He seemed to be in a dozen places at once, and he found many places to use me besides at the typewriter; sending me to bank, and helping the new bookkeeper fill out checks for the pay-roll, etc. I had the surprise of my life when I found my own name on the pay-roll. I had gone in to help out in the emergency, just as I would have gone to a neighbor's house in time of sickness. Also it was partly for our own interests, and I was being more than compensated by the feeling that I was doing something worth while filling in in place of drafted employees. I had no thought of being paid for it, nor of being wanted more than a few weeks. But Mr. Carver said I was worth more to him than an ordinary stenographer, even if I had forgotten a lot and lost my speed. I could answer many of the letters without dictation, and I knew so much of the inside workings of the business, he could trust me with confidential matters, and he could blow off steam to me when things went wrong. In other words, I could keep up his morale. Poor old fellow, he needed to have somebody keep it up, as time proved. His son had a relapse and there were weeks when he was desperately worried over his condition. He blew off steam principally about his daughter-in-law, whom he held responsible for the relapse. "Always a-crying and a-fretting about those boys," he would fume. "Min's a good woman and a good mother, but she's a selfish slacker with Sammy. Doesn't seem to think that a father _has_ any feelings. Doesn't realize that those boys are the apple of his eye. All her goings on about them, and how it's killing her, knowing they will surely be killed, when he's as weak as he is--it's a downright shame. She's only one of many, why can't she do like a million other mothers, keep her own hurt out of sight, at least till his life's out of danger." Well, when I found I was to be paid for my work, that he really thought I was worth the salary the other girl got, and that he wanted to keep me permanently, I was the happiest creature that ever banged the keys of a typewriter. For while I banged them I was counting up all the Liberty Bonds I could buy in the course of a year, and how much I'd have for the Red Cross, and how much for all the other things I wanted to do. Of course, I've always had my allowance, but it's nothing to the bliss of earning money with your own fingers, to do exactly as you please with. _There is no other sensation in the whole universe so gratifying, so satisfying and so beatifying!_ When the noon whistle blew I ran down the wharf and all the way home to tell Barby, then I put a big red ring round the date on the calendar. Before nightfall I put another ring around that one, for the postman brought me a long letter from Richard, a letter that made me so happy I felt like putting a red ring around the whole world. It was somewhat of a shock to find that it was written in a hospital, although he assured me in the very first paragraph that he was perfectly well, and over all the ill effects, before he went on to say ill effects of _what_. This is part of it: "Lieutenant Robbins and I went out for an observation flight over the enemy ports last Monday. Coming back something went wrong with the engine and we were compelled to drop at once to the sea. It was unusually rough and the waves so high there was danger of our light seaplane being beaten to pieces before we could be rescued. There was one chance in a thousand that some cruising patrol vessel might happen along near enough to sight us, but there were all sorts of chances a submarine might get us first. The wireless apparatus wouldn't work. We had been flying so high to get out of the bumps of air currents, and had been up so long that we were not in any shape to stand a long strain. Our chief hope of rescue was in the little carrier pigeon we had with us. We always take one, but this one had never made a trial trip as long as the one it would have to take now, and we didn't know whether it would fail us or not. Imagine us tossing about in that frail bit of wood and canvas, the waves washing over us at intervals, and land nowhere to be seen, watching that white speck wing its way out of sight. There was a while there when I'd have been willing to change places with old Noah, even if I had to crowd in with the whole Zoo. Well, we tossed around there for ages, it seemed to me, wet to the skin and chilled to the bone. All that night, all next day, and till dark again, we hung on desperately before a searchlight swept across us, and we saw a cruiser coming to our rescue. It had been hunting us all that time, for the bird went straight as an arrow with our S. O. S. call. "The other man was past talking when they found us, and I could barely chatter. We were both so exhausted we had to be hauled aboard like a couple of water-soaked logs. But a while in the hospital has put us back to normal again, and here we are as good as new and ready to go up again. We report for duty in the morning. "It bowled me over when I heard what happened to our brave little pigeon. Some fool took a shot at it, somewhere near the station probably, for it managed to keep going till it got home. Then, just as it reached the floor of its loft, it fell dead. A bell always rings as a carrier alights on the balanced platform. When the attendant answered the summons he found the pigeon lying there, one foot shot away, and blood on its little white breast. It had managed to fly the last part of its way, mortally wounded. Lucky for us it wasn't the leg with the message that was hit. I tell you it makes me feel mighty serious to think that but for those little wings, faithful to the last beat, I wouldn't be writing this letter at this present moment of A. D. 1917. "Two things kept coming into my mind, while numb and exhausted. I clung to that busted plane, expecting every minute it would give way under us. I saw that old wooden figurehead of "Hope" that sits up on the roof of the Tupman's portico at home. Probably I was going a bit nutty, for I could see it as plain as day. It opened its mouth and called to me over and over, that saying of Uncle Darcy's that you are always throwing at people. 'As long as a man keeps hope at the prow he keeps afloat.' It kept holding its old green, wooden wreath out at me as if it were a life preserver, and I'll give you my word it shouted loud enough for me to hear across the noise of the wind, 'as long as a man'--'as long as a man,' until I began to try to concentrate my mind on what it was saying. I actually believe the illusion or whatever it was helped me to hold on, for I began to obey orders. I hoped that the bird would reach home and hoped it so hard and long that it kept my wits awake. I was just at the point of letting go from sheer exhaustion and dropping into the sea, when it loomed up on the horizon. "Then a star came out in the sky, and I thought in a hazy way of the one in your service flag that stands for me, and I felt that if I didn't manage to hang on and get back to you in some way, you'd think I wasn't 'true blue.' Then as I kept on staring at it, gradually I began to confuse it with you. But that's not to be wondered at. Ever since I've known you I've unconsciously steered my course by you. You're so dependable. That's one of your finest traits. No matter what happens you'll just go around in the circle of your days, true to your ideals and your sense of duty. "And though everything was getting sort of confused to me out there in the black water, staring death in the face, there was an underlying comfort in the belief that even if I didn't get back you wouldn't go into a cloud of mourning for the rest of your days. You'd live out your life as it was intended, just like that star. I saw it again last night from the hospital window. It rises here before daylight has entirely faded. The astronomers may call it Hesperus if they want to, but I'll never see it again without calling it _you_." I have read that letter till I know it by heart. It is getting worn in the creases. But last night when the tolling of the fog-bell awakened me, I groped for it under my pillow and read it once more by the glow of my little flashlight. I wanted to see the words again in his own handwriting. I cannot read often enough the part that calls me "Star." That has always been the most beautiful of names to me, even when I gave it to one who wasn't worthy of it. I wonder if it would be possible to live up to it, though, if Richard should never come back to me. How could I endure the ordinary orbit of my days? Yet how could I disappoint him? Next day a package came which should have reached me with the letter. It was the little link of aluminum they took from the leg of the dead pigeon. Fastened to it was the cartridge that held the message. Brave little bird! It gave its life in the cause of liberty just as truly as any man in the trenches. I wish its deed could be immortalized in some way. It makes me shudder to think on what a frail thing Richard's life depended, just those little white wings, speeding through trackless space on their mission of rescue. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXV "MISSING" JANUARY 1, 1918.--I came up to my room tonight, thinking I'd start the New Year by bringing this record up to date; but when I look back on the long five months to be filled in, the task seems hopeless. It was Thanksgiving before Mr. Sammy was able to come back to work. Since then I've had shorter hours at the office, because they don't have so much work for a stenographer in the winter, but the extra time outside has been taken up by one breathless chase after another. When it isn't selling Liberty Bonds it is distributing leaflets about food conservation and the crime of wasting. Or it's a drive for a million more Red Cross members or a hurry call for surgical dressings. Then every minute in between it's knit, knit, knit everlastingly. Barby did not come home Christmas, and we did not keep the day for ourselves. We had our hands full doing for the families of the fishermen who were drowned last summer, and for the boys at the front and in the camps at home. I hope Richard got his box all right, and that Doctor John Wynne enjoyed the one Tippy packed for him, and the round-robin letter that Miss Susan and some of the Wellfleet people sent him. They started on their way before Thanksgiving. I saw "Cousin James" a few minutes to-day. He came down to take a look at his premises. The bungalow has been boarded up ever since last fall, when he joined the class of "a dollar a year" men, working for the government. We had such a good time talking about Richard. He's so optimistic about the war ending soon, that he left me feeling more light-hearted than I've been for months. It will, indeed, be a happy New Year if it brings us peace. * * * * * WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. Shades of Valley Forge! What a winter this is! It will go down in history with its wheatless and meatless days, and now that the fuel shortage is pinching all classes of people alike, the ant as well as the grasshopper, the heatless days make the situation almost hopeless. Tippy and I are living mostly in the kitchen now, because we are nearly at the end of our coal supply, and the railroads are not able to bring in any more. The open wood fires make little impression on the general iciness of the house. I am sitting up in my room to-night with furs and arctics on, and a big lamp burning to supplement the efforts of a little coal-oil heater. With all that it's so cold that I can see my breath. My fingers are so numb that I can scarcely manage my pen, but I must make a note of the news which came to-day. It's about Doctor Wynne. In January Tippy had a letter from him, a charmingly written account of Christmas in the trenches, and a grateful acknowledgment of the box and the letter. This morning a small package came to me, addressed in a strange hand. An English nurse sent it. Inside she wrote: "Captain John Wynne asked me to send you the enclosed. He was in this hospital three weeks, and died last night from the effect of injuries received in doing one of the bravest things the war has yet called forth. He faced what seemed to be instant and inevitable death to avert an explosion that would have killed his Major and many men with him. In the attempt he was so badly wounded that it was thought he could not live to reach the hospital. But maimed and shattered as he was, he lived until last night. "He was one of the most efficient surgeons we had at the front, and one of the best beloved. His fortitude through his time of intense suffering was a marvel to the whole hospital staff, accustomed as we are to nurse brave men. It really seemed as if he were sustained by some power other than mere human endurance, some strength of the spirit few mortals attain. "It was a source of regret to all who knew of his case that the decoration awarded him did not arrive until after he lapsed into unconsciousness. But he knew he was to receive it. His Colonel told him he was to have the highest award for valor that your country bestows. He had already told me what disposition to make of his effects, and when I asked him in regard to the expected decoration he gave me your address whispering, 'She will know.'" I _did_ know. It is hanging now where he knew I would put it. This afternoon when I came home I brought with me a little gold star to take the place of the blue one on the service flag under his mother's picture. And over it I hung the medal--that other star, bronze and laurel-wreathed, with its one word "Valor," surmounted by its eagle and its bit of ribbon. Tippy, watching me, suddenly buried her face in her apron and went out of the room, crying as I have never seen her cry before. I knew it wasn't the thought that he was gone which hurt her so keenly. It was the fact that the little token of his country's appreciation reached him too late. He missed the comfort of it himself, and there was no one of his own left to know the honor done him and to take pride in it. I had been feeling the hurt of it myself, ever since the news came. But it left me as I stood there, looking at the pictures in the little antique frame. The winter sunset, streaming red across the icicles outside the western window, touched everything in the room with a tinge of rose. It lighted up both faces, and, as I looked at his, I whispered through tears: "What does a little guerdon matter to a soul like yours, John Wynne? The deed was all you cared for." And when I looked into his mother's face and recalled what the nurse had written, I dried my eyes and smiled into her eyes, that were looking so steadfastly out at me. I _knew_ she had helped him at the last. In some way her comfort had been with him, as the hosts "were round about Elisha in the mountain." * * * * * ST. PATRICK'S DAY. March came in like a lion, but we're comfortable now, thank goodness, in spite of the fact that the winds are still keen and there is much ice in the harbor. The coal cars reached town at last, and the big base-burner in the hall sends waves of delicious warmth all through the house. This past winter has been a nightmare of discomfort for nearly everybody. Babe says her experiences since 1918 set in would make the angels weep. She's been doing the housekeeping since New Year, because her mother simply cannot adjust herself to war conditions. Mrs. Dorsey announced that she was born extravagant and it wasn't her nature to save, but if Babe thought it was her duty and was willing to undertake it, she'd put up with the results no matter how harrowing. They get along pretty well when Mr. Dorsey is off on his trips, but I imagine harrowing is the right word for it when he's at home. He simply won't eat cornbread, and he swears at the mere sight of meat substitutes, such as mock turkey made of beans and peanut butter and things. Babe, having married into the Navy, feels that she is under special obligation to Hooverize to the limit. She wants to end the war as soon as possible on Watson's account. In fact, she makes such a personal matter of it that she's getting herself disliked in some parts of town, and some people seem to think she is in a way responsible for the whole thing. A Portuguese woman asked Tippy the other day how long she supposed that "Mrs. Tucker's war" was going to last. She said Babe is down in their back yards every few days, looking into their slop-pails and scolding something fierce if she finds the potato parings thicker than she says they can be. Poor Babe! Between the demands of her patriotism and the demands of her difficult parents she is almost distracted at times. I wish I could write down in these pages all the funny things that happen. Never a day goes by, either at the office or the Red Cross work-rooms, that something amusing doesn't come up. But by the time I've told it in one letter for Barby to pass on to Father, and in another to make Richard laugh, I haven't the patience to write it all out again here. The consequence is I'm afraid I've given the wrong impression of these last few months. One would think there have been no good times, no good cheer. That it's been all work and grim duty. But such is not the case. My letters will testify to that, and it's only because so much time and energy have gone into them that things have to be crowded into a few brief paragraphs in this book. Despite all the gruesomeness of war and my separation from my family, I am so busy that I'm really and truly happy from morning till night. I enjoy my work at the office and my work at home and all the kinds of war-work that come my way. It's a satisfaction merely to turn out clean, well-typed pages, but it's bliss unalloyed to know that the money I'm getting for doing it is going to buy bread and bullets to bring about the downfall of the Kaiser. Sometimes when old Mr. Sammy is feeling especially hopeful and there's nobody in the office but me, he begins to hum an old camp-meeting tune that they sing at his church: "Coming bye and bye, coming bye and bye! A better day is dawning, the morning draweth nigh." I join in with a convincing alto, and afterwards we say what a glorious old world this will be when that day really gets here. "When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah," the war won and the world made a safe place for everybody. How lovely it will be just to draw a full breath and settle down and _live_. At such times it seems such a grand privilege to have even the smallest share in bringing that victory about, that he's all but shouting when we get through talking, and I've accumulated enough enthusiasm to send me through the next week with a whoop. Sometimes if there isn't anything to do right then in the office, I turn from the desk and look out of the window, with eyes that see far beyond the harbor to the happy dawning we've been singing about. I see Richard ... climbing the Green Stairs ... coming into the little home we furnished together in fancy ... the little Dream-home where I've spent so many happy hours since. I can see the smile in his dear eyes as he holds his arms out to me ... having earned the right to make all our dreams come true ... having fought the good fight ... and kept the faith ... that all homes may be safe and sacred everywhere the wide world over.... When one can dream dreams like that, one can put up with "the long, long night of waiting," knowing it will have such a heavenly ending. APRIL 6, 1918. One year ago to-day the United States declared---- I had written only that far last Saturday night when I looked up to see Tippy standing in the door holding out the evening paper. I felt as I heard her coming along the hall that something was the matter. She walked so hesitatingly. Something in her face seemed to make my heart stand still, and stopped the question I started to ask. She didn't seem to be able to speak, just spread the paper on the table in front of me and pointed to something. Her finger was shaking. The four black words she pointed to seemed to leap up into my face as I read them: "_Lieutenant Richard Moreland, Missing._" Those four black words have been in front of my eyes ever since. They were in the official announcement that "Cousin James" brought down next day. He had been notified as next of kin. [Illustration: "Lieutenant Richard Moreland Missing"] At first they seemed more bearable than if they'd said killed or seriously wounded. I didn't quite grasp the full meaning of "missing." But I do now. I heard "Cousin James" say in a low tone to Tippy, out in the hall, something about death being more merciful than falling alive into the hands of the Germans. He told her some of the things they do. I know he's afraid that Richard has been taken prisoner. He keeps telling me that we mustn't be down-hearted. That we must go on hoping as hard as we can that everything will turn out all right. The War Department is doing its best to trace him, and if he's a prisoner we'll spare no expense and effort to get food through to him. They always treat aviators with more consideration than other soldiers, and I mustn't worry. But he doesn't look one bit the way he talks. His face is so haggard that I know he's frightened sick. Barby is, too, or she wouldn't have come all the way home to tell me the very same things that he did. She wants to take me back to Washington with her till we have farther news. She's cabled to Father. I know they all think it's strange that I take it so quietly, but I've felt numb and dazed ever since those four black words leaped up at me from the paper. I wish they wouldn't be so tender with me and so solicitous for my comfort. It's exactly the way they'd act if Richard were dead. I'm glad "Cousin James" went right back. He looked at me the way Tippy does, as if she pities me so that it breaks her heart. She doesn't know what her face shows. None of them realize that their very efforts to be cheerful and comforting show that their hopefulness is only make-believe. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXVI "THE SERVICE OF SHINING" AWAY down the crooked street sounds a faint clang of the Towncrier's bell. Uncle Darcy is out again with it, after his long, shut-in winter. But he is coming very, very slowly. Even the warm sunshine of this wonderful May afternoon cannot quicken his rheumatic old feet so that they do more than crawl along. It will be at least half an hour before he reaches the Green Stairs. He will sit down to rest a bit on the bottom step, as he always does now, and I'll run down and meet him there. He helps me more than anyone else, because, more than anyone else, he understands what I am enduring. He remembers what he endured all those anxious years when Danny was missing. It's a comfort to have him tell me over and over how his "line to live by" kept him afloat and brought him into port with all flags flying, and that it will do the same for me if I only hold to it fast and hard enough. So I set my teeth together and repeat grimly as he used to do: "I will not bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward." But my imagination won't let me say it in a way to do much good. It keeps showing me dreadful pictures of Richard; of what might have happened to him. I keep seeing his body in some God-forsaken field, lying shattered and marred past recognition by the enemy's guns, his dead face turned up to the sky. Or I see him falling headlong to earth in a blazing plane, or, worst of all, in the filth of a German prison camp, weak, wounded, famishing for food and water and tortured in a thousand ways that only the minds of those demons can invent. All the things I've read as happening to other men I imagine happening to him. I see those things over and over and over till I nearly go mad. When I fold the gauze into bandages and sew the long seams in the hospital garments, with every movement and every stitch I wonder if he needs such comforts, and if needing them, they are given or denied him. I know it doesn't do any good to say that I am hoping as long as I persist in such imaginings, but I don't want to think about anything but Richard. My hands go on working in a normal way, but when I'm not torturing myself as to his whereabouts, I am re-living the past, or picturing the empty years ahead if he should never come back to me. I can't help it. Because in one of his letters he mentioned that old figurehead on the roof of the Tupman's portico, I have taken to walking past the house every day. Everything even remotely connected with him seems sacred now, even the things he used to laugh at. Because the memory of the figurehead helped him to hang on to the wrecked plane till rescue came, I feel as grateful to it as if it were a human being. Every time I pass it I tell myself I won't stop hoping for a single minute. I won't let myself believe anything else but that he'll come back to me some day. Then with the next breath comes that awful vision of him lying dead in some lonely spot where he can never be found, and it seems to me I simply can't go on living. "Cousin James" still writes encouragingly, but as the weeks go by and no trace of him can be found in any of the hospitals and no news of him comes through any of the foreign offices, the suspense is getting to be unbearable. I can't admit to anyone how horribly afraid I am, but it is a relief to confess it here. Now that I've done so, I'll run down and talk to Uncle Darcy awhile. He is the living embodiment of hope and faith. The confident, happy way with which he looks forward to joining Aunt Elspeth soon makes me feel better every time I am with him. It brings back what Richard said the day she was buried: "All that they were to each other we will be to one another, and _more_." If I could only be sure that after this terrible waiting will come such long, placid years as they had! Years of growing nearer and dearer, in a union that old age only strengthens, and death cannot sever. * * * * * _Mid-June, and still no word!_ Now that no new letters ever come, I read the old ones over and over. The one I take out oftenest is the one which says, "No matter what happens, you'll go around in the circle of your days, true to your ideals and your sense of duty. You won't go into a cloud of mourning.... You will live out your life as it was intended, just like that star." Always, until to-night, that letter has been a comfort, because it tells of his wonderful rescue, and gives me the feeling that if he could escape so marvelously one time he can another. But re-reading that paragraph a while ago, I suddenly saw something in it that I'd never discovered before. It shows he must have had a presentiment that he'd never get back to me. He knew what was going to happen, else why should he have said "you won't go into a cloud of mourning ... you'll live out your life as it was intended!" The discovery of that premonition takes away the last little straw that I've been clinging to. He felt what was going to happen. It has happened. It must be so, for it is over two months now since he was first reported missing. * * * * * One goes on because one must. We're made that way on purpose, I suppose. When sight fails we still have touch. We can feel our way through the dark with groping fingers. All the glad incentive for living is gone, but when I look at the star in the little service flag which stands for Richard, every atom of me lifts itself like a drawn sword to pledge itself to greater effort. _His sacrifice shall not be in vain!_ And when I look at the star that stands for Father, I make the same vow. He is sacrificing himself just as surely as Richard did, though he's giving his life by inches. His health is going, and his strength. Twenty-four hours at a stretch at the operating table is too much for any man, and that's what he's had to endure a number of times recently after the big enemy offensives. Always he's on a strain. One of Mr. Carver's friends who saw him not long ago, wrote home that he has aged terribly. He looks fifteen years older than when we saw him. Tippy says I'm burning the candle at both ends, but I don't care if I can only keep burning till we've put an end to this mad carnage. The other day when I passed the Figurehead House, Mrs. Tupman called me in and asked me if I'd be willing to tell the story of Richard's rescue and the little Carrier Pigeon's part in it, at the Town Hall this week. There's to be a big rally for selling Thrift Stamps. She wanted me to show the children the tiny aluminum bracelet and cartridge which held the S. O. S. call. She was sure that if they could hear how one little pigeon saved the lives of two officers, they would be impressed with the importance of small things. They would be more interested in saving their pennies if they could think of their stamps as little wings, speeding across the seas to save the lives of our armies. But I told her I couldn't. I'd do anything impersonal that she might ask, but I couldn't get up before a crowd and speak of anything so intimately connected with Richard. I could have done it gladly when he was alive, but now that little link of aluminum has associations too sacred for me to hold up for the curious public to gape at. But after supper, out in the row-boat, I saw things differently. I was paddling around near shore, watching the wonderful afterglow reflected in the water, pink and mother-of-pearl and faintest lavender. It was all unspeakably beautiful, as it has been countless times when Richard was out with me. Because of the conviction that we'd never again see it together, the very beauty of it gave me a lonely, hopeless sort of heart-ache. It is one of the most desolate sensations in the world, and it is a poignant pain to remember that "tender grace of a day that is dead," which "can never come back to me." As those words floated dreamily through my memory, with them came the recollection of the time I had repeated them in this very boat, and Richard's unexpected answer which set Captain Kidd to barking. I could hear again his hearty laugh and the teasing way he said, "That's no way for a good sport to do." It brought him back so plainly that I could almost see him sitting there opposite me in the boat, so big and cheerful and _alive_. The sense of nearness to him was almost as comforting as if he had really spoken. And then, knowing him as well as I do, knowing exactly how he always responded, in such a common-sense, matter-of-fact way, I could imagine the answer he would make were I to tell him of Mrs. Tupman's request. "Why, sure!" he'd say. "_Tell_ the story of the little pigeon, and make it such a ripping good one there won't be a dry eye in the house. It'll give the little fellow the chance for another flight. Every stamp they sell will be in answer to an S.O.S. call of some kind, and if it's the bird that makes them buy, it'll be just the same as if his own little wings had carried the message." The thought cheered me up so much that I went straight home and telephoned to Mrs. Tupman that I'd reconsidered, and I'd gladly do what she asked me to. Since then I've taken to going out in the boat whenever my courage is at low ebb. Out there on the water, in the peace of the vast twilight dropping down on the sea, I can conjure up that sense of his nearness as nowhere else. It has the same effect on my feverish spirit as if his big firm hand closed gently over mine. It quiets my forebodings. It steadies me. It makes me know past all doubting that no matter what has happened, he is still mine. His love abides. Death cannot take _that_. * * * * * Oh, what does a person do who is so glad--so _crazy_ glad that he must find vent for his joy, when there are no words made great enough to express it? _We've had news of Richard!_ He's safe! He escaped from a German prison camp. That's all we know now, but it is all of heaven to know that much. The news of his safety came as suddenly as the word that he was missing. Tippy called me to come down to the telephone. Long distance wanted me. It was "Cousin James." He had a cablegram from that Canadian friend of Richard's. We had an expensive little jubilee for a while there. You don't think of how much it's costing a minute when you're talking about the dead coming to life. It was as wonderful as that. "Cousin James" said undoubtedly we would have letters soon. The fact that Richard had not cabled for himself, made him afraid that he was laid up for repairs. He was probably half-starved and weak to the point of exhaustion from all he'd gone through in making his escape. So we must have patience if we didn't hear right away. We could wait for details now that we had the greatest news of all, and so forth and so on. The moment he rang off I started down to Uncle Darcy's, telling Tippy all there was to tell, as I clapped on my hat and hurried through the hall. I started down the back street half running. The baker's cart gave me a lift down Bradford Street. I was almost breathless when I reached the gate. Uncle Darcy was dozing in his arm-chair set out in the dooryard. There flashed into my mind that day long ago, when _his_ hopes found happy fulfillment and Dan came home. That day Father came back from China and we all went out to meet the ship and came ashore in the motor boat. And now I called out to him what I had called to him then, through the dashing spray and the noise of the wind and waves and motor: "It _pays_ to keep hope at the prow, Uncle Darcy!" And he, rousing up with a start at the familiar call, smiled a welcome and answered as he did when I was a child, the same affectionate light in his patient old eyes. "Aye, lass, it does _that_!" "And we're coming into port with all flags flying!" Then he knew. The trembling joy in my voice told him. "You've heard from Richard!" he exclaimed quaveringly, "and you've come to tell the old man first of all. I knew you would." And then for a little while we sat and rejoiced together as only two old mariners might, who had each known shipwreck and storm and who had each known the joy of finding happy anchorage in his desired haven. * * * * * On the way home I stopped to tell Babe. Good old Babe. She was so glad that the tears streamed down her face. "Now I can help with _your_ wedding," was her first remark. "Of course, he'll have to be invalided home, for I don't suppose he's more than skin and bone if he's been in the hands of the Germans all this time. But, under the circumstances, you won't mind marrying a living skeleton. I know _I_ wouldn't if I were in your place. He'll be coming right back, of course." Everybody I met seemed to think the same thing. They took it for granted that he'd done all that could be expected of a man. That three months in a German prison was equal to several dyings. After I got home I told Captain Kidd. He was lying on the rug inside the hall door with his nose between his paws, seemingly asleep. "Richard's coming," was all I said to him, but up he scrambled with that little yap of joy and ran to the screen door scratching and whining to be let out. It was so human of him that I just grabbed his shaggy old head in my arms and hugged him tight. "He's coming some day," I explained to him, "but we'll have to wait a while, old fellow, maybe a long, long while. But we won't mind that now, after all we've been through. Just now it's enough to know that he's alive and safe." * * * * * MY NINETEENTH BIRTHDAY. It's wonderful that Richard's letter should happen to get here on this particular day. The sight of his familiar handwriting gave me such a thrill that it brought the tears. It was almost as if he had called my name, seeing it written out in his big, bold hand. He says he can't tell me the details of his experiences now. They are too fierce for him to attempt to put on paper till he is stronger. Babe was right. He's almost the shadow of his former self. But he says he is beginning to pick up famously. He is in Switzerland, staying with a family who were old friends of his father's. They are taking royal care of him, and he's coming around all right. The wound in his arm (he doesn't say how he got it) is healing rapidly. Oh, it's a dear letter--all the parts in between about wanting to see me, and my being doubly dear to him now--but he doesn't say a word about coming home. Not one word! * * * * * A WEEK LATER. He has written again, and he is not coming home until the war is over. He'll be able to go back into the service in a couple of months, maybe sooner, if he stays on quietly there. It isn't that he does not want to come. He has been behind the lines and seen the awfulness. It must be stopped. Those prison camps must be wiped out! We must win as soon as possible! He feels, as never before, the necessity for quick action, and he makes me feel it too. "Dad's sacrifice must not be in vain," he writes. "Nor Belgium's, nor the hordes of brave men who have fallen since. And we must not go on sacrificing other lives. _This thing has got to be stopped!_ "I know you feel the same way about it, Georgina. I'm sure that you want me to stay on here without asking for a furlough, since by staying I can be up and at it again sooner. Say that you do, dearest, so that I may feel your courage back of me to the last ditch." I have said it. The answer is already on its way. How could I be selfish enough to think of anything but the great need? I am only one of many. In millions of windows hang stars that tell of anxious hearts, just as anxious as mine, and of men at the front just as dear to those who love them as mine. I can wait! And waiting-- _I see Richard ... climbing the Green Stairs ... coming into the little Home of our Dreams! I see the smile in his dear eyes as he holds out his arms to me ... having earned the right to make all those dreams come true ... having fought the good fight ... and kept the faith ... that all homes may be safe and sacred everywhere, the wide world over...._ And seeing thus, I can put up with my "long, long night of waiting," thinking only of that heavenly ending! [Illustration] WHERE THE SOULS OF MEN ARE CALLING The first big love story to come out of the war zone--founded on fact more strange, more powerful than fiction. The author, Lt. Credo Harris, stationed in France with the International Red Cross, is a Kentuckian. He just couldn't keep out of it "Over There." His story starts with the entrance of America into the war and ends on the firing line of France. There is charm and skill in his style which insures keenest interest on the part of the reader. What the Critics are saying: "A story of strong characters blended, it exemplifies the old maxim that 'truth is stranger than fiction,' and in this case more powerful."--Buffalo News. "One of those books that grip and grip."--Milwaukee Sentinel. "A book worth while and a book to recommend."--Louisville Herald. "Combines the interest of character study with a realistic picture of life in the war zone."--Courier Journal. "Jeb proves that a coward can become the bravest of men."--Pittsburgh Chronicle-Telegraph. Attractively bound in cloth $1.35 net By All Means Read this Book Britton Publishing Company New York Every grown-up will remember the time when "Chicken Little" was a most wonderful tale with which to open wide the eyes of children. Many a fond mother will be glad to know of another "Chicken Little" just brought to light in handsome book form under the alluring title CHICKEN LITTLE JANE A DELIGHTFUL STORY BY LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE Little folk will at once fall in love with this new "Chicken Little" of the far western prairies--the same being an affectionate nick-name given to a dear little girl and always used when she was very, very good--but when she misbehaved it was "Jane"!--just Jane! This book is illustrated and decorated with unusually attractive pictures by Charles D. Hubbard. Cloth, $1.25 Britton Publishing Company New York Over the Seas for Uncle Sam By ELAINE STERNE, Author of "The Road of Ambition" Miss Sterne is Senior Lieutenant of the Navy League Honor Guard, which has charge of entertainment and visitation in behalf of sick and wounded sailors sent home for hospital treatment. Their experiences, such as may be published at this time, now appear in book form. This book brings out many thrilling adventures that have occurred in the war zone of the high seas--and has official sanction. Miss Sterne's descriptive powers are equaled by few. She has the dramatic touch which compels interest. Her book, which contains many photographic scenes, will be warmly welcomed in navy circles, and particularly by those in active service. Cloth Illuminated Jacket $1.35 Net Ambulancing on the French Front By EDWARD P. COYLE Here is a collection of intensely interesting episodes related by a Young American who served as a volunteer with the French Army--Red Cross Division. His book is to the field of mercy what those of Empey, Holmes and Peat have been in describing the vicissitudes of army life. The author spent ten months in ambulance work on the Verdun firing line. What he saw and did is recounted with most graphic clearness. This book contains many illustrations photographed on the spot showing with vivid exactitude the terrors of rescue work under the fire of the big guns. Cloth 16 Full page Illustrations $1.35 Net Britton Publishing Company New York A THOUSAND WAYS TO PLEASE A HUSBAND By LOUISE BENNETT WEAVER and HELEN COWLES LE CRON _With Decorations in Color_ By ELIZABETH COLBORNE _A SPLENDID GIFT FOR A BRIDE_ This volume is not the usual dull plodding kitchen cook book made up from "collected" recipes and enlivened by photographic reproductions of cakes, pies, roasted turkeys, and tables set with knives and forks placed "just so." Rather it is the "life and adventures" of "Bob" and "Bettina," who sail into the complexities of housekeeping the moment the wedding journey is at an end. Bettina's "know-how," plus "Bob's" good-natured helpfulness, bring about immediate success to a lively and interesting attempt at home-building. Unique--practical--for two people in particular and small families in general. For economy and plenty at one and the same time it has no equal. 479 Pages Extra Illustrated $1.50 net Britton Publishing Company New York * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Author spells shiny both as "shiny" and "shiney." Varied hyphenation retained. Page 119, "State" changed to "States" (of the "_United States_") Page 193, "celler" changed to "cellar" (them down cellar) Page 247, "worthing" changed to "worth" (worth having) Page 249, "soltaire" changed to "solitaire" (a beautiful solitaire) 
4117	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 PREFACE Although the Diary of Samuel Pepys has been in the hands of the public for nearly seventy years, it has not hitherto appeared in its entirety. In the original edition of 1825 scarcely half of the manuscript was printed. Lord Braybrooke added some passages as the various editions were published, but in the preface to his last edition he wrote: "there appeared indeed no necessity to amplify or in any way to alter the text of the Diary beyond the correction of a few verbal errors and corrupt passages hitherto overlooked." The public knew nothing as to what was left unprinted, and there was therefore a general feeling of gratification when it was announced some eighteen years ago that a new edition was to be published by the Rev. Mynors Bright, with the addition of new matter equal to a third of the whole. It was understood that at last the Diary was to appear in its entirety, but there was a passage in Mr. Bright's preface which suggested a doubt respecting the necessary completeness. He wrote: "It would have been tedious to the reader if I had copied from the Diary the account of his daily work at the office." As a matter of fact, Mr. Bright left roughly speaking about one-fifth of the whole Diary still unprinted, although he transcribed the whole, and bequeathed his transcript to Magdalene College. It has now been decided that the whole of the Diary shall be made public, with the exception of a few passages which cannot possibly be printed. It may be thought by some that these omissions are due to an unnecessary squeamishness, but it is not really so, and readers are therefore asked to have faith in the judgment of the editor. Where any passages have been omitted marks of omission are added, so that in all cases readers will know where anything has been left out. Lord Braybrooke made the remark in his "Life of Pepys," that "the cipher employed by him greatly resembles that known by the name of 'Rich's system.'" When Mr. Bright came to decipher the MS., he discovered that the shorthand system used by Pepys was an earlier one than Rich's, viz., that of Thomas Shelton, who made his system public in 1620. In his various editions Lord Braybrooke gave a large number of valuable notes, in the collection and arrangement of which he was assisted by the late Mr. John Holmes of the British Museum, and the late Mr. James Yeowell, sometime sub-editor of "Notes and Queries." Where these notes are left unaltered in the present edition the letter "B." has been affixed to them, but in many instances the notes have been altered and added to from later information, and in these cases no mark is affixed. A large number of additional notes are now supplied, but still much has had to be left unexplained. Many persons are mentioned in the Diary who were little known in the outer world, and in some instances it has been impossible to identify them. In other cases, however, it has been possible to throw light upon these persons by reference to different portions of the Diary itself. I would here ask the kind assistance of any reader who is able to illustrate passages that have been left unnoted. I have received much assistance from the various books in which the Diary is quoted. Every writer on the period covered by the Diary has been pleased to illustrate his subject by quotations from Pepys, and from these books it has often been possible to find information which helps to explain difficult passages in the Diary. Much illustrative matter of value was obtained by Lord Braybrooke from the "Diurnall" of Thomas Rugge, which is preserved in the British Museum (Add. MSS. 10,116, 10,117). The following is the description of this interesting work as given by Lord Braybrooke "MERCURIUS POLITICUS REDIVIVUS; or, A Collection of the most materiall occurrances and transactions in Public Affairs since Anno Dni, 1659, untill 28 March, 1672, serving as an annuall diurnall for future satisfaction and information, BY THOMAS RUGGE. Est natura hominum novitatis avida.--Plinius. "This MS. belonged, in 1693, to Thomas Grey, second Earl of Stamford. It has his autograph at the commencement, and on the sides are his arms (four quarterings) in gold. In 1819, it was sold by auction in London, as part of the collection of Thomas Lloyd, Esq. (No. 1465), and was then bought by Thomas Thorpe, bookseller. Whilst Mr. Lloyd was the possessor, the MS. was lent to Dr. Lingard, whose note of thanks to Mr. Lloyd is preserved in the volume. From Thorpe it appears to have passed to Mr. Heber, at the sale of whose MSS. in Feb. 1836, by Mr. Evans, of Pall Mall, it was purchased by the British Museum for L8 8s. "Thomas Rugge was descended from an ancient Norfolk family, and two of his ancestors are described as Aldermen of Norwich. His death has been ascertained to have occurred about 1672; and in the Diary for the preceding year he complains that on account of his declining health, his entries will be but few. Nothing has been traced of his personal circumstances beyond the fact of his having lived for fourteen years in Covent Garden, then a fashionable locality." Another work I have found of the greatest value is the late Mr. J. E. Doyle's "Official Baronage of England" (1886), which contains a mass of valuable information not easily to be obtained elsewhere. By reference to its pages I have been enabled to correct several erroneous dates in previous notes caused by a very natural confusion of years in the case of the months of January, February, and March, before it was finally fixed that the year should commence in January instead of March. More confusion has probably been introduced into history from this than from any other cause of a like nature. The reference to two years, as in the case of, say, Jan. 5, 1661-62, may appear clumsy, but it is the only safe plan of notation. If one year only is mentioned, the reader is never sure whether or not the correction has been made. It is a matter for sincere regret that the popular support was withheld from Mr. Doyle's important undertaking, so that the author's intention of publishing further volumes, containing the Baronies not dealt with in those already published, was frustrated. My labours have been much lightened by the kind help which I have received from those interested in the subject. Lovers of Pepys are numerous, and I have found those I have applied to ever willing to give me such information as they possess. It is a singular pleasure, therefore, to have an opportunity of expressing publicly my thanks to these gentlemen, and among them I would especially mention Messrs. Fennell, Danby P. Fry, J. Eliot Hodgkin, Henry Jackson, J. K. Laughton, Julian Marshall, John Biddulph Martin, J. E. Matthew, Philip Norman, Richard B. Prosser, and Hugh Callendar, Fellow of Trinity College, who verified some of the passages in the manuscript. To the Master and Fellows of Magdalene College, also, I am especially indebted for allowing me to consult the treasures of the Pepysian Library, and more particularly my thanks are due to Mr. Arthur G. Peskett, the Librarian. H. B. W. BRAMPTON, OPPIDANS ROAD, LONDON, N.W. February, 1893. PREVIOUS EDITIONS OF THE DIARY. I. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II., comprising his Diary from 1659 to 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, A.B., of St. John's College, Cambridge, from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library, and a Selection from his Private Correspondence. Edited by Richard, Lord Braybrooke. In two volumes. London, Henry Colburn . . . 1825. 4vo. 2. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S. . . . Second edition. In five volumes. London, Henry Colburn . . . . 1828. 8vo. 3. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II.; with a Life and Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke; the third edition, considerably enlarged. London, Henry Colburn . . . . 1848-49. 5 vols. sm. 8vo. 4. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S. . . . The fourth edition, revised and corrected. In four volumes. London, published for Henry Colburn by his successors, Hurst and Blackett . . . 1854. 8vo. The copyright of Lord Braybrooke's edition was purchased by the late Mr. Henry G. Bohn, who added the book to his Historical Library. 5. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., from his MS. Cypber in the Pepysian Library, with a Life and Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke. Deciphered, with additional notes, by the Rev. Mynors Bright, M.A. . . . London, Bickers and Son, 1875-79. 6 vols. 8vo. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 being out of copyright have been reprinted by various publishers. No. 5 is out of print. PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF SAMUEL PEPYS. The family of Pepys is one of considerable antiquity in the east of England, and the Hon. Walter Courtenay Pepys [Mr. W. C. Pepys has paid great attention to the history of his family, and in 1887 he published an interesting work entitled "Genealogy of the Pepys Family, 1273-1887," London, George Bell and Sons, which contains the fullest pedigrees of the family yet issued.] says that the first mention of the name that he has been able to find is in the Hundred Rolls (Edw. I, 1273), where Richard Pepis and John Pepes are registered as holding lands in the county of Cambridge. In the next century the name of William Pepis is found in deeds relating to lands in the parish of Cottenham, co. Cambridge, dated 1329 and 1340 respectively (Cole MSS., British Museum, vol. i., p. 56; vol. xlii., p. 44). According to the Court Roll of the manor of Pelhams, in the parish of Cottenham, Thomas Pepys was "bayliffe of the Abbot of Crowland in 1434," but in spite of these references, as well as others to persons of the same name at Braintree, Essex, Depedale, Norfolk, &c., the first ancestor of the existing branches of the family from whom Mr. Walter Pepys is able to trace an undoubted descent, is "William Pepis the elder, of Cottenham, co. Cambridge," whose will is dated 20th March, 1519. In 1852 a curious manuscript volume, bound in vellum, and entitled "Liber Talboti Pepys de instrumentis ad Feoda pertinentibus exemplificatis," was discovered in an old chest in the parish church of Bolney, Sussex, by the vicar, the Rev. John Dale, who delivered it to Henry Pepys, Bishop of Worcester, and the book is still in the possession of the family. This volume contains various genealogical entries, and among them are references to the Thomas Pepys of 1434 mentioned above, and to the later William Pepys. The reference to the latter runs thus:-- "A Noate written out of an ould Booke of my uncle William Pepys." "William Pepys, who died at Cottenham, 10 H. 8, was brought up by the Abbat of Crowland, in Huntingdonshire, and he was borne in Dunbar, in Scotland, a gentleman, whom the said Abbat did make his Bayliffe of all his lands in Cambridgeshire, and placed him in Cottenham, which William aforesaid had three sonnes, Thomas, John, and William, to whom Margaret was mother naturallie, all of whom left issue." In illustration of this entry we may refer to the Diary of June 12th, 1667, where it is written that Roger Pepys told Samuel that "we did certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland." The references to various members of the family settled in Cottenham and elsewhere, at an early date already alluded to, seem to show that there is little foundation for this very positive statement. With regard to the standing of the family, Mr. Walter Pepys writes:-- "The first of the name in 1273 were evidently but small copyholders. Within 150 years (1420) three or four of the name had entered the priesthood, and others had become connected with the monastery of Croyland as bailiffs, &c. In 250 years (1520) there were certainly two families: one at Cottenham, co. Cambridge, and another at Braintree, co. Essex, in comfortable circumstances as yeomen farmers. Within fifty years more (1563), one of the family, Thomas, of Southcreeke, co. Norfolk, had entered the ranks of the gentry sufficiently to have his coat-of-arms recognized by the Herald Cooke, who conducted the Visitation of Norfolk in that year. From that date the majority of the family have been in good circumstances, with perhaps more than the average of its members taking up public positions." There is a very general notion that Samuel Pepys was of plebeian birth because his father followed the trade of a tailor, and his own remark, "But I believe indeed our family were never considerable,"--[February 10th, 1661-62.] has been brought forward in corroboration of this view, but nothing can possibly be more erroneous, and there can be no doubt that the Diarist was really proud of his descent. This may be seen from the inscription on one of his book-plates, where he is stated to be:-- "Samuel Pepys of Brampton in Huntingdonshire, Esq., Secretary of the Admiralty to his Matr. King Charles the Second: Descended from ye antient family of Pepys of Cottenham in Cambridgeshire." Many members of the family have greatly distinguished themselves since the Diarist's day, and of them Mr. Foss wrote ("Judges of England," vol. vi., p. 467):-- "In the family of Pepys is illustrated every gradation of legal rank from Reader of an Inn of Court to Lord High Chancellor of England." The William Pepys of Cottenham who commences the pedigree had three sons and three daughters; from the eldest son (Thomas) descended the first Norfolk branch, from the second son (John Pepys of Southcreeke) descended the second Norfolk branch, and from the third son (William) descended the Impington branch. The latter William had four sons and two daughters; two of these sons were named Thomas, and as they were both living at the same time one was distinguished as "the black" and the other as "the red." Thomas the red had four sons and four daughters. John, born 1601, was the third son, and he became the father of Samuel the Diarist. Little is known of John Pepys, but we learn when the Diary opens that he was settled in London as a tailor. He does not appear to have been a successful man, and his son on August 26th, 1661, found that there was only L45 owing to him, and that he owed about the same sum. He was a citizen of London in 1650, when his son Samuel was admitted to Magdalene College, but at an earlier period he appears to have had business relations with Holland. In August, 1661, John Pepys retired to a small property at Brampton (worth about L80 per annum), which had been left to him by his eldest brother, Robert Pepys, where he died in 1680. The following is a copy of John Pepys's will: "MY FATHER'S WILL. [Indorsement by S. Pepys.] "Memorandum. That I, John Pepys of Ellington, in the county of Huntingdon, Gent.", doe declare my mind in the disposall of my worldly goods as followeth: "First, I desire that my lands and goods left mee by my brother, Robert Pepys, deceased, bee delivered up to my eldest son, Samuell Pepys, of London, Esqr., according as is expressed in the last Will of my brother Robert aforesaid. "Secondly, As for what goods I have brought from London, or procured since, and what moneys I shall leave behind me or due to me, I desire may be disposed of as followeth: "Imprimis, I give to the stock of the poore of the parish of Brampton, in which church I desire to be enterred, five pounds. "Item. I give to the Poore of Ellington forty shillings. "Item. I desire that my two grandsons, Samuell and John Jackson, have ten pounds a piece. "Item. I desire that my daughter, Paulina Jackson, may have my largest silver tankerd. "Item. I desire that my son John Pepys may have my gold seale-ring. "Lastly. I desire that the remainder of what I shall leave be equally distributed between my sons Samuel and John Pepys and my daughter Paulina Jackson. "All which I leave to the care of my eldest son Samuel Pepys, to see performed, if he shall think fit. "In witness hereunto I set my hand." His wife Margaret, whose maiden name has not been discovered, died on the 25th March, 1667, also at Brampton. The family of these two consisted of six sons and five daughters: John (born 1632, died 1640), Samuel (born 1633, died 1703), Thomas (born 1634, died 1664), Jacob (born 1637, died young), Robert (born 1638, died young), and John (born 1641, died 1677); Mary (born 1627), Paulina (born 1628), Esther (born 1630), Sarah (born 1635; these four girls all died young), and Paulina (born 1640, died 1680), who married John Jackson of Brampton, and had two sons, Samuel and John. The latter was made his heir by Samuel Pepys. Samuel Pepys was born on the 23rd February, 1632-3, but the place of birth is not known with certainty. Samuel Knight, D.D., author of the "Life of Colet," who was a connection of the family (having married Hannah Pepys, daughter of Talbot Pepys of Impington), says positively that it was at Brampton. His statement cannot be corroborated by the registers of Brampton church, as these records do not commence until the year 1654. Samuel's early youth appears to have been spent pretty equally between town and country. When he and his brother Tom were children they lived with a nurse (Goody Lawrence) at Kingsland, and in after life Samuel refers to his habit of shooting with bow and arrow in the fields around that place. He then went to school at Huntingdon, from which he was transferred to St. Paul's School in London. He remained at the latter place until 1650, early in which year his name was entered as a sizar on the boards of Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He was admitted on the 21st June, but subsequently he transferred his allegiance to Magdalene College, where he was admitted a sizar on the 1st October of this same year. He did not enter into residence until March 5th, 1650-51, but in the following month he was elected to one of Mr. Spendluffe's scholarships, and two years later (October 14th, 1653) he was preferred to one on Dr. John Smith's foundation. Little or nothing is known of Pepys's career at college, but soon after obtaining the Smith scholarship he got into trouble, and, with a companion, was admonished for being drunk. [October 21st, 1653. "Memorandum: that Peapys and Hind were solemnly admonished by myself and Mr. Hill, for having been scandalously over-served with drink ye night before. This was done in the presence of all the Fellows then resident, in Mr. Hill's chamber.--JOHN WOOD, Registrar." (From the Registrar's-book of Magdalene College.)] His time, however, was not wasted, and there is evidence that he carried into his busy life a fair stock of classical learning and a true love of letters. Throughout his life he looked back with pleasure to the time he spent at the University, and his college was remembered in his will when he bequeathed his valuable library. In this same year, 1653, he graduated B.A. On the 1st of December, 1655, when he was still without any settled means of support, he married Elizabeth St. Michel, a beautiful and portionless girl of fifteen. Her father, Alexander Marchant, Sieur de St. Michel, was of a good family in Anjou, and son of the High Sheriff of Bauge (in Anjou). Having turned Huguenot at the age of twenty-one, when in the German service, his father disinherited him, and he also lost the reversion of some L20,000 sterling which his uncle, a rich French canon, intended to bequeath to him before he left the Roman Catholic church. He came over to England in the retinue of Henrietta Maria on her marriage with Charles I, but the queen dismissed him on finding that he was a Protestant and did not attend mass. Being a handsome man, with courtly manners, he found favour in the sight of the widow of an Irish squire (daughter of Sir Francis Kingsmill), who married him against the wishes of her family. After the marriage, Alexander St. Michel and his wife having raised some fifteen hundred pounds, started, for France in the hope of recovering some part of the family property. They were unfortunate in all their movements, and on their journey to France were taken prisoners by the Dunkirkers, who stripped them of all their property. They now settled at Bideford in Devonshire, and here or near by were born Elizabeth and the rest of the family. At a later period St. Michel served against the Spaniards at the taking of Dunkirk and Arras, and settled at Paris. He was an unfortunate man throughout life, and his son Balthasar says of him: "My father at last grew full of whimsies and propositions of perpetual motion, &c., to kings, princes and others, which soaked his pocket, and brought all our family so low by his not minding anything else, spending all he had got and getting no other employment to bring in more." While he was away from Paris, some "deluding papists" and "pretended devouts" persuaded Madame St. Michel to place her daughter in the nunnery of the Ursulines. When the father heard of this, he hurried back, and managed to get Elizabeth out of the nunnery after she had been there twelve days. Thinking that France was a dangerous place to live in, he removed his family to England, where soon afterwards his daughter was married, although, as Lord Braybrooke remarks, we are not told how she became acquainted with Pepys. St. Michel was greatly pleased that his daughter had become the wife of a true Protestant, and she herself said to him, kissing his eyes: "Dear father, though in my tender years I was by my low fortune in this world deluded to popery, by the fond dictates thereof I have now (joined with my riper years, which give me some understanding) a man to my husband too wise and one too religious to the Protestant religion to suffer my thoughts to bend that way any more." [These particulars are obtained from an interesting letter from Balthasar St. Michel to Pepys, dated "Deal, Feb. 8, 1673-4," and printed in "Life, Journals, and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys," 1841, vol. i., pp. 146-53.] Alexander St. Michel kept up his character for fecklessness through life, and took out patents for curing smoking chimneys, purifying water, and moulding bricks. In 1667 he petitioned the king, asserting that he had discovered King Solomon's gold and silver mines, and the Diary of the same date contains a curious commentary upon these visions of wealth:-- "March 29, 1667. 4s. a week which his (Balty St. Michel's) father receives of the French church is all the subsistence his father and mother have, and about; L20 a year maintains them." As already noted, Pepys was married on December 1st, 1655. This date is given on the authority of the Registers of St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, [The late Mr. T. C. Noble kindly communicated to me a copy of the original marriage certificate, which is as follows: "Samuell Peps of this parish Gent. & Elizabeth De Snt. Michell of Martins in the fields, Spinster. Published October 19tn, 22nd, 29th 1655, and were married by Richard Sherwin Esqr one of the justices of the Peace of the Cittie and Lyberties of Westm. December 1st. (Signed) Ri. Sherwin."] but strangely enough Pepys himself supposed his wedding day to have been October 10th. Lord Braybrooke remarks on this, "It is notorious that the registers in those times were very ill kept, of which we have here a striking instance . . . . Surely a man who kept a diary could not have made such a blunder." What is even more strange than Pepys's conviction that he was married on October 10th is Mrs. Pepys's agreement with him: On October 10th, 1666, we read, "So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night, but how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten." Here Mrs. Pepys was wrong, as it was eleven years; so she may have been wrong in the day also. In spite of the high authority of Mr. and Mrs. Pepys on a question so interesting to them both, we must accept the register as conclusive on this point until further evidence of its incorrectness is forthcoming. Sir Edward Montage (afterwards Earl of Sandwich), who was Pepys's first cousin one remove (Pepys's grandfather and Montage's mother being brother and sister), was a true friend to his poor kinsman, and he at once held out a helping hand to the imprudent couple, allowing them to live in his house. John Pepys does not appear to have been in sufficiently good circumstances to pay for the education of his son, and it seems probable that Samuel went to the university under his influential cousin's patronage. At all events he owed his success in life primarily to Montage, to whom he appears to have acted as a sort of agent. On March 26th, 1658, he underwent a successful operation for the stone, and we find him celebrating each anniversary of this important event of his life with thanksgiving. He went through life with little trouble on this score, but when he died at the age of seventy a nest of seven stones was found in his left kidney. ["June 10th, 1669. I went this evening to London, to carry Mr. Pepys to my brother Richard, now exceedingly afflicted with the stone, who had been successfully cut, and carried the stone, as big as a tennis ball, to show him and encourage his resolution to go thro' the operation."--Evelyn's Diary.] In June, 1659, Pepys accompanied Sir Edward Montage in the "Naseby," when the Admiral of the Baltic Fleet and Algernon Sidney went to the Sound as joint commissioners. It was then that Montage corresponded with Charles II., but he had to be very secret in his movements on account of the suspicions of Sidney. Pepys knew nothing of what was going on, as he confesses in the Diary: "I do from this raise an opinion of him, to be one of the most secret men in the world, which I was not so convinced of before." On Pepys's return to England he obtained an appointment in the office of Mr., afterwards Sir George Downing, who was one of the Four Tellers of the Receipt of the Exchequer. He was clerk to Downing when he commenced his diary on January 1st, 1660, and then lived in Axe Yard, close by King Street, Westminster, a place on the site of which was built Fludyer Street. This, too, was swept away for the Government offices in 1864-65. His salary was L50 a year. Downing invited Pepys to accompany him to Holland, but he does not appear to have been very pressing, and a few days later in this same January he got him appointed one of the Clerks of the Council, but the recipient of the favour does not appear to have been very grateful. A great change was now about to take place in Pepys's fortunes, for in the following March he was made secretary to Sir Edward Montage in his expedition to bring about the Restoration of Charles II., and on the 23rd he went on board the "Swiftsure" with Montage. On the 30th they transferred themselves to the "Naseby." Owing to this appointment of Pepys we have in the Diary a very full account of the daily movements of the fleet until, events having followed their natural course, Montage had the honour of bringing Charles II. to Dover, where the King was received with great rejoicing. Several of the ships in the fleet had names which were obnoxious to Royalists, and on the 23rd May the King came on board the "Naseby" and altered there--the "Naseby" to the "Charles," the "Richard" to the "Royal James," the "Speaker" to the "Mary," the "Winsby" to the "Happy Return," the "Wakefield" to the "Richmond," the "Lambert" to the "Henrietta," the "Cheriton" to the "Speedwell," and the "Bradford" to the "Success." This portion of the Diary is of particular interest, and the various excursions in Holland which the Diarist made are described in a very amusing manner. When Montagu and Pepys had both returned to London, the former told the latter that he had obtained the promise of the office of Clerk of the Acts for him. Many difficulties occurred before Pepys actually secured the place, so that at times he was inclined to accept the offers which were made to him to give it up. General Monk was anxious to get the office for Mr. Turner, who was Chief Clerk in the Navy Office, but in the end Montagu's influence secured it for Pepys. Then Thomas Barlow, who had been appointed Clerk of the Acts in 1638, turned up, and appeared likely to become disagreeable. Pepys bought him off with an annuity of too, which he did not have to pay for any length of time, as Barlow died in February, 1664-65. It is not in human nature to be greatly grieved at the death of one to whom you have to pay an annuity, and Pepys expresses his feelings in a very naive manner:-- "For which God knows my heart I could be as sorry as is possible for one to be for a stranger by whose death he gets L100 per annum, he being a worthy honest man; but when I come to consider the providence of God by this means unexpectedly to give me L100 a year more in my estate, I have cause to bless God, and do it from the bottom of my heart." This office was one of considerable importance, for not only was the holder the secretary or registrar of the Navy Board, but he was also one of the principal officers of the navy, and, as member of the board, of equal rank with the other commissioners. This office Pepys held during the whole period of the Diary, and we find him constantly fighting for his position, as some of the other members wished to reduce his rank merely to that of secretary. In his contention Pepys appears to have been in the right, and a valuable MS. volume in the Pepysian library contains an extract from the Old Instructions of about 1649, in which this very point is argued out. The volume appears to have been made up by William Penn the Quaker, from a collection of manuscripts on the affairs of the navy found in his father's, "Sir William Penn's closet." It was presented to Charles II., with a dedication ending thus:-- "I hope enough to justifie soe much freedome with a Prince that is so easie to excuse things well intended as this is "BY "Great Prince, "Thy faithfull subject, "WM. PENN" "London, the 22 of the Mo. called June, 1680." It does not appear how the volume came into Pepys's possession. It may have been given him by the king, or he may have taken it as a perquisite of his office. The book has an index, which was evidently added by Pepys; in this are these entries, which show his appreciation of the contents of the MS.:-- "Clerk of the Acts, his duty, his necessity and usefulness." The following description of the duty of the Clerk of the Acts shows the importance of the office, and the statement that if the clerk is not fitted to act as a commissioner he is a blockhead and unfit for his employment is particularly racy, and not quite the form of expression one would expect to find in an official document: "CLERKE OF THE ACTS. "The clarke of the Navye's duty depends principally upon rateing (by the Board's approbation) of all bills and recording of them, and all orders, contracts & warrants, making up and casting of accompts, framing and writing answers to letters, orders, and commands from the Councell, Lord High Admirall, or Commissioners of the Admiralty, and he ought to be a very able accomptant, well versed in Navall affairs and all inferior officers dutyes. "It hath been objected by some that the Clarke of the Acts ought to be subordinate to the rest of the Commissioners, and not to be joyned in equall power with them, although he was so constituted from the first institution, which hath been an opinion only of some to keep him at a distance, least he might be thought too forward if he had joynt power in discovering or argueing against that which peradventure private interest would have concealed; it is certaine no man sees more of the Navye's Transactions than himselfe, and possibly may speak as much to the project if required, or else he is a blockhead, and not fitt for that imployment. But why he should not make as able a Commissioner as a Shipp wright lett wise men judge." In Pepys's patent the salary is stated to be L33 6s. 8d., but this was only the ancient "fee out of the Exchequer," which had been attached to the office for more than a century. Pepys's salary had been previously fixed at L350 a-year. Neither of the two qualifications upon which particular stress is laid in the above Instructions was possessed by Pepys. He knew nothing about the navy, and so little of accounts that apparently he learned the multiplication table for the first time in July, 1661. We see from the particulars given in the Diary how hard he worked to obtain the knowledge required in his office, and in consequence of his assiduity he soon became a model official. When Pepys became Clerk of the Acts he took up his residence at the Navy Office, a large building situated between Crutched Friars and Seething Lane, with an entrance in each of those places. On July 4th, 1660, he went with Commissioner Pett to view the houses, and was very pleased with them, but he feared that the more influential officers would jockey him out of his rights. His fears were not well grounded, and on July 18th he records the fact that he dined in his own apartments, which were situated in the Seething Lane front. On July 24th, 1660, Pepys was sworn in as Lord Sandwich's deputy for a Clerkship of the Privy Seal. This office, which he did not think much of at first, brought him "in for a time L3 a day." In June, 1660, he was made Master of Arts by proxy, and soon afterwards he was sworn in as a justice of the Peace for Middlesex, Essex, Kent, and Hampshire, the counties in which the chief dockyards were situated. Pepys's life is written large in the Diary, and it is not necessary here to do more than catalogue the chief incidents of it in chronological order. In February, 1661-62, he was chosen a Younger Brother of the Trinity House, and in April, 1662, when on an official visit to Portsmouth Dockyard, he was made a burgess of the town. In August of the same year he was appointed one of the commissioners for the affairs of Tangier. Soon afterwards Thomas Povy, the treasurer, got his accounts into a muddle, and showed himself incompetent for the place, so that Pepys replaced him as treasurer to the commission. In March, 1663-64, the Corporation of the Royal Fishery was appointed, with the Duke of York as governor, and thirty-two assistants, mostly "very great persons." Through Lord Sandwich's influence Pepys was made one of these. The time was now arriving when Pepys's general ability and devotion to business brought him prominently into notice. During the Dutch war the unreadiness of the ships, more particularly in respect to victualling, was the cause of great trouble. The Clerk of the Acts did his utmost to set things right, and he was appointed Surveyor-General of the Victualling Office. The kind way in which Mr. Coventry proposed him as "the fittest man in England" for the office, and the Duke of York's expressed approval, greatly pleased him. During the fearful period when the Plague was raging, Pepys stuck to his business, and the chief management of naval affairs devolved upon him, for the meetings at the Navy Office were but thinly attended. In a letter to Coventry he wrote:-- "The sickness in general thickens round us, and particularly upon our neighbourhood. You, sir, took your turn of the sword; I must not, therefore, grudge to take mine of the pestilence." At this time his wife was living at Woolwich, and he himself with his clerks at Greenwich; one maid only remained in the house in London. Pepys rendered special service at the time of the Fire of London. He communicated the king's wishes to the Lord Mayor, and he saved the Navy Office by having up workmen from Woolwich and Deptford Dockyards to pull down the houses around, and so prevent the spread of the flames. When peace was at length concluded with the Dutch, and people had time to think over the disgrace which the country had suffered by the presence of De Ruyter's fleet in the Medway, it was natural that a public inquiry into the management of the war should be undertaken. A Parliamentary Committee was appointed in October, 1667, to inquire into the matter. Pepys made a statement which satisfied the committee, but for months afterwards he was continually being summoned to answer some charge, so that he confesses himself as mad to "become the hackney of this office in perpetual trouble and vexation that need it least." At last a storm broke out in the House of Commons against the principal officers of the navy, and some members demanded that they should be put out of their places. In the end they were ordered to be heard in their own defence at the bar of the House. The whole labour of the defence fell upon Pepys, but having made out his case with great skill, he was rewarded by a most unexpected success. On the 5th March, 1667-68, he made the great speech of his life, and spoke for three hours, with the effect that he so far removed the prejudice against the officers of the Navy Board, that no further proceedings were taken in parliament on the subject. He was highly praised for his speech, and he was naturally much elated at his brilliant success. About the year 1664 we first hear of a defect in Pepys's eyesight. He consulted the celebrated Cocker, and began to wear green spectacles, but gradually this defect became more pronounced, and on the 31st of May, 1669, he wrote the last words in his Diary: "And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now as long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand." He feared blindness and was forced to desist, to his lasting regret and our great loss. At this time he obtained leave of absence from the duties of his office, and he set out on a tour through France and Holland accompanied by his wife. In his travels he was true to the occupation of his life, and made collections respecting the French and Dutch navies. Some months after his return he spoke of his journey as having been "full of health and content," but no sooner had he and his wife returned to London than the latter became seriously ill with a fever. The disease took a fatal turn, and on the 10th of November, 1669, Elizabeth Pepys died at the early age of twenty-nine years, to the great grief of her husband. She died at their house in Crutched Friars, and was buried at St. Olave's Church, Hart Street, where Pepys erected a monument to her memory. Pepys's successful speech at the bar of the House of Commons made him anxious to become a member, and the Duke of York and Sir William Coventry heartily supported him in his resolution. An opening occurred in due course, at Aldborough, in Suffolk, owing to the death of Sir Robert Brooke in 1669, but, in consequence of the death of his wife, Pepys was unable to take part in the election. His cause was warmly espoused by the Duke of York and by Lord Henry Howard (afterwards Earl of Norwich and sixth Duke of Norfolk), but the efforts of his supporters failed, and the contest ended in favour of John Bruce, who represented the popular party. In November, 1673, Pepys was more successful, and was elected for Castle Rising on the elevation of the member, Sir Robert Paston, to the peerage as Viscount Yarmouth. His unsuccessful opponent, Mr. Offley, petitioned against the return, and the election was determined to be void by the Committee of Privileges. The Parliament, however, being prorogued the following month without the House's coming to any vote on the subject, Pepys was permitted to retain his seat. A most irrelevant matter was introduced into the inquiry, and Pepys was charged with having a crucifix in his house, from which it was inferred that he was "a papist or popishly inclined." The charge was grounded upon reported assertions of Sir John Banks and the Earl of Shaftesbury, which they did not stand to when examined on the subject, and the charge was not proved to be good. ["The House then proceeding upon the debate touching the Election for Castle Rising, between Mr. Pepys and Mr. Offley, did, in the first place, take into consideration what related personally to Mr. Pepys. Information being given to the House that they had received an account from a person of quality, that he saw an Altar with a Crucifix upon it, in the house of Mr. Pepys; Mr. Pepys, standing up in his place, did heartily and flatly deny that he ever had any Altar or Crucifix, or the image or picture of any Saint whatsoever in his house, from the top to the bottom of it; and the Members being called upon to name the person that gave them the information, they were unwilling to declare it without the order of the House; which, being made, they named the Earl of Shaftesbury; and the House being also informed that Sir J. Banks did likewise see the Altar, he was ordered to attend the Bar of the House, to declare what he knew of this matter. 'Ordered that Sir William Coventry, Sir Thomas Meeres, and Mr. Garraway do attend Lord Shaftesbury on the like occasion, and receive what information his Lordship, can give on this matter.'"--Journals of the House of Commons, vol. ix., p. 306.--" 13th February, Sir W. Coventry reports that they attended the Earl of Shaftesbury, and received from him the account which they had put in writing. The Earl of Shaftesbury denieth that he ever saw an Altar in Mr. Pepys's house or lodgings; as to the Crucifix, he saith he hath, some imperfect memory of seeing somewhat which he conceived to be a Crucifix. When his Lordship was asked the time, he said it was before the burning of the Office of the Navy. Being asked concerning the manner, he said he could not remember whether it were painted or carved, or in what manner the thing was; and that his memory was so very imperfect in it, that if he were upon his oath he could give no testimony."--. Ibid., vol. ix., p. 309.--" 16th February--Sir John Banks was called in--The Speaker desired him to answer what acquaintance he had with; Mr. Pepys, and whether he used to have recourse to him to his house and had ever seen there any Altar or Crucifix, or whether he knew of his being a Papist, or Popishly inclined. Sir J. Banks said that he had known and had been acquainted with Mr. Pepys several years, and had often visited him and conversed with him at the Navy Office, and at his house there upon several occasions, and that he never saw in his house there any Altar or Crucifix, and that he does not believe him to be a Papist, or that way inclined in the least, nor had any reason or ground to think or believe it."--Ibid., vol, ix., p. 310.] It will be seen from the extracts from the Journals of the House of Commons given in the note that Pepys denied ever having had an altar or crucifix in his house. In the Diary there is a distinct statement of his possession of a crucifix, but it is not clear from the following extracts whether it was not merely a varnished engraving of the Crucifixion which he possessed: July 20, 1666. "So I away to Lovett's, there to see how my picture goes on to be varnished, a fine crucifix which will be very fine." August 2. "At home find Lovett, who showed me my crucifix, which will be very fine when done." Nov. 3. "This morning comes Mr. Lovett and brings me my print of the Passion, varnished by him, and the frame which is indeed very fine, though not so fine as I expected; but pleases me exceedingly." Whether he had or had not a crucifix in his house was a matter for himself alone, and the interference of the House of Commons was a gross violation of the liberty of the subject. In connection with Lord Shaftesbury's part in this matter, the late Mr. W. D. Christie found the following letter to Sir Thomas Meres among the papers at St. Giles's House, Dorsetshire:-- "Exeter House, February 10th, 1674. "Sir,--That there might be no mistake, I thought best to put my answer in writing to those questions that yourself, Sir William Coventry, and Mr. Garroway were pleased to propose to me this morning from the House of Commons, which is that I never designed to be a witness against any man for what I either heard or saw, and therefore did not take so exact notice of things inquired of as to be able to remember them so clearly as is requisite to do in a testimony upon honour or oath, or to so great and honourable a body as the House of Commons, it being some years distance since I was at Mr. Pepys his lodging. Only that particular of an altar is so signal that I must needs have remembered it had I seen any such thing, which I am sure I do not. This I desire you to communicate with Sir William Coventry and Mr. Garroway to be delivered as my answer to the House of Commons, it being the same I gave you this morning. "I am, Sir, "Your most humble servant, "SHAFTESBURY." After reading this letter Sir William Coventry very justly remarked, "There are a great many more Catholics than think themselves so, if having a crucifix will make one." Mr. Christie resented the remarks on Lord Shaftesbury's part in this persecution of Pepys made by Lord Braybrooke, who said, "Painful indeed is it to reflect to what length the bad passions which party violence inflames could in those days carry a man of Shaftesbury's rank, station, and abilities." Mr. Christie observes, "It is clear from the letter to Meres that Shaftesbury showed no malice and much scrupulousness when a formal charge, involving important results, was founded on his loose private conversations." This would be a fair vindication if the above attack upon Pepys stood alone, but we shall see later on that Shaftesbury was the moving spirit in a still more unjustifiable attack. Lord Sandwich died heroically in the naval action in Southwold Bay, and on June 24th,1672, his remains were buried with some pomp in Westminster Abbey. There were eleven earls among the mourners, and Pepys, as the first among "the six Bannerolles," walked in the procession. About this time Pepys was called from his old post of Clerk of the Acts to the higher office of Secretary of the Admiralty. His first appointment was a piece of favouritism, but it was due to his merits alone that he obtained the secretaryship. In the summer of 1673, the Duke of York having resigned all his appointments on the passing of the Test Act, the King put the Admiralty into commission, and Pepys was appointed Secretary for the Affairs of the Navy. [The office generally known as Secretary of the Admiralty dates back many years, but the officer who filled it was sometimes Secretary to the Lord High Admiral, and sometimes to the Commission for that office. "His Majesties Letters Patent for ye erecting the office of Secretary of ye Admiralty of England, and creating Samuel Pepys, Esq., first Secretary therein," is dated June 10th, 1684.] He was thus brought into more intimate connection with Charles II., who took the deepest interest in shipbuilding and all naval affairs. The Duke of Buckingham said of the King:-- "The great, almost the only pleasure of his mind to which he seemed addicted was shipping and sea affairs, which seemed to be so much his talent for knowledge as well as inclination, that a war of that kind was rather an entertainment than any disturbance to his thoughts." When Pepys ceased to be Clerk of the Acts he was able to obtain the appointment for his clerk, Thomas Hayter, and his brother, John Pepys, who held it jointly. The latter does not appear to have done much credit to Samuel. He was appointed Clerk to the Trinity House in 1670 on his brother's recommendation, and when he died in 1677 he was in debt L300 to his employers, and this sum Samuel had to pay. In 1676 Pepys was Master of the Trinity House, and in the following year Master of the Clothworkers' Company, when he presented a richly-chased silver cup, which is still used at the banquets of the company. On Tuesday, 10th September, 1677, the Feast of the Hon. Artillery Company was held at Merchant Taylors' Hall, when the Duke of York, the Duke of Somerset, the Lord Chancellor, and other distinguished persons were present. On this occasion Viscount Newport, Sir Joseph Williamson, and Samuel Pepys officiated as stewards. About this time it is evident that the secretary carried himself with some haughtiness as a ruler of the navy, and that this was resented by some. An amusing instance will be found in the Parliamentary Debates. On May 11th, 1678, the King's verbal message to quicken the supply was brought in by Mr. Secretary Williamson, when Pepys spoke to this effect: "When I promised that the ships should be ready by the 30th of May, it was upon the supposition of the money for 90 ships proposed by the King and voted by you, their sizes and rates, and I doubt not by that time to have 90 ships, and if they fall short it will be only from the failing of the Streights ships coming home and those but two . . . . . "Sir Robert Howard then rose and said, 'Pepys here speaks rather like an Admiral than a Secretary, "I" and "we." I wish he knows half as much of the Navy as he pretends.'" Pepys was chosen by the electors of Harwich as their member in the short Parliament that sat from March to July, 1679, his colleague being Sir Anthony Deane, but both members were sent to the Tower in May on a baseless charge, and they were superseded in the next Parliament that met on the 17th October, 1679. The high-handed treatment which Pepys underwent at this time exhibits a marked instance of the disgraceful persecution connected with the so-called Popish plot. He was totally unconnected with the Roman Catholic party, but his association with the Duke of York was sufficient to mark him as a prey for the men who initiated this "Terror" of the seventeenth century. Sir. Edmund Berry Godfrey came to his death in October, 1678, and in December Samuel Atkins, Pepys's clerk, was brought to trial as an accessory to his murder. Shaftesbury and the others not having succeeded in getting at Pepys through his clerk, soon afterwards attacked him more directly, using the infamous evidence of Colonel Scott. Much light has lately been thrown upon the underhand dealings of this miscreant by Mr. G. D. Scull, who printed privately in 1883 a valuable work entitled, "Dorothea Scott, otherwise Gotherson, and Hogben of Egerton House, Kent, 1611-1680." John Scott (calling himself Colonel Scott) ingratiated himself into acquaintance with Major Gotherson, and sold to the latter large tracts of land in Long Island, to which he had no right whatever. Dorothea Gotherson, after her husband's death, took steps to ascertain the exact state of her property, and obtained the assistance of Colonel Francis Lovelace, Governor of New York. Scott's fraud was discovered, and a petition for redress was presented to the King. The result of this was that the Duke of York commanded Pepys to collect evidence against Scott, and he accordingly brought together a great number of depositions and information as to his dishonest proceedings in New England, Long Island, Barbadoes, France, Holland, and England, and these papers are preserved among the Rawlinson Manuscripts in the Bodleian. Scott had his revenge, and accused Pepys of betraying the Navy by sending secret particulars to the French Government, and of a design to dethrone the king and extirpate the Protestant religion. Pepys and Sir Anthony Deane were committed to the Tower under the Speaker's warrant on May 22nd, 1679, and Pepys's place at the Admiralty was filled by the appointment of Thomas Hayter. When the two prisoners were brought to the bar of the King's Bench on the 2nd of June, the Attorney-General refused bail, but subsequently they were allowed to find security for L30,000. Pepys was put to great expense in collecting evidence against Scott and obtaining witnesses to clear himself of the charges brought against him. He employed his brother-in-law, Balthasar St. Michel, to collect evidence in France, as he himself explains in a letter to the Commissioners of the Navy:-- "His Majesty of his gracious regard to me, and the justification of my innocence, was then pleased at my humble request to dispence with my said brother goeing (with ye shippe about that time designed for Tangier) and to give leave to his goeing into France (the scene of ye villannys then in practice against me), he being the only person whom (from his relation to me, together with his knowledge in the place and language, his knowne dilligence and particular affection towards mee) I could at that tyme and in soe greate a cause pitch on, for committing the care of this affaire of detecting the practice of my enemies there." In the end Scott refused to acknowledge to the truth of his original deposition, and the prisoners were relieved from their bail on February 12th, 1679-80. John James, a butler previously in Pepys's service, confessed on his deathbed in 1680 that he had trumped up the whole story relating to his former master's change of religion at the instigation of Mr. William Harbord, M.P. for Thetford. Pepys wrote on July 1st, 1680, to Mrs. Skinner: "I would not omit giving you the knowledge of my having at last obtained what with as much reason I might have expected a year ago, my full discharge from the bondage I have, from one villain's practice, so long lain under." William Harbord, of Cadbury, co. Somerset, second son of Sir Charles Harbord, whom he succeeded in 1682 as Surveyor. General of the Land Revenues of the Crown, was Pepys's most persistent enemy. Several papers referring to Harbord's conduct were found at Scott's lodging after his flight, and are now preserved among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian. One of these was the following memorandum, which shows pretty plainly Pepys's opinion of Harbord:-- "That about the time of Mr. Pepys's surrender of his employment of Secretary of the Admiralty, Capt. Russell and myself being in discourse about Mr. Pepys, Mr. Russell delivered himself in these or other words to this purport: That he thought it might be of advantage to both, if a good understanding were had between his brother Harbord and Mr. Pepys, asking me to propose it to Mr. Pepys, and he would to his brother, which I agreed to, and went immediately from him to Mr. Pepys, and telling him of this discourse, he gave me readily this answer in these very words: That he knew of no service Mr. Harbord could doe him, or if he could, he should be the last man in England he would receive any from." [William Harbord sat as M.P. for Thetford in several parliaments. In 1689 he was chosen on the Privy Council, and in 1690 became Vice- Treasurer for Ireland. He was appointed Ambassador to Turkey in 1692, and died at Belgrade in July of that year.] Besides Scott's dishonesty in his dealings with Major Gotherson, it came out that he had cheated the States of Holland out of L7,000, in consequence of which he was hanged in effigy at the Hague in 1672. In 1682 he fled from England to escape from the law, as he had been guilty of wilful murder by killing George Butler, a hackney coachman, and he reached Norway in safety, where he remained till 1696. In that year some of his influential friends obtained a pardon for him from William III., and he returned to England. In October, 1680, Pepys attended on Charles II. at Newmarket, and there he took down from the King's own mouth the narrative of his Majesty's escape from Worcester, which was first published in 1766 by Sir David Dalrymple (Lord Hailes) from the MS., which now remains in the Pepysian library both in shorthand and in longhand? It is creditable to Charles II. and the Duke of York that both brothers highly appreciated the abilities of Pepys, and availed themselves of his knowledge of naval affairs. In the following year there was some chance that Pepys might retire from public affairs, and take upon himself the headship of one of the chief Cambridge colleges. On the death of Sir Thomas Page, the Provost of King's College, in August, 1681, Mr. S. Maryon, a Fellow of Clare Hall, recommended Pepys to apply to the King for the appointment, being assured that the royal mandate if obtained would secure his election. He liked the idea, but replied that he believed Colonel Legge (afterwards Lord Dartmouth) wanted to get the office for an old tutor. Nothing further seems to have been done by Pepys, except that he promised if he were chosen to give the whole profit of the first year, and at least half of that of each succeeding year, to "be dedicated to the general and public use of the college." In the end Dr. John Coplestone was appointed to the post. On May 22nd, 1681, the Rev. Dr. Milles, rector of St. Olave's, who is so often mentioned in the Diary, gave Pepys a certificate as to his attention to the services of the Church. It is not quite clear what was the occasion of the certificate, but probably the Diarist wished to have it ready in case of another attack upon him in respect to his tendency towards the Church of Rome. Early in 1682 Pepys accompanied the Duke of York to Scotland, and narrowly escaped shipwreck by the way. Before letters could arrive in London to tell of his safety, the news came of the wreck of the "Gloucester" (the Duke's ship), and of the loss of many lives. His friends' anxiety was relieved by the arrival of a letter which Pepys wrote from Edinburgh to Hewer on May 8th, in which he detailed the particulars of the adventure. The Duke invited him to go on board the "Gloucester" frigate, but he preferred his own yacht (the "Catherine "), in which he had more room, and in consequence of his resolution he saved himself from the risk of drowning. On May 5th the frigate struck upon the sand called "The Lemon and Oar," about sixteen leagues from the mouth of the Humber. This was caused by the carelessness of the pilot, to whom Pepys imputed "an obstinate over-weening in opposition to the contrary opinions of Sir I. Berry, his master, mates, Col. Legg, the Duke himself, and several others, concurring unanimously in not being yet clear of the sands." The Duke and his party escaped, but numbers were drowned in the sinking ship, and it is said that had the wreck occurred two hours earlier, and the accompanying yachts been at the distance they had previously been, not a soul would have escaped. Pepys stayed in Edinburgh for a short time, and the Duke of York allowed him to be present at two councils. He then visited; with Colonel George Legge, some of the principal places in the neighbourhood, such as Stirling, Linlithgow, Hamilton, and Glasgow. The latter place he describes as "a very extraordinary town indeed for beauty and trade, much superior to any in Scotland." Pepys had now been out of office for some time, but he was soon to have employment again. Tangier, which was acquired at the marriage of the King to Katharine of Braganza, had long been an incumbrance, and it was resolved at last to destroy the place. Colonel Legge (now Lord Dartmouth) was in August, 1683, constituted Captain-General of his Majesty's forces in Africa, and Governor of Tangier, and sent with a fleet of about twenty sail to demolish and blow up the works, destroy the harbour, and bring home the garrison. Pepys received the King's commands to accompany Lord Dartmouth on his expedition, but the latter's instructions were secret, and Pepys therefore did not know what had been decided upon. He saw quite enough, however, to form a strong opinion of the uselessness of the place to England. Lord Dartmouth carried out his instructions thoroughly, and on March 29th, 1684, he and his party (including Pepys) arrived in the English Channel. The King himself now resumed the office of Lord High Admiral, and appointed Pepys Secretary of the Admiralty, with a salary of L500 per annum. In the Pepysian Library is the original patent, dated June 10th, 1684: "His Majesty's Letters Patent for ye erecting the office of Secretary of ye Admiralty of England, and creating Samuel Pepys, Esq., first Secretary therein." In this office the Diarist remained until the period of the Revolution, when his official career was concluded. A very special honour was conferred upon Pepys in this year, when he was elected President of the Royal Society in succession to Sir Cyril Wyche, and he held the office for two years. Pepys had been admitted a fellow of the society on February 15th, 1664-65, and from Birch's "History" we find that in the following month he made a statement to the society:-- "Mr. Pepys gave an account of what information he had received from the Master of the Jersey ship which had been in company with Major Holmes in the Guinea voyage concerning the pendulum watches (March 15th, 1664-5)." The records of the society show that he frequently made himself useful by obtaining such information as might be required in his department. After he retired from the presidency, he continued to entertain some of the most distinguished members of the society on Saturday evenings at his house in York Buildings. Evelyn expressed the strongest regret when it was necessary to discontinue these meetings on account of the infirmities of the host. In 1685 Charles II. died, and was succeeded by James, Duke of York. From his intimate association with James it might have been supposed that a long period of official life was still before Pepys, but the new king's bigotry and incapacity soon made this a practical impossibility. At the coronation of James II. Pepys marched in the procession immediately behind the king's canopy, as one of the sixteen barons of the Cinque Ports. In the year 1685 a new charter was granted to the Trinity Company, and Pepys was named in it the first master, this being the second time that he had held the office of master. Evelyn specially refers to the event in his Diary, and mentions the distinguished persons present at the dinner on July 20th. It is evident that at this time Pepys was looked upon as a specially influential man, and when a parliament was summoned to meet on May 19th, 1685, he was elected both for Harwich and for Sandwich. He chose to serve for Harwich, and Sir Philip Parker was elected to fill his place at Sandwich. This parliament was dissolved by proclamation July 2nd, 1687, and on August 24th the king declared in council that another parliament should be summoned for November 27th, 1688, but great changes took place before that date, and when the Convention Parliament was called together in January and February, 1689-90, Pepys found no place in it. The right-hand man of the exiled monarch was not likely to find favour in the eyes of those who were now in possession. When the election for Harwich came on, the electors refused to return him, and the streets echoed to the cry of "No Tower men, no men out of the Tower!" They did not wish to be represented in parliament by a disgraced official. We have little or no information to guide us as to Pepys's proceedings at the period of the Revolution. We know that James II. just before his flight was sitting to Kneller for a portrait intended for the Secretary to the Admiralty, and that Pepys acted in that office for the last time on 20th February, 1688-89, but between those dates we know nothing of the anxieties and troubles that he must have suffered. On the 9th March an order was issued from the Commissioners of the Admiralty for him to deliver up his books, &c., to Phineas Bowies, who superseded him as secretary. Pepys had many firm friends upon whom he could rely, but he had also enemies who lost no opportunity of worrying him. On June 10th, 1690, Evelyn has this entry in his Diary, which throws some light upon the events of the time:-- "Mr. Pepys read to me his Remonstrance, skewing with what malice and injustice he was suspected with Sir Anth. Deane about the timber of which the thirty ships were built by a late Act of Parliament, with the exceeding danger which the fleete would shortly be in, by reason of the tyranny and incompetency of those who now managed the Admiralty and affairs of the Navy, of which he gave an accurate state, and shew'd his greate ability." On the 25th of this same month Pepys was committed to the Gatehouse at Westminster on a charge of having sent information to the French Court of the state of the English navy. There was no evidence of any kind against him, and at the end of July he was allowed to return to his own house on account of ill-health. Nothing further was done in respect to the charge, but he was not free till some time after, and he was long kept in anxiety, for even in 1692 he still apprehended some fresh persecution. Sir Peter Palavicini, Mr. James Houblon, Mr. Blackburne, and Mr. Martin bailed him, and he sent them the following circular letter:-- "October 15, 1690. "Being this day become once again a free man in every respect, I mean but that of my obligation to you and the rest of my friends, to whom I stand indebted for my being so, I think it but a reasonable part of my duty to pay you and them my thanks for it in a body; but know not how otherwise to compass it than by begging you, which I hereby do, to take your share with them and me here, to-morrow, of a piece of mutton, which is all I dare promise you, besides that of being ever, "Your most bounden and faithful humble servant, "S. P." He employed the enforced idleness caused by being thrust out of his employment in the collection of the materials for the valuable work which he published in 1690, under the title of "Memoirs of the Navy." Little more was left for him to do in life, but as the government became more firmly established, and the absolute absurdity of the idea of his disloyalty was proved, Pepys held up his head again as a man to be respected and consulted, and for the remainder of his life he was looked upon as the Nestor of the Navy. There is little more to be told of Pepys's life. He continued to keep up an extended correspondence with his many friends, and as Treasurer of Christ's Hospital he took very great interest in the welfare of that institution. He succeeded in preserving from impending ruin the mathematical foundation which had been originally designed by him, and through his anxious solicitations endowed and cherished by Charles II. and James II. One of the last public acts of his life was the presentation of the portrait of the eminent Dr. John Wallis, Savilian Professor of Geometry, to the University of Oxford. In 1701 he sent Sir Godfrey Kneller to Oxford to paint the portrait, and the University rewarded him with a Latin diploma containing in gorgeous language the expression of thanks for his munificence.' On the 26th May, 1703, Samuel Pepys, after long continued suffering, breathed his last in the presence of the learned Dr. George Hickes, the nonjuring Dean of Worcester, and the following letter from John Jackson to his uncle's lifelong friend Evelyn contains particulars as to the cause of death: Mr. Jackson to Mr. Evelyn. "Clapham, May 28th, 1703. "Friday night. "Honoured Sir, "'Tis no small addition to my grief, to be obliged to interrupt the quiet of your happy recess with the afflicting tidings of my Uncle Pepys's death: knowing how sensibly you will partake with me herein. But I should not be faithful to his desires, if I did not beg your doing the honour to his memory of accepting mourning from him, as a small instance of his most affectionate respect and honour for you. I have thought myself extremely unfortunate to be out of the way at that only time when you were pleased lately to touch here, and express so great a desire of taking your leave of my Uncle; which could not but have been admitted by him as a most welcome exception to his general orders against being interrupted; and I could most heartily wish that the circumstances of your health and distance did not forbid me to ask the favour of your assisting in the holding up of the pawll at his interment, which is intended to be on Thursday next; for if the manes are affected with what passes below, I am sure this would have been very grateful to his. "I must not omit acquainting you, sir, that upon opening his body, (which the uncommonness of his case required of us, for our own satisfaction as well as public good) there was found in his left kidney a nest of no less than seven stones, of the most irregular, figures your imagination can frame, and weighing together four ounces and a half, but all fast linked together, and adhering to his back; whereby they solve his having felt no greater pains upon motion, nor other of the ordinary symptoms of the stone. Some other lesser defects there also were in his body, proceeding from the same cause. But his stamina, in general, were marvellously strong, and not only supported him, under the most exquisite pains, weeks beyond all expectations; but, in the conclusion, contended for nearly forty hours (unassisted by any nourishment) with the very agonies of death, some few minutes excepted, before his expiring, which were very calm. "There remains only for me, under this affliction, to beg the consolation and honour of succeeding to your patronage, for my Uncle's sake; and leave to number myself, with the same sincerity he ever did, among your greatest honourers, which I shall esteem as one of the most valuable parts of my inheritances from him; being also, with the faithfullest wishes of health and a happy long life to you, "Honoured Sir, "Your most obedient and "Most humble Servant, "J. JACKSON. "Mr. Hewer, as my Uncle's Executor, and equally your faithful Servant, joins with me in every part hereof. "The time of my Uncle's departure was about three-quarters past three on Wednesday morning last." Evelyn alludes in his Diary to Pepys's death and the present to him of a suit of mourning. He speaks in very high terms of his friend:-- "1703, May 26th. This day died Mr. Sam Pepys, a very worthy, industrious, and curious person, none in England exceeding him in knowledge of the navy, in which he had passed thro' all the most considerable offices, Clerk of the Acts and Secretary of the Admiralty, all which he performed with great integrity. When K. James II. went out of England, he laid down his office, and would serve no more, but withdrawing himselfe from all public affaires, he liv'd at Clapham with his partner Mr. Hewer, formerly his clerk, in a very noble and sweete place, where he enjoy'd the fruits of his labours in greate prosperity. He was universally belov'd, hospitable, generous, learned in many things, skilfd in music, a very greate cherisher of learned men of whom he had the conversation . . . . Mr. Pepys had been for neere 40 yeeres so much my particular friend that Mr. Jackson sent me compleat mourning, desiring me to be one to hold up the pall at his magnificent obsequies, but my indisposition hinder'd me from doing him this last office." The body was brought from Clapham and buried in St. Olave's Church, Hart Street, on the 5th June, at nine o'clock at night, in a vault just beneath the monument to the memory of Mrs. Pepys. Dr. Hickes performed the last sad offices for his friend. Pepys's faithful friend, Hewer, was his executor, and his nephew, John Jackson, his heir. Mourning was presented to forty persons, and a large number of rings to relations, godchildren, servants, and friends, also to representatives of the Royal Society, of the Universities of Cambridge and Oxford, of the Admiralty, and of the Navy Office. The bulk of the property was bequeathed to Jackson, but the money which was left was much less than might have been expected, for at the time of Pepys's death there was a balance of L28,007 2s. 1d. due to him from the Crown, and none of this was ever paid. The books and other collections were left to Magdalene College, Cambridge, but Jackson was to have possession of them during his lifetime. These were the most important portion of Pepys's effects, for with them was the manuscript of the immortal Diary. The following are the directions for the disposition of the library, taken from Harl. MS., No. 7301: "For the further settlement and preservation of my said library, after the death of my nephew. John Jackson, I do hereby declare, That could I be sure of a constant succession of heirs from my said nephew, qualified like himself for the use of such a library, I should not entertain a thought of its ever being alienated from them. But this uncertainty considered, with the infinite pains, and time, and cost employed in my collecting, methodising and reducing the same to the state it now is, I cannot but be greatly solicitous that all possible provision should be made for its unalterable preservation and perpetual security against the ordinary fate of such collections falling into the hands of an incompetent heir, and thereby being sold, dissipated, or embezzled. And since it has pleased God to visit me in a manner that leaves little appearance of being myself restored to a condition of concerting the necessary measures for attaining these ends, I must and do with great confidence rely upon the sincerity and direction of my executor and said nephew for putting in execution the powers given them, by my forementioned will relating hereto, requiring that the same be brought to a determination in twelve months after my decease, and that special regard be had therein to the following particulars which I declare to be my present thoughts and prevailing inclinations in this matter, viz.: "1. That after the death of my said nephew, my said library be placed and for ever settled in one of our universities, and rather in that of Cambridge than Oxford. "2. And rather in a private college there, than in the public library. "3. And in the colleges of Trinity or Magdalen preferably to all others. "4. And of these too, 'caeteris paribus', rather in the latter, for the sake of my own and my nephew's education therein. "5. That in which soever of the two it is, a fair roome be provided therein. "6. And if in Trinity, that the said roome be contiguous to, and have communication with, the new library there. "7. And if in Magdalen, that it be in the new building there, and any part thereof at my nephew's election. "8. That my said library be continued in its present form and no other books mixed therein, save what my nephew may add to theirs of his own collecting, in distinct presses. "9. That the said room and books so placed and adjusted be called by the name of 'Bibliotheca Pepysiana.' "10. That this 'Bibliotheca Pepysiana' be under the sole power and custody of the master of the college for the time being, who shall neither himself convey, nor suffer to be conveyed by others, any of the said books from thence to any other place, except to his own lodge in the said college, nor there have more than ten of them at a time; and that of those also a strict entry be made and account kept, at the time of their having been taken out and returned, in a book to be provided, and remain in the said library for that purpose only. "11. That before my said library be put into the possession of either of the said colleges, that college for which it shall be designed, first enter into covenants for performance of the foregoing articles. "12. And that for a yet further security herein, the said two colleges of Trinity and Magdalen have a reciprocal check upon one another; and that college which shall be in present possession of the said library, be subject to an annual visitation from the other, and to the forfeiture thereof to the life, possession, and use of the other, upon conviction of any breach of their said covenants. "S. PEPYS." The library and the original book-cases were not transferred to Magdalene College until 1724, and there they have been preserved in safety ever since. A large number of Pepys's manuscripts appear to have remained unnoticed in York Buildings for some years. They never came into Jackson's hands, and were thus lost to Magdalene College. Dr. Rawlinson afterwards obtained them, and they were included in the bequest of his books to the Bodleian Library. Pepys was partial to having his portrait taken, and he sat to Savill, Hales, Lely, and Kneller. Hales's portrait, painted in 1666, is now in the National Portrait Gallery, and an etching from the original forms the frontispiece to this volume. The portrait by Lely is in the Pepysian Library. Of the three portraits by Kneller, one is in the hall of Magdalene College, another at the Royal Society, and the third was lent to the First Special Exhibition of National Portraits, 1866, by the late Mr. Andrew Pepys Cockerell. Several of the portraits have been engraved, but the most interesting of these are those used by Pepys himself as book-plates. These were both engraved by Robert White, and taken from paintings by Kneller. The church of St. Olave, Hart Street, is intimately associated with Pepys both in his life and in his death, and for many years the question had been constantly asked by visitors, "Where is Pepys's monument?" On Wednesday, July 5th, 1882, a meeting was held in the vestry of the church, when an influential committee was appointed, upon which all the great institutions with which Pepys was connected were represented by their masters, presidents, or other officers, with the object of taking steps to obtain an adequate memorial of the Diarist. Mr. (now Sir) Alfred Blomfield, architect of the church, presented an appropriate design for a monument, and sufficient subscriptions having been obtained for the purpose, he superintended its erection. On Tuesday afternoon, March 18th, 1884, the monument, which was affixed to the wall of the church where the gallery containing Pepys's pew formerly stood, was unveiled in the presence of a large concourse of visitors. The Earl of Northbrook, First Lord of the Admiralty, consented to unveil the monument, but he was at the last moment prevented by public business from attending. The late Mr. Russell Lowell, then the American Minister, took Lord Northbrook's place, and made a very charming and appreciative speech on the occasion, from which the following passages are extracted:-- "It was proper," his Excellency said, "that he should read a note he had received from Lord Northbrook. This was dated that day from the Admiralty, and was as follows: "'My dear Mr. Lowell, "'I am very much annoyed that I am prevented from assisting at the ceremony to-day. It would be very good if you would say that nothing but very urgent business would have kept me away. I was anxious to give my testimony to the merits of Pepys as an Admiralty official, leaving his literary merits to you. He was concerned with the administration of the Navy from the Restoration to the Revolution, and from 1673 as secretary. I believe his merits to be fairly stated in a contemporary account, which I send. "'Yours very truly, "'NORTHBROOK. "The contemporary account, which Lord Northbrook was good enough to send him, said: "'Pepys was, without exception, the greatest and most useful Minister that ever filled the same situations in England, the acts and registers of the Admiralty proving this beyond contradiction. The principal rules and establishments in present use in these offices are well known to have been of his introducing, and most of the officers serving therein since the Restoration, of his bringing- up. He was a most studious promoter and strenuous asserter of order and discipline. Sobriety, diligence, capacity, loyalty, and subjection to command were essentials required in all whom he advanced. Where any of these were found wanting, no interest or authority was capable of moving him in favour of the highest pretender. Discharging his duty to his Prince and country with a religious application and perfect integrity, he feared no one, courted no one, and neglected his own fortune.' "That was a character drawn, it was true, by a friendly hand, but to those who were familiar with the life of Pepys, the praise hardly seemed exaggerated. As regarded his official life, it was unnecessary to dilate upon his peculiar merits, for they all knew how faithful he was in his duties, and they all knew, too, how many faithful officials there were working on in obscurity, who were not only never honoured with a monument but who never expected one. The few words, Mr. Lowell went on to remark, which he was expected to say upon that occasion, therefore, referred rather to what he believed was the true motive which had brought that assembly together, and that was by no means the character of Pepys either as Clerk of the Acts or as Secretary to the Admiralty. This was not the place in which one could go into a very close examination of the character of Pepys as a private man. He would begin by admitting that Pepys was a type, perhaps, of what was now called a 'Philistine'. We had no word in England which was equivalent to the French adjective Bourgeois; but, at all events, Samuel Pepys was the most perfect type that ever existed of the class of people whom this word described. He had all its merits as well as many of its defects. With all those defects, however perhaps in consequence of them--Pepys had written one of the most delightful books that it was man's privilege to read in the English language or in any other. Whether Pepys intended this Diary to be afterwards read by the general public or not--and this was a doubtful question when it was considered that he had left, possibly by inadvertence, a key to his cypher behind him--it was certain that he had left with us a most delightful picture, or rather he had left the power in our hands of drawing for ourselves some, of the most delightful pictures, of the time in which he lived. There was hardly any book which was analogous to it . .. . . If one were asked what were the reasons for liking Pepys, it would be found that they were as numerous as the days upon which he made an entry in his Diary, and surely that was sufficient argument in his favour. There was no book, Mr. Lowell said, that he knew of, or that occurred to his memory, with which Pepys's Diary could fairly be compared, except the journal of L'Estoile, who had the same anxious curiosity and the same commonness, not to say vulgarity of interest, and the book was certainly unique in one respect, and that was the absolute sincerity of the author with himself. Montaigne is conscious that we are looking over his shoulder, and Rousseau secretive in comparison with him. The very fact of that sincerity of the author with himself argued a certain greatness of character. Dr. Hickes, who attended Pepys at his deathbed, spoke of him as 'this great man,' and said he knew no one who died so greatly. And yet there was something almost of the ridiculous in the statement when the 'greatness' was compared with the garrulous frankness which Pepys showed towards himself. There was no parallel to the character of Pepys, he believed, in respect of 'naivete', unless it were found in that of Falstaff, and Pepys showed himself, too, like Falstaff, on terms of unbuttoned familiarity with himself. Falstaff had just the same 'naivete', but in Falstaff it was the 'naivete' of conscious humour. In Pepys it was quite different, for Pepys's 'naivete' was the inoffensive vanity of a man who loved to see himself in the glass. Falstaff had a sense, too, of inadvertent humour, but it was questionable whether Pepys could have had any sense of humour at all, and yet permitted himself to be so delightful. There was probably, however, more involuntary humour in Pepys's Diary than there was in any other book extant. When he told his readers of the landing of Charles II. at Dover, for instance, it would be remembered how Pepys chronicled the fact that the Mayor of Dover presented the Prince with a Bible, for which he returned his thanks and said it was the 'most precious Book to him in the world.' Then, again, it would be remembered how, when he received a letter addressed 'Samuel Pepys, Esq.,' he confesses in the Diary that this pleased him mightily. When, too, he kicked his cookmaid, he admits that he was not sorry for it, but was sorry that the footboy of a worthy knight with whom he was acquainted saw him do it. And the last instance he would mention of poor Pepys's 'naivete' was when he said in the Diary that he could not help having a certain pleasant and satisfied feeling when Barlow died. Barlow, it must be remembered, received during his life the yearly sum from Pepys of L100. The value of Pepys's book was simply priceless, and while there was nothing in it approaching that single page in St. Simon where he described that thunder of courtierly red heels passing from one wing of the Palace to another as the Prince was lying on his death-bed, and favour was to flow from another source, still Pepys's Diary was unequalled in its peculiar quality of amusement. The lightest part of the Diary was of value, historically, for it enabled one to see London of 200 years ago, and, what was more, to see it with the eager eyes of Pepys. It was not Pepys the official who had brought that large gathering together that day in honour of his memory: it was Pepys the Diarist." In concluding this account of the chief particulars of Pepys's life it may be well to add a few words upon the pronunciation of his name. Various attempts appear to have been made to represent this phonetically. Lord Braybrooke, in quoting the entry of death from St. Olave's Registers, where the spelling is "Peyps," wrote, "This is decisive as to the proper pronunciation of the name." This spelling may show that the name was pronounced as a monosyllable, but it is scarcely conclusive as to anything else, and Lord Braybrooke does not say what he supposes the sound of the vowels to have been. At present there are three pronunciations in use--Peps, which is the most usual; Peeps, which is the received one at Magdalene College, and Peppis, which I learn from Mr. Walter C. Pepys is the one used by other branches of the family. Mr. Pepys has paid particular attention to this point, and in his valuable "Genealogy of the Pepys Family" (1887) he has collected seventeen varieties of spelling of the name, which are as follows, the dates of the documents in which the form appears being attached: 1. Pepis (1273); 2. Pepy (1439); 3. Pypys (1511); 4. Pipes (1511); 5. Peppis (1518); 6. Peppes (1519); 7. Pepes (1520); 8. Peppys (1552); 9. Peaps (1636); 10. Pippis (1639); 11. Peapys (1653); 12. Peps (1655); 13. Pypes (1656); 14. Peypes (1656); 15. Peeps (1679); 16. Peepes (1683); 17. Peyps (1703). Mr. Walter Pepys adds:-- "The accepted spelling of the name 'Pepys' was adopted generally about the end of the seventeenth century, though it occurs many years before that time. There have been numerous ways of pronouncing the name, as 'Peps,' 'Peeps,' and ' Peppis.' The Diarist undoubtedly pronounced it 'Peeps,' and the lineal descendants of his sister Paulina, the family of 'Pepys Cockerell' pronounce it so to this day. The other branches of the family all pronounce it as 'Peppis,' and I am led to be satisfied that the latter pronunciation is correct by the two facts that in the earliest known writing it is spelt 'Pepis,' and that the French form of the name is 'Pepy.'" The most probable explanation is that the name in the seventeenth century was either pronounced 'Pips' or 'Papes'; for both the forms 'ea' and 'ey' would represent the latter pronunciation. The general change in the pronunciation of the spelling 'ea' from 'ai' to 'ee' took place in a large number of words at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth-century, and three words at least (yea, break, and great) keep this old pronunciation still. The present Irish pronunciation of English is really the same as the English pronunciation of the seventeenth century, when the most extensive settlement of Englishmen in Ireland took place, and the Irish always pronounce ea like ai (as, He gave him a nate bating--neat beating). Again, the 'ey' of Peyps would rhyme with they and obey. English literature is full of illustrations of the old pronunciation of ea, as in "Hudibras;" "Doubtless the pleasure is as great In being cheated as to cheat," which was then a perfect rhyme. In the "Rape of the Lock" tea (tay) rhymes with obey, and in Cowper's verses on Alexander Selkirk sea rhymes with survey.' It is not likely that the pronunciation of the name was fixed, but there is every reason to suppose that the spellings of Peyps and Peaps were intended to represent the sound Pepes rather than Peeps. In spite of all the research which has brought to light so many incidents of interest in the life of Samuel Pepys, we cannot but feel how dry these facts are when placed by the side of the living details of the Diary. It is in its pages that the true man is displayed, and it has therefore not been thought necessary here to do more than set down in chronological order such facts as are known of the life outside the Diary. A fuller "appreciation" of the man must be left for some future occasion. H. B. W. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Confusion of years in the case of the months of January (etc.) Else he is a blockhead, and not fitt for that imployment Fixed that the year should commence in January instead of March He knew nothing about the navy He made the great speech of his life, and spoke for three hours I never designed to be a witness against any man In perpetual trouble and vexation that need it least Inoffensive vanity of a man who loved to see himself in the glass Learned the multiplication table for the first time in 1661 Montaigne is conscious that we are looking over his shoulder Nothing in it approaching that single page in St. Simon The present Irish pronunciation of English 
4118	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS 1660 N.S. COMPLETE JANUARY 1659-60 [The year did not legally begin in England before the 25th March until the act for altering the style fixed the 1st of January as the first day of the year, and previous to 1752 the year extended from March 25th to the following March 24th. Thus since 1752 we have been in the habit of putting the two dates for the months of January and February and March 1 to 24--in all years previous to 1752. Practically, however, many persons considered the year to commence with January 1st, as it will be seen Pepys did. The 1st of January was considered as New Year's day long before Pepys's time. The fiscal year has not been altered; and the national accounts are still reckoned from old Lady Day, which falls on the 6th of April.] Blessed be God, at the end of the last year I was in very good health, without any sense of my old pain, but upon taking of cold. [Pepys was successfully cut for the stone on March 26th, 1658. See March 26th below. Although not suffering from this cause again until the end of his life, there are frequent references in the Diary to pain whenever he caught cold. In a letter from Pepys to his nephew Jackson, April 8th, 1700, there is a reference to the breaking out three years before his death of the wound caused by the cutting for the stone: "It has been my calamity for much the greatest part of this time to have been kept bedrid, under an evil so rarely known as to have had it matter of universal surprise and with little less general opinion of its dangerousness; namely, that the cicatrice of a wound occasioned upon my cutting for the stone, without hearing anything of it in all this time, should after more than 40 years' perfect cure, break out again." At the post-mortem examination a nest of seven stones, weighing four and a half ounces, was found in the left kidney, which was entirely ulcerated.] I lived in Axe Yard, [Pepys's house was on the south side of King Street, Westminster; it is singular that when he removed to a residence in the city, he should have settled close to another Axe Yard. Fludyer Street stands on the site of Axe Yard, which derived its name from a great messuage or brewhouse on the west side of King Street, called "The Axe," and referred to in a document of the 23rd of Henry VIII--B.] having my wife, and servant Jane, and no more in family than us three. My wife . . . . gave me hopes of her being with child, but on the last day of the year . . . .[the hope was belied.] [Ed. note: . . . . are used to denote censored passages] The condition of the State was thus; viz. the Rump, after being disturbed by my Lord Lambert, [John Lambert, major-general in the Parliamentary army. The title Lord was not his by right, but it was frequently given to the republican officers. He was born in 1619, at Calton Hall, in the parish of Kirkby-in-Malham-Dale, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. In 1642 he was appointed captain of horse under Fairfax, and acted as major-general to Cromwell in 1650 during the war in Scotland. After this Parliament conferred on him a grant of lands in Scotland worth L1000 per annum. He refused to take the oath of allegiance to Cromwell, for which the Protector deprived him of his commission. After Cromwell's death he tried to set up a military government. The Commons cashiered Lambert, Desborough, and other officers, October 12th, 1659, but Lambert retaliated by thrusting out the Commons, and set out to meet Monk. His men fell away from him, and he was sent to the Tower, March 3rd, 1660, but escaped. In 1662 he was tried on a charge of high treason and condemned, but his life was spared. It is generally stated that he passed the remainder of his life in the island of Guernsey, but this is proved to be incorrect by a MS. in the Plymouth Athenaeum, entitled "Plimmouth Memoirs collected by James Yonge, 1684" This will be seen from the following extracts quoted by Mr. R. J. King, in "Notes and Queries," "1667 Lambert the arch-rebel brought to this island [St. Nicholas, at the entrance of Plymouth harbour]." "1683 Easter day Lambert that olde rebell dyed this winter on Plimmouth Island where he had been prisoner 15 years and more."] was lately returned to sit again. The officers of the Army all forced to yield. Lawson [Sir John Lawson, the son of a poor man at Hull, entered the navy as a common sailor, rose to the rank of admiral, and distinguished himself during the Protectorate. Though a republican, he readily closed with the design of restoring the King. He was vice-admiral under the Earl of Sandwich, and commanded the "London" in the squadron which conveyed Charles II. to England. He was mortally wounded in the action with the Dutch off Harwich, June, 1665. He must not be confounded with another John Lawson, the Royalist, of Brough Hall, in Yorkshire, who was created a Baronet by Charles II, July 6th, 1665.] lies still in the river, and Monk--[George Monk, born 1608, created Duke of Albemarle, 1660, married Ann Clarges, March, 1654, died January 3rd, 1676.]--is with his army in Scotland. Only my Lord Lambert is not yet come into the Parliament, nor is it expected that he will without being forced to it. The new Common Council of the City do speak very high; and had sent to Monk their sword-bearer, to acquaint him with their desires for a free and full Parliament, which is at present the desires, and the hopes, and expectation of all. Twenty-two of the old secluded members ["The City sent and invited him [Monk] to dine the next day at Guildhall, and there he declared for the members whom the army had forced away in year forty-seven and forty-eight, who were known by the names of secluded members."--Burnet's Hist. of his Own Time, book i.] having been at the House-door the last week to demand entrance, but it was denied them; and it is believed that [neither] they nor the people will be satisfied till the House be filled. My own private condition very handsome, and esteemed rich, but indeed very poor; besides my goods of my house, and my office, which at present is somewhat uncertain. Mr. Downing master of my office. [George Downing was one of the Four Tellers of the Receipt of the Exchequer, and in his office Pepys was a clerk. He was the son of Emmanuel Downing of the Inner Temple, afterwards of Salem, Massachusetts, and of Lucy, sister of Governor John Winthrop. He is supposed to have been born in August, 1623. He and his parents went to New England in 1638, and he was the second graduate of Harvard College. He returned to England about 1645, and acted as Colonel Okey's chaplain before he entered into political life. Anthony a Wood (who incorrectly describes him as the son of Dr. Calybute Downing, vicar of Hackney) calls Downing a sider with all times and changes: skilled in the common cant, and a preacher occasionally. He was sent by Cromwell to Holland in 1657, as resident there. At the Restoration, he espoused the King's cause, and was knighted and elected M.P. for Morpeth, in 1661. Afterwards, becoming Secretary to the Treasury and Commissioner of the Customs, he was in 1663 created a Baronet of East Hatley, in Cambridgeshire, and was again sent Ambassador to Holland. His grandson of the same name, who died in 1749, was the founder of Downing College, Cambridge. The title became extinct in 1764, upon the decease of Sir John Gerrard Downing, the last heir-male of the family. Sir George Downing's character will be found in Lord Clarendon's "Life," vol. iii. p. 4. Pepys's opinion seems to be somewhat of a mixed kind. He died in July, 1684.] Jan. 1st (Lord's day). This morning (we living lately in the garret,) I rose, put on my suit with great skirts, having not lately worn any other, clothes but them. Went to Mr. Gunning's [Peter Gunning, afterwards Master of St. John's College, Cambridge, and successively Bishop of Chichester and Ely. He had continued to read the Liturgy at the chapel at Exeter House when the Parliament was most predominant, for which Cromwell often rebuked him. Evelyn relates that on Christmas Day, 1657, the chapel was surrounded with soldiers, and the congregation taken prisoners, he and his wife being among them. There are several notices of Dr. Gunning in Evelyn's Diary. When he obtained the mastership of St. John's College upon the ejection of Dr. Tuckney, he allowed that Nonconformist divine a handsome annuity during his life. He was a great controversialist, and a man of great reading. Burnet says he "was a very honest sincere man, but of no sound judgment, and of no prudence in affairs" ("Hist. of his Own. Time"). He died July 6th, 1684, aged seventy-one.] chapel at Exeter House, where he made a very good sermon upon these words:--"That in the fulness of time God sent his Son, made of a woman," &c.; showing, that, by "made under the law," is meant his circumcision, which is solemnized this day. Dined at home in the garret, where my wife dressed the remains of a turkey, and in the doing of it she burned her hand. I staid at home all the afternoon, looking over my accounts; then went with my wife to my father's, and in going observed the great posts which the City have set up at the Conduit in Fleet-street. Supt at my, father's, where in came Mrs. The. Turner--[Theophila Turner, daughter of Sergeant John and Jane Turner, who married Sir Arthur Harris, Bart. She died 1686.]--and Madam Morrice, and supt with us. After that my wife and I went home with them, and so to our own home. 2nd. In the morning before I went forth old East brought me a dozen of bottles of sack, and I gave him a shilling for his pains. Then I went to Mr. Sheply,--[Shepley was a servant of Admiral Sir Edward Montagu]--who was drawing of sack in the wine cellar to send to other places as a gift from my Lord, and told me that my Lord had given him order to give me the dozen of bottles. Thence I went to the Temple to speak with Mr. Calthropp about the L60 due to my Lord, [Sir Edward Montagu, born 1625, son of Sir Sidney Montagu, by Paulina, daughter of John Pepys of Cottenham, married Jemima, daughter of John Crew of Stene. He died in action against the Dutch in Southwold Bay, May 28th, 1672. The title of "My Lord" here applied to Montagu before he was created Earl of Sandwich is of the same character as that given to General Lambert.] but missed of him, he being abroad. Then I went to Mr. Crew's [John Crew, born 1598, eldest son of Sir Thomas Crew, Sergeant-at- Law and Speaker of the House of Commons. He sat for Brackley in the Long Parliament. Created Baron Crew of Stene, in the county of Northampton, at the coronation of Charles II. He married Jemima, daughter and co-heir of Edward Walgrave (or Waldegrave) of Lawford, Essex. His house was in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He died December 12th, 1679.] and borrowed L10 of Mr. Andrewes for my own use, and so went to my office, where there was nothing to do. Then I walked a great while in Westminster Hall, where I heard that Lambert was coming up to London; that my Lord Fairfax [Thomas, Lord Fairfax, Generalissimo of the Parliament forces. After the Restoration, he retired to his country seat, where he lived in private till his death, 1671. In a volume (autograph) of Lord Fairfax's Poems, preserved in the British Museum, 11744, f. 42, the following lines occur upon the 30th of January, on which day the King was beheaded. It is believed that they have never been printed. "O let that day from time be bloted quitt, And beleef of 't in next age be waved, In depest silence that act concealed might, That so the creadet of our nation might be saved; But if the powre devine hath ordered this, His will's the law, and our must aquiess." These wretched verses have obviously no merit; but they are curious as showing that Fairfax, who had refused to act as one of Charles I's judges; continued long afterwards to entertain a proper horror for that unfortunate monarch's fate. It has recently been pointed out to me, that the lines were not originally composed by Fairfax, being only a poor translation of the spirited lines of Statius (Sylvarum lib. v. cap. ii. l. 88) "Excidat illa dies aevo, ne postera credant Secula, nos certe taceamus; et obruta multa Nocte tegi propria patiamur crimina gentis." These verses were first applied by the President de Thou to the massacre of St. Bartholomew, 1572; and in our day, by Mr. Pitt, in his memorable speech in the House of Commons, January, 1793, after the murder of Louis XVI.--B.] was in the head of the Irish brigade, but it was not certain what he would declare for. The House was to-day upon finishing the act for the Council of State, which they did; and for the indemnity to the soldiers; and were to sit again thereupon in the afternoon. Great talk that many places have declared for a free Parliament; and it is believed that they will be forced to fill up the House with the old members. From the Hall I called at home, and so went to Mr. Crew's (my wife she was to go to her father's), thinking to have dined, but I came too late, so Mr. Moore and I and another gentleman went out and drank a cup of ale together in the new market, and there I eat some bread and cheese for my dinner. After that Mr. Moore and I went as far as Fleet-street together and parted, he going into the City, I to find Mr. Calthrop, but failed again of finding him, so returned to Mr. Crew's again, and from thence went along with Mrs. Jemimah [Mrs. Jemimah, or Mrs. Jem, was Jemima, eldest daughter of Sir Edward Montagu. At this time she and her sister, Mrs. Ann, seem to have been living alone with their maids in London, and Pepys's duty was to look after them.] home, and there she taught me how to play at cribbage. Then I went home, and finding my wife gone to see Mrs. Hunt, I went to Will's, [Pepys constantly visited "Will's" about this time; but this could not be the famous coffee-house in Covent Garden, because he mentions visiting there for the first time, February 3rd, 1663-64. It was most probably the house of William Joyce, who kept a place of entertainment at Westminster (see Jan. 29th).] and there sat with Mr. Ashwell talking and singing till nine o'clock, and so home, there, having not eaten anything but bread and cheese, my wife cut me a slice of brawn which. I received from my Lady;--[Jemima, wife of Sir Edward Montagu, daughter of John Crew of Stene, afterwards Lord Crew.]--which proves as good as ever I had any. So to bed, and my wife had a very bad night of it through wind and cold. 3rd. I went out in the morning, it being a great frost, and walked to Mrs. Turner's [Jane, daughter of John Pepys of South Creake, Norfolk, married to John Turner, Sergeant-at-law, Recorder of York; their only child, Theophila, frequently mentioned as The. or Theoph., became the wife of Sir Arthur Harris, Bart., of Stowford, Devon, and died 1686, s.p.] to stop her from coming to see me to-day, because of Mrs. Jem's corning, thence I went to the Temple to speak with Mr. Calthrop, and walked in his chamber an hour, but could not see him, so went to Westminster, where I found soldiers in my office to receive money, and paid it them. At noon went home, where Mrs. Jem, her maid, Mr. Sheply, Hawly, and Moore dined with me on a piece of beef and cabbage, and a collar of brawn. We then fell to cards till dark, and then I went home with Mrs. Jem, and meeting Mr. Hawly got him to bear me company to Chancery Lane, where I spoke with Mr. Calthrop, he told me that Sir James Calthrop was lately dead, but that he would write to his Lady, that the money may be speedily paid. Thence back to White Hall, where I understood that the Parliament had passed the act for indemnity to the soldiers and officers that would come in, in so many days, and that my Lord Lambert should have benefit of the said act. They had also voted that all vacancies in the House, by the death of any of the old members, shall be filled up; but those that are living shall not be called in. Thence I went home, and there found Mr. Hunt and his wife, and Mr. Hawly, who sat with me till ten at night at cards, and so broke up and to bed. 4th. Early came Mr. Vanly--[Mr Vanley appears to have been Pepys's landlord; he is mentioned again in the Diary on September 20th, 1660.]--to me for his half-year's rent, which I had not in the house, but took his man to the office and there paid him. Then I went down into the Hall and to Will's, where Hawly brought a piece of his Cheshire cheese, and we were merry with it. Then into the Hall again, where I met with the Clerk and Quarter Master of my Lord's troop, and took them to the Swan' and gave them their morning's draft, [It was not usual at this time to sit down to breakfast, but instead a morning draught was taken at a tavern.] they being just come to town. Mr. Jenkins shewed me two bills of exchange for money to receive upon my Lord's and my pay. It snowed hard all this morning, and was very cold, and my nose was much swelled with cold. Strange the difference of men's talk! Some say that Lambert must of necessity yield up; others, that he is very strong, and that the Fifth-monarchy-men [will] stick to him, if he declares for a free Parliament. Chillington was sent yesterday to him with the vote of pardon and indemnity from the Parliament. From the Hall I came home, where I found letters from Hinchinbroke [Hinchinbroke was Sir Edward Montagu's seat, from which he afterwards took his second title. Hinchinbroke House, so often mentioned in the Diary, stood about half a mile to the westward of the town of Huntingdon. It was erected late in the reign of Elizabeth, by Sir Henry Cromwell, on the site of a Benedictine nunnery, granted at the Dissolution, with all its appurtenances, to his father, Richard Williams, who had assumed the name of Cromwell, and whose grandson, Sir Oliver, was the uncle and godfather of the Protector. The knight, who was renowned for, his hospitality, had the honour of entertaining King James at Hinchinbroke, but, getting into pecuniary difficulties, was obliged to sell his estates, which were conveyed, July 28th, 1627, to Sir Sidney Montagu of Barnwell, father of the first Earl of Sandwich, in whose descendant they are still vested. On the morning of the 22nd January, 1830, during the minority of the seventh Earl, Hinchinbroke was almost entirely destroyed by fire, but the pictures and furniture were mostly saved, and the house has been rebuilt in the Elizabethan style, and the interior greatly improved, under the direction of Edward Blore, Esq., R.A.--B.] and news of Mr. Sheply's going thither the next week. I dined at home, and from thence went to Will's to Shaw, who promised me to go along with me to Atkinson's about some money, but I found him at cards with Spicer and D. Vines, and could not get him along with me. I was vext at this, and went and walked in the Hall, where I heard that the Parliament spent this day in fasting and prayer; and in the afternoon came letters from the North, that brought certain news that my Lord Lambent his forces were all forsaking him, and that he was left with only fifty horse, and that he did now declare for the Parliament himself; and that my Lord Fairfax did also rest satisfied, and had laid down his arms, and that what he had done was only to secure the country against my Lord Lambert his raising of money, and free quarter. I went to Will's again, where I found them still at cards, and Spicer had won 14s. of Shaw and Vines. Then I spent a little time with G. Vines and Maylard at Vines's at our viols. [It was usual to have a "chest of viols," which consisted of six, viz., two trebles, two tenors, and two basses (see note in North's "Memoirs of Musick," ed. Rimbault, p. 70). The bass viol was also called the 'viola da gamba', because it was held between the legs.] So home, and from thence to Mr. Hunt's, and sat with them and Mr. Hawly at cards till ten at night, and was much made of by them. Home and so to bed, but much troubled with my nose, which was much swelled. 5th. I went to my office, where the money was again expected from the Excise office, but none brought, but was promised to be sent this afternoon. I dined with Mr. Sheply, at my Lord's lodgings, upon his turkey-pie. And so to my office again; where the Excise money was brought, and some of it told to soldiers till it was dark. Then I went home, and after writing a letter to my Lord and told him the news that the Parliament hath this night voted that the members that were discharged from sitting in the years 1648 and 49, were duly discharged; and that there should be writs issued presently for the calling of others in their places, and that Monk and Fairfax were commanded up to town, and that the Prince's lodgings were to be provided for Monk at Whitehall. Then my wife and I, it being a great frost, went to Mrs. Jem's, in expectation to eat a sack-posset, but Mr. Edward--[Edward Montage, son of Sir Edward, and afterwards Lord Hinchinbroke.]--not coming it was put off; and so I left my wife playing at cards with her, and went myself with my lanthorn to Mr. Fage, to consult concerning my nose, who told me it was nothing but cold, and after that we did discourse concerning public business; and he told me it is true the City had not time enough to do much, but they are resolved to shake off the soldiers; and that unless there be a free Parliament chosen, he did believe there are half the Common Council will not levy any money by order of this Parliament. From thence I went to my father's, where I found Mrs. Ramsey and her grandchild, a pretty girl, and staid a while and talked with them and my mother, and then took my leave, only heard of an invitation to go to dinner to-morrow to my cosen Thomas Pepys.--[Thomas Pepys, probably the son of Thomas Pepys of London (born, 1595), brother of Samuel's father, John Pepys.]--I went back to Mrs. Jem, and took my wife and Mrs. Sheply, and went home. 6th. This morning Mr. Sheply and I did eat our breakfast at Mrs. Harper's, (my brother John' being with me,) [John Pepys was born in 1641, and his brother Samuel took great interest in his welfare, but he did not do any great credit to his elder.] upon a cold turkey-pie and a goose. From thence I went to my office, where we paid money to the soldiers till one o'clock, at which time we made an end, and I went home and took my wife and went to my cosen, Thomas Pepys, and found them just sat down to dinner, which was very good; only the venison pasty was palpable beef, which was not handsome. After dinner I took my leave, leaving my wife with my cozen Stradwick,--[Elizabeth, daughter of Richard Pepys, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, and wife of Thomas Stradwick.]--and went to Westminster to Mr. Vines, where George and I fiddled a good while, Dick and his wife (who was lately brought to bed) and her sister being there, but Mr. Hudson not coming according to his promise, I went away, and calling at my house on the wench, I took her and the lanthorn with me to my cosen Stradwick, where, after a good supper, there being there my father, mother, brothers, and sister, my cosen Scott and his wife, Mr. Drawwater and his wife, and her brother, Mr. Stradwick, we had a brave cake brought us, and in the choosing, Pall was Queen and Mr. Stradwick was King. After that my wife and I bid adieu and came home, it being still a great frost. 7th. At my office as I was receiving money of the probate of wills, in came Mrs. Turner, Theoph., Madame Morrice, and Joyce, and after I had done I took them home to my house and Mr. Hawly came after, and I got a dish of steaks and a rabbit for them, while they were playing a game or two at cards. In the middle of our dinner a messenger from Mr. Downing came to fetch me to him, so leaving Mr. Hawly there, I went and was forced to stay till night in expectation of the French Embassador, who at last came, and I had a great deal of good discourse with one of his gentlemen concerning the reason of the difference between the zeal of the French and the Spaniard. After he was gone I went home, and found my friends still at cards, and after that I went along with them to Dr. Whores (sending my wife to Mrs. Jem's to a sack-posset), where I heard some symphony and songs of his own making, performed by Mr. May, Harding, and Mallard. Afterwards I put my friends into a coach, and went to Mrs. Jem's, where I wrote a letter to my Lord by the post, and had my part of the posset which was saved for me, and so we went home, and put in at my Lord's lodgings, where we staid late, eating of part of his turkey-pie, and reading of Quarles' Emblems. So home and to bed. 8th (Sunday). In the morning I went to Mr. Gunning's, where a good sermon, wherein he showed the life of Christ, and told us good authority for us to believe that Christ did follow his father's trade, and was a carpenter till thirty years of age. From thence to my father's to dinner, where I found my wife, who was forced to dine there, we not having one coal of fire in the house, and it being very hard frosty weather. In the afternoon my father, he going to a man's to demand some money due to my Aunt Bells my wife and I went to Mr. Mossum's, where a strange doctor made a very good sermon. From thence sending my wife to my father's, I went to Mrs. Turner's, and staid a little while, and then to my father's, where I found Mr. Sheply, and after supper went home together. Here I heard of the death of Mr. Palmer, and that he was to be buried at Westminster tomorrow. 9th. For these two or three days I have been much troubled with thoughts how to get money to pay them that I have borrowed money of, by reason of my money being in my uncle's hands. I rose early this morning, and looked over and corrected my brother John's speech, which he is to make the next apposition,--[Declamations at St. Paul's School, in which there were opponents and respondents.]--and after that I went towards my office, and in my way met with W. Simons, Muddiman, and Jack Price, and went with them to Harper's and in many sorts of talk I staid till two of the clock in the afternoon. I found Muddiman a good scholar, an arch rogue; and owns that though he writes new books for the Parliament, yet he did declare that he did it only to get money; and did talk very basely of many of them. Among other things, W. Simons told me how his uncle Scobel was on Saturday last called to the bar, for entering in the journal of the House, for the year 1653, these words: "This day his Excellence the Lord General Cromwell dissolved this House;" which words the Parliament voted a forgery, and demanded of him how they came to be entered. He answered that they were his own handwriting, and that he did it by virtue of his office, and the practice of his predecessor; and that the intent of the practice was to--let posterity know how such and such a Parliament was dissolved, whether by the command of the King, or by their own neglect, as the last House of Lords was; and that to this end, he had said and writ that it was dissolved by his Excellence the Lord G[eneral]; and that for the word dissolved, he never at the time did hear of any other term; and desired pardon if he would not dare to make a word himself when it was six years after, before they came themselves to call it an interruption; but they were so little satisfied with this answer, that they did chuse a committee to report to the House, whether this crime of Mr. Scobell's did come within the act of indemnity or no. Thence I went with Muddiman to the Coffee-House, and gave 18d. to be entered of the Club. Thence into the Hall, where I heard for certain that Monk was coming to London, and that Bradshaw's 2 lodgings were preparing for him. Thence to Mrs. Jem's, and found her in bed, and she was afraid that it would prove the small-pox. Thence back to Westminster Hall, where I heard how Sir H. Vane--[Sir Harry Vane the younger, an inflexible republican. He was executed in 1662, on a charge of conspiring the death of Charles I.]--was this day voted out of the House, and to sit no more there; and that he would retire himself to his house at Raby, as also all the rest of the nine officers that had their commissions formerly taken away from them, were commanded to their farthest houses from London during the pleasure of the Parliament. Here I met with the Quarter Master of my Lord's troop, and his clerk Mr. Jenings, and took them home, and gave them a bottle of wine, and the remainder of my collar of brawn; and so good night. After that came in Mr. Hawly, who told me that I was mist this day at my office, and that to-morrow I must pay all the money that I have, at which I was put to a great loss how I should get money to make up my cash, and so went to bed in great trouble. 10th. Went out early, and in my way met with Greatorex,--[Ralph Greatorex, the well-known mathematical instrument maker of his day. He is frequently mentioned by Pepys.]--and at an alehouse he showed me the first sphere of wire that ever he made, and indeed it was very pleasant; thence to Mr. Crew's, and borrowed L10, and so to my office, and was able to pay my money. Thence into the Hall, and meeting the Quarter Master, Jenings, and Captain Rider, we four went to a cook's to dinner. Thence Jenings and I into London (it being through heat of the sun a great thaw and dirty) to show our bills of return, and coming back drank a pint of wine at the Star in Cheapside. So to Westminster, overtaking Captain Okeshott in his silk cloak, whose sword got hold of many people in walking. Thence to the Coffee-house, where were a great confluence of gentlemen; viz. Mr. Harrington, Poultny, chairman, Gold, Dr, Petty; &c., where admirable discourse till at night. Thence with Doling to Mother Lams, who told me how this day Scott [Thomas Scott, M.P., was made Secretary of State to the Commonwealth on the 17th of this same January. He signed the death warrant of Charles I., for which he was executed at Charing Cross, October 16th, 1660. He gloried in his offence, and desired to have written on his tombstone, "Thomas Scott who adjudged to death the late king."] was made Intelligencer, and that the rest of the members that were objected against last night, their business was to be heard this day se'nnight. Thence I went home and wrote a letter, and went to Harper's, and staid there till Tom carried it to the postboy at Whitehall. So home to bed. 11th. Being at Will's with Captain Barker, who hath paid me L300 this morning at my office, in comes my father, and with him I walked, and leave him at W. Joyce's, and went myself to Mr. Crew's, but came too late to dine, and therefore after a game at shittle-cocks--[The game of battledore and shuttlecock was formerly much played even in tennis courts, and was a very violent game.]--with Mr. Walgrave and Mr. Edward, I returned to my father, and taking him from W. Joyce's, who was not abroad himself, we inquired of a porter, and by his direction went to an alehouse, where after a cup or two we parted. I went towards London, and in my way went in to see Crowly, who was now grown a very great loon and very tame. Thence to Mr. Steven's with a pair of silver snuffers, and bought a pair of shears to cut silver, and so homeward again. From home I went to see Mrs. Jem, who was in bed, and now granted to have the small-pox. Back again, and went to the Coffee-house, but tarried not, and so home. 12th. I drink my morning at Harper's with Mr. Sheply and a seaman, and so to my office, where Captain Holland came to see me, and appointed a meeting in the afternoon. Then wrote letters to Hinchinbroke and sealed them at Will's, and after that went home, and thence to the Half Moon, where I found the Captain and Mr. Billingsly and Newman, a barber, where we were very merry, and had the young man that plays so well on the Welsh harp. Billingsly paid for all. Thence home, and finding my letters this day not gone by the carrier I new sealed them, but my brother Tom coming we fell into discourse about my intention to feast the Joyces. I sent for a bit of meat for him from the cook's, and forgot to send my letters this night. So I went to bed, and in discourse broke to my wife what my thoughts were concerning my design of getting money by, &c. 13th. Coming in the morning to my office, I met with Mr. Fage and took him to the Swan? He told me how high Haselrigge, and Morly, the last night began at my Lord Mayor's to exclaim against the City of London, saying that they had forfeited their charter. And how the Chamberlain of the City did take them down, letting them know how much they were formerly beholding to the City, &c. He also told me that Monk's letter that came to them by the sword-bearer was a cunning piece, and that which they did not much trust to; but they were resolved to make no more applications to the Parliament, nor to pay any money, unless the secluded members be brought in, or a free Parliament chosen. Thence to my office, where nothing to do. So to Will's with Mr. Pinkney, who invited me to their feast at his Hall the next Monday. Thence I went home and took my wife and dined at Mr. Wades, and after that we went and visited Catan. From thence home again, and my wife was very unwilling to let me go forth, but with some discontent would go out if I did, and I going forth towards Whitehall, I saw she followed me, and so I staid and took her round through Whitehall, and so carried her home angry. Thence I went to Mrs. Jem, and found her up and merry, and that it did not prove the small-pox, but only the swine-pox; so I played a game or two at cards with her. And so to Mr. Vines, where he and I and Mr. Hudson played half-a-dozen things, there being there Dick's wife and her sister. After that I went home and found my wife gone abroad to Mr. Hunt's, and came in a little after me.--So to bed. 14th. Nothing to do at our office. Thence into the Hall, and just as I was going to dinner from Westminster Hall with Mr. Moore (with whom I had been in the lobby to hear news, and had spoke with Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper about my Lord's lodgings) to his house, I met with Captain Holland, who told me that he hath brought his wife to my house, so I posted home and got a dish of meat for them. They staid with me all the afternoon, and went hence in the evening. Then I went with my wife, and left her at market, and went myself to the Coffee-house, and heard exceeding good argument against Mr. Harrington's assertion, that overbalance of propriety [i.e., property] was the foundation of government. Home, and wrote to Hinchinbroke, and sent that and my other letter that missed of going on Thursday last. So to bed. 15th. Having been exceedingly disturbed in the night with the barking of a dog of one of our neighbours that I could not sleep for an hour or two, I slept late, and then in the morning took physic, and so staid within all day. At noon my brother John came to me, and I corrected as well as I could his Greek speech to say the Apposition, though I believe he himself was as well able to do it as myself. After that we went to read in the great Officiale about the blessing of bells in the Church of Rome. After that my wife and I in pleasant discourse till night, then I went to supper, and after that to make an end of this week's notes in this book, and so to bed. It being a cold day and a great snow my physic did not work so well as it should have done. 16th. In the morning I went up to Mr. Crew's, and at his bedside he gave me direction to go to-morrow with Mr. Edward to Twickenham, and likewise did talk to me concerning things of state; and expressed his mind how just it was that the secluded members should come to sit again. I went from thence, and in my way went into an alehouse and drank my morning draft with Matthew Andrews and two or three more of his friends, coachmen. And of one of them I did hire a coach to carry us to-morrow to Twickenham. From thence to my office, where nothing to do; but Mr. Downing he came and found me all alone; and did mention to me his going back into Holland, and did ask me whether I would go or no, but gave me little encouragement, but bid me consider of it; and asked me whether I did not think that Mr. Hawly could perform the work of my office alone or no. I confess I was at a great loss, all the day after, to bethink myself how to carry this business. At noon, Harry Ethall came to me and went along with Mr. Maylard by coach as far as Salsbury Court, and there we set him down, and we went to the Clerks, where we came a little too late, but in a closet we had a very good dinner by Mr. Pinkny's courtesy, and after dinner we had pretty good singing, and one, Hazard, sung alone after the old fashion, which was very much cried up, but I did not like it. Thence we went to the Green Dragon, on Lambeth Hill, both the Mr. Pinkney's, Smith, Harrison, Morrice, that sang the bass, Sheply and I, and there we sang of all sorts of things, and I ventured with good success upon things at first sight, and after that I played on my flageolet, and staid there till nine o'clock, very merry and drawn on with one song after another till it came to be so late. After that Sheply, Harrison and myself, we went towards Westminster on foot, and at the Golden Lion, near Charing Cross, we went in and drank a pint of wine, and so parted, and thence home, where I found my wife and maid a-washing. I staid up till the bell-man came by with his bell just under my window as I was writing of this very line, and cried, "Past one of the clock, and a cold, frosty, windy morning." I then went to bed, and left my wife and the maid a-washing still. 17th. Early I went to Mr. Crew's, and having given Mr. Edward money to give the servants, I took him into the coach that waited for us and carried him to my house, where the coach waited for me while I and the child went to Westminster Hall, and bought him some pictures. In the Hall I met Mr. Woodfine, and took him to Will's and drank with him. Thence the child and I to the coach, where my wife was ready, and so we went towards Twickenham. In our way, at Kensington we understood how that my Lord Chesterfield had killed another gentleman about half an hour before, and was fled. [Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield, ob. 1713, act. suae 80. We learn, from the memoir prefixed to his "Printed Correspondence," that he fought three duels, disarming and wounding his first and second antagonists, and killing the third. The name of the unfortunate gentleman who fell on this occasion was Woolly. Lord Chesterfield, absconding, went to Breda, where he obtained the royal pardon from Charles II. He acted a busy part in the eventful times in which he lived, and was remarkable for his steady adherence to the Stuarts. Lord Chesterfield's letter to Charles II., and the King's answer granting the royal pardon, occur in the Correspondence published by General Sir John Murray, in 1829. "Jan. 17th, 1659. The Earl of Chesterfield and Dr. Woolly's son of Hammersmith, had a quarrel about a mare of eighteen pounds price; the quarrel would not be reconciled, insomuch that a challenge passed between them. They fought a duel on the backside of Mr. Colby's house at Kensington, where the Earl and he had several passes. The Earl wounded him in two places, and would fain have then ended, but the stubbornness and pride of heart of Mr. Woolly would not give over, and the next pass [he] was killed on the spot. The Earl fled to Chelsea, and there took water and escaped. The jury found it chance-medley."--Rugge's "Diurnal," Addit MSS., British Museum.--B.] We went forward and came about one of the clock to Mr. Fuller's, but he was out of town, so we had a dinner there, and I gave the child 40s. to give to the two ushers. After that we parted and went homewards, it being market day at Brainford [Brentford]. I set my wife down and went with the coach to Mr. Crew's, thinking to have spoke with Mr. Moore and Mrs. Jem, he having told me the reason of his melancholy was some unkindness from her after so great expressions of love, and how he had spoke to her friends and had their consent, and that he would desire me to take an occasion of speaking with her, but by no means not to heighten her discontent or distaste whatever it be, but to make it up if I can. But he being out of doors, I went away and went to see Mrs. Jem, who was now very well again, and after a game or two at cards, I left her. So I went to the Coffee Club, and heard very good discourse; it was in answer to Mr. Harrington's answer, who said that the state of the Roman government was not a settled government, and so it was no wonder that the balance of propriety [i.e., property] was in one hand, and the command in another, it being therefore always in a posture of war; but it was carried by ballot, that it was a steady government, though it is true by the voices it had been carried before that it was an unsteady government; so to-morrow it is to be proved by the opponents that the balance lay in one hand, and the government in another. Thence I went to Westminster, and met Shaw and Washington, who told me how this day Sydenham [Colonel William Sydenham had been an active officer during the Civil Wars, on the Parliament side; M.P. for Dorsetshire, Governor of Melcombe, and one of the Committee of Safety. He was the elder brother of the celebrated physician of that name.--B.] was voted out of the House for sitting any more this Parliament, and that Salloway was voted out likewise and sent to the Tower, during the pleasure of the House. Home and wrote by the Post, and carried to Whitehall, and coming back turned in at Harper-'s, where Jack Price was, and I drank with him and he told me, among other, things, how much the Protector [Richard Cromwell, third son of Oliver Cromwell, born October 4th, 1626, admitted a member of Lincoln's Inn, May 27th, 1647, fell into debt and devoted himself to hunting and field sports. His succession to his father as Protector was universally accepted at first, but the army soon began to murmur because he was not a general. Between the dissensions of various parties he fell, and the country was left in a state of anarchy: He went abroad early in the summer of 1660, and lived abroad for some years, returning to England in 1680. After his fall he bore the name of John Clarke. Died at Cheshunt, July 12th, 1712.] is altered, though he would seem to bear out his trouble very well, yet he is scarce able to talk sense with a man; and how he will say that "Who should a man trust, if he may not trust to a brother and an uncle;" and "how much those men have to answer before God Almighty, for their playing the knave with him as they did." He told me also, that there was; L100,000 offered, and would have been taken for his restitution, had not the Parliament come in as they did again; and that he do believe that the Protector will live to give a testimony of his valour and revenge yet before he dies, and that the Protector will say so himself sometimes. Thence I went home, it being late and my wife in bed. 18th. To my office and from thence to Will's, and there Mr. Sheply brought me letters from the carrier and so I went home. After that to Wilkinson's, where we had a dinner for Mr. Talbot, Adams, Pinkny and his son, but his son did not come. Here we were very merry, and while I was here Mr. Fuller came thither and staid a little, while. After that we all went to my Lord's, whither came afterwards Mr. Harrison, and by chance seeing Mr. Butler--[Mr. Butler is usually styled by Pepys Mons. l'Impertinent.]--coming by I called him in and so we sat drinking a bottle of wine till night. At which time Mistress Ann--[Probably Mrs. (afterwards Lady) Anne Montagu, daughter of Sir Edward Montagu, and sister to Mrs. Jem.]--came with the key of my Lord's study for some things, and so we all broke up and after I had gone to my house and interpreted my Lord's letter by his character--[The making of ciphers was a popular amusement about this time. Pepys made several for Montagu, Downing, and others.]--I came to her again and went with her to her lodging and from thence to Mr. Crew's, where I advised with him what to do about my Lord's lodgings and what answer to give to Sir Ant. Cooper and so I came home and to bed. All the world is at a loss to think what Monk will do: the City saying that he will be for them, and the Parliament saying he will be for them. 19th. This morning I was sent for to Mr. Downing, and at his bed side he told me, that he had a kindness for me, and that he thought that he had done me one; and that was, that he had got me to be one of the Clerks of the Council; at which I was a little stumbled, and could not tell what to do, whether to thank him or no; but by and by I did; but not very heartily, for I feared that his doing of it was but only to ease himself of the salary which he gives me. After that Mr. Sheply staying below all this time for me we went thence and met Mr. Pierce, [Pepys had two friends named Pierce, one the surgeon and the other the purser; he usually (but not always) distinguishes them. The one here alluded to was probably the surgeon, and husband of pretty Mrs. Pierce. After the Restoration James Pearse or Pierce became Surgeon to the Duke of York, and he was also Surgeon-General of the Fleet.] so at the Harp and Ball drank our morning draft and so to Whitehall where I met with Sir Ant. Cooper and did give him some answer from my Lord and he did give us leave to keep the lodgings still. And so we did determine thereupon that Mr. Sheply might now go into the country and would do so to-morrow. Back I went by Mr. Downing's order and staid there till twelve o'clock in expectation of one to come to read some writings, but he came not, so I staid all alone reading the answer of the Dutch Ambassador to our State, in answer to the reasons of my Lord's coming home, which he gave for his coming, and did labour herein to contradict my Lord's arguments for his coming home. Thence to my office and so with Mr. Sheply and Moore, to dine upon a turkey with Mrs. Jem, and after that Mr. Moore and I went to the French Ordinary, where Mr. Downing this day feasted Sir Arth. Haselrigge, and a great many more of the Parliament, and did stay to put him in mind of me. Here he gave me a note to go and invite some other members to dinner tomorrow. So I went to White Hall, and did stay at Marsh's, with Simons, Luellin, and all the rest of the Clerks of the Council, who I hear are all turned out, only the two Leighs, and they do all tell me that my name was mentioned the last night, but that nothing was done in it. Hence I went and did leave some of my notes at the lodgings of the members and so home. To bed. 20th. In the morning I went to Mr. Downing's bedside and gave him an account what I had done as to his guests, land I went thence to my Lord Widdrington who I met in the street, going to seal the patents for the judges to-day, and so could not come to dinner. I called upon Mr. Calthrop about the money due to my Lord. Here I met with Mr. Woodfine and drank with him at the Sun in Chancery Lane and so to Westminster Hall, where at the lobby I spoke with the rest of my guests and so to my office. At noon went by water with Mr. Maylard and Hales to the Swan in Fish Street at our Goal Feast, where we were very merry at our Jole of Ling, and from thence after a great and good dinner Mr. Falconberge would go drink a cup of ale at a place where I had like to have shot at a scholar that lay over the house of office. Thence calling on Mr. Stephens and Wootton (with whom I drank) about business of my Lord's I went to the Coffee Club where there was nothing done but choosing of a Committee for orders. Thence to Westminster Hall where Mrs. Lane and the rest of the maids had their white scarfs, all having been at the burial of a young bookseller in the Hall. [These stationers and booksellers, whose shops disfigured Westminster Hall down to a late period, were a privileged class. In the statutes for appointing licensers and regulating the press, there is a clause exempting them from the pains and penalties of these obnoxious laws.] Thence to Mr. Sheply's and took him to my house and drank with him in order to his going to-morrow. So parted and I sat up late making up my accounts before he go. This day three citizens of London went to meet Monk from the Common Council! "Jan. 20th. Then there went out of the City, by desire of the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen, Alderman Fowke and Alderman Vincett, alias Vincent, and Mr. Broomfield, to compliment General Monk, who lay at Harborough Town, in Leicestershire." "Jan. 21st. Because the Speaker was sick, and Lord General Monk so near London, and everybody thought that the City would suffer for their affronts to the soldiery, and because they had sent the sword- bearer to, the General without the Parliament's consent, and the three Aldermen were gone to give him the welcome to town, these four lines were in almost everybody's mouth: "Monk under a hood, not well understood, The City pull in their horns; The Speaker is out, and sick of the gout, And the Parliament sit upon thorns." --Rugge's 'Diurnal.'--B." 21st. Up early in finishing my accounts and writing to my Lord and from thence to my Lord's and took leave of Mr. Sheply and possession of all the keys and the house. Thence to my office for some money to pay Mr. Sheply and sent it him by the old man. I then went to Mr. Downing who chid me because I did not give him notice of some of his guests failed him but I told him that I sent our porter to tell him and he was not within, but he told me that he was within till past twelve o'clock. So the porter or he lied. Thence to my office where nothing to do. Then with Mr. Hawly, he and I went to Mr. Crew's and dined there. Thence into London, to Mr. Vernon's and I received my L25 due by bill for my troopers' pay. Then back again to Steadman's. At the Mitre, in Fleet street, in our way calling on Mr. Fage, who told me how the City have some hopes of Monk. Thence to the Mitre, where I drank a pint of wine, the house being in fitting for Banister to come hither from Paget's. Thence to Mrs. Jem and gave her L5. So home and left my money and to Whitehall where Luellin and I drank and talked together an hour at Marsh's and so up to the clerks' room, where poor Mr. Cook, a black man, that is like to be put out of his clerk's place, came and railed at me for endeavouring to put him out and get myself in, when I was already in a good condition. But I satisfied him and after I had wrote a letter there to my Lord, wherein I gave him an account how this day Lenthall took his chair again, and [the House] resolved a declaration to be brought in on Monday next to satisfy the world what they intend to do. So home and to bed. 22nd. I went in the morning to Mr. Messum's, where I met with W. Thurburn and sat with him in his pew. A very eloquent sermon about the duty of all to give good example in our lives and conversation, which I fear he himself was most guilty of not doing. After sermon, at the door by appointment my wife met me, and so to my father's to dinner, where we had not been to my shame in a fortnight before. After dinner my father shewed me a letter from Mr. Widdrington, of Christ's College, in Cambridge, wherein he do express very great kindness for my brother, and my father intends that my brother shall go to him. To church in the afternoon to Mr. Herring, where a lazy poor sermon. And so home with Mrs. Turner and sitting with her a while we went to my father's where we supt very merry, and so home. This day I began to put on buckles to my shoes, which I have bought yesterday of Mr. Wotton. 23rd. In the morning called out to carry L20 to Mr. Downing, which I did and came back, and finding Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, I took him to the Axe and gave him his morning draft. Thence to my office and there did nothing but make up my balance. Came home and found my wife dressing of the girl's head, by which she was made to look very pretty. I went out and paid Wilkinson what I did owe him, and brought a piece of beef home for dinner. Thence I went out and paid Waters, the vintner, and went to see Mrs. Jem, where I found my Lady Wright, but Scott was so drunk that he could not be seen. Here I staid and made up Mrs. Ann's bills, and played a game or two at cards, and thence to Westminster Hall, it being very dark. I paid Mrs. Michell, my bookseller, and back to Whitehall, and in the garden, going through to the Stone Gallery--[The Stone Gallery was a long passage between the Privy Garden and the river. It led from the Bowling Green to the Court of the Palace]--I fell into a ditch, it being very dark. At the Clerk's chamber I met with Simons and Luellin, and went with them to Mr. Mount's chamber at the Cock Pit, where we had some rare pot venison, and ale to abundance till almost twelve at night, and after a song round we went home. This day the Parliament sat late, and resolved of the declaration to be printed for the people's satisfaction, promising them a great many good things. 24th. In the morning to my office, where, after I had drank my morning draft at Will's with Ethell and Mr. Stevens, I went and told part of the excise money till twelve o'clock, and then called on my wife and took her to Mr. Pierces, she in the way being exceedingly troubled with a pair of new pattens, and I vexed to go so slow, it being late. There when we came we found Mrs. Carrick very fine, and one Mr. Lucy, who called one another husband and wife, and after dinner a great deal of mad stir. There was pulling off Mrs. bride's and Mr. bridegroom's ribbons; [The scramble for ribbons, here mentioned by Pepys in connection with weddings (see also January 26th, 1660-61, and February 8th, 1662-3), doubtless formed part of the ceremony of undressing the bridegroom, which, as the age became more refined, fell into disuse. All the old plays are silent on the custom; the earliest notice of which occurs in the old ballad of the wedding of Arthur O'Bradley, printed in the Appendix to "Robin Hood," 1795, where we read-- "Then got they his points and his garters, And cut them in pieces like martyrs; And then they all did play For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley." Sir Winston Churchill also observes ("Divi Britannici," p. 340) that James I. was no more troubled at his querulous countrymen robbing him than a bridegroom at the losing of his points and garters. Lady Fanshawe, in her "Memoirs," says, that at the nuptials of Charles II. and the Infanta, "the Bishop of London declared them married in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; and then they caused the ribbons her Majesty wore to be cut in little pieces; and as far as they would go, every one had some." The practice still survives in the form of wedding favours. A similar custom is still of every day's occurrence at Dieppe. Upon the morrow after their marriage, the bride and bridegroom perambulate the streets, followed by a numerous cortege, the guests at the wedding festival, two and two; each individual wearing two bits of narrow ribbon, about two inches in length, of different colours, which are pinned crossways upon the breast. These morsels of ribbons originally formed the garters of the bride and bridegroom, which had been divided amidst boisterous mirth among the assembled company, the moment the happy pair had been formally installed in the bridal bed.--Ex. inf. Mr. William .Hughes, Belvedere, Jersey.--B.] with a great deal of fooling among them that I and my wife did not like. Mr. Lucy and several other gentlemen coming in after dinner, swearing and singing as if they were mad, only he singing very handsomely. There came in afterwards Mr. Southerne, clerk to Mr. Blackburne, and with him Lambert, lieutenant of my Lord's ship, and brought with them the declaration that came out to-day from the Parliament, wherein they declare for law and gospel, and for tythes; but I do not find people apt to believe them. After this taking leave I went to my father's, and my wife staying there, he and I went to speak with Mr. Crumlum (in the meantime, while it was five o'clock, he being in the school, we went to my cozen Tom Pepys' shop, the turner in Paul's Churchyard, and drank with him a pot of ale); he gave my father directions what to do about getting my brother an exhibition, and spoke very well of my brother. Thence back with my father home, where he and I spoke privately in the little room to my sister Pall about stealing of things as my wife's scissars and my maid's book, at which my father was much troubled. Hence home with my wife and so to Whitehall, where I met with Mr. Hunt and Luellin, and drank with them at Marsh's, and afterwards went up and wrote to my Lord by the post. This day the Parliament gave order that the late Committee of Safety should come before them this day se'nnight, and all their papers, and their model of Government that they had made, to be brought in with them. So home and talked with my wife about our dinner on Thursday. 25th. Called up early to Mr. Downing; he gave me a Character, such a one as my Lord's, to make perfect, and likewise gave me his order for L500 to carry to Mr. Frost, which I did and so to my office, where I did do something about the character till twelve o'clock. Then home find found my wife and the maid at my Lord's getting things ready against to-morrow. I went by water to my Uncle White's' to dinner, where I met my father, where we alone had a fine jole of Ling to dinner. After dinner I took leave, and coming home heard that in Cheapside there had been but a little before a gibbet set up, and the picture of Huson [John Hewson, who, from a low origin, became a colonel in the Parliament army, and sat in judgment on the King: he escaped hanging by flight, and died in 1662, at Amsterdam. A curious notice of Hewson occurs in Rugge's "Diurnal," December 5th, 1659, which states that "he was a cobbler by trade, but a very stout man, and a very good commander; but in regard of his former employment, they [the city apprentices] threw at him old shoes, and slippers, and turniptops, and brick-bats, stones, and tiles." . . . "At this time [January, 1659-60] there came forth, almost every day, jeering books: one was called 'Colonel Hewson's Confession; or, a Parley with Pluto,' about his going into London, and taking down the gates of Temple-Bar." He had but one eye, which did not escape the notice of his enemies.--B.] hung upon it in the middle of the street. I called at Paul's Churchyard, where I bought Buxtorf's Hebrew Grammar; and read a declaration of the gentlemen of Northampton which came out this afternoon. Thence to my father's, where I staid with my mother a while and then to Mr. Crew's about a picture to be sent into the country, of Mr. Thomas Crew, to my Lord. So [to] my Lady Wright to speak with her, but she was abroad, so Mr. Evans, her butler, had me into his buttery, and gave me sack and a lesson on his lute, which he played very well. Thence I went to my Lord's and got most things ready against tomorrow, as fires and laying the cloth, and my wife was making of her tarts and larding of her pullets till eleven o'clock. This evening Mr. Downing sent for me, and gave me order to go to Mr. Jessop for his papers concerning his dispatch to Holland which were not ready, only his order for a ship to transport him he gave me. To my Lord's again and so home with my wife, tired with this day's work. 26th. To my office for L20 to carry to Mr. Downing, which I did and back again. Then came Mr. Frost to pay Mr. Downing his L500, and I went to him for the warrant and brought it Mr. Frost. Called for some papers at Whitehall for Mr. Downing, one of which was an Order of the Council for L1800 per annum, to be paid monthly; and the other two, Orders to the Commissioners of Customs, to let his goods pass free. Home from my office to my Lord's lodgings where my wife had got ready a very fine dinner--viz. a dish of marrow bones; a leg of mutton; a loin of veal; a dish of fowl, three pullets, and two dozen of larks all in a dish; a great tart, a neat's tongue, a dish of anchovies; a dish of prawns and cheese. My company was my father, my uncle Fenner, his two sons, Mr. Pierce, and all their wives, and my brother Tom. We were as merry as I could frame myself to be in the company, W. Joyce talking after the old rate and drinking hard, vexed his father and mother and wife. And I did perceive that Mrs. Pierce her coming so gallant, that it put the two young women quite out of courage. When it became dark they all went away but Mr. Pierce, and W. Joyce, and their wives and Tom, and drank a bottle of wine afterwards, so that Will did heartily vex his father and mother by staying. At which I and my wife were much pleased. Then they all went and I fell to writing of two characters for Mr. Downing, and carried them to him at nine o'clock at night, and he did not like them but corrected them, so that to-morrow I am to do them anew. To my Lord's lodging again and sat by the great log, it being now a very good fire, with my wife, and ate a bit and so home. The news this day is a letter that speaks absolutely Monk's concurrence with this Parliament, and nothing else, which yet I hardly believe. After dinner to-day my father showed me a letter from my Uncle Robert, in answer to my last, concerning my money which I would have out of my Coz. Beck's' hand, wherein Beck desires it four months longer, which I know not how to spare. 27th. Going to my office I met with Tom Newton, my old comrade, and took him to the Crown in the Palace, and gave him his morning draft. And as he always did, did talk very high what he would do with the Parliament, that he would have what place he would, and that he might be one of the Clerks to the Council if he would. Here I staid talking with him till the offices were all shut, and then I looked in the Hall, and was told by my bookseller, Mrs. Michell, that Mr. G. Montagu had inquired there for me. So I went to his house, and was forced by him to dine with him, and had a plenteous brave dinner and the greatest civility that ever I had from any man. Thence home and so to Mrs. Jem, and played with her at cards, and coming home again my wife told me that Mr. Hawly had been there to speak with me, and seemed angry that I had not been at the office that day, and she told me she was afraid that Mr. Downing may have a mind to pick some hole in my coat. So I made haste to him, but found no such thing from him, but he sent me to Mr. Sherwin's about getting Mr. Squib to come to him tomorrow, and I carried him an answer. So home and fell a writing the characters for Mr. Downing, and about nine at night Mr. Hawly came, and after he was gone I sat up till almost twelve writing, and--wrote two of them. In the morning up early and wrote another, my wife lying in bed and reading to me. 28th. I went to Mr. Downing and carried him three characters, and then to my office and wrote another, while Mr. Frost staid telling money. And after I had done it Mr. Hawly came into the office and I left him and carried it to Mr. Downing, who then told me that he was resolved to be gone for Holland this morning. So I to my office again, and dispatch my business there, and came with Mr. Hawly to Mr. Downing's lodging, and took Mr. Squib from White Hall in a coach thither with me, and there we waited in his chamber a great while, till he came in; and in the mean time, sent all his things to the barge that lay at Charing-Cross Stairs. Then came he in, and took a very civil leave of me, beyond my expectation, for I was afraid that he would have told me something of removing me from my office; but he did not, but that he would do me any service that lay in his power. So I went down and sent a porter to my house for my best fur cap, but he coming too late with it I did not present it to him. Thence I went to Westminster Hall, and bound up my cap at Mrs. Michell's, who was much taken with my cap, and endeavoured to overtake the coach at the Exchange and to give it him there, but I met with one that told me that he was gone, and so I returned and went to Heaven, [A place of entertainment within or adjoining Westminster Hall. It is called in "Hudibras," "False Heaven, at the end of the Hall." There were two other alehouses near Westminster Hall, called Hell and Purgatory. "Nor break his fast In Heaven and Hell." Ben Jonson's Alchemist, act v. SC. 2.] where Luellin and I dined on a breast of mutton all alone, discoursing of the changes that we have seen and the happiness of them that have estates of their own, and so parted, and I went by appointment to my office and paid young Mr. Walton L500; it being very dark he took L300 by content. He gave me half a piece and carried me in his coach to St. Clement's, from whence I went to Mr. Crew's and made even with Mr. Andrews, and took in all my notes and gave him one for all. Then to my Lady Wright and gave her my Lord's letter which he bade me give her privately. So home and then to Will's for a little news, then came home again and wrote to my Lord, and so to Whitehall and gave them to the post-boy. Back again home and to bed. 29th. In the morning I went to Mr. Gunning's, where he made an excellent sermon upon the 2d of the Galatians, about the difference that fell between St. Paul and St. Peter (the feast day of St. Paul being a day or two ago), whereby he did prove, that, contrary to the doctrine of the Roman Church, St. Paul did never own any dependance, or that he was inferior to St. Peter, but that they were equal, only one a particular charge of preaching to the Jews, and the other to the Gentiles. Here I met with Mr. Moore, and went home with him to dinner to Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Spurrier being in town did dine with us. From thence I went home and spent the afternoon in casting up my accounts, and do find myself to be worth L40 and more, which I did not think, but am afraid that I have forgot something. To my father's to supper, where I heard by my brother Tom how W. Joyce would the other day have Mr. Pierce and his wife to the tavern after they were gone from my house, and that he had so little manners as to make Tom pay his share notwithstanding that he went upon his account, and by my father I understand that my uncle Fenner and my aunt were much pleased with our entertaining them. After supper home without going to see Mrs. Turner. 30th. This morning, before I was up, I fell a-singing of my song, "Great, good, and just," &c. [This is the beginning of the Marquis of Montrose's verses on the execution of Charles I., which Pepys had set to music: "Great, good, and just, could I but rate My grief and thy too rigid fate, I'd weep the world to such a strain That it should deluge once again. But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies More from Briareus' hands, than Argus eyes, I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds, And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds."] and put myself thereby in mind that this was the fatal day, now ten years since, his Majesty died. Scull the waterman came and brought me a note from the Hope from Mr. Hawly with direction, about his money, he tarrying there till his master be gone. To my office, where I received money of the excise of Mr. Ruddyer, and after we had done went to Will's and staid there till 3 o'clock and then I taking my L12 10s. 0d. due to me for my last quarter's salary, I went with them by water to London to the house where Signr. Torriano used to be and staid there a while with Mr. Ashwell, Spicer and Ruddier. Then I went and paid L12 17s. 6d. due from me to Captn. Dick Matthews according to his direction the last week in a letter. After that I came back by water playing on my flageolette and not finding my wife come home again from her father's I went and sat awhile and played at cards with Mrs. Jam, whose maid had newly got an ague and was ill thereupon. So homewards again, having great need to do my business, and so pretending to meet Mr. Shott the wood monger of Whitehall I went and eased myself at the Harp and Ball, and thence home where I sat writing till bed-time and so to bed. There seems now to be a general cease of talk, it being taken for granted that Monk do resolve to stand to the Parliament, and nothing else. Spent a little time this night in knocking up nails for my hat and cloaks in my chamber. 31st. In the morning I fell to my lute till 9 o'clock. Then to my Lord's lodgings and set out a barrel of soap to be carried to Mrs. Ann. Here I met with Nick Bartlet, one that had been a servant of my Lord's at sea and at Harper's gave him his morning draft. So to my office where I paid; L1200 to Mr. Frost and at noon went to Will's to give one of the Excise office a pot of ale that came to-day to tell over a bag of his that wanted; L7 in it, which he found over in another bag. Then home and dined with my wife when in came Mr. Hawly newly come from shipboard from his master, and brought me a letter of direction what to do in his lawsuit with Squib about his house and office. After dinner to Westminster Hall, where all we clerks had orders to wait upon the Committee, at the Star Chamber that is to try Colonel Jones, [Colonel John Jones, impeached, with General Ludlow and Miles Corbet, for treasonable practices in Ireland.] and were to give an account what money we had paid him; but the Committee did not sit to-day. Hence to Will's, where I sat an hour or two with Mr. Godfrey Austin, a scrivener in King Street. Here I met and afterwards bought the answer to General Monk's letter, which is a very good one, and I keep it by me. Thence to Mrs. Jem, where I found her maid in bed in a fit of the ague, and Mrs. Jem among the people below at work and by and by she came up hot and merry, as if they had given her wine, at which I was troubled, but said nothing; after a game at cards, I went home and wrote by the post and coming back called in at Harper's and drank with Mr. Pulford, servant to Mr. Waterhouse, who tells me, that whereas my Lord Fleetwood should have answered to the Parliament to-day, he wrote a letter and desired a little more time, he being a great way out of town. And how that he is quite ashamed of himself, and confesses how he had deserved this, for his baseness to his brother. And that he is like to pay part of the money, paid out of the Exchequer during the Committee of Safety, out of his own purse again, which I am glad of. Home and to bed, leaving my wife reading in Polixandre. ["Polexandre," by Louis Le Roy de Gomberville, was first published in 1632. "The History of Polexander" was "done into English by W. Browne," and published in folio, London, 1647. It was the earliest of the French heroic romances, and it appears to have been the model for the works of Calprenede and Mdlle. de Scuderi; see Dunlop's "History of Fiction" for the plot of the romance.] I could find nothing in Mr. Downing's letter, which Hawly brought me, concerning my office; but I could discern that Hawly had a mind that I would get to be Clerk of the Council, I suppose that he might have the greater salary; but I think it not safe yet to change this for a public employment. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A very fine dinner Gave him his morning draft Much troubled with thoughts how to get money My wife was making of her tarts and larding of her pullets My wife was very unwilling to let me go forth Put to a great loss how I should get money to make up my cash This day I began to put on buckles to my shoes 
4119	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1659-60 February 1st. In the morning went to my office where afterwards the old man brought me my letters from the carrier. At noon I went home and dined with my wife on pease porridge and nothing else. After that I went to the Hall and there met with Mr. Swan and went with him to Mr. Downing's Counsellor, who did put me in very little hopes about the business between Mr. Downing and Squib, and told me that Squib would carry it against him, at which I was much troubled, and with him went to Lincoln's Inn and there spoke with his attorney, who told me the day that was appointed for the trial. From thence I went to Sir Harry Wright's and got him to give me his hand for the L60 which I am to-morrow to receive from Mr. Calthrop and from thence to Mrs. Jem and spoke with Madam Scott and her husband who did promise to have the thing for her neck done this week. Thence home and took Gammer East, and James the porter, a soldier, to my Lord's lodgings, who told me how they were drawn into the field to-day, and that they were ordered to march away to-morrow to make room for General Monk; but they did shut their Colonel Fitch, and the rest of the officers out of the field, and swore they would not go without their money, and if they would not give it them, they would go where they might have it, and that was the City. So the Colonel went to the Parliament, and commanded what money could be got, to be got against to-morrow for them, and all the rest of the soldiers in town, who in all places made a mutiny this day, and do agree together. Here I took some bedding to send to Mrs. Ann for her to lie in now she hath her fits of the ague. Thence I went to Will's and staid like a fool there and played at cards till 9 o'clock and so came home, where I found Mr. Hunt and his wife who staid and sat with me till 10 and so good night. 2d. Drank at Harper's with Doling, and so to my office, where I found all the officers of the regiments in town, waiting to receive money that their soldiers might go out of town, and what was in the Exchequer they had. At noon after dining at home I called at Harper's for Doling, and he and I met with Luellin and drank with him at the Exchequer at Charing Cross, and thence he and I went to the Temple to Mr. Calthrop's chamber, and from thence had his man by water to London Bridge to Mr. Calthrop, a grocer, and received L60 for my Lord. In our way we talked with our waterman, White, who told us how the watermen had lately been abused by some that had a desire to get in to be watermen to the State, and had lately presented an address of nine or ten thousand hands to stand by this Parliament, when it was only told them that it was to a petition against hackney coaches; and that to-day they had put out another to undeceive the world and to clear themselves, and that among the rest Cropp, my waterman and one of great practice, was one that did cheat them thus. After I had received the money we went to the Bridge Tavern and drank a quart of wine and so back by water, landing Mr. Calthrop's man at the Temple and we went homewards, but over against Somerset House, hearing the noise of guns, we landed and found the Strand full of soldiers. So I took my money and went to Mrs. Johnson, my Lord's sempstress, and giving her my money to lay up, Doling and I went up stairs to a window, and looked out and see the foot face the horse and beat them back, and stood bawling and calling in the street for a free Parliament and money. By and by a drum was heard to beat a march coming towards them, and they got all ready again and faced them, and they proved to be of the same mind with them; and so they made a great deal of joy to see one another. After all this, I took my money, and went home on foot and laying up my money, and changing my stockings and shoes, I this day having left off my great skirt suit, and put on my white suit with silver lace coat, and went over to Harper's, where I met with W. Simons, Doling, Luellin and three merchants, one of which had occasion to use a porter, so they sent for one, and James the soldier came, who told us how they had been all day and night upon their guard at St. James's, and that through the whole town they did resolve to stand to what they had began, and that to-morrow he did believe they would go into the City, and be received there. After all this we went to a sport called, selling of a horse for a dish of eggs and herrings, and sat talking there till almost twelve o'clock and then parted, they were to go as far as Aldgate. Home and to bed. 3rd. Drank my morning draft at Harper's, and was told there that the soldiers were all quiet upon promise of pay. Thence to St. James's Park, and walked there to my place for my flageolet and then played a little, it being a most pleasant morning and sunshine. Back to Whitehall, where in the guard-chamber I saw about thirty or forty 'prentices of the City, who were taken at twelve o'clock last night and brought prisoners hither. Thence to my office, where I paid a little more money to some of the soldiers under Lieut.-Col. Miller (who held out the Tower against the Parliament after it was taken away from Fitch by the Committee of Safety, and yet he continued in his office). About noon Mrs. Turner came to speak with me, and Joyce, and I took them and shewed them the manner of the Houses sitting, the doorkeeper very civilly opening the door for us. Thence with my cozen Roger Pepys, [Roger Pepys, son of Talbot Pepys of Impington, a barrister of the Middle Temple, M.P. for Cambridge, 1661-78, and Recorder of that town, 1660-88. He married, for the third time, Parnell, daughter and heiress of John Duke, of Workingham, co. Suffolk, and this was the wedding for which the posy ring was required.] it being term time, we took him out of the Hall to Priors, the Rhenish wine-house, and there had a pint or two of wine and a dish of anchovies, and bespoke three or four dozen bottles of wine for him against his wedding. After this done he went away, and left me order to call and pay for all that Mrs. Turner would have. So we called for nothing more there, but went and bespoke a shoulder of mutton at Wilkinson's to be roasted as well as it could be done, and sent a bottle of wine home to my house. In the meantime she and I and Joyce went walking all over White Hall, whither General Monk was newly come, and we saw all his forces march by in very good plight and stout officers. Thence to my house where we dined, but with a great deal of patience, for the mutton came in raw, and so we were fain to stay the stewing of it. In the meantime we sat studying a Posy [It is supposed that the fashion of having mottoes inscribed on rings was of Roman origin. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the posy was inscribed on the outside of the ring, and in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it was placed inside. A small volume was published in 1674, entitled "Love's Garland: or Posies for Rings, Handkerchers and Gloves, and such pretty tokens that Lovers send their Loves."] for a ring for her which she is to have at Roger Pepys his wedding. After dinner I left them and went to hear news, but only found that the Parliament House was most of them with Monk at White Hall, and that in his passing through the town he had many calls to him for a free Parliament, but little other welcome. I saw in the Palace Yard how unwilling some of the old soldiers were yet to go out of town without their money, and swore if they had it not in three days, as they were promised, they would do them more mischief in the country than if they had staid here; and that is very likely, the country being all discontented. The town and guards are already full of Monk's soldiers. I returned, and it growing dark I and they went to take a turn in the park, where Theoph. (who was sent for to us to dinner) outran my wife and another poor woman, that laid a pot of ale with me that she would outrun her. After that I set them as far as Charing Cross, and there left them and my wife, and I went to see Mrs. Ann, who began very high about a flock bed I sent her, but I took her down. Here I played at cards till 9 o'clock. So home and to bed. 4th. In the morning at my lute an hour, and so to my office, where I staid expecting to have Mr. Squib come to me, but he did not. At noon walking in the Hall I found Mr. Swan and got him and Captain Stone together, and there advised about Mr. Downing's business. So to Will's, and sat there till three o'clock and then to Mr. Swan's, where I found his wife in very genteel mourning for her father, and took him out by water to the Counsellor at the Temple, Mr. Stephens, and from thence to Gray's Inn, thinking to speak with Sotherton Ellis, but found him not, so we met with an acquaintance of his in the walks, and went and drank, where I ate some bread and butter, having ate nothing all day, while they were by chance discoursing of Marriot, the great eater, so that I was, I remember, ashamed to eat what I would have done. Here Swan shewed us a ballad to the tune of Mardike which was most incomparably wrote in a printed hand, which I borrowed of him, but the song proved but silly, and so I did not write it out. Thence we went and leaving Swan at his master's, my Lord Widdrington, I met with Spicer, Washington, and D. Vines in Lincoln's Inn Court, and they were buying of a hanging jack to roast birds on of a fellow that was there selling of some. I was fain to slip from there and went to Mrs. Crew's to her and advised about a maid to come and be with Mrs. Jem while her maid is sick, but she could spare none. Thence to Sir Harry Wright's, but my lady not being within I spoke to Mrs. Carter about it, who will get one against Monday. So with a link boy [Links were torches of tow or pitch to light the way. Ed.] to Scott's, where Mrs. Ann was in a heat, but I spoke not to her, but told Mrs. Jem what I had done, and after that went home and wrote letters into the country by the post, and then played awhile on my lute, and so done, to supper and then to bed. All the news to-day is, that the Parliament this morning voted the House to be made up four hundred forthwith. This day my wife killed her turkeys that Mr. Sheply gave her, that came out of Zealand with my Lord, and could not get her m'd Jane by no means at any time to kill anything. 5th,(Lord's day). In the morning before church time Mr. Hawly, who had for this day or two looked something sadly, which methinks did speak something in his breast concerning me, came to me telling me that he was out L24 which he could not tell what was become of, and that he do remember that he had such a sum in a bag the other day, and could not tell what he did with it, at which I was very sorry but could not help him. In the morning to Mr. Gunning, where a stranger, an old man, preached a good honest sermon upon "What manner of love is this that we should be called the sons of God." After sermon I could not find my wife, who promised to be at the gate against my coming out, and waited there a great while; then went to my house and finding her gone I returned and called at the Chequers, thinking to dine at the ordinary with Mr. Chetwind and Mr. Thomas, but they not being there I went to my father and found her there, and there I dined. To their church in the afternoon, and in Mrs. Turner's pew my wife took up a good black hood and kept it. A stranger preached a poor sermon, and so read over the whole book of the story of Tobit. After sermon home with Mrs. Turner, staid with her a little while, then she went into the court to a christening and we to my father's, where I wrote some notes for my brother John to give to the Mercers' to-morrow, it being the day of their apposition. After supper home, and before going to bed I staid writing of this day its passages, while a drum came by, beating of a strange manner of beat, now and then a single stroke, which my wife and I wondered at, what the meaning of it should be. This afternoon at church I saw Dick Cumberland newly come out of the country from his living, but did not speak to him. 6th. Before I went to my office I went to Mr. Crew's and paid Mr. Andrews the same L60 that he had received of Mr. Calthrop the last week. So back to Westminster and walked with him thither, where we found the soldiers all set in the Palace Yard, to make way for General Monk to come to the House. At the Hall we parted, and meeting Swan, he and I to the Swan and drank our morning draft. So back again to the Hall, where I stood upon the steps and saw Monk go by, he making observance to the judges as he went along. At noon my father dined with me upon my turkey that was brought from Denmark, and after dinner he and I to the Bull Head Tavern, where we drank half a pint of wine and so parted. I to Mrs. Ann, and Mrs. Jem being gone out of the chamber she and I had a very high bout, I rattled her up, she being in her bed, but she becoming more cool, we parted pretty good friends. Thence I went to Will's, where I staid at cards till 10 o'clock, losing half a crown, and so home to bed. 7th. In the morning I went early to give Mr. Hawly notice of my being forced to go into London, but he having also business we left our office business to Mr. Spicer and he and I walked as far as the Temple, where I halted a little and then went to Paul's School, but it being too soon, went and drank my morning draft with my cozen Tom Pepys the turner, and saw his house and shop, thence to school, where he that made the speech for the seventh form in praise of the founder, did show a book which Mr. Crumlum had lately got, which is believed to be of the Founder's own writing. After all the speeches, in which my brother John came off as well as any of the rest, I went straight home and dined, then to the Hall, where in the Palace I saw Monk's soldiers abuse Billing and all the Quakers, that were at a meeting-place there, and indeed the soldiers did use them very roughly and were to blame. ["Fox, or some other 'weighty' friend, on hearing of this, complained to Monk, who issued the following order, dated March 9th: 'I do require all officers and soldiers to forbear to disturb peaceable meetings of the Quakers, they doing nothing prejudicial to the Parliament or the Commonwealth of England. George Monk.' This order, we are told, had an excellent effect on the soldiers."--A. C. Bickley's 'George Fox and the Early Quakers, London, 1884, p. 179. The Quakers were at this time just coming into notice. The first preaching of George Fox, the founder, was in 1648, and in 1655 the preachers of the sect numbered seventy-three. Fox computed that there were seldom less than a thousand quakers in prison. The statute 13 and 14 Car. II. cap. i. (1662) was "An act for preventing the mischiefs and dangers that may arise by certain persons called quakers and others, refusing to take lawful oaths." Billing is mentioned again on July 22nd, 1667, when he addressed Pepys in Westminster Hall.] So after drinking with Mr. Spicer, who had received L600 for me this morning, I went to Capt. Stone and with him by coach to the Temple Gardens (all the way talking of the disease of the stone), where we met Mr. Squib, but would do nothing till to-morrow morning. Thence back on foot home, where I found a letter from my Lord in character [private cryptic code Ed.], which I construed, and after my wife had shewn me some ribbon and shoes that she had taken out of a box of Mr. Montagu's which formerly Mr. Kipps had left here when his master was at sea, I went to Mr. Crew and advised with him about it, it being concerning my Lord's coming up to Town, which he desires upon my advice the last week in my letter. Thence calling upon Mrs. Ann I went home, and wrote in character to my Lord in answer to his letter. This day Mr. Crew told me that my Lord St. John is for a free Parliament, and that he is very great with Monk, who hath now the absolute command and power to do any thing that he hath a mind to do. Mr. Moore told me of a picture hung up at the Exchange of a great pair of buttocks shooting of a turd into Lawson's mouth, and over it was wrote "The thanks of the house." Boys do now cry "Kiss my Parliament, instead of "Kiss my [rump]," so great and general a contempt is the Rump come to among all the good and bad. 8th. A little practice on my flageolet, and afterwards walking in my yard to see my stock of pigeons, which begin now with the spring to breed very fast. I was called on by Mr. Fossan, my fellow pupil at Cambridge, and I took him to the Swan in the Palace yard, and drank together our morning draft. Thence to my office, where I received money, and afterwards Mr. Carter, my old friend at Cambridge, meeting me as I was going out of my office I took him to the Swan, and in the way I met with Captain Lidcott, and so we three went together and drank there, the Captain talking as high as ever he did, and more because of the fall of his brother Thurlow. [John Thurloe, born 1616; Secretary of State to Cromwell; M.P. for Ely, 1656, and for the University of Cambridge in Richard Cromwell's Parliament of December, 1658. He was never employed after the Restoration, although the King solicited his services. He died February 21st, 1668. Pepys spells the name Thurlow, which was a common spelling at the time.] Hence I went to Captain Stone, who told me how Squib had been with him, and that he could do nothing with him, so I returned to Mr. Carter and with him to Will's, where I spent upon him and Monsieur L'Impertinent, alias Mr. Butler, who I took thither with me, and thence to a Rhenish wine house, and in our way met with Mr. Hoole, where I paid for my cozen Roger Pepys his wine, and after drinking we parted. So I home, in my way delivering a letter which among the rest I had from my Lord to-day to Sir N. Wheeler. At home my wife's brother brought her a pretty black dog which I liked very well, and went away again. Hence sending a porter with the hamper of bottles to the Temple I called in my way upon Mrs. Jem, who was much frighted till I came to tell her that her mother was well. So to the Temple, where I delivered the wine and received the money of my cos. Roger that I laid out, and thence to my father's, where he shewed me a base angry letter that he had newly received from my uncle Robert about my brother John, at which my father was very sad, but I comforted him and wrote an answer. My brother John has an exhibition granted him from the school. My father and I went down to his kitchen, and there we eat and drank, and about 9 o'clock I went away homewards, and in Fleet Street, received a great jostle from a man that had a mind to take the wall, which I could not help? [This was a constant trouble to the pedestrian until the rule of passing to the right of the person met was generally accepted. Gay commences his "Trivia" with an allusion to this-- "When to assert the wall, and when resign--" and the epigram on the haughty courtier and the scholar is well known.] I came home and to bed. Went to bed with my head not well by my too much drinking to-day, and I had a boil under my chin which troubled me cruelly. 9th. Soon as out of my bed I wrote letters into the country to go by carrier to-day. Before I was out of my bed, I heard the soldiers very busy in the morning, getting their horses ready where they lay at Hilton's, but I knew not then their meaning in so doing: After I had wrote my letters I went to Westminster up and down the Hall, and with Mr. Swan walked a good [deal] talking about Mr. Downing's business. I went with him to Mr. Phelps's house where he had some business to solicit, where we met Mr. Rogers my neighbour, who did solicit against him and talked very high, saying that he would not for a L1000 appear in a business that Swan did, at which Swan was very angry, but I believe he might be guilty enough. In the Hall I understand how Monk is this morning gone into London with his army; and met with Mr. Fage, who told me that he do believe that Monk is gone to secure some of the Common-council of the City, who were very high yesterday there, and did vote that they would not pay any taxes till the House was filled up. I went to my office, where I wrote to my Lord after I had been at the Upper Bench, where Sir Robert Pye [Sir Robert Pye, the elder, was auditor of the Exchequer, and a staunch Royalist. He garrisoned his house at Faringdon, which was besieged by his son, of the same names, a decided Republican, son- in-law to Hampden, and colonel of horse under Fairfax. The son, here spoken of, was subsequently committed to the Tower for presenting a petition to the House of Commons from the county of Berks, which he represented in Parliament, complaining of the want of a settled form of government. He had, however, the courage to move for an habeas corpus, but judge Newdigate decided that the courts of law had not the power to discharge him. Upon Monk's coming to London, the secluded members passed a vote to liberate Pye, and at the Restoration he was appointed equerry to the King. He died in 1701.--B.] this morning came to desire his discharge from the Tower; but it could not be granted. After that I went to Mrs. Jem, who I had promised to go along with to her Aunt Wright's, but she was gone, so I went thither, and after drinking a glass of sack I went back to Westminster Hall, and meeting with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who would needs take me home, where Mr. Lucy, Burrell, and others dined, and after dinner I went home and to Westminster Hall, where meeting Swan I went with him by water to the Temple to our Counsel, and did give him a fee to make a motion to-morrow in the Exchequer for Mr. Downing. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I heard an action very finely pleaded between my Lord Dorset and some other noble persons, his lady and other ladies of quality being here, and it was about; L330 per annum, that was to be paid to a poor Spittal, which was given by some of his predecessors; and given on his side. Thence Swan and I to a drinking-house near Temple Bar, where while he wrote I played on my flageolet till a dish of poached eggs was got ready for us, which we eat, and so by coach home. I called at Mr. Harper's, who told me how Monk had this day clapt up many of the Common-council, and that the Parliament had voted that he should pull down their gates and portcullisses, their posts and their chains, which he do intend to do, and do lie in the City all night. I went home and got some ahlum to my mouth, where I have the beginnings of a cancer, and had also a plaster to my boil underneath my chin. 10th. In the morning I went to Mr. Swan, who took me to the Court of Wards, where I saw the three Lords Commissioners sitting upon some cause where Mr. Scobell was concerned, and my Lord Fountaine took him up very roughly about some things that he said. After that we went to the Exchequer, where the Barons were hearing of causes, and there I made affidavit that Mr. Downing was gone into Holland by order of the Council of State, and this affidavit I gave to Mr. Stevens our lawyer. Thence to my office, where I got money of Mr. Hawly to pay the lawyer, and there found Mr. Lenard, one of the Clerks of the Council, and took him to the Swan and gave him his morning draft. Then home to dinner, and after that to the Exchequer, where I heard all the afternoon a great many causes before the Barons; in the end came ours, and Squib proved clearly by his patent that the house and office did now belong to him. Our lawyer made some kind of opposition, but to no purpose, and so the cause was found against us, and the foreman of the jury brought in L10 damages, which the whole Court cried shame of, and so he cried 12d. Thence I went home, vexed about this business, and there I found Mr. Moore, and with him went into London to Mr. Fage about the cancer in my mouth, which begins to grow dangerous, who gave me something for it, and also told me what Monk had done in the City, how he had pulled down the most part of the gates and chains that they could break down, and that he was now gone back to White Hall. The City look mighty blank, and cannot tell what in the world to do; the Parliament having this day ordered that the Common-council sit no more; but that new ones be chosen according to what qualifications they shall give them. Thence I went and drank with Mr. Moore at the Sugar Loaf by Temple Bar, where Swan and I were last night, and so we parted. At home I found Mr. Hunt, who sat talking with me awhile, and so to bed. 11th. This morning I lay long abed, and then to my office, where I read all the morning my Spanish book of Rome. At noon I walked in the Hall, where I heard the news of a letter from Monk, who was now gone into the City again, and did resolve to stand for the sudden filling up of the House, and it was very strange how the countenance of men in the Hall was all changed with joy in half an hour's time. So I went up to the lobby, where I saw the Speaker reading of the letter; and after it was read, Sir A. Haselrigge came out very angry, and Billing--[The quaker mentioned before on the 7th of this month.]--standing at the door, took him by the arm, and cried, "Thou man, will thy beast carry thee no longer? thou must fall!" The House presently after rose, and appointed to meet again at three o'clock. I went then down into the Hall, where I met with Mr. Chetwind, who had not dined no more than myself, and so we went toward London, in our way calling at two or three shops, but could have no dinner. At last, within Temple Bar, we found a pullet ready roasted, and there we dined. After that he went to his office in Chancery Lane, calling at the Rolls, where I saw the lawyers pleading. Then to his office, where I sat in his study singing, while he was with his man (Mr. Powell's son) looking after his business. Thence we took coach for the City to Guildhall, where the Hall was full of people expecting Monk and Lord Mayor to come thither, and all very joyfull. Here we stayed a great while, and at last meeting with a friend of his we went to the 3 Tun tavern and drank half a pint of wine, and not liking the wine we went to an alehouse, where we met with company of this third man's acquaintance, and there we drank a little. Hence I went alone to Guildhall to see whether Monk was come again or no, and met with him coming out of the chamber where he had been with the Mayor and Aldermen, but such a shout I never heard in all my life, crying out, "God bless your Excellence." Here I met with Mr. Lock, and took him to an alehouse, and left him there to fetch Chetwind; when we were come together, Lock told us the substance of the letter that went from Monk to the Parliament; wherein, after complaints that he and his officers were put upon such offices against the City as they could not do with any content or honour, that there are many members now in the House that were of the late tyrannical Committee of Safety. That Lambert and Vane are now in town, contrary to the vote of Parliament. That there were many in the House that do press for new oaths to be put upon men; whereas we have more cause to be sorry for the many oaths that we have already taken and broken. That the late petition of the fanatique people presented by Barebone, for the imposing of an oath upon all sorts of people, was received by the House with thanks. That therefore he [Monk] do desire that all writs for filling up of the House be issued by Friday next, and that in the mean time, he would retire into the City and only leave them guards for the security of the House and Council. The occasion of this was the order that he had last night to go into the City and disarm them, and take away their charter; whereby he and his officers say that the House had a mind to put them upon things that should make them odious; and so it would be in their power to do what they would with them. He told us that they [the Parliament] had sent Scott and Robinson to him [Monk] this afternoon, but he would not hear them. And that the Mayor and Aldermen had offered him their own houses for himself and his officers; and that his soldiers would lack for nothing. And indeed I saw many people give the soldiers drink and money, and all along in the streets cried, "God bless them!" and extraordinary good words. Hence we went to a merchant's house hard by, where Lock wrote a note and left, where I saw Sir Nich. Crisp, and so we went to the Star Tavern (Monk being then at Benson's), where we dined and I wrote a letter to my Lord from thence. In Cheapside there was a great many bonfires, and Bow bells and all the bells in all the churches as we went home were a-ringing. Hence we went homewards, it being about ten o'clock. But the common joy that was every where to be seen! The number of bonfires, there being fourteen between St. Dunstan's and Temple Bar, and at Strand Bridge' I could at one view tell thirty-one fires. In King-street seven or eight; and all along burning, and roasting, and drinking for rumps. There being rumps tied upon sticks and carried up and down. The butchers at the May Pole in the Strand rang a peal with their knives when they were going to sacrifice their rump. On Ludgate Hill there was one turning of the spit that had a rump tied upon it, and another basting of it. Indeed it was past imagination, both the greatness and the suddenness of it. At one end of the street you would think there was a whole lane of fire, and so hot that we were fain to keep still on the further side merely for heat. We came to the Chequers at Charing Cross, where Chetwind wrote a letter and I gave him an account of what I had wrote for him to write. Thence home and sent my letters to the posthouse in London, and my wife and I (after Mr. Hunt was gone, whom I found waiting at my house) went out again to show her the fires, and after walking as far as the Exchange we returned and to bed. 12th. In the morning, it being Lord's day, Mr. Pierce came to me to enquire how things go. We drank our morning draft together and thence to White Hall, where Dr. Hones preached; but I staid not to hear, but walking in the court, I heard that Sir Arth. Haselrigge was newly gone into the City to Monk, and that Monk's wife removed from White Hall last night. Home again, where at noon came according to my invitation my cos. Thos. Pepys and his partner and dined with me, but before dinner we went and took a walk round the park, it being a most pleasant day as ever I saw. After dinner we three went into London together, where I heard that Monk had been at Paul's in the morning, and the people had shouted much at his coming out of the church. In the afternoon he was at a church in Broad-street, whereabout he do lodge. But not knowing how to see him we went and walked half a hour in Moorfields, which were full of people, it being so fine a day. Here I took leave of them, and so to Paul's, where I met with Mr. Kirton's' apprentice (the crooked fellow) and walked up and down with him two hours, sometimes in the street looking for a tavern to drink in, but not finding any open, we durst not knock; other times in the churchyard, where one told me that he had seen the letter printed. Thence to Mr. Turner's, where I found my wife, Mr. Edw. Pepys, and Roger' and Mr. Armiger being there, to whom I gave as good an account of things as I could, and so to my father's, where Charles Glascocke was overjoyed to see how things are now; who told me the boys had last night broke Barebone's windows. Hence home, and being near home we missed our maid, and were at a great loss and went back a great way to find her, but when we could not see her we went homewards and found her there, got before us which we wondered at greatly. So to bed, where my wife and I had some high words upon my telling her that I would fling the dog which her brother gave her out of window if he [dirtied] the house any more. 13th. To my office till noon, thence home to dinner, my mouth being very bad of the cancer and my left leg beginning to be sore again. After dinner to see Mrs. Jem, and in the way met with Catan on foot in the street and talked with her a little, so home and took my wife to my father's. In my way I went to Playford's, and for two books that I had and 6s. 6d. to boot I had my great book of songs which he sells always for r 4s. At my father's I staid a while, while my mother sent her maid Bess to Cheapside for some herbs to make a water for my mouth. Then I went to see Mr. Cumberland, and after a little stay with him I returned, and took my wife home, where after supper to bed. This day Monk was invited to White Hall to dinner by my Lords; not seeming willing, he would not come. I went to Mr. Fage from my father's, who had been this afternoon with Monk, who do promise to live and die with the City, and for the honour of the City; and indeed the City is very open-handed to the soldiers, that they are most of them drunk all day, and have money given them. He did give me something for my mouth which I did use this night. 14th. Called out in the morning by Mr. Moore, whose voice my wife hearing in my dressing-chamber with me, got herself ready, and came down and challenged him for her valentine, this being the day. [The practice of choosing valentines was very general at this time, but some of the best examples of the custom are found in this Diary.] To Westminster Hall, there being many new remonstrances and declarations from many counties to Monk and the City, and one coming from the North from Sir Thomas Fairfax. Hence I took him to the Swan and gave him his morning draft. So to my office, where Mr. Hill of Worcestershire came to see me and my partner in our office, with whom we went to Will's to drink. At noon I went home and so to Mr. Crew's, but they had dined, and so I went to see Mrs. Jem where I stayed a while, and home again where I stayed an hour or two at my lute, and so forth to Westminster Hall, where I heard that the Parliament hath now changed the oath so much talked of to a promise; and that among other qualifications for the members that are to be chosen, one is, that no man, nor the son of any man that hath been in arms during the life of the father, shall be capable of being chosen to sit in Parliament. To Will's, where like a fool I staid and lost 6d. at cards. So home, and wrote a letter to my Lord by the post. So after supper to bed. This day, by an order of the House, Sir H. Vane was sent out of town to his house in Lincolnshire. 15th. Called up in the morning by Captain Holland and Captain Cuttance, and with them to Harper's, thence to my office, thence with Mr. Hill of Worcestershire to Will's, where I gave him a letter to Nan Pepys, and some merry pamphlets against the Rump to carry to her into the country. So to Mr. Crew's, where the dining room being full, Mr. Walgrave and I dined below in the buttery by ourselves upon a good dish of buttered salmon. Thence to Hering' the merchant about my Lord's Worcester money and back to Paul's Churchyard, where I staid reading in Fuller's History of the Church of England an hour or two, and so to my father's, where Mr. Hill came to me and I gave him direction what to do at Worcester about the money. Thence to my Lady Wright's and gave her a letter from my Lord privily. So to Mrs. Jem and sat with her, who dined at Mr. Crew's to-day, and told me that there was at her coming away at least forty gentlemen (I suppose members that were secluded, for Mr. Walgrave told me that there were about thirty met there the last night) came dropping in one after another thither. Thence home and wrote into the country against to-morrow by the carrier and so to bed. At my father's I heard how my cousin Kate Joyce had a fall yesterday from her horse and had some hurt thereby. No news to-day, but all quiet to see what the Parliament will do about the issuing of the writs to-morrow for filling up of the House, according to Monk's desire. 16th, In the morning at my lute. Then came Shaw and Hawly, and I gave them their morning draft at my house. So to my office, where I wrote by the carrier to my Lord and sealed my letter at Will's, and gave it old East to carry it to the carrier's, and to take up a box of china oranges and two little barrels of scallops at my house, which Captain Cuttance sent to me for my Lord. Here I met with Osborne and with Shaw and Spicer, and we went to the Sun Tavern in expectation of a dinner, where we had sent us only two trenchers-full of meat, at which we were very merry, while in came Mr. Wade and his friend Capt. Moyse (who told us of his hopes to get an estate merely for his name's sake), and here we staid till seven at night, I winning a quart of sack of Shaw that one trencherfull that was sent us was all lamb and he that it was veal. I by having but 3d. in my pocket made shift to spend no more, whereas if I had had more I had spent more as the rest did, so that I see it is an advantage to a man to carry little in his pocket. Home, and after supper, and a little at my flute, I went to bed. 17th. In the morning Tom that was my Lord's footboy came to see me and had 10s. of me of the money which I have to keep of his. So that now I have but 35s. more of his. Then came Mr. Hills the instrument maker, and I consulted with him about the altering my lute and my viall. After that I went into my study and did up my accounts, and found that I am about; L40 beforehand in the world, and that is all. So to my office and from thence brought Mr. Hawly home with me to dinner, and after dinner wrote a letter to Mr. Downing about his business and gave it Hawly, and so went to Mr. Gunning's to his weekly fast, and after sermon, meeting there with Monsieur L'Impertinent, we went and walked in the park till it was dark. I played on my pipe at the Echo, and then drank a cup of ale at Jacob's. So to Westminster Hall, and he with me, where I heard that some of the members of the House were gone to meet with some of the secluded members and General Monk in the City. Hence we went to White Hall, thinking to hear more news, where I met with Mr. Hunt, who told me how Monk had sent for all his goods that he had here into the City; and yet again he told me, that some of the members of the House had this day laid in firing into their lodgings at White Hall for a good while, so that we are at a great stand to think what will become of things, whether Monk will stand to the Parliament or no. Hence Mons. L'Impertinent and I to Harper's, and there drank a cup or two to the King, and to his fair sister Frances--[Frances Butler, the great beauty, who is sometimes styled. la belle Boteler.]--good health, of whom we had much discourse of her not being much the worse for the small pox, which she had this last summer. So home and to bed. This day we are invited to my uncle Fenner's wedding feast, but went not, this being the 27th year. 18th. A great while at my vial and voice, learning to sing "Fly boy, fly boy," without book. So to my office, where little to do. In the Hall I met with Mr. Eglin and one Looker, a famous gardener, servant to my Lord Salsbury, and among other things the gardener told a strange passage in good earnest . . . . Home to dinner, and then went to my Lord's lodgings to my turret there and took away most of my books, and sent them home by my maid. Thither came Capt. Holland to me who took me to the Half Moon tavern and Mr. Southorne, Blackburne's clerk. Thence he took me to the Mitre in Fleet Street, where we heard (in a room over the music room) very plainly through the ceiling. Here we parted and I to Mr. Wotton's, and with him to an alehouse and drank while he told me a great many stories of comedies that he had formerly seen acted, and the names of the principal actors, and gave me a very good account of it. Thence to Whitehall, where I met with Luellin and in the clerk's chamber wrote a letter to my Lord. So home and to bed. This day two soldiers were hanged in the Strand for their late mutiny at Somerset-house. 19th (Lord's day). Early in the morning I set my books that I brought home yesterday up in order in my study. Thence forth to Mr. Harper's to drink a draft of purle,--[Purl is hot beer flavoured with wormwood or other aromatic herbs. The name is also given to hot beer flavoured with gin, sugar, and ginger.]--whither by appointment Monsieur L'Impertinent, who did intend too upon my desire to go along with me to St. Bartholomew's, to hear one Mr. Sparks, but it raining very hard we went to Mr. Gunning's and heard an excellent sermon, and speaking of the character that the Scripture gives of Ann the mother of the blessed Virgin, he did there speak largely in commendation of widowhood, and not as we do to marry two or three wives or husbands, one after another. Here I met with Mr. Moore, and went home with him to dinner, where he told me the discourse that happened between the secluded members and the members of the House, before Monk last Friday. How the secluded said, that they did not intend by coming in to express revenge upon these men, but only to meet and dissolve themselves, and only to issue writs for a free Parliament. He told me how Haselrigge was afraid to have the candle carried before him, for fear that the people seeing him, would do him hurt; and that he is afraid to appear in the City. That there is great likelihood that the secluded members will come in, and so Mr. Crew and my Lord are likely to be great men, at which I was very glad. After diner there was many secluded members come in to Mr. Crew, which, it being the Lord's day, did make Mr. Moore believe that there was something extraordinary in the business. Hence home and brought my wife to Mr. Mossum's to hear him, and indeed he made a very good sermon, but only too eloquent for a pulpit. Here Mr. L'Impertinent helped me to a seat. After sermon to my father's; and fell in discourse concerning our going to Cambridge the next week with my brother John. To Mrs. Turner where her brother, Mr. Edward Pepys, was there, and I sat a great while talking of public business of the times with him. So to supper to my Father's, all supper talking of John's going to Cambridge. So home, and it raining my wife got my mother's French mantle and my brother John's hat, and so we went all along home and to bed. 20th. In the morning at my lute. Then to my office, where my partner and I made even our balance. Took him home to dinner with me, where my brother John came to dine with me. After dinner I took him to my study at home and at my Lord's, and gave him some books and other things against his going to Cambridge. After he was gone I went forth to Westminster Hall, where I met with Chetwind, Simons, and Gregory. And with them to Marsh's at Whitehall to drink, and staid there a pretty while reading a pamphlet well writ and directed to General Monk, in praise of the form of monarchy which was settled here before the wars. [This pamphlet is among the Thomason Collection of Civil War Tracts (British Museum), and dated in MS. this same day, February 20th-- "A Plea for Limited Monarchy as it was established in this Nation before the late War. In an Humble Address to his Excellency General Monck. By a Zealot for the good old Laws of his Country, before any Faction or Caprice, with additions." "An Eccho to the Plea for Limited Monarchy, &c.," was published soon afterwards.] They told me how the Speaker Lenthall do refuse to sign the writs for choice of new members in the place of the excluded; and by that means the writs could not go out to-day. In the evening Simons and I to the Coffee Club, where nothing to do only I heard Mr. Harrington, and my Lord of Dorset and another Lord, talking of getting another place as the Cockpit, and they did believe it would come to something. After a small debate upon the question whether learned or unlearned subjects are the best the Club broke up very poorly, and I do not think they will meet any more. Hence with Vines, &c. to Will's, and after a pot or two home, and so to bed. 21st. In the morning going out I saw many soldiers going towards Westminster, and was told that they were going to admit the secluded members again. So I to Westminster Hall, and in Chancery Row I saw about twenty of them who had been at White Hall with General Monk, who came thither this morning, and made a speech to them, and recommended to them a Commonwealth, and against Charles Stuart. They came to the House and went in one after another, and at last the Speaker came. But it is very strange that this could be carried so private, that the other members of the House heard nothing of all this, till they found them in the House, insomuch that the soldiers that stood there to let in the secluded members, they took for such as they had ordered to stand there to hinder their coming in. Mr. Prin came with an old basket-hilt sword on, and had a great many great shouts upon his going into the Hall. They sat till noon, and at their coming out Mr. Crew saw me, and bid me come to his house, which I did, and he would have me dine with him, which I did; and he very joyful told me that the House had made General Monk, General of all the Forces in England, Scotland, and Ireland; and that upon Monk's desire, for the service that Lawson had lately done in pulling down the Committee of Safety, he had the command of the Sea for the time being. He advised me to send for my Lord forthwith, and told me that there is no question that, if he will, he may now be employed again; and that the House do intend to do nothing more than to issue writs, and to settle a foundation for a free Parliament. After dinner I back to Westminster Hall with him in his coach. Here I met with Mr. Lock and Pursell, Masters of Music,--[Henry Purcell, father of the celebrated composer, was gentleman of the Chapel Royal.]--and with them to the Coffee House, into a room next the water, by ourselves, where we spent an hour or two till Captain Taylor came to us, who told us, that the House had voted the gates of the City to be made up again, and the members of the City that are in prison to be set at liberty; and that Sir G. Booth's' case be brought into the House to-morrow. Here we had variety of brave Italian and Spanish songs, and a canon for eight voices, which Mr. Lock had lately made on these words: "Domine salvum fac Regem," an admirable thing. Here also Capt. Taylor began a discourse of something that he had lately writ about Gavelkind in answer to one that had wrote a piece upon the same subject; and indeed discovered a great deal of study in antiquity in his discourse. Here out of the window it was a most pleasant sight to see the City from one end to the other with a glory about it, so high was the light of the bonfires, and so thick round the City, and the bells rang everywhere. Hence home and wrote to my Lord, afterwards came down and found Mr. Hunt (troubled at this change) and Mr. Spong, who staid late with me singing of a song or two, and so parted. My wife not very well, went to bed before. This morning I met in the Hall with Mr. Fuller, of Christ's, and told him of my design to go to Cambridge, and whither. He told me very freely the temper of Mr. Widdrington, how he did oppose all the fellows in the College, and that there was a great distance between him and the rest, at which I was very sorry, for that he told me he feared it would be little to my brother's advantage to be his pupil. 22nd. In the morning intended to have gone to Mr. Crew's to borrow some money, but it raining I forbore, and went to my Lord's lodging and look that all things were well there. Then home and sang a song to my viall, so to my office and to Will's, where Mr. Pierce found me out, and told me that he would go with me to Cambridge, where Colonel Ayre's regiment, to which he was surgeon, lieth. Walking in the Hall, I saw Major-General Brown, who had along time been banished by the Rump, but now with his beard overgrown, he comes abroad and sat in the House. To my father's to dinner, where nothing but a small dish of powdered beef--[Boiled salt beef. To powder was to sprinkle with salt, and the powdering tub a vessel in which meat was salted.]--and dish of carrots; they being all busy to get things ready for my brother John to go to-morrow. After dinner, my wife staying there, I went to Mr. Crew's, and got; L5 of Mr. Andrews, and so to Mrs. Jemimah, who now hath her instrument about her neck, and indeed is infinitely, altered, and holds her head upright. I paid her, maid 40s. of the money that I have received of Mr. Andrews. Hence home to my study, where I only wrote thus much of this day's passages to this * and so out again. To White Hall, where I met with Will. Simons and Mr. Mabbot at Marsh's, who told me how the House had this day voted that the gates of the City should be set up at the cost of the State. And that Major-General Brown's being proclaimed a traitor be made void, and several other things of that nature. Home for my lanthorn and so to my father's, where I directed John what books to put for Cambridge. After that to supper, where my Uncle Fenner and my Aunt, The. Turner, and Joyce, at a brave leg of veal roasted, and were very merry against John's going to Cambridge. I observed this day how abominably Barebone's windows are broke again last night. At past 9 o'clock my wife and I went home. 23rd. Thursday, my birthday, now twenty-seven years. A pretty fair morning, I rose and after writing a while in my study I went forth. To my office, where I told Mr. Hawly of my thoughts to go out of town to-morrow. Hither Mr. Fuller comes to me and my Uncle Thomas too, thence I took them to drink, and so put off my uncle. So with Mr. Fuller home to my house, where he dined with me, and he told my wife and me a great many stories of his adversities, since these troubles, in being forced to travel in the Catholic countries, &c. He shewed me his bills, but I had not money to pay him. We parted, and I to Whitehall, where I was to see my horse which Mr. Garthwayt lends me to-morrow. So home, where Mr. Pierce comes to me about appointing time and place where and when to meet tomorrow. So to Westminster Hall, where, after the House rose, I met with Mr. Crew, who told me that my Lord was chosen by 73 voices, to be one of the Council of State. Mr. Pierpoint had the most, 101, and himself the next, too. He brought me in the coach home. He and Mr. Anslow being in it. I back to the Hall, and at Mrs. Michell's shop staid talking a great while with her and my Chaplain, Mr. Mumford, and drank a pot or two of ale on a wager that Mr. Prin is not of the Council. Home and wrote to my Lord the news of the choice of the Council by the post, and so to bed. 24th. I rose very early, and taking horse at Scotland Yard, at Mr. Garthwayt's stable, I rode to Mr. Pierces, who rose, and in a quarter of an hour, leaving his wife in bed (with whom Mr. Lucy methought was very free as she lay in bed), we both mounted, and so set forth about seven of the clock, the day and the way very foul. About Ware we overtook Mr. Blayton, brother-in-law to Dick Vines, who went thenceforwards with us, and at Puckeridge we baited, where we had a loin of mutton fried, and were very merry, but the way exceeding bad from Ware thither. Then up again and as far as Foulmer, within six miles of Cambridge, my mare being almost tired: here we lay at the Chequer, playing at cards till supper, which was a breast of veal roasted. I lay with Mr. Pierce, who we left here the next morning upon his going to Hinchingbroke to speak with my Lord before his going to London, and we two come to Cambridge by eight o'clock in the morning. 25th. To the Falcon, in the Petty Cury, [The old Falcon Inn is on the south side of Petty Cury. It is now divided into three houses, one of which is the present Falcon Inn, the other two being houses with shops. The Falcon yard is but little changed. From the size of the whole building it must have been the principal inn of the town. The room said to have been used by Queen Elizabeth for receptions retains its original form.--M. B. The Petty Cury. The derivation of the name of this street, so well known to all Cambridge men, is a matter of much dispute among antiquaries. (See "Notes and Queries.") The most probable meaning of it is the Parva Cokeria, or little cury, where the cooks of the town lived, just as "The Poultry," where the Poulters (now Poulterers) had their shops. "The Forme of Cury," a Roll of Antient English Cookery, was compiled by the principal cooks of that "best and royalest viander of all Christian Kings," Richard the Second, and edited with a copious Index and Glossary by Dr. Samuel Pegge, 1780.--M. B.] where we found my father and brother very well. After dressing myself, about ten o'clock, my father, brother, and I to Mr. Widdririgton, at Christ's College, who received us very civilly, and caused my brother to be admitted, while my father, he, and I, sat talking. After that done, we take leave. My father and brother went to visit some friends, Pepys's, scholars in Cambridge, while I went to Magdalene College, to Mr. Hill, with whom I found Mr. Zanchy, Burton, and Hollins, and was exceeding civilly received by them. I took leave on promise to sup with them, and to my Inn again, where I dined with some others that were there at an ordinary. After dinner my brother to the College, and my father and I to my Cozen Angier's, to see them, where Mr. Fairbrother came to us. Here we sat a while talking. My father he went to look after his things at the carrier's, and my brother's chamber, while Mr. Fairbrother, my Cozen Angier, and Mr. Zanchy, whom I met at Mr. Merton's shop (where I bought 'Elenchus Motuum', having given my former to Mr. Downing when he was here), to the Three Tuns, where we drank pretty hard and many healths to the King, &c., till it began to be darkish: then we broke up and I and Mr. Zanchy went to Magdalene College, where a very handsome supper at Mr. Hill's chambers, I suppose upon a club among them, where in their discourse I could find that there was nothing at all left of the old preciseness in their discourse, specially on Saturday nights. And Mr. Zanchy told me that there was no such thing now-a-days among them at any time. After supper and some discourse then to my Inn, where I found my father in his chamber, and after some discourse, and he well satisfied with this day's work, we went to bed, my brother lying with me, his things not being come by the carrier that he could not lie in the College. 26th (Sunday). My brother went to the College to Chapel. My father and I went out in the morning, and walked out in the fields behind King's College, and in King's College Chapel Yard, where we met with Mr. Fairbrother, who took us to Botolph's Church, where we heard Mr. Nicholas, of Queen's College, who I knew in my time to be Tripos, [The Tripos or Bachelor of the Stool, who made the speech on Ash Wednesday, when the senior Proctor called him up and exhorted him to be witty but modest withal. Their speeches, especially after the Restoration, tended to be boisterous, and even scurrilous. "26 Martii 1669. Da Hollis, fellow of Clare Hall is to make a publick Recantation in the Bac. Schools for his Tripos speeche." The Tripos verses still come out, and are circulated on Ash Wednesday. The list of successful candidates for honours is printed on the same paper, hence the term "Tripos" applied to it.] with great applause, upon this text, "For thy commandments are broad." Thence my father and I to Mr. Widdrington's chamber to dinner, where he used us very courteously again, and had two Fellow Commoners at table with him, and Mr. Pepper, a Fellow of the College. After dinner, while we sat talking by the fire, Mr. Pierces man came to tell me that his master was come to town, so my father and I took leave, and found Mr. Pierce at our Inn, who told us that he had lost his journey, for my Lord was gone from Hinchingbroke to London on Thursday last, at which I was a little put to a stand. So after a cup of drink I went to Magdalene College to get the certificate of the College for my brother's entrance there, that he might save his year. I met with Mr. Burton in the Court, who took me to Mr. Pechell's chamber, where he was and Mr. Zanchy. By and by, Mr. Pechell and Sanchy and I went out, Pechell to Church, Sanchy and I to the Rose Tavern, where we sat and drank till sermon done, and then Mr. Pechell came to us, and we three sat drinking the King's and his whole family's health till it began to be dark. Then we parted; Sanchy and I went to my lodging, where we found my father and Mr. Pierce at the door, and I took them both and Mr. Blayton to the Rose Tavern, and there gave them a quart or two of wine, not telling them that we had been there before. After this we broke up, and my father, Mr. Zanchy, and I to my Cosen Angier to supper, where I caused two bottles of wine to be carried from the Rose Tavern; that was drunk up, and I had not the wit to let them know at table that it was I that paid for them, and so I lost my thanks for them. After supper Mr. Fairbrother, who supped there with us, took me into a room by himself, and shewed me a pitiful copy of verses upon Mr. Prinn which he esteemed very good, and desired that I would get them given to Mr. Prinn, in hopes that he would get him some place for it, which I said I would do, but did laugh in my sleeve to think of his folly, though indeed a man that has always expressed great civility to me. After that we sat down and talked; I took leave of all my friends, and so to my Inn, where after I had wrote a note and enclosed the certificate to Mr. Widdrington, I bade good night to my father, and John went to bed, but I staid up a little while, playing the fool with the lass of the house at the door of the chamber, and so to bed. 27th. Up by four o'clock, and after I was ready, took my leave of my father, whom I left in bed, and the same of my brother John, to whom I gave 10s. Mr. Blayton and I took horse and straight to Saffron Walden, where at the White Hart, we set up our horses, and took the master of the house to shew us Audley End House, who took us on foot through the park, and so to the house, where the housekeeper shewed us all the house, in which the stateliness of the ceilings, chimney-pieces, and form of the whole was exceedingly worth seeing. He took us into the cellar, where we drank most admirable drink, a health to the King. Here I played on my flageolette, there being an excellent echo. He shewed us excellent pictures; two especially, those of the four Evangelists and Henry VIII. After that I gave the man 2s. for his trouble, and went back again. In our going, my landlord carried us through a very old hospital or almshouse, where forty poor people was maintained; a very old foundation; and over the chimney in the mantelpiece was an inscription in brass: "Orate pre anima Thomae Bird," &c.; and the poor box also was on the same chimney-piece, with an iron door and locks to it, into which I put 6d. They brought me a draft of their drink in a brown bowl, tipt with silver, which I drank off, and at the bottom was a picture of the Virgin and the child in her arms, done in silver. So we went to our Inn, and after eating of something, and kissed the daughter of the house, she being very pretty, we took leave, and so that night, the road pretty good, but the weather rainy to Ep[p]ing, where we sat and played a game at cards, and after supper, and some merry talk with a plain bold maid of the house, we went to bed. 28th. Up in the morning, and had some red herrings to our breakfast, while my boot-heel was a-mending, by the same token the boy left the hole as big as it was before. Then to horse, and for London through the forest, where we found the way good, but only in one path, which we kept as if we had rode through a canal all the way. We found the shops all shut, and the militia of the red regiment in arms at the Old Exchange, among whom I found and spoke to Nich. Osborne, who told me that it was a thanksgiving-day through the City for the return of the Parliament. At Paul's I light, Mr. Blayton holding my horse, where I found Dr. Reynolds' in the pulpit, and General Monk there, who was to have a great entertainment at Grocers' Hall. So home, where my wife and all well. Shifted myself,--[Changed his dress.]--and so to Mr. Crew's, and then to Sir Harry Wright's, where I found my Lord at dinner, who called for me in, and was glad to see me. There was at dinner also Mr. John Wright and his lady, a very pretty lady, Alderman Allen's daughter. I dined here with Will. Howe, and after dinner went out with him to buy a hat (calling in my way and saw my mother), which we did at the Plough in Fleet Street by my Lord's direction, but not as for him. Here we met with Mr. Pierce a little before, and he took us to the Greyhound Tavern, and gave us a pint of wine, and as the rest of the seamen do, talked very high again of my Lord. After we had done about the hat we went homewards, he to Mr. Crew's and I to Mrs. Jem, and sat with her a little. Then home, where I found Mr. Sheply, almost drunk, come to see me, afterwards Mr. Spong comes, with whom I went up and played with him a Duo or two, and so good night. I was indeed a little vexed with Mr. Sheply, but said nothing, about his breaking open of my study at my house, merely to give him the key of the stair door at my Lord's, which lock he might better have broke than mine. 29th. To my office, and drank at Will's with Mr. Moore, who told me how my Lord is chosen General at Sea by the Council, and that it is thought that Monk will be joined with him therein. Home and dined, after dinner my wife and I by water to London, and thence to Herring's, the merchant in Coleman Street, about L50 which he promises I shall have on Saturday next. So to my mother's, and then to Mrs. Turner's, of whom I took leave, and her company, because she was to go out of town to-morrow with Mr. Pepys into Norfolk. Here my cosen Norton gave me a brave cup of metheglin, [A liquor made of honey and water, boiled and fermenting. By 12 Charles II. cap. 23, a grant of certain impositions upon beer, ale, and other liquors, a duty of 1d. per gallon was laid upon "all metheglin or mead."] the first I ever drank. To my mother's and supped there. She shewed me a letter to my father from my uncle inviting him to come to Brampton while he is in the country. So home and to bed. This day my Lord came to the House, the first time since he came to town; but he had been at the Council before. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Dined with my wife on pease porridge and nothing else Do press for new oaths to be put upon men Hanging jack to roast birds on Kiss my Parliament, instead of "Kiss my [rump]" Mottoes inscribed on rings was of Roman origin My wife and I had some high words Petition against hackney coaches Playing the fool with the lass of the house Posies for Rings, Handkerchers and Gloves Some merry talk with a plain bold maid of the house To the Swan and drank our morning draft Wedding for which the posy ring was required Went to bed with my head not well by my too much drinking to-day 
4120	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH & APRIL 1659-60 March 1st. In the morning went to my Lord's lodgings, thinking to have spoke with Mr. Sheply, having not been to visit him since my coming to town. But he being not within I went up, and out of the box where my Lord's pamphlets lay, I chose as many as I had a mind to have for my own use and left the rest. Then to my office, where little to do, abut Mr. Sheply comes to me, so at dinner time he and I went to Mr. Crew's, whither Mr. Thomas was newly come to town, being sent with Sir H. Yelverton, a my old school-fellow at Paul's School, to bring the thanks of the county to General Monk for the return of the Parliament. But old Mr. Crew and my Lord not coming home to dinner, we tarried late before we went to dinner, it being the day that John, Mr. John Crew's coachman, was to be buried in the afternoon, he being a day or two before killed with a blow of one of his horses that struck his skull into his brain. From thence Mr. Sheply and I went into London to Mr. Laxton's; my Lord's apothecary, and so by water to Westminster, where at the Sun [tavern] he and I spent two or three hours in a pint or two of wine, discoursing of matters in the country, among other things telling me that my uncle did to him make a very kind mention of me, and what he would do for me. Thence I went home, and went to bed betimes. This day the Parliament did vote that they would not sit longer than the 15th day of this month. 2d. This morning I went early to my Lord at Mr. Crew's, where I spoke to him. Here were a great many come to see him, as Secretary Thurlow who is now by this Parliament chosen again Secretary of State. There were also General Monk's trumpeters to give my Lord a sound of their trumpets this morning. Thence I went to my office, and wrote a letter to Mr. Downing about the business of his house. Then going home, I met with Mr. Eglin, Chetwind, and Thomas, who took me to the Leg [another tavern] in King's street, where we had two brave dishes of meat, one of fish, a carp and some other fishes, as well done as ever I ate any. After that to the Swan tavern, where we drank a quart or two of wine, and so parted. So I to Mrs. Jem and took Mr. Moore with me (who I met in the street), and there I met W. Howe and Sheply. After that to Westminster Hall, where I saw Sir G. Booth at liberty. This day I hear the City militia is put into good posture, and it is thought that Monk will not be able to do any great matter against them now, if he have a mind. I understand that my Lord Lambert did yesterday send a letter to the Council, and that to-night he is to come and appear to the Council in person. Sir Arthur Haselrigge do not yet appear in the House. Great is the talk of a single person, and that it would now be Charles, George, or Richard again.--[Charles II., or George Monk, or Richard Cromwell.]--For the last of which, my Lord St. John is said to speak high. Great also is the dispute now in the House, in whose name the writs shall run for the next Parliament; and it is said that Mr. Prin, in open House, said, "In King Charles's." From Westminster Hall home. Spent the evening in my study, and so after some talk with my wife, then to bed. 3d. To Westminster Hall, where I found that my Lord was last night voted one of the Generals at Sea, and Monk the other. I met my Lord in the Hall, who bid me come to him at noon. I met with Mr. Pierce the purser, Lieut. Lambert, Mr. Creed, and Will. Howe, and went with them to the Swan tavern. Up to my office, but did nothing. At noon home to dinner to a sheep's head. My brother Tom came and dined with me, and told me that my mother was not very well, and that my Aunt Fenner was very ill too. After dinner I to Warwick House, in Holborn, to my Lord, where he dined with my Lord of Manchester, Sir Dudley North, my Lord Fiennes, and my Lord Barkly. I staid in the great hall, talking with some gentlemen there, till they all come out. Then I, by coach with my Lord, to Mr. Crew's, in our way talking of publick things, and how I should look after getting of his Commissioner's despatch. He told me he feared there was new design hatching, as if Monk had a mind to get into the saddle. Here I left him, and went by appointment to Hering, the merchant, but missed of my money, at which I was much troubled, but could not help myself. Returning, met Mr. Gifford, who took me and gave me half a pint of wine, and told me, as I hear this day from many, that things are in a very doubtful posture, some of the Parliament being willing to keep the power in their hands. After I had left him, I met with Tom Harper, who took me into a place in Drury Lane, where we drank a great deal of strong water, more than ever I did in my life at onetime before. He talked huge high that my Lord Protector would come in place again, which indeed is much discoursed of again, though I do not see it possible. Hence home and wrote to my father at Brampton by the post. So to bed. This day I was told that my Lord General Fleetwood told my lord that he feared the King of Sweden is dead of a fever at Gottenburg. 4th. Lord's day. Before I went to church I sang Orpheus' Hymn to my viall. After that to Mr. Gunning's, an excellent sermon upon charity. Then to my mother to dinner, where my wife and the maid were come. After dinner we three to Mr. Messum's where we met Mons. L'Impertinent, who got us a seat and told me a ridiculous story how that last week he had caused a simple citizen to spend; L80 in entertainments of him and some friends of his upon pretence of some service that he would do him in his suit after a widow. Then to my mother again, and after supper she and I talked very high about religion, I in defence of the religion I was born in. Then home. 5th. Early in the morning Mr. Hill comes to string my theorbo, [The theorbo was a bass lute. Having gut strings it was played with the fingers. There is a humorous comparison of the long waists of ladies, which came into fashion about 1621, with the theorbo, by Bishop Corbet: "She was barr'd up in whale-bones, that did leese None of the whale's length, for they reached her knees; Off with her head, and then she hath a middle As her waste stands, just like the new found fiddle, The favourite Theorbo, truth to tell ye, Whose neck and throat are deeper than the belly." Corbet, 'Iter Boreale'.] which we were about till past ten o'clock, with a great deal of pleasure. Then to Westminster, where I met with Mr. Sheply and Mr. Pinkney at Will's, who took me by water to Billingsgate, at the Salutation Tavern, whither by-and-by, Mr. Talbot and Adams came, and bring a great [deal of] good meat, a ham of bacon, &c. Here we staid and drank till Mr. Adams began to be overcome. Then we parted, and so to Westminster by water, only seeing Mr. Pinkney at his own house, where he shewed me how he had alway kept the Lion and Unicorn, in the back of his chimney, bright, in expectation of the King's coming again. At home I found Mr. Hunt, who told me how the Parliament had voted that the Covenant be printed and hung in churches again. Great hopes of the King's coming again. To bed. 6th. (Shrove Tuesday.) I called Mr. Sheply and we both went up to my Lord's lodgings at Mr. Crew's, where he bade us to go home again, and get a fire against an hour after. Which we did at White Hall, whither he came, and after talking with him and me about his going to sea, he called me by myself to go along with him into the garden, where he asked me how things were with me, and what he had endeavoured to do with my uncle to get him to do something for me but he would say nothing too. He likewise bade me look out now at this turn some good place, and he would use all his own, and all the interest of his friends that he had in England, to do me good. And asked me whether I could, without too much inconvenience, go to sea as his secretary, and bid me think of it. He also began to talk of things of State, and told me that he should want one in that capacity at sea, that he might trust in, and therefore he would have me to go. He told me also, that he did believe the King would come in, and did discourse with me about it, and about the affection of the people and City, at which I was full glad. After he was gone, I waiting upon him through the garden till he came to the Hall, where I left him and went up to my office, where Mr. Hawly brought one to me, a seaman, that had promised Rio to him if he get him a purser's place, which I think to endeavour to do. Here comes my uncle Tom, whom I took to Will's and drank with, poor man, he comes to inquire about the knights of Windsor, of which he desires to get to be one. [The body of Poor Knights of Windsor was founded by Edward III. The intention of the king with regard to the poor knights was to provide relief and comfortable subsistence for such valiant soldiers as happened in their old age to fall into poverty and decay. On September 20th, 1659, a Report having been read respecting the Poor Knights of Windsor, the House "ordered that it be referred to a Committee, to look into the revenue for maintenance of the Poor Knights of Windsor," &c. (See Tighe and Davis's "Annals of Windsor.")] While we were drinking, in comes Mr. Day, a carpenter in Westminster, to tell me that it was Shrove Tuesday, and that I must go with him to their yearly Club upon this day, which I confess I had quite forgot. So I went to the Bell, where were Mr. Eglin, Veezy, Vincent a butcher, one more, and Mr. Tanner, with whom I played upon a viall, and he a viallin, after dinner, and were very merry, with a special good dinner, a leg of veal and bacon, two capons and sausages and fritters, with abundance of wine. After that I went home, where I found Kate Sterpin who hath not been here a great while before. She gone I went to see Mrs. Jem, at whose chamber door I found a couple of ladies, but she not being there, we hunted her out, and found that she and another had hid themselves behind a door. Well, they all went down into the dining-room, where it was full of tag, rag, and bobtail, dancing, singing, and drinking, of which I was ashamed, and after I had staid a dance or two I went away. Going home, called at my Lord's for Mr. Sheply, but found him at the Lion with a pewterer, that he had bought pewter to-day of. With them I drank, and so home and wrote by the post, by my Lord's command, for J. Goods to come up presently. For my Lord intends to go forthwith into the Swiftsure till the Nazeby be ready. This day I hear that the Lords do intend to sit, and great store of them are now in town, and I see in the Hall to-day. Overton at Hull do stand out, but can, it is thought, do nothing; and Lawson, it is said, is gone with some ships thither, but all that is nothing. My Lord told me, that there was great endeavours to bring in the Protector again; but he told me, too, that he did believe it would not last long if he were brought in; no, nor the King neither (though he seems to think that he will come in), unless he carry himself very soberly and well. Every body now drinks the King's health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it. Monk this day is feasted at Mercers' Hall, and is invited one after another to all the twelve Halls in London! Many think that he is honest yet, and some or more think him to be a fool that would raise himself, but think that he will undo himself by endeavouring it. My mind, I must needs remember, has been very much eased and joyed at my Lord's great expressions of kindness this day, and in discourse thereupon my wife and I lay awake an hour or two in our bed. 7th. (Ash Wednesday.) In the morning I went to my Lord at Mr. Crew's, in my way Washington overtook me and told me upon my question whether he knew of any place now void that I might have, by power over friends, that this day Mr. G. Montagu was to be made 'Custos Rotulorum' for Westminster, and that by friends I might get to be named by him Clerk of the Peace, with which I was, as I am at all new things, very much joyed, so when I came to Mr. Crew's, I spoke to my Lord about it, who told me he believed Mr. Montagu had already promised it, and that it was given him only that he might gratify one person with the place I look for. Here, among many that were here, I met with Mr. Lynes, the surgeon, who promised me some seeds of the sensitive plant. [Evelyn, about the same date (August 9th, 1661), "tried several experiments on the sensitive plant and humilis, which contracted with the least touch of the sun through a burning glass, though it rises and opens only when it shines on it"] I spoke too with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who gave me great encouragement to go to sea with my Lord. Thence going homewards, my Lord overtook me in his coach, and called me in, and so I went with him to St. James's, and G. Montagu being gone to White Hall, we walked over the Park thither, all the way he discoursing of the times, and of the change of things since the last year, and wondering how he could bear with so great disappointment as he did. He did give me the best advice that he could what was best for me, whether to stay or go with him, and offered all the ways that could be, how he might do me good, with the greatest liberty and love that could be. I left him at Whitehall, and myself went to Westminster to my office, whither nothing to do, but I did discourse with Mr. Falconbridge about Le Squire's place, and had his consent to get it if I could. I afterwards in the Hall met with W. Simons, who put me in the best way how to get it done. Thence by appointment to the Angel in King Street, where Chetwind, Mr. Thomas and Doling were at oysters, and beginning Lent this day with a fish dinner. After dinner Mr. Thomas and I by water to London, where I went to Herring's and received the L50 of my Lord's upon Frank's bill from Worcester. I gave in the bill and set my hand to his bill. Thence I went to the Pope's Head Alley and called on Adam Chard, and bought a catcall there, it cost me two groats. Thence went and gave him a cup of ale. After that to the Sun behind the Exchange, where meeting my uncle Wight by the way, took him with me thither, and after drinking a health or two round at the Cock (Mr. Thomas being gone thither), we parted, he and I homewards, parted at Fleet Street, where I found my father newly come home from Brampton very well. He left my uncle with his leg very dangerous, and do believe he cannot continue in that condition long. He tells me that my uncle did acquaint him very largely what he did intend to do with his estate, to make me his heir and give my brother Tom something, and that my father and mother should have likewise something, to raise portions for John and Pall. I pray God he may be as good as his word. Here I staid and supped and so home, there being Joyce Norton there and Ch. Glascock. Going home I called at Wotton's and took home a piece of cheese. At home Mr. Sheply sat with me a little while, and so we all to bed. This news and my Lord's great kindness makes me very cheerful within. I pray God make me thankful. This day, according to order, Sir Arthur [Haselrigge] appeared at the House; what was done I know not, but there was all the Rumpers almost come to the House to-day. My Lord did seem to wonder much why Lambert was so willing to be put into the Tower, and thinks he has some design in it; but I think that he is so poor that he cannot use his liberty for debts, if he were at liberty; and so it is as good and better for him to be there, than any where else. 8th. To Whitehall to bespeak some firing for my father at Short's, and likewise to speak to Mr. Blackburne about Batters being gunner in the "Wexford." Then to Westminster Hall, where there was a general damp over men's minds and faces upon some of the Officers of the Army being about making a remonstrance against Charles Stuart or any single person; but at noon it was told, that the General had put a stop to it, so all was well again. Here I met with Jasper, who was to look for me to bring me to my Lord at the lobby; whither sending a note to my Lord, he comes out to me and gives me direction to look after getting some money for him from the Admiralty, seeing that things are so unsafe, that he would not lay out a farthing for the State, till he had received some money of theirs. Home about two o'clock, and took my wife by land to Paternoster Row, to buy some Paragon for a petticoat and so home again. In my way meeting Mr. Moore, who went home with me while I ate a bit and so back to Whitehall again, both of us. He waited at the Council for Mr. Crew. I to the Admiralty, where I got the order for the money, and have taken care for the getting of it assigned upon Mr. Hutchinson, Treasurer for the Navy, against tomorrow. Hence going home I met with Mr. King that belonged to the Treasurers at War and took him to Harper's, who told me that he and the rest of his fellows are cast out of office by the new Treasurers. This afternoon, some of the Officers of the Army, and some of the Parliament, had a conference at White Hall to make all right again, but I know not what is done. This noon I met at the Dog tavern Captain Philip Holland, with whom I advised how to make some advantage of my Lord's going to sea, which he told me might be by having of five or six servants entered on board, and I to give them what wages I pleased, and so their pay to be mine; he was also very urgent to have me take the Secretary's place, that my Lord did proffer me. At the same time in comes Mr. Wade and Mr. Sterry, secretary to the plenipotentiary in Denmark, who brought the news of the death of the King of Sweden at Gottenburgh the 3rd of the last month, and he told me what a great change he found when he came here, the secluded members being restored. He also spoke very freely of Mr. Wades profit, which he made while he was in Zeeland, how he did believe that he cheated Mr. Powell, and that he made above L500 on the voyage, which Mr. Wade did very angrily deny, though I believe he was guilty enough. 9th. To my Lord at his lodging, and came to Westminster with him in the coach, with Mr. Dudley with him, and he in the Painted Chamber [The Painted Chamber, or St. Edward's Chamber, in the old Palace at Westminster. The first name was given to it from the curious paintings on the walls, and the second from the tradition that Edward the Confessor died in it.] walked a good while; and I telling him that I was willing and ready to go with him to sea, he agreed that I should, and advised me what to write to Mr. Downing about it, which I did at my office, that by my Lord's desire I offered that my place might for a while be supplied by Mr. Moore, and that I and my security should be bound by the same bond for him. I went and dined at Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Hawly comes to me, and I told him the business and shewed him the letter promising him L20 a year, which he liked very well of. I did the same to Mr. Moore, which he also took for a courtesy. In the afternoon by coach, taking Mr. Butler with me to the Navy Office, about the L500 for my Lord, which I am promised to have to-morrow morning. Then by coach back again, and at White Hall at the Council Chamber spoke with my Lord and got him to sign the acquittance for the L500, and he also told me that he had spoke to Mr. Blackburne to put off Mr. Creed and that I should come to him for direction in the employment. After this Mr. Butler and I to Harper's, where we sat and drank for two hours till ten at night; the old woman she was drunk and began to talk foolishly in commendation of her son James. Home and to bed. All night troubled in my thoughts how to order my business upon this great change with me that I could not sleep, and being overheated with drink I made a promise the next morning to drink no strong drink this week, for I find that it makes me sweat and puts me quite out of order. This day it was resolved that the writs do go out in the name of the Keepers of the Liberty, and I hear that it is resolved privately that a treaty be offered with the King. And that Monk did check his soldiers highly for what they did yesterday. 10th. In the morning went to my father's, whom I took in his cutting house,--[His father was a tailor, and this was his cutting-out room.]--and there I told him my resolution to go to sea with my Lord, and consulted with him how to dispose of my wife, and we resolved of letting her be at Mr. Bowyer's. Thence to the Treasurer of the Navy, where I received L500 for my Lord, and having left L200 of it with Mr. Rawlinson at his house for Sheply, I went with the rest to the Sun tavern on Fish Street Hill, where Mr. Hill, Stevens and Mr. Hater of the Navy Office had invited me, where we had good discourse and a fine breakfast of Mr. Hater. Then by coach home, where I took occasion to tell my wife of my going to sea, who was much troubled at it, and was with some dispute at last willing to continue at Mr. Bowyer's in my absence. After this to see Mrs. Jem and paid her maid L7, and then to Mr. Blackburne, who told me what Mr. Creed did say upon the news of my coming into his place, and that he did propose to my Lord that there should be two Secretaries, which made me go to Sir H. Wright's where my Lord dined and spoke with him about it, but he seemed not to agree to the motion. Hither W. Howe comes to me and so to Westminster. In the way he told me, what I was to provide and so forth against my going. He went with me to my office, whither also Mr. Madge comes half foxed and played the fool upon the violin that made me weary. Then to Whitehall and so home and set many of my things in order against my going. My wife was late making of caps for me, and the wench making an end of a pair of stockings that she was knitting of. So to bed. 11th. (Sunday.) All the day busy without my band on, putting up my books and things, in order to my going to sea. At night my wife and I went to my father's to supper, where J. Norton and Chas. Glascocke supt with us, and after supper home, where the wench had provided all things against tomorrow to wash, and so to bed, where I much troubled with my cold and coughing. 12th. This day the wench rose at two in the morning to wash, and my wife and I lay talking a great while. I by reason of my cold could not tell how to sleep. My wife and I to the Exchange, where we bought a great many things, where I left her and went into London, and at Bedells the bookseller's at the Temple gate I paid L12 10s. 6d. for Mr. Fuller by his direction. So came back and at Wilkinson's found Mr. Sheply and some sea people, as the cook of the Nazeby and others, at dinner. Then to the White Horse in King Street, where I got Mr. Buddle's horse to ride to Huntsmore to Mr. Bowyer's, where I found him and all well, and willing to have my wife come and board with them while I was at sea, which was the business I went about. Here I lay and took a thing for my cold, namely a spoonful of honey and a nutmeg scraped into it, by Mr. Bowyer's direction, and so took it into my mouth, which I found did do me much good. 13th. It rained hard and I got up early, and got to London by 8 o'clock at my Lord's lodgings, who told me that I was to be secretary, and Creed to be deputy treasurer to the Fleet, at which I was troubled, but I could not help it. After that to my father's to look after things, and so at my shoemaker's and others. At night to Whitehall, where I met with Simons and Luellin at drink with them at Roberts at Whitehall. Then to the Admiralty, where I talked with Mr. Creed till the Brothers, and they were very seemingly willing and glad that I have the place since my Lord would dispose of it otherwise than to them. Home and to bed. This day the Parliament voted all that had been done by the former Rump against the House of Lords be void, and to-night that the writs go out without any qualification. Things seem very doubtful what will be the end of all; for the Parliament seems to be strong for the King, while the soldiers do all talk against. 14th. To my Lord, where infinity of applications to him and to me. To my great trouble, my Lord gives me all the papers that was given to him, to put in order and give him an account of them. Here I got half-a-piece of a person of Mr. Wright's recommending to my Lord to be Preacher of the Speaker frigate. I went hence to St. James's and Mr. Pierce the surgeon with me, to speak with Mr. Clerke, Monk's secretary, about getting some soldiers removed out of Huntingdon to Oundle, which my Lord told me he did to do a courtesy to the town, that he might have the greater interest in them, in the choice of the next Parliament; not that he intends to be chosen himself, but that he might have Mr. G. Montagu and my Lord Mandeville chose there in spite of the Bernards. This done (where I saw General Monk and methought he seemed a dull heavy man), he and I to Whitehall, where with Luellin we dined at Marsh's. Coming home telling my wife what we had to dinner, she had a mind to some cabbage, and I sent for some and she had it. Went to the Admiralty, where a strange thing how I am already courted by the people. This morning among others that came to me I hired a boy of Jenkins of Westminster and Burr to be my clerk. This night I went to Mr. Creed's chamber where he gave me the former book of the proceedings in the fleet and the Seal. Then to Harper's where old Beard was and I took him by coach to my Lord's, but he was not at home, but afterwards I found him out at Sir H. Wright's. Thence by coach, it raining hard, to Mrs. Jem, where I staid a while, and so home, and late in the night put up my things in a sea-chest that Mr. Sheply lent me, and so to bed. 15th. Early packing up my things to be sent by cart with the rest of my Lord's. So to Will's, where I took leave of some of my friends. Here I met Tom Alcock, one that went to school with me at Huntingdon, but I had not seen him these sixteen years. So in the Hall paid and made even with Mrs. Michell; afterwards met with old Beale, and at the Axe paid him this quarter to Ladyday next. In the afternoon Dick Mathews comes to dine, and I went and drank with him at Harper's. So into London by water, and in Fish Street my wife and I bought a bit of salmon for 8d. and went to the Sun Tavern and ate it, where I did promise to give her all that I have in the world but my books, in case I should die at sea. From thence homewards; in the way my wife bought linen for three smocks and other things. I went to my Lord's and spoke with him. So home with Mrs. Jem by coach and then home to my own house. From thence to the Fox in King-street to supper on a brave turkey of Mr. Hawly's, with some friends of his there, Will Bowyer, &c. After supper I went to Westminster Hall, and the Parliament sat till ten at night, thinking and being expected to dissolve themselves to-day, but they did not. Great talk to-night that the discontented officers did think this night to make a stir, but prevented. To the Fox again. Home with my wife, and to bed extraordinary sleepy. 16th. No sooner out of bed but troubled with abundance of clients, seamen. My landlord Vanly's man came to me by my direction yesterday, for I was there at his house as I was going to London by water, and I paid him rent for my house for this quarter ending at Lady day, and took an acquittance that he wrote me from his master. Then to Mr. Sheply, to the Rhenish Tavern House, where Mr. Pim, the tailor, was, and gave us a morning draft and a neat's tongue. Home and with my wife to London, we dined at my father's, where Joyce Norton and Mr. Armiger dined also. After dinner my wife took leave of them in order to her going to-morrow to Huntsmore. In my way home I went to the Chapel in Chancery Lane to bespeak papers of all sorts and other things belonging to writing against my voyage. So home, where I spent an hour or two about my business in my study. Thence to the Admiralty, and staid a while, so home again, where Will Bowyer came to tell us that he would bear my wife company in the coach to-morrow. Then to Westminster Hall, where I heard how the Parliament had this day dissolved themselves, and did pass very cheerfully through the Hall, and the Speaker without his mace. The whole Hall was joyful thereat, as well as themselves, and now they begin to talk loud of the King. To-night I am told, that yesterday, about five o'clock in the afternoon, one came with a ladder to the Great Exchange, and wiped with a brush the inscription that was upon King Charles, and that there was a great bonfire made in the Exchange, and people called out "God bless. King Charles the Second!" ["Then the writing in golden letters, that was engraven under the statue of Charles I, in the Royal Exchange ('Exit tyrannus, Regum ultimus, anno libertatis Angliae, anno Domini 1648, Januarie xxx.) was washed out by a painter, who in the day time raised a ladder, and with a pot and brush washed the writing quite out, threw down his pot and brush and said it should never do him any more service, in regard that it had the honour to put out rebels' hand-writing. He then came down, took away his ladder, not a misword said to him, and by whose order it was done was not then known. The merchants were glad and joyful, many people were gathered together, and against the Exchange made a bonfire. "Rugge's Diurnal." In the Thomason Collection of Civil War Tracts at the British Museum is a pamphlet which is dated in MS. March 21st, 1659-60, where this act is said to be by order of Monk: "The Loyal Subjects Teares for the Sufferings and Absence of their Sovereign Charles II., King of England, Scotland, and Ireland; with an Observation upon the expunging of 'Exit Tyrannus, Regum ultimus', by order of General Monk, and some Advice to the Independents, Anabaptists, Phanatiques, &c. London, 1660."] From the Hall I went home to bed, very sad in mind to part with my wife, but God's will be done. 17th. This morning bade adieu in bed to the company of my wife. We rose and I gave my wife some money to serve her for a time, and what papers of consequence I had. Then I left her to get her ready and went to my Lord's with my boy Eliezer to my Lord's lodging at Mr. Crew's. Here I had much business with my Lord, and papers, great store, given me by my Lord to dispose of as of the rest. After that, with Mr. Moore home to my house and took my wife by coach to the Chequer in Holborn, where, after we had drank, &c., she took coach and so farewell. I staid behind with Tom Alcock and Mr. Anderson, my old chamber fellow at Cambridge his brother, and drank with them there, who were come to me thither about one that would have a place at sea. Thence with Mr. Hawly to dinner at Mr. Crew's. After dinner to my own house, where all things were put up into the dining-room and locked up, and my wife took the keys along with her. This day, in the presence of Mr. Moore (who made it) and Mr. Hawly, I did before I went out with my wife, seal my will to her, whereby I did give her all that I have in the world, but my books which I give to my brother John, excepting only French books, which my wife is to have. In the evening at the Admiralty, I met my Lord there and got a commission for Williamson to be captain of the Harp frigate, and afterwards went by coach taking Mr. Crips with me to my Lord and got him to sign it at table as he was at supper. And so to Westminster back again with him with me, who had a great desire to go to sea and my Lord told me that he would do him any favour. So I went home with him to his mother's house by me in Axe Yard, where I found Dr. Clodius's wife and sat there talking and hearing of old Mrs. Crisp playing of her old lessons upon the harpsichon till it was time to go to bed. After that to bed, and Laud, her son lay with me in the best chamber in her house, which indeed was finely furnished. 18th. I rose early and went to the barber's (Jervas) in Palace Yard and I was trimmed by him, and afterwards drank with him a cup or two of ale, and did begin to hire his man to go with me to sea. Then to my Lord's lodging where I found Captain Williamson and gave him his commission to be Captain of the Harp, and he gave me a piece of gold and 20s. in silver. So to my own house, where I staid a while and then to dinner with Mr. Shepley at my Lord's lodgings. After that to Mr. Mossum's, where he made a very gallant sermon upon "Pray for the life of the King and the King's son." (Ezra vi. 10.) From thence to Mr. Crew's, but my Lord not being within I did not stay, but went away and met with Mr. Woodfine, who took me to an alehouse in Drury Lane, and we sat and drank together, and ate toasted cakes which were very good, and we had a great deal of mirth with the mistress of the house about them. From thence homewards, and called at Mr. Blagrave's, where I took up my note that he had of mine for 40s., which he two years ago did give me as a pawn while he had my lute. So that all things are even between him and I. So to Mrs. Crisp, where she and her daughter and son and I sat talking till ten o'clock at night, I giving them the best advice that I could concerning their son, how he should go to sea, and so to bed. 19th. Early to my Lord, where infinity of business to do, which makes my head full; and indeed, for these two or three days, I have not been without a great many cares and thoughts concerning them. After that to the Admiralty, where a good while with Mr. Blackburne, who told me that it was much to be feared that the King would come in, for all good men and good things were now discouraged. Thence to Wilkinson's, where Mr. Sheply and I dined; and while we were at dinner, my Lord Monk's lifeguard come by with the Serjeant at Arms before them, with two Proclamations, that all Cavaliers do depart the town; but the other that all officers that were lately disbanded should do the same. The last of which Mr. R. Creed, I remember, said, that he looked upon it as if they had said, that all God's people should depart the town. Thence with some sea officers to the Swan, where we drank wine till one comes to me to pay me some money from Worcester, viz., L25. His name is Wilday. I sat in another room and took my money and drank with him till the rest of my company were gone and so we parted. Going home the water was high, and so I got Crockford to carry me over it. So home, and left my money there. All the discourse now-a-day is, that the King will come again; and for all I see, it is the wishes of all; and all do believe that it will be so. My mind is still much troubled for my poor wife, but I hope that this undertaking will be worth my pains. To Whitehall and staid about business at the Admiralty late, then to Tony Robins's, where Capt. Stokes, Mr. Luddington and others were, and I did solicit the Captain for Laud Crisp, who gave me a promise that he would entertain him. After that to Mrs. Crisp's where Dr. Clodius and his wife were. He very merry with drink. We played at cards late and so to bed. This day my Lord dined at my Lord Mayor's [Allen], and Jasper was made drunk, which my Lord was very angry at. 20th. This morning I rose early and went to my house to put things in a little order against my going, which I conceive will be to-morrow (the weather still very rainy). After that to my Lord, where I found very great deal of business, he giving me all letters and papers that come to him about business, for me to give him account of when we come on shipboard. Hence with Capt. Isham by coach to Whitehall to the Admiralty. He and I and Chetwind, Doling and Luellin dined together at Marsh's at Whitehall. So to the Bull Head whither W. Simons comes to us and I gave them my foy [Foy. A feast given by one who is about to leave a place. In Kent, according to Grose, a treat to friends, either at going abroad or coming home. See Diary, November 25th, 1661.] against my going to sea; and so we took leave one of another, they promising me to write to me to sea. Hither comes Pim's boy, by my direction, with two monteeres--[Monteeres, montero (Spanish), a kind of huntsman's cap.]--for me to take my choice of, and I chose the saddest colour and left the other for Mr. Sheply. Hence by coach to London, and took a short melancholy leave of my father and mother, without having them to drink, or say anything of business one to another. And indeed I had a fear upon me I should scarce ever see my mother again, she having a great cold then upon her. Then to Westminster, where by reason of rain and an easterly wind, the water was so high that there was boats rowed in King Street and all our yard was drowned, that one could not go to my house, so as no man has seen the like almost, most houses full of water. ["In this month the wind was very high, and caused great tides, so that great hurt was done to the inhabitants of Westminster, King Street being quite drowned. The Maidenhead boat was cast away, and twelve persons with her. Also, about Dover the waters brake in upon the mainland; and in Kent was very much damage done; so that report said, there was L20,000 worth of harm done."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] Then back by coach to my Lord's; where I met Mr. Sheply, who staid with me waiting for my Lord's coming in till very late. Then he and I, and William Howe went with our swords to bring my Lord home from Sir H. Wright's. He resolved to go to-morrow if the wind ceased. Sheply and I home by coach. I to Mrs. Crisp's, who had sat over a good supper long looking for me. So we sat talking and laughing till it was very late, and so Laud and I to bed. 21st. To my Lord's, but the wind very high against us, and the weather bad we could not go to-day; here I did very much business, and then to my Lord Widdrington's from my Lord, with his desire that he might have the disposal of the writs of the Cinque Ports. My Lord was very civil to me, and called for wine, and writ a long letter in answer. Thence I went to a tavern over against Mr. Pierce's with judge Advocate Fowler and Mr. Burr, and sat and drank with them two or three pints of wine. After that to Mr. Crew's again and gave my Lord an account of what I had done, and so about my business to take leave of my father and mother, which by a mistake I have put down yesterday. Thence to Westminster to Crisp's, where we were very merry; the old woman sent for a supper for me, and gave me a handkercher with strawberry buttons on it, and so to bed. 22nd. Up very early and set things in order at my house, and so took leave of Mrs. Crispe and her daughter (who was in bed) and of Mrs. Hunt. Then to my Lord's lodging at the gate and did so there, where Mr. Hawly came to me and I gave him the key of my house to keep, and he went with me to Mr. Crew's, and there I took my last leave of him. But the weather continuing very bad my Lord would not go to-day. My Lord spent this morning private in sealing of his last will and testament with Mr. W. Mountagu. After that I went forth about my own business to buy a pair of riding grey serge stockings and sword and belt and hose, and after that took Wotton and Brigden to the Pope's Head Tavern in Chancery Lane, where Gilb. Holland and Shelston were, and we dined and drank a great deal of wine, and they paid all. Strange how these people do now promise me anything; one a rapier, the other a vessel of wine or a gun, and one offered me his silver hatband to do him a courtesy. I pray God to keep me from being proud or too much lifted up hereby. After that to Westminster, and took leave of Kate Sterpin who was very sorry to part with me, and after that of Mr. George Mountagu, and received my warrant of Mr. Blackburne, to be Secretary to the two Generals of the Fleet. Then to take my leave of the Clerks of the Council, and thence Doling and Luellin would have me go with them to Mount's chamber, where we sat and talked and then I went away. So to my Lord (in my way meeting Chetwind and Swan and bade them farewell) where I lay all night with Mr. Andrews. This day Mr. Sheply went away on board and I sent my boy with him. This day also Mrs. Jemimah went to Marrowbone, so I could not see her. Mr. Moore being out of town to-night I could not take leave of him nor speak to him about business which troubled me much. I left my small case therefore with Mr. Andrews for him. 23rd. Up early, carried my Lord's will in a black box to Mr. William Montagu for him to keep for him. Then to the barber's and put on my cravat there. So to my Lord again, who was almost ready to be gone and had staid for me. Hither came Gilb. Holland, and brought me a stick rapier and Shelston a sugar-loaf, and had brought his wife who he said was a very pretty woman to the Ship tavern hard by for me to see but I could not go. Young Reeve also brought me a little perspective glass which I bought for my Lord, it cost me 8s. So after that my Lord in Sir H. Wright's coach with Captain Isham, Mr. Thomas, John Crew, W. Howe, and I in a Hackney to the Tower, where the barges staid for us; my Lord and the Captain in one, and W. Howe and I, &c., in the other, to the Long Reach, where the Swiftsure lay at anchor; (in our way we saw the great breach which the late high water had made, to the loss of many L1000 to the people about Limehouse.) Soon as my Lord on board, the guns went off bravely from the ships. And a little while after comes the Vice-Admiral Lawson, and seemed very respectful to my Lord, and so did the rest of the Commanders of the frigates that were thereabouts. I to the cabin allotted for me, which was the best that any had that belonged to my Lord. I got out some things out of my chest for writing and to work presently, Mr, Burr and I both. I supped at the deck table with Mr. Sheply. We were late writing of orders for the getting of ships ready, &c.; and also making of others to all the seaports between Hastings and Yarmouth, to stop all dangerous persons that are going or coming between Flanders and there. After that to bed in my cabin, which was but short; however I made shift with it and slept very well, and the weather being good I was not sick at all yet, I know not what I shall be. 24th. At work hard all the day writing letters to the Council, &c. This day Mr. Creed came on: board and dined very boldly with my Lord, but he could not get a bed there. At night Capt. Isham who had been at Gravesend all last night and to-day came and brought Mr. Lucy (one acquainted with Mrs. Pierce, with whom I had been at her house), I drank with him in the Captain's cabin, but my business could not stay with him. I despatch many letters to-day abroad and it was late before we could get to bed. Mr. Sheply and Howe supped with me in my cabin. The boy Eliezer flung down a can of beer upon my papers which made me give him a box of the ear, it having all spoiled my papers and cost me a great deal of work. So to bed. 25th. (Lord's day). About two o'clock in the morning, letters came from London by our coxon, so they waked me, but I would not rise but bid him stay till morning, which he did, and then I rose and carried them in to my Lord, who read them a-bed. Among the rest, there was the writ and mandate for him to dispose to the Cinque Ports for choice of Parliament-men. There was also one for me from Mr. Blackburne, who with his own hand superscribes it to S.P. Esq., of which God knows I was not a little proud. After that I wrote a letter to the Clerk of Dover Castle, to come to my Lord about issuing of those writs. About ten o'clock Mr. Ibbott, at the end of the long table, begun to pray and preach and indeed made a very good sermon, upon the duty of all Christians to be stedfast in faith. After that Captain Cuttance and I had oysters, my Lord being in his cabin not intending to stir out to-day. After that up into the great cabin above to dinner with the Captain, where was Captain Isham and all the officers of the ship. I took place of all but the Captains; after dinner I wrote a great many letters to my friends at London. After that, sermon again, at which I slept, God forgive me! After that, it being a fair day, I walked with the Captain upon the deck talking. At night I supped with him and after that had orders from my Lord about some business to be done against to-morrow, which I sat up late and did and then to bed. 26th. This day it is two years since it pleased God that I was cut of the stone at Mrs. Turner's in Salisbury Court. And did resolve while I live to keep it a festival, as I did the last year at my house, and for ever to have Mrs. Turner and her company with me. But now it pleases God that I am where I am and so prevented to do it openly; only within my soul I can and do rejoice, and bless God, being at this time blessed be his holy name, in as good health as ever I was in my life. This morning I rose early, and went about making of an establishment of the whole Fleet, and a list of all the ships, with the number of men and guns: About an hour after that, we had a meeting of the principal commanders and seamen, to proportion out the number of these things. After that to dinner, there being very many commanders on board. All the afternoon very many orders were made, till I was very weary. At night Mr. Sheply and W. Howe came and brought some bottles of wine and some things to eat in my cabin, where we were very merry, remembering the day of being cut for the stone. Captain Cuttance came afterwards and sat drinking a bottle of wine till eleven, a kindness he do not usually do the greatest officer in the ship. After that to bed. 27th. Early in the morning at making a fair new establishment of the Fleet to send to the Council. This morning, the wind came about, and we fell into the Hope,--[A reach of the Thames near Tilbury.]--and in our passing by the Vice-Admiral, he and the rest of the frigates, with him, did give us abundance of guns and we them, so much that the report of them broke all the windows in my cabin and broke off the iron bar that was upon it to keep anybody from creeping in at the Scuttle.--["A small hole or port cut either in the deck or side of a ship, generally for ventilation. That in the deck is a small hatch-way."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.]--This noon I sat the first time with my Lord at table since my coming to sea. All the afternoon exceeding busy in writing of letters and orders. In the afternoon, Sir Harry Wright came onboard us, about his business of being chosen Parliament-man. My Lord brought him to see my cabin, when I was hard a-writing. At night supped with my Lord too, with the Captain, and after that to work again till it be very late. So to bed. 28th. This morning and the whole day busy, and that the more because Mr. Burr was about his own business all the day at Gravesend. At night there was a gentleman very well bred, his name was Banes, going for Flushing, who spoke French and Latin very well, brought by direction from Captain Clerke hither, as a prisoner, because he called out of the vessel that he went in, "Where is your King, we have done our business, Vive le Roi." He confessed himself a Cavalier in his heart, and that he and his whole family had fought for the King; but that he was then drunk, having been all night taking his leave at Gravesend the night before, and so could not remember what it was that he said; but in his words and carriage showed much of a gentleman. My Lord had a great kindness for him, but did not think it safe to release him, but commanded him to be used civilly, so he was taken to the Master's Cabin and had supper there. In the meantime I wrote a letter to the Council about him, and an order for the vessel to be sent for back that he was taken out of. But a while after, he sent a letter down to my Lord, which my Lord did like very well, and did advise with me what was best to be done. So I put in something to my Lord and then to the Captain that the gentleman was to be released and the letter stopped, which was done. So I went up and sat and talked with him in Latin and French, and drank a bottle or two with him; and about eleven at night he took boat again, and so God bless him. Thence I to my cabin and to bed. This day we had news of the election at Huntingdon for Bernard and Pedly, at which my Lord was much troubled for his friends' missing of it. 29th. We lie still a little below Gravesend. At night Mr. Sheply returned from London, and told us of several elections for the next Parliament. That the King's effigies was new making to be set up in the Exchange again. This evening was a great whispering of some of the Vice-Admiral's captains that they were dissatisfied, and did intend to fight themselves, to oppose the General. But it was soon hushed, and the Vice-Admiral did wholly deny any such thing, and protested to stand by the General. At night Mr. Sheply, W. Howe, and I supped in my cabin. So up to the Master's cabin, where we sat talking, and then to bed. 30th. I was saluted in the morning with two letters, from some that I had done a favour to, which brought me in each a piece of gold. This day, while my Lord and we were at dinner, the Nazeby came in sight towards us, and at last came to anchor close by us. After dinner my Lord and many others went on board her, where every thing was out of order, and a new chimney made for my Lord in his bedchamber, which he was much pleased with. My Lord, in his discourse, discovered a great deal of love to this ship. 31st. This morning Captain Jowles of the "Wexford" came on board, for whom I got commission from my Lord to be commander of the ship. Upon the doing thereof he was to make the 20s. piece that he sent me yesterday, up L5; wherefore he sent me a bill that he did owe me L4., which I sent my boy to Gravesend with him, and he did give the boy L4 for me, and the boy gave him the bill under his hand. This morning, Mr. Hill that lives in Axe-yard was here on board with the Vice-Admiral. I did give him a bottle of wine, and was exceedingly satisfied of the power that I have to make my friends welcome. Many orders to make all the afternoon. At night Mr. Sheply, Howe, Ibbott, and I supped in my cabin together. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1660 April 1st (Lord's day). Mr. Ibbott preached very well. After dinner my Lord did give me a private list of all the ships that were to be set out this summer, wherein I do discern that he bath made it his care to put by as much of the Anabaptists as he can. By reason of my Lord and my being busy to send away the packet by Mr. Cooke of the Nazeby, it was four o'clock before we could begin sermon again. This day Captain Guy come on board from Dunkirk, who tells me that the King will come in, and that the soldiers at Dunkirk do drink the King's health in the streets. At night the Captain, Sir R. Stayner, Mr. Sheply, and I did sup together in the Captain's cabin. I made a commission for Captain Wilgness, of the Bear, to-night, which got me 30s. So after writing a while I went to bed. 2d. Up very early, and to get all my things and my boy's packed up. Great concourse of commanders here this morning to take leave of my Lord upon his going into the Nazeby, so that the table was full, so there dined below many commanders, and Mr. Creed, who was much troubled to hear that he could not go along with my Lord, for he had already got all his things thither, thinking to stay there, but W. Howe was very high against it, and he indeed did put him out, though everybody was glad of it. After dinner I went in one of the boats with my boy before my Lord, and made shift before night to get my cabin in pretty good order. It is but little, but very convenient, having one window to the sea and another to the deck, and a good bed. This morning comes Mr. Ed. Pickering, like a coxcomb as he always was. He tells me that the King will come in, but that Monk did resolve to have the doing of it himself, or else to hinder it. 3d. Late to bed. About three in the morning there was great knocking at my cabin, which with much difficulty (so they say) waked me, and I rose, but it was only for a packet, so went to my bed again, and in the morning gave it my Lord. This morning Capt. Isham comes on board to see my Lord and drunk his wine before he went into the Downs, there likewise come many merchants to get convoy to the Baltique, which a course was taken for. They dined with my Lord, and one of them by name Alderman Wood talked much to my Lord of the hopes that we have now to be settled, (under the King he meant); but my Lord took no notice of it. After dinner which was late my Lord went on shore, and after him I and Capt. Sparling went in his boat, but the water being almost at low water we could not stay for fear of not getting into our boat again. So back again. This day come the Lieutenant of the Swiftsure, who was sent by my Lord to Hastings, one of the Cinque Ports, to have got Mr. Edward Montagu to have been one of their burgesses, but could not, for they were all promised before. After he had done his message, I took him and Mr. Pierce, the surgeon (who this day came on board, and not before), to my cabin, where we drank a bottle of wine. At night, busy a-writing, and so to bed. My heart exceeding heavy for not hearing of my dear wife, and indeed I do not remember that ever my heart was so apprehensive of her absence as at this very time. 4th. This morning I dispatch many letters of my own private business to London. There come Colonel Thomson with the wooden leg, and General Pen, [This is the first mention in the Diary of Admiral (afterwards Sir William) Penn, with whom Pepys was subsequently so particularly intimate. At this time admirals were sometimes styled generals. William Penn was born at Bristol in 1621, of the ancient family of the Penns of Penn Lodge, Wilts. He was Captain at the age of twenty-one; Rear-Admiral of Ireland at twenty-three; Vice-Admiral of England and General in the first Dutch war, at thirty-two. He was subsequently M.P. for Weymouth, Governor of Kingsale, and Vice- Admiral of Munster. He was a highly successful commander, and in 1654 he obtained possession of Jamaica. He was appointed a Commissioner of the Navy in 1660, in which year he was knighted. After the Dutch fight in 1665, where he distinguished himself as second in command under the Duke of York, he took leave of the sea, but continued to act as a Commissioner for the Navy till 1669, when he retired to Wanstead, on account of his bodily infirmities, and dying there, September 16th, 1670, aged forty-nine, was buried in the church of St. Mary Redcliffe, in Bristol, where a monument to his memory was erected.] and dined with my Lord and Mr. Blackburne, who told me that it was certain now that the King must of necessity come in, and that one of the Council told him there is something doing in order to a treaty already among them. And it was strange to hear how Mr. Blackburne did already begin to commend him for a sober man, and how quiet he would be under his government, &c. I dined all alone to prevent company, which was exceeding great to-day, in my cabin. After these two were gone Sir W. Wheeler and Sir John Petters came on board and staid about two or three hours, and so went away. The Commissioners came to-day, only to consult about a further reducement of the Fleet, and to pay them as fast as they can. I did give Davis, their servant, L5 10s. to give to Mr. Moore from me, in part of the L7 that I borrowed of him, and he is to discount the rest out of the 36s. that he do owe me. At night, my Lord resolved to send the Captain of our ship to Waymouth and promote his being chosen there, which he did put himself into a readiness to do the next morning. 5th. Infinity of business all the morning of orders to make, that I was very much perplexed that Mr. Burr had failed me of coming back last night, and we ready to set sail, which we did about noon, and came in the evening to Lee roads and anchored. At night Mr. Sheply overtook us who had been at Gray's Market this morning. I spent all the afternoon upon the deck, it being very pleasant weather. This afternoon Sir Rich. Stayner and Mr. Creed, after we were come to anchor, did come on board, and Creed brought me L30, which my Lord had ordered him to pay me upon account, and Captain Clerke brought me a noted caudle. At night very sleepy to bed. 6th. This morning came my brother-in-law Balty to see me, and to desire to be here with me as Reformado,--["a broken or disbanded officer."] which did much trouble me. But after dinner (my Lord using him very civilly, at table) I spoke to my Lord, and he presented me a letter to Captain Stokes for him that he should be there. All the day with him walking and talking, we under sail as far as the Spitts. In the afternoon, W. Howe and I to our viallins, the first time since we came on board. This afternoon I made even with my Lord to this day, and did give him all the money remaining in my hands. In the evening, it being fine moonshine, I staid late walking upon the quarter-deck with Mr. Cuttance, learning of some sea terms; and so down to supper and to bed, having an hour before put Balty into Burr's cabin, he being out of the ship. 7th. This day, about nine o'clock in the morning, the wind grew high, and we being among the sands lay at anchor; I began to be dizzy and squeamish. Before dinner my Lord sent for me down to eat some oysters, the best my Lord said that ever he ate in his life, though I have ate as good at Bardsey. After dinner, and all the afternoon I walked upon the deck to keep myself from being sick, and at last about five o'clock, went to bed and got a caudle made me, and sleep upon it very well. This day Mr. Sheply went to Sheppy. 8th (Lord's day). Very calm again, and I pretty well, but my head aked all day. About noon set sail; in our way I see many vessels and masts, which are now the greatest guides for ships. We had a brave wind all the afternoon, and overtook two good merchantmen that overtook us yesterday, going to the East Indies. The lieutenant and I lay out of his window with his glass, looking at the women that were on board them, being pretty handsome. This evening Major Willoughby, who had been here three or four days on board with Mr. Pickering, went on board a catch [ketch] for Dunkirk. We continued sailing when I went to bed, being somewhat ill again, and Will Howe, the surgeon, parson, and Balty supped in the Lieutenant's cabin and afterwards sat disputing, the parson for and I against extemporary prayers, very hot. 9th. We having sailed all night, were come in sight of the Nore and South Forelands in the morning, and so sailed all day. In the afternoon we had a very fresh gale, which I brooked better than I thought I should be able to do. This afternoon I first saw France and Calais, with which I was much pleased, though it was at a distance. About five o'clock we came to the Goodwin, so to the Castles about Deal; where our Fleet lay, among whom we anchored. Great was the shout of guns from the castles and ships, and our answers, that I never heard yet so great rattling of guns. Nor could we see one another on board for the smoke that was among us, nor one ship from another. Soon as we came to anchor, the captains came from on board their ships all to us on board. This afternoon I wrote letters for my Lord to the Council, &c., which Mr. Dickering was to carry, who took his leave this night of my Lord, and Balty after I had wrote two or three letters by him to my wife and Mr. Bowyer, and had drank a bottle of wine with him in my cabin which J. Goods and W. Howe brought on purpose, he took leave of me too to go away to-morrow morning with Mr. Dickering. I lent Balty 15s. which he was to pay to my wife. It was one in the morning before we parted. This evening Mr. Sheply came on board, having escaped a very great danger upon a sand coming from Chatham. 10th. This morning many or most of the commanders in the Fleet came on board and dined here, so that some of them and I dined together in the Round-house, where we were very merry. Hither came the Vice-Admiral to us, and sat and talked and seemed a very good-natured man. At night as I was all alone in my cabin, in a melancholy fit playing on my viallin, my Lord and Sir R. Stayner came into the coach ["A sort of chamber or apartment in a large ship of war, just before the great cabin. The floor of it is formed by the aftmost part of the quarter deck, and the roof of it by the poop: it is generally the habitation of the flag-captain."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] and supped there, and called me out to supper with them. After that up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where he and I and Sir Richard sat till 11 o'clock talking, and so to bed. This day my Lord Goring returned from France, and landed at Dover. 11th. A Gentleman came this morning from my Lord of Manchester to my Lord for a pass for Mr. Boyle,' which was made him. I ate a good breakfast by my Lord's orders with him in the great cabin below. The wind all this day was very high, so that a gentleman that was at dinner with my Lord that came along with Sir John Bloys (who seemed a fine man) was forced to rise from table. This afternoon came a great packet of letters from London directed to me, among the rest two from my wife, the first that I have since coming away from London. All the news from London is that things go on further towards a King. That the Skinners' Company the other day at their entertaining of General Monk had took down the Parliament Arms in their Hall, and set up the King's. In the evening my Lord and I had a great deal of discourse about the several Captains of the Fleet and his interest among them, and had his mind clear to bring in the King. He confessed to me that he was not sure of his own Captain [Cuttance] to be true to him, and that he did not like Captain Stokes. At night W. Howe and I at our viallins in my cabin, where Mr. Ibbott and the lieutenant were late. I staid the lieutenant late, shewing him my manner of keeping a journal. After that to bed. It comes now into my mind to observe that I am sensible that I have been a little too free to make mirth with the minister of our ship, he being a very sober and an upright man. 12th. This day, the weather being very bad, we had no strangers on board. In the afternoon came the Vice-Admiral on board, with whom my Lord consulted, and I sent a packet to London at night with several letters to my friends, as to my wife about my getting of money for her when she should need it, to Mr. Bowyer that he tell me when the Messieurs of the offices be paid, to Mr. Moore about the business of my office, and making even with him as to matter of money. At night after I had despatched my letters, to bed. 13th. This day very foul all day for rain and wind. In the afternoon set my own things in my cabin and chests in better order than hitherto, and set my papers in order. At night sent another packet to London by the post, and after that was done I went up to the lieutenant's cabin and there we broached a vessel of ale that we had sent for among us from Deal to-day. There was the minister and doctor with us. After that till one o'clock in the morning writing letters to Mr. Downing about my business of continuing my office to myself, only Mr. Moore to execute it for me. I had also a very serious and effectual letter from my Lord to him to that purpose. After that done then to bed, and it being very rainy, and the rain coming upon my bed, I went and lay with John Goods in the great cabin below, the wind being so high that we were faro to lower some of the masts. I to bed, and what with the goodness of the bed and the rocking of the ship I slept till almost ten o'clock, and then-- 14th. Rose and drank a good morning draught there with Mr. Sheply, which occasioned my thinking upon the happy life that I live now, had I nothing to care for but myself. The sea was this morning very high, and looking out of the window I saw our boat come with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, in it in great danger, who endeavouring to come on board us, had like to have been drowned had it not been for a rope. This day I was informed that my Lord Lambert is got out of the Towers and that there is L100 proffered to whoever shall bring him forth to the Council of State. [The manner of the escape of John Lambert, out of the Tower, on the 11th inst., as related by Rugge:--"That about eight of the clock at night he escaped by a rope tied fast to his window, by which he slid down, and in each hand he had a handkerchief; and six men were ready to receive him, who had a barge to hasten him away. She who made the bed, being privy to his escape, that night, to blind the warder when he came to lock the chamber-door, went to bed, and possessed Colonel Lambert's place, and put on his night-cap. So, when the said warder came to lock the door, according to his usual manner, he found the curtains drawn, and conceiving it to be Colonel John Lambert, he said, 'Good night, my Lord.' To which a seeming voice replied, and prevented all further jealousies. The next morning, on coming to unlock the door, and espying her face, he cried out, 'In the name of God, Joan, what makes you here? Where is my Lord Lambert?' She said, 'He is gone; but I cannot tell whither.' Whereupon he caused her to rise, and carried her before the officer in the Tower, and [she] was committed to custody. Some said that a lady knit for him a garter of silk, by which he was conveyed down, and that she received L100 for her pains."--B] My Lord is chosen at Waymouth this morning; my Lord had his freedom brought him by Captain Tiddiman of the port of Dover, by which he is capable of being elected for them. This day I heard that the Army had in general declared to stand by what the next Parliament shall do. At night supped with my Lord. 15th (Lord's day). Up early and was trimmed by the barber in the great cabin below. After that to put my clothes on and then to sermon, and then to dinner, where my Lord told us that the University of Cambridge had a mind to choose him for their burgess, which he pleased himself with, to think that they do look upon him as a thriving man, and said so openly at table. At dinner-time Mr. Cook came back from London with a packet which caused my Lord to be full of thoughts all day, and at night he bid me privately to get two commissions ready, one for Capt. Robert Blake to be captain of the Worcester, in the room of Capt. Dekings, an anabaptist, and one that had witnessed a great deal of discontent with the present proceedings. The other for Capt. Coppin to come out of that into the Newbury in the room of Blake, whereby I perceive that General Monk do resolve to make a thorough change, to make way for the King. From London I hear that since Lambert got out of the Tower, the Fanatiques had held up their heads high, but I hope all that will come to nothing. Late a writing of letters to London to get ready for Mr. Cook. Then to bed. 16th. And about 4 o'clock in the morning Mr. Cook waked me where I lay in the great cabin below, and I did give him his packet and directions for London. So to sleep again. All the morning giving out orders and tickets to the Commanders of the Fleet to discharge all supernumeraries that they had above the number that the Council had set in their last establishment. After dinner busy all the afternoon writing, and so till night, then to bed. 17th. All the morning getting ready commissions for the Vice-Admiral and the Rear-Admiral, wherein my Lord was very careful to express the utmost of his own power, commanding them to obey what orders they should receive from the Parliament, &c., or both or either of the Generals. [Sir Edward Montagu afterwards recommended the Duke of York as High Admiral, to give regular and lawful commissions to the Commanders of the Fleet, instead of those which they had received from Sir Edward himself, or from the Rump Parliament.--Kennett's Register, p. 163.] The Vice-Admiral dined with us, and in the afternoon my Lord called me to give him the commission for him, which I did, and he gave it him himself. A very pleasant afternoon, and I upon the deck all the day, it was so clear that my Lord's glass shewed us Calais very plain, and the cliffs were as plain to be seen as Kent, and my Lord at first made me believe that it was Kent. At night, after supper, my Lord called for the Rear-Admiral's commission, which I brought him, and I sitting in my study heard my Lord discourse with him concerning D. King's and Newberry's being put out of commission. And by the way I did observe that my Lord did speak more openly his mind to me afterwards at night than I can find that he did to the Rear-Admiral, though his great confidant. For I was with him an hour together, when he told me clearly his thoughts that the King would carry it, and that he did think himself very happy that he was now at sea, as well for his own sake, as that he thought he might do his country some service in keeping things quiet. To bed, and shifting myself from top to toe, there being J. Goods and W. Howe sat late by my bedside talking. So to sleep, every day bringing me a fresh sense of the pleasure of my present life. 18th. This morning very early came Mr. Edward Montagu on board, but what was the business of his coming again or before without any servant and making no stay at all I cannot guess. This day Sir R. Stayner, Mr. Sheply, and as many of my Lord's people as could be spared went to Dover to get things ready against to-morrow for the election there. I all the afternoon dictating in my cabin (my own head being troubled with multiplicity of business) to Burr, who wrote for me above a dozen letters, by which I have made my mind more light and clear than I have had it yet since I came on board. At night sent a packet to London, and Mr. Cook returned hence bringing me this news, that the Sectaries do talk high what they will do, but I believe all to no purpose, but the Cavaliers are something unwise to talk so high on the other side as they do. That the Lords do meet every day at my Lord of Manchester's, and resolve to sit the first day of the Parliament. That it is evident now that the General and the Council do resolve to make way for the King's coming. And it is now clear that either the Fanatiques must now be undone, or the gentry and citizens throughout England, and clergy must fall, in spite of their militia and army, which is not at all possible I think. At night I supped with W. Howe and Mr. Luellin (being the first time that I had been so long with him) in the great cabin below. After that to bed, and W. Howe sat by my bedside, and he and I sang a psalm or two and so I to sleep. 19th. A great deal of business all this day, and Burr being gone to shore without my leave did vex me much. At dinner news was brought us that my Lord was chosen at Dover. This afternoon came one Mr. Mansell on board as a Reformado, to whom my Lord did shew exceeding great respect, but upon what account I do not yet know. This day it has rained much, so that when I came to go to bed I found it wet through, so I was fain to wrap myself up in a dry sheet, and so lay all night. 20th. All the morning I was busy to get my window altered, and to have my table set as I would have it, which after it was done I was infinitely pleased with it, and also to see what a command I have to have every one ready to come and go at my command. This evening came Mr. Boyle on board, for whom I writ an order for a ship to transport him to Flushing. He supped with my Lord, my Lord using him as a person of honour. This evening too came Mr. John Pickering on board us. This evening my head ached exceedingly, which I impute to my sitting backwards in my cabin, otherwise than I am used to do. To-night Mr. Sheply told me that he heard for certain at Dover that Mr. Edw. Montagu did go beyond sea when he was here first the other day, and I am apt to believe that he went to speak with the King. This day one told me how that at the election at Cambridge for knights of the shire, Wendby and Thornton by declaring to stand for the Parliament and a King and the settlement of the Church, did carry it against all expectation against Sir Dudley North and Sir Thomas Willis! I supped to-night with Mr. Sheply below at the half-deck table, and after that I saw Mr. Pickering whom my Lord brought down to his cabin, and so to bed. 21st. This day dined Sir John Boys [Of Bonnington and Sandwich, Gentleman of the Privy-Chamber to Charles I. He defended Donnington Castle, Berkshire, for the King against Jeremiah Horton, 1644, and received an augmentation to his arms in consequence.] and some other gentlemen formerly great Cavaliers, and among the rest one Mr. Norwood, for whom my Lord give a convoy to carry him to the Brill,--[Brielle, or Den Briel, a seaport town in the province of South Holland.]--but he is certainly going to the King. For my Lord commanded me that I should not enter his name in my book. My Lord do show them and that sort of people great civility. All their discourse and others are of the King's coming, and we begin to speak of it very freely. And heard how in many churches in London, and upon many signs there, and upon merchants' ships in the river, they had set up the King's arms. In the afternoon the Captain would by all means have me up to his cabin, and there treated me huge nobly, giving me a barrel of pickled oysters, and opened another for me, and a bottle of wine, which was a very great favour. At night late singing with W. Howe, and under the barber's hands in the coach. This night there came one with a letter from Mr. Edw. Montagu to my Lord, with command to deliver it to his own hands. I do believe that he do carry some close business on for the King. [Pepys's guess at E. Montagu's business is confirmed by Clarendon's account of his employment of him to negotiate with Lord Sandwich on behalf of the King. ("History of the Rebellion," book xvi.)--Notes and Queries, vol. x. p. 3--M. B.] This day I had a large letter from Mr. Moore, giving me an account of the present dispute at London that is like to be at the beginning of the Parliament, about the House of Lords, who do resolve to sit with the Commons, as not thinking themselves dissolved yet. Which, whether it be granted or no, or whether they will sit or no, it will bring a great many inconveniences. His letter I keep, it being a very well writ one. 22d (Easter Sunday). Several Londoners, strangers, friends of the Captains, dined here, who, among other things told us, how the King's Arms are every day set up in houses and churches, particularly in Allhallows Church in Thames-street, John Simpson's church, which being privately done was, a great eye-sore to his people when they came to church and saw it. Also they told us for certain, that the King's statue is making by the Mercers' Company (who are bound to do it) to set up in the Exchange. After sermon in the afternoon I fell to writing letters against to-morrow to send to London. After supper to bed. 23rd. All the morning very busy getting my packet ready for London, only for an hour or two had the Captain and Mr. Sheply in my cabin at the barrel of pickled oysters that the Captain did give me on Saturday last. After dinner I sent Mr. Dunn to London with the packet. This afternoon I had 40s. given me by Captain Cowes of the Paradox.' In the evening the first time that we had any sport among the seamen, and indeed there was extraordinary good sport after my Lord had done playing at ninepins. After that W. Howe and I went to play two trebles in the great cabin below, which my Lord hearing, after supper he called for our instruments, and played a set of Lock's, two trebles, and a base, and that being done, he fell to singing of a song made upon the Rump, with which he played himself well, to the tune of "The Blacksmith." After all that done, then to bed. ["The Blacksmith" was the same tune as "Green Sleeves." The earliest known copy of "The Praise of the Blacksmith" is in "An Antidote against Melancholy," 1661. See "Roxburghe Ballads," ed. W. Chappell, 1872, vol. ii. p. 126. (Ballad Society:)] 24th. This morning I had Mr. Luellin and Mr. Sheply to the remainder of my oysters that were left yesterday. After that very busy all the morning. While I was at dinner with my Lord, the Coxon of the Vice-Admiral came for me to the Vice-Admiral to dinner. So I told my Lord and he gave me leave to go. I rose therefore from table and went, where there was very many commanders, and very pleasant we were on board the London, which hath a state-room much bigger than the Nazeby, but not so rich. After that, with the Captain on board our own ship, where we were saluted with the news of Lambert's being taken, which news was brought to London on Sunday last. He was taken in Northamptonshire by Colonel Ingoldsby, at the head of a party, by which means their whole design is broke, and things now very open and safe. And every man begins to be merry and full of hopes. In the afternoon my Lord gave a great large character to write out, so I spent all the day about it, and after supper my Lord and we had some more very good musique and singing of "Turne Amaryllis," as it is printed in the song book, with which my Lord was very much pleased. After that to bed. 25th. All the morning about my Lord's character. Dined to-day with Captain Clerke on board the Speaker (a very brave ship) where was the Vice-Admiral, Rear-Admiral, and many other commanders. After dinner home, not a little contented to see how I am treated, and with what respect made a fellow to the best commanders in the Fleet. All the afternoon finishing of the character, which I did and gave it my Lord, it being very handsomely done and a very good one in itself, but that not truly Alphabetical. Supped with Mr. Sheply, W. Howe, &c. in Mr. Pierce, the Purser's cabin, where very merry, and so to bed. Captain Isham came hither to-day. 26th. This day came Mr. Donne back from London, who brought letters with him that signify the meeting of the Parliament yesterday. And in the afternoon by other letters I hear, that about twelve of the Lords met and had chosen my Lord of Manchester' Speaker of the House of Lords (the young Lords that never sat yet, do forbear to sit for the present); and Sir Harbottle Grimstone, Speaker for the House of Commons. The House of Lords sent to have a conference with the House of Commons, which, after a little debate, was granted. Dr. Reynolds' preached before the Commons before they sat. My Lord told me how Sir H. Yelverton (formerly my school-fellow) was chosen in the first place for Northamptonshire and Mr. Crew in the second. And told me how he did believe that the Cavaliers have now the upper hand clear of the Presbyterians. All the afternoon I was writing of letters, among the rest one to W. Simons, Peter Luellin and Tom Doling, which because it is somewhat merry I keep a copy of. After that done Mr. Sheply, W. Howe and I down with J. Goods into my Lord's storeroom of wine and other drink, where it was very pleasant to observe the massy timbers that the ship is made of. We in the room were wholly under water and yet a deck below that. After that to supper, where Tom Guy supped with us, and we had very good laughing, and after that some musique, where Mr. Pickering beginning to play a bass part upon the viall did it so like a fool that I was ashamed of him. After that to bed. 27th. This morning Burr was absent again from on board, which I was troubled at, and spoke to Mr. Pierce, Purser, to speak to him of it, and it is my mind. This morning Pim [the tailor] spent in my cabin, putting a great many ribbons to a suit. After dinner in the afternoon came on board Sir Thomas Hatton and Sir R. Maleverer going for Flushing; but all the world know that they go where the rest of the many gentlemen go that every day flock to the King at Breda. [The King arrived at Breda on the 14th April. Sir W. Lower writes ("Voiage and Residence of Charles II. in Holland," p. 5): "Many considerations obliged him to depart the territories under the obedience of the King of Spain in this conjuncture of affairs."] They supped here, and my Lord treated them as he do the rest that go thither, with a great deal of civility. While we were at supper a packet came, wherein much news from several friends. The chief is that, that I had from Mr. Moore, viz. that he fears the Cavaliers in the House will be so high, that the others will be forced to leave the House and fall in with General Monk, and so offer things to the King so high on the Presbyterian account that he may refuse, and so they will endeavour some more mischief; but when I told my Lord it, he shook his head and told me, that the Presbyterians are deceived, for the General is certainly for the King's interest, and so they will not be able to prevail that way with him. After supper the two knights went on board the Grantham, that is to convey them to Flushing. I am informed that the Exchequer is now so low, that there is not L20 there, to give the messenger that brought the news of Lambert's being taken; which story is very strange that he should lose his reputation of being a man of courage now at one blow, for that he was not able to fight one stroke, but desired of Colonel Ingoldsby several times for God's sake to let him escape. Late reading my letters, my mind being much troubled to think that, after all our hopes, we should have any cause to fear any more disappointments therein. To bed. This day I made even with Mr. Creed, by sending him my bill and he me my money by Burr whom I sent for it. 28th. This morning sending a packet by Mr. Dunne to London. In the afternoon I played at ninepins with Mr. Pickering, I and Mr. Pett against him and Ted Osgood, and won a crown apiece of him. He had not money enough to pay me. After supper my Lord exceeding merry, and he and I and W. Howe to sing, and so to bed. 29th (Sunday). This day I put on first my fine cloth suit made of a cloak that had like to have been [dirted] a year ago, the very day that I put it on. After sermon in the morning Mr. Cook came from London with a packet, bringing news how all the young lords that were not in arms against the Parliament do now sit. That a letter is come from the King to the House, which is locked up by the Council 'till next Tuesday that it may be read in the open House when they meet again, they having adjourned till then to keep a fast tomorrow. And so the contents is not yet known. L13,000 of the L20,000 given to General Monk is paid out of the Exchequer, he giving L12 among the teller clerks of Exchequer. My Lord called me into the great cabin below, where I opened my letters and he told me that the Presbyterians are quite mastered by the Cavaliers, and that he fears Mr. Crew did go a little too far the other day in keeping out the young lords from sitting. That he do expect that the King should be brought over suddenly, without staying to make any terms at all, saying that the Presbyterians did intend to have brought him in with such conditions as if he had been in chains. But he shook his shoulders when he told me how Monk had betrayed him, for it was he that did put them upon standing to put out the lords and other members that came not within the qualifications, which he [Montagu] did not like, but however he [Monk] had done his business, though it be with some kind of baseness. After dinner I walked a great while upon the deck with the chyrurgeon and purser, and other officers of the ship, and they all pray for the King's coming, which I pray God send. 30th. All the morning getting instructions ready for the Squadron of ships that are going to-day to the Streights, among others Captain Teddiman, Curtis, and Captain Robert Blake to be commander of the whole Squadron. After dinner to ninepins, W. Howe and I against Mr. Creed and the Captain. We lost 5s. apiece to them. After that W. Howe, Mr. Sheply and I got my Lord's leave to go to see Captain Sparling. So we took boat and first went on shore, it being very pleasant in the fields; but a very pitiful town Deal is. We went to Fuller's (the famous place for ale), but they have none but what was in the vat. After that to Poole's, a tavern in the town, where we drank, and so to boat again, and went to the Assistance, where we were treated very civilly by the Captain, and he did give us such music upon the harp by a fellow that he keeps on board that I never expect to hear the like again, yet he is a drunken simple fellow to look on as any I ever saw. After that on board the Nazeby, where we found my Lord at supper, so I sat down and very pleasant my Lord was with Mr. Creed and Sheply, who he puzzled about finding out the meaning of the three notes which my Lord had cut over the chrystal of his watch. After supper some musique. Then Mr. Sheply, W. Howe and I up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where we drank, and I and W. Howe were very merry, and among other frolics he pulls out the spigot of the little vessel of ale that was there in the cabin and drew some into his mounteere, and after he had drank, I endeavouring to dash it in his face, he got my velvet studying cap and drew some into mine too, that we made ourselves a great deal of mirth, but spoiled my clothes with the ale that we dashed up and down. After that to bed very late with drink enough in my head. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Cavaliers have now the upper hand clear of the Presbyterians Resolve to have the doing of it himself, or else to hinder it Strange thing how I am already courted by the people 
4121	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1660 May 1st. This morning I was told how the people of Deal have set up two or three Maypoles, and have hung up their flags upon the top of them, and do resolve to be very merry to-day. It being a very pleasant day, I wished myself in Hide Park. This day I do count myself to have had full two years of perfect cure for the stone, for which God of heaven be blessed. This day Captain Parker came on board, and without his expectation I had a commission for him for the Nonsuch frigate [The "Nonsuch" was a fourth-rate of thirty-two guns, built at Deptford in 1646 by Peter Pett, jun. The captain was John Parker.] (he being now in the Cheriton), for which he gave me a French pistole. Captain H. Cuttance has commission for the Cheriton. After dinner to nine-pins, and won something. The rest of the afternoon in my cabin writing and piping. While we were at supper we heard a great noise upon the Quarter Deck, so we all rose instantly, and found it was to save the coxon of the Cheriton, who, dropping overboard, could not be saved, but was drowned. To-day I put on my suit that was altered from the great skirts to little ones. To-day I hear they were very merry at Deal, setting up the King's flag upon one of their maypoles, and drinking his health upon their knees in the streets, and firing the guns, which the soldiers of the Castle threatened; but durst not oppose. 2nd. In the morning at a breakfast of radishes at the Purser's cabin. After that to writing till dinner. At which time comes Dunne from London, with letters that tell us the welcome news of the Parliament's votes yesterday, which will be remembered for the happiest May-day that bath been many a year to England. The King's letter was read in the House, wherein he submits himself and all things to them, as to an Act of Oblivion to all, ["His Majesty added thereunto an excellent Declaration for the safety and repose of those, who tortured in their consciences, for having partaken in the rebellion, might fear the punishment of it, and in that fear might oppose the tranquillity of the Estate, and the calling in of their lawful Prince. It is printed and published as well as the letter, but that shall not hinder me to say, that there was never seen a more perfect assemblage of all the most excellent natural qualities, and of all the venues, as well Royal as Christian, wherewith a great Prince may be endowed, than was found in those two wonderful productions."--Sir William Lowers 'Relation . . . of the voiage and Residence Which . . . Charles the II. Hath made in Holland,' Hague, 1660, folio, p. 3.] unless they shall please to except any, as to the confirming of the sales of the King's and Church lands, if they see good. The House upon reading the letter, ordered L50,000 to be forthwith provided to send to His Majesty for his present supply; and a committee chosen to return an answer of thanks to His Majesty for his gracious letter; and that the letter be kept among the records of the Parliament; and in all this not so much as one No. So that Luke Robinson himself stood up and made a recantation for what he had done, and promises to be a loyal subject to his Prince for the time to come. The City of London have put a Declaration, wherein they do disclaim their owing any other government but that of a King, Lords, and Commons. Thanks was given by the House to Sir John Greenville, [Created Earl of Bath, 1661; son of Sir Bevil Grenville, killed at the battle of Lansdowne; he was, when a boy, left for dead on the field at the second battle of Newbury, and said to have been the only person entrusted by Charles II. and Monk in bringing about the Restoration.] one of the bedchamber to the King, who brought the letter, and they continued bare all the time it was reading. Upon notice made from the Lords to the Commons, of their desire that the Commons would join with them in their vote for King, Lords, and Commons; the Commons did concur and voted that all books whatever that are out against the Government of King, Lords, and Commons, should be brought into the House and burned. Great joy all yesterday at London, and at night more bonfires than ever, and ringing of bells, and drinking of the King's health upon their knees in the streets, which methinks is a little too much. But every body seems to be very joyfull in the business, insomuch that our sea-commanders now begin to say so too, which a week ago they would not do. ["The picture of King Charles II. was often set up in houses, without the least molestation, whereas a while ago, it was almost a hanging matter so to do; but now the Rump Parliament was so hated and jeered at, that the butchers' boys would say, 'Will you buy any Parliament rumps and kidneys?' And it was a very ordinary thing to see little children make a fire in the streets, and burn rumps." --Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] And our seamen, as many as had money or credit for drink, did do nothing else this evening. This day came Mr. North (Sir Dudley North's son) on board, to spend a little time here, which my Lord was a little troubled at, but he seems to be a fine gentleman, and at night did play his part exceeding well at first sight. After musique I went up to the Captain's Cabin with him and Lieutenant Ferrers, who came hither to-day from London to bring this news to my Lord, and after a bottle of wine we all to bed. 3d. This morning my Lord showed me the King's declaration and his letter to the two Generals to be communicated to the fleet. ["King Charles II. his Declaration to all his loving Subjects of the Kingdome of England, dated from his Court at Breda in Holland 4/14 of April, 1660, and read in Parliament with his Majesties Letter of the same date to his Excellence the Ld. Gen. Monck to be communicated to the Ld. President of the Council of State and to the Officers of the Army under his Command. London, Printed by W. Godbid for John Playford in the Temple, 1660." 40, pp. 8.] The contents of the letter are his offer of grace to all that will come in within forty days, only excepting them that the Parliament shall hereafter except. That the sales of lands during these troubles, and all other things, shall be left to the Parliament, by which he will stand. The letter dated at Breda, April, 4 1660, in the 12th year of his reign. Upon the receipt of it this morning by an express, Mr. Phillips, one of the messengers of the Council from General Monk, my Lord summoned a council of war, and in the mean time did dictate to me how he would have the vote ordered which he would have pass this council. Which done, the Commanders all came on board, and the council sat in the coach (the first council of war that had been in my time), where I read the letter and declaration; and while they were discoursing upon it, I seemed to draw up a vote, which being offered, they passed. Not one man seemed to say no to it, though I am confident many in their hearts were against it. After this was done, I went up to the quarter-deck with my Lord and the Commanders, and there read both the papers and the vote; which done, and demanding their opinion, the seamen did all of them cry out, "God bless King Charles!" with the greatest joy imaginable. That being done, Sir R. Stayner, who had invited us yesterday, took all the Commanders and myself on board him to dinner, which not being ready, I went with Captain Hayward to the Plimouth and Essex, and did what I had to do there and returned, where very merry at dinner. After dinner, to the rest of the ships (staid at the Assistance to hear the harper a good while) quite through the fleet. Which was a very brave sight to visit all the ships, and to be received with the respect and honour that I was on board them all; and much more to see the great joy that I brought to all men; not one through the whole fleet showing the least dislike of the business. In the evening as I was going on board the Vice-Admiral, the General began to fire his guns, which he did all that he had in the ship, and so did all the rest of the Commanders, which was very gallant, and to hear the bullets go hissing over our heads as we were in the boat. This done and finished my Proclamation, I returned to the Nazeby, where my Lord was much pleased to hear how all the fleet took it in a transport of joy, showed me a private letter of the King's to him, and another from the Duke of York in such familiar style as to their common friend, with all kindness imaginable. And I found by the letters, and so my Lord told me too, that there had been many letters passed between them for a great while, and I perceive unknown to Monk. And among the rest that had carried these letters Sir John Boys is one, and that Mr. Norwood, which had a ship to carry him over the other day, when my Lord would not have me put down his name in the book. The King speaks of his being courted to come to the Hague, but do desire my Lord's advice whither to come to take ship. And the Duke offers to learn the seaman's trade of him, in such familiar words as if Jack Cole and I had writ them. This was very strange to me, that my Lord should carry all things so wisely and prudently as he do, and I was over joyful to see him in so good condition, and he did not a little please himself to tell me how he had provided for himself so great a hold on the King. After this to supper, and then to writing of letters till twelve at night, and so up again at three in the morning. My Lord seemed to put great confidence in me, and would take my advice in many things. I perceive his being willing to do all the honour in the world to Monk, and to let him have all the honour of doing the business, though he will many times express his thoughts of him to be but a thick-sculled fool. So that I do believe there is some agreement more than ordinary between the King and my Lord to let Monk carry on the business, for it is he that must do the business, or at least that can hinder it, if he be not flattered and observed. This, my Lord will hint himself sometimes. My Lord, I perceive by the King's letter, had writ to him about his father, Crew,--[When only seventeen years old, Montagu had married Jemima, daughter of John Crew, created afterwards Baron Crew of Stene.]--and the King did speak well of him; but my Lord tells me, that he is afeard that he hath too much concerned himself with the Presbyterians against the House of Lords, which will do him a great discourtesy. 4th. I wrote this morning many letters, and to all the copies of the vote of the council of war I put my name, that if it should come in print my name maybe at it. I sent a copy of the vote to Doling, inclosed in this letter: "SIR, "He that can fancy a fleet (like ours) in her pride, with pendants loose, guns roaring, caps flying, and the loud 'Vive le Roys,' echoed from one ship's company to another, he, and he only, can apprehend the joy this inclosed vote was received with, or the blessing he thought himself possessed of that bore it, and is "Your humble servant." About nine o'clock I got all my letters done, and sent them by the messenger that came yesterday. This morning came Captain Isham on board with a gentleman going to the King, by whom very cunningly, my Lord tells me, he intends to send an account of this day's and yesterday's actions here, notwithstanding he had writ to the Parliament to have leave of them to send the King the answer of the fleet. Since my writing of the last paragraph, my Lord called me to him to read his letter to the King, to see whether I could find any slips in it or no. And as much of the letter' as I can remember, is thus: "May it please your Most Excellent Majesty," and so begins. "That he yesterday received from General Monk his Majesty's letter and direction; and that General Monk had desired him to write to the Parliament to have leave to send the vote of the seamen before he did send it to him, which he had done by writing to both Speakers; but for his private satisfaction he had sent it thus privately (and so the copy of the proceedings yesterday was sent him), and that this come by a gentleman that came this day on board, intending to wait upon his Majesty, that he is my Lord's countryman, and one whose friends have suffered much on his Majesty's behalf. That my Lords Pembroke and Salisbury are put out of the House of Lords. That my Lord is very joyful that other countries do pay him the civility and respect due to him; and that he do much rejoice to see that the King do resolve to receive none of their assistance (or some such words), from them, he having strength enough in the love and loyalty of his own subjects to support him. That his Majesty had chosen the best place, Scheveling,--[Schevingen, the port of the Hague]--for his embarking, and that there is nothing in the world of which he is more ambitious, than to have the honour of attending his Majesty, which he hoped would be speedy. That he had commanded the vessel to attend at Helversluce--[Hellevoetsluis, in South Holland] --till this gentleman returns, that so if his Majesty do not think it fit to command the fleet himself, yet that he may be there to receive his commands and bring them to his Lordship. He ends his letter, that he is confounded with the thoughts of the high expressions of love to him in the King's letter, and concludes, "Your most loyall, dutifull, faithfull and obedient subject and servant, E. M." The rest of the afternoon at ninepins. In the evening came a packet from London, among the rest a letter from my wife, which tells me that she has not been well, which did exceedingly trouble me, but my Lord sending Mr. Cook at night, I wrote to her and sent a piece of gold enclosed to her, and wrote also to Mrs. Bowyer, and enclosed a half piece to her for a token. After supper at the table in the coach, my Lord talking concerning the uncertainty of the places of the Exchequer to them that had them now; he did at last think of an office which do belong to him in case the King do restore every man to his places that ever had been patent, which is to be one of the clerks of the signet, which will be a fine employment for one of his sons. After all this discourse we broke up and to bed. In the afternoon came a minister on board, one Mr. Sharpe, who is going to the King; who tells me that Commissioners are chosen both of Lords and Commons to go to the King; and that Dr. Clarges [Thomas Clarges, physician to the army, created a baronet, 1674, died 1695. He had been previously knighted; his sister Anne married General Monk. "The Parliament also permitted General Monk to send Mr. Clarges, his brother-in-law, accompanied with some officers of the army, to assure his Majesty of the fidelity and obedience of the army, which had made publick and solemn protestations thereof, after the Letter and Declaration was communicated unto them by the General."--Sir William Lowers Relation . . . of the Voiage and Residence which . . . Charles the II. Hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, folio.] is going to him from the Army, and that he will be here to-morrow. My letters at night tell me, that the House did deliver their letter to Sir John Greenville, in answer to the King's sending, and that they give him L500 for his pains, to buy him a jewel, and that besides the L50,000 ordered to be borrowed of the City for the present use of the King, the twelve companies of the City do give every one of them to his Majesty, as a present, L1000. 5th. All the morning very busy writing letters to London, and a packet to Mr. Downing, to acquaint him with what had been done lately in the fleet. And this I did by my Lord's command, who, I thank him, did of himself think of doing it, to do me a kindness, for he writ a letter himself to him, thanking him for his kindness to me. All the afternoon at ninepins, at night after supper good musique, my Lord, Mr. North, I and W. Howe. After that to bed. This evening came Dr. Clarges to Deal, going to the King; where the towns-people strewed the streets with herbes against his coming, for joy of his going. Never was there so general a content as there is now. I cannot but remember that our parson did, in his prayer to-night, pray for the long life and happiness of our King and dread Soveraign, that may last as long as the sun and moon endureth. 6th (Lord's day). This morning while we were at sermon comes in Dr. Clarges and a dozen gentlemen to see my Lord, who, after sermon, dined with him; I remember that last night upon discourse concerning Clarges my Lord told me that he was a man of small entendimiento.--[Entendimiento, Spanish: the understanding.]--This afternoon there was a gentleman with me, an officer of Dunkirk going over, who came to me for an order and told me he was lately with my uncle and Aunt Fenner and that Kate's fits of the convulsions did hold her still. It fell very well to-day, a stranger preached here for Mr. Ibbot, one Mr. Stanley, who prayed for King Charles, by the Grace of God, &c., which gave great contentment to the gentlemen that were on board here, and they said they would talk of it, when they come to Breda, as not having it done yet in London so publickly. After they were gone from on board, my Lord writ a letter to the King and give it to me to carry privately to Sir William Compton' on board the Assistance, which I did, and after a health to his Majesty on board there, I left them under sail for Breda. Back again and found them at sermon. I went up to my cabin and looked over my accounts, and find that, all my debts paid and my preparations to sea paid for, I have L640 clear in my purse. After supper to bed. 7th. This morning Captain Cuttance sent me 12 bottles of Margate ale. Three of them I drank presently with some friends in the Coach. My Lord went this morning about the flag-ships in a boat, to see what alterations there must be, as to the arms and flags. He did give me order also to write for silk flags and scarlett waistcloathes. [Waist-cloths are the painted canvas coverings of the hammocks which are stowed in the waist-nettings.] For a rich barge; for a noise of trumpets, [A set or company of musicians, an expression constantly used by old writers without any disparaging meaning. It is sometimes applied to voices as well as to instruments.] and a set of fidlers. Very great deal of company come today, among others Mr. Bellasses, Sir Thomas Lenthropp, Sir Henry Chichley, Colonel Philip Honiwood, and Captain Titus, the last of whom my Lord showed all our cabins, and I suppose he is to take notice what room there will be for the King's entertainment. Here were also all the Jurates of the town of Dover come to give my Lord a visit, and after dinner all went away. I could not but observe that the Vice-Admiral after dinner came into the great cabin below, where the Jurates and I and the commanders for want of room dined, and there told us we must drink a health to the King, and himself called for a bottle of wine, and begun his and the Duke of York's. In the afternoon I lost 5s. at ninepins. After supper musique, and to bed. Having also among us at the Coach table wrote a letter to the French ambassador, in French, about the release of a ship we had taken. After I was in bed Mr. Sheply and W. Howe came and sat in my cabin, where I gave them three bottles of Margate ale, and sat laughing and very merry, till almost one o'clock in the morning, and so good night. 8th. All the morning busy. After dinner come several persons of honour, as my Lord St. John and others, for convoy to Flushing, and great giving of them salutes. My Lord and we at nine-pins: I lost 9s. While we were at play Mr. Cook brings me word of my wife. He went to Huntsmore to see her, and brought her and my father Bowyer to London, where he left her at my father's, very well, and speaks very well of her love to me. My letters to-day tell me how it was intended that the King should be proclaimed to-day in London, with a great deal of pomp. I had also news who they are that are chosen of the Lords and Commons to attend the King. And also the whole story of what we did the other day in the fleet, at reading of the King's declaration, and my name at the bottom of it. After supper some musique and to bed. I resolving to rise betimes to-morrow to write letters to London. 9th. Up very early, writing a letter to the King, as from the two Generals of the fleet, in answer to his letter to them, wherein my Lord do give most humble thanks for his gracious letter and declaration; and promises all duty and obedience to him. This letter was carried this morning to Sir Peter Killigrew, [Sir Peter Killigrew, Knight, of Arwenack, Cornwall, was known as "Peter the Post," from the alacrity with which he despatched "like wild fire" all the messages and other commissions entrusted to him in the King's cause. His son Peter, who succeeded his uncle as second baronet in 1665, was M.P. for Camelford in 1660.] who came hither this morning early to bring an order from the Lords' House to my Lord, giving him power to write an answer to the King. This morning my Lord St. John and other persons of honour were here to see my Lord, and so away to Flushing. After they were gone my Lord and I to write letters to London, which we sent by Mr. Cook, who was very desirous to go because of seeing my wife before she went out of town. As we were sitting down to dinner, in comes Noble with a letter from the House of Lords to my Lord, to desire him to provide ships to transport the Commissioners to the King, which are expected here this week. He brought us certain news that the King was proclaimed yesterday with great pomp, and brought down one of the Proclamations, with great joy to us all; for which God be praised. After dinner to ninepins and lost 5s. This morning came Mr. Saunderson, [Afterwards Sir William Sanderson, gentleman of the chamber, author of the "History of Mary Queen of Scots, James I., and Charles I." His wife, Dame Bridget, was mother of the maids.] that writ the story of the King, hither, who is going over to the King. He calls me cozen and seems a very knowing man. After supper to bed betimes, leaving my Lord talking in the Coach with the Captain. 10th. This morning came on board Mr. Pinkney and his son, going to the King with a petition finely writ by Mr. Whore, for to be the King's embroiderer; for whom and Mr. Saunderson I got a ship. This morning come my Lord Winchelsea and a great deal of company, and dined here. In the afternoon, while my Lord and we were at musique in the great cabin below, comes in a messenger to tell us that Mr. Edward Montagu, [Sir Edward Montagu's eldest son, afterwards second Earl of Sandwich, called by Pepys "The child."] my Lord's son, was come to Deal, who afterwards came on board with Mr. Pickering with him. The child was sick in the evening. At night, while my Lord was at supper, in comes my Lord Lauderdale and Sir John Greenville, who supped here, and so went away. After they were gone, my Lord called me into his cabin, and told me how he was commanded to set sail presently for the King, ["Ordered that General Montagu do observe the command of His Majesty for the disposing of the fleet, in order to His Majesty's returning home to England to his kingly government: and that all proceedings in law be in His Majesty's name."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] and was very glad thereof, and so put me to writing of letters and other work that night till it was very late, he going to bed. I got him afterwards to sign things in bed. After I had done some more work I to bed also. 11th. Up very early in the morning, and so about a great deal of business in order to our going hence to-day. Burr going on shore last night made me very angry. So that I sent for Mr. Pitts to come tome from the Vice-Admiral's, intending not to have employed Burr any more. But Burr by and by coming and desiring humbly that I would forgive him and Pitts not coming I did set him to work. This morning we began to pull down all the State's arms in the fleet, having first sent to Dover for painters and others to come to set up the King's. The rest of the morning writing of letters to London which I afterwards sent by Dunne. I had this morning my first opportunity of discoursing with Dr. Clarke, [Timothy Clarke, M. D., one of the original Fellows of the Royal Society. He was appointed one of the physicians in ordinary to Charles II. on the death of Dr. Quartermaine in 1667.] whom I found to be a very pretty man and very knowing. He is now going in this ship to the King. There dined here my Lord Crafford and my Lord Cavendish, and other Scotchmen whom I afterwards ordered to be received on board the Plymouth, and to go along with us. After dinner we set sail from the Downs, I leaving my boy to go to Deal for my linen. In the afternoon overtook us three or four gentlemen; two of the Berties, and one Mr. Dormerhoy, a Scotch gentleman, whom I afterwards found to be a very fine man, who, telling my Lord that they heard the Commissioners were come out of London to-day, my Lord dropt anchor over against Dover Castle (which give us about thirty guns in passing), and upon a high debate with the Vice and Rear Admiral whether it were safe to go and not stay for the Commissioners, he did resolve to send Sir R. Stayner to Dover, to enquire of my Lord Winchelsea, whether or no they are come out of London, and then to resolve to-morrow morning of going or not; which was done. It blew very hard all this night that I was afeard of my boy. About 11 at night came the boats from Deal, with great store of provisions, by the same token John Goods told me that above 20 of the fowls are smothered, but my boy was put on board the Northwich. To bed. 12th. This morning I inquired for my boy, whether he was come well or no, and it was told me that he was well in bed. My Lord called me to his chamber, he being in bed, and gave me many orders to make for direction for the ships that are left in the Downs, giving them the greatest charge in the world to bring no passengers with them, when they come after us to Scheveling Bay, excepting Mr. Edward Montagu, Mr. Thomas Crew, and Sir H. Wright. Sir R. Stayner hath been here early in the morning and told my Lord, that my Lord Winchelsea understands by letters, that the Commissioners are only to come to Dover to attend the coming over of the King. So my Lord did give order for weighing anchor, which we did, and sailed all day. In our way in the morning, coming in the midway between Dover and Calais, we could see both places very easily, and very pleasant it was to me that the further we went the more we lost sight of both lands. In the afternoon at cards with Mr. North and the Doctor.--[Clarke]--There by us, in the Lark frigate, Sir R. Freeman and some others, going from the King to England, come to see my Lord and so onward on their voyage. In the afternoon upon the quarterdeck the Doctor told Mr. North and me an admirable story called "The Fruitless Precaution," an exceeding pretty story and worthy my getting without book when I can get the book.[??] This evening came Mr. Sheply on board, whom we had left at Deal and Dover getting of provision and borrowing of money. In the evening late, after discoursing with the Doctor, &c., to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Trimmed in the morning, after that to the cook's room with Mr. Sheply, the first time that I was there this voyage. Then to the quarter-deck, upon which the tailors and painters were at work, cutting out some pieces of yellow cloth into the fashion of a crown and C. R. and put it upon a fine sheet, and that into the flag instead of the State's arms, which after dinner was finished and set up after it had been shewn to my Lord, who took physic to-day and was in his chamber, and liked it so well as to bid me give the tailors 20s. among them for doing of it. This morn Sir J. Boys and Capt. Isham met us in the Nonsuch, the first of whom, after a word or two with my Lord, went forward, the other staid. I heard by them how Mr. Downing had never made any address to the King, and for that was hated exceedingly by the Court, and that he was in a Dutch ship which sailed by us, then going to England with disgrace. Also how Mr. Morland was knighted by the King this week, and that the King did give the reason of it openly, that it was for his giving him intelligence all the time he was clerk to Secretary Thurloe. In the afternoon a council of war, only to acquaint them that the Harp must be taken out of all their flags, [In May, 1658, the old Union Jack (being the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew combined) was revived, with the Irish harp over the centre of the flag. This harp was taken off at the Restoration. (See "The National Flags of the Commonwealth," by H. W. Henfrey," Journ. Brit. Arch. Assoc.," vol. xxxi, p. 54.) The sign of the "Commonwealth Arms" was an uncommon one, but a token of one exists-- "Francis Wood at ye Commonwealth arms in Mary Maudlens" [St. Mary Magdalen, Old Fish Street].] it being very offensive to the King. Mr. Cook, who came after us in the Yarmouth, bringing me a letter from my wife and a Latin letter from my brother John, with both of which I was exceedingly pleased. No sermon all day, we being under sail, only at night prayers, wherein Mr. Ibbott prayed for all that were related to us in a spiritual and fleshly way. We came within sight of Middle's shore. Late at night we writ letters to the King of the news of our coming, and Mr. Edward Picketing carried them. Capt. Isham went on shore, nobody showing of him any respect; so the old man very fairly took leave of my Lord, and my Lord very coldly bid him "God be with you," which was very strange, but that I hear that he keeps a great deal of prating and talking on shore, on board, at the King's Courts, what command he had with my Lord, &c. After letters were gone then to bed. 14th. In the morning when I woke and rose, I saw myself out of the scuttle close by the shore, which afterwards I was told to be the Dutch shore; the Hague was clearly to be seen by us. My Lord went up in his nightgown into the cuddy, ["A sort of cabin or cook-room, generally in the fore-part, but sometimes near the stern of lighters and barges of burden."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] to see how to dispose thereof for himself and us that belong to him, to give order for our removal to-day. Some nasty Dutchmen came on board to proffer their boats to carry things from us on shore, &c., to get money by us. Before noon some gentlemen came on board from the shore to kiss my Lord's hands. And by and by Mr. North and Dr. Clerke went to kiss the Queen of Bohemia's' hands, from my Lord, with twelve attendants from on board to wait on them, among which I sent my boy, who, like myself, is with child to see any strange thing. After noon they came back again after having kissed the Queen of Bohemia's hand, and were sent again by my Lord to do the same to the Prince of Orange. [Son of the Prince of Orange and Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I. --afterwards William III. He was then in his tenth year, having been born in 1650.] So I got the Captain to ask leave for me to go, which my Lord did give, and I taking my boy and judge Advocate with me, went in company with them. The weather bad; we were sadly washed when we came near the shore, it being very hard to land there. The shore is, as all the country between that and the Hague, all sand. The rest of the company got a coach by themselves; Mr. Creed and I went in the fore part of a coach wherein were two very pretty ladies, very fashionable and with black patches, who very merrily sang all the way and that very well, and were very free to kiss the two blades that were with them. I took out my flageolette and piped, but in piping I dropped my rapier-stick, but when I came to the Hague, I sent my boy back again for it and he found it, for which I did give him 6d., but some horses had gone over it and broke the scabbard. The Hague is a most neat place in all respects. The houses so neat in all places and things as is possible. Here we walked up and down a great while, the town being now very full of Englishmen, for that the Londoners were come on shore today. But going to see the Prince,--[Prince of Orange, afterwards William III.]--he was gone forth with his governor, and so we walked up and down the town and court to see the place; and by the help of a stranger, an Englishman, we saw a great many places, and were made to understand many things, as the intention of may-poles, which we saw there standing at every great man's door, of different greatness according to the quality of the person. About 10 at night the Prince comes home, and we found an easy admission. His attendance very inconsiderable as for a prince; but yet handsome, and his tutor a fine man, and himself a very pretty boy. It was bright moonshine to-night. This done we went to a place we had taken to sup in, where a sallet and two or three bones of mutton were provided for a matter of ten of us which was very strange. After supper the Judge and I to another house, leaving them there, and he and I lay in one press bed, there being two more in the same room, but all very neat and handsome, my boy sleeping upon a bench by me. 15th. We lay till past three o'clock, then up and down the town, to see it by daylight, where we saw the soldiers of the Prince's guard, all very fine, and the burghers of the town with their arms and muskets as bright as silver. And meeting this morning a schoolmaster that spoke good English and French, he went along with us and shewed us the whole town, and indeed I cannot speak enough of the gallantry of the town. Every body of fashion speaks French or Latin, or both. The women many of them very pretty and in good habits, fashionable and black spots. He went with me to buy a couple of baskets, one of them for Mrs. Pierce, the other for my wife. After he was gone, we having first drank with him at our lodging, the judge and I to the Grande Salle where we were shewed the place where the States General sit in council. The hall is a great place, where the flags that they take from their enemies are all hung up; and things to be sold, as in Westminster Hall, and not much unlike it, but that not so big, but much neater. After that to a bookseller's and bought for the love of the binding three books: the French Psalms in four parts, Bacon's Organon, and Farnab. Rhetor. ["Index Rhetoricus" of Thomas Farnaby was a book which went through several editions. The first was published at London by R. Allot in 1633.] After that the judge, I and my boy by coach to Scheveling again, where we went into a house of entertainment and drank there, the wind being very high, and we saw two boats overset and the gallants forced to be pulled on shore by the heels, while their trunks, portmanteaus, hats, and feathers, were swimming in the sea. Among others I saw the ministers that come along with the Commissioners (Mr. Case among the rest) sadly dipped. [Thomas Case, born 1598, was a famous preacher and a zealous advocate for the Solemn League and Covenant, a member of the assembly of divines, and rector of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields. He was one of the deputation to Charles II. at Breda, and appointed a royal chaplain. He was ejected by the Act of Uniformity, but remained in London after his ejection. Died May 30th, 1682.] So they came in where we were, and I being in haste left my Copenhagen knife, and so lost it. Having staid here a great while a gentleman that was going to kiss my Lord's hand, from the Queen of Bohemia, and I hired a Dutch boat for four rixdollars to carry us on board. We were fain to wait a great while before we could get off from the shore, the sea being very rough. The Dutchman would fain have made all pay that came into our boat besides us two and our company, there being many of our ship's company got in who were on shore, but some of them had no money, having spent all on shore. Coming on board we found all the Commissioners of the House of Lords at dinner with my Lord, who after dinner went away for shore. Mr. Morland, now Sir Samuel, was here on board, but I do not find that my Lord or any body did give him any respect, he being looked upon by him and all men as a knave. Among others he betrayed Sir Rich. Willis [This is somewhat different to the usual account of Morland's connection with Sir Richard Willis. In the beginning of 1659 Cromwell, Thurloe, and Willis formed a plot to inveigle Charles II. into England and into the hands of his enemies. The plot was discussed in Thurloe's office, and Morland, who pretended to be asleep, heard it and discovered it. Willis sent for Morland, and received him in a cellar. He said that one of them must have discovered the plot. He laid his hand upon the Bible and swore that he had not been the discoverer, calling upon Morland to do the same. Morland, with presence of mind, said he was ready to do so if Willis would give him a reason why he should suspect him. By this ready answer he is said to have escaped the ordeal (see Birch's "Life of Thurloe").] that married Dr. F. Jones's daughter, that he had paid him L1000 at one time by the Protector's and Secretary Thurloe's order, for intelligence that he sent concerning the King. In the afternoon my Lord called me on purpose to show me his fine cloathes which are now come hither, and indeed are very rich as gold and silver can make them, only his sword he and I do not like. In the afternoon my Lord and I walked together in the coach two hours, talking together upon all sorts of discourse: as religion, wherein he is, I perceive, wholly sceptical, as well as I, saying, that indeed the Protestants as to the Church of Rome are wholly fanatiques: he likes uniformity and form of prayer; about State-business, among other things he told me that his conversion to the King's cause (for so I was saying that I wondered from what time the King could look upon him to become his friend), commenced from his being in the Sound, when he found what usage he was likely to have from a Commonwealth. My Lord, the Captain, and I supped in my Lord's chamber, where I did perceive that he did begin to show me much more respect than ever he did yet. After supper, my Lord sent for me, intending to have me play at cards with him, but I not knowing cribbage, we fell into discourse of many things, till it was so rough sea and the ship rolled so much that I was not able to stand, and so he bid me go to bed. 16th. Soon as I was up I went down to be trimmed below in the great cabin, but then come in some with visits, among the rest one from Admiral Opdam, [The admiral celebrated in Lord Dorset's ballad, "To all you ladies now at land." "Should foggy Opdam chance to know Our sad and dismal story; The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, And quit their fort at Goree For what resistance can they find From men who've left their hearts behind?"--B.] who spoke Latin well, but not French nor English, to whom my Lord made me to give his answer and to entertain; he brought my Lord a tierce of wine and a barrel of butter, as a present from the Admiral. After that to finish my trimming, and while I was doing of it in comes Mr. North very sea-sick from shore, and to bed he goes. After that to dinner, where Commissioner Pett was come to take care to get all things ready for the King on board. My Lord in his best suit, this the first day, in expectation to wait upon the King. But Mr. Edw. Pickering coming from the King brought word that the King would not put my Lord to the trouble of coming to him; but that he would come to the shore to look upon the fleet to-day, which we expected, and had our guns ready to fire, and our scarlet waistcloathes out and silk pendants, but he did not come. My Lord and we at ninepins this afternoon upon the Quarterdeck, which was very pretty sport. This evening came Mr. John Pickering on board, like an ass, with his feathers and new suit that he had made at the Hague. My Lord very angry for his staying on shore, bidding me a little before to send to him, telling me that he was afraid that for his father's sake he might have some mischief done him, unless he used the General's name. To supper, and after supper to cards. I stood by and looked on till 11 at night and so to bed. This afternoon Mr. Edwd. Pickering told me in what a sad, poor condition for clothes and money the King was, and all his attendants, when he came to him first from my Lord, their clothes not being worth forty shillings the best of them. [Andrew Marvell alludes to the poor condition, for clothes and money, in which the King was at this time, in "A Historical Poem":-- "At length, by wonderful impulse of fate, The people call him back to help the State; And what is more, they send him money, too, And clothe him all from head to foot anew."] And how overjoyed the King was when Sir J. Greenville brought him some money; so joyful, that he called the Princess Royal and Duke of York to look upon it as it lay in the portmanteau before it was taken out. My Lord told me, too, that the Duke of York is made High Admiral of England. 17th. Up early to write down my last two days' observations. Dr. Clerke came to me to tell me that he heard this morning, by some Dutch that are come on board already to see the ship, that there was a Portuguese taken yesterday at the Hague, that had a design to kill the King. But this I heard afterwards was only the mistake upon one being observed to walk with his sword naked, he having lost his scabbard. Before dinner Mr. Edw. Pickering and I, W. Howe, Pim, and my boy,--[Edward Montagu, afterwards Lord Hinchinbroke.]--to Scheveling, where we took coach, and so to the Hague, where walking, intending to find one that might show us the King incognito, I met with Captain Whittington (that had formerly brought a letter to my Lord from the Mayor of London) and he did promise me to do it, but first we went and dined at a French house, but paid 16s. for our part of the club. At dinner in came Dr. Cade, a merry mad parson of the King's. And they two after dinner got the child and me (the others not being able to crowd in) to see the King, who kissed the child very affectionately. Then we kissed his, and the Duke of York's, and the Princess Royal's hands. The King seems to be a very sober man; and a very splendid Court he hath in the number of persons of quality that are about him, English very rich in habit. From the King to the Lord Chancellor, [On January 29th, 1658, Charles II. entrusted the Great Seal to Sir Edward Hyde, with the title of Lord Chancellor, and in that character Sir Edward accompanied the King to England.] who did lie bed-rid of the gout: he spoke very merrily to the child and me. After that, going to see the Queen of Bohemia, I met with Dr. Fullers whom I sent to a tavern with Mr. Edw. Pickering, while I and the rest went to see the Queen,--[Henrietta Maria.]--who used us very respectfully; her hand we all kissed. She seems a very debonaire, but plain lady. After that to the Dr.'s, where we drank a while or so. In a coach of a friend's of Dr. Cade we went to see a house of the Princess Dowager's in a park about half-a-mile or a mile from the Hague, where there is one, the most beautiful room for pictures in the whole world. She had here one picture upon the top, with these words, dedicating it to the memory of her husband:--"Incomparabili marito, inconsolabilis vidua." [Mary, Princess Royal, eldest daughter of Charles I., and widow of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. She was not supposed to be inconsolable, and scandal followed her at the court of Charles II., where she died of small-pox, December 24th, 1660.] Here I met with Mr. Woodcock of Cambridge, Mr. Hardy and another, and Mr. Woodcock beginning we had two or three fine songs, he and I, and W. Howe to the Echo, which was very pleasant, and the more because in a heaven of pleasure and in a strange country, that I never was taken up more with a sense of pleasure in my life. After that we parted and back to the Hague and took a tour or two about the Forehault,--[The Voorhout is the principal street of the Hague, and it is lined with handsome trees.]--where the ladies in the evening do as our ladies do in Hide Park. But for my life I could not find one handsome, but their coaches very rich and themselves so too. From thence, taking leave of the Doctor, we took wagon to Scheveling, where we had a fray with the Boatswain of the Richmond, who would not freely carry us on board, but at last he was willing to it, but then it was so late we durst not go. So we returned between 10 and 11 at night in the dark with a wagon with one horse to the Hague, where being come we went to bed as well as we could be accommodated, and so to sleep. 18th. Very early up, and, hearing that the Duke of York, our Lord High Admiral, would go on board to-day, Mr. Pickering and I took waggon for Scheveling, leaving the child in Mr. Pierces hands, with directions to keep him within doors all day till he heard from me. But the wind being very high that no boats could get off from shore, we returned to the Hague (having breakfasted with a gentleman of the Duke's, and Commissioner Pett, sent on purpose to give notice to my Lord of his coming), where I hear that the child is gone to Delfe to see the town. So we all and Mr. Ibbott, the Minister, took a schuit--[The trekschuit (drag-boat) along the canal is still described as an agreeable conveyance from Leyden to Delft.]--and very much pleased with the manner and conversation of the passengers, where most speak French; went after them, but met them by the way. But however we went forward making no stop. Where when we were come we got a smith's boy of the town to go along with us, but could speak nothing but Dutch, and he showed us the church where Van Trump lies entombed with a very fine monument. His epitaph concluded thus:--"Tandem Bello Anglico tantum non victor, certe invictus, vivere et vincere desiit." There is a sea-fight cut in marble, with the smoke, the best expressed that ever I saw in my life. From thence to the great church, that stands in a fine great market-place, over against the Stadt-house, and there I saw a stately tomb of the old Prince of Orange, of marble and brass; wherein among other rarities there are the angels with their trumpets expressed as it were crying. Here were very fine organs in both the churches. It is a most sweet town, with bridges, and a river in every street. Observing that in every house of entertainment there hangs in every room a poor-man's box, and desiring to know the reason thereof, it was told me that it is their custom to confirm all bargains by putting something into the poor people's box, and that binds as fast as any thing. We also saw the Guesthouse, where it was very pleasant to see what neat preparation there is for the poor. We saw one poor man a-dying there. After we had seen all, we light by chance of an English house to drink in, where we were very merry, discoursing of the town and the thing that hangs up in the Stadthouse like a bushel, which I was told is a sort of punishment for some sort of offenders to carry through the streets of the town over his head, which is a great weight. Back by water, where a pretty sober Dutch lass sat reading all the way, and I could not fasten any discourse upon her. At our landing we met with Commissioner Pett going down to the water-side with Major Harly, who is going upon a dispatch into England. They having a coach I left the Parson and my boy and went along with Commissioner Pett, Mr. Ackworth and Mr. Dawes his friends, to the Princess Dowager's house again. Thither also my Lord Fairfax and some other English Lords did come to see it, and my pleasure was increased by seeing of it again. Besides we went into the garden, wherein are gallant nuts better than ever I saw, and a fine Echo under the house in a vault made on purpose with pillars, where I played on my flageolette to great advantage. Back to the Hague, where not finding Mr. Edward, I was much troubled, but went with the Parson to supper to Commissioner Pett, where we sat late. And among other mirth Mr. Ackworth vyed wives, each endeavouring to set his own wife out to the best advantage, he having as they said an extraordinary handsome wife. But Mr. Dawes could not be got to say anything of his. After that to our lodging where W. Howe and I exceeding troubled not to know what is become of our young gentleman. So to bed. 19th. Up early, hearing nothing of the child, and went to Scheveling, where I found no getting on board, though the Duke of York sent every day to see whether he could do it or no. Here I met with Mr. Pinkney and his sons, and with them went back to the Hague, in our way lighting and going to see a woman that makes pretty rock-work in shells, &c., which could I have carried safe I would have bought some of. At the Hague we went to buy some pictures, where I saw a sort of painting done upon woollen cloth, drawn as if there was a curtain over it, which was very pleasant, but dear. Another pretty piece of painting I saw, on which there was a great wager laid by young Pinkney and me whether it was a principal or a copy. But not knowing how to decide, it was broken off, and I got the old man to lay out as much as my piece of gold come to, and so saved my money, which had been 24s. lost, I fear. While we were here buying of pictures, we saw Mr. Edward and his company land. Who told me that they had been at Leyden all night, at which I was very angry with Mr. Pierce, and shall not be friends I believe a good while. To our lodging to dinner. After that out to buy some linen to wear against to-morrow, and so to the barber's. After that by waggon to Lausdune, where the 365 children were born. We saw the hill where they say the house stood and sunk wherein the children were born. The basins wherein the male and female children were baptized do stand over a large table that hangs upon a wall, with the whole story of the thing in Dutch and Latin, beginning, "Margarita Herman Comitissa," &c. The thing was done about 200 years ago. The town is a little small village which answers much to one of our small villages, such a one as Chesterton in all respects, and one could have thought it in England but for the language of the people. We went into a little drinking house where there were a great many Dutch boors eating of fish in a boorish manner, but very merry in their way. But the houses here as neat as in the great places. From thence to the Hague again playing at crambo--[Crambo is described as "a play at short verses in which a word is given, and the parties contend who can find most rhymes to it."]--in the waggon, Mr. Edward, Mr. Ibbott, W. Howe, Mr. Pinkney, and I. When we were come thither W. Howe, and Mr. Ibbott, and Mr. Pinckney went away for Scheveling, while I and the child to walk up and down the town, where I met my old chamber-fellow, Mr. Ch. Anderson, and a friend of his (both Physicians), Mr. Wright, who took me to a Dutch house, where there was an exceeding pretty lass, and right for the sport, but it being Saturday we could not have much of her company, but however I staid with them (having left the child with my uncle Pickering, whom I met in the street) till 12 at night. By that time Charles was almost drunk, and then broke up, he resolving to go thither again, after he had seen me at my lodging, and lie with the girl, which he told me he had done in the morning. Going to my lodging we met with the bellman, who struck upon a clapper, which I took in my hand, and it is just like the clapper that our boys frighten the birds away from the corn with in summer time in England. To bed. 20th. Up early, and with Mr. Pickering and the child by waggon to Scheveling, where it not being yet fit to go off, I went to lie down in a chamber in the house, where in another bed there was a pretty Dutch woman in bed alone, but though I had a month's-mind [Month's-mind. An earnest desire or longing, explained as alluding to "a woman's longing." See Shakespeare, "Two Gentlemen of Verona," act i. sc. 2: "I see you have a month's mind to them."--M. B.] I had not the boldness to go to her. So there I slept an hour or two. At last she rose, and then I rose and walked up and down the chamber, and saw her dress herself after the Dutch dress, and talked to her as much as I could, and took occasion, from her ring which she wore on her first finger, to kiss her hand, but had not the face to offer anything more. So at last I left her there and went to my company. About 8 o'clock I went into the church at Scheveling, which was pretty handsome, and in the chancel a very great upper part of the mouth of a whale, which indeed was of a prodigious bigness, bigger than one of our long boats that belong to one of our ships. Commissioner Pett at last came to our lodging, and caused the boats to go off; so some in one boat and some in another we all bid adieu to the shore. But through badness of weather we were in great danger, and a great while before we could get to the ship, so that of all the company not one but myself that was not sick. I keeping myself in the open air, though I was soundly wet for it. This hath not been known four days together such weather at this time of year, a great while. Indeed our fleet was thought to be in great danger, but we found all well, and Mr. Thos. Crew came on board. I having spoke a word or two with my Lord, being not very well settled, partly through last night's drinking and want of sleep, I lay down in my gown upon my bed and slept till the 4 o'clock gun the next morning waked me, which I took for 8 at night, and rising . . . mistook the sun rising for the sun setting on Sunday night. 21st. So into my naked bed [This is a somewhat late use of an expression which was once universal. It was formerly the custom for both sexes to sleep in bed without any nightlinen. "Who sees his true love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white." Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis. Nares ("Glossary") notes the expression so late as in the very odd novel by T. Amory, called "John Bunde," where a young lady declares, after an alarm, "that she would never go into naked bed on board ship again." Octavo edition, vol. i. p. 90.] and slept till 9 o'clock, and then John Goods waked me, [by] and by the captain's boy brought me four barrels of Mallows oysters, which Captain Tatnell had sent me from Murlace.--[Apparently Mallows stands for St. Malo and Murlace for Morlaise.]--The weather foul all this day also. After dinner, about writing one thing or other all day, and setting my papers in order, having been so long absent. At night Mr. Pierce, Purser (the other Pierce and I having not spoken to one another since we fell out about Mr. Edward), and Mr. Cook sat with me in my cabin and supped with me, and then I went to bed. By letters that came hither in my absence, I understand that the Parliament had ordered all persons to be secured, in order to a trial, that did sit as judges in the late King's death, and all the officers too attending the Court. Sir John Lenthall moving in the House, that all that had borne arms against the King should be exempted from pardon, he was called to the bar of the House, and after a severe reproof he was degraded his knighthood. At Court I find that all things grow high. The old clergy talk as being sure of their lands again, and laugh at the Presbytery; and it is believed that the sales of the King's and Bishops' lands will never be confirmed by Parliament, there being nothing now in any man's, power to hinder them and the King from doing what they have a mind, but every body willing to submit to any thing. We expect every day to have the King and Duke on board as soon as it is fair. My Lord do nothing now, but offers all things to the pleasure of the Duke as Lord High Admiral. So that I am at a loss what to do. 22nd. Up very early, and now beginning to be settled in my wits again, I went about setting down my last four days' observations this morning. After that, was trimmed by a barber that has not trimmed me yet, my Spaniard being on shore. News brought that the two Dukes are coming on board, which, by and by, they did, in a Dutch boats the Duke of York in yellow trimmings, the Duke of Gloucester [Henry, Duke of Gloucester, the youngest child of Charles L, born July 6th, 16--, who, with his sister Elizabeth, was allowed a meeting with his father on the night before the King's execution. Burnet says: "He was active, and loved business; was apt to have particular friendships, and had an insinuating temper which was generally very acceptable. The King loved him much better than the Duke of York." He died of smallpox at Whitehall, September 13th, 1660, and was buried in Henry VII's Chapel.] in grey and red. My Lord went in a boat to meet them, the Captain, myself, and others, standing at the entering port. So soon as they were entered we shot the guns off round the fleet. After that they went to view the ship all over, and were most exceedingly pleased with it. They seem to be both very fine gentlemen. After that done, upon the quarter-deck table, under the awning, the Duke of York and my Lord, Mr. Coventry, [William Coventry, to whom Pepys became so warmly attached afterwards, was the fourth son of Thomas, first Lord Coventry, the Lord Keeper. He was born in 1628, and entered at Queen's College, Oxford, in 1642; after the Restoration he became private secretary to the Duke of York, his commission as Secretary to the Lord High Admiral not being conferred until 1664; elected M.P. for Great Yarmouth in 1661. In 1662 he was appointed an extra Commissioner of the Navy, an office he held until 1667; in 1665, knighted and sworn a Privy Councillor, and, in 1667, constituted a Commissioner of the Treasury; but, having been forbid the court on account of his challenging the Duke of Buckingham, he retired into the country, nor could he subsequently be prevailed upon to accept of any official employment. Burnet calls Sir William Coventry the best speaker in the House of Commons, and "a man of the finest and best temper that belonged to the court," and Pepys never omits an opportunity of paying a tribute to his public and private worth. He died, 1686, of gout in the stomach.] and I, spent an hour at allotting to every ship their service, in their return to England; which having done, they went to dinner, where the table was very full: the two Dukes at the upper end, my Lord Opdam next on one side, and my Lord on the other. Two guns given to every man while he was drinking the King's health, and so likewise to the Duke's health. I took down Monsieur d'Esquier to the great cabin below, and dined with him in state alone with only one or two friends of his. All dinner the harper belonging to Captain Sparling played to the Dukes. After dinner, the Dukes and my Lord to see the Vice and Rear-Admirals; and I in a boat after them. After that done, they made to the shore in the Dutch boat that brought them, and I got into the boat with them; but the shore was so full of people to expect their coming, as that it was as black (which otherwise is white sand), as every one could stand by another. When we came near the shore, my Lord left them and came into his own boat, and General Pen and I with him; my Lord being very well pleased with this day's work. By the time we came on board again, news is sent us that the King is on shore; so my Lord fired all his guns round twice, and all the fleet after him, which in the end fell into disorder, which seemed very handsome. The gun over against my cabin I fired myself to the King, which was the first time that he had been saluted by his own ships since this change; but holding my head too much over the gun, I had almost spoiled my right eye. Nothing in the world but going of guns almost all this day. In the evening we began to remove cabins; I to the carpenter's cabin, and Dr. Clerke with me, who came on board this afternoon, having been twice ducked in the sea to-day coming from shore, and Mr. North and John Pickering the like. Many of the King's servants came on board to-night; and so many Dutch of all sorts came to see the ship till it was quite dark, that we could not pass by one another, which was a great trouble to us all. This afternoon Mr. Downing (who was knighted yesterday by the King') was here on board, and had a ship for his passage into England, with his lady and servants. ["About midnight arrived there Mr. Downing, who did the affairs of England to the Lords the Estates, in quality of Resident under Oliver Cromwell, and afterward under the pretended Parliament, which having changed the form of the government, after having cast forth the last Protector, had continued him in his imploiment, under the quality of Extraordinary Envoy. He began to have respect for the King's person, when he knew that all England declared for a free parliament, and departed from Holland without order, as soon as he understood that there was nothing that could longer oppose the re- establishment of monarchal government, with a design to crave letters of recommendation to General Monk. This lord considered him, as well because of the birth of his wife, which is illustrious, as because Downing had expressed some respect for him in a time when that eminent person could not yet discover his intentions. He had his letters when he arrived at midnight at the house of the Spanish Embassador, as we have said. He presented them forthwith to the King, who arose from table a while after, read the letters, receiv'd the submissions of Downing, and granted him the pardon and grace which he asked for him to whom he could deny nothing. Some daies after the King knighted him, and would it should be believed, that the strong aversions which this minister of the Protector had made appear against him on all occasions, and with all sorts of persons indifferently, even a few daies before the publick and general declaration of all England, proceeded not from any evil intention, but only from a deep dissimulation, wherewith he was constrained to cover his true sentiments, for fear to prejudice the affairs of his Majesty."--Sir William Lowers Relation . . . of the Voiage and Residence which . . . Charles the II. hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, folio, pp. 72-73.] By the same token he called me to him when I was going to write the order, to tell me that I must write him Sir G. Downing. My Lord lay in the roundhouse to-night. This evening I was late writing a French letter myself by my Lord's order to Monsieur Kragh, Embassador de Denmarke a la Haye, which my Lord signed in bed. After that I to bed, and the Doctor, and sleep well. 23rd. The Doctor and I waked very merry, only my eye was very red and ill in the morning from yesterday's hurt. In the morning came infinity of people on board from the King to go along with him. My Lord, Mr. Crew, and others, go on shore to meet the King as he comes off from shore, where Sir R. Stayner bringing His Majesty into the boat, I hear that His Majesty did with a great deal of affection kiss my Lord upon his first meeting. The King, with the two Dukes and Queen of Bohemia, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, came on board, where I in their coming in kissed the King's, Queen's, and Princess's hands, having done the other before. Infinite shooting off of the guns, and that in a disorder on purpose, which was better than if it had been otherwise. All day nothing but Lords and persons of honour on board, that we were exceeding full. Dined in a great deal of state, the Royall company by themselves in the coach, which was a blessed sight to see. I dined with Dr. Clerke, Dr. Quarterman, and Mr. Darcy in my cabin. This morning Mr. Lucy came on board, to whom and his company of the King's Guard in another ship my Lord did give three dozen of bottles of wine. He made friends between Mr. Pierce and me. After dinner the King and Duke altered the name of some of the ships, viz. the Nazeby into Charles; the Richard, James; the Speakers Mary; the Dunbar (which was not in company with us), the Henry; Winsly, Happy Return; Wakefield, Richmond; Lambert; the Henrietta; Cheriton, the Speedwell; Bradford, the Success. That done, the Queen, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, took leave of the King, and the Duke of York went on board the London, and the Duke of Gloucester, the Swiftsure. Which done, we weighed anchor, and with a fresh gale and most happy weather we set sail for England. All the afternoon the King walked here and there, up and down (quite contrary to what I thought him to have been), very active and stirring. Upon the quarterdeck he fell into discourse of his escape from Worcester, [For the King's own account of his escape dictated to Pepys, see "Boscobel" (Bohn's "Standard Library").] where it made me ready to weep to hear the stories that he told of his difficulties that he had passed through, as his travelling four days and three nights on foot, every step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing but a green coat and a pair of country breeches on, and a pair of country shoes that made him so sore all over his feet, that he could scarce stir. Yet he was forced to run away from a miller and other company, that took them for rogues. His sitting at table at one place, where the master of the house, that had not seen him in eight years, did know him, but kept it private; when at the same table there was one that had been of his own regiment at Worcester, could not know him, but made him drink the King's health, and said that the King was at least four fingers higher than he. At another place he was by some servants of the house made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead, which they swore he was. In another place at his inn, the master of the house, [This was at Brighton. The inn was the "George," and the innkeeper was named Smith. Charles related this circumstance again to Pepys in October, 1680. He then said, "And here also I ran into another very great danger, as being confident I was known by the master of the inn; for, as I was standing after supper by the fireside, leaning my hand upon a chair, and all the rest of the company being gone into another room, the master of the inn came in and fell a- talking with me, and just as he was looking about, and saw there was nobody in the room, he upon a sudden kissed my hand that was upon the back of the chair, and said to me, 'God bless you wheresoever you go! I do not doubt before I die, but to be a lord, and my wife a lady.' So I laughed, and went away into the next room."] as the King was standing with his hands upon the back of a chair by the fire-side, kneeled down and kissed his hand, privately, saying, that he would not ask him who he was, but bid God bless him whither he was going. Then the difficulty of getting a boat to get into France, where he was fain to plot with the master thereof to keep his design from the four men and a boy (which was all his ship's company), and so got to Fecamp in France. [On Saturday, October 11th, 1651, Colonel Gunter made an agreement at Chichester with Nicholas Tettersell, through Francis Mansell (a French merchant), to have Tettersell's vessel ready at an hour's warning. Charles II., in his narrative dictated to Pepys in 1680, said, "We went to a place, four miles off Shoreham, called Brighthelmstone, where we were to meet with the master of the ship, as thinking it more convenient to meet there than just at Shoreham, where the ship was. So when we came to the inn at Brighthelmstone we met with one, the merchant Francis Mansell] who had hired the vessel, in company with her master [Tettersell], the merchant only knowing me, as having hired her only to carry over a person of quality that was escaped from the battle of Worcester without naming anybody." The boat was supposed to be bound for Poole, but Charles says in his narrative: "As we were sailing the master came to me, and desired me that I would persuade his men to use their best endeavours with him to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from any suspicion thereof, upon which I went to the men, which were four and a boy." After the Restoration Mansell was granted a pension of L200 a year, and Tettersell one of L100 a year. (See "Captain Nicholas Tettersell and the Escape of Charles II.," by F. E. Sawyer, F.S.A., "Sussex Archaeological Collections," vol. xxxii. pp. 81-104).) At Rouen he looked so poorly, that the people went into the rooms before he went away to see whether he had not stole something or other. In the evening I went up to my Lord to write letters for England, which we sent away with word of our coming, by Mr. Edw. Pickering. The King supped alone in the coach; after that I got a dish, and we four supped in my cabin, as at noon. About bed-time my Lord Bartlett [A mistake for Lord Berkeley of Berkeley, who had been deputed, with Lord Middlesex and four other Peers, by the House of Lords to present an address of congratulation to the King.--B.] (who I had offered my service to before) sent for me to get him a bed, who with much ado I did get to bed to my Lord Middlesex in the great cabin below, but I was cruelly troubled before I could dispose of him, and quit myself of him. So to my cabin again, where the company still was, and were talking more of the King's difficulties; as how he was fain to eat a piece of bread and cheese out of a poor boy's pocket; how, at a Catholique house, he was fain to lie in the priest's hole a good while in the house for his privacy. After that our company broke up, and the Doctor and I to bed. We have all the Lords Commissioners on board us, and many others. Under sail all night, and most glorious weather. 24th. Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with the Tinning stockings on and wide canons--["Cannions, boot hose tops; an old-fashioned ornament for the legs." That is to say, a particular addition to breeches.]--that I bought the other day at Hague. Extraordinary press of noble company, and great mirth all the day. There dined with me in my cabin (that is, the carpenter's) Dr. Earle [John Earle, born about 1601; appointed in 1643 one of the Westminster Assembly of Divines, but his principles did not allow him to act. He accompanied Charles II. when he was obliged to fly from England. Dean of Westminster at the Restoration, Bishop of Worcester, November 30th, 1662, and translated to Salisbury, September 28th, 1663. He was tender to the Nonconformists, and Baxter wrote of him, "O that they were all such!" Author of "Microcosmography." Died November 17th, 1665, and was buried in the chapel of Merton College, of which he had been a Fellow. Charles II. had the highest esteem for him.] and Mr. Hollis, [Denzil Holles, second son of John, first Earl of Clare, born at Houghton, Notts, in 1597. He was one of the five members charged with high treason by Charles I. in 1641. He was a Presbyterian, and one of the Commissioners sent by Parliament to wait on Charles II. at the Hague. Sir William Lower, in his "Relation," 1660, writes: "All agreed that never person spake with more affection nor expressed himself in better terms than Mr. Denzil Hollis, who was orator for the Deputies of the Lower House, to whom those of London were joined." He was created Baron Holles on April 20th, 1661, on the occasion of the coronation of Charles II.] the King's Chaplins, Dr. Scarborough, [Charles Scarburgh, M.D., an eminent physician who suffered for the royal cause during the Civil Wars. He was born in London, and educated at St. Paul's School and Caius College, Cambridge. He was ejected from his fellowship at Caius, and withdrew to Oxford. He entered himself at Merton College, then presided over by Harvey, with whom he formed a lifelong friendship. He was knighted by Charles II. in 1669, and attended the King in his last illness. He was also physician to James II. and to William III., and died February 26th, 1693-4.] Dr. Quarterman, and Dr. Clerke, Physicians, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Fox [Stephen Fox, born 1627, and said to have been a choir-boy in Salisbury Cathedral. He was the first person to announce the death of Cromwell to Charles II., and at the Restoration he was made Clerk of the Green Cloth, and afterwards Paymaster of the Forces. He was knighted in 1665. He married Elizabeth, daughter of William Whittle of Lancashire. (See June 25th, 1660.) Fox died in 1716. His sons Stephen and Henry were created respectively Earl of Ilchester and Lord Holland.] (both very fine gentlemen), the King's servants, where we had brave discourse. Walking upon the decks, where persons of honour all the afternoon, among others, Thomas Killigrew (a merry droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with the King), who told us many merry stories: one, how he wrote a letter three or four days ago to the Princess Royal, about a Queen Dowager of Judaea and Palestine, that was at the Hague incognita, that made love to the King, &c., which was Mr. Cary (a courtier's) wife that had been a nun, who are all married to Jesus. At supper the three Drs. of Physic again at my cabin; where I put Dr. Scarborough in mind of what I heard him say about the use of the eyes, which he owned, that children do, in every day's experience, look several ways with both their eyes, till custom teaches them otherwise. And that we do now see but with one eye, our eyes looking in parallel lines. After this discourse I was called to write a pass for my Lord Mandeville to take up horses to London, which I wrote in the King's name,--[This right of purveyance was abolished in Charles's reign.]--and carried it to him to sign, which was the first and only one that ever he signed in the ship Charles. To bed, coming in sight of land a little before night. 25th. By the morning we were come close to the land, and every body made ready to get on shore. The King and the two Dukes did eat their breakfast before they went, and there being set some ship's diet before them, only to show them the manner of the ship's diet, they eat of nothing else but pease and pork, and boiled beef. I had Mr. Darcy in my cabin and Dr. Clerke, who eat with me, told me how the King had given L50 to Mr. Sheply for my Lord's servants, and L500 among the officers and common men of the ship. I spoke with the Duke of York about business, who called me Pepys by name, and upon my desire did promise me his future favour. Great expectation of the King's making some Knights, but there was none. About noon (though the brigantine that Beale made was there ready to carry him) yet he would go in my Lord's barge with the two Dukes. Our Captain steered, and my Lord went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. Mansell, and one of the King's footmen, with a dog that the King loved, [Charles II.'s love of dogs is well known, but it is not so well known that his dogs were continually being stolen from him. In the "Mercurius Publicus," June 28-July 5, 1660, is the following advertisement, apparently drawn up by the King himself: "We must call upon you again for a Black Dog between a greyhound and a spaniel, no white about him, onely a streak on his brest, and his tayl a little bobbed. It is His Majesties own Dog, and doubtless was stoln, for the dog was not born nor bred in England, and would never forsake His master. Whoesoever findes him may acquaint any at Whitehal for the Dog was better known at Court, than those who stole him. Will they never leave robbing his Majesty! Must he not keep a Dog? This dog's place (though better than some imagine) is the only place which nobody offers to beg." (Quoted in "Notes and Queries," 7th S., vii. 26, where are printed two other advertisements of Charles's lost dogs.)] (which [dirted] the boat, which made us laugh, and me think that a King and all that belong to him are but just as others are), in a boat by ourselves, and so got on shore when the King did, who was received by General Monk with all imaginable love and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of all sorts. The Mayor of the town came and gave him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the King did give him again. The Mayor also presented him from the town a very rich Bible, which he took and said it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. A canopy was provided for him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with General Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for him, and so away through the town towards Canterbury, without making any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy expressed by all is past imagination. Seeing that my Lord did not stir out of his barge, I got into a boat, and so into his barge, whither Mr. John Crew stepped, and spoke a word or two to my Lord, and so returned, we back to the ship, and going did see a man almost drowned that fell out of his boat into the sea, but with much ado was got out. My Lord almost transported with joy that he had done all this without any the least blur or obstruction in the world, that could give an offence to any, and with the great honour he thought it would be to him. Being overtook by the brigantine, my Lord and we went out of our barge into it, and so went on board with Sir W. Batten, [Clarendon describes William Batten as an obscure fellow, and, although unknown to the service, a good seaman, who was in 1642 made Surveyor to the Navy; in which employ he evinced great animosity against the King. The following year, while Vice-Admiral to the Earl of Warwick, he chased a Dutch man-of-war into Burlington Bay, knowing that Queen Henrietta Maria was on board; and then, learning that she had landed and was lodged on the quay, he fired above a hundred shot upon the house, some of which passing through her majesty's chamber, she was obliged, though indisposed, to retire for safety into the open fields. This act, brutal as it was, found favour with the Parliament. But Batten became afterwards discontented; and, when a portion of the fleet revolted, he carried the "Constant Warwick," one of the best ships in the Parliament navy, over into Holland, with several seamen of note. For this act of treachery he was knighted and made a Rear-Admiral by Prince Charles. We hear no more of Batten till the Restoration, when he became a Commissioner of the Navy, and was soon after M.P. for Rochester. See an account of his second wife, in note to November 24th, 1660, and of his illness and death, October 5th, 1667. He had a son, Benjamin, and a daughter, Martha, by his first wife.--B.] and the Vice and Rear-Admirals. At night my Lord supped and Mr. Thomas Crew with Captain Stoakes, I supped with the Captain, who told me what the King had given us. My Lord returned late, and at his coming did give me order to cause the marke to be gilded, and a Crown and C. R. to be made at the head of the coach table, where the King to-day with his own hand did mark his height, which accordingly I caused the painter to do, and is now done as is to be seen. 26th. Thanks to God I got to bed in my own poor cabin, and slept well till 9 o'clock this morning. Mr. North and Dr. Clerke and all the great company being gone, I found myself very uncouth all this day for want thereof. My Lord dined with the Vice-Admiral to-day (who is as officious, poor man! as any spaniel can be; but I believe all to no purpose, for I believe he will not hold his place), so I dined commander at the coach table to-day, and all the officers of the ship with me, and Mr. White of Dover. After a game or two at nine-pins, to work all the afternoon, making above twenty orders. In the evening my Lord having been a-shore, the first time that he hath been a-shore since he came out of the Hope (having resolved not to go till he had brought his Majesty into England), returned on board with a great deal of pleasure. I supped with the Captain in his cabin with young Captain Cuttance, and afterwards a messenger from the King came with a letter, and to go into France, and by that means we supped again with him at 12 o'clock at night. This night the Captain told me that my Lord had appointed me L30 out of the 1000 ducats which the King had given to the ship, at which my heart was very much joyed. To bed. 27th (Lord's day). Called up by John Goods to see the Garter and Heralds coat, which lay in the coach, brought by Sir Edward Walker, [Edward Walker was knighted February 2nd, 1644-5, and on the 24th of the same month was sworn in as Garter King at Arms. He adhered to the cause of the king, and published "Iter Carolinum", being a succinct account of the necessitated marches, retreats, and sufferings of his Majesty King Charles I., from Jan. 10, 1641, to the time of his death in 1648, collected by a daily attendant upon his sacred Majesty during all that time: He joined Charles II. in exile, and received the reward of his loyalty at the Restoration. He died at Whitehall, February 19th, 1676-7, and was buried at Stratford-on-Avon, his daughter having married Sir John Clepton of that place.] King at Arms, this morning, for my Lord. My Lord hath summoned all the Commanders on board him, to see the ceremony, which was thus: Sir Edward putting on his coat, and having laid the George and Garter, and the King's letter to my Lord, upon a crimson cushion (in the coach, all the Commanders standing by), makes three congees to him, holding the cushion in his arms. Then laying it down with the things upon it upon a chair, he takes the letter, and delivers it to my Lord, which my Lord breaks open and gives him to read. It was directed to our trusty and well beloved Sir Edward Montagu, Knight, one of our Generals at sea, and our Companion elect of our Noble Order of the Garter. The contents of the letter is to show that the Kings of England have for many years made use of this honour, as a special mark of favour, to persons of good extraction and virtue (and that many Emperors, Kings and Princes of other countries have borne this honour), and that whereas my Lord is of a noble family, and hath now done the King such service by sea, at this time, as he hath done; he do send him this George and Garter to wear as Knight of the Order, with a dispensation for the other ceremonies of the habit of the Order, and other things, till hereafter, when it can be done. So the herald putting the ribbon about his neck, and the Garter about his left leg, he salutes him with joy as Knight of the Garter, and that was all. After that was done, and the Captain and I had breakfasted with Sir Edward while my Lord was writing of a letter, he took his leave of my Lord, and so to shore again to the King at Canterbury, where he yesterday gave the like honour to General Monk, ["His Majesty put the George on his Excellency, and the two Dukes put on the Garter. The Princes thus honoured the Lord-General for the restoration of that lawful family."--Rugge's Diurnal.] who are the only two for many years that have had the Garter given them, before they had other honours of Earldom, or the like, excepting only the Duke of Buckingham, who was only Sir George Villiers when he was made Knight of the Garter. A while after Mr. Thos. Crew and Mr. J. Pickering (who had staid long enough to make all the world see him to be a fool), took ship for London. So there now remain no strangers with my Lord but Mr. Hetley, who had been with us a day before the King went from us. My Lord and the ship's company down to sermon. I staid above to write and look over my new song book, which came last night to me from London in lieu of that that my Lord had of me. The officers being all on board, there was not room for me at table, so I dined in my cabin, where, among other things, Mr. Drum brought me a lobster and a bottle of oil, instead of a bottle of vinegar, whereby I spoiled my dinner. Many orders in the ordering of ships this afternoon. Late to a sermon. After that up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where Mr. Sheply, I, and the Minister supped, and after that I went down to W. Howe's cabin, and there, with a great deal of pleasure, singing till it was late. After that to bed. 28th. Called up at two in the morning for letters for my Lord from the Duke of York, but I went to bed again till 5. Trimmed early this morning. This morning the Captain did call over all the men in the ship (not the boys), and give every one of them a ducat of the King's money that he gave the ship, and the officers according to their quality. I received in the Captain's cabin, for my share, sixty ducats. The rest of the morning busy writing letters. So was my Lord that he would not come to dinner. After dinner to write again in order to sending to London, but my Lord did not finish his, so we did not send to London to-day. A great part of the afternoon at nine-pins with my Lord and Mr. Hetley. I lost about 4s. Supped with my Lord, and after that to bed. At night I had a strange dream of--myself, which I really did, and having kicked my clothes off, I got cold; and found myself all much wet in the morning, and had a great deal of pain . . . which made me very melancholy. 29th. The King's birthday. Busy all the morning writing letters to London, among the rest one to Mr. Chetwind to give me an account of the fees due to the Herald for the Order of the Garter, which my Lord desires to know. After dinner got all ready and sent away Mr. Cook to London with a letter and token to my wife. After that abroad to shore with my Lord (which he offered me of himself, saying that I had a great deal of work to do this month, which was very true). On shore we took horses, my Lord and Mr. Edward, Mr. Hetly and I, and three or four servants, and had a great deal of pleasure in riding. Among other things my Lord showed me a house that cost a great deal of money, and is built in so barren and inconvenient a place that my Lord calls it the fool's house. At last we came upon a very high cliff by the sea-side, and rode under it, we having laid great wagers, I and Dr. Mathews, that it was not so high as Paul's; my Lord and Mr. Hetly, that it was. But we riding under it, my Lord made a pretty good measure of it with two sticks, and found it to be not above thirty-five yards high, and Paul's is reckoned to be about ninety. From thence toward the barge again, and in our way found the people at Deal going to make a bonfire for joy of the day, it being the King's birthday, and had some guns which they did fire at my Lord's coming by. For which I did give twenty shillings among them to drink. While we were on the top of the cliffe, we saw and heard our guns in the fleet go off for the same joy. And it being a pretty fair day we could see above twenty miles into France. Being returned on board, my Lord called for Mr. Sheply's book of Paul's, by which we were confirmed in our wager. After that to supper and then to musique, and so to bed. The pain that I have got last night by cold is not yet gone, but troubles me at the time of . . . . This day, it is thought, the King do enter the city of London. ["Divers maidens, in behalf of themselves and others, presented a petition to the Lord Mayor of London, wherein they pray his Lordship to grant them leave and liberty to meet His Majesty on the day of his passing through the city; and if their petition be granted, that they will all be clad in white waistcoats and crimson petticoats, and other ornaments of triumph and rejoicing."-Rugge's Diurnal, May, 1660.--B.] 30th. About eight o'clock in the morning the lieutenant came to me to know whether I would eat a dish of mackerel, newly catched, for my breakfast, which the Captain and we did in the coach. All yesterday and to-day I had a great deal of pain . . . and in my back, which made me afeard. But it proved nothing but cold, which I took yesterday night. All this morning making up my accounts, in which I counted that I had made myself now worth about L80, at which my heart was glad, and blessed God. Many Dover men come and dine with my Lord. My Lord at ninepins in the afternoon. In the afternoon Mr. Sheply told me how my Lord had put me down for 70 guilders among the money which was given to my Lord's servants, which my heart did much rejoice at. My Lord supped alone in his chamber. Sir R. Stayner supped with us, and among other things told us how some of his men did grumble that no more of the Duke's money come to their share and so would not receive any; whereupon he called up those that had taken it, and gives them three shares apiece more, which was very good, and made good sport among the seamen. To bed. 31st. This day my Lord took physic, and came not out of his chamber. All the morning making orders. After dinner a great while below in the great cabin trying with W. Howe some of Mr. Laws' songs,' particularly that of "What is a kiss," with which we had a great deal of pleasure. After that to making of orders again. Captain Sparling of the Assistance brought me a pair of silk stockings of a light blue, which I was much pleased with. The Captain and I to supper, and after that a most pleasant walk till to at night with him upon the deck, it being a fine evening. My pain was gone again that I had yesterday, blessed be God. This day the month ends, I in very good health, and all the world in a merry mood because of the King's coming. This day I began to teach Mr. Edward; who I find to have a very good foundation laid for his Latin by Mr. Fuller. I expect every minute to hear how my poor wife do. I find myself in all things well as to body and mind, but troubled for the absence of my wife. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: An exceeding pretty lass, and right for the sport And in all this not so much as one Bought for the love of the binding three books Drinking of the King's health upon their knees in the streets Fashionable and black spots He and I lay in one press bed, there being two more He is, I perceive, wholly sceptical, as well as I He that must do the business, or at least that can hinder it He was fain to lie in the priest's hole a good while If it should come in print my name maybe at it In comes Mr. North very sea-sick from shore John Pickering on board, like an ass, with his feathers Made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead My Lord, who took physic to-day and was in his chamber Presbyterians against the House of Lords Protestants as to the Church of Rome are wholly fanatiques 
4122	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE & JULY 1660 June 1st. This morning Mr. Sheply disposed of the money that the Duke of York did give my Lord's servants, 22 ducatoons 3 came to my share, whereof he told me to give Jaspar something because my Lord left him out. [Foreign coins were in frequent use at this time. A Proclamation, January 29th, 1660-61, declared certain foreign gold and silver coins to be current at certain rates. The rate of the ducatoon was at 5s. 9d.] I did give Mr. Sheply the fine pair of buckskin gloves that I bought myself about five years ago. My Lord took physic to-day, and so come not out all day. The Captain on shore all day. After dinner Captain Jefferys and W. Howe, and the Lieutenant and I to ninepins, where I lost about two shillings and so fooled away all the afternoon. At night Mr. Cooke comes from London with letters, leaving all things there very gallant and joyful. And brought us word that the Parliament had ordered the 29th of May, the King's birthday, to be for ever kept as a day of thanksgiving for our redemption from tyranny, and the King's return to his Government, he entering London that day. My wife was in London when he came thither, and had been there a week with Mr. Bowyer and his wife. My poor wife has not been well a week before, but thanks be to God is well again. She would fain see me and be at her house again, but we must be content. She writes word how the Joyces grow very rich and very proud, but it is no matter, and that there was a talk that I should be knighted by the King, which they (the Joyces) laugh at; but I think myself happier in my wife and estate than they are in theirs. To bed. The Captain come on board, when I was going to bed, quite fuddled; and himself the next morning told me so too, that the Vice-Admiral, Rear-Admiral, and he had been drinking all day. 2d. Being with my Lord in the morning about business in his cabin, I took occasion to give him thanks for his love to me in the share that he had given me of his Majesty's money, and the Duke's. He told the he hoped to do me a more lasting kindness, if all things stand as they are now between him and the King, but, says he, "We must have a little patience and we will rise together; in the mean time I will do you all the good jobs I can." Which was great content for me to hear from my Lord. All the morning with the Captain, computing how much the thirty ships that come with the King from Scheveling their pay comes to for a month (because the King promised to give them all a month's pay), and it comes to L6,538, and the Charles particularly L777. I wish we had the money. All the afternoon with two or three captains in the Captain's cabin, drinking of white wine and sugar, and eating pickled oysters, where Captain Sparling told us the best story that ever I heard, about a gentleman that persuaded a country fool to let him gut his oysters or else they would stink. At night writing letters to London and Weymouth, for my Lord being now to sit in the House of Peers he endeavours to get Mr. Edward Montagu for Weymouth and Mr. George for Dover. Mr. Cooke late with me in my cabin while I wrote to my wife, and drank a bottle of wine and so took leave of me on his journey and I to bed. 3d. Waked in the morning by one who when I asked who it was, he told me one from Bridewell, which proved Captain Holland. I rose presently to him. He is come to get an order for the setting out of his ship, and to renew his commission. He tells me how every man goes to the Lord Mayor to set down their names, as such as do accept of his Majesty's pardon, and showed me a certificate under the Lord Mayor's hand that he had done so. At sermon in the morning; after dinner into my cabin, to cast my accounts up, and find myself to be worth near L100, for which I bless Almighty God, it being more than I hoped for so soon, being I believe not clearly worth L25 when I came to sea besides my house and goods. Then to set my papers in order, they being increased much upon my hands through want of time to put them in order. The ship's company all this while at sermon. After sermon my Lord did give me instruction to write to London about business, which done, after supper to bed. 4th. Waked in the morning at four o'clock to give some money to Mr. Hetly, who was to go to London with the letters that I wrote yesterday night. After he was gone I went and lay down in my gown upon my bed again an hour or two. At last waked by a messenger come for a Post Warrant for Mr. Hetly and Mr. Creed, who stood to give so little for their horses that the men would not let them have any without a warrant, which I sent them. All the morning getting Captain Holland's commission done, which I did, and he at noon went away. I took my leave of him upon the quarter-deck with a bottle of sack, my Lord being just set down to dinner. Then he being gone I went to dinner and after dinner to my cabin to write. This afternoon I showed my Lord my accounts, which he passed, and so I think myself to be worth near L100 now. In the evening I made an order for Captain Sparling of the Assistance to go to Middleburgh, to fetch over some of the King's goods. I took the opportunity to send all my Dutch money, 70 ducatoons and 29 gold ducats to be changed, if he can, for English money, which is the first venture that ever I made, and so I have been since a little afeard of it. After supper some music and so to bed. This morning the King's Proclamation against drinking, swearing, and debauchery, was read to our ships' companies in the fleet, and indeed it gives great satisfaction to all. [The King's "Proclamation against vicious, debauched, and prophane Persons" is dated May 30th. It is printed in "Somers's Tracts," ed. 1812, vol. vii. p. 423.] 5th. A-bed late. In the morning my Lord went on shore with the Vice-Admiral a-fishing, and at dinner returned. In the afternoon I played at ninepins with my Lord, and when he went in again I got him to sign my accounts for L115, and so upon my private balance I find myself confirmed in my estimation that I am worth L100. In the evening in my cabin a great while getting the song without book, "Help, help Divinity, &c." After supper my Lord called for the lieutenant's cittern, and with two candlesticks with money in them for symballs, we made barber's music, [In the "Notices of Popular Histories," printed for the Percy Society, there is a curious woodcut representing the interior of a barber's shop, in which, according to the old custom, the person waiting to be shaved is playing on the "ghittern" till his turn arrives. Decker also mentions a "barber's cittern," for every serving-man to play upon. This is no doubt "the barber's music" with which Lord Sandwich entertained himself.--B.] with which my Lord was well pleased. So to bed. 6th. In the morning I had letters come, that told me among other things, that my Lord's place of Clerk of the Signet was fallen to him, which he did most lovingly tell me that I should execute, in case he could not get a better employment for me at the end of the year. Because he thought that the Duke of York would command all, but he hoped that the Duke would not remove me but to my advantage. I had a great deal of talk about my uncle Robert, [Robert Pepys of Brampton, eldest son of Thomas Pepys the red, and brother of Samuel's father.] and he told me that he could not tell how his mind stood as to his estate, but he would do all that lay in his power for me. After dinner came Mr. Gooke from London, who told me that my wife he left well at Huntsmore, though her health not altogether so constant as it used to be, which my heart is troubled for. Mr. Moore's letters tell me that he thinks my Lord will be suddenly sent for up to London, and so I got myself in readiness to go. My letters tell me, that Mr. Calamy [Edmund Calamy, D.D., the celebrated Nonconformist divine, born February, 1600, appointed Chaplain to Charles II., 1660. He refused the bishopric of Lichfield which was offered to him. Died October 29th, 1666.] had preached before the King in a surplice (this I heard afterwards to be false); that my Lord, Gen. Monk, and three more Lords, are made Commissioners for the Treasury; [The names of the Commissioners were--Sir Edward Hyde, afterwards Earl of Clarendon, General Monk, Thomas, Earl of Southampton, John, Lord Robartes, Thomas, Lord Colepeper, Sir Edward Montagu, with Sir Edward Nicholas and Sir William Morrice as principal Secretaries of State. The patents are dated June 19th, 1660.] that my Lord had some great place conferred on him, and they say Master of the Wardrobe; [The duty of the Master of the Wardrobe was to provide "proper furniture for coronations, marriages, and funerals" of the sovereign and royal family, "cloaths of state, beds, hangings, and other necessaries for the houses of foreign ambassadors, cloaths of state for Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Prince of Wales, and ambassadors abroad," as also to provide robes for Ministers of State, Knights of the Garter, &c. The last Master of the Wardrobe was Ralph, Duke of Montague, who died 1709.] that the two Dukes--[Duke of York and Duke of Gloucester.]--do haunt the Park much, and that they were at a play, Madam Epicene,--["Epicene, or the Silent Woman," a comedy, by Ben Jonson.]--the other day; that Sir. Ant. Cooper, Mr. Hollis, and Mr. Annesly,& late President of the Council of State, are made Privy Councillors to the King. At night very busy sending Mr. Donne away to London, and wrote to my father for a coat to be made me against I come to London, which I think will not be long. At night Mr. Edward Montagu came on board and staid long up with my Lord. I to bed and about one in the morning, 7th. W. Howe called me up to give him a letter to carry to my Lord that came to me to-day, which I did and so to, sleep again. About three in the morning the people began to wash the deck, and the water came pouring into my mouth, which waked me, and I was fain to rise and get on my gown, and sleep leaning on my table. This morning Mr. Montagu went away again. After dinner come Mr. John Wright and Mr. Moore, with the sight of whom my heart was very glad. They brought an order for my Lord's coming up to London, which my Lord resolved to do tomorrow. All the afternoon getting my things in order to set forth to-morrow. At night walked up and down with Mr. Moore, who did give me an account of all things at London. Among others, how the Presbyterians would be angry if they durst, but they will not be able to do any thing. Most of the Commanders on board and supped with my Lord. Late at night came Mr. Edw. Pickering from London, but I could not see him this night. I went with Mr. Moore to the Master's cabin, and saw him there in order to going to bed. After that to my own cabin to put things in order and so to bed. 8th. Out early, took horses at Deale. I troubled much with the King's gittar, and Fairbrother, the rogue that I intrusted with the carrying of it on foot, whom I thought I had lost. Col. Dixwell's horse taken by a soldier and delivered to my Lord, and by him to me to carry to London. Came to Canterbury, dined there. I saw the minster and the remains of Becket's tomb. To Sittiligborne and Rochester. At Chatham and Rochester the ships and bridge. Mr. Hetly's mistake about dinner. Come to Gravesend. A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen a great while. Supped with my Lord, drank late below with Penrose, the Captain. To bed late, having first laid out all my things against to-morrow to put myself in a walking garb. Weary and hot to bed to Mr. Moore. 9th. Up betimes, 25s. the reckoning for very bare. Paid the house and by boats to London, six boats. Mr. Moore, W. Howe, and I, and then the child in the room of W. Howe. Landed at the Temple. To Mr. Crew's. To my father's and put myself into a handsome posture to wait upon my Lord, dined there. To White Hall with my Lord and Mr. Edwd. Montagu. Found the King in the Park. There walked. Gallantly great. 10th. (Lord's day.) At my father's found my wife and to walk with her in Lincoln's Inn walks. 11th. Betimes to my Lord. Extremely much people and business. So with him to Whitehall to the Duke. Back with him by coach and left him in Covent Garden. I back to Will's and the Hall to see my father. Then to the Leg in King Street with Mr. Moore, and sent for. L'Impertinent to dinner with me. After that with Mr. Moore about Privy Seal business. To Mr. Watkins, so to Mr. Crew's. Then towards my father's met my Lord and with him to Dorset House to the Chancellor. So to Mr. Crew's and saw my Lord at supper, and then home, and went to see Mrs. Turner, and so to bed. 12th. Visited by the two Pierces, Mr. Blackburne, Dr. Clerk and Mr. Creed, and did give them a ham of bacon. So to my Lord and with him to the Duke of Gloucester. The two Dukes dined with the Speaker, and I saw there a fine entertainment and dined with the pages. To Mr. Crew's, whither came Mr. Greatorex, and with him to the Faithornes, and so to the Devils tavern. To my Lord's and staid till 12 at night about business. So to my father's, my father and mother in bed, who had been with my uncle Fenner, &c., and my wife all day and expected me. But I found Mr. Cook there, and so to bed. 13th. To my Lord's and thence to the Treasurer's of the Navy,' with Mr. Creed and Pierce the Purser to Rawlinson's, whither my uncle Wight came, and I spent 12s. upon them. So to Mr. Crew's, where I blotted a new carpet--[It was customary to use carpets as table cloths.]--that was hired, but got it out again with fair water. By water with my Lord in a boat to Westminster, and to the Admiralty, now in a new place. After business done there to the Rhenish wine-house with Mr. Blackburne, Creed, and Wivell. So to my Lord's lodging and to my father's, and to bed. 14th. Up to my Lord and from him to the Treasurer of the Navy for L500. After that to a tavern with Washington the Purser, very gallant, and ate and drank. To Mr. Crew's and laid my money. To my Lady Pickering with the plate that she did give my Lord the other day. Then to Will's and met William Symons and Doling and Luellin, and with them to the Bull-head, and then to a new alehouse in Brewer's Yard, where Winter that had the fray with Stoakes, and from them to my father's. 15th. All the morning at the Commissioners of the Navy about getting out my bill for L650 for the last quarter, which I got done with a great deal of ease, which is not common. After that with Mr. Turner to the Dolphin and drunk, and so by water to W. Symons, where D. Scobell with his wife, a pretty and rich woman. Mrs. Symons, a very fine woman, very merry after dinner with marrying of Luellin and D. Scobell's kinswoman that was there. Then to my Lord who told me how the King has given him the place of the great Wardrobe. My Lord resolves to have Sarah again. I to my father's, and then to see my uncle and aunt Fenner. So home and to bed. 16th. Rose betimes and abroad in one shirt, which brought me a great cold and pain. Murford took me to Harvey's by my father's to drink and told me of a business that I hope to get L5 by. To my Lord, and so to White Hall with him about the Clerk of the Privy Seal's place, which he is to have. Then to the Admiralty, where I wrote same letters. Here Coll. Thompson told me, as a great secret; that the Nazeby was on fire when the King was there, but that is not known; when God knows it is quite false. Got a piece of gold from Major Holmes for the horse of Dixwell's I brought to town. Dined at Mr. Crew's, and after dinner with my Lord to Whitehall. Court attendance infinite tedious. Back with my Lord to my Lady Wright's and staid till it had done raining, which it had not done a great while. After that at night home to my father's and to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Lay long abed. To Mr. Mossum's; a good sermon. This day the organs did begin to play at White Hall before the King.--[All organs were removed from churches by an ordinance dated 1644.]--Dined at my father's. After dinner to Mr. Mossum's again, and so in the garden, and heard Chippell's father preach, that was Page to the Protector, and just by the window that I stood at sat Mrs. Butler, the great beauty. After sermon to my Lord. Mr. Edward and I into Gray's Inn walks, and saw many beauties. So to my father's, where Mr. Cook, W. Bowyer, and my coz Roger Wharton supped and to bed. 18th. To my Lord's, where much business and some hopes of getting some money thereby. With him to the Parliament House, where he did intend to have gone to have made his appearance to-day, but he met Mr. Crew upon the stairs, and would not go in. He went to Mrs. Brown's, and staid till word was brought him what was done in the House. This day they made an end of the twenty men to be excepted from pardon to their estates. By barge to Stepny with my Lord, where at Trinity House we had great entertainment. With, my Lord there went Sir W. Pen, Sir H. Wright, Hetly, Pierce; Creed, Hill, I and other servants. Back again to the Admiralty, and so to my Lord's lodgings, where he told me that he did look after the place of the Clerk of the Acts--[The letters patent appointing Pepys to the office of Clerk of the Acts is dated July 13th, 1660.]--for me. So to Mr. Crew's and my father's and to bed. My wife went this day to Huntsmore for her things, and I was very lonely all night. This evening my wife's brother, Balty, came to me to let me know his bad condition and to get a place for him, but I perceive he stands upon a place for a gentleman, that may not stain his family when, God help him, he wants bread. 19th. Called on betimes by Murford, who showed me five pieces to get a business done for him and I am resolved to do it., Much business at my Lord's. This morning my Lord went into the House of Commons, and there had the thanks of the House, in the name of the Parliament and Commons of England, for his late service to his King and Country. A motion was made for a reward for him, but it was quashed by Mr. Annesly, who, above most men, is engaged to my Lord's and Mr. Crew's families. Meeting with Captain Stoakes at Whitehall, I dined with him and Mr. Gullop, a parson (with whom afterwards I was much offended at his importunity and impertinence, such another as Elborough), [Thomas Elborough was one of Pepys's schoolfellows, and afterwards curate of St. Lawrence Poultney.] and Mr. Butler, who complimented much after the same manner as the parson did. After that towards my Lord's at Mr. Crew's, but was met with by a servant of my Lady Pickering, who took me to her and she told me the story of her husband's case and desired my assistance with my Lord, and did give me, wrapped up in paper, L5 in silver. After that to my Lord's, and with him to Whitehall and my Lady Pickering. My Lord went at night with the King to Baynard's Castle' to supper, and I home to my father's to bed. My wife and the girl and dog came home to-day. When I came home I found a quantity of chocolate left for me, I know not from whom. We hear of W. Howe being sick to-day, but he was well at night. 20th. Up by 4 in the morning to write letters to sea and a commission for him that Murford solicited for. Called on by Captain Sparling, who did give me my Dutch money again, and so much as he had changed into English money, by which my mind was eased of a great deal of trouble. Some other sea captains. I did give them a good morning draught, and so to my Lord (who lay long in bed this day, because he came home late from supper with the King). With my Lord to the Parliament House, and, after that, with him to General Monk's, where he dined at the Cock-pit. I home and dined with my wife, now making all things ready there again. Thence to my Lady Pickering, who did give me the best intelligence about the Wardrobe. Afterwards to the Cockpit to my Lord with Mr. Townsend, one formerly and now again to be employed as Deputy of the Wardrobe. Thence to the Admiralty, and despatched away Mr. Cooke to sea; whose business was a letter from my Lord about Mr. G. Montagu to be chosen as a Parliament-man in my Lord's room at Dover;' and another to the Vice-Admiral to give my Lord a constant account of all things in the fleet, merely that he may thereby keep up his power there; another letter to Captn. Cuttance to send the barge that brought the King on shore, to Hinchingbroke by Lynne. To my own house, meeting G. Vines, and drank with him at Charing Cross, now the King's Head Tavern. With my wife to my father's, where met with Swan,--[William Swan is called a fanatic and a very rogue in other parts of the Diary.]--an old hypocrite, and with him, his friend and my father, and my cozen Scott to the Bear Tavern. To my father's and to bed. 21st. To my Lord, much business. With him to the Council Chamber, where he was sworn; and the charge of his being admitted Privy Counsellor is L26. To the Dog Tavern at Westminster, where Murford with Captain Curle and two friends of theirs went to drink. Captain Curle, late of the Maria, gave me five pieces in gold and a silver can for my wife for the Commission I did give him this day for his ship, dated April 20, 1660 last. Thence to the Parliament door and came to Mr. Crew's to dinner with my Lord, and with my Lord to see the great Wardrobe, where Mr. Townsend brought us to the governor of some poor children in tawny clothes; who had been maintained there these eleven years, which put my Lord to a stand how to dispose of them, that he may have the house for his use. The children did sing finely, and my Lord did bid me give them five pieces in gold at his going away. Thence back to White Hall, where, the King being gone abroad, my Lord and I walked a great while discoursing of the simplicity of the Protector, in his losing all that his father had left him. My Lord told me, that the last words that he parted with the Protector with (when he went to the Sound), were, that he should rejoice more to see him in his grave at his return home, than that he should give way to such things as were then in hatching, and afterwards did ruin him: and the Protector said, that whatever G. Montagu, my Lord Broghill, Jones, and the Secretary, would have him to do, he would do it, be it what it would. Thence to my wife, meeting Mr. Blagrave, who went home with me, and did give me a lesson upon the flageolet, and handselled my silver can with my wife and me. To my father's, where Sir Thomas Honeywood and his family were come of a sudden, and so we forced to lie all together in a little chamber, three stories high. 22d. To my Lord, where much business. With him to White Hall, where the Duke of York not being up, we walked a good while in the Shield Gallery. Mr. Hill (who for these two or three days hath constantly attended my Lord) told me of an offer of L500 for a Baronet's dignity, which I told my Lord of in the balcone in this gallery, and he said he would think of it. I to my Lord's and gave order for horses to be got to draw my Lord's great coach to Mr. Crew's. Mr. Morrice the upholsterer came himself to-day to take notice what furniture we lack for our lodgings at Whitehall. My dear friend Mr. Fuller of Twickenham and I dined alone at the Sun Tavern, where he told me how he had the grant of being Dean of St. Patrick's, in Ireland; and I told him my condition, and both rejoiced one for another. Thence to my Lord's, and had the great coach to Brigham's, who went with me to the Half Moon, and gave me a can of good julep, and told me how my Lady Monk deals with him and others for their places, asking him L500, though he was formerly the King's coach-maker, and sworn to it. My Lord abroad, and I to my house and set things in a little order there. So with Mr. Moore to my father's, I staying with Mrs. Turner who stood at her door as I passed. Among other things she told me for certain how my old Lady Middlesex----herself the other day in the presence of the King, and people took notice of it. Thence called at my father's, and so to Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Hetley had sent a letter for me, and two pair of silk stockings, one for W. Howe, and the other for me. To Sir H. Wright's to my Lord, where he, was, and took direction about business, and so by link home about 11 o'clock. To bed, the first time since my coming from sea, in my own house, for which God be praised. 23d. By water with Mr. Hill towards my Lord's lodging and so to my Lord. With him to Whitehall, where I left him and went to Mr. Holmes to deliver him the horse of Dixwell's that had staid there fourteen days at the Bell. So to my Lord's lodgings, where Tom Guy came to me, and there staid to see the King touch people for the King's evil. But he did not come at all, it rayned so; and the poor people were forced to stand all the morning in the rain in the garden. Afterward he touched them in the Banquetting-house. [This ceremony is usually traced to Edward the Confessor, but there is no direct evidence of the early Norman kings having touched for the evil. Sir John Fortescue, in his defence of the House of Lancaster against that of York, argued that the crown could not descend to a female, because the Queen is not qualified by the form of anointing her, used at the coronation, to cure the disease called the King's evil. Burn asserts, "History of Parish Registers," 1862, p. 179, that "between 1660 and 1682, 92,107 persons were touched for the evil." Everyone coming to the court for that purpose, brought a certificate signed by the minister and churchwardens, that he had not at any time been touched by His Majesty. The practice was supposed to have expired with the Stuarts, but the point being disputed, reference was made to the library of the Duke of Sussex, and four several Oxford editions of the Book of Common Prayer were found, all printed after the accession of the house of Hanover, and all containing, as an integral part of the service, "The Office for the Healing." The stamp of gold with which the King crossed the sore of the sick person was called an angel, and of the value of ten shillings. It had a hole bored through it, through which a ribbon was drawn, and the angel was hanged about the patient's neck till the cure was perfected. The stamp has the impression of St. Michael the Archangel on one side, and a ship in full sail on the other. "My Lord Anglesey had a daughter cured of the King's evil with three others on Tuesday."--MS. Letter of William Greenhill to Lady Bacon, dated December 31st, 1629, preserved at Audley End. Charles II. "touched" before he came to the throne. "It is certain that the King hath very often touched the sick, as well at Breda, where he touched 260 from Saturday the 17 of April to Sunday the 23 of May, as at Bruges and Bruxels, during the residence he made there; and the English assure . . . it was not without success, since it was the experience that drew thither every day, a great number of those diseased even from the most remote provinces of Germany."--Sir William Lower's Relation of the Voiage and Residence which Charles the II. hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, p. 78. Sir William Lower gives a long account of the touching for the evil by Charles before the Restoration.] With my Lord, to my Lord Frezendorfe's, where he dined to-day. Where he told me that he had obtained a promise of the Clerk of the Acts place for me, at which I was glad. Met with Mr. Chetwind, and dined with him at Hargrave's, the Cornchandler, in St. Martin's Lane, where a good dinner, where he showed me some good pictures, and an instrument he called an Angelique. [An angelique is described as a species of guitar in Murray's "New English Dictionary," and this passage from the Diary is given as a quotation. The word appears as angelot in Phillips's "English Dictionary" (1678), and is used in Browning's "Sordello," as a "plaything of page or girl."] With him to London, changing all my Dutch money at Backwell's [Alderman Edward Backwell, an eminent banker and goldsmith, who is frequently mentioned in the Diary. His shop was in Lombard Street. He was ruined by the closing of the Exchequer by Charles II. in 1672. The crown then owed him L295,994 16s. 6d., in lieu of which the King gave him an annuity of L17,759 13s. 8d. Backwell retired into Holland after the closing of the Exchequer, and died there in 1679. See Hilton Price's "Handbook of London Bankers," 1876.] for English, and then to Cardinal's Cap, where he and the City Remembrancer who paid for all. Back to Westminster, where my Lord was, and discoursed with him awhile about his family affairs. So he went away, I home and wrote letters into the country, and to bed. 24th. Sunday. Drank my morning draft at Harper's, and bought a pair of gloves there. So to Mr. G. Montagu, and told him what I had received from Dover, about his business likely to be chosen there. So home and thence with my wife towards my father's. She went thither, I to Mr. Crew's, where I dined and my Lord at my Lord Montagu of Boughton in Little Queen Street. In the afternoon to Mr. Mossum's with Mr. Moore, and we sat in Mr. Butler's pew. Then to Whitehall looking for my Lord but in vain, and back again to Mr. Crew's where I found him and did give him letters. Among others some simple ones from our Lieutenant, Lieut. Lambert to him and myself, which made Mr. Crew and us all laugh. I went to my father's to tell him that I would not come to supper, and so after my business done at Mr. Crew's I went home and my wife within a little while after me, my mind all this while full of thoughts for my place of Clerk of the Acts. 25th. With my Lord at White Hall, all the morning. I spoke with Mr. Coventry about my business, who promised me all the assistance I could expect. Dined with young Mr. Powell, lately come from the Sound, being amused at our great changes here, and Mr. Southerne, now Clerk to Mr. Coventry, at the Leg in King-street. Thence to the Admiralty, where I met with Mr. Turner [Thomas Turner (or Tourner) was General Clerk at the Navy Office, and on June 30th he offered Pepys L150 to be made joint Clerk of the Acts with him. In a list of the Admiralty officers just before the King came in, preserved in the British Museum, there occur, Richard Hutchinson; Treasury of the Navy, salary L1500; Thomas Tourner, General Clerk, for himself and clerk, L100.] of the Navy-office, who did look after the place of Clerk of the Acts. He was very civil to me, and I to him, and shall be so. There came a letter from my Lady Monk to my Lord about it this evening, but he refused to come to her, but meeting in White Hall, with Sir Thomas Clarges, her brother, my Lord returned answer, that he could not desist in my business; and that he believed that General Monk would take it ill if my Lord should name the officers in his army; and therefore he desired to have the naming of one officer in the fleet. With my Lord by coach to Mr. Crew's, and very merry by the way, discoursing of the late changes and his good fortune. Thence home, and then with my wife to Dorset House, to deliver a list of the names of the justices of the peace for Huntingdonshire. By coach, taking Mr. Fox part of the way with me, that was with us with the King on board the Nazeby, who I found to have married Mrs. Whittle, that lived at Mr. Geer's so long. A very civil gentleman. At Dorset House I met with Mr. Kipps, my old friend, with whom the world is well changed, he being now sealbearer to the Lord Chancellor, at which my wife and I are well pleased, he being a very good natured man. Home and late writing letters. Then to my Lord's lodging, this being the first night of his coming to Whitehall to lie since his coming from sea. 26th. My Lord dined at his lodgings all alone to-day. I went to Secretary Nicholas [Sir Edward Nicholas, Secretary of State to Charles I. and II. He was dismissed from his office through the intrigues of Lady Castlemaine in 1663. He died 1669, aged seventy-seven.] to carry him my Lord's resolutions about his title, which he had chosen, and that is Portsmouth. [Montagu changed his mind, and ultimately took his title from the town of Sandwich, leaving that of Portsmouth for the use of a King's mistress.] I met with Mr. Throgmorton, a merchant, who went with me to the old Three Tuns, at Charing Cross, who did give me five pieces of gold for to do him a small piece of service about a convoy to Bilbo, which I did. In the afternoon, one Mr. Watts came to me, a merchant, to offer me L500 if I would desist from the Clerk of the Acts place. I pray God direct me in what I do herein. Went to my house, where I found my father, and carried him and my wife to Whitefriars, and myself to Puddlewharf, to the Wardrobe, to Mr. Townsend, who went with me to Backwell, the goldsmith's, and there we chose L100 worth of plate for my Lord to give Secretary Nicholas. Back and staid at my father's, and so home to bed. 27th. With my Lord to the Duke, where he spoke to Mr. Coventry to despatch my business of the Acts, in which place every body gives me joy, as if I were in it, which God send. [The letters patent, dated July 13th, 12 Charles II., recite and revoke letters patent of February 16th, 14 Charles I., whereby the office of Clerk of the Ships had been given to Dennis Fleming and Thomas Barlow, or the survivor. D. F. was then dead, but T. B. living, and Samuel Pepys was appointed in his room, at a salary of L33 6s. 8d. per annum, with 3s. 4d. for each day employed in travelling, and L6 per annum for boathire, and all fees due. This salary was only the ancient "fee out of the Exchequer," which had been attached to the office for more than a century. Pepys's salary had been previously fixed at L350 a year.] Dined with my Lord and all the officers of his regiment, who invited my Lord and his friends, as many as he would bring, to dinner, at the Swan, at Dowgate, a poor house and ill dressed, but very good fish and plenty. Here Mr. Symons, the Surgeon, told me how he was likely to lose his estate that he had bought, at which I was not a little pleased. To Westminster, and with Mr. Howe by coach to the Speaker's, where my Lord supped with the King, but I could not get in. So back again, and after a song or two in my chamber in the dark, which do (now that the bed is out) sound very well, I went home and to bed. 28th. My brother Tom came to me with patterns to choose for a suit. I paid him all to this day, and did give him L10 upon account. To Mr. Coventry, who told me that he would do me all right in my business. To Sir G. Downing, the first visit I have made him since he came. He is so stingy a fellow I care not to see him; I quite cleared myself of his office, and did give him liberty to take any body in. Hawly and he are parted too, he is going to serve Sir Thos. Ingram. I went also this morning to see Mrs. Pierce, the chirurgeon['s wife]. I found her in bed in her house in Margaret churchyard. Her husband returned to sea. I did invite her to go to dinner with me and my wife to-day. After all this to my Lord, who lay a-bed till eleven o'clock, it being almost five before he went to bed, they supped so late last night with the King. This morning I saw poor Bishop Wren [Matthew Wren, born 1585, successively Bishop of Hereford, Norwich, and Ely. At the commencement of the Rebellion he was sent to the Tower, and remained a prisoner there eighteen years. Died April 24th, 1667.] going to Chappel, it being a thanksgiving-day ["A Proclamation for setting apart a day of Solemn and Publick Thanksgiving throughout the whole Kingdom," dated June 5th, 1660.] for the King's return. After my Lord was awake, I went up to him to the Nursery, where he do lie, and, having talked with him a little, I took leave and carried my wife and Mrs. Pierce to Clothworkers'-Hall, to dinner, where Mr. Pierce, the Purser, met us. We were invited by Mr. Chaplin, the Victualler, where Nich. Osborne was. Our entertainment very good, a brave hall, good company, and very good music. Where among other things I was pleased that I could find out a man by his voice, whom I had never seen before, to be one that sang behind the curtaine formerly at Sir W. Davenant's opera. Here Dr. Gauden and Mr. Gauden the victualler dined with us. After dinner to Mr. Rawlinson's, [Daniel Rawlinson kept the Mitre in Fenchurch Street, and there is a farthing token of his extant, "At the Mitetr in Fenchurch Streete, D. M. R." The initials stand for Daniel and Margaret Rawlinson (see "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 595) In "Reliquiae Hearnianae" (ed. Bliss, 1869, vol. ii. p. 39) is the following extract from Thomas Rawlinson's Note Book R.: "Of Daniel Rawlinson, my grandfather, who kept the Mitre tavern in Fenchurch Street, and of whose being sequestred in the Rump time I have heard much, the Whiggs tell this, that upon the king's murder he hung his signe in mourning. He certainly judged right. The honour of the Mitre was much eclipsed through the loss of so good a parent of the church of England. These rogues say, this endeared him so much to the churchmen that he soon throve amain and got a good estate." Mrs. Rawlinson died of the plague (see August 9th, 1666), and the house was burnt in the Great Fire. Mr. Rawlinson rebuilt the Mitre, and he had the panels of the great room painted with allegorical figures by Isaac Fuller. Daniel was father of Sir Thomas Rawlinson, of whom Thomas Hearne writes (October 1st, 1705): "Sir Thomas Rawlinson is chosen Lord Mayor of London for ye ensueing notwithstanding the great opposition of ye Whigg party" (Hearne's "Collections," ed. Doble, 1885, vol. i. p. 51). The well-known antiquaries, Thomas and Richard Rawlinson, sons of Sir Thomas, were therefore grandsons of Daniel.] to see him and his wife, and would have gone to my Aunt Wight, but that her only child, a daughter, died last night. Home and to my Lord, who supped within, and Mr. E. Montagu, Mr. Thos. Crew, and others with him sat up late. I home and to bed. 29th. This day or two my maid Jane--[Jane Wayneman.]--has been lame, that we cannot tell what to do for want of her. Up and to White Hall, where I got my warrant from the Duke to be Clerk of the Acts. Also I got my Lord's warrant from the Secretary for his honour of Earle of Portsmouth, and Viscount Montagu of Hinchingbroke. So to my Lord, to give him an account of what I had done. Then to Sir Geffery Palmer, to give them to him to have bills drawn upon them, who told me that my Lord must have some good Latinist to make the preamble to his Patent, which must express his late service in the best terms that he can, and he told me in what high flaunting terms Sir J. Greenville had caused his to be done, which he do not like; but that Sir Richard Fanshawe had done General Monk's very well. Back to Westminster, and meeting Mr. Townsend in the Palace, he and I and another or two went and dined at the Leg there. Then to White Hall, where I was told by Mr. Hutchinson at the Admiralty, that Mr. Barlow, my predecessor, Clerk of the Acts, is yet alive, and coming up to town to look after his place, which made my heart sad a little. At night told my Lord thereof, and he bade me get possession of my Patent; and he would do all that could be done to keep him out. This night my Lord and I looked over the list of the Captains,. and marked some that my Lord had a mind to have put out. Home and to bed. Our wench very lame, abed these two days. 30th. By times to Sir R. Fanshawe to draw up the preamble to my Lord's Patent. So to my Lord, and with him to White Hall, where I saw a great many fine antique heads of marble, that my Lord Northumberland had given the King. Here meeting with Mr. De Cretz, he looked over many of the pieces, in the gallery with me and told me [by] whose hands they were, with great pleasure. Dined at home and Mr. Hawly with me upon six of my pigeons, which my wife has resolved to kill here. This day came Will, [William Wayneman was constantly getting into trouble, and Pepys had to cane him. He was dismissed on July 7th, 1663.] my boy, to me; the wench continuing lame, so that my wife could not be longer without somebody to help her. In the afternoon with Sir Edward Walker, at his lodgings by St. Giles Church, for my Lord's pedigree, and carried it to Sir R. Fanshawe. To Mr. Crew's, and there took money and paid Mrs. Anne, Mrs. Jemima's maid, off quite, and so she went away and another came to her. To White Hall with Mr. Moore, where I met with a letter from Mr. Turner, offering me L150 to be joined with me in my patent, and to advise me how to improve the advantage of my place, and to keep off Barlow. To my Lord's till late at night, and so home. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1660 July 1st. This morning came home my fine Camlett cloak, [Camlet was a mixed stuff of wool and silk. It was very expensive, and later Pepys gave L24 for a suit. (See June 1st, 1664.)] with gold buttons, and a silk suit, which cost me much money, and I pray God to make me able to pay for it. I went to the cook's and got a good joint of meat, and my wife and I dined at home alone. In the afternoon to the Abbey, where a good sermon by a stranger, but no Common Prayer yet. After sermon called in at Mrs. Crisp's, where I saw Mynheer Roder, that is to marry Sam Hartlib's sister, a great fortune for her to light on, she being worth nothing in the world. Here I also saw Mrs. Greenlife, who is come again to live in Axe Yard with her new husband Mr. Adams. Then to my Lord's, where I staid a while. So to see for Mr. Creed to speak about getting a copy of Barlow's patent. To my Lord's, where late at night comes Mr. Morland, whom I left prating with my Lord, and so home. 2nd. Infinite of business that my heart and head and all were full. Met with purser Washington, with whom and a lady, a friend of his, I dined at the Bell Tavern in King Street, but the rogue had no more manners than to invite me and to let me pay my club. All the afternoon with my Lord, going up and down the town; at seven at night he went home, and there the principal Officers of the Navy, [A list of the Officers of the Admiralty, May 31st, 1660. From a MS. in the Pepysian Library in Pepys's own handwriting. His Royal Highness James, Duke of York, Lord High Admiral. Sir George Carteret, Treasurer. Sir Robert Slingsby, (soon after) Comptroller. Sir William Batten, Surveyor. Samuel Pepys, Esq., Clerk of the Acts. John, Lord Berkeley (of Stratton,)| Sir William Penn, | Commissioners. Peter Pett, Esq.--B,] | among the rest myself was reckoned one. We had order to meet to-morrow, to draw up such an order of the Council as would put us into action before our patents were passed. At which my heart was glad. At night supped with my Lord, he and I together, in the great dining-room alone by ourselves, the first time I ever did it in London. Home to bed, my maid pretty well again. 3d. All the morning the Officers and Commissioners of the Navy, we met at Sir G. Carteret's [Sir George Carteret, born 1599, had originally been bred to the sea service, and became Comptroller of the Navy to Charles I., and Governor of Jersey, where he obtained considerable reputation by his gallant defence of that island against the Parliament forces. At the Restoration he was made Vice-Chamberlain to the King, Treasurer of the Navy, and a Privy Councillor, and in 1661 he was elected M.P. for Portsmouth. In 1666 he exchanged the Treasurership of the Navy with the Earl of Anglesea for the Vice-Treasurership of Ireland. He became a Commissioner of the Admiralty in 1673. He continued in favour with Charles II. till his death, January 14th, 1679, in his eightieth year. He married his cousin Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Philip Carteret, Knight of St. Ouen, and had issue three sons and five daughters.] chamber, and agreed upon orders for the Council to supersede the old ones, and empower us to act. Dined with Mr. Stephens, the Treasurer's man of the Navy, and Mr. Turner, to whom I offered L50 out of my own purse for one year, and the benefit of a Clerk's allowance beside, which he thanked me for; but I find he hath some design yet in his head, which I could not think of. In the afternoon my heart was quite pulled down, by being told that Mr. Barlow was to enquire to-day for Mr. Coventry; but at night I met with my Lord, who told me that I need not fear, for he would get me the place against the world. And when I came to W. Howe, he told me that Dr. Petty had been with my Lord, and did tell him that Barlow was a sickly man, and did not intend to execute the place himself, which put me in great comfort again. Till 2 in the morning writing letters and things for my Lord to send to sea. So home to my wife to bed. 4th. Up very early in the morning and landing my wife at White Friars stairs, I went to the Bridge and so to the Treasurer's of the Navy, with whom I spake about the business of my office, who put me into very good hopes of my business. At his house comes Commissioner Pett, and he and I went to view the houses in Seething Lane, belonging to the Navy, [The Navy Office was erected on the site of Lumley House, formerly belonging to the Fratres Sancta Crucis (or Crutched Friars), and all business connected with naval concerns was transacted there till its removal to Somerset House.--The ground was afterwards occupied by the East India Company's warehouses. The civil business of the Admiralty was removed from Somerset House to Spring Gardens in 1869.] where I find the worst very good, and had great fears in my mind that they will shuffle me out of them, which troubles me. From thence to the Excise Office in Broad Street, where I received L500 for my Lord, by appointment of the Treasurer, and went afterwards down with Mr. Luddyard and drank my morning draft with him and other officers. Thence to Mr. Backewell's, the goldsmith, where I took my Lord's L100 in plate for Mr. Secretary Nicholas, and my own piece of plate, being a state dish and cup in chased work for Mr. Coventry, cost me above L19. Carried these and the money by coach to my Lord's at White Hall, and from thence carried Nicholas's plate to his house and left it there, intending to speak with him anon. So to Westminster Hall, where meeting with M. L'Impertinent and W. Bowyer, I took them to the Sun Tavern, and gave them a lobster and some wine, and sat talking like a fool till 4 o'clock. So to my Lord's, and walking all the afternoon in White Hall Court, in expectation of what shall be done in the Council as to our business. It was strange to see how all the people flocked together bare, to see the King looking out of the Council window. At night my Lord told me how my orders that I drew last night about giving us power to act, are granted by the Council. At which he and I were very glad. Home and to bed, my boy lying in my house this night the first time. 5th. This morning my brother Tom brought me my jackanapes coat with silver buttons. It rained this morning, which makes us fear that the glory of this great day will be lost; the King and Parliament being to be entertained by the City to-day with great pomp. ["July 5th. His Majesty, the two Dukes, the House of Lords, and the House of Commons, and the Privy Council, dined at the Guildhall. Every Hall appeared with their colours and streamers to attend His Majesty; the Masters in gold chains. Twelve pageants in the streets between Temple Bar and Guildhall. Forty brace of bucks were that day spent in the City of London."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] Mr. Hater' was with me to-day, and I agreed with him to be my clerk. [Thomas Hayter. He remained with Pepys for some time; and by his assistance was made Petty Purveyor of Petty Missions. He succeeded Pepys as Clerk of the Acts in 1673, and in 1679 he was Secretary of the Admiralty, and Comptroller of the Navy from 1680 to 1682.] Being at White Hall, I saw the King, the Dukes, and all their attendants go forth in the rain to the City, and it bedraggled many a fine suit of clothes. I was forced to walk all the morning in White Hall, not knowing how to get out because of the rain. Met with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, who took me to dinner among the gentlemen waiters, and after dinner into the wine-cellar. He told me how he had a project for all us Secretaries to join together, and get money by bringing all business into our hands. Thence to the Admiralty, where Mr. Blackburne and I (it beginning to hold up) went and walked an hour or two in the Park, he giving of me light in many things in my way in this office that I go about. And in the evening I got my present of plate carried to Mr. Coventry's. At my Lord's at night comes Dr. Petty to me, to tell me that Barlow had come to town, and other things, which put me into a despair, and I went to bed very sad. 6th. In the morning with my Lord at Whitehall, got the order of the Council for us to act. From thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with the Doctor that shewed us so much kindness at the Hague, and took him to the Sun tavern, and drank with him. So to my Lord's and dined with W. Howe and Sarah, thinking it might be the last time that I might dine with them together. In the afternoon my Lord and I, and Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, went and took possession of the Navy Office, whereby my mind was a little cheered, but my hopes not great. From thence Sir G. Carteret and I to the Treasurer's Office, where he set some things in order. And so home, calling upon Sir Geoffry Palmer, who did give me advice about my patent, which put me to some doubt to know what to do, Barlow being alive. Afterwards called at Mr. Pim's, about getting me a coat of velvet, and he took me to the Half Moon, and the house so full that we staid above half an hour before we could get anything. So to my Lord's, where in the dark W. Howe and I did sing extemporys, and I find by use that we are able to sing a bass and a treble pretty well. So home, and to bed. 7th. To my Lord, one with me to buy a Clerk's place, and I did demand L100. To the Council Chamber, where I took an order for the advance of the salaries of the officers of the Navy, and I find mine to be raised to L350 per annum. Thence to the Change, where I bought two fine prints of Ragotti from Rubens, and afterwards dined with my Uncle and Aunt Wight, where her sister Cox and her husband were. After that to Mr. Rawlinson's with my uncle, and thence to the Navy Office, where I began to take an inventory of the papers, and goods, and books of the office. To my Lord's, late writing letters. So home to bed. 8th (Lord's day). To White Hall chapel, where I got in with ease by going before the Lord Chancellor with Mr. Kipps. Here I heard very good music, the first time that ever I remember to have heard the organs and singing-men in surplices in my life. [During the Commonwealth organs were destroyed all over the country, and the following is the title of the Ordinances under which this destruction took place: "Two Ordinances of the Lords and Commons assembled in Parliament, for the speedy demolishing of all organs, images, and all matters of superstitious monuments in all Cathedrals and Collegiate or Parish Churches and Chapels throughout the Kingdom of England and the dominion of Wales; the better to accomplish the blessed reformation so happily begun, and to remove all offences and things illegal in the worship of God. Dated May 9th, 1644." When at the period of the Restoration music again obtained its proper place in the services of the Church, there was much work for the organ builders. According to Dr. Rimbault ("Hopkins on the Organ," 1855, p. 74), it was more than fifty years after the Restoration when our parish churches began commonly to be supplied with organs. Drake says, in his "Eboracum" (published in 1733), that at that date only one parish church in the city of York possessed an organ. Bernard Schmidt, better known as "Father Smith," came to England from Germany at the time of the Restoration, and he it was who built the organ at the Chapel Royal. He was in high favour with Charles II., who allowed, him apartments in Whitehall Palace.] The Bishop of Chichester preached before the King, and made a great flattering sermon, which I did not like that Clergy should meddle with matters of state. Dined with Mr. Luellin and Salisbury at a cook's shop. Home, and staid all the afternoon with my wife till after sermon. There till Mr. Fairebrother came to call us out to my father's to supper. He told me how he had perfectly procured me to be made Master in Arts by proxy, which did somewhat please me, though I remember my cousin Roger Pepys was the other day persuading me from it. While we were at supper came Win. Howe to supper to us, and after supper went home to bed. 9th. All the morning at Sir G. Palmer's advising about getting my bill drawn. From thence to the Navy office, where in the afternoon we met and sat, and there I begun to sign bills in the Office the first time. From thence Captain Holland and Mr. Browne of Harwich took me to a tavern and did give me a collation. From thence to the Temple to further my bills being done, and so home to my Lord, and thence to bed. 10th. This day I put on first my new silk suit, the first that ever I wore in my life. This morning came Nan Pepys' husband Mr. Hall to see me being lately come to town. I had never seen him before. I took him to the Swan tavern with Mr. Eglin and there drank our morning draft. Home, and called my wife, and took her to Dr. Clodius's to a great wedding of Nan Hartlib to Mynheer Roder, which was kept at Goring House with very great state, cost, and noble company. But, among all the beauties there, my wife was thought the greatest. After dinner I left the company, and carried my wife to Mrs. Turner's. I went to the Attorney-General's, and had my bill which cost me seven pieces. I called my wife, and set her home. And finding my Lord in White Hall garden, I got him to go to the Secretary's, which he did, and desired the dispatch of his and my bills to be signed by the King. His bill is to be Earl of Sandwich, Viscount Hinchingbroke, and Baron of St. Neot's. [The motive for Sir Edward Montagu's so suddenly altering his intended title is not explained; probably, the change was adopted as a compliment to the town of Sandwich, off which the Fleet was lying before it sailed to bring Charles from Scheveling. Montagu had also received marked attentions from Sir John Boys and other principal men at Sandwich; and it may be recollected, as an additional reason, that one or both of the seats for that borough have usually been placed at the disposal of the Admiralty. The title of Portsmouth was given, in 1673, for her life, to the celebrated Louise de Querouaille, and becoming extinct with her, was, in 1743, conferred upon John Wallop, Viscount Lymington, the ancestor of the present Earl of Portsmouth.--B.] Home, with my mind pretty quiet: not returning, as I said I would, to see the bride put to bed. 11th. With Sir W. Pen by water to the Navy office, where we met, and dispatched business. And that being done, we went all to dinner to the Dolphin, upon Major Brown's invitation. After that to the office again, where I was vexed, and so was Commissioner Pett, to see a busy fellow come to look out the best lodgings for my Lord Barkley, and the combining between him and Sir W. Pen; and, indeed, was troubled much at it. Home to White Hall, and took out my bill signed by the King, and carried it to Mr. Watkins of the Privy Seal to be despatched there, and going home to take a cap, I borrowed a pair of sheets of Mr. Howe, and by coach went to the Navy office, and lay (Mr. Hater, my clerk, with me) at Commissioner Willoughby's' house, where I was received by him very civilly and slept well. 12th. Up early and by coach to White Hall with Commissioner Pett, where, after we had talked with my Lord, I went to the Privy Seal and got my bill perfected there, and at the Signet: and then to the House of Lords, and met with Mr. Kipps, who directed me to Mr. Beale to get my patent engrossed; but he not having time to get it done in Chancery-hand, I was forced to run all up and down Chancery-lane, and the Six Clerks' Office [The Six Clerks' Office was in Chancery Lane, near the Holborn end. The business of the office was to enrol commissions, pardons, patents, warrants, &c., that had passed the Great Seal; also other business in Chancery. In the early history of the Court of Chancery, the Six Clerks and their under-clerks appear to have acted as the attorneys of the suitors. As business increased, these under-clerks became a distinct body, and were recognized by the court under the denomination of 'sworn clerks,' or 'clerks in court.' The advance of commerce, with its consequent accession of wealth, so multiplied the subjects requiring the judgment of a Court of Equity, that the limits of a public office were found wholly inadequate to supply a sufficient number of officers to conduct the business of the suitors. Hence originated the 'Solicitors' of the "Court of Chancery." See Smith's "Chancery Practice," p. 62, 3rd edit. The "Six Clerks" were abolished by act of Parliament, 5 Vict. c. 5.] but could find none that could write the hand, that were at leisure. And so in a despair went to the Admiralty, where we met the first time there, my Lord Montagu, my Lord Barkley, Mr. Coventry, and all the rest of the principal Officers and Commissioners, [except] only the Controller, who is not yet chosen. At night to Mr. Kipps's lodgings, but not finding him, I went to Mr. Spong's and there I found him and got him to come to me to my Lord's lodgings at 11 o'clock of night, when I got him to take my bill to write it himself (which was a great providence that he could do it) against to-morrow morning. I late writing letters to sea by the post, and so home to bed. In great trouble because I heard at Mr. Beale's to-day that Barlow had been there and said that he would make a stop in the business. 13th. Up early, the first day that I put on my black camlett coat with silver buttons. To Mr. Spong, whom I found in his night-down writing of my patent, and he had done as far as he could "for that &c." by 8 o'clock. It being done, we carried it to Worcester House to the Chancellor, where Mr. Kipps (a strange providence that he should now be in a condition to do me a kindness, which I never thought him capable of doing for me), got me the Chancellor's recepi to my bill; and so carried it to Mr. Beale for a dockett; but he was very angry, and unwilling to do it, because he said it was ill writ (because I had got it writ by another hand, and not by him); but by much importunity I got Mr. Spong to go to his office and make an end of my patent; and in the mean time Mr. Beale to be preparing my dockett, which being done, I did give him two pieces, after which it was strange how civil and tractable he was to me. From thence I went to the Navy office, where we despatched much business, and resolved of the houses for the Officers and Commissioners, which I was glad of, and I got leave to have a door made me into the leads. From thence, much troubled in mind about my patent, I went to Mr. Beale again, who had now finished my patent and made it ready for the Seal, about an hour after I went to meet him at the Chancellor's. So I went away towards Westminster, and in my way met with Mr. Spong, and went with him to Mr. Lilly and ate some bread and cheese, and drank with him, who still would be giving me council of getting my patent out, for fear of another change, and my Lord Montagu's fall. After that to Worcester House, where by Mr. Kipps's means, and my pressing in General Montagu's name to the Chancellor, I did, beyond all expectation, get my seal passed; and while it was doing in one room, I was forced to keep Sir G. Carteret (who by chance met me there, ignorant of my business) in talk, while it was a doing. Went home and brought my wife with me into London, and some money, with which I paid Mr. Beale L9 in all, and took my patent of him and went to my wife again, whom I had left in a coach at the door of Hinde Court, and presented her with my patent at which she was overjoyed; so to the Navy office, and showed her my house, and were both mightily pleased at all things there, and so to my business. So home with her, leaving her at her mother's door. I to my Lord's, where I dispatched an order for a ship to fetch Sir R. Honywood home, for which I got two pieces of my Lady Honywood by young Mr. Powell. Late writing letters; and great doings of music at the next house, which was Whally's; the King and Dukes there with Madame Palmer, [Barbara Villiers, only child of William, second Viscount Grandison, born November, 1640, married April 14th, 1659, to Roger Palmer, created Earl of Castlemaine, 1661. She became the King's mistress soon after the Restoration, and was in 1670 made Baroness Nonsuch, Countess of Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland. She had six children by the King, one of them being created Duke of Grafton, and the eldest son succeeding her as Duke of Cleveland. She subsequently married Beau Fielding, whom she prosecuted for bigamy. She died October 9th, 1709, aged sixty-nine. Her life was written by G. Steinman Steinman, and privately printed 1871, with addenda 1874, and second addenda 1878.] a pretty woman that they have a fancy to, to make her husband a cuckold. Here at the old door that did go into his lodgings, my Lord, I, and W. Howe, did stand listening a great while to the music. After that home to bed. This day I should have been at Guildhall to have borne witness for my brother Hawly against Black Collar, but I could not, at which I was troubled. To bed with the greatest quiet of mind that I have had a great while, having ate nothing but a bit of bread and cheese at Lilly's to-day, and a bit of bread and butter after I was a-bed. 14th. Up early and advised with my wife for the putting of all our things in a readiness to be sent to our new house. To my Lord's, where he was in bed very late. So with Major Tollhurst and others to Harper's, and I sent for my barrel of pickled oysters and there ate them; while we were doing so, comes in Mr. Pagan Fisher; the poet, and promises me what he had long ago done, a book in praise of the King of France, with my armes, and a dedication to me very handsome. After him comes Mr. Sheply come from sea yesterday, whom I was glad to see that he may ease me of the trouble of my Lord's business. So to my Lord's, where I staid doing his business and taking his commands. After that to Westminster Hall, where I paid all my debts in order to my going away from hence. Here I met with Mr. Eglin, who would needs take me to the Leg in King Street and gave me a dish of meat to dinner; and so I sent for Mons. L'Impertinent, where we sat long and were merry. After that parted, and I took Mr. Butler [Mons. L'Impertinent] with me into London by coach and shewed him my house at the Navy Office, and did give order for the laying in coals. So into Fenchurch Street, and did give him a glass of wine at Rawlinson's, and was trimmed in the street. So to my Lord's late writing letters, and so home, where I found my wife had packed up all her goods in the house fit for a removal. So to bed. 15th. Lay long in bed to recover my rest. Going forth met with Mr. Sheply, and went and drank my morning draft with him at Wilkinson's, and my brother Spicer.--[Jack Spicer, brother clerk of the Privy Seal.]--After that to Westminster Abbey, and in Henry the Seventh's Chappell heard part of a sermon, the first that ever I heard there. To my Lord's and dined all alone at the table with him. After dinner he and I alone fell to discourse, and I find him plainly to be a sceptic in all things of religion, and to make no great matter of anything therein, but to be a perfect Stoic. In the afternoon to Henry the Seventh's Chappell, where I heard service and a sermon there, and after that meeting W. Bowyer there, he and I to the Park, and walked a good while till night. So to Harper's and drank together, and Captain Stokes came to us and so I fell into discourse of buying paper at the first hand in my office, and the Captain promised me to buy it for me in France. After that to my Lord's lodgings, where I wrote some business and so home. My wife at home all the day, she having no clothes out, all being packed up yesterday. For this month I have wholly neglected anything of news, and so have beyond belief been ignorant how things go, but now by my patent my mind is in some quiet, which God keep. I was not at my father's to-day, I being afraid to go for fear he should still solicit me to speak to my Lord for a place in the Wardrobe, which I dare not do, because of my own business yet. My wife and I mightily pleased with our new house that we hope to have. My patent has cost me a great deal of money, about L40, which is the only thing at present which do trouble me much. In the afternoon to Henry the Seventh's chapel, where I heard a sermon and spent (God forgive me) most of my time in looking upon Mrs. Butler. After that with W. Bowyer to walk in the Park. Afterwards to my Lord's lodgings, and so home to bed, having not been at my father's to-day. 16th, This morning it proved very rainy weather so that I could not remove my goods to my house. I to my office and did business there, and so home, it being then sunrise, but by the time that I got to my house it began to rain again, so that I could not carry my goods by cart as I would have done. After that to my Lord's and so home and to bed. 17th. This morning (as indeed all the mornings nowadays) much business at my Lord's. There came to my house before I went out Mr. Barlow, an old consumptive man, and fair conditioned, with whom I did discourse a great while, and after much talk I did grant him what he asked, viz., L50 per annum, if my salary be not increased, and (100 per annum, in case it be to L350), at which he was very well pleased to be paid as I received my money and not otherwise. Going to my Lord's I found my Lord had got a great cold and kept his bed, and so I brought him to my Lord's bedside, and he and I did agree together to this purpose what I should allow him. That done and the day proving fair I went home and got all my goods packed up and sent away, and my wife and I and Mrs. Hunt went by coach, overtaking the carts a-drinking in the Strand. Being come to my house and set in the goods, and at night sent my wife and Mrs. Hunt to buy something for supper; they bought a Quarter of Lamb, and so we ate it, but it was not half roasted. Will, Mr. Blackburne's nephew, is so obedient, that I am greatly glad of him. At night he and I and Mrs. Hunt home by water to Westminster. I to my Lord, and after having done some business with him in his chamber in the Nursery, which has been now his chamber since he came from sea, I went on foot with a linkboy to my home, where I found my wife in bed and Jane washing the house, and Will the boy sleeping, and a great deal of sport I had before I could wake him. I to bed the first night that I ever lay here with my wife. 18th. This morning the carpenter made an end of my door out of my chamber upon the leads. This morning we met at the office: I dined at my house in Seething Lane, and after that, going about 4 o'clock to Westminster, I met with Mr. Carter and Mr. Cooke coming to see me in a coach, and so I returned home. I did also meet with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, with a porter with him, with a barrel of Lemons, which my man Burr sends me from sea. I took all these people home to my house and did give them some drink, and after them comes Mr. Sheply, and after a little stay we all went by water to Westminster as far as the New Exchange. Thence to my Lord about business, and being in talk in comes one with half a buck from Hinchinbroke, and it smelling a little strong my Lord did give it me (though it was as good as any could be). I did carry it to my mother, where I had not been a great while, and indeed had no great mind to go, because my father did lay upon me continually to do him a kindness at the Wardrobe, which I could not do because of my own business being so fresh with my Lord. But my father was not at home, and so I did leave the venison with her to dispose of as she pleased. After that home, where W. Hewer now was, and did lie this night with us, the first night. My mind very quiet, only a little trouble I have for the great debts which I have still upon me to the Secretary, Mr. Kipps, and Mr. Spong for my patent. 19th. I did lie late a-bed. I and my wife by water, landed her at Whitefriars with her boy with an iron of our new range which is already broke and my wife will have changed, and many other things she has to buy with the help of my father to-day. I to my Lord and found him in bed. This day I received my commission to swear people the oath of allegiance and supremacy delivered me by my Lord. After talk with my Lord I went to Westminster Hall, where I took Mr. Michell and his wife, and Mrs. Murford we sent for afterwards, to the Dog Tavern, where I did give them a dish of anchovies and olives and paid for all, and did talk of our old discourse when we did use to talk of the King, in the time of the Rump, privately; after that to the Admiralty Office, in White Hall, where I staid and writ my last observations for these four days last past. Great talk of the difference between the Episcopal and Presbyterian Clergy, but I believe it will come to nothing. So home and to bed. 20th. We sat at the office this morning, Sir W. Batten and Mr. Pett being upon a survey to Chatham. This morning I sent my wife to my father's and he is to give me L5 worth of pewter. After we rose at the office, I went to my father's, where my Uncle Fenner and all his crew and Captain Holland and his wife and my wife were at dinner at a venison pasty of the venison that I did give my mother the other day. I did this time show so much coldness to W. Joyce that I believe all the table took notice of it. After that to Westminster about my Lord's business and so home, my Lord having not been well these two or three days, and I hear that Mr. Barnwell at Hinchinbroke is fallen sick again. Home and to bed. 21st. This morning Mr. Barlow had appointed for me to bring him what form I would have the agreement between him and me to pass, which I did to his lodgings at the Golden Eagle in the new street--[Still retains the name New Street.]--between Fetter Lane and Shoe Lane, where he liked it very well, and I from him went to get Mr. Spong to engross it in duplicates. To my Lord and spoke to him about the business of the Privy Seal for me to be sworn, though I got nothing by it, but to do Mr. Moore a kindness, which he did give me a good answer to. Went to the Six Clerks' office to Mr. Spong for the writings, and dined with him at a club at the next door, where we had three voices to sing catches. So to my house to write letters and so to Whitehall about business of my Lord's concerning his creation,--[As Earl of Sandwich.]--and so home and to bed. 22nd. Lord's day. All this last night it had rained hard. My brother Tom came this morning the first time to see me, and I paid him all that I owe my father to this day. Afterwards I went out and looked into several churches, and so to my uncle Fenner's, whither my wife was got before me, and we, my father and mother, and all the Joyces, and my aunt Bell, whom I had not seen many a year before. After dinner to White Hall (my wife to church with K. Joyce), where I find my Lord at home, and walked in the garden with him, he showing me all the respect that can be. I left him and went to walk in the Park, where great endeavouring to get into the inward Park,--[This is still railed off from St. James's Park, and called the Enclosure.]--but could not get in; one man was basted by the keeper, for carrying some people over on his back through the water. Afterwards to my Lord's, where I staid and drank with Mr. Sheply, having first sent to get a pair of oars. It was the first time that ever I went by water on the Lord's day. Home, and at night had a chapter read; and I read prayers out of the Common Prayer Book, the first time that ever I read prayers in this house. So to bed. 23rd. This morning Mr. Barlow comes to me, and he and I went forth to a scrivener in Fenchurch Street, whom we found sick of the gout in bed, and signed and sealed our agreement before him. He urged to have these words (in consideration whereof) to be interlined, which I granted, though against my will. Met this morning at the office, and afterwards Mr. Barlow by appointment came and dined with me, and both of us very pleasant and pleased. After dinner to my Lord, who took me to Secretary Nicholas, and there before him and Secretary Morris, my Lord and I upon our knees together took our oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy; and the Oath of the Privy Seal, of which I was much glad, though I am not likely to get anything by it at present; but I do desire it, for fear of a turn-out of our office. That done and my Lord gone from me, I went with Mr. Cooling and his brother, and Sam Hartlibb, little Jennings and some others to the King's Head Tavern at Charing Cross, where after drinking I took boat and so home, where we supped merrily among ourselves (our little boy proving a droll) and so after prayers to bed. This day my Lord had heard that Mr. Barnwell was dead, but it is not so yet, though he be very ill. I was troubled all this day with Mr. Cooke, being willing to do him good, but my mind is so taken up with my own business that I cannot. 24th. To White Hall, where I did acquaint Mr. Watkins with my being sworn into the Privy Seal, at which he was much troubled, but put it up and did offer me a kinsman of his to be my clerk, which I did give him some hope of, though I never intend it. In the afternoon I spent much time in walking in White Hall Court with Mr. Bickerstaffe, who was very glad of my Lord's being sworn, because of his business with his brother Baron, which is referred to my Lord Chancellor, and to be ended to-morrow. Baron had got a grant beyond sea, to come in before the reversionary of the Privy Seal. This afternoon Mr. Mathews came to me, to get a certificate of my Lord's and my being sworn, which I put in some forwardness, and so home and to bed. 25th. In the morning at the office, and after that down to Whitehall, where I met with Mr. Creed, and with him and a Welsh schoolmaster, a good scholar but a very pedagogue, to the ordinary at the Leg in King Street.' I got my certificate of my Lord's and my being sworn. This morning my Lord took leave of the House of Commons, and had the thanks of the House for his great services to his country. In the afternoon (but this is a mistake, for it was yesterday in the afternoon) Monsieur L'Impertinent and I met and I took him to the Sun and drank with him, and in the evening going away we met his mother and sisters and father coming from the Gatehouse; where they lodge, where I did the first time salute them all, and very pretty Madame Frances--[Frances Butler, the beauty.]--is indeed. After that very late home and called in Tower Street, and there at a barber's was trimmed the first time. Home and to bed. 26th. Early to White Hall, thinking to have a meeting of my Lord and the principal officers, but my Lord could not, it being the day that he was to go and be admitted in the House of Lords, his patent being done, which he presented upon his knees to the Speaker; and so it was read in the House, and he took his place. I at the Privy Seal Office with Mr. Hooker, who brought me acquainted with Mr. Crofts of the Signet, and I invited them to a dish of meat at the Leg in King Street, and so we dined there and I paid for all and had very good light given me as to my employment there. Afterwards to Mr. Pierces, where I should have dined but I could not, but found Mr. Sheply and W. Howe there. After we had drunk hard we parted, and I went away and met Dr. Castle, who is one of the Clerks of the Privy Seal, and told him how things were with my Lord and me, which he received very gladly. I was this day told how Baron against all expectation and law has got the place of Bickerstaffe, and so I question whether he will not lay claim to wait the next month, but my Lord tells me that he will stand for it. In the evening I met with T. Doling, who carried me to St. James's Fair, [August, 1661: "This year the Fair, called St. James's Fair, was kept the full appointed time, being a fortnight; but during that time many lewd and infamous persons were by his Majesty's express command to the Lord Chamberlain, and his Lordship's direction to Robert Nelson, Esq., committed to the House of Correction."--Rugge's Diurnal. St; James's fair was held first in the open space near St. James's Palace, and afterwards in St. James's Market. It was prohibited by the Parliament in 1651, but revived at the Restoration. It was, however, finally suppressed before the close of the reign of Charles II.] and there meeting with W. Symons and his wife, and Luellin, and D. Scobell's wife and cousin, we went to Wood's at the Pell Mell [This is one of the earliest references to Pall Mall as an inhabited street, and also one of the earliest uses of the word clubbing.] (our old house for clubbing), and there we spent till 10 at night, at which time I sent to my Lord's for my clerk Will to come to me, and so by link home to bed. Where I found Commissioner Willoughby had sent for all his things away out of my bedchamber, which is a little disappointment, but it is better than pay too dear for them. 27th: The last night Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen came to their houses at the office. Met this morning and did business till noon. Dined at home and from thence to my Lord's where Will, my clerk, and I were all the afternoon making up my accounts, which we had done by night, and I find myself worth about L100 after all my expenses. At night I sent to W. Bowyer to bring me L100, being that he had in his hands of my Lord's. in keeping, out of which I paid Mr. Sheply all that remained due to my Lord upon my balance, and took the rest home with me late at night. We got a coach, but the horses were tired and could not carry us farther than St. Dunstan's. So we 'light and took a link and so home weary to bed. 28th. Early in the morning rose, and a boy brought me a letter from Poet Fisher, who tells me that he is upon a panegyrique of the King, and desired to borrow a piece of me; and I sent him half a piece. To Westminster, and there dined with Mr. Sheply and W. Howe, afterwards meeting with Mr. Henson, who had formerly had the brave clock that went with bullets (which is now taken away from him by the King, it being his goods). [Some clocks are still made with a small ball, or bullet, on an inclined plane, which turns every minute. The King's clocks probably dropped bullets. Gainsborough the painter had a brother who was a dissenting minister at Henley-on-Thames, and possessed a strong genius for mechanics. He invented a clock of a very peculiar construction, which, after his death, was deposited in the British Museum. It told the hour by a little bell, and was kept in motion by a leaden bullet, which dropped from a spiral reservoir at the top of the clock, into a little ivory bucket. This was so contrived as to discharge it at the bottom, and by means of a counter-weight was carried up to the top of the clock, where it received another bullet, which was discharged as the former. This seems to have been an attempt at the perpetual motion.--Gentleman's Magazine, 1785, p. 931.--B.] I went with him to the Swan Tavern and sent for Mr. Butler, who was now all full of his high discourse in praise of Ireland, whither he and his whole family are going by Coll. Dillon's persuasion, but so many lies I never heard in praise of anything as he told of Ireland. So home late at night and to bed. 29th. Lord's day. I and my boy Will to Whitehall, and I with my Lord to White Hall Chappell, where I heard a cold sermon of the Bishop of Salisbury's, and the ceremonies did not please me, they do so overdo them. My Lord went to dinner at Kensington with my Lord Camden. So I dined and took Mr. Birfett, my Lord's chaplain, and his friend along with me, with Mr. Sheply at my Lord's. In the afternoon with Dick Vines and his brother Payton, we walked to Lisson Green and Marybone and back again, and finding my Lord at home I got him to look over my accounts, which he did approve of and signed them, and so we are even to this day. Of this I was glad, and do think myself worth clear money about L120. Home late, calling in at my father's without stay. To bed. 30th. Sat at our office to-day, and my father came this day the first time to see us at my new office. And Mrs. Crisp by chance came in and sat with us, looked over our house and advised about the furnishing of it. This afternoon I got my L50, due to me for my first quarter's salary as Secretary to my Lord, paid to Tho. Hater for me, which he received and brought home to me, of which I am full glad. To Westminster and among other things met with Mr. Moore, and took him and his friend, a bookseller of Paul's Churchyard, to the Rhenish Winehouse, and drinking there the sword-bearer of London (Mr. Man) came to ask for us, with whom we sat late, discoursing about the worth of my office of Clerk of the Acts, which he hath a mind to buy, and I asked four years' purchase. We are to speak more of it to-morrow. Home on foot, and seeing him at home at Butler's merry, he lent me a torch, which Will carried, and so home. 31st. To White Hall, where my Lord and the principal officers met, and had a great discourse about raising of money for the Navy, which is in very sad condition, and money must be raised for it. Mr. Blackburne, Dr. Clerke, and I to the Quaker's and dined there. I back to the Admiralty, and there was doing things in order to the calculating of the debts of the Navy and other business, all the afternoon. At night I went to the Privy Seal, where I found Mr. Crofts and Mathews making up all their things to leave the office tomorrow, to those that come to wait the next month. I took them to the Sun Tavern and there made them drink, and discoursed concerning the office, and what I was to expect tomorrow about Baron, who pretends to the next month. Late home by coach so far as Ludgate with Mr. Mathews, and thence home on foot with W. Hewer with me, and so to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen Among all the beauties there, my wife was thought the greatest An offer of L500 for a Baronet's dignity Court attendance infinite tedious Did not like that Clergy should meddle with matters of state Dined upon six of my pigeons, which my wife has resolved to kill Five pieces of gold for to do him a small piece of service God help him, he wants bread. Had no more manners than to invite me and to let me pay How the Presbyterians would be angry if they durst I pray God to make me able to pay for it. I went to the cook's and got a good joint of meat King's Proclamation against drinking, swearing, and debauchery L100 worth of plate for my Lord to give Secretary Nicholas Most of my time in looking upon Mrs. Butler My new silk suit, the first that ever I wore in my life Offer me L500 if I would desist from the Clerk of the Acts place Sceptic in all things of religion She had six children by the King Strange how civil and tractable he was to me The ceremonies did not please me, they do so overdo them This afternoon I showed my Lord my accounts, which he passed To see the bride put to bed We cannot tell what to do for want of her (the maid) Where I find the worst very good Which I did give him some hope of, though I never intend it Woman that they have a fancy to, to make her husband a cuckold 
4123	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST & SEPTEMBER 1660 August 1st. Up very early, and by water to Whitehall to my Lord's, and there up to my Lord's lodging (Win. Howe being now ill of the gout at Mr. Pierce's), and there talked with him about the affairs of the Navy, and how I was now to wait today at the Privy Seal. Commissioner Pett went with me, whom I desired to make my excuse at the office for my absence this day. Hence to the Privy Seal Office, where I got (by Mr. Mathews' means) possession of the books and table, but with some expectation of Baron's bringing of a warrant from the King to have this month. Nothing done this morning, Baron having spoke to Mr. Woodson and Groome (clerks to Mr. Trumbull of the Signet) to keep all work in their hands till the afternoon, at which time he expected to have his warrant from the King for this month.--[The clerks of the Privy Seal took the duty of attendance for a month by turns.]--I took at noon Mr. Harper to the Leg in King Street, and did give him his dinner, who did still advise me much to act wholly myself at the Privy Seal, but I told him that I could not, because I had other business to take up my time. In the afternoon at, the office again, where we had many things to sign; and I went to the Council Chamber, and there got my Lord to sign the first bill, and the rest all myself; but received no money today. After I had signed all, I went with Dick Scobell and Luellin to drink at a bottle beer house in the Strand, and after staying there a while (had sent W. Hewer home before), I took boat and homewards went, and in Fish Street bought a Lobster, and as I had bought it I met with Winter and Mr. Delabarr, and there with a piece of sturgeon of theirs we went to the Sun Tavern in the street and ate them. Late home and to bed. 2d. To Westminster by water with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen (our servants in another boat) to the Admiralty; and from thence I went to my Lord's to fetch him thither, where we stayed in the morning about ordering of money for the victuailers, and advising how to get a sum of money to carry on the business of the Navy. From thence dined with Mr. Blackburne at his house with his friends (his wife being in the country and just upon her return to London), where we were very well treated and merry. From thence W. Hewer and I to the office of Privy Seal, where I stayed all the afternoon, and received about L40 for yesterday and to-day, at which my heart rejoiced for God's blessing to me, to give me this advantage by chance, there being of this L40 about L10 due to me for this day's work. So great is the present profit of this office, above what it was in the King's time; there being the last month about 300 bills; whereas in the late King's time it was much to have 40. With my money home by coach, it, being the first time that I could get home before our gates were shut since I came to the Navy office. When I came home I found my wife not very well of her old pain . . . . which she had when we were married first. I went and cast up the expense that I laid out upon my former house (because there are so many that are desirous of it, and I am, in my mind, loth to let it go out of my hands, for fear of a turn). I find my layings-out to come to about L20, which with my fine will come to about L22 to him that shall hire my house of me.--[Pepys wished to let his house in Axe Yard now that he had apartments at the Navy Office.]--To bed. 3rd. Up betimes this morning, and after the barber had done with me, then to the office, where I and Sir William Pen only did meet and despatch business. At noon my wife and I by coach to Dr. Clerke's to dinner: I was very much taken with his lady, a comely, proper woman, though not handsome; but a woman of the best language I ever heard. Here dined Mrs. Pierce and her husband. After dinner I took leave to go to Westminster, where I was at the Privy Seal Office all day, signing things and taking money, so that I could not do as I had intended, that is to return to them and go to the Red Bull Playhouse, [This well-known theatre was situated in St. John's Street on the site of Red Bull Yard. Pepys went there on March 23rd, 1661, when he expressed a very poor opinion of the place. T. Carew, in some commendatory lines on Sir William. Davenant's play, "The just Italian," 1630, abuses both audiences and actors:-- "There are the men in crowded heaps that throng To that adulterate stage, where not a tongue Of th' untun'd kennel can a line repeat Of serious sense." There is a token of this house (see "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 725).] but I took coach and went to see whether it was done so or no, and I found it done. So I returned to Dr. Clerke's, where I found them and my wife, and by and by took leave and went away home. 4th. To White Hall, where I found my Lord gone with the King by water to dine at the Tower with Sir J. Robinson,' Lieutenant. I found my Lady Jemimah--[Lady Jemima Montage, daughter of Lord Sandwich, previously described as Mrs. Jem.]--at my Lord's, with whom I staid and dined, all alone; after dinner to the Privy Seal Office, where I did business. So to a Committee of Parliament (Sir Hen[eage] Finch, Chairman), to give them an answer to an order of theirs, "that we could not give them any account of the Accounts of the Navy in the years 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, as they desire." After that I went and bespoke some linen of Betty Lane in the Hall, and after that to the Trumpet, where I sat and talked with her, &c. At night, it being very rainy, and it thundering and lightning exceedingly, I took coach at the Trumpet door, taking Monsieur L'Impertinent along with me as far as the Savoy, where he said he went to lie with Cary Dillon, [Colonel Cary Dillon, a friend of the Butlers, who courted the fair Frances; but the engagement was subsequently broken off, see December 31 st, 1661.] and is still upon the mind of going (he and his whole family) to Ireland. Having set him down I made haste home, and in the courtyard, it being very dark, I heard a man inquire for my house, and having asked his business, he told me that my man William (who went this morning--out of town to meet his aunt Blackburne) was come home not very well to his mother, and so could not come home to-night. At which I was very sorry. I found my wife still in pain. To bed, having not time to write letters, and indeed having so many to write to all places that I have no heart to go about them. Mrs. Shaw did die yesterday and her husband so sick that he is not like to live. 5th. Lord's day. My wife being much in pain, I went this morning to Dr. Williams (who had cured her once before of this business), in Holborn, and he did give me an ointment which I sent home by my boy, and a plaister which I took with me to Westminster (having called and seen my mother in the morning as I went to the doctor), where I dined with Mr. Sheply (my Lord dining at Kensington). After dinner to St. Margaret's, where the first time I ever heard Common Prayer in that Church. I sat with Mr. Hill in his pew; Mr. Hill that married in Axe Yard and that was aboard us in the Hope. Church done I went and Mr. Sheply to see W. Howe at Mr. Pierces, where I staid singing of songs and psalms an hour or two, and were very pleasant with Mrs. Pierce and him. Thence to my Lord's, where I staid and talked and drank with Mr. Sheply. After that to Westminster stairs, where I saw a fray between Mynheer Clinke, a Dutchman, that was at Hartlibb's wedding, and a waterman, which made good sport. After that I got a Gravesend boat, that was come up to fetch some bread on this side the bridge, and got them to carry me to the bridge, and so home, where I found my wife. After prayers I to bed to her, she having had a very bad night of it. This morning before I was up Will came home pretty well again, he having been only weary with riding, which he is not used to. 6th. This morning at the office, and, that being done, home to dinner all alone, my wife being ill in pain a-bed, which I was troubled at, and not a little impatient. After dinner to Whitehall at the Privy Seal all the afternoon, and at night with Mr. Man to Mr. Rawlinson's in Fenchurch Street, where we staid till eleven o'clock at night. So home and to bed, my wife being all this day in great pain. This night Mr. Man offered me L1000 for my office of Clerk of the Acts, which made my mouth water; but yet I dare not take it till I speak with my Lord to have his consent. 7th. This morning to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and took Mr. Moore and myself and dined at my Lord's with Mr. Sheply. While I was at dinner in come Sam. Hartlibb and his brother-in-law, now knighted by the King, to request my promise of a ship for them to Holland, which I had promised to get for them. After dinner to the Privy Seal all the afternoon. At night, meeting Sam. Hartlibb, he took me by coach to Kensington, to my Lord of Holland's; I staid in the coach while he went in about his business. He staying long I left the coach and walked back again before on foot (a very pleasant walk) to Kensington, where I drank and staid very long waiting for him. At last he came, and after drinking at the inn we went towards Westminster. Here I endeavoured to have looked out Jane that formerly lived at Dr. Williams' at Cambridge, whom I had long thought to live at present here, but I found myself in an error, meeting one in the place where I expected to have found her, but she proved not she though very like her. We went to the Bullhead, where he and I sat and drank till 11 at night, and so home on foot. Found my wife pretty well again, and so to bed. 8th. We met at the office, and after that to dinner at home, and from thence with my wife by water to Catan Sterpin, with whom and her mistress Pye we sat discoursing of Kate's marriage to Mons. Petit, her mistress and I giving the best advice we could for her to suspend her marriage till Mons. Petit had got some place that may be able to maintain her, and not for him to live upon the portion that she shall bring him. From thence to Mr. Butler's to see his daughters, the first time that ever we made a visit to them. We found them very pretty, and Coll. Dillon there, a very merry and witty companion, but methinks they live in a gaudy but very poor condition. From thence, my wife and I intending to see Mrs. Blackburne, who had been a day or two again to see my wife, but my wife was not in condition to be seen, but she not being at home my wife went to her mother's and I to the Privy Seal. At night from the Privy Seal, Mr. Woodson and Mr. Jennings and I to the Sun Tavern till it was late, and from thence to my Lord's, where my wife was come from Mrs. Blackburne's to me, and after I had done some business with my Lord, she and I went to Mrs. Hunt's, who would needs have us to lie at her house to-night, she being with my wife so late at my Lord's with us, and would not let us go home to-night. We lay there all night very pleasantly and at ease . . . 9th. Left my wife at Mrs. Hunt's and I to my Lord's, and from thence with judge Advocate Fowler, Mr. Creed, and Mr. Sheply to the Rhenish Wine-house, and Captain Hayward of the Plymouth, who is now ordered to carry my Lord Winchelsea, Embassador to Constantinople. We were very merry, and judge Advocate did give Captain Hayward his Oath of Allegiance and Supremacy. Thence to my office of Privy Seal, and, having signed some things there, with Mr. Moore and Dean Fuller to the Leg in King Street, and, sending for my wife, we dined there very merry, and after dinner, parted. After dinner with my wife to Mrs. Blackburne to visit her. She being within I left my wife there, and I to the Privy Seal, where I despatch some business, and from thence to Mrs. Blackburne again, who did treat my wife and me with a great deal of civility, and did give us a fine collation of collar of beef, &c. Thence I, having my head full of drink from having drunk so much Rhenish wine in the morning, and more in the afternoon at Mrs. Blackburne's, came home and so to bed, not well, and very ill all night. 10th. I had a great deal of pain all night, and a great loosing upon me so that I could not sleep. In the morning I rose with much pain and to the office. I went and dined at home, and after dinner with great pain in my back I went by water to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and that done with Mr. Moore and Creed to Hide Park by coach, and saw a fine foot-race three times round the Park between an Irishman and Crow, that was once my Lord Claypoole's footman. (By the way I cannot forget that my Lord Claypoole did the other day make enquiry of Mrs. Hunt, concerning my House in Axe-yard, and did set her on work to get it of me for him, which methinks is a very great change.) Crow beat the other by above two miles. Returned from Hide Park, I went to my Lord's, and took Will (who waited for me there) by coach and went home, taking my lute home with me. It had been all this while since I came from sea at my Lord's for him to play on. To bed in some pain still. For this month or two it is not imaginable how busy my head has been, so that I have neglected to write letters to my uncle Robert in answer to many of his, and to other friends, nor indeed have I done anything as to my own family, and especially this month my waiting at the Privy Seal makes me much more unable to think of anything, because of my constant attendance there after I have done at the Navy Office. But blessed be God for my good chance of the Privy Seal, where I get every day I believe about L3. This place I got by chance, and my Lord did give it me by chance, neither he nor I thinking it to be of the worth that he and I find it to be. Never since I was a man in the world was I ever so great a stranger to public affairs as now I am, having not read a new book or anything like it, or enquiring after any news, or what the Parliament do, or in any wise how things go. Many people look after my house in Axe-yard to hire it, so that I am troubled with them, and I have a mind to get the money to buy goods for my house at the Navy Office, and yet I am loth to put it off because that Mr. Man bids me L1000 for my office, which is so great a sum that I am loth to settle myself at my new house, lest I should take Mr. Man's offer in case I found my Lord willing to it. 11th. I rose to-day without any pain, which makes me think that my pain yesterday was nothing but from my drinking too much the day before. To my Lord this morning, who did give me order to get some things ready against the afternoon for the Admiralty where he would meet. To the Privy Seal, and from thence going to my own house in Axeyard, I went in to Mrs. Crisp's, where I met with Mr. Hartlibb; for whom I wrote a letter for my Lord to sign for a ship for his brother and sister, who went away hence this day to Gravesend, and from thence to Holland. I found by discourse with Mrs. Crisp that he is very jealous of her, for that she is yet very kind to her old servant Meade. Hence to my Lord's to dinner with Mr. Sheply, so to the Privy Seal; and at night home, and then sent for the barber, and was trimmed in the kitchen, the first time that ever I was so. I was vexed this night that W. Hewer was out of doors till ten at night but was pretty well satisfied again when my wife told me that he wept because I was angry, though indeed he did give me a good reason for his being out; but I thought it a good occasion to let him know that I do expect his being at home. So to bed. 12th. Lord's day. To my Lord, and with him to White Hall Chappell, where Mr. Calamy preached, and made a good sermon upon these words "To whom much is given, of him much is required." He was very officious with his three reverences to the King, as others do. After sermon a brave anthem of Captain Cooke's, [Henry Cooke, chorister of the Chapel Royal, adhered to the royal cause at the breaking out of the Civil Wars, and for his bravery obtained a captain's commission. At the Restoration he received the appointment of Master of the Children of the Chapel Royal; he was an excellent musician, and three of his pupils turned out very distinguished musicians, viz, Pelham Humphrey, John Blow, and Michael Wise. He was one of the original performers in the "Siege, of Rhodes." He died July 13th, 1672,: and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. In another place, Pepys says, "a vain coxcomb he is, though he sings so well."] which he himself sung, and the King was well pleased with it. My Lord dined at my Lord Chamberlain's, and I at his house with Mr. Sheply. After dinner I did give Mr. Donne; who is going to sea, the key of my cabin and direction for the putting up of my things. After, that I went to walk, and meeting Mrs. Lane of Westminster Hall, I took her to my Lord's, and did give her a bottle of wine in the garden, where Mr. Fairbrother, of Cambridge, did come and found us, and drank with us. After that I took her to my house, where I was exceeding free in dallying with her, and she not unfree to take it. At night home and called at my father's, where I found Mr. Fairbrother, but I did not stay but went homewards and called in at Mr. Rawlinson's, whither my uncle Wight was coming and did come, but was exceeding angry (he being a little fuddled, and I think it was that I should see him in that case) as I never saw him in my life, which I was somewhat troubled at. Home and to bed. 13th. A sitting day at our office. After dinner to Whitehall; to the Privy Seal, whither my father came to me, and staid talking with me a great while, telling me that he had propounded Mr. John Pickering for Sir Thomas Honywood's daughter, which I think he do not deserve for his own merit: I know not what he may do for his estate. My father and Creed and I to the old Rhenish Winehouse, and talked and drank till night. Then my father home, and I to my Lord's; where he told me that he would suddenly go into the country, and so did commend the business of his sea commission to me in his absence. After that home by coach, and took my L100 that I had formerly left at Mr. Rawlinson's, home with me, which is the first that ever I was master of at once. To prayers, and to bed. 14th. To the Privy Seal, and thence to my Lord's, where Mr. Pim, the tailor, and I agreed upon making me a velvet coat. From thence to the Privy Seal again, where Sir Samuel Morland came in with a Baronet's grant to pass, which the King had given him to make money of. Here he staid with me a great while; and told me the whole manner of his serving the King in the time of the Protector; and how Thurloe's bad usage made him to do it; how he discovered Sir R. Willis, and how he hath sunk his fortune for the King; and that now the King hath given him a pension of L500 per annum out of the Post Office for life, and the benefit of two Baronets; all which do make me begin to think that he is not so much a fool as I took him to be. Home by water to the Tower, where my father, Mr. Fairbrother, and Cooke dined with me. After dinner in comes young Captain Cuttance of the Speedwell, who is sent up for the gratuity given the seamen that brought the King over. He brought me a firkin of butter for my wife, which is very welcome. My father, after dinner, takes leave, after I had given him 40s. for the last half year for my brother John at Cambridge. I did also make even with Mr. Fairbrother for my degree of Master of Arts, which cost me about L9 16s. To White Hall, and my wife with me by water, where at the Privy Seal and elsewhere all the afternoon. At night home with her by water, where I made good sport with having the girl and the boy to comb my head, before I went to bed, in the kitchen. 15th. To the office, and after dinner by water to White Hall, where I found the King gone this morning by 5 of the clock to see a Dutch pleasure-boat below bridge, [A yacht which was greatly admired, and was imitated and improved by Commissioner Pett, who built a yacht for the King in 1661, which was called the "Jenny." Queen Elizabeth had a yacht, and one was built by Phineas Pett in 1604.] where he dines, and my Lord with him. The King do tire all his people that are about him with early rising since he came. To the office, all the afternoon I staid there, and in the evening went to Westminster Hall, where I staid at Mrs. Michell's, and with her and her husband sent for some drink, and drank with them. By the same token she and Mrs. Murford and another old woman of the Hall were going a gossiping tonight. From thence to my Lord's, where I found him within, and he did give me direction about his business in his absence, he intending to go into the country to-morrow morning. Here I lay all night in the old chamber which I had now given up to W. Howe, with whom I did intend to lie, but he and I fell to play with one another, so that I made him to go lie with Mr. Sheply. So I lay alone all night. 16th. This morning my Lord (all things being ready) carried me by coach to Mr. Crew's, (in the way talking how good he did hope my place would be to me, and in general speaking that it was not the salary of any place that did make a man rich, but the opportunity of getting money while he is in the place) where he took leave, and went into the coach, and so for Hinchinbroke. My Lady Jemimah and Mr. Thomas Crew in the coach with him. Hence to Whitehall about noon, where I met with Mr. Madge, who took me along with him and Captain Cooke (the famous singer) and other masters of music to dinner at an ordinary about Charing Cross where we dined, all paying their club. Hence to the Privy Seal, where there has been but little work these two days. In the evening home. 17th. To the office, and that done home to dinner where Mr. Unthanke, my wife's tailor, dined with us, we having nothing but a dish of sheep's trotters. After dinner by water to Whitehall, where a great deal of business at the Privy Seal. At night I and Creed and the judge-Advocate went to Mr. Pim, the tailor's, who took us to the Half Moon, and there did give us great store of wine and anchovies, and would pay for them all. This night I saw Mr. Creed show many the strangest emotions to shift off his drink I ever saw in my life. By coach home and to bed. 18th. This morning I took my wife towards Westminster by water, and landed her at Whitefriars, with L5 to buy her a petticoat, and I to the Privy Seal. By and by comes my wife to tell me that my father has persuaded her to buy a most fine cloth of 26s. a yard, and a rich lace, that the petticoat will come to L5, at which I was somewhat troubled, but she doing it very innocently, I could not be angry. I did give her more money, and sent her away, and I and Creed and Captain Hayward (who is now unkindly put out of the Plymouth to make way for Captain Allen to go to Constantinople, and put into his ship the Dover, which I know will trouble my Lord) went and dined at the Leg in King Street, where Captain Ferrers, my Lord's Cornet, comes to us, who after dinner took me and Creed to the Cockpitt play, [The Cockpit Theatre, situated in Drury Lane, was occupied as a playhouse in the reign of James I. It was occupied by Davenant and his company in 1658, and they remained in it until. November 15th, 1660, when they removed to Salisbury Court.] the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, "The Loyall Subject," where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life, only her voice not very good. After the play done, we three went to drink, and by Captain Ferrers' means, Kinaston and another that acted Archas, the General, came and drank with us. Hence home by coach, and after being trimmed, leaving my wife to look after her little bitch, which was just now a-whelping, I to bed. 19th (Lord's day). In the morning my wife tells me that the bitch has whelped four young ones and is very well after it, my wife having had a great fear that she would die thereof, the dog that got them being very big. This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself, went to church to the churchwardens, to demand a pew, which at present could not be given us, but we are resolved to have one built. So we staid and heard Mr. Mills;' a very, good minister. Home to dinner, where my wife had on her new petticoat that she bought yesterday, which indeed is a very fine cloth and a fine lace; but that being of a light colour, and the lace all silver, it makes no great show. Mr. Creed and my brother Tom dined with me. After dinner my wife went and fetched the little puppies to us, which are very pretty ones. After they were gone, I went up to put my papers in order, and finding my wife's clothes lie carelessly laid up, I was angry with her, which I was troubled for. After that my wife and I went and walked in the garden, and so home to bed. 20th (Office day). As Sir W. Pen and I were walking in the garden, a messenger came to me from the Duke of York to fetch me to the Lord Chancellor. So (Mrs. Turner with her daughter The. being come to my house to speak with me about a friend of hers to send to sea) I went with her in her coach as far as Worcester House, but my Lord Chancellor being gone to the House of Lords, I went thither, and (there being a law case before them this day) got in, and there staid all the morning, seeing their manner of sitting on woolpacks, &c., which I never did before. [It is said that these woolpacks were placed in the House of Lords for the judges to sit on, so that the fact that wool was a main source of our national wealth might be kept in the popular mind. The Lord Chancellor's seat is now called the Woolsack.] After the House was up, I spoke to my Lord, and had order from him to come to him at night. This morning Mr. Creed did give me the Papers that concern my Lord's sea commission, which he left in my hands and went to sea this day to look after the gratuity money. This afternoon at the Privy Seal, where reckoning with Mr. Moore, he had got L100 for me together, which I was glad of, guessing that the profits of this month would come to L100. In the evening I went all alone to drink at Mr. Harper's, where I found Mrs. Crisp's daughter, with whom and her friends I staid and drank, and so with W. Hewer by coach to Worcester House, where I light, sending him home with the L100 that I received to-day. Here I staid, and saw my Lord Chancellor come into his Great Hall, where wonderful how much company there was to expect him at a Seal. Before he would begin any business, he took my papers of the state of the debts of the Fleet, and there viewed them before all the people, and did give me his advice privately how to order things, to get as much money as we can of the Parliament. That being done, I went home, where I found all my things come home from sea (sent by desire by Mr. Dun), of which I was glad, though many of my things are quite spoilt with mould by reason of lying so long a shipboard, and my cabin being not tight. I spent much time to dispose of them tonight, and so to bed. 21st. This morning I went to White Hall with Sir W. Pen by water, who in our passage told me how he was bred up under Sir W. Batten. We went to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and consulted of drawing my papers of debts of the Navy against the afternoon for the Committee. So to the Admiralty, where W. Hewer and I did them, and after that he went to his Aunt's Blackburn (who has a kinswoman dead at her house to-day, and was to be buried to-night, by which means he staid very late out). I to Westminster Hall, where I met Mr. Crew and dined with him, where there dined one Mr. Hickeman, an Oxford man, who spoke very much against the height of the now old clergy, for putting out many of the religious fellows of Colleges, and inveighing against them for their being drunk, which, if true, I am sorry to hear. After that towards Westminster, where I called on Mr. Pim, and there found my velvet coat (the first that ever I had) done, and a velvet mantle, which I took to the Privy Seal Office, and there locked them up, and went to the Queen's Court, and there, after much waiting, spoke with Colonel Birch, who read my papers, and desired some addition, which done I returned to the Privy Seal, where little to do, and with Mr. Moore towards London, and in our way meeting Monsieur Eschar (Mr. Montagu's man), about the Savoy, he took us to the Brazennose Tavern, and there drank and so parted, and I home by coach, and there, it being post-night, I wrote to my Lord to give him notice that all things are well; that General Monk is made Lieutenant of Ireland, which my Lord Roberts (made Deputy) do not like of, to be Deputy to any man but the King himself. After that to bed. 22nd. Office, which done, Sir W. Pen took me into the garden, and there told me how Mr. Turner do intend to petition the Duke for an allowance extra as one of the Clerks of the Navy, which he desired me to join with him in the furthering of, which I promised to do so that it did not reflect upon me or to my damage to have any other added, as if I was not able to perform my place; which he did wholly disown to be any of his intention, but far from it. I took Mr. Hater home with me to dinner, with whom I did advise, who did give me the same counsel. After dinner he and I to the office about doing something more as to the debts of the Navy than I had done yesterday, and so to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and having done there, with my father (who came to see me) to Westminster Hall and the Parliament House to look for Col. Birch, but found him not. In the House, after the Committee was up, I met with Mr. G. Montagu, and joyed him in his entrance (this being his 3d day) for Dover. Here he made me sit all alone in the House, none but he and I, half an hour, discoursing how things stand, and in short he told me how there was like to be many factions at Court between Marquis Ormond, General Monk, and the Lord Roberts, about the business of Ireland; as there is already between the two Houses about the Act of Indemnity; and in the House of Commons, between the Episcopalian and Presbyterian men. Hence to my father's (walking with Mr. Herring, the minister of St. Bride's), and took them to the Sun Tavern, where I found George, my old drawer, come again. From thence by water, landed them at Blackfriars, and so home and to bed. 23rd. By water to Doctors' Commons to Dr. Walker, to give him my Lord's papers to view over concerning his being empowered to be Vice-Admiral under the Duke of York. There meeting with Mr. Pinkney, he and I to a morning draft, and thence by water to White Hall, to the Parliament House, where I spoke with Colonel Birch, and so to the Admiralty chamber, where we and Mr. Coventry had a meeting about several businesses. Amongst others, it was moved that Phineas Pett (kinsman to the Commissioner) of Chatham, should be suspended his employment till he had answered some articles put in against him, as that he should formerly say that the King was a bastard and his mother a whore. Hence to Westminster Hall, where I met with my father Bowyer, and Mr. Spicer, and them I took to the Leg in King Street, and did give them a dish or two of meat, and so away to the Privy Seal, where, the King being out of town, we have had nothing to do these two days. To Westminster Hall, where I met with W. Symons, T. Doling, and Mr. Booth, and with them to the Dogg, where we eat a musk melon ["Melons were hardly known in England till Sir George Gardiner brought one from Spain, when they became in general estimation. The ordinary price was five or six shillings."--Quarterly Review, vol, xix.] (the first that I have eat this year), and were very merry with W. Symons, calling him Mr. Dean, because of the Dean's lands that his uncle had left him, which are like to be lost all. Hence home by water, and very late at night writing letters to my Lord to Hinchinbroke, and also to the Vice-Admiral in the Downs, and so to bed. 24th. Office, and thence with Sir William Batten and Sir William Pen to the parish church to find out a place where to build a seat or a gallery to sit in, and did find one which is to be done speedily. Hence with them to dinner at a tavern in Thames Street, where they were invited to a roasted haunch of venison and other very good victuals and company. Hence to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, but nothing to do. At night by land to my father's, where I found my mother not very well. I did give her a pint of sack. My father came in, and Dr. T. Pepys, who talked with me in French about looking out for a place for him. But I found him a weak man, and speaks the worst French that ever I heard of one that had been so long beyond sea. Hence into Pant's Churchyard and bought Barkley's Argenis in Latin, and so home and to bed. I found at home that Captain Burr had sent me 4 dozen bottles of wine today. The King came back to Whitehall to-night. 25th. This morning Mr. Turner and I by coach from our office to Whitehall (in our way I calling on Dr. Walker for the papers I did give him the other day, which he had perused and found that the Duke's counsel had abated something of the former draught which Dr. Walker drew for my Lord) to Sir G. Carteret, where we there made up an estimate of the debts of the Navy for the Council. At noon I took Mr. Turner and Mr. Moore to the Leg in King Street, and did give them a dinner, and afterward to the Sun Tavern, and did give Mr. Turner a glass of wine, there coming to us Mr. Fowler the apothecary (the judge's son) with a book of lute lessons which his father had left there for me, such as he formerly did use to play when a young man, and had the use of his hand. To the Privy Seal, and found some business now again to do there. To Westminster Hall for a new half-shirt of Mrs. Lane, and so home by water. Wrote letters by the post to my Lord and to sea. This night W. Hewer brought me home from Mr. Pim's my velvet coat and cap, the first that ever I had. So to bed. 26th (Lord's day). With Sir W. Pen to the parish church, where we are placed in the highest pew of all, where a stranger preached a dry and tedious long sermon. Dined at home. To church again in the afternoon with my wife; in the garden and on the leads at night, and so to supper and to bed. 27th. This morning comes one with a vessel of Northdown ale from Mr. Pierce, the purser, to me, and after him another with a brave Turkey carpet and a jar of olives from Captain Cuttance, and a pair of fine turtle-doves from John Burr to my wife. These things came up to-day in our smack, and my boy Ely came along with them, and came after office was done to see me. I did give him half a crown because I saw that he was ready to cry to see that he could not be entertained by me here. In the afternoon to the Privy Seal, where good store of work now toward the end of the month. From thence with Mr. Mount, Luellin, and others to the Bull head till late, and so home, where about to o'clock Major Hart came to me, whom I did receive with wine and anchovies, which made me so dry that I was ill with them all night, and was fain to have the girle rise and fetch me some drink. 28th. At home looking over my papers and books and house as to the fitting of it to my mind till two in the afternoon. Some time I spent this morning beginning to teach my wife some scale in music, and found her apt beyond imagination. To the Privy Seal, where great store of work to-day. Colonel Scroope--[Colonel Adrian Scroope, one of the persons who sat in judgment upon Charles I.]--is this day excepted out of the Act of Indemnity, which has been now long in coming out, but it is expected to-morrow. I carried home L80 from the Privy Seal, by coach, and at night spent a little more time with my wife about her music with great content. This day I heard my poor mother had then two days been very ill, and I fear she will not last long. To bed, a little troubled that I fear my boy Will [Pepys refers to two Wills. This was Will Wayneman; the other was William Hewer.] is a thief and has stole some money of mine, particularly a letter that Mr. Jenkins did leave the last week with me with half a crown in it to send to his son. 29th (Office day). Before I went to the office my wife and I examined my boy Will about his stealing of things, but he denied all with the greatest subtlety and confidence in the world. To the office, and after office then to the Church, where we took another view of the place where we had resolved to build a gallery, and have set men about doing it. Home to dinner, and there I found my wife had discovered my boy Will's theft and a great deal more than we imagined, at which I was vexed and intend to put him away. To my office at the Privy Seal in the afternoon, and from thence at night to the Bull Head, with Mount, Luellin, and others, and hence to my father's, and he being at my uncle Fenner's, I went thither to him, and there sent for my boy's father and talked with him about his son, and had his promise that if I will send home his boy, he will take him notwithstanding his indenture. Home at night, and find that my wife had found out more of the boy's stealing 6s. out of W. Hewer's closet, and hid it in the house of office, at which my heart was troubled. To bed, and caused the boy's clothes to be brought up to my chamber. But after we were all a-bed, the wench (which lies in our chamber) called us to listen of a sudden, which put my wife into such a fright that she shook every joint of her, and a long time that I could not get her out of it. The noise was the boy, we did believe, got in a desperate mood out of his bed to do himself or William [Hewer] some mischief. But the wench went down and got a candle lighted, and finding the boy in bed, and locking the doors fast, with a candle burning all night, we slept well, but with a great deal of fear. 30th. We found all well in the morning below stairs, bu the boy in a sad plight of seeming sorrow; but he is the most cunning rogue that ever I met with of his age. To White Hall, where I met with the Act of Indemnity--[12 Car. II. cap. II, an act of free and general pardon, indemnity, and oblivion.]--(so long talked of and hoped for), with the Act of Rate for Pole-money, an for judicial proceedings. At Westminster Hall I met with Mr. Paget the lawyer, and dined with him at Heaven. This afternoon my wife went to Mr. Pierce's wife's child's christening, and was urged to be godmother, but I advised her before-hand not to do it, so she did not, but as proxy for my Lady Jemimah. This the first day that ever I saw my wife wear black patches since we were married! [The fashion of placing black patches on the face was introduced towards the close of the reign of Charles I., and the practice is ridiculed in the "Spectator."] My Lord came to town to-day, but coming not home till very late I staid till 10 at night, and so home on foot. Mr. Sheply and Mr. Childe this night at the tavern. 31st. Early to wait upon my Lord at White Hall, and with him to the Duke's chamber. So to my office in Seething Lane. Dined at home, and after dinner to my Lord again, who told me that he is ordered to go suddenly to sea, and did give me some orders to be drawing up against his going. This afternoon I agreed to let my house quite out of my hands to Mr. Dalton (one of the wine sellers to the King, with whom I had drunk in the old wine cellar two or three times) for L41. At night made even at Privy Seal for this month against tomorrow to give up possession, but we know not to whom, though we most favour Mr. Bickerstaffe, with whom and Mr. Matthews we drank late after office was done at the Sun, discoursing what to do about it tomorrow against Baron, and so home and to bed. Blessed be God all things continue well with and for me. I pray God fit me for a change of my fortune. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER 1660 September 1st. This morning I took care to get a vessel to carry my Lord's things to the Downs on Monday next, and so to White Hall to my Lord, where he and I did look over the Commission drawn for him by the Duke's Council, which I do not find my Lord displeased with, though short of what Dr. Walker did formerly draw for him. Thence to the Privy Seal to see how things went there, and I find that Mr. Baron had by a severe warrant from the King got possession of the office from his brother Bickerstaffe, which is very strange, and much to our admiration, it being against all open justice. Mr. Moore and I and several others being invited to-day by Mr. Goodman, a friend of his, we dined at the Bullhead upon the best venison pasty that ever I eat of in my life, and with one dish more, it was the best dinner I ever was at. Here rose in discourse at table a dispute between Mr. Moore and Dr. Clerke, the former affirming that it was essential to a tragedy to have the argument of it true, which the Doctor denied, and left it to me to be judge, and the cause to be determined next Tuesday morning at the same place, upon the eating of the remains of the pasty, and the loser to spend 10s. All this afternoon sending express to the fleet, to order things against my Lord's coming and taking direction of my Lord about some rich furniture to take along with him for the Princess!--[Mary, Princess Royal and Princess of Orange, who died in December of this year.]--And talking of this, I hear by Mr. Townsend, that there is the greatest preparation against the Prince de Ligne's a coming over from the King of Spain, that ever was in England for their Embassador. Late home, and what with business and my boy's roguery my mind being unquiet, I went to bed. 2nd (Sunday). To Westminster, my Lord being gone before my coming to chapel. I and Mr. Sheply told out my money, and made even for my Privy Seal fees and gratuity money, &c., to this day between my Lord and me. After that to chappell, where Dr. Fern, a good honest sermon upon "The Lord is my shield." After sermon a dull anthem, and so to my Lord's (he dining abroad) and dined with Mr. Sheply. So, to St. Margarett's, and heard a good sermon upon the text "Teach us the old way," or something like it, wherein he ran over all the new tenets in policy and religion, which have brought us into all our late divisions. From church to Mrs. Crisp's (having sent Win. Hewer home to tell my wife that I could not come home to-night because of my Lord's going out early to-morrow morning), where I sat late, and did give them a great deal of wine, it being a farewell cup to Laud Crisp. I drank till the daughter began to be very loving to me and kind, and I fear is not so good as she should be. To my Lord's, and to bed with Mr. Sheply. 3rd. Up and to Mr.-----, the goldsmith near the new Exchange, where I bought my wedding ring, and there, with much ado, got him to put a gold ring to the jewell, which the King of Sweden did give my Lord: out of which my Lord had now taken the King's picture, and intends to make a George of it. This morning at my Lord's I had an opportunity to speak with Sir George Downing, who has promised me to give me up my bond, and to pay me for my last quarter while I was at sea, that so I may pay Mr. Moore and Hawly. About noon my Lord, having taken leave of the King in the Shield Gallery (where I saw with what kindness the King did hug my Lord at his parting), I went over with him and saw him in his coach at Lambeth, and there took leave of him, he going to the Downs, which put me in mind of his first voyage that ever he made, which he did begin like this from Lambeth. In the afternoon with Mr. Moore to my house to cast up our Privy Seal accounts, where I found that my Lord's comes to 400 and odd pounds, and mine to L132, out of which I do give him as good as L25 for his pains, with which I doubt he is not satisfied, but my heart is full glad. Thence with him to Mr. Crew's, and did fetch as much money as did make even our accounts between him and me. Home, and there found Mr. Cooke come back from my Lord for me to get him some things bought for him to be brought after them, a toilet cap and comb case of silk, to make use of in Holland, for he goes to the Hague, which I can do to-morrow morning. This day my father and my uncle Fenner, and both his sons, have been at my house to see it, and my wife did treat them nobly with wine and anchovies. By reason of my Lord's going to-day I could not get the office to meet to-day. 4th. I did many things this morning at home before I went out, as looking over the joiners, who are flooring my diningroom, and doing business with Sir Williams ["Both Sir Williams" is a favourite expression with Pepys, meaning Sir William Batten and Sir William Penn.] both at the office, and so to Whitehall, and so to the Bullhead, where we had the remains of our pasty, where I did give my verdict against Mr. Moore upon last Saturday's wager, where Dr. Fuller coming in do confirm me in my verdict. From thence to my Lord's and despatched Mr. Cooke away with the things to my Lord. From thence to Axe Yard to my house, where standing at the door Mrs. Diana comes by, whom I took into my house upstairs, and there did dally with her a great while, and found that in Latin "Nulla puella negat." So home by water, and there sat up late setting my papers in order, and my money also, and teaching my wife her music lesson, in which I take great pleasure. So to bed. 5th. To the office. From thence by coach upon the desire of the principal officers to a Master of Chancery to give Mr. Stowell his oath, whereby he do answer that he did hear Phineas Pett say very high words against the King a great while ago. Coming back our coach broke, and so Stowell and I to Mr. Rawlinson's, and after a glass of wine parted, and I to the office, home to dinner, where (having put away my boy in the morning) his father brought him again, but I did so clear up my boy's roguery to his father, that he could not speak against my putting him away, and so I did give him 10s. for the boy's clothes that I made him, and so parted and tore his indenture. All the afternoon with the principal officers at Sir W. Batten's about Pett's business (where I first saw Col. Slingsby, who has now his appointment for Comptroller), but did bring it to no issue. This day I saw our Dedimus to be sworn in the peace by, which will be shortly. In the evening my wife being a little impatient I went along with her to buy her a necklace of pearl, which will cost L4 10s., which I am willing to comply with her in for her encouragement, and because I have lately got money, having now above L200 in cash beforehand in the world. Home, and having in our way bought a rabbit and two little lobsters, my wife and I did sup late, and so to bed. Great news now-a-day of the Duke d'Anjou's [Philip, Duke of Anjou, afterwards Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV. (born 1640, died 1701), married the Princess Henrietta, youngest daughter of Charles I., who was born June 16th, 1664, at Exeter. She was known as "La belle Henriette." In May, 1670, she came to Dover on a political mission from Louis XIV. to her brother Charles II., but the visit was undertaken much against the wish of her husband. Her death occurred on her return to France, and was attributed to poison. It was the occasion of one of the finest of Bossuet's "Oraisons Funebres."] desire to marry the Princesse Henrietta. Hugh Peters is said to be taken, [Hugh Peters, born at Fowey, Cornwall, and educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated M.A. 1622. He was tried as one of the regicides, and executed. A broadside, entitled "The Welsh Hubub, or the Unkennelling and earthing of Hugh Peters that crafty Fox," was printed October 3rd, 1660.] and the Duke of Gloucester is ill, and it is said it will prove the small-pox. 6th. To Whitehall by water with Sir W. Batten, and in our passage told me how Commissioner Pett did pay himself for the entertainment that he did give the King at Chatham at his coming in, and 20s. a day all the time he was in Holland, which I wonder at, and so I see there is a great deal of envy between the two. At Whitehall I met with Commissioner Pett, who told me how Mr. Coventry and Fairbank his solicitor are falling out, one complaining of the other for taking too great fees, which is too true. I find that Commissioner Pett is under great discontent, and is loth to give too much money for his place, and so do greatly desire me to go along with him in what we shall agree to give Mr. Coventry, which I have promised him, but am unwilling to mix my fortune with him that is going down the wind. We all met this morning and afterwards at the Admiralty, where our business is to ask provision of victuals ready for the ships in the Downs, which we did, Mr. Gauden promising to go himself thither and see it done. Dined Will and I at my Lord's upon a joint of meat that I sent Mrs. Sarah for. Afterwards to my office and sent all my books to my Lord's, in order to send them to my house that I now dwell in. Home and to bed. 7th. Not office day, and in the afternoon at home all the day, it being the first that I have been at home all day since I came hither. Putting my papers, books and other things in order, and writing of letters. This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland. 8th. All day also at home. At night sent for by Sir W. Pen, with whom I sat late drinking a glass of wine and discoursing, and I find him to be a very sociable man, and an able man, and very cunning. 9th (Sunday). In the morning with Sir W. Pen to church, and a very good sermon of Mr. Mills. Home to dinner, and Sir W. Pen with me to such as I had, and it was very handsome, it being the first time that he ever saw my wife or house since we came hither. Afternoon to church with my wife, and after that home, and there walked with Major Hart, who came to see me, in the garden, who tells me that we are all like to be speedily disbanded; [The Trained Bands were abolished in 1663, but those of the City of London were specially excepted. The officers of the Trained Bands were supplied by the Hon. Artillery Company.] and then I lose the benefit of a muster. After supper to bed. 10th (Office day). News of the Duke's intention to go tomorrow to the fleet for a day or two to meet his sister. Col. Slingsby and I to Whitehall, thinking to proffer our service to the Duke to wait upon him, but meeting with Sir G. Carteret he sent us in all haste back again to hire two Catches for the present use of the Duke. So we returned and landed at the Bear at the Bridge foot, where we saw Southwark Fair (I having not at all seen Bartholomew Fair), and so to the Tower wharf, where we did hire two catches. So to the office and found Sir W. Batten at dinner with some friends upon a good chine of beef, on which I ate heartily, I being very hungry. Home, where Mr. Snow (whom afterwards we called one another cozen) came to me to see me, and with him and one Shelston, a simple fellow that looks after an employment (that was with me just upon my going to sea last), to a tavern, where till late with them. So home, having drunk too much, and so to bed. 11th. At Sir W. Batten's with Sir W. Pen we drank our morning draft, and from thence for an hour in the office and dispatch a little business. Dined at Sir W. Batten's, and by this time I see that we are like to have a very good correspondence and neighbourhood, but chargeable. All the afternoon at home looking over my carpenters. At night I called Thos. Hater out of the office to my house to sit and talk with me. After he was gone I caused the girl to wash the wainscot of our parlour, which she did very well, which caused my wife and I good sport. Up to my chamber to read a little, and wrote my Diary for three or four days past. The Duke of York did go to-day by break of day to the Downs. The Duke of Gloucester ill. The House of Parliament was to adjourn to-day. I know not yet whether it be done or no. To bed. 12th (Office day). This noon I expected to have had my cousin Snow and my father come to dine with me, but it being very rainy they did not come. My brother Tom came to my house with a letter from my brother John, wherein he desires some books: Barthol. Anatom., Rosin. Rom. Antiq., and Gassend. Astronom., the last of which I did give him, and an angel--[A gold coin varying in value at different times from 6s. 8d. to 10s.]--against my father buying of the others. At home all the afternoon looking after my workmen, whose laziness do much trouble me. This day the Parliament adjourned. 13th. Old East comes to me in the morning with letters, and I did give him a bottle of Northdown ale, which made the poor man almost drunk. In the afternoon my wife went to the burial of a child of my cozen Scott's, and it is observable that within this month my Aunt Wight was brought to bed of two girls, my cozen Stradwick of a girl and a boy, and my cozen Scott of a boy, and all died. In the afternoon to Westminster, where Mr. Dalton was ready with his money to pay me for my house, but our writings not being drawn it could not be done to-day. I met with Mr. Hawly, who was removing his things from Mr. Bowyer's, where he has lodged a great while, and I took him and W. Bowyer to the Swan and drank, and Mr. Hawly did give me a little black rattoon,--[Probably an Indian rattan cane.]--painted and gilt. Home by water. This day the Duke of Gloucester died of the small-pox, by the great negligence of the doctors. 14th (Office day). I got L42 15s. appointed me by bill for my employment of Secretary to the 4th of this month, it being the last money I shall receive upon that score. My wife went this afternoon to see my mother, who I hear is very ill, at which my heart is very sad. In the afternoon Luellin comes to my house, and takes me out to the Mitre in Wood Street, where Mr. Samford, W. Symons and his wife, and Mr. Scobell, Mr. Mount and Chetwind, where they were very merry, Luellin being drunk, and I being to defend the ladies from his kissing them, I kissed them myself very often with a great deal of mirth. Parted very late, they by coach to Westminster, and I on foot. 15th. Met very early at our office this morning to pick out the twenty-five ships which are to be first paid off: After that to Westminster and dined with Mr. Dalton at his office, where we had one great court dish, but our papers not being done we could [not] make an end of our business till Monday next. Mr. Dalton and I over the water to our landlord Vanly, with whom we agree as to Dalton becoming a tenant. Back to Westminster, where I met with Dr. Castles, who chidd me for some errors in our Privy-Seal business; among the rest, for letting the fees of the six judges pass unpaid, which I know not what to say to, till I speak to Mr. Moore. I was much troubled, for fear of being forced to pay the money myself. Called at my father's going home, and bespoke mourning for myself, for the death of the Duke of Gloucester. I found my mother pretty well. So home and to bed. 16th (Sunday). To Dr. Hardy's church, and sat with Mr. Rawlinson and heard a good sermon upon the occasion of the Duke's death. His text was, "And is there any evil in the city and the Lord hath not done it?" Home to dinner, having some sport with Win. [Hewer], who never had been at Common Prayer before. After dinner I alone to Westminster, where I spent my time walking up and down in Westminster Abbey till sermon time with Ben. Palmer and Fetters the watchmaker, who told me that my Lord of Oxford is also dead of the small-pox; in whom his family dies, after 600 years having that honour in their family and name. From thence to the Park, where I saw how far they had proceeded in the Pell-mell, and in making a river through the Park, which I had never seen before since it was begun. [This is the Mall in St. James's Park, which was made by Charles II., the former Mall (Pall Mall) having been built upon during the Commonwealth. Charles II. also formed the canal by throwing the several small ponds into one.] Thence to White Hall garden, where I saw the King in purple mourning for his brother. ["The Queen-mother of France," says Ward, in his Diary, p. 177, "died at Agrippina, 1642, and her son Louis, 1643, for whom King Charles mourned in Oxford in purple, which is Prince's mourning."] So home, and in my way met with Dinah, who spoke to me and told me she had a desire to speak too about some business when I came to Westminster again. Which she spoke in such a manner that I was afraid she might tell me something that I would not hear of our last meeting at my house at Westminster. Home late, being very dark. A gentleman in the Poultry had a great and dirty fall over a waterpipe that lay along the channel. 17th. Office very early about casting up the debts of those twenty-five ships which are to be paid off, which we are to present to the Committee of Parliament. I did give my wife L15 this morning to go to buy mourning things for her and me, which she did. Dined at home and Mr. Moore with me, and afterwards to Whitehall to Mr. Dalton and drank in the Cellar, where Mr. Vanly according to appointment was. Thence forth to see the Prince de Ligne, Spanish Embassador, come in to his audience, which was done in very great state. That being done, Dalton, Vanly, Scrivener and some friends of theirs and I to the Axe, and signed and sealed our writings, and hence to the Wine cellar again, where I received L41 for my interest in my house, out of which I paid my Landlord to Michaelmas next, and so all is even between him and me, and I freed of my poor little house. Home by link with my money under my arm. So to bed after I had looked over the things my wife had bought to-day, with which being not very well pleased, they costing too much, I went to bed in a discontent. Nothing yet from sea, where my Lord and the Princess are. 18th. At home all the morning looking over my workmen in my house. After dinner Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself by coach to Westminster Hall, where we met Mr. Wayte the lawyer to the Treasurer, and so we went up to the Committee of Parliament, which are to consider of the debts of the Army and Navy, and did give in our account of the twenty-five ships. Col. Birch was very impertinent and troublesome. But at last we did agree to fit the accounts of our ships more perfectly for their view within a few days, that they might see what a trouble it is to do what they desire. From thence Sir Williams both going by water home, I took Mr. Wayte to the Rhenish winehouse, and drank with him and so parted. Thence to Mr. Crew's and spoke with Mr. Moore about the business of paying off Baron our share of the dividend. So on foot home, by the way buying a hat band and other things for my mourning to-morrow. So home and to bed. This day I heard that the Duke of York, upon the news of the death of his brother yesterday, came hither by post last night. 19th (Office day). I put on my mourning and went to the office. At noon thinking to have found my wife in hers, I found that the tailor had failed her, at which I was vexed because of an invitation that we have to a dinner this day, but after having waited till past one o'clock I went, and left her to put on some other clothes and come after me to the Mitre tavern in Wood-street (a house of the greatest note in London), where I met W. Symons, and D. Scobell, and their wives, Mr. Samford, Luellin, Chetwind, one Mr. Vivion, and Mr. White, [According to Noble, Jeremiah White married Lady Frances Cromwell's waiting-woman, in Oliver's lifetime, and they lived together fifty years. Lady Frances had two husbands, Mr. Robert Rich and Sir John Russell of Chippenham, the last of whom she survived fifty-two years dying 1721-22 The story is, that Oliver found White on his knees to Frances Cromwell, and that, to save himself, he pretended to have been soliciting her interest with her waiting-woman, whom Oliver compelled him to marry. (Noble's "Life of Cromwell," vol. ii. pp. 151, 152.) White was born in 1629 and died 1707.] formerly chaplin to the Lady Protectresse--[Elizabeth, wife of Oliver Cromwell.]--(and still so, and one they say that is likely to get my Lady Francess for his wife). Here we were very merry and had a very good dinner, my wife coming after me hither to us. Among other pleasures some of us fell to handycapp, ["A game at cards not unlike Loo, but with this difference, the winner of one trick has to put in a double stake, the winner of two tricks a triple stake, and so on. Thus, if six persons are playing, and the general stake is 1s., suppose A gains the three tricks, he gains 6s., and has to 'hand i' the cap,' or pool, 4s. for the next deal. Suppose A gains two tricks and B one, then A gains 4s. and B 2s., and A has to stake 3s. and B 2s. for the next deal."--Hindley's Tavern Anecdotes.--M. B.] a sport that I never knew before, which was very good. We staid till it was very late; it rained sadly, but we made shift to get coaches. So home and to bed. 20th. At home, and at the office, and in the garden walking with both Sir Williams all the morning. After dinner to Whitehall to Mr. Dalton, and with him to my house and took away all my papers that were left in my closet, and so I have now nothing more in the house or to do with it. We called to speak with my Landlord Beale, but he was not within but spoke with the old woman, who takes it very ill that I did not let her have it, but I did give her an answer. From thence to Sir G. Downing and staid late there (he having sent for me to come to him), which was to tell me how my Lord Sandwich had disappointed him of a ship to bring over his child and goods, and made great complaint thereof; but I got him to write a letter to Lawson, which it may be may do the business for him, I writing another also about it. While he was writing, and his Lady and I had a great deal of discourse in praise of Holland. By water to the Bridge, and so to Major Hart's lodgings in Cannon-street, who used me very kindly with wine and good discourse, particularly upon the ill method which Colonel Birch and the Committee use in defending of the army and the navy; promising the Parliament to save them a great deal of money, when we judge that it will cost the King more than if they had nothing to do with it, by reason of their delays and scrupulous enquirys into the account of both. So home and to bed. 21st (Office day). There all the morning and afternoon till 4 o'clock. Hence to Whitehall, thinking to have put up my, books at my Lord's, but am disappointed from want of a chest which I had at Mr. Bowyer's. Back by water about 8 o'clock, and upon the water saw the corpse of the Duke of Gloucester brought down Somerset House stairs, to go by water to Westminster, to be buried to-night. I landed at the old Swan and went to the Hoop Tavern, and (by a former agreement) sent for Mr. Chaplin, who with Nicholas Osborne and one Daniel came to us and we drank off two or three quarts of wine, which was very good; the drawing of our wine causing a great quarrel in the house between the two drawers which should draw us the best, which caused a great deal of noise and falling out till the master parted them, and came up to us and did give us a large account of the liberty that he gives his servants, all alike, to draw what wine they will to please his customers; and we did eat above 200 walnuts. About to o'clock we broke up and so home, and in my way I called in with them at Mr. Chaplin's, where Nicholas Osborne did give me a barrel of samphire, [Samphire was formerly a favourite pickle; hence the "dangerous trade" of the samphire gatherer ("King Lear," act iv. sc. 6) who supplied the demand. It was sold in the streets, and one of the old London cries was "I ha' Rock Samphier, Rock Samphier!"] and showed me the keys of Mardyke Fort, [A fort four miles east of Dunkirk, probably dismantled when that town was sold to Louis XIV.] which he that was commander of the fort sent him as a token when the fort was demolished, which I was mightily pleased to see, and will get them of him if I can. Home, where I found my boy (my maid's brother) come out of the country to-day, but was gone to bed and so I could not see him to-night. To bed. 22nd. This morning I called up my boy, and found him a pretty, well-looked boy, and one that I think will please me. I went this morning by land to Westminster along with Luellin, who came to my house this morning to get me to go with him to Capt. Allen to speak with him for his brother to go with him to Constantinople, but could not find him. We walked on to Fleet street, where at Mr. Standing's in Salsbury Court we drank our morning draft and had a pickled herring. Among other discourse here he told me how the pretty woman that I always loved at the beginning of Cheapside that sells child's coats was served by the Lady Bennett (a famous strumpet), who by counterfeiting to fall into a swoon upon the sight of her in her shop, became acquainted with her, and at last got her ends of her to lie with a gentleman that had hired her to procure this poor soul for him. To Westminster to my Lord's, and there in the house of office vomited up all my breakfast, my stomach being ill all this day by reason of the last night's debauch. Here I sent to Mr. Bowyer's for my chest and put up my books and sent them home. I staid here all day in my Lord's chamber and upon the leads gazing upon Diana, who looked out of a window upon me. At last I went out to Mr. Harper's, and she standing over the way at the gate, I went over to her and appointed to meet to-morrow in the afternoon at my Lord's. Here I bought a hanging jack. From thence by coach home by the way at the New Exchange [In the Strand; built, under the auspices of James I., in 1608, out of the stables of Durham House, the site of the present Adelphi. The New Exchange stood where Coutts's banking-house now is. "It was built somewhat on the model of the Royal Exchange, with cellars beneath, a walk above, and rows of shops over that, filled chiefly with milliners, sempstresses, and the like." It was also called "Britain's Burse." "He has a lodging in the Strand . . . to watch when ladies are gone to the china houses, or to the Exchange, that he may meet them by chance and give them presents, some two or three hundred pounds worth of toys, to be laughed at"--Ben Jonson, The Silent Woman, act i. sc. 1.] I bought a pair of short black stockings, to wear over a pair of silk ones for mourning; and here I met with The. Turner and Joyce, buying of things to go into mourning too for the Duke, which is now the mode of all the ladies in town), where I wrote some letters by the post to Hinchinbroke to let them know that this day Mr. Edw. Pickering is come from my Lord, and says that he left him well in Holland, and that he will be here within three or four days. To-day not well of my last night's drinking yet. I had the boy up to-night for his sister to teach him to put me to bed, and I heard him read, which he did pretty well. 23rd (Lord's day). My wife got up to put on her mourning to-day and to go to Church this morning. I up and set down my journall for these 5 days past. This morning came one from my father's with a black cloth coat, made of my short cloak, to walk up and down in. To church my wife and I, with Sir W. Batten, where we heard of Mr. Mills a very good sermon upon these words, "So run that ye may obtain." After dinner all alone to Westminster. At Whitehall I met with Mr. Pierce and his wife (she newly come forth after childbirth) both in mourning for the Duke of Gloucester. She went with Mr. Child to Whitehall chapel and Mr. Pierce with me to the Abbey, where I expected to hear Mr. Baxter or Mr. Rowe preach their farewell sermon, and in Mr. Symons's pew I sat and heard Mr. Rowe. Before sermon I laughed at the reader, who in his prayer desires of God that He would imprint his word on the thumbs of our right hands and on the right great toes of our right feet. In the midst of the sermon some plaster fell from the top of the Abbey, that made me and all the rest in our pew afeard, and I wished myself out. After sermon with Mr. Pierce to Whitehall, and from thence to my Lord, but Diana did not come according to our agreement. So calling at my father's (where my wife had been this afternoon but was gone home) I went home. This afternoon, the King having news of the Princess being come to Margate, he and the Duke of York went down thither in barges to her. 24th (Office day). From thence to dinner by coach with my wife to my Cozen Scott's, and the company not being come, I went over the way to the Barber's. So thither again to dinner, where was my uncle Fenner and my aunt, my father and mother, and others. Among the rest my Cozen Rich. Pepys, [Richard Pepys, eldest son of Richard Pepys, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland. He went to Boston, Mass., in 1634, and returned to England about 1646.] their elder brother, whom I had not seen these fourteen years, ever since he came from New England. It was strange for us to go a gossiping to her, she having newly buried her child that she was brought to bed of. I rose from table and went to the Temple church, where I had appointed Sir W. Batten to meet him; and there at Sir Heneage Finch Sollicitor General's chambers, before him and Sir W. Wilde, [William Wilde, elected Recorder on November 3rd, 1659, and appointed one of the commissioners sent to Breda to desire Charles II. to return to England immediately. He was knighted after the King's return, called to the degree of Serjeant, and created a baronet, all in the same year. In 1668 he ceased to be Recorder, and was appointed judge of the Court of Common Pleas. In 1673 he was removed to the King's Bench. He was turned out of his office in 1679 on account of his action in connection with the Popish Plot, and died November 23rd of the same year.] Recorder of London (whom we sent for from his chamber) we were sworn justices of peace for Middlesex, Essex, Kent, and Southampton; with which honour I did find myself mightily pleased, though I am wholly ignorant in the duty of a justice of peace. From thence with Sir William to Whitehall by water (old Mr. Smith with us) intending to speak with Secretary Nicholas about the augmentation of our salaries, but being forth we went to the Three Tuns tavern, where we drank awhile, and then came in Col. Slingsby and another gentleman and sat with us. From thence to my Lord's to enquire whether they have had any thing from my Lord or no. Knocking at the door, there passed me Mons. L'Impertinent [Mr. Butler] for whom I took a coach and went with him to a dancing meeting in Broad Street, at the house that was formerly the glass-house, Luke Channel, Master of the School, where I saw good dancing, but it growing late, and the room very full of people and so very hot, I went home. 25th. To the office, where Sir W. Batten, Colonel Slingsby, and I sat awhile, and Sir R. Ford [Sir Richard Ford was one of the commissioners sent to Breda to desire Charles II. to return to England immediately.] coming to us about some business, we talked together of the interest of this kingdom to have a peace with Spain and a war with France and Holland; where Sir R. Ford talked like a man of great reason and experience. And afterwards I did send for a cup of tee' [That excellent and by all Physicians, approved, China drink, called by the Chineans Tcha, by other nations Tay alias Tee, is sold at the Sultaness Head Coffee-House, in Sweetings Rents, by the "Royal Exchange, London." "Coffee, chocolate, and a kind of drink called tee, sold in almost every street in 1659."--Rugge's Diurnal. It is stated in "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 593 "that the word tea occurs on no other tokens than those issued from 'the Great Turk' (Morat ye Great) coffeehouse in Exchange Alley. The Dutch East India Company introduced tea into Europe in 1610, and it is said to have been first imported into England from Holland about 1650. The English "East India Company" purchased and presented 2 lbs. of tea to Charles II. in 1660, and 23 lbs. in 1666. The first order for its importation by the company was in 1668, and the first consignment of it, amounting to 143 lbs., was received from Bantam in 1669 (see Sir George Birdwood's "Report on the Old Records at the India Office," 1890, p. 26). By act 12 Car. II., capp. 23, 24, a duty of 8d. per gallon was imposed upon the infusion of tea, as well as on chocolate and sherbet.] (a China drink) of which I never had drank before, and went away. Then came Col. Birch and Sir R. Browne by a former appointment, and with them from Tower wharf in the barge belonging to our office we went to Deptford to pay off the ship Success, which (Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Pen coming afterwards to us) we did, Col. Birch being a mighty busy man and one that is the most indefatigable and forward to make himself work of any man that ever I knew in my life. At the Globe we had a very good dinner, and after that to the pay again, which being finished we returned by water again, and I from our office with Col. Slingsby by coach to Westminster (I setting him down at his lodgings by the way) to inquire for my Lord's coming thither (the King and the Princess ["The Princess Royall came from Gravesend to Whitehall by water, attended by a noble retinue of about one hundred persons, gentry, and servants, and tradesmen, and tirewomen, and others, that took that opportunity to advance their fortunes, by coming in with so excellent a Princess as without question she is."-Rugge's Diurnal. A broadside, entitled "Ourania, the High and Mighty Lady the Princess Royal of Aurange, congratulated on her most happy arrival, September the 25th, 1660," was printed on the 29th.] coming up the river this afternoon as we were at our pay), and I found him gone to Mr. Crew's, where I found him well, only had got some corns upon his foot which was not well yet. My Lord told me how the ship that brought the Princess and him (The Tredagh) did knock six times upon the Kentish Knock, [A shoal in the North Sea, off the Thames mouth, outside the Long Sand, fifteen miles N.N.E. of the North Foreland. It measures seven miles north-eastward, and about two miles in breadth. It is partly dry at low water. A revolving light was set up in 1840.] which put them in great fear for the ship; but got off well. He told me also how the King had knighted Vice-Admiral Lawson and Sir Richard Stayner. From him late and by coach home, where the plasterers being at work in all the rooms in my house, my wife was fain to make a bed upon the ground for her and me, and so there we lay all night. 26th. Office day. That done to the church, to consult about our gallery. So home to dinner, where I found Mrs. Hunt, who brought me a letter for me to get my Lord to sign for her husband, which I shall do for her. At home with the workmen all the afternoon, our house being in a most sad pickle. In the evening to the office, where I fell a-reading of Speed's Geography for a while. So home thinking to have found Will at home, but he not being come home but gone somewhere else I was very angry, and when he came did give him a very great check for it, and so I went to bed. 27th. To my Lord at Mr. Crew's, and there took order about some business of his, and from thence home to my workmen all the afternoon. In the evening to my Lord's, and there did read over with him and Dr. Walker my lord's new commission for sea, and advised thereupon how to have it drawn. So home and to bed. 28th (Office day). This morning Sir W. Batten and Col. Slingsby went with Col. Birch and Sir Wm. Doyly to Chatham to pay off a ship there. So only Sir W. Pen and I left here in town. All the afternoon among my workmen till 10 or 11 at night, and did give them drink and very merry with them, it being my luck to meet with a sort of drolling workmen on all occasions. To bed. 29th. All day at home to make an end of our dirty work of the plasterers, and indeed my kitchen is now so handsome that I did not repent of all the trouble that I have been put to, to have it done. This day or yesterday, I hear, Prince Rupert [This is the first mention in the Diary of this famous prince, third son of Frederick, Prince Palatine of the Rhine, and Elizabeth, daughter of James I., born December 17th, 1619. He died at his house in Spring Gardens, November 29th, 1682.] is come to Court; but welcome to nobody. 30th (Lord's day). To our Parish church both forenoon and afternoon all alone. At night went to bed without prayers, my house being every where foul above stairs. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Boy up to-night for his sister to teach him to put me to bed Diana did not come according to our agreement Drink at a bottle beer house in the Strand Finding my wife's clothes lie carelessly laid up Formerly say that the King was a bastard and his mother a whore Hand i' the cap Hired her to procure this poor soul for him I fear is not so good as she should be I was angry with her, which I was troubled for I was exceeding free in dallying with her, and she not unfree Ill all this day by reason of the last night's debauch King do tire all his people that are about him with early rising Kissed them myself very often with a great deal of mirth My luck to meet with a sort of drolling workmen on all occasions Show many the strangest emotions to shift off his drink Upon the leads gazing upon Diana 
4124	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER, NOVEMBER & DECEMBER 1660 October 1st. Early to my Lord to Whitehall, and there he did give me some work to do for him, and so with all haste to the office. Dined at home, and my father by chance with me. After dinner he and I advised about hangings for my rooms, which are now almost fit to be hung, the painters beginning to do their work to-day. After dinner he and I to the Miter, where with my uncle Wight (whom my father fetched thither), while I drank a glass of wine privately with Mr. Mansell, a poor Reformado of the Charles, who came to see me. Here we staid and drank three or four pints of wine and so parted. I home to look after my workmen, and at night to bed. The Commissioners are very busy disbanding of the army, which they say do cause great robbing. My layings out upon my house an furniture are so great that I fear I shall not be able to go through them without breaking one of my bags of L100, I having but L200 yet in the world. 2nd. With Sir Wm. Pen by water to Whitehall, being this morning visited before I went out by my brother Tom, who told me that for his lying out of doors a day and a night my father had forbade him to come any more into his house, at which I was troubled, and did soundly chide him for doing so, and upon confessing his fault I told him I would speak to my father. At Whitehall I met with Captain Clerk, and took him to the Leg in King Street, and did give him a dish or two of meat, and his purser that was with him, for his old kindness to me on board. After dinner I to Whitehall, where I met with Mrs. Hunt, and was forced to wait upon Mr. Scawen at a committee to speak for her husband, which I did. After that met with Luellin, Mr. Fage, and took them both to the Dog, and did give them a glass of wine. After that at Will's I met with Mr. Spicer, and with him to the Abbey to see them at vespers. There I found but a thin congregation already. So I see that religion, be it what it will, is but a humour, [The four humours of the body described by the old physicians were supposed to exert their influence upon the mind, and in course of time the mind as well as the body was credited with its own particular humours. The modern restricted use of the word humour did not become general until the eighteenth century.] and so the esteem of it passeth as other things do. From thence with him to see Robin Shaw, who has been a long time ill, and I have not seen him since I came from sea. He is much changed, but in hopes to be well again. From thence by coach to my father's, and discoursed with him about Tom, and did give my advice to take him home again, which I think he will do in prudence rather than put him upon learning the way of being worse. So home, and from home to Major Hart, who is just going out of town to-morrow, and made much of me, and did give me the oaths of supremacy and allegiance, that I may be capable of my arrears. So home again, where my wife tells me what she has bought to-day, namely, a bed and furniture for her chamber, with which very well pleased I went to bed. 3d. With Sir W. Batten and Pen by water to White Hall, where a meeting of the Dukes of York and Albemarle, my Lord Sandwich and all the principal officers, about the Winter Guard, but we determined of nothing. To my Lord's, who sent a great iron chest to White Hall; and I saw it carried, into the King's closet, where I saw most incomparable pictures. Among the rest a book open upon a desk, which I durst have sworn was a reall book, and back again to my Lord, and dined all alone with him, who do treat me with a great deal of respect; and after dinner did discourse an hour with me, and advise about some way to get himself some money to make up for all his great expenses, saying that he believed that he might have any thing that he would ask of the King. This day Mr. Sheply and all my Lord's goods came from sea, some of them laid of the Wardrobe and some brought to my Lord's house. From thence to our office, where we met and did business, and so home and spent the evening looking upon the painters that are at work in my house. This day I heard the Duke speak of a great design that he and my Lord of Pembroke have, and a great many others, of sending a venture to some parts of Africa to dig for gold ore there. They intend to admit as many as will venture their money, and so make themselves a company. L250 is the lowest share for every man. But I do not find that my Lord do much like it. At night Dr. Fairbrother (for so he is lately made of the Civil Law) brought home my wife by coach, it being rainy weather, she having been abroad today to buy more furniture for her house. 4th. This morning I was busy looking over papers at the office all alone, and being visited by Lieut. Lambert of the Charles (to whom I was formerly much beholden), I took him along with me to a little alehouse hard by our office, whither my cozen Thomas Pepys the turner had sent for me to show me two gentlemen that had a great desire to be known to me, one his name is Pepys, of our family, but one that I never heard of before, and the other a younger son of Sir Tho. Bendishes, and so we all called cozens. After sitting awhile and drinking, my two new cozens, myself, and Lieut. Lambert went by water to Whitehall, and from thence I and Lieut. Lambert to Westminster Abbey, where we saw Dr. Frewen translated to the Archbishoprick of York. Here I saw the Bishops of Winchester, Bangor, Rochester, Bath and Wells, and Salisbury, all in their habits, in King Henry Seventh's chappell. But, Lord! at their going out, how people did most of them look upon them as strange creatures, and few with any kind of love or respect. From thence at 2 to my Lord's, where we took Mr. Sheply and Wm. Howe to the Raindeer, and had some oysters, which were very good, the first I have eat this year. So back to my Lord's to dinner, and after dinner Lieut. Lambert and I did look upon my Lord's model, and he told me many things in a ship that I desired to understand. From thence by water I (leaving Lieut. Lambert at Blackfriars) went home, and there by promise met with Robert Shaw and Jack Spicer, who came to see me, and by the way I met upon Tower Hill with Mr. Pierce the surgeon and his wife, and took them home and did give them good wine, ale, and anchovies, and staid them till night, and so adieu. Then to look upon my painters that are now at work in my house. At night to bed. 5th. Office day; dined at home, and all the afternoon at home to see my painters make an end of their work, which they did to-day to my content, and I am in great joy to see my house likely once again to be clean. At night to bed. 6th. Col. Slingsby and I at the office getting a catch ready for the Prince de Ligne to carry his things away to-day, who is now going home again. About noon comes my cozen H. Alcock, for whom I brought a letter for my Lord to sign to my Lord Broghill for some preferment in Ireland, whither he is now a-going. After him comes Mr. Creed, who brought me some books from Holland with him, well bound and good books, which I thought he did intend to give me, but I found that I must pay him. He dined with me at my house, and from thence to Whitehall together, where I was to give my Lord an account of the stations and victualls of the fleet in order to the choosing of a fleet fit for him to take to sea, to bring over the Queen, but my Lord not coming in before 9 at night I staid no longer for him, but went back again home and so to bed. 7th (Lord's day). To White Hall on foot, calling at my father's to change my long black cloak for a short one (long cloaks being now quite out); but he being gone to church, I could not get one, and therefore I proceeded on and came to my Lord before he went to chapel and so went with him, where I heard Dr. Spurstow preach before the King a poor dry sermon; but a very good anthem of Captn. Cooke's afterwards. Going out of chapel I met with Jack Cole, my old friend (whom I had not seen a great while before), and have promised to renew acquaintance in London together. To my Lord's and dined with him; he all dinner time talking French to me, and telling me the story how the Duke of York hath got my Lord Chancellor's daughter with child, [Anne Hyde, born March 12th, 1637, daughter of Edward, first Earl of Clarendon. She was attached to the court of the Princess of Orange, daughter of Charles I., 1654, and contracted to James, Duke of York, at Breda, November 24th, 1659. The marriage was avowed in London September 3rd, 1660. She joined the Church of Rome in 1669, and died March 31st, 1671.] and that she, do lay it to him, and that for certain he did promise her marriage, and had signed it with his blood, but that he by stealth had got the paper out of her cabinet. And that the King would have him to marry her, but that he will not. [The Duke of York married Anne Hyde, and he avowed the marriage September 3rd, so that Pepys was rather behindhand in his information.] So that the thing is very bad for the Duke, and them all; but my Lord do make light of it, as a thing that he believes is not a new thing for the Duke to do abroad. Discoursing concerning what if the Duke should marry her, my Lord told me that among his father's many old sayings that he had wrote in a book of his, this is one--that he that do get a wench with child and marry her afterwards is as if a man should----in his hat and then clap it on his head. I perceive my Lord is grown a man very indifferent in all matters of religion, and so makes nothing of these things. After dinner to the Abbey, where I heard them read the church-service, but very ridiculously, that indeed I do not in myself like it at all. A poor cold sermon of Dr. Lamb's, one of the prebends, in his habit, came afterwards, and so all ended, and by my troth a pitiful sorry devotion that these men pay. So walked home by land, and before supper I read part of the Marian persecution in Mr. Fuller. So to supper, prayers, and to bed. 8th. Office day, and my wife being gone out to buy some household stuff, I dined all alone, and after dinner to Westminster, in my way meeting Mr. Moore coming to me, who went back again with me calling at several places about business, at my father's about gilded leather for my dining room, at Mr. Crew's about money, at my Lord's about the same, but meeting not Mr. Sheply there I went home by water, and Mr. Moore with me, who staid and supped with me till almost 9 at night. We love one another's discourse so that we cannot part when we do meet. He tells me that the profit of the Privy Seal is much fallen, for which I am very sorry. He gone and I to bed. 9th. This morning Sir W. Batten with Colonel Birch to Deptford, to pay off two ships. Sir W. Pen and I staid to do business, and afterwards together to White Hall, where I went to my Lord, and found him in bed not well, and saw in his chamber his picture,--[Lord Sandwich's portrait by Lely, see post, 22nd of this same month.]--very well done; and am with child [A figurative expression for an eager longing desire, used by Udall and by Spenser. The latest authority given by Dr. Murray in the "New English Dictionary," is Bailey in 1725.] till I get it copied out, which I hope to do when he is gone to sea. To Whitehall again, where at Mr. Coventry's chamber I met with Sir W. Pen again, and so with him to Redriffe by water, and from thence walked over the fields to Deptford (the first pleasant walk I have had a great while), and in our way had a great deal of merry discourse, and find him to be a merry fellow and pretty good natured, and sings very bawdy songs. So we came and found our gentlemen and Mr. Prin at the pay. About noon we dined together, and were very merry at table telling of tales. After dinner to the pay of another ship till 10 at night, and so home in our barge, a clear moonshine night, and it was 12 o'clock before we got home, where I found my wife in bed, and part of our chambers hung to-day by the upholster, but not being well done I was fretted, and so in a discontent to bed. I found Mr. Prin a good, honest, plain man, but in his discourse not very free or pleasant. Among all the tales that passed among us to-day, he told us of one Damford, that, being a black man, did scald his beard with mince-pie, and it came up again all white in that place, and continued to his dying day. Sir W. Pen told us a good jest about some gentlemen blinding of the drawer, and who he catched was to pay the reckoning, and so they got away, and the master of the house coming up to see what his man did, his man got hold of him, thinking it to be one of the gentlemen, and told him that he was to pay the reckoning. 10th. Office day all the morning. In the afternoon with the upholster seeing him do things to my mind, and to my content he did fit my chamber and my wife's. At night comes Mr. Moore, and staid late with me to tell me how Sir Hards. Waller--[Sir Hardress Waller, Knt., one of Charles I. judges. His sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life.]--(who only pleads guilty), Scott, Coke, Peters, Harrison, [General Thomas Harrison, son of a butcher at Newcastle-under-Lyme, appointed by Cromwell to convey Charles I. from Windsor to Whitehall, in order to his trial. He signed the warrant for the execution of the King. He was hanged, drawn, and quartered on the 13th.] &c. were this day arraigned at the bar at the Sessions House, there being upon the bench the Lord Mayor, General Monk, my Lord of Sandwich, &c.; such a bench of noblemen as had not been ever seen in England! They all seem to be dismayed, and will all be condemned without question. In Sir Orlando Bridgman's charge, he did wholly rip up the unjustness of the war against the King from the beginning, and so it much reflects upon all the Long Parliament, though the King had pardoned them, yet they must hereby confess that the King do look upon them as traitors. To-morrow they are to plead what they have to say. At night to bed. 11th. In the morning to my Lord's, where I met with Mr. Creed, and with him and Mr. Blackburne to the Rhenish wine house, where we sat drinking of healths a great while, a thing which Mr. Blackburne formerly would not upon any terms have done. After we had done there Mr. Creed and I to the Leg in King Street, to dinner, where he and I and my Will had a good udder to dinner, and from thence to walk in St. James's Park, where we observed the several engines at work to draw up water, with which sight I was very much pleased. Above all the rest, I liked best that which Mr. Greatorex brought, which is one round thing going within all with a pair of stairs round; round which being laid at an angle of 45 deg., do carry up the water with a great deal of ease. Here, in the Park, we met with Mr. Salisbury, who took Mr. Creed and me to the Cockpitt to see "The Moore of Venice," which was well done. Burt acted the Moore; 'by the same token, a very pretty lady that sat by me, called out, to see Desdemona smothered. From thence with Mr. Creed to Hercules Pillars, where we drank and so parted, and I went home. 12th. Office day all the morning, and from thence with Sir W. Batten and the rest of the officers to a venison pasty of his at the Dolphin, where dined withal Col. Washington, Sir Edward Brett, and Major Norwood, very noble company. After dinner I went home, where I found Mr. Cooke, who told me that my Lady Sandwich is come to town to-day, whereupon I went to Westminster to see her, and found her at super, so she made me sit down all alone with her, and after supper staid and talked with her, she showing me most extraordinary love and kindness, and do give me good assurance of my uncle's resolution to make me his heir. From thence home and to bed. 13th. To my Lord's in the morning, where I met with Captain Cuttance, but my Lord not being up I went out to Charing Cross, to see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn; and quartered; which was done there, he looking as cheerful as any man could do in that condition. He was presently cut down, and his head and heart shown to the people, at which there was great shouts of joy. It is said, that he said that he was sure to come shortly at the right hand of Christ to judge them that now had judged him; and that his wife do expect his coming again. Thus it was my chance to see the King beheaded at White Hall, and to see the first blood shed in revenge for the blood of the King at Charing Cross. From thence to my Lord's, and took Captain Cuttance and Mr. Sheply to the Sun Tavern, and did give them some oysters. After that I went by water home, where I was angry with my wife for her things lying about, and in my passion kicked the little fine basket, which I bought her in Holland, and broke it, which troubled me after I had done it. Within all the afternoon setting up shelves in my study. At night to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Early to my Lord's, in my way meeting with Dr. Fairbrother, who walked with me to my father's back again, and there we drank my morning draft, my father having gone to church and my mother asleep in bed. Here he caused me to put my hand among a great many honorable hands to a paper or certificate in his behalf. To White Hall chappell, where one Dr. Crofts made an indifferent sermon, and after it an anthem, ill sung, which made the King laugh. Here I first did see the Princess Royal since she came into England. Here I also observed, how the Duke of York and Mrs. Palmer did talk to one another very wantonly through the hangings that parts the King's closet and the closet where the ladies sit. To my Lord's, where I found my wife, and she and I did dine with my Lady (my Lord dining with my Lord Chamberlain), who did treat my wife with a good deal of respect. In the evening we went home through the rain by water in a sculler, having borrowed some coats of Mr. Sheply. So home, wet and dirty, and to bed. 15th. Office all the morning. My wife and I by water; I landed her at Whitefriars, she went to my father's to dinner, it being my father's wedding day, there being a very great dinner, and only the Fenners and Joyces there. This morning Mr. Carew [John Carew signed the warrant for the execution of Charles I. He held the religion of the Fifth Monarchists, and was tried October 12th, 1660. He refused to avail himself of many opportunities of escape, and suffered death with much composure.] was hanged and quartered at Charing Cross; but his quarters, by a great favour, are not to be hanged up. I was forced to go to my Lord's to get him to meet the officers of the Navy this afternoon, and so could not go along with her, but I missed my Lord, who was this day upon the bench at the Sessions house. So I dined there, and went to White Hall, where I met with Sir W. Batten and Pen, who with the Comptroller, Treasurer, and Mr. Coventry (at his chamber) made up a list of such ships as are fit to be kept out for the winter guard, and the rest to be paid off by the Parliament when they can get money, which I doubt will not be a great while. That done, I took coach, and called my wife at my father's, and so homewards, calling at Thos. Pepys the turner's for some things that we wanted. And so home, where I fell to read "The Fruitless Precaution" (a book formerly recommended by Dr. Clerke at sea to me), which I read in bed till I had made an end of it, and do find it the best writ tale that ever I read in my life. After that done to sleep, which I did not very well do, because that my wife having a stopping in her nose she snored much, which I never did hear her do before. 16th. This morning my brother Tom came to me, with whom I made even for my last clothes to this day, and having eaten a dish of anchovies with him in the morning, my wife and I did intend to go forth to see a play at the Cockpit this afternoon, but Mr. Moore coming to me, my wife staid at home, and he and I went out together, with whom I called at the upholsters and several other places that I had business with, and so home with him to the Cockpit, where, understanding that "Wit without money" was acted, I would not stay, but went home by water, by the way reading of the other two stories that are in the book that I read last night, which I do not like so well as it. Being come home, Will. told me that my Lord had a mind to speak with me to-night; so I returned by water, and, coming there, it was only to enquire how the ships were provided with victuals that are to go with him to fetch over the Queen, which I gave him a good account of. He seemed to be in a melancholy humour, which, I was told by W. Howe, was for that he had lately lost a great deal of money at cards, which he fears he do too much addict himself to now-a-days. So home by water and to bed. 17th. Office day. At noon came Mr. Creed to me, whom I took along with me to the Feathers in Fish Street, where I was invited by Captain Cuttance to dinner, a dinner made by Mr. Dawes and his brother. We had two or three dishes of meat well done; their great design was to get me concerned in a business of theirs about a vessel of theirs that is in the service, hired by the King, in which I promise to do them all the service I can. From thence home again with Mr. Crew, where I finding Mrs. The. Turner and her aunt Duke I would not be seen but walked in the garden till they were gone, where Mr. Spong came to me and Mr. Creed, Mr. Spong and I went to our music to sing, and he being gone, my wife and I went to put up my books in order in closet, and I to give her her books. After that to bed. 18th. This morning, it being expected that Colonel Hacker and Axtell should die, I went to Newgate, but found they were reprieved till to-morrow. So to my aunt Fenner's, where with her and my uncle I drank my morning draft. So to my father's, and did give orders for a pair of black baize linings to be made me for my breeches against to-morrow morning, which was done. So to my Lord's, where I spoke with my Lord, and he would have had me dine with him, but I went thence to Mr. Blackburne, where I met my wife and my Will's father and mother (the first time that ever I saw them), where we had a very fine dinner. Mr. Creed was also there. This day by her high discourse I found Mrs. Blackburne to be a very high dame and a costly one. Home with my wife by coach. This afternoon comes Mr. Chaplin and N. Osborn to my house, of whom I made very much, and kept them with me till late, and so to bed. At my coming home. I did find that The. Turner hath sent for a pair of doves that my wife had promised her; and because she did not send them in the best cage, she sent them back again with a scornful letter, with which I was angry, but yet pretty well pleased that she was crossed. 19th. Office in the morning. This morning my dining-room was finished with green serge hanging and gilt leather, which is very handsome. This morning Hacker and Axtell were hanged and quartered, as the rest are. This night I sat up late to make up my accounts ready against to-morrow for my Lord. I found him to be above L80 in my debt, which is a good sight, and I bless God for it. 20th. This morning one came to me to advise with me where to make me a window into my cellar in lieu of one which Sir W. Batten had stopped up, and going down into my cellar to look I stepped into a great heap of----by which I found that Mr. Turner's house of office is full and comes into my cellar, which do trouble me, but I shall have it helped. To my Lord's by land, calling at several places about business, where I dined with my Lord and Lady; when he was very merry, and did talk very high how he would have a French cook, and a master of his horse, and his lady and child to wear black patches; which methought was strange, but he is become a perfect courtier; and, among other things, my Lady saying that she could get a good merchant for her daughter Jem., he answered, that he would rather see her with a pedlar's pack at her back, so she married a gentleman, than she should marry a citizen. This afternoon, going through London, and calling at Crowe's the upholster's, in Saint Bartholomew's, I saw the limbs of some of our new traitors set upon Aldersgate, which was a sad sight to see; and a bloody week this and the last have been, there being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered. Home, and after writing a letter to my uncle by the post, I went to bed. 21st (Lord's day). To the Parish church in the morning, where a good sermon by Mr. Mills. After dinner to my Lord's, and from thence to the Abbey, where I met Spicer and D. Vines and others of the old crew. So leaving my boy at the Abbey against I came back, we went to Prior's by the Hall back door, but there being no drink to be had we went away, and so to the Crown in the Palace Yard, I and George Vines by the way calling at their house, where he carried me up to the top of his turret, where there is Cooke's head set up for a traytor, and Harrison's set up on the other side of Westminster Hall. Here I could see them plainly, as also a very fair prospect about London. From the Crown to the Abbey to look for my boy, but he was gone thence, and so he being a novice I was at a loss what was become of him. I called at my Lord's (where I found Mr. Adams, Mr. Sheply's friend) and at my father's, but found him not. So home, where I found him, but he had found the way home well enough, of which I was glad. So after supper, and reading of some chapters, I went to bed. This day or two my wife has been troubled with her boils in the old place, which do much trouble her. Today at noon (God forgive me) I strung my lute, which I had not touched a great while before. 22nd. Office day; after that to dinner at home upon some ribs of roast beef from the Cook's (which of late we have been forced to do because of our house being always under the painters' and other people's hands, that we could not dress it ourselves). After dinner to my Lord's, where I found all preparing for my Lord's going to sea to fetch the Queen tomorrow. At night my Lord came home, with whom I staid long, and talked of many things. Among others I got leave to have his picture, that was done by Lilly, [Peter Lely, afterwards knighted. He lived in the Piazza, Covent Garden. This portrait was bought by Lord Braybrooke at Mr. Pepys Cockerell's sale in 1848, and is now at Audley End.] copied, and talking of religion, I found him to be a perfect Sceptic, and said that all things would not be well while there was so much preaching, and that it would be better if nothing but Homilies were to be read in Churches. This afternoon (he told me) there hath been a meeting before the King and my Lord Chancellor, of some Episcopalian and Presbyterian Divines; but what had passed he could not tell me. After I had done talk with him, I went to bed with Mr. Sheply in his chamber, but could hardly get any sleep all night, the bed being ill made and he a bad bedfellow. 23rd. We rose early in the morning to get things ready for My Lord, and Mr. Sheply going to put up his pistols (which were charged with bullets) into the holsters, one of them flew off, and it pleased God that, the mouth of the gun being downwards, it did us no hurt, but I think I never was in more danger in my life, which put me into a great fright. About eight o'clock my Lord went; and going through the garden my Lord met with Mr. William Montagu, who told him of an estate of land lately come into the King's hands, that he had a mind my Lord should beg. To which end my Lord writ a letter presently to my Lord Chancellor to do it for him, which (after leave taken of my Lord at White Hall bridge) I did carry to Warwick House to him; and had a fair promise of him, that he would do it this day for my Lord. In my way thither I met the Lord Chancellor and all the judges riding on horseback and going to Westminster Hall, it being the first day of the term, which was the first time I ever saw any such solemnity. Having done there I returned to Whitehall, where meeting with my brother Ashwell and his cozen Sam. Ashwell and Mr. Mallard, I took them to the Leg in King Street and gave them a dish of meat for dinner and paid for it. From thence going to Whitehall I met with Catan Stirpin in mourning, who told me that her mistress was lately dead of the small pox, and that herself was now married to Monsieur Petit, as also what her mistress had left her, which was very well. She also took me to her lodging at an Ironmonger's in King Street, which was but very poor, and I found by a letter that she shewed me of her husband's to the King, that he is a right Frenchman, and full of their own projects, he having a design to reform the universities, and to institute schools for the learning of all languages, to speak them naturally and not by rule, which I know will come to nothing. From thence to my Lord's, where I went forth by coach to Mrs. Parker's with my Lady, and so to her house again. From thence I took my Lord's picture, and carried it to Mr. de Cretz to be copied. So to White Hall, where I met Mr. Spong, and went home with him and played, and sang, and eat with him and his mother. After supper we looked over many books, and instruments of his, especially his wooden jack in his chimney, which goes with the smoke, which indeed is very pretty. I found him to be as ingenious and good-natured a man as ever I met with in my life, and cannot admire him enough, he being so plain and illiterate a man as he is. From thence by coach home and to bed, which was welcome to me after a night's absence. 24th. I lay and slept long to-day. Office day. I took occasion to be angry with my wife before I rose about her putting up of half a crown of mine in a paper box, which she had forgot where she had lain it. But we were friends again as we are always. Then I rose to Jack Cole, who came to see me. Then to the office, so home to dinner, where I found Captain Murford, who did put L3 into my hands for a friendship I had done him, but I would not take it, but bade him keep it till he has enough to buy my wife a necklace. This afternoon people at work in my house to make a light in my yard into my cellar. To White Hall, in my way met with Mr. Moore, who went back with me. He tells me, among other things, that the Duke of York is now sorry for his lying with my Lord Chancellor's daughter, who is now brought to bed of a boy. From Whitehall to Mr. De Cretz, who I found about my Lord's picture. From thence to Mr. Lilly's, where, not finding Mr. Spong, I went to Mr. Greatorex, where I met him, and so to an alehouse, where I bought of him a drawing-pen; and he did show me the manner of the lamp-glasses, which carry the light a great way, good to read in bed by, and I intend to have one of them. So to Mr. Lilly's with Mr. Spong, where well received, there being a club to-night among his friends. Among the rest Esquire Ashmole, who I found was a very ingenious gentleman. With him we two sang afterward in Mr. Lilly's study. That done, we all pared; and I home by coach, taking Mr. Booker' with me, who did tell me a great many fooleries, which may be done by nativities, and blaming Mr. Lilly for writing to please his friends and to keep in with the times (as he did formerly to his own dishonour), and not according to the rules of art, by which he could not well err, as he had done. I set him down at Lime-street end, and so home, where I found a box of Carpenter's tools sent by my cozen, Thomas Pepys, which I had bespoke of him for to employ myself with sometimes. To bed. 25th. All day at home doing something in order to the fitting of my house. In the evening to Westminster about business. So home and to bed. This night the vault at the end of the cellar was emptied. 26th. Office. My father and Dr. Thomas Pepys dined at my house, the last of whom I did almost fox with Margate ale. My father is mightily pleased with my ordering of my house. I did give him money to pay several bills. After that I to Westminster to White Hall, where I saw the Duke de Soissons go from his audience with a very great deal of state: his own coach all red velvet covered with gold lace, and drawn by six barbes, and attended by twenty pages very rich in clothes. To Westminster Hall, and bought, among, other books, one of the Life of our Queen, which I read at home to my wife; but it was so sillily writ, that we did nothing but laugh at it: among other things it is dedicated to that paragon of virtue and beauty, the Duchess of Albemarle. Great talk as if the Duke of York do now own the marriage between him and the Chancellor's daughter. 27th. In London and Westminster all this day paying of money and buying of things for my house. In my going I went by chance by my new Lord Mayor's house (Sir Richard Browne), by Goldsmith's Hall, which is now fitting, and indeed is a very pretty house. In coming back I called at Paul's Churchyard and bought Alsted's Encyclopaedia,' which cost me 38s. Home and to bed, my wife being much troubled with her old pain. 28th (Lord's day). There came some pills and plaister this morning from Dr. Williams for my wife. I to Westminster Abbey, where with much difficulty, going round by the cloysters, I got in; this day being a great day for the consecrating of five Bishopps, which was done after sermon; but I could not get into Henry the Seventh's chappell. So I went to my Lord's, where I dined with my Lady, and my young Lord, and Mr. Sidney, who was sent for from Twickenham to see my Lord Mayor's show to-morrow. Mr. Child did also dine with us. After dinner to White Hall chappell; my Lady and my Lady Jemimah and I up to the King's closet (who is now gone to meet the Queen). So meeting with one Mr. Hill, that did know my Lady, he did take us into the King's closet, and there we did stay all service-time, which I did think a great honour. We went home to my Lord's lodgings afterwards, and there I parted with my Lady and went home, where I did find my wife pretty well after her physic. So to bed. 29th. I up early, it being my Lord Mayor's day, [When the calendar was reformed in England by the act 24 Geo. II. c. 23, different provisions were made as regards those anniversaries which affect directly the rights of property and those which do not. Thus the old quarter days are still noted in our almanacs, and a curious survival of this is brought home to payers of income tax. The fiscal year still begins on old Lady-day, which now falls on April 6th. All ecclesiastical fasts and feasts and other commemorations which did not affect the rights of property were left on their nominal days, such as the execution of Charles I. on January 30th and the restoration of Charles II. on May 29th. The change of Lord Mayor's day from the 29th of October to the 9th of November was not made by the act for reforming the calendar (c. 23), but by another act of the same session (c. 48), entitled "An Act for the Abbreviation of Michaelmas Term," by which it was enacted, "that from and after the said feast of St. Michael, which shall be in the year 1752, the said solemnity of presenting and swearing the mayors of the city of London, after every annual election into the said office, in the manner and form heretofore used on the 29th day of October, shall be kept and observed on the ninth day of November in every year, unless the same shall fall on a Sunday, and in that case on the day following."] (Sir Richd. Browne), and neglecting my office I went to the Wardrobe, where I met my Lady Sandwich and all the children; and after drinking of some strange and incomparable good clarett of Mr. Rumball's he and Mr. Townsend did take us, and set the young Lords at one Mr. Nevill's, a draper in Paul's churchyard; and my Lady and my Lady Pickering and I to one Mr. Isaacson's, a linendraper at the Key in Cheapside; where there was a company of fine ladies, and we were very civilly treated, and had a very good place to see the pageants, which were many, and I believe good, for such kind of things, but in themselves but poor and absurd. After the ladies were placed I took Mr. Townsend and Isaacson to the next door, a tavern, and did spend 5s. upon them. The show being done, we got as far as Paul's with much ado, where I left my Lady in the coach, and went on foot with my Lady Pickering to her lodging, which was a poor one in Blackfryars, where she never invited me to go in at all, which methought was very strange for her to do. So home, where I was told how my Lady Davis is now come to our next lodgings, and has locked up the leads door from me, which puts me into so great a disquiet that I went to bed, and could not sleep till morning at it. 30th. Within all the morning and dined at home, my mind being so troubled that I could not mind nor do anything till I spoke with the Comptroller to whom the lodgings belong. In the afternoon, to ease my mind, I went to the Cockpit all alone, and there saw a very fine play called "The Tamer Tamed;" very well acted. That being done, I went to Mr. Crew's, where I had left my boy, and so with him and Mr. Moore (who would go a little way with me home, as he will always do) to the Hercules Pillars to drink, where we did read over the King's declaration in matters of religion, which is come out to-day, which is very well penned, I think to the satisfaction of most people. So home, where I am told Mr. Davis's people have broken open the bolt of my chamber door that goes upon the leads, which I went up to see and did find it so, which did still trouble me more and more. And so I sent for Griffith, and got him to search their house to see what the meaning of it might be, but can learn nothing to-night. But I am a little pleased that I have found this out. I hear nothing yet of my Lord, whether he be gone for the Queen from the Downs or no; but I believe he is, and that he is now upon coming back again. 31st Office day. Much troubled all this morning in my mind about the business of my walk on the leads. I spoke of it to the Comptroller and the rest of the principal officers, who are all unwilling to meddle in anything that may anger my Lady Davis. And so I am fain to give over for the time that she do continue therein. Dined at home, and after dinner to Westminster Hall, where I met with Billing the quaker at Mrs. Michell's shop, who is still of the former opinion he was of against the clergymen of all sorts, and a cunning fellow I find him to be. Home, and there I had news that Sir W. Pen is resolved to ride to Sir W. Batten's country house to-morrow, and would have me go with him, so I sat up late, getting together my things to ride in, and was fain to cut an old pair of boots to make leathers for those I was to wear. This month I conclude with my mind very heavy for the loss of the leads, as also for the greatness of my late expenses, insomuch that I do not think that I have above L150 clear money in the world, but I have, I believe, got a great deal of good household stuff: I hear to-day that the Queen is landed at Dover, and will be here on Friday next, November 2nd. My wife has been so ill of late of her old pain that I have not known her this fortnight almost, which is a pain to me. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER 1660 November 1st. This morning Sir W. Pen and I were mounted early, and had very merry discourse all the way, he being very good company. We came to Sir W. Batten's, where he lives like a prince, and we were made very welcome. Among other things he showed us my Lady's closet, where was great store of rarities; as also a chair, which he calls King Harry's chair, where he that sits down is catched with two irons, that come round about him, which makes good sport. Here dined with us two or three more country gentle men; among the rest Mr. Christmas, my old school-fellow, with whom I had much talk. He did remember that I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy, and I was much afraid that he would have remembered the words that I said the day the King was beheaded (that, were I to preach upon him, my text should be "The memory of the wicked shall rot"); but I found afterwards that he did go away from school before that time. [Pepys might well be anxious on this point, for in October of this year Phieas Pett, assistant master shipwright at Chatham, was dismissed from his post for having when a Child spoken disrespectfully of the King. See ante, August 23rd.] He did make us good sport in imitating Mr. Case, Ash, and Nye, the ministers, which he did very well, but a deadly drinker he is, and grown exceeding fat. From his house to an ale-house near the church, where we sat and drank and were merry, and so we mounted for London again, Sir W. Batten with us. We called at Bow and drank there, and took leave of Mr. Johnson of Blackwall, who dined with us and rode with us thus far. So home by moonlight, it being about 9 o'clock before we got home. 2nd. Office. Then dined at home, and by chance Mr. Holliard [Thomas Holliard or Hollier was appointed in 1638 surgeon for scald heads at St. Thomas's Hospital, and on January 25th, 1643-4, he was chosen surgeon in place of Edward Molins. In 1670 his son of the same names was allowed to take his place during his illness. Ward, in his Diary, p. 235, mentions that the porter at St. Thomas's Hospital told him, in 1661, of Mr. Holyard's having cut thirty for the stone in one year, who all lived.] called at dinner time and dined with me, with whom I had great discourse concerning the cure of the King's evil, which he do deny altogether any effect at all. In the afternoon I went forth and saw some silver bosses put upon my new Bible, which cost me 6s. 6d. the making, and 7s. 6d. the silver, which, with 9s. 6d. the book, comes in all to L1 3s. 6d. From thence with Mr. Cooke that made them, and Mr. Stephens the silversmith to the tavern, and did give them a pint of wine. So to White Hall, where when I came I saw the boats going very thick to Lambeth, and all the stairs to be full of people. I was told the Queen was a-coming; ["Nov. 2. The Queen-mother and the Princess Henrietta came into London, the Queen having left this land nineteen years ago. Her coming was very private, Lambeth-way, where the King, Queen, and the Duke of York, and the rest, took water, crossed the Thames, and all safely arrived at Whitehall.--"Rugge's Diurnal."] so I got a sculler for sixpence to carry me thither and back again, but I could not get to see the Queen; so come back, and to my Lord's, where he was come; and I supt with him, he being very merry, telling merry stories of the country mayors, how they entertained the King all the way as he come along; and how the country gentlewomen did hold up their heads to be kissed by the King, not taking his hand to kiss as they should do. I took leave of my Lord and Lady, and so took coach at White Hall and carried Mr. Childe as far as the Strand, and myself got as far as Ludgate by all the bonfires, but with a great deal of trouble; and there the coachman desired that I would release him, for he durst not go further for the fires. So he would have had a shilling or 6d. for bringing of me so far; but I had but 3d. about me and did give him it. In Paul's church-yard I called at Kirton's, and there they had got a mass book for me, which I bought and cost me twelve shillings; and, when I came home, sat up late and read in it with great pleasure to my wife, to hear that she was long ago so well acquainted with. So to bed. I observed this night very few bonfires in the City, not above three in all London, for the Queen's coming; whereby I guess that (as I believed before) her coming do please but very few. 3d. Saturday. At home all the morning. In the afternoon to White Hall, where my Lord and Lady were gone to kiss the Queene's hand. To Westminster Hall, where I met with Tom Doling, and we two took Mrs. Lane to the alehouse, where I made her angry with commending of Tom Newton and her new sweetheart to be both too good for her, so that we parted with much anger, which made Tom and me good sport. So home to write letters by the post, and so to bed. 4th (Lord's day). In the morn to our own church, where Mr. Mills did begin to nibble at the Common Prayer, by saying "Glory be to the Father, &c." after he had read the two psalms; but the people had been so little used to it, that they could not tell what to answer. This declaration of the King's do give the Presbyterians some satisfaction, and a pretence to read the Common Prayer, which they would not do before because of their former preaching against it. After dinner to Westminster, where I went to my Lord's, and having spoke with him, I went to the Abbey, where the first time that ever I heard the organs in a cathedral! Thence to my Lord's, where I found Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and with him and Mr. Sheply, in our way calling at the Bell to see the seven Flanders mares that my Lord has bought lately, where we drank several bottles of Hull ale. Much company I found to come to her, and cannot wonder at it, for she is very pretty and wanton. Hence to my father's, where I found my mother in greater and greater pain of the stone. I staid long and drank with them, and so home and to bed. My wife seemed very pretty to-day, it being the first time I had given her leave to wear a black patch. 5th (Office day). Being disappointed of money, we failed of going to Deptford to pay off the Henrietta to-day. Dined at home, and at home all day, and at the office at night, to make up an account of what the debts of nineteen of the twenty-five ships that should have been paid off, is increased since the adjournment of the Parliament, they being to sit again to-morrow. This 5th of November is observed exceeding well in the City; and at night great bonfires and fireworks. At night Mr. Moore came and sat with me, and there I took a book and he did instruct me in many law notions, in which I took great pleasure. To bed. 6th. In the morning with Sir W. Batten and Pen by water to Westminster, where at my Lord's I met with Mr. Creed. With him to see my Lord's picture (now almost done), and thence to Westminster Hall, where we found the Parliament met to-day, and thence meeting with Mr. Chetwind, I took them to the Sun, and did give them a barrel of oysters, and had good discourse; among other things Mr. Chetwind told me how he did fear that this late business of the Duke of York's would prove fatal to my Lord Chancellor. From thence Mr. Creed and I to Wilkinson's, and dined together, and in great haste thence to our office, where we met all, for the sale of two ships by an inch of candle [The old-fashioned custom of sale by auction by inch of candle was continued in sales by the Admiralty to a somewhat late date. See September 3rd, 1662.] (the first time that ever I saw any of this kind), where I observed how they do invite one another, and at last how they all do cry,--[To cry was to bid.]--and we have much to do to tell who did cry last. The ships were the Indian, sold for L1,300, and the Half-moon, sold for L830. Home, and fell a-reading of the tryalls of the late men that were hanged for the King's death, and found good satisfaction in reading thereof. At night to bed, and my wife and I did fall out about the dog's being put down into the cellar, which I had a mind to have done because of his fouling the house, and I would have my will, and so we went to bed and lay all night in a quarrel. This night I was troubled all night with a dream that my wife was dead, which made me that I slept ill all night. 7th (Office day). This day my father came to dine at my house, but being sent for in the morning I could not stay, but went by water to my Lord, where I dined with him, and he in a very merry humour (present Mr. Borfett and Childe) at dinner: he, in discourse of the great opinion of the virtue--gratitude (which he did account the greatest thing in the world to him, and had, therefore, in his mind been often troubled in the late times how to answer his gratitude to the King, who raised his father), did say it was that did bring him to his obedience to the King; and did also bless himself with his good fortune, in comparison to what it was when I was with him in the Sound, when he durst not own his correspondence with the King; which is a thing that I never did hear of to this day before; and I do from this raise an opinion of him, to be one of the most secret men in the world, which I was not so convinced of before. After dinner he bid all go out of the room, and did tell me how the King had promised him L4000 per annum for ever, and had already given him a bill under his hand (which he showed me) for L4000 that Mr. Fox is to pay him. My Lord did advise with me how to get this received, and to put out L3000 into safe hands at use, and the other he will make use of for his present occasion. This he did advise with me about with much secresy. After all this he called for the fiddles and books, and we two and W. Howe, and Mr. Childe, did sing and play some psalmes of Will. Lawes's, and some songs; and so I went away. So I went to see my Lord's picture, which is almost done, and do please me very well. Hence to Whitehall to find out Mr. Fox, which I did, and did use me very civilly, but I did not see his lady, whom I had so long known when she was a maid, Mrs. Whittle. From thence meeting my father Bowyer, I took him to Mr. Harper's, and there drank with him. Among other things in discourse he told me how my wife's brother had a horse at grass with him, which I was troubled to hear, it being his boldness upon my score. Home by coach, and read late in the last night's book of Trials, and told my wife about her brother's horse at Mr. Bowyer's, who is also much troubled for it, and do intend to go to-morrow to inquire the truth. Notwithstanding this was the first day of the King's proclamation against hackney coaches coming into the streets to stand to be hired, yet I got one to carry me home. ["A Proclamation to restrain the abuses of Hackney Coaches in the Cities of London and Westminster and the Suburbs thereof." This is printed in "Notes and Queries," First Series, vol. viii. p. 122. "In April, 1663, the poor widows of hackney-coachmen petitioned for some relief, as the parliament had reduced the number of coaches to 400; there were before, in and about London, more than 2,000." --Rugge's Diurnal.] 8th. This morning Sir Wm. and the Treasurer and I went by barge with Sir Wm. Doyley and Mr. Prin to Deptford, to pay off the Henrietta, and had a good dinner. I went to Mr. Davys's and saw his house (where I was once before a great while ago) and I found him a very pretty man. In the afternoon Commissioner Pett and I went on board the yacht, which indeed is one of the finest things that ever I saw for neatness and room in so small a vessel. Mr. Pett is to make one to outdo this for the honour of his country, which I fear he will scarce better. From thence with him as far as Ratcliffe, where I left him going by water to London, and I (unwilling to leave the rest of the officers) went back again to Deptford, and being very much troubled with a sudden looseness, I went into a little alehouse at the end of Ratcliffe, and did give a groat for a pot of ale, and there I did . . . So went forward in my walk with some men that were going that way a great pace, and in our way we met with many merry seamen that had got their money paid them to-day. We sat very late doing the work and waiting for the tide, it being moonshine we got to London before two in the morning. So home, where I found my wife up, she shewed me her head which was very well dressed to-day, she having been to see her father and mother. So to bed. 9th. Lay long in bed this morning though an office day, because of our going to bed late last night. Before I went to my office Mr. Creed came to me about business, and also Mr. Carter, my old Cambridge friend, came to give me a visit, and I did give them a morning draught in my study. So to the office, and from thence to dinner with Mr. Wivell at the Hoop Tavern, where we had Mr. Shepley, Talbot, Adams, Mr. Chaplin and Osborne, and our dinner given us by Mr. Ady and another, Mr. Wine, the King's fishmonger. Good sport with Mr. Talbot, who eats no sort of fish, and there was nothing else till we sent for a neat's tongue. From thence to Whitehall where I found my Lord, who had an organ set up to-day in his dining-room, but it seems an ugly one in the form of Bridewell. Thence I went to Sir Harry Wright's, where my Lord was busy at cards, and so I staid below with Mrs. Carter and Evans (who did give me a lesson upon the lute), till he came down, and having talked with him at the door about his late business of money, I went to my father's and staid late talking with my father about my sister Pall's coming to live with me if she would come and be as a servant (which my wife did seem to be pretty willing to do to-day), and he seems to take it very well, and intends to consider of it. Home and to bed. 10th. Up early. Sir Wm. Batten and I to make up an account of the wages of the officers and mariners at sea, ready to present to the Committee of Parliament this afternoon. Afterwards came the Treasurer and Comptroller, and sat all the morning with us till the business was done. So we broke up, leaving the thing to be wrote over fair and carried to Trinity House for Sir Wm. Batten's hand. When staying very long I found (as appointed) the Treasurer and Comptroller at Whitehall, and so we went with a foul copy to the Parliament house, where we met with Sir Thos. Clarges and Mr. Spry, and after we had given them good satisfaction we parted. The Comptroller and I to the coffee-house, where he shewed me the state of his case; how the King did owe him about L6000. But I do not see great likelihood for them to be paid, since they begin already in Parliament to dispute the paying of the just sea-debts, which were already promised to be paid, and will be the undoing of thousands if they be not paid. So to Whitehall to look but could not find Mr. Fox, and then to Mr. Moore at Mr. Crew's, but missed of him also. So to Paul's Churchyard, and there bought Montelion, which this year do not prove so good as the last was; so after reading it I burnt it. After reading of that and the comedy of the Rump, which is also very silly, I went to bed. This night going home, Will and I bought a goose. 11th (Lord's day). This morning I went to Sir W. Batten's about going to Deptford to-morrow, and so eating some hog's pudding of my Lady's making, of the hog that I saw a fattening the other day at her house, he and I went to Church into our new gallery, the first time it was used, and it not being yet quite finished, there came after us Sir W. Pen, Mr. Davis, and his eldest son. There being no woman this day, we sat in the foremost pew, and behind us our servants, and I hope it will not always be so, it not being handsome for our servants to sit so equal with us. This day also did Mr. Mills begin to read all the Common Prayer, which I was glad of. Home to dinner, and then walked to Whitehall, it being very cold and foul and rainy weather. I found my Lord at home, and after giving him an account of some business, I returned and went to my father's where I found my wife, and there we supped, and Dr. Thomas Pepys, who my wife told me after I was come home, that he had told my brother Thomas that he loved my wife so well that if she had a child he would never marry, but leave all that he had to my child, and after supper we walked home, my little boy carrying a link, and Will leading my wife. So home and to prayers and to bed. I should have said that before I got to my Lord's this day I went to Mr. Fox's at Whitehall, when I first saw his lady, formerly Mrs. Elizabeth Whittle, whom I had formerly a great opinion of, and did make an anagram or two upon her name when I was a boy. She proves a very fine lady, and mother to fine children. To-day I agreed with Mr. Fox about my taking of the; L4000 of him that the King had given my Lord. 12th. Lay long in bed to-day. Sir Wm. Batten went this morning to Deptford to pay off the Wolf. Mr. Comptroller and I sat a while at the office to do business, and thence I went with him to his house in Lime Street, a fine house, and where I never was before, and from thence by coach (setting down his sister at the new Exchange) to Westminster Hall, where first I met with Jack Spicer and agreed with him to help me to tell money this afternoon. Hence to De Cretz, where I saw my Lord's picture finished, which do please me very well. So back to the Hall, where by appointment I met the Comptroller, and with him and three or four Parliament men I dined at Heaven, and after dinner called at Will's on Jack Spicer, and took him to Mr. Fox's, who saved me the labour of telling me the money by giving me; L3000 by consent (the other L1000 I am to have on Thursday next), which I carried by coach to the Exchequer, and put it up in a chest in Spicer's office. From thence walked to my father's, where I found my wife, who had been with my father to-day, buying of a tablecloth and a dozen of napkins of diaper the first that ever I bought in my life. My father and I took occasion to go forth, and went and drank at Mr. Standing's, and there discoursed seriously about my sister's coming to live with me, which I have much mind for her good to have, and yet I am much afeard of her ill-nature. Coming home again, he and I, and my wife, my mother and Pall, went all together into the little room, and there I told her plainly what my mind was, to have her come not as a sister in any respect, but as a servant, which she promised me that she would, and with many thanks did weep for joy, which did give me and my wife some content and satisfaction. So by coach home and to bed. The last night I should have mentioned how my wife and I were troubled all night with the sound of drums in our ears, which in the morning we found to be Mr. Davys's jack, [The date of the origin of smoke jacks does not appear to be known, but the first patent taken out for an improved smoke-jack by Peter Clare is dated December 24th, 1770. The smoke jack consists of a wind-wheel fixed in the chimney, which communicates motion by means of an endless band to a pulley, whence the motion is transmitted to the spit by gearing. In the valuable introduction to the volume of "Abridgments of Specifications relating to Cooking, 1634-1866" (Patent Office), mention is made of an Italian work by Bartolomeo Scappi, published first at Rome in 1572, and afterwards reprinted at Venice in 1622, which gives a complete account of the kitchens of the time and the utensils used in them. In the plates several roasting-jacks are represented, one worked by smoke or hot air and one by a spring.] but not knowing the cause of its going all night, I understand to-day that they have had a great feast to-day. 13th. Early going to my Lord's I met with Mr. Moore, who was going to my house, and indeed I found him to be a most careful, painful,--[Painful, i.e. painstaking or laborious. Latimer speaks of the "painful magistrates."]--and able man in business, and took him by water to the Wardrobe, and shewed him all the house; and indeed there is a great deal of room in it, but very ugly till my Lord hath bestowed great cost upon it. So to the Exchequer, and there took Spicer and his fellow clerks to the Dog tavern, and did give them a peck of oysters, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife making of pies and tarts to try, her oven with, which she has never yet done, but not knowing the nature of it, did heat it too hot, and so a little overbake her things, but knows how to do better another time. At home all the afternoon. At night made up my accounts of my sea expenses in order to my clearing off my imprest bill of L30 which I had in my hands at the beginning of my voyage; which I intend to shew to my Lord to-morrow. To bed. 14th (Office day). But this day was the first that we do begin to sit in the afternoon, and not in the forenoon, and therefore I went into Cheapside to Mr. Beauchamp's, the goldsmith, to look out a piece of plate to give Mr. Fox from my Lord, for his favour about the L4,000, and did choose a gilt tankard. So to Paul's Churchyard and bought "Cornelianum. dolium:" ["Cornelianum dolium" is a Latin comedy, by T. R., published at London in 1638. Douce attributed it to Thomas Randolph (d. 1635). The book has a frontispiece representing the sweating tub which, from the name of the patient, was styled Cornelius's tub. There is a description of the play in the "European Magazine," vol. xxxvii. (1805), p. 343] So home to dinner, and after that to the office till late at night, and so Sir W. Pen, the Comptroller, and I to the Dolphin, where we found Sir W. Batten, who is seldom a night from hence, and there we did drink a great quantity of sack and did tell many merry stories, and in good humours we were all. So home and to bed. 15th. To Westminster, and it being very cold upon the water I went all alone to the Sun and drank a draft of mulled white wine, and so to Mr. de Cretz, whither I sent for J. Spicer (to appoint him to expect me this afternoon at the office, with the other L1000 from Whitehall), and here we staid and did see him give some finishing touches to my Lord's picture, so at last it is complete to my mind, and I leave mine with him to copy out another for himself, and took the original by a porter with me to my Lord's, where I found my Lord within, and staid hearing him and Mr. Child playing upon my Lord's new organ, the first time I ever heard it. My Lord did this day show me the King's picture, which was done in Flanders, that the King did promise my Lord before he ever saw him, and that we did expect to have had at sea before the King came to us; but it came but to-day, and indeed it is the most pleasant and the most like him that ever I saw picture in my life. As dinner was coming on table, my wife came to my Lord's, and I got her carried in to my Lady, who took physic to-day, and was just now hiring of a French maid that was with her, and they could not understand one another till my wife came to interpret. Here I did leave my wife to dine with my Lord, the first time he ever did take notice of her as my wife, and did seem to have a just esteem for her. And did myself walk homewards (hearing that Sir W. Pen was gone before in a coach) to overtake him and with much ado at last did in Fleet Street, and there I went in to him, and there was Sir Arnold Brames, and we all three to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, he having a couple of Servants married to-day; and so there was a great number of merchants, and others of good quality on purpose after dinner to make an offering, which, when dinner was done, we did, and I did give ten shillings and no more, though I believe most of the rest did give more, and did believe that I did so too. From thence to Whitehall again by water to Mr. Fox and by two porters carried away the other L1000. He was not within himself, but I had it of his kinsman, and did give him L4. and other servants something; but whereas I did intend to have given Mr. Fox himself a piece of plate of L50 I was demanded L100, for the fee of the office at 6d. a pound, at which I was surprised, but, however, I did leave it there till I speak with my Lord. So I carried it to the Exchequer, where at Will's I found Mr. Spicer, and so lodged it at his office with the rest. From thence after a pot of ale at Will's I took boat in the dark and went for all that to the old Swan, and so to Sir Wm. Batten's, and leaving some of the gallants at cards I went home, where I found my wife much satisfied with my Lord's discourse and respect to her, and so after prayers to bed. 16th. Up early to my father's, where by appointment Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I to the Temple, and thence to Westminster Hall to speak with Mr. Wm. Montagu about his looking upon the title of those lands which I do take as security for L3000 of my Lord's money. That being done Mr. Moore and I parted, and in the Hall I met with Mr. Fontleroy (my old acquaintance, whom I had not seen a long time), and he and I to the Swan, and in discourse he seems to be wise and say little, though I know things are changed against his mind. Thence home by water, where my father, Mr. Snow, and Mr. Moore did dine with me. After dinner Mr. Snow and I went up together to discourse about the putting out of L80 to a man who lacks the money and would give me L15 per annum for 8 years for it, which I did not think profit enough, and so he seemed to be disappointed by my refusal of it, but I would not now part with my money easily. He seems to do it as a great favour to me to offer to come in upon a way of getting of money, which they call Bottomry, ["The contract of bottomry is a negotiable instrument, which may be put in suit by the person to whom it is transferred; it is in use in all countries of maritime commerce and interests. A contract in the nature of a mortgage of a ship, when the owner of it borrows money to enable him to carry on the voyage, and pledges the keel or bottom of the ship as a security for the repayment. If the ship be lost the lender loses his whole money; but if it returns in safety, then he shall receive back his principal, and also the premium stipulated to be paid, however it may exceed the usual or legal rate of interest."--Smyth's Sailor's WordBook.] which I do not yet understand, but do believe there may be something in it of great profit. After we were parted I went to the office, and there we sat all the afternoon, and at night we went to a barrel of oysters at Sir W. Batten's, and so home, and I to the setting of my papers in order, which did keep me up late. So to bed. 17th. In the morning to Whitehall, where I inquired at the Privy Seal Office for a form for a nobleman to make one his Chaplain. But I understanding that there is not any, I did draw up one, and so to my Lord's, and there I did give him it to sign for Mr. Turner to be his first Chaplain. I did likewise get my Lord to sign my last sea accounts, so that I am even to this day when I have received the balance of Mr. Creed. I dined with my Lady and my Lady Pickering, where her son John dined with us, who do continue a fool as he ever was since I knew him. His mother would fain marry him to get a portion for his sister Betty but he will not hear of it. Hither came Major Hart this noon, who tells me that the Regiment is now disbanded, and that there is some money coming to me for it. I took him to my Lord to Mr. Crew's, and from thence with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Moore to the Devil Tavern, and there we drank. So home and wrote letters by the post. Then to my lyra viall, [The lyre viol is a viol with extra open bass strings, holding the same relation to the viol as the theorbo does to the lute. A volume entitled "Musick's Recreation on the Lyra Viol," was printed by John Playford in 1650.] and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). In the morning to our own church, Where Mr. Powel (a crook legged man that went formerly with me to Paul's School), preached a good sermon. In the afternoon to our own church and my wife with me (the first time that she and my Lady Batten came to sit in our new pew), and after sermon my Lady took us home and there we supped with her and Sir W. Batten, and Pen, and were much made of. The first time that ever my wife was there. So home and to bed. 19th (Office day). After we had done a little at the office this morning, I went with the Treasurer in his coach to White Hall, and in our way, in discourse, do find him a very good-natured man; and, talking of those men who now stand condemned for murdering the King, he says that he believes that, if the law would give leave, the King is a man of so great compassion that he would wholly acquit them. Going to my Lord's I met with Mr. Shepley, and so he and I to the Sun, and I did give him a morning draft of Muscadine. [Muscadine or muscadel, a rich sort of wine. 'Vinum muscatum quod moschi odorem referat.' "Quaffed off the muscadel, and threw the sops All in the sexton's face." Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act iii. SC. 2.--M. B.] And so to see my Lord's picture at De Cretz, and he says it is very like him, and I say so too. After that to Westminster Hall, and there hearing that Sir W. Batten was at the Leg in the Palace, I went thither, and there dined with him and some of the Trinity House men who had obtained something to-day at the House of Lords concerning the Ballast Office. After dinner I went by water to London to the Globe in Cornhill, and there did choose two pictures to hang up in my house, which my wife did not like when I came home, and so I sent the picture of Paris back again. To the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night. So home, and there came Mr. Beauchamp to me with the gilt tankard, and I did pay him for it L20. So to my musique and sat up late at it, and so to bed, leaving my wife to sit up till 2 o'clock that she may call the wench up to wash. 20th. About two o'clock my wife wakes me, and comes to bed, and so both to sleep and the wench to wash. I rose and with Will to my Lord's by land, it being a very hard frost, the first we have had this year. There I staid with my Lord and Mr. Shepley, looking over my Lord's accounts and to set matters straight between him and Shepley, and he did commit the viewing of these accounts to me, which was a great joy to me to see that my Lord do look upon me as one to put trust in. Hence to the organ, where Mr. Child and one Mr Mackworth (who plays finely upon the violin) were playing, and so we played till dinner and then dined, where my Lord in a very good humour and kind to me. After dinner to the Temple, where I met Mr. Moore and discoursed with him about the business of putting out my Lord's L3000, and that done, Mr. Shepley and I to the new Play-house near Lincoln's-Inn-Fields (which was formerly Gibbon's tennis-court), where the play of "Beggar's Bush" was newly begun; and so we went in and saw it, it was well acted: and here I saw the first time one Moone, [Michael Mohun, or Moone, the celebrated actor, who had borne a major's commission in the King's army. The period of his death is uncertain, but he is known to have been dead in 1691. Downes relates that an eminent poet [Lee] seeing him act Mithridates "vented suddenly this saying: 'Oh, Mohun, Mohun, thou little man of mettle, if I should write a 100, I'd write a part for thy mouth.'" --Roscius Anglicanus, p. 17.] who is said to be the best actor in the world, lately come over with the King, and indeed it is the finest play-house, I believe, that ever was in England. From thence, after a pot of ale with Mr. Shepley at a house hard by, I went by link home, calling a little by the way at my father's and my uncle Fenner's, where all pretty well, and so home, where I found the house in a washing pickle, and my wife in a very joyful condition when I told her that she is to see the Queen next Thursday, which puts me in mind to say that this morning I found my Lord in bed late, he having been with the King, Queen, and Princess, at the Cockpit [The Cockpit at Whitehall. The plays at the Cockpit in Drury Lane were acted in the afternoon.] all night, where. General Monk treated them; and after supper a play, where the King did put a great affront upon Singleton's' musique, he bidding them stop and bade the French musique play, which, my Lord says, do much outdo all ours. But while my Lord was rising, I went to Mr. Fox's, and there did leave the gilt tankard for Mrs. Fox, and then to the counting-house to him, who hath invited me and my wife to dine with him on Thursday next, and so to see the Queen and Princesses. 21st. Lay long in bed. This morning my cozen Thomas Pepys, the turner, sent me a cupp of lignum vitae [A hard, compact, black-green wood, obtained from 'Guaiacum offcinale', from which pestles, ship-blocks, rollers, castors, &c., are turned.] for a token. This morning my wife and I went to Paternoster Row, and there we bought some green watered moyre for a morning wastecoate. And after that we went to Mr. Cade's' to choose some pictures for our house. After that my wife went home, and I to Pope's Head, and bought me an aggate hafted knife, which cost me 5s. So home to dinner, and so to the office all the afternoon, and at night to my viallin (the first time that I have played on it since I came to this house) in my dining room, and afterwards to my lute there, and I took much pleasure to have the neighbours come forth into the yard to hear me. So down to supper, and sent for the barber, who staid so long with me that he was locked into the house, and we were fain to call up Griffith, to let him out. So up to bed, leaving my wife to wash herself, and to do other things against to-morrow to go to court. 22d. This morning came the carpenters to make me a door at the other side of my house, going into the entry, which I was much pleased with. At noon my wife and I walked to the Old Exchange, and there she bought her a white whisk [A gorget or neckerchief worn by women at this time. "A woman's neck whisk is used both plain and laced, and is called of most a gorget or falling whisk, because it falleth about the shoulders." --Randle Hohnt (quoted by Planche).] and put it on, and I a pair of gloves, and so we took coach for Whitehall to Mr. Fox's, where we found Mrs. Fox within, and an alderman of London paying L1000 or L1500 in gold upon the table for the King, which was the most gold that ever I saw together in my life. Mr. Fox came in presently and did receive us with a great deal of respect; and then did take my wife and I to the Queen's presence-chamber; where he got my wife placed behind the Queen's chair, and I got into the crowd, and by and by the Queen and the two Princesses came to dinner. The Queen a very little plain old woman, and nothing more in her presence in any respect nor garb than any ordinary woman. The Princess of Orange I had often seen before. The Princess Henrietta is very pretty, but much below my expectation; and her dressing of herself with her hair frized short up to her ears, did make her seem so much the less to me. But my wife standing near her with two or three black patches on, and well dressed, did seem to me much handsomer than she. Dinner being done, we went to Mr. Fox's again, where many gentlemen dined with us, and most princely dinner, all provided for me and my friends, but I bringing none but myself and wife, he did call the company to help to eat up so much good victuals. At the end of dinner, my Lord Sandwich's health was drunk in the gilt tankard that I did give to Mrs. Fox the other day. After dinner I had notice given me by Will my man that my Lord did inquire for me, so I went to find him, and met him and the Duke of York in a coach going towards Charing Cross. I endeavoured to follow them but could not, so I returned to Mr. Fox, and after much kindness and good discourse we parted from thence. I took coach for my wife and me homewards, and I light at the Maypole in the Strand, and sent my wife home. I to the new playhouse and saw part of the "Traitor," a very good Tragedy; Mr. Moon did act the Traitor very well. So to my Lord's, and sat there with my Lady a great while talking. Among other things, she took occasion to inquire (by Madame Dury's late discourse with her) how I did treat my wife's father and mother. At which I did give her a good account, and she seemed to be very well opinioned of my wife. From thence to White Hall at about 9 at night, and there, with Laud the page that went with me, we could not get out of Henry the Eighth's gallery into the further part of the boarded gallery, where my Lord was walking with my Lord Ormond; and we had a key of Sir S. Morland's, but all would not do; till at last, by knocking, Mr. Harrison the door-keeper did open us the door, and, after some talk with my Lord about getting a catch to carry my Lord St. Albans a goods to France, I parted and went home on foot, it being very late and dirty, and so weary to bed. 23rd. This morning standing looking upon the workmen doing of my new door to my house, there comes Captain Straughan the Scot (to whom the King has given half of the money that the two ships lately sold do bring), and he would needs take me to the Dolphin, and give me a glass of ale and a peck of oysters, he and I. He did talk much what he is able to advise the King for good husbandry in his ships, as by ballasting them with lead ore and many other tricks, but I do believe that he is a knowing man in sea-business. Home and dined, and in the afternoon to the office, where till late, and that being done Mr. Creed did come to speak with me, and I took him to the Dolphin, where there was Mr. Pierce the purser and his wife and some friends of theirs. So I did spend a crown upon them behind the bar, they being akin to the people of the house, and this being the house where Mr. Pierce was apprentice. After they were gone Mr. Creed and I spent an hour in looking over the account which he do intend to pass in our office for his lending moneys, which I did advise about and approve or disapprove of as I saw cause. After an hour being, serious at this we parted about 11 o'clock at night. So I home and to bed, leaving my wife and the maid at their linen to get up. 24th. To my Lord's, where after I had done talking with him Mr. Townsend, Rumball, Blackburn, Creed and Shepley and I to the Rhenish winehouse, and there I did give them two quarts of Wormwood wine, [Wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) is celebrated for its intensely bitter, tonic, and stimulating qualities, which have caused it to be used in various medicinal preparations, and also in the making of liqueurs, as wormwood wine and creme d'absinthe.] and so we broke up. So we parted, and I and Mr. Creed to Westminster Hall and looked over a book or two, and so to my Lord's, where I dined with my lady, there being Mr. Child and Mrs. Borfett, who are never absent at dinner there, under pretence of a wooing. From thence I to Mr. de Cretz and did take away my Lord's picture, which is now finished for me, and I paid L3 10s. for it and the frame, and am well pleased with it and the price. So carried it home by water, Will being with me. At home, and had a fire made in my closet, and put my papers and books and things in order, and that being done I fell to entering these two good songs of Mr. Lawes, "Helpe, helpe, O helpe," and "O God of Heaven and Hell" in my song book, to which I have got Mr. Child to set the base to the Theorbo, and that done to bed. 25th (Lord's day). In the forenoon I alone to our church, and after dinner I went and ranged about to many churches, among the rest to the Temple, where I heard Dr. Wilkins' a little (late Maister of Trinity in Cambridge). That being done to my father's to see my mother who is troubled much with the stone, and that being done I went home, where I had a letter brought me from my Lord to get a ship ready to carry the Queen's things over to France, she being to go within five or six days. So to supper and to bed. 26th (Office day). To it all the morning, and dined at home where my father come and dined with me, who seems to take much pleasure to have a son that is neat in his house. I being now making my new door into the entry, which he do please himself much with. After dinner to the office again, and there till night. And that being done the Comptroller and I to the Mitre to a glass of wine, when we fell into a discourse of poetry, and he did repeat some verses of his own making which were very good. Home, there hear that my Lady Batten had given my wife a visit (the first that ever she made her), which pleased me exceedingly. So after supper to bed. 27th. To Whitehall, where I found my Lord gone abroad to the Wardrobe, whither he do now go every other morning, and do seem to resolve to understand and look after the business himself. From thence to Westminster Hall, and in King Street there being a great stop of coaches, there was a falling out between a drayman and my Lord Chesterfield's coachman, and one of his footmen killed. At the Hall I met with Mr. Creed, and he and I to Hell to drink our morning draught, and so to my Lord's again, where I found my wife, and she and I dined with him and my Lady, and great company of my Lord's friends, and my Lord did show us great respect. Soon as dinner was done my wife took her leave, and went with Mr. Blackburne and his wife to London to a christening of a Brother's child of his on Tower Hill, and I to a play, "The Scorn-full Lady," and that being done, I went homewards, and met Mr. Moore, who had been at my house, and took him to my father's, and we three to Standing's to drink. Here Mr. Moore told me how the House had this day voted the King to have all the Excise for ever. This day I do also hear that the Queen's going to France is stopt, which do like, me well, because then the King will be in town the next month, which is my month again at the Privy Seal. From thence home, where when I come I do remember that I did leave my boy Waineman at Whitehall with order to stay there for me in the court, at which I was much troubled, but about 11 o'clock at night the boy came home well, and so we all to bed. 28th. This morning went to Whitehall to my Lord's, where Major Hart did pay me; L23 14s. 9d., due to me upon my pay in my Lord's troop at the time of our disbanding, which is a great blessing to have without taking any law in the world for. But now I must put an end to any hopes of getting any more, so that I bless God for this. From thence with Mr. Shepley and Pinkney to the Sun, and did give them a glass of wine and a peck of oysters for joy of my getting this money. So home, where I found that Mr. Creed had sent me the L11 5s. that is due to me upon the remains of account for my sea business, which is also so much clear money to me, and my bill of impresse [For "bill of impress" In Italian 'imprestare' means "to lend." In the ancient accounts of persons officially employed by the crown, money advanced, paid on, account, was described as "de prestito," or "in prestitis."--M. B.] for L30 is also cleared, so that I am wholly clear as to the sea in all respects. To the office, and was there till late at night, and among the officers do hear that they may have our salaries allowed by the Treasurer, which do make me very glad, and praise God for it. Home to supper, and Mr. Hater supped with me, whom I did give order to take up my money of the Treasurer to-morrow if it can be had. So to bed. 29th. In the morning seeing a great deal of foul water come into my parlour from under the partition between me and Mr. Davis, I did step thither to him and tell him of it, and he did seem very ready to have it stopt, and did also tell me how thieves did attempt to rob his house last night, which do make us all afraid. This noon I being troubled that the workmen that I have to do my door were called to Mr. Davis's away, I sent for them, when Mr. Davis sent to inquire a reason of, and I did give him a good one, that they were come on purpose to do some work with me that they had already begun, with which he was well pleased, and I glad, being unwilling to anger them. In the afternoon Sir W. Batten and I met and did sell the ship Church for L440; and we asked L391, and that being done, I went home, and Dr. Petty came to me about Mr. Barlow's money, and I being a little troubled to be so importuned before I had received it, and that they would have it stopt in Mr. Fenn's hands, I did force the Doctor to go fetch the letter of attorney that he had to receive it only to make him same labour, which he did bring, and Mr. Hales came along with him from the Treasury with my money for the first quarter (Michaelmas last) that ever I received for this employment. So I paid the Dr. L25 and had L62 10s. for myself, and L7 10s. to myself also for Will's salary, which I do intend yet to keep for myself. With this my heart is much rejoiced, and do bless Almighty God that he is pleased to send so sudden and unexpected payment of my salary so soon after my great disbursements. So that now I am worth L200 again. In a great ease of mind and spirit I fell about the auditing of Mr. Shepley's last accounts with my Lord by my Lord's desire, and about that I sat till 12 o'clock at night, till I began to doze, and so to bed, with my heart praising God for his mercy to us. 30th (Office day). To the office, where Sir G. Carteret did give us an account how Mr. Holland do intend to prevail with the Parliament to try his project of discharging the seamen all at present by ticket, and so promise interest to all men that will lend money upon them at eight per cent., for so long as they are unpaid; whereby he do think to take away the growing debt, which do now lie upon the kingdom for lack of present money to discharge the seamen. But this we are, troubled at as some diminution to us. I having two barrels of oysters at home, I caused one of them and some wine to be brought to the inner room in the office, and there the Principal Officers did go and eat them. So we sat till noon, and then to dinner, and to it again in the afternoon till night. At home I sent for Mr. Hater, and broke the other barrel with him, and did afterwards sit down discoursing of sea terms to learn of him. And he being gone I went up and sat till twelve at night again to make an end of my Lord's accounts, as I did the last night. Which at last I made a good end of, and so to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1660 December 1st. This morning, observing some things to be laid up not as they should be by the girl, I took a broom and basted her till she cried extremely, which made me vexed, but before I went out I left her appeased. So to Whitehall, where I found Mr. Moore attending for me at the Privy Seal, but nothing to do to-day. I went to my Lord St. Albans lodgings, and found him in bed, talking to a priest (he looked like one) that leaned along over the side of the bed, and there I desired to know his mind about making the catch stay longer, which I got ready for him the other day. He seems to be a fine civil gentleman. To my Lord's, and did give up my audit of his accounts, which I had been then two days about, and was well received by my Lord. I dined with my Lord and Lady, and we had a venison pasty. Mr. Shepley and I went into London, and calling upon Mr. Pinkney, the goldsmith, he took us to the tavern, and gave us a pint of wine, and there fell into our company old Mr. Flower and another gentleman; who tell us how a Scotch knight was killed basely the other day at the Fleece in Covent Garden, where there had been a great many formerly killed. So to Paul's Churchyard, and there I took the little man at Mr. Kirton's and Mr. Shepley to Ringstead's at the Star, and after a pint of wine I went home, my brains somewhat troubled with so much wine, and after a letter or two by the post I went to bed. 2d (Lord's day). My head not very well, and my body out of order by last night's drinking, which is my great folly. To church, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon; so home to dinner. My wife and I all alone to a leg of mutton, the sawce of which being made sweet, I was angry at it, and eat none, but only dined upon the marrow bone that we had beside. To church in the afternoon, and after sermon took Tom Fuller's Church History and read over Henry the 8th's life in it, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. This morning I took a resolution to rise early in the morning, and so I rose by candle, which I have not done all this winter, and spent my morning in fiddling till time to go to the office, where Sir G. Carteret did begin again discourse on Mr. Holland's proposition, which the King do take very ill, and so Sir George in lieu of that do propose that the seamen should have half in ready money and tickets for the other half, to be paid in three months after, which we judge to be very practicable. After office home to dinner, where come in my cozen Snow by chance, and I had a very good capon to dinner. So to the office till night, and so home, and then come Mr. Davis, of Deptford (the first time that ever he was at my house), and after him Mons. L'Impertinent, who is to go to Ireland to-morrow, and so came to take his leave of me. They both found me under the barber's hand; but I had a bottle of good sack in the house, and so made them very welcome. Mr. Davis sat with me a good while after the other was gone, talking of his hard usage and of the endeavour to put him out of his place in the time of the late Commissioners, and he do speak very highly of their corruption. After he was gone I fell a reading 'Cornelianum dolium' till 11 o'clock at night with great pleasure, and after that to bed. 4th. To Whitehall to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, where all the officers met, and so we went up to the Duke of York, and he took us into his closet, and we did open to him our project of stopping the growing charge of the fleet by paying them in hand one moyety, and the other four months hence. This he do like, and we returned by his order to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, and there we did draw up this design in order to be presented to the Parliament. From thence I to my Lord's, and dined with him and told him what we had done to-day. Sir Tho. Crew dined with my Lord to-day, and we were very merry with Mrs. Borfett, who dined there still as she has always done lately. After dinner Sir Tho. and my Lady to the Playhouse to see "The Silent Woman." I home by water, and with Mr. Hater in my chamber all alone he and I did put this morning's design into order, which being done I did carry it to Sir W. Batten, where I found some gentlemen with him (Sir W. Pen among the rest pretty merry with drink) playing at cards, and there I staid looking upon them till one o'clock in the morning, and so Sir W. Pen and I went away, and I to bed. This day the Parliament voted that the bodies of Oliver, Ireton, Bradshaw, &c., should be taken up out of their graves in the Abbey, and drawn to the gallows, and there hanged and buried under it: which (methinks) do trouble me that a man of so great courage as he was, should have that dishonour, though otherwise he might deserve it enough. 5th. This morning the Proposal which I wrote the last night I showed to the officers this morning, and was well liked of, and I wrote it fair for Sir. G. Carteret to show to the King, and so it is to go to the Parliament. I dined at home, and after dinner I went to the new Theatre and there I saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor" acted, the humours of the country gentleman and the French doctor very well done, but the rest but very poorly, and Sir J. Falstaffe t as bad as any. From thence to Mr. Will. Montagu's chamber to have sealed some writings tonight between Sir R. Parkhurst and myself about my Lord's L2000, but he not coming, I went to my father's and there found my mother still ill of the stone, and had just newly voided one, which she had let drop into the chimney, and looked and found it to shew it me. From thence home and to bed. 6th. This morning some of the Commissioners of Parliament and Sir W. Batten went to Sir G. Carteret's office here in town, and paid off the Chesnut. I carried my wife to White Friars and landed her there, and myself to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, where abundance of pardons to seal, but I was much troubled for it because that there are no fees now coming for them to me. Thence Mr. Moore and I alone to the Leg in King Street, and dined together on a neat's tongue and udder. From thence by coach to Mr. Crew's to my Lord, who told me of his going out of town to-morrow to settle the militia in Huntingdonshire, and did desire me to lay up a box of some rich jewels and things that there are in it, which I promised to do. After much free discourse with my Lord, who tells me his mind as to his enlarging his family, &c., and desiring me to look him out a Master of the Horse and other servants, we parted. From thence I walked to Greatorex (he was not within), but there I met with Mr. Jonas Moore, [Jonas Moore was born at Whitley, Lancashire, February 8th, 1617, and was appointed by Charles I. tutor to the Duke of York. Soon after the Restoration he was knighted and made Surveyor-General of the Ordnance. He was famous as a mathematician, and was one of the founders of the Royal Society. He died August 27th, 1679, and at his funeral sixty pieces of ordnance were discharged at the Tower.] and took him to the Five Bells,' and drank a glass of wine and left him. To the Temple, when Sir R. Parkhurst (as was intended the last night) did seal the writings, and is to have the L2000 told to-morrow. From, thence by water to Parliament Stairs, and there at an alehouse to Doling (who is suddenly to go into Ireland to venture his fortune); Simonds (who is at a great loss for L200 present money, which I was loth to let him have, though I could now do it, and do love him and think him honest and sufficient, yet lothness to part with money did dissuade me from it); Luellin (who was very drowsy from a dose that he had got the last night), Mr. Mount and several others, among the rest one Mr. Pierce, an army man, who did make us the best sport for songs and stories in a Scotch tone (which he do very well) that ever I heard in my life. I never knew so good a companion in all my observation. From thence to the bridge by water, it being a most pleasant moonshine night, with a waterman who did tell such a company of bawdy stories, how once he carried a lady from Putney in such a night as this, and she bade him lie down by her, which he did, and did give her content, and a great deal more roguery. Home and found my girl knocking at the door (it being 11 o'clock at night), her mistress having sent her out for some trivial business, which did vex me when I came in, and so I took occasion to go up and to bed in a pet. Before I went forth this morning, one came to me to give me notice that the justices of Middlesex do meet to-morrow at Hicks Hall, and that I as one am desired to be there, but I fear I cannot be there though I much desire it. 7th. This morning the judge Advocate Fowler came to see me, and he and I sat talking till it was time to go to the office. To the office and there staid till past 12 o'clock, and so I left the Comptroller and Surveyor and went to Whitehall to my Lord's, where I found my Lord gone this morning to Huntingdon, as he told me yesterday he would. I staid and dined with my Lady, there being Laud the page's mother' there, and dined also with us, and seemed to have been a very pretty woman and of good discourse. Before dinner I examined Laud in his Latin and found him a very pretty boy and gone a great way in Latin. After dinner I took a box of some things of value that my Lord had left for me to carry to the Exchequer, which I did, and left them with my Brother Spicer, who also had this morning paid L1000 for me by appointment to Sir R. Parkhurst. So to the Privy Seal, where I signed a deadly number of pardons, which do trouble me to get nothing by. Home by water, and there was much pleased to see that my little room is likely to come to be finished soon. I fell a-reading Fuller's History of Abbys, and my wife in Great Cyrus till twelve at night, and so to bed. 8th. To Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and thence to Mr. Pierces the Surgeon to tell them that I would call by and by to go to dinner. But I going into Westminster Hall met with Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Pen (who were in a great fear that we had committed a great error of L100,000 in our late account gone into the Parliament in making it too little), and so I was fain to send order to Mr. Pierces to come to my house; and also to leave the key of the chest with Mr. Spicer; wherein my Lord's money is, and went along with Sir W. Pen by water to the office, and there with Mr. Huchinson we did find that we were in no mistake. And so I went to dinner with my wife and Mr. and Mrs. Pierce the Surgeon to Mr. Pierce, the Purser (the first time that ever I was at his house) who does live very plentifully and finely. We had a lovely chine of beef and other good things very complete and drank a great deal of wine, and her daughter played after dinner upon the virginals, [All instruments of the harpsichord and spinet kind were styled virginals.] and at night by lanthorn home again, and Mr. Pierce and his wife being gone home I went to bed, having drunk so much wine that my head was troubled and was not very well all night, and the wind I observed was rose exceedingly before I went to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Being called up early by Sir W. Batten I rose and went to his house and he told me the ill news that he had this morning from Woolwich, that the Assurance (formerly Captain Holland's ship, and now Captain Stoakes's, designed for Guiny and manned and victualled), was by a gust of wind sunk down to the bottom. Twenty men drowned. Sir Williams both went by barge thither to see how things are, and I am sent to the Duke of York to tell him, and by boat with some other company going to Whitehall from the Old Swan. I went to the Duke. And first calling upon Mr. Coventry at his chamber, I went to the Duke's bed-side, who had sat up late last night, and lay long this morning, who was much surprised, therewith. This being done I went to chappell, and sat in Mr. Blagrave's pew, and there did sing my part along with another before the King, and with much ease. From thence going to my Lady I met with a letter from my Lord (which Andrew had been at my house to bring me and missed me), commanding me to go to Mr. Denham, to get a man to go to him to-morrow to Hinchinbroke, to contrive with him about some alterations in his house, which I did and got Mr. Kennard. Dined with my Lady and staid all the afternoon with her, and had infinite of talk of all kind of things, especially of beauty of men and women, with which she seems to be much pleased to talk of. From thence at night to Mr. Kennard and took him to Mr. Denham, the Surveyor's. Where, while we could not speak with him, his chief man (Mr. Cooper) did give us a cup of good sack. From thence with Mr. Kennard to my Lady who is much pleased with him, and after a glass of sack there; we parted, having taken order for a horse or two for him and his servant to be gone to-morrow. So to my father's, where I sat while they were at supper, and I found my mother below, stairs and pretty well. Thence home, where I hear that the Comptroller had some business with me, and (with Giffin's lanthorn) I went to him and there staid in discourse an hour 'till late, and among other things he showed me a design of his, by the King's making an Order of Knights of the Seal to give an encouragement for persons of honour to undertake the service of the sea, and he had done it with great pains and very ingeniously. So home and to prayers and to bed. 10th. Up exceedingly early to go to the Comptroller, but he not being up and it being a very fine, bright, moonshine morning I went and walked all alone twenty turns in Cornhill, from Gracious Street corner to the Stockes and back again, from 6 o'clock till past 7, so long that I was weary, and going to the Comptroller's thinking to find him ready, I found him gone, at which I was troubled, and being weary went home, and from thence with my wife by water to Westminster, and put her to my father Bowyer's (they being newly come out of the country), but I could not stay there, but left her there. I to the Hall and there met with Col. Slingsby. So hearing that the Duke of York is gone down this morning, to see the ship sunk yesterday at Woolwich, he and I returned by his coach to the office, and after that to dinner. After dinner he came to me again and sat with me at my house, ands among other discourse he told me that it is expected that the Duke will marry the Lord Chancellor's daughter at last which is likely to be the ruin of Mr. Davis and my Lord Barkley, who have carried themselves so high against the Chancellor; Sir Chas. Barkley swearing that he and others had lain with her often, which all believe to be a lie. He and I in the evening to the Coffee House in Cornhill, the first time that ever I was there, and I found much pleasure in it, through the diversity of company and discourse. Home and found my wife at my Lady Batten's, and have made a bargain to go see the ship sunk at Woolwich, where both the Sir Williams are still since yesterday, and I do resolve to go along with them. From thence home and up to bed, having first been into my study, and to ease my mind did go to cast up how my cash stands, and I do find as near as I can that I am worth in money clear L240, for which God be praised. This afternoon there was a couple of men with me with a book in each of their hands, demanding money for pollmoney, [Pepys seems to have been let off very easily, for, by Act of Parliament 18 Car. II. cap. I (1666), servants were to pay one shilling in the pound of their wages, and others from one shilling to three shillings in the pound.] and I overlooked the book and saw myself set down Samuel Pepys, gent. 10s. for himself and for his servants 2s., which I did presently pay without any dispute, but I fear I have not escaped so, and therefore I have long ago laid by L10 for them, but I think I am not bound to discover myself. 11th. My wife and I up very early this day, and though the weather was very bad and the wind high, yet my Lady Batten and her maid and we two did go by our barge to Woolwich (my Lady being very fearfull) where we found both Sir Williams and much other company, expecting the weather to be better, that they might go about weighing up the Assurance, which lies there (poor ship, that I have been twice merry in, in Captn. Holland's time,) under water, only the upper deck may be seen and the masts. Captain Stoakes is very melancholy, and being in search for some clothes and money of his, which he says he hath lost out of his cabin. I did the first office of a justice of Peace to examine a seaman thereupon, but could find no reason to commit him. This last tide the Kingsale was also run aboard and lost her mainmast, by another ship, which makes us think it ominous to the Guiny voyage, to have two of her ships spoilt before they go out. After dinner, my Lady being very fearfull she staid and kept my wife there, and I and another gentleman, a friend of Sir W. Pen's, went back in the barge, very merry by the way, as far as Whitehall in her. To the Privy Seal, where I signed many pardons and some few things else. From thence Mr. Moore and I into London to a tavern near my house, and there we drank and discoursed of ways how to put out a little money to the best advantage, and at present he has persuaded me to put out L250 for L50 per annum for eight years, and I think I shall do it. Thence home, where I found the wench washing, and I up to my study, and there did make up an even L100, and sealed it to lie by. After that to bed. 12th. Troubled with the absence of my wife. This morning I went (after the Comptroller and I had sat an hour at the office) to Whitehall to dine with my Lady, and after dinner to the Privy Seal and sealed abundance of pardons and little else. From thence to the Exchequer and did give my mother Bowyer a visit and her daughters, the first time that I have seen them since I went last to sea. From thence up with J. Spicer to his office and took L100, and by coach with it as far as my father's, where I called to see them, and my father did offer me six pieces of gold, in lieu of six pounds that he borrowed of me the other day, but it went against me to take it of him and therefore did not, though I was afterwards a little troubled that I did not. Thence home, and took out this L100 and sealed it up with the other last night, it being the first L200 that ever I saw together of my own in my life. For which God be praised. So to my Lady Batten, and sat an hour or two, and talked with her daughter and people in the absence of her father and mother and my wife to pass away the time. After that home and to bed, reading myself asleep, while the wench sat mending my breeches by my bedside. 13th. All the day long looking upon my workmen who this day began to paint my parlour. Only at noon my Lady Batten and my wife came home, and so I stepped to my Lady's, where were Sir John Lawson and Captain Holmes, and there we dined and had very good red wine of my Lady's own making in England. 14th. Also all this day looking upon my workmen. Only met with the Comptroller at the office a little both forenoon and afternoon, and at night step a little with him to the Coffee House where we light upon very good company and had very good discourse concerning insects and their having a generative faculty as well as other creatures. This night in discourse the Comptroller told me among other persons that were heretofore the principal officers of the Navy, there was one Sir Peter Buck, a Clerk of the Acts, of which to myself I was not a little proud. 15th. All day at home looking upon my workmen, only at noon Mr. Moore came and brought me some things to sign for the Privy Seal and dined with me. We had three eels that my wife and I bought this morning of a man, that cried them about, for our dinner, and that was all I did to-day. 16th. In the morning to church, and then dined at home. In the afternoon I to White Hall, where I was surprised with the news of a plot against the King's person and my Lord Monk's; and that since last night there are about forty taken up on suspicion; and, amongst others, it was my lot to meet with Simon Beale, the Trumpeter, who took me and Tom Doling into the Guard in Scotland Yard, and showed us Major-General Overton, where I heard him deny that he is guilty of any such things; but that whereas it is said that he is found to have brought many arms to town, he says it is only to sell them, as he will prove by oath. From thence with Tom Doling and Boston and D. Vines (whom we met by the way) to Price's, and there we drank, and in discourse I learnt a pretty trick to try whether a woman be a maid or no, by a string going round her head to meet at the end of her nose, which if she be not will come a great way beyond. Thence to my Lady's and staid with her an hour or two talking of the Duke of York and his lady, the Chancellor's daughter, between whom, she tells me, that all is agreed and he will marry her. But I know not how true yet. It rained hard, and my Lady would have had me have the coach, but I would not, but to my father's, where I met my wife, and there supped, and after supper by link home and to bed. 17th. All day looking after my workmen, only in the afternoon to the office where both Sir Williams were come from Woolwich, and tell us that, contrary to their expectations, the Assurance is got up, without much damage to her body, only to the goods that she hath within her, which argues her to be a strong, good ship. This day my parlour is gilded, which do please me well. 18th. All day at home, without stirring at all, looking after my workmen. 19th. At noon I went and dined with my Lady at Whitehall, and so back again to the office, and after that home to my workmen. This night Mr. Gauden sent me a great chine of beef and half a dozen of tongues. 20th. All day at home with my workmen, that I may get all done before Christmas. This day I hear that the Princess Royal has the small pox. 21st. By water to Whitehall (leaving my wife at Whitefriars going to my father's to buy her a muff and mantle), there I signed many things at the Privy Seal, and carried L200 from thence to the Exchequer, and laid it up with Mr. Hales, and afterwards took him and W. Bowyer to the Swan and drank with them. They told me that this is St. Thomas's [day], and that by an old custom, this day the Exchequer men had formerly, and do intend this night to have a supper; which if I could I promised to come to, but did not. To my Lady's, and dined with her: she told me how dangerously ill the Princess Royal is and that this morning she was said to be dead. But she hears that she hath married herself to young Jermyn, which is worse than the Duke of York's marrying the Chancellor's daughter, which is now publicly owned. After dinner to the office all the afternoon. At seven at night I walked through the dirt to Whitehall to see whether my Lord be come to town, and I found him come and at supper, and I supped with him. He tells me that my aunt at Brampton has voided a great stone (the first time that ever I heard she was troubled therewith) and cannot possibly live long, that my uncle is pretty well, but full of pain still. After supper home and to bed. 22nd. All the morning with my painters, who will make an end of all this day I hope. At noon I went to the Sun tavern; on Fish Street hill, to a dinner of Captn. Teddimans, where was my Lord Inchiquin (who seems to be a very fine person), Sir W. Pen, Captn. Cuttance, and one Mr. Lawrence (a fine gentleman now going to Algiers), and other good company, where we had a very fine dinner, good musique, and a great deal of wine. We staid here very late, at last Sir W. Pen and I home together, he so overcome with wine that he could hardly go; I was forced to lead him through the streets and he was in a very merry and kind mood. I home (found my house clear of the workmen and their work ended), my head troubled with wine, and I very merry went to bed, my head akeing all night. 23rd (Lord's day). In the morning to Church, where our pew all covered with rosemary and baize. A stranger made a dull sermon. Home and found my wife and maid with much ado had made shift to spit a great turkey sent me this week from Charles Carter, my old colleague, now minister in Huntingdonshire, but not at all roasted, and so I was fain to stay till two o'clock, and after that to church with my wife, and a good sermon there was, and so home. All the evening at my book, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. In the morning to the office and Commissioner Pett (who seldom comes there) told me that he had lately presented a piece of plate (being a couple of flaggons) to Mr. Coventry, but he did not receive them, which also put me upon doing the same too; and so after dinner I went and chose a payre of candlesticks to be made ready for me at Alderman Backwell's. To the office again in the afternoon till night, and so home, and with the painters till 10 at night, making an end of my house and the arch before my door, and so this night I was rid of them and all other work, and my house was made ready against to-morrow being Christmas day. This day the Princess Royal died at Whitehall. 25th (Christmas day). In the morning very much pleased to see my house once more clear of workmen and to be clean, and indeed it is so, far better than it was that I do not repent of my trouble that I have been at. In the morning to church, where Mr. Mills made a very good sermon. After that home to dinner, where my wife and I and my brother Tom (who this morning came to see my wife's new mantle put on, which do please me very well), to a good shoulder of mutton and a chicken. After dinner to church again, my wife and I, where we had a dull sermon of a stranger, which made me sleep, and so home, and I, before and after supper, to my lute and Fuller's History, at which I staid all alone in my chamber till 12 at night, and so to bed. 26th. In the morning to Alderman Backwell's for the candlesticks for Mr. Coventry, but they being not done I went away, and so by coach to Mr. Crew's, and there took some money of Mr. Moore's for my Lord, and so to my Lord's, where I found Sir Thomas Bond (whom I never saw before) with a message from the Queen about vessells for the carrying over of her goods, and so with him to Mr. Coventry, and thence to the office (being soundly washed going through the bridge) to Sir Wm. Batten and Pen (the last of whom took physic to-day), and so I went up to his chamber, and there having made an end of the business I returned to White Hall by water, and dined with my Lady Sandwich, who at table did tell me how much fault was laid upon Dr. Frazer and the rest of the Doctors, for the death of the Princess! My Lord did dine this day with Sir Henry Wright, in order to his going to sea with the Queen. Thence to my father Bowyer's where I met my wife, and with her home by water. 27th. In the morning to Alderman Backwell's again, where I found the candlesticks done, and went along with him in his coach to my Lord's and left the candlesticks with Mr. Shepley. I staid in the garden talking much with my Lord, who do show me much of his love and do communicate his mind in most things to me, which is my great content. Home and with my wife to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, where much and good company. My wife not very well went home, I staid late there seeing them play at cards, and so home to bed. This afternoon there came in a strange lord to Sir William Batten's by a mistake and enters discourse with him, so that we could not be rid of him till Sir Arn. Breames and Mr. Bens and Sir W. Pen fell a-drinking to him till he was drunk, and so sent him away. About the middle of the night I was very ill--I think with eating and drinking too much--and so I was forced to call the maid, who pleased my wife and I in her running up and down so innocently in her smock, and vomited in the bason, and so to sleep, and in the morning was pretty well, only got cold, and so had pain . . . . as I used to have. 28th. Office day. There all the morning. Dined at home alone with my wife, and so staid within all the afternoon and evening; at my lute, with great pleasure, and so to bed with great content. 29th. Within all the morning. Several people to speak with me; Mr. Shepley for L100; Mr. Kennard and Warren, the merchant, about deals for my Lord. Captain Robert Blake lately come from the Straights about some Florence Wine for my Lord, and with him I went to Sir W. Pen, who offering me a barrel of oysters I took them both home to my house (having by chance a good piece of roast beef at the fire for dinner), and there they dined with me, and sat talking all the afternoon-good company. Thence to Alderman Backwell's and took a brave state-plate and cupp in lieu of the candlesticks that I had the other day and carried them by coach to my Lord's and left them there. And so back to my father's and saw my mother, and so to my uncle Fenner's, whither my father came to me, and there we talked and drank, and so away; I home with my father, he telling me what bad wives both my cozen Joyces make to their husbands, which I much wondered at. After talking of my sister's coming to me next week, I went home and to bed. 30th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and being up, I went with Will to my Lord's, calling in at many churches in my way. There I found Mr. Shepley, in his Venetian cap, taking physique in his chamber, and with him I sat till dinner. My Lord dined abroad and my Lady in her chamber, so Mr. Hetly, Child and I dined together, and after dinner Mr. Child and I spent some time at the lute, and so promising to prick me some lessons to my theorbo he went away to see Henry Laws, who lies very sick. I to the Abby and walked there, seeing the great confusion of people that come there to hear the organs. So home, calling in at my father's, but staid not, my father and mother being both forth. At home I fell a-reading of Fuller's Church History till it was late, and so to bed. 31st. At the office all the morning and after that home, and not staying to dine I went out, and in Paul's Church-yard I bought the play of "Henry the Fourth," and so went to the new Theatre (only calling at Mr. Crew's and eat a bit with the people there at dinner) and saw it acted; but my expectation being too great, it did not please me, as otherwise I believe it would; and my having a book, I believe did spoil it a little. That being done I went to my Lord's, where I found him private at cards with my Lord Lauderdale and some persons of honour. So Mr. Shepley and I over to Harper's, and there drank a pot or two, and so parted. My boy taking a cat home with him from my Lord's, which Sarah had given him for my wife, we being much troubled with mice. At Whitehall inquiring for a coach, there was a Frenchman with one eye that was going my way, so he and I hired the coach between us and he set me down in Fenchurch Street. Strange how the fellow, without asking, did tell me all what he was, and how he had ran away from his father and come into England to serve the King, and now going back again. Home and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Asleep, while the wench sat mending my breeches by my bedside Barkley swearing that he and others had lain with her often But I think I am not bound to discover myself But we were friends again as we are always Cure of the King's evil, which he do deny altogether Duke of York and Mrs. Palmer did talk to one another very wanton First time I had given her leave to wear a black patch First time that ever I heard the organs in a cathedral Gentlewomen did hold up their heads to be kissed by the King Have her come not as a sister in any respect, but as a servant Have not known her this fortnight almost, which is a pain to me He did very well, but a deadly drinker he is I took a broom and basted her till she cried extremely I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy I was demanded L100, for the fee of the office at 6d. a pound In discourse he seems to be wise and say little It not being handsome for our servants to sit so equal with us Learnt a pretty trick to try whether a woman be a maid or no Long cloaks being now quite out Sit up till 2 o'clock that she may call the wench up to wash Smoke jack consists of a wind-wheel fixed in the chimney So I took occasion to go up and to bed in a pet So we went to bed and lay all night in a quarrel The rest did give more, and did believe that I did so too There being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered Thus it was my chance to see the King beheaded at White Hall To see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn; and quartered 
4126	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS 1661 N.S. COMPLETE JANUARY, FEBRUARY & MARCH 1660-61 1660-61. At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself, my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,--[Will Wayneman appears by this to have been forgiven for his theft (see ante). He was dismissed on July 8th, 1663.]--my girle's brother. Myself in constant good health, and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me. As to things of State.--The King settled, and loved of all. The Duke of York matched to my Lord Chancellor's daughter, which do not please many. The Queen upon her return to France with the Princess Henrietta. The Princess of Orange lately dead, and we into new mourning for her. We have been lately frighted with a great plot, and many taken up on it, and the fright not quite over. The Parliament, which had done all this great good to the King, beginning to grow factious, the King did dissolve it December 29th last, and another likely to be chosen speedily. I take myself now to be worth L300 clear in money, and all my goods and all manner of debts paid, which are none at all. 1660-61. January 1st. Called up this morning by Mr. Moore, who brought me my last things for me to sign for the last month, and to my great comfort tells me that my fees will come to L80 clear to myself, and about L25 for him, which he hath got out of the pardons, though there be no fee due to me at all out of them. Then comes in my brother Thomas, and after him my father, Dr. Thomas Pepys, my uncle Fenner and his two sons (Anthony's' only child dying this morning, yet he was so civil to come, and was pretty merry) to breakfast; and I had for them a barrel of oysters, a dish of neat's tongues, and a dish of anchovies, wine of all sorts, and Northdown ale. We were very merry till about eleven o'clock, and then they went away. At noon I carried my wife by coach to my cozen, Thomas Pepys, where we, with my father, Dr. Thomas, cozen Stradwick, Scott, and their wives, dined. Here I saw first his second wife, which is a very respectfull woman, but his dinner a sorry, poor dinner for a man of his estate, there being nothing but ordinary meat in it. To-day the King dined at a lord's, two doors from us. After dinner I took my wife to Whitehall, I sent her to Mrs. Pierces (where we should have dined today), and I to the Privy Seal, where Mr. Moore took out all his money, and he and I went to Mr. Pierces; in our way seeing the Duke of York bring his Lady this day to wait upon the Queen, the first time that ever she did since that great business; and the Queen is said to receive her now with much respect and love; and there he cast up the fees, and I told the money, by the same token one L100 bag, after I had told it, fell all about the room, and I fear I have lost some of it. That done I left my friends and went to my Lord's, but he being not come in I lodged the money with Mr. Shepley, and bade good night to Mr. Moore, and so returned to Mr. Pierces, and there supped with them, and Mr. Pierce, the purser, and his wife and mine, where we had a calf's head carboned, [Meat cut crosswise and broiled was said to be carboned. Falstaff says in "King Henry IV.," Part L, act v., sc. 3, "Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me."] but it was raw, we could not eat it, and a good hen. But she is such a slut that I do not love her victualls. After supper I sent them home by coach, and I went to my Lord's and there played till 12 at night at cards at Best with J. Goods and N. Osgood, and then to bed with Mr. Shepley. 2d. Up early, and being called up to my Lord he did give me many commands in his business. As about taking care to write to my uncle that Mr. Barnewell's papers should be locked up, in case he should die, he being now suspected to be very ill. Also about consulting with Mr. W. Montagu for the settling of the L4000 a-year that the King had promised my Lord. As also about getting of Mr. George Montagu to be chosen at Huntingdon this next Parliament, &c. That done he to White Hall stairs with much company, and I with him; where we took water for Lambeth, and there coach for Portsmouth. The Queen's things were all in White Hall Court ready to be sent away, and her Majesty ready to be gone an hour after to Hampton Court to-night, and so to be at Ports mouth on Saturday next. I by water to my office, and there all the morning, and so home to dinner, where I found Pall (my sister) was come; but I do not let her sit down at table with me, which I do at first that she may not expect it hereafter from me. After dinner I to Westminster by water, and there found my brother Spicer at the Leg with all the rest of the Exchequer men (most of whom I now do not know) at dinner. Here I staid and drank with them, and then to Mr. George Montagu about the business of election, and he did give me a piece in gold; so to my Lord's and got the chest of plate brought to the Exchequer, and my brother Spicer put it into his treasury. So to Will's with them to a pot of ale, and so parted. I took a turn in the Hall, and bought the King and Chancellor's speeches at the dissolving the Parliament last Saturday. So to my Lord's, and took my money I brought 'thither last night and the silver candlesticks, and by coach left the latter at Alderman Backwell's, I having no use for them, and the former home. There stood a man at our door, when I carried it in, and saw me, which made me a little afeard. Up to my chamber and wrote letters to Huntingdon and did other business. This day I lent Sir W. Batten and Captn. Rider my chine of beef for to serve at dinner tomorrow at Trinity House, the Duke of Albemarle being to be there and all the rest of the Brethren, it being a great day for the reading over of their new Charter, which the King hath newly given them. 3d. Early in the morning to the Exchequer, where I told over what money I had of my Lord's and my own there, which I found to be L970. Thence to Will's, where Spicer and I eat our dinner of a roasted leg of pork which Will did give us, and after that to the Theatre, where was acted "Beggars' Bush," it being very well done; and here the first time that ever I saw women come upon the stage. [Downes does not give the cast of this play. After the Restoration the acting of female characters by women became common. The first English professional actress was Mrs. Coleman, who acted Ianthe in Davenant's "Siege of Rhodes," at Rutland House in 1656.] From thence to my father's, where I found my mother gone by Bird, the carrier, to Brampton, upon my uncle's great desire, my aunt being now in despair of life. So home. 4th. Office all the morning, my wife and Pall being gone to my father's to dress dinner for Mr. Honiwood, my mother being gone out of town. Dined at home, and Mr. Moore with me, with whom I had been early this morning at White Hall, at the Jewell Office, [Several of the Jewel Office rolls are in the British Museum. They recite all the sums of money given to the King, and the particulars of all the plate distributed in his name, as well as gloves and sweetmeats. The Museum possesses these rolls for the 4th, 9th, 18th, 30th, and 31st Eliz.; for the 13th Charles I.; and the 23rd, 24th, 26th, and 27th of Charles II.--B.] to choose a piece of gilt plate for my Lord, in return of his offering to the King (which it seems is usual at this time of year, and an Earl gives twenty pieces in gold in a purse to the King). I chose a gilt tankard, weighing 31 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30; so I paid 12s. for the ounce and half over what he is to have; but strange it was for me to see what a company of small fees I was called upon by a great many to pay there, which, I perceive, is the manner that courtiers do get their estates. After dinner Mr. Moore and I to the Theatre, where was "The Scornful Lady," acted very well, it being the first play that ever he saw. Thence with him to drink a cup of ale at Hercules Pillars, and so parted. I called to see my father, who told me by the way how Will and Mary Joyce do live a strange life together, nothing but fighting, &c., so that sometimes her father has a mind to have them divorced. Thence home. 5th. Home all the morning. Several people came to me about business, among others the great Tom Fuller, who came to desire a kindness for a friend of his, who hath a mind to go to Jamaica with these two ships that are going, which I promised to do. So to Whitehall to my Lady, whom I found at dinner and dined with her, and staid with her talking all the afternoon, and thence walked to Westminster Hall. So to Will's, and drank with Spicer, and thence by coach home, staying a little in Paul's Churchyard, to bespeak Ogilby's AEsop's Fables and Tully's Officys to be bound for me. So home and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). My wife and I to church this morning, and so home to dinner to a boiled leg of mutton all alone. To church again, where, before sermon, a long Psalm was set that lasted an hour, while the sexton gathered his year's contribucion through the whole church. After sermon home, and there I went to my chamber and wrote a letter to send to Mr. Coventry, with a piece of plate along with it, which I do preserve among my other letters. So to supper, and thence after prayers to bed. 7th. This morning, news was brought to me to my bedside, that there had been a great stir in the City this night by the Fanatiques, who had been up and killed six or seven men, but all are fled. ["A great rising in the city of the Fifth-monarchy men, which did very much disturb the peace and liberty of the people, so that all the train-bands arose in arms, both in London and Westminster, as likewise all the king's guards; and most of the noblemen mounted, and put all their servants on coach horses, for the defence of his Majesty, and the peace of his kingdom."--Rugge's Diurnal. The notorious Thomas Venner, the Fifth-monarchy man, a cooper and preacher to a conventicle in Swan Alley, Coleman Street, with a small following (about fifty in number) took arms on the 6th January for the avowed purpose of establishing the Millennium. He was a violent enthusiast, and persuaded his followers that they were invulnerable. After exciting much alarm in the City, and skirmishing with the Trained Bands, they marched to Caen Wood. They were driven out by a party of guards, but again entered the City, where they were overpowered by the Trained Bands. The men were brought to trial and condemned; four, however, were acquitted and two reprieved. The execution of some of these men is mentioned by Pepys under date January 19th and 21st. "A Relation of the Arraignment and Trial of those who made the late Rebellious Insurrections in London, 1661," is reprinted in "Somers Tracts," vol. vii. (1812), p. 469.] My Lord Mayor and the whole City had been in arms, above 40,000. To the office, and after that to dinner, where my brother Tom came and dined with me, and after dinner (leaving 12d. with the servants to buy a cake with at night, this day being kept as Twelfth day) Tom and I and my wife to the Theatre, and there saw "The Silent Woman." The first time that ever I did see it, and it is an excellent play. Among other things here, Kinaston, the boy; had the good turn to appear in three shapes: first, as a poor woman in ordinary clothes, to please Morose; then in fine clothes, as a gallant, and in them was clearly the prettiest woman in the whole house, and lastly, as a man; and then likewise did appear the handsomest man in the house. From thence by link to my cozen Stradwick's, where my father and we and Dr. Pepys, Scott, and his wife, and one Mr. Ward and his; and after a good supper, we had an excellent cake, where the mark for the Queen was cut, and so there was two queens, my wife and Mrs. Ward; and the King being lost, they chose the Doctor to be King, so we made him send for some wine, and then home, and in our way home we were in many places strictly examined, more than in the worst of times, there being great fears of these Fanatiques rising again: for the present I do not hear that any of them are taken. Home, it being a clear moonshine and after 12 o'clock at night. Being come home we found that my people had been very merry, and my wife tells me afterwards that she had heard that they had got young Davis and some other neighbours with them to be merry, but no harm. 8th. My wife and I lay very long in bed to-day talking and pleasing one another in discourse. Being up, Mr. Warren came, and he and I agreed for the deals that my Lord is to, have. Then Will and I to Westminster, where I dined with my Lady. After dinner I took my Lord Hinchinbroke and Mr. Sidney to the Theatre, and shewed them "The Widdow," an indifferent good play, but wronged by the women being to seek in their parts. That being done, my Lord's coach waited for us, and so back to my Lady's, where she made me drink of some Florence wine, and did give me two bottles for my wife. From thence walked to my cozen Stradwick's, and there chose a small banquet and some other things against our entertainment on Thursday next. Thence to Tom Pepys and bought a dozen of trenchers, and so home. Some talk to-day of a head of Fanatiques that do appear about Barnett, but I do not believe it. However, my Lord Mayor, Sir Richd. Browne, hath carried himself very honourably, and hath caused one of their meeting-houses in London to be pulled down. 9th. Waked in the morning about six o'clock, by people running up and down in Mr. Davis's house, talking that the Fanatiques were up in arms in the City. And so I rose and went forth; where in the street I found every body in arms at the doors. So I returned (though with no good courage at all, but that I might not seem to be afeared), and got my sword and pistol, which, however, I had no powder to charge; and went to the door, where I found Sir R. Ford, and with him I walked up and down as far as the Exchange, and there I left him. In our way, the streets full of Train-band, and great stories, what mischief these rogues have done; and I think near a dozen have been killed this morning on both sides. Seeing the city in this condition, the shops shut, and all things in trouble, I went home and sat, it being office day, till noon. So home, and dined at home, my father with me, and after dinner he would needs have me go to my uncle Wight's (where I have been so long absent that I am ashamed to go). I found him at home and his wife, and I can see they have taken my absence ill, but all things are past and we good friends, and here I sat with my aunt till it was late, my uncle going forth about business. My aunt being very fearful to be alone. So home to my lute till late, and then to bed, there being strict guards all night in the City, though most of the enemies, they say, are killed or taken. This morning my wife and Pall went forth early, and I staid within. 10th. There comes Mr. Hawley to me and brings me my money for the quarter of a year's salary of my place under Downing that I was at sea. So I did give him half, whereof he did in his nobleness give the odd 5s, to my Jane. So we both went forth (calling first to see how Sir W. Pen do, whom I found very ill), and at the Hoop by the bridge we drank two pints of wormwood and sack. Talking of his wooing afresh of Mrs. Lane, and of his going to serve the Bishop of London. Thence by water to Whitehall, and found my wife at Mrs. Hunt's. Leaving her to dine there, I went and dined with my Lady, and staid to talk a while with her. After dinner Will. comes to tell me that he had presented my piece of plate to Mr. Coventry, who takes it very kindly, and sends me a very kind letter, and the plate back again; of which my heart is very glad. So to Mrs. Hunt, where I found a Frenchman, a lodger of hers, at dinner, and just as I came in was kissing my wife, which I did not like, though there could not be any hurt in it. Thence by coach to my Uncle Wight's with my wife, but they being out of doors we went home, where, after I had put some papers in order and entered some letters in my book which I have a mind to keep, I went with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, who we found ill still, but he do make very much of it. Here we sat a great while, at last comes in Mr. Davis and his lady (who takes it very ill that my wife never did go to see her), and so we fell to talk. Among other things Mr. Davis told us the particular examinations of these Fanatiques that are taken: and in short it is this, of all these Fanatiques that have done all this, viz., routed all the Trainbands that they met with, put the King's life-guards to the run, killed about twenty men, broke through the City gates twice; and all this in the day-time, when all the City was in arms; are not in all about 31. Whereas we did believe them (because they were seen up and down in every place almost in the City, and had been about Highgate two or three days, and in several other places) to be at least 500. A thing that never was heard of, that so few men should dare and do so much mischief. Their word was, "The King Jesus, and the heads upon the gates." Few of them would receive any quarter, but such as were taken by force and kept alive; expecting Jesus to come here and reign in the world presently, and will not believe yet but their work will be carried on though they do die. The King this day came to town. 11th. Office day. This day comes news, by letters from Portsmouth, that the Princess Henrietta is fallen sick of the meazles on board the London, after the Queen and she was under sail. And so was forced to come back again into Portsmouth harbour; and in their way, by negligence of the pilot, run upon the Horse sand. The Queen and she continue aboard, and do not intend to come on shore till she sees what will become of the young Princess. This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease, one after another. This morning likewise, we had order to see guards set in all the King's yards; and so we do appoint who and who should go to them. Sir Wm. Batten to Chatham, Colonel Slingsby and I to Deptford and Woolwich. Portsmouth being a garrison, needs none. Dined at home, discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids. After dinner comes in Kate Sterpin (whom we had not seen a great while) and her husband to see us, with whom I staid a while, and then to the office, and left them with my wife. At night walked to Paul's Churchyard, and bespoke some books against next week, and from thence to the Coffeehouse, where I met Captain Morrice, the upholster, who would fain have lent me a horse to-night to have rid with him upon the Cityguards, with the Lord Mayor, there being some new expectations of these rogues; but I refused by reason of my going out of town tomorrow. So home to bed. 12th. With Colonel Slingsby and a friend of his, Major Waters (a deaf and most amorous melancholy gentleman, who is under a despayr in love, as the Colonel told me, which makes him bad company, though a most good-natured man), by water to Redriffe, and so on foot to Deptford (our servants by water), where we fell to choosing four captains to command the guards, and choosing the places where to keep them, and other things in order thereunto. We dined at the Globe, having our messenger with us to take care for us. Never till now did I see the great authority of my place, all the captains of the fleet coming cap in hand to us. Having staid very late there talking with the Colonel, I went home with Mr. Davis, storekeeper (whose wife is ill and so I could not see her), and was there most prince-like lodged, with so much respect and honour that I was at a loss how to behave myself. 13th. In the morning we all went to church, and sat in the pew belonging to us, where a cold sermon of a young man that never had preached before. Here Commissioner came with his wife and daughters, the eldest being his wife's daughter is a very comely black woman.--[The old expression for a brunette.]--So to the Globe to dinner, and then with Commissioner Pett to his lodgings there (which he hath for the present while he is building the King's yacht, which will be a pretty thing, and much beyond the Dutchman's), and from thence with him and his wife and daughter-in-law by coach to Greenwich Church, where a good sermon, a fine church, and a great company of handsome women. After sermon to Deptford again; where, at the Commissioner's and the Globe, we staid long. And so I to Mr. Davis's to bed again. But no sooner in bed, but we had an alarm, and so we rose: and the Comptroller comes into the Yard to us; and seamen of all the ships present repair to us, and there we armed with every one a handspike, with which they were as fierce as could be. At last we hear that it was only five or six men that did ride through the guard in the town, without stopping to the guard that was there; and, some say, shot at them. But all being quiet there, we caused the seamen to go on board again: And so we all to bed (after I had sat awhile with Mr. Davis in his study, which is filled with good books and some very good song books) I likewise to bed. 14th. The arms being come this morning from the Tower, we caused them to be distributed. I spent much time walking with Lieutenant Lambert, walking up and down the yards, who did give me much light into things there, and so went along with me and dined with us. After dinner Mrs. Pett, her husband being gone this morning with Sir W. Batten to Chatham, lent us her coach, and carried us to Woolwich, where we did also dispose of the arms there and settle the guards. So to Mr. Pett's, the shipwright, and there supped, where he did treat us very handsomely (and strange it is to see what neat houses all the officers of the King's yards have), his wife a proper woman, and has been handsome, and yet has a very pretty hand. Thence I with Mr. Ackworth to his house, where he has a very pretty house, and a very proper lovely woman to his wife, who both sat with me in my chamber, and they being gone, I went to bed, which was also most neat and fine. 15th. Up and down the yard all the morning and seeing the seamen exercise, which they do already very handsomely. Then to dinner at Mr. Ackworth's, where there also dined with us one Captain Bethell, a friend of the Comptroller's. A good dinner and very handsome. After that and taking our leaves of the officers of the yard, we walked to the waterside and in our way walked into the rope-yard, where I do look into the tar-houses and other places, and took great notice of all the several works belonging to the making of a cable. So after a cup of burnt wine--[Burnt wine was somewhat similar to mulled wine, and a favourite drink]--at the tavern there, we took barge and went to Blackwall and viewed the dock and the new Wet dock, which is newly made there, and a brave new merchantman which is to be launched shortly, and they say to be called the Royal Oak. Hence we walked to Dick-Shore, and thence to the Towre and so home. Where I found my wife and Pall abroad, so I went to see Sir W. Pen, and there found Mr. Coventry come to see him, and now had an opportunity to thank him, and he did express much kindness to me. I sat a great while with Sir Wm. after he was gone, and had much talk with him. I perceive none of our officers care much for one another, but I do keep in with them all as much as I can. Sir W. Pen is still very ill as when I went. Home, where my wife not yet come home, so I went up to put my papers in order, and then was much troubled my wife was not come, it being 10 o'clock just now striking as I write this last line. This day I hear the Princess is recovered again. The King hath been this afternoon at Deptford, to see the yacht that Commissioner Pett is building, which will be very pretty; as also that that his brother at Woolwich is in making. By and by comes in my boy and tells me that his mistress do lie this night at Mrs. Hunt's, who is very ill, with which being something satisfied, I went to bed. 16th. This morning I went early to the Comptroller's and so with him by coach to Whitehall, to wait upon Mr. Coventry to give him an account of what we have done, which having done, I went away to wait upon my Lady; but coming to her lodgings I find that she is gone this morning to Chatham by coach, thinking to meet me there, which did trouble me exceedingly, and I did not know what to do, being loth to follow her, and yet could not imagine what she would do when she found me not there. In this trouble, I went to take a walk in Westminster Hall and by chance met with Mr. Child, who went forth with my Lady to-day, but his horse being bad, he come back again, which then did trouble me more, so that I did resolve to go to her; and so by boat home and put on my boots, and so over to Southwarke to the posthouse, and there took horse and guide to Dartford and thence to Rochester (I having good horses and good way, come thither about half-an-hour after daylight, which was before 6 o'clock and I set forth after two), where I found my Lady and her daughter Jem., and Mrs. Browne' and five servants, all at a great loss, not finding me here, but at my coming she was overjoyed. The sport was how she had intended to have kept herself unknown, and how the Captain (whom she had sent for) of the Charles had forsoothed [To forsooth is to address in a polite and ceremonious manner. "Your city-mannerly word forsooth, use it not too often in any case."--Ben Jonson's Poetaster, act iv., sc. 1.] her, though he knew her well and she him. In fine we supped merry and so to bed, there coming several of the Charles's men to see me before, I got to bed. The page lay with me. 17th. Up, and breakfast with my Lady. Then come Captains Cuttance and Blake to carry her in the barge on board; and so we went through Ham Creeke to the Soverayne (a goodly sight all the way to see the brave ships that lie here) first, which is a most noble ship. I never saw her before. My Lady Sandwich, my Lady Jemimah, Mrs. Browne, Mrs. Grace, and Mary and the page, my lady's servants and myself, all went into the lanthorn together. From thence to the Charles, where my lady took great pleasure to see all the rooms, and to hear me tell her how things are when my Lord is there. After we had seen all, then the officers of the ship had prepared a handsome breakfast for her, and while she was pledging my Lord's health they give her five guns. That done, we went off, and then they give us thirteen guns more. I confess it was a great pleasure to myself to see the ship that I begun my good fortune in. From thence on board the Newcastle, to show my Lady the difference between a great and a small ship. Among these ships I did give away L7. So back again and went on shore at Chatham, where I had ordered the coach to wait for us. Here I heard that Sir William Batten and his lady (who I knew were here, and did endeavour to avoyd) were now gone this morning to London. So we took coach, and I went into the coach, and went through the town, without making stop at our inn, but left J. Goods to pay the reckoning. So I rode with my lady in the coach, and the page on the horse that I should have rid on--he desiring it. It begun to be dark before we could come to Dartford, and to rain hard, and the horses to fayle, which was our great care to prevent, for fear of my Lord's displeasure, so here we sat up for to-night, as also Captains Cuttance and Blake, who came along with us. We sat and talked till supper, and at supper my Lady and I entered into a great dispute concerning what were best for a man to do with his estate--whether to make his elder son heir, which my Lady is for, and I against, but rather to make all equall. This discourse took us much time, till it was time to go to bed; but we being merry, we bade my Lady goodnight, and intended to have gone to the Post-house to drink, and hear a pretty girl play of the cittern (and indeed we should have lain there, but by a mistake we did not), but it was late, and we could not hear her, and the guard came to examine what we were; so we returned to our Inn and to bed, the page and I in one bed, and the two captains in another, all in one chamber, where we had very good mirth with our most abominable lodging. 18th. The Captains went with me to the post-house about 9 o'clock, and after a morning draft I took horse and guide for London; and through some rain, and a great wind in my face, I got to London at eleven o'clock. At home found all well, but the monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her till she was almost dead, that they might make her fast again, which did still trouble me more. In the afternoon we met at the office and sat till night, and then I to see my father who I found well, and took him to Standing's' to drink a cup of ale. He told me my aunt at Brampton is yet alive and my mother well there. In comes Will Joyce to us drunk, and in a talking vapouring humour of his state, and I know not what, which did vex me cruelly. After him Mr. Hollier had learned at my father's that I was here (where I had appointed to meet him) and so he did give me some things to take for prevention. Will Joyce not letting us talk as I would I left my father and him and took Mr. Hollier to the Greyhound, where he did advise me above all things, both as to the stone and the decay of my memory (of which I now complain to him), to avoid drinking often, which I am resolved, if I can, to leave off. Hence home, and took home with me from the bookseller's Ogilby's AEsop, which he had bound for me, and indeed I am very much pleased with the book. Home and to bed. 19th. To the Comptroller's, and with him by coach to White Hall; in our way meeting Venner and Pritchard upon a sledge, who with two more Fifth Monarchy men were hanged to-day, and the two first drawn and quartered. Where we walked up and down, and at last found Sir G. Carteret, whom I had not seen a great while, and did discourse with him about our assisting the Commissioners in paying off the Fleet, which we think to decline. Here the Treasurer did tell me that he did suspect Thos. Hater to be an informer of them in this work, which we do take to be a diminution of us, which do trouble me, and I do intend to find out the truth. Hence to my Lady, who told me how Mr. Hetley is dead of the small-pox going to Portsmouth with my Lord. My Lady went forth to dinner to her father's, and so I went to the Leg in King Street and had a rabbit for myself and my Will, and after dinner I sent him home and myself went to the Theatre, where I saw "The Lost Lady," which do not please me much. Here I was troubled to be seen by four of our office clerks, which sat in the half-crown box and I in the 1s. 6d. From thence by link, and bought two mouse traps of Thomas Pepys, the Turner, and so went and drank a cup of ale with him, and so home and wrote by post to Portsmouth to my Lord and so to bed. 20th (Lord's day). To Church in the morning. Dined at home. My wife and I to Church in the afternoon, and that being done we went to see my uncle and aunt Wight. There I left my wife and came back, and sat with Sir W. Pen, who is not yet well again. Thence back again to my wife and supped there, and were very merry and so home, and after prayers to write down my journall for the last five days, and so to bed. 21st. This morning Sir W. Batten, the Comptroller and I to Westminster, to the Commissioners for paying off the Army and Navy, where the Duke of Albemarle was; and we sat with our hats on, and did discourse about paying off the ships and do find that they do intend to undertake it without our help; and we are glad of it, for it is a work that will much displease the poor seamen, and so we are glad to have no hand in it. From thence to the Exchequer, and took L200 and carried it home, and so to the office till night, and then to see Sir W. Pen, whither came my Lady Batten and her daughter, and then I sent for my wife, and so we sat talking till it was late. So home to supper and then to bed, having eat no dinner to-day. It is strange what weather we have had all this winter; no cold at all; but the ways are dusty, and the flyes fly up and down, and the rose-bushes are full of leaves, such a time of the year as was never known in this world before here. This day many more of the Fifth Monarchy men were hanged. 22nd. To the Comptroller's house, where I read over his proposals to the Lord Admiral for the regulating of the officers of the Navy, in which he hath taken much pains, only he do seem to have too good opinion of them himself. From thence in his coach to Mercer's Chappell, and so up to the great hall, where we met with the King's Councell for Trade, upon some proposals of theirs for settling convoys for the whole English trade, and that by having 33 ships (four fourth-rates, nineteen fifths, ten sixths) settled by the King for that purpose, which indeed was argued very finely by many persons of honour and merchants that were there. It pleased me much now to come in this condition to this place, where I was once a petitioner for my exhibition in Paul's School; and also where Sir G. Downing (my late master) was chairman, and so but equally concerned with me. From thence home, and after a little dinner my wife and I by coach into London, and bought some glasses, and then to Whitehall to see Mrs. Fox, but she not within, my wife to my mother Bowyer, and I met with Dr. Thomas Fuller, and took him to the Dog, where he tells me of his last and great book that is coming out: that is, his History of all the Families in England;' and could tell me more of my own, than I knew myself. And also to what perfection he hath now brought the art of memory; that he did lately to four eminently great scholars dictate together in Latin, upon different subjects of their proposing, faster than they were able to write, till they were tired; and by the way in discourse tells me that the best way of beginning a sentence, if a man should be out and forget his last sentence (which he never was), that then his last refuge is to begin with an Utcunque. From thence I to Mr. Bowyer's, and there sat a while, and so to Mr. Fox's, and sat with them a very little while, and then by coach home, and so to see Sir Win. Pen, where we found Mrs. Martha Batten and two handsome ladies more, and so we staid supper and were very merry, and so home to bed. 23rd. To the office all the morning. My wife and people at home busy to get things ready for tomorrow's dinner. At noon, without dinner, went into the City, and there meeting with Greatorex, we went and drank a pot of ale. He told me that he was upon a design to go to Teneriffe to try experiments there. With him to Gresham Colledge [Gresham College occupied the house of Sir Thomas Gresham, in Bishopsgate Street, from 1596, when Lady Gresham, Sir Thomas's widow, died. The meeting which Pepys attended was an early one of the Royal Society, which was incorporated by royal charter in 1663.] (where I never was before), and saw the manner of the house, and found great company of persons of honour there; thence to my bookseller's, and for books, and to Stevens, the silversmith, to make clean some plate against to-morrow, and so home, by the way paying many little debts for wine and pictures, &c., which is my great pleasure. Home and found all things in a hurry of business, Slater, our messenger, being here as my cook till very late. I in my chamber all the evening looking over my Osborn's works and new Emanuel Thesaurus Patriarchae. So late to bed, having ate nothing to-day but a piece of bread and cheese at the ale-house with Greatorex, and some bread and butter at home. 24th. At home all day. There dined with me Sir William Batten and his lady and daughter, Sir W. Pen, Mr. Fox (his lady being ill could not come), and Captain Cuttance; the first dinner I have made since I came hither. This cost me above L5, and merry we were--only my chimney smokes. In the afternoon Mr. Hater bringing me my last quarter's salary, which I received of him, and so I have now Mr. Barlow's money in my hands. The company all go away, and by and by Sir Wms. both and my Lady Batten and his daughter come again and supped with me and talked till late, and so to bed, being glad that the trouble is over. 25th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home and Mr. Hater with me, and so I did make even with him for the last quarter. After dinner he and I to look upon the instructions of my Lord Northumberland's, but we were interrupted by Mr. Salisbury's coming in, who came to see me and to show me my Lord's picture in little, of his doing. And truly it is strange to what a perfection he is come in a year's time. From thence to Paul's Churchyard about books, and so back again home. This night comes two cages, which I bought this evening for my canary birds, which Captain Rooth this day sent me. So to bed. 26th. Within all the morning. About noon comes one that had formerly known me and I him, but I know not his name, to borrow L5 of me, but I had the wit to deny him. There dined with me this day both the Pierces' and their wives, and Captain Cuttance, and Lieutenant Lambert, with whom we made ourselves very merry by taking away his ribbans and garters, having made him to confess that he is lately married. The company being gone I went to my lute till night, and so to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Before I rose, letters come to me from Portsmouth, telling me that the Princess is now well, and my Lord Sandwich set sail with the Queen and her yesterday from thence for France. To church, leaving my wife sick . . . . at home, a poor dull sermon of a stranger. Home, and at dinner was very angry at my people's eating a fine pudding (made me by Slater, the cook, last Thursday) without my wife's leave. To church again, a good sermon of Mr. Mills, and after sermon Sir W. Pen and I an hour in the garden talking, and he did answer me to many things, I asked Mr. Coventry's opinion of me, and Sir W. Batten's of my Lord Sandwich, which do both please me. Then to Sir W. Batten's, where very merry, and here I met the Comptroller and his lady and daughter (the first time I ever saw them) and Mrs. Turner, who and her husband supped with us here (I having fetched my wife thither), and after supper we fell to oysters, and then Mr. Turner went and fetched some strong waters, and so being very merry we parted, and home to bed. This day the parson read a proclamation at church, for the keeping of Wednesday next, the 30th of January, a fast for the murther of the late King. 28th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and after dinner to Fleet Street, with my sword to Mr. Brigden (lately made Captain of the Auxiliaries) to be refreshed, and with him to an ale-house, where I met Mr. Davenport; and after some talk of Cromwell, Ireton and Bradshaw's bodies being taken out of their graves to-day, ["The bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, and Thomas Pride, were dug up out of their graves to be hanged at Tyburn, and buried under the gallows. Cromwell's vault having been opened, the people crowded very much to see him."--Rugge's Diurnal.] I went to Mr. Crew's and thence to the Theatre, where I saw again "The Lost Lady," which do now please me better than before; and here I sitting behind in a dark place, a lady spit backward upon me by a mistake, not seeing me, but after seeing her to be a very pretty lady, I was not troubled at it at all. Thence to Mr. Crew's, and there met Mr. Moore, who came lately to me, and went with me to my father's, and with him to Standing's, whither came to us Dr. Fairbrother, who I took and my father to the Bear and gave a pint of sack and a pint of claret. He do still continue his expressions of respect and love to me, and tells me my brother John will make a good scholar. Thence to see the Doctor at his lodging at Mr. Holden's, where I bought a hat, cost me 35s. So home by moonshine, and by the way was overtaken by the Comptroller's coach, and so home to his house with him. So home and to bed. This noon I had my press set up in my chamber for papers to be put in. 29th. Mr. Moore making up accounts with me all this morning till Lieut. Lambert came, and so with them over the water to Southwark, and so over the fields to Lambeth, and there drank, it being a most glorious and warm day, even to amazement, for this time of the year. Thence to my Lord's, where we found my Lady gone with some company to see Hampton Court, so we three went to Blackfryers (the first time I ever was there since plays begun), and there after great patience and little expectation, from so poor beginning, I saw three acts of "The Mayd in ye Mill" acted to my great content. But it being late, I left the play and them, and by water through bridge home, and so to Mr. Turner's house, where the Comptroller, Sir William Batten, and Mr. Davis and their ladies; and here we had a most neat little but costly and genteel supper, and after that a great deal of impertinent mirth by Mr. Davis, and some catches, and so broke up, and going away, Mr. Davis's eldest son took up my old Lady Slingsby in his arms, and carried her to the coach, and is said to be able to carry three of the biggest men that were in the company, which I wonder at. So home and to bed. 30th (Fast day). The first time that this day hath been yet observed: and Mr. Mills made a most excellent sermon, upon "Lord forgive us our former iniquities;" speaking excellently of the justice of God in punishing men for the sins of their ancestors. Home, and John Goods comes, and after dinner I did pay him L30 for my Lady, and after that Sir W. Pen and I into Moorfields and had a brave talk, it being a most pleasant day, and besides much discourse did please ourselves to see young Davis and Whitton, two of our clerks, going by us in the field, who we observe to take much pleasure together, and I did most often see them at play together. Back to the Old James in Bishopsgate Street, where Sir W. Batten and Sir Wm. Rider met him about business of the Trinity House. So I went home, and there understand that my mother is come home well from Brampton, and had a letter from my brother John, a very ingenious one, and he therein begs to have leave to come to town at the Coronacion. Then to my Lady Batten's; where my wife and she are lately come back again from being abroad, and seeing of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw hanged and buried at Tyburn. Then I home. ["Jan. 30th was kept as a very solemn day of fasting and prayer. This morning the carcases of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw (which the day before had been brought from the Red Lion Inn, Holborn), were drawn upon a sledge to Tyburn, and then taken out of their coffins, and in their shrouds hanged by the neck, until the going down of the sun. They were then cut down, their heads taken off, and their bodies buried in a grave made under the gallows. The coffin in which was the body of Cromwell was a very rich thing, very full of gilded hinges and nails."--Rugge's Diurnal.] 31st. This morning with Mr. Coventry at Whitehall about getting a ship to carry my Lord's deals to Lynne, and we have chosen the Gift. Thence at noon to my Lord's, where my Lady not well, so I eat a mouthfull of dinner there, and thence to the Theatre, and there sat in the pit among the company of fine ladys, &c.; and the house was exceeding full, to see Argalus and Parthenia, the first time that it hath been acted: and indeed it is good, though wronged by my over great expectations, as all things else are. Thence to my father's to see my mother, who is pretty well after her journey from Brampton. She tells me my aunt is pretty well, yet cannot live long. My uncle pretty well too, and she believes would marry again were my aunt dead, which God forbid. So home. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1660-61 February 1st (Friday). A full office all this morning, and busy about answering the Commissioners of Parliament to their letter, wherein they desire to borrow two clerks of ours, which we will not grant them. After dinner into London and bought some books, and a belt, and had my sword new furbished. To the alehouse with Mr. Brigden and W. Symons. At night home. So after a little music to bed, leaving my people up getting things ready against to-morrow's dinner. 2nd. Early to Mr. Moore, and with him to Sir Peter Ball, who proffers my uncle Robert much civility in letting him continue in the grounds which he had hired of Hetley who is now dead. Thence home, where all things in a hurry for dinner, a strange cook being come in the room of Slater, who could not come. There dined here my uncle Wight and my aunt, my father and mother, and my brother Tom, Dr. Fairbrother and Mr. Mills, the parson, and his wife, who is a neighbour's daughter of my uncle Robert's, and knows my Aunt Wight and all her and my friends there; and so we had excellent company to-day. After dinner I was sent for to Sir G. Carteret's, where he was, and I found the Comptroller, who are upon writing a letter to the Commissioners of Parliament in some things a rougher stile than our last, because they seem to speak high to us. So the Comptroller and I thence to a tavern hard by, and there did agree upon drawing up some letters to be sent to all the pursers and Clerks of the Cheques to make up their accounts. Then home; where I found the parson and his wife gone. And by and by the rest of the company, very well pleased, and I too; it being the last dinner I intend to make a great while, it having now cost me almost L15 in three dinners within this fortnight. In the evening comes Sir W. Pen, pretty merry, to sit with me and talk, which we did for an hour or two, and so good night, and I to bed. 3d (Lord's day). This day I first begun to go forth in my coat and sword, as the manner now among gentlemen is. To Whitehall. In my way heard Mr. Thomas Fuller preach at the Savoy upon our forgiving of other men's trespasses, shewing among other things that we are to go to law never to revenge, but only to repayre, which I think a good distinction. So to White Hall; where I staid to hear the trumpets and kettle-drums, and then the other drums, which are much cried up, though I think it dull, vulgar musique. So to Mr. Fox's, unbid; where I had a good dinner and special company. Among other discourse, I observed one story, how my Lord of Northwich, at a public audience before the King of France, made the Duke of Anjou cry, by making ugly faces as he was stepping to the King, but undiscovered. [This story relates to circumstances which had occurred many years previously. George, Lord Goring, was sent by Charles I. as Ambassador Extraordinary to France in 1644, to witness the oath of Louis XIV. to the observance of the treaties concluded with England by his father, Louis XIII., and his grandfather, Henry IV. Louis XIV. took this oath at Ruel, on July 3rd, 1644, when he was not yet six years of age, and when his brother Philippe, then called Duke of Anjou, was not four years old. Shortly after his return home, Lord Goring was created, in September, 1644, Earl of Norwich, the title by which he is here mentioned. Philippe, Duke of Anjou, who was frightened by the English nobleman's ugly faces, took the title of Duke of Orleans after the death of his uncle, Jean Baptiste Gaston, in 1660. He married his cousin, Henrietta of England.--B.] And how Sir Phillip Warwick's' lady did wonder to have Mr. Darcy' send for several dozen bottles of Rhenish wine to her house, not knowing that the wine was his. Thence to my Lord's; where I am told how Sir Thomas Crew's Pedro, with two of his countrymen more, did last night kill one soldier of four that quarrelled with them in the street, about 10 o'clock. The other two are taken; but he is now hid at my Lord's till night, that he do intend to make his escape away. So up to my Lady, and sat and talked with her long, and so to Westminster Stairs, and there took boat to the bridge, and so home, where I met with letters to call us all up to-morrow morning to Whitehall about office business. 4th. Early up to Court with Sir W. Pen, where, at Mr. Coventry's chamber, we met with all our fellow officers, and there after a hot debate about the business of paying off the Fleet, and how far we should join with the Commissioners of Parliament, which is now the great business of this month more to determine, and about which there is a great deal of difference between us, and then how far we should be assistants to them therein. That being done, he and I back again home, where I met with my father and mother going to my cozen Snow's to Blackwall, and had promised to bring me and my wife along with them, which we could not do because we are to go to the Dolphin to-day to a dinner of Capt. Tayler's. So at last I let my wife go with them, and I to the tavern, where Sir William Pen and the Comptroller and several others were, men and women; and we had a very great and merry dinner; and after dinner the Comptroller begun some sports, among others the naming of people round and afterwards demanding questions of them that they are forced to answer their names to, which do make very good sport. And here I took pleasure to take the forfeits of the ladies who would not do their duty by kissing of them; among others a pretty lady, who I found afterwards to be wife to Sir W. Batten's son. Home, and then with my wife to see Sir W. Batten, who could not be with us this day being ill, but we found him at cards, and here we sat late, talking with my Lady and others and Dr. Whistler, [Daniel Whistler, M.D., Fellow of Merton College, whose inaugural dissertation on Rickets in 1645 contains the earliest printed account of that disease. He was Gresham Professor of Geometry, 1648-57, and held several offices at the College of Physicians, being elected President in 1683. He was one of the original Fellows of the Royal Society. Dr. Munk, in his "Roll of the Royal College of Physicians," speaks very unfavourably of Whistler, and says that he defrauded the college. He died May 11th, 1684.] who I found good company and a very ingenious man. So home and to bed. 5th. Washing-day. My wife and I by water to Westminster. She to her mother's and I to Westminster Hall, where I found a full term, and here I went to Will's, and there found Shaw and Ashwell and another Bragrave (who knew my mother wash-maid to my Lady Veere), who by cursing and swearing made me weary of his company and so I went away. Into the Hall and there saw my Lord Treasurer (who was sworn to-day at the Exchequer, with a great company of Lords and persons of honour to attend him) go up to the Treasury Offices, and take possession thereof; and also saw the heads of Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Ireton, set up upon the further end of the Hall. Then at Mrs. Michell's in the Hall met my wife and Shaw, and she and I and Captain Murford to the Dog, and there I gave them some wine, and after some mirth and talk (Mr. Langley coming in afterwards) I went by coach to the play-house at the Theatre, our coach in King Street breaking, and so took another. Here we saw Argalus and Parthenia, which I lately saw, but though pleasant for the dancing and singing, I do not find good for any wit or design therein. That done home by coach and to supper, being very hungry for want of dinner, and so to bed. 6th. Called up by my Cozen Snow, who sat by me while I was trimmed, and then I drank with him, he desiring a courtesy for a friend, which I have done for him. Then to the office, and there sat long, then to dinner, Captain Murford with me. I had a dish of fish and a good hare, which was sent me the other day by Goodenough the plasterer. So to the office again, where Sir W. Pen and I sat all alone, answering of petitions and nothing else, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where comes Mr. Jessop (one whom I could not formerly have looked upon, and now he comes cap in hand to us from the Commissioners of the Navy, though indeed he is a man of a great estate and of good report), about some business from them to us, which we answered by letter. Here I sat long with Sir W., who is not well, and then home and to my chamber, and some little, music, and so to bed. 7th. With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Whitehall to Mr. Coventry's chamber, to debate upon the business we were upon the other day morning, and thence to Westminster Hall. And after a walk to my Lord's; where, while I and my Lady were in her chamber in talk, in comes my Lord from sea, to our great wonder. He had dined at Havre de Grace on Monday last, and came to the Downs the next day, and lay at Canterbury that night; and so to Dartford, and thence this morning to White Hall. All my friends his servants well. Among others, Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers tell me the stories of my Lord Duke of Buckingham's and my Lord's falling out at Havre de Grace, at cards; they two and my Lord St. Alban's playing. The Duke did, to my Lord's dishonour, often say that he did in his conscience know the contrary to what he then said, about the difference at cards; and so did take up the money that he should have lost to my Lord. Which my Lord resenting, said nothing then, but that he doubted not but there were ways enough to get his money of him. So they parted that night; and my Lord sent for Sir R. Stayner and sent him the next morning to the Duke, to know whether he did remember what he said last night, and whether he would own it with his sword and a second; which he said he would, and so both sides agreed. But my Lord St. Alban's, and the Queen and Ambassador Montagu, did waylay them at their lodgings till the difference was made up, to my Lord's honour; who hath got great reputation thereby. I dined with my Lord, and then with Mr. Shepley and Creed (who talked very high of France for a fine country) to the tavern, and then I home. To the office, where the two Sir Williams had staid for me, and then we drew up a letter to the Commissioners of Parliament again, and so to Sir W. Batten, where I staid late in talk, and so home, and after writing the letter fair then I went to bed. 8th. At the office all the morning. At noon to the Exchange to meet Mr. Warren the timber merchant, but could not meet with him. Here I met with many sea commanders, and among others Captain Cuttle, and Curtis, and Mootham, and I, went to the Fleece Tavern to drink; and there we spent till four o'clock, telling stories of Algiers, and the manner of the life of slaves there! And truly Captn. Mootham and Mr. Dawes (who have been both slaves there) did make me fully acquainted with their condition there: as, how they eat nothing but bread and water. At their redemption they pay so much for the water they drink at the public fountaynes, during their being slaves. How they are beat upon the soles of their feet and bellies at the liberty of their padron. How they are all, at night, called into their master's Bagnard; and there they lie. How the poorest men do use their slaves best. How some rogues do live well, if they do invent to bring their masters in so much a week by their industry or theft; and then they are put to no other work at all. And theft there is counted no great crime at all. Thence to Mr. Rawlinson's, having met my old friend Dick Scobell, and there I drank a great deal with him, and so home and to bed betimes, my head aching. 9th. To my Lord's with Mr. Creed (who was come to me this morning to get a bill of imprest signed), and my Lord being gone out he and I to the Rhenish wine-house with Mr. Blackburne. To whom I did make known my fears of Will's losing of his time, which he will take care to give him good advice about. Afterwards to my Lord's and Mr. Shepley and I did make even his accounts and mine. And then with Mr. Creed and two friends of his (my late landlord Jones' son one of them), to an ordinary to dinner, and then Creed and I to Whitefriars' to the Play-house, and saw "The Mad Lover," the first time I ever saw it acted, which I like pretty well, and home. 10th (Lord's day). Took physique all day, and, God forgive me, did spend it in reading of some little French romances. At night my wife and I did please ourselves talking of our going into France, which I hope to effect this summer. At noon one came to ask for Mrs. Hunt that was here yesterday, and it seems is not come home yet, which makes us afraid of her. At night to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, and then to the Exchequer, and took Mr. Warren with me to Mr. Kennard, the master joiner, at Whitehall, who was at a tavern, and there he and I to him, and agreed about getting some of my Lord's deals on board to-morrow. Then with young Mr. Reeve home to his house, who did there show me many pretty pleasures in perspectives, ['Telescope' and 'microscope' are both as old as Milton, but for long while 'perspective' (glass being sometimes understood and sometimes expressed) did the work of these. It is sometimes written 'prospective.' Our present use of 'perspective' does not, I suppose, date farther back than Dryden.--Trench's Select Glossary.--M. B.] that I have not seen before, and I did buy a little glass of him cost me 5s. And so to Mr. Crew's, and with Mr. Moore to see how my father and mother did, and so with him to Mr. Adam Chard's' (the first time I ever was at his house since he was married) to drink, then we parted, and I home to my study, and set some papers and money in order, and so to bed. 12th. To my Lord's, and there with him all the morning, and then (he going out to dinner) I and Mr. Pickering, Creed, and Captain Ferrers to the Leg in the Palace to dinner, where strange Pickering's impertinences. Thence the two others and I after a great dispute whither to go, we went by water to Salsbury Court play-house, where not liking to sit, we went out again, and by coach to the Theatre, and there saw "The Scornfull Lady," now done by a woman, which makes the play appear much better than ever it did to me. Then Creed and I (the other being lost in the crowd) to drink a cup of ale at Temple Bar, and there we parted, and I (seeing my father and mother by the way) went home. 13th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and poor Mr. Wood with me, who after dinner would have borrowed money of me, but I would lend none. Then to Whitehall by coach with Sir W. Pen, where we did very little business, and so back to Mr. Rawlinson's, where I took him and gave him a cup of wine, he having formerly known Mr. Rawlinson, and here I met my uncle Wight, and he drank with us, and with him to Sir W. Batten's, whither I sent for my wife, and we chose Valentines' against to-morrow. [The observation of St. Valentine's day is very ancient in this country. Shakespeare makes Ophelia sing "To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window To be your Valentine." Hamlet, act iv. sc. 5.--M. B.] My wife chose me, which did much please me; my Lady Batten Sir W. Pen, &c. Here we sat late, and so home to bed, having got my Lady Batten to give me a spoonful of honey for my cold. 14th (Valentine's day). Up early and to Sir W. Batten's, but would not go in till I asked whether they that opened the door was a man or a woman, and Mingo, who was there, answered a woman, which, with his tone, made me laugh; so up I went and took Mrs. Martha for my Valentine (which I do only for complacency), and Sir W. Batten he go in the same manner to my wife, and so we were very merry. About 10 o'clock we, with a great deal of company, went down by our barge to Deptford, and there only went to see how forward Mr. Pett's yacht is; and so all into the barge again, and so to Woolwich, on board the Rose-bush, Captain Brown's' ship, that is brother-in-law to Sir W. Batten, where we had a very fine dinner, dressed on shore, and great mirth and all things successfull; the first time I ever carried my wife a-ship-board, as also my boy Wayneman, who hath all this day been called young Pepys, as Sir W. Pen's boy young Pen. So home by barge again; good weather, but pretty cold. I to my study, and began to make up my accounts for my Lord, which I intend to end tomorrow. To bed. The talk of the town now is, who the King is like to have for his Queen: and whether Lent shall be kept with the strictness of the King's proclamation; ["A Proclamation for restraint of killing, dressing, and eating of Flesh in Lent or on fish-dayes appointed by the law to be observed," was dated 29th January, 1660-61]. which it is thought cannot be, because of the poor, who cannot buy fish. And also the great preparation for the King's crowning is now much thought upon and talked of. 15th. At the office all the morning, and in the afternoon at making up my accounts for my Lord to-morrow; and that being done I found myself to be clear (as I think) L350 in the world, besides my goods in my house and all things paid for. 16th. To my Lord in the morning, who looked over my accounts and agreed to them. I did also get him to sign a bill (which do make my heart merry) for L60 to me, in consideration of my work extraordinary at sea this last voyage, which I hope to get paid. I dined with my Lord and then to the Theatre, where I saw "The Virgin Martyr," a good but too sober a play for the company. Then home. 17th (Lord's day). A most tedious, unreasonable, and impertinent sermon, by an Irish Doctor. His text was "Scatter them, O Lord, that delight in war." Sir Wm. Batten and I very much angry with the parson. And so I to Westminster as soon as I came home to my Lord's, where I dined with Mr. Shepley and Howe. After dinner (without speaking to my Lord), Mr. Shepley and I into the city, and so I home and took my wife to my uncle Wight's, and there did sup with them, and so home again and to bed. 18th. At the office all the morning, dined at home with a very good dinner, only my wife and I, which is not yet very usual. In the afternoon my wife and I and Mrs. Martha Batten, my Valentine, to the Exchange, and there upon a payre of embroydered and six payre of plain white gloves I laid out 40s. upon her. Then we went to a mercer's at the end of Lombard Street, and there she bought a suit of Lutestring--[More properly called "lustring"; a fine glossy silk.]--for herself, and so home. And at night I got the whole company and Sir Wm. Pen home to my house, and there I did give them Rhenish wine and sugar, and continued together till it was late, and so to bed. It is much talked that the King is already married to the niece of the Prince de Ligne, [The Prince de Ligne had no niece, and probably Pepys has made some mistake in the name. Charles at one time made an offer of marriage to Mazarin's niece, Hortense Mancini.] and that he hath two sons already by her: which I am sorry to hear; but yet am gladder that it should be so, than that the Duke of York and his family should come to the crown, he being a professed friend to the Catholiques. 19th. By coach to Whitehall with Colonel Slingsby (carrying Mrs. Turner with us) and there he and I up into the house, where we met with Sir G. Carteret: who afterwards, with the Duke of York, my Lord Sandwich, and others, went into a private room to consult: and we were a little troubled that we were not called in with the rest. But I do believe it was upon something very private. We staid walking in the gallery; where we met with Mr. Slingsby, that was formerly a, great friend of Mons. Blondeau, who showed me the stamps of the King's new coyne; which is strange to see, how good they are in the stamp and bad in the money, for lack of skill to make them. But he says Blondeau will shortly come over, and then we shall have it better, and the best in the world. [Peter Blondeau, medallist, was invited to London from Paris in 1649, and appointed by the Council of State to coin their money; but the moneyers succeeded in driving him out of the country. Soon after the Restoration he returned, and was appointed engineer to the mint.] The Comptroller and I to the Commissioners of Parliament, and after some talk away again and to drink a cup of ale. He tells me, he is sure that the King is not yet married, as it is said; nor that it is known who he will have. To my Lord's and found him dined, and so I lost my dinner, but I staid and played with him and Mr. Child, &c., some things of four parts, and so it raining hard and bitter cold (the first winter day we have yet had this winter), I took coach home and spent the evening in reading of a Latin play, the "Naufragium Joculare." And so to bed. 20th. All the morning at the office, dined at home and my brother Tom with me, who brought me a pair of fine slippers which he gave me. By and by comes little Luellin and friend to see me, and then my coz Stradwick, who was never here before. With them I drank a bottle of wine or two, and to the office again, and there staid about business late, and then all of us to Sir W. Pen's, where we had, and my Lady Batten, Mrs. Martha, and my wife, and other company, a good supper, and sat playing at cards and talking till 12 at night, and so all to our lodgings. 21st. To Westminster by coach with Sir W. Pen, and in our way saw the city begin to build scaffolds against the Coronacion. To my Lord, and there found him out of doors. So to the Hall and called for some caps that I have a making there, and here met with Mr. Hawley, and with him to Will's and drank, and then by coach with Mr. Langley our old friend into the city. I set him down by the way, and I home and there staid all day within, having found Mr. Moore, who staid with me till late at night talking and reading some good books. Then he went away, and I to bed. 22nd. All the morning at the office. At noon with my wife and Pall to my father's to dinner, where Dr. Thos. Pepys and my coz Snow and Joyce Norton. After dinner came The. Turner, and so I home with her to her mother, good woman, whom I had not seen through my great neglect this half year, but she would not be angry with me. Here I staid all the afternoon talking of the King's being married, which is now the town talk, but I believe false. In the evening Mrs. The. and Joyce took us all into the coach home, calling in Bishopsgate Street, thinking to have seen a new Harpsicon--[The harpsichord is an instrument larger than a spinet, with two or three strings to a note.]--that she had a making there, but it was not done, and so we did not see it. Then to my home, where I made very much of her, and then she went home. Then my wife to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat a while; he having yesterday sent my wife half-a-dozen pairs of gloves, and a pair of silk stockings and garters, for her Valentine's gift. Then home and to bed. 23rd. This my birthday, 28 years. This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and I did some business, and then I by water to Whitehall, having met Mr. Hartlibb by the way at Alderman Backwell's. So he did give me a glass of Rhenish wine at the Steeleyard, and so to Whitehall by water. He continues of the same bold impertinent humour that he was always of and will ever be. He told me how my Lord Chancellor had lately got the Duke of York and Duchess, and her woman, my Lord Ossory's and a Doctor, to make oath before most of the judges of the kingdom, concerning all the circumstances of their marriage. And in fine, it is confessed that they were not fully married till about a month or two before she was brought to bed; but that they were contracted long before, and time enough for the child to be legitimate. [The Duke of York's marriage took place September 3rd, 1660. Anne Hyde was contracted to the Duke at Breda, November 24th, 1659.] But I do not hear that it was put to the judges to determine whether it was so or no. To my Lord and there spoke to him about his opinion of the Light, the sea-mark that Captain Murford is about, and do offer me an eighth part to concern myself with it, and my Lord do give me some encouragement in it, and I shall go on. I dined herewith Mr. Shepley and Howe. After dinner to Whitehall Chappell with Mr. Child, and there did hear Captain Cooke and his boy make a trial of an Anthem against tomorrow, which was brave musique. Then by water to Whitefriars to the Play-house, and there saw "The Changeling," the first time it hath been acted these twenty years, and it takes exceedingly. Besides, I see the gallants do begin to be tyred with the vanity and pride of the theatre actors who are indeed grown very proud and rich. Then by link home, and there to my book awhile and to bed. I met to-day with Mr. Townsend, who tells me that the old man is yet alive in whose place in the Wardrobe he hopes to get my father, which I do resolve to put for. I also met with the Comptroller, who told me how it was easy for us all, the principal officers, and proper for us, to labour to get into the next Parliament; and would have me to ask the Duke's letter, but I shall not endeavour it because it will spend much money, though I am sure I could well obtain it. This is now 28 years that I am born. And blessed be God, in a state of full content, and great hopes to be a happy man in all respects, both to myself and friends. 24th (Sunday). Mr. Mills made as excellent a sermon in the morning against drunkenness as ever I heard in my life. I dined at home; another good one of his in the afternoon. My Valentine had her fine gloves on at church to-day that I did give her. After sermon my wife and I unto Sir Wm. Batten and sat awhile. Then home, I to read, then to supper and to bed. 25th. Sir Wm. Pen and I to my Lord Sandwich's by coach in the morning to see him, but he takes physic to-day and so we could not see him. So he went away, and I with Luellin to Mr. Mount's chamber at the Cockpit, where he did lie of old, and there we drank, and from thence to W. Symons where we found him abroad, but she, like a good lady, within, and there we did eat some nettle porrige, which was made on purpose to-day for some of their coming, and was very good. With her we sat a good while, merry in discourse, and so away, Luellin and I to my Lord's, and there dined. He told me one of the prettiest stories, how Mr. Blurton, his friend that was with him at my house three or four days ago, did go with him the same day from my house to the Fleet tavern by Guildhall, and there (by some pretence) got the mistress of the house into their company, and by and by Luellin calling him Doctor she thought that he really was so, and did privately discover her disease to him, which was only some ordinary infirmity belonging to women, and he proffering her physic, she desired him to come some day and bring it, which he did. After dinner by water to the office, and there Sir W. Pen and I met and did business all the afternoon, and then I got him to my house and eat a lobster together, and so to bed. 26th (Shrove Tuesday). I left my wife in bed, being indisposed . . . I to Mrs. Turner's, who I found busy with The. and Joyce making of things ready for fritters, so to Mr. Crew's and there delivered Cotgrave's Dictionary' to my Lady Jemimah, and then with Mr. Moore to my coz Tom Pepys, but he being out of town I spoke with his lady, though not of the business I went about, which was to borrow L1000 for my Lord. Back to Mrs. Turner's, where several friends, all strangers to me but Mr. Armiger, dined. Very merry and the best fritters that ever I eat in my life. After that looked out at window; saw the flinging at cocks. [The cruel custom of throwing at cocks on Shrove Tuesday is of considerable antiquity. It is shown in the first print of Hogarth's "Four Stages of Cruelty."] Then Mrs. The. and I, and a gentleman that dined there and his daughter, a perfect handsome young and very tall lady that lately came out of the country, and Mr. Thatcher the Virginall Maister to Bishopsgate Street, and there saw the new Harpsicon made for Mrs. The. We offered L12, they demanded L14. The Master not being at home, we could make no bargain, so parted for to-night. So all by coach to my house, where I found my Valentine with my wife, and here they drank, and then went away. Then I sat and talked with my Valentine and my wife a good while, and then saw her home, and went to Sir W. Batten to the Dolphin, where Mr. Newborne, &c., were, and there after a quart or two of wine, we home, and I to bed . . . . 27th. At the office all the morning, that done I walked in the garden with little Captain Murford, where he and I had some discourse concerning the Light-House again, and I think I shall appear in the business, he promising me that if I can bring it about, it will be worth L100 per annum. Then came into the garden to me young Mr. Powell and Mr. Hooke that I once knew at Cambridge, and I took them in and gave them a bottle of wine, and so parted. Then I called for a dish of fish, which we had for dinner, this being the first day of Lent; and I do intend to try whether I can keep it or no. My father dined with me and did show me a letter from my brother John, wherein he tells us that he is chosen Schollar of the house,' which do please me much, because I do perceive now it must chiefly come from his merit and not the power of his Tutor, Dr. Widdrington, who is now quite out of interest there and hath put over his pupils to Mr. Pepper, a young Fellow of the College. With my father to Mr. Rawlinson's, where we met my uncle Wight, and after a pint or two away. I walked with my father (who gave me an account of the great falling out between my uncle Fenner and his son Will) as far as Paul's Churchyard, and so left him, and I home. This day the Commissioners of Parliament begin to pay off the Fleet, beginning with the Hampshire, and do it at Guildhall, for fear of going out of town into the power of the seamen, who are highly incensed against them. 28th. Early to wait on my Lord, and after a little talk with him I took boat at Whitehall for Redriffe, but in my way overtook Captain Cuttance and Teddiman in a boat and so ashore with them at Queenhithe, and so to a tavern with them to a barrel of oysters, and so away. Capt. Cuttance and I walked from Redriffe to Deptford, where I found both Sir Williams and Sir G. Carteret at Mr. Uthwayt's, and there we dined, and notwithstanding my resolution, yet for want of other victualls, I did eat flesh this Lent, but am resolved to eat as little as I can. After dinner we went to Captain Bodilaw's, and there made sale of many old stores by the candle, and good sport it was to see how from a small matter bid at first they would come to double and treble the price of things. After that Sir W. Pen and I and my Lady Batten and her daughter by land to Redriffe, staying a little at halfway house, and when we came to take boat, found Sir George, &c., to have staid with the barge a great while for us, which troubled us. Home and to bed. This month ends with two great secrets under dispute but yet known to very few: first, Who the King will marry; and What the meaning of this fleet is which we are now sheathing to set out for the southward. Most think against Algier against the Turk, or to the East Indys against the Dutch who, we hear, are setting out a great fleet thither. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH 1660-61 March 1st. All the morning at the office. Dined at home only upon fish, and Mr. Shepley and Tom Hater with me. After dinner Mr. Shepley and I in private talking about my Lord's intentions to go speedily into the country, but to what end we know not. We fear he is to go to sea with this fleet now preparing. But we wish that he could get his L4000 per annum settled before he do go. Then he and I walked into London, he to the Wardrobe and I to Whitefryars, and saw "The Bondman" acted; an excellent play and well done. But above all that ever I saw, Betterton do the Bond man the best. Then to my father's and found my mother ill. After staying a while with them, I went home and sat up late, spending my thoughts how to get money to bear me out in my great expense at the Coronacion, against which all provide, and scaffolds setting up in every street. I had many designs in my head to get some, but know not which will take. To bed. 2d. Early with Mr. Moore about Sir Paul Neale's' business with my uncle and other things all the morning. Dined with him at Mr. Crew's, and after dinner I went to the Theatre, where I found so few people (which is strange, and the reason I did not know) that I went out again, and so to Salsbury Court, where the house as full as could be; and it seems it was a new play, "The Queen's Maske," wherein there are some good humours: among others, a good jeer to the old story of the Siege of Troy, making it to be a common country tale. But above all it was strange to see so little a boy as that was to act Cupid, which is one of the greatest parts in it. Then home and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day): Mr. Woodcocke preached at our church a very good sermon upon the imaginacions of the thoughts of man's heart being only evil. So home, where being told that my Lord had sent for me I went, and got there to dine with my Lord, who is to go into the country tomorrow. I did give up the mortgage made to me by Sir R. Parkhurst for L2,000. In the Abby all the afternoon. Then at Mr. Pierces the surgeon, where Shepley and I supped. So to my Lord's, who comes in late and tells us how news is come to-day of Mazarin's being dead, which is very great news and of great consequence.--[This report of the death of Cardinal Mazarin appears to have been premature, for he did not die until the 9th of March, 1661.]--I lay tonight with Mr. Shepley here, because of my Lord's going to-morrow. 4th. My Lord went this morning on his journey to Hinchingbroke, Mr. Parker with him; the chief business being to look over and determine how, and in what manner, his great work of building shall be done. Before his going he did give me some jewells to keep for him, viz., that that the King of Sweden did give him, with the King's own picture in it, most excellently done; and a brave George, all of diamonds, and this with the greatest expressions of love and confidence that I could imagine or hope for, which is a very great joy to me. To the office all the forenoon. Then to dinner and so to Whitehall to Mr. Coventry about several businesses, and then with Mr. Moore, who went with me to drink a cup of ale, and after some good discourse then home and sat late talking with Sir W. Batten. So home and to bed. 5th. With Mr. Pierce, purser, to Westminster Hall, and there met with Captain Cuttance, Lieut. Lambert, and Pierce, surgeon, thinking to have met with the Commissioners of Parliament, but they not sitting, we went to the Swan, where I did give them a barrel of oysters; and so I to my Lady's and there dined, and had very much talk and pleasant discourse with my Lady, my esteem growing every day higher and higher in her and my Lord. So to my father Bowyer's where my wife was, and to the Commissioners of Parliament, and there did take some course about having my Lord's salary paid tomorrow when; the Charles is paid off, but I was troubled to see how high they carry themselves, when in good truth nobody cares for them. So home by coach and my wife. I then to the office, where Sir Williams both and I set about making an estimate of all the officers' salaries in ordinary in the Navy till 10 o'clock at night. So home, and I with my head full of thoughts how to get a little present money, I eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to bed. 6th. At the office all the morning. At dinner Sir W. Batten came and took me and my wife to his house to dinner, my Lady being in the country, where we had a good Lenten dinner. Then to Whitehall with Captn. Cuttle, and there I did some business with Mr. Coventry, and after that home, thinking to have had Sir W. Batten, &c., to have eat a wigg--[Wigg, a kind of north country bun or tea-cake, still so called, to my knowledge, in Staffordshire.--M. B.]--at my house at night. But my Lady being come home out of the country ill by reason of much rain that has fallen lately, and the waters being very high, we could not, and so I home and to bed. 7th. This morning Sir Williams both went to Woolwich to sell some old provisions there. I to Whitehall, and up and down about many businesses. Dined at my Lord's, then to Mr. Crew to Mr. Moore, and he and I to London to Guildhall to see the seamen paid off, but could not without trouble, and so I took him to the Fleece tavern, where the pretty woman that Luellin lately told me the story of dwells, but I could not see her. Then towards home and met Spicer, D. Vines, Ruddiard, and a company more of my old acquaintance, and went into a place to drink some ale, and there we staid playing the fool till late, and so I home. At home met with ill news that my hopes of getting some money for the Charles were spoiled through Mr. Waith's perverseness, which did so vex me that I could not sleep at night. But I wrote a letter to him to send to-morrow morning for him to take my money for me, and so with good words I thought to coy with him. To bed. 8th. All the morning at the office. At noon Sir W. Batten, Col. Slingsby and I by coach to the Tower, to Sir John Robinson's, to dinner; where great good cheer. High company; among others the Duchess of Albemarle, who is ever a plain homely dowdy. After dinner, to drink all the afternoon. Towards night the Duchess and ladies went away. Then we set to it again till it was very late. And at last came in Sir William Wale, almost fuddled; and because I was set between him and another, only to keep them from talking and spoiling the company (as we did to others), he fell out with the Lieutenant of the Tower; but with much ado we made him under stand his error, and then all quiet. And so he carried Sir William Batten and I home again in his coach, and so I almost overcome with drink went to bed. I was much contented to ride in such state into the Tower, and be received among such high company, while Mr. Mount, my Lady Duchess's gentleman usher, stood waiting at table, whom I ever thought a man so much above me in all respects; also to hear the discourse of so many high Cavaliers of things past. It was a great content and joy to me. 9th. To Whitehall and there with Mr. Creed took a most pleasant walk for two hours in the park, which is now a very fair place. Here we had a long and candid discourse one to another of one another's condition, and he giving me an occasion I told him of my intention to get L60 paid me by him for a gratuity for my labour extraordinary at sea. Which he did not seem unwilling to, and therefore I am very glad it is out. To my Lord's, where we found him lately come from Hinchingbroke, where he left my uncle very well, but my aunt not likely to live. I staid and dined with him. He took me aside, and asked me what the world spoke of the King's marriage. Which I answering as one that knew nothing, he enquired no further of me. But I do perceive by it that there is something in it that is ready to come out that the world knows not of yet. After dinner into London to Mrs. Turner's and my father's, made visits and then home, where I sat late making of my journal for four days past, and so to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Heard Mr. Mills in the morning, a good sermon. Dined at home on a poor Lenten dinner of coleworts and bacon. In the afternoon again to church, and there heard one Castle, whom I knew of my year at Cambridge. He made a dull sermon. After sermon came my uncle and aunt Wight to see us, and we sat together a great while. Then to reading and at night to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning, dined at home and my father and Dr. Thos. Pepys with him upon a poor dinner, my wife being abroad. After dinner I went to the theatre, and there saw "Love's Mistress" done by them, which I do not like in some things as well as their acting in Salsbury Court. At night home and found my wife come home, and among other things she hath got her teeth new done by La Roche, and are indeed now pretty handsome, and I was much pleased with it. So to bed. 12th. At the office about business all the morning, so to the Exchange, and there met with Nick Osborne lately married, and with him to the Fleece, where we drank a glass of wine. So home, where I found Mrs. Hunt in great trouble about her husband's losing of his place in the Excise. From thence to Guildhall, and there set my hand to the book before Colonel King for my sea pay, and blessed be God! they have cast me at midshipman's pay, which do make my heart very glad. So, home, and there had Sir W. Batten and my Lady and all their company and Capt. Browne and his wife to a collation at my house till it was late, and then to bed. 13th. Early up in the morning to read "The Seaman's Grammar and Dictionary" I lately have got, which do please me exceeding well. At the office all the morning, dined at home, and Mrs. Turner, The. Joyce, and Mr. Armiger, and my father and mother with me, where they stand till I was weary of their company and so away. Then up to my chamber, and there set papers and things in order, and so to bed. 14th. With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Mr. Coventry's, and there had a dispute about my claim to the place of Purveyor of Petty-provisions, and at last to my content did conclude to have my hand to all the bills for these provisions and Mr. Turner to purvey them, because I would not have him to lose the place. Then to my Lord's, and so with Mr. Creed to an alehouse, where he told me a long story of his amours at Portsmouth to one of Mrs. Boat's daughters, which was very pleasant. Dined with my Lord and Lady, and so with Mr. Creed to the Theatre, and there saw "King and no King," well acted. Thence with him to the Cock alehouse at Temple Bar, where he did ask my advice about his amours, and I did give him it, which was to enquire into the condition of his competitor, who is a son of Mr. Gauden's, and that I promised to do for him, and he to make [what] use he can of it to his advantage. Home and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir Williams both and I at a great fish dinner at the Dolphin, given us by two tax merchants, and very merry we were till night, and so home. This day my wife and Pall went to see my Lady Kingston, her brother's lady. 16th. Early at Sir Wm. Pen's, and there before Mr. Turner did reconcile the business of the purveyance between us two. Then to Whitehall to my Lord's, and dined with him, and so to Whitefriars and saw "The Spanish Curate," in which I had no great content. So home, and was very much troubled that Will. staid out late, and went to bed early, intending not to let him come in, but by and by he comes and I did let him in, and he did tell me that he was at Guildhall helping to pay off the seamen, and cast the books late. Which since I found to be true. So to sleep, being in bed when he came. 17th (Lord's day). At church in the morning, a stranger preached a good honest and painfull sermon. My wife and I dined upon a chine of beef at Sir W. Batten's, so to church again. Then home, and put some papers in order. Then to supper at Sir W. Batten's again, where my wife by chance fell down and hurt her knees exceedingly. So home and to bed. 18th. This morning early Sir W. Batten went to Rochester, where he expects to be chosen Parliament man. At the office all the morning, dined at home and with my wife to Westminster, where I had business with the Commissioner for paying the seamen about my Lord's pay, and my wife at Mrs. Hunt's. I called her home, and made inquiry at Greatorex's and in other places to hear of Mr. Barlow (thinking to hear that he is dead), but I cannot find it so, but the contrary. Home and called at my Lady Batten's, and supped there, and so home. This day an ambassador from Florence was brought into the town in state. Good hopes given me to-day that Mrs. Davis is going away from us, her husband going shortly to Ireland. Yesterday it was said was to be the day that the Princess Henrietta was to marry the Duke d'Anjou' in France. This day I found in the newes-booke that Roger Pepys is chosen at Cambridge for the town, the first place that we hear of to have made their choice yet. To bed with my head and mind full of business, which do a little put me out of order, and I do find myself to become more and more thoughtful about getting of money than ever heretofore. 19th. We met at the office this morning about some particular business, and then I to Whitehall, and there dined with my Lord, and after dinner Mr. Creed and I to White-Fryars, where we saw "The Bondman" acted most excellently, and though I have seen it often, yet I am every time more and more pleased with Betterton's action. From thence with him and young Mr. Jones to Penell's in Fleet Street, and there we drank and talked a good while, and so I home and to bed. 20th. At the office all the morning, dined at home and Mr. Creed and Mr. Shepley with me, and after dinner we did a good deal of business in my study about my Lord's accounts to be made up and presented to our office. That done to White Hall to Mr. Coventry, where I did some business with him, and so with Sir W. Pen (who I found with Mr. Coventry teaching of him upon the map to understand Jamaica). [Sir William Penn was well fitted to give this information, as it was he who took the island from the Spaniards in 1655.] By water in the dark home, and so to my Lady Batten's where my wife was, and there we sat and eat and drank till very late, and so home to bed. The great talk of the town is the strange election that the City of London made yesterday for Parliament-men; viz. Fowke, Love, Jones, and . . . men that are so far from being episcopall that they are thought to be Anabaptists; and chosen with a great deal of zeal, in spite of the other party that thought themselves very strong, calling out in the Hall, "No Bishops! no Lord Bishops!" It do make people to fear it may come to worse, by being an example to the country to do the same. And indeed the Bishops are so high, that very few do love them. 21st. Up very early, and to work and study in my chamber, and then to Whitehall to my Lord, and there did stay with him a good while discoursing upon his accounts. Here I staid with Mr. Creed all the morning, and at noon dined with my Lord, who was very merry, and after dinner we sang and fiddled a great while. Then I by water (Mr. Shepley, Pinkney, and others going part of the way) home, and then hard at work setting my papers in order, and writing letters till night, and so to bed. This day I saw the Florence Ambassador go to his audience, the weather very foul, and yet he and his company very gallant. After I was a-bed Sir W. Pen sent to desire me to go with him to-morrow morning to meet Sir W. Batten coming from Rochester. 22nd. This morning I rose early, and my Lady Batten knocked at her door that comes into one of my chambers, and called me to know whether I and my wife were ready to go. So my wife got her ready, and about eight o'clock I got a horseback, and my Lady and her two daughters, and Sir W. Pen into coach, and so over London Bridge, and thence to Dartford. The day very pleasant, though the way bad. Here we met with Sir W. Batten, and some company along with him, who had assisted him in his election at Rochester; and so we dined and were very merry. At 5 o'clock we set out again in a coach home, and were very merry all the way. At Deptford we met with Mr. Newborne, and some other friends and their wives in a coach to meet us, and so they went home with us, and at Sir W. Batten's we supped, and thence to bed, my head akeing mightily through the wine that I drank to-day. 23d. All the morning at home putting papers in order, dined at home, and then out to the Red Bull (where I had not been since plays come up again), but coming too soon I went out again and walked all up and down the Charterhouse yard and Aldersgate street. At last came back again and went in, where I was led by a seaman that knew me, but is here as a servant, up to the tireing-room, where strange the confusion and disorder that there is among them in fitting themselves, especially here, where the clothes are very poor, and the actors but common fellows. At last into the Pitt, where I think there was not above ten more than myself, and not one hundred in the whole house. And the play, which is called "All's lost by Lust," poorly done; and with so much disorder, among others, that in the musique-room the boy that was to sing a song, not singing it right, his master fell about his ears and beat him so, that it put the whole house in an uprore. Thence homewards, and at the Mitre met my uncle Wight, and with him Lieut.-Col. Baron, who told us how Crofton, the great Presbyterian minister that had lately preached so highly against Bishops, is clapped up this day into the Tower. Which do please some, and displease others exceedingly. Home and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). My wife and I to church, and then home with Sir W. Batten and my Lady to dinner, where very merry, and then to church again, where Mr. Mills made a good sermon. Home again, and after a walk in the garden Sir W. Batten's two daughters came and sat with us a while, and I then up to my chamber to read. 25th (Lady day). This morning came workmen to begin the making of me a new pair of stairs up out of my parler, which, with other work that I have to do, I doubt will keep me this two months and so long I shall be all in dirt; but the work do please me very well. To the office, and there all the morning, dined at home, and after dinner comes Mr. Salisbury to see me, and shewed me a face or two of his paynting, and indeed I perceive that he will be a great master. I took him to Whitehall with me by water, but he would not by any means be moved to go through bridge, and so we were fain to go round by the Old Swan. To my Lord's and there I shewed him the King's picture, which he intends to copy out in little. After that I and Captain Ferrers to Salisbury Court by water, and saw part of the "Queene's Maske." Then I to Mrs. Turner, and there staid talking late. The. Turner being in a great chafe, about being disappointed of a room to stand in at the Coronacion. Then to my father's, and there staid talking with my mother and him late about my dinner to-morrow. So homewards and took up a boy that had a lanthorn, that was picking up of rags, and got him to light me home, and had great discourse with him how he could get sometimes three or four bushells of rags in a day, and got 3d. a bushell for them, and many other discourses, what and how many ways there are for poor children to get their livings honestly. So home and I to bed at 12 o'clock at night, being pleased well with the work that my workmen have begun to-day. 26th. Up early to do business in my study. This is my great day that three years ago I was cut of the stone, and, blessed be God, I do yet find myself very free from pain again. All this morning I staid at home looking after my workmen to my great content about my stairs, and at noon by coach to my father's, where Mrs. Turner, The. Joyce, Mr. Morrice, Mr. Armiger, Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and his wife, my father and mother, and myself and my wife. Very merry at dinner; among other things, because Mrs. Turner and her company eat no flesh at all this Lent, and I had a great deal of good flesh which made their mouths water. After dinner Mrs. Pierce and her husband and I and my wife to Salisbury Court, where coming late he and she light of Col. Boone that made room for them, and I and my wife sat in the pit, and there met with Mr. Lewes and Tom Whitton, and saw "The Bondman" done to admiration. So home by coach, and after a view of what the workmen had done to-day I went to bed. 27th. Up early to see my workmen at work. My brother Tom comes to me, and among other things I looked over my old clothes and did give him a suit of black stuff clothes and a hat and some shoes. At the office all the morning, where Sir G. Carteret comes, and there I did get him to promise me some money upon a bill of exchange, whereby I shall secure myself of L60 which otherwise I should not know how to get. At noon I found my stairs quite broke down, that I could not get up but by a ladder; and my wife not being well she kept her chamber all this day. To the Dolphin to a dinner of Mr. Harris's, where Sir Williams both and my Lady Batten, and her two daughters, and other company, where a great deal of mirth, and there staid till 11 o'clock at night; and in our mirth I sang and sometimes fiddled (there being a noise of fiddlers there), and at last we fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did in my life, which I did wonder to see myself to do. At last we made Mingo, Sir W. Batten's black, and Jack, Sir W. Pen's, dance, and it was strange how the first did dance with a great deal of seeming skill. Home, where I found my wife all day in her chamber. So to bed. 28th. Up early among my workmen, then Mr. Creed coming to see me I went along with him to Sir Robert Slingsby (he being newly maister of that title by being made a Baronett) to discourse about Mr. Creed's accounts to be made up, and from thence by coach to my cozen Thomas Pepys, to borrow L1000 for my Lord, which I am to expect an answer to tomorrow. So to my Lord's, and there staid and dined, and after dinner did get my Lord to view Mr. Shepley's accounts as I had examined them, and also to sign me a bond for my L500. Then with Mr. Shepley to the Theatre and saw "Rollo" ill acted. That done to drink a cup of ale and so by coach to London, and having set him down in Cheapside I went home, where I found a great deal of work done to-day, and also L70 paid me by the Treasurer upon the bill of exchange that I have had hopes of so long, so that, my heart in great content; I went to bed. 29th. Up among my workmen with great pleasure. Then to the office, where I found Sir W. Pen sent down yesterday to Chatham to get two great ships in readiness presently to go to the East Indies upon some design against the Dutch, we think, at Goa but it is a great secret yet. Dined at home, came Mr. Shepley and Moore, and did business with both of them. After that to Sir W. Batten's, where great store of company at dinner. Among others my schoolfellow, Mr. Christmas, where very merry, and hither came letters from above for the fitting of two other ships for the East Indies in all haste, and so we got orders presently for the Hampshire and Nonsuch. Then home and there put some papers in order, and not knowing what to do, the house being so dirty, I went to bed. 30th. At the office we and Sir W. Rider to advise what sort of provisions to get ready for these ships going to the Indies. Then the Comptroller and I by water to Mr. Coventry, and there discoursed upon the same thing. So to my coz. Tho. Pepys, and got him to promise me L1,000 to lend my Lord upon his and my uncle Robert's and my security. So to my Lord's, and there got him to sign a bond to him, which I also signed too, and he did sign counter security to us both. Then into London up and down and drank a pint of wine with Mr. Creed, and so home and sent a letter and the bonds to my uncle to sign for my Lord. This day I spoke with Dr. Castle about making up the dividend for the last quarter, and agreed to meet about it on Monday. 31st (Sunday). At church, where a stranger preached like a fool. From thence home and dined with my wife, she staying at home, being unwilling to dress herself, the house being all dirty. To church again, and after sermon I walked to my father's, and to Mrs. Turner's, where I could not woo The. to give me a lesson upon the harpsicon and was angry at it. So home and finding Will abroad at Sir W. Batten's talking with the people there (Sir W. and my Lady being in the country), I took occasion to be angry with him, and so to prayers and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A lady spit backward upon me by a mistake A most tedious, unreasonable, and impertinent sermon Comely black woman.--[The old expression for a brunette.] Cruel custom of throwing at cocks on Shrove Tuesday Day I first begun to go forth in my coat and sword Discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids Fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did in my life Have been so long absent that I am ashamed to go I took occasion to be angry with him Justice of God in punishing men for the sins of their ancestors Lady Batten to give me a spoonful of honey for my cold My great expense at the Coronacion She hath got her teeth new done by La Roche That I might not seem to be afeared The monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her Was kissing my wife, which I did not like We are to go to law never to revenge, but only to repayre Who we found ill still, but he do make very much of it Wronged by my over great expectations 
4127	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL & MAY 1661 April 1st, 1661. This day my waiting at the Privy Seal comes in again. Up early among my workmen. So to the once, and went home to dinner with Sir W. Batten, and after that to the Goat tavern by Charing Cross to meet Dr. Castle, where he and I drank a pint of wine and talked about Privy Seal business. Then to the Privy Seal Office and there found Mr. Moore, but no business yet. Then to Whitefryars, and there saw part of "Rule a wife and have a wife," which I never saw before, but do not like it. So to my father, and there finding a discontent between my father and mother about the maid (which my father likes and my mother dislikes), I staid till 10 at night, persuading my mother to understand herself, and that in some high words, which I was sorry for, but she is grown, poor woman, very froward. So leaving them in the same discontent I went away home, it being a brave moonshine, and to bed. 2d. Among my workmen early and then along with my wife and Pall to my Father's by coach there to have them lie a while till my house be done. I found my mother alone weeping upon my last night's quarrel and so left her, and took my wife to Charing Cross and there left her to see her mother who is not well. So I into St. James's Park, where I saw the Duke of York playing at Pelemele, [The game was originally played in the road now styled Pall Mall, near St. James's Square, but at the Restoration when sports came in fashion again the street was so much built over, that it became necessary to find another ground. The Mall in St. James's Park was then laid out for the purpose.] the first time that ever I saw the sport. Then to my Lord's, where I dined with my Lady, and after we had dined in comes my Lord and Ned Pickering hungry, and there was not a bit of meat left in the house, the servants having eat up all, at which my Lord was very angry, and at last got something dressed. Then to the Privy Seal, and signed some things, and so to White-fryars and saw "The Little Thiefe," which is a very merry and pretty play, and the little boy do very well. Then to my Father's, where I found my mother and my wife in a very good mood, and so left them and went home. Then to the Dolphin to Sir W. Batten, and Pen, and other company; among others Mr. Delabar; where strange how these men, who at other times are all wise men, do now, in their drink, betwitt and reproach one another with their former conditions, and their actions as in public concernments, till I was ashamed to see it. But parted all friends at 12 at night after drinking a great deal of wine. So home and alone to bed. 3rd. Up among my workmen, my head akeing all day from last night's debauch. To the office all the morning, and at noon dined with Sir W. Batten and Pen, who would needs have me drink two drafts of sack to-day to cure me of last night's disease, which I thought strange but I think find it true. [The proverb, "A hair of the dog that bit you," which probably had originally a literal meaning, has long been used to inculcate the advice of the two Sir Williams.] Then home with my workmen all the afternoon, at night into the garden to play on my flageolette, it being moonshine, where I staid a good while, and so home and to bed. This day I hear that the Dutch have sent the King a great present of money, which we think will stop the match with Portugal; and judge this to be the reason that our so great haste in sending the two ships to the East Indys is also stayed. 4th. To my workmen, then to my Lord's, and there dined with Mr. Shepley. After dinner I went in to my Lord and there we had a great deal of musique, and then came my cozen Tom Pepys and there did accept of the security which we gave him for his L1000 that we borrow of him, and so the money to be paid next week. Then to the Privy Seal, and so with Mr. Moore to my father's, where some friends did sup there and we with them and late went home, leaving my wife still there. So to bed. 5th: Up among my workmen and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen's with the other Sir William and Sir John Lawson to dinner, and after that, with them to Mr. Lucy's, a merchant, where much good company, and there drank a great deal of wine, and in discourse fell to talk of the weight of people, which did occasion some wagers, and where, among others, I won half a piece to be spent. Then home, and at night to Sir W. Batten's, and there very merry with a good barrell of oysters, and this is the present life I lead. Home and to bed. 6th. Up among my workmen, then to Whitehall, and there at Privy Seal and elsewhere did business, and among other things met with Mr. Townsend, who told of his mistake the other day, to put both his legs through one of his knees of his breeches, and went so all day. Then with Mr. Creed and Moore to the Leg in the Palace to dinner which I gave them, and after dinner I saw the girl of the house, being very pretty, go into a chamber, and I went in after her and kissed her. Then by water, Creed and I, to Salisbury Court and there saw "Love's Quarrell" acted the first time, but I do not like the design or words. So calling at my father's, where they and my wife well, and so home and to bed. 7th (Lord's day). All the morning at home making up my accounts (God forgive me!) to give up to my Lord this afternoon. Then about 11 o'clock out of doors towards Westminster and put in at Paul's, where I saw our minister, Mr. Mills, preaching before my Lord Mayor. So to White Hall, and there I met with Dr. Fuller of Twickenham, newly come from Ireland; and took him to my Lord's, where he and I dined; and he did give my Lord and me a good account of the condition of Ireland, and how it come to pass, through the joyning of the Fanatiques and the Presbyterians, that the latter and the former are in their declaration put together under the names of Fanatiques. After dinner, my Lord and I and Mr. Shepley did look over our accounts and settle matters of money between us; and my Lord did tell me much of his mind about getting money and other things of his family, &c. Then to my father's, where I found Mr. Hunt and his wife at supper with my father and mother and my wife, where after supper I left them and so home, and then I went to Sir W. Batten's and resolved of a journey tomorrow to Chatham, and so home and to bed. 8th. Up early, my Lady Batten knocking at her door that comes into one of my chambers. I did give directions to my people and workmen, and so about 8 o'clock we took barge at the Tower, Sir William Batten and his lady, Mrs. Turner, Mr. Fowler and I. A very pleasant passage and so to Gravesend, where we dined, and from thence a coach took them and me, and Mr. Fowler with some others came from Rochester to meet us, on horseback. At Rochester, where alight at Mr. Alcock's and there drank and had good sport, with his bringing out so many sorts of cheese. Then to the Hillhouse at Chatham, where I never was before, and I found a pretty pleasant house and am pleased with the arms that hang up there. Here we supped very merry, and late to bed; Sir William telling me that old Edgeborrow, his predecessor, did die and walk in my chamber, did make me some what afeard, but not so much as for mirth's sake I did seem. So to bed in the treasurer's chamber. 9th. And lay and slept well till 3 in the morning, and then waking, and by the light of the moon I saw my pillow (which overnight I flung from me) stand upright, but not bethinking myself what it might be, I was a little afeard, but sleep overcame all and so lay till high morning, at which time I had a candle brought me and a good fire made, and in general it was a great pleasure all the time I staid here to see how I am respected and honoured by all people; and I find that I begin to know now how to receive so much reverence, which at the beginning I could not tell how to do. Sir William and I by coach to the dock and there viewed all the storehouses and the old goods that are this day to be sold, which was great pleasure to me, and so back again by coach home, where we had a good dinner, and among other strangers that come, there was Mr. Hempson and his wife, a pretty woman, and speaks Latin; Mr. Allen and two daughters of his, both very tall and the youngest very handsome, so much as I could not forbear to love her exceedingly, having, among other things, the best hand that ever I saw. After dinner, we went to fit books and things (Tom Hater being this morning come to us) for the sale, by an inch of candle, and very good sport we and the ladies that stood by had, to see the people bid. Among other things sold there was all the State's arms, which Sir W. Batten bought; intending to set up some of the images in his garden, and the rest to burn on the Coronacion night. The sale being done, the ladies and I and Captain Pett and Mr. Castle took barge and down we went to see the Sovereign, which we did, taking great pleasure therein, singing all the way, and, among other pleasures, I put my Lady, Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Hempson, and the two Mrs. Allens into the lanthorn and I went in and kissed them, demanding it as a fee due to a principall officer, with all which we were exceeding merry, and drunk some bottles of wine and neat's tongue, &c. Then back again home and so supped, and after much mirth to bed. 10th. In the morning to see the Dockhouses. First, Mr. Pett's, the builder, and there was very kindly received, and among other things he did offer my Lady Batten a parrot, the best I ever saw, that knew Mingo so soon as it saw him, having been bred formerly in the house with them; but for talking and singing I never heard the like. My Lady did accept of it: Then to see Commissioner Pett's house, he and his family being absent, and here I wondered how my Lady Batten walked up and down with envious looks to see how neat and rich everything is (and indeed both the house and garden is most handsome), saying that she would get it, for it belonged formerly to the Surveyor of the Navy. Then on board the Prince, now in the dock, and indeed it has one and no more rich cabins for carved work, but no gold in her. After that back home, and there eat a little dinner. Then to Rochester, and there saw the Cathedrall, which is now fitting for use, and the organ then a-tuning. Then away thence, observing the great doors of the church, which, they say, was covered with the skins of the Danes, [Traditions similar to that at Rochester, here alluded to, are to be found in other places in England. Sir Harry Englefield, in a communication made to the Society of Antiquaries, July 2nd, 1789, called attention to the curious popular tale preserved in the village of Hadstock, Essex, that the door of the church had been covered with the skin of a Danish pirate, who had plundered the church. At Worcester, likewise, it was asserted that the north doors of the cathedral had been covered with the skin of a person who had sacrilegiously robbed the high altar. The date of these doors appears to be the latter part of the fourteenth century, the north porch having been built about 1385. Dart, in his "History of the Abbey Church of St. Peter's, Westminster," 1723 (vol. i., book ii., p. 64), relates a like tradition then preserved in reference to a door, one of three which closed off a chamber from the south transept--namely, a certain building once known as the Chapel of Henry VIII., and used as a "Revestry." This chamber, he states, "is inclosed with three doors, the inner cancellated, the middle, which is very thick, lined with skins like parchment, and driven full of nails. These skins, they by tradition tell us, were some skins of the Danes, tann'd and given here as a memorial of our delivery from them." Portions of this supposed human skin were examined under the microscope by the late Mr. John Quekett of the Hunterian Museum, who ascertained, beyond question, that in each of the cases the skin was human. From a communication by the late Mr. Albert Way, F.S.A., to the late Lord Braybrooke.] and also had much mirth at a tomb, on which was "Come sweet Jesu," and I read "Come sweet Mall," &c., at which Captain Pett and I had good laughter. So to the Salutacion tavern, where Mr. Alcock and many of the town came and entertained us with wine and oysters and other things, and hither come Sir John Minnes to us, who is come to-day to see "the Henery," in which he intends to ride as Vice-Admiral in the narrow seas all this summer. Here much mirth, but I was a little troubled to stay too long, because of going to Hempson's, which afterwards we did, and found it in all things a most pretty house, and rarely furnished, only it had a most ill access on all sides to it, which is a greatest fault that I think can be in a house. Here we had, for my sake, two fiddles, the one a base viall, on which he that played, played well some lyra lessons, but both together made the worst musique that ever I heard. We had a fine collacion, but I took little pleasure in that, for the illness of the musique and for the intentness of my mind upon Mrs. Rebecca Allen. After we had done eating, the ladies went to dance, and among the men we had, I was forced to dance too; and did make an ugly shift. Mrs. R. Allen danced very well, and seems the best humoured woman that ever I saw. About 9 o'clock Sir William and my Lady went home, and we continued dancing an hour or two, and so broke up very pleasant and merry, and so walked home, I leading Mrs. Rebecca, who seemed, I know not why, in that and other things, to be desirous of my favours and would in all things show me respects. Going home, she would needs have me sing, and I did pretty well and was highly esteemed by them. So to Captain Allen's (where we were last night, and heard him play on the harpsicon, and I find him to be a perfect good musician), and there, having no mind to leave Mrs. Rebecca, what with talk and singing (her father and I), Mrs. Turner and I staid there till 2 o'clock in the morning and was most exceeding merry, and I had the opportunity of kissing Mrs. Rebecca very often. Among other things Captain Pett was saying that he thought that he had got his wife with child since I came thither. Which I took hold of and was merrily asking him what he would take to have it said for my honour that it was of my getting? He merrily answered that he would if I would promise to be godfather to it if it did come within the time just, and I said that I would. So that I must remember to compute it when the time comes. 11th. At 2 o'clock, with very great mirth, we went to our lodging and to bed, and lay till 7, and then called up by Sir W. Batten, so I arose and we did some business, and then came Captn. Allen, and he and I withdrew and sang a song or two, and among others took pleasure in "Goe and bee hanged, that's good-bye." The young ladies come too, and so I did again please myself with Mrs. Rebecca, and about 9 o'clock, after we had breakfasted, we sett forth for London, and indeed I was a little troubled to part with Mrs. Rebecca, for which God forgive me. Thus we went away through Rochester, calling and taking leave of Mr. Alcock at the door, Capt. Cuttance going with us. We baited at Dartford, and thence to London, but of all the journeys that ever I made this was the merriest, and I was in a strange mood for mirth. Among other things, I got my Lady to let her maid, Mrs. Anne, to ride all the way on horseback, and she rides exceeding well; and so I called her my clerk, that she went to wait upon me. I met two little schoolboys going with pitchers of ale to their schoolmaster to break up against Easter, and I did drink of some of one of them and give him two pence. By and by we come to two little girls keeping cows, and I saw one of them very pretty, so I had a mind to make her ask my blessing, and telling her that I was her godfather, she asked me innocently whether I was not Ned Wooding, and I said that I was, so she kneeled down and very simply called, "Pray, godfather, pray to God to bless me," which made us very merry, and I gave her twopence. In several places, I asked women whether they would sell me their children, but they denied me all, but said they would give me one to keep for them, if I would. Mrs. Anne and I rode under the man that hangs upon Shooter's Hill, [Shooter's Hill, Kent, between the eighth and ninth milestones on the Dover road. It was long a notorious haunt of highwaymen. The custom was to leave the bodies of criminals hanging until the bones fell to the ground.] and a filthy sight it was to see how his flesh is shrunk to his bones. So home and I found all well, and a deal of work done since I went. I sent to see how my wife do, who is well, and my brother John come from Cambridge. To Sir W. Batten's and there supped, and very merry with the young ladles. So to bed very sleepy for last night's work, concluding that it is the pleasantest journey in all respects that ever I had in my life. 12th. Up among my workmen, and about 7 o'clock comes my wife to see me and my brother John with her, who I am glad to see, but I sent them away because of going to the office, and there dined with Sir W. Batten, all fish dinner, it being Good Friday. Then home and looking over my workmen, and then into the City and saw in what forwardness all things are for the Coronacion, which will be very magnificent. Then back again home and to my chamber, to set down in my diary all my late journey, which I do with great pleasure; and while I am now writing comes one with a tickett to invite me to Captain Robert Blake's buriall, for whose death I am very sorry, and do much wonder at it, he being a little while since a very likely man to live as any I knew. Since my going out of town, there is one Alexander Rosse taken and sent to the Counter by Sir Thomas Allen, for counterfeiting my hand to a ticket, and we this day at the office have given order to Mr. Smith to prosecute him. To bed. 13th. To Whitehall by water from Towre-wharf, where we could not pass the ordinary way, because they were mending of the great stone steps against the Coronacion. With Sir W. Pen, then to my Lord's, and thence with Capt. Cuttance and Capt. Clark to drink our morning draught together, and before we could get back again my Lord was gone out. So to Whitehall again and, met with my Lord above with the Duke; and after a little talk with him, I went to the Banquethouse, and there saw the King heal, the first time that ever I saw him do it; which he did with great gravity, and it seemed to me to be an ugly office and a simple one. That done to my Lord's and dined there, and so by water with parson Turner towards London, and upon my telling of him of Mr. Moore to be a fit man to do his business with Bishop Wren, about which he was going, he went back out of my boat into another to Whitehall, and so I forwards home and there by and by took coach with Sir W. Pen and Captain Terne and went to the buriall of Captain Robert Blake, at Wapping, and there had each of us a ring, but it being dirty, we would not go to church with them, but with our coach we returned home, and there staid a little, and then he and I alone to the Dolphin (Sir W. Batten being this day gone with his wife to Walthamstow to keep Easter), and there had a supper by ourselves, we both being very hungry, and staying there late drinking I became very sleepy, and so we went home and I to bed. 14th (Easter. Lord's day). In the morning towards my father's, and by the way heard Mr. Jacomb, at Ludgate, upon these words, "Christ loved you and therefore let us love one another," and made a lazy sermon, like a Presbyterian. Then to my father's and dined there, and Dr. Fairbrother (lately come to town) with us. After dinner I went to the Temple and there heard Dr. Griffith, a good sermon for the day; so with Mr. Moore (whom I met there) to my Lord's, and there he shewed me a copy of my Lord Chancellor's patent for Earl, and I read the preamble, which is very short, modest, and good. Here my Lord saw us and spoke to me about getting Mr. Moore to come and govern his house while he goes to sea, which I promised him to do and did afterwards speak to Mr. Moore, and he is willing. Then hearing that Mr. Barnwell was come, with some of my Lord's little children, yesterday to town, to see the Coronacion, I went and found them at the Goat, at Charing Cross, and there I went and drank with them a good while, whom I found in very good health and very merry Then to my father's, and after supper seemed willing to go home, and my wife seeming to be so too I went away in a discontent, but she, poor wretch, followed me as far in the rain and dark as Fleet Bridge to fetch me back again, and so I did, and lay with her to-night, which I have not done these eight or ten days before. 15th. From my father's, it being a very foul morning for the King and Lords to go to Windsor, I went to the office and there met Mr. Coventry and Sir Robt. Slingsby, but did no business, but only appoint to go to Deptford together tomorrow. Mr. Coventry being gone, and I having at home laid up L200 which I had brought this morning home from Alderman Backwell's, I went home by coach with Sir R. Slingsby and dined with him, and had a very good dinner. His lady' seems a good woman and very desirous they were to hear this noon by the post how the election has gone at Newcastle, wherein he is concerned, but the letters are not come yet. To my uncle Wight's, and after a little stay with them he and I to Mr. Rawlinson's, and there staid all the afternoon, it being very foul, and had a little talk with him what good I might make of these ships that go to Portugal by venturing some money by them, and he will give me an answer to it shortly. So home and sent for the Barber, and after that to bed. 16th. So soon as word was brought me that Mr. Coventry was come with the barge to the Towre, I went to him, and found him reading of the Psalms in short hand (which he is now busy about), and had good sport about the long marks that are made there for sentences in divinity, which he is never like to make use of. Here he and I sat till the Comptroller came and then we put off for Deptford, where we went on board the King's pleasure boat that Commissioner Pett is making, and indeed it will be a most pretty thing. From thence to Commr. Pett's lodging, and there had a good breakfast, and in came the two Sir Wms. from Walthamstow, and so we sat down and did a great deal of public business about the fitting of the fleet that is now going out. That done we went to the Globe and there had a good dinner, and by and by took barge again and so home. By the way they would have me sing, which I did to Mr. Coventry, who went up to Sir William Batten's, and there we staid and talked a good while, and then broke up and I home, and then to my father's and there lay with my wife. 17th. By land and saw the arches, which are now almost done and are very fine, and I saw the picture of the ships and other things this morning, set up before the East Indy House, which are well done. So to the office, and that being done I went to dinner with Sir W. Batten, and then home to my workmen, and saw them go on with great content to me. Then comes Mr. Allen of Chatham, and I took him to the Mitre and there did drink with him, and did get of him the song that pleased me so well there the other day, "Of Shitten come Shites the beginning of love." His daughters are to come to town to-morrow, but I know not whether I shall see them or no. That done I went to the Dolphin by appointment and there I met Sir Wms. both and Mr. Castle, and did eat a barrel of oysters and two lobsters, which I did give them, and were very merry. Here we had great talk of Mr. Warren's being knighted by the King, and Sir W. B. seemed to be very much incensed against him. So home. 18th. Up with my workmen and then about 9 o'clock took horse with both the Sir Williams for Walthamstow, and there we found my Lady and her daughters all; and a pleasant day it was, and all things else, but that my Lady was in a bad mood, which we were troubled at, and had she been noble she would not have been so with her servants, when we came thither, and this Sir W. Pen took notice of, as well as I. After dinner we all went to the Church stile, and there eat and drank, and I was as merry as I could counterfeit myself to be. Then, it raining hard, we left Sir W. Batten, and we two returned and called at Mr.----and drank some brave wine there, and then homewards again and in our way met with two country fellows upon one horse, which I did, without much ado, give the way to, but Sir W. Pen would not, but struck them and they him, and so passed away, but they giving him some high words, he went back again and struck them off their horse, in a simple fury, and without much honour, in my mind, and so came away. Home, and I sat with him a good while talking, and then home and to bed. 19th. Among my workmen and then to the office, and after that dined with Sir W. Batten, and then home, where Sir W. Warren came, and I took him and Mr. Shepley and Moore with me to the Mitre, and there I cleared with Warren for the deals I bought lately for my Lord of him, and he went away, and we staid afterwards a good while and talked, and so parted, it being so foul that I could not go to Whitehall to see the Knights of the Bath made to-day, which do trouble me mightily. So home, and having staid awhile till Will came in (with whom I was vexed for staying abroad), he comes and then I went by water to my father's, and then after supper to bed with my wife. 20th. Here comes my boy to tell me that the Duke of York had sent for all the principal officers, &c., to come to him to-day. So I went by water to Mr. Coventry's, and there staid and talked a good while with him till all the rest come. We went up and saw the Duke dress himself, and in his night habitt he is a very plain man. Then he sent us to his closett, where we saw among other things two very fine chests, covered with gold and Indian varnish, given him by the East Indy Company of Holland. The Duke comes; and after he had told us that the fleet was designed for Algier (which was kept from us till now), we did advise about many things as to the fitting of the fleet, and so went away. And from thence to the Privy Seal, where little to do, and after that took Mr. Creed and Moore and gave them their morning draught, and after that to my Lord's, where Sir W. Pen came to me, and dined with my Lord. After dinner he and others that dined there went away, and then my Lord looked upon his pages' and footmen's liverys, which are come home to-day, and will be handsome, though not gaudy. Then with my Lady and my Lady Wright to White Hall; and in the Banqueting-house saw the King create my Lord Chancellor and several others, Earls, and Mr. Crew and several others, Barons: the first being led up by Heralds and five old Earls to the King, and there the patent is read, and the King puts on his vest, and sword, and coronet, and gives him the patent. And then he kisseth the King's hand, and rises and stands covered before the king. And the same for the Barons, only he is led up but by three of the old Barons, and are girt with swords before they go to the King. That being done (which was very pleasant to see their habits), I carried my Lady back, and I found my Lord angry, for that his page had let my Lord's new beaver be changed for an old hat; then I went away, and with Mr. Creed to the Exchange and bought some things, as gloves and bandstrings, &c. So back to the Cockpitt, and there, by the favour of one Mr. Bowman, he and I got in, and there saw the King and Duke of York and his Duchess (which is a plain woman, and like her mother, my Lady Chancellor). And so saw "The Humersome Lieutenant" acted before the King, but not very well done. But my pleasure was great to see the manner of it, and so many great beauties, but above all Mrs. Palmer, with whom the King do discover a great deal of familiarity. So Mr. Creed and I (the play being done) went to Mrs. Harper's, and there sat and drank, it being about twelve at night. The ways being now so dirty, and stopped up with the rayles which are this day set up in the streets, I would not go home, but went with him to his lodging at Mr. Ware's, and there lay all night. 21st (Lord's day). In the morning we were troubled to hear it rain as it did, because of the great show tomorrow. After I was ready I walked to my father's and there found the late maid to be gone and another come by my mother's choice, which my father do not like, and so great difference there will be between my father and mother about it. Here dined Doctor Thos. Pepys and Dr. Fayrebrother; and all our talk about to-morrow's show, and our trouble that it is like to be a wet day. After dinner comes in my coz. Snow and his wife, and I think stay there till the show be over. Then I went home, and all the way is so thronged with people to see the triumphal arches, that I could hardly pass for them. So home, people being at church, and I got home unseen, and so up to my chamber and saw done these last five or six days' diarys. My mind a little troubled about my workmen, which, being foreigners,--[Foreigners were workmen dwelling outside the city.]--are like to be troubled by a couple of lazy rogues that worked with me the other day, that are citizens, and so my work will be hindered, but I must prevent it if I can. 22d. KING'S GOING FROM YE TOWER TO WHITE HALL. [The king in the early morning of the 22nd went from Whitehall to the Tower by water, so that he might proceed from thence through the City to Westminster Abbey, there to be crowned.] Up early and made myself as fine as I could, and put on my velvet coat, the first day that I put it on, though made half a year ago. And being ready, Sir W. Batten, my Lady, and his two daughters and his son and wife, and Sir W. Pen and his son and I, went to Mr. Young's, the flag-maker, in Corne-hill; [The members of the Navy Office appear to have chosen Mr. Young's house on account of its nearness to the second triumphal arch, situated near the Royal Exchange, which was dedicated to the Navy.] and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and good cake, and saw the show very well. In which it is impossible to relate the glory of this day, expressed in the clothes of them that rid, and their horses and horses clothes, among others, my Lord Sandwich's. Embroidery and diamonds were ordinary among them. The Knights of the Bath was a brave sight of itself; and their Esquires, among which Mr. Armiger was an Esquire to one of the Knights. Remarquable were the two men that represent the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitane. The Bishops come next after Barons, which is the higher place; which makes me think that the next Parliament they will be called to the House of Lords. My Lord Monk rode bare after the King, and led in his hand a spare horse, as being Master of the Horse. The King, in a most rich embroidered suit and cloak, looked most noble. Wadlow, [Simon Wadlow was the original of "old Sir Simon the king," the favourite air of Squire Western in "Tom Jones." "Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers." Ben Jonson, Verses over the door into the Apollo.] the vintner, at the Devil; in Fleetstreet, did lead a fine company of soldiers, all young comely men, in white doublets. There followed the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir G. Carteret, a company of men all like Turks; but I know not yet what they are for. The streets all gravelled, and the houses hung with carpets before them, made brave show, and the ladies out of the windows, one of which over against us I took much notice of, and spoke of her, which made good sport among us. So glorious was the show with gold and silver, that we were not able to look at it, our eyes at last being so much overcome with it. Both the King and the Duke of York took notice of us, as he saw us at the window. The show being ended, Mr. Young did give us a dinner, at which we were very merry, and pleased above imagination at what we have seen. Sir W. Batten going home, he and I called and drunk some mum [Mum. Ale brewed with wheat at Brunswick. "Sedulous and stout With bowls of fattening mum." J. Phillips, Cyder, Vol. ii. p. 231.] and laid our wager about my Lady Faulconbridge's name, [Mary, third daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and second wife of Thomas Bellasis, second Viscount Fauconberg, created Earl of Fauconberg, April 9th, 1689.] which he says not to be Mary, and so I won above 20s. So home, where Will and the boy staid and saw the show upon Towre Hill, and Jane at T. Pepys's, The. Turner, and my wife at Charles Glassecocke's, in Fleet Street. In the evening by water to White Hall to my Lord's, and there I spoke with my Lord. He talked with me about his suit, which was made in France, and cost him L200, and very rich it is with embroidery. I lay with Mr. Shepley, and CORONACION DAY. 23d. About 4 I rose and got to the Abbey, where I followed Sir J. Denham, the Surveyor, with some company that he was leading in. And with much ado, by the favour of Mr. Cooper, his man, did get up into a great scaffold across the North end of the Abbey, where with a great deal of patience I sat from past 4 till 11 before the King came in. And a great pleasure it was to see the Abbey raised in the middle, all covered with red, and a throne (that is a chair) and footstool on the top of it; and all the officers of all kinds, so much as the very fidlers, in red vests. At last comes in the Dean and Prebends of Westminster, with the Bishops (many of them in cloth of gold copes), and after them the Nobility, all in their Parliament robes, which was a most magnificent sight. Then the Duke, and the King with a scepter (carried by my Lord Sandwich) and sword and mond [Mond or orb of gold, with a cross set with precious stones, carried by the Duke of Buckingham.] before him, and the crown too. The King in his robes, bare-headed, which was very fine. And after all had placed themselves, there was a sermon and the service; and then in the Quire at the high altar, the King passed through all the ceremonies of the Coronacon, which to my great grief I and most in the Abbey could not see. The crown being put upon his head, a great shout begun, and he came forth to the throne, and there passed more ceremonies: as taking the oath, and having things read to him by the Bishop; and his lords (who put on their caps as soon as the King put on his crown) [As yet barons had no coronet. A grant of that outward mark of dignity was made to them by Charles soon after his coronation. Queen Elizabeth had assigned coronets to viscounts.--B.] and bishops come, and kneeled before him. And three times the King at Arms went to the three open places on the scaffold, and proclaimed, that if any one could show any reason why Charles Stewart should not be King of England, that now he should come and speak. And a Generall Pardon also was read by the Lord Chancellor, and meddalls flung up and down by my Lord Cornwallis, of silver, but I could not come by any. But so great a noise that I could make but little of the musique; and indeed, it was lost to every body. But I had so great a lust to . . . . that I went out a little while before the King had done all his ceremonies, and went round the Abbey to Westminster Hall, all the way within rayles, and 10,000 people, with the ground covered with blue cloth; and scaffolds all the way. Into the Hall I got, where it was very fine with hangings and scaffolds one upon another full of brave ladies; and my wife in one little one, on the right hand. Here I staid walking up and down, and at last upon one of the side stalls I stood and saw the King come in with all the persons (but the soldiers) that were yesterday in the cavalcade; and a most pleasant sight it was to see them in their several robes. And the King came in with his crown on, and his sceptre in his hand, under a canopy borne up by six silver staves, carried by Barons of the Cinque Ports, [Pepys was himself one of the Barons of the Cinque Ports at the Coronation of James II.] and little bells at every end. And after a long time, he got up to the farther end, and all set themselves down at their several tables; and that was also a brave sight: and the King's first course carried up by the Knights of the Bath. And many fine ceremonies there was of the Heralds leading up people before him, and bowing; and my Lord of Albemarle's going to the kitchin and eat a bit of the first dish that was to go to the King's table. But, above all, was these three Lords, Northumberland, and Suffolk, and the Duke of Ormond, coming before the courses on horseback, and staying so all dinner-time, and at last to bring up [Dymock] the King's Champion, all in armour on horseback, with his spear and targett carried before him. And a Herald proclaims "That if any dare deny Charles Stewart to be lawful King of England, here was a Champion that would fight with him;" [The terms of the Champion's challenge were as follows: "If any person of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Soveraigne Lord King Charles the Second, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, defender of the faith, Sonne and next heire to our Soveraigne Lord Charles the First, the last King deceased, to be right heire to the Imperiall Crowne of this Realme of England, or that bee ought not to enjoy the same; here is his champion, who sayth that he lyeth and is a false Traytor, being ready in person to combate with him, and in this quarrell will venture his life against him, on what day soever hee shall be appointed."] and with these words, the Champion flings down his gauntlet, and all this he do three times in his going up towards the King's table. At last when he is come, the King drinks to him, and then sends him the cup which is of gold, and he drinks it off, and then rides back again with the cup in his hand. I went from table to table to see the Bishops and all others at their dinner, and was infinitely pleased with it. And at the Lords' table, I met with William Howe, and he spoke to my Lord for me, and he did give me four rabbits and a pullet, and so I got it and Mr. Creed and I got Mr. Michell to give us some bread, and so we at a stall eat it, as every body else did what they could get. I took a great deal of pleasure to go up and down, and look upon the ladies, and to hear the musique of all sorts, but above all, the 24 violins: About six at night they had dined, and I went up to my wife, and there met with a pretty lady (Mrs. Frankleyn, a Doctor's wife, a friend of Mr. Bowyer's), and kissed them both, and by and by took them down to Mr. Bowyer's. And strange it is to think, that these two days have held up fair till now that all is done, and the King gone out of the Hall; and then it fell a-raining and thundering and lightening as I have not seen it do for some years: which people did take great notice of; God's blessing of the work of these two days, which is a foolery to take too much notice of such things. I observed little disorder in all this, but only the King's footmen had got hold of the canopy, and would keep it from the Barons of the Cinque Ports, [Bishop Kennett gives a somewhat fuller account of this unseemly broil: "No sooner had the aforesaid Barons brought up the King to the foot of the stairs in Westminster Hall, ascending to his throne, and turned on the left hand (towards their own table) out of the way, but the King's footmen most insolently and violently seized upon the canopy, which the Barons endeavouring to keep and defend, were by their number and strength dragged clown to the lower end of the Hall, nevertheless still keeping their hold; and had not Mr. Owen York Herald, being accidentally near the Hall door, and seeing the contest, caused the same to be shut, the footmen had certainly carried it away by force. But in the interim also (speedy notice hereof having been given the King) one of the Querries were sent from him, with command to imprison the footmen, and dismiss them out of his service, which put an end to the present disturbance. These footmen were also commanded to make their submission to the Court of Claims, which was accordingly done by them the 30th April following, and the canopy then delivered back to the said Barons." Whilst this disturbance happened, the upper end of the first table, which had been appointed for the Barons of the Cinque Ports, was taken up by the Bishops, judges, &c., probably nothing loth to take precedence of them; and the poor Barons, naturally unwilling to lose their dinner, were necessitated to eat it at the bottom of the second table, below the Masters of Chancery and others of the long robe.-B.] which they endeavoured to force from them again, but could not do it till my Lord Duke of Albemarle caused it to be put into Sir R. Pye's' hand till tomorrow to be decided. At Mr. Bowyer's; a great deal of company, some I knew, others I did not. Here we staid upon the leads and below till it was late, expecting to see the fire-works, but they were not performed to-night: only the City had a light like a glory round about it with bonfires. At last I went to Kingstreet, and there sent Crockford to my father's and my house, to tell them I could not come home tonight, because of the dirt, and a coach could not be had. And so after drinking a pot of ale alone at Mrs. Harper's I returned to Mr. Bowyer's, and after a little stay more I took my wife and Mrs. Frankleyn (who I proffered the civility of lying with my wife at Mrs. Hunt's to-night) to Axe-yard, in which at the further end there were three great bonfires, and a great many great gallants, men and women; and they laid hold of us, and would have us drink the King's health upon our knees, kneeling upon a faggot, which we all did, they drinking to us one after another. Which we thought a strange frolique; but these gallants continued thus a great while, and I wondered to see how the ladies did tipple. At last I sent my wife and her bedfellow to bed, and Mr. Hunt and I went in with Mr. Thornbury (who did give the company all their wine, he being yeoman of the wine-cellar to the King) to his house; and there, with his wife and two of his sisters, and some gallant sparks that were there, we drank the King's health, and nothing else, till one of the gentlemen fell down stark drunk, and there lay spewing; and I went to my Lord's pretty well. But no sooner a-bed with Mr. Shepley but my head began to hum, and I to vomit, and if ever I was foxed it was now, which I cannot say yet, because I fell asleep and slept till morning. Only when I waked I found myself wet with my spewing. Thus did the day end with joy every where; and blessed be God, I have not heard of any mischance to any body through it all, but only to Serjt. Glynne, whose horse fell upon him yesterday, and is like to kill him, which people do please themselves to see how just God is to punish the rogue at such a time as this; he being now one of the King's Serjeants, and rode in the cavalcade with Maynard, to whom people wish the same fortune. There was also this night in King-street, [a woman] had her eye put out by a boy's flinging a firebrand into the coach. Now, after all this, I can say that, besides the pleasure of the sight of these glorious things, I may now shut my eyes against any other objects, nor for the future trouble myself to see things of state and show, as being sure never to see the like again in this world. 24th. Waked in the morning with my head in a sad taking through the last night's drink, which I am very sorry for; so rose and went out with Mr. Creed to drink our morning draft, which he did give me in chocolate [Chocolate was introduced into England about the year 1652. In the "Publick Advertiser" of Tuesday, June 16-22, 1657, we find the following; "In Bishopsgate Street in Queen's Head Alley, at a Frenchman's house, is an excellent West India drink called chocolate, to be sold, where you may have it ready at any time, and also unmade at reasonable rates."--M. B.] to settle my stomach. And after that I to my wife, who lay with Mrs. Frankelyn at the next door to Mrs. Hunt's, and they were ready, and so I took them up in a coach, and carried the ladies to Paul's, and there set her down, and so my wife and I home, and I to the office. That being done my wife and I went to dinner to Sir W. Batten, and all our talk about the happy conclusion of these last solemnities. After dinner home, and advised with my wife about ordering things in my house, and then she went away to my father's to lie, and I staid with my workmen, who do please me very well with their work. At night, set myself to write down these three days' diary, and while I am about it, I hear the noise of the chambers,--[A chamber is a small piece of ordnance.]--and other things of the fire-works, which are now playing upon the Thames before the King; and I wish myself with them, being sorry not to see them. So to bed. 25th. All the morning with my workmen with great pleasure to see them near coming to an end. At noon Mr. Moore and I went to an Ordinary at the King's Head in Towre Street, and there had a dirty dinner. Afterwards home and having done some business with him, in comes Mr. Sheply and Pierce the surgeon, and they and I to the Mitre and there staid a while and drank, and so home and after a little rending to bed. 26th. At the office all the morning, and at noon dined by myself at home on a piece of meat from the cook's, and so at home all the afternoon with my workmen, and at night to bed, having some thoughts to order my business so as to go to Portsmouth the next week with Sir Robert Slingsby. 27th. In the morning to my Lord's, and there dined with my Lady, and after dinner with Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers to the Theatre to see "The Chances," and after that to the Cock alehouse, where we had a harp and viallin played to us, and so home by coach to Sir W. Batten's, who seems so inquisitive when my, house will be made an end of that I am troubled to go thither. So home with some trouble in my mind about it. 28th (Lord's day). In the morning to my father's, where I dined, and in the afternoon to their church, where come Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Edward Pepys, and several other ladies, and so I went out of the pew into another. And after sermon home with them, and there staid a while and talked with them and was sent for to my father's, where my cozen Angier and his wife, of Cambridge, to whom I went, and was glad to see them, and sent for wine for them, and they supped with my father. After supper my father told me of an odd passage the other night in bed between my mother and him, and she would not let him come to bed to her out of jealousy of him and an ugly wench that lived there lately, the most ill-favoured slut that ever I saw in my life, which I was ashamed to hear that my mother should be become such a fool, and my father bid me to take notice of it to my mother, and to make peace between him and her. All which do trouble me very much. So to bed to my wife. 29th. Up and with my father towards my house, and by the way met with Lieut. Lambert, and with him to the Dolphin in Tower Street and drank our morning draught, he being much troubled about his being offered a fourth rate ship to be Lieutenant of her now he has been two years Lieutenant in a first rate. So to the office, where it is determined that I should go to-morrow to Portsmouth. So I went out of the office to Whitehall presently, and there spoke with Sir W. Pen and Sir George Carteret and had their advice as to my going, and so back again home, where I directed Mr. Hater what to do in order to our going to-morrow, and so back again by coach to Whitehall and there eat something in the buttery at my Lord's with John Goods and Ned Osgood. And so home again, and gave order to my workmen what to do in my absence. At night to Sir W. Batten's, and by his and Sir W. Pen's persuasion I sent for my wife from my father's, who came to us to Mrs. Turner's, where we were all at a collacion to-night till twelve o'clock, there being a gentlewoman there that did play well and sang well to the Harpsicon, and very merry we were. So home and to bed, where my wife had not lain a great while. 30th. This morning, after order given to my workmen, my wife and I and Mr. Creed took coach, and in Fishstreet took up Mr. Hater and his wife, who through her mask seemed at first to be an old woman, but afterwards I found her to be a very pretty modest black woman. We got a small bait at Leatherhead, and so to Godlyman, where we lay all night, and were very merry, having this day no other extraordinary rencontre, but my hat falling off my head at Newington into the water, by which it was spoiled, and I ashamed of it. I am sorry that I am not at London, to be at Hide-parke to-morrow, among the great gallants and ladies, which will be very fine. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1661 May 1st. Up early, and bated at Petersfield, in the room which the King lay in lately at his being there. Here very merry, and played us and our wives at bowls. Then we set forth again, and so to Portsmouth, seeming to me to be a very pleasant and strong place; and we lay at the Red Lyon, where Haselrigge and Scott and Walton did hold their councill, when they were here, against Lambert and the Committee of Safety. Several officers of the Yard came to see us to-night, and merry we were, but troubled to have no better lodgings. 2nd. Up, and Mr. Creed and I to walk round the town upon the walls. Then to our inn, and there all the officers of the Yard to see me with great respect, and I walked with them to the Dock and saw all the stores, and much pleased with the sight of the place. Back and brought them all to dinner with me, and treated them handsomely; and so after dinner by water to the Yard, and there we made the sale of the old provisions. Then we and our wives all to see the Montagu, which is a fine ship, and so to the town again by water, and then to see the room where the Duke of Buckingham was killed by Felton.--1628. So to our lodging, and to supper and to bed. To-night came Mr. Stevens to town to help us to pay off the Fox. 3rd. Early to walk with Mr. Creed up and down the town, and it was in his and some others' thoughts to have got me made free of the town, but the Mayor, it seems, unwilling, and so they could not do it. Then to the payhouse, and there paid off the ship, and so to a short dinner, and then took coach, leaving Mrs. Hater there to stay with her husband's friends, and we to Petersfield, having nothing more of trouble in all my journey, but the exceeding unmannerly and most epicure-like palate of Mr. Creed. Here my wife and I lay in the room the Queen lately lay at her going into France. 4th. Up in the morning and took coach, and so to Gilford, where we lay at the Red Lyon, the best Inn, and lay in the room the King lately lay in, where we had time to see the Hospital, built by Archbishop Abbott, and the free school, and were civilly treated by the Mayster. So to supper, and to bed, being very merry about our discourse with the Drawers concerning the minister of the Town, with a red face and a girdle. So to bed, where we lay and sleep well. 5th (Lord's day). Mr. Creed and I went to the red-faced Parson's church, and heard a good sermon of him, better than I looked for. Then home, and had a good dinner, and after dinner fell in some talk in Divinity with Mr. Stevens that kept us till it was past Church time. Anon we walked into the garden, and there played the fool a great while, trying who of Mr. Creed or I could go best over the edge of an old fountain well, and I won a quart of sack of him. Then to supper in the banquet house, and there my wife and I did talk high, she against and I for Mrs. Pierce (that she was a beauty), till we were both angry. Then to walk in the fields, and so to our quarters, and to bed. 6th. Up by four o'clock and took coach. Mr. Creed rode, and left us that we know not whither he went. We went on, thinking to be at home before the officers rose, but finding we could not we staid by the way and eat some cakes, and so home, where I was much troubled to see no more work done in my absence than there was, but it could not be helped. I sent my wife to my father's, and I went and sat till late with my Lady Batten, both the Sir Williams being gone this day to pay off some ships at Deptford. So home and to bed without seeing of them. I hear to-night that the Duke of York's son is this day dead, which I believe will please every body; and I hear that the Duke and his Lady themselves are not much troubled at it. 7th. In the morning to Mr. Coventry, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord's to give them an account of my return. My Lady, I find, is, since my going, gone to the Wardrobe. Then with Mr. Creed into London, to several places about his and my business, being much stopped in our way by the City traynebands, who go in much solemnity and pomp this day to muster before the King and the Duke, and shops in the City are shut up every where all this day. He carried me to an ordinary by the Old Exchange, where we come a little too late, but we had very good cheer for our 18d. a-piece, and an excellent droll too, my host, and his wife so fine a woman; and sung and played so well that I staid a great while and drunk a great deal of wine. Then home and staid among my workmen all day, and took order for things for the finishing of their work, and so at night to Sir W. Batten's, and there supped and so home and to bed, having sent my Lord a letter to-night to excuse myself for not going with him to-morrow to the Hope, whither he is to go to see in what condition the fleet is in. 8th. This morning came my brother John to take his leave of me, he being to return to Cambridge to-morrow, and after I had chid him for going with my Will the other day to Deptford with the principal officers, I did give him some good counsell and 20s. in money, and so he went away. All this day I staid at home with my workmen without eating anything, and took much pleasure to see my work go forward. At night comes my wife not well from my father's, having had a fore-tooth drawn out to-day, which do trouble me, and the more because I am now in the greatest of all my dirt. My Will also returned to-night pretty well, he being gone yesterday not very well to his father's. To-day I received a letter from my uncle, to beg an old fiddle of me for my Cozen Perkin, the miller, whose mill the wind hath lately broke down, and now he hath nothing to live by but fiddling, and he must needs have it against Whitsuntide to play to the country girls; but it vexed me to see how my uncle writes to me, as if he were not able to buy him one. But I intend tomorrow to send him one. At night I set down my journal of my late journey to this time, and so to bed. My wife not being well and I very angry with her for her coming hither in that condition. 9th. With my workmen all the morning, my wife being ill and in great pain with her old pain, which troubled me much because that my house is in this condition of dirt. In the afternoon I went to Whitehall and there spoke with my Lord at his lodgings, and there being with him my Lord Chamberlain, I spoke for my old waterman Payne, to get into White's place, who was waterman to my Lord Chamberlain, and is now to go master of the barge to my Lord to sea, and my Lord Chamberlain did promise that Payne should be entertained in White's place with him. From thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there did get his promise for the payment of the remainder of the bill of Mr. Creed's, wherein of late I have been so much concerned, which did so much rejoice me that I meeting with Mr. Childe took him to the Swan Tavern in King Street, and there did give him a tankard of white wine and sugar,--[The popular taste was formerly for sweet wines, and sugar was frequently mixed with the wine.]--and so I went by water home and set myself to get my Lord's accounts made up, which was till nine at night before I could finish, and then I walked to the Wardrobe, being the first time I was there since my Lady came thither, who I found all alone, and so she shewed me all the lodgings as they are now fitted, and they seem pretty pleasant. By and by comes in my Lord, and so, after looking over my accounts, I returned home, being a dirty and dark walk. So to bed. 10th. At the office all the morning, and the afternoon among my workmen with great pleasure, because being near an end of their work. This afternoon came Mr. Blackburn and Creed to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin, and there drank a great deal of Rhenish wine with them and so home, having some talk with Mr. Blackburn about his kinsman my Will, and he did give me good satisfaction in that it is his desire that his kinsman should do me all service, and that he would give him the best counsel he could to make him good. Which I begin of late to fear that he will not because of the bad company that I find that he do begin to take. This afternoon Mr. Hater received for me the L225 due upon Mr. Creed's bill in which I am concerned so much, which do make me very glad. At night to Sir W. Batten and sat a while. So to bed. 11th. This morning I went by water with Payne (Mr. Moore being with me) to my Lord Chamberlain at Whitehall, and there spoke with my Lord, and he did accept of Payne for his waterman, as I had lately endeavoured to get him to be. After that Mr. Cooling did give Payne an order to be entertained, and so I left him and Mr. Moore, and I went to Graye's Inne, and there to a barber's, where I was trimmed, and had my haire cut, in which I am lately become a little curious, finding that the length of it do become me very much. So, calling at my father's, I went home, and there staid and saw my workmen follow their work, which this night is brought to a very good condition. This afternoon Mr. Shepley, Moore, and Creed came to me all about their several accounts with me, and we did something with them all, and so they went away. This evening Mr. Hater brought my last quarter's salary, of which I was very glad, because I have lost my first bill for it, and so this morning was forced to get another signed by three of my fellow officers for it. All this evening till late setting my accounts and papers in order, and so to bed. 12th. My wife had a very troublesome night this night and in great pain, but about the morning her swelling broke, and she was in great ease presently as she useth to be. So I put in a vent (which Dr. Williams sent me yesterday) into the hole to keep it open till all the matter be come out, and so I question not that she will soon be well again. I staid at home all this morning, being the Lord's day, making up my private accounts and setting papers in order. At noon went with my Lady Montagu at the Wardrobe, but I found it so late that I came back again, and so dined with my wife in her chamber. After dinner I went awhile to my chamber to set my papers right. Then I walked forth towards Westminster and at the Savoy heard Dr. Fuller preach upon David's words, "I will wait with patience all the days of my appointed time until my change comes;" but methought it was a poor dry sermon. And I am afeard my former high esteem of his preaching was more out of opinion than judgment. From thence homewards, but met with Mr. Creed, with whom I went and walked in Grayes-Inn-walks, and from thence to Islington, and there eat and drank at the house my father and we were wont of old to go to; and after that walked homeward, and parted in Smithfield: and so I home, much wondering to see how things are altered with Mr. Creed, who, twelve months ago, might have been got to hang himself almost as soon as go to a drinking-house on a Sunday. 13th. All the morning at home among my workmen. At noon Mr. Creed and I went to the ordinary behind the Exchange, where we lately were, but I do not like it so well as I did. So home with him and to the office, where we sat late, and he did deliver his accounts to us. The office being done I went home and took pleasure to see my work draw to an end. 14th. Up early and by water to Whitehall to my Lord, and there had much talk with him about getting some money for him. He told me of his intention to get the Muster Master's place for Mr. Pierce, the purser, who he has a mind to carry to sea with him, and spoke very slightingly of Mr. Creed, as that he had no opinion at all of him, but only he was forced to make use of him because of his present accounts. Thence to drink with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Pinkny, and so home and among my workmen all day. In the evening Mr. Shepley came to me for some money, and so he and I to the Mitre, and there we had good wine and a gammon of bacon. My uncle Wight, Mr. Talbot, and others were with us, and we were pretty merry. So at night home and to bed. Finding my head grow weak now-a-days if I come to drink wine, and therefore hope that I shall leave it off of myself, which I pray God I could do. 15th. With my workmen all day till the afternoon, and then to the office, where Mr. Creed's accounts were passed. Home and found all my joyner's work now done, but only a small job or two, which please me very well. This afternoon there came two men with an order from a Committee of Lords to demand some books of me out of the office, in order to the examining of Mr. Hutchinson's accounts, but I give them a surly answer, and they went away to complain, which put me into some trouble with myself, but I resolve to go to-morrow myself to these Lords and answer them. To bed, being in great fear because of the shavings which lay all up and down the house and cellar, for fear of fire. 16th. Up early to see whether the work of my house be quite done, and I found it to my mind. Staid at home all the morning, and about 2 o'clock went in my velvet coat by water to the Savoy, and there, having staid a good while, I was called into the Lords, and there, quite contrary to my expectations, they did treat me very civilly, telling me that what they had done was out of zeal to the King's service, and that they would joyne with the governors of the chest with all their hearts, since they knew that there was any, which they did not before. I give them very respectful answer and so went away to the Theatre, and there saw the latter end of "The Mayd's Tragedy," which I never saw before, and methinks it is too sad and melancholy. Thence homewards, and meeting Mr. Creed I took him by water to the Wardrobe with me, and there we found my Lord newly gone away with the Duke of Ormond and some others, whom he had had to the collation; and so we, with the rest of the servants in the hall, sat down and eat of the best cold meats that ever I eat on in all my life. From thence I went home (Mr. Moore with me to the waterside, telling me how kindly he is used by my Lord and my Lady since his coming hither as a servant), and to bed. 17th. All the morning at home. At noon Lieutenant Lambert came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and thence to an ordinary over against it, where to our dinner we had a fellow play well upon the bagpipes and whistle like a bird exceeding well, and I had a fancy to learn to whistle as he do, and did promise to come some other day and give him an angell to teach me. To the office, and sat there all the afternoon till 9 at night. So home to my musique, and my wife and I sat singing in my chamber a good while together, and then to bed. 18th. Towards Westminster, from the Towre, by water, and was fain to stand upon one of the piers about the bridge, [The dangers of shooting the bridge were so great that a popular proverb has it--London Bridge was made for wise men to go over and fools to go under.] before the men could drag their boat through the lock, and which they could not do till another was called to help them. Being through bridge I found the Thames full of boats and gallys, and upon inquiry found that there was a wager to be run this morning. So spying of Payne in a gully, I went into him, and there staid, thinking to have gone to Chelsy with them. But upon, the start, the wager boats fell foul one of another, till at last one of them gives over, pretending foul play, and so the other row away alone, and all our sport lost. So, I went ashore, at Westminster; and to the Hall I went, where it was very pleasant to see the Hall in the condition it is now with the judges on the benches at the further end of it, which I had not seen all this term till now. Thence with Mr. Spicer, Creed and some others to drink. And so away homewards by water with Mr. Creed, whom I left in London going about business and I home, where I staid all the afternoon in the garden reading "Faber Fortunae" with great pleasure. So home to bed. 19th. (Lord's day) I walked in the morning towards Westminster, and seeing many people at York House, I went down and found them at mass, it being the Spanish ambassodors; and so I go into one of the gallerys, and there heard two masses done, I think, not in so much state as I have seen them heretofore. After that into the garden, and walked a turn or two, but found it not so fine a place as I always took it for by the outside. Thence to my Lord's and there spake with him about business, and then he went to Whitehall to dinner, and Capt. Ferrers and Mr. Howe and myself to Mr. Wilkinson's at the Crown, and though he had no meat of his own, yet we happened to find our cook Mr. Robinson there, who had a dinner for himself and some friends, and so he did give us a very fine dinner. Then to my Lord's, where we went and sat talking and laughing in the drawing-room a great while. All our talk about their going to sea this voyage, which Capt. Ferrers is in some doubt whether he shall go or no, but swears that he would go, if he were sure never to come back again; and I, giving him some hopes, he grew so mad with joy that he fell a-dancing and leaping like a madman. Now it fell out so that the balcone windows were open, and he went to the rayle and made an offer to leap over, and asked what if he should leap over there. I told him I would give him L40 if he did not go to sea. With that thought I shut the doors, and W. Howe hindered him all we could; yet he opened them again, and, with a vault, leaps down into the garden:--the greatest and most desperate frolic that ever I saw in my life. I run to see what was become of him, and we found him crawled upon his knees, but could not rise; so we went down into the garden and dragged him to the bench, where he looked like a dead man, but could not stir; and, though he had broke nothing, yet his pain in his back was such as he could not endure. With this, my Lord (who was in the little new room) come to us in amaze, and bid us carry him up, which, by our strength, we did, and so laid him in East's bed, by the door; where he lay in great pain. We sent for a doctor and chyrurgeon, but none to be found, till by-and-by by chance comes in Dr. Clerke, who is afeard of him. So we sent to get a lodging for him, and I went up to my Lord, where Captain Cooke, Mr. Gibbons, and others of the King's musicians were come to present my Lord with some songs and symphonys, which were performed very finely. Which being done I took leave and supped at my father's, where was my cozen Beck come lately out of the country. I am troubled to see my father so much decay of a suddain, as he do both in his seeing and hearing, and as much to hear of him how my brother Tom do grow disrespectful to him and my mother. I took leave and went home, where to prayers (which I have not had in my house a good while), and so to bed. 20th. At home all the morning; paid L50 to one Mr. Grant for Mr. Barlow, for the last half year, and was visited by Mr. Anderson, my former chamber fellow at Cambridge, with whom I parted at the Hague, but I did not go forthwith him, only gave him a morning draft at home. At noon Mr. Creed came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and so to an ordinary to dinner, and after dinner to the Mitre, and there sat drinking while it rained very much. Then to the office, where I found Sir Williams both, choosing of masters for the new fleet of ships that is ordered to be set forth, and Pen seeming to be in an ugly humour, not willing to gratify one that I mentioned to be put in, did vex me. We sat late, and so home. Mr. Moore came to me when I was going to bed, and sat with me a good while talking about my Lord's business and our own and so good night. 21st. Up early, and, with Sir R. Slingsby (and Major Waters the deaf gentleman, his friend, for company's sake) to the Victualling-office (the first time that I ever knew where it was), and there staid while he read a commission for enquiry into some of the King's lands and houses thereabouts, that are given his brother. And then we took boat to Woolwich, where we staid and gave order for the fitting out of some more ships presently. And then to Deptford, where we staid and did the same; and so took barge again, and were overtaken by the King in his barge, he having been down the river with his yacht this day for pleasure to try it; and, as I hear, Commissioner Pett's do prove better than the Dutch one, and that that his brother built. While we were upon the water, one of the greatest showers of rain fell that ever I saw. The Comptroller and I landed with our barge at the Temple, and from thence I went to my father's, and there did give order about some clothes to be made, and did buy a new hat, cost between 20 and 30 shillings, at Mr. Holden's. So home. 22nd. To Westminster, and there missed of my Lord, and so about noon I and W. Howe by water to the Wardrobe, where my Lord and all the officers of the Wardrobe dined, and several other friends of my Lord, at a venison pasty. Before dinner, my Lady Wright and my Lady Jem. sang songs to the harpsicon. Very pleasant and merry at dinner. And then I went away by water to the office, and there staid till it was late. At night before I went to bed the barber came to trim me and wash me, and so to bed, in order to my being clean to-morrow. 23rd. This day I went to my Lord, and about many other things at Whitehall, and there made even my accounts with Mr. Shepley at my Lord's, and then with him and Mr. Moore and John Bowles to the Rhenish wine house, and there came Jonas Moore, the mathematician, to us, and there he did by discourse make us fully believe that England and France were once the same continent, by very good arguments, and spoke very many things, not so much to prove the Scripture false as that the time therein is not well computed nor understood. From thence home by water, and there shifted myself into my black silk suit (the first day I have put it on this year), and so to my Lord Mayor's by coach, with a great deal of honourable company, and great entertainment. At table I had very good discourse with Mr. Ashmole, wherein he did assure me that frogs and many insects do often fall from the sky, ready formed. Dr. Bates's singularity in not rising up nor drinking the King's nor other healths at the table was very much observed. [Dr. William Bates, one of the most eminent of the Puritan divines, and who took part in the Savoy Conference. His collected writings were published in 1700, and fill a large folio volume. The Dissenters called him silver-tongued Bates. Calamy affirmed that if Bates would have conformed to the Established Church he might have been raised to any bishopric in the kingdom. He died in 1699, aged seventy-four.] From thence we all took coach, and to our office, and there sat till it was late; and so I home and to bed by day-light. This day was kept a holy-day through the town; and it pleased me to see the little boys walk up and down in procession with their broom-staffs in their hands, as I had myself long ago gone. [Pepys here refers to the perambulation of parishes on Holy Thursday, still observed. This ceremony was sometimes enlivened by whipping the boys, for the better impressing on their minds the remembrance of the day, and the boundaries of the parish, instead of beating houses or stones. But this would not have harmonized well with the excellent Hooker's practice on this day, when he "always dropped some loving and facetious observations, to be remembered against the next year, especially by the boys and young people." Amongst Dorsetshire customs, it seems that, in perambulating a manor or parish, a boy is tossed into a stream, if that be the boundary; if a hedge, a sapling from it is applied for the purpose of flagellation.--B.] 24th. At home all the morning making up my private accounts, and this is the first time that I do find myself to be clearly worth L500 in money, besides all my goods in my house, &c. In the afternoon at the office late, and then I went to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord at supper, and therefore I walked a good while till he had done, and I went in to him, and there he looked over my accounts. And they were committed to Mr. Moore to see me paid what remained due to me. Then down to the kitchen to eat a bit of bread and butter, which I did, and there I took one of the maids by the chin, thinking her to be Susan, but it proved to be her sister, who is very like her. From thence home. 25th. All the morning at home about business. At noon to the Temple, where I staid and looked over a book or two at Playford's, and then to the Theatre, where I saw a piece of "The Silent Woman," which pleased me. So homewards, and in my way bought "The Bondman" in Paul's Churchyard, and so home, where I found all clean, and the hearth and range, as it is now enlarged, set up, which pleases me very much. 26th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. To church and heard a good sermon at our own church, where I have not been a great many weeks. Dined with my wife alone at home pleasing myself in that my house do begin to look as if at last it would be in good order. This day the Parliament received the communion of Dr. Gunning at St. Margaret's, Westminster. In the afternoon both the Sir Williams came to church, where we had a dull stranger. After church home, and so to the Mitre, where I found Dr. Burnett, the first time that ever I met him to drink with him, and my uncle Wight and there we sat and drank a great deal, and so I to Sir W. Batten's, where I have on purpose made myself a great stranger, only to get a high opinion a little more of myself in them. Here I heard how Mrs. Browne, Sir W. Batten's sister, is brought to bed, and I to be one of the godfathers, which I could not nor did deny. Which, however, did trouble me very much to be at charge to no purpose, so that I could not sleep hardly all night, but in the morning I bethought myself, and I think it is very well I should do it. Sir W. Batten told me how Mr. Prin (among the two or three that did refuse to-day to receive the sacrament upon their knees) was offered by a mistake the drink afterwards, which he did receive, being denied the drink by Dr. Gunning, unless he would take it on his knees; and after that by another the bread was brought him, and he did take it sitting, which is thought very preposterous. Home and to bed. 27th. To the Wardrobe, and from thence with my Lords Sandwich and Hinchinbroke to the Lords' House by boat at Westminster, and there I left them. Then to the lobby, and after waiting for Sir G. Downing's coming out, to speak with him about the giving me up of my bond for my honesty when I was his clerk, but to no purpose, I went to Clerke's at the Legg, and there I found both Mr. Pierces, Mr. Rolt, formerly too great a man to meet upon such even terms, and there we dined very merry, there coming to us Captain Ferrers, this being the first day of his going abroad since his leap a week ago, which I was greatly glad to see. By water to the office, and there sat late, Sir George Carteret coming in, who among other things did inquire into the naming of the maisters for this fleet, and was very angry that they were named as they are, and above all to see the maister of the Adventure (for whom there is some kind of difference between Sir W. Pen and me) turned out, who has been in her list. The office done, I went with the Comptroller to the Coffee house, and there we discoursed of this, and I seem to be fond of him, and indeed I find I must carry fair with all as far as I see it safe, but I have got of him leave to have a little room from his lodgings to my house, of which I am very glad, besides I do open him a way to get lodgings himself in the office, of which I should be very glad. Home and to bed. 28th. This morning to the Wardrobe, and thence to a little alehouse hard by, to drink with John Bowies, who is now going to Hinchinbroke this day. Thence with Mr. Shepley to the Exchange about business, and there, by Mr. Rawlinson's favour, got into a balcone over against the Exchange; and there saw the hangman burn, by vote of Parliament, two old acts, the one for constituting us a Commonwealth, and the others I have forgot. Which still do make me think of the greatness of this late turn, and what people will do tomorrow against what they all, through profit or fear, did promise and practise this day. Then to the Mitre with Mr. Shepley, and there dined with D. Rawlinson and some friends of his very well. So home, and then to Cheapside about buying a piece of plate to give away to-morrow to Mrs. Browne's child. So to the Star in Cheapside, where I left Mr. Moore telling L5 out for me, who I found in a great strait for my coming back again, and so he went his way at my coming. Then home, where Mr. Cook I met and he paid me 30s., an old debt of his to me. So to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat alone with him till ten at night in talk with great content, he telling me things and persons that I did not understand in the late times, and so I home to bed. My cozen John Holcroft (whom I have not seen many years) this morning came to see me. 29th (King's birth-day). Rose early and having made myself fine, and put six spoons and a porringer of silver in my pocket to give away to-day, Sir W. Pen and I took coach, and (the weather and ways being foul) went to Walthamstowe; and being come there heard Mr. Radcliffe, my former school fellow at Paul's (who is yet a mere boy), preach upon "Nay, let him take all, since my Lord the King is returned," &c. He reads all, and his sermon very simple, but I looked for new matter. Back to dinner to Sir William Batten's; and then, after a walk in the fine gardens, we went to Mrs. Browne's, where Sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman godmothers to her boy. And there, before and after the christening; we were with the woman above in her chamber; but whether we carried ourselves well or ill, I know not; but I was directed by young Mrs. Batten. One passage of a lady that eat wafers with her dog did a little displease me. I did give the midwife 10s. and the nurse 5s. and the maid of the house 2s. But for as much I expected to give the name to the child, but did not (it being called John), I forbore then to give my plate till another time after a little more advice. All being done, we went to Mrs. Shipman's, who is a great butter-woman, and I did see there the most of milk and cream, and the cleanest that ever I saw in my life. After we had filled our bellies with cream, we took our leaves and away. In our way, we had great sport to try who should drive fastest, Sir W. Batten's coach, or Sir W. Pen's chariott, they having four, and we two horses, and we beat them. But it cost me the spoiling of my clothes and velvet coat with dirt. Being come home I to bed, and give my breeches to be dried by the fire against to-morrow. 30th. To the Wardrobe and there, with my Lord, went into his new barge to try her, and found her a good boat, and like my Lord's contrivance of the door to come out round and not square as they used to do. Back to the Wardrobe with my Lord, and then with Mr. Moore to the Temple, and thence to. Greatorex, who took me to Arundell-House, and there showed me some fine flowers in his garden, and all the fine statues in the gallery, which I formerly had seen, and is a brave sight, and thence to a blind dark cellar, where we had two bottles of good ale, and so after giving him direction for my silver side-table, I took boat at Arundell stairs, and put in at Milford . . . . So home and found Sir Williams both and my Lady going to Deptford to christen Captain Rooth's child, and would have had me with them, but I could not go. To the office, where Sir R. Slingsby was, and he and I into his and my lodgings to take a view of them, out of a desire he has to have mine of me to join to his, and give me Mr. Turner's. To the office again, where Sir G. Carteret came and sat a while, he being angry for Sir Williams making of the maisters of this fleet upon their own heads without a full table. Then the Comptroller and I to the Coffee House, and there sat a great while talking of many things. So home and to bed. This day, I hear, the Parliament have ordered a bill to be brought in for the restoring the Bishops to the House of Lords; which they had not done so soon but to spite Mr. Prin, who is every day so bitter against them in his discourse in the House. 31st. I went to my father's thinking to have met with my cozen John Holcroft, but he came not, but to my great grief I found my father and mother in a great deal of discontent one with another, and indeed my mother is grown now so pettish that I know not how my father is able to bear with it. I did talk to her so as did not indeed become me, but I could not help it, she being so unsufferably foolish and simple, so that my father, poor man, is become a very unhappy man. There I dined, and so home and to the office all the afternoon till 9 at night, and then home and to supper and to bed. Great talk now how the Parliament intend to make a collection of free gifts to the King through the Kingdom; but I think it will not come to much. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A little while since a very likely man to live as any I knew Being sure never to see the like again in this world Believe that England and France were once the same continent Chocolate was introduced into England about the year 1652 Did trouble me very much to be at charge to no purpose Difference there will be between my father and mother about it Eat of the best cold meats that ever I eat on in all my life Foolery to take too much notice of such things Frogs and many insects do often fall from the sky, ready formed I could not forbear to love her exceedingly I had the opportunity of kissing Mrs. Rebecca very often I was as merry as I could counterfeit myself to be I went in and kissed them, demanding it as a fee due Jealousy of him and an ugly wench that lived there lately Lay with her to-night, which I have not done these eight (days) Made a lazy sermon, like a Presbyterian She would not let him come to bed to her out of jealousy So home and to bed, where my wife had not lain a great while The barber came to trim me and wash me Troubled to see my father so much decay of a suddain What people will do tomorrow What they all, through profit or fear, did promise Who seems so inquisitive when my, house will be made an end of 
4128	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE, JULY & AUGUST 1661 June 1st. Having taken our leaves of Sir W. Batten and my Lady, who are gone this morning to keep their Whitsuntide, Sir W. Pen and I and Mr. Gauden by water to Woolwich, and there went from ship to ship to give order for and take notice of their forwardness to go forth, and then to Deptford and did the like, having dined at Woolwich with Captain Poole at the tavern there. From Deptford we walked to Redriffe, calling at the half-way house, and there come into a room where there was infinite of new cakes placed that are made against Whitsuntide, and there we were very merry. By water home, and there did businesses of the office. Among others got my Lord's imprest of L1000 and Mr. Creed's of L10,000 against this voyage their bills signed. Having wrote letters into the country and read some things I went to bed. 2nd (Whitsunday). The barber having done with me, I went to church, and there heard a good sermon of Mr. Mills, fit for the day. Then home to dinner, and then to church again, and going home I found Greatorex (whom I expected today at dinner) come to see me, and so he and I in my chamber drinking of wine and eating of anchovies an hour or two, discoursing of many things in mathematics, and among others he showed me how it comes to pass the strength that levers have, and he showed me that what is got as to matter of strength is lost by them as to matter of time. It rained very hard, as it hath done of late so much that we begin to doubt a famine, and so he was forced to stay longer than I desired. At night after prayers to bed. 3rd. To the Wardrobe, where discoursing with my Lord, he did instruct me as to the business of the Wardrobe, in case, in his absence, Mr. Townsend should die, and told me that he do intend to joyne me and Mr. Moore with him as to the business, now he is going to sea, and spoke to me many other things, as to one that he do put the greatest confidence in, of which I am proud. Here I had a good occasion to tell him (what I have had long in my mind) that, since it has pleased God to bless me with something, I am desirous to lay out something for my father, and so have pitched upon Mr. Young's place in the Wardrobe, which I desired he would give order in his absence, if the place should fall that I might have the refusal. Which my Lord did freely promise me, at which I was very glad, he saying that he would do that at the least. So I saw my Lord into the barge going to Whitehall, and I and Mr. Creed home to my house, whither my father and my cozen Scott came to dine with me, and so we dined together very well, and before we had done in comes my father Bowyer and my mother and four daughters, and a young gentleman and his sister, their friends, and there staid all the afternoon, which cost me great store of wine, and were very merry. By and by I am called to the office, and there staid a little. So home again, and took Mr. Creed and left them, and so he and I to the Towre, to speak for some ammunition for ships for my Lord; and so he and I, with much pleasure, walked quite round the Towre, which I never did before. So home, and after a walk with my wife upon the leads, I and she went to bed. This morning I and Dr. Peirce went over to the Beare at the Bridge foot, thinking to have met my Lord Hinchinbroke and his brother setting forth for France; but they being not come we went over to the Wardrobe, and there found that my Lord Abbot Montagu being not at Paris, my Lord hath a mind to have them stay a little longer before they go. 4th. The Comptroller came this morning to get me to go see a house or two near our office, which he would take for himself or Mr. Turner, and then he would have me have Mr. Turner's lodgings and himself mine and Mr. Davis's. But the houses did not like us, and so that design at present is stopped. Then he and I by water to the bridge, and then walked over the Bank-side till we came to the Temple, and so I went over and to my father's, where I met with my cozen J. Holcroft, and took him and my father and my brother Tom to the Bear tavern and gave them wine, my cozen being to go into the country again to-morrow. From thence to my Lord Crew's to dinner with him, and had very good discourse about having of young noblemen and gentlemen to think of going to sea, as being as honourable service as the land war. And among other things he told us how, in Queen Elizabeth's time, one young nobleman would wait with a trencher at the back of another till he came to age himself. And witnessed in my young Lord of Kent, that then was, who waited upon my Lord Bedford at table, when a letter came to my Lord Bedford that the Earldom of Kent was fallen to his servant, the young Lord; and so he rose from table, and made him sit down in his place, and took a lower for himself, for so he was by place to sit. From thence to the Theatre and saw "Harry the 4th," a good play. That done I went over the water and walked over the fields to Southwark, and so home and to my lute. At night to bed. 5th. This morning did give my wife L4 to lay out upon lace and other things for herself. I to Wardrobe and so to Whitehall and Westminster, where I dined with my Lord and Ned Dickering alone at his lodgings. After dinner to the office, where we sat and did business, and Sir W. Pen and I went home with Sir R. Slingsby to bowls in his ally, and there had good sport, and afterwards went in and drank and talked. So home Sir William and I, and it being very hot weather I took my flageolette and played upon the leads in the garden, where Sir W. Pen came out in his shirt into his leads, and there we staid talking and singing, and drinking great drafts of claret, and eating botargo ["Botarga. The roe of the mullet pressed flat and dried; that of commerce, however, is from the tunny, a large fish of passage which is common in the Mediterranean. The best kind comes from Tunis." --Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book. Botargo was chiefly used to promote drinking by causing thirst, and Rabelais makes Gargantua eat it.] and bread and butter till 12 at night, it being moonshine; and so to bed, very near fuddled. 6th. My head hath aked all night, and all this morning, with my last night's debauch. Called up this morning by Lieutenant Lambert, who is now made Captain of the Norwich, and he and I went down by water to Greenwich, in our way observing and discoursing upon the things of a ship, he telling me all I asked him, which was of good use to me. There we went and eat and drank and heard musique at the Globe, and saw the simple motion that is there of a woman with a rod in her hand keeping time to the musique while it plays, which is simple, methinks. Back again by water, calling at Captain Lambert's house, which is very handsome and neat, and a fine prospect at top. So to the office, where we sat a little, and then the Captain and I again to Bridewell to Mr. Holland's, where his wife also, a plain dowdy, and his mother was. Here I paid Mrs. Holland the money due from me to her husband. Here came two young gentlewomen to see Mr. Holland, and one of them could play pretty well upon the viallin, but, good God! how these ignorant people did cry her up for it! We were very merry. I staid and supped there, and so home and to bed. The weather very hot, this night I left off my wastecoat. 7th. To my Lord's at Whitehall, but not finding him I went to the Wardrobe and there dined with my Lady, and was very kindly treated by her. After dinner to the office, and there till late at night. So home, and to Sir William Batten's, who is come this day from Chatham with my Lady, who is and has been much troubled with the toothache. Here I staid till late, and so home and to bed. 8th. To Whitehall to my Lord, who did tell me that he would have me go to Mr. Townsend, whom he had ordered to discover to me the whole mystery of the Wardrobe, and none else but me, and that he will make me deputy with him for fear that he should die in my Lord's absence, of which I was glad. Then to the Cook's with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Creed, and dined together, and then I went to the Theatre and there saw Bartholomew Faire, the first time it was acted now a-days. It is a most admirable play and well acted, but too much prophane and abusive. From thence, meeting Mr. Creed at the door, he and I went to the tobacco shop under Temple Bar gate, and there went up to the top of the house and there sat drinking Lambeth ale a good while. Then away home, and in my way called upon Mr. Rawlinson (my uncle Wight being out of town), for his advice to answer a letter of my uncle Robert, wherein he do offer me a purchase to lay some money upon, that joynes upon some of his own lands, and plainly telling me that the reason of his advice is the convenience that it will give me as to his estate, of which I am exceeding glad, and am advised to give up wholly the disposal of my money to him, let him do what he will with it, which I shall do. So home and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). This day my wife put on her black silk gown, which is now laced all over with black gimp lace, as the fashion is, in which she is very pretty. She and I walked to my Lady's at the Wardrobe, and there dined and was exceeding much made of. After dinner I left my wife there, and I walked to Whitehall, and then went to Mr. Pierce's and sat with his wife a good while (who continues very pretty) till he came, and then he and I, and Mr. Symons (dancing master), that goes to sea with my Lord, to the Swan tavern, and there drank, and so again to White Hall, and there met with Dean Fuller, and walked a great while with him; among other things discoursed of the liberty the Bishop (by name the of Galloway) takes to admit into orders any body that will; among others, Roundtree, a simple mechanique that was a person [parson ?] formerly in the fleet. He told me he would complain of it. By and by we went and got a sculler, and landing him at Worcester House, I and W. Howe, who came to us at Whitehall, went to the Wardrobe, where I met with Mr. Townsend, who is very willing he says to communicate anything for my Lord's advantage to me as to his business. I went up to Jane Shore's towre, and there W. Howe and I sang, and so took my wife and walked home, and so to bed. After I came home a messenger came from my Lord to bid me come to him tomorrow morning. 10th. Early to my Lord's, who privately told me how the King had made him Embassador in the bringing over the Queen. [Katherine of Braganza, daughter of John IV. of Portugal, born 1638, married to Charles II., May 21st, 1662. After the death of the king she lived for some time at Somerset House, and then returned to Portugal, of which country she became Regent in 1704 on the retirement of her brother Don Pedro. She died December 31st, 1705.] That he is to go to Algier, &c., to settle the business, and to put the fleet in order there; and so to come back to Lisbone with three ships, and there to meet the fleet that is to follow him. He sent for me, to tell me that he do intrust me with the seeing of all things done in his absence as to this great preparation, as I shall receive orders from my Lord Chancellor and Mr. Edward Montagu. At all which my heart is above measure glad; for my Lord's honour, and some profit to myself, I hope. By and by, out with Mr. Shepley Walden, Parliament-man for Huntingdon, Rolt, Mackworth, and Alderman Backwell, to a house hard by, to drink Lambeth ale. So I back to the Wardrobe, and there found my Lord going to Trinity House, this being the solemn day of choosing Master, and my Lord is chosen, so he dines there to-day. I staid and dined with my Lady; but after we were set, comes in some persons of condition, and so the children and I rose and dined by ourselves, all the children and I, and were very merry and they mighty fond of me. Then to the office, and there sat awhile. So home and at night to bed, where we lay in Sir R. Slingsby's lodgings in the dining room there in one green bed, my house being now in its last work of painting and whiting. 11th. At the office this morning, Sir G. Carteret with us; and we agreed upon a letter to the Duke of York, to tell him the sad condition of this office for want of money; how men are not able to serve us more without some money; and that now the credit of the office is brought so low, that none will sell us any thing without our personal security given for the same. All the afternoon abroad about several businesses, and at night home and to bed. 12th. Wednesday, a day kept between a fast and a feast, the Bishops not being ready enough to keep the fast for foul weather before fair weather came; and so they were forced to keep it between both. [A Form of Prayer was published to be used in London on the 12th, and in the country on the 19th of June, being the special days appointed for a general fast to be kept in the respective places for averting those sicknesses and diseases, that dearth and scarcity, which justly may be feared from the late immoderate rain and waters: for a thanksgiving also for the blessed change of weather; and the begging the continuance of it to us for our comfort: And likewise for beseeching a Blessing upon the High Court of Parliament now assembled: Set forth by his Majesty's authority. A sermon was preached before the Commons by Thomas Greenfield, preacher of Lincoln's Inn. The Lords taxed themselves for the poor--an earl, 30s., a baron, 20s. Those absent from prayers were to pay a forfeit.--B.] I to Whitehall, and there with Captain Rolt and Ferrers we went to Lambeth to drink our morning draft, where at the Three Mariners, a place noted for their ale, we went and staid awhile very merry, and so away. And wanting a boat, we found Captain Bun going down the river, and so we went into his boat having a lady with him, and he landed them at Westminster and me at the Bridge. At home all day with my workmen, and doing several things, among others writing the letter resolved of yesterday to the Duke. Then to White Hall, where I met my Lord, who told me he must have L300 laid out in cloth, to give in Barbary, as presents among the Turks. At which occasion of getting something I was very glad. Home to supper, and then to Sir R. Slingsby, who with his brother and I went to my Lord's at the Wardrobe, and there staid a great while, but he being now taking his leave of his friends staid out late, and so they went away. Anon came my Lord in, and I staid with him a good while, and then to bed with Mr. Moore in his chamber. 13th. I went up and down to Alderman Backwell's, but his servants not being up, I went home and put on my gray cloth suit and faced white coat, made of one of my wife's pettycoates, the first time I have had it on, and so in a riding garb back again and spoke with Mr. Shaw at the Alderman's, who offers me L300 if my Lord pleases to buy this cloth with, which pleased me well. So to the Wardrobe and got my Lord to order Mr. Creed to imprest so much upon me to be paid by Alderman Backwell. So with my Lord to Whitehall by water, and he having taken leave of the King, comes to us at his lodgings and from thence goes to the garden stairs and there takes barge, and at the stairs was met by Sir R. Slingsby, who there took his leave of my Lord, and I heard my Lord thank him for his kindness to me, which Sir Robert answered much to my advantage. I went down with my Lord in the barge to Deptford, and there went on board the Dutch yacht and staid there a good while, W. Howe not being come with my Lord's things, which made my Lord very angry. By and by he comes and so we set sayle, and anon went to dinner, my Lord and we very merry; and after dinner I went down below and there sang, and took leave of W. Howe, Captain Rolt, and the rest of my friends, then went up and took leave of my Lord, who give me his hand and parted with great respect. So went and Captain Ferrers with me into our wherry, and my Lord did give five guns, all they had charged, which was the greatest respect my Lord could do me, and of which I was not a little proud. So with a sad and merry heart I left them sailing pleasantly from Erith, hoping to be in the Downs tomorrow early. We toward London in our boat. Pulled off our stockings and bathed our legs a great while in the river, which I had not done some years before. By and by we come to Greenwich, and thinking to have gone on the King's yacht, the King was in her, so we passed by, and at Woolwich went on shore, in the company of Captain Poole of Jamaica and young Mr. Kennersley, and many others, and so to the tavern where we drank a great deal both wine and beer. So we parted hence and went home with Mr. Falconer, who did give us cherrys and good wine. So to boat, and young Poole took us on board the Charity and gave us wine there, with which I had full enough, and so to our wherry again, and there fell asleep till I came almost to the Tower, and there the Captain and I parted, and I home and with wine enough in my head, went to bed. 14th. To Whitehall to my Lord's, where I found Mr. Edward Montagu and his family come to lie during my Lord's absence. I sent to my house by my Lord's order his shipp--[Qy. glass omitted after shipp.]--and triangle virginall. So to my father's, and did give him order about the buying of this cloth to send to my Lord. But I could not stay with him myself, for having got a great cold by my playing the fool in the water yesterday I was in great pain, and so went home by coach to bed, and went not to the office at all, and by keeping myself warm, I broke wind and so came to some ease. Rose and eat some supper, and so to bed again. 15th. My father came and drank his morning draft with me, and sat with me till I was ready, and so he and I about the business of the cloth. By and by I left him and went and dined with my Lady, who, now my Lord is gone, is come to her poor housekeeping again. Then to my father's, who tells me what he has done, and we resolved upon two pieces of scarlet, two of purple, and two of black, and L50 in linen. I home, taking L300 with me home from Alderman Backwell's. After writing to my Lord to let him know what I had done I was going to bed, but there coming the purser of the King's yacht for victualls presently, for the Duke of York is to go down to-morrow, I got him to promise stowage for these things there, and so I went to bed, bidding Will go and fetch the things from the carrier's hither, which about 12 o'clock were brought to my house and laid there all night. 16th (Lord's day). But no purser coming in the morning for them, and I hear that the Duke went last night, and so I am at a great loss what to do; and so this day (though the Lord's day) staid at home, sending Will up and down to know what to do. Sometimes thinking to continue my resolution of sending by the carrier to be at Deal on Wednesday next, sometimes to send them by sea by a vessel on purpose, but am not yet come to a resolution, but am at a very great loss and trouble in mind what in the world to do herein. The afternoon (while Will was abroad) I spent in reading "The Spanish Gypsey," a play not very good, though commended much. At night resolved to hire a Margate Hoy, who would go away to-morrow morning, which I did, and sent the things all by him, and put them on board about 12 this night, hoping to have them as the wind now serves in the Downs to-morrow night. To-bed with some quiet of mind, having sent the things away. 17th. Visited this morning by my old friend Mr. Ch. Carter, who staid and went to Westminster with me, and there we parted, and I to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady. So home to my painters, who are now about painting my stairs. So to the office, and at night we all went to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat and drank till 11 at night, and so home and to bed. 18th. All this morning at home vexing about the delay of my painters, and about four in the afternoon my wife and I by water to Captain Lambert's, where we took great pleasure in their turret-garden, and seeing the fine needle-works of his wife, the best I ever saw in my life, and afterwards had a very handsome treat and good musique that she made upon the harpsicon, and with a great deal of pleasure staid till 8 at night, and so home again, there being a little pretty witty child that is kept in their house that would not let us go without her, and so fell a-crying by the water-side. So home, where I met Jack Cole, who staid with me a good while, and is still of the old good humour that we were of at school together, and I am very glad to see him. He gone, I went to bed. 19th. All the morning almost at home, seeing my stairs finished by the painters, which pleases me well. So with Mr. Moore to Westminster Hall, it being term, and then by water to the Wardrobe, where very merry, and so home to the office all the afternoon, and at night to the Exchange to my uncle Wight about my intention of purchasing at Brampton. So back again home and at night to bed. Thanks be to God I am very well again of my late pain, and to-morrow hope to be out of my pain of dirt and trouble in my house, of which I am now become very weary. One thing I must observe here while I think of it, that I am now become the most negligent man in the world as to matters of news, insomuch that, now-a-days, I neither can tell any, nor ask any of others. 20th. At home the greatest part of the day to see my workmen make an end, which this night they did to my great content. 21st. This morning going to my father's I met him, and so he and I went and drank our morning draft at the Samson in Paul's Churchyard, and eat some gammon of bacon, &c., and then parted, having bought some green Say--[A woollen cloth. "Saye clothe serge."--Palsgrave.]--for curtains in my parler. Home, and so to the Exchequer, where I met with my uncle Wight, and home with him to dinner, where among others (my aunt being out of town), Mr. Norbury and I did discourse of his wife's house and land at Brampton, which I find too much for me to buy. Home, and in the afternoon to the office, and much pleased at night to see my house begin to be clean after all the dirt. 22nd. Abroad all the morning about several businesses. At noon went and dined with my Lord Crew, where very much made of by him and his lady. Then to the Theatre, "The Alchymist,"--[Comedy by Ben Jonson, first printed in 1612.]--which is a most incomparable play. And that being done I met with little Luellin and Blirton, who took me to a friend's of theirs in Lincoln's Inn fields, one Mr. Hodges, where we drank great store of Rhenish wine and were very merry. So I went home, where I found my house now very clean, which was great content to me. 23rd (Lord's day). In the morning to church, and my wife not being well, I went with Sir W. Batten home to dinner, my Lady being out of town, where there was Sir W. Pen, Captain Allen and his daughter Rebecca, and Mr. Hempson and his wife. After dinner to church all of us and had a very good sermon of a stranger, and so I and the young company to walk first to Graye's Inn Walks, where great store of gallants, but above all the ladies that I there saw, or ever did see, Mrs. Frances Butler (Monsieur L'Impertinent's sister) is the greatest beauty. Then we went to Islington, where at the great house I entertained them as well as I could, and so home with them, and so to my own home and to bed. Pall, who went this day to a child's christening of Kate Joyce's, staid out all night at my father's, she not being well. 24th (Midsummer-day). We kept this a holiday, and so went not to the office at all. All the morning at home. At noon my father came to see my house now it is done, which is now very neat. He and I and Dr. Williams (who is come to see my wife, whose soare belly is now grown dangerous as she thinks) to the ordinary over against the Exchange, where we dined and had great wrangling with the master of the house when the reckoning was brought to us, he setting down exceeding high every thing. I home again and to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat a good while. So home. 25th. Up this morning to put my papers in order that are come from my Lord's, so that now I have nothing there remaining that is mine, which I have had till now. This morning came Mr. Goodgroome [Theodore Goodgroome, Pepys's singing-master. He was probably related to John Goodgroome, a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal, who is also referred to in the Diary.] to me (recommended by Mr. Mage), with whom I agreed presently to give him 20s. entrance, which I then did, and 20s. a month more to teach me to sing, and so we began, and I hope I have come to something in it. His first song is "La cruda la bella." He gone my brother Tom comes, with whom I made even with my father and the two drapers for the cloths I sent to sea lately. At home all day, in the afternoon came Captain Allen and his daughter Rebecca and Mr. Hempson, and by and by both Sir Williams, who sat with me till it was late, and I had a very gallant collation for them. At night to bed. 26th. To Westminster about several businesses, then to dine with my Lady at the Wardrobe, taking Dean Fuller along with me; then home, where I heard my father had been to find me about special business; so I took coach and went to him, and found by a letter to him from my aunt that my uncle Robert is taken with a dizziness in his head, so that they desire my father to come down to look after his business, by which we guess that he is very ill, and so my father do think to go to-morrow. And so God's will be done. Back by water to the office, there till night, and so home to my musique and then to bed. 27th. To my father's, and with him to Mr. Starling's to drink our morning draft, and there I told him how I would have him speak to my uncle Robert, when he comes thither, concerning my buying of land, that I could pay ready money L600 and the rest by L150 per annum, to make up as much as will buy L50 per annum, which I do, though I not worth above L500 ready money, that he may think me to be a greater saver than I am. Here I took my leave of my father, who is going this morning to my uncle upon my aunt's letter this week that he is not well and so needs my father's help. At noon home, and then with my Lady Batten, Mrs. Rebecca Allen, Mrs. Thompson, &c., two coaches of us, we went and saw "Bartholomew Fayre" acted very well, and so home again and staid at Sir W. Batten's late, and so home to bed. This day Mr. Holden sent me a bever, which cost me L4 5s. [Whilst a hat (see January 28th, 1660-61, ante) cost only 35s. See also Lord Sandwich's vexation at his beaver being stolen, and a hat only left in lieu of it, April 30th, 1661, ante; and April 19th and 26th, 1662, Post.--B.] 28th. At home all the morning practising to sing, which is now my great trade, and at noon to my Lady and dined with her. So back and to the office, and there sat till 7 at night, and then Sir W. Pen and I in his coach went to Moorefields, and there walked, and stood and saw the wrestling, which I never saw so much of before, between the north and west countrymen. So home, and this night had our bed set up in our room that we called the Nursery, where we lay, and I am very much pleased with the room. 29th. By a letter from the Duke complaining of the delay of the ships that are to be got ready, Sir Williams both and I went to Deptford and there examined into the delays, and were satisfyed. So back again home and staid till the afternoon, and then I walked to the Bell at the Maypole in the Strand, and thither came to me by appointment Mr. Chetwind, Gregory, and Hartlibb, so many of our old club, and Mr. Kipps, where we staid and drank and talked with much pleasure till it was late, and so I walked home and to bed. Mr. Chetwind by chewing of tobacco is become very fat and sallow, whereas he was consumptive, and in our discourse he fell commending of "Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity," as the best book, and the only one that made him a Christian, which puts me upon the buying of it, which I will do shortly. 30th (Lord's day). To church, where we observe the trade of briefs is come now up to so constant a course every Sunday, that we resolve to give no more to them. [It appears, from an old MS. account-book of the collections in the church of St. Olave, Hart Street, beginning in 1642, still extant, that the money gathered on the 30th June, 1661, "for several inhabitants of the parish of St. Dunstan in the West towards their losse by fire," amounted to "xxs. viiid." Pepys might complain of the trade in briefs, as similar contributions had been levied fourteen weeks successively, previous to the one in question at St. Olave's church. Briefs were abolished in 1828.--B.] A good sermon, and then home to dinner, my wife and I all alone. After dinner Sir Williams both and I by water to Whitehall, where having walked up and down, at last we met with the Duke of York, according to an order sent us yesterday from him, to give him an account where the fault lay in the not sending out of the ships, which we find to be only the wind hath been against them, and so they could not get out of the river. Hence I to Graye's Inn Walk, all alone, and with great pleasure seeing the fine ladies walk there. Myself humming to myself (which now-a-days is my constant practice since I begun to learn to sing) the trillo, and found by use that it do come upon me. Home very weary and to bed, finding my wife not sick, but yet out of order, that I fear she will come to be sick. This day the Portuguese Embassador came to White Hall to take leave of the King; he being now going to end all with the Queen, and to send her over. The weather now very fair and pleasant, but very hot. My father gone to Brampton to see my uncle Robert, not knowing whether to find him dead or alive. Myself lately under a great expense of money upon myself in clothes and other things, but I hope to make it up this summer by my having to do in getting things ready to send with the next fleet to the Queen. Myself in good health, but mighty apt to take cold, so that this hot weather I am fain to wear a cloth before my belly. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1661 July 1st. This morning I went up and down into the city, to buy several things, as I have lately done, for my house. Among other things, a fair chest of drawers for my own chamber, and an Indian gown for myself. The first cost me 33s., the other 34s. Home and dined there, and Theodore Goodgroome, my singing master, with me, and then to our singing. After that to the office, and then home. 2nd. To Westminster Hall and there walked up and down, it being Term time. Spoke with several, among others my cozen Roger Pepys, who was going up to the Parliament House, and inquired whether I had heard from my father since he went to Brampton, which I had done yesterday, who writes that my uncle is by fits stupid, and like a man that is drunk, and sometimes speechless. Home, and after my singing master had done, took coach and went to Sir William Davenant's Opera; this being the fourth day that it hath begun, and the first that I have seen it. To-day was acted the second part of "The Siege of Rhodes." We staid a very great while for the King and the Queen of Bohemia. And by the breaking of a board over our heads, we had a great deal of dust fell into the ladies' necks and the men's hair, which made good sport. The King being come, the scene opened; which indeed is very fine and magnificent, and well acted, all but the Eunuch, who was so much out that he was hissed off the stage. Home and wrote letters to my Lord at sea, and so to bed. 3rd. To Westminster to Mr. Edward Montagu about business of my Lord's, and so to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, who is in some mourning for her brother, Mr. Saml. Crew, who died yesterday of the spotted fever. So home through Duck Lane' to inquire for some Spanish books, but found none that pleased me. So to the office, and that being done to Sir W. Batten's with the Comptroller, where we sat late talking and disputing with Mr. Mills the parson of our parish. This day my Lady Batten and my wife were at the burial of a daughter of Sir John Lawson's, and had rings for themselves and their husbands. Home and to bed. 4th. At home all the morning; in the afternoon I went to the Theatre, and there I saw "Claracilla" (the first time I ever saw it), well acted. But strange to see this house, that used to be so thronged, now empty since the Opera begun; and so will continue for a while, I believe. Called at my father's, and there I heard that my uncle Robert--[Robert Pepys, of Brampton, who died on the following day.]--continues to have his fits of stupefaction every day for 10 or 12 hours together. From thence to the Exchange at night, and then went with my uncle Wight to the Mitre and were merry, but he takes it very ill that my father would go out of town to Brampton on this occasion and would not tell him of it, which I endeavoured to remove but could not. Here Mr. Batersby the apothecary was, who told me that if my uncle had the emerods--[Haemorrhoids or piles.]--(which I think he had) and that now they are stopped, he will lay his life that bleeding behind by leeches will cure him, but I am resolved not to meddle in it. Home and to bed. 5th. At home, and in the afternoon to the office, and that being done all went to Sir W. Batten's and there had a venison pasty, and were very merry. At night home and to bed. 6th. Waked this morning with news, brought me by a messenger on purpose, that my uncle Robert is dead, and died yesterday; so I rose sorry in some respect, glad in my expectations in another respect. So I made myself ready, went and told my uncle Wight, my Lady, and some others thereof, and bought me a pair of boots in St. Martin's, and got myself ready, and then to the Post House and set out about eleven and twelve o'clock, taking the messenger with me that came to me, and so we rode and got well by nine o'clock to Brampton, where I found my father well. My uncle's corps in a coffin standing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the hall; but it begun to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth in the yard all night, and watched by two men. My aunt I found in bed in a most nasty ugly pickle, made me sick to see it. My father and I lay together tonight, I greedy to see the will, but did not ask to see it till to-morrow. 7th (Lord's day). In the morning my father and I walked in the garden and read the will; where, though he gives me nothing at present till my father's death, or at least very little, yet I am glad to see that he hath done so well for us, all, and well to the rest of his kindred. After that done, we went about getting things, as ribbands and gloves, ready for the burial. Which in the afternoon was done; where, it being Sunday, all people far and near come in; and in the greatest disorder that ever I saw, we made shift to serve them what we had of wine and other things; and then to carry him to the church, where Mr. Taylor buried him, and Mr. Turners preached a funerall sermon, where he spoke not particularly of him anything, but that he was one so well known for his honesty, that it spoke for itself above all that he could say for it. And so made a very good sermon. Home with some of the company who supped there, and things being quiet, at night to bed. 8th, 9th, Loth, 11th, 12th, 13th. I fell to work, and my father to look over my uncle's papers and clothes, and continued all this week upon that business, much troubled with my aunt's base, ugly humours. We had news of Tom Trice's putting in a caveat against us, in behalf of his mother, to whom my uncle hath not given anything, and for good reason therein expressed, which troubled us also. But above all, our trouble is to find that his estate appears nothing as we expected, and all the world believes; nor his papers so well sorted as I would have had them, but all in confusion, that break my brains to understand them. We missed also the surrenders of his copyhold land, without which the land would not come to us, but to the heir at law, so that what with this, and the badness of the drink and the ill opinion I have of the meat, and the biting of the gnats by night and my disappointment in getting home this week, and the trouble of sorting all the papers, I am almost out of my wits with trouble, only I appear the more contented, because I would not have my father troubled. The latter end of the week Mr. Philips comes home from London, and so we advised with him and have the best counsel he could give us, but for all that we were not quiet in our minds. 14th (Lord's day). At home, and Robert Barnwell with us, and dined, and in the evening my father and I walked round Portholme and viewed all the fields, which was very pleasant. Thence to Hinchingbroke, which is now all in dirt, because of my Lord's building, which will make it very magnificent. Back to Brampton, and to supper and to bed. 15th. Up by three o'clock this morning, and rode to Cambridge, and was there by seven o'clock, where, after I was trimmed, I went to Christ College, and found my brother John at eight o'clock in bed, which vexed me. Then to King's College chappell, where I found the scholars in their surplices at the service with the organs, which is a strange sight to what it used in my time to be here. Then with Dr. Fairbrother (whom I met there) to the Rose tavern, and called for some wine, and there met fortunately with Mr. Turner of our office, and sent for his wife, and were very merry (they being come to settle their son here), and sent also for Mr. Sanchy, of Magdalen, with whom and other gentlemen, friends of his, we were very merry, and I treated them as well as I could, and so at noon took horse again, having taken leave of my cozen Angier, and rode to Impington, where I found my old uncle [Talbot Pepys, sixth son of John Pepys of Impington, was born 1583, and therefore at this time he was seventy-eight years of age. He was educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and called to the bar at the Middle Temple in 1605. He was M.P. for Cambridge in 1625, and Recorder of Cambridge from 1624 to 1660, in which year he was succeeded by his son Roger. He died of the plague, March, 1666, aged eighty-three.] sitting all alone, like a man out of the world: he can hardly see; but all things else he do pretty livelyly. Then with Dr. John Pepys and him, I read over the will, and had their advice therein, who, as to the sufficiency thereof confirmed me, and advised me as to the other parts thereof. Having done there, I rode to Gravely with much ado to inquire for a surrender of my uncle's in some of the copyholders' hands there, but I can hear of none, which puts me into very great trouble of mind, and so with a sad heart rode home to Brampton, but made myself as cheerful as I could to my father, and so to bed. 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th. These four days we spent in putting things in order, letting of the crop upon the ground, agreeing with Stankes to have a care of our business in our absence, and we think ourselves in nothing happy but in lighting upon him to be our bayly; in riding to Offord and Sturtlow, and up and down all our lands, and in the evening walking, my father and I about the fields talking, and had advice from Mr. Moore from London, by my desire, that the three witnesses of the will being all legatees, will not do the will any wrong. To-night Serjeant Bernard, I hear, is come home into the country. To supper and to bed. My aunt continuing in her base, hypocritical tricks, which both Jane Perkin (of whom we make great use), and the maid do tell us every day of. 20th. Up to Huntingdon this morning to Sir Robert Bernard, with whom I met Jaspar Trice. So Sir Robert caused us to sit down together and began discourse very fairly between us, so I drew out the Will and show it him, and [he] spoke between us as well as I could desire, but could come to no issue till Tom Trice comes. Then Sir Robert and I fell to talk about the money due to us upon surrender from Piggott, L164., which he tells me will go with debts to the heir at law, which breaks my heart on the other side. Here I staid and dined with Sir Robert Bernard and his lady, my Lady Digby, a very good woman. After dinner I went into the town and spent the afternoon, sometimes with Mr. Phillips, sometimes with Dr. Symcottes, Mr. Vinter, Robert Ethell, and many more friends, and at last Mr. Davenport, Phillips, Jaspar Trice, myself and others at Mother-----over against the Crown we sat and drank ale and were very merry till 9 at night, and so broke up. I walked home, and there found Tom Trice come, and he and my father gone to Goody Gorum's, where I found them and Jaspar Trice got before me, and Mr. Greene, and there had some calm discourse, but came to no issue, and so parted. So home and to bed, being now pretty well again of my left hand, which lately was stung and very much swelled. 21st (Lord's day). At home all the morning, putting my papers in order against my going to-morrow and doing many things else to that end. Had a good dinner, and Stankes and his wife with us. To my business again in the afternoon, and in the evening came the two Trices, Mr. Greene, and Mr. Philips, and so we began to argue. At last it came to some agreement that for our giving of my aunt L10 she is to quit the house, and for other matters they are to be left to the law, which do please us all, and so we broke up, pretty well satisfyed. Then came Mr. Barnwell and J. Bowles and supped with us, and after supper away, and so I having taken leave of them and put things in the best order I could against to-morrow I went to bed. Old William Luffe having been here this afternoon and paid up his bond of L20, and I did give him into his hand my uncle's surrender of Sturtlow to me before Mr. Philips, R. Barnwell, and Mr. Pigott, which he did acknowledge to them my uncle did in his lifetime deliver to him. 22nd. Up by three, and going by four on my way to London; but the day proves very cold, so that having put on no stockings but thread ones under my boots, I was fain at Bigglesworth to buy a pair of coarse woollen ones, and put them on. So by degrees till I come to Hatfield before twelve o'clock, where I had a very good dinner with my hostess, at my Lord of Salisbury's Inn, and after dinner though weary I walked all alone to the Vineyard, which is now a very beautiful place again; and coming back I met with Mr. Looker, my Lord's gardener (a friend of Mr. Eglin's), who showed me the house, the chappell with brave pictures, and, above all, the gardens, such as I never saw in all my life; nor so good flowers, nor so great gooseberrys, as big as nutmegs. Back to the inn, and drank with him, and so to horse again, and with much ado got to London, and set him up at Smithfield; so called at my uncle Fenner's, my mother's, my Lady's, and so home, in all which I found all things as well as I could expect. So weary and to bed. 23rd. Put on my mourning. Made visits to Sir W. Pen and Batten. Then to Westminster, and at the Hall staid talking with Mrs. Michell a good while, and in the afternoon, finding myself unfit for business, I went to the Theatre, and saw "Brenoralt," I never saw before. It seemed a good play, but ill acted; only I sat before Mrs. Palmer, the King's mistress, and filled my eyes with her, which much pleased me. Then to my father's, where by my desire I met my uncle Thomas, and discoursed of my uncle's will to him, and did satisfy [him] as well as I could. So to my uncle Wight's, but found him out of doors, but my aunt I saw and staid a while, and so home and to bed. Troubled to hear how proud and idle Pall is grown, that I am resolved not to keep her. 24th. This morning my wife in bed tells me of our being robbed of our silver tankard, which vexed me all day for the negligence of my people to leave the door open. My wife and I by water to Whitehall, where I left her to her business and I to my cozen Thomas Pepys, and discoursed with him at large about our business of my uncle's will. He can give us no light at all into his estate, but upon the whole tells me that he do believe that he has left but little money, though something more than we have found, which is about L500. Here came Sir G. Lane by chance, seeing a bill upon the door to hire the house, with whom my coz and I walked all up and down, and indeed it is a very pretty place, and he do intend to leave the agreement for the House, which is L400 fine, and L46 rent a year to me between them. Then to the Wardrobe, but come too late, and so dined with the servants. And then to my Lady, who do shew my wife and me the greatest favour in the world, in which I take great content. Home by water and to the office all the afternoon, which is a great pleasure to me again, to talk with persons of quality and to be in command, and I give it out among them that the estate left me is L200 a year in land, besides moneys, because I would put an esteem upon myself. At night home and to bed after I had set down my journals ever since my going from London this journey to this house. This afternoon I hear that my man Will hath lost his clock with my tankard, at which I am very glad. 25th. This morning came my box of papers from Brampton of all my uncle's papers, which will now set me at work enough. At noon I went to the Exchange, where I met my uncle Wight, and found him so discontented about my father (whether that he takes it ill that he has not been acquainted with things, or whether he takes it ill that he has nothing left him, I cannot tell), for which I am much troubled, and so staid not long to talk with him. Thence to my mother's, where I found my wife and my aunt Bell and Mrs. Ramsey, and great store of tattle there was between the old women and my mother, who thinks that there is, God knows what fallen to her, which makes me mad, but it was not a proper time to speak to her of it, and so I went away with Mr. Moore, and he and I to the Theatre, and saw "The Jovial Crew," the first time I saw it, and indeed it is as merry and the most innocent play that ever I saw, and well performed. From thence home, and wrote to my father and so to bed. Full of thoughts to think of the trouble that we shall go through before we come to see what will remain to us of all our expectations. 26th. At home all the morning, and walking met with Mr. Hill of Cambridge at Pope's Head Alley with some women with him whom he took and me into the tavern there, and did give us wine, and would fain seem to be very knowing in the affairs of state, and tells me that yesterday put a change to the whole state of England as to the Church; for the King now would be forced to favour Presbytery, or the City would leave him: but I heed not what he says, though upon enquiry I do find that things in the Parliament are in a great disorder. Home at noon and there found Mr. Moore, and with him to an ordinary alone and dined, and there he and I read my uncle's will, and I had his opinion on it, and still find more and more trouble like to attend it. Back to the office all the afternoon, and that done home for all night. Having the beginning of this week made a vow to myself to drink no wine this week (finding it to unfit me to look after business), and this day breaking of it against my will, I am much troubled for it, but I hope God will forgive me. 27th. To Westminster, where at Mr. Montagu's chamber I heard a Frenchman play, a friend of Monsieur Eschar's, upon the guitar, most extreme well, though at the best methinks it is but a bawble. From thence to Westminster Hall, where it was expected that the Parliament was to have been adjourned for two or three months, but something hinders it for a day or two. In the lobby I spoke with Mr. George Montagu, and advised about a ship to carry my Lord Hinchingbroke and the rest of the young gentlemen to France, and they have resolved of going in a hired vessell from Rye, and not in a man of war. He told me in discourse that my Lord Chancellor is much envied, and that many great men, such as the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord of Bristoll, do endeavour to undermine him, and that he believes it will not be done; for that the King (though he loves him not in the way of a companion, as he do these young gallants that can answer him in his pleasures), yet cannot be without him, for his policy and service. From thence to the Wardrobe, where my wife met me, it being my Lord of Sandwich's birthday, and so we had many friends here, Mr. Townsend and his wife, and Captain Ferrers lady and Captain Isham, and were very merry, and had a good venison pasty. Mr. Pargiter, the merchant, was with us also. After dinner Mr. Townsend was called upon by Captain Cooke: so we three went to a tavern hard by, and there he did give us a song or two; and without doubt he hath the best manner of singing in the world. Back to my wife, and with my Lady Jem. and Pall by water through bridge, and showed them the ships with great pleasure, and then took them to my house to show it them (my Lady their mother having been lately all alone to see it and my wife, in my absence in the country), and we treated them well, and were very merry. Then back again through bridge, and set them safe at home, and so my wife and I by coach home again, and after writing a letter to my father at Brampton, who, poor man, is there all alone, and I have not heard from him since my coming from him, which troubles me. To bed. 28th (Lord's day). This morning as my wife and I were going to church, comes Mrs. Ramsay to see us, so we sent her to church, and we went too, and came back to dinner, and she dined with us and was wellcome. To church again in the afternoon, and then come home with us Sir W. Pen, and drank with us, and then went away, and my wife after him to see his daughter that is lately come out of Ireland. I staid at home at my book; she came back again and tells me that whereas I expected she should have been a great beauty, she is a very plain girl. This evening my wife gives me all my linen, which I have put up, and intend to keep it now in my own custody. To supper and to bed. 29th. This morning we began again to sit in the mornings at the office, but before we sat down. Sir R. Slingsby and I went to Sir R. Ford's to see his house, and we find it will be very convenient for us to have it added to the office if he can be got to part with it. Then we sat down and did business in the office. So home to dinner, and my brother Tom dined with me, and after dinner he and I alone in my chamber had a great deal of talk, and I find that unless my father can forbear to make profit of his house in London and leave it to Tom, he has no mind to set up the trade any where else, and so I know not what to do with him. After this I went with him to my mother, and there told her how things do fall out short of our expectations, which I did (though it be true) to make her leave off her spending, which I find she is nowadays very free in, building upon what is left to us by my uncle to bear her out in it, which troubles me much. While I was here word is brought that my aunt Fenner is exceeding ill, and that my mother is sent for presently to come to her: also that my cozen Charles Glassecocke, though very ill himself, is this day gone to the country to his brother, John Glassecocke, who is a-dying there. Home. 30th. After my singing-master had done with me this morning, I went to White Hall and Westminster Hall, where I found the King expected to come and adjourn the Parliament. I found the two Houses at a great difference, about the Lords challenging their privileges not to have their houses searched, which makes them deny to pass the House of Commons' Bill for searching for pamphlets and seditious books. Thence by water to the Wardrobe (meeting the King upon the water going in his barge to adjourn the House) where I dined with my Lady, and there met Dr. Thomas Pepys, who I found to be a silly talking fellow, but very good-natured. So home to the office, where we met about the business of Tangier this afternoon. That done, at home I found Mr. Moore, and he and I walked into the City and there parted. To Fleet Street to find when the Assizes begin at Cambridge and Huntingdon, in order to my going to meet with Roger Pepys for counsel. So in Fleet Street I met with Mr. Salisbury, who is now grown in less than two years' time so great a limner--that he is become excellent, and gets a great deal of money at it. I took him to Hercules Pillars to drink, and there came Mr. Whore (whom I formerly have known), a friend of his to him, who is a very ingenious fellow, and there I sat with them a good while, and so home and wrote letters late to my Lord and to my father, and then to bed. 31st. Singing-master came to me this morning; then to the office all the morning. In the afternoon I went to the Theatre, and there I saw "The Tamer Tamed" well done. And then home, and prepared to go to Walthamstow to-morrow. This night I was forced to borrow L40 of Sir W. Batten. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1661 August 1st. This morning Sir Williams both, and my wife and I and Mrs. Margarett Pen (this first time that I have seen her since she came from Ireland) went by coach to Walthamstow, a-gossiping to Mrs. Browne, where I did give her six silver spoons--[But not the porringer of silver. See May 29th, 1661.--M. B]--for her boy. Here we had a venison pasty, brought hot from London, and were very merry. Only I hear how nurse's husband has spoken strangely of my Lady Batten how she was such a man's whore, who indeed is known to leave her her estate, which we would fain have reconciled to-day, but could not and indeed I do believe that the story is true. Back again at night home. 2d. At the office all the morning. At noon Dr. Thos. Pepys dined with me, and after dinner my brother Tom came to me and then I made myself ready to get a-horseback for Cambridge. So I set out and rode to Ware, this night, in the way having much discourse with a fellmonger,--[A dealer in hides.]--a Quaker, who told me what a wicked man he had been all his life-time till within this two years. Here I lay, and 3rd. Got up early the next morning and got to Barkway, where I staid and drank, and there met with a letter-carrier of Cambridge, with whom I rode all the way to Cambridge, my horse being tired, and myself very wet with rain. I went to the Castle Hill, where the judges were at the Assizes; and I staid till Roger Pepys rose and went with him, and dined with his brother, the Doctor, and Claxton at Trinity Hall. Then parted, and I went to the Rose, and there with Mr. Pechell, Sanchy, and others, sat and drank till night and were very merry, only they tell me how high the old doctors are in the University over those they found there, though a great deal better scholars than themselves; for which I am very sorry, and, above all, Dr. Gunning. At night I took horse, and rode with Roger Pepys and his two brothers to Impington, and there with great respect was led up by them to the best chamber in the house, and there slept. 4th (Lord's day). Got up, and by and by walked into the orchard with my cozen Roger, and there plucked some fruit, and then discoursed at large about the business I came for, that is, about my uncle's will, in which he did give me good satisfaction, but tells me I shall meet with a great deal of trouble in it. However, in all things he told me what I am to expect and what to do. To church, and had a good plain sermon, and my uncle Talbot went with us and at our coming in the country-people all rose with so much reverence; and when the parson begins, he begins "Right worshipfull and dearly beloved" to us. Home to dinner, which was very good, and then to church again, and so home and to walk up and down and so to supper, and after supper to talk about publique matters, wherein Roger Pepys--(who I find a very sober man, and one whom I do now honour more than ever before for this discourse sake only) told me how basely things have been carried in Parliament by the young men, that did labour to oppose all things that were moved by serious men. That they are the most prophane swearing fellows that ever he heard in his life, which makes him think that they will spoil all, and bring things into a warr again if they can. So to bed. 5th. Early to Huntingdon, but was fain to stay a great while at Stanton because of the rain, and there borrowed a coat of a man for 6d., and so he rode all the way, poor man, without any. Staid at Huntingdon for a little, but the judges are not come hither: so I went to Brampton, and there found my father very well, and my aunt gone from the house, which I am glad of, though it costs us a great deal of money, viz. L10. Here I dined, and after dinner took horse and rode to Yelling, to my cozen Nightingale's, who hath a pretty house here, and did learn of her all she could tell me concerning my business, and has given me some light by her discourse how I may get a surrender made for Graveley lands. Hence to Graveley, and there at an alehouse met with Chancler and Jackson (one of my tenants for Cotton closes) and another with whom I had a great deal of discourse, much to my satisfaction. Hence back again to Brampton and after supper to bed, being now very quiet in the house, which is a content to us. 6th. Up early and went to Mr. Phillips, but lost my labour, he lying at Huntingdon last night, so I went back again and took horse and rode thither, where I staid with Thos. Trice and Mr. Philips drinking till noon, and then Tom Trice and I to Brampton, where he to Goody Gorum's and I home to my father, who could discern that I had been drinking, which he did never see or hear of before, so I eat a bit of dinner and went with him to Gorum's, and there talked with Tom Trice, and then went and took horse for London, and with much ado, the ways being very bad, got to Baldwick, and there lay and had a good supper by myself. The landlady being a pretty woman, but I durst not take notice of her, her husband being there. Before supper I went to see the church, which is a very handsome church, but I find that both here, and every where else that I come, the Quakers do still continue, and rather grow than lessen. To bed. 7th. Called up at three o'clock, and was a-horseback by four; and as I was eating my breakfast I saw a man riding by that rode a little way upon the road with me last night; and he being going with venison in his pan-yards to London, I called him in and did give him his breakfast with me, and so we went together all the way. At Hatfield we bayted and walked into the great house through all the courts; and I would fain have stolen a pretty dog that followed me, but I could not, which troubled me. To horse again, and by degrees with much ado got to London, where I found all well at home and at my father's and my Lady's, but no news yet from my Lord where he is. At my Lady's (whither I went with Dean Fuller, who came to my house to see me just as I was come home) I met with Mr. Moore, who told me at what a loss he was for me, for to-morrow is a Seal day at the Privy Seal, and it being my month, I am to wait upon my Lord Roberts, Lord Privy Seal, at the Seal. Home and to bed. 8th. Early in the mornink to Whitehall, but my Lord Privy Seal came not all the morning. At noon Mr. Moore and I to the Wardrobe to dinner, where my Lady and all merry and well. Back again to the Privy Seal; but my Lord comes not all the afternoon, which made me mad and gives all the world reason to talk of his delaying of business, as well as of his severity and ill using of the Clerks of the Privy Seal. In the evening I took Mons. Eschar and Mr. Moore and Dr. Pierce's brother (the souldier) to the tavern next the Savoy, and there staid and drank with them. Here I met with Mr. Mage, and discoursing of musique Mons. Eschar spoke so much against the English and in praise of the French that made him mad, and so he went away. After a stay with them a little longer we parted and I home. 9th. To the office, where word is brought me by a son-in-law of Mr. Pierces; the purser, that his father is a dying and that he desires that I would come to him before he dies. So I rose from the table and went, where I found him not so ill as I thought that he had been ill. So I did promise to be a friend to his wife and family if he should die, which was all he desired of me, but I do believe he will recover. Back again to the office, where I found Sir G. Carteret had a day or two ago invited some of the officers to dinner to-day at Deptford. So at noon, when I heard that he was a-coming, I went out, because I would see whether he would send to me or no to go with them; but he did not, which do a little trouble me till I see how it comes to pass. Although in other things I am glad of it because of my going again to-day to the Privy Seal. I dined at home, and having dined news is brought by Mr. Hater that his wife is now falling into labour, so he is come for my wife, who presently went with him. I to White Hall, where, after four o'clock, comes my Lord Privy Seal, and so we went up to his chamber over the gate at White Hall, where he asked me what deputacon I had from My Lord. I told him none; but that I am sworn my Lord's deputy by both of the Secretarys, which did satisfy him. So he caused Mr. Moore to read over all the bills as is the manner, and all ended very well. So that I see the Lyon is not so fierce as he is painted. That being done Mons. Eschar (who all this afternoon had been waiting at the Privy Seal for the Warrant for L5,000 for my Lord of Sandwich's preparation for Portugal) and I took some wine with us and went to visit la belle Pierce, who we find very big with child, and a pretty lady, one Mrs. Clifford, with her, where we staid and were extraordinary merry. From thence I took coach to my father's, where I found him come home this day from Brampton (as I expected) very well, and after some discourse about business and it being very late I took coach again home, where I hear by my wife that Mrs. Hater is not yet delivered, but continues in her pains. So to bed. 10th. This morning came the maid that my wife hath lately hired for a chamber maid. She is very ugly, so that I cannot care for her, but otherwise she seems very good. But however she do come about three weeks hence, when my wife comes back from Brampton, if she go with my father. By and by came my father to my house, and so he and I went and found out my uncle Wight at the Coffee House, and there did agree with him to meet the next week with my uncle Thomas and read over the Captain's will before them both for their satisfaction. Having done with him I went to my Lady's and dined with her, and after dinner took the two young gentlemen and the two ladies and carried them and Captain Ferrers to the Theatre, and shewed them "The merry Devill of Edmunton," which is a very merry play, the first time I ever saw it, which pleased me well. And that being done I took them all home by coach to my house and there gave them fruit to eat and wine. So by water home with them, and so home myself. 11th (Lord's day). To our own church in the forenoon, and in the afternoon to Clerkenwell Church, only to see the two [A comedy acted at the Globe, and first printed in 1608. In the original entry in the Stationers' books it is said to be by T. B., which may stand for Tony or Anthony Brewer. The play has been attributed without authority both to Shakespeare and to Drayton.] fayre Botelers;--[Mrs. Frances Butler and her sister.]--and I happened to be placed in the pew where they afterwards came to sit, but the pew by their coming being too full, I went out into the next, and there sat, and had my full view of them both, but I am out of conceit now with them, Colonel Dillon being come back from Ireland again, and do still court them, and comes to church with them, which makes me think they are not honest. Hence to Graye's-Inn walks, and there staid a good while; where I met with Ned Pickering, who told me what a great match of hunting of a stagg the King had yesterday; and how the King tired all their horses, and come home with not above two or three able to keep pace with him. So to my father's, and there supped, and so home. 12th. At the office this morning. At home in the afternoon, and had notice that my Lord Hinchingbroke is fallen ill, which I fear is with the fruit that I did give them on Saturday last at my house: so in the evening I went thither and there found him very ill, and in great fear of the smallpox. I supped with my Lady, and did consult about him, but we find it best to let him lie where he do; and so I went home with my heart full of trouble for my Lord Hinchinabroke's sickness, and more for my Lord Sandwich's himself, whom we are now confirmed is sick ashore at Alicante, who, if he should miscarry, God knows in what condition would his family be. I dined to-day with my Lord Crew, who is now at Sir H. Wright's, while his new house is making fit for him, and he is much troubled also at these things. 13th. To the Privy Seal in the morning, then to the Wardrobe to dinner, where I met my wife, and found my young Lord very ill. So my Lady intends to send her other three sons, Sidney, Oliver, and John, to my house, for fear of the small-pox. After dinner I went to my father's, where I found him within, and went up to him, and there found him settling his papers against his removal, and I took some old papers of difference between me and my wife and took them away. After that Pall being there I spoke to my father about my intention not to keep her longer for such and such reasons, which troubled him and me also, and had like to have come to some high words between my mother and me, who is become a very simple woman. By and by comes in Mrs. Cordery to take her leave of my father, thinking he was to go presently into the country, and will have us to come and see her before he do go. Then my father and I went forth to Mr. Rawlinson's, where afterwards comes my uncle Thomas and his two sons, and then my uncle Wight by appointment of us all, and there we read the will and told them how things are, and what our thoughts are of kindness to my uncle Thomas if he do carry himself peaceable, but otherwise if he persist to keep his caveat up against us. So he promised to withdraw it, and seemed to be very well contented with things as they are. After a while drinking, we paid all and parted, and so I home, and there found my Lady's three sons come, of which I am glad that I am in condition to do her and my Lord any service in this kind, but my mind is yet very much troubled about my Lord of Sandwich's health, which I am afeard of. 14th. This morning Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen and I, waited upon the Duke of York in his chamber, to give him an account of the condition of the Navy for lack of money, and how our own very bills are offered upon the Exchange, to be sold at 20 in the 100 loss. He is much troubled at it, and will speak to the King and Council of it this morning. So I went to my Lady's and dined with her, and found my Lord Hinchingbroke somewhat better. After dinner Captain Ferrers and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Alchymist;" and there I saw Sir W. Pen, who took us when the play was done and carried the Captain to Paul's and set him down, and me home with him, and he and I to the Dolphin, but not finding Sir W. Batten there, we went and carried a bottle of wine to his house, and there sat a while and talked, and so home to bed. At home I found a letter from Mr. Creed of the 15th of July last, that tells me that my Lord is rid of his pain (which was wind got into the muscles of his right side) and his feaver, and is now in hopes to go aboard in a day or two, which do give me mighty great comfort. 15th. To the Privy Seal and Whitehall, up and down, and at noon Sir W. Pen carried me to Paul's, and so I walked to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, and there told her, of my Lord's sickness (of which though it hath been the town-talk this fortnight, she had heard nothing) and recovery, of which she was glad, though hardly persuaded of the latter. I found my Lord Hinchingbroke better and better, and the worst past. Thence to the Opera, which begins again to-day with "The Witts," never acted yet with scenes; and the King and Duke and Duchess were there (who dined to-day with Sir H. Finch, reader at the Temple, in great state); and indeed it is a most excellent play, and admirable scenes. So home and was overtaken by Sir W. Pen in his coach, who has been this afternoon with my Lady Batten, &c., at the Theatre. So I followed him to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten was, and there we sat awhile, and so home after we had made shift to fuddle Mr. Falconer of Woolwich. So home. 16th. At the office all the morning, though little to be done; because all our clerks are gone to the buriall of Tom Whitton, one of the Controller's clerks, a very ingenious, and a likely young man to live, as any in the Office. But it is such a sickly time both in City and country every where (of a sort of fever), that never was heard of almost, unless it was in a plague-time. Among others, the famous Tom Fuller is dead of it; and Dr. Nichols, Dean of Paul's; and my Lord General Monk is very dangerously ill. Dined at home with the children and were merry, and my father with me; who after dinner he and I went forth about business. Among other things we found one Dr. John Williams at an alehouse, where we staid till past nine at night, in Shoe Lane, talking about our country business, and I found him so well acquainted with the matters of Gravely that I expect he will be of great use to me. So by link home. I understand my Aunt Fenner is upon the point of death. 17th. At the Privy Seal, where we had a seal this morning. Then met with Ned Pickering, and walked with him into St. James's Park (where I had not been a great while), and there found great and very noble alterations. And, in our discourse, he was very forward to complain and to speak loud of the lewdness and beggary of the Court, which I am sorry to hear, and which I am afeard will bring all to ruin again. So he and I to the Wardrobe to dinner, and after dinner Captain Ferrers and I to the Opera, and saw "The Witts" again, which I like exceedingly. The Queen of Bohemia was here, brought by my Lord Craven. So the Captain and I and another to the Devil tavern and drank, and so by coach home. Troubled in mind that I cannot bring myself to mind my business, but to be so much in love of plays. We have been at a great loss a great while for a vessel that I sent about a month ago with, things of my Lord's to Lynn, and cannot till now hear of them, but now we are told that they are put into Soale Bay, but to what purpose I know not. 18th (Lord's day). To our own church in the morning and so home to dinner, where my father and Dr. Tom Pepys came to me to dine, and were very merry. After dinner I took my wife and Mr. Sidney to my Lady to see my Lord Hinchingbroke, who is now pretty well again, and sits up and walks about his chamber. So I went to White Hall, and there hear that my Lord General Monk continues very ill: so I went to la belle Pierce and sat with her; and then to walk in St. James's Park, and saw great variety of fowl which I never saw before and so home. At night fell to read in "Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity," which Mr. Moore did give me last Wednesday very handsomely bound; and which I shall read with great pains and love for his sake. So to supper and to bed. 19th. At the office all the morning; at noon the children are sent for by their mother my Lady Sandwich to dinner, and my wife goes along with them by coach, and she to my father's and dines there, and from thence with them to see Mrs. Cordery, who do invite them before my father goes into the country, and thither I should have gone too but that I am sent for to the Privy Seal, and there I found a thing of my Lord Chancellor's [This "thing" was probably one of those large grants which Clarendon quietly, or, as he himself says, "without noise or scandal," procured from the king. Besides lands and manors, Clarendon states at one time that the king gave him a "little billet into his hand, that contained a warrant of his own hand-writing to Sir Stephen Fox to pay to the Chancellor the sum of L20,000,--[approximately 10 million dollars in the year 2000]--of which nobody could have notice." In 1662 he received L5,000 out of the money voted to the king by the Parliament of Ireland, as he mentions in his vindication of himself against the impeachment of the Commons; and we shall see that Pepys, in February, 1664, names another sum of L20,000 given to the Chancellor to clear the mortgage upon Clarendon Park; and this last sum, it was believed, was paid from the money received from France by the sale of Dunkirk.--B.] to be sealed this afternoon, and so I am forced to go to Worcester House, where severall Lords are met in Council this afternoon. And while I am waiting there, in comes the King in a plain common riding-suit and velvet cap, in which he seemed a very ordinary man to one that had not known him. Here I staid till at last, hearing that my Lord Privy Seal had not the seal here, Mr. Moore and I hired a coach and went to Chelsy, and there at an alehouse sat and drank and past the time till my Lord Privy Seal came to his house, and so we to him and examined and sealed the thing, and so homewards, but when we came to look for our coach we found it gone, so we were fain to walk home afoot and saved our money. We met with a companion that walked with us, and coming among some trees near the Neate houses, he began to whistle, which did give us some suspicion, but it proved that he that answered him was Mr. Marsh (the Lutenist) and his wife, and so we all walked to Westminster together, in our way drinking a while at my cost, and had a song of him, but his voice is quite lost. So walked home, and there I found that my Lady do keep the children at home, and lets them not come any more hither at present, which a little troubles me to lose their company. This day my aunt Fenner dyed. 20th. At the office in the morning and all the afternoon at home to put my papers in order. This day we come to some agreement with Sir R. Ford for his house to be added to the office to enlarge our quarters. 21st. This morning by appointment I went to my father, and after a morning draft he and I went to Dr. Williams, but he not within we went to Mrs. Terry, a daughter of Mr. Whately's, who lately offered a proposal of her sister for a wife for my brother Tom, and with her we discoursed about and agreed to go to her mother this afternoon to speak with her, and in the meantime went to Will. Joyce's and to an alehouse, and drank a good while together, he being very angry that his father Fenner will give him and his brother no more for mourning than their father did give him and my aunt at their mother's death, and a very troublesome fellow I still find him to be, that his company ever wearys me. From thence about two o'clock to Mrs. Whately's, but she being going to dinner we went to Whitehall and there staid till past three, and here I understand by Mr. Moore that my Lady Sandwich is brought to bed yesterday of a young Lady, and is very well. So to Mrs. Whately's again, and there were well received, and she desirous to have the thing go forward, only is afeard that her daughter is too young and portion not big enough, but offers L200 down with her. The girl is very well favoured,, and a very child, but modest, and one I think will do very well for my brother: so parted till she hears from Hatfield from her husband, who is there; but I find them very desirous of it, and so am I. Hence home to my father's, and I to the Wardrobe, where I supped with the ladies, and hear their mother is well and the young child, and so home. 22nd. To the Privy Seal, and sealed; so home at noon, and there took my wife by coach to my uncle Fenner's, where there was both at his house and the Sessions, great deal of company, but poor entertainment, which I wonder at; and the house so hot, that my uncle Wight, my father and I were fain to go out, and stay at an alehouse awhile to cool ourselves. Then back again and to church, my father's family being all in mourning, doing him the greatest honour, the world believing that he did give us it: so to church, and staid out the sermon, and then with my aunt Wight, my wife, and Pall and I to her house by coach, and there staid and supped upon a Westphalia ham, and so home and to bed. 23rd. This morning I went to my father's, and there found him and my mother in a discontent, which troubles me much, and indeed she is become very simple and unquiet. Hence he and I to Dr. Williams, and found him within, and there we sat and talked a good while, and from him to Tom Trice's to an alehouse near, and there sat and talked, and finding him fair we examined my uncle's will before him and Dr. Williams, and had them sign the copy and so did give T. Trice the original to prove, so he took my father and me to one of the judges of the Court, and there we were sworn, and so back again to the alehouse and drank and parted. Dr. Williams and I to a cook's where we eat a bit of mutton, and away, I to W. Joyce's, where by appointment my wife was, and I took her to the Opera, and shewed her "The Witts," which I had seen already twice, and was most highly pleased with it. So with my wife to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and then home. 24th. At the office all the morning and did business; by and by we are called to Sir W. Batten's to see the strange creature that Captain Holmes hath brought with him from Guiny; it is a great baboon, but so much like a man in most things, that though they say there is a species of them, yet I cannot believe but that it is a monster got of a man and she-baboon. I do believe that it already understands much English, and I am of the mind it might be taught to speak or make signs. Hence the Comptroller and I to Sir Rd. Ford's and viewed the house again, and are come to a complete end with him to give him L200 per an. for it. Home and there met Capt. Isham inquiring for me to take his leave of me, he being upon his voyage to Portugal, and for my letters to my Lord which are not ready. But I took him to the Mitre and gave him a glass of sack, and so adieu, and then straight to the Opera, and there saw "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," done with scenes very well, but above all, Betterton [Sir William Davenant introduced the use of scenery. The character of Hamlet was one of Betterton's masterpieces. Downes tells us that he was taught by Davenant how the part was acted by Taylor of the Blackfriars, who was instructed by Shakespeare himself.] did the prince's part beyond imagination. Hence homeward, and met with Mr. Spong and took him to the Sampson in Paul's churchyard, and there staid till late, and it rained hard, so we were fain to get home wet, and so to bed. 25th (Lord's day). At church in the morning, and dined at home alone with my wife very comfortably, and so again to church with her, and had a very good and pungent sermon of Mr. Mills, discoursing the necessity of restitution. Home, and I found my Lady Batten and her daughter to look something askew upon my wife, because my wife do not buckle to them, and is not solicitous for their acquaintance, which I am not troubled at at all. By and by comes in my father (he intends to go into the country to-morrow), and he and I among other discourse at last called Pall up to us, and there in great anger told her before my father that I would keep her no longer, and my father he said he would have nothing to do with her. At last, after we had brought down her high spirit, I got my father to yield that she should go into the country with my mother and him, and stay there awhile to see how she will demean herself. That being done, my father and I to my uncle Wight's, and there supped, and he took his leave of them, and so I walked with [him] as far as Paul's and there parted, and I home, my mind at some rest upon this making an end with Pall, who do trouble me exceedingly. 26th. This morning before I went out I made even with my maid Jane, who has this day been my maid three years, and is this day to go into the country to her mother. The poor girl cried, and I could hardly forbear weeping to think of her going, for though she be grown lazy and spoilt by Pall's coming, yet I shall never have one to please us better in all things, and so harmless, while I live. So I paid her her wages and gave her 2s. 6d. over, and bade her adieu, with my mind full of trouble at her going. Hence to my father, where he and I and Thomas together setting things even, and casting up my father's accounts, and upon the whole I find that all he hath in money of his own due to him in the world is but L45, and he owes about the same sum: so that I cannot but think in what a condition he had left my mother if he should have died before my uncle Robert. Hence to Tom Trice for the probate of the will and had it done to my mind, which did give my father and me good content. From thence to my Lady at the Wardrobe and thence to the Theatre, and saw the "Antipodes," wherein there is much mirth, but no great matter else. Hence with Mr. Bostock whom I met there (a clerk formerly of Mr. Phelps) to the Devil tavern, and there drank and so away. I to my uncle Fenner's, where my father was with him at an alehouse, and so we three went by ourselves and sat talking a great while about a broker's daughter that he do propose for a wife for Tom, with a great portion, but I fear it will not take, but he will do what he can. So we broke up, and going through the street we met with a mother and son, friends of my father's man, Ned's, who are angry at my father's putting him away, which troubled me and my father, but all will be well as to that. We have news this morning of my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas being gone into the country without giving notice thereof to anybody, which puts us to a stand, but I fear them not. At night at home I found a letter from my Lord Sandwich, who is now very well again of his feaver, but not yet gone from Alicante, where he lay sick, and was twice let blood. This letter dated the 22nd July last, which puts me out of doubt of his being ill. In my coming home I called in at the Crane tavern at the Stocks by appointment, and there met and took leave of Mr. Fanshaw, who goes to-morrow and Captain Isham toward their voyage to Portugal. Here we drank a great deal of wine, I too much and Mr. Fanshaw till he could hardly go. So we took leave one of another. 27th. This morning to the Wardrobe, and there took leave of my Lord Hinchingbroke and his brother, and saw them go out by coach toward Rye in their way to France, whom God bless. Then I was called up to my Lady's bedside, where we talked an hour about Mr. Edward Montagu's disposing of the L5000 for my Lord's departure for Portugal, and our fears that he will not do it to my Lord's honour, and less to his profit, which I am to enquire a little after. Hence to the office, and there sat till noon, and then my wife and I by coach to my cozen, Thos. Pepys, the Executor, to dinner, where some ladies and my father and mother, where very merry, but methinks he makes but poor dinners for such guests, though there was a poor venison pasty. Hence my wife and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Joviall Crew," where the King, Duke and Duchess, and Madame Palmer, were; and my wife, to her great content, had a full sight of them all the while. The play full of mirth. Hence to my father's, and there staid to talk a while and so by foot home by moonshine. In my way and at home, my wife making a sad story to me of her brother Balty's a condition, and would have me to do something for him, which I shall endeavour to do, but am afeard to meddle therein for fear I shall not be able to wipe my hands of him again, when I once concern myself for him. I went to bed, my wife all the while telling me his case with tears, which troubled me. 28th. At home all the morning setting papers in order. At noon to the Exchange, and there met with Dr. Williams by appointment, and with him went up and down to look for an attorney, a friend of his, to advise with about our bond of my aunt Pepys of L200, and he tells me absolutely that we shall not be forced to pay interest for the money yet. I do doubt it very much. I spent the whole afternoon drinking with him and so home. This day I counterfeited a letter to Sir W. Pen, as from the thief that stole his tankard lately, only to abuse and laugh at him. 29th. At the office all the morning, and at noon my father, mother, and my aunt Bell (the first time that ever she was at my house) come to dine with me, and were very merry. After dinner the two women went to visit my aunt Wight, &c., and my father about other business, and I abroad to my bookseller, and there staid till four o'clock, at which time by appointment I went to meet my father at my uncle Fenner's. So thither I went and with him to an alehouse, and there came Mr. Evans, the taylor, whose daughter we have had a mind to get for a wife for Tom, and then my father, and there we sat a good while and talked about the business; in fine he told us that he hath not to except against us or our motion, but that the estate that God hath blessed him with is too great to give where there is nothing in present possession but a trade and house; and so we friendly ended. There parted, my father and I together, and walked a little way, and then at Holborn he and I took leave of one another, he being to go to Brampton (to settle things against my mother comes) tomorrow morning. So I home. 30th. At noon my wife and I met at the Wardrobe, and there dined with the children, and after dinner up to my Lady's bedside, and talked and laughed a good while. Then my wife end I to Drury Lane to the French comedy, which was so ill done, and the scenes and company and every thing else so nasty and out of order and poor, that I was sick all the while in my mind to be there. Here my wife met with a son of my Lord Somersett, whom she knew in France, a pretty man; I showed him no great countenance, to avoyd further acquaintance. That done, there being nothing pleasant but the foolery of the farce, we went home. 31st. At home and the office all the morning, and at noon comes Luellin to me, and he and I to the tavern and after that to Bartholomew fair, and there upon his motion to a pitiful alehouse, where we had a dirty slut or two come up that were whores, but my very heart went against them, so that I took no pleasure but a great deal of trouble in being there and getting from thence for fear of being seen. From hence he and I walked towards Ludgate and parted. I back again to the fair all alone, and there met with my Ladies Jemimah and Paulina, with Mr. Pickering and Madamoiselle, at seeing the monkeys dance, which was much to see, when they could be brought to do so, but it troubled me to sit among such nasty company. After that with them into Christ's Hospitall, and there Mr. Pickering bought them some fairings, and I did give every one of them a bauble, which was the little globes of glass with things hanging in them, which pleased the ladies very well. After that home with them in their coach, and there was called up to my Lady, and she would have me stay to talk with her, which I did I think a full hour. And the poor lady did with so much innocency tell me how Mrs. Crispe had told her that she did intend, by means of a lady that lies at her house, to get the King to be godfather to the young lady that she is in childbed now of; but to see in what a manner my Lady told it me, protesting that she sweat in the very telling of it, was the greatest pleasure to me in the world to see the simplicity and harmlessness of a lady. Then down to supper with the ladies, and so home, Mr. Moore (as he and I cannot easily part) leading me as far as Fenchurch Street to the Mitre, where we drank a glass of wine and so parted, and I home and to bed. Thus ends the month. My maid Jane newly gone, and Pall left now to do all the work till another maid comes, which shall not be till she goes away into the country with my mother. Myself and wife in good health. My Lord Sandwich in the Straits and newly recovered of a great sickness at Alicante. My father gone to settle at Brampton, and myself under much business and trouble for to settle things in the estate to our content. But what is worst, I find myself lately too much given to seeing of plays, and expense, and pleasure, which makes me forget my business, which I must labour to amend. No money comes in, so that I have been forced to borrow a great deal for my own expenses, and to furnish my father, to leave things in order. I have some trouble about my brother Tom, who is now left to keep my father's trade, in which I have great fears that he will miscarry for want of brains and care. At Court things are in very ill condition, there being so much emulacion, poverty, and the vices of drinking, swearing, and loose amours, that I know not what will be the end of it, but confusion. And the Clergy so high, that all people that I meet with do protest against their practice. In short, I see no content or satisfaction any where, in any one sort of people. The Benevolence [A voluntary contribution made by the subjects to their sovereign. Upon this occasion the clergy alone gave L33,743: See May 31st, 1661.--B] proves so little, and an occasion of so much discontent every where; that it had better it had never been set up. I think to subscribe L20. We are at our Office quiet, only for lack of money all things go to rack. Our very bills offered to be sold upon the Exchange at 10 per cent. loss. We are upon getting Sir R. Ford's house added to our Office. But I see so many difficulties will follow in pleasing of one another in the dividing of it, and in becoming bound personally to pay the rent of L200 per annum, that I do believe it will yet scarce come to pass. The season very sickly every where of strange and fatal fevers. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A great baboon, but so much like a man in most things A play not very good, though commended much Begun to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth (corpse) Bleeding behind by leeches will cure him By chewing of tobacco is become very fat and sallow Cannot bring myself to mind my business Durst not take notice of her, her husband being there Faced white coat, made of one of my wife's pettycoates Family being all in mourning, doing him the greatest honour Fear I shall not be able to wipe my hands of him again Finding my wife not sick, but yet out of order Found him not so ill as I thought that he had been ill Found my brother John at eight o'clock in bed, which vexed me Good God! how these ignorant people did cry her up for it! Greedy to see the will, but did not ask to see it till to-morrow His company ever wearys me I broke wind and so came to some ease I would fain have stolen a pretty dog that followed me Instructed by Shakespeare himself King, Duke and Duchess, and Madame Palmer, were Lady Batten how she was such a man's whore Lately too much given to seeing of plays, and expense Lewdness and beggary of the Court Look askew upon my wife, because my wife do not buckle to them None will sell us any thing without our personal security given Quakers do still continue, and rather grow than lessen Sat before Mrs. Palmer, the King's mistress, and filled my eyes So the children and I rose and dined by ourselves Sorry in some respect, glad in my expectations in another respec The Alchymist,--Comedy by Ben Jonson The Lords taxed themselves for the poor--an earl, s. This week made a vow to myself to drink no wine this week Those absent from prayers were to pay a forfeit To be so much in love of plays Woman with a rod in her hand keeping time to the musique 
4129	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER & OCTOBER 1661 September 1st (Lord's day). Last night being very rainy [the rain] broke into my house, the gutter being stopped, and spoiled all my ceilings almost. At church in the morning, and dined at home with my wife. After dinner to Sir W. Batten's, where I found Sir W. Pen and Captain Holmes. Here we were very merry with Sir W. Pen about the loss of his tankard, though all be but a cheat, and he do not yet understand it; but the tankard was stole by Sir W. Batten, and the letter, as from the thief, wrote by me, which makes: very good sport. Here I staid all the afternoon, and then Captain Holmes and I by coach to White Hall; in our way, I found him by discourse, to be a great friend of my Lord's, and he told me there was many did seek to remove him; but they were old seamen, such as Sir J. Minnes (but he would name no more, though I do believe Sir W. Batten is one of them that do envy him), but he says he knows that the King do so love him, and the Duke of York too, that there is no fear of him. He seems to be very well acquainted with the King's mind, and with all the several factions at Court, and spoke all with so much frankness, that I do take him to be my Lord's good friend, and one able to do him great service, being a cunning fellow, and one (by his own confession to me) that can put on two several faces, and look his enemies in the face with as much love as his friends. But, good God! what an age is this, and what a world is this! that a man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation. At Whitehall we parted, and I to Mrs. Pierce's, meeting her and Madam Clifford in the street, and there staid talking and laughing with them a good while, and so back to my mother's, and there supped, and so home and to bed. 2nd. In the morning to my cozen Thos. Pepys, executor, and there talked with him about my uncle Thomas, his being in the country, but he could not advise me to anything therein, not knowing what the other has done in the country, and so we parted. And so to Whitehall, and there my Lord Privy Seal, who has been out of town this week, not being yet come, we can have no seal, and therefore meeting with Mr. Battersby the apothecary in Fenchurch Street to the King's Apothecary's chamber in Whitehall, and there drank a bottle or two of wine, and so he and I by water towards London. I landed at Blackfriars and so to the Wardrobe and dined, and then back to Whitehall with Captain Ferrers, and there walked, and thence to Westminster Hall, where we met with Mr. Pickering, and so all of us to the Rhenish wine house (Prior's), where the master of the house is laying out some money in making a cellar with an arch in his yard, which is very convenient for him. Here we staid a good while, and so Mr. Pickering and I to Westminster Hall again, and there walked an hour or two talking, and though he be a fool, yet he keeps much company, and will tell all he sees or hears, and so a man may understand what the common talk of the town is, and I find by him that there are endeavours to get my Lord out of play at sea, which I believe Mr. Coventry and the Duke do think will make them more absolute; but I hope, for all this, they will not be able to do it. He tells me plainly of the vices of the Court, and how the pox is so common there, and so I hear on all hands that it is as common as eating and swearing. From him by water to the bridge, and thence to the Mitre, where I met my uncle and aunt Wight come to see Mrs. Rawlinson (in her husband's absence out of town), and so I staid with them and Mr. Lucas and other company, very merry, and so home, Where my wife has been busy all the day making of pies, and had been abroad and bought things for herself, and tells that she met at the Change with my young ladies of the Wardrobe and there helped them to buy things, and also with Mr. Somerset, who did give her a bracelet of rings, which did a little trouble me, though I know there is no hurt yet in it, but only for fear of further acquaintance. So to bed. This night I sent another letter to Sir W. Pen to offer him the return of his tankard upon his leaving of 30s. at a place where it should be brought. The issue of which I am to expect. 3rd. This day some of us Commissioners went down to Deptford to pay off some ships, but I could not go, but staid at home all the morning setting papers to rights, and this morning Mr. Howell, our turner, sent me two things to file papers on very handsome. Dined at home, and then with my wife to the Wardrobe, where my Lady's child was christened (my Lord Crew and his Lady, and my Lady Montagu, my Lord's mother-in-law, were the witnesses), and named Katherine [Lady Katherine Montagu, youngest daughter of Lord Sandwich, married, first, Nicholas Bacon, eldest son and heir of Sir Nicholas Bacon, K.B., of Shrubland Hall, co. Suffolk; and, secondly, the Rev. Balthazar Gardeman. She died January 15th, 1757, at ninety-six years, four months.--B.] (the Queen elect's name); but to my and all our trouble, the Parson of the parish christened her, and did not sign the child with the sign of the cross. After that was done, we had a very fine banquet, the best I ever was at, and so (there being very little company) we by and by broke up, and my wife and I to my mother, who I took a liberty to advise about her getting things ready to go this week into the country to my father, and she (being become now-a-days very simple) took it very ill, and we had a great deal of noise and wrangling about it. So home by coach. 4th. In the morning to the Privy Seal to do some things of the last month, my Lord Privy Seal having been some time out of town. Then my wife came to me to Whitehall, and we went and walked a good while in St. James's Park to see the brave alterations, and so to Wilkinson's, the Cook's, to dinner, where we sent for Mrs. Sarah and there dined and had oysters, the first I have eat this year, and were pretty good. After dinner by agreement to visit Mrs. Symonds, but she is abroad, which I wonder at, and so missing her my wife again to my mother's (calling at Mrs. Pierce's, who we found brought to bed of a girl last night) and there staid and drank, and she resolves to be going to-morrow without fail. Many friends come in to take their leave of her, but a great deal of stir I had again tonight about getting her to go to see my Lady Sandwich before she goes, which she says she will do tomorrow. So I home. 5th. To the Privy Seal this morning about business, in my way taking leave of my mother, who goes to Brampton to-day. But doing my business at the Privy Seal pretty soon, I took boat and went to my uncle Fenner's, and there I found my mother and my wife and Pall (of whom I had this morning at my own house taken leave, and given her 20s. and good counsel how to carry herself to my father and mother), and so I took them, it being late, to Beard's, where they were staid for, and so I put them into the waggon, and saw them going presently, Pall crying exceedingly. Then in with my wife, my aunt Bell and Charles Pepys, whom we met there, and drank, and so to my uncle Fenner's to dinner (in the way meeting a French footman with feathers, who was in quest of my wife, and spoke with her privately, but I could not tell what it was, only my wife promised to go to some place to-morrow morning, which do trouble my mind how to know whither it was), where both his sons and daughters were, and there we were merry and dined. After dinner news was brought that my aunt Kite, the butcher's widow in London, is sick ready to die and sends for my uncle and me to come to take charge of things, and to be entrusted with the care of her daughter. But I through want of time to undertake such a business, I was taken up by Antony Joyce, which came at last to very high words, which made me very angry, and I did not think that he would ever have been such a fool to meddle with other people's business, but I saw he spoke worse to his father than to me and therefore I bore it the better, but all the company was offended with him, so we parted angry he and I, and so my wife and I to the fair, and I showed her the Italians dancing the ropes, and the women that do strange tumbling tricks and so by foot home vexed in my mind about Antony Joyce. 6th. This morning my uncle Fenner by appointment came and drank his morning draft with me, and from thence he and I go to see my aunt Kite (my wife holding her resolution to go this morning as she resolved yesterday, and though there could not be much hurt in it, yet my own jealousy put a hundred things into my mind, which did much trouble me all day), whom we found in bed and not like to live as we think, and she told us her mind was that if she should die she should give all she had to her daughter, only L5 apiece to her second husband's children, in case they live to come out of their apprenticeships, and that if her daughter should die before marrying, then L10 to be divided between Sarah Kite's children and the rest as her own daughter shall dispose of it, and this I set down that I may be able to swear in case there should be occasion. From thence to an alehouse while it rained, which kept us there I think above two hours, and at last we were fain to go through the rainy street home, calling on his sister Utbeck and drank there. Then I home to dinner all alone, and thence my mind being for my wife's going abroad much troubled and unfit for business, I went to the Theatre, and saw "Elder Brother" ill acted; that done, meeting here with Sir G. Askew, Sir Theophilus Jones, and another Knight, with Sir W. Pen, we to the Ship tavern, and there staid and were merry till late at night, and so got a coach, and Sir Wm. and I home, where my wife had been long come home, but I seemed very angry, as indeed I am, and did not all night show her any countenance, neither before nor in bed, and so slept and rose discontented. 7th. At the office all the morning. At noon Mr. Moore dined with me, and then in comes Wm. Joyce to answer a letter of mine I wrote this morning to him about a maid of his that my wife had hired, and she sent us word that she was hired to stay longer with her master, which mistake he came to clear himself of; and I took it very kindly. So I having appointed the young ladies at the Wardrobe to go with them to a play to-day, I left him and my brother Tom who came along with him to dine, and my wife and I took them to the Theatre, where we seated ourselves close by the King, and Duke of York, and Madame Palmer, which was great content; and, indeed, I can never enough admire her beauty. And here was "Bartholomew Fayre," with the puppet-show, acted to-day, which had not been these forty years (it being so satyricall against Puritanism, they durst not till now, which is strange they should already dare to do it, and the King do countenance it), but I do never a whit like it the better for the puppets, but rather the worse. Thence home with the ladies, it being by reason of our staying a great while for the King's coming, and the length of the play, near nine o'clock before it was done, and so in their coach home, and still in discontent with my wife, to bed, and rose so this morning also. 8th (Lord's day). To church, it being a very wet night last night and to-day, dined at home, and so to church again with my wife in the afternoon, and coming home again found our new maid Doll asleep, that she could not hear to let us in, so that we were fain to send the boy in at a window to open the door to us. So up to my chamber all alone, and troubled in mind to think how much of late I have addicted myself to expense and pleasure, that now I can hardly reclaim myself to look after my great business of settling Gravely business, until now almost too late. I pray God give me grace to begin now to look after my business, but it always was, and I fear will ever be, my foible that after I am once got behind-hand with business, I am hard to set to it again to recover it. In the evening I begun to look over my accounts and upon the whole I do find myself, by what I can yet see, worth near L600, for which God be blessed, which put me into great comfort. So to supper and to bed. 9th. To the Privy Seal in the morning, but my Lord did not come, so I went with Captain Morrice at his desire into the King's Privy Kitchen to Mr. Sayres, the Master Cook, and there we had a good slice of beef or two to our breakfast, and from thence he took us into the wine cellar where, by my troth, we were very merry, and I drank too much wine, and all along had great and particular kindness from Mr. Sayres, but I drank so much wine that I was not fit for business, and therefore at noon I went and walked in Westminster Hall a while, and thence to Salisbury Court play house, where was acted the first time "'Tis pity Shee's a Whore," a simple play and ill acted, only it was my fortune to sit by a most pretty and most ingenious lady, which pleased me much. Thence home, and found Sir Williams both and much more company gone to the Dolphin to drink the 30s. that we got the other day of Sir W. Pen about his tankard. Here was Sir R. Slingsby, Holmes, Captn. Allen, Mr. Turner, his wife and daughter, my Lady Batten, and Mrs. Martha, &c., and an excellent company of fiddlers; so we exceeding merry till late; and then we begun to tell Sir W. Pen the business, but he had been drinking to-day, and so is almost gone, that we could not make him understand it, which caused us more sport. But so much the better, for I believe when he do come to understand it he will be angry, he has so talked of the business himself and the letter up and down that he will be ashamed to be found abused in it. So home and to bed. 10th. At the office all the morn, dined at home; then my wife into Wood Street to buy a chest, and thence to buy other things at my uncle Fenner's (though by reason of rain we had ill walking), thence to my brother Tom's, and there discoursed with him about business, and so to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and after supper with the young ladies, bought a link and carried it myself till I met one that would light me home for the link. So he light me home with his own, and then I did give him mine. This night I found Mary, my cozen W. Joyce's maid, come to me to be my cook maid, and so my house is full again. So to bed. 11th. Early to my cozen Thomas Trice to discourse about our affairs, and he did make demand of the L200 and the interest thereof. But for the L200 I did agree to pay him, but for the other I did desire to be advised. So from him to Dr. Williams, who did carry me into his garden, where he hath abundance of grapes; and did show me how a dog that he hath do kill all the cats that come thither to kill his pigeons, and do afterwards bury them; and do it with so much care that they shall be quite covered; that if but the tip of the tail hangs out he will take up the cat again, and dig the hole deeper. Which is very strange; and he tells me that he do believe that he hath killed above 100 cats. After he was ready we went up and down to inquire about my affairs and then parted, and to the Wardrobe, and there took Mr. Moore to Tom Trice, who promised to let Mr. Moore have copies of the bond and my aunt's deed of gift, and so I took him home to my house to dinner, where I found my wife's brother, Balty, as fine as hands could make him, and his servant, a Frenchman, to wait on him, and come to have my wife to visit a young lady which he is a servant to, and have hope to trepan and get for his wife. I did give way for my wife to go with him, and so after dinner they went, and Mr. Moore and I out again, he about his business and I to Dr. Williams: to talk with him again, and he and I walking through Lincoln's Fields observed at the Opera a new play, "Twelfth Night" [Pepys seldom liked any play of Shakespeare's, and he sadly blundered when he supposed "Twelfth Night" was a new play.] was acted there, and the King there; so I, against my own mind and resolution, could not forbear to go in, which did make the play seem a burthen to me, and I took no pleasure at all in it; and so after it was done went home with my mind troubled for my going thither, after my swearing to my wife that I would never go to a play without her. So that what with this and things going so cross to me as to matters of my uncle's estate, makes me very much troubled in my mind, and so to bed. My wife was with her brother to see his mistress today, and says she is young, rich, and handsome, but not likely for him to get. 12th. Though it was an office day, yet I was forced to go to the Privy Seal, at which I was all the morning, and from thence to my Lady's to dinner at the Wardrobe; and in my way upon the Thames, I saw the King's new pleasure-boat that is come now for the King to take pleasure in above bridge; and also two Gundaloes ["Two long boats that were made in Venice, called gondolas, were by the Duke of Venice (Dominico Contareni) presented to His Majesty; , and the attending watermen, being four, were in very rich clothes, crimson satin; very big were their breeches and doublets; they wore also very large shirts of the same satin, very richly laced." --Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] that are lately brought, which are very rich and fine. After dinner I went into my Lady's chamber where I found her up now out of her childbed, which I was glad to see, and after an hour's talk with her I took leave and to Tom Trice again, and sat talking and drinking with him about our business a great while. I do find I am likely to be forced to pay interest for the L200. By and by in comes my uncle Thomas, and as he was always a close cunning fellow, so he carries himself to me, and says nothing of what his endeavours are, though to my trouble I know that he is about recovering of Gravely, but neither I nor he began any discourse of the business. From thence to Dr. Williams (at the little blind alehouse in Shoe Lane, at the Gridiron, a place I am ashamed to be seen to go into), and there with some bland counsel of his we discuss our matters, but I find men of so different minds that by my troth I know not what to trust to. It being late I took leave, and by link home and called at Sir W. Batten's, and there hear that Sir W. Pen do take our jest of the tankard very ill, which Pam sorry for. 13th. This morning I was sent for by my uncle Fenner to come and advise about the buriall of my aunt, the butcher, who died yesterday; and from thence to the Anchor, by Doctor's Commons, and there Dr. Williams and I did write a letter for my purpose to Mr. Sedgewick, of Cambridge, about Gravely business, and after that I left him and an attorney with him and went to the Wardrobe, where I found my wife, and thence she and I to the water to spend the afternoon in pleasure; and so we went to old George's, and there eat as much as we would of a hot shoulder of mutton, and so to boat again and home. So to bed, my mind very full of business and trouble. 14th. At the office all the morning, at noon to the Change, and then home again. To dinner, where my uncle Fenner by appointment came and dined with me, thinking to go together to my aunt Kite's that is dead; but before we had dined comes Sir R. Slingsby and his lady, and a great deal of company, to take my wife and I out by barge to shew them the King's and Duke's yachts. So I was forced to leave my uncle and brother Tom at dinner and go forth with them, and we had great pleasure, seeing all four yachts, viz., these two and the two Dutch ones. And so home again, and after writing letters by post, to bed. 15th (Lord's day). To my aunt Kite's in the morning to help my uncle Fenner to put things in order against anon for the buriall, and at noon home again; and after dinner to church, my wife and I, and after sermon with my wife to the buriall of my aunt Kite, where besides us and my uncle Fenner's family, there was none of any quality, but poor rascally people. So we went to church with the corps, and there had service read at the grave, and back again with Pegg Kite who will be, I doubt, a troublesome carrion to us executors; but if she will not be ruled, I shall fling up my executorship. After that home, and Will Joyce along with me where we sat and talked and drank and ate an hour or two, and so he went away and I up to my chamber and then to prayers and to bed. 16th. This morning I was busy at home to take in my part of our freight of Coles, which Sir G. Carteret, Sir R. Slingsby, and myself sent for, which is 10 Chaldron, 8 of which I took in, and with the other to repay Sir W. Pen what I borrowed of him a little while ago. So that from this day I should see how long 10 chaldron of coals will serve my house, if it please the Lord to let me live to see them burned. In the afternoon by appointment to meet Dr. Williams and his attorney, and they and I to Tom Trice, and there got him in discourse to confess the words that he had said that his mother did desire him not to see my uncle about her L200 bond while she was alive. Here we were at high words with T. Trice and then parted, and we to Standing's, in Fleet Street, where we sat and drank and talked a great while about my going down to Gravely Court, [The manorial court of Graveley, in Huntingdonshire, to which Impington owed suit or service, and under which the Pepys's copyhold estates were held. See July 8th, 1661, ante.--B.] which will be this week, whereof the Doctor had notice in a letter from his sister this week. In the middle of our discourse word was brought me from my brother's that there is a fellow come from my father out of the country, on purpose to speak to me, so I went to him and he made a story how he had lost his letter, but he was sure it was for me to go into the country, which I believed, and thought it might be to give me notice of Gravely Court, but I afterwards found that it was a rogue that did use to play such tricks to get money of people, but he got none of me. At night I went home, and there found letters-from my father informing me of the Court, and that I must come down and meet him at Impington, which I presently resolved to do, 17th. And the next morning got up, telling my wife of my journey, and she with a few words got me to hire her a horse to go along with me. So I went to my Lady's and elsewhere to take leave, and of Mr. Townsend did borrow a very fine side-saddle for my wife; and so after all things were ready, she and I took coach to the end of the town towards Kingsland, and there got upon my horse and she upon her pretty mare that I hired for her, and she rides very well. By the mare at one time falling she got a fall, but no harm; so we got to Ware, and there supped, and to bed very merry and pleasant. 18th. The next morning up early and begun our march; the way about Puckridge--[Puckeridge, a village in Hertfordshire six and a half miles N.N.E, of Ware.]--very bad, and my wife, in the very last dirty place of all, got a fall, but no hurt, though some dirt. At last she begun, poor wretch, to be tired, and I to be angry at it, but I was to blame; for she is a very good companion as long as she is well. In the afternoon we got to Cambridge, where I left my wife at my cozen Angier's while I went to Christ's College, and there found my brother in his chamber, and talked with him; and so to the barber's, and then to my wife again, and remounted for Impington, where my uncle received me and my wife very kindly. And by and by in comes my father, and we supped and talked and were merry, but being weary and sleepy my wife and I to bed without talking with my father anything about our business. 19th. Up early, and my father and I alone into the garden, and there talked about our business, and what to do therein. So after I had talked and advised with my coz Claxton, and then with my uncle by his bedside, we all horsed away to Cambridge, where my father and I, having left my wife at the Beare with my brother, went to Mr. Sedgewicke, the steward of Gravely, and there talked with him, but could get little hopes from anything that he would tell us; but at last I did give him a fee, and then he was free to tell me what I asked, which was something, though not much comfort. From thence to our horses, and with my wife went and rode through Sturbridge [Sturbridge fair is of great antiquity. The first trace of it is found in a charter granted about 1211 by King John to the Lepers of the Hospital of St. Mary Magdalen at Sturbridge by Cambridge, a fair to be held in the close of the hospital on the vigil and feast of the Holy Cross (see Cornelius Walford's "Fairs Past and Present," 1883, p. 54).] but the fair was almost done. So we did not 'light there at all, but went back to Cambridge, and there at the Beare we had some herrings, we and my brother, and after dinner set out for Brampton, where we come in very good time, and found all things well, and being somewhat weary, after some talk about tomorrow's business with my father, we went to bed. 20th. Will Stankes and I set out in the morning betimes for Gravely, where to an ale-house and drank, and then, going towards the Court House, met my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas, with Bradly, the rogue that had betrayed us, and one Young, a cunning fellow, who guides them. There passed no unkind words at all between us, but I seemed fair and went to drink with them. I said little till by and by that we come to the Court, which was a simple meeting of a company of country rogues, with the Steward, and two Fellows of Jesus College, that are lords of the town where the jury were sworn; and I producing no surrender, though I told them I was sure there is and must be one somewhere, they found my uncle Thomas heir at law, as he is, and so, though I did tell him and his son that they would find themselves abused by these fellows, and did advise them to forbear being admitted this Court (which they could have done, but that these rogues did persuade them to do it now), my uncle was admitted, and his son also, in reversion after his father, which he did well in to secure his money. The father paid a year and a half for his fine, and the son half a year, in all L48, besides about L3 fees; so that I do believe the charges of his journeys, and what he gives those two rogues, and other expenses herein, cannot be less than L70, which will be a sad thing for them if a surrender be found. After all was done, I openly wished them joy in it, and so rode to Offord with them and there parted fairly without any words. I took occasion to bid them money for their half acre of land, which I had a mind to do that in the surrender I might secure Piggott's, which otherwise I should be forced to lose. So with Stankes home and supped, and after telling my father how things went, I went to bed with my mind in good temper, because I see the matter and manner of the Court and the bottom of my business, wherein I was before and should always have been ignorant. 21st. All the morning pleasing myself with my father, going up and down the house and garden with my father and my wife, contriving some alterations. After dinner (there coming this morning my aunt Hanes and her son from London, that is to live with my father) I rode to Huntingdon, where I met Mr. Philips, and there put my Bugden [Bugden, or Buckden, a village and parish in the St. Neots district of Huntingdonshire, four miles S.W. of Huntingdon.] matter in order against the Court, and so to Hinchingbroke, where Mr. Barnwell shewed me the condition of the house, which is yet very backward, and I fear will be very dark in the cloyster when it is done. So home and to supper and to bed, very pleasant and quiet. 22nd (Lord's day). Before church time walking with my father in the garden contriving. So to church, where we had common prayer, and a dull sermon by one Mr. Case, who yet I heard sing very well. So to dinner, and busy with my father about his accounts all the afternoon, and people came to speak with us about business. Mr. Barnwell at night came and supped with us. So after setting matters even with my father and I, to bed. 23rd. Up, and sad to hear my father and mother wrangle as they used to do in London, of which I took notice to both, and told them that I should give over care for anything unless they would spend what they have with more love and quiet. So (John Bowles coming to see us before we go) we took horse and got early to Baldwick; where there was a fair, and we put in and eat a mouthfull of pork, which they made us pay 14d. for, which vexed us much. And so away to Stevenage, and staid till a showre was over, and so rode easily to Welling, where we supped well, and had two beds in the room and so lay single, and still remember it that of all the nights that ever I slept in my life I never did pass a night with more epicurism of sleep; there being now and then a noise of people stirring that waked me, and then it was a very rainy night, and then I was a little weary, that what between waking and then sleeping again, one after another, I never had so much content in all my life, and so my wife says it was with her. 24th. We rose, and set forth, but found a most sad alteration in the road by reason of last night's rains, they being now all dirty and washy, though not deep. So we rode easily through, and only drinking at Holloway, at the sign of a woman with cakes in one hand and a pot of ale in the other, which did give good occasion of mirth, resembling her to the maid that served us, we got home very timely and well, and finding there all well, and letters from sea, that speak of my Lord's being well, and his action, though not considerable of any side, at Argier.--[Algiers]--I went straight to my Lady, and there sat and talked with her, and so home again, and after supper we to bed somewhat weary, hearing of nothing ill since my absence but my brother Tom, who is pretty well though again. 25th. By coach with Sir W. Pen to Covent Garden. By the way, upon my desire, he told me that I need not fear any reflection upon my Lord for their ill success at Argier, for more could not be done than was done. I went to my cozen, Thos. Pepys, there, and talked with him a good while about our country business, who is troubled at my uncle Thomas his folly, and so we parted; and then meeting Sir R. Slingsby in St. Martin's Lane, he and I in his coach through the Mewes, which is the way that now all coaches are forced to go, because of a stop at Charing Cross, by reason of a drain there to clear the streets. To Whitehall, and there to Mr. Coventry, and talked with him, and thence to my Lord Crew's and dined with him, where I was used with all imaginable kindness both from him and her. And I see that he is afraid that my Lord's reputacon will a little suffer in common talk by this late success; but there is no help for it now. The Queen of England (as she is now owned and called) I hear doth keep open Court, and distinct at Lisbon. Hence, much against my nature and will, yet such is the power of the Devil over me I could not refuse it, to the Theatre, and saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor," ill done. And that ended, with Sir W. Pen and Sir G. More to the tavern, and so home with him by coach, and after supper to prayers and to bed. In full quiet of mind as to thought, though full of business, blessed be God. 26th. At the office all the morning, so dined at home, and then abroad with my wife by coach to the Theatre to shew her "King and no King," it being very well done. And so by coach, though hard to get it, being rainy, home. So to my chamber to write letters and the journal for these six last days past. 27th. By coach to Whitehall with my wife (where she went to see Mrs. Pierce, who was this day churched, her month of childbed being out). I went to Mrs. Montagu and other businesses, and at noon met my wife at the Wardrobe; and there dined, where we found Captain Country (my little Captain that I loved, who carried me to the Sound), come with some grapes and millons [The antiquity of the cultivation of the melon is very remote. Both the melon (cucaimis melo) and the water-melon (cucumis citrullus) were introduced into England at the end of the sixteenth century. See vol. i., p. 228.] from my Lord at Lisbon, the first that ever I saw any, and my wife and I eat some, and took some home; but the grapes are rare things. Here we staid; and in the afternoon comes Mr. Edwd. Montagu (by appointment this morning) to talk with my Lady and me about the provisions fit to be bought, and sent to my Lord along with him. And told us, that we need not trouble ourselves how to buy them, for the King would pay for all, and that he would take care to get them: which put my Lady and me into a great deal of ease of mind. Here we staid and supped too, and, after my wife had put up some of the grapes in a basket for to be sent to the King, we took coach and home, where we found a hampire of millons sent to me also. 28th. At the office in the morning, dined at home, and then Sir W. Pen and his daughter and I and my wife to the Theatre, and there saw "Father's own Son," a very good play, and the first time I ever saw it, and so at night to my house, and there sat and talked and drank and merrily broke up, and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and so to dinner, and Sir W. Pen and daughter, and Mrs. Poole, his kinswoman, Captain Poole's wife, came by appointment to dinner with us, and a good dinner we had for them, and were very merry, and so to church again, and then to Sir W. Pen's and there supped, where his brother, a traveller, and one that speaks Spanish very well, and a merry man, supped with us, and what at dinner and supper I drink I know not how, of my own accord, so much wine, that I was even almost foxed, and my head aked all night; so home and to bed, without prayers, which I never did yet, since I came to the house, of a Sunday night: I being now so out of order that I durst not read prayers, for fear of being perceived by my servants in what case I was. So to bed. 30th. This morning up by moon-shine, at 5 o'clock, to White Hall, to meet Mr. Moore at the Privy Seal, but he not being come as appointed, I went into King Street to the Red Lyon' to drink my morning draft, and there I heard of a fray between the two Embassadors of Spain and France; and that, this day, being the day of the entrance of an Embassador from Sweden, they intended to fight for the precedence! Our King, I heard, ordered that no Englishman should meddle in the business, [The Comte de Brienne insinuates, in his "Memoirs," that Charles purposely abstained from interfering, in the belief that it was for his interest to let France and Spain quarrel, in order to further his own designs in the match with Portugal. Louis certainly held that opinion; and he afterwards instructed D'Estrades to solicit from the English court the punishment of those Londoners who had insulted his ambassador, and to demand the dismissal of De Batteville. Either no Londoner had interfered, or Louis's demand had not in England the same force as in Spain; for no one was punished. The latter part of his request it was clearly not for Charles to entertain, much less enforce.--B.] but let them do what they would. And to that end all the soldiers in the town were in arms all the day long, and some of the train-bands in the City; and a great bustle through the City all the day. Then I to the Privy Seal, and there Mr. Moore and a gentleman being come with him, we took coach (which was the business I come for) to Chelsy, to my Lord Privy Seal, and there got him to seal the business. Here I saw by day-light two very fine pictures in the gallery, that a little while ago I saw by night; and did also go all over the house, and found it to be the prettiest contrived house that ever I saw in my life. So to coach back again; and at White Hall light, and saw the soldiers and people running up and down the streets. So I went to the Spanish Embassador's and the French, and there saw great preparations on both sides; but the French made the most noise and vaunted most, the other made no stir almost at all; so that I was afraid the other would have had too great a conquest over them. Then to the Wardrobe, and dined there, end then abroad and in Cheapside hear that the Spanish hath got the best of it, and killed three of the French coach-horses and several men, and is gone through the City next to our King's coach; at which, it is strange to see how all the City did rejoice. And indeed we do naturally all love the Spanish, and hate the French. But I, as I am in all things curious, presently got to the water-side, and there took oars to Westminster Palace, thinking to have seen them come in thither with all the coaches, but they being come and returned, I ran after them with my boy after me through all the dirt and the streets full of people; till at last, at the Mewes, I saw the Spanish coach go, with fifty drawn swords at least to guard it, and our soldiers shouting for joy. And so I followed the coach, and then met it at York House, where the embassador lies; and there it went in with great state. So then I went to the French house, where I observe still, that there is no men in the world of a more insolent spirit where they do well, nor before they begin a matter, and more abject if they do miscarry, than these people are; for they all look like dead men, and not a word among them, but shake their heads. The truth is, the Spaniards were not only observed to fight most desperately, but also they did outwitt them; first in lining their own harness with chains of iron that they could not be cut, then in setting their coach in the most advantageous place, and to appoint men to guard every one of their horses, and others for to guard the coach, and others the coachmen. And, above all, in setting upon the French horses and killing them, for by that means the French were not able to stir. There were several men slain of the French, and one or two of the Spaniards, and one Englishman by a bullet. Which is very observable, the French were at least four to one in number, and had near 100 case of pistols among them, and the Spaniards had not one gun among them; which is for their honour for ever, and the others' disgrace. So, having been very much daubed with dirt, I got a coach, and home where I vexed my wife in telling of her this story, and pleading for the Spaniards against the French. So ends this month; myself and family in good condition of health, but my head full of my Lord's and my own and the office business; where we are now very busy about the business of sending forces to Tangier, [This place so often mentioned, was first given up to the English fleet under Lord Sandwich, by the Portuguese, January 30th, 1662; and Lord Peterborough left governor, with a garrison. The greatest pains were afterwards taken to preserve the fortress, and a fine mole was constructed at a vast expense, to improve the harbour. At length, after immense sums of money had been wasted there, the House of Commons expressed a dislike to the management of the garrison, which they suspected to be a nursery for a popish army, and seemed disinclined to maintain it any longer. The king consequently, in 1683, sent Lord Dartmouth to bring home the troops, and destroy the works; which he performed so effectually, that it would puzzle all our engineers to restore the harbour. It were idle to speculate on the benefits which might have accrued to England, by its preservation and retention; Tangier fell into the hands of the Moors, its importance having ceased, with the demolition of the mole. Many curious views of Tangier were taken by Hollar, during its occupation by the English; and his drawings are preserved in the British Museum. Some have been engraved by himself; but the impressions are of considerable rarity.--B.] and the fleet to my Lord of Sandwich, who is now at Lisbon to bring over the Queen, who do now keep a Court as Queen of England. The business of Argier hath of late troubled me, because my Lord hath not done what he went for, though he did as much as any man in the world could have done. The want of money puts all things, and above all things the Nary, out of order; and yet I do not see that the King takes care to bring in any money, but thinks of new designs to lay out money. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1661 October 1st. This morning my wife and I lay long in bed, and among other things fell into talk of musique, and desired that I would let her learn to sing, which I did consider, and promised her she should. So before I rose, word was brought me that my singing master, Mr. Goodgroome, was come to teach me and so she rose and this morning began to learn also. To the office, where busy all day. So to dinner and then to the office again till night, and then to my study at home to set matters and papers in order, which, though I can hardly bring myself to do, yet do please me much when it is done. So eat a bit of bread and cheese, and to bed. 2nd. All this morning at Pegg Kite's with my uncle Fenner, and two friends of his, appraising her goods that her mother has left; but the slut is like to prove so troublesome that I am out of heart with troubling myself in her business. After we had done we all went to a cook's shop in Bishopsgate Street and dined, and then I took them to the tavern and did give them a quart of sack, and so parted. I home and then took my wife out, and in a coach of a gentlewoman's that had been to visit my Lady Batten and was going home again our way, we went to the Theatre, but coming late, and sitting in an ill place, I never had so little pleasure in a play in my life, yet it was the first time that ever I saw it, "Victoria Corombona." Methinks a very poor play. Then at night troubled to get my wife home, it being very dark, and so we were forced to have a coach. So to supper and to bed. 3rd. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and in the afternoon Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I went to Tower Hill to meet with a man, and so back all three to my house, and there I signed a bond to Mr. Battersby, a friend of Mr. Moore's, who lends me L50, the first money that ever I borrowed upon bond for my own occasion, and so I took them to the Mitre and a Portugal millon with me; there sat and discoursed in matters of religion till night with great pleasure, and so parted, and I home, calling at Sir W. Batten's, where his son and his wife were, who had yesterday been at the play where we were, and it was good sport to hear how she talked of it with admiration like a fool. So home, and my head was not well with the wine that I drank to-day. 4th. By coach to White Hall with Sir W. Pen. So to Mr. Montagu, where his man, Mons. Eschar, makes a great com plaint against the English, that they did help the Spaniards against the French the other day; and that their Embassador do demand justice of our King, and that he do resolve to be gone for France the next week; which I, and all that I met with, are very glad of. Thence to Paternoster Row, where my Will did receive the L50 I borrowed yesterday. I to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there staid most of the afternoon very merry with the ladies. Then Captain Ferrers and I to the Theatre, and there came too late, so we staid and saw a bit of "Victoria," which pleased me worse than it did the other day. So we staid not to see it out, but went out and drank a bottle or two of China ale, and so home, where I found my wife vexed at her people for grumbling to eat Suffolk cheese, which I also am vexed at. So to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning, then dined at home, and so staid at home all the afternoon putting up my Lord's model of the Royal James, which I borrowed of him long ago to hang up in my room. And at night Sir W. Pen and I alone to the Dolphin, and there eat some bloat-herrings [To bloat is to dry by smoke, a method chiefly used to cure herrings or bloaters. "I have more smoke in my mouth than would blote a hundred herrings."--Beaumont and Fletcher, Island Princess. "Why, you stink like so many bloat-herrings newly taken out of the chimney."--Ben Jonson, "Masque of Augurs."] and drank good sack. Then came in Sir W. Warren and another and staid a while with us, and then Sir Arnold Brames, with whom we staid late and till we had drank too much wine. So home and I to bed pleased at my afternoon's work in hanging up the shipp. So to bed. 6th (Lord's day). To church in the morning; Mr. Mills preached, who, I expect, should take in snuffe [anger] that my wife not come to his child's christening the other day. The winter coming on, many of parish ladies are come home and appear at church again; among others, the three sisters the Thornbury's, a very fine, and the most zealous people that ever I saw in my life, even to admiration, if it were true zeal. There was also my pretty black girl, Mrs. Dekins, and Mrs. Margaret Pen, this day come to church in a new flowered satin suit that my wife helped to buy her the other day. So me to dinner, and to church in the afternoon to St. Gregory's, by Paul's, where I saw Mr. Moose in the gallery and went up to him and heard a good sermon of Dr. Buck's, one I never heard before, a very able man. So home, and in the evening I went to my Valentine, her father and mother being out of town, to fetch her to supper to my house, and then came Sir W. Pen and would have her to his, so with much sport I got them all to mine, and we were merry, and so broke up and to bed. 7th. Up in the morning and to my uncle Fenner's, thinking to have met Peg Kite about her business but she comes not, so I went to Dr. Williams, where I found him sick in bed and was sorry for it. So about business all day, troubled in my mind till I can hear from Brampton, how things go on at Sturtlow, at the Court, which I was cleared in at night by a letter, which tells me that my cozen Tom was there to be admitted, in his father's name, as heir-at-law, but that he was opposed, and I was admitted by proxy, which put me out of great trouble of mind. 8th. At the office all the morning. After office done, went and eat some Colchester oysters with Sir W. Batten at his house, and there, with some company; dined and staid there talking all the afternoon; and late after dinner took Mrs. Martha out by coach, and carried her to the Theatre in a frolique, to my great expense, and there shewed her part of the "Beggar's Bush," without much pleasure, but only for a frolique, and so home again. 9th. This morning went out about my affairs, among others to put my Theorbo out to be mended, and then at noon home again, thinking to go with Sir Williams both to dinner by invitation to Sir W. Rider's, but at home I found Mrs. Pierce, la belle, and Madam Clifford, with whom I was forced to stay, and made them the most welcome I could; and I was (God knows) very well pleased with their beautiful company, and after dinner took them to the Theatre, and shewed them "The Chances;" and so saw them both at home and back to the Fleece tavern, in Covent Garden, where Luellin and Blurton, and my old friend Frank Bagge, was to meet me, and there staid till late very merry. Frank Bagge tells me a story of Mrs. Pepys that lived with my Lady Harvy, Mr. Montagu's sister, a good woman; that she had been very ill, and often asked for me; that she is in good condition, and that nobody could get her to make her will; but that she did still enquire for me, and that now she is well she desires to have a chamber at my house. Now I do not know whether this is a trick of Bagge's, or a good will of hers to do something for me; but I will not trust her, but told him I should be glad to see her, and that I would be sure to do all that I could to provide a place for her. So by coach home late. 10th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and after dinner Sir W. Pen and my wife and I to the Theatre (she first going into Covent Garden to speak a word with a woman to enquire of her mother, and I in the meantime with Sir W. Pen's coach staying at W. Joyce's), where the King came to-day, and there was "The Traytor" most admirably acted; and a most excellent play it is. So home, and intended to be merry, it being my sixth wedding night; but by a late bruise . . . . I am in so much pain that I eat my supper and in pain to bed, yet my wife and I pretty merry. 11th: All day in bed with a cataplasm . . . . and at night rose a little, and to bed again in more ease than last night. This noon there came my brother and Dr. Tom and Snow to dinner, and by themselves were merry. 12th. In bed the greatest part of this day also, and my swelling in some measure gone. I received a letter this day from my father, that Sir R. Bernard do a little fear that my uncle has not observed exactly the custom of Brampton in his will about his lands there, which puts me to a great trouble in mind, and at, night wrote to him and to my father about it, being much troubled at it. 13th (Lord's day). Did not stir out all day, but rose and dined below, and this day left off half skirts and put on a wastecoate, and my false taby wastecoate with gold lace; and in the evening there came Sir W. Batten to see me, and sat and supped very kindly with me, and so to prayers and to bed. 14th. This morning I ventured by water abroad to Westminster, but lost my labour, for Mr. Montagu was not in town. So to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, which is the first time I have seen her dine abroad since her being brought to bed of my Lady Katherine. In the afternoon Captain Ferrers and I walked abroad to several places, among others to Mr. Pim's, my Lord's Taylour's, and there he went out with us to the Fountain tavern and did give us store of wine, and it being the Duke of York's birthday, we drank the more to his health. But, Lord! what a sad story he makes of his being abused by a Dr. of Physique who is in one part of the tenement wherein he dwells. It would make one laugh, though I see he is under a great trouble in it. Thence home by link and found a good answer from my father that Sir R. Bernard do clear all things as to us and our title to Brampton, which puts my heart in great ease and quiet. 15th. At the office all the morning, and in the afternoon to Paul's Churchyard to a blind place, where Mrs. Goldsborough was to meet me (who dare not be known where she lives) to treat about the difference which remains between my uncle and her. But, Lord! to hear how she talks and how she rails against my uncle would make one mad. But I seemed not to be troubled at it, but would indeed gladly have an agreement with her. So I appoint Mr. Moore and she another against Friday next to look into our papers and to see what can be done to conclude the matter. So home in much pain by walking too much yesterday . . . . which much troubles me. 16th. In bed till 12 o'clock. This morning came several maids to my wife to be hired, and at last she pitched upon one Nell, whose mother, an old woman, came along with her, but would not be hired under half a year, which I am pleased at their drollness. This day dined by appointment with me, Dr. Thos. Pepys and my Coz: Snow, and my brother Tom, upon a fin of ling and some sounds, neither of which did I ever know before, but most excellent meat they are both, that in all my life I never eat the like fish. So after dinner came in W. Joyce and eat and drank and were merry. So up to my chamber, and put all my papers, at rights, and in the evening our maid Mary. (who was with us upon trial for a month) did take leave of us, going as we suppose to be married, for the maid liked us and we her, but all she said was that she had a mind to live in a tradesman's house where there was but one maid. So to supper and to bed. 17th. At the office all the morning, at noon my wife being gone to my coz Snow's with Dr. Thomas Pepys and my brother Tom to a venison pasty (which proved a pasty of salted pork); by appointment I went with Captain David Lambert to the Exchequer, and from thence by appointment he and I were to meet at a cook's shop to dine. But before I went to him Captain. Cock, a merchant I had not long known, took me to the Sun tavern and gave me a glass of sack, and being a man of great observation and repute, did tell me that he was confident that the Parliament, when it comes the next month to sit again, would bring trouble with it, and enquire how the King had disposed of offices and money, before they will raise more; which, I fear, will bring all things to ruin again. Thence to the Cook's and there dined with Captain Lambert and his father-in-law, and had much talk of Portugall; from whence he is lately come, and he tells me it is a very poor dirty place; I mean the City and Court of Lisbon; that the King is a very rude and simple fellow; and, for reviling of somebody a little while ago, and calling of him cuckold, was run into . . . . with a sword and had been killed, had he not told them that he was their king. That there are there no glass windows, nor will they have any; which makes sport among our merchants there to talk of an English factor that, being newly come thither, writ into England that glass would be a good commodity to send thither, &c. That the King has his meat sent up by a dozen of lazy guards and in pipkins, sometimes, to his own table; and sometimes nothing but fruits, and, now and then, half a hen. And now that the Infanta is become our Queen, she is come to have a whole hen or goose to her table, which is not ordinary. So home and to look over my papers that concern the difference between Mrs. Goldsborough and us; which cost me much pains, but contented me much after it was done. So at home all the evening and to supper and to bed. 18th. To White Hall, to Mr. Montagu's, where I met with Mr. Pierce, the purser, to advise about the things to be sent to my Lord for the Queen's provision, and was cleared in it, and now there is all haste made, for the fleet's going. At noon to my Lord's to dinner, and in the afternoon, leaving my wife there, Mr. Moore and I to Mrs. Goldsborough, who sent for a friend to meet with us, and so we were talking about the difference between us till 10 at night. I find it very troublesome, and have brought it into some hopes of an agreement, I offering to forgive her L10 that is yet due according to my uncle's accounts to us. So we left her friend to advise about it, and I hope to hear of her, for I would not by any means go to law with a woman of so devilish a tongue as she has. So to my Lady's, where I left my wife to lie with Mademoiselle all night, and I by link home and to bed. This night lying alone, and the weather cold, and having this last 7 or 8 days been troubled with a tumor . . . which is now abated by a poultice of a good handful of bran with half a pint of vinegar and a pint of water boiled till it be thick, and then a spoonful of honey put to it and so spread in a cloth and laid to it, I first put on my waistcoat to lie in all night this year, and do not intend to put it off again till spring. I met with complaints at home that my wife left no victuals for them all this day. 19th. At the office all the morning, and at noon Mr. Coventry, who sat with us all the morning, and Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself,. by coach to Captain Marshe's, at Limehouse, to a house that hath been their ancestors for this 250 years, close by the lime-house which gives the name to the place. Here they have a design to get the King to hire a dock for the herring busses, which is now the great design on foot, to lie up in. We had a very good and handsome dinner, and excellent wine. I not being neat in clothes, which I find a great fault in me, could not be so merry as otherwise, and at all times I am and can be, when I am in good habitt, which makes me remember my father Osborne's' rule for a gentleman to spare in all things rather than in that. So by coach home, and so to write letters by post, and so to bed. 20th (Lord's day). At home in bed all the morning to ease my late tumour, but up to dinner and much offended in mind at a proud trick my man Will hath got, to keep his hat on in the house, but I will not speak of it to him to-day; but I fear I shall be troubled with his pride and laziness, though in other things he is good enough. To church in the afternoon, where a sleepy Presbyter preached, and then to Sir W. Batten who is to go to Portsmouth to-morrow to wait upon the Duke of York, who goes to take possession and to set in order the garrison there. Supped at home and to bed. 21st. Early with Mr. Moore by coach to Chelsy, to my Lord Privy Seal's, but have missed of coming time enough; and having taken up Mr. Pargiter, the goldsmith (who is the man of the world that I do most know and believe to be a cheating rogue), we drank our morning draft there together of cake and ale, and did make good sport of his losing so much by the King's coming in, he having bought much of Crown lands, of which, God forgive me! I am very glad. At Whitehall, at the Privy Seal, did with Sir W. Pen take advice about passing of things of his there that concern his matters of Ireland. Thence to the Wardrobe and dined, and so against my judgment and conscience (which God forgive, for my very heart knows that I offend God in breaking my vows herein) to the Opera, which is now newly begun to act again, after some alteracion of their scene, which do make it very much worse; but the play, "Love and Honour," being the first time of their acting it, is a very good plot, and well done. So on foot home, and after a little business done in my study and supper, to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, where we had a deputation from the Duke in his absence, he being gone to Portsmouth, for us to have the whole disposal and ordering of the Fleet. In the afternoon about business up and down, and at night to visit Sir R. Slingsby, who is fallen sick of this new disease, an ague and fever. So home after visiting my aunt Wight and Mrs. Norbury (who continues still a very pleasant lady), and to supper, and so to bed. 23rd. To Whitehall, and there, to drink our morning, Sir W. Pen and I to a friend's lodging of his (Col. Pr. Swell), and at noon he and I dined together alone at the Legg in King Street, and so by coach to Chelsy to my Lord Privy Seal's about business of Sir William's, in which we had a fair admittance to talk with my Lord, and had his answer, and so back to the Opera, and there I saw again "Love and Honour," and a very good play it is. And thence home, calling by the way to see Sir Robert Slingsby, who continues ill, and so home. This day all our office is invited against Tuesday next, my Lord Mayor's day, to dinner with him at Guildhall. This evening Mr. Holliard came and sat with us, and gave us both directions to observe. 24th. At the office all morning, at noon Luellin dined with me, and then abroad to Fleet Street, leaving my wife at Tom's while I went out and did a little business. So home again, and went to see Sir Robert [Slingsby], who continues ill, and this day has not spoke at all, which makes them all afeard of him. So home. 25th. To Whitehall, and so to dinner at the Wardrobe, where my wife met me, and there we met with a venison pasty, and my Lady very merry and very handsome, methought. After dinner my wife and I to the Opera, and there saw again "Love and Honour," a play so good that it has been acted but three times and I have seen them all, and all in this week; which is too much, and more than I will do again a good while. Coming out of the house we met Mrs. Pierce and her comrade Mrs. Clifford, and I seeming willing to stay with them to talk my wife grew angry, and whether she be jealous or no I know, not, but she loves not that I should speak of Mrs. Pierce. Home on foot very discontented, in my way I calling at the Instrument maker, Hunt's, and there saw my lute, which is now almost done, it being to have a new neck to it and to be made to double strings. So home and to bed. This day I did give my man Will a sound lesson about his forbearing to give us the respect due to a master and mistress. 26th. This morning Sir W. Pen and I should have gone out of town with my Lady Batten, to have met Sir William coming back from Portsmouth; at Kingston, but could not, by reason that my Lord of Peterborough (who is to go Governor of Tangier) came this morning, with Sir G. Carteret, to advise with us about completing of the affairs and preparacions for that place. So at the office all the morning, and in the afternoon Sir W. Pen, my wife and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Country Captain," the first time it hath been acted this twenty-five years, a play of my Lord Newcastle's, but so silly a play as in all my life I never saw, and the first that ever I was weary of in my life. So home again, and in the evening news was brought that Sir R. Slingsby, our Comptroller (who hath this day been sick a week), is dead; which put me into so great a trouble of mind, that all the night I could not sleep, he being a man that loved me, and had many qualitys that made me to love him above all the officers and commissioners in the Navy. Coming home we called at Dan Rawlinson's; and there drank good sack, and so home. 27th (Lord's day). At church in the morning; where in the pew both Sir Williams and I had much talk about the death of Sir Robert, which troubles me much; and them in appearance, though I do not believe it; because I know that he was a cheque to their engrossing the whole trade of the Navy office. Home to dinner, and in the afternoon to church again, my wife with me, whose mourning is now grown so old that I am ashamed to go to church with her. And after church to see my uncle and aunt Wight, and there staid and talked and supped with them, and were merry as we could be in their company. Among other things going up into their chamber to see their two pictures, which I am forced to commend against my judgment, and also she showed us her cabinet, where she had very pretty medals and good jewels. So home and to prayers and to bed. 28th. At the office all the morning, and dined at home, and so to Paul's Churchyard to Hunt's, and there found my Theorbo done, which pleases me very well, and costs me 26s. to the altering. But now he tells me it is as good a lute as any is in England, and is worth well L10. Hither I sent for Captain Ferrers to me, who comes with a friend of his, and they and I to the Theatre, and there saw "Argalus and Parthenia," where a woman acted Parthenia, and came afterwards on the stage in men's clothes, and had the best legs that ever I saw, and I was very well pleased with it. Thence to the Ringo alehouse, and thither sent for a belt-maker, and bought of him a handsome belt for second mourning, which cost me 24s., and is very neat. 29th. This day I put on my half cloth black stockings and my new coat of the fashion, which pleases me well, and with my beaver I was (after office was done) ready to go to my Lord Mayor's feast, as we are all invited; but the Sir Williams were both loth to go, because of the crowd, and so none of us went, and I staid and dined with them, and so home, and in evening, by consent, we met at the Dolphin, where other company came to us, and should have been merry, but their wine was so naught, and all other things out of order, that we were not so, but staid long at night, and so home and to bed. My mind not pleased with the spending of this day, because I had proposed a great deal of pleasure to myself this day at Guildhall. This Lord Mayor, it seems, brings up again the Custom of Lord Mayors going the day of their installment to Paul's, and walking round about the Cross, and offering something at the altar. 30th. All the morning at the office. At noon played on my Theorbo, and much pleased therewith; it is now altered with a new neck. In the afternoon Captain Lambert called me out by appointment, and we walked together to Deptford, and there in his ship, the Norwich, I got him to shew me every hole and corner of the ship, much to my information, and the purpose of my going. So home again, and at Sir W. Batten's heard how he had been already at Sir R. Slingsby's, as we were all invited, and I intended this night to go, and there he finds all things out of order, and no such thing done to-night, but pretending that the corps stinks, they will bury it to-night privately, and so will unbespeak all their guests, and there shall be no funerall, which I am sorry for, that there should be nothing done for the honour of Sir Robert, but I fear he hath left his family in great distraction. Here I staid till late at cards with my Lady and Mrs. Martha, and so home. I sent for a bottle or two of wine thither. At my coming home I am sorry to find my wife displeased with her maid Doll, whose fault is that she cannot keep her peace, but will always be talking in an angry manner, though it be without any reason and to no purpose, which I am sorry for and do see the inconvenience that do attend the increase of a man's fortune by being forced to keep more servants, which brings trouble. Sir Henry Vane, Lambert, and others, are lately sent suddenly away from the Tower, prisoners to Scilly; but I do not think there is any plot as is said, but only a pretence; as there was once pretended often against the Cavaliers. 31st. This morning comes Prior of Brampton to me about the house he has to buy of me, but I was forced to be at the office all the morning, and so could not talk with him. And so, after the office was done, and dined at home, I went to my brother Tom's, and there met him. He demanded some abatement, he having agreed with my father for Barton's house, at a price which I told him I could not meddle with, but that as for anything to secure his title to them I was ready, and so we parted. Thence to Sir Robert Bernard, and as his client did ask his advice about my uncle Thomas's case and ours as to Gravely, and in short he tells me that there is little hopes of recovering it or saving his annuity, which do trouble me much, but God's will be done. Hence, with my mind full of trouble, to my uncle Fenner's, when at the alehouse I found him drinking and very jolly and youthsome, and as one that I believe will in a little time get a wife. So home. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And so by coach, though hard to get it, being rainy, home But she loves not that I should speak of Mrs. Pierce God! what an age is this, and what a world is this In men's clothes, and had the best legs that ever I saw Inconvenience that do attend the increase of a man's fortune Man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation My head was not well with the wine that I drank to-day She is a very good companion as long as she is well So much wine, that I was even almost foxed Still in discontent with my wife, to bed, and rose so this morn This day churched, her month of childbed being out Vices of the Court, and how the pox is so common there We do naturally all love the Spanish, and hate the French 
4130	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER & DECEMBER 1661 November 1st. I went this morning with Sir W. Pen by coach to Westminster, and having done my business at Mr. Montagu's, I went back to him at Whitehall, and from thence with him to the 3 Tun Tavern, at Charing Cross, and there sent for up the maister of the house's dinner, and dined very well upon it, and afterwards had him and his fayre sister (who is very great with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen in mirth) up to us, and looked over some medals that they shewed us of theirs; and so went away to the Theatre, to "The Joviall Crew," and from hence home, and at my house we were very merry till late, having sent for his son, Mr. William Pen, [The celebrated Quaker, and founder of Pennsylvania.] lately come from Oxford. And after supper parted, and to bed. 2d. At the office all the morning; where Sir John Minnes, our new comptroller, was fetched by Sir Wm. Pen and myself from Sir Wm. Batten's, and led to his place in the office. The first time that he had come hither, and he seems a good fair condition man, and one that I am glad hath the office. After the office done, I to the Wardrobe, and there dined, and in the afternoon had an hour or two's talk with my Lady with great pleasure. And so with the two young ladies by coach to my house, and gave them some entertainment, and so late at night sent them home with Captain Ferrers by coach. This night my boy Wayneman, as I was in my chamber, I overheard him let off some gunpowder; and hearing my wife chide him below for it, and a noise made, I call him up, and find that it was powder that he had put in his pocket, and a match carelessly with it, thinking that it was out, and so the match did give fire to the powder, and had burnt his side and his hand that he put into his pocket to put out the fire. But upon examination, and finding him in a lie about the time and place that he bought it, I did extremely beat him, and though it did trouble me to do it, yet I thought it necessary to do it. So to write by the post, and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). This day I stirred not out, but took physique, and it did work very well, and all the day as I was at leisure I did read in Fuller's Holy Warr, which I have of late bought, and did try to make a song in the praise of a liberall genius (as I take my own to be) to all studies and pleasures, but it not proving to my mind I did reject it and so proceeded not in it. At night my wife and I had a good supper by ourselves of a pullet hashed, which pleased me much to see my condition come to allow ourselves a dish like that, and so at night to bed. 4th. In the morning, being very rainy, by coach with Sir W. Pen and my wife to Whitehall, and sent her to Mrs. Bunt's, and he and I to Mr. Coventry's about business, and so sent for her again, and all three home again, only I to the Mitre (Mr. Rawlinson's), where Mr. Pierce, the Purser, had got us a most brave chine of beef, and a dish of marrowbones. Our company my uncle Wight, Captain Lambert, one Captain Davies, and purser Barter, Mr. Rawlinson, and ourselves; and very merry. After dinner I took coach, and called my wife at my brother's, where I left her, and to the Opera, where we saw "The Bondman," which of old we both did so doat on, and do still; though to both our thinking not so well acted here (having too great expectations), as formerly at Salisbury-court. But for Betterton he is called by us both the best actor in the world. So home by coach, I lighting by the way at my uncle Wight's and staid there a little, and so home after my wife, and to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning. At noon comes my brother Tom and Mr. Armiger to dine with me, and did, and we were very merry. After dinner, I having drunk a great deal of wine, I went away, seeming to go about business with Sir W. Pen, to my Lady Batten's (Sir William being at Chatham), and there sat a good while, and then went away (before I went I called at home to see whether they were gone, and found them there, and Armiger inviting my wife to go to a play, and like a fool would be courting her, but he is an ass, and lays out money with Tom, otherwise I should not think him worth half this respect I shew him). To the Dolphin, where he and I and Captain Cocke sat late and drank much, seeing the boys in the streets flying their crackers, this day being kept all the day very strictly in the City. At last broke up, and called at my Lady Batten's again and would have gone to cards, but Sir W. Pen was so fuddled that we could not try him to play, and therefore we parted, and I home and to bed. 6th. Going forth this morning I met Mr. Davenport and a friend of his, one Mr. Furbisher, to drink their morning draft with me, and I did give it them in good wine, and anchovies, and pickled oysters, and took them to the Sun in Fish Street, there did give them a barrel of good ones, and a great deal of wine, and sent for Mr. W. Bernard (Sir Robert's son), a grocer thereabouts, and were very merry, and cost me a good deal of money, and at noon left them, and with my head full of wine, and being invited by a note from Luellin, that came to my hands this morning in bed, I went to Nick Osborne's at the Victualling Office, and there saw his wife, who he has lately married, a good sober woman, and new come to their home. We had a good dish or two of marrowbones and another of neats' tongues to dinner, and that being done I bade them adieu and hastened to Whitehall (calling Mr. Moore by the way) to my Lord Privy Seal, who will at last force the clerks to bring in a table of their fees, which they have so long denied, but I do not join with them, and so he is very respectful to me. So he desires me to bring in one which I observe in making of fees, which I will speedily do. So back again, and endeavoured to speak with Tom Trice (who I fear is hatching some mischief), but could not, which vexed me, and so I went home and sat late with pleasure at my lute, and so to bed. 7th. This morning came one Mr. Hill (sent by Mr. Hunt, the Instrument maker), to teach me to play on the Theorbo, but I do not like his play nor singing, and so I found a way to put him off. So to the office. And then to dinner, and got Mr. Pett the Commissioner to dinner with me, he and I alone, my wife not being well, and so after dinner parted. And I to Tom Trice, who in short shewed me a writt he had ready for my father, and I promised to answer it. So I went to Dr. Williams (who is now pretty well got up after his sickness), and after that to Mr. Moore to advise, and so returned home late on foot, with my mind cleared, though not satisfied. I met with letters at home from my Lord from Lisbone, which speak of his being well; and he tells me he had seen at the court there the day before he wrote this letter, the Juego de Toro.--[A bull fight. See May 24th, 1662.--B:]--So fitted myself for bed. Coming home I called at my uncle Fenner's, who tells that Peg Kite now hath declared she will have the beggarly rogue the weaver, and so we are resolved neither to meddle nor make with her. 8th. This morning up early, and to my Lord Chancellor's with a letter to him from my Lord, and did speak with him; and he did ask me whether I was son to Mr. Talbot Pepys or no (with whom he was once acquainted in the Court of Requests), and spoke to me with great respect. Thence to Westminster Hall (it being Term time) and there met with Commissioner Pett, and so at noon he and I by appointment to the Sun in New Fish Street, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and we all were to dine, at an invitation of Captain Stoaks and Captain Clerk, and were very merry, and by discourse I found Sir J. Minnes a fine gentleman and a very good scholler. After dinner to the Wardrobe, and thence to Dr. Williams, who went with me (the first time that he has been abroad a great while) to the Six Clerks Office to find me a clerk there able to advise me in my business with Tom Trice, and after I had heard them talk, and had given me some comfort, I went to my brother Tom's, and took him with me to my coz. Turner at the Temple, and had his opinion that I should not pay more than the principal L200, with which I was much pleased, and so home. 9th. At the office all the morning. At noon Mr. Davenport, Phillips, and Mr. Wm. Bernard and Furbisher, came by appointment and dined with me, and we were very merry. After dinner I to the Wardrobe, and there staid talking with my Lady all the afternoon till late at night. Among other things my Lady did mightily urge me to lay out money upon my wife, which I perceived was a little more earnest than ordinary, and so I seemed to be pleased with it, and do resolve to bestow a lace upon her, and what with this and other talk, we were exceeding merry. So home at night. 10th (Lord's day). At our own church in the morning, where Mr. Mills preached. Thence alone to the Wardrobe to dinner with my Lady, where my Lady continues upon yesterday's discourse still for me to lay out money upon my wife, which I think it is best for me to do for her honour and my own. Last night died Archibald, my Lady's butler and Mrs. Sarah's brother, of a dropsy, which I am troubled at. In the afternoon went and sat with Mr. Turner in his pew at St. Gregory's, where I hear our Queen Katherine, the first time by name as such, publickly prayed for, and heard Dr. Buck upon "Woe unto thee, Corazin," &c., where he started a difficulty, which he left to another time to answer, about why God should give means of grace to those people which he knew would not receive them, and deny to others which he himself confesses, if they had had them, would have received them, and they would have been effectual too. I would I could hear him explain this, when he do come to it. Thence home to my wife, and took her to my Aunt Wight's, and there sat a while with her (my uncle being at Katharine hill), and so home, and I to Sir W. Batten's, where Captain Cock was, and we sent for two bottles of Canary to the Rose, which did do me a great deal of hurt, and did trouble me all night, and, indeed, came home so out of order that I was loth to say prayers to-night as I am used ever to do on Sundays, which my wife took notice of and people of the house, which I was sorry for. 11th. To the Wardrobe, and with Mr. Townsend and Moore to the Saracen's Head to a barrel of oysters, and so Mr. Moore and I to Tom Trice's, with whom I did first set my hand to answer to a writt of his this tearm. Thence to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there by appointment met my wife, who had by my direction brought some laces for my Lady to choose one for her. And after dinner I went away, and left my wife and ladies together, and all their work was about this lace of hers. Captain Ferrers and I went together, and he carried me the first time that ever I saw any gaming house, to one, entering into Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, at the end of Bell Yard, where strange the folly of men to lay and lose so much money, and very glad I was to see the manner of a gamester's life, which I see is very miserable, and poor, and unmanly. And thence he took me to a dancing school in Fleet Street, where we saw a company of pretty girls dance, but I do not in myself like to have young girls exposed to so much vanity. So to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady had agreed upon a lace for my wife of L6, which I seemed much glad of that it was no more, though in my mind I think it too much, and I pray God keep me so to order myself and my wife's expenses that no inconvenience in purse or honour follow this my prodigality. So by coach home. 12th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home alone. So abroad with Sir W. Pen. My wife and I to "Bartholomew Fayre," with puppets which I had seen once before, and Ate play without puppets often, but though I love the play as much as ever I did, yet I do not like the puppets at all, but think it to be a lessening to it. Thence to the Greyhound in Fleet Street, and there drank some raspberry sack and eat some sasages, and so home very merry. This day Holmes come to town; and we do expect hourly to hear what usage he hath from the Duke and the King about this late business of letting the Swedish Embassador go by him without striking his flag. [And that, too, in the river Thames itself. The right of obliging ships of all nations to lower topsails, and strike their flag to the English, whilst in the British seas, and even on the French coasts, had, up to this time, been rigidly enforced. When Sully was sent by Henry IV., in 1603, to congratulate James I. on his accession, and in a ship commanded by a vice-admiral of France, he was fired upon by the English Admiral Mansel, for daring to hoist the flag of France in the presence of that of England, although within sight of Calais. The French flag was lowered, and all Sully's remonstrances could obtain no redress for the alleged injury. According to Rugge, Holmes had insisted upon the Swede's lowering his flag, and had even fired a shot to enforce the observance of the usual tribute of respect, but the ambassador sent his secretary and another gentleman on board the English frigate, to assure the captain, upon the word and honour of an ambassador, that the king, by a verbal order, had given him leave and a dispensation in that particular, and upon this false representation he was allowed to proceed on his voyage without further question. This want of caution, and disobedience of orders, fell heavily on Holmes, who was imprisoned for two months, and not re-appointed to the same ship. Brahe afterwards made a proper submission for the fault he had committed, at his own court. His conduct reminds us of Sir Henry Wotton's definition of an ambassador--that he is an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country. A pun upon the term lieger--ambassador.--B.] 13th. By appointment, we all went this morning to wait upon the Duke of York, which we did in his chamber, as he was dressing himself in his riding suit to go this day by sea to the Downs. He is in mourning for his wife's grandmother, which is thought a great piece of fondness. [Fondness, foolishness. "Fondness it were for any, being free, To covet fetters, tho' they golden be." Spenser, Sonnet 37,--M. B.] After we had given him our letter relating the bad condition of the Navy for want of money, he referred it to his coming back and so parted, and I to Whitehall and to see la belle Pierce, and so on foot to my Lord Crew's, where I found him come to his new house, which is next to that he lived in last; here I was well received by my Lord and Sir Thomas, with whom I had great talk: and he tells me in good earnest that he do believe the Parliament (which comes to sit again the next week), will be troublesome to the Court and Clergy, which God forbid! But they see things carried so by my Lord Chancellor and some others, that get money themselves, that they will not endure it. From thence to the Theatre, and there saw "Father's own Son" again, and so it raining very hard I went home by coach, with my mind very heavy for this my expensefull life, which will undo me, I fear, after all my hopes, if I do not take up, for now I am coming to lay out a great deal of money in clothes for my wife, I must forbear other expenses. To bed, and this night began to lie in the little green chamber, where the maids lie, but we could not a great while get Nell to lie there, because I lie there and my wife, but at last, when she saw she must lie there or sit up, she, with much ado, came to bed. 4th. At the office all the morning. At noon I went by appointment to the Sun in Fish Street to a dinner of young Mr. Bernard's for myself, Mr. Phillips, Davenport, Weaver, &c., where we had a most excellent dinner, but a pie of such pleasant variety of good things, as in all my life I never tasted. Hither came to me Captain Lambert to take his leave of me, he being this day to set sail for the Straights. We drank his farewell and a health to all our friends, and were very merry, and drank wine enough. Hence to the Temple to Mr. Turner about drawing up my bill in Chancery against T. Trice, and so to Salisbury Court, where Mrs. Turner is come to town to-night, but very ill still of an ague, which I was sorry to see. So to the Wardrobe and talked with my Lady, and so home and to bed. 15th. At home all the morning, and at noon with my wife to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there, did shew herself to my Lady in the handkercher that she bought the lace for the other day, and indeed it is very handsome. Here I left my wife and went to my Lord Privy Seal to Whitehall, and there did give him a copy of the Fees of the office as I have received them, and he was well pleased with it. So to the Opera, where I met my wife and Captain Ferrers and Madamoiselle Le Blanc, and there did see the second part of "The Siege of Rhodes" very well done; and so by coach set her home, and the coach driving down the hill through Thames Street, which I think never any coach did before from that place to the bridge-foot, but going up Fish Street Hill his horses were so tired, that they could not be got to go up the hill, though all the street boys and men did beat and whip them. At last I was fain to send my boy for a link, and so light out of the coach till we got to another at the corner of Fenchurch Street, and so home, and to bed. 16th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, and so about my business in the afternoon to the Temple, where I found my Chancery bill drawn against T. Trice, which I read and like it, and so home. 17th (Lord's day). To our own church, and at noon, by invitation, Sir W. Pen dined with me, and I took Mrs. Hester, my Lady Batten's kinswoman, to dinner from church with me, and we were very merry. So to church again, and heard a simple fellow upon the praise of Church musique, and exclaiming against men's wearing their hats on in the church, but I slept part of the sermon, till latter prayer and blessing and all was done without waking which I never did in my life. So home, and by and by comes my uncle Wight and my aunt and Mr. Norbury and his lady, and we drank hard and were very merry till supper time, and then we parted, my wife and I being invited to Sir W. Pen's, where we also were very merry, and so home to prayers and to bed. 18th. By coach with Sir W. Pen; my wife and I toward Westminster, but seeing Mr. Moore in the street I light and he and I went to Mr. Battersby's the minister, in my way I putting in at St. Paul's, where I saw the quiristers in their surplices going to prayers, and a few idle poor people and boys to hear them, which is the first time I have seen them, and am sorry to see things done so out of order, and there I received L50 more, which make up L100 that I now have borrowed of him, and so I did burn the old bond for L50, and paying him the use of it did make a new bond for the whole L100. Here I dined and had a good dinner, and his wife a good pretty woman. There was a young Parson at the table that had got himself drunk before dinner, which troubled me to see. After dinner to Mr. Bowers at Westminster for my wife, and brought her to the Theatre to see "Philaster," which I never saw before, but I found it far short of my expectations. So by coach home. 19th. At the office all the morning, and coming home found Mr. Hunt with my wife in the chamber alone, which God forgive me did trouble my head, but remembering that it was washing and that there was no place else with a fire for him to be in, it being also cold weather, I was at ease again. He dined with us, and after dinner took coach and carried him with us as far as my cozen Scott's, where we set him down and parted, and my wife and I staid there at the christening of my cozens boy, where my cozen Samuel Pepys, of Ireland, and I were godfathers, and I did name the child Samuel. There was a company of pretty women there in the chamber, but we staid not, but went with the minister into another room and eat and drank, and at last, when most of the women were gone, Sam and I went into my cozen Scott, who was got off her bed, and so we staid and talked and were very merry, my she-cozen, Stradwick, being godmother. And then I left my wife to go home by coach, and I walked to the Temple about my law business, and there received a subpoena for T. Trice. I carried it myself to him at the usual house at Doctors Commons and did give it him, and so home and to bed. It cost me 20s, between the midwife and the two nurses to-day. 20th. To Westminster Hall by water in the morning, where I saw the King going in his barge to the Parliament House; this being the first day of their meeting again. And the Bishops, I hear, do take their places in the Lords House this day. I walked long in the Hall, but hear nothing of news, but what Ned Pickering tells me, which I am troubled at, that Sir J. Minnes should send word to the King, that if he did not remove all my Lord Sandwich's captains out of this fleet, he believed the King would not be master of the fleet at its coming again: and so do endeavour to bring disgrace upon my Lord. But I hope all that will not do, for the King loves him. Hence by water to the Wardrobe, and dined with my Lady, my Lady Wright being there too, whom I find to be a witty but very conceited woman and proud. And after dinner Mr. Moore and I to the Temple, and there he read my bill and likes it well enough, and so we came back again, he with me as far as the lower end of Cheapside, and there I gave him a pint of sack and parted, and I home, and went seriously to look over my papers touching T. Trice, and I think I have found some that will go near to do me more good in this difference of ours than all I have before. So to bed with my mind cheery upon it, and lay long reading "Hobbs his Liberty and Necessity," and a little but very shrewd piece, and so to sleep. 21st. In the morning again at looking over my last night's papers, and by and by comes Mr. Moore, who finds that my papers may do me much good. He staid and dined with me, and we had a good surloyne of rost beefe, the first that ever I had of my own buying since I kept house; and after dinner he and I to the Temple, and there showed Mr. Smallwood my papers, who likes them well, and so I left them with him, and went with Mr. Moore to Gray's Inn to his chamber, and there he shewed me his old Camden's "Britannica", which I intend to buy of him, and so took it away with me, and left it at St. Paul's Churchyard to be bound, and so home and to the office all the afternoon; it being the first afternoon that we have sat, which we are now to do always, so long as the Parliament sits, who this day have voted the King L 120,000 [A mistake. According to the journals, L1,200,000. And see Diary, February 29th, 1663-64.--M. B.] to be raised to pay his debts. And after the office with Sir W. Batten to the Dolphin, and drank and left him there, and I again to the Temple about my business, and so on foot home again and to bed. 22nd. Within all the morning, and at noon with my wife, by appointment to dinner at the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten, and his lady and daughter Matt, and Captain Cocke and his lady, a German lady, but a very great beauty, and we dined together, at the spending of some wagers won and lost between him and I; and there we had the best musique and very good songs, and were very merry and danced, but I was most of all taken with Madam Cocke and her little boy, which in mirth his father had given to me. But after all our mirth comes a reckoning of L4, besides 40s. to the musicians, which did trouble us, but it must be paid, and so I took leave and left them there about eight at night. And on foot went to the Temple, and then took my cozen Turner's man Roger, and went by his advice to Serjeant Fountaine and told him our case, who gives me good comfort in it, and I gave him 30s. fee. So home again and to bed. This day a good pretty maid was sent my wife by Mary Bowyer, whom my wife has hired. 23rd. To Westminster with my wife (she to her father's), and about 10 o'clock back again home, and there I to the office a little, and thence by coach with Commissioner Pett to Cheapside to one Savill, a painter, who I intend shall do my picture and my wife's. Thence I to dinner at the Wardrobe, and so home to the office, and there all the afternoon till night, and then both Sir Williams to my house, and in comes Captain Cock, and they to cards. By and by Sir W. Batten and Cock, after drinking a good deal of wine, went away, and Sir W. Pen staid with my wife and I to supper, very pleasant, and so good night. This day I have a chine of beef sent home, which I bespoke to send, and did send it as a present to my uncle Wight. 24th (Lord's day). Up early, and by appointment to St. Clement Danes to church, and there to meet Captain Cocke, who had often commended Mr. Alsopp, their minister, to me, who is indeed an able man, but as all things else did not come up to my expectations. His text was that all good and perfect gifts are from above. Thence Cocke and I to the Sun tavern behind the Exchange, and there met with others that are come from the same church, and staid and drank and talked with them a little, and so broke up, and I to the Wardrobe and there dined, and staid all the afternoon with my Lady alone talking, and thence to see Madame Turner, who, poor lady, continues very ill, and I begin to be afraid of her. Thence homewards, and meeting Mr. Yong, the upholster, he and I to the Mitre, and with Mr. Rawlinson sat and drank a quart of sack, and so I to Sir W. Batten's and there staid and supped, and so home, where I found an invitation sent my wife and I to my uncle Wight's on Tuesday next to the chine of beef which I presented them with yesterday. So to prayers and to bed. 25th. To Westminster Hall in the morning with Captain Lambert, and there he did at the Dog give me and some other friends of his, his foy, he being to set sail to-day towards the Streights. Here we had oysters and good wine. Having this morning met in the Hall with Mr. Sanchy, we appointed to meet at the play this afternoon. At noon, at the rising of the House, I met with Sir W. Pen and Major General Massy, [Major-General Edward Massey (or Massie), son of John Massie, was captain of one of the foot companies of the Irish Expedition, and had Oliver Cromwell as his ensign (see Peacock's "Army Lists in 1642," p. 65). He was Governor of Gloucester in its obstinate defence against the royal forces, 1643; dismissed by the self- denying ordinance when he entered Charles II's service. He was taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester, September 3rd, 1651, but escaped abroad.] who I find by discourse to be a very ingenious man, and among other things a great master in the secresys of powder and fireworks, and another knight to dinner, at the Swan, in the Palace yard, and our meat brought from the Legg; and after dinner Sir W. Pen and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Country Captain," a dull play, and that being done, I left him with his Torys [This is a strange use of the word Tory, and an early one also. The word originally meant bogtrotters or wild Irish, and as Penn was Governor of Kildare these may have been some of his Irish followers. The term was not used politically until about 1679.] and went to the Opera, and saw the last act of "The Bondman," and there found Mr. Sanchy and Mrs. Mary Archer, sister to the fair Betty, whom I did admire at Cambridge, and thence took them to the Fleece in Covent Garden, there to bid good night to Sir W. Pen who staid for me; but Mr. Sanchy could not by any argument get his lady to trust herself with him into the tavern, which he was much troubled at, and so we returned immediately into the city by coach, and at the Mitre in Cheapside there light and drank, and then yet her at her uncle's in the Old Jewry. And so he and I back again thither, and drank till past 12 at night, till I had drank something too much. He all the while telling me his intention to get a girl who is worth L1000, and many times we had her sister Betty's health, whose memory I love. At last parted, and I well home, only had got cold and was hoarse and so to bed. 27th. This morning our maid Dorothy and my wife parted, which though she be a wench for her tongue not to be borne with, yet I was loth to part with her, but I took my leave kindly of her and went out to Savill's, the painter, and there sat the first time for my face with him; thence to dinner with my Lady; and so after an hour or two's talk in divinity with my Lady, Captain Ferrers and Mr. Moore and I to the Theatre, and there saw "Hamlett" very well done, and so I home, and found that my wife had been with my aunt Wight and Ferrers to wait on my Lady to-day this afternoon, and there danced and were very merry, and my Lady very fond as she is always of my wife. So to bed. 28th. At home all the morning; at noon Will brought me from Whitehall, whither I had sent him, some letters from my Lord Sandwich, from Tangier; where he continues still, and hath done some execution upon the Turks, and retaken an Englishman from them, of one Mr. Parker's, a merchant in Marke-lane. In the afternoon Mr. Pett and I met at the office; there being none more there than we two I saw there was not the reverence due to us observed, and so I took occasion to break up and took Mr. Gawdon along with me, and he and I (though it rained) were resolved to go, he to my Lord Treasurer's and I to the Chancellor's with a letter from my Lord to-day. So to a tavern at the end of Mark Lane, and there we staid till with much ado we got a coach, and so to my Lord Treasurer's and lost our labours, then to the Chancellor's, and there met with Mr. Dugdale, and with him and one Mr. Simons, I think that belongs to my Lord Hatton, and Mr. Kipps and others, to the Fountain tavern, and there staid till twelve at night drinking and singing, Mr. Simons and one Mr. Agar singing very well. Then Mr. Gawdon being almost drunk had the wit to be gone, and so I took leave too, and it being a fine moonshine night he and I footed it all the way home, but though he was drunk he went such a pace as I did admire how he was able to go. When I came home I found our new maid Sarah--[Sarah did not stay long with Mrs. Pepys, who was continually falling out with her. She left to enter Sir William Penn's service.]--come, who is a tall and a very well favoured wench, and one that I think will please us. So to bed. 29th. I lay long in bed, till Sir Williams both sent me word that we were to wait upon the Duke of York to-day; and that they would have me to meet them at Westminster Hall, at noon: so I rose and went thither; and there I understand that they are gone to Mr. Coventry's lodgings, in the Old Palace Yard, to dinner (the first time I knew he had any); and there I met them two and Sir G. Carteret, and had a very fine dinner, and good welcome, and discourse; and so, by water, after dinner to White Hall to the Duke, who met us in his closet; and there he did discourse to us the business of Holmes, and did desire of us to know what hath been the common practice about making of forrayne ships to strike sail to us, which they did all do as much as they could; but I could say nothing to it, which I was sorry for. So indeed I was forced to study a lie, and so after we were gone from the Duke, I told Mr. Coventry that I had heard Mr. Selden often say, that he could prove that in Henry the 7th's time, he did give commission to his captains to make the King of Denmark's ships to strike to him in the Baltique. From thence Sir W. Pen and I to the Theatre, but it was so full that we could hardly get any room, so he went up to one of the boxes, and I into the 18d. places, and there saw "Love at first sight," a play of Mr. Killigrew's, and the first time that it hath been acted since before the troubles, and great expectation there was, but I found the play to be a poor thing, and so I perceive every body else do. So home, calling at Paul's Churchyard for a "Mare Clausum," having it in my mind to write a little matter, what I can gather, about the business of striking sayle, and present it to the Duke, which I now think will be a good way to make myself known. So home and to bed. 30th. In the morning to the Temple, Mr. Philips and Dr. Williams about my several law matters, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and after dinner stole away, my Lady not dining out of her chamber, and so home and then to the office all the afternoon, and that being done Sir W. Batten and I and Captain Cock got a bottle of sack into the office, and there we sat late and drank and talked, and so home and to bed. I am this day in very good health, only got a little cold. The Parliament has sat a pretty while. The old condemned judges of the late King have been brought before the Parliament, and like to be hanged. I am deep in Chancery against Tom Trice, God give a good issue; and myself under great trouble for my late great expending of money vainly, which God stop for the future. This is the last day for the old State's coyne [In a speech of Lord Lucas in the House of Lords, the 22nd February, 1670-1 (which speech was burnt by the common hangman), he thus adverted to that coin: "It is evident that there is scarcity of money; for all the parliament's money called breeches (a fit stamp for the coin of the Rump) is wholly vanished--the king's proclamation and the Dutch have swept it all away, and of his now majesty's coin there appears but very little; so that in effect we have none left for common use, but a little old lean coined money of the late three former princes. And what supply is preparing for it, my lords? I hear of none, unless it be of copper farthings, and this is the metal that is to vindicate, according to the inscription on it, the dominion of the four seas."--Quoted in Penn's "Memorials of Sir Wm. Penn," ii. 264.] to pass in common payments, but they say it is to pass in publique payments to the King three months still. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1661 December 1st (Lord's day). In the morning at church and heard Mr. Mills. At home dined and with me by appointment Mr. Sanchy, who should have brought his mistress, Mrs. Mary Archer, of Cambridge, but she could not come, but we had a good dinner for him. And so in the afternoon my wife went to church, and he and I stayed at home and drank and talked, and he stayed with me till night and supped with me, when I expected to have seen Jack Cole and Lem. Wagstaffe, but they did not come. We this day cut a brave collar of brawn from Winchcombe which proves very good, and also opened the glass of girkins which Captain Cocke did give my wife the other day, which are rare things. So at night to bed. There hath lately been great clapping up of some old statesmen, such as Ireton, Moyer, and others, and they say, upon a great plot, but I believe no such thing; but it is but justice that they should be served as they served the poor Cavaliers; and I believe it will oftentimes be so as long as I live, whether there be cause or no. This evening my brother Tom was with me, and I did talk again to him about Mr. Townsend's daughter, and I do intend to put the business in hand. I pray God give a good end to it. 2nd. To Savill the painter's, but he not being well I could do nothing there, and so I returned home, and in my way met Mr. Moore and took him with me home; where we staid and talked all the morning, and he dined with me, and after dinner went away to the Privy Seal, this being our first day this month. By and by called on by Mr. Sanchy and his mistress, and with them by coach to the Opera, to see "The Mad Lover," but not much pleased with the play. That done home all to my house, where they staid and supped and were merry, and at last late bid good night and so we to bed. 3rd. To the Paynter's and sat and had more of my picture done; but it do not please me, for I fear it will not be like me. At noon from thence to the Wardrobe, where dinner not being ready Mr. Moore and I to the Temple about my little business at Mr. Turner's, and so back again, and dinner being half done I went in to my Lady, where my Lady Wright was at dinner with her, and all our talk about the great happiness that my Lady Wright says there is in being in the fashion and in variety of fashions, in scorn of others that are not so, as citizens' wives and country gentlewomen, which though it did displease me enough, yet I said nothing to it. Thence by water to the office through bridge, being carried by him in oars that the other day rowed in a scull faster than my oars to the Towre, and I did give him 6d. At the office all the afternoon, and at night home to read in "Mare Clausum" till bedtime, and so to bed, but had a very bad night by dreams of my wife's riding with me and her horse throwing her and breaking her leg, and then I dreamed that I . . [was] in such pain that I waked with it, and had a great deal of pain there a very great while till I fell asleep again, and such apprehension I had of it that when I rose and trussed up myself thinking that it had been no dream. Till in the daytime I found myself very well at ease, and remembered that I did dream so, and that Mr. Creed was with me, and that I did complain to him of it, and he said he had the same pain in his left that I had in my right . . . which pleased me much to remember. 4th. To Whitehall with both Sir Williams, thence by water, where I saw a man lie dead upon Westminster Stairs that had been drowned yesterday. To the Temple, and thence to Mr. Phillips and got my copy of Sturtlow lands. So back to the 3 Tuns at Charing Cross, and there met the two Sir Williams and Col. Treswell and Mr. Falconer, and dined there at Sir W. Pen's cost, and after dinner by water to Cheapside to the painter's, and there found my wife, and having sat a little she and I by coach to the Opera and Theatre, but coming too late to both, and myself being a little out of tune we returned, and I settled to read in "Mare Clausum "till bedtime, and so to bed. 5th. This morning I went early to the Paynter's and there sat for my picture the fourth time, but it do not yet please me, which do much trouble me. Thence to the Treasury Office, where I found Sir W. Batten come before me, and there we sat to pay off the St. George. By and by came Sir W. Pen, and he and I staid while Sir W. Batten went home to dinner, and then he came again, and Sir W. Pen and I went and dined at my house, and had two mince pies sent thither by our order from the messenger Slater, that had dressed some victuals for us, and so we were very merry, and after dinner rode out in his coach, he to Whitehall, and my wife and I to the Opera, and saw "Hamlett" well performed. Thence to the Temple and Mrs. Turner's (who continues still very ill), and so home and to bed. 6th. Lay long in bed, and then to Westminster Hall and there walked, and then with Mr. Spicer, Hawly, Washington, and little Mr. Ashwell (my old friends at the Exchequer) to the Dog, and gave them two or three quarts of wine, and so away to White Hall, where, at Sir G. Carteret's, Sir Williams both and I dined very pleasantly; and after dinner, by appointment, came the Governors of the East India Company, to sign and seal the contract between us [Charles II.'s charter to the Company, confirming and extending the former charter, is dated April 3rd, 1661. Bombay, just acquired as part of Queen Katherine's dowry, was made over to the Company by Letters Patent dated March 27th, 1669.] (in the King's name) and them. And that done, we all went to the King's closet, and there spoke with the King and the Duke of York, who promise to be very careful of the India trade to the utmost. So back to Sir G. Carteret's and ended our business, and so away homewards, but Sir W. Batten offering to go to the 3 Tuns at Charing Cross, where the pretty maid the daughter of the house is; I was saying that, that tickled Sir W. Pen, he seemed to take these words very captiously and angrily, which I saw, and seemed indifferent to go home in his coach with them, and so took leave to go to the Council Chamber to speak with my Lord Privy Seal, which I did, but they did stay for me, which I was pleased at, but no words passed between him and me in all our way home. So home and to bed. 7th. This morning comes Captain Ferrers and the German, Emanuel Luffe, who goes as one of my Lord's footmen, though he deserves a much better preferment, to take their leave of me, and here I got the German to play upon my theorbo, which he did both below and in my wife's chamber, who was in bed. He plays bravely. I find by him that my lute is a most excellent lute. I did give them a mince pie and a collar of brawn and some wine for their breakfast, and were very merry, and sent for Mr. Adamson's neighbour to drink Mr. Shepley's health. At last we all parted, but within a quarter of an hour after they were gone, and my wife and I were talking about buying of a fine scallop which is brought her this morning by a woman to be sold, which is to cost her 45s., in comes the German back again, all in a goare of blood, which I wondered at, and tells me that he is afeard that the Captain is killed by the watermen at Towre Stayres; so I presently went thither, and found that upon some rude pressing of the watermen to ply the Captain, he struck one of them with his cane, which they would not take, but struck him again, and then the German drew his sword and ran at one of them, but they were both soundly beaten. [See a similar outrage, committed by Captain Ferrers, September 12th, 1662. Swords were usually worn by footmen. See May 4th, 1662, host.--B.] The Captain is, however, got to the boy that carries him and the pages to the Downs, and I went into the alehouse at the Stayres and got them to deliver the Captain's feathers, which one from the Captain was come to demand, and went home again, and there found my wife dressing of the German's head, and so did [give] him a cravett for his neck, and a crown in his purse, and sent him away again. Then came Mr. Moore, and he and I to Westminster and to Worcester House to see Mr. Montagu before he goes away (this night), but could not see him, nor do I think he has a mind to see us for fear of our demanding of money of him for anything. So back to Whitehall, and eat a bit of meat at Wilkinson's, and then to the Privy Seal, and sealed there the first time this month; and, among other things that passed, there was a patent for Roger Palmer (Madam Palmer's husband) to be Earl of Castlemaine and Baron of Limbricke in Ireland; but the honour is tied up to the males got of the body of this wife, the Lady Barbary: the reason whereof every body knows. That done, by water to the office, when I found Sir W. Pen had been alone all the night and was just rose, and so I to him, and with him I found Captain Holmes, who had wrote his case, and gives me a copy, as he hath many among his friends, and presented the same to the King and Council. Which I shall make use of in my attempt of writing something concerning the business of striking sail, which I am now about. But he do cry out against Sir John Minnes, as the veriest knave and rogue and coward in the world, which I was glad to hear, because he has given out bad words concerning my Lord, though I am sorry it is so. Here Captain Cox then came in, and he and I staid a good while and so good night. Home and wrote by the post to my father, and so to bed. 8th (Lord's day). In bed all the morning thinking to take physique, but it being a frost my wife would not have me. So to dinner at the Wardrobe, and after a great deal of good discourse with my Lady after dinner, and among other things of the great christening yesterday at Mr. Rumbell's, and courtiers and pomp that was there, which I wonder at, I went away up and down into all the churches almost between that place and my house, and so home. And then came my brother Tom, and staid and talked with me, and I hope he will do very well and get money. So to supper and to bed. This morning as I was in bed, one brings me T. Trice's answer to my bill in chancery from Mr. Smallwood, which I am glad to see, though I am afraid it will do me hurt. 9th. To Whitehall, and thence to the Rhenish wine-house, where I met Mons. Eschar and there took leave of him, he being to go this night to the Downs towards Portugall, and so spent all the morning. At noon to dinner to the Wardrobe; where my Lady Wright was, who did talk much upon the worth and the desert of gallantry; and that there was none fit to be courtiers, but such as have been abroad and know fashions. Which I endeavoured to oppose; and was troubled to hear her talk so, though she be a very wise and discreet lady in other things. From thence Mr. Moore and I to the Temple about my law business with my cozen Turner, and there we read over T. Trice's answer to my bill and advised thereupon what to do in his absence, he being to go out of town to-morrow. Thence he and I to Mr. Walpole, my attorney, whom I never saw before, and we all to an alehouse hard by, and there we talked of our business, and he put me into great hopes, but he is but a young man, and so I do not depend so much upon his encouragement. So by coach home, and to supper, and to bed, having staid up till 12 at night writing letters to my Lord Sandwich and all my friends with him at sea, to send to-morrow by Mons. Eschar, who goes tomorrow post to the Downs to go along with the fleet to Portugall. 10th. To Whitehall, and there finding Mons. Eschar to be gone, I sent my letters by a porter to the posthouse in Southwark to be sent by despatch to the Downs. So to dinner to my Lord Crew's by coach, and in my way had a stop of above an hour and a half, which is a great trouble this Parliament time, but it cannot be helped. However I got thither before my Lord come from the House, and so dined with him, and dinner done, home to the office, and there sat late and so home. 11th. My brother Tom and then Mr. Moore came to me this morning, and staid a while with me, and then I went out, and in my way met with Mr. Howell the Turner, who invited me to dine this day at Mr. Rawlinson's with some friends of his, officers of the Towre, at a venison pasty, which I promised him, and so I went to the Old Bayly, and there staid and drank with him, who told me the whole story how Pegg Kite has married herself to a weaver, an ugly fellow, to her undoing, of which I am glad that I have nothing to do in it. From thence home and put on my velvet coat, and so to the Mitre to dinner according to my promise this morning, but going up into the room I found at least 12 or more persons, and knew not the face of any of them, so I went down again, and though I met Mr. Yong the upholster yet I would not be persuaded to stay, but went away and walked to the Exchequer, and up and down, and was very hungry, and from thence home, when I understand Mr. Howell was come for me to go thither, but I am glad I was not at home, and my wife was gone out by coach to Clerkenwell to see Mrs. Margaret Pen, who is at school there. So I went to see Sir W. Pen, who for this two or three days has not been well, and he and I after some talk took a coach and went to Moorfields, and there walked, though it was very cold, an hour or two, and went into an alehouse, and there I drank some ale and eat some bread and cheese, but he would not eat a bit, and so being very merry we went home again. He to his lodgings and I by promise to Sir W. Batten's, where he and my lady have gone out of town, and so Mrs. Martha was at home alone, and Mrs. Moore and there I supped upon some good things left of yesterday's dinner there, where dined a great deal of company--Sir R. Browne and others--and by and by comes in Captain Cox who promised to be here with me, but he staid very late, and had been drinking somewhere and was very drunk, and so very capricious, which I was troubled to see in a man that I took for a very wise and wary man. So I home and left him there, and so to bed. 12th. We lay long in bed, then up and made me ready, and by and by come Will Bowyer and Mr. Gregory, my old Exchequer friend, to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin and there did give them a good morning draft, and so parted, and invited them and all my old Exchequer acquaintance to come and dine with me there on Wednesday next. From thence to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, where her brother, Mr. John Crew, dined also, and a strange gentlewoman dined at the table as a servant of my Lady's; but I knew her not, and so I am afeard that poor Madamoiselle was gone, but I since understand that she is come as housekeeper to my Lady, and is a married woman. From thence to Westminster to my Lord's house to meet my Lord Privy Seal, who appointed to seal there this afternoon, but by and by word is brought that he is come to Whitehall, and so we are fain to go thither to him, and there we staid to seal till it was so late that though I got leave to go away before he had done, yet the office was done before I could get thither, and so to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat and talked and drank with him, and so home. 13th. At home all the morning, being by the cold weather, which for these two days has been frost, in some pain in my bladder. Dined at home and then with my wife to the Paynter's, and there she sat the first time to be drawn, while I all the while stood looking on a pretty lady's picture, whose face did please me extremely. At last, he having done, I found that the dead colour of my wife is good, above what I expected, which pleased me exceedingly. So home and to the office about some special business, where Sir Williams both were, and from thence with them to the Steelyard, where my Lady Batten and others came to us, and there we drank and had musique and Captain Cox's company, and he paid all, and so late back again home by coach, and so to bed. 14th. All the morning at home lying in bed with my wife till 11 o'clock. Such a habit we have got this winter of lying long abed. Dined at home, and in the afternoon to the office. There sat late, and so home and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, where our young Reader begun the first day to read. Sir W. Pen dined with me and we were merry. Again to church and so home, and all alone read till bedtime, and so to prayers and to bed. I have been troubled this day about a difference between my wife and her maid Nell, who is a simple slut, and I am afeard we shall find her a cross-grained wench. I am now full of study about writing something about our making of strangers strike to us at sea; and so am altogether reading Selden and Grotius, and such other authors to that purpose. 16th. Up by five o'clock this morning by candlelight (which I have not done for many a day), being called upon by one Mr. Bollen by appointment, who has business to be done with my Lord Privy Seal this morning, and so by coach, calling Mr. Moore at the Wardrobe, to Chelsy, and there did get my Lord to seal it. And so back again to Westminster Hall, and thence to my Lord Sandwich's lodging, where I met my wife (who had been to see Mrs. Hunt who was brought to bed the other day of a boy), and got a joint of meat thither from the Cook's, and she and I and Sarah dined together, and after dinner to the Opera, where there was a new play ("Cutter of Coleman Street"), [Cutter, an old word for a rough swaggerer: hence the title of Cowley's play. It was originally called "The Guardian," when acted before Prince Charles at Trinity College, Cambridge, on March 12th, 1641.] made in the year 1658, with reflections much upon the late times; and it being the first time, the pay was doubled, and so to save money, my wife and I went up into the gallery, and there sat and saw very well; and a very good play it is. It seems of Cowly's making. From thence by coach home, and to bed. 17th. Up and to the Paynter's to see how he went forward in our picture. So back again to dinner at home, and then was sent for to the Privy Seal, whither I was forced to go and stay so long and late that I was much vexed. At last we got all done, and then made haste to the office, where they were sat, and there we sat late, and so home to supper and to Selden, "Mare Clausum," and so to bed. 18th. At the office upon business extraordinary all the morning, then to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, whither my wife, who had been at the painter's, came to me, and there dined, and there I left her, and to the Temple my brother and I to see Mrs. Turner, who begins to be better, and so back to my Lady's, where much made of, and so home to my study till bed-time, and so to bed. 19th. This morning my wife dressed herself fine to go to the christening of Mrs. Hunt's child, and so she and I in the way in the morning went to the Paynter s, and there she sat till noon, and I all the while looking over great variety of good prints which he had, and by and by comes my boy to tell us that Mrs. Hunt has been at our house to tell us that the christening is not till Saturday next. So after the Paynter had done I did like the picture pretty well, and my wife and I went by coach home, but in the way I took occasion to fall out with my wife very highly about her ribbands being ill matched and of two colours, and to very high words, so that, like a passionate fool, I did call her whore, for which I was afterwards sorry. But I set her down at home, and went myself by appointment to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Warren did give us all a good dinner, and that being done, to the office, and there sat late, and so home. 20th. Lay long in bed, and then up, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and from thence out with Mr. Moore towards my house, and in our way met with Mr. Swan (my old acquaintance), and we to a tavern, where we had enough of his old simple religious talk, and he is still a coxcomb in these things as he ever was, and tells me he is setting out a book called "The unlawfull use of lawfull things;" but a very simple fellow he is, and so I leave him. So we drank and at last parted, and Mr. Moore and I into Cornhill, it being dark night, and in the street and on the Exchange discoursed about Dominion of the Sea, wherein I am lately so much concerned, and so I home and sat late up reading of Mr. Selden, and so to bed. 21st. To White Hall to the Privy Seal, where my Lord Privy Seal did tell us he could seal no more this month, for that he goes thirty miles out of town to keep his Christmas. At which I was glad, but only afeard lest any thing of the King's should force us to go after him to get a seal in the country. Thence to Westminster Hall (having by the way drank with Mrs. Sarah and Mrs. Betty at my Lord's lodgings), and thence taken by some Exchequer men to the Dogg, where, being St. Thomas's day, by custom they have a general meeting at dinner. There I was and all very merry, and there I spoke to Mr. Falconberge to look whether he could out of Domesday Book, give me any thing concerning the sea, and the dominion thereof; which he says he will look after. Thence taking leave to my brother's, and there by appointment met with Prior of Brampton who had money to pay me, but desiring some advice he stays till Monday. So by coach home to the office, where I was vexed to see Sir Williams both seem to think so much that I should be a little out of the way, saying that without their Register they were not a Committee, which I took in some dudgeon, and see clearly that I must keep myself at a little distance with them and not crouch, or else I shall never keep myself up even with them. So home and wrote letters by the post. This evening my wife come home from christening Mrs. Hunt's son, his name John, and a merchant in Mark Lane came along with her, that was her partner. So after my business was done, and read something in Mr. Selden, I went to bed. 22nd. To church in the morning, where the Reader made a boyish young sermon. Home to dinner, and there I took occasion, from the blacknesse of the meat as it came out of the pot, to fall out with my wife and my maid for their sluttery, and so left the table, and went up to read in Mr. Selden till church time, and then my wife and I to church, and there in the pew, with the rest of the company, was Captain Holmes, in his gold-laced suit, at which I was troubled because of the old business which he attempted upon my wife. So with my mind troubled I sat still, but by and by I took occasion from the rain now holding up (it raining when we came into the church) to put my wife in mind of going to the christening (which she was invited to) of N. Osborne's child, which she did, and so went out of the pew, and my mind was eased. So home after sermon and there came by appointment Dr. T. Pepys, Will. Joyce, and my brother Tom, and supped with me, and very merry they were, and I seemed to be, but I was not pleased at all with their company. So they being gone we went to bed. 23rd. Early up and by coach (before daylight) to the Wardrobe, and took up Mr. Moore, and he and I to Chelsy to my Lord Privy Seal, and there sealed some things, he being to go out of town for all Christmas to-morrow. So back again to Westminster, and from thence by water to the Treasury Office, where I found Sir W. Pen paying off the Sophia and Griffen, and there I staid with him till noon, and having sent for some collar of beef and a mince pie, we eat and drank, and so I left him there and to my brother's by appointment to meet Prior, but he came not, so I went and saw Mrs. Turner who continues weak, and by and by word was brought me that Prior's man was come to Tom's, and so I went and told out L128 which I am to receive of him, but Prior not coming I went away and left the money by his desire with my brother all night, and they to come to me to-morrow morning. So I took coach, and lighting at my bookseller's in Paul's Churchyard, I met with Mr. Crumlum and the second master of Paul's School, and thence I took them to the Starr, and there we sat and talked, and I had great pleasure in their company, and very glad I was of meeting him so accidentally, I having omitted too long to go to see him. Here in discourse of books I did offer to give the school what books he would choose of L5. So we parted, and I home, and to Mr. Selden, and then to bed. 24th. Home all the morning and dined at home, and in the afternoon to the office. So home. 25th. In the morning to church, where at the door of our pew I was fain to stay, because that the sexton had not opened the door. A good sermon of Mr. Mills. Dined at home all alone, and taking occasion from some fault in the meat to complain of my maid's sluttery, my wife and I fell out, and I up to my chamber in a discontent. After dinner my wife comes up to me and all friends again, and she and I to walk upon the leads, and there Sir W. Pen called us, and we went to his house and supped with him, but before supper Captain Cock came to us half drunk, and began to talk, but Sir W. Pen knowing his humour and that there was no end of his talking, drinks four great glasses of wine to him, one after another, healths to the king, and by that means made him drunk, and so he went away, and so we sat down to supper, and were merry, and so after supper home and to bed. 26th. This morning Sir W. Pen and I to the Treasury office, and there we paid off the Amity (Captain Stokes's ship that was at Guinny) and another ship, and so home, and after dinner Sir William came to me, and he and his son and Aaugliter, and I and my wife, by coach to Moorfields to walk; but it was most foul weather, and so we went into an alehouse and there eat some cakes and ale, and a washeallbowle ["The wenches with their wassall bowls About the streets are singing." --Wither's Christmas Carol. The old custom of carrying the wassail bowl from door to door, with songs and merriment, in Christmas week, is still observed in some of our rural districts.--B.] woman and girl came to us and sung to us. And after all was done I called my boy (Wayneman) to us to eat some cake that was left, and the woman of the house told us that he had called for two cakes and a pot of ale for himself, at which I was angry, and am resolved to correct him for it. So home, and Sir W. Pen and his son and daughter to supper to me to a good turkey, and were merry at cards, and so to bed. 27th. In the morning to my Bookseller's to bespeak a Stephens's Thesaurus, for which I offer L4, to give to Paul's School; and from thence to Paul's Church; and there I heard Dr. Gunning preach a good sermon upon the day (being St. John's day), and did hear him tell a story, which he did persuade us to believe to be true, that St. John and the Virgin Mary did appear to Gregory, a Bishopp, at his prayer to be confirmed in the faith, which I did wonder to hear from him. Here I met with Mr. Crumlum (and told him of my endeavour to get Stephens's Thesaurus for the school), and so home, and after dinner comes Mr. Faulconberge to see me, and at his desire I sent over for his kinsman Mr. Knightly, the merchant, and so he came over and sat and drank with us, and at his request I went over with him, and there I sat till the evening, and till both Mr. Knightly and Mr. Faulconberge (for whom I sent my boy to get a coach to carry him to Westminster) were both drunk, and so home, but better wine I never drank in all my life. So home, and finding my wife gone to Sir W. Pen's, I went thither, and there I sat and played at cards and supped, and so home and to bed. 28th. At home all the morning; and in the afternoon all of us at the office, upon a letter from the Duke for the making up of a speedy estimate of all the debts of the Navy, which is put into good forwardness. I home and Sir W. Pen to my house, who with his children staid playing cards late, and so to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Long in bed with my wife, and though I had determined to go to dine with my wife at my Lady's, (chiefly to put off dining with Sir W. Pen to-day because Holmes dined there), yet I could not get a coach time enough to go thither, and so I dined at home, and my brother Tom with me, and then a coach came and I carried my wife to Westminster, and she went to see Mrs. Hunt, and I to the Abbey, and there meeting with Mr. Hooper, he took me in among the quire, and there I sang with them their service, and so that being done, I walked up and down till night for that Mr. Coventry was not come to Whitehall since dinner again. At last I went thither and he was come, and I spoke with him about some business of the office, and so took leave of him, and sent for my wife and the coach, and so to the Wardrobe and supped, and staid very long talking with my Lady, who seems to doat every day more and more upon us. So home and to prayers, and to bed. 30th. At the office about this estimate and so with my wife and Sir W. Pen to see our pictures, which do not much displease us, and so back again, and I staid at the Mitre, whither I had invited all my old acquaintance of the Exchequer to a good chine of beef, which with three barrels of oysters and three pullets, and plenty of wine and mirth, was our dinner, and there was about twelve of us, among others Mr. Bowyer, the old man, and Mr. Faulconberge, Shadwell, Taylor, Spicer, Woodruffe (who by reason of some friend that dined with him came to us after dinner), Servington, &c., and here I made them a foolish promise to give them one this day twelvemonth, and so for ever while I live, but I do not intend it. Mere I staid as long as I could keep them, and so home to Sir W. Pen, who with his children and my wife has been at a play to-day and saw "D'Ambois," which I never saw. Here we staid late at supper and playing at cards, and so home and 31st. My wife and I this morning to the Paynter's, and there she sat the last time, and I stood by and did tell him some little things to do, that now her picture I think will please me very well; and after her, her little black dogg sat in her lap; and was drawn, which made us very merry; so home to dinner, and so to the office; and there late finishing our estimate of the debts of the Navy to this day; and it come to near L374,000. So home, and after supper, and my barber had trimmed me, I sat down to end my journell for this year, and my condition at this time, by God's blessing, is thus: my health (only upon catching cold, which brings great pain in my back . . . as it used to be when I had the stone) is very good, and so my wife's in all respects: my servants, W. Hewer, Sarah, Nell, and Wayneman: my house at the Navy Office. I suppose myself to be worth about L500 clear in the world, and my goods of my house my own, and what is coming to me from Brampton, when my father dies, which God defer. But, by my uncle's death, the whole care and trouble of all, and settling of all lies upon me, which is very great, because of law-suits, especially that with T. Trice, about the interest of L200, which will, I hope, be ended soon. My chiefest thought is now to get a good wife for Tom, there being one offered by the Joyces, a cozen of theirs, worth L200 in ready money. I am also upon writing a little treatise to present to the Duke, about our privilege in the seas, as to other nations striking their flags to us. But my greatest trouble is, that I have for this last half year been a very great spendthrift in all manner of respects, that I am afeard to cast up my accounts, though I hope I am worth what I say above. But I will cast them up very shortly. I have newly taken a solemn oath about abstaining from plays and wine, which I am resolved to keep according to the letter of the oath which I keep by me. The fleet hath been ready to sail for Portugall, but hath lacked wind this fortnight, and by that means my Lord is forced to keep at sea all this winter, till he brings home the Queen, which is the expectation of all now, and the greatest matter of publique talk. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: After dinner my wife comes up to me and all friends again Ambassador--that he is an honest man sent to lie abroad As all things else did not come up to my expectations Coming to lay out a great deal of money in clothes for my wife Did extremely beat him, and though it did trouble me to do it Dominion of the Sea Exclaiming against men's wearing their hats on in the church From some fault in the meat to complain of my maid's sluttery Gamester's life, which I see is very miserable, and poor Get his lady to trust herself with him into the tavern Good wine, and anchovies, and pickled oysters (for breakfast) Like a passionate fool, I did call her whore My wife and I fell out Oliver Cromwell as his ensign Seemed much glad of that it was no more Sir W. Pen was so fuddled that we could not try him to play Strange the folly of men to lay and lose so much money The unlawfull use of lawfull things Took occasion to fall out with my wife very highly Took physique, and it did work very well Tory--The term was not used politically until about 1679 We had a good surloyne of rost beefe 
4132	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1661-62. January 1st. Waking this morning out of my sleep on a sudden, I did with my elbow hit my wife a great blow over her face and nose, which waked her with pain, at which I was sorry, and to sleep again. Up and went forth with Sir W. Pen by coach towards Westminster, and in my way seeing that the "Spanish Curate" was acted today, I light and let him go alone, and I home again and sent to young Mr. Pen and his sister to go anon with my wife and I to the Theatre. That done, Mr. W. Pen came to me and he and I walked out, and to the Stacioner's, and looked over some pictures and traps for my house, and so home again to dinner, and by and by came the two young Pens, and after we had eat a barrel of oysters we went by coach to the play, and there saw it well acted, and a good play it is, only Diego the Sexton did overdo his part too much. From thence home, and they sat with us till late at night at cards very merry, but the jest was Mr. W. Pen had left his sword in the coach, and so my boy and he run out after the coach, and by very great chance did at the Exchange meet with the coach and got his sword again. So to bed. 2nd. An invitation sent us before we were up from my Lady Sandwich's, to come and dine with her: so at the office all the morning, and at noon thither to dinner, where there was a good and great dinner, and the company, Mr. William Montagu and his Lady (but she seemed so far from the beauty that I expected her from my Lady's talk to be, that it put me into an ill humour all the day, to find my expectation so lost), Mr. Rurttball and Townsend and their wives. After dinner, borne by water, and so to the office till night, and then I went forth, by appointment, to meet with Mr. Grant, who promised to meet me at the Coffee-house to bring me acquainted with Cooper the great limner in little, but they deceived me, and so I went home, and there sat at my lute and singing till almost twelve at night, and so to bed. Sir Richd. Fanshaw is come suddenly from Portugall, but nobody knows what his business is. 3rd. Lay long in bed, and so up and abroad to several places about petty businesses. Among others to Tom's, who I find great hopes of that he will do well, which I am glad of, and am not now so hasty to get a wife for him as I was before. So to dinner to my Lord Crew's with him and his Lady, and after dinner to Faithorne's, and there bought some pictures of him; and while I was there, comes by the King's life-guard, he being gone to Lincoln's Inn this afternoon to see the Revells there; there being, according to an old custom, a prince and all his nobles, and other matters of sport and charge. So home, and up to my chamber to look over my papers and other things, my mind being much troubled for these four or five days because of my present great expense, and will be so till I cast up and see how my estate stands, and that I am loth to do for fear I have spent too much, and delay it the rather that I may pay for my pictures and my wife's, and the book that I am buying for Paul's School before I do cast up my accompts. 4th. At home most of the morning hanging up pictures, and seeing how my pewter sconces that I have bought will become my stayres and entry, and then with my wife by water to Westminster, whither she to her father's and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a turn or two with Mr. Chetwin (who had a dog challenged of him by another man that said it was his, but Mr. Chetwin called the dog, and the dog at last would follow him, and not his old master, and so Chetwin got the dog) and W. Symons, and thence to my wife, who met me at my Lord's lodgings, and she and I and old East to Wilkinson's to dinner, where we had some rost beef and a mutton pie, and a mince-pie, but none of them pleased me. After dinner by coach my wife and I home, and I to the office, and there till late, and then I and my wife to Sir W. Pen's to cards and supper, and were merry, and much correspondence there has been between our two families all this Christmas. So home and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Left my wife in bed not well . . . and I to church, and so home to dinner, and dined alone upon some marrow bones, and had a fine piece of rost beef, but being alone I eat none. So after dinner comes in my brother Tom, and he tells me how he hath seen the father and mother of the girl which my cozen Joyces would have him to have for a wife, and they are much for it, but we are in a great quandary what to do therein, L200 being but a little money; and I hope, if he continues as he begins, he may look out for one with more. To church, and before sermon there was a long psalm, and half another sung out while the Sexton gathered what the church would give him for this last year. I gave him 3s., and have the last week given the Clerk 2s., which I set down that I may know what to do the next year, if it please the Lord that I live so long; but the jest was, the Clerk begins the 25th psalm, which hath a proper tune to it, and then the 116th, which cannot be sung with that tune, which seemed very ridiculous. After church to Sir W. Batten's, where on purpose I have not been this fortnight, and I am resolved to keep myself more reserved to avoyd the contempt which otherwise I must fall into, and so home and six and talked and supped with my wife, and so up to prayers and to bed, having wrote a letter this night to Sir J. Mennes in the Downs for his opinion in the business of striking of flags. 6th (Twelfth day). This morning I sent my lute to the Paynter's, and there I staid with him all the morning to see him paint the neck of my lute in my picture, which I was not pleased with after it was done. Thence to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, it being a solemn feast day with him, his wedding day, and we had, besides a good chine of beef and other good cheer, eighteen mince pies in a dish, the number of the years that he hath been married, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and daughter was, and Colonel Treswell and Major Holmes, who I perceive would fain get to be free and friends with my wife, but I shall prevent it, and she herself hath also a defyance against him. After dinner they set in to drinking, so that I would stay no longer, but went away home, and Captain Cock, who was quite drunk, comes after me, and there sat awhile and so away, and anon I went again after the company was gone, and sat and played at cards with Sir W. Pen and his children, and so after supper home, and there I hear that my man Gull was gone to bed, and upon enquiry I hear that he did vomit before he went to bed, and complained his head ached, and thereupon though he was asleep I sent for him out of his bed, and he rose and came up to me, and I appeared very angry and did tax him with being drunk, and he told me that he had been with Mr. Southerne and Homewood at the Dolphin, and drank a quart of sack, but that his head did ache before he went out. But I do believe he has drunk too much, and so I did threaten him to bid his uncle dispose of him some other way, and sent him down to bed and do resolve to continue to be angry with him. So to bed to my wife, and told her what had passed. 7th. Long in bed, and then rose and went along with Sir W. Pen on foot to Stepny to Mrs. Chappell's (who has the pretty boy to her son), and there met my wife and Sir W. Pen's children all, and Mrs. Poole and her boy, and there dined and' were very merry, and home again by coach and so to the office. In the afternoon and at night to Sir W. Pen's, there supped and played at cards with them and were merry, the children being to go all away to school again to-morrow. Thence home and to bed. 8th. I rose and went to Westminster Hall, and there walked up and down upon several businesses, and among, others I met with Sir W. Pen, who told me that he had this morning heard Sir G. Carteret extremely angry against my man Will that he is every other day with the Commissioners of Parliament at Westminster, and that his uncle was a rogue, and that he did tell his uncle every thing that passes at the office, and Sir William, though he loves the lad, did advise me to part with him, which did with this surprise mightily trouble me, though I was already angry with him, and so to the Wardrobe by water, and all the way did examine Will about the business, but did not tell him upon what score, but I find that the poor lad do suspect something. To dinner with my Lady, and after dinner talked long with her, and so home, and to Sir W. Batten's, and sat and talked with him, and so home troubled in mind, and so up to my study and read the two treaties before Mr. Selden's "Mare Clausum," and so to bed. This night come about L100 from Brampton by carrier to me, in holsters from my father, which made me laugh. 9th. At the office all the morning private with Sir G. Carteret (who I expected something from about yesterday's business, but he said nothing), Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen, about drawing; up an answer to several demands of my Lord Treasurer, and late at it till 2 o'clock. Then to dinner, and my wife to Sir W. Pen's, and so to the office again and sat till late; and so home, where I found Mr. Armiger below talking with my wife, but being offended with him for his leaving of my brother Tom I shewed him no countenance, but did take notice of it to him plainly, and I perceive he was troubled at it, but I am glad I told him of it. Then (when he was gone) up to write several letters by the post, and so to set my papers and things in order, and to bed. This morning we agreed upon some things to answer to the Duke about the practice of striking of the flags, which will now put me upon finishing my resolution of writing something upon the subject. 10th. To White Hall, and there spoke with Sir Paul Neale' about a mathematical request of my Lord's to him, which I did deliver to him, and he promised to employ somebody to answer it, something about observation of the moon and stars, but what I did not mind. Here I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me that an injuncon is granted in Chancery against T. Trice, at which I was very glad, being before in some trouble for it. With him to Westminster Hall, where I walked till noon talking with one or other, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, where tired with Mr. Pickering's company I returned to Westminster, by appointment, to meet my wife at Mrs. Hunt's to gossip with her, which we did alone, and were very merry, and did give her a cup and spoon for my wife's god-child, and so home by coach, and I late reading in my chamber and then to bed, my wife being angry that I keep the house so late up. 11th. My brother Tom came to me, and he and I to Mr. Turner the Draper's, and paid L15 to him for cloth owing to him by my father for his mourning for my uncle, and so to his house, and there invited all the Honiwood's to dinner on Monday next. So to the Exchange, and there all the news is of the French and Dutch joyning against us; but I do not think it yet true. So home to dinner, and in the afternoon to the office, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where in discourse I heard the custom of the election of the Dukes of Genoa, who for two years are every day attended in the greatest state; and four or five hundred men always waiting upon him as a king; and when the two years are out, and another is chose, a messenger is, sent to him, who stands at the bottom of the stairs, and he at the top, and says, "Va. Illustrissima Serenita sta finita, et puede andar en casa."--"Your serenity is now ended; and now you may be going home," and so claps on his hat. And the old Duke (having by custom sent his goods home before), walks away, it may be but with one man at his heels; and the new one brought immediately in his room, in the greatest state in the world. Another account was told us, how in the Dukedom of Ragusa, in the Adriatique (a State that is little, but more ancient, they say, than Venice, and is called the mother of Venice, and the Turks lie round about it), that they change all the officers of their guard, for fear of conspiracy, every twenty-four hours, so that nobody knows who shall be captain of the guard to-night; but two men come to a man, and lay hold of him as a prisoner, and carry him to the place; and there he hath the keys of the garrison given him, and he presently issues his orders for that night's watch: and so always from night to night. Sir Win. Rider told the first of his own knowledge; and both he and Sir W. Batten confirm the last. Hence home and to read, and so to bed, but very late again. 12th (Lord's day). To church, where a stranger made a very good sermon. At noon Sir W. Pen and my good friend Dean Fuller, by appointment, and my wife's brother by chance, dined with me very merry and handsomely. After dinner the Dean, my wife and I by Sir W. Pen's coach left us, he to Whitehall, and my wife and I to visit Mrs. Pierce and thence Mrs. Turner, who continues very ill still, and The. is also fallen sick, which do trouble me for the poor mother. So home and to read, I being troubled to hear my wife rate though not without cause at her mayd Nell, who is a lazy slut. So to prayers and to bed. 13th. All the morning at home, and Mr. Berkenshaw (whom I have not seen a great while, came to see me), who staid with me a great while talking of musique, and I am resolved to begin to learn of him to compose, and to begin to-morrow, he giving of me so great hopes that I shall soon do it. Before twelve o'clock comes, by appointment, Mr. Peter and the Dean, and Collonel Noniwood, brothers, to dine with me; but so soon that I was troubled at it. But, however, I entertained them with talk and oysters till one o'clock, and then we sat down to dinner, not staying for my uncle and aunt Wight, at which I was troubled, but they came by and by, and so we dined very merry, at least I seemed so, but the dinner does not please me, and less the Dean and Collonel, whom I found to be pitiful sorry gentlemen, though good-natured, but Mr. Peter above them both, who after dinner did show us the experiment (which I had heard talk of) of the chymicall glasses, which break all to dust by breaking off a little small end; which is a great mystery to me. They being gone, my aunt Wight and my wife and I to cards, she teaching of us how to play at gleeke, which is a pretty game; but I have not my head so free as to be troubled with it. By and by comes my uncle Wight back, and so to supper and talk, and then again to cards, when my wife and I beat them two games and they us one, and so good night and to bed. 14th. All the morning at home, Mr. Berkenshaw by appointment yesterday coming to me, and begun composition of musique, and he being gone I to settle my papers and things in my chamber, and so after dinner in the afternoon to the office, and thence to my chamber about several businesses of the office and my own, and then to supper and to bed. This day my brave vellum covers to keep pictures in, come in, which pleases me very much. 15th. This morning Mr. Berkenshaw came again, and after he had examined me and taught me something in my work, he and I went to breakfast in my chamber upon a collar of brawn, and after we had eaten, asked me whether we had not committed a fault in eating to-day; telling me that it is a fast day ordered by the Parliament, to pray for more seasonable weather; it having hitherto been summer weather, that it is, both as to warmth and every other thing, just as if it were the middle of May or June, which do threaten a plague (as all men think) to follow, for so it was almost the last winter; and the whole year after hath been a very sickly time to this day. I did not stir out of my house all day, but conned my musique, and at night after supper to bed. 16th. Towards Cheapside; and in Paul's Churchyard saw the funeral of my Lord Cornwallis, late Steward of the King's House, a bold profane talking man, go by, and thence I to the Paynter's, and there paid him L6 for the two pictures, and 36s. for the two frames. From thence home, and Mr. Holliard and my brother Tom dined with me, and he did give me good advice about my health. In the afternoon at the office, and at night to Sir W. Batten, and there saw him and Captain Cock and Stokes play at cards, and afterwards supped with them. Stokes told us, that notwithstanding the country of Gambo is so unhealthy, yet the people of the place live very long, so as the present king there is 150 years old, which they count by rains: because every year it rains continually four months together. He also told us, that the kings there have above 100 wives a-piece, and offered him the choice of any of his wives to lie with, and so he did Captain Holmes. So home and to bed. 17th. To Westminster with Mr. Moore, and there, after several walks up and down to hear news, I met with Lany, the Frenchman, who told me that he had a letter from France last night, that tells him that my Lord Hinchingbroke is dead,--[proved false]--and that he did die yesterday was se'nnight, which do surprise me exceedingly (though we know that he hath been sick these two months), so I hardly ever was in my life; but being fearfull that my Lady should come to hear it too suddenly, he and I went up to my Lord Crew's, and there I dined with him, and after dinner we told him, and the whole family is much disturbed by it: so we consulted what to do to tell my Lady of it; and at last we thought of my going first to Mr. George Montagu's to hear whether he had any news of it, which I did, and there found all his house in great heaviness for the death of his son, Mr. George Montagu, who did go with our young gentlemen into France, and that they hear nothing at all of our young Lord; so believing that thence comes the mistake, I returned to my Lord Crew (in my way in the Piazza seeing a house on fire, and all the streets full of people to quench it), and told them of it, which they are much glad of, and conclude, and so I hope, that my Lord is well; and so I went to my Lady Sandwich, and told her all, and after much talk I parted thence with my wife, who had been there all the day, and so home to my musique, and then to bed. 18th. This morning I went to Dr. Williams, and there he told me how T. Trice had spoke to him about getting me to meet that our difference might be made up between us by ourselves, which I am glad of, and have appointed Monday next to be the day. Thence to the Wardrobe, and there hearing it would be late before they went to dinner, I went and spent some time in Paul's Churchyard among some books, and then returned thither, and there dined with my Lady and Sir H. Wright and his lady, all glad of yesterday's mistake, and after dinner to the office, and then home and wrote letters by the post to my father, and by and by comes Mr. Moore to give me an account how Mr. Montagu was gone away of a sudden with the fleet, in such haste that he hath left behind some servants, and many things of consequence; and among others, my Lord's commission for Embassador. Whereupon he and I took coach, and to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, to have spoke with Mr. Ralph Montagu, his brother (and here we staid talking with Sarah and the old man); but by and by hearing that he was in Covent Garden, we went thither: and at my Lady Harvy's, his sister, I spoke with him, and he tells me that the commission is not left behind. And so I went thence by the same coach (setting down Mr. Moore) home, and after having wrote a letter to my Lord at 12 o'clock at night by post I went to bed. 19th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, where Mr. Mills preached upon Christ's being offered up for our sins, and there proving the equity with what justice God would lay our sins upon his Son, he did make such a sermon (among other things pleading, from God's universal sovereignty over all his creatures, the power he has of commanding what he would of his Son by the same rule as that he might have made us all, and the whole world from the beginning to have been in hell, arguing from the power the potter has over his clay), that I could have wished he had let it alone; and speaking again, the Father is now so satisfied by our security for our debt, that we might say at the last day as many of us as have interest in Christ's death: Lord, we owe thee nothing, our debt is paid. We are not beholden to, thee for anything, for thy debt is paid to thee to the full; which methinks were very bold words. Home to dinner, and then my wife and I on foot to see Mrs. Turner, who continues still sick, and thence into the Old Bayly by appointment to speak with Mrs. Norbury who lies at (it falls out) next door to my uncle Fenner's; but as God would have it, we having no desire to be seen by his people, he having lately married a midwife that is old and ugly, and that hath already brought home to him a daughter and three children, we were let in at a back door. And here she offered me the refusall of some lands of her's at Brampton, if I have a mind to buy, which I answered her I was not at present provided to do. She took occasion to talk of her sister Wight's making much of the Wights, who for namesake only my uncle do shew great kindness to, so I fear may do us that are nearer to him a great deal of wrong, if he should die without children, which I am sorry for. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and there we supped and were merry, though my uncle hath lately lost 200 or 300 at sea, and I am troubled to hear that the Turks do take more and more of our ships in the Straights, and that our merchants here in London do daily break, and are still likely to do so. So home, and I put in at Sir W. Batten's, where Major Holmes was, and in our discourse and drinking I did give Sir J. Mennes' health, which he swore he would not pledge, and called him knave and coward (upon the business of Holmes with the Swedish ship lately), which we all and I particularly did desire him to forbear, he being of our fraternity, which he took in great dudgeon, and I was vexed to hear him persist in calling him so, though I believe it to be true, but however he is to blame and I am troubled at it. So home and to prayers, and to bed. 20th. This morning Sir Win. Batten and Pen and I did begin the examining the Treasurer's accounts, the first time ever he had passed in the office, which is very long, and we were all at it till noon, and then to dinner, he providing a fine dinner for us, and we eat it at Sir W. Batten's, where we were very merry, there being at table the Treasurer and we three, Mr. Wayth, Ferrer, Smith, Turner, and Mr. Morrice, the wine cooper, who this day did divide the two butts, which we four did send for, of sherry from Cales, and mine was put into a hogshead, and the vessel filled up with four gallons of Malaga wine, but what it will stand us in I know not: but it is the first great quantity of wine that I ever bought. And after dinner to the office all the afternoon till late at night, and then home, where my aunt and uncle Wight and Mrs. Anne Wight came to play at cards (at gleek which she taught me and my wife last week) and so to supper, and then to cards and so good night. Then I to my practice of musique and then at 12 o'clock to bed. This day the workmen began to make me a sellar door out of the back yard, which will much please me. 21st. To the finishing of the Treasurer's accounts this morning, and then to dinner again, and were merry as yesterday, and so home, and then to the office till night, and then home to write letters, and to practise my composition of musique, and then to bed. We have heard nothing yet how far the fleet hath got toward Portugall, but the wind being changed again, we fear they are stopped, and may be beat back again to the coast of Ireland. 22d. After musique-practice, to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, in my way calling at Mr. George Montagu's, to condole him the loss of his son, who was a fine gentleman, and it is no doubt a great discomfort to our two young gentlemen, his companions in France. After this discourse he told me, among other news, the great jealousys that are now in the Parliament House. The Lord Chancellor, it seems, taking occasion from this late plot to raise fears in the people, did project the raising of an army forthwith, besides the constant militia, thinking to make the Duke of York General thereof. But the House did, in very open terms, say, they were grown too wise to be fooled again into another army; and said they had found how that man that hath the command of an army is not beholden to any body to make him King. There are factions (private ones at Court) about Madam Palmer; but what it is about I know not. But it is something about the King's favour to her now that the Queen is coming. He told me, too, what sport the King and Court do make at Mr. Edward Montagu's leaving his things behind him. But the Chancellor (taking it a little more seriously) did openly say to my Lord Chamberlain, that had it been such a gallant as my Lord Mandeville his son, it might have; been taken as a frolique; but for him that would be thought a grave coxcomb, it was very strange. Thence to the Hall, where I heard the House had ordered all the King's murderers, that remain, to be executed, but Fleetwood and Downes. So to the Wardrobe and there dined, meeting my wife there, who went after dinner with my Lady to see Mr. George Montagu's lady, and I to have a meeting by appointment with Tho. Trice and Dr. Williams in order to a treating about the difference between us, but I find there is no hopes of ending it but by law, and so after a pint or two of wine we parted. So to the Wardrobe for my wife again, and so home, and after writing and doing some things to bed. 23rd. All the morning with Mr. Berkenshaw, and after him Mr. Moore in discourse of business, and in the afternoon by coach by invitacon to my uncle Fenner's, where I found his new wife, a pitiful, old, ugly, illbred woman in a hatt, a midwife. Here were many of his, and as many of her relations, sorry, mean people; and after choosing our gloves, we all went over to the Three Crane Tavern,' and though the best room in the house, in such a narrow dogg-hole we were crammed, and I believe we were near forty, that it made me loathe my company and victuals; and a sorry poor dinner it was too. After dinner, I took aside the two Joyce's, and took occasion to thank them for their kind thoughts for a wife for Tom: but that considering the possibility there is of my having no child, and what then I shall be able to leave him, I do think he may expect in that respect a wife with more money, and so desired them to think no more of it. Now the jest was Anthony mistakes and thinks that I did all this while encourage him (from my thoughts of favour to Tom) to pursue the match till Will Joyce tells him that he was mistaken. But how he takes it I know not, but I endeavoured to tell it him in the most respectful way that I could. This done with my wife by coach to my aunt Wight's, where I left her, and I to the office, and that being done to her again, and sat playing at cards after supper till 12 at night, and so by moonshine home and to bed. 24th. This morning came my cozen Thos. Pepys the Executor, to speak with me, and I had much talk with him both about matters of money which my Lord Sandwich has of his and I am bond for, as also of my uncle Thomas, who I hear by him do stand upon very high terms. Thence to my painter's, and there I saw our pictures in the frames, which please me well. Thence to the Wardrobe, where very merry with my Lady, and after dinner I seat for the pictures thither, and mine is well liked; but she is much offended with my wife's, and I am of her opinion, that it do much wrong her; but I will have it altered. So home, in my way calling at Pope's Head alley, and there bought me a pair of scissars and a brass square. So home and to my study and to bed. 25th. At home and the office all the morning. Walking in the garden to give the gardener directions what to do this year (for I intend to have the garden handsome), Sir W. Pen came to me, and did break a business to me about removing his son from Oxford to Cambridge to some private college. I proposed Magdalene, but cannot name a tutor at present; but I shall think and write about it. Thence with him to the Trinity-house to dinner; where Sir Richard Brown (one of the clerks of the Council, and who is much concerned against Sir N. Crisp's project of making a great sasse [A kind of weir with flood-gate, or a navigable sluice. This project is mentioned by Evelyn, January 16th, 1661-62, and Lysons' "Environs" vol. iv., p. 392.--B.] in the King's lands about Deptford, to be a wett-dock to hold 200 sail of ships. But the ground, it seems, was long since given by the King to Sir Richard) was, and after the Trinity-house men had done their business, the master, Sir William Rider, came to bid us welcome; and so to dinner, where good cheer and discourse, but I eat a little too much beef, which made me sick, and so after dinner we went to the office, and there in a garden I went in the dark and vomited, whereby I did much ease my stomach. Thence to supper with my wife to Sir W. Pen's, his daughter being come home to-day, not being very well, and so while we were at supper comes Mr. Moore with letters from my Lord Sandwich, speaking of his lying still at Tangier, looking for the fleet; which, we hope, is now in a good way thither. So home to write letters by the post to-night, and then again to Sir W. Pen's to cards, where very merry, and so home and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and then home to dinner alone with my wife, and so both to church in the afternoon and home again, and so to read and talk with my wife, and to supper and to bed. It having been a very fine clear frosty day-God send us more of them!--for the warm weather all this winter makes us fear a sick summer. But thanks be to God, since my leaving drinking of wine, I do find myself much better and do mind my business better, and do spend less money, and less time lost in idle company. 27th. This morning, both Sir Williams and I by barge to Deptford-yard to give orders in businesses there; and called on several ships, also to give orders, and so to Woolwich, and there dined at Mr. Falconer's of victuals we carried ourselves, and one Mr. Dekins, the father of my Morena, of whom we have lately bought some hemp. That being done we went home again. This morning, going to take water upon Tower-hill, we met with three sleddes standing there to carry my Lord Monson and Sir H. Mildmay and another, to the gallows and back again, with ropes about their necks; which is to be repeated every year, this being the day of their sentencing the King. 28th. This morning (after my musique practice with Mr. Berkenshaw) with my wife to the Paynter's, where we staid very late to have her picture mended, which at last is come to be very like her, and I think well done; but the Paynter, though a very honest man, I found to be very silly as to matter of skill in shadows, for we were long in discourse, till I was almost angry to hear him talk so simply. So home to dinner and then to the office, and so home for all night. 29th. To Westminster, and at the Parliament door spoke with Mr. Coventry about business, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and thence to several places, and so home, where I found Mrs. Pen and Mrs. Rooth and Smith, who played at cards with my wife, and I did give them a barrel of oysters, and had a pullet to supper for them, and when it was ready to come to table, the foolish girl had not the manners to stay and sup with me, but went away, which did vex me cruelly. So I saw her home, and then to supper, and so to musique practice, and to bed. 30th. Fast-day for the murthering of the late King. I went to church, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon upon David's words, "Who can lay his hands upon the Lord's Anoynted and be guiltless?" So home and to dinner, and employed all the afternoon in my chamber, setting things and papers to rights, which pleased me very well, and I think I shall begin to take pleasure in being at home and minding my business. I pray God I may, for I find a great need thereof. At night to supper and to bed. 31st. All the morning, after musique practice, in my cellar, ordering some alteracons therein, being much pleased with my new door into the back yard. So to dinner, and all the afternoon thinking upon business. I did by night set many things in order, which pleased me well, and puts me upon a resolution of keeping within doors and minding my business and the business of the office, which I pray God I may put in practice. At night to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1661-1962 February 1st. This morning within till 11 o'clock, and then with Commissioner Pett to the office; and he staid there writing, while I and Sir W. Pen walked in the garden talking about his business of putting his son to Cambridge; and to that end I intend to write to-night to Dr. Fairebrother, to give me an account of Mr. Burton of Magdalene. Thence with Mr. Pett to the Paynter's; and he likes our pictures very well, and so do I. Thence he and I to the Countess of Sandwich, to lead him to her to kiss her hands: and dined with her, and told her the news (which Sir W. Pen told me to-day) that express is come from my Lord with letters, that by a great storm and tempest the mole of Argier is broken down, and many of their ships sunk into the mole. So that God Almighty hath now ended that unlucky business for us; which is very good news. After dinner to the office, where we staid late, and so I home, and late writing letters to my father and Dr. Fairebrother, and an angry letter to my brother John for not writing to me, and so to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and then home and dined with my wife, and so both of us to church again, where we had an Oxford man give us a most impertinent sermon upon "Cast your bread upon the waters, &c. So home to read, supper, and to prayers, and then to bed. 3rd. After musique practice I went to the office, and there with the two Sir Williams all the morning about business, and at noon I dined with Sir W. Batten with many friends more, it being his wedding-day, and among other froliques, it being their third year, they had three pyes, whereof the middlemost was made of an ovall form, in an ovall hole within the other two, which made much mirth, and was called the middle piece; and above all the rest, we had great striving to steal a spooneful out of it; and I remember Mrs. Mills, the minister's wife, did steal one for me and did give it me; and to end all, Mrs. Shippman did fill the pye full of white wine, it holding at least a pint and a half, and did drink it off for a health to Sir William and my Lady, it being the greatest draft that ever I did see a woman drink in my life. Before we had dined came Sir G. Carteret, and we went all three to the office and did business there till night, and then to Sir W. Batten again, and I went along with my lady and the rest of the gentlewomen to Major Holmes's, and there we had a fine supper, among others, excellent lobsters, which I never eat at this time of the year before. The Major bath good lodgings at the Trinity House. Here we staid, and at last home, and, being in my chamber, we do hear great noise of mirth at Sir William Batten's, tearing the ribbands from my Lady and him.--[As if they were a newly-married couple.]--So I to bed. 4th. To Westminster Hall, where it was full term. Here all the morning, and at noon to my Lord Crew's, where one Mr. Tempter (an ingenious man and a person of honour he seems to be) dined; and, discoursing of the nature of serpents, he told us some that in the waste places of Lancashire do grow to a great bigness, and that do feed upon larks, which they take thus: They observe when the lark is soared to the highest, and do crawl till they come to be just underneath them; and there they place themselves with their mouths uppermost, and there, as is conceived, they do eject poyson up to the bird; for the bird do suddenly come down again in its course of a circle, and falls directly into the mouth of the serpent; which is very strange. He is a great traveller; and, speaking of the tarantula, he says that all the harvest long (about which times they are most busy) there are fidlers go up and down the fields every where, in expectation of being hired by those that are stung. Thence to the office, where late, and so to my chamber and then to bed, my mind a little troubled how to put things in order to my advantage in the office in readiness to the Duke's orders lately sent to us, and of which we are to treat at the office to-morrow morning. This afternoon, going into the office, one met me and did serve a subpoena upon me for one Field, whom we did commit to prison the other day for some ill words he did give the office. The like he had for others, but we shall scour him for it. 5th. Early at the office. Sir G. Carteret, the two Sir Williams and myself all alone reading of the Duke's institutions for the settlement of our office, whereof we read as much as concerns our own duties, and left the other officers for another time. I did move several things for my purpose, and did ease my mind. At noon Sir W. Pen dined with me, and after dinner he and I and my wife to the Theatre, and went in, but being very early we went out again to the next door, and drank some Rhenish wine and sugar, and so to the House again, and there saw "Rule a Wife and have a Wife" very well done. And here also I did look long upon my Lady Castlemaine, who, notwithstanding her late sickness, continues a great beauty. Home and supped with Sir W. Pen and played at cards with him, and so home and to bed, putting some cataplasm to my . . . . which begins to swell again. 6th. At my musique practice, and so into my cellar to my workmen, and I am very much pleased with my alteracon there. About noon comes my uncle Thomas to me to ask for his annuity, and I did tell him my mind freely. We had some high words, but I was willing to end all in peace, and so I made him' dine with me, and I have hopes to work my end upon him. After dinner the barber trimmed me, and so to the office, where I do begin to be exact in my duty there and exacting my privileges, and shall continue to do so. None but Sir W. Batten and me here to-night, and so we broke up early, and I home and to my chamber to put things in order, and so to bed. My swelling I think do begin to go away again. 7th. Among my workmen this morning. By and by by water to Westminster with Commissioner Pett (landing my wife at Black Friars) where I hear the prisoners in the Tower that are to die are come to the Parliament-house this morning. To the Wardrobe to dinner with my Lady; where a civitt cat, parrot, apes, and many other things are come from my Lord by Captain Hill, who dined with my Lady with us to-day. Thence to the Paynter's, and am well pleased with our pictures. So by coach home, where I found the joyners putting up my chimney-piece in the dining-room, which pleases me well, only the frame for a picture they have made so massy and heavy that I cannot tell what to do with it. This evening came my she cozen Porter to see us (the first time that we had seen her since we came to this end of the town) and after her Mr. Hart, who both staid with us a pretty while and so went away. By and by, hearing that Mr. Turner was much troubled at what I do in the office, and do give ill words to Sir W. Pen and others of me, I am much troubled in my mind, and so went to bed; not that I fear him at all, but the natural aptness I have to be troubled at any thing that crosses me. 8th. All the morning in the cellar with the colliers, removing the coles out of the old cole hole into the new one, which cost me 8s. the doing; but now the cellar is done and made clean, it do please me exceedingly, as much as any thing that was ever yet done to my house. I pray God keep me from setting my mind too much upon it. About 3 o'clock the colliers having done I went up to dinner (my wife having often urged me to come, but my mind is so set upon these things that I cannot but be with the workmen to see things done to my mind, which if I am not there is seldom done), and so to the office, and thence to talk with Sir W. Pen, walking in the dark in the garden some turns, he telling me of the ill management of our office, and how Wood the timber merchant and others were very knaves, which I am apt to believe. Home and wrote letters to my father and my brother John, and so to bed. Being a little chillish, intending to take physique to-morrow morning. 9th (Lord's day). I took physique this day, and was all day in my chamber, talking with my wife about her laying out of L20, which I had long since promised her to lay out in clothes against Easter for herself, and composing some ayres, God forgive me! At night to prayers and to bed. 10th. Musique practice a good while, then to Paul's Churchyard, and there I met with Dr. Fuller's "England's Worthys," the first time that I ever saw it; and so I sat down reading in it, till it was two o'clock before I, thought of the time going, and so I rose and went home to dinner, being much troubled that (though he had some discourse with me about my family and arms) he says nothing at all, nor mentions us either in Cambridgeshire or Norfolk. But I believe, indeed, our family were never considerable. At home all the afternoon, and at night to bed. 11th. Musique, then my brother Tom came, and spoke to him about selling of Sturtlow, he consents to, and I think will be the best for him, considering that he needs money, and has no mind to marry. Dined at home, and at the office in the afternoon. So home to musique, my mind being full of our alteracons in the garden, and my getting of things in the office settled to the advantage of my clerks, which I found Mr. Turner much troubled at, and myself am not quiet in mind. But I hope by degrees to bring it to it. At night begun to compose songs, and begin with "Gaze not on Swans." So to bed. 12th. This morning, till four in the afternoon, I spent abroad, doing of many and considerable businesses at Mr. Phillips the lawyer, with Prior, Westminster, my Lord Crew's, Wardrobe, &c., and so home about the time of day to dinner with my mind very highly contented with my day's work, wishing I could do so every day. Then to my chamber drawing up writings, in expectation of my uncle Thomas corning. So to my musique and then to bed. This night I had half a 100 poor Jack--[The "poor john" is a hake salted and dried. It is frequently referred to in old authors as poor fare.]--sent me by Mr. Adis. 13th. After musique comes my cozen Tom Pepys the executor, and he did stay with me above two hours discoursing about the difference between my uncle Thomas and me, and what way there may be to make it up, and I have hopes we may do good of it for all this. Then to dinner, and then came Mr. Kennard, and he and I and Sir W. Pen went up and down his house to view what may be the contrivance and alterations there to the best advantage. So home, where Mr. Blackburne (whom I have not seen a long time) was come to speak with me, and among other discourse he do tell me plain of the corruption of all our Treasurer's officers, and that they hardly pay any money under ten per cent.; and that the other day, for a mere assignation of L200 to some counties, they took L15 which is very strange. So to the office till night, and then home and to write by the post about many businesses, and so to bed. Last night died the Queen of Bohemia. 14th (Valentine's day). I did this day purposely shun to be seen at Sir W. Batten's, because I would not have his daughter to be my Valentine, as she was the last year, there being no great friendship between us now, as formerly. This morning in comes W. Bowyer, who was my wife's Valentine, she having, at which I made good sport to myself, held her hands all the morning, that she might not see the paynters that were at work in gilding my chimney-piece and pictures in my diningroom. By and by she and I by coach with him to Westminster, by the way leaving at Tom's and my wife's father's lodgings each of them some poor Jack, and some she carried to my father Bowyer's, where she staid while I walked in the Hall, and there among others met with Serj'. Pierce, and I took him aside to drink a cup of ale, and he told me the basest thing of Mr. Montagu's and his man Eschar's going away in debt, that I am troubled and ashamed, but glad to be informed of. He thinks he has left L1000 for my Lord to pay, and that he has not laid out L3,000 Out of the L5,000 for my Lord's use, and is not able to make an account of any of the money. My wife and I to dinner to the Wardrobe, and then to talk with my Lady, and so by coach, it raining hard, home, and so to do business and to bed. 15th. With the two Sir Williams to the Trinity-house; and there in their society had the business debated of Sir Nicholas Crisp's sasse at Deptford. Then to dinner, and after dinner I was sworn a Younger Brother; Sir W. Rider being Deputy Master for my Lord of Sandwich; and after I was sworn, all the Elder Brothers shake me by the hand: it is their custom, it seems. Hence to the office, and so to Sir Wm. Batten's all three, and there we staid till late talking together in complaint of the Treasurer's instruments. Above all Mr. Waith, at whose child's christening our wives and we should have been to-day, but none of them went and I am glad of it, for he is a very rogue, So home, and drew up our report for Sir N. Crispe's sasse, and so to bed. No news yet of our fleet gone to Tangier, which we now begin to think long. 16th (Lord's day). To church this morning, and so home and to dinner. In the afternoon I walked to St. Bride's to church, to hear Dr. Jacomb preach upon the recovery, and at the request of Mrs. Turner, who came abroad this day, the first time since her long sickness. He preached upon David's words, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord," and made a pretty good sermon, though not extraordinary. After sermon I led her home, and sat with her, and there was the Dr. got before us; but strange what a command he hath got over Mrs. Turner, who was so carefull to get him what he would, after his preaching, to drink, and he, with a cunning gravity, knows how to command, and had it, and among other things told us that he heard more of the Common Prayer this afternoon (while he stood in the vestry, before he went up into the pulpitt) than he had heard this twenty years. Thence to my uncle Wight to meet my wife, and with other friends of hers and his met by chance we were very merry, and supped, and so home, not being very well through my usual pain got by cold. So to prayers and to bed, and there had a good draft of mulled ale brought me. 17th. This morning, both Sir Williams, myself, and Captain Cocke and Captain Tinker of the Convertine, which we are going to look upon (being intended to go with these ships fitting for the East Indys), down to Deptford; and thence, after being on shipboard, to Woolwich, and there eat something. The Sir Williams being unwilling to eat flesh, [In Lent, of which the observance, intermitted for nineteen years, was now reviving. We have seen that Pepys, as yet, had not cast off all show of Puritanism. "In this month the Fishmongers' Company petitioned the King that Lent might be kept, because they had provided abundance of fish for this season, and their prayer was granted."--Rugge.--B.] Captain Cocke and I had a breast of veal roasted. And here I drank wine upon necessity, being ill for want of it, and I find reason to fear that by my too sudden leaving off wine, I do contract many evils upon myself. Going and coming we played at gleeke, and I won 9s. 6d. clear, the most that ever I won in my life. I pray God it may not tempt me to play again. Being come home again we went to the Dolphin, where Mr. Alcock and my Lady and Mrs. Martha Batten came to us, and after them many others (as it always is where Sir W. Batten goes), and there we had some pullets to supper. I eat though I was not very well, and after that left them, and so home and to bed. 18th. Lay long in bed, then up to the office (we having changed our days to Tuesday and Saturday in the morning and Thursday at night), and by and by with Sir W. Pen, Mr. Kennard, and others to survey his house again, and to contrive for the alterations there, which will be handsome I think. After we had done at the office, I walked to the Wardrobe, where with Mr. Moore and Mr. Lewis Phillips after dinner we did agree upon the agreement between us and Prior and I did seal and sign it. Having agreed with Sir Wm. Pen and my wife to meet them at the Opera, and finding by my walking in the streets, which were every where full of brick-battes and tyles flung down by the extraordinary wind the last night (such as hath not been in memory before, unless at the death of the late Protector), that it was dangerous to go out of doors; and hearing how several persons had been killed to-day by the fall of things in the streets, and that the pageant in Fleetstreet is most of it blown down, and hath broke down part of several houses, among others Dick Brigden's; and that one Lady Sanderson, a person of quality in Covent Garden, was killed by the fall of the house, in her bed, last night; I sent my boy home to forbid them to go forth. But he bringing me word that they are gone, I went thither and there saw "The Law against Lovers," a good play and well performed, especially the little girl's (whom I never saw act before) dancing and singing; and were it not for her, the loss of Roxalana would spoil the house. So home and to musique, and so to bed. 19th. Musique practice: thence to the Trinity House to conclude upon our report of Sir N. Crisp's project, who came to us to answer objections, but we did give him no ear, but are resolved to stand to our report; though I could wish we had shewn him more justice and had heard him. Thence to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, and talked after dinner as I used to do, and so home and up to my chamber to put things in order to my good content, and so to musique practice. 20th. This morning came Mr. Child to see me, and set me something to my Theorbo, and by and by come letters from Tangier from my Lord, telling me how, upon a great defete given to the Portuguese there by the Moors, he had put in 300 men into the town, and so he is in possession, of which we are very glad, because now the Spaniard's designs of hindering our getting the place are frustrated. I went with the letter inclosed to my Lord Chancellor to the House of Lords, and did give it him in the House. And thence to the Wardrobe with my Lady's, and there could not stay dinner, but went by promise to Mr. Savill's, and there sat the first time for my picture in little, which pleaseth me well. So to the office till night and then home. ["Sunday, Jan. 12. This morning, the Portuguese, 140 horse in Tangier, made a salley into the country for booty, whereof they had possessed about 400 cattle, 30 camels, and some horses, and 35 women and girls, and being six miles distant from Tangier, were intercepted by 100 Moors with harquebusses, who in the first charge killed the Aidill with a shot in the head, whereupon the rest of the Portuguese ran, and in the pursuit 51 were slain, whereof were 11 of the knights, besides the Aidill. The horses of the 51 were also taken by the Moors, and all the booty relieved. "Tuesday, Jan. 14. This morning, Mr. Mules came to me from the Governor, for the assistance of some of our men into the castle. "Thursday, Jan. 16. About 80 men out of my own ship, and the Princess, went into Tangier, into the lower castle, about four of the clock in the afternoon. "Friday, Jan. 17. In the morning, by eight o'clock, the 'Martyr' came in from Cales (Cadiz) with provisions, and about ten a clock I sent Sir Richard Stayner, with 120 men, besides officers, to the assistance of the Governor, into Tangier."--Lord Sandwich's Journal, in Kennet's Register. On the 23rd, Lord Sandwich put one hundred more men into Tangier; on the 29th and 30th, Lord Peterborough and his garrison arrived from England, and received possession from the Portuguese; and, on the 31st, Sir Richard Stayner and the seamen re-embarked on board Lord Sandwich's fleet.--B.] 21st, All the morning putting things in my house in order, and packing up glass to send into the country to my father, and books to my brother John, and then to my Lord Crew's to dinner; and thence to Mr. Lewes Philip's chamber, and there at noon with him for business, and received L80 upon Jaspar Trice's account, and so home with it, and so to my chamber for all this evening, and then to bed. 22nd. At the office busy all the morning, and thence to dinner to my Lady Sandwich's, and thence with Mr. Moore to our Attorney, Wellpoole's, and there found that Godfry has basely taken out a judgment against us for the L40, for which I am vexed. And thence to buy a pair of stands and a hanging shelf for my wife's chamber, and so home, and thither came Mr. Savill with the pictures, and we hung them up in our dining-room. It comes now to appear very handsome with all my pictures. This evening I wrote letters to my father; among other things acquainting him with the unhappy accident which hath happened lately to my Lord of Dorset's two oldest sons, who, with two Belasses and one Squire Wentworth, were lately apprehended for killing and robbing of a tanner about Newington' on Wednesday last, and are all now in Newgate. I am much troubled for it, and for the grief and disgrace it brings to their familys and friends. After this, having got a very great cold, I got something warm to-night, and so to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). My cold being increased, I staid at home all day, pleasing myself with my dining-room, now graced with pictures, and reading of Dr. Fuller's "Worthys." So I spent the day, and at night comes Sir W. Pen and supped and talked with me. This day by God's mercy I am 29 years of age, and in very good health, and like to live and get an estate; and if I have a heart to be contented, I think I may reckon myself as happy a man as any is in the world, for which God be praised. So to prayers and to bed. 24th. Long with Mr. Berkenshaw in the morning at my musique practice; finishing my song of "Gaze not on Swans," in two parts, which pleases me well, and I did give him L5 for this month or five weeks that he hath taught me, which is a great deal of money and troubled me to part with it. Thence to the Paynter s, and set again for my picture in little, and thence over the water to Southwark to Mr. Berkenshaw's house, and there sat with him all the afternoon, he showing me his great card of the body of musique, which he cries up for a rare thing, and I do believe it cost much pains, but is not so useful as he would have it. Then we sat down and set "Nulla, nulla sit formido," and he has set it very finely. So home and to supper, and then called Will up, and chid him before my wife for refusing to go to church with the maids yesterday, and telling his mistress that he would not be made a slave of, which vexes me. So to bed. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon with Mr. Moore to the Coffee-house, where among other things the great talk was of the effects of this late great wind; and I heard one say that he had five great trees standing together blown down; and, beginning to lop them, one of them, as soon as the lops were cut off, did, by the weight of the root, rise again and fasten. We have letters from the forest of Deane, that above 1000 Oakes and as many beeches are blown down in one walk there. And letters from my father tell me of L20 hurt done to us at Brampton. This day in the news-book I find that my Lord Buckhurst and his fellows have printed their case as they did give it in upon examination to a justice of Peace, wherein they make themselves a very good tale that they were in pursuit of thieves, and that they took this man for one of them, and so killed him; and that he himself confessed it was the first time of his robbing; and that he did pay dearly for it, for he was a dead man. But I doubt things will be proved otherwise, as they say. Home to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Hunt and his wife to see us and staid a good, while with us. Then parted, and I to my study in the office. The first time since the alteracon that I have begun to do business myself there, and I think I shall be well pleased with it. At night home to supper and to bed. 26th. Mr. Berkenshaw with me all the morning composing of musique to "This cursed jealousy, what is it," a song of Sir W. Davenant's. After dinner I went to my Bookseller's, W. Joyce's, and several other places to pay my debts and do business, I being resolved to cast up my accounts within a day or two, for I fear I have run out too far. In coming home I met with a face I knew and challenged him, thinking it had been one of the Theatre musicians, and did enquire for a song of him, but finding it a mistake, and that it was a gentleman that comes sometimes to the office, I was much ashamed, but made a pretty good excuse that I took him for a gentleman of Gray's Inn who sings well, and so parted. Home for all night and set things in order and so to bed. 27th. This morning came Mr. Berkenshaw to me and in our discourse I, finding that he cries up his rules for most perfect (though I do grant them to be very good, and the best I believe that ever yet were made), and that I could not persuade him to grant wherein they were somewhat lame, we fell to angry words, so that in a pet he flung out of my chamber and I never stopped him, having intended to put him off today, whether this had happened or no, because I think I have all the rules that he hath to give. And so there remains not the practice now to do me good, and it is not for me to continue with him at; L5 per month. So I settled to put all his rules in fair order in a book, which was my work all the morning till dinner. After dinner to the office till late at night, and so home to write by the post, and so to bed. 28th. The boy failing to call us up as I commanded, I was angry, and resolved to whip him for that and many other faults, to-day. Early with Sir W. Pen by coach to Whitehall, to the Duke of York's chamber, and there I presented him from my Lord a fine map of Tangier, done by one Captain Beckman, a Swede, that is with my Lord. We staid looking it over a great while with the Duke after he was ready. Thence I by water to the Painter's, and there sat again for my face in little, and thence home to dinner, and so at home all the afternoon. Then came Mr. Moore and staid and talked with me, and then I to the office, there being all the Admiralty papers brought hither this afternoon from Mr. Blackburne's, where they have lain all this while ever since my coming into this office. This afternoon Mr. Hater received half a year's salary for me, so that now there is not owing me but this quarter, which will be out the next month. Home, and to be as good as my word, I bade Will get me a rod, and he and I called the boy up to one of the upper rooms of the Comptroller's house towards the garden, and there I reckoned all his faults, and whipped him soundly, but the rods were so small that I fear they did not much hurt to him, but only to my arm, which I am already, within a quarter of an hour, not able to stir almost. After supper to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Aptness I have to be troubled at any thing that crosses me Cannot but be with the workmen to see things done to my mind Command of an army is not beholden to any body to make him King 
4133	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH & APRIL 1661-1662 March 1st. This morning I paid Sir W. Batten L40, which I have owed him this half year, having borrowed it of him. Then to the office all the morning, so dined at home, and after dinner comes my uncle Thomas, with whom I had some high words of difference, but ended quietly, though I fear I shall do no good by fair means upon him. Thence my wife and I by coach, first to see my little picture that is a drawing, and thence to the Opera, and there saw "Romeo and Juliet," the first time it was ever acted; but it is a play of itself the worst that ever I heard in my life, and the worst acted that ever I saw these people do, and I am resolved to go no more to see the first time of acting, for they were all of them out more or less. Thence home, and after supper and wrote by the post, I settled to what I had long intended, to cast up my accounts with myself, and after much pains to do it and great fear, I do find that I am 1500 in money beforehand in the world, which I was afraid I was not, but I find that I had spent above L250 this last half year, which troubles me much, but by God's blessing I am resolved to take up, having furnished myself with all things for a great while, and to-morrow to think upon some rules and obligations upon myself to walk by. So with my mind eased of a great deal of trouble, though with no great content to find myself above L100 worse now than I was half a year ago, I went to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). With my mind much eased talking long in bed with my wife about our frugall life for the time to come, proposing to her what I could and would do if I were worth L2,000, that is, be a knight, and keep my coach, which pleased her, [Lord Braybrooke wrote, "This reminds me of a story of my father's, when he was of Merton College, and heard Bowen the porter wish that he had L100 a-year, to enable him to keep a couple of hunters and a pack of foxhounds."] and so I do hope we shall hereafter live to save something, for I am resolved to keep myself by rules from expenses. To church in the morning: none in the pew but myself. So home to dinner, and after dinner came Sir William and talked with me till church time, and then to church, where at our going out I was at a loss by Sir W. Pen's putting me upon it whether to take my wife or Mrs. Martha (who alone was there), and I began to take my wife, but he jogged me, and so I took Martha, and led her down before him and my wife. So set her at home, and Sir William and my wife and I to walk in the garden, and anon hearing that Sir G. Carteret had sent to see whether we were at home or no, Sir William and I went to his house, where we waited a good while, they being at prayers, and by and by we went up to him; there the business was about hastening the East India ships, about which we are to meet to-morrow in the afternoon. So home to my house, and Sir William supped with me, and so to bed. 3rd. All the morning at home about business with my brother Tom, and then with Mr. Moore, and then I set to make some strict rules for my future practice in my expenses, which I did bind myself in the presence of God by oath to observe upon penalty therein set down, and I do not doubt but hereafter to give a good account of my time and to grow rich, for I do find a great deal more of content in these few days, that I do spend well about my business, than in all the pleasure of a whole week, besides the trouble which I remember I always have after that for the expense of my money. Dined at home, and then up to my chamber again about business, and so to the office about despatching of the East India ships, where we staid till 8 at night, and then after I had been at Sir W. Pen's awhile discoursing with him and Mr. Kenard the joiner about the new building in his house, I went home, where I found a vessel of oysters sent me from Chatham, so I fell to eat some and then to supper, and so after the barber had done to bed. I am told that this day the Parliament hath voted 2s. per annum for every chimney in England, as a constant revenue for ever to the Crown. [Although fumage or smoke money was as old as the Conquest, the first parliamentary levy of hearth or chimney money was by statute 13 and 14 Car. II., c. 10, which gave the king an hereditary revenue of two shillings annually upon every hearth in all houses paying church or poor rate. This act was repealed by statute I William and Mary, c. 10, it being declared in the preamble as "not only a great oppression to the poorer sort, but a badge of slavery upon the whole people, exposing every man's house to be entered into and searched at pleasure by persons unknown to him."] 4th. At the office all the morning, dined at home at noon, and then to the office again in the afternoon to put things in order there, my mind being very busy in settling the office to ourselves, I having now got distinct offices for the other two. By and by Sir W. Pen and I and my wife in his coach to Moore Fields, where we walked a great while, though it was no fair weather and cold; and after our walk we went to the Pope's Head, and eat cakes and other fine things, and so home, and I up to my chamber to read and write, and so to bed. 5th. In the morning to the Painter's about my little picture. Thence to Tom's about business, and so to the pewterer's, to buy a poore's-box to put my forfeits in, upon breach of my late vows. So to the Wardrobe and dined, and thence home and to my office, and there sat looking over my papers of my voyage, when we fetched over the King, and tore so many of these that were worth nothing, as filled my closet as high as my knees. I staid doing this till 10 at night, and so home and to bed. 6th. Up early, my mind full of business, then to the office, where the two Sir Williams and I spent the morning passing the victualler's accounts, the first I have had to do withal. Then home, where my Uncle Thomas (by promise and his son Tom) were come to give me his answer whether he would have me go to law or arbitracon with him, but he is unprovided to answer me, and desires two days more. I left them to dine with my wife, and myself to Mr. Gauden and the two knights at dinner at the Dolphin, and thence after dinner to the office back again till night, we having been these four or five days very full of business, and I thank God I am well pleased with it, and hope I shall continue of that temper, which God grant. So after a little being at Sir W. Batten's with Sir G. Carteret talking, I went home, and so to my chamber, and then to bed, my mind somewhat troubled about Brampton affairs. This night my new camelott riding coat to my coloured cloth suit came home. More news to-day of our losses at Brampton by the late storm. 7th. Early to White Hall to the chappell, where by Mr. Blagrave's means I got into his pew, and heard Dr. Creeton, the great Scotchman, preach before the King, and Duke and Duchess, upon the words of Micah:--"Roule yourselves in dust." He made a most learned sermon upon the words; but, in his application, the most comical man that ever I heard in my life. Just such a man as Hugh Peters; saying that it had been better for the poor Cavalier never to have come with the King into England again; for he that hath the impudence to deny obedience to the lawful magistrate, and to swear to the oath of allegiance, &c., was better treated now-a-days in Newgate, than a poor Royalist, that hath suffered all his life for the King, is at White Hall among his friends. He discoursed much against a man's lying with his wife in Lent, saying that he might be as incontinent during that time with his own wife as at another time in another man's bed. Thence with Mr. Moore to Whitehall and walked a little, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and so home to the office about business till late at night by myself, and so home and to bed. 8th. By coach with both Sir Williams to Westminster; this being a great day there in the House to pass the business for chimney-money, which was done. In the Hall I met with Serjeant Pierce; and he and I to drink a cup of ale at the Swan, and there he told me how my Lady Monk hath disposed of all the places which Mr. Edwd. Montagu hoped to have had, as he was Master of the Horse to the Queen; which I am afraid will undo him, because he depended much upon the profit of what he should make by these places. He told me, also, many more scurvy stories of him and his brother Ralph, which troubles me to hear of persons of honour as they are. About one o'clock with both Sir Williams and another, one Sir Rich. Branes, to the Trinity House, but came after they had dined, so we had something got ready for us. Here Sir W. Batten was taken with a fit of coughing that lasted a great while and made him very ill, and so he went home sick upon it. Sir W. Pen. and I to the office, whither afterward came Sir G. Carteret; and we sent for Sir Thos. Allen, one of the Aldermen of the City, about the business of one Colonel Appesley, whom we had taken counterfeiting of bills with all our hands and the officers of the yards, so well counterfeited that I should never have mistrusted them. We staid about this business at the office till ten at night, and at last did send him with a constable to the Counter; and did give warrants for the seizing of a complice of his, one Blinkinsopp. So home and wrote to my father, and so to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Church in the morning: dined at home, then to Church again and heard Mr. Naylor, whom I knew formerly of Keye's College, make a most eloquent sermon. Thence to Sir W. Batten's to see how he did, then to walk an hour with Sir W. Pen in the garden: then he in to supper with me at my house, and so to prayers and to bed. 10th. At the office doing business all the morning, and my wife being gone to buy some things in the city I dined with Sir W. Batten, and in the afternoon met Sir W. Pen at the Treasury Office, and there paid off the Guift, where late at night, and so called in and eat a bit at Sir W. Batten's again, and so home and to bed, to-morrow being washing day. 11th. At the office all the morning, and all the afternoon rummaging of papers in my chamber, and tearing some and sorting others till late at night, and so to bed, my wife being not well all this day. This afternoon Mrs. Turner and The. came to see me, her mother not having been abroad many a day before, but now is pretty well again and has made me one of the first visits. 12th. At the office from morning till night putting of papers in order, that so I may have my office in an orderly condition. I took much pains in sorting and folding of papers. Dined at home, and there came Mrs. Goldsborough about her old business, but I did give her a short answer and sent away. This morning we had news from Mr. Coventry, that Sir G. Downing (like a perfidious rogue, though the action is good and of service to the King, [("And hail the treason though we hate the traitor.") On the 21st Charles returned his formal thanks to the States for their assistance in the matter.--B.] yet he cannot with any good conscience do it) hath taken Okey, Corbet, and Barkestead at Delfe, in Holland, and sent them home in the Blackmore. Sir W. Pen, talking to me this afternoon of what a strange thing it is for Downing to do this, he told me of a speech he made to the Lords States of Holland, telling them to their faces that he observed that he was not received with the respect and observance now, that he was when he came from the traitor and rebell Cromwell: by whom, I am sure, he hath got all he hath in the world,--and they know it too. [Charles, when residing at Brussels, went to the Hague at night to pay a secret visit to his sister, the Princess of Orange. After his arrival, "an old reverend-like man, with a long grey beard and ordinary grey clothes," entered the inn and begged for a private interview. He then fell on his knees, and pulling off his disguise, discovered himself to be Mr. Downing, then ambassador from Cromwell to the States-General. He informed Charles that the Dutch had guaranteed to the English Commonwealth to deliver him into their hands should he ever set foot in their territory. This warning probably saved Charles's liberty.--M. B.] 13th. All day, either at the office or at home, busy about business till late at night, I having lately followed my business much, I find great pleasure in it, and a growing content. 14th. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir W. Pen and I making a bargain with the workmen about his house, at which I did see things not so well contracted for as I would have, and I was vexed and made him so too to see me so critical in the agreement. Home to dinner. In the afternoon came the German Dr. Kuffler, [This is the secret of Cornelius van Drebbel (1572-1634), which is referred to again by Pepys on November 11th, 1663. Johannes Siberius Kuffler was originally a dyer at Leyden, who married Drebbel's daughter. In the "Calendar of State Papers, Domestic," 1661-62 (p. 327), is the following entry: "Request of Johannes Siberius Kuffler and Jacob Drebble for a trial of their father Cornelius Drebble's secret of sinking or destroying ships in a moment; and if it succeed, for a reward of L10,000. The secret was left them by will, to preserve for the English crown before any other state." Cornelius van Drebbel settled in London, where he died. James I. took some interest in him, and is said to have interfered when he was in prison in Austria and in danger of execution.] to discourse with us about his engine to blow up ships. We doubted not the matter of fact, it being tried in Cromwell's time, but the safety of carrying them in ships; but he do tell us, that when he comes to tell the King his secret (for none but the Kings, successively, and their heirs must know it), it will appear to be of no danger at all. We concluded nothing; but shall discourse with the Duke of York to-morrow about it. In the afternoon, after we had done with him, I went to speak with my uncle Wight and found my aunt to have been ill a good while of a miscarriage, I staid and talked with her a good while. Thence home, where I found that Sarah the maid had been very ill all day, and my wife fears that she will have an ague, which I am much troubled for. Thence to my lute, upon which I have not played a week or two, and trying over the two songs of "Nulla, nulla," &c., and "Gaze not on Swans," which Mr. Berkenshaw set for me a little while ago, I find them most incomparable songs as he has set them, of which I am not a little proud, because I am sure none in the world has them but myself, not so much as he himself that set them. So to bed. 15th. With Sir G. Carteret and both the Sir Williams at Whitehall to wait on the Duke in his chamber, which we did about getting money for the Navy and other things. So back again to the office all the morning. Thence to the Exchange to hire a ship for the Maderas, but could get none. Then home to dinner, and Sir G. Carteret and I all the afternoon by ourselves upon business in the office till late at night. So to write letters and home to bed. Troubled at my maid's being ill. 16th (Lord's day). This morning, till churches were done, I spent going from one church to another and hearing a bit here and a bit there. So to the Wardrobe to dinner with the young Ladies, and then into my Lady's chamber and talked with her a good while, and so walked to White Hall, an hour or two in the Park, which is now very pleasant. Here the King and Duke came to see their fowl play. The Duke took very civil notice of me. So walked home, calling at Tom's, giving him my resolution about my boy's livery. Here I spent an hour walking in the garden with Sir W. Pen, and then my wife and I thither to supper, where his son William is at home not well. But all things, I fear, do not go well with them; they look discontentedly, but I know not what ails them. Drinking of cold small beer here I fell ill, and was forced to go out and vomit, and so was well again and went home by and by to bed. Fearing that Sarah would continue ill, wife and I removed this night to our matted chamber and lay there. 17th. All the morning at the office by myself about setting things in order there, and so at noon to the Exchange to see and be seen, and so home to dinner and then to the office again till night, and then home and after supper and reading a while to bed. Last night the Blackmore pink [A "pink" was a form of vessel now obsolete, and had a very narrow stern. The "Blackmoor" was a sixth-rate of twelve guns, built at Chatham by Captain Tayler in 1656.] brought the three prisoners, Barkestead, Okey, and Corbet, to the Tower, being taken at Delfe in Holland; where, the Captain tells me, the Dutch were a good while before they could be persuaded to let them go, they being taken prisoners in their land. But Sir G. Downing would not be answered so: though all the world takes notice of him for a most ungrateful villain for his pains. 18th. All the morning at the office with Sir W. Pen. Dined at home, and Luellin and Blurton with me. After dinner to the office again, where Sir G. Carteret and we staid awhile, and then Sir W. Pen and I on board some of the ships now fitting for East Indys and Portugall, to see in what forwardness they are, and so back home again, and I write to my father by the post about Brampton Court, which is now coming on. But that which troubles me is that my Father has now got an ague that I fear may endanger his life. So to bed. 19th. All the morning and afternoon at my office putting things in order, and in the evening I do begin to digest my uncle the Captain's papers into one book, which I call my Brampton book, for the clearer understanding things how they are with us. So home and supper and to bed. This noon came a letter from T. Pepys, the turner, in answer to one of mine the other day to him, wherein I did cheque him for not coming to me, as he had promised, with his and his father's resolucion about the difference between us. But he writes to me in the very same slighting terms that I did to him, without the least respect at all, but word for word as I did him, which argues a high and noble spirit in him, though it troubles me a little that he should make no more of my anger, yet I cannot blame him for doing so, he being the elder brother's son, and not depending upon me at all. 20th. At my office all the morning, at noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and then all the afternoon at the office till late at night, and so home and to bed, my mind in good ease when I mind business, which methinks should be a good argument to me never to do otherwise. 21st. With Sir W. Batten by water to Whitehall, and he to Westminster. I went to see Sarah and my Lord's lodgings, which are now all in dirt, to be repaired against my Lord's coming from sea with the Queen. Thence to Westminster Hall; and there walked up and down and heard the great difference that hath been between my Lord Chancellor and my Lord of Bristol, about a proviso that my Lord Chancellor would have brought into the Bill for Conformity, that it shall be in the power of the King, when he sees fit, to dispense with the Act of Conformity; and though it be carried in the House of Lords, yet it is believed it will hardly pass in the Commons. Here I met with Chetwind, Parry, and several others, and went to a little house behind the Lords' house to drink some wormwood ale, which doubtless was a bawdy house, the mistress of the house having the look and dress: Here we staid till noon and then parted, I by water to the Wardrobe to meet my wife, but my Lady and they had dined, and so I dined with the servants, and then up to my Lady, and there staid and talked a good while, and then parted and walked into Cheapside, and there saw my little picture, for which I am to sit again the next week. So home, and staid late writing at my office, and so home and to bed, troubled that now my boy is also fallen sick of an ague we fear. 22nd. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir Williams both and I by water down to the Lewes, Captain Dekins, his ship, a merchantman, where we met the owners, Sir John Lewes and Alderman Lewes, and several other great merchants; among others one Jefferys, a merry man that is a fumbler, and he and I called brothers, and he made all the mirth in the company. We had a very fine dinner, and all our wives' healths, with seven or nine guns apiece; and exceeding merry we were, and so home by barge again, and I vexed to find Griffin leave the office door open, and had a design to have carried away the screw or the carpet in revenge to him, but at last I would not, but sent for him and chid him, and so to supper and to bed, having drank a great deal of wine. 23rd (Lord's day). This morning was brought me my boy's fine livery, which is very handsome, and I do think to keep to black and gold lace upon gray, being the colour of my arms, for ever. To church in the morning, and so home with Sir W. Batten, and there eat some boiled great oysters, and so home, and while I was at dinner with my wife I was sick, and was forced to vomit up my oysters again, and then I was well. By and by a coach came to call me by my appointment, and so my wife and I carried to Westminster to Mrs. Hunt's, and I to Whitehall, Worcester House, and to my Lord Treasurer's to have found Sir G. Carteret, but missed in all these places. So back to White Hall, and there met with Captn. Isham, this day come from Lisbon, with letters from the Queen to the King. And he did give me letters which speak that our fleet is all at Lisbon; [One of these letters was probably from John Creed. Mr. S. J. Davey, of 47, Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, in 1889 had in his possession nine long letters from Creed to Pepys. In the first of these, dated from Lisbon, March, 1662, Creed wrote: "My Lord Embassador doth all he can to hasten the Queen's Majestie's embarquement, there being reasons enough against suffering any unnecessary delay." There appear to have been considerable delays in the arrangements for the following declaration of Charles II. was dated June 22nd, 1661: "Charles R. Whereas his Maj. is resolved to declare, under his Royall hand and seale, the most illustrious Lady Infanta of Portugall to be his lawfull wife, before the Treaty shall be signed by the King of Portugall; which is to be done only for the better expediting the marriage, without sending to Rome for a dispensation, which the laws of Portugall would require if the said most Illustrious Infanta were to be betrothed in that Kingdome," &c.] and that the Queen do not intend to embarque sooner than tomorrow come fortnight. So having sent for my wife, she and I to my Lady Sandwich, and after a short visit away home. She home, and I to Sir G. Carteret's about business, and so home too, and Sarah having her fit we went to bed. 24th. Early Sir G. Carteret, both Sir Williams and I on board the Experiment, to dispatch her away, she being to carry things to the Madeiras with the East Indy fleet. Here (Sir W. Pen going to Deptford to send more hands) we staid till noon talking, and eating and drinking a good ham of English bacon, and having put things in very good order home, where I found Jane, my old maid, come out of the country, and I have a mind to have her again. By and by comes La Belle Pierce to see my wife, and to bring her a pair of peruques of hair, as the fashion now is for ladies to wear; which are pretty, and are of my wife's own hair, or else I should not endure them. After a good whiles stay, I went to see if any play was acted, and I found none upon the post, it being Passion week. So home again, and took water with them towards Westminster; but as we put off with the boat Griffin came after me to tell me that Sir G. Carteret and the rest were at the office, so I intended to see them through the bridge and come back again, but the tide being against us, when we were almost through we were carried back again with much danger, and Mrs. Pierce was much afeard and frightened. So I carried them to the other side and walked to the Beare, and sent them away, and so back again myself to the office, but finding nobody there I went again to the Old Swan, and thence by water to the New Exchange, and there found them, and thence by coach carried my wife to Bowes to buy something, and while they were there went to Westminster Hall, and there bought Mr. Grant's book of observations upon the weekly bills of mortality, which appear to me upon first sight to be very pretty. So back again and took my wife, calling at my brother Tom's, whom I found full of work, which I am glad of, and thence at the New Exchange and so home, and I to Sir W. Batten's, and supped there out of pure hunger and to save getting anything ready at home, which is a thing I do not nor shall not use to do. So home and to bed. 26th. Up early. This being, by God's great blessing, the fourth solemn day of my cutting for the stone this day four years, and am by God's mercy in very good health, and like to do well, the Lord's name be praised for it. To the office and Sir G. Carteret's all the morning about business. At noon come my good guests, Madame Turner, The., and Cozen Norton, and a gentleman, one Mr. Lewin of the King's Life-Guard; by the same token he told us of one of his fellows killed this morning in a duel. I had a pretty dinner for them, viz., a brace of stewed carps, six roasted chickens, and a jowl of salmon, hot, for the first course; a tanzy [Tansy (tanacetum), a herb from which puddings were made. Hence any pudding of the kind. Selden ("Table Talk") says: "Our tansies at Easter have reference to the bitter herbs." See in Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century" recipes for "an apple tansey," "a bean tansey," and "a gooseberry tansey."--M. B.] and two neats' tongues, and cheese the second; and were very merry all the afternoon, talking and singing and piping upon the flageolette. In the evening they went with great pleasure away, and I with great content and my wife walked half an hour in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. We had a man-cook to dress dinner to-day, and sent for Jane to help us, and my wife and she agreed at L3 a year (she would not serve under) till both could be better provided, and so she stays with us, and I hope we shall do well if poor Sarah were but rid of her ague. 27th. Early Sir G. Carteret, both Sir Williams and I by coach to Deptford, it being very windy and rainy weather, taking a codd and some prawnes in Fish Street with us. We settled to pay the Guernsey, a small ship, but come to a great deal of money, it having been unpaid ever since before the King came in, by which means not only the King pays wages while the ship has lain still, but the poor men have most of them been forced to borrow all the money due for their wages before they receive it, and that at a dear rate, God knows, so that many of them had very little to receive at the table, which grieved me to see it. To dinner, very merry. Then Sir George to London, and we again to the pay, and that done by coach home again and to the office, doing some business, and so home and to bed. 28th (Good Friday). At home all the morning, and dined with my wife, a good dinner. At my office all the afternoon. At night to my chamber to read and sing, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. At the office all the morning. Then to the Wardrobe, and there coming late dined with the people below. Then up to my Lady, and staid two hours talking with her about her family business with great content and confidence in me. So calling at several places I went home, where my people are getting the house clean against to-morrow. I to the office and wrote several letters by post, and so home and to bed. 30th (Easter day). Having my old black suit new furbished, I was pretty neat in clothes to-day, and my boy, his old suit new trimmed, very handsome. To church in the morning, and so home, leaving the two Sir Williams to take the Sacrament, which I blame myself that I have hitherto neglected all my life, but once or twice at Cambridge. [This does not accord with the certificate which Dr. Mines wrote in 1681, where he says that Pepys was a constant communicant. See Life of Pepys in vol. i.] Dined with my wife, a good shoulder of veal well dressed by Jane, and handsomely served to table, which pleased us much, and made us hope that she will serve our turn well enough. My wife and I to church in the afternoon, and seated ourselves, she below me, and by that means the precedence of the pew, which my Lady Batten and her daughter takes, is confounded; and after sermon she and I did stay behind them in the pew, and went out by ourselves a good while after them, which we judge a very fine project hereafter to avoyd contention. So my wife and I to walk an hour or two on the leads, which begins to be very pleasant, the garden being in good condition. So to supper, which is also well served in. We had a lobster to supper, with a crabb Pegg Pen sent my wife this afternoon, the reason of which we cannot think; but something there is of plot or design in it, for we have a little while carried ourselves pretty strange to them. After supper to bed. 31st. This morning Mr. Coventry and all our company met at the office about some business of the victualling, which being dispatched we parted. I to my Lord Crew's to dinner (in my way calling upon my brother Tom, with whom I staid a good while and talked, and find him a man like to do well, which contents me much), where used with much respect, and talking with him about my Lord's debts, and whether we should make use of an offer of Sir G. Carteret's to lend my Lady 4 or L500, he told me by no means, we must not oblige my Lord to him, and by the by he made a question whether it was not my Lord's interest a little to appear to the King in debt, and for people to clamor against him as well as others for their money, that by that means the King and the world may see that he do lay out for the King's honour upon his own main stock, which many he tells me do, that in fine if there be occasion he and I will be bound for it. Thence to Sir Thomas Crew's lodgings. He hath been ill, and continues so, under fits of apoplexy. Among other things, he and I did discourse much of Mr. Montagu's base doings, and the dishonour that he will do my Lord, as well as cheating him of 2 or L3,000, which is too true. Thence to the play, where coming late, and meeting with Sir W. Pen, who had got room for my wife and his daughter in the pit, he and I into one of the boxes, and there we sat and heard "The Little Thiefe," a pretty play and well done. Thence home, and walked in the garden with them, and then to the house to supper and sat late talking, and so to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1662 April 1st. Within all the morning and at the office. At noon my wife and I (having paid our maid Nell her whole wages, who has been with me half a year, and now goes away for altogether) to the Wardrobe, where my Lady and company had almost dined. We sat down and dined. Here was Mr. Herbert, son to Sir Charles Herbert, that lately came with letters from my Lord Sandwich to the King. After some discourse we remembered one another to have been together at the tavern when Mr. Fanshaw took his leave of me at his going to Portugall with Sir Richard. After dinner he and I and the two young ladies and my wife to the playhouse, the Opera, and saw "The Mayde in the Mill," a pretty good play. In the middle of the play my Lady Paulina, who had taken physique this morning, had need to go forth, and so I took the poor lady out and carried her to the Grange, and there sent the maid of the house into a room to her, and she did what she had a mind to, and so back again to the play; and that being done, in their coach I took them to Islington, and then, after a walk in the fields, I took them to the great cheese-cake house and entertained them, and so home, and after an hour's stay with my Lady, their coach carried us home, and so weary to bed. 2nd. Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I walked to the Spittle an hour or two before my Lord Mayor and the blewcoat boys come, which at last they did, and a fine sight of charity it is indeed. We got places and staid to hear a sermon; but, it being a Presbyterian one, it was so long, that after above an hour of it we went away, and I home and dined; and then my wife and I by water to the Opera, and there saw "The Bondman" most excellently acted; and though we had seen it so often, yet I never liked it better than to-day, Ianthe acting Cleora's part very well now Roxalana is gone. We are resolved to see no more plays till Whitsuntide, we having been three days together. Met Mr. Sanchy, Smithes; Gale, and Edlin at the play, but having no great mind to spend money, I left them there. And so home and to supper, and then dispatch business, and so to bed. 3rd. At home and at the office all day. At night to bed. 4th. By barge Sir George, Sir Williams both and I to Deptford, and there fell to pay off the Drake and Hampshire, then to dinner, Sir George to his lady at his house, and Sir Wm. Pen to Woolwich, and Sir W. Batten and I to the tavern, where much company came to us and our dinner, and somewhat short by reason of their taking part away with them. Then to pay the rest of the Hampshire and the Paradox, and were at it till 9 at night, and so by night home by barge safe, and took Tom Hater with some that the clerks had to carry home along with us in the barge, the rest staying behind to pay tickets, but came home after us that night. So being come home, to bed. I was much troubled to-day to see a dead man lie floating upon the waters, and had done (they say) these four days, and nobody takes him up to bury him, which is very barbarous. 5th. At the office till almost noon, and then broke up. Then came Sir G. Carteret, and he and I walked together alone in the garden, taking notice of some faults in the office, particularly of Sir W. Batten's, and he seemed to be much pleased with me, and I hope will be the ground of a future interest of mine in him, which I shall be glad of. Then with my wife abroad, she to the Wardrobe and there dined, and I to the Exchange and so to the Wardrobe, but they had dined. After dinner my wife and the two ladies to see my aunt Wight, and thence met me at home. From thence (after Sir W. Batten and I had viewed our houses with a workman in order to the raising of our roofs higher to enlarge our houses) I went with them by coach first to Moorfields and there walked, and thence to Islington and had a fine walk in the fields there, and so, after eating and drinking, home with them, and so by water with my wife home, and after supper to bed. 6th (Lord's day). By water to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret, to give him an account of the backwardness of the ships we have hired to Portugall: at which he is much troubled. Thence to the Chappell, and there, though crowded, heard a very honest sermon before the King by a Canon of Christ Church, upon these words, "Having a form of godliness, but denying," &c. Among other things, did much insist upon the sin of adultery: which methought might touch the King, and the more because he forced it into his sermon, methinks, besides his text. So up and saw the King at dinner; and thence with Sir G. Carteret to his lodgings to dinner, with him and his lady, where I saluted her, and was well received as a stranger by her; she seems a good lady, and all their discourse, which was very much, was upon their sufferings and services for the King. Yet not without some trouble, to see that some that had been much bound to them, do now neglect them; and others again most civil that have received least from them: and I do believe that he hath been a good servant to the King. Thence to walk in the Park, where the King and Duke did walk round the Park. After I was tired I went and took boat to Milford stairs, and so to Graye's Inn walks, the first time I have been there this year, and it is very pleasant and full of good company. When tired I walked to the Wardrobe, and there staid a little with my Lady, and so by water from Paul's Wharf (where my boat staid for me), home and supped with my wife with Sir W. Pen, and so home and to bed. 7th. By water to Whitehall and thence to Westminster, and staid at the Parliament-door long to speak with Mr. Coventry, which vexed me. Thence to the Lords' House, and stood within the House, while the Bishops and Lords did stay till the Chancellor's coming, and then we were put out, and they to prayers. There comes a Bishop; and while he was rigging himself, he bid his man listen at the door, whereabout in the prayers they were but the man told him something, but could not tell whereabouts it was in the prayers, nor the Bishop neither, but laughed at the conceit; so went in: but, God forgive me! I did tell it by and by to people, and did say that the man said that they were about something of saving their souls, but could not tell whereabouts in the prayers that was. I sent in a note to my Lord Privy Seal, and he came out to me; and I desired he would make another deputy for me, because of my great business of the Navy this month; but he told me he could not do it without the King's consent, which vexed me. So to Dr. Castle's, and there did get a promise from his clerk that his master should officiate for me to-morrow. Thence by water to Tom's, and there with my wife took coach and to the old Exchange, where having bought six large Holland bands, I sent her home, and myself found out my uncle Wight and Mr. Rawlinson, and with them went to the tatter's house to dinner, and there had a good dinner of cold meat and good wine, but was troubled in my head after the little wine I drank, and so home to my office, and there did promise to drink no more wine but one glass a meal till Whitsuntide next upon any score. Mrs. Bowyer and her daughters being at my house I forbore to go to them, having business and my head disturbed, but staid at my office till night, and then to walk upon the leads with my wife, and so to my chamber and thence to bed. The great talk is, that the Spaniards and the Hollanders do intend to set upon the Portuguese by sea, at Lisbon, as soon as our fleet is come away; and by that means our fleet is not likely to come yet these two months or three; which I hope is not true. 8th. Up very early and to my office, and there continued till noon. So to dinner, and in comes uncle Fenner and the two Joyces. I sent for a barrel of oysters and a breast of veal roasted, and were very merry; but I cannot down with their dull company and impertinent. After dinner to the office again. So at night by coach to Whitehall, and Mr. Coventry not being there I brought my business of the office to him, it being almost dark, and so came away and took up my wife. By the way home and on Ludgate Hill there being a stop I bought two cakes, and they were our supper at home. 9th. Sir George Carteret, Sir Williams both and myself all the morning at the office passing the Victualler's accounts, and at noon to dinner at the Dolphin, where a good chine of beef and other good cheer. At dinner Sir George showed me an account in French of the great famine, which is to the greatest extremity in some part of France at this day, which is very strange. [On the 5th of June following, Louis, notwithstanding the scarcity, gave that splendid carousal in the court before the Tuileries, from which the place has ever since taken its name.--B.] So to the Exchange, Mrs. Turner (who I found sick in bed), and several other places about business, and so home. Supper and to bed. 10th. To Westminster with the two Sir Williams by water, and did several businesses, and so to the Wardrobe with Mr. Moore to dinner. Yesterday came Col. Talbot with letters from Portugall, that the Queen is resolved to embarque for England this week. Thence to the office all the afternoon. My Lord Windsor came to us to discourse of his affairs, and to take his leave of us; he being to go Governor of Jamaica with this fleet that is now going. Late at the office. Home with my mind full of business. So to bed. 11th. Up early to my lute and a song, then about six o'clock with Sir W. Pen by water to Deptford; and among the ships now going to Portugall with men and horse, to see them dispatched. So to Greenwich; and had a fine pleasant walk to Woolwich, having in our company Captn. Minnes, with whom I was much pleased to hear him talk in fine language, but pretty well for all that. Among other things, he and the other Captains that were with us tell me that negros drowned look white and lose their blackness, which I never heard before. At Woolwich, up and down to do the same business; and so back to Greenwich by water, and there while something is dressing for our dinner, Sir William and I walked into the Park, where the King hath planted trees and made steps in the hill up to the Castle, which is very magnificent. So up and down the house, which is now repayring in the Queen's lodgings. So to dinner at the Globe, and Captain Lambert of the Duke's pleasure boat came to us and dined with us, and were merry, and so home, and I in the evening to the Exchange, and spoke with uncle Wight, and so home and walked with my wife on the leads late, and so the barber came to me, and so to bed very weary, which I seldom am. 12th. At the office all the morning, where, among other things, being provoked by some impertinence of Sir W. Batten's, I called him unreasonable man, at which he was very angry and so was I, but I think we shall not much fall out about it. After dinner to several places about business, and so home and wrote letters at my office, and one to Mr. Coventry about business, and at the close did excuse my not waiting on him myself so often as others do for want of leisure. So home and to bed. 13th (Lord's day). In the morning to Paul's, where I heard a pretty good sermon, and thence to dinner with my Lady at the Wardrobe; and after much talk with her after dinner, I went to the Temple to Church, and there heard another: by the same token a boy, being asleep, fell down a high seat to the ground, ready to break his neck, but got no hurt. Thence to Graye's Inn walkes; and there met Mr. Pickering and walked with him two hours till 8 o'clock till I was quite weary. His discourse most about the pride of the Duchess of York; and how all the ladies envy my Lady Castlemaine. He intends to go to Portsmouth to meet the Queen this week; which is now the discourse and expectation of the town. So home, and no sooner come but Sir W. Warren comes to me to bring me a paper of Field's (with whom we have lately had a great deal of trouble at the office), being a bitter petition to the King against our office for not doing justice upon his complaint to us of embezzlement of the King's stores by one Turpin. I took Sir William to Sir W. Pen's (who was newly come from Walthamstow), and there we read it and discoursed, but we do not much fear it, the King referring it to the Duke of York. So we drank a glass or two of wine, and so home and I to bed, my wife being in bed already. 14th. Being weary last night I lay very long in bed to-day, talking with my wife, and persuaded her to go to Brampton, and take Sarah with her, next week, to cure her ague by change of ayre, and we agreed all things therein. We rose, and at noon dined, and then we to the Paynter's, and there sat the last time for my little picture, which I hope will please me. Then to Paternoster Row to buy things for my wife against her going. So home and walked upon the leads with my wife, and whether she suspected anything or no I know not, but she is quite off of her going to Brampton, which something troubles me, and yet all my design was that I might the freer go to Portsmouth when the rest go to pay off the yards there, which will be very shortly. But I will get off if I can. So to supper and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home. Again at the office in the afternoon to despatch letters and so home, and with my wife, by coach, to the New Exchange, to buy her some things; where we saw some new-fashion pettycoats of sarcenett, with a black broad lace printed round the bottom and before, very handsome, and my wife had a mind to one of them, but we did not then buy one. But thence to Mr. Bowyer's, thinking to have spoke to them for our Sarah to go to Huntsmore for a while to get away her ague, but we had not opportunity to do it, and so home and to bed. 16th. Up early and took my physique; it wrought all the morning well. At noon dined, and all the afternoon, Mr. Hater to that end coming to me, he and I did go about my abstracting all the contracts made in the office since we came into it. So at night to bed. 17th. To Mr. Holliard's in the morning, thinking to be let blood, but he was gone out. So to White Hall, thinking to have had a Seal at Privy Seal, but my Lord did not come, and so I walked back home and staid within all the afternoon, there being no office kept to-day, but in the evening Sir W. Batten sent for me to tell me that he had this day spoke to the Duke about raising our houses, and he hath given us leave to do it, at which, being glad, I went home merry, and after supper to bed. 18th. This morning sending the boy down into the cellar for some beer I followed him with a cane, and did there beat him for his staying of awards and other faults, and his sister came to me down and begged for him. So I forebore, and afterwards, in my wife's chamber, did there talk to Jane how much I did love the boy for her sake, and how much it do concern to correct the boy for his faults, or else he would be undone. So at last she was well pleased. This morning Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten and I met at the office, and did conclude of our going to Portsmouth next week, in which my mind is at a great loss what to do with my wife, for I cannot persuade her to go to Brampton, and I am loth to leave her at, home. All the afternoon in several places to put things in order for my going. At night home and to bed. 19th. This morning, before we sat, I went to Aldgate; and at the corner shop, a draper's, I stood, and did see Barkestead, Okey, and Corbet, drawn towards the gallows at Tiburne; and there they were hanged and quartered. They all looked very cheerful; but I hear they all die defending what they did to the King to be just; which is very strange. So to the office and then home to dinner, and Captain David Lambert came to take his leave of me, he being to go back to Tangier there to lie. Then abroad about business, and in the evening did get a bever, an old one, but a very good one, of Sir W. Batten, for which I must give him something; but I am very well pleased with it. So after writing by the post to bed. 20th (Lord's day). My intention being to go this morning to White Hall to hear South, my Lord Chancellor's chaplain, the famous preacher and oratour of Oxford, (who the last Lord's day did sink down in the pulpit before the King, and could not proceed,) it did rain, and the wind against me, that I could by no means get a boat or coach to carry me; and so I staid at Paul's, where the judges did all meet, and heard a sermon, it being the first Sunday of the term; but they had a very poor sermon. So to my Lady's and dined, and so to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, and so to the Chappell, where I challenged my pew as Clerk of the Privy Seal and had it, and then walked home with Mr. Blagrave to his old house in the Fishyard, and there he had a pretty kinswoman that sings, and we did sing some holy things, and afterwards others came in and so I left them, and by water through the bridge (which did trouble me) home, and so to bed. 21st: This morning I attempted to persuade my wife in bed to go to Brampton this week, but she would not, which troubles me, and seeing that I could keep it no longer from her, I told her that I was resolved to go to Portsmouth to-morrow. Sir W. Batten goes to Chatham to-day, and will be back again to come for Portsmouth after us on Thursday next. I went to Westminster and several places about business. Then at noon dined with my Lord Crew; and after dinner went up to Sir Thos. Crew's chamber, who is still ill. He tells me how my Lady Duchess of Richmond and Castlemaine had a falling out the other day; and she calls the latter Jane Shore, and did hope to see her come to the same end that she did. Coming down again to my Lord, he told me that news was come that the Queen is landed; at which I took leave, and by coach hurried to White Hall, the bells ringing in several places; but I found there no such matter, nor anything like it. So I went by appointment to Anthony Joyce's, where I sat with his wife and Matt. Joyce an hour or two, and so her husband not being at home, away I went and in Cheapside spied him and took him into the coach. Home, and there I found my Lady Jemimah, and Anne, and Madamoiselle come to see my wife, whom I left, and to talk with Joyce about a project I have of his and my joyning, to get some money for my brother Tom and his kinswoman to help forward with her portion if they should marry. I mean in buying of tallow of him at a low rate for the King, and Tom should have the profit; but he tells me the profit will be considerable, at which I was troubled, but I have agreed with him to serve some in my absence. He went away, and then came Mr. Moore and sat late with me talking about business, and so went away and I to bed. 22nd. After taking leave of my wife, which we could hardly do kindly, because of her mind to go along with me, Sir W. Pen and I took coach and so over the bridge to Lambeth, W. Bodham and Tom Hewet going as clerks to Sir W. Pen, and my Will for me. Here we got a dish of buttered eggs, and there staid till Sir G. Carteret came to us from White Hall, who brought Dr. Clerke with him, at which I was very glad, and so we set out, and I was very much pleased with his company, and were very merry all the way . . . . We came to Gilford and there passed our time in the garden, cutting of sparagus for supper, the best that ever I eat in my life but in the house last year. Supped well, and the Doctor and I to bed together, calling cozens from his name and my office. 23d. Up early, and to Petersfield, and there dined well; and thence got a countryman to guide us by Havant, to avoid going through the Forest; but he carried us much out of the way, and upon our coming we sent away an express to Sir W. Batten to stop his coming, which I did project to make good my oath, that my wife should come if any of our wives came, which my Lady Batten did intend to do with her husband. The Doctor and I lay together at Wiard's, the chyrurgeon's, in Portsmouth, his wife a very pretty woman. We lay very well and merrily; in the morning, concluding him to be of the eldest blood and house of the Clerkes, because that all the fleas came to him and not to me. 24th. Up and to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings at Mrs. Stephens's, where we keep our table all the time we are here. Thence all of us to the Pay-house; but the books not being ready, we went to church to the lecture, where there was my Lord Ormond and Manchester, and much London company, though not so much as I expected. Here we had a very good sermon upon this text: "In love serving one another;" which pleased me very well. No news of the Queen at all. So to dinner; and then to the Pay all the afternoon. Then W. Pen and I walked to the King's Yard, and there lay at Mr. Tippets's, where exceeding well treated. 25th. All the morning at Portsmouth, at the Pay, and then to dinner, and again to the Pay; and at night got the Doctor to go lie with me, and much pleased with his company; but I was much troubled in my eyes, by reason of the healths I have this day been forced to drink. 26th. Sir George' and I, and his clerk Mr. Stephens, and Mr. Holt our guide, over to Gosport; and so rode to Southampton. In our way, besides my Lord Southampton's' parks and lands, which in one view we could see L6,000 per annum, we observed a little church-yard, where the graves are accustomed to be all sowed with sage. [Gough says, "It is the custom at this day all over Wales to strew the graves, both within and without the church, with green herbs, branches of box, flowers, rushes, and flags, for one year, after which such as can afford it lay down a stone."--Brand's Popular Antiquities, edited W. C. Hazlitt, vol. ii., p. 218.] At Southampton we went to the Mayor's and there dined, and had sturgeon of their own catching the last week, which do not happen in twenty years, and it was well ordered. They brought us also some caveare, which I attempted to order, but all to no purpose, for they had neither given it salt enough, nor are the seedes of the roe broke, but are all in berryes. The towne is one most gallant street, and is walled round with stone, &c., and Bevis's picture upon one of the gates; many old walls of religious houses, and the key, well worth seeing. After dinner to horse again, being in nothing troubled but the badness of my hat, which I borrowed to save my beaver. Home by night and wrote letters to London, and so with Sir W. Pen to the Dock to bed. 27th (Sunday). Sir W. Pen got trimmed before me, and so took the coach to Portsmouth to wait on my Lord Steward to church, and sent the coach for me back again. So I rode to church, and met my Lord Chamberlain upon the walls of the garrison, who owned and spoke to me. I followed him in the crowd of gallants through the Queen's lodgings to chappell; the rooms being all rarely furnished, and escaped hardly being set on fire yesterday. At chappell we had a most excellent and eloquent sermon. And here I spoke and saluted Mrs. Pierce, but being in haste could not learn of her where her lodgings are, which vexes me. Thence took Ned Pickering to dinner with us, and the two Marshes, father and Son, dined with us, and very merry. After dinner Sir W. Batten and I, the Doctor, and Ned Pickering by coach to the Yard, and there on board the Swallow in the dock hear our navy chaplain preach a sad sermon, full of nonsense and false Latin; but prayed for the Right Honourable the principal officers. [Principal officers of the navy, of which body Pepys was one as Clerk of the Acts.] After sermon took him to Mr. Tippets's to drink a glass of wine, and so at 4 back again by coach to Portsmouth, and then visited the Mayor, Mr. Timbrell, our anchor-smith, who showed us the present they have for the Queen; which is a salt-sellar of silver, the walls christall, with four eagles and four greyhounds standing up at the top to bear up a dish; which indeed is one of the neatest pieces of plate that ever I saw, and the case is very pretty also. [A salt-cellar answering this description is preserved at the Tower.] This evening came a merchantman in the harbour, which we hired at London to carry horses to Portugall; but, Lord! what running there was to the seaside to hear what news, thinking it had come from the Queen. In the evening Sir George, Sir W. Pen and I walked round the walls, and thence we two with the Doctor to the yard, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. The Doctor and I begun philosophy discourse exceeding pleasant. He offers to bring me into the college of virtuosoes--[The Royal Society.]--and my Lord Brouncker's acquaintance, and to show me some anatomy, which makes me very glad; and I shall endeavour it when I come to London. Sir W. Pen much troubled upon letters came last night. Showed me one of Dr. Owen's [John Owen, D.D., a learned Nonconformist divine, and a voluminous theological writer, born 1616, made Dean of Christ Church in 1653 by the Parliament, and ejected in 1659-60. He died at Ealing in 1683.] to his son,--[William Penn, the celebrated Quaker.]--whereby it appears his son is much perverted in his opinion by him; which I now perceive is one thing that hath put Sir William so long off the hooks. By coach to the Pay-house, and so to work again, and then to dinner, and to it again, and so in the evening to the yard, and supper and bed. 29th. At the pay all the morning, and so to dinner; and then to it again in the afternoon, and after our work was done, Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen and I walked forth, and I spied Mrs. Pierce and another lady passing by. So I left them and went to the ladies, and walked with them up and down, and took them to Mrs. Stephens, and there gave them wine and sweetmeats, and were very merry; and then comes the Doctor, and we carried them by coach to their lodging, which was very poor, but the best they could get, and such as made much mirth among us. So I appointed one to watch when the gates of the town were ready to be shut, and to give us notice; and so the Doctor and I staid with them playing and laughing, and at last were forced to bid good night for fear of being locked into the town all night. So we walked to the yard, designing how to prevent our going to London tomorrow, that we might be merry with these ladies, which I did. So to supper and merrily to bed. 30th. This morning Sir G. Carteret came down to the yard, and there we mustered over all the men and determined of some regulations in the yard, and then to dinner, all the officers of the yard with us, and after dinner walk to Portsmouth, there to pay off the Success, which we did pretty early, and so I took leave of Sir W. Pen, he desiring to know whither I went, but I would not tell him. I went to the ladies, and there took them and walked to the Mayor's to show them the present, and then to the Dock, where Mr. Tippets made much of them, and thence back again, the Doctor being come to us to their lodgings, whither came our supper by my appointment, and we very merry, playing at cards and laughing very merry till 12 o'clock at night, and so having staid so long (which we had resolved to stay till they bade us be gone), which yet they did not do but by consent, we bade them good night, and so past the guards, and went to the Doctor's lodgings, and there lay with him, our discourse being much about the quality of the lady with Mrs. Pierce, she being somewhat old and handsome, and painted and fine, and had a very handsome maid with her, which we take to be the marks of a bawd. But Mrs. Pierce says she is a stranger to her and met by chance in the coach, and pretends to be a dresser. Her name is Eastwood. So to sleep in a bad bed about one o'clock in the morning. This afternoon after dinner comes Mr. Stephenson, one of the burgesses of the town, to tell me that the Mayor and burgesses did desire my acceptance of a burgess-ship, and were ready at the Mayor's to make me one. So I went, and there they were all ready, and did with much civility give me my oath, and after the oath, did by custom shake me all by the hand. So I took them to a tavern and made them drink, and paying the reckoning, went away. They having first in the tavern made Mr. Waith also a burgess, he coming in while we were drinking. It cost me a piece in gold to the Town Clerk, and 10s. to the Bayliffes, and spent 6s. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: After taking leave of my wife, which we could hardly do kindly Agreed at L3 a year (she would not serve under) All the fleas came to him and not to me Badge of slavery upon the whole people (taxes) Did much insist upon the sin of adultery Discoursed much against a man's lying with his wife in Lent Fearing that Sarah would continue ill, wife and I removed Parliament hath voted 2s. per annum for every chimney in England Peruques of hair, as the fashion now is for ladies to wear Raising of our roofs higher to enlarge our houses See a dead man lie floating upon the waters Sermon; but, it being a Presbyterian one, it was so long To Mr. Holliard's in the morning, thinking to be let blood Up early and took my physique; it wrought all the morning well Whether he would have me go to law or arbitracon with him Whether she suspected anything or no I know not 
4131	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1961 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1660-1661 1660-61. At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself, my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,--[Will Wayneman appears by this to have been forgiven for his theft (see ante). He was dismissed on July 8th, 1663.]--my girle's brother. Myself in constant good health, and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me. As to things of State.--The King settled, and loved of all. The Duke of York matched to my Lord Chancellor's daughter, which do not please many. The Queen upon her return to France with the Princess Henrietta. The Princess of Orange lately dead, and we into new mourning for her. We have been lately frighted with a great plot, and many taken up on it, and the fright not quite over. The Parliament, which had done all this great good to the King, beginning to grow factious, the King did dissolve it December 29th last, and another likely to be chosen speedily. I take myself now to be worth L300 clear in money, and all my goods and all manner of debts paid, which are none at all. January 1st. Called up this morning by Mr. Moore, who brought me my last things for me to sign for the last month, and to my great comfort tells me that my fees will come to L80 clear to myself, and about L25 for him, which he hath got out of the pardons, though there be no fee due to me at all out of them. Then comes in my brother Thomas, and after him my father, Dr. Thomas Pepys, my uncle Fenner and his two sons (Anthony's' only child dying this morning, yet he was so civil to come, and was pretty merry) to breakfast; and I had for them a barrel of oysters, a dish of neat's tongues, and a dish of anchovies, wine of all sorts, and Northdown ale. We were very merry till about eleven o'clock, and then they went away. At noon I carried my wife by coach to my cozen, Thomas Pepys, where we, with my father, Dr. Thomas, cozen Stradwick, Scott, and their wives, dined. Here I saw first his second wife, which is a very respectfull woman, but his dinner a sorry, poor dinner for a man of his estate, there being nothing but ordinary meat in it. To-day the King dined at a lord's, two doors from us. After dinner I took my wife to Whitehall, I sent her to Mrs. Pierces (where we should have dined today), and I to the Privy Seal, where Mr. Moore took out all his money, and he and I went to Mr. Pierces; in our way seeing the Duke of York bring his Lady this day to wait upon the Queen, the first time that ever she did since that great business; and the Queen is said to receive her now with much respect and love; and there he cast up the fees, and I told the money, by the same token one L100 bag, after I had told it, fell all about the room, and I fear I have lost some of it. That done I left my friends and went to my Lord's, but he being not come in I lodged the money with Mr. Shepley, and bade good night to Mr. Moore, and so returned to Mr. Pierces, and there supped with them, and Mr. Pierce, the purser, and his wife and mine, where we had a calf's head carboned, [Meat cut crosswise and broiled was said to be carboned. Falstaff says in "King Henry IV.," Part L, act v., sc. 3, "Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me."] but it was raw, we could not eat it, and a good hen. But she is such a slut that I do not love her victualls. After supper I sent them home by coach, and I went to my Lord's and there played till 12 at night at cards at Best with J. Goods and N. Osgood, and then to bed with Mr. Shepley. 2d. Up early, and being called up to my Lord he did give me many commands in his business. As about taking care to write to my uncle that Mr. Barnewell's papers should be locked up, in case he should die, he being now suspected to be very ill. Also about consulting with Mr. W. Montagu for the settling of the L4000 a-year that the King had promised my Lord. As also about getting of Mr. George Montagu to be chosen at Huntingdon this next Parliament, &c. That done he to White Hall stairs with much company, and I with him; where we took water for Lambeth, and there coach for Portsmouth. The Queen's things were all in White Hall Court ready to be sent away, and her Majesty ready to be gone an hour after to Hampton Court to-night, and so to be at Ports mouth on Saturday next. I by water to my office, and there all the morning, and so home to dinner, where I found Pall (my sister) was come; but I do not let her sit down at table with me, which I do at first that she may not expect it hereafter from me. After dinner I to Westminster by water, and there found my brother Spicer at the Leg with all the rest of the Exchequer men (most of whom I now do not know) at dinner. Here I staid and drank with them, and then to Mr. George Montagu about the business of election, and he did give me a piece in gold; so to my Lord's and got the chest of plate brought to the Exchequer, and my brother Spicer put it into his treasury. So to Will's with them to a pot of ale, and so parted. I took a turn in the Hall, and bought the King and Chancellor's speeches at the dissolving the Parliament last Saturday. So to my Lord's, and took my money I brought 'thither last night and the silver candlesticks, and by coach left the latter at Alderman Backwell's, I having no use for them, and the former home. There stood a man at our door, when I carried it in, and saw me, which made me a little afeard. Up to my chamber and wrote letters to Huntingdon and did other business. This day I lent Sir W. Batten and Captn. Rider my chine of beef for to serve at dinner tomorrow at Trinity House, the Duke of Albemarle being to be there and all the rest of the Brethren, it being a great day for the reading over of their new Charter, which the King hath newly given them. 3d. Early in the morning to the Exchequer, where I told over what money I had of my Lord's and my own there, which I found to be L970. Thence to Will's, where Spicer and I eat our dinner of a roasted leg of pork which Will did give us, and after that to the Theatre, where was acted "Beggars' Bush," it being very well done; and here the first time that ever I saw women come upon the stage. [Downes does not give the cast of this play. After the Restoration the acting of female characters by women became common. The first English professional actress was Mrs. Coleman, who acted Ianthe in Davenant's "Siege of Rhodes," at Rutland House in 1656.] From thence to my father's, where I found my mother gone by Bird, the carrier, to Brampton, upon my uncle's great desire, my aunt being now in despair of life. So home. 4th. Office all the morning, my wife and Pall being gone to my father's to dress dinner for Mr. Honiwood, my mother being gone out of town. Dined at home, and Mr. Moore with me, with whom I had been early this morning at White Hall, at the Jewell Office, [Several of the Jewel Office rolls are in the British Museum. They recite all the sums of money given to the King, and the particulars of all the plate distributed in his name, as well as gloves and sweetmeats. The Museum possesses these rolls for the 4th, 9th, 18th, 30th, and 31st Eliz.; for the 13th Charles I.; and the 23rd, 24th, 26th, and 27th of Charles II.--B.] to choose a piece of gilt plate for my Lord, in return of his offering to the King (which it seems is usual at this time of year, and an Earl gives twenty pieces in gold in a purse to the King). I chose a gilt tankard, weighing 31 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30; so I paid 12s. for the ounce and half over what he is to have; but strange it was for me to see what a company of small fees I was called upon by a great many to pay there, which, I perceive, is the manner that courtiers do get their estates. After dinner Mr. Moore and I to the Theatre, where was "The Scornful Lady," acted very well, it being the first play that ever he saw. Thence with him to drink a cup of ale at Hercules Pillars, and so parted. I called to see my father, who told me by the way how Will and Mary Joyce do live a strange life together, nothing but fighting, &c., so that sometimes her father has a mind to have them divorced. Thence home. 5th. Home all the morning. Several people came to me about business, among others the great Tom Fuller, who came to desire a kindness for a friend of his, who hath a mind to go to Jamaica with these two ships that are going, which I promised to do. So to Whitehall to my Lady, whom I found at dinner and dined with her, and staid with her talking all the afternoon, and thence walked to Westminster Hall. So to Will's, and drank with Spicer, and thence by coach home, staying a little in Paul's Churchyard, to bespeak Ogilby's AEsop's Fables and Tully's Officys to be bound for me. So home and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). My wife and I to church this morning, and so home to dinner to a boiled leg of mutton all alone. To church again, where, before sermon, a long Psalm was set that lasted an hour, while the sexton gathered his year's contribucion through the whole church. After sermon home, and there I went to my chamber and wrote a letter to send to Mr. Coventry, with a piece of plate along with it, which I do preserve among my other letters. So to supper, and thence after prayers to bed. 7th. This morning, news was brought to me to my bedside, that there had been a great stir in the City this night by the Fanatiques, who had been up and killed six or seven men, but all are fled. ["A great rising in the city of the Fifth-monarchy men, which did very much disturb the peace and liberty of the people, so that all the train-bands arose in arms, both in London and Westminster, as likewise all the king's guards; and most of the noblemen mounted, and put all their servants on coach horses, for the defence of his Majesty, and the peace of his kingdom."--Rugge's Diurnal. The notorious Thomas Venner, the Fifth-monarchy man, a cooper and preacher to a conventicle in Swan Alley, Coleman Street, with a small following (about fifty in number) took arms on the 6th January for the avowed purpose of establishing the Millennium. He was a violent enthusiast, and persuaded his followers that they were invulnerable. After exciting much alarm in the City, and skirmishing with the Trained Bands, they marched to Caen Wood. They were driven out by a party of guards, but again entered the City, where they were overpowered by the Trained Bands. The men were brought to trial and condemned; four, however, were acquitted and two reprieved. The execution of some of these men is mentioned by Pepys under date January 19th and 21st. "A Relation of the Arraignment and Trial of those who made the late Rebellious Insurrections in London, 1661," is reprinted in "Somers Tracts," vol. vii. (1812), p. 469.] My Lord Mayor and the whole City had been in arms, above 40,000. To the office, and after that to dinner, where my brother Tom came and dined with me, and after dinner (leaving 12d. with the servants to buy a cake with at night, this day being kept as Twelfth day) Tom and I and my wife to the Theatre, and there saw "The Silent Woman." The first time that ever I did see it, and it is an excellent play. Among other things here, Kinaston, the boy; had the good turn to appear in three shapes: first, as a poor woman in ordinary clothes, to please Morose; then in fine clothes, as a gallant, and in them was clearly the prettiest woman in the whole house, and lastly, as a man; and then likewise did appear the handsomest man in the house. From thence by link to my cozen Stradwick's, where my father and we and Dr. Pepys, Scott, and his wife, and one Mr. Ward and his; and after a good supper, we had an excellent cake, where the mark for the Queen was cut, and so there was two queens, my wife and Mrs. Ward; and the King being lost, they chose the Doctor to be King, so we made him send for some wine, and then home, and in our way home we were in many places strictly examined, more than in the worst of times, there being great fears of these Fanatiques rising again: for the present I do not hear that any of them are taken. Home, it being a clear moonshine and after 12 o'clock at night. Being come home we found that my people had been very merry, and my wife tells me afterwards that she had heard that they had got young Davis and some other neighbours with them to be merry, but no harm. 8th. My wife and I lay very long in bed to-day talking and pleasing one another in discourse. Being up, Mr. Warren came, and he and I agreed for the deals that my Lord is to, have. Then Will and I to Westminster, where I dined with my Lady. After dinner I took my Lord Hinchinbroke and Mr. Sidney to the Theatre, and shewed them "The Widdow," an indifferent good play, but wronged by the women being to seek in their parts. That being done, my Lord's coach waited for us, and so back to my Lady's, where she made me drink of some Florence wine, and did give me two bottles for my wife. From thence walked to my cozen Stradwick's, and there chose a small banquet and some other things against our entertainment on Thursday next. Thence to Tom Pepys and bought a dozen of trenchers, and so home. Some talk to-day of a head of Fanatiques that do appear about Barnett, but I do not believe it. However, my Lord Mayor, Sir Richd. Browne, hath carried himself very honourably, and hath caused one of their meeting-houses in London to be pulled down. 9th. Waked in the morning about six o'clock, by people running up and down in Mr. Davis's house, talking that the Fanatiques were up in arms in the City. And so I rose and went forth; where in the street I found every body in arms at the doors. So I returned (though with no good courage at all, but that I might not seem to be afeared), and got my sword and pistol, which, however, I had no powder to charge; and went to the door, where I found Sir R. Ford, and with him I walked up and down as far as the Exchange, and there I left him. In our way, the streets full of Train-band, and great stories, what mischief these rogues have done; and I think near a dozen have been killed this morning on both sides. Seeing the city in this condition, the shops shut, and all things in trouble, I went home and sat, it being office day, till noon. So home, and dined at home, my father with me, and after dinner he would needs have me go to my uncle Wight's (where I have been so long absent that I am ashamed to go). I found him at home and his wife, and I can see they have taken my absence ill, but all things are past and we good friends, and here I sat with my aunt till it was late, my uncle going forth about business. My aunt being very fearful to be alone. So home to my lute till late, and then to bed, there being strict guards all night in the City, though most of the enemies, they say, are killed or taken. This morning my wife and Pall went forth early, and I staid within. 10th. There comes Mr. Hawley to me and brings me my money for the quarter of a year's salary of my place under Downing that I was at sea. So I did give him half, whereof he did in his nobleness give the odd 5s, to my Jane. So we both went forth (calling first to see how Sir W. Pen do, whom I found very ill), and at the Hoop by the bridge we drank two pints of wormwood and sack. Talking of his wooing afresh of Mrs. Lane, and of his going to serve the Bishop of London. Thence by water to Whitehall, and found my wife at Mrs. Hunt's. Leaving her to dine there, I went and dined with my Lady, and staid to talk a while with her. After dinner Will. comes to tell me that he had presented my piece of plate to Mr. Coventry, who takes it very kindly, and sends me a very kind letter, and the plate back again; of which my heart is very glad. So to Mrs. Hunt, where I found a Frenchman, a lodger of hers, at dinner, and just as I came in was kissing my wife, which I did not like, though there could not be any hurt in it. Thence by coach to my Uncle Wight's with my wife, but they being out of doors we went home, where, after I had put some papers in order and entered some letters in my book which I have a mind to keep, I went with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, who we found ill still, but he do make very much of it. Here we sat a great while, at last comes in Mr. Davis and his lady (who takes it very ill that my wife never did go to see her), and so we fell to talk. Among other things Mr. Davis told us the particular examinations of these Fanatiques that are taken: and in short it is this, of all these Fanatiques that have done all this, viz., routed all the Trainbands that they met with, put the King's life-guards to the run, killed about twenty men, broke through the City gates twice; and all this in the day-time, when all the City was in arms; are not in all about 31. Whereas we did believe them (because they were seen up and down in every place almost in the City, and had been about Highgate two or three days, and in several other places) to be at least 500. A thing that never was heard of, that so few men should dare and do so much mischief. Their word was, "The King Jesus, and the heads upon the gates." Few of them would receive any quarter, but such as were taken by force and kept alive; expecting Jesus to come here and reign in the world presently, and will not believe yet but their work will be carried on though they do die. The King this day came to town. 11th. Office day. This day comes news, by letters from Portsmouth, that the Princess Henrietta is fallen sick of the meazles on board the London, after the Queen and she was under sail. And so was forced to come back again into Portsmouth harbour; and in their way, by negligence of the pilot, run upon the Horse sand. The Queen and she continue aboard, and do not intend to come on shore till she sees what will become of the young Princess. This news do make people think something indeed, that three of the Royal Family should fall sick of the same disease, one after another. This morning likewise, we had order to see guards set in all the King's yards; and so we do appoint who and who should go to them. Sir Wm. Batten to Chatham, Colonel Slingsby and I to Deptford and Woolwich. Portsmouth being a garrison, needs none. Dined at home, discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids. After dinner comes in Kate Sterpin (whom we had not seen a great while) and her husband to see us, with whom I staid a while, and then to the office, and left them with my wife. At night walked to Paul's Churchyard, and bespoke some books against next week, and from thence to the Coffeehouse, where I met Captain Morrice, the upholster, who would fain have lent me a horse to-night to have rid with him upon the Cityguards, with the Lord Mayor, there being some new expectations of these rogues; but I refused by reason of my going out of town tomorrow. So home to bed. 12th. With Colonel Slingsby and a friend of his, Major Waters (a deaf and most amorous melancholy gentleman, who is under a despayr in love, as the Colonel told me, which makes him bad company, though a most good-natured man), by water to Redriffe, and so on foot to Deptford (our servants by water), where we fell to choosing four captains to command the guards, and choosing the places where to keep them, and other things in order thereunto. We dined at the Globe, having our messenger with us to take care for us. Never till now did I see the great authority of my place, all the captains of the fleet coming cap in hand to us. Having staid very late there talking with the Colonel, I went home with Mr. Davis, storekeeper (whose wife is ill and so I could not see her), and was there most prince-like lodged, with so much respect and honour that I was at a loss how to behave myself. 13th. In the morning we all went to church, and sat in the pew belonging to us, where a cold sermon of a young man that never had preached before. Here Commissioner came with his wife and daughters, the eldest being his wife's daughter is a very comely black woman.--[The old expression for a brunette.]--So to the Globe to dinner, and then with Commissioner Pett to his lodgings there (which he hath for the present while he is building the King's yacht, which will be a pretty thing, and much beyond the Dutchman's), and from thence with him and his wife and daughter-in-law by coach to Greenwich Church, where a good sermon, a fine church, and a great company of handsome women. After sermon to Deptford again; where, at the Commissioner's and the Globe, we staid long. And so I to Mr. Davis's to bed again. But no sooner in bed, but we had an alarm, and so we rose: and the Comptroller comes into the Yard to us; and seamen of all the ships present repair to us, and there we armed with every one a handspike, with which they were as fierce as could be. At last we hear that it was only five or six men that did ride through the guard in the town, without stopping to the guard that was there; and, some say, shot at them. But all being quiet there, we caused the seamen to go on board again: And so we all to bed (after I had sat awhile with Mr. Davis in his study, which is filled with good books and some very good song books) I likewise to bed. 14th. The arms being come this morning from the Tower, we caused them to be distributed. I spent much time walking with Lieutenant Lambert, walking up and down the yards, who did give me much light into things there, and so went along with me and dined with us. After dinner Mrs. Pett, her husband being gone this morning with Sir W. Batten to Chatham, lent us her coach, and carried us to Woolwich, where we did also dispose of the arms there and settle the guards. So to Mr. Pett's, the shipwright, and there supped, where he did treat us very handsomely (and strange it is to see what neat houses all the officers of the King's yards have), his wife a proper woman, and has been handsome, and yet has a very pretty hand. Thence I with Mr. Ackworth to his house, where he has a very pretty house, and a very proper lovely woman to his wife, who both sat with me in my chamber, and they being gone, I went to bed, which was also most neat and fine. 15th. Up and down the yard all the morning and seeing the seamen exercise, which they do already very handsomely. Then to dinner at Mr. Ackworth's, where there also dined with us one Captain Bethell, a friend of the Comptroller's. A good dinner and very handsome. After that and taking our leaves of the officers of the yard, we walked to the waterside and in our way walked into the rope-yard, where I do look into the tar-houses and other places, and took great notice of all the several works belonging to the making of a cable. So after a cup of burnt wine--[Burnt wine was somewhat similar to mulled wine, and a favourite drink]--at the tavern there, we took barge and went to Blackwall and viewed the dock and the new Wet dock, which is newly made there, and a brave new merchantman which is to be launched shortly, and they say to be called the Royal Oak. Hence we walked to Dick-Shore, and thence to the Towre and so home. Where I found my wife and Pall abroad, so I went to see Sir W. Pen, and there found Mr. Coventry come to see him, and now had an opportunity to thank him, and he did express much kindness to me. I sat a great while with Sir Wm. after he was gone, and had much talk with him. I perceive none of our officers care much for one another, but I do keep in with them all as much as I can. Sir W. Pen is still very ill as when I went. Home, where my wife not yet come home, so I went up to put my papers in order, and then was much troubled my wife was not come, it being 10 o'clock just now striking as I write this last line. This day I hear the Princess is recovered again. The King hath been this afternoon at Deptford, to see the yacht that Commissioner Pett is building, which will be very pretty; as also that that his brother at Woolwich is in making. By and by comes in my boy and tells me that his mistress do lie this night at Mrs. Hunt's, who is very ill, with which being something satisfied, I went to bed. 16th. This morning I went early to the Comptroller's and so with him by coach to Whitehall, to wait upon Mr. Coventry to give him an account of what we have done, which having done, I went away to wait upon my Lady; but coming to her lodgings I find that she is gone this morning to Chatham by coach, thinking to meet me there, which did trouble me exceedingly, and I did not know what to do, being loth to follow her, and yet could not imagine what she would do when she found me not there. In this trouble, I went to take a walk in Westminster Hall and by chance met with Mr. Child, who went forth with my Lady to-day, but his horse being bad, he come back again, which then did trouble me more, so that I did resolve to go to her; and so by boat home and put on my boots, and so over to Southwarke to the posthouse, and there took horse and guide to Dartford and thence to Rochester (I having good horses and good way, come thither about half-an-hour after daylight, which was before 6 o'clock and I set forth after two), where I found my Lady and her daughter Jem., and Mrs. Browne' and five servants, all at a great loss, not finding me here, but at my coming she was overjoyed. The sport was how she had intended to have kept herself unknown, and how the Captain (whom she had sent for) of the Charles had forsoothed [To forsooth is to address in a polite and ceremonious manner. "Your city-mannerly word forsooth, use it not too often in any case."--Ben Jonson's Poetaster, act iv., sc. 1.] her, though he knew her well and she him. In fine we supped merry and so to bed, there coming several of the Charles's men to see me before, I got to bed. The page lay with me. 17th. Up, and breakfast with my Lady. Then come Captains Cuttance and Blake to carry her in the barge on board; and so we went through Ham Creeke to the Soverayne (a goodly sight all the way to see the brave ships that lie here) first, which is a most noble ship. I never saw her before. My Lady Sandwich, my Lady Jemimah, Mrs. Browne, Mrs. Grace, and Mary and the page, my lady's servants and myself, all went into the lanthorn together. From thence to the Charles, where my lady took great pleasure to see all the rooms, and to hear me tell her how things are when my Lord is there. After we had seen all, then the officers of the ship had prepared a handsome breakfast for her, and while she was pledging my Lord's health they give her five guns. That done, we went off, and then they give us thirteen guns more. I confess it was a great pleasure to myself to see the ship that I begun my good fortune in. From thence on board the Newcastle, to show my Lady the difference between a great and a small ship. Among these ships I did give away L7. So back again and went on shore at Chatham, where I had ordered the coach to wait for us. Here I heard that Sir William Batten and his lady (who I knew were here, and did endeavour to avoyd) were now gone this morning to London. So we took coach, and I went into the coach, and went through the town, without making stop at our inn, but left J. Goods to pay the reckoning. So I rode with my lady in the coach, and the page on the horse that I should have rid on--he desiring it. It begun to be dark before we could come to Dartford, and to rain hard, and the horses to fayle, which was our great care to prevent, for fear of my Lord's displeasure, so here we sat up for to-night, as also Captains Cuttance and Blake, who came along with us. We sat and talked till supper, and at supper my Lady and I entered into a great dispute concerning what were best for a man to do with his estate--whether to make his elder son heir, which my Lady is for, and I against, but rather to make all equall. This discourse took us much time, till it was time to go to bed; but we being merry, we bade my Lady goodnight, and intended to have gone to the Post-house to drink, and hear a pretty girl play of the cittern (and indeed we should have lain there, but by a mistake we did not), but it was late, and we could not hear her, and the guard came to examine what we were; so we returned to our Inn and to bed, the page and I in one bed, and the two captains in another, all in one chamber, where we had very good mirth with our most abominable lodging. 18th. The Captains went with me to the post-house about 9 o'clock, and after a morning draft I took horse and guide for London; and through some rain, and a great wind in my face, I got to London at eleven o'clock. At home found all well, but the monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her till she was almost dead, that they might make her fast again, which did still trouble me more. In the afternoon we met at the office and sat till night, and then I to see my father who I found well, and took him to Standing's' to drink a cup of ale. He told me my aunt at Brampton is yet alive and my mother well there. In comes Will Joyce to us drunk, and in a talking vapouring humour of his state, and I know not what, which did vex me cruelly. After him Mr. Hollier had learned at my father's that I was here (where I had appointed to meet him) and so he did give me some things to take for prevention. Will Joyce not letting us talk as I would I left my father and him and took Mr. Hollier to the Greyhound, where he did advise me above all things, both as to the stone and the decay of my memory (of which I now complain to him), to avoid drinking often, which I am resolved, if I can, to leave off. Hence home, and took home with me from the bookseller's Ogilby's AEsop, which he had bound for me, and indeed I am very much pleased with the book. Home and to bed. 19th. To the Comptroller's, and with him by coach to White Hall; in our way meeting Venner and Pritchard upon a sledge, who with two more Fifth Monarchy men were hanged to-day, and the two first drawn and quartered. Where we walked up and down, and at last found Sir G. Carteret, whom I had not seen a great while, and did discourse with him about our assisting the Commissioners in paying off the Fleet, which we think to decline. Here the Treasurer did tell me that he did suspect Thos. Hater to be an informer of them in this work, which we do take to be a diminution of us, which do trouble me, and I do intend to find out the truth. Hence to my Lady, who told me how Mr. Hetley is dead of the small-pox going to Portsmouth with my Lord. My Lady went forth to dinner to her father's, and so I went to the Leg in King Street and had a rabbit for myself and my Will, and after dinner I sent him home and myself went to the Theatre, where I saw "The Lost Lady," which do not please me much. Here I was troubled to be seen by four of our office clerks, which sat in the half-crown box and I in the 1s. 6d. From thence by link, and bought two mouse traps of Thomas Pepys, the Turner, and so went and drank a cup of ale with him, and so home and wrote by post to Portsmouth to my Lord and so to bed. 20th (Lord's day). To Church in the morning. Dined at home. My wife and I to Church in the afternoon, and that being done we went to see my uncle and aunt Wight. There I left my wife and came back, and sat with Sir W. Pen, who is not yet well again. Thence back again to my wife and supped there, and were very merry and so home, and after prayers to write down my journall for the last five days, and so to bed. 21st. This morning Sir W. Batten, the Comptroller and I to Westminster, to the Commissioners for paying off the Army and Navy, where the Duke of Albemarle was; and we sat with our hats on, and did discourse about paying off the ships and do find that they do intend to undertake it without our help; and we are glad of it, for it is a work that will much displease the poor seamen, and so we are glad to have no hand in it. From thence to the Exchequer, and took L200 and carried it home, and so to the office till night, and then to see Sir W. Pen, whither came my Lady Batten and her daughter, and then I sent for my wife, and so we sat talking till it was late. So home to supper and then to bed, having eat no dinner to-day. It is strange what weather we have had all this winter; no cold at all; but the ways are dusty, and the flyes fly up and down, and the rose-bushes are full of leaves, such a time of the year as was never known in this world before here. This day many more of the Fifth Monarchy men were hanged. 22nd. To the Comptroller's house, where I read over his proposals to the Lord Admiral for the regulating of the officers of the Navy, in which he hath taken much pains, only he do seem to have too good opinion of them himself. From thence in his coach to Mercer's Chappell, and so up to the great hall, where we met with the King's Councell for Trade, upon some proposals of theirs for settling convoys for the whole English trade, and that by having 33 ships (four fourth-rates, nineteen fifths, ten sixths) settled by the King for that purpose, which indeed was argued very finely by many persons of honour and merchants that were there. It pleased me much now to come in this condition to this place, where I was once a petitioner for my exhibition in Paul's School; and also where Sir G. Downing (my late master) was chairman, and so but equally concerned with me. From thence home, and after a little dinner my wife and I by coach into London, and bought some glasses, and then to Whitehall to see Mrs. Fox, but she not within, my wife to my mother Bowyer, and I met with Dr. Thomas Fuller, and took him to the Dog, where he tells me of his last and great book that is coming out: that is, his History of all the Families in England;' and could tell me more of my own, than I knew myself. And also to what perfection he hath now brought the art of memory; that he did lately to four eminently great scholars dictate together in Latin, upon different subjects of their proposing, faster than they were able to write, till they were tired; and by the way in discourse tells me that the best way of beginning a sentence, if a man should be out and forget his last sentence (which he never was), that then his last refuge is to begin with an Utcunque. From thence I to Mr. Bowyer's, and there sat a while, and so to Mr. Fox's, and sat with them a very little while, and then by coach home, and so to see Sir Win. Pen, where we found Mrs. Martha Batten and two handsome ladies more, and so we staid supper and were very merry, and so home to bed. 23rd. To the office all the morning. My wife and people at home busy to get things ready for tomorrow's dinner. At noon, without dinner, went into the City, and there meeting with Greatorex, we went and drank a pot of ale. He told me that he was upon a design to go to Teneriffe to try experiments there. With him to Gresham Colledge [Gresham College occupied the house of Sir Thomas Gresham, in Bishopsgate Street, from 1596, when Lady Gresham, Sir Thomas's widow, died. The meeting which Pepys attended was an early one of the Royal Society, which was incorporated by royal charter in 1663.] (where I never was before), and saw the manner of the house, and found great company of persons of honour there; thence to my bookseller's, and for books, and to Stevens, the silversmith, to make clean some plate against to-morrow, and so home, by the way paying many little debts for wine and pictures, &c., which is my great pleasure. Home and found all things in a hurry of business, Slater, our messenger, being here as my cook till very late. I in my chamber all the evening looking over my Osborn's works and new Emanuel Thesaurus Patriarchae. So late to bed, having ate nothing to-day but a piece of bread and cheese at the ale-house with Greatorex, and some bread and butter at home. 24th. At home all day. There dined with me Sir William Batten and his lady and daughter, Sir W. Pen, Mr. Fox (his lady being ill could not come), and Captain Cuttance; the first dinner I have made since I came hither. This cost me above L5, and merry we were--only my chimney smokes. In the afternoon Mr. Hater bringing me my last quarter's salary, which I received of him, and so I have now Mr. Barlow's money in my hands. The company all go away, and by and by Sir Wms. both and my Lady Batten and his daughter come again and supped with me and talked till late, and so to bed, being glad that the trouble is over. 25th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home and Mr. Hater with me, and so I did make even with him for the last quarter. After dinner he and I to look upon the instructions of my Lord Northumberland's, but we were interrupted by Mr. Salisbury's coming in, who came to see me and to show me my Lord's picture in little, of his doing. And truly it is strange to what a perfection he is come in a year's time. From thence to Paul's Churchyard about books, and so back again home. This night comes two cages, which I bought this evening for my canary birds, which Captain Rooth this day sent me. So to bed. 26th. Within all the morning. About noon comes one that had formerly known me and I him, but I know not his name, to borrow L5 of me, but I had the wit to deny him. There dined with me this day both the Pierces' and their wives, and Captain Cuttance, and Lieutenant Lambert, with whom we made ourselves very merry by taking away his ribbans and garters, having made him to confess that he is lately married. The company being gone I went to my lute till night, and so to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Before I rose, letters come to me from Portsmouth, telling me that the Princess is now well, and my Lord Sandwich set sail with the Queen and her yesterday from thence for France. To church, leaving my wife sick.... at home, a poor dull sermon of a stranger. Home, and at dinner was very angry at my people's eating a fine pudding (made me by Slater, the cook, last Thursday) without my wife's leave. To church again, a good sermon of Mr. Mills, and after sermon Sir W. Pen and I an hour in the garden talking, and he did answer me to many things, I asked Mr. Coventry's opinion of me, and Sir W. Batten's of my Lord Sandwich, which do both please me. Then to Sir W. Batten's, where very merry, and here I met the Comptroller and his lady and daughter (the first time I ever saw them) and Mrs. Turner, who and her husband supped with us here (I having fetched my wife thither), and after supper we fell to oysters, and then Mr. Turner went and fetched some strong waters, and so being very merry we parted, and home to bed. This day the parson read a proclamation at church, for the keeping of Wednesday next, the 30th of January, a fast for the murther of the late King. 28th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and after dinner to Fleet Street, with my sword to Mr. Brigden (lately made Captain of the Auxiliaries) to be refreshed, and with him to an ale-house, where I met Mr. Davenport; and after some talk of Cromwell, Ireton and Bradshaw's bodies being taken out of their graves to-day, ["The bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, and Thomas Pride, were dug up out of their graves to be hanged at Tyburn, and buried under the gallows. Cromwell's vault having been opened, the people crowded very much to see him."--Rugge's Diurnal.] I went to Mr. Crew's and thence to the Theatre, where I saw again "The Lost Lady," which do now please me better than before; and here I sitting behind in a dark place, a lady spit backward upon me by a mistake, not seeing me, but after seeing her to be a very pretty lady, I was not troubled at it at all. Thence to Mr. Crew's, and there met Mr. Moore, who came lately to me, and went with me to my father's, and with him to Standing's, whither came to us Dr. Fairbrother, who I took and my father to the Bear and gave a pint of sack and a pint of claret. He do still continue his expressions of respect and love to me, and tells me my brother John will make a good scholar. Thence to see the Doctor at his lodging at Mr. Holden's, where I bought a hat, cost me 35s. So home by moonshine, and by the way was overtaken by the Comptroller's coach, and so home to his house with him. So home and to bed. This noon I had my press set up in my chamber for papers to be put in. 29th. Mr. Moore making up accounts with me all this morning till Lieut. Lambert came, and so with them over the water to Southwark, and so over the fields to Lambeth, and there drank, it being a most glorious and warm day, even to amazement, for this time of the year. Thence to my Lord's, where we found my Lady gone with some company to see Hampton Court, so we three went to Blackfryers (the first time I ever was there since plays begun), and there after great patience and little expectation, from so poor beginning, I saw three acts of "The Mayd in ye Mill" acted to my great content. But it being late, I left the play and them, and by water through bridge home, and so to Mr. Turner's house, where the Comptroller, Sir William Batten, and Mr. Davis and their ladies; and here we had a most neat little but costly and genteel supper, and after that a great deal of impertinent mirth by Mr. Davis, and some catches, and so broke up, and going away, Mr. Davis's eldest son took up my old Lady Slingsby in his arms, and carried her to the coach, and is said to be able to carry three of the biggest men that were in the company, which I wonder at. So home and to bed. 30th (Fast day). The first time that this day hath been yet observed: and Mr. Mills made a most excellent sermon, upon "Lord forgive us our former iniquities;" speaking excellently of the justice of God in punishing men for the sins of their ancestors. Home, and John Goods comes, and after dinner I did pay him L30 for my Lady, and after that Sir W. Pen and I into Moorfields and had a brave talk, it being a most pleasant day, and besides much discourse did please ourselves to see young Davis and Whitton, two of our clerks, going by us in the field, who we observe to take much pleasure together, and I did most often see them at play together. Back to the Old James in Bishopsgate Street, where Sir W. Batten and Sir Wm. Rider met him about business of the Trinity House. So I went home, and there understand that my mother is come home well from Brampton, and had a letter from my brother John, a very ingenious one, and he therein begs to have leave to come to town at the Coronacion. Then to my Lady Batten's; where my wife and she are lately come back again from being abroad, and seeing of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw hanged and buried at Tyburn. Then I home. ["Jan. 30th was kept as a very solemn day of fasting and prayer. This morning the carcases of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw (which the day before had been brought from the Red Lion Inn, Holborn), were drawn upon a sledge to Tyburn, and then taken out of their coffins, and in their shrouds hanged by the neck, until the going down of the sun. They were then cut down, their heads taken off, and their bodies buried in a grave made under the gallows. The coffin in which was the body of Cromwell was a very rich thing, very full of gilded hinges and nails."--Rugge's Diurnal.] 31st. This morning with Mr. Coventry at Whitehall about getting a ship to carry my Lord's deals to Lynne, and we have chosen the Gift. Thence at noon to my Lord's, where my Lady not well, so I eat a mouthfull of dinner there, and thence to the Theatre, and there sat in the pit among the company of fine ladys, &c.; and the house was exceeding full, to see Argalus and Parthenia, the first time that it hath been acted: and indeed it is good, though wronged by my over great expectations, as all things else are. Thence to my father's to see my mother, who is pretty well after her journey from Brampton. She tells me my aunt is pretty well, yet cannot live long. My uncle pretty well too, and she believes would marry again were my aunt dead, which God forbid. So home. FEBRUARY 1660-61 February 1st (Friday). A full office all this morning, and busy about answering the Commissioners of Parliament to their letter, wherein they desire to borrow two clerks of ours, which we will not grant them. After dinner into London and bought some books, and a belt, and had my sword new furbished. To the alehouse with Mr. Brigden and W. Symons. At night home. So after a little music to bed, leaving my people up getting things ready against to-morrow's dinner. 2nd. Early to Mr. Moore, and with him to Sir Peter Ball, who proffers my uncle Robert much civility in letting him continue in the grounds which he had hired of Hetley who is now dead. Thence home, where all things in a hurry for dinner, a strange cook being come in the room of Slater, who could not come. There dined here my uncle Wight and my aunt, my father and mother, and my brother Tom, Dr. Fairbrother and Mr. Mills, the parson, and his wife, who is a neighbour's daughter of my uncle Robert's, and knows my Aunt Wight and all her and my friends there; and so we had excellent company to-day. After dinner I was sent for to Sir G. Carteret's, where he was, and I found the Comptroller, who are upon writing a letter to the Commissioners of Parliament in some things a rougher stile than our last, because they seem to speak high to us. So the Comptroller and I thence to a tavern hard by, and there did agree upon drawing up some letters to be sent to all the pursers and Clerks of the Cheques to make up their accounts. Then home; where I found the parson and his wife gone. And by and by the rest of the company, very well pleased, and I too; it being the last dinner I intend to make a great while, it having now cost me almost L15 in three dinners within this fortnight. In the evening comes Sir W. Pen, pretty merry, to sit with me and talk, which we did for an hour or two, and so good night, and I to bed. 3d (Lord's day). This day I first begun to go forth in my coat and sword, as the manner now among gentlemen is. To Whitehall. In my way heard Mr. Thomas Fuller preach at the Savoy upon our forgiving of other men's trespasses, shewing among other things that we are to go to law never to revenge, but only to repayre, which I think a good distinction. So to White Hall; where I staid to hear the trumpets and kettle-drums, and then the other drums, which are much cried up, though I think it dull, vulgar musique. So to Mr. Fox's, unbid; where I had a good dinner and special company. Among other discourse, I observed one story, how my Lord of Northwich, at a public audience before the King of France, made the Duke of Anjou cry, by making ugly faces as he was stepping to the King, but undiscovered. [This story relates to circumstances which had occurred many years previously. George, Lord Goring, was sent by Charles I. as Ambassador Extraordinary to France in 1644, to witness the oath of Louis XIV. to the observance of the treaties concluded with England by his father, Louis XIII., and his grandfather, Henry IV. Louis XIV. took this oath at Ruel, on July 3rd, 1644, when he was not yet six years of age, and when his brother Philippe, then called Duke of Anjou, was not four years old. Shortly after his return home, Lord Goring was created, in September, 1644, Earl of Norwich, the title by which he is here mentioned. Philippe, Duke of Anjou, who was frightened by the English nobleman's ugly faces, took the title of Duke of Orleans after the death of his uncle, Jean Baptiste Gaston, in 1660. He married his cousin, Henrietta of England.--B.] And how Sir Phillip Warwick's' lady did wonder to have Mr. Darcy' send for several dozen bottles of Rhenish wine to her house, not knowing that the wine was his. Thence to my Lord's; where I am told how Sir Thomas Crew's Pedro, with two of his countrymen more, did last night kill one soldier of four that quarrelled with them in the street, about 10 o'clock. The other two are taken; but he is now hid at my Lord's till night, that he do intend to make his escape away. So up to my Lady, and sat and talked with her long, and so to Westminster Stairs, and there took boat to the bridge, and so home, where I met with letters to call us all up to-morrow morning to Whitehall about office business. 4th. Early up to Court with Sir W. Pen, where, at Mr. Coventry's chamber, we met with all our fellow officers, and there after a hot debate about the business of paying off the Fleet, and how far we should join with the Commissioners of Parliament, which is now the great business of this month more to determine, and about which there is a great deal of difference between us, and then how far we should be assistants to them therein. That being done, he and I back again home, where I met with my father and mother going to my cozen Snow's to Blackwall, and had promised to bring me and my wife along with them, which we could not do because we are to go to the Dolphin to-day to a dinner of Capt. Tayler's. So at last I let my wife go with them, and I to the tavern, where Sir William Pen and the Comptroller and several others were, men and women; and we had a very great and merry dinner; and after dinner the Comptroller begun some sports, among others the naming of people round and afterwards demanding questions of them that they are forced to answer their names to, which do make very good sport. And here I took pleasure to take the forfeits of the ladies who would not do their duty by kissing of them; among others a pretty lady, who I found afterwards to be wife to Sir W. Batten's son. Home, and then with my wife to see Sir W. Batten, who could not be with us this day being ill, but we found him at cards, and here we sat late, talking with my Lady and others and Dr. Whistler, [Daniel Whistler, M.D., Fellow of Merton College, whose inaugural dissertation on Rickets in 1645 contains the earliest printed account of that disease. He was Gresham Professor of Geometry, 1648-57, and held several offices at the College of Physicians, being elected President in 1683. He was one of the original Fellows of the Royal Society. Dr. Munk, in his "Roll of the Royal College of Physicians," speaks very unfavourably of Whistler, and says that he defrauded the college. He died May 11th, 1684.] who I found good company and a very ingenious man. So home and to bed. 5th. Washing-day. My wife and I by water to Westminster. She to her mother's and I to Westminster Hall, where I found a full term, and here I went to Will's, and there found Shaw and Ashwell and another Bragrave (who knew my mother wash-maid to my Lady Veere), who by cursing and swearing made me weary of his company and so I went away. Into the Hall and there saw my Lord Treasurer (who was sworn to-day at the Exchequer, with a great company of Lords and persons of honour to attend him) go up to the Treasury Offices, and take possession thereof; and also saw the heads of Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Ireton, set up upon the further end of the Hall. Then at Mrs. Michell's in the Hall met my wife and Shaw, and she and I and Captain Murford to the Dog, and there I gave them some wine, and after some mirth and talk (Mr. Langley coming in afterwards) I went by coach to the play-house at the Theatre, our coach in King Street breaking, and so took another. Here we saw Argalus and Parthenia, which I lately saw, but though pleasant for the dancing and singing, I do not find good for any wit or design therein. That done home by coach and to supper, being very hungry for want of dinner, and so to bed. 6th. Called up by my Cozen Snow, who sat by me while I was trimmed, and then I drank with him, he desiring a courtesy for a friend, which I have done for him. Then to the office, and there sat long, then to dinner, Captain Murford with me. I had a dish of fish and a good hare, which was sent me the other day by Goodenough the plasterer. So to the office again, where Sir W. Pen and I sat all alone, answering of petitions and nothing else, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where comes Mr. Jessop (one whom I could not formerly have looked upon, and now he comes cap in hand to us from the Commissioners of the Navy, though indeed he is a man of a great estate and of good report), about some business from them to us, which we answered by letter. Here I sat long with Sir W., who is not well, and then home and to my chamber, and some little, music, and so to bed. 7th. With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Whitehall to Mr. Coventry's chamber, to debate upon the business we were upon the other day morning, and thence to Westminster Hall. And after a walk to my Lord's; where, while I and my Lady were in her chamber in talk, in comes my Lord from sea, to our great wonder. He had dined at Havre de Grace on Monday last, and came to the Downs the next day, and lay at Canterbury that night; and so to Dartford, and thence this morning to White Hall. All my friends his servants well. Among others, Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers tell me the stories of my Lord Duke of Buckingham's and my Lord's falling out at Havre de Grace, at cards; they two and my Lord St. Alban's playing. The Duke did, to my Lord's dishonour, often say that he did in his conscience know the contrary to what he then said, about the difference at cards; and so did take up the money that he should have lost to my Lord. Which my Lord resenting, said nothing then, but that he doubted not but there were ways enough to get his money of him. So they parted that night; and my Lord sent for Sir R. Stayner and sent him the next morning to the Duke, to know whether he did remember what he said last night, and whether he would own it with his sword and a second; which he said he would, and so both sides agreed. But my Lord St. Alban's, and the Queen and Ambassador Montagu, did waylay them at their lodgings till the difference was made up, to my Lord's honour; who hath got great reputation thereby. I dined with my Lord, and then with Mr. Shepley and Creed (who talked very high of France for a fine country) to the tavern, and then I home. To the office, where the two Sir Williams had staid for me, and then we drew up a letter to the Commissioners of Parliament again, and so to Sir W. Batten, where I staid late in talk, and so home, and after writing the letter fair then I went to bed. 8th. At the office all the morning. At noon to the Exchange to meet Mr. Warren the timber merchant, but could not meet with him. Here I met with many sea commanders, and among others Captain Cuttle, and Curtis, and Mootham, and I, went to the Fleece Tavern to drink; and there we spent till four o'clock, telling stories of Algiers, and the manner of the life of slaves there! And truly Captn. Mootham and Mr. Dawes (who have been both slaves there) did make me fully acquainted with their condition there: as, how they eat nothing but bread and water. At their redemption they pay so much for the water they drink at the public fountaynes, during their being slaves. How they are beat upon the soles of their feet and bellies at the liberty of their padron. How they are all, at night, called into their master's Bagnard; and there they lie. How the poorest men do use their slaves best. How some rogues do live well, if they do invent to bring their masters in so much a week by their industry or theft; and then they are put to no other work at all. And theft there is counted no great crime at all. Thence to Mr. Rawlinson's, having met my old friend Dick Scobell, and there I drank a great deal with him, and so home and to bed betimes, my head aching. 9th. To my Lord's with Mr. Creed (who was come to me this morning to get a bill of imprest signed), and my Lord being gone out he and I to the Rhenish wine-house with Mr. Blackburne. To whom I did make known my fears of Will's losing of his time, which he will take care to give him good advice about. Afterwards to my Lord's and Mr. Shepley and I did make even his accounts and mine. And then with Mr. Creed and two friends of his (my late landlord Jones' son one of them), to an ordinary to dinner, and then Creed and I to Whitefriars' to the Play-house, and saw "The Mad Lover," the first time I ever saw it acted, which I like pretty well, and home. 10th (Lord's day). Took physique all day, and, God forgive me, did spend it in reading of some little French romances. At night my wife and I did please ourselves talking of our going into France, which I hope to effect this summer. At noon one came to ask for Mrs. Hunt that was here yesterday, and it seems is not come home yet, which makes us afraid of her. At night to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, and then to the Exchequer, and took Mr. Warren with me to Mr. Kennard, the master joiner, at Whitehall, who was at a tavern, and there he and I to him, and agreed about getting some of my Lord's deals on board to-morrow. Then with young Mr. Reeve home to his house, who did there show me many pretty pleasures in perspectives, ['Telescope' and 'microscope' are both as old as Milton, but for long while 'perspective' (glass being sometimes understood and sometimes expressed) did the work of these. It is sometimes written 'prospective.' Our present use of 'perspective' does not, I suppose, date farther back than Dryden.--Trench's Select Glossary.--M. B.] that I have not seen before, and I did buy a little glass of him cost me 5s. And so to Mr. Crew's, and with Mr. Moore to see how my father and mother did, and so with him to Mr. Adam Chard's' (the first time I ever was at his house since he was married) to drink, then we parted, and I home to my study, and set some papers and money in order, and so to bed. 12th. To my Lord's, and there with him all the morning, and then (he going out to dinner) I and Mr. Pickering, Creed, and Captain Ferrers to the Leg in the Palace to dinner, where strange Pickering's impertinences. Thence the two others and I after a great dispute whither to go, we went by water to Salsbury Court play-house, where not liking to sit, we went out again, and by coach to the Theatre, and there saw "The Scornfull Lady," now done by a woman, which makes the play appear much better than ever it did to me. Then Creed and I (the other being lost in the crowd) to drink a cup of ale at Temple Bar, and there we parted, and I (seeing my father and mother by the way) went home. 13th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and poor Mr. Wood with me, who after dinner would have borrowed money of me, but I would lend none. Then to Whitehall by coach with Sir W. Pen, where we did very little business, and so back to Mr. Rawlinson's, where I took him and gave him a cup of wine, he having formerly known Mr. Rawlinson, and here I met my uncle Wight, and he drank with us, and with him to Sir W. Batten's, whither I sent for my wife, and we chose Valentines' against to-morrow. [The observation of St. Valentine's day is very ancient in this country. Shakespeare makes Ophelia sing "To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window To be your Valentine." Hamlet, act iv. sc. 5.--M. B.] My wife chose me, which did much please me; my Lady Batten Sir W. Pen, &c. Here we sat late, and so home to bed, having got my Lady Batten to give me a spoonful of honey for my cold. 14th (Valentine's day). Up early and to Sir W. Batten's, but would not go in till I asked whether they that opened the door was a man or a woman, and Mingo, who was there, answered a woman, which, with his tone, made me laugh; so up I went and took Mrs. Martha for my Valentine (which I do only for complacency), and Sir W. Batten he go in the same manner to my wife, and so we were very merry. About 10 o'clock we, with a great deal of company, went down by our barge to Deptford, and there only went to see how forward Mr. Pett's yacht is; and so all into the barge again, and so to Woolwich, on board the Rose-bush, Captain Brown's' ship, that is brother-in-law to Sir W. Batten, where we had a very fine dinner, dressed on shore, and great mirth and all things successfull; the first time I ever carried my wife a-ship-board, as also my boy Wayneman, who hath all this day been called young Pepys, as Sir W. Pen's boy young Pen. So home by barge again; good weather, but pretty cold. I to my study, and began to make up my accounts for my Lord, which I intend to end tomorrow. To bed. The talk of the town now is, who the King is like to have for his Queen: and whether Lent shall be kept with the strictness of the King's proclamation; ["A Proclamation for restraint of killing, dressing, and eating of Flesh in Lent or on fish-dayes appointed by the law to be observed," was dated 29th January, 1660-61]. which it is thought cannot be, because of the poor, who cannot buy fish. And also the great preparation for the King's crowning is now much thought upon and talked of. 15th. At the office all the morning, and in the afternoon at making up my accounts for my Lord to-morrow; and that being done I found myself to be clear (as I think) L350 in the world, besides my goods in my house and all things paid for. 16th. To my Lord in the morning, who looked over my accounts and agreed to them. I did also get him to sign a bill (which do make my heart merry) for L60 to me, in consideration of my work extraordinary at sea this last voyage, which I hope to get paid. I dined with my Lord and then to the Theatre, where I saw "The Virgin Martyr," a good but too sober a play for the company. Then home. 17th (Lord's day). A most tedious, unreasonable, and impertinent sermon, by an Irish Doctor. His text was "Scatter them, O Lord, that delight in war." Sir Wm. Batten and I very much angry with the parson. And so I to Westminster as soon as I came home to my Lord's, where I dined with Mr. Shepley and Howe. After dinner (without speaking to my Lord), Mr. Shepley and I into the city, and so I home and took my wife to my uncle Wight's, and there did sup with them, and so home again and to bed. 18th. At the office all the morning, dined at home with a very good dinner, only my wife and I, which is not yet very usual. In the afternoon my wife and I and Mrs. Martha Batten, my Valentine, to the Exchange, and there upon a payre of embroydered and six payre of plain white gloves I laid out 40s. upon her. Then we went to a mercer's at the end of Lombard Street, and there she bought a suit of Lutestring--[More properly called "lustring"; a fine glossy silk.]--for herself, and so home. And at night I got the whole company and Sir Wm. Pen home to my house, and there I did give them Rhenish wine and sugar, and continued together till it was late, and so to bed. It is much talked that the King is already married to the niece of the Prince de Ligne, [The Prince de Ligne had no niece, and probably Pepys has made some mistake in the name. Charles at one time made an offer of marriage to Mazarin's niece, Hortense Mancini.] and that he hath two sons already by her: which I am sorry to hear; but yet am gladder that it should be so, than that the Duke of York and his family should come to the crown, he being a professed friend to the Catholiques. 19th. By coach to Whitehall with Colonel Slingsby (carrying Mrs. Turner with us) and there he and I up into the house, where we met with Sir G. Carteret: who afterwards, with the Duke of York, my Lord Sandwich, and others, went into a private room to consult: and we were a little troubled that we were not called in with the rest. But I do believe it was upon something very private. We staid walking in the gallery; where we met with Mr. Slingsby, that was formerly a great friend of Mons. Blondeau, who showed me the stamps of the King's new coyne; which is strange to see, how good they are in the stamp and bad in the money, for lack of skill to make them. But he says Blondeau will shortly come over, and then we shall have it better, and the best in the world. [Peter Blondeau, medallist, was invited to London from Paris in 1649, and appointed by the Council of State to coin their money; but the moneyers succeeded in driving him out of the country. Soon after the Restoration he returned, and was appointed engineer to the mint.] The Comptroller and I to the Commissioners of Parliament, and after some talk away again and to drink a cup of ale. He tells me, he is sure that the King is not yet married, as it is said; nor that it is known who he will have. To my Lord's and found him dined, and so I lost my dinner, but I staid and played with him and Mr. Child, &c., some things of four parts, and so it raining hard and bitter cold (the first winter day we have yet had this winter), I took coach home and spent the evening in reading of a Latin play, the "Naufragium Joculare." And so to bed. 20th. All the morning at the office, dined at home and my brother Tom with me, who brought me a pair of fine slippers which he gave me. By and by comes little Luellin and friend to see me, and then my coz Stradwick, who was never here before. With them I drank a bottle of wine or two, and to the office again, and there staid about business late, and then all of us to Sir W. Pen's, where we had, and my Lady Batten, Mrs. Martha, and my wife, and other company, a good supper, and sat playing at cards and talking till 12 at night, and so all to our lodgings. 21st. To Westminster by coach with Sir W. Pen, and in our way saw the city begin to build scaffolds against the Coronacion. To my Lord, and there found him out of doors. So to the Hall and called for some caps that I have a making there, and here met with Mr. Hawley, and with him to Will's and drank, and then by coach with Mr. Langley our old friend into the city. I set him down by the way, and I home and there staid all day within, having found Mr. Moore, who staid with me till late at night talking and reading some good books. Then he went away, and I to bed. 22nd. All the morning at the office. At noon with my wife and Pall to my father's to dinner, where Dr. Thos. Pepys and my coz Snow and Joyce Norton. After dinner came The. Turner, and so I home with her to her mother, good woman, whom I had not seen through my great neglect this half year, but she would not be angry with me. Here I staid all the afternoon talking of the King's being married, which is now the town talk, but I believe false. In the evening Mrs. The. and Joyce took us all into the coach home, calling in Bishopsgate Street, thinking to have seen a new Harpsicon--[The harpsichord is an instrument larger than a spinet, with two or three strings to a note.]--that she had a making there, but it was not done, and so we did not see it. Then to my home, where I made very much of her, and then she went home. Then my wife to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat a while; he having yesterday sent my wife half-a-dozen pairs of gloves, and a pair of silk stockings and garters, for her Valentine's gift. Then home and to bed. 23rd. This my birthday, 28 years. This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and I did some business, and then I by water to Whitehall, having met Mr. Hartlibb by the way at Alderman Backwell's. So he did give me a glass of Rhenish wine at the Steeleyard, and so to Whitehall by water. He continues of the same bold impertinent humour that he was always of and will ever be. He told me how my Lord Chancellor had lately got the Duke of York and Duchess, and her woman, my Lord Ossory's and a Doctor, to make oath before most of the judges of the kingdom, concerning all the circumstances of their marriage. And in fine, it is confessed that they were not fully married till about a month or two before she was brought to bed; but that they were contracted long before, and time enough for the child to be legitimate. [The Duke of York's marriage took place September 3rd, 1660. Anne Hyde was contracted to the Duke at Breda, November 24th, 1659.] But I do not hear that it was put to the judges to determine whether it was so or no. To my Lord and there spoke to him about his opinion of the Light, the sea-mark that Captain Murford is about, and do offer me an eighth part to concern myself with it, and my Lord do give me some encouragement in it, and I shall go on. I dined herewith Mr. Shepley and Howe. After dinner to Whitehall Chappell with Mr. Child, and there did hear Captain Cooke and his boy make a trial of an Anthem against tomorrow, which was brave musique. Then by water to Whitefriars to the Play-house, and there saw "The Changeling," the first time it hath been acted these twenty years, and it takes exceedingly. Besides, I see the gallants do begin to be tyred with the vanity and pride of the theatre actors who are indeed grown very proud and rich. Then by link home, and there to my book awhile and to bed. I met to-day with Mr. Townsend, who tells me that the old man is yet alive in whose place in the Wardrobe he hopes to get my father, which I do resolve to put for. I also met with the Comptroller, who told me how it was easy for us all, the principal officers, and proper for us, to labour to get into the next Parliament; and would have me to ask the Duke's letter, but I shall not endeavour it because it will spend much money, though I am sure I could well obtain it. This is now 28 years that I am born. And blessed be God, in a state of full content, and great hopes to be a happy man in all respects, both to myself and friends. 24th (Sunday). Mr. Mills made as excellent a sermon in the morning against drunkenness as ever I heard in my life. I dined at home; another good one of his in the afternoon. My Valentine had her fine gloves on at church to-day that I did give her. After sermon my wife and I unto Sir Wm. Batten and sat awhile. Then home, I to read, then to supper and to bed. 25th. Sir Wm. Pen and I to my Lord Sandwich's by coach in the morning to see him, but he takes physic to-day and so we could not see him. So he went away, and I with Luellin to Mr. Mount's chamber at the Cockpit, where he did lie of old, and there we drank, and from thence to W. Symons where we found him abroad, but she, like a good lady, within, and there we did eat some nettle porrige, which was made on purpose to-day for some of their coming, and was very good. With her we sat a good while, merry in discourse, and so away, Luellin and I to my Lord's, and there dined. He told me one of the prettiest stories, how Mr. Blurton, his friend that was with him at my house three or four days ago, did go with him the same day from my house to the Fleet tavern by Guildhall, and there (by some pretence) got the mistress of the house into their company, and by and by Luellin calling him Doctor she thought that he really was so, and did privately discover her disease to him, which was only some ordinary infirmity belonging to women, and he proffering her physic, she desired him to come some day and bring it, which he did. After dinner by water to the office, and there Sir W. Pen and I met and did business all the afternoon, and then I got him to my house and eat a lobster together, and so to bed. 26th (Shrove Tuesday). I left my wife in bed, being indisposed... I to Mrs. Turner's, who I found busy with The. and Joyce making of things ready for fritters, so to Mr. Crew's and there delivered Cotgrave's Dictionary' to my Lady Jemimah, and then with Mr. Moore to my coz Tom Pepys, but he being out of town I spoke with his lady, though not of the business I went about, which was to borrow L1000 for my Lord. Back to Mrs. Turner's, where several friends, all strangers to me but Mr. Armiger, dined. Very merry and the best fritters that ever I eat in my life. After that looked out at window; saw the flinging at cocks. [The cruel custom of throwing at cocks on Shrove Tuesday is of considerable antiquity. It is shown in the first print of Hogarth's "Four Stages of Cruelty."] Then Mrs. The. and I, and a gentleman that dined there and his daughter, a perfect handsome young and very tall lady that lately came out of the country, and Mr. Thatcher the Virginall Maister to Bishopsgate Street, and there saw the new Harpsicon made for Mrs. The. We offered L12, they demanded L14. The Master not being at home, we could make no bargain, so parted for to-night. So all by coach to my house, where I found my Valentine with my wife, and here they drank, and then went away. Then I sat and talked with my Valentine and my wife a good while, and then saw her home, and went to Sir W. Batten to the Dolphin, where Mr. Newborne, &c., were, and there after a quart or two of wine, we home, and I to bed.... 27th. At the office all the morning, that done I walked in the garden with little Captain Murford, where he and I had some discourse concerning the Light-House again, and I think I shall appear in the business, he promising me that if I can bring it about, it will be worth L100 per annum. Then came into the garden to me young Mr. Powell and Mr. Hooke that I once knew at Cambridge, and I took them in and gave them a bottle of wine, and so parted. Then I called for a dish of fish, which we had for dinner, this being the first day of Lent; and I do intend to try whether I can keep it or no. My father dined with me and did show me a letter from my brother John, wherein he tells us that he is chosen Schollar of the house,' which do please me much, because I do perceive now it must chiefly come from his merit and not the power of his Tutor, Dr. Widdrington, who is now quite out of interest there and hath put over his pupils to Mr. Pepper, a young Fellow of the College. With my father to Mr. Rawlinson's, where we met my uncle Wight, and after a pint or two away. I walked with my father (who gave me an account of the great falling out between my uncle Fenner and his son Will) as far as Paul's Churchyard, and so left him, and I home. This day the Commissioners of Parliament begin to pay off the Fleet, beginning with the Hampshire, and do it at Guildhall, for fear of going out of town into the power of the seamen, who are highly incensed against them. 28th. Early to wait on my Lord, and after a little talk with him I took boat at Whitehall for Redriffe, but in my way overtook Captain Cuttance and Teddiman in a boat and so ashore with them at Queenhithe, and so to a tavern with them to a barrel of oysters, and so away. Capt. Cuttance and I walked from Redriffe to Deptford, where I found both Sir Williams and Sir G. Carteret at Mr. Uthwayt's, and there we dined, and notwithstanding my resolution, yet for want of other victualls, I did eat flesh this Lent, but am resolved to eat as little as I can. After dinner we went to Captain Bodilaw's, and there made sale of many old stores by the candle, and good sport it was to see how from a small matter bid at first they would come to double and treble the price of things. After that Sir W. Pen and I and my Lady Batten and her daughter by land to Redriffe, staying a little at halfway house, and when we came to take boat, found Sir George, &c., to have staid with the barge a great while for us, which troubled us. Home and to bed. This month ends with two great secrets under dispute but yet known to very few: first, Who the King will marry; and What the meaning of this fleet is which we are now sheathing to set out for the southward. Most think against Algier against the Turk, or to the East Indys against the Dutch who, we hear, are setting out a great fleet thither. MARCH 1660-1661 March 1st. All the morning at the office. Dined at home only upon fish, and Mr. Shepley and Tom Hater with me. After dinner Mr. Shepley and I in private talking about my Lord's intentions to go speedily into the country, but to what end we know not. We fear he is to go to sea with this fleet now preparing. But we wish that he could get his L4000 per annum settled before he do go. Then he and I walked into London, he to the Wardrobe and I to Whitefryars, and saw "The Bondman" acted; an excellent play and well done. But above all that ever I saw, Betterton do the Bond man the best. Then to my father's and found my mother ill. After staying a while with them, I went home and sat up late, spending my thoughts how to get money to bear me out in my great expense at the Coronacion, against which all provide, and scaffolds setting up in every street. I had many designs in my head to get some, but know not which will take. To bed. 2d. Early with Mr. Moore about Sir Paul Neale's' business with my uncle and other things all the morning. Dined with him at Mr. Crew's, and after dinner I went to the Theatre, where I found so few people (which is strange, and the reason I did not know) that I went out again, and so to Salsbury Court, where the house as full as could be; and it seems it was a new play, "The Queen's Maske," wherein there are some good humours: among others, a good jeer to the old story of the Siege of Troy, making it to be a common country tale. But above all it was strange to see so little a boy as that was to act Cupid, which is one of the greatest parts in it. Then home and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day): Mr. Woodcocke preached at our church a very good sermon upon the imaginacions of the thoughts of man's heart being only evil. So home, where being told that my Lord had sent for me I went, and got there to dine with my Lord, who is to go into the country tomorrow. I did give up the mortgage made to me by Sir R. Parkhurst for L2,000. In the Abby all the afternoon. Then at Mr. Pierces the surgeon, where Shepley and I supped. So to my Lord's, who comes in late and tells us how news is come to-day of Mazarin's being dead, which is very great news and of great consequence.--[This report of the death of Cardinal Mazarin appears to have been premature, for he did not die until the 9th of March, 1661.]--I lay tonight with Mr. Shepley here, because of my Lord's going to-morrow. 4th. My Lord went this morning on his journey to Hinchingbroke, Mr. Parker with him; the chief business being to look over and determine how, and in what manner, his great work of building shall be done. Before his going he did give me some jewells to keep for him, viz., that that the King of Sweden did give him, with the King's own picture in it, most excellently done; and a brave George, all of diamonds, and this with the greatest expressions of love and confidence that I could imagine or hope for, which is a very great joy to me. To the office all the forenoon. Then to dinner and so to Whitehall to Mr. Coventry about several businesses, and then with Mr. Moore, who went with me to drink a cup of ale, and after some good discourse then home and sat late talking with Sir W. Batten. So home and to bed. 5th. With Mr. Pierce, purser, to Westminster Hall, and there met with Captain Cuttance, Lieut. Lambert, and Pierce, surgeon, thinking to have met with the Commissioners of Parliament, but they not sitting, we went to the Swan, where I did give them a barrel of oysters; and so I to my Lady's and there dined, and had very much talk and pleasant discourse with my Lady, my esteem growing every day higher and higher in her and my Lord. So to my father Bowyer's where my wife was, and to the Commissioners of Parliament, and there did take some course about having my Lord's salary paid tomorrow when; the Charles is paid off, but I was troubled to see how high they carry themselves, when in good truth nobody cares for them. So home by coach and my wife. I then to the office, where Sir Williams both and I set about making an estimate of all the officers' salaries in ordinary in the Navy till 10 o'clock at night. So home, and I with my head full of thoughts how to get a little present money, I eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to bed. 6th. At the office all the morning. At dinner Sir W. Batten came and took me and my wife to his house to dinner, my Lady being in the country, where we had a good Lenten dinner. Then to Whitehall with Captn. Cuttle, and there I did some business with Mr. Coventry, and after that home, thinking to have had Sir W. Batten, &c., to have eat a wigg--[Wigg, a kind of north country bun or tea-cake, still so called, to my knowledge, in Staffordshire.--M. B.]--at my house at night. But my Lady being come home out of the country ill by reason of much rain that has fallen lately, and the waters being very high, we could not, and so I home and to bed. 7th. This morning Sir Williams both went to Woolwich to sell some old provisions there. I to Whitehall, and up and down about many businesses. Dined at my Lord's, then to Mr. Crew to Mr. Moore, and he and I to London to Guildhall to see the seamen paid off, but could not without trouble, and so I took him to the Fleece tavern, where the pretty woman that Luellin lately told me the story of dwells, but I could not see her. Then towards home and met Spicer, D. Vines, Ruddiard, and a company more of my old acquaintance, and went into a place to drink some ale, and there we staid playing the fool till late, and so I home. At home met with ill news that my hopes of getting some money for the Charles were spoiled through Mr. Waith's perverseness, which did so vex me that I could not sleep at night. But I wrote a letter to him to send to-morrow morning for him to take my money for me, and so with good words I thought to coy with him. To bed. 8th. All the morning at the office. At noon Sir W. Batten, Col. Slingsby and I by coach to the Tower, to Sir John Robinson's, to dinner; where great good cheer. High company; among others the Duchess of Albemarle, who is ever a plain homely dowdy. After dinner, to drink all the afternoon. Towards night the Duchess and ladies went away. Then we set to it again till it was very late. And at last came in Sir William Wale, almost fuddled; and because I was set between him and another, only to keep them from talking and spoiling the company (as we did to others), he fell out with the Lieutenant of the Tower; but with much ado we made him under stand his error, and then all quiet. And so he carried Sir William Batten and I home again in his coach, and so I almost overcome with drink went to bed. I was much contented to ride in such state into the Tower, and be received among such high company, while Mr. Mount, my Lady Duchess's gentleman usher, stood waiting at table, whom I ever thought a man so much above me in all respects; also to hear the discourse of so many high Cavaliers of things past. It was a great content and joy to me. 9th. To Whitehall and there with Mr. Creed took a most pleasant walk for two hours in the park, which is now a very fair place. Here we had a long and candid discourse one to another of one another's condition, and he giving me an occasion I told him of my intention to get L60 paid me by him for a gratuity for my labour extraordinary at sea. Which he did not seem unwilling to, and therefore I am very glad it is out. To my Lord's, where we found him lately come from Hinchingbroke, where he left my uncle very well, but my aunt not likely to live. I staid and dined with him. He took me aside, and asked me what the world spoke of the King's marriage. Which I answering as one that knew nothing, he enquired no further of me. But I do perceive by it that there is something in it that is ready to come out that the world knows not of yet. After dinner into London to Mrs. Turner's and my father's, made visits and then home, where I sat late making of my journal for four days past, and so to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Heard Mr. Mills in the morning, a good sermon. Dined at home on a poor Lenten dinner of coleworts and bacon. In the afternoon again to church, and there heard one Castle, whom I knew of my year at Cambridge. He made a dull sermon. After sermon came my uncle and aunt Wight to see us, and we sat together a great while. Then to reading and at night to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning, dined at home and my father and Dr. Thos. Pepys with him upon a poor dinner, my wife being abroad. After dinner I went to the theatre, and there saw "Love's Mistress" done by them, which I do not like in some things as well as their acting in Salsbury Court. At night home and found my wife come home, and among other things she hath got her teeth new done by La Roche, and are indeed now pretty handsome, and I was much pleased with it. So to bed. 12th. At the office about business all the morning, so to the Exchange, and there met with Nick Osborne lately married, and with him to the Fleece, where we drank a glass of wine. So home, where I found Mrs. Hunt in great trouble about her husband's losing of his place in the Excise. From thence to Guildhall, and there set my hand to the book before Colonel King for my sea pay, and blessed be God! they have cast me at midshipman's pay, which do make my heart very glad. So, home, and there had Sir W. Batten and my Lady and all their company and Capt. Browne and his wife to a collation at my house till it was late, and then to bed. 13th. Early up in the morning to read "The Seaman's Grammar and Dictionary" I lately have got, which do please me exceeding well. At the office all the morning, dined at home, and Mrs. Turner, The. Joyce, and Mr. Armiger, and my father and mother with me, where they stand till I was weary of their company and so away. Then up to my chamber, and there set papers and things in order, and so to bed. 14th. With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Mr. Coventry's, and there had a dispute about my claim to the place of Purveyor of Petty-provisions, and at last to my content did conclude to have my hand to all the bills for these provisions and Mr. Turner to purvey them, because I would not have him to lose the place. Then to my Lord's, and so with Mr. Creed to an alehouse, where he told me a long story of his amours at Portsmouth to one of Mrs. Boat's daughters, which was very pleasant. Dined with my Lord and Lady, and so with Mr. Creed to the Theatre, and there saw "King and no King," well acted. Thence with him to the Cock alehouse at Temple Bar, where he did ask my advice about his amours, and I did give him it, which was to enquire into the condition of his competitor, who is a son of Mr. Gauden's, and that I promised to do for him, and he to make [what] use he can of it to his advantage. Home and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir Williams both and I at a great fish dinner at the Dolphin, given us by two tax merchants, and very merry we were till night, and so home. This day my wife and Pall went to see my Lady Kingston, her brother's lady. 16th. Early at Sir Wm. Pen's, and there before Mr. Turner did reconcile the business of the purveyance between us two. Then to Whitehall to my Lord's, and dined with him, and so to Whitefriars and saw "The Spanish Curate," in which I had no great content. So home, and was very much troubled that Will. staid out late, and went to bed early, intending not to let him come in, but by and by he comes and I did let him in, and he did tell me that he was at Guildhall helping to pay off the seamen, and cast the books late. Which since I found to be true. So to sleep, being in bed when he came. 17th (Lord's day). At church in the morning, a stranger preached a good honest and painfull sermon. My wife and I dined upon a chine of beef at Sir W. Batten's, so to church again. Then home, and put some papers in order. Then to supper at Sir W. Batten's again, where my wife by chance fell down and hurt her knees exceedingly. So home and to bed. 18th. This morning early Sir W. Batten went to Rochester, where he expects to be chosen Parliament man. At the office all the morning, dined at home and with my wife to Westminster, where I had business with the Commissioner for paying the seamen about my Lord's pay, and my wife at Mrs. Hunt's. I called her home, and made inquiry at Greatorex's and in other places to hear of Mr. Barlow (thinking to hear that he is dead), but I cannot find it so, but the contrary. Home and called at my Lady Batten's, and supped there, and so home. This day an ambassador from Florence was brought into the town in state. Good hopes given me to-day that Mrs. Davis is going away from us, her husband going shortly to Ireland. Yesterday it was said was to be the day that the Princess Henrietta was to marry the Duke d'Anjou' in France. This day I found in the newes-booke that Roger Pepys is chosen at Cambridge for the town, the first place that we hear of to have made their choice yet. To bed with my head and mind full of business, which do a little put me out of order, and I do find myself to become more and more thoughtful about getting of money than ever heretofore. 19th. We met at the office this morning about some particular business, and then I to Whitehall, and there dined with my Lord, and after dinner Mr. Creed and I to White-Fryars, where we saw "The Bondman" acted most excellently, and though I have seen it often, yet I am every time more and more pleased with Betterton's action. From thence with him and young Mr. Jones to Penell's in Fleet Street, and there we drank and talked a good while, and so I home and to bed. 20th. At the office all the morning, dined at home and Mr. Creed and Mr. Shepley with me, and after dinner we did a good deal of business in my study about my Lord's accounts to be made up and presented to our office. That done to White Hall to Mr. Coventry, where I did some business with him, and so with Sir W. Pen (who I found with Mr. Coventry teaching of him upon the map to understand Jamaica). [Sir William Penn was well fitted to give this information, as it was he who took the island from the Spaniards in 1655.] By water in the dark home, and so to my Lady Batten's where my wife was, and there we sat and eat and drank till very late, and so home to bed. The great talk of the town is the strange election that the City of London made yesterday for Parliament-men; viz. Fowke, Love, Jones, and... men that are so far from being episcopall that they are thought to be Anabaptists; and chosen with a great deal of zeal, in spite of the other party that thought themselves very strong, calling out in the Hall, "No Bishops! no Lord Bishops!" It do make people to fear it may come to worse, by being an example to the country to do the same. And indeed the Bishops are so high, that very few do love them. 21st. Up very early, and to work and study in my chamber, and then to Whitehall to my Lord, and there did stay with him a good while discoursing upon his accounts. Here I staid with Mr. Creed all the morning, and at noon dined with my Lord, who was very merry, and after dinner we sang and fiddled a great while. Then I by water (Mr. Shepley, Pinkney, and others going part of the way) home, and then hard at work setting my papers in order, and writing letters till night, and so to bed. This day I saw the Florence Ambassador go to his audience, the weather very foul, and yet he and his company very gallant. After I was a-bed Sir W. Pen sent to desire me to go with him to-morrow morning to meet Sir W. Batten coming from Rochester. 22nd. This morning I rose early, and my Lady Batten knocked at her door that comes into one of my chambers, and called me to know whether I and my wife were ready to go. So my wife got her ready, and about eight o'clock I got a horseback, and my Lady and her two daughters, and Sir W. Pen into coach, and so over London Bridge, and thence to Dartford. The day very pleasant, though the way bad. Here we met with Sir W. Batten, and some company along with him, who had assisted him in his election at Rochester; and so we dined and were very merry. At 5 o'clock we set out again in a coach home, and were very merry all the way. At Deptford we met with Mr. Newborne, and some other friends and their wives in a coach to meet us, and so they went home with us, and at Sir W. Batten's we supped, and thence to bed, my head akeing mightily through the wine that I drank to-day. 23d. All the morning at home putting papers in order, dined at home, and then out to the Red Bull (where I had not been since plays come up again), but coming too soon I went out again and walked all up and down the Charterhouse yard and Aldersgate street. At last came back again and went in, where I was led by a seaman that knew me, but is here as a servant, up to the tireing-room, where strange the confusion and disorder that there is among them in fitting themselves, especially here, where the clothes are very poor, and the actors but common fellows. At last into the Pitt, where I think there was not above ten more than myself, and not one hundred in the whole house. And the play, which is called "All's lost by Lust," poorly done; and with so much disorder, among others, that in the musique-room the boy that was to sing a song, not singing it right, his master fell about his ears and beat him so, that it put the whole house in an uprore. Thence homewards, and at the Mitre met my uncle Wight, and with him Lieut.-Col. Baron, who told us how Crofton, the great Presbyterian minister that had lately preached so highly against Bishops, is clapped up this day into the Tower. Which do please some, and displease others exceedingly. Home and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). My wife and I to church, and then home with Sir W. Batten and my Lady to dinner, where very merry, and then to church again, where Mr. Mills made a good sermon. Home again, and after a walk in the garden Sir W. Batten's two daughters came and sat with us a while, and I then up to my chamber to read. 25th (Lady day). This morning came workmen to begin the making of me a new pair of stairs up out of my parler, which, with other work that I have to do, I doubt will keep me this two months and so long I shall be all in dirt; but the work do please me very well. To the office, and there all the morning, dined at home, and after dinner comes Mr. Salisbury to see me, and shewed me a face or two of his paynting, and indeed I perceive that he will be a great master. I took him to Whitehall with me by water, but he would not by any means be moved to go through bridge, and so we were fain to go round by the Old Swan. To my Lord's and there I shewed him the King's picture, which he intends to copy out in little. After that I and Captain Ferrers to Salisbury Court by water, and saw part of the "Queene's Maske." Then I to Mrs. Turner, and there staid talking late. The. Turner being in a great chafe, about being disappointed of a room to stand in at the Coronacion. Then to my father's, and there staid talking with my mother and him late about my dinner to-morrow. So homewards and took up a boy that had a lanthorn, that was picking up of rags, and got him to light me home, and had great discourse with him how he could get sometimes three or four bushells of rags in a day, and got 3d. a bushell for them, and many other discourses, what and how many ways there are for poor children to get their livings honestly. So home and I to bed at 12 o'clock at night, being pleased well with the work that my workmen have begun to-day. 26th. Up early to do business in my study. This is my great day that three years ago I was cut of the stone, and, blessed be God, I do yet find myself very free from pain again. All this morning I staid at home looking after my workmen to my great content about my stairs, and at noon by coach to my father's, where Mrs. Turner, The. Joyce, Mr. Morrice, Mr. Armiger, Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and his wife, my father and mother, and myself and my wife. Very merry at dinner; among other things, because Mrs. Turner and her company eat no flesh at all this Lent, and I had a great deal of good flesh which made their mouths water. After dinner Mrs. Pierce and her husband and I and my wife to Salisbury Court, where coming late he and she light of Col. Boone that made room for them, and I and my wife sat in the pit, and there met with Mr. Lewes and Tom Whitton, and saw "The Bondman" done to admiration. So home by coach, and after a view of what the workmen had done to-day I went to bed. 27th. Up early to see my workmen at work. My brother Tom comes to me, and among other things I looked over my old clothes and did give him a suit of black stuff clothes and a hat and some shoes. At the office all the morning, where Sir G. Carteret comes, and there I did get him to promise me some money upon a bill of exchange, whereby I shall secure myself of L60 which otherwise I should not know how to get. At noon I found my stairs quite broke down, that I could not get up but by a ladder; and my wife not being well she kept her chamber all this day. To the Dolphin to a dinner of Mr. Harris's, where Sir Williams both and my Lady Batten, and her two daughters, and other company, where a great deal of mirth, and there staid till 11 o'clock at night; and in our mirth I sang and sometimes fiddled (there being a noise of fiddlers there), and at last we fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did in my life, which I did wonder to see myself to do. At last we made Mingo, Sir W. Batten's black, and Jack, Sir W. Pen's, dance, and it was strange how the first did dance with a great deal of seeming skill. Home, where I found my wife all day in her chamber. So to bed. 28th. Up early among my workmen, then Mr. Creed coming to see me I went along with him to Sir Robert Slingsby (he being newly maister of that title by being made a Baronett) to discourse about Mr. Creed's accounts to be made up, and from thence by coach to my cozen Thomas Pepys, to borrow L1000 for my Lord, which I am to expect an answer to tomorrow. So to my Lord's, and there staid and dined, and after dinner did get my Lord to view Mr. Shepley's accounts as I had examined them, and also to sign me a bond for my L500. Then with Mr. Shepley to the Theatre and saw "Rollo" ill acted. That done to drink a cup of ale and so by coach to London, and having set him down in Cheapside I went home, where I found a great deal of work done to-day, and also L70 paid me by the Treasurer upon the bill of exchange that I have had hopes of so long, so that, my heart in great content; I went to bed. 29th. Up among my workmen with great pleasure. Then to the office, where I found Sir W. Pen sent down yesterday to Chatham to get two great ships in readiness presently to go to the East Indies upon some design against the Dutch, we think, at Goa but it is a great secret yet. Dined at home, came Mr. Shepley and Moore, and did business with both of them. After that to Sir W. Batten's, where great store of company at dinner. Among others my schoolfellow, Mr. Christmas, where very merry, and hither came letters from above for the fitting of two other ships for the East Indies in all haste, and so we got orders presently for the Hampshire and Nonsuch. Then home and there put some papers in order, and not knowing what to do, the house being so dirty, I went to bed. 30th. At the office we and Sir W. Rider to advise what sort of provisions to get ready for these ships going to the Indies. Then the Comptroller and I by water to Mr. Coventry, and there discoursed upon the same thing. So to my coz. Tho. Pepys, and got him to promise me L1,000 to lend my Lord upon his and my uncle Robert's and my security. So to my Lord's, and there got him to sign a bond to him, which I also signed too, and he did sign counter security to us both. Then into London up and down and drank a pint of wine with Mr. Creed, and so home and sent a letter and the bonds to my uncle to sign for my Lord. This day I spoke with Dr. Castle about making up the dividend for the last quarter, and agreed to meet about it on Monday. 31st (Sunday). At church, where a stranger preached like a fool. From thence home and dined with my wife, she staying at home, being unwilling to dress herself, the house being all dirty. To church again, and after sermon I walked to my father's, and to Mrs. Turner's, where I could not woo The. to give me a lesson upon the harpsicon and was angry at it. So home and finding Will abroad at Sir W. Batten's talking with the people there (Sir W. and my Lady being in the country), I took occasion to be angry with him, and so to prayers and to bed. APRIL 1661 April 1st, 1661. This day my waiting at the Privy Seal comes in again. Up early among my workmen. So to the once, and went home to dinner with Sir W. Batten, and after that to the Goat tavern by Charing Cross to meet Dr. Castle, where he and I drank a pint of wine and talked about Privy Seal business. Then to the Privy Seal Office and there found Mr. Moore, but no business yet. Then to Whitefryars, and there saw part of "Rule a wife and have a wife," which I never saw before, but do not like it. So to my father, and there finding a discontent between my father and mother about the maid (which my father likes and my mother dislikes), I staid till 10 at night, persuading my mother to understand herself, and that in some high words, which I was sorry for, but she is grown, poor woman, very froward. So leaving them in the same discontent I went away home, it being a brave moonshine, and to bed. 2d. Among my workmen early and then along with my wife and Pall to my Father's by coach there to have them lie a while till my house be done. I found my mother alone weeping upon my last night's quarrel and so left her, and took my wife to Charing Cross and there left her to see her mother who is not well. So I into St. James's Park, where I saw the Duke of York playing at Pelemele, [The game was originally played in the road now styled Pall Mall, near St. James's Square, but at the Restoration when sports came in fashion again the street was so much built over, that it became necessary to find another ground. The Mall in St. James's Park was then laid out for the purpose.] the first time that ever I saw the sport. Then to my Lord's, where I dined with my Lady, and after we had dined in comes my Lord and Ned Pickering hungry, and there was not a bit of meat left in the house, the servants having eat up all, at which my Lord was very angry, and at last got something dressed. Then to the Privy Seal, and signed some things, and so to White-fryars and saw "The Little Thiefe," which is a very merry and pretty play, and the little boy do very well. Then to my Father's, where I found my mother and my wife in a very good mood, and so left them and went home. Then to the Dolphin to Sir W. Batten, and Pen, and other company; among others Mr. Delabar; where strange how these men, who at other times are all wise men, do now, in their drink, betwitt and reproach one another with their former conditions, and their actions as in public concernments, till I was ashamed to see it. But parted all friends at 12 at night after drinking a great deal of wine. So home and alone to bed. 3rd. Up among my workmen, my head akeing all day from last night's debauch. To the office all the morning, and at noon dined with Sir W. Batten and Pen, who would needs have me drink two drafts of sack to-day to cure me of last night's disease, which I thought strange but I think find it true. [The proverb, "A hair of the dog that bit you," which probably had originally a literal meaning, has long been used to inculcate the advice of the two Sir Williams.] Then home with my workmen all the afternoon, at night into the garden to play on my flageolette, it being moonshine, where I staid a good while, and so home and to bed. This day I hear that the Dutch have sent the King a great present of money, which we think will stop the match with Portugal; and judge this to be the reason that our so great haste in sending the two ships to the East Indys is also stayed. 4th. To my workmen, then to my Lord's, and there dined with Mr. Shepley. After dinner I went in to my Lord and there we had a great deal of musique, and then came my cozen Tom Pepys and there did accept of the security which we gave him for his L1000 that we borrow of him, and so the money to be paid next week. Then to the Privy Seal, and so with Mr. Moore to my father's, where some friends did sup there and we with them and late went home, leaving my wife still there. So to bed. 5th: Up among my workmen and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen's with the other Sir William and Sir John Lawson to dinner, and after that, with them to Mr. Lucy's, a merchant, where much good company, and there drank a great deal of wine, and in discourse fell to talk of the weight of people, which did occasion some wagers, and where, among others, I won half a piece to be spent. Then home, and at night to Sir W. Batten's, and there very merry with a good barrell of oysters, and this is the present life I lead. Home and to bed. 6th. Up among my workmen, then to Whitehall, and there at Privy Seal and elsewhere did business, and among other things met with Mr. Townsend, who told of his mistake the other day, to put both his legs through one of his knees of his breeches, and went so all day. Then with Mr. Creed and Moore to the Leg in the Palace to dinner which I gave them, and after dinner I saw the girl of the house, being very pretty, go into a chamber, and I went in after her and kissed her. Then by water, Creed and I, to Salisbury Court and there saw "Love's Quarrell" acted the first time, but I do not like the design or words. So calling at my father's, where they and my wife well, and so home and to bed. 7th (Lord's day). All the morning at home making up my accounts (God forgive me!) to give up to my Lord this afternoon. Then about 11 o'clock out of doors towards Westminster and put in at Paul's, where I saw our minister, Mr. Mills, preaching before my Lord Mayor. So to White Hall, and there I met with Dr. Fuller of Twickenham, newly come from Ireland; and took him to my Lord's, where he and I dined; and he did give my Lord and me a good account of the condition of Ireland, and how it come to pass, through the joyning of the Fanatiques and the Presbyterians, that the latter and the former are in their declaration put together under the names of Fanatiques. After dinner, my Lord and I and Mr. Shepley did look over our accounts and settle matters of money between us; and my Lord did tell me much of his mind about getting money and other things of his family, &c. Then to my father's, where I found Mr. Hunt and his wife at supper with my father and mother and my wife, where after supper I left them and so home, and then I went to Sir W. Batten's and resolved of a journey tomorrow to Chatham, and so home and to bed. 8th. Up early, my Lady Batten knocking at her door that comes into one of my chambers. I did give directions to my people and workmen, and so about 8 o'clock we took barge at the Tower, Sir William Batten and his lady, Mrs. Turner, Mr. Fowler and I. A very pleasant passage and so to Gravesend, where we dined, and from thence a coach took them and me, and Mr. Fowler with some others came from Rochester to meet us, on horseback. At Rochester, where alight at Mr. Alcock's and there drank and had good sport, with his bringing out so many sorts of cheese. Then to the Hillhouse at Chatham, where I never was before, and I found a pretty pleasant house and am pleased with the arms that hang up there. Here we supped very merry, and late to bed; Sir William telling me that old Edgeborrow, his predecessor, did die and walk in my chamber, did make me some what afeard, but not so much as for mirth's sake I did seem. So to bed in the treasurer's chamber. 9th. And lay and slept well till 3 in the morning, and then waking, and by the light of the moon I saw my pillow (which overnight I flung from me) stand upright, but not bethinking myself what it might be, I was a little afeard, but sleep overcame all and so lay till high morning, at which time I had a candle brought me and a good fire made, and in general it was a great pleasure all the time I staid here to see how I am respected and honoured by all people; and I find that I begin to know now how to receive so much reverence, which at the beginning I could not tell how to do. Sir William and I by coach to the dock and there viewed all the storehouses and the old goods that are this day to be sold, which was great pleasure to me, and so back again by coach home, where we had a good dinner, and among other strangers that come, there was Mr. Hempson and his wife, a pretty woman, and speaks Latin; Mr. Allen and two daughters of his, both very tall and the youngest very handsome, so much as I could not forbear to love her exceedingly, having, among other things, the best hand that ever I saw. After dinner, we went to fit books and things (Tom Hater being this morning come to us) for the sale, by an inch of candle, and very good sport we and the ladies that stood by had, to see the people bid. Among other things sold there was all the State's arms, which Sir W. Batten bought; intending to set up some of the images in his garden, and the rest to burn on the Coronacion night. The sale being done, the ladies and I and Captain Pett and Mr. Castle took barge and down we went to see the Sovereign, which we did, taking great pleasure therein, singing all the way, and, among other pleasures, I put my Lady, Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Hempson, and the two Mrs. Allens into the lanthorn and I went in and kissed them, demanding it as a fee due to a principall officer, with all which we were exceeding merry, and drunk some bottles of wine and neat's tongue, &c. Then back again home and so supped, and after much mirth to bed. 10th. In the morning to see the Dockhouses. First, Mr. Pett's, the builder, and there was very kindly received, and among other things he did offer my Lady Batten a parrot, the best I ever saw, that knew Mingo so soon as it saw him, having been bred formerly in the house with them; but for talking and singing I never heard the like. My Lady did accept of it: Then to see Commissioner Pett's house, he and his family being absent, and here I wondered how my Lady Batten walked up and down with envious looks to see how neat and rich everything is (and indeed both the house and garden is most handsome), saying that she would get it, for it belonged formerly to the Surveyor of the Navy. Then on board the Prince, now in the dock, and indeed it has one and no more rich cabins for carved work, but no gold in her. After that back home, and there eat a little dinner. Then to Rochester, and there saw the Cathedrall, which is now fitting for use, and the organ then a-tuning. Then away thence, observing the great doors of the church, which, they say, was covered with the skins of the Danes, [Traditions similar to that at Rochester, here alluded to, are to be found in other places in England. Sir Harry Englefield, in a communication made to the Society of Antiquaries, July 2nd, 1789, called attention to the curious popular tale preserved in the village of Hadstock, Essex, that the door of the church had been covered with the skin of a Danish pirate, who had plundered the church. At Worcester, likewise, it was asserted that the north doors of the cathedral had been covered with the skin of a person who had sacrilegiously robbed the high altar. The date of these doors appears to be the latter part of the fourteenth century, the north porch having been built about 1385. Dart, in his "History of the Abbey Church of St. Peter's, Westminster," 1723 (vol. i., book ii., p. 64), relates a like tradition then preserved in reference to a door, one of three which closed off a chamber from the south transept--namely, a certain building once known as the Chapel of Henry VIII., and used as a "Revestry." This chamber, he states, "is inclosed with three doors, the inner cancellated, the middle, which is very thick, lined with skins like parchment, and driven full of nails. These skins, they by tradition tell us, were some skins of the Danes, tann'd and given here as a memorial of our delivery from them." Portions of this supposed human skin were examined under the microscope by the late Mr. John Quekett of the Hunterian Museum, who ascertained, beyond question, that in each of the cases the skin was human. From a communication by the late Mr. Albert Way, F.S.A., to the late Lord Braybrooke.] and also had much mirth at a tomb, on which was "Come sweet Jesu," and I read "Come sweet Mall," &c., at which Captain Pett and I had good laughter. So to the Salutacion tavern, where Mr. Alcock and many of the town came and entertained us with wine and oysters and other things, and hither come Sir John Minnes to us, who is come to-day to see "the Henery," in which he intends to ride as Vice-Admiral in the narrow seas all this summer. Here much mirth, but I was a little troubled to stay too long, because of going to Hempson's, which afterwards we did, and found it in all things a most pretty house, and rarely furnished, only it had a most ill access on all sides to it, which is a greatest fault that I think can be in a house. Here we had, for my sake, two fiddles, the one a base viall, on which he that played, played well some lyra lessons, but both together made the worst musique that ever I heard. We had a fine collacion, but I took little pleasure in that, for the illness of the musique and for the intentness of my mind upon Mrs. Rebecca Allen. After we had done eating, the ladies went to dance, and among the men we had, I was forced to dance too; and did make an ugly shift. Mrs. R. Allen danced very well, and seems the best humoured woman that ever I saw. About 9 o'clock Sir William and my Lady went home, and we continued dancing an hour or two, and so broke up very pleasant and merry, and so walked home, I leading Mrs. Rebecca, who seemed, I know not why, in that and other things, to be desirous of my favours and would in all things show me respects. Going home, she would needs have me sing, and I did pretty well and was highly esteemed by them. So to Captain Allen's (where we were last night, and heard him play on the harpsicon, and I find him to be a perfect good musician), and there, having no mind to leave Mrs. Rebecca, what with talk and singing (her father and I), Mrs. Turner and I staid there till 2 o'clock in the morning and was most exceeding merry, and I had the opportunity of kissing Mrs. Rebecca very often. Among other things Captain Pett was saying that he thought that he had got his wife with child since I came thither. Which I took hold of and was merrily asking him what he would take to have it said for my honour that it was of my getting? He merrily answered that he would if I would promise to be godfather to it if it did come within the time just, and I said that I would. So that I must remember to compute it when the time comes. 11th. At 2 o'clock, with very great mirth, we went to our lodging and to bed, and lay till 7, and then called up by Sir W. Batten, so I arose and we did some business, and then came Captn. Allen, and he and I withdrew and sang a song or two, and among others took pleasure in "Goe and bee hanged, that's good-bye." The young ladies come too, and so I did again please myself with Mrs. Rebecca, and about 9 o'clock, after we had breakfasted, we sett forth for London, and indeed I was a little troubled to part with Mrs. Rebecca, for which God forgive me. Thus we went away through Rochester, calling and taking leave of Mr. Alcock at the door, Capt. Cuttance going with us. We baited at Dartford, and thence to London, but of all the journeys that ever I made this was the merriest, and I was in a strange mood for mirth. Among other things, I got my Lady to let her maid, Mrs. Anne, to ride all the way on horseback, and she rides exceeding well; and so I called her my clerk, that she went to wait upon me. I met two little schoolboys going with pitchers of ale to their schoolmaster to break up against Easter, and I did drink of some of one of them and give him two pence. By and by we come to two little girls keeping cows, and I saw one of them very pretty, so I had a mind to make her ask my blessing, and telling her that I was her godfather, she asked me innocently whether I was not Ned Wooding, and I said that I was, so she kneeled down and very simply called, "Pray, godfather, pray to God to bless me," which made us very merry, and I gave her twopence. In several places, I asked women whether they would sell me their children, but they denied me all, but said they would give me one to keep for them, if I would. Mrs. Anne and I rode under the man that hangs upon Shooter's Hill, [Shooter's Hill, Kent, between the eighth and ninth milestones on the Dover road. It was long a notorious haunt of highwaymen. The custom was to leave the bodies of criminals hanging until the bones fell to the ground.] and a filthy sight it was to see how his flesh is shrunk to his bones. So home and I found all well, and a deal of work done since I went. I sent to see how my wife do, who is well, and my brother John come from Cambridge. To Sir W. Batten's and there supped, and very merry with the young ladles. So to bed very sleepy for last night's work, concluding that it is the pleasantest journey in all respects that ever I had in my life. 12th. Up among my workmen, and about 7 o'clock comes my wife to see me and my brother John with her, who I am glad to see, but I sent them away because of going to the office, and there dined with Sir W. Batten, all fish dinner, it being Good Friday. Then home and looking over my workmen, and then into the City and saw in what forwardness all things are for the Coronacion, which will be very magnificent. Then back again home and to my chamber, to set down in my diary all my late journey, which I do with great pleasure; and while I am now writing comes one with a tickett to invite me to Captain Robert Blake's buriall, for whose death I am very sorry, and do much wonder at it, he being a little while since a very likely man to live as any I knew. Since my going out of town, there is one Alexander Rosse taken and sent to the Counter by Sir Thomas Allen, for counterfeiting my hand to a ticket, and we this day at the office have given order to Mr. Smith to prosecute him. To bed. 13th. To Whitehall by water from Towre-wharf, where we could not pass the ordinary way, because they were mending of the great stone steps against the Coronacion. With Sir W. Pen, then to my Lord's, and thence with Capt. Cuttance and Capt. Clark to drink our morning draught together, and before we could get back again my Lord was gone out. So to Whitehall again and, met with my Lord above with the Duke; and after a little talk with him, I went to the Banquethouse, and there saw the King heal, the first time that ever I saw him do it; which he did with great gravity, and it seemed to me to be an ugly office and a simple one. That done to my Lord's and dined there, and so by water with parson Turner towards London, and upon my telling of him of Mr. Moore to be a fit man to do his business with Bishop Wren, about which he was going, he went back out of my boat into another to Whitehall, and so I forwards home and there by and by took coach with Sir W. Pen and Captain Terne and went to the buriall of Captain Robert Blake, at Wapping, and there had each of us a ring, but it being dirty, we would not go to church with them, but with our coach we returned home, and there staid a little, and then he and I alone to the Dolphin (Sir W. Batten being this day gone with his wife to Walthamstow to keep Easter), and there had a supper by ourselves, we both being very hungry, and staying there late drinking I became very sleepy, and so we went home and I to bed. 14th (Easter. Lord's day). In the morning towards my father's, and by the way heard Mr. Jacomb, at Ludgate, upon these words, "Christ loved you and therefore let us love one another," and made a lazy sermon, like a Presbyterian. Then to my father's and dined there, and Dr. Fairbrother (lately come to town) with us. After dinner I went to the Temple and there heard Dr. Griffith, a good sermon for the day; so with Mr. Moore (whom I met there) to my Lord's, and there he shewed me a copy of my Lord Chancellor's patent for Earl, and I read the preamble, which is very short, modest, and good. Here my Lord saw us and spoke to me about getting Mr. Moore to come and govern his house while he goes to sea, which I promised him to do and did afterwards speak to Mr. Moore, and he is willing. Then hearing that Mr. Barnwell was come, with some of my Lord's little children, yesterday to town, to see the Coronacion, I went and found them at the Goat, at Charing Cross, and there I went and drank with them a good while, whom I found in very good health and very merry Then to my father's, and after supper seemed willing to go home, and my wife seeming to be so too I went away in a discontent, but she, poor wretch, followed me as far in the rain and dark as Fleet Bridge to fetch me back again, and so I did, and lay with her to-night, which I have not done these eight or ten days before. 15th. From my father's, it being a very foul morning for the King and Lords to go to Windsor, I went to the office and there met Mr. Coventry and Sir Robt. Slingsby, but did no business, but only appoint to go to Deptford together tomorrow. Mr. Coventry being gone, and I having at home laid up L200 which I had brought this morning home from Alderman Backwell's, I went home by coach with Sir R. Slingsby and dined with him, and had a very good dinner. His lady' seems a good woman and very desirous they were to hear this noon by the post how the election has gone at Newcastle, wherein he is concerned, but the letters are not come yet. To my uncle Wight's, and after a little stay with them he and I to Mr. Rawlinson's, and there staid all the afternoon, it being very foul, and had a little talk with him what good I might make of these ships that go to Portugal by venturing some money by them, and he will give me an answer to it shortly. So home and sent for the Barber, and after that to bed. 16th. So soon as word was brought me that Mr. Coventry was come with the barge to the Towre, I went to him, and found him reading of the Psalms in short hand (which he is now busy about), and had good sport about the long marks that are made there for sentences in divinity, which he is never like to make use of. Here he and I sat till the Comptroller came and then we put off for Deptford, where we went on board the King's pleasure boat that Commissioner Pett is making, and indeed it will be a most pretty thing. From thence to Commr. Pett's lodging, and there had a good breakfast, and in came the two Sir Wms. from Walthamstow, and so we sat down and did a great deal of public business about the fitting of the fleet that is now going out. That done we went to the Globe and there had a good dinner, and by and by took barge again and so home. By the way they would have me sing, which I did to Mr. Coventry, who went up to Sir William Batten's, and there we staid and talked a good while, and then broke up and I home, and then to my father's and there lay with my wife. 17th. By land and saw the arches, which are now almost done and are very fine, and I saw the picture of the ships and other things this morning, set up before the East Indy House, which are well done. So to the office, and that being done I went to dinner with Sir W. Batten, and then home to my workmen, and saw them go on with great content to me. Then comes Mr. Allen of Chatham, and I took him to the Mitre and there did drink with him, and did get of him the song that pleased me so well there the other day, "Of Shitten come Shites the beginning of love." His daughters are to come to town to-morrow, but I know not whether I shall see them or no. That done I went to the Dolphin by appointment and there I met Sir Wms. both and Mr. Castle, and did eat a barrel of oysters and two lobsters, which I did give them, and were very merry. Here we had great talk of Mr. Warren's being knighted by the King, and Sir W. B. seemed to be very much incensed against him. So home. 18th. Up with my workmen and then about 9 o'clock took horse with both the Sir Williams for Walthamstow, and there we found my Lady and her daughters all; and a pleasant day it was, and all things else, but that my Lady was in a bad mood, which we were troubled at, and had she been noble she would not have been so with her servants, when we came thither, and this Sir W. Pen took notice of, as well as I. After dinner we all went to the Church stile, and there eat and drank, and I was as merry as I could counterfeit myself to be. Then, it raining hard, we left Sir W. Batten, and we two returned and called at Mr.----and drank some brave wine there, and then homewards again and in our way met with two country fellows upon one horse, which I did, without much ado, give the way to, but Sir W. Pen would not, but struck them and they him, and so passed away, but they giving him some high words, he went back again and struck them off their horse, in a simple fury, and without much honour, in my mind, and so came away. Home, and I sat with him a good while talking, and then home and to bed. 19th. Among my workmen and then to the office, and after that dined with Sir W. Batten, and then home, where Sir W. Warren came, and I took him and Mr. Shepley and Moore with me to the Mitre, and there I cleared with Warren for the deals I bought lately for my Lord of him, and he went away, and we staid afterwards a good while and talked, and so parted, it being so foul that I could not go to Whitehall to see the Knights of the Bath made to-day, which do trouble me mightily. So home, and having staid awhile till Will came in (with whom I was vexed for staying abroad), he comes and then I went by water to my father's, and then after supper to bed with my wife. 20th. Here comes my boy to tell me that the Duke of York had sent for all the principal officers, &c., to come to him to-day. So I went by water to Mr. Coventry's, and there staid and talked a good while with him till all the rest come. We went up and saw the Duke dress himself, and in his night habitt he is a very plain man. Then he sent us to his closett, where we saw among other things two very fine chests, covered with gold and Indian varnish, given him by the East Indy Company of Holland. The Duke comes; and after he had told us that the fleet was designed for Algier (which was kept from us till now), we did advise about many things as to the fitting of the fleet, and so went away. And from thence to the Privy Seal, where little to do, and after that took Mr. Creed and Moore and gave them their morning draught, and after that to my Lord's, where Sir W. Pen came to me, and dined with my Lord. After dinner he and others that dined there went away, and then my Lord looked upon his pages' and footmen's liverys, which are come home to-day, and will be handsome, though not gaudy. Then with my Lady and my Lady Wright to White Hall; and in the Banqueting-house saw the King create my Lord Chancellor and several others, Earls, and Mr. Crew and several others, Barons: the first being led up by Heralds and five old Earls to the King, and there the patent is read, and the King puts on his vest, and sword, and coronet, and gives him the patent. And then he kisseth the King's hand, and rises and stands covered before the king. And the same for the Barons, only he is led up but by three of the old Barons, and are girt with swords before they go to the King. That being done (which was very pleasant to see their habits), I carried my Lady back, and I found my Lord angry, for that his page had let my Lord's new beaver be changed for an old hat; then I went away, and with Mr. Creed to the Exchange and bought some things, as gloves and bandstrings, &c. So back to the Cockpitt, and there, by the favour of one Mr. Bowman, he and I got in, and there saw the King and Duke of York and his Duchess (which is a plain woman, and like her mother, my Lady Chancellor). And so saw "The Humersome Lieutenant" acted before the King, but not very well done. But my pleasure was great to see the manner of it, and so many great beauties, but above all Mrs. Palmer, with whom the King do discover a great deal of familiarity. So Mr. Creed and I (the play being done) went to Mrs. Harper's, and there sat and drank, it being about twelve at night. The ways being now so dirty, and stopped up with the rayles which are this day set up in the streets, I would not go home, but went with him to his lodging at Mr. Ware's, and there lay all night. 21st (Lord's day). In the morning we were troubled to hear it rain as it did, because of the great show tomorrow. After I was ready I walked to my father's and there found the late maid to be gone and another come by my mother's choice, which my father do not like, and so great difference there will be between my father and mother about it. Here dined Doctor Thos. Pepys and Dr. Fayrebrother; and all our talk about to-morrow's show, and our trouble that it is like to be a wet day. After dinner comes in my coz. Snow and his wife, and I think stay there till the show be over. Then I went home, and all the way is so thronged with people to see the triumphal arches, that I could hardly pass for them. So home, people being at church, and I got home unseen, and so up to my chamber and saw done these last five or six days' diarys. My mind a little troubled about my workmen, which, being foreigners,--[Foreigners were workmen dwelling outside the city.]--are like to be troubled by a couple of lazy rogues that worked with me the other day, that are citizens, and so my work will be hindered, but I must prevent it if I can. 22d. KING'S GOING FROM YE TOWER TO WHITE HALL. [The king in the early morning of the 22nd went from Whitehall to the Tower by water, so that he might proceed from thence through the City to Westminster Abbey, there to be crowned.] Up early and made myself as fine as I could, and put on my velvet coat, the first day that I put it on, though made half a year ago. And being ready, Sir W. Batten, my Lady, and his two daughters and his son and wife, and Sir W. Pen and his son and I, went to Mr. Young's, the flag-maker, in Corne-hill; [The members of the Navy Office appear to have chosen Mr. Young's house on account of its nearness to the second triumphal arch, situated near the Royal Exchange, which was dedicated to the Navy.] and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and good cake, and saw the show very well. In which it is impossible to relate the glory of this day, expressed in the clothes of them that rid, and their horses and horses clothes, among others, my Lord Sandwich's. Embroidery and diamonds were ordinary among them. The Knights of the Bath was a brave sight of itself; and their Esquires, among which Mr. Armiger was an Esquire to one of the Knights. Remarquable were the two men that represent the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitane. The Bishops come next after Barons, which is the higher place; which makes me think that the next Parliament they will be called to the House of Lords. My Lord Monk rode bare after the King, and led in his hand a spare horse, as being Master of the Horse. The King, in a most rich embroidered suit and cloak, looked most noble. Wadlow, [Simon Wadlow was the original of "old Sir Simon the king," the favourite air of Squire Western in "Tom Jones." "Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers." Ben Jonson, Verses over the door into the Apollo.] the vintner, at the Devil; in Fleetstreet, did lead a fine company of soldiers, all young comely men, in white doublets. There followed the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir G. Carteret, a company of men all like Turks; but I know not yet what they are for. The streets all gravelled, and the houses hung with carpets before them, made brave show, and the ladies out of the windows, one of which over against us I took much notice of, and spoke of her, which made good sport among us. So glorious was the show with gold and silver, that we were not able to look at it, our eyes at last being so much overcome with it. Both the King and the Duke of York took notice of us, as he saw us at the window. The show being ended, Mr. Young did give us a dinner, at which we were very merry, and pleased above imagination at what we have seen. Sir W. Batten going home, he and I called and drunk some mum [Mum. Ale brewed with wheat at Brunswick. "Sedulous and stout With bowls of fattening mum." J. Phillips, Cyder, Vol. ii. p. 231.] and laid our wager about my Lady Faulconbridge's name, [Mary, third daughter of Oliver Cromwell, and second wife of Thomas Bellasis, second Viscount Fauconberg, created Earl of Fauconberg, April 9th, 1689.] which he says not to be Mary, and so I won above 20s. So home, where Will and the boy staid and saw the show upon Towre Hill, and Jane at T. Pepys's, The. Turner, and my wife at Charles Glassecocke's, in Fleet Street. In the evening by water to White Hall to my Lord's, and there I spoke with my Lord. He talked with me about his suit, which was made in France, and cost him L200, and very rich it is with embroidery. I lay with Mr. Shepley, and CORONACION DAY. 23d. About 4 I rose and got to the Abbey, where I followed Sir J. Denham, the Surveyor, with some company that he was leading in. And with much ado, by the favour of Mr. Cooper, his man, did get up into a great scaffold across the North end of the Abbey, where with a great deal of patience I sat from past 4 till 11 before the King came in. And a great pleasure it was to see the Abbey raised in the middle, all covered with red, and a throne (that is a chair) and footstool on the top of it; and all the officers of all kinds, so much as the very fidlers, in red vests. At last comes in the Dean and Prebends of Westminster, with the Bishops (many of them in cloth of gold copes), and after them the Nobility, all in their Parliament robes, which was a most magnificent sight. Then the Duke, and the King with a scepter (carried by my Lord Sandwich) and sword and mond [Mond or orb of gold, with a cross set with precious stones, carried by the Duke of Buckingham.] before him, and the crown too. The King in his robes, bare-headed, which was very fine. And after all had placed themselves, there was a sermon and the service; and then in the Quire at the high altar, the King passed through all the ceremonies of the Coronacon, which to my great grief I and most in the Abbey could not see. The crown being put upon his head, a great shout begun, and he came forth to the throne, and there passed more ceremonies: as taking the oath, and having things read to him by the Bishop; and his lords (who put on their caps as soon as the King put on his crown) [As yet barons had no coronet. A grant of that outward mark of dignity was made to them by Charles soon after his coronation. Queen Elizabeth had assigned coronets to viscounts.--B.] and bishops come, and kneeled before him. And three times the King at Arms went to the three open places on the scaffold, and proclaimed, that if any one could show any reason why Charles Stewart should not be King of England, that now he should come and speak. And a Generall Pardon also was read by the Lord Chancellor, and meddalls flung up and down by my Lord Cornwallis, of silver, but I could not come by any. But so great a noise that I could make but little of the musique; and indeed, it was lost to every body. But I had so great a lust to.... that I went out a little while before the King had done all his ceremonies, and went round the Abbey to Westminster Hall, all the way within rayles, and 10,000 people, with the ground covered with blue cloth; and scaffolds all the way. Into the Hall I got, where it was very fine with hangings and scaffolds one upon another full of brave ladies; and my wife in one little one, on the right hand. Here I staid walking up and down, and at last upon one of the side stalls I stood and saw the King come in with all the persons (but the soldiers) that were yesterday in the cavalcade; and a most pleasant sight it was to see them in their several robes. And the King came in with his crown on, and his sceptre in his hand, under a canopy borne up by six silver staves, carried by Barons of the Cinque Ports, [Pepys was himself one of the Barons of the Cinque Ports at the Coronation of James II.] and little bells at every end. And after a long time, he got up to the farther end, and all set themselves down at their several tables; and that was also a brave sight: and the King's first course carried up by the Knights of the Bath. And many fine ceremonies there was of the Heralds leading up people before him, and bowing; and my Lord of Albemarle's going to the kitchin and eat a bit of the first dish that was to go to the King's table. But, above all, was these three Lords, Northumberland, and Suffolk, and the Duke of Ormond, coming before the courses on horseback, and staying so all dinner-time, and at last to bring up [Dymock] the King's Champion, all in armour on horseback, with his spear and targett carried before him. And a Herald proclaims "That if any dare deny Charles Stewart to be lawful King of England, here was a Champion that would fight with him;" [The terms of the Champion's challenge were as follows: "If any person of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny or gainsay our Soveraigne Lord King Charles the Second, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, defender of the faith, Sonne and next heire to our Soveraigne Lord Charles the First, the last King deceased, to be right heire to the Imperiall Crowne of this Realme of England, or that bee ought not to enjoy the same; here is his champion, who sayth that he lyeth and is a false Traytor, being ready in person to combate with him, and in this quarrell will venture his life against him, on what day soever hee shall be appointed."] and with these words, the Champion flings down his gauntlet, and all this he do three times in his going up towards the King's table. At last when he is come, the King drinks to him, and then sends him the cup which is of gold, and he drinks it off, and then rides back again with the cup in his hand. I went from table to table to see the Bishops and all others at their dinner, and was infinitely pleased with it. And at the Lords' table, I met with William Howe, and he spoke to my Lord for me, and he did give me four rabbits and a pullet, and so I got it and Mr. Creed and I got Mr. Michell to give us some bread, and so we at a stall eat it, as every body else did what they could get. I took a great deal of pleasure to go up and down, and look upon the ladies, and to hear the musique of all sorts, but above all, the 24 violins: About six at night they had dined, and I went up to my wife, and there met with a pretty lady (Mrs. Frankleyn, a Doctor's wife, a friend of Mr. Bowyer's), and kissed them both, and by and by took them down to Mr. Bowyer's. And strange it is to think, that these two days have held up fair till now that all is done, and the King gone out of the Hall; and then it fell a-raining and thundering and lightening as I have not seen it do for some years: which people did take great notice of; God's blessing of the work of these two days, which is a foolery to take too much notice of such things. I observed little disorder in all this, but only the King's footmen had got hold of the canopy, and would keep it from the Barons of the Cinque Ports, [Bishop Kennett gives a somewhat fuller account of this unseemly broil: "No sooner had the aforesaid Barons brought up the King to the foot of the stairs in Westminster Hall, ascending to his throne, and turned on the left hand (towards their own table) out of the way, but the King's footmen most insolently and violently seized upon the canopy, which the Barons endeavouring to keep and defend, were by their number and strength dragged clown to the lower end of the Hall, nevertheless still keeping their hold; and had not Mr. Owen York Herald, being accidentally near the Hall door, and seeing the contest, caused the same to be shut, the footmen had certainly carried it away by force. But in the interim also (speedy notice hereof having been given the King) one of the Querries were sent from him, with command to imprison the footmen, and dismiss them out of his service, which put an end to the present disturbance. These footmen were also commanded to make their submission to the Court of Claims, which was accordingly done by them the 30th April following, and the canopy then delivered back to the said Barons." Whilst this disturbance happened, the upper end of the first table, which had been appointed for the Barons of the Cinque Ports, was taken up by the Bishops, judges, &c., probably nothing loth to take precedence of them; and the poor Barons, naturally unwilling to lose their dinner, were necessitated to eat it at the bottom of the second table, below the Masters of Chancery and others of the long robe.-B.] which they endeavoured to force from them again, but could not do it till my Lord Duke of Albemarle caused it to be put into Sir R. Pye's' hand till tomorrow to be decided. At Mr. Bowyer's; a great deal of company, some I knew, others I did not. Here we staid upon the leads and below till it was late, expecting to see the fire-works, but they were not performed to-night: only the City had a light like a glory round about it with bonfires. At last I went to Kingstreet, and there sent Crockford to my father's and my house, to tell them I could not come home tonight, because of the dirt, and a coach could not be had. And so after drinking a pot of ale alone at Mrs. Harper's I returned to Mr. Bowyer's, and after a little stay more I took my wife and Mrs. Frankleyn (who I proffered the civility of lying with my wife at Mrs. Hunt's to-night) to Axe-yard, in which at the further end there were three great bonfires, and a great many great gallants, men and women; and they laid hold of us, and would have us drink the King's health upon our knees, kneeling upon a faggot, which we all did, they drinking to us one after another. Which we thought a strange frolique; but these gallants continued thus a great while, and I wondered to see how the ladies did tipple. At last I sent my wife and her bedfellow to bed, and Mr. Hunt and I went in with Mr. Thornbury (who did give the company all their wine, he being yeoman of the wine-cellar to the King) to his house; and there, with his wife and two of his sisters, and some gallant sparks that were there, we drank the King's health, and nothing else, till one of the gentlemen fell down stark drunk, and there lay spewing; and I went to my Lord's pretty well. But no sooner a-bed with Mr. Shepley but my head began to hum, and I to vomit, and if ever I was foxed it was now, which I cannot say yet, because I fell asleep and slept till morning. Only when I waked I found myself wet with my spewing. Thus did the day end with joy every where; and blessed be God, I have not heard of any mischance to any body through it all, but only to Serjt. Glynne, whose horse fell upon him yesterday, and is like to kill him, which people do please themselves to see how just God is to punish the rogue at such a time as this; he being now one of the King's Serjeants, and rode in the cavalcade with Maynard, to whom people wish the same fortune. There was also this night in King-street, [a woman] had her eye put out by a boy's flinging a firebrand into the coach. Now, after all this, I can say that, besides the pleasure of the sight of these glorious things, I may now shut my eyes against any other objects, nor for the future trouble myself to see things of state and show, as being sure never to see the like again in this world. 24th. Waked in the morning with my head in a sad taking through the last night's drink, which I am very sorry for; so rose and went out with Mr. Creed to drink our morning draft, which he did give me in chocolate [Chocolate was introduced into England about the year 1652. In the "Publick Advertiser" of Tuesday, June 16-22, 1657, we find the following; "In Bishopsgate Street in Queen's Head Alley, at a Frenchman's house, is an excellent West India drink called chocolate, to be sold, where you may have it ready at any time, and also unmade at reasonable rates."--M. B.] to settle my stomach. And after that I to my wife, who lay with Mrs. Frankelyn at the next door to Mrs. Hunt's, and they were ready, and so I took them up in a coach, and carried the ladies to Paul's, and there set her down, and so my wife and I home, and I to the office. That being done my wife and I went to dinner to Sir W. Batten, and all our talk about the happy conclusion of these last solemnities. After dinner home, and advised with my wife about ordering things in my house, and then she went away to my father's to lie, and I staid with my workmen, who do please me very well with their work. At night, set myself to write down these three days' diary, and while I am about it, I hear the noise of the chambers,--[A chamber is a small piece of ordnance.]--and other things of the fire-works, which are now playing upon the Thames before the King; and I wish myself with them, being sorry not to see them. So to bed. 25th. All the morning with my workmen with great pleasure to see them near coming to an end. At noon Mr. Moore and I went to an Ordinary at the King's Head in Towre Street, and there had a dirty dinner. Afterwards home and having done some business with him, in comes Mr. Sheply and Pierce the surgeon, and they and I to the Mitre and there staid a while and drank, and so home and after a little rending to bed. 26th. At the office all the morning, and at noon dined by myself at home on a piece of meat from the cook's, and so at home all the afternoon with my workmen, and at night to bed, having some thoughts to order my business so as to go to Portsmouth the next week with Sir Robert Slingsby. 27th. In the morning to my Lord's, and there dined with my Lady, and after dinner with Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers to the Theatre to see "The Chances," and after that to the Cock alehouse, where we had a harp and viallin played to us, and so home by coach to Sir W. Batten's, who seems so inquisitive when my house will be made an end of that I am troubled to go thither. So home with some trouble in my mind about it. 28th (Lord's day). In the morning to my father's, where I dined, and in the afternoon to their church, where come Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Edward Pepys, and several other ladies, and so I went out of the pew into another. And after sermon home with them, and there staid a while and talked with them and was sent for to my father's, where my cozen Angier and his wife, of Cambridge, to whom I went, and was glad to see them, and sent for wine for them, and they supped with my father. After supper my father told me of an odd passage the other night in bed between my mother and him, and she would not let him come to bed to her out of jealousy of him and an ugly wench that lived there lately, the most ill-favoured slut that ever I saw in my life, which I was ashamed to hear that my mother should be become such a fool, and my father bid me to take notice of it to my mother, and to make peace between him and her. All which do trouble me very much. So to bed to my wife. 29th. Up and with my father towards my house, and by the way met with Lieut. Lambert, and with him to the Dolphin in Tower Street and drank our morning draught, he being much troubled about his being offered a fourth rate ship to be Lieutenant of her now he has been two years Lieutenant in a first rate. So to the office, where it is determined that I should go to-morrow to Portsmouth. So I went out of the office to Whitehall presently, and there spoke with Sir W. Pen and Sir George Carteret and had their advice as to my going, and so back again home, where I directed Mr. Hater what to do in order to our going to-morrow, and so back again by coach to Whitehall and there eat something in the buttery at my Lord's with John Goods and Ned Osgood. And so home again, and gave order to my workmen what to do in my absence. At night to Sir W. Batten's, and by his and Sir W. Pen's persuasion I sent for my wife from my father's, who came to us to Mrs. Turner's, where we were all at a collacion to-night till twelve o'clock, there being a gentlewoman there that did play well and sang well to the Harpsicon, and very merry we were. So home and to bed, where my wife had not lain a great while. 30th. This morning, after order given to my workmen, my wife and I and Mr. Creed took coach, and in Fishstreet took up Mr. Hater and his wife, who through her mask seemed at first to be an old woman, but afterwards I found her to be a very pretty modest black woman. We got a small bait at Leatherhead, and so to Godlyman, where we lay all night, and were very merry, having this day no other extraordinary rencontre, but my hat falling off my head at Newington into the water, by which it was spoiled, and I ashamed of it. I am sorry that I am not at London, to be at Hide-parke to-morrow, among the great gallants and ladies, which will be very fine. MAY 1661 May 1st. Up early, and bated at Petersfield, in the room which the King lay in lately at his being there. Here very merry, and played us and our wives at bowls. Then we set forth again, and so to Portsmouth, seeming to me to be a very pleasant and strong place; and we lay at the Red Lyon, where Haselrigge and Scott and Walton did hold their councill, when they were here, against Lambert and the Committee of Safety. Several officers of the Yard came to see us to-night, and merry we were, but troubled to have no better lodgings. 2nd. Up, and Mr. Creed and I to walk round the town upon the walls. Then to our inn, and there all the officers of the Yard to see me with great respect, and I walked with them to the Dock and saw all the stores, and much pleased with the sight of the place. Back and brought them all to dinner with me, and treated them handsomely; and so after dinner by water to the Yard, and there we made the sale of the old provisions. Then we and our wives all to see the Montagu, which is a fine ship, and so to the town again by water, and then to see the room where the Duke of Buckingham was killed by Felton.--1628. So to our lodging, and to supper and to bed. To-night came Mr. Stevens to town to help us to pay off the Fox. 3rd. Early to walk with Mr. Creed up and down the town, and it was in his and some others' thoughts to have got me made free of the town, but the Mayor, it seems, unwilling, and so they could not do it. Then to the payhouse, and there paid off the ship, and so to a short dinner, and then took coach, leaving Mrs. Hater there to stay with her husband's friends, and we to Petersfield, having nothing more of trouble in all my journey, but the exceeding unmannerly and most epicure-like palate of Mr. Creed. Here my wife and I lay in the room the Queen lately lay at her going into France. 4th. Up in the morning and took coach, and so to Gilford, where we lay at the Red Lyon, the best Inn, and lay in the room the King lately lay in, where we had time to see the Hospital, built by Archbishop Abbott, and the free school, and were civilly treated by the Mayster. So to supper, and to bed, being very merry about our discourse with the Drawers concerning the minister of the Town, with a red face and a girdle. So to bed, where we lay and sleep well. 5th (Lord's day). Mr. Creed and I went to the red-faced Parson's church, and heard a good sermon of him, better than I looked for. Then home, and had a good dinner, and after dinner fell in some talk in Divinity with Mr. Stevens that kept us till it was past Church time. Anon we walked into the garden, and there played the fool a great while, trying who of Mr. Creed or I could go best over the edge of an old fountain well, and I won a quart of sack of him. Then to supper in the banquet house, and there my wife and I did talk high, she against and I for Mrs. Pierce (that she was a beauty), till we were both angry. Then to walk in the fields, and so to our quarters, and to bed. 6th. Up by four o'clock and took coach. Mr. Creed rode, and left us that we know not whither he went. We went on, thinking to be at home before the officers rose, but finding we could not we staid by the way and eat some cakes, and so home, where I was much troubled to see no more work done in my absence than there was, but it could not be helped. I sent my wife to my father's, and I went and sat till late with my Lady Batten, both the Sir Williams being gone this day to pay off some ships at Deptford. So home and to bed without seeing of them. I hear to-night that the Duke of York's son is this day dead, which I believe will please every body; and I hear that the Duke and his Lady themselves are not much troubled at it. 7th. In the morning to Mr. Coventry, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord's to give them an account of my return. My Lady, I find, is, since my going, gone to the Wardrobe. Then with Mr. Creed into London, to several places about his and my business, being much stopped in our way by the City traynebands, who go in much solemnity and pomp this day to muster before the King and the Duke, and shops in the City are shut up every where all this day. He carried me to an ordinary by the Old Exchange, where we come a little too late, but we had very good cheer for our 18d. a-piece, and an excellent droll too, my host, and his wife so fine a woman; and sung and played so well that I staid a great while and drunk a great deal of wine. Then home and staid among my workmen all day, and took order for things for the finishing of their work, and so at night to Sir W. Batten's, and there supped and so home and to bed, having sent my Lord a letter to-night to excuse myself for not going with him to-morrow to the Hope, whither he is to go to see in what condition the fleet is in. 8th. This morning came my brother John to take his leave of me, he being to return to Cambridge to-morrow, and after I had chid him for going with my Will the other day to Deptford with the principal officers, I did give him some good counsell and 20s. in money, and so he went away. All this day I staid at home with my workmen without eating anything, and took much pleasure to see my work go forward. At night comes my wife not well from my father's, having had a fore-tooth drawn out to-day, which do trouble me, and the more because I am now in the greatest of all my dirt. My Will also returned to-night pretty well, he being gone yesterday not very well to his father's. To-day I received a letter from my uncle, to beg an old fiddle of me for my Cozen Perkin, the miller, whose mill the wind hath lately broke down, and now he hath nothing to live by but fiddling, and he must needs have it against Whitsuntide to play to the country girls; but it vexed me to see how my uncle writes to me, as if he were not able to buy him one. But I intend tomorrow to send him one. At night I set down my journal of my late journey to this time, and so to bed. My wife not being well and I very angry with her for her coming hither in that condition. 9th. With my workmen all the morning, my wife being ill and in great pain with her old pain, which troubled me much because that my house is in this condition of dirt. In the afternoon I went to Whitehall and there spoke with my Lord at his lodgings, and there being with him my Lord Chamberlain, I spoke for my old waterman Payne, to get into White's place, who was waterman to my Lord Chamberlain, and is now to go master of the barge to my Lord to sea, and my Lord Chamberlain did promise that Payne should be entertained in White's place with him. From thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there did get his promise for the payment of the remainder of the bill of Mr. Creed's, wherein of late I have been so much concerned, which did so much rejoice me that I meeting with Mr. Childe took him to the Swan Tavern in King Street, and there did give him a tankard of white wine and sugar,--[The popular taste was formerly for sweet wines, and sugar was frequently mixed with the wine.]--and so I went by water home and set myself to get my Lord's accounts made up, which was till nine at night before I could finish, and then I walked to the Wardrobe, being the first time I was there since my Lady came thither, who I found all alone, and so she shewed me all the lodgings as they are now fitted, and they seem pretty pleasant. By and by comes in my Lord, and so, after looking over my accounts, I returned home, being a dirty and dark walk. So to bed. 10th. At the office all the morning, and the afternoon among my workmen with great pleasure, because being near an end of their work. This afternoon came Mr. Blackburn and Creed to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin, and there drank a great deal of Rhenish wine with them and so home, having some talk with Mr. Blackburn about his kinsman my Will, and he did give me good satisfaction in that it is his desire that his kinsman should do me all service, and that he would give him the best counsel he could to make him good. Which I begin of late to fear that he will not because of the bad company that I find that he do begin to take. This afternoon Mr. Hater received for me the L225 due upon Mr. Creed's bill in which I am concerned so much, which do make me very glad. At night to Sir W. Batten and sat a while. So to bed. 11th. This morning I went by water with Payne (Mr. Moore being with me) to my Lord Chamberlain at Whitehall, and there spoke with my Lord, and he did accept of Payne for his waterman, as I had lately endeavoured to get him to be. After that Mr. Cooling did give Payne an order to be entertained, and so I left him and Mr. Moore, and I went to Graye's Inne, and there to a barber's, where I was trimmed, and had my haire cut, in which I am lately become a little curious, finding that the length of it do become me very much. So, calling at my father's, I went home, and there staid and saw my workmen follow their work, which this night is brought to a very good condition. This afternoon Mr. Shepley, Moore, and Creed came to me all about their several accounts with me, and we did something with them all, and so they went away. This evening Mr. Hater brought my last quarter's salary, of which I was very glad, because I have lost my first bill for it, and so this morning was forced to get another signed by three of my fellow officers for it. All this evening till late setting my accounts and papers in order, and so to bed. 12th. My wife had a very troublesome night this night and in great pain, but about the morning her swelling broke, and she was in great ease presently as she useth to be. So I put in a vent (which Dr. Williams sent me yesterday) into the hole to keep it open till all the matter be come out, and so I question not that she will soon be well again. I staid at home all this morning, being the Lord's day, making up my private accounts and setting papers in order. At noon went with my Lady Montagu at the Wardrobe, but I found it so late that I came back again, and so dined with my wife in her chamber. After dinner I went awhile to my chamber to set my papers right. Then I walked forth towards Westminster and at the Savoy heard Dr. Fuller preach upon David's words, "I will wait with patience all the days of my appointed time until my change comes;" but methought it was a poor dry sermon. And I am afeard my former high esteem of his preaching was more out of opinion than judgment. From thence homewards, but met with Mr. Creed, with whom I went and walked in Grayes-Inn-walks, and from thence to Islington, and there eat and drank at the house my father and we were wont of old to go to; and after that walked homeward, and parted in Smithfield: and so I home, much wondering to see how things are altered with Mr. Creed, who, twelve months ago, might have been got to hang himself almost as soon as go to a drinking-house on a Sunday. 13th. All the morning at home among my workmen. At noon Mr. Creed and I went to the ordinary behind the Exchange, where we lately were, but I do not like it so well as I did. So home with him and to the office, where we sat late, and he did deliver his accounts to us. The office being done I went home and took pleasure to see my work draw to an end. 14th. Up early and by water to Whitehall to my Lord, and there had much talk with him about getting some money for him. He told me of his intention to get the Muster Master's place for Mr. Pierce, the purser, who he has a mind to carry to sea with him, and spoke very slightingly of Mr. Creed, as that he had no opinion at all of him, but only he was forced to make use of him because of his present accounts. Thence to drink with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Pinkny, and so home and among my workmen all day. In the evening Mr. Shepley came to me for some money, and so he and I to the Mitre, and there we had good wine and a gammon of bacon. My uncle Wight, Mr. Talbot, and others were with us, and we were pretty merry. So at night home and to bed. Finding my head grow weak now-a-days if I come to drink wine, and therefore hope that I shall leave it off of myself, which I pray God I could do. 15th. With my workmen all day till the afternoon, and then to the office, where Mr. Creed's accounts were passed. Home and found all my joyner's work now done, but only a small job or two, which please me very well. This afternoon there came two men with an order from a Committee of Lords to demand some books of me out of the office, in order to the examining of Mr. Hutchinson's accounts, but I give them a surly answer, and they went away to complain, which put me into some trouble with myself, but I resolve to go to-morrow myself to these Lords and answer them. To bed, being in great fear because of the shavings which lay all up and down the house and cellar, for fear of fire. 16th. Up early to see whether the work of my house be quite done, and I found it to my mind. Staid at home all the morning, and about 2 o'clock went in my velvet coat by water to the Savoy, and there, having staid a good while, I was called into the Lords, and there, quite contrary to my expectations, they did treat me very civilly, telling me that what they had done was out of zeal to the King's service, and that they would joyne with the governors of the chest with all their hearts, since they knew that there was any, which they did not before. I give them very respectful answer and so went away to the Theatre, and there saw the latter end of "The Mayd's Tragedy," which I never saw before, and methinks it is too sad and melancholy. Thence homewards, and meeting Mr. Creed I took him by water to the Wardrobe with me, and there we found my Lord newly gone away with the Duke of Ormond and some others, whom he had had to the collation; and so we, with the rest of the servants in the hall, sat down and eat of the best cold meats that ever I eat on in all my life. From thence I went home (Mr. Moore with me to the waterside, telling me how kindly he is used by my Lord and my Lady since his coming hither as a servant), and to bed. 17th. All the morning at home. At noon Lieutenant Lambert came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and thence to an ordinary over against it, where to our dinner we had a fellow play well upon the bagpipes and whistle like a bird exceeding well, and I had a fancy to learn to whistle as he do, and did promise to come some other day and give him an angell to teach me. To the office, and sat there all the afternoon till 9 at night. So home to my musique, and my wife and I sat singing in my chamber a good while together, and then to bed. 18th. Towards Westminster, from the Towre, by water, and was fain to stand upon one of the piers about the bridge, [The dangers of shooting the bridge were so great that a popular proverb has it--London Bridge was made for wise men to go over and fools to go under.] before the men could drag their boat through the lock, and which they could not do till another was called to help them. Being through bridge I found the Thames full of boats and gallys, and upon inquiry found that there was a wager to be run this morning. So spying of Payne in a gully, I went into him, and there staid, thinking to have gone to Chelsy with them. But upon, the start, the wager boats fell foul one of another, till at last one of them gives over, pretending foul play, and so the other row away alone, and all our sport lost. So, I went ashore, at Westminster; and to the Hall I went, where it was very pleasant to see the Hall in the condition it is now with the judges on the benches at the further end of it, which I had not seen all this term till now. Thence with Mr. Spicer, Creed and some others to drink. And so away homewards by water with Mr. Creed, whom I left in London going about business and I home, where I staid all the afternoon in the garden reading "Faber Fortunae" with great pleasure. So home to bed. 19th. (Lord's day) I walked in the morning towards Westminster, and seeing many people at York House, I went down and found them at mass, it being the Spanish ambassodors; and so I go into one of the gallerys, and there heard two masses done, I think, not in so much state as I have seen them heretofore. After that into the garden, and walked a turn or two, but found it not so fine a place as I always took it for by the outside. Thence to my Lord's and there spake with him about business, and then he went to Whitehall to dinner, and Capt. Ferrers and Mr. Howe and myself to Mr. Wilkinson's at the Crown, and though he had no meat of his own, yet we happened to find our cook Mr. Robinson there, who had a dinner for himself and some friends, and so he did give us a very fine dinner. Then to my Lord's, where we went and sat talking and laughing in the drawing-room a great while. All our talk about their going to sea this voyage, which Capt. Ferrers is in some doubt whether he shall go or no, but swears that he would go, if he were sure never to come back again; and I, giving him some hopes, he grew so mad with joy that he fell a-dancing and leaping like a madman. Now it fell out so that the balcone windows were open, and he went to the rayle and made an offer to leap over, and asked what if he should leap over there. I told him I would give him L40 if he did not go to sea. With that thought I shut the doors, and W. Howe hindered him all we could; yet he opened them again, and, with a vault, leaps down into the garden:--the greatest and most desperate frolic that ever I saw in my life. I run to see what was become of him, and we found him crawled upon his knees, but could not rise; so we went down into the garden and dragged him to the bench, where he looked like a dead man, but could not stir; and, though he had broke nothing, yet his pain in his back was such as he could not endure. With this, my Lord (who was in the little new room) come to us in amaze, and bid us carry him up, which, by our strength, we did, and so laid him in East's bed, by the door; where he lay in great pain. We sent for a doctor and chyrurgeon, but none to be found, till by-and-by by chance comes in Dr. Clerke, who is afeard of him. So we sent to get a lodging for him, and I went up to my Lord, where Captain Cooke, Mr. Gibbons, and others of the King's musicians were come to present my Lord with some songs and symphonys, which were performed very finely. Which being done I took leave and supped at my father's, where was my cozen Beck come lately out of the country. I am troubled to see my father so much decay of a suddain, as he do both in his seeing and hearing, and as much to hear of him how my brother Tom do grow disrespectful to him and my mother. I took leave and went home, where to prayers (which I have not had in my house a good while), and so to bed. 20th. At home all the morning; paid L50 to one Mr. Grant for Mr. Barlow, for the last half year, and was visited by Mr. Anderson, my former chamber fellow at Cambridge, with whom I parted at the Hague, but I did not go forthwith him, only gave him a morning draft at home. At noon Mr. Creed came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and so to an ordinary to dinner, and after dinner to the Mitre, and there sat drinking while it rained very much. Then to the office, where I found Sir Williams both, choosing of masters for the new fleet of ships that is ordered to be set forth, and Pen seeming to be in an ugly humour, not willing to gratify one that I mentioned to be put in, did vex me. We sat late, and so home. Mr. Moore came to me when I was going to bed, and sat with me a good while talking about my Lord's business and our own and so good night. 21st. Up early, and, with Sir R. Slingsby (and Major Waters the deaf gentleman, his friend, for company's sake) to the Victualling-office (the first time that I ever knew where it was), and there staid while he read a commission for enquiry into some of the King's lands and houses thereabouts, that are given his brother. And then we took boat to Woolwich, where we staid and gave order for the fitting out of some more ships presently. And then to Deptford, where we staid and did the same; and so took barge again, and were overtaken by the King in his barge, he having been down the river with his yacht this day for pleasure to try it; and, as I hear, Commissioner Pett's do prove better than the Dutch one, and that that his brother built. While we were upon the water, one of the greatest showers of rain fell that ever I saw. The Comptroller and I landed with our barge at the Temple, and from thence I went to my father's, and there did give order about some clothes to be made, and did buy a new hat, cost between 20 and 30 shillings, at Mr. Holden's. So home. 22nd. To Westminster, and there missed of my Lord, and so about noon I and W. Howe by water to the Wardrobe, where my Lord and all the officers of the Wardrobe dined, and several other friends of my Lord, at a venison pasty. Before dinner, my Lady Wright and my Lady Jem. sang songs to the harpsicon. Very pleasant and merry at dinner. And then I went away by water to the office, and there staid till it was late. At night before I went to bed the barber came to trim me and wash me, and so to bed, in order to my being clean to-morrow. 23rd. This day I went to my Lord, and about many other things at Whitehall, and there made even my accounts with Mr. Shepley at my Lord's, and then with him and Mr. Moore and John Bowles to the Rhenish wine house, and there came Jonas Moore, the mathematician, to us, and there he did by discourse make us fully believe that England and France were once the same continent, by very good arguments, and spoke very many things, not so much to prove the Scripture false as that the time therein is not well computed nor understood. From thence home by water, and there shifted myself into my black silk suit (the first day I have put it on this year), and so to my Lord Mayor's by coach, with a great deal of honourable company, and great entertainment. At table I had very good discourse with Mr. Ashmole, wherein he did assure me that frogs and many insects do often fall from the sky, ready formed. Dr. Bates's singularity in not rising up nor drinking the King's nor other healths at the table was very much observed. [Dr. William Bates, one of the most eminent of the Puritan divines, and who took part in the Savoy Conference. His collected writings were published in 1700, and fill a large folio volume. The Dissenters called him silver-tongued Bates. Calamy affirmed that if Bates would have conformed to the Established Church he might have been raised to any bishopric in the kingdom. He died in 1699, aged seventy-four.] From thence we all took coach, and to our office, and there sat till it was late; and so I home and to bed by day-light. This day was kept a holy-day through the town; and it pleased me to see the little boys walk up and down in procession with their broom-staffs in their hands, as I had myself long ago gone. [Pepys here refers to the perambulation of parishes on Holy Thursday, still observed. This ceremony was sometimes enlivened by whipping the boys, for the better impressing on their minds the remembrance of the day, and the boundaries of the parish, instead of beating houses or stones. But this would not have harmonized well with the excellent Hooker's practice on this day, when he "always dropped some loving and facetious observations, to be remembered against the next year, especially by the boys and young people." Amongst Dorsetshire customs, it seems that, in perambulating a manor or parish, a boy is tossed into a stream, if that be the boundary; if a hedge, a sapling from it is applied for the purpose of flagellation.--B.] 24th. At home all the morning making up my private accounts, and this is the first time that I do find myself to be clearly worth L500 in money, besides all my goods in my house, &c. In the afternoon at the office late, and then I went to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord at supper, and therefore I walked a good while till he had done, and I went in to him, and there he looked over my accounts. And they were committed to Mr. Moore to see me paid what remained due to me. Then down to the kitchen to eat a bit of bread and butter, which I did, and there I took one of the maids by the chin, thinking her to be Susan, but it proved to be her sister, who is very like her. From thence home. 25th. All the morning at home about business. At noon to the Temple, where I staid and looked over a book or two at Playford's, and then to the Theatre, where I saw a piece of "The Silent Woman," which pleased me. So homewards, and in my way bought "The Bondman" in Paul's Churchyard, and so home, where I found all clean, and the hearth and range, as it is now enlarged, set up, which pleases me very much. 26th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. To church and heard a good sermon at our own church, where I have not been a great many weeks. Dined with my wife alone at home pleasing myself in that my house do begin to look as if at last it would be in good order. This day the Parliament received the communion of Dr. Gunning at St. Margaret's, Westminster. In the afternoon both the Sir Williams came to church, where we had a dull stranger. After church home, and so to the Mitre, where I found Dr. Burnett, the first time that ever I met him to drink with him, and my uncle Wight and there we sat and drank a great deal, and so I to Sir W. Batten's, where I have on purpose made myself a great stranger, only to get a high opinion a little more of myself in them. Here I heard how Mrs. Browne, Sir W. Batten's sister, is brought to bed, and I to be one of the godfathers, which I could not nor did deny. Which, however, did trouble me very much to be at charge to no purpose, so that I could not sleep hardly all night, but in the morning I bethought myself, and I think it is very well I should do it. Sir W. Batten told me how Mr. Prin (among the two or three that did refuse to-day to receive the sacrament upon their knees) was offered by a mistake the drink afterwards, which he did receive, being denied the drink by Dr. Gunning, unless he would take it on his knees; and after that by another the bread was brought him, and he did take it sitting, which is thought very preposterous. Home and to bed. 27th. To the Wardrobe, and from thence with my Lords Sandwich and Hinchinbroke to the Lords' House by boat at Westminster, and there I left them. Then to the lobby, and after waiting for Sir G. Downing's coming out, to speak with him about the giving me up of my bond for my honesty when I was his clerk, but to no purpose, I went to Clerke's at the Legg, and there I found both Mr. Pierces, Mr. Rolt, formerly too great a man to meet upon such even terms, and there we dined very merry, there coming to us Captain Ferrers, this being the first day of his going abroad since his leap a week ago, which I was greatly glad to see. By water to the office, and there sat late, Sir George Carteret coming in, who among other things did inquire into the naming of the maisters for this fleet, and was very angry that they were named as they are, and above all to see the maister of the Adventure (for whom there is some kind of difference between Sir W. Pen and me) turned out, who has been in her list. The office done, I went with the Comptroller to the Coffee house, and there we discoursed of this, and I seem to be fond of him, and indeed I find I must carry fair with all as far as I see it safe, but I have got of him leave to have a little room from his lodgings to my house, of which I am very glad, besides I do open him a way to get lodgings himself in the office, of which I should be very glad. Home and to bed. 28th. This morning to the Wardrobe, and thence to a little alehouse hard by, to drink with John Bowies, who is now going to Hinchinbroke this day. Thence with Mr. Shepley to the Exchange about business, and there, by Mr. Rawlinson's favour, got into a balcone over against the Exchange; and there saw the hangman burn, by vote of Parliament, two old acts, the one for constituting us a Commonwealth, and the others I have forgot. Which still do make me think of the greatness of this late turn, and what people will do tomorrow against what they all, through profit or fear, did promise and practise this day. Then to the Mitre with Mr. Shepley, and there dined with D. Rawlinson and some friends of his very well. So home, and then to Cheapside about buying a piece of plate to give away to-morrow to Mrs. Browne's child. So to the Star in Cheapside, where I left Mr. Moore telling L5 out for me, who I found in a great strait for my coming back again, and so he went his way at my coming. Then home, where Mr. Cook I met and he paid me 30s., an old debt of his to me. So to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat alone with him till ten at night in talk with great content, he telling me things and persons that I did not understand in the late times, and so I home to bed. My cozen John Holcroft (whom I have not seen many years) this morning came to see me. 29th (King's birth-day). Rose early and having made myself fine, and put six spoons and a porringer of silver in my pocket to give away to-day, Sir W. Pen and I took coach, and (the weather and ways being foul) went to Walthamstowe; and being come there heard Mr. Radcliffe, my former school fellow at Paul's (who is yet a mere boy), preach upon "Nay, let him take all, since my Lord the King is returned," &c. He reads all, and his sermon very simple, but I looked for new matter. Back to dinner to Sir William Batten's; and then, after a walk in the fine gardens, we went to Mrs. Browne's, where Sir W. Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and Shipman godmothers to her boy. And there, before and after the christening; we were with the woman above in her chamber; but whether we carried ourselves well or ill, I know not; but I was directed by young Mrs. Batten. One passage of a lady that eat wafers with her dog did a little displease me. I did give the midwife 10s. and the nurse 5s. and the maid of the house 2s. But for as much I expected to give the name to the child, but did not (it being called John), I forbore then to give my plate till another time after a little more advice. All being done, we went to Mrs. Shipman's, who is a great butter-woman, and I did see there the most of milk and cream, and the cleanest that ever I saw in my life. After we had filled our bellies with cream, we took our leaves and away. In our way, we had great sport to try who should drive fastest, Sir W. Batten's coach, or Sir W. Pen's chariott, they having four, and we two horses, and we beat them. But it cost me the spoiling of my clothes and velvet coat with dirt. Being come home I to bed, and give my breeches to be dried by the fire against to-morrow. 30th. To the Wardrobe and there, with my Lord, went into his new barge to try her, and found her a good boat, and like my Lord's contrivance of the door to come out round and not square as they used to do. Back to the Wardrobe with my Lord, and then with Mr. Moore to the Temple, and thence to. Greatorex, who took me to Arundell-House, and there showed me some fine flowers in his garden, and all the fine statues in the gallery, which I formerly had seen, and is a brave sight, and thence to a blind dark cellar, where we had two bottles of good ale, and so after giving him direction for my silver side-table, I took boat at Arundell stairs, and put in at Milford.... So home and found Sir Williams both and my Lady going to Deptford to christen Captain Rooth's child, and would have had me with them, but I could not go. To the office, where Sir R. Slingsby was, and he and I into his and my lodgings to take a view of them, out of a desire he has to have mine of me to join to his, and give me Mr. Turner's. To the office again, where Sir G. Carteret came and sat a while, he being angry for Sir Williams making of the maisters of this fleet upon their own heads without a full table. Then the Comptroller and I to the Coffee House, and there sat a great while talking of many things. So home and to bed. This day, I hear, the Parliament have ordered a bill to be brought in for the restoring the Bishops to the House of Lords; which they had not done so soon but to spite Mr. Prin, who is every day so bitter against them in his discourse in the House. 31st. I went to my father's thinking to have met with my cozen John Holcroft, but he came not, but to my great grief I found my father and mother in a great deal of discontent one with another, and indeed my mother is grown now so pettish that I know not how my father is able to bear with it. I did talk to her so as did not indeed become me, but I could not help it, she being so unsufferably foolish and simple, so that my father, poor man, is become a very unhappy man. There I dined, and so home and to the office all the afternoon till 9 at night, and then home and to supper and to bed. Great talk now how the Parliament intend to make a collection of free gifts to the King through the Kingdom; but I think it will not come to much. JUNE 1661 June 1st. Having taken our leaves of Sir W. Batten and my Lady, who are gone this morning to keep their Whitsuntide, Sir W. Pen and I and Mr. Gauden by water to Woolwich, and there went from ship to ship to give order for and take notice of their forwardness to go forth, and then to Deptford and did the like, having dined at Woolwich with Captain Poole at the tavern there. From Deptford we walked to Redriffe, calling at the half-way house, and there come into a room where there was infinite of new cakes placed that are made against Whitsuntide, and there we were very merry. By water home, and there did businesses of the office. Among others got my Lord's imprest of L1000 and Mr. Creed's of L10,000 against this voyage their bills signed. Having wrote letters into the country and read some things I went to bed. 2nd (Whitsunday). The barber having done with me, I went to church, and there heard a good sermon of Mr. Mills, fit for the day. Then home to dinner, and then to church again, and going home I found Greatorex (whom I expected today at dinner) come to see me, and so he and I in my chamber drinking of wine and eating of anchovies an hour or two, discoursing of many things in mathematics, and among others he showed me how it comes to pass the strength that levers have, and he showed me that what is got as to matter of strength is lost by them as to matter of time. It rained very hard, as it hath done of late so much that we begin to doubt a famine, and so he was forced to stay longer than I desired. At night after prayers to bed. 3rd. To the Wardrobe, where discoursing with my Lord, he did instruct me as to the business of the Wardrobe, in case, in his absence, Mr. Townsend should die, and told me that he do intend to joyne me and Mr. Moore with him as to the business, now he is going to sea, and spoke to me many other things, as to one that he do put the greatest confidence in, of which I am proud. Here I had a good occasion to tell him (what I have had long in my mind) that, since it has pleased God to bless me with something, I am desirous to lay out something for my father, and so have pitched upon Mr. Young's place in the Wardrobe, which I desired he would give order in his absence, if the place should fall that I might have the refusal. Which my Lord did freely promise me, at which I was very glad, he saying that he would do that at the least. So I saw my Lord into the barge going to Whitehall, and I and Mr. Creed home to my house, whither my father and my cozen Scott came to dine with me, and so we dined together very well, and before we had done in comes my father Bowyer and my mother and four daughters, and a young gentleman and his sister, their friends, and there staid all the afternoon, which cost me great store of wine, and were very merry. By and by I am called to the office, and there staid a little. So home again, and took Mr. Creed and left them, and so he and I to the Towre, to speak for some ammunition for ships for my Lord; and so he and I, with much pleasure, walked quite round the Towre, which I never did before. So home, and after a walk with my wife upon the leads, I and she went to bed. This morning I and Dr. Peirce went over to the Beare at the Bridge foot, thinking to have met my Lord Hinchinbroke and his brother setting forth for France; but they being not come we went over to the Wardrobe, and there found that my Lord Abbot Montagu being not at Paris, my Lord hath a mind to have them stay a little longer before they go. 4th. The Comptroller came this morning to get me to go see a house or two near our office, which he would take for himself or Mr. Turner, and then he would have me have Mr. Turner's lodgings and himself mine and Mr. Davis's. But the houses did not like us, and so that design at present is stopped. Then he and I by water to the bridge, and then walked over the Bank-side till we came to the Temple, and so I went over and to my father's, where I met with my cozen J. Holcroft, and took him and my father and my brother Tom to the Bear tavern and gave them wine, my cozen being to go into the country again to-morrow. From thence to my Lord Crew's to dinner with him, and had very good discourse about having of young noblemen and gentlemen to think of going to sea, as being as honourable service as the land war. And among other things he told us how, in Queen Elizabeth's time, one young nobleman would wait with a trencher at the back of another till he came to age himself. And witnessed in my young Lord of Kent, that then was, who waited upon my Lord Bedford at table, when a letter came to my Lord Bedford that the Earldom of Kent was fallen to his servant, the young Lord; and so he rose from table, and made him sit down in his place, and took a lower for himself, for so he was by place to sit. From thence to the Theatre and saw "Harry the 4th," a good play. That done I went over the water and walked over the fields to Southwark, and so home and to my lute. At night to bed. 5th. This morning did give my wife L4 to lay out upon lace and other things for herself. I to Wardrobe and so to Whitehall and Westminster, where I dined with my Lord and Ned Dickering alone at his lodgings. After dinner to the office, where we sat and did business, and Sir W. Pen and I went home with Sir R. Slingsby to bowls in his ally, and there had good sport, and afterwards went in and drank and talked. So home Sir William and I, and it being very hot weather I took my flageolette and played upon the leads in the garden, where Sir W. Pen came out in his shirt into his leads, and there we staid talking and singing, and drinking great drafts of claret, and eating botargo ["Botarga. The roe of the mullet pressed flat and dried; that of commerce, however, is from the tunny, a large fish of passage which is common in the Mediterranean. The best kind comes from Tunis." --Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book. Botargo was chiefly used to promote drinking by causing thirst, and Rabelais makes Gargantua eat it.] and bread and butter till 12 at night, it being moonshine; and so to bed, very near fuddled. 6th. My head hath aked all night, and all this morning, with my last night's debauch. Called up this morning by Lieutenant Lambert, who is now made Captain of the Norwich, and he and I went down by water to Greenwich, in our way observing and discoursing upon the things of a ship, he telling me all I asked him, which was of good use to me. There we went and eat and drank and heard musique at the Globe, and saw the simple motion that is there of a woman with a rod in her hand keeping time to the musique while it plays, which is simple, methinks. Back again by water, calling at Captain Lambert's house, which is very handsome and neat, and a fine prospect at top. So to the office, where we sat a little, and then the Captain and I again to Bridewell to Mr. Holland's, where his wife also, a plain dowdy, and his mother was. Here I paid Mrs. Holland the money due from me to her husband. Here came two young gentlewomen to see Mr. Holland, and one of them could play pretty well upon the viallin, but, good God! how these ignorant people did cry her up for it! We were very merry. I staid and supped there, and so home and to bed. The weather very hot, this night I left off my wastecoat. 7th. To my Lord's at Whitehall, but not finding him I went to the Wardrobe and there dined with my Lady, and was very kindly treated by her. After dinner to the office, and there till late at night. So home, and to Sir William Batten's, who is come this day from Chatham with my Lady, who is and has been much troubled with the toothache. Here I staid till late, and so home and to bed. 8th. To Whitehall to my Lord, who did tell me that he would have me go to Mr. Townsend, whom he had ordered to discover to me the whole mystery of the Wardrobe, and none else but me, and that he will make me deputy with him for fear that he should die in my Lord's absence, of which I was glad. Then to the Cook's with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Creed, and dined together, and then I went to the Theatre and there saw Bartholomew Faire, the first time it was acted now a-days. It is a most admirable play and well acted, but too much prophane and abusive. From thence, meeting Mr. Creed at the door, he and I went to the tobacco shop under Temple Bar gate, and there went up to the top of the house and there sat drinking Lambeth ale a good while. Then away home, and in my way called upon Mr. Rawlinson (my uncle Wight being out of town), for his advice to answer a letter of my uncle Robert, wherein he do offer me a purchase to lay some money upon, that joynes upon some of his own lands, and plainly telling me that the reason of his advice is the convenience that it will give me as to his estate, of which I am exceeding glad, and am advised to give up wholly the disposal of my money to him, let him do what he will with it, which I shall do. So home and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). This day my wife put on her black silk gown, which is now laced all over with black gimp lace, as the fashion is, in which she is very pretty. She and I walked to my Lady's at the Wardrobe, and there dined and was exceeding much made of. After dinner I left my wife there, and I walked to Whitehall, and then went to Mr. Pierce's and sat with his wife a good while (who continues very pretty) till he came, and then he and I, and Mr. Symons (dancing master), that goes to sea with my Lord, to the Swan tavern, and there drank, and so again to White Hall, and there met with Dean Fuller, and walked a great while with him; among other things discoursed of the liberty the Bishop (by name the of Galloway) takes to admit into orders any body that will; among others, Roundtree, a simple mechanique that was a person [parson?] formerly in the fleet. He told me he would complain of it. By and by we went and got a sculler, and landing him at Worcester House, I and W. Howe, who came to us at Whitehall, went to the Wardrobe, where I met with Mr. Townsend, who is very willing he says to communicate anything for my Lord's advantage to me as to his business. I went up to Jane Shore's towre, and there W. Howe and I sang, and so took my wife and walked home, and so to bed. After I came home a messenger came from my Lord to bid me come to him tomorrow morning. 10th. Early to my Lord's, who privately told me how the King had made him Embassador in the bringing over the Queen. [Katherine of Braganza, daughter of John IV. of Portugal, born 1638, married to Charles II., May 21st, 1662. After the death of the king she lived for some time at Somerset House, and then returned to Portugal, of which country she became Regent in 1704 on the retirement of her brother Don Pedro. She died December 31st, 1705.] That he is to go to Algier, &c., to settle the business, and to put the fleet in order there; and so to come back to Lisbone with three ships, and there to meet the fleet that is to follow him. He sent for me, to tell me that he do intrust me with the seeing of all things done in his absence as to this great preparation, as I shall receive orders from my Lord Chancellor and Mr. Edward Montagu. At all which my heart is above measure glad; for my Lord's honour, and some profit to myself, I hope. By and by, out with Mr. Shepley Walden, Parliament-man for Huntingdon, Rolt, Mackworth, and Alderman Backwell, to a house hard by, to drink Lambeth ale. So I back to the Wardrobe, and there found my Lord going to Trinity House, this being the solemn day of choosing Master, and my Lord is chosen, so he dines there to-day. I staid and dined with my Lady; but after we were set, comes in some persons of condition, and so the children and I rose and dined by ourselves, all the children and I, and were very merry and they mighty fond of me. Then to the office, and there sat awhile. So home and at night to bed, where we lay in Sir R. Slingsby's lodgings in the dining room there in one green bed, my house being now in its last work of painting and whiting. 11th. At the office this morning, Sir G. Carteret with us; and we agreed upon a letter to the Duke of York, to tell him the sad condition of this office for want of money; how men are not able to serve us more without some money; and that now the credit of the office is brought so low, that none will sell us any thing without our personal security given for the same. All the afternoon abroad about several businesses, and at night home and to bed. 12th. Wednesday, a day kept between a fast and a feast, the Bishops not being ready enough to keep the fast for foul weather before fair weather came; and so they were forced to keep it between both. [A Form of Prayer was published to be used in London on the 12th, and in the country on the 19th of June, being the special days appointed for a general fast to be kept in the respective places for averting those sicknesses and diseases, that dearth and scarcity, which justly may be feared from the late immoderate rain and waters: for a thanksgiving also for the blessed change of weather; and the begging the continuance of it to us for our comfort: And likewise for beseeching a Blessing upon the High Court of Parliament now assembled: Set forth by his Majesty's authority. A sermon was preached before the Commons by Thomas Greenfield, preacher of Lincoln's Inn. The Lords taxed themselves for the poor--an earl, 30s., a baron, 20s. Those absent from prayers were to pay a forfeit.--B.] I to Whitehall, and there with Captain Rolt and Ferrers we went to Lambeth to drink our morning draft, where at the Three Mariners, a place noted for their ale, we went and staid awhile very merry, and so away. And wanting a boat, we found Captain Bun going down the river, and so we went into his boat having a lady with him, and he landed them at Westminster and me at the Bridge. At home all day with my workmen, and doing several things, among others writing the letter resolved of yesterday to the Duke. Then to White Hall, where I met my Lord, who told me he must have L300 laid out in cloth, to give in Barbary, as presents among the Turks. At which occasion of getting something I was very glad. Home to supper, and then to Sir R. Slingsby, who with his brother and I went to my Lord's at the Wardrobe, and there staid a great while, but he being now taking his leave of his friends staid out late, and so they went away. Anon came my Lord in, and I staid with him a good while, and then to bed with Mr. Moore in his chamber. 13th. I went up and down to Alderman Backwell's, but his servants not being up, I went home and put on my gray cloth suit and faced white coat, made of one of my wife's pettycoates, the first time I have had it on, and so in a riding garb back again and spoke with Mr. Shaw at the Alderman's, who offers me L300 if my Lord pleases to buy this cloth with, which pleased me well. So to the Wardrobe and got my Lord to order Mr. Creed to imprest so much upon me to be paid by Alderman Backwell. So with my Lord to Whitehall by water, and he having taken leave of the King, comes to us at his lodgings and from thence goes to the garden stairs and there takes barge, and at the stairs was met by Sir R. Slingsby, who there took his leave of my Lord, and I heard my Lord thank him for his kindness to me, which Sir Robert answered much to my advantage. I went down with my Lord in the barge to Deptford, and there went on board the Dutch yacht and staid there a good while, W. Howe not being come with my Lord's things, which made my Lord very angry. By and by he comes and so we set sayle, and anon went to dinner, my Lord and we very merry; and after dinner I went down below and there sang, and took leave of W. Howe, Captain Rolt, and the rest of my friends, then went up and took leave of my Lord, who give me his hand and parted with great respect. So went and Captain Ferrers with me into our wherry, and my Lord did give five guns, all they had charged, which was the greatest respect my Lord could do me, and of which I was not a little proud. So with a sad and merry heart I left them sailing pleasantly from Erith, hoping to be in the Downs tomorrow early. We toward London in our boat. Pulled off our stockings and bathed our legs a great while in the river, which I had not done some years before. By and by we come to Greenwich, and thinking to have gone on the King's yacht, the King was in her, so we passed by, and at Woolwich went on shore, in the company of Captain Poole of Jamaica and young Mr. Kennersley, and many others, and so to the tavern where we drank a great deal both wine and beer. So we parted hence and went home with Mr. Falconer, who did give us cherrys and good wine. So to boat, and young Poole took us on board the Charity and gave us wine there, with which I had full enough, and so to our wherry again, and there fell asleep till I came almost to the Tower, and there the Captain and I parted, and I home and with wine enough in my head, went to bed. 14th. To Whitehall to my Lord's, where I found Mr. Edward Montagu and his family come to lie during my Lord's absence. I sent to my house by my Lord's order his shipp--[Qy. glass omitted after shipp.]--and triangle virginall. So to my father's, and did give him order about the buying of this cloth to send to my Lord. But I could not stay with him myself, for having got a great cold by my playing the fool in the water yesterday I was in great pain, and so went home by coach to bed, and went not to the office at all, and by keeping myself warm, I broke wind and so came to some ease. Rose and eat some supper, and so to bed again. 15th. My father came and drank his morning draft with me, and sat with me till I was ready, and so he and I about the business of the cloth. By and by I left him and went and dined with my Lady, who, now my Lord is gone, is come to her poor housekeeping again. Then to my father's, who tells me what he has done, and we resolved upon two pieces of scarlet, two of purple, and two of black, and L50 in linen. I home, taking L300 with me home from Alderman Backwell's. After writing to my Lord to let him know what I had done I was going to bed, but there coming the purser of the King's yacht for victualls presently, for the Duke of York is to go down to-morrow, I got him to promise stowage for these things there, and so I went to bed, bidding Will go and fetch the things from the carrier's hither, which about 12 o'clock were brought to my house and laid there all night. 16th (Lord's day). But no purser coming in the morning for them, and I hear that the Duke went last night, and so I am at a great loss what to do; and so this day (though the Lord's day) staid at home, sending Will up and down to know what to do. Sometimes thinking to continue my resolution of sending by the carrier to be at Deal on Wednesday next, sometimes to send them by sea by a vessel on purpose, but am not yet come to a resolution, but am at a very great loss and trouble in mind what in the world to do herein. The afternoon (while Will was abroad) I spent in reading "The Spanish Gypsey," a play not very good, though commended much. At night resolved to hire a Margate Hoy, who would go away to-morrow morning, which I did, and sent the things all by him, and put them on board about 12 this night, hoping to have them as the wind now serves in the Downs to-morrow night. To-bed with some quiet of mind, having sent the things away. 17th. Visited this morning by my old friend Mr. Ch. Carter, who staid and went to Westminster with me, and there we parted, and I to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady. So home to my painters, who are now about painting my stairs. So to the office, and at night we all went to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat and drank till 11 at night, and so home and to bed. 18th. All this morning at home vexing about the delay of my painters, and about four in the afternoon my wife and I by water to Captain Lambert's, where we took great pleasure in their turret-garden, and seeing the fine needle-works of his wife, the best I ever saw in my life, and afterwards had a very handsome treat and good musique that she made upon the harpsicon, and with a great deal of pleasure staid till 8 at night, and so home again, there being a little pretty witty child that is kept in their house that would not let us go without her, and so fell a-crying by the water-side. So home, where I met Jack Cole, who staid with me a good while, and is still of the old good humour that we were of at school together, and I am very glad to see him. He gone, I went to bed. 19th. All the morning almost at home, seeing my stairs finished by the painters, which pleases me well. So with Mr. Moore to Westminster Hall, it being term, and then by water to the Wardrobe, where very merry, and so home to the office all the afternoon, and at night to the Exchange to my uncle Wight about my intention of purchasing at Brampton. So back again home and at night to bed. Thanks be to God I am very well again of my late pain, and to-morrow hope to be out of my pain of dirt and trouble in my house, of which I am now become very weary. One thing I must observe here while I think of it, that I am now become the most negligent man in the world as to matters of news, insomuch that, now-a-days, I neither can tell any, nor ask any of others. 20th. At home the greatest part of the day to see my workmen make an end, which this night they did to my great content. 21st. This morning going to my father's I met him, and so he and I went and drank our morning draft at the Samson in Paul's Churchyard, and eat some gammon of bacon, &c., and then parted, having bought some green Say--[A woollen cloth. "Saye clothe serge."--Palsgrave.]--for curtains in my parler. Home, and so to the Exchequer, where I met with my uncle Wight, and home with him to dinner, where among others (my aunt being out of town), Mr. Norbury and I did discourse of his wife's house and land at Brampton, which I find too much for me to buy. Home, and in the afternoon to the office, and much pleased at night to see my house begin to be clean after all the dirt. 22nd. Abroad all the morning about several businesses. At noon went and dined with my Lord Crew, where very much made of by him and his lady. Then to the Theatre, "The Alchymist,"--[Comedy by Ben Jonson, first printed in 1612.]--which is a most incomparable play. And that being done I met with little Luellin and Blirton, who took me to a friend's of theirs in Lincoln's Inn fields, one Mr. Hodges, where we drank great store of Rhenish wine and were very merry. So I went home, where I found my house now very clean, which was great content to me. 23rd (Lord's day). In the morning to church, and my wife not being well, I went with Sir W. Batten home to dinner, my Lady being out of town, where there was Sir W. Pen, Captain Allen and his daughter Rebecca, and Mr. Hempson and his wife. After dinner to church all of us and had a very good sermon of a stranger, and so I and the young company to walk first to Graye's Inn Walks, where great store of gallants, but above all the ladies that I there saw, or ever did see, Mrs. Frances Butler (Monsieur L'Impertinent's sister) is the greatest beauty. Then we went to Islington, where at the great house I entertained them as well as I could, and so home with them, and so to my own home and to bed. Pall, who went this day to a child's christening of Kate Joyce's, staid out all night at my father's, she not being well. 24th (Midsummer-day). We kept this a holiday, and so went not to the office at all. All the morning at home. At noon my father came to see my house now it is done, which is now very neat. He and I and Dr. Williams (who is come to see my wife, whose soare belly is now grown dangerous as she thinks) to the ordinary over against the Exchange, where we dined and had great wrangling with the master of the house when the reckoning was brought to us, he setting down exceeding high every thing. I home again and to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat a good while. So home. 25th. Up this morning to put my papers in order that are come from my Lord's, so that now I have nothing there remaining that is mine, which I have had till now. This morning came Mr. Goodgroome [Theodore Goodgroome, Pepys's singing-master. He was probably related to John Goodgroome, a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal, who is also referred to in the Diary.] to me (recommended by Mr. Mage), with whom I agreed presently to give him 20s. entrance, which I then did, and 20s. a month more to teach me to sing, and so we began, and I hope I have come to something in it. His first song is "La cruda la bella." He gone my brother Tom comes, with whom I made even with my father and the two drapers for the cloths I sent to sea lately. At home all day, in the afternoon came Captain Allen and his daughter Rebecca and Mr. Hempson, and by and by both Sir Williams, who sat with me till it was late, and I had a very gallant collation for them. At night to bed. 26th. To Westminster about several businesses, then to dine with my Lady at the Wardrobe, taking Dean Fuller along with me; then home, where I heard my father had been to find me about special business; so I took coach and went to him, and found by a letter to him from my aunt that my uncle Robert is taken with a dizziness in his head, so that they desire my father to come down to look after his business, by which we guess that he is very ill, and so my father do think to go to-morrow. And so God's will be done. Back by water to the office, there till night, and so home to my musique and then to bed. 27th. To my father's, and with him to Mr. Starling's to drink our morning draft, and there I told him how I would have him speak to my uncle Robert, when he comes thither, concerning my buying of land, that I could pay ready money L600 and the rest by L150 per annum, to make up as much as will buy L50 per annum, which I do, though I not worth above L500 ready money, that he may think me to be a greater saver than I am. Here I took my leave of my father, who is going this morning to my uncle upon my aunt's letter this week that he is not well and so needs my father's help. At noon home, and then with my Lady Batten, Mrs. Rebecca Allen, Mrs. Thompson, &c., two coaches of us, we went and saw "Bartholomew Fayre" acted very well, and so home again and staid at Sir W. Batten's late, and so home to bed. This day Mr. Holden sent me a bever, which cost me L4 5s. [Whilst a hat (see January 28th, 1660-61, ante) cost only 35s. See also Lord Sandwich's vexation at his beaver being stolen, and a hat only left in lieu of it, April 30th, 1661, ante; and April 19th and 26th, 1662, Post.--B.] 28th. At home all the morning practising to sing, which is now my great trade, and at noon to my Lady and dined with her. So back and to the office, and there sat till 7 at night, and then Sir W. Pen and I in his coach went to Moorefields, and there walked, and stood and saw the wrestling, which I never saw so much of before, between the north and west countrymen. So home, and this night had our bed set up in our room that we called the Nursery, where we lay, and I am very much pleased with the room. 29th. By a letter from the Duke complaining of the delay of the ships that are to be got ready, Sir Williams both and I went to Deptford and there examined into the delays, and were satisfyed. So back again home and staid till the afternoon, and then I walked to the Bell at the Maypole in the Strand, and thither came to me by appointment Mr. Chetwind, Gregory, and Hartlibb, so many of our old club, and Mr. Kipps, where we staid and drank and talked with much pleasure till it was late, and so I walked home and to bed. Mr. Chetwind by chewing of tobacco is become very fat and sallow, whereas he was consumptive, and in our discourse he fell commending of "Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity," as the best book, and the only one that made him a Christian, which puts me upon the buying of it, which I will do shortly. 30th (Lord's day). To church, where we observe the trade of briefs is come now up to so constant a course every Sunday, that we resolve to give no more to them. [It appears, from an old MS. account-book of the collections in the church of St. Olave, Hart Street, beginning in 1642, still extant, that the money gathered on the 30th June, 1661, "for several inhabitants of the parish of St. Dunstan in the West towards their losse by fire," amounted to "xxs. viiid." Pepys might complain of the trade in briefs, as similar contributions had been levied fourteen weeks successively, previous to the one in question at St. Olave's church. Briefs were abolished in 1828.--B.] A good sermon, and then home to dinner, my wife and I all alone. After dinner Sir Williams both and I by water to Whitehall, where having walked up and down, at last we met with the Duke of York, according to an order sent us yesterday from him, to give him an account where the fault lay in the not sending out of the ships, which we find to be only the wind hath been against them, and so they could not get out of the river. Hence I to Graye's Inn Walk, all alone, and with great pleasure seeing the fine ladies walk there. Myself humming to myself (which now-a-days is my constant practice since I begun to learn to sing) the trillo, and found by use that it do come upon me. Home very weary and to bed, finding my wife not sick, but yet out of order, that I fear she will come to be sick. This day the Portuguese Embassador came to White Hall to take leave of the King; he being now going to end all with the Queen, and to send her over. The weather now very fair and pleasant, but very hot. My father gone to Brampton to see my uncle Robert, not knowing whether to find him dead or alive. Myself lately under a great expense of money upon myself in clothes and other things, but I hope to make it up this summer by my having to do in getting things ready to send with the next fleet to the Queen. Myself in good health, but mighty apt to take cold, so that this hot weather I am fain to wear a cloth before my belly. JULY 1661 July 1st. This morning I went up and down into the city, to buy several things, as I have lately done, for my house. Among other things, a fair chest of drawers for my own chamber, and an Indian gown for myself. The first cost me 33s., the other 34s. Home and dined there, and Theodore Goodgroome, my singing master, with me, and then to our singing. After that to the office, and then home. 2nd. To Westminster Hall and there walked up and down, it being Term time. Spoke with several, among others my cozen Roger Pepys, who was going up to the Parliament House, and inquired whether I had heard from my father since he went to Brampton, which I had done yesterday, who writes that my uncle is by fits stupid, and like a man that is drunk, and sometimes speechless. Home, and after my singing master had done, took coach and went to Sir William Davenant's Opera; this being the fourth day that it hath begun, and the first that I have seen it. To-day was acted the second part of "The Siege of Rhodes." We staid a very great while for the King and the Queen of Bohemia. And by the breaking of a board over our heads, we had a great deal of dust fell into the ladies' necks and the men's hair, which made good sport. The King being come, the scene opened; which indeed is very fine and magnificent, and well acted, all but the Eunuch, who was so much out that he was hissed off the stage. Home and wrote letters to my Lord at sea, and so to bed. 3rd. To Westminster to Mr. Edward Montagu about business of my Lord's, and so to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, who is in some mourning for her brother, Mr. Saml. Crew, who died yesterday of the spotted fever. So home through Duck Lane' to inquire for some Spanish books, but found none that pleased me. So to the office, and that being done to Sir W. Batten's with the Comptroller, where we sat late talking and disputing with Mr. Mills the parson of our parish. This day my Lady Batten and my wife were at the burial of a daughter of Sir John Lawson's, and had rings for themselves and their husbands. Home and to bed. 4th. At home all the morning; in the afternoon I went to the Theatre, and there I saw "Claracilla" (the first time I ever saw it), well acted. But strange to see this house, that used to be so thronged, now empty since the Opera begun; and so will continue for a while, I believe. Called at my father's, and there I heard that my uncle Robert--[Robert Pepys, of Brampton, who died on the following day.]--continues to have his fits of stupefaction every day for 10 or 12 hours together. From thence to the Exchange at night, and then went with my uncle Wight to the Mitre and were merry, but he takes it very ill that my father would go out of town to Brampton on this occasion and would not tell him of it, which I endeavoured to remove but could not. Here Mr. Batersby the apothecary was, who told me that if my uncle had the emerods--[Haemorrhoids or piles.]--(which I think he had) and that now they are stopped, he will lay his life that bleeding behind by leeches will cure him, but I am resolved not to meddle in it. Home and to bed. 5th. At home, and in the afternoon to the office, and that being done all went to Sir W. Batten's and there had a venison pasty, and were very merry. At night home and to bed. 6th. Waked this morning with news, brought me by a messenger on purpose, that my uncle Robert is dead, and died yesterday; so I rose sorry in some respect, glad in my expectations in another respect. So I made myself ready, went and told my uncle Wight, my Lady, and some others thereof, and bought me a pair of boots in St. Martin's, and got myself ready, and then to the Post House and set out about eleven and twelve o'clock, taking the messenger with me that came to me, and so we rode and got well by nine o'clock to Brampton, where I found my father well. My uncle's corps in a coffin standing upon joynt-stools in the chimney in the hall; but it begun to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth in the yard all night, and watched by two men. My aunt I found in bed in a most nasty ugly pickle, made me sick to see it. My father and I lay together tonight, I greedy to see the will, but did not ask to see it till to-morrow. 7th (Lord's day). In the morning my father and I walked in the garden and read the will; where, though he gives me nothing at present till my father's death, or at least very little, yet I am glad to see that he hath done so well for us, all, and well to the rest of his kindred. After that done, we went about getting things, as ribbands and gloves, ready for the burial. Which in the afternoon was done; where, it being Sunday, all people far and near come in; and in the greatest disorder that ever I saw, we made shift to serve them what we had of wine and other things; and then to carry him to the church, where Mr. Taylor buried him, and Mr. Turners preached a funerall sermon, where he spoke not particularly of him anything, but that he was one so well known for his honesty, that it spoke for itself above all that he could say for it. And so made a very good sermon. Home with some of the company who supped there, and things being quiet, at night to bed. 8th, 9th, Loth, 11th, 12th, 13th. I fell to work, and my father to look over my uncle's papers and clothes, and continued all this week upon that business, much troubled with my aunt's base, ugly humours. We had news of Tom Trice's putting in a caveat against us, in behalf of his mother, to whom my uncle hath not given anything, and for good reason therein expressed, which troubled us also. But above all, our trouble is to find that his estate appears nothing as we expected, and all the world believes; nor his papers so well sorted as I would have had them, but all in confusion, that break my brains to understand them. We missed also the surrenders of his copyhold land, without which the land would not come to us, but to the heir at law, so that what with this, and the badness of the drink and the ill opinion I have of the meat, and the biting of the gnats by night and my disappointment in getting home this week, and the trouble of sorting all the papers, I am almost out of my wits with trouble, only I appear the more contented, because I would not have my father troubled. The latter end of the week Mr. Philips comes home from London, and so we advised with him and have the best counsel he could give us, but for all that we were not quiet in our minds. 14th (Lord's day). At home, and Robert Barnwell with us, and dined, and in the evening my father and I walked round Portholme and viewed all the fields, which was very pleasant. Thence to Hinchingbroke, which is now all in dirt, because of my Lord's building, which will make it very magnificent. Back to Brampton, and to supper and to bed. 15th. Up by three o'clock this morning, and rode to Cambridge, and was there by seven o'clock, where, after I was trimmed, I went to Christ College, and found my brother John at eight o'clock in bed, which vexed me. Then to King's College chappell, where I found the scholars in their surplices at the service with the organs, which is a strange sight to what it used in my time to be here. Then with Dr. Fairbrother (whom I met there) to the Rose tavern, and called for some wine, and there met fortunately with Mr. Turner of our office, and sent for his wife, and were very merry (they being come to settle their son here), and sent also for Mr. Sanchy, of Magdalen, with whom and other gentlemen, friends of his, we were very merry, and I treated them as well as I could, and so at noon took horse again, having taken leave of my cozen Angier, and rode to Impington, where I found my old uncle [Talbot Pepys, sixth son of John Pepys of Impington, was born 1583, and therefore at this time he was seventy-eight years of age. He was educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and called to the bar at the Middle Temple in 1605. He was M.P. for Cambridge in 1625, and Recorder of Cambridge from 1624 to 1660, in which year he was succeeded by his son Roger. He died of the plague, March, 1666, aged eighty-three.] sitting all alone, like a man out of the world: he can hardly see; but all things else he do pretty livelyly. Then with Dr. John Pepys and him, I read over the will, and had their advice therein, who, as to the sufficiency thereof confirmed me, and advised me as to the other parts thereof. Having done there, I rode to Gravely with much ado to inquire for a surrender of my uncle's in some of the copyholders' hands there, but I can hear of none, which puts me into very great trouble of mind, and so with a sad heart rode home to Brampton, but made myself as cheerful as I could to my father, and so to bed. 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th. These four days we spent in putting things in order, letting of the crop upon the ground, agreeing with Stankes to have a care of our business in our absence, and we think ourselves in nothing happy but in lighting upon him to be our bayly; in riding to Offord and Sturtlow, and up and down all our lands, and in the evening walking, my father and I about the fields talking, and had advice from Mr. Moore from London, by my desire, that the three witnesses of the will being all legatees, will not do the will any wrong. To-night Serjeant Bernard, I hear, is come home into the country. To supper and to bed. My aunt continuing in her base, hypocritical tricks, which both Jane Perkin (of whom we make great use), and the maid do tell us every day of. 20th. Up to Huntingdon this morning to Sir Robert Bernard, with whom I met Jaspar Trice. So Sir Robert caused us to sit down together and began discourse very fairly between us, so I drew out the Will and show it him, and [he] spoke between us as well as I could desire, but could come to no issue till Tom Trice comes. Then Sir Robert and I fell to talk about the money due to us upon surrender from Piggott, L164., which he tells me will go with debts to the heir at law, which breaks my heart on the other side. Here I staid and dined with Sir Robert Bernard and his lady, my Lady Digby, a very good woman. After dinner I went into the town and spent the afternoon, sometimes with Mr. Phillips, sometimes with Dr. Symcottes, Mr. Vinter, Robert Ethell, and many more friends, and at last Mr. Davenport, Phillips, Jaspar Trice, myself and others at Mother-----over against the Crown we sat and drank ale and were very merry till 9 at night, and so broke up. I walked home, and there found Tom Trice come, and he and my father gone to Goody Gorum's, where I found them and Jaspar Trice got before me, and Mr. Greene, and there had some calm discourse, but came to no issue, and so parted. So home and to bed, being now pretty well again of my left hand, which lately was stung and very much swelled. 21st (Lord's day). At home all the morning, putting my papers in order against my going to-morrow and doing many things else to that end. Had a good dinner, and Stankes and his wife with us. To my business again in the afternoon, and in the evening came the two Trices, Mr. Greene, and Mr. Philips, and so we began to argue. At last it came to some agreement that for our giving of my aunt L10 she is to quit the house, and for other matters they are to be left to the law, which do please us all, and so we broke up, pretty well satisfyed. Then came Mr. Barnwell and J. Bowles and supped with us, and after supper away, and so I having taken leave of them and put things in the best order I could against to-morrow I went to bed. Old William Luffe having been here this afternoon and paid up his bond of L20, and I did give him into his hand my uncle's surrender of Sturtlow to me before Mr. Philips, R. Barnwell, and Mr. Pigott, which he did acknowledge to them my uncle did in his lifetime deliver to him. 22nd. Up by three, and going by four on my way to London; but the day proves very cold, so that having put on no stockings but thread ones under my boots, I was fain at Bigglesworth to buy a pair of coarse woollen ones, and put them on. So by degrees till I come to Hatfield before twelve o'clock, where I had a very good dinner with my hostess, at my Lord of Salisbury's Inn, and after dinner though weary I walked all alone to the Vineyard, which is now a very beautiful place again; and coming back I met with Mr. Looker, my Lord's gardener (a friend of Mr. Eglin's), who showed me the house, the chappell with brave pictures, and, above all, the gardens, such as I never saw in all my life; nor so good flowers, nor so great gooseberrys, as big as nutmegs. Back to the inn, and drank with him, and so to horse again, and with much ado got to London, and set him up at Smithfield; so called at my uncle Fenner's, my mother's, my Lady's, and so home, in all which I found all things as well as I could expect. So weary and to bed. 23rd. Put on my mourning. Made visits to Sir W. Pen and Batten. Then to Westminster, and at the Hall staid talking with Mrs. Michell a good while, and in the afternoon, finding myself unfit for business, I went to the Theatre, and saw "Brenoralt," I never saw before. It seemed a good play, but ill acted; only I sat before Mrs. Palmer, the King's mistress, and filled my eyes with her, which much pleased me. Then to my father's, where by my desire I met my uncle Thomas, and discoursed of my uncle's will to him, and did satisfy [him] as well as I could. So to my uncle Wight's, but found him out of doors, but my aunt I saw and staid a while, and so home and to bed. Troubled to hear how proud and idle Pall is grown, that I am resolved not to keep her. 24th. This morning my wife in bed tells me of our being robbed of our silver tankard, which vexed me all day for the negligence of my people to leave the door open. My wife and I by water to Whitehall, where I left her to her business and I to my cozen Thomas Pepys, and discoursed with him at large about our business of my uncle's will. He can give us no light at all into his estate, but upon the whole tells me that he do believe that he has left but little money, though something more than we have found, which is about L500. Here came Sir G. Lane by chance, seeing a bill upon the door to hire the house, with whom my coz and I walked all up and down, and indeed it is a very pretty place, and he do intend to leave the agreement for the House, which is L400 fine, and L46 rent a year to me between them. Then to the Wardrobe, but come too late, and so dined with the servants. And then to my Lady, who do shew my wife and me the greatest favour in the world, in which I take great content. Home by water and to the office all the afternoon, which is a great pleasure to me again, to talk with persons of quality and to be in command, and I give it out among them that the estate left me is L200 a year in land, besides moneys, because I would put an esteem upon myself. At night home and to bed after I had set down my journals ever since my going from London this journey to this house. This afternoon I hear that my man Will hath lost his clock with my tankard, at which I am very glad. 25th. This morning came my box of papers from Brampton of all my uncle's papers, which will now set me at work enough. At noon I went to the Exchange, where I met my uncle Wight, and found him so discontented about my father (whether that he takes it ill that he has not been acquainted with things, or whether he takes it ill that he has nothing left him, I cannot tell), for which I am much troubled, and so staid not long to talk with him. Thence to my mother's, where I found my wife and my aunt Bell and Mrs. Ramsey, and great store of tattle there was between the old women and my mother, who thinks that there is, God knows what fallen to her, which makes me mad, but it was not a proper time to speak to her of it, and so I went away with Mr. Moore, and he and I to the Theatre, and saw "The Jovial Crew," the first time I saw it, and indeed it is as merry and the most innocent play that ever I saw, and well performed. From thence home, and wrote to my father and so to bed. Full of thoughts to think of the trouble that we shall go through before we come to see what will remain to us of all our expectations. 26th. At home all the morning, and walking met with Mr. Hill of Cambridge at Pope's Head Alley with some women with him whom he took and me into the tavern there, and did give us wine, and would fain seem to be very knowing in the affairs of state, and tells me that yesterday put a change to the whole state of England as to the Church; for the King now would be forced to favour Presbytery, or the City would leave him: but I heed not what he says, though upon enquiry I do find that things in the Parliament are in a great disorder. Home at noon and there found Mr. Moore, and with him to an ordinary alone and dined, and there he and I read my uncle's will, and I had his opinion on it, and still find more and more trouble like to attend it. Back to the office all the afternoon, and that done home for all night. Having the beginning of this week made a vow to myself to drink no wine this week (finding it to unfit me to look after business), and this day breaking of it against my will, I am much troubled for it, but I hope God will forgive me. 27th. To Westminster, where at Mr. Montagu's chamber I heard a Frenchman play, a friend of Monsieur Eschar's, upon the guitar, most extreme well, though at the best methinks it is but a bawble. From thence to Westminster Hall, where it was expected that the Parliament was to have been adjourned for two or three months, but something hinders it for a day or two. In the lobby I spoke with Mr. George Montagu, and advised about a ship to carry my Lord Hinchingbroke and the rest of the young gentlemen to France, and they have resolved of going in a hired vessell from Rye, and not in a man of war. He told me in discourse that my Lord Chancellor is much envied, and that many great men, such as the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord of Bristoll, do endeavour to undermine him, and that he believes it will not be done; for that the King (though he loves him not in the way of a companion, as he do these young gallants that can answer him in his pleasures), yet cannot be without him, for his policy and service. From thence to the Wardrobe, where my wife met me, it being my Lord of Sandwich's birthday, and so we had many friends here, Mr. Townsend and his wife, and Captain Ferrers lady and Captain Isham, and were very merry, and had a good venison pasty. Mr. Pargiter, the merchant, was with us also. After dinner Mr. Townsend was called upon by Captain Cooke: so we three went to a tavern hard by, and there he did give us a song or two; and without doubt he hath the best manner of singing in the world. Back to my wife, and with my Lady Jem. and Pall by water through bridge, and showed them the ships with great pleasure, and then took them to my house to show it them (my Lady their mother having been lately all alone to see it and my wife, in my absence in the country), and we treated them well, and were very merry. Then back again through bridge, and set them safe at home, and so my wife and I by coach home again, and after writing a letter to my father at Brampton, who, poor man, is there all alone, and I have not heard from him since my coming from him, which troubles me. To bed. 28th (Lord's day). This morning as my wife and I were going to church, comes Mrs. Ramsay to see us, so we sent her to church, and we went too, and came back to dinner, and she dined with us and was wellcome. To church again in the afternoon, and then come home with us Sir W. Pen, and drank with us, and then went away, and my wife after him to see his daughter that is lately come out of Ireland. I staid at home at my book; she came back again and tells me that whereas I expected she should have been a great beauty, she is a very plain girl. This evening my wife gives me all my linen, which I have put up, and intend to keep it now in my own custody. To supper and to bed. 29th. This morning we began again to sit in the mornings at the office, but before we sat down. Sir R. Slingsby and I went to Sir R. Ford's to see his house, and we find it will be very convenient for us to have it added to the office if he can be got to part with it. Then we sat down and did business in the office. So home to dinner, and my brother Tom dined with me, and after dinner he and I alone in my chamber had a great deal of talk, and I find that unless my father can forbear to make profit of his house in London and leave it to Tom, he has no mind to set up the trade any where else, and so I know not what to do with him. After this I went with him to my mother, and there told her how things do fall out short of our expectations, which I did (though it be true) to make her leave off her spending, which I find she is nowadays very free in, building upon what is left to us by my uncle to bear her out in it, which troubles me much. While I was here word is brought that my aunt Fenner is exceeding ill, and that my mother is sent for presently to come to her: also that my cozen Charles Glassecocke, though very ill himself, is this day gone to the country to his brother, John Glassecocke, who is a-dying there. Home. 30th. After my singing-master had done with me this morning, I went to White Hall and Westminster Hall, where I found the King expected to come and adjourn the Parliament. I found the two Houses at a great difference, about the Lords challenging their privileges not to have their houses searched, which makes them deny to pass the House of Commons' Bill for searching for pamphlets and seditious books. Thence by water to the Wardrobe (meeting the King upon the water going in his barge to adjourn the House) where I dined with my Lady, and there met Dr. Thomas Pepys, who I found to be a silly talking fellow, but very good-natured. So home to the office, where we met about the business of Tangier this afternoon. That done, at home I found Mr. Moore, and he and I walked into the City and there parted. To Fleet Street to find when the Assizes begin at Cambridge and Huntingdon, in order to my going to meet with Roger Pepys for counsel. So in Fleet Street I met with Mr. Salisbury, who is now grown in less than two years' time so great a limner--that he is become excellent, and gets a great deal of money at it. I took him to Hercules Pillars to drink, and there came Mr. Whore (whom I formerly have known), a friend of his to him, who is a very ingenious fellow, and there I sat with them a good while, and so home and wrote letters late to my Lord and to my father, and then to bed. 31st. Singing-master came to me this morning; then to the office all the morning. In the afternoon I went to the Theatre, and there I saw "The Tamer Tamed" well done. And then home, and prepared to go to Walthamstow to-morrow. This night I was forced to borrow L40 of Sir W. Batten. AUGUST 1661 August 1st. This morning Sir Williams both, and my wife and I and Mrs. Margarett Pen (this first time that I have seen her since she came from Ireland) went by coach to Walthamstow, a-gossiping to Mrs. Browne, where I did give her six silver spoons--[But not the porringer of silver. See May 29th, 1661.--M. B]--for her boy. Here we had a venison pasty, brought hot from London, and were very merry. Only I hear how nurse's husband has spoken strangely of my Lady Batten how she was such a man's whore, who indeed is known to leave her her estate, which we would fain have reconciled to-day, but could not and indeed I do believe that the story is true. Back again at night home. 2d. At the office all the morning. At noon Dr. Thos. Pepys dined with me, and after dinner my brother Tom came to me and then I made myself ready to get a-horseback for Cambridge. So I set out and rode to Ware, this night, in the way having much discourse with a fellmonger,--[A dealer in hides.]--a Quaker, who told me what a wicked man he had been all his life-time till within this two years. Here I lay, and 3rd. Got up early the next morning and got to Barkway, where I staid and drank, and there met with a letter-carrier of Cambridge, with whom I rode all the way to Cambridge, my horse being tired, and myself very wet with rain. I went to the Castle Hill, where the judges were at the Assizes; and I staid till Roger Pepys rose and went with him, and dined with his brother, the Doctor, and Claxton at Trinity Hall. Then parted, and I went to the Rose, and there with Mr. Pechell, Sanchy, and others, sat and drank till night and were very merry, only they tell me how high the old doctors are in the University over those they found there, though a great deal better scholars than themselves; for which I am very sorry, and, above all, Dr. Gunning. At night I took horse, and rode with Roger Pepys and his two brothers to Impington, and there with great respect was led up by them to the best chamber in the house, and there slept. 4th (Lord's day). Got up, and by and by walked into the orchard with my cozen Roger, and there plucked some fruit, and then discoursed at large about the business I came for, that is, about my uncle's will, in which he did give me good satisfaction, but tells me I shall meet with a great deal of trouble in it. However, in all things he told me what I am to expect and what to do. To church, and had a good plain sermon, and my uncle Talbot went with us and at our coming in the country-people all rose with so much reverence; and when the parson begins, he begins "Right worshipfull and dearly beloved" to us. Home to dinner, which was very good, and then to church again, and so home and to walk up and down and so to supper, and after supper to talk about publique matters, wherein Roger Pepys--(who I find a very sober man, and one whom I do now honour more than ever before for this discourse sake only) told me how basely things have been carried in Parliament by the young men, that did labour to oppose all things that were moved by serious men. That they are the most prophane swearing fellows that ever he heard in his life, which makes him think that they will spoil all, and bring things into a warr again if they can. So to bed. 5th. Early to Huntingdon, but was fain to stay a great while at Stanton because of the rain, and there borrowed a coat of a man for 6d., and so he rode all the way, poor man, without any. Staid at Huntingdon for a little, but the judges are not come hither: so I went to Brampton, and there found my father very well, and my aunt gone from the house, which I am glad of, though it costs us a great deal of money, viz. L10. Here I dined, and after dinner took horse and rode to Yelling, to my cozen Nightingale's, who hath a pretty house here, and did learn of her all she could tell me concerning my business, and has given me some light by her discourse how I may get a surrender made for Graveley lands. Hence to Graveley, and there at an alehouse met with Chancler and Jackson (one of my tenants for Cotton closes) and another with whom I had a great deal of discourse, much to my satisfaction. Hence back again to Brampton and after supper to bed, being now very quiet in the house, which is a content to us. 6th. Up early and went to Mr. Phillips, but lost my labour, he lying at Huntingdon last night, so I went back again and took horse and rode thither, where I staid with Thos. Trice and Mr. Philips drinking till noon, and then Tom Trice and I to Brampton, where he to Goody Gorum's and I home to my father, who could discern that I had been drinking, which he did never see or hear of before, so I eat a bit of dinner and went with him to Gorum's, and there talked with Tom Trice, and then went and took horse for London, and with much ado, the ways being very bad, got to Baldwick, and there lay and had a good supper by myself. The landlady being a pretty woman, but I durst not take notice of her, her husband being there. Before supper I went to see the church, which is a very handsome church, but I find that both here, and every where else that I come, the Quakers do still continue, and rather grow than lessen. To bed. 7th. Called up at three o'clock, and was a-horseback by four; and as I was eating my breakfast I saw a man riding by that rode a little way upon the road with me last night; and he being going with venison in his pan-yards to London, I called him in and did give him his breakfast with me, and so we went together all the way. At Hatfield we bayted and walked into the great house through all the courts; and I would fain have stolen a pretty dog that followed me, but I could not, which troubled me. To horse again, and by degrees with much ado got to London, where I found all well at home and at my father's and my Lady's, but no news yet from my Lord where he is. At my Lady's (whither I went with Dean Fuller, who came to my house to see me just as I was come home) I met with Mr. Moore, who told me at what a loss he was for me, for to-morrow is a Seal day at the Privy Seal, and it being my month, I am to wait upon my Lord Roberts, Lord Privy Seal, at the Seal. Home and to bed. 8th. Early in the mornink to Whitehall, but my Lord Privy Seal came not all the morning. At noon Mr. Moore and I to the Wardrobe to dinner, where my Lady and all merry and well. Back again to the Privy Seal; but my Lord comes not all the afternoon, which made me mad and gives all the world reason to talk of his delaying of business, as well as of his severity and ill using of the Clerks of the Privy Seal. In the evening I took Mons. Eschar and Mr. Moore and Dr. Pierce's brother (the souldier) to the tavern next the Savoy, and there staid and drank with them. Here I met with Mr. Mage, and discoursing of musique Mons. Eschar spoke so much against the English and in praise of the French that made him mad, and so he went away. After a stay with them a little longer we parted and I home. 9th. To the office, where word is brought me by a son-in-law of Mr. Pierces; the purser, that his father is a dying and that he desires that I would come to him before he dies. So I rose from the table and went, where I found him not so ill as I thought that he had been ill. So I did promise to be a friend to his wife and family if he should die, which was all he desired of me, but I do believe he will recover. Back again to the office, where I found Sir G. Carteret had a day or two ago invited some of the officers to dinner to-day at Deptford. So at noon, when I heard that he was a-coming, I went out, because I would see whether he would send to me or no to go with them; but he did not, which do a little trouble me till I see how it comes to pass. Although in other things I am glad of it because of my going again to-day to the Privy Seal. I dined at home, and having dined news is brought by Mr. Hater that his wife is now falling into labour, so he is come for my wife, who presently went with him. I to White Hall, where, after four o'clock, comes my Lord Privy Seal, and so we went up to his chamber over the gate at White Hall, where he asked me what deputacon I had from My Lord. I told him none; but that I am sworn my Lord's deputy by both of the Secretarys, which did satisfy him. So he caused Mr. Moore to read over all the bills as is the manner, and all ended very well. So that I see the Lyon is not so fierce as he is painted. That being done Mons. Eschar (who all this afternoon had been waiting at the Privy Seal for the Warrant for L5,000 for my Lord of Sandwich's preparation for Portugal) and I took some wine with us and went to visit la belle Pierce, who we find very big with child, and a pretty lady, one Mrs. Clifford, with her, where we staid and were extraordinary merry. From thence I took coach to my father's, where I found him come home this day from Brampton (as I expected) very well, and after some discourse about business and it being very late I took coach again home, where I hear by my wife that Mrs. Hater is not yet delivered, but continues in her pains. So to bed. 10th. This morning came the maid that my wife hath lately hired for a chamber maid. She is very ugly, so that I cannot care for her, but otherwise she seems very good. But however she do come about three weeks hence, when my wife comes back from Brampton, if she go with my father. By and by came my father to my house, and so he and I went and found out my uncle Wight at the Coffee House, and there did agree with him to meet the next week with my uncle Thomas and read over the Captain's will before them both for their satisfaction. Having done with him I went to my Lady's and dined with her, and after dinner took the two young gentlemen and the two ladies and carried them and Captain Ferrers to the Theatre, and shewed them "The merry Devill of Edmunton," which is a very merry play, the first time I ever saw it, which pleased me well. And that being done I took them all home by coach to my house and there gave them fruit to eat and wine. So by water home with them, and so home myself. 11th (Lord's day). To our own church in the forenoon, and in the afternoon to Clerkenwell Church, only to see the two [A comedy acted at the Globe, and first printed in 1608. In the original entry in the Stationers' books it is said to be by T. B., which may stand for Tony or Anthony Brewer. The play has been attributed without authority both to Shakespeare and to Drayton.] fayre Botelers;--[Mrs. Frances Butler and her sister.]--and I happened to be placed in the pew where they afterwards came to sit, but the pew by their coming being too full, I went out into the next, and there sat, and had my full view of them both, but I am out of conceit now with them, Colonel Dillon being come back from Ireland again, and do still court them, and comes to church with them, which makes me think they are not honest. Hence to Graye's-Inn walks, and there staid a good while; where I met with Ned Pickering, who told me what a great match of hunting of a stagg the King had yesterday; and how the King tired all their horses, and come home with not above two or three able to keep pace with him. So to my father's, and there supped, and so home. 12th. At the office this morning. At home in the afternoon, and had notice that my Lord Hinchingbroke is fallen ill, which I fear is with the fruit that I did give them on Saturday last at my house: so in the evening I went thither and there found him very ill, and in great fear of the smallpox. I supped with my Lady, and did consult about him, but we find it best to let him lie where he do; and so I went home with my heart full of trouble for my Lord Hinchinabroke's sickness, and more for my Lord Sandwich's himself, whom we are now confirmed is sick ashore at Alicante, who, if he should miscarry, God knows in what condition would his family be. I dined to-day with my Lord Crew, who is now at Sir H. Wright's, while his new house is making fit for him, and he is much troubled also at these things. 13th. To the Privy Seal in the morning, then to the Wardrobe to dinner, where I met my wife, and found my young Lord very ill. So my Lady intends to send her other three sons, Sidney, Oliver, and John, to my house, for fear of the small-pox. After dinner I went to my father's, where I found him within, and went up to him, and there found him settling his papers against his removal, and I took some old papers of difference between me and my wife and took them away. After that Pall being there I spoke to my father about my intention not to keep her longer for such and such reasons, which troubled him and me also, and had like to have come to some high words between my mother and me, who is become a very simple woman. By and by comes in Mrs. Cordery to take her leave of my father, thinking he was to go presently into the country, and will have us to come and see her before he do go. Then my father and I went forth to Mr. Rawlinson's, where afterwards comes my uncle Thomas and his two sons, and then my uncle Wight by appointment of us all, and there we read the will and told them how things are, and what our thoughts are of kindness to my uncle Thomas if he do carry himself peaceable, but otherwise if he persist to keep his caveat up against us. So he promised to withdraw it, and seemed to be very well contented with things as they are. After a while drinking, we paid all and parted, and so I home, and there found my Lady's three sons come, of which I am glad that I am in condition to do her and my Lord any service in this kind, but my mind is yet very much troubled about my Lord of Sandwich's health, which I am afeard of. 14th. This morning Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen and I, waited upon the Duke of York in his chamber, to give him an account of the condition of the Navy for lack of money, and how our own very bills are offered upon the Exchange, to be sold at 20 in the 100 loss. He is much troubled at it, and will speak to the King and Council of it this morning. So I went to my Lady's and dined with her, and found my Lord Hinchingbroke somewhat better. After dinner Captain Ferrers and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Alchymist;" and there I saw Sir W. Pen, who took us when the play was done and carried the Captain to Paul's and set him down, and me home with him, and he and I to the Dolphin, but not finding Sir W. Batten there, we went and carried a bottle of wine to his house, and there sat a while and talked, and so home to bed. At home I found a letter from Mr. Creed of the 15th of July last, that tells me that my Lord is rid of his pain (which was wind got into the muscles of his right side) and his feaver, and is now in hopes to go aboard in a day or two, which do give me mighty great comfort. 15th. To the Privy Seal and Whitehall, up and down, and at noon Sir W. Pen carried me to Paul's, and so I walked to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, and there told her, of my Lord's sickness (of which though it hath been the town-talk this fortnight, she had heard nothing) and recovery, of which she was glad, though hardly persuaded of the latter. I found my Lord Hinchingbroke better and better, and the worst past. Thence to the Opera, which begins again to-day with "The Witts," never acted yet with scenes; and the King and Duke and Duchess were there (who dined to-day with Sir H. Finch, reader at the Temple, in great state); and indeed it is a most excellent play, and admirable scenes. So home and was overtaken by Sir W. Pen in his coach, who has been this afternoon with my Lady Batten, &c., at the Theatre. So I followed him to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten was, and there we sat awhile, and so home after we had made shift to fuddle Mr. Falconer of Woolwich. So home. 16th. At the office all the morning, though little to be done; because all our clerks are gone to the buriall of Tom Whitton, one of the Controller's clerks, a very ingenious, and a likely young man to live, as any in the Office. But it is such a sickly time both in City and country every where (of a sort of fever), that never was heard of almost, unless it was in a plague-time. Among others, the famous Tom Fuller is dead of it; and Dr. Nichols, Dean of Paul's; and my Lord General Monk is very dangerously ill. Dined at home with the children and were merry, and my father with me; who after dinner he and I went forth about business. Among other things we found one Dr. John Williams at an alehouse, where we staid till past nine at night, in Shoe Lane, talking about our country business, and I found him so well acquainted with the matters of Gravely that I expect he will be of great use to me. So by link home. I understand my Aunt Fenner is upon the point of death. 17th. At the Privy Seal, where we had a seal this morning. Then met with Ned Pickering, and walked with him into St. James's Park (where I had not been a great while), and there found great and very noble alterations. And, in our discourse, he was very forward to complain and to speak loud of the lewdness and beggary of the Court, which I am sorry to hear, and which I am afeard will bring all to ruin again. So he and I to the Wardrobe to dinner, and after dinner Captain Ferrers and I to the Opera, and saw "The Witts" again, which I like exceedingly. The Queen of Bohemia was here, brought by my Lord Craven. So the Captain and I and another to the Devil tavern and drank, and so by coach home. Troubled in mind that I cannot bring myself to mind my business, but to be so much in love of plays. We have been at a great loss a great while for a vessel that I sent about a month ago with, things of my Lord's to Lynn, and cannot till now hear of them, but now we are told that they are put into Soale Bay, but to what purpose I know not. 18th (Lord's day). To our own church in the morning and so home to dinner, where my father and Dr. Tom Pepys came to me to dine, and were very merry. After dinner I took my wife and Mr. Sidney to my Lady to see my Lord Hinchingbroke, who is now pretty well again, and sits up and walks about his chamber. So I went to White Hall, and there hear that my Lord General Monk continues very ill: so I went to la belle Pierce and sat with her; and then to walk in St. James's Park, and saw great variety of fowl which I never saw before and so home. At night fell to read in "Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity," which Mr. Moore did give me last Wednesday very handsomely bound; and which I shall read with great pains and love for his sake. So to supper and to bed. 19th. At the office all the morning; at noon the children are sent for by their mother my Lady Sandwich to dinner, and my wife goes along with them by coach, and she to my father's and dines there, and from thence with them to see Mrs. Cordery, who do invite them before my father goes into the country, and thither I should have gone too but that I am sent for to the Privy Seal, and there I found a thing of my Lord Chancellor's [This "thing" was probably one of those large grants which Clarendon quietly, or, as he himself says, "without noise or scandal," procured from the king. Besides lands and manors, Clarendon states at one time that the king gave him a "little billet into his hand, that contained a warrant of his own hand-writing to Sir Stephen Fox to pay to the Chancellor the sum of L20,000,--[approximately 10 million dollars in the year 2000]--of which nobody could have notice." In 1662 he received L5,000 out of the money voted to the king by the Parliament of Ireland, as he mentions in his vindication of himself against the impeachment of the Commons; and we shall see that Pepys, in February, 1664, names another sum of L20,000 given to the Chancellor to clear the mortgage upon Clarendon Park; and this last sum, it was believed, was paid from the money received from France by the sale of Dunkirk.--B.] to be sealed this afternoon, and so I am forced to go to Worcester House, where severall Lords are met in Council this afternoon. And while I am waiting there, in comes the King in a plain common riding-suit and velvet cap, in which he seemed a very ordinary man to one that had not known him. Here I staid till at last, hearing that my Lord Privy Seal had not the seal here, Mr. Moore and I hired a coach and went to Chelsy, and there at an alehouse sat and drank and past the time till my Lord Privy Seal came to his house, and so we to him and examined and sealed the thing, and so homewards, but when we came to look for our coach we found it gone, so we were fain to walk home afoot and saved our money. We met with a companion that walked with us, and coming among some trees near the Neate houses, he began to whistle, which did give us some suspicion, but it proved that he that answered him was Mr. Marsh (the Lutenist) and his wife, and so we all walked to Westminster together, in our way drinking a while at my cost, and had a song of him, but his voice is quite lost. So walked home, and there I found that my Lady do keep the children at home, and lets them not come any more hither at present, which a little troubles me to lose their company. This day my aunt Fenner dyed. 20th. At the office in the morning and all the afternoon at home to put my papers in order. This day we come to some agreement with Sir R. Ford for his house to be added to the office to enlarge our quarters. 21st. This morning by appointment I went to my father, and after a morning draft he and I went to Dr. Williams, but he not within we went to Mrs. Terry, a daughter of Mr. Whately's, who lately offered a proposal of her sister for a wife for my brother Tom, and with her we discoursed about and agreed to go to her mother this afternoon to speak with her, and in the meantime went to Will. Joyce's and to an alehouse, and drank a good while together, he being very angry that his father Fenner will give him and his brother no more for mourning than their father did give him and my aunt at their mother's death, and a very troublesome fellow I still find him to be, that his company ever wearys me. From thence about two o'clock to Mrs. Whately's, but she being going to dinner we went to Whitehall and there staid till past three, and here I understand by Mr. Moore that my Lady Sandwich is brought to bed yesterday of a young Lady, and is very well. So to Mrs. Whately's again, and there were well received, and she desirous to have the thing go forward, only is afeard that her daughter is too young and portion not big enough, but offers L200 down with her. The girl is very well favoured,, and a very child, but modest, and one I think will do very well for my brother: so parted till she hears from Hatfield from her husband, who is there; but I find them very desirous of it, and so am I. Hence home to my father's, and I to the Wardrobe, where I supped with the ladies, and hear their mother is well and the young child, and so home. 22nd. To the Privy Seal, and sealed; so home at noon, and there took my wife by coach to my uncle Fenner's, where there was both at his house and the Sessions, great deal of company, but poor entertainment, which I wonder at; and the house so hot, that my uncle Wight, my father and I were fain to go out, and stay at an alehouse awhile to cool ourselves. Then back again and to church, my father's family being all in mourning, doing him the greatest honour, the world believing that he did give us it: so to church, and staid out the sermon, and then with my aunt Wight, my wife, and Pall and I to her house by coach, and there staid and supped upon a Westphalia ham, and so home and to bed. 23rd. This morning I went to my father's, and there found him and my mother in a discontent, which troubles me much, and indeed she is become very simple and unquiet. Hence he and I to Dr. Williams, and found him within, and there we sat and talked a good while, and from him to Tom Trice's to an alehouse near, and there sat and talked, and finding him fair we examined my uncle's will before him and Dr. Williams, and had them sign the copy and so did give T. Trice the original to prove, so he took my father and me to one of the judges of the Court, and there we were sworn, and so back again to the alehouse and drank and parted. Dr. Williams and I to a cook's where we eat a bit of mutton, and away, I to W. Joyce's, where by appointment my wife was, and I took her to the Opera, and shewed her "The Witts," which I had seen already twice, and was most highly pleased with it. So with my wife to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and then home. 24th. At the office all the morning and did business; by and by we are called to Sir W. Batten's to see the strange creature that Captain Holmes hath brought with him from Guiny; it is a great baboon, but so much like a man in most things, that though they say there is a species of them, yet I cannot believe but that it is a monster got of a man and she-baboon. I do believe that it already understands much English, and I am of the mind it might be taught to speak or make signs. Hence the Comptroller and I to Sir Rd. Ford's and viewed the house again, and are come to a complete end with him to give him L200 per an. for it. Home and there met Capt. Isham inquiring for me to take his leave of me, he being upon his voyage to Portugal, and for my letters to my Lord which are not ready. But I took him to the Mitre and gave him a glass of sack, and so adieu, and then straight to the Opera, and there saw "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark," done with scenes very well, but above all, Betterton [Sir William Davenant introduced the use of scenery. The character of Hamlet was one of Betterton's masterpieces. Downes tells us that he was taught by Davenant how the part was acted by Taylor of the Blackfriars, who was instructed by Shakespeare himself.] did the prince's part beyond imagination. Hence homeward, and met with Mr. Spong and took him to the Sampson in Paul's churchyard, and there staid till late, and it rained hard, so we were fain to get home wet, and so to bed. 25th (Lord's day). At church in the morning, and dined at home alone with my wife very comfortably, and so again to church with her, and had a very good and pungent sermon of Mr. Mills, discoursing the necessity of restitution. Home, and I found my Lady Batten and her daughter to look something askew upon my wife, because my wife do not buckle to them, and is not solicitous for their acquaintance, which I am not troubled at at all. By and by comes in my father (he intends to go into the country to-morrow), and he and I among other discourse at last called Pall up to us, and there in great anger told her before my father that I would keep her no longer, and my father he said he would have nothing to do with her. At last, after we had brought down her high spirit, I got my father to yield that she should go into the country with my mother and him, and stay there awhile to see how she will demean herself. That being done, my father and I to my uncle Wight's, and there supped, and he took his leave of them, and so I walked with [him] as far as Paul's and there parted, and I home, my mind at some rest upon this making an end with Pall, who do trouble me exceedingly. 26th. This morning before I went out I made even with my maid Jane, who has this day been my maid three years, and is this day to go into the country to her mother. The poor girl cried, and I could hardly forbear weeping to think of her going, for though she be grown lazy and spoilt by Pall's coming, yet I shall never have one to please us better in all things, and so harmless, while I live. So I paid her her wages and gave her 2s. 6d. over, and bade her adieu, with my mind full of trouble at her going. Hence to my father, where he and I and Thomas together setting things even, and casting up my father's accounts, and upon the whole I find that all he hath in money of his own due to him in the world is but L45, and he owes about the same sum: so that I cannot but think in what a condition he had left my mother if he should have died before my uncle Robert. Hence to Tom Trice for the probate of the will and had it done to my mind, which did give my father and me good content. From thence to my Lady at the Wardrobe and thence to the Theatre, and saw the "Antipodes," wherein there is much mirth, but no great matter else. Hence with Mr. Bostock whom I met there (a clerk formerly of Mr. Phelps) to the Devil tavern, and there drank and so away. I to my uncle Fenner's, where my father was with him at an alehouse, and so we three went by ourselves and sat talking a great while about a broker's daughter that he do propose for a wife for Tom, with a great portion, but I fear it will not take, but he will do what he can. So we broke up, and going through the street we met with a mother and son, friends of my father's man, Ned's, who are angry at my father's putting him away, which troubled me and my father, but all will be well as to that. We have news this morning of my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas being gone into the country without giving notice thereof to anybody, which puts us to a stand, but I fear them not. At night at home I found a letter from my Lord Sandwich, who is now very well again of his feaver, but not yet gone from Alicante, where he lay sick, and was twice let blood. This letter dated the 22nd July last, which puts me out of doubt of his being ill. In my coming home I called in at the Crane tavern at the Stocks by appointment, and there met and took leave of Mr. Fanshaw, who goes to-morrow and Captain Isham toward their voyage to Portugal. Here we drank a great deal of wine, I too much and Mr. Fanshaw till he could hardly go. So we took leave one of another. 27th. This morning to the Wardrobe, and there took leave of my Lord Hinchingbroke and his brother, and saw them go out by coach toward Rye in their way to France, whom God bless. Then I was called up to my Lady's bedside, where we talked an hour about Mr. Edward Montagu's disposing of the L5000 for my Lord's departure for Portugal, and our fears that he will not do it to my Lord's honour, and less to his profit, which I am to enquire a little after. Hence to the office, and there sat till noon, and then my wife and I by coach to my cozen, Thos. Pepys, the Executor, to dinner, where some ladies and my father and mother, where very merry, but methinks he makes but poor dinners for such guests, though there was a poor venison pasty. Hence my wife and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Joviall Crew," where the King, Duke and Duchess, and Madame Palmer, were; and my wife, to her great content, had a full sight of them all the while. The play full of mirth. Hence to my father's, and there staid to talk a while and so by foot home by moonshine. In my way and at home, my wife making a sad story to me of her brother Balty's a condition, and would have me to do something for him, which I shall endeavour to do, but am afeard to meddle therein for fear I shall not be able to wipe my hands of him again, when I once concern myself for him. I went to bed, my wife all the while telling me his case with tears, which troubled me. 28th. At home all the morning setting papers in order. At noon to the Exchange, and there met with Dr. Williams by appointment, and with him went up and down to look for an attorney, a friend of his, to advise with about our bond of my aunt Pepys of L200, and he tells me absolutely that we shall not be forced to pay interest for the money yet. I do doubt it very much. I spent the whole afternoon drinking with him and so home. This day I counterfeited a letter to Sir W. Pen, as from the thief that stole his tankard lately, only to abuse and laugh at him. 29th. At the office all the morning, and at noon my father, mother, and my aunt Bell (the first time that ever she was at my house) come to dine with me, and were very merry. After dinner the two women went to visit my aunt Wight, &c., and my father about other business, and I abroad to my bookseller, and there staid till four o'clock, at which time by appointment I went to meet my father at my uncle Fenner's. So thither I went and with him to an alehouse, and there came Mr. Evans, the taylor, whose daughter we have had a mind to get for a wife for Tom, and then my father, and there we sat a good while and talked about the business; in fine he told us that he hath not to except against us or our motion, but that the estate that God hath blessed him with is too great to give where there is nothing in present possession but a trade and house; and so we friendly ended. There parted, my father and I together, and walked a little way, and then at Holborn he and I took leave of one another, he being to go to Brampton (to settle things against my mother comes) tomorrow morning. So I home. 30th. At noon my wife and I met at the Wardrobe, and there dined with the children, and after dinner up to my Lady's bedside, and talked and laughed a good while. Then my wife end I to Drury Lane to the French comedy, which was so ill done, and the scenes and company and every thing else so nasty and out of order and poor, that I was sick all the while in my mind to be there. Here my wife met with a son of my Lord Somersett, whom she knew in France, a pretty man; I showed him no great countenance, to avoyd further acquaintance. That done, there being nothing pleasant but the foolery of the farce, we went home. 31st. At home and the office all the morning, and at noon comes Luellin to me, and he and I to the tavern and after that to Bartholomew fair, and there upon his motion to a pitiful alehouse, where we had a dirty slut or two come up that were whores, but my very heart went against them, so that I took no pleasure but a great deal of trouble in being there and getting from thence for fear of being seen. From hence he and I walked towards Ludgate and parted. I back again to the fair all alone, and there met with my Ladies Jemimah and Paulina, with Mr. Pickering and Madamoiselle, at seeing the monkeys dance, which was much to see, when they could be brought to do so, but it troubled me to sit among such nasty company. After that with them into Christ's Hospitall, and there Mr. Pickering bought them some fairings, and I did give every one of them a bauble, which was the little globes of glass with things hanging in them, which pleased the ladies very well. After that home with them in their coach, and there was called up to my Lady, and she would have me stay to talk with her, which I did I think a full hour. And the poor lady did with so much innocency tell me how Mrs. Crispe had told her that she did intend, by means of a lady that lies at her house, to get the King to be godfather to the young lady that she is in childbed now of; but to see in what a manner my Lady told it me, protesting that she sweat in the very telling of it, was the greatest pleasure to me in the world to see the simplicity and harmlessness of a lady. Then down to supper with the ladies, and so home, Mr. Moore (as he and I cannot easily part) leading me as far as Fenchurch Street to the Mitre, where we drank a glass of wine and so parted, and I home and to bed. Thus ends the month. My maid Jane newly gone, and Pall left now to do all the work till another maid comes, which shall not be till she goes away into the country with my mother. Myself and wife in good health. My Lord Sandwich in the Straits and newly recovered of a great sickness at Alicante. My father gone to settle at Brampton, and myself under much business and trouble for to settle things in the estate to our content. But what is worst, I find myself lately too much given to seeing of plays, and expense, and pleasure, which makes me forget my business, which I must labour to amend. No money comes in, so that I have been forced to borrow a great deal for my own expenses, and to furnish my father, to leave things in order. I have some trouble about my brother Tom, who is now left to keep my father's trade, in which I have great fears that he will miscarry for want of brains and care. At Court things are in very ill condition, there being so much emulacion, poverty, and the vices of drinking, swearing, and loose amours, that I know not what will be the end of it, but confusion. And the Clergy so high, that all people that I meet with do protest against their practice. In short, I see no content or satisfaction any where, in any one sort of people. The Benevolence [A voluntary contribution made by the subjects to their sovereign. Upon this occasion the clergy alone gave L33,743: See May 31st, 1661.--B] proves so little, and an occasion of so much discontent every where; that it had better it had never been set up. I think to subscribe L20. We are at our Office quiet, only for lack of money all things go to rack. Our very bills offered to be sold upon the Exchange at 10 per cent. loss. We are upon getting Sir R. Ford's house added to our Office. But I see so many difficulties will follow in pleasing of one another in the dividing of it, and in becoming bound personally to pay the rent of L200 per annum, that I do believe it will yet scarce come to pass. The season very sickly every where of strange and fatal fevers. SEPTEMBER 1661 September 1st (Lord's day). Last night being very rainy [the rain] broke into my house, the gutter being stopped, and spoiled all my ceilings almost. At church in the morning, and dined at home with my wife. After dinner to Sir W. Batten's, where I found Sir W. Pen and Captain Holmes. Here we were very merry with Sir W. Pen about the loss of his tankard, though all be but a cheat, and he do not yet understand it; but the tankard was stole by Sir W. Batten, and the letter, as from the thief, wrote by me, which makes: very good sport. Here I staid all the afternoon, and then Captain Holmes and I by coach to White Hall; in our way, I found him by discourse, to be a great friend of my Lord's, and he told me there was many did seek to remove him; but they were old seamen, such as Sir J. Minnes (but he would name no more, though I do believe Sir W. Batten is one of them that do envy him), but he says he knows that the King do so love him, and the Duke of York too, that there is no fear of him. He seems to be very well acquainted with the King's mind, and with all the several factions at Court, and spoke all with so much frankness, that I do take him to be my Lord's good friend, and one able to do him great service, being a cunning fellow, and one (by his own confession to me) that can put on two several faces, and look his enemies in the face with as much love as his friends. But, good God! what an age is this, and what a world is this! that a man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation. At Whitehall we parted, and I to Mrs. Pierce's, meeting her and Madam Clifford in the street, and there staid talking and laughing with them a good while, and so back to my mother's, and there supped, and so home and to bed. 2nd. In the morning to my cozen Thos. Pepys, executor, and there talked with him about my uncle Thomas, his being in the country, but he could not advise me to anything therein, not knowing what the other has done in the country, and so we parted. And so to Whitehall, and there my Lord Privy Seal, who has been out of town this week, not being yet come, we can have no seal, and therefore meeting with Mr. Battersby the apothecary in Fenchurch Street to the King's Apothecary's chamber in Whitehall, and there drank a bottle or two of wine, and so he and I by water towards London. I landed at Blackfriars and so to the Wardrobe and dined, and then back to Whitehall with Captain Ferrers, and there walked, and thence to Westminster Hall, where we met with Mr. Pickering, and so all of us to the Rhenish wine house (Prior's), where the master of the house is laying out some money in making a cellar with an arch in his yard, which is very convenient for him. Here we staid a good while, and so Mr. Pickering and I to Westminster Hall again, and there walked an hour or two talking, and though he be a fool, yet he keeps much company, and will tell all he sees or hears, and so a man may understand what the common talk of the town is, and I find by him that there are endeavours to get my Lord out of play at sea, which I believe Mr. Coventry and the Duke do think will make them more absolute; but I hope, for all this, they will not be able to do it. He tells me plainly of the vices of the Court, and how the pox is so common there, and so I hear on all hands that it is as common as eating and swearing. From him by water to the bridge, and thence to the Mitre, where I met my uncle and aunt Wight come to see Mrs. Rawlinson (in her husband's absence out of town), and so I staid with them and Mr. Lucas and other company, very merry, and so home, Where my wife has been busy all the day making of pies, and had been abroad and bought things for herself, and tells that she met at the Change with my young ladies of the Wardrobe and there helped them to buy things, and also with Mr. Somerset, who did give her a bracelet of rings, which did a little trouble me, though I know there is no hurt yet in it, but only for fear of further acquaintance. So to bed. This night I sent another letter to Sir W. Pen to offer him the return of his tankard upon his leaving of 30s. at a place where it should be brought. The issue of which I am to expect. 3rd. This day some of us Commissioners went down to Deptford to pay off some ships, but I could not go, but staid at home all the morning setting papers to rights, and this morning Mr. Howell, our turner, sent me two things to file papers on very handsome. Dined at home, and then with my wife to the Wardrobe, where my Lady's child was christened (my Lord Crew and his Lady, and my Lady Montagu, my Lord's mother-in-law, were the witnesses), and named Katherine [Lady Katherine Montagu, youngest daughter of Lord Sandwich, married, first, Nicholas Bacon, eldest son and heir of Sir Nicholas Bacon, K.B., of Shrubland Hall, co. Suffolk; and, secondly, the Rev. Balthazar Gardeman. She died January 15th, 1757, at ninety-six years, four months.--B.] (the Queen elect's name); but to my and all our trouble, the Parson of the parish christened her, and did not sign the child with the sign of the cross. After that was done, we had a very fine banquet, the best I ever was at, and so (there being very little company) we by and by broke up, and my wife and I to my mother, who I took a liberty to advise about her getting things ready to go this week into the country to my father, and she (being become now-a-days very simple) took it very ill, and we had a great deal of noise and wrangling about it. So home by coach. 4th. In the morning to the Privy Seal to do some things of the last month, my Lord Privy Seal having been some time out of town. Then my wife came to me to Whitehall, and we went and walked a good while in St. James's Park to see the brave alterations, and so to Wilkinson's, the Cook's, to dinner, where we sent for Mrs. Sarah and there dined and had oysters, the first I have eat this year, and were pretty good. After dinner by agreement to visit Mrs. Symonds, but she is abroad, which I wonder at, and so missing her my wife again to my mother's (calling at Mrs. Pierce's, who we found brought to bed of a girl last night) and there staid and drank, and she resolves to be going to-morrow without fail. Many friends come in to take their leave of her, but a great deal of stir I had again tonight about getting her to go to see my Lady Sandwich before she goes, which she says she will do tomorrow. So I home. 5th. To the Privy Seal this morning about business, in my way taking leave of my mother, who goes to Brampton to-day. But doing my business at the Privy Seal pretty soon, I took boat and went to my uncle Fenner's, and there I found my mother and my wife and Pall (of whom I had this morning at my own house taken leave, and given her 20s. and good counsel how to carry herself to my father and mother), and so I took them, it being late, to Beard's, where they were staid for, and so I put them into the waggon, and saw them going presently, Pall crying exceedingly. Then in with my wife, my aunt Bell and Charles Pepys, whom we met there, and drank, and so to my uncle Fenner's to dinner (in the way meeting a French footman with feathers, who was in quest of my wife, and spoke with her privately, but I could not tell what it was, only my wife promised to go to some place to-morrow morning, which do trouble my mind how to know whither it was), where both his sons and daughters were, and there we were merry and dined. After dinner news was brought that my aunt Kite, the butcher's widow in London, is sick ready to die and sends for my uncle and me to come to take charge of things, and to be entrusted with the care of her daughter. But I through want of time to undertake such a business, I was taken up by Antony Joyce, which came at last to very high words, which made me very angry, and I did not think that he would ever have been such a fool to meddle with other people's business, but I saw he spoke worse to his father than to me and therefore I bore it the better, but all the company was offended with him, so we parted angry he and I, and so my wife and I to the fair, and I showed her the Italians dancing the ropes, and the women that do strange tumbling tricks and so by foot home vexed in my mind about Antony Joyce. 6th. This morning my uncle Fenner by appointment came and drank his morning draft with me, and from thence he and I go to see my aunt Kite (my wife holding her resolution to go this morning as she resolved yesterday, and though there could not be much hurt in it, yet my own jealousy put a hundred things into my mind, which did much trouble me all day), whom we found in bed and not like to live as we think, and she told us her mind was that if she should die she should give all she had to her daughter, only L5 apiece to her second husband's children, in case they live to come out of their apprenticeships, and that if her daughter should die before marrying, then L10 to be divided between Sarah Kite's children and the rest as her own daughter shall dispose of it, and this I set down that I may be able to swear in case there should be occasion. From thence to an alehouse while it rained, which kept us there I think above two hours, and at last we were fain to go through the rainy street home, calling on his sister Utbeck and drank there. Then I home to dinner all alone, and thence my mind being for my wife's going abroad much troubled and unfit for business, I went to the Theatre, and saw "Elder Brother" ill acted; that done, meeting here with Sir G. Askew, Sir Theophilus Jones, and another Knight, with Sir W. Pen, we to the Ship tavern, and there staid and were merry till late at night, and so got a coach, and Sir Wm. and I home, where my wife had been long come home, but I seemed very angry, as indeed I am, and did not all night show her any countenance, neither before nor in bed, and so slept and rose discontented. 7th. At the office all the morning. At noon Mr. Moore dined with me, and then in comes Wm. Joyce to answer a letter of mine I wrote this morning to him about a maid of his that my wife had hired, and she sent us word that she was hired to stay longer with her master, which mistake he came to clear himself of; and I took it very kindly. So I having appointed the young ladies at the Wardrobe to go with them to a play to-day, I left him and my brother Tom who came along with him to dine, and my wife and I took them to the Theatre, where we seated ourselves close by the King, and Duke of York, and Madame Palmer, which was great content; and, indeed, I can never enough admire her beauty. And here was "Bartholomew Fayre," with the puppet-show, acted to-day, which had not been these forty years (it being so satyricall against Puritanism, they durst not till now, which is strange they should already dare to do it, and the King do countenance it), but I do never a whit like it the better for the puppets, but rather the worse. Thence home with the ladies, it being by reason of our staying a great while for the King's coming, and the length of the play, near nine o'clock before it was done, and so in their coach home, and still in discontent with my wife, to bed, and rose so this morning also. 8th (Lord's day). To church, it being a very wet night last night and to-day, dined at home, and so to church again with my wife in the afternoon, and coming home again found our new maid Doll asleep, that she could not hear to let us in, so that we were fain to send the boy in at a window to open the door to us. So up to my chamber all alone, and troubled in mind to think how much of late I have addicted myself to expense and pleasure, that now I can hardly reclaim myself to look after my great business of settling Gravely business, until now almost too late. I pray God give me grace to begin now to look after my business, but it always was, and I fear will ever be, my foible that after I am once got behind-hand with business, I am hard to set to it again to recover it. In the evening I begun to look over my accounts and upon the whole I do find myself, by what I can yet see, worth near L600, for which God be blessed, which put me into great comfort. So to supper and to bed. 9th. To the Privy Seal in the morning, but my Lord did not come, so I went with Captain Morrice at his desire into the King's Privy Kitchen to Mr. Sayres, the Master Cook, and there we had a good slice of beef or two to our breakfast, and from thence he took us into the wine cellar where, by my troth, we were very merry, and I drank too much wine, and all along had great and particular kindness from Mr. Sayres, but I drank so much wine that I was not fit for business, and therefore at noon I went and walked in Westminster Hall a while, and thence to Salisbury Court play house, where was acted the first time "'Tis pity Shee's a Whore," a simple play and ill acted, only it was my fortune to sit by a most pretty and most ingenious lady, which pleased me much. Thence home, and found Sir Williams both and much more company gone to the Dolphin to drink the 30s. that we got the other day of Sir W. Pen about his tankard. Here was Sir R. Slingsby, Holmes, Captn. Allen, Mr. Turner, his wife and daughter, my Lady Batten, and Mrs. Martha, &c., and an excellent company of fiddlers; so we exceeding merry till late; and then we begun to tell Sir W. Pen the business, but he had been drinking to-day, and so is almost gone, that we could not make him understand it, which caused us more sport. But so much the better, for I believe when he do come to understand it he will be angry, he has so talked of the business himself and the letter up and down that he will be ashamed to be found abused in it. So home and to bed. 10th. At the office all the morn, dined at home; then my wife into Wood Street to buy a chest, and thence to buy other things at my uncle Fenner's (though by reason of rain we had ill walking), thence to my brother Tom's, and there discoursed with him about business, and so to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and after supper with the young ladies, bought a link and carried it myself till I met one that would light me home for the link. So he light me home with his own, and then I did give him mine. This night I found Mary, my cozen W. Joyce's maid, come to me to be my cook maid, and so my house is full again. So to bed. 11th. Early to my cozen Thomas Trice to discourse about our affairs, and he did make demand of the L200 and the interest thereof. But for the L200 I did agree to pay him, but for the other I did desire to be advised. So from him to Dr. Williams, who did carry me into his garden, where he hath abundance of grapes; and did show me how a dog that he hath do kill all the cats that come thither to kill his pigeons, and do afterwards bury them; and do it with so much care that they shall be quite covered; that if but the tip of the tail hangs out he will take up the cat again, and dig the hole deeper. Which is very strange; and he tells me that he do believe that he hath killed above 100 cats. After he was ready we went up and down to inquire about my affairs and then parted, and to the Wardrobe, and there took Mr. Moore to Tom Trice, who promised to let Mr. Moore have copies of the bond and my aunt's deed of gift, and so I took him home to my house to dinner, where I found my wife's brother, Balty, as fine as hands could make him, and his servant, a Frenchman, to wait on him, and come to have my wife to visit a young lady which he is a servant to, and have hope to trepan and get for his wife. I did give way for my wife to go with him, and so after dinner they went, and Mr. Moore and I out again, he about his business and I to Dr. Williams: to talk with him again, and he and I walking through Lincoln's Fields observed at the Opera a new play, "Twelfth Night" [Pepys seldom liked any play of Shakespeare's, and he sadly blundered when he supposed "Twelfth Night" was a new play.] was acted there, and the King there; so I, against my own mind and resolution, could not forbear to go in, which did make the play seem a burthen to me, and I took no pleasure at all in it; and so after it was done went home with my mind troubled for my going thither, after my swearing to my wife that I would never go to a play without her. So that what with this and things going so cross to me as to matters of my uncle's estate, makes me very much troubled in my mind, and so to bed. My wife was with her brother to see his mistress today, and says she is young, rich, and handsome, but not likely for him to get. 12th. Though it was an office day, yet I was forced to go to the Privy Seal, at which I was all the morning, and from thence to my Lady's to dinner at the Wardrobe; and in my way upon the Thames, I saw the King's new pleasure-boat that is come now for the King to take pleasure in above bridge; and also two Gundaloes ["Two long boats that were made in Venice, called gondolas, were by the Duke of Venice (Dominico Contareni) presented to His Majesty; and the attending watermen, being four, were in very rich clothes, crimson satin; very big were their breeches and doublets; they wore also very large shirts of the same satin, very richly laced." --Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] that are lately brought, which are very rich and fine. After dinner I went into my Lady's chamber where I found her up now out of her childbed, which I was glad to see, and after an hour's talk with her I took leave and to Tom Trice again, and sat talking and drinking with him about our business a great while. I do find I am likely to be forced to pay interest for the L200. By and by in comes my uncle Thomas, and as he was always a close cunning fellow, so he carries himself to me, and says nothing of what his endeavours are, though to my trouble I know that he is about recovering of Gravely, but neither I nor he began any discourse of the business. From thence to Dr. Williams (at the little blind alehouse in Shoe Lane, at the Gridiron, a place I am ashamed to be seen to go into), and there with some bland counsel of his we discuss our matters, but I find men of so different minds that by my troth I know not what to trust to. It being late I took leave, and by link home and called at Sir W. Batten's, and there hear that Sir W. Pen do take our jest of the tankard very ill, which Pam sorry for. 13th. This morning I was sent for by my uncle Fenner to come and advise about the buriall of my aunt, the butcher, who died yesterday; and from thence to the Anchor, by Doctor's Commons, and there Dr. Williams and I did write a letter for my purpose to Mr. Sedgewick, of Cambridge, about Gravely business, and after that I left him and an attorney with him and went to the Wardrobe, where I found my wife, and thence she and I to the water to spend the afternoon in pleasure; and so we went to old George's, and there eat as much as we would of a hot shoulder of mutton, and so to boat again and home. So to bed, my mind very full of business and trouble. 14th. At the office all the morning, at noon to the Change, and then home again. To dinner, where my uncle Fenner by appointment came and dined with me, thinking to go together to my aunt Kite's that is dead; but before we had dined comes Sir R. Slingsby and his lady, and a great deal of company, to take my wife and I out by barge to shew them the King's and Duke's yachts. So I was forced to leave my uncle and brother Tom at dinner and go forth with them, and we had great pleasure, seeing all four yachts, viz., these two and the two Dutch ones. And so home again, and after writing letters by post, to bed. 15th (Lord's day). To my aunt Kite's in the morning to help my uncle Fenner to put things in order against anon for the buriall, and at noon home again; and after dinner to church, my wife and I, and after sermon with my wife to the buriall of my aunt Kite, where besides us and my uncle Fenner's family, there was none of any quality, but poor rascally people. So we went to church with the corps, and there had service read at the grave, and back again with Pegg Kite who will be, I doubt, a troublesome carrion to us executors; but if she will not be ruled, I shall fling up my executorship. After that home, and Will Joyce along with me where we sat and talked and drank and ate an hour or two, and so he went away and I up to my chamber and then to prayers and to bed. 16th. This morning I was busy at home to take in my part of our freight of Coles, which Sir G. Carteret, Sir R. Slingsby, and myself sent for, which is 10 Chaldron, 8 of which I took in, and with the other to repay Sir W. Pen what I borrowed of him a little while ago. So that from this day I should see how long 10 chaldron of coals will serve my house, if it please the Lord to let me live to see them burned. In the afternoon by appointment to meet Dr. Williams and his attorney, and they and I to Tom Trice, and there got him in discourse to confess the words that he had said that his mother did desire him not to see my uncle about her L200 bond while she was alive. Here we were at high words with T. Trice and then parted, and we to Standing's, in Fleet Street, where we sat and drank and talked a great while about my going down to Gravely Court, [The manorial court of Graveley, in Huntingdonshire, to which Impington owed suit or service, and under which the Pepys's copyhold estates were held. See July 8th, 1661, ante.--B.] which will be this week, whereof the Doctor had notice in a letter from his sister this week. In the middle of our discourse word was brought me from my brother's that there is a fellow come from my father out of the country, on purpose to speak to me, so I went to him and he made a story how he had lost his letter, but he was sure it was for me to go into the country, which I believed, and thought it might be to give me notice of Gravely Court, but I afterwards found that it was a rogue that did use to play such tricks to get money of people, but he got none of me. At night I went home, and there found letters-from my father informing me of the Court, and that I must come down and meet him at Impington, which I presently resolved to do, 17th. And the next morning got up, telling my wife of my journey, and she with a few words got me to hire her a horse to go along with me. So I went to my Lady's and elsewhere to take leave, and of Mr. Townsend did borrow a very fine side-saddle for my wife; and so after all things were ready, she and I took coach to the end of the town towards Kingsland, and there got upon my horse and she upon her pretty mare that I hired for her, and she rides very well. By the mare at one time falling she got a fall, but no harm; so we got to Ware, and there supped, and to bed very merry and pleasant. 18th. The next morning up early and begun our march; the way about Puckridge--[Puckeridge, a village in Hertfordshire six and a half miles N.N.E, of Ware.]--very bad, and my wife, in the very last dirty place of all, got a fall, but no hurt, though some dirt. At last she begun, poor wretch, to be tired, and I to be angry at it, but I was to blame; for she is a very good companion as long as she is well. In the afternoon we got to Cambridge, where I left my wife at my cozen Angier's while I went to Christ's College, and there found my brother in his chamber, and talked with him; and so to the barber's, and then to my wife again, and remounted for Impington, where my uncle received me and my wife very kindly. And by and by in comes my father, and we supped and talked and were merry, but being weary and sleepy my wife and I to bed without talking with my father anything about our business. 19th. Up early, and my father and I alone into the garden, and there talked about our business, and what to do therein. So after I had talked and advised with my coz Claxton, and then with my uncle by his bedside, we all horsed away to Cambridge, where my father and I, having left my wife at the Beare with my brother, went to Mr. Sedgewicke, the steward of Gravely, and there talked with him, but could get little hopes from anything that he would tell us; but at last I did give him a fee, and then he was free to tell me what I asked, which was something, though not much comfort. From thence to our horses, and with my wife went and rode through Sturbridge [Sturbridge fair is of great antiquity. The first trace of it is found in a charter granted about 1211 by King John to the Lepers of the Hospital of St. Mary Magdalen at Sturbridge by Cambridge, a fair to be held in the close of the hospital on the vigil and feast of the Holy Cross (see Cornelius Walford's "Fairs Past and Present," 1883, p. 54).] but the fair was almost done. So we did not 'light there at all, but went back to Cambridge, and there at the Beare we had some herrings, we and my brother, and after dinner set out for Brampton, where we come in very good time, and found all things well, and being somewhat weary, after some talk about tomorrow's business with my father, we went to bed. 20th. Will Stankes and I set out in the morning betimes for Gravely, where to an ale-house and drank, and then, going towards the Court House, met my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas, with Bradly, the rogue that had betrayed us, and one Young, a cunning fellow, who guides them. There passed no unkind words at all between us, but I seemed fair and went to drink with them. I said little till by and by that we come to the Court, which was a simple meeting of a company of country rogues, with the Steward, and two Fellows of Jesus College, that are lords of the town where the jury were sworn; and I producing no surrender, though I told them I was sure there is and must be one somewhere, they found my uncle Thomas heir at law, as he is, and so, though I did tell him and his son that they would find themselves abused by these fellows, and did advise them to forbear being admitted this Court (which they could have done, but that these rogues did persuade them to do it now), my uncle was admitted, and his son also, in reversion after his father, which he did well in to secure his money. The father paid a year and a half for his fine, and the son half a year, in all L48, besides about L3 fees; so that I do believe the charges of his journeys, and what he gives those two rogues, and other expenses herein, cannot be less than L70, which will be a sad thing for them if a surrender be found. After all was done, I openly wished them joy in it, and so rode to Offord with them and there parted fairly without any words. I took occasion to bid them money for their half acre of land, which I had a mind to do that in the surrender I might secure Piggott's, which otherwise I should be forced to lose. So with Stankes home and supped, and after telling my father how things went, I went to bed with my mind in good temper, because I see the matter and manner of the Court and the bottom of my business, wherein I was before and should always have been ignorant. 21st. All the morning pleasing myself with my father, going up and down the house and garden with my father and my wife, contriving some alterations. After dinner (there coming this morning my aunt Hanes and her son from London, that is to live with my father) I rode to Huntingdon, where I met Mr. Philips, and there put my Bugden [Bugden, or Buckden, a village and parish in the St. Neots district of Huntingdonshire, four miles S.W. of Huntingdon.] matter in order against the Court, and so to Hinchingbroke, where Mr. Barnwell shewed me the condition of the house, which is yet very backward, and I fear will be very dark in the cloyster when it is done. So home and to supper and to bed, very pleasant and quiet. 22nd (Lord's day). Before church time walking with my father in the garden contriving. So to church, where we had common prayer, and a dull sermon by one Mr. Case, who yet I heard sing very well. So to dinner, and busy with my father about his accounts all the afternoon, and people came to speak with us about business. Mr. Barnwell at night came and supped with us. So after setting matters even with my father and I, to bed. 23rd. Up, and sad to hear my father and mother wrangle as they used to do in London, of which I took notice to both, and told them that I should give over care for anything unless they would spend what they have with more love and quiet. So (John Bowles coming to see us before we go) we took horse and got early to Baldwick; where there was a fair, and we put in and eat a mouthfull of pork, which they made us pay 14d. for, which vexed us much. And so away to Stevenage, and staid till a showre was over, and so rode easily to Welling, where we supped well, and had two beds in the room and so lay single, and still remember it that of all the nights that ever I slept in my life I never did pass a night with more epicurism of sleep; there being now and then a noise of people stirring that waked me, and then it was a very rainy night, and then I was a little weary, that what between waking and then sleeping again, one after another, I never had so much content in all my life, and so my wife says it was with her. 24th. We rose, and set forth, but found a most sad alteration in the road by reason of last night's rains, they being now all dirty and washy, though not deep. So we rode easily through, and only drinking at Holloway, at the sign of a woman with cakes in one hand and a pot of ale in the other, which did give good occasion of mirth, resembling her to the maid that served us, we got home very timely and well, and finding there all well, and letters from sea, that speak of my Lord's being well, and his action, though not considerable of any side, at Argier.--[Algiers]--I went straight to my Lady, and there sat and talked with her, and so home again, and after supper we to bed somewhat weary, hearing of nothing ill since my absence but my brother Tom, who is pretty well though again. 25th. By coach with Sir W. Pen to Covent Garden. By the way, upon my desire, he told me that I need not fear any reflection upon my Lord for their ill success at Argier, for more could not be done than was done. I went to my cozen, Thos. Pepys, there, and talked with him a good while about our country business, who is troubled at my uncle Thomas his folly, and so we parted; and then meeting Sir R. Slingsby in St. Martin's Lane, he and I in his coach through the Mewes, which is the way that now all coaches are forced to go, because of a stop at Charing Cross, by reason of a drain there to clear the streets. To Whitehall, and there to Mr. Coventry, and talked with him, and thence to my Lord Crew's and dined with him, where I was used with all imaginable kindness both from him and her. And I see that he is afraid that my Lord's reputacon will a little suffer in common talk by this late success; but there is no help for it now. The Queen of England (as she is now owned and called) I hear doth keep open Court, and distinct at Lisbon. Hence, much against my nature and will, yet such is the power of the Devil over me I could not refuse it, to the Theatre, and saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor," ill done. And that ended, with Sir W. Pen and Sir G. More to the tavern, and so home with him by coach, and after supper to prayers and to bed. In full quiet of mind as to thought, though full of business, blessed be God. 26th. At the office all the morning, so dined at home, and then abroad with my wife by coach to the Theatre to shew her "King and no King," it being very well done. And so by coach, though hard to get it, being rainy, home. So to my chamber to write letters and the journal for these six last days past. 27th. By coach to Whitehall with my wife (where she went to see Mrs. Pierce, who was this day churched, her month of childbed being out). I went to Mrs. Montagu and other businesses, and at noon met my wife at the Wardrobe; and there dined, where we found Captain Country (my little Captain that I loved, who carried me to the Sound), come with some grapes and millons [The antiquity of the cultivation of the melon is very remote. Both the melon (cucaimis melo) and the water-melon (cucumis citrullus) were introduced into England at the end of the sixteenth century. See vol. i., p. 228.] from my Lord at Lisbon, the first that ever I saw any, and my wife and I eat some, and took some home; but the grapes are rare things. Here we staid; and in the afternoon comes Mr. Edwd. Montagu (by appointment this morning) to talk with my Lady and me about the provisions fit to be bought, and sent to my Lord along with him. And told us, that we need not trouble ourselves how to buy them, for the King would pay for all, and that he would take care to get them: which put my Lady and me into a great deal of ease of mind. Here we staid and supped too, and, after my wife had put up some of the grapes in a basket for to be sent to the King, we took coach and home, where we found a hampire of millons sent to me also. 28th. At the office in the morning, dined at home, and then Sir W. Pen and his daughter and I and my wife to the Theatre, and there saw "Father's own Son," a very good play, and the first time I ever saw it, and so at night to my house, and there sat and talked and drank and merrily broke up, and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and so to dinner, and Sir W. Pen and daughter, and Mrs. Poole, his kinswoman, Captain Poole's wife, came by appointment to dinner with us, and a good dinner we had for them, and were very merry, and so to church again, and then to Sir W. Pen's and there supped, where his brother, a traveller, and one that speaks Spanish very well, and a merry man, supped with us, and what at dinner and supper I drink I know not how, of my own accord, so much wine, that I was even almost foxed, and my head aked all night; so home and to bed, without prayers, which I never did yet, since I came to the house, of a Sunday night: I being now so out of order that I durst not read prayers, for fear of being perceived by my servants in what case I was. So to bed. 30th. This morning up by moon-shine, at 5 o'clock, to White Hall, to meet Mr. Moore at the Privy Seal, but he not being come as appointed, I went into King Street to the Red Lyon' to drink my morning draft, and there I heard of a fray between the two Embassadors of Spain and France; and that, this day, being the day of the entrance of an Embassador from Sweden, they intended to fight for the precedence! Our King, I heard, ordered that no Englishman should meddle in the business, [The Comte de Brienne insinuates, in his "Memoirs," that Charles purposely abstained from interfering, in the belief that it was for his interest to let France and Spain quarrel, in order to further his own designs in the match with Portugal. Louis certainly held that opinion; and he afterwards instructed D'Estrades to solicit from the English court the punishment of those Londoners who had insulted his ambassador, and to demand the dismissal of De Batteville. Either no Londoner had interfered, or Louis's demand had not in England the same force as in Spain; for no one was punished. The latter part of his request it was clearly not for Charles to entertain, much less enforce.--B.] but let them do what they would. And to that end all the soldiers in the town were in arms all the day long, and some of the train-bands in the City; and a great bustle through the City all the day. Then I to the Privy Seal, and there Mr. Moore and a gentleman being come with him, we took coach (which was the business I come for) to Chelsy, to my Lord Privy Seal, and there got him to seal the business. Here I saw by day-light two very fine pictures in the gallery, that a little while ago I saw by night; and did also go all over the house, and found it to be the prettiest contrived house that ever I saw in my life. So to coach back again; and at White Hall light, and saw the soldiers and people running up and down the streets. So I went to the Spanish Embassador's and the French, and there saw great preparations on both sides; but the French made the most noise and vaunted most, the other made no stir almost at all; so that I was afraid the other would have had too great a conquest over them. Then to the Wardrobe, and dined there, end then abroad and in Cheapside hear that the Spanish hath got the best of it, and killed three of the French coach-horses and several men, and is gone through the City next to our King's coach; at which, it is strange to see how all the City did rejoice. And indeed we do naturally all love the Spanish, and hate the French. But I, as I am in all things curious, presently got to the water-side, and there took oars to Westminster Palace, thinking to have seen them come in thither with all the coaches, but they being come and returned, I ran after them with my boy after me through all the dirt and the streets full of people; till at last, at the Mewes, I saw the Spanish coach go, with fifty drawn swords at least to guard it, and our soldiers shouting for joy. And so I followed the coach, and then met it at York House, where the embassador lies; and there it went in with great state. So then I went to the French house, where I observe still, that there is no men in the world of a more insolent spirit where they do well, nor before they begin a matter, and more abject if they do miscarry, than these people are; for they all look like dead men, and not a word among them, but shake their heads. The truth is, the Spaniards were not only observed to fight most desperately, but also they did outwitt them; first in lining their own harness with chains of iron that they could not be cut, then in setting their coach in the most advantageous place, and to appoint men to guard every one of their horses, and others for to guard the coach, and others the coachmen. And, above all, in setting upon the French horses and killing them, for by that means the French were not able to stir. There were several men slain of the French, and one or two of the Spaniards, and one Englishman by a bullet. Which is very observable, the French were at least four to one in number, and had near 100 case of pistols among them, and the Spaniards had not one gun among them; which is for their honour for ever, and the others' disgrace. So, having been very much daubed with dirt, I got a coach, and home where I vexed my wife in telling of her this story, and pleading for the Spaniards against the French. So ends this month; myself and family in good condition of health, but my head full of my Lord's and my own and the office business; where we are now very busy about the business of sending forces to Tangier, [This place so often mentioned, was first given up to the English fleet under Lord Sandwich, by the Portuguese, January 30th, 1662; and Lord Peterborough left governor, with a garrison. The greatest pains were afterwards taken to preserve the fortress, and a fine mole was constructed at a vast expense, to improve the harbour. At length, after immense sums of money had been wasted there, the House of Commons expressed a dislike to the management of the garrison, which they suspected to be a nursery for a popish army, and seemed disinclined to maintain it any longer. The king consequently, in 1683, sent Lord Dartmouth to bring home the troops, and destroy the works; which he performed so effectually, that it would puzzle all our engineers to restore the harbour. It were idle to speculate on the benefits which might have accrued to England, by its preservation and retention; Tangier fell into the hands of the Moors, its importance having ceased, with the demolition of the mole. Many curious views of Tangier were taken by Hollar, during its occupation by the English; and his drawings are preserved in the British Museum. Some have been engraved by himself; but the impressions are of considerable rarity.--B.] and the fleet to my Lord of Sandwich, who is now at Lisbon to bring over the Queen, who do now keep a Court as Queen of England. The business of Argier hath of late troubled me, because my Lord hath not done what he went for, though he did as much as any man in the world could have done. The want of money puts all things, and above all things the Nary, out of order; and yet I do not see that the King takes care to bring in any money, but thinks of new designs to lay out money. OCTOBER 1661 October 1st. This morning my wife and I lay long in bed, and among other things fell into talk of musique, and desired that I would let her learn to sing, which I did consider, and promised her she should. So before I rose, word was brought me that my singing master, Mr. Goodgroome, was come to teach me and so she rose and this morning began to learn also. To the office, where busy all day. So to dinner and then to the office again till night, and then to my study at home to set matters and papers in order, which, though I can hardly bring myself to do, yet do please me much when it is done. So eat a bit of bread and cheese, and to bed. 2nd. All this morning at Pegg Kite's with my uncle Fenner, and two friends of his, appraising her goods that her mother has left; but the slut is like to prove so troublesome that I am out of heart with troubling myself in her business. After we had done we all went to a cook's shop in Bishopsgate Street and dined, and then I took them to the tavern and did give them a quart of sack, and so parted. I home and then took my wife out, and in a coach of a gentlewoman's that had been to visit my Lady Batten and was going home again our way, we went to the Theatre, but coming late, and sitting in an ill place, I never had so little pleasure in a play in my life, yet it was the first time that ever I saw it, "Victoria Corombona." Methinks a very poor play. Then at night troubled to get my wife home, it being very dark, and so we were forced to have a coach. So to supper and to bed. 3rd. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and in the afternoon Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I went to Tower Hill to meet with a man, and so back all three to my house, and there I signed a bond to Mr. Battersby, a friend of Mr. Moore's, who lends me L50, the first money that ever I borrowed upon bond for my own occasion, and so I took them to the Mitre and a Portugal millon with me; there sat and discoursed in matters of religion till night with great pleasure, and so parted, and I home, calling at Sir W. Batten's, where his son and his wife were, who had yesterday been at the play where we were, and it was good sport to hear how she talked of it with admiration like a fool. So home, and my head was not well with the wine that I drank to-day. 4th. By coach to White Hall with Sir W. Pen. So to Mr. Montagu, where his man, Mons. Eschar, makes a great com plaint against the English, that they did help the Spaniards against the French the other day; and that their Embassador do demand justice of our King, and that he do resolve to be gone for France the next week; which I, and all that I met with, are very glad of. Thence to Paternoster Row, where my Will did receive the L50 I borrowed yesterday. I to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there staid most of the afternoon very merry with the ladies. Then Captain Ferrers and I to the Theatre, and there came too late, so we staid and saw a bit of "Victoria," which pleased me worse than it did the other day. So we staid not to see it out, but went out and drank a bottle or two of China ale, and so home, where I found my wife vexed at her people for grumbling to eat Suffolk cheese, which I also am vexed at. So to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning, then dined at home, and so staid at home all the afternoon putting up my Lord's model of the Royal James, which I borrowed of him long ago to hang up in my room. And at night Sir W. Pen and I alone to the Dolphin, and there eat some bloat-herrings [To bloat is to dry by smoke, a method chiefly used to cure herrings or bloaters. "I have more smoke in my mouth than would blote a hundred herrings."--Beaumont and Fletcher, Island Princess. "Why, you stink like so many bloat-herrings newly taken out of the chimney."--Ben Jonson, "Masque of Augurs."] and drank good sack. Then came in Sir W. Warren and another and staid a while with us, and then Sir Arnold Brames, with whom we staid late and till we had drank too much wine. So home and I to bed pleased at my afternoon's work in hanging up the shipp. So to bed. 6th (Lord's day). To church in the morning; Mr. Mills preached, who, I expect, should take in snuffe [anger] that my wife not come to his child's christening the other day. The winter coming on, many of parish ladies are come home and appear at church again; among others, the three sisters the Thornbury's, a very fine, and the most zealous people that ever I saw in my life, even to admiration, if it were true zeal. There was also my pretty black girl, Mrs. Dekins, and Mrs. Margaret Pen, this day come to church in a new flowered satin suit that my wife helped to buy her the other day. So me to dinner, and to church in the afternoon to St. Gregory's, by Paul's, where I saw Mr. Moose in the gallery and went up to him and heard a good sermon of Dr. Buck's, one I never heard before, a very able man. So home, and in the evening I went to my Valentine, her father and mother being out of town, to fetch her to supper to my house, and then came Sir W. Pen and would have her to his, so with much sport I got them all to mine, and we were merry, and so broke up and to bed. 7th. Up in the morning and to my uncle Fenner's, thinking to have met Peg Kite about her business but she comes not, so I went to Dr. Williams, where I found him sick in bed and was sorry for it. So about business all day, troubled in my mind till I can hear from Brampton, how things go on at Sturtlow, at the Court, which I was cleared in at night by a letter, which tells me that my cozen Tom was there to be admitted, in his father's name, as heir-at-law, but that he was opposed, and I was admitted by proxy, which put me out of great trouble of mind. 8th. At the office all the morning. After office done, went and eat some Colchester oysters with Sir W. Batten at his house, and there, with some company; dined and staid there talking all the afternoon; and late after dinner took Mrs. Martha out by coach, and carried her to the Theatre in a frolique, to my great expense, and there shewed her part of the "Beggar's Bush," without much pleasure, but only for a frolique, and so home again. 9th. This morning went out about my affairs, among others to put my Theorbo out to be mended, and then at noon home again, thinking to go with Sir Williams both to dinner by invitation to Sir W. Rider's, but at home I found Mrs. Pierce, la belle, and Madam Clifford, with whom I was forced to stay, and made them the most welcome I could; and I was (God knows) very well pleased with their beautiful company, and after dinner took them to the Theatre, and shewed them "The Chances;" and so saw them both at home and back to the Fleece tavern, in Covent Garden, where Luellin and Blurton, and my old friend Frank Bagge, was to meet me, and there staid till late very merry. Frank Bagge tells me a story of Mrs. Pepys that lived with my Lady Harvy, Mr. Montagu's sister, a good woman; that she had been very ill, and often asked for me; that she is in good condition, and that nobody could get her to make her will; but that she did still enquire for me, and that now she is well she desires to have a chamber at my house. Now I do not know whether this is a trick of Bagge's, or a good will of hers to do something for me; but I will not trust her, but told him I should be glad to see her, and that I would be sure to do all that I could to provide a place for her. So by coach home late. 10th. At the office all the morning; dined at home, and after dinner Sir W. Pen and my wife and I to the Theatre (she first going into Covent Garden to speak a word with a woman to enquire of her mother, and I in the meantime with Sir W. Pen's coach staying at W. Joyce's), where the King came to-day, and there was "The Traytor" most admirably acted; and a most excellent play it is. So home, and intended to be merry, it being my sixth wedding night; but by a late bruise.... I am in so much pain that I eat my supper and in pain to bed, yet my wife and I pretty merry. 11th: All day in bed with a cataplasm.... and at night rose a little, and to bed again in more ease than last night. This noon there came my brother and Dr. Tom and Snow to dinner, and by themselves were merry. 12th. In bed the greatest part of this day also, and my swelling in some measure gone. I received a letter this day from my father, that Sir R. Bernard do a little fear that my uncle has not observed exactly the custom of Brampton in his will about his lands there, which puts me to a great trouble in mind, and at, night wrote to him and to my father about it, being much troubled at it. 13th (Lord's day). Did not stir out all day, but rose and dined below, and this day left off half skirts and put on a wastecoate, and my false taby wastecoate with gold lace; and in the evening there came Sir W. Batten to see me, and sat and supped very kindly with me, and so to prayers and to bed. 14th. This morning I ventured by water abroad to Westminster, but lost my labour, for Mr. Montagu was not in town. So to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, which is the first time I have seen her dine abroad since her being brought to bed of my Lady Katherine. In the afternoon Captain Ferrers and I walked abroad to several places, among others to Mr. Pim's, my Lord's Taylour's, and there he went out with us to the Fountain tavern and did give us store of wine, and it being the Duke of York's birthday, we drank the more to his health. But, Lord! what a sad story he makes of his being abused by a Dr. of Physique who is in one part of the tenement wherein he dwells. It would make one laugh, though I see he is under a great trouble in it. Thence home by link and found a good answer from my father that Sir R. Bernard do clear all things as to us and our title to Brampton, which puts my heart in great ease and quiet. 15th. At the office all the morning, and in the afternoon to Paul's Churchyard to a blind place, where Mrs. Goldsborough was to meet me (who dare not be known where she lives) to treat about the difference which remains between my uncle and her. But, Lord! to hear how she talks and how she rails against my uncle would make one mad. But I seemed not to be troubled at it, but would indeed gladly have an agreement with her. So I appoint Mr. Moore and she another against Friday next to look into our papers and to see what can be done to conclude the matter. So home in much pain by walking too much yesterday.... which much troubles me. 16th. In bed till 12 o'clock. This morning came several maids to my wife to be hired, and at last she pitched upon one Nell, whose mother, an old woman, came along with her, but would not be hired under half a year, which I am pleased at their drollness. This day dined by appointment with me, Dr. Thos. Pepys and my Coz: Snow, and my brother Tom, upon a fin of ling and some sounds, neither of which did I ever know before, but most excellent meat they are both, that in all my life I never eat the like fish. So after dinner came in W. Joyce and eat and drank and were merry. So up to my chamber, and put all my papers, at rights, and in the evening our maid Mary. (who was with us upon trial for a month) did take leave of us, going as we suppose to be married, for the maid liked us and we her, but all she said was that she had a mind to live in a tradesman's house where there was but one maid. So to supper and to bed. 17th. At the office all the morning, at noon my wife being gone to my coz Snow's with Dr. Thomas Pepys and my brother Tom to a venison pasty (which proved a pasty of salted pork); by appointment I went with Captain David Lambert to the Exchequer, and from thence by appointment he and I were to meet at a cook's shop to dine. But before I went to him Captain. Cock, a merchant I had not long known, took me to the Sun tavern and gave me a glass of sack, and being a man of great observation and repute, did tell me that he was confident that the Parliament, when it comes the next month to sit again, would bring trouble with it, and enquire how the King had disposed of offices and money, before they will raise more; which, I fear, will bring all things to ruin again. Thence to the Cook's and there dined with Captain Lambert and his father-in-law, and had much talk of Portugall; from whence he is lately come, and he tells me it is a very poor dirty place; I mean the City and Court of Lisbon; that the King is a very rude and simple fellow; and, for reviling of somebody a little while ago, and calling of him cuckold, was run into.... with a sword and had been killed, had he not told them that he was their king. That there are there no glass windows, nor will they have any; which makes sport among our merchants there to talk of an English factor that, being newly come thither, writ into England that glass would be a good commodity to send thither, &c. That the King has his meat sent up by a dozen of lazy guards and in pipkins, sometimes, to his own table; and sometimes nothing but fruits, and, now and then, half a hen. And now that the Infanta is become our Queen, she is come to have a whole hen or goose to her table, which is not ordinary. So home and to look over my papers that concern the difference between Mrs. Goldsborough and us; which cost me much pains, but contented me much after it was done. So at home all the evening and to supper and to bed. 18th. To White Hall, to Mr. Montagu's, where I met with Mr. Pierce, the purser, to advise about the things to be sent to my Lord for the Queen's provision, and was cleared in it, and now there is all haste made, for the fleet's going. At noon to my Lord's to dinner, and in the afternoon, leaving my wife there, Mr. Moore and I to Mrs. Goldsborough, who sent for a friend to meet with us, and so we were talking about the difference between us till 10 at night. I find it very troublesome, and have brought it into some hopes of an agreement, I offering to forgive her L10 that is yet due according to my uncle's accounts to us. So we left her friend to advise about it, and I hope to hear of her, for I would not by any means go to law with a woman of so devilish a tongue as she has. So to my Lady's, where I left my wife to lie with Mademoiselle all night, and I by link home and to bed. This night lying alone, and the weather cold, and having this last 7 or 8 days been troubled with a tumor... which is now abated by a poultice of a good handful of bran with half a pint of vinegar and a pint of water boiled till it be thick, and then a spoonful of honey put to it and so spread in a cloth and laid to it, I first put on my waistcoat to lie in all night this year, and do not intend to put it off again till spring. I met with complaints at home that my wife left no victuals for them all this day. 19th. At the office all the morning, and at noon Mr. Coventry, who sat with us all the morning, and Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself,. by coach to Captain Marshe's, at Limehouse, to a house that hath been their ancestors for this 250 years, close by the lime-house which gives the name to the place. Here they have a design to get the King to hire a dock for the herring busses, which is now the great design on foot, to lie up in. We had a very good and handsome dinner, and excellent wine. I not being neat in clothes, which I find a great fault in me, could not be so merry as otherwise, and at all times I am and can be, when I am in good habitt, which makes me remember my father Osborne's' rule for a gentleman to spare in all things rather than in that. So by coach home, and so to write letters by post, and so to bed. 20th (Lord's day). At home in bed all the morning to ease my late tumour, but up to dinner and much offended in mind at a proud trick my man Will hath got, to keep his hat on in the house, but I will not speak of it to him to-day; but I fear I shall be troubled with his pride and laziness, though in other things he is good enough. To church in the afternoon, where a sleepy Presbyter preached, and then to Sir W. Batten who is to go to Portsmouth to-morrow to wait upon the Duke of York, who goes to take possession and to set in order the garrison there. Supped at home and to bed. 21st. Early with Mr. Moore by coach to Chelsy, to my Lord Privy Seal's, but have missed of coming time enough; and having taken up Mr. Pargiter, the goldsmith (who is the man of the world that I do most know and believe to be a cheating rogue), we drank our morning draft there together of cake and ale, and did make good sport of his losing so much by the King's coming in, he having bought much of Crown lands, of which, God forgive me! I am very glad. At Whitehall, at the Privy Seal, did with Sir W. Pen take advice about passing of things of his there that concern his matters of Ireland. Thence to the Wardrobe and dined, and so against my judgment and conscience (which God forgive, for my very heart knows that I offend God in breaking my vows herein) to the Opera, which is now newly begun to act again, after some alteracion of their scene, which do make it very much worse; but the play, "Love and Honour," being the first time of their acting it, is a very good plot, and well done. So on foot home, and after a little business done in my study and supper, to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, where we had a deputation from the Duke in his absence, he being gone to Portsmouth, for us to have the whole disposal and ordering of the Fleet. In the afternoon about business up and down, and at night to visit Sir R. Slingsby, who is fallen sick of this new disease, an ague and fever. So home after visiting my aunt Wight and Mrs. Norbury (who continues still a very pleasant lady), and to supper, and so to bed. 23rd. To Whitehall, and there, to drink our morning, Sir W. Pen and I to a friend's lodging of his (Col. Pr. Swell), and at noon he and I dined together alone at the Legg in King Street, and so by coach to Chelsy to my Lord Privy Seal's about business of Sir William's, in which we had a fair admittance to talk with my Lord, and had his answer, and so back to the Opera, and there I saw again "Love and Honour," and a very good play it is. And thence home, calling by the way to see Sir Robert Slingsby, who continues ill, and so home. This day all our office is invited against Tuesday next, my Lord Mayor's day, to dinner with him at Guildhall. This evening Mr. Holliard came and sat with us, and gave us both directions to observe. 24th. At the office all morning, at noon Luellin dined with me, and then abroad to Fleet Street, leaving my wife at Tom's while I went out and did a little business. So home again, and went to see Sir Robert [Slingsby], who continues ill, and this day has not spoke at all, which makes them all afeard of him. So home. 25th. To Whitehall, and so to dinner at the Wardrobe, where my wife met me, and there we met with a venison pasty, and my Lady very merry and very handsome, methought. After dinner my wife and I to the Opera, and there saw again "Love and Honour," a play so good that it has been acted but three times and I have seen them all, and all in this week; which is too much, and more than I will do again a good while. Coming out of the house we met Mrs. Pierce and her comrade Mrs. Clifford, and I seeming willing to stay with them to talk my wife grew angry, and whether she be jealous or no I know, not, but she loves not that I should speak of Mrs. Pierce. Home on foot very discontented, in my way I calling at the Instrument maker, Hunt's, and there saw my lute, which is now almost done, it being to have a new neck to it and to be made to double strings. So home and to bed. This day I did give my man Will a sound lesson about his forbearing to give us the respect due to a master and mistress. 26th. This morning Sir W. Pen and I should have gone out of town with my Lady Batten, to have met Sir William coming back from Portsmouth; at Kingston, but could not, by reason that my Lord of Peterborough (who is to go Governor of Tangier) came this morning, with Sir G. Carteret, to advise with us about completing of the affairs and preparacions for that place. So at the office all the morning, and in the afternoon Sir W. Pen, my wife and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Country Captain," the first time it hath been acted this twenty-five years, a play of my Lord Newcastle's, but so silly a play as in all my life I never saw, and the first that ever I was weary of in my life. So home again, and in the evening news was brought that Sir R. Slingsby, our Comptroller (who hath this day been sick a week), is dead; which put me into so great a trouble of mind, that all the night I could not sleep, he being a man that loved me, and had many qualitys that made me to love him above all the officers and commissioners in the Navy. Coming home we called at Dan Rawlinson's; and there drank good sack, and so home. 27th (Lord's day). At church in the morning; where in the pew both Sir Williams and I had much talk about the death of Sir Robert, which troubles me much; and them in appearance, though I do not believe it; because I know that he was a cheque to their engrossing the whole trade of the Navy office. Home to dinner, and in the afternoon to church again, my wife with me, whose mourning is now grown so old that I am ashamed to go to church with her. And after church to see my uncle and aunt Wight, and there staid and talked and supped with them, and were merry as we could be in their company. Among other things going up into their chamber to see their two pictures, which I am forced to commend against my judgment, and also she showed us her cabinet, where she had very pretty medals and good jewels. So home and to prayers and to bed. 28th. At the office all the morning, and dined at home, and so to Paul's Churchyard to Hunt's, and there found my Theorbo done, which pleases me very well, and costs me 26s. to the altering. But now he tells me it is as good a lute as any is in England, and is worth well L10. Hither I sent for Captain Ferrers to me, who comes with a friend of his, and they and I to the Theatre, and there saw "Argalus and Parthenia," where a woman acted Parthenia, and came afterwards on the stage in men's clothes, and had the best legs that ever I saw, and I was very well pleased with it. Thence to the Ringo alehouse, and thither sent for a belt-maker, and bought of him a handsome belt for second mourning, which cost me 24s., and is very neat. 29th. This day I put on my half cloth black stockings and my new coat of the fashion, which pleases me well, and with my beaver I was (after office was done) ready to go to my Lord Mayor's feast, as we are all invited; but the Sir Williams were both loth to go, because of the crowd, and so none of us went, and I staid and dined with them, and so home, and in evening, by consent, we met at the Dolphin, where other company came to us, and should have been merry, but their wine was so naught, and all other things out of order, that we were not so, but staid long at night, and so home and to bed. My mind not pleased with the spending of this day, because I had proposed a great deal of pleasure to myself this day at Guildhall. This Lord Mayor, it seems, brings up again the Custom of Lord Mayors going the day of their installment to Paul's, and walking round about the Cross, and offering something at the altar. 30th. All the morning at the office. At noon played on my Theorbo, and much pleased therewith; it is now altered with a new neck. In the afternoon Captain Lambert called me out by appointment, and we walked together to Deptford, and there in his ship, the Norwich, I got him to shew me every hole and corner of the ship, much to my information, and the purpose of my going. So home again, and at Sir W. Batten's heard how he had been already at Sir R. Slingsby's, as we were all invited, and I intended this night to go, and there he finds all things out of order, and no such thing done to-night, but pretending that the corps stinks, they will bury it to-night privately, and so will unbespeak all their guests, and there shall be no funerall, which I am sorry for, that there should be nothing done for the honour of Sir Robert, but I fear he hath left his family in great distraction. Here I staid till late at cards with my Lady and Mrs. Martha, and so home. I sent for a bottle or two of wine thither. At my coming home I am sorry to find my wife displeased with her maid Doll, whose fault is that she cannot keep her peace, but will always be talking in an angry manner, though it be without any reason and to no purpose, which I am sorry for and do see the inconvenience that do attend the increase of a man's fortune by being forced to keep more servants, which brings trouble. Sir Henry Vane, Lambert, and others, are lately sent suddenly away from the Tower, prisoners to Scilly; but I do not think there is any plot as is said, but only a pretence; as there was once pretended often against the Cavaliers. 31st. This morning comes Prior of Brampton to me about the house he has to buy of me, but I was forced to be at the office all the morning, and so could not talk with him. And so, after the office was done, and dined at home, I went to my brother Tom's, and there met him. He demanded some abatement, he having agreed with my father for Barton's house, at a price which I told him I could not meddle with, but that as for anything to secure his title to them I was ready, and so we parted. Thence to Sir Robert Bernard, and as his client did ask his advice about my uncle Thomas's case and ours as to Gravely, and in short he tells me that there is little hopes of recovering it or saving his annuity, which do trouble me much, but God's will be done. Hence, with my mind full of trouble, to my uncle Fenner's, when at the alehouse I found him drinking and very jolly and youthsome, and as one that I believe will in a little time get a wife. So home. NOVEMBER 1661 November 1st. I went this morning with Sir W. Pen by coach to Westminster, and having done my business at Mr. Montagu's, I went back to him at Whitehall, and from thence with him to the 3 Tun Tavern, at Charing Cross, and there sent for up the maister of the house's dinner, and dined very well upon it, and afterwards had him and his fayre sister (who is very great with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen in mirth) up to us, and looked over some medals that they shewed us of theirs; and so went away to the Theatre, to "The Joviall Crew," and from hence home, and at my house we were very merry till late, having sent for his son, Mr. William Pen, [The celebrated Quaker, and founder of Pennsylvania.] lately come from Oxford. And after supper parted, and to bed. 2d. At the office all the morning; where Sir John Minnes, our new comptroller, was fetched by Sir Wm. Pen and myself from Sir Wm. Batten's, and led to his place in the office. The first time that he had come hither, and he seems a good fair condition man, and one that I am glad hath the office. After the office done, I to the Wardrobe, and there dined, and in the afternoon had an hour or two's talk with my Lady with great pleasure. And so with the two young ladies by coach to my house, and gave them some entertainment, and so late at night sent them home with Captain Ferrers by coach. This night my boy Wayneman, as I was in my chamber, I overheard him let off some gunpowder; and hearing my wife chide him below for it, and a noise made, I call him up, and find that it was powder that he had put in his pocket, and a match carelessly with it, thinking that it was out, and so the match did give fire to the powder, and had burnt his side and his hand that he put into his pocket to put out the fire. But upon examination, and finding him in a lie about the time and place that he bought it, I did extremely beat him, and though it did trouble me to do it, yet I thought it necessary to do it. So to write by the post, and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). This day I stirred not out, but took physique, and it did work very well, and all the day as I was at leisure I did read in Fuller's Holy Warr, which I have of late bought, and did try to make a song in the praise of a liberall genius (as I take my own to be) to all studies and pleasures, but it not proving to my mind I did reject it and so proceeded not in it. At night my wife and I had a good supper by ourselves of a pullet hashed, which pleased me much to see my condition come to allow ourselves a dish like that, and so at night to bed. 4th. In the morning, being very rainy, by coach with Sir W. Pen and my wife to Whitehall, and sent her to Mrs. Bunt's, and he and I to Mr. Coventry's about business, and so sent for her again, and all three home again, only I to the Mitre (Mr. Rawlinson's), where Mr. Pierce, the Purser, had got us a most brave chine of beef, and a dish of marrowbones. Our company my uncle Wight, Captain Lambert, one Captain Davies, and purser Barter, Mr. Rawlinson, and ourselves; and very merry. After dinner I took coach, and called my wife at my brother's, where I left her, and to the Opera, where we saw "The Bondman," which of old we both did so doat on, and do still; though to both our thinking not so well acted here (having too great expectations), as formerly at Salisbury-court. But for Betterton he is called by us both the best actor in the world. So home by coach, I lighting by the way at my uncle Wight's and staid there a little, and so home after my wife, and to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning. At noon comes my brother Tom and Mr. Armiger to dine with me, and did, and we were very merry. After dinner, I having drunk a great deal of wine, I went away, seeming to go about business with Sir W. Pen, to my Lady Batten's (Sir William being at Chatham), and there sat a good while, and then went away (before I went I called at home to see whether they were gone, and found them there, and Armiger inviting my wife to go to a play, and like a fool would be courting her, but he is an ass, and lays out money with Tom, otherwise I should not think him worth half this respect I shew him). To the Dolphin, where he and I and Captain Cocke sat late and drank much, seeing the boys in the streets flying their crackers, this day being kept all the day very strictly in the City. At last broke up, and called at my Lady Batten's again and would have gone to cards, but Sir W. Pen was so fuddled that we could not try him to play, and therefore we parted, and I home and to bed. 6th. Going forth this morning I met Mr. Davenport and a friend of his, one Mr. Furbisher, to drink their morning draft with me, and I did give it them in good wine, and anchovies, and pickled oysters, and took them to the Sun in Fish Street, there did give them a barrel of good ones, and a great deal of wine, and sent for Mr. W. Bernard (Sir Robert's son), a grocer thereabouts, and were very merry, and cost me a good deal of money, and at noon left them, and with my head full of wine, and being invited by a note from Luellin, that came to my hands this morning in bed, I went to Nick Osborne's at the Victualling Office, and there saw his wife, who he has lately married, a good sober woman, and new come to their home. We had a good dish or two of marrowbones and another of neats' tongues to dinner, and that being done I bade them adieu and hastened to Whitehall (calling Mr. Moore by the way) to my Lord Privy Seal, who will at last force the clerks to bring in a table of their fees, which they have so long denied, but I do not join with them, and so he is very respectful to me. So he desires me to bring in one which I observe in making of fees, which I will speedily do. So back again, and endeavoured to speak with Tom Trice (who I fear is hatching some mischief), but could not, which vexed me, and so I went home and sat late with pleasure at my lute, and so to bed. 7th. This morning came one Mr. Hill (sent by Mr. Hunt, the Instrument maker), to teach me to play on the Theorbo, but I do not like his play nor singing, and so I found a way to put him off. So to the office. And then to dinner, and got Mr. Pett the Commissioner to dinner with me, he and I alone, my wife not being well, and so after dinner parted. And I to Tom Trice, who in short shewed me a writt he had ready for my father, and I promised to answer it. So I went to Dr. Williams (who is now pretty well got up after his sickness), and after that to Mr. Moore to advise, and so returned home late on foot, with my mind cleared, though not satisfied. I met with letters at home from my Lord from Lisbone, which speak of his being well; and he tells me he had seen at the court there the day before he wrote this letter, the Juego de Toro.--[A bull fight. See May 24th, 1662.--B:]--So fitted myself for bed. Coming home I called at my uncle Fenner's, who tells that Peg Kite now hath declared she will have the beggarly rogue the weaver, and so we are resolved neither to meddle nor make with her. 8th. This morning up early, and to my Lord Chancellor's with a letter to him from my Lord, and did speak with him; and he did ask me whether I was son to Mr. Talbot Pepys or no (with whom he was once acquainted in the Court of Requests), and spoke to me with great respect. Thence to Westminster Hall (it being Term time) and there met with Commissioner Pett, and so at noon he and I by appointment to the Sun in New Fish Street, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and we all were to dine, at an invitation of Captain Stoaks and Captain Clerk, and were very merry, and by discourse I found Sir J. Minnes a fine gentleman and a very good scholler. After dinner to the Wardrobe, and thence to Dr. Williams, who went with me (the first time that he has been abroad a great while) to the Six Clerks Office to find me a clerk there able to advise me in my business with Tom Trice, and after I had heard them talk, and had given me some comfort, I went to my brother Tom's, and took him with me to my coz. Turner at the Temple, and had his opinion that I should not pay more than the principal L200, with which I was much pleased, and so home. 9th. At the office all the morning. At noon Mr. Davenport, Phillips, and Mr. Wm. Bernard and Furbisher, came by appointment and dined with me, and we were very merry. After dinner I to the Wardrobe, and there staid talking with my Lady all the afternoon till late at night. Among other things my Lady did mightily urge me to lay out money upon my wife, which I perceived was a little more earnest than ordinary, and so I seemed to be pleased with it, and do resolve to bestow a lace upon her, and what with this and other talk, we were exceeding merry. So home at night. 10th (Lord's day). At our own church in the morning, where Mr. Mills preached. Thence alone to the Wardrobe to dinner with my Lady, where my Lady continues upon yesterday's discourse still for me to lay out money upon my wife, which I think it is best for me to do for her honour and my own. Last night died Archibald, my Lady's butler and Mrs. Sarah's brother, of a dropsy, which I am troubled at. In the afternoon went and sat with Mr. Turner in his pew at St. Gregory's, where I hear our Queen Katherine, the first time by name as such, publickly prayed for, and heard Dr. Buck upon "Woe unto thee, Corazin," &c., where he started a difficulty, which he left to another time to answer, about why God should give means of grace to those people which he knew would not receive them, and deny to others which he himself confesses, if they had had them, would have received them, and they would have been effectual too. I would I could hear him explain this, when he do come to it. Thence home to my wife, and took her to my Aunt Wight's, and there sat a while with her (my uncle being at Katharine hill), and so home, and I to Sir W. Batten's, where Captain Cock was, and we sent for two bottles of Canary to the Rose, which did do me a great deal of hurt, and did trouble me all night, and, indeed, came home so out of order that I was loth to say prayers to-night as I am used ever to do on Sundays, which my wife took notice of and people of the house, which I was sorry for. 11th. To the Wardrobe, and with Mr. Townsend and Moore to the Saracen's Head to a barrel of oysters, and so Mr. Moore and I to Tom Trice's, with whom I did first set my hand to answer to a writt of his this tearm. Thence to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there by appointment met my wife, who had by my direction brought some laces for my Lady to choose one for her. And after dinner I went away, and left my wife and ladies together, and all their work was about this lace of hers. Captain Ferrers and I went together, and he carried me the first time that ever I saw any gaming house, to one, entering into Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, at the end of Bell Yard, where strange the folly of men to lay and lose so much money, and very glad I was to see the manner of a gamester's life, which I see is very miserable, and poor, and unmanly. And thence he took me to a dancing school in Fleet Street, where we saw a company of pretty girls dance, but I do not in myself like to have young girls exposed to so much vanity. So to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady had agreed upon a lace for my wife of L6, which I seemed much glad of that it was no more, though in my mind I think it too much, and I pray God keep me so to order myself and my wife's expenses that no inconvenience in purse or honour follow this my prodigality. So by coach home. 12th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home alone. So abroad with Sir W. Pen. My wife and I to "Bartholomew Fayre," with puppets which I had seen once before, and Ate play without puppets often, but though I love the play as much as ever I did, yet I do not like the puppets at all, but think it to be a lessening to it. Thence to the Greyhound in Fleet Street, and there drank some raspberry sack and eat some sasages, and so home very merry. This day Holmes come to town; and we do expect hourly to hear what usage he hath from the Duke and the King about this late business of letting the Swedish Embassador go by him without striking his flag. [And that, too, in the river Thames itself. The right of obliging ships of all nations to lower topsails, and strike their flag to the English, whilst in the British seas, and even on the French coasts, had, up to this time, been rigidly enforced. When Sully was sent by Henry IV., in 1603, to congratulate James I. on his accession, and in a ship commanded by a vice-admiral of France, he was fired upon by the English Admiral Mansel, for daring to hoist the flag of France in the presence of that of England, although within sight of Calais. The French flag was lowered, and all Sully's remonstrances could obtain no redress for the alleged injury. According to Rugge, Holmes had insisted upon the Swede's lowering his flag, and had even fired a shot to enforce the observance of the usual tribute of respect, but the ambassador sent his secretary and another gentleman on board the English frigate, to assure the captain, upon the word and honour of an ambassador, that the king, by a verbal order, had given him leave and a dispensation in that particular, and upon this false representation he was allowed to proceed on his voyage without further question. This want of caution, and disobedience of orders, fell heavily on Holmes, who was imprisoned for two months, and not re-appointed to the same ship. Brahe afterwards made a proper submission for the fault he had committed, at his own court. His conduct reminds us of Sir Henry Wotton's definition of an ambassador--that he is an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country. A pun upon the term lieger--ambassador.--B.] 13th. By appointment, we all went this morning to wait upon the Duke of York, which we did in his chamber, as he was dressing himself in his riding suit to go this day by sea to the Downs. He is in mourning for his wife's grandmother, which is thought a great piece of fondness. [Fondness, foolishness. "Fondness it were for any, being free, To covet fetters, tho' they golden be." Spenser, Sonnet 37,--M. B.] After we had given him our letter relating the bad condition of the Navy for want of money, he referred it to his coming back and so parted, and I to Whitehall and to see la belle Pierce, and so on foot to my Lord Crew's, where I found him come to his new house, which is next to that he lived in last; here I was well received by my Lord and Sir Thomas, with whom I had great talk: and he tells me in good earnest that he do believe the Parliament (which comes to sit again the next week), will be troublesome to the Court and Clergy, which God forbid! But they see things carried so by my Lord Chancellor and some others, that get money themselves, that they will not endure it. From thence to the Theatre, and there saw "Father's own Son" again, and so it raining very hard I went home by coach, with my mind very heavy for this my expensefull life, which will undo me, I fear, after all my hopes, if I do not take up, for now I am coming to lay out a great deal of money in clothes for my wife, I must forbear other expenses. To bed, and this night began to lie in the little green chamber, where the maids lie, but we could not a great while get Nell to lie there, because I lie there and my wife, but at last, when she saw she must lie there or sit up, she, with much ado, came to bed. 4th. At the office all the morning. At noon I went by appointment to the Sun in Fish Street to a dinner of young Mr. Bernard's for myself, Mr. Phillips, Davenport, Weaver, &c., where we had a most excellent dinner, but a pie of such pleasant variety of good things, as in all my life I never tasted. Hither came to me Captain Lambert to take his leave of me, he being this day to set sail for the Straights. We drank his farewell and a health to all our friends, and were very merry, and drank wine enough. Hence to the Temple to Mr. Turner about drawing up my bill in Chancery against T. Trice, and so to Salisbury Court, where Mrs. Turner is come to town to-night, but very ill still of an ague, which I was sorry to see. So to the Wardrobe and talked with my Lady, and so home and to bed. 15th. At home all the morning, and at noon with my wife to the Wardrobe to dinner, and there, did shew herself to my Lady in the handkercher that she bought the lace for the other day, and indeed it is very handsome. Here I left my wife and went to my Lord Privy Seal to Whitehall, and there did give him a copy of the Fees of the office as I have received them, and he was well pleased with it. So to the Opera, where I met my wife and Captain Ferrers and Madamoiselle Le Blanc, and there did see the second part of "The Siege of Rhodes" very well done; and so by coach set her home, and the coach driving down the hill through Thames Street, which I think never any coach did before from that place to the bridge-foot, but going up Fish Street Hill his horses were so tired, that they could not be got to go up the hill, though all the street boys and men did beat and whip them. At last I was fain to send my boy for a link, and so light out of the coach till we got to another at the corner of Fenchurch Street, and so home, and to bed. 16th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, and so about my business in the afternoon to the Temple, where I found my Chancery bill drawn against T. Trice, which I read and like it, and so home. 17th (Lord's day). To our own church, and at noon, by invitation, Sir W. Pen dined with me, and I took Mrs. Hester, my Lady Batten's kinswoman, to dinner from church with me, and we were very merry. So to church again, and heard a simple fellow upon the praise of Church musique, and exclaiming against men's wearing their hats on in the church, but I slept part of the sermon, till latter prayer and blessing and all was done without waking which I never did in my life. So home, and by and by comes my uncle Wight and my aunt and Mr. Norbury and his lady, and we drank hard and were very merry till supper time, and then we parted, my wife and I being invited to Sir W. Pen's, where we also were very merry, and so home to prayers and to bed. 18th. By coach with Sir W. Pen; my wife and I toward Westminster, but seeing Mr. Moore in the street I light and he and I went to Mr. Battersby's the minister, in my way I putting in at St. Paul's, where I saw the quiristers in their surplices going to prayers, and a few idle poor people and boys to hear them, which is the first time I have seen them, and am sorry to see things done so out of order, and there I received L50 more, which make up L100 that I now have borrowed of him, and so I did burn the old bond for L50, and paying him the use of it did make a new bond for the whole L100. Here I dined and had a good dinner, and his wife a good pretty woman. There was a young Parson at the table that had got himself drunk before dinner, which troubled me to see. After dinner to Mr. Bowers at Westminster for my wife, and brought her to the Theatre to see "Philaster," which I never saw before, but I found it far short of my expectations. So by coach home. 19th. At the office all the morning, and coming home found Mr. Hunt with my wife in the chamber alone, which God forgive me did trouble my head, but remembering that it was washing and that there was no place else with a fire for him to be in, it being also cold weather, I was at ease again. He dined with us, and after dinner took coach and carried him with us as far as my cozen Scott's, where we set him down and parted, and my wife and I staid there at the christening of my cozens boy, where my cozen Samuel Pepys, of Ireland, and I were godfathers, and I did name the child Samuel. There was a company of pretty women there in the chamber, but we staid not, but went with the minister into another room and eat and drank, and at last, when most of the women were gone, Sam and I went into my cozen Scott, who was got off her bed, and so we staid and talked and were very merry, my she-cozen, Stradwick, being godmother. And then I left my wife to go home by coach, and I walked to the Temple about my law business, and there received a subpoena for T. Trice. I carried it myself to him at the usual house at Doctors Commons and did give it him, and so home and to bed. It cost me 20s, between the midwife and the two nurses to-day. 20th. To Westminster Hall by water in the morning, where I saw the King going in his barge to the Parliament House; this being the first day of their meeting again. And the Bishops, I hear, do take their places in the Lords House this day. I walked long in the Hall, but hear nothing of news, but what Ned Pickering tells me, which I am troubled at, that Sir J. Minnes should send word to the King, that if he did not remove all my Lord Sandwich's captains out of this fleet, he believed the King would not be master of the fleet at its coming again: and so do endeavour to bring disgrace upon my Lord. But I hope all that will not do, for the King loves him. Hence by water to the Wardrobe, and dined with my Lady, my Lady Wright being there too, whom I find to be a witty but very conceited woman and proud. And after dinner Mr. Moore and I to the Temple, and there he read my bill and likes it well enough, and so we came back again, he with me as far as the lower end of Cheapside, and there I gave him a pint of sack and parted, and I home, and went seriously to look over my papers touching T. Trice, and I think I have found some that will go near to do me more good in this difference of ours than all I have before. So to bed with my mind cheery upon it, and lay long reading "Hobbs his Liberty and Necessity," and a little but very shrewd piece, and so to sleep. 21st. In the morning again at looking over my last night's papers, and by and by comes Mr. Moore, who finds that my papers may do me much good. He staid and dined with me, and we had a good surloyne of rost beefe, the first that ever I had of my own buying since I kept house; and after dinner he and I to the Temple, and there showed Mr. Smallwood my papers, who likes them well, and so I left them with him, and went with Mr. Moore to Gray's Inn to his chamber, and there he shewed me his old Camden's "Britannica", which I intend to buy of him, and so took it away with me, and left it at St. Paul's Churchyard to be bound, and so home and to the office all the afternoon; it being the first afternoon that we have sat, which we are now to do always, so long as the Parliament sits, who this day have voted the King L 120,000 [A mistake. According to the journals, L1,200,000. And see Diary, February 29th, 1663-64.--M. B.] to be raised to pay his debts. And after the office with Sir W. Batten to the Dolphin, and drank and left him there, and I again to the Temple about my business, and so on foot home again and to bed. 22nd. Within all the morning, and at noon with my wife, by appointment to dinner at the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten, and his lady and daughter Matt, and Captain Cocke and his lady, a German lady, but a very great beauty, and we dined together, at the spending of some wagers won and lost between him and I; and there we had the best musique and very good songs, and were very merry and danced, but I was most of all taken with Madam Cocke and her little boy, which in mirth his father had given to me. But after all our mirth comes a reckoning of L4, besides 40s. to the musicians, which did trouble us, but it must be paid, and so I took leave and left them there about eight at night. And on foot went to the Temple, and then took my cozen Turner's man Roger, and went by his advice to Serjeant Fountaine and told him our case, who gives me good comfort in it, and I gave him 30s. fee. So home again and to bed. This day a good pretty maid was sent my wife by Mary Bowyer, whom my wife has hired. 23rd. To Westminster with my wife (she to her father's), and about 10 o'clock back again home, and there I to the office a little, and thence by coach with Commissioner Pett to Cheapside to one Savill, a painter, who I intend shall do my picture and my wife's. Thence I to dinner at the Wardrobe, and so home to the office, and there all the afternoon till night, and then both Sir Williams to my house, and in comes Captain Cock, and they to cards. By and by Sir W. Batten and Cock, after drinking a good deal of wine, went away, and Sir W. Pen staid with my wife and I to supper, very pleasant, and so good night. This day I have a chine of beef sent home, which I bespoke to send, and did send it as a present to my uncle Wight. 24th (Lord's day). Up early, and by appointment to St. Clement Danes to church, and there to meet Captain Cocke, who had often commended Mr. Alsopp, their minister, to me, who is indeed an able man, but as all things else did not come up to my expectations. His text was that all good and perfect gifts are from above. Thence Cocke and I to the Sun tavern behind the Exchange, and there met with others that are come from the same church, and staid and drank and talked with them a little, and so broke up, and I to the Wardrobe and there dined, and staid all the afternoon with my Lady alone talking, and thence to see Madame Turner, who, poor lady, continues very ill, and I begin to be afraid of her. Thence homewards, and meeting Mr. Yong, the upholster, he and I to the Mitre, and with Mr. Rawlinson sat and drank a quart of sack, and so I to Sir W. Batten's and there staid and supped, and so home, where I found an invitation sent my wife and I to my uncle Wight's on Tuesday next to the chine of beef which I presented them with yesterday. So to prayers and to bed. 25th. To Westminster Hall in the morning with Captain Lambert, and there he did at the Dog give me and some other friends of his, his foy, he being to set sail to-day towards the Streights. Here we had oysters and good wine. Having this morning met in the Hall with Mr. Sanchy, we appointed to meet at the play this afternoon. At noon, at the rising of the House, I met with Sir W. Pen and Major General Massy, [Major-General Edward Massey (or Massie), son of John Massie, was captain of one of the foot companies of the Irish Expedition, and had Oliver Cromwell as his ensign (see Peacock's "Army Lists in 1642," p. 65). He was Governor of Gloucester in its obstinate defence against the royal forces, 1643; dismissed by the self- denying ordinance when he entered Charles II's service. He was taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester, September 3rd, 1651, but escaped abroad.] who I find by discourse to be a very ingenious man, and among other things a great master in the secresys of powder and fireworks, and another knight to dinner, at the Swan, in the Palace yard, and our meat brought from the Legg; and after dinner Sir W. Pen and I to the Theatre, and there saw "The Country Captain," a dull play, and that being done, I left him with his Torys [This is a strange use of the word Tory, and an early one also. The word originally meant bogtrotters or wild Irish, and as Penn was Governor of Kildare these may have been some of his Irish followers. The term was not used politically until about 1679.] and went to the Opera, and saw the last act of "The Bondman," and there found Mr. Sanchy and Mrs. Mary Archer, sister to the fair Betty, whom I did admire at Cambridge, and thence took them to the Fleece in Covent Garden, there to bid good night to Sir W. Pen who staid for me; but Mr. Sanchy could not by any argument get his lady to trust herself with him into the tavern, which he was much troubled at, and so we returned immediately into the city by coach, and at the Mitre in Cheapside there light and drank, and then yet her at her uncle's in the Old Jewry. And so he and I back again thither, and drank till past 12 at night, till I had drank something too much. He all the while telling me his intention to get a girl who is worth L1000, and many times we had her sister Betty's health, whose memory I love. At last parted, and I well home, only had got cold and was hoarse and so to bed. 27th. This morning our maid Dorothy and my wife parted, which though she be a wench for her tongue not to be borne with, yet I was loth to part with her, but I took my leave kindly of her and went out to Savill's, the painter, and there sat the first time for my face with him; thence to dinner with my Lady; and so after an hour or two's talk in divinity with my Lady, Captain Ferrers and Mr. Moore and I to the Theatre, and there saw "Hamlett" very well done, and so I home, and found that my wife had been with my aunt Wight and Ferrers to wait on my Lady to-day this afternoon, and there danced and were very merry, and my Lady very fond as she is always of my wife. So to bed. 28th. At home all the morning; at noon Will brought me from Whitehall, whither I had sent him, some letters from my Lord Sandwich, from Tangier; where he continues still, and hath done some execution upon the Turks, and retaken an Englishman from them, of one Mr. Parker's, a merchant in Marke-lane. In the afternoon Mr. Pett and I met at the office; there being none more there than we two I saw there was not the reverence due to us observed, and so I took occasion to break up and took Mr. Gawdon along with me, and he and I (though it rained) were resolved to go, he to my Lord Treasurer's and I to the Chancellor's with a letter from my Lord to-day. So to a tavern at the end of Mark Lane, and there we staid till with much ado we got a coach, and so to my Lord Treasurer's and lost our labours, then to the Chancellor's, and there met with Mr. Dugdale, and with him and one Mr. Simons, I think that belongs to my Lord Hatton, and Mr. Kipps and others, to the Fountain tavern, and there staid till twelve at night drinking and singing, Mr. Simons and one Mr. Agar singing very well. Then Mr. Gawdon being almost drunk had the wit to be gone, and so I took leave too, and it being a fine moonshine night he and I footed it all the way home, but though he was drunk he went such a pace as I did admire how he was able to go. When I came home I found our new maid Sarah--[Sarah did not stay long with Mrs. Pepys, who was continually falling out with her. She left to enter Sir William Penn's service.]--come, who is a tall and a very well favoured wench, and one that I think will please us. So to bed. 29th. I lay long in bed, till Sir Williams both sent me word that we were to wait upon the Duke of York to-day; and that they would have me to meet them at Westminster Hall, at noon: so I rose and went thither; and there I understand that they are gone to Mr. Coventry's lodgings, in the Old Palace Yard, to dinner (the first time I knew he had any); and there I met them two and Sir G. Carteret, and had a very fine dinner, and good welcome, and discourse; and so, by water, after dinner to White Hall to the Duke, who met us in his closet; and there he did discourse to us the business of Holmes, and did desire of us to know what hath been the common practice about making of forrayne ships to strike sail to us, which they did all do as much as they could; but I could say nothing to it, which I was sorry for. So indeed I was forced to study a lie, and so after we were gone from the Duke, I told Mr. Coventry that I had heard Mr. Selden often say, that he could prove that in Henry the 7th's time, he did give commission to his captains to make the King of Denmark's ships to strike to him in the Baltique. From thence Sir W. Pen and I to the Theatre, but it was so full that we could hardly get any room, so he went up to one of the boxes, and I into the 18d. places, and there saw "Love at first sight," a play of Mr. Killigrew's, and the first time that it hath been acted since before the troubles, and great expectation there was, but I found the play to be a poor thing, and so I perceive every body else do. So home, calling at Paul's Churchyard for a "Mare Clausum," having it in my mind to write a little matter, what I can gather, about the business of striking sayle, and present it to the Duke, which I now think will be a good way to make myself known. So home and to bed. 30th. In the morning to the Temple, Mr. Philips and Dr. Williams about my several law matters, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and after dinner stole away, my Lady not dining out of her chamber, and so home and then to the office all the afternoon, and that being done Sir W. Batten and I and Captain Cock got a bottle of sack into the office, and there we sat late and drank and talked, and so home and to bed. I am this day in very good health, only got a little cold. The Parliament has sat a pretty while. The old condemned judges of the late King have been brought before the Parliament, and like to be hanged. I am deep in Chancery against Tom Trice, God give a good issue; and myself under great trouble for my late great expending of money vainly, which God stop for the future. This is the last day for the old State's coyne [In a speech of Lord Lucas in the House of Lords, the 22nd February, 1670-1 (which speech was burnt by the common hangman), he thus adverted to that coin: "It is evident that there is scarcity of money; for all the parliament's money called breeches (a fit stamp for the coin of the Rump) is wholly vanished--the king's proclamation and the Dutch have swept it all away, and of his now majesty's coin there appears but very little; so that in effect we have none left for common use, but a little old lean coined money of the late three former princes. And what supply is preparing for it, my lords? I hear of none, unless it be of copper farthings, and this is the metal that is to vindicate, according to the inscription on it, the dominion of the four seas."--Quoted in Penn's "Memorials of Sir Wm. Penn," ii. 264.] to pass in common payments, but they say it is to pass in publique payments to the King three months still. DECEMBER 1661 December 1st (Lord's day). In the morning at church and heard Mr. Mills. At home dined and with me by appointment Mr. Sanchy, who should have brought his mistress, Mrs. Mary Archer, of Cambridge, but she could not come, but we had a good dinner for him. And so in the afternoon my wife went to church, and he and I stayed at home and drank and talked, and he stayed with me till night and supped with me, when I expected to have seen Jack Cole and Lem. Wagstaffe, but they did not come. We this day cut a brave collar of brawn from Winchcombe which proves very good, and also opened the glass of girkins which Captain Cocke did give my wife the other day, which are rare things. So at night to bed. There hath lately been great clapping up of some old statesmen, such as Ireton, Moyer, and others, and they say, upon a great plot, but I believe no such thing; but it is but justice that they should be served as they served the poor Cavaliers; and I believe it will oftentimes be so as long as I live, whether there be cause or no. This evening my brother Tom was with me, and I did talk again to him about Mr. Townsend's daughter, and I do intend to put the business in hand. I pray God give a good end to it. 2nd. To Savill the painter's, but he not being well I could do nothing there, and so I returned home, and in my way met Mr. Moore and took him with me home; where we staid and talked all the morning, and he dined with me, and after dinner went away to the Privy Seal, this being our first day this month. By and by called on by Mr. Sanchy and his mistress, and with them by coach to the Opera, to see "The Mad Lover," but not much pleased with the play. That done home all to my house, where they staid and supped and were merry, and at last late bid good night and so we to bed. 3rd. To the Paynter's and sat and had more of my picture done; but it do not please me, for I fear it will not be like me. At noon from thence to the Wardrobe, where dinner not being ready Mr. Moore and I to the Temple about my little business at Mr. Turner's, and so back again, and dinner being half done I went in to my Lady, where my Lady Wright was at dinner with her, and all our talk about the great happiness that my Lady Wright says there is in being in the fashion and in variety of fashions, in scorn of others that are not so, as citizens' wives and country gentlewomen, which though it did displease me enough, yet I said nothing to it. Thence by water to the office through bridge, being carried by him in oars that the other day rowed in a scull faster than my oars to the Towre, and I did give him 6d. At the office all the afternoon, and at night home to read in "Mare Clausum" till bedtime, and so to bed, but had a very bad night by dreams of my wife's riding with me and her horse throwing her and breaking her leg, and then I dreamed that I.. [was] in such pain that I waked with it, and had a great deal of pain there a very great while till I fell asleep again, and such apprehension I had of it that when I rose and trussed up myself thinking that it had been no dream. Till in the daytime I found myself very well at ease, and remembered that I did dream so, and that Mr. Creed was with me, and that I did complain to him of it, and he said he had the same pain in his left that I had in my right... which pleased me much to remember. 4th. To Whitehall with both Sir Williams, thence by water, where I saw a man lie dead upon Westminster Stairs that had been drowned yesterday. To the Temple, and thence to Mr. Phillips and got my copy of Sturtlow lands. So back to the 3 Tuns at Charing Cross, and there met the two Sir Williams and Col. Treswell and Mr. Falconer, and dined there at Sir W. Pen's cost, and after dinner by water to Cheapside to the painter's, and there found my wife, and having sat a little she and I by coach to the Opera and Theatre, but coming too late to both, and myself being a little out of tune we returned, and I settled to read in "Mare Clausum "till bedtime, and so to bed. 5th. This morning I went early to the Paynter's and there sat for my picture the fourth time, but it do not yet please me, which do much trouble me. Thence to the Treasury Office, where I found Sir W. Batten come before me, and there we sat to pay off the St. George. By and by came Sir W. Pen, and he and I staid while Sir W. Batten went home to dinner, and then he came again, and Sir W. Pen and I went and dined at my house, and had two mince pies sent thither by our order from the messenger Slater, that had dressed some victuals for us, and so we were very merry, and after dinner rode out in his coach, he to Whitehall, and my wife and I to the Opera, and saw "Hamlett" well performed. Thence to the Temple and Mrs. Turner's (who continues still very ill), and so home and to bed. 6th. Lay long in bed, and then to Westminster Hall and there walked, and then with Mr. Spicer, Hawly, Washington, and little Mr. Ashwell (my old friends at the Exchequer) to the Dog, and gave them two or three quarts of wine, and so away to White Hall, where, at Sir G. Carteret's, Sir Williams both and I dined very pleasantly; and after dinner, by appointment, came the Governors of the East India Company, to sign and seal the contract between us [Charles II.'s charter to the Company, confirming and extending the former charter, is dated April 3rd, 1661. Bombay, just acquired as part of Queen Katherine's dowry, was made over to the Company by Letters Patent dated March 27th, 1669.] (in the King's name) and them. And that done, we all went to the King's closet, and there spoke with the King and the Duke of York, who promise to be very careful of the India trade to the utmost. So back to Sir G. Carteret's and ended our business, and so away homewards, but Sir W. Batten offering to go to the 3 Tuns at Charing Cross, where the pretty maid the daughter of the house is; I was saying that, that tickled Sir W. Pen, he seemed to take these words very captiously and angrily, which I saw, and seemed indifferent to go home in his coach with them, and so took leave to go to the Council Chamber to speak with my Lord Privy Seal, which I did, but they did stay for me, which I was pleased at, but no words passed between him and me in all our way home. So home and to bed. 7th. This morning comes Captain Ferrers and the German, Emanuel Luffe, who goes as one of my Lord's footmen, though he deserves a much better preferment, to take their leave of me, and here I got the German to play upon my theorbo, which he did both below and in my wife's chamber, who was in bed. He plays bravely. I find by him that my lute is a most excellent lute. I did give them a mince pie and a collar of brawn and some wine for their breakfast, and were very merry, and sent for Mr. Adamson's neighbour to drink Mr. Shepley's health. At last we all parted, but within a quarter of an hour after they were gone, and my wife and I were talking about buying of a fine scallop which is brought her this morning by a woman to be sold, which is to cost her 45s., in comes the German back again, all in a goare of blood, which I wondered at, and tells me that he is afeard that the Captain is killed by the watermen at Towre Stayres; so I presently went thither, and found that upon some rude pressing of the watermen to ply the Captain, he struck one of them with his cane, which they would not take, but struck him again, and then the German drew his sword and ran at one of them, but they were both soundly beaten. [See a similar outrage, committed by Captain Ferrers, September 12th, 1662. Swords were usually worn by footmen. See May 4th, 1662, host.--B.] The Captain is, however, got to the boy that carries him and the pages to the Downs, and I went into the alehouse at the Stayres and got them to deliver the Captain's feathers, which one from the Captain was come to demand, and went home again, and there found my wife dressing of the German's head, and so did [give] him a cravett for his neck, and a crown in his purse, and sent him away again. Then came Mr. Moore, and he and I to Westminster and to Worcester House to see Mr. Montagu before he goes away (this night), but could not see him, nor do I think he has a mind to see us for fear of our demanding of money of him for anything. So back to Whitehall, and eat a bit of meat at Wilkinson's, and then to the Privy Seal, and sealed there the first time this month; and, among other things that passed, there was a patent for Roger Palmer (Madam Palmer's husband) to be Earl of Castlemaine and Baron of Limbricke in Ireland; but the honour is tied up to the males got of the body of this wife, the Lady Barbary: the reason whereof every body knows. That done, by water to the office, when I found Sir W. Pen had been alone all the night and was just rose, and so I to him, and with him I found Captain Holmes, who had wrote his case, and gives me a copy, as he hath many among his friends, and presented the same to the King and Council. Which I shall make use of in my attempt of writing something concerning the business of striking sail, which I am now about. But he do cry out against Sir John Minnes, as the veriest knave and rogue and coward in the world, which I was glad to hear, because he has given out bad words concerning my Lord, though I am sorry it is so. Here Captain Cox then came in, and he and I staid a good while and so good night. Home and wrote by the post to my father, and so to bed. 8th (Lord's day). In bed all the morning thinking to take physique, but it being a frost my wife would not have me. So to dinner at the Wardrobe, and after a great deal of good discourse with my Lady after dinner, and among other things of the great christening yesterday at Mr. Rumbell's, and courtiers and pomp that was there, which I wonder at, I went away up and down into all the churches almost between that place and my house, and so home. And then came my brother Tom, and staid and talked with me, and I hope he will do very well and get money. So to supper and to bed. This morning as I was in bed, one brings me T. Trice's answer to my bill in chancery from Mr. Smallwood, which I am glad to see, though I am afraid it will do me hurt. 9th. To Whitehall, and thence to the Rhenish wine-house, where I met Mons. Eschar and there took leave of him, he being to go this night to the Downs towards Portugall, and so spent all the morning. At noon to dinner to the Wardrobe; where my Lady Wright was, who did talk much upon the worth and the desert of gallantry; and that there was none fit to be courtiers, but such as have been abroad and know fashions. Which I endeavoured to oppose; and was troubled to hear her talk so, though she be a very wise and discreet lady in other things. From thence Mr. Moore and I to the Temple about my law business with my cozen Turner, and there we read over T. Trice's answer to my bill and advised thereupon what to do in his absence, he being to go out of town to-morrow. Thence he and I to Mr. Walpole, my attorney, whom I never saw before, and we all to an alehouse hard by, and there we talked of our business, and he put me into great hopes, but he is but a young man, and so I do not depend so much upon his encouragement. So by coach home, and to supper, and to bed, having staid up till 12 at night writing letters to my Lord Sandwich and all my friends with him at sea, to send to-morrow by Mons. Eschar, who goes tomorrow post to the Downs to go along with the fleet to Portugall. 10th. To Whitehall, and there finding Mons. Eschar to be gone, I sent my letters by a porter to the posthouse in Southwark to be sent by despatch to the Downs. So to dinner to my Lord Crew's by coach, and in my way had a stop of above an hour and a half, which is a great trouble this Parliament time, but it cannot be helped. However I got thither before my Lord come from the House, and so dined with him, and dinner done, home to the office, and there sat late and so home. 11th. My brother Tom and then Mr. Moore came to me this morning, and staid a while with me, and then I went out, and in my way met with Mr. Howell the Turner, who invited me to dine this day at Mr. Rawlinson's with some friends of his, officers of the Towre, at a venison pasty, which I promised him, and so I went to the Old Bayly, and there staid and drank with him, who told me the whole story how Pegg Kite has married herself to a weaver, an ugly fellow, to her undoing, of which I am glad that I have nothing to do in it. From thence home and put on my velvet coat, and so to the Mitre to dinner according to my promise this morning, but going up into the room I found at least 12 or more persons, and knew not the face of any of them, so I went down again, and though I met Mr. Yong the upholster yet I would not be persuaded to stay, but went away and walked to the Exchequer, and up and down, and was very hungry, and from thence home, when I understand Mr. Howell was come for me to go thither, but I am glad I was not at home, and my wife was gone out by coach to Clerkenwell to see Mrs. Margaret Pen, who is at school there. So I went to see Sir W. Pen, who for this two or three days has not been well, and he and I after some talk took a coach and went to Moorfields, and there walked, though it was very cold, an hour or two, and went into an alehouse, and there I drank some ale and eat some bread and cheese, but he would not eat a bit, and so being very merry we went home again. He to his lodgings and I by promise to Sir W. Batten's, where he and my lady have gone out of town, and so Mrs. Martha was at home alone, and Mrs. Moore and there I supped upon some good things left of yesterday's dinner there, where dined a great deal of company--Sir R. Browne and others--and by and by comes in Captain Cox who promised to be here with me, but he staid very late, and had been drinking somewhere and was very drunk, and so very capricious, which I was troubled to see in a man that I took for a very wise and wary man. So I home and left him there, and so to bed. 12th. We lay long in bed, then up and made me ready, and by and by come Will Bowyer and Mr. Gregory, my old Exchequer friend, to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin and there did give them a good morning draft, and so parted, and invited them and all my old Exchequer acquaintance to come and dine with me there on Wednesday next. From thence to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, where her brother, Mr. John Crew, dined also, and a strange gentlewoman dined at the table as a servant of my Lady's; but I knew her not, and so I am afeard that poor Madamoiselle was gone, but I since understand that she is come as housekeeper to my Lady, and is a married woman. From thence to Westminster to my Lord's house to meet my Lord Privy Seal, who appointed to seal there this afternoon, but by and by word is brought that he is come to Whitehall, and so we are fain to go thither to him, and there we staid to seal till it was so late that though I got leave to go away before he had done, yet the office was done before I could get thither, and so to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat and talked and drank with him, and so home. 13th. At home all the morning, being by the cold weather, which for these two days has been frost, in some pain in my bladder. Dined at home and then with my wife to the Paynter's, and there she sat the first time to be drawn, while I all the while stood looking on a pretty lady's picture, whose face did please me extremely. At last, he having done, I found that the dead colour of my wife is good, above what I expected, which pleased me exceedingly. So home and to the office about some special business, where Sir Williams both were, and from thence with them to the Steelyard, where my Lady Batten and others came to us, and there we drank and had musique and Captain Cox's company, and he paid all, and so late back again home by coach, and so to bed. 14th. All the morning at home lying in bed with my wife till 11 o'clock. Such a habit we have got this winter of lying long abed. Dined at home, and in the afternoon to the office. There sat late, and so home and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, where our young Reader begun the first day to read. Sir W. Pen dined with me and we were merry. Again to church and so home, and all alone read till bedtime, and so to prayers and to bed. I have been troubled this day about a difference between my wife and her maid Nell, who is a simple slut, and I am afeard we shall find her a cross-grained wench. I am now full of study about writing something about our making of strangers strike to us at sea; and so am altogether reading Selden and Grotius, and such other authors to that purpose. 16th. Up by five o'clock this morning by candlelight (which I have not done for many a day), being called upon by one Mr. Bollen by appointment, who has business to be done with my Lord Privy Seal this morning, and so by coach, calling Mr. Moore at the Wardrobe, to Chelsy, and there did get my Lord to seal it. And so back again to Westminster Hall, and thence to my Lord Sandwich's lodging, where I met my wife (who had been to see Mrs. Hunt who was brought to bed the other day of a boy), and got a joint of meat thither from the Cook's, and she and I and Sarah dined together, and after dinner to the Opera, where there was a new play ("Cutter of Coleman Street"), [Cutter, an old word for a rough swaggerer: hence the title of Cowley's play. It was originally called "The Guardian," when acted before Prince Charles at Trinity College, Cambridge, on March 12th, 1641.] made in the year 1658, with reflections much upon the late times; and it being the first time, the pay was doubled, and so to save money, my wife and I went up into the gallery, and there sat and saw very well; and a very good play it is. It seems of Cowly's making. From thence by coach home, and to bed. 17th. Up and to the Paynter's to see how he went forward in our picture. So back again to dinner at home, and then was sent for to the Privy Seal, whither I was forced to go and stay so long and late that I was much vexed. At last we got all done, and then made haste to the office, where they were sat, and there we sat late, and so home to supper and to Selden, "Mare Clausum," and so to bed. 18th. At the office upon business extraordinary all the morning, then to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, whither my wife, who had been at the painter's, came to me, and there dined, and there I left her, and to the Temple my brother and I to see Mrs. Turner, who begins to be better, and so back to my Lady's, where much made of, and so home to my study till bed-time, and so to bed. 19th. This morning my wife dressed herself fine to go to the christening of Mrs. Hunt's child, and so she and I in the way in the morning went to the Paynter s, and there she sat till noon, and I all the while looking over great variety of good prints which he had, and by and by comes my boy to tell us that Mrs. Hunt has been at our house to tell us that the christening is not till Saturday next. So after the Paynter had done I did like the picture pretty well, and my wife and I went by coach home, but in the way I took occasion to fall out with my wife very highly about her ribbands being ill matched and of two colours, and to very high words, so that, like a passionate fool, I did call her whore, for which I was afterwards sorry. But I set her down at home, and went myself by appointment to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Warren did give us all a good dinner, and that being done, to the office, and there sat late, and so home. 20th. Lay long in bed, and then up, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and from thence out with Mr. Moore towards my house, and in our way met with Mr. Swan (my old acquaintance), and we to a tavern, where we had enough of his old simple religious talk, and he is still a coxcomb in these things as he ever was, and tells me he is setting out a book called "The unlawfull use of lawfull things;" but a very simple fellow he is, and so I leave him. So we drank and at last parted, and Mr. Moore and I into Cornhill, it being dark night, and in the street and on the Exchange discoursed about Dominion of the Sea, wherein I am lately so much concerned, and so I home and sat late up reading of Mr. Selden, and so to bed. 21st. To White Hall to the Privy Seal, where my Lord Privy Seal did tell us he could seal no more this month, for that he goes thirty miles out of town to keep his Christmas. At which I was glad, but only afeard lest any thing of the King's should force us to go after him to get a seal in the country. Thence to Westminster Hall (having by the way drank with Mrs. Sarah and Mrs. Betty at my Lord's lodgings), and thence taken by some Exchequer men to the Dogg, where, being St. Thomas's day, by custom they have a general meeting at dinner. There I was and all very merry, and there I spoke to Mr. Falconberge to look whether he could out of Domesday Book, give me any thing concerning the sea, and the dominion thereof; which he says he will look after. Thence taking leave to my brother's, and there by appointment met with Prior of Brampton who had money to pay me, but desiring some advice he stays till Monday. So by coach home to the office, where I was vexed to see Sir Williams both seem to think so much that I should be a little out of the way, saying that without their Register they were not a Committee, which I took in some dudgeon, and see clearly that I must keep myself at a little distance with them and not crouch, or else I shall never keep myself up even with them. So home and wrote letters by the post. This evening my wife come home from christening Mrs. Hunt's son, his name John, and a merchant in Mark Lane came along with her, that was her partner. So after my business was done, and read something in Mr. Selden, I went to bed. 22nd. To church in the morning, where the Reader made a boyish young sermon. Home to dinner, and there I took occasion, from the blacknesse of the meat as it came out of the pot, to fall out with my wife and my maid for their sluttery, and so left the table, and went up to read in Mr. Selden till church time, and then my wife and I to church, and there in the pew, with the rest of the company, was Captain Holmes, in his gold-laced suit, at which I was troubled because of the old business which he attempted upon my wife. So with my mind troubled I sat still, but by and by I took occasion from the rain now holding up (it raining when we came into the church) to put my wife in mind of going to the christening (which she was invited to) of N. Osborne's child, which she did, and so went out of the pew, and my mind was eased. So home after sermon and there came by appointment Dr. T. Pepys, Will. Joyce, and my brother Tom, and supped with me, and very merry they were, and I seemed to be, but I was not pleased at all with their company. So they being gone we went to bed. 23rd. Early up and by coach (before daylight) to the Wardrobe, and took up Mr. Moore, and he and I to Chelsy to my Lord Privy Seal, and there sealed some things, he being to go out of town for all Christmas to-morrow. So back again to Westminster, and from thence by water to the Treasury Office, where I found Sir W. Pen paying off the Sophia and Griffen, and there I staid with him till noon, and having sent for some collar of beef and a mince pie, we eat and drank, and so I left him there and to my brother's by appointment to meet Prior, but he came not, so I went and saw Mrs. Turner who continues weak, and by and by word was brought me that Prior's man was come to Tom's, and so I went and told out L128 which I am to receive of him, but Prior not coming I went away and left the money by his desire with my brother all night, and they to come to me to-morrow morning. So I took coach, and lighting at my bookseller's in Paul's Churchyard, I met with Mr. Crumlum and the second master of Paul's School, and thence I took them to the Starr, and there we sat and talked, and I had great pleasure in their company, and very glad I was of meeting him so accidentally, I having omitted too long to go to see him. Here in discourse of books I did offer to give the school what books he would choose of L5. So we parted, and I home, and to Mr. Selden, and then to bed. 24th. Home all the morning and dined at home, and in the afternoon to the office. So home. 25th. In the morning to church, where at the door of our pew I was fain to stay, because that the sexton had not opened the door. A good sermon of Mr. Mills. Dined at home all alone, and taking occasion from some fault in the meat to complain of my maid's sluttery, my wife and I fell out, and I up to my chamber in a discontent. After dinner my wife comes up to me and all friends again, and she and I to walk upon the leads, and there Sir W. Pen called us, and we went to his house and supped with him, but before supper Captain Cock came to us half drunk, and began to talk, but Sir W. Pen knowing his humour and that there was no end of his talking, drinks four great glasses of wine to him, one after another, healths to the king, and by that means made him drunk, and so he went away, and so we sat down to supper, and were merry, and so after supper home and to bed. 26th. This morning Sir W. Pen and I to the Treasury office, and there we paid off the Amity (Captain Stokes's ship that was at Guinny) and another ship, and so home, and after dinner Sir William came to me, and he and his son and Aaugliter, and I and my wife, by coach to Moorfields to walk; but it was most foul weather, and so we went into an alehouse and there eat some cakes and ale, and a washeallbowle ["The wenches with their wassall bowls About the streets are singing." --Wither's Christmas Carol. The old custom of carrying the wassail bowl from door to door, with songs and merriment, in Christmas week, is still observed in some of our rural districts.--B.] woman and girl came to us and sung to us. And after all was done I called my boy (Wayneman) to us to eat some cake that was left, and the woman of the house told us that he had called for two cakes and a pot of ale for himself, at which I was angry, and am resolved to correct him for it. So home, and Sir W. Pen and his son and daughter to supper to me to a good turkey, and were merry at cards, and so to bed. 27th. In the morning to my Bookseller's to bespeak a Stephens's Thesaurus, for which I offer L4, to give to Paul's School; and from thence to Paul's Church; and there I heard Dr. Gunning preach a good sermon upon the day (being St. John's day), and did hear him tell a story, which he did persuade us to believe to be true, that St. John and the Virgin Mary did appear to Gregory, a Bishopp, at his prayer to be confirmed in the faith, which I did wonder to hear from him. Here I met with Mr. Crumlum (and told him of my endeavour to get Stephens's Thesaurus for the school), and so home, and after dinner comes Mr. Faulconberge to see me, and at his desire I sent over for his kinsman Mr. Knightly, the merchant, and so he came over and sat and drank with us, and at his request I went over with him, and there I sat till the evening, and till both Mr. Knightly and Mr. Faulconberge (for whom I sent my boy to get a coach to carry him to Westminster) were both drunk, and so home, but better wine I never drank in all my life. So home, and finding my wife gone to Sir W. Pen's, I went thither, and there I sat and played at cards and supped, and so home and to bed. 28th. At home all the morning; and in the afternoon all of us at the office, upon a letter from the Duke for the making up of a speedy estimate of all the debts of the Navy, which is put into good forwardness. I home and Sir W. Pen to my house, who with his children staid playing cards late, and so to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Long in bed with my wife, and though I had determined to go to dine with my wife at my Lady's, (chiefly to put off dining with Sir W. Pen to-day because Holmes dined there), yet I could not get a coach time enough to go thither, and so I dined at home, and my brother Tom with me, and then a coach came and I carried my wife to Westminster, and she went to see Mrs. Hunt, and I to the Abbey, and there meeting with Mr. Hooper, he took me in among the quire, and there I sang with them their service, and so that being done, I walked up and down till night for that Mr. Coventry was not come to Whitehall since dinner again. At last I went thither and he was come, and I spoke with him about some business of the office, and so took leave of him, and sent for my wife and the coach, and so to the Wardrobe and supped, and staid very long talking with my Lady, who seems to doat every day more and more upon us. So home and to prayers, and to bed. 30th. At the office about this estimate and so with my wife and Sir W. Pen to see our pictures, which do not much displease us, and so back again, and I staid at the Mitre, whither I had invited all my old acquaintance of the Exchequer to a good chine of beef, which with three barrels of oysters and three pullets, and plenty of wine and mirth, was our dinner, and there was about twelve of us, among others Mr. Bowyer, the old man, and Mr. Faulconberge, Shadwell, Taylor, Spicer, Woodruffe (who by reason of some friend that dined with him came to us after dinner), Servington, &c., and here I made them a foolish promise to give them one this day twelvemonth, and so for ever while I live, but I do not intend it. Mere I staid as long as I could keep them, and so home to Sir W. Pen, who with his children and my wife has been at a play to-day and saw "D'Ambois," which I never saw. Here we staid late at supper and playing at cards, and so home and 31st. My wife and I this morning to the Paynter's, and there she sat the last time, and I stood by and did tell him some little things to do, that now her picture I think will please me very well; and after her, her little black dogg sat in her lap; and was drawn, which made us very merry; so home to dinner, and so to the office; and there late finishing our estimate of the debts of the Navy to this day; and it come to near L374,000. So home, and after supper, and my barber had trimmed me, I sat down to end my journell for this year, and my condition at this time, by God's blessing, is thus: my health (only upon catching cold, which brings great pain in my back... as it used to be when I had the stone) is very good, and so my wife's in all respects: my servants, W. Hewer, Sarah, Nell, and Wayneman: my house at the Navy Office. I suppose myself to be worth about L500 clear in the world, and my goods of my house my own, and what is coming to me from Brampton, when my father dies, which God defer. But, by my uncle's death, the whole care and trouble of all, and settling of all lies upon me, which is very great, because of law-suits, especially that with T. Trice, about the interest of L200, which will, I hope, be ended soon. My chiefest thought is now to get a good wife for Tom, there being one offered by the Joyces, a cozen of theirs, worth L200 in ready money. I am also upon writing a little treatise to present to the Duke, about our privilege in the seas, as to other nations striking their flags to us. But my greatest trouble is, that I have for this last half year been a very great spendthrift in all manner of respects, that I am afeard to cast up my accounts, though I hope I am worth what I say above. But I will cast them up very shortly. I have newly taken a solemn oath about abstaining from plays and wine, which I am resolved to keep according to the letter of the oath which I keep by me. The fleet hath been ready to sail for Portugall, but hath lacked wind this fortnight, and by that means my Lord is forced to keep at sea all this winter, till he brings home the Queen, which is the expectation of all now, and the greatest matter of publique talk. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR PEPYS DIARY OF 1961: A most tedious, unreasonable, and impertinent sermon A play not very good, though commended much A great baboon, but so much like a man in most things A little while since a very likely man to live as any I knew A lady spit backward upon me by a mistake After dinner my wife comes up to me and all friends again Ambassador--that he is an honest man sent to lie abroad And so by coach, though hard to get it, being rainy, home As all things else did not come up to my expectations Begun to smell, and so I caused it to be set forth (corpse) Being sure never to see the like again in this world Believe that England and France were once the same continent Bleeding behind by leeches will cure him But she loves not that I should speak of Mrs. Pierce By chewing of tobacco is become very fat and sallow Cannot bring myself to mind my business Chocolate was introduced into England about the year 1652 Comely black woman.--[The old expression for a brunette.] Coming to lay out a great deal of money in clothes for my wife Cruel custom of throwing at cocks on Shrove Tuesday Day I first begun to go forth in my coat and sword Did extremely beat him, and though it did trouble me to do it Did trouble me very much to be at charge to no purpose Difference there will be between my father and mother about it Discontented that my wife do not go neater now she has two maids Dominion of the Sea Durst not take notice of her, her husband being there Eat of the best cold meats that ever I eat on in all my life Exclaiming against men's wearing their hats on in the church Faced white coat, made of one of my wife's pettycoates Family being all in mourning, doing him the greatest honour Fear I shall not be able to wipe my hands of him again Fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did in my life Finding my wife not sick, but yet out of order Foolery to take too much notice of such things Found my brother John at eight o'clock in bed, which vexed me Found him not so ill as I thought that he had been ill Frogs and many insects do often fall from the sky, ready formed From some fault in the meat to complain of my maid's sluttery Gamester's life, which I see is very miserable, and poor Get his lady to trust herself with him into the tavern God! what an age is this, and what a world is this Good God! how these ignorant people did cry her up for it! Good wine, and anchovies, and pickled oysters (for breakfast) Greedy to see the will, but did not ask to see it till to-morrow Have been so long absent that I am ashamed to go His company ever wearys me I could not forbear to love her exceedingly I took occasion to be angry with him I had the opportunity of kissing Mrs. Rebecca very often I would fain have stolen a pretty dog that followed me I broke wind and so came to some ease I was as merry as I could counterfeit myself to be I went in and kissed them, demanding it as a fee due In men's clothes, and had the best legs that ever I saw Inconvenience that do attend the increase of a man's fortune Instructed by Shakespeare himself Jealousy of him and an ugly wench that lived there lately Justice of God in punishing men for the sins of their ancestors King, Duke and Duchess, and Madame Palmer, were Lady Batten how she was such a man's whore Lady Batten to give me a spoonful of honey for my cold Lately too much given to seeing of plays, and expense Lay with her to-night, which I have not done these eight(days) Lewdness and beggary of the Court Like a passionate fool, I did call her whore Look askew upon my wife, because my wife do not buckle to them Made a lazy sermon, like a Presbyterian Man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation My head was not well with the wine that I drank to-day My great expense at the Coronacion My wife and I fell out None will sell us any thing without our personal security given Oliver Cromwell as his ensign Quakers do still continue, and rather grow than lessen Sat before Mrs. Palmer, the King's mistress, and filled my eyes Seemed much glad of that it was no more She hath got her teeth new done by La Roche She would not let him come to bed to her out of jealousy She is a very good companion as long as she is well Sir W. Pen was so fuddled that we could not try him to play So the children and I rose and dined by ourselves So home and to bed, where my wife had not lain a great while So much wine, that I was even almost foxed Sorry in some respect, glad in my expectations in another respec Still in discontent with my wife, to bed, and rose so this morn Strange the folly of men to lay and lose so much money That I might not seem to be afeared The Lords taxed themselves for the poor--an earl, s. The unlawfull use of lawfull things The barber came to trim me and wash me "The Alchymist,"--[Comedy by Ben Jonson The monkey loose, which did anger me, and so I did strike her This week made a vow to myself to drink no wine this week This day churched, her month of childbed being out Those absent from prayers were to pay a forfeit To be so much in love of plays Took occasion to fall out with my wife very highly Took physique, and it did work very well Tory--The term was not used politically until about 1679 Troubled to see my father so much decay of a suddain Vices of the Court, and how the pox is so common there Was kissing my wife, which I did not like We do naturally all love the Spanish, and hate the French We are to go to law never to revenge, but only to repayre We had a good surloyne of rost beefe What they all, through profit or fear, did promise What people will do tomorrow Who seems so inquisitive when my house will be made an end of Who we found ill still, but he do make very much of it Woman with a rod in her hand keeping time to the musique Wronged by my over great expectations 
4134	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY & JUNE 1662 May 1st. Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself, with our clerks, set out this morning from Portsmouth very early, and got by noon to Petersfield; several officers of the Yard accompanying us so far. Here we dined and were merry. At dinner comes my Lord Carlingford from London, going to Portsmouth: tells us that the Duchess of York is brought to bed of a girl,--[Mary, afterwards Queen of England.]--at which I find nobody pleased; and that Prince Rupert and the Duke of Buckingham are sworn of the Privy Councell. He himself made a dish with eggs of the butter of the Sparagus, which is very fine meat, which I will practise hereafter. To horse again after dinner, and got to Gilford, where after supper I to bed, having this day been offended by Sir W. Pen's foolish talk, and I offending him with my answers. Among others he in discourse complaining of want of confidence, did ask me to lend him a grain or two, which I told him I thought he was better stored with than myself, before Sir George. So that I see I must keep a greater distance than I have done, and I hope I may do it because of the interest which I am making with Sir George. To bed all alone, and my Will in the truckle bed. [According to the original Statutes of Corpus Christi Coll. Oxon, a Scholar slept in a truckle bed below each Fellow. Called also "a trindle bed." Compare Hall's description of an obsequious tutor: "He lieth in a truckle bed While his young master lieth o'er his head." Satires, ii. 6, 5. The bed was drawn in the daytime under the high bed of the tutor. See Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century."--M. B.] 2nd. Early to coach again and to Kingston, where we baited a little, and presently to coach again and got early to London, and I found all well at home, and Mr. Hunt and his wife had dined with my wife to-day, and been very kind to my wife in my absence. After I had washed myself, it having been the hottest day that has been this year, I took them all by coach to Mrs. Hunt's, and I to Dr. Clerke's lady, and gave her her letter and token. She is a very fine woman, and what with her person and the number of fine ladies that were with her, I was much out of countenance, and could hardly carry myself like a man among them; but however, I staid till my courage was up again, and talked to them, and viewed her house, which is most pleasant, and so drank and good-night. And so to my Lord's lodgings, where by chance I spied my Lady's coach, and found her and my Lady Wright there, and so I spoke to them, and they being gone went to Mr. Hunt's for my wife, and so home and to bed. 3rd. Sir W. Pen and I by coach to St. James's, and there to the Duke's Chamber, who had been a-hunting this morning and is come back again. Thence to Westminster, where I met Mr. Moore, and hear that Mr. Watkins' is suddenly dead since my going. To dinner to my Lady Sandwich, and Sir Thomas Crew's children coming thither, I took them and all my Ladys to the Tower and showed them the lions [The Tower Menagerie was not abolished until the reign of William IV.] and all that was to be shown, and so took them to my house, and there made much of them, and so saw them back to my Lady's. Sir Thomas Crew's children being as pretty and the best behaved that ever I saw of their age. Thence, at the goldsmith's, took my picture in little,--[Miniature by Savill]--which is now done, home with me, and pleases me exceedingly and my wife. So to supper and to bed, it being exceeding hot. 4th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with my wife, then Mr. Holliard came to me and let me blood, about sixteen ounces, I being exceedingly full of blood and very good. I begun to be sick; but lying upon my back I was presently well again, and did give him 5s. for his pains, and so we parted, and I, to my chamber to write down my journall from the beginning of my late journey to this house. Dined well, and after dinner, my arm tied up with a black ribbon, I walked with my wife to my brother Tom's; our boy waiting on us with his sword, which this day he begins to wear, to outdo Sir W. Pen's boy, who this day, and Six W. Batten's too, begin to wear new livery; but I do take mine to be the neatest of them all. I led my wife to Mrs. Turner's pew, and the church being full, it being to hear a Doctor who is to preach a probacon sermon, I went out to the Temple and there walked, and so when church was done went to Mrs. Turner's, and after a stay there, my wife and I walked to Grays Inn, to observe fashions of the ladies, because of my wife's making some clothes. Thence homewards, and called in at Antony Joyce's, where we found his wife brought home sick from church, and was in a convulsion fit. So home and to Sir W. Pen's and there supped, and so to prayers at home and to bed. 5th. My arme not being well, I staid within all the morning, and dined alone at home, my wife being gone out to buy some things for herself, and a gown for me to dress myself in. And so all the afternoon looking over my papers, and at night walked upon the leads, and so to bed. 6th. This morning I got my seat set up on the leads, which pleases me well. So to the office, and thence to the Change, but could not meet with my uncle Wight. So home to dinner and then out again to several places to pay money and to understand my debts, and so home and walked with my wife on the leads, and so to supper and to bed. I find it a hard matter to settle to business after so much leisure and pleasure. 7th. Walked to Westminster; where I understand the news that Mr. Montagu is this last night come to the King with news, that he left the Queen and fleet in the Bay of Biscay, coming this wayward; and that he believes she is now at the Isle of Scilly. So at noon to my Lord Crew's and there dined, and after dinner Sir Thos. Crew and I talked together, and among other instances of the simple light discourse that sometimes is in the Parliament House, he told me how in the late business of Chymny money, when all occupiers were to pay, it was questioned whether women were under that name to pay, and somebody rose and said that they were not occupiers, but occupied. Thence to Paul's Church Yard; where seeing my Lady's Sandwich and Carteret, and my wife (who this day made a visit the first time to my Lady Carteret), come by coach, and going to Hide Park, I was resolved to follow them; and so went to Mrs. Turner's: and thence found her out at the Theatre, where I saw the last act of the "Knight of the Burning Pestle," which pleased me not at all. And so after the play done, she and The. Turner and Mrs. Lucin and I, in her coach to the Park; and there found them out, and spoke to them; and observed many fine ladies, and staid till all were gone almost. And so to Mrs. Turner's, and there supped, and so walked home, and by and by comes my wife home, brought by my Lady Carteret to the gate, and so to bed. 8th. At the office all the morning doing business alone, and then to the Wardrobe, where my, Lady going out with the children to dinner I staid not, but returned home, and was overtaken in St. Paul's Churchyard by Sir G. Carteret in his coach, and so he carried me to the Exchange, where I staid awhile. He told me that the Queen and the fleet were in Mount's Bay on Monday last, and that the Queen endures her sickness pretty well. He also told me how Sir John Lawson hath done some execution upon the Turks in the Straight, of which I am glad, and told the news the first on the Exchange, and was much followed by merchants to tell it. So home and to dinner, and by and by to the office, and after the rest gone (my Lady Albemarle being this day at dinner at Sir W. Batten's) Sir G. Carteret comes, and he and I walked in the garden, and, among other discourse, tells me that it is Mr. Coventry that is to come to us as a Commissioner of the Navy; at which he is much vexed, and cries out upon Sir W. Pen, and threatens him highly. And looking upon his lodgings, which are now enlarging, he in passion cried, "Guarda mi spada; for, by God, I may chance to keep him in Ireland, when he is there:" for Sir W. Pen is going thither with my Lord Lieutenant. But it is my design to keep much in with Sir George; and I think I have begun very well towards it. So to the office, and was there late doing business, and so with my head full of business I to bed. 9th. Up and to my office, and so to dinner at home, and then to several places to pay my debts, and then to Westminster to Dr. Castle, who discoursed with me about Privy Seal business, which I do not much mind, it being little worth, but by Watkins's--[clerk of the Privy Seal]--late sudden death we are like to lose money. Thence to Mr. de Cretz, and there saw some good pieces that he hath copyed of the King's pieces, some of Raphael and Michael Angelo; and I have borrowed an Elizabeth of his copying to hang up in my house, and sent it home by Will. Thence with Mr. Salisbury, who I met there, into Covent Garden to an alehouse, to see a picture that hangs there, which is offered for 20s., and I offered fourteen--but it is worth much more money--but did not buy it, I having no mind to break my oath. Thence to see an Italian puppet play that is within the rayles there, which is very pretty, the best that ever I saw, and great resort of gallants. So to the Temple and by water home, and so walk upon the leads, and in the dark there played upon my flageolette, it being a fine still evening, and so to supper and to bed. This day I paid Godfrey's debt of 40 and odd pounds. The Duke of York went last night to Portsmouth; so that I believe the Queen is near. 10th. By myself at the office all the morning drawing up instructions for Portsmouth yard in those things wherein we at our late being there did think fit to reform, and got them signed this morning to send away to-night, the Duke being now there. At noon to the Wardrobe; there dined. My Lady told me how my Lady Castlemaine do speak of going to lie in at Hampton Court; which she and all our ladies are much troubled at, because of the King's being forced to show her countenance in the sight of the Queen when she comes. Back to the office and there all afternoon, and in the evening comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I did hire a ship for Tangier, and other things together; and I find that he do single me out to join with me apart from the rest, which I am much glad of. So home, and after being trimmed, to bed. 11th (Lord's day). To our church in the morning, where, our Minister being out of town, a dull, flat Presbiter preached. Dined at home, and my wife's brother with us, we having a good dish of stewed beef of Jane's own dressing, which was well done, and a piece of sturgeon of a barrel sent me by Captain Cocke. In the afternoon to White Hall; and there walked an hour or two in the Park, where I saw the King now out of mourning, in a suit laced with gold and silver, which it was said was out of fashion. Thence to the Wardrobe; and there consulted with the ladies about our going to Hampton Court to-morrow, and thence home, and after settled business there my wife and I to the Wardrobe, and there we lay all night in Captain Ferrers' chambers, but the bed so soft that I could not sleep that hot night. 12th. Mr. Townsend called us up by four o'clock; and by five the three ladies, my wife and I, and Mr. Townsend, his son and daughter, were got to the barge and set out. We walked from Mortlake to Richmond, and so to boat again. And from Teddington to Hampton Court Mr. Townsend and I walked again. And then met the ladies, and were showed the whole house by Mr. Marriott; which is indeed nobly furnished, particularly the Queen's bed, given her by the States of Holland; a looking-glass sent by the Queen-mother from France, hanging in the Queen's chamber, and many brave pictures. So to Mr. Marriott's, and there we rested ourselves and drank. And so to barge again, and there we had good victuals and wine, and were very merry; and got home about eight at night very well. So my wife and I took leave of my Ladies, and home by a hackney-coach, the easiest that ever I met with, and so to bed. 14th. All the morning at Westminster and elsewhere about business, and dined at the Wardrobe; and after dinner, sat talking an hour or two alone with my Lady. She is afeard that my Lady Castlemaine will keep still with the King, and I am afeard she will not, for I love her well. Thence to my brother's, and finding him in a lie about the lining of my new morning gown, saying that it was the same with the outside, I was very angry with him and parted so. So home after an hour stay at Paul's Churchyard, and there came Mr. Morelock of Chatham, and brought me a stately cake, and I perceive he has done the same to the rest, of which I was glad; so to bed. 15th. To Westminster; and at the Privy Seal I saw Mr. Coventry's seal for his being Commissioner with us, at which I know not yet whether to be glad or otherwise. So doing several things by the way, I walked home, and after dinner to the office all the afternoon. At night, all the bells of the town rung, and bonfires made for the joy of the Queen's arrival, who came and landed at Portsmouth last night. But I do not see much thorough joy, but only an indifferent one, in the hearts of people, who are much discontented at the pride and luxury of the Court, and running in debt. 16th. Up early, Mr. Hater and I to the office, and there I made an end of my book of contracts which I have been making an abstract of. Dined at home, and spent most of the day at the office. At night to supper and bed. 17th. Upon a letter this morning from Mr. Moore, I went to my cozen Turner's chamber, and there put him drawing a replication to Tom Trice's answer speedily. So to Whitehall and there met Mr. Moore, and I walked long in Westminster Hall, and thence with him to the Wardrobe to dinner, where dined Mrs. Sanderson, the mother of the maids, and after dinner my Lady and she and I on foot to Pater Noster Row to buy a petticoat against the Queen's coming for my Lady, of plain satin, and other things; and being come back again, we there met Mr. Nathaniel Crew [Nathaniel Crew, born 1633, fifth son of John, first Lord Crew; he himself became third Lord Crew in 1697. Sub-Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford, 1659. Took orders in 1664, and was Rector of Lincoln College in 1668; Dean of Chichester, 1669; Bishop of Oxford, 1671; Bishop of Durham, 1674; sworn of the Privy Council in 1676. He was very subservient to James II., and at the Revolution was excepted from the general pardon of May, 1690, but he was allowed to keep possession of the bishopric of Durham.] at the Wardrobe with a young gentleman, a friend and fellow student of his, and of a good family, Mr. Knightly, and known to the Crews, of whom my Lady privately told me she hath some thoughts of a match for my Lady Jemimah. I like the person very well, and he hath L2000 per annum. Thence to the office, and there we sat, and thence after writing letters to all my friends with my Lord at Portsmouth, I walked to my brother Tom's to see a velvet cloak, which I buy of Mr. Moore. It will cost me L8 10s.; he bought it for L6 10s., but it is worth my money. So home and find all things made clean against to-morrow, which pleases me well. So to bed. 18th (Whitsunday). By water to White Hall, and thereto chappell in my pew belonging to me as Clerk of the Privy Seal; and there I heard a most excellent sermon of Dr. Hacket, Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, upon these words: "He that drinketh this water shall never thirst." We had an excellent anthem, sung by Captain Cooke and another, and brave musique. And then the King came down and offered, and took the sacrament upon his knees; a sight very well worth seeing. Hence with Sir G. Carteret to his lodging to dinner with his Lady and one Mr. Brevin, a French Divine, we were very merry, and good discourse, and I had much talk with my Lady. After dinner, and so to chappell again; and there had another good anthem of Captain Cooke's. Thence to the Councell-chamber; where the King and Councell sat till almost eleven o'clock at night, and I forced to walk up and down the gallerys till that time of night. They were reading all the bills over that are to pass to-morrow at the House, before the King's going out of town and proroguing the House. At last the Councell risen, and Sir G. Carteret telling me what the Councell hath ordered about the ships designed to carry horse from Ireland to Portugall, which is now altered. I got a coach and so home, sending the boat away without me. At home I found my wife discontented at my being abroad, but I pleased her. She was in her new suit of black sarcenet and yellow petticoat very pretty. So to bed. 19th. Long in bed, sometimes scolding with my wife, and then pleased again, and at last up, and put on my riding cloth suit, and a camelott coat new, which pleases me well enough. To the Temple about my replication, and so to my brother Tom's, and there hear that my father will be in town this week. So home, the shops being but some shut and some open. I hear that the House of Commons do think much that they should be forced to huddle over business this morning against the afternoon, for the King to pass their Acts, that he may go out of town. [To ears accustomed to the official words of speeches from the throne at the present day, the familiar tone of the following extracts from Charles's speech to the Commons, on the 1st of March; will be amusing: "I will conclude with putting you in mind of the season of the year, and the convenience of your being in the country, in many respects, for the good and welfare of it; for you will find much tares have been sowed there in your absence. The arrival of my wife, who I expect some time this month, and the necessity of my own being out of town to meet her, and to stay some time before she comes hither, makes it very necessary that the Parliament be adjourned before Easter, to meet again in the winter . . . . . The mention of my wife's arrival puts me in mind to desire you to put that compliment upon her, that her entrance into the town may be with more decency than the ways will now suffer it to be; and, to that purpose, I pray you would quickly pass such laws as are before you, in order to the amending those ways, and that she may not find Whitehall surrounded with water." Such a bill passed the Commons on the 24th June. From Charles's Speech, March 1st, 1662.--B.] But he, I hear since, was forced to stay till almost nine o'clock at night before he could have done, and then he prorogued them; and so to Gilford, and lay there. Home, and Mr. Hunt dined with me, and were merry. After dinner Sir W. Pen and his daughter, and I and my wife by coach to the Theatre, and there in a box saw "The Little Thief" well done. Thence to Moorefields, and walked and eat some cheesecake and gammon of bacon, but when I was come home I was sick, forced to vomit it up again. So my wife walking and singing upon the leads till very late, it being pleasant and moonshine, and so to bed. 10th. Sir W. Pen and I did a little business at the office, and so home again. Then comes Dean Fuller after we had dined, but I got something for him, and very merry we were for an hour or two, and I am most pleased with his company and goodness. At last parted, and my wife and I by coach to the Opera, and there saw the 2nd part of "The Siege of Rhodes," but it is not so well done as when Roxalana was there, who, it is said, is now owned by my Lord of Oxford. [For note on Mrs. Davenport, who was deceived by a pretended marriage with the Earl of Oxford, see ante. Lord Oxford's first wife died in 1659. He married, in 1672, his second wife, Diana Kirke, of whom nothing more need be said than that she bore an inappropriate Christian name.] Thence to Tower-wharf, and there took boat, and we all walked to Halfeway House, and there eat and drank, and were pleasant, and so finally home again in the evening, end so good night, this being a very pleasant life that we now lead, and have long done; the Lord be blessed, and make us thankful. But, though I am much against too much spending, yet I do think it best to enjoy some degree of pleasure now that we have health, money, and opportunity, rather than to leave pleasures to old age or poverty, when we cannot have them so properly. 21st. My wife and I by water to Westminster, and after she had seen her father (of whom lately I have heard nothing at all what he does or her mother), she comes to me to my Lord's lodgings, where she and I staid walking in White Hall garden. And in the Privy-garden saw the finest smocks and linnen petticoats of my Lady Castlemaine's, laced with rich lace at the bottom, that ever I saw; and did me good to look upon them. So to Wilkinson's, she and I and Sarah to dinner, where I had a good quarter of lamb and a salat. Here Sarah told me how the King dined at my Lady Castlemaine's, and supped, every day and night the last week; and that the night that the bonfires were made for joy of the Queen's arrivall, the King was there; but there was no fire at her door, though at all the rest of the doors almost in the street; which was much observed: and that the King and she did send for a pair of scales and weighed one another; and she, being with child, was said to be heaviest. But she is now a most disconsolate creature, and comes not out of doors, since the King's going. But we went to the Theatre to "The French Dancing Master," and there with much pleasure gazed upon her (Lady Castlemaine); but it troubles us to see her look dejectedly and slighted by people already. The play pleased us very well; but Lacy's part, the Dancing Master, the best in the world. Thence to my brother Tom's, in expectation to have met my father to-night come out of the country, but he is not yet come, but here we found my uncle Fenner and his old wife, whom I had not seen since the wedding dinner, nor care to see her. They being gone, my wife and I went and saw Mrs. Turner, whom we found not well, and her two boys Charles and Will come out of the country, grown very plain boys after three years being under their father's care in Yorkshire. Thence to Tom's again, and there supped well, my she cozen Scott being there and my father being not come, we walked home and to bed. 22d. This morning comes an order from the Secretary of State, Nicholas, for me to let one Mr. Lee, a Councellor, to view what papers I have relating to passages of the late times, wherein Sir H. Vane's hand is employed, in order to the drawing up his charge; which I did, and at noon he, with Sir W. Pen and his daughter, dined with me, and he to his work again, and we by coach to the Theatre and saw "Love in a Maze." The play hath little in it but Lacy's part of a country fellow, which he did to admiration. So home, and supped with Sir W. Pen, where Sir W. Batten and Captn. Cocke came to us, to whom I have lately been a great stranger. This night we had each of us a letter from Captain Teddiman from the Streights, of a peace made upon good terms, by Sir J. Lawson, with the Argier men, which is most excellent news? He hath also sent each of us some anchovies, olives, and muscatt; but I know not yet what that is, and am ashamed to ask. After supper home, and to bed, resolving to make up this week in seeing plays and pleasure, and so fall to business next week again for a great while. 23rd. At the office good part of the morning, and then about noon with my wife on foot to the Wardrobe. My wife went up to the dining room to my Lady Paulina, and I staid below talking with Mr. Moore in the parley, reading of the King's and Chancellor's late speeches at the proroguing of the Houses of Parliament. And while I was reading, news was brought me that my Lord Sandwich is come and gone up to my Lady, which put me into great suspense of joy, so I went up waiting my Lord's coming out of my Lady's chamber, which by and by he did, and looks very well, and my soul is glad to see him. He very merry, and hath left the King and Queen at Portsmouth, and is come up to stay here till next Wednesday, and then to meet the King and Queen at Hampton Court. So to dinner, Mr. Browne, Clerk of the House of Lords, and his wife and brother there also; and my Lord mighty merry; among other things, saying that the Queen is a very agreeable lady, and paints still. After dinner I showed him my letter from Teddiman about the news from Argier, which pleases him exceedingly; and he writ one to the Duke of York about it, and sent it express. There coming much company after dinner to my Lord, my wife and I slunk away to the Opera, where we saw "Witt in a Constable," the first time that it is acted; but so silly a play I never saw I think in my life. After it was done, my wife and I to the puppet play in Covent Garden, which I saw the other day, and indeed it is very pleasant. Here among the fidlers I first saw a dulcimere [The dulcimer (or psaltery) consisted of a flat box, acting as a resonating chamber, over which strings of wire were stretched: These were struck by little hammers.] played on with sticks knocking of the strings, and is very pretty. So by water home, and supped with Sir William Pen very merry, and so to bed. 24th. To the Wardrobe, and there again spoke with my Lord, and saw W. Howe, who is grown a very pretty and is a sober fellow. Thence abroad with Mr. Creed, of whom I informed myself of all I had a mind to know. Among other things, the great difficulty my Lord hath been in all this summer for lack of good and full orders from the King; and I doubt our Lords of the Councell do not mind things as the late powers did, but their pleasures or profit more. That the Juego de Toros is a simple sport, yet the greatest in Spain. That the Queen hath given no rewards to any of the captains or officers, but only to my Lord Sandwich; and that was a bag of gold, which was no honourable present, of about L1400 sterling. How recluse the Queen hath ever been, and all the voyage never come upon the deck, nor put her head out of her cabin; but did love my Lord's musique, and would send for it down to the state-room, and she sit in her cabin within hearing of it. That my Lord was forced to have some clashing with the Council of Portugall about payment of the portion, before he could get it; which was, besides Tangier and a free trade in the Indys, two millions of crowns, half now, and the other half in twelve months. But they have brought but little money; but the rest in sugars and other commoditys, and bills of exchange. That the King of Portugall is a very fool almost, and his mother do all, and he is a very poor Prince. After a morning draft at the Star in Cheapside, I took him to the Exchange, thence home, but my wife having dined, I took him to Fish Street, and there we had a couple of lobsters, and dined upon them, and much discourse. And so I to the office, and that being done, Sir W. Pen and I to Deptford by water to Captain Rooth's to see him, he being very sick, and by land home, calling at Halfway house, where we eat and drank. So home and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). To trimming myself, which I have this week done every morning, with a pumice stone,--[Shaving with pumice stone.]--which I learnt of Mr. Marsh, when I was last at Portsmouth; and I find it very easy, speedy, and cleanly, and shall continue the practice of it. To church, and heard a good sermon of Mr. Woodcocke's at our church; only in his latter prayer for a woman in childbed, he prayed that God would deliver her from the hereditary curse of child-bearing, which seemed a pretty strange expression. Dined at home, and Mr. Creed with me. This day I had the first dish of pease I have had this year. After discourse he and I abroad, and walked up and down, and looked into many churches, among others Mr. Baxter's at Blackfryers. Then to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord takes physic, so I did not see him, but with Captn. Ferrers in Mr. George Montagu's coach to Charing Cross; and there at the Triumph tavern he showed me some Portugall ladys, which are come to town before the Queen. They are not handsome, and their farthingales a strange dress. [Farthingales had gone out of fashion in England during the reign of Charles I., and therefore their use by the Portuguese ladies astonished the English. Evelyn also remarks in his Diary on this ugly custom (May 30th, 1662).] Many ladies and persons of quality come to see them. I find nothing in them that is pleasing; and I see they have learnt to kiss and look freely up and down already, and I do believe will soon forget the recluse practice of their own country. They complain much for lack of good water to drink. So to the Wardrobe back on foot and supped with my Lady, and so home, and after a walk upon the leads with my wife, to prayers and bed. The King's guards and some City companies do walk up and down the town these five or six days; which makes me think, and they do say, there are some plots in laying. God keep us. 26th. Up by four o'clock in the morning, and fell to the preparing of some accounts for my Lord of Sandwich. By and by, by appointment comes Mr. Moore, and, by what appears to us at present, we found that my Lord is above L7,000 in debt, and that he hath money coming into him that will clear all, and so we think him clear, but very little money in his purse. So to my Lord's, and after he was ready, we spent an hour with him, giving him an account thereof; and he having some L6,000 in his hands, remaining of the King's, he is resolved to make use of that, and get off of it as well as he can, which I like well of, for else I fear he will scarce get beforehand again a great while. Thence home, and to the Trinity House; where the Brethren (who have been at Deptford choosing a new Maister; which is Sir J. Minnes, notwithstanding Sir W. Batten did contend highly for it: at which I am not a little pleased, because of his proud lady) about three o'clock came hither, and so to dinner. I seated myself close by Mr. Prin, who, in discourse with me, fell upon what records he hath of the lust and wicked lives of the nuns heretofore in England, and showed me out of his pocket one wherein thirty nuns for their lust were ejected of their house, being not fit to live there, and by the Pope's command to be put, however, into other nunnerys. I could not stay to end dinner with them, but rose, and privately went out, and by water to my brother's, and thence to take my wife to the Redd Bull, where we saw "Doctor Faustus," but so wretchedly and poorly done, that we were sick of it, and the worse because by a former resolution it is to be the last play we are to see till Michaelmas. Thence homewards by coach, through Moorefields, where we stood awhile, and saw the wrestling. At home, got my lute upon the leads, and there played, and so to bed. 27th. To my Lord this morning, and thence to my brother's, where I found my father, poor man, come, which I was glad to see. I staid with him till noon, and then he went to my cozen Scott's to dinner, who had invited him. He tells me his alterations of the house and garden at Brampton, which please me well. I could not go with him, and so we parted at Ludgate, and I home to dinner, and to the office all the afternoon, and musique in my chamber alone at night, and so to bed. 28th. Up early to put things in order in my chamber, and then to my Lord's, with whom I spoke about several things, and so up and down in several places about business with Mr. Creed, among others to Mr. Wotton's the shoemaker, and there drank our morning draft, and then home about noon, and by and by comes my father by appointment to dine with me, which we did very merrily, I desiring to make him as merry as I can, while the poor man is in town. After dinner comes my uncle Wight and sat awhile and talked with us, and thence we three to the Mum House at Leadenhall, and there sat awhile. Then I left them, and to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord gone to Hampton Court. Here I staid all the afternoon till late with Creed and Captain Ferrers, thinking whether we should go to-morrow together to Hampton Court, but Ferrers his wife coming in by and by to the house with the young ladies (with whom she had been abroad), she was unwilling to go, whereupon I was willing to put off our going, and so home, but still my mind was hankering after our going to-morrow. So to bed. 29th. At home all the morning. At noon to the Wardrobe, and dined with my Lady, and after dinner staid long talking with her; then homeward, and in Lumbard Street was called out of a window by Alderman Backwell, where I went, and saluted his lady, a very pretty woman. Here was Mr. Creed, and it seems they have been under some disorder in fear of a fire at the next door, and had been removing their goods, but the fire was over before I came. Thence home, and with my wife and the two maids, and the boy, took boat and to Foxhall, [Foxhall, Faukeshall, or Vauxhall, a manor in Surrey, properly Fulke's. Hall, and so called from Fulke de Breaute, the notorious mercenary follower of King John. The manor house was afterwards known as Copped or Copt Hall. Sir Samuel Morland obtained a lease of the place, and King Charles made him Master of Mechanics, and here "he (Morland), anno 1667, built a fine room," says Aubrey, "the inside all of looking-glass and fountains, very pleasant to behold." The gardens were formed about 1661, and originally called the "New Spring Gardens," to distinguish them from the "Old Spring Gardens" at Charing Cross, but according to the present description by Pepys there was both an Old and a New Spring Garden at Vauxhall. Balthazar Monconys, who visited England early in the reign of Charles II., describes the 'Jardins Printemps' at Lambeth as having lawns and gravel walks, dividing squares of twenty or thirty yards enclosed with hedges of gooseberry trees, within which were planted roses.] where I had not been a great while. To the Old Spring Garden, and there walked long, and the wenches gathered pinks. Here we staid, and seeing that we could not have anything to eat, but very dear, and with long stay, we went forth again without any notice taken of us, and so we might have done if we had had anything. Thence to the New one, where I never was before, which much exceeds the other; and here we also walked, and the boy crept through the hedge and gathered abundance of roses, and, after a long walk, passed out of doors as we did in the other place, and here we had cakes and powdered beef--[salt beef]--and ale, and so home again by water with much pleasure. This day, being the King's birth-day, was very solemnly observed; and the more, for that the Queen this day comes to Hampton Court. In the evening, bonfires were made, but nothing to the great number that was heretofore at the burning of the Rump. So to bed. 30th. This morning I made up my accounts, and find myself 'de claro' worth about L530, and no more, so little have I increased it since my last reckoning; but I confess I have laid out much money in clothes. Upon a suddaine motion I took my wife, and Sarah and Will by water, with some victuals with us, as low as Gravesend, intending to have gone into the Hope to the Royal James, to have seen the ship and Mr. Shepley, but meeting Mr. Shepley in a hoy, bringing up my Lord's things, she and I went on board, and sailed up with them as far as half-way tree, very glad to see Mr. Shepley. Here we saw a little Turk and a negroe, which are intended for pages to the two young ladies. Many birds and other pretty noveltys there was, but I was afeard of being louzy, and so took boat again, and got to London before them, all the way, coming and going, reading in the "Wallflower" with great pleasure. So home, and thence to the Wardrobe, where Mr. Shepley was come with the things. Here I staid talking with my Lady, who is preparing to go to-morrow to Hampton Court. So home, and at ten o'clock at night Mr. Shepley came to sup with me. So we had a dish of mackerell and pease, and so he bid us good night, going to lie on board the hoy, and I to bed. 31st. Lay long in bed, and so up to make up my Journall for these two or three days past. Then came Anthony Joyce, who duns me for money for the tallow which he served in lately by my desire, which vexes me, but I must get it him the next by my promise. By and by to White Hall, hearing that Sir G. Carteret was come to town, but I could not find him, and so back to Tom's, and thence I took my father to my house, and there he dined with me, discoursing of our businesses with uncle Thomas and T. Trice. After dinner he departed and I to the office where we met, and that being done I walked to my Brother's and the Wardrobe and other places about business, and so home, and had Sarah to comb my head clean, which I found so foul with powdering and other troubles, that I am resolved to try how I can keep my head dry without powder; and I did also in a suddaine fit cut off all my beard, which I had been a great while bringing up, only that I may with my pumice-stone do my whole face, as I now do my chin, and to save time, which I find a very easy way and gentile. So she also washed my feet in a bath of herbs, and so to bed. This month ends with very fair weather for a great while together. My health pretty well, but only wind do now and then torment me . . . extremely. The Queen is brought a few days since to Hampton Court; and all people say of her to be a very fine and handsome lady, and very discreet; and that the King is pleased enough with her which, I fear, will put Madam Castlemaine's nose out of joynt. The Court is wholly now at Hampton. A peace with Argier is lately made; which is also good news. My father is lately come to town to see us, and though it has cost and will cost more money, yet I am pleased with the alteraeons on my house at Brampton. My Lord Sandwich is lately come with the Queen from sea, very well and in good repute. Upon an audit of my estate I find myself worth about L530 'de claro'. The Act for Uniformity is lately printed, ["An Act for the Uniformity of public prayers and administration of sacraments and other rites and ceremonies, and for establishing the form of making, ordaining, and consecrating bishops, priests, and deacons in the Church of England."] which, it is thought, will make mad work among the Presbyterian ministers. People of all sides are very much discontented; some thinking themselves used, contrary to promise, too hardly; and the other, that they are not rewarded so much as they expected by the King. God keep us all. I have by a late oath obliged myself from wine and plays, of which I find good effect. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE 1662 June 1st (Lord's day). At church in the morning. A stranger made a very good sermon. Dined at home, and Mr. Spong came to see me; so he and I sat down a little to sing some French psalms, and then comes Mr. Shepley and Mr. Moore, and so we to dinner, and after dinner to church again, where a Presbyter made a sad and long sermon, which vexed me, and so home, and so to walk on the leads, and supper and to prayers and bed. 2nd. Up early about business and then to the Wardrobe with Mr. Moore, and spoke to my Lord about the exchange of the crusados [Cruzado, a Portuguese coin of 480 reis. It is named from a cross which it bears on one side, the arms of Portugal being on the other. It varied in value at different periods from 2s. 3d. to 4s.] into sterling money, and other matters. So to my father at Tom's, and after some talk with him away home, and by and by comes my father to dinner with me, and then by coach, setting him down in Cheapside, my wife and I to Mrs. Clarke's at Westminster, the first visit that ever we both made her yet. We found her in a dishabille, intending to go to Hampton Court to-morrow. We had much pretty discourse, and a very fine lady she is. Thence by water to Salisbury Court, and Mrs. Turner not being at home, home by coach, and so after walking on the leads and supper to bed. This day my wife put on her slasht wastecoate, which is very pretty. 3rd. Up by four o'clock and to my business in my chamber, to even accounts with my Lord and myself, and very fain I would become master of L1000, but I have not above L530 toward it yet. At the office all the morning, and Mr. Coventry brought his patent and took his place with us this morning. Upon our making a contract, I went, as I use to do, to draw the heads thereof, but Sir W. Pen most basely told me that the Comptroller is to do it, and so begun to employ Mr. Turner about it, at which I was much vexed, and begun to dispute; and what with the letter of the Duke's orders, and Mr. Barlow's letter, and the practice of our predecessors, which Sir G. Carteret knew best when he was Comptroller, it was ruled for me. What Sir J. Minnes will do when he comes I know not, but Sir W. Pen did it like a base raskall, and so I shall remember him while I live. After office done, I went down to the Towre Wharf, where Mr. Creed and Shepley was ready with three chests of the crusados, being about L6000, ready to bring to shore to my house, which they did, and put it in my further cellar, and Mr. Shepley took the key. I to my father and Dr. Williams and Tom Trice, by appointment, in the Old Bayly, to Short's, the alehouse, but could come to no terms with T. Trice. Thence to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady come from Hampton Court, where the Queen hath used her very civilly; and my Lady tells me is a most pretty woman, at which I am glad. Yesterday (Sir R. Ford told me) the Aldermen of the City did attend her in their habits, and did present her with a gold Cupp and L1000 in gold therein. But, he told me, that they are so poor in their Chamber, that they were fain to call two or three Aldermen to raise fines to make up this sum, among which was Sir W. Warren. Home and to the office, where about 8 at night comes Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, and so we did some business, and then home and to bed, my mind troubled about Sir W. Pen, his playing the rogue with me to-day, as also about the charge of money that is in my house, which I had forgot; but I made the maids to rise and light a candle, and set it in the dining-room, to scare away thieves, and so to sleep. 4th. Up early, and Mr. Moore comes to me and tells me that Mr. Barnwell is dead, which troubles me something, and the more for that I believe we shall lose Mr. Shepley's company. By and by Sir W. Batten and I by water to Woolwich; and there saw an experiment made of Sir R. Ford's Holland's yarn (about which we have lately had so much stir; and I have much concerned myself for our ropemaker, Mr. Hughes, who has represented it as bad), and we found it to be very bad, and broke sooner than, upon a fair triall, five threads of that against four of Riga yarn; and also that some of it had old stuff that had been tarred, covered over with new hemp, which is such a cheat as hath not been heard of. I was glad of this discovery, because I would not have the King's workmen discouraged (as Sir W. Batten do most basely do) from representing the faults of merchants' goods, where there is any. After eating some fish that we had bought upon the water at Falconer's, we went to Woolwich, and there viewed our frames of our houses, and so home, and I to my Lord's, who I find resolved to buy Brampton Manor of Sir Peter Ball, [Sir Peter Ball was the Queen's Attorney-General, and Evelyn mentions, in his Diary (January 11th, 1661-62), having received from him the draft of an act against the nuisance of the smoke of London.] at which I am glad. Thence to White Hall, and showed Sir G. Carteret the cheat, and so to the Wardrobe, and there staid and supped with my Lady. My Lord eating nothing, but writes letters to-night to several places, he being to go out of town to-morrow. So late home and to bed. 5th. To the Wardrobe, and there my Lord did enquire my opinion of Mr. Moore, which I did give to the best advantage I could, and by that means shall get him joined with Mr. Townsend in the Wardrobe business. He did also give me all Mr. Shepley's and Mr. Moore's accounts to view, which I am glad of, as being his great trust in me, and I would willingly keep up a good interest with him. So took leave of him (he being to go this day) and to the office, where they were just sat down, and I showed them yesterday's discovery, and have got Sir R. Ford to be my enemy by it; but I care not, for it is my duty, and so did get his bill stopped for the present. To dinner, and found Dr. Thos. Pepys at my house; but I was called from dinner by a note from Mr. Moore to Alderman Backwell's, to see some thousands of my Lord's crusados weighed, and we find that 3,000 come to about L530 or 40 generally. Home again and found my father there; we talked a good while and so parted. We met at the office in the afternoon to finish Mr. Gauden's accounts, but did not do them quite. In the evening with Mr. Moore to Backwell's with another 1,200 crusados and saw them weighed, and so home and to bed. 6th. At my office all alone all the morning, and the smith being with me about other things, did open a chest that hath stood ever since I came to the office, in my office, and there we found a modell of a fine ship, which I long to know whether it be the King's or Mr. Turner's. At noon to the Wardrobe by appointment to meet my father, who did come and was well treated by my Lady, who tells me she has some thoughts to send her two little boys to our house at Brampton, but I have got leave for them to go along with me and my wife to Hampton Court to-morrow or Sunday. Thence to my brother Tom's, where we found a letter from Pall that my mother is dangerously ill in fear of death, which troubles my father and me much, but I hope it is otherwise, the letter being four days old since it was writ. Home and at my office, and with Mr. Hater set things in order till evening, and so home and to bed by daylight. This day at my father's desire I lent my brother Tom L20, to be repaid out of the proceeds of Sturtlow when we can sell it. I sent the money all in new money by my boy from Alderman Backwell's. 7th. To the office, where all the morning, and I find Mr. Coventry is resolved to do much good, and to enquire into all the miscarriages of the office. At noon with him and Sir W. Batten to dinner at Trinity House; where, among others, Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, was, who says that yesterday Sir H. Vane had a full hearing at the King's Bench, and is found guilty; and that he did never hear any man argue more simply than he in all his life, and so others say. My mind in great trouble whether I should go as I intended to Hampton Court to-morrow or no. At last resolved the contrary, because of the charge thereof, and I am afraid now to bring in any accounts for journeys, and so will others I suppose be, because of Mr. Coventry's prying into them. Thence sent for to Sir G. Carteret's, and there talked with him a good while. I perceive, as he told me, were it not that Mr. Coventry had already feathered his nest in selling of places, he do like him very well, and hopes great good from him. But he complains so of lack of money, that my heart is very sad, under the apprehension of the fall of the office. At my office all the afternoon, and at night hear that my father is gone into the country, but whether to Richmond as he intended, and thence to meet us at Hampton Court on Monday, I know not, or to Brampton. At which I am much troubled. In the evening home and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Lay till church-time in bed, and so up and to church, and there I found Mr. Mills come home out of the country again, and preached but a lazy sermon. Home and dined with my wife, and so to church again with her. Thence walked to my Lady's, and there supped with her, and merry, among other things, with the parrott which my Lord hath brought from the sea, which speaks very well, and cries Pall so pleasantly, that made my Lord give it my Lady Paulina; but my Lady, her mother, do not like it. Home, and observe my man Will to walk with his cloak flung over his shoulder, like a Ruffian, which, whether it was that he might not be seen to walk along with the footboy, I know not, but I was vexed at it; and coming home, and after prayers, I did ask him where he learned that immodest garb, and he answered me that it was not immodest, or some such slight answer, at which I did give him two boxes on the ears, which I never did before, and so was after a little troubled at it. 9th. Early up and at the office with Mr. Hater, making my alphabet of contracts, upon the dispatch of which I am now very intent, for that I am resolved much to enquire into the price of commodities. Dined at home, and after dinner to Greatorex's, and with him and another stranger to the Tavern, but I drank no wine. He recommended Bond, of our end of the town, to teach me to measure timber, and some other things that I would learn, in order to my office. Thence back again to the office, and there T. Hater and I did make an end of my alphabet, which did much please me. So home to supper and to bed. 10th. At the office all the morning, much business; and great hopes of bringing things, by Mr. Coventry's means, to a good condition in the office. Dined at home, Mr. Hunt with us; to the office again in the afternoon, but not meeting, as was intended, I went to my brother's and bookseller's, and other places about business, and paid off all for books to this day, and do not intend to buy any more of any kind a good while, though I had a great mind to have bought the King's works, as they are new printed in folio, and present it to my Lord; but I think it will be best to save the money. So home and to bed. [There is a beautiful copy of "The Workes of King Charles the Martyr, and Collections of Declarations, Treaties, &c." (2 vols. folio, 1662), in the Pepysian Library, with a very interesting note in the first volume by Pepys (dated October 7th, 1700), to the effect that he had collated it with a copy in Lambeth Library, presented by Dr. Zachary Cradock, Provost of Eton. "This book being seized on board an English ship was delivered, by order of the Inquisition of Lisbon, to some of the English Priests to be perused and corrected according to the Rules of the 'Index Expurgatorius.' Thus corrected it was given to Barnaby Crafford, English merchant there, and by him it was given to me, the English preacher resident there A.D. 1670, and by me as I then received it to the Library at Lambeth to be there preserved. Nov. 2, 1678. 'Ita testor', Zach. Cradock.--From which (through the favour of the most Reverend Father in God and my most honoured Friend his Grace the present Archbishop of Canterbury) I have this 7th of October, 1700, had an opportunity given me there (assisted by my clerk, Thomas Henderson), leisurely to overlook, and with my uttermost attention to note the said Expurgations through each part of this my own Book." Whole sentences in the book are struck through, as well as such words as Martyr, Defender of the Faith, More than Conqueror, &c.] 11th. At the office all the morning, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and I about the Victualler's accounts. Then home to dinner and to the office again all the afternoon, Mr. Hater and I writing over my Alphabet fair, in which I took great pleasure to rule the lines and to have the capitall words wrote with red ink. So home and to supper. This evening Savill the Paynter came and did varnish over my wife's picture and mine, and I paid him for my little picture L3, and so am clear with him. So after supper to bed. This day I had a letter from my father that he is got down well, and found my mother pretty well again. So that I am vexed with all my heart at Pall for writing to him so much concerning my mother's illness (which I believe was not so great), so that he should be forced to hasten down on the sudden back into the country without taking leave, or having any pleasure here. 12th. This morning I tried on my riding cloth suit with close knees, the first that ever I had; and I think they will be very convenient, if not too hot to wear any other open knees after them. At the office all the morning, where we had a full Board, viz., Sir G. Carteret, Sir John Mennes, Sir W. Batten, Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen, Mr. Pett, and myself. Among many other businesses, I did get a vote signed by all, concerning my issuing of warrants, which they did not smell the use I intend to make of it; but it is to plead for my clerks to have their right of giving out all warrants, at which I am not a little pleased. But a great difference happened between Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry, about passing the Victualler's account, and whether Sir George is to pay the Victualler his money, or the Exchequer; Sir George claiming it to be his place to save his threepences. It ended in anger, and I believe will come to be a question before the King and Council. I did what I could to keep myself unconcerned in it, having some things of my own to do before I would appear high in anything. Thence to dinner, by Mr. Gauden's invitation, to the Dolphin, where a good dinner; but what is to myself a great wonder; that with ease I past the whole dinner without drinking a drop of wine. After dinner to the office, my head full of business, and so home, and it being the longest day in the year,--[That is, by the old style. The new style was not introduced until 1752]--I made all my people go to bed by daylight. But after I was a-bed and asleep, a note came from my brother Tom to tell me that my cozen Anne Pepys, of Worcestershire, her husband is dead, and she married again, and her second husband in town, and intends to come and see me to-morrow. 13th. Up by 4 o'clock in the morning, and read Cicero's Second Oration against Catiline, which pleased me exceedingly; and more I discern therein than ever I thought was to be found in him; but I perceive it was my ignorance, and that he is as good a writer as ever I read in my life. By and by to Sir G. Carteret's, to talk with him about yesterday's difference at the office; and offered my service to look into any old books or papers that I have, that may make for him. He was well pleased therewith, and did much inveigh against Mr. Coventry; telling me how he had done him service in the Parliament, when Prin had drawn up things against him for taking of money for places; that he did at his desire, and upon his, letters, keep him off from doing it. And many other things he told me, as how the King was beholden to him, and in what a miserable condition his family would be, if he should die before he hath cleared his accounts. Upon the whole, I do find that he do much esteem of me, and is my friend, and I may make good use of him. Thence to several places about business, among others to my brother's, and there Tom Beneere the barber trimmed me. Thence to my Lady's, and there dined with her, Mr. Laxton, Gibbons, and Goldgroove with us, and after dinner some musique, and so home to my business, and in the evening my wife and I, and Sarah and the boy, a most pleasant walk to Halfway house, and so home and to bed. 14th. Up by four o'clock in the morning and upon business at my office. Then we sat down to business, and about 11 o'clock, having a room got ready for us, we all went out to the Tower-hill; and there, over against the scaffold, made on purpose this day, saw Sir Henry Vane brought. [Sir Harry Vane the younger was born 1612. Charles signed on June 12th a warrant for the execution of Vane by hanging at Tyburn on the 14th, which sentence on the following day "upon humble suit made" to him, Charles was "graciously pleased to mitigate," as the warrant terms it, for the less ignominious punishment of beheading on Tower Hill, and with permission that the head and body should be given to the relations to be by them decently and privately interred.-- Lister's Life of Clarendon, ii, 123.] A very great press of people. He made a long speech, many times interrupted by the Sheriff and others there; and they would have taken his paper out of his hand, but he would not let it go. But they caused all the books of those that writ after him to be given the Sheriff; and the trumpets were brought under the scaffold that he might not be heard. Then he prayed, and so fitted himself, and received the blow; but the scaffold was so crowded that we could not see it done. But Boreman, who had been upon the scaffold, came to us and told us, that first he began to speak of the irregular proceeding against him; that he was, against Magna Charta, denied to have his exceptions against the indictment allowed; and that there he was stopped by the Sheriff. Then he drew out his, paper of notes, and begun to tell them first his life; that he was born a gentleman, that he was bred up and had the quality of a gentleman, and to make him in the opinion of the world more a gentleman, he had been, till he was seventeen years old, a good fellow, but then it pleased God to lay a foundation of grace in his heart, by which he was persuaded, against his worldly interest, to leave all preferment and go abroad, where he might serve God with more freedom. Then he was called home, and made a member of the Long Parliament; where he never did, to this day, any thing against his conscience, but all for the glory of God. Here he would have given them an account of the proceedings of the Long Parliament, but they so often interrupted him, that at last he was forced to give over: and so fell into prayer for England in generall, then for the churches in England, and then for the City of London: and so fitted himself for the block, and received the blow. He had a blister, or issue, upon his neck, which he desired them not hurt: he changed not his colour or speech to the last, but died justifying himself and the cause he had stood for; and spoke very confidently of his being presently at the right hand of Christ; and in all, things appeared the most resolved man that ever died in that manner, and showed more of heat than cowardize, but yet with all humility and gravity. One asked him why he did not pray for the King. He answered, "Nay," says he, "you shall see I can pray for the King: I pray God bless him!" The King had given his body to his friends; and, therefore, he told them that he hoped they would be civil to his body when dead; and desired they would let him die like a gentleman and a Christian, and not crowded and pressed as he was. So to the office a little, and so to the Trinity-house all of us to dinner; and then to the office again all the afternoon till night. So home and to bed. This day, I hear, my Lord Peterborough is come unexpected from Tangier, to give the King an account of the place, which, we fear, is in none of the best condition. We had also certain news to-day that the Spaniard is before Lisbon with thirteen sail; six Dutch, and the rest his own ships; which will, I fear, be ill for Portugall. I writ a letter of all this day's proceedings to my Lord, at Hinchingbroke, who, I hear, is very well pleased with the work there. 15th (Lord's day). To church in the morning and home to dinner, where come my brother Tom and Mr. Fisher, my cozen, Nan Pepys's second husband, who, I perceive, is a very good-humoured man, an old cavalier. I made as much of him as I could, and were merry, and am glad she hath light of so good a man. They gone, to church again; but my wife not being dressed as I would have her, I was angry, and she, when she was out of doors in her way to church, returned home again vexed. But I to church, Mr. Mills, an ordinary sermon. So home, and found my wife and Sarah gone to a neighbour church, at which I was not much displeased. By and by she comes again, and, after a word or two, good friends. And then her brother came to see her, and he being gone she told me that she believed he was married and had a wife worth L500 to him, and did inquire how he might dispose the money to the best advantage, but I forbore to advise her till she could certainly tell me how things are with him, being loth to meddle too soon with him. So to walk upon the leads, and to supper, and to bed. 16th. Up before four o'clock, and after some business took Will forth, and he and I walked over the Tower Hill, but the gate not being open we walked through St. Catharine's and Ratcliffe (I think it is) by the waterside above a mile before we could get a boat, and so over the water in a scull (which I have not done a great while), and walked finally to Deptford, where I saw in what forwardness the work is for Sir W. Batten's house and mine, and it is almost ready. I also, with Mr. Davis, did view my cozen Joyce's tallow, and compared it with the Irish tallow we bought lately, and found ours much more white, but as soft as it; now what is the fault, or whether it be or no a fault, I know not. So walked home again as far as over against the Towre, and so over and home, where I found Sir W. Pen and Sir John Minnes discoursing about Sir John Minnes's house and his coming to live with us, and I think he intends to have Mr. Turner's house and he to come to his lodgings, which I shall be very glad of. We three did go to Mr. Turner's to view his house, which I think was to the end that Sir John Minnes might see it. Then by water with my wife to the Wardrobe, and dined there; and in the afternoon with all the children by water to Greenwich, where I showed them the King's yacht, the house, and the park, all very pleasant; and so to the tavern, and had the musique of the house, and so merrily home again. Will and I walked home from the Wardrobe, having left my wife at the Tower Wharf coming by, whom I found gone to bed not very well . . . . So to bed. 17th. Up, and Mr. Mayland comes to me and borrowed 30s. of me to be paid again out of the money coming to him in the James and Charles for his late voyage. So to the office, where all the morning. So home to dinner, my wife not being well, but however dined with me. So to the office, and at Sir W. Batten's, where we all met by chance and talked, and they drank wine; but I forebore all their healths. Sir John Minnes, I perceive, is most excellent company. So home and to bed betimes by daylight. 18th. Up early; and after reading a little in Cicero, I made me ready and to my office, where all the morning very busy. At noon Mr. Creed came to me about business, and he and I walked as far as Lincoln's Inn Fields together. After a turn or two in the walks we parted, and I to my Lord Crew's and dined with him; where I hear the courage of Sir H. Vane at his death is talked on every where as a miracle. Thence to Somerset House to Sir J. Winter's chamber by appointment, and met Mr. Pett, where he and I read over his last contract with the King for the Forest of Dean, whereof I took notes because of this new one that he is now in making. That done he and I walked to Lilly's, the painter's, where we saw among other rare things, the Duchess of York, her whole body, sitting instate in a chair, in white sattin, and another of the King, that is not finished; most rare things. I did give the fellow something that showed them us, and promised to come some other time, and he would show me Lady Castlemaine's, which I could not then see, it being locked up! Thence to Wright's, the painter's: but, Lord! the difference that is between their two works. Thence to the Temple, and there spoke with my cozen Roger, who gives me little hopes in the business between my Uncle Tom and us. So Mr. Pett (who staid at his son's chamber) and I by coach to the old Exchange, and there parted, and I home and at the office till night. My windows at my office are made clean to-day and a casement in my closet. So home, and after some merry discourse in the kitchen with my wife and maids as I now-a-days often do, I being well pleased with both my maids, to bed. 19th. Up by five o'clock, and while my man Will was getting himself ready to come up to me I took and played upon my lute a little. So to dress myself, and to my office to prepare things against we meet this morning. We sat long to-day, and had a great private business before us about contracting with Sir W. Rider, Mr. Cutler, and Captain Cocke, for 500 ton of hemp, which we went through, and I am to draw up the conditions. Home to dinner, where I found Mr. Moore, and he and I cast up our accounts together and evened them, and then with the last chest of crusados to Alderman Backwell's, by the same token his lady going to take coach stood in the shop, and having a gilded glassfull of perfumed comfits given her by Don Duarte de Silva, the Portugall merchant, that is come over with the Queen, I did offer at a taste, and so she poured some out into my hand, and, though good, yet pleased me the better coming from a pretty lady. So home and at the office preparing papers and things, and indeed my head has not been so full of business a great while, and with so much pleasure, for I begin to see the pleasure it gives. God give me health. So to bed. 20th. Up by four or five o'clock, and to the office, and there drew up the agreement between the King and Sir John Winter about the Forrest of Deane; and having done it, he came himself (I did not know him to be the Queen's Secretary before, but observed him to be a man of fine parts); and we read it, and both liked it well. That done, I turned to the Forrest of Deane, in Speede's Mapps, and there he showed me how it lies; and the Lea-bayly, with the great charge of carrying it to Lydny, and many other things worth my knowing; and I do perceive that I am very short in my business by not knowing many times the geographical part of my business. At my office till Mr. Moore took me out and at my house looked over our papers again, and upon our evening accounts did give full discharges one to the other, and in his and many other accounts I perceive I shall be better able to give a true balance of my estate to myself within a day or two than I have been this twelve months. Then he and I to Alderman Backwell's and did the like there, and I gave one receipt for all the money I have received thence upon the receipt of my Lord's crusados. Then I went to the Exchange, and hear that the merchants have a great fear of a breach with the Spaniard; for they think he will not brook our having Tangier, Dunkirk, and Jamaica; and our merchants begin to draw home their estates as fast as they can. Then to Pope's Head Ally, and there bought me a pair of tweezers, cost me 14s., the first thing like a bawble I have bought a good while, but I do it with some trouble of mind, though my conscience tells me that I do it with an apprehension of service in my office to have a book to write memorandums in, and a pair of compasses in it; but I confess myself the willinger to do it because I perceive by my accounts that I shall be better by L30 than I expected to be. But by tomorrow night I intend to see to the bottom of all my accounts. Then home to dinner, where Mr. Moore met me. Then he went away, and I to the office and dispatch much business. So in the evening, my wife and I and Jane over the water to the Halfway-house, a pretty, pleasant walk, but the wind high. So home again and to bed. 21st. Up about four o'clock, and settled some private business of my own, then made me ready and to the office to prepare things for our meeting to-day. By and by we met, and at noon Sir W. Pen and I to the Trinity House; where was a feast made by the Wardens, when great good cheer, and much, but ordinary company. The Lieutenant of the Tower, upon my demanding how Sir H. Vane died, told me that he died in a passion; but all confess with so much courage as never man died. Thence to the office, where Sir W. Rider, Capt. Cocke, and Mr. Cutler came by appointment to meet me to confer about the contract between us and them for 500 tons of hemp. That being done, I did other business and so went home, and there found Mr. Creed, who staid talking with my wife and me an hour or two, and I put on my riding cloth suit, only for him to see how it is, and I think it will do very well. He being gone, and I hearing from my wife and the maids' complaints made of the boy, I called him up, and with my whip did whip him till I was not able to stir, and yet I could not make him confess any of the lies that they tax him with. At last, not willing to let him go away a conqueror, I took him in task again, and pulled off his frock to his shirt, and whipped him till he did confess that he did drink the whey, which he had denied, and pulled a pink, and above all did lay the candlestick upon the ground in his chamber, which he had denied this quarter of a year. I confess it is one of the greatest wonders that ever I met with that such a little boy as he could possibly be able to suffer half so much as he did to maintain a lie. I think I must be forced to put him away. So to bed, with my arm very weary. 22nd (Lord's day). This day I first put on my slasht doublet, which I like very well. Mr. Shepley came to me in the morning, telling me that he and my Lord came to town from Hinchinbroke last night. He and I spend an hour in looking over his account, and then walked to the Wardrobe, all the way discoursing of my Lord's business. He tells me to my great wonder that Mr. Barnwell is dead L500 in debt to my Lord. By and by my Lord came from church, and I dined, with some others, with him, he very merry, and after dinner took me aside and talked of state and other matters. By and by to my brother Tom's and took him out with me homewards (calling at the Wardrobe to talk a little with Mr. Moore), and so to my house, where I paid him all I owed him, and did make the L20 I lately lent him up to L40, for which he shall give bond to Mr. Shepley, for it is his money. So my wife and I to walk in the garden, where all our talk was against Sir W. Pen, against whom I have lately had cause to be much prejudiced. By and by he and his daughter came out to walk, so we took no notice of them a great while, at last in going home spoke a word or two, and so good night, and to bed. This day I am told of a Portugall lady, at Hampton Court, that hath dropped a child already since the Queen's coming, but the king would not have them searched whose it is; and so it is not commonly known yet. Coming home to-night, I met with Will. Swan, who do talk as high for the Fanatiques as ever he did in his life; and do pity my Lord Sandwich and me that we should be given up to the wickedness of the world; and that a fall is coming upon us all; for he finds that he and his company are the true spirit of the nation, and the greater part of the nation too, who will have liberty of conscience in spite of this "Act of Uniformity," or they will die; and if they may not preach abroad, they will preach in their own houses. He told me that certainly Sir H. Vane must be gone to Heaven, for he died as much a martyr and saint as ever man did; and that the King hath lost more by that man's death, than he will get again a good while. At all which I know not what to think; but, I confess, I do think that the Bishops will never be able to carry it so high as they do. 23rd. Up early, this morning, and my people are taking down the hangings and things in my house because of the great dust that is already made by the pulling down of Sir W. Batten's house, and will be by my own when I come to it. To my office, and there hard at work all the morning. At noon to the Exchange to meet Dr. Williams, who sent me this morning notice of his going into the country tomorrow, but could not find him, but meeting with Frank Moore, my Lord Lambeth's man formerly, we, and two or three friends of his did go to a tavern, and there they drank, but I nothing but small beer. In the next room one was playing very finely of the dulcimer, which well played I like well, but one of our own company, a talking fellow, did in discourse say much of this Act against Seamen, [In 1662 was passed "An Act for providing of carriage by land and by water for the use of His Majesty's Navy and Ordinance" (13-14 Gar. II., cap. 20), which gave power for impressing seamen, &c.] for their being brought to account; and that it was made on purpose for my Lord Sandwich, who was in debt L100,000, and hath been forced to have pardon oftentimes from Oliver for the same: at which I was vexed at him, but thought it not worth my trouble to oppose what he said, but took leave and went home, and after a little dinner to my office again, and in the evening Sir W. Warren came to me about business, and that being done, discoursing of deals, I did offer to go along with him among his deal ships, which we did to half a score, where he showed me the difference between Dram, Swinsound, Christiania, and others, and told me many pleasant notions concerning their manner of cutting and sawing them by watermills, and the reason how deals become dearer and cheaper, among others, when the snow is not so great as to fill up the values that they may pass from hill to hill over the snow, then it is dear carriage. From on board he took me to his yard, where vast and many places of deals, sparrs, and bulks, &c., the difference between which I never knew before, and indeed am very proud of this evening's work. He had me into his house, which is most pretty and neat and well furnished. After a glass, not of wine, for I would not be tempted to drink any, but a glass of mum, I well home by water, but it being late was forced to land at the Custom House, and so home and to bed, and after I was a-bed, letters came from the Duke for the fitting out of four ships forthwith from Portsmouth (I know not yet for what) so I was forced to make Will get them wrote, and signed them in bed and sent them away by express. And so to sleep. 24th (Midsummer day). Up early and to my office, putting things in order against we sit. There came to me my cozen Harry Alcocke, whom I much respect, to desire (by a letter from my father to me, where he had been some days) my help for him to some place. I proposed the sea to him, and I think he will take it, and I hope do well. Sat all the morning, and I bless God I find that by my diligence of late and still, I do get ground in the office every day. At noon to the Change, where I begin to be known also, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon dispatching business. At night news is brought me that Field the rogue hath this day cast me at Guildhall in L30 for his imprisonment, to which I signed his commitment with the rest of the officers; but they having been parliament-men, that he hath begun the law with me; and threatens more, but I hope the Duke of York will bear me out. At night home, and Mr. Spong came to me, and so he and I sat singing upon the leads till almost ten at night and so he went away (a pretty, harmless, and ingenious man), and I to bed, in a very great content of mind, which I hope by my care still in my business will continue to me. 25th. Up by four o'clock, and put my accounts with my Lord into a very good order, and so to my office, where having put many things in order I went to the Wardrobe, but found my Lord gone to Hampton Court. After discourse with Mr. Shepley we parted, and I into Thames Street, beyond the Bridge, and there enquired among the shops the price of tarre and oyle, and do find great content in it, and hope to save the King money by this practice. So home to dinner, and then to the Change, and so home again, and at the office preparing business against to-morrow all the afternoon. At night walked with my wife upon the leads, and so to supper and to bed. My wife having lately a great pain in her ear, for which this night she begins to take physique, and I have got cold and so have a great deal of my old pain. 26th. Up and took physique, but such as to go abroad with, only to loosen me, for I am bound. So to the office, and there all the morning sitting till noon, and then took Commissioner Pett home to dinner with me, where my stomach was turned when my sturgeon came to table, upon which I saw very many little worms creeping, which I suppose was through the staleness of the pickle. He being gone, comes Mr. Nicholson, my old fellow-student at Magdalene, and we played three or four things upon the violin and basse, and so parted, and I to my office till night, and there came Mr. Shepley and Creed in order to settling some accounts of my Lord to-night, and so to bed. 27th. Up early, not quite rid of my pain. I took more physique, and so made myself ready to go forth. So to my Lord, who rose as soon as he heard I was there; and in his nightgown and shirt stood talking with me alone two hours,. I believe, concerning his greatest matters of state and interest. Among other things, that his greatest design is, first, to get clear of all debts to the King for the Embassy money, and then a pardon. Then, to get his land settled; and then to, discourse and advise what is best for him, whether to keep his sea employment longer or no. For he do discern that the Duke would be willing to have him out, and that by Coventry's means. And here he told me, how the terms at Argier were wholly his; and that he did plainly tell Lawson and agree with him, that he would have the honour of them, if they should ever be agreed to; and that accordingly they did come over hither entitled, "Articles concluded on by Sir J. Lawson, according to instructions received from His Royal Highness James Duke of York, &c., and from His Excellency the Earle of Sandwich." (Which however was more than needed; but Lawson tells my Lord in his letter, that it was not he, but the Council of Warr that would have "His Royal Highness" put into the title, though he did not contribute one word to it.) But the Duke of York did yesterday propose them to the Council, to be printed with this title: "Concluded on, by Sir J. Lawson, Knt." and my Lord quite left out. Here I find my Lord very politique; for he tells me, that he discerns they design to set up Lawson as much as they can and that he do counterplot them by setting him up higher still; by which they will find themselves spoiled of their design, and at last grow jealous of Lawson. This he told me with much pleasure; and that several of the Duke's servants, by name my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton], Mr. Talbot, and others, had complained to my Lord, of Coventry, and would have him out. My Lord do acknowledge that his greatest obstacle is Coventry. He did seem to hint such a question as this: "Hitherto I have been supported by the King and Chancellor against the Duke; but what if it should come about, that it should be the Duke and Chancellor against the King?" which, though he said it in these plain words, yet I could not fully understand it; but may more here after. My Lord did also tell me, that the Duke himself at Portsmouth did thank my Lord for all his pains and care; and that he perceived it must be the old Captains that must do the business; and that the new ones would spoil all. And that my Lord did very discreetly tell the Duke (though quite against his judgement and inclination), that, however, the King's new captains ought to be borne with a little and encouraged. By which he will oblige that party, and prevent, as much as may be, their envy; but he says that certainly things will go to rack if ever the old captains should be wholly out, and the new ones only command. Then we fell to talk of Sir J. Minnes, of whom my Lord hath a very slight opinion, and that at first he did come to my Lord very displeased and sullen, and had studied and turned over all his books to see whether it had ever been that two flags should ride together in the main-top, but could not find it, nay, he did call his captains on board to consult them. So when he came by my Lord's side, he took down his flag, and all the day did not hoist it again, but next day my Lord did tell him that it was not so fit to ride without a flag, and therefore told him that he should wear it in the fore-top, for it seems my Lord saw his instructions, which were that he should not wear his flag in the maintop in the presence of the Duke or my Lord. But that after that my Lord did caress him, and he do believe him as much his friend as his interest will let him. I told my Lord of the late passage between Swan and me, and he told me another lately between Dr. Dell and himself when he was in the country. At last we concluded upon dispatching all his accounts as soon as possible, and so I parted, and to my office, where I met Sir W. Pen, and he desired a turn with me in the garden, where he told me the day now was fixed for his going into Ireland;--[Penn was Governor of Kinsale.-B.]--and that whereas I had mentioned some service he could do a friend of mine there, Saml. Pepys, [Mentioned elsewhere as "My cousin in Ireland." He was son of Lord Chief Justice Richard Pepys.] he told me he would most readily do what I would command him, and then told me we must needs eat a dish of meat together before he went, and so invited me and my wife on Sunday next. To all which I did give a cold consent, for my heart cannot love or have a good opinion of him since his last playing the knave with me, but he took no notice of our difference at all, nor I to him, and so parted, and I by water to Deptford, where I found Sir W. Batten alone paying off the yard three quarters pay. Thence to dinner, where too great a one was prepared, at which I was very much troubled, and wished I had not been there. After dinner comes Sir J. Minnes and some captains with him, who had been at a Councill of Warr to-day, who tell us they have acquitted Captain Hall, who was accused of cowardice in letting of old Winter, the Argier pyrate, go away from him with a prize or two; and also Captain Diamond of the murder laid to him of a man that he had struck, but he lived many months after, till being drunk, he fell into the hold, and there broke his jaw and died, but they say there are such bawdy articles against him as never were heard of . . . . To the pay again, where I left them, and walked to Redriffe, and so home, and there came Mr. Creed and Shepley to me, and staid till night about my Lord's accounts, our proceeding to set them in order, and so parted and I to bed. Mr. Holliard had been with my wife to-day, and cured her of her pain in her ear by taking out a most prodigious quantity of hard wax that had hardened itself in the bottom of the ear, of which I am very glad. 28th. Up to my Lord's and my own accounts, and so to the office, where all the forenoon sitting, and at noon by appointment to the Mitre, where Mr. Shepley gave me and Mr. Creed, and I had my uncle Wight with us, a dish of fish. Thence to the office again, and there all the afternoon till night, and so home, and after talking with my wife to bed. This day a genteel woman came to me, claiming kindred of me, as she had once done before, and borrowed 10s. of me, promising to repay it at night, but I hear nothing of her. I shall trust her no more. Great talk there is of a fear of a war with the Dutch; and we have order to pitch upon twenty ships to be forthwith set out; but I hope it is but a scarecrow to the world, to let them see that we can be ready for them; though, God knows! the King is not able to set out five ships at this present without great difficulty, we neither having money, credit, nor stores. My mind is now in a wonderful condition of quiet and content, more than ever in all my life, since my minding the business of my office, which I have done most constantly; and I find it to be the very effect of my late oaths against wine and plays, which, if God please, I will keep constant in, for now my business is a delight to me, and brings me great credit, and my purse encreases too. 29th (Lord's day). Up by four o'clock, and to the settling of my own accounts, and I do find upon my monthly ballance, which I have undertaken to keep from month to month, that I am worth L650, the greatest sum that ever I was yet master of. I pray God give me a thankfull, spirit, and care to improve and encrease it. To church with my wife, who this day put on her green petticoat of flowred satin, with fine white and gimp lace of her own putting on, which is very pretty. Home with Sir W. Pen to dinner by appointment, and to church again in the afternoon, and then home, Mr. Shepley coming to me about my Lord's accounts, and in the evening parted, and we to supper again to Sir W. Pen. Whatever the matter is, he do much fawn upon me, and I perceive would not fall out with me, and his daughter mighty officious to my wife, but I shall never be deceived again by him, but do hate him and his traitorous tricks with all my heart. It was an invitation in order to his taking leave of us to-day, he being to go for Ireland in a few days. So home and prayers, and to bed. 30th. Up betimes, and to my office, where I found Griffen's girl making it clean, but, God forgive me! what a mind I had to her, but did not meddle with her. She being gone, I fell upon boring holes for me to see from my closet into the great office, without going forth, wherein I please myself much. So settled to business, and at noon with my wife to the Wardrobe, and there dined, and staid talking all the afternoon with my Lord, and about four o'clock took coach with my wife and Lady, and went toward my house, calling at my Lady Carteret's, who was within by chance (she keeping altogether at Deptford for a month or two), and so we sat with her a little. Among other things told my Lady how my Lady Fanshaw is fallen out with her only for speaking in behalf of the French, which my Lady wonders at, they having been formerly like sisters, but we see there is no true lasting friendship in the world. Thence to my house, where I took great pride to lead her through the Court by the hand, she being very fine, and her page carrying up her train. She staid a little at my house, and then walked through the garden, and took water, and went first on board the King's pleasure boat, which pleased her much. Then to Greenwich Park; and with much ado she was able to walk up to the top of the hill, and so down again, and took boat, and so through bridge to Blackfryers, and home, she being much pleased with the ramble in every particular of it. So we supped with her, and then walked home, and to bed. OBSERVATIONS. This I take to be as bad a juncture as ever I observed. The King and his new Queen minding their pleasures at Hampton Court. All people discontented; some that the King do not gratify them enough; and the others, Fanatiques of all sorts, that the King do take away their liberty of conscience; and the height of the Bishops, who I fear will ruin all again. They do much cry up the manner of Sir H. Vane's death, and he deserves it. They clamour against the chimney-money, and say they will not pay it without force. And in the mean time, like to have war abroad; and Portugall to assist, when we have not money to pay for any ordinary layings-out at home. Myself all in dirt about building of my house and Sir W. Batten's a story higher. Into a good way, fallen on minding my business and saving money, which God encrease; and I do take great delight in it, and see the benefit of it. In a longing mind of going to see Brampton, but cannot get three days time, do what I can. In very good health, my wife and myself. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Afeard of being louzy Afeard that my Lady Castlemaine will keep still with the King Afraid now to bring in any accounts for journeys As much his friend as his interest will let him Comb my head clean, which I found so foul with powdering Deliver her from the hereditary curse of child-bearing Discontented at the pride and luxury of the Court Enjoy some degree of pleasure now that we have health, money God forgive me! what a mind I had to her Hard matter to settle to business after so much leisure Holes for me to see from my closet into the great office I know not yet what that is, and am ashamed to ask King dined at my Lady Castlemaine's, and supped, every day Lady Castlemaine do speak of going to lie in at Hampton Court Let me blood, about sixteen ounces, I being exceedingly full Lust and wicked lives of the nuns heretofore in England Only wind do now and then torment me . . . extremely See her look dejectedly and slighted by people already She also washed my feet in a bath of herbs, and so to bed Sir W. Pen did it like a base raskall, and so I shall remember Slight answer, at which I did give him two boxes on the ears They were not occupiers, but occupied (women) Trumpets were brought under the scaffold that he not be heard Up and took physique, but such as to go abroad with Will put Madam Castlemaine's nose out of joynt With my whip did whip him till I was not able to stir 
4135	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY & AUGUST 1662 July 1st. To the office, and there we sat till past noon, and then Captain Cuttance and I by water to Deptford, where the Royal James (in which my Lord went out the last voyage, though [he] came back in the Charles) was paying off by Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen. So to dinner, where I had Mr. Sheply to dine with us, and from thence I sent to my Lord to know whether she should be a first rate, as the men would have her, or a second. He answered that we should forbear paying the officers and such whose pay differed upon the rate of the ship, till he could speak with his Royal Highness. To the Pay again after dinner, and seeing of Cooper, the mate of the ship, whom I knew in the Charles, I spoke to him about teaching the mathematiques, and do please myself in my thoughts of learning of him, and bade him come to me in a day or two. Towards evening I left them, and to Redriffe by land, Mr. Cowly, the Clerk of the Cheque, with me, discoursing concerning the abuses of the yard, in which he did give me much light. So by water home, and after half an hour sitting talking with my wife, who was afeard I did intend to go with my Lord to fetch the Queen mother over, in which I did clear her doubts, I went to bed by daylight, in order to my rising early to-morrow. 2nd. Up while the chimes went four, and to put down my journal, and so to my office, to read over such instructions as concern the officers of the Yard; for I am much upon seeing into the miscarriages there. By and by, by appointment, comes Commissioner Pett; and then a messenger from Mr. Coventry, who sits in his boat expecting us, and so we down to him at the Tower, and there took water all, and to Deptford (he in our passage taking notice how much difference there is between the old Captains for obedience and order, and the King's new Captains, which I am very glad to hear him confess); and there we went into the Store-house, and viewed first the provisions there, and then his books, but Mr. Davis himself was not there, he having a kinswoman in the house dead, for which, when by and by I saw him, he do trouble himself most ridiculously, as if there was never another woman in the world; in which so much laziness, as also in the Clerkes of the Cheque and Survey (which after one another we did examine), as that I do not perceive that there is one-third of their duties performed; but I perceive, to my great content, Mr. Coventry will have things reformed. So Mr. Coventry to London, and Pett and I to the Pay, where Sir Williams both were paying off the Royal James still, and so to dinner, and to the Pay again, where I did relieve several of my Lord Sandwich's people, but was sorry to see them so peremptory, and at every word would, complain to my Lord, as if they shall have such a command over my Lord. In the evening I went forth and took a walk with Mr. Davis, and told him what had passed at his office to-day, and did give him my advice, and so with the rest by barge home and to bed 3rd. Up by four o'clock and to my office till 8 o'clock, writing over two copies of our contract with Sir W. Rider, &c., for 500 ton of hempe, which, because it is a secret, I have the trouble of writing over as well as drawing. Then home to dress myself, and so to the office, where another fray between Sir R. Ford and myself about his yarn, wherein I find the board to yield on my side, and was glad thereof, though troubled that the office should fall upon me of disobliging Sir Richard. At noon we all by invitation dined at the Dolphin with the Officers of the Ordnance; where Sir W. Compton, Mr. O'Neale,'and other great persons, were, and a very great dinner, but I drank as I still do but my allowance of wine. After dinner, was brought to Sir W. Compton a gun to discharge seven times, the best of all devices that ever I saw, and very serviceable, and not a bawble; for it is much approved of, and many thereof made. Thence to my office all the afternoon as long as I could see, about setting many businesses in order. In the evening came Mr. Lewis to me, and very ingeniously did enquire whether I ever did look into the business of the Chest at Chatham; [Pepys gives some particulars about the Chest on November 13th, 1662. "The Chest at Chatham was originally planned by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins in 1588, after the defeat of the Armada; the seamen voluntarily agreed to have 'defalked' out of their wages certain sums to form a fund for relief. The property became considerable, as well as the abuses, and in 1802 the Chest was removed to Greenwich. In 1817, the stock amounted to L300,000 Consols."--Hist. of Rochester, p. 346.--B.] and after my readiness to be informed did appear to him, he did produce a paper, wherein he stated the government of the Chest to me; and upon the whole did tell me how it hath ever been abused, and to this day is; and what a meritorious act it would be to look after it; which I am resolved to do, if God bless me; and do thank him very much for it. So home, and after a turn or two upon the leads with my wife, who has lately had but little of my company, since I begun to follow my business, but is contented therewith since she sees how I spend my time, and so to bed. 4th. Up by five o'clock, and after my journall put in order, to my office about my business, which I am resolved to follow, for every day I see what ground I get by it. By and by comes Mr. Cooper, mate of the Royall Charles, of whom I intend to learn mathematiques, and do begin with him to-day, he being a very able man, and no great matter, I suppose, will content him. After an hour's being with him at arithmetique (my first attempt being to learn the multiplication-table); then we parted till to-morrow. And so to my business at my office again till noon, about which time Sir W. Warren did come to me about business, and did begin to instruct me in the nature of fine timber and deals, telling me the nature of every sort; and from that we fell to discourse of Sir W. Batten's corruption and the people that he employs, and from one discourse to another of the kind. I was much pleased with his company, and so staid talking with him all alone at my office till 4 in the afternoon, without eating or drinking all day, and then parted, and I home to eat a bit, and so back again to my office; and toward the evening came Mr. Sheply, who is to go out of town to-morrow, and so he and I with much ado settled his accounts with my Lord, which, though they be true and honest, yet so obscure, that it vexes me to see in what manner they are kept. He being gone, and leave taken of him as of a man likely not to come to London again a great while, I eat a bit of bread and butter, and so to bed. This day I sent my brother Tom, at his request, my father's old Bass Viall which he and I have kept so long, but I fear Tom will do little good at it. 5th. To my office all the morning, to get things ready against our sitting, and by and by we sat and did business all the morning, and at noon had Sir W. Pen, who I hate with all my heart for his base treacherous tricks, but yet I think it not policy to declare it yet, and his son William, to my house to dinner, where was also Mr. Creed and my cozen Harry Alcocke. I having some venison given me a day or two ago, and so I had a shoulder roasted, another baked, and the umbles [The umbles are the liver, kidneys, and other portions of the inside of the deer. They were usually made into pies, and old cookery books contain directions for the making of 'umble pies.'] baked in a pie, and all very well done. We were merry as I could be in that company, and the more because I would not seem otherwise to Sir W. Pen, he being within a day or two to go for Ireland. After dinner he and his son went away, and Mr. Creed would, with all his rhetoric, have persuaded me to have gone to a play; and in good earnest I find my nature desirous to have gone, notwithstanding my promise and my business, to which I have lately kept myself so close, but I did refuse it, and I hope shall ever do so, and above all things it is considerable that my mind was never in my life in so good a condition of quiet as it has been since I have followed my business and seen myself to get greater and greater fitness in my employment, and honour every day more than other. So at my office all the afternoon, and then my mathematiques at night with Mr. Cooper, and so to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed to-day with my wife merry and pleasant, and then rose and settled my accounts with my wife for housekeeping, and do see that my kitchen, besides wine, fire, candle, sope, and many other things, comes to about 30s. a week, or a little over. To church, where Mr. Mills made a lazy sermon. So home to dinner, where my brother Tom dined with me, and so my wife and I to church again in the afternoon, and that done I walked to the Wardrobe and spent my time with Mr. Creed and Mr. Moore talking about business; so up to supper with my Lady [Sandwich], who tells me, with much trouble, that my Lady Castlemaine is still as great with the King, and that the King comes as often to her as ever he did, at which, God forgive me, I am well pleased. It began to rain, and so I borrowed a hat and cloak of Mr. Moore and walked home, where I found Captain Ferrer with my wife, and after speaking a matter of an hour with him he went home and we all to bed. Jack Cole, my old friend, found me out at the Wardrobe; and, among other things, he told me that certainly most of the chief ministers of London would fling up their livings; and that, soon or late, the issue thereof would be sad to the King and Court. 7th. Up and to my office early, and there all the morning alone till dinner, and after dinner to my office again, and about 3 o'clock with my wife by water to Westminster, where I staid in the Hall while my wife went to see her father and mother, and she returning we by water home again, and by and by comes Mr. Cooper, so he and I to our mathematiques, and so supper and to bed. My morning's work at the office was to put the new books of my office into order, and writing on the backsides what books they be, and transcribing out of some old books some things into them. 8th. At the office all the morning and dined at home, and after dinner in all haste to make up my accounts with my Lord, which I did with some trouble, because I had some hopes to have made a profit to myself in this account and above what was due to me (which God forgive me in), but I could not, but carried them to my Lord, with whom they passed well. So to the Wardrobe, where alone with my Lord above an hour; and he do seem still to have his old confidence in me; and tells me to boot, that Mr. Coventry hath spoke of me to him to great advantage; wherein I am much pleased. By and by comes in Mr. Coventry to visit my Lord; and so my Lord and he and I walked together in the great chamber a good while; and I found him a most ingenuous man and good company. He being gone I also went home by water, Mr. Moore with me for discourse sake, and then parted from me, Cooper being there ready to attend me, so he and I to work till it was dark, and then eat a bit and by daylight to bed. 9th. Up by four o'clock, and at my multiplicacion-table hard, which is all the trouble I meet withal in my arithmetique. So made me ready and to the office, where all the morning busy, and Sir W. Pen came to my office to take his leave of me, and desiring a turn in the garden, did commit the care of his building to me, and offered all his services to me in all matters of mine. I did, God forgive me! promise him all my service and love, though the rogue knows he deserves none from me, nor do I intend to show him any; but as he dissembles with me, so must I with him. Dined at home, and so to the office again, my wife with me, and while I was for an hour making a hole behind my seat in my closet to look into the office, she was talking to me about her going to Brampton, which I would willingly have her to do but for the cost of it, and to stay here will be very inconvenient because of the dirt that I must have when my house is pulled down. Then to my business till night, then Mr. Cooper and I to our business, and then came Mr. Mills, the minister, to see me, which he hath but rarely done to me, though every day almost to others of us; but he is a cunning fellow, and knows where the good victuals is, and the good drink, at Sir W. Batten's. However, I used him civilly, though I love him as I do the rest of his coat. So to supper and to bed. 10th. Up by four o'clock, and before I went to the office I practised my arithmetique, and then, when my wife was up, did call her and Sarah, and did make up a difference between them, for she is so good a servant as I am loth to part with her. So to the office all the morning, where very much business, but it vexes me to see so much disorder at our table, that, every man minding a several business, we dispatch nothing. Dined at home with my wife, then to the office again, and being called by Sir W. Batten, walked to the Victualler's office, there to view all the several offices and houses to see that they were employed in order to give the Council an account thereof. So after having taken an oath or two of Mr. Lewes and Captain Brown and others I returned to the office, and there sat despatching several businesses alone till night, and so home and by daylight to bed. 11th. Up by four o'clock, and hard at my multiplicacion-table, which I am now almost master of, and so made me ready and to my office, where by and by comes Mr. Pett, and then a messenger from Mr. Coventry, who stays in his boat at the Tower for us. So we to him, and down to Deptford first, and there viewed some deals lately served in at a low price, which our officers, like knaves, would untruly value in their worth, but we found them good. Then to Woolwich, and viewed well all the houses and stores there, which lie in very great confusion for want of storehouses, and then to Mr. Ackworth's and Sheldon's to view their books, which we found not to answer the King's service and security at all as to the stores. Then to the Ropeyard, and there viewed the hemp, wherein we found great corruption, and then saw a trial between Sir R. Ford's yarn and our own, and found great odds. So by water back again. About five in the afternoon to Whitehall, and so to St. James's; and at Mr. Coventry's chamber, which is very neat and fine, we had a pretty neat dinner, and after dinner fell to discourse of business and regulation, and do think of many things that will put matters into better order, and upon the whole my heart rejoices to see Mr. Coventry so ingenious, and able, and studious to do good, and with much frankness and respect to Mr. Pett and myself particularly. About 9 o'clock we broke up after much discourse and many things agreed on in order to our business of regulation, and so by water (landing Mr. Pett at the Temple) I went home and to bed. 12th. Up by five o'clock, and put things in my house in order to be laid up, against my workmen come on Monday to take down the top of my house, which trouble I must go through now, but it troubles me much to think of it. So to my office, where till noon we sat, and then I to dinner and to the office all the afternoon with much business. At night with Cooper at arithmetique, and then came Mr. Creed about my Lord's accounts to even them, and he gone I to supper and to bed. 13th (Lord's day) . . . . I had my old pain all yesterday and this morning, and so kept my bed all this morning. So up and after dinner and some of my people to church, I set about taking down my books and papers and making my chamber fit against to-morrow to have the people come to work in pulling down the top of my house. In the evening I walked to the garden and sent for Mr. Turner (who yesterday did give me occasion of speaking to him about the difference between him and me), and I told him my whole mind, and how it was in my power to do him a discourtesy about his place of petty purveyance, and at last did make him see (I think) that it was his concernment to be friendly to me and what belongs to me. After speaking my mind to him and he to me, we walked down and took boat at the Tower and to Deptford, on purpose to sign and seal a couple of warrants, as justice of peace in Kent, against one Annis, who is to be tried next Tuesday, at Maidstone assizes, for stealing some lead out of Woolwich Yard. Going and coming I did discourse with Mr. Turner about the faults of our management of the business of our office, of which he is sensible, but I believe is a very knave. Come home I found a rabbit at the fire, and so supped well, and so to my journall and to bed. 14th. Up by 4 o'clock and to my arithmetique, and so to my office till 8, then to Thames Street along with old Mr. Green, among the tarr-men, and did instruct myself in the nature and prices of tarr, but could not get Stockholm for the use of the office under L10 15s. per last, which is a great price. So home, and at noon Dr. T. Pepys came to me, and he and I to the Exchequer, and so back to dinner, where by chance comes Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, and then Mr. Battersby, the minister, and then Mr. Dun, and it happened that I had a haunch of venison boiled, and so they were very wellcome and merry; but my simple Dr. do talk so like a fool that I am weary of him. They being gone, to my office again, and there all the afternoon, and at night home and took a few turns with my wife in the garden and so to bed. My house being this day almost quite untiled in order to its rising higher. This night I began to put on my waistcoat also. I found the pageant in Cornhill taken down, which was pretty strange. 15th. Up by 4 o'clock, and after doing some business as to settling my papers at home, I went to my office, and there busy till sitting time. So at the office all the morning, where J. Southern, Mr. Coventry's clerk, did offer me a warrant for an officer to sign which I desired, claiming it for my clerk's duty, which however did trouble me a little to be put upon it, but I did it. We broke up late, and I to dinner at home, where my brother Tom and Mr. Cooke came and dined with me, but I could not be merry for my business, but to my office again after dinner, and they two and my wife abroad. In the evening comes Mr. Cooper, and I took him by water on purpose to tell me things belonging to ships, which was time well spent, and so home again, and my wife came home and tells me she has been very merry and well pleased with her walk with them. About bedtime it fell a-raining, and the house being all open at top, it vexed me; but there was no help for it. 16th. In the morning I found all my ceilings, spoiled with rain last night, so that I fear they must be all new whited when the work is done. Made me ready and to my office, and by and by came Mr. Moore to me, and so I went home and consulted about drawing up a fair state of all my Lord's accounts, which being settled, he went away, and I fell to writing of it very neatly, and it was very handsome and concisely done. At noon to my Lord's with it, but found him at dinner, and some great company with him, Mr. Edward Montagu and his brother, and Mr. Coventry, and after dinner he went out with them, and so I lost my labour; but dined with Mr. Moore and the people below, who after dinner fell to talk of Portugall rings, and Captain Ferrers offered five or six to sell, and I seeming to like a ring made of a coco-nutt with a stone done in it, he did offer and would give it me. By and by we went to Mr. Creed's lodging, and there got a dish or two of sweetmeats, and I seeing a very neat leaden standish to carry papers, pen, and ink in when one travels I also got that of him, and that done I went home by water and to finish some of my Lord's business, and so early to bed. This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine (being quite fallen out with her husband) did yesterday go away from him, with all her plate, jewels, and other best things; and is gone to Richmond to a brother of her's; which, I am apt to think, was a design to get out of town, that the King might come at her the better. But strange it is how for her beauty I am willing to construe all this to the best and to pity her wherein it is to her hurt, though I know well enough she is a whore. 17th. To my office, and by and by to our sitting; where much business. Mr. Coventry took his leave, being to go with the Duke over for the Queen-Mother. I dined at home, and so to my Lord's, where I presented him with a true state of all his accounts to last Monday, being the 14th of July, which did please him, and to my great joy I continue in his great esteem and opinion. I this day took a general acquittance from my Lord to the same day. So that now I have but very few persons to deal withall for money in the world. Home and found much business to be upon my hands, and was late at the office writing letters by candle light, which is rare at this time of the year, but I do it with much content and joy, and then I do please me to see that I begin to have people direct themselves to me in all businesses. Very late I was forced to send for Mr. Turner, Smith, Young, about things to be sent down early to-morrow on board the King's pleasure boat, and so to bed with my head full of business, but well contented in mind as ever in my life. 18th. Up very early, and got a-top of my house, seeing the design of my work, and like it very well, and it comes into my head to have my dining-room wainscoated, which will be very pretty. By-and-by by water to Deptford, to put several things in order, being myself now only left in town, and so back again to the office, and there doing business all the morning and the afternoon also till night, and then comes Cooper for my mathematiques, but, in good earnest, my head is so full of business that I cannot understand it as otherwise I should do. At night to bed, being much troubled at the rain coming into my house, the top being open. 19th. Up early and to some business, and my wife coming to me I staid long with her discoursing about her going into the country, and as she is not very forward so am I at a great loss whether to have her go or no because of the charge, and yet in some considerations I would be glad she was there, because of the dirtiness of my house and the trouble of having of a family there. So to my office, and there all the morning, and then to dinner and my brother Tom dined with me only to see me. In the afternoon I went upon the river to look after some tarr I am sending down and some coles, and so home again; it raining hard upon the water, I put ashore and sheltered myself, while the King came by in his barge, going down towards the Downs to meet the Queen: the Duke being gone yesterday. But methought it lessened my esteem of a king, that he should not be able to command the rain. Home, and Cooper coming (after I had dispatched several letters) to my mathematiques, and so at night to bed to a chamber at Sir W. Pen's, my own house being so foul that I cannot lie there any longer, and there the chamber lies so as that I come into it over my leads without going about, but yet I am not fully content with it, for there will be much trouble to have servants running over the leads to and fro. 20th (Lord's day). My wife and I lay talking long in bed, and at last she is come to be willing to stay two months in the country, for it is her unwillingness to stay till the house is quite done that makes me at a loss how to have her go or stay. But that which troubles me most is that it has rained all this morning so furiously that I fear my house is all over water, and with that expectation I rose and went into my house and find that it is as wet as the open street, and that there is not one dry-footing above nor below in my house. So I fitted myself for dirt, and removed all my books to the office and all day putting up and restoring things, it raining all day long as hard within doors as without. At last to dinner, we had a calf's head and bacon at my chamber at Sir W. Pen's, and there I and my wife concluded to have her go and her two maids and the boy, and so there shall be none but Will and I left at home, and so the house will be freer, for it is impossible to have anybody come into my house while it is in this condition, and with this resolution all the afternoon we were putting up things in the further cellar against next week for them to be gone, and my wife and I into the office and there measured a soiled flag that I had found there, and hope to get it to myself, for it has not been demanded since I came to the office. But my wife is not hasty to have it, but rather to stay a while longer and see the event whether it will be missed or no. At night to my office, and there put down this day's passages in my journall, and read my oaths, as I am obliged every Lord's day. And so to Sir W. Pen's to my chamber again, being all in dirt and foul, and in fear of having catched cold today with dabbling in the water. But what has vexed me to-day was that by carrying the key to Sir W. Pen's last night, it could not in the midst of all my hurry to carry away my books and things, be found, and at last they found it in the fire that we made last night. So to bed. 21st. Up early, and though I found myself out of order and cold, and the weather cold and likely to rain, yet upon my promise and desire to do what I intended, I did take boat and down to Greenwich, to Captain Cocke's, who hath a most pleasant seat, and neat. Here I drank wine, and eat some fruit off the trees; and he showed a great rarity, which was two or three of a great number of silver dishes and plates, which he bought of an embassador that did lack money, in the edge or rim of which was placed silver and gold medalls, very ancient, and I believe wrought, by which, if they be, they are the greatest rarity that ever I saw in my life, and I will show Mr. Crumlum them. Thence to Woolwich to the Rope-yard; and there looked over several sorts of hemp, and did fall upon my great survey of seeing the working and experiments of the strength and the charge in the dressing of every sort; and I do think have brought it to so great a certainty, as I have done the King great service in it: and do purpose to get it ready against the Duke's coming to town to present to him. I breakfasted at Mr. Falconer's well, and much pleased with my inquiries. Thence to the dock, where we walked in Mr. Shelden's garden, eating more fruit, and drinking, and eating figs, which were very good, and talking while the Royal James was bringing towards the dock, and then we went out and saw the manner and trouble of docking such a ship, which yet they could not do, but only brought her head into the Dock, and so shored her up till next tide. But, good God! what a deal of company was there from both yards to help to do it, when half the company would have done it as well. But I see it is impossible for the King to have things done as cheap as other men. Thence by water, and by and by landing at the riverside somewhere among the reeds, we walked to Greenwich, where to Cocke's house again and walked in the garden, and then in to his lady, who I find is still pretty, but was now vexed and did speak very discontented and angry to the Captain for disappointing a gentleman that he had invited to dinner, which he took like a wise man and said little, but she was very angry, which put me clear out of countenance that I was sorry I went in. So after I had eat still some more fruit I took leave of her in the garden plucking apricots for preserving, and went away and so by water home, and there Mr. Moore coming and telling me that my Lady goes into the country to-morrow, I carried my wife by coach to take her leave of her father, I staying in Westminster Hall, she going away also this week, and thence to my Lady's, where we staid and supped with her, but found that my Lady was truly angry and discontented with us for our neglecting to see her as we used to do, but after a little she was pleased as she was used to be, at which we were glad. So after supper home to bed. 22d. Among my workmen early: then to the office, and there I had letters from the Downs from Mr. Coventry; who tells me of the foul weather they had last Sunday, that drove them back from near Boulogne, whither they were going for the Queen, back again to the Downs, with the loss of their cables, sayles, and masts; but are all safe, only my Lord Sandwich, who went before with the yachts; they know not what is become of him, which do trouble me much; but I hope he got ashore before the storm begun; which God grant! All day at the office, only at home at dinner, where I was highly angry with my wife for her keys being out of the way, but they were found at last, and so friends again. All the afternoon answering letters and writing letters, and at night to Mr. Coventry an ample letter in answer to all his and the Duke's business. Late at night at the office, where my business is great, being now all alone in town, but I shall go through it with pleasure. So home and to bed. 23rd. This morning angry a little in the morning, and my house being so much out of order makes me a little pettish. I went to the office, and there dispatched business by myself, and so again in the afternoon; being a little vexed that my brother Tom, by his neglect, do fail to get a coach for my wife and maid this week, by which she will not be at Brampton Feast, to meet my Lady at my father's. At night home, and late packing up things in order to their going to Brampton to-morrow, and so to bed, quite out of sorts in my mind by reason that the weather is so bad, and my house all full of wet, and the trouble of going from one house to another to Sir W. Pen's upon every occasion. Besides much disturbed by reason of the talk up and down the town, that my Lord Sandwich is lost; but I trust in God the contrary. 24th. Up early this morning sending the things to the carrier's, and my boy, who goes to-day, though his mistress do not till next Monday. All the morning at the office, Sir W. Batten being come to town last night. I hear, to my great content, that my Lord Sandwich is safe landed in France. Dined at our chamber, where W. Bowyer with us, and after much simple talk with him, I left him, and to my office, where all the afternoon busy till 9 at night, among other things improving my late experiment at Woolwich about hemp. So home and to bed. 25th. At the office all the morning, reading Mr. Holland's' discourse of the Navy, lent me by Mr. Turner, and am much pleased with them, they hitting the very diseases of the Navy, which we are troubled with now-a-days. I shall bestow writing of them over and much reading thereof. This morning Sir W. Batten came in to the office and desired to speak with me; he began by telling me that he observed a strangeness between him and me of late, and would know the reason of it, telling me he heard that I was offended with merchants coming to his house and making contracts there. I did tell him that as a friend I had spoke of it to Sir W. Pen and desired him to take a time to tell him of it, and not as a backbiter, with which he was satisfied, but I find that Sir W. Pen has played the knave with me, and not told it from me as a friend, but in a bad sense. He also told me that he heard that exceptions were taken at his carrying his wife down to Portsmouth, saying that the King should not pay for it, but I denied that I had spoke of it, nor did I. At last he desired the difference between our wives might not make a difference between us, which I was exceedingly glad to hear, and do see every day the fruit of looking after my business, which I pray God continue me in, for I do begin to be very happy. Dined at home, and so to the office all the afternoon again, and at night home and to bed. 26th. Sir W. Batten, Mr. Pett, and I at the office sitting all the morning. So dined at home, and then to my office again, causing the model hanging in my chamber to be taken down and hung up in my office, for fear of being spoilt by the workmen, and for my own convenience of studying it. This afternoon I had a letter from Mr. Creed, who hath escaped narrowly in the King's yacht, and got safe to the Downs after the late storm; and that there the King do tell him, that he is sure that my Lord is landed at Callis safe, of which being glad, I sent news thereof to my Lord Crew, and by the post to my Lady into the country. This afternoon I went to Westminster; and there hear that the King and Queen intend to come to White Hall from Hampton Court next week, for all winter. Thence to Mrs. Sarah, and there looked over my Lord's lodgings, which are very pretty; and White Hall garden and the Bowling-ally (where lords and ladies are now at bowles), in brave condition. Mrs. Sarah told me how the falling out between my Lady Castlemaine and her Lord was about christening of the child lately, [The boy was born in June at Lady Castlemaine's house in King Street. By the direction of Lord Castlemaine, who had become a Roman Catholic, the child was baptized by a priest, and this led to a final separation between husband and wife. Some days afterwards the child was again baptized by the rector of St. Margaret's, Westminster, in presence of the godparents, the King, Aubrey De Vere, Earl of Oxford, and Barbara, Countess of Suffolk, first Lady of the Bedchamber to the Queen and Lady Castlemaine's aunt. The entry in the register of St. Margaret's is as follows: "1662 June 18 Charles Palmer Ld Limbricke, s. to ye right honorble Roger Earl of Castlemaine by Barbara" (Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," 1871, p. 33). The child was afterwards called Charles Fitzroy, and was created Duke of Southampton in 1674. He succeeded his mother in the dukedom of Cleveland in 1709, and died 1730.] which he would have, and had done by a priest: and, some days after, she had it again christened by a minister; the King, and Lord of Oxford, and Duchesse of Suffolk, being witnesses: and christened with a proviso, that it had not already been christened. Since that she left her Lord, carrying away every thing in the house; so much as every dish, and cloth, and servant but the porter. He is gone discontented into France, they say, to enter a monastery; and now she is coming back again to her house in Kingstreet. But I hear that the Queen did prick her out of the list presented her by the King; ["By the King's command Lord Clarendon, much against his inclination, had twice visited his royal mistress with a view of inducing her, by persuasions which he could not justify, to give way to the King's determination to have Lady Castlemaine of her household . . . . Lord Clarendon has given a full account of all that transpired between himself, the King and the Queen, on this very unpleasant business ('Continuation of Life of Clarendon,' 1759, ff. 168-178)."--Steinman's Memoir of Duchess of Cleveland, p. 35. "The day at length arrived when Lady Castlemaine was to be formally admitted a Lady of the Bedchamber. The royal warrant, addressed to the Lord Chamberlain, bears date June 1, 1663, and includes with that of her ladyship, the names of the Duchess of Buckingham, the Countesses of Chesterfield and Bath, and the Countess Mareshall. A separate warrant of the same day directs his lordship to admit the Countess of Suffolk as Groom of the Stole and first Lady of the Bedchamber, to which undividable offices she had, with the additional ones of Mistress of the Robes and Keeper of the Privy Purse, been nominated by a warrant dated April 2, 1662, wherein the reception of her oath is expressly deferred until the Queen's household shall be established. We here are furnished with the evidence that Charles would not sign the warrants for the five until Catherine had withdrawn her objection to his favourite one."-- Addenda to Steinman's Memoir of Duchess of Cleveland (privately printed), 1874, p. i.] desiring that she might have that favour done her, or that he would send her from whence she come: and that the King was angry and the Queen discontented a whole day and night upon it; but that the King hath promised to have nothing to do with her hereafter. But I cannot believe that the King can fling her off so, he loving her too well: and so I writ this night to my Lady to be my opinion; she calling her my lady, and the lady I admire. Here I find that my Lord hath lost the garden to his lodgings, and that it is turning into a tennis-court. Hence by water to the Wardrobe to see how all do there, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). At church alone in the pew in the morning. In the afternoon by water I carried my wife to Westminster, where she went to take leave of her father, [Mrs. Pepys's father was Alexander Marchant, Sieur de St. Michel, a scion of a good family in Anjou. Having turned Huguenot at the age of twenty-one, his father disinherited him, and he was left penniless. He came over in the retinue of Henrietta Maria, on her marriage with Charles I., as one of her Majesty's gentlemen carvers, but the Queen dismissed him on finding out he was a Protestant and did not go to mass. He described himself as being captain and major of English troops in Italy and Flanders.--Wheatley's Pepys and the World he lived in, pp. 6, 250. He was full of schemes; see September 22nd, 1663, for account of his patent for curing smoky chimneys.] and I to walk in the Park, which is now every day more and more pleasant, by the new works upon it. Here meeting with Laud Crispe, I took him to the farther end, and sat under a tree in a corner, and there sung some songs, he singing well, but no skill, and so would sing false sometimes. Then took leave of him, and found my wife at my Lord's lodging, and so took her home by water, and to supper in Sir W. Pen's balcony, and Mrs. Keene with us, and then came my wife's brother, and then broke up, and to bed. 28th. Up early, and by six o'clock, after my wife was ready, I walked with her to the George, at Holborn Conduit, where the coach stood ready to carry her and her maid to Bugden, but that not being ready, my brother Tom staid with them to see them gone, and so I took a troubled though willing goodbye, because of the bad condition of my house to have a family in it. So I took leave of her and walked to the waterside, and there took boat for the Tower; hearing that the Queen-Mother is come this morning already as high as Woolwich: and that my Lord Sandwich was with her; at which my heart was glad, and I sent the waterman, though yet not very certain of it, to my wife to carry news thereof to my Lady. So to my office all the morning abstracting the Duke's instructions in the margin thereof. So home all alone to dinner, and then to the office again, and in the evening Cooper comes, and he being gone, to my chamber a little troubled and melancholy, to my lute late, and so to bed, Will lying there at my feet, and the wench in my house in Will's bed. 29th. Early up, and brought all my money, which is near L300, out of my house into this chamber; and so to the office, and there we sat all the morning, Sir George Carteret and Mr. Coventry being come from sea. This morning among other things I broached the business of our being abused about flags, which I know doth trouble Sir W. Batten, but I care not. At noon being invited I went with Sir George and Mr. Coventry to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, and there merry, and very friendly to Sir Wm. and he to me, and complies much with me, but I know he envies me, and I do not value him. To the office again, and in the evening walked to Deptford (Cooper with me talking of mathematiques), to send a fellow to prison for cutting of buoy ropes, and to see the difference between the flags sent in now-a-days, and I find the old ones, which were much cheaper, to be wholly as good. So I took one of a sort with me, and Mr. Wayth accompanying of me a good way, talking of the faults of the Navy, I walked to Redriffe back, and so home by water, and after having done, late, at the office, I went to my chamber and to bed. 30th. Up early, and to my office, where Cooper came to me and begun his lecture upon the body of a ship, which my having of a modell in the office is of great use to me, and very pleasant and useful it is. Then by water to White Hall, and there waited upon my Lord Sandwich; and joyed him, at his lodgings, of his safe coming home after all his danger, which he confesses to be very great. And his people do tell me how bravely my Lord did carry himself, while my Lord Crofts did cry; and I perceive it is all the town talk how poorly he carried himself. But the best was of one Mr. Rawlins, a courtier, that was with my Lord; and in the greatest danger cried, "God damn me, my Lord, I won't give you three-pence for your place now." But all ends in the honour of the pleasure-boats; which, had they not been very good boats, they could never have endured the sea as they did. Thence with Captain Fletcher, of the Gage, in his ship's boat with 8 oars (but every ordinary oars outrowed us) to Woolwich, expecting to find Sir W. Batten there upon his survey, but he is not come, and so we got a dish of steaks at the White Hart, while his clarkes and others were feasting of it in the best room of the house, and after dinner playing at shuffleboard, [The game of shovelboard was played by two players (each provided with five coins) on a smooth heavy table. On the table were marked with chalk a series of lines, and the play was to strike the coin on the edge of the table with the hand so that it rested between these lines. Shakespeare uses the expression "shove-groat shilling," as does Ben Jonson. These shillings were usually smooth and worn for the convenience of playing. Strutt says ("Sports and Pastimes"), "I have seen a shovel-board table at a low public house in Benjamin Street, near Clerkenwell Green, which is about three feet in breadth and thirty-nine feet two inches in length, and said to be the longest at this time in London."] and when at last they heard I was there, they went about their survey. But God help the King! what surveys, shall be taken after this manner! I after dinner about my business to the Rope-yard, and there staid till night, repeating several trialls of the strength, wayte, waste, and other things of hemp, by which I have furnished myself enough to finish my intended business of stating the goodness of all sorts of hemp. At night home by boat with Sir W. Warren, who I landed by the way, and so being come home to bed. 31st. Up early and among my workmen, I ordering my rooms above, which will please me very well. So to my office, and there we sat all the morning, where I begin more and more to grow considerable there. At noon Mr. Coventry and I by his coach to the Exchange together; and in Lumbard-street met Captain Browne of the Rosebush: at which he was cruel angry: and did threaten to go to-day to the Duke at Hampton Court, and get him turned out because he was not sailed. But at the Exchange we resolved of eating a bit together, which we did at the Ship behind the Exchange, and so took boat to Billingsgate, and went down on board the Rosebush at Woolwich, and found all things out of order, but after frightening the officers there, we left them to make more haste, and so on shore to the yard, and did the same to the officers of the yard, that the ship was not dispatched. Here we found Sir W. Batten going about his survey, but so poorly and unlike a survey of the Navy, that I am ashamed of it, and so is Mr. Coventry. We found fault with many things, and among others the measure of some timber now serving in which Mr. Day the assistant told us of, and so by water home again, all the way talking of the office business and other very pleasant discourse, and much proud I am of getting thus far into his books, which I think I am very much in. So home late, and it being the last day of the month, I did make up my accounts before I went to bed, and found myself worth about L650, for which the Lord God be praised, and so to bed. I drank but two glasses of wine this day, and yet it makes my head ake all night, and indisposed me all the next day, of which I am glad. I am now in town only with my man Will and Jane, and because my house is in building, I do lie at Sir W. Pen's house, he being gone to Ireland. My wife, her maid and boy gone to Brampton. I am very well entered into the business and esteem of the office, and do ply it close, and find benefit by it. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1662 August 1st. Up, my head aching, and to my office, where Cooper read me another lecture upon my modell very pleasant. So to my business all the morning, which increases by people coming now to me to the office. At noon to the Exchange, where meeting Mr. Creed and Moore we three to a house hard by (which I was not pleased with) to dinner, and after dinner and some discourse ordinary by coach home, it raining hard, and so at the office all the afternoon till evening to my chamber, where, God forgive me, I was sorry to hear that Sir W. Pen's maid Betty was gone away yesterday, for I was in hopes to have had a bout with her before she had gone, she being very pretty. I had also a mind to my own wench, but I dare not for fear she should prove honest and refuse and then tell my wife. I staid up late, putting things in order for my going to Chatham to-morrow, and so to bed, being in pain . . . with the little riding in a coach to-day from the Exchange, which do trouble me. 2nd. Up early, and got me ready in my riding clothes, and so to the office, and there wrote letters to my father and wife against night, and then to the business of my office, which being done, I took boat with Will, and down to Greenwich, where Captain Cocke not being at home I was vexed, and went to walk in the Park till he come thither to me: and Will's forgetting to bring my boots in the boat did also vex me, for I was forced to send the boat back again for them. I to Captain Cocke's along with him to dinner, where I find his lady still pretty, but not so good a humour as I thought she was. We had a plain, good dinner, and I see they do live very frugally. I eat among other fruit much mulberrys, a thing I have not eat of these many years, since I used to be at Ashted, at my cozen Pepys's. After dinner we to boat, and had a pleasant passage down to Gravesend, but it was nine o'clock before we got thither, so that we were in great doubt what to do, whether to stay there or no; and the rather because I was afeard to ride, because of my pain . . . ; but at the Swan, finding Mr. Hemson and Lieutenant Carteret of the Foresight come to meet me, I borrowed Mr. Hemson's horse, and he took another, and so we rode to Rochester in the dark, and there at the Crown Mr. Gregory, Barrow, and others staid to meet me. So after a glass of wine, we to our barge, that was ready for me, to the Hill-house, where we soon went to bed, before we slept I telling upon discourse Captain Cocke the manner of my being cut of the stone, which pleased him much. So to sleep. 3rd (Lord's day). Up early, and with Captain Cocke to the dock-yard, a fine walk, and fine weather. Where we walked till Commissioner Pett come to us, and took us to his house, and showed us his garden and fine things, and did give us a fine breakfast of bread and butter, and sweetmeats and other things with great choice, and strong drinks, with which I could not avoyde making my head ake, though I drank but little. Thither came Captain Allen of the Foresight, and the officers of the yard to see me. Thence by and by to church, by coach, with the Commissioner, and had a dull sermon. A full church, and some pretty women in it; among others, Beck Allen, who was a bride-maid to a new married couple that came to church to-day, and, which was pretty strange, sat in a pew hung with mourning for a mother of the bride's, which methinks should have been taken down. After dinner going out of the church saluted Mrs. Pett, who came after us in the coach to church, and other officers' wives. The Commissioner staid at dinner with me, and we had a good dinner, better than I would have had, but I saw there was no helping of it. After dinner the Commissioner and I left the company and walked in the garden at the Hill-house, which is very pleasant, and there talked of our businesses and matters of the navy. So to church again, where quite weary, and so after sermon walked with him to the yard up and down and the fields, and saw the place designed for the wet dock. And so to his house, and had a syllabub, and saw his closet, which come short of what I expected, but there was fine modells of ships in it indeed, whose worth I could not judge of. At night walked home to the Hill-house, Mr. Barrow with me, talking of the faults of the yard, walking in the fields an hour or two, and so home to supper, and so Captain Cocke and I to bed. This day among other stories he told me how despicable a thing it is to be a hangman in Poland, although it be a place of credit. And that, in his time, there was some repairs to be made of the gallows there, which was very fine of stone; but nobody could be got to mend it till the Burgomaster, or Mayor of the town, with all the companies of those trades which were necessary to be used about those repairs, did go in their habits with flags, in solemn procession to the place, and there the Burgomaster did give the first blow with the hammer upon the wooden work; and the rest of the Masters of the Companys upon the works belonging to their trades; that so workmen might not be ashamed to be employed upon doing of the gallows' works. 4th. Up by four o'clock in the morning and walked to the Dock, where Commissioner Pett and I took barge and went to the guardships and mustered them, finding them but badly manned; thence to the Sovereign, which we found kept in good order and very clean, which pleased us well, but few of the officers on board. Thence to the Charles, and were troubled to see her kept so neglectedly by the boatswain Clements, who I always took for a very good officer; it is a very brave ship. Thence to Upnor Castle, and there went up to the top, where there is a fine prospect, but of very small force; so to the yard, and there mustered the whole ordinary, where great disorder by multitude of servants and old decrepid men, which must be remedied. So to all the storehouses and viewed the stores of all sorts and the hemp, where we found Captain Cocke's (which he came down to see along with me) very bad, and some others, and with much content (God forgive me) I did hear by the Clerk of the Ropeyard how it was by Sir W. Batten's private letter that one parcel of Alderman Barker's' was received. At two o'clock to dinner to the Hill-house, and after dinner dispatched many people's business, and then to the yard again, and looked over Mr. Gregory's and Barrow's houses to see the matter of difference between them concerning an alteration that Barrow would make, which I shall report to the board, but both their houses very pretty, and deserve to be so, being well kept. Then to a trial of several sorts of hemp, but could not perform it here so well as at Woolwich, but we did do it pretty well. So took barge at the dock and to Rochester, and there Captain Cocke and I and our two men took coach about 8 at night and to Gravesend, where it was very dark before we got thither to the Swan; and there, meeting with Doncaster, an old waterman of mine above bridge, we eat a short supper, being very merry with the drolling, drunken coachman that brought us, and so took water. It being very dark, and the wind rising, and our waterman unacquainted with this part of the river, so that we presently cast upon the Essex shore, but got off again, and so, as well as we could, went on, but I in such fear that I could not sleep till we came to Erith, and there it begun to be calm, and the stars to shine, and so I began to take heart again, and the rest too, and so made shift to slumber a little. Above Woolwich we lost our way, and went back to Blackwall, and up and down, being guided by nothing but the barking of a dog, which we had observed in passing by Blackwall, and so, 5th. Got right again with much ado, after two or three circles and so on, and at Greenwich set in Captain Cocke, and I set forward, hailing to all the King's ships at Deptford, but could not wake any man: so that we could have done what we would with their ships. At last waked one man; but it was a merchant ship, the Royall Catharine: so to the Towerdock and home, where the girl sat up for me. It was about three o'clock, and putting Mr. Boddam out of my bed, went to bed, and lay till nine o'clock, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I did give some accounts of my service. Dined alone at home, and was glad my house is begun tiling. And to the office again all the afternoon, till it was so dark that I could not see hardly what it is that I now set down when I write this word, and so went to my chamber and to bed, being sleepy. 6th. Up early, and, going to my office, met Sir G. Carteret in coming through the yard, and so walked a good while talking with him about Sir W. Batten, and find that he is going down the wind in every body's esteem, and in that of his honesty by this letter that he wrote to Captn. Allen concerning Alderman Barker's hemp. Thence by water to White Hall; and so to St. James's; but there found Mr. Coventry gone to Hampton Court. So to my Lord's; and he is also gone: this being a great day at the Council about some business at the Council before the King. Here I met with Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu hath lately had a duell with Mr. Cholmely, that is first gentleman-usher to the Queen, and was a messenger from the King to her in Portugall, and is a fine gentleman; but had received many affronts from Mr. Montagu, and some unkindness from my Lord, upon his score (for which I am sorry). He proved too hard for Montagu, and drove him so far backward that he fell into a ditch, and dropt his sword, but with honour would take no advantage over him; but did give him his life: and the world says Mr. Montagu did carry himself very poorly in the business, and hath lost his honour for ever with all people in it, of which I am very glad, in hopes that it will humble him. I hear also that he hath sent to my Lord to borrow L400, giving his brother Harvey's' security for it, and that my Lord will lend it him, for which I am sorry. Thence home, and at my office all the morning, and dined at home, and can hardly keep myself from having a mind to my wench, but I hope I shall not fall to such a shame to myself. All the afternoon also at my office, and did business. In the evening came Mr. Bland the merchant to me, who has lived long in Spain, and is concerned in the business of Tangier, who did discourse with me largely of it, and after he was gone did send me three or four printed things that he hath wrote of trade in general and of Tangier particularly, but I do not find much in them. This afternoon Mr. Waith was with me, and did tell me much concerning the Chest, which I am resolved to look into; and I perceive he is sensible of Sir W. Batten's carriage; and is pleased to see any thing work against him. Who, poor man, is, I perceive, much troubled, and did yesterday morning walk in the garden with me, did tell me he did see there was a design of bringing another man in his room, and took notice of my sorting myself with others, and that we did business by ourselves without him. Part of which is true, but I denied, and truly, any design of doing him any such wrong as that. He told me he did not say it particularly of me, but he was confident there was somebody intended to be brought in, nay, that the trayne was laid before Sir W. Pen went, which I was glad to hear him say. Upon the whole I see he perceives himself tottering, and that he is suspected, and would be kind to me, but I do my business in the office and neglect him. At night writing in my study a mouse ran over my table, which I shut up fast under my shelf's upon my table till to-morrow, and so home and to bed. 7th. Up by four o'clock and to my office, and by and by Mr. Cooper comes and to our modell, which pleases me more and more. At this till 8 o'clock, and so we sat in the office and staid all the morning, my interest still growing, for which God be praised. This morning I got unexpectedly the Reserve for Mr. Cooper to be maister of, which was only by taking an opportune time to motion [it], which is one good effect of my being constant at the office, that nothing passes without me; and I have the choice of my own time to propose anything I would have. Dined at home, and to the office again at my business all the afternoon till night, and so to supper and to bed. It being become a pleasure to me now-a-days to follow my business, and the greatest part may be imputed to my drinking no wine, and going to no plays. 8th. Up by four o'clock in the morning, and at five by water to Woolwich, there to see the manner of tarring, and all the morning looking to see the several proceedings in making of cordage, and other things relating to that sort of works, much to my satisfaction. At noon came Mr. Coventry on purpose from Hampton Court to see the same, and dined with Mr. Falconer, and after dinner to several experiments of Hemp, and particularly some Milan hemp that is brought over ready dressed. Thence we walked talking, very good discourse all the way to Greenwich, and I do find most excellent discourse from him. Among other things, his rule of suspecting every man that proposes any thing to him to be a knave; or, at least, to have some ends of his own in it. Being led thereto by the story of Sir John Millicent, that would have had a patent from King James for every man to have had leave to have given him a shilling; and that he might take it of every man that had a mind to give it, and being answered that that was a fair thing, but what needed he a patent for it, and what he would do to them that would not give him. He answered, he would not force them; but that they should come to the Council of State, to give a reason why they would not. Another rule is a proverb that he hath been taught, which is that a man that cannot sit still in his chamber (the reason of which I did not understand him), and he that cannot say no (that is, that is of so good a nature that he cannot deny any thing, or cross another in doing any thing), is not fit for business. The last of which is a very great fault of mine, which I must amend in. Thence by boat; I being hot, he put the skirt of his cloak about me; and it being rough, he told me the passage of a Frenchman through London Bridge, where, when he saw the great fall, he begun to cross himself and say his prayers in the greatest fear in the world, and soon as he was over, he swore "Morbleu! c'est le plus grand plaisir du monde," being the most like a French humour in the world. [When the first editions of this Diary were printed no note was required here. Before the erection of the present London Bridge the fall of water at the ebb tide was great, and to pass at that time was called "Shooting the bridge". It was very hazardous for small boats. The ancient mode, even in Henry VIII.'s time, of going to the Tower and Greenwich, was to land at the Three Cranes, in Upper Thames Street, suffer the barges to shoot the bridge, and to enter them again at Billingsgate. See Cavendish's "Wolsey," p. 40, ed. 1852] To Deptford, and there surprised the Yard, and called them to a muster, and discovered many abuses, which we shall be able to understand hereafter and amend. Thence walked to Redriffe, and so to London Bridge, where I parted with him, and walked home and did a little business, and to supper and to bed. 9th. Up by four o'clock or a little after, and to my office, whither by and by comes Cooper, to whom I told my getting for him the Reserve, for which he was very thankful, and fell to work upon our modell, and did a good morning's work upon the rigging, and am very sorry that I must lose him so soon. By and by comes Mr. Coventry, and he and I alone sat at the office all the morning upon business. And so to dinner to Trinity House, and thence by his coach towards White Hall; but there being a stop at the Savoy, we 'light and took water, and my Lord Sandwich being out of town, we parted there, all the way having good discourse, and in short I find him the most ingenuous person I ever found in my life, and am happy in his acquaintance and my interest in him. Home by water, and did business at my office. Writing a letter to my brother John to dissuade him from being Moderator of his year, which I hear is proffered him, of which I am very glad. By and by comes Cooper, and he and I by candlelight at my modell, being willing to learn as much of him as is possible before he goes. So home and to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Being to dine at my brother's, I walked to St. Dunstan's, the church being now finished; and here I heard Dr. Bates,' who made a most eloquent sermon; and I am sorry I have hitherto had so low an opinion of the man, for I have not heard a neater sermon a great while, and more to my content. So to Tom's, where Dr. Fairebrother, newly come from Cambridge, met me, and Dr. Thomas Pepys. I framed myself as pleasant as I could, but my mind was another way. Hither came my uncle Fenner, hearing that I was here, and spoke to me about Pegg Kite's business of her portion, which her husband demands, but I will have nothing to do with it. I believe he has no mind to part with the money out of his hands, but let him do what he will with it. He told me the new service-book--[The Common Prayer Book of 1662, now in use.]--(which is now lately come forth) was laid upon their deske at St. Sepulchre's for Mr. Gouge to read; but he laid it aside, and would not meddle with it: and I perceive the Presbyters do all prepare to give over all against Bartholomew-tide. [Thomas Gouge (1609-1681), an eminent Presbyterian minister, son of William Gouge, D.D. (lecturer at and afterwards Rector of St. Anne's, Blackfriars). He was vicar of the parish of St. Sepulchre from 1638 until the Act of Uniformity, in 1662, forced him to resign his living.] Mr. Herring, being lately turned out at St. Bride's, did read the psalm to the people while they sung at Dr. Bates's, which methought is a strange turn. After dinner to St. Bride's, and there heard one Carpenter, an old man, who, they say, hath been a Jesuit priest, and is come over to us; but he preaches very well. So home with Mrs. Turner, and there hear that Mr. Calamy hath taken his farewell this day of his people, and that others will do so the next Sunday. Mr. Turner, the draper, I hear, is knighted, made Alderman, and pricked for Sheriffe, with Sir Thomas Bluddel, for the next year, by the King, and so are called with great honour the King's Sheriffes. Thence walked home, meeting Mr. Moore by the way, and he home with me and walked till it was dark in the garden, and so good night, and I to my closet in my office to perfect my Journall and to read my solemn vows, and so to bed. 11th. All the morning at the office. Dined at home all alone, and so to my office again, whither Dean Fuller came to see me, and having business about a ship to carry his goods to Dublin, whither he is shortly to return, I went with him to the Hermitage, and the ship happening to be Captn. Holland's I did give orders for them to be well looked after, and thence with him to the Custom House about getting a pass for them, and so to the Dolphin tavern, where I spent 6d. on him, but drank but one glass of wine, and so parted. He tells me that his niece, that sings so well, whom I have long longed to see, is married to one Mr. Boys, a wholesale man at the Three Crowns in Cheapside. I to the office again, whither Cooper came and read his last lecture to me upon my modell, and so bid me good bye, he being to go to-morrow to Chatham to take charge of the ship I have got him. So to my business till 9 at night, and so to supper and to bed, my mind a little at ease because my house is now quite tiled. 12th. Up early at my office, and I find all people beginning to come to me. Among others Mr. Deane, the Assistant of Woolwich, who I find will discover to me the whole abuse that his Majesty suffers in the measuring of timber, of which I shall be glad. He promises me also a modell of a ship, which will please me exceedingly, for I do want one of my own. By and by we sat, and among other things Sir W. Batten and I had a difference about his clerk's making a warrant for a Maister, which I would not suffer, but got another signed, which he desires may be referred to a full board, and I am willing to it. But though I did get another signed of my own clerk's, yet I will give it to his clerk, because I would not be judged unkind, and though I will stand upon my privilege. At noon home and to dinner alone, and so to the office again, where busy all the afternoon till to o'clock at night, and so to supper and to bed, my mind being a little disquieted about Sir W. Batten's dispute to-day, though this afternoon I did speak with his man Norman at last, and told him the reason of my claim. 13th. Up early, and to my office, where people come to me about business, and by and by we met on purpose to enquire into the business of the flag-makers, where I am the person that do chiefly manage the business against them on the King's part; and I do find it the greatest cheat that I have yet found; they having eightpence per yard allowed them by pretence of a contract, where no such thing appears; and it is threepence more than was formerly paid, and than I now offer the Board to have them done. We did not fully end it, but refer it to another time. At noon Commr. Pett and I by water to Greenwich, and on board the pleasure-boats to see what they wanted, they being ordered to sea, and very pretty things I still find them, and so on shore and at the Shipp had a bit of meat and dined, there waiting upon us a barber of Mr. Pett's acquaintance that plays very well upon the viollin. Thence to Lambeth; and there saw the little pleasure-boat in building by the King, my Lord Brunkard, and the virtuosoes of the town, according to new lines, which Mr. Pett cries up mightily, but how it will prove we shall soon see. So by water home, and busy at my study late, drawing a letter to the yards of reprehension and direction for the board to sign, in which I took great pains. So home and to bed. 14th. Up early and to look on my works, and find my house to go on apace. So to my office to prepare business, and then we met and sat till noon, and then Commissioner Pett and I being invited, went by Sir John Winter's coach sent for us, to the Mitre, in Fenchurch street, to a venison-pasty; where I found him a very worthy man; and good discourse. Most of which was concerning the Forest of Dean, and the timber there, and iron-workes with their great antiquity, and the vast heaps of cinders which they find, and are now of great value, being necessary for the making of iron at this day; and without which they cannot work: with the age of many trees there left at a great fall in Edward the Third's time, by the name of forbid-trees, which at this day are called vorbid trees. Thence to my office about business till late, and so home and to bed. 15th. Up very early, and up about seeing how my work proceeds, and am pretty well pleased therewith; especially my wife's closet will be very pretty. So to the office and there very busy, and many people coming to me. At noon to the Change, and there hear of some Quakers that are seized on, that would have blown up the prison in Southwark where they are put. So to the Swan, in Old Fish Street, where Mr. Brigden and his father-in-law, Blackbury, of whom we had bought timber in the office, but have not dealt well with us, did make me a fine dinner only to myself; and after dinner comes in a jugler, which shewed us very pretty tricks. I seemed very pleasant, but am no friend to the man's dealings with us in the office. After an hour or two sitting after dinner talking about office business, where I had not spent any time a great while, I went to Paul's Church Yard to my bookseller's; and there I hear that next Sunday will be the last of a great many Presbyterian ministers in town, who, I hear, will give up all. I pray God the issue may be good, for the discontent is great. Home and to my office till 9 at night doing business, and so to bed. My mind well pleased with a letter I found at home from Mr. Coventry, expressing his satisfaction in a letter I writ last night, and sent him this morning, to be corrected by him in order to its sending down to all the Yards as a charge to them. 17th (Lord's day). Up very early, this being the last Sunday that the Presbyterians are to preach, unless they read the new Common Prayer and renounce the Covenant, [On St. Bartholomew's day, August 24th, 1662, the Act of Uniformity took effect, and about two hundred Presbyterian and Independent ministers lost their preferments.] and so I had a mind to hear Dr. Bates's farewell sermon, and walked thither, calling first at my brother's, where I found that he is come home after being a week abroad with Dr. Pepys, nobody knows where, nor I but by chance, that he was gone, which troubles me. So I called only at the door, but did not ask for him, but went to Madam Turner's to know whether she went to church, and to tell her that I would dine with her; and so walked to St. Dunstan's, where, it not being seven o'clock yet, the doors were not open; and so I went and walked an hour in the Temple-garden, reading my vows, which it is a great content to me to see how I am a changed man in all respects for the better, since I took them, which the God of Heaven continue to me, and make me thankful for. At eight o'clock I went, and crowded in at a back door among others, the church being half-full almost before any doors were open publicly; which is the first time that I have done so these many years since I used to go with my father and mother, and so got into the gallery, beside the pulpit, and heard very well. His text was, "Now the God of Peace--;" the last Hebrews, and the 20th verse: he making a very good sermon, and very little reflections in it to any thing of the times. Besides the sermon, I was very well pleased with the sight of a fine lady that I have often seen walk in Graye's Inn Walks, and it was my chance to meet her again at the door going out, and very pretty and sprightly she is, and I believe the same that my wife and I some years since did meet at Temple Bar gate and have sometimes spoke of. So to Madam Turner's, and dined with her. She had heard Parson Herring take his leave; tho' he, by reading so much of the Common Prayer as he did, hath cast himself out of the good opinion of both sides. After dinner to St. Dunstan's again; and the church quite crowded before I came, which was just at one o'clock; but I got into the gallery again, but stood in a crowd and did exceedingly sweat all the time. He pursued his text again very well; and only at the conclusion told us, after this manner: "I do believe that many of you do expect that I should say something to you in reference to the time, this being the last time that possibly I may appear here. You know it is not my manner to speak any thing in the pulpit that is extraneous to my text and business; yet this I shall say, that it is not my opinion, fashion, or humour that keeps me from complying with what is required of us; but something which, after much prayer, discourse, and study yet remains unsatisfied, and commands me herein. Wherefore, if it is my unhappiness not to receive such an illumination as should direct me to do otherwise, I know no reason why men should not pardon me in this world, and am confident that God will pardon me for it in the next." And so he concluded. Parson Herring read a psalm and chapters before sermon; and one was the chapter in the Acts, where the story of Ananias and Sapphira is. And after he had done, says he, "This is just the case of England at present. God he bids us to preach, and men bid us not to preach; and if we do, we are to be imprisoned and further punished. All that I can say to it is, that I beg your prayers, and the prayers of all good Christians, for us." This was all the exposition he made of the chapter in these very words, and no more. I was much pleased with Dr. Bates's manner of bringing in the Lord's Prayer after his own; thus, "In whose comprehensive words we sum up all our imperfect desires; saying, 'Our Father,'" &c. Church being done and it raining I took a hackney coach and so home, being all in a sweat and fearful of getting cold. To my study at my office, and thither came Mr. Moore to me and walked till it was quite dark. Then I wrote a letter to my Lord Privy Seale as from my Lord for Mr.-------to be sworn directly by deputy to my Lord, he denying to swear him as deputy together with me. So that I am now clear of it, and the profit is now come to be so little that I am not displeased at my getting off so well. He being gone I to my study and read, and so to eat a bit of bread and cheese and so to bed. I hear most of the Presbyters took their leaves to-day, and that the City is much dissatisfied with it. I pray God keep peace among us, and make the Bishops careful of bringing in good men in their rooms, or else all will fly a-pieces; for bad ones will not [go] down with the City. 18th. Up very early, and up upon my house to see how work goes on, which do please me very well. So about seven o'clock took horse and rode to Bowe, and there staid at the King's Head, and eat a breakfast of eggs till Mr. Deane of Woolwich came to me, and he and I rid into Waltham Forest, and there we saw many trees of the King's a-hewing; and he showed me the whole mystery of off square, [Off-square is evidently a mistake, in the shorthand MS., for half square.] wherein the King is abused in the timber that he buys, which I shall with much pleasure be able to correct. After we had been a good while in the wood, we rode to Illford, and there, while dinner was getting ready, he and I practised measuring of the tables and other things till I did understand measuring of timber and board very well. So to dinner and by and by, being sent for, comes Mr. Cooper, our officer in the Forest, and did give me an account of things there, and how the country is backward to come in with their carts. By and by comes one Mr. Marshall, of whom the King has many carriages for his timber, and they staid and drank with me, and while I am here, Sir W. Batten passed by in his coach, homewards from Colchester, where he had been seeing his son-in-law, Lemon, that lies a-dying, but I would take no notice of him, but let him go. By and by I got a horseback again and rode to Barking, and there saw the place where they ship this timber for Woolwich; and so Deane and I home again, and parted at Bowe, and I home just before a great showre of rayne, as God would have it. I find Deane a pretty able man, and able to do the King service; but, I think, more out of envy to the rest of the officers of the yard, of whom he complains much, than true love, more than others, to the service. He would fain seem a modest man, and yet will commend his own work and skill, and vie with other persons, especially the Petts, but I let him alone to hear all he will say. Whiled away the evening at my office trying to repeat the rules of measuring learnt this day, and so to bed with my mind very well pleased with this day's work. 19th. Up betimes and to see how my work goes on. Then Mr. Creed came to me, and he and I walked an hour or two till 8 o'clock in the garden, speaking of our accounts one with another and then things public. Among other things he tells me that my Lord has put me into Commission with himself and many noblemen and others for Tangier, which, if it be, is not only great honour, but may be of profit too, and I am very glad of it. By and by to sit at the office; and Mr. Coventry did tell us of the duell between Mr. Jermyn, nephew to my Lord St. Albans, and Colonel Giles Rawlins, the latter of whom is killed, and the first mortally wounded, as it is thought. They fought against Captain Thomas Howard, my Lord Carlisle's brother, and another unknown; who, they say, had armour on that they could not be hurt, so that one of their swords went up to the hilt against it. They had horses ready, and are fled. But what is most strange, Howard sent one challenge, but they could not meet, and then another, and did meet yesterday at the old Pall Mall at St. James's, and would not to the last tell Jermyn what the quarrel was; nor do any body know. The Court is much concerned in this fray, and I am glad of it; hoping that it will cause some good laws against it. After sitting, Sir G. Carteret and I walked a good while in the garden, who told me that Sir W. Batten had made his complaint to him that some of us had a mind to do him a bad turn, but I do not see that Sir George is concerned for him at all, but rather against him. He professes all love to me, and did tell me how he had spoke of me to my Lord Chancellor, and that if my Lord Sandwich would ask my Lord Chancellor, he should know what he had said of me to him to my advantage, of which I am very glad, and do not doubt that all things will grow better and better every day for me. Dined at home alone, then to my office, and there till late at night doing business, and so home, eat a bit, and to bed. 20th. Up early, and to my office, and thence to my Lord Sandwich, whom I found in bed, and he sent for me in. Among other talk, he do tell me that he hath put me into commission with a great many great persons in the business of Tangier, which is a very great honour to me, and may be of good concernment to me. By and by comes in Mr. Coventry to us, whom my Lord tells that he is also put into the commission, and that I am there, of which he said he was glad; and did tell my Lord that I was indeed the life of this office, and much more to my commendation beyond measure. And that, whereas before he did bear me respect for his sake, he do do it now much more for my own; which is a great blessing to me. Sir G. Carteret having told me what he did yesterday concerning his speaking to my Lord Chancellor about me. So that on all hands, by God's blessing, I find myself a very rising man. By and by comes my Lord Peterborough in, with whom we talked a good while, and he is going tomorrow towards Tangier again. I perceive there is yet good hopes of peace with Guyland,--[A Moorish usurper, who had put himself at the head of an army for the purpose of attacking Tangier.--B.]--which is of great concernment to Tangier. And many other things I heard which yet I understand not, and so cannot remember. My Lord and Lord Peterborough going out to the Solicitor General about the drawing up of this Commission, I went to Westminster Hall with Mr. Moore, and there meeting Mr. Townsend, he would needs take me to Fleet Street, to one Mr. Barwell, squire sadler to the King, and there we and several other Wardrobe-men dined. We had a venison pasty, and other good plain and handsome dishes; the mistress of the house a pretty, well-carriaged woman, and a fine hand she hath; and her maid a pretty brown lass. But I do find my nature ready to run back to my old course of drinking wine and staying from my business, and yet, thank God, I was not fully contented with it, but did stay at little ease, and after dinner hastened home by water, and so to my office till late at night. In the evening Mr. Hayward came to me to advise with me about the business of the Chest, which I have now a mind to put in practice, though I know it will vex Sir W. Batten, which is one of the ends (God forgive me) that I have in it. So home, and eat a bit, and to bed. 21st. Up early, and to my office, and by and by we sat all the morning. At noon, though I was invited to my uncle Fenner's to dinner to a haunch of venison I sent him yesterday, yet I did not go, but chose to go to Mr. Rawlinson's, where my uncle Wight and my aunt, and some neighbour couples were at a very good venison pasty. Hither came, after we were set down, a most pretty young lady (only her hands were not white nor handsome), which pleased me well, and I found her to be sister to Mrs. Anne Wight that comes to my uncle Wight's. We were good company, and had a very pretty dinner. And after dinner some talk, I with my aunt and this young lady about their being [at] Epsom, from whence they came to-day, and so home and to my office, and there doing business till past 9 at night, and so home and to bed. But though I drank no wine to-day, yet how easily was I of my own accord stirred up to desire my aunt and this pretty lady (for it was for her that I did it) to carry them to Greenwich and see the pleasure boats. But my aunt would not go, of which since I am much glad. 22nd. About three o'clock this morning I waked with the noise of the rayne, having never in my life heard a more violent shower; and then the catt was lockt in the chamber, and kept a great mewing, and leapt upon the bed, which made me I could not sleep a great while. Then to sleep, and about five o'clock rose, and up to my office, and about 8 o'clock went down to Deptford, and there with Mr. Davis did look over most of his stores; by the same token in the great storehouse, while Captain Badily was talking to us, one from a trap-door above let fall unawares a coyle of cable, that it was 10,000 to one it had not broke Captain Badily's neck, it came so near him, but did him no hurt. I went on with looking and informing myself of the stores with great delight, and having done there, I took boat home again and dined, and after dinner sent for some of my workmen and did scold at them so as I hope my work will be hastened. Then by water to Westminster Hall, and there I hear that old Mr. Hales did lately die suddenly in an hour's time. Here I met with Will Bowyer, and had a promise from him of a place to stand to-morrow at his house to see the show. Thence to my Lord's, and thither sent for Mr. Creed, who came, and walked together talking about business, and then to his lodgings at Clerke's, the confectioner's, where he did give me a little banquet, and I had liked to have begged a parrot for my wife, but he hath put me in a way to get a better from Steventon; at Portsmouth. But I did get of him a draught of Tangier to take a copy by, which pleases me very well. So home by water and to my office, where late, and so home to bed. 23d. Up early, and about my works in my house, to see what is done and design more. Then to my office, and by and by we sat till noon at the office. After sitting, Mr. Coventry and I did walk together a great while in the Garden, where he did tell me his mind about Sir G. Carteret's having so much the command of the money, which must be removed. And indeed it is the bane of all our business. He observed to me also how Sir W. Batten begins to struggle and to look after his business, which he do indeed a little, but it will come to nothing. I also put him upon getting an order from the Duke for our inquiries into the Chest, which he will see done. So we parted, and Mr. Creed by appointment being come, he and I went out together, and at an ordinary in Lumbard Streete dined together, and so walked down to the Styllyard, and so all along Thames-street, but could not get a boat: I offered eight shillings for a boat to attend me this afternoon, and they would not, it being the day of the Queen's coming to town from Hampton Court. So we fairly walked it to White Hall, and through my Lord's lodgings we got into White Hall garden, and so to the Bowling-green, and up to the top of the new Banqueting House there, over the Thames, which was a most pleasant place as any I could have got; and all the show consisted chiefly in the number of boats and barges; and two pageants, one of a King, and another of a Queen, with her Maydes of Honour sitting at her feet very prettily; and they tell me the Queen is Sir. Richard Ford's daughter. Anon come the King and Queen in a barge under a canopy with 10,000 barges and boats, I think, for we could see no water for them, nor discern the King nor Queen. And so they landed at White Hall Bridge, and the great guns on the other side went off: But that which pleased me best was, that my Lady Castlemaine stood over against us upon a piece of White Hall, where I glutted myself with looking on her. But methought it was strange to see her Lord and her upon the same place walking up and down without taking notice one of another, only at first entry he put off his hat, and she made him a very civil salute, but afterwards took no notice one of another; but both of them now and then would take their child, which the nurse held in her armes, and dandle it. One thing more; there happened a scaffold below to fall, and we feared some hurt, but there was none, but she of all the great ladies only run down among the common rabble to see what hurt was done, and did take care of a child that received some little hurt, which methought was so noble. Anon there came one there booted and spurred that she talked long with. And by and by, she being in her hair, she put on his hat, which was but an ordinary one, to keep the wind off. But methinks it became her mightily, as every thing else do. The show being over, I went away, not weary with looking on her, and to my Lord's lodgings, where my brother Tom and Dr. Thomas Pepys were to speak with me. So I walked with them in the garden, and was very angry with them both for their going out of town without my knowledge; but they told me the business, which was to see a gentlewoman for a wife for Tom, of Mr. Cooke's providing, worth L500, of good education, her name Hobell, and lives near Banbury, demands L40 per annum joynter. Tom likes her, and, they say, had a very good reception, and that Cooke hath been very serviceable therein, and that she is committed to old Mr. Young, of the Wardrobe's, tuition. After I had told them my mind about their folly in going so unadvisedly, I then begun to inquire after the business, and so did give no answer as to my opinion till I have looked farther into it by Mr. Young. By and by, as we were walking in my Lord's walk, comes my Lord, and so we broke our discourse and went in with him, and after I had put them away I went in to my Lord, and he and I had half an hour's private discourse about the discontents of the times, which we concluded would not come to anything of difference, though the Presbyters would be glad enough of it; but we do not think religion will so soon cause another war. Then to his own business. He asked my advice there, whether he should go on to purchase more land and to borrow money to pay for it, which he is willing to do, because such a bargain as that of Mr. Buggins's, of Stukely, will not be every day to be had, and Brampton is now perfectly granted him by the King--I mean the reversion of it--after the Queen's death; and, in the meantime, he buys it of Sir Peter Ball his present right. Then we fell to talk of Navy business, and he concludes, as I do, that he needs not put himself upon any more voyages abroad to spend money, unless a war comes; and that by keeping his family awhile in the country, he shall be able to gather money. He is glad of a friendship with Mr. Coventry, and I put him upon increasing it, which he will do, but he (as Mr. Coventry do) do much cry against the course of our payments and the Treasurer to have the whole power in his own hands of doing what he will, but I think will not meddle in himself. He told me also that in the Commission for Tangier Mr. Coventry had advised him that Mr. Povy, who intended to be Treasurer, [Thomas Povy, who had held, under Cromwell, a high situation in the Office of Plantations, was appointed in July, 1660, Treasurer and Receiver-General of the Rents and Revenues of James, Duke of York; but his royal master's affairs falling into confusion, he surrendered his patent on the 27th July, 1668, for a consideration of L2,000. He was also First Treasurer for Tangier, which office he resigned to Pepys. Povy, had apartments at Whitehall, besides his lodgings in Lincoln's Inn, and a villa near Hounslow, called the Priory, which he had inherited from Justinian Povy, who purchased it in 1625. He was one of the sons of Justinian Povy, Auditor-General to Queen Anne of Denmark in 1614, whose father was John Povy, citizen and embroiderer of London.] and it is intended him, may not be of the Commission itself, and my Lord I think will endeavour to get him to be contented to be left out of the Commission, and it is a very good rule indeed that the Treasurer in no office ought to be of the Commission. Here we broke off, and I bid him good night, and so with much ado, the streets being at nine o'clock at night crammed with people going home to the city, for all the borders of the river had been full of people, as the King had come, to a miracle got to the Palace Yard, and there took boat, and so to the Old Swan, and so walked home, and to bed very weary. 24th (Lord's day). Slept till 7 o'clock, which I have not done a very great while, but it was my weariness last night that caused it. So rose and to my office till church time, writing down my yesterday's observations, and so to church, where I all alone, and found Will Griffin and Thomas Hewett got into the pew next to our backs, where our maids sit, but when I come, they went out; so forward some people are to outrun themselves. Here we had a lazy, dull sermon. So home to dinner, where my brother Tom came to me, and both before and after dinner he and I walked all alone in the garden, talking about his late journey and his mistress, and for what he tells me it is like to do well. He being gone, I to church again, where Mr. Mills, making a sermon upon confession, he did endeavour to pull down auricular confession, but did set it up by his bad arguments against it, and advising people to come to him to confess their sins when they had any weight upon their consciences, as much as is possible, which did vex me to hear. So home, and after an hour's being in my office alone, looking over the plates and globes, I walked to my uncle Wight's, the truth is, in hopes to have seen and been acquainted with the pretty lady that came along with them to dinner the other day to Mr. Rawlinson, but she is gone away. But here I staid supper, and much company there was; among others, Dr. Burnett, Mr. Cole the lawyer, Mr. Rawlinson, and Mr. Sutton, a brother of my aunt's, that I never saw before. Among other things they tell me that there hath been a disturbance in a church in Friday Street; a great many young people knotting together and crying out "Porridge" [A nickname given by the Dissenters to the Prayer-Book. In Mrs. Behn's "City Heiress" (1682), Sir Anthony says to Sir Timothy, "You come from Church, too." Sir Timothy replies, "Ay, needs must when the Devil drives--I go to save my bacon, as they say, once a month, and that too after the Porridge is served up." Scott quotes, in his notes to "Woodstock," a pamphlet entitled, "Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contumelious Slanders of the Fanatic party terming it Porridge."] often and seditiously in the church, and took the Common Prayer Book, they say, away; and, some say, did tear it; but it is a thing which appears to me very ominous. I pray God avert it. After supper home and to bed. 25th. Up early, and among my workmen when they came, and set them in good order at work on all hands, which, though it at first began angrily, yet I pleased myself afterwards in seeing it put into a good posture, and so I left them, and away by water to Woolwich (calling in my way in Hamcreek, where I have never been before, and there found two of the King's ships lie there without any living creature aboard, which troubled me, every thing being stole away that can be), where I staid seeing a cable of 14 inches laid, in which there was good variety. Then to Mr. Falconer's, and there eat a bit of roast meat off of the spit, and so away to the yard, and there among other things mustered the yard, and did things that I perceive people do begin to value me, and that I shall be able to be of command in all matters, which God be praised for. Then to Mr. Pett's, and there eat some fruit and drank, and so to boat again, and to Deptford, calling there about the business of my house only, and so home, where by appointment I found Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Batten, and Mr. Waith met at Sir W. Batten's, and thither I met, and so agreed upon a way of answering my Lord Treasurer's letter. Here I found Mr. Coventry had got a letter from the Duke, sent us for looking into the business of the Chest, of which I am glad. After we had done here I went home, and up among my workmen, and found they had done a good day's work, and so to my office till late ordering of several businesses, and so home and to bed, my mind, God be praised, full of business, but great quiet. 26th. Up betimes and among my works and workmen, and with great pleasure seeing them go on merrily, and a good many hands, which I perceive makes good riddance, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined alone with Sir W. Batten, which I have not done a great while, but his lady being out of the way I was the willinger to do it, and after dinner he and I by water to Deptford, and there found Sir G. Carteret and my Lady at dinner, and so we sat down and eat another dinner of venison with them, and so we went to the payhouse, and there staid till to o'clock at night paying off the Martin and Kinsale, being small but troublesome ships to pay, and so in the dark by water home to the Custom House, and so got a lanthorn to light us home, there being Mr. Morrice the wine cooper with us, he having been at Deptford to view some of the King's casks we have to sell. So to bed. 27th. Up and among my workmen, my work going on still very well. So to my office all the morning, and dined again with Sir W. Batten, his Lady being in the country. Among other stories, he told us of the Mayor of Bristoll's reading a pass with the bottom upwards; and a barber that could not read, that flung a letter in the kennel when one came to desire him to read the superscription, saying, "Do you think I stand here to read letters?" Among my workmen again, pleasing myself all the afternoon there, and so to the office doing business till past 9 at night, and so home and to bed. This afternoon Mrs. Hunt came to see me, and I did give her a Muske Millon. To-day my hogshead of sherry I have sold to Sir W. Batten, and am glad of my money instead of wine. After I had wrote this at my office (as I have of late altogether done since my wife has been in the country) I went into my house, and Will having been making up books at Deptford with other clerks all day, I did not think he was come home, but was in fear for him, it being very late, what was become of him. But when I came home I found him there at his ease in his study, which vexed me cruelly, that he should no more mind me, but to let me be all alone at the office waiting for him. Whereupon I struck him, and did stay up till 12 o'clock at night chiding him for it, and did in plain terms tell him that I would not be served so, and that I am resolved to look out some boy that I may have the bringing up of after my own mind, and which I do intend to do, for I do find that he has got a taste of liberty since he came to me that he will not leave. Having discharged my mind, I went to bed. 28th. I observe that Will, whom I used to call two or three times in a morning, would now wake of himself and rise without calling. Which though angry I was glad to see. So I rose and among my workmen, in my gown, without a doublet, an hour or two or more, till I was afraid of getting an ague, and so to the office, and there we sat all the morning, and at noon Mr. Coventry and I dined at Sir W. Batten's, where I have now dined three days together, and so in the afternoon again we sat, which we intend to do two afternoons in a week besides our other sitting. In the evening we rose, and I to see how my work goes on, and so to my office, writing by the post and doing other matters, and so home and to bed late. 29th. Up betimes and among my workmen, where I did stay with them the greatest part of the morning, only a little at the office, and so to dinner alone at home, and so to my workmen again, finding my presence to carry on the work both to my mind and with more haste, and I thank God I am pleased with it. At night, the workmen being gone, I went to my office, and among other businesses did begin to-night with Mr. Lewes to look into the nature of a purser's account, and the business of victualling, in which there is great variety; but I find I shall understand it, and be able to do service there also. So being weary and chill, being in some fear of an ague, I went home and to bed. 30th. Up betimes among my workmen, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon rose and had news that Sir W. Pen would be in town from Ireland, which I much wonder at, he giving so little notice of it, and it troubled me exceedingly what to do for a lodging, and more what to do with my goods, that are all in his house; but at last I resolved to let them lie there till Monday, and so got Griffin to get a lodging as near as he could, which is without a door of our back door upon Tower Hill, a chamber where John Pavis, one of our clerks, do lie in, but he do provide himself elsewhere, and I am to have his chamber. So at the office all the afternoon and the evening till past to at night expecting Sir W. Pen's coming, but he not coming to-night I went thither and there lay very well, and like my lodging well enough. My man Will after he had got me to bed did go home and lay there, and my maid Jane lay among my goods at Sir W. Pen's. 31st (Lord's day). Waked early, but being in a strange house, did not rise till 7 o'clock almost, and so rose and read over my oaths, and whiled away an hour thinking upon businesses till Will came to get me ready, and so got ready and to my office, and thence to church. After sermon home and dined alone. News is brought me that Sir W. Pen is come. But I would take no notice thereof till after dinner, and then sent him word that I would wait on him, but he is gone to bed. So to my office, and there made my monthly accounts, and find myself worth in money about L686 19s. 2 1/2d., for which God be praised; and indeed greatly I hope to thank Almighty God, who do most manifestly bless me in my endeavours to do the duties of my office, I now saving money, and my expenses being little. My wife is still in the country; my house all in dirt; but my work in a good forwardness, and will be much to my mind at last. In the afternoon to church, and there heard a simple sermon of a stranger upon David's words, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the way of the ungodly," &c., and the best of his sermon was the degrees of walking, standing, and sitting, showing how by steps and degrees sinners do grow in wickedness. After sermon to my brother Tom's, who I found has taken physic to-day, and I talked with him about his country mistress, and read Cook's letter, wherein I am well satisfied, and will appear in promoting it; so back and to Mr. Rawlinson's, and there supped with him, and in came my uncle Wight and my aunt. Our discourse of the discontents that are abroad, among, and by reason of the Presbyters. Some were clapped up to-day, and strict watch is kept in the City by the train-bands, and letters of a plot are taken. God preserve us! for all these things bode very ill. So home, and after going to welcome home Sir W. Pen, who was unready, going to bed, I staid with him a little while, and so to my lodging and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Bowling-ally (where lords and ladies are now at bowles) Fear she should prove honest and refuse and then tell my wife Hopes to have had a bout with her before she had gone Lady Castlemaine is still as great with the King Last of a great many Presbyterian ministers Muske Millon My first attempt being to learn the multiplication-table So good a nature that he cannot deny any thing Sorry to hear that Sir W. Pen's maid Betty was gone away 
14415	----	Proofreading Team [Transcribers note: Authors 'R.N and J.N.' are Robert Naylor and John Naylor.] [Illustration: Mr. Robert Naylor FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN DURING HIS CANDIDATURE FOR THE REPRESENTATION OF THE CARNAVON BOROUGHS 1906] FROM JOHN O' GROAT'S TO LAND'S END OR 1372 MILES ON FOOT A BOOK OF DAYS AND CHRONICLE OF ADVENTURES BY TWO PEDESTRIANS ON TOUR LONDON CAXTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED CLUN HOUSE, SURREY STREET, W.C. 1916 FOREWORD When Time, who steals our hours away. Shall steal our pleasures too; The memory of the past shall stay And half our joys renew. As I grow older my thoughts often revert to the past, and like the old Persian poet, Khosros, when he walked by the churchyard and thought how many of his friends were numbered with the dead, I am often tempted to exclaim: "The friends of my youth! where are they?" but there is only the mocking echo to answer, as if from a far-distant land, "Where are they?" "One generation passeth away; and another generation cometh," and enormous changes have taken place in this country during the past seventy years, which one can only realise by looking back and comparing the past with the present. The railways then were gradually replacing the stage-coaches, of which the people then living had many stories to tell, and the roads which formerly had mostly been paved with cobble or other stones were being macadamised; the brooks which ran across the surface of the roads were being covered with bridges; toll-gates still barred the highways, and stories of highway robbers were still largely in circulation, those about Dick Turpin, whose wonderful mare "Black Bess" could jump over the turnpike gates, being the most prominent, while Robin Hood and Little John still retained a place in the minds of the people as former heroes of the roads and forests. Primitive methods were still being employed in agriculture. Crops were cut with scythe and sickle, while old scythe-blades fastened at one end of a wooden bench did duty to cut turnips in slices to feed the cattle, and farm work generally was largely done by hand. At harvest time the farmers depended on the services of large numbers of men who came over from Ireland by boat, landing at Liverpool, whence they walked across the country in gangs of twenty or more, their first stage being Warrington, where they stayed a night at Friar's Green, at that time the Irish quarter of the town. Some of them walked as far as Lincolnshire, a great corn-growing county, many of them preferring to walk bare-footed, with their shoes slung across their shoulders. Good and steady walkers they were too, with a military step and a four-mile-per-hour record. The village churches were mostly of the same form in structure and service as at the conclusion of the Civil War. The old oak pews were still in use, as were the galleries and the old "three-decker" pulpits, with sounding-boards overhead. The parish clerk occupied the lower deck and gave out the hymns therefrom, as well as other notices of a character not now announced in church. The minister read the lessons and prayers, in a white surplice, from the second deck, and then, while a hymn was being sung, he retired to the vestry, from which he again emerged, attired in a black gown, to preach the sermon from the upper deck. The church choir was composed of both sexes, but not surpliced, and, if there was no organ, bassoons, violins, and other instruments of music supported the singers. The churches generally were well filled with worshippers, for it was within a measurable distance from the time when all parishioners were compelled to attend church. The names of the farms or owners appeared on the pew doors, while inferior seats, called free seats, were reserved for the poor. Pews could be bought and sold, and often changed hands; but the squire had a large pew railed on from the rest, and raised a little higher than the others, which enabled him to see if all his tenants were in their appointed places. The village inns were generally under the shadow of the church steeple, and, like the churches, were well attended, reminding one of Daniel Defoe, the clever author of that wonderful book _Robinson Crusoe_, for he wrote: Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The Devil always builds a chapel there; And 'twill be found upon examination, The Devil has the largest congregation. The church services were held morning and afternoon, evening service being then almost unknown in country places; and between the services the churchwardens and other officials of the church often adjourned to the inn to hear the news and to smoke tobacco in long clay pipes named after them "churchwarden pipes"; many of the company who came from long distances remained eating and drinking until the time came for afternoon service, generally held at three o'clock. The landlords of the inns were men of light and leading, and were specially selected by the magistrates for the difficult and responsible positions they had to fill; and as many of them had acted as stewards or butlers--at the great houses of the neighbourhood, and perhaps had married the cook or the housekeeper, and as each inn was required by law to provide at least one spare bedroom, travellers could rely upon being comfortably housed and well victualled, for each landlord brewed his own beer and tried to vie with his rival as to which should brew the best. Education was becoming more appreciated by the poorer people, although few of them could even write their own names; but when their children could do so, they thought them wonderfully clever, and educated sufficiently to carry them through life. Many of them were taken away from school and sent to work when only ten or eleven years of age! Books were both scarce and dear, the family Bible being, of course, the principal one. Scarcely a home throughout the land but possessed one of these family heirlooms, on whose fly-leaf were recorded the births and deaths of the family sometimes for several successive generations, as it was no uncommon occurrence for occupiers of houses to be the descendants of people of the same name who had lived in them for hundreds of years, and that fact accounted for traditions being handed down from one generation to another. Where there was a village library, the books were chiefly of a religious character; but books of travel and adventure, both by land and sea, were also much in evidence, and _Robinson Crusoe, Captain Cook's Three Voyages round the World_, and the _Adventures of Mungo Park in Africa_ were often read by young people. The story of Dick Whittington was another ideal, and one could well understand the village boys who lived near the great road routes, when they saw the well-appointed coaches passing on their way up to London, being filled with a desire to see that great city, whose streets the immortal Dick had pictured to himself as being paved with gold, and to wish to emulate his wanderings, and especially when there was a possibility of becoming the lord mayor. The bulk of the travelling in the country was done on foot or horseback, as the light-wheeled vehicles so common in later times had not yet come into vogue. The roads were still far from safe, and many tragedies were enacted in lonely places, and in cases of murder the culprit, when caught, was often hanged or gibbeted near the spot where the crime was committed, and many gallows trees were still to be seen on the sides of the highways on which murderers had met with their well-deserved fate. No smart service of police existed; the parish constables were often farmers or men engaged in other occupations, and as telegraphy was practically unknown, the offenders often escaped. The Duke of Wellington and many of his heroes were still living, and the tales of fathers and grandfathers were chiefly of a warlike nature; many of them related to the Peninsula War and Waterloo, as well as Trafalgar, and boys were thus inspired with a warlike and adventurous spirit and a desire to see the wonders beyond the seas. It was in conditions such as these that the writer first lived and moved and had his being, and his early aspirations were to walk to London, and to go to sea; but it was many years before his boyish aspirations were realised. They came at length, however, but not exactly in the form he had anticipated, for in 1862 he sailed from Liverpool to London, and in 1870 he took the opportunity of walking back from London to Lancashire in company with his brother. We walked by a circuitous route, commencing in an easterly direction, and after being on the road for a fortnight, or twelve walking days, as we did not walk on Sundays, we covered the distance of 306 miles at an average of twenty-five miles per day. We had many adventures, pleasant and otherwise, on that journey, but on the whole we were so delighted with our walk that, when, in the following year, the question arose. "Where shall we walk this year?" we unanimously decided to walk from John o' Groat's to Land's End, or, as my brother described it, "from the top of the map to the bottom." It was a big undertaking, especially as we had resolved not to journey by the shortest route, but to walk from one great object of interest to another, and to see and learn as much as possible of the country we passed through on our way. We were to walk the whole of the distance between the north-eastern extremity of Scotland and the south-western extremity of England, and not to cross a ferry or accept or take a ride in any kind of conveyance whatever. We were also to abstain from all intoxicating drink, not to smoke cigars or tobacco, and to walk so that at the end of the journey we should have maintained an average of twenty-five miles per day, except Sunday, on which day we were to attend two religious services, as followers of and believers in Sir Matthew Hale's Golden Maxim: A Sabbath well spent brings a week of content And Health for the toils of to-morrow; But a Sabbath profaned, WHATE'ER MAY BE GAINED. Is a certain forerunner of Sorrow. With the experience gained in our walk the previous year, we decided to reduce our equipment to the lowest possible limit, as every ounce had to be carried personally, and it became a question not of how much luggage we should take, but of how little; even maps were voted off as encumbrances, and in place of these we resolved to rely upon our own judgment, and the result of local inquiries, as we travelled from one great object of interest to another, but as these were often widely apart, as might be supposed, our route developed into one of a somewhat haphazard and zigzag character, and very far from the straight line. We each purchased a strong, black leather handbag, which could either be carried by hand or suspended over the shoulder at the end of a stick, and in these we packed our personal and general luggage; in addition we carried a set of overalls, including leggings, and armed ourselves with stout oaken sticks, or cudgels, specially selected by our local fencing master. They were heavily ferruled by the village blacksmith, for, although we were men of peace, we thought it advisable to provide against what were known as single-stick encounters, which were then by no means uncommon, and as curved handles would have been unsuitable in the event of our having to use them either for defensive or offensive purposes, ours were selected with naturally formed knobs at the upper end. Then there were our boots, which of course were a matter of the first importance, as they had to stand the strain and wear and tear of a long journey, and must be easy fitting and comfortable, with thick soles to protect our feet from the loose stones which were so plentiful on the roads, and made so that they could be laced tightly to keep out the water either when raining or when lying in pools on the roads, for there were no steam-rollers on the roads in those days. In buying our boots we did not both adopt the same plan. I made a special journey to Manchester, and bought the strongest and most expensive I could find there; while my brother gave his order to an old cobbler, a particular friend of his, and a man of great experience, who knew when he had hold of a good piece of leather, and to whom he had explained his requirements. These boots were not nearly so smart looking as mine and did not cost as much money, but when I went with him for the boots, and heard the old gentleman say that he had fastened a piece of leather on his last so as to provide a corresponding hole inside the boot to receive the ball of the foot, I knew that my brother would have more room for his feet to expand in his boots than I had in mine. We were often asked afterwards, by people who did not walk much, how many pairs of boots we had worn out during our long journey, and when we replied only one each, they seemed rather incredulous until we explained that it was the soles that wore out first, but I had to confess that my boots were being soled the second time when my brother's were only being soled the first time, and that I wore three soles out against his two. Of course both pairs of boots were quite done at the conclusion of our walk. Changes of clothing we were obliged to have sent on to us to some railway station, to be afterwards arranged, and soiled clothes were to be returned in the same box. This seemed a very simple arrangement, but it did not work satisfactorily, as railways were few and there was no parcel-post in those days, and then we were always so far from our base that we were obliged to fix ourselves to call at places we did not particularly want to see and to miss others that we would much rather have visited. Another objection was that we nearly always arrived at these stations at inconvenient times for changing suits of clothes, and as we were obliged to do this quickly, as we had no time to make a long stay, we had to resort to some amusing devices. We ought to have begun our journey much earlier in the year. One thing after another, however, prevented us making a start, and it was not until the close of some festivities on the evening of September 6th, 1871, that we were able to bid farewell to "Home, sweet home" and to journey through what was to us an unknown country, and without any definite idea of the distance we were about to travel or the length of time we should be away. HOW WE GOT TO JOHN O' GROAT'S Sept. 7. Warrington to Glasgow by train--Arrived too late to catch the boat on the Caledonian Canal for Iverness--Trained to Aberdeen. Sept. 8. A day in the "Granite City"--Boarded the s.s. _St. Magnus_ intending to land at Wick--Decided to remain on board. Sept. 9. Landed for a short time at Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands--During the night encountered a storm in the North Sea. Sept. 10. _(Sunday)_. Arrived at Lerwick in the Shetland Islands at 2 a.m. Sept. 11. Visited Bressay Island and the Holm of Noss--Returned to _St. Magnus_ at night. Sept. 12. Landed again at Kirkwall--Explored Cathedral--Walked across the Mainland of the Orkneys to Stromness, visiting the underground house at Maeshowe and the Standing Stones at Stenness on our way. Sept. 13. Visited the Quarries where Hugh Miller made his wonderful geological researches--Explored coast scenery, including the Black Craig. Sept. 14. Crossed the Pentland Firth in a sloop--Unfavourable wind prevented us sailing past the Old Man of Hoy, so went by way of Lang Hope and Scrabster Roads, passing Dunnet Head on our way to Thurso, where we landed and stopped for the night. Sept. 15. Travelled six miles by the Wick coach and walked the remaining fifteen miles to John o' Groat's--Lodged at the "Huna Inn." Sept. 16. Gathered some wonderful shells on the beach and explored coast scenery at Duncansbay. Sept. 17. _(Sunday)_. Visited a distant kirk with the landlord and his wife and listened to a wonderful sermon. OUR ROUTE FROM JOHN O' GROAT'S TO LAND'S END ¶ Indicates the day's journey. ¶¶ Indicates where Sunday was spent. FIRST WEEK'S JOURNEY--Sept. 18 to 24. "Huna Inn"--Canisbay--Bucholie Castle--Keiss--Girnigoe--Sinclair--Noss Head--Wick--or ¶ Wick Harbour--Mid Clyth--Lybster--Dunbeath ¶ Berriedale--Braemore--Maidens Paps Mountain--Lord Galloway's Hunting-box--Ord of Caithness--Helmsdale ¶ Loth--Brora--Dunrobin Castle--Golspie ¶ The Mound--Loch Buidhee--Bonar Bridge--Dornoch Firth--Half-way House [Aultnamain Inn] ¶ Novar--Cromarty Firth--Dingwall--Muir of Ord--Beauly--Bogroy Inn--Inverness ¶¶ pp. 41-76 SECOND WEEK'S JOURNEY--Sept. 25 to Oct. 1. Tomnahurich--Loch Ness--Caledonian Canal--Drumnadrochit ¶ Urquhart Castle--Invermoriston--Glenmoriston--Fort Augustus--Invergarry ¶ Glengarry--Well of the Heads--Loggan Bridge--Loch Lochy--Spean Bridge--Fort William ¶ Inverlochy Castle--Ben Nevis--Fort William ¶ Loch Linnhe--Loch Leven--Devil's Stair--Pass of Glencoe--Clachaig Inn ¶ Glencoe Village--Ballachulish--Kingshouse--Inveroran--Loch Tulla--Bridge of Orchy--Glen Orchy ¶ Dalmally ¶¶ pp. 77-111 THIRD WEEK'S JOURNEY--Oct. 2 to Oct. 8. Loch Awe--Cruachan Mountain--Glen Aray--Inverary Castle--Inverary--Loch Fyne--Cairndow Inn ¶ Glen Kinglas--Loch Restil--Rest and be Thankful--Glen Croe--Ben Arthur--Loch Long--Arrochar--Tarbet--Loch Lomond--Luss--Helensburgh ¶ The Clyde--Dumbarton--Renton--Alexandria--Balloch--Kilmaronock--Drymen ¶ Buchlyvie--Kippen--Gargunnock--Windings of the Forth--Stirling ¶ Wallace Monument--Cambuskenneth--St. Ninians--Bannockburn--Carron--Falkirk ¶ Laurieston--Polmont--Linlithgow--Edinburgh ¶¶ pp. 112-157 FOURTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Oct. 9 to Oct. 15. Craigmillar--Rosslyn--Glencorse--Penicuik--Edleston--Cringletie--Peebles ¶ River Tweed--Horsburgh--Innerleithen--Traquair--Elibank Castle--Galashiels--Abbotsford--Melrose--Lilliesleaf ¶ Teviot Dale--Hassendean--Minto--Hawick--Goldielands Tower--Branxholm Tower--Teviothead--Caerlanrig--Mosspaul Inn--Langholm--Gilnockie Tower--Canonbie Colliery ¶ River Esk--"Cross Keys Inn"--Scotch Dyke--Longtown ¶ Solway Moss--River Sark--Springfield--Gretna Green--Todhills--Kingstown--Carlisle--Wigton--Aspatria ¶ Maryport--Cockermouth--Bassenthwaite Lake--Portinscale--Keswick ¶¶ pp. 158-232 FIFTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Oct 16 to Oct. 22. Falls of Lodore--Derwentwater--Bowder Stone--Borrowdale--Green Nip--Wythburn--Grasmere ¶ Rydal--Ambleside--Windermere--Hawkshead--Coniston--Ulverston ¶ Dalton-in-Furness--Furness Abbey--Barrow Monument--Haverthwaite ¶ Newby Bridge--Cartmel Fell--Kendal ¶ Kirkby Lonsdale--Devil's Bridge--Ingleton--Giggleswick--Settle--Malham ¶ Malham Cove--Gordale Scar--Kilnsey--River Wharfe--Grassington--Greenhow--Pateley Bridge ¶¶ pp. 233-277 SIXTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Oct. 23 to Oct. 29. Brimham Rocks--Fountains Abbey--Ripon--Boroughbridge--Devil's Arrows--Aldeborough ¶ Marston Moor--River Ouse--York ¶ Tadcaster--Towton Field--Sherburn-in-Elmet--River Aire--Ferrybridge--Pontefract ¶ Robin Hood's Well--Doncaster ¶ Conisborough--Rotherham ¶ Attercliffe Common--Sheffield--Norton--Hathersage--Little John's Grave--Castleton ¶¶ pp. 278-339 SEVENTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Oct. 30 to Nov. 5. Castleton--Tideswell--Miller's Dale--Flagg Moor--Newhaven--Tissington--Ashbourne ¶ River Dove--Mayfield--Ellastone--Alton Towers--Uttoxeter--Bagot's Wood--Needwood Forest--Abbots Bromley--Handsacre ¶ Lichfield--Tamworth--Atherstone--Watling Street--Nuneaton ¶ Watling Street--High Cross--Lutterworth--River Swift--Fosse Way--Brinklow--Coventry ¶ Kenilworth--Leamington--Stoneleigh Abbey--Warwick--Stratford-on-Avon--Charlecote Park--Kineton--Edge Hill ¶ Banbury--Woodstock--Oxford ¶¶ pp. 340-450 EIGHTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Nov. 6 to Nov. 12. Oxford--Sunningwell--Abingdon--Vale of White Horse--Wantage--Icknield Way--Segsbury Camp--West Shefford--Hungerford ¶ Marlborough Downs--Miston--Salisbury Plain--Stonehenge--Amesbury--Old Sarum--Salisbury ¶ Wilton--Compton Chamberlain--Shaftesbury--Blackmoor Vale--Sturminster ¶ Blackmoor Vale--Cerne Abbas--Charminster--Dorchester--Bridport ¶ The Chesil Bank--Chideoak--Charmouth--Lyme Regis--Axminster--Honiton--Exeter ¶ Exminster--Star Cross--Dawlish--Teignmouth--Torquay ¶¶ pp. 451-545 NINTH WEEK'S JOURNEY--Nov. 13 to Nov. 18. Torbay--Cockington--Compton Castle--Marldon--Berry Pomeroy--River Dart--Totnes--Sharpham--Dittisham--Dartmouth--Totnes ¶ Dartmoor--River Erme--Ivybridge--Plymouth ¶ Devonport--St. Budeaux--Tamerton Foliot--Buckland Abbey--Walkhampton--Merridale--River Tavy--Tavistock--Hingston Downs--Callington--St. Ive--Liskeard ¶ St. Neot--Restormel Castle--Lostwithiel--River Fowey--St. Blazey--St. Austell--Truro ¶ Perranarworthal--Penryn--Helston--The Lizard--St. Breage--Perran Downs--Marazion--St. Michael's Mount--Penzance ¶ Newlyn--St. Paul--Mousehole--St. Buryan--Treryn--Logan Rock--St. Levan--Tol-Peden-Penwith--Sennen--Land's End--Penzance ¶¶ pp. 546-652 HOMEWARD BOUND--Nov. 20 and 21 pp. 653-658 FROM JOHN O' GROAT'S TO LAND'S END HOW WE GOT TO JOHN O' GROAT'S _Thursday, September 7th._ It was one o'clock in the morning when we started on the three-mile walk to Warrington, where we were to join the 2.18 a.m. train for Glasgow, and it was nearly ten o'clock when we reached that town, the train being one hour and twenty minutes late. This delay caused us to be too late for the steamboat by which we intended to continue our journey further north, and we were greatly disappointed in having thus early in our journey to abandon the pleasant and interesting sail down the River Clyde and on through the Caledonian Canal. We were, therefore, compelled to alter our route, so we adjourned to the Victoria Temperance Hotel for breakfast, where we were advised to travel to Aberdeen by train, and thence by steamboat to Wick, the nearest available point to John o' Groat's. We had just time to inspect Sir Walter Scott's monument that adorned the Square at Glasgow, and then we left by the 12.35 train for Aberdeen. It was a long journey, and it was half-past eight o'clock at night before we reached our destination, but the weariness of travelling had been whiled away by pleasant company and delightful scenery. We had travelled continuously for about 360 miles, and we were both sleepy and tired as we entered Forsyth's Hotel to stay the night. _Friday, September 8th._ After a good night's rest, followed by a good breakfast, we went out to inquire the time our boat would leave, and, finding it was not due away until evening, we returned to the hotel and refreshed ourselves with a bath, and then went for a walk to see the town of Aberdeen, which is mostly built of the famous Aberdeen granite. The citizens were quite proud of their Union Street, the main thoroughfare, as well they might be, for though at first sight we thought it had rather a sombre appearance, yet when the sky cleared and the sun shone out on the golden letters that adorned the buildings we altered our opinion, for then we saw the "Granite City" at its best. We spent the time rambling along the beach, and, as pleasure seekers generally do, passed the day comfortably, looking at anything and everything that came in our way. By no means sea-faring men, having mainly been accustomed to village life, we had some misgivings when we boarded the s.s. _St. Magnus_ at eight o'clock in the evening, and our sensations during the night were such as are common to what the sailors call "land-lubbers." We were fortunate, however, in forming the acquaintance of a lively young Scot, who was also bound for Wick, and who cheered us during the night by giving us copious selections from Scotland's favourite bard, of whom he was greatly enamoured. We heard more of "Rabbie Burns" that night than we had ever heard before, for our friend seemed able to recite his poetry by the yard and to sing some of it also, and he kept us awake by occasionally asking us to join in the choruses. Some of the sentiments of Burns expressed ideals that seem a long time in being realised, and one of his favourite quotations, repeated several times by our friend, dwells in our memory after many years: For a' that an' a' that It's coming, yet, for a' that, That man to man the war-ld o'er Shall brithers be for a' that. During the night, as the _St. Magnus_ ploughed her way through the foaming billows, we noticed long, shining streaks on the surface of the water, varying in colour from a fiery red to a silvery white, the effect of which, was quite beautiful. Our friend informed us these were caused by the stampede of the shoals of herrings through which we were then passing. The herring fishery season was now on, and, though we could not distinguish either the fishermen or their boats when we passed near one of their fishing-grounds, we could see the lights they carried dotted all over the sea, and we were apprehensive lest we should collide with some of them, but the course of the _St. Magnus_ had evidently been known and provided for by the fishermen. We had a long talk with our friend about our journey north, and, as he knew the country well, he was able to give us some useful information and advice. He told us that if we left the boat at Wick and walked to John o' Groat's from there, we should have to walk the same way back, as there was only the one road, and if we wished to avoid going over the same ground twice, he would advise us to remain on the _St. Magnus_ until she reached her destination, Lerwick, in the Shetland Islands, and the cost by the boat would be very little more than to Wick. She would only stay a short time at Lerwick, and then we could return in her to Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands. From that place we could walk across the Mainland to Stromness, where we should find a small steamboat which conveyed mails and passengers across the Pentland Firth to Thurso in the north of Scotland, from which point John o' Groat's could easily be reached, and, besides, we might never again have such a favourable opportunity of seeing the fine rock scenery of those northern islands. [Illustration: WICK HARBOUR. From a photograph taken in 1867.] We were delighted with his suggestion, and wrote a hurried letter home advising our people there of this addition to our journey, and our friend volunteered to post the letter for us at Wick. It was about six o'clock in the morning when we neared that important fishery town and anchored in the harbour, where we had to stay an hour or two to load and unload cargo. Our friend the Scot had to leave us here, but we could not allow him to depart without some kind of ceremony or other, and as the small boat came in sight that was to carry him ashore, we decided to sing a verse or two of "Auld Lang Syne" from his favourite poet Burns; but my brother could not understand some of the words in one of the verses, so he altered and anglicised them slightly: An' here's a haund, my trusty friend, An' gie's a haund o' thine; We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, For the sake o' auld lang syne. Some of the other passengers joined in the singing, but we never realised the full force of this verse until we heard it sung in its original form by a party of Scots, who, when they came to this particular verse, suited the action to the word by suddenly taking hold of each other's hands, thereby forming a cross, and meanwhile beating time to the music. Whether the cross so formed had any religious significance or not, we did not know. Our friend was a finely built and intelligent young man, and it was with feelings of great regret that we bade him farewell and watched his departure over the great waves, with the rather mournful presentiment that we were being parted from him for ever! _Saturday, September 9th._ There were signs of a change in the weather as we left Wick, and the _St. Magnus_ rolled considerably; but occasionally we had a good view of the precipitous rocks that lined the coast, many of them having been christened by the sailors after the objects they represented, as seen from the sea. The most prominent of these was a double-headed peak in Caithness, which formed a remarkably perfect resemblance to the breasts of a female giant with nipples complete, and this they had named the "Maiden's Paps." Then there was the "Old Man of Hoy," and other rocks that stood near the entrance to that terrible torrent of the sea, the Pentland Firth; but, owing to the rolling of our ship, we were not in a fit state either of mind or body to take much interest in them, and we were very glad when we reached the shelter of the Orkney Islands and entered the fine harbour of Kirkwall. Here we had to stay for a short time, so we went ashore and obtained a substantial lunch at the Temperance Hotel near the old cathedral, wrote a few letters, and at 3 p.m. rejoined the _St. Magnus_. The sea had been quite rough enough previously, but it soon became evident that it had been smooth compared with what followed, and during the coming night we wished many times that our feet were once more on _terra firma_. The rain descended, the wind increased in violence, and the waves rolled high and broke over the ship, and we were no longer allowed to occupy our favourite position on the upper deck, but had to descend a stage lower. We were saturated with water from head to foot in spite of our overalls, and we were also very sick, and, to add to our misery, we could hear, above the noise of the wind and waves, the fearful groaning of some poor woman who, a sailor told us, had been suddenly taken ill, and it was doubtful if she could recover. He carried a fish in his hand which he had caught as it was washed on deck, and he invited us to come and see the place where he had to sleep. A dismal place it was too, flooded with water, and not a dry thing for him to put on. We could not help feeling sorry that these sailors had such hardships to undergo; but he seemed to take it as a matter of course, and appeared to be more interested in the fish he carried than in the storm that was then raging. We were obliged to keep on the move to prevent our taking cold, and we realised that we were in a dark, dismal, and dangerous position, and thought of the words of a well-known song and how appropriate they were to that occasion: "O Pilot! 'tis a fearful night, There's danger on the deep; I'll come and pace the deck with thee, I do not dare to sleep." "Go down!" the Pilot cried, "go down! This is no place for thee; Fear not! but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be." The storm continued for hours, and, as it gradually abated, our feelings became calmer, our fears subsided, and we again ventured on the upper deck. The night had been very dark hitherto, but we could now see the occasional glimmering of a light a long distance ahead, which proved to be that of a lighthouse, and presently we could distinguish the bold outlines of the Shetland Islands. As we entered Bressay Sound, however, a beautiful transformation scene suddenly appeared, for the clouds vanished as if by magic, and the last quarter of the moon, surrounded by a host of stars, shone out brilliantly in the clear sky. It was a glorious sight, for we had never seen these heavenly bodies in such a clear atmosphere before, and it was hard to realise that they were so far away from us. We could appreciate the feelings of a little boy of our acquaintance, who, when carried outside the house one fine night by his father to see the moon, exclaimed in an ecstasy of delight: "Oh, reach it, daddy!--reach it!" and it certainly looked as if we could have reached it then, so very near did it appear to us. It was two o'clock on Sunday morning, September 10th, when we reached Lerwick, the most northerly town in Her Majesty's British Dominions, and we appealed to a respectable-looking passenger who was being rowed ashore with us in the boat as to where we could obtain good lodgings. He kindly volunteered to accompany us to a house at which he had himself stayed before taking up his permanent residence as a tradesman in the town and which he could thoroughly recommend. Lerwick seemed a weird-looking place in the moonlight, and we turned many corners on our way to our lodgings, and were beginning to wonder how we should find our way out again, when our companion stopped suddenly before a private boarding-house, the door of which was at once opened by the mistress. We thanked the gentleman for his kind introduction, and as we entered the house the lady explained that it was her custom to wait up for the arrival of the _St. Magnus_. We found the fire burning and the kettle boiling, and the cup that cheers was soon on the table with the usual accompaniments, which were quickly disposed of. We were then ushered to our apartments--a bedroom and sitting or dining-room combined, clean and comfortable, but everything seemed to be moving like the ship we had just left. Once in bed, however, we were soon claimed by the God of Slumber, sleep, and dreams--our old friend Morpheus. _Sunday, September 10th._ In the morning we attended the English Episcopalian Church, and, after service, which was rather of a high church character, we walked into the country until we came in sight of the rough square tower of Scalloway Castle, and on our return we inspected the ruins of a Pictish castle, the first of the kind we had seen, although we were destined to see many others in the course of our journey. [Illustration: LERWICK. Commercial Street as it was in 1871.] The Picts, we were informed, were a race of people who settled in the north of Scotland in pre-Roman times, and who constructed their dwellings either of earth or stone, but always in a circular form. This old castle was built of stone, and the walls were five or six yards thick; inside these walls rooms had been made for the protection of the owners, while the circular, open space enclosed by the walls had probably been for the safe housing of their cattle. An additional protection had also been formed by the water with which the castle was surrounded, and which gave it the appearance of a small island in the middle of a lake. It was connected with the land by means of a narrow road, across which we walked. The castle did not strike us as having been a very desirable place of residence; the ruins had such a very dismal and deserted appearance that we did not stay there long, but returned to our lodgings for lunch. After this we rested awhile, and then joined the townspeople, who were patrolling every available space outside. The great majority of these were women, healthy and good-looking, and mostly dressed in black, as were also those we afterwards saw in the Orkneys and the extreme north of Scotland, and we thought that some of our disconsolate bachelor friends might have been able to find very desirable partners for life in these northern dominions of Her Majesty the Queen. The houses in Lerwick had been built in all sorts of positions without any attempt at uniformity, and the rough, flagged passage which did duty for the main street was, to our mind, the greatest curiosity of all, and almost worth going all the way to Shetland to see. It was curved and angled in such an abrupt and zigzag manner that it gave us the impression that the houses had been built first, and the street, where practicable, filled in afterwards. A gentleman from London was loud in his praise of this wonderful street; he said he felt so much safer there than in "beastly London," as he could stand for hours in that street before the shop windows without being run over by any cab, cart, or omnibus, and without feeling a solitary hand exploring his coat pockets. This was quite true, as we did not see any vehicles in Lerwick, nor could they have passed each other through the crooked streets had they been there, and thieves would have been equally difficult to find. Formerly, however, Lerwick had an evil reputation in that respect, as it was noted for being the abode of sheep-stealers and pirates, so much so, that, about the year 1700, it had become such a disreputable place that an earnest appeal was made to the "Higher Authorities" to have the place burnt, and for ever made desolate, on account of its great wickedness. Since that time, however, the softening influences of the Christian religion had permeated the hearts of the people, and, at the time of our visit, the town was well supplied with places of worship, and it would have been difficult to have found any thieves there then. We attended evening service in the Wesleyan Chapel, where we found a good congregation, a well-conducted service, and an acceptable preacher, and we reflected that Mr. Wesley himself would have rejoiced to know that even in such a remote place as Lerwick his principles were being promulgated. _Monday, September 11th._ We rose early with the object of seeing all we could in the short time at our disposal, which was limited to the space of a single day, or until the _St. Magnus_ was due out in the evening on her return journey. We were anxious to see a large cavern known as the Orkneyman's Cave, but as it could only be reached from the sea, we should have had to engage a boat to take us there. We were told the cave was about fifty feet square at the entrance, but immediately beyond it increased to double the size; it was possible indeed to sail into it with a boat and to lose sight of daylight altogether. The story goes that many years ago an Orkneyman was pursued by a press-gang, but escaped being captured by sailing into the cave with his boat. He took refuge on one of the rocky ledges inside, but in his haste he forgot to secure his boat, and the ground swell of the sea washed it out of the cave. To make matters worse, a storm came on, and there he remained a prisoner in the cave for two days; but as soon as the storm abated he plunged into the water, swam to a small rock outside, and thence climbed to the top of the cliff and so escaped. Since that event it had been known as the Orkneyman's Cave. We went to the boat at the appointed time, but unfortunately the wind was too strong for us to get round to the cave, so we were disappointed. The boatman suggested as the next best thing that we should go to see the Island of Noss. He accordingly took us across the bay, which was about a mile wide, and landed us on the Island of Bressay. Here it was necessary for us to get a permit to enable us to proceed farther, so, securing his boat, the boatman accompanied us to the factor's house, where he procured a pass, authorising us to land on the Island of Noss, of which the following is a facsimile: _Allow Mr. Nailer and friends to land on Noss. To Walter. A.M. Walker_. Here he left us, as we had to walk across the Island of Bressay, and, after a tramp of two or three miles, during which we did not see a single human being, we came to another water where there was a boat. Here we found Walter, and, after we had exhibited our pass, he rowed us across the narrow arm of the sea and landed us on the Island of Noss. He gave us careful instructions how to proceed so that we could see the Holm of Noss, and warned us against approaching too near the edge of the precipice which we should find there. After a walk of about a mile, all up hill, we came to the precipitous cliffs which formed the opposite boundary of the island, and from a promontory there we had a magnificent view of the rocks, with the waves of the sea dashing against them, hundreds of feet below. A small portion of the island was here separated from the remainder by a narrow abyss about fifty feet wide, down which it was terrible to look, and this separated portion was known as the Holm of Noss. It rose precipitously on all sides from the sea, and its level surface on the top formed a favourite nesting-place for myriads of wild birds of different varieties, which not only covered the top of the Holm, but also the narrow ledges along its jagged sides. Previous to the seventeenth century, this was one of the places where the foot of man had never trod, and a prize of a cow was offered to any man who would climb the face of the cliff and establish a connection with the mainland by means of a rope, as it was thought that the Holm would provide pasturage for about twenty sheep. A daring fowler, from Foula Island, successfully performed the feat, and ropes were firmly secured to the rocks on each side, and along two parallel ropes a box or basket was fixed, capable of holding a man and a sheep. This apparatus was named the Cradle of Noss, and was so arranged that an Islander with or without a sheep placed in the cradle could drag himself across the chasm in either direction. Instead, however, of returning by the rope or cradle, on which he would have been comparatively safe, the hardy fowler decided to go back by the same way he had come, and, missing his foothold, fell on the rocks in the sea below and was dashed to pieces, so that the prize was never claimed by him. [Illustration: THE HOLM OF NOSS. "It made us shudder ... as we peered down on the abysmal depths below."] We felt almost spellbound as we approached this awful chasm, and as if we were being impelled by some invisible force towards the edge of the precipice. It fairly made us shudder as on hands and knees we peered down on the abysmal depths below. It was a horrible sensation, and one that sometimes haunted us in our dreams for years afterwards, and we felt greatly relieved when we found that we could safely crawl away and regain an upright posture. We could see thousands upon thousands of wild birds, amongst which the ordinary sea-gull was largely represented; but there were many other varieties of different colours, and the combination of their varied cries, mingled with the bleating of the sheep, the whistling of the wind, the roaring of the waves as they dashed against the rocks below, or entered the caverns with a sound like distant thunder, tended to make us feel quite bewildered. We retired to the highest elevation we could find, and there, 600 miles from home, and perhaps as many feet above sea-level, was solitude in earnest. We were the only human beings on the island, and the enchanting effect of the wild scenery, the vast expanse of sea, the distant moaning of the waters, the great rocks worn by the wind and the waves into all kinds of fantastic shapes and caverns, the blue sky above with the glorious sun shining upon us, all proclaimed to our minds the omnipotence of the great Creator of the Universe, the Almighty Maker and Giver of all. We lingered as long as we could in these lonely and romantic solitudes, and, as we sped down the hill towards the boat, we suddenly became conscious that we had not thought either of what we should eat or what we should drink since we had breakfasted early in the morning, and we were very hungry. Walter was waiting for us on our side of the water, as he had been watching for our return, and had seen us coming when we were nearly a mile away. There was no vegetation to obstruct the view, for, as he said, we might walk fifty miles in Shetland without meeting with a bush or tree. We had an agreeable surprise when we reached the other side of the water in finding some light refreshments awaiting our arrival which he had thoughtfully provided in the event of their being required, and for which we were profoundly thankful. The cradle of Noss had disappeared some time before our visit, but, if it had been there, we should have been too terrified to make use of it. It had become dangerous, and as the pasturage of sheep on the Holm had proved a failure, the birds had again become masters of the situation, while the cradle had fallen to decay. Walter gave us an awful description of the danger of the fowler's occupation, especially in the Foula Island, where the rocks rose towering a thousand feet above the sea. The top of the cliffs there often projected over their base, so that the fowler had to be suspended on a rope fastened to the top of the cliff, swinging himself backwards and forwards like a pendulum until he could reach the ledge of rock where the birds laid their eggs. Immediately he landed on it, he had to secure his rope, and then gather the eggs in a hoop net, and put them in his wallet, and then swing off again, perhaps hundreds of feet above the sea, to find another similar ledge, so that his business was practically carried on in the air. On one of these occasions a fowler had just reached a landing-place on the precipice, when his rope slipped out of his hand, and swung away from the cliff into the empty air. If he had hesitated one moment, he would have been lost for ever, as in all probability he would either have been starved to death on the ledge of rock on which he was or fallen exhausted into the sea below. The first returning swing of the rope might bring him a chance of grasping it, but the second would be too far away. The rope came back, the desperate man measured the distance with his eye, sprang forward in the air, grasped the rope, and was saved. Sometimes the rope became frayed or cut by fouling some sharp edge of rock above, and, if it broke, the fowler was landed in eternity. Occasionally two or three men were suspended on the same rope at the same time. Walter told us of a father and two sons who were on the rope in this way, the father being the lowest and his two sons being above him, when the son who was uppermost saw that the rope was being frayed above him, and was about to break. He called to his brother who was just below that the rope would no longer hold them all, and asked him to cut it off below him and let their father go. This he indignantly refused to do, whereupon his brother, without a moment's hesitation, cut the rope below himself, and both his father and brother perished. It was terrible to hear such awful stories, as our nerves were unstrung already, so we asked our friend Walter not to pile on the agony further, and, after rewarding him for his services, we hurried over the remaining space of land and sea that separated us from our comfortable quarters at Lerwick, where a substantial tea was awaiting our arrival. We were often asked what we thought of Shetland and its inhabitants. Shetland was fine in its mountain and coast scenery, but it was wanting in good roads and forests, and it seemed strange that no effort had been made to plant some trees, as forests had formerly existed there, and, as a gentleman told us, there seemed no peculiarity in either the soil or climate to warrant an opinion unfavourable to the country's arboricultural capacity. Indeed, such was the dearth of trees and bushes, that a lady, who had explored the country thoroughly, declared that the tallest and grandest tree she saw during her visit to the Islands was a stalk of rhubarb which had run to seed and was waving its head majestically in a garden below the old fort of Lerwick! Agriculture seemed also to be much neglected, but possibly the fishing industry was more profitable. The cottages also were very small and of primitive construction, many of them would have been condemned as being unfit for human habitation if they had existed elsewhere, and yet, in spite of this apparent drawback, these hardy islanders enjoyed the best of health and brought up large families of very healthy-looking children. Shetland will always have a pleasant place in our memories, and, as regards the people who live there, to speak the truth we scarcely ever met with folks we liked better. We received the greatest kindness and hospitality, and met with far greater courtesy and civility than in the more outwardly polished and professedly cultivated parts of the countries further south, especially when making inquiries from people to whom we had not been "introduced"! The Shetlanders spoke good English, and seemed a highly intelligent race of people. Many of the men went to the whale and other fisheries in the northern seas, and "Greenland's icy mountains" were well known to them. On the island there were many wives and mothers who mourned the loss of husbands and sons who had perished in that dangerous occupation, and these remarks also applied to the Orkney Islands, to which we were returning, and might also account for so many of these women being dressed in black. Every one told us we were visiting the islands too late in the year, and that we ought to have made our appearance at an earlier period, when the sun never sets, and when we should have been able to read at midnight without the aid of an artificial light. Shetland was evidently in the range of the "Land of the Midnight Sun," but whether we should have been able to keep awake in order to read at midnight was rather doubtful, as we were usually very sleepy. At one time of the year, however, the sun did not shine at all, and the Islanders had to rely upon the Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights, which then made their appearance and shone out brilliantly, spreading a beautifully soft light over the islands. We wondered if it were this or the light of the midnight sun that inspired the poet to write: Night walked in beauty o'er the peaceful sea. Whose gentle waters spoke tranquillity, or if it had been borrowed from some more peaceful clime, as we had not yet seen the "peaceful sea" amongst these northern islands. We had now once more to venture on its troubled waters, and we made our appearance at the harbour at the appointed time for the departure of the _St. Magnus_. We were, however, informed that the weather was too misty for our boat to leave, so we returned to our lodgings, ordered a fire, and were just making ourselves comfortable and secretly hoping our departure might be delayed until morning, when Mrs. Sinclair, our landlady, came to tell us that the bell, which was the signal for the _St. Magnus_ to leave, had just rung. We hurried to the quay, only to find that the boat which conveyed passengers and mails to our ship had disappeared. We were in a state of consternation, but a group of sailors, who were standing by, advised us to hire a special boat, and one was brought up immediately, by which, after a lot of shouting and whistling--for we could scarcely see anything in the fog--we were safely landed on the steamboat. We had only just got beyond the harbour, however, when the fog became so dense that we suddenly came to a standstill, and had to remain in the bay for a considerable time. When at last we moved slowly outwards, the hoarse whistle of the _St. Magnus_ was sounded at short intervals, to avoid collision with any other craft. It had a strangely mournful sound, suggestive of a funeral or some great calamity, and we should almost have preferred being in a storm, when we could have seen the danger, rather than creeping along in the fog and darkness, with a constant dread of colliding with some other boat or with one of the dangerous rocks which we knew were in the vicinity. Sleep was out of the question until later, when the fog began to clear a little, and, in the meantime, we found ourselves in the company of a group of young men who told us they were going to Aberdeen. One of them related a rather sorrowful story. He and his mates had come from one of the Shetland Islands from which the inhabitants were being expelled by the factor, so that he could convert the whole of the island into a sheep farm for his own personal advantage. Their ancestors had lived there from time immemorial, but their parents had all received notice to leave, and other islands were being depopulated in the same way. The young men were going to Aberdeen to try to find ships on which they could work their passage to some distant part of the world; they did not know or care where, but he said the time would come when this country would want soldiers and sailors, and would not be able to find them after the men had been driven abroad. He also told us about what he called the "Truck System," which was a great curse in their islands, as "merchants" encouraged young people to get deeply in their debt, so that when they grew up they could keep them in their clutches and subject them to a state of semi-slavery, as with increasing families and low wages it was then impossible to get out of debt. We were very sorry to see these fine young men leaving the country, and when we thought of the wild and almost deserted islands we had just visited, it seemed a pity they could not have been employed there. We had a longer and much smoother passage than on our outward voyage, and the fog had given place to a fine, clear atmosphere as we once more entered the fine harbour of Kirkwall, and we had a good view of the town, which some enthusiastic passenger described as the "Metropolis of the Orcadean Archipelago." _Tuesday, September 12th._ We narrowly escaped a bad accident as we were leaving the _St. Magnus_. She carried a large number of sheep and Shetland ponies on deck, and our way off the ship was along a rather narrow passage formed by the cattle on one side and a pile of merchandise on the other. The passengers were walking in single file, my brother immediately in front of myself, when one of the ponies suddenly struck out viciously with its hind legs just as we were passing. If we had received the full force of the kick, we should have been incapacitated from walking; but fortunately its strength was exhausted when it reached us, and it only just grazed our legs. The passengers behind thought at first we were seriously injured, and one of them rushed forward and held the animal's head to prevent further mischief; but the only damage done was to our overalls, on which the marks of the pony's hoofs remained as a record of the event. On reaching the landing-place the passengers all came forward to congratulate us on our lucky escape, and until they separated we were the heroes of the hour, and rather enjoyed the brief notoriety. There was an old-world appearance about Kirkwall reminiscent of the time When Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the Firth of Clyde, When floated Haco's banner trim Above Norwegian warriors grim, Savage of heart and huge of limb. for it was at the palace there that Haco, King of Norway, died in 1263. There was only one considerable street in the town, and this was winding and narrow and paved with flags in the centre, something like that in Lerwick, but the houses were much more foreign in appearance, and many of them had dates on their gables, some of them as far back as the beginning of the fifteenth century. We went to the same hotel as on our outward journey, and ordered a regular good "set out" to be ready by the time we had explored the ancient cathedral, which, like our ship, was dedicated to _St. Magnus_. We were directed to call at a cottage for the key, which was handed to us by the solitary occupant, and we had to find our way as best we could. After entering the ancient building, we took the precaution of locking the door behind us. The interior looked dark and dismal after the glorious sunshine we had left outside, and was suggestive more of a dungeon than a place of worship, and of the dark deeds done in the days of the past. The historian relates that St. Magnus met his death at the hands of his cousin Haco while in the church of Eigleshay. He had retired there with a presentiment of some evil about to happen him, and "while engaged in devotional exercises, prepared and resigned for whatever might occur, he was slain by one stroke of a hatchet. Being considered eminently pious, he was looked upon as a saint, and his nephew Ronald built the cathedral in accordance with a vow made before leaving Norway to lay claim to the Earldom of Orkney." The cathedral was considered to be the best-preserved relic of antiquity in Scotland, and we were much impressed by the dim religious light which pervaded the interior, and quite bewildered amongst the dark passages inside the walls. We had been recommended to ascend the cathedral tower for the sake of the fine view which was to be obtained from the top, but had some difficulty in finding the way to the steps. Once we landed at the top of the tower we considered ourselves well repaid for our exertions, as the view over land and sea was very beautiful. Immediately below were the remains of the bishop's and earl's palaces, relics of bygone ages, now gradually crumbling to decay, while in the distance we could see the greater portion of the sixty-seven islands which formed the Orkney Group. Only about one-half of these were inhabited, the remaining and smaller islands being known as holms, or pasturages for sheep, which, seen in the distance, resembled green specks in the great blue sea, which everywhere surrounded them. [Illustration: ST. MAGNUS CATHEDRAL KIRKWALL] [Illustration: STROMNESS] I should have liked to stay a little longer surveying this fairy-like scene, but my brother declared he could smell our breakfast, which by this time must have been waiting for us below. Our exit was a little delayed, as we took a wrong turn in the rather bewildering labyrinth of arches and passages in the cathedral walls, and it was not without a feeling of relief that we reached the door we had so carefully locked behind us. We returned the key to the caretaker, and then went to our hotel, where we loaded ourselves with a prodigious breakfast, and afterwards proceeded to walk across the Mainland of the Orkneys, an estimated distance of fifteen miles. On our rather lonely way to Stromness we noticed that agriculture was more advanced than in the Shetland Islands, and that the cattle were somewhat larger, but we must say that we had been charmed with the appearance of the little Shetland ponies, excepting perhaps the one that had done its best to give us a farewell kick when we were leaving the _St. Magnus_. Oats and barley were the crops chiefly grown, for we did not see any wheat, and the farmers, with their wives and children, were all busy harvesting their crops of oats, but there was still room for extension and improvement, as we passed over miles of uncultivated moorland later. On our inquiring what objects of interest were to be seen on our way, our curiosity was raised to its highest pitch when we were told we should come to an underground house and to a large number of standing stones a few miles farther on. We fully expected to descend under the surface of the ground, and to find some cave or cavern below; but when we got to the place, we found the house practically above ground, with a small mountain raised above it. It was covered with grass, and had only been discovered in 1861, about ten years before our visit. Some boys were playing on the mountain, when one of them found a small hole which he thought was a rabbit hole, but, pushing his arm down it, he could feel no bottom. He tried again with a small stick, but with the same result. The boys then went to a farm and brought a longer stick, but again failed to reach the bottom of the hole, so they resumed their play, and when they reached home they told their parents of their adventure, and the result was that this ancient house was discovered and an entrance to it found from the level of the land below. [Illustration: SHETLAND PONIES.] We went in search of the caretaker, and found him busy with the harvest in a field some distance away, but he returned with us to the mound. He opened a small door, and we crept behind him along a low, narrow, and dark passage for a distance of about seventeen yards, when we entered a chamber about the size of an ordinary cottage dwelling, but of a vault-like appearance. It was quite dark, but our guide proceeded to light a number of small candles, placed in rustic candlesticks, at intervals, round this strange apartment. We could then see some small cells in the wall, which might once have been used as burial places for the dead, and on the walls themselves were hundreds of figures or letters cut in the rock, in very thin lines, as if engraved with a needle. We could not decipher any of them, as they appeared more like Egyptian hieroglyphics than letters of our alphabet, and the only figure we could distinguish was one which had the appearance of a winged dragon. The history of the place was unknown, but we were afterwards told that it was looked upon as one of the most important antiquarian discoveries ever made in Britain. The name of the place was Maeshowe. The mound was about one hundred yards in circumference, and it was supposed that the house, or tumulus, was first cut out of the rock and the earth thrown over it afterwards from the large trench by which it was surrounded. [Illustration: "STANDING STONES OF STENNESS."] Our guide then directed us to the "Standing Stones of Stenness," which were some distance away; but he could not spare time to go with us, so we had to travel alone to one of the wildest and most desolate places imaginable, strongly suggestive of ghosts and the spirits of the departed. We crossed the Bridge of Brogar, or Bruargardr, and then walked along a narrow strip of land dividing two lochs, both of which at this point presented a very lonely and dismal appearance. Although they were so near together, Loch Harry contained fresh water only and Loch Stenness salt water, as it had a small tidal inlet from the sea passing under Waith Bridge, which we crossed later. There were two groups of the standing stones, one to the north and the other to the south, and each consisted of a double circle of considerable extent. The stones presented a strange appearance, as while many stood upright, some were leaning; others had fallen, and some had disappeared altogether. The storms of many centuries had swept over them, and "they stood like relics of the past, with lichens waving from their worn surfaces like grizzly beards, or when in flower mantling them with brilliant orange hues," while the areas enclosed by them were covered with mosses, the beautiful stag-head variety being the most prominent. One of the poets has described them: The heavy rocks of giant size That o'er the land in circles rise. Of which tradition may not tell, Fit circles for the Wizard spell; Seen far amidst the scowling storm Seem each a tall and phantom form, As hurrying vapours o'er them flee Frowning in grim security, While like a dread voice from the past Around them moans the autumnal blast! These lichened "Standing Stones of Stenness," with the famous Stone of Odin about 150 yards to the north, are second only to Stonehenge, one measuring 18 feet in length, 5 feet 4 inches in breadth, and 18 inches in thickness. The Stone of Odin had a hole in it to which it was supposed that sacrificial victims were fastened in ancient times, but in later times lovers met and joined hands through the hole in the stone, and the pledge of love then given was almost as sacred as a marriage vow. An antiquarian description of this reads as follows: "When the parties agreed to marry, they repaired to the Temple of the Moon, where the woman in the presence of the man fell down on her knees and prayed to the God Wodin that he would enable her to perform, all the promises and obligations she had made, and was to make, to the young man present, after which they both went to the Temple of the Sun, where the man prayed in like manner before the woman. They then went to the Stone of Odin, and the man being on one side and the woman on the other, they took hold of each other's right hand through the hole and there swore to be constant and faithful to each other." The hole in the stone was about five feet from the ground, but some ignorant farmer had destroyed the stone, with others, some years before our visit. There were many other stones in addition to the circles, probably the remains of Cromlechs, and there were numerous grass mounds, or barrows, both conoid and bowl-shaped, but these were of a later date than the circles. It was hard to realise that this deserted and boggarty-looking place was once the Holy Ground of the ancient Orcadeans, and we were glad to get away from it. We recrossed the Bridge of Brogar and proceeded rapidly towards Stromness, obtaining a fine prospective view of that town, with the huge mountain masses of the Island of Hoy as a background, on our way. These rise to a great height, and terminate abruptly near where that strange isolated rock called the "Old Man of Hoy" rises straight from the sea as if to guard the islands in the rear. The shades of evening were falling fast as we entered Stromness, but what a strange-looking town it seemed to us! It was built at the foot of the hill in the usual irregular manner and in one continuous crooked street, with many of the houses with their crow-stepped gables built as it were over the sea itself, and here in one of these, owing to a high recommendation received inland, we stayed the night. It was perched above the water's edge, and, had we been so minded, we might have caught the fish named sillocks for our own breakfast without leaving the house: many of the houses, indeed, had small piers or landing-stages attached to them, projecting towards the bay. We found Mrs. Spence an ideal hostess and were very comfortable, the only drawback to our happiness being the information that the small steamboat that carried mails and passengers across to Thurso had gone round for repairs "and would not be back for a week, but a sloop would take her place" the day after to-morrow. But just fancy crossing the stormy waters of the Pentland Firth in a sloop! We didn't quite know what a sloop was, except that it was a sailing-boat with only one mast; but the very idea gave us the nightmare, and we looked upon ourselves as lost already. The mail boat, we had already been told, had been made enormously strong to enable her to withstand the strain of the stormy seas, besides having the additional advantage of being propelled by steam, and it was rather unfortunate that we should have arrived just at the time she was away. We asked the reason why, and were informed that during the summer months seaweeds had grown on the bottom of her hull four or five feet long, which with the barnacles so impeded her progress that it was necessary to have them scraped off, and that even the great warships had to undergo the same process. Seaweeds of the largest size and most beautiful colours flourish, in the Orcadean seas, and out of 610 species of the flora in the islands we learned that 133 were seaweeds. Stevenson the great engineer wrote that the large Algæ, and especially that one he named the "Fucus esculentus," grew on the rocks from self-grown seed, six feet in six months, so we could quite understand how the speed of a ship would be affected when carrying this enormous growth on the lower parts of her hull. _Wednesday, September 13th._ We had the whole of the day at our disposal to explore Stromness and the neighbourhood, and we made the most of it by rambling about the town and then along the coast to the north, but we were seldom out of sight of the great mountains of Hoy. Sir Walter Scott often visited this part of the Orkneys, and some of the characters he introduced in his novels were found here. In 1814 he made the acquaintance of a very old woman near Stromness, named Bessie Miller, whom he described as being nearly one hundred years old, withered and dried up like a mummy, with light blue eyes that gleamed with a lustre like that of insanity. She eked out her existence by selling favourable winds to mariners, for which her fee was sixpence, and hardly a mariner sailed out to sea from Stromness without visiting and paying his offering to Old Bessie Miller. Sir Walter drew the strange, weird character of "Norna of the Fitful Head" in his novel _The Pirate_ from her. The prototype of "Captain Cleveland" in the same novel was John Gow, the son of a Stromness merchant. This man went to sea, and by some means or other became possessed of a ship named the _Revenge_, which carried twenty-four guns. He had all the appearance of a brave young officer, and on the occasions when he came home to see his father he gave dancing-parties to his friends. Before his true character was known--for he was afterwards proved to be a pirate--he engaged the affections of a young lady of fortune, and when he was captured and convicted she hastened to London to see him before he was executed; but, arriving there too late, she begged for permission to see his corpse, and, taking hold of one hand, she vowed to remain true to him, for fear, it was said, of being haunted by his ghost if she bestowed her hand upon another. It is impossible to visit Stromness without hearing something of that famous geologist Hugh Miller, who was born at Cromarty in the north of Scotland in the year 1802, and began life as a quarry worker, and wrote several learned books on geology. In one of these, entitled _Footprints of the Creator in the Asterolepis of Stromness_, he demolished the Darwinian theory that would make a man out to be only a highly developed monkey, and the monkey a highly developed mollusc. My brother had a very poor opinion of geologists, but his only reason for this seemed to have been formed from the opinion of some workmen in one of our brickfields. A gentleman who took an interest in geology used to visit them at intervals for about half a year, and persuaded the men when excavating the clay to put the stones they found on one side so that he could inspect them, and after paying many visits he left without either thanking them or giving them the price of a drink! But my brother was pleased with Hugh Miller's book, for he had always contended that Darwin was mistaken, and that instead of man having descended from the monkey, it was the monkey that had descended from the man. I persuaded him to visit the museum, where we saw quite a number of petrified fossils. As there was no one about to give us any information, we failed to find Hugh Miller's famous asterolepis, which we heard afterwards had the appearance of a petrified nail, and had formed part of a huge fish whose species were known to have measured from eight to twenty-three feet in length. It was only about six inches long, and was described as one of the oldest, if not the oldest, vertebrate fossils hitherto discovered. Stromness ought to be the Mecca, the happy hunting-ground, or the Paradise to geologists, for Hugh Miller has said it could furnish more fossil fish than any other geological system in England, Scotland, and Wales, and could supply ichthyolites by the ton, or a ship load of fossilised fish sufficient to supply the museums of the world. How came this vast number of fish to be congregated here? and what was the force that overwhelmed them? It was quite evident from the distorted portions of their skeletons, as seen in the quarried flags, that they had suffered a violent death. But as we were unable to study geology, and could neither pronounce nor understand the names applied to the fossils, we gave it up in despair, as a deep where all our thoughts were drowned. We then walked along the coast, until we came to the highest point of the cliffs opposite some dangerous rocks called the Black Craigs, about which a sorrowful story was told. It happened on Wednesday, March 5th, 1834, during a terrific storm, when the _Star of Dundee_, a schooner of about eighty tons, was seen to be drifting helplessly towards these rocks. The natives knew there was no chance of escape for the boat, and ran with ropes to the top of the precipice near the rocks in the hope of being of some assistance; but such was the fury of the waves that the boat was broken into pieces before their eyes, and they were utterly helpless to save even one of their shipwrecked fellow-creatures. The storm continued for some time, and during the remainder of the week nothing of any consequence was found, nor was any of the crew heard of again, either dead or alive, till on the Sunday morning a man was suddenly observed on the top of the precipice waving his hands, and the people who saw him first were so astonished that they thought it was a spectre. It was afterwards discovered that it was one of the crew of the ill-fated ship who had been miraculously saved. He had been washed into a cave from a large piece of the wreck, which had partially blocked its entrance and so checked the violence of the waves inside, and there were also washed in from the ship some red herrings, a tin can which had been used for oil, and two pillows. The herrings served him for food and the tin can to collect drops of fresh water as they trickled down the rocks from above, while one of the pillows served for his bed and he used the other for warmth by pulling out the feathers and placing them into his boots. Occasionally when the waves filled the mouth of the cave he was afraid of being suffocated. Luckily for him at last the storm subsided sufficiently to admit of his swimming out of the cave; how he managed to scale the cliffs seemed little short of a miracle. He was kindly treated by the Islanders, and when he recovered they fitted him out with clothing so that he could join another ship. By what we may call the irony of fate he was again shipwrecked some years afterwards. This time the fates were less kind, for he was drowned! [Illustration: THE WRECK.] We had a splendid view of the mountains and sea, and stayed as usual on the cliffs until the pangs of hunger compelled us to return to Stromness, where we knew that a good tea was waiting for us. At one point on our way back the Heads of Hoy strangely resembled the profile of the great Sir Walter Scott, and this he would no doubt have seen when collecting materials for _The Pirate_. We had heard both in Shetland and Orkney that when we reached John o' Groat's we should find an enormous number of shells on the beach, and as we had some extensive rockeries at home already adorned with thousands of oyster shells, in fact so many as to cause our home to be nicknamed "Oyster Shell Hall," we decided to gather some of the shells when we got to John o'Groat's and send them home to our friends. The question of packages, however, seemed to be rather a serious one, as we were assured over and over again we should find no packages when we reached that out-of-the-way corner of Scotland, and that in the whole of the Orkney Islands there were not sufficient willows grown to make a single basket, skip, or hamper. So after tea we decided to explore the town in search of a suitable hamper, and we had some amusing experiences, as the people did not know what a hamper was. At length we succeeded in finding one rather ancient and capacious basket, but without a cover, whose appearance suggested that it had been washed ashore from some ship that had been wrecked many years ago, and, having purchased it at about three times its value, we carried it in triumph to our lodgings, to the intense amusement of our landlady and the excited curiosity of the Stromnessians. We spent the remainder of the evening in looking through Mrs. Spence's small library of books, but failed to find anything very consoling to us, as they related chiefly to storms and shipwrecks, and the dangerous nature of the Pentland Firth, whose turbulent waters we had to cross on the morrow. The Pentland Firth lies between the north of Scotland and the Orkney Islands, varies from five and a half to eight miles in breadth, and is by repute the most dangerous passage in the British Isles. We were told in one of the books that if we wanted to witness a regular "passage of arms" between two mighty seas, the Atlantic at Dunnet Head on the west, and the North Sea at Duncansbay Head on the east, we must cross Pentland Firth and be tossed upon its tides before we should be able to imagine what might be termed their ferocity. "The rush of two mighty oceans, struggling to sweep this world of waters through a narrow sound, and dashing their waves in bootless fury against the rocky barriers which headland and islet present; the endless contest of conflicting tides hurried forward and repelled, meeting, and mingling--their troubled surface boiling and spouting--and, even in a summer calm, in an eternal state of agitation"; and then fancy the calm changing to a storm: "the wind at west; the whole volume of the Atlantic rolling its wild mass of waters on, in one sweeping flood, to dash and burst upon the black and riven promontory of the Dunnet Head, until the mountain wave, shattered into spray, flies over the summit of a precipice, 400 feet above the base it broke upon." But this was precisely what we did not want to see, so we turned to the famous _Statistical Account_, which also described the difficulty of navigating the Firth for sailing vessels. This informed us that "the current in the Pentland Firth is exceedingly strong during the spring tides, so that no vessel can stem it. The flood-tide runs from west to east at the rate of ten miles an hour, with new and full moon. It is then high water at Scarfskerry (about three miles away from Dunnet Head) at nine o'clock. Immediately, as the water begins to fall on the shore, the current turns to the west; but the strength of the flood is so great in the middle of the Firth that it continues to run east till about twelve. With a gentle breeze of westerly wind, about eight o'clock in the morning the whole Firth, from Dunnet Head to Hoy Head in Orkney, seems as smooth as a sheet of glass. About nine the sea begins to rage for about one hundred yards off the Head, while all without continues smooth as before. This appearance gradually advances towards the Firth, and along the shore to the east, though the effects are not much felt along the shore till it reaches Scarfskerry Head, as the land between these points forms a considerable bay. By two o'clock the whole of the Firth seems to rage. About three in the afternoon it is low water on the shore, when all the former phenomena are reversed, the smooth water beginning to appear next the land and advancing gradually till it reaches the middle of the Firth. To strangers the navigation is very dangerous, especially if they approach near to land. But the natives along the coast are so well acquainted with the direction of the tides, that they can take advantage of every one of these currents to carry them safe from one harbour to another. Hence very few accidents happen, except from want of skill or knowledge of the tides." [Illustration: A NORTH SEA ROLLER.] There were some rather amusing stories about the detention of ships in the Firth. A Newcastle shipowner had despatched two ships from that port by the same tide, one to Bombay by the open sea, and the other, via the Pentland Firth, to Liverpool, and the Bombay vessel arrived at her destination first. Many vessels trying to force a passage through the Firth have been known to drift idly about hither and thither for months before they could get out again, and some ships that once entered Stromness Bay on New Year's Day were found there, resting from their labours on the fifteenth day of April following, "after wandering about like the _Flying Dutchman_." Sir Walter Scott said this was formerly a ship laden with precious metals, but a horrible murder was committed on board. A plague broke out amongst the crew, and no port would allow the vessel to enter for fear of contagion, and so she still wanders about the sea with her phantom crew, never to rest, but doomed to be tossed about for ever. She is now a spectral ship, and hovers about the Cape of Good Hope as an omen of bad luck to mariners who are so unfortunate as to see her. The dangerous places at each end of the Firth were likened to the Scylla and Charybdis between Italy and Sicily, where, in avoiding one mariners were often wrecked by the other; but the dangers in the Firth were from the "Merry Men of Mey," a dangerous expanse of sea, where the water was always boiling like a witch's cauldron at one end, and the dreaded "Swalchie Whirlpool" at the other. This was very dangerous for small boats, as they could sail over it safely in one state of the tide, but when it began to move it carried the boat round so slowly that the occupants did not realise their danger until too late, when they found themselves going round quicker and quicker as they descended into the awful vortex below, where the ancient Vikings firmly believed the submarine mill existed which ground the salt that supplied the ocean. We ought not to have read these dismal stories just before retiring to rest, as the consequence was that we were dreaming of dangerous rocks, storms, and shipwrecks all through the night, and my brother had toiled up the hill at the back of the town and found Bessie Miller there, just as Sir Walter Scott described her, with "a clay-coloured kerchief folded round her head to match the colour of her corpse-like complexion." He was just handing her a sixpence to pay for a favourable wind, when everything was suddenly scattered by a loud knock at the door, followed by the voice of our hostess informing us that it was five o'clock and that the boat was "awa' oot" at six. We were delighted to find that in place of the great storm pictured in our excited imagination there was every prospect of a fine day, and that a good "fish breakfast" served in Mrs. Spence's best style was waiting for us below stairs. _Thursday, September 14th._ After bidding Mrs. Spence farewell, and thanking her for her kind attention to us during our visit to Stromness, we made our way to the sloop, which seemed a frail-looking craft to cross the stormy waters of the Pentland Firth. We did not, of course, forget our large basket which we had had so much difficulty in finding, and which excited so much attention and attracted so much curiosity towards ourselves all the way to John o' Groat's. It even caused the skipper to take a friendly interest in us, for after our explanation he stored that ancient basket amongst his more valuable cargo. There was only a small number of passengers, but in spite of the early hour quite a little crowd of people had assembled to witness our departure, and a considerable amount of banter was going on between those on board the sloop and the company ashore, which continued as we moved away, each party trying to get the better of the other. As a finale, one of our passengers shouted to his friend who had come to see him off: "Do you want to buy a cow?" "Yes," yelled his friend, "but I see nothing but a calf." A general roar of laughter followed this repartee, as we all thought the Orkneyman on shore had scored. We should have liked to have fired another shot, but by the time the laughter had subsided we were out of range. We did not expect to be on the way more than three or four hours, as the distance was only about twenty-four miles; but we did not reach Thurso until late in the afternoon, and we should have been later if we had had a less skilful skipper. In the first place we had an unfavourable wind, which prevented our sailing by the Hoy Sound, the shortest and orthodox route, and this caused us to miss the proper sea view of the "Old Man of Hoy," which the steamboat from Stromness to Thurso always passed in close proximity, but we could perceive it in the distance as an insular Pillar of Rock, standing 450 feet high with rocks in vicinity rising 1,000 feet, although we could not see the arch beneath, which gives it the appearance of standing on two legs, and hence the name given to the rock by the sailors. The Orcadean poet writes: See Hoy's Old Man whose summit bare Pierces the dark blue fields of air; Based in the sea, his fearful form Glooms like the spirit of the storm. [Illustration: "OLD MAN OF HOY."] When pointing out the Old Man to us, the captain said that he stood in the roughest bit of sea round the British coast, and the words "wind and weather permitting" were very applicable when stoppages wore contemplated at the Old Man or other places in these stormy seas. We had therefore to sail by way of Lang Hope, which we supposed was a longer route, and we were astonished at the way our captain handled his boat; but when we reached what we thought was Lang Hope, he informed the passengers that he intended to anchor here for some time, and those who wished could be ferried ashore. We had decided to remain on the boat, but when the captain said there was an inn there where refreshments could be obtained, my brother declared that he felt quite hungry, and insisted upon our having a second breakfast. We were therefore rowed ashore, and were ushered into the parlour of the inn as if we were the lords of the manor and sole owners, and were very hospitably received and entertained. The inn was appropriately named the "Ship," and the treatment we received was such as made us wish we were making a longer stay, but time and tide wait for no man. For the next inn he spurs amain, In haste alights, and scuds away-- But time and tide for no man stay. [Illustration: THE SHIP INN, LANG HOPE. The sign has now been removed to a new hotel, visible in the photograph, on the opposite side of the ferry.] Whether it was for time or tide or for one of those mysterious movements in the Pentland Firth that our one-masted boat was waiting we never knew. We had only just finished our breakfast when a messenger appeared to summon us to rejoin the sloop, which had to tack considerably before we reached what the skipper described as the Scrabster Roads. A stiff breeze had now sprung up, and there was a strong current in the sea; at each turn or tack our boat appeared to be sailing on her side, and we were apprehensive that she might be blown over into the sea. We watched the operations carefully and anxiously, and it soon became evident that what our skipper did not know about the navigation of these stormy seas was not worth knowing. We stood quite near him (and the mast) the whole of the time, and he pointed out every interesting landmark as it came in sight. He seemed to be taking advantage of the shelter afforded by the islands, as occasionally we came quite near their rocky shores, and at one point he showed us a small hole in the rock which was only a few feet above the sea; he told us it formed the entrance to a cave in which he had often played when, as a boy, he lived on that island. [Illustration: DUNNET HEAD AND LIGHTHOUSE.] The time had now arrived to cross the Pentland Firth and to sail round Dunnet Head to reach Thurso. Fortunately the day was fine, and the strong breeze was nothing in the shape of a storm; but in spite of these favourable conditions we got a tossing, and no mistake! Our little ship was knocked about like a cork on the waters, which were absolutely boiling and foaming and furiously raging without any perceptible cause, and as if a gale were blowing on them two ways at once. The appearance of the foaming mass of waters was terrible to behold; we could hear them roaring and see them struggling together just below us; the deck of the sloop was only a few feet above them, and it appeared as if we might be swallowed up at any moment. The captain told us that this turmoil was caused by the meeting of the waters of two seas, and that at times it was very dangerous to small boats. Many years ago he was passing through the Firth with his boat on a rather stormy day, when he noticed he was being followed by another boat belonging to a neighbour of his. He could see it distinctly from time to time, and he was sure that it could not be more than 200 yards away, when he suddenly missed it. He watched anxiously for some time, but it failed to reappear, nor was the boat or its crew ever seen or heard of again, and it was supposed to have been carried down by a whirlpool! We were never more thankful than when we got safely across those awful waters and the great waves we encountered off Dunnet Head, and when we were safely landed near Thurso we did not forget the skipper, but bade him a friendly and, to him, lucrative farewell. We had some distance to walk before reaching the town where, loaded with our luggage and carrying the large basket between us, each taking hold of one of the well-worn handles, we attracted considerable attention, and almost every one we saw showed a disposition to see what we were carrying in our hamper; but when they discovered it was empty, their curiosity was turned into another channel, and they must see where we were taking it; so by the time we reached the house recommended by our skipper for good lodgings we had a considerable following of "lookers on." Fortunately, however, no one attempted to add to our burden by placing anything in the empty basket or we should have been tempted to carry it bottom upwards like an inmate of one of the asylums in Lancashire. A new addition was being built in the grounds, and some of the lunatics were assisting in the building operations, when the foreman discovered one of them pushing his wheelbarrow with the bottom upwards and called out to him, "Why don't you wheel it the right way up?" "I did," said the lunatic solemnly, "but they put bricks in it!" We felt that some explanation was due to our landlady, who smiled when she saw the comical nature of that part of our luggage and the motley group who had followed us, and as we unfolded its history and described the dearth of willows in the Orkneys, the price we had paid, the difficulties in finding the hamper, and the care we had taken of it when crossing the stormy seas, we could see her smile gradually expanding into a laugh that she could retain no longer when she told us we could have got a better and a cheaper basket than that in the "toon," meaning Thurso, of course. It was some time before we recovered ourselves, laughter being contagious, and we could hear roars of it at the rear of the house as our antiquated basket was being stored there. After tea we crossed the river which, like the town, is named Thurso, the word, we were informed, meaning Thor's House. Thor, the god of thunder, was the second greatest of the Scandinavian deities, while his father, Odin, the god of war, was the first. We had some difficulty in crossing the river, as we had to pass over it by no less than eighty-five stepping-stones, several of which were slightly submerged. Here we came in sight of Thurso Castle, the residence of the Sinclair family, one of whom, Sir John Sinclair, was the talented author of the famous _Statistical Account of Scotland_, and a little farther on stood Harold's Tower. This tower was erected by John Sinclair over the tomb of Earl Harold, the possessor at one time of one half of Orkney, Shetland, and Caithness, who fell in battle against his own namesake, Earl Harold the Wicked, in 1190. In the opposite direction was Scrabster and its castle, the scene of the horrible murder of John, Earl of Caithness, in the twelfth century, "whose tongue was cut from his throat and whose eyes were put out." We did not go there, but went into the town, and there witnessed the departure of the stage, or mail coach, which was just setting out on its journey of eighty miles, for railways had not yet made their appearance in Caithness, the most northerly county in Scotland. We then went to buy another hamper, and got a much better one for less money than we paid at Stromness, for we had agreed that we would send home two hampers filled with shells instead of one. We also inquired the best way of getting to John o' Groat's, and were informed that the Wick coach would take us the first six miles, and then we should have to walk the remaining fifteen. We were now only one day's journey to the end and also from the beginning of our journey, and, as may easily be imagined, we were anxiously looking forward to the morrow. _Friday, September 15th._ At eight o'clock in the morning we were comfortably seated in the coach which was bound for Wick, with our luggage and the two hampers safely secured on the roof above, and after a ride of about six miles we were left, with our belongings, at the side of the highway where the by-road leading in the direction of John o' Groat's branched off to the left across the open country. The object of our walk had become known to our fellow-passengers, and they all wished us a pleasant journey as the coach moved slowly away. Two other men who had friends in the coach also alighted at the same place, and we joined them in waving adieux, which were acknowledged from the coach, as long as it remained in sight. They also very kindly assisted us to carry our luggage as far as they were going on our way, and then they helped us to scheme how best to carry it ourselves. We had brought some strong cord with us from Thurso, and with the aid of this they contrived to sling the hampers over our shoulders, leaving us free to carry the remainder of our luggage in the usual way, and then, bidding us a friendly farewell, left us to continue on our lonely way towards John o' Groat's. We must have presented an extraordinary appearance with these large baskets extending behind our backs, and we created great curiosity and some amusement amongst the men, women, and children who were hard at work harvesting in the country through which we passed. My brother said it reminded him of Christian in John Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, who carried the burden on his back and wanted to get rid of it; while I thought of Sinbad the Sailor, who, when wrecked on a desert island, was compelled to carry the Old Man of the Sea on his shoulders, and he also wanted to get rid of his burden; but we agreed that, like both of these worthy characters, we should be obliged to carry our burdens to the end of the journey. We had a fine view of Dunnet Head, which is said to be the Cape Orcas mentioned by Diodorus Siculus, the geographer who lived in the time of Julius Cæsar, and of the lighthouse which had been built on the top of it in 1832, standing quite near the edge of the cliff. The light from the lantern, which was 346 feet above the highest spring tide, could be seen at a distance of 23 miles; but even this was sometimes obscured by the heavy storms from the west when the enormous billows from the Atlantic dashed against the rugged face of the cliff and threw up the spray as high as the lights of the building itself, so that the stones they contained have been known to break the glass in the building; such, indeed, was the prodigious combined force of the wind and sea upon the headland, that the very rock seemed to tremble as if it were affected by an earthquake. While on the coach we had passed the hamlets of Murkle and Castlehill. Between these two places was a sandy pool on the seashore to which a curious legend was attached. The story goes that-- a young lad on one occasion discovered a mermaid bathing and by some means or other got into conversation with her and rendered himself so agreeable that a regular meeting at the same spot took place between them. This continued for some time. The young man grew exceedingly wealthy, and no one could tell how he became possessed of such riches. He began to cut a dash amongst the lasses, making them presents of strings of diamonds of vast value, the gifts of the fair sea nymph. By and by he began to forget the day of his appointment; and when he did come to see her, money and jewels were his constant request. The mermaid lectured him pretty sharply on his love of gold, and, exasperated at his perfidy in bestowing her presents on his earthly fair ones, enticed him one evening rather farther than usual, and at length showed him a beautiful boat, in which she said she would convey him to a cave in Darwick Head, where she had all the wealth of all the ships that ever were lost in the Pentland Firth and on the sands of Dunnet. He hesitated at first, but the love of gold prevailed, and off they set to the cave in question. And here, says the legend, he is confined with a chain of gold, sufficiently long to admit of his walking at times on a small piece of sand under the western side of the Head; and here, too, the fair siren laves herself in the tiny waves on fine summer evenings, but no consideration will induce her to loose his fetters of gold, or trust him one hour out of her sight. We walked on at a good pace and in high spirits, but, after having knocked about for nine days and four nights and having travelled seven or eight hundred miles by land and sea, the weight of our extra burden began to tell upon us, and we felt rather tired and longed for a rest both for mind and body in some quiet spot over the week's end, especially as we had decided to begin our long walk on the Monday morning. Visions of a good hotel which we felt sure we should find at John o' Groat's began to haunt us, and the more hungry we became the brighter were our anticipations of the good fare that awaited us. But judge of our surprise and disappointment when a man whom we met on the road told us there was no hotel there at all! We asked if he thought we could get lodgings at John o' Groat's House itself, but the sardonic grin that spread over his features when he told us that that house had vanished long ago was cruel. The information gave us quite a shock, and our spirits seemed to fall below zero as we turned our backs on the man without even thanking him for answering our questions. We felt not too full, but too empty for words, as we were awfully hungry, and I heard my brother murmur something that sounded very like "Liar"; but the man's information turned out to be perfectly correct. Our luggage also began to feel heavier, and the country gradually became more wild and desolate. Our spirits revived a little when a fisherman told us of a small inn that we should reach a mile or two before coming to John o' Groat's. We thought we had surely come to the end of everywhere when we reached the "Huna Inn," for it stood some distance from any other house and at the extreme end of an old lane that terminated at the sea. It was a small, primitive structure, but it was now our only hope, as far as we knew, for obtaining lodgings, and we could scarcely restrain our delight when we were told we could be accommodated there until Monday morning. It was an intense relief to us to be separated from our cumbersome luggage, and we must say that Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie did all in their power to make us comfortable and happy and to make us feel at home. We contented ourselves with some light refreshments which to some non-pedestrians might have appeared decidedly heavy, and then decided to see all that remained of John o' Groat's House. Walking along the beach for about a mile and a half, the distance we were told that separated the ruins from the inn, we failed to find them, and were about to return when we met a shepherd who said we had already passed them. We therefore returned with him, as he told us he was going to the inn, and he showed us a few mounds of earth covered with grass which marked the site of the foundations of John o' Groat's House, but the stones had been removed to build a storehouse, or granary, at a place he pointed out in the distance. We were rather disappointed, as we expected to find some extensive remains, and, seeing they were so very scanty, we wondered why, in a land where stones were so plentiful, some monument or inscribed stone had not been erected to mark the site where this remarkable house once stood, as, in the absence of some one to direct them, strangers, like ourselves, might pass and repass these remains without noticing them. We were not long in reaching the inn, for the shepherd was a big man and took very long strides, and here we wrote a few short letters to our friends to advise them of our safe arrival at John o' Groat's, afterwards walking to the post office about a mile away to post them, and ordering a high tea to be ready for us on our return. It was half-past eight when we finished our tea, after which we were conducted to a little room close to the sea, with two tiny windows in it, one of them without a blind, and with a peat or turf fire burning brightly on the hearth. Mrs. Mackenzie then brought us a small candle, which she lighted, and handed us a book which she said was the "Album," and we amused ourselves with looking over this for the remainder of the evening. It was quite a large volume, dating from the year 1839, and the following official account of the Groat family, headed with a facsimile of the "Groat Arms," was pasted inside the cover: THE CHIEF OF THE RACE OF JOHN O' GROAT IS ALEXANDER G. GROAT, ESQ., ADVOCATE, EDINBURGH. NOTICES OF JOHN O' GROAT'S HOUSE. It is stated in _Sinclair's Statistical Accounts of Scotland_, vol. 8, page 167 and following:--"In the account of Cannisby by the Rev. John Marison, D.D., that in the reign of James the Fourth, King of Scotland, Malcom, Cairn and John de Groat, supposed to have been brothers and originally from Holland, arrived in Caithness from the south of Scotland, bringing with them a letter in Latin by that King recommending him to the countenance and protection of his loving subjects in the County of Caithness." It is stated in _Chambers's Pictures of Scotland_, vol. 2, page 306, "that the foundations or ruins of John o' Groat's House, which is perhaps the most celebrated in the whole world, are still to be seen." Then followed the names and addresses of visitors extending over a period of thirty-three years, many of them having also written remarks in prose, poetry, or doggerel rhyme, so we found plenty of food for thought and some amusement before we got even half way through the volume. Some of these effusions might be described as of more than ordinary merit, and the remainder as good, bad, and indifferent. Those written in foreign languages--and there were many of them--we could neither read nor understand, but they gave us the impression that the fame of John o' Groat's had spread throughout the civilised world. There were many references to Stroma, or the Island of the Current, which we could see in the Pentland Firth about four miles distant, and to the difficulties and danger the visitors had experienced in crossing that "stormy bit of sea" between it and John o' Groat's. But their chief complaint was that, after travelling so far, there was no house for them to see. They had evidently, like ourselves, expected to find a substantial structure, and the farther they had travelled the greater their disappointment would naturally be. One visitor had expressed his disappointment in a verse more forcible than elegant, but true as regarded the stone. I went in a boat To see John o' Groat, The place where his home doth lie; But when I got there, The hill was all bare, And the devil a stone saw I. The following entry also appeared in the Album:-- Elihu Burrit of New Britain, Connecticut, U.S. America, on a walk from Land's End to John o' Groat's, arrived at Huna Inn, upon Monday Sep. 28th, 1863. He visited the site of that famous domicile so celebrated in the world-wide legend for its ingenious construction to promote domestic happiness, and fully realised all he had anticipated in standing on a spot so rich with historical associations and surrounded with such grand and beautiful scenery. He desires also to record his testimony to the hospitality and comfort of the cosy little sea-side Inn, where he was pleasantly housed for the night, and of which he will ever cherish an interesting remembrance. _Saturday, September 16th._ "Now for the shells!" exclaimed my brother, as we awoke early in the morning, for we expected to have a hard day's work before we gathered shells enough to fill our large baskets. So we hurried on with our breakfast, and then, shouldering our hampers, walked quickly along the beach to the place where we had been informed we should find them. When we got there we saw a sight which surely could not have had its parallel in the British Isles, for the beach was white with them for the greater part of two miles. We were greatly astonished, for in some places the beach was so thickly covered that, had we possessed a shovel, we could have filled both our baskets with shells in a very few minutes. We decided therefore to select those best suited to our purpose, and we worked away until we had filled both our hampers. We then carried them one at a time to the "Huna Inn," and arranged with Mr. Mackenzie to have them carefully packed and delivered to the local carrier to be conveyed by road to the steamboat office at Wick, and thence forwarded by water to our home, where we knew their contents would be appreciated for rockery purposes. The whole of our operations were completed by noon, instead of occupying the whole of the day as anticipated, for we had a great advantage in having such an enormous number of shells to select from. Our host told us that farmers occasionally moved them by cart-loads to serve as lime manure on their land. Their accumulation at that particular spot was a mystery which he could not explain beyond the fact that the shells were washed up from the Pentland Firth during the great storms; so we concluded that there must be a land of shell fish in or near that stormy deep, perhaps corresponding with that of the larger fish whose destruction we had seen represented in the Strata of Pomona in the Orkneys. [Illustration: ROCKS AT DUNCANSBAY.] We must not forget to record, however, that amongst the vast number of shells we had turned over we found some of those lovely little shells known as "John o' Groat's buckies," so highly prized by visitors. They were difficult to find, as they were so very small, but we found quite a number, and considered them to be perfect little gems, and so very pretty that we reserved them for special presents to our friends. We afterwards learned that they were known to science as Cyproe Artoca, or European Cowry. * * * * * An interesting account of John o' Groat's House and the shells was written in the year 1698 by the Rev. John Brand, Commissioner of the General Assembly:-- The landing-place was called John o' Groat's House, the northernmost house in Scotland; the man who now liveth in it and keepeth an inn there is called John Grot, who saith his house hath been in the possession of his predecessors of that name for some hundreds of years; which name of Grot is frequent in Caithness. Upon the sand by John Grot's house are found many small pleasant buckies and shells, beautified by diverse colours, which some use to put upon a string as beads, and account much of their rarity. It is also observed of these shells that not one of them can be found altogether like another, and upon the review of the parcel I had I discovered some difference among them which variety renders them the more beautiful. [Illustration: THE STACKS OF DUNCANSBAY.] After our midday dinner had partially digested, for we had eaten rather too much, we started for Duncansbay Head, following the coast line on an up-gradient until we reached the top, which formed the north-eastern extremity of Scotland, and from where we had to start on Monday morning. It was a lonely spot, and we were the only visitors; but we had a lively time there, as the thousands of wild birds whose homes were in the rocks, judging from the loud noises they made as they new about us in endless processions, resented our intrusion into their sacred domain--hovering around us in every direction. Perhaps they were only anxious to ascertain whether we were friends or foes, but we were very much interested in their strange movements. They appeared to be most numerous on and about two or three perpendicular rocks which rose from the sea like pinnacles to a great height. These rocks were named the "Stacks," or the "Boars of Duncansbay," their sides and summits being only accessible to birds, and forming safe resting and nesting-places for them, and on the top of the highest stack the golden-coloured eagles had for ages reared their young. The "Stacks" might once have formed part of the headland or of some adjacent island which had been wasted away by the winds and waves of ages until only these isolated portions remained, and these were worn into all kinds of crevices and fantastic shapes which impressed us with a sense of their great antiquity. We walked along the top of the cliffs, which here presented the appearance of one vast amphitheatre lined with precipices, with small promontories here and there jutting out into the sea resembling fortresses, some of them having the ruins of ancient castles crowning their highest points. We could scarcely bring our minds to realise that these were the very rocks we had seen from the deck of the s.s. _St. Magnus_ only a few days since. We had passed through so many scenes, and had had so many adventures both by night and day since then, that the lapse of time seemed to us to be more like years than days. We retraced our steps to the head, and stood there for some time watching the ships far out at sea, trying to distinguish the _St. Magnus_, as it was just about the time she was again due on her outward journey; but the demands of our hungry insides were again claiming urgent attention, and so we hastened our return to the "Huna Inn." On our way we again encountered the shepherd who had shown us the site of John o' Groat's House, and we invited him to look us up in the evening, as we were anxious to get further information about John and his famous house. "Huna Inn," in spite of its disadvantages, was quite a romantic place to stay at, as it was situated almost on the edge of the boiling torrent of the Pentland Firth, which at times was so stormy that the island of Stroma could not be reached for weeks. The "Swalchie," or whirlpool of Stroma, has been mentioned by many ancient writers, but the most interesting story is that of its origin as given in the old Norse legend headed, "Fenja and Menja," and containing a famous ballad known as the "Grotta Songr," or the "Mill Song," grotta being the Norse for mill, or quern. Odin had a son by name Skjold from whom the Skjoldungs. He had his throne and ruled in the lands that are now called Denmark but were then called Gotland. Skjold had a son by name Fridleif, who ruled the lands after him. Fridleif's son was Frode. He took the kingdom after his father, at the time when the Emperor Augustus established peace in all the earth, and Christ was born. But Frode being the mightiest King in the Northlands, this peace was attributed to him by all who spake the Danish tongue and the Norsemen called it the Peace of Frode. No man injured the other, even though he might meet, loose or in chains, his father's or brother's bane (murderer). There was no thief or robber so that a gold ring would lie a long time on Jalanger's heath. King Frode sent messengers to Sirthjod, to the King whose name was Fjolner, and bought there two maidservants, whose names were Fenja and Menja. They were large and strong. About this time were found in Denmark two millstones so large that no one had the strength to turn them. But the nature belonged to these millstones that they ground whatever was demanded of them by the miller. The name of the mill was Grotte. But the man to whom King Frode gave the mill was called Hengekjapt. King Frode had the maidservants led to the mill and requested them to grind for him gold and peace and Frode's happiness. Then he gave them no longer time to rest or sleep than while the cuckoo was silent or while they sang a song. It is said they sang the song called the "Grotte Song," and before they ended it they ground out a host against Frode, so that on the same night there came the Sea-King whose name was Mysing and slew Frode and took a large amount of booty. Mysing took with him Grotte and also Fenja and Menja and bade them grind salt, and in the middle of the night they asked Mysing whether he did not have salt enough. He bade them grind more. They ground only a short time longer before the ship sank. But in the ocean arose a whirlpool (maelstrom, mill-stream) in the place where the sea runs into the mill-eye: the Swalchie of Stroma. The story "Why is the sea salt?" or "How the sea became salt," has appeared in one form or another among many nations of the world, and naturally appealed strongly to the imagination of the youth of a maritime nation like England. The story as told formerly amongst schoolboys was as follows: Jack had decided to go to sea, but before doing so he went to see his fairy godmother, who had a strange looking old coffee-mill on the mantelshelf in her kitchen. She set the table for tea without anything on it to eat or drink, and then, taking down the old mill, placed it on the table and asked it to grind each article she required. After the tea-pot had been filled, Jack was anxious for something to eat, and said he would like some teacakes, so his fairy godmother said to the mill: "Mill! Mill! grind away. Buttered tea-cakes now I pray!" for she knew Jack liked plenty of butter on his cakes, and out they came from the mill until the plate was well filled, and then she said: "Mill! Mill! rest thee now, Thou hast ground enough I trow," and immediately the mill stopped grinding. When Jack told her he was going away on a ship to sea, his fairy godmother made him a present of the old mill, which he would find useful, as it would grind anything he asked it to; but he must be careful to use the same words that he had heard her speak both in starting and stopping the mill. When he got to the ship, he stored the old mill carefully in his box, and had almost forgotten it when as they neared the country they were bound for the ship ran short of potatoes, so Jack told the Captain he would soon find him some, and ran for his mill, which he placed on the deck of the ship, and said to it: "Mill! Mill! grind away, Let us have some potatoes I pray!" and immediately the potatoes began to roll out of the mill and over the deck, to the great astonishment and delight of the sailors, who had fine fun gathering them up. Then Jack said to the mill: "Mill! Mill! rest thee now, Thou hast ground enough I trow," and immediately the mill ceased grinding. The Captain determined to get the mill from Jack, who would not part with it, and tried to steal it, but did not succeed, and when they reached the port, Jack took the mill ashore with him, and rented a shop that happened to be empty, and had a sign-board placed over it with the words painted in large letters, "All sorts of things supplied here on the shortest notice," and he soon got a pile of money, the last order being one from the King, who wanted clothing for his soldiers in a hurry, as war had broken out unexpectedly. Jack's good fortune was soon heard of by the Captain, and when his ship was ready to sail he contrived to get one of his friends to invite Jack to a party that evening, and then with the help of some of his crew he broke into the shop and stole the old mill. When Jack returned in the morning his mill was gone, and he could just see the sails of the ship far out at sea. But he did not care much, as he had now money enough to keep himself for many years. Meantime the Captain in his hurry to get away had forgotten to bring some things that were wanted, and when he found they had no salt on board, he brought the old mill on deck, and said: "Mill! Mill! grind away Let us have some salt I pray," and immediately the mill began to grind salt at a great speed and presently covered the deck all round where it was working, but the Captain had forgotten the words spoken by Jack when he stopped the mill, and though he used all the words he could think of, the mill kept on grinding, and was rapidly filling every available space on the deck. The Captain then ran to his cabin and brought out his sword, and with a terrific blow he cut the mill in halves; but each piece formed itself into a mill, and both mills continued grinding until the ship sank to the bottom of the sea, where the mills are still grinding in the terrible Swalchie of Stroma, and that is why the water in the sea is salt! There had been a ferry at John o' Groat's years before our visit, and mails and passengers had been carried across the Firth to and from the Orkney Islands, the distance across being shorter from this point than from any other in Scotland; but for some unexplained reason the service had been discontinued, and the presence of the ferry would probably account for so many names being written in the album. The day was already drawing to a close as we sat down to tea and the good things provided by Mrs. Mackenzie, and we were waited upon by a Scotch lassie, who wore neither shoes nor stockings; but this we found was nothing unusual in the north of Scotland in those days. After tea we adjourned to our room, and sat down in front of our peat fire; but our conversational powers soon exhausted themselves, for we felt uncommonly drowsy after having been exposed so long to the open air. We sat there silently watching the curling smoke as it went up the chimney and dreamily gazing into the caverns which had been formed in the fire below, imagining that we could see all kinds of weird objects therein, and then we thought of the times when we should not have been able to rest so securely and comfortably in the "Huna Inn," when one Scottish clan was trying to exterminate another not so far away from where we were then sitting, for no more apparent reason than that the Scots were born soldiers, and if they had no foreigners to fight they must fight among themselves. We must have been nearly asleep when our reveries were interrupted by the entrance of the shepherd, whom for the moment we had entirely forgotten. He had come in response to our invitation to talk with us about things in general, but particularly about John o' Groat, and we were glad to see him, and we now give-- THE SHEPHERD'S STORY John o' Groat was a fisherman belonging to Holland who was caught when at sea in a great storm which damaged his sails so that his boat drifted almost helplessly across the sea. When he came in sight of the Scottish coast he was carried with the current into the Pentland Firth, and as he could not repair the sails in the boat and could not get back to Holland with them in their damaged condition, he decided to land on one of the islands and repair them on shore. His wife was very much opposed to his landing on Stroma, as she thought it was a desert island, so he got his boat across from there to the Scottish coast; but when he attempted to land at Huna, the natives opposed his landing, for they thought he was a pirate. Fortunately for him he had a few kegs of gin in his boat, and when the canny Scots saw these they became more friendly, especially as they had a great respect for Holland's gin, and so they allowed him to land, and even helped him to mend his sails. They afterwards allowed him to settle amongst them on condition that he did not attempt to go into the interior of the country, and that he built his house on the seashore. He got on well amongst his new friends, and in time became their chief and had eight sons, and on one festive occasion, when they all came to see him, they quarrelled as to which should have precedence at his table, so John told them that the next time they came he would have matters so arranged as to avoid that kind of thing in the future. He therefore built an entirely new house with eight sides to it and a door in each, and made a table inside of the same octagonal shape, so that when they came to see him again each of them could enter by his own door and sit at his own head of the table. In reply to our questions the shepherd said he thought this event happened about 350 years ago, but the house had long since disappeared, and only the site of the foundations which he had shown us previously now remained. He also said that heaps of ladies and gentlemen came there to picnic on the site, and he had seen them take even small stones away; but though he had lived there for fifty years, he had never seen John o' Groat's any different from what it was now. We asked him why John did not return to Holland, and he said it was because he had a letter from the king. We thanked the shepherd for his story, and, having suitably rewarded him, bade him farewell and hurried off to bed in the fading light of our rapidly diminishing candle. _Sunday, September 17th._ The strict observance of the Sabbath Day in Scotland was to us a most pleasing feature in Scottish life, and one to which we had been accustomed from early childhood, so we had no desire to depart from it now. We were, therefore, very pleased when Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie invited us to accompany them to the Free Kirk service, and, as half-past ten o'clock was the time fixed for our departure from the inn, we concluded that the kirk could not be far away, as that was the hour that service began in our village church in Cheshire, but we could not remember seeing any kirk in the neighbourhood of the "Huna Inn." We continued walking one mile after another for more than an hour, and must have walked quite four miles before we came in sight of the kirk, and we were then informed that the service did not commence until twelve o'clock! The country through which we passed was very bare, there being a total absence of hedges and trees, so we could see people coming towards the kirk from every direction. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and, as they came nearer the sacred enclosure, they formed themselves into small groups and stood conversing with each other, chiefly on religious matters, until the minister arrived to take charge of his flock. He was a quaintly dressed and rather elderly man, evidently well known, as he had a nod or a smile of recognition and a friendly word for all. We followed him into the kirk, where we found ourselves in the presence of quite a large congregation, and sat with Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie in their own pew in the rear of the kirk. The form of the service was quite different from that to which we had been accustomed. The congregation stood up while they prayed and sat down while they sang the Psalms, with the exception of one man, who remained standing in what we thought was the clerk's desk immediately below the pulpit. This man acted as leader of the singing, but he failed to get much assistance from the people, and had great difficulty in keeping the singing going. Possibly the failure of the congregational singing might be accounted for by the absence of an organ or other instrument of music to assist and encourage the people to sing, the nearest approach to anything of the kind being the tuning-fork which the conductor held in his hand. There was also the fact that the sitting posture was not the best position for bringing out the powers of the human voice; but we came to the conclusion that music was not looked upon favourably in that remote part of Scotland. In front of the pulpit there was an enclosure, fenced in by the communion rail, and inside this were seated the elders, or deacons of the church. These were very old men with bent heads and white hair, and had the appearance of centenarians; they were indeed the queerest-looking group of old men we had ever seen assembled together. But it was their noses that chiefly attracted our attention, as they were so very long and crooked, and the strange feature about them was that they were all of the same pattern. Their only rival, as far as we could see, in length of nose was the minister, but we thought he had enlarged his by artificial means, as we found to our surprise that he was addicted to snuff-taking, a habit very prevalent in Scotland in those days. Then came the sermon. On the pulpit was the Bible, and beside it a substantial box of snuff, to which the minister resorted occasionally in the course of his long discourse. His pinches must have been considerable, for every sniff lasted from two to three seconds, and could be heard distinctly all over the kirk. This had a tendency to distract our attention from his sermon, which, by the way, was a very good one; but, owing to his rather slow delivery, we experienced a feeling of relief when he reached the end, for it had lasted quite an hour. There was now a slight movement amongst the congregation, which we interpreted as a sign that the service was at an end, and we rose to leave; but, imagine our consternation when our friends told us that what we had listened to was only the first part of the service, and that we must on no account leave, as the second part was to follow immediately. We therefore remained not altogether unwillingly, for we were curious to know what the next service was like. It proved to be almost exactly the same as the first, and we could not distinguish much difference between the two sermons; but we listened attentively, and were convinced that the preacher was a thoroughly conscientious man in spite of his occasional long sniffs of snuff, which were continued as before, but what astonished us was that the old gentleman never once sneezed! It was the most remarkable service we had ever attended, and it concluded exactly at three o'clock, having lasted three hours. We had then to retrace our four-mile walk to "Huna Inn," but the miles seemed rather longer, as Mrs. Mackenzie could only walk in a leisurely manner and we were feeling very hungry. We whiled away the time by talking about the sermons and the snuff, but chiefly about the deacons and their wonderful noses, and why they were all alike and so strangely crooked. Mr. Mackenzie suggested that they were crooked because if they had grown straight they would have projected over their mouths and prevented them from eating, the crook in them being a provision of nature to avoid this; or, they might have descended from the Romans or some other ancient race who had formerly inhabited the coast of that part of Scotland. Books had been written and sermons preached about noses, and the longer the nose the greater the intellect of the owner was supposed to be. We told our host that there was only one-sixteenth part of an inch between the length of Napoleon's nose and that of Wellington's. We had forgotten which was the longer, but as Wellington's was so conspicuous that he was nicknamed "Nosey" by his troops, and as he had won the great battle of Waterloo, we concluded that it was his, and gave him the benefit of the doubt. We quoted the following lines: Knows he, that never took a pinch, Nosey, the pleasure thence that flows? Knows he the titillating joy Which my nose knows? O Nose, I am as proud of thee As any mountain of its snows; I gaze on thee, and feel that pride A Roman knows. Our host confided to us the reason why he was so anxious that we should not leave in the middle of the service. The second service was originally intended for those who had to come long distances to reach the kirk, some of whom came from a place seven miles away, but in late years the two services had become continuous. A few Sundays before our visit some persons had left the kirk at the end of the first part, and in his second sermon the minister had plainly described them as followers of the Devil! so we supposed our host was anxious that we should not be denounced in the same way. We found our tea-dinner waiting our arrival at the inn. We sat down to it at half-past four, and, as we rose from what was left of it at five o'clock, having worked hard meanwhile, we may safely be credited with having done our duty. We had a walk with our host along the shore, and had not proceeded far before we saw a dark-looking object some distance away in the sea. We thought it looked like a man in a boat, rising and falling with the waves, but Mr. Mackenzie told us that it was two whales following the herrings that were travelling in shoals round the coasts. We were very much interested in their strange movements, as they were the only whales we ever saw alive, but we could not help feeling sorry for the fish. Evening was coming on as we re-entered "Huna Inn," and when we were again seated before our turf fire, joined by our host and hostess, our conversation was chiefly on the adventures we had already had, the great walk we were to begin on the morrow, and the pleasure it had given us to see the manifest and steadfast determination of the people at the kirk to observe the Commandment of the God of the Sabbath, "REMEMBER THAT THOU KEEP HOLY THE SABBATH DAY." We wondered how much the prosperity of the Scottish nation and its representatives in every part of the "wide, wide world" was attributable to their strict observance of the Sabbath. Who knows? WE BEGIN OUR JOURNEY _Monday, September 18th._ We rose early and walked along the beach to Duncansbay Head, or Rongisby as the old maps have it, gathering a few of those charming little shells called John o'Groat Buckies by the way. After walking round the site of John o'Groat's house, we returned to our comfortable quarters at the Huna Inn for breakfast. John o'Groat seems to have acted with more wisdom than many entrusted with the affairs of a nation. When his sons quarrelled for precedence at his table, he consoled them with the promise that when the next family gathering took place the matter should be settled to the satisfaction of all. During the interval he built a house having eight sides, each with a door and window, with an octagonal table in the centre so that each of his eight sons could enter at his own door and sit at his own side or "head" of the table. By this arrangement--which reminded us of King Arthur's use of his round table--he dispelled the animosity which previously prevailed. After breakfast, and in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, we made an entry in the famous Album with name and address, object of journey, and exact time of departure, and they promised to reserve a space beneath the entry to record the result, which was to be posted to them immediately we reached our journey's end. [Illustration: JOHN O'GROAT'S HOUSE.] It was about half-past ten o'clock when we started on our long walk along a circuitous and unknown route from John o'Groat's to Land's End. Our host and hostess stood watching our departure and waving adieux until we disappeared in the distance. We were in high spirits, and soon reached the junction of roads where we turned to the left towards Wick. The first part of our walk was through the Parish of Canisbay, in the ancient records of which some reference is made to the more recent representatives of the Groat family, but as these were made two hundred years ago, they were now almost illegible. Our road lay through a wild moorland district with a few farms and cottages here and there, mainly occupied by fishermen. There were no fences to the fields or roads, and no bushes or trees, and the cattle were either herded or tied to stakes. After passing through Canisbay, we arrived at the most northerly house in the Parish of Wick, formerly a public-house, and recognised as the half-way house between Wick and John o'Groat's. We found it occupied as a farm by Mr. John Nicolson, and here we saw the skeleton of a whale doing duty as a garden fence. The dead whale, seventy feet in length, had been found drifting in the sea, and had been hauled ashore by the fishermen. Mr. Nicolson had an ingenious son, who showed us a working sun-dial in the garden in front of the house which he had constructed out of a portion of the backbone, and in the same bone he had also formed a curious contrivance by which he could tell the day of the month. He told us he was the only man that studied painting in the North, and invited us into the house, wherein several rooms he showed us some of his paintings, which were really excellent considering they were executed in ordinary wall paint. His mother informed us that he began to study drawing when he was ill with a slow fever, but not bed-fast. Two of the pictures, that of an old bachelor and a Scotch lassie, a servant, were very good indeed. We also saw a picture of an old woman, a local celebrity, about a hundred years old, which was considered to be an excellent likeness, and showed the old lady's eyes so sunk in her head as to be scarcely visible. We considered that we had here found one of Nature's artists, who would probably have made a name for himself if given the advantages so many have who lack the ability, for he certainly possessed both the imaginative faculty and no small degree of dexterity in execution. He pointed out to us the house of a farmer over the way who slept in the Parish of Wick and took his meals in that of Canisbay, the boundary being marked by a chimney in the centre of the roof. He also informed us that his brother accompanied Elihu Burritt, the American blacksmith, for some distance when he walked from London to John o'Groat's. We were now about eleven miles from Wick, and as Mr. Nicolson told us of an old castle we had missed, we turned back across the moors for about a mile and a half to view it. He warned us that we might see a man belonging to the neighbourhood who was partly insane, and who, roaming amongst the castle ruins, usually ran straight towards any strangers as if to do them injury; but if we met him we must not be afraid, as he was perfectly harmless. We had no desire to meet a madman, and luckily, although we kept a sharp look-out, we did not see him. We found the ruined castle resting on a rock overlooking the sea with the rolling waves dashing on its base below; it was connected with the mainland by a very narrow strip broken through in one place, and formerly crossed by a drawbridge. As this was no longer available, it was somewhat difficult to scale the embankment opposite; still we scrambled up and passed triumphantly through the archway into the ruins, not meeting with that resistance we fancied we should have done in the days of its daring owner. A portion only of the tower remained, as the other part had fallen about two years before our visit. The castle, so tradition stated, had been built about the year 1100 by one Buchollie, a famous pirate, who owned also another castle somewhere in the Orkneys. How men could carry on such an unholy occupation amidst such dangerous surroundings was a mystery to us. [Illustration: MR. NICOLSON'S HOME, SHOWING THE ARCH OF WHALE'S JAW.] On our return we again saw our friend Mr. Nicolson, who told us there were quite a number of castles in Caithness, as well as Pictish forts and Druidical circles, a large proportion of the castles lying along the coast we were traversing. He gave us the names of some of them, and told us that they materially enhanced the beauty of this rock-bound coast. He also described to us a point of the coast near Ackergill, which we should pass, where the rocks formed a remarkably perfect profile of the Great Duke of Wellington, though others spoke of it as a black giant. It could only be seen from the sea, but was marvellously correct and life-like, and of gigantic proportions. Acting on Mr. Nicolson's instructions, we proceeded along the beach to Keiss Castle, and ascended to its second storey by means of a rustic ladder. It was apparently of a more recent date than Buchollie, and a greater portion of it remained standing. A little to the west of it we saw another and more modern castle, one of the seats of the Duke of Portland, who, we were told, had never yet visited it. Before reaching the village of Keiss, we came to a small quay, where we stayed a short time watching the fishermen getting their smacks ready before sailing out to sea, and then we adjourned to the village inn, where we were provided with a first-class tea, for which we were quite ready. The people at the inn evidently did not think their business inconsistent with religion, for on the walls of the apartment where we had our tea were hanging two pictures of a religious character, and a motto "Offer unto God thanksgiving," and between them a framed advertisement of "Edinburgh Ales"! After tea we continued our journey until we came to the last house in the village of Keiss, a small cottage on the left-hand side of the road, and here we called to inspect a model of John o'Groat's house, which had been built by a local stonemason, and exhibited at the great Exhibition in London in 1862. Its skilful builder became insane soon after he had finished it, and shortly afterwards died. It was quite a palatial model and much more handsome than its supposed original was ever likely to have been. It had eight doors with eight flights of steps leading up to them, and above were eight towers with watchmen on them, and inside the house was a table with eight sides made from wood said to have been from the original table in the house of Groat, and procured from one of his descendants. The model was accompanied by a ground plan and a print of the elevation taken from a photo by a local artist. There was no charge for admission or for looking at the model, but a donation left with the fatherless family was thankfully received. We now walked for miles along the seashore over huge sand-hills with fine views of the herring-boats putting out to sea. We counted fifty-six in one fleet, and the number would have been far greater had not Noss Head intervened to obstruct our view, as many more went out that night from Wick, although the herring season was now nearly over. We passed Ackergill Tower, the residence of Sir George Dunbar, and about two miles farther on we came to two old castles quite near to each other, which were formerly the strongholds of the Earls of Caithness. They were named Girnigoe and Sinclair. Girnigoe was the oldest, and under the ruins of the keep was a dismal dungeon. It was now getting dark, and not the pleasantest time to view old castles surrounded by black rocks with the moan of the sea as it invaded the chasms of the rocks on which they stood. Amongst these lonely ruins we spoke of the past, for had our visit been three centuries earlier, the dismal sounds from the sea below would have mingled with those from the unfortunate young man chained up in that loathsome dungeon, whose only light came from a small hole high up in the wall. Such was John, Master of Caithness, the eldest son of the fifth Sinclair, Earl of Caithness, who is said to have been imprisoned here because he had wooed and won the affections of the daughter of a neighbouring laird, marked out by his father, at that time a widower, for himself. He was confined in that old dungeon for more than six long years before death released him from his inhuman parent. During his imprisonment John had three keepers appointed over him--Murdoch Roy and two brothers named Ingram and David Sinclair. Roy attended him regularly, and did all the menial work, as the other two keepers were kinsmen of the earl, his father, who had imprisoned him. Roy was sorry for the unfortunate nobleman, and arranged a plot to set him at liberty, which was unfortunately discovered by John's brother William, who bore him no good will. William told his father, the earl, who immediately ordered Roy to be executed. The poor wretch was accordingly brought out and hanged on the common gibbet of the castle without a moment being allowed him to prepare for his final account. Soon afterwards, in order to avenge the death of Roy, John, who was a man of great bodily strength and whose bad usage and long imprisonment had affected his mind, managed to seize his brother William on the occasion of his visit to the dungeon and strangle him. This only deepened the earl's antipathy towards his unhappy son, and his keepers were encouraged to put him to death. The plan adopted was such as could only have entered the imagination of fiends, for they withheld food from their prisoner for the space of five days, and then set before him a piece of salt beef of which he ate voraciously. Soon after, when he called for water, they refused to give him any, and he died of raging thirst. Another account said they gave him brandy, of which he drank so copiously that he died raving mad. In any case, there is no doubt whatever that he was barbarously done to death. [Illustration: GIRNIGOE CASTLE.] Every castle along the seacoast had some story of cruelty connected with it, but the story of Girnigoe was perhaps the worst of all, and we were glad to get away from a place with such dismal associations. About a hundred years after this sad event the Clan of the Campbells of Glenorchy declared war on the Sinclairs of Keiss, and marched into Caithness to meet them; but the Sinclairs instead of going out to meet them at the Ord of Caithness, a naturally fortified position, stayed at home, and the Campbells took up a strong position at Altimarloch, about two miles from Wick. The Sinclairs spent the night before the battle drinking and carousing, and then attacked the Campbells in the strong position they had taken up, with the result that the Sinclairs were routed and many of them perished. They meet, they close in deadly strife, But brief the bloody fray; Before the Campbells' furious charge The Caithness ranks give way. The shrieking mother wrung her hands, The maiden tore her hair, And all was lamentation loud, And terror, and despair. It was commonly said that the well-known quicksteps, "The Campbells are coming" and the "Braes of Glenorchy" obtained their names from this raid. The Sinclairs of Keiss were a powerful and warlike family, and they soon regained their position. It was a pleasing contrast to note that in 1765 Sir William Sinclair of Keiss had laid aside his sword, embracing the views held by the Baptists, and after being baptized in London became the founder of that denomination in Caithness and a well-known preacher and writer of hymns. In his younger days he was in the army, where he earned fame as an expert swordsman, his fame in that respect spreading throughout the countryside. Years after he had retired from the service, while sitting in his study one forenoon intently perusing a religious work, his valet announced the arrival of a stranger who wished to see him. The servant was ordered to show him into the apartment, and in stalked a strong muscular-looking man with a formidable Andrea Ferrara sword hanging by his side, and, making a low obeisance, he thus addressed the knight: "Sir William, I hope you will pardon my intrusion. I am a native of England and a professional swordsman. In the course of my travels through Scotland, I have not yet met with a gentleman able to cope with me in the noble science of swordsmanship. Since I came to Caithness I have heard that you are an adept with my favourite weapon, and I have called to see if you would do me the honour to exchange a few passes with me just in the way of testing our respective abilities." Sir William was both amused and astonished at this extraordinary request, and replied that he had long ago thrown aside the sword, and, except in case of necessity, never intended to use it any more. But the stranger would take no denial, and earnestly insisted that he would favour him with a proof of his skill. "Very well," said Sir William, "to please you I shall do so," and, rising and fetching his sword, he desired the stranger, who was an ugly-looking fellow, to draw and defend himself. After a pass or two Sir William, with a dexterous stroke, cut off a button from the vest of his opponent. "Will that satisfy you," inquired Sir William; "or shall I go a little deeper and draw blood?" "Oh, I am perfectly satisfied," said the other. "I find I have for once met a gentleman who knows how to handle his sword." In about half a mile after leaving the ruins of these old castles we saw the Noss Head Lighthouse, with its powerful light already flashing over the darkening seas, and we decided to visit it. We had to scale several fences, and when we got there we found we had arrived long after the authorised hours for the admission of visitors. We had therefore some difficulty in gaining an entrance, as the man whose attention we had attracted did not at first understand why we could not come again the next day. When we explained the nature of our journey, he kindly admitted us through the gate. The lighthouse and its surroundings were scrupulously clean, and if we had been Her Majesty's Inspectors of Lighthouses, if such there be, we could not have done otherwise than report favourably of our visit. The attendants were very kind to us, one of them accompanying us to the top, and as the lighthouse was 175 feet high, we had a great number of steps to climb. We had never seen the interior of a lighthouse before, and were greatly interested in the wonderful mechanism by which the flashlight was worked. We were much impressed by the incalculable value of these national institutions, especially in such dangerous positions as we knew from experience prevailed on those stormy coasts. We were highly delighted with our novel adventure, and, after regaining the entrance, we walked briskly away; but it was quite dark before we had covered the three miles that separated the lighthouse from the fishery town of Wick. Here we procured suitable lodgings, and then hurried to the post office for the letters that waited us, which we were delighted to read, for it seemed ages since we left home. (_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.) [Illustration: NOSS HEAD LIGHTHOUSE.] _Tuesday, September 19th._ We had our first experience of a herring breakfast, and were surprised to find how delicious they tasted when absolutely fresh. There was an old proverb in Wick: "When the herrings come in, the doctors go out!" which may indicate that these fish had some medicinal value; but more likely the saying referred to the period of plenty following that of want and starvation. We went down to the quay and had a talk with some of the fishermen whom we met returning from their midnight labours. They told us they had not caught many herrings that night, but that the season generally had been a good one, and they would have money enough to support themselves through the coming winter. There were about nine hundred boats in the district, and sometimes over a thousand, all employed in the fishing industry; each boat was worked by four men and one boy, using nets 850 yards long. The herrings appeared about the second week in August and remained until the end of September, but the whales swallowed barrels of them at one "jow." We called at the steamboat depot and found that our hampers of shells had already arrived, and would be sent forward on the _St. Magnus_; next we went to get our hair and beards trimmed by the Wick barber. He was a curious old gentleman and quite an orator, and even at that early hour had one customer in hand while another was waiting to be shaved, so we had of course to wait our turn. The man who was waiting began to express his impatience in rather strong language, but the barber was quite equal to the occasion, and in the course of a long and eloquent oration, while he was engaged with the customer he had in hand, he told him that when he came into a barber's shop he should have the calmness of mind to look quietly around and note the sublimity of the place, which ought to be sufficient to enable him to overcome such signs of impatience as he had exhibited. We were quite sure that the barber's customer did not understand one-half the big words addressed to him, but they had the desired effect, and he waited patiently until his turn came to be shaved. He was a dark-complexioned seafaring man, and had evidently just returned from a long sea voyage, as the beard on his chin was more like the bristles on a blacking-brush, and the operation of removing them more like mowing than shaving. When completed, the barber held out his hand for payment. The usual charge must have been a penny, for that was the coin he placed in the barber's hand. But it was now the barber's turn. Drawing himself up to his full height, with a dignified but scornful expression on his face, he pointed with his razor to the penny he held in his other hand, which remained open, and exclaimed fiercely, "This! for a month's shave!" Another penny was immediately added, and his impatient customer quickly and quietly departed. It was now our turn for beard and hair trimming, but we had been so much amused at some of the words used by the barber that, had it not been for his awe-inspiring look, the scissors he now held in his hand, and the razors that were so near to us, we should have failed to suppress our laughter. The fact was that the shop was the smallest barber's establishment we had ever patronised, and the dingiest-looking little place imaginable, the only light being from a very small window at the back of the shop. To apply the words sublime and sublimity to a place like this was ludicrous in the extreme. It was before this window that we sat while our hair was being cut; but as only one side of the head could be operated upon at once, owing to the scanty light, we had to sit before it sideways, and then to reverse our position. We have heard it said that every man's hair has a stronger growth on one side of his head than the other, but whether this barber left more hair on the strong side or not we did not know. In any case, the difference between the two sides, both of hair and beard, after the barber's operation was very noticeable. The only sublime thing about the shop was the barber himself, and possibly he thought of himself when speaking of its sublimity. He was a well-known character in Wick, and if his lot had been cast in a more expansive neighbourhood he might have filled a much higher position. He impressed us very much, and had we visited Wick again we should certainly have paid him a complimentary visit. We then purchased a few prints of the neighbourhood at Mr. Johnston's shop, and were given some information concerning the herring industry. It appeared that this industry was formerly in the hands of the Dutch, who exploited the British coasts as well as their own, for the log of the _Dutillet_, the ship which brought Prince Charles Edward to Scotland in 1745, records that on August 25th it joined two Dutch men-of-war and a fleet of herring craft off Rongisby. [Illustration: OLD MAN OF WICK.] In the early part of the fourteenth century there arose a large demand for this kind of fish by Roman Catholics both in the British Isles and on the Continent. The fish deserted the Baltic and new herring fields were sought, while it became necessary to find some method of preserving them. The art of curing herrings was discovered by a Dutchman named Baukel. Such was the importance attached to this discovery that the Emperor Charles V caused a costly memorial to be erected over his grave at Biervlet. The trade remained in the hands of the Dutch for a long time, and the cured herrings were chiefly shipped to Stettin, and thence to Spain and other Roman Catholic countries, large profits being made. In 1749, however, a British Fishery Society was established, and a bounty of £50 offered on every ton of herrings caught. In 1803 an expert Dutchman was employed to superintend the growing industry, and from 1830 Wick took the lead in the herring industry, which in a few years' time extended all round the coasts, the piles of herring-barrels along the quay at Wick making a sight worth seeing. We had not gone far when we turned aside to visit the ruins of Wick Castle, which had been named by the sailors "The Auld Man o'Wick." It was built like most of the others we had seen, on a small promontory protected by the sea on three sides, but there were two crevices in the rock up which the sea was rushing with terrific force. The rock on which its foundations rested we estimated to be about 150 feet high, and there was only a narrow strip of land connecting it with the mainland. The solitary tower that remained standing was about fifty feet high, and apparently broader at the top than at the bottom, being about ten or twelve yards in length and breadth, with the walls six or seven feet thick. The roar of the water was like the sound of distant thunder, lending a melancholy charm to the scene. It was from here that we obtained our first land view of those strange-looking hills in Caithness called by the sailors, from their resemblance to the breasts of a maiden, the Maiden's Paps. An old man directed us the way to Lybster by what he called the King's Highway, and looking back from this point we had a fine view of the town of Wick and its surroundings. Taught by past experience, we had provided ourselves with a specially constructed apparatus for tea-making, with a flask to fit inside to carry milk, and this we used many times during our journey through the Highlands of Scotland. We also carried a reserve stock of provisions, since we were often likely to be far away from any human habitation. To-day was the first time we had occasion to make use of it, and we had our lunch not in the room of an inn, but sitting amongst the heather under the broad blue canopy of heaven. It was a gloriously fine day, but not a forerunner of a fine day on the morrow, as after events showed. We had purchased six eggs at a farmhouse, for which we were only charged fourpence, and with a half-pound of honey and an enormous oatmeal cake--real Scotch--we had a jovial little picnic and did not fare badly. We had many a laugh at the self-satisfied sublimity of our friend the barber, but the sublimity here was real, surrounded as we were by magnificent views of the distant hills, and through the clear air we could see the mountains on the other side of the Moray Firth probably fifty miles distant. Our road was very hilly, and devoid of fences or trees or other objects to obstruct our view, so much so that at one point we could see two milestones, the second before we reached the first. We passed Loch Hempriggs on the right of our road, with Iresgoe and its Needle on the seacoast to the left, also an old ruin which we were informed was a "tulloch," but we did not know the meaning of the word. After passing the tenth milestone from Wick, we went to look at an ancient burial-ground which stood by the seaside about a field's breadth from our road. The majority of the gravestones were very old, and whatever inscriptions they ever had were now worn away by age and weather; some were overgrown with grass and nettles, while in contrast to these stood some modern stones of polished granite. The inscriptions on these stones were worded differently from those places farther south. The familiar words "Sacred to the memory of" did not appear, and the phrasing appeared rather in the nature of a testimonial to the benevolence of the bereft. We copied two of the inscriptions: ERECTED BY ROBERT WALLACE, MERCHANT, LYBSTER, TO THE MEMORY OF HIS SPOUSE CHARLLOT SIMPSON WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE NOV. 21 1845 AGED 30 YEARS. _Lovely in Life_. PLACED BY JOHN SUTHERLAND, FISHERMAN, LYBSTER, IN MEMORY OF HIS WIFE WILLIAMINIA POLSON WHO DIED 28TH MAY 1867 AGED 29 YEARS. _At Death still lovely_. In the yard we noticed a large number of loose stones and the remains of a wall which we supposed had been part of the kirk. The name of the village near here was Mid Clyth, and the ruins those of an old Roman Catholic chapel last used about four hundred years ago. Several attempts had been made to obtain power to remove the surplus stones, but our informant stated that although they had only about a dozen Romanists in the county, they were strong enough to prevent this being done, and it was the only burial-ground between there and Wick. He also told us that there were a thousand volunteers in Caithness. [Illustration: THE NEEDLE OF IRESGOE.] The people in the North of Caithness in directing us on our way did not tell us to turn to right or left, but towards the points of the compass--say to the east or the west as the case might be, and then turn south for a given number of chains. This kind of information rather puzzled us, as we had no compass, nor did we know the length of a chain. It seemed to point back to a time when there were no roads at all in that county. We afterwards read that Pennant, the celebrated tourist, when visiting Caithness in 1769, wrote that at that time there was not a single cart, nor mile of road properly so called in the county. He described the whole district as little better than an "immense morass, with here and there some fruitful spots of oats and bere (barley), and much coarse grass, almost all wild, there being as yet very little cultivated." And he goes on to add: Here are neither barns nor granaries; the corn is thrashed out and preserved in the chaff in bykes, which are stacks in the shape of beehives thatched quite round. The tender sex (I blush for the Caithnessians) are the only animals of burden; they turn their patient backs to the dunghills and receive in their cassties or straw baskets as much as their lords and masters think fit to fling in with their pitchforks, and then trudge to the fields in droves. A more modern writer, however, thought that Pennant must have been observant but not reflective, and wrote: It is not on the sea coast that woman looks on man as lord and master. The fishing industry more than any other leads to great equality between the sexes. The man is away and the woman conducts all the family affairs on land. Home means all the comfort man can enjoy! His life is one persistent calling for self-reliance and independence and equally of obedience to command. The relations Pennant quoted were not of servility, but of man assisting woman to do what she regarded as her natural work. To inland folk like ourselves it was a strange sight to see so many women engaged in agricultural pursuits, but we realised that the men had been out fishing in the sea during the night and were now in bed. We saw one woman mowing oats with a scythe and another following her, gathering them up and binding them into sheaves, while several others were cutting down the oats with sickles; we saw others driving horses attached to carts. The children, or "bairns," as they were called here, wore neither shoes nor stockings, except a few of the very young ones, and all the arable land was devoted to the culture of oats and turnips. We passed through Lybster, which in Lancashire would only be regarded as a small village, but here was considered to be a town, as it could boast of a population of about eight hundred people. We made due note of our reaching what was acknowledged to be the second plantation of trees in the county; there were six only in the entire county of Caithness, and even a sight like this was cheery in these almost treeless regions. An elderly and portly-looking gentleman who was on the road in front of us awaited our arrival, and as an introduction politely offered us a pinch of snuff out of his well-filled snuff-box, which we accepted. We tried to take it, but the application of a small portion to our noses caused us to sneeze so violently that the gentleman roared with laughter at our expense, and was evidently both surprised and amused at our distress. We were soon good friends, however, and he was as pleased with our company as we were with his, but we accepted no more pinches of snuff in Scotland. He had many inquiries to make about the method of farming in Cheshire and regarding the rotation of crops. We informed him that potatoes were the first crop following grass grown in our neighbourhood, followed by wheat in the next year, and oats and clover afterwards--the clover being cut for two years. "And how many years before wheat again?" he asked; but this question we could not answer, as we were not sufficiently advanced in agricultural knowledge to undergo a very serious examination from one who was evidently inclined to dive deeply into the subject. As we walked along, we noticed a stone on the slope of a mountain like those we had seen at Stenness in the Orkneys, but no halo of interest could be thrown around it by our friend, who simply said it had been there "since the world began." Near Lybster we had a good view of the Ord of Caithness, a black-looking ridge of mountains terminating in the Maiden's Paps, which were later to be associated with one of the most difficult and dangerous traverses we ever experienced. The night was now coming on, and we hurried onwards, passing two old castles, one to the left and the other to the right of our road, and we noticed a gate, the posts of which had been formed from the rib-bones of a monster whale, forming an arch ornamented in the centre by a portion of the backbone of the same creature. In the dark the only objects we could distinguish were the rocks on the right and the lights of two lighthouses, one across Dornoch Firth and the other across Moray Firth. In another mile and a half after leaving the farmer, who had accompanied us for some miles and who, we afterwards learned, was an old bachelor, we were seated in the comfortable hotel at Dunbeath. The landlord was civil and communicative, and we sat talking to him about the great difference between Caithness and Cheshire, and the relative values of turf and coal. He informed us that there was very little coal consumed in the county of Caithness, as the English coal was dear and the Scotch coal bad, while the peat was of good quality, the darkest-looking being the richest and the best. Our tea was now ready, and so were we, as we had walked fifteen miles since our lunch in the heather. We were ushered into the parlour, where we were delighted to find a Cheshire gentleman, who told us he had been out shooting, and intended to leave by the coach at two a.m. Hearing that two pedestrians had arrived, he had given up his bed, which he had engaged early in the day, and offered to rest on the sofa until the arrival of the mail-coach. We thanked him for his kind consideration, for we were tired and footsore. Who the gentleman was we did not discover; he knew Warrington and the neighbourhood, had visited Mr. Lyon of Appleton Hall near that town, and knew Mr. Patten of Bank Hall, who he said was fast getting "smoked out" of that neighbourhood. We retired early, and left him in full possession of the coffee-room and its sofa. At two o'clock in the morning we were wakened by the loud blowing of a horn, which heralded the approach of the mail-coach, and in another minute the trampling of horses' feet beneath our window announced its arrival. We rose hurriedly and rushed to the window, but in the hurry my brother dashed against a table, and down went something with a smash; on getting a light we found it was nothing more valuable than a water-bottle and glass, the broken pieces of which we carefully collected together, sopping up the water as best we could. We were in time to see our friend off on the coach, with three horses and an enormous light in front, which travelled from Thurso to Helmsdale, a distance of fifty-eight miles, at the rate of eight miles per hour. (_Distance walked twenty-one and a half miles._) _Wednesday, September 20th._ We rose early, and while waiting for our breakfast talked with an old habitué of the hotel, who, after drawing our attention to the weather, which had now changed for the worse, told us that the building of the new pier, as he called it, at Wick had been in progress for seven or eight years, but the sea there was the stormiest in Britain, and when the wind came one way the waves washed the pier down again, so that it was now no bigger than it was two years ago. He also told us he could remember the time when there was no mail-coach in that part of the country, the letters for that neighbourhood being sent to a man, a tailor by trade, who being often very busy, sent his wife to deliver them, so that Her Majesty's mails were carried by a female! [Illustration: A STORM IN WICK HARBOUR.] Almost the last piece of advice given us before leaving home was, "Mind that you always get a good breakfast before starting out in a morning," and fortunately we did not neglect it on this occasion, for it proved one of the worst day's walks that we ever experienced. Helmsdale was our next stage, and a direct road led to it along the coast, a distance of sixteen miles. But my brother was a man of original ideas, and he had made up his mind that we should walk there by an inland route, and climb over the Maiden's Paps mountain on our way. The wind had increased considerably during the night, and the rain began to fall in torrents as we left the Dunbeath Inn, our mackintoshes and leggings again coming in useful. The question now arose whether we should adhere to our original proposal, or proceed to Helmsdale by the shortest route. Our host strongly advised us to keep to the main road, but we decided, in spite of our sore feet and the raging elements, to cross over the Maiden's Paps. We therefore left the main road and followed a track which led towards the mountains and the wild moors. We had not gone very far when we met a disconsolate sportsman, accompanied by his gillies and dogs, who was retreating to the inn which he had left early in the morning. He explained to us how the rain would spoil his sport amongst the grouse, though he consoled himself by claiming that it had been one of the finest sporting seasons ever known in Caithness. As an illustration, he said that on the eighteenth day of September he had been out with a party who had shot forty-one and a half brace of grouse to each gun, besides other game. The average weight of grouse on the Scotch moors was twenty-five ounces, but those on the Caithness moors were heavier, and averaged twenty-five and a half ounces. He was curious to know where we were going, and when we told him, he said we were attempting an impossible feat in such awful weather, and strongly advised us to return to the hotel, and try the journey on a finer day. We reflected that the fine weather had now apparently broken, and it would involve a loss of valuable time if we accepted his advice to wait for a finer day, so we pressed forwards for quite two hours across a dreary country, without a tree or a house or a human being to enliven us on our way. Fortunately the wind and rain were behind us, and we did not feel their pressure like our friend the sportsman, who was going in the opposite direction. At last we came to what might be called a village, where there were a few scattered houses and a burial-ground, but no kirk that we could see. Near here we crossed a stream known as Berriedale Water, and reached the last house, a farm, where our track practically ended. We knocked at the door, which was opened by the farmer himself, and his wife soon provided us with tea and oatmeal cake, which we enjoyed after our seven or eight-mile walk. The wind howled in the chimney and the rain rattled on the window-panes as we partook of our frugal meal, and we were inclined to exclaim with the poet whose name we knew not: The day is cold and dark and dreary, It rains, and the wind is never weary. The people at the farm had come there from South Wales and did not know much about the country. All the information they could give us was that the place we had arrived at was named Braemore, and that on the other side of the hills, which they had never crossed themselves, there was a forest with no roads through it, and if we got there, we should have to make our way as best we could across the moors to Helmsdale. They showed us the best way to reach the foot of the mountain, but we found the going much worse than we anticipated, since the storm had now developed into one of great magnitude. Fortunately the wind was behind us, but the higher we ascended the stronger it became, and it fairly took our breath away even when we turned our heads towards it sideways, which made us realise how impossible it was for us to turn back, however much we might wish to do so; consequently we struggled onwards, occasionally taking advantage of the shelter of some projecting rock to recover our breathing--a very necessary proceeding, for as we approached the summit the rain became more like sleet, the wind was very cold, and the rocks were in a frozen and slippery condition. We were in great danger of being blown over and losing our lives, and as we could no longer walk upright in safety, we knelt down, not without a prayer to heaven as we continued on our way. Thus we crawled along upon our hands and knees over the smooth wind-swept summit of the Maiden's Paps, now one immense surface of ice. The last bit was the worst of all, for here the raging elements struck us with full and uninterrupted force. We crossed this inches at a time, lying flat on the smooth rock with our faces downwards. Our feelings of thankfulness to the Almighty may be imagined when we finally reached the other side in safety. Given a fine day we should have had a glorious view from this point, and, as it was, in spite of the rain we could see a long distance, but the prospect was far from encouraging. A great black rock, higher than that we had climbed, stood before us, with its summit hidden in the clouds, and a wide expanse of hills and moors, but not a house or tree so far as the eye could reach. This rather surprised us, as we expected the forest region to be covered with trees which would afford us some shelter on our farther way. We learned afterwards that the "forest" was but a name, the trees having disappeared ages ago from most of these forests in the northern regions of Scotland. We were wet through to the skin and shivering with cold as we began to descend the other side of the Maiden's Paps--a descent we found both difficult and dangerous. It looked an awful place below us--a wild amphitheatre of dreary hills and moors! We had no compass to guide us, and in the absence of light from the sun we could not tell in what direction we were travelling, so with our backs towards the hills we had crossed, we made our way across the bog, now saturated with water. We could hear it gurgling under our feet at every stride, even when we could not see it, and occasionally we slipped into holes nearly knee-deep in water. After floundering in the bog for some time, and not knowing which way to turn, as we appeared to be surrounded with hills, we decided to try to walk against the wind which was blowing from the sea, for we knew that if we could reach the coast we should also reach the highway, which ran alongside it. But we soon had to give in, for we came to great rocks impossible for us to scale, so we had to abandon this direction and try another. The rain still continued, and our hands had now been bleached quite white with the rain beating on them, just like those of a washerwoman after a heavy day's washing. We knew that the night would shortly be coming on, and the terrible thought of a dark night on the moors began to haunt us. If we could only have found a track we should not have cared, but we were now really LOST. We were giving way to despair and beginning to think it might be a question of life or death when a bright thought suddenly struck us, and we wondered why we had not thought of it before. Why not follow the water, which would be sure to be running towards the sea? This idea inspired us with hope, and seemed to give us new life; but it was astonishing what a time elapsed before we found a running stream, for the water appeared to remain where it fell. At length we came to a small stream, the sight of which gave us renewed energy, and we followed it joyfully on its downward course. Presently we saw a few small bushes; then we came to a larger stream, and afterwards to a patch of grassland which clearly at one time had been under cultivation. At last we came to trees under which we could see some deer sheltering from the storm: by this time the stream had become a raging torrent. We stood watching the deer for a moment, when suddenly three fine stags rushed past us and dashed into the surging waters of the stream, which carried them down a considerable distance before they could land on its rocky bank on the other side. It was an exciting adventure, as the stags were so near us, and with their fine antlers presented an imposing appearance. We now crossed over some heather in order to reach a small path which we could see alongside the swollen river. How pleased we were when we knew we were out of danger! It seemed to us like an escape from a terrible fate. We remembered how Mungo Park, when alone in the very heart of Africa, and in the midst of a great wilderness, derived consolation from very much smaller sources than the few trees which now cheered us on our way. The path became broader as we passed through the grounds of Lord Galloway's hunting-box, and we soon reached the highway, where we crossed the boiling torrent rushing along with frightful rapidity on its way to the sea. The shades of night were coming on as we knocked at the door of the keeper's cottage, and judge of our surprise when we were informed that, after walking from ten o'clock in the morning to six o'clock at night, we were only about six miles from Dunbeath, whence we had started that morning, and had still about ten miles to walk before we could reach Helmsdale. We were almost famished with hunger, but we were lucky enough to secure a splendid tea at the keeper's cottage. Fortunately for us the good lady of the house had provided a sumptuous repast for some sporting gentlemen she was expecting, but who had been prevented from coming owing to the storm. We kept no record of our gastronomical performances on this occasion, but we can safely state that of a whole rabbit very little remained, and the same remark would apply to a whole series of other delicacies which the keeper's wife had so kindly and thoughtfully provided for her more distinguished but absent guests. We took the opportunity of drying some of our wet clothing, and before we finished our tea the keeper himself came in, to whom we related our adventures. Though accustomed to the broken regions and wild solitudes we had passed through, he was simply astounded that we had come over them safely, especially on such a day. It was pitch dark when we left the keeper's cottage, and he very kindly accompanied us until we reached the highroad in safety. The noise caused by the rushing waters of the rivers as they passed us on their way in frantic haste to the sea, now quite near us, and the roar of the sea itself as it dashed itself violently against the rocky coast, rendered conversation very difficult, but our companion gave us to understand that the road to Helmsdale was very hilly and lonely, and at one time was considered dangerous for strangers. Fortunately the surface was very good, and we found it much easier to walk upon than the wet heather we had passed over for so many miles. The black rocks which lined the road, the darkness of the night, and the noise from the sea as the great waves dashed and thundered on the rocks hundreds of feet below, might have terrified timid travellers, but they seemed nothing to us compared with our experience earlier in the day. The wind had moderated, but the rain continued to fall, and occasionally we were startled as we rounded one of the many bends in the road by coming suddenly on a burn swollen with the heavy rains, hurling itself like a cataract down the rocky sides of the hill, and rushing under the road beneath our feet in its noisy descent helter-skelter towards the sea. We walked on as rapidly as the hilly nature of our road would permit, without seeing a house or human being, until we approached Helmsdale, when we were surprised by the sudden appearance of the stage-coach drawn by three horses and displaying its enormous red lamp in front. The driver suddenly pulled up his horses, for, as he said, he did not know "what the de'il it was coming in front": he scarcely ever met any one on that road, and particularly on such an "awful" stormy night. We asked him how far we were from the town, and were delighted to hear it was only about two miles away. It was after ten o'clock when we arrived at Helmsdale, tired and footsore, but just in time to secure lodgings for the night at the Commercial Inn. (_Distance walked thirty miles_.) _Thursday, September 21st._ Helmsdale was a pleasant little town inhabited chiefly by fishermen, but a place of some importance, for it had recently become the northern terminus of the railway. A book in the hotel, which we read while waiting for breakfast, gave us some interesting information about the road we had travelled along the night before, and from it we learned that the distance between Berriedale and Helmsdale was nine and a half miles, and that about half-way between these two places it passed the Ord of Caithness at an elevation of 1,200 feet above the sea-level, an "aclivity of granite past which no railway can be carried," and the commencement of a long chain of mountains separating Caithness from Sutherland. Formerly the road was carried along the edge of a tremendous range of precipices which overhung the sea in a fashion enough to frighten both man and beast, and was considered the most dangerous road in Scotland, so much so that when the Earl of Caithness or any other great landed proprietor travelled that way a troop of their tenants from the borders of Sutherland-shire assembled, and drew the carriage themselves across the hill, a distance of two miles, quadrupeds not being considered safe enough, as the least deviation would have resulted in a fall over the rocks into the sea below. This old road, which was too near the sea for modern traffic, was replaced by the present road in the year 1812. The old path, looked at from the neighbourhood of Helmsdale, had more the appearance of a sheep track than a road as it wound up the steep brow of the hill 300 or 400 feet above the rolling surge of the sea below, and was quite awe-inspiring even to look at, set among scenery of the most wild and savage character. We had now cleared the county of Caithness, which, like Orkney and Shetland, was almost entirely devoid of trees. To our way of thinking a sprinkling of woods and copses would have much enhanced the wild beauty of the surroundings, but there was a difference of opinion or taste on this point as on everything else. A gentleman who had settled in America, and had had to clear away the trees from his holding, when he passed through Caithness on his way to John o' Groat's was continually ejaculating, "What a beautiful country!" "What a very beautiful country!" Some one who heard him remarked, "You can hardly call it a very beautiful country when there are no trees." "Trees," cried the Yankee; "that's all stuff Caithness, I calculate, is the finest clearing I ever saw in my life!" We had often wondered, by the way, how the Harbour Works at Wick would be affected by the great storms, and we were afterwards greatly interested when we read in a Scotch provincial newspaper the following telegrams: TERRIFIC GALE AT WICK THREATENED DESTRUCTION OF THE HARBOUR WORKS _From our Wick Correspondent_ _Wick, Wednesday_, 12:50--A terrific storm is raging here to-day. It is a gale from the south-east, with an extraordinary surf which is making a complete break of the new Harbour Works, where a number of large stones have been dislodged and serious damage is threatened. 1:30 _p.m._--The storm still continues. A large concrete block, weighing 300 tons, has been dislodged, and the whole building seems doomed unless the storm abates very soon. These hours corresponded with the time we were crossing the Maiden's Paps mountains, and we are not likely ever to forget the great danger we were in on that occasion. We were rather backward in making a start on our journey to-day, for our feet were very sore; but we were advised to apply common soap to our stocking feet, from which we experienced great relief. As we left the town we saw some ruins, which we assumed were those of Helmsdale Castle, and we had now the company of the railway, which, like our road, hugged the seacoast for some miles. About two miles after leaving Helmsdale we sighted the first railway train we had seen since we left Aberdeen a fortnight before. Under ordinary conditions this might have passed unnoticed, but as we had been travelling through such wild country we looked upon it as a sign that we were approaching a part of the country which had communication with civilisation, other than that afforded by sea or mail-coach. [Illustration: PICTISH TOWER (EXTERIOR).] We now walked through the Parish of Loth, where in Glen Loth we were informed the last wolf in Scotland was killed, and about half a mile before reaching Brora we climbed over a stone fence to inspect the ruins of a Pictish castle standing between our road and the railway. The ruins were circular, but some of the walls had been built in a zig-zag form, and had originally contained passages and rooms, some of which still existed, but they looked so dark that we did not care to go inside them, though we were informed that about two years before our visit excavations had been made and several human skulls were discovered. The weather continued wet, and we passed through several showers on our way from Helmsdale to Brora, where, after a walk of twelve miles, we stayed for lunch, and it was again raining as we left there for Golspie. [Illustration: PICTISH TOWER (INTERIOR).] At Brora we heard stories of wonderful fossils which were to be found in the rocks on the shore--shells and fish-scales and remains of bigger creatures--and of a bed of real coal. Certainly the rocks seemed to change their character hereabouts, which may account for the softening of the scenery and the contrast in agricultural pursuits in this region with those farther north. Here the appearance of the country gradually improved as we approached the woods and grounds and more cultivated regions surrounding the residence of the Duke of Sutherland. [Illustration: DUNROBIN CASTLE. "It was the finest building we had seen, not at all like the gloomy-looking castles, being more like a palace, with a fine display of oriel windows, battlements, steeples, and turrets."] We came in sight of another Pictish castle, which we turned aside to visit; but by this time we had become quite familiar with the formation of these strange old structures, which were nearly all built after the same pattern, although some belonged to an earlier period than others, and the chambers in them were invariably dark and dismal. If these were used for the same purpose as similar ones we had seen in Shetland, where maidens of property and beauty were placed for protection from the "gallants" who roamed about the land in those days, the fair prisoners must have had a dismal time while incarcerated in these dungeon-like apartments. In these ruins, however, we saw some ancient utensils, or querns, supposed to have been used for crushing corn. They had been hollowed out in stone, and one of them had a well-worn stone inside it, but whether or no it was the remains of an ancient pestle used in crushing the corn we could not determine; it looked strangely like one. The country hereabouts was of the most charming description, hilly and undulating rather than rugged, and we left the highway to walk along the seashore, where we passed the rifle and artillery ranges of the volunteers. We also saw the duke's private pier extending towards the open sea, and from this point we had a fine view of Dunrobin Castle, the duke's residence, which was the finest building we had seen, and not at all like the other gloomy-looking castles, being more like a palace. It is a happy blending of the German Schloss, the French château, and Scottish baronial architecture, with a fine display of oriel windows, battlements, turrets, and steeples, the great tower rising to a height of 135 feet above the garden terrace below. A vista of mountains and forests lay before any one privileged to ascend the tower. The view from the seashore was simply splendid, as from this point we could see, showing to great advantage, the lovely gardens, filled with beautiful shrubs and flowers of luxuriant growth, sloping upwards towards the castle, and the hills behind them, with their lower slopes covered with thousands of healthy-looking firs, pines, and some deciduous trees, while the bare moorland above formed a fine background. On the hill "Beinn-a-Bhragidh," at a point 1,300 feet above sea-level, standing as if looking down on all, was a colossal monument erected to the memory of the duke's grandfather, which could be seen many miles away. The duke must have been one of the largest landowners in Britain, as, in addition to other possessions, he owned the entire county of Sutherland, measuring about sixty miles long and fifty-six miles broad, so that when at home he could safely exclaim with Robinson Crusoe, "I am monarch of all I survey." The castle had an ancient foundation, for it was in 1097 the dun, or stronghold, of the second Robert of Sutherland, and the gardens have been famous from time immemorial. An extract from an old book written in 1630 reads, "The Erle of Sutherland made Dunrobin his speciall residence it being a house well-seated upon a mole hard by the sea, with fair orchards wher ther be pleasant gardens, planted with all kinds of froots, hearbs and flours used in this kingdom, and abundance of good saphorn, tobacco and rosemarie, the froot being excellent and cheeflie the pears and cherries." A most pleasing feature to our minds was the fact that the gardens were open to all comers, but as we heard that the duke was entertaining a distinguished company, including Lord Delamere of Vale Royal from our own county of Cheshire, we did not apply for permission to enter the grounds, and thus missed seeing the great Scotch thistle, the finest in all Scotland. This thistle was of the ordinary variety, but of colossal proportions, full seven feet high, or, as we afterwards saw it described, "a beautiful emblem of a war-like nation with his radious crown of rubies full seven feet high." We had always looked upon the thistle as an inferior plant, and in Cheshire destroyed it in thousands, regarding it as only fit for food for donkeys, of which very few were kept in that county; but any one seeing this fine plant must have been greatly impressed by its appearance. The thistle has been the emblem of Scotland from very early times, and is supposed to have been adopted by the Scots after a victorious battle with the Danes, who on a dark night tried to attack them unawares. The Danes were creeping towards them silently, when one of them placed his bare foot on a thistle, which caused him to yell out with pain. This served as an alarm to the Scots, who at once fell upon the Danes and defeated them with great slaughter, and ever afterwards the thistle appeared as their national emblem, with the motto, _Nemo me impune lacessit_, or, "No one hurts me with impunity." Golspie was only a short distance away from the castle, and we were anxious to get there, as we expected letters from home, so we called at the post office first and got what letters had arrived, but another mail was expected. We asked where we could get a cup of coffee, and were directed to a fine reading-room opposite, where we adjourned to read our letters and reply to them with the accompaniment of coffee and light refreshments. The building had been erected by the Sutherland family, and was well patronised, and we wished that we might meet with similar places in other towns where we happened to call. Such as we found farther south did not appear to be appreciated by the class of people for whom they were chiefly intended. This may be accounted for by the fact that the working-class Scots were decidedly more highly educated than the English. We were not short of company, and we heard a lot of gossip, chiefly about what was going on at the castle. On inquiring about our next stage, we were told that it involved a twenty-five-mile walk through an uninhabited country, without a village and with scarcely a house on the road. The distance we found afterwards had been exaggerated, but as it was still raining and the shades of evening were coming on, with our recent adventures still fresh in our minds and the letter my brother expected not having yet arrived, we agreed to spend the night at Golspie, resolving to make an early start on the following morning. We therefore went into the town to select suitable lodgings, again calling at the post office and leaving our address in the event of any letters coming by the expected mail, which the officials kindly consented to send to us, and after making a few purchases we retired to rest. We were just dozing off to sleep, when we were aroused by a knock at our chamber door, and a voice from without informed us that our further letters and a newspaper had arrived. We jumped out of bed, glad to receive additional news from the "old folks at home," and our sleep was no less peaceful on that account. (_Distance walked eighteen miles_.) _Friday, September 22nd._ We rose at seven o'clock, and left Golspie at eight _en route_ for Bonar Bridge. As we passed the railway station we saw a huge traction engine, which we were informed belonged to the Duke of Sutherland, and was employed by him to draw wood and stone to the railway. About a mile after leaving the town we observed the first field of wheat since we had left John o' Groat's. The morning had turned out wet, so there was no one at work among the corn, but several machines there showed that agriculture received much attention. We met some children carrying milk, who in reply to our inquiry told us that the cows were milked three times each day--at six o'clock in the morning, one o'clock at noon, and eight o'clock at night--with the exception of the small Highland cows, which were only milked twice. As we were looking over the fields in the direction of the railway, we observed an engine with only one carriage attached proceeding along the line, which we thought must be the mail van, but we were told that it was the duke's private train, and that he was driving the engine himself, the engine being named after his castle, "Dunrobin." We learned that the whole railway belonged to him for many miles, and that he was quite an expert at engine driving. About five miles after leaving Golspie we crossed what was known as "The Mound," a bank thrown across what looked like an arm of the sea. It was upwards of half a mile long, and under the road were six arches to admit the passage of the tide as it ebbed and flowed. Here we turned off to the right along the hill road to Bonar Bridge, and visited what had been once a mansion, but was now nearly all fallen to the ground, very little remaining to tell of its former glory. What attracted us most was the site of the garden behind the house, where stood four great yew trees which must have been growing hundreds of years. They were growing in pairs, and in a position which suggested that the road had formerly passed between them. Presently our way passed through a beautiful and romantic glen, with a fine stream swollen by the recent rains running alongside it. Had the weather been more favourable, we should have had a charming walk. The hills did not rise to any great elevation, but were nicely wooded down to the very edge of the stream, and the torrent, with its innumerable rapids and little falls, that met us as we travelled on our upward way, showed to the best advantage. In a few miles we came to a beautiful waterfall facing our road, and we climbed up the rocks to get a near view of it from a rustic bridge placed there for the purpose. A large projecting rock split the fall into the shape of a two-pronged fork, so that it appeared like a double waterfall, and looked very pretty. Another stream entered the river near the foot of the waterfall, but the fall of this appeared to have been artificially broken thirty or forty times on its downward course, forming the same number of small lochs, or ponds. We had a grand sight of these miniature lakes as they overflowed one into another until their waters joined the stream below. We now left the trees behind us and, emerging into the open country, travelled many miles across the moors alongside Loch Buidhee, our only company being the sheep and the grouse. As we approached Bonar Bridge we observed a party of sportsmen on the moors. From the frequency of their fire we supposed they were having good sport; a horse with panniers on its back, which were fast being ladened with the fallen game, was following them at a respectful distance. Then we came to a few small houses, near which were large stacks of peat or turf, which was being carted away in three carts. We asked the driver of the first cart we overtook how far it was to Bonar Bridge, and he replied two miles. We made the same inquiry from the second, who said three miles, and the reply of the third was two and a half miles. As the distance between the first and the third drivers was only one hundred yards, their replies rather amused us. Still we found it quite far enough, for we passed through shower after shower. Our eighteen-mile walk had given us a good idea of "Caledonia stern and wild," and at the same time had developed in us an enormous appetite when by two o'clock we entered the hotel facing Bonar Bridge for our dinner. The bridge was a fine substantial iron structure of about 150 feet span, having a stone arching at either end, and was of great importance, as it connected main roads and did away with the ferry which once existed there. As we crossed the bridge we noticed two vessels from Sunderland discharging coals, and some fallen fir-trees lying on the side of the water apparently waiting shipment for colliery purposes, apt illustrations of the interchange of productions. There were many fine plantations of fir-trees near Bonar Bridge, and as we passed the railway station we saw a rather substantial building across the water which we were informed was the "Puirshoose," or "Poor House." Observing a village school to the left of our road, we looked through the open door; but the room was empty, so we called at the residence of the schoolmaster adjoining to get some reliable information about our further way, We found him playing on a piano and very civil and obliging, and he advised us to stay for the night at what was known as the Half-way House, which we should find on the hill road to Dingwall, and so named because it was halfway between Bonar and Alness, and nine miles from Bonar. Our road for the first two miles was close along Dornoch Firth, and the fine plantations of trees afforded us some protection against the wind and rain; then we left the highway and turned to the right, along the hill road. After a steep ascent for more than a mile, we passed under a lofty elevation, and found ourselves once more amongst the heather-bells so dear to the heart of every true Scot. At this point we could not help lingering awhile to view the magnificent scene below. What a gorgeous panorama! The wide expanse of water, the bridge we had lately crossed and the adjoining small village, the fine plantations of trees, the duke's monument rising above the woods at Golspie, were all visible, but obscured in places by the drifting showers. If the "Clerk of the Weather" had granted us sunshine instead of rain, we should have had a glorious prospect not soon to be forgotten. But we had still three miles to walk, or, as the people in the north style it, to travel, before we could reach the Half-Way House, when we met a solitary pedestrian, who as soon as he saw us coming sat down on a stone and awaited us until we got within speaking distance, when he began to talk to us. He was the Inspector of Roads, and had been walking first in one direction and then in the other during the whole of the day. He said he liked to speak to everybody he saw, as the roads were so very lonely in his district. He informed us that the Half-Way House was a comfortable place, and we could not do better than stay there for the night. We were glad when we reached the end of our nine-mile walk, as the day had been very rough and stormy. As it was the third in succession of the same character, we did not care how soon the weather took a turn for the better. The Half-Way House stood in a deserted and lonely position on the moor some little distance from the road, without another house being visible for miles, and quite isolated from the outer world. We entered the farmyard, where we saw the mistress busy amongst the pigs, two dogs barking at us in a very threatening manner. We walked into the kitchen, the sole occupant of which was a "bairn," who was quite naked, and whom we could just see behind a maiden of clothes drying before the fire. The mistress soon followed us into the house, and in reply to our query as to whether we could be accommodated for the night said, "I will see," and invited us into the parlour, a room containing two beds and sundry chairs and tables. The floor in the kitchen was formed of clay, the parlour had a boarded floor, and the mantelpiece and roof were of very old wood, but there was neither firegrate nor fire. After we had waited there a short time, the mistress again made her appearance, with a shovel full of red-hot peat, so, although she had not given us a decided answer as to whether we could stay the night or not, we considered that silence gave consent, especially when seconded by the arrival of the welcome fire. "You surely must have missed your train!" she said; but when we told her that we were pedestrian tourists, or, as my brother described it, "on a walking expedition," she looked surprised. When she entered the room again we were sorting out our letters and papers, and she said, "You surely must be sappers!" We had some difficulty in making her understand the object of our journey, as she could not see how we could be walking for pleasure in such bad weather. We found the peat made a very hot fire and did good service in helping to dry our wet clothing. We wanted some hot milk and bread for supper, which she was very reluctant to supply, as milk was extremely scarce on the moors, but as a special favour she robbed the remainder of the family to comply with our wishes. The wind howled outside, but we heeded it not, for we were comfortably housed before a blazing peat fire which gave out a considerable amount of heat. We lit one of our ozokerite candles, of which we carried a supply to be prepared for emergencies, and read our home newspaper, _The Warrington Guardian_, which was sent to us weekly, until supper-time arrived, and then we were surprised by our hostess bringing in an enormous bowl, apparently an ancient punch bowl, large enough to wash ourselves in, filled with hot milk and bread, along with two large wooden spoons. Armed with these, we both sat down with the punch-bowl between us, hungry enough and greedy enough to compete with one another as to which should devour the most. Which won would be difficult to say, but nothing remained except the bowl and the spoons and our extended selves. We had walked twenty-seven miles, and it must have been weather such as we had experienced that inspired the poet to exclaim: The west wind blows and brings rough weather, The east brings cold and wet together, The south wind blows and brings much rain, The north wind blows it back again! The beds were placed end to end, so that our feet came together, with a wooden fixture between the two beds to act as the dividing line. Needless to say we slept soundly, giving orders to be wakened early in the morning. (_Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.) _Saturday, September 23rd._ We were awakened at six o'clock in the morning, and after a good breakfast we left the Half-Way House (later the "Aultnamain Inn"), and well pleased we were with the way the landlady had catered for our hungry requirements. We could see the sea in the distance, and as we resumed our march across the moors we were often alarmed suddenly by the harsh and disagreeable cries of the startled grouse as they rose hurriedly from the sides of our path, sounding almost exactly like "Go back!--go back!" We were, however, obliged to "Go forward," and that fairly quickly, as we were already a few miles behind our contemplated average of twenty-five miles per day. We determined to make the loss good, and if possible to secure a slight margin to our credit, so we set out intending to reach Inverness that night if possible. In spite, therefore, of the orders given in such loud and unpleasant tones by the grouse, we advanced quickly onwards and left those birds to rejoice the heart of any sportsman who might follow. Cromarty Firth was clearly visible as we left the moors, and we could distinguish what we thought was Cromarty itself, with its whitewashed houses, celebrated as the birthplace of the great geologist, Hugh Miller, of whom we had heard so much in the Orkneys. The original cause of the whitewashing of the houses in Cromarty was said to have been the result of an offer made by a former candidate for Parliamentary honours, who offered to whitewash any of the houses. As nearly all the free and independent electors accepted his offer, it was said that Cromarty came out of the Election of 1826 cleaner than any other place in Scotland, notwithstanding the fact that it happened in an age when parliamentarian representation generally went to the highest bidder. We crossed the Strathrory River, and leaving the hills to our right found ourselves in quite a different kind of country, a veritable land of woods, where immense plantations of fir-trees covered the hills as far as the eye could reach, sufficient, apparently, to make up for the deficiency in Caithness and Sutherland in that respect, for we were now in the county of Ross and Cromarty. Shortly afterwards we crossed over the River Alness. The country we now passed through was highly cultivated and very productive, containing some large farms, where every appearance of prosperity prevailed, and the tall chimneys in the rear of each spoke of the common use of coal. The breeding of cattle seemed to be carried on extensively; we saw one large herd assembled in a field adjoining our road, and were amused at a conversational passage of arms between the farmer and two cattle-dealers who were trying to do business, each side endeavouring to get the better of the other. It was not quite a war to the knife, but the fight between those Scots was like razor trying to cut razor, and we wished we had time to stay and hear how it ended. Arriving at Novar, where there was a nice little railway station, we passed on to the village inn, and called for a second breakfast, which we thoroughly enjoyed after our twelve-mile walk. Here we heard that snow had fallen on one of the adjacent hills during the early hours of the morning, but it was now fine, and fortunately continued to be so during the whole of the day. Our next stage was Dingwall, the chief town in the county of Ross, and at the extreme end of the Cromarty Firth, which was only six miles distant. We had a lovely walk to that town, very different from the lonely moors we had traversed earlier in the day, as our road now lay along the very edge of the Cromarty Firth, while the luxuriant foliage of the trees on the other side of our road almost formed an arch over our way. The water of the Firth was about two miles broad all the way to Dingwall, and the background formed by the wooded hills beyond the Firth made up a very fine picture. We had been fully prepared to find Dingwall a very pretty place, and in that we were not disappointed. The great object of interest as we entered this miniature county town was a lofty monument fifty or sixty feet high,[Footnote: This monument has since been swept away.] which stood in a separate enclosure near a graveyard attached to a church. It was evidently very old, and leaning several points from the perpendicular, and was bound together almost to the top with bands of iron crossed in all directions to keep it from failing. A very curious legend was attached to it. It was erected to some steward named Roderick Mackenzie, who had been connected with the Cromarty estate many years ago, and who appeared to have resided at Kintail, being known as the Tutor of Kintail. He acted as administrator of the Mackenzie estates during the minority of his nephew, the grandfather of the first Earl of Cromarty, and was said to have been a man of much ability and considerable culture for the times in which he lived. At the same time he was a man of strong personality though of evil repute in the Gaelic-speaking districts, as the following couplet still current among the common people showed: The three worst things in Scotland-- Mists in the dog-days, frost in May, and the Tutor of Kintail. The story went that the tutor had a quarrel with a woman who appeared to have been quite as strong-minded as himself. She was a dairymaid in Strathconon with whom he had an agreement to supply him with a stone of cheese for every horn of milk given by each cow per day. For some reason the weight of cheese on one occasion happened to be light, and this so enraged the tutor that he drove her from the Strath. Unfortunately for him the dairymaid was a poetess, and she gave vent to her sorrow in verse, in which it may be assumed the tutor came in for much abuse. When she obtained another situation at the foot of Ben Wyvis, the far-reaching and powerful hand of the tutor drove her from there also; so at length she settled in the Clan Ranald Country in Barrisdale, on the shores of Loch Hourn on the west coast of Inverness-shire, a place at that time famous for shell-fish, where she might have dwelt in peace had she mastered the weakness of her sex for demanding the last word; but she burst forth once more in song, and the tutor came in for another scathing: Though from Strathconon with its cream you've driven me, And from Wyvis with its curds and cheese; While billow beats on shore you cannot drive me From the shell-fish of fair Barrisdale. These stanzas came to the ear of the tutor, who wrote to Macdonald of Barrisdale demanding that he should plough up the beach, and when this had been done there were no longer any shell-fish to be found there. The dairymaid vowed to be even with the tutor, and threatened to desecrate his grave. When he heard of the threat, in order to prevent its execution he built this strange monument, and instead of being buried beneath it he was said to have been buried near the summit; but the woman was not to be out-done, for after the tutor's funeral she climbed to the top of the pinnacle and kept her vow to micturate there! As our time was limited, we were obliged to hurry away from this pleasantly situated town, and in about four miles, after crossing the River Conon, we entered Conon village, where we called for refreshments, of which we hastily disposed. Conon was quite an agricultural village, where the smithy seemed to rival the inn in importance, as the smiths were busy at work. We saw quite a dozen ploughs waiting to be repaired in order to fit them to stir up the soil during the ploughing season, which would commence as soon as the corn was cleared off the land. Here we observed the first fingerpost we had seen since leaving John o' Groat's, now more than a hundred miles distant, although it was only an apology for one, and very different from those we were accustomed to see farther south in more important but not more beautiful places. It was simply an upright post with rough pieces of wood nailed across the top, but we looked upon it as a sign that we were approaching more civilised regions. The gentry had shown their appreciation of this delightful part of the country by erecting fine residences in the neighbourhood, some of which we passed in close proximity. Just before crossing over the railway bridge we came to a frightful figure of a human head carved on a stone and built in the battlement in a position where it could be seen by all. It was coloured white, and we heard it was the work of some local sculptor. It was an awful-looking thing, and no doubt did duty for the "boggard" of the neighbourhood. The view of the hills to the right of our road as we passed along was very fine, lit up as they were by the rays of the evening sun, and the snow on Ben Wyvis in the distance contrasted strangely with the luxuriant foliage of the trees near us, as they scarcely yet showed the first shade of the autumn tints. About four miles farther on we arrived at a place called the Muir of Ord, a rather strange name of which we did not know the meaning, reaching the railway station there just after the arrival of a train which we were told had come from the "sooth." The passengers consisted of a gentleman and his family, who were placing themselves in a large four-wheeled travelling-coach to which were attached four rather impatient horses. A man-servant in livery was on the top of the coach arranging a large number of parcels and boxes, those intolerable appendages of travel. We waited, and watched their departure, as we had no desire to try conclusions with the restless feet of the horses, our adventures with the Shetland pony in the north having acted as a warning to us. Shortly afterwards we crossed a large open space of land studded with wooden buildings and many cattle-pens which a man told us was now the great cattlemarket for the North, where sales for cattle were held each month--the next would be due in about a week's time, when from 30,000 to 35,000 sheep would be sold. It seemed strange to us that a place of such importance should have been erected where there were scarcely any houses, but perhaps there were more in the neighbourhood than we had seen, and in any case it lay conveniently as a meeting-place for the various passes in the mountain country. We soon arrived at Beauly, which, as its name implied, was rather a pretty place, with its houses almost confined to the one street, the Grammar School giving it an air of distinction. Our attention was attracted by some venerable ruins at the left of our road, which we determined to visit, but the gate was locked. Seeing a small girl standing near, we asked her about the key, and she volunteered to go and tell the man who kept it to come at once. We were pressed for time, and the minutes seemed very long as we stood awaiting the arrival of the key, until at last we decided to move on; but just as we were walking away we saw an old man coming up a side street with the aid of a crutch and a stick. [Illustration: ON THE BEAULY RIVER.] He pointed with his stick towards the cathedral, so we retraced our steps and awaited his arrival with the key. A key it certainly was, and a large one too, for it weighed 2 lbs. 4 ozs. and the bore that fitted the lock was three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was the biggest key we saw in all our long journey. We listened to all the old man had to tell us about the cathedral, the building of which begun in the year 1230. It measured 152 feet in length and about 24 feet in breadth, but was ruined in the time of Cromwell. He showed us what he described as the Holy Water Pot, which was quite near the door and had some water in it, but why the water happened to be there the old man could not explain. The front gable of the nave was nearly all standing, but that at the back, which at one time had contained a large window, was nearly all down. The old font was in the wall about half-way down the cathedral; the vestry and chapter house were roofless. The grave-stones dated from the year 1602, but that which covered the remains of the founder was of course very much older. Beauly was formerly a burial-place of the ancient Scottish chieftains, and was still used as the burial-ground of the Mackenzies, the name reminding us of our friends at the "Huna Inn." Rewarding our guide and the bairn who had returned with him for their services, we walked quickly away, as we had still twelve miles to walk before reaching Inverness. [Illustration: BEAULY PRIORY.] After crossing the bridge over the River Beauly we had the company for about a mile of a huge servant-girl, a fine-looking Scotch lassie, with whom we ventured to enter into conversation although we felt like dwarfs in her presence. She told us she had never been in England, but her sister had been there in service, and had formed a bad opinion of the way the English spent their Sundays. Some of them never went to church at all, while one young man her sister knew there actually whistled as he was going to church! It was very different in Scotland, where, she said, all went to church and kept holy the Sabbath day. She evidently thought it a dreadful offence to whistle on Sundays, and we were careful not to offend the susceptibilities of the Scots, and, we may safely say, our own, by whistling on the Lord's day. Whistling was, however, an accomplishment of which we were rather proud, as we considered ourselves experts, and beguiled many a weary mile's march with quicksteps--English, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish--which we flattered ourselves sounded better amongst the hills of the Highlands of Scotland even than the sacred bagpipes of the most famous Scotch regiments. We thanked our formidable-looking friend for her company and, presenting her with a John o' Groat's buckie, bade her farewell. When she must have been a distance away we accelerated our pace by whistling "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" one of Charles Russell's songs. We could not keep it up for long, as we were not only footsore, but sore in every joint, through friction, and we were both beginning to limp a little when we came to a junction in the roads. Here it was necessary to inquire about our way, and seeing a farm quite near we went to it and asked a gentleman who was standing in the yard which way we should turn for Inverness and how far it was. He kindly directed us, and told us that town was nine miles distant, but added, "I am just going there in my 'machine,' which will be ready directly, and will be glad to give you a lift." This kind offer formed one of the greatest temptations we had during our long journey, as we had already walked thirty miles that day, and were in a pitiable condition, and it was hard to say "No." We thanked the gentleman heartily, and explained why we could not accept it, as we had determined to walk all the way to Land's End, and with an effort both painful and slow we mournfully took our way. We had only travelled a short distance when he overtook us with a spirited horse and a well-appointed conveyance, bidding us "Good night" as he passed. We had a painful walk for the next three miles, and it was just at the edge of dark when we called for tea at the "Bogroy Inn." We were shown into the parlour by the mistress herself, a pleasant elderly lady, very straight, but very stout, and when my brother complimented her on her personal appearance, she told him that when she first came into that neighbourhood thirty-five years ago she only weighed eleven stone, but six years since she weighed twenty-two stone; now, she rather sorrowfully added, "I only weigh seventeen stone!" She evidently thought she had come down in the world, but she was an ideal landlady of the good old sort, for she sent us some venison in for our tea, the first we had ever tasted, and with eggs and other good things we had a grand feast. Moreover, she sent her daughter, a prepossessing young lady, to wait upon us, so we felt ourselves highly honoured. As we were devouring the good things provided we heard some mysterious tappings, which we were unable to locate. My brother suggested the house might be haunted, but when the young lady entered the room again we discovered that the tappings were outside the house, on the shutters which covered the windows, for every one in the Highlands in those days protected their lower windows with wooden shutters. The tappings were accompanied by a low whistle, by which we could see the young lady was visibly affected, until finally she left the room rather hurriedly, never to appear again; nor did we hear the tappings any more, and the requiem we sung was: If she be not fair for me, What care I how fair she be? We were sorry to leave the "Bogroy Inn," as the mistress said she would have been glad of our further patronage, but we had determined to reach Inverness as a better place to stay over the week end. With great difficulty we walked the remaining six miles under the trees, through which the moon was shining, and we could see the stars twinkling above our heads as we marched, or rather crawled, along the Great North Road. On arriving at Inverness we crossed the bridge, to reach a house that had been recommended to us, but as it was not up to our requirements we turned back and found one more suitable across the water. Our week's walk totalled 160 miles, of which thirty-nine had been covered that day. (_Distance walked thirty-nine miles._) _Sunday, September 24th._ After a good night's rest and the application of common soap to the soles of our feet, and fuller's earth to other parts of our anatomy--remedies we continued to employ, whenever necessary, on our long journey--we were served with a good breakfast, and then went out to see what Inverness looked like in the daylight. We were agreeably surprised to find it much nicer than it appeared as we entered it, tired out, the night before, and we had a pleasant walk before going to the eleven-o'clock service at the kirk. Inverness, the "Capital of the Highlands," has a long and eventful history. St. Columba is said to have visited it as early as the year 565, and on a site fortified certainly in the eighth century stands the castle, which was, in 1039, according to Shakespeare, the scene of the murder of King Duncan by Macbeth. The town was made a Royal Burgh by David I, King of Scotland. The Lords of the Isles also appear to have been crowned here, for their coronation stone is still in existence, and has been given a name which in Gaelic signifies the "Stone of the Tubs." In former times the water supply of the town had to be obtained from the loch or the river, and the young men and maidens carrying it in tubs passed this stone on their way--or rather did not pass, for they lingered a while to rest, the stone no doubt being a convenient trysting-place. We wandered as far as the castle, from which the view of the River Ness and the Moray Firth was particularly fine. We attended service in one of the Free Churches, and were much interested in the proceedings, which were so different from those we had been accustomed to in England, the people standing while they prayed and sitting down while they sang. The service began with the one hundredth Psalm to the good old tune known as the "Old Hundredth" and associated in our minds with that Psalm from our earliest days: All people that on earth do dwell, Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice. Him serve with fear, His praise forth tell, Come ye before Him, and rejoice. [Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, INVERNESS.] During the singing of this, all the people remained seated except the precentor, who stood near the pulpit. Then followed a prayer, the people all standing; and then the minister read a portion of Scripture from the thirty-fourth chapter of the prophet Ezekiel beginning at the eleventh verse: "For thus saith the Lord God; Behold I, even I, will both search My sheep, and seek them out." Another hymn was followed by the Lord's Prayer; after which came the sermon, preached by the Rev. Donald Fraser, M.A., of Marylebone, London, a former minister of the church. He read the last three verses of the ninth chapter of St. John's gospel, continued reading down to the sixteenth verse of the tenth chapter, and then selected for his text the fourth, ninth, and tenth verses of that chapter, the first verse of these reading: "And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice." The sermon had evidently been well thought out and was ably delivered, the subject being very appropriate to a district where sheep abound and where their habits are so well known. Everybody listened with the greatest attention. At the close there was a public baptism of a child, whose father and mother stood up before the pulpit with their backs to the congregation. The minister recited the Apostles' Creed, which was slightly different in phraseology from that used in the Church of England, and then, descending from the pulpit, proceeded to baptize the child in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The closing hymn followed, and the people stood while the minister pronounced the benediction, after which the congregation slowly separated. [Illustration: INVERNESS CASTLE.] During the afternoon we visited an isolated hill about a mile from the town named Tomnahurich, or the "Hill of the Fairies." Nicely wooded, it rose to an elevation of about 200 feet above the sea, and, the summit being comparatively level and clear from trees, we had a good view of Inverness and its surroundings. This hill was used as the Cemetery, and many people had been buried, both on the top and along the sides of the serpentine walk leading up to it, their remains resting there peacefully until the resurrection, "when the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised incorruptible." We considered it an ideal place for the burial of the dead, and quite a number of people were walking up and down the paths leading under the trees, many of them stopping on their way to view the graves where their friends had been buried. In the evening we attended service in the cathedral, a large modern structure, with two towers, each of which required a spire forty feet high to complete the original design. Massive columns of Aberdeen granite had been erected in the interior to support the roof of polished oak, adorned with carved devices, some of which had not yet been completed. The Communion-table, or altar, made in Italy and presented to the cathedral by a wealthy layman, stood beneath a suspended crucifix, and was further adorned with a cross, two candlesticks, and two vases containing flowers. The service, of a High-Church character, was fully choral, assisted by a robed choir and a good organ. The sermon was preached by the Rev. Provost Powell, who took for his text Romans xiv. 7: "For none liveth to himself and no man dieth to himself." He gave us a clever oration, but whether extempore or otherwise we could not tell, as from where we sat we could not see the preacher. There was not a large congregation, probably owing to the fact that the people in the North are opposed to innovations, and look upon crosses and candlesticks on the Communion-table as imitations of the Roman Catholic ritual, to which the Presbyterians could never be reconciled. The people generally seemed much prejudiced against this form of service, for in the town early in the morning, before we knew this building was the cathedral, we asked a man what kind of a place of worship it was, and he replied, in a tone that implied it was a place to be avoided, that he did not know, but it was "next to th' Catholics." Our landlady spoke of it in exactly the same way. SECOND WEEK'S JOURNEY _Monday, September 25th._ [Illustration: CAIRN ON THE BATTLEFIELD OF CULLODEN MUIR.] We rose early, but were not in very good trim for walking, for a mild attack of diarrhoea yesterday had become intensified during the night, and still continued. After breakfast we went to the post office for our "poste restante" letters, and after replying to them resumed our march. Culloden Muir, the site of the great battle in 1746, in which the Scottish Clans under Prince Charlie suffered so severely at the hands of the Duke of Cumberland, is only six miles away from Inverness, and we had originally planned to visit it, but as that journey would have taken us farther from the Caledonian Canal, the line of which we were now anxious to follow, we gave up the idea of going to Culloden. We were, moreover, in no humour for digressions since we had not yet recovered from the effects of our long walk on Saturday, and our bodily ailments were still heavy upon us. As we crossed the suspension-bridge, in close proximity to the castle, we purchased a few prints of the town and the neighbourhood through which we were about to pass. Inverness is built in a delightful situation, skirting the Ness, which here takes the form of a beautiful, shallow river moving peacefully forward to its great receptacle, Loch Ness, a few miles away; but, although the country near the town is comparatively level, it is surrounded by mountain scenery of the most charming description. Our route lay along the north-western side of the Caledonian Canal in the direction of Fort Augustus, and we again passed the Tomnahurich Hill. Near this we saw a large building which we were surprised to learn was a lunatic asylum--an institution we did not expect to find here, for we had only heard of one madman in the three counties of Scotland through which we had passed. We concluded it must have been built for persons from farther south. [Illustration: CULLODEN MUIR.] The diarrhoea still continued to trouble us, so we asked the advice of a gentleman we met on the road, and he recommended us to call at the next farmhouse, which, fortunately, happened to be only a short distance away, and to "take a quart of milk each, as hot as you can drink it." So away we walked to the farm, which we found standing a short distance from our road, and, after explaining our troubles and wishes to the farmer, were invited into the house, where the mistress quickly provided us with the hot milk, which luckily proved to be a safe and simple remedy. The farmer and his wife were as pleased with our company as we were with theirs, and were just the sort of people that tourists like to meet. We had a long talk with them about the crops, the markets, our long walk, and, last but not least, the weather. Speaking of diarrhoea, the farmer informed us that the water of Inverness often affected strangers in that way, and that it had even been known to produce dysentery. After regaining our road, we had a lovely walk that day; the scenery and the weather were both very fine, and, about a mile farther on, we had a glorious view over Loch Ness, beside which our walk led us, through a delightful country studded with mansions amidst some of nature's most beautiful scenery. Presently we met a party of men, consisting of two soldiers and three civilians, engaged in cutting branches from the trees that were likely to interfere with the working of the telegraph, which passed along the side of the road. It consisted of a single wire, and had only just been erected, for we noticed each post bore the Government mark and the date 1871. We asked the men if they knew of a good remedy for our complaint, and one of the soldiers, who had seen service abroad, recommended "a spoonful of sweet oil and cinnamon mixed with it." Our former remedy had proved to be efficacious, so we had no need to try this, but we give the information here for the benefit of all whom it may concern. [Illustration: THE BURYING-PLACE OF THE CLANS.] We were certainly in for the best day's march we had yet experienced, if not for distance, certainly for beauty of route; and if we had had the gift of poetry--which only affected us occasionally--we should have had here food for poems sufficient to fill the side of a newspaper. Mountain rills, gushing rivulets, and murmuring waters! Here they were in abundance, rolling down the rocky mountains from unknown heights, and lending an additional charm to the landscape! Is it necessary to dilate on such beauties?--for if words were conjured in the most delicate and exquisite language imaginable, the glories of Loch Ness and its surroundings are, after all, things to be seen before they can be fully appreciated. The loch is over twenty miles long, and averages about a mile broad; while a strange fact is that its water never freezes. Scientific men, we were told, attributed this to the action of earthquakes in distant parts of the world, their vibrations affecting the surface of the water here; while others, apparently of the more commonsense type, attribute it to the extreme depth of the water in the loch itself, for in the centre it is said to exceed 260 yards. As we loitered along--for we were very lazy--we decided to have a picnic amongst the large stones on the shore of the loch, so we selected a suitable position, and broke into the provisions we carried in our bags as a reserve for emergencies. We were filling our water-boiling apparatus from the loch, when we saw a steamboat approaching from the direction of Glasgow. It presented quite a picture as it passed us, in the sunshine, with its flags flying and its passengers crowded on the deck, enjoying the fine scenery, and looking for Inverness, where their trip on the boat, like the Caledonian Canal itself, would doubtless end. There was music on board, of which we got the full benefit, as the sound was wafted towards us across the water, to echo and re-echo amongst the hills and adjoining woods; and we could hear the strains of the music long after the boat was cut off from our vision by the branches of the trees which partially surrounded us. [Illustration: THE WELL OF THE DEAD, CULLODEN MUIR. The stone marks the spot where MacGillivray of Dunmaglass died while stretching out his hand toward the little spring of water.] We were, in reality, having a holiday compared with our exertions on Saturday, and, as we were practically on the sick-list, considered ourselves fully entitled to it. We thought we had travelled quite far enough for invalids when, at fourteen miles from Inverness, and in the light of a lovely sunset, we reached Drumnadrochit, a village on the side of the loch. Is it to be wondered at that we succumbed to the seductions of the famous inn there, as distinguished men had done before us, as the records of the inn both in prose and poetry plainly showed? One poetical Irishman had written a rhyme of four verses each ending with the word Drumnadrochit, one of which we thought formed a sufficient invitation and excuse for our calling there; it read: Stop, traveller! with well-pack'd bag, And hasten to unlock it; You'll ne'er regret it, though you lag A day at Drumnadrochit. One of the best advertisements of this hotel and Drumnadrochit generally appeared in a letter written by Shirley Brooks to _Punch_ in 1860, in which he wrote: The inn whence these lines are dated faces a scene which, happily, is not too often to be observed in this planet. I say happily, sir, because we are all properly well aware that this world is a vale of tears, in which it is our duty to mortify ourselves and make everybody else as uncomfortable as possible. If there were many places like Drumnadrochit, persons would be in fearful danger of forgetting that they ought to be miserable. But who would have thought that a quiet and sedate-looking Quaker like John Bright, the famous M.P. for Birmingham, could have been moved by the spirit to write a verse of poetry--such an unusual thing for a member of the Society of Friends! Here it is: In the Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed, That man is chased away and game preserved; Glen Urquhart is to me a lovelier glen-- Here deer and grouse have not supplanted men. But was the position reversed when Mr. Bright visited it? and did the men supplant the deer and grouse then? [Illustration: DRUMNADROCHIT.] Glen Urquhart was one of the places we had to pass on the following day, but as we had no designs on the deer and grouse, since our sporting proclivities did not lie in that direction, we thought that we might be safely trusted to leave the game undisturbed. (_Distance walked fourteen miles_.) _Tuesday, September 26th._ We set out from Drumnadrochit early in the morning, and, leaving Glen Urquhart to the right, after walking about two miles turned aside to view Urquhart Castle, a ruin occupying a commanding position on the side of Loch Ness and immediately opposite the entrance to the glen. The castle was besieged by Edward I when he was trying to subdue Scotland, and a melancholy story was told of that period. The Scots, who were defending the castle, were "in extremis," as their provisions were exhausted and they knew that when they surrendered they would all be slain. The Governor, however, was anxious to save his wife, who was shortly to become a mother, so he bade her clothe herself in rags and drove her from the gate as though she were a beggar who had been shut up in the castle and whom they had driven away because their provisions were running short. The ruse succeeded, for the English, believing her story, let her go; after the garrison saw that she was safe they sallied forth to meet their fate, and were all killed. [Illustration: URQUHART CASTLE.] The approach to the ruins from the road is by upwards of a hundred rough hardwood steps, and the castle must have been a well-nigh impregnable stronghold in former times, protected as it was on three sides by the water of the loch and by a moat on the fourth, the position of the drawbridge being still clearly denned. Beneath the solitary tower is a dismal dungeon, and we wondered what horrors had been enacted within its time-worn and gloomy walls! Once a grim fortress, its ruins had now been mellowed by the hand of time, and looked quite inviting amidst their picturesque surroundings. To them might fitly be applied the words: "Time has made beautiful that which at first was only terrible." Whilst we were amongst the ruins, a steamboat which had called at Drumnadrochit passed close alongside the castle, and we waved our handkerchiefs to those on board, our silent salutations being returned by some of the passengers. We afterwards learned we had been recognised by a gentleman who had met us on the previous day. About ten miles from Drumnadrochit we reached Invermoriston, and visited a church which was almost filled with monuments to the memory of the Grant family, the lairds of Glenmoriston. Among them was the tombstone of the son of a former innkeeper, with the following inscription, which reminded us of our own mortality: Remember, Friend, when this you see, As I am now so you must be; As you are now so once was I. Remember, Friend, that you must die. There was also another tombstone, apparently that of his mother, inscribed: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JEAN SCOTT, THE AMIABLE WIFE OF WILLIAM FALL, INVERMORISTON, INNKEEPER, WHO DIED ON THE 13TH DAY OF APRIL 1837 AGED 68 YEARS. and on this appeared the following epitaph: Weep not for me, O friends, But weep and mourn For your own sins. [Illustration: LOCH NESS FROM FORT AUGUSTUS.] We then went to visit the remarkable waterfall of Glenmoriston, where the water after rushing down the rocks for some distance entered a crevice in a projecting rock below, evidently worn in the course of ages by the falls themselves. Here the water suddenly disappeared, to reappear as suddenly some distance below, where, as if furious at its short imprisonment, it came out splashing, dashing, and boiling in fantastic beauty amongst the rocks over which it pursued its downward course. We descended a few paces along a footpath leading to a small but ancient building, probably at one time a summer house, in the centre of which a very old millstone had done duty as a table. Here we were fairly in the whirl of waters, and had a splendid view of the falls and of the spray which rose to a considerable height. There was no doubt that we saw this lovely waterfall under the best possible conditions, and it was some recompense to us when we thought that the heavy rainfall through which we had passed had contributed to this result. The thistle may overshadow many more beautiful falls than the falls of Glenmoriston, but we claim a share of praise for this lively little waterfall as viewed by us in full force from this shady retreat. [Illustration: GENERAL WADE'S ROAD NEAR FORT AUGUSTUS, WITH LOCH NESS IN THE DISTANCE.] [Illustration: A LIGHTHOUSE ON LOCH NESS.] [Illustration: FALLS OF FOYERS AND LOCH NESS. "Here in the whirl of waters ... the spray rose to a considerable height."] After refreshing ourselves at the inn, we started on our next stage of ten miles to Fort Augustus, the loneliness of our journey through its beauties of scenery being enlivened by occasionally watching the pranks of the squirrels and gazing at the many burns that flowed down the mountain slopes. Before reaching Fort Augustus we had a splendid view as we looked backward over Loch Ness, dotted here and there with several ships tacking and retacking, their white sails gleaming in the sunshine. It had been a calm and lovely day; the sun was sinking in the west as we entered Fort Augustus, but we had only time enough for a superficial survey, for we had to proceed farther, and, however important the Fort might have been in 1729 when General Wade constructed his famous military road, or when the Duke of Cumberland made it his headquarters while he dealt severely with the adherents of Prince Charlie, shooting ruthlessly, laying waste on every side, and driving women and children into the moors only to die, it looked very insignificant that night. The Highland Clans never looked favourably on the construction of these military roads, and would doubtless have preferred the mountain tracks to remain as they were, for by using the Fort as a base these roads became a weapon to be used against them; their only eulogy was said to have been written by an Irish officer: Had you but seen these roads before they were made, You would lift up your eyes, and bless General Wade. My brother said he must have been a real Irishman, with the eye of faith, to see roads _before they were made_! [Illustration: PRINCE CHARLIE'S CAVE, INVERMORISTON.] Fort Augustus stands at the extremity of Loch Ness, at the point where its surplus waters are lowered by means of locks to swell those of Loch Oich, so as to make both lochs navigable for the purposes of the Caledonian Canal. We noticed some corn-stacks here that were thatched with broom, and some small houses that were roofed with what looked like clods of earth, so we concluded that the district must be a very poor one. [Illustration: IN GLENMORISTON.] As darkness was now coming on, we were anxious to find lodgings for the night, and, hearing that there was an inn at a place called Invergarry, seven and a half miles from Fort Augustus, we were obliged to go there. The moon was just beginning to relieve the darkness when we reached Invergarry, and, seeing a servant removing some linen from a clothes-line in a small garden, we asked the way to the inn; she pointed to a building opposite, and said we had "better go in at that door." We entered as directed at the side door, and found ourselves in a rather large inn with a passage through it from end to end. We saw what we supposed to be the master and the mistress snugly ensconced in a room, and asked the master if we could obtain lodgings for the night. He said "yes," but we heard the mistress, who had not seen us, mutter something we could not hear distinctly. My brother said he was sure he heard the words "Shepherd's room." The landlord then conducted us into a room at the end of the long dark passage, in which, we found several shepherds drinking and conversing with each other in Gaelic. One of them said to us "Good night," and as we returned his salutation they all retired from the room. We were now able to look about us, and found the room contained two tables, four forms, and at least two beds ranged lengthways along one side. Presently a servant came in and began to make one of the beds, and then another servant came who, we thought, eyed us rather closely, as we were holding our faces down to conceal the laughter which we could scarcely restrain. When she had made the other bed my brother asked if both the beds were for us. The servant said she couldn't tell, but "Missis says they are both to be made." We had evidently been taken for shepherds, and at first we were inclined to feel angry, for no one came to ask us if we required anything to eat or drink. We could have done with a good supper, but fortunately we had replenished our bags at Fort Augustus, so we were in no danger of being starved. We scribbled in our diaries by the feeble light of the candle which the servants had left on one of the tables, and as no one turned up to claim the second bed we occupied both. There was no lock or fastening on the door, but we barricaded it securely with two of the forms--and it was perhaps as well that we did so, for some one tried to open it after we were in bed--and we slept that night not on feathers, but on chaff with which the beds or mattresses were stuffed. (_Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.) _Wednesday, September 27th._ "The sleep of a labouring man is sweet," and so was ours on the primitive beds of the shepherds. But the sounds in the rear of the hotel awoke us very early in the morning, and, as there was every appearance of the weather continuing fine, we decided to walk some distance before breakfast. We asked one of the servants how much we had to pay, and she returned with an account amounting to the astounding sum of sixpence! Just fancy, ye Highland tourists! ye who have felt the keen grip of many an hotel-keeper there--just fancy, if ye can, two of us staying a night at a large hotel in the Highlands of Scotland for sixpence! We followed the servant to a small room at the front of the hotel, where a lady was seated, to whom the money had to be paid; the surprised and disappointed look on her face as we handed her a sovereign in payment of our account was rich in the extreme, amply repaying us for any annoyance we might have experienced the night before. What made the matter more aggravating to the lady was that she had not sufficient change, and had to go upstairs and waken some unwilling money-changer there! Then the change had to be counted as she reluctantly handed it to us and made a forlorn effort to recover some of the coins. "Won't you stay for breakfast?" she asked; but we were not to be persuaded, for although we were hungry enough, we were of an unforgiving spirit that morning, and, relying upon getting breakfast elsewhere, we thanked her and went on our way rejoicing! About a mile farther on we reached the ruins of Glengarry Castle, which stand in the private grounds of the owner, but locks and bolts prevented us from seeing the interior. This castle remains more complete than many others and still retains its quadrangular appearance, much as it was when Prince Charlie slept there during his flight after Culloden, and, although not built on any great elevation, it looks well in its wooded environs and well-kept grounds. A story was told of the last Lord Glengarry who, in 1820, travelled 600 miles to be present at the Coronation of King George IV. He was dressed on that magnificent and solemn occasion in the full costume of a Highland chief, including, as a matter of course, a brace of pistols. A lady who was at the reception happened to see one of the pistols in his clothing, and, being greatly alarmed, set up a loud shriek, crying, "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! there's a man with a pistol," and alarming the whole assembly. As she insisted on Glengarry being arrested, he was immediately surrounded, and the Garter King of Arms came forward and begged him to give up the much-dreaded pistols; but he refused, as they were not loaded, and pleaded that they formed an essential part of his national garb. At length, however, after much persuasion, he gave them up. Glengarry wrote a letter to the editor of _The Times_, in which he said: "I have worn my dress continually at Court, and was never so insulted before. Pistols, sir, are as essential to the Highland courtier's dress as a sword is to English, French, or German; and those used by me on such occasions as unstained with powder as any courtier's sword, with blood. It is only grossest ignorance of Highland character and costume which imagined that the assassin lurked under their bold and manly form." Glengarry, who, it was said, never properly recovered from the effects of this insult, died in 1828. After about another mile we came to a monument near the side of the road, on the top of which were sculptured the figures of seven human heads held up by a hand clasping a dagger. On each of the four sides of the base there was an inscription in one of four different languages--English, French, Latin, and Gaelic--as follows: As a memorial to the ample and summary vengeance which in the swift course of Feudal justice inflicted by the orders of the Lord MacDonnell and Aross overtook the perpetrators of the foul murder of the Keppoch family, a branch of the powerful and illustrious Clan of which his Lordship was the Chief, this Monument is erected by Colonel MacDonnell of Glengarry XVII Mac-Minc-Alaister his successor and Representative in the year of our Lord 1812. The heads of the seven murderers were presented at the feet of the noble chief in Glengarry Castle after having been washed in this spring and ever since that event which took place early in the sixteenth century it has been known by the name "Tobar-nan-Ceann" or the Well of the Heads. The monument was practically built over the well, an arched passage leading down to the water, where we found a drinking-utensil placed for any one who desired a drink. We were glad to have one ourselves, but perhaps some visitors might be of such refined and delicate taste that they would not care to drink the water after reading the horrible history recorded above. It appeared that Macdonald of Keppoch, the owner of the estate, had two sons whom he sent to France to be educated, and while they were there he died, leaving the management of his estate to seven kinsmen until the return of his sons from France; when they came back, they were murdered by the seven executors of their father's will. The Bard of Keppoch urged Glengarry to take vengeance on the murderers, and this monument was erected to commemorate the ample and summary vengeance inflicted about 1661. [Illustration: INVERGARRY CASTLE.] Leaving this memorial of "ample and summary vengeance," we crossed the Loggan Bridge and gained the opposite bank of the Caledonian Canal. The country we now passed through was very lonely and mountainous, and in one place we came to a large plantation of hazel loaded with nuts. We reflected that there were scarcely any inhabitants to eat them, as the persons we met did not average more than a dozen in twenty miles, and on one occasion only six all told; so we turned into nut-gatherers ourselves, spurred on by the fact that we had had no breakfast and our appetites were becoming sharpened, with small prospect of being appeased in that lonely neighbourhood. A little farther on, however, we met a man with two dogs, who told us he was the shepherd, and, in reply to our anxious inquiry, informed us that we could get plenty to eat at his house, which we should find a little farther on the road. This was good news, for we had walked eight miles since leaving Invergarry. When we reached the shepherd's house, which had formerly been an inn, we found the mistress both civil and obliging, and she did her best to provide for our hungry requirements. The house was evidently a very old one, and we wondered what queer people had sat in that ingle-nook and what strange stories they had told there. The fireplace was of huge dimensions; hanging above it was a single-and a double-barrelled gun, while some old crockery and ancient glass bottles adorned various parts of the kitchen--evidently family heirlooms, which no doubt had been handed down from one generation to another--and a very old bed reposed in the chimney corner. The mistress provided us with a splendid breakfast, upon which we inflicted "ample and summary vengeance," for those words were still ringing in our minds and ears and had already become by-words as we travelled along. The "best tea-pot," which looked as if it had not been used for ages, was brought from its hiding-place; and, amongst other good things, we were treated by way of dessert to some ripe blackberries, which the mistress called brambleberries and which she told us she had gathered herself. It was half-past ten o'clock when we left the shepherd's house, and shortly afterwards we had a view of the snow-covered summit of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Great Britain. We had a lonely walk alongside Loch Lochy, which is ten miles in length; but in about six miles General Wade's road, which we followed, branched off to the left. About four miles from the junction we reached Spean Bridge, over which we crossed the river of that name, which brings along the waters of sundry lochs as well as others from the valley of Glen Roy. This Glen forms an almost hidden paradise beloved of geologists, as along the sides of the valley are the famous "Parallel Roads" belonging to the Glacial Period. We replenished our stock of provisions, which we had rather neglected, at Spean Bridge, and treated ourselves to another little picnic in the lonely country beyond. It was dark before we reached Fort William, where we found comfortable lodgings at the house of Mrs. MacPherson opposite the Ben Nevis Hotel, and retired with the intention of ascending Ben Nevis the following day. (_Distance walked twenty-five and a half miles_.) _Thursday, September 28th._ After breakfast we commissioned Mrs. MacPherson to engage the services of the guide to conduct us to the top of Ben Nevis, which is 4,406 feet high, offering to pay him the sum of one sovereign for his services. We had passed the old castle of Inverlochy in the dark of the previous night, and, as we wished to visit it in the daylight that morning, we arranged that the guide should meet us on a bridge outside the town, which we must cross on our way to and from what we were told was once a royal castle, where King Achius signed a treaty with Charlemagne. The castle was some distance from the town, and quite near the famous distillery where the whisky known as "Long John" or the "Dew of Ben Nevis" was produced. We found ready access to the ruins, as the key had been left in the gate of the walled fence which surrounded them. "Prince Charlie," we learned, had "knocked" the castle to its present shape from an adjoining hill, and what he had left of it now looked very solitary. It was a square structure, with four towers one at each corner, that at the north-west angle being the most formidable. The space enclosed was covered with grass. What interested us most were four very old guns, or cannons, which stood in front of the castle, mounted on wheels supported on wood planks, and as they were of a very old pattern, these relics of the past added materially to the effect of the ancient and warlike surroundings. We did not stay long in the ruins, as we were anxious to begin our big climb, so we returned to the bridge to await the arrival of the guide engaged for us by our hostess, and whom we had not yet seen. We waited there for more than half an hour, and were just on the point of returning to the town when we noticed the approach of a military-looking man carrying a long staff spiked at one end, who turned out to be the gentleman we were waiting for, and under whose guidance we soon began the ascent of the big mountain. After climbing for some time, we came to a huge stone on which the Government engineers had marked the altitude as 1,000 feet above sea-level, and as we climbed higher still we had a grand view of the hills and waters in the distance. We went bravely onward and upward until we arrived at a lake, where on a rock we saw the Government mark known as the "broad arrow," an emblem which we also saw in many other places as we walked through the country, often wondering what the sign could mean. We surmised that it stood for England, Scotland, and Ireland united in one kingdom, but we afterwards learned that it was introduced at the end of the seventeenth century to mark Government stores, and that at one time it had a religious significance connected with the Holy Trinity. The altitude was also marked on the rock as 2,200 feet, so that we had now ascended half-way to the top of Ben Nevis. [Illustration:] On our way up the mountain we had to stop several times, for our guide complained of diarrhoea, but here he came to a dead stop and said he could not proceed any farther. We were suspicious at first that he was only feigning illness to escape the bad weather which we could see approaching. We did our best to persuade him to proceed, but without effect, and then we threatened to reduce his fee by one-half if he did not conduct us to the summit of Ben Nevis as agreed. Finally we asked him to remain where he was until we returned after completing the ascent alone; but he pleaded so earnestly with us not to make the attempt to reach the summit, and described the difficulties and dangers so vividly, that we reluctantly decided to forgo our long-cherished ambition to ascend the highest mountain in Great Britain. We were very much disappointed, but there was no help for it, for the guide was now really ill, so we took his advice and gave up the attempt. Ben Nevis, we knew, was already covered with snow at the top, and a further fall was expected, and without a guide we could not possibly find the right path. We had noticed the clouds collecting upon the upper peaks of the great mountain and the sleet was already beginning to fall, while the wind, apparently blowing from an easterly direction, was icy cold. My brother, who had had more experience in mountain-climbing than myself, remarked that if it was so bitterly cold at our present altitude of 2,200 feet, what might we expect it to be at 4,400, and reminded me of a mountain adventure he had some years before in North Wales. On his first visit to the neighbourhood he had been to see a relative who was the manager of the slate quarries at Llanberis and resided near Port Dinorwic. The manager gave him an order to ride on the slate train to the quarries, a distance of seven miles, and to inspect them when he arrived there. Afterwards he went to the Padaro Villa Hotel for dinner, and then decided to go on to Portmadoc. There was no railway in those days, and as the coach had gone he decided to walk. The most direct way, he calculated, was to cross Snowdon mountain, and without asking any advice or mentioning the matter to any one he began his walk over a mountain which is nearly 3,600 feet high. It was two o'clock in the afternoon when he left the hotel at Llanberis, and from the time he passed a stone inscribed "3-3/4 miles to the top of Snowdon" he did not see a single human being. It was the 23rd of November, and the top of the mountain, which was clearly visible, was covered with snow. All went well with him until he passed a black-looking lake and had reached the top of its rocky and precipitous boundary, when with scarcely any warning he suddenly became enveloped in the clouds and could only see a yard or two before him. He dared not turn back for fear he should fall down the precipice into the lake below, so he continued his walk and presently reached the snow. This, fortunately, was frozen, and he went on until he came to a small cabin probably used by the guide in summertime, but the door was locked, the padlock resting upon the snow; soon afterwards he arrived at the cairn which marked the summit of Snowdon. It was very cold, and he was soon covered with the frozen particles from the clouds as they drifted against him in the wind, which gave out a mournful sound like a funeral dirge as it drove against the rocks. He walked round the tower several times before he could find a way down on the other side, but at length his attention was attracted by a black peak of rock rising above the snow, and to his astonishment, in a sheltered corner behind it, he could distinctly see the footprints of a man and a small animal, probably a dog, that had gone down behind the rock just before the snow had frozen. The prints were not visible anywhere else, but, fortunately, it happened to be the right way, and he crossed the dreaded "Saddleback" with a precipice on each side of him without knowing they were there. It was a providential escape, and when he got clear of the clouds and saw miles of desolate rocky country before him bounded by the dark sea in the background and strode down the remainder of the seven miles from the top of Snowdon, his feelings of thankfulness to the Almighty may be better imagined than described. He himself--a first-class walker--always considered they were the longest and quickest he ever accomplished. He occupied two hours in the ascent, but not much more than an hour in the descent, reaching, just at the edge of dark, the high-road where the words "Pitt's Head" were painted in large letters on some rocks, which he afterwards learned represented an almost exact profile of the head of William Pitt the famous Prime Minister. He stayed for tea at Beddgelert and then walked down the Pass of Aberglaslyn on a tree-covered road in almost total darkness, with the company of roaring waters, which terrified him even more than the dangers he had already encountered, as far as Tremadoc, where he stayed the night. We had a dismal descent from Ben Nevis, and much more troublesome and laborious than the ascent, for our guide's illness had become more acute and he looked dreadfully ill. It was a pitiable sight to see him when, with scarcely strength enough to stand, he leaned heavily upon his staff on one side and on ourselves alternately on the other. We could not help feeling sorry for him for we had so recently suffered from the same complaint ourselves, though in a much milder form. We were compelled to walk very slowly and to rest at frequent intervals, and to add to our misery the rain was falling heavily. We were completely saturated long before reaching Fort William, and were profoundly thankful when we landed our afflicted friend at his own door. We handed him his full fee, and he thanked us and said that although he had ascended Ben Nevis on nearly 1,200 occasions, this was the only time he had failed. [Illustration: BEN NEVIS] We had not been quite satisfied that the cause assigned to our attack at Inverness was the real one, as we had drunk so little water there. We thought now that there might be some infectious epidemic passing through that part of Scotland, perhaps a modified form of the cholera that decimated our part of England thirty or forty years before, and that our guide as well as ourselves had contracted the sickness in that way. We must not forget to record that on our way up the "Ben" we saw a most beautiful rainbow, which appeared to great advantage, as it spread itself between us and the opposite hills, exhibiting to perfection all its seven colours. We were as hungry as hunters when we returned to our lodgings, and, after changing some of our clothes and drying the others, we sat down to the good things provided for our noon dinner, which we washed down with copious libations of tea. As the rain continued, we decided to stop another night at Mrs. MacPherson's, so we went out to make some purchases at the chemist's shop, which also served as an emporium--in fact as a general stores. We had a chat with the proprietor, who explained that Fort William was a very healthy place, where his profession would not pay if carried on alone, so he had to add to it by selling other articles. The Fort, he told us, was originally built in the time of Cromwell by General Monk to overawe the Highlanders, but was afterwards re-erected on a smaller scale by William III; hence its name of Fort William. [Illustration: BEN NEVIS AS SEEN FROM BANAVIE.] We asked the chemist if he could recommend to us a good shoemaker, who could undertake to sole and heel two pairs of boots before morning, as ours were showing signs of wear-and-tear owing to the long distances we had walked both before and after reaching John o' Groat's. This he promised to do, and he sent one across to Mrs. MacPherson's immediately. After we had parted with our boots, we were prisoners for the remainder of the day, though we were partially reconciled to our novel position when we heard the wind driving the rain against the windows instead of against ourselves. But it seemed strange to us to be sitting down hour after hour reading the books our hostess kindly lent to us instead of walking on the roads. The books were chiefly historical, and interested us, as they related to the country through which we were passing. Terrible histories they contained too! describing fierce battles and murders, and giving us the impression that the Scots of the olden times were like savages, fighting each other continually, and that for the mere pleasure of fighting. Especially interesting to us was the record of the cruel massacre of Glencoe, for we intended visiting there, if possible, on the morrow. It was not the extent of the carnage on that occasion, but the horrible way in which it was carried out, that excited the indignation of the whole country, and my brother spent some time in copying in his note-book the following history of-- THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE After King William had defeated the Highland Clans, he gave the Highland Chiefs a year and a half to make their submission to his officers, and all had done this except MacDonald of Glencoe, whose Chief--MacIan--had delayed his submission to the last possible day. He then went to Fort William to tender his Oath of Allegiance to the King's Officer there, who unfortunately had no power to receive it, but he gave him a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, who was at Inverary, asking him to administer the Oath to MacIan. The aged Chief hastened to Inverary, but the roads were bad and almost impassable owing to a heavy fall of snow, so that the first day of January, 1692, had passed before he could get there; Campbell administered the Oath and MacIan returned to Glencoe thinking that all was now right. But a plot was made against him by the Campbells, whose flocks and herds, it was said, the MacDonalds had often raided, and it was decided to punish MacIan and to exterminate his clan; and a company of the Earl of Argyle's regiment, commanded by Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, was sent to Glen Coe to await orders. MacIan's sons heard that the soldiers were coming, and thought that they were coming to disarm them, so they removed their arms to a place of safety, and, with a body of men, they went to meet the soldiers to ask if they were coming as friends or foes. They assured them that they were coming as friends and wished to stay with them for a short time, as there was no room for them, for the garrison buildings at Fort William were already full of soldiers. Alaster MacDonald, one of MacIan's sons, had married a niece of Glenlyon's, so that the soldiers were cordially received and treated with every possible hospitality by MacIan and his Clan, with whom they remained for about a fortnight. Then Glenlyon received a letter from Duncanson, his commanding officer, informing him that all the MacDonalds under seventy years of age must be killed, and that the Government was not to be troubled with prisoners. Glenlyon lost no time in carrying out his orders. He took his morning's draught as usual at the house of MacIan's son, who had married his niece, and he and two of his officers accepted an invitation to dinner from MacIan, whom, as well as the whole clan, he was about to slaughter. At four o'clock the next morning, February 13, 1692, the massacre was begun by a party of soldiers, who knocked at MacIan's door and were at once admitted. Lindsay, who was one of the officers who had accepted his invitation to dinner, commanded the party, and shot MacIan dead at his own bedside while he was dressing himself and giving orders for refreshments to be provided for his visitors. His aged wife was stripped by the savage soldiers, who pulled off the gold rings from her fingers with their teeth, and she died next day from grief and the brutal treatment she had received. The two sons had had their suspicions aroused, but these had been allayed by Glenlyon. However, an old servant woke them and told them to flee for their lives as their father had been murdered, and as they escaped they heard the shouts of the murderers, the firing of muskets, the screams of the wounded, and the groans of the dying rising from the village, and it was only their intimate knowledge of the almost inaccessible cliffs that enabled them to escape. At the house where Glenlyon lodged, he had nine men bound and shot like felons. A fine youth of twenty years of age was spared for a time, but one, Captain Drummond, ordered him to be put to death; and a boy of five or six, who had clung to Glenlyon's knees entreating for mercy and offering to become his servant for life if he would spare him, and who had moved Glenlyon to pity, was stabbed by Drummond with a dirk while he was in the agony of supplication. Barber, a sergeant, with some soldiers, fired on a group of nine MacDonalds who were round their morning fire, and killed four of them, and one of them, who escaped into a house, expressed a wish to die in the open air rather than inside the house, "For your bread, which I have eaten," said Barber, "I will grant the request." Macdonald was accordingly dragged to the door, but he was an active man and, when the soldiers presented their firelocks to shoot him, he cast his plaid over their eyes and, taking advantage of their confusion and the darkness, he escaped up the glen. Some old persons were also killed, one of them eighty years of age; and others, with women and children who had escaped from the carnage half clad, were starved and frozen to death on the snow-clad hills whither they had fled. The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloaked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southern clemency. It was thrilling to read the account of the fight between the two Clans, Mackenzie and MacDonnell, which the Mackenzies won. When the MacDonnells were retreating they had to cross a river, and those who missed the ford were either drowned or killed. A young and powerful chief of the MacDonnells in his flight made towards a spot where the burn rushed through a yawning chasm, very wide and deep, and was closely followed by one of the victorious Mackenzies; but MacDonnell, forgetting the danger of the attempt in the hurry of his flight and the agitation of the moment, and being of an athletic frame and half naked, made a desperate leap, and succeeded in clearing the rushing waters below. Mackenzie inconsiderately followed him, but, not having the impulse of the powerful feelings that had animated MacDonnell, he did not reach the top of the opposite bank, succeeding only in grasping the branch of a birch tree, where he hung suspended over the abyss. Macdonnell, finding he was not being followed, returned to the edge of the chasm, and, seeing Mackenzie's situation, took out his dirk, and as he cut off the branch from the tree he said, "I have left much behind me with you to-day; take that also," and so Mackenzie perished. There was another incident of Highland ferocity that attracted us powerfully, and read as follows: "Sir Ewen encountered a very powerful English officer, an over-match for him in strength, who, losing his sword, grappled with the chief, and got him under; but Lochiel's presence of mind did not forsake him, for grasping the Englishman by the collar and darting at his extended throat with his teeth, he tore away the bloody morsel, which he used to say was the sweetest morsel he had ever tasted." We felt that the people hereabouts were still of another nation. The descendants of Prince Charlie's faithful adherents still clung to their ancient religion, and they preserved many of their old customs and traditions in spite of the changes in outlook which trade and the great canal had brought about. It was therefore not to be wondered at that, after impressing our memories with these and other fearful stories and eating the heavy supper provided for us by our landlady, our dreams that night rather disturbed our slumbers. [Illustration: SCENE OF THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. "Especially interesting to us was the account of the cruel massacre of Glencoe. Here was enacted one of the blackest crimes in the annals of Scottish history."] Personally I was in the middle of a long journey, engaged in disagreeable adventures in which I was placed at a considerable disadvantage, as I was walking without my boots, when I was relieved from an unpleasant position by the announcement that it was six o'clock and that our boots had arrived according to promise. (_Distance walked nine miles_.) _Friday, September 29th._ There was a delightful uncertainty about our journey, for everything we saw was new to us, and we were able to enjoy to the fullest extent the magnificent mountain and loch scenery in the Highlands of Scotland, with which we were greatly impressed. It was seven o'clock in the morning, of what, fortunately for us, proved to be a fine day, as we left Fort William, and after coming to the end of the one street which formed the town we reached a junction of roads, where it was necessary to inquire the way to Glencoe. We asked a youth who was standing at the door of a house, but he did not know, so went into the house to inquire, and came out with the information that we could get there either way. We had already walked along the full length of Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy, so we decided to walk alongside Loch Linnhe, especially as that road had the best surface. So on we went at a quick pace, for the half-day's holiday yesterday had resulted in renewed energy. We could see the great mountains in front which we knew we must cross, and after walking three and a half miles we met a pedestrian, who informed us that we were on the right way, and must go on until we reached Ballachulish, where we could cross the ferry to Glencoe. This information rather troubled us, as we had determined to walk all the way, so he advised us to go round the "Head of the Loch"--an expression we often heard used in Scotland--and to make our way there across the open country; in this case the loch was Loch Leven, so we left the highway and Loch Linnhe and walked to a small farm we could see in the distance. The mistress was the only person about, but she could only speak Gaelic, and we were all greatly amused at our efforts to make ourselves understood. Seeing some cows grazing quite near, my brother took hold of a quart jug standing on a bench and, pointing to the cows, made her understand that we wanted a quart of milk, which she handed to us with a smile. We could not ask her the price, so we handed her fourpence, the highest price we had known to have been paid for a quart of the best milk at home, and with which she seemed greatly pleased. We were just leaving the premises when the farmer came up, and he fortunately could speak English. He told us he had seen us from a distance, and had returned home, mistaking us for two men who occasionally called upon him on business. He said we had gone "three miles wrong," and took great pains to show us the right way. Taking us through a fence, he pointed out in the distance a place where we should have to cross the mountains. He also took us to a track leading off in that direction, which we were to follow, and, leaving him, we went on our way rejoicing. But this mountain track was a very curious one, as it broke away in two or three directions and shortly disappeared. It was unfenced on the moorland, and there were not enough people travelling that way to make a well-defined path, each appearing to have travelled as he pleased. We tried the same method, but only to find we had gone out of the nearest way. We crossed several small burns filled with delightfully clear water, and presently saw another house in the distance, to which we now went, finding it to be the shepherd's house. Here the loud and savage barking of a dog brought out the shepherd's wife, who called the dog away from us, and the shepherd, who was having his breakfast, also made his appearance. He directed us to a small river, which he named in Gaelic, and pointed to a place where it could easily be forded, warning us at the same time that the road over the hills was not only dangerous, but difficult to find and extremely lonely, and that the road to Glencoe was only a drovers' road, used for driving cattle across the hills. We made the best of our way to the place, but the stream had been swollen by the recent rains, and we experienced considerable difficulty in crossing it. At length, after sundry walkings backwards and forwards, stepping from one large stone to another in the burn, we reached the opposite bank safely. The only mishap, beyond getting over shoe-tops in the water, was the dropping of one of our bags in the burn; but this we were fortunate enough to recover before its contents were seriously damaged or the bag carried away by the current. [Illustration: THE PASS.] We soon reached the road named by the shepherd, which was made of large loose stones. But was it a road? Scotland can boast of many good roads, and has material always at hand both for construction and repair; but of all the roads we ever travelled on, this was the worst! Presently we came to a lonely cottage, the last we were to see that day, and we called to inquire the way, but no English was spoken there. This was unfortunate, as we were in doubt as to which was our road, so we had to find our way as best we could. Huge rocks and great mountains reared their heads on all sides of us, including Ben Nevis, which we could recognise owing to the snowy coverlet still covering his head. The country became very desolate, with nothing to be seen but huge rocks, inaccessible to all except the pedestrian. Hour after hour we toiled up mountains--sometimes we thought we reached an elevation of two thousand feet--and then we descended into a deep ravine near a small loch. Who could forget a day's march like this, now soaring to an immense height and presently appearing to descend into the very bowels of the earth! We must have diverged somewhat from the road known as the "Devil's Staircase," by repute the worst road in Britain, for the track we were on was in one section like the bed of a mountain torrent and could not have been used even by cattle. Late in the afternoon we reached the proper track, and came up with several herds of bullocks, about three hundred in number, all told, that were being driven over the mountains to find a better home in England, which we ourselves hoped to do later. [Illustration: IN GLENCOE.] We were fortunate in meeting the owner, with whom we were delighted to enter into conversation. When we told him of our adventures, he said we must have missed our way, and congratulated us on having a fine day, as many persons had lost their lives on those hills owing to the sudden appearance of clouds. He said a heap of stones we passed marked the spot where two young men had been found dead. They were attempting to descend the "Devil's Stair," when the mist came on, and they wandered about in the frost until, overcome by sleep, they lay down never to rise again in this world. He had never been in England, but had done business with many of the nobility and gentlemen there, of whom several he named belonged to our own county of Chester. He had heard that the bullocks he sold to them, after feeding on the rich, pastures of England for a short time, grew to a considerable size, which we thought was not to be wondered at, considering the hardships these shaggy-looking creatures had to battle with in the North. We got some information about our farther way, not the least important being the fact that there was a good inn in the Pass of Glencoe; and he advised us to push on, as the night would soon be coming down. [Illustration: THE PASS IN GLENCOE.] At the close of day we could just see the outline of a deep, dark valley which we knew was the Pass of Glencoe, with a good road, hundreds of feet below. Acting on the advice of the drover, we left the road and descended cautiously until we could go no farther in safety; then we collected an enormous number of old roots, the remains of a forest of birch trees which originally covered the mountain-side, and with some dry heather lighted an enormous tire, taking care to keep it within bounds. A small rill trickling down the mountain-side supplied us with water, and, getting our apparatus to work and some provisions from our bags, we sat down as happy as kings to partake of our frugal meal, to the accompaniment of the "cup that cheers but not inebriates," waiting for the rising of the full moon to light us on our farther way to the road below. We were reclining amongst the heather, feeling thankful to the Almighty that we had not shared the fate of the two young men whose cairn we had seen on the hills above--an end we might easily have met, given the weather of yesterday and similar conditions--when suddenly we heard voices below us. Our fire now cast a glare around it, and everything looked quite dark beyond its margin. Our feelings of surprise increased as from the gloom emerged the gigantic figures of two stalwart Highlanders. We thought of the massacre of Glencoe, for these men were nearly double our size; and, like the Macdonalds, we wondered whether they came as friends or foes, since we should have fared badly had it been the latter. But they had been attracted by the light of our fire, and only asked us if we had seen "the droves." We gave them all the information we could, and then bidding us "good night" they quietly departed. [Illustration: "THE SISTERS," GLENCOE. "Here was wild solitude in earnest.... The scene we looked upon was wild and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm."] The darkness of the night soon became modified by the reflected light from the rising moon behind the great hills on the opposite side of the glen. We extinguished the dying embers of our fire and watched the full moon gradually appearing above the rocks, flooding with her glorious light the surrounding scene, which was of the sublimest grandeur and solitude. [Illustration: THE RIVER COE, GLENCOE.] Many descriptions of this famous glen have been written, and no one who could see it under such favourable and extraordinary conditions as we enjoyed that night would be disposed to dispute the general opinion of its picturesque and majestic beauty. Surely Nature is here portrayed in her mightiest form! How grand, and yet how solemn! See the huge masses of rock rising precipitously on both sides of the glen and rearing their rugged heads towards the very heavens! Here was wild solitude in earnest, and not even the cry of the eagle which once, and even now, had its abode in these vast mountain recesses broke the awful silence which that night prevailed in the Pass, disturbed only by the slumberous rippling of water. The scene we looked upon was wild and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm, and we saw it under conditions in which Nature conspired to enhance its awfulness--a sight which few painters could imitate, few writers could graphically describe. The infidel may deny the existence of the Creator of the universe, but there was here sufficient to fill the soul with awe and wonder, and to influence even the sceptic to render acknowledgment to the great God who framed these majestic hills. The reflection of the moon on the hills was marvellous, lighting up the white road at the upper end of the pass and the hills opposite, and casting great black shadows elsewhere which made the road appear as if to descend and vanish into Hades. We fancied as we entered the pass that we were descending into an abyss from which it would be impossible to extricate ourselves; but we were brought up sharp in our thoughts, for when we reached the road it suddenly occurred to us that we had forgotten to ask in which direction we had to turn for the "Clachaig Inn" named by the drover. We sat down by the roadside in the hope that some one would come from whom we might obtain the information, and were just beginning to think it was a forlorn hope when we heard the sound of horse's feet approaching from the distance. Presently the rider appeared, who proved to be a cattle-dealer, he told us he had some cattle out at the foot of the glen, and said the inn was seven miles away in the direction in which he was going. We asked him if he would kindly call there and tell them that two travellers were coming who required lodgings for the night. This he promised to do, and added that we should find the inn on the left-hand side of the road. We then started on our seven-mile walk down the Pass of Glencoe in the light of the full moon shining from a clear sky, and in about an hour's time in the greatest solitude we were almost startled by the sudden appearance of a house set back from the left-hand side of the road with forms and tables spread out on the grass in front. Could this be the inn? It was on the left-hand side, but we could not yet have walked the distance named by the cattle-dealer; so we knocked at the door, which was opened by a queer-looking old man, who told us it was not the inn, but the shepherd's house, and that the forms and tables in front were for the use of passengers by the coach, who called there for milk and light refreshments. Then the mistress, who was more weird-looking still, came forward, and down the passage we could see other strange-looking people. The old lady insisted upon our coming in, saying she would make us some porridge; but my brother, whose nerves seemed slightly unstrung, thought that we might never come out of the house again alive! We found, however, that the company improved on closer acquaintance. The meal was served in two deep bowls, and was so thick that when our spoons were placed in it on end they stood upright without any further support, so it was, as the Lancashire people describe it, proper "thick porridge." We were unable to make much impression on it, as we had not yet digested the repast we had enjoyed on the hills above, and the good old lady added to our difficulties by bringing a plentiful supply of milk. It was the first time we had tasted meal porridge in Scotland. Needless to say, after paying our hostess for her hospitality, we were allowed to depart in peace, nor were we molested during the remainder of our romantic evening walk. After proceeding about two miles farther amidst some of the most lonely and impressive scenery in the Highlands, we arrived at the "Clachaig Inn." It was after closing-time, but as the gentleman on horseback had delivered our message according to promise, the people of the inn were awaiting our arrival. We received a friendly welcome, and proceeded to satisfy what remained of a formerly voracious appetite by a weak attack on the good things provided for supper, after which, retiring to rest in the two beds reserved for us, we slept so soundly that in the morning when roused by a six-o'clock call we could not recall that our dreams had been disturbed even by the awful massacre enacted at Glencoe, which place was now so near. (_Distance walked thirty miles_.) _Saturday, September 30th._ By seven o'clock a.m. we were again on the road bound for Inverary, which place we were anxious to visit, as it had recently been the scene of a royal wedding, that of the Princess Louise with the Marquis of Lorne. The morning was beautifully fine, but there had been a frost during the night and the grass on the sides of the road was quite white. The sky was clear, not a cloud being visible as we resumed our walk down the glen, and in about three miles we reached the village of Glencoe. Here we heard blasting operations being carried on quite near our road, and presently we reached the edge of the loch, where there was a pier and a ferry. We now found that in directing us to Inverary our friends at the inn had taken it for granted that we wished to go the nearest way, which was across this ferry, and we were told there were others to cross before reaching Inverary. We therefore replenished our stock of provisions at the village shop and turned back up the glen, so that after seeing it in the light of the full moon the night before we had now the privilege of seeing it in the glorious sunshine. We walked on until we got to the shepherd's house where we had been treated to such a heavy repast of meal porridge the previous evening, and there we had a substantial meal to fortify us for our farther journey. On our way up the glen we had passed a small lake at the side of our road, and as there was not sufficient wind to raise the least ripple on its surface it formed a magnificent mirror to the mountains on both sides. Several carts laden with wool had halted by the side of the lake and these also were reflected on its surface. We considered the view pictured in this lake to be one of the prettiest sights we had ever seen in the sunshine, and the small streams flowing down the mountain sides looked very beautiful, resembling streaks of silver. We compared the scene in imagination with the changes two months hence, when the streams would be lines of ice and the mountain roads covered with a surface of frozen snow, making them difficult to find and to walk upon, and rendering travelling far less pleasant than on this beautiful morning. We often thought that we should not have completed our walk if we had undertaken it at the same period of the year but in the reverse direction, since we were walking far too late in the season for a journey of this description. We considered ourselves very fortunate in walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End, instead of from Land's End to John o' Groat's, for by the time we finished deep snow might have covered these Northern altitudes. How those poor women and children must have suffered at the time of the massacre of Glencoe, when, as Sir Walter Scott writes-- flying from their burning huts, and from their murderous visitors, the half-naked fugitives committed themselves to a winter morning of darkness, snow, and storm, amidst a wilderness the most savage in the Western Highlands, having a bloody death behind them, and before them tempest, famine, and desolation when some of them, bewildered by the snow-wreaths, sank in them to rise no more! [Illustration: BRIDGE OF ORCHY.] They were doubtless ignorant of the danger they were in, even as they escaped up the glen, practically the only way of escape from Glencoe, for Duncanson had arranged for four hundred soldiers to be at the top end of the pass at four o'clock that morning, the hour at which the massacre was to begin at the other end. Owing to the heavy fall of snow, however, the soldiers did not arrive until eleven o'clock in the forenoon--long after the fugitives had reached places of safety. Like many other travellers before us, we could not resist passing a bitter malediction on the perpetrators of this cruel wrong, although they had long since gone to their reward. And yet we are told that it hastened that amalgamation of the two kingdoms which has been productive of so much good. We had our breakfast or lunch served on one of the tables ranged outside the front of the shepherd's house, and in quite a romantic spot, whence we walked on to a place which had figured on mileposts for a long distance named "Kingshouse." Here we expected to find a village, but as far as we could see there was only one fairly large house there, and that an inn. What king it was named after did not appear, but there was no other house in sight. Soon after passing it we again came in contact with the master cattle-drover we had interviewed the day before, who told us that he had brought his bullocks from the Isle of Skye, from which place they had to travel seventy-one miles. We also passed several other droves, some of which we might have seen previously, and by nightfall came to Inveroran. Here we saw a comfortable inn which would have just suited us, but as there was no church there and the next day was Sunday, we decided to walk to the next village, about three miles farther on, where we were informed there was a church, and a drover's house quite near it where we could get lodgings. By this time it was quite dark, and we passed Loch Tulla without either seeing it or knowing it was there, and arriving at the Bridge of Orchy we found the drover's house near the church. To our great disappointment the accommodation had all been taken up, and the only place that the lady of the house knew of in the direction we were going was a farmhouse about four miles away, where she said, with a tone of doubt in her voice, "we might get in!" We crossed the bridge and passed over the River Orchy, which connected Loch Tulla with Loch Awe, some sixteen miles distant. Fortunately for us the moon now rose, though obscured by great black clouds, which we could see meant mischief, probably to make us pay dearly for the lovely weather during the day. But luckily there was sufficient light to enable us to see the many burns that crossed the surface of the road, otherwise it would have been impossible for us to have found our way. The streams were very numerous, and ran into the river which flowed alongside our road, from among some great hills the outlines of which we could see dimly to the left. We were tired, and the miles seemed very long, but the excitement of crossing the rushing waters of the burns and the noise of the river close by kept us awake. We began to think we should never reach that farmhouse, and that we had either missed our way or had been misinformed, when at length we reached the desired haven at a point where a gate guarded the entrance to the moor. All was in darkness, but we went to the house and knocked at the front door. There was no response, so we tried the shutters that barricaded the lower windows, our knocks disturbing the dogs at the back of the house, which began to bark and assisted us to waken the occupants. Presently we heard a sleepy voice behind the shutters, and my brother explained the object of our visit in a fine flow of language (for he was quite an orator), including references, as usual, to our "walking expedition," a favourite phrase of his. As the vehement words from within sounded more like Gaelic than English, I gathered that his application for lodgings had not been successful. Tired as I was, I could not help laughing at the storm we had created, in which the "walking expedition" man heartily joined. But what were we to do? Here we were on a stormy night, ten miles from the inn at Dalmally, which for aught we knew might be the next house, hungry and tired, cold and wet; and having covered thirty miles that day and thirty miles the day before, how could we walk a further ten miles? Our track was unfenced and bounded by the river on one side and the moors on the other, but presently we came to a place where the surface of the moor rose sharply and for some distance overhung the road, forming a kind of a cove. Here we gathered, some of the dry heather that extended under that which ornamented the sides of the cove, made quite a respectable fire, and ate our last morsel of food, with which unluckily we were poorly provided. To add to our misfortune, the wind grew into a hurricane and whirled the smoke in every direction, forcing us at last to beat a hasty retreat. We now faced the prospect of a night on the moors, and resolved to crawl along at a sufficient speed to keep up our circulation, stopping at the first house we came to. Here again the subdued light from the moon proved useful, for we had not gone very far before we saw what appeared to be a small house on the moor about a hundred yards away. We approached it very cautiously, and found it was a small hut. How glad we were to see that hut! We struck a light, and at once began an exploration of the interior, which we found contained a form, a rustic table reared against the wall, and, better than all, a fireplace with a chimney above it about a yard high; the door was lying loose outside the hovel. It may have been a retreat for keepers, though more likely a shelter for men who had once been employed on the land, for attached to it was a small patch of land fenced in which looked as though it had been cultivated. With a few sticks which we found in one corner and a handful of hay gathered from the floor we lighted a fire, for we were now becoming experts in such matters; but the smoke seemed undecided which way it should go, for at one minute it went up the chimney, at another it came down. We went outside and altered the chimney a little, for it was only formed of loose stones, and thus effected an improvement for a time. The door gave us the most trouble, since being loose we had the greatest difficulty in keeping it in its proper position, for the wind was now blowing hard--so much so that we thought at times that the hut itself would be blown over. At last a tremendous gust came, and down went the chimney altogether. The fire and smoke now made towards the doorway, so that we had frequently to step outside in order to get a breath of fresh air. We tried to build the chimney up again, but this was impossible owing to the velocity of the wind and rain and the exposed situation. Our slender supply of fuel was nearly exhausted, which was the worst feature, as it was imperative that we should keep ourselves warm; so we decided to go back towards the river, where we had seen a few small trees or bushes lining the bank between our track and the water. Luckily, however, we discovered a dead tree inside the enclosed land, and as I was somewhat of an expert at climbing, I "swarmed" up it and broke off all the dead branches I could reach with safety, it being as much as I could do to retain my hold on the slippery trunk of the tree. With the dead wood and some heather and pieces of turf we returned laden and wet through to our dug-out, where we managed to get our fire burning again and to clear away some of the stones that had fallen upon it. Still there was no sleep for us that night, which was the most miserable one almost that we ever experienced. But just fancy the contrast! In the dead of night, in a desolate Highland glen, scaling a stone fence in a pitiless storm of wind and rain, and climbing up a dead tree to break off a few branches to serve as fuel for a most obstinate fire--such was the reality; and then picture, instead of this, sitting before a good fire in a comfortable inn, with a good supper, and snug apartments with every accommodation--these had been our fond anticipations for the week-end! We certainly had a good supply of wet fuel, and perhaps burned something else we ought not to have done: but we were really prisoners for the night. The merciless wind and rain raged throughout, and we had to stick to our novel apartment and breathe until daylight the awful smoke from the fire we were compelled to keep alight. Yet our spirits were not entirely damped, for we found ourselves in the morning, and often during the night, singing the refrain of an old song: We'll stand the storm, it won't be long; We'll anchor by and by. Just occasionally the gloom thickened when we ventured to think of details, among which came uppermost the great question, "Where and when shall we get our breakfast?" (_Distance walked, including that to Dalmally, forty miles_.) _Sunday, October 1st._ Soon after daylight appeared the rain moderated, and so did the wind, which now seemed to have exhausted itself. Our sleep, as may easily be imagined, had been of a very precarious and fitful character; still the hut had rendered substantial service in sheltering us from the fury of the storm. Soon after leaving our sorry shelter we saw a white house standing near the foot of a hill beyond the moor, and to this we resolved to go, even though it was a long distance away, as it was now imperative that we should obtain food. A knock at the door, more than once repeated--for it was still very early--at last roused the mistress of the house, who opened the door and with kindly sympathy listened to our tale of woe. She at once lit the fire, while the other members of the family were still asleep in the room, and found us some soap and water, our hands and faces being as black as smoke and burnt sticks could make them. After a good wash we felt much better and refreshed, although still very sleepy. She then provided us with some hot milk and oatcake, and something we had never tasted before, which she called "seath." It proved to be a compound of flour and potatoes, and after our long fast it tasted uncommonly good. Altogether we had an enormous breakfast, the good wife waiting upon us meanwhile in what we supposed was the costume common to the Highlands--in other words, minus her gown, shoes, and stockings. We rewarded her handsomely and thanked her profusely as she directed us the nearest way to Dalmally. On arrival at the well-appointed inn there, we received every attention, and retired to our bedrooms, giving strict orders to the waiter to see that we were called in time for lunch, and for the English service at the kirk, which he told us would be held that day between one and two o'clock. In accordance with our instructions we were called, but it was not surprising, after walking quite forty miles since Saturday at daybreak, that we should be found soundly sleeping when the call came. Lunch was waiting for us, and, after disposing of it as hungry folk should, we went to Glenorchy Church, only to find that, unfortunately, there was no service that day. The minister, who had charge of two parishes, was holding a service at his other church, seven miles distant up the glen! We therefore hurried to the Free Kirk, which stood in another part of the village; but as the Gaelic service had been taken at one o'clock and the English service followed it immediately afterwards, the minister had already begun his sermon when we arrived. The door was shut, so entering quietly and closing it behind us, we were astonished to find a table in the vestibule with a plate exposing to our view a large number of coins evidently the result of the collection from the worshippers within. We were surprised at the large proportion of silver coins, an evidence that the people had given liberally. We added our mites to the collection, while we wondered what would have become of the money if left in a similar position in some districts we could think of farther south. We were well pleased with the sermon, and as the congregation dispersed we held a conversation and exchanged views with one of the elders of the church chiefly on the subject of collections. He explained that the prevailing practice in the Scottish Churches was for the collection to be taken--or rather given--on entering the House of God, and that one or two of the deacons generally stood in the vestibule beside the plate. We told him it was the best way of taking a collection that we had ever seen, since it did not interrupt or interfere with the service of the church, and explained the system adopted in the churches in England. In our youthful days collections were only made in church on special occasions, and for such purposes as the support of Sunday schools and Missionary Societies. The churchwardens collected the money in large and deep wooden boxes, and the rattle of the coins as they were dropped into the boxes was the only sound we could hear, for the congregation remained seated in a deep and solemn silence, which we in our youthful innocence thought was because their money was being taken away from them. In later years brass plates were substituted for boxes in some churches, and each member of the congregation then seemed to vie with his neighbours for the honour of placing the most valuable coin on the plate. The rivalry, however, did not last long, and we knew one church where this custom was ended by mutual arrangement. The hatchet was buried by substituting bags, attached, in this case, to the end of long sticks, to enable the wardens to reach the farthest end of the pews when necessary. This system continued for some time, but when collections were instituted at each service and the total result had to be placarded on the outside of the church door, with the numbers and total value of each class of coin recorded separately, the wardens sometimes found a few items in the bags which were of no monetary value, and could not be classified in the list without bringing scandal to the church and punishment to the, perhaps youthful, offenders; so the bags were withdrawn and plates reinstated, resulting in an initial increase of 10 per cent, in the amount collected. The church was a large one, and a great number of ladies attended it on Sundays, their number being considerably augmented by the lady students from the Collegiate Institutions in the town, who sat in a portion of the church specially reserved for them. The Rector of the parish was an elderly man and an eloquent preacher, who years before had earned his reputation in London, where in a minor capacity he had been described by Charles Dickens as the model East End curate. Eight gentlemen were associated with him as wardens and sidesmen, all well-known men in the town, one of whom being specially known for the faultless way in which he was dressed and by his beautiful pink complexion--the presence of the light hair on his face being scarcely discernible, and giving him the appearance of being endowed with perpetual youth. His surname also was that of the gentleman for whom all young ladies are supposed to be waiting, so it was not to be wondered at that he was a general favourite with them, and that some slight feeling of jealousy existed among his colleagues. It was part of their duties to collect the offerings from the congregation, and afterwards assemble at the west end of the church, marching two and two in military step to the east end to hand their collections to the clergyman who stood there waiting to receive them. One Sunday morning, when the favourite collector reached that end of the church where most of the young ladies were located, he was surprised to notice that all of them received him with a smile as he handed them the plate. Several of them actually went so far as to incline their heads slightly, as if adding a nod to their smiles. He thought at first that they were amused at something connected with his new suit of clothes--of which, by the way, he was quite proud--but a hasty examination of his person from collar downwards showed everything to be in perfect order. He felt annoyed and very uncomfortable when the ladies continued to smile as he visited each pew, without his being able to ascertain the reason why, and he was greatly relieved when he got away from them to rejoin his colleagues. As he was advancing with them up the centre of the church his eye chanced to rest for a moment on the contents of his plate, and there, to his horror, he saw a large white mint-drop about the size of a half-crown, which had been placed face upwards bearing the words printed in clear red letters, "WILL YOU MARRY ME?" Then he understood why the young ladies smiled and nodded acceptance so pleasantly that morning, for, unconsciously, he had been "popping the question" all round; although inquired into at the time, the mystery of the mint-drop was never satisfactorily solved. A gentleman to whom we told this story said it reminded him of another of what he called a "swell"--a fine young fellow, with apparently more money than sense--who dropped into a country church for service and was shown into the squire's pew. The squire was old and of fixed habits. After settling in his seat he drew out his half-crown as usual and placed it on the ledge in front. His companion pulled out a sovereign and ostentatiously put it on the ledge too. The squire stared hard at him and soon reckoned him up. He then placed a second half-crown on the first, and the stranger produced a second sovereign. Five times was this repeated during the service. At last the churchwarden brought his brass plate, which the squire gravely took and held out to his neighbour, who swept the five sovereigns on to it in a very grand manner. The squire picked up one half-crown for the plate and, with a twinkle in his eye, returned the rest to his pocket! Since the days of King David singing has always been considered a most valuable aid in the offering up of prayers and praises to the Almighty, and nothing sounded better in our ears than the hearty singing of a good old hymn by the entire congregation. But why this period in the Church Service should have been chosen in later years as a suitable time for the wardens to disturb the harmony and thoughts of the parishioners by handing round their collection plates was beyond our comprehension. The interruption caused by that abominable practice often raised unchristian-like feelings in our minds, and we wished at times that the author of it, whoever he might be, could be brought to the gallows and publicly hanged for his services; for why should our devotions be disturbed by the thought that at any moment during the singing of a hymn the collector might suddenly appear on the scene, possibly sneaking up from the rear like a thief in the night, to the annoyance of every one within reach? If the saving of time is the object, why not reduce the length of the sermon, which might often be done to advantage? or, failing that, why not adopt the system which prevailed in the Scottish Churches? [Illustration: DUNCAN-BANN-MACINTYRE'S MONUMENT.] The elder of the Free Kirk at Dalmally was much interested in what we told him about our English Services, where the congregations both prayed and sang in positions differing from those adopted in Scotland, and to continue the conversation he walked with us as far as Dalmally Bridge, where we parted company. We then continued on our way to visit a monument erected on a hill we could see in the distance "to the memory of Duncan-Bann-Macintyre, the Glenorchy poet, who was born in the year 1724 and departed this life in 1812"; and, judging from the size of the monument, which was in the style of a Grecian temple in grey granite and inscribed to the memory of the "Sweetest and Purest of Gaelic Bards," he must have been a man of considerable importance. From that point we had a fine view of Loch Awe, perhaps the finest obtainable, for although it is above twenty miles long, the lake here, in spite of being at its greatest breadth, appeared almost dwarfed into a pool within the mighty mass of mountains with lofty Ben Cruachan soaring steeply to the clouds, and forming a majestic framework to a picture of surpassing beauty. The waters of the lake reflected the beauties of its islands and of its mountainous banks. These islands all had their own history or clan legend and were full of mysteries. Inishail, once a nunnery, and for ages the burying-place of the clan chieftains; Innischonell, from the eleventh century the stronghold of the Argyll, whence they often sent forth their famous slogan or defiant war-cry, "It's a far cry to Lochawe"; Fraoch Eilean, where the hero Fraoch slew and was himself slain by the serpent that guarded the apples for which the fair Mego longed. We then retraced our steps slowly to the Dalmally inn, where we were served with tea in the sumptuous manner common to all first-class inns in the Highlands of Scotland, after which we retired to rest, bent on making good the sleep we had lost and on proceeding on our journey early the following morning. THIRD WEEKS JOURNEY _Monday, October 2nd._ [Illustration: KILCHURN CASTLE AND LOCH AWE.] We left our comfortable quarters at Dalmally at seven o'clock in the morning, and presently reached Loch Awe, with the poet's monument still in sight and some islands quite near to us in the loch. We soon left Loch Awe, turning off when we reached Cladich and striking over the hills to the left. After walking about two miles all uphill, we reached the summit, whence we had a fine backward view of Loch Awe, which from this point appeared in a deep valley with its sides nicely wooded. Here we were in the neighbourhood of the Cruachan mountains, to which, with Loch Awe, a curious tradition was attached that a supernatural being named "Calliach Bhere," or "The Old Woman," a kind of female genie, lived on these high mountains. It was said that she could step in a moment with ease from one mountain to another, and, when offended, she could cause the floods to descend from the mountains and lay the whole of the low ground perpetually under water. Her ancestors were said to have lived from time immemorial near the summit of the vast mountain of Cruachan, and to have possessed a great number of herds in the vale below. She was the last of her line, and, like that of her ancestors, her existence was bound up with a fatal fountain which lay in the side of her native hill and was committed to the charge of her family since it first came into existence. It was their duty at evening to cover the well with a large flat stone, and in the morning to remove it again. This ceremony was to be performed before the setting and the rising of the sun, that its last beam might not die upon nor its first ray shine upon the water in the well. If this care were neglected, a fearful and mysterious doom would be the punishment. When the father of the Calliach Bhere died, he committed the charge to her, warning her of its importance and solemnity and the fatality attending its neglect. For many years this mysterious woman attended carefully to her duties, but one unlucky evening, tired with her exertions in hunting and ascending the hills, she sat down by the fountain to await the setting of the sun, and falling asleep, did not awake until morning. When she arose she looked around, but the vale had vanished and a great sheet of water taken its place. The neglected well had overflowed while she slept, the glen was changed into a lake, the hills into islets, and her people and cattle had perished in the deluge. The Calliach took but one look over the ruin she had caused, and all that remained of her large possessions in the glen was Loch Awe and its islands! Then she herself vanished into oblivion. It is strange how these old stories are told with but little variation in so many places. This very story appears in Wales and Ireland and other regions where Celts predominate, and except in one instance, that of the destruction of the Lowland Hundreds, now under the water of Cardigan Bay, always in connection with a woman. We first heard it in Shropshire, but there it was an old woman who lived in a small cottage and possessed the only well in the place, charging the townspeople one farthing per bucket for the water. In those remote times this formed a great tax on the poor people, and many were the prayers offered up that the imposition might be removed. These prayers were answered, for one night a great storm arose, the well continued to overflow, and in the morning the old woman and her cottage had disappeared, and in place of the well appeared the beautiful Lake of Ellesmere. [Illustration: INVERARY CASTLE.] We had a fine walk down Glen Aray, with the River Aray on the left for some distance to keep us company, and after about four miles' walking we came to a ladder inserted in a high stone wall to the left of our road, which was here covered with trees. My brother climbed up to see what was on the other side, and reported that there was a similar ladder in the wall for descent, that he could see the river rushing down the rocks, and that a pretty little pathway ran under the trees alongside the stream. We had not met a single person since leaving the neighbourhood of Cladich, and as there was no one about from whom to make inquiries, we took "French leave" and climbed over the fence, to see at once a pretty waterfall and to follow a lovely path for a mile or two until it landed us in one of the main drives from Inverary Castle. Here we stopped to consider whether we should proceed or retreat, for we were sure we had been trespassing. My brother reminded me of an experience that occurred to us in the previous year in London. Before we began our walk home from that great city we visited as many of the sights of London as we could, and amongst these was the famous Tower. We had passed through the Gateway, but were then uncertain how to proceed, when, peeping round a corner, we saw a man dressed in a very strange-looking uniform, whom we afterwards learned was called a "Beef-eater." We approached him rather timidly to make inquiries, to which he kindly replied, but told us afterwards that he knew we were Englishmen the minute he saw us coming round the corner. Foreigners in coming through the gateway always walked firmly and quickly, while the English came creeping along and looking round the corners as if they were afraid. "My advice to you, young men," he said, "when visiting strange places, is to go on until you are stopped!" So on this occasion we decided to follow that advice and to go on towards the castle we could see in the distance. We had not proceeded very far, however, before we met a couple of two-horse open carriages followed by quite a number of persons on horseback. Feeling rather guilty, we stepped upon the grass by the roadside, and tried to look as if we were not there, but we could see that we had been observed by the occupants of the carriages and by their retinue. We knew from their appearance that they belonged to the aristocracy, and were not surprised to learn that the second carriage contained the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, while the people on horseback were the younger members of their family. We had almost reached the castle when we were stopped by a servant in livery, to whom we explained the cause of our presence, asking him the nearest way to Inverary, which he pointed out. He told us, among other things, that the Duke could drive many miles in his own domain, and that his family consisted of thirteen children, all of whom were living. We thanked him, and as we retired along the road he had directed us, we considered we had added one more adventure to enliven us on our journey. We had only walked a little way from the castle when a lady came across the park to speak to us, and told us that the cannon and the large wooden structure we could see in the park had been used for the "spree" at the royal wedding, when the Marquis of Lome, the eldest son of the Duke, had been married to the Princess Louise of England. She also told us that the Princess and the Marquis had been staying at the castle a short time before, but were not there then. Who the lady was we did not know, but she was of fine appearance and well educated, and from her conversation had evidently travelled extensively both at home and abroad. We thanked her for her courage and courtesy in coming to speak to us, at which she smiled and, bowing gracefully, retired towards the castle. How her conduct compared with that of some people in England may be judged from the following extract which we clipped from a Scottish newspaper shortly afterwards: A War Office clerk was riding outside the Oban coach from Inverary. A fellow-passenger at his side remarked, "What a glorious view! what a lovely scene!" to which the young gentleman of the War Office, with a strong glance at the speaker, replied, "Sir, I don't know you; we have not been introduced." It was a fine afternoon, and Inverary town looked at its best and quite pleasant in the sunshine, for most of the houses were coloured white. We halted awhile at the picturesque sculptured cross, where many a weary pilgrim had rested before us, with a glorious view over Loch Fyne and the mountains beyond. The church stood at the end of the street, and the "Argyll Arms Hotel" would have been a fine place to stay at for the night. There was also quite a large temperance hotel where carriages could be hired; but we had only walked about sixteen miles, so we had to resist these attractions and walk on to Cairndow, a further distance of ten miles. [Illustration: INVERARY CROSS] Loch Fyne, along the edge of which our road ran all the way to Cairndow, is tidal and about two miles wide at Inverary. We were now on the opposite side of the castle grounds, and could see another entrance gate, which had been decorated for the royal wedding. Fine woods bounded our road on the left until we reached the round hill of Duniquaich, where it turned rather abruptly until at Strone Point it was nearly opposite Inverary. From this place we had a magnificent view of the district we had just passed through; the splendid castle with its grey walls and the lofty tower on the wooded hill adjoining it contrasted finely with the whitened houses of the town of Inverary, as it stood in the light of the setting sun. We journeyed on alongside the loch, when as the shades of evening were coming on we met a young man and a young woman apparently in great distress. They told us they had crossed the loch in a small boat to look for ferns, and as the tide was going out had thought they might safely leave their boat on the side of the loch, but when they returned they could not find it anywhere. They seemed to have been equally unsuccessful with regard to the ferns, as we could not see any in their possession, but we guessed they had other interests, so we went to their assistance and soon found the boat, which doubtless was in the place where they had left it. The tide must have receded farther than they had anticipated, and they had looked for it too near the water. We assisted them to launch the boat, and when they were safely seated the young woman, who had looked far more alarmed than her companion, smiled upon us sweetly. In response to their looks and words of thanks we wished them a pleasant and safe journey; but we never saw any ferns! Our conversation as we resumed our walk was largely upon this adventure, and we wondered if the ferns could not have been found as easily on the other side of the loch as on this--but then we knew that Love is proverbially blind, and we consigned this fern story to the region of our mythological remembrances, and were still in good humour and not too tired when we reached the Cairndow inn, where we were hospitably, sumptuously, and we could safely add, when we paid the bill next morning, expensively entertained. But was this partly accounted for by the finely flavoured herrings known as Loch Fyne kippers we had for breakfast, which were said to fetch a higher price than any others in Scotland? (_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.) _Tuesday, October 3rd._ We left Cairndow early in the morning, and soon afterwards turned away from Loch Fyne to ascend a rough and lonely road leading towards Loch Long, about eight miles distant. It was a cold, bleak, and showery morning as we travelled along Glen Kinglas against a strong head wind, which greatly impeded our progress. On reaching the top of the glen, we came to the small Loch Restil, reposing at the foot of a mountain the summit of which was 2,955 feet above sea-level. The only persons we had seen on our way up the glen were two shepherds on the slope of one of the hills some distance from our road; but now we came to two men mending the road, in which great holes had been caused by the heavy rainfall. We chatted with them, and they told us that a little farther on we should come to "The Rest." Though it may seem a trifling matter to record, we were very glad to see those two men, as our way had been excessively lonely and depressing, for the pass only reached about 900 feet at its crown, while the great hills which immediately adjoined the road on either side rose to an altitude of from 2,500 to 3,300 feet! When we arrived at "The Rest" we found a rock on which were inscribed the words "Rest and be Thankful," while another inscription informed us that "This is a Military Road repaired by the 93rd Regiment in 1768." We thought that at one time there must have been a stone placed there, to do duty as a travellers' rest, where weary travellers might "Rest and be Thankful," but nothing of the kind existed now except the surface of the road on which we were walking. On reaching a short stiff rise, followed by a sharp double bend in the road, we passed the entrance of a track leading down to "Hell's Glen"; but if this glen was any worse than Glen Kinglas which we had just ascended, or Glen Croe which we now descended, it must have been a very dreadful place indeed. Fortunately for us, the weather began to improve, and before we reached Loch Long with its lofty ramparts the sun shone out in all its matchless glory and lighted up not only the loch but the whole of the amphitheatre formed by the lofty hills that surrounded it. A passenger steamboat plying on the bosom of the loch lent additional interest to the scene, and the combined view quite cheered our drooping spirits. The change, both as regarded scenery and atmosphere, between this side of the pass and the other was really marvellous, reminding us of the contrast between winter and summer. The sight of the numerous little waterfalls flowing over the rocks above to contribute their quota to the waters of the loch below was quite refreshing. One of the great hills we had passed without being able to see its summit--for it was quite near our road--was the well-known Ben Arthur, 2,891 feet high, commonly spoken of either as "The Cobbler" or "The Cobbler and his Wife." It was not until we had got some distance away that our attention was called to it. We walked round the head of Loch Long and crossed a bridge, some words on the iron fixtures informing us that we were now passing from Argyllshire into Dumbartonshire. The coping on the bridge was of fresh, neatly clipped grass instead of the usual stonework we expected to find, and looked very remarkable; we saw nothing like it on our further travels. [Illustration: "REST AND BE THANKFUL," GLEN CROE.] We asked a gentleman who was standing in the road about the various objects of interest in the neighbourhood. Pointing to Ben Arthur in the distance, he very kindly tried to explain the curious formation of the rocks at the summit and to show us the Cobbler and his Wife which they were said to represent. We had a long argument with him, and although he explained that the Cobbler was sitting down, for the life of us we could not distinguish the form either of him or of his Wife. We could see that he considered we were very stupid for not being able to see objects so plain to himself; and when my brother asked him jocularly for the third time which was the Cobbler and which was his Wife, he became very angry and was inclined to quarrel with us. We smoothed him down as well as we could by saying that we now thought we could see some faint resemblance to the objects referred to, and he looked as if he had, as the poet says, "cleared from thick films of vice the visual ray." [Illustration: "THE COBBLER," FROM ARROCHAR.] We thanked him kindly for all the trouble he had taken, and concluded, at first, that perhaps we were not of a sufficiently imaginative temperament or else not in the most favourable position for viewing the outlines. But we became conscious of a rather strong smell of whisky which emanated from our loquacious friend, from which fact we persuaded ourselves that he had been trying to show us features visible only under more elevated conditions. When we last saw him he was still standing in the road gazing at the distant hills, and probably still looking at the Cobbler and his Wife. I asked my brother, as we walked along, why he put his question in that particular form: "Which is the Cobbler and which is his Wife?" He told me he was thinking of a question so expressed many years ago, long before revolving pictures were thought of, and when pictures of any kind were very scarce. A fair was being held in the country, and a showman was exhibiting pictures which were arranged in a row alongside his booth or van in such a way that his customers could pass from one picture to another and which they could see by looking through slightly magnifying glasses placed in pairs, one to fit each eye after the fashion of a pair of spectacles. Before the show stood a number of small boys who would have been pleased to have a peep at the pictures if they could have raised the money. Just at that moment a mother with her two little girls appeared, and when the children came near the show, one of them called out, "Oh, Ma! may we see the peep-shows? It's only a penny!" whereupon the mother took out her purse and handed each of the little girls a penny. When the showman saw them approaching, he shouted angrily to the small boys who were blocking the entrance; "Get away, you little ragged rascals that have no money," and then he added in a much milder tone, "and let the little dears come up what's a-going to pay." When the children reached the first peep-show, he said: "Now, my little dears, look straight forwards, blow your noses, and don't breathe upon the glass! Here you see the combat between the Scotch Lion, Wallace, and the English Bulldogs, for eight hundred guineas a side, while the spectators are a-looking on in the most facetious manner. Here you see the lion has got his paws on one of the dogs whilst he is whisking out the eyes of another with his tail!" The little girls could see a picture but could not quite make out what it was, so one of them called out: "Please, Mr. Showman, which is the lion and which is the dogs?" and he said: "Oh! whichever you please, my little dears, and the likes was never seen, and all for the small sum of one penny!" My brother said that when he asked the gentleman which was the Cobbler and which was his Wife he would not have been surprised if he had said angrily, "Whichever you please," and had walked away, since he seemed in a very irritable frame of mind. Since those "good old times" the character of these country fairs has changed entirely, and we no longer sing the old ballad: Oh yes, I own 'tis my delight To see the laughter and the fright In such a motley, merry sight As at a country fair. Boys on mamma's treacle fed, On spicy cakes and gingerbread. On everybody's toes they tread All at a country fair. The village of Arrochar stood in a very pleasant position, at the head of Loch Long amid scenery of the loftiest and most varied description. Illuminated as it was by the magic rays of the sun, we thought it would compare favourably with any other watering-place in the Highlands, and was just the spot to offer irresistible temptations to those who required a short respite from the more busy scenes of life. [Illustration: LOCH LOMOND FROM INVERSNAID.] We were in high spirits and inclined to speak to every one we saw, so, when we met a boy, we asked him if he had seen a cow on the road, to which he replied, rather seriously, that he had not. We thought afterwards that we had laid ourselves open to a reply like that given by the Orkneyman at Stromness, for the loss of a cow in Scotland was looked upon as a very serious matter, but we escaped for a time. Shortly afterwards, however, we saw a vehicle approaching in the distance labelled "Royal Mail," and then another vehicle, similarly marked, passed us from the opposite direction, in which we noticed the boy we had just seen. When the two conveyances met, they stopped and a number of bags were transferred from the one conveyance to the other, so that it was obvious that they were exchanging their sacks of letters. When we came up to them, the driver of the one that had overtaken us asked if we had lost a cow, and when we answered "No," he said, "But didn't you ask the boy there if he had seen one on the road?" When we answered "Yes," and it was found to be all a joke, there was a general laugh all round, which was joined in heartily by the boy himself, for he had evidently got a ride on the strength of the story of the lost cow. We observed that the cart that overtook us had two horses, whilst that we met had only one, so we conjectured that our further way would be comparatively level, and this we afterwards found to be correct. The boy did not altogether miss his opportunity, for when we had reached, as he thought, a safe distance, we heard him shout: "Ask your mother when you get home if _she_ has seen a cow!"--but perhaps "two calves" would have been nearer the mark. We had a lovely two-mile walk between Arrochar and Tarbet, with a magnificent view of Loch Lomond on our way; while before us, across the loch, stood Ben Lomond, a mountain which rises to the height of 3,192 feet above sea-level. The scene was one that cannot properly be described--the blue waters, of the loch, with the trees beyond, and behind them this magnificent mountain, its top covered with pure white snow, and the sun shining on all, formed a picture beautiful beyond description, which seemed to lift our hearts and minds from the earth to the blue heavens above, and our thoughts to the great Almighty Who is in all and over all in that "land of pure delight where saints immortal reign." [Illustration: LOCH LOMOND AND THE BEN.] Our road now skirted the banks of Loch Lomond, the largest fresh-water lake in Scotland or England, being twenty-four miles long and five miles in width at its broadest point, and containing over twenty islands, some of which we saw. At the hotel where we called for tea it was thus described: Loch Lomond is the paragon of Scottish lakes. In island beauty unrivalled, for all that forms romance is here--scenery varying and increasing in loveliness, matchless combinations of grandeur and softness united, forming a magic land from which poesy and painting have caught their happiest inspirations. Islands of different forms and magnitude. Some are covered with the most luxuriant wood of every different tint; but others show a beautiful intermixture of rock and coppices--some, like plains of emerald, scarcely above the level of the water, are covered with grass; and others, again, are bare rocks, rising into precipices and destitute of vegetation. Scotland has produced many men mighty in mind as well as in body, and their ideas have doubtless been enlarged not only by their advanced system of education, but by the great things which have surrounded them--the great rocks and the great waters. So long as these qualities are turned in a good direction, all goes well, but when in a bad one like the "facilis descensus" described in George Cruikshank's great picture "The Worship of Bacchus," then all goes badly. An illustration of these large ideas turned to a bad account appeared in a story we read of a degenerate son of the North to whom the gods had granted the fulfilment of three wishes: First, he would have a Loch Lomond of whisky; secondly, a Ben Lomond of snuff; thirdly, (with some hesitation) another Loch Lomond of whisky. We did not attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond, as our experiences of mountain climbing hitherto had not been very encouraging. Nor did we require the aid of those doubtful articles so ardently desired by the degenerate Scot as we walked along the good road, sheltered with trees, that lay alongside Loch Lomond, with the slopes of the high hills to the right and to the left, the great loch with its lovely islands backed by the mountains beyond. Tarbet, which we soon left behind us, was notorious as the port of Magnus the Norseman, whose followers dragged their boats there from the sea to harry the islands whither so many of the natives had fled for safety. Ninnius, writing in the eighth century, tells of the great King Arthur, who defeated the Scots and drove them for refuge to Loch Lomond, "in which there were sixty islands and sixty rocks, and on each an eagle's nest. Every first of May they came together, and from the sound of their voices the men of that country knew what should befall during the coming year. And sixty rivers fell into this remarkable lake, but only one river ran from the lake to the sea." The exactness of every point rather amused us, for of course the invincible Arthur, like all other mythological heroes, must ever succeed, and he soon cleared the Scots from their stronghold. Sir Walter Scott has made this district famous, and we could have lingered long in the region of the Trossachs, and should have been delighted to see Loch Katrine, close by, which the "Lady of the Lake" had rendered so familiar, but time is a hard taskmaster and we had to be content with what Loch Lomond provided for us. We therefore hurried on, and eventually reached the lovely little village of Luss, where, as we entered, we were welcomed by the warbling of a robin singing out right merrily, as if to announce our arrival. Our first impression soon told us that Luss was well patronised by visitors and by artists ever on the alert for scenery such as here abounded. It was quite an English-looking village, with a small quarry, not as extensively worked as formerly, we were informed, for only about twenty men were now employed. Before proceeding farther we called for refreshments, and learned that a steamboat called periodically at Luss. We left this favourite resort by the Dumbarton road, walking alongside Loch Lomond--one of the finest walks we ever took and quite baffling description. It was rather provoking, therefore, when darkness came on just as we reached the widest part of the Loch where quite a number of islands could be seen. The road still continued beautiful, being arched over with trees in some places, with the stars shining brightly above. Luss, we learned, had its place in history as the home of the Colquhouns, whose feud with the MacGregors led to such murderous results. But perhaps its associations with Robert Bruce in his days of adversity form its greater claim to fame, and the yews on Inch Lonaig, just above, are said to have been planted by him to supply his bowmen. Before we reached the end of the loch we turned on the Dumbarton road, following the road for Helensburgh, as we wanted to see the River Clyde. This road was fairly level, but about two miles from Helensburgh it rose to an elevation of about 300 feet. On reaching the top, we saw a sight which fairly startled us, for a great stretch of water suddenly and unexpectedly came in view, and across its surface we could see hundreds of gas lights, twinkling like stars in the darkness. We found afterwards that they were those of the town of Greenock, on the other side of the Clyde Estuary, which was some five or six miles across this, its widest part. We considered this was one of the greatest sights of our journey, and one well worth while climbing the hill to see. It must, however, be noted that these were the first gas lights we had seen for what seemed to us to be ages. We went straight to the Temperance Hotel, which had been closed for the night, but we gained admission and found comfortable quarters there. (_Distance walked thirty-one miles_.) _Wednesday, October 4th._ We had pictured Helensburgh, from its name, as a very old town, and were rather surprised when we discovered that it was only founded at the close of the eighteenth century, by Sir James Colquhoun, who named the place after his wife, the Lady Helen Sutherland. At the time of our visit it was a favourite resort of visitors from across the Clyde and elsewhere. We were unable to explore the town and its environs, owing to a dense mist or fog which had accumulated during the night; and this probably accounted for our sleeping longer than usual, for it was quite nine o'clock before we left Helensburgh on our way to Dumbarton. If the atmosphere had been clear, we should have had fine views of Greenock, Port Glasgow, Roseneath Castle, the residence of the Marquis of Lorne, and other places of interest across the Clyde, and of the ships passing up and down the river. As it was, we had to be content with listening to the busy sounds of labour and the thuds of the steam hammers in the extensive shipbuilding yards across the water, and the ominous sounds of the steam-whistles from the ships, as they ploughed their way along the watery tracks on the Clyde. We were naturally very much disappointed that we had to pass along this road under such unfavourable conditions, but, as the mist cleared a little, we could just discern the outlines of one or two of the steamboats as we neared Dumbarton. The fields alongside our road were chiefly devoted to the growth of potatoes, and the fine agricultural land reminded us of England. We stayed to speak with one of the farmers, standing at his gate, and he told us that he sent potatoes to the Manchester market, which struck us with surprise because of the great distance. We also stayed awhile, just before entering Dumbarton, as there had been a slight railway accident, probably owing to the fog, and the officials, with a gang of men, were making strenuous efforts to remove the remains of a truck which had come to grief. We were walking into the town quite unconscious of the presence of the castle, and were startled at its sudden appearance, as it stood on an isolated rock, rising almost perpendicularly to the height of about 300 feet, and we could only just see its dim outline appearing, as it were, in the clouds. We left it for future inspection and, as it was now twelve o'clock, hurried into the town for a noon dinner, for which we were quite ready. As a sample of the brief way in which the history of an important town can be summarised, we give the following extract:-- Dumbarton, immortalised by Osian, possessed in turns by first Edward and John Balliol, the prison of William Wallace, and the scene of that unavailing remorse which agonised the bosom of his betrayer (a rude sculpture within the castle represents Sir John Monteith in an attitude of despair, lamenting his former treachery), captured by Bruce, unsuccessfully besieged by the fourth Edward, reduced by the Earl of Argyll, surprised, while in false security, by the daring of a bold soldier, Captain Crawford, resided in by James V, visited by that fair and erring Queen, the "peerless Mary," and one of the four castles kept up by the Act of Union. And we have been told that it was the birthplace of Taliesin, the early poet of the Celts, and Gildas their historian. In former times the castle of Dumbarton was looked upon as one of the strongest places in the world, and, rising precipitously from the level plain, it appeared to us to be quite impregnable. Captain Crawford's feat in capturing this castle equals anything else of the kind recorded in history. In the time of Queen Elizabeth of England, when a quarrel was raging in Scotland between the partisans of King James and his mother Queen Mary, and when even the children of the towns and villages formed themselves into bands and fought with sticks, stones, and even knives for King James or Queen Mary, the castle of Dumbarton was held for the Queen; but a distinguished adherent of the King, one Captain Crawford of Jordanhill, resolved to make an attempt to take it. There was only one access to the castle, approached by 365 steps, but these were strongly guarded and fortified. The captain took advantage of a misty and moonless night to bring his scaling-ladders to the foot of the rock at the opposite side, where it was the most precipitous, and consequently the least guarded by the soldiers at the top. The choice of this side of the rock was fortunate, as the first ladder broke with the weight of the men who attempted to climb it, and the noise of the fall must have betrayed them if they had been on the other and more guarded side. Crawford, who was assisted by a soldier who had deserted from the castle, renewed the attempt in person, and, having scrambled up a projecting ledge of rock, fastened the ladder by tying it to the roots of a tree which grew midway up the rock. Here they found a footing for the whole party, which was, of course, small in number. In scaling the second precipice, however, one of the party was seized with an epileptic fit, to which he was subject, brought on, perhaps, by terror in the act of climbing the ladder. He could neither ascend nor descend; moreover, if they had thrown him down, apart from the cruelty of the thing, the fall of his body might have alarmed the garrison. Crawford, therefore, ordered him to be tied fast to one side of the ladder, and, turning it round, they mounted with ease. When the party gained the summit, they slew the sentinel before he had time to give the alarm, and easily surprised the slumbering garrison, who had trusted too much to the security of their position. Some of the climbing irons used are shown within the castle. [Illustration: DUMBARTON CASTLE] We now set out from Dumbarton, with its old castle, and the old sword worn by the brave Wallace reposing in the armoury, at the same time leaving the River Clyde and its fine scenery, which, owing to the fog, we had almost totally missed. We proceeded towards Stirling, where we hoped to arrive on the following day; but we now found ourselves passing through a semi-manufacturing district, and gradually it dawned upon us that we had now left the Highlands and were approaching the Lowlands of Scotland. We thought then and many times afterwards of that verse of Robbie Burns's:-- My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe-- My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. We passed through Renton, where there were bleaching and calico printing works. A public library graced the centre of the village, as well as a fine Tuscan column nearly 60 feet high, erected to Tobias Smollett, the poet, historian and novelist, who was born in 1721 not half a mile from the spot. The houses were small and not very clean. The next village we came to was Alexandria, a busy manufacturing place where the chief ornament was a very handsome drinking-fountain erected to a member of the same family, a former M.P., "by his tenants and friends," forming a striking contrast to its mean and insignificant surroundings of one-storied houses and dismal factories. We were soon in the country again, and passed some fine residences, including the modern-looking Castle of Tullichewan situated in a fine park, and reached Balloch at the extreme end of Loch Lomond, from which point we had a momentary view of the part of the lake we had missed seeing on the preceding evening. Here we paid the sum of one halfpenny each for the privilege of passing over the Suspension Bridge, which gave us access to a very pleasant part of the country, and crossed one spur of a hill, from the top of which, under favourable conditions, we might have seen nearly the whole of Loch Lomond, including the islands and the ranges of hills on either side-- [Illustration: MAINS CASTLE, KILMARONOCK] Mountains that like giants stand To sentinel enchanted land. But though it was only about a mile and a half from our path to the summit, and the total elevation only 576 feet, 297 of which we had already ascended, we did not visit it, as the mist would have prevented an extended view. It stood in a beautiful position, surrounded by woods and the grounds of Boturich Castle; why such a pretty place should be called "Mount Misery" was not clear, unless it had some connection with one of the Earls of Argyll who came to grief in that neighbourhood in 1685 near Gartocharn, which we passed shortly afterwards. He had collected his clan to overthrow the Government of James VII (James II of England) and had crossed the Leven at Balloch when he found Gartocharn occupied by the royal troops. Instead of attacking them, he turned aside, to seek refuge among the hills, and in the darkness and amid the bogs and moors most of his men deserted, only about five hundred answering to their names the following morning. The Earl, giving up the attempt, was captured an hour or two later as he was attempting to cross the River Clyde, and the words applied to him, "Unhappy Argyll," indicated his fate. We passed Kilmaronock church in the dark and, after crossing the bridge over Endrick Water, entered Drymen and put up at the "Buchanan Arms" Inn, where we had been recommended to stay the night. (_Distance walked twenty miles_.) _Thursday, October 5th._ We were up early this morning and went to have a look round the village of Drymen and its surroundings before breakfast. We were quite near Buchanan Castle, and took the liberty of trespassing for a short time in the walks and woods surrounding it. The Duke of Montrose here reigned supreme, his family the Grahams having been in possession for twenty generations; among his ancestors were Sir Patrick de Graham, who was killed at the Battle of Dunbar in 1296, and Sir John de Graham, the beloved friend of the immortal Wallace, who was slain at the Battle of Falkirk in 1298. The village had been built in the form of a square which enclosed a large field of grass called the Cross Green, with nothing remarkable about it beyond an enormous ash tree supposed to be over 300 years old which stood in the churchyard. It measured about 17 feet in circumference at 5 feet from the ground, and was called the Bell Tree, because the church bell which summoned the villagers to worship was suspended from one of its branches. The tree began to show signs of decay, so eventually the bell had to be taken down and a belfry built to receive it. [Illustration: THE SQUARE, DRYMEN] We finished our breakfast at 8.30, and then, with the roads in a fearfully muddy condition owing to heavy downfalls of rain, started on our walk towards Stirling. The region here was pleasing agricultural country, and we passed many large and well-stocked farms on our way, some of them having as many as a hundred stacks of corn and beans in their stack-yards. After walking about seven miles we arrived at the dismal-looking village of Buchlyvie, where we saw many houses in ruins, standing in all their gloominess as evidences of the devastating effects of war. Some of the inhabitants were trying to eke out their livelihood by hand-loom weaving, but there was a poverty-stricken appearance about the place which had, we found, altered but little since Sir Walter Scott wrote of it in the following rhyme which he had copied from an old ballad: Baron of Buchlivie, May the foul fiend drive ye And a' to pieces rive ye For building sic a town, Where there's neither horse meat Nor man's meat, nor a chair to sit down. We did not find the place quite so bad as that, for there were two or three small inns where travellers could get refreshments and a chair to sit down upon; but we did not halt for these luxuries until we reached Kippen, about five miles farther on. Before arriving there we overtook two drovers who were well acquainted with Glencoe and the Devil's Stairs, and when we told them of our adventures there they said we were very lucky to have had a fine day when we crossed those hills. They told us the story of the two young men who perished there, but thought their death was partially caused through lack of food. Kippen, they informed us, was on the borders of Perthshire and Stirlingshire, and when we told them we intended calling for refreshments they advised us to patronise the "Cross Keys Inn." We found Kippen, or, as it was sometimes named, the Kingdom of Kippen, a pleasant place, and we had no difficulty in finding the "Cross Keys." Here we learned about the King of Kippen, the Scottish Robin Hood, and were told that it was only two miles away to the Ford of Frew, where Prince Charlie crossed the River Forth on his way from Perth to Stirling, and that about three minutes' walk from the Cross there was a place from which the most extensive and beautiful views of the country could be obtained. Rising like towers from the valley of the Forth could be seen three craigs--Dumyate Craig, Forth Abbey Craig, and the craig on which Stirling Castle had been built; spreading out below was the Carse of Stirling, which merged into and included the Vale of Monteith, about six miles from Kippen; while the distant view comprised the summits of many mountains, including that of Ben Lomond. [Illustration: OLD BELFRY, KIPPEN] As usual in Scotland, the village contained two churches--the Parish Church and the United Free Church. In the old churchyard was an ancient ivy-covered belfry, but the church to which it belonged had long since disappeared. Here was the burial-place of the family of Edinbellie, and here lived in olden times an attractive and wealthy young lady named Jean Kay, whom Rob Roy, the youngest son of Rob Roy Macgregor, desired to marry. She would not accept him, so leaving Balquidder, the home of the Macgregors, accompanied by his three brothers and five other men, he went to Edinbellie and carried her off to Rowardennan, where a sham form of marriage was gone through. But the romantic lover paid dearly for his exploit, as it was for robbing this family of their daughter that Rob forfeited his life on the scaffold at Edinburgh on February 16th, 1754, Jean Kay having died at Glasgow on October 4th, 1751. [Illustration: QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, INCHMAHOME.] We were well provided for at the "Cross Keys," and heard a lot about Mary Queen of Scots, as we were now approaching a district where much of the history of Scotland was made. Her name seemed to be on everybody's lips and her portrait in everybody's house, including the smallest dwellings. She seemed to be the most romantic character in the minds of the Scots, by whom she was almost idolised--not perhaps so much for her beauty and character as for her sufferings and the circumstances connected with her death. The following concise account of the career of this beautiful but unfortunate Queen and her son King James greatly interested us. She was born at Linlithgow Palace in the year 1542, and her father died when she was only eight days old. In the next year she was crowned Queen of Scotland at Stirling, and remained at the Castle there for about four years. She was then removed to Inchmahome, an island of about six acres in extent situated in the small Lake of Monteith, about six miles north of Kippen. In 1547, when six years old, she was sent to France in a Flemish ship from Dumbarton, and in the following year she was married to the Dauphin of France, afterwards King Francis II, who died in the year 1560. Afterwards she returned to Scotland and went to Stirling Castle, where she met her cousin Lord Darnley and was married to him at Holyrood in 1565, her son being born in 1566. Troubles, however, soon arose, and for a short time she was made a prisoner and placed in the Castle of Loch Leven, from which she escaped with the intention of going to Dumbarton Castle for safety. Her army under the Earl of Argyll accompanied her, but on the way they met an opposing army commanded by the Regent Murray, who defeated her army, and Queen Mary fled to England. Here she again became a prisoner and was placed in various castles for the long period of nineteen years, first in one and then in another, with a view probably to preventing her being rescued by her friends; and finally she was beheaded in 1587 in the forty-eighth year of her age at Fotheringay Castle in Northamptonshire, by command of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth. Her son James VI of Scotland, who subsequently became James I of England, was baptised in the Royal Chapel at Stirling Castle in 1566, and in 1567, when he was only about thirteen months old, was crowned in the parish church at Stirling, his mother Queen Mary having been forced to abdicate in favour of her son. The great Puritan divine John Knox preached the Coronation sermon on that occasion, and the young king was educated until he was thirteen years of age by George Buchanan, the celebrated scholar and historian, in the castle, where his class-room is still to be seen. He succeeded to the English throne on the death of Queen Elizabeth, and was crowned as King James I of England in the year 1603. Leaving Kippen, we passed through Gargunnock, with the extraordinary windings of the River Forth to our left, and arrived at Stirling at 5.15 p.m., where at the post-office we found a host of letters waiting our arrival and at the railway-station a welcome change of clothing from home. (_Distance walked twenty-two miles_.) _Friday, October 6th._ Stirling is one of the most attractive towns in Scotland, and we could not resist staying there awhile to explore it. It is the "key to the Highlands," and one of the oldest of the Royal burghs. It was a place of some importance in the time of the Romans, as it stood between the two great Firths of the Clyde and the Forth, where the Island of Britain is at its narrowest. The first Roman wall was built between the Forth and the Clyde, and the Second Roman Legion was stationed at Stirling. According to an old inscription on a stone near the Ballengeich road, they kept a watch there day and night, and in A.D. 81 a great battle was fought near by against 30,000 Caledonians, who were defeated. Stirling has a commanding geographical position, and all the roads converge there to cross the River Forth. It was at Stirling Bridge that Wallace defeated the army of 50,000 soldiers sent against him in the year 1297 by Edward I, King of England. The town had also a lively time in the days of Charles Edward Stuart, "Bonnie Prince Charlie," whose father, during his exile in France, had been encouraged by the French to return and lay claim to the English Crown. Landing in Inverness-shire in 1745, Prince Charlie was immediately joined by many of the Highland clans, and passed with his army through Stirling on his way towards London. Not finding the support they expected from the south, they were compelled to return, followed closely along their line of retreat by the English Army, and they were soon back again at Stirling, where they made a desperate but unsuccessful effort to obtain possession of the castle, which was held for the English. The Duke of Cumberland's Army by this time was close upon their heels, and gave them no rest until they caught them and defeated them with great slaughter up at Culloden, near Inverness. [Illustration: STIRLING CASTLE AND NECROPOLIS.] There was much in Stirling and its environs that we wished to see, so we were astir early in the morning, although the weather was inclined to be showery. First of all, we went to see the cemetery, which occupies a beautiful position on a hill overlooking the wonderful windings of the River Forth, and here we found the tomb of the Protestant martyrs "Margaret and Agnes," the latter only eighteen years of age, who were tied to stakes at low water in the Bay of Wigtown on May 11th, 1685, and, refusing an opportunity to recant and return to the Roman Catholic faith, were left to be drowned in the rising tide. Over the spot where they were buried their figures appeared beautifully sculptured in white marble, accompanied by that of an angel standing beside them; the epitaph read: M. O A. MARGARET VIRGIN MARTYR OF THE OCEAN WAVE WITH HER LIKE-MINDED SISTER AGNES. Love, many waters cannot quench! GOD saves His chaste impearled One! in Covenant true. "O Scotia's Daughters! earnest scan the Page." And prize this Flower of Grace, blood-bought for you. PSALMS IX., XIX. [Illustration: THE PROTESTANT MARTYRS] We stayed there for a few solemn moments, for it was a sight that impressed us deeply, and then we went to inspect an old stone with the following curious inscription cut on its surface: Some . only . breakfast . and . away: Others . to . dinner . stay . And . are . full . fed . the . oldest . man . but . sups: And . goes . to . bed: large . is . his . debt: that . lingers . out . the . day: he . that . goes . soonest: has . the . least . to . pay: We saw another remarkable structure called "The Rock of Ages," a large monument built of stone, on each of the four sides of which was a Bible sculptured in marble with texts from the Scriptures, and near the top a device like that of a crown. It was a fine-looking and substantial building, but we could not ascertain the reason for its erection. There were two churches quite near to each other standing at one end of the cemetery, and these, we were informed, were known as the East and West Churches, and had been formed out of the old Church of Stirling, formerly noted for its bells, which were still in existence. One of them, a Dutch bell, was marked "Rotterdam, 1657," and inscribed "Soli Deo Gloria"; the only pre-Reformation bell was one that was said to have come from Cambuskenneth Abbey, measuring 8 ft. 6-1/2 in. round the mouth, 4 ft. 6 in. over the neck, and 2 ft. 1-1/2 in. in depth, and bearing a Latin inscription, in Old English characters, which was said to be the angelic salutation from St. Luke i. 28: "Hail, Mary, full of grace, God is with thee; blessed art thou among women and to be blessed." This bell, dating from the fourteenth century, was perfect in sound, and had been the tone bell in the old abbey. The remainder of the bells of Cambuskenneth had been lost owing to the swamping of the boat that was bringing them across the river. [Illustration: THE GATEWAY TO THE CASTLE.] We now went to view the castle, and as we approached the entrance we were accosted by a sergeant, whom we engaged to act as our guide. The ramparts of the castle command the noblest prospect imaginable--Grampian, Ochil and Pentland Hills, the River Forth, through all its windings, and "Auld Reekie" in the distance--twelve foughten fields are visible--the bridge where Archbishop Hamilton was hanged, the mound on which the Regent, Earl of Levenax, was beheaded on May 25th, 1425, along with the Duke of Albany, his son-in-law, and his grandson--the chamber where the Scottish King James II was assassinated--a noble valley, where tournaments were held, and the hill, whence Beauty viewed "gentle passages of arms" and rewarded knights' valour with her smiles, lie just below the ramparts. Here James I lived, and James II was born, and it was a favourite residence of James III. From these walls the "Good Man of Ballangeich" made many an excursion, and here James V and James VI were indoctrinated at the feet of that stern preceptor, George Buchanan, and the seventh James and the second of England visited here in company with the future Queen Anne and the last of the Stuarts. [Illustration: THE PALACE, STIRLING CASTLE.] [Illustration: STIRLING BRIDGE. "At Stirling Bridge Wallace defeated the army of fifty thousand soldiers sent against him by Edward I; ... it was a battle won by strategy."] [Illustration: STIRLING CASTLE. "The ramparts of the castle command the noblest prospect imaginable--from the top of the walls the sites of seven battlefields were pointed out to us."] Such was the official description of the place we were now visiting. As our guide conducted us through the archway into the castle, he showed us the old chains that worked the portcullis. We noted how cautious the old occupants of these strongholds were, for while one of the massive doors was being drawn up the other went down, so that the inner entrance was always protected. From the top of the walls the sites of seven battlefields were pointed out to us, including those of Bannockburn and Stirling Bridge. The Battle of Stirling Bridge was won by Wallace by strategy; he had a much smaller army than the English, but he watched them until they had got one-half their army over the narrow bridge, and then attacked each half in turn, since the one could not assist the other, the river being between them. In the following year he was defeated himself, but as he retreated he reduced Stirling and its castle to ruins. The Bridge of Allan, which could be seen in the distance, was described as a miniature Torquay without the sea, and the view from the castle on a clear day extended a distance of nearly fifty miles. We were shown the aperture through which Mary Queen of Scots watched the games in the royal garden below, and of course we had to be shown the exact spot where "our most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria with the Prince of Wales" sat on a much more recent date. The castle stood on a rock, rising precipitously on two of its sides, and was now being used as a barracks. It was a fine sight to see the soldiers as they were being drilled. The old Chapel Royal was used as the armoury, and our guide told us of many objects of interest which were stored there; but we had no time to see them, so, rewarding him suitably for his services, we hastened back to the town to refresh the "inner man." It appeared that in former times none of the members of the Town Council accepted any gift or emolument while in office; and, before writing was as common as it is now, the old treasurer kept his accounts in a pair of boots which he hung one on each side of the chimney. Into one of them he put all the money he received and into the other the vouchers for the money he paid away, and balanced his accounts at the end of the year by emptying his boots, and counting the money left in one and that paid away by the receipts in the other. What a delightfully simple system of "double entry," and just fancy the "borough treasurer" with a balance always in hand! Whether the non-payment for services rendered by the Council accounted for this did not appear; but there must have been some select convivials even in those days, as the famous Stirling Jug remained as evidence of something of the kind. It was a fine old vessel made of brass and taken great care of by the Stirling people, who became possessed of it four or five hundred years before our visit. We then walked some distance to see Wallace's Monument, the most conspicuous object for many miles round, and which had only just been erected to perpetuate the memory of that great warrior, having been opened by the Duke of Atholl in 1869. We paid twopence each for admission, and in addition to climbing the hill to reach the entrance to the monument we had to ascend a further 220 feet by means of a flight of 246 steps before we could reach the top. There were several rooms in the basement, in one of which we found an enthusiastic party of young Scots who were vociferously singing: Scots, wha hae wie Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has often led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie. * * * * * Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die! These were the first and last verses of the poem written by the immortal Burns to represent Robert Bruce's address to his army before the Battle of Bannockburn. We did not reveal our nationality to the uproarious Scots, but, after listening to the song, which we had never heard sung before, and the cheers which followed it, in which we ourselves joined, we went quietly past them, for fear they might treat us as the "usurpers" named in the last verse and "lay _us_ low." [Illustration: WALLACE MONUMENT.] On reaching the top of the monument we had a magnificent view, which well repaid us for our exertions in climbing up the craig and ascending the tower, and we lingered awhile to view the almost fairy-like scene that lay below us, with the distant mountains in the background. On descending, we entered our names in the visitors' book and took our departure. Just as we were leaving, our attention was attracted by a notice which informed us that Cambuskenneth Abbey was only one mile away, so we walked along the banks of the Forth to that ancient ruin. The abbey was supposed to have taken its name from one Kenneth, who fought a successful battle with the Picts on the site where it was built. A Parliament was held within its walls in 1314 by King Robert Bruce, but the abbey was destroyed, with the exception of the tower, in 1559. The chief object of interest was the tomb of James III, King of Scots, and his Queen, the Princess Margaret of Denmark, who were buried near the High Altar. The tomb, which appeared quite modern, recorded that King James died June 11th, 1488, and that "This Restoration of the Tomb of her Ancestors was executed by command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, A.D. 1865." We now walked back to Stirling, and were again among the windings of the River Forth, which are a striking feature whether viewed from Wallace's Monument, the Castle walls, or the cemetery. To follow them in some places, the traveller, it was said, would have to go four times farther than by the straighter road. [Illustration: ST. NINIANS CHURCH TOWER.] Recovering possession of our bags from the hotel, we resumed our march along the road to Falkirk, eleven miles distant, and, on the way, came to the village of St. Ninians, with its long, narrow street of dismal-looking houses, many of them empty and in ruins, and some marked "To Let"; and, from their dingy appearance, we imagined they were likely to remain so. The people who lived in these houses were formerly of evil reputation, as, before railways were constructed so far north, all the cattle from the Western Isles and the North were driven along the roads to Falkirk to be sold, and had to pass through St. Ninians, which was so dreaded by the drovers that they called this long, narrow street "The Pass of St. Ninians." For, if a sheep happened to go through a doorway or stray along one of the passages, ever open to receive them, it was never seen again and nobody knew of its whereabouts except the thieves themselves. We walked along this miry pass and observed what we thought might be an old church, which we went to examine, but found it to be only a tower and a few ruins. The yard was very full of gravestones. A large building at the bottom of the yard was, we were told, what now did duty for the original church, which in the time of Prince Charlie was used as a powder magazine, and was blown up in 1745 by a party of his Highlanders to prevent its falling into the hands of the advancing English Army, before which they were retreating. Shortly afterwards we overtook a gentleman whom we at first thought was a farmer, but found afterwards to be a surgeon who resided at Bannockburn, the next village. He was a cheerful and intelligent companion, and told us that the large flagstaff we could see in the fields to the left was where Robert Bruce planted his standard at the famous Battle of Bannockburn, which, he said, was fought at midsummer in the year 1314. Bruce had been preparing the ground for some time so as to make it difficult for the English to advance even though they were much more numerous and better armed than the Scots. As soon as the armies came in sight of each other on the evening of June 24th, King Robert Bruce, dressed in armour and with a golden crown on his helmet, to distinguish him from the rest of his army, mounted on a small pony, and, with a battle-axe in his hand, went up and down the ranks of his army to put them in order. Seeing the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little in front of his own men to have a nearer view of the enemy. An English knight, Sir Henry de Bohun, seeing the Scottish king so poorly mounted, thought he would rise to fame by killing Bruce and so putting an end to the war at once. So he challenged him to fight by galloping at him suddenly and furiously, thinking with his long spear and tall, powerful horse to extinguish Bruce immediately. Waiting until Bohun came up, and then suddenly turning his pony aside to avoid the point of his lance, Bruce rose in his stirrups and struck Sir Henry, as he passed at full speed, such a terrific blow on the head with his battle-axe that it cut through his helmet and his head at the same time, so that he died before reaching the ground. The only remark that Bruce is said to have made was, "I have broken my good battle-axe." This fearful encounter and the death of their champion was looked upon as a bad omen by the English, and Sir Walter Scott thus describes it: The heart had hardly time to think, The eyelid scarce had time to wink, * * * * * High in his stirrups stood the King, And gave his battle-axe the swing; Right on De Boune, the whiles he pass'd, Fell that stern dint--the first--the last!-- Such strength upon the blow was put, The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut; The axe shaft, with its brazen clasp, Was shiver'd to the gauntlet grasp. Springs from the blow the startled horse, Drops to the plain the lifeless corse. The battle began on the following morning, Midsummer Day, and the mighty host of heavily armed men on large horses moved forward along what they thought was hard road, only to fall into the concealed pits carefully prepared beforehand by Bruce and to sink in the bogs over which they had to pass. It can easily be imagined that those behind pressing forward would ride over those who had sunk already, only to sink themselves in turn. Thousands perished in that way, and many a thrown rider, heavily laden with armour, fell an easy prey to the hardy Scots. The result was disastrous to the English, and it was said that 30,000 of them were killed, while the Scots were able afterwards to raid the borders of England almost to the gates of York. The surgeon said that in the Royal College of Surgeons in London a rib of Bruce, the great Scottish king, was included in the curios of the college, together with a bit of the cancerous growth which killed Napoleon. It was said that Bruce's rib was injured in a jousting match in England many years before he died, and that the fracture was made good by a first-class surgeon of the time. In 1329 Bruce died of leprosy in his fifty fifth year and the twenty-third of his reign, and was buried in the Abbey Church of Dunfermline. In clearing the foundation for the third church on the same site, in 1818, the bones of the hero were discovered, Sir Walter Scott being present. The breastbone of the skeleton had been sawn through some 500 years before, as was customary, in order to allow of the removal of the heart, which was then embalmed, and given to Bruce's friend, Sir James Douglas, to be carried to Palestine and buried in Jerusalem. The surgeon also told us--in order, we supposed, to cheer our drooping spirits--of another battle fought in the neighbourhood of Bannockburn in 1488, but this time it was the Scottish King James III who came to grief. He had a fine grey courser given him "that could war all the horse of Scotland if the king could sit up well." But he was a coward and could not ride, and when some men came up shouting and throwing arrows, they frightened the king. Feeling the spurs, the horse went at "flight speed" through Bannockburn, and a woman carrying water, when she saw the horse coming, dropped her bucket down on the road and ran for safety. The horse, frightened by the bucket, jumped over the brook that turned the mill, and threw the king off at the mill door. The miller and his wife, who saw the accident, not knowing that the rider was the king, put him in a nook in the mill and covered him with a cloth. When he came round, he asked for a priest and told them he was the king. But he had fallen into the hands of his enemies. The miller's wife clapped her hands, and ran out crying for a priest for the king. A man called out, "I am a priest; where is the king?" When he saw the king he told him he might recover if he had a good leeching, but the king desired him to give him the Sacrament. The supposed priest said, "That I shall do quickly," and suiting the action to the word, he stabbed him several times in the heart. The corpse he took away on his back, no one knew whither, and the king's soldiers, now leaderless, fled to Stirling and Linlithgow. We thanked our friend for his company and bade him farewell, as we reached Bannockburn village. We observed there, as in most villages near Stirling, many houses in ruins or built with the ruins of others. We thought what a blessing it was that the two nations were now united, and that the days of these cruel wars were gone for ever! At a junction of roads a finger-post pointed "To the Bannockburn Collieries," and we saw several coal-pits in the distance with the ruins of an old building near them, but we did not take the trouble to inspect them. The shades of night were coming on when, after walking a few miles, we saw an old man standing at the garden gate of a very small cottage by the wayside, who told us he was an old sailor and that Liverpool had been his port, from which he had taken his first voyage in 1814. He could remember Birkenhead and that side of the River Mersey when there was only one house, and that a farm from which he used to fetch buttermilk, and when there was only one dock in Liverpool--the Prince's. We thought what a contrast the old man would find if he were to visit that neighbourhood now! He told us of a place near by named Norwood, where were the remains of an old castle of Prince Charlie's time, with some arches and underground passages, but it was now too dark to see them. We proceeded towards Camelon, with the great ironworks of Carron illuminating the sky to our left, and finally arrived at Falkirk. Here, in reply to our question, a sergeant of police recommended us to stay the night at the "Swan Inn," kept by a widow, a native of Inverness, where we were made very comfortable. After our supper of bread and milk, we began to take off our boots to prepare for bed, but we were requested to keep them on as our bedroom was outside! We followed our leader along the yard at the back of the inn and up a flight of stone steps, at the top of which we were ushered into a comfortable bedroom containing three beds, any or all of which, we were informed, were at our service. Having made our selection and fastened the door, we were soon asleep, notwithstanding the dreadful stories we had heard that day, and the great battlefields we had visited--haunted, no doubt, by the ghosts of legions of our English ancestors who had fallen therein! (_Distance walked seventeen miles_.) _Saturday, October 7th._ Falkirk, which stands on a gentle slope on the great Carse of Forth, is surrounded by the Grampian Hills, the Ochills, and the Campsie Range. Here King Edward I entirely routed the Scottish Army in the year 1298. Wallace's great friend was slain in the battle and buried in the churchyard, where an inscription recorded that "Sir John de Grahame, equally remarkable for wisdom and courage, and the faithful friend of Wallace, being slain in the battle by the English, lies buried in this place." We left the inn at six o'clock in the morning, the only people visible being workmen turning out for their day's work. The last great fair of the season was to be held that day, and we had the previous day seen the roads filled with cattle making for Falkirk Fair, perhaps one of the largest fairs in the kingdom. We had been told by the drovers that the position was well adapted for the purpose, as the ground was very sandy and therefore not so liable to be trampled into mud by the animals' feet. We passed through the village of Laurieston, where Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite and blasting gelatine, lived, and saw a plough at work turning up potatoes, a crowd of women and boys following it and gathering up the potatoes in aprons and then emptying them into a long row of baskets which extended from one end of the field to the other. A horse and cart followed, and the man in charge emptied the contents of the baskets into the cart. We questioned the driver of the plough, who assured us that no potatoes were left in the land, but that all were turned up and gathered, and that it was a much better way than turning them out by hand with a fork, as was usual in England. [Illustration: LINLITHGOW PALACE.] [Illustration: ANCIENT KEY OF LINLITHGOW PALACE.] About two miles farther on we passed the romantic village of Polmont, and on through a fine stretch of country until we reached another fair-sized village called Linlithgow Bridge. We were then about a mile and a half from the old town of Linlithgow; here the River Avon separates the counties of Stirlingshire and Linlithgowshire. The old bridge from which the place takes its name is said to have been built by Edward I of England. In 1526 the Battle of Linlithgow Bridge was fought at this spot; it was one of those faction fights between two contending armies for predominance which were so prevalent in Scotland at the time, the real object, however, being to rescue King James V from the domination of the Earl of Angus. The opposing fronts under Angus and Lennox extended on both sides of the Avon. The Earl of Lennox was slain by Sir James Hamilton after quarter had been granted to the former. His sword was afterwards found, and may still be seen in the small museum at Linlithgow. In this village Stephen Mitchell, tobacco and snuff manufacturer, carried on business and had an old snuff mill here; he was the first founder in Great Britain of a Free Library. Burns the Scottish poet stayed a night here on August 25th, 1787. We arrived at the royal and ancient burgh of Linlithgow at about nine o'clock. The town, as Burns says, "carries the appearance of rude, decayed, idle grandeur"; it is, however, very pleasantly situated, with rich, fertile surroundings. There is a fine old royal palace here within which, on December 7th, 1542, the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots was born, whose beauty and magnificence have imbued her history with so deep and melancholy an interest. Sir Walter Scott in "Marmion" sings the praises of this palace as follows:-- Of all the palaces so fair, Built for the royal dwelling. In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling. We fully endorsed the great Sir Walter's opinion, for it certainly was a magnificent structure and occupied a grand situation, with a large lake in front covering perhaps a hundred acres. We were now, however, getting ravenously hungry, so we adjourned to the hotel for breakfast, which was quickly served and almost as quickly eaten. The palace was not open until ten o'clock, so we had to be content with a view of the exterior, nor could we visit the fine old church, for we wanted to reach Edinburgh, where we had decided to stay the week-end in order to see some of the sights of the historic capital. [Illustration: MONUMENT EXECUTED BY A ONE-ARMED MAN.] A halo of deepest interest surrounded the history of Linlithgow, whose every stone spoke volumes of the storied past. The traditions of the place go far back into the dim shadowy regions where historic fact merges into myth and legend. Solid ground is only reached about the twelfth century. The English had possession of the palace in 1313, and the way it was taken from them was probably unique in the history of such places. The garrison was supplied with hay for the horses by a local farmer named Binnock, who determined to strike a blow for the freedom of his country. A new supply of hay had been ordered, and he contrived to conceal eight men, well armed, under it. The team was driven by a sturdy waggoner, who had a sharp axe concealed in his clothing, while Binnock himself walked alongside. The porter, on seeing their approach, lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis to admit of the passage of the hay within the castle walls. Just as they reached the centre of the gateway the driver drew his axe and cut off the tackle that attached the oxen to the waggon, at the same time striking the warder dead and shouting a preconcerted signal--"Call all! Call all!" "The armed men jumped from amongst the hay, and a strong party of Scots, who by arrangement were in ambush outside, rushed in and attacked the astonished garrison, who were unprepared for the onslaught--the load of hay being so placed that the gate could not be closed nor the bridge raised--and so the Scots made themselves masters of the palace." [Illustration: WINDOW IN SOUTH CHANCEL OF ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH, WHERE JAMES IV SAW THE VISION BEFORE THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN.] The last event of any historical interest or importance connected with this palace was the visit paid to it by Prince Charles Stewart in 1745; it was destroyed in the following year. The beautiful old Gothic church of St. Michael is situated close to the palace. Perhaps no tradition connected with this church is more interesting than the vision which is said to have appeared to James IV while praying within St. Catherine's Aisle immediately before the Battle of Flodden. According to Lindsay of Pitscottie, on whose authority the tale rests, the King, being "in a very sad and dolorous mood, was making his devotions to God to send him good chance and fortune in his voyage" when a man "clad in ane blue gown" appeared to him, and with little ceremony declared to the King that he had been sent to desire him "nocht to pass whither he purposed," for if he did, things "would not fare well with him or any who went with him." How little this warning was heeded by the King is known to all readers of Scottish history. The "ghost," if it may be called so, was in all likelihood an attempt to frighten the King, and it is certain that the tale would never have gained the weird interest it possesses if Flodden Field had not proved so disastrous. It has been helped to immortality by Sir Walter Scott, who in "Marmion" has invested Pitscottie's antique prose with the charm of imperishable poetry. [Illustration: THE OLD CROSS WELL.] One characteristic of the towns or villages in Scotland through which we passed was their fine drinking-fountains, and we had admired a very fine one at Falkirk that morning; but Linlithgow's fountain surpassed it--it was indeed the finest we had seen, and a common saying occurred to us: Glasgow for bells, Linlithgow for wells. Linlithgow has long been celebrated for its wells, some of them of ancient date and closely associated with the history of the town. We came to an old pump-well with the date 1720, and the words "Saint Michael is kinde to straingers." As we considered ourselves to be included in that category, we had a drink of the water. [Illustration: THE TOWN HERALD, LINLITHGOW (A survival of the past)] At the end of the village or town we passed the union workhouse, where the paupers were busy digging up potatoes in the garden, and a short distance farther on we passed a number of boys with an elderly man in charge of them, who informed us they came from the "institute," meaning the workhouse we had just seen, and that he took them out for a walk once every week. Presently we met a shepherd who was employed by an English farmer in the neighbourhood, and he told us that the man we had met in charge of the boys was an old pensioner who had served fifty-two years in the army, but as soon as he got his pension money he spent it, as he couldn't keep it, the colour of his nose showing the direction in which it went. It struck us the shepherd seemed inclined that way himself, as he said if he had met us nearer a public-house he would have "treated us to a good glass." We thought what a pity it was that men had not a better eye to their own future interests than to spend all their money "for that which is not bread, and their labour for that which satisfieth not," and how many there were who would ultimately become burdens to society who might have secured a comfortable competency for old age by wisely investing their surplus earnings instead of allowing them to flow down that awful channel of waste! [Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S WELL.] We walked through a fine agricultural district--for we were now in Midlothian--adorned with great family mansions surrounded by well-kept grounds, and arrived in sight of Edinburgh at 1.30, and by two o'clock we were opposite a large building which we were told was Donaldson's Hospital, founded in 1842, and on which about £100,000 had been spent. Our first business on reaching Edinburgh was to find suitable lodgings until Monday morning, and we decided to stay at Fogg's Temperance Hotel in the city. We had then to decide whether we should visit Edinburgh Castle or Holyrood Palace that day--both being open to visitors at the same hour in the afternoon, but as they were some distance apart we could not explore both; we decided in favour of the palace, where we were conducted through the picture gallery and the many apartments connected with Mary Queen of Scots and her husband Lord Darnley. The picture-gallery contained the reputed portraits of all the Kings of Scotland from Fergus I, 330 B.C., down to the end of the Stuart dynasty; and my brother, who claimed to have a "painter's eye," as he had learned something of that art when at school, discovered a great similarity between the portraits of the early kings and those that followed them centuries later. Although I explained that it was only an illustration of history repeating itself, and reminded him of the adage, "Like father, like son," he was not altogether satisfied. We found afterwards, indeed, that the majority of the portraits had been painted by a Flemish artist, one John de Witt, who in the year 1684 made a contract, which was still in existence, whereby he bound himself to paint no portraits within two years, he supplying the canvas and colours, and the Government paying him £120 per year and supplying him with the "originalls" from which he was to copy. We wondered what had become of these "originalls," especially that of Fergus, 330 B.C., but as no information was forthcoming we agreed to consider them as lost in the mists of antiquity. [Illustration: HOLYROOD PALACE.] There was much old tapestry on the walls of the various rooms we inspected in the palace, and although it was now faded we could see that it must have looked very beautiful in its original state. The tapestry in one room was almost wholly devoted to scenes in which heavenly-looking little boys figured as playing in lovely gardens amidst beautiful scenery. One of these scenes showed a lake in the background with a castle standing at one end of it. In the lake were two small islands covered with trees which were reflected in the still waters, while in the front was a large orange tree, growing in a lovely garden, up which some of the little boys had climbed, one of whom was throwing oranges to a companion on the ground below; while two others were enjoying a game of leapfrog, one jumping over the other's back. Three other boys were engaged in the fascinating game of blowing bubbles--one making the lather, another blowing the bubbles, while a third was trying to catch them. There were also three more boys--one of them apparently pretending to be a witch, as he was riding on a broomstick, while another was giving a companion a donkey-ride upon his back. All had the appearance of little cupids or angels and looked so lifelike and happy that we almost wished we were young again and could join them in their play! The rooms more closely connected with the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots were of course the most interesting to visitors; and in her audience-room, where she had such distressing interviews with John Knox, the famous Presbyterian divine and reformer, we saw the bed that was used by King Charles I when he resided at Holyrood, and afterwards occupied on one occasion, in September 1745, by his descendant Prince Charlie, and again after the battle of Culloden by the Duke of Cumberland. [Illustration: WEST DOORWAY, CHAPEL ROYAL.] We passed on to Queen Mary's bedroom, in which we were greatly interested, and in spite of its decayed appearance we could see it had been a magnificent apartment. Its walls were adorned with emblems and initials of former Scottish royalties, and an old tapestry representing the mythological story of the fall of Photon, who, according to the Greeks, lost his life in rashly attempting to drive the chariot of his father the God of the Sun. Here we saw Queen Mary's bed, which must have looked superb in its hangings of crimson damask, trimmed with green silk fringes and tassels, when these were new, but now in their decay they seemed to remind us of their former magnificence and of their unfortunate owner, to whom the oft-quoted words Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown so aptly applied. We wondered how many times her weary head had passed its restless nights there, and in the many castles in which she had been placed during her long imprisonment of nineteen years. Half hidden by the tapestry there was a small door opening upon a secret stair, and it was by this that Darnley and his infamous associates ascended when they went to murder the Queen's unfortunate Italian secretary, Rizzio, in the Queen's supping-room, which we now visited. There we had to listen to the recital of this horrible crime: how the Queen had been forcibly restrained by Darnley, her table overthrown and the viands scattered, while the blood-thirsty conspirators crowded into the room; how Rizzio rushed behind the Queen for protection, until one of the assassins snatched Darnley's dagger from its sheath, and stabbed Rizzio, leaving the dagger sticking in his body, while the others dragged him furiously from the room, stabbing him as he went, shrieking for mercy, until he fell dead at the head of the staircase, pierced by fifty-six wounds; and how one of the assassins threatened to cut the Queen "into collops" if she dared to speak to the populace through the window. The bloodstain on the floor was of course shown us, which the mockers assert is duly "restored" every winter before the visiting season commences. Leaving the Palace, we saw Queen Mary's Bath, a quaintly shaped little building built for her by King James IV, in which she was said to have bathed herself in white wine--an operation said to have been the secret of her beauty. During some alterations which were made to it in 1798, a richly inlaid but wasted dagger was found stuck in the sarking of the roof, supposedly by the murderers of Rizzio on their escape from the palace. [Illustration: CHAPEL ROYAL, HOLYROOD.] We then visited the now roofless ruins of the Abbey or Chapel Royal adjoining the Palace. A fine doorway on which some good carving still remained recalled something of its former beauty and grandeur. There were quite a number of tombs, and what surprised us most was the large size of the gravestones, which stood 6 to 7 feet high, and were about 3 feet wide. Those we had been accustomed to in England were much smaller, but everything in Scotland seemed big, including the people themselves, and this was no less true of the buildings in Edinburgh. There was a monument in one corner of the Chapel Royal on which was an inscription in Latin, of which we read the English translation to be:-- HERE IS BURIED A WORTHY MAN AND AN INGENIOUS MASON, ALEXANDER MILNE, 20 Feb. A.D. 1643 Stay Passenger, here famous Milne doth rest, Worthy to be in Ægypt's Marble drest; What Myron or Apelles could have done In brass or paintry, he could do in stone; But thretty yeares hee [blameless] lived; old age He did betray, and in's Prime left this stage. Restored by Robert Mylne Architect. MDCCLXXVI. The builder of the Palace was Robert Milne, the descendant of a family of distinguished masons. He was the "master mason," and a record of him in large letters on a pillar ran-- FVN . BE . RO . MILNE . M.M. . I . JYL . 1671. After leaving Holyrood we walked up Calton Hill, where we had a splendid view of the fine old city of Edinburgh seated on rocks that are older than history, and surrounded by hills with the gleaming Firth of Forth in the distance. The panorama as seen from this point was magnificent, and one of the finest in Great Britain. On the hill there were good roads and walks and some monuments. One of these, erected to the memory of Nelson, was very ugly, and another--beautiful in its incompleteness--consisted of a number of immense fluted columns in imitation of the Parthenon of Athens, which we were told was a memorial to the Scottish heroes who fell in the Wars of Napoleon, but which was not completed, as sufficient funds had not been forthcoming to finish what had evidently been intended to be an extensive and costly erection. We supposed that these lofty pillars remained as a warning to those who begin to build without first sitting down and counting the cost. They were beautifully proportioned, resembling a fragment of some great ruin, and probably had as fine an effect as they stood, as the finished structure would have had. [Illustration: "MONS MEG."] Edinburgh Castle stood out in the distance on an imposing rock. As we did not arrive during visiting hours we missed many objects of interest, including the Scottish crown and regalia, which are stored therein. On the ramparts of the castle we saw an ancient gun named "Mons Meg," whose history was both long and interesting. It had been made by hand with long bars of hammered iron held together by coils of iron hoops, and had a bore of 20 in.; the cannon-balls resting alongside it were made of wood. It was constructed in 1455 by native artisans at the instance of James II, and was used in the siege of Dumbarton in 1489 and in the Civil Wars. In Cromwell's list of captured guns in 1650 it was described as "the great iron murderer Meg." When fired on the occasion of the Duke of York's visit to Edinburgh in 1682 the gun burst. After this bad behaviour "Meg" was sent to the Tower of London, not, however, to be executed, but to remain there until the year 1829, when, owing to the intercession of Sir Walter Scott with King George IV, the great gun was returned to Edinburgh, and was received with great rejoicings and drawn up with great ceremony to the castle, where it still remains as a relic of the past. On our way we had observed a placard announcing a soirée in connection with the I.O.G.T. (the Independent Order of Good Templars), and this being somewhat of a novelty to us we decided to patronise it. Accordingly at 7 p.m. we found ourselves paying the sum of ninepence each at the entrance to the Calton Rooms. As we filed through along with others, a cup and saucer and a paper bag containing a variety of cakes were handed to us, and the positions assigned to us were on either side of an elderly gentleman whom we afterwards found to be a schoolmaster. When the tea came round there were no nice young ladies to ask us if we took sugar and milk, and how many pieces of sugar; to our great amusement the tea was poured into our cups from large tin kettles carried by men who from their solemn countenances appeared fitting representatives of "Caledonia stern and wild." We thought this method a good one from the labour-saving point of view, and it was certainly one we had never seen adopted before. The weak point about it was that it left no opportunity for individual taste in the matter of milk and sugar, which had already been added, but as we did not hear any complaints and all appeared satisfied, we concluded that the happy medium had been reached, and that all had enjoyed themselves as we did ourselves. Our friend the schoolmaster was very communicative, and added to our pleasure considerably by his intelligent conversation, in the course of which he told us that the I.O.G.T. was a temperance organisation introduced from America, and he thought it was engaged in a good work. The members wore a very smart regalia, much finer than would have suited us under the climatic conditions we had to pass through. After tea they gave us an entertainment consisting of recitations and songs, the whole of which were very creditably rendered. But the great event of the evening was the very able address delivered by the Rev. Professor Kirk, who explained the objects of the Good Templar movement and the good work it was doing in Edinburgh and elsewhere. Every one listened attentively, for the Professor was a good speaker and he was frequently applauded by his audience. We had spent a very pleasant evening, and the schoolmaster accompanied us nearly all the way to our lodgings, which we reached at 11 p.m. (_Distance walked up to 2 p.m. twenty-four miles_.) _Sunday, October 8th._ To judge by what we heard and saw, there were connected with Edinburgh three great characters who stand out above all others in historic importance--Mary Queen of Scots, John Knox, and Sir Walter Scott; but we thought and read more about John Knox this day than either of the others, possibly because it was Sunday. We attended service in three different churches, and give the following particulars for the information of our clerical and other friends who "search the Scriptures," in the hope that they may find in the reading of the texts food for thought. [Illustration: EDINBURGH FROM THE CASTLE] In the morning we went to the High Church. Preacher, the Rev. C. Giffin, M.A. Text. 2 Corinthians viii. 13 and to the end. In the afternoon to the Tron Church. Preacher, the Rev. James McGregor, D.D. Text: Isaiah lvii., the last three verses, and Ephesians ii. and the first clause of verse 14. In the evening to the Wesleyan Chapel, Nicolson Square. Preacher, the Rev. Dr. James, President of the Wesleyan Conference. Text: I Corinthians ii. 1, 2. The excellence of the sermons, and the able way in which they had been prepared and were delivered, gave us the impression that rivalry existed between the ministers of the different churches as to which of them could preach the best sermon. They were all fine orations, carefully thought out and elaborated, especially that by Dr. James. During the intervals between the services we walked about the city, and again passed the splendid monument to Sir Walter Scott with the following remarkable inscription, written by Lord Jeffery, beneath its foundation stone: _This Graven Plate, deposited in the base of a votive building on the fifteenth day of August in the year of Christ 1840, and never likely to see the light again till all the surrounding structures are crumbled to dust by the decay of time, or by human or elemental violence, may then testify to a distant posterity that his countrymen began on that day to raise an effigy and architectural monument to the memory of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., whose admirable writings were then allowed to have given more delight and suggested better feelings to a large class of readers in every rank of society than those of any other author, with the exception of Shakespeare alone, and which were, therefore, thought likely to be remembered long after this act of gratitude on the part of the first generation of his admirers should be forgotten. He was born at Edinburgh 15th August 1771: and died at Abbotsford, 21st September 1832._ We also passed that ancient and picturesque mansion in the High Street known as the "House of John Knox," in which the distinguished reformer died in 1572. Born in the year 1505, it was he who, in the reign of Mary Queen of Scots, stirred Scotland to mighty religious impulses, boldly denouncing Mary as a Papist and a Jezebel. How he escaped being beheaded or burned or assassinated was, considering the nature of the times in which he lived, a mystery almost amounting to a miracle. [Illustration: MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS] Queen Mary sailed from France and landed at Leith, near Edinburgh, on August 19th, 1561, where she was welcomed by the Scots as Dowager of France, Queen of Scotland, and heiress of England, and was "gorgeouslie and magnificentlie" received, according to Scottish ideas, by the lords and ladies who came to meet and accompany her to Edinburgh; but, according to the diary of one of the Queen's ladies, "when they saw them mounted on such wretched little hackneys so wretchedly caparisoned they were greatly disappointed, and thought of the gorgeous pomp and superb palfreys they had been accustomed to in France, and the Queen began to weep." On their arrival at Edinburgh they retired to rest in the Abbey, "a fine building and not at all partaking of that country, but here came under her window a crew of five or six hundred scoundrels from the city, who gave her a serenade with wretched violins and little rebecks of which there are enough in that country, and began to sing Psalms so miserably mis-tuned and mis-timed that nothing could be worse. Alas! what music, and what a night's rest!" What the lady would have written if bagpipes had been included in the serenade we could not imagine, but as these instruments of torture were not named, we concluded they must have been invented at a later period. [Illustration: JOHN KNOX'S HOUSE, EDINBURGH. "We also passed the ancient and picturesque mansion in the High Street ... in which that distinguished reformer died."] Mary had been away in France for about thirteen years, and during that time she had for her companions four young ladies of the same name as her own and of about the same age, Mary Fleming, Mary Bethune, Mary Livingstone, and Mary Seaton, all of whom formed part of her retinue on her return to Scotland, where they were known as the "Queen's Marys." [Illustration: GROTESQUE HEADS ON TRINITY COLLEGE CHURCH.] She was a staunch adherent of the Romish Church, a fact which accounted for many of her trials and mortifications. Mainly owing to the powerful preaching of John Knox, many of the people of Scotland, both of high and low degree, had become fierce opponents of that form of religion, which they considered idolatrous. The first Sunday after her arrival was St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24th, and preparations had been made to celebrate mass in the Chapel Royal, at which the Queen was to be present. But no sooner was this known, than a mob rushed towards the edifice, exclaiming: "Shall the idol be again erected in the land?" and shouting, "The idolatrous priests shall die the death!" On September 2nd the Queen made her public entry into Edinburgh, and on the same day John Knox had an audience with Mary, who, hearing of a furious sermon he had preached against the Mass on the previous Sunday in St. Giles's Church, thought that a personal interview would mitigate his sternness. The Queen took him to task for his book entitled _The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regimen of Women_, and his intolerance towards every one who differed from him in opinion, and further requested him to obey the precepts of the Scriptures, a copy of which she perceived in his possession, and urged him to use more meekness in his sermons. Knox in reply, it was said, "knocked so hastily upon her heart," that he made her weep with tears of anguish and indignation, and she said, "My subjects, it would appear, must obey you, and not me; I must be subject to them, and not they to me!" Knox left Holyrood that day convinced that Mary's soul was lost for ever, and that she despised and mocked all exhortation against the Mass. When Mary attended her first Parliament, accompanied by her ladies, the Duke of Chatelherault carrying the Crown, the Earl of Argyll the Sceptre, and the Earl of Moray the Sword, she appeared so graceful and beautiful that the people who saw her were quite captivated, and many exclaimed, "God save that sweet face!" During this short Parliament Knox preached in St. Giles's Church, and argued that they ought to demand from the Queen "that which by God's Word they may justly require, and if she would not agree with them in God, they were not bound to agree with her in the devil!" and concluded with some observations respecting the Queen's rumoured marriage with Don Carlos of Spain, declaring, "Whenever ye consent that an infidel, and all Papists are infidels, shall be our head to our soverane, ye do so far as in ye lieth to banisch Christ Jesus from his realme; ye bring God's vengeance upon this country, a plague upon yourselves, and perchance ye shall do no small discomfirt to your soverane." [Illustration: JOHN KNOX.] Mary heard of this furious attack upon her, which Knox admitted had offended both Papists and Protestants, and he was again summoned to Holyrood. As soon as Mary saw Knox she was greatly excited, and exclaimed: "Never was prince handled as I am." "I have borne with you," she said to Knox, "in all your vigorous manner of speaking, both against myself and my uncles; yea, I have sought your favour by all possible means--I offered unto you presence and audience whenever it pleased you to admonish me, and yet I cannot be quit of you. I vow to God I shall be once avenged." Knox answered, "True it is, Madam, your Grace and I have been at divers controversies into the which I never perceived your Grace to be offended at me; but when it shall please God to deliver you from that bondage of darkness and error in the which ye have been nourished for the lack of true doctrine, your majesty will find the liberty of my tongue nothing offensive. Without the preaching-place, Madam, I am not master of myself, for I must obey Him who commands me to speak plain, and flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth." The Queen asked him again, "What have ye to do with my marriage, or what are ye in this commonwealth?" "A subject born within the same, Madam," was the stern reply; "and albeit I be neither Earl, Lord, nor Baron within it, yet has God made me, how abject soever I may be in your eyes, a profitable member within the same." He was entering into some personal explanations, when the Queen ordered him to leave the Cabinet, and remain in the ante-chamber till her pleasure should be intimated. Here Knox found himself in the company of the Queen's Marys and other ladies, to whom he gave a religious admonition. "Oh, fair ladies," he said, "how pleasing is this life of yours if it would ever abide, and then in the end that you pass to Heaven with all this gay gear! But fie upon the knave Death, that will come whether we will or not, and when he has laid on his arrest, the foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and tender; and the silly soul, I fear, shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targetting, pearl nor precious stones." Several noblemen had accompanied Knox when he went to see the Queen, but only Erskine of Dun was admitted to the Cabinet, and Lord Ochiltree attended Knox in the ante-room while Queen Mary held a consultation with Lord John Stuart and Erskine lasting nearly an hour, at the end of which Erskine appeared and accompanied Knox home. Knox must have been in great danger of losing his life owing to his fearless and determined daring in rebuking those in high places, and indeed his life was afterwards repeatedly aimed at; but Providence foiled all attempts to assassinate him, and in the end he died a peaceful death. On November 9th, 1572, a fortnight before he died, he preached his farewell sermon, the entire congregation following his tottering footsteps to his home. When the time came for him to die he asked for I Corinthians xv., and after that had been read he remarked: "Is not that a comfortable chapter?" There was also read to him Isaiah liii. Asked if he could hear, he replied: "I hear, I thank God, and understand far better." He afterwards said to his wife, "Read, where I cast my first anchor." Mrs. Knox knew what he meant, and read to him his favourite seventeenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. His friend Bannatyne, seeing that he was just about to depart, and was becoming speechless, drew near to him saying, "Hast thou hope?" and asked him if he heard to give them a sign that he died in peace. Knox pointed upwards with two of his fingers, and thus he died without a struggle. Truly one of the most remarkable men that ever lived in Scotland, and whose end was peace. [Illustration: OLD TOWN FROM CALTON HILL.] A vast concourse of people attended his funeral, the nobility walking in front of the procession, headed by Morton, who had been appointed Regent of Scotland on the very day on which Knox died, and whose panegyric at the grave was: "Here lieth a man who in his life never feared the face of man." St. Giles's was the first parochial church in Edinburgh, and its history dates from the early part of the twelfth century. John Knox was appointed its minister at the Reformation. When Edinburgh was created a bishopric, the Church of St. Giles became the Cathedral of the diocese. A remarkable incident happened at this church on Sunday, July 23rd, 1639, when King Charles I ordered the English service-book to be used. It was the custom of the people in those days to bring their own seats to church, in the shape of folding-stools, and just as Dean Hanney was about to read the collect for the day, a woman in the congregation named Jenny Geddes, who must have had a strong objection to this innovation, astonished the dean by suddenly throwing her stool at his head. What Jenny's punishment was for this violent offence we did not hear, but her stool was still preserved together with John Knox's pulpit and other relics. [Illustration: ST. GILES'S CATHEDRAL, EDINBURGH.] Although three hundred years save one had elapsed since John Knox departed this life, his memory was still greatly revered in Edinburgh, and his spirit still seemed to pervade the whole place and to dwell in the hearts and minds of the people with whom we came in contact. A good illustration of this was the story related by an American visitor. He was being driven round the city, when the coachman pointed out the residence of John Knox. "And who was John Knox?" he asked. The coachman seemed quite shocked that he did not know John Knox, and, looking down on him with an eye of pity, replied, in a tone of great solemnity, "Deed, mawn, an' d'ye no read y'r Beeble!" As we walked about the crowded streets of Edinburgh that Sunday evening we did not see a single drunken person, a fact which we attributed to the closing of public houses in Scotland on Sundays. We wished that a similar enactment might be passed in England, for there many people might habitually be seen much the worse for liquor on Sunday evenings, to the great annoyance of those returning from their various places of worship. FOURTH WEEK'S JOURNEY _Monday, October 9th_ There were some streets in Edinburgh called wynds, and it was in one of these, the College Wynd, that Sir Walter Scott was born in the year 1771. It seemed a strange coincidence that the great Dr. Samuel Johnson should have visited the city in the same year, and have been conducted by Boswell and Principal Robertson to inspect the college along that same wynd when the future Sir Walter Scott was only about two years old. We had not yet ventured to explore one of these ancient wynds, as they appeared to us like private passages between two rows of tall houses. As we could not see the other end, we looked upon them as traps for the unwary, but we mustered up our courage and decided to explore one of them before leaving the town. We therefore rose early and selected one of an antiquated appearance, but we must confess to a feeling of some apprehension in entering it, as the houses on each side were of six to eight storeys high, and so lofty that they appeared almost to touch each other at the top. To make matters worse for us, there were a number of poles projecting from the windows high above our track, for use on washing days, when clothes were hung upon them to dry. We had not gone very far, when my brother drew my attention to two women whose heads appeared through opposite windows in the upper storeys, and who were talking to each other across the wynd. On our approach we heard one of them call to the other in a mischievous tone of voice, "See! there's twa mair comin'!" We were rather nervous already, so we beat an ignominious retreat, not knowing what might be coming on our devoted heads if we proceeded farther. In the event of hostilities the two ladies were so high up in the buildings, which were probably let in flats, that we should never have been able to find them, and, like the stray sheep in the Pass of St. Ninians, we might never have been found ourselves. We were probably taken for a pair of sporting young medical students instead of grave searchers after wisdom and truth. We therefore returned to our hotel for the early breakfast that was waiting for us, and left Edinburgh at 8.10 a.m. on our way towards Peebles. [Illustration: QUEEN MARY'S BATH.] [Illustration: CRAIGMILLAR CASTLE.] We journeyed along an upward gradient with a view of Craigmillar Castle to our left, obtaining on our way a magnificent view of the fine city we had left behind us, with its castle, and the more lofty elevation known as Arthur's Seat, from which portions of twelve counties might be seen. It was a curiously shaped hill with ribs and bones crossing in various directions, which geologists tell us are undoubted remains of an old volcano. It certainly was a very active one, if one can judge by the quantity of debris it threw out. There was an old saying, especially interesting to ladies, that if you washed your face at sunrise on May 1st, with dew collected off the top of Arthur's Seat, you would be beautiful for ever. We were either too late or too soon, as it was now October 9th, and as we had a lot to see on that day, with not overmuch time to see it in, we left the dew to the ladies, feeling certain, however, that they would be more likely to find it there in October than on May Day. When we had walked about five miles, we turned off the main road to visit the pretty village of Rosslyn, or Roslin, with its three great attractions: the chapel, the castle, and the dell. We found it surrounded by woods and watered by a very pretty reach of the River Esk, and as full of history as almost any place in Scotland. The unique chapel was the great object of interest. The guide informed us that it was founded in 1446 by William St. Clair, who also built the castle, in which he resided in princely splendour. He must have been a person of very great importance, for he had titles enough even to weary a Spaniard, being Prince of Orkney, Duke of Oldenburg, Earl of Caithness and Stratherne, Lord St. Clair, Lord Liddlesdale, Lord Admiral of the Scottish Seas, Lord Chief Justice of Scotland, Lord Warden of the three Marches, Baron of Roslin, Knight of the Cockle, and High Chancellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of Scotland! The lords of Rosslyn were buried in their complete armour beneath the chapel floor up to the year 1650, but afterwards in coffins. Sir Walter Scott refers to them in his "Lay of the Last Minstrel" thus:-- There are twenty of Rosslyn's Barons bold Lie buried within that proud Chapelle. [Illustration: ROSSLYN CHAPEL--THE "MASTER AND 'PRENTICE PILLARS"] [Illustration: THE "'PRENTICE PILLAR."] There were more carvings in Rosslyn Chapel than in any place of equal size that we saw in all our wanderings, finely executed, and with every small detail beautifully finished and exquisitely carved. Foliage, flowers, and ferns abounded, and religious allegories, such as the Seven Acts of Mercy, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Dance of Death, and many scenes from the Scriptures; it was thought that the original idea had been to represent a Bible in stone. The great object of interest was the magnificently carved pillar known as the "'Prentice Pillar," and in the chapel were two carved heads, each of them showing a deep scar on the right temple. To these, as well as the pillar, a melancholy memory was attached, from which it appeared that the master mason received orders that this pillar should be of exquisite workmanship and design. Fearing his inability to carry out his instructions, he went abroad to Rome to see what designs he could find for its execution. While he was away his apprentice had a dream in which he saw a most beautiful column, and, setting to work at once to carry out the design of his dream, finished the pillar, a perfect marvel of workmanship. When his master returned and found the pillar completed, he was so envious and enraged at the success of his apprentice that he struck him on the head with his mallet with such force that he killed him on the spot, a crime for which he was afterwards executed. We passed on to the castle across a very narrow bridge over a ravine, but we did not find much there except a modern-looking house built with some of the old stones, under which were four dungeons. Rosslyn was associated with scenes rendered famous by Bruce and Wallace, Queen Mary and Rizzio, Robert III and Queen Annabella Drummond, by Comyn and Fraser, and by the St. Clairs, as well as by legendary stories of the Laird of Gilmorton Grange, who set fire to the house in which were his beautiful daughter and her lover, the guilty abbot, so that both of them were burnt to death, and of the Lady of Woodhouselee, a white-robed, restless spectre, who appeared with her infant in her arms. Then there was the triple battle between the Scots and the English, in which the Scots were victorious: Three triumphs in a day! Three hosts subdued by one! Three armies scattered like the spray, Beneath one vernal sun. [Illustration: ROSSLYN CASTLE.] Here, too, was the inn, now the caretaker's house, visited by Dr. Johnson and Boswell in 1773, the poet Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy in 1803, while some of the many other celebrities who called from time to time had left their signatures on the window-panes. Burns and his friend Nasmyth the artist breakfasted there on one occasion, and Burns was so pleased with the catering that he rewarded the landlady by scratching on a pewter plate the two following verses: My blessings on you, sonsie wife, I ne'er was here before; You've gien us walth for horn and knife-- Nae heart could wish for more. Heaven keep you free from care and strife. Till far ayont four score; And while I toddle on through life, I'll ne'er gang bye your door. Rosslyn at one time was a quiet place and only thought of in Edinburgh when an explosion was heard at the Rosslyn gunpowder works. But many more visitors appeared after Sir Walter Scott raised it to eminence by his famous "Lay" and his ballad of "Rosabelle": Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud. Where Rosslyn's chiefs uncoffin'd lie. Hawthornden was quite near where stood Ben Jonson's sycamore, and Drummond's Halls, and Cyprus Grove, but we had no time to see the caves where Sir Alexander Ramsay had such hairbreadth escapes. About the end of the year 1618 Ben Jonson, then Poet Laureate of England, walked from London to Edinburgh to visit his friend Taylor, the Thames waterman, commonly known as the Water Poet, who at that time was at Leith. In the January following he called to see the poet Drummond of Hawthornden, who was more frequently called by the name of the place where he lived than by his own. He found him sitting in front of his house, and as he approached Drummond welcomed him with the poetical salutation: "Welcome! welcome! Royal Ben," to which Jonson responded, "Thank ye, thank ye, Hawthornden." [Illustration: HAWTHORNDEN.] The poet Drummond was born in 1585, and died in 1649, his end being hastened by grief at the execution of Charles I. A relative erected a monument to his memory in 1784, to which the poet Young added the following lines: O sacred solitude, divine retreat, Choice of the prudent, envy of the great! By the pure stream, or in the waving shade I court fair Wisdom, that celestial maid; Here from the ways of men, laid safe ashore, I smile to hear the distant tempest roar; Here, blest with health, with business unperplex'd, This life I relish, and secure the next. Rosslyn Glen was a lovely place, almost like a fairy scene, and we wondered if Burns had it in his mind when he wrote: Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen of green bracken, Wi' the burn stealing under the long yellow broom. [Illustration: PENNICUICK HOUSE COURT] We walked very quietly and quickly past the gunpowder works, lest conversation might cause an explosion that would put an end to our walking expedition and ourselves at the same time, and regained the highway at a point about seven miles from Edinburgh. Presently we came to the Glencorse Barracks, some portions of which adjoined our road, and, judging from the dress and speech of the solitary sentinel who was pacing to and fro in front of the entrance, we concluded that a regiment of Highlanders must be stationed there. He informed us that in the time of the French Wars some of the prisoners were employed in making Scotch banknotes at a mill close by, and that portions of the barracks were still used for prisoners, deserters, and the like. Passing on to Pennicuick, we crossed a stream that flowed from the direction of the Pentland Hills, and were informed that no less than seven paper mills were worked by that stream within a distance of five miles. Here we saw a monument which commemorated the interment of 309 French prisoners who died during the years 1811 to 1814, a list of their names being still in existence. This apparently large death-rate could not have been due to the unhealthiness of the Glencorse Barracks, where they were confined, for it was by repute one of the healthiest in the kingdom, the road being 600 feet or more above sea-level, and the district generally, including Pennicuick, considered a desirable health-resort for persons suffering from pulmonary complaints. We stayed a short time here for refreshments, and outside the town we came in contact with two young men who were travelling a mile or two on our way, with whom we joined company. We were giving them an outline of our journey and they were relating to us their version of the massacre of Glencoe, when suddenly a pretty little squirrel crossed our path and ran into a wood opposite. This caused the massacre story to be ended abruptly and roused the bloodthirsty instinct of the two Scots, who at once began to throw stones at it with murderous intent. We watched the battle as the squirrel jumped from branch to branch and passed from one tree to another until it reached one of rather large dimensions. At this stage our friends' ammunition, which they had gathered hastily from the road, became exhausted, and we saw the squirrel looking at them from behind the trunk of the tree as they went to gather another supply. Before they were again ready for action the squirrel disappeared. We were pleased that it escaped, for our companions were good shots. They explained to us that squirrels were difficult animals to kill with a stone, unless they were hit under the throat. Stone-throwing was quite a common practice for country boys in Scotland, and many of them became so expert that they could hit small objects at a considerable distance. We were fairly good hands at it ourselves. It was rather a cruel sport, but loose stones were always plentiful on the roads--for the surfaces were not rolled, as in later years--and small animals, such as dogs and cats and all kinds of birds, were tempting targets. Dogs were the greatest sufferers, as they were more aggressive on the roads, and as my brother had once been bitten by one it was woe to the dog that came within his reach. Such was the accuracy acquired in the art of stone-throwing at these animals, that even stooping down in the road and pretending to lift a stone often caused the most savage dog to retreat quickly. We parted from the two Scots without asking them to finish their story of Glencoe, as the details were already fixed in our memories. They told us our road skirted a moor which extended for forty-seven miles or nearly as far as Glasgow, but we did not see much of the moor as we travelled in a different direction. [Illustration: "JOUGS" AT A CHURCH, PEEBLESSHIRE.] We passed through Edleston, where the church was dedicated to St. Mungo, reminding us of Mungo Park, the famous African traveller, and, strangely enough, it appeared we were not far away from where he was born. In the churchyard here was a tombstone to the memory of four ministers named Robertson, who followed each other in a direct line extending to 160 years. There was also to be seen the ancient "Jougs," or iron rings in which the necks of criminals were enclosed and fastened to a wall or post or tree. About three miles before reaching Peebles we came to the Mansion of Cringletie, the residence of the Wolfe-Murray family. The name of Wolfe had been adopted because one of the Murrays greatly distinguished himself at the Battle of Quebec, and on the lawn in front of the house was a cannon on which the following words had been engraved: _His Majesty's Ship Royal George of 108 guns, sunk at Spithead 29th August 1782. This gun, a 32 pounder, part of the armament of the Royal George, was fished up from the wreck of that ship by Mr. Deans, the zealous and enterprising Diver, on the 15th November 1836, and was presented by the Master-General and Board of Ordnance to General Durham of Largo, the elder Brother of Sir Philip Charles Henderson Durham, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Military Order of the Bath, Knight Commander of the Most Ancient Military Order of Merit of France, Admiral of the White Squadron of Her Majesty's Fleet, and Commander-in-Chief of the Port of Portsmouth, 1836._ Sir Philip was serving as a lieutenant in the _Royal George_, and was actually on duty as officer of the watch upon deck when the awful catastrophe took place. He was providentially and miraculously saved, but nearly 900 persons perished, amongst them the brave Admiral Kempenfelt, whose flag went down with the ship. The wreck of the _Royal George_ was the most awful disaster that had hitherto happened to the Royal Navy. William Cowper the poet, as soon as the sad news was brought to him, wrote a solemn poem entitled "The Loss of the _Royal George_," from which it seems that Admiral Kempenfelt was in his cabin when the great ship suddenly foundered. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. * * * * * Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone: His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. * * * * * Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more. All sunk beneath the wave. Fast by their native shore! It was nearly dark when we entered the town of Peebles, where we called at the post office for letters, and experienced some difficulty at first in obtaining lodgings, seeing that it was the night before the Hiring Fair. We went first to the Temperance Hotel, but all the beds had been taken down to make room for the great company they expected on the morrow; eventually we found good accommodation at the "Cross Keys Inn," formerly the residence of a country laird. We had seen notices posted about the town informing the public that, by order of the Magistrates, who saw the evil of intoxicating drinks, refreshments were to be provided the following day at the Town Hall. The Good Templars had also issued a notice that they were having a tea-party, for which of course we could not stay. We found Peebles a most interesting place, and the neighbourhood immediately surrounding it was full of history. The site on which our hotel had been built was that of the hostelage belonging to the Abbey of Arbroath in 1317, the monks granting the hostelage to William Maceon, a burgess of Peebles, on condition that he would give to them, and their attorneys, honest lodging whenever business brought them to that town. He was to let them have the use of the hall, with tables and trestles, also the use of the spence (pantry) and buttery, sleeping chambers, a decent kitchen, and stables, and to provide them with the best candles of Paris, with rushes for the floor and salt for the table. In later times it was the town house of Williamson of Cardrona, and in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries became one of the principal inns, especially for those who, like ourselves, were travelling from the north, and was conducted by a family named Ritchie. Sir Walter Scott, who at that time resided quite near, frequented the house, which in his day was called the "Yett," and we were shown the room he sat in. Miss Ritchie, the landlady in Scott's day, who died in 1841, was the prototype of "Meg Dobs," the inn being the "Cleikum Inn" of his novel _St. Ronan's Well_. [Illustration: THE CHURCH AND MONASTERY OF THE HOLY CROSS, PEEBLES, AD 1261.] There was a St. Mungo's Well in Peebles, and Mungo Park was intimately associated with the town. He was born at Foulshiels, Yarrow, in the same year as Sir Walter Scott, 1771, just one hundred years before our visit, and, after studying for the Church, adopted medicine as his profession. He served a short time with a doctor at Selkirk, before completing his course at the University of Edinburgh, and sailed in 1792 for the East Indies in the service of the East India Company. Later he joined an association for the promotion of discovery in Africa, and in 1795 he explored the basin of the Niger. In 1798 he was in London, and in 1801 began practice as a doctor in Peebles. He told Sir Walter Scott, after passing through one of the severe winters in Peebleshire, that he would rather return to the wilds of Africa than pass another winter there. He returned to London in December 1803 to sail with another expedition, but its departure was delayed for a short time, so he again visited Peebles, and astonished the people there by bringing with him a black man named "Sidi Omback Boubi," who was to be his tutor in Arabic. Meantime, in 1779, he had published a book entitled _Travels in the Interior of Africa_, which caused a profound sensation at the time on account of the wonderful stories it contained of adventures in what was then an unknown part of the world. This book of "Adventures of Mungo Park" was highly popular and extensively read throughout the country, by ourselves amongst the rest. [Illustration: THE BLACK DWARF.] It was not until January 29th, 1805, that the expedition left Spithead, and before Mungo Park left Peebles he rode over to Clovenfords, where Sir Walter Scott was then residing, to stay a night with him at Ashestiel. On the following morning Sir Walter accompanied him a short distance on the return journey, and when they were parting where a small ditch divided the moor from the road Park's horse stumbled a little. Sir Walter said, "I am afraid, Mungo, that is a bad omen," to which Park replied, smiling, "Friets (omens) follow those that look for them," and so they parted for ever. In company with his friends Anderson and Scott he explored the rivers Gambia and Niger, but his friends died, and Dr. Park himself was murdered by hostile natives who attacked his canoe in the River Niger. Quite near our lodgings was the house where this famous African traveller lived and practised blood-letting as a surgeon, and where dreams of the tent in which he was once a prisoner and of dark faces came to him at night, while the door at which his horse was tethered as he went to see Sir Walter Scott, and the window out of which he put his head when knocked up in the night, were all shown as objects of interest to visitors. Mungo had at least one strange patient, and that was the Black Dwarf, David Ritchie, who lies buried close to the gate in the old churchyard. This was a horrid-looking creature, who paraded the country as a privileged beggar. He affected to be a judge of female beauty, and there was a hole in the wall of his cottage through which the fair maidens had to look, a rose being passed through if his fantastic fancies were pleased; but if not, the tiny window was closed in their faces. He was known to Sir Walter Scott, who adopted his name in one of his novels, _The Bowed Davie of the Windus_. His cottage, which was practically in the same state as at the period of David Ritchie's death, bore a tablet showing that it had been restored by the great Edinburgh publishers W. and R. Chambers, who were natives of Peebles, and worded: "In memory D.R., died 1811. W. and R. Chambers, 1845." Dr. Pennicuick, who flourished A.D. 1652-1722, had written: Peebles, the Metropolis of the shire, Six times three praises doth from me require; Three streets, three ports, three bridges, it adorn, And three old steeples by three churches borne, Three mills to serve the town in time of need. On Peebles water, and on River Tweed, Their arms are _proper_, and point forth their meaning, Three salmon fishes nimbly counter swimming; but there were other "Threes" connected with Peebles both before and after the doctor's time: "The Three Tales of the Three Priests of Peebles," supposed to have been told about the year 1460 before a blazing fire at the "Virgin Inn." There were also the Three Hopes buried in the churchyard, whose tombstone records: Here lie three Hopes enclosed within, Death's prisoners by Adam's sin; Yet rest in hope that they shall be Set by the Second Adam free. And there were probably other triplets, but when my brother suggested there were also three letter e's in the name of Peebles, I reminded him that it was closing-time, and also bed-time, so we rested that night in an old inn such as Charles Dickens would have been delighted to patronise. (_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.) _Tuesday, October 10th._ This was the day of the Great Peebles Fair, and everybody was awake early, including ourselves. We left the "Cross Keys" hotel at six o'clock in the morning, and a very cold one it was, for there had been a sharp frost during the night. The famous old Cross formerly stood near our inn, and the Cross Church close at hand, or rather all that remained of them after the wars. In spite of the somewhat modern appearance of the town, which was probably the result of the business element introduced by the establishment of the woollen factories, Peebles was in reality one of the ancient royal burghs, and formerly an ecclesiastical centre of considerable importance, for in the reign of Alexander III several very old relics were said to have been found, including what was supposed to be a fragment of the true Cross, and with it the calcined bones of St. Nicholas, who suffered in the Roman persecution, A.D. 294. On the strength of these discoveries the king ordered a magnificent church to be erected, which caused Peebles to be a Mecca for pilgrims, who came there from all parts to venerate the relics. The building was known as the Cross Church, where a monastery was founded at the desire of James III in 1473 and attached to the church, in truly Christian spirit, one-third of its revenues being devoted to the redemption of Christian captives who remained in the hands of the Turks after the Crusades. [Illustration: ST. ANDREWS CHURCH, PEEBLES, A.D. 1195.] If we had visited the town in past ages, there would not have been any fair on October 10th, since the Great Fair, called the Beltane Festival, was then held on May Day; but after the finding of the relics it was made the occasion on which to celebrate the "Finding of the Cross," pilgrims and merchants coming from all parts to join the festivities and attend the special celebrations at the Cross Church. On the occasion of a Beltane Fair it was the custom to light a fire on the hill, round which the young people danced and feasted on cakes made of milk and eggs. We thought Beltane was the name of a Sun-god, but it appeared that it was a Gaelic word meaning Bel, or Beal's-fire, and probably originated from the Baal mentioned in Holy Writ. As our next great object of interest was Abbotsford, the last house inhabited by Sir Walter Scott, our course lay alongside the River Tweed. We were fortunate in seeing the stream at Peebles, which stood at the entrance to one of the most beautiful stretches in the whole of its length of 103 miles, 41 of which lay in Peeblesshire. The twenty miles along which we walked was magnificent river scenery. [Illustration: THE SEAL OF THE CROSS CHURCH.] We passed many castles and towers and other ancient fortifications along its banks, the first being at Horsburgh, where the castle looked down upon a grass field called the Chapelyards, on which formerly stood the chapel and hospice of the two saints, Leonard and Lawrence. At this hospice pilgrims from England were lodged when on their way to Peebles to attend the feasts of the "Finding of the Cross" and the "Exaltation of the Cross," which were celebrated at Beltane and Roodmass respectively, in the ancient church and monastery of the Holy Cross. It was said that King James I of England on his visits to Peebles was also lodged here, and it is almost certain the Beltane Sports suggested to him his famous poem, "Peebles to the Play," one of its lines being: Hope Kailzie, and Cardrona, gathered out thickfold, Singing "Hey ho, rumbelow, the young folks were full bold." both of which places could be seen from Horsburgh Castle looking across the river. We saw the Tower of Cardrona, just before entering the considerable village, or town, of Innerleithen at six miles from Peebles, and although the time was so early, we met many people on their way to the fair. Just before reaching Innerleithen we came to a sharp deep bend in the river, which we were informed was known as the "Dirt Pot" owing to its black appearance. At the bottom of this dark depth the silver bells of Peebles were supposed to be lying. We also saw Glennormiston House, the residence of William Chambers, who, with his brother, Robert, founded _Chambers's Journal_ of wide-world fame, and authors, singly and conjointly, of many other volumes. The two brothers were both benefactors to their native town of Peebles, and William became Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and the restorer of its ancient Cathedral of St. Giles's. His brother Robert died earlier in that very year in which we were walking. We reached Innerleithen just as the factory operatives were returning from breakfast to their work at the woollen factories, and they seemed quite a respectable class of people. Here we called at the principal inn for our own breakfast, for which we were quite ready, but we did not know then that Rabbie Burns had been to Innerleithen, where, as he wrote, he had from a jug "a dribble o' drink," or we should have done ourselves the honour of calling at the same place. At Innerleithen we came to another "Bell-tree Field," where the bell hung on the branch of a tree to summon worshippers to church, and there were also some mineral springs which became famous after the publication of Sir Walter Scott's novel, _St. Ronan's Well_. [Illustration: TRAQUAIR HOUSE.] Soon after leaving Innerleithen we could see Traquair House towering above the trees by which it was surrounded. Traquair was said to be the oldest inhabited house in Scotland. Sir Walter Scott knew it well, it being quite near to Ashiestiel, where he wrote "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," "Marmion," and "The Lady of the Lake." It was one of the prototypes of "Tully Veolan" in his _Waverley_. There was no abode in Scotland more quaint and curious than Traquair House, for it was turreted, walled, buttressed, windowed, and loopholed, all as in the days of old. Within were preserved many relics of the storied past and also of royalty. Here was the bed on which Queen Mary slept in 1566; here also the oaken cradle of the infant King James VI. The library was rich in valuable and rare books and MSS. and service books of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries in beautiful penmanship upon fine vellum. The magnificent avenue was grass-grown, the gates had not been opened for many years, while the pillars of the gateway were adorned with two huge bears standing erect and bearing the motto: "Judge Nocht." Magnificent woods adorned the grounds, remains of the once-famous forest of Ettrick, said to be the old classical forest of Caledon of the days of King Arthur. Here was also Flora Hill, with its beautiful woods, where Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, lays the scene of his exquisite poem "Kilmeny" in the _Queen's Wake_, where-- Bonnie Kilmeny gae'd up the Glen, But it wisna to meet Duneira's men, etc. Through beautiful scenery we continued alongside the Tweed, and noticed that even the rooks could not do without breakfast, for they were busy in a potato field. We were amused to see them fly away on our approach, some of them with potatoes in their mouths, and, like other thieves, looking quite guilty. Presently we came to a solitary fisherman standing knee-deep in the river, with whom we had a short conversation. He said he was fishing for salmon, which ascended the river from Berwick about that time of the year and returned in May. We were rather amused at his mentioning the return journey, as from the frantic efforts he was making to catch the fish he was doing his best to prevent them from coming back again. He told us he had been fishing there since daylight that morning, and had caught nothing. By way of sympathy my brother told him a story of two young men who walked sixteen miles over the hills to fish in a stream. They stayed that night at the nearest inn, and started out very early the next morning. When they got back to the hotel at night they wrote the following verse in the visitors' book: Hickory dickory dock! We began at six o'clock, We fished till night without a bite. Hickory dickory dock! This was a description, he said, of real fishermen's luck, but whether the absence of the "bite" referred to the fishermen or to the fish was not quite clear. It had been known to apply to both. Proceeding further we met a gentleman walking along the road, of whom we made inquiries about the country we were passing through. He told us that the castle we could see across the river was named "Muckle Mouthed Meg." A certain man in ancient times, having offended against the laws, was given a choice for a sentence by the King of Scotland---either he must marry Muckle Mouthed Meg, a woman with a very large mouth, or suffer death. He chose the first, and the pair lived together in the old castle for some years. We told him we were walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End, but when he said he had passed John o' Groat's in the train, we had considerable doubts as to the accuracy of his statements, for there was no railway at all in the County of Caithness in which John o' Groat's was situated. We therefore made further inquiries about the old castle, and were informed that the proper name of it was Elibank Castle, and that it once belonged to Sir Gideon Murray, who one night caught young Willie Scott of Oakwood Tower trying to "lift the kye." The lowing of the cattle roused him up, and with his retainers he drove off the marauders, while his lady watched the fight from the battlement of the Tower. Willie, or, to be more correct, Sir William Scott, Junr., was caught and put in the dungeon. Sir Gideon Murray decided to hang him, but his lady interposed: "Would ye hang the winsome Laird o' Harden," she said, "when ye hae three ill-favoured daughters to marry?" Sir Willie was one of the handsomest men of his time, and when the men brought the rope to hang him he was given the option of marrying Muckle Mou'd Meg or of being hanged with a "hempen halter." It was said that when he first saw Meg he said he preferred to be hanged, but he found she improved on closer acquaintance, and so in three days' time a clergyman said, "Wilt thou take this woman here present to be thy lawful wife?" knowing full well what the answer must be. Short of other materials, the marriage contract was written with a goose quill on the parchment head of a drum. Sir William found that Meg made him a very good wife in spite of her wide mouth, and they lived happily together, the moral being, we supposed, that it is not always the prettiest girl that makes the best wife. Shortly afterwards we left the River Tweed for a time while we walked across the hills to Galashiels, and on our way to that town we came to a railway station near which were some large vineries. A carriage was standing at the entrance to the gardens, where two gentlemen were buying some fine bunches of grapes which we could easily have disposed of, for we were getting rather hungry, but as they did not give us the chance, we walked on. Galashiels was formerly only a village, the "shiels" meaning shelters for sheep, but it had risen to importance owing to its woollen factories. It was now a burgh, boasting a coat-of-arms on which was represented a plum-tree with a fox on either side, and the motto, "Sour plums of Galashiels." The origin of this was an incident that occurred in 1337, in the time of Edward III, when some Englishmen who were retreating stopped here to eat some wild plums. While they were so engaged they were attacked by a party of Scots with swords, who killed every one of them, throwing their bodies into a trench afterwards known as the "Englishman's Syke." We passed a road leading off to the left to Stow, where King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were said to have defeated the Heathens. We left Galashiels by the Melrose Road, and, after walking about a mile and a half, we turned aside to cross the River Tweed, not by a ferry, as that was against our rule, but by a railway bridge. No doubt this was against the railway company's by-laws and regulations, but it served our purpose, and we soon reached Abbotsford, that fine mansion, once the residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, the king of novelists, on the building of which he had spent a great amount of money, and the place of his death September 21st, 1832. [Illustration: ABBOTSFORD FROM THE RIVER.] Abbotsford, including the gardens, park, walks and woods, was all his own creation, and was so named by him because the River Tweed was crossed at that point by the monks on their way to and from Melrose Abbey in the olden times. [Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT.] We found the house in splendid condition and the garden just as Sir Walter had left it. We were shown through the hall, study, library, and drawing-room, and even his last suit of clothes, with his white beaver hat, was carefully preserved under a glass case. We saw much armour, the largest suit belonging formerly to Sir John Cheney, the biggest man who fought at the battle of Bosworth Field. The collection of arms gathered out of all ages and countries was said to be the finest in the world, including Rob Roy Macgregor's gun, sword, and dirk, the Marquis of Montrose's sword, and the rifle of Andreas Hofer the Tyrolese patriot. Amongst these great curios was the small pocket-knife used by Sir Walter when he was a boy. We were shown the presents given to him from all parts of the kingdom, and from abroad, including an ebony suite of furniture presented to him by King George IV. There were many portraits and busts of himself, and his wife and children, including a marble bust of himself by Chantrey, the great sculptor, carved in the year 1820. The other portraits included one of Queen Elizabeth, another of Rob Roy; a painting of Queen Mary's head, after it had been cut off at Fotheringay, and a print of Stothard's _Canterbury Pilgrims_. We also saw an iron box in which Queen Mary kept her money for the poor, and near this was her crucifix. In fact, the place reminded us of some great museum, for there were numberless relics of antiquity stored in every nook and corner, and in the most unlikely places. We were sorry we had not time to stay and take a longer survey, for the mansion and its surroundings form one of the great sights of Scotland, whose people revere the memory of the great man who lived there. [Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT'S STUDY.] The declining days of Sir Walter were not without sickness and sorrow, for he had spent all the money obtained by the sale of his books on this palatial mansion. After a long illness, and as a last resource, he was taken to Italy; but while there he had another apoplectic attack, and was brought home again, only just in time to die. He expressed a wish that Lockhart, his son-in-law, should read to him, and when asked from what book, he answered, "Need you ask? There is but one." He chose the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel, and when it was ended, he said, "Well, this is a great comfort: I have followed you distinctly, and I feel as if I were yet to be myself again." In an interval of consciousness he said, "Lockhart! I may have but a minute to speak to you, my dear; be a good man, be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." A friend who was present at the death of Sir Walter wrote: "It was a beautiful day--so warm that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible--as we kneeled around his bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes." We could imagine the wish that would echo in more than one mind as Sir Walter's soul departed, perhaps through one of the open windows, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there; It is the loneliness in death That parts not quite with parting breath, But beauty with that fearful bloom, The hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray; A gilded halo hov'ring round decay. [Illustration: ABBOTSFORD.] We passed slowly through the garden and grounds, and when we reached the road along which Sir Walter Scott had so often walked, we hurried on to see the old abbey of Melrose, which was founded by King David I. On our way we passed a large hydropathic establishment and an asylum not quite completed, and on reaching Melrose we called at one of the inns for tea, where we read a description by Sir Walter of his "flitting" from Ashiestiel, his former residence, to his grand house at Abbotsford. The flitting took place at Whitsuntide in 1812, so, as he died in 1832, he must have lived at Abbotsford about twenty years. He was a great collector of curios, and wrote a letter describing the comical scene which took place on that occasion. "The neighbours," he wrote, "have been very much delighted with the procession of furniture, in which old swords, bows, targets, and lances made a very conspicuous show. A family of turkeys was accommodated within the helmet of some _preux chevalier_ of ancient Border fame, and the very cows, for aught I know, were bearing banners and muskets. I assure you that this caravan, attended by a dozen ragged, rosy, peasant children carrying fishing-rods and spears, and leading ponies, greyhounds, and spaniels, would, as it crossed the Tweed, have furnished no bad subject for the pencil." [Illustration: THE CHANCEL, MELROSE ABBEY.] Melrose Abbey was said to afford the finest specimen of Gothic architecture and Gothic sculpture of which Scotland could boast, and the stone of which it had been built, though it had resisted the weather for many ages, retained perfect sharpness, so that even the most minute ornaments seemed as entire as when they had been newly wrought. In some of the cloisters there were representations of flowers, leaves, and vegetables carved in stone with "accuracy and precision so delicate that it almost made visitors distrust their senses when they considered the difficulty of subjecting so hard a substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation." This superb convent was dedicated to St. Mary, and the monks were of the Cistercian Order, of whom the poet wrote: Oh, the monks of Melrose made gude kail (broth) On Fridays when they fasted; Nor wanted they gude beef and ale, So lang's their neighbours' lasted. There were one hundred monks at Melrose in the year 1542, and it was supposed that in earlier times much of the carving had been done by monks under strong religious influences. The rose predominated amongst the carved flowers, as it was the abbot's favourite flower, emblematic of the locality from which the abbey took its name. The curly green, or kale, which grew in nearly every garden in Scotland, was a very difficult plant to sculpture, but was so delicately executed here as to resemble exactly the natural leaf; and there was a curious gargoyle representing a pig playing on the bagpipes, so this instrument must have been of far more ancient origin than we had supposed when we noticed its absence from the instruments recorded as having been played when Mary Queen of Scots was serenaded in Edinburgh on her arrival in Scotland. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO MELROSE ABBEY.] Under the high altar were buried the remains of Alexander II, the dust of Douglas the hero of Otterburn, and others of his illustrious and heroic race, as well as the remains of Sir Michael Scott. Here too was buried the heart of King Robert the Bruce. It appeared that Bruce told his son that he wished to have his heart buried at Melrose; but when he was ready to die and his friends were assembled round his bedside, he confessed to them that in his passion he had killed Comyn with his own hand, before the altar, and had intended, had he lived, to make war on the Saracens, who held the Holy Land, for the evil deeds he had done. He requested his dearest friend, Lord James Douglas, to carry his heart to Jerusalem and bury it there. Douglas wept bitterly, but as soon as the king was dead he had his heart taken from his body, embalmed, and enclosed in a silver case which he had made for it, and wore it suspended from his neck by a string of silk and gold. With some of the bravest men in Scotland he set out for Jerusalem, but, landing in Spain, they were persuaded to take part in a battle there against the Saracens. Douglas, seeing one of his friends being hard pressed by the enemy, went to his assistance and became surrounded by the Moors himself. Seeing no chance of escape, he took from his neck the heart of Bruce, and speaking to it as he would have done to Bruce if alive, said, "Pass first in the fight as thou wert wont to do, and Douglas will follow thee or die." With these words he threw the king's heart among the enemy, and rushing forward to the place where it fell, was there slain, and his body was found lying on the silver case. Most of the Scots were slain in this battle with the Moors, and they that remained alive returned to Scotland, the charge of Bruce's heart being entrusted to Sir Simon Lockhard of Lee, who afterwards for his device bore on his shield a man's heart with a padlock upon it, in memory of Bruce's heart which was padlocked in the silver case. For this reason, also, Sir Simon's name was changed from Lockhard to Lockheart, and Bruce's heart was buried in accordance with his original desire at Melrose. Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie, who also lies buried in the abbey, flourished in the thirteenth century. His great learning, chiefly acquired in foreign countries, together with an identity in name, had given rise to a certain confusion, among the earlier historians, between him and Michael Scott the "wondrous wizard and magician" referred to by Dante in Canto xxmo of the "Inferno." Michael Scott studied such abstruse subjects as judicial astrology, alchemy, physiognomy, and chiromancy, and his commentary on Aristotle was considered to be of such a high order that it was printed in Venice in 1496. Sir Walter Scott referred to Michael Scott: The wondrous Michael Scott A wizard, of such dreaded fame, That when in Salamanca's Cave Him listed his magic wand to wave The bells would ring in Notre Dame, and he explained the origin of this by relating the story that Michael on one occasion when in Spain was sent as an Ambassador to the King of France to obtain some concessions, but instead of going in great state, as usual on those occasions, he evoked the services of a demon in the shape of a huge black horse, forcing it to fly through the air to Paris. The king was rather offended at his coming in such an unceremonious manner, and was about to give him a contemptuous refusal when Scott asked him to defer his decision until his horse had stamped its foot three times. The first stamp shook every church in Paris, causing all the bells to ring; the second threw down three of the towers of the palace; and when the infernal steed had lifted up his hoof for the third time, the king stopped him by promising Michael the most ample concessions. A modern writer, commenting upon this story, says, "There is something uncanny about the Celts which makes them love a Trinity of ideas, and the old stories of the Welsh collected in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries include a story very similar about Kilhwch, cousin to Arthur, who threatens if he cannot have what he wants that he will set up three shouts than which none were ever heard more deadly and which will be heard from Pengwaed in Cornwall to Dinsol in the North and Ergair Oerful in Ireland. The Triads show the method best and furnish many examples, quoting the following: Three things are best when hung--salt fish, a wet hat, and an Englishman. Three things are difficult to get--gold from the miser, love from the devil, and courtesy from the Englishman. The three hardest things--a granite block, a miser's barley loaf, and an Englishman's heart. But perhaps the best known is one translated long ago from the Welsh: A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, The more they are beaten, the better they be. But to return to Michael Scott. Another strange story about Michael was his adventure with the witch of Falschope. To avenge himself upon her for striking him suddenly with his own wand whereby he was transformed for a time and assumed the appearance of a hare, Michael sent his man with two greyhounds to the house where the witch lived, to ask the old lady to give him a bit of bread for the greyhounds; if she refused he was to place a piece of paper, which he handed to him, over the top of the house door. The witch gave the man a curt refusal, and so he fastened the paper, on which were some words, including, "Michael Scott's man sought meat and gat nane," as directed. This acted as a spell, and the old witch, who was making cakes for the reapers then at work in the corn, now began to dance round the fire (which, as usual in those days, was burning in the middle of the room) and to sing the words: "Maister Michael Scott's man Sought meat and gat nane." and she had to continue thus until the spell was broken. Meantime, her husband and the reapers who were with him were wondering why the cakes had not reached them, so the old man sent one of the reapers to inquire the reason. As soon as he went through the door he was caught by the spell and so had to perform the same antics as his mistress. As he did not return, the husband sent man after man until he was alone, and then went himself. But, knowing all about the quarrel between Michael and his wife, and having seen the wizard on the hill, he was rather more cautious than his men, so, instead of going through the door, he looked through the window. There he saw the reapers dragging his wife, who had become quite exhausted, sometimes round, and sometimes through the fire, singing the chorus as they did so. He at once saddled his horse and rode as fast as he could to find Michael, who good-naturedly granted his request, and directed him to enter his house backwards, removing the paper from above the door with his left hand as he went in. The old man lost no time in returning home, where he found them all still dancing furiously and singing the same rhyme; but immediately he entered, the supernatural performance ended, very much, we imagine, to the relief of all concerned. Michael Scott was at one time, it was said, much embarrassed by a spirit for whom he had to find constant employment, and amongst other work he commanded him to build a dam or other weir across the River Tweed at Kelso. He completed that in a single night. Michael next ordered him to divide the summit of the Eildon Hill in three parts; but as this stupendous work was also completed in one night, he was at his wits' end what work to find him to do next. At last he bethought himself of a job that would find him constant employment. He sent him to the seashore and employed him at the hopeless and endless task of making ropes of sand there, which as fast as he made them were washed away by the tides. The three peaks of Eildon Hill, of nearly equal height, are still to be seen. Magnificent views are to be obtained from their tops, which Sir Walter Scott often frequented and of which he wrote, "I can stand on the Eildon and point out forty-three places famous in war and in verse." Another legend connected with these hills was that in the "Eildon caverns vast" a cave existed where the British King Arthur and his famous Knights of the Round Table lie asleep waiting the blast of the bugle which will recall them from Fairyland to lead the British on to a victory that will ensure a united and glorious Empire. King Arthur has a number of burial-places of the same character, according to local stories both in England and Wales, and even one in Cheshire at Alderley Edge, close By the "Wizard Inn," which title refers to the story. [Illustration: MELROSE ABBEY.] Melrose and district has been hallowed by the influence and memory of Sir Walter Scott, who was to Melrose what Shakespeare was to Stratford-on-Avon, and he has invested the old abbey with an additional halo of interest by his "Lay of the Last Minstrel," a copy of which we saw for the first time at the inn where we called for tea. We were greatly interested, as it related to the neighbourhood we were about to pass through in particular, and we were quite captivated with its opening lines, which appealed so strongly to wayfarers like ourselves: The way was long, the wind was cold. The Minstrel was infirm and old; His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray, Seem'd to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry. We were now nearing the Borders of Scotland and England, where this Border warfare formerly raged for centuries. The desperadoes engaged in it on the Scottish side were known as Moss-troopers, any of whom when caught by the English were taken to Carlisle and hanged near there at a place called Hairibee. Those who claimed the "benefit of clergy" were allowed to repeat in Latin the "Miserere mei," at the beginning of the 51st Psalm, before they were executed, this becoming known as the "neck-verse." William of Deloraine was one of the most desperate Moss-troopers ever engaged in Border warfare, but he, according to Sir Walter Scott: By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds; In Eske or Liddel, fords were none, But he would ride them, one by one; * * * * * Steady of heart, and stout of hand. As ever drove prey from Cumberland; Five times outlawed had he been, By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. When Sir Michael Scott was buried in Melrose Abbey his Mystic Book--which no one was ever to see except the Chief of Branxholm, and then only in the time of need--was buried with him. Branxholm Tower was about eighteen miles from Melrose and situated in the vale of Cheviot. After the death of Lord Walter (who had been killed in the Border warfare), a gathering of the kinsmen of the great Buccleuch was held there, and the "Ladye Margaret" left the company, retiring laden with sorrow and her impending troubles to her bower. It was a fine moonlight night when-- From amid the arméd train She called to her, William of Deloraine. and sent him for the mighty book to Melrose Abbey which was to relieve her of all her troubles. "Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Mount thee on the wightest steed; Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride. Until thou come to fair Tweedside; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. Greet the Father well from me; Say that the fated hour is come, And to-night he shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb: For this will be St. Michael's night, And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the Cross, of bloody red, Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. * * * * * "What he gives thee, see thou keep; Stay not thou for food or sleep: Be it scroll, or be it book, Into it, Knight, thou must not look; If thou readest, thou art lorn! Better had'st thou ne'er been born."-- * * * * * "O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed, Which drinks of the Teviot clear; Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, "Again will I be here: And safer by none may thy errand be done, Than, noble dame, by me; Letter nor line know I never a one, Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee." Deloraine lost no time in carrying out his Ladye's wishes, and rode furiously on his horse to Melrose Abbey in order to be there by midnight, and as described in Sir Walter Scott's "Lay of the Last Minstrel": Short halt did Deloraine make there; Little reck'd he of the scene so fair With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, He struck full loud, and struck full long. The porter hurried to the gate-- "Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?" "From Branksome I," the warrior cried; And straight the wicket open'd wide For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood, To fence the rights of fair Melrose; And lands and livings, many a rood, Had gifted the Shrine for their souls' repose. * * * * * Bold Deloraine his errand said; The porter bent his humble head; With torch in hand, and feet unshod. And noiseless step, the path he trod. The archèd cloister, far and wide, Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, Till, stooping low his lofty crest, He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest, And lifted his barred aventayle, To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. * * * * * "The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me, Says, that the fated hour is come, And that to-night I shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb." From sackcloth couch the Monk arose, With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd; A hundred years had flung their snows On his thin locks and floating beard. And strangely on the Knight look'd he, And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide; "And, darest thou, Warrior! seek to see What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; For threescore years, in penance spent. My knees those flinty stones have worn; Yet all too little to atone For knowing what should ne'er be known. Would'st thou thy every future year In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fear Then, daring Warrior, follow me!" * * * * * "Penance, father, will I none; Prayer know I hardly one; For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, Save to patter an Ave Mary, When I ride on a Border foray. Other prayer can I none; So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." * * * * * Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, And again he sighed heavily; For he had himself been a warrior bold. And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since by, When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high-- Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay; The pillar'd arches were over their head, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. * * * * * The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of shapely stone, * * * * * The silver light, so pale and faint, Shew'd many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed; Full in the midst, his Cross of Red Triumphal Michael brandished, And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moon beam kiss'd the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. * * * * * They sate them down on a marble stone,-- (A Scottish monarch slept below;) Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone-- "I was not always a man of woe; For Paynim countries I have trod, And fought beneath the Cross of God: Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear. And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. * * * * * "In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott; * * * * * Some of his skill he taught to me; And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. * * * * * "When Michael lay on his dying bed, His conscience was awakened He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed. I was in Spain when the morning rose, But I stood by his bed ere evening close. The words may not again be said That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, And pile it in heaps above his grave. * * * * * "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at his Chief of Branksome's need: And when that need was past and o'er, Again the volume to restore. I buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron's cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. * * * * * "It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd, The banners waved without a blast"-- Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!-- I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head. * * * * * "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead; Within it burns a wondrous light, To chase the spirits that love the night: That lamp shall burn unquenchably, Until the eternal doom shall be."-- Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, Which the bloody Cross was traced upon: He pointed to a secret nook; An iron bar the Warrior took; And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. * * * * * With beating heart to the task he went; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see How the light broke forth so gloriously, Stream'd upward to the chancel roof, And through the galleries far aloof! No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright: It shone like heaven's own blessed light, And, issuing from the tomb, Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail, And kiss'd his waving plume. * * * * * Before their eyes the Wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day. His hoary beard in silver roll'd. He seem'd some seventy winters old; A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: His left hand held his Book of Might; A silver cross was in his right; The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook. And all unruffled was his face: They trusted his soul had gotten grace. * * * * * Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle's bloody plain, And trampled down the warriors slain, And neither known remorse nor awe; Yet now remorse and awe he own'd; His breath came thick, his head swam round. When this strange scene of death he saw. Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood. And the priest pray'd fervently and loud: With eyes averted prayed he; He might not endure the sight to see. Of the man he had loved so brotherly. * * * * * And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, Thus unto Deloraine he said:-- "Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"-- Then Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the Warrior's sight. * * * * * When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb. The night return'd in double gloom; For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew. With wavering steps and dizzy brain, They hardly might the postern gain. 'Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd, They heard strange noises on the blast; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, And voices unlike the voices of man; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as 'twas said to me. * * * * * "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, "And when we are on death-bed laid, O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!"-- The Monk return'd him to his cell, And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noontide bell-- The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead! Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd. What became of Sir William Deloraine and the wonderful book on his return journey we had no time to read that evening, but we afterwards learned he fell into the hands of the terrible Black Dwarf. We had decided to walk to Hawick if possible, although we were rather reluctant to leave Melrose. We had had one good tea on entering the town, and my brother suggested having another before leaving it, so after visiting the graveyard of the abbey, where the following curious epitaph appeared on one of the stones, we returned to the inn, where the people were highly amused at seeing us return so soon and for such a purpose: The earth goeth to the earth Glist'ring like gold; The earth goeth to the earth Sooner than it wold; The earth builds on the earth Castles and Towers; The earth says to the earth, All shall be ours. Still, we were quite ready for our second tea, and wondered whether there was any exercise that gave people a better appetite and a greater joy in appeasing it than walking, especially in the clear and sharp air of Scotland, for we were nearly always extremely hungry after an hour or two's walk. When the tea was served, I noticed that my brother lingered over it longer than usual, and when I reminded him that the night would soon be on us, he said he did not want to leave before dark, as he wanted to see how the old abbey appeared at night, quoting Sir Walter Scott as the reason why: If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey. When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruin'd central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory; When silver edges the imagery. And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, Then go--but go alone the while-- Then view St. David's ruin'd pile; And, home returning, soothly swear. Was ever scene so sad and fair? I reminded my brother that there would be no moon visible that night, and that it would therefore be impossible to see the old abbey "by the pale moonlight"; but he said the starlight would do just as well for him, so we had to wait until one or two stars made their appearance, and then departed, calling at a shop to make a few small purchases as we passed on our way. The path alongside the abbey was entirely deserted. Though so near the town there was scarcely a sound to be heard, not even "the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave." Although we had no moonlight, the stars were shining brightly through the ruined arches which had once been filled with stained glass, representing the figures "of many a prophet and many a saint." It was a beautiful sight that remained in our memories long after other scenes had been forgotten. According to the Koran there were four archangels: Azrael, the angel of death; Azrafil, who was to sound the trumpet at the resurrection; Gabriel, the angel of revelations, who wrote down the divine decrees; and Michael, the champion, who fought the battles of faith,--and it was this Michael whose figure Sir Walter Scott described as appearing full in the midst of the east oriel window "with his Cross of bloody red," which in the light of the moon shone on the floor of the abbey and "pointed to the grave of the mighty dead" into which the Monk and William of Deloraine had to descend to secure possession of the "Mighty Book." After passing the old abbey and the shade of the walls and trees to find our way to the narrow and rough road along which we had to travel towards Hawick, we halted for a few moments at the side of the road to arrange the contents of our bags, in order to make room for the small purchases we had made in the town. We had almost completed the readjustment when we heard the heavy footsteps of a man approaching, who passed us walking along the road we were about to follow. My brother asked him if he was going far that way, to which he replied, "A goodish bit," so we said we should be glad of his company; but he walked on without speaking to us further. We pushed the remaining things in our bags as quickly as possible, and hurried on after him. As we did not overtake him, we stood still and listened attentively, though fruitlessly, for not a footstep could we hear. We then accelerated our pace to what was known as the "Irishman's Trig"--a peculiar step, quicker than a walk, but slower than a run--and after going some distance we stopped again to listen; but the only sound we could hear was the barking of a solitary dog a long distance away. This was very provoking, as we wanted to get some information about our road, which, besides being rough, was both hilly and very lonely, and more in the nature of a track than a road. Where the man could have disappeared to was a mystery on a road apparently without any offshoots, so we concluded he must have thought we contemplated doing him some bodily harm, and had either "bolted" or "clapp'd," as my brother described it, behind some rock or bush, in which case he must have felt relieved and perhaps amused when he heard us "trigging" past him on the road. [Illustration: LILLIESLEAF AND THE EILDON HILLS.] We continued along the lonely road without his company, with the ghostly Eildon Hills on one side and the moors on the other, until after walking steadily onwards for a few miles, we heard the roar of a mountain stream in the distance. When we reached it we were horrified to find it running right across our road. It looked awful in the dark, as it was quite deep, and although we could just see where our road emerged from the stream on the other side, it was quite impossible for us to cross in the dark. We could see a few lights some distance beyond the stream, but it was useless to attempt to call for help, since our voices could not be heard above the noise of the torrent. Our position seemed almost hopeless, until my brother said he thought he had seen a shed or a small house behind a gate some distance before coming to the stream. We resolved to turn back, and luckily we discovered it to be a small lodge guarding the entrance to a private road. We knocked at the door of the house, which was in darkness, the people having evidently gone to bed. Presently a woman asked what was wanted, and when we told her we could not get across the stream, she said there was a footbridge near by, which we had not seen in the dark, and told us how to find it a little higher up the stream. Needless to relate, we were very pleased when we got across the bridge, and we measured the distance across that turbulent stream in fifteen long strides. We soon reached the lights we had seen, and found a small village, where at the inn we got some strange lodgings, and slept that night in a bed of a most curious construction, as it was in a dark place under the stairs, entered by a door from the parlour. But it was clean and comfortable, and we were delighted to make use of it after our long walk. (_Distance walked thirty miles_.) _Wednesday, October 11th._ We had been warned when we retired to rest that it was most likely we should be wakened early in the morning by people coming down the stairs, and advised to take no notice of them, as no one would interfere with us or our belongings. We were not surprised, therefore, when we were aroused early by heavy footsteps immediately over our heads, which we supposed were those of the landlord as he came down the stairs. We had slept soundly, and, since there was little chance of any further slumber, we decided to get up and look round, the village before breakfast. We had to use the parlour as a dressing-room, and not knowing who might be coming down the stairs next, we dressed ourselves as quickly as possible. We found that the village was called Lilliesleaf, which we thought a pretty name, though we were informed it had been spelt in twenty-seven different ways, while the stream we came to in the night was known by the incongruous name of Ale Water. The lodge we had gone back to for information as to the means of crossing was the East Gate guarding one of the entrances to Riddell, a very ancient place where Sir Walter Scott had recorded the unearthing of two graves of special interest, one containing an earthen pot filled with ashes and arms, and bearing the legible date of 729, and the other dated 936, filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size. A local historian wrote of the Ale Water that "it is one thing to see it on a summer day when it can be crossed by the stepping-stones, and another when heavy rains have fallen in the autumn--then it is a strong, deep current and carries branches and even trees on its surface, the ford at Riddell East Gate being impassable, and it is only then that we can appreciate the scene." It seemed a strange coincidence that we should be travelling on the same track but in the opposite direction as that pursued by William Deloraine, and that we should have crossed the Ale Water about a fortnight later in the year, as Sir Walter described him in his "Lay" as riding along the wooded path when "green hazels o'er his basnet nod," which indicated the month of September. Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, To ancient Riddell's fair domain, Where Aill, from mountain freed, Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chestnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad. Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. * * * * * At the first plunge the horse sunk low, And the water broke o'er the saddlebow; Above the foaming tide, I ween, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; For he was barded from counter to tail, And the rider was armed complete in mail; Never heavier man and horse Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. The warrior's very plume, I say Was daggled by the dashing spray; Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, At length he gain'd the landing place. What would have become of ourselves if we had attempted to cross the treacherous stream in the dark of the previous night we did not know, but we were sure we should have risked our lives had we made the attempt. We were only able to explore the churchyard at Lilliesleaf, as the church was not open at that early hour in the morning. We copied a curious inscription from one of the old stones there: Near this stone we lifeless lie No more the things of earth to spy, But we shall leave this dusty bed When Christ appears to judge the dead. For He shall come in glory great And in the air shall have His seat And call all men before His throne. Rewarding all as they have done. We were served with a prodigious breakfast at the inn to match, as we supposed, the big appetites prevailing in the North, and then we resumed our walk towards Hawick, meeting on our way the children coming to the school at Lilliesleaf, some indeed quite a long way from their destination. In about four miles we reached Hassendean and the River Teviot, for we were now in Teviot Dale, along which we were to walk, following the river nearly to its source in the hills above. The old kirk of Hassendean had been dismantled in 1693, but its burial-ground continued to be used until 1795, when an ice-flood swept away all vestiges both of the old kirk and the churchyard. It was of this disaster that Leyden, the poet and orientalist, who was born in 1775 at the pretty village of Denholm close by, wrote the following lines: By fancy wrapt, where tombs are crusted grey, I seem by moon-illumined graves to stray, Where now a mouldering pile is faintly seen-- The old deserted church of Hassendean, Where slept my fathers in their natal clay Till Teviot waters rolled their bones away. [Illustration: LEYDEN'S COTTAGE.] Leyden was a great friend of Sir Walter Scott, whom he helped to gather materials for his "Border Minstrelsie," and was referred to in his novel of _St. Ronan's Well_ as "a lamp too early quenched." In 1811 he went to India with Lord Minto, who was at that time Governor-General, as his interpreter, for Leyden was a great linguist. He died of fever caused by looking through some old infected manuscripts at Batavia on the coast of Java. Sir Walter had written a long letter to him which was returned owing to his death. He also referred to him in his _Lord of the Isles_: His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour; A distant and a deadly shore Has Leyden's cold remains. The Minto estate adjoined Hassenden, and the country around it was very beautiful, embracing the Minto Hills or Crags, Minto House, and a castle rejoicing, as we thought, in the queer name of "Fatlips." The walk to the top of Minto Crags was very pleasant, but in olden times no stranger dared venture there, as the Outlaw Brownhills was in possession, and had hewn himself out of the rock an almost inaccessible platform on one of the crags still known as "Brownhills' Bed" from which he could see all the roads below. Woe betide the unsuspecting traveller who happened to fall into his hands! But we must not forget Deloraine, for after receiving instructions from the "Ladye of Branksome"-- [Illustration: "FATLIPS" CASTLE.] Soon in the saddle sate he fast, And soon the steep descent he past, Soon cross'd the sounding barbican. And soon the Teviot side he won. Eastward the wooded path he rode. Green hazels o'er his basnet nod; He passed the Peel of Goldieland, And crossed old Borthwick's roaring strand; Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound. Where Druid shades still flitted round; In Hawick twinkled many a light; Behind him soon they set in night; And soon he spurr'd his courser keen Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. * * * * * The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark;-- "Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark."-- "For Branksome, ho!" the knight rejoin'd. And left the friendly tower behind. He turn'd him now from Tiviotside, And, guided by the tinkling rill, Northward the dark ascent did ride. And gained the moor at Horsliehill; Broad on the left before him lay, For many a mile, the Roman Way. * * * * * A moment now he slacked his speed, A moment breathed his panting steed; Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band, And loosen'd in the sheath his brand. On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, Where Barnhills hew'd his bed of flint; Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest, Where falcons hang their giddy nest Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye For many a league his prey could spy; Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, The terrors of the robber's horn! We passed through a cultivated country on the verge of the moors, where we saw some good farms, one farmer telling us he had 900 acres of arable land with some moorland in addition. He was superintending the gathering of a good crop of fine potatoes, which he told us were "Protestant Rocks." He was highly amused when one of us suggested to the other that they might just have suited a country parson we knew in England who would not have the best variety of potatoes, called "Radicals," planted in his garden because he did not like the name. He was further amused when we innocently asked him the best way to reach Hawick, pronouncing the name in two syllables which sounded like Hay-wick, while the local pronunciation was "Hoike." However, we soon reached that town and had a twelve-o'clock lunch at one of the inns, where we heard something of the principal annual event of the town, the "Common Riding," the occasion on which the officials rode round the boundaries. There was an artificial mound in the town called the "Mote-Hill," formerly used by the Druids. It was to the top of this hill the cornet and his followers ascended at sunrise on the day of the festival, after which they adjourned to a platform specially erected in the town, to sing the Common Riding Song. We could not obtain a copy of this, but we were fortunate in obtaining one for the next town we were to visit--Langholm--which proved to be the last on our walk through Scotland. From what we could learn, the ceremony at Hawick seemed very like the walking of the parish boundaries in England, a custom which was there slowly becoming obsolete. We could only remember attending one of these ceremonies, and that was in Cheshire. The people of the adjoining parish walked their boundaries on the same day, so we were bound to meet them at some point _en route_, and a free fight, fanned by calling at sundry public-houses, was generally the result. The greatest danger-zone lay where a stream formed the boundary between the two parishes, at a point traversed by a culvert or small tunnel through a lofty embankment supporting a canal which crossed a small valley. This boundary was, of course, common to both parishes, and representatives of each were expected to pass through it to maintain their rights, so that it became a matter of some anxiety as to which of the boundary walkers would reach it first, or whether that would be the point where both parties would meet. We remembered coming to a full stop when we reached one entrance to the small tunnel, while the scouts ascended the embankment to see if the enemy were in sight on the other side; but as they reported favourably, we decided that two of our party should walk through the culvert, while the others went round by the roads to the other end. There was a fair amount of water passing through at that time, so they were very wet on emerging from the opposite end, and it was impossible for the men to walk upright, the contracted position in which they were compelled to walk making the passage very difficult. What would have happened if the opposition had come up while our boundary walkers were in the tunnel we could only surmise. Hawick is in Roxburghshire and was joined on to Wilton at a house called the Salt Hall, or the "Saut Ha'," as it is pronounced in Scotch, where a tragedy took place in the year 1758. The tenant of the Hall at that time was a man named Rea, whose wife had committed suicide by cutting her throat. In those days it was the custom to bury suicides at the dead of night where the laird's lands met, usually a very lonely corner, and a stake was driven through the body of the corpse; but from some cause or other the authorities allowed "Jenny Saut Ha'," as she was commonly called, to be buried in the churchyard. This was considered by many people to be an outrage, and the body was disinterred at night, and the coffin placed against the Saut Ha' door, where Rea was confronted with it next morning. There was a sharp contest between the Church authorities and the public, and the body was once more interred in the churchyard, but only to fall on Rea when he opened his door the next morning. The authorities were then compelled to yield to the popular clamour, and the corpse found a temporary resting-place in a remote corner of Wilton Common; but the minister ultimately triumphed, and Jenny was again buried in the churchyard, there to rest for all time in peace. [Illustration: WILTON OLD CHURCH.] We had now joined the old coach road from London to Edinburgh, a stone on the bridge informing us that that city was fifty miles distant. We turned towards London, and as we were leaving the town we asked three men, who had evidently tramped a long distance, what sort of a road it was to Langholm, our next stage. They informed us that it was twenty-three miles to that town, that the road was a good one, but we should not be able to get a drink the whole way, for "there wasn't a single public-house on the road." Presently, however, we reached a turnpike gate across our road, and as there was some fruit exhibited for sale in the window of the toll-house we went inside, and found the mistress working at her spinning-wheel, making a kind of worsted out of which she made stockings. We bought as much fruit from her as the limited space in our bags allowed, and had a chat with her about the stocking trade, which was the staple industry of Hawick. She told us there were about 800 people employed in that business, and that they went out on strike on the Monday previous, but with an advance in their wages had gone in again that morning. The stockings were now made by machines, but were formerly all made by hand. The inventor of the first machine was a young man who had fallen deeply in love with a young woman, who, like most others living thereabouts at that time, got her living by making stockings. When he proposed to her, she would not have him, because she knew another young man she liked better. He then told her if she would not marry him he would make a machine that would make stockings and throw her out of work and ruin them all. But the girl decided to remain true to the young man she loved best, and was presently married to him. [Illustration: GOLDIELANDS TOWER.] The disappointed lover then set to work, and, after much thought and labour, succeeded in making a stocking machine; and although it created a great stir in Hawick, where all three were well known, it did not throw any one out of work, but was so improved upon with the result that more stockings were made and sold at Hawick than ever before! We thanked the old lady for her story, and, bidding her good-bye, went on our way. Presently we came to the ruins of a castle standing near the road which a clergyman informed us was Goldielands Tower, mentioned with Harden by Sir Walter Scott in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." He told us that a little farther on our way we should also see Branxholm, another place referred to by Scott. Although we were on the look out for Branxholm, we passed without recognising it, as it resembled a large family mansion more than the old tower we had expected it to be. [Illustration: BRANXHOLM TOWER.] It was astonishing what a number of miles we walked in Scotland without finding anything of any value on the roads. A gentleman told us he once found a threepenny bit on the road near a village where he happened to be staying at the inn. When his find became known in the village, it created quite a sensation amongst the inhabitants, owing to the "siller" having fallen into the hands of a "Saxon," and he gravely added to the information that one-half of the people went in mourning and that it was even mentioned in the kirk as the "awfu'" waste that had occurred in the parish! [Illustration] We were not so lucky as to find a silver coin, but had the good fortune to find something of more importance in the shape of a love-letter which some one had lost on the road, and which supplied us with food for thought and words for expression, quite cheering us up as we marched along our lonely road. As Kate and John now belong to a past generation, we consider ourselves absolved from any breach of confidence and give a facsimile of the letter (see page 198). The envelope was not addressed, so possibly John might have intended sending it by messenger, or Kate might have received it and lost it on the road, which would perhaps be the more likely thing to happen. We wondered whether the meeting ever came off. [Illustration: COVENANTER'S GRAVE.] Shortly after passing Branxholm, and near the point where the Allan Water joined the River Teviot, we turned to visit what we had been informed was in the time of King Charles I a hiding place for the people known as Covenanters. These were Scottish Presbyterians, who in 1638, to resist that king's encroachments on their religious liberty, formed a "Solemn League," followed in 1643 by an international Solemn League and Covenant "between England and Scotland to secure both civil and religious liberty." These early Covenanters were subjected to great persecution, consequently their meetings were held in the most lonely places--on the moors, in the glens, and on the wild mountain sides. We climbed up through a wood and found the meeting-place in the ruins of a tower--commonly said to have been built by the Romans, though we doubted it--the remains of which consisted of an archway a few yard longs and a few yards square, surrounded by three trenches. It occupied a very strong position, and standing upon it we could see a hill a short distance away on the top of which was a heap of stones marking the spot where a bon-fire was lit and a flag reared when Queen Victoria drove along the road below, a few years before our visit. In former times in this part of Scotland there seemed to have been a bard, poet, or minstrel in every village, and they appeared to have been numerous enough to settle their differences, and sometimes themselves, by fighting for supremacy, for it was at Bradhaugh near here that a deadly combat took place in 1627 between William Henderson, known as "Rattling Roaring Willie," and Robert Rule, another Border minstrel, in which, according to an old ballad, Willie slew his opponent, for-- Rob Roole, he handled rude. And Willie left Newmill's banks Red-wat wi' Robin's blude. [Illustration: HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL.] At Teviothead our road parted company with the River Teviot, which forked away to the right, its source being only about six miles farther up the hills from that point. In the churchyard at Teviothead, Henry Scott Riddell, the author of _Scotland Yet_, had only recently been buried. Near here also was Caerlanrig, where the murder of Johnnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, a very powerful chief who levied blackmail along the Border from Esk to Tyne, or practically the whole length of Hadrian's Wall, took place in 1530. Johnnie was a notorious freebooter and Border raider, no one daring to go his way for fear of Johnnie or his followers. But of him more anon. The distance from Caerlanrig, where Armstrong was executed, to Gilnockie Tower, where he resided, was about seventeen miles, and we had to follow, though in the opposite direction and a better surfaced road, the same lonely and romantic track that he traversed on that occasion. It formed a pass between the hills, and for the first seven miles the elevations in feet above sea-level on each side of the road were: To our right:--1193. 1286. 1687. 1950. 1714. 1317. 1446. To our left:--1156. 1595. 1620. 1761. 1741. 1242. 1209. The distance between the summits as the crow flies was only about a mile, while the road maintained an altitude above the sea of from five to eight hundred feet, so that we had a most lonely walk of about thirteen miles before we reached Langholm. The road was a good one, and we were in no danger of missing our way, hemmed in as it was on either side by the hills, which, although treeless, were covered with grass apparently right away to their tops, a novelty to us after the bare and rocky hills we had passed elsewhere. We quite enjoyed our walk, and as we watched the daylight gradually fade away before the approaching shadows of the night, we realised that we were passing through the wildest solitudes. We did not meet one human being until we reached Langholm, and the only habitation we noted before reaching a small village just outside that town was the "Halfway House" between Hawick and Langholm, known in stage-coach days as the "Mosspaul Inn." It was a large house near the entrance to a small glen, but apparently now closed, for we could not see a solitary light nor hear the sound of a human voice. How different it must have appeared when the stage-coaches were passing up and down that valley, now deserted, for even the railway, which supplanted them, had passed it by on the other side! In imagination we could hear the sound of the horn, echoing in the mountains, heralding the approach of the stage-coach, with its great lamp in front, and could see a light in almost every window in the hotel. We could picture mine host and his wife standing at the open door ready to receive their visitors, expectant guests assembled behind them in the hall and expectant servants both indoors and out; then staying for the night, refreshing ourselves with the good things provided for supper, and afterwards relating our adventures to a friendly and appreciative audience, finally sinking our weary limbs in the good old-fashioned feather-beds! But these visions passed away almost as quickly as they appeared, so we left the dark and dreary mansion whose glory had departed, and marched on our way, expecting to find at Langholm that which we so badly needed--food and rest. The old inn at Mosspaul, where the stage-coaches stopped to change horses, was built at the junction of the counties of Dumfries and Roxburgh, and was very extensive with accommodation for many horses, but fell to ruin after the stage-coaches ceased running. Many notable visitors had patronised it, among others Dorothy Wordsworth, who visited it with her brother the poet in September 1803, and described it in the following graphic terms: The scene, with this single dwelling, was melancholy and wild, but not dreary, though there was no tree nor shrub: the small streamlet glittered, the hills were populous with sheep, but the gentle bending of the valley, and the correspondent softness in the forms of the hills were of themselves enough to delight the eye. A good story is told of one of the Armstrongs and the inn: Once when Lord Kames went for the first time on the Circuit as Advocate-depute, Armstrong of Sorbie inquired of Lord Minto in a whisper "What long black, dour-looking Chiel" that was that they had broc'ht with them? "That," said his lordship, "is a man come to hang a' the Armstrongs." "Then," was the dry retort, "it's time the Elliots were ridin'."[Footnote: Elliot was the family name of Lord Minto.] The effusions of one of the local poets whose district we had passed through had raised our expectations in the following lines: There's a wee toon on the Borders That my heart sair langs to see, Where in youthful days I wander'd, Knowing every bank and brae; O'er the hills and through the valleys, Thro' the woodlands wild and free, Thro' the narrow straits and loanings, There my heart sair langs to be. [Illustration: THE COMMON RIDING, LANGHOLM.] There was also an old saying, "Out of the world and into Langholm," which seemed very applicable to ourselves, for after a walk of thirty-two and a half miles through a lonely and hilly country, without a solitary house of call for twenty-three, our hungry and weary condition may be imagined when we entered Langholm just on the stroke of eleven o'clock at night. We went to the Temperance Hotel, but were informed they were full. We called at the other four inns with the same result. Next we appealed to the solitary police officer, who told us curtly that the inns closed at eleven and the lodgings at ten, and marched away without another word. The disappointment and feeling of agony at having to walk farther cannot be described, but there was no help for it, so we shook the dust, or mud, off our feet and turned dejectedly along the Carlisle road. Just at the end of the town we met a gentleman wearing a top-hat and a frock-coat, so we appealed to him. The hour was too late to find us lodgings, but he said, if we wished to do so, we could shelter in his distillery, which we should come to a little farther on our way. His men would all be in bed, but there was one door that was unlocked and we should find some of the rooms very warm. We thanked him for his kindness and found the door, as he had described, opening into a dark room. We had never been in a distillery before, so we were naturally rather nervous, and as we could not see a yard before us, we lighted one of our candles. We were about to go in search of one of the warmer rooms when the thought occurred to us that our light might attract the attention of some outsider, and in the absence of any written authority from the owner might cause us temporary trouble, while to explore the distillery without a light was out of the question, for we might fall through some trap-door or into a vat, besides which, we could hear a great rush of water in the rear of the premises, so we decided to stay where we were. The book we had obtained at Hawick contained the following description of the Langholm "Common Riding," which was held each year on July 17th when the people gathered together to feast on barley bannock and red herring, of course washed down with plenteous supplies of the indispensable whisky. The Riding began with the following proclamation in the marketplace, given by a man standing upright on horseback, in the presence of thousands of people: Gentlemen,--The first thing that I am going to acquaint you with are the names of the Portioners' Grounds of Langholm:-- Now, Gentlemen, we're gan' frae the Toun, An' first of a' the Kil Green we gang roun', It is an ancient place where Clay is got, And it belangs to us by Right and Lot, And then frae here the Lang-Wood we gang throu' Where every ane may breckons out an' pu', An' last of a' oor Marches they be clear, An' when unto the Castle Craigs we come, I'll cry the Langholm Fair and then we'll beat the drum. Now, Gentlemen. What you have heard this day concerning going round our Marches, it is expected that every one who has occasion for Peats, Breckons, Flacks, Stanes, or Clay, will go out in defence of their Property, and they shall hear the Proclamation of the Langholm Fair upon the Castle Craigs. Now, Gentlemen, we have gane roun our hill, So now I think it's right we had oor fill Of guid strang punch--'twould make us a' to sing. Because this day we have dune a guid thing; For gangin' roun' oor hill we think nae shame, Because frae it oor peats and flacks come hame; So now I will conclude and say nae mair. An' if ye're pleased I'll cry the Langholm Fair. Hoys, yes! that's ae time! Hoys, yes! that's twae times!! Hoys, yes! that's the third and the last time!!! This is to Give Notice, That there is a muckle Fair to be hadden in the muckle Toun o' the Langholm, on the 15th day of July, auld style, upon his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch's Merk Land, for the space of eight days and upwards; and a' land-loupers, and dub-scoupers, and gae-by-the-gate-swingers, that come here to breed hurdums or durdums, huliments or buliments, haggle-ments or braggle-ments, or to molest this public Fair, they shall be ta'en by order of the Bailie and Toun Council, and their lugs be nailed to the Tron wi' a twal-penny nail, and they shall sit doun on their bare knees and pray seven times for the King, and thrice for the Mickle Laird o' Ralton, and pay a groat to me, Jemmy Ferguson, Bailie o' the aforesaid Manor, and I'll awa' hame and ha'e a bannock and a saut herrin'. HUZZA! HUZZAH!! HUZZAH!!! [Illustration: GILNOCKIE BRIDGE, LANGHOLM.] The monument on the top of Whita Hill was erected in memory of one of the famous four Knights of Langholm, the sons of Malcolm of Burn Foot, whose Christian names were James, Pulteney, John, and Charles, all of whom became distinguished men. Sir James was made a K.C.B, and a Colonel in the Royal Marines. He served on board the _Canopus_ at the Battle of San Domingo, taking a prominent part in the American War of 1812. He died at Milnholm, near Langholm, at the age of eighty-two. Pulteney Malcolm rose to the rank of Admiral and served under Lord Nelson, but as his ship was refitting at Gibraltar he missed taking part in the Battle of Trafalgar, though he arrived just in time to capture the Spanish 120-gun ship _El Kago_. He became intimately acquainted with Napoleon Bonaparte, as he had the command of the British worships that guarded him during his captivity at St. Helena. Sir John Malcolm was a distinguished Indian statesman, and it was to him that the monument on Whita Hill had been erected. The monument, which was visible for many miles, was 100 feet high, and the hill itself 1,162 feet above sea-level. Sir Charles Malcolm, the youngest of the four brothers, after seeing much active service, rose to be Vice-Admiral of the Fleet. [Illustration: GILNOCKIE TOWER] If the great fair-day had been on when we reached Langholm we should not have been surprised at being unable to find lodgings, but as it was we could only attribute our failure to arriving at that town so late in the evening, nearly an hour after the authorised closing time of the inns. We found we could not stay very long in the distillery without a fire, for a sharp frost had now developed, and we began to feel the effect of the lower temperature; we therefore decided, after a short rest, to continue our walk on the Carlisle road. Turning over the bridge that crossed the rapidly running stream of the River Esk--the cause of the rush of water we heard in the distillery--we followed the river on its downward course for some miles. It was a splendid starlight, frosty night, but, as we were very tired and hungry, we could only proceed slowly--in fact scarcely quickly enough to maintain our circulation. Being also very sleepy, we had to do something desperate to keep ourselves awake, so we amused ourselves by knocking with our heavy oaken sticks at the doors or window-shutters of the houses we passed on our way. It was a mild revenge we took for the town's inhospitality, and we pictured to ourselves how the story of two highwaymen being about the roads during the midnight hours would be circulated along the countryside during the following day, but we could not get any one to come beyond the keyhole of the door or the panes of the shuttered windows. We were, however, becoming quite desperate, as we were now nearly famished, and, when we came to a small shop, the sounds from our sticks on the door quickly aroused the mistress, who asked us what we wanted. My brother entered into his usual explanation that we were pedestrian tourists on a walking expedition, and offered her a substantial sum for some bread or something to eat; but it was of no use, as the only answer we got was, "I ha' not a bit till th' baker coomes ith' morn'." This reply, and the tone of voice in which it was spoken, for the woman "snaffled," was too much for us, and, tired as we were, we both roared with laughter; absurd though it may seem, it was astonishing how this little incident cheered us on our way. It was a lovely country through which we were travelling, and our road, as well as the river alongside, was in many places overhung by the foliage of the fine trees, through which the brilliant lustre of the stars appeared overhead; in fact we heard afterwards that this length of road was said to include the finest landscapes along the whole of the stage-coach road between London and Edinburgh. The bridge by which we recrossed the river had been partially built with stones from the ruins of Gilnockie Tower, once the stronghold of the famous freebooter Johnnie Armstrong, of whom we had heard higher up the country. [Illustration: COCKBURN'S GRAVE.] Sir Walter Scott tells us that King James V resolved to take very serious measures against the Border Warriors, and under pretence of coming to hunt the deer in those desolate regions he assembled an army, and suddenly appeared at the Castle of Piers Cockburn of Henderland, near where we had been further north. He ordered that baron to be seized and executed in spite of the fact that he was preparing a great feast of welcome. Adam Scott of Tushielaw, known as the King of the Border, met with the same fate, but an event of greater importance was the fate of John Armstrong. This free-booting chief had risen to such consequence, that the whole neighbouring district of England paid him "black-mail," a sort of regular tribute in consideration of which he forbore to plunder them. He had a high idea of his own importance, and seems to have been unconscious of having merited any severe usage at the king's hands. On the contrary, he went to meet his sovereign at Carlingrigg Chapel, richly dressed, and having twenty-four gentlemen, his constant retinue, as well attired as himself. The king, incensed to see a freebooter so gentlemanly equipped, commanded him instantly to be led to execution, saying, "What wants this knave save a crown to be as magnificent as a king?" John Armstrong made great offers for his life, offering to maintain himself, with forty men, to serve the king at a moment's notice, at his own expense, engaging never to hurt or injure any Scottish subject, as indeed had never been his practice, and undertaking that there was not a man in England, of whatever degree, duke, earl, lord, or baron, but he would engage, within a short time, to present him to the king, dead or alive. But when the king would listen to none of his oilers, the robber chief said very proudly, "I am but a fool to ask grace at a graceless face; but had I guessed you would have used me thus, I would have kept the Border-side in spite of the King of England and you, both, for I well know that the King Henry would give the weight of my best horse in gold to know that I am sentenced to die this day." John Armstrong was led to execution, with all his men, and hanged without mercy. The people of the inland countries were glad to get rid of him; but on the Borders he was both missed and mourned, as a brave warrior, and a stout man-of-arms against England. But to return to Gilnockie Bridge! After crossing it we struggled on for another mile or two, and when about six miles from Langholm we reached another bridge where our road again crossed the river. Here we stopped in mute despair, leaning against the battlements, and listening to the water in the river as it rushed under the bridge. We must have been half asleep, when we were suddenly aroused by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching in the distance. Whoever could it be? I suggested one of the Border freebooters; but my brother, who could laugh when everybody else cried, said it sounded more like a free-clogger. We listened again, and sure enough it was the clattering of a heavy pair of clogs on the partly frozen surface of the road. We could not be mistaken, for we were too well accustomed to the sound of clogs in Lancashire; but who could be the wearer! We had not long to wait before a man appeared, as much surprised to see us as we were to see him. We told him of our long walk the day before, how we had been disappointed in not getting lodgings, and asked him how far we were away from an inn. He told us we were quite near one, but it was no use going there, as "they wouldn't get up for the Queen of England." He further told us he was going to the two o'clock "shift" at the colliery. "Colliery!" my brother ejaculated; "but surely there isn't a coal-pit in a pretty place like this?" He assured us that there was, and, seeing we were both shivering with cold, kindly invited us to go with him and he would put us near to a good fire that was burning there. "How far is it?" we asked anxiously. "Oh, only about half a mile," said the collier. So we went with him, and walked what seemed to be the longest half-mile we ever walked in all our lives, as we followed him along a fearfully rough road, partly on the tramlines of the Canonbie Collieries belonging to the Duke of Buccleuch, where two or three hundred men were employed. We each handed him a silver coin as he landed us in front of a large open fire which was blazing furiously near the mouth of the pit, and, bidding us "good morning," he placed a lighted lamp in front of his cap and disappeared down the shaft to the regions below. He was rather late owing to his having slackened his pace to our own, which was naturally slower than his, since walking along colliery sidings at night was difficult for strangers. We had taken of our boots to warm and ease our feet, when a man emerged from the darkness and asked us to put them on again, saying we should be more comfortable in the engine-house. If we stayed there we should be sure to catch a cold, as a result of being roasted on one side and frozen on the other. He kindly volunteered to accompany us there, so we thankfully accepted his invitation. We had some difficulty in following him owing to the darkness and obstructions in the way, but we reached the engine-room in safety, round the inside of which was a wooden seat, or bench, and acting upon his instructions we lay down on this to sleep, with a promise that he would waken us when he went off duty at six o'clock in the morning. We found it more comfortable here than on the windy pit bank, for there was an even and sleepy temperature. We were soon embosomed in the arms of nature's great refresher, notwithstanding the occasional working of the winding engines, sleeping as soundly on those wooden benches as ever we did on the best feather-bed we patronised on our journey. (_Distance walked thirty-nine miles_.) _Thursday, October 12th._ We were roused at six o'clock a.m. by the engine-driver, who had taken good care of us while we slept, and as we had had nothing to eat since our lunch at Hawick the day before, except the fruit purchased from the toll-keeper there, which we had consumed long before reaching Langholm, we were frightfully hungry. The engine-man told us there was a shop close by the colliery gate kept by a young man, where, if he happened to be in, we should be able to get some refreshments. He accompanied us to the place, and, after knocking loudly at the shop door, we were delighted to see the head of the shopkeeper appear through the window above. He was evidently well known to the engineer, who told him what we wanted, and he promised to "be down directly." It seemed a long time to us before the shop door was opened, and every minute appeared more like five than one; but we were soon comfortably seated in the shop, in the midst of all sorts of good things fit to eat. We should have liked to begin to eat them immediately, but the fire had to be lit and the kettle boiled, so we assisted with these operations while the young man cut into a fresh loaf of bread, broke open a pot of plum jam, opened a tin of biscuits, and, with the addition of a large slice of cheese and four fresh eggs, we had a really good breakfast, which we thoroughly enjoyed. He said it was a wonder we found him there, for it was very seldom he slept at the shop. His mother lived at a farm about a mile and a half away, where he nearly always slept; that night, however, he had been sleeping with his dog, which was to run in a race that day, and he spent the night with it lest it should be tampered with. He called the dog downstairs, and, though we knew very little about dogs, we could see it was a very fine-looking animal. Our friend said he would not take £50 for it, a price we thought exorbitant for any dog. When we had finished our enormous breakfast, we assisted the shopkeeper to clear the table, and as it was now his turn, we helped him to get his own breakfast ready, waiting upon him as he had waited upon us, while we conversed chiefly about colliers and dogs and our approaching visit to Gretna Green, which, as neither of us was married, was naturally our next great object of interest. [Illustration: PENTON BRIDGE, CANONBIE.] After our long walk the previous day, with very little sleep at the end of it, and the heavy breakfast we had just eaten, we felt uncommonly lazy and disinclined to walk very far that day. So, after wishing our friend good luck at the races, we bade him good-bye, and idly retraced our steps along the colliery road until we reached the bridge where we had met the collier so early in the morning. We had now time to admire the scenery, and regretted having passed through that beautiful part of the country during our weary tramp in the dark, and that we had missed so much of it, including the Border Towers on the River Esk. Riddel Water, with its fine scenery, was on our left as we came from the colliery, where it formed the boundary between Scotland and England, emptying itself into the River Esk about two miles from Canonbie Bridge, which we now crossed, and soon arrived at the "Cross Keys Inn," of which we had heard but failed to reach the previous night. The landlord of the inn, who was standing at the door, was formerly the driver of the Royal Mail Stagecoach "Engineer" which ran daily between Hawick and Carlisle on the Edinburgh to London main road. A good-looking and healthy man of over fifty years of age, his real name was Elder, but he was popularly known as Mr. Sandy or Sandy Elder. The coach, the last stage-coach that ever ran on that road, was drawn in ordinary weather by three horses, which were changed every seven or eight miles, the "Cross Keys" at Canonbie being one of the stopping-places. [Illustration: "CROSS KEYS INN."] Mr. Elder had many tales to tell of stage-coach days; one adventure, however, seemed more prominent in his thoughts than the others. It happened many years ago, when on one cold day the passengers had, with the solitary exception of one woman, who was sitting on the back seat of the coach, gone into the "Cross Keys Inn" for refreshments while the horses were being changed. The fresh set of horses had been put in, and the stablemen had gone to the hotel to say all was ready, when, without a minute's warning, the fresh horses started off at full gallop along the turnpike road towards Carlisle. Great was the consternation at the inn, and Sandy immediately saddled a horse and rode after them at full speed. Meantime the woman, who Mr. Sandy said must have been as brave a woman as ever lived, crawled over the luggage on the top of the coach and on to the footboard in front. Kneeling down while holding on with one hand, she stretched the other to the horses' backs and secured the reins, which had slipped down and were urging the horses forward. By this time the runaway horses had nearly covered the two miles between the inn and the tollgates, which were standing open, as the mail coach was expected, whose progress nothing must delay. Fortunately the keeper of the first gate was on the look-out, and he was horrified when he saw the horses coming at their usual great speed without Sandy the driver; he immediately closed the gate, and, with the aid of the brave woman, who had recovered the reins, the horses were brought to a dead stop at the gate, Mr. Sandy arriving a few minutes afterwards. The last run of this coach was in 1862, about nine years before our visit, and there was rather a pathetic scene on that occasion. We afterwards obtained from one of Mr. Elder's ten children a cutting from an old newspaper she had carefully preserved, a copy of which is as follows: Mr. Elder, the Landlord of the "Cross Keys Hotel," was the last of the Border Royal Mail Coach Drivers and was familiarly known as "Sandy," and for ten years was known as the driver of the coach between Hawick and Carlisle. When the railway started and gave the death-blow to his calling, he left the seat of the stage coach, and invested his savings in the cosy hostelry of the road-side type immortalised by Scott in his "Young Lochinvar." He told of the time when he did duty on the stage coach for Dukes, Earls, and Lords, and aided run-a-way couples to reach the "blacksmith" at Gretna Green. He told of the days when he manipulated the ribbons from the box of the famous coach "Engineer" when he dashed along with foaming horses as if the fate of a nation depended upon his reaching his stage at a given time. He could remember Mosspaul Inn at the zenith of its fame under the reigning sovereign Mr. Gownlock--whose tact and management made his Hotel famous. He had frequently to carry large sums of money from the Border banks and although these were the days of footpads and highwaymen, and coaches were "held up" in other parts, Sandy's Coach was never molested, although he had been blocked with his four-in-hand in the snow. He gave a graphic description of the running of the last mail coach from Hawick to Merrie Carlisle in 1862. Willie Crozier the noted driver was mounted on the box, and the horses were all decked out for the occasion. Jemmie Ferguson the old strapper, whose occupation like that of Othello's was all gone, saw it start with a heavy heart, and crowds turned out to bid it good-bye. When the valleys rang with the cheery notes of the well-blown horn, and the rumbling sound of the wheels and the clattering hoofs of the horses echoed along the way, rich and poor everywhere came to view the end of a system which had so long kept them in touch with civilisation. The "Engineer" guards and drivers with scarlet coats, white hats, and overflowing boots, and all the coaching paraphernalia so minutely described by Dickens, then passed away, and the solitary remnant of these good old times was "Sandy" Elder the old Landlord of the "Cross Keys" on Canonbie Lea. Soon after leaving the "Cross Keys" we came to a wood where we saw a "Warning to Trespassers" headed "Dangerous," followed by the words "Beware of fox-traps and spears in these plantations." This, we supposed, was intended for the colliers, for in some districts they were noted as expert poachers. Soon afterwards we reached what was called the Scotch Dyke, the name given to a mound of earth, or "dyke," as it was called locally, some four miles long and erected in the year 1552 between the rivers Esk and Sark to mark the boundary between England and Scotland. We expected to find a range of hills or some substantial monument or noble ruin to mark the boundary between the two countries, and were rather disappointed to find only an ordinary dry dyke and a plantation, while a solitary milestone informed us that it was eighty-one and a half miles to Edinburgh. We were now between the two tollbars, one in Scotland and the other in England, with a space of only about fifty yards between them, and as we crossed the centre we gave three tremendous cheers which brought out the whole population of the two tollhouses to see what was the matter. We felt very silly, and wondered why we had done so, since we had spent five weeks in Scotland and had nothing but praise both for the inhabitants and the scenery. It was exactly 9.50 a.m. when we crossed the boundary, and my brother on reflection recovered his self-respect and said he was sure we could have got absolution from Sir Walter Scott for making all that noise, for had he not written: Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd. [Illustration: NETHERBY HALL.] As the morning was beautifully fine, we soon forsook the highway and walked along the grassy banks of the Esk, a charming river whose waters appeared at this point as if they were running up hill. We were very idle, and stayed to wash our feet in its crystal waters, dressing them with common soap, which we had always found very beneficial as a salve. We sauntered past Kirkandrew's Tower; across the river was the mansion of Netherby, the home of the Graham family, with its beautiful surroundings, immortalised by Sir Walter Scott in his "Young Lochinvar," who came out of the West, and-- One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he spran! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? We were far more inclined to think and talk than to walk, and as we sat on the peaceful banks of the river we thought what a blessing it was that those Border wars were banished for ever, for they appeared to have been practically continuous from the time of the Romans down to the end of the sixteenth century, when the two countries were united under one king, and we thought of that verse so often quoted: The Nations in the present day Preserve the good old plan, That all shall take who have the power And all shall keep who can. We were not far from the narrowest point of the kingdom from east to west, or from one sea to the other, where the Roman Emperor, Hadrian, built his boundary wall; but since that time, if we may credit the words of another poet who described the warriors and their origin, other nationalities have waged war on the Borders-- From the worst scoundrel race that ever lived A horrid crowd of rambling thieves and drones, Who ransacked Kingdoms and dispeopled towns, The Pict, the painted Briton, treacherous Scot By hunger, theft, and rapine, hither brought Norwegian Pirates--buccaneering Danes, Whose red-haired offspring everywhere remains; Who, joined with Norman French, compound the breed, From whence you time-born Bordermen proceed. How long we should have loitered on the bank of the river if the pangs of hunger had not again made themselves felt we could not say, but we resolved at last to walk to Longtown for some refreshments, and arrived there by noon, determined to make amends for our shortcomings after lunch, for, incredible though it seemed, we had only walked six miles! But we landed in a little cosy temperance house, one of those places where comfort prevailed to a much greater extent than in many more brilliant establishments. It was kept by one Forster, a gentleman of distinction, possessing a remarkable temperament and following numerous avocations. He informed us he was the parish clerk, and that the Lord Bishop was holding a Confirmation Service in the church at 3 p.m. We had intended only to stay for lunch and then resume our journey, but the mention of a much less important person than the Lord Bishop would have made us stay until tea-time, and travel on afterwards, so we decided to remain for the service. Punctually at three o'clock, escorted by the son of our landlord, we entered the Arthuret Church, the Parish Church of Longtown, about half a mile away from the town. It was built in 1609 and dedicated to St. Michael, but had recently been restored and a handsome stained-glass window placed at the east end in memory of the late Sir James Graham, whose burial-place we observed marked by a plain stone slab as we entered the churchyard. In consequence of a domestic bereavement the organist was absent, and as he had forgotten to leave the key the harmonium was useless. Our friend the parish clerk, however, was quite equal to the occasion, for as the Psalm commencing "All people that on earth do dwell" was given out, he stepped out into the aisle and led off with the good old tune the "Old Hundredth," so admirably adapted for congregational use, and afterwards followed with the hymn beginning "Before Jehovah's awful throne," completing the choral part of the service to the tune of "Duke Street"; we often wondered where that street was, and who the duke was that it was named after. Our admiration of the parish clerk increased when we found he could start the singing of Psalms and on the correct note in the presence of a Lord Bishop, and we contemplated what might have been the result had he started the singing in a higher or a lower key. We rejoiced that the responsibility rested upon him and not on ourselves. The Candidates for Confirmation were now requested to stand while the remainder of the congregation remained seated. The Bishop, Dr. Goodwin, delivered a homely, solemn, and impressive address. His lordship did not take any text, but spoke extempore, and we were well pleased with his address, so appropriate was it to the occasion; the language was easy and suited to the capacities of those for whom the service was specially held. As sympathisers with the temperance movement we thoroughly coincided with the Bishop's observations when he affectionately warned his hearers against evil habits, amongst which he catalogued that of indulgence in intoxicating drinks, and warned the young men not to frequent public-houses, however much they might be ridiculed or thought mean for not doing so. The candidates came from three parishes, the girls dressed very plainly and as usual outnumbering the boys. The general congregation was numerically small, and we were surprised that there was no collection! Service over, we returned to our lodgings for tea, intending to resume our walk immediately afterwards. We were so comfortable, however, and the experiences of the previous day and night so fresh in our minds, and bodies, that we decided to rest our still weary limbs here for the night, even though we had that day only walked six miles, the shortest walk in all our journey. [Illustration: KIRKANDREWS CHURCH.] Our host, Mr. Forster, was moreover a very entertaining and remarkable man. He had been parish clerk for many years, a Freemason for upwards of thirty years, letter-carrier or postman for fourteen years, and recently he and his wife had joined the Good Templars! He had many interesting stories of the runaway marriages at Gretna Green, a piece of Borderland neither in Scotland nor England, and he claimed to have suggested the Act of Parliament brought in by Lord Brougham to abolish these so-called "Scotch" marriages by a clause which required twenty-one days' residence before the marriage could be solemnised, so that although the Act was called Lord Brougham's Act, he said it was really his. Its effects were clearly demonstrated in a letter he had written, which appeared in the Registrar-General's Report, of which he showed us a copy, stating that while in the year 1856, the year of the passing of Lord Brougham's Act, there were 757 marriages celebrated in the district of Gretna Green, thirty-nine entered as taking place in one day, November 8th, in the following year there were only thirty and in the next forty-one, showing conclusively that the Act had been effectual. We could have listened longer to our host's stories, but we had to rise early next morning to make up for our loss of mileage, and retired early to make up for our loss of sleep on the previous night. (_Distance walked six miles_.) _Friday, October 13th._ We left Longtown at 7.30 a.m. by the long and wide thoroughfare which gives rise to its name, and followed the Carlisle road until we turned to the right for Gretna Green. Our road lay between Solway Moss and the River Esk, to both of which some historic events were attached. Solway Moss is about seven miles in circumference, and is covered with grass and rushes, but it shakes under the least pressure, and will swallow up nearly anything. In 1776, after heavy rains, it burst, and, as in Ireland, streams of black peaty mud began to creep over the plain and to overwhelm the houses. It was the scene of a battle fought on November 24th, 1542, when the English Army under Sir Thomas Wharton defeated a Scottish Army of 10,000 men, who were either killed, drowned, or taken prisoners. One of the unfortunates was unearthed in later times by peat-diggers, a man on his horse, who had sunk in the bog. The skeletons were well preserved, and the different parts of the armour easily recognisable. The disastrous result of this battle so affected James V, King of Scotland, that he is said to have died of a broken heart. Personally, we thought he deserved a greater punishment for the murder of Johnnie Armstrong and his followers twelve years before this event, for Armstrong was just the man who could and would have protected the Borders. The River Esk was associated with Prince Charlie, who, with his soldiers, had to cross it when retreating before the army of the Duke of Cumberland. It was a difficult operation to carry out, as the usually shallow ford had been converted by the melting snow into a swift-flowing current four feet deep. The cavalry were drawn up in two lines across the stream, one to break the current and the other to prevent any of the foot-soldiers being washed away as they crossed the river between the two lines of cavalry. Lower down the river still were Prince Charlie and his officers, who were better mounted than the others. The foot-soldiers walked arm-in-arm, with their heads barely above the water, making the space between the cavalry lines to look as if it were set with paving-stones. One poor soldier lost his hold on his comrade and was washed down the river, and would certainly have been drowned had not the Prince seized him by the hair, and, shouting in Gaelic for help, held on until both of them were rescued. After being hunted in the Highland glens for months with a ransom of £30,000 placed on his head--not a Celt betraying his whereabouts--by the help of Flora Macdonald Prince Charlie escaped to Brittany, and finally died at Rome in the arms of the Master of Nairn in 1788. In 1794 the Beds of Esk, a large sandbank where the tide meets the stream, presented an unusual spectacle, and a striking tribute to the dangerous character of the river especially when in flood. Collected together on the beach were a varied assortment of animals and human beings, consisting of no less than 9 black cattle, 3 horses, 1,040 sheep, 45 dogs, 180 hares, many smaller animals, and 3 human beings, all of whom had been cut off by the rapidly advancing tide. Many other events have happened in this neighbourhood, one of the most sensational perhaps being the death of King Edward I, "The Hammer of the Scots," also nicknamed "Longshanks," from the length of his lower limbs, who died in 1307 on these marshes, requesting his effeminate son, the Prince of Wales, as he bade him farewell, not to bury his body until the Scots were utterly subdued, but this wish was prevented by the defeat at the Battle of Bannockburn. We passed by some large peat-fields, and, crossing the River Sark, were once more in Scotland, notwithstanding the fact that we had so recently given three cheers as we passed out of it. We traversed the length of Springfield, a stone-built village of whitewashed, one-storied cottages, in which we could see handloom weavers at work, nearly fifty of them being employed in that industry. Formerly, we were told, the villagers carried on an illicit commerce in whisky and salt, on which there were heavy duties in England, but none on whisky in Scotland. The position here being so close to the borders, it was a very favourable one for smuggling both these articles into England, and we heard various exciting stories of the means they devised for eluding the vigilance of the excise officers. As we passed through the neighbourhood at a quick rate, the villagers turned out to have a look at us, evidently thinking something important was going on. We saw many workers in the fields, who called out to us hinting about the nature of our journey, as we travelled towards Gretna Green. Some of the women went so far as to ask us if we wanted any company. The most conspicuous objects in the village were the church and the remarkably high gravestones standing like sentinels in the churchyard. Bonnie Prince Charlie arrived here on the afternoon of his birthday in 1745, stabling his horse in the church, while the vicar fled from what he described in the church book as "the Rebels." A small cottage--said to be the oldest in Gretna--is shown in which Prince Charlie slept. The village green appeared to us as if it had been fenced in and made into a garden, and a lady pointed out an ancient-looking building, which she said was the hall where the original "Blacksmith" who married the runaway couples resided, but which was now occupied by a gentleman from Edinburgh. She explained the ceremony as being a very simple one, and performed expeditiously: often in the road, almost in sight of the pursuers of the runaway pair. All sorts and conditions of men and women were united there, some of them from far-off lands, black people amongst the rest, and she added with a sigh, "There's been many an unhappy job here," which we quite believed. There were other people beside the gentleman at the hall who made great profit by marrying people, both at Springfield and Gretna, and a list of operators, dated from the year 1720, included a soldier, shoemaker, weaver, poacher, innkeeper, toll-keeper, fisherman, pedlar, and other tradesmen. But the only blacksmith who acted in that capacity was a man named Joe Paisley, who died in 1811 aged seventy-nine years. His motto was, "Strike while the iron's hot," and he boasted that he could weld the parties together as firmly as he could one piece of iron to another. [Illustration: JOSEPH PAISLEY, The Celebrated Gretna-Green Parson Dec'd January 9, 1811, aged 79. The first great "priest" of Gretna Green.] Joe was a man of prodigious strength; he could bend a strong iron poker over his arm, and had frequently straightened an ordinary horse-shoe in its cold state with his hands. He could also squeeze the blood from the finger ends of any one who incurred his anger. He was an habitual drunkard, his greatest boast being that he had once been "teetotal" for a whole forenoon. When he died he was an overgrown mass of superfluous fat, weighing at least twenty-five stone. He was said to have earned quite a thousand pounds per year by his encroachments into the province of the cleric, and when on his deathbed he heard three carriages arrive, he consented to marry the three wealthy couples they contained, and found himself two or three hundred pounds richer than before. He also boasted that the marriage business had been in his family for quite one hundred years, and that his uncle, the old soldier Gordon, used to marry couples in the full uniform of his regiment, the British Grenadiers. He gave a form of certificate that the persons had declared themselves to be single, that they were married by the form of the Kirk of Scotland, and agreeably to that of the Church of England. [Illustration: GRETNA GREEN.] One of the most celebrated elopements to Gretna was that of the Earl of Westmorland and Miss Child, the daughter of the great London banker. The earl had asked for the hand of Sarah, and had been refused, the banker remarking, "Your blood is good enough, but my money is better," so the two young people made it up to elope and get married at Gretna Green. The earl made arrangements beforehand at the different stages where they had to change horses, but the banker, finding that his daughter had gone, pursued them in hot haste. All went well with the runaway couple until they arrived at Shap, in Westmorland, where they became aware they were being pursued. Here the earl hired all the available horses, so as to delay the irate banker's progress. The banker's "money was good," however, and the runaways were overtaken between Penrith and Carlisle. Hero the earl's "blood was good," for, taking deliberate aim at the little star of white on the forehead of the banker's leading horse, he fired successfully, and so delayed the pursuit that the fugitives arrived at Gretna first; and when the bride's father drove up, purple with rage and almost choking from sheer exasperation, he found them safely locked in what was called the bridal chamber! The affair created a great sensation in London, where the parties were well known, heavy bets being made as to which party would win the race. At the close of the market it stood at two to one on the earl and the girl. In those days "postboys" were employed to drive the runaways from the hotels at Carlisle to Gretna, one of the most noted of whom was Jock Ainslie, on the staff of the "Bush Inn" at Carlisle. On one occasion he was commissioned to drive a runaway couple, who had just arrived by the coach from London, to Gretna, but when they got as far as Longtown they insisted they were tired and must stay for dinner before going forward, so they sent Jock back. He returned to Carlisle rather reluctantly, advising the runaways to lose no time. But when he got back to the "Bush Inn" he saw the mother of the lady whom he had left at Longtown drive up to the hotel door accompanied by a Bow Street officer. While they were changing horses, Jock went to the stable, saddled a horse, rode off to Longtown, and told his patrons what he had seen. They immediately hurried into a chaise, but had not gone far before they heard the carriage wheels of their pursuers. Jock Ainslie was quite equal to the occasion, and drove the chaise behind a thick bush, whence the pair had the satisfaction of seeing "Mamma" hurry past at full speed in pursuit. While she was continuing her search on the Annan Road, Jock quietly drove into Springfield and had his patrons "hitched up" without further delay, and doubtless was well rewarded for his services. [Illustration: WILLIE LANG The last of the "Lang" line of priests.] It seemed a strange thing that Lord Brougham, who brought in the famous Act, should himself have taken advantage of a "Scotch" marriage, and that two other Lord Chancellors, both celebrated men, should have acted in the same manner; Lord Eldon, the originator of the proverb-- New brooms sweep clean, was married at Gretna, and Lord Erskine at Springfield. Marriage in this part of Scotland had not the same religious significance as elsewhere, being looked upon as more in the nature of a civil contract than a religious ceremony. The form of marriage was almost entirely a secular matter, and if a man and woman made a declaration before two witnesses that they were single persons and had resided twenty-one days in Scotland, they were considered as being man and wife. At the point where the Black Esk and White Esk Rivers join, a remarkable custom called "Handfasting" prevailed hundreds of years ago. Here, at a place known as Handfasting Hough, young men and women assembled in great numbers and made matrimonial engagements by joining hands. The marriage was only binding for one year, but if both parties were then satisfied, the "handfasting" was continued for life. King Robert II of Scotland, it was said, was one of those who was "hand-fasted" there. [Illustration: (Facsimile of Lord Erskine's signature.)] [Illustration: SPRINGFIELD TOLL.] We now left Gretna, still single, for Carlisle, nine and a half miles away, the distance to Glasgow in the opposite direction being eighty-five miles. We recrossed the River Sark, the boundary here between Scotland and England, the famous tollbar through which eloping couples had to hurry before they could reach Gretna Green. In those days gangs of men were ever on the watch to levy blackmail both on the pursued and their pursuers, and the heaviest purse generally won when the race was a close one. We saw a new hotel on the English side of the river which had been built by a Mr. Murray specially for the accommodation of the runaways while the "Blacksmith" was sent for to join them together on the other side of the boundary, but it had only just been finished when Lord Brougham's Act rendered it practically useless, and made it a bad speculation for Mr. Murray. Passing through the tollgate we overtook a man with half a dozen fine greyhounds, in which, after our conversation with the owner of the racing dog at Canonbie Collieries, we had become quite interested; and we listened to his description of each as if we were the most ardent dog-fanciers on the road. One of the dogs had taken a first prize at Lytham and another a second at Stranraer. We passed through a country where there were immense beds of peat, hurrying through Todhilis without even calling at the "Highland Laddie" or the "Jovial Butcher" at Kingstown, and we crossed the River Eden as we entered the Border city of Carlisle, sometimes called "Merrie Carlisle," or, as the Romans had it, Lugovalum. An elderly gentleman whom we overtook, and of whom we inquired concerning the objects of interest to be seen, appeared to take more interest in business matters than in those of an antiquarian nature, for he told us that "Carr's Biscuit Manufactory" with its machinery was a far finer sight than either the cathedral or the castle. Perhaps he was right, but our thoughts were more in the direction of bygone ages, with the exception of the letters that were waiting for us at the post office, and for which we did not forget to call. Merrie Carlisle, we were informed, was the chief residence of King Arthur, whose supposed ghostly abode and that of his famous knights, or one of them, we had passed earlier in the week. We were now told that near Penrith, a town to the south of Carlisle, there was still to be seen a large circle surrounded by a mound of earth called "Arthur's Round Table," and that in the churchyard were the giants' graves. In the very old ballad on the "Lothely Lady" King Arthur was described as returning after a long journey to his Queen Guenevere, in a very sad mood: And there came to him his cozen, Sir Gawain, Y' was a courteous Knight; Why sigh you soe sore, Unkle Arthur, he said, Or who hath done thee unright? Arthur told him he had been taken prisoner by a fierce, gigantic chief, who had only released him and spared his life on condition that he would return and pay his ransom on New Year's Day, the ransom being that he must tell the giant "that which all women most desire." When the morning of the day arrived, Arthur was in great despair, for nearly all the women he had asked had given him different answers, but he was in honour bound to give himself up; and as he rode over the moors he saw a lady dressed in scarlet, sitting between an oak and a green holly. Glancing at her, Arthur saw the most hideous woman he had ever seen. Then there as shold have stood her mouth, Then there was sett her e'e, The other was in her forhead fast, The way that she might see. Her nose was crooked, and turned outward, Her mouth stood foul awry; A worse formed lady than she was, Never man saw with his eye. King Arthur rode on and pretended not to see her, but she called him back and said she could help him with his ransom. The King answered, "If you can release me from my bond, lady, I shall be grateful, and you shall marry my nephew Gawain, with a gold ring." Then the lothely lady told Arthur that the thing all women desired was "to have their own way." The answer proved to be correct, and Arthur was released; but the "gentle Gawain" was now bound by his uncle's promise, and the "lothely lady" came to Carlisle and was wedded in the church to Gawain. When they were alone after the ceremony she told him she could be ugly by day and lovely by night, or _vice versa_, as he pleased, and for her sake, as she had to appear amongst all the fine ladies at the Court, he begged her to appear lovely by day. Then she begged him to kiss her, which with a shudder he did, and immediately the spell cast over her by a witch-step mother was broken, and Gawain beheld a young and lovely maiden. She was presented to Arthur and Guenevere, and was no longer a "lothely" lady. Then the ballad goes on: King Arthur beheld the lady faire, That was soe faire and bright; He thanked Christ in Trinity, For Sir Gawain, that gentle Knight. King Arthur's table was supposed to have been made round for the same reason that John o' Groat's was made octagonal--to avoid jealousy amongst his followers. [Illustration: CARLISLE CATHEDRAL.] We visited the cathedral, which had suffered much in the wars, but in the fine east window some very old stained glass remained, while parts of the building exhibit the massive columns and circular arches typical of the Norman architect. Here, in the presence of King Edward I and his Parliament, Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, was excommunicated by the Papal Legate for the murder of the Red Comyn in the Church of the Minorite Friars in Dumfries. Here, too, Sir Walter Scott was married to Charlotte Carpenter in the presence of Jane Nicholson and John Bird on December 29th, 1797. Sir Walter was touring in the Lake District in July of that year, and while staying at Gilsland Wells he first saw a fascinating and elegant young lady, the daughter of Jean Charpentier of Lyons, then under the charge of the Rev. John Bird, a Minor Canon of Carlisle Cathedral. She was described, possibly by Sir Walter himself, as being rich in personal attractions, with a form fashioned as light as a fairy's, a complexion of the clearest and finest Italian brown, and a profusion of silken tresses as black as the raven's wing. A humorous savant wrote the following critique on this description of the beauty of Sir Walter's fiancée: It is just possible the rascal had been reading some of the old Welsh stories collected in the twelfth century and known as the Mabinogion stories. In one Oliven is described so-- "More yellow was her head than the yellow of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the sprays of the meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the three-mewed falcon was not brighter than hers. Her bosom was more snowed than the heart of the white swan; her cheek was redder than the reddest roses." [Illustration: THE "POPPING STONE," GILSLAND.] Or again, both of the love-stricken swains may have dipped, into the _Arabian Nights_, where imagination and picture painting runs riot. There was no doubt that Scott fell deeply in love with her, so much so that a friend whom he visited in 1797 wrote that "Scott was 'sair' beside himself about Miss Carpenter and that they toasted her twenty times over and raved about her until one o'clock in the morning." Sir Walter seemed to have acted in his courtship on the old north-country adage, "Happy is the wooing that is not long a-doing," for he was married to her three months afterwards. The whole details are carefully preserved in local tradition. The River Irthing runs through Gilsland, and at the foot of the cliffs, which rise go feet above the river, were the Sulphur Wells. Near these, on the bank of the river, was a large stone named the "Popping Stone," where it was said that Sir Walter Scott "popped the question," and all who can get a piece of this stone, which, by the way, is of a very hard nature, and place it under the pillow at night, will dream of their future partners. The hotel people tell a good story of a gentleman, an entire stranger to the district, who went in company with a lady who knew the neighbourhood to see the famous stone. After walking for some distance they were passing a stone, when the gentleman asked, "Is this the popping stone?" "No," answered his fair companion, "but any large stone will do." Near the stone there was a bush called the "Kissing Bush," where Sir Walter was said to have sealed the sweet compact when the temperature was only "two in the shade." Oh happy love! where Love like this is found! Oh heartfelt raptures! Bliss beyond compare! I've paced much this weary mortal round, If Heaven a draught of Heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale, 'Tis when a youthful loving modest pair In other's arms breathe out the tender tale Beneath the "Kissing Bush" that scents the evening gale. [Illustration: CARLISLE CASTLE] John Wesley visited Carlisle and preached there on several occasions. Rabbie Burns, too, after the publication of the first edition of his poems, visited it in 1786, patronising the "Malt Shovel Inn," where, as he wrote, "he made a night of it." We paid a hurried visit to the castle on the summit of a sharp aclivity overlooking the River Eden, in whose dungeons many brave men have been incarcerated, where we saw a dripping-or dropping-stone worn smooth, it was said, by the tongues of thirsty prisoners to whom water was denied. The dropping was incessant, and we were told a story which seems the refinement of cruelty, in which the water was allowed to drop on a prisoner's head until it killed him. From the castle mound we could see the country for a long distance, and there must have been a good view of the Roman wall in ancient times, as the little church of Stanwix we had passed before crossing the River Eden was built on the site of a Roman station on Hadrian's Wall, which there crossed the river on low arches. The wall was intended to form the boundary between England and Scotland, and extended for seventy miles, from Bowness-on-the-Solway to Wallsend-on-the-Tyne, thus crossing the kingdom at its narrowest part. We left Carlisle at a speed of four miles per hour, and within the hour we had our first near view of the Cumberland Hills, Scawfell being the most conspicuous. We decided to go to Maryport, however, as we heard that a great number of Roman altars had recently been discovered there. We were now once more in England, with its old-fashioned villages, and at eleven miles from Carlisle we reached Wigton, whose streets and footpaths were paved with boulders and cobble-stones; here we stayed for refreshments. A further eight-miles' walk, some portion of it in the dark, brought us to Aspatria, but in the interval we had passed Brayton Hall, the residence of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Bart., M.P., the leader of the Legislative Temperance Movement for the abolition of the Liquor Traffic, and who, at a later date, was said to be the wittiest member of the House of Commons. As Chairman of the United Kingdom Alliance, that held its annual gatherings in the great Free Trade Hall in Manchester, a building capable of seating 5,000 persons, so great was his popularity that the immense building, including the large platform, was packed with people long before the proceedings were timed to begin, there being left only sufficient space for the chairman and the speakers. The interval before the arrival of these gentlemen was whiled away by the audience in singing well-known hymns and songs, and on one occasion, when Sankey and Moody's hymns had become popular, just as the people were singing vociferously the second line of the verse-- See the mighty host advancing, Satan leading on! [Illustration: CARLISLE CASTLE] Sir Wilfrid appeared on the platform followed by the speakers. His ready wit seized the humour of the situation, and it is said that he was so deeply affected by this amusing incident that it took him a whole week to recover! As a speaker he never failed to secure the attention and respect of his audience, and even of those in it who did not altogether agree with his principles. As an advocate of the total suppression of the Liquor Traffic, on every occasion his peroration was listened to with almost breathless attention, and concluded in an earnest and impressive manner which left a never-to-be-forgotten impression upon those who heard it, the almost magic spell by which he had held the vast audience being suddenly broken, as if by an electric shock, into thunders of applause when he recited his favourite verse. We can hear his voice still repeating the lines: Slowly moves the march of ages, Slowly grows the forest king, Slowly to perfection cometh Every great and glorious thing! It was 8 p.m. as we entered Aspatria, where we found lodgings for the night at Isaac Tomlinson's. We expected Aspatria, from its name, to have had some connection with the Romans, but it appeared to have been so called after Aspatrick, or Gospatrick, the first Lord of Allerdale, and the church was dedicated to St. Kentigern. The Beacon Hill near the town was explored in 1799, and a vault discovered containing the skeleton of a gigantic warrior seven feet long, who had been buried with his sword, dagger, gold bracelet, horse's bit, and other accoutrements dating from the sixth century. We had passed a small village near our road named Bromfield, which was said to possess strong claims to have been the site of the Battle of Brunanburch, fought in the year 937, when Anlaf, King of Dublin, formed a huge confederacy with the King of the Scots, the King of Strathclyde, and Owen, King of Cumbria, against Athelstan, King of England, by whom, however, they were signally defeated; but we afterwards came to a place a long way further south which also claimed to have been the site of that famous battle. According to the following record, however, our native county of Chester appeared to have the strongest claim to that distinction: It is not actually certain where the Battle of Brunanburch was fought, but it is by all historians said to have taken place in the Wirral Peninsula about the site where Bromborough is now situated. The Battle took place in 937 A.D., and it was here that Athelstan defeated the united forces of Scotland, Cumberland, and the British and Danish Chiefs, which is recorded in the Saxon Chronicle in a great war song. The name given in the Chronicle is Brunesburgh, but at the time of the Conquest it was called Brunburgh. The fleet set sail from Dublin under the command of the Danish King Anlaf or Olaf to invade England. He had as his father-in-law, Constantine, King of the Scots, and many Welsh Chieftains supported him. They made good their landing but were completely routed by King Athelstan, Grandson of Alfred, as stated above. It is more than probable that Anlaf sailing from Dublin would come over to England by the usual route to the havens opposite, near the great roadstead of the Dee estuary. One must not forget that the sea has made great ravages upon this coast, destroying much ground between Wallasey and West Kirby, though compensating for it in some measure by depositing the material in the estuary itself in the shape of banks of mud and sand. Nor must one overlook the existence of the old forest of Wirral, which stretched, as the old saying ran-- From Blacon Point to Hilbre Squirrels in search of food Might then jump straight from tree to tree. So thick the forest stood! Chester was held by the king, for the warlike daughter of Alfred, Ethelfleda, had rebuilt it as a fort after it had been lying in waste for generations, and had established another at Runcofan, or Runcorn. It was natural, therefore, for Anlaf to avoid the waters protected by Athelstan's fleet and seek a landing perhaps at the old Roman landing-place of Dove Point, near Hoylake, or in the inlet now carved into the Timber Float at Birkenhead. Norse pirates had made a settlement here beforehand, as the place names, Kirby, Calby, Greasby, and Thorstaston, seem to indicate. Bromborough would be just the spot for a strategist like Athelstan to meet the invader, trying to force a way between the forest and the marshes about Port Sunlight. This old port at Dove Point has been washed away, though many wonderful relics of Roman and earlier times have been found there, and are safely housed in the Chester Museum. Once again it was used for the embarking of the army under William III, when he sailed for Ireland to meet the late king, James II, in battle. When Chester began to lose its trade through the silting up of its harbour, about the reigns of the Lancastrian kings, it became necessary to sail from lower down the estuary, Parkgate being in the best position and possessing a quay, while Dawpool was also frequently used. But a good port was necessary, because Ireland was frequently in rebellion, and troops were usually passed over the channel from this region. Parkgate was most prosperous in the eighteenth century, but the construction of the great Irish road through Llangollen to Holyhead, and of a good coach road from Warrington to Liverpool, and the later development of railways caused its decline, until in our time it was only known for its shrimps and as the headquarters of a small coast fleet of fishing-boats. It was to Dawport, or Darport, that Dean Swift usually sailed from Dublin at the beginning of the eighteenth century for his frequent visits to his brother wits, Addison and Steele. It was strange how many common sayings of to-day were his in origin such as, "There is none so blind as they that won't see," and, "A penny for your thoughts." Like many witty people, he must needs have his little joke. He was made Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, in 1713, and was accustomed to preach there each Sunday afternoon, and was said to have preached on the same subject on sixteen consecutive occasions. On making his seventeenth appearance he asked the congregation if they knew what he was going to preach about. Most of them answered "Yes," while others replied "No." "Some of you say Yes," said the Dean, "and some of you say No. Those who know, tell those who don't know," and he immediately pronounced the benediction and left the pulpit! At Chester he was accustomed to stay at the "Yacht Inn" in Watergate Street, the old street of Roman origin, which led westwards to the river beneath the River Gate. A dean is a dean, and his dignity must be preserved in a Cathedral city. Of a Dean of Chester of the early nineteenth century it is recounted that he would never go to service at the Cathedral except in stately dignity, within his stage coach with postillions and outriders, and would never even take his wife with him inside. Dean Swift probably announced his arrival to his brother of Chester as one king announces his approach to another king. But the story goes that a great cathedral function was on and no one came to welcome the great man. Perhaps there was a little excuse, for most likely they had suffered from his tongue. But, however much they might have suffered, they would have hurried to see him had they foreseen his revenge. And perhaps a poor dinner had contributed to the acidity of his mind when he scratched on one of the windows the following verse: Rotten without and mouldering within. This place and its clergy are all near akin! It is a far cry from the battle of Brunanburch to Dean Swift, but the thought of Anlaf took us back to Ireland, and Ireland and Chester were closely connected in trade for many centuries. So it was with thoughts of our homeland that we retired for the night after adding another long day's walk to our tour. (_Distance walked thirty-two and a half miles_.) _Saturday, October 14th._ The long, straggling street of Aspatria was lit up with gas as we passed along it in the early morning on the road towards Maryport, and we marched through a level and rather uninteresting country, staying for slight boot repairs at a village on our way. We found Maryport to be quite a modern looking seaport town, with some collieries in the neighbourhood. We were told that the place had taken its name from Mary Queen of Scots; but we found this was not correct, as the name was given to it about the year 1756, after Mary the wife of Humphrey Senhouse, the Lord of the Manor at that period, the first house there apart from the old posting-house, having been built in the year 1748. For centuries there had been a small fishing-village at the mouth of the river, which in the time of Edward I was named Ellenfoot, while the river itself was named the Alne, now corrupted into Ellen. Maryport was of some importance in the time of the Romans, and their camp, about five acres in extent, still overlooked the sea. It was probably founded by Agricola about A.D. 79, and in A.D. 120 was the station of the Roman Fleet under Marcus Menaeius Agrippa, Admiral of the Roman Fleet in British Waters, and a personal friend of Hadrian. The Roman name of the station was probably Glanoventa, though other names have been suggested. The North-east Gateway was more distinct than other portions of the camp, the ruts made by the chariot wheels of the Romans being still visible inside the threshold. The Roman village in those days covered the four fields on the north-east side of the camp, and since the seventeenth century about forty Roman altars had been found, seventeen of them having been discovered in 1870, the year before our visit. They had been carefully buried about 300 yards east of the camp, and were discovered through a plough striking against one of them. Among them were altars to Jupiter, Mars, Virtue, Vulcan, Neptune, Belatucadrus, Eternal Rome, Gods and Goddesses, Victory, and to the Genius of the Place Fortune, Rome. In addition there were twelve small or household altars, querns, Roman millstones, cup and ring stones, a large, so-called, serpent stone, and several sepulchral slabs, sculptures, etc. There were also large quantities of Samian and other pottery, and articles in glass, bronze, lead, and iron, with about 140 coins, many of these remains being unique. This wonderful discovery proved that the Romans were resident here right up to the end of their occupation of Britain, as the coins bore the names of thirty-two Roman Emperors. The altars themselves were buried where they were found probably before A.D. 200. It is well known that their soldiers were drafted from many other nations, and there is distinct evidence that amongst others the first cohort of Spaniards appeared to have been prominent, while the Legionary Stones were of the Second and Twentieth Legions, the latter being stationed for a long time at Chester and moved to the north of England in the latter half of the fourth century. [Illustration: ALTAR STONES. "Roman remains found at Maryport, and dating probably about or before A.D. 200."] [Illustration: ALTAR STONES. "Among them were altars to Jupiter, Mars, Vulcan, household altars, and legionary stones."] [Illustration: THE SERPENT STONE.] The Roman ships carried stores here from Deva, their station on the Dee, now known as Chester, for the use of the builders of Hadrian's Wall, so that Maryport ought to be a happy hunting-ground for antiquaries. After the departure of the Romans, Maryport must have been left to decay for over a thousand years, and it seemed even now to be a place that very few tourists visited. Netherhall, where most of the antiquities were carefully stored, was originally a Peel Tower, and up to the year 1528 was the home of the Eaglesfields and the reputed birthplace of Robert Eaglesfield, the founder of Queen's College, Oxford; it was now in possession of the Senhouse family. There was also the Mote Hill, overlooking the river and surrounded by a deep ditch, under the protection of which the Roman galleys anchored. A romantic legend of the period of the Roman occupation still clings to the neighbourhood, called the Legend of the Golden Coffin: The daughter of one of the Roman officers was loved by a young warrior from the other side of the Solway. Their trysting-place was discovered by the girl's father, who had a number of soldiers with him, and in spite of the entreaties of the girl, her lover was killed. With his death the maiden had no desire to live; night after night she made her way to the fatal spot, where she was eventually found, having died of a broken heart. The father prepared a wonderful funeral for her. Her body was arranged in silken garments, and then placed in a golden coffin and buried in a deep grave just outside the camp, where her spirit was still supposed to haunt the place at midnight. On the sea coast a sunken forest existed, while the shore was covered with granite boulders of many sizes and shapes, and large numbers of similar stones were ploughed up in the fields, all apparently ice-borne, and having been carried mostly from Criffel on the Scottish coast, and the following legend was told here to explain their presence on the English side of the Solway. There once lived a giant on Criffel which was on the opposite coast of the Solway Firth, while another giant lived on Skiddaw, one of the highest mountains in Cumberland. For a time they lived in peace and quietness, but an occasion came when they quarrelled. Then they took up stones and hurled them at each other; but many of them fell short, and hence they are now widely scattered. [Illustration: WORDSWORTH'S BIRTHPLACE, COCKERMOUTH.] We now returned towards the hills and followed what was once a Roman road through a level country to Cockermouth, passing on our way through the colliery village of Dearham, a name meaning the "home of wild animals"; but we saw nothing wilder than a few colliers. The church here was built in 1130, while the tower was built in the fourteenth century for defence against the Scotch marauders. There were many old stones and crosses in the churchyard. Cockermouth, as its name implies, is situated at the mouth of the River Cocker, which here joins its larger neighbour the River Derwent, and has been called the Western Gate of the Lake District. Here also were Roman, Saxon, and Norman remains. The castle, standing in a strong position between the two rivers, was rebuilt in the reign of Edward I, and in Edward II's time his haughty favourite, Piers Gaveston, resided in it for a short period. It was held for the king during the Civil War, but was left in ruins after an attack by the Parliamentarians in 1648. The Gateway Tower displayed many coats of arms, and there was the usual dungeon, or subterranean chamber, while the habitable portion of the castle formed the residence of Lord Leconfield. The poet, William Wordsworth, was born at Cockermouth on April 7th, 1770, about a hundred years before we visited it, and one of his itinerary poems of 1833 was an address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle: Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think, Poet! that, stricken as both are by years, We, differing once so much, are now compeers, Prepared, when each has stood his time, to sink Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link United us; when thou in boyish play, Entered my dungeon, did'st become a prey To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink Of light was there; and thus did I, thy Tutor, Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave; While thou wert chasing the winged butterfly Through my green courts; or climbing, a bold suitor, Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave. [Illustration: COCKERMOUTH CASTLE] Mary Queen of Scots stayed at Cockermouth on the night of May 17th, 1568--after the defeat of her army at Langside--at the house of Henry Fletcher, a merchant, who gave her thirteen ells of rich crimson velvet to make a robe she badly needed. [Illustration: PORTINSCALE.] The weather turned out wet in the afternoon, so we stayed for tea at one of the inns in the town, and noted with curiosity that the number of the inhabitants in Cockermouth was 7,700 at one census, and exactly the same number at the next, which followed ten years afterwards. The new moon was now due, and had brought with it a change in the weather, our long spell of fine weather having given place to rain. We did not altogether agree with our agricultural friends in Cheshire that it was the moon that changed the weather, but it would be difficult to persuade the farmers there to the contrary, since the changes in the weather almost invariably came with the phases in the moon; so, without venturing to say that the moon changed the weather or that the weather changed the moon, we will hazard the opinion that the same influences might simultaneously affect both, and the knowledge that we were approaching the most rainy district in all England warned us to prepare for the worst. The scenery improved as we journeyed towards Keswick, the "City of the Lakes," but not the weather, which continued dull and rainy, until by the time we reached the British stronghold known as Peel Wyke it was nearly dark. Here we reached Bassenthwaite Lake, four miles long and one mile broad, and had it not been for the rain and the darkness we might have had a good view across the lake of Skiddaw Mountain, 3,054 feet above sea-level and towards the right, and of Helvellyn, a still higher mountain, rising above Derwent Water, immediately in front of us. We had seen both of these peaks in the distance, but as the rain came on their summits became enveloped in the clouds. We walked about three miles along the edge of Bassenthwaite Lake, passing the villages of Thornthwaite and Braithwaite, where lead and zinc were mined. On arriving at Portinscale we crossed the bridge over the River Derwent which connects that lake (Derwent Water) with Bassenthwaite Lake through which it flows, and thence, past Cockermouth, to the sea at Workington. Soon after leaving Portinscale we arrived at Keswick, where we were comfortably housed until Monday morning at the Skiddaw Hotel, formerly a licensed house, but since converted into a first-class temperance house by Miss Lawson, the sister of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Bart., M.P. (_Distance walked twenty-eight miles_.) _Sunday, October 15th._ Rain had fallen heavily during the night, but the weather cleared up a little as we wended our way to morning service at Crosthwaite Church, dedicated to St. Kentigern, a Bishop of Glasgow, in the sixth century, and doing duty, we supposed, as the parish church of Keswick. The font there dated from the year 1390, and bore the arms of Edward III, with inscriptions on each of its eight sides which we could not decipher. In the chancel stood an alabaster tomb and effigy of Sir John Radcliffe and his wife, ancestors of the Earl of Derwentwater. The church also contained a monument to Southey the poet, erected at a cost of £1,100, and bearing the following epitaph written by the poet Wordsworth: The vales and hills whose beauty hither drew The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you His eyes have closed! And ye, lov'd books, no more Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore, To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown. Adding immortal labours of his own-- Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal For the State's guidance, and the Church's weal Or fancy, disciplined by studious art, Inform'd his pen, or wisdom of the heart. Or judgements sanctioned in the Patriot's mind By reverence for the rights of all mankind. Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast Could private feelings meet for holier rest. His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud From Skiddaw's top; but he to heaven was vowed. Through his industrious life, and Christian faith Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death. We attended the same church in the afternoon, and both the sermons were preached by the curate, his texts being Deut. vi. 5 in the morning and Hebrews iv. 3 in the afternoon. We were surprised to see such large congregations on a wet day, but concluded that the people were so accustomed to rain in that part of the country that they looked upon it as a matter of course. The people of Keswick evidently had other views as regards church-going than is expressed in the following lines by an author whose name we do not remember: No pelting rain can make us stay When we have tickets for the play; But let one drop the side-walk smirch. And it's too wet to go to church. At the morning service we sat in a pew in the rear of the church, and at one point in the service when it was usual in that part of the country for the congregation to sit down, one gentleman only remained standing. We could scarcely believe our own eyes when we recognised in this solitary figure the commanding form of Colonel Greenall of the Warrington Volunteers, a gentleman whom we know full well, for his brother was the rector of Grappenhall, our native village, where the Colonel himself formerly resided. He was a great stickler for a due recognition of that pleasing but old-fashioned custom now fallen out of use, of the boys giving the rector, the squire, or any other prominent member of their families a respectful recognition when meeting them in the village or on their walks abroad. On one occasion the boys had forgotten their usual obeisance when meeting some relatives of the Colonel. He was highly indignant at this sin of omission, and took the earliest opportunity to bring the matter forcibly before his Sunday-school class, of which my brother was a member. The Colonel spoke long and feelingly to the boys on the subject of ordering themselves lowly and reverently before all their "betters," including governors, teachers, spiritual pastors and masters, and to all those who were put in authority over them, and wound up his peroration with these words, which my brother never forgot, "And now, boys, whenever you meet ME, or any of MY FAMILY, mind you always touch your HATS!" [Illustration: CROSTHWAITE CHURCH, KESWICK.] We did not stop to speak to the Colonel, as he was at the other end of the church and passed out through another door, but we were recognised by one of his men, who told us the Colonel had only just removed to that neighbourhood. He had liked his summer's experiences there, but did not know how he would go on in the winter. The Colonel and his man were the only persons we saw on the whole of our journey that we knew. To return to our boyish experiences and to the Colonel, the subject of his Sunday-school lesson was taken from the Summary of the Ten Commandments in the Church of England Prayer Book, where they were divided into two parts, the first four relating to our duty to God, and the remaining six to our duty towards our neighbour. It was surprising how these questions and answers learned in the days of our youth dwelt in our memories, and being Sunday, we each wrote them down from memory with the same result, and we again record them for the benefit of any of our friends who wish to "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest." "_Question_.--What is thy duty towards God? "_Answer_.--My duty towards God, is to believe in Him, to fear Him, and to love Him with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul, and with all my strength; to worship Him, to give Him thanks, to put my whole trust in Him, to call upon Him, to honour His holy Name and His Word, and to serve Him truly all the days of my life. "_Question_.--What is thy duty towards thy Neighbour? "_Answer_.--My duty towards my Neighbour, is to love him as myself, and to do unto all men, as I would they should do unto me: To love, honour, and succour my father and mother: To honour and obey the Queen, and all that are put in authority under her: To submit myself to all my governors, teachers, spiritual pastors and masters: To order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters: To hurt no body by word nor deed: To be true and just in all my dealing: To bear no malice nor hatred in my heart: To keep my hands from picking and stealing, and my tongue from evil-speaking, lying, and slandering: To keep my body in temperance, soberness, and chastity: Not to covet nor desire other men's goods; but to learn and labour truly to get mine own living, and to do my duty in that state of life, unto which it shall please God to call me." The word "duty" in the last paragraph of the explanation of one's duty to one's neighbour must have been in the thoughts of both Nelson and his men at the Battle of Trafalgar when he signalled, "England expects that every man this day will do his duty." Although objections may be raised to clauses in the summary, we always thought that our country could be none the worse, but all the better, if every one learned and tried to act up to the principles contained in these summaries of the Ten Commandments. In the evening we attended St. John's Church, where the Vicar officiated and preached from Isaiah lxvii. 7 to a large congregation, and after the service we returned to our hotel. Keswick was a great resort of tourists and holiday people, and we were not without company at the hotel, from whom we obtained plenty of advice concerning our route on the morrow. We were strongly recommended to see the Druidical Circle and to climb Skiddaw, whose summit was over 3,000 feet above sea-level, from which we should have a view scarcely surpassed in the whole of Europe, and a scene that would baffle the attempts of ordinary men to describe, having taxed even the powers of Southey and Wordsworth. These recommendations and others were all qualified with the words "if fine." But, oh that little word "if"--so small that we scarcely notice it, yet how much does it portend! At any rate we could not arrive at a satisfactory decision that night, owing to the unfavourable state of the weather. FIFTH WEEK'S JOURNEY A WEEK IN THE RAIN _Monday, October 16th._ The morning was showery, but we were obliged to continue our walk, so we left Keswick with the intention of visiting the Falls of Lodore, the large Bowder Stone, and the Yew Trees in Borrowdale, and afterwards crossing over the fells to visit the graves of the poets at Grasmere. We had been recommended to ascend the Castle Rigg, quite near the town, in order to see the fine views from there, which included Bassenthwaite Lake and Derwent Water. The poet Gray, who died in 1771, was so much impressed by the retrospect, and with what he had seen from the top where once the castle stood, that he declared he had "a good mind to go back again." Unfortunately we had to forgo even that ascent, as the rain descended in almost torrential showers. So we journeyed on in the rain alongside the pretty lake of Derwent Water, which is about three miles long and about a mile and a half broad, the water being so clear, we were informed, that a small stone could be seen even if five or six yards below the surface. It was certainly a lovely lake, and, with its nicely wooded islands dotting its surface, recalled memories of Loch Lomond. The first of these islands, about six acres in extent, was named the Vicar's or Derwent Island, on which a family mansion had been erected. On Lord's Island, which was quite near the side, were the ruins of an old summer-house built by the Ratcliffe family with the stones from their ruined castle on Castlerigg. The third island, which was in the centre of the lake, also had a summer-house that had been built there by the late Sir Wilfrid Lawson, composed of unhewn stone and covered with moss to make it look ancient. This was known as St. Herbert's Island, after a holy hermit who lived there in the sixth century, the ruins of whose hermitage could still be traced. It was said that so great and perfect was the love of this saintly hermit for his friend St. Cuthbert of Holy Island, whose shrine was ultimately settled at Durham, that he used to pray that he might expire the moment the breath of life quitted the body of his friend, so that their souls might wing their flight to heaven in company. Although not so large as Lake Windermere, Derwent Water was considered the most beautiful of the lakes because of these lovely islands on its surface and the grand hills that encircled it. This lake of unsurpassed beauty was associated both in name and reality with the unfortunate Earl of Derwentwater, who suffered death for the part he took in the Jacobite rising in 1715, and to whom Lord's Island belonged. He was virtually compelled by his countess to join the rising, for when she saw his reluctance to do so, she angrily threw her fan at his feet, and commanded him take that and hand her his sword. The Earl gravely picked it up, returned it to her, and, drawing his sword, cried, "God save King James!" The Jacobites were supporters of James II, who was supplanted by William III, Prince of Orange, in 1689, James then retreating to Ireland, where he was defeated at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690. The rising in which the Earl of Derwentwater took part in the year 1715 was in support of the son of James II, James Edward, whose adherents were defeated at Preston in November of the same year, the unfortunate Earl, with many others, being taken prisoner. The son of this James Edward was the "Bonnie Prince Charlie" so beloved of the Scots, who landed to claim the English Crown in 1745, and was defeated at the Battle of Culloden in 1746, where the Jacobite movement found its grave. Much sympathy was felt at the time for the young Earl of Derwentwater, and there was a tradition in the family that in times of great peril a supernatural figure appeared to warn them of approaching fate. It is said that when his lordship was wandering over the hills, a figure approached clothed in the robe and hood of grey which the supernatural figure always wore, gave him a crucifix, which was to render him proof against bullet and sword, and then immediately disappeared. The Earl joined the insurgents, who were defeated by the Royal troops at Preston, and he, with other leaders, was taken to London, placed in the Tower, and condemned to death for treason. His wife, taking the family jewels with her, implored King George I, on her knees, for mercy; and Sir Robert Walpole declared in the House of Commons that he had been offered £60,000 if he would obtain Lord Derwentwater's pardon; but all efforts were in vain, for he died by the axe on Tower Hill, February 24th, 1716, and his estates were forfeited to the Government. [Illustration: FALLS OF LODORE.] We enjoyed our walk along Derwentwater in spite of the weather, but as we approached Lodore, and heard the noise of the waters, we realised that we had scored one great advantage from the continued rain, for we could not have seen the falls to better advantage, as they fully carried out the description of Southey, written when he was Poet Laureate of England, in the following jingling rhyme: "How does the water come down at Lodore?" My little boy asked me thus, once on a time, Moreover, he task'd me to tell him in rhyme; Anon at the word there first came one daughter. And then came another to second and third The request of their brother, and hear how the water Comes down at Lodore, with its rush and its roar, As many a time they had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, for of rhymes I had store. And 'twas my vocation that thus I should sing. Because I was laureate to them and the king. Visitors to the Lake District, who might chance to find fine weather there, would be disappointed if they expected the falls to be equal to the poet's description, since heavy rains are essential to produce all the results described in his poem. But seen as we saw them, a torrential flood of water rushing and roaring, the different streams of which they were composed dashing into each other over the perpendicular cliffs on every side, they presented a sight of grandeur and magnificence never to be forgotten, while the trees around and above seemed to look on the turmoil beneath them as if powerless, except to lend enchantment to the impressive scene. And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing-- And so never ending, but always descending, Sounds and motions for ever are blending. All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar-- And this way the water comes down at Lodore! The water rolled in great volumes down the crags, the spray rising in clouds, and no doubt we saw the falls at their best despite the absence of the sun. Near Lodore, and about 150 yards from the shore of Derwentwater, was a floating island which at regular intervals of a few years rises from the bottom exposing sometimes nearly an acre in extent, and at others only a few perches. This island was composed of a mass of decayed weeds and earthy matter, nearly six feet in thickness, covered with vegetation, and full of air bubbles, which, it was supposed, penetrated the whole mass and caused it to rise to the surface. [Illustration: HEAD OF DERWENTWATER. "So we journeyed on in the rain alongside the pretty lake of Derwentwater; ... with its nicely wooded islands dotting its surface it recalled memories of Loch Lomond."] By this time we had become quite accustomed to being out in the rain and getting wet to the skin, but the temperature was gradually falling, and we had to be more careful lest we should catch cold. It was very provoking that we had to pass through the Lake District without seeing it, but from the occasional glimpses we got between the showers we certainly thought we were passing through the prettiest country in all our travels. In Scotland the mountains were higher and the lakes, or lochs, much larger, but the profiles of the hills here, at least of those we saw, were prettier. About two miles from the Falls of Lodore we arrived at the famous Bowder Stone. We had passed many crags and through bewitching scenery, but we were absolutely astonished at the size of this great stone, which Wordsworth has described as being like a stranded ship: Upon a semicirque of turf-clad ground, A mass of rock, resembling, as it lay Right at the foot of that moist precipice, A stranded ship with keel upturned, that rests Careless of winds and waves. [Illustration: THE BOWDER STONE.] The most modest estimate of the weight of the Bowder Stone was 1,771 tons, and we measured it as being 21 yards long and 12 yards high. This immense mass of rock had evidently fallen from the hills above. We climbed up the great stone by means of a ladder or flight of wooden steps erected against it to enable visitors to reach the top. But the strangest thing about it was the narrow base on which the stone rested, consisting merely of a few narrow ledges of rock. We were told that fifty horses could shelter under it, and that we could shake hands with each other under the bottom of the stone, and although we could not test the accuracy of the statement with regard to the number of horses it could shelter, we certainly shook hands underneath it. To do this we had to lie down, and it was not without a feeling of danger that we did so, with so many hundreds of tons of rock above our heads, and the thought that if the rock had given way a few inches we should have been reduced to a mangled mass of blood and bones. Our friendly greeting was not of long duration, and we were pleased when the ceremony was over. There is a legend that in ancient times the natives of Borrowdale endeavoured to wall in the cuckoo so that they might have perpetual spring, but the story relates that in this they were not entirely successful, for the cuckoo just managed to get over the wall. We now continued our journey to find the famous Yew Trees of Borrowdale, which Wordsworth describes in one of his pastorates as "those fraternal four of Borrowdale": But worthier still of note Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane; a pillared shade, From whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially--beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked With unrejoicing berries--ghostly shapes May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton, And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. [Illustration: BORROWDALE AND SEATHWAITE] It was a lonely place where the four yew trees stood, though not far from the old black lead works which at one time produced the finest plumbago for lead pencils in the world. As the rain was falling heavily, we lit a fire under the largest of the four trees, which measured about twenty-one feet in circumference at four feet from the ground, and sheltered under its venerable shade for about an hour, watching a much-swollen streamlet as it rolled down the side of a mountain. Near the yew trees there was a stream which we had to cross, as our next stage was over the fells to Grasmere; but when we came to its swollen waters, which we supposed came from "Glaramara's inmost Caves," they were not "murmuring" as Wordsworth described them, but coming with a rush and a roar, and to our dismay we found the bridge broken down and portions of it lying in the bed of the torrent. We thought of a stanza in a long-forgotten ballad: London Bridge is broken down! Derry derry down, derry derry down! Luckily we found a footbridge lower down the stream. It was now necessary to inquire our way at one of the isolated farms in the neighbourhood of Borrowdale, where the people knew very little of what was going on in the world outside their own immediate environs. We heard a story relating to the middle of the eighteenth century, when in the absence of roads goods had to be carried on horseback. A rustic, who had been sent for a bag of lime, the properties of which were unknown in remote places, placed the bag on the back of his horse, and while he was returning up the hills the rain came on, soaking the bag so that the lime began to swell and smoke. The youth thought that it was on fire, so, jumping off his horse, he filled his hat with water from the stream and threw it on the bag. This only made matters worse, for the lime began smoking more than ever; so he lifted it from the horse's back and placed it in the water at the edge of the stream, where, in addition to smoking, it began to boil and to make a hissing sound, which so frightened the young man that he rode home in terror, feeling sure that it was the Devil who had sneaked inside the bag! We made our way to a farmhouse which we could see in the distance, but the farmer advised us not to attempt to cross the fells, as it was misty and not likely to clear up that day. So we turned back, and in about two miles met a countryman, who told us we could get to Grasmere over what he called the "Green Nip," a mountain whose base he pointed out to us. We returned towards the hills, but we had anything but an easy walk, for we could find no proper road, and walked on for hours in a "go as you please" manner. Our whereabouts we did not know, since we could only see a few yards before us. We walked a long way up hill, and finally landed in some very boggy places, and when the shades of evening began to come on we became a little alarmed, and decided to follow the running water, as we had done on a very much worse occasion in the north of Scotland. Presently we heard the rippling of a small stream, which we followed, though with some difficulty, as it sometimes disappeared into the rocks, until just at nightfall we came to a gate at the foot of the fells, and through the open door of a cottage beheld the blaze of a tire burning brightly inside. We climbed over the gate, and saw standing in the garden a man who stared so hard at us, and with such a look of astonishment, that we could not have helped speaking to him in any case, even had he not been the first human being we had seen for many hours. When we told him where we had come from, he said we might think ourselves lucky in coming safely over the bogs on such a misty day, and told us a story of a gentleman from Bradford who had sunk so deeply in one of the bogs that only with the greatest difficulty had he been rescued. He told us it was his custom each evening to come out of his cottage for a short time before retiring to rest, and that about a month before our visit he had been out one night as usual after his neighbours had gone to bed, and, standing at his cottage door, he thought he heard a faint cry. He listened again: yes, he could distinctly hear a cry for help. He woke up his neighbours, and they and his son, going in the direction from which the cries came, found a gentleman fast in the rocks. He had been on a visit to Grasmere, and had gone out for an afternoon's walk on the fells, when the mist came on and he lost his way. As night fell he tried to get between some rocks, when he slipped into a crevice and jammed himself fast between them--fortunately for himself as it afterwards proved, for when the rescuing party arrived, they found him in such a dangerous position that, if he had succeeded in getting through the rocks the way he intended, he would inevitably have fallen down the precipice and been killed. After hearing these stories, we felt very thankful we were safely off the fells. Without knowing it, we had passed the scene of the Battle of Dunmail Raise, where Dunmail, the last King of Cumbria, an old British kingdom, was said to have been killed in 945 fighting against Edmund, King of England. The place we had stumbled upon after reaching the foot of the fells was Wythburn, at the head of Thirlmere Lake, quite near Amboth Hall, with its strange legends and associations. The mansion was said to be haunted by supernatural visitors, midnight illuminations, and a nocturnal marriage with a murdered bride. The most remarkable feature of the story, however, was that of the two skulls from Calgarth Hall, near Windermere, which came and joined in these orgies at Amboth Hall. These skulls formerly occupied a niche in Calgarth Hall, from which it was found impossible to dislodge them. They were said to have been buried, burned, ground to powder, dispersed by the wind, sunk in a well, and thrown into the lake, but all to no purpose, for they invariably appeared again in their favourite niche until some one thought of walling them up, which proved effectual, and there they still remain. The rain had now ceased, and the moon, only three days old, was already visible and helped to light us on our four-mile walk to Grasmere. On our way we overtook a gentleman visitor, to whom we related our adventure, and who kindly offered us a drink from his flask. We did not drink anything stronger than tea or coffee, so we could not accept the whisky, but we were glad to accept his guidance to the best inn at Grasmere, where we soon relieved the cravings of our pedestrian appetites, which, as might be imagined, had grown strongly upon us. (_Distance walked twenty-two miles_.) _Tuesday, October 17th._ GRASMERE. Our first duty in the morning was to call at the post office for our letters from home, and then to fortify ourselves with a good breakfast; our next was to see the graves of the poets in the picturesque and quiet churchyard. We expected to find some massive monuments, but found only plain stone flags marking their quiet resting-places, particularly that of Wordsworth, which was inscribed: WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 1850 MARY WORDSWORTH 1859. The grave of Hartley Coleridge, his great friend, who was buried in 1849, was also there. There are few who do not know his wonderful poem, "The Ancient Mariner," said to have been based on an old manuscript story of a sailor preserved in the Bristol Library. Strange to say, not far from his grave was that of Sir John Richardson, a physician and arctic explorer, who brought home the relics of Sir John Franklin's ill-fated and final voyage to the Arctic regions to discover the North-West Passage. This brought to our minds all the details of that sorrowful story which had been repeatedly told to us in our early childhood, and was, to our youthful minds, quite as weird as that of "The Ancient Mariner." [Illustration: GRASMERE CHURCH.] Sir John Franklin was born in 1786. Intended by his parents for the Church, but bent on going to sea, he joined the Royal Navy when he was fourteen years of age, and served as a midshipman on the _Bellerophon_ at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, afterwards taking part in Captain Flinders' voyage of discovery along the coast of Australia. His first voyage to the Arctic Regions was in 1818, and after a long and eventful career he was created Governor of Van Diemen's Land in 1837, whither criminals convicted of grave offences involving transportation for life were sent from England, where he did much for the improvement and well-being of the colony. On May 19th, 1845, he left England with the two ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_, having on board 28 officers and 111 men--in all 134 souls--on a voyage to the Arctic Regions in the hope of discovering the North-West Passage. They reached Stromness, in the Orkneys, on July 1st, and were afterwards seen and spoken to in the North Sea by the whaler _Prince of Wales_, belonging to Hull. After that all was blank. Lady Franklin did not expect to receive any early news from her husband, but when two years passed away without her hearing from him, she became anxious, and offered a large reward for any tidings of him. In 1848 old explorers went out to search for him, but without result. Still believing he was alive, she sent out other expeditions, and one was even dispatched from America. All England was roused, and the sympathy of the entire nation was extended to Lady Franklin. Nine long years passed away, but still no news, until intelligence arrived that an Eskimo had been found wearing on his head a gold cap-band which he said he had picked up where "the dead white men were." Lady Franklin then made a final effort, and on July 1st, 1857, Captain McClintock sailed from England in the _Fox_. In course of time the matter was cleared up. It was proved that the whole of the expedition had perished, Sir John Franklin having died on June 11th, 1847. Many relics were found and brought back to England. [Illustration: DOVE COTTAGE.] Lady Franklin, who died in 1875, was still alive at the time we passed through Grasmere. One of her last acts was to erect a marble monument to Sir John Franklin in Westminster Abbey, and it was her great wish to write the epitaph herself, but as she died before this was accomplished, it was written by Alfred Tennyson, a nephew of Sir John by marriage, and read as follows: Not here! the white North hath thy bones, and thou Heroic Sailor Soul! Art passing on thy happier voyage now Towards no earthly pole. Dean Stanley added a note to the effect that the monument was "Erected by his widow, who, after long waiting and sending many in search of him, herself departed to seek and to find him in the realms of light, 18th July, 1875, aged eighty-three years." But to return to Grasmere. Wordsworth lived there from 1803 to 1809 at the Dove Cottage, of which, in the first canto of "The Waggoner," he wrote: For at the bottom of the brow Where once the "Dove and Olive-Bough" Offered a greeting of good ale To all who entered Grasmere Vale; And called on him who must depart To leave it with a jovial heart; There, where the "Dove and Olive-Bough" Once hung, a poet harbours now, A simple water-drinking Bard. When Wordsworth moved to Rydal Mount, this cottage, which had formerly been a public-house, was taken by that master of English prose, Thomas de Quincey, author of the _Confessions of an English Opium Eater_. [Illustration: RYDAL MOUNT.] [Illustration: THE POET'S SEAT, RYDAL WATER.] Wordsworth had the habit of reciting his poetry aloud as he went along the road, and on that account the inhabitants thought he was not quite sane. When Hartley Coleridge, his great friend, asked an old man who was breaking stones on the road if he had any news, he answered, "Why, nowte varry partic'lar; only awd Wordsworth's brokken lowse ageean!" (had another fit of madness). On another occasion, a lady visitor asked a woman in the village whether Wordsworth made himself agreeable among them. "Well," she said, "he sometimes goes booin' his pottery about t'rooads an' t'fields an' tak's na nooatish o' neabody, but at udder times he'll say 'Good morning, Dolly,' as sensible as owder you or me." The annual sports held at Grasmere were of more than local interest, and the Rush-bearing was still kept up, but not quite in the manner prevalent in earlier centuries. When heating apparatus was unknown in churches, the rushes were gathered, loaded in a cart, and taken to the church, where they were placed on the floor and in the pews to keep the feet of the worshippers warm while they were in the church, being removed and replenished each year when the rush-bearing festival came round again. One of our earliest recollections was sitting amongst the rushes on the floor of a pew in the ancient country church at Lymm in Cheshire. [Illustration: WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE.] An item in the Church Book at Grasmere, dating from the seventeenth century, recorded the cost of "Ye ale bestowed on ye Rush Bearers," while in 1830 gingerbread appeared to have been substituted or added as a luxury to "ye ale." We passed alongside the pretty lakes of Grasmere and Rydal Water amid beautiful scenery. Mrs. Hemans, in her sonnet, "A remembrance of Grasmere," wrote: O vale and lake, within your mountain urn, Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep! Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return. Colouring the tender shadows of my sleep. Your shores in melting lustre, seem to float On golden clouds from spirit-lands, remote Isles of the blest:--and in our memory keep Their place with holiest harmonies. Fair scene Most loved by Evening and her dewy star! Oh! ne'er may man, with touch unhallow'd, jar The perfect music of the charm serene: Still, still unchanged, may _one_ sweet region wear Smiles that subdue the soul to love, and tears, and prayer! On our way to Ambleside we passed Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's residence until his death in 1850 in the eightieth year of his age. Mrs. Hemans has described it as "a lovely cottage-like building, almost hidden by a profusion of roses and ivy." Ambleside was a great centre for tourists and others, being situated at the head of the fine Lake of Windermere, to which its admirers were ambitious enough to apply Sir Walter Scott's lines on Loch Katrine: In all her length far winding lay With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that impurpled bright Floated amid the livelier light. And mountains that like Giants stand To sentinel enchanted land. There was a Roman camp which we proposed visiting, and possibly Helvellyn, but we were compelled for a time to seek refuge in one of the hotels from the rain. There we met a gentleman, a resident in the locality, who was what we might describe as a religious enthusiast, for he had a very exalted opinion of the Vicar of Ambleside, whom he described as a "Christian man"--a term obviously making distinctions among vicars with which we heartily agreed. There must have been an atmosphere of poetry in the Lake District affecting both visitors and natives, for in a small valley, half a mile from a lonely chapel, stood the only inn, bearing the strange sign of "The Mortal Man" on which some native poet, but not Wordsworth, had written: O Mortal Man, who liv'st on bread, What is't that makes thy nose so red?-- Thou silly ass, that looks so pale. It is with drinking Burkett's ale. [Illustration: THE OLD MILL AT AMBLESIDE.] Immediately behind Ambleside there was a fearfully steep road leading up to the head of Kirkstone Pass, where at an altitude of quite 1,400 feet stood the "Travellers' Rest Inn." In our time walking was the only means of crossing the pass, but now visitors are conveyed up this hill in coaches, but as the gradient is so steep in some parts, they are invariably asked to walk, so as to relieve the horses a little, a fact which found expression in the Visitors' Book at the "Travellers' Rest" in the following lines: He surely is an arrant ass Who pays to ride up Kirkstone Pass, For he will find, in spite of talking, He'll have to walk and pay for walking. Three parts of Windermere is in Lancashire, and it is the largest and perhaps the deepest water in the Lake District, being ten and a half miles long by water, and thirteen miles by road along its shores; the water is at no point more than two miles broad. It is said to maintain the same level at the upper end whether it rains or not, and is so clear that in some places the fish can plainly be seen swimming far beneath its surface. The islands are clustered together at its narrowest part, by far the largest being Belle Isle, a finely wooded island with a mansion in the centre, and a noted stronghold of the Royalists during the Civil War, at which time it was in the possession of the ancient Westmorland family of Phillipson. We did not walk alongside Windermere, but passed by the head of the lake to the old-world village of Hawkshead, and called at the quaint old-fashioned inn known by the familiar sign of the "Red Lion." While tea was being prepared we surveyed the village, and on a stone in the churchyard we found the following epitaph: This stone can boast as good a wife As ever lived a married life, And from her marriage to her grave She was never known to mis-behave. The tongue which others seldom guide, Was never heard to blame or chide; From every folly always free She was what others ought to be. [Illustration: HAWKSHEAD SQUARE AND INN.] We had a long talk with the mistress of the inn, who told us that Wordsworth was educated at the Grammar School in the village, and we were surprised to hear from her that the Rev. Richard Greenall, whom we had often heard officiate when he was curate of our native village of Grappenhall, was now the vicar of Hawkshead. We had quite as exalted an opinion of him as the gentleman we met at Ambleside had of his vicar. He was a clergyman who not only read the prayers, but prayed them at the same time: I often say my prayers, But do I ever pray? and it was a pleasure to listen to the modulations of his voice as he recited the Lord's Prayer, and especially when repeating that fine supplication to the Almighty, beginning with the words "Almighty and most merciful Father." At that time it was not the custom to recite, read, or sing the prayers in one continual whine on one note (say G sharp) when offering up supplications to the Almighty--a note which if adopted by a boy at school would have ensured for him a severe caning, or by a beggar at your door a hasty and forcible departure. Nor were the Lessons read in a monotone, which destroys all sense of their full meaning being imparted to the listeners--but this was in the "good old times"! [Illustration: CONISTON.] We had to listen to another version of the story of the two Calgarth skulls, from which it appeared that the Phillipsons wanted a piece of land that belonged to Dorothy, the wife of Kraster Cook, who refused to sell it, although asked repeatedly to do so. Myles Phillipson swore he would have that land "be they alive or dead." After a quiet interval he invited Kraster and his wife Dorothy to a feast, and afterwards accused them of stealing a silver cup. This they strongly denied, but the cup was found in their house, where it had been purposely hidden by the squire's orders. Stealing was at that time a capital offence, and as Phillipson was the magistrate he sentenced them both to death. In the court-room Dorothy arose, and, glaring at the magistrate, said loudly, "Guard thyself, Myles Phillipson. Thou thinkest thou hast managed grandly; but that tiny lump of land is the dearest a Phillipson has ever bought or stolen; for you will never prosper, neither your breed: whatever scheme you undertake will wither in your hand; the side you take will always lose; the time shall come when no Phillipson will own one inch of land; and while Calgarth walls shall stand, we'll haunt it night and day--never will ye be rid of us." They were both executed and their property appropriated, but ever afterwards the Phillipsons had two skulls for their guests. They were found at Christmas at the head of a stairway; they were buried in a distant region, but they turned up in the old house again; they were brazed to dust and cast to the wind; they were several years sunk in the lake; but the Phillipsons never could get rid of them. Meanwhile old Dorothy's prophecy came true, and the family of Phillipson came to poverty and eventually disappeared. We left Hawkshead by a road leading to Ulverston, for we had decided to visit Furness Abbey. Had the weather been fine and clear, we should have had some splendid views, since we had Windermere on one side and Coniston Water on the other; but the showers continued, and we could not even see the "Coniston Old Man," although he raised his head to the height of 2,577 feet above sea-level. We were, in fact, passing through the district of Seathwaite, where the rainfall is very much heavier than in any other district in England. We consoled ourselves, however, with the thought that we could not expect to see fine lakes in a land where there was no rainfall, and after walking a considerable distance in the darkness, two weary and rain-soddened pedestrians took refuge for the remainder of the night in the well-appointed Temperance Hotel at Ulverston. (_Distance walked twenty-four and a half miles_.) _Wednesday, October 18th._ Ulverston has been described as the "Key to the Lake District," and Swartmoor, which adjoined the town, took its name from a German--Colonel Martin Swart---to whom the Duchess of Burgundy in 1486 gave the command of about 2,000 Flemish troops sent to support the pretended title of Lambert Simnel to the Crown of England. He landed in Ireland, where a great number of the Irish joined him, and then, crossing over to England, landed in Furness and marshalled his troops on the moor which still bears his name, and where he was joined by many other conspirators. They encountered the forces of King Henry VII near Newark-on-Trent in June 1487, and after a stubborn fight were defeated, 4,000 men, with all their commanders, being killed. Ulverston is also associated with George Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends. He was born in 1624, at Drayton-on-the-Clay, in Leicestershire, and in 1650 was imprisoned at Derby for speaking "publickly" in a church after Divine Service, and bidding the congregation to "_tremble at the Word of God_." This expression was turned into one of ridicule, and caused the Society of Friends all over the kingdom to be known as "Quakers." Fox preached throughout the country, and even visited America. When he came to Ulverston, he preached at Swartmoor Hall, where he converted Judge Fell and his wife, after which meetings at the Hall were held regularly. The judge died in 1658, and in 1669, eleven years after her husband's death, Mrs. Fell, who suffered much on account of her religion, married George Fox, who in 1688 built the Meeting-house at Ulverston. He died two years afterwards, aged sixty-seven years, at White Hart Court, London, and was buried in Banhill Fields. Leaving our bags at the hotel, we walked to Furness Abbey, which, according to an old record, was founded by King Stephen in 1127 in the "Vale of the Deadly Nightshade." It was one of the first to surrender to King Henry VIII at the dissolution of the monasteries, and the Deed of Surrender, dated April 9th, 1537, was still in existence, by which the abbey and all its belongings were assigned to the King by the Abbot, Roger Pile, who in exchange for his high position agreed to accept the living of Dalton, one of his own benefices, valued at that time at £40 per year. The Common Seal of the abbey was attached to the document, and represented the Virgin Mary standing in the centre of the circle with the Infant in her left arm and a globe in her right hand. She stood between two shields of arms, which were suspended by bundles of nightshade, and on each of which were represented the three Lions of England, each shield being supported from the bottom by a monk in his full dress and cowl. In the foreground in front of each monk was a plant of the deadly nightshade, and over his head a sprig of the same, while in the lower part was the figure of a wivern--_i.e._ a viper or dragon with a serpent-like tail--this being the device of Thomas Plantagenet, the second Earl of Lancaster, who was highly esteemed by the monks. We did not notice any nightshade plant either in or near the ruins of the abbey, but it was referred to in Stell's description of Becan-Gill as follows: _Hæc vallis unuit olim sibi nomen ab herba Bekan, qua virtuit dulcis nune, tune sed acerbe; unde Domus nomen Bekangs-Gille claruit._ [Illustration: FURNESS ABBEY] Although my brother could repeat the first two rules in the Latin Grammar with their examples, one of which he said meant "The way to good manners is never too late," he would not attempt the English translation of these Latin words. We were the only visitors then at the abbey, no doubt owing to the bad state of the weather, and we were surprised at the extent and magnificence of the ruins and the ponderous walls and archways, with their fine ornamentations, impressive reminders of their past greatness. In order to get a better view we mounted the adjoining hill, from which we could see a portion of the rising town of Barrow-in-Furness. We returned by the footpath alongside the railway, and entered into conversation with a man who was standing on the line. He informed us that he was the ganger, or foreman, over the plate-layers on the railway, and that at one time he had lived in Manchester. He also said he had joined the Good Templars, who were making headway in Barrow-in-Furness, where he now resided. Just before reaching the main road we were somewhat startled to see a railway train quite near the abbey ruins, and the thought of home, sweet home, accentuated by the rainy weather, came so strongly upon us that we asked ourselves the question, "Shall we give in and go home!" We were only the length of one county away, and about to make a long detour to avoid going near, yet here was the train waiting that would convey us thither. What a temptation! But for the circumstance that we had left our bags at Ulverston our story might have ended here. Some of the streams over which we passed on our way were quite red in colour, and the puddles on the muddy roads were just like dark red paint, indicating the presence of iron ore. We saw several miners, who told us that they got the ore (known as haematite, or iron oxide) at a depth of from 90 to 100 yards, working by candle-light, and that they received about 2s. 6d. per ton as the product of their labour. The ore, it seemed, filled up large cavities in the mountain limestone. It was about one o'clock by the time we reached Ulverston again, and we were quite ready for the good lunch which had been prepared for us. [Illustration: THE NORTH TRANSEPT, FURNESS ABBEY.] Leaving Ulverston, we passed the old parish church and entered a picturesque footpath quite appropriately named the Lover's Walk and covered with fine trees, through which we had glimpses of Morecambe Bay; but the lovers had been either driven away by the rain or we were too early in the day for them to take their walks abroad. We mounted the Hoad Hill to inspect a lofty monument which had been erected on the top in the year 1850, in memory of Sir John Barrow. Sir John, the founder of the great works at Barrow-in-Furness (afterwards Vickers, Sons & Maxim), the noise of which we had heard in the distance, was a native of the district, having been born in a small cottage near Ulverston in 1764. He travelled in China and South Africa, and in 1804 became Secretary to the Admiralty, a position he held for forty years, during which he took part in fitting out Lord Nelson's fleet for the Battle of Trafalgar. He also assisted in promoting the expedition to the Arctic Regions which was commanded by Sir John Franklin. We were informed that his favourite saying was: "A man's riches consist not so much in his possessions as in the fewness of his wants"--a saying we were glad to adopt for ourselves. We passed through the entrance to the monument, but could see no one about. On a desk in the entrance-room lay a Visitors' Book, in which we wrote our names, and then ascended to the top of the monument by a rather dangerous staircase of over a hundred steps. As the well of the tower was open from top to bottom the ascent and descent were very risky for nervous people, and we felt thankful when we reached the foot of the staircase safely, though disappointed because the weather had prevented our enjoying the splendid view from the top that we had anticipated. As we were leaving the monument we met an old man who had charge of it, carrying some large mushrooms, which he told us he had seen from the top of the monument, and very fine ones they were too. [Illustration: ULVERSTON, BARROWS MONUMENT IN THE DISTANCE.] But we are forgetting to mention that we had passed through Dalton--formerly the capital of Furness--where George Romney, the celebrated painter, was born in 1734. West, the inventor of the key bugle, the forerunner of the modern cornet, was also a native of Dalton-in-Furness. As the days were rapidly becoming shorter and the gloomy weather made them appear shorter still, it was growing quite dark when we called for tea at a village inn, the sign on which informed us that it was "Clarke's Arms," and where we were very quickly served in the parlour. During our tea a tall, haggard-looking man, whose hands were trembling and whose eyes were bloodshot, entered the room, and asked us to have a glass each with him at his expense, saying, "I'm drunken Jim Topping as 'as had aw that heap o' money left him." He pressed us very hard again and again to have the drink, but we showed him the tea we were drinking, and we felt relieved when the landlord came in and persuaded him to go into the other room, where we soon heard an uproarious company helping "Jim" to spend his "heap o' money" and to hasten him into eternity. The landlord afterwards informed us that "Drunken Jim" was a stonemason by trade, and that a relation of his had just died, leaving him £80,000, as well as some property. [Illustration: SIR JOHN BARROW'S MONUMENT.] It was dark when we left the inn, and about a mile farther, on the Kendal road, we saw, apparently crossing the road, a large number of glowworms, which, owing to the darkness of the night, showed to the best advantage. So numerous were they that we had great difficulty in getting over them, for we did not wish to crush any under our feet. We had never seen more than two or three together before, so it was quite a novel sight for us to find so many in one place. Presently we arrived at the entrance to a small village, where our attention was arrested by a great noise in a building a little distance from the road. The sound of juvenile voices predominated, and as my brother was a great lover of children, and especially of girls, as illustrated by a remark he was partial to--"Girls and flowers are the nicest things that heaven sends us"--we must needs stop and see what was going on. Climbing up some steps and passing under some trees, we found, as we had surmised, the village school. After looking through the windows we entered the schoolroom, whereupon the noise immediately ceased. We ascertained that it was the village choir awaiting the arrival of the schoolmistress to teach them the hymns to be sung in the church on the following Sunday. My brother insisted that he had come to teach the choir that night, and went at once to the harmonium, which was unfortunately locked. He said he would no doubt be able to go on without it, and, having arranged the choir in order, was just about to commence operations when who should come in but the schoolmistress herself, causing us to beat a rather hasty retreat. We groped our way under the trees again and down the steps, and were quite surprised when suddenly we found ourselves close to a comfortable inn where we could be accommodated for the night. After supper we retired to rest, wondering whether we were to pass the night in Lancashire or Westmorland, for we had no idea where we were, and, strange to say, we forgot to ask the name of the place when we left in the morning. (_Distance walked nineteen miles_.) _Thursday, October 19th._ We left the inn at eight o'clock in the morning, but the weather still continued very rainy, and we had often to seek shelter on our way owing to the heavy showers. Presently we came to a huge heap of charcoal, and were about to shelter near it when we were told that it was part of the gunpowder works in the rear, so we hurried away as fast as we could walk, for we did not relish the possibility of being blown into millions of atoms. When we reached what we thought was a fairly safe distance, we took refuge in an outbuilding belonging to a small establishment for smelting iron, and here we were joined by another wayfarer, sheltering like ourselves from the rain, which was coming down in torrents. He told us about the stonemason who had recently had the fortune left to him, but he said the amount mentioned in the newspaper was £40,000 and not £80,000, as we had been informed. He wished the money had been left to him, as he thought he could have put it to better use, for he had been an abstainer from intoxicating drinks for twelve years, whereas the man with the fortune, who at the moment was drinking in a beerhouse close by, had no appetite for eating and would soon drink himself to death. What the fate of poor "Jim Topping" was we never knew, but we could not help feeling sorry for him, as he seemed to us one of those good-natured fellows who are nobody's enemy but their own. The man told us that Jim was a heavy drinker before he had the fortune left him. He surmised that the place we had stopped at last night was Haverthwaite in Lancashire. We saw a book of poems written in the Cumberland dialect, and copied the first and last verses of one that was about a Robin Redbreast: REED ROBIN Come into mey cabin, reed Robin! Threyce welcome, blithe warbler, to me! Noo Siddaw hes thrown a wheyte cap on, Agean I'll gie shelter to thee! Come, freely hop into mey pantry; Partake o' mey puir holsome fare; Tho' seldom I bwoast of a dainty. Yet meyne, man or burd sal aye share. * * * * * O whoar is thy sweetheart, reed Robin? Gae bring her frae hoosetop or tree: I'll bid her be true to sweet Robin, For fause was a fav'rite to me. You'll share iv'ry crumb i' mey cabin, We'll sing the weyld winter away-- I winna deceive ye, puir burdies! Let mortals use me as they may. On leaving our shelter, we passed a large mill, apparently deserted, and soon afterwards reached Newby Bridge, where we crossed the River Leven, which was rapidly conveying the surplus water from Windermere towards the sea. Near this was a large hotel, built to accommodate stage-coach traffic, but rendered unnecessary since the railway had been cut, and consequently now untenanted. We had already crossed the bridge at the head of Lake Windermere, and now had reached the bridge at the other end. An old book, published in 1821, gave us the following interesting information about the lake: It was at one time thought to be unfathomable, but on the third and fourth of June, 1772, when the water was six feet below its greatest known height, and three feet above the lowest ebb, a trial was made to ascertain by soundings the depth and form of the lake. Its greatest depth was found to be near Ecclesrigg Crag--201 feet. The bottom of the lake in the middle stream is a smooth rock; in many places the sides are perpendicular, and in some places they continue so for a mile without interruption. It abounds with fish, and the Rivers Brathay and Rothay feed the lake at the upper end, and in the breeding-season the trout ascend the Rothay, and the char the Brathay only; but in the winter, when these fish are in season, they come into the shallows, where they are fished for in the night, at which time they are the more easily driven into the nets. We now turned along an old coach road which crossed the hills over Cartmel Fell to Kendal, and appeared to be very little used. Our road climbed steadily for about two miles, when suddenly there came a bright interval between the showers, and we had a magnificent view of a portion of Lake Windermere, with a steamboat leaving the landing-stage near Newby Bridge. We stood, as it were, riveted to the spot; but another shower coming on, the view vanished like a dream, though it lasted sufficiently long to bring us encouragement and to cheer us upon our wet and lonely way. The showers seemed as full of water as ever they could hold, and sheltering-places were by no means plentiful. Sometimes sheltering behind trees and sometimes in farm buildings, we proceeded but slowly, and about eight miles from Kendal we halted for lunch at a small inn, where we found cover for so long a time that, after walking about three miles from that town, we called at another inn for tea. It was astonishing how well we were received and provided for at these small inns in the country. Every attention was given to us, a fire lighted to dry our coats, and the best food the place could provide was brought on to the table. We were shown into the parlour, and the best cups and saucers were brought out from the corner cupboards. The temperance movement appeared to be permeating the most unlikely places, and we were astonished to find the crockery here painted with temperance signs and mottoes, including a temperance star, and the words "Be them faithful unto death." This seemed all the more remarkable when we saw that the sign on the inn was the "Punch Bowl." The rain had apparently been gradually clearing off, while we were at tea, but it came on again soon after we left the comfortable shelter of the inn, so we again took refuge--this time in the house of a tollgate, where we had a long talk with the keeper. He pointed out a road quite near us which had been made so that vehicles could get past the toll-bar on their way to and from Kendal without going through the gates and paying toll. This had been constructed by a landowner for the use of himself and his tenants. As a retort the toll people had erected a stump at each side of the entrance, apparently with the object of placing a chain across the road, and had also erected a wooden hut to shelter a special toll-keeper who only attended on Kendal market days. Some mischievous persons, however, had overturned the hut, and we did not envy the man who on a day like this had to attend here to collect tolls without any shelter to protect him from the elements. Tollgates and turnpikes were ancient institutions on the British roads, and in many places were in the hands of Turnpike Trusts, who often rented the tolls to outsiders and applied the rent chiefly to the repair of the roads. A fixed charge was made on cattle and vehicles passing through the gates, and the vehicles were charged according to the number of animals and wheels attached to them, a painted table of tolls being affixed to the tollhouse. The gates were kept closed, and were only opened when vehicles and cattle arrived, and after payment of the charges. There was no charge made to pedestrians, for whom a small gate or turnstile was provided at the side nearest the tollhouse. The contractors who rented the tolls had to depend for their profit or loss upon the total amount of the tolls collected minus the amount of rent paid and toll-keepers' wages. Towards the close of the Trusts the railways had made such inroads upon the traffic passing by road that it was estimated that the cost of collection of tolls amounted to 50 per cent. of the total sum collected. The tollgate-keeper informed us that Dick Turpin, the highwayman, never paid any tolls, for no collector dare ask him for payment, and if the gate was closed, "Black Bess," his favourite mare, jumped over it. He had a lot to tell us about Furness Abbey. He knew that it had been built by King Stephen, and he said that not far from it there was a park called Oxen Park, where the king kept his oxen, and that he had also a Stirk Park. He asked us if we had seen the small and very old church of Cartmel Fell, and when we told him we had not, he said that travellers who did not know its whereabouts often missed seeing it, for, although not far from the road, it was hidden from view by a bank or small mound, and there was a legend that some traveller, saint, or hermit who slept on the bank dreamed that he must build a church between two rivers running in opposite directions. He travelled all the world over, but could not find any place where the rivers ran in opposite directions, so he came back disappointed, only to find the rivers were quite near the place he started from. The church was of remote antiquity, and was dedicated to St. Anthony, the patron saint of wild boars and of wild beasts generally; but who built the church, and where the rivers were to be found, did not transpire. We had carried our mackintoshes all the way from John o' Groat's, and they had done us good service; but the time had now arrived when they had become comparatively useless, so, after thanking the keeper of the tollhouse for allowing us to shelter there, we left them with him as relics of the past. The great objection to these waterproofs was that though they prevented the moisture coming inwards, they also prevented it going outwards, and the heat and perspiration generated by the exertion of walking soon caused us to be as wet as if we had worn no protection at all. Of course we always avoided standing in a cold wind or sitting in a cold room, and latterly we had preferred getting wet through to wearing them. We arrived in Kendal in good time, and stayed at the temperance hotel. In the town we purchased two strong but rather rustic-looking umbrellas, without tassels or gold or silver handles--for umbrellas in the rainy region of the "North Countrie" were wanted for use and not for ornament. We found them quite an agreeable change from the overalls. Of course we held them up skilfully, and as we thought almost scientifically, when walking in the rain, and it was astonishing how well they protected us when holding them towards the same side and angle as the falling rain. Many people we met were holding them straight up, and looking quite happy, reminding us of the ostrich when hunted and hard pressed, hiding its head in the sand and imagining that its body was covered also! The draper who sold us the umbrellas told us that Professor Kirk, whom we had heard in Edinburgh, was to deliver an address in the evening on the Good Templar Movement, so we decided to attend. The Professor, a good speaker, informed us that there were between five and six hundred members of the Order in Kendal. Mr. Edward Dawson of Lancaster also addressed the meeting, and told us there were about three hundred members in Lancaster, while the Professor estimated the number in Scotland at between fifty and sixty thousand. It was quite a new movement, which had its origin apparently in America, and was becoming the prevailing subject of conversation in the country we travelled through. [Illustration: KENDAL CASTLE.] Kendal was an ancient place, having been made a market town by licence from Richard Coeur de Lion. Philippa, the Queen of Edward III, wisely invited some Flemings to settle there and establish the manufacture of woollen cloth, which they did. Robin Hood and his "merrie men" were said to have been clothed in Kendal Green, a kind of leafy green which made the wearers of it scarcely distinguishable from the foliage and vegetation of the forests which in Robin Hood's time covered the greater part of the country. Lincoln Green was an older cloth of pure English manufacture. Robin Hood was the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon, and Shakespeare makes Falstaff say-- All the woods Are full of outlaws that in Kendal Green Followed the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon. Catherine Parr was born at Kendal, and an old writer, noting that she was the last Queen of Henry VIII, added, "a lady who had the good fortune to descend to the grave with her head on, in all probability merely by outliving her tyrant." This beautiful and highly accomplished woman had already been married twice, and after the King's death took a fourth husband. She narrowly escaped being burnt, for the King had already signed her death-warrant and delivered it to the Lord Chancellor, who dropped it by accident, and the person who found it carried it to the Queen herself. She was actually in conversation with the King when the Lord Chancellor came to take her to the Tower, for which the King called him a knave and a fool, bidding him "Avaunt from my presence." The Queen interceded for the Chancellor; but the King said, "Ah, poor soul, thou little knowest what _he_ came about; of my word, sweetheart, he has been to thee a very knave." [Illustration: KENDAL CHURCH.] Kendal possessed a fine old church, in one of the aisles of which was suspended a helmet said to have belonged to Major Phillipson, whose family was haunted by the two skulls, and who was nicknamed by Cromwell's men "Robert the Devil" because of his reckless and daring deeds. The Phillipsons were great Royalists, and Colonel Briggs of Kendal, who was an active commander in the Parliamentary Army, hearing that the major was on a visit to his brother, whose castle was on the Belle Isle in Lake Windermere, resolved to besiege him there; but although the siege continued for eight months, it proved ineffectual. When the war was over, Major Phillipson resolved to be avenged, and he and some of his men rode over to Kendal one Sunday morning expecting to find Colonel Briggs in the church, and either to kill him or take him prisoner there. Major Phillipson rode into the church on horseback, but the colonel was not there. The congregation, much surprised and annoyed at this intrusion, surrounded the major, and, cutting the girths, unhorsed him. On seeing this, the major's party made a furious attack on the assailants, and the major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him, and, placing the ungirthed saddle on his horse, vaulted into it and rode through the streets of Kendal calling upon his men to follow him, which they did, and the whole party escaped to their safe resort in the Lake of Windermere. This incident furnished Sir Walter Scott with materials for a similar adventure in "Rokeby," canto vi.: All eyes upon the gateway hung. When through the Gothic arch there sprung A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed-- Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. Fire from the flinty floor was spurn'd. The vaults unwonted clang return'd!-- One instant's glance around he threw, From saddle-bow his pistol drew. Grimly determined was his look! His charger with the spurs he strook-- All scatter'd backward as he came, For all knew Bertram Risingham! Three bounds that noble courser gave; The first has reach'd the central nave, The second clear'd the chancel wide. The third--he was at Wycliffe's side. * * * * * While yet the smoke the deed conceals, Bertram his ready charger wheels; But flounder'd on the pavement-floor The steed, and down the rider bore, And, bursting in the headlong sway. The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed. And with the rein to raise the steed. That from amazement's iron trance All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. (_Distance walked fifteen miles_.) _Friday, October 20th._ We left Kendal before breakfast, as we were becoming anxious about maintaining our average of twenty-five miles per day, for we had only walked nineteen miles on Wednesday and fifteen miles yesterday, and we had written to our friends some days before saying that we hoped to reach York Minster in time for the services there on Sunday. [Illustration: KIRKBY LONSDALE CHURCH.] In the meantime we had decided to visit Fountains Abbey, so, crossing the River Kent, we walked nine miles along a hilly road over the fells, which were about 800 feet above sea-level. We stopped at a place called Old Town for breakfast, for which our walk through the sharp clear air on the fells had given us an amazing appetite. We then walked quickly down the remaining three miles to Kirkby Lonsdale, passing on our way the beautiful grounds and residence of the Earl of Bective. At the entrance to the town we came to the school, and as the master happened to be standing at the door, we took the opportunity of asking him some particulars about Kirkby Lonsdale and our farther way to Fountains Abbey. He was a native of Scotland, and gave us some useful and reliable information, being greatly interested in the object of our journey. We found Kirkby Lonsdale to be quite a nice old-fashioned town with a church dedicated to St. Mary--a sign, we thought, of its antiquity; the interior had been recently restored by the Earl of Bective at a cost of about £11,000. An old board hanging up in the church related to one of the porches, on which was painted a crest and shield with the date 1668, and the following words in old English letters: This porch by y' Banes first builded was, (Of Heighholme Hall they weare,) And after sould to Christopher Wood By William Banes thereof last heyre. And is repayred as you do see And sett in order good By the true owner nowe thereof The foresaid Christopher Wood. There was also painted in the belfry a rhyming list of the "ringers' orders": If to ring ye do come here, You must ring well with hand and ear; Keep stroke and time and go not out, Or else you'll forfeit without doubt. He that a bell doth overthrow Must pay a groat before he go; He that rings with his hat on, Must pay his groat and so begone. He that rings with spur on heel, The same penalty he must feel. If an oath you chance to hear, You forfeit each two quarts of beer. These lines are old, they are not new. Therefore the ringers must have their due. _N.B._--Any ringer entering a peal of six pays his shilling. The first two lines greatly interested my brother, whose quick ear could distinguish defects when they occurred in the ringing of church bells, and he often remarked that no ringer should be appointed unless he had a good ear for music. There were one or two old-fashioned inns in the town, which looked very quaint, and Kirkby Old Hall did duty for one of them, being referred to by the rhymester "Honest" or "Drunken Barnaby" in his Latin Itinerary of his "Travels in the North": I came to Lonsdale, where I staid At Hall, into a tavern made. Neat gates, white walls--nought was sparing, Pots brimful--no thought of caring; They eat, drink, laugh; are still mirth-making, Nought they see that's worth care-taking. The men of the North were always warlike, and when in the year 1688, in the time of James II, a rumour was circulated that a large French Army had landed on the coast of Yorkshire, a great number of men assembled on the outskirts of the town and were waiting there ready for the call to arms, when news came that it was a false alarm. Of course this event had to be recorded by the local poet, who wrote: In eighty-eight, was Kirby feight. When nivver a man was slain; They ate the'r mey't, an' drank the'r drink, An' sae com' merrily heame again. We were sorry we could not stay longer in the neighbourhood of Kirkby Lonsdale, as the scenery in both directions along the valley of the River Lune was very beautiful. As we crossed the bridge over it we noticed an old stone inscribed: Fear God Honer the King 1633, and some other words which we could not decipher. The bridge was rather narrow, and at some unknown period had replaced a ford, which was at all times difficult to cross, and often dangerous, and at flood-times quite impassable, as the river here ran between rocks and across great boulders; it was, however, the only ready access to the country beyond for people living in Kirkby Lonsdale. One morning the inhabitants awoke to find a bridge had been built across this dangerous ford during the night, and since no one knew who had built it, its erection was attributed to his Satanic Majesty, and it was ever afterwards known as the Devil's Bridge. The bridge was very narrow, and, although consisting of three arches, one wide and the others narrow, and being 180 feet long, it was less than twelve feet wide, and had been likened to Burns' Auld Brig o' Ayr, With your poor narrow footpath of a street. Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meet. The country people had a tradition that it was built in windy weather by the Devil, who, having only one apron full of stones, and the breaking of one of his apron-strings causing him to lose some of them as he flew over Casterton Fell, he had only enough left to build a narrow bridge. [Illustration: DEVIL'S BRIDGE, KIRKBY LONSDALE.] Another legend states that "Once upon a time there lived a queer old woman whose cow and pony pastured across the river and had to cross it on their way to and from home. The old woman was known as a great cheat. One dark and wet night she heard her cow bellow, and knew that she was safely across the ford; but as the pony only whined, she thought that he was being carried away by the flood. She began to cry, when suddenly the Devil appeared, and agreed to put up a bridge that night on conditions named in the legend: "To raise a bridge I will agree. That in the morning you shall see. But mine for aye the first must be That passes over. So by these means you'll soon be able To bring the pony to his stable. The cow her clover." In vain were sighs and wailings vented, As she at last appeared contented. It was a bargain--she consented-- For she was Yorkshire. Now home she goes in mighty glee. Old Satan, too, well pleased he Went to his work, sir. He worked hard all night, and early in the morning the bridge was made, as the old woman knew by the terrible noise. He called to the old woman to come over, but she brought her little mangy dog, and, taking a bun out of her pocket, threw it over the bridge. The dog ran over after it. "Now--crafty sir, the bargain was That you should have what first did pass Across the bridge--so now--alas! The dog's your right." The cheater--cheated--struck with shame. Squinted and grinned: then, in a flame He vanished quite. [Illustration: EBBING AND FLOWING WELL.] On reflection we came to the conclusion that whenever and however it was built, the bridge was of a type not uncommon in Cheshire, and often called Roman bridges, but erected in all probability in mediæval times, when only width enough was required for the passing of one horse--in other words, when most roads were nothing but bridlepaths. We were glad of the assistance afforded by the bridge for the rushing waters of the River Lune were swollen by the heavy rains, and our progress in that direction would have been sadly delayed had we arrived there in the time of the ancient ford. We now passed the boundaries of Lancashire and Westmorland and entered the county of York, the largest in England. A large sale of cattle was taking place that day at a farm near the bridge, and for some miles we met buyers on their way to the sale, each of whom gave us the friendly greeting customary in the hilly districts of that hospitable county. Seven miles from Kirkby Lonsdale we stopped at Ingleton for some dinner, and just looked inside the church to see the fine old Norman font standing on small pillars and finely sculptured with scenes relating chiefly to the childhood of our Saviour. Joseph with his carpenter's tools and the Virgin Mary seated with the infant Saviour on her knees, the Eastern Magi bringing their offerings, Herod giving orders for the destruction of the young children, Rachel weeping, and others--all damaged in the course of centuries, though still giving one an idea of the great beauty of the font when originally placed in position. We heard about the many waterfalls to be seen--perhaps as many as could be visited in the course of a whole week; but we had seen--and suffered--so much water and so many waterfalls, that for the time being they formed no attraction. Still we resolved to see more of this interesting neighbourhood on a future occasion. Passing through Clapham, said to be one of the finest villages in England, and where there was a cave supposed to run about half a mile underground, we came to some fine limestone cliffs to the left of our road, which were nearly white as we approached nearer to the town of Settle, situated at the foot of Giggleswick Scar, alongside which our road passed. We visited the Ebbing and Flowing Well, where the much-worn stones around it proclaimed the fact that for many ages pilgrims had visited its shrine; but how "Nevison's Nick," a famous highwayman, could have ridden his horse up the face of the rock leading up to it--even with the aid of his magic bridle--was more than we could understand. Another legend stated that a nymph pursued by a satyr was so afraid that he would overtake her that she prayed to the gods to change her into a spring. Her prayer was granted, and the ebbs and flows in the water were supposed to represent the panting of the nymph in her flight. [Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE, SETTLE.] We turned aside to visit Giggleswick village, with its old cross, which seemed to be nearly complete, and we found the old church very interesting. It contained some ancient monuments, one of which represented Sir Richard Temple, born 1425, knighted at the Battle of Wakefield, 1460, attainted for treason 1461, pardoned by King Edward IV, and died 1488, the head of his charger being buried with him. There was also the tomb of Samuel Watson, the "old Quaker," who interrupted the service in the church in 1659, when the people "brok his head upon ye seates." Then there was the famous Grammar School, a very old foundation dating back to early in the sixteenth century. We were delighted with our visit to Giggleswick, and, crossing the old bridge over the River Ribble, here but a small stream, we entered the town of Settle and called for tea at Thistlethwaite's Tea and Coffee Rooms. There were several small factories in the neighbourhood. We noticed that a concert had recently been held in the town in aid of a fund for presenting a lifeboat to the National Society, one having already been given by this town for use on the stormy coasts of the Island of Anglesey. [Illustration: GIGGLESWICK CHURCH.] Leaving Settle by the Skipton road, we had gone about a mile when we met two men who informed us we were going a long way round either for Ripon or York. They said an ancient road crossed the hills towards York, and that after we had climbed the hill at the back of the town we should see the road running straight for fourteen miles. This sounded all right, and as the new moon was now shining brightly, for it was striking six o'clock as we left the town, we did not fear being lost amongst the hills, although they rose to a considerable height. Changing our course, we climbed up a very steep road and crossed the moors, passing a small waterfall; but whether we were on or off the ancient road we had no means of ascertaining, for we neither saw nor met any one on the way, nor did we see any house until we reached the ancient-looking village of Kirby Malham. Here we got such very voluminous directions as to the way to Malham that neither of us could remember them beyond the first turn, but we reached that village at about ten o'clock. We asked the solitary inhabitant who had not retired to rest where we could find lodgings for the night. He pointed out a house at the end of the "brig" with the word "Temperance" on it in large characters, which we could see easily as the moon had not yet disappeared, and told us it belonged to the village smith, who accommodated visitors. All was in darkness inside the house, but we knocked at the door with our heavy sticks, and this soon brought the smith to one of the upper windows. In reply to our question, "Can we get a bed for the night?" he replied in the Yorkshire dialect, "Our folks are all in bed, but I'll see what they say." Then he closed the window, and all was quiet except the water, which was running fast under the "brig," and which we found afterwards was the River Aire, as yet only a small stream. We waited and waited for what seemed to us a very long time, and were just beginning to think the smith had fallen asleep again, when we heard the door being unbolted, and a young man appeared with a light in his hand, bidding us "Come in," which we were mighty glad to do, and to find ourselves installed in a small but very comfortable room. "You will want some supper," he said; and we assured him it was quite true, for we had not had anything to eat or drink since we left Settle, and, moreover, we had walked thirty-five miles that day, through fairly hilly country. In a short time he reappeared with a quart of milk and an enormous apple pie, which we soon put out of sight; but was milk ever so sweet or apple pie ever so good! Forty-five years have passed away since then, but the memory still remains; and the sweet sleep that followed--the rest of the weary--what of that? (_Distance walked thirty-five miles_.) _Saturday, October 21st._ One great advantage of staying the night in the country was that we were sure of getting an early breakfast, for the inns had often farms attached to them, and the proprietors and their servants were up early to attend to their cattle. This custom of early rising also affected the business of the blacksmiths, for the farmers' horses requiring attention to their shoes were always sent down early to the village smithy in order that they could be attended to in time to turn out to their work on the roads or in the fields at their usual hour. Accordingly we were roused from our sound slumber quite early in the morning, and were glad to take advantage of this to walk as far as possible in daylight, for the autumn was fast coming to a close. Sometimes we started on our walk before breakfast, when we had a reasonable prospect of obtaining it within the compass of a two-hours' journey, but Malham was a secluded village, with no main road passing through it, and it was surrounded by moors on every side. There were several objects of interest in Malham which we were told were well worth seeing: Malham Cove, Janet's Foss or Gennetth's Cave, and Gordale Scar. The first of these we resolved to see before breakfast. We therefore walked along a path which practically followed the course of the stream that passed under the brig, and after a fine walk of about three-quarters of a mile through the grass patches, occasionally relieved by bushes and trees, we reached the famous cove. Here our farther way was barred by an amphitheatre of precipitous limestone rocks of a light grey colour, rising perpendicularly to the height of about 200 feet, which formed the cove itself. From the base of these rocks, along a horizontal bedding plane and at one particular spot, issued the stream along which we had walked, forming the source of the River Aire, which flows through Skipton and on to Leeds, the curious feature about it being that there was no visible aperture in the rocks, neither arch nor hole, from which it could come. The water appeared to gain volume from the loose stones under our feet, and as we had not seen a sight like this in all our travels, we were much surprised to find it forming itself immediately into a fair-sized brook. We gazed upwards to the top of the rocks, which were apparently unprotected, and wondered what the fate would be of the lost traveller who unconsciously walked over them, as there seemed nothing except a few small bushes, in one place only, to break his fall. We heard afterwards of a sorrowful accident that had happened there. It related to a young boy who one day, taking his little brother with him for company, went to look for birds' nests. On reaching the cove they rambled to the top of the cliff, where the elder boy saw a bird's nest, to which he went while his little brother waited for him at a distance, watching him taking the eggs. All at once he saw him stoop down to gather some flowers to bring to him, and then disappear. He waited some time expecting his brother to return, but as he did not come back the little fellow decided to go home. On the way he gathered some flowers, which he gleefully showed to his father, who asked him where he had got them, and where his brother was. The child said he had gone to sleep, and he had tried to waken him but couldn't; and when he told the full story, the father became greatly alarmed, and, taking his child with him, went to the foot of the cliffs, where he found his son lying dead where he had fallen, with the flowers still clasped in his hand! [Illustration: MALHAM COVE.] We were afterwards told that above the cliff and a few miles up a valley a great stream could be seen disappearing quietly down into the rock. It was this stream presumably which lost itself in a subterranean channel, to reappear at the foot of Malham Cove. After breakfast we again resumed our journey, and went to inspect Janet's Cave or Foss--for our host told us that it was no use coming to see a pretty place like Malham without viewing all the sights we could while we were there. We walked up a lovely little glen, where it was said a fairy once resided, and which if it had been placed elsewhere would certainly have been described as the Fairy Glen; but whether or not Janet was the name of the fairy we did not ascertain. In it we came to a pretty little waterfall dropping down from one step to another, the stream running from it being as clear as crystal. The rocks were lined with mosses, which had become as fleecy-looking as wool, as they were almost petrified by the continual dropping of the spray from the lime-impregnated water that fell down the rocks. There were quite a variety of mosses and ferns, but the chief of the climbing plants was what Dickens described "as the rare old plant, the ivy green," which not only clung to the rocks, but had overshadowed them by climbing up the trees above. To see the small dark cave it was necessary to cross the stream in front of the waterfall, and here stepping-stones had been provided for that purpose, but, owing to the unusual depth of water, these were covered rather deeply, with the result that all the available spaces in our boots were filled with water. This was, of course, nothing unusual to us, as we had become quite accustomed to wet feet, and we now looked upon it as an ordinary incident of travel. The cave was said to have been the resort of goblins, and when we wondered where they were now, my brother mildly suggested that we might have seen them if we had possessed a mirror. We had seen a list of the names of the different mosses to be found in the Malham district, but, as these were all in Latin, instead of committing them to memory, we contented ourselves with counting the names of over forty different varieties besides hepaties, lichens, ferns, and many flowers: Hie away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest. Where the lady-fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the blackcock sweetest sips it. Where the fairy latest trips it; Hie to haunts right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool and green; Over bank and over brae Hie away, hie away! So we now "hied away" to find Gordale Scar, calling at a farmhouse to inquire the way, for we knew we must cross some land belonging to the farm before we could reach the Scar. We explained to the farmer the object of our journey and that we wished afterwards to cross the moors. After directing us how to reach the Scar, he said there was no necessity for us to return to Malham if we could climb up the side of the waterfall at the Scar, since we should find the road leading from Malham a short distance from the top. He wished us good luck on our journey, and, following his instructions, we soon reached Gordale Scar. It was interesting to note the difference in the names applied to the same objects of nature in the different parts of the country we passed through, and here we found a scar meant a rock, a beck a brook, and a tarn, from a Celtic word meaning a tear, a small lake. Gordale Scar was a much more formidable place than we had expected to find, as the rocks were about five yards higher than those at Malham Cove, and it is almost as difficult to describe them as to climb to the top! [Illustration: GORDALE SCAR.] Gordale Beck has its rise near Malham Tarn, about 1,500 feet above sea-level; and, after running across the moor for about three miles, gathering strength in its progress, it reaches the top of this cliff, and, passing over it, has formed in the course of ages quite a considerable passage, widening as it approaches the valley below, where it emerges through a chasm between two rocks which rise to a great height. It was from this point we had to begin our climb, and few people could pass underneath these overhanging rocks without a sense of danger. The track at this end had evidently been well patronised by visitors, but the last of these had departed with the month of September, and as it was now late in October we had the Scar all to ourselves. It was, therefore, a lonely climb, and a very difficult one as we approached the top, for the volume of water was necessarily much greater after the heavy autumnal rainfall than when the visitors were there in the summer; and as we had to pass quite near the falls, the wind blew the spray in some places over our path. It seemed very strange to see white foaming water high above our heads. There was some vegetation in places; here and there a small yew tree, which reminded us of churchyards and the dark plumes on funeral coaches; but there were also many varieties of ferns in the fissures in the rocks. When we neared the top, encumbered as we were with umbrellas, walking-sticks, and bags, we had to assist each other from one elevation to another, one climbing up first and the other handing the luggage to him, and we were very pleased when we emerged on the moors above. [Illustration: KILNSEY CRAGS.] Here we found the beck running deeply and swiftly along a channel which appeared to have been hewn out expressly for it, but on closer inspection we found it quite a natural formation. We have been told since by an unsentimental geologist that the structure is not difficult to understand. As in the case of the Malham Cove stream, this one passed into the rock and gradually ate out a hollow, while ultimately escaping from the cliff as in the cove; but the roof of the cave collapsed, forming the great chasm and revealing the stream as it leaped down from one level to another. Looking about us on the top we saw lonely moors without a house or a tree in sight, and walked across them until we came to a very rough road--possibly the track which we expected to find leading from Malham. Malham Tarn was not in sight, but we had learned that the water was about a mile in length and the only things to be seen there were two kinds of fish--perch and trout---which often quarrelled and decimated each other. The weather was dull, and we had encountered several showers on our way, passing between the Parson's Pulpit to the left, rising quite 1,700 feet, and the Druid's Altar to our right; but we afterwards learned that it was a poor specimen, and that there were much finer ones in existence, while the Parson's Pulpit was described as "a place for the gods, where a man, with a knowledge of nature and a lover of the same, might find it vantage ground to speak or lecture on the wonders of God and nature." We were pleased to get off the moors before further showers came on, and before we reached Kilnsey, where this portion of the moors terminated abruptly in the Kilnsey Crags, we passed by a curious place called Dowker Bottom Cave, where some antiquarian discoveries had been made about fifteen years before our visit, excavations several feet below the lime-charged floor of the cave having revealed the fact that it had been used by cave-dwellers both before and after the time of the Romans: there were also distinct traces of ancient burials. The monks of Furness Abbey formerly owned about 6,000 acres of land in this neighbourhood, and a small vale here still bore the name of Fountains Dell; but the Scotch raiders often came down and robbed the monks of their fat sheep and cattle. The valley now named Littondale was formerly known as Amerdale, and was immortalised as such by Wordsworth in his "White Doe of Rylstone": Unwooed, yet unforbidden. The White Doe followed up the vale, Up to another cottage, hidden In the deep fork of Amerdale. The road passes almost under Kilnsey Crag, but though it seemed so near, some visitors who were throwing stones at it did not succeed in hitting it. We were a little more successful ourselves, but failed to hit the face of the rock itself, reminding us of our efforts to dislodge rooks near their nests on the tops of tall trees: they simply watched the stones rising upwards, knowing that their force would be spent before either reaching their nests or themselves. On arriving at Kilnsey, we called at the inn for refreshments, and were told that the ancient building we saw was Kilnsey Old Hall, where, if we had come earlier in the year, before the hay was put in the building, we could have seen some beautiful fresco-work over the inside of the barn doors! After lunch we had a very nice walk alongside the River Wharfe to a rather pretty place named Grassington, where an ancient market had been held since 1282, but was now discontinued. We should have been pleased to stay a while here had time permitted, but we were anxious to reach Pateley Bridge, where we intended making our stay for the week-end. We now journeyed along a hilly road with moors on each side of us as far as Greenhow Hill mines, worked by the Romans, and there our road reached its highest elevation at 1,320 feet above sea-level--the village church as regarded situation claiming to be the highest in Yorkshire. We had heard of a wonderful cave that we should find quite near our road, and we were on the look-out for the entrance, which we expected would be a black arch somewhere at the side of the road, but were surprised to find it was only a hole in the surface of a field. On inquiry we heard the cave was kept locked up, and that we must apply for admission to the landlord of the inn some distance farther along the road. We found the landlord busy, as it was Saturday afternoon; but when we told him we were walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End and wanted to see all the sights we could on our way, he consented at once to go with us and conduct us through the cave. We had to take off our coats, and were provided with white jackets, or slops, and a lighted candle each. We followed our guide down some steps that had been made, into what were to us unknown regions. We went along narrow passages and through large rooms for about two hundred yards, part of the distance being under the road we had just walked over. We had never been in a cave like this before. The stalactites which hung from the roof of the cavern, and which at first we thought were long icicles, were formed by the rain-water as it slowly filtered through the limestone rock above, all that could not be retained by the stalactite dropping from the end of it to the floor beneath. Here it gradually formed small pyramids, or stalagmites, which slowly rose to meet their counterparts, the stalactites, above, so that one descended while the other ascended. How long a period elapsed before these strange things were formed our guide could not tell us, but it must have been very considerable, for the drops came down so slowly. It was this slow dropping that made it necessary for us to wear the white jackets, and now and then a drop fell upon our headgear and on the "slops." Still we felt sure it would have taken hundreds of years before we should have been transformed into either stalactites or stalagmites. In some of the places we saw they had long since met each other, and in the course of ages had formed themselves into all kinds of queer shapes. In one room, which our guide told us was the "church," we saw the "organ" and the "gallery," and in another the likeness of a "bishop," and in another place we saw an almost exact representation of the four fingers of a man's hand suspended from the roof of the cave. Some of the subterranean passages were so low that we could scarcely creep through them, and we wondered what would become of us if the roof had given way before we could return. Many other images were pointed out to us, and we imagined we saw fantastic and other ghostly shapes for ourselves. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE CAVE.] We were careful to keep our candles alight as we followed our guide on the return journey, and kept as close together as we could. It was nearly dark when we reached the entrance of the cavern again, and our impression was that we had been in another world. Farther south we explored another and a larger cave, but the vandals had been there and broken off many of the "'tites," which here were quite perfect. We had not felt hungry while we were in the cave, but these well-known pangs came on us in force immediately we reached the open air, and we were glad to accept the landlord's offer to provide for our inward requirements, and followed him home to the inn for tea. The landlord had told the company at the inn about our long walk, and as walking was more in vogue in those days than at later periods, we became objects of interest at once, and all were anxious to form our acquaintance. [Illustration: STUMP CROSS CAVES The Four Fingers. The "'tites" and "'mites."] We learned that what we had noted as the Greenhow Cave was known by the less euphonius name of the "Stump Cross Cavern." It appeared that in ancient times a number of crosses were erected to mark the limits of the great Forest of Knaresborough, a royal forest as far back as the twelfth century, strictly preserved for the benefit of the reigning monarch. It abounded with deer, wild boars, and other beasts of the chase, and was so densely wooded that the Knaresborough people were ordered to clear a passage through it for the wool-carriers from Newcastle to Leeds. Now we could scarcely see a tree for miles, yet as recently as the year 1775 the forest covered 100,000 acres and embraced twenty-four townships. Before the Reformation, the boundary cross on the Greenhow side was known as the Craven Cross, for Craven was one of the ancient counties merged in what is called the West Riding. The Reformers objected to crosses, and knocked it off its pedestal, so that only the stump remained. Thus it gradually became known as the Stump Cross, and from its proximity the cavern when discovered was christened the Stump Cross Cavern. We were informed that the lead mines at Greenhow were the oldest in England, and perhaps in the world, and it was locally supposed that the lead used in the building of Solomon's Temple was brought from here. Two bars of lead that had been made in the time of the Romans had been found on the moors, and one of these was now to be seen at Ripley Castle in Yorkshire, while the other was in the British Museum. Eugene Aram, whose story we heard for the first time in the inn, was born at a village a few miles from Greenhow. The weather had been showery during the afternoon, but we had missed one of the showers, which came on while we were in the cavern. It was now fine, and the moon shone brightly as we descended the steep hill leading to Pateley Bridge. We had crossed the River Dibb after leaving Grassington, and now, before crossing the River Nidd at Pateley Bridge, we stayed at the "George Inn," an old hostelry dating from the year 1664. (_Distance walked twenty-one and a half miles_.) _Sunday, October 22nd._ We spent a fairly quiet day at Pateley Bridge, where there was not a great deal to see. What there was we must have seen, as we made good use of the intervals between the three religious services we attended in exploring the town and its immediate neighbourhood. We had evidently not taken refuge in one of the inns described by Daniel Defoe, for we were some little distance from the parish church, which stood on a rather steep hill on the opposite bank of the river. Near the church were the ruins of an older edifice, an ancient description running, "The old Chappel of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Pateley Brigg in Nidderdale." We climbed the hill, and on our way came to an old well on which was inscribed the following translation by Dryden from the Latin of Ovid [43 B.C.-A.D. 18]: Ill Habits gather by unseen degrees, As Brooks run rivers--Rivers run to Seas. and then followed the words: The way to church. We did not go there "by unseen degrees," but still we hoped our good habits might gather in like proportion. We went to the parish church both morning and evening, and explored the graveyards, but though gravestones were numerous enough we did not find any epitaph worthy of record--though one of the stones recorded the death in July 1755 of the four sons of Robert and Margaret Fryer, who were born at one birth and died aged one week. In the afternoon we went to the Congregational Chapel, and afterwards were shown through a very old Wesleyan Chapel, built in 1776, and still containing the old seats, with the ancient pulpit from which John Wesley had preached on several occasions. It was curious to observe how anxious the compilers of the histories of the various places at which we stayed were to find a remote beginning, and how apologetic they were that they could not start even earlier. Those of Pateley Bridge were no exception to the rule. The Roman Occupation might perhaps have been considered a reasonable foundation, but they were careful to record that the Brigantes were supposed to have overrun this district long before the Romans, since several stone implements had been found in the neighbourhood. One of the Roman pigs of lead found hereabouts, impressed with the name of the Emperor "Domitian," bore also the word "Brig," which was supposed to be a contraction of Brigantes. A number of Roman coins had also been discovered, but none of them of a later date than the Emperor Hadrian, A.D. 139, the oldest being one of Nero, A.D. 54-68. [Illustration: THE OLD PARISH CHURCH, PATELEY BRIDGE.] Previous to the fourteenth century the River Nidd was crossed by means of a paved ford, and this might originally have been paved by the Romans, who probably had a ford across the river where Pateley Bridge now stands for the safe conveyance of the bars of lead from the Greenhow mines, to which the town owed its importance, down to the beginning of the nineteenth century. But though it could boast a Saturday market dating from the time of Edward II, it was now considered a quiet and somewhat sleepy town. The valley along which the River Nidd runs from its source in the moors, about ten miles away, was known as Nidderdale. In the church book at Middlesmoor, about six miles distant, were two entries connected with two hamlets on the banks of the Nidd near Pateley Bridge which fix the dates of the christening and marriage of that clever murderer, Eugene Aram. We place them on record here: RAMSGILL.--Eugenious Aram, son of Peter Aram, bap. ye 2nd of October, 1704. LOFTUS.--Eugenius Aram and Anna Spence, married May 4th, after banns thrice pub. 1731. We retired to rest early. Our last week's walk was below the average, and we hoped by a good beginning to make up the mileage during the coming week, a hope not to be fulfilled, as after events proved. SIXTH WEEK'S JOURNEY A WEEK OF AGONY _Monday, October 23rd._ We left Pateley Bridge at seven o'clock in the morning, and after walking about two miles on the Ripley Road, turned off to the left along a by-lane to find the wonderful Brimham rocks, of which we had been told. We heard thrashing going on at a farm, which set us wondering whether we were on the same road along which Chantrey the famous sculptor walked when visiting these same rocks. His visit probably would not have been known had not the friend who accompanied him kept a diary in which he recorded the following incident. They were walking towards the rocks when they, like ourselves, heard the sound of thrashing in a barn, which started an argument between them on their relative abilities in the handling of the flail. As they could not settle the matter by words, they resolved to do so by blows; so they made their way to the farm and requested the farmer to allow them to try their hand at thrashing corn, and to judge which of them shaped the better. The farmer readily consented, and accompanied them to the barn, where, stopping the two men who were at work, he placed Chantrey and his friend in their proper places. They stripped for the fight, each taking a flail, while the farmer and his men watched the duel with smiling faces. It soon became evident that Chantrey was the better of the two. The unequal contest was stopped, much to the chagrin of the keeper of the diary, by the judge giving his verdict in favour of the great sculptor. This happened about seventy years before our visit, but even now the old-fashioned method of thrashing corn had not yet been ousted by steam machinery, and the sound of the flails as they were swung down upon the barn floors was still one of the commonest and noisiest that, during the late autumn and winter months, met our ears in country villages. When the time came for the corn to be thrashed, the sheaves were placed on the barn floor with their heads all in the same direction, the binders which held them together loosened, and the corn spread out. Two men were generally employed in this occupation, one standing opposite the other, and the corn was separated from the straw and chaff by knocking the heads with sticks. These sticks, or flails, were divided into two parts, the longer of which was about the size of a broom-handle, but made of a much stronger kind of wood, while the other, which was about half its length, was fastened to the top by a hinge made of strong leather, so that the flail was formed into the shape of a whip, except that the lash would not bend, and was as thick as the handle. The staff was held with both hands, one to guide and the other to strike, and as the thrashers were both practically aiming at the same place, it was necessary, in order to prevent their flails colliding, that one lash should be up in the air at the same moment that the other was down on the floor, so that it required some practice in order to become a proficient thrasher. The flails descended on the barn floors with the regularity of the ticking of a clock, or the rhythmic and measured footsteps of a man walking in a pair of clogs at a quickstep speed over the hard surface of a cobbled road. We knew that this mediæval method of thrashing corn would be doomed in the future, and that the old-fashioned flail would become a thing of the past, only to be found in some museum as a relic of antiquity, so we recorded this description of Chantrey's contest with the happy memories of the days when we ourselves went a-thrashing corn a long time ago! [Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF BRIMHAM ROCKS.] What Chantrey thought of those marvellous rocks at Brimham was not recorded, but, as they covered quite fifty acres of land, his friend, like ourselves, would find it impossible to give any lengthy description of them, and might, like the auctioneers, dismiss them with the well-known phrase, "too numerous to mention." To our great advantage we were the only visitors at the rocks, and for that reason enjoyed the uninterrupted services of the official guide, an elderly man whose heart was in his work, and a born poet withal. [Illustration: THE DANCING-BEAR ROCK.] The first thing we had to do was to purchase his book of poems, which, as a matter of course, was full of poetical descriptions of the wonderful rocks he had to show us--and thoroughly and conscientiously he did his duty. As we came to each rock, whether we had to stand below or above it, he poured out his poetry with a rapidity that quite bewildered and astonished us. He could not, of course, tell us whether the rocks had been worn into their strange forms by the action of the sea washing against them at some remote period, or whether they had been shaped in the course of ages by the action of the wind and rain; but we have appealed to our geological friend, who states, in that emphatic way which scientific people adopt, that these irregular crags are made of millstone grit, and that the fantastic shapes are due to long exposure to weather and the unequal hardness of the rock. Our guide accompanied us first to the top of a great rock, which he called Mount Pisgah, from which we could see on one side a wilderness of bare moors and mountains, and on the other a fertile valley, interspersed with towns and villages as far as the eye could reach. Here the guide told my brother that he could imagine himself to be like Moses of old, who from Pisgah's lofty height viewed the Promised Land of Canaan on one side, and the wilderness on the other! But we were more interested in the astonishing number of rocks around us than in the distant view, and when our guide described them as the "finest freak of nature of the rock kind in England," we thoroughly endorsed his remarks. We had left our luggage at the caretaker's house, which had been built near the centre of this great mass of stones in the year 1792, by Lord Grantley, to whom the property belonged, from the front door of which, we were told, could be seen, on a clear day, York Minster, a distance of twenty-eight miles as the crow flies. As may be imagined, it was no small task for the guide to take us over fifty acres of ground and to recite verses about every object of interest he showed us, some of them from his book and some from memory. But as we were without our burdens we could follow him quickly, while he was able to take us at once to the exact position where the different shapes could be seen to the best advantage. How long it would have taken that gentleman we met near Loch Lomond in Scotland who tried to show us "the cobbler and his wife," on the top of Ben Arthur, from a point from which it could not be seen, we could not guess, but it was astonishing how soon we got through the work, and were again on our way to find "fresh fields and pastures new." [Illustration: THE HIGH ROCK.] We saw the "Bulls of Nineveh," the "Tortoise," the "Gorilla," and the "Druids' Temple"--also the "Druids' Reading-desk," the "Druids' Oven," and the "Druid's Head." Then there was the "Idol," where a great stone, said to weigh over two hundred tons, was firmly balanced on a base measuring only two feet by ten inches. There was the usual Lovers' Leap, and quite a number of rocking stones, some of which, although they were many tons in weight, could easily be rocked with one hand. The largest stone of all was estimated to weigh over one hundred tons, though it was only discovered to be movable in the year 1786. The "Cannon Rock" was thirty feet long, and, as it was perforated with holes, was supposed to have been used as an oracle by the Ancients, a question asked down a hole at one end being answered by the gods through the priest or priestess hidden from view at the other. The different recesses, our guide informed us, were used as lovers' seats and wishing stones. The "Frog and the Porpoise," the "Oyster Rock," the "Porpoise's Head," the "Sphinx," the "Elephant and Yoke of Oxen," and the "Hippopotamus's Head" were all clearly defined. The "Dancing Bear" was a splendidly shaped specimen, and then there was a "Boat Rock," with bow and stern complete. But on the "Mount Delectable," as our guide called it, there was a very romantic courting and kissing chair, which, although there was only room for one person to sit in it at a time, he assured us was, in summer time, the best patronised seat in the lot. We remunerated him handsomely, for he had worked hard and, as "England expects," he had done his duty. He directed us to go along a by-lane through Sawley or Sawley Moor, as being the nearest way to reach Fountains Abbey: but of course we lost our way as usual. The Brimham Rocks were about 1,000 feet above sea-level, and from them we could see Harrogate, which was, even then, a fashionable and rising inland watering-place. Our guide, when he showed us its position in the distance, did not venture to make any poetry about it, so we quote a verse written by another poet about the visitors who went there: Some go for the sake of the waters-- Well, they are the old-fashioned elves-- And some to dispose of their daughters, And some to dispose of themselves. But there must be many visitors who go there to search in its bracing air for the health they have lost during many years of toil and anxiety, and to whom the words of an unknown poet would more aptly apply: We squander Health in search of Wealth, We scheme, and toil, and save; Then squander Wealth in search of Health, And only find a Grave. We live! and boast of what we own! We die! and only get a STONE! [Illustration: FOUNTAINS AND THE RIVER SKELL.] [Illustration: FOUNTAINS ABBEY. "How grand the fine old ruin appeared, calmly reposing in the peaceful valley below."] [Illustration: THE CLOISTERS, FOUNTAINS ABBEY. "Many great warriors were buried beneath the peaceful shade of Fountains Abbey."] [Illustration: THE NAVE] Fortunately we happened to meet with a gentleman who was going part of the way towards Fountains Abbey, and him we accompanied for some distance. He told us that the abbey was the most perfect ruin in England, and when we parted he gave us clear instructions about the way to reach it. We were walking on, keeping a sharp look out for the abbey through the openings in the trees that partially covered our way, when suddenly we became conscious of looking at a picture without realising what it was, for our thoughts and attention had been fixed upon the horizon on the opposite hill, where for some undefined reason we expected the abbey to appear. Lo and behold, there was the abbey in the valley below, which we might have seen sooner had we been looking down instead of up. The effect of the view coming so suddenly was quite electrical, and after our first exclamation of surprise we stood there silently gazing upon the beautiful scene before us; and how grand the fine old ruin appeared calmly reposing in the beautiful valley below! It was impossible to forget the picture! Why we had expected to find the abbey in the position of a city set upon a hill which could not be hid we could not imagine, for we knew that the abbeys in the olden times had to be hidden from view as far as possible as one means of protecting them from warlike marauders who had no sympathy either with the learned monks or their wonderful books. Further they required a stream of water near them for fish and other purposes, and a kaleyard or level patch of ground for the growth of vegetables, as well as a forest--using the word in the Roman sense, to mean stretches of woodland divided by open spaces--to supply them with logs and with deer for venison, for there was no doubt that, as time went on, the monks, to use a modern phrase, "did themselves well." All these conditions existed near the magnificent position on which the great abbey had been built. The river which ran alongside was named the Skell, a name probably derived from the Norse word _Keld_, signifying a spring or fountain, and hence the name Fountains, for the place was noted for its springs and wells, as-- From the streams and springs which Nature here contrives, The name of Fountains this sweet place derives. [Illustration: THE GREAT TOWER] The history of the abbey stated that it was founded by thirteen monks who, wishing to lead a holier and a stricter life than then prevailed in that monastery, seceded from the Cistercian Abbey of St. Mary's at York. With the Archbishop's sanction they retired to this desolate spot to imitate the sanctity and discipline of the Cistercians in the Abbey of Rieval. They had no house to shelter them, but in the depth of the valley there grew a great elm tree, amongst the branches of which they twisted straw, thus forming a roof beneath which they might dwell. When the winter came on, they left the shelter of the elm and came under that of seven yew-trees of extraordinary size. With the waters of the River Skell they quenched their thirst, the Archbishop occasionally sent them bread, and when spring came they built a wooden chapel. Others joined them, but their accession increased their privations, and they often had no food except leaves of trees and wild herbs. Even now these herbs and wild flowers of the monks grew here and there amongst the old ruins. Rosemary, lavender, hyssop, rue, silver and bronze lichens, pale rosy feather pink, a rare flower, yellow mullein, bee and fly orchis, and even the deadly nightshade, which was once so common at Furness Abbey. One day their provisions consisted of only two and a half loaves of bread, and a stranger passing by asked for a morsel. "Give him a loaf," said the Abbot; "the Lord will provide,"--and so they did. Marvellous to relate, says the chronicle, immediately afterwards a cart appeared bringing a present of food from Sir Eustace Fitz-John, the lord of the neighbouring castle of Knaresborough, until then an unfriendly personage to the monks. [Illustration: "Beneath whose peaceful shades great warriors rest."] Before long the monks prospered: Hugh, the Dean of York, left them his fortune, and in 1203 they began to build the abbey. Other helpers came forward, and in course of time Fountains became one of the richest monasteries in Yorkshire. The seven yew trees were long remembered as the "Seven Sisters," but only one of them now remains. Many great warriors were buried beneath the peaceful shade of Fountains Abbey, and many members of the Percy family, including Lord Henry de Percy, who, after deeds of daring and valour on many a hard-fought field as he followed the banner of King Edward I all through the wilds of Scotland, prayed that his body might find a resting-place within the walls of Fountains Abbey. Lands were given to the abbey, until there were 60,000 acres attached to it and enclosed in a ring fence. One of the monks from Fountains went to live as a hermit in a secluded spot adjoining the River Nidd, a short distance from Knaresborough, where he became known as St. Robert the Hermit. He lived in a cave hewn out of the rock on one side of the river, where the banks were precipitous and covered with trees. One day the lord of the forest was hunting, and saw smoke rising above the trees. On making inquiries, he was told it came from the cave of St. Robert. His lordship was angry, and, as he did not know who the hermit was, ordered him to be sent away and his dwelling destroyed. These orders were in process of being carried out, and the front part of the cave, which was only a small one, had in fact been broken down, when his lordship heard what a good man St. Robert the Hermit was. He ordered him to be reinstated, and his cave reformed, and he gave him some land. When the saint died, the monks of Fountains Abbey--anxious, like most of their order, to possess the remains of any saint likely to be popular among the religious-minded--came for his body, so that they might bury it in their own monastery, and would have taken it away had not a number of armed men arrived from Knaresborough Castle. So St. Robert was buried in the church at Knaresborough. [Illustration: THE BOUNDARY STONE KNARESBOROUGH FOREST.] St. Robert the Hermit was born in 1160, and died in 1218, so that he lived and died in the days of the Crusades to the Holy Land. Although his name was still kept in remembrance, his Cave and Chapel had long been deserted and overgrown with bushes and weeds, while the overhanging trees hid it completely from view. But after a lapse of hundreds of years St. Robert's Cave was destined to come into greater prominence than ever, because of the sensational discovery of the remains of the victim of Eugene Aram, which was accidentally brought to light after long years, when the crime had been almost forgotten and the murderer had vanished from the scene of his awful deed. The tragedy enacted in St. Robert's Cave has been immortalised in poetry and in story: by Lord Lytton in his story of "Eugene Aram" and by Tom Hood in "The Dream of Eugene Aram." Aram was a man of considerable attainments, for he knew Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and other languages, and was also a good mathematician as well as an antiquarian. He settled in Knaresborough in the year 1734, and among his acquaintances were one Daniel Clark and another, John Houseman, and these three were often together until suddenly Daniel Clark disappeared. No one knew what had become of him, and no intelligence could be obtained from his two companions. Aram shortly afterwards left the town, and it was noticed that Houseman never left his home after dark, so they were suspected of being connected in some way with the disappearance of Clark. It afterwards transpired that Aram had induced Clark to give a great supper, and to invite all the principal people in the town, borrowing all the silver vessels he could from them, on the pretence that he was short. The plot was to pretend that robbers had got in the house and stolen the silver. Clark fell in with this plot, and gave the supper, borrowing all the silver he could. After all was over, they were to meet at Clark's house, put the silver in a sack, and proceed to St. Robert's Cave, which at that time was in ruins, where the treasure was to be hidden until matters had quieted down, after which they would sell it and divide the money; Clark was to take a spade and a pick, while the other two carried the bag in turns. Clark began to dig the trench within the secluded and bush-covered cave which proved to be his own grave, and when he had nearly finished the trench, Aram came behind and with one of the tools gave him a tremendous blow on the head which killed him instantly, and the two men buried him there. [Illustration: ST. ROBERT'S AND EUGENE ARAM'S CAVE.] Clark's disappearance caused a great sensation, every one thinking he had run away with the borrowed silver. Years passed away, and the matter was considered as a thing of the past and forgotten, until it was again brought to recollection by some workmen, who had been digging on the opposite side of the river to St. Robert's Cave, finding a skeleton of some person buried there. As the intelligence was spread about Knaresborough, the people at once came to the conclusion that the skeleton was that of Daniel Clark, who had disappeared fourteen years before. Although Aram had left the neighbourhood soon after Clark disappeared, and no one knew where he had gone, Houseman was still in the town, and when the news of the finding of the skeleton reached him, he was drinking in one of the public-houses, and, being partly drunk, his only remark was, "It's no more Dan Clark's skeleton than it's mine." Immediately he was accused of being concerned in the disappearance of Clark, and ultimately confessed that Aram had killed Clark, and that together they had buried his dead body in St. Robert's Cave. Search was made there, and Clark's bones were found. One day a traveller came to the town who said he had seen Aram at Lynn in Norfolk, where he had a school. Officers were at once sent there to apprehend Aram, and the same night-- Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between With gyves upon his wrist. Aram was brought up for trial, and made a fine speech in defending himself; but it was of no avail, for Houseman turned "King's Evidence" against him, telling all he knew on condition that he himself was pardoned. The verdict was "Guilty," and Aram was hanged at York in the year 1759. [Illustration: ST. ROBERTS CHAPEL.] Fountains Abbey in its prime must have been one of the noblest and stateliest sanctuaries in the kingdom. The great tower was 167 feet high, and the nave about 400 feet long, while the cloisters--still almost complete, for we walked under their superb arches several times from one end to the other--were marvellous to see. One of the wells at Fountains Abbey was named Robin Hood's Well, for in the time of that famous outlaw the approach to the Abbey was defended by a very powerful and brave monk who kept quite a number of dogs, on which account he was named the Cur-tail Friar. Robin Hood and Little John were trying their skill and strength in archery on the deer in the forest when, in the words of the old ballad: Little John killed a Hart of Greece Five hundred feet him fro, and Robin was so proud of his friend that he said he would ride a hundred miles to find such another, a remark-- That caused Will Shadlocke to laugh. He laughed full heartily; There lives a curtail fryer in Fountains Abbey Will beate bothe him and thee. The curtell fryer, in Fountains Abbey, Well can a strong bow draw; He will beate you and your yeomen. Set them all in a row. [Illustration: ROBIN HOOD'S WELL, FOUNTAINS ABBEY.] So Robin, taking up his weapons and putting on his armour, went to seek the friar, and found him near the River Skell which skirted the abbey. Robin arranged with the friar that as a trial of strength they should carry each other across the river. After this had been accomplished successfully Robin asked to be carried over a second time. But the friar only carried him part way and then threw him into the deepest part of the river, or, in the words of the ballad: And coming to the middle streame There he threw Robin in; "And chuse thee, chuse thee, fine fellow, Whether thou wilt sink or swim." Robin evidently did not care to sink, so he swam to a willow bush and, gaining dry land, took one of his best arrows and shot at the friar. The arrow glanced off the monk's steel armour, and he invited Robin to shoot on, which he did, but with no greater success. Then they took their swords and "fought with might and maine": From ten o' th' clock that very day Till four i' th' afternoon. Then Robin came to his knee Of the fryer to beg a boone. "A boone, a boone, thou curtail fryer, I beg it on my knee; Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth And to blow blastes three." The friar consented contemptuously, for he had got the better of the fight; so Robin blew his "blastes three," and presently fifty of his yeomen made their appearance. It was now the friar's turn to ask a favour. "A boone, a boone," said the curtail fryer, "The like I gave to thee: Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth And to whute whues three." and as Robin readily agreed to this, he sounded his "whues three," and immediately-- Halfe a hundred good band-dogs Came running o'er the lee. "Here's for every man a dog And I myself for thee." "Nay, by my faith," said Robin Hood, "Fryer, that may not be." Two dogs at once to Robin Hood did goe. The one behinde, the other before; Robin Hood's mantle of Lincoln greene Offe from his backe they tore. And whether his men shot east or west. Or they shot north or south, The curtail dogs, so taught they were, They kept the arrows in their mouth. "Take up the dogs," said Little John; "Fryer, at my bidding be." "Whose man art thou," said the curtail fryer, "Come here to prate to me!" "I'm Little John, Robin Hood's man. Fryer, I will not lie. If thou tak'st not up thy dogs, I'll take them up for thee." Little John had a bowe in his hands. He shot with mighte and maine; Soon half a score of the fryer's dogs Lay dead upon the plaine. "Hold thy hand, good fellow," said the curtail fryer. "Thy master and I will agree, And we will have new order ta'en With all the haste may be." Then Robin Hood said to the friar: "If thou wilt forsake fair Fountains Dale And Fountains Abbey free, Every Sunday throughout the yeare A noble shall be thy fee. "And every holiday throughout the yeare Changed shall thy garment be If thou wilt go to fair Nottinghame And there remaine with me." This curtail fryer had kept Fountains Dale Seven long years and more; There was neither knight, lord or earle Could make him yield before. According to tradition, the friar accepted Robin's offer and became the famous Friar Tuck of the outlaw's company of Merrie Men whom in _Ivanhoe_ Scott describes as exchanging blows in a trial of strength with Richard Coeur de Lion. It was said that when Robin Hood died, his bow and arrows were hung up in Fountains Abbey, where they remained for centuries. We procured some refreshments near the abbey, and then walked on to Ripon, through the fine park and grounds of Studley Royal, belonging to the Marquis of Ripon, and we esteemed it a great privilege to be allowed to do so. The fine trees and gardens and the beautiful waters, with some lovely swans floating on them, their white plumage lit up with the rays of the sun, which that day shone out in all its glory, formed such a contrast to the dull and deserted moors, that we thought the people of Ripon, like ourselves, ought to be thankful that they were allowed to have access to these beautiful grounds. The town of Ripon, like many others in the north of England, had suffered much in the time of the wars, and had had an eventful history, for after being burnt by the Danes it was restored by Alfred the Great in the year 860, only to be destroyed once more by William the Conqueror in his ruthless march through the northern counties. A survival of Alfred's wise government still existed in the "Wake-man," whose duty it was to blow a horn at nine o'clock each night as a warning against thieves. If a robbery occurred during the night, the inhabitants were taxed with the amount stolen. A horn was still blown, three blasts being given at nine o'clock at the Market Cross and three immediately afterwards at the Mayor's door by the official horn-blower, during which performances the seventh bell in the cathedral was tolled. The ancient motto of the town was: EXCEPT Ye LORD KEEP Ye CITTIE Ye WAKEMAN WAKETH IN VAIN. In 1680 the silver badges that adorned the horn were stolen by thieves, but they had long since been replaced, and the horn was now quite a grand affair, the gold chain purchased for it in 1859 costing £250. The town was again burnt by Robert Bruce in 1319, when the north of England was being devastated after the disastrous Battle of Bannockburn; but it soon revived in importance, and in 1405 Henry IV and his court retired thither to escape the plague which at that time was raging in London. In the time of the Civil War Charles I was brought to Ripon by his captors, and lodged for two nights in a house where he was sumptuously entertained, and was so well pleased with the way he had been treated that his ghost was said to have visited the house after his death. The good old lady who lived there in those troubled times was the very essence of loyalty and was a great admirer of the murdered monarch. In spite of Cromwell she kept a well-furnished wine-cellar, where bottles were continually being found emptied of their contents and turned upside down. But when she examined her servants about this strange phenomenon, she was always told that whenever the ghost of King Charles appeared, the rats twisted their tails round the corks of the bottles and extracted them as cleverly as the lady's experienced butler could have done himself, and that they presented their generous contents in brimming goblets to the parched lips of His Majesty, who had been so cruelly murdered. This reply was always considered satisfactory and no further investigation was made! "Let me suffer loss," said the old lady, "rather than be thought a rebel and add to the calamities of a murdered king! King Charles is quite welcome!" [Illustration: RIPON MINSTER.] Eugene Aram, we were informed, spent some years of his life in Ripon at a house in Bond-Gate. St. Wilfrid was the patron saint of Ripon, where he was born. Legend states that at his birth a strange supernatural light shone over the house, and when he died, those who were in the death chamber claimed that they could hear the rustling of the angels' wings who had come to bear his spirit away. As we saw some figures relating to him in the cathedral we presumed that he must have been its patron saint. We found afterwards it was dedicated to St. Peter and St. Wilfrid. St. Wilfrid was an enthusiast in support of the Church control of Rome. One sympathises with the poor king, who had to decide between the claims of Rome and the Celtic Church, whether priests should have their hair cut this way or that, and if the date of Easter should be decided by the moon or by some other way. He seems to have been a simple-minded fellow, and his decision was very practical. "I am told that Christ gave Peter the keys of heaven to keep, and none can get in without his permission. Is that so?" to which Wilfrid quickly answered "Yes." "Has your saint any power like that?" he asked Oswin, who could but say "No." "Then," said the king, "I vote for the side with the greater power," and decided in favour of Wilfrid. Like other cathedrals, Ripon had suffered much in the wars, but there were many ancient things still to be seen there. Near the font was a tomb covered with a slab of grey marble, on which were carved the figures of a man and a huge lion, both standing amongst some small trees. It was supposed to have covered the body of an Irish prince who died at Ripon on his way home from the Holy War, in Palestine, and who brought back with him a lion that followed him about just like a dog. In the cathedral yard there was an epitaph to a fisherman: Here lies poor but honest Bryan Tunstall. He was a most expert angler until Death, envious of his merit, threw out his line, and landed him here 21st day of April, 1790. [Illustration: RIPON MINSTER, WEST FRONT] We left Ripon by the Boroughbridge road, and when about a mile from the town we met one of the dignitaries of the cathedral, who from his dress might have been anything from an archdeacon upwards. We asked him if he could tell us of any objects of interest on our farther way. He told us of Aldborough, with its Roman remains and the Devil's Arrows, of which we had never heard before; and he questioned us about our long tramp, the idea of which quite delighted him. We told him that we had thrown our mackintoshes away, and why we had done so, and had bought umbrellas instead; and he said, "You are now standing before a man who would give fifty pounds if he had never worn a mackintosh, for they have given me the rheumatism!" The church at Kirkby Hill had just been restored. We saw an epitaph in the churchyard similar to one which we found in a graveyard later on, farther south: Whence I came it matters not. To whom related or by whom begot; A heap of dust is all that remains of me, 'Tis all I am, and all the proud shall be. [Illustration: THE DEVIL'S ARROWS.] We soon reached the famous Boroughbridge, one of the most historical places in all England, the borough meaning Aldborough, the ISUER of the Brigantes and the ISURIUM of the Romans. Here we crossed the bridge spanning the Yorkshire River Ouse, which almost adjoined Aldborough, and were directed for lodgings to the house of a widowed lady quite near the church. It was nearly dark then, the moon, though almost at the full that night, not having yet risen. We decided to wait until after a substantial meal before visiting the Devil's Arrows a short distance away. There were only three of them left--two in a field on one side of the road, and one in a field opposite. The stones were standing upright, and were, owing to their immense size, easily found. We had inspected the two, and were just jumping over the gate to cross the narrow lane to see the other in the next field, when we startled a man who was returning, not quite sober, from the fair at Boroughbridge. As we had our sticks in our hands, he evidently thought we were robbers and meant mischief, for he begged us not to molest him, saying he had only threepence in his pocket, to which we were welcome. We were highly amused, and the man was very pleased when he found he could keep the coppers, "to pay," as he said, "for another pint." The stones, weighing about 36 tons each, were 20 to 30 feet high, and as no one knew who placed them there, their origin was ascribed to the Devil; hence their name, "the Devil's Arrows." Possibly, as supposed in other similar cases, he had shot them out of his bow from some great hill far away, and they had stuck in the earth here. There was fairly authentic evidence that twelve was the original number, and the bulk of opinion favoured an origin concerned with the worship of the sun, one of the earliest forms known. Others, however, ascribe them to the Romans, who erected boundary stones, of which several are known, on the hills farther south. We returned to our lodgings, but not to sleep, for our sleeping apartment was within a few feet of the church clock, on the side of a very low steeple. As we were obliged to keep our window open for fresh air, we could hear every vibration of the pendulum, and the sound of the ponderous bell kept us awake until after it struck the hour of twelve. Then, worn out with fatigue, we heard nothing more until we awoke early in the morning. [Illustration: ALDBOROUGH CHURCH, BOROUGHBRIDGE.] (_Distance walked twenty miles_.) _Tuesday, October 24th._ The history of Aldborough, the old _burh_ or fortified Saxon settlement, in spite of its Saxon name, could clearly be traced back to the time of the Brigantes, the ancient Britons, who inhabited the territory between the Tweed and the Humber. A Celtic city existed there long before Romulus and Remus founded the city of Rome, and it was at this city of ISUER, between the small River Tut and its larger neighbour the Yore, that their queen resided. Her name, in Gaelic, was Cathair-ys-maen-ddu ("Queen of stones black"), rather a long name even for a queen, and meaning in English the Queen of the City of the Black Stones, the remaining three, out of the original twelve, being those, now known as the Devil's Arrows, which we had seen the preceding night. [Illustration: CAER CARADOC HILL, CHURCH STRETTON.] The Romans, however, when they invaded Britain, called her Cartismunda, her city ISURIUM, and the Brigantes' country they named Brigantia. But as the Brigantes made a determined resistance, their invasion of this part of England, begun in A.D. 47, was not completed until A.D. 70. Queen Cartismunda was related to the King of Siluria, which then embraced the counties of Hereford and Monmouth, besides part of South Wales. He was one of the greatest of the British chieftains, named Caradoc by the Britons and Caractacus by the Romans. He fought for the independence of Britain, and held the armies of the most famous Roman generals at bay for a period of about nine years. But eventually, in A.D. 50, he was defeated by the Roman general Ostorius Scapula, in the hilly region near Church Stretton, in Shropshire, not far from a hill still known as Caer Caradoc, his wife and daughters being taken prisoners in the cave known as Caradoc's Cave. He himself escaped to the Isle of Mona, afterwards named Anglesey, with the object of rallying the British tribes there. It so happened that some connection existed between Queen Cartismunda and the Romans who had defeated Caradoc, and after that event Ostorius Scapula turned his army towards the north, where he soon reached the border of Brigantia. As soon as the queen, of whose morals even the Britons held no high opinion, heard of his arrival, she and her daughters hastened to meet the conqueror to make terms. If beauty had any influence in the settlement, she seems to have had everything in her favour, as, if we are to believe the description of one of the Romans, who began his letter with the words "Brigantes faemina dulce," the Brigantes ladies must have been very sweet and beautiful. A most objectional part of the bargain was that Caractacus should be delivered up to the Roman general. So the queen sent some relatives to Mona to invite him to come and see her at Isuer, and, dreaming nothing of treachery, he came; but as soon as he crossed the border into the queen's country he was seized, bound and handed over to Ostorius, who sent him to Rome, together with his already captured wife and daughters. On arrival at Rome Caractacus was imprisoned with some of his countrymen and in course of time brought before the Emperor Claudius. The brave and fearless speech he made before the Emperor on that occasion is one of the most famous recorded in history, and has been immortalised both in prose and poetry. "Now I have spoken, do thy will; Be life or death my lot. Since Britain's throne no more I fill, To me it matters not. My fame is clear; but on my fate Thy glory or thy shame must wait." He ceased: from all around upsprung A murmur of applause; For well had truth and freedom's tongue Maintained their holy cause. The conqueror was the captive then-- He bade the slave be free again. Tradition states that one of his companions in the prison in Rome was St. Paul, who converted him to the Christian faith, with two of his fellow-countrymen, Linus and Claudia, who are mentioned in St. Paul's second Epistle to Timothy (iv. 21). Descendants of Caradoc are still to be traced in England in the family of Craddock, whose shield to this day is emblazoned with the words: "Betrayed! Not conquered." We awoke quite early in the morning--a fact which we attributed to the church clock, although we could not remember hearing it strike. My brother started the theory that we might have been wakened by some supernatural being coming through the open window, from the greensward beneath, where "lay the bones of the dead." Aldborough church was dedicated to St. Andrew, and the register dated from the year 1538--practically from the time when registers came into being. It contained a curious record of a little girl, a veritable "Nobody's child," who, as a foundling, was brought to the church and baptized in 1573 as "Elizabeth Nobody, of Nobody." [Illustration: KNARESBOROUGH CASTLE.] Oliver Cromwell, about whom we were to hear so much in our further travels, was here described in the church book as "an impious Arch-Rebel," but this we afterwards found was open to doubt. He fought one of his great battles quite near Aldborough, and afterwards besieged Knaresborough Castle, about eight miles away. He lodged at an old-fashioned house in that town. In those days fireplaces in bedrooms were not very common, and even where they existed were seldom used, as the beds were warmed with flat-bottomed circular pans of copper or brass, called "warming-pans," in which were placed red-hot cinders of peat, wood, or coal. A long, round wooden handle, like a broomstick, was attached to the pan, by means of which it was passed repeatedly up and down the bed, under the bedclothes, until they became quite warm, both above and below. As this service was performed just before the people retired to rest, they found a warm bed waiting for them instead of a cold one. But of course this was in the "good old times." Afterwards, when people became more civilised (!), they got into bed between linen sheets that were icy cold, and after warming them with the heat of their bodies, if they chanced to move an inch or two during the night they were either awakened, or dreamed about icebergs or of being lost in the snow! The young daughter of the house where Oliver Cromwell lodged at Knaresborough had the task of warming Oliver's bed for him, and in after years when she had grown up she wrote a letter in which she said: "When Cromwell came to lodge at our house I was then but a young girl, and having heard so much talk about the man, I looked at him with wonder. Being ordered to take a pan of coals and 'aire' his bed, I could not forbear peeping over my shoulders to see this extraordinary man, who was seated at the far side of the room untying his garters. Having aired the bed I went out, and shutting the door after me, I peeped through the keyhole, when I saw him rise from his seat, advance to the bed, and fall on his knees, in which attitude I left him for some time. When returning I found him still at prayer---and this was his custom every night as long as he stayed at our house--I concluded he must be a good man, and this opinion I always maintained, though I heard him blamed and exceedingly abused." Aldborough was walled round in the time of the Romans, and portions of the walls were still to be seen. So many Roman relics had been found here that Aldborough had earned the title of the Yorkshire Pompeii. So interested were we in its antiquities that we felt very thankful to the clerical dignitary at Ripon for having advised us to be sure to visit this ancient borough. [Illustration: TESSELLATED ROMAN PAVEMENT UNEARTHED AT ALDBOROUGH.] We now wended our way to one of the village inns, where we had been told to ask permission from the landlord to see the Roman tessellated pavement in his back garden. We were conducted to a building, which had been roofed over to cover it. Our attendant unlocked the door, and after the sawdust which covered the floor had been carefully brushed aside, there was revealed to our gaze a beautifully executed floor, in which the colours of the small tiles were as bright as if they had been recently put there. We could scarcely realise that the work we were looking at was well-nigh two thousand years old: it looked more like the work of yesterday. It had been accidentally discovered by a man who was digging in the garden, at about two feet below the surface of the soil; it was supposed to have formed the floor of a dwelling belonging to some highly placed Roman officer. We were speculating about the depth of soil and the difference in levels between the Roman Period and the present, but we found afterwards that the preservation of this beautiful work, and of others, was due not to any natural accumulations during the intervening centuries, but to the fact that the devastating Danes had burnt the town of Aldborough, along with many others, in the year 870, and the increased depth of the soil was due to the decomposition of the burnt ruins and debris. When we noted any event or object dating from 1771, we described it as "one hundred years before our visit," but here we had an event to record that had happened one thousand years before. Neither the attendant nor the landlord would accept any remuneration for their services, and to our cordial thanks replied, "You are quite welcome." We now went to see the cottage museum, which was well filled with Roman relics of all kinds, arranged in such fashion as would have done credit to a very much larger collection. The Roman remains stored here were described as "one of the most comprehensive collections of Roman relics in England," and included ornaments and articles in glass, iron, and bronze. There was also much pottery and tiles; also coins, images, and all kinds of useful and ornamental articles of the time of the Roman Occupation in Britain. Besides self-coloured tiles, there were some that were ornamented, one representing the "Capitoli Wolf," a strange-looking, long-legged animal, with its face inclined towards the spectator, while between its fore and hind legs could be seen in the distance the figures of Romulus and Remus, the founders of the city of Rome, who, tradition states, were suckled in their infancy by a wolf. But my brother reminded me that none of these things were fit to eat, and that our breakfast would now be ready, so away we sped to our lodgings to get our breakfast and to pay our bill, and bid good-bye to our landlady, who was a worthy, willing old soul. Just across the river, about a mile away, was the site of the "White Battle," fought on October 12th, 1319--one of the strangest and most unequal battles ever fought. It occurred after the English had been defeated at Bannockburn, and when the Scots were devastating the North of England. The Scots had burnt and plundered Boroughbridge in 1318 under Sir James Douglas, commonly known, on account perhaps of his cruelty, as the "Black Douglas." Even the children were afraid when his name was mentioned, for when they were naughty they were frightened with the threat that if they were not good the Black Douglas would be coming; even the very small children were familiar with his name, for a nursery song or lullaby of that period was-- Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye, Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye, The Black Douglas shall not get ye. Just before the "White Battle" the English Queen Isabel, wife of Edward II, had taken up her abode with a small retinue in the country near York, when an effort was made by the Scots to capture her; they nearly succeeded, for she only just managed to get inside the walls of York when the Scots appeared and demanded admittance. This was refused by the aged Archbishop Melton, who had the bulwarks manned and the fortifications repaired and defended. The Scots were enraged, as York was strongly fortified, and they shouted all manner of epithets to the people behind the walls; one of them actually rode up to the Micklegate Bar and accused the queen of all manner of immoralities, challenging any man to come forth and clear her fame. The Archbishop in a stirring appeal called upon every man and youth to attack the invaders. His eloquence was irresistible, and although there were not more than fifty trained soldiers in the city, they attacked the Scots, who retreated. The Archbishop's army was utterly unskilled in the arts of war, and carried all kinds of weapons, many of them obsolete. The Bishop of Ely, Lord High Chancellor of England, rode alongside the Archbishop, and behind them rode the Lord Mayor, followed by a multitude of clergy in white surplices, with monks, canons, friars, and other ecclesiastics, all fully dressed in the uniform of their offices. But only one result was possible, for they were opposed to 16,000 of Robert Bruce's best-trained soldiers. Meantime the Scots did not know the character of the foe before whom they were retreating, but, crossing the River Swale near the point where it meets the Yore, they set fire to a number of haystacks, with the result that the smoke blew into the faces of the Archbishop and his followers, as the wind was blowing in their direction. They, however, pressed bravely forward, but the Scots attacked them both in front and rear, and in less than an hour four thousand men and youths, their white robes stained with blood, were lying dead on the field of battle, while many were drowned in the river. The sight of so many surpliced clergy struck terror into the heart of the Earl of Murray and his men, who, instead of pursuing farther the retreating army, amongst whom were the aged Archbishop and his prelates--the Lord Mayor had been killed--retired northwards. Through the long hours of that night women, children, and sweethearts gazed anxiously from the walls of York, watching and waiting for those who would never return, and for many a long year seats were vacant in the sacred buildings of York. Thus ended the "Battle of the White," so named from the great number of surpliced clergy who took part therein. The old Archbishop escaped death, and one of the aged monks wrote that-- The triumphal standard of the Archbishop also was saved by the cross-bearer, who, mounted on a swift horse, plunged across the river, and leaving his horse, hid the standard in a dense thicket, and escaped in the twilight. The pike was of silver, and on the top was fixed the gilded image of our Lord Jesus Christ. Near where it was hidden a poor man was also hiding, and he twisted some bands of hay round it, and kept it in his cottage, and then returned it to the Bishop. About this time England was like a house divided against itself, for the barons had revolted against King Edward II. A battle was again fought at Boroughbridge on June 22nd, 1322, between the rebel army led by the Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, and the King's forces who were pursuing them. They were obliged to retreat over the bridge, which at that time was built of wood; but when they reached it, they found another part of the King's army of whose presence they were unaware, so they had to fight for the possession of the bridge. During the fight a Welshman, armed with a long spear, and who was hidden somewhere beneath the bridge, contrived to thrust his spear through an opening in the timbers right into the bowels of Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford, who fell forward mortally wounded. Thus died one of the most renowned warriors in England. The Earl of Lancaster made a final effort to cross the bridge, but his troops gave way and fled, the Earl taking refuge in the old chapel of Boroughbridge, from which he was dragged, stripped of his armour, and taken to York. Thence he was conveyed to his own castle at Pontefract, and lowered into a deep dungeon, into which, we were told, when we visited that castle later, he had himself lowered others, and soon afterwards he was condemned to death by the revengeful Edward, who had not forgotten the Earl's share in the death of his favourite, Piers Gaveston. Mounted on a miserable-looking horse, amidst the gibes and insults of the populace, he was led to the block, and thus died another of England's famous warriors. [Illustration: OLIVER CROMWELL, THE GREAT PARLIAMENTARIAN.] Needless to relate, we had decided to visit York Minster as our next great object of interest after Fountains Abbey, and by accident rather than design we had in our journey to and from York to pass over two battle-fields of first importance as decisive factors in the history of England--viz., Marston Moor and Towton Field. Marston Moor lay along our direct road from Aldborough to York, a distance of about sixteen miles. Here the first decisive battle was fought between the forces of King Charles I and those of the Parliament. His victory at Marston Moor gave Cromwell great prestige and his party an improved status in all future operations in the Civil War. Nearly all the other battles whose sites we had visited had been fought for reasons such as the crushing of a rebellion of ambitious and discontented nobles, or perhaps to repel a provoked invasion, and often for a mere change of rulers. Men had fought and shed their blood for persons from whom they could receive no benefit, and for objects in which they had no interest, and the country had been convulsed and torn to pieces for the gratification of the privileged few. But in the Battle of Marston Moor a great principle was involved which depended en the issue. It was here that King and People contended--the one for unlimited and absolute power, and the other for justice and liberty. The iron grasp and liberty-crushing rule of the Tudors was succeeded by the disgraceful and degrading reign of the Stuarts. The Divine Right of Kings was preached everywhere, while in Charles I's corrupt and servile Court the worst crimes on earth were practised. Charles had inherited from his father his presumptuous notions of prerogative and Divine Right, and was bent upon being an absolute and uncontrolled sovereign. He had married Henrietta, the daughter of the King of France, who, though possessed of great wit and beauty, was of a haughty spirit, and influenced Charles to favour the Roman Catholic Church as against the Puritans, then very numerous in Britain, who "through the Bishop's courts were fined, whipt, pilloried, and imprisoned, so that death was almost better than life." [Illustration: JOHN HAMPDEN.] A crisis had to come, and either one man must yield or a whole nation must submit to slavery. The tax named "Ship Money," originally levied in the eleventh century to provide ships for the Navy, was reintroduced by Charles in 1634 in a very burdensome form, and the crisis came which resulted in the Civil War, when Hampden, who resided in the neighbourhood of the Chiltern Hills, one of the five members of Parliament impeached by Charles, refused to pay the tax on the ground that it was illegal, not having been sanctioned by Parliament. He lost his case, but the nation was aroused and determined to vindicate its power. Hampden was killed in a small preliminary engagement in the early stages of the war. The King was supported by the bulk of the nobility, proud of their ancient lineage and equipments of martial pomp, and by their tenants and friends; while the strength of the Parliamentary Army lay in the town population and the middle classes and independent yeomanry: prerogative and despotic power on the one hand, and liberty and privilege on the other. The Royal Standard was raised at Nottingham and the din of arms rang through the kingdom. The fortress of Hull had been twice besieged and bravely defended, and the drawn Battle of Edgehill had been fought. In the early part of 1644 both parties began the war in earnest. A Scottish army had been raised, but its advance had been hindered by the Marquis of Newcastle, the King's commander in the north. In order to direct the attention of Newcastle elsewhere, Lord Fernando Fairfax and Sir Thomas his son, who had been commissioned by Parliament to raise forces, attacked Bellasis, the King's Yorkshire Commander, and Governor of York, who was at Selby with 2,000 men, and defeated them with great loss, capturing Bellasis himself, many of his men, and all his ordnance. Newcastle, dismayed by the news, hastened to York and entered the city, leaving the Scots free to join Fairfax at Netherby, their united forces numbering 16,000 foot and 4,000 horse. These partially blockaded York, but Newcastle had a strong force and was an experienced commander, and with a bridge across the River Ouse, and a strong body of horse, he could operate on both sides of the stream; so Crawford, Lindsey, and Fairfax sent messengers to the Earl of Manchester, who was in Lincolnshire, inviting him to join them. He brought with him 6,000 foot and 3,000 horse, of the last of which Oliver Cromwell was lieutenant-general. Even then they could not invest the city completely; but Newcastle was beginning to lose men and horses, and a scarcity of provisions prevailed, so he wrote to the King that he must surrender unless the city could be relieved. Charles then wrote to Prince Rupert, and said that to lose York would be equivalent to losing his crown, and ordered him to go to the relief of York forthwith. [Illustration: PRINCE RUPERT.] Rupert, the son of Frederick V, Elector of Bavaria, and a nephew of Charles I, was one of the most dashing cavalry officers in Europe. He lost no time in carrying out his commission, and in a few days Newcastle received a letter saying that he was stabling his horses that same night at Knaresborough, and that he would be at York the following day, Rupert's own horse being stabled that same night in the church at Boroughbridge. The news was received with great rejoicings by the besieged garrison and the people in York, but spread dismay amongst the besiegers, who thought York was about to capitulate. To stay in their present position was to court disaster, so they raised the siege and encamped on Hessey Moor, about six miles away, in a position which commanded the road along which Rupert was expected to travel. But by exercise of great military skill he crossed the river at an unexpected point and entered York on the opposite side. The Prince, as may be imagined, was received with great rejoicings; bells were rung, bonfires lighted, and guns fired, and the citizens went wild with triumphant excitement. Difficulties arose, however, between Newcastle, who was a thoughtful and experienced commander, and Rupert, who, having relieved the city, wanted to fight the enemy at once. As he scornfully refused advice, Newcastle retired, and went with the army as a volunteer only, Meantime there were dissensions among the Parliamentary generals, who were divided in their opinions--the English wishing to fight, and the Scots wishing to retreat. They were all on their way to Tadcaster, in search of a stronger position, when suddenly the vanguard of Rupert reached the rearguard of the other army at the village of Long Marston. This division of the retreating army included their best soldiers, and was commanded by Leslie and two other brave men, Sir Thomas Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell. Their rearguard halted, and, seeing the plain covered with pursuers, they sent word to the generals who had gone on in front, asking them to return and take possession of the dry land of the Moor, which was higher than that occupied by the Royalist army. Oliver Cromwell had already risen in the opinion of the army by his conduct in Lincolnshire, and he was dreaded by the Royalists, for he had already shown his ability to command. Stalwart and clumsy in frame, he had an iron constitution, and was a bold and good rider and a perfect master of the broadsword then in use. He had also a deep knowledge of human nature, and selected his troopers almost entirely from the sons of respectable farmers and yeomen, filled with physical daring and religious convictions, while his own religious enthusiasm, and his superiority in all military virtues, gave him unbounded power as a leader: What heroes from the woodland sprung When through the fresh awakened land The thrilling cry of freedom rung. And to the work of warfare strung The Yeoman's iron hand. The generals who had gone on in front now returned with their men to the assistance of their rearguard, and the whole army was brought into position on the high ground in the middle of the day, July 2nd, 1644. The position was a good one, sloping down gradually towards the enemy. The Royalist army numbered about 23,500 men, and that of the Parliament slightly more. It must have been a wonderful sight to see these 50,000 of the best and bravest men the kingdom could produce, ready to wound and kill each other. The war-cry of the Royalists was "God and the King," and that of the others was "God with us"--both sides believing they were fighting for the cause of religion. There were curses on one side and prayers on the other, each captain of the Parliament prayed at the head of his company and each soldier carried a Bible bearing the title "The Souldier's Pocket Bible, issued for use in the Commonwealth Army in 1643." It only consisted of fifteen pages of special passages that referred particularly to the soldier's life and temptations. Cromwell stood on the highest point of the field--the exact position, locally know as "Cromwell's Gap," was pointed out to us--but at the time of the great battle it was covered with a clump of trees, of which now only a few remained. The battle, once begun, raged with the greatest fury; but Cromwell and his "Ironsides" (a name given to them because of their iron resolution) were irresistible, and swept through the enemy like an avalanche; nothing could withstand them--and the weight of their onset bore down all before it. Their spirit could not be subdued or wearied, for verily they believed they were fighting the battles of the Lord, and that death was only a passport to a crown of glory. Newcastle's "White Coats," a regiment of thoroughly trained soldiers from the borders of Cheshire and Wales, who would not retreat, were almost annihilated, and Prince Rupert himself only escaped through the superior speed of his horse, and retired into Lancashire with the remains of his army, while Newcastle and about eighty others fled to Scarborough, and sailed to Antwerp, leaving Sir Thomas Glemham, the Governor of York, to defend that city. But as most of his artillery had been lost at Marston Moor, and the victors continued the siege, he was soon obliged to surrender. He made a very favourable agreement with the generals of the Parliamentarian forces, by the terms of which, consisting of thirteen clauses, they undertook to protect the property and persons of all in the city, not plunder or deface any churches or other buildings, and to give a safe conduct to officers and men--who were to march out with what were practically the honours of war--as far as Skipton. The agreement having been signed by both parties on July 16th, 1644, Sir Thomas Glemham, with his officers and men, marched out of the city of York with their arms, and "with drums beating, colours flying, match lighted, bullet in mouth, bag and baggage," made for Skipton, where they arrived safely. The Battle of Marston Moor was a shock to the Royalist cause from which it never recovered. [Illustration: YORK MINSTER.] From Marston Moor we continued along the valley of the River Ouse until we arrived at the city of York, which Cromwell entered a fortnight after the battle; but we did not meet with any resistance as we passed through one of its ancient gateways, or "bars." We were very much impressed with the immense size and grandeur of the great Minster, with its three towers rising over two hundred feet in height. We were too late to see the whole of the interior of this splendid old building, but gazed with a feeling of wonder and awe on one of the largest stained-glass windows in the world, about seventy feet high, and probably also the oldest, as it dated back about five hundred years. The different scenes depicted in the beautiful colours of the ancient glass panels represented every important Biblical event from the Creation downwards. We were surprised to find the window so perfect, as the stained-glass windows we had seen elsewhere had been badly damaged. But the verger explained that when the Minster was surrendered to the army of the Commonwealth in the Civil War, it was on condition that the interior should not be damaged nor any of the stained glass broken. We could not explore the city further that afternoon, as the weather again became very bad, so we retreated to our inn, and as our sorely-tried shoes required soling and heeling, we arranged with the "boots" of the inn to induce a shoemaker friend of his in the city to work at them during the night and return them thoroughly repaired to the hotel by six o'clock the following morning. During the interval we wrote our letters and read some history, but our room was soon invaded by customers of the inn, who were brought in one by one to see the strange characters who had walked all the way from John o' Groat's and were on their way to the Land's End, so much so that we began to wonder if it would end in our being exhibited in some show in the ancient market-place, which we had already seen and greatly admired, approached as it was then by so many narrow streets and avenues lined with overhanging houses of great antiquity. We were, however, very pleased with the interest shown both in ourselves and the object of our walk, and one elderly gentleman seemed inclined to claim some sort of relationship with us, on the strength of his having a daughter who was a schoolmistress at Rainford village, in Lancashire. He was quite a jovial old man, and typical of "a real old English gentleman, one of the olden time." He told us he was a Wesleyan local preacher, but had developed a weakness for "a pipe of tobacco and a good glass of ale." He said that when Dick Turpin rode from London to York, his famous horse, "Black Bess," fell down dead when within sight of the towers of the Minster, but the exact spot he had not been able to ascertain, as the towers could be seen from so long a distance. York, he said, was an older city than London, the See of York being even older than that of Canterbury, and a Lord Mayor existed at York long before there was one in London. He described the grand old Minster as one of the "Wonders of the World." He was very intelligent, and we enjoyed his company immensely. [Illustration: YORK MINSTER.] [Illustration: MICKLEGATE BAR, YORK.] [Illustration: STONE GATE, YORK.] York was the "Caer Ebranc" of the Brigantes, where Septimus Severus, the Roman Emperor, died in A.D. 211, and another Emperor, Constantius, in 306. The latter's son, who was born at York, was there proclaimed Emperor on the death of his father, to become better known afterwards as Constantine the Great. In A.D. 521 King Arthur was said to have spent Christmas at York in company with his courtiers and the famous Knights of the Round Table; but Geoffrey of Monmouth, who recorded this, was said to have a lively imagination in the way of dates and perhaps of persons as well. It is, however, certain that William the Conqueror built a castle there in 1068, and Robert de Clifford a large tower. (_Distance walked sixteen miles_.) _Wednesday, October 25th._ The boots awoke us early in the morning, only to say that he had sent a messenger unsuccessfully into the town for our shoes; all the consolation he got was that as soon as they were finished, his friend the shoemaker would send them down to the hotel. It was quite an hour after the time specified when they arrived, but still early enough to admit of our walking before breakfast round the city walls, which we found did not encircle the town as completely as those of our county town of Chester. Where practicable we explored them, and saw many ancient buildings, including Clifford's Tower and the beautiful ruins of St. Mary's Abbey. We also paid a second visit to the ancient market-place, with its quaint and picturesque surroundings, before returning to our inn, where we did ample justice to the good breakfast awaiting our arrival. [Illustration: MONK BAR, YORK.] We left the City of York by the same arched gateway through which we had entered on the previous day, and, after walking for about a mile on the Roman road leading to Tadcaster, the CALCARIA of the Romans and our next stage, we arrived at the racecourse, which now appeared on our left. Here we entered into conversation with one of the officials, who happened to be standing there, and he pointed out the place where in former years culprits were hanged. From what he told us we gathered that the people of York had a quick and simple way of disposing of their criminals, for when a man was sentenced to be hanged, he was taken to the prison, and after a short interval was placed in a cart, to which a horse was attached, and taken straightway to the gallows. Here a rope was suspended, with a noose, or running knot, at the end, which was placed round the culprit's neck, and after other preliminaries the hangman saw to it that the man's hands were securely handcuffed and the noose carefully adjusted. At a given signal from him the cart was drawn from under the man's feet, leaving him swinging and struggling for breath in the air, where he remained till life was extinct. The judge when passing the death-sentence always forewarned the prisoner what would happen to him, and that he would be taken from there to the prison, and thence to the place of execution, "where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead." Why he repeated the last word over and over again we could not explain. It was spoken very solemnly, and after the first time he used it there was a pause, and after the second, a longer pause, and then came the third in an almost sepulchral tone of voice, while a death-like silence pervaded the court, each word sounding like an echo of the one before it: dead!--dead!!--dead!!! Perhaps, like the Trinity, it gave a sense of completion. [Illustration: ST. MARY'S ABBEY, YORK.] The executions in those days were public, and many people attended them as they would a fair or the races; and when held outside the towns, as at York, a riotous mob had it in its power either to lynch or rescue the prisoner. But hangings were afterwards arranged to take place on a scaffold outside the prison wall, to which the prisoner could walk from the inside of the prison. The only one we ever went to see was outside the county gaol, but the character of the crowd of sightseers convinced us we were in the wrong company, and we went away without seeing the culprit hanged! There must have been a great crowd of people on the York racecourse when Eugene Aram was hanged, for the groans and yells of execration filled his ears from the time he left the prison until he reached the gallows and the cart was drawn from under him, adding to the agony of the moment and the remorse he had felt ever since the foul crime for which he suffered. As we stood there we thought what an awful thing it must be to be hanged on the gallows.[Footnote: In later years we were quite horrified to receive a letter from a gentleman in Yorkshire who lived in the neighbouring of Knaresborough in which he wrote: "I always feel convinced in my own mind that Eugene Aram was innocent. Note these beautiful lines he wrote the night before his execution: "Come, pleasing rest! eternal slumber fall, Seal mine, that once must seal the eyes of all; Calm and composed, my soul her journey takes, No _guilt_ that _troubles_, and no _heart_ that _aches_! Adieu, thou sun! all bright like her arise; Adieu, fair friends! and all that's good and wise. "I could give you," he added, "the most recent thoughts and opinions about the tragedy, and they prove beyond doubt his innocence!"] But, like other dismal thoughts, we got rid of it as soon as possible by thinking how thankful we should be that, instead of being hanged, we were walking through the level country towards Tadcaster, a Roman station in the time of Agricola. From some cause or other we were not in our usual good spirits that day, which we accounted for by the depression arising from the dull autumnal weather and the awful histories of the wars he had been reading the previous night. But we afterwards attributed it to a presentiment of evil, for we were very unfortunate during the remainder of the week. Perhaps it is as well so; the human race would suffer much in anticipation, did not the Almighty hide futurity from His creatures. [Illustration: OLD GOTHIC CHURCH, TADCASTER.] Just before reaching Tadcaster we crossed the River Wharfe, which we had seen higher up the country, much nearer its source. Here we turned to the left to visit Pontefract, for the sole reason, for aught we knew, that we had heard that liquorice was manufactured there, an article that we had often swallowed in our early youth, without concerning ourselves where or how that mysterious product was made. It was quite a change to find ourselves walking through a level country and on a level road, and presently we crossed the River Cock, a small tributary of the Wharfe, close by the finely wooded park of Grimstone, where Grim the Viking, or Sea Pirate, settled in distant ages, and gave his name to the place; he was also known as "the man with the helmet." We then came to the small hamlet of Towton, where on the lonely heath was fought the Battle of Towton Field, one of the most bloody battles recorded in English history. This great and decisive battle was fought in the Wars of the Roses, between the rival Houses of York and Lancaster, for the possession of the English Crown--a rivalry which began in the reign of Henry VI and terminated with the death of Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field. It has been computed that during the thirty years these wars lasted, 100,000 of the gentry and common people, 200 nobles, and 12 princes of the Royal Blood were killed, all this carnage taking place under the emblems of love and purity, for the emblem or badge of the House of Lancaster was the red rose, and that of York the white. The rivalry between the two Houses only came to an end when Henry VII, the Lancastrian, married the Princess Elizabeth, the daughter of Edward IV, the Yorkist. The Battle of Towton, like many others both before and since, was fought on a Sunday, which happened to be Palm Sunday in the year 1461, and the historian relates that on that day the "heavens were overcast, and a strong March wind brought with it a blinding snowstorm, right against the faces of the Lancastrians as they advanced to meet the Yorkists, who quickly took advantage of the storm to send many furious showers of arrows from their strong bows right into the faces of the Lancastrians, causing fearful havoc amongst them at the very outset of the battle. These arrows came as it were from an unknown foe, and when the Lancastrians shot their arrows away, they could not see that they were falling short of the enemy, who kept advancing and retreating, and who actually shot at the Lancastrians with their own arrows, which had fallen harmlessly on the ground in front of the Yorkists. When the Lancastrians had nearly emptied their quivers, their leaders hurried their men forward to fight the enemy, and, discarding their bows, they continued the battle with sword, pike, battle-axe, and bill. Thus for nearly the whole of that Sabbath day the battle raged, the huge struggling mass of humanity fighting like demons, and many times during that fatal day did the fortune of war waver in the balance: sometimes the White Rose trembling and then the Red, while men fought each other as if they were contending for the Gate of Paradise! For ten hours, with uncertain result, the conflict raged, which Shakespeare compared to "the tide of a mighty sea contending with a strong opposing wind," but the arrival of 5,000 fresh men on the side of the Yorkists turned the scale against the Lancastrians, who began to retreat, slowly at first, but afterwards in a disorderly flight. The Lancastrians had never anticipated a retreat, and had not provided for it, for they felt as sure of victory as the great Duke of Wellington at Waterloo, who, when he was asked by a military expert what provision he had made for retreat in the event of losing the battle, simply answered, "None!" The Lancastrians were obliged to cross the small River Cock in their retreat, and it seemed almost impossible to us that a small stream like that could have been the cause of the loss of thousands upon thousands of the finest and bravest soldiers in England. But so it happened. There was only one small bridge over the stream, which was swollen and ran swiftly in flood. This bridge was soon broken down with the rush of men and horses trying to cross it, and although an active man to-day could easily jump over the stream, it was a death-trap for men weighted with heavy armour and wearied with exertion, the land for a considerable distance on each side the river being very boggy. As those in front sank in the bog, those from behind walked over them, and as row after row disappeared, their bodies formed the road for others to walk over. The carnage was terrible, for King Edward had ordered that no quarter must be given and no prisoners taken. It was estimated that 28,000 of the Lancastrians were slaughtered in this battle and in the pursuit which followed, and that 37,776 men in all were killed on that dreadful day. In some parts of Yorkshire the wild roses were very beautiful, ranging in colour from pure white to the deepest red, almost every shade being represented; the variation in colour was attributed to the difference in the soil or strata in which they grew. But over this battle-field and the enormous pits in which the dead were buried there grew after the battle a dwarf variety of wild rose which it was said would not grow elsewhere, and which the country people thought emblematical of the warriors who had fallen there, as the white petals were slightly tinged with red, while the older leaves of the bushes were of a dull bloody hue; but pilgrims carried many of the plants away before our time, and the cultivation of the heath had destroyed most of the remainder. In the great Battle of Towton Field many noblemen had perished, but they appeared to have been buried with the rank and file in the big pits dug out for the burial of the dead, as only a very few could be traced in the local churchyards. The Earl of Westmorland, however, had been buried in Saxton church and Lord Dacres in Saxton churchyard, where his remains rested under a great stone slab, 7 feet long, 4-1/2 feet wide, and 7 inches thick, the Latin inscription on which, in old English characters, was rapidly fading away: HIC JACET RANULPHUS D.S. DE DAKREET--MILES ET OCCISUS ERAT IN BELLO PRINCIPE HENRICO VIe ANNO DOM 1461.--29 DIE MARTII VIDELICET DOMICA DIE PALMARUM--CUJUS ANIME PROPITIETUR DEUS.--AMEN. The local poet, in giving an account of the battle, has written:-- The Lord Dacres Was slain at Nor acres, for his lordship had been killed in a field known as the North Acres. He had removed his gorget, a piece of armour which protected the throat, for the purpose, it was supposed, of getting a drink to quench his thirst, when he was struck in the throat by a bolt, or headless arrow, shot from a cross-bow by a boy who was hiding in a bur-tree or elder bush. The boy-archer must have been a good shot to hit a warrior clothed from head to foot in armour in the only vulnerable point exposed, but in those days boys were trained to shoot with bows and arrows from the early age of six years, their weapons, being increased in size and strength as they grew older; their education was not considered complete until they could use that terrible weapon known as the English long-bow, and hit the smallest object with their arrows. Lord Dacres was buried in an upright position, and his horse was buried with him; for many years the horse's jaw-bone and teeth were preserved at the vicarage, One of his lordship's ancestors, who died fighting on Flodden Field, had been buried in a fine tomb in Lanercrost Abbey. Lord Clifford was another brave but cruel warrior who was killed in a similar way. He had removed his helmet from some unexplained cause--possibly to relieve the pressure on his head--when a random arrow pierced his throat; but his death was to many a cause of rejoicing, for owing to his cruel deeds at the Battle of Wakenfield, he had earned the sobriquet of "the Butcher." While that battle was raging, the Duke of York's son, the Earl of Rutland, a youth only seventeen years of age, described as "a fair gentleman and maiden-like person," was brought by his tutor, a priest, from the battle-field to shelter in the town. Here he was perceived by Clifford, who asked who he was. The boy, too much afraid to speak, fell on his knees imploring for mercy, "both by holding up his hands and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone from fear." "Save him," said the tutor, "for he is a prince's son and, peradventure, might do you good hereafter." With that word Clifford marked him, and said, "By God's blood thy father slew mine, and so will I thee, and all thy kin," and, saying this, he struck the Earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade the tutor bear word to his mother and brothers what he had said and done. Not content with this, when he came to the body of the Duke, the child's father, he caused the head to be cut off and a paper crown to be placed on it; then, fixing it on a pole, he presented it to the Queen, saying, "Madame, your war is done--here is your King's ransom." The head was placed over the gates of York by the side of that of the Earl of Salisbury, whom Queen Margaret had ordered to be beheaded. For some little time we had been walking through what was known as the "Kingdom of Elmet," but whether this was associated with the helmet of Grim we were unable to ascertain, though we shrewdly suspected it was an old Celtic word. We arrived at the village of Sherburn-in-Elmet, an important place in ancient times, where once stood the palace of Athelstan, the grandson of Alfred the Great, the first ruler of all England, who was crowned King of England in the year 925. In celebration of his great victory over the combined army of the Danes and Scots at Brunnanburgh, King Athelstan presented his palace here, along with other portions of the Kingdom of Elmet, to the See of York, and it remained the Archbishop of York's Palace for over three hundred years. But when the See of York was removed to Cawick, a more convenient centre, the Sherburn Palace was pulled down, and at the time of our visit only the site and a portion of the moat remained. We were much interested in the church, as the historian related that "within the walls now existing the voices of the last Saxon archbishop and the first Norman archbishop have sounded, and in the old church of Sherburn has been witnessed the consummation of the highest ambition of chivalric enterprise, and all the pomp attending the great victory of Athelstan at Brunnanburgh." Here in the time of Edward II, in 1321, "a secret conclave was held, attended by the Archbishop, the Bishops of Durham and Carlisle, and Abbots from far and near, the Earls of Lancaster and Hereford, and many Barons, Baronets, and Knights. To this assembly Sir John de Bek, a belted Knight, read out the Articles which Lancaster and his adherents intended to insist upon." But what interested us most in the church was the "Janus Cross" The Romans dedicated the month of January to Janus, who was always pictured with two faces, as January could look back to the past year and forwards towards the present. The Janus Cross here had a curious history; it had been found in the ruins of an ancient chapel in the churchyard dedicated to the "Honour of St. Mary and the Holy Angels." One of the two churchwardens thought it would do to adorn the walls of his residence, but another parishioner thought it would do to adorn his own, and the dispute was settled by some local Solomon, who suggested that they should cut it in two and each take one half. So it was sawn vertically in two parts, one half being awarded to each. In course of time the parts were again united and restored to the church. [Illustration: ST. JANUS CROSS, SHERBURN-IN-ELMERT CHURCH.] Arriving at Ferry Bridge, we crossed the River Aire, which we had seen at its source, but which here claimed to have become one of the most useful rivers in Yorkshire, for its waters were valuable for navigation and for the manufacturing towns near which they passed. My foot, which had pained me ever since leaving York, so that I had been limping for some time, now became so painful that I could scarcely walk at all. Still, we were obliged to reach Pontefract in order to procure lodgings for the night, so my brother relieved me of all my luggage excepting the stick, in order that I might hobble along to that town. It was with great difficulty that I climbed up the hill to the inn, which was in the upper part of the town, and there I was painfully relieved by the removal of my boot, and found that my ankle was seriously swollen and inflamed. It might, of course, have arisen through over-exertion, but we came to the conclusion that it was caused through the repair of my boots at York. Before arriving there the heels were badly worn down at one side, and as I had been practically walking on the sides of my feet, the sudden reversion to the flat or natural position had brought on the disaster that very nearly prevented us from continuing our walk. We applied all the remedies that both our hostess and ourselves could think of, but our slumbers that night were much disturbed, and not nearly so continuous as usual. (_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.) _Thursday, October 26th._ [Illustration: THE OLD CHURCH, PONTEFRACT.] The great object of interest at Pontefract was the castle, the ruins of which were very extensive. Standing on the only hill we encountered in our walk of the previous day, it was formerly one of the largest and strongest castles in England, and had been associated with many stirring historical events. It was here that King Richard II was murdered in the year 1399, and the remains of the dismal chamber where this tragedy took place still existed. During the Wars of the Roses, when in 1461 Queen Margaret appeared in the north of Yorkshire with an army of 60,000 men, the newly appointed King, Edward IV, sent the first portion of his army to meet her in charge of his most influential supporter, the Earl of Warwick, the "King Maker." The King followed him to Pontefract with the remainder of his army, and the old castle must have witnessed a wonderful sight when that army, to the number of 40,660 men, was marshalled in the plains below. But it was in the Civil War that this castle attained its greatest recorded notoriety, for it was besieged three times by the forces of the Parliament. Sir Thomas Fairfax was in charge of the first siege, and took possession of the town in 1644, driving the garrison into the castle. He had a narrow escape from death on that occasion, as a cannon-ball passed between him and Colonel Forbes so close that the wind caused by its passage knocked both of them down to the ground, Forbes losing the sight of one of his eyes. The castle was strongly defended, but just as one of the towers collapsed, a shot from the castle struck a match, and the spark, falling into Fairfax's powder stores, caused a tremendous explosion which killed twenty-seven of his men. In January 1645 Forbes sent a drum to the castle to beat a parley, but the Governor, Colonel Lowther, and his brave garrison said they would go on with the defence to the last extremity. The besiegers then began to lay mines, but these were met by counter-mines driven by the garrison, who now began to suffer from want of food. At this critical moment a Royalist force of 2,000 horse arrived under Sir Marmaduke Langdale, who had made a forced march from Oxford to relieve the garrison. He drove off the besiegers, first to Ferry Bridge, and afterwards to Sherburn and Tadcaster, inflicting severe loss, and so the garrison was revictualled. The Parliamentary forces, however, soon made their appearance again, and on March 21st, 1645, the second siege began. They again took possession of the town, and after four months of incessant cannonading the garrison capitulated and the castle was garrisoned by the other side. The war continued in other parts of the country, and towards the end of it a conspiracy was formed by the Royalists to recover possession of the castle, which through the treachery of a Colonel Maurice was successful. Many of the garrison at that time lived outside the walls of the castle, and Maurice persuaded the Governor, Cotterel, to order them to move their homes inside, to which he assented, issuing an order in the country for beds to be provided on a certain day. Taking advantage of this, Maurice and another conspirator dressed themselves as country gentlemen, with swords by their sides, and with nine others, disguised as constables, made their appearance at the castle entrance early in the morning, so as to appear like a convoy guarding the safe passage of the goods. The Governor, who kept the keys, was still in bed, and the soldier on guard at the inside of the gates, who was in league with Maurice, went to inform him the beds had arrived. He handed over the keys, and, not suspecting treachery, remained in bed with his sword at his side as usual. The remainder of the conspirators then drew their swords, and the garrison, on condition that their lives should be spared, surrendered, and were put into one of the prison dungeons. The conspirators then went to the room of the Governor, who, hearing a noise, jumped out of bed and defended himself, but was soon wounded, disarmed, and placed in the dungeon along with the rest, while the Royalists took possession of the castle. This happened in June 1648. The dungeons in the castle, which were still to be seen, were of the most awful description, for, sunk deep down into the solid rock, it was scarcely necessary to write over them-- Abandon Hope, all ye who enter here. There was one dungeon under the Round Tower, which was reached by passing down some winding steps, into which no ray of light ever entered, as dark and dismal a place as could be imagined. Here Earl Rivers and his fellow peers were incarcerated, praying for their execution to end their misery. There was also a cellar for the storage of food and drink, sunk some forty or fifty feet in the solid rock, and capable of holding two or three hundred men, and this too was used as a dungeon by the Royalists. Here the prisoners taken by the Royalist army were confined, and many of their names appeared cut in the walls of solid rock. The history of these places, if it could be written, would form a chapter of horrors of the most dreadful character, as in olden times prisoners were often forgotten by their captors, and left in the dungeons to perish. It was not without a tinge of satisfaction that we heard that the Earl of Lancaster, to whom the castle belonged, was himself placed in one of these dungeons after the Battle of Boroughbridge in 1322, and after being imprisoned there a short time, where he had so often imprisoned others, was led out to execution. The third siege of Pontefract Castle happened in the autumn of 1648, for after the Parliamentarians had gained the upper hand, the castles that still held out against them were besieged and taken, but the turn of Pontefract Castle came last of all. Oliver Cromwell himself undertook to superintend the operations, and General Lambert, one of the ablest of Cromwell's generals, born at Kirkby Malham, a Yorkshire village through which we had passed some days before, was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the forces. He arrived before the castle on December 4th, 1648, but such was the strength of the position that though he had a large number of soldiers and a great service of artillery, it was not until March 25th, 1649, when scarcely one hundred men were left to defend the walls, that the garrison capitulated. Meantime the tremendous effect of the artillery brought to bear against them had shattered the walls, and finally Parliament ordered the castle to be dismantled. With the surrender of this castle the Civil War came to an end, but not before King Charles I had been beheaded. [Illustration: THE GATE AND KEEP, PONTEFRACT CASTLE.] Last year, before we began our walk from London to Lancashire, we visited Whitehall and saw the window in the Banqueting-hall through which, on January 30th, 1649, about two months before Pontefract Castle surrendered, he passed on his way to the scaffold outside. In its prime Pontefract Castle was an immense and magnificent fortification, and from its ruins we had a fine view on all sides of the country it had dominated for about six hundred years. We were now journeying towards the more populous parts of the country, and the greater the mileage of our walk, the greater became the interest taken both in us and our adventures. Several persons interviewed us in our hotel at Pontefract, and much sympathy was extended towards myself, as my foot was still very painful in spite of the remedies which had been applied to it; but we decided not to give in, my brother kindly consenting to carry all the luggage, for we were very anxious not to jeopardise our twenty-five miles' daily average beyond recovery. My boot was eased and thoroughly oiled; if liquorice could have done it any good, we could have applied it in addition to the other remedies, as we had bought some both for our own use and for our friends to eat when we reached home. All we had learned about it was that it was made from the root of a plant containing a sweet juice, and that the Greek name of it was _glykyr-rhiza_, from _glykys_, sweet, and _rhiza_, root. After making a note of this formidable word, I did not expect my brother to eat any more liquorice; but his special aversion was not Greek, but Latin, as he said both his mind and body had been associated with that language through the medium of the cane of his schoolmaster, who believed in the famous couplet: 'Tis Education forms the common mind. And with the cane we drive it in behind! He was always suspicious of the Latin words attached to plants, and especially when quoted by gardeners, which I attributed to jealousy of their superior knowledge of that language; but it appeared that it was founded on incidents that occurred many years ago. He was acquainted with two young gardeners who were learning their business by working under the head gardener at a hall in Cheshire, the owner of which was proud of his greenhouses and hothouses as well as of the grounds outside. As a matter of course everything appeared up to date, and his establishment became one of the show-places in the neighbourhood. The gardener, an elderly man, was quite a character. He was an Irishman and an Orangeman as well, and had naturally what was known in those parts as "the gift of the gab." The squire's wife was also proud of her plants, and amongst the visitors to the gardens were many ladies, who often asked the gardener the name of a plant that was strange to them. As no doubt he considered it _infra dig._ to say he did not know, and being an Irishman, he was never at a loss when asked, "What do you call this plant?" he would reply, "Oh, that, mum, is the Hibertia Canadensus, mum!" and a further inquiry would be answered in a similar manner--"That, mum, is the Catanansus Rulia, mum!" and again the lady would thank him and walk on apparently quite pleased and happy, probably forgetting the name of the plant before she had gone through the gardens. The young men were often at work in the houses while the visitors were going through, and of course they were too deeply engaged in their work either to see the visitors or to hear all the conversation that was going on, but they told my brother that they could always tell when the gardener did not know the real name of a plant by his invariably using these two names on such occasions, regardless of the family or species of the plant in question. Pomfret was the local abbreviation of Pontefract, the name of the town, and "Pomfret Liquorice" claimed not only to be a sweetmeat, but a throat remedy as well, and was considered beneficial to the consumer. The sample we purchased was the only sweet we had on our journey, for in those days men and women did not eat sweets so much as in later times, they being considered the special delicacies of the children. The sight of a man or woman eating a sweet would have caused roars of ridicule. Nor were there any shops devoted solely to the sale of sweets in the country; they were sold by grocers to the children, though in nothing like the variety and quantity that appeared in later years. The most common sweet in those days was known as "treacle toffy," which was sold in long sticks wrapped from end to end in white paper, to protect the children's fingers when eating it, in spite of which it was no unusual sight to see both hands and faces covered with treacle marks, and thus arose the name of "treacle chops," as applied to boys whose cheeks were smeared with treacle. There was also toffy that was sold by weight, of which Everton toffee was the chief favourite. My brother could remember a little visitor, a cousin of ours, who could not speak very plainly, and who always called a cup a "tup," being sent to the village shop for a pound of coffee, and his delight when he returned laden with a pound of toffy, which was of course well-nigh devoured before the mistake was found out! By this day we were ready for anything except walking as we crawled out of the town to find our way to Doncaster, and our speed, as might be imagined, was not excessive; for, including stoppages, which were necessarily numerous, we only averaged one mile per hour! There was a great bazaar being held in Pontefract that day, to be opened by Lord Houghton, and we met several carriages on their way to it. After we had walked some distance, we were told--for we stopped to talk to nearly every one we met--that we were now passing through Barnsdale Forest. We could not see many trees, even though this was formerly the abode of Robin Hood and Little John, as well as Will Scarlett. It was in this forest that Robin, hearing of the approach of the Bishop of Hereford, ordered his men to kill a good fat deer, and to make a repast of it by the side of the highway on which the Bishop was travelling. Robin dressed himself and six of his men in the garb of shepherds, and they took their stand by the fire at which the venison was being roasted. When the Bishop came up, with his retinue, he asked the men why they had killed the King's deer, and said he should let the King know about it, and would take them with him to see the King. "Oh pardon, oh pardon," said bold Robin Hood, "Oh pardon, I thee pray. For it becomes not your Lordship's coat To take so many lives away." "No pardon, no pardon," said the Bishop, "No pardon I thee owe; Therefore make haste and come along with me, For before the King ye shall go." Then Robin pulled his bugle horn from beneath his coat and blew a long blast, and threescore and ten of his followers quickly appeared-- All making obeysance to Robin Hood, 'Twas a comely sight to see; "What is the matter, master?" said Little John, "That you blow so heartily?" Robin replied that the Bishop of Hereford refused all pardon for slaying the deer, and had said they must at once accompany him to the King. Little John then suggested that they should cut off the Bishop's head and throw him in a grave; but the Bishop craved pardon of the outlaw for his interference, and declared that had he known who was on the road, "he would have gone some other way." "No pardon, no pardon," said bold Robin Hood, "No pardon I thee owe; Therefore make haste and come along with me, For to merry Barnsdale you shall go." So thither they led the Bishop, and made him sup with them right merrily and royally. "Call in a reckoning," said the Bishop, "For methinks it grows wondrous high;" "Lend me your purse, master," said Little John, "And I'll tell you by and bye!" Little John took the Bishop's cloak And spread it upon the ground. And out of the Bishop's portmanteau He told three hundred pound. "Here's money enough, master," said Little John, "And a comely sight to see; It makes me in charity with the Bishop, Though he heartily loveth not me." Robin took the Bishop by the hand, And he caused the music to play; And he made the Bishop to dance in his boots. And glad he could get away! [Illustration: DONCASTER RACECOURSE. "We had walked for five days over the broad acres of Yorkshire and had seen many fine horses, for horse-breeding was a leading feature of that big county, and horses a frequent subject of conversation."] We heard all sorts of stories from the roadmen, some of which might not be true; but in any case about seven miles from Doncaster we reached Robin Hood's Well, at the side of the road. It was quite a substantial structure, built of soft limestone, and arched over, with a seat inside--on which doubtless many a weary wayfarer had rested before us. The interior was nearly covered with inscriptions, one dated 1720 and some farther back than that. We had a drink of water from the well, but afterwards, when sitting on the seat, saw at the bottom of the well a great black toad, which we had not noticed when drinking the water. The sight of it gave us a slight attack of the horrors, for we had a particular dread of toads. We saw at the side of the road a large house which was formerly an inn rejoicing in the sign of "Robin Hood and Little John," one of the oldest inns between York and London. We called at a cottage for tea, and here we heard for the first time of the Yorkshireman's coat-of-arms, which the lady of the house told us every Yorkshireman was entitled to place on his carriage free of tax! It consisted of a flea, and a fly, a flitch of bacon, and a magpie, which we thought was a curious combination. The meaning, however, was forthcoming, and we give the following interpretation as given to us: A flea will bite! and so will a Yorkshireman; A fly will drink out of anybody's cup! and so will a Yorkshireman; A magpie will chatter! and so will a Yorkshireman: And a flitch of bacon looks best when it's hung! and so does a Yorkshireman. We fancied a Lancashire man must have written that ditty. [Illustration: ROBIN HOOD'S WELL.] The moon was shining brightly as we left the cottage, and a man we met, when he saw me limping so badly, stopped us to inquire what was the matter. He was returning from Doncaster, and cheered us up by pointing to the moon, saying we should have the "parish lantern" to light us on our way. This appeared to remind him of his parish church, where a harvest thanksgiving had just been held, with a collection on behalf of the hospital and infirmary. He and seven of his fellow servants had given a shilling each, but, although there were "a lot of gentry" at the service, the total amount of the collection was only one pound odd. The minister had told them he could scarcely for shame carry it in, as it was miserably small for an opulent parish like that! We arrived at Doncaster at 8.30 p.m., and stayed at the temperance hotel in West Laith Street. The landlord seemed rather reluctant about letting us in, but he told us afterwards he thought we were "racing characters," which greatly amused us since we had never attended a race-meeting in our lives! (_Distance walked fourteen miles_.) _Friday, October 27th._ Our host at Doncaster took a great interest in us, and, in spite of my sprained ankle, we had a good laugh at breakfast-time at his mistaking us for "racing characters." My brother related to him his experiences on the only two occasions he ever rode on the back of a horse unassisted. The first of these was when, as quite a young boy, he went to visit his uncle who resided near Preston in Lancashire, and who thought it a favourable opportunity to teach him to ride. He was therefore placed on the back of a quiet horse, a groom riding behind him on another horse, with orders not to go beyond a walking pace; but when they came near the barracks, and were riding on the grass at the side of the road, a detachment of soldiers came marching out through the entrance, headed by their military band, which struck up a quickstep just before meeting the horses. My brother's horse suddenly reared up on its hind legs, and threw him off its back on to the grass below, or, as he explained it, while the horse reared up he reared down! He was more frightened than hurt, but the groom could not persuade him to ride on the horse's back any farther, so he had to lead the horses home again, a distance of two miles, while my brother walked on the footpath. It was years before he attempted to ride on horseback again, but this time he was mounted upon an old horse white with age, and very quiet, which preferred walking to running; this second attempt also ended disastrously. It was a very hot day, and he had ridden some miles into the country when he came to a large pit, on the opposite side of the road to a farmhouse, when, without any warning, and almost before my brother realised what was happening, the horse walked straight into this pit, and, in bending its head to drink at the water, snatched the bridle out of his hands. He had narrowly escaped drowning on several occasions, and was terrified at the thought of falling into the water, so, clutching hold of the horse's mane with both hands, he yelled out with all his might for help--which only served to make the horse move into a deeper part of the pit, as if to have a bathe as well as a drink. His cries attracted the attention of some Irish labourers who were at work in a field, and they ran to his assistance. One of them plunged into the water, which reached half way up his body, and, taking hold of my brother, carried him to the road and then returned for the horse. He was rewarded handsomely for his services, for my brother verily believed he had saved him from being drowned. He was much more afraid of the water than of the horse, which was, perhaps, the reason why he had never learned to swim, but he never attempted to ride on horseback again. On the wall in front of the farmhouse an old-fashioned sundial was extended, on the face of which were the words: Time that is past will never return, and on the opposite corner were the Latin words _Tempus fugit_ (Time flies). My brother seemed to have been greatly impressed by these proverbs, and thought of them as he led the white horse on his three-mile walk towards home; they seemed engraven upon his memory, for he often quoted them on our journey. [Illustration: THE GUILDHALL, DONCASTER.] My ankle seemed to be a shade easier, and, after the usual remedies had again been applied, we started on another miserable walk, or limp, for we only walked twelve miles in twelve hours, following the advice of our host to take it easy, and give the ankle time to recover. We rested many times on the road, stopped to talk to many people, got to know all about the country we were passing through, read papers and books, called for refreshments oftener than we needed them, wrote letters to our friends, and made copious entries in our diaries---in fact did everything except walk. The country was very populous, and we attracted almost universal sympathy: myself for my misfortune, and my brother for having to carry all the luggage. Doncaster takes its name from the River Don, on which it is situated, and it was the only town in England, after London and York, that possessed a "Mansion House." We had walked for five days over the broad acres of Yorkshire and had seen many fine horses, for horse-breeding, we found, was a leading feature in that big county, and horses a frequent subject of conversation. Doncaster was no exception to the rule, as the Doncaster Races were famous all over England, and perhaps in other countries beyond the seas. We were too late in the year for the great St. Leger race, which was held in the month of September, and was always patronised by Royalty. On that occasion almost every mansion in the county was filled with visitors "invited down" for the races, and there was no doubt that agricultural Yorkshire owed much of its prosperity to the breeding of its fine horses. The racecourse was situated on a moor a little way out of the town, the property of the Corporation, and it was said that the profit made by the races was so great that the Doncaster people paid no rates. This might of course be an exaggeration, but there could be no doubt that the profit made by the Corporation out of the moor on which the races were held would largely reduce the rates of the town. Doncaster races owed their origin to a famous Arab horse named Rasel-Fedawi (or the "Headstrong"), which was purchased from the Anazeh tribe of Arabs by a Mr. Darley, an Englishman who at that time resided at Aleppo, a Turkish trading centre in Northern Syria. This gentleman sent the horse to his brother at Aldby Park in Yorkshire, and what are now known as "thoroughbreds" have descended from him. His immediate descendants have been credited with some wonderful performances, and the "Flying Childers," a chestnut horse with a white nose and four white legs, bred from a mare born in 1715, named "Betty Leedes," and owned by Leonard Childers of Doncaster, was never beaten. All sorts of tales were told of his wonderful performances: he was said to have covered 25 feet at each bound, and to have run the round course at Newmarket, 3 miles 6 furlongs, in six minutes and forty seconds. After him came another famous horse named "Eclipse" which could, it was said, run a mile a minute. When he died in 1789 his heart was found to weigh 14 pounds, which accounted for his wonderful speed and courage. Admiral Rous records that in the year 1700 the English racehorse was fifteen hands high, but after the Darley Arabian, the average height rose to over sixteen hands. It was said that there were races at Doncaster in the seventeenth century, but the great St. Leger was founded by General St. Leger in 1778, and the grand stand was built in the following year. The Yorkshire gentlemen and farmers were naturally all sportsmen, and were credited with keeping "both good stables and good tables." The invitation to "have a bite and a sup" was proverbial, especially in the wold or moorland districts, where hospitality was said to be unbounded. A learned man wrote on one occasion that "an honest walk is better than a skilled physician. It stimulates heart, brain, and muscles alike, sweeping cobwebs from the mind and heaviness from the heart." But this was probably not intended to apply to a man with a sore foot, and it was difficult to understand why the ankle failure had come so suddenly. We could only attribute it to some defect in the mending of the boot at York, but then came the mystery why the other ankle had not been similarly affected. The day was beautifully fine, but the surroundings became more smoky as we were passing through a mining and manufacturing district, and it was very provoking that we could not walk through it quickly. However, we had to make the best of it, imagining we were treading where the saints had trod, or at any rate the Romans, for this was one of their roads to the city of York upon which their legions must have marched; but while we crossed the rivers over bridges, the Romans crossed them by paved fords laid in the bed of the streams, traces of which were still to be seen. We made a long stay at Comsborough, and saw the scanty remains of the castle, to which Oliver Cromwell had paid special attention, as, in the words of the historian, "he blew the top off," which had never been replaced. And yet it had a very long history, for at the beginning of the fourth century it was the Burgh of Conan, Earl of Kent, who with Maximian made an expedition to Armorica (now Brittany), where he was eventually made king, which caused him to forsake his old Burgh in England. Maximian was a nephew of King Coel, or Cole, the hero of the nursery rhyme, of which there are many versions: Old King Cole was a jolly old soul, And a jolly old soul was he; He called for his ale, and he called for his beer, And he called for his fiddle-diddle-dee. [Illustration: CONISBOROUGH CASTLE.] But he seemed to have been a jolly old sinner as well, for he formed the brilliant idea of supplying his soldiers with British wives, and arranged with his father-in-law, the Duke of Cornwall, to send him several shiploads from the "old country," for British women were famous for their beauty. His request was complied with, but a great storm came on, and some of the ships foundered, while others were blown out of their course, as far as Germany, where the women landed amongst savages, and many of them committed suicide rather than pass into slavery. Who has not heard of St. Ursula and her thousand British virgins, whose bones were said to be enshrined at Cologne Cathedral, until a prying medico reported that many of them were only dogs' bones--for which heresy he was expelled the city as a dangerous malignant. Troublesome times afterwards arose in England, and on the Yorkshire side, Briton and Saxon, and Pict and Scot, were mixed up in endless fights and struggles for existence. It was about this period that Vortigern, the British King, invited Hengist and Horsa, the Saxon Princes, to lend their assistance against the Picts and the Scots, which they did for a time; and when Hengist asked for a residence in his country, the King gave him Conan's Burgh, which was then vacant. Conan was never again seen in England, but in 489 his great-grandson Aurelius Ambrosius became King of the Britons. In the meantime the Saxons had so increased in numbers that they determined to fight for the possession of the country, and, headed by Hengist, who had turned traitor, fought a great battle, in the course of which Eldol, Duke of Gloucester, encountered Hengist in single combat, and, seizing him by the helmet, dragged him into the British ranks shouting that God had given his side the victory. The Saxons were dismayed, and fled in all directions, and Hengist was imprisoned in his own fortress of Conisborough, where a council of war was held to decide what should be his fate. Some were against his being executed, but Eldol's brother Eldad, Bishop of Gloucester, "a man of great wisdom and piety," compared him to King Agag, whom the prophet "hewed to pieces," and so Hengist was led through the postern gate of the castle to a neighbouring hill, and beheaded. Here Aurelius commanded him to be buried and a heap of earth to be raised over him, because "he was so good a knight." A lady generally appeared in these old histories as the cause of the mischief, and it was said that one reason why King Vortigern was so friendly with Hengist was that Hengist had a very pretty daughter named Rowena, whom the King greatly admired: a road in Conisborough still bears her name. Aurelius then went to Wales, but found that Vortigern had shut himself up in a castle into which Aurelius was unable to force an entrance, so he burnt the castle and the King together; and in a wild place on the rocky coast of Carnarvonshire, Vortigern's Valley can still be seen. Sir Walter Scott, who was an adept in selecting old ruins for the materials of his novels, has immortalised Conisborough in his novel of _Ivanhoe_ as the residence, about the year 1198, of the noble Athelstane or Athelstone, who frightened his servants out of their wits by demanding his supper when he was supposed to be dead. Yorkshire feasts were famous, and corresponded to the "wakes" in Lancashire and Cheshire. There was a record of a feast at Conisborough on the "Morrow of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross," September 15th, 1320, in the "14th year of King Edward, son of King Edward," which was carried out by Sir Ralph de Beeston, one of our Cheshire knights, and Sir Simon de Baldiston (Stewards of the Earl of Lancaster), to which the following verse applied: They ate as though for many a day They had not ate before. And eke as though they all should fear That they should eat no more. And when the decks were fairly cleared And not a remnant nigh, They drank as if their mighty thirst Would drain the ocean dry. A curious old legend was attached to the town well in Wellgate, which formerly supplied most of the inhabitants of Conisborough with water; for once upon a time, when the town was suffering from a great drought, and the people feared a water famine, they consulted an old man known by the name of St. Francis, who was very wise and very holy. He told the people to follow him singing psalms and hymns to the Willow Vale, on the Low Road. There he cut a wand from a willow tree, and stuck it into the ground, and forthwith a copious supply of water appeared which had flowed steadily ever since. The wand had been so firmly and deeply stuck into the ground by St. Francis that it took root and grew into a large tree. In 1863 there was a great flood in Sheffield, which did a lot of damage, and amongst the debris that floated down the river was noticed a cradle containing a little baby. It was rescued with some difficulty, and was still alive when we passed through the town, being then eight years old. [Illustration: ROCHE ABBEY.] After leaving Conisborough we lost sight of the River Don, which runs through Mexborough; but we came in touch with it again where it was joined by the River Rother, at Rotherham. Here we crossed over it by the bridge, in the centre of which stood the decayed Chapel of our Lady. On our way we had passed to our right Sprotborough, where in 664 King Wulfhere when out hunting came to a cave at the side of the river where a hermit named St. Ceadde or St. Chad dwelt, the country at that time being "among sheep and distant mountains which looked more like lurking-places for robbers and dens of wild beasts than dwellings of men." There were many objects of interest on each side of our road, including, a few miles to the left, Roche Abbey, the seat of the Earl of Scarborough, and to the right Wentworth House, one of the largest private houses in England, and the seat of Earl Fitzwilliam, the owner of the far-famed Wharncliffe Crags, which are skirted by the waters of the River Don. It was in Wharncliffe Forest that Friar Tuck, the jolly chaplain of Robin Hood, had his abode; and below the crags, in the bed of the River Don, there was a rock that appeared to be worn by the friction of some cylindrical body coiled about it. This was supposed to be the famous Dragon of Wantley, an old name for Wharncliffe. It was here that the monster was attacked and slain by Guy, the famous Earl of Warwick. Near the top of the crag, which was formerly a hunting-seat, stood a lodge where an inscription on a stone in the floor of the back kitchen stated that "Geoffrey de Wortley, Knight of the body to the Kings Richard III, Henry VII, and Henry VIII, built this Lodge for his pleasure, so that he might hear the red deer bray." In the lodge too was a most ponderous boot said to have been worn by Oliver Cromwell at the Battle of Marston Moor. We stayed at Rotherham for the night. (_Distance walked twelve miles_.) _Saturday, October 28th._ The inn where we stayed the night had not been very satisfactory, as, although the cooking was good, the upper apartments were below the average. We took to the road again as early as possible, especially as a decided improvement showed itself in the condition of my swollen foot, and we were able to make a little better progress. For some days we had been walking through a comparatively level country, but from the appearance of the hills to our right as well as before us, we anticipated a stiff climb. It was not until we approached Sheffield that the tug of war began, and, strange to say, I found it easier to walk uphill than on a level surface. Meantime we continued through a level and busy country, and were in no danger of losing our way, for there were many people to inquire of in case of necessity. At one time it had been a wild and lonely place, known as Attercliffe Common, and we were told that Dick Turpin had been gibbeted there. We had often heard of Turpin, and knew that he was hanged, but did not remember where, so we were anxious to see the exact spot where that famous "knight of the road" ended his existence. We made inquiries from quite a number of people, but could get no satisfactory information, until we met with an elderly gentleman, who informed us that it was not Dick Turpin who was gibbeted there, but a "gentleman" in the same profession, whose name was Spence Broughton, the only trace of him now being a lane that bore his name. As far as he knew, Dick Turpin had never been nearer Sheffield than Maltby, a village five miles away, and that was on his ride from London to York. He was hanged at Tyburn. The hills we could see were those of the Pennine range, with which we must have formed acquaintance unconsciously when farther north, as although the high hills in the Lake District, through which we had passed, were not included in the range, some of the others must have been, since the Pennines were bounded on one side by Cumberland, Westmorland, and Lancashire, and on the other by Northumberland, Durham, and Yorkshire, attaining an elevation of 3,000 feet in the north and 2,000 feet in the south. The Pennines here were described to us as the "backbone of England," for they were looked upon as being in the centre, equidistant from the east and west coasts, and hereabouts thirty miles in breadth. The district verging upon Sheffield was well known to the Romans as producing the best iron in the world, the ore or iron-stones being obtained in their time by digging up the earth, which was left in great heaps after the iron-stones had been thrown out; many of these excavations were still to be seen. In manufacturing the iron they took advantage of the great forests around them to provide the fuel for smelting the ore, for it was a great convenience to have the two elements so near at hand, as it saved carriage from one to the other. Forests still existed thereabouts in the time of Robin Hood, and were well known to him and his band of "merrie men," while his jovial chaplain, Friar Tuck, had his hermitage amongst their deep recesses. Many woods round Sheffield still remained in the time of Mary Queen of Scots, who passed some portion of her imprisonment at the old Manor House, which was then a castellated mansion. Visitors were now conducted up a narrow flight of stairs to a flat roof covered with lead, from which that unfortunate Queen had looked out over the hills and forests, and breathed the pure air as it passed over them. But now all appeared to be fire and smoke, and the great works which belched them forth seemed a strange and marvellous sight to us after walking so long through such lonely districts. [Illustration: THE SMOKE OF SHEFFIELD. "The district verging upon Sheffield was well known to the Romans as producing the best iron in the world."] Sheffield has a world-wide reputation for its cutlery and for its other productions in brass, iron, and steel, for the manufacture of which pure water of a particular variety was essential. The town was well provided in that respect, for no less than five rivers flowed towards Sheffield from the Pennine range above. From the finest steel all sorts of things were made, ranging from the smallest needle or steel pen up to the largest-sized gun or armour-plate. It would no doubt have interested us greatly to look through one of the works, but such as we passed were labelled "No admittance except on business," which we interpreted to mean that no strangers were allowed to enter, lest they might carry away with them the secrets of the business, so we walked slowly onward in the hope of reaching, before nightfall, our next great object of interest, "The Great Cavern and Castle of Peveril of the Peak." Passing along the Ecclesall Road, we saw, in nicely wooded enclosures, many of the houses of manufacturers and merchants, who, like ourselves in after life, left their men to sleep in the smoke while they themselves went to breathe the purer air above, for Ecclesall was at a fair elevation above the town. But one gentleman whom we saw assured us that, in spite of the heavy clouds of smoke we had seen, the town was very healthy, and there was more sunshine at Sheffield than in any other town in England. Shortly afterwards we came to a finger-post where a road turned off towards Norton and Beauchief Abbey. Norton was the village where the sculptor Chantrey, of whom, and his works, we had heard so much, was born, and the monument to his memory in the old church there was an attraction to visitors. Chantrey was a man of whom it might safely be said "his works do follow," for my brother, who always explored the wild corners of the country when he had the opportunity, was once travelling in Wales, and told a gentleman he met that he intended to stay the night at the inn at the Devil's Bridge. This was not the Devil's Bridge we had crossed so recently at Kirkby Lonsdale, but a much more picturesque one, which to visit at that time involved a walk of about thirteen miles in the mountainous region behind Aberystwyth. "Have you ever seen that fine monument by Chantrey there?" asked the gentleman. "No," said my brother in astonishment, knowing the wild nature of the country thereabouts. "Well," he said, "mind you go and see it! Here is my card, and when you have seen it, write me whether you have seen a finer monument in all your life." My brother found the monument in a small church about three miles from the hotel in the hills above. He was very much astonished and deeply impressed by the sculpture, acknowledging in his promised letter that it was by far the finest he had seen. The origin of it was as follows: The owner of the estate had an only child, a daughter, lovely, clever, and accomplished, but slightly deformed in her back. When she was twenty-one years old she was taken by her parents to London to have her back straightened, but never recovered from the operation. The statuary represented the daughter lying on a couch, her father standing at the head looking down into the eyes of his dying daughter, while her mother is kneeling at the foot in an attitude of prayer. The daughter's instruments of music and painting, with her books, appear under the couch, while every small detail, from the embroidery on the couch to the creases in the pillow, are beautifully sculptured. This great work of art cost £6,000, and was exhibited in London for some time before it was placed in the small church of Hafod. It was said to have made Chantrey's fortune. [Illustration: THE CHANTREY MONUMENT IN HAFOD CHURCH.] Beauchief Abbey, we were informed, was built by the murderers of Thomas a Becket in expiation of their sin, but only a few fragments of the buildings now remained. We halted for rest and refreshments at the "Fox House Inn," which stood at a junction of roads and was formerly the hunting-box of the Duke of Rutland. We had by this time left the county of York and penetrated about four miles into Derbyshire, a county we may safely describe as being peculiar to itself, for limestone abounded in the greater part of its area. Even the roads were made with it, and the glare of their white surfaces under a brilliant sun, together with the accumulation of a white dust which rose with the wind, or the dangerous slippery mud which formed on them after rain or snow or frost, were all alike disagreeable to wayfarers. But in later times, if the worthy writer who ventured into that county on one occasion, had placed his fashionable length on the limy road when in a more favourable condition than that of wet limy mud, he might have written Derbyshire up instead of writing it down, and describing it as the county beginning with a "Big D." [Illustration: THE PLAGUE COTTAGES, EYAM.] The colour of the green fields which lined the roads contrasted finely in the distance with the white surface of the roads, both fields and roads alike were neatly fenced in with stone walls. We wondered many times where all these stones could have come from, and at the immense amount of labour involved in getting them there and placing them in position. Their purpose in breaking the force of the wind was clear, for the greater part of the county consisted of moors, some portions of which were being cultivated, and although they were almost entirely devoid of trees, there were plenty of trees to be seen in the valleys, the Dales of Derbyshire being noted for their beauty. The River Derwent ran along the valley opposite the inn, and on the other side was the village of Eyam, which became famous in the time of the Great Plague of London in 1665. It seemed almost impossible that a remote village like that could be affected by a plague in London, but it so happened that a parcel arrived by coach from London addressed to a tailor in Eyam, who opened it with the result that he contracted the disease and died; in the same month five others died also, making a total of six for September, which was followed by 23 deaths in October, 7 in November, and 9 in December. Then came a hard frost, and it was thought that the germs would all be killed, but it broke out again in the following June with 19 deaths, July 56, August 77, September 24, and October 14, and then the plague died out--possibly because there were very few people left. During all this time Eyam had been isolated from the rest of the world, for if a villager tried to get away he was at once driven back, and for any one to go there was almost certain death. The Earl of Devonshire, who nobly remained at Chatsworth all the time, sent provisions periodically to a certain point where no one was allowed to pass either inwards or outwards. At this time even the coins of the realm were considered to be infectious, and large stones hollowed out like basins, which probably contained some disinfectant, were placed between Eyam and the villages which traded with them. Meantime the rector of Eyam, whose name was Mompesson, stood his ground like a true hero, ministering to his parishioners; and, although his wife contracted the disease and died, and though he referred to himself as "a dying man," yet was he mercifully preserved; so too was the Rev. Thomas Stanley, who had been ejected from the rectory after eighteen years' service because he would not subscribe to the Corporation Act of 1661. He stood by Mompesson and did his duty quite as nobly; and some years afterwards, when some small-minded people appealed to the Duke of Devonshire as Lord Lieutenant of the county to have Stanley removed, he indignantly refused and rebuked the petitioners very strongly. William and Mary Howitt wrote a long poem entitled "The Desolation of Hyam," and described the village as-- Among the verdant mountains of the Peak There lies a quiet hamlet, where the slope Of pleasant uplands wards the north winds bleak: Below, wild dells romantic pathways ope: Around, above it, spreads a shadowy cope Of forest trees: flower, foliage and clear rill Wave from the cliffs, or down ravines elope: It seems a place charmed from the power of ill By sainted words of old:--so lovely, lone and still. William Wood wrote the _Plague Chronicle_, and on his gravestone was inscribed: Men like visions are; Time all doth claim; He lives who dies and leaves A lasting name. We had often read the wonderful epitaphs on the tombs of the nobility, but we had been warned that in former times these were often written by professional men who were well paid for their services, and the greater the number of heavenly virtues attributed to the deceased, the greater of course the fee; but those written by the poetical curate of Eyam were beyond suspicion if we may judge from the couplet he wrote to be placed on the gravestone of a parishioner: Since life is short and death is always nigh, On many years to come do not rely. We were now passing through Little John's country, and we heard more about him in this neighbourhood than of his master, Robin Hood, for Little John's Well was not far away, and Hathersage, our next stage, was where he was buried. We were very much interested in Robin Hood and Little John, as my name was Robert, and my brother's name was John. He always said that Little John was his greatest ancestor, for in the old story-books his name appeared as John Nailer. But whether we could claim much credit or no from the relationship was doubtful, as the stanza in the old ballad ran: Robin Hood did little good And Little John did less. In later times the name had been altered to Naylor, in order, we supposed, to hide its humble though honourable origin; for there was no doubt that it was a Nailer who fastened the boards on Noah's Ark, and legend stated that when he came to nail the door on, he nailed it from the inside! The stanza, he explained, might have been written by the Bishop of Hereford or one of Robin Hood's other clients, whom he and Little John had relieved of his belongings; but the name Naylor was a common one in South Yorkshire, and, although our branch of the family were natives of South Lancashire, their characteristics showed they were of the same stock, since, like Little John, they were credited with having good appetites and with being able to eat and retain any kind of food and in almost any quantity. On one occasion we happened to meet with a gentleman named Taylor, and, after remarking there was only one letter different between his name and ours, my brother said, "But we are much the older family," and then named the Noah's Ark incident; when the gentleman quietly remarked, "I can beat you." "Surely not," said my brother. "Yes, I can," replied Mr. Taylor, "for my ancestor made the tails for Adam's coat! He was a Tailer." My brother collapsed! But the greatest blow he received in that direction was when he found a much more modern story of "Robin Hood and Little John," which gave Little John's real name as John Little, saying that his name was changed to Little John because he was such a big man. My brother was greatly annoyed at this until he discovered that this version was a comparatively modern innovation, dating from the time of Sir Walter Scott's _Talisman_, published in 1825, and inserted there because the proper name would not have suited Sir Walter's rhyme: "This infant was called 'John Little,' quoth he; "Which name shall be changed anon. The words we'll transpose, so wherever he goes His name shall be called Little John." On our way from the "Fox House Inn" to Hathersage we passed some strange-looking rocks which were said to resemble the mouth of a huge toad; but as we had not studied the anatomy of that strange creature, and had no desire to do so, a casual glance as we walked along a down gradient into Hathersage was sufficient. As we entered the village we saw a party of men descending a road on our right, from whom we inquired the way to Little John's grave, which they told us they had just been to visit themselves. They directed us to go up the road that they had just come down, and one of them advised us to call at the small inn which we should find at the top of the hill, while another man shouted after us, "Aye! and ther's a mon theere 'ats getten 'is gun!" We found the inn, but did not ask to see the gun, being more interested at the time in bows and arrows, so we called at the inn and ordered tea. It was only a cottage inn, but the back of it served as a portion of the churchyard wall, and the mistress told us that when Little John lay on his deathbed in the room above our heads, he asked for his bow and arrow, and, shooting through the window which we would see from the churchyard at the back of the inn, desired his men to bury him on the spot where they found his arrow. [Illustration: THE TOAD'S MOUTH.] We went to see the grave while our tea was being prepared, and found it only a few yards from the inn, so presumably Little John was very weak when he shot the arrow. The grave stood between two yew trees, with a stone at the head and another at the foot, the distance between them being ten feet. The church was a very old one, dating from the early part of the fourteenth century. It was said that a search for Little John's skeleton had been made in 1784, when only a thigh-bone had been found; but as this measured twenty-nine and a half inches, a very big man must have been buried there. On our right across the moor rose sharply what seemed to be a high, continuous cliff, which we were told was the "edge" of one of the thick, hard beds of millstone grit, and as we proceeded the edge seemed to be gradually closing in upon us. After tea we walked slowly on to Castleton, where we selected a clean and respectable-looking private house to stay and rest over the week-end, until Monday morning. (_Distance walked twenty-two miles_.) _Sunday, October 29th._ We were very comfortable in our apartments at Castleton, our host and hostess and their worthy son paying us every possible attention. They were members of the Wesleyan Church, and we arranged with the young man that if he would go with us to the Parish Church in the morning, we would go to the Wesleyan Chapel in the evening with him. So in the morning we all went to church, where we had a good old-fashioned service, and saw a monument to the memory of a former vicar, a Mr. Bagshawe, who was Vicar of Castleton from 1723 to 1769; the epitaph on it described him as-- A man whose chief delight was in the service of his Master--a sound scholar--a tender and affectionate husband--a kind and indulgent parent--and a lover of peace and quietness, who is gone to that place where he now enjoys the due reward of his labours. This Vicar had kept a diary, or journal, from which it appeared that he began life in a good position, but lost his money in the "South Sea Bubble," an idea floated in the year 1710 as a financial speculation to clear off the National Debt, the Company contracting to redeem the whole debt in twenty-six years on condition that they were granted a monopoly of the South Sea Trade. This sounded all right, and a rush was made for the shares, which soon ran up in value from £100 to £1,000, fabulous profits being made. Sir Robert Walpole, who was then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and afterwards Prime Minister for the long period of twenty-two years, was strongly opposed to the South Sea Scheme, and when, ten years later, he exposed it, the bubble burst and the whole thing collapsed, thousands of people, including the worthy Vicar of Castleton, being ruined. [Illustration: CASTLETON CHURCH.] It also appeared from the diary that, like the vicar Goldsmith describes, he was "passing rich on forty pounds a year," for he never received more than £40 per year for his services. The prices he paid for goods for himself and his household in the year 1748 formed very interesting reading, as it enabled us to compare the past with the present. Bohea Tea was 8s. per pound; chickens, threepence each; tobacco, one penny per ounce; a shoulder of mutton cost him fifteen-pence, while the forequarter of a lamb was eighteen-pence, which was also the price of a "Cod's Head from Sheffield." He also recorded matters concerning his family. He had a son named Harry whom he apprenticed to a tradesman in Leeds. On one occasion it appeared that the Vicar's wife made up a parcel "of four tongues and four pots of potted beef" as a present for Hal's master. One of the most pleasing entries in the diary was that which showed that Harry had not forgotten his mother, for one day a parcel arrived at the Vicarage from Leeds which was found to contain "a blue China cotton gown," a present from Hal to his mother. Who fed me from her gentle breast. And hush'd me in her arms to rest, And on my cheeks sweet kisses prest? My Mother. Who sat and watched my infant head When sleeping on my cradle bed. And tears of sweet affection shed? My Mother. Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well? My Mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray. And love God's holy Book and day. And walk in Wisdom's pleasant way? My Mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee, Who wast so very kind to me? My Mother. Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear, And if God please my life to spare, I hope I shall reward thy care. My Mother. When thou art feeble, old, and grey. My healthy arm shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother. After dinner we decided to visit the Castle of _Peveril of the Peak_, and as the afternoon was very fine we were able to do so, under the guidance of our friend. We were obliged to proceed slowly owing to my partially disabled foot, and it took us a long time to reach the castle, the road being very narrow and steep towards the top--in fact, it was so difficult of approach that a handful of men could have defeated hundreds of the enemy. We managed to reach the ruins, and there we reposed on the grass to view the wild scenery around us and the curious split in the limestone rocks through which led the path known as the "Winnats," a shortened form of Wind Gates, owing to the force of the wind at this spot. The castle was not a large one, and there were higher elevations quite near; but deep chasms intervened, and somewhere beneath us was the largest cave in England. While we were resting our friend related the history of the castle, which had been built by William Peverell in 1068, and rebuilt by Henry II in 1176-7 after he had received here the submission of Malcolm, King of Scotland. Peverell was a natural son of William the Conqueror, who had distinguished himself at the Battle of Hastings, for which William had bestowed upon him many manors in Derbyshire. What was known as the Peak of Derbyshire we found was not one single rock, as we supposed, but a huge tableland with rising heights here and there. Our friend, whose name was William, told us a legend connected with the Peverell family. Pain Peverell, the Lord of Whittington, in Shropshire, had two daughters, the elder of whom was very beautiful, and had so many admirers that she could not decide which of them to accept. So she consulted her father on the matter, who advised her to accept only the "Bravest of the Brave," or the one who could prove himself to excel all others in martial skill. Her father therefore proclaimed a tournament, which was to take place, in the words of an ancient writer, at "Peverell's Place in the Peke," inviting all young men of noble birth to compete for the hand of the beautiful "Mellet," whose dowry was to be Whittington Castle. The contest, as might be supposed, was a severe one, and was won by a knight bearing a maiden shield of silver with a peacock for his crest, who vanquished, amongst others, a Knight of Burgundy and a Prince of Scotland. He proved to be Fitzwarren, and the Castle of Whittington passed to him together with his young bride. [Illustration: CASTLETON ROCKS.] Our friend was surprised when we told him we knew that castle and the neighbourhood very well, and also a cottage there where Dick Whittington was born, who afterwards became Sir Richard de Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. We again discussed the question of the desirability of returning home, as we were now much nearer than when at Furness Abbey, where we had nearly succumbed to home-sickness before; but my brother said he should continue the journey alone if I gave in, and as he kindly consented again to carry all the luggage, I agreed to complete the journey with him. [Illustration: THE WINNATS, CASTLETON.] I walked down the hill supported by my brother on one side and our friend on the other, and returned to the latter's home for tea, after which our host showed us some remarkable spar stones--dog-tooth spar we were told was their name--found in the lead mines, whose white crystals glistened in the light, and I could see by the covetous look in my brother's eyes that he was thinking of the rockeries at home. His look was also seen by our worthy host, for he subsequently presented him with the stones, which my brother afterwards declared were given to him as a punishment for coveting his neighbour's goods. It was now time to fulfil our engagement to accompany our friend to the Wesleyan Chapel and to go through what proved one of the most extraordinary services we ever attended. Our host and hostess went with us, but they sat in a pew, while we three sat on a form. We remained for the "Prayer Meeting," which the minister announced would be held after the usual service. We had read that the "Amens" of the early Christians could be heard at long distances, but we never attended a meeting where the ejaculations were so loud and fervent as they were here. Each man seemed to vie with his neighbour as to which could shout the louder, and every one appeared to be in great earnest. The exclamations were not always "Amens," for we heard one man shout "Aye!" at exactly the same moment as another man shouted "Now!" and if the Leader had not been possessed of a stentorian voice he would not at times have been able to make himself heard. The primitive custom of conducting prayer meetings was evidently kept up at Castleton, as might perhaps have been expected in a place which before the appearance of the railway was so remote and inaccessible, but it was difficult to realise that "yes" and "no," or "aye" and "now," could have the same meaning when ejaculated at the same moment. Still, it might have been so in this case. Who knows! In travelling through the country we had noticed that in the neighbourhood of great mountains the religious element was more pronounced than elsewhere, and the people's voices seemed stronger. At the close of this second service, for which nearly the whole of the congregation stayed, the conductor gave out one of Isaac Watts's well-known hymns, and the congregation sang it with heart and voice that almost made the rafters in the roof of the chapel vibrate as if even they were joining in the praises of the Lord! These were the first two verses: Jesus shall reign where'er the sun Doth his successive journeys run; His Kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more. People and realms of every tongue Dwell on His love with sweetest song, And infant voices shall proclaim Their early blessing on His Name. We must say we joined as heartily as any of the others, for it was sung to one of the good old Methodist tunes common to all the Churches in the days of Wesley. As we walked back through the village we felt all the better for having attended the full service, and later, when we watched the nearly full moon rise in the clear night air above the hills, our thoughts turned instinctively towards the Great Almighty, the Father and Maker and Giver of All! SEVENTH WEEK'S JOURNEY _Monday, October 30th._ [Illustration: PEVERIL CASTLE.] The Scots as a nation are proverbial for their travelling propensities; they are to be found not only in every part of the British Isles, but in almost every known and unknown part of the wide world. It was a jocular saying then in vogue that if ever the North Pole were discovered, a Scotsman would be found there sitting on the top! Sir Walter Scott was by no means behind his fellow countrymen in his love of travel, and like his famous Moss-troopers, whose raids carried them far beyond the Borders, even into foreign countries, he had not confined himself "to his own--his Native Land." We were not surprised, therefore, wrhen we heard of him in the lonely neighbourhood of the Peak of Derbyshire, or that, although he had never been known to have visited the castle or its immediate surroundings, he had written a novel entitled _Peveril of the Peak_. This fact was looked upon as a good joke by his personal friends, who gave him the title of the book as a nickname, and Sir Walter, when writing to some of his most intimate friends, had been known to subscribe himself in humorous vein as "Peveril of the Peak." [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE PEAK CAVERN.] There were several objects of interest well worth seeing at Castleton besides the great cavern; there was the famous Blue John Mine, that took its name from the peculiar blue stone found therein, a kind of fibrous fluor-spar usually blue to purple, though with occasional black and yellow veins, of which ornaments were made and sold to visitors, and from which the large blue stone was obtained that formed the magnificent vase in Chatsworth House, the residence of the Duke of Devonshire, and in other noble mansions which possess examples of the craft. In the mine there were two caverns, one of them 100 feet and the other 150 feet high, "which glittered with sparkling stalactites." Then there was the Speedwell Mine, one of the curiosities of the Peak, discovered by miners searching for ore, which they failed to find, although they laboured for years at an enormous cost. In boring through the rock, however, they came to a large natural cavern, now reached by descending about a hundred steps to a canal below, on which was a boat for conveying passengers to the other end of the canal, with only a small light or torch at the bow to relieve the stygian darkness. Visitors were landed on a platform to listen to a tremendous sound of rushing water being precipitated somewhere in the fearful and impenetrable darkness, whose obscurity and overpowering gloom could almost be felt. On the slope of the Eldon Hill there was also a fearful chasm called the Eldon Hole, where a falling stone was never heard to strike the bottom. This had been visited in the time of Queen Elizabeth by the Earl of Leicester, who caused an unfortunate native to be lowered into it to the full length of a long rope; when the poor fellow was drawn up again he was "stark mad," and died eight days afterwards. We had to leave all these attractions to a later visit, since we had come to Castleton to see the largest cavern of all, locally named the "Devil's Hole," but by polite visitors the "Peak Cavern." The approach to the cavern was very imposing and impressive, perpendicular rocks rising on both sides to a great height, while Peveril Castle stood on the top of the precipice before us like a sentinel guarding entrance to the cavern, which was in the form of an immense Gothic arch 120 feet high, 42 feet wide, and said to be large enough to contain the Parish Church and all its belongings. This entrance, however, was being used as a rope-walk, where, early as it was, the workers were already making hempen ropes alongside the stream which flowed from the cavern, and the strong smell of hemp which prevailed as we stood for a few minutes watching the rope-makers was not at all unpleasant. [Illustration: ROPE-WALK AT ENTRANCE INSIDE CAVE, CASTLETON, IN 1871.] If it had been the entrance to Hades, to which it had been likened by a learned visitor, we might have been confronted by Cerberus instead of our guide, whom our friends had warned overnight that his attendance would be required early this morning by distinguished visitors, who would expect the cave to be lit up with coloured lights in honour of their visit. The guide as he handed a light to each of us explained apologetically that his stock of red lights had been exhausted during the season, but he had brought a sufficient number of blue lights to suit the occasion. We followed him into the largest division of the cavern, which was 270 feet long and 150 feet high, the total length being about half a mile. It contained many other rooms or caves, into which he conducted us, the first being known as the Bell House, and here the path we had been following suddenly came to an end at an arch about five yards wide, where there was a stream called the River Styx, over which he ferried us in a boat, landing us in a cave called the Hall of Pluto, the Being who ruled over the Greek Hades, or Home of Departed Spirits, guarded by a savage three-headed dog named Cerberus. The only way of reaching the "Home," our guide told us, was by means of the ferry on the River Styx, of which Charon had charge, and to ensure the spirit having a safe passage to the Elysian Fields it was necessary that his toll should be paid with a coin placed beforehand in the mouth or hand of the departed. We did not, however, take the hint about the payment of the toll until after our return journey, when we found ourselves again at the mouth of the Great Cavern, a privilege perhaps not extended to Pluto's ghostly visitors, nor did we see any of those mysterious or mythological beings; perhaps the nearest approach to them was the figure of our guide himself, as he held aloft the blue torch he had in his hand when in the Hall of Pluto, for he presented the appearance of a man afflicted with delirium tremens or one of those "blue devils" often seen by victims of that dreadful disease. We also saw Roger Rain's House, where it always rained, summer and winter, all the year round, and the Robbers' Cave, with its five natural arches. But the strangest cave we visited was that called the "Devil's Wine Cellar," an awful abyss where the water rushed down a great hole and there disappeared. Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria, visited the cavern in 1832, and one of the caves was named Victoria in memory of that event; we had the honour of standing on the exact spot where she stood on that occasion. Our visit to the cavern was quite a success, enhanced as it was by the blue lights, so, having paid the guide for his services, we returned to our lodgings to "pack up" preparatory to resuming our walk. The white stones so kindly presented to my brother--of which he was very proud, for they certainly were very fine specimens--seemed likely to prove a white elephant to him. The difficulty now was how to carry them in addition to all the other luggage. Hurrying into the town, he returned in a few minutes with an enormous and strongly made red handkerchief like those worn by the miners, and in this he tied the stones, which were quite heavy and a burden in themselves. With these and all the other luggage as well he presented a very strange appearance as he toiled up the steep track through Cave Dale leading from the rear of the town to the moors above. It was no small feat of endurance and strength, for he carried his burdens until we arrived at Tamworth railway station in Staffordshire, to which our next box of clothes had been ordered, a distance of sixty-eight and a half miles by the way we walked. It was with a feeling of real thankfulness for not having been killed with kindness in the bestowal of these gifts that he deposited the stones in that box. When they reached home they were looked upon as too valuable to be placed on the rockeries and retained the sole possession of a mantelshelf for many years. My ankle was still very weak, and it was as much as I could do to carry the solitary walking-stick to assist me forwards; but we were obliged to move on, as we were now quite fifty miles behind our projected routine, and we knew there was some hard work before us. When we reached the moors, which were about a thousand feet above sea-level, the going was comparatively easy on the soft rich grass which makes the cow's milk so rich, and we had some good views of the hills. That named Mam Tor was one of the "Seven wonders of the Peak," and its neighbour, known as the Shivering Mountain, was quite a curiosity, as the shale, of which it was composed, was constantly breaking away and sliding down the mountain slope with a sound like that of falling water. Bagshawe Cavern was near at hand, but we did not visit it. It was so named because it had been found on land belonging to Sir William Bagshawe, whose lady christened its chambers and grottos with some very queer names. Across the moors we could see the town of Tideswell, our next objective, standing like an oasis in the desert, for there were no trees on the moors. We had planned that after leaving there we would continue our way across the moors to Newhaven, and then walk through Dove Dale to Ashbourne in the reverse direction to that taken the year before on our walk from London to Lancashire. Before reaching Tideswell we came to a point known as Lane Head, where six lane-ends met, and which we supposed must have been an important meeting-place when the moors, which surrounded it for miles, formed a portion of the ancient Peak Forest. We passed other objects of interest, including some ancient remains of lead mining in the form of curious long tunnels like sewers on the ground level which radiated to a point where on the furnaces heaps of timber were piled up and the lead ore was smelted by the heat which was intensified by these draught-producing tunnels. [Illustration: TIDESWELL CHURCH.] When Peak Forest was in its primeval glory, and the Kings of England with their lords, earls, and nobles came to hunt there, many of the leading families had dwellings in the forest, and we passed a relic of these, a curious old mansion called Hazelbadge Hall, the ancient home of the Vernons, who still claim by right as Forester to name the coroner for West Derbyshire when the position falls vacant. Tideswell was supposed to have taken its name from an ebbing and flowing well whose water rose and fell like the tides in the sea, but which had been choked up towards the end of the eighteenth century, and reopened in the grounds of a mansion, so that the cup-shaped hollow could be seen filling and emptying. A market had existed at Tideswell since the year 1250, and one was being held as we entered the town, and the "George Inn," where we called for refreshments, was fairly well filled with visitors of one kind or another. We left our luggage to the care of the ostler, and went to visit the fine old church adjacent, where many ancient families lie buried; the principal object of interest was the magnificent chancel, which has been described as "one Gallery of Light and Beauty," the whole structure being known as the Cathedral of the Peak. There was a fine monumental brass, with features engraved on it which throw light on the Church ritual of the day, to the memory of Bishop Pursglove, who was a native of Tideswell and founder of the local Grammar School, who surrendered his Priory of Gisburn to Henry VIII in 1540, but refused, in 1559, to take the Oath of Supremacy. Sampson Meverill, Knight Constable of England, also lies buried in the chancel, and by his epitaph on a marble tomb, brought curiously enough from Sussex, he asks the reader "devoutly of your charity" to say "a Pater Noster with an Ave for all Xtian soules, and especially for the soule of him whose bones resten under this stone." Meverill, with John Montagu, Earl of Shrewsbury, fought as "a Captain of diverse worshipful places in France," serving under John, Duke of Bedford, in the "Hundred Years' War," and after fighting in eleven battles within the space of two years he won knighthood at the duke's hands at St. Luce. In the churchyard was buried William Newton, the Minstrel of the Peak, and Samuel Slack, who in the last quarter of the eighteenth century was the most popular bass singer in England. When quite young Slack competed with others for a position in a college choir at Cambridge, and sang Purcell's famous air, "They that go down to the sea in ships." When he had finished, the Precentor rose immediately and said to the other candidates, "Gentlemen, I now leave it to you whether any one will sing after what you have just heard!" No one rose, and so Slack gained the position. Soon afterwards Georgiana, Duchess of Sutherland, interested herself in him, and had him placed under Spofforth, the chief singing master of the day, under whose tuition he greatly improved, taking London by storm. He was for many years the principal bass at all the great musical festivals. So powerful was his voice, it is said, that on one occasion when he was pursued by a bull he uttered a bellow which so terrified the animal that it ran away, so young ladies who were afraid of these animals always felt safe when accompanied by Mr. Slack. When singing before King George III at Windsor Castle, he was told that His Majesty had been pleased with his singing. Slack remarked in his Derbyshire dialect, which he always remembered, "Oh, he was pleased, were he? I thow't I could do't." Slack it was said made no effort to improve himself either in speech or in manners, and therefore it was thought that he preferred low society. When he retired and returned to his native village he was delighted to join the local "Catch and Glee Club," of which he soon became the ruling spirit. It held its meetings at the "George Inn" where we had called for refreshments, and we were shown an old print of the club representing six singers in Hogarthian attitudes with glasses, jugs, and pipes, with Slack and his friend Chadwick of Hayfield apparently singing heartily from the same book Slack's favourite song, "Life's a Bumper fill'd by Fate." Tideswell had always been a musical town; as far back as the year 1826 there was a "Tideswell Music Band," which consisted of six clarionets, two flutes, three bassoons, one serpent, two trumpets, two trombones, two French horns, one bugle, and one double drum--twenty performers in all. They had three practices weekly, and there were the usual fines for those who came late, or missed a practice, for inattention to the leader, or for a dirty instrument, the heaviest fine of all being for intoxication. But long after this there was a Tideswell Brass Band which became famous throughout the country, for the leader not only wrote the score copies for his own band, but lithographed and sold them to other bands all over the country. [Illustration: "LIFE'S A BUMPER."] We were particularly interested in all this, for my brother had for the past eight years indulged in the luxury of a brass band himself. The band consisted of about twenty members when in full strength, and as instruments were dear in those days it was a most expensive luxury, and what it had cost him in instruments, music, and uniforms no one ever knew. He had often purchased "scores" from Metcalf, the leader of the Tideswell Band, a fact that was rather a source of anxiety to me, as I knew if he called to see Metcalf our expedition for that day would be at an end, as they might have conversed with each other for hours. I could not prevent him from relating at the "George" one of his early reminiscences, which fairly "brought down the house," as there were some musicians in the company. His band had been formed in 1863, and consisted of about a dozen performers. Christmas time was coming on, when the bandsmen resolved to show off a little and at the same time collect some money from their friends to spend in the New Year. They therefore decided that the band should go out "busking" each evening during Christmas week. They had only learned to play five tunes--two of them belonging to well-known hymns, a third "God Save the Queen," while the remaining two were quicksteps, one of which was not quite perfectly learned. They were well received in the village, and almost every house had been visited with the exception of the Hall, which was some distance away, and had been left till the last probably owing to the fact that the squire was not particularly noted for his liberality. If, however, he had been at home that week, and had any sense of music, he would have learned all their tunes off by heart, as the band must have been heard clearly enough when playing at the farms surrounding the mansion. To avoid a possibility of giving offence, however, it was decided to pay him a visit; so the band assembled one evening in front of the mansion, and the conductor led off with a Psalm tune, during which the Hall door was opened by a servant. At this unexpected compliment expectations rose high amongst the members of the band, and a second Psalm tune was played, the full number of verses in the hymn being repeated. Then followed a pause to give the squire a chance of distinguishing himself, but as he failed to rise to the occasion it was decided to play a quickstep. This was followed by a rather awkward pause, as there were some high notes in the remaining quickstep which the soprano player said he was sure he could not reach as he was getting "ramp'd" already. At this moment, however, the situation was relieved by the appearance of a female servant at the door. The member of the band who had been deputed to collect all donations at once went to the door, and all eyes were turned upon him when he came back towards the lawn, every member on tip-toe of expectation. But he had only returned to say that the squire's lady wished the band to play a polka. This spread consternation throughout the band, and one of the younger members went to the conductor saying, "A polka! A polka! I say, Jim, what's that?" "Oh," replied the conductor, "number three played quick!" Now number three was a quickstep named after Havelock the famous English General in India, so "Havelock's March played quick" had to do duty for a polka; but the only man who could play it quickly was the conductor himself, who after the words, "Ready, chaps!" and the usual signal "One-two-three," dashed off at an unusual speed, the performers following as rapidly as they could, the Bombardon and the Double B, the biggest instruments, finishing last with a most awful groan, after which the conductor, who couldn't stop laughing when once he started, was found rolling on the lawn in a kind of convulsion. It took them some time to recover their equilibrium, during which the Hall door remained open, and a portion of the band had already begun to move away in despair, when they were called back by the old butler appearing at the Hall door with a silver tray in his hand. The collector's services were again requisitioned, and he returned with the magnificent sum of one shilling! As most of the farmers had given five shillings and the remainder half a crown, the squire's reputation for generosity had been fully maintained. One verse of "God save the Queen," instead of the usual three, was played by the way of acknowledgment, and so ended the band's busking season in the year 1863. We quite enjoyed our visit to Tideswell, and were rather loath to leave the friendly company at the "George Inn," who were greatly interested in our walk, several musical members watching our departure as the ostler loaded my brother with the luggage. Tideswell possessed a poet named Beebe Eyre, who in 1854 was awarded £50 out of the Queen's Royal Bounty, which probably inspired him to write: Tideswell! thou art my natal spot, And hence I love thee well; May prosperous days now be the lot Of all that in thee dwell! The sentiments expressed by the poet coincided with our own. As we departed from the town we observed a curiosity in the shape of a very old and extremely dilapidated building, which we were informed could neither be repaired, pulled down, nor sold because it belonged to some charity. On the moors outside the town there were some more curious remains of the Romans and others skilled in mining, which we thought would greatly interest antiquarians, as they displayed more methods of mining than at other places we had visited. A stream had evidently disappointed them by filtering through its bed of limestone, but this they had prevented by forming a course of pebbles and cement, which ran right through Tideswell, and served the double purpose of a water supply and a sewer. We crossed the old "Rakes," or lines, where the Romans simply dug out the ore and threw up the rubbish, which still remained in long lines. Clever though they were, they only knew lead when it occurred in the form known as galena, which looked like lead itself, and so they threw out a more valuable ore, cerusite, or lead carbonate, and the heaps of this valuable material were mined over a second time in comparatively recent times. The miner of the Middle Ages made many soughs to drain away the water from the mines, and we saw more of the tunnels that had been made to draw air to the furnaces when wood was used for smelting the lead. The forest, like many others, had disappeared, and Anna Seward had exactly described the country we were passing through when she wrote: The long lone tracks of Tideswell's native moor, Stretched on vast hills that far and near prevail. Bleak, stony, bare, monotonous, and pale. The poet Newton had provided the town with a water supply by having pipes laid at his own expense from the Well Head at the source of the stream which flowed out of an old lead-mine. Lead in drinking-water has an evil name for causing poisoning, but the Tideswell folk flourish on it, since no one seems to think of dying before seventy, and a goodly number live to over ninety. They have some small industries, cotton manufacture having spread from Lancashire into these remote districts. It is an old-fashioned place, with houses mostly stuccoed with broken crystals and limestone from the "Rakes" and containing curiously carved cupboard doors and posts torn from churches ornamented in Jacobean style by the sacrilegious Cromwellians, many of them having been erected just after the Great Rebellion. [Illustration: THE DUKE OF BRIDGEWATER.] [Illustration: BRIDGE CARRYING THE CANAL OVERHEAD.] We now journeyed along the mountain track until it descended sharply into Miller's Dale; but before reaching this place we were interested in the village of Formhill, where Brindley, the famous canal engineer, was born in 1716. Brindley was employed by the great Duke of Bridgewater, the pioneer of canal-making in England, to construct a canal from his collieries at Worsley, in Lancashire, to Manchester, in order to cheapen the cost of coal at that important manufacturing centre. It was an extraordinary achievement, considering that Brindley was quite uneducated and knew no mathematics, and up to the last remained illiterate. Most of his problems were solved without writings or drawings, and when anything difficult had to be considered, he would go to bed and think it out there. At the Worsley end it involved tunnelling to the seams of coal where the colliers were at work so that they could load the coal directly into the boats. He constructed from ten to thirteen miles of underground canals on two different levels, with an ingeniously constructed connection between the two. After this he made the great Bridgewater Canal, forty miles in length, from Manchester to Runcorn, which obtained a fall of one foot per mile by following a circuitous route without a lock or a tunnel in the whole of its course until it reached its terminus at the River Mersey. In places where a brook or a small valley had to be crossed the canal was carried on artificially raised banks, and to provide against a burst in any of these, which would have caused the water to run out of the canal, it was narrowed at each end of the embankment so that only one boat could pass through at a time, this narrow passage being known as a "stop place." At the entrance to this a door was so placed at the bottom of the canal that if any undue current should appear, such as would occur if the embankment gave way, one end of it would rise into a socket prepared for it in the stop-place, and so prevent any water leaving the canal except that in the broken section, a remedy simple but ingenious. On arriving at Runcorn the boats were lowered by a series of locks into the River Mersey, a double service of locks being provided so that boats could pass up and down at the same time and so avoid delay. [Illustration: JAMES BRINDLEY.] When the water was first turned into the canal, Brindley mysteriously disappeared, and was nowhere to be found; but as the canal when full did not burst its embankments, as he had feared, he soon reappeared and was afterwards employed to construct even more difficult canals. He died in 1772, and was buried in Harriseahead Churchyard on the Cheshire border of Staffordshire. It is computed that he engineered as many miles of canals as there are days in the year. [Illustration: THE BOTTOM LOCKS AT RUNCORN.] It must have been a regular custom for the parsons in Derbyshire to keep diaries in the eighteenth century, for the Vicar of Wormhill kept one, like the Vicar of Castleton, both chancing to be members of the Bagshawe family, a common name in that neighbourhood. He was a hard-working and conscientious man, and made the following entry in it on February 3rd, 1798 _Sunday_.--Preached at Wormhill on the vanity of human pursuits and human pleasures, to a polite audience, an affecting sermon. Rode in the evening to Castleton, where I read three discourses by Secker. In the forest I was sorry to observe a party of boys playing at Football. I spoke to them but was laughed at, and on my departure one of the boys gave the football a wonderful kick--a proof this of the degeneracy of human nature! On reaching Miller's Dale, a romantic deep hollow in the limestone, at the bottom of which winds the fast-flowing Wye, my brother declared that he felt more at home, as it happened to be the only place he had seen since leaving John o' Groat's that he had previously visited, and it reminded him of a rather amusing incident. [Illustration: THE BRIDGEWATER CANAL--WHERE IT ENTERS THE MINES AT WORSLEY.] Our uncle, a civil engineer in London, had been over on a visit, and was wearing a white top-hat, then becoming fashionable, and as my brother thought that a similar hat would just suit the dark blue velveteen coat he wore on Sundays, he soon appeared in the prevailing fashion. He was walking from Ambergate to Buxton, and had reached Miller's Dale about noon, just as the millers were leaving the flour mills for dinner. One would have thought that the sight of a white hat would have delighted the millers, but as these hats were rather dear, and beyond the financial reach of the man in the street, they had become an object of derision to those who could not afford to wear them, the music-hall answer to the question "Who stole the donkey?" being at that time "The man with the white hat!" He had met one group of the millers coming up the hill and another lot was following, when a man in the first group suddenly turned round and shouted to a man in the second group, "I say, Jack, who stole the donkey?" But Jack had not yet passed my brother, and, as he had still to face him, he dared not give the customary answer, so, instead of replying "The man with the white hat," he called out in the Derbyshire dialect, with a broad grin on his face, "Th' feyther." A roar of laughter both behind and in front, in which my brother heartily joined, followed this repartee. Probably some of the opprobrium attached to the white hat was because of its having been an emblem of the Radicals. We had seen that worn by Sir Walter Scott in his declining days, but we could not think of including him in that extreme political party, though its origin dated back to the time when he was still alive. Probably the emblem was only local, for it originated at Preston in Lancashire, a place we knew well, commonly called Proud Preston, no doubt by reason of its connection with the noble family of Stanley, who had a mansion in the town. Preston was often represented in Parliament by a Stanley, and was looked upon as a Pocket Borough. In the turbulent times preceding the Abolition of the Corn Laws a powerful opponent, in the person of Mr. Henry Hunt, a demagogue politician, who had suffered imprisonment for advocating Chartism, appeared at the Preston election of 1830 to oppose the Honourable E.G. Stanley, afterwards Earl of Derby. He always appeared wearing a white hat, and was an eloquent speaker, and for these reasons earned the sobriquet of "Orator" Hunt and "Man with the White Hat." The election contest was one of the most exciting events that ever occurred in Preston, and as usual the children took their share in the proceedings, those on Mr. Stanley's side parading the streets singing in a popular air: Hey! Ho! Stanley for Ever! Stanley for Ever! Hey! Ho! Stanley for Ever Ho! Stanley, Stanley, Stanley, Ho! Stanley is my honey Ho! When he weds he will be rich, He will have a coach and six. Then followed the chorus to the accompaniment of drums and triangles: Hey! Ho! Stanley for Ever, Ho! In spite of this, however, and similar ditties, "Orator Hunt," by a total vote of 3,730, became M.P. for Preston, and it was said that it was through this incident that the Radicals adopted the White Hat as their emblem. Lord Derby was so annoyed at the result of the election that he closed his house, which stood across the end of a quiet street, and placed a line of posts across it, between which strong chains were hung, and on which my brother could remember swinging when a boy. One of our uncles was known as the "Preston Poet" at that time, and he wrote a poem entitled "The Poor, God Bless 'Em!" the first verse reading: Let sycophants bend their base knees in the court And servilely cringe round the gate, And barter their honour to earn the support Of the wealthy, the titled, the great; Their guilt piled possessions I loathe, while I scorn The knaves, the vile knaves who possess 'em; I love not to pamper oppression, but mourn For the poor, the robb'd poor--God bless 'em! A striking contrast to the volubility of Mr. Hunt was Mr. Samuel Horrocks, also M.P. for Preston, whose connection with the "Big Factory" in Preston probably gained him the seat. He was said to have been the "quiet Member," never known to make a speech in the House of Commons, unless it was to ask some official to close a window. The main thoroughfare in Preston was Fishergate, a wide street, where on one Saturday night two men appeared walking up the middle of the street, carrying large papers suspended over their arms and shouting at the top of their voices. "The Speech of Samuel Horrocks, Esquire, M.P., in the British House of Commons! one penny," which they continued to repeat. "Eh! owd Sammy's bin makkin' a speech," and a rush was made for the papers. The streets were poorly lighted in those days, and the men did a roaring business in the dark. One man, however, was so anxious to read the speech that he could not wait until he got home, but went to a shop window, where there was a light, but the paper was blank. Thinking they had given him the wrong paper, he ran after the men and shouted, pointing to the paper, "Hey, there's nowt on it." "Well," growled one of the men, "_he said nowt_." [Illustration: CHATSWORTH HOUSE.] We now climbed up the opposite side of the dale, and continued on the moorland road for a few miles, calling at the "Flagg Moor Inn" for tea. By the time we had finished it was quite dark, and the landlady of the inn did her best to persuade us to stay there for the night, telling us that the road from there to Ashbourne was so lonely that it was possible on a dark night to walk the whole distance of fourteen miles without seeing a single person, and as it had been the Great Fair at Newhaven that day, there might be some dangerous characters on the roads. When she saw we were determined to proceed farther, she warned us that the road did not pass through any village, and that there was only a solitary house here and there, some of them being a little way from the road. The road was quite straight, and had a stone wall on each side all the way, so all we had got to do was to keep straight on, and to mind we did not turn to the right or the left along any of the by-roads lest we should get lost on the moors. It was not without some feeling of regret that we bade the landlady "Good night" and started out from the comfortable inn on a pitch-dark night. Fortunately the road was dry, and, as there were no trees, the limestone of which it was composed showed a white track easily discernible in the inky darkness which surrounded it. As we got farther on our way we could see right in front a great illumination in the mist or clouds above marking the glare from the country fair at Newhaven, which was only four miles from the inn we had just left. We met quite a number of people returning from the fair, both on foot and in vehicles, and as they all appeared to be in good spirits we received a friendly greeting from all who spoke to us. Presently arriving at Newhaven itself, which consisted solely of one large inn, we found the surrounding open space packed with a noisy and jovial crowd of people, the number of whom absolutely astonished us, as the country around appeared so desolate, and we wondered where they all could have come from. Newhaven, which had been a very important place in the coaching-days, was a big three-storeyed house with twenty-five bedrooms and stabling for a hundred horses. It stood at a junction of roads about 1,100 feet above sea-level in a most lonely place, and in the zenith of its popularity there was seldom a bedroom empty, the house being quite as gay as if it had been in London itself. It had been specially built for the coach traffic by the then Duke of Devonshire, whose mansion, Chatsworth House, was only a few miles distant. King George IV stayed at Newhaven on one occasion, and was so pleased with his entertainment that he granted to the inn a free and perpetual licence of his own sovereign pleasure, so that no application for renewal of licence at Brewster Sessions was ever afterwards required; a fact which accounted in some measure for the noisy company congregated therein, in defiance of the superintendent of police, who, with five or six of his officers, was standing in front of the fair. Booths had been erected by other publicans, but the police had ordered these to be removed earlier in the day to prevent further disturbances. We noticed they had quite a number of persons in custody, and when I saw a policeman looking very critically at the miscellaneous assortment of luggage my brother was carrying, I thought he was about to be added to the number; but he was soon satisfied as to the honesty of his intentions. The "New Haven" must have meant a new haven for passengers, horses, and coaches when the old haven had been removed, as the word seemed only to apply to the hotel, which, as it was ten miles both from Buxton and Ashbourne, and also on the Roman road known as Via Gellia, must have been built exactly to accommodate the ten-mile run of the coaches either way. It quite enlivened us to see the old-fashioned shows, the shooting-boxes, the exhibitions of monstrosities, with stalls displaying all sorts of nuts, sweets, gingerbreads, and all the paraphernalia that in those days comprised a country fair, and we should have liked to stay at the inn and visit some of the shows which were ranged in front of it and along the green patches of grass which lined the Ashbourne road; but in the first place the inn was not available, and in the second our twenty-five-mile average daily walk was too much in arrears to admit of any further delay. [Illustration: THE DOVE HOLES, DOVEDALE.] All the shows and stalls were doing a roaring trade, and the naphtha lamps with which they were lighted flared weirdly into the inky darkness above. Had we been so minded, we might have turned aside and found quarters at an inn bearing the odd sign of "The Silent Woman" (a woman with her head cut off and tucked under her arm, similar to one nearer home called the "Headless Woman"--in the latter case, however, the tall figure of the woman was shown standing upright, without any visible support, while her head was calmly resting on the ground--the idea seeming to be that a woman could not be silent so long as her head was on her body), but we felt that Ashbourne must be reached that night, which now seemed blacker than ever after leaving the glaring lights in the Fair. Nor did we feel inclined to turn along any by-road on a dark night like that, seeing that we had been partly lost on our way from London the previous year, nearly at the same place, and on quite as dark a night. On that memorable occasion we had entered Dovedale near Thorpe, and visited the Lovers' Leap, Reynard's Cave, Tissington Spires, and Dove Holes, but darkness came on, compelling us to leave the dale to resume our walk the following morning. Eventually we saw a light in the distance, where we found a cottage, the inmates of which kindly conducted us with a lantern across a lonely place to the village of Parwich, which in the Derbyshire dialect they pronounced "Porritch," reminding us of our supper. [Illustration: TISSINGTON SPIRES.] [Illustration: REYNARD'S CAVE, DOVEDALE.] It was nearly closing-time when we were ushered into the taproom of the village inn among some strange companions, and when the hour of closing arrived we saw the head of the village policeman appear at the shutter through which outside customers were served with beer. The landlord asked him, "Will you have a pint?" Looking significantly at ourselves, he replied, "No, thank you," but we noticed the "pint" was placed in the aperture, and soon afterwards disappeared! At Newhaven we ascertained that we were now quite near Hartington and Dovedale. Hartington was a famous resort of fishermen and well known to Isaak Walton, the "Father of Fishermen," and author of that famous book _The Compleat Angler or the Contemplative Man's Recreation_, so full of such cheerful piety and contentment, such sweet freshness and simplicity, as to give the book a perennial charm. He was a great friend of Charles Cotton of Beresford Hall, who built a fine fishing-house near the famous Pike Pool on the River Dove, over the arched doorway of which he placed a cipher stone formed with the combined initials of Walton and himself, and inscribed with the words "Piscatoribus Sacrum." It was said that when they came to fish in the fish pool early in the morning, Cotton smoked tobacco for his breakfast! What spot more honoured than this beautiful place? Twice honoured truly. Here Charles Cotton sang, Hilarious, his whole-hearted songs, that rang With a true note, through town and country ways, While the Dove trout--in chorus--splashed their praise. Here Walton sate with Cotton in the shade And watched him dubb his flies, and doubtless made The time seem short, with gossip of old days. Their cyphers are enlaced above the door, And in each angler's heart, firm-set and sure. While rivers run, shall those two names endure, Walton and Cotton linked for evermore--- And Piscatoribus Sacrum where more fit A motto for their wisdom worth and wit? Say, where shall the toiler find rest from his labours, And seek sweet repose from the overstrung will? Away from the worry and jar of his neighbours Where moor-tinted streamlets flow down from the hill. Then hurrah! jolly anglers, for burn and for river. The songs of the birds and the lowing of kine: The voice of the river shall soothe us for ever, Then here's to the toast, boys--"The rod and the line!" [Illustration: TISSINGTON HALL, GATEWAY.] We walked in the darkness for about six miles thinking all the time of Dovedale, which we knew was running parallel with our road at about two miles' distance. When we reached Tissington, about three miles from Ashbourne, the night had become lighter, and there ought to have been a considerable section of the moon visible if the sky had been clear. Here we came to quite a considerable number of trees, but the village must have been somewhere in the rear of them. Well-dressing was a custom common in Derbyshire, and also on a much smaller scale in some of the neighbouring counties; but this village of Tissington was specially noted in this respect, for it contained five wells, all of which had to be dressed. As the dressers of the different wells vied with each other which should have the best show, the children and young people had a busy time in collecting the flowers, plants, buds, and ferns necessary to form the display. The festival was held on Holy Thursday, and was preceded with a service in the church followed by one at each of the wells, and if the weather was fine, hundreds of visitors assembled to criticise the work at the different wells. The origin of well-dressing is unknown, but it is certainly of remote antiquity, probably dating back to pagan times. That at Tissington was supposed to have developed at the time of the Black Plague in the fourteenth century, when, although it decimated many villages in the neighbourhood, it missed Tissington altogether--because, it was supposed, of the purity of the waters. But the origin of well-dressing must have been of much greater antiquity: the custom no doubt had its beginnings as an expression of praise to God from whom all blessings flow. The old proverb, "We never know the value of water till the well runs dry," is singularly appropriate in the hilly districts of Derbyshire, where not only the wells, but the rivers also have been known to dry up, and when the spring comes and brings the flowers, what could be more natural than to thank the Almighty who sends the rain and the water, without which they could not grow. [Illustration: TISSINGTON CHURCH.] We were sorry to have missed our walk down Dove Dale, but it was all for the best, as we should again have been caught in the dark there, and perhaps I should have injured my foot again, as the path along the Dale was difficult to negotiate even in the daylight. In any case we were pleased when we reached Ashbourne, where we had no difficulty in finding our hotel, for the signboard of the "Green Man" reached over our heads from one side of the main street to the other. (_Distance walked twenty-six and a half miles_.) _Tuesday, October 31st._ The inn we stayed at was a famous one in the days of the stagecoaches, and bore the double name "The Green Man and the Black's Head Royal Hotel" on a sign which was probably unique, for it reached across the full width of the street. A former landlord having bought another coaching-house in the town known as the "Black's Head," transferred the business to the "Green Man," when he incorporated the two signs. We were now on the verge of Dr. Johnson's country, the learned compiler of the great dictionary, who visited the "Green Man" in company with his companion, James Boswell, whose _Life of Dr. Johnson_ is said to be the finest biography ever written in the English language. They had a friend at Ashbourne, a Dr. Taylor, whom they often visited, and on one occasion when they were all sitting in his garden their conversation turned on the subject of the future state of man. Johnson gave expression to his views in the following words, "Sir, I do not imagine that all things will be made clear to us immediately after death, but that the ways of Providence will be explained to us very gradually." [Illustration: "THE GREEN MAN AND BLACK'S HEAD."] Boswell stayed at the "Green Man" just before journeying with Dr. Johnson to Scotland, and was greatly pleased by the manners of the landlady, for he described her as a "mighty civil gentlewoman" who curtseyed very low as she gave him an engraving of the sign of the house, under which she had written a polite note asking for a recommendation of the inn to his "extensive acquaintance, and her most grateful thanks for his patronage and her sincerest prayers for his happiness in time and in blessed eternity." The present landlady of the hotel appeared to be a worthy successor to the lady who presided there in the time of Boswell, for we found her equally civil and obliging, and, needless to say, we did justice to a very good breakfast served up in her best style. [Illustration: IN ASHBOURNE CHURCH IN YE OLDEN TIME.] The Old Hall of Ashbourne, situated at the higher end of the town, was a fine old mansion, with a long history, dating from the Cockayne family, who were in possession of lands here as early as the year 1372, and who were followed by the Boothby family. The young Pretender, "Bonnie Prince Charlie," who had many friends in England, stayed a night at the Hall in 1745, and the oak door of the room in which he slept was still preserved. He and his Highlanders never got farther than Derby, when he had to beat a hurried retreat, pursued by the Duke of Cumberland. Prince Charlie, to avoid the opposing army at Stafford and Lichfield, turned aside along the Churnet valley, through Leek, and so to Ashbourne. At Derby he called a Council of War, and learned how the Royal forces were closing in upon him, so that reluctantly a retreat was ordered. Then began a period of plundering and rapine. The Highlanders spread over the country, but on their return never crossed into Staffordshire, for, as the story goes, the old women of the Woodlands of Needwood Forest undertook to find how things were going, and crept down to the bridges of Sudbury and Scropton. As it began to rain, they used their red flannel petticoats as cloaks, which the Highlanders, spying, took to be the red uniforms of soldiers, and a panic seized them--so much so, that some who had seized some pig-puddings and were fastening them hot on a pole, according to a local ditty, ran out through a back door, and, jumping from a heap of manure, fell up to the neck in a cesspool. The pillage near Ashbourne was very great, but they could not stay, for the Duke was already at Uttoxoter with a small force. [Illustration: ASHBOURNE CHURCH.] George Canning, the great orator who was born in 1770 and died when he was Prime Minister of England in 1827, often visited Ashbourne Old Hall. In his time the town of Ashbourne was a flourishing one; it was said to be the only town in England that benefited by the French prisoners of war, as there were 200 officers, including three generals, quartered there in 1804, and it was estimated that they spent nearly £30,000 in Ashbourne. An omnibus was then running between Ashbourne and Derby, which out of courtesy to the French was named a "diligence," the French equivalent for stage-coach; but the Derby diligence was soon abbreviated to the Derby "Dilly." The roads at that time were very rough, macadamised surfaces being unknown, and a very steep hill leading into the Ashbourne and Derby Road was called _bête noire_ by the French, about which Canning, who was an occasional passenger, wrote the following lines: So down the hill, romantic Ashbourne, glides The Derby Dilly, carrying three insides; One in each corner sits and lolls at ease, With folded arms, propt back and outstretched knees; While the pressed bodkin, pinched and squeezed to death, Sweats in the midmost place and scolds and pants for breath. We were now at the end of the last spur of the Pennine Range of hills and in the last town in Derbyshire. As if to own allegiance to its own county, the spire of the parish church, which was 212 feet high, claimed to be the "Pride of the Peak." In the thirteenth-century church beneath it, dedicated to St. Oswald, there were many fine tombs of the former owners of the Old Hall at Ashbourne, those belonging to the Cockayne family being splendid examples of the sculptor's art. We noted that one member of the family was killed at the Battle of Shrewsbury in 1404, while another had been knighted by King Henry VII at the siege of Tournay. The finest object in the church was the marble figure of a little child as she appeared-- Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, which for simplicity, elegance, and childlike innocence of face was said to be the most interesting and pathetic monument in England. It is reputed to be the masterpiece of the English sculptor Thomas Banks, whose work was almost entirely executed abroad, where he was better known than in England. The inscriptions on it were in four different languages, English, Italian, French, and Latin, that in English being: I was not in safety, neither had I rest, and the trouble came. The dedication was inscribed: TO PENELOPE ONLY CHILD OF SIR BROOKE BOOTHBY AND DAME SUSANNAH BOOTHBY. Born April 11th 1785, died March 13th 1791. She was in form and intellect most exquisite The unfortunate parents ventured their all in this Frail bark, And the wreck was Total. The melancholy reference to their having ventured their all bore upon the separation between the father and mother, which immediately followed the child's death. The description of the monument reads as follows: The figure of the child reclines on a pillowed mattress, her hands resting one upon the other near her head. She is simply attired in a frock, below which her naked feet are carelessly placed one over the other, the whole position suggesting that in the restlessness of pain she had just turned to find a cooler and easier place of rest. [Illustration: PENELOPE.] Her portrait was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, her name appearing in his "Book of Sitters" in July 1788, when she was just over three years of age, and is one of the most famous child-pictures by that great master. The picture shows Little Penelope in a white dress and a dark belt, sitting on a stone sill, with trees in the background. Her mittened hands are folded in her lap, and her eyes are demurely cast down. She is wearing a high mob-cap, said to have belonged to Sir Joshua's grandmother. This picture was sold in 1859 to the Earl of Dudley for 1,100 guineas, and afterwards exhibited at Burlington House, when it was bought by Mr. David Thwaites for £20,060. The model for the famous picture "Cherry Ripe," painted by Sir John Everett-Millais, was Miss Talmage, who had appeared as Little Penelope at a fancy-dress ball, and it was said in later years that if there had been no Penelope Boothby by Sir Joshua Reynolds, there would have been no "Cherry Ripe" by Sir John Everett-Millais. Sir Francis Chantrey, the great sculptor, also visited Ashbourne Church. His patron, Mrs. Robinson, when she gave him the order to execute that exquisite work, the Sleeping Children, in Lichfield Cathedral, expressly stipulated that he must see the figure of Penelope Boothby in Ashbourne Church before he began her work. Accordingly Chantrey came down to the church and completed his sketch afterwards at the "Green Man Inn," working at it until one o'clock the next morning, when he departed by the London coach. Ashbourne is one of the few places which kept up the football match on Shrove Tuesday, a relic probably of the past, when the ball was a creature or a human being, and life or death the object of the game. But now the game was to play a stuffed case or the biggest part of it up and down the stream, the Ecclesbourne, until the mill at either limit of the town was reached. The River Dove, of which it has been written the "Dove's flood is worth a king's good," formed the boundary between Derbyshire and Staffordshire, which we crossed by a bridge about two miles after leaving Ashbourne. This bridge, we were told, was known as the Hanging Bridge, because at one time people were hanged on the tree which stood on the border between the two counties, and we might have fared badly if our journey had been made in the good old times, when "tramps" were severely treated. Across the river lay the village of Mayneld, where the landlord of the inn was killed in a quarrel with Prince Charlie's men in their retreat from Derby for resisting their demands, and higher up the country a farmer had been killed because he declined to give up his horse. They were not nearly so orderly as they retreated towards the north, for they cleared both provisions and valuables from the country on both sides of the roads. A cottage at Mayneld was pointed out to us as having once upon a time been inhabited by Thomas, or Tom Moore, Ireland's great poet, whose popularity was as great in England as in his native country, and who died in 1852 at the age of seventy-three years. The cottage was at that time surrounded by woods and fields, and no doubt the sound of Ashbourne Church bells, as it floated in the air, suggested to him one of his sweetest and saddest songs: Those evening bells! those evening bells, How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime. Those joyous hours are passed away, And many a heart that then was gay Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone: The tuneful peal will still ring on: While other bards shall walk these dells And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. We passed Calwick Abbey, once a religious house, but centuries ago converted into a private mansion, which in the time of Handel (1685-1759) was inhabited by the Granville family. Handel, although a German, spent most of his time in England, and was often the guest of the nobility. It was said that it was at Calwick Abbey that his greatest oratorios were conceived, and that the organ on which he played was still preserved. We ourselves had seen an organ in an Old Hall in Cheshire on which he had played when a visitor there, and where was also shown a score copy in his own handwriting. All that was mortal of Handel was buried in Westminster Abbey, but his magnificent oratorios will endure to the end of time. On arrival at Ellastone we left our luggage at the substantially built inn there while we went to visit Norbury Church, which was well worth seeing, and as my foot had now greatly improved we were able to get over the ground rather more quickly. Norbury was granted to the Fitzherberts in 1125, and, strange as it may appear, the original deed was still in the possession of that ancient family, whose chief residence was now at Swynnerton at the opposite side of Staffordshire, where they succeeded the Swynnerton family as owners of the estate. The black image of that grim crusader Swynnerton of Swynnerton still remained in the old chapel there, and as usual in ancient times, where the churches were built of sandstone, they sharpened their arrows on the walls or porches of the church, the holes made in sharpening them being plainly visible. Church restorations have caused these holes to be filled with cement in many places, like the bullet holes of the more recent period of the Civil War, but holes in the exact shape of arrow heads were still to be seen in the walls at Swynnerton, the different heights showing some of the archers to have been very tall men. In spite of severe persecution at the time of the Reformation this branch of the family of the Fitzherberts adhered to the Roman Catholic Faith, Sir Thomas Fitzherbert being one of the most prominent victims of the Elizabethan persecutions, having passed no less than thirty years of his life in various prisons in England. Norbury church was not a large one, but the chancel was nearly as large as the nave. It dated back to the middle of the fourteenth century, when Henry of Kniveton was rector, who made the church famous by placing a number of fine stained-glass windows in the chancel. The glass in these windows was very chaste and beautiful, owing to the finely tinted soft browns and greens, now probably mellowed by age, and said to rank amongst the finest of their kind in England. The grand monuments to the Fitzherberts were magnificently fine examples of the art and clothing of the past ages, the two most gorgeous tombs being those of the tenth and eleventh lords, in all the grandeur of plate armour, collars, decorations, spurs, and swords; one had an angel and the other a monk to hold his foot as he crossed into the unknown. The figures of their families as sculptured below them were also very fine. Considering that one of the lords had seventeen children and the other fifteen it was scarcely to be wondered at that descendants of the great family still existed. Sir Nicholas, who died in 1473, occupied the first tomb, his son the second, and his children were represented dressed in the different costumes of their chosen professions, the first being in armour with a cross, and the next as a lawyer with a scroll, while another was represented as a monk with a book, but as the next had his head knocked off it was impossible to decipher him; others seemed to have gone into businesses of one kind or another. The oldest monument in the church was a stone cross-legged effigy of a warrior in armour, dating from about the year 1300; while the plainest was the image of a female corpse in a shroud, on a gravestone, who was named ... Elysebeth ... The which decessed the yeare that is goone, A thousand four hundred neynty and oone. The church was dedicated to St. Barloke, probably one of the ancient British Divines. On returning to Ellastone we learned that the inn was associated with "George Eliot," whose works we had heard of but had not read. We were under the impression that the author was a man, and were therefore surprised to find that "George Eliot" was only the _nom de plume_ of a lady whose name was Marian Evans. Her grandfather was the village wheelwright and blacksmith at Ellastone, and the prototype of "Adam Bede" in her famous novel of that name. [Illustration: GEORGE ELLIOT'S "DONNITHORPE ARMS," ELLASTONE.] It has been said that no one has ever drawn a landscape more graphically than Marian Evans, and the names of places are so thinly veiled that if we had read the book we could easily have traced the country covered by "Adam Bede." Thus Staffordshire is described as Loamshire, Derbyshire as Stoneyshire, and the Mountains of the Peak as the barren hills, while Oakbourne stands for Ashbourne, Norbourne for Norbury, and Hayslope, described so clearly in the second chapter of _Adam Bede_, is Ellastone, the "Donnithorpe Arms" being the "Bromley Arms Hotel," where we stayed for refreshments. It was there that a traveller is described in the novel as riding up to the hotel, and the landlord telling him that there was to be a "Methodis' Preaching" that evening on the village green, and the traveller stayed to listen to the address of "Dinah Morris," who was Elizabeth Evans, the mother of the authoress. [Illustration: ALTON TOWERS.] Wootton Hall, which stands immediately behind the village of Ellastone, was at one time inhabited by Jean Jacques Rousseau, the great French writer, who, when he was expelled from France, took the Hall for twelve months in 1776, beginning to write there his _Confessions_, as well as his _Letters on Botany_, at a spot known as the "Twenty oaks." It was very bad weather for a part of the time, and snowed incessantly, with a bitterly cold wind, but he wrote, "In spite of all, I would rather live in the hole of one of the rabbits of this warren, than in the finest rooms in London." We now hurried across the country, along old country lanes and over fields, to visit Alton Towers; but, as it was unfortunately closed on that day, it was only by trespassing that we were able to see a part of the grounds. We could see the fine conservatories, with their richly gilded domes, and some portion of the ground and gardens, which were in a deep dell. These were begun by Richard, Earl of Shrewsbury, in the year 1814, who, after years of labour, and at enormous expense, converted them from a wilderness into one of the most extraordinary gardens in Europe, almost baffling description. There was a monument either to himself or the gardener, on which were the words: He made the desert smile. From the Uttoxeter Road we could see a Gothic bridge, with an embankment leading up to it, and a huge imitation of Stonehenge, in which we were much interested, that being one of the great objects of interest we intended visiting when we reached Salisbury Plain. We were able to obtain a small guide-book, but it only gave us the information that the gardens consisted of a "labyrinth of terraces, walls, trellis-work, arbours, vases, stairs, pavements, temples, pagodas, gates, parterres, gravel and grass walks, ornamental buildings, bridges, porticos, seats, caves, flower-baskets, waterfalls, rocks, cottages, trees, shrubs and beds of flowers, ivied walls, moss houses, rock, shell, and root work, old trunks of trees, etc., etc.," so, as it would occupy half a day to see the gardens thoroughly, we decided to come again on some future occasion. A Gothic temple stood on the summit of a natural rock, and among other curiosities were a corkscrew fountain of very peculiar character, and vases and statues almost without end. We now followed the main road to the Staffordshire town of Uttoxeter, passing the ruins of Croxden Abbey in the distance, where the heart of King John had been buried, and where plenty of traces of the extreme skill in agriculture possessed by the monks can be seen. One side of the chapel still served as a cowshed, but perhaps the most interesting features were the stone coffins in the orchard as originally placed, with openings so small, that a boy of ten can hardly lie in one. But we missed a sight which as good churchmen we were afterwards told we ought to have remembered. October 31st was All-Hallows Eve, "when ghosts do walk," and here we were in a place they revelled in--so much so that they gave their name to it, Duninius' Dale. Here the curious sights known as "Will-o'-the-Wisp" could be seen magnificently by those who would venture a midnight visit. But we had forgotten the day. [Illustration: CROXDEN ABBEY.] We stopped for tea at Uttoxeter, and formed the opinion that it was a clean but rather sleepy town. There was little to be seen in the church, as it was used in the seventeenth century as a prison for Scottish troops, "who did great damage." It must, however, have been a very healthy town, if we might judge from the longevity of the notables who were born there: Sir Thomas Degge, judge of Western Wales and a famous antiquary, was born here in 1612, and died aged ninety-two; Thomas Allen, a distinguished mathematician and philosopher, the founder of the college at Dulwich and the local Grammar School as well, born 1542, died aged ninety; Samuel Bentley, poet, born 1720, died aged eighty-three; Admiral Alan Gardner, born at the Manor House in 1742, and who, for distinguished services against the French, was raised to the Irish Peerage as Baron Gardner of Uttoxeter, and was M.P. for Plymouth, died aged sixty-seven; Mary Howitt, the well-known authoress, born 1799, also lived to the age of eighty-nine. A fair record for a small country town! John Wesley preached in the marketplace, in the centre of which was a fountain erected to the memory of Dr. Samuel Johnson, the distinguished lexicographer. His father, whose home was at Lichfield, was a bookseller and had a bookstall in Uttoxeter Market, which he attended on market days. The story is told that on one occasion, not feeling very well, he asked his son, Samuel, to take his place, who from motives of pride flatly refused to do so. From this illness the old man never recovered, and many years afterwards, on the anniversary of that sorrowful day, Dr. Samuel Johnson, then in the height of his fame, came to the very spot in the market-place where this unpleasant incident occurred and did penance, standing bareheaded for a full hour in a pitiless storm of wind and rain, much to the surprise of the people who saw him. [Illustration: THE WHITE CATTLE OF CHARTLEY.] We now bade good-bye to the River Dove, leaving it to carry its share of the Pennine Range waters to the Trent, and walked up the hill leading out of the town towards Abbots Bromley. We soon reached a lonely and densely wooded country with Bagot's Wood to the left, containing trees of enormous age and size, remnants of the original forest of Needwood, while to the right was Chartley Park, embracing about a thousand acres of land enclosed from the same forest by the Earl of Derby, about the year 1248. In this park was still to be seen the famous herd of wild cattle, whose ancestors were known to have been driven into the park when it was enclosed. These animals resisted being handled by men, and arranged themselves in a semi-circle on the approach of an intruder. The cattle were perfectly white, excepting their extremities, their ears, muzzles, and hoofs being black, and their long spreading horns were also tipped with black. Chartley was granted by William Rufus to Hugh Lupus, first Earl of Chester, whose descendant, Ranulph, a Crusader, on his return from the Holy War, built Beeston Castle in Cheshire, with protecting walls and towers, after the model of those at Constantinople. He also built the Castle at Chartley about the same period, A.D. 1220, remarkable as having been the last place of imprisonment for the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, as she was taken from there in 1586 to be executed at Fotheringhay. [Illustration: THE "BANK INN," CHARTLEY.] [Illustration: BEGGARS' OAK, BAGOTS WOOD. "We soon reached a lonely and densely wooded country with Bagots Wood to the left, containing trees of enormous size--remnants of the original forest of Needham."] We were interested in these stories of Chartley Castle, for in our own county cattle with almost the same characteristics were preserved in the Parks of Lyme and Somerford, and probably possessed a similar history. That Ranulph was well known can be assumed from the fact that Langland in his _Piers Plowman_ in the fourteenth century says: I cannot perfitly my paternoster as the Priest it singeth. But I can rhymes of Robin Hood and Randall Erie of Chester. Queer company, and yet it was an old story that Robin did find an asylum at Chartley Castle. [Illustration: THE HORN DANCERS, ABBOTS BROMLEY.] We overtook an elderly man on the road returning home from his day's toil on the Bagot estate, and he told us of an old oak tree of tremendous size called the "Beggar's Oak"; but it was now too dark for us to see it. The steward of the estate had marked it, together with others, to be felled and sold; but though his lordship was very poor, he would not have the big oak cut down. He said that both Dick Turpin and Robin Hood had haunted these woods, and when he was a lad a good many horses were stolen and hidden in lonely places amongst the thick bushes to be sold afterwards in other parts of the country. The "Beggar's Oak" was mentioned in the _History of Staffordshire_ in 1830, when its branches were measured by Dr. Darwen as spreading 48 feet in every direction. There was also a larger oak mentioned with a trunk 21 feet 4-1/2 inches in circumference, but in a decayed condition. This was named the Swilcar Lawn Oak, and stood on the Crown lands at Marchington Woodlands, and in Bagot's wood were also the Squitch, King, and Lord Bagot's Walking stick, all fine trees. There were also two famous oaks at Mavesyn Ridware called "Gog and Magog," but only their huge decayed trunks remained. Abbots Bromley had some curious privileges, and some of the great games were kept up. Thus the heads of the horses and reindeers for the "hobby horse" games were to be seen at the church. [Illustration: MARKET PLACE, ABBOT'S BROMLAY] The owner of this region, Lord Bagot, could trace his ancestry back to before the Conquest, for the Normans found one Bagod in possession. In course of time, when the estate had become comparatively poor, we heard that the noble owner had married the daughter of Mr. Bass, the rich brewer of Burton, the first of the Peerage marriages with the families of the new but rich. We passed the Butter Cross and the old inn, reminiscent of stage-coach days, as the church bell was tolling, probably the curfew, and long after darkness had set in, for we were trying to reach Lichfield, we came to the village of Handsacre, where at the "Crown Inn" we stayed the night. (_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.) _Wednesday, November 1st._ Although the "Crown" at Handsacre was only a small inn, we were very comfortable, and the company assembled on the premises the previous evening took a great interest in our travels. We had no difficulty in getting an early breakfast, and a good one too, before leaving the inn this morning, but we found we had missed seeing one or two interesting places which we passed the previous night in the dark, and we had also crossed the River Trent as it flowed towards the great brewery town of Burton, only a few miles distant. [Illustration: WHERE OFFA'S DYKE CROSSES THE MAIS ROAD.] [Illustration: LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL] Daylight found us at the foot of the famous Cannock Chase. The Chase covered about 30,000 acres of land, which had been purposely kept out of cultivation in olden times in order to form a happy hunting-ground for the Mercian Kings, who for 300 years ruled over that part of the country. The best known of these kings was Offa, who in the year 757 had either made or repaired the dyke that separated England from Wales, beginning at Chepstow in Monmouthshire, and continuing across the country into Flintshire. It was not a dyke filled with water, as for the most part it passed over a very hilly country where water was not available, but a deep trench sunk on the Welsh side, the soil being thrown up on the English side, forming a bank about four yards high, of which considerable portions were still visible, and known as "Offa's Dyke." Cannock Chase, which covered the elevations to our right, was still an ideal hunting-country, as its surface was hilly and diversified, and a combination of moorland and forest, while the mansions of the noblemen who patronised the "Hunt" surrounded it on all sides, that named "Beau-Desert," the hall or hunting-box of the Marquis of Anglesey, being quite near to our road. We soon arrived at Lichfield, and on entering the town the three lofty and ornamental spires of the cathedral, which from their smart appearance were known as "The Three Ladies," immediately attracted our attention. But for these, travellers entering Lichfield by this road might easily have passed the cathedral without noticing it, as it stands on low and rather swampy ground, where its fine proportions do not show to advantage. The Close of the cathedral, which partially surrounded it, was heavily fortified in the time of the Civil War, causing the cathedral to be very badly damaged, for it suffered no less than three different sieges by the armies of the Parliament. [Illustration: ST. CHAD'S WELL, LICHFIELD.] The cathedral was dedicated to St. Chad, but whether he was the same St. Chad whose cave was in the rocky bank of the River Don, and about whom we had heard farther north, or not, we could not ascertain. He must have been a water-loving saint, as a well in the town formed by a spring of pure water was known as St. Chad's Well, in which the saint stood naked while he prayed, upon a stone which had been preserved by building it into the wall of the well. There was also in the cathedral at one time the "Chapel of St. Chad's Head," but this had been almost destroyed during the first siege of 1643. The ancient writings of the patron saint in the early Welsh language had fortunately been preserved. Written on parchment and ornamented with rude drawings of the Apostles and others, they were known as St. Chad's Gospels, forming one of the most treasured relics belonging to the cathedral, but, sad to relate, had been removed by stealth, it was said, from the Cathedral of Llandaff. The first siege began on March 2nd, 1643, which happened to be St. Chad's Day, and it was recorded that during that siege "Lord Brooke who was standing in the street was killed, being shot through the eye by Dumb Dyott from the cathedral steeple." The cathedral was afterwards used by Cromwell's men as a stable, and every ornament inside and outside that they could reach was greatly damaged; but they appeared to have tried to finish the cathedral off altogether, when in 1651 they stripped the lead from the roof and then set the woodwork on fire. It was afterwards repaired and rebuilt, but nearly all the ornaments on the west front, which had been profusely decorated with the figures of martyrs, apostles, priests, and kings, had been damaged or destroyed. At the Restoration an effort was made to replace these in cement, but this proved a failure, and the only perfect figure that remained then on the west front was a rather clumsy one of Charles II, who had given a hundred timber trees out of Needwood Forest to repair the buildings. Many of the damaged figures were taken down in 1744, and some others were removed later by the Dean, who was afraid they might fall on his head as he went in and out of the cathedral. [Illustration: "THE THREE LADIES"] In those days chimney sweepers employed a boy to climb up the inside of the chimneys and sweep the parts that could not be reached with their brush from below, the method of screwing one stale to the end of another and reaching the top in that way being then unknown. These boys were often cruelly treated, and had even been known to be suffocated in the chimney. The nature of their occupation rendered them very daring, and for this reason the Dean employed one of them to remove the rest of the damaged figures, a service which he satisfactorily performed at no small risk both to himself and others. There is a very fine view in the interior of the cathedral looking from west to east, which extends to a distance of 370 feet, and of which Sir Gilbert Scott, the great ecclesiastical architect, who was born in 1811, has written, "I always hold this work to be almost absolute perfection in design and detail"; another great authority said that when he saw it his impressions were like those described by John Milton in his "Il Penseroso": Let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embossed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim, religious light: There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below. In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstacies. And bring all heaven before mine eyes. We had not much time to explore the interior, but were obliged to visit the white marble effigy by the famous Chantrey of the "Sleeping Children" of Prebendary Robinson. It was beautifully executed, but for some reason we preferred that of little Penelope we had seen the day before, possibly because these children appeared so much older and more like young ladies compared with Penelope, who was really a child. Another monument by Chantrey which impressed us more strongly than that of the children was that of Bishop Ryder in a kneeling posture, which we thought a very fine production. There was also a slab to the memory of Admiral Parker, the last survivor of Nelson's captains, and some fine stained-glass windows of the sixteenth century formerly belonging to the Abbey of Herckrode, near Liège, which Sir Brooke Boothby, the father of little Penelope, had bought in Belgium in 1803 and presented to the cathedral. [Illustration: THE WEST DOOR, LICHFIELD.] The present bishop, Bishop Selwyn, seemed to be very much loved, as everybody had a good word for him. One gentleman told us he was the first bishop to reside at the palace, all former bishops having resided at Eccleshall, a town twenty-six miles away. Before coming to Lichfield he had been twenty-two years in New Zealand, being the first bishop of that colony. He died seven years after our visit, and had a great funeral, at which Mr. W.E. Gladstone, who described Selwyn as "a noble man," was one of the pall-bearers. The poet Browning's words were often applied to Bishop Selwyn: We that have loved him so, followed and honour'd him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Caught his clear accents, learnt his great language, Made him our pattern to live and to die. There were several old houses in Lichfield of more than local interest, one of which, called the Priest's House, was the birthplace in 1617 of Elias Ashmole, Windsor Herald to King Charles II, and founder of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. When we got into the town, or city, we found that, although St. Chad was the patron saint of the cathedral, there was also a patron saint of Lichfield itself, for it was Johnson here, Johnson there, and Johnson everywhere, so we must needs go and see the house where the great Doctor was born in 1709. We found it adjoining the market-place, and in front of a monument on which were depicted three scenes connected with his childhood: the first showing him mounted on his father's back listening to Dr. Sacheverell, who was shown in the act of preaching; the second showed him being carried to school between the shoulders of two boys, another boy following closely behind, as if to catch him in the event of a fall; while the third panel represents him standing in the market-place at Uttoxeter, doing penance to propitiate Heaven for the act of disobedience to his father that had happened fifty years ago. When very young he was afflicted with scrofula, or king's evil; so his mother took him in 1712, when he was only two and a half years old, to London, where he was touched by Queen Anne, being the last person so touched in England. The belief had prevailed from the time of Edward the Confessor that scrofula could be cured by the royal touch, and although the office remained in our Prayer Book till 1719, the Jacobites considered that the power did not descend to King William and Queen Anne because "Divine" hereditary right was not fully possessed by them; which doubtless would be taken to account for the fact that Johnson was not healed, for he was troubled with the disease as long as he lived. When he was three years old he was carried by his father to the cathedral to hear Dr. Sacheverell preach. This gentleman, who was a Church of England minister and a great political preacher, was born in 1672. He was so extremely bitter against the dissenters and their Whig supporters that he was impeached before the House of Lords, and suspended for three years, while his sermon on "Perils of False Brethren," which had had an enormous sale, was burnt by the common hangman! It was said that young Johnson's conduct while listening to the doctor's preaching on that occasion was quite exemplary. [Illustration: MONUMENT TO SAMUEL JOHNSON, LICHFIELD.] Johnson was educated at the Lichfield Grammar School under Dr. Hunter, who was a very severe schoolmaster, and must have been one of those who "drove it in behind," for Johnson afterwards wrote: "My Master whipt me very well. Without that I should have done nothing." Dr. Hunter boasted that he never taught a boy anything; he whipped and they learned. It was said, too, that when he flogged them he always said: "Boys, I do this to save you from the gallows!" Johnson went to Oxford, and afterwards, in 1736, opened a school near Lichfield, advertising in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for young gentleman "to be boarded and taught the Latin and Greek languages, by Samuel Johnson." He only got eight pupils, amongst whom was David Garrick, who afterwards became the leading tragic actor of his time. Johnson had for some time been at work on a tragedy called _The Tragedy of Irene_, though whether this decided Garrick to become a tragedy actor is not known; the play, however, did not succeed with the play-going public in London, and had to be withdrawn. Neither did the school succeed, and it had to be given up, Johnson, accompanied by David Garrick, setting off to London, where it was said that he lived in a garret on fourpence-halfpenny per day. Many years afterwards, when Johnson was dining with a fashionable company, a remark was made referring to an incident that occurred in a certain year, and Johnson exclaimed: "That was the year when I came to London with twopence-halfpenny in my pocket." Garrick overheard the remark, and exclaimed: "Eh, what do you say? with twopence-halfpenny in your pocket?" "Why, yes; when I came with twopence-halfpenny in my pocket, and thou, Davy, with three-halfpence in thine." Poverty haunted Johnson all through life until 1762, when he was granted a pension of £300 a year by King George III, on the recommendation of Lord Bute, the Prime Minister, who, in making the offer, said: "It is not given you for anything you are to do, but for what you have done." In the meantime Johnson had brought out his great Dictionary, at which he had worked for years in extreme poverty, and in the progress of which he had asked Lord Chesterfield to become his patron, in the hope that he would render him some financial assistance. When he went to see him, however, he was kept waiting for over an hour, while his lordship amused himself by conversing with some second-rate mortal named "Colley Cibber," and when this man came out, and Johnson saw who it was for whom he had been kept waiting, he hurriedly and indignantly took his departure. When his Dictionary was nearly ready for publication and likely to become a great success, his lordship wrote to Johnson offering to become his patron; but it was now too late, and Johnson's reply was characteristic of the man, as the following passages from his letter show: Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on with my work through Difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one-smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a Patron before. The notice you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no cynical asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do for myself! [Illustration: LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, WEST FRONT.] Johnson's name is often associated with London taverns, but it would be wrong to assume on that account that he had bibulous tendencies, for although he described Boswell, who wrote his splendid biography, as a "clubable" man, and the tavern chair as the throne of human felicity, it should be remembered that there were no gentlemen's clubs in London in those days, hence groups of famous men met at the taverns. Johnson had quite a host of friends, including Garrick, Burke, Goldsmith, Savage (whose biography he wrote), Sheridan, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. When Sir Joshua Reynolds and Johnson were dining at Mrs. Garrick's house in London they were regaled with Uttoxeter ale, which had a "peculiar appropriate value," but Johnson's beverage at the London taverns was lemonade, or the juice of oranges, or tea, and it was his boast that "with tea he amused the evenings, with tea solaced the midnight hour, and with tea welcomed the morning." He was credited with drinking enormous quantities of that beverage, the highest number of cups recorded being twenty-five at one time, but the size of the cups were very much smaller in those days. Johnson, who died in 1784 at the age of seventy-five, was buried in Westminster Abbey, and, mainly through the exertions of his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, a statue of him was erected in St. Paul's Cathedral. Other eminent men besides Dr. Johnson received their education at Lichfield Grammar School: Elias Ashmole, founder of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford, Joseph Addison the great essayist, whose father was Dean of Lichfield, and David Garrick the actor, were all educated at the Grammar School. There were five boys who had at one period attended the school who afterwards became judges of the High Court: Lord Chief Justice Willes, Lord Chief Justice Wilmot, Lord Chief Baron Parker, Mr. Justice Noel, and Sir Richard Lloyd, Baron of the Exchequer. Leaving Lichfield, we passed along the racecourse and walked as quickly as we could to Tamworth, where at the railway station we found our box awaiting us with a fresh change of clothing. In a few minutes we were comfortably rigged out for our farther journey; the box, in which my brother packed up the stones, was then reconsigned to our home address. I was now strong enough to carry my own luggage, which seemed to fit very awkwardly in its former position, but I soon got over that. There was at Tamworth a fine old church dedicated to St. Editha which we did not visit. We saw the bronze statue erected in 1852 to the memory of the great Sir Robert Peel, Bart., who represented Tamworth in Parliament, and was twice Prime Minister, and who brought in the famous Bill for the Abolition of the Corn Laws. These Laws had been in operation from the year 1436. But times had changed: the population had rapidly grown with the development of industries, so that being limited to home production, corn reached such a high price that people came to see that the laws pressed hardly upon the poorer classes, hence they were ultimately abolished altogether. The Bill was passed in 1846, Cobden, Bright, and Villiers leading the agitation against them, and after the Corn Laws were abolished a period of great prosperity prevailed in England. [Illustration: SIR ROBERT PEEL. _From the portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence_.] Sir Robert Peel died from the effect of an accident sustained when riding on horseback in Hyde Park, on June 25th, 1850; he fell from his horse, dying three days afterwards, and was buried in his mausoleum, in the Parish Church of Drayton Bassett, a village about two miles from Tamworth. It was the day of the Municipal Elections as we passed through Tamworth, but, as only one ward was being contested, there was an almost total absence o f the excitement usual on such occasions. [Illustration: TAMWORTH CASTLE.] Tamworth Castle contains some walls that were built by the Saxons in a herringbone pattern. There was a palace on the site of the castle in the time of Ofta, which was the chief residence of the Kings of Mercia; but William the Conqueror gave the castle and town of Tamworth and the Manor of Scrivelsby in Lincolnshire to his dispensor, or royal steward, Robert of Fontenaye-le-Marmion in Normandy, whose family were the hereditary champions of the Dukes of Normandy: These Lincoln lands the Conqueror gave, That England's glove they might convey To Knight renowned amongst the brave-- The Baron bold of Fontenaye. [Illustration: THE "LADY" BRIDGE, TAMWORTH.] Robert Marmion, therefore, was the first "King's Champion of England," an honour which remained in his family until the death of the eighth Lord, Philip Marmion, in 1291. This man was one of the leading nobles at the Court of Henry III, and the stubborn defender of Kenilworth Castle, acting as King's Champion at the Coronation of Edward I on August 19th, 1274. The duty of the King's Champion on the day of Coronation was to ride completely armed on a barbed horse into Westminster Hall, and there to challenge to combat any who should gainsay the king's title. On the death of Philip de Marmion the Castle of Tamworth passed by marriage to the Trevilles, Sir Alexander Treville, as owner of the castle, officiating; as Royal Champion at the Coronation of Edward III in 1327; but at the Coronation of Richard II, in 1377, the right of the Treville family to act as champion was disputed by Sir John Dymoke, to whom the Manor of Scrivelsby had descended by marriage from another relative of Phillip Marmion. It was decided that the office went with the Manor of Scrivelsby, and the Dymokes had acted as King's Champion ever since, their coat of arms bearing in Latin the motto, "I fight for the king." As we passed over what is known as the Lady Bridge spanning the River Tame, just where it joins the River Anker at the foot of the castle, we saw a stone built in the bridge called the Marmion Stone, and remembered Sir Walter Scott's "Tale of Flodden Field" and his famous lines: "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion. But we found other references in Sir Walter's "Marmion": Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, With silver scutcheon round their neck And there, with herald pomp and state, They hail'd Lord Marmion: They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelsbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town. and in the Fifth Canto in "Marmion," King James of Scotland is made to say: "Southward I march by break of day; And if within Tantallon strong. The good Lord Marmion tarries long, Perchance our meeting next may fall At Tamworth, in his castle-hall."-- The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt: "Much honour'd were my humble home, If in its halls King James should come. * * * * * And many a banner will be torn, And many a knight to earth be borne, And many a sheaf of arrows spent. Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent." Sir Walter described Marmion as having been killed in the battle together with one of his peasants, and that as both bodies had been stripped and were covered with wounds, they could not distinguish one from the other, with the result that the peasant was brought and buried at Lichfield instead of his lord. Short is my tale:--Fitz-Eustace' care A pierced and mangled body bare To moated Lichfield's lofty pile; And there, beneath the southern aisle, A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, Did long Lord Marmion's image bear, (Now vainly for its sight you look; 'Twas levell'd when fanatic Brook The fair cathedral storm'd and took; But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint Chad, A guerdon meet the spoiler had!) There erst was martial Marmion found, His feet upon a couchant hound, His hands to heaven upraised: And all around, on scutcheon rich, And tablet carved, and fretted niche, His arms and feats were blazed. And yet, though all was carved so fair, And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer, The last Lord Marmion lay not there. [Illustration: MEREVALE ABBEY.] [Illustration: "KING DICK'S WELL."] The Marmion stone on the bridge has five unequal sides, and at one time formed the base for a figure of the Virgin and the Child, which stood on the bridge. The ancient family of Basset of Drayton, a village close by, were in some way connected with this stone, for on one side appeared the arms of the family, on another the monogram M.R. surmounted by a crown, and on the two others the letters I.H.C. About two miles farther on we entered the village of Fazeley, purposely to see a house where a relative of ours had once resided, being curious to know what kind of a place it was. Here we were only a short distance away from Drayton Manor, at one time the residence of the great Sir Robert Peel. Having gratified our curiosity, we recrossed the River Tame, passing along the great Watling Street, the Roman Road which King Alfred used as a boundary in dividing England with the Danes, towards Atherstone in search of "fields and pastures new," and in a few miles reached the grounds of Merevale Abbey, now in ruins, where Robert, Earl Ferrers, was buried, long before coffins were used for burial purposes, in "a good ox hide." Here we reached the town of Atherstone, where the staple industry was the manufacture of hats, the Atherstone Company of Hat-makers being incorporated by charters from James I and Charles II. Many of the chiefs on the West Coast of Africa have been decorated with gorgeous hats that have been made at Atherstone. When the Romans were making their famous street and reached the spot where Atherstone now stands, they came, according to local tradition, to a large stone that was in their way, and in moving it they disturbed a nest of adders, which flew at them. The stone was named Adders' Stone, which gradually became corrupted to Athers' Stone, and hence the name of the town. The Corporation of the Governors embodied this incident in their coat of arms and on the Grammar School, which was endowed in 1573: a stone showed the adders as springing upwards, and displaying the words, "Adderstonien Sigil Scholæ." We called at the "Old Red Lion Inn," and, going to explore the town while our refreshments were being prepared, found our way to a church, once part of a monastery, where the old fourteenth-century bell was still tolled. It was in the chancel of this church that Henry, Earl of Richmond, partook of Holy Communion on the eve of his great victory over Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field, by which he became King Henry VII. He had also spent a night at the "Three Tuns Inn" preparing his plans for the fight, which occurred two days later, August 22nd, 1485. There was on the site of the battle a well named "King Dick's Well," which was covered with masonry in the form of a pyramid, with an entrance on one of its four sides, and which covered the spring where Richard, weary of fighting, had a refreshing drink before the final charge that ended in his death. He, however, lost the battle, and Henry of Richmond, who won it, was crowned King of England at Stoke Golding Church, which was practically on the battlefield, and is one of the finest specimens of decorated architecture in England. But what an anxious and weary time these kings must have had! not only they, but all others. When we considered how many of them had been overthrown, assassinated, taken prisoners in war, executed, slain in battle, forced to abdicate, tortured to death, committed suicide, and gone mad, we came to the conclusion that Shakespeare was right when he wrote, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." In his _King Richard II_ he makes the King say: "And nothing can we call our own but death, And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of Kings: How some have been deposed, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd." One good result of the Battle of Bosworth Field was that it ended the "Wars of the Roses," which had been a curse to England for thirty years. [Illustration: BULL BAITING STONE, ATHERSTONE.] Bull-baiting was one of the favourite sports of our forefathers, the bull being usually fastened to an iron ring in the centre of a piece of ground, while dogs were urged on to attack it, many of them being killed in the fight. This space of land was known as the Bull-ring, a name often found in the centre of large towns at the present day. We knew a village in Shropshire where the original ring was still to be seen embedded in the cobbled pavement between the church and the village inn. But at Atherstone the bull had been fastened to a large stone, still to be seen, but away from the road, which had now been diverted from its original track. The ancient whipping-post, along with the stocks, which had accommodation for three persons, had found their last resting-place inside the old market-hall. They must have been almost constantly occupied and used in the good old times, as Atherstone was not only on the great Watling Street, but it had a unique position on the other roads of the country, as an old milestone near our hotel, where we found our refreshments waiting our arrival, informed us that we were a hundred miles from London, a hundred miles from Liverpool, and a hundred miles from Lincoln, so that Atherstone could fairly claim to be one of the central towns in England, though the distance to Lincoln had been overstated. [Illustration: STOCKS IN ATHERSTONE MARKET-HALL.] We continued walking along the Watling Street for a short distance, until we reached the end of the town, and then we forked on to the right towards Nuncaton; but in a very short distance we came to the village of Mancetter, where there was a fine old church, apparently the Parish Church of Atherstone. When the Romans were here they protected their "Street" by means of forts, and one in a small chain of these was at Mancetter, the Manduesdum of the Romans, their camp appearing in the form of a square mound, with the "Street" passing through the centre. Inside the church were quite a number of very old books, in one of which we were shown a wood-cut representing the burning of Robert Glover and Cornelius Bongley at Coventry in 1555. Glover was a gentleman who lived at the Manor House here, and was one of the Mancetter Martyrs, the other being Mrs. Lewis, a tenant of his who lived at the Manor House Farm. She was burnt in 1557, two years later. A large tablet was placed in the church to their memories, both of them having suffered for their adherence to the Protestant Faith. The east-end window was a curiosity, for it contained a large quantity of thirteenth-century stained glass which had been brought here from Merevale Abbey. It was probably damaged both there and in transit, as it seemed to have a somewhat rough appearance; the verger informed us, when pointing out several defects in the figures, that a local glazier had been employed to erect it who did not understand such work, and though he had no doubt done his best, he had made some awkward mistakes. Why David's sword appeared behind his back the verger could not explain, so my brother suggested that either the head or the body had been turned the wrong way about. [Illustration: THE MANOR HOUSE, MANCETTER.] There were five bells in the church tower, the largest of which was, of course, the tenor bell, weighing thirty-three hundredweight, and the words that had been cast on it set us a-thinking: My soaring sound does warning give That a man on earth not only lives. There were usually some strange records in these country churchyards, and we generally found them in the older portions of the burial-grounds; but we had very little time to look for them as the night was coming on, so we secured the services of the verger, who pointed out in the new part of the churchyard a stone recording the history of Charles Richard Potter in the following words: Born--May 11, 1788. Married--May 11, 1812. Died--May 11, 1858. So the eleventh day of May was a lucky or an unlucky day for Mr. Potter--probably both; but one strange feature which we only thought of afterwards was that he had lived exactly the allotted span of three score years and ten. In the old part of the yard were the following epitaphs: The Earth's a City Full of crooked streets Death is ye market-place Where all must meet If life was merchandise That man could buy The rich would always live Ye poor must die. In bygone times it was no unusual thing to find dead bodies on the road, or oftener a short distance from it, where the owners had laid themselves down to die; we ourselves remembered, in a lonely place, only a field's breadth from the coach road to London, a pit at the side of which years ago the corpse of a soldier had been found in the bushes. Here, apparently, there had been a similar case, with the exception that the man had been found by the side of the Watling Street instead of the fields adjoining. No one in the district knew who the stranger was, but as sufficient money had been found on him to pay the cost of the burial, his corpse was placed in Mancetter Churchyard, and as his name was unknown, some mysterious initials, of which no one now living knew the meaning, appeared on the headstone. Here lieth interr'd the Body of I. H. I. M. What Ere we was or am it matters not to whom related, or by whom begot, We was, but am not. Ask no more of me 'Tis all we are And all that you must be. We now hurried on, but as every finger-post had been painted white to receive the new letters, the old words beneath the paint were quite illegible, and, the road being lonely, of course we got lost, so, instead of arriving at Nuneaton, we found ourselves again at the Watling Street, at a higher point than that where we had left it when leaving Atherstone. Nearly opposite the lane end from which we now emerged there was a public-house, set back from the road, where a sign, suspended from a pole, swung alongside the Watling Street to attract the attention of travellers to the inn, and here we called to inquire our way to Nuneaton. The name of the house was the "Royal Red Gate Inn," the pole we had seen on the Watling Street holding a wooden gate painted red. We asked why the red gate was a royal one, and the landlady said it was because Queen Adelaide once called there, but who Queen Adelaide was, and when she called there, she did not know. When asked what she called for, she replied, "I don't know, unless it was for a drink!" As we did not know who Queen Adelaide was ourselves, we had to wait until we reached Nuneaton, where we were informed that she was the wife of William IV, and that in her retirement she lived at Sudbury Hall in Derbyshire, so this would be on her coach road to and from London. The lane at one end of the Red Gate went to Fenney Drayton, where George Fox the Quaker was born, about whom we had heard farther north; but we had to push on, and finally did reach Nuneaton for the night. _(Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.) _Thursday, November 2nd._ In our early days we used to be told there was only one man in Manchester, which fact was true if we looked at the name; in the same way we were told there was but one nun in Nuneaton, but the ruins of the nunnery suggested that there must have been quite a number there in the past ages. We had seen many monasteries in our travels, but only one nunnery, and that was at York; so convent life did not seem to have been very popular in the North country, the chorus of a young lady's song of the period perhaps furnishing the reason why: [Illustration: "GEORGE ELLIOT."] Then I won't be a Nun, And I shan't be a Nun; I'm so fond of pleasure That I _cannot_ be a Nun. The nuns had of course disappeared and long since been forgotten, but other women had risen to take their places in the minds and memories of the people of Nuneaton, foremost amongst whom was Mary Ann Evans, who was born about the year 1820 at the South Farm, Arbury, whither her father, belonging to the Newdegate family, had removed from Derbyshire to take charge of some property in Warwickshire. "George Eliot" has been described as "the greatest woman writer in English literature," and as many of her novels related mainly to persons and places between Nuneaton and Coventry, that district had been named by the Nuneaton people "The Country of George Eliot." _Scenes of Clerical Life_ was published in 1858, and _The Mill on the Floss_ in 1860, and although the characters and places are more difficult to locate than those in _Adam Bede_, the "Bull Hotel" at Nuneaton has been identified as the "Red Lion" in her novel, where Mr. Dempster, over his third glass of brandy and water, would overwhelm a disputant who had beaten him in argument, with some such tirade as: "I don't care a straw, sir, either for you or your encyclopædia; a farrago of false information picked up in a cargo of waste paper. Will you tell me, sir, that I don't know the origin of Presbyterianism? I, sir, a man known through the county; while you, sir, are ignored by the very fleas that infest the miserable alley in which you were bred!" [Illustration: SOUTH FARM, ARBURY, THE BIRTHPLACE OF "GEORGE ELIOT"] We left the "Newdegate Arms" at Nuneaton early in the morning, on our way to Lutterworth, our next object of interest, and passed by the village of Hartshill, where Michael Drayton was born in 1563. He was a lyric poet of considerable fame and a friend of Shakespeare. His greatest work, _Polyolbion_, a poetic description of different parts of England, was published in 1613. He became Poet Laureate, and at his death, in 1631, was buried in Westminster Abbey. We again went astray owing to the finger-posts being without names, but at length reached the Watling Street at cross-roads, where there was a very old public-house called "The Three Pots," and here we turned to the right along the Street. The road was very lonely, for there were very few houses on the Street itself, the villages being a mile or two away on either side, but we had not gone very far before we met a Church of England clergyman, who told us he had just returned from India, and that he would much have liked to form one of our company in the journey we were taking. He was sorry he had not met us lower down the road so that he could have detained us a short time to listen to some of our tales of adventures, and he would have given us a glass of beer and some bread and cheese; which he altered to milk and eggs when we told him we did not drink beer. We explained to him that we should never be able to complete our journey if we joined the company of the beer-drinkers at the many taverns we passed, and lingered at, on our way. Our experience was that we were expected to tell tales, and the farther we travelled the more we should have had to tell. He quite saw the force of our argument, and then he said: "I presume you are not married," and when we told him we were not, he said, "I thought not, as you would never have been allowed to engage in so long a journey," and added, "I am just about to be married myself." We told him we were sorry he was about to lose his liberty, and, wishing him much happiness, and again thanking him for his proffered hospitality, we resumed our march. [Illustration: HIGH CROSS, THE CENTRE OF ENGLAND.] In passing through country villages we often met the local clergyman or doctor, of whom we invariably inquired concerning any objects of interest to be seen. It was marvellous how many of them expressed a wish to imitate our example. This, however, was only on fine days, for we seldom met those gentlemen when the weather was bad, and we wondered whether, if we had, they would still have expressed a wish to form one of our company! Fine weather prevailed that day, and we soon arrived at the High Cross which marked the Roman centre of England. It was at this point that their most celebrated roads, the Fosse Way and the Watling Street, crossed each other, running, we supposed, from north-east to south-west and from north-west to south-east, to the extreme ends of the kingdom in each direction. The Cross in the time of the Romans was made of wood, being replaced or renewed in successive generations, until in the middle of the seventeenth century it was utilised as a finger-post, consisting of a long pole with four arms, to direct the way from "London to West Chester," and from "York to Bristol." In 1712 an ornamental stone cross was erected on the same spot by a number of gentlemen headed by Basil, the fourth Earl of Denbigh, who had large estates in that neighbourhood. The tableland on which it stood was 440 feet above the sea-level, rivers running from it in every direction, and such was the extent of the country visible from the Cross that with the aid of a telescope fifty-six churches could be seen. This elevated position might account for the Cross being struck by lightning in 1791 and partially destroyed, but the inscriptions on the base, which had been left standing, were still visible, although partially obscured by the numerous names and initials of vandals, who have succeeded in closing many interesting places to more civilised and sensible people. We could perhaps go further and describe them as fools, for what will it matter to posterity what their initials or names are; they only rouse the ire of those who follow them and a feeling of disappointment that they had not caught the offenders in their act of wanton mischief and been able to administer some corporal punishment or other. Years ago the benevolent owner of a fine estate situated near a town decided to open his beautiful grounds to his poorer neighbours, but before doing so he erected at the entrance gate two large wooden tablets resembling the two tablets of the Ten Commandments formerly fixed in churches but now rapidly disappearing, and on these he caused his conditions and desires to be painted in poetry, four verses on each tablet. They represent what most landowners desire but few obtain: I No chief to enter at this gate To wander through this fine estate; The owner of this ancient Hall A kindly welcome bids to all: Yet hopes that no one will neglect The following wishes to respect. II When in the meadows grown for hay. Keep to the Drive or right of way. Fright not the cattle on the lea Nor damage flower nor shrub nor tree; And let no vestiges be found Of paper, scattered o'er the ground. III One more request will sure suffice: From carving any rude device Refrain! and oh let no one see Your name on post, or bridge or tree. Such were the act of fool, whose name We fear can ne'er descend to fame. IV Your olive-branches with you take, And let them here their pastime make. These scenes will ever seem more fair When children's voices fill the air: Or bring, as comrade in your stroll, Your Dog, if under due control. V If, to the gentle art inclined, To throw a fly you have a mind. Send in your card and state your wish To be allowed to catch a fish: Or if the woodland to explore, Pray seek permission at the door. VI These boons are granted not quite free, Y'et for a very moderate fee; Nor fear but what it is ordained That all the money thus obtained Shall to the fund be handed down For aid to sick in yonder Town. VII The owner of this blest domain Himself to sojourn here is fain; And if by land or sea he roam Yet loveth best his native home, Which, for two centuries or near, His ancestors have held so dear. VIII Admire well the graceful art Of Nature's hand in every part: Full well he knoweth how to prize This fair Terrestrial Paradise; And 'tis his wish sincere and true That others should enjoy it too. But to return to the High Cross and the Watling Street. The description on the Cross was in Latin, of which the following is a translation: The noblemen and gentry, ornaments of the counties of Warwickshire and Leicestershire at the instance of the Right Honourable Basil Earl of Denbigh, have caused this pillar to be erected in grateful as well as perpetual remembrance of peace at last restored by her Majesty Queen Anne. If, Traveller, you search for the footsteps of the ancient Romans you may here behold them. For here their most celebrated ways crossing one another extend to the utmost boundaries of Britain. Here the Bennones kept their quarters and at the distance of one mile from here Claudius, a certain commander of a Cohort, seems to have had a camp towards the Street, and towards the Fosse a tomb. We were pleased to see that the remains of the Cross had been enclosed in the garden of a house belonging to the Earl of Denbigh, a descendant of the Earl who had been instrumental in building it, and it was now comparatively safe from further defacement. The Romans built stations along their roads, and near the High Cross stood their military station Bennones, on the side of which many Roman remains, including a Roman urn, had been discovered. It was of great importance to them that any hostile movement amongst the turbulent Britons should be reported immediately, so young men who were quick runners were employed to convey intelligence from one station to another; but this system was improved upon later by building on the side of the road, in as prominent a position as possible, at intervals of five or six miles, a house where forty horses were stabled so that news or soldiers could, if required, be carried by relays of horses a distance of a hundred miles along the road in the course of a single day. We were now only about twelve miles from Leicester, and we had to walk about six miles in that county in order to reach Lutterworth, famous throughout England as the parish where the great Reformer John Wiclif spent the last nineteen years of his life as rector. We passed through a fine grazing and fox-hunting country on our way, and found Lutterworth a rather pleasantly situated little town. Our first visit was naturally to the church, and as we walked along the quiet street leading up to it we saw a woman standing at her cottage door, to whom we spoke concerning the great divine, asking incidentally how long it was since he was rector there. She said she did not know exactly, but as far as she could remember she thought it was about 146 years since he died. On arriving at the church we found that it was about 487 years since Wiclif departed, and we thought it strange that a lady who lived almost under the shadow of the church steeple could have been so ill-informed. The church had recently been restored, and a painting of the Day of Doom, or Judgment, had been discovered over the arch of the chancel under the whitewash or plaster, which we were told Oliver Cromwell had ordered to be put on. At the top of this picture our Saviour was represented as sitting on a rainbow with two angels on each side, two of whom were blowing trumpets, and on the earth, which appeared far down below, the graves were opening, and all sorts of strange people, from the king down to the humblest peasant, were coming out of their tombs, while the fire and smoke from others proclaimed the doom of their occupants, and skulls and bones lay scattered about in all directions. [Illustration: JOHN WICLIF. _From the portrait in Lutterworth Church_] It was not a very pleasant picture to look upon, so we adjourned to the vestry, where we were shown a vestment worn by Wiclif in which some holes had been cut either with knives or scissors. On inquiry we were informed that the pieces cut out had been "taken away by visitors," which made us wonder why the vestment had not been taken better care of. We were shown an old pulpit, and the chair in which Wiclif fell when he was attacked by paralysis, and in which he was carried out of church to die three days afterwards. We could not describe his life and work better than by the inscription on the mural monument subscribed for in 1837: Sacred to the Memory of John Wiclif the earliest Champion of Ecclesiastical Reformation in England. He was born in Yorkshire in the year 1324, and in the year 1375 he was presented to the Rectory of Lutterworth. At Oxford he acquired not only the renown of a consummate Schoolman, but the far more glorious title of the Evangelical Doctor. His whole life was one perpetual struggle against the corruptions and encroachments of the Papal Court and the impostures of its devoted auxiliaries, the Mendicant Fraternities. His labours in the cause of Scriptural truths were crowned by one immortal achievement, his Translation of the Bible into the English tongue. This mighty work drew on him, indeed, the bitter hatred of all who were making merchandise of the popular credulity and ignorance, but he found abundant reward in the blessing of his countrymen of every rank and age, to whom he unfolded the words of Eternal Light. His mortal remains were interred near this spot, but they were not allowed to rest in peace. After a lapse of many years his bones were dragged from the grave and consigned to the flames; and his ashes were cast in the waters of the adjoining stream. That he was a man of distinction may be taken for granted, as he was master of that famous college at Oxford, Balliol College, where his picture hangs in the dining-hall to-day. When in Lichfield Cathedral, where we saw Chantrey's monument of Bishop Ryder, we had omitted to ask for particulars about him, but here we were told that he was appointed Rector of Lutterworth in 1801, and had been a benefactor to the town. He was made Canon of Windsor in 1808, Dean of Wells 1812, Bishop of Gloucester 1815, and finally became Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry. He died at Hastings in 1836, and as Chantrey himself died in 1841, his monument of Bishop Ryder, that had impressed us so deeply, must have been one of his latest and best productions. [Illustration: LUTTERWORTH CHURCH] Lutterworth was the property of William the Conqueror in 1086, and it was King Edward III who presented the living to Wiclif, who was not only persecuted by the Pope, but also by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London. On two occasions he had to appear before the Papal Commission, and if he had not been the personal friend of John o' Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the fourth son of the King Edward who had given him the living, and probably the most powerful man in England next to the king, he would inevitably have suffered martyrdom. He was equally fortunate in the following reign, as John o' Gaunt was uncle to Richard II, the reigning monarch, under whose protection he was spared to finish his great work and to translate the Holy Bible so that it could be read in the English language. We went to see the bridge which crossed the small stream known as the River Swift, for it was there that Wiclif's bones were burned and the ashes thrown into the stream. The historian related that they did not remain there, for the waters of the Swift conveyed them to the River Avon, the River Avon to the River Severn, the Severn to the narrow seas, and thence into the wide ocean, thus becoming emblematic of Wiclif's doctrines, which in later years spread over the wide, wide world. A well-known writer once humorously observed that the existence of a gallows in any country was one of the signs of civilisation, but although we did not see or hear of any gallows at Lutterworth, there were other articles, named in the old books of the constables, which might have had an equally civilising influence, especially if they had been used as extensively as the stocks and whipping-post as recorded in a list of vagrants who had been taken up and whipped by Constables Cattell and Pope, from October 15th, 1657, to September 30th, 1658. The records of the amounts paid for repairs to the various instruments of torture, which included a lock-up cage for prisoners and a cuck, or ducking-stool, in which the constables ducked scolding wives and other women in a deep hole near the river bridge, led us to conclude that they must have been extensively used. A curious custom prevailed in Lutterworth in olden times. There were two mills on the River Swift, and the people were compelled to grind all their malt at one mill and all their corn at another, and to bake all their bread in one oven; in those "days of bondage" a person durst not buy a pound of flour from any other miller. These privileges were abused by the millers to make high charges, and it was on record that a person who ventured to bake a cake in his own oven was summoned, but discharged on his begging pardon and paying expenses. This unsatisfactory state of things continued until the year 1758, when a rebellion arose headed by a local patriot named Bickley. This townsman roused his fellow-citizens to resist, and built a malthouse of his own, his example being soon followed by others, who defied the owner of the privileged mill, and entered into a solemn bond to defend any action that might be brought against them. The contest was one of the most interesting and remarkable ever known in the district, and was decided at the Leicester Assizes in July 1758, the verdict being in favour of the parishioners, with costs to the amount of £300. One of the greatest curiosities to be seen in Lutterworth was an old clock which was there in 1798, and still remained in good working order; the description of it reads as follows: The case is of mahogany; and the face is oval, being nineteen inches by fifteen inches. The upper part exhibits a band of music, consisting of two violins, a violoncello, a German flute, three vocal performers, and a boy and girl; the lower part has the hour and minutes indicated by neat gilt hands; above the centre is a moment hand, which shows the true dead beat. On the right is a hand pointing to--chimes silent--all dormant--quarters silent--all active; to signify that the clock will perform as those words imply. On the left is a hand that points to the days of the week, and goes round in the course of seven days, and shifts the barrel to a fresh time at noon and midnight. The clock strikes the hour, the four quarters, and plays a tune three times over every three hours, either on the bells alone, the lyricord, or on both together. Three figures beat exact time to the music, and three seem to play on their instruments; and the boy and the girl both dance through the whole if permitted. But still, by a touch all are dormant, and by another touch all are in action again. The lyricord will play either low or loud. The machine goes eight days, either as a watch clock, quarter clock, quarter-chime-clock or as a quarter chime lyrical clock. It will go with any or all parts in action, or with any or all parts dormant. It has four chime barrels, and plays sixty-five tunes, many of them in two or three parts, on nineteen musical bells, and on the like number of double musical wires. A child may do everything necessary to show its varied and complicated action. [Illustration: LUTTERWORTH AND THE RIVER SWIFT, WHERE THE ASHES OF WICLIF WERE SCATTERED.] The maker was Mr. Deacon, a Baptist minister of Barton-in-the-Beans, who began life as a farm boy when he was eleven years of age. A gentleman happened to call on the farmer one evening and had some nuts given to him, and as he could not crack them, one of the other servants said to the boy, "Sam, bring the wooden nut-crackers you made!" When the boy brought them, the visitor, after cracking a nut, examined them carefully for some time, and was so struck with the ingenuity displayed in their construction that he took the lad and apprenticed him to a clock-maker in Leicester, where he became one of the cleverest workmen in the kingdom, the most elaborate and curious piece of mechanism he made being this wonderful clock. We returned from Lutterworth by a different route, for we were now off to see Peeping Tom at Coventry; but our experiments on the roads were not altogether satisfactory, for we got lost in some by-roads where there was no one to inquire from, and eventually reached the snug little village of Monks Kirby. Here, according to the name of the village, we should at one time have found a Danish settlement, and at another a church belonging to the monks; but on this occasion we found a church and a comfortable-looking inn opposite to it, where we called for an early tea. This was quickly served and disposed of, and shortly afterwards we reached, coming from the direction of the High Cross, the Fosse, or Foss-way, one of the four great roads made by the Romans in England, so named by them because there was a fosse, or ditch, on each side of it. We walked along its narrow and straight surface until we came to a road which crossed it, and here, about halfway between Rugby and Coventry, we turned to the right, leaving the "fosse" to continue its course across Dunsmore Heath, where in ancient times Guy, the famous Earl of Warwick, slew the terrible Dun Cow of Dunsmore, "a monstrous wyld and cruell beast." The village of Brinklow was now before us, presenting a strange appearance as we walked towards it from the brook below, for at the entrance stood a lofty mound formerly a Roman camp, while behind it was a British tumulus. In the Civil War there was much fighting all along the road from here to Coventry, and Cromwell's soldiers had not left us much to look at in the church, as the windows had all been "blown out" at that time, leaving only some small pieces of stained glass. The church, however, was quite a curiosity, for it sloped with the hill, and was many feet lower at the Tower end than at the east. We walked along a rather steep inclined plane until we came to a flight of four steps which landed us on the chancel floor, where another inclined plane brought us up to the foot of the two steps leading to the altar; we were told that there was only one other church built in such a form "in all England." We were now well within the borders of the county of Warwickshire, which, with the other two Midland Counties of Worcestershire and Staffordshire, formerly contained more leading Roman Catholic families than any other part of England, so we were not surprised when we heard that we were passing through a country that had been associated with the Gunpowder Plot, and that one incident connected with it had occurred at Combe Abbey, which we would pass a mile or two farther on our way. The originator of the Gunpowder Plot, Catesby, was intimately connected with many of the leading families in these counties, and was lineally descended from the Catesby of King Richard III's time, whose fame had been handed down in the old rhyme: The Rat, the Cat, and Lovel the Dog Rule all England under the Hog. the rat meaning Ratcliffe, the cat Catesby, and the hog King Richard, whose cognisance was a boar. Robert Catesby, the descendant of the "cat," was said to be one of the greatest bigots that ever lived; he was the friend of Garnet, the Jesuit, and had been concerned in many plots against Queen Elizabeth; when that queen died and King James, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, ascended the throne, their expectations rose high, for his mother had suffered so much from Queen Elizabeth that they looked upon her as a martyr, and were sure that their form of religion would now be restored. But great was their chagrin when they found that James, probably owing to his early education under John Knox in Scotland, was more ready to put the laws in force against the Papists than to give them greater toleration. [Illustration: THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, ASHBY ST. LEDGERS.] Catesby and his friends resolved to try to depose James and to place the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I, afterwards the beautiful Queen of Bohemia, whom her royal parents had placed under the care of the Earl of Harrington, then the owner of Combe Abbey, about five miles from Coventry, on the throne in his stead. The conspirators assembled at Dunchurch, near Rugby, but held their meetings about six miles away, in a room over the entrance to the old Manor House at Ashby St. Ledgers, the home of Catesby, where it was proposed to settle matters by blowing up the Houses of Parliament. These were to be opened on November 5th, 1605, when the King, Queen, and Prince of Wales, with the Lords and Commons, would all be assembled. In those days the vaults, or cellars, of the Parliament House were let to different merchants for the storage of goods, and one of these immediately under the House of Lords was engaged and filled with some innocent-looking barrels, in reality containing gunpowder, which were covered by faggots of brushwood. All preparations were now completed except to appoint one of their number to apply the torch, an operation which would probably involve certain death. In the meantime Catesby had become acquainted with Guy Fawkes, a member of an old Yorkshire family, and almost as bigoted a Papist as himself, who had joined the conspirators at Dunchurch, the house where he lodged being still known as Guy Fawkes' House, and when the question came up for decision, he at once volunteered his services, as he was a soldier and a brave man. They were accepted, and Sir Everard Digby was to stay at Dunchurch in order to be ready to seize the young Princess Elizabeth while the others went to London. It so happened that one of the conspirators had a friend, Lord Monteagle, whom he knew would be sure to attend the opening of Parliament, and as he did not want him to be killed he caused an anonymous letter to be written warning him not to attend the opening of Parliament, "for though there be no appearance of any stir, yet I say they shall receive a terrible blow this Parliament, and yet shall not see who hurts them." The letter was delivered to Monteagle by a man in a long coat, who laid it on his table and disappeared immediately. It was afterwards handed to King James, who, after reading the last paragraph, repeated it aloud, "and yet they shall not see who hurts them," and said to Cecil, "This smells gunpowder!" Their suspicions were aroused, but they waited until midnight on November 4th, and then sent soldiers well armed to search the vaults, where they found a man with a long sword amongst the barrels. He fought savagely, but was soon overpowered. When the conspirators found that their plot had been discovered, and that Guy Fawkes was in custody, instead of escaping to France as they might easily have done, they hastened down to Dunchurch, "as if struck by infatuation," in the wild hope of capturing the young Princess and raising a civil war in her name; but by the time they reached Combe Abbey, the Earl of Harrington had removed Elizabeth to Coventry, which at that time was one of the most strongly fortified places in England. They now realised that their game was up, and the gang dispersed to hide themselves; but when the dreadful nature of the plot became known, it created such a profound sensation of horror throughout the country, that every one joined in the search for the conspirators, who in the end were all captured and executed. Great rejoicings were held, bonfires lit, bells rung, and guns fired in almost every village, and thereby the people were taught to-- Remember, remember, the Fifth of November The Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot. These celebrations have been continued on each fifth of November for centuries, November 5th becoming known as "Bonfire Day." And in our Book of Common Prayer there was a special service for the day which was only removed in the time of Queen Victoria. Guy Fawkes was executed on February 6th, 1606. Fortunately for the Protestants the reign of the queen who was known by them as the "Bloody Queen Mary" was of short duration, for they were then subjected to very great cruelties; on the other hand there was no doubt that during the much longer reign of Queen Elizabeth that followed, the Papists also suffered greatly; still under James they were now bound to suffer more in every way, short of death, for the great mass of their fellow-countrymen had turned against them owing to the murderous character of the Gunpowder Plot, so-- On Bonfire Day, as Britons should, They heaped up sticks, and turf, and wood; And lighted Bonfires bright and hot, In memory of the Popish Plot! We were ourselves greatly interested in November 5th, which was now due to arrive in three days' time; not because some of our ancestors had been adherents to the Roman Catholic Faith, nor because of the massacres, for in that respect we thought one side was quite as bad as the other; but because it happened to be my birthday, and some of our earliest and happiest associations were connected with that day. I could remember the time when a candle was placed in every available window-pane at home on November 5th, and when I saw the glare of the big bonfire outside and the pin-wheels, the rip-raps, and small fireworks, and heard the church bells ringing merrily, and the sound of the guns firing, I naturally thought as a child that all these tokens of rejoicing were there because it was my birthday. Then the children from the village came! first one small group and then another; these were the "Soulers," or "Soul-Cakers," who ought to have appeared, according to history, on All Souls' Day; they were generally satisfied with apples or pears, or with coppers. The most mysterious visitor was the horse's head, or hobby horse, which came without its body or legs, but could make a noise just like the neighing of a horse, and could also open its mouth so wide that a glass filled with beer could pass down its throat. To complete the illusion we could hear its jaws, which were filled with very large teeth, close together with a crack, and although the glass was returned in some way or other, we never saw the beer again. The horse's head was accompanied by a lot of men known as Mummers, dressed in all sorts of queer clothes, who acted a short play, but the only words I could remember were, "King George, King George, thou hast killed my only son!" and at that point one of the actors fell on the grass as if he were dead. But these were reveries of the past; when the spell broke I found myself walking with my brother in the dark alongside the grounds of Combe Abbey, the only lights we could see being some in the park, which might have been those from the abbey itself. We were expecting to come upon a private menagerie which was supposed to exist somewhere in the park, and we had prepared ourselves for the roars of the lions seeking their prey as they heard our footsteps on the road, or for the horrid groans of other wild animals; but beyond a few minor noises, which we could not recognise, all was quiet, and passing the small village of Binley we soon arrived at Coventry, where we stayed for the night at an ancient hostelry near the centre of the town. St. George, the Patron Saint of England, who lived in the early part of the fourth century, and was reckoned among the seven champions of Christendom, was said to have been born in Coventry. In olden times a chapel, named after him, existed here, in which King Edward IV, when he kept St. George's Feast on St. George's Day, April 23rd, 1474, attended service. Coventry was a much older town than we expected to find it, and, like Lichfield, it was known as the city of the three spires; but here they were on three different churches. We had many arguments on our journey, both between ourselves and with others, as to why churches should have towers in some places and spires in others. One gentleman who had travelled extensively through Britain observed that towers were more numerous along the sea coasts and on the borders of Wales and Scotland, while spires were most in evidence in the low Midland plains where trees abounded. In these districts it was important to have part of the church standing out from the foliage, while on a hill or a bare cliff a short tower was all that was needed. He actually knew more than one case where the squires in recent times had a short spire placed on the top of the church tower, like the extinguisher of an old candlestick, because it was said they needed guide-posts by which to find their way home from hunting! [Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH SPIRE, COVENTRY.] In olden times, ere the enemy could approach the village, the cattle were able to be driven in the church, while the men kept an easy look-out from the tower, and the loopholes in it served as places where arrows could be shot from safe cover. In some districts we passed through we could easily distinguish the position of the villages by the spires rising above the foliage, and very pretty they appeared, and at times a rivalry seemed to have existed which should possess the loftiest or most highly decorated spire, some of them being of exceptional beauty. The parish churches were almost invariably placed on the highest point in the villages, so that before there were any proper roads the parishioners could find their way to church so long as they could see the tower or spire, and to that position at the present day, it is interesting to note, all roads still converge. We had no idea that the story of Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom was so ancient, but we found it dated back to the time of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, who in 1043 founded an abbey here which was endowed by his wife, the Lady Godiva. The earl, the owner of Coventry, levied very hard taxes on the inhabitants, and treated their petitions for relief with scorn. Lady Godiva, on the contrary, had moved amongst the people, and knew the great privations they had suffered through having to pay these heavy taxes, and had often pleaded with her husband on their behalf. At last he promised her that he would repeal the taxes if she would ride naked through the town, probably thinking his wife would not undertake such a task. But she had seen so much suffering amongst the poor people that she decided to go through the ordeal for their sakes, and the day was fixed, when she would ride through the town. Orders were given by the people that everybody should darken their windows and retire to the back part of their houses until Lady Godiva had passed. All obeyed except one man, "Tom the Tailor," afterwards nicknamed "Peeping Tom," who, as the lady rode by on her palfrey, enveloped in her long tresses of hair, which fell round her as a garment, looked down on her from his window, and of him the historian related that "his eyes chopped out of his head even as he looked." The ride ended, the taxes were repealed, and ever afterwards the good Lady Godiva was enshrined in the hearts of the people of Coventry. Many years later a beautiful stained-glass window was placed in the Parish Church to commemorate this famous event, and Leofric was portrayed thereon as presenting Godiva with a charter bearing the words: I Luriche for love of thee Doe make Coventry toll free. [Illustration: THOMAS PARR =_The Olde, Old, very Olde Man or Thomas Par, the Sonne of John Parr of Winnington in the Parish of Alberbury. In the County of Shropshire who was Borne in 1483 in The Raigne of King Edward the 4th and is now living in The Strand, being aged 152 yeares and odd Monethes 1635 He dyed November the 15th And is now buryed in Westminster 1635_=] This story Tennyson has immortalised, and its memory is still perpetuated in the pageants which are held from time to time in the city. Coventry was described in 1642 by Jeremiah Wharton, an officer under the Earl of Essex in the Parliamentary Army, as "a City environed with a wall, co-equal with, if not exceeding, that of London, for breadth and height, and with gates and battlements, and magnificent churches and stately streets, and abundant fountains of water, altogether a place very sweetly situated, and where there was no lack of venison." The walls of Coventry, begun in the year 1355, were very formidable, being six yards high and three yards thick, and having thirty-two towers and twelve principal gates. They defied both Edward IV and Charles I when with their armies they appeared before them and demanded admission, but they were demolished after the Civil War by order of Charles II, because the people of Coventry had refused admission to his father, King Charles I. Coventry possessed a greater number of archives than almost any other town in England, covering eight centuries and numbering over eleven thousand. My brother was delighted to find that one of them related to a very old man named Thomas Parr, recording the fact that he passed through the town on his way to London in 1635, at the age of 152 years. It reminded him of a family medicine known as Old Parr's Pills, which at one time was highly prized; they had been used by our grandfather, who died in his ninety-seventh year, and he often wondered whether his longevity was in any way due to those pills. They were supposed to have been made from the same kind of herbs as old Parr was known to have used in his efforts to keep himself alive, and during supper my brother talked about nothing else but that old man; if he was an authority on anything, it was certainly on old Thomas Parr. This man was born on the Montgomery border of Shropshire, where a tablet to his memory in Great Wollaston Church bore the following inscription: The old, old, very old man THOMAS PARR was born at Wynn in the Township of Winnington within the Chapelry of Great Wollaston, and Parish of Alberbury, in the County of Salop, in the year of our Lord 1483. He lived in the reigns of 10 Kings and Queens of England, King Edward IV. and V. Richard III. Henry VII. VIII. Edward VI. Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth. King James I. King Charles I. He died the thirteenth and was buried at Westminster Abbey on the fifteenth November 1635 Age 152 years and 9 months. John Taylor, known as the Water Poet because he was a Thames waterman, who was born in 1580, and died in 1656, was a contemporary of Parr, and wrote a book in 1635, the same year that old Parr died, entitled _The Olde, Olde, very Olde Man_, in which he described Thomas Parr as an early riser, sober, and industrious: Though old age his face with wrinkles fill. He hath been handsome and is comely still; Well-faced, and though his Beard not oft corrected Yet neate it grows, not like a Beard neglected. Earl Arundel told King Charles I about this very old man, and he expressed a desire to see him; so the earl arranged to have him carried to London. When the men reached old Parr's cottage, which is still standing, they found an old man sitting under a tree, apparently quite done. Feeling sure that he was the man they wanted, they roused him up, and one said, "We have come for you to take you to the King!" The old man looked up at the person who spoke to him, and replied, "Hey, mon! it's not me ye want! it's me feyther!" "Your father!" they said, in astonishment; "where is he?" "Oh, he's cuttin' th' hedges!" So they went as directed, and found a still older man cutting away at a hedge in the small field adjoining the cottage, and him they took, together with his daughter, for whom the earl had provided a horse. Musicians also went with him, and it was supposed that he was exhibited at the different towns they called at on their way to London, and such was the crush to see him in Coventry that the old man narrowly escaped being killed. When he was taken into the presence of King Charles, the king said, "Well, Parr, you've lived a long time," and Parr answered, "Yes I have, your Majesty." "What do you consider the principal event in your long life?" asked the king, to which Parr replied that he hardly knew, but mentioned some offence which he had committed when he was a hundred years old, and for which he had to do penance in Alberbury Church, with the young woman sitting beside him barefooted, and dressed in white clothing! Whereupon King Charles said, "Oh, fie, fie, Parr, telling us of your faults and not your virtues!" [Illustration: OLD PARR'S COTTAGE.] Parr was fêted in London to such an extent that he died of surfeit, and was buried in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, where his tombstone still exists, and is inscribed: Thomas Parr of Y'E County of Sallop Borne in A'P 1483. He lived in Y'E Reignes of Ten Princes VIZ:-- K. Edw. 4. K. Edw. 5. K. Rich. 3. K. Hen. 7. K. Hen. 8. K. Edw. 6. Q. Ma. Q. Eliz. K. Ja. & K. Charles Aged 152 Years & was buried Here Novemb. 15. 1635. His portrait was painted by Van Dyck, who at that time was the Court painter of King Charles I, and there were other oil paintings of him in various places in England and abroad. (_Distance walked thirty-one miles_.) _Friday, November 3rd._ [Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH, COVENTRY.] Our hotel was quite near the Coventry Parish Church dedicated to St. Michael, which was said to be the largest parish church in England, so we went out early this morning to visit it. We found it to be a very fine church, and in it we saw some workmen erecting a beautiful stained-glass window in which they had already placed the likeness of two saints, one of whom was St. Ambrose. We wondered why they should be putting such images in what we supposed to be the Reformed Church of England. The men told us we should find a very fine stained-glass window across the way in St. Mary's Hall, which had been erected in the time of Henry VI, and was originally the work of John Thornton of Coventry, who also had charge of the erection of the famous east window we had already seen in York Minster. We only saw the exterior of the windows in St. Mary's Hall, as we could not find any door that was open, so we hurried away to form the acquaintance of "Peeping Tom," whose image we had come so many miles to see. We found him high up on a corner of a street as if looking down on the passers-by below. The building in which he appeared was doing duty as a public-house, so we went in and saw the landlord, to whom we explained the nature of our visit and journey, and he kindly conducted us up the steps to the small room at the top of the house where Peeping Tom was to be seen. He was a repulsive-looking image of humanity, made of wood, without arms, and with a hideous face; how long he had occupied his present position no one knew, but as we had seen images of wood made hundreds of years ago, we were willing to suppose that he was a relic of antiquity. Photography at the time of our visit was only in its infancy, but small cards, 4 inches long by 2-1/2 inches wide, with photographic views on them, were beginning to make their appearance--picture postcards being then unknown. On our tour we collected a number of these small cards, which were only to be found in the more populous places. In our case we were able to get one at Coventry of Peeping Tom, a facsimile of which we here produce. We did not stay long in his company, for we looked upon him as an ugly and disreputable character, but hurried back to our hotel for a good breakfast before starting on our walk to the country of Shakespeare. [Illustration: PEEPING TOM AT HIS WINDOW.] [Illustration: PEEPING TOM.] The dull days of November were now upon us, which might account to some extent for the sleepy appearance of the old town of Coventry; but it appeared that underlying all this was a feeling of great depression caused by the declining state of its two staple industries--watches and silk. The manufacture of watches had been established here for many years, for as early as 1727 the archives recorded that a watch-maker had been appointed Mayor of Coventry, and for anything we knew the manufacture of silk might have been quite as old an industry there; but the competition of American and Swiss watches was making itself seriously felt, and the Treaty with France which admitted French silks into England, duty free, was still more disastrous, causing much apprehension for the future prosperity of the "good old town." We lost a little time before starting, as my brother had seen something in a shop window that he wanted to buy, but having forgotten the exact position of the shop, we had to search diligently until we found it. It was quite an artistic bookmarker made of white silk, with ornamental bordering in colours which blended sweetly, enclosing a scroll, or unfolding banner, which only displayed one word at each fold: The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. I never knew what became of that book-mark until years later, after he was married, when I saw it in his family Bible, and then I could guess where it had been in the interval. I noticed also that he began to quicken his speed considerably, and to be inclined to walk farther each day, his explanation being that we were obliged to make up for lost time. I also noticed that he wrote more notes in his diary in shorthand, his knowledge of which I envied. He said that before he started on the journey he imagined he knew the history of England, but had now become convinced that he had it all to learn, and he thought the best way to learn it thoroughly was by walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End. [Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE FROM THE BRIDGE.] A story was once told of two commercial travellers who had travelled extensively, and were asked to write down the prettiest road in all England, and one of them wrote "from Kenilworth to Coventry" and the other wrote "from Coventry to Kenilworth"! This was the road on which we had now to walk to reach what was known as "Shakespeare's country." There were many pretty roads in England, and although this road was very fine, being wide and straight and passing through a richly wooded country, we had seen many prettier roads as regarded scenery. We soon arrived at the historical Castle of Kenilworth, which, judging from the extent of its ruins and lofty towers, must at one time have been a magnificent place. According to local history the castle was originally built in the reign of Henry I, and at one time it was in the possession of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, who was born in 1206, and who has been described as the "Father of English Parliaments." Henry belonged to the Plantagenet family, the reigning house from Henry II in 1154 to Richard III, who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. The strangest history in that family appeared to be that of Eleanor Plantagenet, the daughter of Henry II, who caused her to be married when only four years old to the great Earl of Pembroke, who was then forty, and who took her as a bride to his home when she was only fourteen years old, leaving her a widow at sixteen. She was thrown into such an agony of grief that she took a solemn vow in the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury never to marry again, but to become a bride of Christ. Seven years afterwards, however, she returned to the Court of her brother, who was then Henry III, and, meeting Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, the king's favourite, one of the most handsome and accomplished of courtiers, to whom he had given Kenilworth Castle, the widowed countess forgot her vow, and though solemnly warned by the Archbishop of the peril of breaking her oath, Montfort easily persuaded Henry to give him his sister in marriage. The king knew that both the Church and the barons would be violently opposed to the match, and that they could only be married secretly; so on one cold January morning in 1238 they were married in the king's private chapel at Windsor; but the secret soon became known to the priests and the peers, and almost provoked a civil war. The Princess Eleanor was not happy, as her husband, who had lost the favour of her brother the king, was ultimately killed in the cause of freedom, along with her eldest son, at the Battle of Evesham. He was the first to create a Parliament. [Illustration: ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND.] In the year 1206 a festival was held at Kenilworth, attended by one hundred knights of distinction, and the same number of ladies, at which silks were worn for the first time in England, and in 1327 Edward II was there compelled to sign his abdication in favour of his son. Kenilworth Castle probably attained the zenith of its prosperity in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who in 1563 conferred it upon her favourite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who entertained her there with great magnificence on four different occasions, 1566, 1568, 1572, and 1575. But the former glory of Kenilworth Castle had departed, and we only saw it in the deplorable condition in which it had been left by Cromwell's soldiers. They had dismantled the lofty towers, drained the lake, destroyed the park, and divided the land into farms, and we looked upon the ruins of the towers, staircases, doorways, and dungeons with a feeling of sorrow and dismay. We could distinguish the great hall, with its chimney-pieces built in the walls; but even this was without either floor or roof, and the rest appeared to us as an unintelligible mass of decaying stonework. And yet, about half a century before we made our appearance at the ruins, a visitor arrived who could see through them almost at a glance, and restored them in imagination to their former magnificence, as they appeared in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He has described the preparations for the great feast given in her honour in 1575 by the Earl of Leicester, and resuscitated the chief actors in that memorable and magnificent scene. He was described as "a tall gentleman who leaned rather heavily on his walking-stick," and although little notice was taken of him at the time, was none other than the great Sir Walter Scott, whose novel _Kenilworth_ attracted to the neighbourhood crowds of visitors who might never have heard of it otherwise. We had begun to look upon Sir Walter in the light of an old acquaintance, once formed never to be forgotten, and admired his description of Kenilworth Castle: The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure inclosed seven acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure garden, with its trim arbours and parterres, and the rest formed a large base-court, or outer yard, of the noble Castle. The Lordly structure itself, which rose near the centre of this spacious enclosure was composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding an inner court, and bearing in the names of each portion attached to the magnificent mass, and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away, and whose history, could Ambition have lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the haughty favourite who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair domain. A large and massive Keep, which formed the Citadel of the Castle, was of uncertain, though great antiquity. It bore the name of Cæsar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in the Tower of London so called. The external wall of this Royal Castle was on the south and west sides adorned and defended by a Lake, partly artificial, across which Leicester had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth might enter the Castle by a path hitherto untrodden. Beyond the Lake lay an extensive Chase, full of red deer, fallow deer, roes, and every species of game, and abounding with lofty trees, from amongst which the extended front and massive towers of the Castle were seen to rise in majesty and beauty. The great feast provided by the Earl of Leicester in honour of the visit of Queen Elizabeth to Kenilworth Castle in 1575 was of a degree of magnificence rarely equalled either before or since, extending continuously over the seventeen days of the queen's stay, beginning at two o'clock, at which time the great clock at the castle was stopped and stood at that hour until the Princess departed. The cost of these ceremonies was enormous, the quantity of beer alone consumed being recorded as 320 hogsheads. [Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE, LEICESTER BUILDINGS AND CÆSAR'S TOWER.] Sir Walter describes the preparations for the feast and the heterogeneous nature of the crowd of people who attended it. The resources of the country for miles round were taxed to their utmost, for not only the queen's purveyors, but the Earl of Leicester's household officers had been scouring it in all directions to provide the necessary viands and provisions. The services in this respect of all the leading families had been requisitioned, and-- They took this opportunity of ingratiating themselves by sending large quantities of provisions and delicacies of all kinds, with game in huge quantities, and whole tuns of the best liquors, foreign and domestic. Thus the high-roads were filled with droves of bullocks, sheep, calves and hogs, and choked with loaded wains, whose axle-trees creaked under their burdens of wine-casks and hogsheads of ale, and huge hampers of grocery goods, and slaughtered game, and salted provisions, and sacks of flour. Perpetual stoppages took place as these wains became entangled; and their rude drivers, swearing and brawling till their wild passions were fully raised, began to debate precedence with their wagon-whips and quarter-staves, which occasional riots were usually quieted by a purveyor, deputy-marshal's man, or some other person in authority breaking the heads of both parties. Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and showmen, of every description, traversing in joyous bands the paths which led to the Palace of Princely Pleasure; for so the travelling minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the songs which already had come forth in anticipation of the revels, which were there expected. In the midst of this motley show, mendicants were exhibiting their real or pretended miseries, forming a strange though common contrast betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of human existence. All these floated along with the immense tide of population, whom mere curiosity had drawn together; and where the mechanic, in his leathern apron, elbowed the dink and dainty dame, his city mistress; where clowns with hobnailed shoes were treading on the kibes of substantial burghers and gentlemen of worship; and where Joan of the dairy, with robust pace and red sturdy arms, rowed her way onwards, amongst those prim and pretty moppets, whose sires were knights and squires. The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and cheerful character. All came forth to see and to enjoy, and all laughed at the trifling inconveniences which at another time might have chafed their temper. Excepting the occasional brawls we have mentioned among that irritable race the Carmen, the mingled sounds which arose from the multitude were those of light-hearted mirth and tiptoe jollity. The musicians preluded on their instruments--the minstrels hummed their songs--the licensed jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he brandished his bauble--the morrice-dancers jangled their bells--the rustics hallow'd and whistled--men laughed loud, and maidens giggled shrill; while many a broad jest flew like a shuttle-cock from one party to be caught in the air, and returned from the opposite side of the road by another, at which it was aimed. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE GREAT HALL, KENILWORTH.] The arrival of the Queen, who had journeyed from Warwick Castle, had been somewhat delayed, and the Guards had some difficulty in keeping the course clear until she appeared with the lords and ladies who accompanied her. It was dark when she approached the Castle, and immediately there arose from the multitude a shout of applause, so tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles around. The Guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen was to advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the castle, and announced to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered the Royal Castle of Kenilworth. The whole music of the castle sounded at once, and a round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets, and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the roaring and reiterated welcome of the multitude. As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear from the gate of the park, and, broadening and brightening as it came nearer, advance along the open and fair avenue that led towards the Gallery Tower, lined on either hand by the retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was passed along the lines, "The Queen! The Queen! Silence, and stand fast!" Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by 200 thick waxen torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the principal group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner, and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a milk-white horse, which, she reined with peculiar grace and dignity, and in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of a hundred kings. [Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE IN 1871.] Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality as her Host as of her Master of the Horse. The black steed which he mounted had not a single white hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned chargers in Europe, having been purchased by the earl at large expense for this royal occasion. As the noble steed chafed at the slow speed of the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth and speckled his well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow. The rider well became the high place which he held and the proud animal which he bestrode, for no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in horsemanship and all other exercises belonging to his rank. He was bareheaded, as were all the courtiers in the train, and the red torchlight shone upon his long curled tresses of dark hair and on his noble features, to the beauty of which even the severest criticism could only object the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead somewhat too high. On that proud evening he wore all the graceful solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride and satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's person, were of course of the bravest and the fairest--the highest born nobles and the wisest councellors of that distinguished reign, and were followed by a crowd of knights and gentlemen. It was now the part of the huge porter, a man of immense size, to deliver an address and drop his club and resign his keys to give open way to the Goddess of the Night and all her magnificent train, but as he was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit--the contents of one immense black jack of double ale--Sir Walter only records the substance of what the gigantic warder ought to have said in his address: What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones? Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones! Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw, My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. Yet soft,--nay stay--what vision have we here? What dainty darling this--what peerless peer? What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold. Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold? Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, My club, my Key, my knee, my homage take. Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;-- Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this! Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the herculean porter and then passed through the guarded tower amidst the sounds of trumpets and other instruments stationed on the tower and in various parts of the castle, and dismounted near Mortimer's Tower, which was as light as day as she walked across the long bridge built especially for her and lit with torches on either side. She had no sooner stepped upon the bridge than a new spectacle was provided, for as soon as the music gave signal that she was so far advanced, a raft on the lake, disposed as to resemble a small floating island, illuminated by a great variety of torches, and surrounded by floating pageants formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made its appearance upon the lake, and, issuing from behind a small heronry where it had been concealed, floated gently towards the farther end of the bridge. On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-coloured silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle, inscribed with characters like the phylacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were bare, but her wrists and ankles were adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her long silky black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of ebony tipped with silver. Two nymphs attended on her, dressed in the same antique and mystical guise. The pageant was so well managed that the Lady of the Floating Island, having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer's Tower with her two attendants, just as Elizabeth presented herself before that outwork. The stranger then in a well-penned speech announced herself as that famous Lady of the Lake renowned in the stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty had proved too powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that period she had remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes, the Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though they were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, caused her to raise her head from the waters which hid her crystal palace. But a greater than all these great names had now appeared, and she came in homage and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth to all sport which the castle and its environs, which lake or land, could afford! The queen received the address with great courtesy and the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion, who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin in her place. But amidst all this pageantry Sir Walter throws a side-light on Mervyn's Tower, where we see a prisoner, a pale, attenuated, half dead, yet still lovely lady, Amy Robsart, the neglected wife of Leicester, incarcerated there while her husband is flirting with the queen in the gay rooms above. Her features are worn with agony and suspense as she looks through the narrow window of her prison on the fireworks and coloured fires outside, wondering perhaps whether these were emblems of her own miserable life, "a single spark, which is instantaneously swallowed up by the surrounding darkness--a precarious glow, which rises but for a brief space into the air, that its fall may be lower." [Illustration: MERVYN'S TOWER, KENILWORTH CASTLE.] Sir Walter Scott described Kenilworth as "a place to impress on the musing visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the happiness of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous contentment," and it was with some such thoughts as these in our own minds that we hurried away across fields and along lovely by-lanes towards Leamington, our object in going there by the way we did being to get a view of the great mansion of Stoneleigh, the residence of Lord Leigh, who was also a landowner in our native County of Chester. It seemed a very fine place as we passed through the well-wooded park surrounding it, and presently reached his lordship's village of Ashow, where the old church, standing on a small knoll at the end of the village, looked down upon the River Avon below, which was here only a small stream. The roofs of many of the cottages were thatched with straw, and although more liable to be set on fire than those covered with the red tiles so common in the County of Warwick, they looked very picturesque and had the advantage of not being affected so much by extremes of temperature, being warmer in winter and cooler in summer for those who had the good fortune to live under them. We noticed several alms houses in the village, and near the smithy had a talk with an old man who was interested to know that we came from Cheshire, as he knew his lordship had some property there. He told us that when a former Lord Leigh had died, there was a dispute amongst the Leigh family as to who was the next owner of the estate, and about fifty men came up from Cheshire and took possession of the abbey; but as the verdict went against them they had to go back again, and had to pay dearly for their trespass. He did not know where the Leighs came from originally, but thought "they might have come from Cheshire," so we told him that the first time they were heard of in that county was when the Devil brought a load of them in his cart from Lancashire. He crossed the River Mersey, which divided the two counties, at a ford near Warrington, and travelled along the Knutsford road, throwing one of them out occasionally with his pikel, first on one side of the road and then on the other, until he had only a few left at the bottom of his cart, and as he did not think these worth taking any farther, he "keck'd" his cart up and left them on the road, so there were persons named Lee, Legh, or Leigh living on each side of that road to the present day. The old man seemed pleased with our story and grinned considerably, and no doubt it would be repeated in the village of Ashow after we had left, and might probably reach the ears of his lordship himself. Two of the Lees that the Devil left on the road when he upset his cart took possession of the country on either side, which at that time was covered with a dense forest, and selected large oak trees to mark their boundaries, that remained long after the other trees had disappeared. But in course of time it became necessary to make some other distinction between the two estates, so it was arranged that one landlord should spell his name Legh and the other Leigh, and that their tenants should spell the name of the place High Legh in one case and High Leigh in the other, so that when name-plates appeared on carts, each landlord was able to tell to which estate they belonged. There were many antiquities in the country associated with his Satanic Majesty, simply because their origin was unknown, such as the Devil's Bridge over which we had passed at Kirkby Lonsdale, and the Devil's Arrows at Aldborough, and it was quite possible that the remote antiquity of the Legh family might account for the legend connected with them. There were several facts connected with the Cheshire estate of the Leghs which interested us, the first being that my grandfather was formerly a tenant on the estate, and the squire had in his possession the rent rolls for every year since about 1289. A fact that might interest ladies who are on the lookout for a Mr. Wright is, that out of a hundred tenants on that estate at the present day, twenty-seven householders bear the name of Wright. [Illustration: REMAINS OF THE BROAD OAK, HIGH LEGH.] But the strangest incident connected with High Legh was the case of a young man who came from Scotland to work in the squire's gardens there. He had attended Warrington Market, and was returning over the river bridge when he stopped to look at a placard announcing a missionary meeting to be held in the town that night. He decided to stay, although he had quite seven miles to walk on his way home, and was so impressed by what he heard that he decided to become a missionary himself, and became one of the most famous missionaries of the nineteenth century. His name was Robert Moffat, and he laboured hard in South Africa, where his son-in-law, David Livingstone, following his example, also became a renowned explorer and missionary in the "Dark Continent." Accept me for Thy service, Lord, And train me for Thy will, For even I in fields so broad Some duties may fulfil; And I will ask for no reward Except to serve Thee still. MOFFAT. [Illustration: ROBERT MOFFAT.] We soon arrived at Leamington, which was quite an aristocratic town, and different from any other we had seen on our journey, for it consisted chiefly of modern houses of a light stone colour, which contrasted finely with the trees with which the houses were interspersed and surrounded, and which must have appeared very beautiful in the spring time. The chief object of interest there was the Spa, which although known to travellers in the seventeenth century, had only come into prominence during recent times, or since the local poets had sung its praises. In the introduction to a curious book, published in 1809 by James Bissett, who described himself as "Medallist to his Majesty King George the Third, proprietor of the Picture Gallery, public, news-room, and the museum at Leamington," there appeared the following lines: Nay! Foreigners of rank who this look o'er To try the Wells may quit their native shore; For when they learn the virtues of the Spaw Twice tens of thousands to the spot will draw, As when its wondrous powers are pointed out And men found cap'ring who have had the gout; When pallid cheeks regain their roseate blush And vigorous health expels the hectic flush When those once hypp'd cast the crutch away; Sure when the pride of British Spas they see They'll own the humble instrument in me! The Spa, it appeared, had been patronised by royalty on several occasions, and Queen Victoria in 1838 acceded to the request that the inhabitants might henceforth style the town the "Royal Leamington Spa." Benjamin Satchwell claimed to have discovered the principal well there in 1784, and on his tombstone in the churchyard appeared the following: Hail the unassuming tomb Of him who told where health and beauty bloom, Of him whose lengthened life improving ran-- A blameless, useful, venerable man. We only stayed a short time here, and then walked quickly through a fine country to the ancient town of Warwick, with Guy's Cliffe and Blacklow Hill to our right, the monument on the hill being to Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, the hated favourite of Edward II. Gaveston was beheaded on the hill on July 1st, 1312, and the modern inscription reads: In the hollow of this rock was beheaded, on the first day of July 1312, by barons, lawless as himself, Piers Gaveston, Earl of Cornwall, the minion of a hateful King, in life and death a memorable instance of misrule. [Illustration: GUY'S TOWER, WARWICK] Gaveston surrendered to the insurgent barons at Scarborough, on condition that his life should be spared; but he had offended the Earl of Warwick by calling him the "Black Hound of Arden," and the earl caused him to be conveyed to Warwick Castle. When brought before Warwick there, the Earl muttered, "Now you shall feel the Hound's teeth," and after a mock trial by torchlight he was led out of the castle and beheaded on the hill. Every one of the barons concerned in this rather diabolical action died by violence during the next few years. [Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE FROM THE RIVER. "As we crossed the bridge we had a splendid view of Warwick Castle ... the finest example of a fortified castle in England ... the 'fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour yet uninjured by time.'"] [Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE] [Illustration: THE PORTCULLIS.] [Illustration: ENTRANCE TOWERS.] [Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE] As we crossed the bridge leading over the River Avon we had a splendid view of Warwick Castle, which had the reputation of being the finest example of a fortified castle in England, Sir Walter Scott describing it as "the fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour which yet remain uninjured by time." It could boast of a continuous history from the time of Ethelfreda, the daughter of the Saxon King, Alfred the Great, and its towers rose to a considerable height, Cæsar's tower reaching an elevation of 174 feet. Here could be seen the famous and exquisite Vase of Warwick, in white marble, of unknown age and of fabulous value, said to have been found at the bottom of a lake near Hadrian's Villa, at Tivoli, in Italy. There were an immense number of curios in the castle, some of which were connected with that famous character Guy, Earl of Warwick, including his shield, sword, and helmet, and his kettle of bell-metal, twenty-six feet wide and capable of holding 120 gallons of water. We had no time to visit the interior of the castle, but it was interesting to read, in one of his letters, what Dr. Adam Clark saw there in 1797: "I was almost absolutely a prey to astonishment and rapture while I contemplated the painting of the wife of Schneider by Rubens, such a speaking canvas I never beheld." He saw the large Etruscan vases collected by Sir William Hamilton, some bronze cups dug out of the ruins of Herculaneum, and the bed in which Queen Anne slept and which, according to report, she wrought with her own hands. In the Armoury he was permitted to fit on some of the armour, and attempted also to wield the sword of Guy, Earl of Warwick, which weighed seventy pounds. He also examined the rest of Guy's gigantic equipments, not omitting his porridge-pot, which held no gallons and was filled every time an Earl of Warwick came of age. This Guy was not the famous King Maker, but the original Guy, who lived at a time when England was covered with thick forests in which savage beasts, now unknown, roamed at large, causing great havoc amongst the early settlers, both to their persons and their cattle. Of gigantic stature, he was renowned for his courage and prowess, and, being in love with the fair Felice at Warwick Castle, for her sake he performed prodigious feats of valour, both at home and abroad. Amongst other monsters which preyed upon and terrified human beings he killed the wild and fierce Dun Cow which infested Dun's Moor, a place we had passed by the previous day; and we were reminded of his prowess when we saw the sign of the "Dun Cow" displayed on inns in the country, including that on the hotel at Dunchurch. He went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he killed many Saracens, and when on his return he landed at Portsmouth, King Athelstane, ignorant of his name, asked him if he would become his champion in a contest on which the fate of England depended. The king told him that the Danes had with them a champion named Colbran, a gigantic Saracen, and that they had offered to stake their fortunes on a duel between him and an English champion, not yet found, on condition that if Colbran won, England must be given up to Anlaf, King of Denmark, and Govelaph, King of Norway. Guy undertook the fight willingly, and defeated and killed the gigantic Saracen, after which he privately informed the king that he was the Earl of Warwick. He secured the hand and affections of the fair Felice, but when the thoughts of all the people he had killed began to haunt him, he left her, giving himself up to a life of devotion and charity, while he disappeared and led the life of a hermit. She thought he had gone into foreign lands, and mourned his loss for many years; but he was quite near the castle all the time, living beside the River Avon in a cave in a rock, which is still called Guys Cliffe, and where he died. Huge bones were found and kept in the castle, including one rib bone, which measured nine inches in girth at its smallest part and was six and a half feet long; but this was probably a bone belonging to one of the great wild beasts slain by the redoubtable Guy. We were sorry we could not explore the castle, but we wanted particularly to visit the magnificent Beauchamp Chapel in St. Mary's Church at Warwick. We found this one of those places almost impossible to describe, and could endorse the opinion of others, that it was "an architectural gem of the first water and one of the finest pieces of architectural work in the kingdom." It occupied twenty-one years in building, and contains the tomb of Richard Beauchamp, under whose will the chapel was begun in 1443; Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the haughty favourite of Queen Elizabeth, was also entombed here. We had too much to do to-day to stay very long in any place we visited, but we were interested in the remains of a ducking-stool in the crypt of the church, although it was far from being complete, the only perfect one of which we knew being that in the Priory Church of Leominster, which reposed in a disused aisle of the church, the property of the Corporation of that town. It was described as "an engine of universal punishment for common scolds, and for butchers, bakers, brewers, apothecaries, and all who give short measure, or vended adulterated articles of food," and was last used in 1809, when a scolding wife named Jenny Pipes was ducked in a deep place in one of the small rivers which flowed through that town. The following lines, printed on a large card, appeared hanging from one of the pillars in the aisle near the stool: [Illustration: TOMBS IN THE BEAUCHAMP CHAPEL.] [Illustration: THE DUCKING-STOOL, WARWICK.] There stands, my friend, in yonder pool, An engine called a Ducking Stool; By legal power commanded down, The joy, and terror of the town. If jarring females kindle strife, Give language foul, or lug the coif: If noisy dames should once begin To drive the house with horrid din, Away! you cry, you'll grace the stool We'll teach you how your tongue to rule. Down in the deep the stool descends, But here, at first, we miss our ends, She mounts again, and rages more Than ever vixen did before. If so, my friend, pray let her take A second turn into the lake; And rather than your patience lose Thrice and again, repeat the dose, No brawling wives, no furious wenches No fire so hot, but water quenches. [Illustration: THE DUCKING-STOOL, LEOMINSTER] The stool was exactly like a chair without legs, fastened on one end of a long pole, in the centre of which was a framework with solid wooden wheels. The culprit was fastened in the chair with her face towards the men, who were at the other end of the pole, and who had to push and guide the machine through the narrow streets of the town until they reached the "deep hole," where the unfortunate woman had to be ducked overhead in the river. Her feet were securely tied to the top of the pole to prevent them from being hurt when passing through the town, and to hinder her from using them to keep her head above the water. The poet describes the "engine called a ducking-stool" as the "joy and terror of the town," but the "joy" could only have been that of the men, women, and children who could be spared to see the show, and knew the woman's scolding propensities. If she continued scolding after the first "duck," down she went again, and again, until, as we imagined, half filled with water, she was unable to scold further, and so the water triumphed in the end: No brawling wives, no furious wenches No fire so hot, but water quenches. The tower of St. Mary's Church was built on four lofty arches, one of which formed the entrance to the church while the other three formed entrances to the street, the footpath passing through two of them. [Illustration: LORD LEICESTER'S HOSPITAL AND GATE.] We passed alongside the ancient and picturesque half-timbered building known as Lord Leicester's Hospital, which was one of the few buildings in the town that escaped the fire in 1694. It had been built by Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth and of Kenilworth fame, to accommodate twelve poor men or brethren besides the master, who, according to Dugdale the famous antiquary, "were to be clothed in blew cloth, with a ragged staff embroydered on the left sleeve," and not to go into the town without them. The hospital dated from 1571, but what was formerly the banqueting-hall belonged to an earlier period, and owed its preservation largely to the fact that the timber of which the roof had been constructed was Spanish chestnut, a timber which grew luxuriantly in the forests of England, and resembled English oak. It was largely used by the monks in the building of their refectories, as no worm or moth would go near it and no spider's web was ever woven there, the wood being poisonous to insects. It is lighter in colour than oak, and, seeing the beams so clean-looking, with the appearance of having been erected in modern times, it is difficult for the visitor to realise that they have been in their present position perhaps for five or six centuries. Over one of the arched doorways in the old hospital appeared the insignia of the bear and the ragged staff, which was also the sign of public houses, notably that at Cumnor, the village of Amy Robsart. This we discovered to be the arms of the Earls of Warwick, originating during the time of the first two earls: the first being Arth or Arthgal of the Round Table--Arth meaning bear--and the second Morvid, who in single combat overcame a mighty giant who came against him with a club--a tree pulled up by the roots and stripped of its branches; and in remembrance of his victory over the giant the "ragged staff" ever afterwards appeared on the coat of arms of the Earls of Warwick. [Illustration: CÆSAR'S TOWER, WARWICK CASTLE.] At the end of the hospital stood St. James's Chapel, built over the West Gate of the town, which we left by the footpath leading both under the church and its tower, on our way to Stratford-on-Avon. [Illustration: SHAKESPEARE'S HOUSE (Before Restoration).] We walked the eight miles which separated the two towns at a quick speed, and, leaving our luggage at the "Golden Lion Inn" at the entrance to Stratford, we went to explore that town, and soon arrived at the birthplace of Shakespeare, one of the few houses in England where no fire is ever lit or candle lighted. It was a very old-fashioned house built with strong oak beams, the ceiling of the room in which Shakespeare was born in 1564 being so low that visitors could easily reach it, and they had written their names both on it and the walls until there was scarcely an available space left. Written with lead pencil, some of the autographs were those of men distinguished in every rank of life both past and present, and would doubtless have become very valuable if they had been written in a book, but we supposed Visitors' Books had not been thought of in those days. We wondered if the walls would ever be whitewashed again, and this thought might have occurred to Sir Walter Scott when he scratched his name with a diamond on one of the window panes. It was at another house in the town that Shakespeare wrote his plays and planted a mulberry-tree in the garden. This mulberry-tree used to be one of the objects of interest at Stratford, nearly every pilgrim who arrived there going to see it. There came a time when the house and garden changed hands, and were sold to a clergyman named Gastrell, who we were sorry to learn was a countryman of ours, as he belonged to Cheshire. He had married a "lady of means," who resided at Lichfield, and they bought this house and garden, we supposed, so that they might "live happily ever afterwards"; but the parson, who must have had a very bad temper, was so annoyed at people continually calling to see the mulberry-tree that he cut it down. It was probably owing to this circumstance that he had a furious quarrel with the Corporation of Stratford because they raised the rates on his property. When he complained that they were excessive and the surveyor insisted on their being paid, Gastrell ended the matter by pulling the house down to the ground, and leaving the neighbourhood, so we supposed it was then a case of-- Where he's gone and how he fares Nobody knows and nobody cares. Eventually the site became a public garden, where a slip of the mulberry-tree may still be seen. [Illustration: SHAKESPEARE'S TOMB, STRATFORD-ON-AVON.] Shakespeare died in 1616, and was buried in the church at Stratford, where on the ancient stone that covered his remains were inscribed in old English characters the well-known words: Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear To dig the dust enclosed here, Blest be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones. Shakespeare's threatened curse was doubtless one reason why his bones had remained undisturbed, for it was no uncommon occurrence in his time for the bones of the dead to be removed from a tomb and to be replaced or mingled with those of a stranger, for even the tomb of his daughter, who died in 1649, shared that fate, her epitaph being effaced and replaced by another of a person in no way related to the Shakespeare family, but who was buried in the same grave. In one corner of the church was a tomb bearing the effigy of John O'Combe, who we thought might have hailed from the neighbourhood of the old abbey of that name which we passed the night before. In spite of his benefactions recorded in the church, he was looked upon as a usurer, because he charged 10 per cent, for his money. He was at one time a friend of Shakespeare, and often asked the poet, who was no doubt acquainted with his rate of interest, to write him an epitaph. When at length he acceded to his request he greatly offended Combe by writing: "Ten in the hundred" lies here en-graved, 'Tis a hundred to ten if his soul be saved. If any one asks who lies in his tomb-- "Oho" quoth the devil "'tis my John O'Combe." Shakespeare bought the house in which he wrote his plays from the Clopton family, calling it "New Place," and a sorrowful story was connected with the Clopton vault in Stratford Church. Sir Hugh Clopton, who was buried there, was Lord Mayor of London in 1492, and had a very beautiful young daughter named Charlotte, who, according to her portrait, which was still in existence, had light blue eyes and pale golden hair. In the time when a plague was raging in Stratford she was said to have been found sitting in a chair in the garden apparently dead, and was at once carried to the vault to be buried. A few days afterwards another member of the family died of the plague, and was also taken to the vault; but when the torch-bearers descended the steps leading into the vault, the light from their torches revealed the form of Charlotte Clopton leaning against the side of the tomb. They were stricken with horror, but had arrived too late to save her, as she was now quite dead. The poor girl must have been in a trance when they carried her to the vault, and in her agony of hunger had bitten a piece of flesh from her own shoulder! We found the "Golden Lion" quite a comfortable hotel, and had a first-class tea there in the company of an actor from London, who, like ourselves, was exploring the country hereabouts, though perhaps from a different point of view, and who had a lot to tell us about Shakespeare and his plays. He had been to a village named Bidford a few miles away where there was an old-fashioned inn, in the courtyard of which Shakespeare and his friends had acted his _Midsummer's Night Dream_ long before it appeared in London. It was at that inn that Shakespeare on one occasion had too much to drink, and when on his way home to Stratford he lay down under a thorn tree to sleep off the effects; the tree was fenced round later on in memory of that rather inglorious event. Although we were temperance men, we had to admit that the old inns where the stage-coaches stopped to exchange passengers and horses had a great attraction for us, and it was not without a feeling of regret that we found them being gradually closed throughout the country we passed through. They had mostly been built after the same model, the gateway or door at the entrance being arched over and placed in the centre of the front of the hotel. Through this archway the coaches, with passengers and luggage, could pass in and out, a door on each side of the entrance leading into different sections of the inn. The yards of the inns were in the form of an oblong, generally roofed over, and along each side were the out-offices, storerooms, and stables, with a flat roof overhead, extending backwards as far as the bedroom doors, and forming a convenient platform for passengers' luggage as it was handed on and off the roof of the coach. The outside edge of the platform was sometimes ornamented with a low palisade, which gave the interior of the covered yard quite a pleasant and ornamental appearance. [Illustration] Such was the character of the inns that existed in the time of Shakespeare, and although sanitary regulations in later times required the horses to be provided for in stable-yards farther in the rear, very little structural alteration in the form of the inns had taken place. The actor told us that in Shakespeare's time nearly all the acting outside London and much within was done in the courtyards of these inns. The actors travelled in two covered wagons or coaches, and when they arrived at the inn they were drawn into the inn yard, while two members of the party went out into the town or village vigorously beating a drum to announce the arrival of the actors, almost the entire resident population, men, women, and children, following them to the inn yard to listen to the play, which custom, he said, was referred to by Shakespeare in one of his plays in the passage: The Actors have come and the rout are following! The covers were then taken off the top of the wagons and placed round the sides of the wheels, to act as screens while the actors changed their dresses, which had to be done underneath the coaches. Meanwhile boards, kept at the inns specially for that purpose, were fastened over the tops of the wagons, and on these the actors performed their plays. The squire, or lord of the manor, had the right to see the plays free of charge, and when he came, a bar of wood was placed across the entrance to one of the horse-boxes to keep off the spectators who thronged the inn yard. From these people the actors collected what money they could, while those who were better able to pay were accommodated on the platform above the stables, which commanded a better view of the play. When theatres were built, he informed us, they were modelled in the same shape as the yards of these inns, their arrangement being also the same: the stage represented the boards on the wagons and the actors dressed underneath it, the pit corresponded to the inn yard, the gallery to the platform over the stables, the boxes to the place railed off for the squire. The actor was not sure about the stalls, and thought these were instituted at a later period; but we reminded him that stalls were a necessary adjunct to stables. [Illustration: STRATFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH.] He also told us that the actors had a language peculiar to their profession, which also dated from the time when they acted in the country inn yards, for even when they travelled by train they were always "on the road," and when acting in the theatre they were still "on the boards." We asked him if he knew about Shakespeare's stealing the deer from Charlecote Park, Sir Thomas Lucy's property, and he said he did; but the report was not quite correct, for at that time the park was surrounded by Common Land, and it was there that Shakespeare shot the deer, which only went into the park to die. Shakespeare followed it, and as he was removing the carcase he was caught and summoned; the case hinged on whether he had his weapon with him or not. As that could not be proved against him, the case was dismissed. It appears that the Law of England is the same on that point to-day as in the time of Shakespeare, for if a man shoots a hare on his own land, and it dies on adjoining land belonging to some one else, he has a perfect right to remove it, providing he does not take his gun with him, which would constitute a punishable offence. We were sorry to leave the hotel, as we should have been very comfortable there, and the actor, who wanted to hear of our adventures, did his best to persuade us to stay; but our average must be made up, and I particularly wanted to celebrate my birthday on the following Sunday at Oxford. It was quite dark as we crossed the river bridge on our way to Kineton, ten miles distant, and we soon lost sight of the lights of Stratford; as we left we could see the church being lit up for evening service. A man on the bridge in directing us the way to Kineton told us we should pass the park where "old Shakespeare stole the deer," and he seemed to think he was a regular poacher there. We could not see the deer, but we heard them as we passed alongside the park, the noise resembling that of a pig, but not nearly so loud. We soon afterwards arrived at a fair-sized village about half-way between Stratford and Kineton, where we recrossed the river and, turning towards the right, walked along a lonely road for an hour or two, until we reached Kineton, where we intended to stay the night. We were, however, doomed to disappointment, for, as the railway was being cut through there, the whole place was completely filled with engineers and navvies, who had taken up all the accommodation. There was not even a chair "to be let," so we were obliged to move on in the hope that we might come to some house or village on the road where we could obtain lodgings for the night. We had already walked thirty miles and were sleepy and tired and could not walk quickly enough to keep ourselves warm, for the night was damp with fog and very cold, and our quick walk had caused us to perspire, so that we were now in what might be termed a cold sweat, a danger to which we were often exposed during these later stages of our long journey. Fortunately for us, however, the cuttings from the sides of the hedges and ditches, which extended for miles, had been tied in neat little bundles, possibly for sale, and deposited on the sides of the road, and every now and then we set fire to one of these and stayed a few minutes to warm ourselves, expecting every moment to attract the attention of a policeman, and get ourselves into trouble, but none appeared. The last quarter of the moon was now due, and although we could not see it through the misty clouds overhead, it lighted up the air considerably when it rose, so that we could then see the fields on either side of the road, especially when we came to an upward gradient. We gradually became conscious of what appeared to be a great black cloud in front of us as we climbed up the road, and were astonished when we perceived that instead of a cloud it was a tremendous hill, towards which our road was leading us. We had been walking for days through a level country, and did not expect to come to a hill like this, and this strange and sudden development sharpened us up a little, for we had only been walking at about the rate, including stoppages, of one mile per hour, so we walked steadily up the hill, and presently came in sight of some large trees, from which we knew that we were approaching civilisation; we had not seen a single habitation or a living being of any kind since leaving Kineton. On the other side of a field to the left of our road we could see a rustic-looking shed which we resolved to visit, so, climbing over the fence, we walked cautiously towards it, and found it was an ancient store-shed for hay and straw. We listened attentively for a few moments and, as there was no wind, we could have heard the breathing of a man or of any large animal that might have been sleeping there; but as all appeared quiet, we sat down on the dry straw thankful to be able to rest our weary limbs if only for a short time. We had some difficulty in keeping ourselves awake, but we durst not go to sleep as the night was so very cold, and there was a rough floor immediately above us which had caused us some uneasiness. When we heard the footsteps of some small animal creeping stealthily amongst the straw over our heads, as if preparing to make a spring, we decided to evacuate our rather eerie position. It might have been a rat or more likely a cat, but as we did not care for the company of either of these animals, we lost no time in regaining the road. As we approached the top of the hill we came to some quaint-looking houses, which appeared much too large for their occupiers to take in visitors at that early hour of the morning, especially two tramps like ourselves. We were almost sure that one of the houses was an inn, as it had a sign on the wall, though too high up for us to read in the dark. Presently we passed what appeared to be an old castle. We could now only walk very slowly, or at a speed that my musical brother described as about equivalent to the "Dead March in Saul," and at seven o'clock in the morning reached the entrance to the town of Banbury, exciting considerable curiosity among the men we met on the way to their work in the country. We called at the first respectable-looking inn that we came to, where the mistress informed us we could not have two beds, "as the other people hadn't got up yet," but a gentleman who had to leave early was just getting up now, and we "could have his bed if we liked." We were glad to accept the offer lest in going farther we might fare worse. We could hear the gentleman's heavy footsteps on the floor above our heads, and as soon as the room was prepared we got into the bed he had vacated, which was still quite warm, extremely thankful to get in anywhere, and in spite of the noises usual in inns on Saturday morning we "slept like bricks" until eleven o'clock, the hour arranged for our "call." (_Distance walked forty-two and a half miles_.) _Saturday, November 4th._ [Illustration: EDGE HILL.] We were quite surprised to find that the night before we had been walking along the site of one of the most famous battles--because it was the first--in the Great Civil War of the seventeenth century, named after the strange hill we had walked over, and known to history as the "Battle of Edge Hill." We learned that had we crossed it on a fine clear day instead of in the dark we should have obtained a splendid view over the shires of Warwick, Gloucester, and Worcester, and portions of other counties besides. The hill itself stood in Warwickshire, but we had crossed the boundary into Oxfordshire on our way to Banbury some time in the early hours of the morning. The Royalist Army, under King Charles I, had encamped a few miles from Banbury, when Prince Rupert sent the king word that the army of the Parliament, under the command of the Earl of Essex, had arrived at Kineton. The king's army had left Shrewsbury two days before Essex's army departed from Worcester, and, strange as it might appear, although they were only about twenty miles away from each other at the start, they travelled almost side by side for ten days without either army knowing the whereabouts of the other. The distance between them was only six miles when the news reached the king, who, although the day was then far advanced, resolved to give battle at once. The Earl of Lindsey, who had acquired his military experience fighting in the Low Countries, was General of the king's army, while the king's nephew, Prince Rupert, the finest cavalry officer of his day, commanded the Horse, Sir Jacob Astley the Foot, Sir Arthur Aston the Dragoons, Sir John Heyden the Artillery, and Lord Bernard a troop of Guards. The estates and revenues of this single troop were estimated to be at least equal to those of all the members who, at the commencement of the war, voted in both Houses of Parliament; so if money could have won the battle, the king's army ought to have been victorious; the king, moreover, had the advantage of a strong position, as his army was well placed under the summit of the hill. The battle was fought on Sunday, October 23rd, 1643, and resulted in a draw, and, though the armies stood facing each other the next day, neither of them had the heart to take the initiative or to fight again, for, as usual in such warfare, brother had been fighting against brother and father against son; so Essex retired to Warwick and the king to Oxford, the only town on whose loyalty he could depend. But to return to the battle! The prayer of Sir Jacob Astley, the Commander of the king's foot soldiers, has been recorded as if it were one of the chief incidents on that unhappy day, and it was certainly admirable and remarkable, for he said, "O Lord! Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me!" and then in place of the usual "Amen" he called out "March on, boys!" Prince Rupert, with his dashing and furious charge, soon put Essex's cavalry to flight, pursuing them for miles, while the right wing was also driven back; but when the king's reserve, commanded by Sir John Byron, saw the flight of both wings of Essex's army, they made sure that the battle was won, and, becoming anxious for some share in the victory, joined the others in their chase. Sir William Balfour, however, who commanded Essex's reserve, seeing the advantage this afforded him, wheeled about upon the Royal Infantry, now left without horse, and dashed in amongst them, slaying right and left. Lindsay fell mortally wounded, and was taken prisoner, and his son in trying to save him shared the same fate, while the Royal Standard Bearer, Sir Edmund Verney, was slain and the standard taken; but this was afterwards recovered. When Rupert returned from his reckless chase, it looked more like a defeat than a victory. Both armies had suffered severely, and when Mr. Fisher, the Vicar of Kineton, was commissioned by Lord Essex to number those killed on the side of the Parliament, he estimated them at a little over 1,300 men, all of whom were buried in two large pits on land belonging to what was afterwards known as Battle Farm, the burial-places being known as the Grave Fields. As these were about half-way between Radway and Kineton, we were quite near them when we were lighting the fires on the sides of the road the night before, and this may have accounted for the dreary loneliness of the road, as no one would be likely to live on or near the fields of the dead if he could find any more desirable place. It was at the village of Radway where tradition stated the king and his sons breakfasted at a cottage in which for many years afterwards the old table was shown to visitors on which their breakfast stood, and it was on the hill near there where the boy-princes, Charles and James, narrowly escaped being captured as they were watching the battle that was being fought on the fields below. We were in no hurry to leave Banbury, for we had not recovered from the effects of our long walk of the previous day and night, and were more inclined to saunter about the town than to push on. It is astonishing how early remembrances cling to us in after life: we verily believed we had come to Banbury purposely to visit its famous Cross, immortalised in the nursery rhyme: Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, To see a fine lady get on a white horse; She's rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. And she shall have music wherever she goes. [Illustration: BANBURY CROSS.] The rhyme must, like many others, have been of great antiquity, for the old Cross of Banbury had been removed by the Puritans in the year 1602, and its place taken by a much finer one, recently erected to commemorate the marriage of the Emperor Frederick of Germany to the Princess Royal of England. The fine lady and the white horse were also not to be found, but we heard that the former was supposed to have been a witch, known as the Witch of Banbury, while the white horse might have been an emblem of the Saxons or have had some connection with the great white horse whose gigantic figure we afterwards saw cut out in the green turf that covered the white chalk cliffs of the Berkshire Downs. The nursery rhyme incidentally recorded the fact that the steps at the base of the Cross at Banbury were formerly used as a convenience to people in mounting on the backs of their horses, and reminded us of the many isolated flights of three or four stone steps we had seen on our travels, chiefly near churches and public-houses and corners of streets, which had been used for the same purpose, and pointed back to those remote times when people rode on horseback across fields and swampy moors and along the pack-horse roads so common in the country long before wheeled vehicles came into common use. We had eaten Eccles cakes in Lancashire, and Shrewsbury cakes in Shropshire, and had walked through Scotland, which Robbie Burns had described as-- The Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, but we had never heard of Banbury cakes until we walked through the streets of that town, and found that the making of these cakes formed one of its leading industries. The cakes in Scotland were of a sterner, plainer character than those farther south, the cakes at Banbury being described as a mixture between a tart and a mince-pie. We purchased some, and found them uncommonly good, so we stowed a few in our bags for use on our way towards Oxford. This industry in Banbury is a very old one, for the cakes are known to have been made there as far back as 1602, when the old Cross was pulled down, and are mentioned by Ben Jonson, a great dramatist, and the friend of Shakespeare. He was Poet Laureate from 1619, and had the honour of being buried in Westminster Abbey. In his comedy _Bartholomew Fair_, published in 1614, he mentions that a Banbury baker, whom he facetiously named Mr. "Zeal-of-the-Lord Busy," had given up the making of these cakes "because they were served at bridals and other profane feasts." This baker, we imagined, must have been a Puritan, for from the reign of Queen Elizabeth to that of Charles II Banbury had been noted for the large number of Puritans who lived there, and for their religious zeal; they had even been accused of altering the names of the staple industries of the town from "Cakes and Ale" to "Cakes and Zeal," and were unpopular in some quarters, for Braithwaite in his _Drunken Barnaby_ cuts at them rather savagely: To Banbury came I, O profane one: Where I saw a Puritane one Hanging of his cat on Monday For killing of a mouse on Sunday. [Illustration: THE PURITAN.] The Academy at Banbury was famous as the place where Dean Swift began to write his famous satire entitled _Travels of Lemuel Gulliver_, the reading of which had been one of the pleasures of our schoolboy days. He was said to have copied the name from a tombstone in the churchyard. There were several charming old gabled houses in the town, and in "Ye Olde Reindeere Inn" was a beautiful room called the "Globe," a name given it from a globular chandelier which once stood near the entrance. This room was panelled in oak now black with age, and lighted by a lofty mullioned window extending right across the front, while the plastered ceiling was considered to be one of the finest in the county of Oxford. In the High Street stood a very fine old house with, three gables erected about the year 1600, on which was placed an old sun-dial that immediately attracted our attention, for inscribed on it appeared the Latin words, "Aspice et abi" ("Look and Go"), which we considered as a hint to ourselves, and as the Old Castle had been utterly demolished after the Civil War, and the fine old Parish Church, "more like a cathedral than a church," blown up with gunpowder in 1740 "to save the expense of restoring it," we had no excuse for staying here any longer, and quickly left the town on our way to Oxford. [Illustration: THE REINDEER INN, BANBURY. (Outside the Globe Room.)] The Latin motto "Look and Go" reminded my brother of an old timber-built mansion in Staffordshire which, as it stood near a road, everybody stayed to admire, its architectural proportions being so beautiful. It was said that when the fugitive King Charles was in hiding there he was greatly alarmed at seeing a man on the road staring stedfastly at the house, and as he remained thus for a considerable period, the king at last exclaimed impatiently, "Go, knave, what lookest at!" Long after the king had departed the owner of the house caused his words to be carved in large characters along a great beam extending in front of the mansion, which travellers in the present day still stay to admire, though many take the words as being meant for themselves, and move on as we did at Banbury, but perhaps more slowly and reluctantly. We had the valley of the River Cherwell to our left, and at Deddington we saw the site of the old castle from which Piers Gaveston, the unlucky favourite of Edward II, was taken by the Earl of Warwick. He had surrendered to "Joseph the Jew," the Earl of Pembroke, at Scarborough on condition that the barons spared his life, but Warwick said he never agreed to that, and as Gaveston had greatly offended him by nicknaming him the "Black Hound" or the "Black Dog," he took him to Warwick Castle and wreaked his venegance upon him by cutting off his head. By what we called a "forced march" we arrived at the grounds of the famous Palace of Woodstock, and were lucky in meeting with a woodman who took us across the park, where we had a fine view of the monument, the lake, and the magnificent Palace of Blenheim. [Illustration: BLENHEIM PALACE.] Woodstock is a place full of history and in a delightful position, with woods still surrounding it as in the days of yore, when it was the abode of kings and a royal residence. A witenagemot, or supreme council, was held here by King Ethelred in the year 866, and Alfred the Great pursued his literary work here by translating the _Consolations of Boethius_, and in the grounds he had a deer-fold. In Domesday Book it is described as a royal forest, and Henry I had an enclosure made in the park for lions and other wild beasts, which he surrounded by a very high wall, in which menagerie he placed the first porcupine ever seen in England, presented to him by William de Montpellier. The country people at that time imagined that the quills of the porcupine were weapons which the animal could shoot at those who hunted it. Henry II resided at the palace with the lady of his love, the Fair Rosamond. She was the second daughter of Walter, Lord de Clifford, who built his castle on a cliff overlooking a ford on the River Wye at Clifford in Herefordshire, and his daughter Rosa-mundi (the rose of the world) was born there. She had a local lover whom she discarded when Prince Henry appeared on the scene, and finally Henry took her away to Woodstock, where he built magnificent apartments for her and her children, the entrance to which was through an intricate maze in the castle grounds. The rear of the buildings adjoined the park, so that Rosamond and her children could pass out at the back into the park and woods without being perceived from the castle. Queen Eleanor was naturally jealous when she heard that she had been superseded in the king's affections, and it was said she tried all available means to discover the whereabouts of the Fair Rosamond, but without success, until she contrived to fasten a thread of silk to one of the king's spurs, which she afterwards followed in the maze in the castle grounds to the point where it had broken off at the secret entrance. She waited for her opportunity, and when the king was away she had the trap-door forced open, and, taking a large bowl of poison in one hand and a sharp dagger in the other, found Rosamond near a well in the park and commanded her to end her life either with one or the other. Rosamond took the poison, "and soe shee dyed," and the well ever since has been known as Fair Rosamond's Well; we afterwards found another well of the same name in Shropshire. She had two sons, one of whom became the Earl of Salisbury and the other Archbishop of York; an old ballad runs:-- But nothing could this furious queen Therewith appeased bee: The cup of deadlye poyson strong. As she knelt on her knee, She gave this comlye dame to drink, Who took it in her hand; And from her bended knee arose And on her feet did stand. And casting up her eyes to heaven, She did for mercy calle; And drinking up the poyson strong. Her life she lost with-alle. Edward III and his Queen Phillipa resided at Woodstock in the fourteenth century, and it was here that the Black Prince, who figured so largely in English history, was born. A nice little love story was connected with their court. The king had a page and the queen had a damsel, who fell deeply in love with each other, and whenever they got a chance walked out in the beautiful park and woods which surrounded the castle, where the young man made some poetry about the "Cuckoo and Nightingale," whose notes they so often heard amongst the sylvan beauties of Woodstock. The king was pleased with the poetry, and the young page became quite a favourite with him. He afterwards became known as the "Father of English Poetry." His name was Chaucer, and he achieved immortality by his "Canterbury Tales." He was not only successful in his own love affairs, but assisted John o' Gaunt with his, and was instrumental in obtaining for him the hand of Blanche of Lancaster, who had inherited from her father, the Duke of Lancaster, an enormous fortune, of which Kenilworth formed a part. Chaucer wrote an allegorical history of that love story in his poem entitled "Chaucer's Dream," and John o' Gaunt being a true friend, as was shown by his protection of his friend John Wiclif, the great reformer, Chaucer had no reason to regret the services he had rendered, for his fortunes rose with those of John o' Gaunt, whose great power and wealth dated from the marriage. Chaucer described Woodstock Park as being walled round with green stone, and it was said to have been the first walled park in England. Richard III held a tournament in it at Christmas 1389, at which the young Earl of Pembroke was accidentally killed. Henry VII made additions to the palace, and built the front gate-house in which his granddaughter Elizabeth, afterwards Queen of England, was imprisoned by command of her sister Mary, when she wrote with charcoal on one of the window shutters: Oh, Fortune, how thy restless wavering state, Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt. Witness this present prysoner, whither Fate Could bear me, and the joys I quitt; Thou causeth the guiltie to be loosed From bonds wherein an innocent's inclosed, Causing the guiltless to be straite reserved, And freeing those that Death hath well deserved; But by her malice can be nothing wroughte, So God send to my foes all they have thought. A.D. 1555--Elizabeth, "Prisoner." In Cromwell's time Woodstock suffered severely, and the castle was defended for the king by a great warrior, Captain Samuel Fawcett, who would have been buried beneath the ruins rather than surrender had not the king ordered him to hand it over to the Parliament. The manor and park continued to be vested in the Crown until the time of Queen Anne, who bestowed it on her famous general, the Duke of Marlborough, as a reward for his numerous victories abroad, so that he might have a home worthy of him. The nation voted the successful soldier half a million of money wherewith to build a magnificent palace to be named after one of his greatest victories, and Blenheim was the result. We were astonished at the enormous size of the mansion, in which, we heard, many art treasures were stored, and the woodman told us that the wall that enclosed the mansion and the park was more than eleven miles long. A lofty column, with a statue of the great duke on the top, in the garb of a Roman warrior, had been erected in the park, the base of which monument was covered with inscriptions containing thousands of words, including more names of battles won than we had seen on any monument previously. The Battle of Blenheim was fought in 1704, and forms the subject of Southey's well-known poem in which he describes old Kaspar sitting before his cottage door on a summer evening after his day's work was done, while his grandchildren, little Wilhelmine and her brother Peterkin, were playing on the green before him. The children had found something in the stream hard by, and had brought it to Kaspar to explain to them what it was that they had found "that was so large and smooth and round." We could almost imagine we could see old Kaspar taking it up in his hand and explaining to the children that it was the skull of some poor fellow amongst the thousands who had been slain in that great battle, and describing the misery that followed it, to teach them, and all mankind, the curse of war. [Illustration: MONUMENT TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.] Then followed the questions of the little children, often difficult to answer as everybody knows, and which even puzzled, old Kaspar himself: "Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they killed each other for I could not well make out. But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory." "And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win." "But what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin:-- "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 'twas a famous victory." We found a very comfortable hotel at Woodstock where we got a splendid tea, and stayed some time, with an inward desire to stay longer; but we wanted to reach Oxford that night, and so walked on in the dark and arrived at the Temperance Hotel there at ten o'clock p.m. We had seen a few bonfires on our way, but when November 5th happened to fall on a Sunday, causing the ceremonies of the "glorious fifth" to be celebrated either a day sooner or a day later, the proceedings invariably fell flat and lost their éclat; but Oxford was notorious on Gunpowder Day for a faction fight known as the Gown and the Town fight, which generally began in front of the church dedicated to St. Mary the Virgin, and on that day more heads were damaged in the city than on any other day in the year, the fight always ending in a number of both parties being taken care of for the night. But the custom was now dying out, and as our entry into the city was on November 4th, probably these festivities had not taken place or we had arrived too late to witness them. (_Distance walked twenty miles_.) [Illustration: MARTYRS' MEMORIAL, OXFORD.] _Sunday, November 5th._ I was roused in good time this morning by my brother knocking at my door and wishing me many happy returns of my birthday, consequently we were able to go out in the town before breakfast and see how Oxford looked in the daylight. As we walked through the principal streets we were astonished at the number of towers and spires on the churches and colleges, which appeared in every direction, and the number of trees and gardens which surrounded them. We saw the Martyrs' Memorial, which we must have passed as we entered the city the previous night, an elaborate and ornate structure, fully seventy feet high, with a cross at the summit. The monument had been erected at a cost of £5,000, to the memory of Bishops Ridley and Latimer, who were burnt to death near the spot, October 16th, 1555, and of Archbishop Cranmer, who followed them on March 21st, 1556; their statues in Caen stone filled three of the niches. The memorial was decorated after the manner of the Eleanor Crosses erected by King Edward I in memory of his wife, the Queen Eleanor, and the inscription on the base was as follows: _To the Glory of God and in grateful commemoration of His servants--Thomas Cranmer, Nicholas Ridley, Hugh Latimer, prelates of the Church of England; who near this spot yielded their bodies to be burned, bearing witness to the sacred truths which they had affirmed and maintained against the errors of the Church of Rome, and rejoicing that to them it was given not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for His sake. This monument was erected by public subscription in the year of our Lord God MDCCCXLI_. Ridley and Latimer were burned together on the slope of the city near Balliol College, where stakes had been placed to receive them. On the day of their execution they were brought from their prison and compelled to listen to a sermon full of reproaches and uncharitable insinuations from the preacher, Dr. Smith, who took his text from the thirteenth chapter of St. Paul's first Epistle to the Corinthians: "If I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it availeth me nothing." [Illustration: OXFORD'S TOWERS. "We were astonished at the number of towers and spires on the churches and colleges which appeared in every direction, and the number of trees and gardens which were around them."] Each of the bishops expressed a desire to reply to the sermon, but neither of them was allowed to do so, and they were led to the place of execution. Ridley was told that if he would recant, his life would be spared, but he replied, "So long as the breath is in my body I will never deny my Lord Christ and His known truth. God's will be done in me." His companion, Latimer, before he removed his prison dress, looked like a withered and bent old man, but afterwards appeared quite changed, and stood upright, "as comely a father as one might lightly behold." He distributed several small articles he had about him amongst his friends who stood near him, and said, "Well, there is nothing hid but it shall be opened"--a remark he had often made before--and then he prayed aloud to the Almighty, concluding with the words, "I beseech Thee, Lord God, take mercy on this realm of England, and deliver the same from all her enemies." [Illustration: THE BURNING OF RIDLEY AND LATIMER.] After embracing each other they were chained to the stakes, and the faggots of wood piled around them, while a brother-in-law tied a bag of gunpowder round Ridley's neck. As the fires were being lighted, the brave old Latimer uttered these memorable words: "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man! We shall this day light such a candle in England as I trust shall never be put out!" He then received the flame in his hands, as if embracing it, and, stroking his face with it, died apparently without pain. Ridley lived longer, but when the powder exploded, he fell dead at Latimer's feet. Latimer had often prayed during his imprisonment that he might shed his heart's blood for the truth, and that God would restore His gospel to England, and preserve the Lady Elizabeth. As his body was consumed, the bystanders were astonished at the quantity of blood that gushed from his heart. His words proved to be prophetic, for the fires of the martyrs restored the light to their country, and spread like wildfire throughout the land, carrying all before them. How strong must have been their belief when, with the offer of life held out to them, they elected to die for the faith "which is in Christ Jesus." Cranmer had signed a recantation and was brought to St. Mary's Church to proclaim his adhesion to the Roman faith, but instead of doing so, he created a great sensation by boldly repudiating all he had said in favour of Romish assumption. He said it was contrary to the truth; and "as for the Pope," he continued. "I refuse him as anti-Christ." A great uproar followed. The preacher shouted, "Stop the heretic's mouth!" and Cranmer was immediately led out to be burnt, suffering death on that same day, March 21, 1556. A portion of the stake to which he was fastened and the band of iron which was placed round his waist were still preserved at Oxford. Mary, who was Queen of England at that time, was a zealous Roman Catholic, and the Reformers were looked upon as heretics, and punished accordingly. So many of them were executed during her reign, that she became known to history as "Bloody Mary." Her sister Elizabeth was known to favour the Protestants, and as she would follow as Queen of England, her life was often in danger. It was for her preservation that Latimer so often prayed. Mary's reign was a short one, but Elizabeth was spared to reign over England for the long period of forty-four years. Foxe's _Book of Martyrs_ describes the horrible sufferings of many of these martyrs, and, though an awful book to read, was one of the few books extensively published in our early days, chained copies being placed in many churches, some of which we saw on our journey. [Illustration: BEAUMONT PALACE IN 1832: THE BIRTHPLACE OF RICHARD I.] A small group of excited people were standing near the Martyrs' Memorial, and we passed several others in the city. On inquiry we were informed that the body of a murdered woman had been found during the night, on the Banbury road. On hearing this news I must confess to feeling some slight apprehension when I considered the strong prima facie case that could have been made against us: our travel-stained appearance, faces bronzed almost to the colour of the red soil we had walked over, beards untrimmed and grown as nature intended them, clothes showing signs of wear and tear, our heavy oaken sticks with worn ferrules, and our suspicious and seedy-looking bags; our late arrival last night, and, above all, the fact that we had entered the town by the very road on which the murder had been committed! What if we were arrested on suspicion! I had been practically arrested under far less suspicious circumstances the previous year, when we were walking home from London. [Illustration: "THE HIGH," WITH QUEEN'S COLLEGE.] Just before reaching Nottingham we saw a large concourse of people in an open space some distance away from our road; out of curiosity we went to see what was going on, and found it to be a cricket match just finishing. Two men in the crowd to whom we spoke told us that great interest was being taken in the match, as a man named Grace was taking part in the game. We waited till the end, and came along with the two men towards the town. We had to cross the bridge over the River Trent, and my brother had already crossed when he found I was not following. So he turned back, and saw me talking to a policeman in the centre of the bridge. "What's the matter?" he shouted, and I replied, "He wants to look in my bag." My brother made use of some expression quite unusual to him, and a regular war of words ensued between him and the officer; as we declined to open the bag, he requested us to follow him to a small temporary police office that had been built on the side of the bridge. Meantime a crowd of men had collected and followed us to the station; every pane of glass in the office windows was occupied by the faces of curious observers. The officer quite lost his temper, saying that he had had men like us there before. We asked him to break the bag open, but he declined to do so, and made himself very disagreeable, which caused my brother to remark afterwards that we ought to have thrown him over the parapet of the bridge into the river below, if only to cool his temper. It would have pleased us to stay and fight the matter out, but we had a friend meeting us at Buxton to accompany us on the last day's march home, and were obliged to give in on that account; so we opened the bag, and it was amusing to see the crestfallen appearance of the officer when he saw the contents, and his fiery temperature almost fell below zero when we told him we should report the matter to his chief. We heard in the town that some of the squires on that side of Nottingham had been troubled with poachers on their estates, and the police had orders to examine all persons with suspicious-looking parcels coming into the town by that road, whether by vehicles or on foot. About a fortnight before our adventure the same policeman had stopped a man who was carrying a similar bag to mine, and found in it a complete set of housebreaker's tools. He had been complimented by the magistrates for his smart capture, so possibly our reluctance to open the bag, and its similarity to that carried by the housebreaker, had confirmed him in his opinion that he was about to make a similar capture. Another thought, however, that occurred to me was that the man I was walking with might be "known to the police," as I noticed he disappeared in the crowd immediately the officer approached. But be that as it may, we wrote to the Chief Constable of Police at Nottingham soon after we reached home, who replied very civilly, and said he hoped we would not proceed with the case further, as just then the police in that neighbourhood had very difficult duties to perform, and so the matter ended. [Illustration: MERTON GARDENS.] But to return to Oxford. My brother only smiled at my fears, and remarked that being apprehended by the police would only be a small matter compared with being taken to prison and put on the treadmill, a position in which he boasted of having once been placed. When he happened to mention this to a tramp on the road, I was greatly amused to hear the tramp in a significant and confidential tone of voice quietly ask, "What was you in for?" He was only a small boy at the time, and had gone with our father, who was on the jury, to the county prison. Part of the jury's business in the interval was to inspect the arrangements there, which of course were found in applepie order. My brother was greatly impressed by his own importance when the man in livery at the head of the procession repeatedly called to the crowd, "Make way for the Grand Jury!" He saw the prisoners picking "oakum," or untwisting old ropes that had been used in boats, tearing the strands into loose hemp to be afterwards used in caulking the seams between the wood planks on the decks and sides of ships, so as to make them water-tight; and as it was near the prisoners' dinner-time, he saw the food that had been prepared for their dinner in a great number of small tin cans with handles attached, each containing two or three small pieces of cooked meat, which he said smelled very savoury. Finally they came to the treadmill, and as no prisoners were on it, some of the jury expressed a wish to try it; one of the jurymen seeing my brother, who was the only child present, kindly took him on and held him by the hand. When all were in position the wheel was started slowly, and as one step went down they mounted the next, and so on up the stairs, but they never got to the top! The steps creaked under them as the wheel turned slowly round, and a prison officer stood behind them with a big stick, which he was careful not to use on any of the jurymen, though my brother heard him say he had to use it sometimes on the prisoners. As the wheel turned round it moved some kind of machinery which they could not see. [Illustration: GREAT TOM BELL, OXFORD.] But to return to Oxford again. We were not suspected of being concerned in the murder, nor did we venture to inquire whether the culprit had been found, for fear that we might be suspected of being concerned in the case; but if a police raid had been made on the Oxford Temperance Hotel--most unlikely thing to happen--we should have been able to produce a good record for that day, at any rate, for we attended four different services in four different places of worship. The first was at Christ Church, whither we had been advised to go to listen to the choir, whose singing at that time was considered to be the best in Oxford. Certainly the musical part of the service was all that could be desired. There were more than twenty colleges at Oxford, and we had a busy day, for between the services we looked through the "Quads," with their fine gardens and beautiful lawns, hundreds of years old. In the services, every phase of religious thought in the Church of England seemed to be represented--the High Church, the Low Church, and the Broad Church; and many men in all vocations and professions in life had passed through the colleges, while valuable possessions had been bequeathed to them from time to time, until Oxford had become a veritable storehouse of valuable books, pictures, and relics of all kinds, and much of the history of the British Empire seemed to have been made by men who had been educated there. It would have taken us quite a week to see Oxford as it ought to be seen, but we had only this one day, and that a Sunday. [Illustration: TOM TOWER, WITH WOLSEY STATUE.] Christ Church, where we went to our first service, one of the finest buildings in Oxford, was founded by the great Wolsey in the reign of Henry VIII. It contains the statue and portrait of the Cardinal, and in the Library his Cardinal's Hat, also his Prayer Book--one of its most valued possessions, beautifully illuminated and bound in crimson velvet set with pearls and dated 1599. The famous bell of Christ Church, known as the "Great Tom," weighing about 17,000 lbs., is tolled every night at five minutes past nine o'clock--101 times, that being the original number of the students at the college--and at its solemn sound most of the colleges and halls closed their gates. The students were formerly all supposed to be housed at that hour, but the custom is not now observed--in fact, there was some doubt about it even in the time of Dean Aldrich, the author of the well-known catch, "Hark! the bonny Christ Church bells," published in 1673: Hark the bonny Christ Church Bells 1 2 3 4 5 6-- They sound so wondrous great, so woundy sweet As they trowl so merrily, merrily. Oh! the first and second bell. That every day at four and ten, cry, "Come, come, come, come to prayers!" And the verger troops before the Dean. Tinkle, tinkle, ting, goes the small bell at nine. To call the bearers home; But the devil a man Will leave his can Till he hears the mighty Tom. The great bell originally belonged to Oseney Abbey, and hung in the fine cupola over the entrance gate, named after it the "Great Tom Gate," and had been tolled every night with one exception since May 29, 1684. The statue of Wolsey, which now stood over the gateway, was carved by an Oxford man named Bird in the year 1719, at the expense of Trelawny, Bishop of Winchester, one of the seven bishops and hero of the famous ballad-- And shall Trelawny die? At the time of the Restoration Dr. John Fell was appointed Vice-Chancellor, and he not only made the examinations very severe, but he made the examiners keep up to his standard, and was cordially hated by some of the students on that account. An epigram made about him at that time has been handed down to posterity: I do not like thee, Dr. Fell; The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know, and know full well, I do not like thee, Dr. Fell. William Penn, the Quaker, the famous founder of the Colony of Pennsylvania, "came up" to Christ Church in 1660, but was "sent down" in 1660 for nonconformity. [Illustration: LEWIS CARROLL.] But we were more interested in a modern student there, C.L. Dodgson, who was born in 1832 at Daresbury in Cheshire, where his father was rector, and quite near where we were born. There was a wood near his father's rectory where he, the future "Lewis Carroll," rambled when a child, along with other children, and where it was thought he got the first inspirations that matured in his famous book _The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland_, which was published in 1865--one of the most delightful books for children ever written. We were acquainted with a clergyman who told us that it was the greatest pleasure of his life to have known "Lewis Carroll" at Oxford, and that Queen Victoria was so delighted with Dodgson's book _Alice in Wonderland_, that she commanded him if ever he wrote another book to dedicate it to her. Lewis Carroll was at that time engaged on a rather abstruse work on _Conic Sections_, which, when completed and published, duly appeared as "Dedicated by express command to Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria." The appearance of this book caused some surprise and amusement, as it was not known that the Queen was particularly interested in _Conic Sections_. No doubt Her Majesty anticipated, when she gave him the command personally, that his next book would be a companion to the immortal _Alice_. Our friend the vicar, who told us this story, rather surprised us when he said that Lewis Carroll did not like the sea, and had written a "Sea Dirge," which, when recited at parochial entertainments, generally brought "down the house" at the conclusion of the ninth verse: A SEA DIRGE There are some things like a spider, a ghost. The income tax, the gout, an umbrella for three. That I hate, but the thing I hate the most, Is a thing they call the sea. Pour some salt water over the floor. Ugly I'm sure you'll allow that to be, Suppose it extended a mile or more, That would be like the sea. Beat a dog till it howls outright-- Cruel, but all very well for a spree; Suppose it did so day and night, That would be like the sea. I had a vision of nursery maids, Tens of thousands passed by me, Each carrying children with wooden spades, And that was by the sea. Who could have invented those spades of wood? Who was it that cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could-- Or one who loved the sea. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt to float With thoughts as boundless and souls as free, But suppose you are very unwell in the boat-- Then how do you like the sea? Would you like coffee with sand for dregs? A decided hint of salt in your tea? And a fishy taste in the very eggs? Then by all means choose the sea. And if with such dainties to drink and eat You prefer not a vestige of grass or a tree, And a chronic condition of wet in your feet, Then--I recommend the sea. There is an animal people avoid. Whence is derived the verb to flee, Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the sea. Once I met with a friend in the street, With wife and nurse and children three; Never again such a sight may I meet, As that party from the sea. Their looks were sullen, their steps were slow, Convicted felons they seemed to be,-- "Are you going to prison, dear friend?"--"Oh no; We're returning from the sea!" [Illustration: GUY FAWKES'S LANTERN.] Every college had some legend or story connected with it, and University College claimed to have been founded by King Alfred the Great, but this is considered a myth; King Alfred's jewel, however, a fine specimen of Saxon work in gold and crystal, found in the Isle of Athelney, was still preserved in Oxford. Guy Fawkes's lantern and the sword given to Henry VIII as Defender of the Faith were amongst the curios in the Bodleian Library, but afterwards transferred to the Ashmolean Museum, which claimed to be the earliest public collection of curiosities in England, the first contributions made to it having been given in 1682 by Elias Ashmole, of whom we had heard when passing through Lichfield. In the eighteenth century there was a tutor named Scott who delivered a series of lectures on Ancient History, which were considered to be the finest ever known, but he could never be induced to publish them. In one of his lectures he wished to explain that the Greeks had no chimneys to their houses, and created much amusement by explaining it in his scholarly and roundabout fashion: "The Greeks had no convenience by which the volatile parts of fire could be conveyed into the open air." This tutor was a friend of the great Dr. Johnson, and seemed to have been quite an original character, for when his brother, John Scott, who was one of his own pupils, came up for examination for his degree in Hebrew and History, the only questions he put to him were, "What is the Hebrew for skull?" to which John promptly replied "Golgotha," and "Who founded University College?" to which his reply was "King Alfred!" Both the brothers were very clever men, and the tutor developed into Lord Stowell, while the pupil was created Lord Eldon. [Illustration: THE QUADRANGLE, JESUS COLLEGE.] Jesus, the Welsh College, possessed an enormous silver punch-bowl, 5 feet 2 inches in girth, which was presented in 1732 by the great Sir Watkin Williams-Wynn, who was known as the King _in_ Wales. Over his great kitchen mantelpiece there he had the words "Waste not, want not," a motto which did not appear to apply to the punchbowl, for the conditions attached to it were that it was to become the property of him who could span it with his arms and then drain the bowl empty after it had been filled with strong punch. The first condition had been complied with, and the second no doubt had been often attempted, but no one had yet appeared who had a head strong enough to drain the bowl without assistance, so it still remained the property of the College! [Illustration: "MAY MORNING": THE CHOIR ON THE TOWER.] Magdalen College--or Maudlen, as they pronounced it at Oxford--as easily distinguished from the others by its fine tower, rising to the height of 145 feet, the building of which dates from the end of the fifteenth century. We took a greater interest in that college because the rector of Grappenhall in Cheshire, where we were born, had been educated there. An ancient May-day custom is still observed by the college, called the "Magdalen Grace" or the "May Morning Hymn," this very old custom having been retained at Magdalen long after others disappeared. On May-day morning the choristers ascend to the top of the great tower and enter the portion railed off for them and other men who join in the singing, while the remainder of the space is reserved for members of the University, and other privileged persons admitted by ticket. They wait until the bell has sounded the last stroke of five o'clock, and then sing in Latin that fine old hymn to the Trinity, beginning with the words: Te Deum patrem colimus. My brother, however, was sure our rector could never have sung that hymn, since in cases of emergency he always appealed to him to start the singing in the Sunday school--for although a very worthy man in other respects, he was decidedly not musical. Among the great Magdalen men of the past are the names of Cardinal Wolsey, Cardinal Reginald Pole, Addison, Gibbon, Collins, Wilson, John Hampden, and John Foxe, author of the _Book of Martyrs_. The ecclesiastical students included two cardinals, four archbishops, and about forty bishops; and my brother would have added to the Roll of Honour the name of our rector, the Rev. Thomas Greenall, as that of a man who conscientiously tried to do his duty and whom he held in lasting remembrance. [Illustration: AN OXFORDSHIRE FARM.] There was a kind of haze hanging over Oxford, which gave me the impression that the atmosphere of the neighbourhood was rather damp, though my brother tried to persuade me it was the mist of antiquity; but when I found the rivers Thames (or Isis) and the Cherwell encircled the city on three sides, and that its name was derived from a passage over which oxen could cross the water, and when I saw the stiff clay of the brickfields, I was confirmed in my opinion. [Illustration: HINKSEY STREAM.] As early as the year 726 a prince named Didan settled at Oxford, and his wife Saxfrida built a nunnery there for her daughter Frideswyde, so that she could "take the veil" in her own church. As she was considered the "flower of all these parts," we could not understand why this was necessary, especially as she was sought in marriage by Algar, King of Leicester, described as "a young and spritely prince," and who was so persistent that he would not accept her refusal, actually sending "ambassadors" to carry her away. These men, however, when they approached her were smitten with blindness; and when Frideswyde saw that she would not be safe in "her own church" nor able to remain in peace there, she fled into the woods and hid herself in a place that had been made as a shelter for the swine. King Algar was greatly enraged, and, breathing out fire and sword, set out for Oxford. As he still pursued her, he too was smitten with blindness; and she then returned, but did not live long, as she died in 739. St. Frideswide's Chapel was said to have been built over her shrine, around which Oxford, the "City of the Spires," had extended to its present proportions. Oxford is also mentioned in A.D. 912 in the _Saxon Chronicle_, and Richard Coeur de Lion, the great Crusader, was born there in 1156, and often made it his home. The city was besieged on three different occasions--by Sweyne, the King of Denmark, in 1013, by William the Conqueror in 1067, and by Fairfax in 1646--for it was one of the King's great strongholds. EIGHTH WEEK'S JOURNEY _Monday, November 6th._ We had been very comfortable at our hotel, where I had spent a very pleasant birthday at Oxford, and was sorry that we could not stay another day. But the winter was within measurable distance, with its short days and long dark nights, and we could no longer rely upon the moon to lighten our way, for it had already reached its last quarter. We therefore left Oxford early in the morning by the Abingdon Road, and soon reached the southern entrance to the city, where in former days stood the famous tower from which Roger Bacon, who died in 1292, and who was one of the great pioneers in science and philosophy, was said to have studied the heavens; it was shown to visitors as "Friar Bacon's study." [Illustration: FRIAR BACON'S STUDY, FOLLEY BRIDGE, OXFORD.] A strange story was told relating to that wonderful man, from which it appeared he had formed the acquaintance of a spirit, who told him that if he could make a head of brass in one month, so that it could speak during the next month, he would be able to surround England with a wall of brass, and thus protect his country from her enemies. Roger Bacon, on hearing this, at once set to work, and with the aid of another philosopher and a demon the head was made; but as it was uncertain at what time during the next month it would speak, it was necessary to watch it. The two philosophers, therefore, watched it night and day for three weeks, and then, getting tired, Bacon ordered his man Myles to watch, and waken him when it spoke. About half an hour after they had retired the head spoke, and said, "Time is," but Myles thought it was too early to tell his master, as he could not have had sleep enough. In another half-hour the head spoke again, and said, "Time was," but as everybody knew that, he still did not think fit to waken his master, and then half an hour afterwards the head said, "Time is past," and fell down with a tremendous crash that woke the philosophers: but it was now too late! What happened afterwards, and what became of Myles, we did not know. In the neighbouring village of North Hinksey, about a mile across the meadows, stands the Witches' Elm. Of the Haunted House beside which it stood hardly even a trace remained, its origin, like its legend, stretching so far back into the "mists of antiquity" that only the slenderest threads remained. Most of the villages were owned by the monks of Abingdon Abbey under a grant of the Saxon King Caedwalla, and confirmed to them by Caenwulf and Edwig. The Haunted House, like the Church of Cumnor, was built by the pious monks, and remained in their possession till the dissolution of the monastery, then passing into the hands of the Earls of Abingdon. [Illustration: THE WITCHES' ELM.] The last tenant of the old house was one Mark Scraggs, or Scroggs, a solitary miser who, the story goes, sold himself to the Devil, one of the features of the compact being that he should provide for the wants of three wise women, or witches, who on their part were to assist him in carrying out his schemes and make them successful. In everything he seemed to prosper, and accumulated great hoards of wealth, but he had not a soul in the world to leave it to or to regret his leaving in spite of his wealth. At length the time approached when his terrible master would claim him body and soul, but Scraggs worked out a scheme for evading his bond, and for a time successfully kept Satan at bay and disposed of the three witches by imprisoning them in a hollow tree close by, on which he cast a spell which prevented them from communicating with their master the evil one, or enabling him to find them. This spell was so successful that Scraggs soon felt himself secure, but one day, venturing beyond the charmed circle, he was immediately seized by the Devil, who attempted to carry him off by way of the chimney, but failed, as the shaft was not sufficiently wide for the passage of the man's body. In the struggle the chimney was twisted in the upper part, and remained so till its total destruction, while Satan, rinding he could not carry off his body, tore him asunder, and carried off his soul, dashing the mutilated remains of the miser upon the hearth beneath. The death of Scraggs dissolved the spell which bound the witches, and their release split the tree in which they were confined from the ground to the topmost branch. The great uproar of this Satanic struggle aroused the neighbourhood, and the miser's body, when it was discovered, was buried beneath the wall of the church--neither inside nor outside the sacred edifice. Ever afterwards the house was haunted by the apparition of old Scraggs searching for his lost soul with groans and hideous cries, until at last the old mansion was pulled down and its very stones were removed. The old shattered and knarled elm alone remained to keep alive the legend of this evil compact. The story, improbable as it may appear, no doubt contained, as most of these stories do, the element of fact. Possibly the old man was a miser who possessed wealth enough to become the source of envy by some interested relations. Perhaps he was brutally murdered, perhaps, too, the night of the deed may have been wild with thunder and lightning raging in the sky. Probably the weird story, with all its improbable trappings, was circulated by some one who knew the truth, but who was interested in concealing it. Who knows? [Illlustration: HINKSEY, AN OXFORDSHIRE VILLAGE IN WHICH THE ROAD WAS CONSTRUCTED BY RUSKIN AND A BAND OF OXFORD STUDENTS.] We were now passing through scenes and pastures, quiet fields and farms, of which many of Oxford's famous students and scholars had written and sung. Matthew Arnold had painted these fields and villages, hills and gliding, reedy streams in some of his poems, and they were the objective of many of his Rambles: Hills where Arnold wander'd and all sweet June meadows, from the troubling world withdrawn. Here too in one of these small hamlets through which we passed Ruskin with a gang of his pupils in flannels started roadmaking, and for days and weeks were to be seen at their arduous task of digging and excavation, toiling and moiling with pick, spade, and barrow, while Ruskin stood by, applauding and encouraging them in their task of making and beautifying the roads of these villages which he loved so well. [Illustration: THE SCENE OF THE DIGGING OPERATIONS.] This experiment was undertaken by Ruskin as a practical piece of serviceable manual labour, for Ruskin taught in his lectures that the Fine Arts required, as a necessary condition of their perfection, a happy country life with manual labour as an equally necessary part of a completely healthy and rounded human existence, and in this experiment he practised what he preached. The experiment caused no little stir in Oxford, and even the London newspapers had their gibe at the "Amateur Navvies of Oxford"; to walk over to Hinksey and laugh at the diggers was a fashionable afternoon amusement. The "Hinksey diggings," as they were humorously called, were taken up with an enthusiasm which burned so fiercely that it soon expended itself, and its last flickering embers were soon extinguished by the ironic chaff and banter to which these gilded youths were subjected. The owner of the estate sent his surveyor to report the condition of the road as they had left it, and it is said that in his report he wrote: "The young men have done no mischief to speak of." The River Thames, over which we now crossed, is known in Oxford as the "Isis," the name of an Egyptian goddess--though in reality only an abbreviated form of the Latin name Tamesis. As the Thames here forms the boundary of Oxfordshire, we were in Berkshire immediately we crossed the bridge. We followed the course of the river until we reached Kennington, where it divides and encloses an island named the Rose Isle, a favourite resort of boating parties from Oxford and elsewhere. It was quite a lovely neighbourhood, and we had a nice walk through Bagley Woods, to the pretty village of Sunningwell, where we again heard of Roger Bacon, for he occasionally used the church tower there for his astronomical and astrological observations. He must have been an enormously clever man, and on that account was known as an alchemist and a sorcerer; he was credited with the invention of gunpowder, and the air-pump, and with being acquainted with the principle of the telescope. In the time of Queen Mary, Dr. Jewel was the rector of Sunningwell, but had to vacate it to escape persecution; while in the time of the Civil War Dr. Samuel Fell, then Dean of Christ Church, and father of John Fell, was rector. He died from shock in 1649 when told the news that his old master, King Charles, had been executed. He was succeeded as Dean by John Fell, his son. [Illustration: SUNNINGWELL CHURCH.] [Illustration: SUNNINGWELL, BISHOP JEWELL'S PORCH.] [Illustration: ABBEY GATE, ABINGDON, SHOWING ALL THAT NOW REMAINS OF THE ABBEY.] We soon arrived at Abingdon, and were delighted with the view of the town, with its church spire overlooking it as we approached to the side of the Thames, which now appeared as a good-sized river. As we stopped a minute or two on the bridge, my brother got a distant view of some pleasure boats, and suggested we should stay there for the rest of the day, to explore the town, and row up and down the river! He had evidently fallen in love with Abingdon, but I reminded him that our travelling orders were not to ride in any kind of conveyance during the whole of our journey, and that, if we got drowned, we should never get to the Land's End, "besides," I added, "we have not had our breakfast." This finished him off altogether, and the pleasure-boat scheme vanished immediately we entered the portals of a fine old hostelry, where the smell of bacon and eggs recalled him from his day dreams. We handed our luggage to the boots to take care of, and walked into the coffee-room, where to our surprise we found breakfast set for two, and the waitress standing beside it. When we told her how glad we were to find she had anticipated our arrival, she said that the bacon and eggs on the table were not prepared for us, but for two other visitors who had not come downstairs at the appointed time. She seemed rather vexed, as the breakfast was getting cold, and said we had better sit down to it, and she would order another lot to be got ready and run the risk. So we began operations at once, but felt rather guilty on the appearance of a lady and gentleman when very little of the bacon and eggs intended for them remained. The waitress had, however, relieved the situation by setting some empty crockery on another table. Having satisfied our requirements, we tipped the waitress handsomely while paying the bill, and vanished to explore the town. We were captivated with the appearance of Abingdon, which had quite a different look from many of the towns we had visited elsewhere; but perhaps our good opinion had been enhanced by the substantial breakfast we had disposed of, and the splendid appetites which enabled us to enjoy it. There were other good old-fashioned inns in the town, and a man named William Honey had at one time been the landlord of one of the smaller ones, where he had adopted as his sign a bee-hive, on which he had left the following record: Within this Hive we're all alive, Good Liquor makes us funny; If you are dry, step in and try The flavour of our Honey. The early history of Abingdon-on-Thames appeared, like others, to have begun with that of a lady who built a nunnery. Cilia was the name of this particular lady, and afterwards Hean, her brother, built a monastery, or an abbey, the most substantial remains of which appeared to be the abbey gateway; but as the abbey had existed in one form or another from the year 675 down to the time of Henry VIII, when it was dissolved, in 1538, Abingdon must have been a place of considerable antiquity. St. Nicholas's Church was mentioned in documents connected with the abbey as early as 1189, and some of its windows contained old stained glass formerly belonging to it, and said to represent the patron saint of the church restoring to life some children who had been mutilated and pickled by the devil. There was also a fine old tomb which contained the remains of John Blacknall and Jane his wife, who appeared to have died simultaneously, or, as recorded, "at one instant time at the house within the site of the dissolved monastery of the Blessed Virgin Marie, of Abingdon, whereof he was owner." The following was the curious inscription on the tomb: Here rest in assurance of a joyful resurrection the Bodies of John Blacknall, Esquire, and his wife, who both of them finished an happy course upon earth and ended their days in peace on the 21st day of August in the year of our Lord 1625. He was a bountiful benefactor of this Church--gave many benevolencies to the poor--to the Glory of God--to the example of future ages: When once they liv'd on earth one bed did hold Their Bodies, which one minute turned to mould; Being dead, one Grave is trusted with the prize, Until that trump doth sound and all must rise; Here death's stroke even did not part this pair, But by this stroke they more united were; And what left they behind you plainly see, An only daughter, and their charitie. And though the first by death's command did leave us, The second we are sure will ne'er deceive us. This church, however, was very small compared with its larger neighbour dedicated to St. Helen, which claims to be one of the four churches in England possessing five aisles, probably accounting for the fact that its breadth exceeded its length by about eleven feet. The oldest aisle dates from the year 1182, and the church contains many fine brasses and tombs, including one dated 1571, of John Roysse, citizen and mercer of London, who founded the Abingdon Grammar School. There is also a stone altar-tomb in memory of Richard Curtaine, who died in 1643, and who was described as "principalle magistrate of this Corpe"; on the tomb was this charming verse in old English lettering: Our Curtaine in this lower press. Rests folded up in nature's dress; His dust P.fumes his urne, and hee This towne with liberalitee. Abingdon is fortunate in having so many benefactors, who seem to have vied with each other in the extent of their gifts; even the church itself is almost surrounded with almshouses, which, owing to their quaint architectural beauty, form a great attraction to visitors. It is doubtful whether any town in England of equal size possesses so many almshouses as Abingdon. Those near this church were built in the year 1446 by the Fraternity or Guild of the Holy Cross, and the fine old hospital which adjoined them, with its ancient wooden cloisters and gabled doorways and porch, was a sight well worth seeing. The hall or chapel was hung with painted portraits of its benefactors, including that of King Edward VI, who granted the Charter for the hospital. This Guild of the Holy Cross assisted to build the bridges and set up in the market-place the famous Abingdon Cross, which was 45 feet high. Standing upon eight steps, this cross had "eight panels in the first storey and six in the second; of stone, gilt and garnished, adorned with statuary and coats of arms, a mightily goodly cross of stone with fair degrees and imagerie." The design of the Abingdon Cross had been copied for other crosses, including, it was said, portions of those of Coventry and Canterbury; and it must have been of extraordinary beauty, for Elias Ashmole, who was likely to know, declared that it was not inferior in workmanship and design to any other in England. The cross was restored in 1605, but when the army of the Parliament occupied the town in 1644, it was "sawed down" by General Waller as "a superstitious edifice." The Chamberlain's Accounts for that year contained an entry of money paid "to Edward Hucks for carrying away the stones from the cross." [Illustration: MARKET CROSS, ABINGDON. _From an old print_.] The records in these old towns in the south, which had been kept by churchwardens and constables for hundreds of years, were extremely interesting; and there was much information in those at Abingdon that gave a good idea of what was to be found in a market-place in "ye olden time," for in addition to the great cross there were the May pole, the cryer's pulpit, the shambles, the stocks, the pillory, the cage, the ducking-stool, and the whipping-post. In the year 1641, just before the Civil War, Abingdon possessed a Sergeant-at-Mace in the person of Mr. John Richardson, who also appears to have been a poet, as he dedicated what he described as a poem "of harmless and homespun verse to the Mayor, Bayliffs, Burgesses, and others," in which are portrayed the proceedings at the celebration of the peace between the King and the Scots. Early in the morning the inhabitants were roused by "Old Helen's trowling bells," which were answered by the "Low Bells of honest Nick," meaning the bells of the two churches: To Helen's Courts (ith'morne) at seven oth' clock, Our congregation in great numbers flock; Where we 'till Twelve our Orisons did send To him, that did our kingdom's Quarrels end. And these two Sermons two Divines did preach, And most divinely gratitude did teach. After these five hours of service, the congregation again returned to church from two till four, and then proceeded to the cross in the market-place. And thus we march'd: First with my golden Mace I pac'd along, and after followed mee The Burgesses by senioritee. Our Praetour first (let me not misse my Text), I think the Clergie-men came marching next; Then came our Justice, with him a Burger sage, Both marched together, in due equipage. The rest oth' Burgers, with a comely grace, Walked two and two along to th' market-place. And when the procession arrived at the steps of the cross-- The Clerk was call'd, and he a Bible took, The hundred and sixt Psalme he out did look; Two thousand Quoristers their notes did raise And warbled out the Great Creator's praise! After this came bonfires and wine and beer, and then the musketeers with rattling drums and fifes and colours flying, under the "skilfull Sergeant Corderoy," who fired off a barrel of powder before the well-known "Antelope Inn." Abingdon was rather roughly handled during the Civil War, for, in addition to the "sawing off" of the cross, the horses of the Parliamentary Army were stabled in St. Helen's Church, an entry being afterwards made in the churchwardens' book of a sum paid "for nailes and mending the seats that the soldiers had toorne." The fines recorded during the Commonwealth were: "For swearing one oath, 3s. 4d.; for drawing Beere on the Sabboth Day, 10s. 0d.; a Gent for travelling on the Sabboth, 10s. 0d." Our journey might have been devised on a plan to evade all such fines, for we did not swear, or drink beer, or travel on Sundays. We might, however, have fallen into the hands of highway robbers, for many were about the roads in that neighbourhood then, and many stage-coaches had been held up and the passengers robbed. There was a rather imposing County Hall at Abingdon, built towards the close of the seventeenth century, at which an ancient custom was performed on the coronation of a king. The mayor and corporation on those occasions threw buns from the roof of the market-house, and a thousand penny cakes were thus disposed of at the coronation of George IV, and again at the accession of William IV and of Queen Victoria. An apprentice of a cordwainer in the town ran away in 1764, or, as it was worded on the police notice, "did elope from service." He was described as a "lusty young fellow, wearing a light-coloured surtout coat, a snuff-coloured undercoat, a straw-coloured waistcoat, newish leather breeches, and wears his own dark brown hair tied behind," so it appeared to us that he had not left his best clothes at home when he "did elope," and would be easily recognised by his smart appearance. We also noticed that about the same period "Florists' Feasts" were held at Abingdon, perhaps the forerunners of the "Flower Shows" held at a later period. In those days the flowers exhibited were chiefly "whole-blowing carnations," while the important things were the dinners which followed the exhibitions, and which were served at the principal inns. [Illustration: THE "CROWN AND THISTLE INN," ABINGDON.] But we must not leave Abingdon without giving an account of another benefactor to the town, though rather on different lines, of whom a detailed account was given in _Jackson's Oxford Journal_ of November, 1767, from which it appeared that State lotteries were in vogue at that time in England. The story chiefly related to a Mr. Alder, a cooper by trade, who kept a "little public house" called the "Mitre." His wife had handed him £22 to pay the brewer, but instead of doing so he only paid him £10, and with the other twelve bought a ticket for the lottery, the number of which was 3379. The following precise account, copied from the _Journal_, will give the result, and show how events were described in newspapers in those days, the punctuation being carefully attended to, a more extensive use made of capital letters to distinguish the more important words, and some words written separately which now are joined together: Last Friday about one o'clock in the morning a Messenger in a Post Chaise and Four arrived Express at the Crown and Thistle in Abingdon, Berks., from the Office where his Ticket was sold and registered, to give Mr. Alder the owner of it, the most early Advice of his good Fortune, upon which Mr. Powell immediately went with the Messenger to carry this important Intelligence. Mr. Alder was in Bed, but upon being called jumped out, and opened the Window; when Mr. Powell told him he had brought good News, for his Ticket was come up a Prize. Mr. Alder replied that he knew very well it was only a Joke, but nevertheless he would come down and drink with him, with all his Heart. This Point being settled, both Mr. Alder and his Wife came down; when the Prize still continued to be the Subject of Conversation whilst the Glass went round, and it was magnified by Degrees, till at length Mr. Alder was seriously informed that this Ticket was the Day before drawn a Prize for _Twenty Thousand Pounds_, and that the Gentleman then present was the Messenger of his Success. Though the utmost Precaution had been used, it is natural to suppose that so sudden and unexpected an Acquisition must produce very extra ordinary Emotions: Mr. Alder, however, supported him with great Decency, but almost immediately slipped out into the Yard behind his House, where he staid some little Time, probably to drop a joyful Tear, as well as to offer an Ejaculation for these Blessings of Providence; but at his Return into the House, we are told, he manifested a most open and generous Heart: He was immediately for doing good, as well as rewarding every one who had in any wise been instrumental in the Advancement of his Fortune. Mr. Powell was welcome to the Use of Half the Money without Interest; his Son, and all his Neighbours were called; he kept open House, set the Bells a'ringing, and came to the following Resolutions, viz.: That the Messenger that came down, and the two Blue-coat Boys who drew the Prize, should be handsomely rewarded; that he would give Mr. Blewitt, Owner of the Abingdon Machine, at least a New Body for his Stage, on which should be painted the Cooper's Arms, together with the Number of his Ticket, 3m379; that he would clothe all the Necessitous of his own Parish; and likewise give a Couple of the finest fat Oxen he could purchase to the Poor of Abingdon in general, and lay out the price of these Oxen in Bread, to be distributed at the same time. To the Ringers, in Number, fourteen, he gave Liquor in Plenty, and a Guinea each; and calling for a wet Mop, rubbed out all the Ale Scores in his Kitchen. In a Word he displayed a noble Liberality, made every Body welcome; and what is highly to be applauded, showed a charitable Disposition towards the Relief of the Poor. We could imagine the joviality of Mr. Alder's customers when they found their ale scores so generously cancelled, which must have been fairly extensive, seeing that it required a "mop" to remove them from the inside of his kitchen door. We had often seen these "scores" at country inns behind the doors of the rooms where the poorer customers were served. It was a simple method of "book-keeping," as the customers' initials were placed at the head of a line of straight strokes marked by the landlord with white chalk, each figure "one" representing a pint of beer served to his customer during the week, and the money for the "pints" had to be paid at the week's end, for Saturday was the day when wages were invariably paid to working men in the country; as scarcely one of them could write his own name, it was a simple method of keeping accounts that appealed to them, and one that could easily be understood, for all they had to do, besides paying the money, was to count the number of strokes opposite their names. In some places it was the custom to place P. for pint and Q. for quart, which accounted for the origin of the phrase, _Mind your p's and q's_, so that the phrase, becoming a general warning to "look out," was originally used as a warning to the drinker to look at the score of p's and q's against him. We once heard of a landlord, however, whose first name was Daniel, and who was dishonest. When a customer got "half-seas over" and could not see straight, he used a piece of chalk with a nick cut in it, so that when he marked "one" on the door the chalk marked two; but he was soon found out, and lost most of his trade, besides being nicknamed "Dan Double-chalk." The custom of keeping ale scores in this way was referred to in the poem of "Richard Bell," who was-- As plodding a man, so his neighbours tell, as ever a chisel wielded. Richard's fault was that he spent too much money at a public-house named the "Jolly Kings," and-- One night, 'twas pay night! Richard's score Reach'd half across the Parlour door. His "Pints" had been so many And when at length the bill was paid, All that was left, he found, dismay'd, Was but a single penny! If Mr. Alder's customers had spent their money as freely as Richard had spent his, we could imagine their feelings of joy when they found their ale scores wiped out by Mr. Alder's wet mop! But during all the Jollity occasioned by this Event (the _Journal_ continued), it seems Mrs. Alder was in no wise elated, but rather thought the having such a great deal of Money a Misfortune; and seemed of Opinion that it would have been better to have had only enough to pay the Brewer, and a few Pounds to spare; for it would now certainly be their Ruin, as she knew well her Husband would give away all they had in the World, and indeed that it was _presumptuous_ in him at first to buy the Ticket. The Presumption alluded to by Mrs. Alder, we find, is that she had made up the Sum of 22l. for the Brewer, which her Husband took from her for that Purpose, but he having a strong Propensity to put himself in Fortune's Way, only paid 10l., and with the other Twelve purchased the Ticket. On Thursday last Mr. Alder set out for London, with Mr. Bowles of Abingdon, Attorney-at-Law; in order to Cheque His Ticket with the Commissioners Books, and take the Steps necessary for claiming and securing his Property. Subsequent reports in the _Journal_ described Mr. Alder as clothing the poor and distributing bread and beef throughout the whole place, and of being elected a churchwarden of St. Helen's, a result, we supposed, of his having become possessed of the £20,000. [Illustration: THE ROMAN WAY: WHITE HORSE HILL IN THE DISTANCE.] We now bade farewell to Abingdon and walked in the direction of Salisbury Plain, for our next great object of interest was the Druidical circles of Stonehenge, many miles distant. As we had to cross the Berkshire Downs, we travelled across the widest part of the Vale of the White Horse, in order to reach Wantage, a town at the foot of those lonely uplands. We had the great White Horse pointed out to us on our way, but we could not see the whole of it, although the hill on which it stood was the highest on the downs, which there terminated abruptly, forming a precipitous descent to the vale below. The gigantic figure of the horse had been cut out of the green turf to the depth of two or three feet, until the pure white chalk underneath the turf had been reached. The head, neck, and body were cut out in one waving line, while the legs were cut out separately, and detached, so that the distant view showed the horse as if it were galloping wildly. It was 374 feet long, and covered an acre of land, and was supposed to have been cut out originally by the army of King Alfred to celebrate his great victory over the Danes at the Battle of Ashdown, about three miles distant. It was, however, held by some people that the origin of the horse was far beyond the time of King Alfred, as the shape strongly resembled the image of the horse found on early British coins. Certainly there was a British camp quite near it, as well as a magnificent Roman camp, with gates and ditch and mounds still as complete as when the Romans left it. It was, moreover, close to the Icknield Way, 856 feet above sea-level, from which portions of eleven counties could be seen. On a clear day a view of the horse could be obtained from places many miles distant, its white form showing clearly against the green turf surrounding it. [Illustration: THE ICKNIELD WAY, LOOKING FROM THE WHITE HORSE.] [Illustration: "BLOWING STONE": ALFRED'S BUGLE HORN.] Occasionally the outline had been obscured by the growth of turf and weeds, and then the lord of the manor had requisitioned the services of the inhabitants of several of the pretty villages near the downs, who climbed up to the horse at the appointed time and, armed with picks, spades, and brushes, "scoured" the horse until it was quite white again, and its proportions clearly shown. After their work was done a round of merry-making followed, the occasion being celebrated by eating and drinking to the health of his lordship at his expense. The first verse in the "White Horse Ballad," written in the local dialect, was: The ould White Horse wants zettin' to rights. And the Squire has promised good cheer; Zo we'll gee un a scrape to kip' un in shape, And a'll last for many a year. A Roman road skirted the foot of the White Horse Hill, and on the side of this road was a strangely shaped sarsen-stone called the "Blowing Stone." It was quite a large stone, in which holes had been formed by nature, running through it in every direction like a sponge. It was said to have been used by King Alfred to summon his troops, as by blowing down one of the holes a booing sound was produced from the other holes in the stone. On a later occasion my brother tried to make it sound, and failed to do so, because he did not know the "knack," but a yeoman's wife who was standing near, and who was quite amused at his efforts to produce a sound, said, "Let me try," and astonished him by blowing a loud and prolonged blast of a deep moaning sound that could have been heard far away. The third verse in the ballad referred to it as: The Blewin Stun, in days gone by, Wur King Alfred's bugle harn, And the tharn tree you med plainly zee. As is called King Alfred's tharn! The thorn tree marked the spot where the rival armies met--the pagans posted on the hill, and the Christians meeting them from below--it was through the great victory won on that occasion that England became a Christian nation. We were now in "King Alfred's country," for he was born at Wantage in 849, but his palace, if ever he had one, and the thorn tree were things of the past, and what traces there were of him in the town were very scant. There were King Arthur's Well and King Arthur's Bath; the most substantial building bearing his name was the "King Alfred's Head Inn," where we called for light refreshments, and where in former years the stage-coaches plying between Oxford and London stopped to change horses. Wantage must have been a place of some importance in ancient times, as a Witenagemote was held there in the year 990 in the time of Ethelred, at which the tolls were fixed for boats sailing along the Thames for Billingsgate Market in London. [Illustration: WANTAGE MARKET-PLACE.] There were several old inns in the town, and many of the streets were paved with cobble-stones. Tanning at one time had been the staple industry, a curious relic of which was left in the shape of a small pavement composed of knuckle-bones. Early in the century the town had an evil reputation as the abode of coiners, and when a man was "wanted" by the police in London, the Bow Street runners always came to search for him at Wantage. We had now to climb to the top of the downs, and after about two miles, nearly all uphill, reached the fine old Roman camp of Segsbury, where we crossed the Icknield Way, known locally as the Rudge or the Ridge-way--possibly because it followed the ridge or summit of the downs. It had every appearance of having been a military road from one camp to another, for it continued straight from Segsbury Camp to the Roman camp on the White Horse Hill, about six miles distant. The "Rudge" was now covered with turf, and would have been a pleasant road to walk along; but our way lay in another direction along a very lonely road, where we saw very few people and still fewer houses. It was quite dark when we crossed the small River Lambourn at the village of West Shefford, and after a further walk of about six miles we arrived at the town of Hungerford, where we stayed the night. What a strange effect these lonely walks had upon us when they extended from one centre of population to another! We could remember the persons and places at either end, but the intervening space seemed like a dream or as if we had been out of the world for the time being, and only recovered consciousness when we arrived at our destination and again heard the sounds of human voices other than our own. The origin of the name Hungerford appeared to have been lost in obscurity. According to one gentleman, whose interesting record we afterwards saw, it "has been an etymological puzzle to the topographer and local antiquarian, who have left the matter in the same uncertainty in which they found it"; but if he had accompanied us in our walk that day across those desolate downs, and felt the pangs of hunger as we did, mile after mile in the dark, he would have sought for no other derivation of the name Hungerford, and could have found ample corroboration by following us into the coffee-room of the "Bear Hotel" that night. We were very hungry. (_Distance walked thirty miles_.) _Tuesday, November 7th._ The "Bear Inn" at Hungerford, standing as it did on the great coach road from London to the West, had been associated with stirring scenes. It was there that a gentleman who had fallen ill while travelling by the stage-coach had died, and was buried in the churchyard at Hungerford, with the following inscription on his gravestone: Here are deposited the remains of William Greatrake, Esqr., native of Ireland, who on his way from Bristol to London, died in this town in the 52nd year of his age, on the 2nd August 1781 _Stat nominis umbra_ In the year 1769, some remarkably able and vigorous political letters signed "Junius" appeared in the London _Public Advertiser_. They were so cleverly written that all who read them wanted to know the author, but failed to find out who he was. Afterwards they were published in book form, entitled _The Letters of Junius_: in our early days the author of these letters was still unknown, and even at the time of our walk the matter was one of the mysteries of the literary world. The authorship of _The Letters of Junius_ was one of the romances of literature. Whoever he was, he must have been in communication with the leading political people of his day, and further, he must have been aware of the search that was being made for him, for he wrote in one of his letters, "If I am a vain man, my gratification lies within a narrow circle. I am the sole depository of my own secret; and it shall perish with me." Controversy was still going on about the _Letters of Junius_, for early in the year of our walk, 1871, a book was published entitled _The Handwriting of Junius Professionally Investigated by Mr. Charles Chabot, Expert_, the object being to prove that Sir Phillip Francis was the author of the famous Letters. The publication of this book, however, caused an article to be written in the _Times_ of May 22nd, 1871, to show that the case was "not proven" by Mr. Chabot, for William Pitt, the great Prime Minister, told Lord Aberdeen that he knew who wrote the Junius Letters, and that it was not Francis; and Lady Grenville sent a letter to the editor of _Diaries of a Lady of Quality_ to the same effect. While Mr. Greatrake was lying ill at the "Bear Inn" he was visited by many political contemporaries, including the notorious John Wilkes, who, born in 1729, had been expelled three times from the House of Commons when Member for Middlesex; but so popular was he with the common people, whose cause he had espoused, that they re-elected him each time. So "the powers that be" had to give way, and he was elected Alderman, then Sheriff, and then Lord Mayor of London, and when he died, in 1797, was Chamberlain of London. Mr. Greatrake was born in County Cork, Ireland, about the year 1725, and was a great friend of Lord Sherburn, who afterwards became Prime Minister, in which capacity he had to acknowledge the independence of the United States, and was eventually created Marquis of Lansdowne. Mr. Greatrake was known to have been an inmate of his lordship's house when the letters were being published, and the motto on them was _Stat nominis umbra_--the words which appeared on the tomb of Mr. Greatrake; and his autograph bore a stronger resemblance than any other to that of Junius; so what was a secret in his lifetime was probably revealed in that indirect way after his death. The old church of Hungerford had fallen down, and a new one was built, and opened in the year 1816, the ancient monument of the founder, Sir Robert de Hungerford, being transferred to the new church--though, as usual, in a damaged condition. It dated from 1325, and had been somewhat mutilated in the time of the Civil War. The inscription over it in Norman-French almost amounted to an absolution or remission of sins, for it promised, on the word of fourteen bishops, that whoever should pray for the soul of Sir Robert de Hungerford should have during his life, and for his soul after his death, 550 days of pardon. The list of the vicars of Hungerford showed that most of them for some reason or other--my brother suggested hunger--had served for very short periods, but there was one notable exception--the Rev. William Cookson, son of William Cookson of Tomsett, Norfolk, doctor, who held the living for the long term of forty-eight years (1818-1866). The constables of Hungerford were elected annually, and the extracts from their accounts were very interesting, as references were made to instruments of torture: "Cucking stoole, Pilliry, Stocks, and a Whippinge Post," the last-named having been most extensively used, for the constables had to whip all wandering tramps and vagrants "by stripping them naked from the middle upwards, and causing them to be lashed until their bodies be bloody, in the presence of the Minister of the Parish, or some other inhabitant, and then to send them away to place of birth!" Women were stripped as well as men, and in 1692 the town Serjeant had even to whip a poor blind woman. The whipping of females was stopped by statute in 1791. As Hungerford was on one of the main roads, many people passed through there, and in 1678 the whippings were so numerous that John Savidge, the town Serjeant, was given a special honorarium of five shillings "for his extraordinary paines this year and whippinge of severall persons." Prince William with his Dutch troops halted at Hungerford on December 8th, 1688, on his way from Torbay to London, where, three days afterwards, he was proclaimed King William III. He was armed on his back and breast, and wore a white plume, and rode on a white charger, surrounded by nobles bearing his banner, on which were the words: THE PROTESTANT RELIGION AND THE LIBERTY OF ENGLAND. We were now practically at the end of Berkshire, and perhaps the River Kennett, over which we passed, and on which John o' Gaunt of Lancaster had given free fishery rights to Hungerford town, might have formed the boundary between that county and Wiltshire. We could not hear of any direct road to Stonehenge, so we left Hungerford by the Marlborough road with the intention of passing through Savernake Forest---said to be the finest forest in England, and to contain an avenue of fine beech trees, in the shape of a Gothic archway, five miles long. The forest was about sixteen miles in circumference, and in the centre was a point from which eight roads diverged. We had walked about a mile on our way when we came to some men working on the roads, who knew the country well, and strongly advised us not to cross the forest, but to walk over the downs instead. We decided to follow their advice, for the difficulty that first occurred to us was that when we got to the eight roads there might be no one there to direct us on our further way; and we quite saw the force of the remark of one of the men when he said it was far better to get lost on the down, where we could see for miles, than amongst the bushes and trees in the forest. They could only give us general information about the best way to get to Stonehenge, for it was a long way off, but when we got to the downs we must keep the big hill well to the left, and we should find plenty of roads leading across them. We travelled as directed, and found that the "big hill" was the Inkpen Beacon, over a thousand feet above sea-level, and the highest chalk down cliff in England; while the "plenty of roads" were more in the nature of unfenced tracks; still, we were fortunate in finding one leading in the right direction for Stonehenge and almost straight. The Marlborough Downs which adjoined Salisbury Plain are very extensive, occupying together three-fifths of the county of Wilts, being accurately described as "ranges of undulating chalk cliffs almost devoid of trees, and devoted almost exclusively to the pasturage of sheep from remote ages." These animals, our only companions for miles, can live almost without water, which is naturally very scarce on chalk formations, since the rain when it falls is absorbed almost immediately. Very few shepherds were visible, but there must have been some about, for every now and then their dogs paid us rather more attention than we cared for, especially my brother, who when a small boy had been bitten by one, since which time not much love had been lost between him and dogs. As there were no fences to the roads, we walked on the grass, which was only about an inch deep. Sheep had been pastured on it from time immemorial, and the constant biting of the surface had encouraged the side, or undergrowth, which made our walking easy and pleasant; for it was like walking on a heavy Turkey carpet though much more springy. The absence of trees and bushes enabled us to distinguish the presence of ancient earth-works, but whether they were prehistoric, Roman, Dane, or Saxon we did not know. Occasionally we came to sections of the downs that were being brought under cultivation, the farms appearing very large. In one place we saw four ploughs at work each with three horses, while the farmer was riding about on horseback. We inquired about the wages from one of the farm hands, who told us the men got about 9s. per week, and the women who worked in the fields were paid eightpence per day. Possibly they got some perquisites in addition, as it seemed a very small amount, scarcely sufficient to make both ends meet. We had been walking quickly for more than four hours without encountering a single village, and were becoming famished for want of food; but the farmer's man told us we should come to one where there was a public-house when we reached the River Avon by following the directions he gave us. At Milston, therefore, we called for the refreshments which we so badly needed, and quite astonished our caterers, accustomed even as they were to country appetites, by our gastronomical performances on that occasion. We were very much surprised when we learned that the small but pretty village of Milston, where we were now being entertained, was the birthplace of Joseph Addison, the distinguished essayist and politician, who, with his friend Steele, founded the _Spectator_, and contributed largely to the _Tatler_, and whose tragedy _Cato_ aroused such enthusiasm that it held the boards of Drury Lane for thirty-five nights--a great achievement in his time. As an essayist Addison had no equal in English literature, and to his writings may be attributed all that is sound and healthy in modern English thought. In our long walk we met with him first at Lichfield, where at the Grammar School he received part of his early education, and where, on one occasion, he had barred out the schoolmaster. In the cathedral we saw his father's monument--he was Dean of Lichfield Cathedral--and at Magdalen College, Oxford, where he completed his education, we again encountered remembrances of him--we saw a delightful retreat called after him, "Addison's Walk." On our journey farther south, when we passed through Lostwithiel, we were reminded that he was also a politician, for he represented that place in parliament. His father was Rector of Milston when Joseph was born, in 1672. He was chiefly remembered in our minds, however, for his _Divine Poems_, published in 1728, for we had sung some of these in our early childhood, until we knew them off by heart, and could still recall his beautiful hymn on gratitude beginning: When all Thy mercies, oh my God, My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise. Some of his hymns, which were of more than ordinary merit, were said to have been inspired by his youthful surroundings. Salisbury Plain, with its shepherds and their sheep, must have constantly appeared before him then, as they were immediately before us now, and would no doubt be in his mind when he wrote: The Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye; My noonday walks He shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend. And then there was his magnificent paraphrase of the nineteenth Psalm: The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens--a shining frame-- Their great Original proclaim. Th' unwearied sun from day to day. Doth his Creator's power display. And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail. The Moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening Earth Repeats the story of her birth; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll. And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball; What though no real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found? In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice; For ever singing as they shine, "The Hand that made us is divine." After resting a short time and carefully writing down the instructions given us as to how to reach Stonehenge, and the way thence to Amesbury, we resumed our journey; and near the place where we crossed the River Avon we had the first indication of our proximity to Stonehenge by the sight of an enormous stone lying in the bed of the stream, which we were told was like those we should find at Stonehenge. It was said to be one that the Druids could not get across the stream owing to its great size and weight, and so they had to leave it in the river. The country became still more lonely as we walked across Salisbury Plain, and on a dark wet night it might quite come up to the description given of it by Barham in the _Ingoldsby Legends_ in "The Dead Drummer, a Legend of Salisbury Plain," the first verse of which runs: Oh, Salisbury Plain is bleak and bare, At least so I've heard many people declare, For I fairly confess I never was there;-- Not a shrub nor a tree, not a bush can you see; No hedges, no ditches, no gates, no stiles, Much less a house, or a cottage for miles;-- It's a very sad thing to be caught in the rain When night's coming on upon Salisbury Plain. Cruikshank's illustration of the legend represents a finger-post on the Plain without a bush or a tree or a house being visible, one finger of the post being marked "Lavington" and the other "Devizes." The Dead Drummer is leaning against the post, with two men nervously approaching him in the dark, while a flash of lightning betrays the bare plain and the whole scene to the terrified men. Hannah More, who was born in 1745, wrote a large number of stories chiefly of a religious character, and was said to have earned £30,000 by her writings, amongst them a religious tract bearing the title of "The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain." We found he was not a mythical being, for David Saunders, the shepherd referred to, was a real character, noted for his homely wisdom and practical piety, and, as Mrs. More described him, was quite a Christian Hero. He resided at Great Cherwell, near Lavington, where his house was still pointed out to visitors. A typical shepherd of Salisbury Plain was afterwards pictured by another lady, and described as "wearing a long black cloak falling from neck to heels, a round felt hat, like a Hermes cap without the wings to it, and sometimes a blue milk-wort or a yellow hawk-weed in the brim, and walking with his plume-tailed dog in front leading his sheep, as was customary in the East and as described in the Scriptures--"the sheep follow him, for they know his voice." We did not see one answering to that description as we crossed the Plain, but no doubt there were such shepherds to be found. The sky had been overcast that day, and it was gloomy and cloudy when we reached Stonehenge. Without a house or human being in sight, the utter loneliness of the situation seemed to add to our feelings of wonder and awe, as we gazed upon these gigantic stones, the remains of prehistoric ages in England. We had passed through the circles of stones known as the "Standing Stones of Stenness" when we were crossing the mainland of the Orkney Islands on our way to John o' Groat's, but the stones we now saw before us were much larger. There had been two circles of stones at Stonehenge, one inside the other, and there was a stone that was supposed to have been the sacrificial stone, with a narrow channel in it to carry off the blood of the human victims slain by the Druids. In that desolate solitude we could almost imagine we could see the priests as they had been described, robed in white, with oak crowns on their heads, and the egg of a mythical serpent round their necks; we could hear the cries and groans of the victims as they were offered up in sacrifice to the serpent, and to Bel (the sun). Tacitus said they held it right to stain their altars with the blood of prisoners taken in war, and to seek to know the mind of the gods from the fibres of human victims. One very large stone outside the circles was called the "Friar's Heel," the legend stating that when the devil was busy erecting Stonehenge he made the observation to himself that no one would ever know how it had been done. This remark was overheard by a friar who was hiding amongst the stones, and he replied in the Wiltshire dialect, "That's more than thee can tell," at which the devil took up a big stone to throw at him, but he ran away as fast as he could, so that the stone only just grazed his heel, at the place where it now stands. [Illustration: DRUIDICAL REMAINS, STONEHENGE.] We walked about these great stones wondering how they could have been raised upright in those remote times, and how the large stones could have been got into position, laid flat on the tops of the others. Many of the stones had fallen down, and others were leaning over, but when complete they must have looked like a circle of open doorways. The larger stones, we afterwards learned, were Sarsen Stones or Grey Wethers, of a siliceous sandstone, and were natural to the district, but the smaller ones, which were named the blue stones, were quite of a different character, and must have been brought from a considerable distance. If the ancient Welsh story could be believed, the blue stones were brought over in ships from Ireland after an invasion of that country under the direction of Merlin the Wizard, and were supposed to be mystical stones with a medicinal value. As to the time of the erection of these stones, we both agreed to relegate the matter to the mists of antiquity. Some thought that because Vespasian's Camp was on Amesbury Hill, Stonehenge might have been built by the Romans in the time of Agricola, but others, judging perhaps from the ancient tombs in the neighbourhood, thought it might date backwards as far as 2,000 years B.C. Nearly all agreed that it was a temple of the worshippers of the sun and might even have been erected by the Phoenicians, who must have known how the Egyptians raised much heavier stones than these. By some Stonehenge was regarded as the Round Temple to Apollo in the land of the Hyperboreans, mentioned by Hecatoens in the sixth century B.C., and after the Phoenicians it was supposed to have been used by the Greeks, who followed them as traders with the British tin mines. According to this theory, the Inner Ellipse or Horseshoe of Blue Stone was made by them, the Druids adopting it as their temple at a much later date. [Illustration: STONEHENGE.] "Amongst the ruling races of prehistoric times the father sun-god was the god on the grey white horse, the clouds, and it was this white horse--the sun-god of the limestone, flint, and chalk country---which was the god of Stonehenge, the ruins of which describe the complete ritual of this primeval worship. The worshippers of the sun-god who built this Temple must, it was thought, have belonged to the Bronze Age, which theory was supposed to have been confirmed by the number of round barrow tombs in the neighbourhood. It was also noted that the white sun-horse was still worshipped and fed daily at Kobé, in Japan." Stonehenge had been visited by Pepys, who described the stones in his _Diary_ as being "as prodigious as any tales as I had ever heard of them, and worth going this journey to see"; and King Charles II had counted them over several times, but could not bring them twice to the same number, which circumstance probably gave rise to the legend that no two people ever counted the number alike, so of course we did not attempt to count them. But the king's head must have been uneasy at the time he counted them, as it was after the Battle of Worcester, when he was a fugitive, retreating across the country in disguise and hidden by his friends until he could reach the sea-coast of Sussex, and escape by ship from England. One of his hiding-places was Heale House, about four miles from Stonehenge, where the lady of the house had hidden him in what was known as the "Priest's Hole," arrangements having been made for some friends to meet him at Stonehenge, and accompany him a stage farther towards the south. His friends, however, had been delayed a little on their way, so they did not reach Stonehenge at the appointed hour; and Charles whiled away the time by counting and recounting the stones. Cheshire was formerly noted for the great number of landowners of the same name as the parishes in which they resided, such as Leigh of Leigh, Dutton of Dutton, Antrobus of Antrobus. The last-named squire had left Antrobus and gone to reside at Amesbury in Wiltshire, letting his mansion in Cheshire and the land attached to it, as a farm, to a tenant named Wright. This Mr. Wright was an uncle of ours, whom we had often visited at Antrobus. The elder of his two sons, who followed him as tenant of the farm, told us a story connected with the old Hall there. He and his brother when they were boys slept in the same bed, and one morning they were having a pushing match, each trying, back to back, to push the other out of bed. He was getting the worst of the encounter when he resolved to make one more great effort, and placed his feet against the wall which was near his side of the bed; but instead of pushing his brother out, he and his brother together pushed part of the wall out, and immediately he found himself sitting on a beam with his legs hanging outside over the moat or garden, having narrowly escaped following the panel. The stability of these old timber-built halls, which were so common in Cheshire, depended upon the strong beams with which they were built, the panels being only filled in with light material such as osiers plastered over with mud; and it was one of these that had been pushed out. The old mansion was shortly afterwards taken down and replaced by an ordinary red-brick building. We had often wondered what sort of a place Amesbury was, where the Squire of Antrobus had gone to reside, and had decided to go there, although it was rather out of our way for Salisbury, our next stage. We found that Stonehenge was included in his estate as well as Amesbury Abbey, where he lived, and Vespasian's Hill. When we came in sight of the abbey, we were quite surprised to find it so large and fine a mansion, without any visible trace of the ancient abbey which once existed there, and we considered that the lines of Sir Edmund Antrobus, Bart., had fallen in pleasant places when he removed here from the damper atmosphere of Cheshire, and that he had adopted the wisest course as far as health was concerned. We had thought of calling at the abbey, but as it was forty-nine years since he had left our neighbourhood and he had died in the year 1830, we could not muster up sufficient courage to do so. We might too have seen a fine portrait of the old gentleman, which we heard was hanging up in one of the rooms in the abbey, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, a friend of George IV, and President of the Royal Academy, who had also painted the portraits of most of the sovereigns of Europe reigning in his time, and who died in the same year as Sir Edmund. Amesbury Abbey formerly belonged to the Duke of Queensberry, who made great additions to it from the plans of the celebrated architect Inigo Jones, who designed the famous Banqueting Hall at Whitehall in London and the fine gateway of St. Mary's, Oxford. He was known as "the English Palladio" because he adopted the style of Andrea Palladio, a celebrated Italian architect of the sixteenth century. He was responsible for the two Palladian pillars attached to the quaint and pretty entrance gates to the Abbey Park, and for the lovely Palladian bridge that spanned the River Avon, which flowed through the grounds, forming a favourite resort for wild ducks, kingfishers, herons, and other birds. Inigo Jones was a staunch Royalist, who suffered severely during the Civil War, and died in 1652. The park was not a very large one, but was very pretty, and contained the famous Amesbury Hill, which was covered with fine trees on the slope towards the river; some of which had been arranged in the form of a diamond, partly concealing a cave now known as the Diamond Cave, but formerly belonging to the Druids, as all the sunrises would be visible before the intervening trees were planted. This cave was the favourite resort of John Gay, the poet, who loved to write there. He was a great friend of the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, who then owned the Amesbury estate, was the author of the _Beggar's Opera_, published in 1727, and lies buried in Westminster Abbey. [Illustration: THE CAVE IN THE DIAMOND.] The church had been heavily restored in 1853, and one of its former vicars had been a famous man in his day according to the following account from the _Gentleman's Magazine_, 1789. INVENTOR OF THE WATER PUMP Until the year 1853, a slab before the Communion Table in Amesbury Church bore the following inscription In memory of the Revd. Thomas Holland, who was for half a century Minister of this Parish, a small living yet he never solicited for a greater nor improved to his own advantage his marvellous talents in applying the powers of nature to the useful purposes of life, the most curious and complete engine which the world now enjoys _for raising water_ being invented by him. He departed the 11th day of May in the year of our Lord 1730, Aged 84 years. During his term of office the register was kept in a very careful manner and excellent handwriting, a contrast to later efforts by his successors. [Illustration: OLD SARUM: THE MAIN GATE OF THE CASTLE FROM WITHIN.] The evening was now coming on, and we had yet to walk eight miles into Salisbury by what was called the "Upper Road," which crossed a tract of bleak and rather uninteresting downs; but the road was well defined and the daylight, such as it was, remained with us longer than if we had gone by the more picturesque road along the tree-lined banks of the River Avon. Amesbury was but a small place, and the only industry that we could hear of that ever existed there was the manufacture of tobacco pipes branded with a gauntlet, the name of the maker. We had a lonely walk, and about two miles from Salisbury saw to the right the outline of a small hill which turned out to be Old Sarum, a name that figured on the mileposts for many miles round Salisbury, being the ancient and Roman name for that city. Old cities tend to be on hills, for defence, but modern equivalents occur in the valley below, representative of peace conditions and easy travelling for commercial purposes. It was now, however, only a lofty grass mound, conical in shape and about a hundred feet high. It was of great antiquity, for round about it stood at one time one of the most important cities in the south of England, after the prehistoric age the Sorbiodunum of the Romans, and the Sarisberie of the Domesday Book. Cynric captured it by a victory over the Britons in 552, and in 960 Edgar held a Council there. Sweyn and the Danes pillaged and burnt it in 1003, and afterwards Editha, the Queen of Edward the Confessor, established a convent of nuns there. It was made an Episcopal See in 1072, and twenty years afterwards Bishop Osmond, a kinsman of William the Conqueror, completed the building of the cathedral. It was in 1076 that William, as the closing act of his Conquest, reviewed his victorious army in the plain below; and in 1086, a year before his death, he assembled there all the chief landowners in the realm to swear that "whose men soever they were they would be faithful to him against all other men," by which "England was ever afterwards an individual kingdom." In course of time the population increased to such an extent round the old mound that they were short of room, and the soldiers and the priests began to quarrel, or, as an old writer described it, "the souldiers of the Castell and chanons of Old Sarum fell at odds, inasmuch that often after brawles they fell at last to sadde blowes and the Cleargie feared any more to gang their boundes. Hereupon the people missing their belly-chere, for they were wont to have banketing at every station, a thing practised by the religious in old tyme, they conceived forthwith a deadly hatred against the Castellans." The quarrel ended in the removal of the cathedral to the plain below, where Salisbury now stands, and the glory of Old Sarum departed. As far back as the time of Henry VIII the place became utterly desolate, and it was interesting to read what visitors in after times had written about it. [Illustration: OLD SARUM: BASE OF THE LOOK-OUT TOWER.] John Leland, who was born in 1506 and was chaplain to Henry VIII, made a tour of the kingdom, and wrote in his well-known _Itinerary_, "Their is not one house, neither within or without Old Saresbyri inhabited. Much notable minus building of the Castell yet remayneth. The diche that envirined the old town was a very deepe and strong thynge." Samuel Pepys, who was born in 1632, and who was secretary to the Admiralty during the reigns of Charles II and James II, describes in his famous _Diary_ many interesting incidents in the life of that period. He wrote of Old Sarum: "I saw a great fortification and there light, and to it and in it, and find it so prodigious as to frighten one to be in it at all alone at that time of night." It would probably be at an earlier hour of a lighter night when Mr. Pepys visited it, than when we passed it on this occasion, for the hill now was enveloped in black darkness "deserted and drear," and we should scarcely have been able to find the entrance "to it and in it," and, moreover, we might not have been able to get out again, for since his time an underground passage had been opened, and who knows what or who might have been lurking there! Dr. Adam Clark visited Old Sarum in 1806, and wrote: "We found here the remains of a very ancient city and fortress, surrounded by a deep trench, which still bears a most noble appearance. On the top of the hill the castle or citadel stood, and several remains of a very thick wall built all of flint stone, cemented together with a kind of everlasting mortar. What is remarkable is that these ruins are still considered in the British constitution as an inhabited city, and send two members to Parliament. Within the breadth of a field from this noble hill there is a small public-house, the only dwelling within a very great space, and containing a very few persons, who, excepting the crows, hens, and magpies, are the only beings which the worthy members have to represent in the British Senate." We were glad when we reached Salisbury and found a comfortable refuge for the night in one of the old inns in the town. It was astonishing how cosy the low rooms in these old-fashioned inns appeared, now that the "back end" of the year was upon us and the nights becoming longer, darker, and colder. The blazing fire, the ingle nook, the pleasant company, such as it was, the great interest taken in our long walk--for people knew what heavy walking meant in those days--all tended to make us feel comfortable and at home. True, we did not care much for the dialect in these southern counties, and should much have preferred "a bit o' gradely Lankyshur," so as a rule we listened rather than joined in the conversation; but we were greatly interested in the story of the Wiltshire Moonrakers, which, as we were strangers, was apparently given for our benefit by one of the older members of the rather jovial company. It carried us back to the time when smuggling was prevalent, and an occasion when the landlord of a country inn near the sea-coast sent two men with a pony and trap to bring back from the smugglers' den two kegs of brandy, on which, of course, duty had not been paid, with strict orders to keep a sharp look-out on their return for the exciseman, who must be avoided at all costs. The road on the return journey was lonely, for most people had gone to bed, but as the moon was full and shining brightly, all went well until the pony suddenly took fright at a shadow on the road, and bolted. The men, taken by surprise, lost control of the reins, which fell down on the pony and made matters worse, for he fairly flew along the road until he reached a point where it turned over a canal bridge. Here the trap came in contact with the battlement of the bridge, causing the pony to fall down, and the two men fell on top of him. Fortunately this saved them from being seriously injured, but the pony was bruised, and one of the shafts of the trap broken, while the kegs rolled down the embankment into the canal. With some difficulty they managed to get the pony and broken trap into a farm building near the bridge, but when they went to look for the kegs they saw them floating in the middle of the canal where they could not reach them. They went back to the farm building, and found two hay-rakes, and were just trying to reach the kegs, the tops of which they could plainly see in the light of the full moon, when a horseman rode up, whom, to their horror, they recognised as the exciseman himself. When he asked "What's the matter?" the men pretended to be drunk, and one of them said in a tipsy tone of voice, "Can't you see, guv'nor? We're trying to get that cheese out o' th' water!" The exciseman couldn't see any cheese, but he could see the image of the full moon on the surface of the canal, and, bursting into a roar of laughter at the silliness of the men, he rode off on his way home. But it was now the rustics' turn to laugh as they hauled the kegs out of the canal and carried them away in triumph on their shoulders. The gentleman who told the story fairly "brought down the house" when he added, "So you see, gentlemen, they were not so silly after all." [Illustration: HIGH STREET GATE, SALISBURY.] One of the company asked my brother if he had heard that story before, and when he said "No, but I have heard one something like it in Yorkshire," he at once stood up and called for "Silence," announcing that there was a gentleman present who could tell a story about the Yorkshire Moonrakers. My brother was rather taken aback, but he could always rise to the occasion when necessary, so he began in his usual manner. "Once upon a time" there were two men living in a village in Yorkshire, who went out one day to work in the fields amongst the hay, taking their rakes with them. They were good workers, but as the day turned out to be rather hot they paid too much attention to the large bottle of beer in the harvest field, with the consequence that before night came on the bottle was empty; so they went to the inn, and stayed there drinking until it was nearly "closing time." By that time they were quite merry, and decided to go home by the nearest way, leading along the towing-path of one of the canals, which in the north are wider and deeper than those farther south. As it was almost as light as day, the moon being at its full, they got along all right until one of them suddenly startled his mate by telling him that the moon had fallen into the canal! They both stood still for a moment, thinking what an awful thing had happened, but there seemed to be no doubt about it, whatever, for there was the moon lying in the middle of the canal. It would never do to leave it there, but what could they do to get it out? Their first thought was the rakes they were carrying home on their shoulders, and they decided to rake the moon to the side of the canal, where they would reach it with their hands. They set to work--but although their rakes were of the largest size, and their arms long and strong, the canal was too wide to enable them to reach the moon. They were, however, agreed that they must get it out some way or other, for it would be a pity if it got drowned. At last they decided that they would both get into the canal, and fetch the moon out themselves. They pulled off their coats, therefore, and, laying them on the path, got into the water, only to find it much deeper than they had expected; their feet sank into the mud at the bottom, and the water came nearly up to their necks at once, and as it was deeper towards the middle, they found it impossible to carry out their task. But the worst feature was that neither of the men could swim, and, being too deeply immersed in the water to reach high enough on the canal bank to pull themselves out again, they were in great danger of drowning. Fortunately, however, a boat was coming along the canal, and when the man who was driving the horses attached to the boat heard their cries, he ran forward, and, stopping where he found the coats on the towing-path, was horrified to see the two men holding on to the stones that lined the canal. They were fast losing consciousness, but with the assistance of the other men on the boat he got them out on the bank, and when they had recovered a little, assisted them home, for they both had drunk too much beer. The incident created a great sensation at the time, but as "all's well that ends well," it was afterwards looked upon as a great joke--though the two men were ever afterwards known as the Moonrakers, a nickname that was eventually applied to all the inhabitants of that village. The story was well received, but not quite so loudly applauded as that which preceded it, until one gentleman in the company rose and asked my brother if he could name the village in Yorkshire where the incident occurred. "Certainly, sir," he replied; "the place was called Sloyit." "Sloyit! Sloyit!" murmured the gentleman; and then he said, "How do you spell it?" and, taking out his notebook and adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles, he prepared to record the name of the place as my brother gave out each letter. And then followed one of the most extraordinary scenes we had witnessed on our journey, for just at that moment some one in the rear made a witty remark which apparently was aimed at the searcher after knowledge, who was now on his feet, and which caused general laughter amongst those who heard it. The gentleman was evidently a man of some importance in the city, and his notebook was apparently known to the company almost as well as himself, but perhaps not looked upon as favourably, for its production under the present circumstances seemed to have caused this unwonted amusement. [Illustration: ST. ANN'S GATE, SALISBURY.] My brother could not proceed until he could make himself heard, and it was difficult to restore order at that late hour of the evening; but when the laughter had subsided, he called to the gentleman in a loud voice, "Are you ready, sir?" and when he said "I am, sir!" he proceeded to call out each letter slowly and distinctly, so that all the company could hear, the gentleman as he entered them in his book repeating the letters in a minor key which sounded exactly like the echo. "S," shouted my brother, "s," echoed the gentleman; "L," said my brother, "L" softly responded the gentleman slowly; and then followed A, a letter which the gentleman did not expect, as he said, "Did you say 'A,' sir?" "I did, sir," he replied, repeating the letter, which was repeated doubtfully as the listener entered it in his book. The next letters were "I" and "T," which were followed by the letter "H." These were inserted without comment, beyond the usual repetition in a subdued tone, but when my brother followed with "W," it became evident that the gentleman thought that there was "something wrong somewhere," and that he had a strong suspicion that he was being led astray. When my brother assured him it was quite correct, he rather reluctantly entered it in his book; but now there was a slight pause, as the space originally allotted for the name had been fully occupied, and the remainder of the word had to be continued on another page, much to the annoyance of the writer. The company had by this time become greatly interested in the proceedings; but the fact was that the name of the place was not sounded as it was spelled, and it was amusing to watch the expressions on their faces as my brother proceeded to call out the remainder of the letters. I could see they were enjoying the discomfiture of the old gentleman, and that a suspicion was gaining ground that all the other letters of the alphabet might yet be included! When the gentleman had selected the corner in his note-book to record the remaining letters, and my brother began with the letter "A," he remonstrated that he had given him that letter previously, and a strong assurance from my brother was necessary in order to ensure the entry of the letter in the notebook; but when it was followed by "I" and "T" and including the "A" in exactly the same order as he had recorded them before, his patience was quite exhausted, and his previous suspicions confirmed that he was being hoaxed. The remainder of the party amidst their hardly suppressed laughter insisted upon their being entered, and when my brother called out the final letter "E," and repeated the whole of the letters SLAITHWAITE and pronounced the word "Slawit" or "Sloyt," the hitherto suppressed amusement burst in a perfect roar of laughter, the company evidently thinking that the gentleman who had asked the question had got his answer! Taking advantage of the general hilarity, we quietly and quickly retreated to another and less noisy room upstairs, for the night. (_Distance walked twenty-eight and a half miles_.) _Wednesday, November 8th._ It must have been a great work to remove the City of Old Sarum and to rebuild it in another position a mile or two away from its ancient site. The removal began in 1219, and was continued during about 120 years; Royal consent had to be obtained, as well as that of the Pope, Honorius III. The reason then given for its removal was that Old Sarum was too much exposed to the weather, and that there was also a scarcity of water there--in fact "too much wind and too little water." There was some difficulty in deciding the position on which the new cathedral should be built, but this was solved by the Bishop shooting an arrow from the top of the Castle of Old Sarum; wherever the arrow alighted the new cathedral was to be built. The arrow fell very conveniently in the meadows where four rivers ran--the Avon, Bourne, Nadder, and Wylye--and amongst these the magnificent cathedral of Salisbury was built. The rivers, which added to the picturesque beauty of the place, were fed by open canals which ran through the main streets of the city, causing Salisbury to be named at that time the "English Venice." Nearly every King and Queen of England, from the time of Henry III, who granted its first Charter in 1227, had visited Salisbury, and over twenty of their portraits hung in the Council Chamber. Two Parliaments were held in Salisbury, one in 1328 and another in 1384; and it was in the market-place there, that Buckingham had his head cut off in 1483 by order of his kinsman, Richard III, for promoting an insurrection in the West of England. Henry VIII visited the city on two occasions, once with Catherine of Aragon, and again with Anna Boleyn. James I too came to Salisbury in 1611, and Charles II with his queen in 1665--on both these occasions to escape the plagues then raging in London. Sir Walter Raleigh was in the city in 1618, writing his _Apology for the Voyage to Guiana_, before his last sad visit to London, where he was beheaded. James II passed through the town in 1688 to oppose the landing of William of Orange, but, hearing he had already landed at Torbay, he returned to London, and William arrived here ten days later, occupying the same apartments at the palace. But the chief object of interest in Salisbury was the fine cathedral, with its magnificent Decorated Spire, the highest and finest in England, and perhaps one of the finest in Europe, for it is 404 feet high, forty feet higher, we were informed, than the cross on the top of St. Paul's Cathedral in London. This information rather staggered my brother, for he had an exalted opinion of the height of St. Paul's, which he had visited when he went to the Great Exhibition in London in 1862. On that occasion he had ascended the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral from the inside by means of the rickety stairs and ladders provided for that purpose, and had reached the golden ball which supported the cross on the top, when he found it already occupied by two gentlemen smoking cigars, who had arrived there before him, and who kindly assisted him into the ball, which, although it only appeared about the size of a football when seen from the city below, was big enough to hold four men. They also very kindly offered him a cigar, which he was obliged to decline with thanks, for he did not smoke; but when they told him they came from Scotland, he was not surprised to find them there, as Scotsmen even in those days were proverbial for working their way to the top not only of the cathedrals, but almost everywhere else besides. The "brither Scots" were working to a previously arranged programme, the present item being to smoke a cigar in the golden ball on the top of St. Paul's Cathedral. When my brother began the descent, he experienced one of the most horrible sensations of his life, for hundreds of feet below him he could see the floor of the cathedral with apparently nothing whatever in the way to break a fall; so that a single false step might have landed him in eternity, for if he had fallen he must have been dashed into atoms on the floor so far below. The gentlemen saw he was nervous, and advised him as he descended the ladder backwards not to look down into the abyss below, but to keep his eyes fixed above, and following this excellent advice, he got down safely. He always looked back on that adventure in the light of a most horrible nightmare and with justification, for in later years the Cathedral authorities made the Whispering Gallery the highest point to which visitors were allowed to ascend. We did not of course attempt to climb the Salisbury spire, although there were quite a number of staircases inside the cathedral, and after climbing these, adventurous visitors might ascend by ladders through the timber framework to a door near the top; from that point, however, the cross and the vane could only be reached by steeple-jacks. Like other lofty spires, that of Salisbury had been a source of anxiety and expense from time to time, but the timber used in the building of it had been allowed to remain inside, which had so strengthened it that it was then only a few inches out of the perpendicular. When a new vane was put on in 1762 a small box was discovered in the ball to which the vane was fixed. This box was made of wood, but inside it was another box made of lead, and enclosed in that was found a piece of very old silk--a relic, it was supposed, of the robe of the Virgin Mary, to whom the cathedral was dedicated, and placed there to guard the spire from danger. The casket was carefully resealed and placed in its former position under the ball. A very large number of tombs stood in the cathedral, including many of former bishops, and we were surprised to find them in such good condition, for they did not appear to have suffered materially in the Civil War. The very oldest were those that had been removed from Old Sarum, but the finest tomb was that of Bishop Giles de Bridport, the Bishop when the new cathedral was completed and consecrated. He died in 1262, and eight carvings on the stone spandrel above him represented the same number of scenes in his career, beginning with his birth and ending with the ascent of his soul into heaven. The figure of a boy in full episcopal robes, found under the seating of the choir in 1680, and named the "Boy Bishop," was an object of special interest, but whether it was a miniature of one of the bishops or intended to represent a "choral bishop," formerly elected annually by the choir, was unknown. There were also tombs and effigies to the first and second Earls of Salisbury, the first, who died in 1226, being the son of Henry II and Fair Rosamond, of whom we had heard at Woodstock. He was represented in chain armour, on which some of the beautiful ornaments in gold and colour still remained. His son, the second Earl, who went twice to the Holy Land as a Crusader under St. Louis, was also represented in chain armour and cross-legged. Near this was the tomb of Sir John Cheney, a man of extraordinary size and strength, his thigh-bone measuring 21 inches, whose great armour we had seen in Sir Walter Scott's house at Abbotsford. He was bodyguard to Henry of Richmond at the Battle of Bosworth Field, near which we passed at Atherstone. Sir William Brandon was Richmond's standard-bearer, and was cut down by King Richard himself, who tore his standard from him and, flinging it aside, rode at Sir John Cheney and hurled him from his horse just before he met his own fate. [Illustration: SALISBURY CATHEDRAL. "The fine Cathedral, with its magnificent Decorated spire, the highest and finest in England--perhaps the finest in Europe, for it is forty feet higher than the Dome of St. Paul's in London."] There are a large number of pillars and windows in Salisbury Cathedral, but as we had no time to stay and count them, we accepted the numbers given by the local poet as being correct, when he wrote: As many days as in one year there be, So many windows in this Church we see; As many marble pillars here appear As there are hours throughout the fleeting year; (8760) As many gates as moons one year does view. Strange tale to tell; yet not more strange than true. The Cathedral Close at Salisbury was the finest we had seen both for extent and beauty, the half-mile area of grass and the fine trees giving an inexpressible charm both to the cathedral and its immediate surroundings. The great advantage of this wide open space to us was that we could obtain a magnificent view of the whole cathedral. We had passed many fine cathedrals and other buildings on our walk whose proportions were hidden by the dingy property which closely surrounded them, but Salisbury was quite an exception. True, there were houses in and around the close, but these stood at a respectful distance from the cathedral, and as they had formerly been the town houses of the aristocracy, they contained fine old staircases and panelled rooms with decorated ceilings, which with their beautiful and artistic wrought-iron gates were all well worth seeing. The close was surrounded by battlemented stone walls on three sides and by the River Avon on the fourth, permission having been granted in 1327 by Edward III for the stones from Old Sarum to be used for building the walls of the close at Salisbury; hence numbers of carved Norman stones, fragments of the old cathedral there, could be seen embedded in the masonry. Several gate-houses led into the close, the gates in them being locked regularly every night in accordance with ancient custom. In a niche over one of these, known as the High Street Gate, there was a statue which originally represented James I, but when he died it was made to do duty for Charles I by taking off the head of James and substituting that of Charles, his successor to the throne, with the odd result that the body of James carried the head of Charles! There were many old buildings in the city, but we had not time to explore them thoroughly. Still there was one known as the Poultry Cross nobody could fail to see whether walking or driving through Salisbury. Although by no means a large erection, it formed one of the most striking objects in the city, and a more beautiful piece of Gothic architecture it would be difficult to imagine. It was formerly called the Yarn Market, and was said to have been erected about the year 1378 by Sir Lawrence de St. Martin as a penance for some breach of ecclesiastical law. It consisted of six arches forming an open hexagon, supported by six columns on heavy foundations, with a central pillar square at the bottom and six-sided at the top--the whole highly ornamented and finished off with an elaborate turret surmounted by a cross. It was mentioned in a deed dated November 2nd, 1335, and formed a feature of great archaeological interest. [Illustration: POULTRY CROSS, SALISBURY.] The old portion of St. Nicholas' was in existence in 1227, and in the Chorister's Square was a school established and endowed as far back as the year 1314, to support fourteen choristers and a master to teach them. Their costumes must have been rather picturesque, for they were ordered to be dressed in knee-breeches and claret-coloured coats, with frills at the neck instead of collars. Quite a number of ancient inns in Salisbury were connected with the old city life, Buckingham being beheaded in the yard of the "Blue Boar Inn" in the market-place, where a new scaffold was provided for the occasion. In 1838 a headless skeleton, believed to be that of Buckingham, was dug out from below the kitchen floor of the inn. The "King's Arms" was another of the old posting-houses where, when King Charles was hiding on Salisbury Plain in the time of the Civil War, after the Battle of Worcester, a meeting was held under the guidance of Lord Wilmot, at which plans were made to charter a vessel for the conveyance of the King from Southampton to some place on the Continent. Here we saw a curiosity in the shape of a large window on the first floor, from which travellers formerly stepped on and off the top of the stage-coaches, probably because the archway into the yard was too low for the outside passengers to pass under safely. There was also the "Queen's Arms," with its quaint porch in the shape of a shell over the doorway, and the "Haunch of Venison," and others; but in the time of the Commonwealth we might have indulged in the luxury of staying at the Bishop's Palace, for it was sold at that time, and used as an inn. It must have had rough visitors, for when the ecclesiastical authorities regained possession it was in a very dilapidated condition. One of the oldest coaching-houses in Salisbury in former years was the "George Inn," mentioned in the city records as far back as the year 1406; but the licence had lapsed, and the building was now being used for other purposes. Its quaint elevation, with its old-fashioned bow-windows, was delightful to see, and in the year 1623 it was declared that "all Players from henceforth shall make their plays at the George Inn." This inn seemed to have been a grand place, for Pepys, who stayed there in 1668, wrote in his _Diary_ in his quaint, abrupt, and abbreviated way: "Came to the George Inne, where lay in a silk bed and very good diet"; but when the bill was handed to him for payment, he was "mad" at the charges. We left Salisbury with regret, and with the thought that we had not seen all that we ought to have seen, but with an inward resolve to pay the ancient city another visit in the future. Walking briskly along the valley of the river Nadder, and taking advantage of a field road, we reached the village of Bemerton. Here George Herbert, "the most devotional of the English poets," was rector from 1630 to 1632, having been presented to the living by Charles I. Herbert was born at Montgomery Castle, near the Shropshire border, and came of a noble family, being a brother of the statesman and writer Lord Herbert of Chirbury, one of the Shropshire Herberts. He restored the parsonage at Bemerton, but did not live long to enjoy it. He seems to have had a presentiment that some one else would have the benefit of it, as he caused the following lines to be engraved above the chimneypiece in the hall, giving good advice to the rector who was to follow him: If thou chance for to find A new house to thy mind, And built without thy cost. Be good to the poor As God gives thee store And then my labour's not lost. It was here that he composed most of his hymns, and here he died at what his friend Izaak Walton described in 1632 as "the good and more pleasant than healthful parsonage." A tablet inscribed "G.H. 1633" was all that marked the resting-place of "the sweetest singer that ever sang God's praise." Bemerton, we thought, was a lovely little village, and there was a fig-tree and a medlar-tree in the rectory garden, which Herbert himself was said to have planted with his own hands. Here we record one of his hymns: Let all the world in every corner sing My God and King! The Heavens are not too high. His praises may thither fly; The earth is not too low, His praises there may grow. Let all the world in every corner sing My God and King! Let all the world in every corner sing My God and King! The Church with psalms must shout, No door can keep them out; But above all the heart Must bear the longest part. Let all the world in every corner sing My God and King! The old church of Chirbury belonged to the Herberts, and was noted for its heavy circular pillars supporting the roof, which, with the walls, were so much bent outwards that they gave one the impression that they would fall over; but nearly all the walls in old churches bend that way more or less, a fact which we always attributed to the weight of the heavy roof pressing on them. At one village on our travels, however, we noticed, hanging on one of the pillars in the church, a printed tablet, which cleared up the mystery by informing us that the walls and pillars were built in that way originally to remind us that "Jesus on the cross His head inclined"; and we noticed that even the porches at the entrance to ancient churches were built in the same way, each side leaning outwards. A great treat was in store for us this morning, for we had to pass through Wilton, with its fine park surrounding Wilton House, the magnificent seat of the Herberts, Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery. Our first impression was that Wilton was one of the pleasantest places we had visited. Wiltshire took its name from the river Wylye, which here joins the Nadder, so that Wilton had been an important place in ancient times, being the third oldest borough in England. Egbert, the Wessex King, had his palace here, and in the great contest with Mercia defeated Beornwulf in 821 at Ellendune. A religious house existed here in very early times. In the reign of Edward I it was recorded that Osborn de Giffard, a relative of the abbess, carried off two of the nuns, and was sentenced for that offence to be stripped naked and to be whipped in the churches of Wilton and Shaftesbury, and as an additional punishment to serve three years in Palestine. In the time of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn wished to give the post of abbess to a friend, but King Henry had scruples on the subject, for the proposed abbess had a somewhat shady reputation; he wrote, "I would not for all the gold in the world clog your conscience nor mine to make her a ruler of a house, which is of so ungodly a demeanour, nor I trust you would not that neither for brother nor sister I should so bestain mine honour or conscience." This we thought to be rather good for such a stern moralist as Henry VIII, but perhaps in his younger days he was a better man than we had been taught to believe. Wilton suffered along with Old Sarum, as the loss of a road was a serious matter in those days, and Bishop Bingham, who appeared to have been a crafty man, and not at all favourable to the Castellans at Old Sarum, built a bridge over the river in 1244, diverting the main road of Icknield Way so as to make it pass through Salisbury. As Leland wrote, "The changing of this way was the total cause of the ruine of Old Saresbyri and Wiltown, for afore Wiltown had 12 paroche churches or more, and was the head of Wilesher." The town of Wilton was very pleasant and old-fashioned. The chief industry was carpet-making, which originally had been introduced there by French and Flemish weavers driven by persecution from their own country. When we passed through the town the carpet industry was very quiet, but afterwards, besides Wilton carpets, "Axminster" and "Brussels" carpets were manufactured there, water and wool, the essentials, being very plentiful. Its fairs for sheep, horses, and cattle, too, were famous, as many as 100,000 sheep having been known to change owners at one fair. [Illustration: WILTON HOUSE FROM THE RIVER.] We were quite astonished when we saw the magnificent church, on a terrace facing our road and approached by a very wide flight of steps. It was quite modern, having been built in 1844 by Lord Herbert of Lea, and had three porches, the central one being magnificently ornamented, the pillars resting on lions sculptured in stone. The tower, quite a hundred feet high, stood away from the church, but was connected with it by a fine cloister with double columns finely worked. The interior of the church was really magnificent, and must have cost an immense sum of money. It had a marble floor and some beautiful stained-glass windows; the pulpit being of Caen stone, supported by columns of black marble enriched with mosaic, which had once formed part of a thirteenth-century shrine at Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, some of the stained glass also belonging to the same period. The great House of Wilton, the seat of the Herberts, had been built in a delightful situation on the site of the old monastery, amidst beautiful gardens and grounds. It was a veritable treasure-house for pictures by the most famous painters, containing a special gallery filled almost exclusively with portraits of the family and others painted by Vandyck. The collection included a good portrait of Prince Rupert,[Footnote: See page 303.] who gave the army of the Parliament such a lively time in the Civil War, and who is said, in spite of his recklessness, to have been one of the best cavalry officers in Europe. Queen Elizabeth stayed three days there in 1573, and described her visit as "both merrie and pleasante." During this visit she presented Sir Philip Sidney, the author of _Arcadia_, with a "locke of her owne hair," which many years afterwards was found in a copy of that book in the library, and attached to it a very indifferent verse in the Queen's handwriting. Charles I, it was said, visited Wilton every summer, and portraits of himself, Henrietta Maria and their children, and some of their Court beauties, were also in the Vandyck gallery. Wilton Park attracted our attention above all, as the rivers Wylye and Nadder combined to enhance its beauty, and to feed the ornamental lake in front of the Hall. There were some fine cedar trees in the park, and as we had often seen trees of this kind in other grounds through which we had passed, we concluded they dated from the time of the Crusades, and that the crusaders had brought small plants back with them, of which these trees were the result. We were informed, however, that the cedar trees at Wilton had only been planted in the year 1640 by the Earl of Devonshire, who had sent men to collect them at Lebanon in the Holy Land. Thus we were compelled to change our opinion, for the trees we had seen elsewhere were of about the same girth as those at Wilton, and must therefore have been planted at about the same period. The oak trees in the park still retained many of their leaves, although it was now late in the autumn, but they were falling off, and we tried to catch some of them as they fell, though we were not altogether successful. My brother reminded me of a verse he once wrote as an exercise in calligraphy when at school: Men are like leaves that on the trees do grow, In Summer's prosperous time much love they show, But art thou in adversity, then they Like leaves from trees in Autumn fall away. But after autumn and winter have done their worst there are still some bushes, plants, or trees that retain their leaves to cheer the traveller on his way. Buckingham, who was beheaded at Salisbury, was at one time a fugitive, and hid himself in a hole near the top of a precipitous rock, now covered over with bushes and known only to the initiated as "Buckingham's Cave." My brother was travelling one winter's day in search of this cave, and passed for miles through a wood chiefly composed of oak trees that were then leafless. The only foliage that arrested his attention was that of the ivy, holly, and yew, and these evergreens looked so beautiful that he occasionally stopped to admire them without exactly knowing the reason why; after leaving the great wood he reached a secluded village far away from what was called civilisation, where he inquired the way to "Buckingham's Cave" from a man who turned out to be the village wheelwright. In the course of conversation the man informed him that he occasionally wrote poetry for a local newspaper with a large circulation in that and the adjoining counties. He complained strongly that the editor of the paper had omitted one verse from the last poem he had sent up; which did not surprise my brother, who inwardly considered he might safely have omitted the remainder. But when the wheelwright showed him the poem he was so pleased that he asked permission to copy the verses. The fairest flower that ever bloomed With those of bright array In Seasons' changeful course is doomed To fade and die away; While yonder's something to be seen-- It is the lovely evergreen! The pretty flowers in summer-time Bring beauty to our land, And lovely are the forest trees-- In verdure green they stand; But while we gaze upon the scene We scarcely see the evergreen! But lo! the wintry blast comes on, And quickly falls the snow; And where are all the beauties gone That bloom'd a while ago? While yonder stands through winter keen The lovely-looking evergreen! Our lives are like a fading flower, And soon they pass away, And earthly joys may last an hour To disappear at close of day; But Saints in Heaven abide serene And lasting, like the evergreen! My brother felt that here he had found one of nature's poets, and no longer wondered why he had admired the evergreen trees and bushes when he came through the forest. [Illustration: COL. JOHN PENRUDDOCKE.] In about two miles after leaving Wilton we parted company with the River Nadder, and walked along the road which passes over the downs to Shaftesbury. On our way we came in sight of the village of Compton Chamberlain, and of Compton House and park, which had been for centuries the seat of the Penruddocke family. It was Colonel John Penruddocke who led the famous "forlorn hope" in the time of the Commonwealth in 1655. He and another champion, with 200 followers, rode into Salisbury, where, overcoming the guards, they released the prisoners from the gaol, and seizing the two judges of assize proclaimed Charles II King, just as Booth did in Cheshire. The people of the city did not rise, as they anticipated, so Penruddocke and his companions dispersed and rode away to different parts of the country; eventually they were all taken prisoners and placed in the Tower of London. Penruddocke was examined personally by Cromwell at Whitehall, and it was thought for a time that he might be pardoned, but ultimately he was sent to the scaffold. He compared the steps leading up to the scaffold to Jacob's ladder, the feet on earth but the top reaching to heaven; and taking off his doublet he said, "I am putting off these old rags of mine to be clad with the new robes of the righteousness of Jesus Christ." The farewell letters between him and his wife were full of tenderness and love, and what he had done was doubtless under the inspiration of strong religious convictions. It was said that it was his insurrection that led to the division of the country into military districts, which have continued ever since. The lace cap he wore on the scaffold, blood-stained and showing the marks of the axe, was still preserved, as well as his sword, and the beautiful letters that passed between him and his wife, and the Colonel's portrait was still to be seen at the mansion. About a mile before reaching Shaftesbury we left Wiltshire and entered the county of Dorset, of which Shaftesbury was said to be the most interesting town from an antiquarian point of view. Here the downs terminate abruptly, leaving the town standing 700 feet above the sea level on the extreme point, with precipices on three sides. Across the far-famed Blackmoor Vale we could quite easily see Stourton Tower, standing on the top of Kingsettle Hill, although it was twelve miles distant. The tower marked the spot where, in 879, King Alfred raised his standard against the Danes, and was built in 1766, the inscription on it reading: Alfred the Great A.D. 879 on this summit erected his standard against Danish invaders. To him we owe the origin of Juries, the establishment of a Militia, the creation of a Naval Force. Alfred, the light of a benighted age, was a Philosopher, and a Christian, the father of his people, the founder of the English monarchy and liberty. In the gardens near that tower the three counties of Dorset, Somerset, and Wilts meet; and here in a grotto, where the water runs from a jar under the arm of a figure of Neptune, rises the River Stour, whose acquaintance we were to form later in its sixty-mile run through Dorset. Shaftesbury had been a stronghold from the earliest times, and so long ago, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, who was born A.D. 1100, that an Eagle spoke to the people who were building the walls words that even he dare not write. Elgiva, the queen of the Saxon King Edward the Elder, was buried in the Abbey at Shaftesbury, as were also the remains of Edward the Martyr, who was murdered by Elfrida his step-mother in 980. When the bones of this canonised king began to work miraculous cures, there was a rush of pilgrims to the town, which at one time contained twelve churches. King Canute, it was stated, died here in 1035; and in 1313 Elizabeth, the wife of Robert Bruce of Scotland, was brought to the Abbey as a prisoner. The building was demolished in the time of Henry VIII, all that remained of it being what is known as the old Abbey wall. Most of the old churches had disappeared too, but under St. Peter's there was a wine-cellar belonging to a public-house displaying the strange sign of the "Sun and Moon." The proximity of inns to churches we had often noted on our journey, but thought _this_ intrusion had been carried rather too far, although the age of the church proclaimed it to be a relic of great antiquity. We must not forget to record that between Wilton and Shaftesbury we saw a large quantity of pheasants feeding under some oak trees. We counted more than twenty of them, and had never seen so many gathered together before. Among them we noted three that were white, the only white pheasants we had ever seen. Leaving Shaftesbury, we crossed over one section of the Blackmoor Vale, or what we might describe as the Stour country, for there were many place-names in which the word Stour occurred. The place where the River Stour rises is known as Stourhead; and we had seen a monument, rather a fine one, in Salisbury Cathedral, to the murderer, Lord Charles Stourton. Three holes on each side of the monument represented the sources of the Stour at Stourhead, and these figured in the armorial bearings of the family. Lord Charles was hanged with a silk cord instead of the usual one made of hemp, the execution taking place in Salisbury Market-place in 1556; his crime was the murder of two of the family agents, father and son. His own four agents were hanged at the same time along with him, and a piece of twisted wire resembling the halter was suspended over his tomb for many years, to remind people of his punishment and crime. We took the precaution of getting our tea before leaving Shaftesbury, as there was some uncertainty about the road to Sturminster, where, attracted by the name, we expected to find a minster or cathedral, and had therefore decided to make that town our next stage. We could see a kind of mist rising at several points in the valley as we descended the steep hill leading out of the town in the direction of the Stour valley. No highway led that way except one following a circuitous route, so we walked at a quick pace along the narrow by-road, as we had been directed. Darkness soon came over us, and we had to moderate our speed. We met very few persons on the road, and saw very few houses, and it seemed to us a marvel afterwards that we ever reached Sturminster (or Stourminster) that night. It would have been bad enough if we had been acquainted with the road, but towards the close of our journey we could hear the river running near us for miles in the pitch darkness, and although my brother walked bravely on in front, I knew he was afraid of the water, and no doubt in fear that he might stumble into it in the dark. We were walking in Indian file, for there was no room to walk abreast in safety, while in places we had absolutely to grope our way. We moved along Like one who on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread. And dare not turn his head, For well he knows a fearful fiend Doth close behind him tread. It is perhaps unnecessary to explain that the "fearful fiend" was not either my brother or myself, but some one supposed to be somewhere in the rear of us both; but in any case we were mightily pleased when we reached the "King's Arms" at Sturminster, where we were looked upon as heroes, having now walked quite 1,100 miles. (_Distance that day, twenty-eight miles_.) _Thursday, November 9th._ A sharp frost during the night reminded us of the approach of winter, and we left Sturminster early this morning with the determination of crossing the county of Dorset, and reaching the sea-coast that night, thence to follow the coast-line as far as was consistent with seeing all the sights we could, until we reached the Land's End. We again crossed the bridge over the River Stour by which we had entered the town in the black darkness of the previous night, and were careful not to damage any of the six arches of which it was composed, as a notice inscribed on the bridge itself stated that any one damaging any portion of it would be guilty of felony and liable to transportation for life! We had not been able to find any special object of interest in the town itself, although King Edgar had given the manor to the monks of Glastonbury. Even the old church, with the exception of the tower, had been pulled down and rebuilt; so possibly the old and well-worn steps that had formed the base of the cross long since disappeared might claim to be the most ancient relic in the town. The landlord of the inn had told us that Sturminster was famous for its fairs, which must have originated in very early times, for they were arranged to be held on saints' days--St. Philip and Jacob's, and St. Luke's respectively. [Illustration: ALL THAT REMAINS OF STURMINSTER CROSS] After crossing the bridge we climbed up the small hill opposite, to view the scant ivy-clad ruins of Sturminster-Newton Castle, which was all that remained of what was once a seat of the Saxon Kings, especially of Edgar and Edward the Elder. We had a pleasant walk for some miles, and made good progress across the southern end of the Vale of Blackmoor, but did not keep to any particular road, as we crossed the country in the direction of some hills we could occasionally see in the distance. Eventually we reached Cerne-Abbas, where we were told we ought to have come in the springtime to see the primroses which there grew in immense profusion. We had heard of the "Cerne Giant," whose fixed abode was now the Giant's Hill, immediately behind the village, and whose figure was there cut out in the turf. Formerly this monster caused great loss to the farmers by eating their sheep, of which he consumed large quantities. They were quite powerless to stop him, owing to his immense size and the enormous club he carried; but one day he had eaten so many sheep that he felt drowsy and lay down to sleep. He was seen by the farmers, who could tell by his heavy breathing that the giant was fast asleep, so they got together all their ropes and quietly tied his limbs and fastened him to the earth; then, attacking him with their knives and axes, they managed to kill him. This was a great event, and to celebrate their victory they cut his figure in the chalk cliff to the exact life-size, so that future generations could see what a monster they had slain. This was the legend; and perhaps, like the White Horses, of which there were several, the Giant might have been cut out in prehistoric times, or was it possible he could have grown larger during the centuries that had intervened, for he was 180 feet in height, and the club that he carried in his hand was 120 feet long! Cerne Abbas was a very old place, as an early Benedictine Abbey was founded there in 987, the first Abbot being Aelfric, who afterwards became Archbishop of Canterbury. It was at Cerne that Queen Margaret sought refuge after landing at Weymouth in 1471. Her army had been defeated at Barnet on the very day she landed; but, accompanied by a small force of French soldiers, she marched on until she reached Tewkesbury, only to meet there with a final defeat, and to lose her son Edward, who was murdered in cold blood, as well as her husband Henry VI. Very little remained of the old abbey beyond its ancient gateway, which was three stories high, and displayed two very handsome double-storeyed oriel windows. We now followed the downward course of the River Cerne, and walking along a hard but narrow road soon reached the village of Charminster. The church here dated from the twelfth century, but the tower was only built early in the sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Trenchard of Wolfeton, whose monogram T.T. appeared on it as well as in several places in the church, where some very old monuments of the Trenchard family were also to be seen. Wolfeton House was associated with a very curious incident, which materially affected the fortunes of one of England's greatest ducal families. In 1506 the Archduke Philip of Austria and Joanna his wife sailed from Middelburg, one of the Zeeland ports, to take possession of their kingdom of Castile in Spain. But a great storm came on, and their ship became separated from the others. Becoming unmanageable, it drifted helplessly down the Channel, and to make matters worse took fire just when the storm was at its height, and narrowly escaped foundering. Joanna had been shipwrecked on a former occasion, and when her husband came to inform her of the danger, she calmly put on her best dress and, with all her money and jewels about her, awaited her fate, thinking that when her body was found they would see she was a lady of rank and give her a suitable burial. With great difficulty the ship, now a miserable wreck, was brought into the port of Weymouth, and the royal pair were taken out with all speed and conveyed to the nearest nobleman's residence, which happened to be that of Sir Thomas Trenchard, near Dorchester, about ten miles distant. They were very courteously received and entertained, but the difficulty was that Sir Thomas could neither speak Spanish nor French, and the visitors could not speak English. In this dilemma he suddenly remembered a young kinsman of his, John Russel of Berwick House, Bridport, who had travelled extensively both in France and Spain, and he sent for him post-haste to come at once. On receipt of the message young Russel lost no time, but riding at full gallop, soon arrived at Wolfeton House. He was not only a good linguist, but also very good-looking, and the royal visitors were so charmed with him that when King Henry VII sent the Earl of Arundel with an escort to convey Philip and Joanna to see him at Windsor Castle, Russel went with them, and was introduced to King Henry by his royal guests as "a man of abilities, fit to stand before princes and not before meaner men." This was a good start for young Russel, and led to the King's retaining him at Court. He prospered greatly, rising high in office; and in the next reign, when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, Russel came in for a handsome share of the spoils, including Woburn Abbey; he was created a peer, and so founded the great house of Bedford, made a dukedom in 1694 by William III. One of his descendants, the third son of the sixth Duke of Bedford, was Lord John Russell (the name being then able to afford an extra letter), who brought the Great Reform Bill into Parliament in the year 1832. He was Prime Minister then and in several subsequent Parliaments, and his name was naturally a household word all over the kingdom; but what made my brother more interested in this family was that as early as the year 1850 he was nicknamed "Lord John," after Lord John Russell, who was then the Prime Minister. We were now quite near Dorchester, but all we knew about that town previously was from a song that was popular in those days about "Old Toby Philpot," whose end was recorded in the last verse, when-- His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt! Our expectations of finding a brewery there were fully realised, and, as anticipated, the butts we saw were of much larger dimensions, especially about the waist, than those we had seen farther north. If "Toby" was of the same proportions as one of these he must have been quite a monstrosity. We were surprised to find Dorchester such a clean and pretty town. Seeing it was the county town of Dorset, one of the most ancient settlements in England, and the Durmovaria of the Romans, we expected to find some of those old houses and quaint passages so common to ancient county towns; but we learned that the old town had been destroyed by a fire in 1613, and long before that (in 1003) Dorchester had been burnt to the ground by the Danes. It had also suffered from serious fires in 1622, 1725, and 1775, the last having been extinguished by the aid of Johnny Cope's Regiment of Dragoons, who happened then to be quartered in the town. But the great fire in 1613 must have been quite a fearful affair, as we saw a pamphlet written about it by an eye-witness, under the title of _Fire from Heaven_. It gave such a graphic description of what such a fire was like, that we copied the following extract, which also displayed the quaint phraseology and spelling peculiar to that period: The instrument of God's wrath began first to take hold in a tradesman's worke-house ... Then began the crye of fier to be spread through the whole towne man, woman and childe ran amazedly up and down the streetes, calling for water, so fearfully, as if death's trumpet had sounded a command of present destruction. The fier began between the hours of two and three in the afternoone, the wind blowing very strong, and increased so mightily that, in a very short space, the most part of the town, was tiered, which burned so extreamely, the weather being hot, and the houses dry, that help of man grew almost past ... The reason the fier at the first prevailed above the strength of man was that it unfortunately happened in the time of harvest, when people were most busied in the reaping of their corne, and the towne most emptyest, but when this burnying Beacon of ruyne gave the harvestmen light into the field, little booted it to them to stay, but in more than reasonable hast poasted they homeward, not only for the safeguard of their goods and houses, but for the preservation of their wives and children, more dearer than all temporall estate or worldly abundance. In like manner the inhabitantes of the neighbouring townes and villages, at the fearful sight of the red blazing element, ran in multitudes to assist them, proffering the dear venture of their lives to oppresse the rigour of the fier, but all too late they came, and to small purpose showed they their willing minds, for almost every streete was filled with flame, every place burning beyond help and recovery. Their might they in wofull manner behold merchants' warehouses full of riche commodities on a flaming fier, garners of breade corn consuming, multitudes of Wollen and Linnen Clothes burned into ashes, Gold and Silver melted with Brasse, Pewter and Copper, tronkes and chestes of Damaskes and fine linnens, with all manner of rich stuffs, made fewell to increase this universe sole conqueror.... The fierceness of the fier was such that it even burnet and scorchet trees as they grew, and converted their green liveries into black burned garments; not so much as Hearbes and Flowers flourishing in Gardynes, but were in a moment withered with the heat of the fier.... Dorchester was a famous towne, now a heap of ashes for travellers that passe by to sigh at. Oh, Dorchester, wel maist thou mourn for those thy great losses, for never had English Towne the like unto thee.... A loss so unrecoverable that unlesse the whole land in pitty set to their devotions, it is like never to re-obtain the former estate, but continue like ruinated Troy, or decayed Carthage. God in his mercy raise the inhabitants up againe, and graunt that by the mischance of this Towne both us, they and all others may repent us of our sins. Amen. It was computed that over three hundred houses were destroyed in this great fire; but the prayer of the writer of the pamphlet, as to the town's being raised up again, had been granted. The county of Dorset generally, lies in the sunniest part of England, and the town was now prospering and thoroughly healthy, the death-rate being well below the average: did not the great Dr. Arbuthnot leave it in despair with the remark, "In Dorchester a physician can neither live nor die"? Dorchester was one of the largest stations of the Romans in England, and their amphitheatre just outside the town was the most perfect in the country, the Roman road and Icknield ways passing quite near it. There were three great earthworks in the immediate neighbourhood--the Maumbury Rings or Amphitheatre, the Poundbury Camp, and the far-famed Maiden Castle, one of the greatest British earthworks; in fact Roman and other remains were so numerous here that they were described as being "as plentiful as mushrooms," and the whole district was noted for its "rounded hills with short herbage and lots of sheep." We climbed up the hill to see the amphitheatre, which practically adjoined the town, and formed one of the most remarkable and best preserved relics of the Roman occupation in Britain. It was oval in shape, and had evidently been formed by excavating the chalk in the centre, and building up the sides with it to the height of about thirty feet. It measured 345 feet by 340, and was supposed to have provided ample accommodation for the men and beasts that figured in the sports, in addition to about 13,000 spectators. In the year 1705 quite 10,000 people assembled there to witness the strangling and burning of a woman named Mary Channing, who had murdered her husband. This woman, whose maiden name was Mary Brookes, lived in Dorchester with her parents, who compelled her to marry a grocer in the town named Richard Channing, for whom she did not care. Keeping company with some former gallants, she by her extravagance almost ruined her husband, and then poisoned him. At the Summer Assizes in 1704 she was tried, but being found pregnant she was removed, and eighteen weeks after her child was born, she was, at the following Lent Assizes, sentenced to be strangled and then burned in the middle of the area of the amphitheatre. She was only nineteen years of age, and insisted to the last that she was innocent. About a hundred years before that a woman had suffered the same penalty at the same place for a similar offence. This horrible cruelty was sanctioned by law, in those days, in case of the murder of a husband by his wife; and the Rings were used as a place of execution until the year 1767. There was a fine view of the country from the top of the amphitheatre, and we could see both the Poundbury Camp and the Mai-Dun, or "Hill of Strength," commonly called the Maiden Hill, a name also applied to other hills we had seen in the country. The Maiden Hill we could now see was supposed to be one of the most stupendous British earthworks in existence, quite as large as Old Sarum, and covering an area of 120 acres. It was supposed to be the Dunium of which Ptolemy made mention, and was pre-Roman without a doubt. At Dorchester the Romans appear to have had a residential city, laid out in avenues in the direction of Maumbury Camp, with houses on either side; but the avenues we saw were of trees--elm, beech, and sycamore. The burial-places of the Romans were excavated in the chalk, and this being naturally dry, their remains were preserved much longer there than if they had been buried in damp soil. Many graves of Roman soldiers had been unearthed from time to time, and it was discovered that the chalk had been scooped out in an oblong form to just the exact size of the corpse. The man was generally found buried on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest, all sorts of things being buried with him, including very often a coin of the then reigning emperor placed in his mouth. His weapon and utensils for eating and drinking, and his ornaments, had been placed as near as possible to the positions where he had used them in life; the crown of his head touched one end of the oval-shaped hole in which he had been buried and his toes the other. The tomb was exactly in the shape of an egg, and the corpse was placed in it as tightly as possible, like a chicken in its shell. Women's ornaments were also found buried with them, such as pins for the hair and beads for the neck; but we did not hear of any rings having been found amongst them, so possibly these tokens of slavery were not worn by the Roman ladies. We might have found some, however, in the local museum, which was full of all kinds of old things, and occupied a house formerly tenanted by that man of blood---Judge Jeffreys, whose chair was still preserved, and whose portrait by Lely was sufficient alone to proclaim his brutal character. In the time of Monmouth's rebellion in 1685 Judge Jeffreys began his "Bloody Assize" at Dorchester. Monmouth had landed at Lyme Regis in the south of the county, and the cry was "A Monmouth! A Monmouth! The Protestant Religion!" and a number of Puritans had joined his standard. More than three hundred of them had been taken prisoners and were awaiting their trial at Dorchester, the county town. Jeffreys let it be known that their only chance was to plead guilty and throw themselves on the mercy of their country, but in spite of this two hundred and ninety-two received sentence of death. Twenty-nine of these were despatched immediately, and about ninety were executed in various parts of the country, their bodies being brutally dismembered and exposed in towns, villages, and hamlets. Great efforts were made to save one young gentleman named Battiscombe, who was engaged to a young lady of gentle blood, a sister of the Sheriff; she threw herself at the feet of Jeffreys to beg for mercy, but he drove her away with a jest so shocking to decency and humanity that it could not be repeated, and Battiscombe perished with the others. Altogether three hundred persons were executed, more were whipped and imprisoned, and a thousand sold and transported to the Plantations, for taking part in this rebellion, the money going as perquisites to the ladies of the Court. Jeffreys rose to be Lord Chancellor, but falling into disgrace after the abdication of James II, he was committed to the Tower of London and there died in 1689, before he could be brought to trial. It saddened us to think that this brute really belonged to our own county, and was at first the Justice for Chester. The following entry appeared in the records of the town: To a Bill for disbursements for ye Gallows. Burning and boiling ye Rebels, executed p. order £116 4s. 8d. Paid Mr. Mayers att ye Beare, for so much hee pd. for setting up of a post with ye quarters of ye Rebells att ye town end as p. his Bill 1s. 6-1/2d. These entries bear evidence of this horrible butchery; but the Dorcestrians seem to have been accustomed to sights of this kind, as there had been horrible persecutions of the Roman Catholics there in the time of Queen Elizabeth--sequel perhaps to those of the Protestants in the time of Queen Mary--one man named Pritchard was hanged, drawn, and quartered in 1583, and in 1584 four others were executed. Dorchester, like other places, could boast of local celebrities. Among these was John White, who in 1606 was appointed rector of Dorchester and held that office until the day of his death in 1648. He was the son of one of the early Puritans, and was himself a famous Puritan divine. At the Assembly of Divines at Westminster in 1643 he was said to have prayed before the House of Commons in St. Margaret's for an hour and a half, in the hope that they might be induced to subscribe to the "Covenant" to resist the encroachments of Charles I on religious liberty. He was a pioneer in the New England movement, and was virtually the founder of Massachusetts, in America. From the first he took a most active part in encouraging emigration and in creating what at that time was known as New England, and he was also the founder of the New England Company. It was in 1620 that the good ship _Mayflower_ arrived at Plymouth with Robinson's first batch of pilgrims from Holland on their way across the Atlantic. It is not certain that White crossed the ocean himself; but his was the master-mind that organised and directed the expeditions to that far-distant land, and he was ably seconded by Bishop Lake, his friend and brother Wykehamist. [Illustration: JOHN ENDICOTT, FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS.] He also influenced John Endicott, "a man well known to divers persons of note" and a native of Dorchester, where he was born in 1588, to take an active part in developing the new Colonies, and mainly through the influence of White a patent was obtained from the Council on March 19th, 1628, by which the Crown "bargained and sold unto some Knights and Gentlemen about Dorchester, whose names included that of John Endicott, that part of New England lying between the Merrimac River and the Charles River on Massachusetts Bay." At the time this "bargain" was made very little was known about America, which was looked upon as a kind of desert or wilderness, nor had the Council any idea of the extent of territory lying between the two rivers. This ultimately became of immense value, as it included the site on which the great town of Boston, U.S.A., now stands--a town that was founded by pilgrims from Boston in Lincolnshire with whom John White was in close contact. John Endicott sailed from Weymouth in the ship _Abigail_, Henry Gauder, Master, with full powers to act for the Company. The new Dorchester was founded, and soon afterwards four "prudent and honest men" went out from it and founded Salem. John White procured a patent and royal charter for them also, which was sealed on March 4th, 1629. It seemed the irony of fate that on the same day 147 years afterwards Washington should open fire upon Boston from the Dorchester heights in the American War of Independence. A second Dorchester was founded in America, probably by settlers from the second Dorchester in England--a large village near which we had passed as we walked through Oxfordshire, where in the distance could be seen a remarkable hill known as Dorchester Clump. Although it had been a Roman town, the city where afterwards St. Birinus, the Apostle of Wessex, set up his episcopal throne from 634 to 707, the head of the See of Wessex, it was now only a village with one long street, and could not compare with its much larger neighbour in Dorset. Its large ancient church, with a fine Jesse window, gave the idea of belonging to a place once of much greater size. The "hands across the sea" between the two Dorchesters have never been separated, but the pilgrims now come in the opposite direction, thousands of Americans visiting Dorchester and its antiquities; we heard afterwards that the American Dorset had been presented with one of the tessellated pavements dug up from a Roman villa in what we might call "Dorchester, Senior," in England, and that a memorial had been put up in the porch of Dorchester Church inscribed as follows: In this Porch lies the body of the Rev. John White, M.A., of New College, Oxford. He was born at Christmas 1575. For about forty years he was Rector of this Parish, and also of Holy Trinity, Dorchester. He died here July 21st, 1648. A man of great godliness, good scholarship, and wonderful ability. He had a very strong sway in this town. He greatly forwarded the migration to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, where his name lives in unfading remembrance. [Illustration: STATUE OF WILLIAM BARNES.] Another clergyman, named William Barnes, who was still living, had become famous by writing articles for the _Gentleman's Magazine_ and poems for the _Dorset County Chronicle_, and had published a book in 1844 entitled _Poems of Rural Life in Dorset Dialect_, some of which were of a high order. They were a little difficult for us to understand readily, for these southern dialects did not appeal to us. After he died a statue was erected to his memory, showing him as an aged clergyman quaintly attired in caped cloak, knee-breeches, and buckled shoes, with a leather satchel strung over his shoulder and a stout staff in his hand. One of his poems referred to a departed friend of his, and a verse in it was thought so applicable to himself that it was inscribed on his monument: Zoo now I hope this kindly feäce Is gone to find a better pleäce; But still wi vo'k a-left behind He'll always be a-kept in mind. Thomas Hardy, the founder of Rochester Grammar School in 1569, was the ancestor of Admiral Hardy, Nelson's flag-captain, who received the great hero in his arms when the fatal shot was fired at Trafalgar, and whose monument we could see on Blackdown Hill in the distance. Not the least distinguished of this worthy family is Thomas Hardy, the brilliant author of the famous series of West-country novels, the first of which was published in 1872, the year after our visit. Our next stage was Bridport, and we had been looking forward to seeing the sea for some time past, as we considered it would be an agreeable change from the scenery of the lonely downs. We passed by Winterbourne Abbas on our way, and the stone circle known as the "Nine Stones." The name Winterbourne refers to one of those ancient springs common in chalk districts which burst out suddenly in great force, usually in winter after heavy autumn rains, run for a season, and then as suddenly disappear. [Illustration: BRIDPORT.] Bridport was an important place even in the time of Edward the Confessor, when it contained 120 houses and a priory of monks. It was the birthplace of Giles de Bridport, the third Bishop of Salisbury, whose fine tomb we had seen in that cathedral, and who died in 1262; of him Leland wrote, "he kivered the new Cathedral Church of Saresbyrie throughout with lead." In the time of the Plantagenet kings Bridport was noted for its sails and ropes, much of the cordage and canvas for the fleet fitted out to do battle with the Spanish Armada being made here. Flax was then cultivated in the neighbourhood, and the rope-walks, where the ropes were made, were in the streets, which accounted for some of the streets being so much wider than others. Afterwards the goods were made in factories, the flax being imported from Rusfia. We did not quite reach the sea that night, as it was a mile or two farther on; but we put up at the "Bull Hotel," and soon discovered we had arrived at a town where nearly all the men for ages had been destined for the army or navy, and consequently had travelled to all parts of the world--strong rivals to the Scots for the honour of being found sitting on the top of the North Pole if ever that were discovered. King Charles II was nearly trapped here when he rode into the town in company with a few others and put up at the "George Inn." The yard of the inn was full of soldiers, but he passed unnoticed, as they were preparing for an expedition to the Channel Islands. Charles received a private message that he was not safe, and that he was being pursued, and he and his friends hastily departed along the Dorchester road. Fortunately Lord Wilton came up, and advised them to turn down a small lane leading to Broadwindsor, where Charles was immediately secreted; it was lucky for him, as the pursuing party passed along the Dorchester road immediately afterwards, and he would certainly have been taken prisoner if he had gone there. A large stone was afterwards placed at the corner of Lea Lane, where he turned off the high road, and still remained there to commemorate that event, which happened on September 23rd, 1651. One Sunday morning in 1685 about three hundred soldiers arrived in the town from Lyme Regis, where the Duke of Monmouth had landed on his unfortunate expedition to seize the crown of his uncle James II. They were opposed by the Dorset Militia and fired upon from the windows of the "Bull Inn," where we were now staying, being eventually forced to retire. In still later years Bridport was kept alive in anticipation of the hourly-expected invasion of England by the great Napoleon, who had prepared a large camp at Boulogne, the coast of Dorset being considered the most likely place for him to land. (_Distance walked thirty miles_.) _Friday, November 10th._ We left the "Bull Hotel" a little before daylight this morning, as we had a long walk before us, and in about half an hour we reached Bridport Quay, where the river Brit terminates in the sea, now lying before us in all its beauty. There were a few small ships here, with the usual knot of sailors on the quay; but the great object of interest was known as the Chesil Bank, "one of the most wonderful natural formations in the world." Nothing of the kind approaching its size existed elsewhere in Europe, for it extended from here to Portland, a distance of sixteen miles, and we could see it forming an almost straight line until it reached Portland, from which point it had been described as a rope of pebbles holding Portland to the mainland. The Bank was composed of white flint pebbles, and for half its distance from the Portland end, an inlet from the sea resembling a canal, and called "the Fleet," passed between the land and the Bank, which was here only 170 to 200 yards wide: raised in the centre and sloping down to the water on either side. The pebbles at the Bridport end of the Bank were very small, but at the Portland end they were about three inches in diameter, increasing in size so gradually that in the dark the fishermen could tell where they had landed by the size of the pebbles. The presence of these stones had long puzzled both British and foreign savants, for there were no rocks of that nature near them on the sea-coast, and the trawlers said there were no pebbles like them in the sea. Another mystery was why they varied in size in such a remarkable manner. One thing was certain: they had been washed up there by the gigantic waves that rolled in at times with terrific force from the Atlantic; and after the great storms had swept over the Bank many curious things had been found, including a large number of Roman coins of the time of Constantine, mediæval coins and antique rings, seals, plates, and ingots of silver and gold--possibly some of them from the treasure-ships of the Spanish Armada, which were said to have been sunk in the Bay. Geologists will explain anything. They now assert that the Bank is the result of tidal currents which sweep along the coast eastwards--that they have destroyed beds in the cliff containing such pebbles, and as the current loses strength so the bigger and heavier stones are dropped first and the smaller only reach the places where the current disappears. [Illustration: CHESIL BEACH, PORTLAND.] This portion of the sea, known as the West Bay, was the largest indentation on the coast, and on that account was doubly dangerous to ships caught or driven there in a storm, especially before the time when steam was applied to them, and when the constant traffic through the Channel between Spain and Spanish Flanders furnished many victims, for in those days the wrecks were innumerable. Strange fish and other products of the tropical seas had drifted hither across the Atlantic from the West Indies and America, and in the fishing season the fin whale, blue shark, threshers and others had been caught, also the sun fish, boar fish, and the angler or sea-devil. Rare mosses and lichens, with agates, jaspers, coloured flints and corals, had also been found on the Chesil Bank; but the most marvellous of all finds, and perhaps that of the greatest interest, was the Mermaid, which was found there in June 1757. It was thirteen feet long, and the upper part of it had some resemblance to the human form, while the lower part was like that of a fish. The head was partly like that of a man and partly like that of a hog. Its fins resembled hands, and it had forty-eight large teeth in each jaw, not unlike those in the jaw-bone of a man. Just fancy one of our Jack-tars diving from the Chesil Bank and finding a mate like that below! But we were told that diving from that Bank into the sea would mean certain death, as the return flows from the heavy swell of the Atlantic which comes in here, makes it almost impossible for the strongest swimmer to return to the Bank, and that "back-wash" in a storm had accounted for the many shipwrecks that had occurred there in olden times. From where we stood we could see the Hill and Bill of Portland, in the rear of which was the famous Breakwater, the foundation-stone of which had been laid by the Prince Consort, the husband of Queen Victoria, more than twenty years previously, and although hundreds of prisoners from the great convict settlement at Portland had been employed upon the work ever since, the building of it was not yet completed. The stone from the famous quarries at Portland, though easily worked, is of a very durable nature, and has been employed in the great public buildings in London for hundreds of years. Inigo Jones used most of it in the building of the Banqueting Hall at Whitehall, and Sir Christopher Wren in the reconstruction of St. Paul's Cathedral after the Great Fire, while it had also been used in the building of many churches and bridges. We had expected to find a path along the cliffs from Bridport Quay to Lyme Regis, but two big rocks, "Thorncombe Beacon" and "Golden Cap," had evidently prevented one from being made, for though the Golden Cap was only about 600 feet above sea-level it formed the highest elevation on the south coast. We therefore made the best of our way across the country to the village of Chideoak, and from there descended into Charmouth, crossing the river Char at the entrance to that village or town by a bridge. On the battlement of this bridge we found a similar inscription to that we had seen at Sturminster, warning us that whoever damaged the bridge would be liable to be "transported for life," by order of King George the Fourth." Charmouth had been one of the Roman stations and the scene of the fiercest battles between the Saxons and the Danes in 833 and 841, in the reigns of Egbert and Ethelwolf, in which the Danes appeared to have been victorious, as they were constantly being reinforced by fellow-countrymen arriving by sea. But these were practically forgotten, the memories of them having been replaced in more modern times by events connected with the Civil War and with the wanderings of "Prince Charles," the fugitive King Charles II. What a weary and anxious time he must have had during the nineteen days he spent in the county of Dorset, in fear of his enemies and watching for a ship by which he could escape from England, while soldiers were scouring the county to find him! [Illustration: HOUSE WHERE KING CHARLES LODGED IN CHARMOUTH.] He wrote a _Narrative_, in which some of his adventures were recorded, and from which it appeared that after the Battle of Worcester and his escape to Boscobel, where the oak tree in which he hid himself was still to be seen, he disguised himself as a manservant and rode before a lady named Mrs. Lane, in whose employ he was supposed to be, while Lord Wilton rode on in front. They arrived at a place named Trent, a village on the borders of Somerset and Dorset, and stayed at the house of Frank Wyndham, whom Charles described in his _Narrative_ as a "very honest man," and who concealed him in "an old well-contrived secret place." When they arrived some of the soldiers from Worcester were in the village, and Charles wrote that he heard "one trooper telling the people that he had killed me, and that that was my buff coat he had on," and the church bells were ringing and bonfires lighted to celebrate the victory. The great difficulty was to get a ship, for they had tried to get one at Bristol, but failed. In a few days' time, however, Wyndham ventured to go into Lyme Regis, and there found a boat about to sail for St. Malo, and got a friend to arrange terms with the owner to take a passenger "who had a finger in the pye at Worcester." It was arranged that the ship should wait outside Charmouth in the Charmouth Roads, and that the passenger should be brought out in a small boat about midnight on the day arranged. Charles then reassumed his disguise as a male servant named William Jackson, and rode before Mrs. Connisby, a cousin of Wyndham's, while Lord Wilton again rode on in front. On arrival at Charmouth, rooms were taken at the inn, and a reliable man was engaged who at midnight was to be at the appointed place with his boat to take the Prince to the ship. Meantime the party were anxiously waiting at the inn; but it afterwards appeared that the man who had been engaged, going home to change his linen, confided to his wife the nature of his commission. This alarmed her exceedingly, as that very day a proclamation had been issued announcing dreadful penalties against all who should conceal the Prince or any of his followers; and the woman was so terrified that when her husband went into the chamber to change his linen she locked the door, and would not let him come out. Charles and his friends were greatly disappointed, but they were obliged to make the best of it, and stayed at the inn all night. Early in the morning Charles was advised to leave, as rumours were circulating in the village; and he and one or two others rode away to Bridport, while Lord Wilton stayed at the inn, as his horse required new shoes. He engaged the ostler at the inn to take his horse to the smithy, where Hamnet the smith declared that "its shoes had been set in three different counties, of which Worcestershire was one." The ostler stayed at the inn gossiping about the company, hearing how they had sat up with their horses saddled all the night, and so on, until, suspecting the truth, he left the blacksmith to shoe the horse, and went to see the parson, whom Charles describes as "one Westly," to tell him what he thought. But the parson was at his morning prayers, and was so "long-winded" that the ostler became tired of waiting, and fearing lest he should miss his "tip" from Lord Wilton, hurried back to the smithy without seeing the parson. After his lordship had departed, Hamnet the smith went to see Mr. Westly--who by the way was an ancestor of John and Charles Wesley--and told him the gossip detailed to him by the ostler. So Mr. Westly came bustling down to the inn, and accosting the landlady said: "Why, how now, Margaret! you are a Maid of Honour now." "What mean you by that, Mr. Parson?" said the landlady. "Why, Charles Stewart lay last night at your house, and kissed you at his departure; so that now you can't be but a Maid of Honour!" Margaret was rather vexed at this, and replied rather hastily, "If I thought it was the King, I should think the better of my lips all the days of my life; and so you, Mr. Parson, get out of my house!" Westly and the smith then went to a magistrate, but he did not believe their story and refused to take any action. Meantime the ostler had taken the information to Captain Macey at Lyme Regis, and he started off in pursuit of Charles; but before he reached Bridport Charles had escaped. The inn at Charmouth many years afterwards had been converted into a private house, but was still shown to visitors and described as the house "where King Charles the Second slept on the night of September 22nd, 1652, after his flight from the Battle of Worcester," and the large chimney containing a hiding-place was also to be seen there. [Illustration: OMBERSLEY VILLAGE: "THE KING'S ARMS," WHERE CHARLES II RESTED DURING HIS FLIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE OF WORCESTER, 1652.] Prince Charles and some friends stood on the tower of Worcester Cathedral watching the course of the battle, and when they saw they had lost the day they rushed down in great haste, and mounting their horses rode away as fast as they could, almost blocking themselves in the gateway in their hurry. When they reached the village of Ombersley, about ten miles distant, they hastily refreshed themselves at the old timber-built inn, which in honour of the event was afterwards named the "King's Arms." The ceiling, over the spot where Charles stood, is still ornamented with his coat of arms, including the fleur-de-lys of France, and in the great chimney where the smoke disappears above the ingle-nook is a hiding-place capable of holding four men on each side of the chimney, and so carefully constructed that no one would ever dream that a man could hide there without being smothered by the smoke. The smoke, however, is drawn by the draught past the hiding-place, from which there would doubtless be a secret passage to the chamber above, which extended from one side of the inn to the other. In a glass case there was at the time of our visit a cat and a rat--the rat standing on its hind legs and facing the cat--but both animals dried up and withered like leather, until they were almost flat, the ribs of the cat showing plainly on its skin. The landlord gave us their history, from which it appeared that it had become necessary to place a stove in a back kitchen and to make an entrance into an old flue to enable the smoke from the stove-pipe to be carried up the large chimney. The agent of the estate to which the inn belonged employed one of his workmen, nicknamed "Holy Joe," to do the work, who when he broke into the flue-could see with the light of his candle something higher up the chimney. He could not tell what it was, nor could the landlord, whom "Joe" had called to his assistance, but it was afterwards discovered to be the cat and the rat that now reposed in the glass case. It was evident that the rat had been pursued by the cat and had escaped by running up the narrow flue, whither it had been followed by the cat, whose head had become jammed in the flue. The rat had then turned round upon its pursuer, and was in the act of springing upon it when both of them had been instantly asphyxiated by the fumes in the chimney. With the exception of some slight damage to the rat, probably caused in the encounter, they were both almost perfect, and an expert who had examined them declared they must have been imprisoned there quite a hundred years before they could have been reduced to the condition in which they were found by "Holy Joe"! The proprietors of the hostelries patronised by royalty always made as much capital out of the event as possible, and even the inn at Charmouth displayed the following advertisement after the King's visit: Here in this House was lodged King Charles. Come in, Sirs, you may venture; For here is entertainment good For Churchman or Dissenter. [Illustration: MISS MARY ANNING.] We thought we had finished with fossils after leaving Stromness in the Orkney Islands and trying to read the names of those deposited in the museum there, but we had now reached another "paradise for geologists," this time described as a "perfect" one; we concluded, therefore, that what the Pomona district in the Orkneys could not supply, or what Hugh Miller could not find there, was sure to be found here, as we read that "where the river Char filtered into the sea the remains of Elephants and Rhinoceros had been found." But we could not fancy ourselves searching "the surrounding hills for ammonites and belemnites," although we were assured that they were numerous, nor looking along the cliffs for such things as "the remains of ichthyosaurus, plesiosaurus, and other gigantic saurians, which had been discovered there, as well as pterodactyles," for my brother declared he did not want to carry any more stones, his adventure in Derbyshire with them being still fresh on his mind. We therefore decided to leave these to more learned people, who knew when they had found them; but, like Hugh Miller with his famous Asterolepis, a young lady named Mary Anning, who was described as "the famous girl geologist," had, in 1811, made a great discovery here of a splendid ichthyosaurus, which was afterwards acquired for the nation and deposited in the British Museum. [Illustration: HEAD OF THE ICHTHYOSAURUS.] Charmouth practically consisted of one long street rising up the hill from the river, and on reaching the top after getting clear of the town we had to pass along a curved road cut deeply through the rock to facilitate coach traffic. In stormy weather the wind blew through this cutting with such terrific fury that the pass was known as the "Devil's Bellows," and at times even the coaches were unable to pass through. The road now descended steeply on the other side, the town of Lyme Regis spread out before us, with its white houses and the blue sea beyond, offering a prospect that dwelt in our memories for many years. No town in all England is quite like it, and it gave us the impression that it had been imported from some foreign country. In the older part of the town the houses seemed huddled together as if to protect each other, and many of them adjoined the beach and were inhabited by fishermen, while a newer and larger class of houses was gradually being built on the hill which rose rather abruptly at the rear of what might be called the old town. [Illustration: REMAINS OF ICHTHYOSAURUS DISCOVERED AT CHARMOUTH.] A curious breakwater called the Cobb stretches out a few hundred yards into the sea. This was originally built in the time of Edward I as a shelter for the boats in stormy weather, but was destroyed by a heavy sea in the reign of Edward III, who allowed a tax to be levied on all goods imported and exported, the proceeds to be applied towards the rebuilding of the Cobb. [Illustration: DUKE OF MONMOUTH.] After the death of Charles II his place was filled by his brother, who ascended the throne as James II; but Charles had a natural son, James, the Duke of Monmouth, who had been sent abroad, but who now claimed the English crown. On June 11th, 1685, the inhabitants of Lyme were alarmed by the appearance of three foreign ships which did not display any flags. They were astonished to find that it was an expedition from Holland, and that James, Duke of Monmouth, had arrived to lead a rebellion against his uncle, James II. The Duke landed on the Cobb, which at that time did not join the shore, so that he could not step on shore without wetting his legs; but Lieut. Bagster of the Royal Navy, who happened to be in a boat close by, jumped into the water and presented his knee, upon which the Duke stepped and so reached the shore without inconvenience. Monmouth then turned to Lieut. Bagster, and familiarly striking him on the shoulder, said, "Brave young man, you will join me!" But Bagster replied, "No, sir! I have sworn to be true to the King, and no consideration shall move me from my fidelity." Monmouth then knelt down on the beach and thanked God for having preserved the friends of liberty and pure religion from the perils of the sea, and implored the Divine blessing on what was to be done by land. He was received with great rejoicings in Lyme, where there was a strong Protestant element, and many joined his standard there, including Daniel Defoe, the author of _Robinson Crusoe_, then only twenty-four years of age. As the people generally had no grievance against James II, Monmouth's rebellion failed from want of support, and although he raised an army of 5,000 men by the time he reached Sedgmoor, in Somerset, he was there defeated and taken prisoner by the King's army, and beheaded in the same year. Defoe appears to have escaped capture, but twelve local followers of Monmouth were hanged afterwards on the Cobb at Lyme Regis. After Monmouth's execution a satirical ballad was printed and hawked about the streets of London, entitled "The Little King of Lyme," one verse being: Lyme, although a little place, I think it wondrous pretty; If 'tis my fate to wear a crown I'll make of it a city. We had a look through the old church, and saw a stained-glass window which had been placed there in 1847 to the memory of Mary Anning, for the services rendered by her to science through her remarkable discovery of fossils in the cliffs of Lyme. There were also some chained books in the church, one of which was a copy of the Breeches Bible, published in 1579, and so called because the seventh verse in the third chapter of Genesis was rendered, "The eyes of them bothe were opened ... and they sowed figge-tree leaves together, and made themselves breeches." We passed from Dorsetshire into Devonshire as we walked up the hill loading from Lyme Regis, and we had a fine view when we reached the summit of the road at Hunter's Cross, where four roads meet. Here we saw a flat stone supposed to have been the quoin of a fallen cromlech, and to have been used for sacrificial purposes. From that point a sharp walk soon brought us to the River Axe and the town of Axminster. In the time of the Civil War the district between Lyme Regis and Axminster appears to have been a regular battle-field for the contending parties, as Lyme Regis had been fortified in 1643 and taken possession of by Sir Walter Erie and Sir Thomas Trenchard in the name of the Parliament, while Axminster was in the possession of the Royalists, who looked upon the capture of Lyme as a matter of the highest importance. In 1644 Prince Maurice advanced from Axminster with an army of nearly five thousand Royalists and cannon and attacked Lyme from the higher end of that town; but although they had possession of many fortified mansions which acted as bases or depots they were defeated again and again. The inhabitants of the town were enthusiastic about what they considered to be the Protestant cause, and even the women, as in other places, fought in male attire side by side with the men, to make the enemy think they had a greater number opposed to them. The lion's share of the defence fell to the lot of Captain Davey, who, from his fort worked his guns with such amazing persistence that the enemy were dismayed, while during the siege the town was fed from the sea by ships which also brought ammunition and stores. After righting for nearly two months and losing two thousand of his men Prince Maurice retired. The cannon-balls that he used, of which some have been found since that time on or near the shore, and in the outskirts of the town, weighed 17-1/2 lb. One of the defenders was Robert Blake, the famous Admiral, who afterwards defeated the Dutch in a great battle off Portland. He died in his ship at Portsmouth, and his body was taken to Greenwich and afterwards embalmed and buried in Westminster Abbey. But Charles II remembered the part Blake had taken in the defeat of the Royalist forces at Lyme Regis, and ordered his ashes to be raked from the grave and scattered to the winds. As may be imagined, in the fights between the two parties the country-people suffered from depredations and were extensively plundered by both sides. This was referred to in a political song entitled "The West Husbandman's Lamentations," which, in the dialect then prevailing, voices the complaint of a farmer who lost six oxen and six horses: Ich had zix Oxen t'other day, And them the Roundheads vetcht away-- A mischief be their speed! And chad zix Horses left me whole. And them the Cabballeeroes stole, Chee vore men be agreed. We were rather disappointed when we arrived at Axminster, for, having often heard of Axminster carpets, we expected to find factories there where they made them, but we found that industry had been given up for many years. We saw the factory where they were formerly made, and heard a lot about Mr. Whitty, the proprietor. He had made two beautiful carpets, and exhibited them in London before sending them to a customer abroad who had ordered them. They were despatched on board a ship from the Thames, which did not arrive at its destination and was never heard of afterwards. One of these carpets was described to us as being just like an oil painting representing a battle scene. The carpets were made in frames, a woman on each side, and were worked with a needle in a machine. We saw the house where Mr. Whitty formerly resided, the factory being at one end of it, while at the back were his dye-works, where, by a secret method, he dyed in beautiful tints that would not fade. The pile on the carpets was very long, being more like that on Turkey carpets, so that when the ends were worn they could be cut off with a machine and then the carpet appeared new again. Mr. Whitty never recovered from the great loss of the two carpets, and he died without revealing his secret process even to his son. The greater part of the works was burnt down on Trinity Sunday, 1834, and though some portion was rebuilt, it was never again used for making Axminster carpets, which were afterwards made at Wilton, to which place the looms were removed in 1835; the industry, started in 1755, had existed at Axminster for eighty years. King Athelstan founded a college here in commemoration of the Battle of Brunnenburh, fought in 937, in which fell five kings and seven earls. The exact site of this battle did not appear to have been located, though this neighbourhood scarcely had more substantial claims to it than the place we passed through in Cumberland. Axminster took its name from the river Axe, which passes near the town, and falls into the sea at Axemouth, near Seaton; the name Axe, as well as Exe and Usk, is Celtic and signifies water--all three being the names of rivers. There was not much left of Axminster at the end of the Civil War, except the church, for most of the buildings had been burnt down. A letter written on November 21st, 1644, by a trooper from Lyme Regis to his parents in London contained the following passage: Hot newes in these parts: viz., the 15th of this present November wee fell upon Axminster with our horse and foote, and through God's mercie beat them off their works, insomuch that wee possessed of the towne, and they betook them to the Church, which, they had fortified, on which wee were loath to cast our men, being wee had a garrison to look on. My brother and myselfe were both there. We fired part of the towne, what successe we had you may reade by the particulars here inclosed. Wee lost only one man in the taking of the towne, and had five wounded. The Monday following wee marched to Axminster againe. Major Sydenham having joyned with us that Lordis Day at night before, thinking to have seized on the Church, and those forces that were in it, but finding them so strong, as that it might indanger the loss of many of our men, wee thought it not fit to fall upon the Church, but rather to set the houses on fire that were not burnt at the first firing, which accordingly we did, and burnt doune the whole toune, unlease it were some few houses, but yet they would not come forth out of the Church. When Prince Charles, afterwards Charles II, was defeated at Worcester, it was only natural that he should go amongst his friends for protection, and a curious story was told here about his narrow escape from his pursuers in this neighbourhood. He had stayed a short time with the Wyndham family, near Chard, when news came that his pursuers were on his track, and that no time must be lost, so he was sent to Coaxden, two miles from Axminster, to take refuge with the Cogan family, relatives of the Colonel Wyndham who took a leading part in securing his safe retreat. He had only just gone when the soldiers arrived and insisted upon looking through the house and searching it thoroughly; even a young lady they met in the house was suspected of being the King in disguise, and it was with some difficulty that they were persuaded otherwise. They examined every room and linen chest, and then departed in full chase towards the south. Meanwhile, Charles had arrived at Coaxden, and entering the parlour, where Mrs. Cogan was sitting alone, threw himself upon her protection. It was then the fashion for ladies to wear very long dresses, and as no time was to be lost, the soldiers being on his heels, she hastily concealed him beneath the folds of her dress. Mrs. Cogan was in her affections a Royalist, but her husband, who was then out upon his estate, belonged to the opposite party. Observing the approach of the soldiers, he made towards the house, and together they entered the room where the lady was sitting, who affected surprise at their intrusion. The men immediately announced their business, stating that Prince Charles had been traced very near the house, and as he must be concealed upon the premises, they were authorised to make a strict search for him. Assenting with apparent readiness to their object, Mrs. Cogan kept her seat, whilst her husband accompanied the men into every room. At length, having searched the premises in vain, they took their departure, Mr. Cogan going out with them. Being now released from her singular and perilous situation, the lady provided for the security of the fugitive until it was prudent for him to depart, when, furnished with provisions and a change of apparel, he proceeded on his journey to Trent, and after further adventures, from thence to Brighthelmstone, then a poor fishing town, where he embarked for France. After he had reached the Continent Charles rewarded the lady's fidelity by sending her a handsome gold chain and locket having his arms on the reverse, which was long preserved in the family. There was a curious stone in the churchyard at Axminster placed over the remains of a crippled gentleman whose crutches were buried with him, a copy of them being carved on the stone. He was the father of William Buckland, the eminent geologist, who was Dean of Westminster and died in 1856. Our next stage was Honiton, the "town of lace," and we walked quickly onwards for about six miles until we reached the foot of Honiton Hill, a considerable elevation which stood between ourselves and that town; and after an upward gradient of a mile or two we gained a fine view both of the town and the beautiful country beyond, which included Dumpdown Hill, crowned with an ancient circular camp. Several definitions of the word Honiton had been given, but the most acceptable, and perhaps the correct one and certainly the sweetest, was that of the "Honey Town," originating, it was said, at a time when the hills which surrounded the place were covered with thyme, "sweet to the taste and fragrant to the smell; and so attractive to the bees that large quantities of honey were produced there." The bee-farmers even in Saxon times were important personages, for sugar was not imported and honey was the sweetener for all kinds of food and liquor. Honiton, like many other towns, largely consisted of one wide street; and Daniel Defoe, in his journey from London to Land's End, early in the year 1700, described this "town of lace" as large and beautiful, and "so very remarkably paved with small pebbles, that on either side the way a little channel is left shouldered up on the sides of it; so that it holds a small stream of fine running water, with a little square dipping-place left at every door, so that every family in the town has a clear running river just at their own door; and this so much finer, so much pleasanter than that of Salisbury, that in my opinion there is no comparison." The running streams had now disappeared both here and at Salisbury, but we could quite understand why one was so much better than the other, as the water running through Salisbury was practically on the level, while that at Honiton ran down the hill and had ample fall. Lancashire ideas of manufacturing led us to expect to find a number of factories at Honiton where the lace was made for which the town was so famous, but we found it was all being worked by hand by women and girls, and in private houses. We were privileged to see some very beautiful patterns that were being worked to adorn fashionable ladies in London and elsewhere. The industry was supposed to have been introduced here originally by Flemish refugees in the fifteenth century, and had been patronised by Royalty since the marriage of Queen Charlotte in 1761, who on that occasion wore a Honiton lace dress, every flower on which was copied from nature. We were informed by a man who was standing near the "Dolphin Inn," where we called for tea, that the lace trade was "a bigger business before the Bank broke," but he could not tell us what bank it was or when it "broke," so we concluded it must have been a local financial disaster that happened a long time ago. The Roman road from Bath to Exeter passed through Honiton, and the weekly market had been held on each side of that road from time immemorial; the great summer fair being also held there on the first Wednesday and Thursday after July 19th. A very old custom was observed on that occasion, for on the Tuesday preceding the fair the town crier went round the town carrying a white glove on a pole and crying: O yes! The Fair is begun, And no man dare to be arrested Until the Fair is done, while on the Friday evening he again went round the town ringing his bell, to show that the fair was over. The origin of this custom appeared to be shrouded in mystery, as we could get no satisfactory explanation, but we thought that those three days' grace must have served as an invitation to evil-doers to visit the town. The church contained the tomb of Thomas Marwood, who, according to an inscription thereon, "practised Physick and Chirurgery above seventy-five years, and being aged above 105 years, departed in ye Catholic Faith September ye 18th Anno Domini 1617." Marwood became famous in consequence of his having--possibly, it was suggested, by pure accident--cured the Earl of Essex of a complaint that afflicted him, for which service he was presented with an estate in the neighbourhood of Honiton by Queen Elizabeth. The "Dolphin Inn" at Honiton was where we made our first practical acquaintance with the delectable Devonshire clotted cream, renewed afterwards on every possible occasion. The inn was formerly the private mansion of the Courtenay family, and its sign was one of the family crests, "a Dolphin embowed" or bent like a bow. This inn had been associated with all the chief events of the town and neighbourhood during the past three centuries, and occupied a prominent position near the market cross on the main road. In January 1688 the inn had been willed to Richard Minify, and after his death to his daughter Ann Minify, and it was in that year that William, Prince of Orange, set sail for England, and landed at Torbay in Devonshire. The advanced guard of his army reached Honiton on October 19th, and the commander, Colonel Tollemache, and his staff occupied the "Dolphin." William was very coldly received by the county families in Devonshire, as they remained strongly attached to the Jacobite cause, and to demonstrate their adhesion to the House of Stuart they planted Scotch fir trees near their mansions. On the other hand, many of the clergy sympathised with the rebellion, and to show their loyalty to the cause they planted avenues of lime trees from the churchyard gate to the church porch. James II, whom William came to replace, wrote in his memoirs that the events that happened at Honiton were the turning-point of his fortunes, and it was at the "Dolphin" that these events culminated, leading to the desertion of the King's soldiers in favour of William. It seemed strange that a popular song set to a popular tune could influence a whole army, and incidentally depose a monarch from his throne. Yet such was the case here. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF HONITON LACE. From specimens kindly lent by Mrs. Fowler, of Honiton. The lower example is a corner of a handkerchief specially made for Queen Mary.] Lieutenant-General Richard Talbot, who was in Ireland in 1685, had recommended himself to his bigoted master, James II, by his arbitrary treatment of the Protestants in that country, and in the following year he was created Earl of Tyrconnel, and, being a furious Papist, was nominated by the King to the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland. In 1688 he was going to Ireland on a second expedition at the time that the advanced guard of William of Orange reached Honiton, and when the advanced guard of King James's English army was at Salisbury. It was at this critical period that Lord Wharton, who has been described as "a political weathercock, a bad spendthrift, and a poet of some pretensions," joined the Prince of Orange in the Revolution, and published this famous song. He seems to have been a dissolute man, and ended badly, although he was a visitor at the "Dolphin" at that time, with many distinguished personages. In the third edition of the small pamphlet in which the song was first published Lord Wharton was described "as a Late Viceroy of Ireland who has so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief, invention, and lying, and for making a certain 'Lilliburlero' song with which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Prince out of three kingdoms." It was said that the music of the song was composed by Henry Purcell, the organist of Westminster Abbey, and contributed not a little to the success of the Revolution. Be this as it may, Burnet, then Bishop of Salisbury, wrote: It made an impression on the King's army that cannot be imagined.... The whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were singing it perpetually ... never had so slight a thing so great an effect. Purcell's music generally was much admired, and the music to "Lilli Burlero," which was the name of the song, must have been "taking" and a good tune to march to, for the words themselves would scarcely have had such a momentous result. It was a long time before it died out in the country districts, where we could remember the chorus being sung in our childhood's days. A copy of the words but not the music appeared in Percy's _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_: Ho! broder Teague, dost hear de decree? Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- Dat we shall have a new deputie, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. _Chorus_: Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- And he will cut all de English troate: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Dough by my shoul de English do praat, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- De law's on dare side, breish knows what: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. But if dispense do come from de Pope, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. For de good Talbot is made a lord, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- And with brave lads is coming a-board: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Who in all France have taken a sware, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- Dat dey will have no Protestant heir: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Ara! but why does he stay behind? Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Ho! by my shoul 'tis a Protestant wind: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore. Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- And we shall have commissions gillore: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. And he dat will not go to de mass, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- Shall be turn out and look like an ass: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Now, now de hereticks all go down, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. By Chrish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Dare was an old Prophecy found in a bog, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- "Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog": Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. And now dis Prophecy is come to pass, Lilli burlero, bullen a-la-- For Talbot's de dog, and James is de ass: Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. _Chorus after each verse_: Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. Lilliburlero and Bullen a-la were said to have been words of distinction used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641--a massacre which gave renewed strength to the traditions which made the name of Bloody Mary so hated in England. In 1789 George III halted opposite the "Dolphin" to receive the loyal greetings of the townspeople, and on August 3rd, 1833, the Princess Victoria, afterwards Queen, stayed there to change horses; the inn was also the leading rendezvous at the parliamentary elections when Honiton returned two members to Parliament. In the eighteenth century the inn was often the temporary home of Sir William Yonge and Sir George Yonge, his equally famous son, and of Alderman Brass Crosby, Lord Mayor of London, each of whom was M.P. for Honiton. The family of Yonge predominated, for whom Honiton appeared to have been a pocket borough, and a very expensive one to maintain, as Sir George Yonge, who was first returned in 1754, said in his old age that he inherited £80,000 from his father, that his wife brought him a similar amount, and Government also paid him £80,000, but Honiton had swallowed it all! A rather numerous class of voters there were the Potwallers or Potwallopers, whose only qualification was that they had boiled their pots in the parish for six months. Several attempts were made to resist their claim to vote, but they were unsuccessful, and the matter was only terminated by the Reform Bill of 1832; so possibly Sir George had to provide the inducement whereby the Potwallopers gave the family their support during the full term in which he served the free and independent electors of Honiton in Parliament. A hospital for lepers, founded as early as the fourteenth century, was now used for the deserving poor; and near the old chapel, attached to the hospital cottages, the place was pointed out to us where the local followers of the Duke of Monmouth who were unfortunate enough to come under the judgment of the cruel Judge Jeffreys were boiled in pitch and their limbs exhibited on the shambles and other public places. We had a comparatively easy walk of sixteen miles to Exeter, as the road was level and good, with only one small hill. For the first four miles we had the company of the small river Otter, which, after passing Honiton, turned here under the highway to Ottery St. Mary, on its course towards the sea. The county of Devon is the third largest in England, and having a long line of sea-coast to protect, it was naturally warlike in olden times, and the home of many of our bravest sailors and soldiers. When there was no foreign enemy to fight they, like the Scots, occasionally fought each other, and even the quiet corner known as the Fenny Bridges, where the Otter passed under our road, had been the scene of a minor battle, to be followed by a greater at a point where the river Clyst ran under the same road, about four miles from Exeter. In the time of Edward VI after the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII changes were made in religious services, which the West-country people were not prepared to accept. On Whit-Sunday, June 9th, 1549, the new service was read in the church of Sampford Courtenay for the first time. The people objected to it, and compelled the priest to say mass as before, instead of using the Book of Common Prayer, which had now become law. Many other parishes objected likewise, and a rebellion broke out, of which Humphrey Arundel, the Governor of St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall, took the lead. Their army of 10,000 men marched on to Exeter and besieged it, and they also occupied and fortified Clyst St. Mary and sent up a series of demands to the King. Lord Russell, who had been glutted with the spoils of the monasteries, and was therefore keen in his zeal for the new order, was sent with a small force accompanied by three preachers licensed to preach in such places as Lord Russell should appoint; but he was alarmed at the numbers opposed to him, and waited at Honiton until the arrival of more troops should enable him to march to the relief of Exeter. Being informed that a party of the enemy were on the march to attack him, Russell left the town to meet them, and found some of them occupying Fenny Bridges while the remainder were stationed in the adjoining meadow. He was successful in winning the fight, and returned to Honiton to recruit. He then attacked the rebels on Clyst Heath and defeated them, but it was a hard-fought fight, and "such was the valour of these men that the Lord Grey reported himself that he never, in all the wars he had been in, did know the like." The rebels were mercilessly butchered and the ringleaders executed--the Vicar of St. Thomas' by Exeter, a village we passed through the following morning, who was with the rebels, being taken to his church and hanged from the tower, where his body was left to dangle for four years. We had been walking in the dark for some hours, but the road was straight, and as we had practically had a non-stop walk from Honiton we were ready on our arrival at Exeter for a good supper and bed at one of the old inns on the Icknield Way, which, with several churches, almost surrounded the Cathedral. (_Distance walked thirty-eight miles_.) _Saturday, November 11th._ Exeter, formerly known as the "City of the West" and afterwards as the "Ever-Faithful City," was one of the most interesting places we had visited. It had occupied a strong strategical position in days gone by, for it was only ten miles from the open sea, sufficient for it to be protected from sudden attacks, yet the river Exe, on which it is situated, was navigable for the largest ships afloat up to about the time of the Spanish Armada. Situated in the midst of a fine agricultural country, it was one of the stations of the Romans, and the terminus of the ancient Icknield Way, so that an army landed there could easily march into the country beyond. Afterwards it became the capital of the West Saxons, Athelstan building his castle on an ancient earthwork known--from the colour of the earth or rock of which it was composed--as the "Red Mound." His fort, and the town as well, were partially destroyed in the year 1003 by the Danes under Sweyn, King of Denmark. Soon after the Norman invasion William the Conqueror built his castle on the same site--the "Red Mound"--the name changing into the Norman tongue as Rougemont; and when King Edward IV came to Exeter in 1469, in pursuit of the Lancastrian Earls Clarence and Warwick, who escaped by ship from Dartmouth, he was, according to Shakespeare's _Richard III_, courteously shown the old Castle of Rougemont by the Mayor. We could not requisition the services of his Worship at such an early hour this morning, but we easily found the ruins of Rougemont without his assistance; though, beyond an old tower with a dungeon beneath it and a small triangular window said to be of Saxon workmanship, very little remained. The ruins had been laid out to the best advantage, and the grounds on the slope of the ancient keep had been formed into terraces and planted with flowers, bushes, and trees. As this work had originally been carried out as far back as the year 1612, the grounds claimed to be the oldest public gardens in England: the avenues of great trees had been planted about fifty years later. Perkin Warbeck was perhaps one of the most romantic characters who visited Exeter, for he claimed to be Richard, Duke of York, who, he contended, was not murdered in the Tower of London, as generally supposed. As the Duke he claimed to be more entitled to the Crown of England than Henry VII, who was then on the throne, Perkin Warbeck, on the other hand, was described as the son of a Tournai Jew, but there seemed to be some doubt about this. In any case the Duchess of Burgundy acknowledged him as "her dear nephew," and his claim was supported by Charles VIII of France and James IV of Scotland; from the former he received a pension, and from the latter the hand of his relative Lady Catherine Gordon in marriage. [Illustration: ATHELSTAN'S TOWER.] He arrived at Exeter on September 27th, 1497, with 7,000 men, and after burning the North Gate he forced his way through the city towards the Castle, but was defeated there by Sir Richard Courtenay, the Earl of Devon, and taken prisoner. For some mysterious reason it was not until November 3rd, 1499, more than two years after the battle, that he was hanged for treason, at Tyburn. Another strange incident was that when King Henry VII came to Exeter after the battle, and the followers of Perkin Warbeck were brought before him with halters round their necks and bare-headed, to plead for mercy, he generously pardoned them and set them at liberty. The fighting in the district we had passed through last night occurred in 1549, the second year of the reign of King Edward VI. A pleasing story was related of this King, to the effect that when he was a boy and wanted something from a shelf he could not quite reach, his little playfellow, seeing the difficulty, carried him a big book to stand upon, that would just have enabled him to get what he wanted; but when Edward saw what book it was that he had brought he would not stand upon it because it was the "Holy Bible." The religious disturbances we have already recorded were not confined to the neighbourhood of Exeter, but extended all over England, and were the result of an Act of Parliament for which the people were not prepared, and which was apparently of too sweeping a character, for by it all private Masses were abolished, all images removed from churches, and the Book of Common Prayer introduced. It was the agitation against this Act that caused the 10,000 Cornish and Devonian men, who were described as rebels, incited also by their priests, to besiege the city of Exeter, and to summon the Mayor and Council to capitulate. This the "Ever-Faithful City" refused to do, and held out for thirty-six days, until Lord Russell and Lord Grey appeared on the scene with the Royal army and raised the siege. In 1643, during the Civil War, Exeter surrendered to Prince Maurice, the nephew of Charles I, and three years later capitulated to the Army of the Parliament on condition that the garrison should march out with all the honours of war. The unhappy wife of Charles I arrived at Exeter in 1644, having a few days previously bidden her husband "Good-bye" for the last time, a sorrowful parting which we had heard about at Abingdon, where it had taken place, and whither Charles had accompanied her from Oxford. She stayed at Bedford House in Exeter, where she was delivered of a daughter, who was named Henrietta, being baptized in the cathedral in a magnificent new font erected especially for the occasion. The Queen left the city on July 14th, and sailed from Falmouth to France, where she stayed at the Court of Louis XIV. Twelve days later the King reached Exeter, and called to see his infant daughter, and he again stayed at Bedford House on his return from Cornwall on September 17th, 1645. [Illustration: EXETER CATHEDRAL, WEST FRONT.] In 1671 Charles II, his son, also passed through Exeter, and stayed to accept a gift of £500 from the city as a testimony of its loyalty and gratitude for his restoration and return; and the "Merrie Monarch" afterwards sent the city a portrait of his sister, the unfortunate Henrietta, to whom he was passionately attached. As Duchess of Orleans she had an unhappy life, and her somewhat sudden death was attributed to poison. Her portrait, painted by Lely, was still hanging in the Guildhall, and was highly prized as one of the greatest treasures of the city. We went to see the Cathedral, but were rather disappointed with its external appearance, which seemed dark and dismal compared with that of Salisbury. A restoration was in progress, and repairs were being carried out with some light-coloured and clean-looking stone, not of a very durable nature, which looked quite beautiful when new, but after being exposed to the weather for a few years would become as dull and dark-looking as the other. The interior of the cathedral, however, was very fine, and we were sorry we had not time to explore it thoroughly. Some very old books were preserved in it--the most valuable being a Saxon manuscript called _Codex Exoniensis_, dating from the ninth century, and also the _Exeter Domesday_, said to be the exact transcript of the original returns made by the Commissioners appointed by William the Conqueror at the time of the Survey, from which the great Domesday was completed. The minstrel gallery dated from the year 1354, and many musical instruments used in the fourteenth century were represented by carvings on the front, as being played by twelve angels. The following were the names of the instruments: cittern, bagpipe, clarion, rebec, psaltery, syrinx, sackbut, regals, gittern, shalm, timbral, and cymbals! Some of these names, my brother remarked, were not known to modern musicians, and they would be difficult to harmonise if all the instruments had to be played at the same time; his appreciation of the bagpipe was doubtless enhanced, seeing that it occupied the second position. The cathedral also possessed a marvellous and quaint-looking clock some hundreds of years old, said to have been the production of that famous monk of Glastonbury who made the wonderful clock in Wells Cathedral, which on striking the hour sets in motion two armoured figures of knights on horseback, armed with spears, who move towards each other in a circle high above the central arches, as if engaged in a tournament. The clock at Exeter showed the hour of the day and the age of the moon, and upon the face or dial were two circles, one marked from 1 to 30 for the days of the month, and the other figured I to XII twice over for the hours. In the centre was a semi-globe representing the earth, round which was a smaller ball, the moon, painted half gold and half black, which revolved during each month, and in turning upon its axis showed the various phases of the luminary that it represented. Between the two circles was a third ball representing the sun, with a fleur-de-lys which pointed to the hours as the sun, according to the ancient theory, daily revolved round the earth; underneath was an inscription relating to the hours: PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR (They pass, and are placed to our account.) The notes telling the hours were struck upon the rich-toned bell named "Great Peter," which was placed above, the curfew or _couvre-feu_ ("cover-fire") being also rung upon the same bell. The curfew bell was formerly sounded at sunset, to give notice that all fires and lights must be extinguished. It was instituted by William the Conqueror and continued during the reign of William Rufus, but was abolished as a "police regulation" in the reign of Henry I. The custom was still observed in many places, and we often heard the sound of the curfew bell, which was almost invariably rung at eight o'clock in the evening. The poet Gray commences his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard" with-- The curfew tolls the knell of parting day; and one of the most popular dramatic pieces in the English language, written by an American schoolgirl born in 1850, was entitled "The Curfew Bell." She described how, in Cromwell's time, a young Englishwoman, whose sweetheart was doomed to die that night at the tolling of the curfew bell, after vainly trying to persuade the old sexton not to ring it, prevented it by finding her way up the tower to the belfry and holding on to the tongue of the great bell. Meanwhile the old sexton who had told her "the curfew bell _must_ ring tonight" was pulling the bell-rope below, causing her to sway backwards and forwards in danger of losing her life while murmuring the words "Curfew shall _not_ ring to-night": O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow, Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now. At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn; And her sweet young face, still haggard with the anguish it had worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light. "Go! Your lover lives!" cried Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" Wide they flung the massive portals, led the prisoner forth to die, All his bright young life before him. 'Neath the darkening English sky Bessie came, with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with love-light sweet; Kneeling on the turf beside him, laid his pardon at his feet. In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white, Whispered: "Darling, you have saved me; curfew will not ring to-night!" The "Great Peter" bell was presented to Exeter Cathedral in the fifteenth century by Bishop Peter Courtenay, and when re-cast in 1676 weighed 14,000 lb., being then considered the second largest bell in England. The curfew was tolled on "Great Peter" every night at eight o'clock, and after that hour had been sounded and followed by a short pause, the same bell tolled the number of strokes correspending with the day of the month. This was followed by another short pause, and then eight deliberate strokes were tolled. Ever since the time of William the Conqueror there appeared to have been too many churches in Exeter, for it was said that thirty-two were known to have existed at the time of the Conquest, and that in the year 1222 the Bishop reduced the number to nineteen, of which sixteen still remained at the time of our visit, while the sites of the remaining three could be located. A further effort to reduce the number was made in the time of the Commonwealth, when an Act was passed to reduce them to four, but the accession of King Charles II prevented this from being carried out. One of the old churches stood at the top of a small elevation known as Stepcote Hill, approached by a very narrow street, one half of which was paved and the other formed into steps leading to the "Church of St. Mary's Steps," the tower of which displayed a sixteenth-century clock. On the dial appeared the seated figure of King Henry VIII guarded by two soldiers, one on each side, who strike the hours; they are commonly known as "Matthew the Miller and his two sons." [Illustration: THE GUILDHALL, EXETER. "We thought the old Guildhall even more interesting than the Cathedral."] Matthew was a miller who lived in the neighbourhood, and was so regular in his goings out and comings in that the neighbours set their time by him; but there was no doubt that the figure represented "Old King Hal," and it seemed strange that the same king should have been associated by one of the poets with a miller who had a mill in our county town of Chester: There dwelt a Miller hale and bold Beside the river Dee, He work'd and sang from morn till night, No lark more blithe than he; And this the burden of his song For ever used to be-- "I envy nobody, no, not I, And nobody envies me!" "Thou'rt wrong, my friend," cried Old King Hal "Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be; For could my heart be light as thine I'd gladly change with thee. And tell me now what makes thee sing With voice so loud and free, While I am sad though I'm the King, Beside the river Dee!" The Miller smil'd and doff'd his cap, "I earn my bread," quoth he; "I love my wife, I love my friend, I love my children three; I owe no penny I cannot pay; I thank the river Dee, That turns the mill that grinds the corn To feed my babes and me." "Farewell," cried Hal, and sighed the while, "Farewell! and happy be-- But say no more, if thou'd be true, That no one envies thee; Thy mealy cap is worth my crown, Thy mill, my kingdom's fee; Such men as thou are England's boast, Oh Miller of the Dee." [Illustration: MATTHEW THE MILLER AND HIS TWO SONS.] We thought the old Guildhall even more interesting than the Cathedral, the old Icknield Way, which entered the city by the High Street, passing close to it; and in fact, it seemed as if the Hall, which formed the centre of the civic life of the city, had encroached upon the street, as the four huge pillars which supported the front part were standing on the outside edge of the footpath. These four pillars had the appearance of great solidity and strength, as also had the building overhead which they supported, and which extended a considerable distance to the rear. The massive entrance door, dated 1593, thickly studded with large-headed nails, showed that the city fathers in former times had a lively sense of self-protection from troublesome visitors. But the only besiegers now were more apparent than real, as the covered footpath formed a substantial shelter from a passing shower. Behind this a four-light window displayed the Arms of France as well as those of England; there were also emblazoned in stained glass the arms of the mayors, sheriffs, and recorders from 1835 to 1864. The city arms were ratified in 1564, and in the Letters Patent of that date they are thus described: Uppon a wreathe golde and sables, a demye-lyon gules, armed and langued azure crowned, supportinge a bale thereon a crosse botone golde, mantelled azure doubled argent, and for the supporters two pagassis argent, their houes and mane golde, their winges waney of six argent and azure. [Illustration: PRINCESS HENRIETTA. (_From the painting by Lely, in the Guildhall_.)] The motto "Semper Fidelis" (ever faithful) had been bestowed on the city by Queen Elizabeth, and Exeter has ever since been described as "The Ever-Faithful City." There were a number of fine old paintings in the Hall, but the one which attracted the most attention was that of the Princess Henrietta by Sir Peter Lely. In the turret above was hung the old chapel bell, which served as an alarm in case of fire, and bore an inscription in Latin, "Celi Regina me protege queso ruina," or "O Queen of Heaven, protect me, I beseech thee, from harm." The insignia case in the Guildhall contained four maces, two swords of state, a cap of maintenance, a mayor's chain and badge, four chains for the sergeants-at-mace, a loving cup, and a salver. The mayor's chain dated from 1697. The older sword of the two was given to the city by Edward IV on the occasion of his visit in 1470, "to be carried before the mayor on all public occasions." The sheath is wrapped in crape, the sword having been put in mourning at the Restoration; it was annually carried in the procession to the cathedral on the anniversary of the death of Charles I until the year 1859, when the service in commemoration of his death was removed from the Prayer-Book. The other sword was given to the city by Henry VII on his visit in 1497, after his victory over Perkin Warbeck, when "he heartily thanked his citizens for their faithful and valuable service done against the rebels"--promised them the fullness of his favour and gave them a sword taken from his own side, and also a cap of maintenance, commanding that "for the future in all public places within the said city the same should be borne before the mayor, as for a like purpose his noble predecessor King Edward the Fourth had done." The cap of maintenance was formerly worn by the sword-bearer on ceremonial occasions, but was now carried on a cushion. The cap was made of black beaver, and was preserved inside the embroidered crimson velvet cover made in 1634. The sword of Edward IV was said to be the only existing sword of the early English monarchs. [Illustration: THE COMMON SEAL OF EXETER.] The beautiful silver chains worn by the sergeants-at-mace with alternate links of X and R, standing for Exeter, date from about the year 1500, and were previously worn by the city waits. Exeter is the only city that has four mace-bearers, and the common seal of the city is one of the oldest in the kingdom, dating from 1170, and still in use. The civic ceremonies, and especially those on Assize Sunday, are very grand affairs. On that occasion the Judges and Corporation attend the cathedral in state. The Judges arrive in the state-coach attired in their robes and wigs, attended by the county sheriff in uniform, and escorted by trumpeters and a posse of police. The Corporation march from the Guildhall, the mayor in his sable robe and the sheriff in purple, attended by their chaplains and the chief city officials in their robes, and accompanied also by the magistrates, aldermen, and councillors. In front are borne the four maces, Henry VII's sword and the cap of maintenance, escorted by the city police. The Judges on their arrival at the great west door of the cathedral are met by the Bishop and other dignitaries of the Church in their robes and conducted to their official places in the choir, whilst the beautiful organ peals out the National Anthem. On the third Tuesday in July a curious custom was observed, as on that day a large white stuffed glove decorated with flowers was hung in front of the Guildhall, the townspeople having been duly warned, to the sound of the drum and fife, that the great Lammas Fair, which lasted for three days, had begun; the glove was then hoisted for the term of the fair. Lammas Day falls on the first day of August, and was in Saxon times the Feast of First-fruits; sometimes a loaf of bread was given to the priest in lieu of first-fruit. It seems to have been a similar fair to that described at Honiton, but did not appear to carry with it freedom from arrest during the term of the fair, as was the case in that town. The records or archives possessed by the city of Exeter are almost continuous from the time of Edward I, and have been written and compiled in the most careful manner. They are probably the most remarkable of those kept by the various towns or cities in the provinces. They include no less than forty-nine Royal Charters, the earliest existing being that granted by Henry II in the twelfth century, and attested by Thomas à-Becket. A herb (_Acorus calamus_ or sweet sage), which was found in the neighbourhood of Exeter, was highly prized in former times for its medicinal qualities, being used for diseases of the eye and in intermittent fevers. It had an aromatic scent, even when in a dried state, and its fragrant leaves were used for strewing the floors of churches. It was supposed to be the rush which was strewn over the floor of the apartments occupied by Thomas à-Becket, who was considered luxurious and extravagant because he insisted upon a clean supply daily; but this apparent extravagance was due to his visitors, who were at times so numerous that some of them were compelled to sit on the floors. It was quite a common occurrence in olden times for corpses to be buried in churches, which caused a very offensive smell; and it might be to counteract this that the sweet-smelling sage was employed. We certainly knew of one large church in Lancashire within the walls of which it was computed that 6,000 persons had been buried. It was astonishing how many underground passages we had heard of on our journey. What strange imaginations they conjured up in our minds! As so few of them were now in existence, we concluded that many might have been more in the nature of trenches cut on the surface of the land and covered with timber or bushes; but there were old men in Exeter who were certain that there was a tunnel between the site of the old castle and the cathedral, and from there to other parts of the city, and they could remember some of them being broken into and others blocked up at the ends. We were also quite sure ourselves that such tunnels formerly existed, but the only one we had actually seen passed between a church and a castle. It had just been found accidentally in making an excavation, and was only large enough for one man at a time to creep through comfortably. There were a number of old inns in Exeter besides the old "Globe," which had been built on the Icknield Way in such a manner as to block that road, forming a terminus, as if to compel travellers to patronise the inn; and some of these houses were associated with Charles Dickens when he came down from London to Exeter in 1835 to report on Lord John Russell's candidature for Parliament for the _Morning Observer_. The election was a very exciting one, and the great novelist, it was said, found food for one of his novels in the ever-famous Eatonswill, and the ultra-abusive editors. Four years afterwards Dickens leased a cottage at Alphington, a village about a mile and a half away from Exeter, for his father and mother, who resided there for three and a half years. Dickens frequently came to see them, and "Mr. Micawber," with his ample seals and air of importance, made a great impression on the people of the village. Dickens freely entered into the social life of Exeter, and he was a regular visitor on these occasions at the old "Turk's Head Inn," adjoining the Guildhall, where it was said he picked up the "Fat Boy" in _Pickwick_. Mrs. Lupin of the "Blue Dragon" appeared as a character in _Martin Chuzzlewit_, and "Pecksniff" was a local worthy whom he grossly and unpardonably caricatured. [Illustration: "MILE END COTTAGE," ALPHINGTON.] On leaving Exeter we crossed the river by the Exe bridge and followed the course of that stream on our way to regain the sea-coast, entering the suburb of St. Thomas the Apostle, where at a church mentioned in 1222 as being "without the walls," we saw the tower from which the vicar was hanged for being concerned in the insurrection of 1549. At Alphington we had pointed out to us the "Mile End Cottage," formerly the residence of the parents of Charles Dickens, and then walked on to Exminster, expecting from its name to find something interesting, but we were doomed to disappointment. On the opposite side of the river, however, we could see the quaint-looking little town of Topsham, which appeared as if it had been imported from Holland, a country which my brother had visited seven years previously; we heard that the principal treasures stored in the houses there were Dutch tiles. Ships had formerly passed this place on their way to Exeter, but about the year 1290 Isabella de-Fortibus, Countess of Exeter, having been offended by the people there, blocked up the river with rocks and stones, thereby completely obstructing the navigation and doing much damage to the trade of Exeter. At that time cloths and serges were woven from the wool for which the neighbourhood of Exeter was famous, and exported to the Continent, the ships returning with wines and other merchandise; hence Exeter was at that time the great wine-importing depot of the country. The weir which thus blocked the river was still known as the "Countess Weir," and Topsham--which, by the way, unlike Exeter, absolutely belonged to the Earls of Devon--increased in importance, for ships had now to stop there instead of going through to Exeter. The distance between the two places is only about four miles, and the difficulty appeared to have been met in the first instance by the construction of a straight road from Exeter, to enable goods to be conveyed between that city and the new port. This arrangement continued for centuries, but in 1544 a ship canal was made to Topsham, which was extended and enlarged in 1678 and again in 1829, so that Exeter early recovered its former position, as is well brought out in the finely-written book of the _Exeter Guild of Merchant Adventurers_, still in existence. Its Charter was dated June 17th, 1599, and by it Queen Elizabeth incorporated certain merchants under the style of "The Governors Consuls, and Society of the Merchant Adventurers of the Citye and County of Exeter, traffiqueing the Realme of Fraunce and the Dominions of the French Kinge." The original canal was a small one and only adapted for boats carrying about fifteen tons: afterwards it was enlarged to a depth of fifteen feet of water--enough for the small ships of those days--for even down to Tudor times a hundred-ton boat constituted a man-of-war. This canal made Exeter the fifth port in the kingdom in tonnage, and it claimed to be the first lock canal constructed in England. Its importance gradually declined after the introduction of railways and the demand for larger ships, and the same causes affected Topsham, its rival. [Illustration: POWDERHAM CASTLE.] Leaving Exminster, we had a delightful walk to Powderham, the ancient seat of the Courtenay family, the Earls of Devon, who were descended from Atho, the French crusader. The first of the three branches of this family became Emperors of the West before the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, the second intermarried with the royal family of France, and the third was Reginald Courtenay, who came to England in the twelfth century and received honours and lands from Henry II. His family have been for six centuries Earls of Devon, and rank as one of the most honoured in England. We called to see the little church at Powderham, which stood quite near the river side, and which, like many others, was built of the dark red sandstone peculiar to the district. There were figures in it of Moses and Aaron, supposed originally to be placed to guard the two tablets containing the Ten Commandments; and there were the remains of an old screen, but the panels had suffered so severely that the figures and emblems could not be properly distinguished. There was also under an arch a very old monument, said to be that of the famous Isabella de-Fortibus, Countess of Devon, who died in 1293. She was the sister of the last Earl Baldwin de Redvers, and married William de-Fortibus, Earl of Albemarle, in 1282. Her feet rested on a dog, while on either side her head were two small child-angels, the dog and children being supposed to point to her as the heroine of a story recorded in a very old history of Exeter: An inhabitant of the city being a very poor man and having many children, thought himself blessed too much in that kind, wherefore to avoid the charge that was likely to grow upon him in that way absented himself seven years together from his wife. But then returning, she within the space of a year afterwards was delivered of seven male children at a birth, which made the poor man to think himself utterly undone, and thereby despairing put them all in a basket with full intent to have drowned them: but Divine Providence following him, occasioned a lady then within the said city coming at this instant of time in his way to demand of him what he carried in that basket, who replied that he had there whelps, which she desired to see, who, after view perceiving that they were children, compelled the poor man to acquaint her with the whole circumstances, whom, when she had sharply rebuked for such his humanity, presently commanded them all to be taken from him and put to nurse, then to school, and so to the university, and in process of time, being attained to man's estate and well qualified in learning, made means and procured benefices for every one of them. The language used in this story was very quaint, and was probably the best tale related about Isabella, the Countess of Devon; but old "Isaacke," the ancient writer, in his history remarks that it "will hardly persuade credit." We could not learn what became of William her husband; but Isabella seemed to have been an extremely strong-minded, determined woman, and rather spiteful, for it was she who blocked the river so that the people of Exeter, who had offended her, could have neither "fishing nor shipping" below the weir. On one occasion, when four important parishes had a dispute about their boundaries, she summoned all their principal men to meet her on the top of a swampy hill, and throwing her ring into the bog told them that where it lay was where the parishes met; the place is known to this day as "Ring-in-the-Mire." We passed by Powderham Castle, and saw some magnificent trees in the park, and on a wooded hill the Belvedere, erected in 1773. This was a triangular tower 60 feet high, with a hexagonal turret at each corner for sight-seeing, and from it a beautiful view over land and sea could be obtained. With regard to the churches in this part of England, we learned that while Somerset was noted for towers and Cornwall for crosses, the churches in Devonshire were noted for screens, and nearly every church we visited had a screen or traces where one had existed, some of them being very beautiful, especially that in Kenton church, which we now went to inspect. Farther north the images and paintings on the screens, and even the woodwork, had been badly disfigured, but some of the old work in Devon had been well preserved. The screens had been intended to protect the chancel of the church from the nave, to teach people that on entering the chancel they were entering the most sacred part of the church, and images and paintings were placed along the screens. The same idea, but in another direction, was carried out on the outside of the churches; for there also the people, scarcely any of whom in those days could read or write, were taught, by means of images and horrible-looking gargoyles worked in stone placed on the outside of the church and steeple, that everything vile and wicked was in the world outside the church. The beautiful pictures and images inside the church were intended to show that everything pure and holy was to be found within: the image of the patron saint being generally placed over the doorway. [Illustration: BELVEDERE TOWER.] [Illustration: KENTON CHURCH.] The village of Kenton was hidden in a small dell, and possessed a village green, in the centre of which were the remains of an old cross. The church tower was one hundred feet high, surmounted by an unusually tall pinnacle at each corner, the figure of a saint appearing in a niche, presumably for protection. Kenton must have been a place of some importance in early times, for Henry III had granted it an annual fair on the feast of All Saints. The magnificent screen in the church not only reached across the chancel, but continued across the two transepts or chapels on either side, and rose in tiers of elaborate carving towards the top of the chancel arch. No less than forty of its panels retained their original pictures of saints and prophets, with scrolls of Latin inscriptions alternating with verses from the Old Testament and clauses from the Apostles' Creed. Most of the screen was fifteenth-century work, and it was one of the finest in the county; much of the work was Flemish. On it were images of saints, both male and female, and of some of the prophets, the saints being distinguishable by the nimbus or halo round their heads, and the prophets by caps and flowing robes after the style of the Jewish costumes in the Middle Ages. There was also a magnificent pulpit of about the same date as the screen, and so richly designed as to equal any carved pulpit in Europe. It was said to have been carved from the trunk of a single oak tree and ornamented in gilt and colours. The number of screens in the churches near the sea-coast caused us to wonder whether some of them had been brought by sea from Flanders or France, as we remembered that our Cheshire hero, and a famous warrior, Sir Hugh de Calveley, who kept up the reputation of our county by eating a calf at one meal, and who died about the year 1400, had enriched his parish church with the spoils of France; but the lovely old oak furniture, with beautifully figured panels, some containing figures of saints finely painted, which he brought over, had at a recent "restoration" (?) been taken down and sold at two pounds per cartload! We sincerely hoped that such would not be the fate of the beautiful work at Kenton. We now came to Star Cross, a place where for centuries there had been a ferry across the River Exe, between the extreme west and east of Devon. The rights of the ferry had formerly belonged to the abbots of Sherborne, who had surmounted the landing-place with a cross, which had now disappeared. The ferry leads by a rather tortuous passage of two miles to Exmouth, a town we could see in the distance across the water; but troublesome banks of sand, one forming a rabbit warren, obstructed the mouth of the river. We also passed through Cofton, a small village noted for its cockles, which the women gathered along the shore in a costume that made them resemble a kind of mermaid, except that the lower half resembled that of a man rather than a fish. About two miles from Cofton was the village of Mamhead, with its obelisk built in 1742, one hundred feet high, on the top of a spur of the Great Haldon Hill. The rector of the church here at one time was William Johnson Temple, often mentioned in _Boswell's Life of Johnson_. He was the grandfather of Frederick Temple, Bishop of Exeter at the time we passed through that city, afterwards Bishop of London, and finally Archbishop of Canterbury, to whose harsh voice and common sense we had once listened when he was addressing a public meeting in Manchester. In the churchyard at Mamhead was an enormous yew tree, over eight hundred years old. In 1775, when Boswell came to see Lord Lisburne at Mamhead Park, and stayed at the vicarage, he was so much impressed by the size and magnificence of this great tree, that he made a vow beneath its great branches "never to be drunk again"--a vow he soon forgot when he was out of sight of the tree. We soon arrived at the pretty little town of Dawlish, and perhaps it was its unique appearance that gave us the impression that we had reached another of the prettiest places we had visited. There we halted for refreshments and for a hurried excursion in and about the town, as we were anxious to reach Torquay before night, where we had decided to stay until Monday morning. We walked towards the source of the water, which comes down from the higher lands in a series of pretty little waterfalls, spreading out occasionally into small lakes adorned at the sides with plots of grass and beds of flowers. The name Dawlish, we learned, came from two Cornish words meaning "deep stream," or, as some have it, "Devil's Water"; and behind the town on Haldon Hill was the "Devil's Punchbowl," from which descended the water that passed through the town, but which is in much too pleasant a position, we thought, to be associated with his satanic majesty. [Illustration: THE CONGER ROCK, DAWLISH] Modern Dawlish (though "Doflisc" appears in early charters) only dated from the year 1810, when the course of a small stream was changed, and the pretty waterfalls made; rustic bridges were placed over it and houses built near the banks; this scheme, which was intended to make the fortunes of the prospectors and of the inhabitants generally, was completed at the beginning of November in that year. But, sad to relate, before nine o'clock on the morning of November 10th in that same year scarcely a vestige of the improvements remained, and in place of a small rippling stream came a great river, which swept away four houses with stables and other buildings and eight wooden bridges. It seemed almost as if the devil had been vexed with the prospectors for interfering with his water, and had caused this devastation to punish them for their audacity. But a great effort was made in 1818, and a more permanent scheme on similar lines was completed; and Dawlish as we saw it in 1871 was a delightful place suggestive of a quiet holiday or honeymoon resort. Elihu Burritt, in his _Walk from London to Land's End_, speaks well of Dawlish; and Barham, a local poet and a son of the renowned author of _Ingoldsby Legends_, in his legend "The Monk of Haldon," in the July number of _Temple Bar_ in 1867, wrote: Then low at your feet, From this airy retreat, Reaching down where the fresh and the salt water meet, The roofs may be seen of an old-fashioned street; Half village, half town, it is--pleasant but smallish, And known where it happens to _be_ known, as Dawlish. A place I'd suggest As one of the best For a man breaking down who needs absolute rest, Especially too if he's weak in the chest; Torquay may be gayer, But as for the air It really can not for a moment compare With snug little Dawlish--at least so they say there. [Illustration: ON THE COAST NEAR DAWLISH.] The light-coloured cliffs of Dorsetshire had now given place to the dark red sandstone cliffs of Devonshire, a change referred to by Barham in "The Monk of Haldon," for he wrote: 'Tis certainly odd that this part of the coast, While neighbouring Dorset gleams white as a ghost, Should look like anchovy sauce spread upon toast. We were now bound for Teignmouth, our next stage; and our road for a short distance ran alongside, but above, the seashore. The change in the colour of the cliffs along the sea-coast reminded my brother of an incident that occurred when he was going by sea to London, about nine years before our present journey. He had started from Liverpool in a tramp steamboat, which stopped at different points on the coast to load and unload cargo; and the rocks on the coast-line as far as he had seen--for the boat travelled and called at places in the night as well as day--had all been of a dark colour until, in the light of a fine day, the ship came quite near Beachy Head, where the rocks were white and rose three or four hundred feet above the sea. He had formed the acquaintance of a young gentleman on board who was noting every object of interest in a diary, and who, like my brother, was greatly surprised at the white cliffs with the clear blue sky overhead. Presently the captain came along, and the young man asked him why the rocks were white. "Well, sir," said the captain, "the sea is as deep there as the rocks are high, and they are so dangerous to ships in the dark that the Government has ordered them to be whitewashed once a month to prevent shipwreck." Out came the pocket-book, and as the captain watched the passenger write it down, my brother looked hard in the captain's face, who never moved a muscle, but a slight twinkle in one of his eyes showed that he did not want to be asked any questions! The Devon red sandstone was not very durable, and the action of the sea had worn the outlying rocks into strange shapes. Before reaching Teignmouth we had some good views of the rocks named "the Parson and the Clerk," the history of which was by no means modern, the legend being told in slightly different ways: A great many years ago the vicar of Dawlish and his clerk had been to Teignmouth to collect tithes, and were riding home along the cliffs on a dark wet night when they lost their way. Suddenly they came to a house that they did not remember having seen before. The windows were bright and light, and they could hear the shouts and laughter of a very merry company within; they were just wishing themselves inside when a window was thrown open and they were invited to come in, an invitation they very willingly accepted, and they soon began to enjoy themselves, drinking deeply and waxing merrier every moment, the parson singing songs that were quite unfit for a priest, entirely forgetting the sanctity of his calling, while the clerk followed his master's example. They stayed long, and when, with giddy heads and unsteady legs, they rose to depart, the parson said he was sure he could not find the way, and he must have a guide, even if it were the devil himself. The man who had invited them into the house said he would put them on the right way for Dawlish, and led them to the top of the road, and telling them to go straight on, immediately disappeared. When they had gone a little way, they thought the tide uncommonly high, as it reached their feet, although a minute before they were sure they were on dry land; and the more they attempted to ride away the faster rose the water! Boisterous laughter now echoed around, and they shouted for help, and a bright flash of lightning revealed the figure of their guide, who was none other than the devil himself, jeering and pointing over the black stormy sea into which they had ridden. Morning came, and their horses were found quietly straying on the sands, but neither the parson nor his clerk were ever seen again: but meantime two isolated rocks, in which were seen their images, had risen in the sea as a warning to their brethren of future generations to have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness. From the Teignmouth side the Parson appeared seated in a pulpit the back of which was attached to the cliff, while under him was an arch just like the entrance to a cave, through which the sea appeared on both sides; while the poor Clerk was some distance farther out at sea and much lower down. We thought it was a shame that the parson should be sitting up there, watching the poor clerk with the waves dashing over him, as if perfectly helpless to save himself from drowning. Still, that was the arrangement of the three-decker pulpit so common in the churches of a hundred years ago--the clerk below, the parson above. Our road terminated on the beach at Teignmouth, and near St. Michael's Church, where on a tablet appeared the figure of a ship, and underneath the following words: SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF RICHARD WESTLAKE, AGED 27 YEARS, MASTER OF THE BRIG "ISLA," ALSO JOHN WESTLAKE, HIS BROTHER, AGED 24 YEARS, WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE SAID BRIG WHICH FOUNDER'D IN THE STORM ON THE 29TH DAY OF OCTOBER 1823 WITHIN SIGHT OF THIS CHURCH. Readers be at all times ready, for you Know not what a day may bring forth. Teignmouth was a strange-looking town, and the best description of it was by the poet Winthrop Mackworth Praed, who described it as seen in his time from the top of the Ness Rock: A little town was there, O'er which the morning's earliest beam Was wandering fresh and fair. No architect of classic school Had pondered there with line and rule-- The buildings in strange order lay, As if the streets had lost their way; Fantastic, puzzling, narrow, muddy, Excess of toil from lack of study. Where Fashion's very latest fangles Had no conception of right angles. Possibly the irregular way in which the old portion of the town had been built was due to the inroads of the French, who had invaded and partially destroyed the town on two occasions; for in those days the English coast between Portland and Plymouth was practically undefended. By way perhaps of reprisal Teignmouth contributed seven ships and 120 mariners to Edward III's expedition to Calais in 1347. [Illustration: "THE PARSON AND CLERK ROCK," DAWLISH.] That unfortunate young poet John Keats visited Teignmouth in 1818. He had begun to write his poem "Endymion" in the Isle of Wight the year before, and came here to revise and finish it. The house where he resided, with its old-fashioned door and its three quaint bow windows rising one above another, was pointed out to us, as well as a shop at that time kept by the "three pretty milliners" in whom poor Keats was so greatly interested. Endymion was a beautiful youth whom Selene, the moon, wrapped in perpetual sleep that she might kiss him without his knowledge. Keats, who was in bad health when he came to Teignmouth, was reported to have said he could already feel the flowers growing over him, and although he afterwards went to Rome, the warmer climate failed to resuscitate him, and he died there in 1820, when only twenty-five years old. We had expected to have to walk thirty miles that day, via Newton Abbot, before reaching Torquay; but were agreeably surprised to find we could reduce the mileage to twenty-three and a half by crossing a bridge at Teignmouth. The bridge was quite a formidable affair, consisting of no less than thirty-four arches, and measured 1,671 feet from shore to shore. It was, moreover, built of beams of wood, and as it had been in existence since the year 1827, some of the timber seemed rather worn. The open rails at the sides and the water below, and our solemn thoughts about Keats, tended to give us the impression that we were not altogether safe, and we were glad when we reached the other side, and landed safely at St. Nicholas, or rather at the villages which formed the southern portion of Teignmouth. With the Ness Rock, a huge dark red rock with a nose turned upwards towards the sky, to our left, we walked briskly along the coast road towards Torquay in order to reach that town before dark, as we were obliged to find a good inn to stay in over the Sunday. Continuing along this road, with fine views in the neighbourhood of Anstey's Cove, we soon arrived at Torquay, of which we had heard such glowing descriptions on our journey. Near the entrance to the town we overtook a clergyman, with whom we entered into conversation, telling him of our long journey, in which he was much interested. We asked him if he could recommend us a good hotel where we could stay until Monday morning, as we did not walk on Sundays; and he suggested that we should stay at one of the boarding-houses. We had never thought of staying at these places, but when he said he knew of one that would just suit us, and would be pleased to accompany us there, we were delighted to accept his kind offer. [Illustration: TEIGNMOUTH NESS LIGHTHOUSE.] I knew my brother was rather suspicious of boarding-houses, and when we arrived opposite the rather nice house where the clergyman had taken us I noticed he looked rather critically at the windows both below and above. When he saw that the curtains were drawn equally on each side of the windows and all the blinds drawn down to almost exactly the same distance, he was quite satisfied, as he had often said it was a sure sign that there was somebody in the house who was looking after it, and that similar order would be certain to reign within. [Illustration: ANSTEY'S COVE. TORQUAY.] The clergyman was evidently well known to the people at the house, and an introduction to the master and mistress, and (shall we record?) to their two daughters as well, placed us immediately upon the best of terms with the whole family. We received every attention, and after a good tea we had a walk in and around the town, and were well pleased with the appearance of Torquay. It was a much larger place than we had anticipated. In a stationer's shop window we saw exhibited a small _Guide to Torquay_, published in Manchester, and sold for the small sum of one penny, from which we learned that the population of Torquay had risen enormously during the past few years, for while it registered 11,294 in 1858 and 16,682 in 1868, in 1871, the year of our journey, it stood at 26,477; and it further informed us that the distance from there to London was 216 miles, and that "the express which leaves Paddington at 9.15 and arrives at Torquay at 4.34 has a third-class carriage for Torquay"--an example of the speed of express trains in those days. The _Guide_ must have only just been issued, evidently in advance for the coming year, as it gave the Torquay High Water Table from May to October inclusive for 1872, and the following precise account of Anstey's Cove. ANSTIS COVE Anstis Cove deserves a special visit. Passing from the Strand, under an avenue of trees opposite the Post-Office, and leaving the Public Gardens on the right hand, the visitor will go as straight as the road will permit till he comes in sight of St. Matthias' Church. The road to the right leads down to Anstis Cove. He will notice among the ferns and trees a door in the mossy bank, like the entrance to a hermitage in the wilderness. It is the door of the venerable Kent's Cavern. Persons who are now employed by the Torquay Natural History Society will guide the visitor and supply candles. The vast cavern is six hundred and fifty feet in length, with small caverns and corridors, which are most dangerous without a guide, rugged, wet, and slippery. Some years ago the skeleton of a woman who had lost her way was found. No one now enters without a guide. In some parts the cavern is so low that the visitors are obliged to crawl and squeeze, but in other parts it is 30 feet high. The eminent geologist, Dr. Buckland, here discovered the bones of rhinoceros, elephants, lions, wolves, bears, hippopotami, and hyaenas--beasts of prey that haunted the forests of prehistoric England before the times of the Celts. Rude implements which have been found in the cavern prove that in very remote times it was the resort of savage tribes. The cavern is now in process of careful examination by qualified persons, at the expense of the British Association, to whom they make periodical reports. Fossil remains which have been, discovered may be seen at the museum of the Natural History Society, in Park Street, between the hours of ten and four daily. But Anstis Cove is the object of our search. Proceeding down the shady lane, taking the first turning on the left hand, we find a gateway leading to a footpath among all kinds of bushes and shady trees, down to the pebbly beach. The lofty limestone cliff of Walls Hill is before us--such rocks as are nowhere else to be seen. They seem like huge monsters creeping into the ocean. Here, amongst huge rocks on the shore, are the bathing machines. The water is clear as crystal. Rowing-boats are also here for hire, and here the strata of the neighbouring cliffs hanging over the sea can be examined. Here is a cottage, too, where lobsters and picnic viands may be procured. On the beach the fossil Madrepore is often found. We were the only visitors at the boarding-house, where the cleanliness and the catering were all that could be desired. The young ladies vied with each other to make our visit a pleasant one, and after a good supper we stayed up relating some of our adventures until the clock struck ten, when we retired for a well-earned rest, having walked quite 179 miles that week. (_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.) _Sunday, November 12th._ We rose at our usual early hour this morning, and were downstairs long before our friends anticipated our arrival, for they naturally thought that after our long walk we should have been glad of an extra hour or two's rest; but habit, as in the time of Diogenes, had become second nature, and to remain in bed was to us equivalent to undergoing a term of imprisonment. As boot-cleaning in those days was a much longer operation than the more modern boot-polish has made it, we compromised matters by going out in dirty boots on condition that they were cleaned while we were having breakfast. It was a fine morning, and we were quite enchanted with Torquay, its rocks and its fine sea views on one side, and its wooded hills on the other, with mansions peeping out at intervals above the trees. We could not recall to mind any more beautiful place that we had visited. [Illustration: TORQUAY FROM WALDON HILL IN 1871.] After breakfast we attended morning service at the church recommended by our host, but after travelling so much in the open air the change to the closer atmosphere of a church or chapel affected us considerably. Although we did not actually fall asleep, we usually became very drowsy and lapsed into a dreamy, comatose condition, with shadowy forms floating before us of persons and places we had seen in our travels. The constant changes in position during the first part of the Church Service invariably kept us fairly well alive, but the sermon was always our chief difficulty, as during its delivery no change of posture was required. When the service began, however, we were agreeably surprised to find that the minister who officiated was none other than the clergyman who had so kindly interested himself in finding us lodgings yesterday. This awakened our interest in the service, which we followed as closely as we could; but when the vicar announced his text, beginning with the well-known words, "They that go down to the sea in ships," we were all attention, for immediately our adventures in the North Sea came into our minds, and the ocean, that great work of the Almighty, is so graphically described in that 107th Psalm, and the dangers of the sailors with their fears and hopes so clearly depicted, that we record the whole text, as it appeared in the versified rendering of the Psalms, in the hope that some one may "read, mark, learn and inwardly digest": They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters; these men see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For at His word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again to the deep: and their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, He delivereth them out of their distress. For He maketh the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad, because they are at rest, and so He bringeth them unto the haven where they would be. O that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness, and declare the wonders that He doeth for the children of men. The preacher referred feelingly to a great storm or tornado which had visited the South Coast about six years before, when a large number of ships, sheltering in Torbay, were swept out by a sudden change in the wind and over forty of them were sunk. This happened in the month of January, when drifting snow filled the eyes of the spectators, who were within hearing distance but could render no assistance. The Brixham sailors acted most bravely and saved many lives, but over one hundred people were drowned. We could see that some members of the congregation still mourned the loss of friends who had perished on that sad occasion. We were well pleased with the service, and after a short ramble returned to our lodgings for dinner at one o'clock, afterwards adjourning to the drawing-room, where we were presently joined by our host, who suggested a walk that afternoon to see the beautiful views in the neighbourhood, a proposition to which we readily assented. [Illustration: THE OUTER HARBOUR, BRIXHAM.] But while he was getting ready my brother happened to strike a few chords on the piano, which immediately attracted the attention of the two young ladies, who told us they had seen us at church, where they were in the choir. They were beginning to learn some pieces to sing at Christmas, and, producing a pianoforte copy, asked my brother to play the accompaniment while they tried them over. He made some excuses, but they said they knew he could play as soon as they heard him strike the chords; so, as his excuses were not accepted, he had to submit to the inevitable---not altogether unwillingly. They had only just begun when their father came into the room and claimed our company for the promised walk, and, as I was the only member of the party ready to join him, we went out with the understanding that they would follow us. After walking a short distance I suggested waiting for them, but the gentleman assured me they knew the way he always went on Sundays, and would be sure to find us. I enjoyed the company of our host, as he seemed to know the history of the whole neighbourhood, and possessed a fund of information ready at command concerning every object of interest we saw. He pointed out Portland in the far distance, where convicts worked, and where the stones used for sharpening scythes were produced. He also told me that formerly Torquay consisted merely of a few cottages inhabited by fishermen, but some nobleman bought the place for £13,000, and let the ground in lots on short leases for building purposes. Now that it was covered with fine houses, he received tens of thousands a year from chief rent, while many of the houses would come to his family in a few years' time. It surprised me greatly how much I missed my brother's company. We had never been separated for so long a period during the whole of our journey, and at every turn I found myself instinctively turning round to see if he were following. It was a lovely walk, but when we reached the house on our return, neither my brother nor the young ladies were to be found, and it was nearly time for the five-o'clock tea before they returned. They all looked very pleasant, and assured us they had followed us as promised, and the young ladies seemed able to convince their father that they had done so; but to my mind the matter was never satisfactorily cleared up, and I often reminded my brother in after years about those two young ladies at Torquay, who, by the way, were very good-looking. Many years afterwards some poetry was written by a lady who must have been an authority on the "Little Maids of Devon," for she wrote: Oh! the little maids of Devon, They've a rose in either cheek, And their eyes like bits of heaven Meet your own with glances meek; But within them there are tiny imps That play at hide and seek! Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have skins of milk and cream, Just as pure and clear and even As a pool in Dartmoor stream; But who looks at them is holden With the magic of a dream. Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have honey-coloured hair. Where the sun has worked like leaven. Turning russet tones to fair, And they hold you by the strands of it, And drive you to despair. Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have voices like a dove, And Jacob's years of seven One would serve to have their love; But their hearts are things of mystery A man may never prove! We all attended church again for evening service, and after supper passed the evening singing hymns, in which I was able to join, some of them very beautiful and selected because they had been composed by people connected with the County of Devon. One of them was written by Charlotte Elliott, who died at Torquay in 1871, the year we were there, and still a favourite even in these later years, the first verse being: Just as I am, without one plea But that Thy Blood was shed for me, And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee, O Lamb of God, I come. The first vicar of Lower Brixham was the Rev. Henry Francis Lyte, who at fifty-four years of age began to suffer from consumption, and who, when he knew he had not long to live, prayed that he might be enabled to write something that would live to the glory of God after he was dead. As a last resource he had been ordered by the doctors to go to the Riviera, where he died at Nice a month later. The night before he started he preached his farewell sermon, and, returning to his house as the sun was setting over the ships in the harbour, many of which belonged to the fishermen he had laboured amongst for so many years, he sat down and wrote that beautiful hymn: Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide; When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me. Then there was the Rev. A.M. Toplady, for some time vicar of Broad Hembury, near Honiton. While walking out with some friends in Somerset, he was caught in a storm, and the party sheltered in a well-known cave by the roadside, where, standing under its rocky entrance, he wrote this famous hymn: Rock of ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee; Let the Water and the Blood, From Thy riven Side which flow'd, Be of sin the double cure, Cleanse me from its guilt and power. All these hymns are sung in every part of the world where the English tongue is spoken. The two ladies were good singers, one soprano and the other contralto, while I sang tenor and my brother tried to sing bass; but, as he explained, he was not effective on the lower notes (nor, as a matter of fact, on the high ones either). He said afterwards it was as much as he could do to play the music without having to join in the singing, and at one point he narrowly escaped finishing two bars after the vocalists. Still we spent a very pleasant evening, the remembrance of which remained with us for many years, and we often caught ourselves wondering what became of those pretty girls at Torquay. NINTH WEEK'S JOURNEY _Monday, November 13th._ From time immemorial Torbay had been a favourite landing-place both for friends and foes, and it was supposed that the Roman Emperors Vespasian, Titus, and Adrian, when on their way to the camp on Milber Downs, had each landed near the place where Brixham now stands. Brixham was the best landing-place in the Bay, and the nearest to the open sea. It was a fishing-place of some importance when Torquay, its neighbour, was little known, except perhaps as a rendezvous of smugglers and pirates. Leland, in his famous _Itinerary_ written in the sixteenth century, after describing the Bay of Torre as being about four miles across the entrance and "ten miles or more in compace," says: "The Fishermen hath divers tymes taken up with theyr nettes yn Torre-bay mussons of harts, whereby men judge that in tymes paste it hath been forest grounds." Clearly much of England has been washed away or has sunk beneath the ocean. Is not this part of the "Lyonesse" of the poets--the country of romance--the land of the fairies? [Illustration: BRIXHAM HARBOUR] In 1588, when the Spanish Armada appeared outside the Bay, there was great excitement in the neighbourhood of Torbay, which grew into frenzy when the first capture was towed in. The _Rosario_, or, to give her the full name, _Nuestra Señora del Rosario_, was a fine galleon manned by 450 men and many gallant officers. She was the _capitana_, or flagship, of the squadron commanded by Don Pedro de Valdez, who had seen much service in the West Indies and who, because of his special knowledge of the English Channel, was of great importance in the council of the Armada. He was a bold, skilful leader, very different from the Commander-in-Chief, and as his ship formed one of the rearguard he took an early part in the fight with the pursuing English. He was badly mauled, losing his foremast and suffering worse by fouling two ships, one of his own squadron, the other a Biscayan; all three were damaged. He demanded assistance of Medina Sidonia, but the weather was rough and the Duke refused. In the darkness the _Rosario_ drove off one or two English attempts to cut her off, but Drake himself in the famous _Revenge_ lay alongside and called upon Valdez to surrender. His reply was a demand for honourable terms, to which Drake answered that he had no time for parley--the Spanish commander must come aboard at once or he would rake her. The name of Drake (El Draque, the Dragon) was enough for the Spaniard, and Valdez, in handing over his sword, took credit to himself that he yielded to the most famous captain of his day. Drake in reply promised good treatment and all the lives of the crew, a thing by no means usual, as can be guessed by the remark of the disgusted Sheriff, when so many prisoners were handed over at Torbay; he wished "the Spaniards had been made into water-spaniels." Drake sent the _Roebuck_ to see the ship safely into Torbay, where she was left in charge of the Brixham fishermen, her powder being secured at once and sent by the quickest of the fishing-boats to our own ships, at that moment badly in need of it. The prisoners were taken round to Torbay, where they were lodged in a building ever afterwards known as the "Spanish barn." [Illustration: STATUE OF WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE, BRIXHAM, ERECTED ON THE SPOT WHERE HE LANDED.] In 1601 the first squadron organised by the East India Company sailed from Torbay, and in 1667 the Dutch fleet, commanded by De Ruyter, paid the Bay a brief but not a friendly visit, doing some damage. In 1688 another fleet appeared--this time a friendly one, for it brought William, Prince of Orange, who had been invited to occupy the English throne abdicated by James II. We were informed that when his ship approached the shore he spoke to the people assembled there in broken English--very broken--saying, "Mine goot people, mine goot people, I mean you goot; I am come here for your goot, for your goots," and suggested that if they were willing to welcome him they should come and fetch him ashore; whereupon one Peter Varwell ran into the sea, and carried the new King to the shore, gaining much renown for doing so. This happened on November 5th, the date for landing doubtless having been arranged to coincide with the anniversary of the attempt of Guy Fawkes to blow up the Houses of Parliament with gunpowder eighty-three years before, so that bonfire day served afterwards to celebrate the two occasions. The house where William stayed that night was still pointed out in Brixham. In 1690 James II, who had been dethroned and exiled to France, told Tourville, the French Admiral, that if he would take his fleet to the South of England he would find all the people there ready to receive him back again, so he brought his ships off Torbay. Instead of a friendly reception here, he found the people decidedly hostile to James's cause, so he detached two or three of his galleys to Teignmouth, quite a defenceless place, where they committed great ravages and practically destroyed the town. These galleys were a class of boat common in the Mediterranean, where they had been employed ever since the warlike times of the Greeks and Romans. In addition to sails, they were propelled with oars manned by slaves; and a similar class of ship worked by convicts was used by the French down to the middle of the eighteenth century. The men of Teignmouth, who had no wish to be captured and employed as galley slaves, seeing that they were in a hopeless position, retreated inland. Lord Macaulay thus describes the position in his History: The Beacon on the ridge above Teignmouth was kindled, Hey-Tor and Cawsand made answer, and soon all the hill tops of the West were on fire. Messengers were riding all night from deputy lieutenant to deputy lieutenant; and early the next morning, without chief, without summons, five hundred gentlemen and yeomen, armed and mounted, had assembled on the summit of Haldon Hill, and in twenty-four hours all Devonshire was up. It was therefore no wonder that Trouville found his landing opposed by thousands of fierce Devonshire men, who lined the shores and prevented him from landing his troops; the expedition was a complete failure, and he returned to France. In those days, when railways and telegraphy were unknown, the whole country could be aroused very quickly and effectively by those beacon fires. The fuel was always kept ready for lighting on the Beacon hills, which were chosen so that the fire on one hill could be seen from the other. On our journey through England we passed many of these beacons, then used for more peaceful purposes. In 1815 another ship appeared in Torbay, with only one prisoner on board, but a very important one. The ship was the British man-of-war the _Bellerophon_, and the prisoner the great Napoleon Bonaparte. We had already come to the conclusion that Torquay, with its pretty bay, was the most delightful place we had visited; and even Napoleon, who must have been acquainted with the whole of Europe, and who appeared in Torbay under what must have been to him depressing circumstances, exclaimed when he saw it, "_Enfin, voilà un beau pays_!" (What a beautiful country this is!) He arrived on July 24th, five weeks after the Battle of Waterloo, and departed on August 8th from Plymouth, having been transferred to the _Northumberland_ for the voyage to his prison home in St. Helena, a South Atlantic island 760 miles from any other land, and where he died in 1821. During the few days' visit of the _Bellerophon_ at Torbay, thousands upon thousands of people came by land and water in the hope of seeing the great general who had so nearly made himself master of the whole of Europe, and although very few of them saw Napoleon, they all saw the lovely scenery there, and this, it was said, laid the foundation of the fortunes of the future Torquay. [Illustration: NAPOLEON ON THE _BELLEROPHON_. _From the Painting by Orchardson_.] We had intended leaving Torquay for Totnes by the main road, which passed through Paignton, but our host informed us that even if we passed through it, we should not see Paignton in all its glory, as we were twelve years too early for one pudding and thirty-nine years too late for the next. We had never heard of Paignton puddings before, but it appeared that as far back as 1294 Paignton had been created a borough or market town, and held its charter by a White-Pot Pudding, which was to take seven years to make, seven years to bake, and seven years to eat, and was to be produced once every fifty years. In 1809 the pudding was made of 400 lbs. of flour, 170 lbs. of suet, 140 lbs. of raisins, and 240 eggs. It was boiled in a brewer's copper, and was kept constantly boiling from the Saturday morning until the Tuesday following, when it was placed on a gaily decorated trolley and drawn through the town by eight oxen, followed by a large and expectant crowd of people. But the pudding did not come up to expectations, turning out rather stodgy: so in 1859 a much larger pudding was made, but this time it was baked instead of boiled, and was drawn by twenty-five horses through the streets of the town. One feature of the procession on that occasion was a number of navvies who happened to be working near the town and who walked in their clean white slops, or jackets, and of course came in for a goodly share of the pudding. One of the notables of Paignton was William Adams, one of the many prisoners in the hands of the Turks or Saracens in the time when the English Liturgy was compiled. It was said that the intercession "for all prisoners and captives" applied especially to them, and every Sunday during the five years he was a prisoner at Algiers, William Adams' name was specially mentioned after that petition. The story of his escape was one of the most sensational of its time. Adams and six companions made a boat in sections, and fastened it together in a secluded cove on the seacoast; but after it was made they found it would only carry five of them, of whom Adams was of course one. After the most terrible sufferings they at length reached "Majork," or Majorca Island, the Spaniards being very kind to them, assisting them to reach home, where they arrived emaciated and worn out. The two men left behind were never heard of again. We had often heard the name "Bill Adams," and wondered whether this man could have been the original. The county historian of those days had described him as "a very honest sensible man, who died in the year of our Lord 1687, and his body, so like to be buried in the sea and to feed fishes, lies buried in Paignton churchyard, where it feasteth worms." [Illustration: PAIGNTON OLD TOWER] We could see Paignton, with its ivy-covered Tower, all that was left of the old Palace of the Bishops of Exeter, but we did not visit it, as we preferred to cross the hills and see some other places of which we had heard, and also to visit Berry Pomeroy Castle on our way to Totnes. Behind Torquay we passed along some of the loveliest little lanes we had ever seen. They must have presented a glorious picture in spring and summer, when the high hedges were "hung with ferns and banked up with flowers," for even in November they were very beautiful. These by-lanes had evidently been originally constructed for pedestrian and horse traffic, but they had not been made on the surface of the land, like those in Dorset and Wilts, and were more like ditches than roads. We conjectured that they had been sunk to this depth in order that pirates landing suddenly on the coast could see nothing of the traffic from a distance. But therein consisted their beauty, for the banks on either side were covered with luxuriant foliage, amongst which ferns and flowers struggled for existence, and the bushes and trees above in many places formed a natural and leafy arch over the road below. The surface of the roads was not very good, being naturally damp, as the drying influences of the wind and sun could scarcely penetrate to such sheltered positions, and in wet weather the mud had a tendency to accumulate; but we did not trouble ourselves about this as we walked steadily onwards. The roads were usually fairly straight, but went up and down hill regardless of gradients, though occasionally they were very crooked, and at cross-roads, in the absence of finger-posts or any one to direct us, it was easy to take a wrong turning. Still it was a real pleasure to walk along these beautiful Devonshire lanes. [Illustration: A TYPICAL DEVONSHIRE LANE.] In a Devonshire lane, as I trotted along T'other day, much in want of a subject for song, Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain-- Sure, marriage is much like a Devonshire lane. In the first place 'tis long, and when once you are in it, It holds you as fast as a cage does a linnet; For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found, Drive forward you must, there is no turning round. But though 'tis so long, it is not very wide, For two are the most that together can ride; And e'en then 'tis a chance but they sit in a pother. And joke and cross and run foul of each other. But thinks I too, the banks, within which we are pent, With bud, blossom, berry, are richly besprent; And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam. Looks lovely, when deck'd with the comforts of home. In the rock's gloomy crevice the bright holly grows: The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose, And the evergreen love of a virtuous wife Soothes the roughness of care--cheers the winter of life. Then long be the journey, and narrow the way, I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay; And whate'er others say, be the last to complain. Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. Late though it was in the year, there was still some autumn foliage on the trees and bushes and some few flowers and many ferns in sheltered places; we also had the golden furze or gorse to cheer us on our way, for an old saying in Devonshire runs-- When furze is out of bloom Then love is out of tune, which was equivalent to saying that love was never out of tune in Devonshire, for there were three varieties of furze in that county which bloomed in succession, so that there were always some blooms of that plant to be found. The variety we saw was that which begins to bloom in August and remains in full beauty till the end of January. Beside the fire with toasted crabs We sit, and love is there; In merry Spring, with apple flowers It flutters in the air. At harvest, when we toss the sheaves, Then love with them is toss't; At fall, when nipp'd and sear the leaves, Un-nipp'd is love by frost. Golden furze in bloom! O golden furze in bloom! When the furze is out of flower Then love is out of tune. Presently we arrived at Cockington, a secluded and ancient village, picturesque to a degree, with cottages built of red cobs and a quaint forge or smithy for the village blacksmith, all, including the entrance lodge to the squire's park, being roofed or thatched with straw. Pretty gardens were attached to all of them, and everything looked so trim, clean, and neat that it was hard to realise that such a pretty and innocent-looking place had ever been the abode of smugglers or pirates; yet so it was, for hiding-holes existed there which belonged formerly to what were jocularly known as the early "Free Traders." Near Anstey's Cove, in Torbay, we had seen a small cave in the rocks known as the "Brandy Hole," near which was the smuggler's staircase. This was formed of occasional flights of roughly-hewn stone steps, up which in days gone by the kegs of brandy and gin and the bales of silk had been carried to the top of the cliffs and thence conveyed to Cockington and other villages in the neighbourhood where the smugglers' dens existed. [Illustration: COCKINGTON VILLAGE.] Possibly Jack Rattenbury, the famous smuggler known as "the Rob Roy of the West," escaped to Cockington when he was nearly caught by the crew of one of the King's ships, for the search party were close on his heels when he saved himself by his agility in scaling the cliffs. But Cockington was peaceful enough when we visited it, and in the park, adorned with fine trees, stood the squire's Hall, or Court, and the ivy-covered church. Cockington was mentioned in Domesday Book, and in 1361 a fair and a market were granted to Walter de Wodeland, usher to the Chamber of the Black Prince, who afterwards created him a knight, and it was probably about that time that the present church was built. The screen and pews and pulpit had formerly belonged to Tor Mohun church, and the font, with its finely carved cover and the other relics of wood, all gave us the impression of being extremely old, and as they were in the beginning. The Cary family were once the owners of the estate, and in the time of the Spanish Armada George Cary, who was afterwards knighted by Queen Elizabeth, with Sir John Gilbert, at that time the owner of Tor Abbey, took charge of the four hundred prisoners from the Spanish flagship _Rosario_ while they were lodged in the grange of Tor Abbey. [Illustration: COMPTON CASTLE.] From Cockington we walked on to Compton Castle, a fine old fortified house, one of the most interesting and best preserved remains of a castellated mansion in Devonshire. One small portion of it was inhabited, and all was covered with ivy, but we could easily trace the remains of the different apartments. It was formerly the home of the Gilbert family, of whom the best-known member was Sir Humphrey Gilbert, a celebrated navigator and mathematician of the sixteenth century, half-brother of Sir Walter Raleigh, and knighted by Queen Elizabeth for his bravery in Ireland. Sir Humphrey afterwards made voyages of discovery, and added Newfoundland, our oldest colony, to the British Possessions, and went down with the _Squirrel_ in a storm off the Azores. When his comrades saw him for the last time before he disappeared from their sight for ever in the mist and gloom of the evening, he held a Bible in his hand, and said cheerily, "Never mind, boys! we are as near to Heaven by sea as by land!" We had a splendid walk across the hills, passing through Marldon, where the church was apparently the burial-place of the Gilbert family, of which it contained many records, including an effigy of Otho Gilbert, who was Sheriff of the County and who died in 1476. But the chief object of interest at Marldon appeared to be a six-barred gate called the Gallows Gate, which stood near the spot where the three parishes converged: Kingskerswell, Cockington, and Marldon; near this the culprits from those three places were formerly hanged. We looked for the gate in the direction pointed out to us, but failed to find it. Some people in the village thought its name of the Gallows Gate was derived from an incident which occurred there many years ago. A sheep-stealer had killed a sheep, and was carrying it home slung round his shoulders when he came to this gate. Finding it fastened, he was climbing over, when in the dark his foot slipped and the cord got across his neck. The weight of the carcase as it fell backwards, added to his own, caused him to be choked, so that he was literally hanged upon the gate instead of the gallows for what was in those days a capital offence. After passing the Beacon Hill, we had very fine views over land and sea, extending to Dartmoor and Dartmouth, and with a downward gradient we soon came to Berry Pomeroy, the past and present owners of which had been associated with many events recorded in the history of England, from the time of William the Conqueror, who bestowed the manor, along with many others, on one of his followers named Ralph de Pomeroy. It was he who built the Castle, where the Pomeroys remained in possession until the year 1547, when it passed into the hands of the Seymour family, afterwards the Dukes of Somerset, in whose possession it still remained. After the Pomeroys disappeared the first owner of the manor and castle was Edward Seymour, afterwards the haughty Lord Protector Somerset, who first rose in royal favour by the marriage of his eldest sister Jane Seymour to Henry VIII, and that monarch appointed him an executor under his will and a member of the Council on whom the duty devolved of guarding the powers of the Crown during the minority of his son and successor Edward VI, who only reigned six years, from 1547 to 1553; and Seymour's father, Sir John, had accompanied King Henry VIII to his wars in France, and to the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Henry VIII had great faith in his brother-in-law, and after the King's death Seymour quickly gained ascendency over the remaining members of the Council, and was nominated Lord Treasurer of England, and created Earl of Somerset, Feb. 17, 1567; two days afterwards he obtained a grant of the office of Earl Marshal of England for life, and on the 12th of March following he procured a patent from the young King, who was his nephew, constituting himself the Protector of the Realm, an office altogether new to the Constitution and that gave him full regal power. It was about that time that the English Reformation began, and the free circulation of the Bible was permitted. The Latin Mass was abolished, and the English Liturgy substituted, and 42 Articles of Faith were adopted by the English Protestants. Protector Somerset was a Protestant, and always took advice of Archbishop Cranmer, and care was taken that the young King was instructed in the Reformed Religion. King Henry VIII had arranged in his lifetime that Edward VI should marry Mary, the young Queen of Scotland, and Somerset raised an army and went to Scotland to secure her person: but after fighting a battle he only just managed to win, he found that the proposed union was not looked upon favourably in Scotland, and that the young Queen had been sent away to France for greater safety. Meantime Somerset's brother Thomas Seymour, High Admiral of England, had married Catherine Parr, widow of Henry VIII, without the knowledge of the Protector; and this, with the fierce opposition of the Roman Catholics, and of the Barons, whose taking possession of the common lands he had opposed, and the offence given to the population of London through demolishing an ancient parish church in the Strand there, so that he could build a fine mansion for himself, which still bears the name of Somerset House, led to the rapid decline of his influence, and after causing his brother to be beheaded he himself shared a similar fate. Berry Pomeroy was a lovely spot, and the foliage was magnificent as we walked up to the castle and then to the village, while every now and then we came to a peep-hole through the dense mass of bushes and trees showing a lovely view beyond. The ruins of the castle were covered with ivy, moss, and creeping plants, while ferns and shrubs grew both inside and out, forming the most picturesque view of the kind that could be imagined. We were fortunate in securing the services of an enthusiastic and intelligent guide, who told us many stories of events that had taken place there, some of them of a sensational character. He showed us the precipice, then rapidly becoming obscured by bushes and trees, where the two brothers Pomeroy, with their horses, were dashed to pieces. The castle had been besieged for a long time, and when the two brothers found they could hold out no longer, rather than submit to the besiegers they sounded their horns in token of surrender, and, blindfolding their horses, mounted and rode over the battlements into the depths below! The horses seemed to know their danger, and struggled to turn back, but they were whipped and spurred on to meet the same dreadful fate as their masters. One look over the battlements was enough for us, as it was horrible to contemplate, but our guide seemed to delight in piling on the agony, as most awful deeds had been done in almost every part of the ruins, and he did not forget to tell us that ghosts haunted the place at night. [Illustration: GUARD CHAMBER, BERRY POMEROY] In a dismal room, or dungeon, under what was known as St. Margaret's Tower, one sister had imprisoned another sister for years, because of jealousy, and in another place a mother had murdered her child. He also told us a story of an old Abbot who had been concerned in some dreadful crime, and had been punished by being buried alive. Three days were given him in which to repent, and on each day he had to witness the digging in unconsecrated ground of a portion of his grave. He groaned horribly, and refused to take any food, and on the third morning was so weak that he had to be carried to watch the completion of the grave in which he was to be buried the following day. On the fourth day, when the monks came in to dress him in his burial garments and placed him on the bier, he seemed to have recovered a little, and with a great effort he twisted himself and fell off. They lifted him on again, and four lay brothers carried him to the side of the deep grave. As he was lowered into the tomb a solemn dirge was sung by the monks, and prayers were offered for mercy on his sinful soul. The earth was being dropped slowly on him when a faint groan was heard; for a few moments the earth above him seemed convulsed a little, and then the grave was closed. The ghost of the blood-stained Fontebrant and that of his assassin were amongst those that haunted Pomeroy Castle and its lonely surroundings, and cries and groans were occasionally heard in the village below from the shrieking shade of the guilty Eleanor, who murdered her uncle. At midnight she was said to fly from the fairies, who followed her with writhing serpents, their tongues glistening with poisonous venom and their pestiferous breath turning black everything with which they came in contact, and thus her soul was tortured as a punishment for her horrible deeds. Amongst the woods glided the pale ghosts of the Abbot Bertrand and the mother with her murdered child. What a difference there is in guides, and especially when no "tips" are in sight! You go into a church, for instance, and are shown round in a general kind of a way and inquiries are answered briefly. As you leave the building you hand the caretaker a silver coin which he did not expect, and then, conscience-stricken, he immediately becomes loquacious and asks if you saw an object that he ought to have shown you, and it generally ends in your turning back and seeing double the objects of interest you saw before, and possibly those in the graveyard as well. Then there are others whose hearts are in their work, and who insist upon your seeing all there is to be seen and hearing the history or legends connected with the place. Such was our guide that morning; he was most enthusiastic when giving us his stories, but we did not accept his invitation to come some evening to see the ghosts, as we could not imagine a more lonely and "boggarty" spot at night than amongst the thick bushes and foliage of Berry Castle, very beautiful though it looked in the daylight; nor did we walk backwards three times round the trunk of the old "wishing tree," and in the process wish for something that we might or might not get; but we rewarded our guide handsomely for his services. [Illustration: BERRY POMEROY CHURCH.] We had a look in the old church, where there were numerous tombs of the Seymour family; but the screen chiefly attracted our attention. The projection of the rood-loft still remained on the top, adorned with fan tracery, and there was also the old door which led up to it. The lower panels had as usual been much damaged, but the carved figures could still be recognised, and some of the original colouring in gold, vermilion, green, and white remained. The figures were said to represent St. Matthew with his club, St. Philip with the spear, St. Stephen with stones in his chasuble, St. Jude with the boat, St. Matthias with the battle-axe, sword, and dagger, St. Mary Magdalene with the alabastrum, St. Barbara with the tower, St. Gudala with the lantern, and the four doctors of the Western Church. The ancient pulpit was of the same period as the screen, as were also the old-fashioned, straight-backed, oak pews. [Illustration: THE SCREEN, BERRY POMEROY CHURCH] The vicarage, which was as usual near the church, must have been a very healthy place, for the Rev. John Prince, author of _The Worthies of Devon_, published in 1901, who died in 1723, was vicar there for forty-two years, and was succeeded by the Rev. Joseph Fox, who died in 1781, aged eighty-four, having been vicar for fifty-eight years. He was followed by the Rev. John Edwards, who was vicar for fifty-three years, and died in 1834 aged eighty-three. This list was very different from that we had seen at Hungerford, and we wondered whether a parallel for longevity in three successive vicars existed in all England, for they averaged fifty-one years' service. [Illustration: PARLIAMENT COTTAGES.] There were some rather large thatched cottages in Berry Pomeroy village, where Seymour, who was one of the first men of rank and fortune to join the Prince of Orange, met the future King after he had landed at Brixham on November 5th, 1688. A conference was held in these cottages, which were ever afterwards known as "Parliament Buildings," that meeting forming William's first Parliament. Seymour was at that time M.P. for Exeter, and was also acting as Governor of that city. When William arrived there four days afterwards, with an army of 15,000 men, he was awarded a very hearty reception, for he was looked upon as more of a deliverer than a conqueror. It was only a short distance from Berry Pomeroy to Totnes, our next stage, and we were now to form our first acquaintance with the lovely valley of the River Dart, which we reached at the foot of the hill on which that picturesque and quaint old town was situated. Formerly the river had to be crossed by a rather difficult ford, but that had been done away with in the time of King John, and replaced by a narrow bridge of eight arches, which in its turn had been replaced in the time of William and Mary by a wider bridge of three arches with a toll-gate upon it, where all traffic except pedestrians had to contribute towards the cost of its erection. A short distance to the right after crossing the bridge was a monument to a former native of the town, to whom a sorrowful memory was attached; it had been erected by subscription, and was inscribed: IN HONOR OF WILLIAM JOHN WILLS NATIVE OF TOTNES THE FIRST WITH BURKE TO CROSS THE AUSTRALIAN CONTINENT HE PERISHED IN RETURNING, 28 JUNE 1861 When the Australian Government offered a reward for an exploration of that Continent from north to south, Wills, at that time an assistant in the Observatory at Melbourne, volunteered his services along with Robert O'Hara Burke, an Irish police inspector. Burke was appointed leader of the expedition, consisting of thirteen persons, which started from Melbourne on August 20th, 1860, and in four months' time reached the River Barco, to the east of Lake Eyre. Here it became necessary to divide the party: Burke took Wills with him, and two others, leaving the remainder at Cooper's Creek to look after the stores and to wait there until Burke and his companions returned. They reached Flinders River in February of the following year, but they found the country to be quite a desert, and provisions failed them. They were obliged to return, reaching Cooper's Creek on April 21st, 1861. They arrived emaciated and exhausted, only to find that the others had given up all hope of seeing them again, and returned home. Burke and his companions struggled on for two months, but one by one they succumbed, until only one was left--a man named King. Fortunately he was found by some friendly natives, who treated him kindly, and was handed over to the search-party sent out to find the missing men. The bodies of Burke and Wills were also recovered, and buried with all honours at Melbourne, where a fine monument was erected to their memory. Many of the early settlers in Australia were killed by the aborigines or bushmen, and a friend of ours who emigrated there from our native village many years ago was supposed to have been murdered by them. He wrote letters to his parents regularly for some years, and in his last letter told his friends that he was going farther into the bush in search of gold. For years they waited for further news, which never arrived; and he was never heard of again, to the great grief of his father and mother and other members of the family. It was a hazardous business exploring the wilds of Australia in those days, and it was quite possible that it was only the numerical strength of Burke's party and of the search-party itself that saved them from a similar fate. But many people attributed the misfortunes of the expedition to the number who took part in it, as there was a great prejudice against the number thirteen both at home and abroad. We had often, indeed, heard it said that if thirteen persons sat down to dinner together, one of their number would die! Some people thought that the legend had some connection with the Lord's Supper, the twelve Apostles bringing the number up to thirteen, while others attributed it to a much earlier period. In Norse mythology, thirteen was considered unlucky, because at a banquet in Valhalla, the Scandinavian heaven, where twelve had sat down, Loki intruded and made the number thirteen, and Baldur was killed. The Italians and even the Turks had strong objections to the number thirteen, and it never appeared on any of the doors on the streets of Paris, where, to avoid thirteen people sitting down to dinner, persons named Quatorziennes were invited to make a fourteenth: _Jamais on ne devrait Se mettre a table treize, Mais douze c'est parfait_. My brother thought the saying was only a catch, for it would be equally true to say all would die as one. He was quite prepared to run the risk of being the thirteenth to sit down to dinner, but that was when he felt very hungry, and even hinted that there might be no necessity for the others to sit down at all! But we must return to Totnes and its bridge, and follow the long narrow street immediately before us named Fore Street until we reach "the Arch," or East Gate. The old-fashioned houses to the right and left were a great attraction to my brother, who had strong antiquarian predilections, and when he saw the old church and castle, he began to talk of staying there for the rest of the day and I had some difficulty in getting him along. Fortunately, close at hand there was a quaint Elizabethan mansion doing duty as a refreshment house, with all manner of good things in the windows and the word "Beds" on a window in an upper storey. Here we called for refreshments, and got some coffee and some good things to eat, with some of the best Devonshire cream we had yet tasted. After an argument in which I pointed out the danger of jeopardising our twenty-five-mile average walk by staying there, as it was yet early in the forenoon, we settled matters in this way; we would leave our luggage in Totnes, walk round the town to the objects of greatest interest, then walk to Dartmouth and back, and stay the night on our return, thus following to some extent the example of Brutus, the earliest recorded visitor: Here I stand and here I rest, And this place shall be called Totnes. [Illustration: TOTNES CHURCH WALK] There was no doubt about the antiquity of Totnes, for Geoffrey of Monmouth, the author of the famous old English Chronicle, a compilation from older authors, in his _Historia Britonum_, 1147, began his notes on Totnes not in the time of the Saxons nor even with the Roman Occupation, but with the visit of Brutus, hundreds of years before the Christian era. Brutus of Troy had a strange career. His mother died in giving him birth, and he accidentally shot his father with an arrow when out hunting. Banished from Italy, he took refuge in Greece, where it was said he married a daughter of the King, afterwards sailing to discover a new country. Arriving off our shores, he sailed up the River Dart until he could get no farther, and then landed at the foot of the hill where Totnes now stands. The stone on which he first set foot was ever afterwards known as Brutus's stone, and was removed for safety near to the centre of the town; where for ages the mayor or other official gave out all royal proclamations from it, such as the accessions to the throne--the last before our visit having been that of her most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria. The Charter of Totnes was dated 1205, the mayor claiming precedence over the Lord Mayor of London, for Totnes, if not the oldest, was one of the oldest boroughs in England. It was therefore not to be wondered at that the Corporation possessed many curios: amongst them were the original ring to which the bull was fastened when bull-baiting formed one of the pastimes in England; a very ancient wooden chest; the staves used by the constables in past generations; a curious arm-chair used by the town clerk; a list of mayors from the year 1377 to the present time; two original proclamations by Oliver Cromwell; many old placards of important events; an exceptionally fine fourteenth-century frieze; a water-pipe formed out of the trunk of an elm tree; the old stocks; and an engraving representing the arrival of William of Orange at Brixham. There was a church at Totnes in the time of the Conquest, for it was mentioned in a charter by which "Judhel de Totnais," the Norman Baron to whom the Conqueror gave the borough, granted the "Ecclesiam Sancte Marie de Toteneo" to the Benedictine Abbey at Angers; but the present church was built in 1432 by Bishop Lacy, who granted a forty-days' indulgence for all who contributed to the work. His figure and coat-of-arms were still to be seen on the church tower, which was 120 feet high, with the words in raised stone letters, "I made the Tour." There was also a figure of St. Loe, the patron Saint of artificers in brass and iron, who was shown in the act of shoeing a horse. The corporation appeared to have had control of the church, and in 1450 had erected the altar screen, which was perhaps the most striking object there, for after the restoration, which was in progress at the time of our visit, of nine stone screens in Devon churches, excepting that in Exeter Cathedral, it claimed to be the most beautiful. In the church there was also an elaborate brass candelabrum for eighteen lights with this suitable inscription: Thy Word is a Lantern to my Feet And a light unto my Path. _Donum Dei et Deo_ 17th May 1701. The corporation has also some property in the church in the shape of elaborately carved stalls erected in 1636; also an ancient Bible and Prayer Book handsomely bound for the use of the mayor, and presented April 12th, 1690, by the Honble. Lady Anne Seymour of Berry Pomeroy Castle, whose autograph the books contain; and in the Parvise Chamber attached to the church there were about 300 old books dating from 1518 to 1676, one a copy of Sir Walter Raleigh's _History of the World_, published in 1634. The carved stone pulpit, of the same date as the screen, had at one time been divided into Gothic panels, on which were shields designed to represent the twelve sons of Israel: Judah was represented by a lion couchant, Zebulon by a ship under sail, Issachar as a laden ass resting, and Dan as a serpent coiled with head erect, and so on according to the description given of each of the sons in the forty-ninth chapter of Genesis. There were a number of monuments in the church, the principal being that of Christopher Blacall, who died in 1635. He was represented as kneeling down in the attitude of prayer, while below were shown his four wives, also kneeling. The conductor showed us the very fine organ, which before being placed there had been exhibited at the Great Exhibition in London in 1851; and we also saw the key of the church door, which, as well as the lock, had been in use for quite four hundred years. [Illustration: SEXTON'S COTTAGE, TOTNES.] We then paid a hurried visit to the ruins of the old castle, which in the time of Henry VIII was described by Leland the antiquary as "The Castelle waul and the strong dungeon be maintained; but the logginges of the Castelle be cleane in ruine"; but about thirty years before our visit the Duke of Somerset, the representative of the Seymour family, laid out the grounds and made of them quite a nice garden, with a flight of steps of easy gradient leading to the top of the old Norman Keep, from which we had a fine view of the country between Dartmoor and the sea. Totnes was supposed to have been the Roman "Ad Darium," at the end of the Fosse Way, and was also the famous harbour of the Celts where the great Vortigern was overthrown by Ambrosius. As the seas were infested with pirates, ports were chosen well up the estuaries of rivers, often at the limit of the tides; and Totnes, to which point the Dart is still navigated, remained of importance from Saxon times, through the struggles with the Danes until the arrival of the Normans; after this it was gradually superseded by Dartmouth. At Totnes, when we asked the way to Dartmouth, the people jocularly told us that the only direct way was by boat down the river; but our rules and regulations would not permit of our going that way, so we decided to keep as near to the river as we could on the outward journey and find an alternative route on our return. This was a good idea, but we found it very difficult to carry out in the former case, owing to the streams which the River Dart receives on both sides on its way towards the sea. Relieved of the weight of our luggage, we set off at a good speed across fields and through woods, travelling along lanes the banks of which were in places covered with ferns. In Cheshire we had plenty of bracken, but very few ferns, but here they flourished in many varieties. A gentleman whom we met rambling along the river bank told us there were about forty different kinds of ferns and what he called "fern allies" to be found in the lanes and meadows in Devonshire. He said it was also noted for fungi, in which he appeared to be more interested than in the ferns, telling us there were six or seven hundred varieties, some of them being very beautiful both in colour and form; but we never cared very much for these, as we thought them too much akin to poisonous toadstools. We asked him why the lanes in Devonshire were so much below the surface of the land, and he said they had been constructed in that way in very ancient times to hide the passage of cattle and produce belonging to the British from the sight of their Saxon oppressors. He complained strongly of the destruction of ferns by visitors from populous places, who thought they would grow in their gardens or back-yards, and carried the roots away with them to be planted in positions where they were sure to die. In later years, it was said, young ladies and curates advertised hampers of Devonshire ferns for sale to eke out their small incomes; and when this proved successful, regular dealers did the same, and devastated woods and lanes by rooting up the ferns and almost exterminating some of the rarer kinds; but when the County Councils were formed, this wholesale destruction was forbidden. [Illustration: SHARPHAM ON THE DART.] We had a fairly straight course along the river for two or three miles, and on our way called to see an enormous wych-elm tree in Sharpham Park, the branches of which were said to cover a quarter of an acre of ground. It was certainly an enormous tree, much the largest we had seen of that variety, for the stem was about sixteen feet in girth and the leading branches about eighty feet long and nine feet in circumference. The Hall stood on an eminence overlooking the river, with great woods surrounding it, and the windings of the river from this point looked like a number of meres or lakes, while the gardens and woods of Sharpham were second to none in the County of Devon. Near the woods we passed a small cottage, which seemed to be at the end of everywhere, and was known locally as the "World's End." The first watery obstruction we came to was where the River Harbourne entered the River Dart, and here we turned aside along what was known as the Bow Creek, walking in a go-as-you-please way through lovely wooded and rocky scenery until we reached a water-mill. We had seen several herons on our way, a rather scarce bird, and we were told there was a breeding-place for them at Sharpham, together with a very large rookery. We passed Cornworthy, where there was an old church and a prehistoric camp, and some ruins of a priory of Augustinian nuns which existed there in the fourteenth century; but we had no time to explore them, and hastened on to Dittisham, where we regained the bank of the River Dart. This was another of the places we had arrived at either too late or too early, for it was famous for its plums, which grew in abundance at both Higher and Lower Dittisham, the bloom on the trees there forming a lovely sight in spring. A great many plums known as damsons were grown in Cheshire, and in olden times were allowed to remain on the trees until the light frosts came in late September or early October, as it was considered that they had not attained their full flavour until then; but in later times as soon as they were black they were hurried off to market, for they would crush in packing if left until thoroughly ripe. Dittisham was also noted for its cockles and shrimps. The river here widened until it assumed the appearance of a lake about two miles wide, and the steamboat which plied between Totnes and Dartmouth landed passengers at Dittisham. As it lay about half way between the two places, it formed a favourite resort for visitors coming either way, and tea and cockles or tea and shrimps or, at the right time, tea and damsons--might be obtained at almost any of the pleasant little cottages which bordered the river. These luxuries could be combined with a walk through lovely scenery or a climb up the Fire Beacon Hill, about 600 feet above sea-level; or rowing-boats could be had if required, and we were informed that many visitors stayed about there in the season. Across the river were several notable places: Sandbridge to the left and Greenway to the right. At Sandbridge was born the famous navigator John Davis, who was the first to explore the Arctic regions. On June 7th, 1575, he left Dartmouth with two small barques--the _Sunshine_, 50 tons, carrying 23 men, and the _Moonshine_, 35 tons, and 19 men--and after many difficulties reached a passage between Greenland and North America, which was so narrowed between the ice that it was named Davis' Straits. He made other voyages to the Arctic regions, and was said to have discovered Hudson's Straits. Afterwards he sailed several times to the East Indies; but whilst returning from one of these expeditions was killed on December 27th, 1605, in a fight with some Malay pirates on the coast of Malacca. Greenway House, on the other hand, was at one time the residence of those two remarkable half-brothers Sir Humphrey Gilbert and Sir Walter Raleigh, and it was there that Sir Walter planted the first potato ever grown in England, which he had brought from abroad. As he was the first to introduce tobacco, it was probably at Greenway that his servant coming in with a jug of beer, and seeing his master as he thought burning, threw it in his face--"to put his master out," as he afterwards explained. Sir Humphrey Gilbert appeared to have been a missionary as well as an explorer, for it was recorded that he "set out to discover the remote countries of America and to bring off those savages from their diabolical superstitions to the embracing of the Gospel," which would probably account for his having a Bible in his hand when he went down with his ship--an event which in later years was immortalised by Longfellow: Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore. Then, alas! the land wind failed. * * * * * He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; "Do not fear, Heaven is as near," He said, "by water as by land!" Beyond Dittisham the river turned towards Dartmouth through a very narrow passage, with a dangerous rock near the centre, now called the Anchor Stone, which was covered at high water. It appeared, however, to have been used in former times to serve the purpose of the ducking-stool, for the men of Dartmouth and Dittisham brought scolds there and placed them on the rock at low water for immersion with the rising tide, whence it became known-as the "Scold's Stone." One hour on the stone was generally sufficient for a scolding woman, for she could see the approach of the water that would presently rise well above her waist, and very few chose to remain on the stone rather than repent, although of course it was open to them to do so. After negotiating the intricacies of one other small creek, we entered the ancient town of Dartmouth highly delighted with our lovely tramp along the River Dart. We were now in a nautical area, and could imagine the excitement that would be caused amongst the natives when the beacon fires warned them of the approach of the Spanish Armada, for Dartmouth was then regarded as a creek of Plymouth Harbour. The great fleet invincible against us bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. [Illustration: THE MOUTH OF THE DART FROM MOUNT BOONE.] Dartmouth is one of the most picturesquely situated towns in England, and the two castles, one on either side of the narrow and deep mouth of the Dart, added to the beauty of the scene and reminded us of the times when we were continually at war with our neighbours across the Channel. The castles were only small, but so were the ships that crossed the seas in those days, and they would no doubt be considered formidable fortresses then. At low tide the Dart at that point was never less than five yards deep, and in the dark it was an easy matter for a ship to pass through unobserved. To provide against this contingency, according to a document in the possession of the Corporation dating from the twenty-first year of the reign of King Edward IV, a grant of £30 per annum out of the Customs was made to the "Mayor, Bailiffs, and Burgesses of Dartmouth, who had begonne to make a strong and myghte Toure of lyme and stone adjoining the Castelle there," and who were also to "fynde a cheyne sufficient in length and strength to streche and be laide over-thwarte or a travers the mouth of the haven of Dartmouth" from Dartmouth Castle to Kingswear Castle on the opposite bank to keep out all intruders. This "myghte cheyne" was raised across the entrance every night so that no ships could get through, and the groove through which it passed was still to be seen. Dartmouth Castle stood low down on a point of land on the seashore, and had two towers, the circular one having been built in the time of Henry VIII. Immediately adjoining it was a very small church of a much earlier date than the castle, dedicated to St. Petrox, a British saint of the sixth century. Behind the castle and the church was a hill called Gallants' Bower, formerly used as a beacon station, the hollow on the summit having been formed to protect the fire from the wind. This rock partly overhung the water and served to protect both the church and the castle. Kingswear Castle, on the opposite side of the water, was built in the fourteenth century, and had only one tower, the space between the two castles being known as the "Narrows." They were intended to protect the entrance to the magnificent harbour inland; but there were other defences, as an Italian spy in 1599, soon after the time of the Spanish Armada, reported as follows: Dartmouth is not walled--the mountains are its walls. Deep water is everywhere, and at the entrance five yards deep at low water. Bastion of earth at entrance with six or eight pieces of artillery; farther in is a castle with 24 pieces and 50 men, and then another earth bastion with six pieces. The harbour was at one time large enough to hold the whole British navy, and was considered very safe, as the entrance could be so easily defended, but its only representative now appeared to be an enormous three-decker wooden ship, named the _Britannia_, used as a training-ship for naval officers. It seemed almost out of place there, and quite dwarfed the smaller boats in the harbour, one deck rising above another, and all painted black and white. We heard afterwards that the real _Britannia_, which carried the Admiral's flag in the Black Sea early in the Crimean War, had been broken up in 1870, the year before our visit, having done duty at Dartmouth as a training-ship since 1863. The ship we now saw was in reality the _Prince of Wales_, also a three-decker, and the largest and last built of "England's wooden walls," carrying 128 guns. She had been brought round to Dartmouth in 1869 and rechristened _Britannia_, forming the fifth ship of that name in the British navy. [Illustration: H.M.S. _BRITANNIA_ AND _HINDUSTANI_ AT THE MOUTH OF THE DART.] It was in that harbour that the ships were assembled in 1190 during the Crusades, to join Richard Coeur-de-Lion at Messina. In his absence Dartmouth was stormed by the French, and for two centuries alternate warlike visits were made to the sea-coasts of England and France. In 1338 the Dartmouth sailors captured five French ships, and murdered all their crews except nine men; and in 1347, when the large armament sailed under Edward III to the siege of Calais, the people of Dartmouth, who in turn had suffered much from the French, contributed the large number of 31 ships and 757 mariners to the King's Fleet, the largest number from any port, except Fowey and London. In 1377 the town was partly burnt by the French, and in 1403 Dartmouth combined with Plymouth, and their ships ravaged the coasts of France, where, falling in with the French fleet, they destroyed and captured forty-one of the enemy. In the following year, 1404, the French attempted to avenge themselves, and landed near Stoke Fleming, about three miles outside Dartmouth, with a view to attacking the town in the rear; but owing to the loquacity of one of the men connected with the enterprise the inhabitants were forewarned and prepared accordingly. Du Chatel, a Breton Knight, was the leader of the Expedition, and came over, as he said, "to exterminate the vipers"; but when he landed, matters turned out "otherwise than he had hoped," for the Dartmouth men had dug a deep ditch near the seacoast, and 600 of them were strongly entrenched behind it, many with their wives, "who fought like wild cats." They were armed with slings, with which they made such good practice that scores of the Bretons fell in the ditch, where the men finished them off, and the rest of the force retreated, leaving 400 dead and 200 prisoners in the hands of the English. [Illustration: OLD HOUSES IN HIGHER STREET, DARTMOUTH] In 1620 the Pilgrim Fathers called at Dartmouth with their ships _Speedwell_ and _Mayflower_, as the captain of the _Speedwell_ (who it was afterwards thought did not want to cross the Atlantic) complained that his ship needed repairs, but on examination she was pronounced seaworthy. The same difficulty occurred when they reached Plymouth, with the result that the _Mayflower_ sailed alone from that port, carrying the Fathers to form a new empire of Englishmen in the New World. We were delighted with the old towns on the south coast--so different from those we had seen on the west; they seemed to have borrowed some of their quaint semi-foreign architecture from those across the Channel. The town of Dartmouth was a quaint old place and one of the oldest boroughs in England. It contained, both in its main street and the narrow passages leading out of it, many old houses with projecting wooden beams ornamented with grotesque gargoyles and many other exquisite carvings in a good state of preservation. Like Totnes, the town possessed a "Butter Walk," built early in the seventeenth century, where houses supported by granite pillars overhung the pavement. In one house there was a plaster ceiling designed to represent the Scriptural genealogy of our Saviour from Jesse to the Virgin Mary, and at each of the four corners appeared one of the Apostles: St. Matthew with the bull or ox, St. Luke with the eagle, St. Mark with the lion, and St. John with the attendant angel---probably a copy of the Jesse stained-glass windows, in which Jesse is represented in a recumbent posture with a vine or tree rising out of his loins as described by Isaiah, xi. I: "And there shall come forth a Rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots." The churches in Dartmouth were well worth a visit. St. Saviour's, built in 1372, contained an elaborately carved oak screen, one of the finest in the county and of singular beauty, erected in the fifteenth century. It was in perfect condition, and spread above the chancel in the form of a canopy supporting the rood-loft, with beautiful carving and painted figures in panels. The pulpit was of stone, richly carved and gilt, and showed the Tudor rose and portcullis, with the thistle, harp, and fleur-de-lys; there were also some seat-ends nicely carved and some old chandeliers dated 1701--the same date as the fine one we saw in the church at Totnes. [Illustration: ST. SAVIOUR'S CHURCH, DARTMOUTH.] The chancel contained the tomb, dated 1394, of John Hawley, who died in 1408, and his two wives--Joan who died in 1394, and Alice who died in 1403. Hawley was a rich merchant, and in the war against France equipped at his own expense a fleet, which seemed to have been of good service to him, for in 1389 he captured thirty-four vessels from Rochelle, laden with 1,500 tons of wine. John Stow, a famous antiquary of the sixteenth century, mentioned this man in his _Annals_ as "the merchant of Dartmouth who in 1390 waged war with the navies and ships of the ports of our own shores," and "took 34 shippes laden with wyne to the sum of fifteen hundred tunnes," so we considered Hawley must have been a pirate of the first degree. There was a brass in the chancel with this inscription, the moral of which we had seen expressed in so many different forms elsewhere: Behold thyselfe by me, I was as thou art now: And them in time shalt be Even dust as I am now; So doth this figure point to thee The form and state of each degree. [Illustration: ANCIENT DOOR IN ST. SAVIOUR'S CHURCH] The gallery at the west end was built in 1631, and there was a door in the church of the same date, but the ironwork on this was said to be two hundred years older, having probably been transferred to it from a former door. It was one of the most curious we had ever seen. Two animals which we took to be lions were impaled on a tree with roots, branches, and leaves. One lion was across the tree just under the top branches, and the other lion was across it at the bottom just above the roots, both standing with their heads to the right and facing the beholder; but the trunk of the tree seemed to have grown through each of their bodies, giving the impression that they were impaled upon it. The date of the woodwork (1631) was carved underneath the body of the lion at the top, the first figure in the date appearing to the left and the remaining three to the right, while the leaves on the tree resembled those of the oak. Whether the lions were connected in any way with those on the borough coat-of-arms we did not know, but this bore a lion on either side of it, the hinder portion of their bodies hanging over each side of an ancient boat and their faces being turned towards the spectator, while a crowned king, evidently meant for Richard Coeur-de-Lion, was sitting between them--the lions being intended to represent the Lions of Judah. The King was crowned, but above him, suspended over the boat, was a much larger crown, and underneath that and in the air to the left, but slightly above the King's crown, was the Turkish Crescent, while in a similar position to the right was represented the Star of Jerusalem. The original parish church of Dartmouth, on the outskirts of the town, contained two rather remarkable epitaphs: Here lyeth buried the Bodie of Robert Holland who Departed this life 1611 beinge of The age of 54 years 5 months and odd dayes. Here lies a breathless body and doth showe What man is, when God claims, what man doth owe. His soule a guest his body a trouble His tyme an instant, and his breath a bubble. Come Lord Jesus, come quickly. The other was worded: William Koope, of Little Dartmouth dyed in Bilbao January the 30th, 1666, in the 6 yeare of his abode there beinge embalmed and put into a Leaden Coffin, was, after Tenn Weekes Tossinge on the seas, here Below interred May ye 23 AO. DOM. 1667 Ætates svæ 35. Thomas Newcomen, born at Dartmouth in 1663, was the first man to employ steam power in Cornish mines, and the real inventor of the steam engine. The first steamboat on the River Dart was named after him. In the time of the Civil War Dartmouth was taken by the Royalists, who held it for a time, but later it was attacked from both land and sea by Fairfax, and surrendered to the Parliament. Immediately afterwards a rather strange event happened, as a French ship conveying despatches for the Royalists from the Queen, Lord Goring, and others, who were in France, entered the port, the captain being ignorant of the change that had just taken place. On hearing that the Parliament was in possession, he threw his despatches overboard. These were afterwards recovered and sent up to Parliament, where they were found to be of a very important nature--in fact, the discoveries made in them were said to have had some effect in deciding the fate of King Charles himself. We had now to face our return journey to Totnes, so we fortified ourselves with a substantial tea, and then began our dark and lonely walk of twelve miles by the alternative route, as it was useless to attempt to find the other on a dark night. We had, however, become quite accustomed to this kind of thing, and though we went astray on one occasion and found ourselves in a deep and narrow road, we soon regained the hard road we had left. The thought of the lovely country we had seen that day, and the pretty places we had visited, cheered us on our way, and my brother said he should visit that neighbourhood again before long. I did not treat his remark seriously at the time, thinking it equivalent to the remarks in hotel books where visitors express their unfulfilled intention of coming again. But when on May 29th, 1873, a lovely day of sunshine, my brother departed with one of the handsomest girls in the village for what the newspapers described as "London and the South," and when we received a letter informing us that they were both very well and very happy, and amusing themselves by watching the salmon shooting up the deep weir on the River Dart, and sailing in a small boat with a sail that could easily be worked with one hand, and had sailed along the river to Dartmouth and back, I was not surprised when I found that the postmark on the envelope was TOTNES. In his letter to me on that occasion, he said he had received from his mother his "marching orders" for his next long journey; and although her letter is now old and the ink faded, the "orders" are still firmly fixed where that good old writer intended them to be, and, as my brother said, they deserved to be written in letters of gold: =_My earnest desire is that you may both be happy, and that whatever you do may be to the glory of God and the good of your fellow-creatures, and that at the last you may be found with your lamps burning and your lights shining, waiting for the coming of the Lord!_= (_Distance walked thirty-one-miles_.) _Tuesday, November 14th._ We had made good progress yesterday in consequence of not having to carry any luggage, but we had now to carry our belongings again as usual. Totnes, we learned, was a walled town in the time of the Domesday Survey, and was again walled in 1265 by permission of Henry III. Of the four gates then existing, only two now remained, the North and the East; they were represented by archways, the gates themselves having long since disappeared. We passed under the Eastgate Archway, which supported a room in which were two carved heads said to represent King Henry VIII and his unfortunate wife Anne Boleyn; and with a parting glance at the ancient Butter Cross and piazzas, which reminded us somewhat of the ancient Rows in Chester, we passed out into the country wondering what our day's walk would have in store for us. We had thought of crossing over the centre of Dartmoor, but found it a much larger and wilder place than we had imagined, embracing over 100,000 acres of land and covering an area of about twenty-five square miles, while in the centre were many swamps or bogs, very dangerous, especially in wet or stormy weather. There were also many hills, or "tors," rising to a considerable elevation above sea-level, and ranging from Haytor Rocks at 1,491 feet to High Willheys at 2,039 feet. Mists and clouds from the Atlantic were apt to sweep suddenly over the Moor and trap unwary travellers, so that many persons had perished in the bogs from time to time; and the clouds striking against the rocky tors caused the rainfall to be so heavy that the Moor had been named the "Land of Streams." One of the bogs near the centre of the Moor was never dry, and formed a kind of shallow lake out of which rose five rivers, the Ockment or Okement, the Taw, the Tavy, the Teign, and the Dart, the last named and most important having given its name to the Moor. Besides these, the Avon, Erme, Meavy, Plym, and Yealm, with many tributary brooks, all rise in Dartmoor. Devonshire was peculiar in having no forests except that of Dartmoor, which was devoid of trees except a small portion called Wistman's Wood in the centre, but the trees in this looked so old and stunted as to make people suppose they had existed there since the time of the Conquest, while others thought they had originally formed one of the sacred groves connected with Druidical worship, since legend stated that living men had been nailed to them and their bodies left there to decay. The trees were stunted and only about double the height of an average-sized man, but with wide arms spread out at the top twisted and twined in all directions. Their roots were amongst great boulders, where adders' nests abounded, so that it behoved visitors to be doubly careful in very hot weather. We could imagine the feelings of a solitary traveller in days gone by, with perhaps no living being but himself for miles, crossing this dismal moor and coming suddenly on the remains of one of these crucified sacrificial victims. Not far from Wistman's Wood was Crockern Tor, on the summit of which, according to the terms of an ancient charter, the Parliament dealing with the Stannary Courts was bound to assemble, the tables and seats of the members being hewn out of the solid rock or cut from great blocks of stone. The meetings at this particular spot of the Devon and Cornwall Stannary men continued until the middle of the eighteenth century. After the jury had been sworn and other preliminaries arranged, the Parliament adjourned to the Stannary towns, where its courts of record were opened for the administration of Justice among the "tinners," the word Stannary being derived from the Latin "Stannum," meaning tin. Some of the tors still retained their Druidical names, such as Bel-Tor, Ham-Tor, Mis-Tor; and there were many remains of altars, logans, and cromlechs scattered over the moors, proving their great antiquity and pointing to the time when the priests of the Britons burned incense and offered human victims as sacrifices to Bel and Baal and to the Heavenly bodies. There was another contingency to be considered in crossing Dartmoor in the direction we had intended--especially in the case of a solitary traveller journeying haphazard--and that was the huge prison built by the Government in the year 1808 on the opposite fringe of the Moor to accommodate prisoners taken during the French wars, and since converted into an ordinary convict settlement. It was seldom that a convict escaped, for it was very difficult to cross the Moor, and the prison dress was so well known all over the district; but such cases had occurred, and one of these runaways, to whom a little money and a change of raiment would have been acceptable, might have been a source of inconvenience, if not of danger, to any unprotected traveller, whom he could have compelled to change clothing. We therefore decided to go round the Moor instead of over it, and visit the town of Plymouth, which otherwise we should not have seen. The whole of Dartmoor was given by Edward III to his son the Black Prince, when he gave him the title of Duke of Cornwall after his victorious return from France, and it still belonged to the Duchy of Cornwall, and was the property of the Crown; but all the Moor was open and free to visitors, who could follow their own route in crossing it, though in places it was gradually being brought into cultivation, especially in the neighbourhood of the many valleys which in the course of ages had been formed by the rivers on their passage towards the sea. As our road for some miles passed along the fringe of the great Moor, and as the streams crossed it in a transverse direction, on our way to Plymouth we passed over six rivers, besides several considerable brooks, after leaving the River Dart at Totnes. These rivers were named the Harbourne, Avon, Lud, Erme, Yealm, and Plym, all flowing from Dartmoor; and although there was such a heavy rainfall on the uplands, it was said that no one born and bred thereon ever died of pulmonary consumption. The beauty of Dartmoor lay chiefly along its fringes, where ancient villages stood securely sheltered along the banks of these streams; but in their higher reaches were the remains of "hut circles" and prehistoric antiquities of the earliest settlers, and relics of Neolithic man were supposed to be more numerous than elsewhere in England. There was no doubt in our minds that the earliest settlers were those who landed on the south coast, and in occupying the country they naturally chose positions where a good supply of water was available, both for themselves and their cattle. The greater the number of running streams, the greater would be the number of the settlers. Some of the wildest districts in these southern countries, where solitude now prevailed, bore evidence of having, at one time, been thickly populated. We did not attempt to investigate any of these pretty valleys, as we were anxious to reach Plymouth early in order to explore that town, so the only divergence we made from the beaten track was when we came to Ivybridge, on the River Erme. The ivy of course flourished everywhere, but it was particularly prolific in some parts of Devon, and here it had not only covered the bridge, over which we crossed, but seemed inclined to invade the town, to which it had given its name. The townspeople had not then objected to its intrusion, perhaps because, being always green, it was considered to be an emblem of everlasting life--or was it because in Roman mythology it was sacred to Bacchus, the God of Wine? In Egyptian mythology the ivy was sacred to Osiris, the Judge of the Dead and potentate of the kingdom of ghosts; but in our minds it was associated with our old friend Charles Dickens, who had died in the previous year, and whom we had once heard reading selections from his own writings in his own inimitable way. His description of the ivy is well worth recording--not that he was a poet, but he once wrote a song for Charles Russell to sing, entitled "The Ivy Green ": Oh! a dainty plant is the ivy green. That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are its meals, I ween; In its cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim, And the mouldering dust that years have made Is a dainty meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings. And a staunch old heart hath he: How closely he twineth, how tight he clings. To his friend the huge oak tree; And slyly he traileth along the ground, And his leaves he gently waves As he joyously hugs and crawleth around The rich mould of dead men's graves. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been; But the stout old ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green; The brave old plant in its lonely days Shall fatten upon the past, For the stateliest building man can raise Is the ivy's food at last. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. It is remarkable that the ivy never clings to a poisonous tree, but the trees to which it so "closely twineth and tightly clings" it very often kills, even "its friend the huge oak tree." Near the bridge we stayed at a refreshment house to replenish the inner man, and the people there persuaded us to ramble along the track of the River Erme to a spot which "every visitor went to see"; so leaving our luggage, we went as directed. We followed the footpath under the trees that lined the banks of the river, which rushed down from the moor above as if in a great hurry to meet us, and the miniature waterfalls formed in dashing over the rocks and boulders that impeded its progress looked very pretty. Occasionally it paused a little in its progress to form small pools in which were mirrored the luxuriant growth of moss and ferns sheltering beneath the branches of the trees; but it was soon away again to form similar pretty pictures on its way down the valley. We were pleased indeed that we had not missed this charming bit of scenery. Emerging from the dell, we returned by a different route, and saw in the distance the village of Harford, where in the church a brass had been placed to the Prideaux family by a former Bishop of Worcester. This bishop was a native of that village, and was in a humble position when he applied for the post of parish clerk of a neighbouring village, where his application was declined. He afterwards went to work at Oxford, and while he was there made the acquaintance of a gentleman who recognised his great talents, and obtained admission for him to one of the colleges. He rose from one position to another until he became Bishop of Worcester, and in after life often remarked that if he had been appointed parish clerk he would never have become a bishop. We recovered our luggage and walked quickly to Plymouth, where we arrived in good time, after an easy day's walk. We had decided to stop there for the night and, after securing suitable apartments, went out into the town. The sight of so many people moving backwards and forwards had quite a bewildering effect upon us after walking through moors and rather sleepy towns for such a long period; but after being amongst the crowds for a time, we soon became accustomed to our altered surroundings. As a matter of course, our first visit was to the Plymouth Hoe, and our first thoughts were of the great Spanish Armada. [Illustration: SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. _From the picture in the possession of Sir T.F. Elliot Drake._] The position of England as the leading Protestant country, with the fact of the refusal of Queen Elizabeth when the King of Spain proposed marriage, made war between the two countries almost certain. Drake had also provoked hostilities, for he had sailed to the West Indies in 1587, and after defeating the Spaniards there had entered the Bay of Cadiz with thirty ships and destroyed 10,000 tons of shipping--an achievement which he described as "singeing the whiskers of the King of Spain." In consequence of this Philip, King of Spain, declared war on Elizabeth, Queen of England, and raised a great army of ships to overwhelm the English. It was on Friday, July 19, 1588, that Captain Thomas Fleming, in charge of the pinnace _Golden Hind_, ran into Plymouth Sound with the news that the Spanish Armada was off the Lizard. The English captains were playing bowls on Plymouth Hoe when Captain Fleming arrived in hot haste to inform them that when his ship was off the French coast they had seen the Spanish fleet approaching in the distance, and had put on all sail to bring the news. This was the more startling because the English still believed it to be refitting in its own ports and unlikely to come out that year. Great excitement prevailed among the captains; but Drake, who knew all that could be known of the Spanish ships, and their way of fighting, had no fear of the enemy, and looked upon them with contempt, coolly remarking that they had plenty of time to finish the game and thrash the Spaniards afterwards. The beacon fires were lighted during the night, and-- Swift to east and swift to west The ghastly war-flame spread; High on St. Michael's Mount it shone, It shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniards saw Along each southern shire Cape beyond cape, in endless range Those twinkling points of fire. The Armada consisted of 131 large ships accompanied by galleys armed with heavy guns, and many smaller vessels, carrying 27,345 men, of whom 8,050 were seamen and 19,295 soldiers. The twelve largest ships were named after the twelve Apostles, and a hundred priests were distributed through the fleet, for King Philip was a very pious man, and the Armada had been blessed by the Pope. They were under the command of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the Spaniards, who were proverbially cruel, were so sure of victory that they had brought with them many strange instruments of torture, some of which we had seen in the Tower of London on our visit there the previous year. The Lord High Admiral of England was Lord Charles Howard, a grandson of the Duke of Norfolk and a cousin to Queen Elizabeth, besides being a leader of the Court circle. He had, however, been trained as a sailor, and the advice and assistance of such brave and experienced sailors as Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher were sufficient to carry him through any crisis. Drake had inspired his people so that none had any dread of the Spaniards or of their big ships, which were constructed for fighting at close quarters only; while Drake pinned his faith on light ships, easily managed and capable of quick manoeuvring, but armed with big cannon, so that he could pound away at a safe distance. Compared with the small English ships, the big ships of the Spaniards, with their huge superstructures, looked like castles floating on the sea, and the ocean seemed to groan beneath its heavy burden. But how astonished the English must have been, both at the vast number and size of the ships composing the Armada, proudly floating up the Channel in a formation resembling an arc or segment of a circle extending nearly seven miles. When the battle commenced, Lord Howard had only got together a fleet of about a hundred ships, but it soon became evident that the light and well-handled ships of the English, with their more rapid sailing and clever manoeuvring, were more than a match for the much larger ships of the Spaniards. Sir Francis Drake followed the Armada closely during the night, and came up with a large galleon commanded by Don Pedro de Valdez that had been damaged in the fight, and this he captured with all on board. The weather now began to grow stormy, and the strong gale which sprang up during the night caused some of the Spanish ships to foul each other, and the English captured several of them the next day. The wind now began to blow in all directions, and some of the Spanish ships becoming unmanageable, their formation was broken, so that there was no fixed order of battle. Meantime the shots from the English, whose boats were lower in the water, had played havoc with the lofty hulls of the Spanish ships, whose shot often passed over the English and damaged their own vessels. The following day Howard was unable, for want of ammunition, to carry on the fight, so he took the opportunity to divide his fleet into four parts: the first he commanded himself, in the _Ark Royal_; the second he placed under Sir Francis Drake in the _Revenge_; the third under Sir John Hawkins in the _Victory_; and the fourth under Captain Frobisher in the _Triumph_. [Illustration: SIR JOHN HAWKINS _Portrait from the "Horologia" published in 1620_] When they came opposite the Isle of Wight the storm ceased and there was a calm; but Sir John Hawkins contrived to get his ship the _Victory_ alongside a large Portuguese galleon, the _Santa Aña_, and a single combat ensued. Both fleets watched the progress of the fight, the Spaniards being quite certain of their comrades' victory, while the English placed their confidence in the bravery of their champion. It was a stiff fight, in which many were killed and wounded, but at last the English were seen swarming like ants up the sides of their opponents' great ship, and in a few moments her brave captain was seen handing his sword to Sir John Hawkins. The flag of Spain on the mast of the _Santa Aña_ descended, and the white flag and red cross of St. George soon floated in its place. Then arose a mighty cheer, and the triumphant hurrahs of the English proclaimed the victory to the anxious watchers on shore. But three huge Spanish galleons were rowed to the scene to recover the Portuguese ship, and Howard towed the _Ark Royal_ and the _Golden Lion_ to fight them. It was a desperately unequal fight, and the boats were for a time hidden from view by the smoke, but in the end the cheers of the English announced that the galleons had been driven off and the _Santa Aña_ lost to Spain. The Armada continued its progress towards the Straits of Dover, with the English hanging on, and anchored off Calais; but by this time the English fleet had been reinforced by many ships raised by private gentlemen and others, which brought the number to about 140. Howard now decided to draw the Spanish fleet from its anchorage, and Drake, turning eight of his oldest ships into fire-ships, distributed them in the night amongst the enemy, ordering the crews to set them on fire and then return in their small boats. The ships were piled up with inflammable material, with their guns loaded, and when these exploded, the Spaniards were so terrified that they unfurled their sails, cut their cables, and so lost their anchors. They fled in confusion, many being seriously damaged in collision, but only to encounter the English ships _Revenge, Victory, Mary Rose_, and _Dreadnought_, which immediately attacked. Some of the Spanish vessels were captured and some were lost on the shores of France and Holland; but the main body, much battered and with their crews badly out of spirits, sailed on into the North Sea. Howard was close up to them east of the Firth of Forth, but shortage of water and provisions, as well as of munitions, kept him from attacking, and with bad weather threatening he made for the Channel ports, and on August 7th, 1588, the Lord High Admiral returned to England with his victorious fleet. The remaining ships of the Armada encountered furious storms off the coast of Ireland, where ten were sunk; and it was not until the end of September that the battered remnants of the once great fleet reached the coast of Spain. Queen Elizabeth went in state to St. Paul's Cathedral to offer up thanks to the Almighty for the safety of her Kingdom and herself, and caused a medal to be struck bearing on it a fleet scattered by a tempest and the words: He blew with His winds and they were scattered. Plymouth Hoe is an elevation between that town and the sea, and its history dates back to legendary ages, when Brutus and Corineus came to Albion with their Trojan warriors, and found the land inhabited by great giants, who terrified their men with their enormous size and horrid noises. Still they were enabled to drive them away by hurling darts and spears into their bodies. The leader of the giant race of Albion was Gogmagog, who was the biggest of them all, but they wounded him badly in the leg, as the story goes, and dragged him to Plymouth Hoe, where they treated him kindly and healed his wounds. But the question arose who should be king, and it was decided to settle the matter by a wrestling match, the winner to be king. The giants selected Gogmagog as their champion and the Trojans chose Corineus, brute strength and size on the one hand being matched by trained skill on the other. On the day fixed for the combat the giants lined one side of the Hoe and the Trojans the other. At length Corineus succeeded in forcing Gogmagog to the ground. He fell on his back, the earth shaking with his weight and the air echoing with the noise of his mighty groan as the breath was forced from his body. Then, after breathing a minute, Corineus rushed upon his fallen foe, dragged him with a great effort to the edge of the cliff, and pushed him over. The giant fell on the rocks below, and his body was broken in pieces. Michael Drayton, whose birthplace we had passed in the Midlands, wrote in his _Polyolbion_ that there was a deadly combat between two giants "upon that lofty place the Hoe," which took place after the arrival of the Trojans under Brutus of Troy, and that the figures of the two wrestlers, one bigger than the other, with clubs in their hands, were cut out in the turf on Plymouth Hoe, being renewed as time went on. They vanished when the citadel was built by King Charles II, though in the digging of the foundations the great jaws and teeth of Gogmagog were found. It was supposed that the last of the giants were named Gog and Magog, and were brought to London and chained in the palace of Bruté, which stood on the site of the Guildhall there; their effigies were standing in the Guildhall in the reign of Henry V, but were destroyed in the Great Fire of London. The present Gog and Magog in the Guildhall, 14 feet high, were carved by Richard Saunders in 1708, and are known as the "City Giants." [Illustration: CITADEL GATE, PLYMOUTH.] We had often heard and read about Brutus, one of those mysterious men whose history we could not fathom, for as far north as York we read in a book there that "Brutus settled in this country when the Prophet Eli governed Israel and the Ark was taken from the Philistines, about 1140 B.C., or a century and a half later than when David was singing Psalms in Jerusalem"; then the writer went on to say that a direct descendant of Brutus, King Ebrancus, anxious to find occupation for his twenty sons and thirty daughters, built two cities, one of which was York; so possibly the other city might have been London. Plymouth Hoe in the time of Drake was a piece of hilly common land with a gallows standing at one corner, and nearer the sea a water tower and a beacon to signal the approach of enemies. But it was also a place of recreation, and used for drilling soldiers and sailors. There were archery butts, and there must also have been a bowling green, on which the captains of the fleet were playing bowls when the news reached them of the approach of the Spanish Armada. Amongst the English captains were one from Cheshire, George de Beeston, of Beeston, and a near relative of his, Roger Townshend. Both had charge of leading ships, and were knighted on board the _Ark_ by Lord Howard for their services. When we visited Plymouth Hoe we found it laid out with broad walks and large plots of grass, where sailors and soldiers were much in evidence. In later years the greater portion of the old Eddystone Lighthouse was re-erected there, from the cage on the top of which was a very fine view over Plymouth Sound, one of the most beautiful in England. Besides the town and the famous Hoe there could be seen, seawards, Drake's or St. Nicholas' Island, the famous Breakwater, and the still more famous Eddystone Lighthouse, while on the Cornish side were the beautiful woods of Mount Edgcumbe reaching down to the water's edge. Then there was the estuary of the River Tamar, called the Hamoaze, with the huge railway bridge crossing it to Saltash, the frame of the general picture being formed by the hills which surrounded Plymouth, including those of Dartmoor in the background. O the fair Town of Plymouth is by the sea-side, The Sound is so blue and so still and so wide, Encircled with hills, and with forests all green, As a crown of fresh leaves on the head of a queen. O dear Plymouth town, and O blue Plymouth Sound! O where is your equal on earth to be found? Eddystone Lighthouse, the top of which could just be seen from the Hoe, stood on a group of rocks nine miles from the Cornish Coast and fourteen miles from Plymouth. These rocks were covered at high water by the sea, and were so dangerous to ships moving in and out of Plymouth or along the coast, that a lighthouse of wood was built on them in the year 1700, which was washed away by a great storm three years afterwards, when the lighthouse people perished as well as the unfortunate architect, Winstanley, who happened to be there on a visit at the time. In 1709 a second and a stronger wooden lighthouse was built by Rudyard, but the progress of the work was delayed owing to the workmen being carried on to France by a French ship and lodged in a prison there. King Louis XIV, when he heard of this, chivalrously ordered the Englishmen to be liberated and their captors to be put in the prison in their places, remarking that "though he was at war with England, he was not at war with mankind." So the lighthouse was completed, and remained until 1755, when it was destroyed by fire. It was the work of years to construct and build a lighthouse on a rock in the midst of the stormy seas, but a third was built by Smeaton in 1759, this time made of granite and Portland stone, and modelled after the shape of the trunk of an old oak tree. The stones had been prepared on land, and were sent to the rock as required for the various positions, and so the lighthouse was raised in about four months. This one was strongly built, and braved the storms for more than a hundred years, and was still in position when we visited Plymouth; but a portion of the rock on which it was built was causing some anxiety, as it showed signs of giving way. A fourth lighthouse was therefore prepared during the years 1879-82, being built wholly of granite, the old lighthouse doing duty meanwhile. This was designed and carried out by Sir James Douglas, at a cost of about £80,000. It was a substantial structure, and built on a different foundation 133 feet high, being 50 feet taller than its predecessor, and containing a number of rooms. It had two 2-ton bells at the top to sound in foggy weather, and the flash-lights could be seen from a distance of many miles. The greater portion of the old lighthouse built by Smeaton was carefully taken down and removed to Plymouth, where it was re-erected on the Hoe as a lasting memorial to the man whose wonderful genius had conferred such a benefit on the sailors of all nations--for it was impossible to calculate how many lives had been saved during the 120 years his lighthouse had been protecting the ships of all nations from the dangerous reef on which it stood. The old lighthouse now forms a conspicuous object on the Hoe, and contains some interesting relics, and in the lantern are the candlesticks in which the lights were placed that guided the mariners across the stormy ocean in past ages. Over the lantern are the words "24 August 1759" and "Laus Deo" (Praise to God), for the goodness of the Almighty was always acknowledged in those days both in construction of great works and otherwise, and another inscription also appears which seems very appropriate: Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it. Plymouth at first sight had the appearance of a new town, with so many new buildings to attract the eye of a stranger. Elihu Burritt, however, when he, like ourselves, was journeying to Land's End, described it as "the Mother Plymouth sitting by the Sea." The new buildings have replaced or swamped the older erections; but a market has existed there since 1253, and members have been returned to Parliament since 1292, while its list of mayors is continuous from the year 1439. It was to Plymouth that the Black Prince returned with his fleet after his great victories in France in the reign of Edward III. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Plymouth was the port from which expeditions were sent out to explore and form colonies in hitherto unknown places abroad, and in these some of the most daring sailors the world has ever known took part. Sir Martin Frobisher, the first navigator to attempt to find the north-west passage to India, and from whom comes the name Frobisher's Strait, to the south of Baffin Land, was knighted, along with Townshend and Beeston, for his services in the defeat of the Spanish Armada. Sir Francis Drake, the great Admiral of Queen Elizabeth's time, made many adventurous voyages, partly for discovery and partly for plunder, and was the first Englishman to sail round the world. He brought news of the existence of gold in some places where he had been, and when he returned his well-filled ship stimulated others to emulate the Spaniards in that direction. Sir Walter Raleigh, who was described as a scholar, courtier, soldier, sailor, and statesman, discovered Virginia in 1584. He was in great favour at Court, but he quarrelled with Queen Elizabeth, who had granted him a Patent for the discovery and settlement of unknown countries in the West. When James I ascended the throne he was suspected of being a conspirator and was sentenced to death, but the sentence was altered to imprisonment in the Tower of London, where during his twelve years' confinement he wrote his _History of the World_. In 1615 James set him at liberty, and put him at the head of an expedition to Guinea to find gold, but, being unsuccessful, on his return he was beheaded in Old Palace Yard in 1618--a sad ending to a great career. It was at Virginia that he discovered tobacco, and possibly the potato, for he introduced both these plants into England; and "Virginia Leaf" tobacco is still the finest produced in America. Sir Walter explored the place when it was named Pamlico Sound, but it was afterwards named "Virginia" by Queen Elizabeth herself, and to Sir Walter Raleigh's efforts to colonise this and other places we owe many of our possessions to-day. In the struggle for independence Virginia took the lead, and the first Representative Assembly in America was held there, while in the war between the North and South it was the scene of the last battle and the final surrender. Captain James Cook, whose book _Voyages round the World_ is now a classic, made many discoveries for Great Britain, including that of the Sandwich Islands; and he sailed from Plymouth on two occasions, 1768 and 1772. He made three voyages round the world, but on the third was murdered by natives at Hawaii. He discovered Botany Bay in New South Wales in 1770, which was afterwards made a penal colony, whither early in the year 1787 eleven ships sailed from Plymouth, with 800 criminals, over 200 officials, and many free settlers. But the most important departure from the port was in 1620, when the _Mayflower_ sailed for America with the "Pilgrim Fathers" on board. She was only a little barque of 180 tons, and was sadly tossed about by the big waves in the Atlantic. But after enduring many hardships, the emigrants landed on the barren shores of Massachusetts Bay, and named the spot where they landed "New Plymouth," that being no doubt what Elihu Burritt had in his mind when he described Plymouth as "the Mother Plymouth sitting by the Sea," for so many emigrants had gone from there to America and other places that there were now quite forty places named Plymouth in different parts of the world. The place whence the "Fathers" left the port on their perilous journey was afterwards marked with a stone. This we went to see, but we were driven off the Hoe by a heavy shower of rain. [Illustration: THE "MAYFLOWER STONE," PLYMOUTH HARBOUR.] Plymouth was also the last port of call in Europe of the ship _Northumberland_ bound for St. Helena, with Napoleon Bonaparte on board; and we thought it a strange incident of travel that the list of distinguished visitors here in 1871 should have included (in addition to ourselves of course!) the names of the unfortunate Emperor Napoleon III, and his still more unfortunate son, who had been there about a fortnight before we arrived. During that year the French agreed to pay the great indemnity which the Germans demanded, and which it was said laid the foundation of the prosperity of the German Empire. (_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.) _Wednesday, November 15th._ We left our hotel at daylight this morning, having made special arrangements last night for a good breakfast to be served in time for an early start, for we had a heavy day's walk, before us. We were now in sight of Cornwall, the last county we should have to cross before reaching Land's End. We had already traversed thirteen counties in Scotland and fourteen in England since leaving John O' Groat's. But an arm of the sea named the Hamoaze separated us from Cornwall, and as our rules prevented us from crossing it either by boat or train, the question arose how we were to get across the water, which was one of the greatest naval anchorages in the world, and near the great dockyards in which the Government employed some thousands of men. We had come that way in the hope of seeing some of the big warships near Devonport, and at length we came to the great railway bridge at Saltash. The thought occurred to us that we might reach the Cornish coast by walking over the bridge to the other side. We had walked across a railway bridge on one occasion in Scotland to enable us to reach Abbotsford, the former residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, so why not adopt a similar plan here? We were some time before we could find a place where we could scale the embankment, but ultimately we got on the railway and walked to the entrance of the bridge; but when we reached the path at the side of the bridge it looked such a huge affair, and such a long way across the water, that we decided not to venture without asking some advice. We waited until we saw coming along the railway track a workman, to whom we confided our intention. He strongly advised us not to make the attempt, since we should run great bodily risk, as well as make ourselves liable to the heavy fine the railway company had power to inflict. We rather reluctantly returned to the road we had left, but not before seeing some of the big ships from the bridge--the finest and last of the iron tubular bridges built by the famous engineer Brunel, the total length, including approaches, being 2,200 feet. It had been opened by H.R.H. the Prince Consort in 1859, and was named after him the "Royal Albert" Bridge. We had now to leave the main road and find our way across country, chiefly by means of by-lanes, until we reached Tavistock, where there was a bridge by which we could cross the River Tavy. We had become quite accustomed to this kind of experience, and looked upon it as a matter of course, for repeatedly in Scotland we had been forced to make a circuit to find the "head of the loch" because we objected to cross the loch itself by a ferry. [Illustration: THE "ROYAL ALBERT" BRIDGE, SALTASH] We had only proceeded a mile or two beyond the great bridge at Saltash, when we came in sight of the village of St. Budeaux, at the entrance of which we came upon a large number of fine-looking soldiers, who, we were informed, were the 42nd Highlanders, commonly known as the Black Watch. They were crossing a grass-covered space of land, probably the village green, and moving in the same direction as ourselves, not marching in any regular order, but walking leisurely in groups. We were surprised to see the band marching quietly in the rear, and wondered why they were not marching in front playing their instruments. The soldiers, however, were carrying firearms, which quite alarmed my brother, who never would walk near a man who carried a gun--for if there was one thing in the world that he was afraid of more than of being drowned, it was of being shot with a gun, the very sight of which always made him feel most uncomfortable. He had only used a gun once in all his life, when quite a boy, and was so terrified on that occasion that nothing could ever induce him to shoot again. He was staying at a farm in the country with a cousin, who undertook to show him how to shoot a bird that was sitting on its nest. It was a very cruel thing to do, but he loaded the gun and placed it in my brother's hand in the correct position, telling him to look along the barrel of the gun until he could see the bird, and then pull the trigger. He did so, and immediately he was on the ground, with the gun on top of him. His cousin had some difficulty in persuading him that the gun had not gone off at the wrong end and that he was not shot instead of the bird. It was one of the old-fashioned shot-guns known as "kickers," and the recoil had sent him flying backwards at the moment of the noise of the discharge--a combination which so frightened him that he avoided guns ever afterwards. [Illustration: THE HAMOAZE, SEPARATING DEVON AND CORNWALL] We were obliged to walk quickly, for we knew we had a long walk before us that day and must get past the Highlanders, who fortunately were in no hurry. We passed one group after another until we reached the narrow road along which we had been directed to turn. Here we saw the soldiers going the same way, now walking in twos and threes, and presently the road developed into one of the deep, narrow lanes so common in Devonshire. We continued to pass the soldiers, but there was now a greater distance between the small groups. Presently we were accosted by a sergeant, one of the most finely proportioned men we had ever seen--a giant, as we thought, amongst giants, for all the soldiers were very big men--who said to us, "Now, my lads! if you see any of the enemy, tell them we are two or three miles away, will you?" We wondered what he meant, but as he smiled, we considered it a joke, and replied, "All right!" as we moved on. We had passed all the soldiers except the first two, who were about fifty yards ahead. They had climbed up the high bank on the left-hand side of the lane, and were apparently looking over the country and shading their eyes with their hands so as to get a better view, when we saw a number of others belonging to the same regiment file quietly down-the opposite side. Crossing the lane, they ran up the bank where the two soldiers were still standing, and almost before they realised what was happening their bonnets had been taken off their heads and they found themselves prisoners. It was a clever capture, and as it took place immediately before our eyes, we remained standing there looking on with astonishment, for we had no idea what was about to happen. But immediately the scene changed, and soldiers appeared in front, both in the lane and high up above the road. But the worst feature was that they began firing their guns; so here we were in a deep lane from which there was no escape, and, as we afterwards ascertained, between the two halves of one of the most famous regiments in the British army, one ambuscaded by the other! We were taken completely by surprise, as we had never seen or heard of a sham fight before, and it appeared a terrible thing to us, as the fiery eyes and fierce countenances of the soldiers were fearful to see, and we became greatly alarmed, expecting every minute to be taken prisoners. I consoled my brother by telling him the guns were only loaded with blank cartridges, but his only remark was, "But suppose one of them isn't, and we get shot," and he began to walk onwards more quickly than I had ever seen him walk before. Keeping as near one side the road as possible, and dodging between the soldiers, with myself following closely behind his heels, perspiring profusely with fear and exertion until there was scarcely a dry thread upon us, we managed at last to escape, and were profoundly thankful when we got clear of the Black Watch and so ended one of the most exciting adventures we ever had. It reminded my brother of the Charge of the Light Brigade, a story he was very familiar with, an Irish friend of his named Donoghue being one of the trumpeters who sounded it, and of Tennyson's words: Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volley'd and thundered. In our case, he said, we had guns at our back in addition. We did not know at that time that the 42nd Highlanders were so famous, but a friend of ours, an officer in the army, has since handed us a description of that regiment, bringing its history down to a later period. The 42nd Highlanders were originally formed from the independent companies raised in the year 1729 to keep the King's peace among the Highland Hills; the Black Watch, so called from the dark hue of its tartan, was first paraded as a regiment of the British army in 1740. They had distinguished themselves in all parts of the world: America, India, Flanders, Egypt, Corunna, Waterloo, Sevastopol, Indian Mutiny, Ashantee, Egypt, Nile, and South Africa, and lost heavily at Ticonderago, Toulouse, Waterloo, and afterwards in the Boer War. They were amongst our bravest soldiers, and were famous as being one of the four regiments named for distinction by Wellington at Waterloo; twice they had been specially called upon, once at the Battle of Alexandria, when the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Ralph Abercromby, called for a special effort at a critical period in the fight, saying, "My brave Highlanders! Remember your forefathers! Remember your country!" and victory immediately ensued; and again at the Battle of Corunna, when Sir John Moore in the thick of the fight, before being mortally wounded, exclaimed, "Highlanders! Remember Egypt!" and the foe was scattered in all directions. In Egypt, after storming Tel-el-Kebir and taking part in the battles that followed, such was the conduct of the Black Watch that Lord Wolseley sent the following telegram: "Well done, old comrades of the Black Watch." Such we may venture to say were the men among whom we found ourselves on that occasion. In after life we always took a deep interest in the doings of that famous regiment, and we noticed that when any hard fighting had to be done, the Black Watch nearly always assisted to do it--so much so that sometimes we regretted that we had not had the honour of having been taken prisoner by them on that ever-memorable occasion! The next village we came to was Tamerton Foliot, in a lovely situation, standing at the end of a creek which fills with the tide. At that point the waters of the Tavy join those of the larger River Tamar, and eventually assist to form the Hamoaze. Tamerton was a very old settlement, as Gilbert Foliot, who was Bishop of London from 1163 to 1188, and one of the most prominent opponents of Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was a native of that village. There was a recumbent effigy in the church dating from the year 1346; but beyond that the great object of interest in the village was an old oak tree named the Coppleston Oak, because of a very sorrowful incident which occurred near the church one Sunday morning many centuries ago. It appeared that a local squire named Coppleston, a man of bad temper and vile disposition, when at dinner made some gross remarks which were repeated in the village by his son. He was so enraged when he heard of it, on the Sunday, that as they were leaving the church he threw his dagger at the lad, wounding him in the loins so that he fell down and died. An oak tree was planted near the spot, and was still pointed out as the Coppleston Oak. The father meanwhile fled to France, and his friends obtained a conditional pardon for him; but to escape being hanged he had to forfeit thirteen manors in Cornwall. [Illustration: TAMERTON CHURCH AND THE FATAL OAK] We were now fairly off the beaten track, but by devious ways, with lovely wooded and river scenery to the left and the wild scenery of Dartmoor to the right, we managed to reach Buckland Abbey. This abbey was founded in 1278 by the Countess of Baldwin-de Redvers, Earl of Devon, and we expected to find it in ruins, as usual. But when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, he gave Buckland to Sir Richard Grenville, who converted it into a magnificent mansion, although some few of the monastic buildings still remained. He formed the great hall so as to be under the great central tower of the old abbey, and the dining-room he formed out of a portion of the nave, while the drawing-room was at the end of a long gallery upstairs; so that altogether it formed a unique structure. In 1581, however, it was sold to Sir Francis Drake, and the mansion contained some relics of his, amongst which were two drums; there were also a chair and a table made out of one of his old ships, the _Pelican_, and a fine portrait of Sir Francis by Jansen, dated 1594. The gardens were very beautiful, as the trees in this sheltered position grew almost without let or hindrance; there were some of the finest tulip trees there that we had ever seen. We were informed that when Sir Francis Drake began to make some alteration in his new possessions, the stones that were built up in the daytime were removed during the night or taken down in some mysterious manner. So one moonlight night he put on a white sheet, and climbed a tree overlooking the building, with the object of frightening any one who might come to pull down the stones. When the great clock which formerly belonged to the old abbey struck the hour of twelve, he saw the earth open below, and about twenty little black devils came out and started to pull down the wall. Sir Francis began to move his arms about and flap them as if they were wings, and then crowed like a cock. The devils, when they heard the white bird crowing, looked up, and, thinking the morning must be close at hand, immediately disappeared to the regions below. We could not learn if or how often these performances were repeated, but it seemed a very unlikely thing for Sir Francis Drake to do, and the story sounded as if it belonged to a far remoter period than that of the Spanish Armada. [Illustration: DRAKE'S STATUE, TAVISTOCK.] Drake was idolised in Plymouth and the surrounding country, where his name was held in everlasting remembrance, and his warlike spirit pervaded the British navy. At a much later period than that of our visit even his drum was not forgotten. Whether it was one of those that were preserved in the old abbey or not we did not know, but it is the subject of a stirring poem by Sir Henry Newbolt. DRAKE'S DRUM Drake he's in his hammock, an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships, Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe, An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin', He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago. Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore, Strike et when your powder's runnin' low; If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago. Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the Drum, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin' They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago! In olden times there existed a much older abbey than Buckland, named Buckfast Abbey, but it was right on the other side of Dartmoor, and the abbots and monks formerly crossed from one to the other. In those remote times there were no proper roads, and the tracks between the two places were mainly made by the feet of the monks, with crosses placed at intervals to prevent their losing the way, especially when the hills were covered with snow. The track still existed, being known as the "Abbots' Way." The distance between the two abbeys was about sixteen miles as the crow flies, but as the track had to go partially round some of the tors, which there rose to an elevation of about 1,500 feet above sea-level, and were directly in the way, it must have involved a walk of quite twenty miles from one abbey to the other. Buckfast Abbey is one of the oldest in Britain, and ultimately became the richest Cistercian house in the West of England. The last abbot was Gabriel Donne, who received his appointment for having in 1536 captured Tyndale the Reformer, who was in the same year put to death by strangling and burning. [Illustration: BUCKLAND ABBEY.] One of the earliest stories of the "lost on the moors" was connected with that road. Childe, the "Hunter of Plymstock," had been hunting in one of the wildest districts on Dartmoor, and was returning home at night, when a heavy snowstorm came on and the night became bitterly cold. Having completely lost his way, and as his tired horse could go no farther, he stopped at one of the ancient crosses and dismounted. His blood, however, began to freeze within him, and to try to save his own life he killed his horse, and, cutting a great hole in its body, crept inside. When daylight came in the morning, knowing he was dying, and that some of the monks would probably find his body when they came to the cross, he dipped his fingers in his horse's blood and scribbled on the stone: They fyrste that fyndes and brings mee to my grave, The Priorie of Plymstocke they shall have. His body was found by the "monks of Tavystoke," and buried in their abbey at Tavistock; and from that time to the dissolution of the monasteries the Abbey of Tavistock had possession of the manor of Plymstock, Childe having no children to follow him. We were sorry that we had been unable to explore Dartmoor itself instead of only its fringes, so we decided to make an effort to see Dartmoor Prison, which we were given to understand was only a few miles away. We changed our course a little and passed on to Walkhampton, where we were advised to follow the by-road above the Walkham river, from which the village took its name, this being the easiest and most pleasant way. We had a nice walk along the valley until we reached Merridale, but there we succumbed to the attractions of the small inn. We felt that we should never be able to wait for food until we reached Tavistock, as the mountain air and the exertion of climbing up the hill had been too much for us, so we ordered refreshments there instead of at Tavistock, as originally intended. We had loitered a little on our way up the hill, stopping to look at the views behind us, which were better than those in front--a necessary procedure, for we were rather inclined at times "to keep our noses too near the grindstone," or perhaps, like Othello, to be "led by the nose as asses are," and to toil up the hills with the wilderness before us, in total forgetfulness of the lovely scenes behind. We therefore advise all tourists on a walking expedition to look back occasionally, since much of the pleasure and beauty of the tour may otherwise be lost. [Illustration: VIXEN TOR, TAVISTOCK.] We had a short walk in the direction of Princetown, where the prison was situated, but we were not at all favourably impressed by the appearance of the country, without a house in sight except the inn where our refreshments were being prepared. Presently we met an official in uniform, who told us the prisoners were not always kept inside the prison, but were employed in making and repairing roads and fences and in cultivating land. He pointed out some men a long distance away who were so employed, and strongly advised us not to go any farther in that direction. The only objects of interest on the Moor, beyond the tors and the views from their summits, were the antiquities, which in that part were particularly numerous, for without leaving the road between the prison and Merridale there could be seen a cluster of hut circles, a kistvaen, a menhir, and a double line of stone rows, and within a short radius many other relics of prehistoric man, as well as one or two logans or rocking-stones. We therefore returned with him to the inn--for even an antiquary cannot live on stones; he ought to be well supported with both food and clothing to enable him fully to explore and appreciate the ancient relics of Dartmoor. Our refreshments were quite ready and were soon put out of sight, and, as we had a downward gradient to the River Tavy, we had made up for our delay when we crossed the bridge over the river and entered the town of Tavistock. The earliest history of Tavistock was no doubt associated with the prehistoric remains on the hills above, if that had been written; but as early as the tenth century Orgarius, Earl of Devon, in consequence of a dream, decided to build a magnificent abbey there, and to dedicate it to St. Mary. He began to build it in 961, but as he died before it was completed, his son Ordulph completed it in 981 and endowed it with the manor of Tavistock and others. Ordulph was also a nephew of King Ethelred, and, according to tradition, was a giant able to stride across a river ten feet wide. Orgarius had not only left a gigantic son, but he had also left a daughter of such surpassing beauty that her fame spread all over England; and Edgar, who by that time was king, hearing of the wonderful beauty of Elfrida, sent his favourite--Athelwold--to her father's castle to ascertain if her beauty was such as had been reported. Athelwold went on his mission, but was so struck and bewildered with Elfrida's beauty that he fell violently in love with her himself, and when he returned he told Edgar that Elfrida was not so beautiful, but was rich and more fit to be the wife of a subject than a king. Edgar therefore consented to his favourite's marriage with her; but the king, discovering that he had been deceived, insisted on paying Athelwold a visit at his home in Devonshire. Athelwold craved permission to go home and prepare for the king's visit, which was granted, and with all possible haste he went and, kneeling before his wife, confessed all, and asked her to help him out of his difficulties by putting on an old dress and an awkward appearance when the king came, so that his life might be spared. Elfrida was, however, disappointed at the loss of a crown, and, instead of obscuring her beauty, she clothed herself so as to appear as beautiful as possible, and, as she expected, captivated the royal Edgar. A few days afterwards Athelwold was found murdered in a wood, and the king married his widow. But the union, beginning with crime, could not be other than unhappy, and ended disastrously, the king only surviving his marriage six or seven years and dying at the early age of thirty-two. He was buried at Glastonbury, an abbey he had greatly befriended. At the Dissolution the lands of Tavistock Abbey were given by King Henry VIII, along with others, to Lord John Russell, whose descendants, the Dukes of Bedford, still possess them. Considerable traces of the old abbey remained, but, judging from some old prints, they had been much altered during the past century. The fine old chapter-house had been taken down to build a residence named Abbey House, which now formed the Bedford Hotel; the old refectory had been used as a Unitarian chapel, and its porch attached to the premises of the hotel; while the vicarage garden seemed to have absorbed some portion of the venerable ruins. There were two towers, one of which was named the Betsey Grinbal's Tower, as a woman of that name was supposed to have been murdered there by the monks; and between that and the other tower was an archway which connected the two. Under this archway stood a Sarcophagus which formerly contained the remains of Ordulph, whose gigantic thigh-bones we afterwards saw in the church. The ruins were nearly all covered with ivy, and looked beautiful even in their decay; but seeing the purpose to which some of them had been applied, we thought that the word "Ichabod" (the glory hath departed) would aptly apply, and if the old walls could have spoken, we should not have been surprised to hear a line quoted from Shakespeare--"to what base uses do we come at last." [Illustration: THE STILL TOWER, TAVISTOCK ABBEY] The old abbey had done good service in its time, as it had given Tavistock the claim of being the second town in England where a printing press was erected, for in 1524 one had been put up in the abbey, and a monk named Rychard had printed a translation of Boethius' _De Consolatione Philosophiæ_, and a Saxon Grammar was also said to have been printed there. The neighbourhood of Tavistock was not without legends, which linger long on the confines of Dartmoor, and, like slander, seemed to have expanded as time went on: The flying rumours gathered as they rolled, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told, And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargement too! On every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew. Fitzford was the name of one of the river suburbs of Tavistock, and was once upon a time the residence of the Fitze family. According to some ancient histories of Devon, one of which had the significant title of _The Bloudie Book_, Sir John Fitze was noted as a turbulent, dangerous man, ever ready with his sword on all occasions. Meeting with many of his neighbours at a noontide dinner at Tavistock, he was vaunting his free tenure and boasting that he did not hold a foot of land from any but the "Queene of England," when his neighbour, "Maister Slanning," reminded him of a small piece of land he had of his for which he was liable for rent, but for which no payment had been asked by reason of "courtesie and friendshippe." Upon hearing these words Fitze flew in a furious rage and told Slanning with a great oath that he lied, and withal gave fuel to his rage and reines of spight in the unjustness of his anger--offering to stab him. But Maister Slanning, who was known to be a man of no less courage, and more courtesie, with a great knife that he had, warded the hazard of such threatenings. The quarrel was stopped by the intervention of friends, and Slanning, thinking the matter was at an end, shortly afterwards rode home in company with only one servant. Long had they not ridden but commanding the man to walk down his horses in the way, himself the while taking the greene fields for his more contented walking; he might behold Sir John Fitze, with four more, galloping amane after him, which sight could not but be a great amazement to Maister Slanning. The quarrel was renewed, and Slanning, who was, by the way, a brave man, perceived that Fitze was determined to kill him; but he had no chance against live swords, and when he got to Fitzford gateway he received a blow from behind which staggered him, and Fitze, seizing the opportunity, ran his sword through his body, and poor Slanning fell to the floor a murdered man. Fitze fled to France, and his friends obtained some kind of a pardon for him; but when he returned they all gave him the cold shoulder; he was avoided by everybody, and to add to his discomfort the children of Slanning sued him in London for compensation. Meanwhile the guilt in blood weighed heavily upon him, increasing in intensity as years went on, and the shade of Slanning never left him day or night, until finally he could not sleep, for the most horrid dreams awoke him and his screams in the night were awful to hear. Sometimes he dreamt he was being pursued by the police, then by black demons and other hideous monsters, while in the background was always the ghost of the man he had so cruelly murdered. Late one night a man on horseback, haggard and weary, rode up to the door of the "Anchor Inn" at Kingston-on-Thames and demanded lodgings for the night. The landlord and his family were just retiring to rest, and the landlady, not liking the wild and haggard appearance of their midnight visitor, at first declined to receive him, but at length agreed to find him a room. The family were awakened in the night by the lodger crying in his sleep, and the landlady was greatly alarmed as the noise was continued at intervals all through the night. They had to rise early in the morning, as the landlord had some work to do in his fields, but his wife would not be left in the house with the stranger who had groaned so horribly during the night. Their footsteps seem to have awakened the man, for suddenly they were terrified to see him rush downstairs with a drawn sword in his hand, throw himself upon a man standing in the yard, and kill him instantly. It was thought afterwards that he must have mistaken his victim for a constable; but when he came to his senses and found he had killed the groom to whom he had given orders to meet him early in the morning, he turned his sword against himself and fell--dead! And such was the tragic end of John Fitze. [Illustration: LYDFORD CASTLE.] There is a saying, "Like father, like son," which sometimes justifies itself; but in the case of Fitze it applied not to a son, but to a daughter, who seems to have followed his bad example and to have inherited his wild nature, for it was said that she was married four times--twice before she reached the age of sixteen! She afterwards married Lord Charles Howard, son of the Duke of Suffolk, and after she had disposed of him--for the country people believed she murdered all her husbands--she married Sir Richard Granville, the cruel Governor of Lydford Castle, but preferred to retain the title of Lady Howard. It was said that she died diseased both in mind and body, and that afterwards she had to do penance for her sins. Every night on the stroke of twelve a phantom coach made of bones, drawn by four skeleton horses and ornamented with four grinning skulls, supposed to be those of her four husbands, issued from under Fitzford gateway with the shade of Lady Howard inside. A coal-black hound ran in front as far as Okehampton, and on the return journey carried in its mouth a single blade of grass, which it placed on a stone in the old courtyard of Fitzford; and not until all the grass of Okehampton had been thus transported would Lady Howard's penance end! The death-coach glided noiselessly along the lonely moorland roads, and any person who accepted Lady Howard's invitation to ride therein was never seen again. One good effect this nocturnal journey had was that every one took care to leave the inns at Tavistock in time to reach home before midnight. My Lady hath a sable coach, With horses two and four; My Lady hath a gaunt bloodhound. That goeth on before: My Lady's coach hath nodding plumes, The driver hath no head; My Lady is an ashen white As one that long is dead. I'd rather walk a hundred miles, And run by night and day. Than have that carriage halt for me And hear my Lady say: "Now pray step in and make no din, Step in with me to ride; There's room, I trow, by me, for you And all the world beside!" The church at Tavistock was dedicated to St. Eustachius, for we were now quite near Cornwall, a land of saints with all kinds of queer names. The church had the appearance of having passed through the ordeal of some severe restorations, but we saw many objects of interest therein. There was a tomb with effigies of Judge Granville, his wife, and three sons and four daughters, erected in 1615 by his widow after she had married again--a circumstance that might give rise to some speculations. The children's heads had all been knocked off, and the boys had disappeared altogether; probably, we thought, taken prisoners by some of Cromwell's men to serve as ornaments elsewhere. There was also a monument to the Fitze family, including a figure of Sir John Fitze, the last of the line, who was buried at Twickenham; but whether he was the hero of the legend or not we could not ascertain. Thomas Larkham, who was vicar from 1649 to 1660, stood out against the Act of Conformity, and was dismissed. But he kept a diary, and a page of it had been preserved which referred to the gifts presented to him after being deprived of his stipend. 1653, _Nov. 30th._--The wife of Will Hodges brought me a fat goose; Lord, do them good! Edward Cole sent by his daughter a turkey; Lord, accept it! _Dec. 2nd._--Sara Frowt a dish of butter; accept, Lord! _Dec. 6th._--Margaret Sitwell would not be paid for 2-1/2 lbs. of butter; is she not a daughter of Abraham? Father, be pleased to pay her. Walter Peck sent me, _Dec. 14th_, a partridge, and Mr. Webb the same day pork and puddings; Lord, forget not! Mrs. Thomasin Doidge--Lord, look on her in much mercy--_Dec. 19th_, gave me 5s. _Jan. 25th._--Mrs. Audry sent me a bushel of barley malt for housekeeping; Lord, smell a sweet savour! Patrick Harris sent me a shoulder of pork,--he is a poor ignorant man. Lord, pity him! There was a curious thirteenth-century chest, trapezium in form, and said to be the only one of that shape in the West of England. It was of carved oak, and called a treasure chest, because it had a secret recess at the back where the priest kept a jewel with which he fastened his robes. Another old chest contained some ancient Latin writings, the earliest of which bore the dates 1285, 1325, and 1370, written in old lettering with what was known as "monk's ink," made from vegetables. Some of the documents bore seals with rush rings attached, and there was a black-letter Bible, and a chained book dated 1588, the year of the Spanish Armada. We were also shown four pewter flagons for Communion wine, all of the time of Charles I, two churchwardens having each given one in 1633 and two other wardens one each in 1638. Asked why so many were required, we were informed that in those days all the people were compelled to come to church, and it was nothing unusual for quarts of wine to be used at one Communion, at a cost of several pounds! But in those days Holy Communion was only administered four times a year! [Illustration: BRENT TOR, TAVISTOCK.] Tavistock was one of the four Stannary towns in Devonshire, where Stannary Courts were established to deal with all matters relating to tin and the tinners who produced it. Under a charter of Edward I tin was ordered to be officially weighed and stamped in the towns so appointed. But while the tinners had the privilege of digging for tin on any person's land without payment for rent or damage, they were subject to heavy penalties and impositions in other ways, and especially in the case of adulteration of tin with inferior metal. The forest laws also in those early times were terrible and barbarous. To enforce the authority of the Stannary Courts a prison was constructed in the thirteenth century out of the keep or dungeon of Lydford Castle, about nine miles north of Tavistock; and in the sixteenth century this prison was described as "one of the most annoyous, contagious, and detestable places in the realm." When Sir Richard Granville, who was noted for his extremely cruel disposition, was Governor, prisoners were known to be compelled to swallow spoonfuls of the molten metal they were supposed to have adulterated. William Browne, a poet born at Tavistock in 1590, in one of his pastorals perpetuated the memory of Lydford Castle: I oft have heard of Lydford law-- How in the morn they hang and draw. And sit in judgement after. [Illustration: KIT HILL, CALLINGTON.] We had now to return towards the coast-line from which we had diverged after leaving Plymouth, and we decided to walk from Tavistock to Liskeard and stay there for the night. The country was rather hilly, and in about three miles we crossed the River Tamar, at the same point passing from Devon into Cornwall, for the river here divided the two counties. It had made for itself in the course of ages a deep passage through the hills, which for the pedestrian involved a deep descent and a sharp ascent on the other side to and from the river. Our way now crossed the Hingston Downs, where we came to one of the chief landmarks of Cornwall, named the Kit Hill, at an elevation of 1,067 feet above sea-level, standing quite near our road. This hill marked the site of a desperate battle in 835, between King Edgar of Wessex on the one side and the Danes combined with the men of Cornwall on the other. The Saxons lost heavily, but they won the battle, and the neighbouring barrows, or tumuli, were supposed to have covered the remains of those who fell on that occasion. We were now amongst the tin mines, of which there were quite a number, used and disused, in sight, some right on the top of the hills; and from these highlands we could see the two Channels, the English on one side and the Irish on the other. It was supposed that the Irish had originally inhabited the whole of Cornwall, but the old Cornishmen were in reality Celts of a different tribe. One of the miners told us that on his return from South Africa he could see Kit Hill distinctly from a long distance out at sea. Some of the tin miners, it seemed, were emigrating to South Africa, while others were going to America. Soon afterwards we reached the fair-sized village or town of Callington, which under the old franchise returned two Members to Parliament, one of whom had been Horace Walpole, the son of the famous Robert Walpole. We looked through the church, where we saw a rather fine monument to Lord Willoughby de Broke erected in 1503. He was represented as wearing armour and the insignia of the Garter, and at his feet were two curious figures of monks, said to be unique, for the figures in that position were invariably those of lions or other animals. A lady from the vicarage told us that his lordship was the steward of the Duchy of Cornwall, and an important person, but there was some doubt about his being buried there. There was another church in the neighbourhood, and as both the villages belonged to him, he had a tomb made in each, so that he could be buried in whichever part of his property he happened to be in when he died, or, as he explained to his friends, "where you drop, there you may be buried." There were more temperance hotels, or houses, in Cornwall than in most other counties we had passed through, almost invariably clean and good, and it was to one of these that we adjourned at Callington for tea. We found it quite up to the mark, and we had a splendid feed there both as regarded quantity and quality, Devonshire cream being evidently not confined to its own county. It would have been a grand place in which to stay the night, but, though the weather was threatening, we must place our average mileage in a safe position, especially as we were now nearing the end of our long walk. It was nearly dark when we left Callington, and, on our inquiring the way to Liskeard, a man we saw at the end of the village said he could put vis in a nearer way than going along the high road, which would save us a good half-mile in the journey. Going with us to the entrance of a narrow lane, he gave us very careful and voluminous instructions about the way we must follow. Thanking him, we left him, and proceeded along the lane in search of a farmhouse, or rather a gate at the end of the road leading towards it, for he had told us we should not be able to see the house itself in the dark, but should be sure to see the gate, as it was a large one, painted white, and after passing this we were to make one or two turns which he described. The sky was overcast and the night very dark, and although there was a new moon, it was only three days old--too young to be of any service to us. But we could not find either the gate or the farm, or any turns in the road, nor could either of us remember distinctly the latter part of the instructions given to us by the man, one thinking we had to turn to the right and the other to the left. The fact was, we had calculated upon meeting some one on the road from whom, we could inquire further. We had been walking slowly for some time, stopping occasionally to listen for the footsteps of some person from whom we could inquire, but not a sound could we hear until we almost stumbled against a gate that barred our further progress, for it reached right across our road, and beyond this we could hear the sound of rushing water. I knew now that we had come to a full-stop, as my brother would never go beyond that gate after he had heard the roar of the stream, which must have been quite near us. He had often rowed a boat on dangerous rivers and on the sea; had been nearly lost one dark night in a high spring-tide on the sandbanks of the River Mersey; had been washed out to sea through the failure of an oar at Barmouth; had narrowly escaped being swamped with his boat off the East Coast; and a few years before had a hair-breadth escape from drowning by being drawn under the wooden framework protecting the piles for a future famous bridge over the River Thames near the heart of London; but, owing to a narrow escape from drowning when he was almost a child, he had the greatest horror of having his head under water and of being drowned, and even now he was afraid of the sound of rushing water in the dark, for he could not swim a yard; but he was a brave man nevertheless! So there we stood on a pitch-dark night, leaning over a gate in an unknown country, and on a by-road, listening to the rush of the water beyond, wishing that some one might come that way to direct us; but it was hopeless. When we struck a match and lit a piece of paper, we discovered that there was no road beyond the gate, the lane having made an abrupt turning towards the left upon reaching it. We walked along carefully, striking a match occasionally, and at length came to a finger-post, green with age; we could not, however, distinguish the lettering on the arms at the top, so I knew that my turn had now come, as when there was any climbing to be done during our journey, I had to do it. I "swarmed up" the post to the arms at the top, while my brother lighted a piece of newspaper below; but it was of no use, as the names were partly obscured. Still I could see that Liskeard was not one of them, so I dropped down again, nearly knocking my brother over, as the ground was not level at the foot of the post and the light had gone out. We had to stop a minute or two, for the glare of the light from the burning paper had made the darkness more impenetrable than before; but the narrowness of the road was an advantage to us, as we knew we could not get far astray. Coming to a good hard road, we arrived at a bridge where there were a few houses, and soon we were walking quickly again on the right way to Liskeard; but how we blessed that countryman who with the best of intentions had directed us the nearer way! In a few miles we saw a light ahead, and found it came from a small inn by the roadside where one road crossed another, and here we called to inquire our way, and were informed we had arrived at St. Eve, which we thought must be the name of some doubtful Cornish saint; but that impression was removed when we found it was the local pronunciation for St. Ive. We could just discern the outline of a small church to the right of our road, and as there were so few houses we did not confound it with the much larger place in Cornwall, St. Ives, nor, needless to say, with another place named St. Ives in Huntingdonshire, which we passed through on our walk from London the previous year. It was getting unpleasantly near "closing time" when we reached Liskeard, but we were just in time to be well entertained and housed for the night. (_Distance walked thirty-six miles_.) _Thursday, November 16th._ Liskeard was visited in 1757 by John Wesley, who described it as "one of the largest and pleasantest towns in Cornwall," a description with which we agreed, but we were inclined to add the words, "and of no occupation," for there was no outward or visible sign of any staple industry. As in other similar places we had visited, the first question that suggested itself to us was, "How do the people live?" Their appearance, however, caused us no anxiety, as every one we saw looked both well and happy. They had made a clean sweep of their old castle, which was said to have been built in the thirteenth century by Richard, Earl of Cornwall, and King of the Romans, the brother of Henry III; the site they had formed into a public park, in which stood the old grammar school where Dr. Wolcot was educated, who wrote a number of satirical odes, letters, and ballads, under the name of "Peter Pindar," in the time of George III, many of his satires being levelled at the king himself. Eventually he sold his works for an annuity of £250. Liskeard was remarkable for the spring of water round which the town had been built, and which was described by Leland in his _Itinerary_ as "a good conduit in the middle of the Town very plentiful of water to serve the Town." Four pipes originally conveyed the water to different points, and the street where the well existed was known as Pipewell Street. The wells of Cornwall were famous, being named after the different saints who had settled beside them in ancient times, appreciating the value of the pure water they contained. We had often tested the water of the wells and springs we had come to in the course of our long walk, and the conviction had grown upon us that we owed much of our continued good health to drinking water. We naturally perspired a good deal, especially when we walked quickly, which of course created thirst; and the different strata of the various rock-formations we had crossed must have influenced the water and ourselves to some extent. We had come to the conclusion that people who went on holidays and attributed the benefit derived solely to "the change of air" might have equally benefited by the change of water! In one part of Cheshire, formerly in possession of the Romans, there was a rather remarkable spring of water known as the "Roman Well," over which appeared the following Latin inscription, difficult to translate, but which had been interpreted thus: _Sanitate Sacrum_: Sacred to Health! _Obstructum reserat_, It removes obstruction. _Durum terit_, It crushes the hard, _Humida siecat_, It dries the moist, _Debile fortificat_, It strengthens the weak, _Si tamen arte bibis_. Provided thou drinkest with knowledge. The water rises from some subterranean source in the sandstone rock and enters with considerable force into the receptacle prepared for it, which is about five feet deep. The water was always beautifully clear and cool, and visitors often amused themselves by throwing halfpennies into the bath and watching them apparently being transformed into shillings as they reached the bottom--a fact attributed to the presence of lime in the water. In striking contrast to this was the water afterwards brought through the district from a watershed on the distant Welsh hills, which depended for its supply almost entirely on the downfall from the clouds. The difference between that and the water from the Roman well was very marked, for while the rainwater was very soft, the other that contained the lime was very hard, and therefore considered more conducive to the growth of the bones in children. Our personal experiences also with the water at Inverness, and in the neighbourhood of Buxton in the previous year, which affected us in a similar way, convinced us that water affected human beings very markedly; and then we had passed by Harrogate and Leamington, where people were supposed to go purposely to drink the waters. Even the water of the tin-mining district through which we were now passing might contain properties that were absent elsewhere, and the special virtues attributed to some of the Saints' Wells in Cornwall in olden times might not have been altogether mythical. Besides the four Stannary towns in Devon there were originally four in Cornwall, including Liskeard, where all tin mined in their respective districts had to be weighed and stamped. Probably on that account Liskeard returned two members to Parliament, the first members being returned in 1294; amongst the M.P.'s who had represented the town were two famous men--Sir Edward Coke, elected in 1620, and Edward Gibbon, in 1774. Sir Edward Coke was a great lawyer and author of the legal classic _Coke upon Littleton_. He became Speaker of the House of Commons, Attorney-General, and afterwards Chief Justice, and was the merciless prosecutor of Sir Walter Raleigh, and also of the persons concerned in the Gunpowder Plot; while his great speech against Buckingham towards the close of the career of that ill-fated royal favourite is famous. Edward Gibbon was the celebrated historian and author of that great work _The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_. The history of his Parliamentary connection with Liskeard was rather curious. One morning in 1774, when in London, he was asked if he would like to enter the House of Commons, and when he consented, the "free and independent electors" of Liskeard were duly "instructed" to return him. But it was very doubtful whether he ever saw any of the electors, or had any dealings with the Constituency whatever, although he acted as one of their members for about eight years. Possibly, as there were two members, the other M.P. might have been the "acting partner." Liskeard church was the second largest in Cornwall, and in it we saw a "Lepers' squint" and also a turret at the corner of the aisle from which the priest could preach to the lepers without coming in contact with them, for the disease was very infectious--so much so that the hospital built for them was a mile or two from the town. "Lepers' squints" had been common in some parts of England, and as the disease is often mentioned in the Bible, we considered it must have been imported from the East, perhaps from Palestine by the Crusaders. We had not seen or heard of any cases of leprosy on our journey, and we concluded that the disease could not have been natural to our colder climate, and had therefore died out as a result of more cleanly habits. The pulpit was dated 1632, the carving on it being the work of a local sculptor, whose remuneration, we were told, was at the rate of one penny per hour, which appeared to us to be a very small amount for that description of work. Possibly he considered he was working for the cause of religion, and hoped for his further reward in a future life; or was it a silver penny? [Illustration: LISKEARD CHURCH.] The houses in Liskeard were built of stone, and the finest perhaps was that known as Stuart House, so named because King Charles I stayed there for about a week in 1644. This was of course in the time of the Civil War, when Cornwall, as it practically belonged to the King or his son, did not consider itself as an ordinary county, but as a duchy, and was consequently always loyal to the reigning sovereign. It was also a difficult county for an invading army to approach, and the army of the Parliament under the Earl of Essex met with a disastrous defeat there. But we must not forget the Holy Wells, as the villages and towns took their names from the saints who presided at the wells. That of St. Keyne, quite near Liskeard, is described by Southey: A Well there is in the West Country, And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the West Country But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne. An oak and an elm-tree stand beside, And behind doth an ash-tree grow, And a willow from the bank above Droops to the water below. St. Keyne introduced the rather remarkable belief that the first of a newly married couple to drink of the water of her well, whether husband or wife, should in future rule the home. We supposed that the happy pair would have a race to the well, and the one who arrived there first would ever afterwards play the first fiddle, if that instrument was in use in the time of St. Keyne. But a story was related of how on one occasion the better-half triumphed. No sooner had the knot been tied than the husband ran off as fast as he could to drink of the water at St. Keyne's Well, leaving his wife in the church. When he got back he found the lady had been before him, for she had brought a bottle of the water from the well with her to church, and while the man was running to the well she had been quietly seated drinking the water in the church porch! [Illustration: ST. KEYNE'S WELL.] The story was told by the victim to a stranger, and the incident was recorded by Southey in his poem "The Well of St. Keyne": "You drank of the Well, I warrant, betimes?" He to the countryman said: But the countryman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head: "I hastened as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But i' faith! she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church." It was at Liskeard that we first heard of George Borrow, a tramp like ourselves. Although we should have been pleased to have had a talk with him, we should scarcely have been able to accompany him on one of his journeys, for he was 6 feet 3 inches in height against our 5 feet 8 inches, and he would have been able to walk quicker than ourselves. He was born in 1803 and died in 1881, so that he was still alive when we were walking through Cornwall, and was for many years a travelling agent for the British and Foreign Bible Society. In the course of his wanderings, generally on foot, he made a study of gipsy life, and wrote some charming books about the Romany tribes, his _Lavengro_ and _Romany Rye_ being still widely read. He was a native of Norfolk, but his father was born near Liskeard, to which place he paid a special visit at the end of 1853. On Christmas Day in that year, which was also a Sunday, he walked to St. Cleer and attended service in the church, Mr. Berkeley being the preacher, and although there was no organ, he saw a fiddle in the gallery, so fiddles must have then been in use in Cornwall. He would also see the Well of St. Cleer, which was quite near the church, and must in the time of the Saxons have been covered over with stone, as the old arches and columns were Saxon work. Borrow's father was born at Trethinnick Farm, near St. Cleer, which he also went to see. He left Liskeard in January 1854 on a tramp through Truro and Penzance to Land's End by almost the same route as that we were about to follow ourselves. As he made many notes during his wanderings in Cornwall, his friends naturally expected him to publish an account of his travels there, after the manner of a book he had published in 1862 entitled _Wild Wales_, but they were disappointed, for none appeared. [Illustration: ST. CLEER'S WELL.] It was said that Cornwall did not grow wood enough to make a coffin, and the absence of trees enabled us to see a number of huge, mysterious-looking stones: some upright and standing alone, others in circles, or in groups named cists composed of upright stones, forming a cavity between them in the shape of a chest covered at the top, and not intended to be opened again, for they had been used as tombs. Occasionally the stones stood quite near our road, some in the shape of crosses, while we could see others in fields and on the top of small hills. There were some remarkable stones near St. Cleer, including the famous "Cheesewring," formed of eight circular stones each resembling a cheese, placed one on top of another and rising to a height of about eight yards; but the strange part about this curious erection was that the four larger and heavier stones were at the top and the four smaller ones at the bottom. It was a mystery how in such remote times the builders could have got those immense stones to the top of the others and there balanced them so exactly as to withstand the storms of so many years. [Illustration: THE CHEESEWRING] Near this supposed Druidical erection was a rough cave known as "Daniel Gumb's House," formerly inhabited by a man of that name who came there to study astrology and astronomy, and who was said to have had his family with him. He left his record by cutting his name at the entrance to the cave, "D. Gumb 1735," and by inscribing a figure on the roof representing the famous 47th proposition in the First Book of Euclid. The Trethevy Menhir, a cromlech or "House of the Dead," which George Borrow went to see, consisted of seven great hewn slabs which formed a chamber inside about the height of a man; over the top was an enormous flat stone of such great weight as to make one wonder how it could have been placed there so many centuries ago. At one corner of the great stone, which was in a slanting position, there was a hole the use of which puzzled antiquarians; but George Borrow was said to have contrived to get on the top of it and, putting his hand through the hole, shouted, "Success to old Cornwall," a sentiment which we were fully prepared to endorse, for we thought the people we saw at the two extremes of our journey--say in Shetland, Orkney, and the extreme north of Scotland, and those in Devon and Cornwall in the South of England--were the most homely and sociable people with whom we came in contact. [Illustration: "DANIEL GUMB'S HOUSE," LISKEARD.] Some of the legends attached to the stones in Cornwall were of a religious character, one example being the three stone circles named the "Hurlers"; eleven in one circle, fourteen in another, and twelve in a third--thirty-seven in all; but only about one-half of them remained standing. Here indeed might be read a "sermon in stone," and one of them might have been preached from these circles, as the stones were said to represent men who were hurling a ball one Sunday instead of attending church, when they and the two pipers who were playing for them were all turned into stone for thus desecrating the Sabbath Day. We crossed the country to visit St. Neot, and as the village was away from the main roads and situated on the fringe of Bodmin Moor, we were surprised to find such a fine church there. We were informed that St. Neot was the second largest parish in Cornwall, and that the moor beyond had been much more thickly populated in former times. We had passed through a place of the same name in Huntingdonshire in the previous year, when walking home from London, and had been puzzled as to how to pronounce the name; when we appealed to a gentleman we met on the road outside the town, he told us that the gentry called it St. Netts and the common people St. Noots, but here it was pronounced as spelt, with just a slight stress on the first syllable--St. Ne-ot, the letter "s" not being sounded officially. St. Neot, supposed to have been related to King Alfred, being either a brother or an uncle, came here from Glastonbury and built a hermitage near his well, in which he would stand for hours immersed up to his neck in the water in order "to mortify his flesh and cultivate his memory," while he recited portions of the Psalter, the whole of which he could repeat from memory. Though a dwarf, he was said to be able to rescue beasts from the hunters and oxen from the thieves, and to live on two miraculous fishes, which, though he ate them continually, were always to be seen sporting in the water of his well! St. Neot was the original burial-place of the saint, and in the church there was a curious stone casket or reliquary which formerly contained his remains; but when they were carried off to enrich Eynesbury Abbey at the Huntingdon St. Neots, all that was left here was a bone from one of his arms. This incident established the connection between the two places so far apart. [Illustration: TRETHEVY STONES, LISKEARD.] The church had a beautiful Decorated tower and a finely carved sixteenth-century roof, but its great glory consisted in its famous stained-glass windows, which were fifteen in number, and to each of which had been given a special name, such as the Young Women's Window, the Wives' Window, and so on, while St. Neot's window in its twelve panels represented incidents in the life of that saint. It was supposed that these fine windows were second to none in all England, except those at Fairford church in Gloucestershire, which we had already seen, and which were undoubtedly the finest range of mediæval windows in the country. They were more in number, and had the great advantage of being perfect, for in the time of the Civil War they had been taken away and hidden in a place of safety, and not replaced in the church until the country had resumed its normal condition. The glass in the lower panels of the windows in the Church of St. Neot's, Cornwall, had at that time been broken, but had been restored, the subjects represented being the same as before. Those windows named after the young women and the wives had been presented to the church in the sixteenth century by the maids and mothers of the parish. On our way from here to Lostwithiel, which my brother thought might have been a suitable name for the place where we went astray last night, we passed along Braddock or Broad-oak Moor, where in 1643, during the Civil War, a battle was fought, in which Sir Ralph Hopton defeated the Parliamentary Army and captured more than a thousand prisoners. Poetry seemed to be rather at a discount in Cornwall, but we copied the following lines relating to this preliminary battle: When gallant Grenville stoutly stood And stopped the gap up with his blood, When Hopton led his Cornish band Where the sly conqueror durst not stand. We knew the Queen was nigh at hand. We must confess we did not understand this; it could not have been Spenser's "Faerie Queene," so we walked on to the Fairy Cross without seeing either the Queen or the Fairy, although we were fortunate to find what might be described as a Fairy Glen and to reach the old Castle of Restormel, which had thus been heralded: To the Loiterer, the Tourist, or the Antiquary: the ivy-covered ruins of Restormel Castle will amply repay a visit, inasmuch as the remains of its former grandeur must, by the very nature of things, induce feelings of the highest and most dignified kind; they must force contemplative thought, and compel respect for the works of our forefathers and reverence for the work of the Creator's hand through centuries of time. [Illustration: RESTORMEL CASTLE.] It was therefore with some such thoughts as these that we walked along the lonely road leading up to the old castle, and rambled amongst the venerable ruins. The last of the summer visitors had long since departed, and the only sound we could hear was that made by the wind, as it whistled and moaned among the ivy-covered ruins, and in the trees which partly surrounded them, reminding us that the harvest was past and the summer was ended, while indications of approaching winter were not wanting. The castle was circular in form, and we walked round the outside of it on the border of the moat which had formerly been filled with water, but now was quite dry and covered with luxuriant grass. It was 60 feet wide and 30 feet deep, being formerly crossed by a drawbridge, not now required. The ruins have thus been described by a modern poet: And now I reach the moat's broad marge, And at each pace more fair and large The antique pile grows on my sight, Though sullen Time's resistless might, Stronger than storms or bolts of heaven, Through wall and buttress rents have riven; And wider gaps had there been seen But for the ivy's buckler green, With stems like stalwart arms sustained; Here else had little now remained But heaps of stones, or mounds o'ergrown With nettles, or with hemlock sown. Under the mouldering gate I pass, And, as upon the thick rank grass With muffled sound my footsteps falls, Waking no echo from the walls, I feel as one who chanced to tread The solemn precincts of the dead. The mound on which the castle stood was originally of Celtic construction, but was afterwards converted into one of the fortresses which the Normans built in the eastern part of Cornwall as rallying-points in case of any sudden insurrection among the "West Welshmen." The occupation of the fortress by the Normans was the immediate cause of the foundation of the town of Lostwithiel, to which a charter was granted in 1196 by Robert de Cardinan, the then owner of the castle and the surrounding country. An exchequer deed showed how the castle and town of Lostwithiel came into the possession of the Dukes of Cornwall: Know ye present and to come that I, Isolda-de-Tracey, daughter and heir of Andrew de Cardinan, have granted to Lord Richard, King of the Romans, my whole Manor of Tewington.... Moreover I have given and granted to the aforesaid Lord the King, Castle of Restormell and the villeinage in demesne, wood and meadows, and the whole Town of Lostwithiel, and water of Fowey, with the fishery, with all liberties, and free customs to the said water, town, and castle, belonging. Whereof the water of Fowey shall answer for two and a half knights fees (a "knight's fee" being equal to 600 acres of land). In the year 1225 Henry III gave the whole county of Cornwall, in fee, to his brother Richard, who was created Earl of Cornwall by charter dated August 12th, 1231, and from that time Restormel became the property of the Earls of Cornwall. Afterwards, in 1338, when the Earldom was raised to a Dukedom, the charter of creation settled on the Duchy, with other manors, the castle and manor of Restormel, with the park and other appurtenances in the county of Cornwall, together with the town of Lostwithiel: and it was on record that the park then contained 300 deer. Richard, Earl of Cornwall and King of the Romans, caused extensive alterations and improvements in the castle at Restormel, and often made it his residence, and kept his Court there. He was elected King of the Romans or Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire at Frankfort on January 13th, 1256, and crowned at Aix-la-Chapelle, November 27th, 1257. Edward the Black Prince, upon whom the Dukedom was confirmed when only seven years old, paid two visits to Restormel. The first of these was in 1354, possibly while his expedition to France was being prepared at Plymouth, and the second in 1363. In the time of the Civil War the commanding position of the castle caused it to be repaired and held by the Parliamentarians; but after the disastrous defeat of their army under the Earl of Essex in 1644 it was garrisoned by Sir Richard Grenville for the King. In recent times it was again visited by royalty, for on Tuesday, September 8th, 1846, the royal yacht _Victoria and Albert_ sailed into Fowey and landed a royal party, who drove to Restormel Castle. It revived old memories to read the names of the party who came here on that occasion, for in addition to Queen Victoria and her husband, Prince Albert, there were the Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales, Lady Jocelyn, Miss Kerr, Mdlle. Geuner, Lord Spencer, Lord Palmerston, Sir James Clark, Mr. Anson, and Col. Grey. The castle was not a very large one, and we were more impressed by the loneliness of its situation than by the ruin itself, for there was a long approach to it without a cottage or a friendly native in sight, nor did we see any one in the lonely road of quite a mile along which we passed afterwards to the town of Lostwithiel. But this road was quite pleasant, following the tree-covered course of the River Fowey, and lined with ferns and the usual flower-bearing plants all the way to that town. [Illustration: LOSTWITHIEL ANCIENT BRIDGE AND LANDING PLACE.] Here we rejoined the Liskcard highway, which crossed the river by an ancient bridge said to date from the fourteenth century. At this point the river had long ago been artificially widened so as to form a basin and landing-place for the small boats which then passed to and fro between Fowey and Lostwithiel. The derivation of the last place-name was somewhat doubtful, but the general interpretation seemed to be that its original form was Lis-guythiel, meaning the "Palace in the Wood," which might be correct, since great trees still shut in the range of old buildings representing the remains of the old Palace or Duchy House. The buildings, which were by no means lofty, were devoted to purposes of an unimportant character, but they had a decidedly dungeon-like appearance, and my brother, who claimed to be an authority on Shakespeare because he had once committed to memory two passages from the great bard's writings, assured me that if these old walls were gifted with speech, like the ghost that appeared to Hamlet, they "could a tale unfold, whose lightest word would harrow up our souls; freeze our young blood; make our eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; our knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine"; but fortunately "this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood," and so we hurried away up the town. Lostwithiel, one of the Stannary towns, was at one time the only coinage town in Cornwall, and traces of the old Mint and Stannary Court could yet be seen. The town had formerly the honour of being represented in Parliament by the famous writer, statesman, and poet, Joseph Addison. [Illustration: LOSTWITHIEL CHURCH, SOUTH PORCH AND CROSS] The church was dedicated to St. Bartholomew, and was described as "a perfect example of the Decorated period" and the "glory of Cornwall." It possessed a lantern spire "of a kind unexampled elsewhere in the West of England"; but as our standard was high, since we had seen so many churches, we failed to appreciate these features, and, generally speaking, there were no very fine churches in Cornwall compared with those in other counties. This church, however, had passed through some lively scenes in the Civil War, when the Royalist army was driving that of the Parliament towards the sea-coast, where it was afterwards cornered and captured. A Provost named Marshall commanded the detachment of the Parliamentary forces at Lostwithiel, and to show their contempt for the religion of the Church of England, they desecrated the church by leading one of their horses to the font and christening him Charles "in contempt of his most sacred Majesty the King." Meanwhile two Cavaliers, supporters of the King, and gentlemen of some repute in the county, had hidden themselves in the church tower and drawn the ladder up after them. When they saw the Provost preparing to depart, for he was now in a hurry to get away from the approaching Royalist soldiers, they jeered at him through a window in the tower. He called to them, "I'll fetch you down," and sent men with some "mulch and hay" to set fire to the tower into which the Cavaliers had climbed, but they only jeered at him the more, which caused him to try gunpowder, intending, as he could not smoke them out, to blow them out; but he only succeeded in blowing a few tiles off the roof of the church. The font was a fine one, octagonal in form, and carved on all the eight panels, though some of the figures had been mutilated; but it was still possible to discern a horrible-looking face covered with a wreath of snakes, a mitred head of a bishop, a figure of a knight with a hawk, horn, and hound, and other animals scarcely suitable, we thought, for a font. The army of the Parliament was gradually driven to Fowey, where 6,000 of them were taken prisoner, while their commander, the Earl of Essex, escaped by sea. Fowey was only about six miles away from Lostwithiel, and situated at the mouth of the River Fowey. It was at one time the greatest port on the coast of Cornwall, and the abode of some of the fiercest fighting men in the British Isles. From that port vessels sailed to the Crusades, and when Edward III wanted ships and men for the siege of Calais, Fowey responded nobly to the call, furnishing 47 ships manned by 770 men. The men of Fowey were the great terror of the French coast, but in 1447 the French landed in the night and burnt the town. After this two forts were built, one on each side of the entrance to the river, after the manner of those at Dartmouth, a stout iron chain being dropped between them at nightfall. Fowey men were in great favour with Edward IV because of their continued activity against the French; but when he sent them a message, "I am at peace with my brother of France," the Fowey men replied that they were at war with him! As this was likely to create friction between the two countries, and as none of his men dared go to Fowey owing to the warlike character of its inhabitants, the King decided to resort to strategy, but of a rather mean character. He despatched men to Lostwithiel, who sent a deputation to Fowey to say they wished to consult the Fowey men about some new design upon France. The latter, not suspecting any treachery, came over, and were immediately seized and their leader hanged; while men were sent by sea from Dartmouth to remove their harbour chain and take away their ships. Possibly the ships might afterwards have been restored to them upon certain conditions, but it was quite an effectual way of preventing their depredations on the coast of France. They seem to have been a turbulent race of people at Fowey, for they once actually became dissatisfied with their patron saint, the Irish St. Finbar, and when they rebuilt their church in 1336 they dismissed him and adopted St. Nicholas to guide their future destinies. Perhaps it was because St. Nicholas was the patron saint of all sailors, as he allayed a great storm when on a voyage to the Holy Land. What is now named Drake's Island, off Plymouth, was formerly named St. Nicholas. It would not be difficult to find many other churches dedicated to St. Nicholas on the sea-coast from there to the north, and we remembered he was the patron saint at Aberdeen. St. Nicholas is also the patron saint of the Russians, some of the Czars of that mighty Empire having been named after him. While St. Catherine is the patron saint of the girls, St. Nicholas is the patron saint of the boys, and strange to relate is also the patron saint of parish clerks, who were formerly called "scholars." When pictured in Christian art this saint is dressed in the robe of a bishop, with three purses, or three golden balls, or three children. The three purses represent those given by him to three sisters to enable them to marry; but we did not know the meaning of the three golden balls, unless it was that they represented the money the purses contained. My brother suggested they might have some connection with the three golden balls hanging outside the pawnbrokers' shops. Afterwards we found St. Nicholas was the patron saint of that body. But the three children were all boys, who once lived in the East, and being sent to a school at Athens, were told to call on St. Nicholas on their way for his benediction. They stopped for the night at a place called Myra, where the innkeeper murdered them for their money and baggage, and placed their mangled bodies in a pickling-tub, intending to sell them as pork. St. Nicholas, however, saw the tragedy in a vision, and went to the inn, where the man confessed the crime, whilst St. Nicholas, by a miracle, raised the murdered boys to life again! Sometimes he had been nicknamed "Nick," or "Old Nick," and then he became a demon, or the Devil, or the "Evil spirit of the North." In Scandinavia he was always associated with water either in sea or lake, river or waterfall, his picture being changed to that of a horrid-looking creature, half-child and half-horse, the horse's feet being shown the wrong way about. Sometimes, again, he was shown as an old black man like an imp, sitting on a rock and wringing the dripping water from his long black hair! On our way towards St. Austell we passed some very interesting places to the right and left of our road, and had some fine views of the sea. Presently we arrived at a considerable village inhabited by miners, the name of which we did not know until my brother, who was walking with a miner in the rear, suddenly called to me, and pointing to a name on a board, said: "See where we've got to!" When my brother called out the name of the place, I heard a man shout from across the road in a triumphant tone of voice, "Yes, you're in it now, sir!" and sure enough we had arrived at St. Blazey, a rather queer name, we thought, for a place called after a saint! But, unlike the people of Fowey, the inhabitants seemed quite satisfied with their saint, and indeed rather proud of him than otherwise. Asked where we could get some coffee and something to eat, the quarryman to whom my brother had been talking directed us to a temperance house near at hand, where we were well served. We were rather surprised at the number of people who came in after us at intervals, but it appeared afterwards that my brother had incidentally told the man with whom he was walking about our long journey, and that we had walked about 1,300 miles. The news had circulated rapidly about the village, and we eventually found ourselves the centre of a crowd anxious to see us, and ask questions. They seemed quite a homely, steady class of men, and gave us a Cornish welcome and a Cornish cheer as we left the village. [Illustration: SARCOPHAGUS OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON IN THE CRYPT OF ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.] Just before reaching St. Blazey, however, we walked a short distance up a very charming little valley, which has been described as a paradise of ferns, wooden glades, and granite boulders, and possesses some of the finest landscapes in the district, with the ground in springtime azure with wild hyacinths. Some of the finest ferns grew in profusion in this glen, including the "Osmunda regalis" and the graceful lady fern; but, fortunately for the ferns, much of the valley passed through private grounds, and the pretty Carmears waterfall could only be seen on certain days. The parish church of Luxulyan, after which village the valley was named, stood at the head of the glen, and as the people of Cornwall had so many saints, they had been able to spare two of them for Luxulyan, so that the church was dedicated conjointly to St. Cyricus and St. Julitta, while the name of a third was said to be concealed in the modern name of the village, St. Suhan, a saint who also appeared in Wales and Brittany. The name of the village well was St. Cyricus, which probably accounted for the name appearing the first in the dedication of the church. The church tower at one time contained the Cornish Stannary Records, but in the time of the Civil War they had been removed for greater safety to Lostwithiel, where they were unfortunately destroyed. There were many ancient and disused tin workings in the parish of Luxulyan, but a particularly fine kind of granite was quarried there, for use in buildings where durability was necessary--the lighthouse and beacon on Plymouth Breakwater having both been built with granite obtained from these quarries. There was also a very hard variety of granite much used by sculptors called porphyry, a very hard and variegated rock of a mixed purple-and-white colour. When the Duke of Wellington died, the Continent was searched for the most durable stone for his sepulchre, sufficiently grand and durable to cover his remains, but none could be found to excel that at Luxulyan. A huge boulder of porphyry, nearly all of it above ground, lying in a field where it had lain from time immemorial, was selected. It was estimated to weigh over seventy tons, and was wrought and polished near the spot where it was found. When complete it was conveyed thence to St. Paul's Cathedral, and now forms the sarcophagus of the famous Iron Duke. The total cost was about £1,100. We had now to walk all the way to Land's End through a tin-mining country, which really extended farther than that, as some of the mines were under the sea. But the industry was showing signs of decay, for Cornwall had no coal and very little peat, and the native-grown timber had been practically exhausted. She had therefore to depend on the coal from South Wales to smelt the ore, and it was becoming a question whether it was cheaper to take the ore to the coal or the coal to the ore, the cost being about equal in either case. Meantime many miners had left the country, and others were thinking of following them to Africa and America, while many of the more expensive mines to work had been closed down. The origin of tin mining in Cornwall was of remote antiquity, and the earliest method of raising the metal was that practiced in the time of Diodorus by streaming--a method more like modern gold-digging, since the ore in the bed of the streams, having been already washed there for centuries, was much purer than that found in the lodes. Diodorus Siculus, about the beginning of the Christian Era, mentioned the inhabitants of Belerium as miners and smelters of tin, and wrote: "After beating it up into knucklebone shapes, they carry it to a certain island lying off Britain named Ictis (probably the Isle of Wight), and thence the merchants buy it from the inhabitants and carry it over to Gaul, and lastly, travelling by land through Gaul about thirty days, they bring down the loads on horses to the mouth of the Rhine." There was no doubt in our own minds that the mining of tin in Cornwall was the most ancient industry known in Britain, and had existed there in the time of prehistoric man. We often found ourselves speculating about the age, and the ages of man. The age of man was said to be seventy, and might be divided thus: At ten a child, at twenty wild, At thirty strong, if ever! At forty wise, at fifty rich, At sixty good, or never! There were some curious Celtic lines which described the age of animals compared with that of man: Thrice the age of a dog is that of a horse; Thrice the age of a horse is that of a man; Thrice the age of a man is that of a deer; Thrice the age of a deer is that of an eagle. The ages of man were divided into three by Lucretius as: (1) "The Stone Age," when celts or implements of stone were employed. (2) "The Bronze Age," when implements were made of copper and brass. (3) "The Iron Age," when implements were made of iron, as in the present day. This being the order of antiquity and materials employed in making the implements, it was therefore safe to conclude that the mining of tin must have dated back as far as the Bronze Age, for there could have been no bronze made without tin, since bronze is produced by the mixing of copper and tin. Appliances for crushing and smelting the ore were already in existence in very early times, as well as blowing-houses and moulds in which to run the molten metal. The ingots of tin were in the form of an astragal, and an ancient ingot of large size dredged up in Falmouth Harbour, weighing 150 lbs., resembled the letter H in form. This was the most convenient shape for carriage, either in a boat or slung across the back of a horse, and horses were employed in that way to convey the tin along the steep and narrow roads from the mines to the sea-coast. The Romans made use of the Cornish mines, for an ingot of tin bearing a Roman stamp and inscription was preserved in the Truro Museum, and Roman coins had been found in the mines. With St. Austell's Bay to our left, we soon came in sight of the town of St. Austell, behind which were the Hensbarrow Downs, rising over 1,000 feet above sea-level. From the beacon on the top the whole of Cornwall can be seen on a clear day, bounded by the Bristol Channel on one side and the English Channel on the other; on the lower reaches, and quite near St. Austell, were the great tin mines of Carclaze, some of the largest and most ancient in Cornwall. Another great industry was also being carried on, as in the year 1768 W. Cookworthy, a Plymouth Quaker, had discovered an enormous bed of white clay, which had since been so extensively excavated that the workings now resembled the crater of an extinct volcano. This clay, of the finest quality, was named China clay, because it was exactly similar to that used in China, where porcelain was made many centuries before it was made in England, the process of its manufacture being kept a profound secret by the Chinese, whose country was closed to Europeans. A story, however, was told of an Englishman who succeeded in entering China and obtaining employment at one of the potteries, where he eventually became acquainted with the secrets of the whole business. The difficulties he experienced in getting out of the country again, and his adventures and hairbreadth escapes from death, were thrilling to listen to. The pattern on the famous Willow plates, which he was afterwards able to produce in England, was commonly supposed to represent some of his own adventures, and he was thought to be the man pictured as being pursued across a bridge and escaping in a boat. This, however, was not correct, as all the views had been copied from the original Chinese willow pattern, the interpretation of which was as follows: To the right is a lordly Mandarin's country-seat, which is two storeys high to show the rank and wealth of the possessor. In the foreground is a pavilion, and in the background an orange-tree, while to the right of the pavilion is a peach-tree in full bearing. The estate is enclosed by an elegant wooden fence, and at one end of the bridge stands the famous willow-tree and at the other is the gardener's cottage, one storey high, and so humble that the grounds are uncultivated, the only green thing being a small fir-tree at the back. At the top of the pattern on the left-hand side is an island with a cottage; the grounds are highly cultivated and much of the land has been reclaimed from the water. The two birds are turtle-doves, and the three figures on the bridge are the Mandarin's daughter with a distaff, nearest the cottage, the lover with a box is shown in the middle, and nearest the willow-tree is the Mandarin with a whip. [Illustration: THE LOVE-STORY OF LI-CHI AND CHANG.] The written history of China goes back for 4,000 years, a period more than twice that over which English history can be traced; and it is about 2,600 years since Confucius wrote his wonderful laws. Since that time his teachings have been followed by countless millions of his countrymen, and temples have been erected to him all over that great country, whose population numbers more than 300 millions. The origin of the legend represented on the willow pattern must therefore have been of remote antiquity, and the following is the record of the tradition: The Mandarin had an only daughter named Li-chi, who fell in love with Chang, a young man who lived in the island home represented at the top of the pattern, and who had been her father's secretary. The father overheard them one day making vows of love under the orange-tree, and sternly forbade the unequal match; but the lovers contrived to elope. They lay concealed for a while in the gardener's cottage, and thence made their escape in a boat to the island-home of the young lover. The enraged Mandarin pursued them with a whip, and would have beaten them to death had not the gods rewarded their fidelity by changing them into turtle-doves. The picture is called the willow pattern not only because it is a tale of disastrous love, but because the elopement occurred when the willow begins to shed its leaves. Much of the clay at Carclaze was being sent to the Staffordshire potteries, to be used in the production of the finest porcelain. It was loaded in ships and taken round the coast via Liverpool to Runcorn, a port on the River Mersey and the terminus of the Duke of Bridgewater's Canal, where it was transhipped into small boats, which conveyed it to the potteries in Staffordshire, involving a carriage of about fifty miles, After being manufactured into porcelain, it was packed into crates and again consigned by canal to many places inland and to Liverpool for shipment abroad, the carriage being cheaper and safer than if consigned by rail, owing to the fragile nature of the goods. Some of the earthenware had of course to be sent by rail, but the breakages in shunting operations and the subsequent claims on the railway companies caused the rate of carriage to be very high. In later years the pottery trade became rather depressed owing to competition from abroad, and a story was told of a traveller from the Staffordshire Potteries who called at a wholesale house in London where he invariably got some orders, but on this occasion was unsuccessful. When he inquired the reason, he was taken to the warehouse and shown a small china tea service. "Do you know that?" asked the manager. "Yes!" quickly replied the traveller; "that comes from so-and-so in the Potteries, and is their favourite pattern and design!" "And what did I pay for it?" "Twelve and six," promptly replied the traveller. "Ah," said his customer, "you are wrong this time; that set cost us 10s. 6d., and came from Germany!" The traveller reported the matter to his firm, who on inquiry discovered that the Germans had erected a pottery on their sea-coast and, by taking advantage of sea carriage both ways, were able to undersell the British manufacturer with pottery for which the clay had been found in his own country. Arriving at St. Austell, we had a look round the town, and visited the church, which was dedicated to St. Austell. But in the previous year it had undergone a restoration, and there appeared to be some doubt whether the figure on the tower was that of the patron saint or not. There were other figures, but the gargoyles were as usual the ugliest of the lot. There was formerly a curious clock there which was mentioned in an old deed of the time of Edward VI recording that St. Austell's tower had "four bells and a clok," but the bells had been increased to eight and a new clock placed in the tower, though the face of the old one, representing the twenty-four hours in as many circles, could still be seen. When the old clock had been made, it was evident there was no repetition in the afternoon of the morning's numerals, as the hours after twelve noon were the thirteenth and fourteenth, and so on up to twenty-four. The church porch was quite a fine erection, with a chamber built over it, at one time used as a sleeping-room by travelling monks, and, like the nave, with a battlement along the top, an old inscription over the porch, "Ry du," having been interpreted as meaning "Give to God." The carving over the doorway represented a pelican feeding its young with blood from its own breast, and a sundial bore the very significant motto: Every hour shortens man's life. Inside the church there was a curiosity in the shape of a wooden tablet, on which was painted a copy of a letter of thanks from King Charles I to the county of Cornwall for its assistance during his conflict with the Roundheads, It was written from his camp at Sudeley Castle on September 10th, 1643, and was one of several similar tablets to be found in various churches in Cornwall. [Illustration: REV. JOHN WESLEY. (_The Founder of Methodism in England._)] The Wesleyan chapel at St. Austell, with accommodation for a congregation of 1,000 persons, also attracted our attention, as it had a frontage like that of a mansion, with columns supporting the front entrance, and was situated in a very pleasant part of the town. John Wesley laboured hard in Cornwall, and we were pleased to see evidences of his great work there as we travelled through the Duchy; and as Cornishmen must surround the memory of their saints with legends, it did not surprise us that they had one about Mr. Wesley. He was travelling late one night over a wild part of Cornwall when a terrific storm came on, and the only shelter at hand was a mansion that had the reputation of being haunted. He found his way into the hall and lay down on a bench listening to the raging elements outside until he fell fast asleep. About midnight he awoke and was surprised to find the table in the hall laid out for a banquet, and a gaily dressed company, including a gentleman with a red feather in his cap, already assembled. This person offered Wesley a vacant chair and invited him to join them, an invitation which he accepted; but before he took a bite or a sup he rose from his chair, and said, "Gentlemen! it is my custom to ask a blessing on these occasions," and added, "Stand all!" The company rose, but as he pronounced the sacred invocation the room grew dark and the ghostly guests vanished. We should have liked to hear what followed, but this was left to our imagination, which became more active as the darkness of night came on. As we walked we saw some beautiful spar stones used to repair the roads, which would have done finely for our rockeries. Late that night we entered Truro, destined to become years afterwards a cathedral town. (_Distance walked thirty-three miles_.) _Friday, November 17th._ Truro formerly possessed a castle, but, as in the case of Liskeard, not a vestige now remained, and even Leland, who traced the site, described the castle as being "clene down." He also described the position of the town itself, and wrote, "The creke of Truro afore the very towne is divided into two parts, and eche of them has a brook cumming down and a bridge, and this towne of Truro betwixt them both." These two brooks were the Allen, a rivulet only, and the Kenwyn, a larger stream, while the "creke of Truro" was a branch of the Falmouth Harbour, and quite a fine sheet of water at high tide. Truro was one of the Stannary Towns as a matter of course, for according to tradition it was near here that tin was first discovered. The discoverer of this valuable metal was said to have been St. Piran, or St. Perran--as the Roman Catholic Church in Truro was dedicated to St. Piran we agreed to record that as the correct name. The legend stated that he was an Irish saint who in his own country had been able by his prayers to sustain the Irish kings and their armies for ten days on three cows! But in spite of his great services to his country, because of his belief in Christ his countrymen condemned him to die, by being thrown over a precipice into the sea, with a millstone hung about his neck. The day appointed for his execution was very stormy, but a great crowd of "wild Irish" assembled, and St. Piran was thrown over the rocks. At that very moment the storm ceased and there was a great calm. They looked over the cliffs to see what had become of him, and to their intense astonishment saw the saint calmly sitting upon the millstone and being carried out to sea. They watched him until he disappeared from their sight, and all who saw this great miracle were of course immediately converted to Christianity. St. Piran floated safely across the sea and landed on the coast of Cornwall, not at Truro, but on a sandy beach about ten miles away from that town, the place where he landed being named after him at the present day. When the natives saw him approaching their coasts, they thought he was sailing on wood, and when they found it was stone they also were converted to Christianity. St. Piran built an oratory and lived a lonely and godly life, ornamenting his cell with all kinds of crystals and stones gathered from the beach and the rocks, and adorning his altar with the choicest flowers. On one occasion, when about to prepare a frugal meal, he collected some stones in a circle and made a fire from some fuel close to hand. Fanned by the wind, the heat was intensified more than usual, with the result that he noticed a stream of beautiful white metal flowing out of the fire. "Great was the joy of the saint when he perceived that God in His goodness had discovered to him something that would be useful to man." Such was the origin of tin smelting in Cornwall. St. Piran revealed the secret to St. Chiwidden, who, being learned in many sciences, at once recognised the value of the metal. The news gradually spread to distant lands, and eventually reached Tyre, the ancient city of the Phoenicians, so that their merchants came to Cornwall to buy tin in the days of King Solomon. The Britons then, fearing an invasion, built castles on their coast, including that on St. Michael's Mount, while St. Piran became the most popular saint in Cornwall and eventually the patron saint of the miners of tin. His name was associated with many places besides the sands he landed upon, including several villages, as well as a cross, a chapel, a bay, a well, and a coombe. But perhaps the strangest of all was St. Piran's Round, near Perranzabuloe Village. This, considered one of the most remarkable earthworks in the kingdom, and of remote antiquity, was a remarkable amphitheatre 130 feet in diameter, with traces of seven tiers of seats; it has been used in modern times for the performance of miracle-plays. One of the "brooks" at Truro mentioned by Leland was the River Kenwyn, which joined the River Allen to form the Truro River; but before doing so the Kenwyn, or some portion of its overflow, had been so diverted that the water ran down the gutters of the principal streets. It was a novelty to us to see the water so fresh and clean running down each side of the street--not slowly, but as if at a gallop. In the time of the Civil War Truro was garrisoned for the King, but in 1646, after a fierce engagement between the Royalists under Sir Ralph Hopton and Cromwell's forces under Sir Thomas Fairfax, a treaty was signed at Tresillian River Bridge (a pretty place which we had passed last night, about three miles outside the town on the St. Austell road), by which Truro was surrendered quietly to the Parliament. The Grammar School, where many eminent men had been educated, was founded in 1549. Among its old pupils was included Sir Humphry Davy, born in 1778, the eminent chemist who was the first to employ the electric current in chemical decomposition and to discover nitric oxide or "laughing gas." He was also the inventor of the famous safety-lamp which bears his name, and which has been the means of saving the lives of thousands of miners. Truro was the birthplace of several men of note: Samuel Foote, Richard Lander, and Henry Martyn, two of them having been born in public-houses in the town. Samuel Foote, a famous dramatist and comedian, was born at the "Old King's Head Inn" in 1720, and was buried in Westminster Abbey in 1777. He was a clever actor and mimic, "and kept London in a good humour"; he wrote the _Mayor of Garrett_ and many other comedies. Richard Lander, born at the "Fighting Cocks Inn" in 1804, became famous as an African explorer. He took part in the expedition to Africa which was the first to discover and trace the Niger. He was injured by savages and died at Fernando Po in 1834. Henry Martyn, born in 1781, the son of a miner, was a noble and devoted missionary. He left home when twenty-four years of age to labour amongst the Hindus and Mahometans at Cawnpore in India, and travelled in Persia and Armenia. He translated portions of the Bible and Prayer Book into the Persian and Hindustani languages, and at last, weary and worn out in his Master's service, died of fever at Tokat in 1812. [Illustration: THE FRONTAGE, OLD ST. MARY'S CHURCH.] St. Mary's Church was built in 1518, and was remarkable for its two east windows and some fine carving on the walls outside. It was surrounded by narrow streets and ancient buildings. We had no time to explore the interior, so contented ourselves with a visit to an old stone preserved by the Corporation and inscribed: DANIEL JENKIN, MAIOR, WHO SEEKS TO FIND ETERNAL TREASVRE MVST VSE NO GVILE IN WEIGHT AND MEASVRE. 1618. We now considered that we had arrived at the beginning of the end of our journey, and left Truro with the determination to reach Land's End on the morrow, Saturday. We continued our walk as near the sea as the rivers or inlets would admit, for we were anxious to see as much as possible of the fine rock scenery of the Cornish coast. We were in the best of health and spirits, and a thirty-mile walk seemed to have no effect upon us whatever, beyond causing a feeling of drowsiness when entering our hotel for the night. We soon arrived at the quaint little village with a name, as my brother said, almost as long as itself, Perranarworthal, connected with Falmouth by a creek, which seemed to have made an effort to cross Cornwall from one side to the other, or from one Channel to the other. It was at Falmouth that on one dark stormy night some years previously the ship my brother was travelling by called for cargo, and the shelter of the harbour was much appreciated after passing through the stormy sea outside. Perran in the name of the village meant the same as Piran, and the small church there was dedicated to that saint, who deserved to be called the St. Patrick of Cornwall, for he occupied the same position in the popular imagination here as that saint did in Ireland. It was in this parish that St. Piran had his Holy Well, but that had now disappeared, for accidentally it had been drained off by mining operations. Gwennap was only about three miles away--formerly the centre of the richest mining district in Cornwall, the mines there being nearly six hundred yards deep, and the total length of the roads or workings in them about sixty miles. No similar space in the Old World contained so much mineral wealth, for the value of the tin mined during one century was estimated at ten million pounds sterling. After the mines were abandoned the neighbourhood presented a desolate and ruined appearance. [Illustration: OLD ST. MARY'S CHURCH, TRURO. (_The Cathedral of Truro is now built on the site where this old church formerly stood._)] Many human remains belonging to past ages had been found buried in the sands in this neighbourhood; but Gwennap had one glorious memory of the departed dead, for John Wesley visited the village several times to preach to the miners, and on one occasion (1762), on a very windy day, when the sound of his voice was being carried away by the wind, he tried the experiment--which proved a great success--of preaching in the bottom of a wide dry pit, the miners standing round him on the sloping sides and round the top. The pit was supposed to have been formed by subsidences resulting from the mining operations below, and as he used it on subsequent occasions when preaching to immense congregations, it became known as "Wesley's Preaching Pit." It must have been a pathetic sight when, in his eighty-fifth year, he preached his last sermon there. "His open-air preaching was powerful in the extreme, his energy and depth of purpose inspiring, and his organising ability exceptional; and as an evangelist of the highest character, with the world as his parish, he was the founder of the great religious communion of 'the people called Methodists.'" It was therefore scarcely to be wondered at that the Gwennap pit should be considered as holy ground, and that it should become the Mecca of the Cornish Methodists and of others from all over the world. Wesley died in 1791, and in 1803 the pit was brought to its present condition--a circular pit formed into steps or seats rising one above another from the bottom to the top, and used now for the great annual gathering of the Methodists held during Whitsuntide. The idea was probably copied from St. Piran's Round, a similar but much older formation a few miles distant. [Illustration: GWENNAP PIT, REDRUTH.] Penryn was the next place we visited, and a very pretty place too! It was situated on the slope of a picturesque hill surrounded by orchards and gardens, and luxuriant woodlands adorned its short but beautiful river. The sea view was of almost unequalled beauty, and included the magnificent harbour of Falmouth, of which an old writer said that "a hundred vessels may anchor in it, and not one see the mast of another"--of course when ships were smaller. The old church at Penryn was that of St. Gluvias, near which were a few remains of Glassiney College, formerly the chief centre from which the vernacular literature of Cornwall was issued and whence our knowledge of the old legends and mysteries of Cornwall was derived. The town was said to have had a court-leet about the time of the Conquest, but the borough was first incorporated in the seventeenth century by James I. The Corporation possessed a silver cup and cover, presented to them by the notorious Lady Jane Killigrew, and inscribed--"To the town of Penmarin when they received me that was in great misery. J.K. 1633." Lady Jane's trouble arose through her ladyship and her men boarding some Dutch vessels that lay off Falmouth, stealing their treasure, and causing the death of some of their crews. In the time of James I. a Spanish man-of-war came unseen through the mist of the harbour, and despatched a well-armed crew with muffled oars to plunder and burn the town of Penryn. They managed to land in the darkness, and were about to begin their depredations when suddenly they heard a great sound of drums and trumpets and the noise of many people. This so alarmed them that they beat a rapid retreat, thinking the militia had been called out by some spy who had known of their arrival. But the Penryn people were in happy ignorance of their danger. It happened that some strolling actors were performing a tragedy, and the battle scene was just due as the Spaniards came creeping up in the darkness; hence the noise. When the Penryn folk heard the following morning what had happened, it was said they had to thank Shakespeare for their lucky escape. No one passing through the smiling and picturesque town of Penryn would dream that that beautiful place could ever have been associated with such a fearful and horrid event as that known to history as the "Penryn Tragedy," which happened during the reign of James I. At that time there lived at the Bohechland Farm in the parish of St. Gluvias a well-to-do farmer and his wife and family. Their youngest son was learning surgery, but, not caring for that profession, and being of a wild and roving disposition, he ran away to sea, and eventually became a pirate and the captain of a privateer. He was very successful in his evil business, amassing great wealth, and he habitually carried his most valuable jewels in a belt round his waist. At length he ventured into the Mediterranean, and attacked a Turkish ship, but, owing to an accident, his powder magazine exploded, and he and his men were blown into the air, some of them being killed and others injured. The captain escaped, however, and fell into the sea. He was an expert swimmer, and reached the Island of Rhodes, where he had to make use of his stolen jewels to maintain himself. He was trying to sell one of them to a Jew when it was recognised as belonging to the Dey of Algiers. He was arrested, and sentenced to the galleys as a pirate, but soon gained great influence over the other galley slaves, whom he persuaded to murder their officers and escape. The plan succeeded, and the ringleader managed to get on a Cornish boat bound for London. Here he obtained a position as assistant to a surgeon, who took him to the East Indies, where his early training came in useful, and after a while the Cornishman began to practise for himself. Fortunately for him, he was able to cure a rajah of his disease, which restored his fortune, and he decided to return to Cornwall. The ship was wrecked on the Cornish coast, and again his skill in swimming saved him. He had been away for fifteen years, and now found his sister married to a mercer in Penryn; she, however, did not know him until he bared his arm and showed her a mark which had been there in infancy. She was pleased to see him, and told him that their parents had lost nearly all their money. Then he showed her his possessions, gold and jewels, and arranged to go that night as a stranger to his parents' home and ask for lodgings, while she was to follow in the morning, when he would tell them who he was. When he knocked, his father opened the door, and saw a ragged and weather-beaten man who asked for food and an hour's shelter. Taking him to be a sea-faring man, he willingly gave him some food, and afterwards asked him to stay the night. After supper they sat by the fire talking until the farmer retired to rest. Then his wife told the sailor how unfortunate they had been and how poor they were, and that they would soon have to be sold up and perhaps finish their life in a workhouse. He took a piece of gold out of his belt and told her there was enough in it to pay all their debts, and after that there would be some left for himself. The sight of the gold and jewels excited the woman's cupidity, and when the sailor was fast asleep she woke her husband, told him what had happened, and suggested that they should murder the sailor and bury his body next day in the garden. The farmer was very unwilling, but his wife at length persuaded him to go with her. Finding the sailor still fast asleep, they cut his throat and killed him, and covered him up with the bedclothes till they should have an opportunity of burying him. In the morning their daughter came and asked where the sailor was who called on them the previous night, but they said no sailor had been there. "But," she said, "he must be here, for he is my brother, and your long-lost son; I saw the scar on his arm." The mother turning deadly pale sank in a chair, while with an oath the father ran upstairs, saw the scar, and then killed himself with the knife with which he had killed his son. The mother followed, and, finding her husband dead, plunged the knife in her own breast. The daughter, wondering why they were away so long, went upstairs, and was so overcome with horror at seeing the awful sight that she fell down on the floor in a fit from which she never recovered! The first difficulty we had to contend with on continuing our journey was the inlet of the River Helford, but after a rough walk through a rather lonely country we found a crossing-place at a place named Gweek, at the head of the river, which we afterwards learned was the scene of Hereward's Cornish adventures, described by Charles Kingsley in _Hereward the last of the English_, published in 1866. Here we again turned towards the sea, and presently arrived at Helston, an ancient and decaying town supposed to have received its name from a huge boulder which once formed the gate to the infernal regions, and was dropped by Lucifer after a terrible conflict with the Archangel St. Michael, in which the fiend was worsted by the saint. This stone was still supposed to be seen by credulous visitors at the "Angel Inn," but as we were not particularly interested in that angel, who, we inferred, might have been an angel of darkness, or in a stone of such a doubtful character, we did not go to the inn. Helston was one of the Stannary Towns, and it was said that vessels could at one time come quite near it. Daniel Defoe has described it as being "large and populous, with four spacious streets, a handsome church, and a good trade." The good trade was, however, disappearing, owing to the discovery of tin in foreign countries, notably in the Straits Settlements and Bolivia; the church which Defoe saw had disappeared, having since been destroyed by fire and rebuilt in 1763. We did not go inside, but in walking through the churchyard we casually came upon an ordinary headstone on which was an inscription to the effect that the stone marked the resting-place of Henry Trengrouse (1772-1854), who, being "profoundly impressed by the great loss of life by shipwreck, had devoted the greater portion of his life and means to the invention and design of the rocket apparatus for connecting stranded ships to the shore, whereby many thousands of lives have been saved." [Illustration: MONUMENT TO HENRY TRENGROUSE. (_Inventor of the rocket apparatus._)] We had seen many fine monuments to men who had been instrumental in killing thousands of their fellow creatures, but here was Trengrouse who had been the humble instrument in saving thousands of lives, and (though a suitable monument has since been erected to his memory) only the commonest stone as yet recorded his memory and the inestimable services he had rendered to humanity: the only redeeming feature, perhaps, being the very appropriate quotation on the stone: They rest from their labours and their works do follow them. Helston was another town where a lovely double stream of water ran down the main street, rendering the town by its rapid and perpetual running both musical and clean. The water probably came from the River Cober, and afterwards found its way into the Looe Pool at the foot of the town. This pool was the great attraction of Helston and district, as it formed a beautiful fresh-water lake about seven miles in circumference and two miles long, winding like a river through a forked valley, with woods that in the springtime were filled with lovely wild flowers, reaching to the water's edge. It must have been a paradise for one fisherman at any rate, as he held his tenure on condition that he provided a boat and net in case the Duke of Cornwall, its owner, should ever come to fish there; so we concluded that if the Duke never came, the tenant would have all the fish at his own disposal. The curious feature about the lake was that, owing to a great bank of sand and pebbles that reached across the mouth, it had no visible outlet where it reached the sea, the water having to percolate as best it could through the barrier. When heavy rain came on and the River Cober delivered a greater volume of water than usual into the lake, the land adjoining was flooded, and it became necessary to ask permission of the lord of the manor to cut a breach through the pebbles in order to allow the surplus water to pass through into the sea, which was quite near. The charge for this privilege was one penny and one halfpenny, which had to be presented in a leather purse; but this ancient ceremony was afterwards done away with and a culvert constructed. On this pebble bank one of the King's frigates was lost in 1807. [Illustration: A STREET IN HELSTON. (_Showing the running stream of water at the side of the street._)] There is a passage in the book of Genesis which states that "there were giants in the earth in those days"--a passage which we had often heard read in the days of our youth, when we wished it had gone further and told us something about them; but Cornwall had been a veritable land of giants. The stories of Jack the Giant-Killer were said to have emanated from this county, and we now heard of the Giant Tregeagle, whose spirit appeared to pervade the whole district through which we were passing. He was supposed to be the Giant of Dosmary Pool, on the Bodmin Downs, which was believed at one time to be a bottomless pit. When the wind howls there the people say it is the Giant roaring, and "to roar like Tregeagle" was quite a common saying in those parts. "His spirit haunts all the west of Cornwall, and he haunts equally the moor, the rocky coasts, and the blown sandhills; from north to south, from east to west, this doomed spirit was heard of, and to the Day of Judgment he was doomed to wander pursued by avenging fiends. Who has not heard the howling of Tregeagle? When the storms come with all their strength from the Atlantic, and hurl themselves upon the rocks about the Land's End, the howls of this spirit are louder than the roaring of the wind." In this land of legends, therefore, it is not surprising that the raising of that extraordinary bank which blocks the end of the River Cober, at what should be its outlet into the sea, should be ascribed to Tregeagle. It appeared that he was an extremely wicked steward, who by robbery and other worse crimes became very wealthy. In the first place he was said to have murdered his sister, and to have been so cruel to his wife and children that one by one they perished. But at length his end came, and as he lay on his death-bed the thoughts of the people he had murdered, starved, and plundered, and his remorseful conscience, so haunted him, that he sent for the monks from a neighbouring monastery and offered them all his wealth if they would save his soul from the fiends. They accepted his offer, and both then and after he had been buried in St. Breock's Church they sang chants and recited prayers perpetually over his grave, by which means they kept back the demons from his departing soul. But a dispute arose between two wealthy families concerning the ownership of some land near Bodmin. It appeared that Tregeagle, as steward to one of the claimants, had destroyed ancient deeds, forged others, and made it appear that the property was his own. The defendant in the trial by some means or other succeeded in breaking the bonds of death, and the spirit of Tregeagle was summoned to attend the court as witness. When his ghostly form appeared, the court was filled with horror. In answer to counsel's questions he had to acknowledge his frauds, and the jury returned a verdict for the defendants. The judge then ordered counsel to remove his witness, but, alas! it was easier to raise evil spirits than to lay them, and they could not get rid of Tregeagle. The monks were then sent for, and said that by long trials he might repent and his sins be expiated in that way. They would not or could not hand him over to the fiends, but they would give him tasks to do that would be endless. First of all they gave him the task of emptying Dosmary Pool, supposed to be bottomless, with a small perforated limpet shell. Here, however, he narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the demons, and only saved himself by running and dashing his head through the window of Roach Rock Church. His terrible cries drove away the congregation, and the monks and priests met together to decide what could be done with him, as no service could be held in the church. [Illustration: KYNANCE COVE AND THE LION ROCK. "The fine rock scenery on the coast continues all the way to Land's End, while isolated rocks in many forms and smugglers' caves of all sizes are to be seen."] [Illustration: NEAR THE LIZARD. "The Lizard Point with the neighbouring rocks, both when submerged and otherwise, formed a most dangerous place for mariners, especially when false lights were displayed by those robbers and murderers, the Cornish Wreckers."] They decided that Tregeagle, accompanied by two saints to guard him, should be taken to the coast at Padstow, and compelled to stay on the sandy shore making trusses of sand and ropes of sand to bind them, while the mighty sea rose continually and washed them away. The people at Padstow could get no rest day or night on account of his awful cries of fear and despair, and they sought the aid of the great Cornish Saint Petrox. The saint subdued Tregeagle, and chained him with bonds, every link of which he welded with a prayer. St. Petrox placed him at Bareppa, and condemned him to carry sacks of sand across the estuary of St. Looe and empty them at Porthleven until the beach was clean to the rocks. He laboured a long time at that work, but in vain, for the tide round Treawavas Head always carried the sand back again. His cries and wails disturbed the families of the fishermen, but a mischievous demon came along, and, seeing him carrying an enormous sack full of sand and pebbles, tripped him up. Tregeagle fell, and the sack upset and formed the bar that ruined the harbour of Helston, which up to that time had been a prosperous port, the merchant vessels landing cargoes and taking back tin in exchange. The townspeople, naturally very wroth, sought the aid of the priests, and once more bonds were placed upon Tregeagle. This time he was sent to the Land's End, where he would find very few people to hear his awful cries. There his task was to sweep the sands from Porthcurnow Cove, round the headland called Tol-Peden-Penwith, into Nanjisal Cove. At this task, it is said, Tregeagle is still labouring, his wails and moans being still borne on the breeze that sweeps over the Land's End; so as this was our destination, we had rather a queer prospect before us! Between Gweek and Helston we crossed the famous promontory known as the Lizard, which in length and breadth extends about nine miles in each direction, although the point itself is only two miles broad. The rocks at this extremity rise about 250 feet above the stormy sea below, and are surmounted by a modern lighthouse. Originally there was only a beacon light with a coal fire fanned with bellows, but oil was afterwards substituted. The Lizard Point in those days, with the neighbouring rocks, both when submerged and otherwise, formed a most dangerous place for mariners, especially when false lights were displayed by those robbers and murderers, the Cornish wreckers. The Lizard, the Corinum of the ancients, is the most southerly point in England, and the fine rock scenery on the coast continues from there all the way to the Land's End, while isolated rocks in many forms and smugglers' caves of all sizes are to be seen. Weird legends connected with these and the Cornish coast generally had been handed down from father to son from remote antiquity, and the wild and lonely Goonhilly Downs, that formed the centre of the promontory, as dreary a spot as could well be imagined, had a legend of a phantom ship that glided over them in the dusk or moonlight, and woe betide the mariners who happened to see it, for it was a certain omen of evil! The finest sight that we saw here was in broad daylight, and consisted of an immense number of sailing-ships, more in number than we could count, congregated together on one side of the Lizard. On inquiring the reason, we were told that they were wind-bound vessels waiting for a change in the wind to enable them to round the point, and that they had been known to wait there a fortnight when unfavourable winds prevailed. This we considered one of the most wonderful sights we had seen on our journey. As we left Helston on our way to Penzance we had the agreeable company as far as St. Breage of a young Cornishman, who told us we ought to have come to Helston in May instead of November, for then we should have seen the town at its best, especially if we had come on the "Flurry" day. This he said was the name of their local yearly festival, held on or near May 8th, and he gave us quite a full account of what generally happened on that occasion. We could easily understand, from what he told us, that he had enjoyed himself immensely on the day of the last festival, which seemed to be quite fresh in his mind, although now more than six months had passed since it happened. In fact he made us wish that we had been there ourselves, as his story awoke some memories in our minds of-- The days we went a-gipsying a long time ago When lads and lasses in their best were dressed from top to toe, When hearts were light and faces bright, nor thought of care or woe, In the days we went a-gipsying a long time ago! [Illustration: THE "FLURRY" DANCE.] His description of the brass band of which he was a member, and the way they were dressed, and the adventures they met with during the day, from early morning till late at night, was both interesting and amusing. Their first duty was to play round the town to waken people who were already awake--sleep was out of the question--children too had a share in the proceedings. They knew that booths or standings would be erected all over the town, some even on the footpath, displaying all manner of cakes, toffy, and nuts that would delight their eyes and sweeten their mouths, if they had the money wherewith to buy, and if not, there was the chance of persuading some stranger to come to the rescue! But first of all they must rush to the woods and fields in search of flowers and branches, for the town had to be decorated before the more imposing part of the ceremonies began. Meantime the bandsmen were busy devouring a good breakfast, for bandsmen's appetites are proverbial. Perhaps they are the only class of men who play while they work and work while they play. In any case, after breakfast they sauntered round the town talking to the girls until the auspicious hour arrived when they had to assemble in the market square to head the procession of the notables of the town dressed in all kinds of costumes, from that of William the Conqueror onwards. My brother was anxious to know what quickstep they played, and if it was "Havelock's Quick March"; but our friend said it was not a quickstep at all, but something more like a hornpipe. Was it the College or the Sailor's Hornpipe? It was neither, was the reply, as it had to be played slowly, for the people danced to it while they marched in the procession, and occasionally twirled their partners round; and then after some further ceremonies they separated and all the people began to dance both in the streets and through the houses, going in at one door and out at another, if there was one, tumbling about and knocking things over, and then out in the street again, and if not satisfied with their partners, changing them, and off again, this kind of enjoyment lasting for hours. Sometimes, if a man-of-war happened to be in the neighbourhood, the sailors came, who were the best dancers of the lot, as they danced with each other and threw their legs about in a most astonishing fashion, a practice they were accustomed to when aboard ship. There were also shows and sometimes a circus, and the crowds that came from the country were astonishing. Now and then there was a bit of a row, when some of them had "a drop o' drink," but the police were about, and not afraid to stop their games by making free use of their staves; this, however, was the shady side of the great "Flurry" day. Meantime every one had learned the strange dance-tune by heart, which our friend whistled for us, whereby we could tell it had come down from remote times. Indeed, it was said that these rejoicings were originally in memory of the victory of the great Michael over the Devil, and no one thought of suggesting a more modern theory than that the "Flurry" was a survival of the Floralia observed by the Romans on the fourth of the Calends of May in honour of Flora, the Goddess of Flowers. The very mention of the names of band and hornpipe was too much for my brother, who could not resist giving the Cornishman a few samples of the single and double shuffle in the College Hornpipe, and one or two movements from a Scotch Reel, but as I was no dancer myself, I had no means of judging the quality of his performances. I kept a respectful distance away, as sometimes his movements were very erratic, and his boots, like those of the Emperor Frederick, were rather heavy. We could not persuade our friend to come with us a yard farther than the village. As a fellow bandsman, he confided the reason why to my brother; he had seen a nice young lady at the "Flurry" who came from that village, and he was going to see her now. He was standing in the street on the "Flurry" day when the lady came along, and stopped to look at the bandsmen, who were then at liberty, and he said to her jocularly, "Take my arm, love--I'm in the band," and, "By Jove," he said, "if she didn't come and take it," to his great astonishment and delight. Apparently his heart went at the same time, and we surmised that everything else would shortly follow. After bidding him good-bye, we looked round the church, and then my brother began to walk at an appalling speed, which fortunately he could not keep up, and which I attributed in some way to the effect of the bandsman's story, though he explained that we must try to reach Penzance before dark. The church of St. Breage was dedicated to a saint named Breaca, sister of St. Enny, who lived in the sixth century and came from Ireland. There was a holed sandstone cross in the churchyard, which tradition asserted was made out of granite sand and then hardened with human blood! The tower was said to contain the largest bell in Cornwall, it having been made in the time of a vicar who, not liking the peals, had all the other bells melted down to make one large one. The men of St. Breage and those of the next village, St. Germoe, had an evil reputation as wreckers or smugglers, for one old saying ran: God keep us from rocks and shelving sands, And save us from Breage and Germoe men's hands. Opposite Breage, on the sea-coast, was a place named Porthleven, where a Wesleyan chapel, with a very handsome front, had been built. No doubt there are others in the country built in a similar way, for to it and them the following lines might well apply: They built the church, upon my word, As fine as any abbey; And then they thought to cheat the Lord, And built the back part shabby. After a walk of about two miles we arrived at the village of St. Germoe. The saint of that name was said to have been an Irish bard of royal race, and the font in the church, from its plain and rough form, was considered to be one of the most ancient in the county. In the churchyard was a curious structure which was mentioned by Leland as a "chair," and was locally known as St. Germoe's Chair, but why it should be in the churchyard was a mystery, unless it had been intended to mark the spot where the saint had been buried. It was in the form of a sedilium, the seat occupied by the officiating priest near the altar in the chancel of a church, being about six feet high and formed of three sedilia, with two pillars supporting three arches, which in turn supported the roof; in general form it was like a portion of the row of seats in a Roman amphitheatre. On the opposite coast, which was only about a mile away, was the famous Prussia Cove, named after a notorious smuggler who bore the nickname of the King of Prussia; and adjoining his caves might still be seen the channels he had cut in the solid rock to enable his boats to get close to the shore. His real name was Carter. He became the leader of the Cornish smugglers, and kept the "Old King of Prussia Inn," though having the reputation of being a "devout Methodist." He was said to be so named because he bore some resemblance to Frederick the Great, the King of Prussia. We had seen other inns in the south of the same name, but whether they were named after the king or the smuggler we could not say. He seemed to have had other caves on the Cornish coast where he stored his stolen treasures, amongst which were some old cannon. One moonlight night, when he was anxiously waiting and watching for the return of his boats, he saw them in the distance being rapidly pursued by His Majesty's Revenue cutter the _Fairy_. The smuggler placed his cannon on the top of the cliff and gave orders to his men to fire on the _Fairy_, which, as the guns on board could not be elevated sufficiently to reach the top of the cliff, was unable to reply. Thus the boats escaped; but early the following morning the Revenue boat again appeared, and the officer and some of the crew came straight to Carter's house, where they met the smuggler. He loudly complained to the officer that his crew should come there practising the cutter's guns at midnight and disturbing the neighbourhood. Carter of course could give no information about the firing of any other guns, and suggested it might be the echo of those fired from the _Fairy_ herself, nor could any other explanation be obtained in the neighbourhood where Carter was well known, so the matter was allowed to drop. But the old smuggler was more sharply looked after in future, and though he lived to a great age, he died in poverty. Our road crossed the Perran Downs, where, to the left, stood the small village of Perranuthnoe, a place said to have existed before the time of St. Piran and named Lanudno in the taxation of Pope Nicholas. It was also pointed out as the place where Trevelyan's horse landed him when he escaped the inrush of the sea which destroyed Lyonesse, "that sweet land of Lyonesse," which was inseparably connected with the name of King Arthur, who flourished long before the age of written records. Lyonesse was the name of the district which formerly existed between the Land's End and the Scilly Islands, quite twenty-five miles away. When the waves from the Atlantic broke through, Trevelyan happened to be riding on a white horse of great swiftness. On seeing the waters rushing forward to overwhelm the country, he rode for his life and was saved by the speed of his horse. He never stopped until he reached Perranuthnoe, where the rocks stopped the sea's farther progress. But when he looked back, he could see nothing but a wide expanse of water covering no less than 140 parish churches. He lived afterwards in the cave in the rocks which has ever since borne the name of Trevelyan's Cave. It was beyond doubt that some great convulsion of nature had occurred to account for the submerged forests, of which traces were still known to exist. Soon afterwards we reached a considerable village bearing the strange name of Marazion, a place evidently once of some importance and at one time connected with the Jews, for there were the Jews' Market and some smelting-places known as the Jews' Houses. Here we came to the small rock surmounted by a castle which we had seen in front of our track for some miles without knowing what it was. Now we discovered it to be the far-famed St. Michael's Mount. According to legend this once stood in a vast forest of the mysterious Lyonesse, where wild beasts roamed, and where King Arthur fought one of his many battles with a giant at the "Guarded Mount," as Milton has so aptly named it. As we were told that the Mount was only about half a mile away, we decided to visit it, and walked as quickly as we could along the rough-paved road leading up to it. On the Mount we could see the lights being lit one by one as we approached, and, in spite of the arrival of the first quarter of the moon, it was now becoming dark, so we discussed the advisability of staying at St. Michael's for the night; but we suddenly came to a point on our road where the water from the sea was rushing over it, and realised that St. Michael's Mount was an island. We could see where the road reappeared a little farther on, and I calculated that if we made a dash for it the water would not reach above our knees, but it was quite evident that we had now come to a dead stop. The rock by this time looked much higher, spreading its shadow over the water beneath, and the rather serious question arose as to how or when we should be able to get back again, for we had to reach Land's End on the next day. Finally we decided to retrace our steps to Marazion, where we learned that the road to the Mount was only available under favourable conditions for about eight hours out of the twenty-four, and as our rules would have prevented our returning by boat, we were glad we had not proceeded farther. [Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT.] According to the _Saxon Chronicle_, the inroad from the sea which separated St. Michael's from the mainland occurred in 1099. The Mount had a sacred character, for St. Michael himself was said to have appeared to a holy man who once resided there, and St. Keyne also had made a pilgrimage to the Mount in the year 490. The rock rises about 230 feet above sea-level, and is about a mile in circumference, but the old monastery had been made into a private residence. At an angle in one of the towers, now called St. Michael's Chair, in which one person only could sit at a time, and that not without danger, as the chair projected over a precipice, was a stone lantern in which the monks formerly kept a light to guide seamen. The legend connected with this was that if a married woman sits in the chair before her husband has done so, she will rule over him, but if he sits down on it first, he will be the master. We thought this legend must have resulted from the visit of St. Keyne, as it corresponded with that attached to her well near Liskeard which we have already recorded. Perkin Warbeck, about whom we had heard at Exeter, and who in 1497 appeared in England with 7,000 men to claim the English throne, occupied the castle on St. Michael's Mount for a short time with his beautiful wife, the "White Rose of Scotland," whom he left here for safety while he went forward to London to claim the crown. He was said to be a Jew, or, to be correct, the son of a Tournai Jew, which possibly might in some way or other account for the Jewish settlement at Marazion. His army, however, was defeated, and he was hanged at Tyburn, November 23rd, 1499, while his wife was afterwards removed to the Court of Henry VII, where she received every consideration and was kindly treated. We soon covered the three miles which separated us from Penzance, where we went to the best hotel in the town, arriving just in time for dinner. There was only one other visitor there, a gentleman who informed us he had come from Liverpool, where he was in the timber trade, and was staying at Penzance for a few days. He asked what business we were in, and when we told him we had practically retired from business in 1868, and that that was the reason why we were able to spare nine weeks to walk from John o' Groat's to Land's End, he seemed considerably surprised. We did not think then that in a few years' time we should, owing to unexpected events, find ourselves in the same kind of business as his, and meet that same gentleman on future occasions! We shall always remember that night at Penzance! The gentleman sat at the head of the table at dinner while we sat one on each side of him. But though he occupied the head position, we were head and shoulders above him in our gastronomical achievements--so much so that although he had been surprised at our long walk, he told us afterwards that he was "absolutely astounded" at our enormous appetites. He took a great interest in our description of the route we had followed. Some of the places we had visited he knew quite well, and we sat up talking about the sights we had seen until it was past closing-time. When we rose to retire, he said he should esteem it an honour if we would allow him to accompany us to the Land's End on the following day to see us "in at the finish." He said he knew intimately the whole of the coast between Penzance and the Land's End, and could no doubt show us objects of interest that we might otherwise miss seeing. We assured him that we should esteem the honour to be ours, and should be glad to accept his kind offer, informing him that we intended walking along the coast to the end and then engaging a conveyance to bring us back again. He thought that a good idea, but as we might have some difficulty in getting a suitable conveyance at that end of our journey, he strongly advised our hiring one at Penzance, and offered, if we would allow him, to engage for us in the morning a trap he had hired the day before, though we must not expect anything very grand in these out-of-the-way parts of the country. We thankfully accepted his kind offer, and this item in the programme being settled, we considered ourselves friends, and parted accordingly for the night, pleasantly conscious that even if we did not walk at all on the morrow, we had secured our average of twenty-five miles daily over the whole of our journey. (_Distance walked thirty-four and a half miles_.) _Saturday, November 18th._ We had ordered breakfast much later than usual to suit the convenience of our friend, but we were out in the town at our usual early hour, and were quite astonished at the trees and plants we saw growing in the grounds and gardens there, some of which could only be grown under glass farther north. Here they were growing luxuriantly in the open air, some having the appearance of the palm-trees we had seen pictured in books. We had been favoured with fairly fine weather for some time, and although we had passed through many showers, we had not encountered anything in the nature of continuous rain, although Cornwall is naturally a humid county, and is said to have a shower of rain for every day in the week and two for Sunday. We kept near the edge of the sea, and the view of the bay, with St. Michael's Mount on one side and the Lizards on the other, was very fine; but the Mount had assumed quite a different appearance since yesterday, for now it appeared completely isolated, the connection with the mainland not being visible. We were sure that both St. Michael's Mount and Penzance must have had an eventful history, but the chief event in the minds of the people seemed to have been the visit of the Spaniards when they burnt the town in 1595. The Cornishmen made very little resistance on that occasion, owing to the existence of an old prophecy foretelling the destruction of Penzance by fire when the enemy landed on the rock of Merlin, the place where the Spaniards actually did land. Probably it was impossible to defend the town against an enemy attacking Penzance from that point, as it was only about a mile distant. We returned to our hotel at the time arranged for breakfast, which was quite ready, the table being laid for three; but where was our friend? We learned that he had gone out into the town, but we had got half-way through our breakfast, all the while wondering where he could be, when the door opened suddenly and in he came, with his face beaming like the rising sun, although we noticed he glanced rather anxiously in the direction of the remaining breakfast. He apologised for being late, but he had not been able to obtain the conveyance he mentioned to us last night, as it was engaged elsewhere. He had, however, found another which he thought might suit our purpose, and had arranged for it to be at the hotel in half an hour's time. He also brought the pleasing intelligence that we might expect a fine day. The trap duly arrived in charge of the owner, who was to act as driver; but some difficulty arose, as he had not quite understood the order. He thought he had simply to drive us to the Land's End and back, and had contemplated being home again early, so our friend had to make another financial arrangement before he would accept the order. This was soon negotiated, but it was very difficult to arrange further details. Here our friend's intimate knowledge of the country came in useful. There was no direct driving road along the coast, so it was arranged that our driver should accompany us where he could, and then when his road diverged he should meet us at certain points to be explained by our friend later in the day. Mutual distrust, we supposed, prevented us from paying him in advance, and possibly created a suspicion in the driver's mind that there was something wrong somewhere, and he evidently thought what fools we were to walk all the way along the coast to Land's End when we might have ridden in his trap. We journeyed together for the first mile or two, and then he had to leave us for a time while we trudged along with only our sticks to carry, for, to make matters equal in that respect, our friend had borrowed one at the hotel, a much finer-looking one than ours, of which he was correspondingly proud. [Illustration: PENZANCE] [Illustration: DOROTHY PENTREATH'S STONE, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH.] He insisted upon our seeing everything there was to be seen, and it soon became evident that what our companion did not know about the fine rock scenery on this part of the coast of Cornwall was not worth knowing, so that we were delighted to have him with us. The distance from Penzance to Land's End was not great, but by the route selected it occupied the whole of the day, including many stoppages, and we had a glorious walk. The weather had been rather squally yesterday, and there was a steady breeze still blowing. We enjoyed seeing the breakers dash themselves into foam against the rocks and thunder inside the fissures and caverns below. Occasionally we got a glimpse of the red tinge given to the smoother waters of the sea by the shoals of pilchards passing along the coast, so that in the same journey we had seen the water reddened with herrings in the extreme north and with pilchards in the extreme south of Britain. At Newlyn we were delighted with the quaint, crooked little passages which did duty for streets, and we were informed that the place was noted for artists and fish--a rather strange combination. We learned that when first the pilchards arrived at Land's End, they divided into two immense shoals, one going in the direction of Mounts Bay and the other towards St. Ives Bay, the record catch in a single haul at that place being 245 millions! There was a saying at Newlyn that it was unlucky to eat a pilchard from the head, as it should be eaten from its tail; but why, it was difficult to define, unless it was owing to the fact that it was the tail that guided the head of the fish towards the coasts of Cornwall. We also passed through a village named Paul, which had been modernised into St. Paul. Its church had a rather lofty tower, which stood on the hill like a sentinel looking over Mounts Bay. This place was also burnt by the Spaniards in 1595. It appeared that George Borrow had visited it on January 15th, 1854, as he passed through on his way to Land's End, for the following entry appeared in his Diary for that day: "Went to St. Paul's Church. Saw an ancient tomb with the inscription in Cornish at north end. Sat in a pew under a black suit of armour belonging to the Godolphin family, with two swords." We copied this Cornish epitaph as under: _Bonnas heb duelth Eu poes Karens wei tha pobl Bohodzhak Paull han Egles nei_. which translated means: Eternal life be his whose loving care Gave Paul an almshouse, and the church repair. There was also an epitaph in the churchyard over the grave of an old lady who died at the age of 102, worded: Here lyeth interred Dorothy Pentreath, who died in 1778, said to have been the last person who conversed in the ancient Cornish, the peculiar language of this county from the earliest records, till it expired in the eighteenth century in this Parish of St. Paul. This stone is erected by the Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte, in union with the Rev. John Garrett, Vicar of St. Paul 1860. Under the guidance of our friend, who of course acted as leader, we now passed on to the famous place known as Mousehole, a picturesque village in a shady hollow, with St. Clement's Island a little way out to sea in front. This place, now named Mousehole, was formerly Porth Enys, or the Island Port, and a quay was built here as early as the year 1392. We saw the cavern, rather a large one, and near it the fantastic rocks associated with Merlin the "Prince of Enchanters," some of whose prophecies applied to Cornwall. At Mousehole there was a large rock named Merlin's Stone, where the only Spaniards that ever devastated the shores of England landed in 1595. Merlin's prophecy in the Cornish language reads: _Aga syth lyer war and meyne Merlyn Ava neb syth Leskey Paul, Penzance hag Newlyn_. which means, translated: There shall land on the stone of Merlyn Those who shall burn Paul, Penzance, and Newlyn. Jenkin Keigwin. There was a [Illustration: THE CAVERN, MOUSEHOLE.] They also burnt Mousehole, with the exception of one public-house, a house still standing, with walls four feet thick, and known as the "Keigwin Arms" of which they killed the landlord, rock here known as the "Mermaid," which stood out in the sea, and from which songs by female voices were said to have allured young men to swim to the rock, never to be heard of again. We next came to the Lamora Cove, where we walked up the charming little valley, at the top of which we reached the plain of Bolleit, where Athelstan defeated the Britons in their last desperate struggle for freedom. The battle lasted from morning until night, when, overpowered by numbers, the Cornish survivors fled to the hills. After this battle in the light of the setting sun, Athelstan is said to have seen the Scilly Islands and decided to try to conquer them, and, if successful, to build a church and dedicate it to St. Buryana. He carried out his vow, and founded and endowed a college for Augustine Canons to have jurisdiction over the parishes of Buryan, Levan, and Sennen, through which we now journeyed; but the Scilly Islands appeared to us to be scarcely worth conquering, as, although they comprised 145 islets, many of them were only small bare rocks, the largest island, St. Mary, being only three miles long by two and a half broad, and the highest point only 204 feet above sea-level; but perhaps the refrangible rays of the setting sun so magnified them that Athelstan believed a considerable conquest was before him. We next went to see the "Merry Maidens" and the "Pipers." They were only pillars of stone, but our friend assured us they were lively enough once upon a time, and represented seven young but thoughtless ladies who lived in that neighbourhood. They were on their way to Buryan church one Sabbath day when they saw two pipers playing music in a field, who as they went near them began to play dance tunes. The maidens forgot the sacred character of the day, and, yielding to temptation, began to dance. By and by the music became extremely wild and the dancing proportionately furious. The day was beautifully fine and the sun shone through a clear blue sky, but the pipers were two evil spirits, and suddenly a flash of lightning came from the cloudless sky and turned them all, tempters and tempted, into stone, so there they stand, the girls in a circle and the pipers a little distance away, until the Day of Judgment. By this time we were all getting hungry, as the clear air of Cornwall is conducive to good appetites; but our friend had thoughtfully arranged for this already, and we found when we entered the inn at Buryan that our conveyance had arrived there, and that the driver had already regaled himself, and told the mistress that she might expect three other visitors. The old church of St. Buryan was said to be named after Buriena, the beautiful daughter of a Munster chieftain, supposed to be the Bruinsech of the Donegal martyrology, who came to Cornwall in the days of St. Piran. There were two ancient crosses at Buryan, one in the village and the other in the churchyard, while in the church was the thirteenth-century, coffin-shaped tomb of "Clarice La Femme Cheffroi De Bolleit," bearing an offer of ten days' pardon to whoever should pray for her soul. But just then we were more interested in worldly matters; and when, after we had refreshed ourselves in a fairly substantial way, our friend told us he would take us to see a "Giant's Castle," we went on our way rejoicing, to regain the sea-coast where the castle was to be seen, but not before the driver had made another frantic effort to induce us to ride in his trap. [Illustration: THE "KEIGWIN ARMS," MOUSEHOLE. "They (the Spaniards) also burnt Mousehole, with the exception of one public house, a house still standing, with walls four feet thick and known as the 'Keigwin Arms.'"] The castle of Treryn, which our friend pronounced Treen, was situated on a small headland jutting out into the sea, but only the triple vallum and fosse of the castle remained. The walls had been built of huge boulders, and had once formed the cyclopian castle of Treryn. Cyclops, our friend explained, was one of a number of giants who had each only one eye, and that in the centre of the forehead. Their business was to forge the iron for Vulcan, the god of fire. They could see to work in mines or dark places, for their one eye was as big as a moon. Sometimes they were workers in stone, who erected their buildings chiefly in Europe and Asia, and their huge blocks of stone were worked so nicely that they fitted together without mortar. Treryn Castle was the stronghold of a giant who was stronger than most of the other giants who lived in those parts, and was, in addition, a necromancer or sorcerer, in communication with the spirits of the dead, by whose aid he raised this castle by enchantment from the depths of the sea. It was therefore an enchanted castle, and was kept in its position by a spell, a magic key, which the giant placed in a hole in a rock on the seacoast, still named the Giant's Lock. Whenever this key, which was a large round stone, could be taken out of the lock, the castle and the promontory on which it stood would disappear beneath the sea to the place from whence it came. Very few people had seen the key, because its hiding-place was in such a very dangerous position that scarcely any one was courageous enough to venture to the lock that held it. To reach the lock it was necessary to wait for a low tide, and then to walk along a ledge in the side of the rock scarcely wide enough for the passage of a small animal, where in the event of a false step the wanderer would be certain to be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. At the end of this dangerous path there was a sharp projecting rock in which was a hole wide enough for a man's hand and arm to pass down, and at the bottom of the hole he could feel a rather large but smooth stone in the shape of an egg, which he could easily move in any direction. Then all he had to do further was to draw it out through the hole; but the difficulty was that the stone was larger than the aperture, and the mystery was who placed it there. [Illustration: ROCKS NEAR LAND'S END.] The dangerous nature of the approach, in addition to the difficulty of getting back again, was quite sufficient to deter any of us from making the attempt; even if we gained possession of the magic key we might have been taken, with it and the castle and promontory, to the enchanted regions below, so we decided to refrain, for after all there was the desirability of reaching home again! It was a very wild place, and the great rocks and boulders were strongly suggestive of giants; but our friend would not have us linger, as we must go to see the famous Logan Rock. In order to save time and risk, he suggested that we should secure the services of a professional guide. We could see neither guides nor houses, and it looked like a forlorn hope to try to find either, but, asking us to stay where we were until he came back, our friend disappeared; and some time afterwards he reappeared from some unknown place, accompanied by an intelligent sailorlike man whom he introduced to us as the guide. The guide led us by intricate ways over stone walls, stepped on either side with projecting stones to do duty as stiles, and once or twice we walked along the top of the walls themselves, where they were broad enough to support a footpath. Finally we crossed what appeared to be a boundary fence, and immediately afterwards found ourselves amongst a wilderness of stones and gigantic boulders, with the roar of the waves as they beat on the rocks below to keep us company. It was a circuitous and intricate course by which our guide conducted us, up and down hill, and one not altogether free from danger, and we had many minor objects to see before reaching the Logan Rock, which was the last of all. Every precaution was taken to prevent any accident at dangerous places on our way. Amongst other objects our guide pointed to the distant views of the Lizard Point, the Wolf Rock Lighthouse, and the Runnel Stone Bell Buoy, and immediately below us was the Porthcurnow Bay and beach. Then there were some queerly shaped rocks named the Castle Peak, the "Tortoise," the "Pig's Mouth," all more or less like the objects they represented, and, as a matter of course, the giants were also there. Our guide insisted upon our sitting in the Giant's Chair, where King Arthur, he said, had sat before us. It was no easy matter to climb into the chair, and we had to be assisted by sundry pushes from below; but once in it we felt like monarchs of all we surveyed, and the view from that point was lovely. Near by was the Giant's Bowl, and finally the Giant's Grave, an oblong piece of land between the rocks, which my brother measured in six long strides as being eighteen feet in length. The Logan or Swinging Stone was estimated to weigh about eighty tons, and although it was quite still when we reached it, we were easily able to set it moving. It was a block of granite, and continued to oscillate for some little time, but formerly it was said that it could not be moved from its axis by force. This led to a foolish bet being made by Lieutenant Goldsmith of the Royal Navy, who landed with his boat's crew on April 8th, 1824, and with the united exertions of nine men with handspikes, and excessive vibration, managed to slide the great stone from its equilibrium. This so roused the anger of the Cornish people that the Admiralty were obliged to make Mr. Goldsmith--who, by the way, was a nephew of Oliver Goldsmith, the author of the _Vicar of Wakefield_--replace the stone in its former position, which, owing to its immense weight and almost inaccessible situation, was a most difficult and costly thing to do. Mr. Davies Gilbert persuaded the Lords of the Admiralty to lend the necessary apparatus from Pymouth Dockyard, and was said to have paid some portion of the cost; but after the assistance of friends, and two collections throughout the Royal Navy, Goldsmith had to pay quite £600 personally, and came out of the transaction a sadder, wiser, and poorer man. Like other stones of an unusual character, the Logan Rock was thought to have some medicinal properties, and parents formerly brought their children to be rocked on the stone to cure their diseases; but the charm was said to have been broken by the removal of the stone, which did not afterwards oscillate as freely as before. It was reinstated in its former position on November 2nd, 1824. We also saw the Ladies' Logan Rock, weighing nine tons, which could easily be moved. In a rather dangerous portion of the rocks we came to a "wishing passage," through which it was necessary to walk backwards to obtain the fulfilment of a wish--doubtless in the case of nervous people that they might get away from the rocks again in safety. The rocks hereabouts are very vividly coloured at certain times of the year, and in the spring are covered with lichens and turf, with blossoms of the blue scilla. [Illustration: THE LOGAN ROCK.] Porthcurnow, which runs a short distance into the rocky coast, is one of Cornwall's most picturesque little bays. Round the foot of the rocks we saw what appeared to be a fringe of white sand, which at first sight we thought must have been left there by the Giant Tregeagle, as it was part of his task to sweep the sands from Porthcurnow Cove; but we ascertained that what we thought was white sand was in reality a mass of extremely small shells. The surface of the rocks above abounded with golden furze, which in summer, mingled with purple heather, formed a fine contrast. In the background was a small and dismal-looking valley known locally as the "Bottoms," which was often obscured by mists rising from the marshes below, and which few people cared to cross after nightfall. It was near the "Bottoms" that a mysterious stranger took up his abode many years ago. He was accompanied by an evil-looking foreign man-servant, who never spoke to any one except his master--probably because he was unable to speak English. No one knew where these strange people had come from, but they kept a boat in the cove, in which they used to start off to sea early in the morning and disappear in the distance, never returning until dead of night. Sometimes when the weather was stormy they remained out all night. Occasionally, but only on stormy and dark nights, they stayed on shore, and then they went hunting on the moors, whence the cry of their hounds was often heard in the midnight hours. [Illustration: ROCKY COAST NEAR LAND'S END.] At length the mysterious stranger died and was buried, the coffin being carried to the grave followed by the servant and the dogs. As soon as the grave was filled in with earth the servant and the dogs suddenly disappeared, and were never heard of again, while at the same time the boat vanished from the cove. Since this episode a ghostly vessel had occasionally appeared in the night, floating through the midnight air from the direction of the sea--a black, square-rigged, single-masted barque, sometimes with a small boat, at other times without, but with no crew visible. The apparition appeared on the sea about nightfall, and sailed through the breakers that foamed over the dangerous rocks that fringed the shore, gliding over the sands and through the mist that covered the "Bottoms," and proceeding in awful silence and mystery to the pirate's grave, where it immediately disappeared; and it is an ill omen to those who see that ghostly vessel, the sight of which forebodes misfortune! It was near St. Levan's Church that the stranger was buried, but when this happened was beyond record. St. Levan himself appeared to have been a fisherman, but only for food, not sport; the valley in his day was not the dreary place it was now, for grass and flowers sprang up in his footsteps and made a footpath from his church to the sea. He only caught one fish each day, as that was sufficient for his frugal meal. One evening, however, when he was fishing, he felt a strong pull at his line, and on drawing it up found two fish (bream) on his hook. As he only needed one and desired to be impartial and not to favour one more than the other, he threw them both into the sea. Then he threw his line in afresh, and again they both came on the hook, and were again thrown back; but when they came a third time, St. Levan thought there must be some reason for this strange adventure, and carried them home. On reaching his house he found his sister St. Breaze and her two children had come to visit him, and he was glad then that he had brought the two fish, which were cooked for supper. The children were very hungry, as they had walked a long distance, and ate fast and carelessly, so that a bone stuck in the throat of each and killed them! St. Levan must have been a strong man, for he once split a rock by striking it with his fist, and then prophesied: When with panniers astride A pack-horse can ride Through St. Levan's stone The world will be done. The stone was still to be seen, and in the fissure made by the saint the flowers and ferns were still growing; but there did not appear to be any danger of the immediate fulfilment of the saint's prophecy! [Illustration: SENNEN CHURCH.] We now walked on to one of the finest groups of rocks in the country, named "Tol-Peden-Penwith"--a great mass of granite broken and shattered into the most fantastic forms and wonderfully picturesque. It formed the headland round which Tregeagle had to carry the sand, and the remainder of the coast from there to Land's End and beyond formed similar scenery. We were quite enraptured with the wild beauty of the different headlands and coves pointed out to us by our friend; but suddenly he saw a church tower in the distance, and immediately our interest in the lovely coast scenery faded away and vanished, for our friend, pointing towards the tower, said he knew a public-house in that direction where he had recently had a first-class tea. We all three hurried away across stone fences towards the place indicated until we reached a road, and we had just turned off on coming to a junction, when we heard a stentorian voice in the distance saying, "Hi! That's not the way!" We had forgotten all about the driver for the moment, but there he was in another road a few fields away, so we shouted and motioned to him to follow us, and we all had tea together while his horse was stabled in the inn yard. The tea, for which we were quite ready, was a good one, and when we had finished we walked on to the Land's End, giving our driver an idea of the probable time we should be ready for him there. The name of the village was Sennen, and near the church was a large stone 8 feet long and 3 feet wide, said to have been the table-stone at which seven Saxon kings once dined. An old historian gave their names as Ethelbert V, King of Kent; Cissa II, King of the South Saxons; Kinigils, King of the West Saxons; Sebert, King of Essex or the East Saxons; Ethelfred, King of Northumbria; Penda, King of Mercia; and Sigebert V, King of East Anglia. It was also supposed that King Alfred had on one occasion dined at the same stone after defeating the Danes at Vellandruacher. The mile or so of moorland over which we now walked to the Land's End must have looked very beautiful earlier in the year, as the gorse or furze was mingled with several varieties of heather which had displayed large bell-formed blooms of various colours, and there had been other flowers in addition. Even at this late period of the year sufficient combination of colour remained to give us an idea how beautiful it must have appeared when at its best. From some distance away we could see the whitewashed wall of a house displaying in large black letters the words: "THE FIRST AND LAST HOUSE IN ENGLAND," and this we found to be an inn. Here we were practically at the end of our walk of 1,372 miles, which had extended over a period of nine weeks. We had passed through many dangers and hardships, and a feeling of thankfulness to the Almighty was not wanting on our part as we found ourselves at the end. We had still to cross a narrow neck of land which was just wide enough at the top for a footpath, while almost immediately below we could hear the sea thundering on each side of us. As we cautiously walked across in single file our thoughts were running on the many Cornish saints in whose footsteps we might now be treading, and on King Arthur and the Giant Tregeagle, when our friend, who was walking ahead, suddenly stopped and told us we were now on the spot where Charles Wesley stood when he composed a memorable verse which still appeared in one of his hymns: Lo! on a narrow neck of land, 'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand Secure, insensible; A point of time, a moment's space, Removes me to that heavenly place Or shuts me up in hell. As we were crossing the narrow path we had not thought of the Wesleys as being amongst the Cornish saints; but where was there a greater saint than John Wesley? and how much does Cornwall owe to him! He laboured there abundantly, and laid low the shades of the giants and the saints whom the Cornish people almost worshipped before he came amongst them, and in the place of these shadows he planted the better faith of a simple and true religion, undefiled and that fadeth not away! We must own to a shade of disappointment when we reached the last stone and could walk no farther--a feeling perhaps akin to that of Alexander the Great, who, when he had conquered the known world, is said to have sighed because there were no other worlds to conquer. But this feeling soon vanished when with a rush came the thoughts of those dear friends at home who were anxiously awaiting the return of their loved ones whom they had lost awhile, and it was perhaps for their sakes as well as our own that we did not climb upon the last stone or ledge or rock that overhung the whirl of waters below: where the waters of the two Channels were combining with those of the great Atlantic. [Illustration: ENYS-DODNAN, ARMED KNIGHT, AND LONGSHIPS.] We placed our well-worn sticks, whose work like our own was done, on the rock before us, with the intention of throwing them into the sea, but this we did not carry out. We stood silent and spell-bound, for beyond the Longships Lighthouse was the setting sun, which we watched intently as it slowly disappeared behind some black rocks in the far distance. It was a solemn moment, for had we not started with the rising sun on a Monday morning and finished with the setting sun on a Saturday night? It reminded us of the beginning and ending of our own lives, and especially of the end, as the shadows had already begun to fall on the great darkening waters before us. Was it an ancient mariner, or a long-forgotten saint, or a presentiment of danger that caused my brother to think he heard a far-away whisper as if wafted over the sea? [Illustration: LONGSHIPS LIGHTHOUSE, LAND'S END.] Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. HOMEWARD BOUND (BY MR. ROBERT NAYLOR) We retraced our steps to the "First and Last House in England," where we found our driver waiting for us with his conveyance, which we had now time to examine, and found to be a light, rickety, two-wheeled cart of ancient but durable construction, intended more for use than ornament, and equivalent to the more northern shandrydan or shandry. The strong board which formed the seat was placed across the conveyance from one side to the other a few inches below the top-rail, and would slide to any point required between the front and back of the trap, the weight of the driver or other passengers holding it in its place. It would only hold three persons, including the driver. The first difficulty that presented itself, however, was the fact that we were not sufficiently provided with warm clothing to face the twelve-mile drive to Penzance in the cold night air; but, fortunately, our friend had an overcoat which had been brought out by the driver; so after a short consultation we arranged that I should sit between the driver and our friend, a comparatively warm position, while my brother sat on the floor of the conveyance, where there was a plentiful supply of clean dry straw, with his face towards the horse and his back supported by the backboard of the trap, where our presence on the seat above him would act as a screen from the wind. After arranging ourselves as comfortably as possible in our rather novel positions, with which we were rather pleased than otherwise, we proceeded on our way at a brisk speed, for our horse was quite fresh and showed no disposition to loiter on the road, since like ourselves he was on his way home. Lighting regulations for vehicles were not in force in those days, and conveyances such as ours carried no lights even on the darkest night; but with a total absence of trees, and lighted by the first quarter of the new moon, we expected to reach Penzance before the night became really dark. The conversation as we passed into the open country was carried on by the three of us in front, as my brother could not join in it owing to his position; and we had just turned towards him with the jocular remark, "How are you getting on down there?" and had received his reply, "All right!" when, with scarcely a moment's warning, we met with an accident which might have killed him and seriously injured ourselves. We suddenly crashed into a heavy waggon drawn by two horses, the first wheel of the waggon striking dead against ours. The force of the collision caused our seat to slide backwards against my brother, pinning him against the backboard of the cart, but, fortunately for him, our driver, who had retained his hold on his reins, jumped up at the same moment and relieved the pressure, so that he had only the weight of two men against him instead of three. Meantime all was confusion, and it was a case of every one for himself; but the only man who was equal to the occasion was our driver, who with one hand pulled his horse backwards almost as quickly as the other horses came forward, and with his whip in the other hand slashed furiously at the face of the waggoner, who was seated on the wide board in front of his waggon fast asleep and, as it afterwards appeared, in a state of intoxication. Our conveyance was on its proper side of the road and quite near the fence, so that our friend jumped out of it on the land above, quickly followed by myself, and, rapidly regaining the road, we ran towards the horses attached to the waggon and stopped them. A tremendous row now followed between the waggoner, who was a powerfully built man, and our driver, and the war of words seemed likely to lead to blows; but my brother, whom in the excitement of the moment we had quite forgotten, now appeared upon the scene in rather a dazed condition, and, hearing the altercation going on, advanced within striking distance of the waggoner. I could see by the way he held his cudgel that he meant mischief if the course of events had rendered it necessary, but the blood on the waggoner's face showed he had been severely punished already. Seeing that he was hopelessly outnumbered, the waggoner, who was almost too drunk to understand what had happened, became a little quieter and gave us his name, and we copied the name of the miller who employed him from the name-plate on the waggon, giving similar information to the driver concerning ourselves; but as we heard nothing further about the matter, we concluded the case was settled out of court. We all congratulated my brother on his almost providential escape from what might have been a tragic ending to his long walk. He had told me he had a foreboding earlier in the evening that something was about to happen to him. From the position in which he was seated in the bottom of the trap he could not see anything before him except the backs of the three men sitting above, and he did not know what was happening until he thought he saw us tumbling upon him and myself jumping in the air over a bush. He described it in the well-known words of Sir Walter Scott: The heart had hardly time to think. The eyelid scarce had time to wink. The squeeze, as he called it, had left its marks upon him, as his chest was bruised in several places, and he was quite certain that if we had slid backwards another half-inch on our seat in the trap we should have finished him off altogether--for the back of the trap had already been forced outwards as far as it would go. He felt the effects of the accident for a long time afterwards. We complimented our driver on his wonderful presence of mind and on the way he had handled his horse under the dangerous conditions which had prevailed. But we must needs find the smithy, for we dared not attempt to ride in our conveyance until it had been examined. The wheel had been rather seriously damaged, and other parts as well, but after some slight repairs it was so patched up as to enable us to resume our journey, with a caution from the blacksmith to drive slowly and with great care. We arrived at Penzance safely, but much later than we had expected, and after paying our driver's fee together with a handsome donation, we adjourned with our friend to the hotel for a substantial dinner and to talk about our adventure until bedtime. When bidding us "good night," our friend informed us that, as he had an engagement in the country some miles away, we should not see him on the next day, but he promised to visit us after his return to Liverpool. This he did, and we saw him on several occasions in after years when, owing to unforeseen circumstances, we found ourselves, like him, in the timber trade. _Sunday, November 19th._ Sir Matthew Hale was a member of Cromwell's Parliament and Lord Chief Justice of England in 1671. His "Golden Maxim" is famous: A Sabbath well spent brings a week of content, And health for the toils of to-morrow; But a Sabbath profaned, whate'er may be gained, Is a certain forerunner of sorrow! Anxious as we were to reach our home as soon as possible, our knowledge of Sir Matthew's maxim and of the Commandment "_Remember_ that thou keep holy the Sabbath Day," prevented us from travelling on Sunday. Penzance is said to have a temperature cooler in summer and warmer in winter than any other town in Britain, and plants such as dracænas, aloes, escollonia, fuchsias, and hydrangeas, grown under glass in winter elsewhere, flourished here in the open air, while palms or tree ferns grow to a wonderful height, quite impossible under similar conditions in our more northern latitude, where they would certainly be cut down by frost. We also noted that the forest trees were still fairly covered with autumnal leaves, but when we arrived home two days later similar trees were quite bare. After a short walk we returned to the hotel for breakfast, over which we discussed the disappearance of our friend of yesterday, wondering what the business could be that had occupied his time for a whole week in the neighbourhood of Penzance, and why he should have an engagement on the Sunday "some miles in the country," when we could have done so well with his company ourselves. But as there seemed to be some mystery about his movements, we came to the conclusion that there must be a lady in the case, and so, as far as we were concerned, the matter ended. We attended morning service in accordance with our usual custom, and listened to a sermon from a clergyman who took for his text the whole of the last chapter in the Book of Ecclesiastes, with special emphasis on the first word: REMEMBER Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them. He began by informing us that we had nearly arrived at the end of the religious year, and that the season of Advent, when the Church's new year would begin, was close at hand. He then passed on to his text and began to describe the days of our youth. We listened intently as he took us by degrees from our youth up to old age and to the years when we might have to say we had no pleasure in them. He was a powerful preacher, and we almost felt ourselves growing older as we followed his references to each verse in the short chapter he had taken for his text. Then he described the failure of the different organs of the human mind and body: the keepers of the house trembling; the strong men bowing their heads towards the earth to which they were hastening; the grinders, or teeth, ceasing because they were few; the eyes as if they were looking out of darkened windows; the ears stopped, as if they were listening to sounds outside doors that were shut; followed by the fears of that which was high "because man goeth to his long home"; and finally when the silver cord was loosed or the golden bowl broken, the dust returning to the earth as it was, and the spirit unto God Who made it! We waited for the peroration of his fine sermon, which came with startling suddenness, like our accident yesterday, for he concluded abruptly with the following words: Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil. My brother took shorthand notes of portions of the sermon for future reference, for we were both greatly impressed by what we had heard, and conversed about some of the points raised as we returned to the hotel. Later in the day we attended the Wesleyan chapel, where we formed two units in a large congregation, as we had done in the far-off Wesleyan chapel of the Shetland Islands. Here again we appreciated the good service, including the fine congregational singing. Early on Monday morning we started by train for home; but travelling by rail was much slower in those days, and although we journeyed the whole of the day and late into the night which followed, we did not reach our home at Thelwall until Tuesday, November 21st, at two o'clock in the morning, where we awoke the sleepers by singing "Home, Sweet Home" beneath a bedroom window on the east side of Cuerden Hall, where we knew our father and mother would be waiting for us--as they are now, but in no earthly home. [Illustration: THE ROCKERIES AT THELWALL.] The news of our arrival soon spread through the surrounding country, where we were well known, and for a time we were lionised and visited by a host of friends, and our well-worn sticks, which at one time we thought of leaving in the sea at Land's End, were begged from us by intimate friends and treasured for many years by their new owners in the parish of Grappenhall. Considerable interest had naturally been taken locally in our long walk, for we had been absent from our customary haunts for seventy-five days, having travelled by land and sea--apart from the actual walk from John o' Groat's to Land's End--a distance nearly a thousand miles. Everybody wanted to be told all about it, so I was compelled to give the information in the form of lectures, which were repeated in the course of many years in different parts of the country where aid for philanthropic purposes was required. The title of the lecture I gave in the Cobden Hall at Hull on January 25th, 1883, was "My journey from John o' Groat's to Land's End, or 1,372 miles on foot," and the syllabus on that occasion was a curiosity, as it was worded as follows: John O' Groat's House and how we got there--Flying visit to Orkney and Shetland--Crossing Pentland Firth in a sloop--Who was John o' Groat?--What kind of a house did he live in?--A long sermon--The great castles--Up a lighthouse--The Maiden's Paps--Lost on the moors--Pictish towers--Eating Highland porridge--The Scotch lassie and the English--A Sunday at Inverness--Loch Ness--The tale of the heads--Taken for shepherds--Fort William--Up Ben Nevis--The Devil's Staircase--Glencoe--A night in Glen-Orchy--Sunday at Dalmally--Military road--The Cobbler and his Wife--Inverary and the Duke of Argyle--Loch Lomond--Stirling Castle--Wallace's Monument--A bodyless church--Battle of Bannockburn-Linlithgow Palace--A Sunday in Edinburgh, and what I saw there--Roslyn Castle--Muckle-mouthed Meg--Abbotsford, the residence of Sir Walter Scott--Melrose Abbey--A would-not-be fellow-traveller--All night under the stairs--Lilliesleaf--Hawick--A stocking-maker's revenge--Langholm--Taken for beggars--In a distillery--A midnight adventure in the Border Land--A night at a coal-pit--Crossing the boundary--A cheer for old England--Longtown and its parish clerk--Hearing the bishop--Will you be married?--Our visit to Gretna-Green--Ramble through the Lake District--Sunday at Keswick--Furness Abbey--A week in the Big County--Stump Cross Cavern--Brimham rocks--Malham Cove--Fountains Abbey--The Devil's Arrows--Taken for highwaymen--Tessellated pavements--York Minster--Robin Hood and Little John--A Sunday at Castleton--Peveril of the Peak--The cave illuminated--My sore foot and the present of stones--March through Derbyshire--Lichfield Cathedral--John Wiclif--High Cross--A peep at Peeping Tom at Coventry--Leamington--Warwick Castle--Beauchamp chapel--In Shakespeare's House at Stratford-on-Avon--Inhospitable Kineton--All night in the cold--Banbury Cross--A Sunday at Oxford--March across Salisbury Plain--Stonehenge--Salisbury Cathedral--Where they make carpets--Exeter Cathedral--Bridport--Honiton--Dawlish--A Sunday at Torquay--Devonshire lanes--Totnes--Dartmouth--Plymouth and the Big Bridge--Our adventure with the 42nd Highlanders--Tramp across Dartmoor--Lost in the dark--Liskeard--Truro--Tramp through the land of the saints--St. Blazey--St. Michael's Mount--A Sunday at Penzance--Catching pilchards--The Logan Rock--Druidical remains--The last church--Wesley's Rock--Land's End--narrow escape--Home, sweet home--God save the Queen. To this lengthy programme the secretary added the following footnote: Mr. Naylor is probably one of the few men living, if not the only one, who has accomplished the feat of walking from one end of the kingdom to the other, without calling in the aid of any conveyance, or without crossing a single ferry, as his object was simply pleasure. His tour was not confined to the task of accomplishing the journey in the shortest possible time or distance, but as it embraced, to use his own words, "going where there was anything to be seen," his ramble led him to view some of the most picturesque spots in the kingdom. After this lecture I wired my brother, "I only got as far as York." As he knew I had gone to Hull by train, he read the telegram to mean I had only been able to reach York that day, and he imagined how disappointed my friends in Hull would be when I did not arrive there in time to give the lecture. But he was relieved when he afterwards discovered that my wire referred to the lecture itself. He thought I had done well to get as far as York, for "John o' Groat's to Land's End" was much too large a subject to be dealt with in the course of a single lecture. [Illustration: LAND'S END.] [Illustration: [signature of] John Naylor] IN MEMORIAM Time plays many pranks with one's memory. The greatness of the journey is no longer with me, and my companion has been called away. But this much stands out clearly in my recollections: my brother was the leading spirit of the adventure--his was the genius which conceived it and it was his courage and perseverance which compelled us to keep on in spite of many difficulties. I have now set out our peregrinations at length from the diaries we kept during the journey. The record, such as it is, I give to those who knew us as a tribute to his memory. [Illustration: BEESTON TOWERS.] JOHN NAYLOR. BEESTON TOWERS, CHESHIRE, 1916. 
41218	----	images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) [Illustration: _CHARLES I. IN PRISON_ _Photogravure after De La Roche_] THE DIARY OF JOHN EVELYN EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS BY WILLIAM BRAY Fellow of the Antiquarian Society IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR AND A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D. Of the British Museum M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER WASHINGTON & LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME I. CHARLES I. IN PRISON _Frontispiece_ Photogravure after De La Roche. LORD WILLIAM RUSSELL TAKING LEAVE OF HIS CHILDREN, 1683 180 Photogravure after a painting by Bridges. OLIVER CROMWELL DICTATING TO JOHN MILTON 284 The letter to the Duke of Savoy to stop the persecution of the Protestants of Piedmont, 1655. Photogravure from an engraving by Sartain after Newenham. VOLUME II. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM _Frontispiece_ From an old painting. NELL GWYNNE 64 Photogravure after Sir Peter Lely. EVELYN'S DIARY The two chief diarists of the age of Charles the Second are, _mutatis mutandis_, not ill characterized by the remark of a wicked wit upon the brothers Austin. "John Austin," it was said, "served God and died poor: Charles Austin served the devil, and died rich. Both were clever fellows. Charles was much the cleverer of the two." Thus John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys, the former a perfect model of decorum, the latter a grievous example of indecorum, have respectively left us diaries, of which the indecorous is to the decorous as a zoölogical garden is to a museum: while the disparity between the testamentary bequests of the two Austins but imperfectly represents the reputation standing to Pepys's account with posterity in comparison with that accruing to his sedate and dignified contemporary. Museums, nevertheless, have their uses, and Evelyn's comparatively jejune record has laid us under no small obligation. But for Pepys's amazing indiscretion and garrulity, qualities of which one cannot have too little in life, or too much in the record of it, Evelyn would have been esteemed the first diarist of his age. Unable for want of these qualifications to draw any adequate picture of the stirring life around him, he has executed at least one portrait admirably, his own. The likeness is, moreover, valuable, as there is every reason to suppose it typical, and representative of a very important class of society, the well-bred and well-conducted section of the untitled aristocracy of England. We may well believe that these men were not only the salt but the substance of their order. There was an ill-bred section exclusively devoted to festivity and sport. There was an ill-conducted section, plunged into the dissipations of court life. But the majority were men like Evelyn: not, perhaps, equally refined by culture and travel, or equally interested in literary research and scientific experiment, but well informed and polite; no strangers to the Court, yet hardly to be called courtiers, and preferring country to town; loyal to Church and King but not fanatical or rancorous; as yet but slightly imbued with the principles of civil and religious liberty, yet adverse to carry the dogma of divine right further than the right of succession; fortunate in having survived all ideas of serfdom or vassalage, and in having few private interests not fairly reconcilable with the general good. Evelyn was made to be the spokesman of such a class, and, meaning to speak only for himself, he delivers its mind concerning the Commonwealth and the Restoration, the conduct of the later Stuart Kings and the Revolution. Evelyn's Diary practically begins where many think he had no business to be diarising, beyond the seas. The position of a loyalist who solaces himself in Italy while his King is fighting for his crown certainly requires explanation: it may be sufficient apology for Evelyn that without the family estates he could be of no great service to the King, and that these, lying near London, were actually in the grasp of the Parliament. He was also but one of a large family and it was doubtless convenient that one member should be out of harm's way. His three years' absence (1643-6) has certainly proved advantageous to posterity. Evelyn is, indeed, a mere sight-seer, but this renders his tour a precise record of the objects which the sight-seer of the seventeenth century was expected to note, and a mirror not only of the taste but of the feeling of the time. There is no cult of anything, but there is curiosity about everything; there is no perception of the sentiment of a landscape, but real enjoyment of the landscape itself; antiquity is not unappreciated, but modern works impart more real pleasure. Of the philosophical reflections which afterward rose to the mind of Gibbon there is hardly a vestige, and of course Evelyn is at an immeasurable distance from Byron and De Staël. But he gives us exactly what we want, the actual attitude of a cultivated young Englishman in presence of classic and renaissance art with its background of Southern nature. We may register without undue self-complacency a great development of the modern world in the æsthetical region of the intellect, which implies many other kinds of progress. It is interesting to compare with Evelyn's narrative the chapters recording the visit to Italy supposed to have been made at this very period by John Inglesant, who inevitably sees with the eyes of the nineteenth century. Evelyn's casual remarks on foreign manners and institutions display good sense, without extraordinary insight; in description he is frequently observant and graphic, as in his account of the galley slaves, and of Venetian female costumes. He naturally regards Alpine scenery as "melancholy and troublesome." Returned to England, Evelyn strictly follows the line of the average English country gentleman, execrating the execution of Charles I., disgusted beyond measure with the suppression of the Church of England service, but submissive to the powers that be until there are evident indications of a change, which he promotes in anything but a Quixotic spirit. Although he is sincerely attached to the monarchy, the condition of the Church is evidently a matter of greater concern to him: Cromwell would have done much to reconcile the royalists to his government, had it been possible for him to have restored the liturgy and episcopacy. The same lesson is to be derived from his demeanor during the reigns of Charles and James. The exultation with which the Restoration is at first hailed soon evaporates. The scandals of the Court are an offense, notwithstanding Evelyn's personal attachment to the King. But the chief point is not vice or favoritism or mismanagement, but alliances with Roman Catholic powers against Protestant nations. Evelyn is enraged to see Charles missing the part so clearly pointed out to him by Providence as the protector of the Protestant religion all over Europe. The conversion of the Duke of York is a fearful blow, James's ecclesiastical policy after his accession adds to Evelyn's discontent day by day, while political tyranny passes almost without remark. At last the old cavalier is glad to welcome the Prince of Orange as deliverer, and though he has no enthusiasm for William in his character as King, he remains his dutiful subject. Just because Evelyn was by no means an extraordinary person, he represents the plain straightforward sense of the English gentry. The questions of the seventeenth century were far more religious than political. The synthesis "Church and King" expressed the dearest convictions of the great majority of English country families, but when the two became incompatible they left no doubt which held the first place in their hearts. They acted instinctively on the principle of the Persian lady who preferred her brother to her husband. It was not impossible to find a new King, but there was no alternative to the English Church. Evelyn's memoirs thus possess a value far exceeding the modest measure of worth allowed them by De Quincey: "They are useful as now and then enabling one to fix the date of a particular event, but for little besides." The Diary's direct contribution to historical accuracy is insignificant; it is an index, not to chronological minutiæ, but to the general progress of moral and political improvement. The editor of 1857 certainly goes too far in asserting that "All that might have been excluded from the range of his opinions, his feelings and sympathies embraced"; but it is interesting to observe the gradual widening of Evelyn's sympathies with good men of all parties, and to find him in his latter days criticising the evidence produced in support of the Popish Plot on the one hand, and deploring the just condemnation of Algernon Sydney on the other. It is true that, so far as the sufferings of his country are concerned, his attitude is rather that of the Levite than of the Samaritan; but more lively popular sympathies would have destroyed the peculiar value attaching to the testimony of the reluctant witness. We should, for example, have thought little of such a passage as the following from the pen of Burnet, from Evelyn it is significant indeed:-- _October 14, 1688._--The King's birthday. No guns from the Tower as usual. The sun eclipsed at its rising. This day signal for the victory of William the Conqueror against Harold, near Battel in Sussex. The wind, which had been hitherto west, was east all this day. Wonderful expectation of the Dutch fleet. Public prayers ordered to be read in the churches against invasion. It might be difficult to produce a nearer approximation in secular literature to Daniel's "_Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin_." There is little else in the Diary equally striking, though Evelyn's description of Whitehall on the eve of the death of Charles the Second ranks among the memorable passages of the language. It is nevertheless full of interesting anecdotes and curious notices, especially of the scientific research which, in default of any adequate public organization, was in that age more efficaciously promoted by students than by professors. De Quincey censures Evelyn for omitting to record the conversation of the men with whom he associated, but he does not consider that the Diary in its present shape is a digest of memoranda made long previously, and that time failed at one period and memory at the other. De Quincey, whose extreme acuteness was commonly evinced on the negative side of a question, saw the weak points of the Diary upon its first publication much more clearly than his contemporaries did, and was betrayed into illiberality by resentment at what he thought its undeserved vogue. Evelyn has in truth been fortunate; his record, which his contemporaries would have neglected, appeared (1818) just in time to be a precursor of the Anglican movement, a tendency evinced in a similar fashion by the vindication, no doubt mistaken, of the Caroline authorship of the "Icon Basilike." Evelyn was a welcome encounter to men of this cast of thought, and was hailed as a model of piety, culture, and urbanity, without sufficient consideration of his deficiencies as a loyalist and a patriot. It also conduced to his reputation that all his other writings should have virtually perished except his "Sylva," like his Diary a landmark in the history of improvement, though in a widely different department. But for his lack of diplomatic talent, he might be compared with an eminent and much applauded, but in our times somewhat decrescent, contemporary, Sir William Temple. Both these eminent persons would have aroused a warmer feeling in posterity, and have effected more for its instruction and entertainment, if they could occasionally have dashed their dignity with an infusion of the grotesqueness, we will not say of Pepys, but of Roger North. To them, however, their dignity was their character, and although we could have wished them a larger measure of geniality, we must feel indebted to them for their preservation of a refined social type. [Illustration: Richard Garnett (signature)] EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION Evelyn lived in the busy and important times of King Charles I., Oliver Cromwell, King Charles II., King James II., and King William, and early accustomed himself to note such things as occurred, which he thought worthy of remembrance. He was known to, and had much personal intercourse with, the Kings Charles II. and James II.; and he was in habits of great intimacy with many of the ministers of these two monarchs, and with many of the eminent men of those days, as well among the clergy as the laity. Foreigners distinguished for learning, or arts, who came to England, did not leave it without visiting him. The following pages contribute extensive and important particulars of this eminent man. They show that he did not travel merely to count steeples, as he expresses himself in one of his Letters: they develop his private character as one of the most amiable kind. With a strong predilection for monarchy, with a personal attachment to Kings Charles II. and James II., formed when they resided at Paris, he was yet utterly averse to the arbitrary measures of these monarchs. Strongly and steadily attached to the doctrine and practice of the Church of England, he yet felt the most liberal sentiments for those who differed from him in opinion. He lived in intimacy with men of all persuasions; nor did he think it necessary to break connection with anyone who had ever been induced to desert the Church of England, and embrace the doctrines of that of Rome. In writing to the brother of a gentleman thus circumstanced, in 1659, he expresses himself in this admirable manner: "For the rest, we must commit to Providence the success of times and mitigation of proselytical fervors; having for my own particular a very great charity for all who sincerely adore the Blessed Jesus, our common and dear Saviour, as being full of hope that God (however the present zeal of some, and the scandals taken by others at the instant [present] affliction of the Church of England may transport them) will at last compassionate our infirmities, clarify our judgments, and make abatement for our ignorances, superstructures, passions, and errors of corrupt times and interests, of which the Romish persuasion can no way acquit herself, whatever the present prosperity and secular polity may pretend. But God will make all things manifest in his own time, only let us possess ourselves in patience and charity. This will cover a multitude of imperfections." He speaks with great moderation of the Roman Catholics in general, admitting that some of the laws enacted against them might be mitigated; but of the Jesuits he had the very worst opinion, considering them as a most dangerous Society, and the principal authors of the misfortunes which befell King James II., and of the horrible persecutions of the Protestants in France and Savoy. He must have conducted himself with uncommon prudence and address, for he had personal friends in the Court of Cromwell, at the same time that he was corresponding with his father-in-law, Sir Richard Browne, the Ambassador of King Charles II. at Paris; and at the same period that he paid his court to the King, he maintained his intimacy with a disgraced minister. In his travels, he made acquaintance not only with men eminent for learning, but with men ingenious in every art and profession. His manners we may presume to have been most agreeable; for his company was sought by the greatest men, not merely by inviting him to their own tables, but by their repeated visits to him at his own house; and this was equally the case with regard to ladies, of many of whom he speaks in the highest style of admiration, affection, and respect. He was master of the French, Italian, and Spanish languages. That he had read a great deal is manifest; but at what time he found opportunities for study, it is not easy to say. He acknowledges himself to have been idle, while at Oxford; and, when on his travels, he had little time for reading, except when he stayed about nineteen weeks in France, and at Padua, where he was likewise stationary for several months. At Rome, he remained a considerable time, but, while there, he was so continually engaged in viewing the great variety of interesting objects to be seen in that city, that he could have found little leisure for reading. When resident in England, he was so much occupied in the business of his numerous offices, in paying visits, in receiving company at home, and in examining whatever was deemed worthy of curiosity, or of scientific observation, that it is astonishing how he found the opportunity to compose the numerous books which he published, and the much greater number of Papers, on almost every subject, which still remain in manuscript; to say nothing of the very extensive and voluminous correspondence which he appears to have carried on during his long life, with men of the greatest eminence in Church and State, and the most distinguished for learning, both Englishmen and foreigners. In this correspondence he does not seem to have made use of an amanuensis; and he has left transcripts in his own hand of great numbers of letters both received and sent. He observes, indeed, in one of these, that he seldom went to bed before twelve, or closed his eyes before one o'clock. He was happy in a wife of congenial dispositions with his own, of an enlightened mind, who had read much, and was skilled in etching and painting, yet attentive to the domestic concerns of her household, and a most affectionate mother. His grandfather, George, was not the first of the family who settled in Surrey. John, father of this George, was of Kingston, in 1520, and married a daughter of David Vincent, Esq., Lord of the Manor of Long Ditton, near Kingston, which afterward came in the hands of George, who there carried on the manufacture of gunpowder. He purchased very considerable estates in Surrey, and three of his sons became heads of three families, viz, Thomas, his eldest son, at Long Ditton; John, at Godstone, and Richard at Wotton. Each of these three families had the title of Baronet conferred on them at different times, viz, at Godstone, in 1660; Long Ditton, in 1683; and Wotton, in 1713. The manufacture of gunpowder was carried on at Godstone as well as at Long Ditton; but it does not appear that there ever was any mill at Wotton, or that the purchase of that place was made with such a view. It may be not altogether incurious to observe, that though Mr. Evelyn's father was a man of very considerable fortune, the first rudiments of this son's learning were acquired from the village schoolmaster over the porch of Wotton Church. Of his progress at another school, and at college, he himself speaks with great humility; nor did he add much to his stock of knowledge, while he resided in the Middle Temple, to which his father sent him, with the intention that he should apply to what he calls "an impolished study," which he says he never liked. The "Biographia" does not notice his tour in France, Flanders, and Holland, in 1641, when he made a short campaign as a volunteer in an English regiment then in service in Flanders.[1] Nor does it notice his having set out, with intent to join King Charles I. at Brentford; and subsequently desisting when the result of that battle became known, on the ground that his brother's as well as his own estates were so near London as to be fully in power of the Parliament, and that their continued adherence would have been certain ruin to themselves without any advantage to his Majesty. In this dangerous conjuncture he asked and obtained the King's leave to travel. Of these travels, and the observations he made therein, an ample account is given in this Diary. [Footnote 1: This expression is, perhaps, hardly applicable to the fact of Evelyn's having witnessed a siege merely as a curious spectator. He reached the camp on the 2d, and left it on the 8th of August, 1641. It is certain, however, that during these six days he took his turn on duty, and trailed a pike.--See Diary.] The national troubles coming on before he had engaged in any settled plan for his future life, it appears that he had thoughts of living in the most private manner, and that, with his brother's permission, he had even begun to prepare a place for retirement at Wotton. Nor did he afterward wholly abandon his intention, if the plan of a college, which he sent to Mr. Boyle in 1659, was really formed on a serious idea. This scheme is given at length in the "Biographia," and in Dr. Hunter's edition of the "Sylva" in 1776; but it may be observed that he proposes it should not be more than twenty-five miles from London. As to his answer to Sir George Mackenzie's panegyric on Solitude, in which Mr. Evelyn takes the opposite part and urges the preference to which public employment and an active life is entitled,--it may be considered as the playful essay of one who, for the sake of argument, would controvert another's position, though in reality agreeing with his own opinion; if we think him serious in two letters to Mr. Abraham Cowley, dated 12th March and 24th August, 1666, in the former of which he writes: "You had reason to be astonished at the presumption, not to name it affront, that I, who have so highly celebrated recess, and envied it in others, should become an advocate for the enemy, which of all others it abhors and flies from. I conjure you to believe that I am still of the same mind, and that there is no person alive who does more honor and breathe after the life and repose you so happily cultivate and advance by your example; but, as those who praised dirt, a flea, and the gout, so have I public employment in that trifling Essay, and that in so weak a style compared with my antagonist's, as by that alone it will appear I neither was nor could be serious, and I hope you believe I speak my very soul to you. '_Sunt enim Musis sua ludicra mista Camoenis Otia sunt----_'" In the other, he says, "I pronounce it to you from my heart as oft as I consider it, that I look on your fruitions with inexpressible emulation, and should think myself more happy than crowned heads, were I, as you, the arbiter of mine own life, and could break from those gilded toys to taste your well-described joys with such a wife and such a friend, whose conversation exceeds all that the mistaken world calls happiness." But, in truth, Mr. Evelyn's mind was too active to admit of solitude at all times, however desirable it might appear to him in theory. After he had settled at Deptford, which was in the time of Cromwell, he kept up a constant correspondence with Sir Richard Browne (his father-in-law), the King's Ambassador at Paris; and though his connection must have been known, it does not appear that he met with any interruption from the government here. Indeed, though he remained a decided Royalist, he managed so well as to have intimate friends even among those nearly connected with Cromwell; and to this we may attribute his being able to avoid taking the Covenant, which he says he never did take. In 1659, he published "An Apology for the Royal Party"; and soon after printed a paper which was of great service to the King, entitled "The Late News, or Message from Brussels Unmasked," which was an answer to a pamphlet designed to represent the King in the worst light. On the Restoration, we find him very frequently at Court; and he became engaged in many public employments, still attending to his studies and literary pursuits. Among these, is particularly to be mentioned the Royal Society, in the establishment and conduct of which he took a very active part. He procured Mr. Howard's library to be given to them; and by his influence, in 1667, the Arundelian Marbles were obtained for the University of Oxford. His first appointment to a public office was in 1662, as a Commissioner for reforming the buildings, ways, streets, and incumbrances, and regulating hackney coaches in London. In the same year he sat as a Commissioner on an inquiry into the conduct of the Lord Mayor, etc., concerning Sir Thomas Gresham's charities. In 1664 he was in a commission for regulating the Mint; in the same year was appointed one of the Commissioners for the care of the Sick and Wounded in the Dutch war; and he was continued in the same employment in the second war with that country. He was one of the Commissioners for the repair of St. Paul's Cathedral, shortly before it was burned in 1666. In that year he was also in a commission for regulating the farming and making saltpetre; and in 1671 we find him a Commissioner of Plantations on the establishment of the board, to which the Council of Trade was added in 1672. In 1685 he was one of the Commissioners of the Privy Seal, during the absence of the Earl of Clarendon (who held that office), on his going Lord Lieutenant to Ireland. On the foundation of Greenwich Hospital, in 1695, he was one of the Commissioners; and, on the 30th of June, 1696, laid the first stone of that building. He was also appointed Treasurer, with a salary of £200 a year; but he says that it was a long time before he received any part of it. When the Czar of Muscovy came to England, in 1698, proposing to instruct himself in the art of shipbuilding, he was desirous of having the use of Sayes Court, in consequence of its vicinity to the King's dockyard at Deptford. This was conceded; but during his stay he did so much damage that Mr. Evelyn had an allowance of £150 for it. He especially regrets the mischief done to his famous holly hedge, which might have been thought beyond the reach of damage. But one of Czar Peter's favorite recreations had been to demolish the hedges by riding through them in a wheelbarrow. October, 1699, his elder brother, George Evelyn, dying without male issue, aged eighty-three, he succeeded to the paternal estate; and in May following, he quitted Sayes Court and went to Wotton, where he passed the remainder of his life, with the exception of occasional visits to London, where he retained a house. In the great storm of 1703, he mentions in his last edition of the "Sylva," above one thousand trees were blown down in sight of his residence. He died at his house in London, 27th February, 1705-6, in the eighty-sixth year of his age, and was buried at Wotton. His lady survived him nearly three years, dying 9th February, 1708-9, in her seventy-fourth year, and was buried near him at Wotton. Of Evelyn's children, a son, who died at the age of five, and a daughter, who died at the age of nineteen, were almost prodigies. The particulars of their extraordinary endowments, and the profound manner in which he was affected at their deaths, may be seen in these volumes. One daughter was well and happily settled; another less so; but she did not survive her marriage more than a few months. The only son who lived to the age of manhood, inherited his father's love of learning, and distinguished himself by several publications. Mr. Evelyn's employment as a Commissioner for the care of the Sick and Wounded was very laborious; and, from the nature of it, must have been extremely unpleasant. Almost the whole labor was in his department, which included all the ports between the river Thames and Portsmouth; and he had to travel in all seasons and weathers, by land and by water, in the execution of his office, to which he gave the strictest attention. It was rendered still more disagreeable by the great difficulty which he found in procuring money for support of the prisoners. In the library at Wotton, are copies of numerous letters to the Lord Treasurer and Officers of State, representing, in the strongest terms, the great distress of the poor men, and of those who had furnished lodging and necessaries for them. At one time, there were such arrears of payment to the victuallers, that, on landing additional sick and wounded, they lay some time in the streets, the publicans refusing to receive them, and shutting up their houses. After all this trouble and fatigue, he found as great difficulty in getting his accounts settled.[2] In January, 1665-6, he formed a plan for an Infirmary at Chatham, which he sent to Mr. Pepys, to be laid before the Admiralty, with his reasons for recommending it; but it does not appear that it was carried into execution. [Footnote 2: 2d October, 1665, he writes to the Lord Chancellor, Lord Arlington, Sir William Coventry, and Sir Philip Warwick, complaining of want of money for the prisoners: praying that while he and his brother Commissioners adventure their persons and all that is dear to them, in this uncomfortable service, they may not be exposed to ruin, and to a necessity of abandoning their care; and adding that they have lost their officers and servants by the pestilence, and are hourly environed with the saddest objects of perishing people. "I have," says he, "fifteen places full of sick men, where they put me to unspeakable trouble; the magistrates and justices, who should further us in our exigencies, hindering the people from giving us quarters, jealous of the contagion, and causing them to shut the doors at our approach."] His employments, in connection with the repair of St. Paul's (which, however, occupied him but a brief time), as in the Commission of Trade and Plantations, and in the building of Greenwich Hospital, were much better adapted to his inclinations and pursuits. As a Commissioner of the Privy Seal in the reign of King James II., he had a difficult task to perform. He was most steadily attached to the Church of England, and the King required the Seal to be affixed to many things incompatible with the welfare of that Church. This, on some occasions, he refused to do, particularly to a license to Dr. Obadiah Walker to print Popish books;[3] and on other occasions he absented himself, leaving it to his brother Commissioners to act as they thought fit. Such, however, was the King's estimation of him, that no displeasure was evinced on this account. [Footnote 3: Dr. Walker had been a member of the Church of England, but had renounced it, and turned Papist.] Of Evelyn's attempt to bring Colonel Morley (Cromwell's Lieutenant of the Tower, immediately preceding the Restoration) over to the King's interest, an imperfect account is given in the "Biographia." The fact is, that there was great friendship between these gentlemen, and Evelyn did endeavor to engage the Colonel in the King's interest. He saw him several times, and put his life into his hands by writing to him on 12th January, 1659-60; he did not succeed, and Colonel Morley was too much his friend to betray him; but so far from the Colonel having settled matters privately with Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, or General Monk, as there described, he was obliged, when the Restoration took place, actually to apply to Evelyn to procure his pardon; who obtained it accordingly, though, as he states, the Colonel was obliged to pay a large sum of money for it. This could not have happened, if there had been any previous negotiation with General Monk. Dr. Campbell took some pains to vindicate Mr. Evelyn's book, entitled, "Navigation and Commerce, their Origin and Progress," from the charge of being an imperfect work, unequal to the expectation excited by the title. But the Doctor, who had not the information which this Journal so amply affords on this subject, was not aware that what was so printed was nothing more than an Introduction to the History of the Dutch War; a work undertaken by Evelyn at the express command of King Charles II., and the materials for which were furnished by the Officers of State. The completion of this work, after considerable progress had been made in it, was put a stop to by the King himself, for what reason does not appear; but perhaps it was found that Evelyn was inclined to tell too much of the truth concerning a transaction, which it will be seen by his Journal that he utterly reprobated. His copy of the History, as far as he had proceeded, he put into the hands of his friend, Mr. Pepys, of the Admiralty, who did not return it; but the books and manuscripts belonging to Mr. Pepys passed into the possession of Magdalen College, Cambridge. From the numerous authors who have spoken in high terms of Mr. Evelyn, we will select the two following notices of him. In the "Biographia Britannica" Dr. Campbell says, "It is certain that very few authors who have written in our language deserve the character of able and agreeable writers so well as Mr. Evelyn, who, though he was acquainted with most sciences, and wrote upon many different subjects, yet was very far, indeed the farthest of most men of his time, from being a superficial writer. He had genius, he had taste, he had learning; and he knew how to give all these a proper place in his works, so as never to pass for a pedant, even with such as were least in love with literature, and to be justly esteemed a polite author by those who knew it best." Horace Walpole (afterward Earl of Orford), in his Catalogue of Engravers, gives us the following admirably drawn character: "If Mr. Evelyn had not been an artist himself, as I think I can prove he was, I should yet have found it difficult to deny myself the pleasure of allotting him a place among the arts he loved, promoted, patronized; and it would be but justice to inscribe his name with due panegyric in these records, as I have once or twice taken the liberty to criticise him. But they are trifling blemishes compared with his amiable virtues and beneficence; and it may be remarked that the worst I have said of him is, that he knew more than he always communicated. It is no unwelcome satire to say, that a man's intelligence and philosophy is inexhaustible. I mean not to write his biography, but I must observe, that his life, which was extended to eighty-six years, was a course of inquiry, study, curiosity, instruction, and benevolence. The works of the Creator, and the minute labors of the creature, were all objects of his pursuit. He unfolded the perfection of the one, and assisted the imperfection of the other. He adored from examination; was a courtier that flattered only by informing his Prince, and by pointing out what was worthy of him to countenance; and really was the neighbor of the Gospel, for there was no man that might not have been the better for him. Whoever peruses a list of his works will subscribe to my assertion. He was one of the first promoters of the Royal Society; a patron of the ingenious and the indigent; and peculiarly serviceable to the lettered world; for, besides his writings and discoveries, he obtained the Arundelian Marbles for the University of Oxford, and the Arundelian Library for the Royal Society. Nor is it the least part of his praise, that he who proposed to Mr. Boyle the erection of a Philosophical College for retired and speculative persons, had the honesty to write in defense of active life against Sir George Mackenzie's 'Essay on Solitude.' He knew that retirement, in his own hands, was industry and benefit to mankind; but in those of others, laziness and inutility." Evelyn was buried in the Dormitory adjoining Wotton Church. On a white marble, covering a tomb shaped like a coffin, raised about three feet above the floor, is inscribed: Here lies the Body of JOHN EVELYN, Esq., of this place, second son of Richard Evelyn, Esq.; who having serv'd the Publick in several employments, of which that of Commissioner of the Privy-Seal in the Reign of King James the 2d was most honourable, and perpetuated his fame by far more lasting monuments than those of Stone or Brass, his learned and usefull Works, fell asleep the 27 day of February 1705-6, being the 86 year of his age, in full hope of a glorious Resurrection, thro' Faith in Jesus Christ. Living in an age of extraordinary Events and Revolutions, he learnt (as himself asserted) this Truth, which pursuant to his intention is here declared-- _That all is vanity which is not honest, and that there is no solid wisdom but in real Piety._ Of five Sons and three Daughters born to him from his most vertuous and excellent Wife, Mary, sole daughter and heiress of Sir Rich. Browne of Sayes Court near Deptford in Kent, onely one daughter, Susanna, married to William Draper Esq., of Adscomb in this County, survived him; the two others dying in the flower of their age, and all the Sons very young, except one named John, who deceased 24 March, 1698-9, in the 45 year of his age, leaving one son, John, and one daughter, Elizabeth. VOLUME I. 1620-1664 VOLUME II. 1665-1706 DIARY OF JOHN EVELYN. I was born at Wotton, in the County of Surrey, about twenty minutes past two in the morning, being on Tuesday the 31st and last of October, 1620, after my father had been married about seven years,[4] and that my mother had borne him three children; viz, two daughters and one son, about the 33d year of his age, and the 23d of my mother's. [Footnote 4: He was married at St. Thomas's, Southwark, 27th January, 1613. My sister Eliza was born at nine at night, 28th November, 1614; Jane at four in the morning, 16th February, 1616; my brother George at nine at night, Wednesday, 18th June, 1617; and my brother Richard, 9th November, 1622.--_Note by Evelyn._] [Sidenote: WOTTON] My father, named Richard, was of a sanguine complexion, mixed with a dash of choler: his hair inclining to light, which, though exceedingly thick, became hoary by the time he had attained to thirty years of age; it was somewhat curled toward the extremities; his beard, which he wore a little peaked, as the mode was, of a brownish color, and so continued to the last, save that it was somewhat mingled with gray hairs about his cheeks, which, with his countenance, were clear and fresh-colored; his eyes extraordinary quick and piercing; an ample forehead,--in sum, a very well-composed visage and manly aspect: for the rest, he was but low of stature, yet very strong. He was, for his life, so exact and temperate, that I have heard he had never been surprised by excess, being ascetic and sparing. His wisdom was great, and his judgment most acute; of solid discourse, affable, humble, and in nothing affected; of a thriving, neat, silent, and methodical genius, discreetly severe, yet liberal upon all just occasions, both to his children, to strangers, and servants; a lover of hospitality; and, in brief, of a singular and Christian moderation in all his actions; not illiterate, nor obscure, as, having continued Justice of the Peace and of the Quorum, he served his country as High Sheriff, being, as I take it, the last dignified with that office for Sussex and Surrey together, the same year, before their separation. He was yet a studious decliner of honors and titles; being already in that esteem with his country, that they could have added little to him besides their burden. He was a person of that rare conversation that, upon frequent recollection, and calling to mind passages of his life and discourse, I could never charge him with the least passion, or inadvertency. His estate was esteemed about £4000 per annum, well wooded, and full of timber. My mother's name was Eleanor, sole daughter and heiress of John Standsfield, Esq., of an ancient and honorable family (though now extinct) in Shropshire, by his wife Eleanor Comber, of a good and well-known house in Sussex. She was of proper personage; of a brown complexion; her eyes and hair of a lovely black; of constitution more inclined to a religious melancholy, or pious sadness; of a rare memory, and most exemplary life; for economy and prudence, esteemed one of the most conspicuous in her country: which rendered her loss much deplored, both by those who knew, and such as only heard of her. Thus much, in brief, touching my parents; nor was it reasonable I should speak less of them to whom I owe so much. The place of my birth was Wotton, in the parish of Wotton, or Blackheath, in the county of Surrey, the then mansion-house of my father, left him by my grandfather, afterward and now my eldest brother's. It is situated in the most southern part of the shire; and, though in a valley, yet really upon part of Leith Hill, one of the most eminent in England for the prodigious prospect to be seen from its summit, though by few observed. From it may be discerned twelve or thirteen counties, with part of the sea on the coast of Sussex, in a serene day. The house is large and ancient, suitable to those hospitable times, and so sweetly environed with those delicious streams and venerable woods, as in the judgment of strangers as well as Englishmen it may be compared to one of the most pleasant seats in the nation, and most tempting for a great person and a wanton purse to render it conspicuous. It has rising grounds, meadows, woods, and water, in abundance. The distance from London little more than twenty miles, and yet so securely placed, as if it were one hundred; three miles from Dorking, which serves it abundantly with provision as well of land as sea; six from Guildford, twelve from Kingston. I will say nothing of the air, because the pre-eminence is universally given to Surrey, the soil being dry and sandy; but I should speak much of the gardens, fountains, and groves that adorn it, were they not as generally known to be among the most natural, and (till this later and universal luxury of the whole nation, since abounding in such expenses) the most magnificent that England afforded; and which indeed gave one of the first examples to that elegancy, since so much in vogue, and followed in the managing of their waters, and other elegancies of that nature. Let me add, the contiguity of five or six manors, the patronage of the livings about it, and what Themistocles pronounced for none of the least advantages--the good neighborhood. All which conspire here to render it an honorable and handsome royalty, fit for the present possessor, my worthy brother, and his noble lady, whose constant liberality gives them title both to the place and the affections of all that know them. Thus, with the poet: _Nescio quâ natale solum dulcedine cunctos Ducit, et immemores non sinit esse sui._ I had given me the name of my grandfather, my mother's father, who, together with a sister of Sir Thomas Evelyn, of Long Ditton, and Mr. Comber, a near relation of my mother, were my susceptors. The solemnity (yet upon what accident I know not, unless some indisposition in me) was performed in the dining-room by Parson Higham, the present incumbent of the parish, according to the forms prescribed by the then glorious Church of England. I was now (in regard to my mother's weakness, or rather custom of persons of quality) put to nurse to one Peter, a neighbor's wife and tenant, of a good, comely, brown, wholesome complexion, and in a most sweet place toward the hills, flanked with wood and refreshed with streams; the affection to which kind of solitude I sucked in with my very milk. It appears, by a note of my father's, that I sucked till 17th of January, 1622, or at least I came not home before.[5] [Footnote 5: The whole of this passage, so characteristic of the writer's tastes and genius, and both the paragraphs before and after it, are printed for the first time in this edition. Portions of the preceding description of Wotton are also first taken from the original; and it may not be out of place to add that, more especially in the first fifty pages of this volume, a very large number of curious and interesting additions are made to Evelyn's text from the Manuscript of the Diary at Wotton.] 1623. The very first thing that I can call to memory, and from which time forward I began to observe, was this year (1623) my youngest brother, being in his nurse's arms, who, being then two days and nine months younger than myself, was the last child of my dear parents. 1624. I was not initiated into any rudiments until near four years of age, and then one Frier taught us at the church-porch of Wotton; and I do perfectly remember the great talk and stir about Il Conde Gondomar, now Ambassador from Spain (for near about this time was the match of our Prince with the Infanta proposed); and the effects of that comet, 1618, still working in the prodigious revolutions now beginning in Europe, especially in Germany, whose sad commotions sprang from the Bohemians' defection from the Emperor Matthias; upon which quarrel the Swedes broke in, giving umbrage to the rest of the princes, and the whole Christian world cause to deplore it, as never since enjoying perfect tranquillity. 1625. I was this year (being the first of the reign of King Charles) sent by my father to Lewes, in Sussex, to be with my grandfather, Standsfield, with whom I passed my childhood. This was the year in which the pestilence was so epidemical, that there died in London 5,000 a week, and I well remember the strict watches and examinations upon the ways as we passed; and I was shortly after so dangerously sick of a fever that (as I have heard) the physicians despaired of me. 1626. My picture was drawn in oil by one Chanterell, no ill painter. 1627. My grandfather, Standsfield, died this year, on the 5th of February: I remember perfectly the solemnity at his funeral. He was buried in the parish church of All Souls, where my grandmother, his second wife, erected him a pious monument. About this time, was the consecration of the Church of South Malling, near Lewes, by Dr. Field, Bishop of Oxford (one Mr. Coxhall preached, who was afterward minister); the building whereof was chiefly procured by my grandfather, who having the impropriation, gave £20 a year out of it to this church. I afterward sold the impropriation. I laid one of the first stones at the building of the church. 1628-30. It was not till the year 1628, that I was put to learn my Latin rudiments, and to write, of one Citolin, a Frenchman, in Lewes. I very well remember that general muster previous to the Isle of Rhè's expedition, and that I was one day awakened in the morning with the news of the Duke of Buckingham being slain by that wretch, Felton, after our disgrace before La Rochelle. And I now took so extraordinary a fancy to drawing and designing, that I could never after wean my inclinations from it, to the expense of much precious time, which might have been more advantageously employed. I was now put to school to one Mr. Potts, in the Cliff at Lewes, from whom, on the 7th of January, 1630, being the day after Epiphany, I went to the free-school at Southover, near the town, of which one Agnes Morley had been the foundress, and now Edward Snatt was the master, under whom I remained till I was sent to the University.[6] This year, my grandmother (with whom I sojourned) being married to one Mr. Newton, a learned and most religious gentleman, we went from the Cliff to dwell at his house in Southover. I do most perfectly remember the jubilee which was universally expressed for the happy birth of the Prince of Wales, 29th of May, now Charles II., our most gracious Sovereign. [Footnote 6: Long afterward, Evelyn was in the habit of paying great respect to his old teacher.] 1631. There happened now an extraordinary dearth in England, corn bearing an excessive price; and, in imitation of what I had seen my father do, I began to observe matters more punctually, which I did use to set down in a blank almanac. The Lord of Castlehaven's arraignment for many shameful exorbitances was now all the talk, and the birth of the Princess Mary, afterward Princess of Orange. 21st October, 1632. My eldest sister was married to Edward Darcy, Esq., who little deserved so excellent a person, a woman of so rare virtue. I was not present at the nuptials; but I was soon afterward sent for into Surrey, and my father would willingly have weaned me from my fondness of my too indulgent grandmother, intending to have placed me at Eton; but, not being so provident for my own benefit, and unreasonably terrified with the report of the severe discipline there, I was sent back to Lewes; which perverseness of mine I have since a thousand times deplored. This was the first time that ever my parents had seen all their children together in prosperity. While I was now trifling at home, I saw London, where I lay one night only. The next day, I dined at Beddington, where I was much delighted with the gardens and curiosities. Thence, we returned to the Lady Darcy's, at Sutton; thence to Wotton; and, on the 16th of August following, 1633, back to Lewes. 3d November, 1633. This year my father was appointed Sheriff, the last, as I think, who served in that honorable office for Surrey and Sussex, before they were disjoined. He had 116 servants in liveries, every one liveried in green satin doublets; divers gentlemen and persons of quality waited on him in the same garb and habit, which at that time (when thirty or forty was the usual retinue of the High Sheriff) was esteemed a great matter. Nor was this out of the least vanity that my father exceeded (who was one of the greatest decliners of it); but because he could not refuse the civility of his friends and relations, who voluntarily came themselves, or sent in their servants. But my father was afterward most unjustly and spitefully molested by that jeering judge, Richardson, for reprieving the execution of a woman, to gratify my Lord of Lindsey, then Admiral: but out of this he emerged with as much honor as trouble. The king made this year his progress into Scotland, and Duke James was born. 15th December, 1634: My dear sister, Darcy, departed this life, being arrived to her 20th year of age; in virtue advanced beyond her years, or the merit of her husband, the worst of men. She had been brought to bed the 2d of June before, but the infant died soon after her, the 24th of December. I was therefore sent for home the second time, to celebrate the obsequies of my sister; who was interred in a very honorable manner in our dormitory joining to the parish church, where now her monument stands. 1635. But my dear mother being now dangerously sick, I was, on the 3d of September following, sent for to Wotton. Whom I found so far spent, that, all human assistance failing, she in a most heavenly manner departed this life upon the 29th of the same month, about eight in the evening of Michaelmas-day. It was a malignant fever which took her away, about the 37th of her age, and 22d of her marriage, to our irreparable loss and the regret of all that knew her. Certain it is, that the visible cause of her indisposition proceeded from grief upon the loss of her daughter, and the infant that followed it; and it is as certain, that when she perceived the peril whereto its excess had engaged her, she strove to compose herself and allay it; but it was too late, and she was forced to succumb. Therefore summoning all her children then living (I shall never forget it), she expressed herself in a manner so heavenly, with instructions so pious and Christian, as made us strangely sensible of the extraordinary loss then imminent; after which, embracing every one of us she gave to each a ring with her blessing and dismissed us. Then, taking my father by the hand, she recommended us to his care; and, because she was extremely zealous for the education of my younger brother, she requested my father that he might be sent with me to Lewes; and so having importuned him that what he designed to bestow on her funeral, he would rather dispose among the poor, she labored to compose herself for the blessed change which she now expected. There was not a servant in the house whom she did not expressly send for, advise, and infinitely affect with her counsel. Thus she continued to employ her intervals, either instructing her relations, or preparing of herself. Though her physicians, Dr. Meverell, Dr. Clement, and Dr. Rand, had given over all hopes of her recovery, and Sir Sanders Duncombe had tried his celebrated and famous powder, yet she was many days impairing, and endured the sharpest conflicts of her sickness with admirable patience and most Christian resignation, retaining both her intellectuals and ardent affections for her dissolution, to the very article of her departure. When near her dissolution, she laid her hand on every one of her children; and taking solemn leave of my father, with elevated heart and eyes, she quietly expired, and resigned her soul to God. Thus ended that prudent and pious woman, in the flower of her age, to the inconsolable affliction of her husband, irreparable loss of her children, and universal regret of all that knew her. She was interred, as near as might be, to her daughter Darcy, the 3d of October, at night, but with no mean ceremony. It was the 3d of the ensuing November, after my brother George was gone back to Oxford, ere I returned to Lewes, when I made way, according to instructions received of my father, for my brother Richard, who was sent the 12th after. 1636. This year being extremely dry, the pestilence much increased in London, and divers parts of England. 13th February, 1637: I was especially admitted (and, as I remember, my other brother) into the Middle Temple, London, though absent, and as yet at school. There were now large contributions to the distressed Palatinates. The 10th of December my father sent a servant to bring us necessaries, and the plague beginning now to cease, on the 3d of April, 1637, I left school, where, till about the last year, I have been extremely remiss in my studies; so as I went to the University rather out of shame of abiding longer at school, than for any fitness, as by sad experience I found: which put me to re-learn all that I had neglected, or but perfunctorily gained. [Sidenote: OXFORD] 10th May, 1637. I was admitted a Fellow-commoner of Baliol College, Oxford; and, on the 29th, I was matriculated in the vestry of St. Mary's, where I subscribed the Articles, and took the oaths: Dr. Baily, head of St. John's, being vice-chancellor, afterward bishop. It appears by a letter of my father's, that he was upon treaty with one Mr. Bathurst (afterward Doctor and President), of Trinity College, who should have been my tutor; but, lest my brother's tutor, Dr. Hobbs, more zealous in his life than industrious to his pupils, should receive it as an affront, and especially for that Fellow-commoners in Baliol were no more exempt from exercise than the meanest scholars there, my father sent me thither to one Mr. George Bradshaw (_nomen invisum!_ yet the son of an excellent father, beneficed in Surrey). I ever thought my tutor had parts enough; but as his ambition made him much suspected of the College, so his grudge to Dr. Lawrence, the governor of it (whom he afterward supplanted), took up so much of his time, that he seldom or never had the opportunity to discharge his duty to his scholars. This I perceiving, associated myself with one Mr. James Thicknesse (then a young man of the foundation, afterward a Fellow of the house), by whose learned and friendly conversation I received great advantage. At my first arrival, Dr. Parkhurst was master: and after his decease, Dr. Lawrence, a chaplain of his Majesty's and Margaret Professor, succeeded, an acute and learned person; nor do I much reproach his severity, considering that the extraordinary remissness of discipline had (till his coming) much detracted from the reputation of that College. There came in my time to the College one Nathaniel Conopios, out of Greece, from Cyrill, the patriarch of Constantinople, who, returning many years after, was made (as I understand) Bishop of Smyrna. He was the first I ever saw drink coffee; which custom came not into England till thirty years after.[7] [Footnote 7: Evelyn should have said "till twenty years after," not thirty. Coffee was introduced into England, and coffee-houses set up, in 1658.] After I was somewhat settled there in my formalities (for then was the University exceedingly regular, under the exact discipline of William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, then Chancellor), I added, as benefactor to the library of the College, these books--"_ex dono Johannis Evelyni, hujus Coll. Socio-Commensalis, filii Richardi Evelyni, è com. Surriæ, armig^r_."-- "_Zanchii Opera_," vols. 1, 2, 3. "_Granado in Thomam Aquinatem_," vols. 1, 2, 3. "_Novarini Electa Sacra_" and "_Cresolii Anthologia Sacra_"; authors, it seems, much desired by the students of divinity there. Upon the 2d of July, being the first Sunday of the month, I first received the blessed Sacrament of the Lord's Supper in the college chapel, one Mr. Cooper, a Fellow of the house, preaching; and at this time was the Church of England in her greatest splendor, all things decent, and becoming the Peace, and the persons that governed. The most of the following week I spent in visiting the Colleges, and several rarities of the University, which do very much affect young comers. 18th July, 1637. I accompanied my eldest brother, who then quitted Oxford, into the country; and, on the 9th of August, went to visit my friends at Lewes, whence I returned the 12th to Wotton. On the 17th of September, I received the blessed Sacrament at Wotton church, and 23d of October went back to Oxford. 5th November, 1637. I received again the Holy Communion in our college chapel, one Prouse, a Fellow (but a mad one), preaching. 9th December, 1637. I offered at my first exercise in the Hall, and answered my opponent; and, upon the 11th following, declaimed in the chapel before the Master, Fellows, and Scholars, according to the custom. The 15th after, I first of all opposed in the Hall. The Christmas ensuing, being at a Comedy which the gentlemen of Exeter College presented to the University, and standing, for the better advantage of seeing, upon a table in the Hall, which was near to another, in the dark, being constrained by the extraordinary press to quit my station, in leaping down to save myself I dashed my right leg with such violence against the sharp edge of the other board, as gave me a hurt which held me in cure till almost Easter, and confined me to my study. 22d January, 1638. I would needs be admitted into the dancing and vaulting schools; of which late activity one Stokes, the master, did afterward set forth a pretty book, which was published, with many witty elogies before it. 4th February, 1638. One Mr. Wariner preached in our chapel; and, on the 25th, Mr. Wentworth, a kinsman of the Earl of Strafford; after which followed the blessed Sacrament. 13th April, 1638. My father ordered that I should begin to manage my own expenses, which till then my tutor had done; at which I was much satisfied. [Sidenote: PORTSMOUTH] 9th July, 1638. I went home to visit my friends, and, on the 26th, with my brother and sister to Lewes, where we abode till the 31st; and thence to one Mr. Michael's, of Houghton, near Arundel, where we were very well treated; and, on the 2d of August, to Portsmouth, and thence, having surveyed the fortifications (a great rarity in that blessed halcyon time in England), we passed into the Isle of Wight, to the house of my Lady Richards, in a place called Yaverland; but were turned the following day to Chichester, where, having viewed the city and fair cathedral, we returned home. About the beginning of September, I was so afflicted with a quartan ague, that I could by no means get rid of it till the December following. This was the fatal year wherein the rebellious Scots opposed the King, upon the pretense of the introduction of some new ceremonies and the Book of Common Prayer, and madly began our confusions, and their own destruction, too, as it proved in event. 14th January, 1639. I came back to Oxford, after my tedious indisposition, and to the infinite loss of my time; and now I began to look upon the rudiments of music, in which I afterward arrived to some formal knowledge, though to small perfection of hand, because I was so frequently diverted with inclinations to newer trifles. 20th May, 1639. Accompanied with one Mr. J. Crafford (who afterward being my fellow-traveler in Italy, there changed his religion), I took a journey of pleasure to see the Somersetshire baths, Bristol, Cirencester, Malmesbury, Abington, and divers other towns of lesser note; and returned the 25th. 8th October, 1639. I went back to Oxford. 14th December, 1639. According to injunctions from the Heads of Colleges, I went (among the rest) to the Confirmation at St. Mary's, where, after sermon, the Bishop of Oxford laid his hands upon us, with the usual form of benediction prescribed: but this received (I fear) for the more part out of curiosity, rather than with that due preparation and advice which had been requisite, could not be so effectual as otherwise that admirable and useful institution might have been, and as I have since deplored it. 21st January, 1640. Came my brother, Richard, from school, to be my chamber-fellow at the University. He was admitted the next day and matriculated the 31st. [Sidenote: LONDON] 11th April, 1640. I went to London to see the solemnity of his Majesty's riding through the city in state to the Short Parliament, which began the 13th following,--a very glorious and magnificent sight, the King circled with his royal diadem and the affections of his people: but the day after I returned to Wotton again, where I stayed, my father's indisposition suffering great intervals, till April 27th, when I was sent to London to be first resident at the Middle Temple: so as my being at the University, in regard of these avocations, was of very small benefit to me. Upon May the 5th following, was the Parliament unhappily dissolved; and, on the 20th I returned with my brother George to Wotton, who, on the 28th of the same month, was married at Albury to Mrs. Caldwell (an heiress of an ancient Leicestershire family, where part of the nuptials were celebrated). 10th June, 1640. I repaired with my brother to the term, to go into our new lodgings (that were formerly in Essex-court), being a very handsome apartment just over against the Hall-court, but four pair of stairs high, which gave us the advantage of the fairer prospect; but did not much contribute to the love of that impolished study, to which (I suppose) my father had designed me, when he paid £145 to purchase our present lives, and assignments afterward. London, and especially the Court, were at this period in frequent disorders, and great insolences were committed by the abused and too happy City: in particular, the Bishop of Canterbury's Palace at Lambeth was assaulted by a rude rabble from Southwark, my Lord Chamberlain imprisoned and many scandalous libels and invectives scattered about the streets, to the reproach of Government, and the fermentation of our since distractions: so that, upon the 25th of June, I was sent for to Wotton, and the 27th after, my father's indisposition augmenting, by advice of the physicians he repaired to the Bath. 7th July, 1640. My brother George and I, understanding the peril my father was in upon a sudden attack of his infirmity, rode post from Guildford toward him, and found him extraordinary weak; yet so as that, continuing his course, he held out till the 8th of September, when I returned home with him in his litter. 15th October, 1640. I went to the Temple, it being Michaelmas Term. 30th December, 1640. I saw his Majesty (coming from his Northern Expedition) ride in pomp and a kind of ovation, with all the marks of a happy peace, restored to the affections of his people, being conducted through London with a most splendid cavalcade; and on the 3d of November following (a day never to be mentioned without a curse), to that long ungrateful, foolish, and fatal Parliament, the beginning of all our sorrows for twenty years after, and the period of the most happy monarch in the world: _Quis talia fando!_ But my father being by this time entered into a dropsy, an indisposition the most unsuspected, being a person so exemplarily temperate, and of admirable regimen, hastened me back to Wotton, December the 12th; where, the 24th following, between twelve and one o'clock at noon, departed this life that excellent man and indulgent parent, retaining his senses and piety to the last, which he most tenderly expressed in blessing us, whom he now left to the world and the worst of times, while he was taken from the evil to come. 1641. It was a sad and lugubrious beginning of the year, when on the 2d of January, 1640-1, we at night followed the mourning hearse to the church at Wotton; when, after a sermon and funeral oration by the minister, my father was interred near his formerly erected monument, and mingled with the ashes of our mother, his dear wife. Thus we were bereft of both our parents in a period when we most of all stood in need of their counsel and assistance, especially myself, of a raw, vain, uncertain, and very unwary inclination: but so it pleased God to make trial of my conduct in a conjuncture of the greatest and most prodigious hazard that ever the youth of England saw; and, if I did not amidst all this impeach my liberty nor my virtue with the rest who made shipwreck of both, it was more the infinite goodness and mercy of God than the least providence or discretion of mine own, who now thought of nothing but the pursuit of vanity, and the confused imaginations of young men. 15th April, 1641. I repaired to London to hear and see the famous trial of the Earl of Strafford, Lord-Deputy of Ireland, who, on the 22d of March, had been summoned before both Houses of Parliament, and now appeared in Westminster-hall,[8] which was prepared with scaffolds for the Lords and Commons, who, together with the King, Queen, Prince, and flower of the noblesse, were spectators and auditors of the greatest malice and the greatest innocency that ever met before so illustrous an assembly. It was Thomas, Earl of Arundel and Surrey, Earl Marshal of England, who was made High Steward upon this occasion; and the sequel is too well known to need any notice of the event. [Footnote 8: On the 15th of April Strafford made his eloquent defense, which it seems to have been Evelyn's good fortune to be present at. And here the reader may remark the fact, not without significance, that between the entries on this page of the Diary which relate to Lord Strafford, the young Prince of Orange came over to make love to the Princess Royal, then twelve years old; and that the marriage was subsequently celebrated amid extraordinary Court rejoicings and festivities, in which the King took a prominent part, during the short interval which elapsed between the sentence and execution of the King's great and unfortunate minister.] On the 27th of April, came over out of Holland the young Prince of Orange, with a splendid equipage, to make love to his Majesty's eldest daughter, the now Princess Royal. That evening, was celebrated the pompous funeral of the Duke of Richmond, who was carried in effigy, with all the ensigns of that illustrious family, in an open chariot, in great solemnity, through London to Westminster Abbey. On the 12th of May, I beheld on Tower-hill the fatal stroke which severed the wisest head in England from the shoulders of the Earl of Strafford, whose crime coming under the cognizance of no human law or statute, a new one was made, not to be a precedent, but his destruction. With what reluctancy the King signed the execution, he has sufficiently expressed; to which he imputes his own unjust suffering--to such exorbitancy were things arrived. On the 24th of May, I returned to Wotton; and, on the 28th of June, I went to London with my sister, Jane, and the day after sat to one Vanderborcht for my picture in oil, at Arundel-house, whose servant that excellent painter was, brought out of Germany when the Earl returned from Vienna (whither he was sent Ambassador-extraordinary, with great pomp and charge, though without any effect, through the artifice of the Jesuited Spaniard who governed all in that conjuncture). With Vanderborcht, the painter, he brought over Winceslaus Hollar, the sculptor, who engraved not only the unhappy Deputy's trial in Westminster-hall, but his decapitation; as he did several other historical things, then relating to the accidents happening during the Rebellion in England, with great skill; besides many cities, towns, and landscapes, not only of this nation, but of foreign parts, and divers portraits of famous persons then in being; and things designed from the best pieces of the rare paintings and masters of which the Earl of Arundel was possessor, purchased and collected in his travels with incredible expense: so as, though Hollar's were but etched in aquafortis, I account the collection to be the most authentic and useful extant. Hollar was the son of a gentleman near Prague, in Bohemia, and my very good friend, perverted at last by the Jesuits at Antwerp to change his religion; a very honest, simple, well-meaning man, who at last came over again into England, where he died. We have the whole history of the king's reign, from his trial in Westminster-hall and before, to the restoration of King Charles II., represented in several sculptures, with that also of Archbishop Laud, by this indefatigable artist; besides innumerable sculptures in the works of Dugdale, Ashmole, and other historical and useful works. I am the more particular upon this for the fruit of that collection, which I wish I had entire. This picture[9] I presented to my sister, being at her request, on my resolution to absent myself from this ill face of things at home, which gave umbrage to wiser than myself that the medal was reversing, and our calamities but yet in their infancy: so that, on the 15th of July, having procured a pass at the Custom-house, where I repeated my oath of allegiance, I went from London to Gravesend, accompanied with one Mr. Caryll, a Surrey gentleman, and our servants, where we arrived by six o'clock that evening, with a purpose to take the first opportunity of a passage for Holland. But the wind as yet not favorable, we had time to view the Block-house of that town, which answered to another over against it at Tilbury, famous for the rendezvous of Queen Elizabeth, in the year 1588, which we found stored with twenty pieces of cannon, and other ammunition proportionable. On the 19th of July, we made a short excursion to Rochester, and having seen the cathedral went to Chatham to see the Royal Sovereign, a glorious vessel of burden lately built there, being for defense and ornament, the richest that ever spread cloth before the wind. She carried an hundred brass cannon, and was 1,200 tons; a rare sailer, the work of the famous Phineas Pett, inventor of the frigate-fashion of building, to this day practiced. But what is to be deplored as to this vessel is, that it cost his Majesty the affections of his subjects, perverted by the malcontent of great ones, who took occasion to quarrel for his having raised a very slight tax for the building of this, and equipping the rest of the navy, without an act of Parliament; though, by the suffrages of the major part of the Judges the King might legally do in times of imminent danger, of which his Majesty was best apprised. But this not satisfying a jealous party, it was condemned as unprecedented, and not justifiable as to the Royal prerogative; and, accordingly, the Judges were removed out of their places, fined, and imprisoned.[10] [Footnote 9: His own portrait.] [Footnote 10: In such manner Evelyn refers to the tax of Ship-money. But compare this remarkable passage, now first printed from the original, with the tone in which, eight years later, he spoke of the only chance by which monarchy in England might be saved; namely, that of "doing nothing as to government but what shall be approved by the old way of a free parliament, and the known laws of the land."] We returned again this evening, and on the 21st of July embarked in a Dutch frigate, bound for Flushing, convoyed and accompanied by five other stout vessels, whereof one was a man-of-war. The next day at noon, we landed at Flushing. [Sidenote: DE VERE] Being desirous to overtake the Leagure,[11] which was then before Genep, ere the summer should be too far spent, we went this evening from Flushing to Middleburg, another fine town in this island, to De Vere, whence the most ancient and illustrious Earls of Oxford derive their family, who have spent so much blood in assisting the state during their wars. From De Vere we passed over many towns, houses, and ruins of demolished suburbs, etc., which have formerly been swallowed up by the sea; at what time no less than eight of those islands had been irrecoverably lost. [Footnote 11: The meaning of this expression is, that they should be in time to witness the siege.] The next day we arrived at Dort, the first town of Holland, furnished with all German commodities, and especially Rhenish wines and timber. It hath almost at the extremity a very spacious and venerable church; a stately senate house, wherein was holden that famous synod against the Arminians in 1618; and in that hall hangeth a picture of "The Passion," an exceeding rare and much-esteemed piece. From Dort, being desirous to hasten toward the army, I took wagon this afternoon to Rotterdam, whither we were hurried in less than an hour, though it be ten miles distant; so furiously do those Foremen drive. I went first to visit the great church, the Doole, the Bourse, and the public statue of the learned Erasmus, of brass. They showed us his house, or rather the mean cottage, wherein he was born, over which there are extant these lines, in capital letters: ÆDIBUS HIS ORTUS, MUNDUM DECORAVIT ERASMUS ARTIBUS INGENIO, RELIGIONE, FIDE. The 26th of July I passed by a straight and commodious river through Delft to the Hague; in which journey I observed divers leprous poor creatures dwelling in solitary huts on the brink of the water, and permitted to ask the charity of passengers, which is conveyed to them in a floating box that they cast out. Arrived at the Hague, I went first to the Queen of Bohemia's court, where I had the honor to kiss her Majesty's hand, and several of the Princesses', her daughters. Prince Maurice was also there, newly come out of Germany; and my Lord Finch, not long before fled out of England from the fury of the Parliament. It was a fasting day with the Queen for the unfortunate death of her husband, and the presence chamber had been hung with black velvet ever since his decease. [Sidenote: NIMEGUEN] The 28th of July I went to Leyden; and the 29th to Utrecht, being thirty English miles distant (as they reckon by hours). It was now Kermas, or a fair, in this town, the streets swarming with boors and rudeness, so that early the next morning, having visited the ancient Bishop's court, and the two famous churches, I satisfied my curiosity till my return, and better leisure. We then came to Rynen, where the Queen of Bohemia hath a neat and well built palace, or country house, after the Italian manner, as I remember; and so, crossing the Rhine, upon which this villa is situated, lodged that night in a countryman's house. The 31st to Nimeguen; and on the 2d of August we arrived at the Leagure, where was then the whole army encamped about Genep, a very strong castle situated on the river Waal; but, being taken four or five days before, we had only a sight of the demolitions. The next Sunday was the thanksgiving sermons performed in Colonel Goring's regiment (eldest son of the since Earl of Norwich) by Mr. Goffe, his chaplain (now turned Roman, and father-confessor to the Queen-mother). The evening was spent in firing cannon and other expressions of military triumphs. Now, according to the compliment, I was received a volunteer in the company of Captain Apsley, of whose Captain-lieutenant, Honywood (Apsley being absent), I received many civilities. The 3d of August, at night, we rode about the lines of circumvallation, the general being then in the field. The next day I was accommodated with a very spacious and commodious tent for my lodging; as before I was with a horse, which I had at command, and a hut which during the excessive heats was a great convenience; for the sun piercing the canvas of the tent, it was during the day unsufferable, and at night not seldom infested with mists and fogs, which ascended from the river. 6th August, 1641. As the turn came about, we were ordered to watch on a horn-work near our quarters, and trail a pike, being the next morning relieved by a company of French. This was our continual duty till the castle was refortified, and all danger of quitting that station secured; whence I went to see a Convent of Franciscan Friars, not far from our quarters, where we found both the chapel and refectory full, crowded with the goods of such poor people as at the approach of the army had fled with them thither for sanctuary. On the day following, I went to view all the trenches, approaches, and mines, etc. of the besiegers; and, in particular, I took special notice of the wheel-bridge, which engine his Excellency had made to run over the moat when they stormed the castle; as it is since described (with all the other particulars of this siege) by the author of that incomparable work, "Hollandia Illustrata." The walls and ramparts of earth, which a mine had broken and crumbled, were of prodigious thickness. Upon the 8th of August, I dined in the horse-quarters with Sir Robert Stone and his lady, Sir William Stradling, and divers Cavaliers; where there was very good cheer, but hot service for a young drinker, as then I was; so that, being pretty well satisfied with the confusion of armies and sieges (if such that of the United Provinces may be called, where their quarters and encampments are so admirably regular, and orders so exactly observed, as few cities, the best governed in time of peace, exceed it for all conveniences), I took my leave of the Leagure and Camerades; and, on the 12th of August, I embarked on the "Waal," in company with three grave divines, who entertained us a great part of our passage with a long dispute concerning the lawfulness of church-music. We now sailed by Teil, where we landed some of our freight; and about five o'clock we touched at a pretty town named Bommell, that had divers English in garrison. It stands upon Contribution-land, which subjects the environs to the Spanish incursions. We sailed also by an exceeding strong fort called Lovestein, famous for the escape of the learned Hugo Grotius, who, being in durance as a capital offender, as was the unhappy Barneveldt, by the stratagem of his lady, was conveyed in a trunk supposed to be filled with books only. We lay at Gorcum, a very strong and considerable frontier. 13th August, 1641. We arrived late at Rotterdam, where was their annual mart or fair, so furnished with pictures (especially landscapes and drolleries, as they call those clownish representations), that I was amazed. Some of these I bought and sent into England. The reason of this store of pictures, and their cheapness, proceeds from their want of land to employ their stock, so that it is an ordinary thing to find a common farmer lay out two or three thousand pounds in this commodity. Their houses are full of them, and they vend them at their fairs to very great gains. Here I first saw an elephant, who was extremely well disciplined and obedient. It was a beast of a monstrous size, yet as flexible and nimble in the joints, contrary to the vulgar tradition, as could be imagined from so prodigious a bulk and strange fabric; but I most of all admired the dexterity and strength of its proboscis, on which it was able to support two or three men, and by which it took and reached whatever was offered to it; its teeth were but short, being a female, and not old. I was also shown a pelican, or _onocratulas_ of Pliny, with its large gullets, in which he kept his reserve of fish; the plumage was white, legs red, flat, and film-footed, likewise a cock with four legs, two rumps and vents: also a hen which had two large spurs growing out of her sides, penetrating the feathers of her wings. 17th August, 1641. I passed again through Delft, and visited the church in which was the monument of Prince William of Nassau,--the first of the Williams, and savior (as they call him) of their liberty, which cost him his life by a vile assassination. It is a piece of rare art, consisting of several figures, as big as the life, in copper. There is in the same place a magnificent tomb of his son and successor, Maurice. The senate-house hath a very stately portico, supported with choice columns of black marble, as I remember, of one entire stone. Within, there hangs a weighty vessel of wood, not unlike a butter-churn, which the adventurous woman that hath two husbands at one time is to wear on her shoulders, her head peeping out at the top only, and so led about the town, as a penance for her incontinence. From hence, we went the next day to Ryswick, a stately country-house of the Prince of Orange, for nothing more remarkable than the delicious walks planted with lime trees, and the modern paintings within. [Sidenote: HAGUE] [Sidenote: AMSTERDAM] 19th August, 1641. We returned to the Hague, and went to visit the Hoff, or Prince's Court, with the adjoining gardens full of ornament, close walks, statues, marbles, grots, fountains, and artificial music. There is to this palace a stately hall, not much inferior to ours of Westminster, hung round with colors and other trophies taken from the Spaniards;[12] and the sides below are furnished with shops. Next day (the 20th) I returned to Delft, thence to Rotterdam, the Hague, and Leyden, where immediately I mounted a wagon, which that night, late as it was, brought us to Haerlem. About seven in the morning after I came to Amsterdam, where being provided with a lodging, the first thing I went to see was a Synagogue of the Jews (being Saturday), whose ceremonies, ornaments, lamps, law, and schools, afforded matter for my contemplation. The women were secluded from the men, being seated in galleries above, shut with lattices, having their heads muffled with linen, after a fantastical and somewhat extraordinary fashion; the men, wearing a large calico mantle, yellow colored, over their hats, all the while waving their bodies, while at their devotions. From thence, I went to a place without the town, called Overkirk, where they have a spacious field assigned them to bury their dead, full of sepulchers with Hebraic inscriptions, some of them stately and costly. Looking through one of these monuments, where the stones were disjointed, I perceived divers books and papers lie about a corpse; for it seems, when any learned Rabbi dies, they bury some of his books with him. With the help of a stick, I raked out several, written in Hebrew characters, but much impaired. As we returned, we stepped in to see the Spin-house, a kind of bridewell, where incorrigible and lewd women are kept in discipline and labor, but all neat. We were shown an hospital for poor travelers and pilgrims, built by Queen Elizabeth of England; and another maintained by the city. [Footnote 12: Westminster hall used to be so in Term time, and during the sitting of Parliament, as late as the beginning of the reign of George III.] The State or Senate-house of this town, if the design be perfected, will be one of the most costly and magnificent pieces of architecture in Europe, especially for the materials and the carvings. In the Doole is painted, on a very large table, the bust of Marie de Medicis, supported by four royal diadems, the work of one Vanderdall, who hath set his name thereon, 1st September, 1638. On Sunday, I heard an English sermon at the Presbyterian congregation, where they had chalked upon a slate the psalms that were to be sung, so that all the congregation might see them without the bidding of a clerk. I was told, that after such an age no minister was permitted to preach, but had his maintenance continued during life. I purposely changed my lodgings, being desirous to converse with the sectaries that swarmed in this city, out of whose spawn came those almost innumerable broods in England afterward. It was at a Brownist's house, where we had an extraordinary good table. There was in pension with us my Lord Keeper, Finch, and one Sir J. Fotherbee. Here I also found an English Carmelite, who was going through Germany with an Irish gentleman. I now went to see the Weese-house, a foundation like our Charter-house, for the education of decayed persons, orphans, and poor children, where they are taught several occupations. The girls are so well brought up to housewifery, that men of good worth, who seek that chiefly in a woman, frequently take their wives from this hospital. Thence to the Rasp-house, where the lusty knaves are compelled to work; and the rasping of brasil and logwood for the dyers is very hard labor. To the Dool-house, for madmen and fools. But none did I so much admire, as an Hospital for their lame and decrepit soldiers and seamen, where the accommodations are very great, the building answerable; and, indeed, for the like public charities the provisions are admirable in this country, where, as no idle vagabonds are suffered (as in England they are), there is hardly a child of four or five years old, but they find some employment for it. It was on a Sunday morning that I went to the Bourse, or Exchange, after their sermons were ended, to see the Dog-market, which lasts till two in the afternoon, in this place of convention of merchants from all parts of the world. The building is not comparable to that of London, built by that worthy citizen, Sir Thomas Gresham, yet in one respect exceeding it, that vessels of considerable burden ride at the very quay contiguous to it; and indeed it is by extraordinary industry that as well this city, as generally all the towns of Holland, are so accommodated with graffs, cuts, sluices, moles, and rivers, made by hand, that nothing is more frequent than to see a whole navy, belonging to this mercantile people, riding at anchor before their very doors: and yet their streets even, straight, and well paved, the houses so uniform and planted with lime trees, as nothing can be more beautiful. The next day we were entertained at a kind of tavern, called the Briloft, appertaining to a rich Anabaptist, where, in the upper rooms of the house, were divers pretty waterworks, rising 108 feet from the ground. Here were many quaint devices, fountains, artificial music, noises of beasts, and chirping of birds; but what pleased me most was a large pendant candlestick, branching into several sockets, furnished all with ordinary candles to appearance, out of the wicks spouting out streams of water, instead of flames. This seemed then and was a rarity, before the philosophy of compressed air made it intelligible. There was likewise a cylinder that entertained the company with a variety of chimes, the hammers striking upon the brims of porcelain dishes, suited to the tones and notes, without cracking any of them. Many other waterworks were shown. The Kaiser's or Emperor's Graft, which is an ample and long street, appearing like a city in a forest; the lime trees planted just before each house, and at the margin of that goodly aqueduct so curiously wharfed with Klincard brick, which likewise paves the streets, than which nothing can be more useful and neat. This part of Amsterdam is built and gained upon the main sea, supported by piles at an immense charge, and fitted for the most busy concourse of traffickers and people of commerce beyond any place, or mart, in the world. Nor must I forget the port of entrance into an issue of this town, composed of very magnificent pieces of architecture, some of the ancient and best manner, as are divers churches. The turrets, or steeples, are adorned after a particular manner and invention; the chimes of bells are so rarely managed, that being curious to know whether the motion was from any engine, I went up to that of St. Nicholas, where I found one who played all sorts of compositions from the tablature before him, as if he had fingered an organ; for so were the hammers fastened with wires to several keys put into a frame twenty feet below the bells, upon which (by the help of a wooden instrument, not much unlike a weaver's shuttle, that guarded his hand) he struck on the keys and played to admiration. All this while, through the clattering of the wires, din of the too nearly sounding bells, and noise that his wooden gloves made, the confusion was so great, that it was impossible for the musician, or any that stood near him, to hear anything at all; yet, to those at a distance, and especially in the streets, the harmony and the time were the most exact and agreeable. The south church is richly paved with black and white marble,--the west is a new fabric; and generally all the churches in Holland are furnished with organs, lamps, and monuments, carefully preserved from the fury and impiety of popular reformers, whose zeal has foolishly transported them in other places rather to act like madmen than religious. [Sidenote: HAERLEM] Upon St. Bartholomew's day, I went among the booksellers, and visited the famous Hondius and Bleaw's shop, to buy some maps, atlases, and other works of that kind. At another shop, I furnished myself with some shells and Indian curiosities; and so, toward the end of August, I returned again to Haerlem by the river, ten miles in length, straight as a line, and of competent breadth for ships to sail by one another. They showed us a cottage where, they told us, dwelt a woman who had been married to her twenty-fifth husband, and being now a widow, was prohibited to marry in future; yet it could not be proved that she had ever made away with any of her husbands, though the suspicion had brought her divers times to trouble. Haerlem is a very delicate town and hath one of the fairest churches of the Gothic design I had ever seen. There hang in the steeple, which is very high, two silver bells, said to have been brought from Damietta, in Egypt, by an earl of Holland, in memory of whose success they are rung out every evening. In the nave hang the goodliest branches of brass for tapers that I have seen, esteemed of great value for the curiosity of the workmanship; also a fair pair of organs, which I could not find they made use of in divine service, or so much as to assist them in singing psalms, but only for show, and to recreate the people before and after their devotions, while the burgomasters were walking and conferring about their affairs. Near the west window hang two models of ships, completely equipped, in memory of that invention of saws under their keels, with which they cut through the chain of booms, which barred the port of Damietta. Having visited this church, the fish-market, and made some inquiry about the printing-house, the invention whereof is said to have been in this town, I returned to Leyden. [Sidenote: LEYDEN] At Leyden, I was carried up to the castle, or Pyrgus, built on a very steep artificial mount, cast up (as reported) by Hengist the Saxon, on his return out of England, as a place to retire to, in case of any sudden inundations. The churches are many and fair; in one of them lies buried the learned and illustrious Joseph Scaliger, without any extraordinary inscription, who, having left the world a monument of his worth more lasting than marble, needed nothing more than his own name; which I think is all engraven on his sepulcher. He left his library to this University. 28th August, 1641. I went to see the college and schools, which are nothing extraordinary, and was complimented with a _matricula_ by the _magnificus_ Professor, who first in Latin demanded of me where my lodging in the town was, my name, age, birth, and to what Faculty I addicted myself; then, recording my answers in a book, he administered an oath to me that I should observe the statutes and orders of the University while I stayed, and then delivered me a ticket, by virtue whereof I was made excise-free; for all which worthy privileges, and the pains of writing, he accepted of a rix-dollar. Here was now the famous Dan. Heinsius, whom I so longed to see, as well as the no less famous printer, Elzevir's printing-house and shop, renowned for the politeness of the character and editions of what he has published through Europe. Hence to the physic-garden, well stored with exotic plants, if the catalogue presented to me by the gardener be a faithful register. But, among all the rarities of this place, I was much pleased with a sight of their anatomy-school, theater, and repository adjoining, which is well furnished with natural curiosities; skeletons, from the whale and elephant to the fly and spider; which last is a very delicate piece of art, to see how the bones (if I may so call them of so tender an insect) could be separated from the mucilaginous parts of that minute animal. Among a great variety of other things, I was shown the knife newly taken out of a drunken Dutchman's guts, by an incision in his side, after it had slipped from his fingers into his stomach. The pictures of the chirurgeon and his patient, both living, were there. There is without the town a fair Mall, curiously planted. Returning to my lodging, I was showed the statue, cut in stone, of the happy monk, whom they report to have been the first inventor of typography, set over the door; but this is much controverted by others, who strive for the glory of it, besides John Gutenberg. I was brought acquainted with a Burgundian Jew, who had married an apostate Kentish woman. I asked him divers questions: he told me, among other things, that the World should never end; that our souls transmigrated, and that even those of the most holy persons did penance in the bodies of brutes after death,--and so he interpreted the banishment and savage life of Nebuchadnezzar: that all the Jews should rise again, and be led to Jerusalem; that the Romans only were the occasion of our Savior's death, whom he affirmed (as the Turks do) to be a great prophet, but not the Messiah. He showed me several books of their devotion, which he had translated into English, for the instruction of his wife; he told me that when the Messiah came, all the ships, barks, and vessels of Holland should, by the power of certain strange whirlwinds, be loosed from their anchors, and transported in a moment to all the desolate ports and havens throughout the world, wherever the dispersion was, to convey their brethren and tribes to the Holy City; with other such like stuff. He was a merry drunken fellow, but would by no means handle any money (for something I purchased of him), it being Saturday; but desired me to leave it in the window, meaning to receive it on Sunday morning. 1st September, 1641. I went to Delft and Rotterdam, and two days after back to the Hague, to bespeak a suit of horseman's armor, which I caused to be made to fit me. I now rode out of town to see the monument of the woman, pretended to have been a countess of Holland, reported to have had as many children at one birth, as there are days in the year. The basins were hung up in which they were baptized, together with a large description of the matter-of-fact in a frame of carved work, in the church of Lysdun, a desolate place. As I returned, I diverted to see one of the Prince's Palaces, called the Hoff Van Hounsler's Dyck, a very fair cloistered and quadrangular building. The gallery is prettily painted with several huntings, and at one end a gordian knot, with rustical instruments so artificially represented, as to deceive an accurate eye to distinguish it from actual relievo. The ceiling of the staircase is painted with the "Rape of Ganymede," and other pendant figures, the work of F. Covenberg, of whose hand I bought an excellent drollery, which I afterward parted with to my brother George of Wotton, where it now hangs. To this palace join a fair garden and park, curiously planted with limes. 8th September, 1641. Returned to Rotterdam, through Delftshaven and Sedan, where were at that time Colonel Goring's winter quarters. This town has heretofore been very much talked of for witches. 10th September, 1641. I took a wagon for Dort, to be present at the reception of the Queen-mother, Marie de Medicis, Dowager of France, widow of Henry the Great, and mother to the French King, Louis XIII., and the Queen of England, whence she newly arrived, tossed to and fro by the various fortune of her life. From this city, she designed for Cologne, conducted by the Earl of Arundel and the Herr Van Bredrod. At this interview, I saw the Princess of Orange, and the lady her daughter, afterward married to the House of Brandenburgh. There was little remarkable in this reception befitting the greatness of her person; but an universal discontent, which accompanied that unlucky woman wherever she went. 12th September, 1641. I went toward Bois-le-Duc, where we arrived on the 16th, at the time when the new citadel was advancing, with innumerable hands, and incomparable inventions for draining off the waters out of the fens and morasses about it, being by buckets, mills, cochleas, pumps, and the like; in which the Hollanders are the most expert in Europe. Here were now sixteen companies and nine troops of horse. They were also cutting a new river, to pass from the town to a castle not far from it. Here we split our skiff, falling foul upon another through negligence of the master, who was fain to run aground, to our no little hazard. At our arrival, a soldier conveyed us to the Governor, where our names were taken, and our persons examined very strictly. 17th September, 1641. I was permitted to walk the round and view the works, and to visit a convent of religious women of the order of St. Clara (who by the capitulation were allowed to enjoy their monastery and maintenance undisturbed, at the surrender of the town twelve years since), where we had a collation and very civil entertainment. They had a neat chapel, in which the heart of the Duke of Cleves, their founder, lies inhumed under a plate of brass. Within the cloister is a garden, and in the middle of it an overgrown lime tree, out of whose stem, near the root, issue five upright and exceeding tall suckers, or bolls, the like whereof for evenness and height I had not observed. The chief church of this city is curiously carved within and without, furnished with a pair of organs, and a most magnificent font of copper. 18th September, 1641. I went to see that most impregnable town and fort of Hysdune, where I was exceedingly obliged to one Colonel Crombe, the lieutenant-governor, who would needs make me accept the honor of being captain of the watch, and to give the word this night. The fortification is very irregular, but esteemed one of the most considerable for strength and situation in the Netherlands. We departed toward Gorcum. Here Sir Kenelm Digby, traveling toward Cologne, met us. The next morning, the 19th, we arrived at Dort, passing by the Decoys, where they catch innumerable quantities of fowl. [Sidenote: ROTTERDAM] 22d September, 1641. I went again to Rotterdam to receive a pass which I expected from Brussels, securing me through Brabant and Flanders, designing to go into England through those countries. The Cardinal Infante, brother to the King of Spain, was then governor. By this pass, having obtained another from the Prince of Orange, upon the 24th of September I departed through Dort; but met with very bad tempestuous weather, being several times driven back, and obliged to lie at anchor off Keele, other vessels lying there waiting better weather. The 25th and 26th we made other essays; but were again repulsed to the harbor, where lay sixty vessels waiting to sail. But, on the 27th, we, impatient of the time and inhospitableness of the place, sailed again with a contrary and impetuous wind and a terrible sea, in great jeopardy; for we had much ado to keep ourselves above water, the billows breaking desperately on our vessel: we were driven into Williamstadt, a place garrisoned by the English, where the governor had a fair house. The works, and especially the counterscarp, are curiously hedged with quick, and planted with a stately row of limes on the rampart. The church is of a round structure, with a cupola, and the town belongs entirely to the Prince of Orange, as does that of Breda, and some other places. 28th September, 1641. Failing of an appointment, I was constrained to return to Dort for a bill of exchange; but it was the 1st of October ere I could get back. At Keele, I numbered 141 vessels, who durst not yet venture out; but, animated by the master of a stout bark, after a small encounter of weather, we arrived by four that evening at Steenbergen. In the passage we sailed over a sea called the Plaats, an exceeding dangerous water, by reason of two contrary tides which meet there very impetuously. Here, because of the many shelves, we were forced to tide it along the Channel; but, ere we could gain the place, the ebb was so far spent, that we were compelled to foot it at least two long miles, through a most pelting shower of rain. 2d October, 1641. With a gentleman of the Rhyngraves, I went in a cart, or tumbrel (for it was no better; no other accommodation could be procured), of two wheels and one horse, to Bergen-op-Zoom, meeting by the way divers parties of his Highness's army now retiring toward their winter quarters; the convoy skiffs riding by thousands along the harbor. The fort was heretofore built by the English. The next morning I embarked for Lillo, having refused a convoy of horse which was offered me. The tide being against us, we landed short of the fort on the beach, where we marched half leg deep in mud, ere we could gain the dyke, which, being five or six miles from Lillo, we were forced to walk on foot very wet and discomposed; and then entering a boat we passed the ferry, and came to the castle. Being taken before the Governor, he demanded my pass, to which he set his hand, and asked two rix-dollars for a fee, which methought appeared very exorbitant in a soldier of his quality. I told him that I had already purchased my pass of the commissaries at Rotterdam; at which, in a great fury, snatching the paper out of my hand, he flung it scornfully under the table, and bade me try whether I could get to Antwerp without his permission: but I had no sooner given him the dollars, then he returned the passport surlily enough, and made me pay fourteen Dutch shillings to the cantone, or searcher, for my contempt, which I was glad to do for fear of further trouble, should he have discovered my Spanish pass, in which the States were therein treated by the name of rebels. Besides all these exactions, I gave the commissary six shillings, to the soldiers something, and, ere perfectly clear of this frontier, thirty-one stivers to the man-of-war, who lay blocking up the river between Lillo and the opposite sconce called Lifkinshoeck. [Sidenote: ANTWERP] 4th October, 1641. We sailed by several Spanish forts, out of one of which, St. Mary's port, came a Don on board us, to whom I showed my Spanish pass, which he signed, and civilly dismissed us. Hence, sailing by another man-of-war, to which we lowered our topsails, we at length arrived at Antwerp. The lodgings here are very handsome and convenient. I lost little time; but, with the aid of one Mr. Lewkner, our conductor, we visited divers churches, colleges, and monasteries. The Church of the Jesuits is most sumptuous and magnificent; a glorious fabric without and within, wholly incrusted with marble, inlaid and polished into divers representations of histories, landscapes, and flowers. On the high altar is placed the statue of the Blessed Virgin and our Savior in white marble, with a boss in the girdle set with very fair and rich sapphires, and divers other stones of price. The choir is a glorious piece of architecture: the pulpit supported by four angels, and adorned with other carvings, and rare pictures by Rubens, now lately dead, and divers votive tables and relics. Hence, to the Vroù Kirk, or Nôtre Dame of Antwerp: it is a very venerable fabric, built after the Gothic manner, especially the tower, which I ascended, the better to take a view of the country adjacent; which, happening on a day when the sun shone exceedingly bright, and darted his rays without any interruption, afforded so bright a reflection to us who were above, and had a full prospect of both land and water about it, that I was much confirmed in my opinion of the moon's being of some such substance as this earthly globe: perceiving all the subjacent country, at so small an horizontal distance, to repercuss such a light as I could hardly look against, save where the river, and other large water within our view, appeared of a more dark and uniform color; resembling those spots in the moon supposed to be seas there, according to Hevelius, and as they appear in our late telescopes. I numbered in this church thirty privileged altars, that of St. Sebastian adorned with a painting of his martyrdom. We went to see the Jerusalem Church, affirmed to have been founded by one who, upon divers great wagers, passed to and fro between that city and Antwerp, on foot, by which he procured large sums of money, which he bestowed on this pious structure.[13] Hence, to St. Mary's Chapel, where I had some conference with two English Jesuits, confessors to Colonel Jaye's regiment. These fathers conducted us to the Cloister of Nuns, where we heard a Dutch sermon upon the exposure of the Host. The Senate-house of this city is a very spacious and magnificent building. [Footnote 13: This notice, slipped by accident into the entries which refer to Antwerp, belongs to those of Bruges.] 5th October, 1641. I visited the Jesuits' School, which, for the fame of their method, I greatly desired to see. They were divided into four classes, with several inscriptions over each: as, first, _Ad majorem Dei gloriam_; over the second, _Princeps diligentiæ_; the third, _Imperator Byzantiorum_; over the fourth and uppermost, _Imperator Romanorum_. Under these, the scholars and pupils and their places, or forms with titles and priority according to their proficiency. Their dormitory and lodgings above were exceedingly neat. They have a prison for the offenders and less diligent; and, in an ample court, to recreate themselves in, is an aviary, and a yard, where eagles, vultures, foxes, monkeys, and other animals are kept, to divert the boys withal at their hours of remission. To this school join the music and mathematical schools, and lastly a pretty, neat chapel. The great street is built after the Italian mode, in the middle whereof is erected a glorious crucifix of white and black marble, greater than the life. This is a very fair and noble street, clean, well paved, and sweet to admiration. The Oesters house, belonging to the East India Company, is a stately palace, adorned with more than 300 windows. From hence, walking into the Gun-garden, I was allowed to see as much of the citadel as is permitted to strangers. It is a matchless piece of modern fortification, accommodated with lodgments for the soldiers and magazines. The graffs, ramparts, and platforms are stupendous. Returning by the shop of Plantine, I bought some books, for the namesake only of that famous printer. But there was nothing about this city which more ravished me than those delicious shades and walks of stately trees, which render the fortified works of the town one of the sweetest places in Europe; nor did I ever observe a more quiet, clean, elegantly built and civil place, than this magnificent and famous city of Antwerp. In the evening, I was invited to Signor Duerte's, a Portuguese by nation, an exceeding rich merchant, whose palace I found to be furnished like a prince's. His three daughters entertained us with rare music, vocal and instrumental, which was finished with a handsome collation. I took leave of the ladies and of sweet Antwerp, as late as it was, embarking for Brussels on the Scheldt in a vessel, which delivered us to a second boat (in another river) drawn or towed by horses. In this passage, we frequently changed our barge, by reason of the bridges thwarting our course. Here I observed numerous families inhabiting their vessels and floating dwellings, so built and divided by cabins, as few houses on land enjoyed better accommodation; stored with all sorts of utensils, neat chambers, a pretty parlor, and kept so sweet, that nothing could be more refreshing. The rivers on which they are drawn are very clear and still waters, and pass through a most pleasant country on both the banks. We had in our boat a very good ordinary, and excellent company. The cut is straight as a line for twenty English miles. What I much admired was, near the midway, another artificial river, which intersects this at right angles, but on an eminence of ground, and is carried in an aqueduct of stone so far above the other as that the waters neither mingle, nor hinder one another's passage. We came to a town called Villefrow, where all the passengers went on shore to wash at a fountain issuing out of a pillar, and then came aboard again. On the margin of this long tract are abundance of shrines and images, defended from the injuries of the weather by niches of stone wherein they are placed. [Sidenote: BRUSSELS] 7th October, 1641. We arrived at Brussels at nine in the morning. The Stadt-house, near the market place, is, for the carving in freestone, a most laborious and finished piece, well worthy observation. The flesh-shambles are also built of stone. I was pleased with certain small engines, by which a girl, or boy, was able to draw up, or let down, great bridges, which in divers parts of this city crossed the channel for the benefit of passengers. The walls of this town are very entire, and full of towers at competent distances. The cathedral is built upon a very high and exceeding steep ascent, to which we mounted by fair steps of stone. Hence I walked to a convent of English Nuns, with whom I sat discoursing most part of the afternoon. 8th October, 1641. Being the morning I came away, I went to see the Prince's Court, an ancient, confused building, not much unlike the Hofft, at the Hague: there is here likewise a very large hall, where they vend all sorts of wares. Through this we passed by the chapel, which is indeed rarely arched, and in the middle of it was the hearse, or catafalque, of the late Archduchess, the wise and pious Clara Eugenia. Out of this we were conducted to the lodgings, tapestried with incomparable arras, and adorned with many excellent pieces of Rubens, old and young Breugel, Titian, and Stenwick, with stories of most of the late actions in the Netherlands. By an accident we could not see the library. There is a fair terrace which looks to the vineyard, in which, on pedestals, are fixed the statues of all the Spanish kings of the house of Austria. The opposite walls are painted by Rubens, being an history of the late tumults in Belgia: in the last piece, the Archduchess shuts a great pair of gates upon Mars, who is coming out of hell, armed, and in a menacing posture; which, with that other of the Infanta taking leave of Don Philip IV., is a most incomparable table. From hence, we walked into the park, which for being entirely within the walls of the city is particularly remarkable: nor is it less pleasant than if in the most solitary recesses; so naturally is it furnished with whatever may render it agreeable, melancholy, and country-like. Here is a stately heronry, divers springs of water, artificial cascades, rocks, grots; one whereof is composed of the extravagant roots of trees, cunningly built and hung together with wires. In this park are both fallow and red deer. From hence, we were led into the Menage, and out of that into a most sweet and delicious garden, where was another grot of more neat and costly materials, full of noble statues, and entertaining us with artificial music; but the hedge of water, in form of lattice-work, which the fountaineer caused to ascend out of the earth by degrees, exceedingly pleased and surprised me; for thus, with a pervious wall, or rather a palisade hedge of water, was the whole parterre environed. There is likewise a fair aviary; and in the court next it are kept divers sorts of animals, rare and exotic fowl, as eagles, cranes, storks, bustards, pheasants of several kinds, and a duck having four wings. In another division of the same close are rabbits of an almost perfect yellow color. There was no Court now in the palace; the Infante Cardinal, who was the Governor of Flanders, being dead but newly, and every one in deep mourning. At near eleven o'clock, I repaired to his Majesty's agent, Sir Henry de Vic, who very courteously received me, and accommodated me with a coach and six horses, which carried me from Brussels to Ghent, where it was to meet my Lord of Arundel, Earl Marshal of England, who had requested me when I was at Antwerp to send it for him, if I went not thither myself. Thus taking leave of Brussels and a sad Court, yet full of gallant persons (for in this small city, the acquaintance being universal, ladies and gentlemen, I perceived had great diversions, and frequent meetings), I hastened toward Ghent. On the way, I met with divers little wagons, prettily contrived, and full of peddling merchandise, drawn by mastiff dogs, harnessed completely like so many coach horses; in some four, in others six, as in Brussels itself I had observed. In Antwerp I saw, as I remember, four dogs draw five lusty children in a chariot: the master commands them whither he pleases, crying his wares about the streets. After passing through Ouse, by six in the evening, I arrived at Ghent. This is a city of so great a circumference, that it is reported to be seven leagues round; but there is not half of it now built, much of it remaining in fields and desolate pastures even within the walls, which have strong gates toward the west, and two fair churches. Here I beheld the palace wherein John of Gaunt and Charles V. were born; whose statue[14] stands in the market-place, upon a high pillar, with his sword drawn, to which (as I was told) the magistrates and burghers were wont to repair upon a certain day every year with ropes about their necks, in token of submission and penance for an old rebellion of theirs; but now the hemp is changed into a blue ribbon. Here is planted the basilisco, or great gun, so much talked of. The Lys and the Scheldt meeting in this vast city, divide it into twenty-six islands, which are united by many bridges, somewhat resembling Venice. This night I supped with the Abbot of Andoyne, a pleasant and courteous priest. [Footnote 14: That of Charles V.] 8th October, 1641. I passed by a boat to Bruges, taking in at a redoubt a convoy of fourteen musketeers, because the other side of the river, being Contribution-land, was subject to the inroads and depredations of the bordering States. This river was cut by the famous Marquis Spinola, and is in my judgment a wonderful piece of labor, and a worthy public work, being in some places forced through the main rock, to an incredible depth, for thirty miles. At the end of each mile is built a small redoubt, which communicates a line to the next, and so the whole way, from whence we received many volleys of shot, in compliment to my Lord Marshal, who was in our vessel, a passenger with us. At five that evening, we were met by the magistrates of Bruges, who came out to convey my Lord to his lodgings, at whose cost he was entertained that night. The morning after we went to see the Stadt-house and adjoining aqueduct, the church, and market-place, where we saw cheeses and butter piled up in heaps; also the fortifications and graffs, which are extremely large. The 9th, we arrived at Ostend by a straight and artificial river. Here, with leave of the captain of the watch, I was carried to survey the river and harbor, with fortifications on one side thereof: the east and south are mud and earth walls. It is a very strong place, and lately stood a memorable siege three years, three months, three weeks, and three days. I went to see the church of St. Peter, and the cloisters of the Franciscans. 10th October, 1641. I went by wagon, accompanied with a jovial commissary, to Dunkirk, the journey being made all on the sea sands. On our arrival, we first viewed the court of guards, the works, the townhouse, and the new church; the latter is very beautiful within; and another, wherein they showed us an excellent piece of "Our Savior's Bearing the Cross." The harbor, in two channels, coming up to the town, was choked with a multitude of prizes. From hence, the next day, I marched three English miles toward the packet boat, being a pretty frigate of six guns, which embarked us for England about three in the afternoon. [Sidenote: DOVER] At our going off, the fort, against which our pinnace anchored saluted my Lord Marshal with twelve great guns, which we answered with three. Not having the wind favorable, we anchored that night before Calais. About midnight, we weighed; and, at four in the morning, though not far from Dover, we could not make the pier till four that afternoon, the wind proving contrary and driving us westward: but at last we got on shore, October the 12th. From Dover, I that night rode post to Canterbury. Here I visited the cathedral, then in great splendor; those famous windows being entire, since demolished by the fanatics. The next morning by Sittingbourne, I came to Rochester, and thence to Gravesend, where a light-horseman (as they call it) taking us in, we spent our tide as far as Greenwich. From hence, after we had a little refreshed ourselves at the College (for by reason of contagion then in London we balked the inns), we came to London, landing at Arundel stairs. Here I took leave of his Lordship, and retired to my lodgings in the Middle Temple, being about two in the morning, the 14th of October. 16th October, 1641. I went to see my brother at Wotton. On the 31st of that month (unfortunate for the Irish Rebellion, which broke out on the 23d), I was one and twenty years of age. 7th November, 1641. After receiving the Sacrament at Wotton church, I visited my Lord Marshal at Albury. 23d November, 1641. I returned to London; and, on the 25th, saw his Majesty ride through the City after his coming out of Scotland, and a Peace proclaimed, with great acclamations and joy of the giddy people. 15th December, 1641. I was elected one of the Comptrollers of the Middle Temple revellers, as the fashion of the young students and gentlemen was, the Christmas being kept this year with great solemnity; but, being desirous to pass it in the country, I got leave to resign my staff of office, and went with my brother Richard to Wotton. 10th January, 1642. I gave a visit to my cousin Hatton, of Ditton. 19th January, 1642. I went to London, where I stayed till 5th of March, studying a little, but dancing and fooling more. 3d October, 1642. To Chichester, and hence the next day to see the siege of Portsmouth; for now was that bloody difference between the King and Parliament broken out, which ended in the fatal tragedy so many years after. It was on the day of its being rendered to Sir William Waller; which gave me an opportunity of taking my leave of Colonel Goring, the governor, now embarking for France. This day was fought that signal battle at Edgehill. Thence I went to Southampton and Winchester, where I visited the castle, school, church, and King Arthur's Round Table; but especially the church, and its Saxon kings' monuments, which I esteemed a worthy antiquity. The 12th of November was the battle of Brentford, surprisingly fought; and to the great consternation of the City, had his Majesty (as it was believed he would) pursued his advantage. I came in with my horse and arms just at the retreat; but was not permitted to stay longer than the 15th, by reason of the army marching to Gloucester; which would have left both me and my brothers exposed to ruin, without any advantage to his Majesty. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th December, 1642. I went from Wotton to London, to see the so much celebrated line of communication, and on the 10th returned to Wotton, nobody knowing of my having been in his Majesty's army. 10th March, 1643. I went to Hartingford-berry to visit my cousin, Keightly. 11th March, 1643. I went to see my Lord of Salisbury's Palace at Hatfield, where the most considerable rarity, besides the house (inferior to few then in England for its architecture), were the garden and vineyard, rarely well watered and planted. They also showed us the picture of Secretary Cecil, in Mosaic work, very well done by some Italian hand. I must not forget what amazed us exceedingly in the night before, namely, a shining cloud in the air, in shape resembling a sword, the point reaching to the north; it was as bright as the moon, the rest of the sky being very serene. It began about eleven at night, and vanished not till above one, being seen by all the south of England. I made many journeys to and from London. 15th April, 1643. To Hatfield, and near the town of Hertford I went to see Sir J. Harrison's house new built. Returning to London, I called to see his Majesty's house and gardens at Theobald's, since demolished by the rebels. 2d May, 1643. I went from Wotton to London, where I saw the furious and zealous people demolish that stately Cross in Cheapside. On the 4th I returned, with no little regret, for the confusion that threatened us. Resolving to possess myself in some quiet, if it might be, in a time of so great jealousy, I built by my brother's permission, a study, made a fish-pond, an island, and some other solitudes and retirements at Wotton; which gave the first occasion of improving them to those waterworks and gardens which afterward succeeded them, and became at that time the most famous of England. 12th July, 1643. I sent my black menage horse and furniture with a friend to his Majesty, then at Oxford. 23d July, 1643. The Covenant being pressed, I absented myself; but, finding it impossible to evade the doing very unhandsome things, and which had been a great cause of my perpetual motions hitherto between Wotton and London, October the 2d, I obtained a license of his Majesty, dated at Oxford and signed by the King, to travel again. 6th November, 1643. Lying by the way from Wotton at Sir Ralph Whitfield's, at Blechingley (whither both my brothers had conducted me), I arrived at London on the 7th, and two days after took boat at the Tower-wharf, which carried me as far as Sittingbourne, though not without danger, I being only in a pair of oars, exposed to a hideous storm: but it pleased God that we got in before the peril was considerable. From thence, I went by post to Dover, accompanied with one Mr. Thicknesse, a very dear friend of mine. 11th November, 1643. Having a reasonable good passage, though the weather was snowy and untoward enough, we came before Calais, where, as we went on shore, mistaking the tide, our shallop struck on the sands, with no little danger; but at length we got off. Calais is considered an extraordinary well-fortified place, in the old castle and new citadel regarding the sea. The haven consists of a long bank of sand, lying opposite to it. The market place and the church are remarkable things, besides those relics of our former dominion there. I remember there were engraven in stone, upon the front of an ancient dwelling which was showed us, these words in English--"God save the King," together with the name of the architect and date. The walls of the town are substantial; but the situation toward the land is not pleasant, by reason of the marshes and low grounds about it. 12th November, 1643. After dinner we took horse with the Messagere, hoping to have arrived at Boulogne that night; but there fell so great a snow, accompanied with hail, rain, and sudden darkness, that we had much ado to gain the next village; and in this passage, being to cross a valley by a causeway, and a bridge built over a small river, the rain that had fallen making it an impetuous stream for near a quarter of a mile, my horse slipping had almost been the occasion of my perishing. We none of us went to bed; for the soldiers in those parts leaving little in the villages, we had enough to do to get ourselves dry, by morning, between the fire and the fresh straw. The next day early, we arrived at Boulogne. This is a double town, one part of it situate on a high rock, or downs; the other, called the lower town, is yet with a great declivity toward the sea; both of them defended by a strong castle, which stands on a notable eminence. Under the town runs the river, which is yet but an inconsiderable brook. Henry VIII., in the siege of this place is said to have used those great leathern guns which I have since beheld in the Tower of London, inscribed, "_Non Marte opus est cui non deficit Mercurius_"; if at least the history be true, which my Lord Herbert doubts. The next morning, in some danger of parties [Spanish] surprising us, we came to Montreuil, built on the summit of a most conspicuous hill, environed with fair and ample meadows; but all the suburbs had been from time to time ruined, and were now lately burnt by the Spanish inroads. This town is fortified with two very deep dry ditches; the walls about the bastions and citadel are a noble piece of masonry. The church is more glorious without than within; the market place large; but the inhabitants are miserably poor. The next day, we came to Abbeville, having passed all this way in continual expectation of the volunteers, as they call them. This town affords a good aspect toward the hill from whence we descended: nor does it deceive us; for it is handsomely built, and has many pleasant and useful streams passing through it, the main river being the Somme, which discharges itself into the sea at St. Valery, almost in view of the town. The principal church is a very handsome piece of Gothic architecture, and the ports and ramparts sweetly planted for defense and ornament. In the morning, they brought us choice of guns and pistols to sell at reasonable rates, and neatly made, being here a merchandise of great account, the town abounding in gunsmiths. [Sidenote: ST. DENIS] [Sidenote: PARIS] Hence we advanced to Beauvais, another town of good note, and having the first vineyards we had seen. The next day to Beaumont, and the morrow to Paris, having taken our repast at St. Denis, two leagues from that great city. St. Denis is considerable only for its stately cathedral, and the dormitory of the French kings, there inhumed as ours at Westminster Abbey. The treasury is esteemed one of the richest in Europe. The church was built by King Dagobert,[15] but since much enlarged, being now 390 feet long, 100 in breadth, and 80 in height, without comprehending the cover: it has also a very high shaft of stone, and the gates are of brass. Here, while the monks conducted us, we were showed the ancient and modern sepulchers of their kings, beginning with the founder to Louis his son, with Charles Martel and Pepin, son and father of Charlemagne. These lie in the choir, and without it are many more: among the rest that of Bertrand du Guesclin, Constable of France; in the chapel of Charles V., all his posterity; and near him the magnificent sepulcher of Francis I., with his children, wars, victories, and triumphs engraven in marble. In the nave of the church lies the catafalque, or hearse, of Louis XIII., Henry II., a noble tomb of Francis II., and Charles IX. Above are bodies of several Saints; below, under a state of black velvet, the late Louis XIII., father of this present monarch. Every one of the ten chapels, or oratories, had some Saints in them; among the rest, one of the Holy Innocents. The treasury is kept in the sacristy above, in which are crosses of massy gold and silver, studded with precious stones, one of gold three feet high, set with sapphires, rubies, and great oriental pearls. Another given by Charles the Great, having a noble amethyst in the middle of it, stones and pearls of inestimable value. Among the still more valuable relics are, a nail from our Savior's Cross, in a box of gold full of precious stones; a crucifix of the true wood of the Cross, carved by Pope Clement III., enchased in a crystal covered with gold; a box in which is some of the Virgin's hair; some of the linen in which our blessed Savior was wrapped at his nativity; in a huge reliquary, modeled like a church, some of our Savior's blood, hair, clothes, linen with which he wiped the Apostles' feet; with many other equally authentic toys, which the friar who conducted us would have us believe were authentic relics. Among the treasures is the crown of Charlemagne, his seven-foot high scepter and hand of justice, the agraffe of his royal mantle, beset with diamonds and rubies, his sword, belt, and spurs of gold; the crown of St. Louis, covered with precious stones, among which is one vast ruby, uncut, of inestimable value, weighing 300 carats (under which is set one of the thorns of our blessed Savior's crown), his sword, seal, and hand of justice. The two crowns of Henry IV., his scepter, hand of justice, and spurs. The two crowns of his son Louis. In the cloak-royal of Anne of Bretagne is a very great and rare ruby. Divers books covered with solid plates of gold, and studded with precious stones. Two vases of beryl, two of agate, whereof one is esteemed for its bigness, color, and embossed carving, the best now to be seen: by a special favor I was permitted to take the measure and dimensions of it; the story is a Bacchanalia and sacrifice to Priapus; a very holy thing truly, and fit for a cloister! It is really antique, and the noblest jewel there. There is also a large gondola of chrysolite, a huge urn of porphyry, another of calcedon, a vase of onyx, the largest I had ever seen of that stone; two of crystal; a morsel of one of the waterpots in which our Savior did his first miracle; the effigies of the Queen of Saba, of Julius, Augustus, Mark Antony, Cleopatra, and others, upon sapphires, topazes, agates, and cornelians: that of the queen of Saba[16] has a Moorish face; those of Julius and Nero on agates are rarely colored and cut. A cup in which Solomon was used to drink, and an Apollo on a great amethyst. There lay in a window a mirror of a kind of stone said to have belonged to the poet Virgil. Charlemagne's chessmen, full of Arabic characters. In the press next the door, the brass lantern full of crystals, said to have conducted Judas and his company to apprehend our blessed Savior. A fair unicorn's horn, sent by a king of Persia, about seven feet long. In another press (over which stands the picture in oil of their Orleans Amazon with her sword), the effigies of the late French kings in wax, like ours in Westminster, covered with their robes; with a world of other rarities. Having rewarded our courteous friar, we took horse for Paris, where we arrived about five in the afternoon. In the way were fair crosses of stone carved with fleur-de-lis at every furlong's end, where they affirm St. Denis rested and laid down his head after martyrdom, carrying it from the place where this monastery is builded. We lay at Paris at the Ville de Venice; where, after I had something refreshed, I went to visit Sir Richard Browne, his Majesty's Resident with the French king. [Footnote 15: A. D. 630.] [Footnote 16: Or Sheba.] 5th December, 1643. The Earl of Norwich came as Ambassador extraordinary: I went to meet him in a coach and six horses, at the palace of Monsieur de Bassompière, where I saw that gallant person, his gardens, terraces, and rare prospects. My lord was waited on by the master of the ceremonies, and a very great cavalcade of men of quality, to the Palais Cardinal, where on the 23d he had audience of the French king, and the queen Regent his mother, in the golden chamber of presence. From thence, I conducted him to his lodgings in Rue St. Denis, and so took my leave. 24th December, 1643. I went with some company to see some remarkable places without the city: as the Isle, and how it is encompassed by the Rivers Seine and the Ouse. The city is divided into three parts, whereof the town is greatest. The city lies between it and the University in form of an island. Over the Seine is a stately bridge called Pont Neuf, begun by Henry III. in 1578, finished by Henry IV. his successor. It is all of hewn freestone found under the streets, but more plentifully at Montmartre, and consists of twelve arches, in the midst of which ends the point of an island, on which are built handsome artificers' houses. There is one large passage for coaches, and two for foot passengers three or four feet higher, and of convenient breadth for eight or ten to go abreast. On the middle of this stately bridge, on one side, stands the famous statue of Henry the Great on horseback, exceeding the natural proportion by much; and, on the four faces of a stately pedestal (which is composed of various sorts of polished marbles and rich moldings), inscriptions of his victories and most signal actions are engraven in brass. The statue and horse are of copper, the work of the great John di Bologna, and sent from Florence by Ferdinand the First, and Cosmo the Second, uncle and cousin to Mary de Medicis, the wife of King Henry, whose statue it represents. The place where it is erected is inclosed with a strong and beautiful grate of iron, about which there are always mountebanks showing their feats to the idle passengers. From hence is a rare prospect toward the Louvre and suburbs of St. Germains, the Isle du Palais, and Nôtre Dame. At the foot of this bridge is a water-house, on the front whereof, at a great height, is the story of Our Savior and the woman of Samaria pouring water out of a bucket. Above, is a very rare dial of several motions, with a chime, etc. The water is conveyed by huge wheels, pumps, and other engines, from the river beneath. The confluence of the people and multitude of coaches passing every moment over the bridge, to a new spectator is an agreeable diversion. Other bridges there are, as that of Nôtre Dame and the Pont-au-Change, etc., fairly built, with houses of stone, which are laid over this river; only the Pont St. Anne, landing the suburbs of St. Germains at the Tuileries, is built of wood, having likewise a water house in the midst of it, and a statue of Neptune casting water out of a whale's mouth, of lead, but much inferior to the Samaritan. The University lies southwest on higher ground, contiguous to, but the lesser part of, Paris. They reckon no less than sixty-five colleges; but they in nothing approach ours at Oxford for state and order. The booksellers dwell within the University. The schools (of which more hereafter) are very regular. The suburbs are those of St. Denis, Honoré, St. Marcel, St. Jaques, St. Michael, St. Victoire, and St. Germains, which last is the largest, and where the nobility and persons of best quality are seated: and truly Paris, comprehending the suburbs, is, for the material the houses are built with, and many noble and magnificent piles, one of the most gallant cities in the world; large in circuit, of a round form, very populous, but situated in a bottom, environed with gentle declivities, rendering some places very dirty, and making it smell as if sulphur were mingled with the mud; yet it is paved with a kind of freestone, of near a foot square, which renders it more easy to walk on than our pebbles in London. On Christmas eve, I went to see the Cathedral at Nôtre Dame, erected by Philip Augustus, but begun by King Robert, son of Hugh Capet. It consists of a Gothic fabric, sustained with 120 pillars, which make two aisles in the church round about the choir, without comprehending the chapels, being 174 paces long, 60 wide, and 100 high. The choir is inclosed with stonework graven with the sacred history, and contains forty-five chapels chancelled with iron. At the front of the chief entrance are statues in relievo of the kings, twenty-eight in number, from Childebert to the founder, Philip; and above them are two high square towers, and another of a smaller size, bearing a spire in the middle, where the body of the church forms a cross. The great tower is ascended by 389 steps, having twelve galleries from one to the other. They greatly reverence the crucifix over the screen of the choir, with an image of the Blessed Virgin. There are some good modern paintings hanging on the pillars. The most conspicuous statute is the huge colossal one of St. Christopher; with divers other figures of men, houses, prospects and rocks, about this gigantic piece; being of one stone, and more remarkable for its bulk than any other perfection. This is the prime church of France for dignity, having archdeacons, vicars, canons, priests, and chaplains in good store, to the number of 127. It is also the palace of the archbishop. The young king was there with a great and martial guard, who entered the nave of the church with drums and fifes, at the ceasing of which I was entertained with the church music; and so I left him. 4th January, 1644. I passed this day with one Mr. J. Wall, an Irish gentleman, who had been a friar in Spain, and afterward a reader in St. Isodore's chair, at Rome; but was, I know not how, getting away, and pretending to be a soldier of fortune, an absolute cavalier, having, as he told us, been a captain of horse in Germany. It is certain he was an excellent disputant, and so strangely given to it that nothing could pass him. He would needs persuade me to go with him this morning to the Jesuits' College, to witness his polemical talent. We found the Fathers in their Church at the Rue St. Antoine, where one of them showed us that noble fabric, which for its cupola, pavings, incrustations of marble, the pulpit, altars (especially the high altar), organ, lavatorium, etc., but above all, for the richly carved and incomparable front I esteem to be one of the most perfect pieces of architecture in Europe, emulating even some of the greatest now at Rome itself. But this not being what our friar sought, he led us into the adjoining convent, where, having shown us the library, they began a very hot dispute on some points of divinity, which our cavalier contested only to show his pride, and to that indiscreet height, that the Jesuits would hardly bring us to our coach, they being put beside all patience. The next day, we went into the University, and into the College of Navarre, which is a spacious, well-built quadrangle, having a very noble library. Thence to the Sorbonne, an ancient fabric built by one Robert de Sorbonne, whose name it retains, but the restoration which the late Cardinal de Richelieu has made to it renders it one of the most excellent modern buildings; the sumptuous church, of admirable architecture, is far superior to the rest. The cupola, portico, and whole design of the church, are very magnificent. We entered into some of the schools, and in that of divinity we found a grave Doctor in his chair, with a multitude of auditors, who all write as he dictates; and this they call a Course. After we had sat a little, our cavalier started up, and rudely enough began to dispute with the doctor; at which, and especially as he was clad in the Spanish habit, which in Paris is the greatest bugbear imaginable, the scholars and doctor fell into such a fit of laughter, that nobody could be heard speak for a while: but silence being obtained, he began to speak Latin, and made his apology in so good a style, that their derision was turned to admiration; and beginning to argue, he so baffled the Professor, that with universal applause they all rose up, and did him great honors, waiting on us to the very street and our coach, and testifying great satisfaction. 2d February, 1644. I heard the news of my nephew George's birth, which was on January 15th, English style, 1644. 3d February, 1644. I went to the Exchange. The late addition to the buildings is very noble; but the galleries where they sell their petty merchandise nothing so stately as ours at London, no more than the place where they walk below, being only a low vault. The Palaise, as they call the upper part, was built in the time of Philip the Fair, noble and spacious. The great Hall annexed to it, is arched with stone, having a range of pillars in the middle, round which, and at the sides, are shops of all kinds, especially booksellers'. One side is full of pews for the clerks of the advocates, who swarm here (as ours at Westminster). At one of the ends stands an altar, at which mass is said daily. Within are several chambers, courts, treasuries, etc. Above that is the most rich and glorious Salle d'Audience, the chamber of St. Louis, and other superior Courts where the Parliament sits, richly gilt on embossed carvings and frets, and exceedingly beautified. Within the place where they sell their wares, is another narrower gallery, full of shops and toys, etc., which looks down into the prison-yard. Descending by a large pair of stairs, we passed by Sainte Chapelle, which is a church built by St. Louis, 1242, after the Gothic manner: it stands on another church, which is under it, sustained by pillars at the sides, which seem so weak as to appear extraordinary in the artist. This chapel is most famous for its relics, having as they pretend, almost the entire crown of thorns: the agate patine, rarely sculptured, judged one of the largest and best in Europe. There was now a very beautiful spire erecting. The court below is very spacious, capable of holding many coaches, and surrounded with shops, especially engravers', goldsmiths', and watchmakers'. In it are a fair fountain and portico. The Isle du Palais consists of a triangular brick building, whereof one side, looking to the river, is inhabited by goldsmiths. Within the court are private dwellings. The front, looking on the great bridge, is possessed by mountebanks, operators, and puppet-players. On the other part, is the every day's market for all sorts of provisions, especially bread, herbs, flowers, orange trees, choice shrubs. Here is a shop called NOAH'S ARK, where are sold all curiosities, natural or artificial, Indian or European, for luxury or use, as cabinets, shells, ivory, porcelain, dried fishes, insects, birds, pictures, and a thousand exotic extravagances. Passing hence, we viewed the port Dauphine, an arch of excellent workmanship; the street bearing the same name, is ample and straight. 4th February, 1644. I went to see the Marais de Temple, where are a noble church and palace, heretofore dedicated to the Knights Templar, now converted to a piazza, not much unlike ours at Covent Garden; but large and not so pleasant, though built all about with divers considerable palaces. The Church of St. Geneviève is a place of great devotion, dedicated to another of their Amazons, said to have delivered the city from the English; for which she is esteemed the tutelary saint of Paris. It stands on a steep eminence, having a very high spire, and is governed by canons regular. At the Palais Royal Henry IV. built a fair quadrangle of stately palaces, arched underneath. In the middle of a spacious area, stands on a noble pedestal a brazen statue of Louis XIII., which, though made in imitation of that in the Roman capitol, is nothing so much esteemed as that on the Pont Neuf. The hospital of the Quinze-Vingts, in the Rue St. Honoré, is an excellent foundation; but above all is the Hôtel Dieu for men and women, near Nôtre Dame, a princely, pious, and expensive structure. That of the Charité gave me great satisfaction, in seeing how decently and christianly the sick people are attended, even to delicacy. I have seen them served by noble persons, men and women. They have also gardens, walks, and fountains. Divers persons are here cut for the stone, with great success, yearly in May. The two Châtelets (supposed to have been built by Julius Cæsar) are places of judicature in criminal causes; to which is a strong prison. The courts are spacious and magnificent. 8th February, 1644. I took coach and went to see the famous Jardine Royale, which is an inclosure walled in, consisting of all varieties of ground for planting and culture of medical simples. It is well chosen, having in it hills, meadows, wood and upland, natural and artificial, and is richly stored with exotic plants. In the middle of the parterre is a fair fountain. There is a very fine house, chapel, laboratory, orangery, and other accommodations for the President, who is always one of the king's chief physicians. From hence, we went to the other side of the town, and to some distance from it, to the Bois de Vincennes, going by the Bastille, which is the fortress, tower, and magazine of this great city. It is very spacious within, and there the Grand Master of the artillery has his house, with fair gardens and walks. The Bois de Vincennes has in it a square and noble castle, with magnificent apartments, fit for a royal court, not forgetting the chapel. It is the chief prison for persons of quality. About it there is a park walled in, full of deer; and in one part there is a grove of goodly pine trees. The next day, I went to see the Louvre with more attention, its several courts and pavilions. One of the quadrangles, begun by Henry IV., and finished by his son and grandson, is a superb, but mixed structure. The cornices, moldings, and compartments, with the insertion of several colored marbles, have been of great expense. We went through the long gallery, paved with white and black marble, richly fretted and painted _à fresco_. The front looking to the river, though of rare work for the carving, yet wants of that magnificence which a plainer and truer design would have contributed to it. In the Cour aux Tuileries is a princely fabric; the winding geometrical stone stairs, with the cupola, I take to be as bold and noble a piece of architecture as any in Europe of the kind. To this is a _corps de logis_, worthy of so great a prince. Under these buildings, through a garden in which is an ample fountain, was the king's printing house, and that famous letter so much esteemed. Here I bought divers of the classic authors, poets, and others. We returned through another gallery, larger, but not so long, where hung the pictures of all the kings and queens and prime nobility of France. Descending hence, we were let into a lower very large room, called the _Salle des Antiques_, which is a vaulted Cimelia, destined for statues only, among which stands that so celebrated Diana of the Ephesians, said to be the same which uttered oracles in that renowned Temple. Besides these colossean figures of marble, I must not forget the huge globe suspended by chains. The pavings, inlayings, and incrustations of this Hall, are very rich. In another more private garden toward the Queen's apartment is a walk, or cloister, under arches, whose terrace is paved with stones of a great breadth; it looks toward the river, and has a pleasant aviary, fountain, stately cypresses, etc. On the river are seen a prodigious number of barges and boats of great length, full of hay, corn, wood, wine, and other commodities, which this vast city daily consumes. Under the long gallery we have described, dwell goldsmiths, painters, statuaries, and architects, who being the most famous for their art in Christendom have stipends allowed them by the King. Into that of Monsieur Saracin we entered, who was then molding for an image of a Madonna to be cast in gold of a great size to be sent by the Queen Regent to Loretto, as an offering for the birth of the Dauphin, now the young King. I finished this day with a walk in the great garden of the Tuileries, rarely contrived for privacy, shade, or company, by groves, plantations of tall trees, especially that in the middle, being of elms, the other of mulberries; and that labyrinth of cypresses; not omitting the noble hedges of pomegranates, fountains, fish-ponds, and an aviary; but, above all, the artificial echo, redoubling the words so distinctly; and, as it is never without some fair nymph singing to its grateful returns; standing at one of the focuses, which is under a tree or little cabinet of hedges, the voice seems to descend from the clouds; at another, as if it was underground. This being at the bottom of the garden, we were let into another, which being kept with all imaginary accurateness as to the orangery, precious shrubs, and rare fruits, seemed a Paradise. From a terrace in this place we saw so many coaches, as one would hardly think could be maintained in the whole city, going, late as it was in the year, toward the course, which is a place adjoining, of near an English mile long, planted with four rows of trees, making a large circle in the middle. This course is walled about, near breast high, with squared freestone, and has a stately arch at the entrance, with sculpture and statues about it, built by Mary di Medicis. Here it is that the gallants and ladies of the Court take the air and divert themselves, as with us in Hyde Park, the circle being capable of containing a hundred coaches to turn commodiously, and the larger of the plantations for five or six coaches abreast. Returning through the Tuileries, we saw a building in which are kept wild beasts for the King's pleasure, a bear, a wolf, a wild boar, a leopard, etc. [Sidenote: ST. CLOUD] 27th February, 1644. Accompanied with some English gentlemen, we took horse to see St. Germains-en-Laye, a stately country house of the King, some five leagues from Paris. By the way, we alighted at St. Cloud, where, on an eminence near the river, the Archbishop of Paris has a garden, for the house is not very considerable, rarely watered and furnished with fountains, statues, and groves; the walks are very fair; the fountain of Laocoon is in a large square pool, throwing the water near forty feet high, and having about it a multitude of statues and basins, and is a surprising object. But nothing is more esteemed than the cascade falling from the great steps into the lowest and longest walk from the Mount Parnassus, which consists of a grotto, or shell-house, on the summit of the hill, wherein are divers waterworks and contrivances to wet the spectators; this is covered with a fair cupola, the walls painted with the Muses, and statues placed thick about it, whereof some are antique and good. In the upper walks are two perspectives, seeming to enlarge the alleys, and in this garden are many other ingenious contrivances. The palace, as I said, is not extraordinary. The outer walls only painted _à fresco_. In the court is a Volary, and the statues of Charles IX., Henry III., IV., and Louis XIII., on horseback, mezzo-relievo'd in plaster. In the garden is a small chapel; and under shelter is the figure of Cleopatra, taken from the Belvidere original, with others. From the terrace above is a tempest well painted; and thence an excellent prospect toward Paris, the meadows, and river. At an inn in this village is a host who treats all the great persons in princely lodgings for furniture and plate, but they pay well for it, as I have done. Indeed, the entertainment is very splendid, and not unreasonable, considering the excellent manner of dressing their meat, and of the service. Here are many debauches and excessive revelings, as being out of all noise and observance. [Sidenote: ST. GERMAINS] From hence, about a league further, we went to see Cardinal Richelieu's villa, at Ruell. The house is small, but fairly built, in form of a castle, moated round. The offices are toward the road, and over against it are large vineyards, walled in. But, though the house is not of the greatest, the gardens about it are so magnificent, that I doubt whether Italy has any exceeding it for all rarities of pleasure. The garden nearest the pavilion is a parterre, having in the midst divers noble brass statues, perpetually spouting water into an ample basin, with other figures of the same metal; but what is most admirable is the vast inclosure, and variety of ground, in the large garden, containing vineyards, cornfields, meadows, groves (whereof one is of perennial greens), and walks of vast length, so accurately kept and cultivated, that nothing can be more agreeable. On one of these walks, within a square of tall trees, is a basilisk of copper, which, managed by the fountaineer, casts water near sixty feet high, and will of itself move round so swiftly, that one can hardly escape wetting. This leads to the Citronière, which is a noble conserve of all those rarities; and at the end of it is the Arch of Constantine, painted on a wall in oil, as large as the real one at Rome, so well done, that even a man skilled in painting, may mistake it for stone and sculpture. The sky and hills, which seem to be between the arches, are so natural, that swallows and other birds, thinking to fly through, have dashed themselves against the wall. I was infinitely taken with this agreeable cheat. At the further part of this walk is that plentiful, though artificial cascade, which rolls down a very steep declivity, and over the marble steps and basins, with an astonishing noise and fury; each basin hath a jetto in it, flowing like sheets of transparent glass, especially that which rises over the great shell of lead, from whence it glides silently down a channel through the middle of a spacious gravel walk, terminating in a grotto. Here are also fountains that cast water to a great height, and large ponds, two of which have islands for harbor of fowls, of which there is store. One of these islands has a receptacle for them built of vast pieces of rock, near fifty feet high, grown over with moss, ivy, etc., shaded at a competent distance with tall trees: in this rupellary nidary do the fowl lay eggs, and breed. We then saw a large and very rare grotto of shell-work, in the shape of Satyrs, and other wild fancies: in the middle stands a marble table, on which a fountain plays in divers forms of glasses, cups, crosses, fans, crowns, etc. Then the fountaineer represented a shower of rain from the top, met by small jets from below. At going out, two extravagant musketeers shot us with a stream of water from their musket barrels. Before this grotto is a long pool into which ran divers spouts of water from leaden escalop basins. The viewing this paradise made us late at St. Germains. The first building of this palace is of Charles V., called the Sage; but Francis I. (that true virtuoso) made it complete; speaking as to the style of magnificence then in fashion, which was with too great a mixture of the Gothic, as may be seen in what there is remaining of his in the old Castle, an irregular piece as built on the old foundation, and having a moat about it. It has yet some spacious and handsome rooms of state, and a chapel neatly painted. The new Castle is at some distance, divided from this by a court, of a lower, but more modern design, built by Henry IV. To this belong six terraces, built of brick and stone, descending in cascades toward the river, cut out of the natural hill, having under them goodly vaulted galleries; of these, four have subterranean grots and rocks, where are represented several objects in the manner of scenes and other motions, by force of water, shown by the light of torches only; among these, is Orpheus with his music; and the animals, which dance after his harp; in the second, is the King and Dolphin;[17] in the third, is Neptune sounding his trumpet, his chariot drawn by sea horses; in the fourth, the story of Perseus and Andromeda; mills; hermitages; men fishing; birds chirping; and many other devices. There is also a dry grot to refresh in; all having a fine prospect toward the river, and the goodly country about it, especially the forest. At the bottom, is a parterre; the upper terrace nearly half a mile in length, with double declivities, arched and balustered with stone, of vast and royal cost. [Footnote 17: Dauphin.] In the pavilion of the new Castle are many fair rooms, well painted, and leading into a very noble garden and park, where is a pall-mall, in the midst of which, on one of the sides, is a chapel, with stone cupola, though small, yet of a handsome order of architecture. Out of the park you go into the forest, which being very large, is stored with deer, wild boars, wolves, and other wild game. The Tennis Court, and Cavallerizzo, for the menaged horses, are also observable. [Sidenote: PARIS] We returned to Paris by Madrid, another villa of the King's, built by Francis I., and called by that name to absolve him of his oath that he would not go from Madrid (in which he was prisoner), in Spain, but from whence he made his escape. This house is also built in a park, and walled in. We next called in at the Bonnes-hommes, well situated, with a fair chapel and library. 1st March, 1644. I went to see the Count de Liancourt's Palace in the Rue de Seine, which is well built. Toward his study and bedchamber joins a little garden, which, though very narrow, by the addition of a well-painted perspective, is to appearance greatly enlarged; to this there is another part, supported by arches in which runs a stream of water, rising in the aviary, out of a statue, and seeming to flow for some miles, by being artificially continued in the painting, when it sinks down at the wall. It is a very agreeable deceit. At the end of this garden is a little theater, made to change with divers pretty scenes, and the stage so ordered, with figures of men and women painted on light boards, and cut out, and, by a person who stands underneath, made to act as if they were speaking, by guiding them, and reciting words in different tones, as the parts require. We were led into a round cabinet, where was a neat invention for reflecting lights, by lining divers sconces with thin shining plates of gilded copper. In one of the rooms of state was an excellent painting of Poussin, being a Satyr kneeling; over the chimney, the Coronation of the Virgin, by Paulo Veronese; another Madonna over the door, and that of Joseph, by Cigali; in the Hall, a Cavaliero di Malta, attended by his page, said to be of Michael Angelo; the Rape of Proserpine, with a very large landscape of Correggio. In the next room are some paintings of Primaticcio, especially the Helena, the naked Lady brought before Alexander, well painted, and a Ceres. In the bedchamber a picture of the Cardinal de Liancourt, of Raphael, rarely colored. In the cabinet are divers pieces of Bassano, two of Polemburg, four of Paulo Brill, the skies a little too blue. A Madonna of Nicholao, excellently painted on a stone; a Judith of Mantegna; three women of Jeronimo; one of Stenwick; a Madonna after Titian, and a Magdalen of the same hand, as the Count esteems it: two small pieces of Paulo Veronese, being the Martyrdoms of St. Justina and St. Catherine; a Madonna of Lucas Van Leyden, sent him from our King; six more of old Bassano; two excellent drawings of Albert; a Magdalen of Leonardo da Vinci; four of Paulo; a very rare Madonna of Titian, given him also by our King; the _Ecce Homo_, shut up in a frame of velvet, for the life and accurate finishing exceeding all description. Some curious agates, and a chaplet of admirable invention, the intaglios being all on fruit stones. The Count was so exceeding civil, that he would needs make his lady go out of her dressing room, that he might show us the curiosities and pictures in it. We went thence to visit one Monsieur Perishot, one of the greatest virtuosos in France, for his collection of pictures, agates, medals, and flowers, especially tulips and anemonies. The chiefest of his paintings was a Sebastian, of Titian. From him we went to Monsieur Frene's, who showed us many rare drawings, a Rape of Helen in black chalk; many excellent things of Sneiders, all naked; some of Julio and Michael Angelo; a Madonna of Passignano; some things of Parmensis, and other masters. The next morning, being recommended to one Monsieur de Hausse, President of the Parliament, and once Ambassador at Venice for the French King, we were very civilly received, and showed his library. Among his paintings were a rare Venus and Adonis of Veronese, a St. Anthony, after the first manner of Correggio, and a rare Madonna of Palma. Sunday, the 6th of March, I went to Charenton, two leagues from Paris, to hear and see the manner of the French Protestant Church service. The place of meeting they call the Temple, a very fair and spacious room, built of freestone, very decently adorned with paintings of the Tables of the Law, the Lord's Prayer, and Creed. The pulpit stands at the upper end in the middle, having an inclosure of seats about it, where the Elders and persons of greatest quality and strangers, sit; the rest of the congregation on forms and low stools, but none in pews, as in our churches, to their great disgrace, as nothing so orderly, as here the stools and other cumber are removed when the assembly rises. I was greatly pleased with their harmonious singing the Psalms, which they all learn perfectly well, their children being as duly taught these, as their catechism. In our passage, we went by that famous bridge over the Marne, where that renowned echo returns the voice of a good singer nine or ten times. 7th March, 1644. I set forward with some company toward Fontainebleau, a sumptuous Palace of the King's, like ours at Hampton Court, about fourteen leagues from the city. By the way, we pass through a forest so prodigiously encompassed with hideous rocks of whitish hard stone, heaped one on another in mountainous heights, that I think the like is nowhere to be found more horrid and solitary. It abounds with stags, wolves, boars, and not long after a lynx, or ounce, was killed among them, which had devoured some passengers. On the summit of one of these gloomy precipices, intermingled with trees and shrubs, the stones hanging over, and menacing ruin, is built an hermitage. In these solitudes, rogues frequently lurk and do mischief (and for whom we were all well appointed with our carabines); but we arrived safe in the evening at the village, where we lay at the Horne, going early next morning to the Palace. This House is nothing so stately and uniform as Hampton Court, but Francis I. began much to beautify it; most of all Henry IV. (and not a little) the late King. It abounds with fair halls, chambers, and galleries; in the longest, which is 360 feet long, and 18 broad, are painted the Victories of that great Prince, Henry IV. That of Francis I., called the grand Gallery, has all the King's palaces painted in it; above these, in sixty pieces of excellent work in fresco, is the History of Ulysses, from Homer, by Primaticcio, in the time of Henry III., esteemed the most renowned in Europe for the design. The Cabinet is full of excellent pictures, especially a Woman, of Raphael. In the Hall of the Guards is a piece of tapestry painted on the wall, very naturally, representing the victories of Charles VII. over our countrymen. In the Salle des Festins is a rare Chimney-piece, and Henry IV. on horseback, of white marble, esteemed worth 18,000 crowns; Clementia and Pax, nobly done. On columns of jasper, two lions of brass. The new stairs, and a half circular court, are of modern and good architecture, as is a chapel built by Louis XIII., all of jasper, with several incrustations of marble through the inside. Having seen the rooms, we went to the volary, which has a cupola in the middle of it, great trees and bushes, it being full of birds who drank at two fountains. There is also a fair tennis court, and noble stables; but the beauty of all are the gardens. In the Court of the Fountains stand divers antiquities and statues, especially a Mercury. In the Queen's Garden is a Diana ejecting a fountain, with numerous other brass statues. The great Garden, 180 toises long and 154 wide, has in the center a fountain of Tyber of a Colossean figure of brass, with the Wolf over Romulus and Remus. At each corner of the garden rises a fountain. In the garden of the piscina, is a Hercules of white marble; next, is that of the pines, and without that a canal of an English mile in length, at the end of which rise three jettos in the form of a fleur-de-lis, of a great height; on the margin are excellent walks planted with trees. The carps come familiarly to hand (to be fed). Hence they brought us to a spring, which they say being first discovered by a dog, gave occasion of beautifying this place, both with the palace and gardens. The white and terrific rocks at some distance in the forest, yield one of the most august and stupendous prospects imaginable. The park about this place is very large, and the town full of noblemen's houses. Next morning, we were invited by a painter, who was keeper of the pictures and rarities, to see his own collection. We were led through a gallery of old Rosso's work, at the end of which, in another cabinet, were three Madonnas of Raphael, and two of Andrea del Sarto. In the Academy where the painter himself wrought, was a St. Michael of Raphael, very rare; St. John Baptist of Leonardo, and a Woman's head; a Queen of Sicily, and St. Margaret of Raphael; two more Madonnas, whereof one very large, by the same hand; some more of del Sarto; a St. Jerome, of Perino del Vaga; the Rape of Proserpine, very good; and a great number of drawings. Returning part of our way to Paris, that day, we visited a house called _Maison Rouge_, having an excellent prospect, grot, and fountains, one whereof rises fifty feet, and resembles the noise of a tempest, battle of guns, etc., at its issue. Thence to Essone, a house of Monsieur Essling, who is a great virtuoso; there are many good paintings in it; but nothing so observable as his gardens, fountains, fish-pools, especially that in a triangular form, the water cast out by a multitude of heads about it; there is a noble cascade and pretty baths, with all accommodations. Under a marble table is a fountain of serpents twisting about a globe. We alighted next at Corbeil, a town famous for the siege by Henry IV. Here we slept, and returned next morning to Paris. 18th March, 1644. I went with Sir J. Cotton, a Cambridgeshire Knight, a journey into Normandy. The first day, we passed by Gaillon, the Archbishop of Rouen's Palace. The gardens are highly commended, but we did not go in, intending to reach Pontoise by dinner. This town is built in a very gallant place, has a noble bridge over the Oise, and is well refreshed with fountains. This is the first town in Normandy, and the furthest that the vineyards extend to on this side of the country, which is fuller of plains, wood, and inclosures, with some towns toward the sea, very like England. [Sidenote: ROUEN] We lay this night at a village, called Magny. The next day, descending a very steep hill, we dined at Fleury, after riding five leagues down St. Catherine, to Rouen, which affords a goodly prospect, to the ruins of that chapel and mountain. This country so abounds with wolves that a shepherd whom we met, told us one of his companions was strangled by one of them the day before, and that in the midst of his flock. The fields are mostly planted with pears and apples, and other cider fruits. It is plentifully furnished with quarries of stone and slate, and hath iron in abundance. I lay at the White Cross, in Rouen, which is a very large city, on the Seine, having two smaller rivers besides, called the Aubette and Robec. There stand yet the ruins of a magnificent bridge of stone, now supplied by one of boats only, to which come up vessels of considerable burden. The other side of the water consists of meadows, and there have the Reformed a church. The Cathedral Nôtre Dame was built, as they acknowledge, by the English; some English words graven in Gothic characters upon the front seem to confirm it. The towers and whole church are full of carving. It has three steeples, with a pyramid; in one of these, I saw the famous bell so much talked of, thirteen feet in height, thirty-two round, the diameter eleven, weighing 40,000 pounds. In the Chapel d'Amboise, built by a Cardinal of that name, lies his body, with several fair monuments. The choir has behind it a great dragon painted on the wall, which they say had done much harm to the inhabitants, till vanquished by St. Romain, their Archbishop; for which there is an annual procession. It was now near Easter, and many images were exposed with scenes and stories representing the Passion; made up of little puppets, to which there was great resort and devotion, with offerings. Before the church is a fair palace. St. Ouen is another goodly church and an abbey with fine gardens. Here the King hath lodgings, when he makes his progress through these parts. The structure, where the Court of Parliament is kept, is very magnificent, containing very fair halls and chambers, especially La Chambre Dorée. The town-house is also well built, and so are some gentlemen's houses; but most part of the rest are of timber, like our merchants' in London, in the wooden part of the city. 21st March, 1644. On Easter Monday, we dined at Totes, a solitary inn between Rouen and Dieppe, at which latter place we arrived. This town is situated between two mountains, not unpleasantly, and is washed on the north by our English seas. The port is commodious; but the entrance difficult. It has one very ample and fair street, in which is a pretty church. The Fort Pollet consists of a strong earth-work, and commands the haven, as on the other side does the castle, which is also well fortified, with the citadel before it; nor is the town itself a little strong. It abounds with workmen, who make and sell curiosities of ivory and tortoise-shells; and indeed whatever the East Indies afford of cabinets, porcelain, natural and exotic rarities, are here to be had, with abundant choice. 23d March, 1644. We passed along the coast by a very rocky and rugged way, which forced us to alight many times before we came to Havre de Grace, where we lay that night. The next morning, we saw the citadel, strong and regular, well stored with artillery and ammunition of all sorts: the works furnished with fair brass cannon, having a motto, _Ratio ultima Regum_. The allogements of the garrison are uniform; a spacious place for drawing up the soldiers, a pretty chapel, and a fair house for the Governor. The Duke of Richelieu being now in the fort, we went to salute him; who received us very civilly, and commanded that we should be showed whatever we desired to see. The citadel was built by the late Cardinal de Richelieu, uncle of the present Duke, and may be esteemed one of the strongest in France. The haven is very capacious. When we had done here, we embarked ourselves and horses to pass to Honfleur, about four or five leagues distant, where the Seine falls into the sea. It is a poor fisher-town, remarkable for nothing so much as the odd, yet useful habits which the good women wear, of bears' and other skins, as of rugs at Dieppe, and all along these maritime coasts. [Sidenote: CAEN] 25th March, 1644. We arrived at Caen, a noble and beautiful town, situate on the river Orne, which passes quite through it, the two sides of the town joined only by a bridge of one entire arch. We lay at the Angel, where we were very well used, the place being abundantly furnished with provisions, at a cheap rate. The most considerable object is the great Abbey and Church, large and rich, built after the Gothic manner, having two spires and middle lantern at the west end, all of stone. The choir round and large, in the center whereof elevated on a square, handsome, but plain sepulcher, is this inscription: "Hoc sepulchrum invictissimi juxta et clementissimi conquestoris, Gulielmi, dum viverat Anglorum Regis, Normannorum Cenomannorumque Principis, hujus insignis Abbatiae piissimi Fundatoris: Cum anno 1562 vesano hæreticorum furore direptum fuisset, pio tandem nobilium ejusdem Abbatiae religiosorum gratitudinis sensu in tam beneficum largitorem, instauratum fuit, a^o D'ni 1642. D'no Johanne de Bailhache Assætorii proto priore. D.D." On the other side are these monkish rhymes: "Qui rexit rigidos Northmannos, atq. Britannos Audacter vicit, fortiter obtinuit, Et Cenomanensis virtute coërcuit ensis, Imperiique sui Legibus applicuit. Rex magnus parvâ jacet hâc Gulielm' in Urnâ, Sufficit et magno parva domus Domino. Ter septem gradibus te volverat atq. duobus Virginis in gremio Phoebus, et hic obiit." We went to the castle, which is strong and fair, and so is the town-house, built on the bridge which unites the two towns. Here are schools and an University for the Jurists. The whole town is handsomely built of that excellent stone so well known by that name in England. I was led to a pretty garden, planted with hedges of alaternus, having at the entrance a screen at an exceeding height, accurately cut in topiary work, with well understood architecture, consisting of pillars, niches, friezes, and other ornaments, with great curiosity; some of the columns curiously wreathed, others spiral, all according to art. [Sidenote: PARIS] 28th March, 1644. We went toward Paris, lying the first night at Evreux, a Bishop's seat, an ancient town, with a fair cathedral; so the next day we arrived at Paris. 1st April, 1644. I went to see more exactly the rooms of the fine Palace of Luxemburg, in the Fauxbourg St. Germains, built by Mary di Medicis, and I think one of the most noble, entire, and finished piles that is to be seen, taking it with the garden and all its accomplishments. The gallery is of the painting of Rubens, being the history of the Foundress's Life, rarely designed; at the end of it is the Duke of Orleans' library, well furnished with excellent books, all bound in maroquin and gilded, the valance of the shelves being of green velvet, fringed with gold. In the cabinet joining to it are only the smaller volumes, with six cabinets of medals, and an excellent collection of shells and agates, whereof some are prodigiously rich. This Duke being very learned in medals and plants, nothing of that kind escapes him. There are other spacious, noble, and princely furnished rooms, which look toward the gardens, which are nothing inferior to the rest. The court below is formed into a square by a corridor, having over the chief entrance a stately cupola, covered with stone: the rest is cloistered and arched on pilasters of rustic work. The terrace ascending before the front, paved with white and black marble, is balustered with white marble, exquisitely polished. Only the hall below is low, and the staircase somewhat of a heavy design, but the facia toward the parterre which is also arched and vaulted with stone, is of admirable beauty and full of sculpture. The gardens are near an English mile in compass, inclosed with a stately wall, and in a good air. The parterre is indeed of box, but so rarely designed and accurately kept cut, that the embroidery makes a wonderful effect to the lodgings which front it. 'Tis divided into four squares and as many circular knots, having in the center a noble basin of marble near thirty feet in diameter (as I remember), in which a Triton of brass holds a dolphin, that casts a girandola of water near thirty feet high, playing perpetually, the water being conveyed from Arceuil by an aqueduct of stone, built after the old Roman magnificence. About this ample parterre, the spacious walks and all included, runs a border of freestone, adorned with pedestals for pots and statues, and part of it near the steps of the terrace, with a rail and baluster of pure white marble. The walks are exactly fair, long, and variously descending and so justly planted with limes, elms, and other trees, that nothing can be more delicious, especially that of the hornbeam hedge, which being high and stately, buts full on the fountain. Toward the further end, is an excavation intended for a vast fish-pool, but never finished, and near it is an inclosure for a garden of simples, well kept; and here the Duke keeps tortoises in great number, who use the pool of water on one side of the garden. Here is also a conservatory for snow. At the upper part, toward the palace, is a grove of tall elms cut into a star, every ray being a walk, whose center is a large fountain. The rest of the ground is made into several inclosures (all hedge-work or rows of trees) of whole fields, meadows, bocages, some of them containing divers acres. Next the street side, and more contiguous to the house, are knots in trail, or grass work, where likewise runs a fountain. Toward the grotto and stables, within a wall, is a garden of choice flowers, in which the duke spends many thousand pistoles. In sum, nothing is wanted to render this palace and gardens perfectly beautiful and magnificent; nor is it one of the least diversions to see the number of persons of quality, citizens and strangers, who frequent it, and to whom all access is freely permitted, so that you shall see some walks and retirements full of gallants and ladies; in others melancholy friars; in others, studious scholars; in others, jolly citizens, some sitting or lying on the grass, others running and jumping; some playing at bowls and ball, others dancing and singing; and all this without the least disturbance, by reason of the largeness of the place. What is most admirable, you see no gardeners, or men at work, and yet all is kept in such exquisite order, as if they did nothing else but work; it is so early in the morning, that all is dispatched and done without the least confusion. I have been the larger in the description of this paradise, for the extraordinary delight I have taken in those sweet retirements. The Cabinet and Chapel nearer the garden-front have some choice pictures. All the houses near this are also very noble palaces, especially Petite Luxemburg. The ascent of the street is handsome from its breadth, situation, and buildings. I went next to view Paris from the top of St. Jacques' steeple, esteemed the highest in the town, from whence I had a full view of the whole city and suburbs, both which, as I judge, are not so large as London: though the dissimilitude of their several forms and situations, this being round, London long,--renders it difficult to determine; but there is no comparison between the buildings, palaces, and materials, this being entirely of stone and more sumptuous, though I esteem our piazzas to exceed theirs. Hence I took a turn in St. Innocent's churchyard, where the story of the devouring quality of the ground (consuming bodies in twenty-four hours), the vast charnels of bones, tombs, pyramids, and sepulchers, took up much of my time, together with the hieroglyphical characters of Nicholas Flamel's philosophical work, who had founded this church, and divers other charitable establishments, as he testifies in his book. Here divers clerks get their livelihood by inditing letters for poor maids and other ignorant people who come to them for advice, and to write for them into the country, both to their sweethearts, parents, and friends; every large gravestone serving for a table. Joining to this church is a common fountain, with good relievos upon it. The next day I was carried to see a French gentleman's curious collection, which abounded in fair and rich jewels of all sorts of precious stones, most of them of great sizes and value; agates and onyxes, some of them admirably colored and antique; nor inferior were his landscapes from the best hands, most of which he had caused to be copied in miniature; one of which, rarely painted on stone, was broken by one of our company, by the mischance of setting it up: but such was the temper and civility of the gentleman, that it altered nothing of his free and noble humor. The next morning, I was had by a friend to the garden of Monsieur Morine, who, from being an ordinary gardener, is become one of the most skillful and curious persons in France for his rare collection of shells, flowers, and insects. His garden is of an exact oval figure, planted with cypress, cut flat and set as even as a wall: the tulips, anemones, ranunculuses, crocuses, etc., are held to be of the rarest, and draw all the admirers of that kind to his house during the season. He lived in a kind of hermitage at one side of his garden, where his collection of porcelain and coral, whereof one is carved into a large crucifix, is much esteemed. He has also books of prints, by Albert [Durer], Van Leyden, Callot, etc. His collection of all sorts of insects, especially of butterflies, is most curious; these he spreads and so medicates, that no corruption invading them, he keeps them in drawers, so placed as to represent a beautiful piece of tapestry. He showed me the remarks he had made on their propagation, which he promised to publish. Some of these, as also of his best flowers, he had caused to be painted in miniature by rare hands, and some in oil. 6th April, 1644. I sent my sister my own picture in water colors,[18] which she requested of me, and went to see divers of the fairest palaces of the town, as that of Vendôme, very large and stately; Lougueville; Guise; Condé; Chevereuse; Nevers, esteemed one of the best in Paris toward the river. [Footnote 18: In the first and second editions of the "Diary" many trifling personal details, such as this mention of the author having sent his own picture in water colors to his sister, were omitted. It is not necessary to point them out in detail. They are always of this personal character; as, among other examples, the mention of the wet weather preventing the diarist from stirring out, and that of his coming weary to his lodgings.] I often went to the Palais Cardinal, bequeathed by Richelieu to the King, on condition that it should be called by his name; at this time, the King resided in it, because of the building of the Louvre. It is a very noble house, though somewhat low; the galleries, paintings of the most illustrious persons of both sexes, the Queen's baths, presence-chamber with its rich carved and gilded roof, theater, and large garden, in which is an ample fountain, grove, and mall, worthy of remark. Here I also frequently went to see them ride and exercise the great horse, especially at the Academy of Monsieur du Plessis, and de Veau, whose schools of that art are frequented by the nobility; and here also young gentlemen are taught to fence, dance, play on music, and something in fortification and the mathematics. The design is admirable, some keeping near a hundred brave horses, all managed to the great saddle. 12th April, 1644. I took coach, to see a general muster of all the _gens d'armes_ about the city, in the Bois de Boulogne, before their Majesties and all the Grandees. They were reputed to be near 20,000, besides the spectators, who much exceeded them in number. Here they performed all their motions; and, being drawn up, horse and foot, into several figures, represented a battle. [Sidenote: ORLEANS] The summer now drawing near, I determined to spend the rest of it in some more remote town on the river Loire; and, on 19th of April, I took leave of Paris, and, by the way of the messenger, agreed for my passage to Orleans. The way from Paris to this city, as indeed most of the roads in France, is paved with a small square freestone, so that the country does not much molest the traveler with dirt and ill way, as in England, only 'tis somewhat hard to the poor horses' feet, which causes them to ride more temperately, seldom going out of the trot, or _grand pas_, as they call it. We passed divers walled towns, or villages; among others of note, Chartres and Etampes, where we lay the first night. This has a fair church. The next day, we had an excellent road; but had liked to come short home: for no sooner were we entered two or three leagues into the Forest of Orleans (which extends itself many miles), but the company behind us were set on by rogues, who, shooting from the hedges and frequent covert, slew four upon the spot. Among the slain was a captain of Swiss, of the regiment of Picardy, a person much lamented. This disaster made such an alarm in Orleans at our arrival, that the Prevôt Marshal, with his assistants, going in pursuit, brought in two whom they had shot, and exposed them in the great market place, to see if any would take cognizance of them. I had great cause to give God thanks for this escape; when coming to Orleans and lying at the White Cross, I found Mr. John Nicholas, eldest son to Mr. Secretary. In the night a cat kittened on my bed, and left on it a young one having six ears, eight legs, two bodies from the middle downward, and two tails. I found it dead, but warm, in the morning when I awaked. 21st April, 1644. I went about to view the city, which is well built of stone, on the side of the Loire. About the middle of the river is an island, full of walks and fair trees, with some houses. This is contiguous to the town by a stately stone bridge, reaching to the opposite suburbs, built likewise on the edge of a hill, from whence is a beautiful prospect. At one of the extremes of the bridge are strong towers, and about the middle, on one side, is the statue of the Virgin Mary, or Pieta, with the dead Christ in her lap, as big as the life. At one side of the cross, kneels Charles VII., armed, and at the other Joan d'Arc, armed also like a cavalier, with boots and spurs, her hair disheveled, as the deliveress of the town from our countrymen, when they besieged it. The figures are all cast in copper, with a pedestal full of inscriptions, as well as a fair column joining it, which is all adorned with fleurs-de-lis and a crucifix, with two saints proceeding (as it were) from two branches out of its capital. The inscriptions on the cross are in Latin: "_Mors Christi in cruce nos á contagione, labis et æternorum morborum sanavit_." On the pedestal: "_Rex in hoc signo hostes profligavit, et Johanna Virgo Aureliam obsidio liberavit. Non diu ab impiis diruta, restituta sunt hoc anno D'ni 1578. Jean Buret, m. f._"--"_Octannoque Galliam servitute Britannicâ liberavit. A Domino factum est illud, et est mirabile in oculis nostris; in quorum memorià hæc nostræ fidei Insignia_." To this is made an annual procession on 12th of May, mass being sung before it, attended with great ceremony and concourse of people. The wine of this place is so strong, that the King's cup bearers are, as I was assured, sworn never to give the King any of it: but it is a very noble liquor, and much of it transported into other countries. The town is much frequented by strangers, especially Germans, for the great purity of the language here spoken, as well as for divers other privileges, and the University, which causes the English to make no long sojourn here, except such as can drink and debauch. The city stands in the county of Bealse (Blaisois); was once styled a Kingdom, afterward a Duchy, as at present, belonging to the second son of France. Many Councils have been held here, and some Kings crowned. The University is very ancient, divided now by the students into that of four nations, French, High Dutch, Normans, and Picardines, who have each their respective protectors, several officers, treasurers, consuls, seals, etc. There are in it two reasonable fair public libraries, whence one may borrow a book to one's chamber, giving but a note under hand, which is an extraordinary custom, and a confidence that has cost many libraries dear. The first church I went to visit was St. Croix; it has been a stately fabric, but now much ruined by the late civil wars. They report the tower of it to have been the highest in France. There is the beginning of a fair reparation. About this cathedral there is a very spacious cemetery. The townhouse is also very nobly built, with a high tower to it. The market place and streets, some whereof are deliciously planted with limes, are ample and straight, so well paved with a kind of pebble, that I have not seen a neater town in France. In fine, this city was by Francis I. esteemed the most agreeable of his vast dominions. 28th April, 1644. Taking boat on the Loire, I went toward Blois, the passage and river being both very pleasant. Passing Mehun, we dined at Baugenci, and slept at a little town called St. Dieu. Quitting our bark, we hired horses to Blois, by the way of Chambord, a famous house of the King's, built by Francis I. in the middle of a solitary park, full of deer, inclosed with a wall. I was particularly desirous of seeing this palace, from the extravagance of the design, especially the staircase, mentioned by Palladio. It is said that 1800 workmen were constantly employed in this fabric for twelve years: if so, it is wonderful that it was not finished, it being no greater than divers gentlemen's houses in England, both for room and circuit. The carvings are indeed very rich and full. The staircase is devised with four entries, or assents, which cross one another, so that though four persons meet, they never come in sight, but by small loopholes, till they land. It consists of 274 steps (as I remember), and is an extraordinary work, but of far greater expense than use or beauty. The chimneys of the house appear like so many towers. About the whole is a large deep moat. The country about is full of corn, and wine, with many fair noblemen's houses. [Sidenote: BLOIS] We arrived at Blois in the evening. The town is hilly, uneven, and rugged, standing on the side of the Loire, having suburbs joined by a stately stone bridge, on which is a pyramid with an inscription. At the entrance of the castle is a stone statue of Louis XII. on horseback, as large as life, under a Gothic state; and a little below are these words: "Hic ubi natus erat dextro Ludovicus Olympo, Sumpsit honoratâ regia sceptra manu; Felix quæ tanti fulsit Lux nuncia Regis! Gallica non alio principe digna fuit." Under this is a very wide pair of gates, nailed full of wolves and wild-boars' heads. Behind the castle the present Duke Gaston had begun a fair building, through which we walked into a large garden, esteemed for its furniture one of the fairest, especially for simples and exotic plants, in which he takes extraordinary delight. On the right hand is a long gallery full of ancient statues and inscriptions, both of marble and brass; the length, 300 paces, divides the garden into higher and lower ground, having a very noble fountain. There is the portrait of a hart, taken in the forest by Louis XII., which has twenty-four antlers on its head. In the Collegiate Church of St. Savior, we saw many sepulchres of the Earls of Blois. On Sunday, being May-day, we walked up into Pall Mall, very long, and so noble shaded with tall trees (being in the midst of a great wood), that unless that of Tours, I had not seen a statelier. From hence, we proceeded with a friend of mine through the adjoining forest, to see if we could meet any wolves, which are here in such numbers that they often come and take children out of the very streets; yet will not the Duke, who is sovereign here, permit them to be destroyed. We walked five or six miles outright; but met with none; yet a gentleman, who was resting himself under a tree, with his horse grazing by him, told us that half an hour before, two wolves had set upon his horse, and had in probability devoured him, but for a dog which lay by him. At a little village at the end of this wood, we ate excellent cream, and visited a castle builded on a very steep cliff. Blois is a town where the language is exactly spoken; the inhabitants very courteous; the air so good, that it is the ordinary nursery of the King's children. The people are so ingenious, that, for goldsmith's work and watches, no place in France affords the like. The pastures by the river are very rich and pleasant. 2d May, 1644. We took boat again, passing by Charmont, a proud castle on the left hand; before it is a sweet island, deliciously shaded with tall trees. A little distance from hence, we went on shore at Amboise, a very agreeable village, built of stone, and the houses covered with blue slate, as the towns on the Loire generally are; but the castle chiefly invited us, the thickness of whose towers from the river to the top, was admirable. We entered by the drawbridge, which has an invention to let one fall, if not premonished. It is full of halls and spacious chambers, and one staircase is large enough, and sufficiently commodious, to receive a coach, and land it on the very tower, as they told us had been done. There is some artillery in it; but that which is most observable is in the ancient chapel, viz, a stag's head, or branches, hung up by chains, consisting of twenty browantlers, the beam bigger than a man's middle, and of an incredible length. Indeed, it is monstrous, and yet I cannot conceive how it should be artificial they show also the ribs and vertebræ of the same beast; but these might be made of whalebone. Leaving the castle, we passed Mont Louis, a village having no houses above ground but such only as are hewn out of the main rocks of excellent freestone. Here and there the funnel of a chimney appears on the surface among the vineyards which are over them, and in this manner they inhabit the caves, as it were sea-cliffs, on one side of the river for many miles. [Sidenote: TOURS] We now came within sight of Tours, where we were designed for the rest of the time I had resolved to stay in France, the sojournment being so agreeable. Tours is situate on the east side of a hill on the river Loire, having a fair bridge of stone called St. Edme; the streets are very long, straight, spacious, well built, and exceeding clean; the suburbs large and pleasant, joined to the city by another bridge. Both the church and monastery of St. Martin are large, of Gothic building, having four square towers, fair organs, and a stately altar, where they show the bones and ashes of St. Martin, with other relics. The Mall without comparison is the noblest in Europe for length and shade, having seven rows of the tallest and goodliest elms I had ever beheld, the innermost of which do so embrace each other, and at such a height, that nothing can be more solemn and majestical. Here we played a party, or party or two, and then walked about the town walls, built of square stone, filled with earth, and having a moat. No city in France exceeds it in beauty, or delight. 6th May, 1644. We went to St. Gatian, reported to have been built by our countrymen; the dial and clockwork are much esteemed. The church has two handsome towers and spires of stone, and the whole fabric is very noble and venerable. To this joins the palace of the Archbishop, consisting both of old and new building, with many fair rooms, and a fair garden. Here I grew acquainted with one Monsieur Merey, a very good musician. The Archbishop treated me very courteously. We visited divers other churches, chapels, and monasteries for the most part neatly built, and full of pretty paintings, especially the Convent of the Capuchins, which has a prospect over the whole city, and many fair walks. 8th May, 1644. I went to see their manufactures in silk (for in this town they drive a very considerable trade with silk-worms), their pressing and watering the grograms and camlets, with weights of an extraordinary poise, put into a rolling engine. Here I took a master of the language, and studied the tongue very diligently, recreating myself sometimes at the Mall, and sometimes about the town. The house opposite my lodging had been formerly a King's palace; the outside was totally covered with fleur-de-lis, embossed out of the stone. Here Mary de Medicis held her Court, when she was compelled to retire from Paris by the persecution of the great Cardinal. 25th May, 1644. Was the Fête Dieu, and a goodly procession of all the religious orders, the whole streets hung with their best tapestries, and their most precious movables exposed; silks, damasks, velvets, plate, and pictures in abundance; the streets strewed with flowers, and full of pageantry, banners, and bravery. 6th June, 1644. I went by water to visit that goodly and venerable Abbey of Marmoutiers, being one of the greatest in the kingdom; to it is a very ample church of stone, with a very high pyramid. Among other relics the Monks showed us is the Holy Ampoulle, the same with that which sacres their Kings at Rheims, this being the one that anointed Henry IV. Ascending many steps, we went into the Abbot's Palace, where we were showed a vast tun (as big as that at Heidelberg), which they report St. Martin (as I remember) filled from one cluster of grapes growing there. 7th June, 1644. We walked about two miles from the city to an agreeable solitude, called Du Plessis, a house belonging to the King. It has many pretty gardens, full of nightingales; and, in the chapel, lies buried the famous poet, Ronsard. Returning, we stepped into a Convent of Franciscans, called St. Cosmo, where the cloister is painted with the miracles of their St. Francis à Paula, whose ashes lie in their chapel, with this inscription: "_Corpus Sancti Fran. à Paula 1507, 13 Aprilis, concrematur verò ab Hæreticis anno 1562, cujus quidem ossa et cineres hìc jacent_." The tomb has four small pyramids of marble at each corner. 9th June, 1644. I was invited to a vineyard, which was so artificially planted and supported with arched poles, that stooping down one might see from end to end, a very great length, under the vines, the bunches hanging down in abundance. 20th June, 1644. We took horse to see certain natural caves, called Gouttière, near Colombière, where there is a spring within the bowels of the earth, very deep and so excessive cold, that the drops meeting with some lapidescent matter, it converts them into a hard stone, which hangs about it like icicles, having many others in the form of comfitures and sugar plums, as we call them. Near this, we went under the ground almost two furlongs, lighted with candles, to see the source and spring which serves the whole city, by a passage cut through the main rock of freestone. 28th June, 1644. I went to see the palace and gardens of Chevereux, a sweet place. 30th June, 1644. I walked through the vineyards as far as Roche Corbé, to the ruins of an old and very strong castle, said to have been built by the English, of great height, on the precipice of a dreadful cliff, from whence the country and river yield a most incomparable prospect. 27th July, 1644. I heard excellent music at the Jesuits, who have here a school and convent, but a mean chapel. We have now store of those admirable melons, so much celebrated in France for the best in the kingdom. 1st August, 1644. My valet, one Garro, a Spaniard, born in Biscao, having misbehaved, I was forced to discharge him; he demanded of me (besides his wages) no less than 100 crowns to carry him to his country; refusing to pay it, as no part of our agreement, he had the impudence to arrest me; the next day I was to appear in Court, where both our avocats pleaded before the Lieutenant Civil; but it was so unreasonable a pretense, that the Judge had not patience to hear it out. The Judge immediately acquitted me, after he had reproached the avocat who took part with my servant, he rose from the Bench, and making a courteous excuse to me, that being a stranger I should be so used, he conducted me through the court to the street-door. This varlet afterward threatened to pistol me. The next day, I waited on the Lieutenant, to thank him for his great civility. 18th August, 1644. The Queen of England came to Tours, having newly arrived in France, and going for Paris. She was very nobly received by the people and clergy, who went to meet her with the trained bands. After the harangue, the Archbishop entertained her at his Palace, where I paid my duty to her. The 20th she set forward to Paris. 8th September, 1644. Two of my kinsmen came from Paris to this place, where I settled them in their pension and exercises. 14th September, 1644. We took post for Richelieu, passing by l'Isle Bouchard, a village in the way. The next day, we arrived, and went to see the Cardinal's Palace, near it. The town is built in a low, marshy ground, having a narrow river cut by hand, very even and straight, capable of bringing up a small vessel. It consists of only one considerable street, the houses on both sides (as indeed throughout the town) built exactly uniform, after a modern handsome design. It has a large goodly market house and place, opposite to which is the church built of freestone, having two pyramids of stone, which stand hollow from the towers. The church is well built, and of a well-ordered architecture, within handsomely paved and adorned. To this place belongs an Academy, where, besides the exercise of the horse, arms, dancing, etc., all the sciences are taught in the vulgar French by professors stipendiated by the great Cardinal, who by this, the cheap living there, and divers privileges, not only designed the improvement of the vulgar language, but to draw people and strangers to the town; but since the Cardinal's death, it is thinly inhabited; standing so much out of the way, and in a place not well situated for health, or pleasure. He was allured to build by the name of the place, and an old house there belonging to his ancestors. This pretty town is handsomely walled about and moated, with a kind of slight fortification, two fair gates and drawbridges. Before the gate, toward the palace, is a spacious circle, where the fair is annually kept. About a flight-shot from the town is the Cardinal's house, a princely pile, though on an old design, not altogether Gothic, but mixed, and environed by a clear moat. The rooms are stately, most richly furnished with tissue, damask, arras, and velvet, pictures, statues, vases, and all sorts of antiquities, especially the Cæsars, in oriental alabaster. The long gallery is painted with the famous acts of the Founder; the roof with the life of Julius Cæsar; at the end of it is a cupola, or singing theatre, supported by very stately pillars of black marble. The chapel anciently belonged to the family of the Founder. The court is very ample. The gardens without are very large, and the parterres of excellent embroidery, set with many statues of brass and marble; the groves, meadows, and walks are a real Paradise. 16th September, 1644. We returned to Tours, from whence, after nineteen weeks' sojourn, we traveled toward the more southern part of France, minding now to shape my course so, as I might winter in Italy. With my friend, Mr. Thicknesse, and our guide, we went the first day seven leagues to a castle called Chenonceau, built by Catherine de Medicis, and now belonging to the Duke de Vendôme, standing on a bridge. In the gallery, among divers other excellent statues, is that of Scipio Africanus, of oriental alabaster. [Sidenote: BOURGES] 21st September, 1644. We passed by Villefranche, where we dined, and so by Muneton, lying at Viaron-au-mouton, which was twenty leagues. The next day by Murg to Bourges, four leagues, where we spent the day. This is the capital of Berry, an University much frequented by the Dutch, situated on the river Eure. It stands high, is strong, and well placed for defense; is environed with meadows and vines, and the living here is very cheap. In the suburbs of St. Privé, there is a fountain of sharp water which they report wholesome against the stone. They showed us a vast tree which they say stands in the center of France. The French tongue is spoken with great purity in this place. St. Stephen's church is the cathedral, well built _à la Gothique_, full of sepulchres without-side, with the representation of the final Judgment over one of the ports. Here they show the chapel of Claude de la Chastre, a famous soldier who had served six kings of France in their wars. St. Chapelle is built much like that at Paris, full of relics, and containing the bones of one Briat, a giant of fifteen cubits high. It was erected by John, Duke of Berry, and there is showed the coronet of the dukedom. The great tower is a Pharos for defense of the town, very strong, in thickness eighteen feet, fortified with graffs and works; there is a garrison in it, and a strange engine for throwing great stones, and the iron cage where Louis, Duke of Orleans, was kept by Charles VIII. Near the Town-house stands the College of Jesuits, where was heretofore an Amphitheater. I was courteously entertained by a Jesuit, who had us into the garden, where we fell into disputation. The house of Jaques Coeur is worth seeing. Bourges is an Archbishopric and Primacy of Aquitaine. I took my leave of Mr. Nicholas, and some other English there; and, on the 23d, proceeded on my journey by Pont du Charge; and lay that evening at Coulaiure, thirteen leagues. 24th September, 1644. By Franchesse, St. Menoux, thence to Moulins, where we dined. This is the chief town of the Bourbonnois, on the river Allier, very navigable. The streets are fair; the castle has a noble prospect, and has been the seat of the Dukes. Here is a pretty park and garden. After dinner, came many who offered knives and scissors to sell; it being a town famous for these trifles. This Duchy of Bourbon is ordinarily assigned for the dowry of the Queens of France. Hence, we took horse for Varennes, an obscure village, where we lay that night. The next day, we went somewhat out of the way to see the town of Bourbon l'Archambaut, from whose ancient and rugged castle is derived the name of the present Royal Family of France. The castle stands on a flinty rock, overlooking the town. In the midst of the streets are some baths of medicinal waters, some of them excessive hot, but nothing so neatly walled and adorned as ours in Somersetshire; and indeed they are chiefly used to drink of, our Queen being then lodged there for that purpose. After dinner, I went to see the St. Chapelle, a prime place of devotion, where is kept one of the thorns of our Savior's crown, and a piece of the real cross; excellent paintings on glass, and some few statues of stone and wood, which they show for curiosities. Hence, we went forward to La Palise, a village that lodged us that night. 26th September, 1644. We arrived at Roane, where we quitted our guide, and took post for Lyons. Roane seemed to me one of the pleasantest and most agreeable places imaginable, for a retired person: for, besides the situation on the Loire, there are excellent provisions cheap and abundant. It being late when we left this town, we rode no further than Tarare that night (passing St. Saforin), a little desolate village in a valley near a pleasant stream, encompassed with fresh meadows and vineyards. The hills which we rode over before we descended, and afterward, on the Lyons side of this place, are high and mountainous; fir and pines growing frequently on them. The air methought was much altered as well as the manner of the houses, which are built flatter, more after the eastern manner. Before I went to bed, I took a landscape of this pleasant terrace. There followed a most violent tempest of thunder and lightning. [Sidenote: LYONS] 27th September, 1644. We rode by Pont Charu to Lyons, which being but six leagues we soon accomplished, having made eighty-five leagues from Tours in seven days. Here at the Golden Lion, rue de Flandre, I met divers of my acquaintance, who, coming from Paris, were designed for Italy. We lost no time in seeing the city, because of being ready to accompany these gentlemen in their journey. Lyons is excellently situated on the confluence of the rivers Soane and Rhone, which wash the walls of the city in a very rapid stream; each of these has its bridge; that over the Rhone consists of twenty-eight arches. The two high cliffs, called St. Just and St. Sebastian, are very stately; on one of them stands a strong fort, garrisoned. We visited the cathedral, St. Jean, where was one of the fairest clocks for art and busy invention I had ever seen. The fabric of the church is gothic, as are likewise those of St. Etienne and St. Croix. From the top of one of the towers of St. Jean (for it has four) we beheld the whole city and country, with a prospect reaching to the Alps, many leagues distant. The Archbishop's palace is fairly built. The church of St. Nisier is the greatest; that of the Jacobins is well built. Here are divers other fine churches and very noble buildings we had not time to visit, only that of the Charité, or great hospital for poor, infirm people, entertaining about 1,500 souls, with a school, granary, gardens, and all conveniences, maintained at a wonderful expense, worthy seeing. The place of the _Belle Cour_ is very spacious, observable for the view it affords, so various and agreeable, of hills, rocks, vineyards, gardens, precipices, and other extravagant and incomparable advantages presenting themselves together. The Pall Mall is set with fair trees. In fine, this stately, clean, and noble city, built all of stone, abounds in persons of quality and rich merchants: those of Florence obtaining great privileges above the rest. In the Town-house, they show two tables of brass, on which is engraven Claudius's speech, pronounced to the Senate, concerning the franchising of the town, with the Roman privileges. There are also other antiquities. 30th September, 1644. We bargained with a waterman to carry us to Avignon on the river, and got the first night to Vienne, in Dauphiné. This is an Archbishopric, and the province gives title to the heir-apparent of France. Here we supped and lay, having among other dainties, a dish of truffles, which is a certain earth-nut, found out by a hog trained to it, and for which those animals are sold at a great price. It is in truth an incomparable meat. We were shown the ruins of an amphitheatre, pretty entire; and many handsome palaces, especially that of Pontius Pilate, not far from the town, at the foot of a solitary mountain, near the river, having four pinnacles. Here it is reported he passed his exile, and precipitated himself into the lake not far from it. The house is modern, and seems to be the seat of some gentleman; being in a very pleasant, though melancholy place. The cathedral of Vienne is St. Maurice; and there are many other pretty buildings, but nothing more so, than the mills where they hammer and polish the sword blades. Hence, the next morning we swam (for the river here is so rapid that the boat was only steered) to a small village called Thein, where we dined. Over against this is another town, named Tournon, where is a very strong castle under a high precipice. To the castle joins the Jesuits' College, who have a fair library. The prospect was so tempting, that I could not forbear designing it with my crayon. We then came to Valence, a capital city carrying the title of a Duchy; but the Bishop is now sole Lord temporal of it, and the country about it. The town having a University famous for the study of the civil law, is much frequented; but the churches are none of the fairest, having been greatly defaced in the time of the wars. The streets are full of pretty fountains. The citadel is strong and garrisoned. Here we passed the night, and the next morning by Pont St. Esprit, which consists of twenty-two arches; in the piers of the arches are windows, as it were, to receive the water when it is high and full. Here we went on shore, it being very dangerous to pass the bridge in a boat. [Sidenote: AVIGNON] Hence, leaving our barge, we took horse, seeing at a distance the town and principality of Orange; and, lodging one night on the way, we arrived at noon at Avignon. This town has belonged to the Popes ever since the time of Clement V.; being, in 1352, alienated by Jane, Queen of Naples and Sicily. Entering the gates, the soldiers at the guard took our pistols and carbines, and examined us very strictly; after that, having obtained the Governor's and the Vice-Legate's leave to tarry three days, we were civilly conducted to our lodging. The city is on the Rhone, and divided from the newer part, or town, which is on the other side of the river, by a very fair stone bridge (which has been broken); at one end is a very high rock, on which is a strong castle well furnished with artillery. The walls of the city are of large, square freestone, the most neat and best in repair I ever saw. It is full of well-built palaces; those of the Vice-Legate and Archbishop being the most magnificent. There are many sumptuous churches, especially that of St. Magdalene and St. Martial, wherein the tomb of the Cardinal d'Amboise is the most observable. Clement VI. lies buried in that of the Celestines, the altar whereof is exceedingly rich: but for nothing I more admired it than the tomb of Madonna Laura, the celebrated mistress of Petrarch. We saw the Arsenal, the Pope's palace, and the Synagogue of the Jews, who here are distinguished by their red hats. Vaucluse, so much renowned for the solitude of Petrarch, we beheld from the castle; but could not go to visit it for want of time, being now taking mules and a guide for Marseilles. We lay at Loumas; the next morning, came to Aix, having passed that extremely rapid and dangerous river of Durance. In this tract, all the heaths, or commons, are covered with rosemary, lavender, lentiscus, and the like sweet shrubs, for many miles together; which to me was very pleasant. Aix is the chief city of Provence, being a Parliament and Presidential town, with other royal Courts and Metropolitan jurisdiction. It is well built, the houses very high, and the streets ample. The Cathedral, St. Savior's, is a noble pile adorned with innumerable figures; especially that of St. Michael; the Baptisterie, the Palace, the Court, built in a most spacious piazza, are very fair. The Duke of Guise's house is worth seeing, being furnished with many antiquities in and about it. The Jesuits have here a royal College, and the City is a University. 7th October, 1644. We had a most delicious journey to Marseilles, through a country sweetly declining to the south and Mediterranean coasts, full of vineyards and olive-yards, orange trees, myrtles, pomegranates, and the like sweet plantations, to which belong pleasantly-situated villas to the number of above 1,500, built all of freestone, and in prospect showing as if they were so many heaps of snow dropped out of the clouds among those perennial greens. It was almost at the shutting of the gates that we arrived. Marseilles is on the sea-coast, on a pleasant rising ground, well walled, with an excellent port for ships and galleys, secured by a huge chain of iron drawn across the harbor at pleasure; and there is a well-fortified tower with three other forts, especially that built on a rock; but the castle commanding the city is that of Notre Dame de la Garde. In the chapel hung up are divers crocodiles' skins. We went then to visit the galleys, being about twenty-five in number; the Capitaine of the Galley Royal gave us most courteous entertainment in his cabin, the slaves in the interim playing both loud and soft music very rarely. Then he showed us how he commanded their motions with a nod, and his whistle making them row out. The spectacle was to me new and strange, to see so many hundreds of miserably naked persons, their heads being shaven close, and having only high red bonnets, a pair of coarse canvas drawers, their whole backs and legs naked, doubly chained about their middle and legs, in couples, and made fast to their seats, and all commanded in a trice by an imperious and cruel seaman. One Turk among the rest he much favored, who waited on him in his cabin, but with no other dress than the rest, and a chain locked about his leg, but not coupled. This galley was richly carved and gilded, and most of the rest were very beautiful. After bestowing something on the slaves, the capitaine sent a band of them to give us music at dinner where we lodged. I was amazed to contemplate how these miserable caitiffs lie in their galley crowded together; yet there was hardly one but had some occupation, by which, as leisure and calms permitted, they got some little money, insomuch as some of them have, after many years of cruel servitude, been able to purchase their liberty. The rising-forward and falling-back at their oar, is a miserable spectacle, and the noise of their chains, with the roaring of the beaten waters, has something of strange and fearful in it to one unaccustomed to it. They are ruled and chastised by strokes on their backs and soles of their feet, on the least disorder, and without the least humanity, yet are they cheerful and full of knavery. After dinner, we saw the church of St. Victoire, where is that saint's head in a shrine of silver, which weighs 600 pounds. Thence to Notre Dame, exceedingly well built, which is the cathedral. Thence to the Duke of Guise's Palace, the Palace of Justice, and the Maison du Roi; but nothing is more strange than the great number of slaves working in the streets, and carrying burdens, with their confused noises, and jingling of their huge chains. The chief trade of the town is in silks and drugs out of Africa, Syria, and Egypt, and Barbary horses, which are brought hither in great numbers. The town is governed by four captains, has three consuls, and one assessor, three judges royal; the merchants have a judge for ordinary causes. Here we bought umbrellas against the heats, and consulted of our journey to Cannes by land, for fear of the Picaroon Turks, who make prize of any small vessels about these parts; we not finding a galley bound for Genoa, whither we were designed. [Sidenote: PERIGUEUX] 9th October, 1644. We took mules, passing the first night very late in sight of St. Baume, and the solitary grot where they affirmed Mary Magdalen did her penance. The next day, we lay at Perigueux, a city built on an old foundation; witness the ruins of a most stately amphitheatre, which I went out to design, being about a flight-shot from the town; they call it now the Rolsies. There is also a strong tower near the town, called the Visone, but the town and city are at some distance from each other. It is a bishopric; has a cathedral with divers noblemen's houses in sight of the sea. The place was formerly called Forum Julij, well known by antiquaries. 10th October, 1644. We proceeded by the ruins of a stately aqueduct. The soil about the country is rocky, full of pines and rare simples. 11th October, 1644. We lay at Cannes, which is a small port on the Mediterranean; here we agreed with a seaman to carry us to Genoa, and, having procured a bill of health (without which there is no admission at any town in Italy), we embarked on the 12th. We touched at the islands of St. Margaret and St. Honore, lately retaken from the Spaniards with great bravery by Prince Harcourt. Here, having paid some small duty, we bought some trifles offered us by the soldiers, but without going on shore. Hence, we coasted within two leagues of Antibes, which is the utmost town in France. Thence by Nice, a city in Savoy, built all of brick, which gives it a very pleasant appearance toward the sea, having a very high castle which commands it. We sailed by Morgus, now called Monaco, having passed Villa Franca, heretofore Portus Herculis, when, arriving after the gates were shut, we were forced to abide all night in the barge, which was put into the haven, the wind coming contrary. In the morning, we were hastened away, having no time permitted us by our avaricious master to go up and see this strong and considerable place, which now belongs to a prince of the family of Grimaldi, of Genoa, who has put both it and himself under the protection of the French. The situation is on a promontory of solid stone and rock. The town walls very fair. We were told that within it was an ample court, and a palace, furnished with the most rich and princely movables, and a collection of statues, pictures, and massy plate to an immense amount. [Sidenote: SAVONA] We sailed by Menton and Ventimiglia, being the first city of the republic of Genoa; supped at Oneglia, where we anchored and lay on shore. The next morning, we coasted in view of the Isle of Corsica, and St. Remo, where the shore is furnished with evergreens, oranges, citrons, and date trees; we lay at Port Mauritio. The next morning by Diano, Araisso, famous for the best coral fishing, growing in abundance on the rocks, deep and continually covered by the sea. By Albenga and Finale, a very fair and strong town belonging to the King of Spain, for which reason a monsieur in our vessel was extremely afraid, as was the patron of our bark, for they frequently catch French prizes as they creep by these shores to go into Italy; he therefore plied both sails and oars, to get under the protection of a Genoese galley that passed not far before us, and in whose company we sailed as far as the Cape of Savona, a town built at the rise of the Apennines: for all this coast (except a little of St. Remo) is a high and steep mountainous ground, consisting all of rock-marble, without any grass, tree, or rivage, formidable to look on. A strange object it is, to consider how some poor cottages stand fast on the declivities of these precipices, and by what steps the inhabitants ascend to them. The rock consists of all sorts of the most precious marbles. Here, on the 15th, forsaking our galley, we encountered a little foul weather, which made us creep _terra, terra_, as they call it, and so a vessel that encountered us advised us to do; but our patron, striving to double the point of Savona, making out into the wind put us into great hazard; for blowing very hard from land between those horrid gaps of the mountains, it set so violently, as raised on the sudden so great a sea, that we could not recover the weather-shore for many hours, insomuch that, what with the water already entered, and the confusion of fearful passengers (of which one was an Irish bishop, and his brother, a priest, were confessing some as at the article of death), we were almost abandoned to despair, our pilot himself giving us up for lost. And now, as we were weary with pumping and laving out the water, almost sinking, it pleased God on the sudden to appease the wind, and with much ado and great peril we recovered the shore, which we now kept in view within half a league in sight of those pleasant villas, and within scent of those fragrant orchards which are on this coast, full of princely retirements for the sumptuousness of their buildings, and nobleness of the plantations, especially those at St. Pietro d'Arena; from whence, the wind blowing as it did, might perfectly be smelt the peculiar joys of Italy in the perfumes of orange, citron, and jasmine flowers, for divers leagues seaward.[19] [Footnote 19: Evelyn seems to have been much enchanted by the fragrancy of the air of this coast, for he has noticed it again in his dedication of the "Fumifugium," to Charles the Second.] [Sidenote: GENOA] 16th October, 1644. We got to anchor under the Pharos, or watch-tower, built on a high rock at the mouth of the Mole of Genoa, the weather being still so foul that for two hours at least we durst not stand into the haven. Toward evening we adventured, and came on shore by the Prattique-house, where, after strict examination by the Syndics, we were had to the Ducal Palace, and there our names being taken, we were conducted to our inn, kept by one Zacharias, an Englishman. I shall never forget a story of our host Zachary, who, on the relation of our peril, told us another of his own, being shipwrecked, as he affirmed solemnly, in the middle of a great sea somewhere in the West Indies, that he swam no less than twenty-two leagues to another island, with a tinderbox wrapped up in his hair, which was not so much as wet all the way; that picking up the carpenter's tools with other provisions in a chest, he and the carpenter, who accompanied him (good swimmers it seems both), floated the chest before them; and, arriving at last in a place full of wood, they built another vessel, and so escaped! After this story, we no more talked of our danger; Zachary put us quite down. 17th October, 1644. Accompanied by a most courteous marchand, called Tomson, we went to view the rarities. The city is built in the hollow or bosom of a mountain, whose ascent is very steep, high, and rocky, so that, from the Lantern and Mole to the hill, it represents the shape of a theater; the streets and buildings so ranged one above another, as our seats are in the playhouses; but, from their materials, beauty, and structure, never was an artificial scene more beautiful to the eye, nor is any place, for the size of it, so full of well-designed and stately palaces, as may be easily concluded by that rare book in a large folio which the great virtuoso and painter, Paul Rubens, has published, though it contains [the description of] only one street and two or three churches. The first palace we went to visit was that of Hieronymo del Negros, to which we passed by boat across the harbor. Here I could not but observe the sudden and devilish passion of a seaman, who plying us was intercepted by another fellow, that interposed his boat before him and took us in; for the tears gushing out of his eyes, he put his finger in his mouth and almost bit it off by the joint, showing it to his antagonist as an assurance to him of some bloody revenge, if ever he came near that part of the harbor again. Indeed this beautiful city is more stained with such horrid acts of revenge and murders, than any one place in Europe, or haply in the world, where there is a political government, which makes it unsafe to strangers. It is made a galley matter to carry a knife whose point is not broken off. This palace of Negros is richly furnished with the rarest pictures; on the terrace, or hilly garden, there is a grove of stately trees, among which are sheep, shepherds, and wild beasts, cut very artificially in a gray stone; fountains, rocks, and fish ponds; casting your eyes one way, you would imagine yourself in a wilderness and silent country; sideways, in the heart of a great city; and backward, in the midst of the sea. All this is within one acre of ground. In the house, I noticed those red-plaster floors which are made so hard, and kept so polished, that for some time one would take them for whole pieces of porphyry. I have frequently wondered that we never practiced this [art] in England for cabinets and rooms of state, for it appears to me beyond any invention of that kind; but by their carefully covering them with canvass and fine mattresses, where there is much passage, I suppose they are not lasting there in glory, and haply they are often repaired. There are numerous other palaces of particular curiosities, for the marchands being very rich, have, like our neighbors, the Hollanders, little or no extent of ground to employ their estates in; as those in pictures and hangings, so these lay it out on marble houses and rich furniture. One of the greatest here for circuit is that of the Prince Doria, which reaches from the sea to the summit of the mountains. The house is most magnificently built without, nor less gloriously furnished within, having whole tables and bedsteads of massy silver, many of them set with agates, onyxes, cornelians, lazulis, pearls, torquoises, and other precious stones. The pictures and statues are innumerable. To this palace belong three gardens, the first whereof is beautified with a terrace, supported by pillars of marble; there is a fountain of eagles, and one of Neptune, with other sea-gods, all of the purest white marble; they stand in a most ample basin of the same stone. At the side of this garden is such an aviary as Sir Francis Bacon describes in his "_Sermones Fidelium_," or "Essays," wherein grow trees of more than two feet diameter, besides cypress, myrtles, lentiscuses, and other rare shrubs, which serve to nestle and perch all sorts of birds, who have air and place enough under their airy canopy, supported with huge iron work, stupendous for its fabric and the charge. The other two gardens are full of orange trees, citrons, and pomegranates, fountains, grots, and statues. One of the latter is a colossal Jupiter, under which is the sepulchre of a beloved dog, for the care of which one of this family received of the King of Spain 500 crowns a year, during the life of that faithful animal. The reservoir of water here is a most admirable piece of art; and so is the grotto over against it. We went hence to the Palace of the Dukes, where is also the Court of Justice; thence to the Merchant's Walk, rarely covered. Near the Ducal Palace we saw the public armory, which was almost all new, most neatly kept and ordered, sufficient for 30,000 men. We were showed many rare inventions and engines of war peculiar to that armory, as in the state when guns were first put in use. The garrison of the town chiefly consists of Germans and Corsicans. The famous Strada Nova, built wholly of polished marble, was designed by Rubens, and for stateliness of the buildings, paving, and evenness of the street, is far superior to any in Europe, for the number of houses; that of Don Carlo Doria is a most magnificent structure. In the gardens of the old Marquis Spinola, I saw huge citrons hanging on the trees, applied like our apricots to the walls. The churches are no less splendid than the palaces; that of St. Francis is wholly built of Parian marble; St. Laurence, in the middle of the city, of white and black polished stone, the inside wholly incrusted with marble and other precious materials; on the altar of St. John stand four sumptuous columns of porphyry; and here we were showed an emerald, supposed to be one of the largest in the world. The church of St. Ambrosio, belonging to the Jesuits, will, when finished, exceed all the rest; and that of the Annunciada, founded at the charges of one family, in the present and future design can never be outdone for cost and art. From the churches we walked to the Mole, a work of solid huge stone, stretching itself near 600 paces into the main sea, and secures the harbor, heretofore of no safety. Of all the wonders of Italy, for the art and nature of the design, nothing parallels this. We passed over to the Pharos, or Lantern, a tower of very great height. Here we took horses, and made the circuit of the city as far as the new walls, built of a prodigious height, and with Herculean industry; witness those vast pieces of whole mountains which they have hewn away, and blown up with gunpowder, to render them steep and inaccessible. They are not much less than twenty English miles in extent, reaching beyond the utmost buildings of the city. From one of these promontories we could easily discern the island of Corsica; and from the same, eastward, we saw a vale having a great torrent running through a most desolate barren country; and then turning our eyes more northward, saw those delicious villas of St. Pietro d'Arena, which present another Genoa to you, the ravishing retirements of the Genoese nobility. Hence, with much pain, we descended toward the Arsenal, where the galleys lie in excellent order. The inhabitants of the city are much affected to the Spanish mode and stately garb. From the narrowness of the streets, they use sedans and litters, and not coaches. 19th October, 1644. We embarked in a felucca for Livorno, or Leghorn; but the sea running very high, we put in at Porto Venere, which we made with peril, between two narrow horrid rocks, against which the sea dashed with great velocity; but we were soon delivered into as great a calm and a most ample harbor, being in the Golfo di Spetia. From hence, we could see Pliny's Delphini Promontorium, now called Capo fino. Here stood that famous city of Luna, whence the port was named Lunaris, being about two leagues over, more resembling a lake than a haven, but defended by castles and excessive high mountains. We landed at Lerici, where, being Sunday, was a great procession, carrying the Sacrament about the streets in solemn devotion. After dinner we took post-horses, passing through whole groves of olive trees, the way somewhat rugged and hilly at first, but afterward pleasant. Thus we passed through the towns of Sarzana and Massa, and the vast marble quarries of Carrara, and lodged in an obscure inn, at a place called Viregio. The next morning we arrived at Pisa, where I met my old friend, Mr. Thomas Henshaw, who was then newly come out of Spain, and from whose company I never parted till more than a year after. The city of Pisa is as much worth seeing as any in Italy; it has contended with Rome, Florence, Sardinia, Sicily, and even Carthage. The palace and church of St. Stefano (where the order of knighthood called by that name was instituted) drew first our curiosity, the outside thereof being altogether of polished marble; within, it is full of tables relating to this Order; over which hang divers banners and pendants, with other trophies taken by them from the Turks, against whom they are particularly obliged to fight; though a religious order, they are permitted to marry. At the front of the palace stands a fountain, and the statue of the great Duke Cosmo. The Campanile, or Settezonio, built by John Venipont, a German, consists of several orders of pillars, thirty in a row, designed to be much higher. It stands alone on the right side of the cathedral, strangely remarkable for this, that the beholder would expect it to fall, being built exceedingly declining, by a rare address of the architect; and how it is supported from falling I think would puzzle a good geometrician. The Duomo, or Cathedral, standing near it, is a superb structure, beautified with six columns of great antiquity; the gates are of brass, of admirable workmanship. The cemetery called Campo Santo is made of divers galley ladings of earth formerly brought from Jerusalem, said to be of such a nature, as to consume dead bodies in forty hours. 'Tis cloistered with marble arches; and here lies buried the learned Philip Decius, who taught in this University. At one side of this church stands an ample and well-wrought marble vessel, which heretofore contained the tribute paid yearly by the city to Cæsar. It is placed, as I remember, on a pillar of opal stone, with divers other antique urns. Near this, and in the same field, is the Baptistery of San Giovanni, built of pure white marble, and covered with so artificial a cupola, that the voice uttered under it seems to break out of a cloud. The font and pulpit, supported by four lions, is of inestimable value for the preciousness of the materials. The place where these buildings stand they call the AREA. Hence, we went to the College, to which joins a gallery so furnished with natural rarities, stones, minerals, shells, dried animals, skeletons, etc., as is hardly to be seen in Italy. To this the Physic Garden lies, where is a noble palm tree, and very fine waterworks. The river Arno runs through the middle of this stately city, whence the main street is named Lung 'Arno. It is so ample that the Duke's galleys, built in the arsenal here, are easily conveyed to Livorno; over the river is an arch, the like of which, for its flatness, and serving for a bridge, is nowhere in Europe. The Duke has a stately Palace, before which is placed the statue of Ferdinand the Third; over against it is the Exchange, built of marble. Since this city came to be under the Dukes of Tuscany, it has been much depopulated, though there is hardly in Italy any which exceeds it for stately edifices. The situation of it is low and flat; but the inhabitants have spacious gardens, and even fields within the walls. [Sidenote: LIVORNO] 21st October, 1644. We took coach to Livorno, through the Great Duke's new park full of huge cork trees, the underwood all myrtles, among which were many buffaloes feeding, a kind of wild ox, short nose with horns reversed; those who work with them command them, as our bearwards do the bears, with a ring through the nose, and a cord. Much of this park, as well as a great part of the country about it, is very fenny, and the air very bad. Leghorn is the prime port belonging to all the Duke's territories; heretofore a very obscure town, but since Duke Ferdinand has strongly fortified it (after the modern way), drained the marshes by cutting a channel thence to Pisa navigable sixteen miles, and has raised a Mole, emulating that at Genoa, to secure the shipping, it is become a place of great receipt; it has also a place for the galleys, where they lie safe. Before the sea is an ample piazza for the market, where are the statues in copper of the four slaves, much exceeding the life for proportion, and, in the judgment of most artists, one of the best pieces of modern work. Here, especially in this piazza, is such a concourse of slaves, Turks, Moors, and other nations, that the number and confusion is prodigious; some buying, others selling, others drinking, others playing, some working, others sleeping, fighting, singing, weeping, all nearly naked, and miserably chained. Here was a tent, where any idle fellow might stake his liberty against a few crowns, at dice, or other hazard; and, if he lost, he was immediately chained and led away to the galleys, where he was to serve a term of years, but from whence they seldom returned; many sottish persons, in a drunken bravado, would try their fortune in this way. The houses of this neat town are very uniform, and excellently painted _á fresco_ on the outer walls, with representations of many of their victories over the Turks. The houses, though low on account of the earthquakes which frequently happen here, (as did one during my being in Italy), are very well built; the piazza is very fair and commodious, and, with the church, whose four columns at the portico are of black marble polished, gave the first hint to the building both of the church and piazza in Covent Garden with us, though very imperfectly pursued. [Sidenote: FLORENCE] 22d October, 1644. From Livorno, I took coach to Empoly, where we lay, and the next day arrived at Florence, being recommended to the house of Signor Baritiére, in the Piazza del Spirito Santo, where we were exceedingly well treated. Florence is at the foot of the Apennines, the west part full of stately groves and pleasant meadows, beautified with more than a thousand houses and country palaces of note, belonging to gentlemen of the town. The river Arno runs through the city, in a broad, but very shallow channel, dividing it, as it were, in the middle, and over it are four most sumptuous bridges of stone. On that nearest to our quarter are the four Seasons, in white marble; on another are the goldsmiths' shops; at the head of the former stands a column of ophite, upon which a statue of Justice, with her balance and sword, cut out of porphyry, and the more remarkable for being the first which had been carved out of that hard material, and brought to perfection, after the art had been utterly lost; they say this was done by hardening the tools in the juice of certain herbs. This statue was erected in that corner, because there Cosmo was first saluted with the news of Sienna being taken. Near this is the famous Palazzo di Strozzi, a princely piece of architecture, in a rustic manner. The Palace of Pitti was built by that family, but of late greatly beautified by Cosmo with huge square stones of the Doric, Ionic, and the Corinthian orders, with a terrace at each side having rustic uncut balustrades, with a fountain that ends in a cascade seen from the great gate, and so forming a vista to the gardens. Nothing is more admirable than the vacant staircase, marbles, statues, urns, pictures, court, grotto, and waterworks. In the quadrangle is a huge jetto of water in a volto of four faces, with noble statues at each square, especially the Diana of porphyry above the grotto. We were here shown a prodigious great loadstone. The garden has every variety, hills, dales, rocks, groves, aviaries, vivaries, fountains, especially one of five jettos, the middle basin being one of the longest stones I ever saw. Here is everything to make such a Paradise delightful. In the garden I saw a rose grafted on an orange tree. There was much topiary-work, and columns in architecture about the hedges. The Duke has added an ample laboratory, over against which stands a fort on a hill, where they told us his treasure is kept. In this Palace the Duke ordinarily resides, living with his Swiss guards, after the frugal Italian way, and even selling what he can spare of his wines, at the cellar under his very house, wicker bottles dangling over even the chief entrance into the palace, serving for a vintner's bush. In the Church of Santo Spirito the altar and reliquary are most rich, and full of precious stones; there are four pillars of a kind of serpentine, and some of blue. Hence we went to another Palace of the Duke's, called Palazzo Vecchio, before which is a statue of David, by Michael Angelo, and one of Hercules, killing Cacus, the work of Baccio Bandinelli. The quadrangle about this is of the Corinthian order, and in the hall are many rare marbles, as those of Leo X. and Clement VII., both Popes of the Medicean family; also the acts of Cosmo, in rare painting. In the chapel is kept (as they would make one believe) the original Gospel of St. John, written with his own hand; and the famous Florentine Pandects, and divers precious stones. Near it is another pendent Tower like that of Pisa, always threatening ruin. Under the Court of Justice is a stately arcade for men to walk in, and over that, the shops of divers rare artists who continually work for the great Duke. Above this is that renowned Ceimeliarcha, or repository, wherein are hundreds of admirable antiquities, statues of marble and metal, vases of porphyry, etc.; but among the statues none so famous as the Scipio, the Boar, the Idol of Apollo, brought from the Delphic Temple, and two triumphant columns. Over these hang the pictures of the most famous persons and illustrious men in arts or arms, to the number of 300, taken out of the museum of Paulus Jovius. They then led us into a large square room, in the middle of which stood a cabinet of an octangular form, so adorned and furnished with crystals, agates, and sculptures, as exceeds any description. This cabinet is called the _Tribuna_ and in it is a pearl as big as an hazelnut. The cabinet is of ebony, lazuli, and jasper; over the door is a round of M. Angelo; on the cabinet, Leo X. with other paintings of Raphael, del Sarto, Perugino, and Correggio, viz, a St. John, a Virgin, a Boy, two Apostles, two heads of Durer, rarely carved. Over this cabinet is a globe of ivory, excellently carved; the Labors of Hercules, in massy silver, and many incomparable pictures in small. There is another, which had about it eight Oriental columns of alabaster, on each whereof was placed a head of a Cæsar, covered with a canopy so richly set with precious stones, that they resembled a firmament of stars. Within it was our Savior's Passion, and the twelve Apostles in amber. This cabinet was valued at two hundred thousand crowns. In another, with calcedon pillars, was a series of golden medals. Here is also another rich ebony cabinet cupolaed with a tortoise shell, and containing a collection of gold medals esteemed worth 50,000 crowns; a wreathed pillar of Oriental alabaster, divers paintings of Da Vinci, Pontorno, del Sarto, an _Ecce Homo_ of Titian, a Boy of Bronzini, etc. They showed us a branch of coral fixed on the rock, which they affirm does still grow. In another room, is kept the Tabernacle appointed for the chapel of St. Laurence, about which are placed small statues of Saints, of precious material; a piece of such art and cost, that having been these forty years in perfecting, it is one of the most curious things in the world. Here were divers tables of Pietra Commesso, which is a marble ground inlaid with several sorts of marbles and stones of various colors representing flowers, trees, beasts, birds, and landscapes. In one is represented the town of Leghorn, by the same hand who inlaid the altar of St. Laurence, Domenico Benotti, of whom I purchased nineteen pieces of the same work for a cabinet. In a press near this they showed an iron nail, one half whereof being converted into gold by one Thurnheuser, a German chemist, is looked on as a great rarity; but it plainly appeared to have been soldered together. There is a curious watch, a monstrous turquoise as big as an egg, on which is carved an emperor's head. In the armory are kept many antique habits, as those of Chinese kings; the sword of Charlemagne; Hannibal's headpiece; a loadstone of a yard long, which bears up 86 lbs. weight, in a chain of seventeen links, such as the slaves are tied to. In another room are such rare turneries in ivory, as are not to be described for their curiosity. There is a fair pillar of oriental alabaster; twelve vast and complete services of silver plate, and one of gold, all of excellent workmanship; a rich embroidered saddle of pearls sent by the Emperor to this Duke; and here is that embroidered chair set with precious stones in which he sits, when, on St. John's day, he receives the tribute of the cities. 25th October, 1644. We went to the Portico where the famous statue of Judith and Holofernes stands, also the Medusa, all of copper; but what is most admirable is the Rape of a Sabine, with another man under foot, the confusion and turning of whose limbs is most admirable. It is of one entire marble, the work of John di Bologna, and is most stupendous; this stands directly against the great piazza, where, to adorn one fountain, are erected four marble statues and eight of brass, representing Neptune and his family of sea gods, of a Colossean magnitude, with four sea horses, in Parian marble of Lamedrati, in the midst of a very great basin: a work, I think, hardly to be paralleled. Here is also the famous statue of David, by M. Angelo; Hercules and Cacus, by Baccio Bandinelli; the Perseus, in copper, by Benevento, and the Judith of Donatelli, which stand publicly before the old Palace with the Centaur of Bologna, huge Colossean figures. Near this stand Cosmo di Medicis on horseback, in brass on a pedestal of marble, and four copper bassorelievos by John di Bologna, with divers inscriptions; the Ferdinand the First, on horseback, is of Pietro Tacca. The brazen boar, which serves for another public fountain, is admirable. After dinner, we went to the Church of the Annunciata, where the Duke and his Court were at their devotions, being a place of extraordinary repute for sanctity: for here is a shrine that does great miracles, [proved] by innumerable votive tablets, etc., covering almost the walls of the whole church. This is the image of Gabriel, who saluted the Blessed Virgin, and which the artist finished so well, that he was in despair of performing the Virgin's face so well; whereupon it was miraculously done for him while he slept; but others say it was painted by St. Luke himself. Whoever it was, infinite is the devotion of both sexes to it. The altar is set off with four columns of oriental alabaster, and lighted by thirty great silver lamps. There are innumerable other pictures by rare masters. Our Savior's Passion in brass tables inserted in marble, is the work of John di Bologna and Baccio Bandinelli. To this church joins a convent, whose cloister is painted in _fresco_ very rarely. There is also near it an hospital for 1,000 persons, with nurse-children, and several other charitable accommodations. At the Duke's Cavalerizza, the Prince has a stable of the finest horses of all countries, Arabs, Turks, Barbs, Gennets, English, etc., which are continually exercised in the _manège_. Near this is a place where are kept several wild beasts, as wolves, cats, bears, tigers, and lions. They are loose in a deep walled court, and therefore to be seen with more pleasure than those at the Tower of London, in their grates. One of the lions leaped to a surprising height, to catch a joint of mutton which I caused to be hung down. [Sidenote: SIENNA] [20]There are many plain brick towers erected for defense, when this was a free state. The highest is called the Mangio, standing at the foot of the piazza which we went first to see after our arrival. At the entrance of this tower is a chapel open toward the piazza, of marble well adorned with sculpture. [Footnote 20: There seems to be here an omission in the MS. between their leaving Florence and going to Sienna.] On the other side is the Signoria, or Court of Justice, well built _a la moderna_, of brick; indeed the bricks of Sienna are so well made, that they look almost as well as porphyry itself, having a kind of natural polish. In the Senate-house is a very fair Hall where they sometimes entertain the people with public shows and operas, as they call them. Toward the left are the statues of Romulus and Remus with the wolf, all of brass, placed on a column of ophite stone, which they report was brought from the renowned Ephesian Temple. These ensigns being the arms of the town, are set up in divers of the streets and public ways both within and far without the city. The piazza compasses the facciáta of the court and chapel, and, being made with descending steps, much resembles the figure of an escalop shell. The white ranges of pavement, intermixed with the excellent bricks above mentioned, with which the town is generally well paved, render it very clean. About this market place (for so it is) are many fair palaces, though not built with excess of elegance. There stands an arch, the work of Baltazzar di Sienna, built with wonderful ingenuity, so that it is not easy to conceive how it is supported, yet it has some imperceptible contiguations, which do not betray themselves easily to the eye. On the edge of the piazza is a goodly fountain beautified with statues, the water issuing out of the wolves' mouths, being the work of Jacobo Quercei, a famous artist. There are divers other public fountains in the city, of good design. After this we walked to the Sapienza, which is the University, or rather College, where the high Germans enjoy many particular privileges when they addict themselves to the civil law: and indeed this place has produced many excellent scholars, besides those three Popes, Alexander, Pius II., and III., of that name, the learned Æneas Sylvius; and both were of the ancient house of the Piccolomini. The chief street is called Strada Romana, in which Pius II. has built a most stately palace of square stone, with an incomparable portico joining near to it. The town is commanded by a castle which hath four bastions and a garrison of soldiers. Near it is a list to ride horses in, much frequented by the gallants in summer. Not far from hence is the Church and Convent of the Dominicans, where in the chapel of St. Catherine of Sienna they show her head, the rest of her body being translated to Rome. The Duomo, or Cathedral, both without and within, is of large square stones of black and white marble polished, of inexpressible beauty, as is the front adorned with sculpture and rare statues. In the middle is a stately cupola and two columns of sundry streaked colored marble. About the body of the church, on a cornice within, are inserted the heads of all the Popes. The pulpit is beautified with marble figures, a piece of exquisite work; but what exceeds all description is the pavement, where (besides the various emblems and other figures in the nave) the choir is wrought with the history of the Bible, so artificially expressed in the natural colors of the marbles, that few pictures exceed it. Here stands a Christo, rarely cut in marble, and on the large high altar is a brazen vessel of admirable invention and art. The organs are exceeding sweet and well tuned. On the left side of the altar is the library, where are painted the acts of Æneas Sylvius, and others by Raphael. They showed us an arm of St. John the Baptist, wherewith, they say, he baptized our Savior in Jordan; it was given by the King of Peloponnesus to one of the Popes, as an inscription testifies. They have also St. Peter's sword, with which he smote off the ear of Malchus. Just against the cathedral, we went into the Hospital, where they entertain and refresh for three or four days, gratis, such pilgrims as go to Rome. In the chapel belonging to it lies the body of St. Susorius, their founder, as yet uncorrupted, though dead many hundreds of years. They show one of the nails which pierced our Savior, and Saint Chrysostom's "Comment on the Gospel," written by his own hand. Below the hill stands the pool called Fonte Brande, where fish are fed for pleasure more than food. St. Francis's Church is a large pile, near which, yet a little without the city, grows a tree which they report in their legend grew from the Saint's staff, which, on going to sleep, he fixed in the ground, and at his waking found it had grown a large tree. They affirm that the wood of it in decoction cures sundry diseases. [Sidenote: TORRINIERI] 2d November, 1644. We went from Sienna, desirous of being present at the cavalcade of the new Pope, Innocent X.,[21] who had not yet made the grand procession to St. John di Laterano. We set out by Porto Romano, the country all about the town being rare for hunting and game. Wild boar and venison are frequently sold in the shops in many of the towns about it. We passed near Monte Oliveto, where the monastery of that Order is pleasantly situated, and worth seeing. Passing over a bridge, which, by the inscription, appears to have been built by Prince Matthias, we went through Buon-Convento, famous for the death of the Emperor, Henry VII., who was here poisoned with the Holy Eucharist. Thence, we came to Torrinieri, where we dined. This village is in a sweet valley, in view of Montalcino, famous for the rare Muscatello.[22] After three miles more, we go by St. Quirico, and lay at a private osteria near it, where, after we were provided of lodging, came in Cardinal Donghi, a Genoese by birth, now come from Rome; he was so civil as to entertain us with great respect, hearing we were English, for that, he told us he had been once in our country. Among other discourse, he related how a dove had been seen to sit on the chair in the Conclave at the election of Pope Innocent, which he magnified as a great good omen, with other particulars which we inquired of him, till our suppers parted us. He came in great state with his own bedstead and all the furniture, yet would by no means suffer us to resign the room we had taken up in the lodging before his arrival. Next morning, we rode by Monte Pientio, or, as vulgarly called, Monte Mantumiato, which is of an excessive height, ever and anon peeping above any clouds with its snowy head, till we had climbed to the inn at Radicofani, built by Ferdinand, the great Duke, for the necessary refreshment of travelers in so inhospitable a place. As we ascended, we entered a very thick, solid, and dark body of clouds, looking like rocks at a little distance, which lasted near a mile in going up; they were dry misty vapors, hanging undissolved for a vast thickness, and obscuring both the sun and earth, so that we seemed to be in the sea rather than in the clouds, till, having pierced through it, we came into a most serene heaven, as if we had been above all human conversation, the mountain appearing more like a great island than joined to any other hills; for we could perceive nothing but a sea of thick clouds rolling under our feet like huge waves, every now and then suffering the top of some other mountain to peep through, which we could discover many miles off: and between some breaches of the clouds we could see landscapes and villages of the subjacent country. This was one of the most pleasant, new, and altogether surprising objects that I had ever beheld. [Footnote 21: John Baptista Pamphili, chosen Pope in October, 1644, died in 1655.] [Footnote 22: The wine so called.] On the summit of this horrid rock (for so it is) is built a very strong fort, garrisoned, and somewhat beneath it is a small town; the provisions are drawn up with ropes and engines, the precipice being otherwise inaccessible. At one end of the town lie heaps of rocks so strangely broken off from the ragged mountain, as would affright one with their horror and menacing postures. Just opposite to the inn gushed out a plentiful and most useful fountain which falls into a great trough of stone, bearing the Duke of Tuscany's arms. Here we dined, and I with my black lead pen took the prospect. It is one of the utmost confines of the Etrurian State toward St. Peter's Patrimony, since the gift of Matilda to Gregory VII., as is pretended. Here we pass a stone bridge, built by Pope Gregory XIV., and thence immediately to Acquapendente, a town situated on a very ragged rock, down which precipitates an entire river (which gives it the denomination), with a most horrid roaring noise. We lay at the posthouse, on which is this inscription: "_L'Insegna della Posta, é posta a posta, In questa posta, fin che habbia à sua posta Ogn'un Cavallo a Vetturi in Posta._" Before it was dark, we went to see the Monastery of the Franciscans, famous for six learned Popes, and sundry other great scholars, especially the renowned physician and anatomist, Fabricius de Acquapendente, who was bred and born there. 4th November, 1644. After a little riding, we descended toward the Lake of Bolsena, which being above twenty miles in circuit, yields from hence a most incomparable prospect. Near the middle of it are two small islands, in one of which is a convent of melancholy Capuchins, where those of the Farnesian family are interred. Pliny calls it _Tarquiniensis Lacus_, and talks of divers floating islands about it, but they did not appear to us. The lake is environed with mountains, at one of whose sides we passed toward the town Bolsena, anciently Volsinium, famous in those times, as is testified by divers rare sculptures in the court of St. Christiana's church, the urn, altar, and jasper columns. After seven miles' riding, passing through a wood heretofore sacred to Juno, we came to Montefiascone, the head of the Falisci, a famous people in old time, and heretofore Falernum, as renowned for its excellent wine, as now for the story of the Dutch Bishop, who lies buried in St. Flavian's church with this epitaph: "_Propter Est, Est, dominus meus mortuus est._" Because, having ordered his servant to ride before, and inquire where the best wine was, and there write _Est_, the man found some so good that he wrote _Est, Est_, upon the vessels, and the Bishop drinking too much of it, died. [Sidenote: VITERBO] From Montefiascone, we travel a plain and pleasant champaign to Viterbo, which presents itself with much state afar off, in regard of her many lofty pinnacles and towers; neither does it deceive our expectation; for it is exceedingly beautified with public fountains, especially that at the entrance, which is all of brass and adorned with many rare figures, and salutes the passenger with a most agreeable object and refreshing waters. There are many Popes buried in this city, and in the palace is this odd inscription: "_Osiridis victoriam in Gigantas litteris historiographicis in hoc antiquissimo marmore inscriptam, ex Herculis olim, nunc Divi Laurentij Templo translatam, ad conversanda: vetustiss: patriæ monumenta atq' decora his locandum statuit S.P.Q.V._" Under it: "_Sum Osiris Rex Jupiter universo in terrarum orbe._" "_Sum Osiris Rex qui ab Itala in Gigantes exercitus veni, vidi, et vici._" "_Sum Osiris Rex qui terrarum pacata Italiam decem a'nos quorum inventor fui._" Near the town is a sulphurous fountain, which continually boils. After dinner we took horse by the new way of Capranica, and so passing near Mount Ciminus and the Lake, we began to enter the plains of Rome; at which sight my thoughts were strangely elevated, but soon allayed by so violent a shower, which fell just as we were contemplating that proud Mistress of the world, and descending by the Vatican (for at that gate we entered), that before we got into the city I was wet to the skin. [Sidenote: ROME] I came to Rome on the 4th of November, 1644, about five at night; and being perplexed for a convenient lodging, wandered up and down on horseback, till at last one conducted us to Monsieur Petit's, a Frenchman, near the Piazza Spagnola. Here I alighted, and, having bargained with my host for twenty crowns a month, I caused a good fire to be made in my chamber and went to bed, being so very wet. The next morning (for I was resolved to spend no time idly here) I got acquainted with several persons who had long lived at Rome. I was especially recommended to Father John, a Benedictine monk and Superior of his Order for the English College of Douay, a person of singular learning, religion, and humanity; also to Mr. Patrick Cary, an Abbot, brother to our learned Lord Falkland, a witty young priest, who afterward came over to our church; Dr. Bacon and Dr. Gibbs, physicians who had dependence on Cardinal Caponi, the latter being an excellent poet; Father Courtney, the chief of the Jesuits in the English College; my Lord of Somerset, brother to the Marquis of Worcester; and some others, from whom I received instructions how to behave in town, with directions to masters and books to take in search of the antiquities, churches, collections, etc. Accordingly, the next day, November 6th, I began to be very pragmatical.[23] [Footnote 23: The sense in which Evelyn uses this word is that of its old signification, as being very active and full of business, setting to work systematically with what he came upon, namely, to view the antiquities and beauties of Rome.] In the first place, our sights-man (for so they name certain persons here who get their living by leading strangers about to see the city) went to the Palace Farnese, a magnificent square structure, built by Michael Angelo, of the three orders of columns after the ancient manner, and when architecture was but newly recovered from the Gothic barbarity. The court is square and terraced, having two pairs of stairs which lead to the upper rooms, and conducted us to that famous gallery painted by Augustine Caracci, than which nothing is more rare of that art; so deep and well-studied are all the figures, that it would require more judgment than I confess I had, to determine whether they were flat, or embossed. Thence, we passed into another, painted in chiaroscúro, representing the fabulous history of Hercules. We went out on a terrace, where was a pretty garden on the leads, for it is built in a place that has no extent of ground backward. The great hall is wrought by Salviati and Zuccharo, furnished with statues, one of which being modern is the figure of a Farnese, in a triumphant posture, of white marble, worthy of admiration. Here we were shown the Museum of Fulvius Ursinos, replete with innumerable collections; but the Major-Domo being absent, we could not at this time see all we wished. Descending into the court, we with astonishment contemplated those two incomparable statues of Hercules and Flora, so much celebrated by Pliny, and indeed by all antiquity, as two of the most rare pieces in the world; there likewise stands a modern statue of Hercules and two Gladiators, not to be despised. In a second court was a temporary shelter of boards over the most stupendous and never-to-be-sufficiently-admired Torso of Amphion and Dirce, represented in five figures, exceeding the life in magnitude, of the purest white marble, the contending work of those famous statuaries, Apollonius and Taurisco, in the time of Augustus, hewed out of one entire stone, and remaining unblemished, to be valued beyond all the marbles of the world for its antiquity and workmanship. There are divers other heads and busts. At the entrance of this stately palace stand two rare and vast fountains of garnito stone, brought into this piazza out of Titus's Baths. Here, in summer, the gentlemen of Rome take the FRESCO in their coaches and on foot. At the sides of this court, we visited the palace of Signor Pichini, who has a good collection of antiquities, especially the Adonis of Parian marble, which my Lord Arundel would once have purchased, if a great price would have been taken for it. We went into the CAMPO VACCINO, by the ruins of the Temple of Peace, built by Titus Vespasianus, and thought to be the largest as well as the most richly furnished of all the Roman dedicated places: it is now a heap rather than a temple, yet the roof and _volto_ continue firm, showing it to have been formerly of incomparable workmanship. This goodly structure was, none knows how, consumed by fire the very night, by all computation, that our blessed Savior was born. From hence we passed by the place into which Curtius precipitated himself for the love of his country, now without any sign of a lake, or vorago. Near this stand some columns of white marble, of exquisite work, supposed to be part of the Temple of Jupiter Tonans, built by Augustus; the work of the capitals (being Corinthian) and architrave is excellent, full of sacrificing utensils. There are three other of Jupiter Stator. Opposite to these are the oratories, or churches, of St. Cosmo and Damiano, heretofore the Temples of Romulus; a pretty old fabric, with a tribunal, or tholus within, wrought all of Mosaic. The gates before it are brass, and the whole much obliged to Pope Urban VIII. In this sacred place lie the bodies of those two martyrs; and in a chapel on the right hand is a rare painting of Cavaliere Baglioni. We next entered St. Lorenzo in Miranda. The portico is supported by a range of most stately columns; the inscription cut in the architrave shows it to have been the Temple of Faustina. It is now made a fair church, and has an hospital which joins it. On the same side is St. Adriano, heretofore dedicated to Saturn. Before this was once placed a military column, supposed to be set in the center of the city, from whence they used to compute the distance of all the cities and places of note under the dominion of those universal monarchs. To this church are likewise brazen gates and a noble front; just opposite we saw the heaps and ruins of Cicero's palace. Hence we went toward Mons Capitolinus, at the foot of which stands the arch of Septimus Severus, full and entire, save where the pedestal and some of the lower members are choked up with ruins and earth. This arch is exceedingly enriched with sculpture and trophies, with a large inscription. In the terrestrial and naval battles here graven, is seen the Roman Aries (the battering-ram); and this was the first triumphal arch set up in Rome. The Capitol, to which we climbed by very broad steps, is built about a square court, at the right hand of which, going up from Campo Vaccino, gushes a plentiful stream from the statue of Tiber, in porphyry, very antique, and another representing Rome; but, above all, is the admirable figure of Marforius, casting water into a most ample concha. The front of this court is crowned with an excellent fabric containing the Courts of Justice, and where the Criminal Notary sits, and others. In one of the halls they show the statues of Gregory XIII. and Paul III., with several others. To this joins a handsome tower, the whole faciata adorned with noble statues, both on the outside and on the battlements, ascended by a double pair of stairs, and a stately Posario. In the center of the court stands that incomparable horse bearing the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, as big as the life, of Corinthian metal, placed on a pedestal of marble, esteemed one of the noblest pieces of work now extant, antique and very rare. There is also a vast head of a colossean magnitude, of white marble, fixed in the wall. At the descending stairs are set two horses of white marble governed by two naked slaves, taken to be Castor and Pollux, brought from Pompey's Theatre. On the balustrade, the trophies of Marius against the Cimbrians, very ancient and instructive. At the foot of the steps toward the left hand is that Colonna Miliaria, with the globe of brass on it, mentioned to have been formerly set in Campo Vaccino. On the same hand, is the palace of the Signiori Conservatori, or three Consuls, now the civil governors of the city, containing the fraternities, or halls and guilds (as we call them), of sundry companies, and other offices of state. Under the portico within, are the statues of Augustus Cæsar, a Bacchus, and the so renowned Colonna Rostrata of Duillius, with the excellent bassi-relievi. In a smaller court, the statue of Constantine, on a fountain, a Minerva's head of brass, and that of Commodus, to which belongs a hand, the thumb whereof is at least an ell long, and yet proportionable; but the rest of the _colosse_ is lost. In the corner of this court stand a horse and lion fighting, as big as life, in white marble, exceedingly valued; likewise the Rape of the Sabines; two cumbent figures of Alexander and Mammea; two monstrous feet of a _colosse_ of Apollo; the Sepulchre of Agrippina; and the standard, or antique measure of the Roman foot. Ascending by the steps of the other corner, are inserted four basso-relievos, viz, the triumph and sacrifice of Marcus Aurelius, which last, for the antiquity and rareness of the work, I caused my painter, Carlo Neapolitano, to copy. There are also two statues of the Muses, and one of Adrian, the Emperor; above stands the figure of Marius, and by the wall Marsyas bound to a tree; all of them excellent and antique. Above in the lobby are inserted into the walls those ancient laws, on brass, called the Twelve Tables; a fair Madonna of Pietro Perugino, painted on the wall; near which are the archives, full of ancient records. In the great hall are divers excellent paintings of Cavaliero Giuseppe d'Arpino, a statue in brass of Sextus V. and of Leo X., of marble. In another hall are many modern statues of their late Consuls and Governors, set about with fine antique heads; others are painted by excellent masters, representing the actions of M. Scævola, Horatius Cocles, etc. The room where the Conservatori now feast upon solemn days, is tapestried with crimson damask, embroidered with gold, having a state or _balduquino_ of crimson velvet, very rich; the frieze above rarely painted. Here are in brass, Romulus and Remus sucking the wolf, of brass, with the Shepherd, Faustulus, by them; also the boy plucking the thorn out of his foot, of brass, so much admired by artists. There are also holy statues and heads of Saints. In a gallery near adjoining are the names of the ancient Consuls, Prætors, and Fasti Romani, so celebrated by the learned; also the figure of an old woman; two others representing Poverty; and more in fragments. In another large room, furnished with velvet, are the statue of Adonis, very rare, and divers antique heads. In the next chamber, is an old statue of Cicero, one of another Consul, a Hercules in brass, two women's heads of incomparable work, six other statues; and, over the chimney, a very rare basso-relievo, and other figures. In a little lobby before the chapel, is the statue of Hannibal, a Bacchus very antique, _bustoes_ of Pan and Mercury, with other old heads. All these noble statues, etc., belong to the city, and cannot be disposed of to any private person, or removed hence, but are preserved for the honor of the place, though great sums have been offered for them by divers Princes, lovers of art, and antiquity. We now left the Capitol, certainly one of the most renowned places in the world, even as now built by the design of the famous M. Angelo. Returning home by Ara Coeli, we mounted to it by more than 100 marble steps, not in devotion, as I observed some to do on their bare knees, but to see those two famous statues of Constantine, in white marble, placed there out of his baths. In this church is a Madonna, reported to be painted by St. Luke, and a column, on which we saw the print of a foot, which they affirm to have been that of the Angel, seen on the Castle of St. Angelo. Here the feast of our Blessed Savior's nativity being yearly celebrated with divers pageants, they began to make the preparation. Having viewed the Palace and fountain, at the other side of the stairs, we returned weary to our lodgings. On the 7th of November, we went again near the Capitol, toward the Tarpeian rock, where it has a goodly prospect of the Tiber. Thence, descending by the Tullianum, where they told us St. Peter was imprisoned, they showed us a chapel (S. Pietro de Vincoli) in which a rocky side of it bears the impression of his face. In the nave of the church gushes a fountain, which they say was caused by the Apostle's prayers, when having converted some of his fellow-captives he wanted water to make them Christians. The painting of the Ascension is by Raphael. We then walked about Mount Palatinus and the Aventine, and thence to the Circus Maximus, capable of holding 40,000 spectators, now a heap of ruins, converted into gardens. Then by the _Forum Boarium_, where they have a tradition that Hercules slew Cacus, some ruins of his temple remaining. The Temple of Janus Quadrifrons, having four arches, importing the four Seasons, and on each side niches for the months, is still a substantial and pretty entire antiquity. Near to this is the Arcus Argentariorum. Bending now toward the Tiber, we went into the Theater of Marcellus, which would hold 80,000 persons, built by Augustus, and dedicated to his nephew; the architecture, from what remains, appears to be inferior to none. It is now wholly converted into the house of the Savelli, one of the old Roman families. The people were now generally busy in erecting temporary triumphs and arches with statues and flattering inscriptions against his Holiness's grand procession to St. John di Laterani, among which the Jews also began one in testimony of gratitude for their protection under the Papal State. The Palazzo Barberini, designed by the present Pope's architect, Cavaliero Bernini, seems from the size to be as princely an object, as any modern building in Europe. It has a double portico, at the end of which we ascended by two pair of oval stairs, all of stone, and void in the well. One of these led us into a stately hall, the _volto_ whereof was newly painted _á fresco_, by the rare hand of Pietro Berretini il Cortone. To this is annexed a gallery completely furnished with whatever art can call rare and singular, and a library full of worthy collections, medals, marbles, and manuscripts; but, above all, an Egyptian Osiris, remarkable for its unknown material and antiquity. In one of the rooms near this hangs the Sposaliccio of St. Sebastian, the original of Annibal Caracci, of which I procured a copy, little inferior to the prototype; a table, in my judgment, superior to anything I had seen in Rome. In the court is a vast broken guglia, or obelisk, having divers hieroglyphics cut on it. 8th November, 1644. We visited the Jesuits' Church, the front whereof is esteemed a noble piece of architecture, the design of Jacomo della Porta and the famous Vignola. In this church lies the body of their renowned Ignatius Loyola, an arm of Xaverius, their other Apostle; and, at the right end of their high altar, their champion, Cardinal Bellarmine. Here Father Kircher (professor of Mathematics and the oriental tongues) showed us many singular courtesies, leading us into their refectory, dispensatory, laboratory, gardens, and finally (through a hall hung round with pictures of such of their order as had been executed for their pragmatical and busy adventures) into his own study, where, with Dutch patience, he showed us his perpetual motions, catoptrics, magnetical experiments, models, and a thousand other crotchets and devices, most of them since published by himself, or his industrious scholar, Schotti. Returning home, we had time to view the Palazzo de Medicis, which was an house of the Duke of Florence near our lodging, upon the brow of Mons Pincius, having a fine prospect toward the Campo Marzo. It is a magnificent, strong building, with a substruction very remarkable, and a portico supported with columns toward the gardens, with two huge lions, of marble, at the end of the balustrade. The whole outside of the _facciata_ is incrusted with antique and rare basso-relievos and statues. Descending into the garden is a noble fountain governed by a Mercury of brass. At a little distance, on the left, is a lodge full of fine statues, among which the Sabines, antique and singularly rare. In the arcade near this stand twenty-four statues of great price, and hard by is a mount planted with cypresses, representing a fortress, with a goodly fountain in the middle. Here is also a row balustred with white marble, covered over with the natural shrubs, ivy, and other perennial greens, divers statues and heads being placed as in niches. At a little distance are those famed statues of Niobe and her family, in all fifteen, as large as the life, of which we have ample mention in Pliny, esteemed among the best pieces of work in the world for the passions they express, and all other perfections of that stupendous art. There is likewise in this garden a fair obelisk, full of hieroglyphics. In going out, the fountain before the front casts water near fifty feet in height, when it is received in a most ample marble basin. Here they usually rode the great horse every morning; which gave me much diversion from the terrace of my own chamber, where I could see all their motions. This evening, I was invited to hear rare music at the Chiesa Nova; the black marble pillars within led us to that most precious oratory of Philippus Nerius, their founder; they being of the oratory of secular priests, under no vow. There are in it divers good pictures, as the Assumption of Girolamo Mutiano; the Crucifix; the Visitation of Elizabeth; the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin; Christo Sepolto, of Guido Rheno, Caravaggio, Arpino, and others. This fair church consists of fourteen altars, and as many chapels. In it is buried (besides their Saint) Cæsar Baronius, the great annalist. Through this, we went into the _sacristia_, where, the tapers being lighted, one of the Order preached; after him stepped up a child of eight or nine years old, who pronounced an oration with so much grace, that I never was better pleased than to hear Italian so well and so intelligently spoken. This course it seems they frequently use, to bring their scholars to a habit of speaking distinctly, and forming their action and assurance, which none so much want as ours in England. This being finished, began their _motettos_, which in a lofty cupola richly painted, were sung by eunuchs, and other rare voices, accompanied by theorbos, harpsichords, and viols, so that we were even ravished with the entertainment of the evening. This room is painted by Cortona, and has in it two figures in the niches, and the church stands in one of the most stately streets of Rome. 10th November, 1644. We went to see Prince Ludovisio's villa, where was formerly the _Viridarium_ of the poet, Sallust. The house is very magnificent, and the extent of the ground exceedingly large, considering that it is in a city; in every quarter of the garden are antique statues, and walks planted with cypress. To this garden belongs a house of retirement, built in the figure of a cross, after a particular ordonnance, especially the staircase. The whiteness and smoothness of the excellent pargeting was a thing I much observed, being almost as even and polished, as if it had been of marble. Above, is a fair prospect of the city. In one of the chambers hang two famous pieces of Bassano, the one a Vulcan, the other a Nativity; there is a German clock full of rare and extraordinary motions; and, in a little room below are many precious marbles, columns, urns, vases, and noble statues of porphyry, oriental alabaster, and other rare materials. About this fabric is an ample area, environed with sixteen vast jars of red earth, wherein the Romans used to preserve their oil, or wine rather, which they buried, and such as are properly called _testæ_. In the Palace I must never forget the famous statue of the Gladiator, spoken of by Pliny, so much followed by all the rare artists as the many copies testify, dispersed through almost all Europe, both in stone and metal. There is also a Hercules, a head of porphyry, and one of Marcus Aurelius. In the villa-house is a man's body flesh and all, petrified, and even converted to marble, as it was found in the Alps, and sent by the Emperor to one of the Popes; it lay in a chest, or coffin, lined with black velvet, and one of the arms being broken, you may see the perfect bone from the flesh which remains entire. The Rape of Proserpine, in marble, is of the purest white, the work of Bernini. In the cabinet near it are innumerable small brass figures, and other curiosities. But what some look upon as exceeding all the rest, is a very rich bedstead (which sort of gross furniture the Italians much glory in, as formerly did our grandfathers in England in their inlaid wooden ones) inlaid with all sorts of precious stones and antique heads, onyxes, agates, and cornelians, esteemed to be worth 80 or 90,000 crowns. Here are also divers cabinets and tables of the Florence work, besides pictures in the gallery, especially the Apollo--a conceited chair to sleep in with the legs stretched out, with hooks, and pieces of wood to draw out longer or shorter. From this villa, we went to see Signor Angeloni's study, who very courteously showed us such a collection of rare medals as is hardly to be paralleled; divers good pictures, and many outlandish and Indian curiosities, and things of nature. From him, we walked to Monte Cavallo, heretofore called Mons Quirinalis, where we saw those two rare horses, the work of the rivals Phidias and Praxiteles, as they were sent to Nero (by Tiridates King) out of Armenia. They were placed on pedestals of white marble by Sextus V., by whom I suppose their injuries were repaired, and are governed by four naked slaves, like those at the foot of the Capitol. Here runs a most noble fountain, regarding four of the most stately streets for building and beauty to be seen in any city of Europe. Opposite to these statues is the Pope's summer palace, built by Gregory XIII.; and, in my opinion, it is, for largeness and the architecture, one of the most conspicuous in Rome, having a stately portico which leads round the court under columns, in the centre of which there runs a beautiful fountain. The chapel is incrusted with such precious materials, that nothing can be more rich, or glorious, nor are the other ornaments and movables about it at all inferior. The hall is painted by Lanfranci, and others. The garden, which is called the Belvedere di Monte Cavallo, in emulation of that of the Vatican, is most excellent for air and prospect; its exquisite fountains, close walks, grots, piscinas, or stews for fish, planted about with venerable cypresses, and refreshed with water-music, aviaries, and other rarities. 12th November, 1644. We saw Dioclesian's Baths, whose ruins testify the vastness of the original foundation and magnificence; by what M. Angelo took from the ornaments about it, 'tis said he restored the then almost lost art of architecture. This monstrous pile was built by the labor of the primitive Christians, then under one of the ten great persecutions. The Church of St. Bernardo is made out of one only of these ruinous cupolas, and is in the form of an urn with a cover. Opposite to this, is the Fontana delle Therme, otherwise called _Fons Felix_; in it is a basso-relievo of white marble, representing Moses striking the rock, which is adorned with camels, men, women, and children drinking, as large as life; a work for the design and vastness truly magnificent. The water is conveyed no less than twenty-two miles in an aqueduct by Sextus V., _ex agro Columna_, by way of Præneste, as the inscription testifies. It gushes into three ample lavers raised about with stone, before which are placed two lions of a strange black stone, very rare and antique. Near this are the store-houses for the city's corn, and over against it the Church of St. Susanna, where were the gardens of Sallust. The faciàta of this church is noble, the _soffito_ within gilded and full of pictures; especially famous is that of Susanna, by Baldassa di Bologna. The tribunal of the high altar is of exquisite work, from whose marble steps you descend under ground to the repository of divers Saints. The picture over this altar is the work of Jacomo Siciliano. The foundation is for Bernadine Nuns. Santa Maria della Vittoria presents us with the most ravishing front. In this church was sung the Te Deum by Gregory XV., after the signal victory of the Emperor at Prague; the standards then taken still hang up, and the impress waving this motto over the Pope's arms, _Extirpentur_. I observed that the high altar was much frequented for an image of the Virgin. It has some rare statues, as Paul ravished into the third heaven, by Fiamingo, and some good pictures. From this, we bent toward Dioclesian's Baths, never satisfied with contemplating that immense pile, in building which 150,000 Christians were destined to labor fourteen years, and were then all murdered. Here is a monastery of Carthusians, called Santa Maria degli Angeli, the architecture of M. Angelo, and the cloister encompassing walls in an ample garden. Mont Alto's villa is entered by a stately gate of stone built on the Viminalis, and is no other than a spacious park full of fountains, especially that which salutes us at the front; stews for fish; the cypress walks are so beset with statues, inscriptions, relievos, and other ancient marbles, that nothing can be more stately and solemn. The citron trees are uncommonly large. In the palace joining to it are innumerable collections of value. Returning, we stepped into St. Agnes church, where there is a tribunal of antique mosaic, and on the altar a most rich ciborio of brass, with a statue of St. Agnes in oriental alabaster. The church of Santa Constanza has a noble cupola. Here they showed us a stone ship borne on a column heretofore sacred to Bacchus, as the relievo intimates by the drunken emblems and instruments wrought upon it. The altar is of rich porphyry, as I remember. Looking back, we had the entire view of the Via Pia down to the two horses before the Monte Cavallo, before mentioned, one of the most glorious sights for state and magnificence that any city can show a traveler. We returned by Porta Pia, and the Via Salaria, near Campo Scelerato, in whose gloomy caves the wanton Vestals were heretofore immured alive. Thence to Via Felix, a straight and noble street but very precipitous, till we came to the four fountains of Lepidus, built at the abutments of four stately ways, making an exact cross of right angles; and, at the fountains, are as many cumbent figures of marble, under very large niches of stone, the water pouring into huge basins. The church of St. Carlo is a singular fabric for neatness, of an oval design, built of a new white stone; the columns are worth notice. Under it is another church of a structure nothing less admirable. Next, we came to Santa Maria Maggiore, built upon the Esqueline Mountain, which gives it a most conspicuous face to the street at a great distance. The design is mixed partly antique, partly modern. Here they affirm that the Blessed Virgin appearing, showed where it should be built 300 years since. The first pavement is rare and antique; so is the portico built by P. P. Eugenius II. The _ciborio_ is the work of Paris Romano, and the tribunal of Mosaic. We were showed in the church a _concha_ of porphyry, wherein they say Patricius, the founder, lies. This is one of the most famous of the seven Roman Churches, and is, in my opinion at least, after St. Peter's, the most magnificent. Above all, for incomparable glory and materials, are the two chapels of Sextus V. and Paulus V. That of Sextus was designed by Dom. Fontana, in which are two rare great statues, and some good pieces of painting; and here they pretended to show some of the Holy Innocents' bodies slain by Herod: as also that renowned tabernacle of metal, gilt, sustained by four angels, holding as many tapers, placed on the altar. In this chapel is the statue of Sextus, in copper, with basso-relievos of most of his famous acts, in Parian marble; but that of P. Paulus, which we next entered, opposite to this, is beyond all imagination glorious, and above description. It is so encircled with agates, and other most precious materials, as to dazzle and confound the beholders. The basso-relievos are for the most part of pure snowy marble, intermixed with figures of molten brass, double gilt, on _lapis lazuli_. The altar is a most stupendous piece; but most incomparable is the cupola painted by Giuseppe Rheni, and the present Baglioni, full of exquisite sculptures. There is a most sumptuous _sacristia_; and the piece over the altar was by the hand of St. Luke; if you will believe it. Paulus V. hath here likewise built two other altars; under the one lie the bones of the Apostle, St. Matthias. In another oratory, is the statue of this Pope, and the head of the Congo Ambassador, who was converted at Rome, and died here. In a third chapel, designed by Michael Angelo, lie the bodies of Platina, and the Cardinal of Toledo, Honorius III., Nicephorus IV., the ashes of St. Hierom, and many others. In that of Sextus V., before mentioned, was showed us part of the crib in which Christ was swaddled at Bethlehem; there is also the statue of Pius V.; and going out at the further end, is the resurrection of Lazarus, by a very rare hand. In the portico, is this late inscription: "_Cardinal Antonio Barberino Archypresbytero, aream marmoream quam Christianorum pietas exsculpsit, laborante sub Tyrannis ecclesiâ, ut esset loci sanctitate venerabilior, Francis Gualdus Arm. Eques S. Stephani è suis ædibus huc transtulit et ornavit, 1632_." Just before this portico, stands a very sublime and stately Corinthian column, of white marble, translated hither for an ornament from the old Temple of Peace, built by Vespasian, having on the plinth of the capital the image of our Lady, gilt on metal; at the pedestal runs a fountain. Going down the hill, we saw the obelisk taken from the Mausoleum of Augustus, and erected in this place by Domenico Fontana, with this epigraph: "_Sextus V. Pont. Max. Obeliscum ex Egypto advectum, Augusti in Mausoleo dicatum, eversum deinde et in plures confractum partes, in via ad S. Rochum jacentem, in pristinam faciem restitutum Salutiferæ Cruci feliciùs hic erigi jussit, anno MDLXXXVIII, Pont. III_"; and so we came weary to our lodgings. At the foot of this hill, is the church of St. Prudentia, in which is a well, filled with the blood and bones of several martyrs, but grated over with iron, and visited by many devotees. Near this stands the church of her sister, S. Praxedeis, much frequented for the same reason. In a little obscure place, canceled in with iron work, is the pillar, or stump, at which they relate our Blessed Savior was scourged, being full of bloody spots, at which the devout sex are always rubbing their chaplets, and convey their kisses by a stick having a tassel on it. Here, besides a noble statue of St. Peter, is the tomb of the famous Cardinal Cajetan, an excellent piece; and here they hold that St. Peter said his first mass at Rome, with the same altar and the stone he kneeled on, he having been first lodged in this house, as they compute about the forty-fourth year of the Incarnation. They also show many relics, or rather rags, of his mantle. St. Laurence in Panisperna did next invite us, where that martyr was cruelly broiled on the gridiron, there yet remaining. St. Bridget is buried in this church under a stately monument. In the front of the pile is the suffering of St. Laurence painted _á fresco_ on the wall. The fabric is nothing but Gothic. On the left is the Therma Novatii; and, on the right, Agrippina's Lavacrum. 14th November, 1644. We passed again through the stately Capitol and Campo Vaccino toward the Amphitheater of Vespasian, but first stayed to look at Titus's Triumphal Arch, erected by the people of Rome, in honor of his victory at Jerusalem; on the left hand whereof he is represented drawn in a chariot with four horses abreast; on the right hand, or side of the arch within, is sculptured in figures, or basso-relievo as big as the life (and in one entire marble) the Ark of the Covenant, on which stands the seven-branched candlestick described in Leviticus, as also the two Tables of the Law, all borne on men's shoulders by the bars, as they are described in some of St. Hierom's bibles; before this, go many crowned and laureated figures, and twelve Roman _fasces_ with other sacred vessels. This much confirmed the idea I before had; and therefore, for the light it gave to the Holy History, I caused my painter, Carlo, to copy it exactly. The rest of the work of the Arch is of the noblest, best understood _composita_; and the inscription is this, in capital letters: S. P. Q. R. D. TITO, D. VESPASIANI, F. VESPASIANI AVGVSTO. Santa Maria Nova is on the place where they told us Simon Magus fell out of the air at St. Peter's prayer, and burst himself to pieces on a flint. Near this is a marble monument, erected by the people of Rome in memory of the Pope's return from Avignon. Being now passed the ruins of Meta-Sudante (which stood before the Colosseum, so called, because there once stood here the statue of Commodus provided to refresh the gladiators), we enter the mighty ruins of the Vespasian Amphitheatre, begun by Vespasian, and finished by that excellent prince, Titus. It is 830 Roman palms in length (_i.e._ 130 paces), 90 in breadth at the area, with caves for the wild beasts which used to be baited by men instead of dogs; the whole oval periphery 2888-4/7 palms, and capable of containing 87,000 spectators with ease and all accommodation: the three rows of circles are yet entire; the first was for the senators, the middle for the nobility, the third for the people. At the dedication of this place were 5,000 wild beasts slain in three months during which the feast lasted, to the expense of ten millions of gold. It was built of Tiburtine stone, a vast height, with the five orders of architecture, by 30,000 captive Jews. It is without, of a perfect circle, and was once adorned thick with statues, and remained entire, till of late that some of the stones were carried away to repair the city walls and build the Farnesian palace. That which still appears most admirable is, the contrivance of the porticos, vaults, and stairs, with the excessive altitude, which well deserves this distich of the poet: "_Omnis Cæsareo cedat labor Amphitheatro; Unum pro cunctis fama loquatur opus._" Near it is a small chapel called Santa Maria della Pieta nel Colisseo, which is erected on the steps, or stages, very lofty at one of its sides, or ranges, within, and where there lives only a melancholy hermit. I ascended to the very top of it with wonderful admiration. The Arch of Constantine the Great is close by the Meta-Sudante, before mentioned, at the beginning of the Via Appia, on one side Monte Celio, and is perfectly entire, erected by the people in memory of his victory over Maxentius, at the Pons Milvius, now Ponte Mole. In the front is this inscription: IMP. CAES. FL. CONSTANTINO MAXIMO P. F. AVGVSTO S. P. Q. R. QVOD INSTINCTV DIVINITATIS MENTIS MAGNITVDINE CVM EXERCITV SVO TAM DE TYRANNO QVAM DE OMNI EIVS FACTIONE VNO TEMPORE IVSTIS REMPVBLICAM VLTVS EST ARMIS ARCVM TRIVMPHIS INSIGNEM DICAVIT. Hence, we went to St. Gregorio, in Monte Celio, where are many privileged altars, and there they showed us an arm of that saint, and other relics. Before this church stands a very noble portico. 15th November, 1644. Was very wet, and I stirred not out, and the 16th I went to visit Father John, Provincial of the Benedictines. 17th November, 1644. I walked to Villa Borghese, a house and ample garden on Mons Pincius, yet somewhat without the city walls, circumscribed by another wall full of small turrets and banqueting-houses; which makes it appear at a distance like a little town. Within it is an elysium of delight, having in the centre of it a noble palace; but the entrance of the garden presents us with a very glorious fabric, or rather door-case, adorned with divers excellent marble statues. This garden abounded with all sorts of delicious fruit and exotic simples, fountains of sundry inventions, groves, and small rivulets. There is also adjoining to it a vivarium for ostriches, peacocks, swans, cranes, etc., and divers strange beasts, deer, and hares. The grotto is very rare, and represents, among other devices, artificial rain, and sundry shapes of vessels, flowers, etc.; which is effected by changing the heads of the fountains. The groves are of cypress, laurel, pine, myrtle, and olive. The four sphinxes are very antique, and worthy observation. To this is a volary, full of curious birds. The house is square with turrets, from which the prospect is excellent toward Rome, and the environing hills, covered as they now are with snow, which indeed commonly continues even a great part of the summer, affording sweet refreshment. Round the house is a baluster of white marble, with frequent jettos of water, and adorned with a multitude of statues. The walls of the house are covered with antique incrustations of history, as that of Curtius, the Rape of Europa, Leda, etc. The cornices above consist of fruitages and festoons, between which are niches furnished with statues, which order is observed to the very roof. In the lodge, at the entry, are divers good statues of Consuls, etc., with two pieces of field artillery upon carriages, (a mode much practiced in Italy before the great men's houses) which they look on as a piece of state more than defense. In the first hall within, are the twelve Roman Emperors, of excellent marble; between them stand porphyry columns, and other precious stones of vast height and magnitude, with urns of oriental alabaster. Tables of pietra-commessa: and here is that renowned Diana which Pompey worshiped, of eastern marble: the most incomparable Seneca of touch, bleeding in an huge vase of porphyry, resembling the drops of his blood; the so famous Gladiator, and the Hermaphrodite upon a quilt of stone. The new piece of Daphne, and David, of Cavaliero Bernini, is observable for the pure whiteness of the stone, and the art of the statuary plainly stupendous. There is a multitude of rare pictures of infinite value, by the best masters; huge tables of porphyry, and two exquisitely wrought vases of the same. In another chamber, are divers sorts of instruments of music: among other toys that of a satyr, which so artificially expressed a human voice, with the motion of eyes and head, that it might easily afright one who was not prepared for that most extravagant sight. They showed us also a chair that catches fast any one who sits down in it, so as not to be able to stir out, by certain springs concealed in the arms and back thereof, which at sitting down surprises a man on the sudden, locking him in by the arms and thighs, after a true treacherous Italian guise. The perspective is also considerable, composed by the position of looking-glasses, which render a strange multiplication of things resembling divers most richly furnished rooms. Here stands a rare clock of German work; in a word, nothing but what is magnificent is to be seen in this Paradise. The next day, I went to the Vatican, where, in the morning, I saw the ceremony of Pamfilio, the Pope's nephew, receiving a Cardinal's hat; this was the first time I had seen his Holiness _in pontificalibus_. After the Cardinals and Princes had met in the consistory, the ceremony was in the Pope's chapel, where he was at the altar invested with most pompous rites. 19th November, 1644. I visited St. Peter's, that most stupendous and incomparable Basilica, far surpassing any now extant in the world, and perhaps, Solomon's Temple excepted, any that was ever built. The largeness of the piazza before the portico is worth observing, because it affords a noble prospect of the church, not crowded up, as for the most part is the case in other places where great churches are erected. In this is a fountain, out of which gushes a river rather than a stream which, ascending a good height, breaks upon a round emboss of marble into millions of pearls that fall into the subjacent basins with great noise; I esteem this one of the goodliest fountains I ever saw. Next is the obelisk transported out of Egypt, and dedicated by Octavius Augustus to Julius Cæsar, whose ashes it formerly bore on the summit; but, being since overturned by the barbarians, was re-erected with vast cost and a most stupendous invention by Domenico Fontana, architect to Sextus V. The obelisk consists of one entire square stone without hieroglyphics, in height seventy-two feet, but comprehending the base and all it is 108 feet high, and rests on four lions of gilded copper, so as you may see through the base of the obelisk and plinth of the pedestal. Upon two faces of the obelisk is engraven DIVO CAES. DIVI IVLII F. AVGVSTO TI. CAES. DIVI AVG. F. AVGVS. SACRVM. It now bears on the top a cross in which it is said that Sextus V. inclosed some of the holy wood; and under it is to be read by good eyes: SANCTISSIMAE CRVCI SEXTVS V. PONT. MAX. CONSECRAVIT. E. PRIORE SEDE AVVLSVM ET CAESS. AVG. AC TIB. I. L. ABLATUM M.D.LXXXVI. On the four faces of the base below: 1. CHRISTVS VINCIT. CHRISTVS REGNAT. CHRISTVS IMPERAT. CHRISTVS AB OMNI MALO PLEBEM SVAM DEFENDAT. 2. SEXTVS V. PONT. MAX. OBELISCVM VATICANVM DIIS GENTIVM IMPIO CVLTV DICATVM AD APOSTOLORVM LIMINA OPEROSO LABORE TRANSTVLIT AN. M.D.LXXXVI. PONT. II. 3. ECCE CRVX DOMINI FVGITE PARTES ADVERSAE VINCIT LEO DE TRIBV IVDA. 4. SEXTVS V. PONT. MAX. CRVCI INVICTAE OBELISCVM VATICANVM AB IMPIA SVPERSTITIONE EXPIATVM IVSTIVS ET FELICITVS CONSECRAVIT AN. M.D.L.XXXVI. PONT. II. A little lower: DOMINICVS FONTANA EX PAGO MILIAGRI NOVOCOMENSIS TRANSTVLIT ET EREXIT. It is reported to have taken a year in erecting, to have cost 37,975 crowns, the labor of 907 men, and 75 horses: this being the first of the four Egyptian obelisks set up at Rome, and one of the forty-two brought to the city out of Egypt, set up in several places, but thrown down by the Goths, Barbarians, and earthquakes. Some coaches stood before the steps of the ascent, whereof one, belonging to Cardinal Medici, had all the metal work of massy silver, viz, the bow behind and other places. The coaches at Rome, as well as covered wagons also much in use, are generally the richest and largest I ever saw. Before the _facciata_ of the church is an ample pavement. The church was first begun by St. Anacletus, when rather a chapel, on a foundation, as they give out, of Constantine the Great, who, in honor of the Apostles, carried twelve baskets full of sand to the work. After him, Julius II. took it in hand, to which all his successors have contributed more or less. The front is supposed to be the largest and best-studied piece of architecture in the world; to this we went up by four steps of marble. The first entrance is supported by huge pilasters; the _volto_ within is the richest possible, and overlaid with gold. Between the five large anti-ports are columns of enormous height and compass, with as many gates of brass, the work and sculpture of Pollaivola, the Florentine, full of cast figures and histories in a deep relievo. Over this runs a terrace of like amplitude and ornament, where the Pope, at solemn times, bestows his Benediction on the vulgar. On each side of this portico are two _campaniles_, or towers, whereof there was but one perfected, of admirable art. On the top of all, runs a balustrade which edges it quite round, and upon this at equal distances are Christ and the twelve Disciples of gigantic size and stature, yet below showing no greater than the life. Entering the church, admirable is the breadth of the _volto_, or roof, which is all carved with foliage and roses overlaid with gold in nature of a deep basso-relievo, _à l'antique_. The nave, or body, is in form of a cross, whereof the foot-part is the longest; and, at the _internodium_ of the transept, rises the cupola, which being all of stone and of prodigious height is more in compass than that of the Pantheon (which was the largest among the old Romans, and is yet entire) or any other known. The inside, or concave, is covered with most exquisite Mosaic, representing the Celestial Hierarchy, by Giuseppe d'Arpino, full of stars of gold; the convex, or outside, exposed to the air, is covered with lead, with great ribs of metal double gilt (as are also the ten other lesser cupolas, for no fewer adorn this glorious structure), which gives a great and admirable splendor in all parts of the city. On the summit of this is fixed a brazen globe gilt, capable of receiving thirty-five persons. This I entered, and engraved my name among other travelers. Lastly, is the Cross, the access to which is between the leaden covering and the stone convex, or arch-work; a most truly astonishing piece of art! On the battlements of the church, also all overlaid with lead and marble, you would imagine yourself in a town, so many are the cupolas, pinnacles, towers, juttings, and not a few houses inhabited by men who dwell there, and have enough to do to look after the vast reparations which continually employ them. Having seen this, we descended into the body of the church, full of collateral chapels and large oratories, most of them exceeding the size of ordinary churches; but the principal are four incrusted with most precious marbles and stones of various colors, adorned with an infinity of statues, pictures, stately altars, and innumerable relics. The altar-piece of St. Michael being of Mosaic, I could not pass without particular note, as one of the best of that kind. The chapel of Gregory XIII., where he is buried, is most splendid. Under the cupola, and in the center of the church, stands the high altar, consecrated first by Clement VIII., adorned by Paul V., and lately covered by Pope Urban VIII.; with that stupendous canopy of Corinthian brass, which heretofore was brought from the Pantheon; it consists of four wreathed columns, partly channelled and encircled with vines, on which hang little _puti_ birds and bees (the arms of the _Barberini_), sustaining a _baldacchino_ of the same metal. The four columns weigh an hundred and ten thousand pounds, all over richly gilt; this, with the pedestals, crown, and statues about it, form a thing of that art, vastness, and magnificence, as is beyond all that man's industry has produced of the kind; it is the work of Bernini, a Florentine sculptor, architect, painter, and poet, who, a little before my coming to the city, gave a public opera (for so they call shows of that kind), wherein he painted the scenes, cut the statues, invented the engines, composed the music, writ the comedy, and built the theater. Opposite to either of these pillars, under those niches which, with their columns, support the weighty cupola, are placed four exquisite statues of Parian marble, to which are four altars; that of St. Veronica, made by Fra. Mochi, has over it the reliquary, where they showed us the miraculous _Sudarium_ indued with the picture of our Savior's face, with this inscription: "_Salvatoris imaginem Veronicæ Sudario exceptam ut loci majestas decentèr custodiret, Urbanus VIII. Pont. Max. Marmoreum signum et Altare addidit, Conditorium extruxit et ornavit_." Right against this is that of Longinus, of a Colossean magnitude, also by Bernini, and over him the conservatory of the iron lance inserted in a most precious crystal, with this epigraph: "_Longini Lanceam quam Innocentius VIII. à Bajazete Turcarum Tyranno accepit, Urbanus VIII. statuâ appositâ, et Sacello substructo, in exornatum Conditorium transtulit_." The third chapel has over the altar the statue of our countrywoman, St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great; the work of Boggi, an excellent sculptor; and here is preserved a great piece of the pretended wood of the holy cross, which she is said to have first detected miraculously in the Holy Land. It was placed here by the late Pope with this inscription: "_Partem Crucis quam Helena Imperatrix è Calvario in Urbem adduxit, Urbanus VIII. Pont. Max. è Sissorianâ Basilicâ desumptam, additis arâ et statuâ, hìc in Vaticano collocavit_." The fourth hath over the altar, and opposite to that of St. Veronica, the statue of St. Andrew, the work of Fiamingo, admirable above all the other; above is preserved the head of that Apostle, richly enchased. It is said that this excellent sculptor died mad to see his statue placed in a disadvantageous light by Bernini, the chief architect, who found himself outdone by this artist. The inscription over it is this: "_St. Andreæ caput quod Pius II. ex Achaiâ in Vaticanum asportandum curavit, Urbanus VIII. novis hic ornamentis decoratum sacrisque statuæ ac Sacelli honoribus coli voluit._" The relics showed and kept in this church are without number, as are also the precious vessels of gold, silver, and gems, with the vests and services to be seen in the Sacristy, which they showed us. Under the high altar is an ample grot inlaid with _pietra-commessa_, wherein half of the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul are preserved; before hang divers great lamps of the richest plate, burning continually. About this and contiguous to the altar, runs a balustrade, in form of a theater, of black marble. Toward the left, as you go out of the church by the portico, a little beneath the high altar, is an old brass statue of St. Peter sitting, under the soles of whose feet many devout persons rub their heads, and touch their chaplets. This was formerly cast from a statue of Jupiter Capitolinus. In another place, stands a column grated about with iron, whereon they report that our Blessed Savior was often wont to lean as he preached in the Temple. In the work of the reliquary under the cupola there are eight wreathed columns brought from the Temple of Solomon. In another chapel, they showed us the chair of St. Peter, or, as they name it, the Apostolical Throne. But among all the chapels the one most glorious has for an altar-piece a Madonna bearing a dead Christ on her knees, in white marble, the work of Michael Angelo. At the upper end of the Cathedral, are several stately monuments, especially that of Urban VIII. Round the cupola, and in many other places in the church, are confession seats, for all languages, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Spanish, Italian, French, English, Irish, Welsh, Sclavonian, Dutch, etc., as it is written on their friezes in golden capitals, and there are still at confessions some of all nations. Toward the lower end of the church, and on the side of a vast pillar sustaining a weighty roof, is the _depositum_ and statue of the Countess Matilda, a rare piece, with basso-relievos about it of white marble, the work of Bernini. Here are also those of Sextus IV. and Paulus III., etc. Among the exquisite pieces in this sumptuous fabric is that of the ship with St. Peter held up from sinking by our Savior; the emblems about it are the Mosaic of the famous Giotto, who restored and made it perfect after it had been defaced by the Barbarians. Nor is the pavement under the cupola to be passed over without observation, which with the rest of the body and walls of the whole church, are all inlaid with the richest of _pietra-commessa_, in the most splendid colors of polished marbles, agates, serpentine, porphyry, calcedon, etc., wholly incrusted to the very roof. Coming out by the portico at which we entered, we were shown the Porta Santa, never opened but at the year of jubilee. This glorious foundation hath belonging to it thirty canons, thirty-six beneficiates, twenty-eight clerks beneficed, with innumerable chaplains, etc., a Cardinal being always archpriest; the present Cardinal was Francisco Barberini, who also styled himself Protector of the English, to whom he was indeed very courteous. 20th November, 1644. I went to visit that ancient See and Cathedral of St. John di Laterano, and the holy places thereabout. This is a church of extraordinary devotion, though, for outward form, not comparable to St. Peter's, being of Gothic ordonnance. Before we went into the cathedral, the Baptistery of St. John Baptist presented itself, being formerly part of the Great Constantine's palace, and, as it is said, his chamber where by St. Silvester he was made a Christian. It is of an octagonal shape, having before the entrance eight fair pillars of rich porphyry, each of one entire piece, their capitals of divers orders, supporting lesser columns of white marble, and these supporting a noble cupola, the molding whereof is excellently wrought. In the chapel which they affirm to have been the lodging place of this Emperor, all women are prohibited from entering, for the malice of Herodias who caused him to lose his head. Here are deposited several sacred relics of St. James, Mary Magdalen, St. Matthew, etc., and two goodly pictures. Another chapel, or oratory near it, is called St. John the Evangelist, well adorned with marbles and tables, especially those of Cavaliére Giuseppe, and of Tempesta, in fresco. We went hence into another called St. Venantius, in which is a tribunal all of Mosaic in figures of Popes. Here is also an altar of the Madonna, much visited, and divers Sclavonish saints, companions of Pope John IV. The portico of the church is built of materials brought from Pontius Pilate's house in Jerusalem. The next sight which attracted our attention, was a wonderful concourse of people at their devotions before a place called _Scala Sancta_, to which is built a noble front. Entering the portico, we saw those large marble stairs, twenty-eight in number, which are never ascended but on the knees, some lip-devotion being used on every step; on which you may perceive divers red specks of blood under a grate, which they affirm to have been drops of our Blessed Savior, at the time he was so barbarously misused by Herod's soldiers; for these stairs are reported to have been translated hither from his palace in Jerusalem. At the top of them is a chapel, whereat they enter (but we could not be permitted) by gates of marble, being the same our Savior passed when he went out of Herod's house. This they name the _Sanctum Sanctorum_, and over it we read this epigraph: _Non est in toto sanctior orbe locus._ Here, through a grate, we saw that picture of Christ painted (as they say) by the hand of St. Luke, to the life. Descending again, we saw before the church the obelisk, which is indeed most worthy of admiration. It formerly lay in the Circo Maximo, and was erected here by Sextus V., in 1587, being 112 feet in height without the base or pedestal; at the foot nine and a half one way, and eight the other. This pillar was first brought from Thebes at the utmost confines of Egypt, to Alexandria, from thence to Constantinople, thence to Rome, and is said by Ammianus Marcellinus to have been dedicated to Rameses, King of Egypt. It was transferred to this city by Constantine the son of the Great, and is full of hieroglyphics, serpents, men, owls, falcons, oxen, instruments, etc., containing (as Father Kircher the Jesuit will shortly tell us in a book which he is ready to publish) all the recondite and abstruse learning of that people. The vessel, galley, or float, that brought it to Rome so many hundred leagues, must needs have been of wonderful bigness and strange fabric. The stone is one and entire, and (having been thrown down) was erected by the famous Dom. Fontana, for that magnificent Pope, Sextus V., as the rest were; it is now cracked in many places, but solidly joined. The obelisk is thus inscribed at the several faciátas: _Fl. Constantinus Augustus, Constantini Augusti F. Obeliscum à patre suo motum diuq; Alexandriæ jacentem, trecentorum remigum impositum navi mirandæ vastitatis per mare Tyberimq; magnis molibus Romam convectum in Circo Max. ponendum S.P.Q.R.D.D._ On the second square: _Fl. Constantinus Max: Aug: Christianæ fidei Vindex & Assertor Obeliscum ab Ægyptio Rege impuro voto Soli dicatum, sedibus avulsum suis per Nilum transfer. Alexandriam, ut Novam Romam ab se tunc conditam eo decoraret monumento._ On the third: _Sextus V. Pontifex Max: Obeliscum hunc specie eximiâ temporum calamitate fractum, Circi Maximi ruinis humo, limoq; altè demersum, multâ impensâ extraxit, hunc in locum magno labore transtulit, formàq; pristinâ accuratè vestitum, Cruci invictissimæ dicavit anno M.D.LXXXVIII. Pont. IIII._ On the fourth: _Constantinus per Crucem Victor à Silvestro hìc Baptizatus Crucis gloriam propagavit._ Leaving this wonderful monument (before which is a stately public fountain, with a statue of St. John in the middle of it), we visited His Holiness's palace, being a little on the left hand, the design of Fontana, architect to Sextus V. This I take to be one of the best palaces in Rome; but not staying we entered the church of St. John di Laterano, which is properly the Cathedral of the Roman See, as I learned by these verses engraven upon the architrave of the portico: _Dogmate Papali datur, et simul Imperiali Quòd sim cunctarum mater caput Ecclesiar[)u] Hinc Salvatoris coelestia regna datoris Nomine Sanxerunt, cum cuncta peracta fuerunt; Sic vos ex toto conversi supplice voto Nostra quòd hæc ædes; tibi Christe sit inclyta sedes._ It is called Lateran, from a noble family formerly dwelling it seems hereabouts, on Mons Cælius. The church is Gothic, and hath a stately tribunal; the paintings are of Pietro Pisano. It was the first church that was consecrated with the ceremonies now introduced, and where altars of stone supplied those of wood heretofore in use, and made like large chests for the easier removal in times of persecution; such an altar is still the great one here preserved, as being that on which (they hold) St. Peter celebrated mass at Rome; for which reason none but the Pope may now presume to make that use of it. The pavement is of all sorts of precious marbles, and so are the walls to a great height, over which it is painted _á fresco_ with the life and acts of Constantine the Great, by most excellent masters. The organs are rare, supported by four columns. The _soffito_ is all richly gilded, and full of pictures. Opposite to the porta is an altar of exquisite architecture, with a tabernacle on it all of precious stones, the work of Targoni; on this is a _coena_ of plate, the invention of Curtius Vanni, of exceeding value; the tables hanging over it are of Giuseppe d'Arpino. About this are four excellent columns transported out of Asia by the Emperor Titus, of brass, double gilt, about twelve feet in height; the walls between them are incrusted with marble and set with statues in niches, the vacuum reported to be filled with holy earth, which St. Helena sent from Jerusalem to her son, Constantine, who set these pillars where they now stand. At one side of this is an oratory full of rare paintings and monuments, especially those of the great Connestábile Colonna. Out of this we came into the _sacristia_, full of good pictures of Albert and others. At the end of the church is a flat stone supported by four pillars which they affirm to have been the exact height of our Blessed Savior, and say they never fitted any mortal man that tried it, but he was either taller or shorter; two columns of the veil of the Temple which rent at his passion; the stone on which they threw lots for his seamless vesture; and the pillar on which the cock crowed, after Peter's denial; and, to omit no fine thing, the just length of the Virgin Mary's foot as it seems her shoemaker affirmed! Here is a sumptuous cross, beset with precious stones, containing some of the VERY wood of the holy cross itself; with many other things of this sort: also numerous most magnificent monuments, especially those of St. Helena, of porphyry; Cardinal Farneze; Martin I., of copper; the pictures of Mary Magdalen, Martin V., Laurentius Valla, etc., are of Gaetano; the Nunciata, designed by M. Angelo; and the great crucifix of Sermoneta. In a chapel at one end of the porch is a statue of Henry IV. of France, in brass, standing in a dark hole, and so has done many years; perhaps from not believing him a thorough proselyte. The two famous Oecumenical Councils were celebrated in this Church by Pope Simachus, Martin I., Stephen, etc. Leaving this venerable church (for in truth it has a certain majesty in it), we passed through a fair and large hospital of good architecture, having some inscriptions put up by Barberini, the late Pope's nephew. We then went by St. Sylvia, where is a noble statue of St. Gregory P., begun by M. Angelo; a St. Andrew, and the bath of St. Cecilia. In this church are some rare paintings, especially that story on the wall of Guido Reni. Thence to St. Giovanni e Paula, where the friars are reputed to be great chemists. The choir, roof, and paintings in the _tribuna_ are excellent. Descending the Mons Cælius, we came against the vestiges of the Palazzo Maggiore, heretofore the Golden House of Nero; now nothing but a heap of vast and confused ruins, to show what time and the vicissitude of human things does change from the most glorious and magnificent to the most deformed and confused. We next went into St. Sebastian's Church, which has a handsome front: then we passed by the place where Romulus and Remus were taken up by Faustulus, the Forum Romanum, and so by the edge of the Mons Palatinus; where we saw the ruins of Pompey's house, and the Church of St. Anacletus; and so into the Circus Maximus, heretofore capable of containing a hundred and sixty thousand spectators, but now all one entire heap of rubbish, part of it converted into a garden of pot herbs. We concluded this evening with hearing the rare voices and music at the Chiesa Nova. 21st November, 1644. I was carried to see a great virtuoso, Cavaliéro Pozzo, who showed us a rare collection of all kind of antiquities, and a choice library, over which are the effigies of most of our late men of polite literature. He had a great collection of the antique basso-relievos about Rome, which this curious man had caused to be designed in several folios: many fine medals; the stone which Pliny calls Enhydros; it had plainly in it the quantity of half a spoonful of water, of a yellow pebble color, of the bigness of a walnut. A stone paler than an amethyst, which yet he affirmed to be the true carbuncle, and harder than a diamond; it was set in a ring, without foil, or anything at the bottom, so as it was transparent, of a greenish yellow, more lustrous than a diamond. He had very pretty things painted on crimson velvet, designed in black, and shaded and heightened with white, set in frames; also a number of choice designs and drawings. Hence we walked to the Suburra and Ærarium Saturni, where yet remain some ruins and an inscription. From thence to St. Pietro _in vinculis_, one of the seven churches on the Esquiline, an old and much-frequented place of great devotion for the relics there, especially the bodies of the seven Maccabean brethren, which lie under the altar. On the wall is a St. Sebastian, of mosaic, after the Greek manner: but what I chiefly regarded was, that noble sepulchre of Pope Julius II., the work of M. Angelo; with that never-sufficiently-to-be-admired statue of Moses, in white marble, and those of Vita Contemplativa and Activa, by the same incomparable hand. To this church belongs a monastery, in the court of whose cloisters grow two tall and very stately palm trees. Behind these, we walked a turn among the Baths of Titus, admiring the strange and prodigious receptacles for water, which the vulgar call the Setti Sali, now all in heaps. 22d November, 1644. Was the solemn and greatest ceremony of all the State Ecclesiastical, viz, the procession of the Pope (Innocent X.) to St. John di Laterano, which, standing on the steps of Ara Celi, near the Capitol, I saw pass in this manner:--First went a guard of Switzers to make way, and divers of the avant guard of horse carrying lances. Next followed those who carried the robes of the Cardinals, two and two; then the Cardinal's mace bearers; the caudatari, on mules; the masters of their horse; the Pope's barber, tailor, baker, gardener, and other domestic officers, all on horseback, in rich liveries; the squires belonging to the Guard; five men in rich liveries led five noble Neapolitan horses, white as snow, covered to the ground with trappings richly embroidered; which is a service paid by the King of Spain for the kingdoms of Naples and Sicily, pretended feudatories to the Pope; three mules of exquisite beauty and price, trapped in crimson velvet; next followed three rich litters with mules, the litters empty; the master of the horse alone, with his squires; five trumpeters; the _armerieri estra muros_; the fiscal and consistorial advocates; _capellani_, _camerieri de honore_, _cubiculari_ and chamberlains, called _secreti_. Then followed four other _camerieri_ with four caps of the dignity-pontifical, which were Cardinals' hats carried on staves; four trumpets; after them a number of noble Romans and gentlemen of quality, very rich, and followed by innumerable _staffiéri_ and pages; the secretaries of the _chancellaria_, _abbreviatori-accoliti_ in their long robes, and on mules; _auditori di rota_; the dean of the _rôti_ and master of the sacred palace, on mules, with grave but rich footclothes, and in flat episcopal hats; then went more of the Roman and other nobility and courtiers, with divers pages in most rich liveries on horseback; fourteen drums belonging to the Capitol; the marshals with their staves; the two syndics; the conservators of the city, in robes of crimson damask; the knight-gonfalonier and prior of the R. R., in velvet toques; six of his Holiness's mace bearers; then the captain, or governor, of the Castle of St. Angelo, upon a brave prancer; the governor of the city; on both sides of these two long ranks of Switzers, the masters of the ceremonies; the cross bearer on horseback, with two priests at each hand on foot; pages, footmen, and guards, in abundance. Then came the Pope himself, carried in a litter, or rather open chair, of crimson velvet, richly embroidered, and borne by two stately mules; as he went he held up two fingers, blessing the multitude who were on their knees, or looking out of their windows and houses, with loud _vivas_ and acclamations of felicity to their new Prince. This chair was followed by the master of his chamber, cup bearer, secretary, and physician; then came the Cardinal-Bishops, Cardinal-Priests, Cardinal-Deacons, Patriarchs, Archbishops, and Bishops, all in their several and distinct habits, some in red, others in green flat hats with tassels, all on gallant mules richly trapped with velvet, and led by their servants in great state and multitudes; after them, the apostolical protonotary, auditor, treasurer, and referendaries; lastly, the trumpets of the rear guard, two pages of arms in helmets with feathers, and carrying lances; two captains; the pontifical standard of the Church; the two _alfieri_, or cornets, of the Pope's light horse, who all followed in armor and carrying lances; which, with innumerable rich coaches, litters, and people, made up the procession. What they did at St. John di Laterano, I could not see, by reason of the prodigious crowd; so I spent most of the day in viewing the two triumphal arches which had been purposely erected a few days before, and till now covered; the one by the Duke of Parma, in the Foro Romano, the other by the Jews in the Capitol, with flattering inscriptions. They were of excellent architecture, decorated with statues and abundance of ornaments proper for the occasion, since they were but temporary, and made up of boards, cloth, etc., painted and framed on the sudden, but as to outward appearance, solid and very stately. The night ended with fireworks. What I saw was that which was built before the Spanish Ambassador's house, in the Piazza del Trinita, and another, before that of the French. The first appeared to be a mighty rock, bearing the Pope's Arms, a dragon, and divers figures, which being set on fire by one who flung a rocket at it, kindled immediately, yet preserving the figure both of the rock and statues a very long time; insomuch as it was deemed ten thousand reports of squibs and crackers spent themselves in order. That before the French Ambassador's Palace was a Diana drawn in a chariot by her dogs, with abundance of other figures as large as the life, which played with fire in the same manner. In the meantime, the windows of the whole city were set with tapers put into lanterns, or sconces, of several colored oiled paper, that the wind might not annoy them; this rendered a most glorious show. Besides these, there were at least twenty other fireworks of vast charge and rare art for their invention before divers Ambassadors, Princes, and Cardinals' Palaces, especially that on the Castle of St. Angelo, being a pyramid of lights, of great height, fastened to the ropes and cables which support the standard pole. The streets were this night as light as day, full of bonfires, cannon roaring, music playing, fountains running wine, in all excess of joy and triumph. 23d November, 1644. I went to the Jesuits' College again, the front whereof gives place to few for its architecture, most of its ornaments being of rich marble. It has within a noble portico and court, sustained by stately columns, as is the corridor over the portico, at the sides of which are the schools for arts and sciences, which are here taught as at the University. Here I heard Father Athanasius Kircher upon a part of Euclid, which he expounded. To this joins a glorious and ample church for the students; a second is not fully finished; and there are two noble libraries, where I was showed that famous wit and historian, Famianus Strada. Hence we went to the house of Hippolito Vitellesco (afterward bibliothecary of the Vatican library), who showed us one of the best collections of statues in Rome, to which he frequently talks as if they were living, pronouncing now and then orations, sentences, and verses, sometimes kissing and embracing them. He has a head of Brutus scarred in the face by order of the Senate for killing Julius; this is much esteemed. Also a Minerva, and others of great value. This gentleman not long since purchased land in the kingdom of Naples, in hope, by digging the ground, to find more statues; which it seems so far succeeded, as to be much more worth than the purchase. We spent the evening at the Chiesa Nova, where was excellent music; but, before that began, the courteous fathers led me into a nobly furnished library, contiguous to their most beautiful convent. 28th November, 1644. I went to see the garden and house of the Aldobrandini, now Cardinal Borghese's. This palace is, for architecture, magnificence, pomp, and state, one of the most considerable about the city. It has four fronts, and a noble piazza before it. Within the courts, under arches supported by marble columns, are many excellent statues. Ascending the stairs, there is a rare figure of Diana, of white marble. The St. Sebastian and Hermaphrodite are of stupendous art. For paintings, our Savior's Head, by Correggio; several pieces of Raphael, some of which are small; some of Bassano Veronese; the Leda, and two admirable Venuses, are of Titian's pencil; so is the Psyche and Cupid; the head of St. John, borne by Herodias; two heads of Albert Durer, very exquisite. We were shown here a fine cabinet and tables of Florence work in stone. In the gardens are many fine fountains, the walls covered with citron trees, which, being rarely spread, invest the stone work entirely; and, toward the street, at a back gate, the port is so handsomely clothed with ivy as much pleased me. About this palace are many noble antique bassi-relievi: two especially are placed on the ground, representing armor, and other military furniture of the Romans; beside these, stand about the garden numerous rare statues, altars, and urns. Above all for antiquity and curiosity (as being the only rarity of that nature now known to remain) is that piece of old Roman painting representing the Roman _Sponsalia_, or celebration of their marriage, judged to be 1,400 years old, yet are the colors very lively, and the design very entire, though found deep in the ground. For this morsel of painting's sake only, it is said the Borghesi purchased the house, because this being on a wall in a kind of banqueting house in the garden, could not be removed, but passes with the inheritance. 29th November, 1644. I a second time visited the Medicean Palace, being near my lodging, the more exactly to have a view of the noble collections that adorn it, especially the bassi-relievi and antique friezes inserted about the stone work of the house. The Saturn, of metal, standing in the portico, is a rare piece; so is the Jupiter and Apollo, in the hall. We were now led into those rooms above we could not see before, full of incomparable statues and antiquities; above all, and haply preferable to any in the world, are the Two Wrestlers, for the inextricable mixture with each other's arms and legs is stupendous. In the great chamber is the Gladiator, whetting a knife; but the Venus is without parallel, being the masterpiece of one whose name you see graven under it in old Greek characters; nothing in sculpture ever approached this miracle of art. To this add Marcius, Ganymede, a little Apollo playing on a pipe; some relievi incrusted on the palace-walls; and an antique _vas_ of marble, near six feet high. Among the pictures may be mentioned the Magdalen and St. Peter, weeping. I pass over the cabinets and tables of _pietra commessa_, being the proper invention of the Florentines. In one of the chambers is a whimsical chair, which folded into so many varieties, as to turn into a bed, a bolster, a table, or a couch. I had another walk in the garden, where are two huge vases, or baths of stone. I went further up the hill to the Pope's Palaces at Monte Cavallo, where I now saw the garden more exactly, and found it to be one of the most magnificent and pleasant in Rome. I am told the gardener is annually allowed 2,000 _scudi_ for the keeping of it. Here I observed hedges of myrtle above a man's height; others of laurel, oranges, nay, of ivy and juniper; the close walks, and rustic grotto; a crypt, of which the laver, or basin, is of one vast, entire, antique porphyry, and below this flows a plentiful cascade; the steps of the grotto and the roofs being of rich Mosaic. Here are hydraulic organs, a fish pond, and an ample bath. From hence, we went to taste some rare Greco; and so home. Being now pretty weary of continual walking, I kept within, for the most part, till the 6th of December; and, during this time, I entertained one Signor Alessandro, who gave me some lessons on the theorbo. The next excursion was over the Tiber, which I crossed in a ferry-boat, to see the Palazzo di Ghisi, standing in Transtevere, fairly built, but famous only for the painting _á fresco_ on the _volto_ of the portico toward the garden; the story is the Amours of Cupid and Psyche, by the hand of the celebrated Raphael d'Urbino. Here you always see painters designing and copying after it, being esteemed one of the rarest pieces of that art in the world; and with great reason. I must not omit that incomparable table of Galatea (as I remember), so carefully preserved in the cupboard at one of the ends of this walk, to protect it from the air, being a most lively painting. There are likewise excellent things of Baldassare, and others. Thence we went to the noble house of the Duke of Bracciano, fairly built, with a stately court and fountain. Next, we walked to St. Mary's Church, where was the _Taberna Meritoria_, where the old Roman soldiers received their triumphal garland, which they ever after wore. The high altar is very fair, adorned with columns of porphyry: here is also some mosaic work about the choir, and the Assumption is an esteemed piece. It is said that this church was the first that was dedicated to the Virgin at Rome. In the opposite piazza is a very sumptuous fountain. 12th December, 1644. I went again to St. Peter's to see the chapels, churches, and grots under the whole church (like our St. Faith's under Paul's), in which lie interred a multitude of Saints, Martyrs, and Popes; among them our countryman, Adrian IV., (Nicholas Brekespere) in a chest of porphyry; Sir J. Chrysostom; Petronella; the heads of St. James minor, St. Luke, St. Sebastian, and our Thomas à Becket; a shoulder of St. Christopher; an arm of Joseph of Arimathea; Longinus; besides 134 more bishops, soldiers, princes, scholars, cardinals, kings, emperors, their wives; too long to particularize. Hence we walked into the cemetery, called Campo Santo, the earth consisting of several ship-loads of mold, transported from Jerusalem, which consumes a carcass in twenty-four hours. To this joins that rare hospital, where once was Nero's circus; the next to this is the Inquisition-house and prison, the inside whereof, I thank God, I was not curious to see. To this joins His Holiness's Horseguards. On Christmas-eve, I went not to bed, being desirous of seeing the many extraordinary ceremonies performed then in their churches, at midnight masses and sermons. I walked from church to church the whole night in admiration at the multitude of scenes and pageantry which the friars had with much industry and craft set out, to catch the devout women and superstitious sort of people, who never parted without dropping some money into a vessel set on purpose; but especially observable was the puppetry in the Church of the Minerva, representing the Nativity. I thence went and heard a sermon at the Apollinare; by which time it was morning. On Christmas-day his Holiness sang mass, the artillery of St. Angelo went off, and all this day was exposed the cradle of our Lord. 29th December, 1644. We were invited by the English Jesuits to dinner, being their great feast of Thomas [à Becket] of Canterbury. We dined in their common refectory, and afterward saw an Italian comedy acted by their alumni before the Cardinals. January, 1645. We saw pass the new officers of the people of Rome; especially, for their noble habits were most conspicuous, the three Consuls, now called Conservators, who take their places in the Capitol, having been sworn the day before between the hands of the Pope. We ended the day with the rare music at the Chiesa Nova. 6th January, 1645. Was the ceremony of our Savior's baptism in the Church of St. Athanasius, and at Ara Celi was a great procession, del Bambino, as they call it, where were all the magistrates, and a wonderful concourse of people. 7th January, 1645. A sermon was preached to the Jews, at Ponte Sisto, who are constrained to sit till the hour is done; but it is with so much malice in their countenances, spitting, humming, coughing, and motion, that it is almost impossible they should hear a word from the preacher. A conversion is very rare. 14th January, 1645. The heads of St. Peter and St. Paul are exposed at St. John Laterano. 15th January, 1645. The zitelle, or young wenches, which are to have portions given them by the Pope, being poor, and to marry them, walked in procession to St. Peter's, where the Veronica was shown. I went to the Ghetto, where the Jews dwell as in a suburb by themselves; being invited by a Jew of my acquaintance to see a circumcision. I passed by the Piazza Judea, where their seraglio begins; for, being environed with walls, they are locked up every night. In this place remains yet part of a stately fabric, which my Jew told me had been a palace of theirs for the ambassador of their nation, when their country was subject to the Romans. Being led through the Synagogue into a private house, I found a world of people in a chamber: by and by came an old man, who prepared and laid in order divers instruments brought by a little child of about seven years old in a box. These the man laid in a silver basin; the knife was much like a short razor to shut into the half. Then they burnt some incense in a censer, which perfumed the room all the while the ceremony was performing. In the basin was a little cap made of white paper like a capuchin's hood, not bigger than the finger: also a paper of a red astringent powder, I suppose of bole; a small instrument of silver, cleft in the middle at one end, to take up the prepuce withal; a fine linen cloth wrapped up. These being all in order, the women brought the infant swaddled, out of another chamber, and delivered it to the Rabbi, who carried and presented it before an altar, or cupboard, dressed up, on which lay the five Books of Moses, and the Commandments, a little unrolled. Before this, with profound reverence, and mumbling a few words, he waved the child to and fro awhile; then he delivered it to another Rabbi, who sat all this time upon a table. While the ceremony was performing, all the company fell singing a Hebrew hymn, in a barbarous tone, waving themselves to and fro; a ceremony they observe in all their devotions.--The Jews in Rome all wear yellow hats, live only upon brokage and usury, very poor and despicable, beyond what they are in other territories of Princes where they are permitted. 18th January, 1645. I went to see the Pope's Palace, the Vatican, where he for the most part keeps his Court. It was first built by Pope Symmachus, and since augmented to a vast pile of building by his successors. That part of it added by Sextus V. is most magnificent. This leads us into divers terraces arched _sub dio_, painted by Raphael with the histories of the Bible, so esteemed, that artists come from all parts of Europe to make their studies from these designs. The foliage and grotesque about some of the compartments are admirable. In another room are represented at large, maps and plots of most countries in the world, in vast tables, with brief descriptions. The stairs which ascend out of St. Peter's portico into the first hall, are rarely contrived for ease; these lead into the hall of Gregory XIII., the walls whereof, half way to the roof, are incrusted with most precious marbles of various colors and works. So is also the pavement inlaid work; but what exceeds description is, the _volta_, or roof itself, which is so exquisitely painted, that it is almost impossible for the skillfullest eyes to discern whether it be the work of the pencil upon a flat, or of a tool cut deep in stone. The _Rota dentata_, in this admirable perspective, on the left hand as one goes out, the _Setella_, etc., are things of art incomparable. Certainly this is one of the most superb and royal apartments in the world, much too beautiful for a guard of gigantic Switzers, who do nothing but drink and play at cards in it. Going up these stairs is a painting of St. Peter, walking on the sea toward our Savior. Out of this I went into another hall, just before the chapel, called the Sàla del Conclave, full of admirable paintings; among others is the Assassination of Coligni, the great [Protestant] French Admiral, murdered by the Duke of Guise, in the Parisian massacre at the nuptials of Henry IV, with Queen Margaret; under it is written, "_Coligni et sociorum cædes_:" on the other side, "_Rex Coligi necem probat_." There is another very large picture, under which is inscribed: "_Alexander Papa III., Frederici Primi Imperatoris iram et impetum fugiens, abdidit se Venetijs; cognitum et à senatu perhonorificè susceptum, Othone Imperatoris filio navali prælio victo captoq; Fredericus, pace facta, supplex adorat; fidem et obedientiam pollicitus. Ita Pontifici sua dignitas Venet. Reip. beneficio restituta MCLXXVIII._"[24] [Footnote 24: Pope Alexander III., flying from the wrath and violence of the Emperor Frederick I., took shelter at Venice, where he was acknowledged, and most honorably received by the Senate. The Emperor's son, Otho, being conquered and taken in a naval battle, the Emperor, having made peace, became a suppliant to the Pope, promising fealty and obedience. Thus his dignity was restored to the Pontiff, by the aid of the Republic of Venice, MCLXXVIII.] This inscription I the rather took notice of, because Urban VIII. had caused it to be blotted out during the difference between him and that State; but it was now restored and refreshed by his successor, to the great honor of the Venetians. The Battle of Lepanto is another fair piece here. Now we came into the Pope's chapel, so much celebrated for the Last Judgment painted by M. Angelo Buonarotti. It is a painting in fresco, upon a dead wall at the upper end of the chapel, just over the high altar, of a vast design and miraculous fancy, considering the multitude of naked figures and variety of posture. The roof also is full of rare work. Hence, we went into the _sacristia_ where were showed all the most precious vestments, copes, and furniture of the chapel. One priestly cope, with the whole suite, had been sent from one of our English Henrys, and is shown for a great rarity. There were divers of the Pope's pantoufles that are kissed on his foot, having rich jewels embroidered on the instep, covered with crimson velvet; also his tiara, or triple crown, divers miters, crosiers, etc., all bestudded with precious stones, gold, and pearl, to a very great value; a very large cross, carved (as they affirm) out of the holy wood itself; numerous utensils of crystal, gold, agate, amber, and other costly materials for the altar. We then went into those chambers painted with the Histories of the burning of Rome, quenched by the procession of a Crucifix; the victory of Constantine over Maxentius; St. Peter's delivery out of Prison; all by Julio Romano, and are therefore called the Painters' Academy, because you always find some young men or other designing from them: a civility which is not refused in Italy, where any rare pieces of the old and best masters are extant, and which is the occasion of breeding up many excellent men in that profession. The Sala Clementina's Suffito is painted by Cherubin Alberti, with an ample landscape of Paul Bril's. We were then conducted into a new gallery, whose sides were painted with views of the most famous places, towns, and territories in Italy, rarely done, and upon the roof the chief Acts of the Roman Church since St. Peter's pretended See there. It is doubtless one of the most magnificent galleries in Europe.--Out of this we came into the Consistory, a noble room, the _volta_ painted in grotesque, as I remember. At the upper end, is an elevated throne and a baldachin, or canopy of state, for his Holiness, over it. From thence, through a very long gallery (longer, I think, than the French Kings at the Louvre), but only of bare walls, we were brought into the Vatican Library. This passage was now full of poor people, to each of whom, in his passage to St. Peter's, the Pope gave a _mezzo grosse_. I believe they were in number near 1,500 or 2,000 persons. This library is the most nobly built, furnished, and beautified of any in the world; ample, stately, light, and cheerful, looking into a most pleasant garden. The walls and roof are painted, not with antiques and grotesques, like our Bodleian at Oxford, but emblems, figures, diagrams, and the like learned inventions, found out by the wit and industry of famous men, of which there are now whole volumes extant. There were likewise the effigies of the most illustrious men of letters and fathers of the church, with divers noble statues, in white marble, at the entrance, viz, Hippolytus and Aristides. The General Councils are painted on the side walls. As to the ranging of the books, they are all shut up in presses of wainscot, and not exposed on shelves to the open air, nor are the most precious mixed among the more ordinary, which are showed to the curious only; such are those two Virgils written on parchment, of more than a thousand years old; the like, a Terence; the "Acts of the Apostles" in golden capital letters; Petrarch's "Epigrams," written with his own hand; also a Hebrew parchment, made up in the ancient manner, from whence they were first called "_Volumina_", with the Cornua; but what we English do much inquire after, the book which our Henry VIII. writ against Luther.[25] [Footnote 25: This very book, by one of those curious chances that occasionally happen, found its way into England some forty years ago, and was seen by the Editor of the early edition of this "Diary." It may be worth remarking that wherever, in the course of it, the title of "Defender of the Faith" was subjoined to the name of Henry, the Pope had drawn his pen through the title. The name of the King occurred in his own handwriting both at the beginning and end; and on the binding were the Royal Arms. Its possessor had purchased it in Italy for a few shillings from an old bookstall.] The largest room is 100 paces long; at the end is the gallery of printed books; then the gallery of the Duke of Urban's library, in which are MSS. of remarkable miniature, and divers Chinese, Mexican, Samaritan, Abyssinian, and other oriental books. In another wing of the edifice, 200 paces long, were all the books taken from Heidelberg, of which the learned Gruter, and other great scholars, had been keepers. These walls and _volte_ are painted with representations of the machines invented by Domenico Fontana for erection of the obelisks; and the true design of Mahomet's sepulchre at Mecca. Out of this we went to see the Conclave, where, during a vacancy, the Cardinals are shut up till they are agreed upon a new election; the whole manner whereof was described to us. Hence we went into the Pope's Armory, under the library. Over the door is this inscription: "URBANUS VIII. LITTERIS ARMA, ARMA LITTERIS." I hardly believe any prince in Europe is able to show a more completely furnished library of Mars, for the quality and quantity, which is 40,000 complete for horse and foot, and neatly kept. Out of this we passed again by the long gallery, and at the lower end of it down a very large pair of stairs, round, without any steps as usually, but descending with an evenness so ample and easy, that a horse-litter, or coach, may with ease be drawn up; the sides of the vacuity are set with columns: those at Amboise, on the Loire, in France, are something of this invention, but nothing so spruce. By these, we descended into the Vatican gardens, called Belvedere, where entering first into a kind of court, we were showed those incomparable statues (so famed by Pliny and others) of Laocoon with his three sons embraced by a huge serpent, all of one entire Parian stone, very white and perfect, somewhat bigger than the life, the work of those three celebrated sculptors, Agesandrus, Polydorus, and Artemidorus, Rhodians; it was found among the ruins of Titus's baths, and placed here. Pliny says this statue is to be esteemed before all pictures and statues in the world; and I am of his opinion, for I never beheld anything of art approach it. Here are also those two famous images of Nilus with the children playing about him, and that of Tiber; Romulus and Remus with the Wolf; the dying Cleopatra; the Venus and Cupid, rare pieces; the Mercury; Cybel; Hercules; Apollo; Antinous: most of which are, for defense against the weather, shut up in niches with wainscot doors. We were likewise showed the relics of the Hadrian Moles, viz, the Pine, a vast piece of metal which stood on the summit of that mausoleum; also a peacock of copper, supposed to have been part of Scipio's monument. In the garden without this (which contains a vast circuit of ground) are many stately fountains, especially two casting water into antique lavers, brought from Titus's baths; some fair grots and water-works, that noble cascade where the ship dances, with divers other pleasant inventions, walks, terraces, meanders, fruit trees, and a most goodly prospect over the greatest part of the city. One fountain under the gate I must not omit, consisting of three jettos of water gushing out of the mouths or proboscides of bees (the arms of the late Pope), because of the inscription: "_Quid miraris Apem, quae mel de floribus haurit? Si tibi mellitam gutture fundit aquam._" 23d January, 1645. We went without the walls of the city to visit St. Paul's, to which place it is said the Apostle bore his own head after Nero had caused it to be cut off. The church was founded by the great Constantine; the main roof is supported by 100 vast columns of marble, and the Mosaic work of the great arch is wrought with a very ancient story A^o 440; as is likewise that of the _facciata_. The gates are brass, made at Constantinopole in 1070, as you may read by those Greek verses engraven on them. The church is near 500 feet long and 258 in breadth, and has five great aisles joined to it, on the basis of one of whose columns is this odd title: "_Fl. Eugenius Asellus C. C. Præf. Urbis V. S. I. reparavit_." Here they showed us that miraculous Crucifix which they say spake to St. Bridget: and, just before the Ciborio, stand two excellent statues. Here are buried part of the bodies of St. Paul and St. Peter. The pavement is richly interwoven with precious Oriental marbles about the high altar, where are also four excellent paintings, whereof one, representing the stoning of St. Stephen, is by the hand of a Bolognian lady, named Lavinia. The tabernacle on this altar is of excellent architecture, and the pictures in the Chapel del Sacramento are of Lanfranco. Divers other relics there be also in this venerable church, as a part of St. Anna; the head of the Woman of Samaria; the chain which bound St. Paul, and the _eculeus_ used in tormenting the primitive Christians. The church stands in the Via Ositensis, about a mile from the walls of the city, separated from many buildings near it except the Trie Fontana, to which (leaving our coach) we walked, going over the mountain or little rising, upon which story says a hundred seventy and four thousand Christians had been martyred by Maximianus, Dioclesian, and other bloody tyrants. On this stand St. Vincent's and St. Anastasius; likewise the Church of St. Maria Scala del Cielo, in whose Tribuna is a very fair Mosaic work. The Church of the Trie Fontana (as they are called) is perfectly well built, though but small (whereas that of St. Paul is but Gothic), having a noble cupola in the middle; in this they show the pillar to which St. Paul was bound, when his head was cut off, and from whence it made three prodigious leaps, where there immediately broke out the three remaining fountains, which give denomination to this church. The waters are reported to be medicinal: over each is erected an altar and a chained ladle, for better tasting of the waters. That most excellent picture of St. Peter's Crucifixion is of Guido. 25th January, 1645. I went again to the Palazzo Farnese, to see some certain statues and antiquities which, by reason of the Major-Domo not being within, I could not formerly obtain. In the hall stands that triumphant Colosse of one of the family, upon three figures, a modern, but rare piece. About it stood some Gladiators; and, at the entrance into one of the first chambers, are two cumbent figures of AGE and YOUTH, brought hither from St. Peter's to make room for the Longinus under the cupola. Here was the statue of a ram running at a man on horseback, a most incomparable expression of Fury, cut in stone; and a table of _pietra-commessa_, very curious. The next chamber was all painted _a fresco_, by a rare hand, as was the carving in wood of the ceiling, which, as I remember, was in cedar, as the Italian mode is, and not poor plaster, as ours are; some of them most richly gilt. In a third room, stood the famous Venus, and the child Hercules strangling a serpent, of Corinthian brass, antique, on a very curious basso-relievo; the sacrifice to Priapus; the Egyptian Isis, in the hard, black ophite stone, taken out of the Pantheon, greatly celebrated by the antiquaries: likewise two tables of brass, containing divers old Roman laws. At another side of this chamber, was the statue of a wounded Amazon falling from her horse, worthy the name of the excellent sculptor, whoever the artist was. Near this was a bass-relievo of a Bacchanalia, with a most curious Silenus. The fourth room was totally environed with statues; especially observable was that so renowned piece of a Venus looking backward over her shoulder, and divers other naked figures, by the old Greek masters. Over the doors are two Venuses, one of them looking on her face in a glass, by M. Angelo; the other is painted by Caracci. I never saw finer faces, especially that under the mask, whose beauty and art are not to be described by words. The next chamber is also full of statues; most of them the heads of Philosophers, very antique. One of the Cæsars and another of Hannibal cost 1,200 crowns. Now I had a second view of that never-to-be-sufficiently-admired gallery, painted in deep relievo, the work of ten years' study, for a trifling reward. In the wardrobe above they showed us fine wrought plate, porcelain, mazers of beaten and solid gold, set with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds; a treasure, especially the workmanship considered, of inestimable value. This is all the Duke of Parma's. Nothing seemed to be more curious and rare in its kind than the complete service of the purest crystal, for the altar of the chapel, the very bell, cover of a book, sprinkler, etc., were all of the rock, incomparably sculptured, with the holy story in deep Levati; thus was also wrought the crucifix, chalice, vases, flowerpots, the largest and purest crystal that my eyes ever beheld. Truly I looked on this as one of the greatest curiosities I had seen in Rome. In another part were presses furnished with antique arms, German clocks, perpetual motions, watches, and curiosities of Indian works. A very ancient picture of Pope Eugenius; a St. Bernard; and a head of marble found long since, supposed to be a true portrait of our Blessed Savior's face. Hence, we went to see Dr. Gibbs, a famous poet and countryman of ours, who had some intendency in an hospital built on the Via Triumphalis, called Christ's Hospital, which he showed us. The Infirmatory, where the sick lay, was paved with various colored marbles, and the walls hung with noble pieces; the beds are very fair; in the middle is a stately cupola, under which is an altar decked with divers marble statues, all in sight of the sick, who may both see and hear mass, as they lie in their beds. The organs are very fine, and frequently played on to recreate the people in pain. To this joins an apartment destined for the orphans; and there is a school: the children wear blue, like ours in London, at an hospital of the same appellation. Here are forty nurses, who give suck to such children as are accidentally found exposed and abandoned. In another quarter, are children of a bigger growth, 450 in number, who are taught letters. In another, 500 girls, under the tuition of divers religious matrons, in a monastery, as it were, by itself. I was assured there were at least 2,000 more maintained in other places. I think one apartment had in it near 1,000 beds; these are in a very long room, having an inner passage for those who attend, with as much care, sweetness, and conveniency as can be imagined, the Italians being generally very neat. Under the portico, the sick may walk out and take the air. Opposite to this, are other chambers for such as are sick of maladies of a more rare and difficult cure, and they have rooms apart. At the end of the long corridor is an apothecary's shop, fair and very well stored; near which are chambers for persons of better quality, who are yet necessitous. Whatever the poor bring is, at their coming in, delivered to a treasurer, who makes an inventory, and is accountable to them, or their representatives if they die. To this building joins the house of the commendator, who, with his officers attending the sick, make up ninety persons; besides a convent and an ample church for the friars and priests who daily attend. The church is extremely neat, and the _sacristia_ is very rich. Indeed it is altogether one of the most pious and worthy foundations I ever saw. Nor is the benefit small which divers young physicians and chirurgeons reap by the experience they learn here among the sick, to whom those students have free access. Hence, we ascended a very steep hill, near the Port St. Pancratio, to that stately fountain called Acqua Paula, being the aqueduct which Augustus had brought to Rome, now re-edified by Paulus V.; a rare piece of architecture, and which serves the city after a journey of thirty-five miles, here pouring itself into divers ample lavers, out of the mouths of swans and dragons, the arms of this Pope. Situate on a very high mount, it makes a most glorious show to the city, especially when the sun darts on the water as it gusheth out. The inscriptions on it are: "_Paulus V. Romanus Pontifex Opt. Max. Aquæductus ab Augusto Cæsare extructos, ævi longinquâ vetustate collapsos, in ampliorem formam restituit anno salutis M.D.CIX. Pont. V._" And toward the fields: "_Paulus V. Rom. Pontifex Optimus Maximus, priori ductu longissimi temporis injuriâ penè diruto, sublimiorem._" * * * * * [One or more leaves are here wanting in Evelyn's MS., descriptive of other parts of Rome, and of his leaving the city.] Thence to Velletri, a town heretofore of the Volsci, where is a public and fair statue of P. Urban VIII., in brass, and a stately fountain in the street. Here we lay and drank excellent wine. 28th January, 1645. We dined at Sermonetta, descending all this morning down a stony mountain, unpleasant, yet full of olive trees; and, anon, pass a tower built on a rock, kept by a small guard against the banditti who infest those parts, daily robbing and killing passengers, as my Lord Banbury and his company found to their cost a little before. To this guard we gave some money, and so were suffered to pass, which was still on the Appian to the _Tres Tabernæ_ (whither the brethren came from Rome to meet St. Paul, Acts, c. 28); the ruins whereof are yet very fair, resembling the remainder of some considerable edifice, as may be judged by the vast stones and fairness of the arched work. The country environing this passage is hilly, but rich; on the right hand stretches an ample plain, being the _Pomptini Campi_. We reposed this night at Piperno, in the posthouse without the town; and here I was extremely troubled with a sore hand, which now began to fester, from a mischance at Rome, upon my base, unlucky, stiff-necked, trotting, carrion mule; which are the most wretched beasts in the world. In this town was the poet Virgil's Camilla born. The day following, we were fain to hire a strong convoy of about thirty firelocks, to guard us through the cork woods (much infested with the banditti) as far as Fossa Nuova, where was the Forum Appii, and now stands a church with a great monastery, the place where Thomas Aquinas both studied and lies buried. Here we all alighted, and were most courteously received by the Monks, who showed us many relics of their learned Saint and at the high altar the print forsooth of the mule's hoof which he caused to kneel before the Host. The church is old, built after the Gothic manner; but the place is very agreeably melancholy. After this, pursuing the same noble [Appian] way (which we had before left a little), we found it to stretch from Capua to Rome itself, and afterward as far as Brundusium. It was built by that famous Consul, twenty-five feet broad, every twelve feet something ascending for the ease and firmer footing of horse and man; both the sides are also a little raised for those who travel on foot. The whole is paved with a kind of beach-stone, and, as I said, ever and anon adorned with some old ruin, sepulchre, or broken statue. In one of these monuments Pancirollus tells us that, in the time of Paul III., there was found the body of a young lady, swimming in a kind of bath of precious oil, or liquor, fresh and entire as if she had been living, neither her face discolored, nor her hair disordered; at her feet burnt a lamp, which suddenly expired at the opening of the vault; having flamed, as was computed, now 1,500 years, by the conjecture that she was Tulliola, the daughter of Cicero, whose body was thus found, and as the inscription testified. We dined this day at Terracina, heretofore the famous Anxur, which stands upon a very eminent promontory, the Circean by name. While meat was preparing, I went up into the town, and viewed the fair remainders of Jupiter's Temple, now converted into a church, adorned with most stately columns; its architecture has been excellent, as may be deduced from the goodly cornices, moldings, and huge white marbles of which it is built. Before the portico stands a pillar thus inscribed: "_Inclyta Gothorum Regis monumenta vetusta Anxuri hoc Oculos exposuere loco;_" for, it seems, Theodoric drained their marches. On another more ancient: "_Imp. Cæsar Divi Nervæ Filius Nerva Trojanus Aug. Germanicus Dacicus. Pontif. Max. Trib. Pop. xviii. Imp. vi. Cos. v. p. p. xviii. Silices suâ pecuniâ stravit._" Meaning doubtless, some part of the Via Appia. Then: "_Tit. Upio. Aug. optato Pontano Procuratori et Præfect. Classis.--Ti. Julius. T. Fab. optatus, II. vir._" [Sidenote: FONDI] Here is likewise a Columna Milliaria, with something engraven on it, but I could not stay to consider it. Coming down again, I went toward the sea-side to contemplate that stupendous strange rock and promontory, cleft by hand, I suppose, for the better passage. Within this is the Circean Cave, which I went into a good way; it makes a dreadful noise, by reason of the roaring and impetuous waves continually assaulting the beach, and that in an unusual manner. At the top, at an excessive height, stands an old and very great castle. We arrived this night at Fondi, a most dangerous passage for robbing; and so we passed by Galba's villa, and anon entered the kingdom of Naples, where, at the gate, this epigraph saluted us: "_Hospes, hìc sunt fines Regni Neopolitani; si amicus advenis, pacatè omnia invenies, et malis moribus pulsis, bonas leges_." The Via Appia is here a noble prospect; having before considered how it was carried through vast mountains of rocks for many miles, by most stupendous labor: here it is infinitely pleasant, beset with sepulchres and antiquities, full of sweet shrubs in the environing hedges. At Fondi, we had oranges and citrons for nothing, the trees growing in every corner, charged with fruit. 29th January, 1645. We descried Mount Cæcubus, famous for the generous wine it heretofore produced, and so rode onward the Appian Way, beset with myrtles, lentiscuses, bays, pomegranates, and whole groves of orange trees, and most delicious shrubs, till we came to Formiana [Formiæ], where they showed us Cicero's tomb, standing in an olive grove, now a rude heap of stones without form or beauty; for here that incomparable orator was murdered. I shall never forget how exceedingly I was delighted with the sweetness of this passage, the sepulchre mixed among all sorts of verdure; besides being now come within sight of the noble city, Cajeta [Gaieta], which gives a surprising prospect along the Tyrrhene Sea, in manner of a theater: and here we beheld that strangely cleft rock, a frightful spectacle, which they say happened upon the passion of our Blessed Savior; but the haste of our procaccio did not suffer us to dwell so long on these objects and the many antiquities of this town as we desired. At Formi, we saw Cicero's grot; dining at Mola, and passing Sinuessa, Garigliano (once the city Mintern), and beheld the ruins of that vast amphitheater and aqueduct yet standing; the river Liris, which bounded the old Latium, Falernus, or Mons Massacus, celebrated for its wine, now named Garo; and this night we lodged at a little village called St. Agatha, in the Falernian Fields, near to Aurunca and Sessa. The next day, having passed [the river] Vulturnus, we come by the Torre di Francolisi, where Hannibal, in danger from Fabius Maximus, escaped by debauching his enemies; and so at last we entered the most pleasant plains of Campania, now called Terra di Lavoro; in very truth, I think, the most fertile spot that ever the sun shone upon. Here we saw the slender ruins of the once mighty Capua, contending at once both with Rome and Carthage, for splendor and empire, now nothing but a heap of rubbish, except showing some vestige of its former magnificence in pieces of temples, arches, theatres, columns, ports, vaults, colosses, etc., confounded together by the barbarous Goths and Longobards; there is, however, a new city, nearer to the road by two miles, fairly raised out of these heaps. The passage from this town to Naples (which is about ten or twelve English post miles) is as straight as a line, of great breadth, fuller of travelers than I remember any of our greatest and most frequented roads near London; but, what is extremely pleasing, is the great fertility of the fields, planted with fruit trees, whose boles are serpented with excellent vines, and they so exuberant, that it is commonly reported one vine will load five mules with its grapes. What adds much to the pleasure of the sight is, that the vines, climbing to the summit of the trees, reach in festoons and fruitages from one tree to another, planted at exact distances, forming a more delightful picture than painting can describe. Here grow rice, canes for sugar, olives, pomegranates, mulberries, citrons, oranges, figs, and other sorts of rare fruits. About the middle of the way is the town Aversa, whither came three or four coaches to meet our lady travelers, of whom we now took leave, having been very merry by the way with them and the capitáno, their gallant. [Sidenote: NAPLES] 31st January, 1645. About noon we entered the city of Naples, alighting at the Three Kings, where we found the most plentiful fare all the time we were in Naples. Provisions are wonderfully cheap; we seldom sat down to fewer than eighteen or twenty dishes of exquisite meat and fruits. The morrow after our arrival, in the afternoon, we hired a coach to carry us about the town. First, we went to the castle of St. Elmo, built on a very high rock, whence we had an entire prospect of the whole city, which lies in shape of a theatre upon the sea-brink, with all the circumjacent islands, as far as Capreæ, famous for the debauched recesses of Tiberius. This fort is the bridle of the whole city, and was well stored and garrisoned with native Spaniards. The strangeness of the precipice and rareness of the prospect of so many magnificent and stately palaces, churches, and monasteries, with the Arsenal, the Mole, and Mount Vesuvius in the distance, all in full command of the eye, make it one of the richest landscapes in the world. Hence, we descended to another strong castle, called Il Castello Nuovo, which protects the shore; but they would by no entreaty permit us to go in; the outward defense seems to consist but in four towers, very high, and an exceeding deep graff, with thick walls. Opposite to this is the tower of St. Vincent, which is also very strong. Then we went to the very noble palace of the Viceroy, partly old, and part of a newer work; but we did not stay long here. Toward the evening, we took the air upon the Mole, a street on the rampart, or bank, raised in the sea for security of their galleys in port, built as that of Genoa. Here I observed a rich fountain in the middle of the piazza, and adorned with divers rare statues of copper, representing the Sirens, or Deities of the Parthenope, spouting large streams of water into an ample shell, all of cast metal, and of great cost. This stands at the entrance of the Mole, where we met many of the nobility both on horseback and in their coaches to take the fresco from the sea, as the manner is, it being in the most advantageous quarter for good air, delight and prospect. Here we saw divers goodly horses who handsomely become their riders, the Neapolitan gentlemen. This Mole is about 500 paces in length, and paved with a square hewn stone. From the Mole, we ascend to a church of great antiquity, formerly sacred to Castor and Pollux, as the Greek letters carved on the architrave and the busts of their two statues testify. It is now converted into a stately oratory by the Theatines. The Cathedral is a most magnificent pile, and except St. Peter's in Rome, Naples exceeds all cities for stately churches and monasteries. We were told that this day the blood of St. Januarius and his head should be exposed, and so we found it, but obtained not to see the miracle of the boiling of this blood. The next we went to see was St. Peter's, richly adorned, the chapel especially, where that Apostle said mass, as is testified on the wall. After dinner we went to St. Dominic, where they showed us the crucifix that is reported to have said these words to St. Thomas, "_Benè de me scripsisti, Thoma_." Hence, to the Padri Olivetani, famous for the monument of the learned Alexander-ab-Alexandro. We proceeded, the next day, to visit the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, where we spent much time in surveying the chapel of Joh. Jov. Pontanus, and in it the several and excellent sentences and epitaphs on himself, wife, children, and friends, full of rare wit, and worthy of recording, as we find them in several writers. In the same chapel is shown an arm of Titus Livius, with this epigraph. "_Titi Livij brachium quod Anton. Panormita a Patavinis impetravit, Jo. Jovianus Pontanus multos post annos hôc in loco ponendum curavit._" Climbing a steep hill, we came to the monastery and Church of the Carthusians, from whence is a most goodly prospect toward the sea and city, the one full of galleys and ships, the other of stately palaces, churches, monasteries, castles, gardens, delicious fields and meadows, Mount Vesuvius smoking, the promontory of Minerva and Misenum, Capreæ, Prochyta, Ischia, Pausilipum, Puteoli, and the rest, doubtless one of the most divertissant and considerable vistas in the world. The church is most elegantly built; the very pavements of the common cloister being all laid with variously polished marbles, richly figured. They showed us a massy cross of silver, much celebrated for the workmanship and carving, and said to have been fourteen years in perfecting. The choir also is of rare art; but above all to be admired, is the yet unfinished church of the Jesuits, certainly, if accomplished, not to be equalled in Europe. Hence, we passed by the Palazzo Caraffii, full of ancient and very noble statues: also the palace of the Orsini. The next day, we did little but visit some friends, English merchants, resident for their negotiation; only this morning at the Viceroy's Cavalerizza I saw the noblest horses that I had ever beheld, one of his sons riding the menage with that address and dexterity as I had never seen anything approach it. 4th February, 1645. We were invited to the collection of exotic rarities in the Museum of Ferdinando Imperati, a Neapolitan nobleman, and one of the most observable palaces in the city, the repository of incomparable rarities. Among the natural herbals most remarkable was the Byssus marina and Pinna marina; the male and female chameleon; an Onocrotatus; an extraordinary great crocodile; some of the Orcades Anates, held here for a great rarity; likewise a salamander; the male and female Manucordiata, the male having a hollow in the back, in which it is reported the female both lays and hatches her eggs; the mandragoras, of both sexes; Papyrus, made of several reeds, and some of silk; tables of the rinds of trees, written with Japonic characters; another of the branches of palm; many Indian fruits; a crystal that had a quantity of uncongealed water within its cavity; a petrified fisher's net; divers sorts of tarantulas, being a monstrous spider, with lark-like claws, and somewhat bigger. 5th February, 1645. This day we beheld the Vice-king's procession, which was very splendid for the relics, banners, and music that accompanied the Blessed Sacrament. The ceremony took up most of the morning. 6th February, 1645. We went by coach to take the air, and see the diversions, or rather madness of the Carnival; the courtesans (who swarm in this city to the number, as we are told, of 30,000, registered and paying a tax to the State) flinging eggs of sweet water into our coach, as we passed by the houses and windows. Indeed, the town is so pestered with these cattle, that there needs no small mortification to preserve from their enchantment, while they display all their natural and artificial beauty, play, sing, feign compliment, and by a thousand studied devices seek to inveigle foolish young men. [Sidenote: VESUVIUS] 7th February, 1645. The next day, being Saturday, we went four miles out of town on mules, to see that famous volcano, Mount Vesuvius. Here we pass a fair fountain, called Labulla, which continually boils, supposed to proceed from Vesuvius, and thence over a river and bridge, where on a large upright stone, is engraven a notable inscription relative to the memorable eruption in 1630. Approaching the hill, as we were able with our mules, we alighted, crawling up the rest of the proclivity with great difficulty, now with our feet, now with our hands, not without many untoward slips which did much bruise us on the various colored cinders, with which the whole mountain is covered, some like pitch, others full of perfect brimstone, others metallic, interspersed with innumerable pumices (of all which I made a collection), we at the last gained the summit of an extensive altitude. Turning our faces toward Naples, it presents one of the goodliest prospects in the world; all the Baiæ, Cuma, Elysian Fields, Capreæ, Ischia, Prochyta, Misenus, Puteoli, that goodly city, with a great portion of the Tyrrhene Sea, offering themselves to your view at once, and at so agreeable a distance, as nothing can be more delightful. The mountain consists of a double top, the one pointed very sharp, and commonly appearing above any clouds, the other blunt. Here, as we approached, we met many large gaping clefts and chasms, out of which issued such sulphurous blasts and smoke, that we dared not stand long near them. Having gained the very summit, I laid myself down to look over into that most frightful and terrible vorago, a stupendous pit of near three miles in circuit, and half a mile in depth, by a perpendicular hollow cliff (like that from the highest part of Dover Castle), with now and then a craggy prominency jetting out. The area at the bottom is plane, like an even floor, which seems to be made by the wind circling the ashes by its eddy blasts. In the middle and centre is a hill, shaped like a great brown loaf, appearing to consist of sulphurous matter, continually vomiting a foggy exhalation, and ejecting huge stones with an impetuous noise and roaring, like the report of many muskets discharging. This horrid barathrum engaged our attention for some hours, both for the strangeness of the spectacle, and the mention which the old histories make of it, as one of the most stupendous curiosities in nature, and which made the learned and inquisitive Pliny adventure his life to detect the causes, and to lose it in too desperate an approach. It is likewise famous for the stratagem of the rebel, Spartacus, who did so much mischief to the State lurking among and protected by, these horrid caverns, when it was more accessible and less dangerous than it is now; but especially notorious it is for the last conflagration, when, in _anno_ 1630, it burst out beyond what it had ever done in the memory of history; throwing out huge stones and fiery pumices in such quantity, as not only environed the whole mountain, but totally buried and overwhelmed divers towns and their inhabitants, scattering the ashes more than a hundred miles, and utterly devastating all those vineyards, where formerly grew the most incomparable Greco; when, bursting through the bowels of the earth, it absorbed the very sea, and, with its whirling waters, drew in divers galleys and other vessels to their destruction, as is faithfully recorded. We descended with more ease than we climbed up, through a deep valley of pure ashes, which at the late eruption was a flowing river of melted and burning brimstone, and so came to our mules at the foot of the mountain. On Sunday, we with our guide visited the so much celebrated Baia, and natural rarities of the places adjacent. Here we entered the mountain Pausilypus, at the left hand of which they showed us Virgil's sepulchre erected on a steep rock, in form of a small rotunda or cupolated column, but almost overgrown with bushes and wild bay trees. At the entrance is this inscription: _Stanisi Cencovius. 1589 Qui cineres? Tumuli hæc vestigia, conditur olim Ille hôc qui cecinit Pascua, Rura Duces. Can Ree MDLIII._[26] [Footnote 26: Such is the inscription, as copied by Evelyn; but as its sense is not very clear, and the Diary contains instances of incorrectness in transcribing, it may be desirable to subjoin the distich said (by Keysler in his "Travels," ii. 433) to be the only one in the whole mausoleum: "_Quæ cineris tumulo hæc vestigia? conditur olim Ille hoc qui cecinit pascua, rura, duces._"] After we were advanced into this noble and altogether wonderful crypt, consisting of a passage spacious enough for two coaches to go abreast, cut through a rocky mountain near three quarters of a mile (by the ancient Cimmerii as reported, but as others say by L. Cocceius, who employed a hundred thousand men on it), we came to the midway, where there is a well bored through the diameter of this vast mountain, which admits the light into a pretty chapel, hewn out of the natural rock, wherein hang divers lamps, perpetually burning. The way is paved under foot; but it does not hinder the dust, which rises so excessively in this much-frequented passage, that we were forced at midday to use a torch. At length, we were delivered from the bowels of the earth into one of the most delicious plains in the world: the oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and other fruits, blushing yet on the perpetually green trees; for the summer is here eternal, caused by the natural and adventitious heat of the earth, warmed through the subterranean fires, as was shown us by our guide, who alighted, and, cutting up a turf with his knife, and delivering it to me, it was so hot, I was hardly able to hold it in my hands. This mountain is exceedingly fruitful in vines, and exotics grow readily. [Sidenote: LAGO D'AGNANO] We now came to a lake of about two miles in circumference, environed with hills; the water of it is fresh and sweet on the surface, but salt at bottom; some mineral salt conjectured to be the cause, and it is reported of that profunditude in the middle that it is bottomless. The people call it Lago d'Agnano, from the multitude of serpents which, involved together about the spring, fall down from the cliffy hills into it. It has no fish, nor will any live in it. We tried the old experiment on a dog in the Grotto del Cane, or Charon's Cave; it is not above three or four paces deep, and about the height of a man, nor very broad. Whatever having life enters it, presently expires. Of this we made trial with two dogs, one of which we bound to a short pole to guide him the more directly into the further part of the den, where he was no sooner entered, but--without the least noise, or so much as a struggle, except that he panted for breath, lolling out his tongue, his eyes being fixed:--we drew him out dead to all appearance; but immediately plunging him into the adjoining lake, within less than half an hour he recovered, and swimming to shore, ran away from us. We tried the same on another dog, without the application of the water, and left him quite dead. The experiment has been made on men, as on that poor creature whom Peter of Toledo caused to go in; likewise on some Turkish slaves; two soldiers, and other foolhardy persons, who all perished, and could never be recovered by the water of the lake, as are dogs; for which many learned reasons have been offered, as Simon Majolus in his book of the Canicular-days has mentioned, colloq. 15. And certainly the most likely is, the effect of those hot and dry vapors which ascend out of the earth, and are condensed by the ambient cold, as appears by their converting into crystalline drops on the top, while at the bottom it is so excessively hot, that a torch being extinguished near it, and lifted a little distance, was suddenly re-lighted. Near to this cave are the natural stoves of St. Germain, of the nature of sudatories, in certain chambers partitioned with stone for the sick to sweat in, the vapors here being exceedingly hot, and of admirable success in the gout, and other cold distempers of the nerves. Hence, we climed up a hill, the very highway in several places even smoking with heat like a furnace. The mountains were by the Greeks called Leucogæi, and the fields Phlegræn. Hercules here vanquished the Giants, assisted with lightning. We now came to the Court of Vulcan, consisting of a valley near a quarter of a mile in breadth, the margin environed with steep cliffs, out of whose sides and foot break forth fire and smoke in abundance, making a noise like a tempest of water, and sometimes discharging in loud reports, like so many guns. The heat of this place is wonderful, the earth itself being almost unsufferable, and which the subterranean fires have made so hollow, by having wasted the matter for so many years, that it sounds like a drum to those who walk upon it; and the water thus struggling with those fires bubbles and spouts aloft into the air. The mouths of these spiracles are bestrewed with variously colored cinders, which rise with the vapor, as do many colored stones, according to the quality of the combustible matter, insomuch as it is no little adventure to approach them. They are, however, daily frequented both by sick and well; the former receiving the fumes, have been recovered of diseases esteemed incurable. Here we found a great deal of sulphur made, which they refine in certain houses near the place, casting it into canes, to a very great value. Near this we were showed a hill of alum, where is one of the best mineries, yielding a considerable revenue. Some flowers of brass are found here; but I could not but smile at those who persuade themselves that here are the gates of purgatory (for which it may be they have erected, very near it, a convent, and named it St. Januarius), reporting to have often heard screeches and horrible lamentations proceeding from these caverns and volcanoes; with other legends of birds that are never seen, save on Sundays, which cast themselves into the lake at night, appearing no more all the week after. We now approached the ruins of a very stately temple, or theater, of 172 feet in length, and about 80 in breadth, thrown down by an earthquake, not long since; it was consecrated to Vulcan, and under the ground are many strange meanders; from which it is named the LABYRINTH; this place is so haunted with bats, that their perpetual fluttering endangered the putting out our links. [Sidenote: POZZOLO] Hence, we passed again those boiling and smoking hills, till we came to Pozzolo, formerly the famous Puteoli, the landing-place of St. Paul, when he came into Italy, after the tempest described in the Acts of the Apostles. Here we made a good dinner, and bought divers medals, antiquities, and other curiosities, of the country people, who daily find such things among the very old ruins of those places. This town was formerly a Greek colony, built by the Samians, a seasonable commodious port, and full of observable antiquities. We saw the ruins of Neptune's Temple, to whom this place was sacred, and near it the stately palace and gardens of Peter de Toledo, formerly mentioned. Afterward, we visited that admirably built Temple of Augustus, seeming to have been hewn out of an entire rock, though indeed consisting of several square stones. The inscription remains thus: "_L. Calphurnius L. F. Templum Augusto cum ornamentis D. D._;" and under it, "_L. Coccejus L. C. Postumi L. Auctus Architectus_." It is now converted into a church, in which they showed us huge bones, which they affirm to have been of some giant. We went to see the ruins of the old haven, so compact with that bituminous sand in which the materials are laid, as the like is hardly to be found, though all this has not been sufficient to protect it from the fatal concussions of several earthquakes (frequent here) which have almost demolished it, thirteen vast piles of marble only remaining; a stupendous work in the bosom of Neptune! To this joins the bridge of Caligula, by which (having now embarked ourselves) we sailed to the pleasant Baia, almost four miles in length, all which way that proud Emperor would pass in triumph. Here we rowed along toward a villa of the orator Cicero's, where we were shown the ruins of his Academy; and, at the foot of a rock, his Baths, the waters reciprocating their tides with the neighboring sea. Hard at hand, rises Mount Gaurus, being, as I conceived, nothing save a heap of pumices, which here float in abundance on the sea, exhausted of all inflammable matter by the fire, which renders them light and porous, so as the beds of nitre, which lie deep under them, having taken fire, do easily eject them. They dig much for fancied treasure said to be concealed about this place. From hence, we coasted near the ruins of Portus Julius, where we might see divers stately palaces that had been swallowed up by the sea after earthquakes. Coming to shore, we pass by the Lucrine Lake, so famous heretofore for its delicious oysters, now producing few or none, being divided from the sea by a bank of incredible labor, the supposed work of Hercules; it is now half choked up with rubbish, and by part of the new mountain, which rose partly out of it, and partly out of the sea, and that in the space of one night and a day, to a very great altitude, on the 29th September, 1538, after many terrible earthquakes, which ruined divers places thereabout, when at midnight the sea retiring near 200 paces, and yawning on the sudden, it continued to vomit forth flames and fiery stones in such quantity, as produced this whole mountain by their fall, making the inhabitants of Pozzolo to leave their habitations, supposing the end of the world had been come. From the left part of this, we walked to the Lake Avernus of a round form, and totally environed with mountains. This lake was feigned by the poet for the gates of hell, by which Æneas made his descent, and where he sacrificed to Pluto and the Manes. The waters are of a remarkably black color; but I tasted of them without danger; hence, they feign that the river Styx has its source. At one side, stand the handsome ruins of a Temple dedicated to Apollo, or rather Pluto, but it is controverted. Opposite to this, having new lighted our torches, we enter a vast cave, in which having gone about two hundred paces, we pass a narrow entry which leads us into a room of about ten paces long, proportionably broad and high; the side walls and roof retain still the golden mosaic, though now exceedingly decayed by time. Here is a short cell or rather niche, cut out of the solid rock, somewhat resembling a couch, in which they report that the Sibylla lay, and uttered her Oracles; but it is supposed by most to have been a bath only. This subterranean grot leads quite through to Cuma, but is in some places obstructed by the earth which has sunk in, so as we were constrained back again, and to creep on our bellies, before we came to the light. It is reported Nero had once resolved to cut a channel for two great galleys that should have extended to Ostia, 150 miles distant. The people now call it Licola. From hence, we ascended to that most ancient city of Italy, the renowned Cuma, built by the Grecians. It stands on a very eminent promontory, but is now a heap of ruins. A little below, stands the Arco Felice, heretofore part of Apollo's Temple, with the foundations of divers goodly buildings; among whose heaps are frequently found statues and other antiquities, by such as dig for them. Near this is the Lake Acherutia, and Acheron. Returning to the shore, we came to the Bagni de Tritoli and Diana, which are only long narrow passages cut through the main rock, where the vapors ascend so hot, that entering with the body erect you will even faint with excessive perspiration; but, stooping lower, as sudden a cold surprises. These sudatories are much in request for many infirmities. Now we entered the haven of the Bahiæ, where once stood that famous town, so-called from the companion of Ulysses here buried; not without great reason celebrated for one of the most delicious places that the sun shines on, according to that of Horace: "_Nullus in Orbe locus Baiis prælucet amoenis._" Though, as to the stately fabrics, there now remain little save the ruins, whereof the most entire is that of Diana's Temple, and another of Venus. Here were those famous poles of lampreys that would come to hand when called by name, as Martial tells us. On the summit of the rock stands a strong castle garrisoned to protect the shore from Turkish pirates. It was once the retiring place of Julius Cæsar. Passing by the shore again, we entered Bauli, observable from the monstrous murder of Nero committed on his mother Agrippina. Her sepulchre was yet shown us in the rock, which we entered, being covered with sundry heads and figures of beasts. We saw there the roots of a tree turned into stone, and are continually dropping. [Sidenote: MISENUS] Thus having viewed the foundations of the old Cimmeria, the palaces of Marius, Pompey, Nero, Hortensius, and other villas and antiquities, we proceeded toward the promontory of Misenus, renowned for the sepulchre of Æneas's Trumpeter. It was once a great city, now hardly a ruin, said to have been built from this place to the promontory of Minerva, fifty miles distant, now discontinued and demolished by the frequent earthquakes. Here was the villa of Caius Marius, where Tiberius Cæsar died; and here runs the Aqueduct, thought to be dug by Nero, a stupendous passage, heretofore nobly arched with marble, as the ruins testify. Hence, we walked to those receptacles of water called _Piscina Mirabilis_, being a vault of 500 feet long, and twenty-two in breadth, the roof propped up with four ranks of square pillars, twelve in a row; the walls are brick, plastered over with such a composition as for strength and politure resembles white marble. 'Tis conceived to have been built by Nero, as a conservatory for fresh water; as were also the Centi Camerelli, into which we were next led. All these crypta being now almost sunk into the earth, show yet their former amplitude and magnificence. Returning toward the Baia, we again pass the Elysian Fields, so celebrated by the poets, nor unworthily, for their situation and verdure, being full of myrtles and sweet shrubs, and having a most delightful prospect toward the Tyrrhene Sea. Upon the verge of these remain the ruins of the Mercato di Saboto, formerly a Circus; over the arches stand divers urns, full of Roman ashes. Having well satisfied our curiosity among these antiquities, we retired to our felucca, which rowed us back again toward Pozzolo, at the very place of St. Paul's landing. Keeping along the shore, they showed us a place where the sea water and sands did exceedingly boil. Thence, to the island Nesis, once the fabulous Nymph; and thus we leave the Baia, so renowned for the sweet retirements of the most opulent and voluptuous Romans. They certainly were places of uncommon amenity, as their yet tempting site, and other circumstances of natural curiosities, easily invite me to believe, since there is not in the world so many stupendous rarities to be met with, as in the circle of a few miles which environ these blissful abodes. [Sidenote: NAPLES] 8th February, 1645. Returned to Naples, we went to see the Arsenal, well furnished with galleys and other vessels. The city is crowded with inhabitants, gentlemen and merchants. The government is held of the Pope by an annual tribute of 40,000 ducats and a white jennet; but the Spaniard trusts more to the power of those his natural subjects there; Apulia and Calabria yielding him near four millions of crowns yearly to maintain it. The country is divided into thirteen Provinces, twenty Archbishops, and one hundred and seven Bishops; the estates of the nobility, in default of the male line, reverting to the King. Besides the Vice-Roy, there is among the Chief Magistrates a High Constable, Admiral, Chief Justice, Great Chamberlain, and Chancellor, with a Secretary; these being prodigiously avaricious, do wonderfully enrich themselves out of the miserable people's labor, silks, manna, sugar, oil, wine, rice, sulphur, and alum; for with all these riches is this delicious country blest. The manna falls at certain seasons on the adjoining hills in form of a thick dew. The very winter here is a summer, ever fruitful, so that in the middle of February we had melons, cherries, apricots, and many other sorts of fruit. The building of the city is for the size the most magnificent of any in Europe, the streets exceeding large, well paved, having many vaults and conveyances under them for the sulliage; which renders them very sweet and clean, even in the midst of winter. To it belongeth more than 3,000 churches and monasteries, and these the best built and adorned of any in Italy. They greatly affect the Spanish gravity in their habit; delight in good horses; the streets are full of gallants on horseback, in coaches and sedans, from hence brought first into England by Sir Sanders Duncomb. The women are generally well featured, but excessively libidinous. The country people so jovial and addicted to music, that the very husbandmen almost universally play on the guitar, singing and composing songs in praise of their sweethearts, and will commonly go to the field with their fiddle; they are merry, witty, and genial; all which I much attribute to the excellent quality of the air. They have a deadly hatred to the French, so that some of our company were flouted at for wearing red cloaks, as the mode then was. This I made the _non ultra_ of my travels, sufficiently sated with rolling up and down, and resolving within myself to be no longer an _individuum vagum_, if ever I got home again; since, from the report of divers experienced and curious persons, I had been assured there was little more to be seen in the rest of the civil world, after Italy, France, Flanders, and the Low Countries, but plain and prodigious barbarism. [Sidenote: ROME] Thus, about the 7th of February,[27] we set out on our return to Rome by the same way we came, not daring to adventure by sea, as some of our company were inclined to do, for fear of Turkish pirates hovering on that coast; nor made we any stay save at Albano, to view the celebrated place and sepulchre of the famous duelists who decided the ancient quarrel between their imperious neighbors with the loss of their lives. These brothers, the Horatii and Curiatii, lie buried near the highway, under two ancient pyramids of stone, now somewhat decayed and overgrown with rubbish. We took the opportunity of tasting the wine here, which is famous. [Footnote 27: Evelyn's dates in this portion of his Diary appear to require occasionally that qualification of "about."] Being arrived at Rome on the 13th of February, we were again invited to Signor Angeloni's study, where with greater leisure we surveyed the rarities, as his cabinet and medals especially, esteemed one of the best collections of them in Europe. He also showed us two antique lamps, one of them dedicated to Pallas, the other _Laribus Sacru'_, as appeared by their inscriptions; some old Roman rings and keys; the Egyptian Isis, cast in iron; sundry rare basso-relievos; good pieces of paintings, principally of Christ of Correggio, with this painter's own face admirably done by himself; divers of both the Bassanos; a great number of pieces by Titian, particularly the Triumphs; an infinity of natural rarities, dried animals, Indian habits and weapons, shells, etc.; divers very antique statues of brass; some lamps of so fine an earth that they resembled cornelians, for transparency and color; hinges of Corinthian brass, and one great nail of the same metal found in the ruins of Nero's golden house. In the afternoon, we ferried over to Transtevere, to the palace of Gichi, to review the works of Raphael: and, returning by St. Angelo, we saw the castle as far as was permitted, and on the other side considered those admirable pilasters supposed to be of the foundation of the Pons Sublicius, over which Horatius Cocles passed; here anchor three or four water mills, invented by Belizarius: and thence had another sight of the Farnesi's gardens, and of the terrace where is that admirable painting of Raphael, being a Cupid playing with a Dolphin, wrought _á fresco_, preserved in shutters of wainscot, as well it merits, being certainly one of the most wonderful pieces of work in the world. 14th February, 1645. I went to Santa Cecilia, a church built and endowed by Cardinal Sfrondæti, who has erected a stately altar near the body of this martyr, not long before found in a vesture of silk girt about, a veil on her head, and the bloody scars of three wounds on the neck; the body is now in a silver chest, with her statue over it, in snow-white marble. Other Saints lie here, decorated with splendid ornaments, lamps, and incensories of great cost. A little farther, they show us the Bath of St. Cecilia, to which joins a Convent of Friars, where is the picture of the Flagellation by Vanni, and the columns of the portico, taken from the Baths of Septimius Severus. 15th February, 1645. Mr. Henshaw and I walked by the Tiber, and visited the Stola Tybertina (now St. Bartholomew's), formerly cut in the shape of a ship, and wharfed with marble, in which a lofty obelisk represented the mast. In the church of St. Bartholomew is the body of the Apostle. Here are the ruins of the Temple of Æsculapius, now converted into a stately hospital and a pretty convent. Opposite to it, is the convent and church of St. John Calabita, where I saw nothing remarkable, save an old broken altar. Here was the Temple of Fortuna Virilis. Hence, we went to a cupola, now a church, formerly dedicated to the sun. Opposite to it, Santa Maria Schola Græca, where formerly that tongue was taught; said to be the second church dedicated in Rome to the Blessed Virgin; bearing also the title of a Cardinalate. Behind this stands the great altar of Hercules, much demolished. Near this, being at the foot of Mount Aventine, are the Pope's salt houses. Ascending the hill, we came to St. Sabina, an ancient fabric, formerly sacred to Diana; there, in a chapel, is an admirable picture, the work of Livia Fontana, set about with columns of alabaster, and in the middle of the church is a stone, cast, as they report, by the Devil at St. Dominic, while he was at mass. Hence, we traveled toward a heap of rubbish, called the Marmorata, on the bank of the Tiber, a magazine of stones; and near which formerly stood a triumphal arch, in honor of Horatius vanquishing the Tuscans. The ruins of the bridge yet appear. We were now got to Mons Testaceus, a heap of potsherds, almost 200 feet high, thought to have been thrown there and amassed by the subjects of the Commonwealth bringing their tribute in earthen vessels, others (more probably) that it was a quarter of the town where potters lived; at the summit Rome affords a noble prospect. Before it is a spacious green, called the Hippodrome, where Olympic games were celebrated, and the people mustered, as in our London Artillery-Ground. Going hence, to the old wall of the city, we much admired the pyramid, or tomb, of Caius Cestius, of white marble, one of the most ancient entire monuments, inserted in the wall, with this inscription: "_C. Cestius L. F. Pob. Epulo (an order of priests) Pr. Tr. pl. VII. Vir. Epulonum._" And a little beneath: "_Opus absolutum ex testamento diebus CCCXXX. arbitratu. Ponti P. F. Cla. Melæ Heredis et Pothi L._" At the left hand, is the Port of St. Paul, once Tergemina, out of which the three Horatii passed to encounter the Curiatii of Albano. Hence, bending homeward by St. Saba, by Antoninus's baths (which we entered), is the marble sepulchre of Vespasian. The thickness of the walls and the stately ruins show the enormous magnitude of these baths. Passing by a corner of the Circus Maximus, we viewed the place where stood the Septizonium, demolished by Sextus V., for fear of its falling. Going by Mons Coelius, we beheld the devotions of St. Maria in Naviculâ, so named from a ship carved out in white marble standing on a pedestal before it, supposed to be the vow of one escaped from shipwreck. It has a glorious front to the street. Adjoining to this are the Hortii Mathæi, which only of all the places about the city I omitted visiting, though I was told inferior to no garden in Rome for statues, ancient monuments, aviaries, fountains, groves, and especially a noble obelisk, and maintained in beauty at an expense of 6,000 crowns yearly, which, if not expended to keep up its beauty, forfeits the possession of a greater revenue to another family: so curious are they in their villas and places of pleasure, even to excess. The next day, we went to the once famous Circus Caracalla, in the midst of which there now lay prostrate one of the most stately and ancient obelisks, full of Egyptian hieroglyphics. It was broken into four pieces, when overthrown by the Barbarians, and would have been purchased and transported into England by the magnificent Thomas Earl of Arundel, could it have been well removed to the sea. This is since set together and placed on the stupendous artificial rock made by Innocent X., and serving for a fountain in Piazza Navona, the work of Bernini, the Pope's architect. Near this is the sepulchre of Metellus, of massy stone, pretty entire, now called Capo di Bovo. Hence, to a small oratory, named "_Domine, quo vadis_"; where the tradition is, that our Blessed Savior met St. Peter as he fled, and turned him back again. St. Sebastian's was the next, a mean structure (the _facciáta_ excepted), but is venerable, especially for the relics and grots, in which lie the ashes of many holy men. Here is kept the pontifical chair sprinkled with the blood of Pope Stephen, to which great devotion is paid; also a well full of martyrs' bones, and the sepulchre of St. Sebastian, with one of the arrows (used in shooting him). These are preserved by the Fulgentine Monks, who have here their monastery, and who led us down into a grotto which they affirmed went divers furlongs under ground; the sides, or walls which we passed were filled with bones and dead bodies, laid (as it were) on shelves, whereof some were shut up with broad stones and now and then a cross, or a palm, cut in them. At the end of some of these subterranean passages, were square rooms with altars in them, said to have been the receptacles of primitive Christians, in the times of persecution, nor seems it improbable. 17th February, 1645. I was invited, after dinner, to the Academy of the Humorists, kept in a spacious hall belonging to Signor Mancini, where the wits of the town meet on certain days to recite poems, and debate on several subjects. The first that speaks is called the Lord, and stands in an eminent place, and then the rest of the Virtuosi recite in order. By these ingenious exercises, besides the learned discourses, is the purity of the Italian tongue daily improved. The room is hung round with devices, or emblems, with mottoes under them. There are several other Academies of this nature, bearing like fantastical titles. In this of the Humorists is the picture of Guarini, the famous author of the Pastor Fido, once of this society. The chief part of the day we spent in hearing the academic exercises. 18th February, 1645. We walked to St. Nicholas in Carcere; it has a fair front, and within are parts of the bodies of St. Mark and Marcellino; on the Tribuna is a painting of Gentileschi, and the altar of Caval; Baglioni, with some other rare paintings. Coming round from hence we passed by the Circus Flaminius, formerly very large, now totally in ruins. In the afternoon, we visited the English Jesuits, with whose Superior, P. Stafford, I was well acquainted; who received us courteously. They call their church and college St. Thomasso de gli Inglesi, and is a seminary. Among other trifles, they show the relics of Becket, their reputed martyr. Of paintings there is one of Durante, and many representing the sufferings of several of their society executed in England, especially F. Campion. In the Hospital of the Pelerini della S. Trinita, I had seen the feet of many pilgrims washed by Princes, Cardinals, and noble Romans, and served at table, as the ladies and noble women did to other poor creatures in another room. It was told us that no less than 444,000 men had been thus treated in the Jubilee of 1600, and 25,500 women, as appears by the register, which brings store of money. Returning homeward, I saw the palace of Cardinal Spada, where is a most magnificent hall painted by Daniel de Volterra and Giulio Piacentino, who made the fret in the little Court; but the rare perspectives are of Bolognesi. Near this is the Mont Pieta, instituted as a bank for the poor, who, if the sum be not great, may have money upon pawns. To this joins St. Martino, to which belongs a Schola, or Corporation, that do many works of charity. Hence we came through Campo di Fiori, or herb-market, in the midst of which is a fountain casting out water of a dolphin, in copper; and in this piazza is common execution done. 19th February, 1645. I went, this afternoon, to visit my Lord John Somerset, brother to the Marquis of Worcester, who had his apartment in Palazzo della Cancellaria, belonging to Cardinal Francesco Barberini, as Vice-chancellor of the Church of Rome, and Protector of the English. The building is of the famous architect, Bramante, of incrusted marble, with four ranks of noble lights; the principal entrance is of Fontana's design, and all marble; the portico within sustained by massy columns; on the second peristyle above, the chambers are rarely painted by Salviati and Vasari; and so ample is this palace, that six princes with their families have been received in it at one time, without incommoding each other. 20th February, 1645. I went, as was my usual custom, and spent an afternoon in Piazza Navona, as well as to see what antiquities I could purchase among the people who hold market there for medals, pictures, and such curiosities, as to hear the mountebanks prate and distribute their medicines. This was formerly the Circus, or Agonales, dedicated to sports and pastimes, and is now the greatest market of the city, having three most noble fountains, and the stately palaces of the Pamfilii, St. Giacomo de Spagnoli belonging to that nation, to which add two convents for friars and nuns, all Spanish. In this Church was erected a most stately catafalco, or capellar ardente, for the death of the Queen of Spain; the church was hung with black, and here I heard a Spanish sermon, or funeral oration, and observed the statues, devices, and impresses hung about the walls, the church and pyramid stuck with thousands of lights and tapers, which made a glorious show. The statue of St. James is by Sansovino; there are also some good pictures of Caracci. The _facciáta_, too, is fair. Returning home, I passed by the stumps of old Pasquin, at the corner of a street, called Strada Pontificia; here they still paste up their drolling lampoons and scurrilous papers. This had formerly been one of the best statues for workmanship and art in all the city, as the remaining bust does still show. 21st February, 1645. I walked in the morning up the hill toward the Capuchins, where was then Cardinal Unufrio (brother to the late Pope Urban VIII.) of the same order. He built them a pretty church, full of rare pictures, and there lies the body of St. Felix, that they say still does miracles. The piece at the great altar is by Lanfranc. It is a lofty edifice, with a beautiful avenue of trees, and in a good air. After dinner, passing along the Strada del Corso, I observed the column of Antoninus, passing under Arco Portugallo, which is but a relic, heretofore erected in honor of Domitian, called now Portugallo, from a Cardinal living near it. A little further on the right hand stands the column in a small piazza, heretofore set up in honor of M. Aurelius Antoninus, comprehending in a basso-relievo of white marble his hostile acts against the Parthians, Armenians, Germans, etc; but it is now somewhat decayed. On the summit has been placed the image of St. Paul, of gilded copper. The pillar is said to be 161 feet high, ascended by 207 steps, receiving light by fifty-six apertures, without defacing the sculpture. At a little distance, are the relics of the Emperor's palace, the heads of whose pillars show them to have been Corinthian. Turning a little down, we came to another piazza, in which stands a sumptuous vase of porphyry, and a fair fountain; but the grace of this market, and indeed the admiration of the whole world, is the Pantheon, now called S. Maria della Rotonda, formerly sacred to all the Gods, and still remaining the most entire antiquity of the city. It was built by Marcus Agrippa, as testifies the architrave of the portico, sustained by thirteen pillars of Theban marble, six feet thick, and fifty-three in height, of one entire stone. In this porch is an old inscription. Entering the church, we admire the fabric, wholly covered with one cupola, seemingly suspended in the air, and receiving light by a hole in the middle only. The structure is near as high as broad, viz, 144 feet, not counting the thickness of the walls, which is twenty-two more to the top, all of white marble; and, till Urban VIII. converted part of the metal into ordnance of war against the Duke of Parma, and part to make the high altar in St. Peter's, it was all over covered with Corinthian brass, ascending by forty degrees within the roof, or convex, of the cupola, richly carved in octagons in the stone. There are niches in the walls, in which stood heretofore the statues of Jupiter and the other Gods and Goddesses; for here was that Venus which had hung in her ear the other Union[28] that Cleopatra was about to dissolve and drink up, as she had done its fellow. There are several of these niches, one above another for the celestial, terrestrial, and subterranean deities; but the place is now converted into a church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin and all the Saints. The pavement is excellent, and the vast folding-gates, of Corinthian brass. In a word, it is of all the Roman antiquities the most worthy of notice. There lie interred in this Temple the famous Raphael di Urbino, Perino del Vaga, F. Zuccharo, and other painters. [Footnote 28: And in the cup an UNION shall he throw, Richer than that which four successive kings In Denmark's crown have worn. --Shakespeare, "Hamlet," Act v. Sc. 2. Theobald says, an UNION is the finest sort of pearl, and has its place in all crowns and coronets. The Latin word for a single large pearl, it is hardly necessary to add, is _unio_.] Returning home, we pass by Cardinal Cajetan's Palace, a noble piece of architecture of Vincenzo Ammanatti, which is the grace of the whole Corso. 22d February, 1645. I went to Trinitá del Monte, a monastery of French, a noble church built by Louis XI. and Charles VIII., the chapels well painted, especially that by Zaccara da Volterra, and the cloister with the miracles of their St. Francis de Paulo, and the heads of the French Kings. In the _pergolo_ above, the walls are wrought with excellent perspective, especially the St. John; there are the Babylonish dials, invented by Kircher, the Jesuit. This convent, so eminently situated on Mons Pincius, has the entire prospect of Campus Martius, and has a fair garden which joins to the Palazzo di Medici. 23d February, 1645. I went to hear a sermon at St. Giacomo degli Incurabili, a fair church built by F. da Volterra, of good architecture, and so is the hospital, where only desperate patients are brought. I passed the evening at St. Maria del Popolo, heretofore Nero's sepulchre, where his ashes lay many years in a marble chest. To this church joins the monastery of St. Augustine, which has pretty gardens on Mons Pincius, and in the church is the miraculous shrine of the Madonna which Pope Paul III. brought barefooted to the place, supplicating for a victory over the Turks in 1464. In a chapel of the Ghisi, are some rare paintings of Raphael, and noble sculptures. Those two in the choir are by Sansovino, and in the Chapel de Cerasii, a piece of Caravaggio. Here lie buried many great scholars and artists, of which I took notice of this inscription: "_Hospes, disce novum mortis genus; improba felis, Dum trahitur, digitum mordet, et intereo._" Opposite to the _facciátæ_ of the church is a superb obelisk full of hieroglyphics, the same that Sennesertus, King of Egypt, dedicated to the Sun; brought to Rome by Augustus, erected in the Circus Maximus, and since placed here by Pope Sextus V. It is eighty-eight feet high, of one entire stone, and placed with great art and engines by the famous Domenico Fontana. Hence, turning on the right out of the Porto del Popolo, we came to Justinian's gardens, near the Muro Torto, so prominently built as threatening every moment to fall, yet standing so for these thousand years. Under this is the burying place for the common prostitutes, where they are put into the ground, _sans ceremonie_. 24th February, 1645. We walked to St. Roche's and Martine's, near the brink of the Tiber, a large hospital for both sexes. Hence, to the Mausoleum Augusti, between the Tiber and the Via Flaminia, now much ruined, which had formerly contended for its sumptuous architecture. It was intended as a cemetery for the Roman Emperors, had twelve ports, and was covered with a cupola of white marble, environed with stately trees and innumerable statues, all of it now converted into a garden. We passed the afternoon at the Sapienza, a very stately building full of good marbles, especially the portico, of admirable architecture. These are properly the University Schools, where lectures are read on Law, Medicine, and Anatomy, and students perform their exercises. Hence, we walked to the church of St. Andrea della Valle, near the former Theater of Pompey, and the famous Piccolomini, but given to this church and the Order, who are Theatins. The Barberini have in this place a chapel, of curious incrusted marbles of several sorts, and rare paintings. Under it is a place where St. Sebastian is said to have been beaten with rods before he was shot with darts. The cupola is painted by Lanfranc, an inestimable work, and the whole fabric and monastery adjoining are admirable. 25th February, 1645. I was invited by a Dominican Friar, whom we usually heard preach to a number of Jews, to be godfather to a converted Turk and Jew. The ceremony was performed in the Church of Santa Maria sopra la Minerva, near the Capitol. They were clad in white; then exorcised at their entering the church with abundance of ceremonies, and, when led into the choir, were baptized by a Bishop, _in pontificalibus_. The Turk lived afterward in Rome, sold hot waters and would bring us presents when he met us, kneeling and kissing the hems of our cloaks; but the Jew was believed to be a counterfeit. This church, situated on a spacious rising, was formerly consecrated to Minerva. It was well built and richly adorned, and the body of St. Catherine di Sienna lies buried here. The paintings of the chapel are by Marcello Venuti; the Madonna over the altar is by Giovanni di Fiesole, called the Angelic Painter, who was of the Order of these Monks. There are many charities dealt publicly here, especially at the procession on the Annunciation, where I saw his Holiness, with all the Cardinals, Prelates, etc., _in pontificalibus_; dowries being given to 300 poor girls all clad in white. The Pope had his tiara on his head, and was carried on men's shoulders in an open armchair, blessing the people as he passed. The statue of Christ, at the Columna, is esteemed one of the masterpieces of M. Angelo: innumerable are the paintings by the best artists, and the organ is accounted one of the sweetest in Rome. Cardinal Bembo is interred here. We returned by St. Mark's, a stately church, with an excellent pavement, and a fine piece by Perugino, of the Two Martyrs. Adjoining to this is a noble palace built by the famous Bramante. 26th February, 1645. Ascending the hill, we came to the Forum Trajanum, where his column stands yet entire, wrought with admirable basso-relievo recording the Dacian war, the figures at the upper part appearing of the same proportion with those below. It is ascended by 192 steps, enlightened with 44 apertures, or windows, artificially disposed; in height from the pedestal 140 feet. It had once the ashes of Trajan and his statue, where now stands St. Peter's of gilt brass, erected by Pope Sextus V. The sculpture of this stupendous pillar is thought to be the work of Apollodorus; but what is very observable is, the descent to the plinth of the pedestal, showing how this ancient city lies now buried in her ruins; this monument being at first set up on a rising ground. After dinner, we took the air in Cardinal Bentivoglio's delicious gardens, now but newly deceased. He had a fair palace built by several good masters on part of the ruins of Constantine's Baths; well adorned with columns and paintings, especially those of Guido Reni. 27th February, 1645. In the morning Mr. Henshaw and myself walked to the Trophies of Marius, erected in honor of his victory over the Cimbrians, but these now taken out of their niches are placed on the balusters of the Capitol, so that their ancient station is now a ruin. Keeping on our way, we came to St. Croce of Jerusalem, built by Constantine over the demolition of the Temple of Venus and Cupid, which he threw down; and it was here, they report, he deposited the wood of the true Cross, found by his mother, Helena; in honor whereof this church was built, and in memory of his victory over Maxentius when that holy sign appeared to him. The edifice without is Gothic, but very glorious within, especially the roof, and one tribuna (gallery) well painted. Here is a chapel dedicated to St. Helena, the floor whereof is of earth brought from Jerusalem; the walls are of fair mosaic, in which they suffer no women to enter, save once a year. Under the high altar of the Church is buried St. Anastasius, in Lydian marble, and Benedict VII.; and they show a number of relics, exposed at our request; with a phial of our blessed Savior's blood; two thorns of his crown; three chips of the real cross; one of the nails, wanting a point; St. Thomas's doubting finger; and a fragment of the title (put on the cross), being part of a thin board; some of Judas's pieces of silver; and many more, if one had faith to believe it. To this venerable church joins a Monastery, the gardens taking up the space of an ancient amphitheatre. Hence, we passed beyond the walls out at the Port of St. Laurence, to that Saint's church, and where his ashes are enshrined. This was also built by the same great Constantine, famous for the Coronation of Pietro Altissiodorensis, Emperor of Constantinople, by Honorius II. It is said the corpse of St. Stephen, the proto martyr, was deposited here by that of St. Sebastian, which it had no sooner touched, but Sebastian gave it place of its own accord. The Church has no less than seven privileged altars, and excellent pictures. About the walls are painted this martyr's sufferings; and, when they built them, the bones of divers saints were translated to other churches. The front is Gothic. In our return, we saw a small ruin of an aqueduct built by Quintus Marcius, the prætor; and so passed through that incomparable straight street leading to Santa Maria Maggiore, to our lodging, sufficiently tired. We were taken up next morning in seeing the impertinences of the Carnival, when all the world are as mad at Rome as at other places; but the most remarkable were the three races of the Barbary horses, that run in the Strada del Corso without riders, only having spurs so placed on their backs, and hanging down by their sides, as by their motion to stimulate them: then of mares, then of asses, of buffalos, naked men, old and young, and boys, and abundance of idle ridiculous pastime. One thing is remarkable, their acting comedies on a stage placed on a cart, or _plaustrum_, where the scene, or tiring place, is made of boughs in a rural manner, which they drive from street to street with a yoke or two of oxen, after the ancient guise. The streets swarm with prostitutes, buffoons, and all manner of rabble. 1st March, 1645. At the Greek Church, we saw the Eastern ceremonies performed by a Bishop, etc., in that tongue. Here the unfortunate Duke and Duchess of Bouillon received their ashes, it being the first day of Lent. There was now as much trudging up and down of devotees, as the day before of licentious people; all saints alike to appearance. The gardens of Justinian, which we next visited, are very full of statues and antiquities, especially urns; among which is that of Minutius Felix; a terminus that formerly stood in the Appian way, and a huge colossé of the Emperor Justinian. There is a delicate aviary on the hill; the whole gardens furnished with rare collections, fresh, shady, and adorned with noble fountains. Continuing our walk a mile farther, we came to Pons Milvius, now Mela, where Constantine overthrew Maxentius, and saw the miraculous sign of the cross, _In hoc signo vinces_. It was a sweet morning, and the bushes were full of nightingales. Hence, to Aqua Claudia again, an aqueduct finished by that Emperor at the expense of eight millions. In the afternoon, to Farnese's gardens, near the Campo Vaccino; and upon the Palatine Mount to survey the ruins of Juno's Temple, in the Piscina, a piazza so-called near the famous bridge built by Antoninus Pius, and re-edified by Pope Sextus IV. The rest of this week, we went to the Vatican, to hear the sermons, at St. Peter's, of the most famous preachers, who discourse on the same subjects and text yearly, full of Italian eloquence and action. On our Lady day, 25th March, we saw the Pope and Cardinals ride in pomp to the Minerva, the great guns of the Castle of St. Angelo being fired, when he gives portions to 500 _zitelle_ (young women), who kiss his feet in procession, some destined to marry, some to be nuns;--the scholars of the college celebrating the blessed Virgin with their compositions. The next day, his Holiness was busied in blessing golden roses, to be sent to several great Princes; the Procurator of the Carmelites preaching on our Savior's feeding the multitude with five loaves, the ceremony ends. The sacrament being this day exposed, and the relics of the Holy Cross, the concourse about the streets is extraordinary. On Palm-Sunday, there was a great procession, after a papal mass. 11th April, 1645. St. Veronica's handkerchief (with the impression of our Savior's face) was exposed, and the next day the spear, with a world of ceremony. On Holy Thursday, the Pope said mass, and afterward carried the Host in procession about the chapel, with an infinity of tapers. This finished, his Holiness was carried in his open chair on men's shoulders to the place where, reading the Bull _In Coenâ Domini_, he both curses and blesses all in a breath; then the guns are again fired. Hence, he went to the Ducal hall of the Vatican, where he washed the feet of twelve poor men, with almost the same ceremony as it is done at Whitehall; they have clothes, a dinner, and alms, which he gives with his own hands, and serves at their table; they have also gold and silver medals, but their garments are of white woolen long robes, as we paint the Apostles. The same ceremonies are done by the Conservators and other officers of state at St. John di Lateran; and now the table on which they say our blessed Lord celebrated his last supper is set out, and the heads of the Apostles. In every famous church they are busy in dressing up their pageantries to represent the Holy Sepulchre, of which we went to visit divers. On Good Friday, we went again to St. Peter's, where the handkerchief, lance, and cross were all exposed, and worshiped together. All the confession seats were filled with devout people, and at night was a procession of several who most lamentably whipped themselves till the blood stained their clothes, for some had shirts, others upon the bare back, having visors and masks on their faces; at every three or four steps dashing the knotted and raveled whip cord over their shoulders, as hard as they could lay it on; while some of the religious orders and fraternities sung in a dismal tone, the lights and crosses going before, making all together a horrible and indeed heathenish pomp. The next day, there was much ceremony at St. John di Laterano, so as the whole week was spent in running from church to church, all the town in busy devotion, great silence, and unimaginable superstition. Easter day, I was awakened by the guns from St. Angelo: we went to St. Peter's, where the Pope himself celebrated mass, showed the relics before-named, and gave a public Benediction. Monday, we went to hear music in the Chiesa Nova; and, though there were abundance of ceremonies at the other great churches, and great exposure of relics, yet being wearied with sights of this nature, and the season of the year, summer, at Rome being very dangerous, by reason of the heat minding us of returning northward, we spent the rest of our time in visiting such places as we had not yet sufficiently seen. Only I do not forget the Pope's benediction of the _Gonfalone_, or Standard, and giving the hallowed palms; and, on May Day, the great procession of the University and the muleteers at St. Anthony's, and their setting up a foolish May pole in the Capitol, very ridiculous. We therefore now took coach a little out of town, to visit the famous Roma Soterránea, being much like what we had seen at St. Sebastians. Here, in a cornfield, guided by two torches, we crept on our bellies into a little hole, about twenty paces, which delivered us into a large entry that led us into several streets, or alleys, a good depth in the bowels of the earth, a strange and fearful passage for divers miles, as Bosio has measured and described them in his book. We ever and anon came into pretty square rooms, that seemed to be chapels with altars, and some adorned with very ordinary ancient painting. Many skeletons and bodies are placed on the sides one above the other in degrees like shelves, whereof some are shut up with a coarse flat stone, having engraven on them _Pro Christo_, or a cross and palms, which are supposed to have been martyrs. Here, in all likelihood, were the meetings of the Primitive Christians during the persecutions, as Pliny the Younger describes them. As I was prying about, I found a glass phial, filled (as was conjectured) with dried blood, and two lachrymatories. Many of the bodies, or rather bones (for there appeared nothing else) lay so entire, as if placed by the art of the chirurgeon, but being only touched fell all to dust. Thus, after wandering two or three miles in this subterranean meander, we returned almost blind when we came into the daylight, and even choked by the smoke of the torches. It is said that a French bishop and his retinue adventuring too far into these dens, their lights going out, were never heard of more. We were entertained at night with an English play at the Jesuits', where we before had dined; and the next day at Prince Galicano's, who himself composed the music to a magnificent opera, where were present Cardinal Pamphilio, the Pope's nephew, the Governors of Rome, the cardinals, the ambassadors, ladies, and a number of nobility and strangers. There had been in the morning a joust and tournament of several young gentlemen on a formal defy, to which we had been invited; the prizes being distributed by the ladies, after the knight-errantry way. The lancers and swordsmen running at tilt against the barriers, with a great deal of clatter, but without any bloodshed, giving much diversion to the spectators, and was new to us travelers. The next day Mr. Henshaw and I spent the morning in attending the entrance and cavalcade of Cardinal Medici, the ambassador from the Grand Duke of Florence, by the Via Flaminia. After dinner, we went again to the Villa Borghese, about a mile without the city; the garden is rather a park, or a Paradise, contrived and planted with walks and shades of myrtles, cypress, and other trees, and groves, with abundance of fountains, statues, and bass-relievos, and several pretty murmuring rivulets. Here they had hung large nets to catch woodcocks. There was also a vivary, where, among other exotic fowls, was an ostrich; besides a most capacious aviary; and, in another inclosed part, a herd of deer. Before the palace (which might become the court of a great prince) stands a noble fountain, of white marble, enriched with statues. The outer walls of the house are encrusted with excellent antique bass-relievos, of the same marble, incornished with festoons and niches set with statues from the foundation to the roof. A stately portico joins the palace, full of statues and columns of marble, urns, and other curiosities of sculpture. In the first hall were the Twelve Cæsars, of antique marble, and the whole apartments furnished with pictures of the most celebrated masters, and two rare tables of porphyry, of great value. But of this already: for I often visited this delicious place. This night were glorious fire-works at the palace of Cardinal Medici before the gate, and lights of several colors all about the windows through the city, which they contrive by setting the candles in little paper lanterns dyed with various colors, placing hundreds of them from story to story; which renders a gallant show. 4th May, 1645. Having seen the entry of the ambassador of Lucca, I went to the Vatican, where, by favor of our Cardinal Protector, Fran. Barberini, I was admitted into the Consistory, heard the ambassador make his oration in Latin to the Pope, sitting on an elevated state, or throne, and changing two pontifical mitres; after which, I was presented to kiss his toe, that is, his embroidered slipper, two Cardinals holding up his vest and surplice; and then, being sufficiently blessed with his thumb and two fingers for that day I returned home to dinner. We went again to see the medals of Signor Gotefredi, which are absolutely the best collection in Rome. Passing the Ludovisia Villa, where the petrified human figure lies, found on the snowy Alps; I measured the hydra, and found it not a foot long; the three necks and fifteen heads seem to be but patched up with several pieces of serpents' skins. 5th May, 1645. We took coach, and went fifteen miles out of the city to Frascati, formerly Tusculum, a villa of Cardinal Aldobrandini, built for a country house; but surpassing, in my opinion, the most delicious places I ever beheld for its situation, elegance, plentiful water, groves, ascents, and prospects. Just behind the palace (which is of excellent architecture) in the centre of the inclosure, rises a high hill, or mountain, all over clad with tall wood, and so formed by nature, as if it had been cut out by art, from the summit whereof falls a cascade, seeming rather a great river than a stream precipitating into a large theatre of water, representing an exact and perfect rainbow, when the sun shines out. Under this, is made an artificial grot, wherein are curious rocks, hydraulic organs, and all sorts of singing birds, moving and chirping by force of the water, with several other pageants and surprising inventions. In the centre of one of these rooms, rises a copper ball that continually dances about three feet above the pavement, by virtue of a wind conveyed secretly to a hole beneath it; with many other devices to wet the unwary spectators, so that one can hardly step without wetting to the skin. In one of these theaters of water, is an Atlas spouting up the stream to a very great height; and another monster makes a terrible roaring with a horn; but, above all, the representation of a storm is most natural, with such fury of rain, wind, and thunder, as one would imagine oneself in some extreme tempest. The garden has excellent walks and shady groves, abundance of rare fruit, oranges, lemons, etc., and the goodly prospect of Rome, above all description, so as I do not wonder that Cicero and others have celebrated this place with such encomiums. The Palace is indeed built more like a cabinet than anything composed of stone and mortar; it has in the middle a hall furnished with excellent marbles and rare pictures, especially those of Gioseppino d'Arpino; the movables are princely and rich. This was the last piece of architecture finished by Giacomo della Porta, who built it for Pietro Cardinal Aldobrandini, in the time of Clement VIII.[29] [Footnote 29: Cardinal Hippolito Aldobrandini was elected Pope in January, 1592, by the name of Clement VIII., and died in March, 1605.] We went hence to another house and garden not far distant, on the side of a hill called Mondragone, finished by Cardinal Scipio Borghese, an ample and kingly edifice. It has a very long gallery, and at the end a theatre for pastimes, spacious courts, rare grots, vineyards, olive-grounds, groves and solitudes. The air is so fresh and sweet, as few parts of Italy exceed it; nor is it inferior to any palace in the city itself for statues, pictures, and furniture; but, it growing late, we could not take such particular notice of these things as they deserved. [Sidenote: TIVOLI] 6th May, 1645. We rested ourselves; and next day, in a coach, took our last farewell of visiting the circumjacent places, going to Tivoli, or the old Tiburtum. At about six miles from Rome, we pass the Teverone, a bridge built by Mammea, the mother of Severus, and so by divers ancient sepulchres, among others that of Valerius Volusi; and near it past the stinking sulphurous river over the Ponte Lucano, where we found a heap, or turret, full of inscriptions, now called the Tomb of Plautius. Arrived at Tivoli, we went first to see the palace d'Este, erected on a plain, but where was formerly an hill. The palace is very ample and stately. In the garden, on the right hand, are sixteen vast conchas of marble, jetting out waters; in the midst of these stands a Janus quadrifrons, that cast forth four girandolas, called from the resemblance (to a particular exhibition in fireworks so named) the Fountana di Spéccho (looking-glass). Near this is a place for tilting. Before the ascent of the palace is the famous fountain of Leda, and not far from that, four sweet and delicious gardens. Descending thence are two pyramids of water, and in a grove of trees near it the fountains of Tethys, Esculapius, Arethusa, Pandora, Pomona, and Flora; then the prancing Pegasus, Bacchus, the Grot of Venus, the two Colosses of Melicerta and Sibylla Tiburtina, all of exquisite marble, copper, and other suitable adornments. The Cupids pouring out water are especially most rare, and the urns on which are placed the ten nymphs. The grots are richly paved with _pietra-commessa_, shells, coral, etc. Toward Roma Triumphans, leads a long and spacious walk, full of fountains, under which is historized the whole Ovidian Metamorphosis, in rarely sculptured _mezzo relievo_. At the end of this, next the wall, is the city of Rome as it was in its beauty, of small models, representing that city, with its amphitheatres; naumachi, thermæ, temples, arches, aqueducts, streets, and other magnificences, with a little stream running through it for the Tiber, gushing out of an urn next to the statue of the river. In another garden, is a noble aviary, the birds artificial, and singing till an owl appears, on which they suddenly change their notes. Near this is the fountain of dragons, casting out large streams of water with great noise. In another grotto, called Grotto di Natura, is an hydraulic organ; and below this are divers stews and fish ponds, in one of which is the statue of Neptune in his chariot on a seahorse, in another a Triton; and lastly, a garden of simples. There are besides in the palace many rare statues and pictures, bedsteads richly inlaid, and sundry other precious movables: the whole is said to have cost the best part of a million. Having gratified our curiosity with these artificial miracles, and dined, we went to see the so famous natural precipice and cascade of the river Anio, rushing down from the mountains of Tivoli with that fury that, what with the mist it perpetually casts up by the breaking of the water against the rocks, and what with the sun shining on it and forming a natural Iris, and the prodigious depth of the gulf below, it is enough to astonish one that looks on it. Upon the summit of this rock stands the ruins and some pillars and cornices of the Temple of Sibylla Tyburtina, or Albunea, a round fabric, still discovering some of its pristine beauty. Here was a great deal of gunpowder drying in the sun, and a little beneath, mills belonging to the Pope. [Sidenote: ROME] And now we returned to Rome. By the way, we were showed, at some distance, the city Præneste, and the Hadrian villa, now only a heap of ruins; and so came late to our lodging. We now determined to desist from visiting any more curiosities, except what should happen to come in our way, when my companion, Mr. Henshaw, or myself should go to take the air: only I may not omit that one afternoon, diverting ourselves in the Piazza Navona, a mountebank there to allure curious strangers, taking off a ring from his finger, which seemed set with a dull, dark stone a little swelling out, like what we call (though untruly) a toadstone, and wetting his finger a little in his mouth, and then touching it, it emitted a luculent flame as bright and large as a small wax candle; then, blowing it out, repeated this several times. I have much regretted that I did not purchase the receipt of him for making that composition at what price soever; for though there is a process in Jo. Baptista Porta and others how to do it, yet on several trials they none of them have succeeded. Among other observations I made in Rome are these: as to coins and medals, ten _asses_ make the Roman _denarius_, five the _quinarius_, ten _denarii_ an _aureus_; which accompt runs almost exactly with what is now in use of _quatrini_, _baiocs_, _julios_, and _scudi_, each exceeding the other in the proportion of ten. The _sestertius_ was a small silver coin, marked H. S. or rather LL^s, valued two pounds and a half of silver, viz, 250 _denarii_, about twenty-five golden _ducati_. The stamp of the Roman _denarius_ varied, having sometimes a Janus bifrons, the head of Roma armed, or with a chariot and two horses, which were called _bigi_; if with four, _quadrigi_: if with a Victoria, so named. The mark of the _denarius_ was distinguished > | < thus, or X; the _quinarius_ of half value, had, on one side, the head of Rome and V; the reverse, Castor and Pollux on horseback, inscribed _Roma_, etc. I observed that in the Greek church they made the sign of the cross from the right hand to the left; contrary to the Latins and the schismatic Greeks; gave the benediction with the first, second, and little finger stretched out, retaining the third bent down, expressing a distance of the third Person of the Holy Trinity from the first two. [Illustration: _LORD WILLIAM RUSSELL TAKING LEAVE OF HIS CHILDREN, 1683_ _Photogravure after a painting by Bridges_] For sculptors and architects, we found Bernini and Algardi were in the greatest esteem; Fiamingo, as a statuary; who made the Andrea in St. Peter's, and is said to have died mad because it was placed in an ill light. Among the painters, Antonio de la Cornea, who has such an address of counterfeiting the hands of the ancient masters so well as to make his copies pass for originals; Pietro de Cortone, Monsieur Poussin, a Frenchman, and innumerable more. Fioravanti, for armor, plate, dead life, tapestry, etc. The chief masters of music, after Marc Antonio, the best treble, is Cavalier Lauretto, an eunuch; the next Cardinal Bichi's eunuch, Bianchi, tenor, and Nicholai, bass. The Jews in Rome wore red hats, till the Cardinal of Lyons, being short-sighted, lately saluted one of them, thinking him to be a Cardinal as he passed by his coach; on which an order was made, that they should use only the yellow color. There was now at Rome one Mrs. Ward, an English devotée, who much solicited for an order of Jesuitesses. At executions I saw one, a gentleman, hanged in his cloak and hat for murder. They struck the malefactor with a club that first stunned him, and then cut his throat. At Naples they use a frame, like ours at Halifax.[30] [Footnote 30: A guillotine.] It is reported that Rome has been once no less than fifty miles in compass, now not thirteen, containing in it 3,000 churches and chapels, monasteries, etc. It is divided into fourteen regions or wards; has seven mountains, and as many campi or valleys; in these are fair parks, or gardens, called villas, being only places of recess and pleasure, at some distance from the streets, yet within the walls. The bills of exchange I took up from my first entering Italy till I went from Rome, amounting to but 616 _ducati di banco_, though I purchased many books, pictures, and curiosities. 18th May, 1645. I intended to have seen Loretto, but, being disappointed of moneys long expected, I was forced to return by the same way I came, desiring, if possible, to be at Venice by the Ascension, and therefore I diverted to take Leghorn in the way, as well to furnish me with credit by a merchant there, as to take order for transporting such collections as I had made at Rome. When on my way, turning about to behold this once and yet glorious city, from an eminence, I did not, without some regret, give it my last farewell. Having taken leave of our friends at Rome, where I had sojourned now about seven months, autumn, winter, and spring, I took coach, in company with two courteous Italian gentlemen. In the afternoon, we arrived at a house, or rather castle, belonging to the Duke of Parma, called Caprarola, situate on the brow of a hill, that overlooks a little town, or rather a natural and stupendous rock; witness those vast caves serving now for cellarage, where we were entertained with most generous wine of several sorts, being just under the foundation. The palace was built by the famous architect, Vignola, at the cost of Cardinal Alex. Farnese, in form of an octagon, the court in the middle being exactly round, so as rather to resemble a fort, or castle; yet the chambers within are all of them square, which makes the walls exceedingly thick. One of these rooms is so artificially contrived, that from the two opposite angles may be heard the least whisper; they say any perfect square does it. Most of the paintings are by Zuccari. It has a stately entry, on which spouts an artificial fountain within the porch. The hall, chapel, and a great number of lodging chambers are remarkable; but most of all the pictures and witty inventions of Hannibal Caracci; the Dead Christ is incomparable. Behind are the gardens full of statues and noble fountains, especially that of the Shepherds. After dinner, we took horse, and lay that night at Monte Rossi, twenty miles from Rome. 19th May, 1645. We dined at Viterbo, and lay at St. Laurenzo. Next day, at Radicofani, and slept at Turnera. [Sidenote: SIENNA] 21st May, 1645. We dined at Sienna, where we could not pass admiring the great church built entirely both within and without with white and black marble in polished squares, by Macarino, showing so beautiful after a shower has fallen. The floor within is of various colored marbles, representing the story of both Testaments, admirably wrought. Here lies Pius II. The bibliotéca is painted by P. Perrugino and Raphael. The life of Æneas Sylvius is in FRESCO; in the middle are the Three Graces, in antique marble, very curious, and the front of this building, though Gothic, is yet very fine. Among other things, they show St. Catharine's disciplining cell, the door whereof is half cut out into chips by the pilgrims and devotees, being of deal wood. Setting out hence for Pisa, we went again to see the Duomo in which the Emperor Henry VII. lies buried, poisoned by a monk in the Eucharist. The bending tower was built by Busqueto Delichio, a Grecian architect, and is a stupendous piece of art. In the gallery of curiosities is a fair mummy; the tail of a sea-horse; coral growing on a man's skull; a chariot automaton; two pieces of rock crystal, in one of which is a drop of water, in the other three or four small worms; two embalmed children; divers petrifactions, etc. The garden of simples is well furnished, and has in it the deadly yew, or _taxus_, of the ancients; which Dr. Belluccio, the superintendent, affirms that his workmen cannot endure to clip for above the space of half an hour at a time, from the pain of the head which surprises them. We went hence from Leghorn, by coach, where I took up ninety crowns for the rest of my journey, with letters of credit for Venice, after I had sufficiently complained of my defeat of correspondence at Rome. The next day, I came to Lucca, a small but pretty territory and state of itself. The city is neat and well fortified, with noble and pleasant walks of trees on the works, where the gentry and ladies used to take the air. It is situate on an ample plain by the river Serchio, yet the country about it is hilly. The Senate-house is magnificent. The church of St. Michael is a noble piece, as is also St. Fredian, more remarkable to us for the corpse of St. Richard, an English king,[31] who died here on his pilgrimage toward Rome. This epitaph is on his tomb: _Hic rex Richardus requiescit, sceptifer, almus; Rex Fuit Anglorum; regnum tenet iste Polorum. Regnum demisit; pro Christo cuncta reliquit. Ergo, Richardum nobis debit Anglia sanctum. Hic genitor Sanctæ Wulburgæ Virginis almæ Est Vrillebaldi sancti simul et Vinebaldi, Suffragium quorum nobis det regna Polorum._ [Footnote 31: What particular Richard King of England this was, it is impossible to say; the tomb still exists, and has long been a _crux_ to antiquaries and travelers.] Next this, we visited St. Croce, an excellent structure all of marble both without and within, and so adorned as may vie with many of the fairest even in Rome: witness the huge cross, valued at £15,000, above all venerable for that sacred _volto_ which (as tradition goes) was miraculously put on the image of Christ, and made by Nicodemus, while the artist, finishing the rest of the body, was meditating what face to set on it. The inhabitants are exceedingly civil to strangers, above all places in Italy, and they speak the purest Italian. It is also cheap living, which causes travelers to set up their rest here more than in Florence, though a more celebrated city; besides, the ladies here are very conversable, and the religious women not at all reserved; of these we bought gloves and embroidered stomachers, generally worn by gentlemen in these countries. The circuit of this state is but two easy days' journey, and lies mixed with the Duke of Tuscany's but having Spain for a protector (though the least bigoted of all Roman Catholics), and being one of the fortified cities in Italy, it remains in peace. The whole country abounds in excellent olives, etc. [Sidenote: PISTORIA] Going hence for Florence, we dined at Pistoria, where, besides one church, there was little observable: only in the highway we crossed a rivulet of salt water, though many miles from the sea. The country is extremely pleasant, full of gardens, and the roads straight as a line for the best part of that whole day, the hedges planted with trees at equal distances, watered with clear and plentiful streams. Rising early the next morning we arrived at Peggio Imperiale, being a palace of the Great Duke, not far from the city, having omitted it in my passage to Rome. The ascent to the house is by a stately gallery as it were of tall and overgrown cypress trees for near half a mile. At the entrance of these ranges, are placed statues of the Tiber and Arno, of marble; those also of Virgil, Ovid, Petrarch, and Dante. The building is sumptuous, and curiously furnished within with cabinets of pietra-commessa in tables, pavements, etc., which is a magnificence, or work, particularly affected at Florence. The pictures are, Adam and Eve by Albert Durer, very excellent; as is that piece of carving in wood by the same hand standing in a cupboard. Here is painted the whole Austrian line; the Duke's mother, sister to the Emperor, the foundress of this palace, than which there is none in Italy that I had seen more magnificently adorned, or furnished. [Sidenote: FLORENCE] We could not omit in our passage to re-visit the same, and other curiosities which we had neglected on our first being at Florence. We went, therefore, to see the famous piece of Andrea del Sarto, in the Annunciata. The story is, that the painter in a time of dearth borrowed a sack of corn of the religious of that convent, and repayment being demanded, he wrought it out in this picture, which represents Joseph sitting on a sack of corn, and reading to the Blessed Virgin; a piece infinitely valued. There fell down in the cloister an old man's face painted on the wall in _fresco_, greatly esteemed, and broke into crumbs; the Duke sent his best painters to make another instead of it, but none of them would presume to touch a pencil where Andrea had wrought, like another Apelles; but one of them was so industrious and patient, that, picking up the fragments, he laid and fastened them so artificially together, that the injury it had received was hardly discernible. Andrea del Sarto lies buried in the same place. Here is also that picture of Bartolomeo, who having spent his utmost skill in the face of the angel Gabriel, and being troubled that he could not exceed it in the Virgin, he began the body and to finish the clothes, and so left it, minding in the morning to work on the face; but, when he came, no sooner had he drawn away the cloth that was hung before it to preserve it from the dust, than an admirable and ravishing face was found ready painted; at which miracle all the city came in to worship. It is now kept in the Chapel of the Salutation, a place so enriched by devotees, that none in Italy, save Loretto, is said to exceed it. This picture is always covered with three shutters, one of which is of massy silver; methinks it is very brown, the forehead and cheeks whiter, as if it had been scraped. They report that those who have the honor of seeing it never lose their sight--happy then we! Belonging to this church is a world of plate, some whole statues of it, and lamps innumerable, besides the costly vows hung up, some of gold, and a cabinet of precious stones. Visiting the Duke's repository again, we told at least forty ranks of porphyry and other statues, and twenty-eight whole figures, many rare paintings and relievos, two square columns with trophies. In one of the galleries, twenty-four figures, and fifty antique heads; a Bacchus of M. Angelo, and one of Bandinelli; a head of Bernini, and a most lovely Cupid, of Parian marble; at the further end, two admirable women sitting, and a man fighting with a centaur; three figures in little of Andrea; a huge candlestick of amber; a table of Titian's painting, and another representing God the Father sitting in the air on the Four Evangelists; animals; divers smaller pieces of Raphael; a piece of pure virgin gold, as big as an egg. In the third chamber of rarities is the square cabinet, valued at 80,000 crowns, showing on every front, a variety of curious work; one of birds and flowers, of _pietra-commessa_; one, a descent from the cross, of M. Angelo; on the third, our Blessed Savior and the Apostles, of amber; and, on the fourth, a crucifix of the same. Between the pictures, two naked Venuses, by Titian; Adam and Eve, by Durer; and several pieces of Portdenone, and del Frate. There is a globe of six feet diameter. In the Armory, were an entire elk, a crocodile, and among the harness, several targets and antique horse-arms, as that of Charles V.; two set with turquoises, and other precious stones; a horse's tail, of a wonderful length. Then, passing the Old Palace, which has a very great hall for feasts and comedies, the roof rarely painted, and the side walls with six very large pictures representing battles, the work of Gio. Vassari. Here is a magazine full of plate; a harness of emeralds; the furnitures of an altar four feet high, and six in length, of massy gold; in the middle is placed the statue of Cosmo II., the bass-relievo is of precious stones, his breeches covered with diamonds; the moldings of this statue, and other ornaments, festoons, etc., are garnished with jewels and great pearls, dedicated to St. Charles, with this inscription, in rubies: "_Cosimus Secundus Dei gratiâ Magnus Dux Etruriæ ex voto._" There is also a King on horseback, of massy gold, two feet high, and an infinity of such like rarities. Looking at the Justice, in copper, set up on a column by Cosmo, in 1555, after the victory over Sienna, we were told that the Duke, asking a gentleman how he liked the piece, he answered, that he liked it very well, but that it stood too high for poor men to come at it. Prince Leopold has, in this city, a very excellent collection of paintings, especially a St. Catherine of P. Veronese; a Venus of marble, veiled from the middle to the feet, esteemed to be of that Greek workman who made the Venus at the Medici's Palace in Rome, altogether as good, and better preserved, an inestimable statue, not long since found about Bologna. Signor Gaddi is a lettered person, and has divers rarities, statues, and pictures of the best masters, and one bust of marble as much esteemed as the most antique in Italy, and many curious manuscripts; his best paintings are, a Virgin of del Sarto, mentioned by Vassari, a St. John, by Raphael, and an _Ecce Homo_, by Titian. The hall of the Academy de la Crusca is hung about with impresses and devices painted, all of them relating to corn sifted from the bran; the seats are made like breadbaskets and other rustic instruments used about wheat, and the cushions of satin, like sacks. We took our farewell of St. Laurence, more particularly noticing that piece of the Resurrection, which consists of a prodigious number of naked figures, the work of Pontormo. On the left hand is the Martyrdom of St. Laurence, by Bronzino, rarely painted indeed. In a chapel is the tomb of Pietro di Medici, and his brother John, of copper, excellently designed, standing on two lions' feet, which end in foliage, the work of M. Angelo. Over against this, are sepulchres of all the ducal family. The altar has a statue of the Virgin giving suck, and two Apostles. Paulus Jovius has the honor to be buried in the cloister. Behind the choir is the superb chapel of Ferdinand I., consisting of eight faces, four plain, four a little hollowed; in the other are to be the sepulchres, and a niche of paragon, for the statue of the prince now living, all of copper gilt; above, is a large table of porphyry, for an inscription for the Duke, in letters of jasper. The whole chapel, walls, pavement, and roof, are full of precious stones united with the moldings, which are also of gilded copper, and so are the bases and capitals of the columns. The tabernacle, with the whole altar, is inlaid with cornelians, lazuli, serpentine, agates, onyxes, etc. On the other side are six very large columns of rock crystal, eight figures of precious stones of several colors, inlaid in natural figures, not inferior to the best paintings, among which are many pearls, diamonds, amethysts, topazes, sumptuous and sparkling beyond description. The windows without side are of white marble. The library is the architecture of Raphael; before the port is a square vestibule of excellent art, of all the orders, without confusion; the ascent to it from the library is excellent. We numbered eighty-eight shelves, all MSS. and bound in red, chained; in all about 3,500 volumes, as they told us. The Arsenal has sufficient to arm 70,000 men, accurately preserved and kept, with divers lusty pieces of ordnance, whereof one is for a ball of 300 pounds weight, and another for 160, which weighs 72,500 pounds. When I was at Florence, the celebrated masters were: for _pietra-commessa_ (a kind of mosaic, or inlaying, of various colored marble, and other more precious stones), Dominico Benetti and Mazotti; the best statuary, Vincentio Brochi. This statuary makes those small figures in plaster and pasteboard, which so resemble copper that, till one handles them, they cannot be distinguished, he has so rare an art of bronzing them; I bought four of him. The best painter, Pietro Beretino di Cortona. This Duke has a daily tribute for every courtezan, or prostitute, allowed to practice that infamous trade in his dominions, and so has his Holiness the Pope, but not so much in value. [Sidenote: BOLOGNA] Taking leave of our two jolly companions, Signor Giovanni and his fellow, we took horses for Bologna; and, by the way, alighted at a villa of the Grand Duke's, called Pratolino. The house is a square of four pavilions, with a fair platform about it, balustred with stone, situate in a large meadow, ascending like an amphitheater, having at the bottom a huge rock, with water running in a small channel, like a cascade; on the other side, are the gardens. The whole place seems consecrated to pleasure and summer retirement. The inside of the palace may compare with any in Italy for furniture of tapestry, beds, etc., and the gardens are delicious, and full of fountains. In the grove sits Pan feeding his flock, the water making a melodious sound through his pipe; and a Hercules, whose club yields a shower of water, which, falling into a great shell, has a naked woman riding on the backs of dolphins. In another grotto is Vulcan and his family, the walls richly composed of corals, shells, copper, and marble figures, with the hunting of several beasts, moving by the force of water. Here, having been well washed for our curiosity, we went down a large walk, at the sides whereof several slender streams of water gush out of pipes concealed underneath, that interchangeably fall into each other's channels, making a lofty and perfect arch, so that a man on horseback may ride under it, and not receive one drop of wet. This canopy, or arch of water, I thought one of the most surprising magnificences I had ever seen, and very refreshing in the heat of the summer. At the end of this very long walk, stands a woman in white marble, in posture of a laundress wringing water out of a piece of linen, very naturally formed, into a vast laver, the work and invention of M. Angelo Buonarotti. Hence, we ascended Mount Parnassus, where the Muses played to us on hydraulic organs. Near this is a great aviary. All these waters came from the rock in the garden, on which is the statue of a giant representing the Apennines, at the foot of which stands this villa. Last of all, we came to the labyrinth, in which a huge colosse of Jupiter throws out a stream over the garden. This is fifty feet in height, having in his body a square chamber, his eyes and mouth serving for windows and door. We took horse and supped that night at Il Ponte, passing a dreadful ridge of the Apennines, in many places capped with snow, which covers them the whole summer. We then descended into a luxurious and rich plain. The next day we passed through Scarperia, mounting the hills again, where the passage is so straight and precipitous toward the right hand, that we climbed them with much care and danger; lodging at Firenzuolo, which is a fort built among the rocks, and defending the confines of the Great Duke's territories. The next day we passed by the Pietramala, a burning mountain. At the summit of this prodigious mass of hills, we had an unpleasant way to Pianura, where we slept that night and were entertained with excellent wine. Hence to Scargalasino, and to bed at Loiano. This plain begins about six miles from Bologna. Bologna belongs to the Pope, and is a famous University, situate in one of the richest spots of Europe for all sorts of provisions. It is built like a ship, whereof the Torre d'Asinelli may go for the mainmast. The city is of no great strength, having a trifling wall about it, in circuit near five miles, and two in length. This Torre d'Asinelli, ascended by 447 steps of a foot rise, seems exceedingly high, is very narrow, and the more conspicuous from another tower called Garisendi, so artificially built of brick (which increases the wonder) that it seems ready to fall. It is not now so high as the other; but they say the upper part was formerly taken down, for fear it should really fall, and do mischief. Next, we went to see an imperfect church, called St. Petronius, showing the intent of the founder, had he gone on. From this, our guide led us to the schools, which indeed are very magnificent. Thence to St. Dominic's, where that saint's body lies richly enshrined. The stalls, or seats, of this goodly church have the history of the Bible inlaid with several woods, very curiously done, the work of one Fr. Damiano di Bergamo, and a friar of that order. Among other relics, they show the two books of Esdras, written with his own hand. Here lie buried Jac. Andreas, and divers other learned persons. To the church joins the convent, in the quadrangle whereof are old cypresses, said to have been planted by their saint. Then we went to the palace of the Legate; a fair brick building, as are most of the houses and buildings, full of excellent carving and moldings, so as nothing in stone seems to be better finished or more ornamental; witness those excellent columns to be seen in many of their churches, convents, and public buildings; for the whole town is so cloistered, that one may pass from house to house through the streets without being exposed either to rain or sun. Before the stately hall of this palace stands the statue of Paul IV. and divers others; also the monument of the coronation of Charles V. The piazza before it is the most stately in Italy, St. Mark's at Venice only excepted. In the center of it is a fountain of Neptune, a noble figure in copper. Here I saw a Persian walking about in a rich vest of cloth of tissue, and several other ornaments, according to the fashion of his country, which much pleased me; he was a young handsome person, of the most stately mien. I would fain have seen the library of St. Savior, famous for the number of rare manuscripts; but could not, so we went to St. Francis, a glorious pile, and exceedingly adorned within. After dinner I inquired out a priest and Dr. Montalbano, to whom I brought recommendations from Rome: this learned person invented, or found out, the composition of the _lapis illuminabilis_, or phosphorus. He showed me their property (for he had several), being to retain the light of the sun for some competent time, by a kind of imbibition, by a particular way of calcination. Some of these presented a blue color, like the flame of brimstone, others like coals of a kitchen fire. The rest of the afternoon was taken up in St. Michael in Bosco, built on a steep hill on the edge of the city, for its fabric, pleasant shade and groves, cellars, dormitory, and prospects, one of the most delicious retirements I ever saw; art and nature contending which shall exceed; so as till now I never envied the life of a friar. The whole town and country to a vast extent are under command of their eyes, almost as far as Venice itself. In this convent there are many excellent paintings of Guido Reni; above all, the little cloister of eight faces, painted by Caracci in _fresco_. The carvings in wood, in the sacristy, are admirable, as is the inlaid work about the chapel, which even emulates the best paintings; the work is so delicate and tender. The paintings of the Savior are of Caracci and Leonardo, and there are excellent things of Raphael which we could not see. In the church of St. John is a fine piece of St. Cecilia, by Raphael. As to other paintings, there is in the church of St. Gregory an excellent picture of a Bishop giving the habit of St. Bernard to an armed soldier, with several other figures in the piece, the work of Guerchino. Indeed, this city is full of rare pieces, especially of Guido Domenico, and a virgin named Isabella Sirani, now living, who has painted many excellent pieces, and imitates Guido so well, that many skillful artists have been deceived. At the Mendicants are the Miracles of St. Eloy, by Reni, after the manner of Caravaggio, but better; and here they showed us that famous piece of Christ calling St. Matthew, by Annibal Caracci. The Marquis Magniani has the whole frieze of his hall painted in _fresco_ by the same hand. Many of the religious men nourish those lapdogs which the ladies are so fond of, and which they here sell. They are a pigmy sort of spaniels, whose noses they break when puppies; which, in my opinion, deforms them. At the end of the turning in one of the wings of the dormitory of St. Michael, I found a paper pasted near the window, containing the dimensions of most of the famous churches in Italy compared with their towers here, and the length of this gallery, a copy whereof I took. -------------------------+-------------+---------------+-------------- | Braccia[32] | Piede | Canna | | di Bolognia| | di Roma. -------------------------+-------------+---------------+-------------- | | | St. Pietro di Roma, longo| 284 | 473 | 84 Cupalo del muro, alta | 210 | 350 | 60 Torre d'Asinello, alto | 208-4/5 | 348 | 59 pr.^{mi} 6 Dormitorio de St. Mich. a| | | Bologn. longo | 254 | 423 | 72-1/2 -------------------------+-----------+-----------------+-------------- [Footnote 32: A measure of half an ell.] From hence being brought to a subterranean territory of cellars, the courteous friars made us taste a variety of excellent wines; and so we departed to our inn. The city is famous also for sausages; and here is sold great quantities of Parmegiano cheese, with Botargo, Caviare, etc., which makes some of their shops perfume the streets with no agreeable smell. We furnished ourselves with wash balls, the best being made here, and being a considerable commodity. This place has also been celebrated for lutes made by the old masters, Mollen, Hans Frey, and Nicholas Sconvelt, which were of extraordinary price; the workmen were chiefly Germans. The cattle used for draught in this country (which is very rich and fertile, especially in pasturage) are covered with housings of linen fringed at the bottom, that dangle about them, preserving them from flies, which in summer are very troublesome. [Sidenote: FERRARA] From this pleasant city, we proceeded toward Ferrara, carrying with us a bulletino, or bill of health (customary in all these parts of Italy, especially in the State of Venice) and so put ourselves into a boat that was towed with horses, often interrupted by the sluices (inventions there to raise the water for the use of mills, and to fill the artificial canals) at each of which we stayed till passage was made. We went by the Castle Bentivoglio, and, about night arrived at an ugly inn called _Mal Albergo_, agreeable to its name, whence, after we had supped, we embarked and passed that night through the Fens, where we were so pestered with those flying glow-worms, called _Luccioli_, that one who had never heard of them, would think the country full of sparks of fire. Beating some of them down and applying them to a book, I could read in the dark by the light they afforded. Quitting our boat, we took coach, and by morning got to Ferrara, where, before we could gain entrance, our guns and arms were taken from us of custom, the lock being taken off before, as we were advised. The city is in a low marshy country, and therefore well fortified. The houses and streets have nothing of beauty, except the palace and church of St. Benedict, where Ariosto lies buried, and there are some good statues, the palazzo del Diamante, citadel, church of St. Dominico. The market-place is very spacious, having in its centre the figure of Nicholao Oläo once Duke of Ferrara, on horseback, in copper. It is, in a word, a dirty town, and, though the streets be large they remain ill paved; yet it is a University and now belongs to the Pope. Though there are not many fine houses in the city, the inn where we lodged was a very noble palace, having an Angel for its sign. [Sidenote: VENICE] We parted from hence about three in the afternoon, and went some of our way on the canal, and then embarked on the Po; or Padus; by the poets called Eridanus, where they feign Phæton to have fallen after his rash attempt, and where Io was metamorphosed into a cow. There was in our company, among others, a Polonian Bishop, who was exceeding civil to me in this passage, and afterward did me many kindnesses at Venice. We supped this night at a place called Corbua, near the ruins of the ancient city, Adria, which gives name to the Gulf, or Sea. After three miles, having passed thirty on the Po, we embarked in a stout vessel, and through an artificial canal, very straight, we entered the Adige, which carried us by break of day into the Adriatic, and so sailing prosperously by Chioza (a town upon an island in this sea), and Palestina, we came over against Malamocco (the chief port and anchorage where our English merchantmen lie that trade to Venice) about seven at night, after we had stayed at least two hours for permission to land, our bill of health being delivered, according to custom. So soon as we came on shore, we were conducted to the Dogana, where our portmanteaus were visited, and then we got to our lodging, which was at honest Signor Paulo Rhodomante's at the Black Eagle, near the Rialto, one of the best quarters of the town. This journey from Rome to Venice cost me seven pistoles, and thirteen julios. June, 1645. The next morning, finding myself extremely weary and beaten with my journey, I went to one of their bagnios, where you are treated after the eastern manner, washing with hot and cold water, with oils, and being rubbed with a kind of strigil of seal-skin, put on the operator's hand like a glove. This bath did so open my pores, that it cost me one of the greatest colds I ever had in my life, for want of necessary caution in keeping myself warm for some time after; for, coming out, I immediately began to visit the famous places of the city; and travelers who come into Italy do nothing but run up and down to see sights, and this city well deserved our admiration, being the most wonderfully placed of any in the world, built on so many hundred islands, in the very sea, and at good distance from the continent. It has no fresh water except what is reserved in cistern from rain, and such as is daily brought from _terra firma_ in boats, yet there was no want of it, and all sorts of excellent provisions were very cheap. It is said that when the Huns overran Italy, some mean fishermen and others left the mainland, and fled for shelter to these despicable and muddy islands, which, in process of time, by industry, are grown to the greatness of one of the most considerable States, considered as a Republic, and having now subsisted longer than any of the four ancient Monarchies, flourishing in great state, wealth, and glory, by the conquest of great territories in Italy, Dacia, Greece, Candia, Rhodes, and Sclavonia, and at present challenging the empire of all the Adriatic Sea, which they yearly espouse by casting a gold ring into it with great pomp and ceremony, on Ascension-day; the desire of seeing this was one of the reasons that hastened us from Rome. The Doge, having heard mass in his robes of state (which are very particular, after the eastern fashion), together with the Senate in their gowns, embarked in their gloriously painted, carved, and gilded Bucentora, environed and followed by innumerable galleys, gondolas, and boats, filled with spectators, some dressed in masquerade, trumpets, music, and cannons. Having rowed about a league into the Gulf, the Duke, at the prow, casts a gold ring and cup into the sea, at which a loud acclamation is echoed from the great guns of the Arsenal, and at the Liddo. We then returned. Two days after, taking a gondola, which is their water-coach (for land ones, there are many old men in this city who never saw one, or rarely a horse), we rode up and down the channels, which answer to our streets. These vessels are built very long and narrow, having necks and tails of steel, somewhat spreading at the beak like a fish's tail, and kept so exceedingly polished as to give a great lustre; some are adorned with carving, others lined with velvet (commonly black), with curtains and tassels, and the seats like couches, to lie stretched on, while he who rows, stands upright on the very edge of the boat, and, with one oar bending forward as if he would fall into the sea, rows and turns with incredible dexterity; thus passing from channel to channel, landing his fare, or patron, at what house he pleases. The beaks of these vessels are not unlike the ancient Roman rostrums. The first public building I went to see was the Rialto, a bridge of one arch over the grand canal, so large as to admit a galley to row under it, built of good marble, and having on it, besides many pretty shops, three ample and stately passages for people without any inconvenience, the two outmost nobly balustered with the same stone; a piece of architecture much to be admired. It was evening, and the canal where the Noblesse go to take the air, as in our Hyde Park, was full of ladies and gentlemen. There are many times dangerous stops, by reason of the multitude of gondolas ready to sink one another; and indeed they affect to lean them on one side, that one who is not accustomed to it, would be afraid of over-setting. Here they were singing, playing on harpsichords, and other music, and serenading their mistresses; in another place, racing, and other pastimes on the water, it being now exceeding hot. Next day, I went to their Exchange, a place like ours, frequented by merchants, but nothing so magnificent; from thence, my guide led me to the Fondigo di Todeschi, which is their magazine, and here many of the merchants, especially Germans, have their lodging and diet, as in a college. The outside of this stately fabric is painted by Giorgione da Castelfranco, and Titian himself. Hence, I passed through the Mercera, one of the most delicious streets in the world for the sweetness of it, and is all the way on both sides tapestried as it were with cloth of gold, rich damasks and other silks, which the shops expose and hang before their houses from the first floor, and with that variety that for near half the year spent chiefly in this city, I hardly remember to have seen the same piece twice exposed; to this add the perfumes, apothecaries' shops, and the innumerable cages of nightingales which they keep, that entertain you with their melody from shop to shop, so that shutting your eyes, you would imagine yourself in the country, when indeed you are in the middle of the sea. It is almost as silent as the middle of a field, there being neither rattling of coaches nor trampling of horses. This street, paved with brick, and exceedingly clean, brought us through an arch into the famous piazza of St. Mark. Over this porch stands that admirable clock, celebrated, next to that of Strasburg, for its many movements; among which, about twelve and six, which are their hours of Ave Maria, when all the town are on their knees, come forth the three Kings led by a star, and passing by the image of Christ in his Mother's arms, do their reverence, and enter into the clock by another door. At the top of this turret, another automaton strikes the quarters. An honest merchant told me that one day walking in the piazza, he saw the fellow who kept the clock struck with this hammer so forcibly, as he was stooping his head near the bell, to mend something amiss at the instant of striking, that being stunned, he reeled over the battlements, and broke his neck. The buildings in this piazza are all arched, on pillars, paved within with black and white polished marble, even to the shops, the rest of the fabric as stately as any in Europe, being not only marble, but the architecture is of the famous Sansovini, who lies buried in St. Jacomo, at the end of the piazza. The battlements of this noble range of buildings, are railed with stone, and thick-set with excellent statues, which add a great ornament. One of the sides is yet much more Roman-like than the other which regards the sea, and where the church is placed. The other range is plainly Gothic; and so we entered into St. Mark's Church, before which stand two brass pedestals exquisitely cast and figured, which bear as many tall masts painted red, on which, upon great festivals, they hang flags and streamers. The church is also Gothic; yet for the preciousness of the materials, being of several rich marbles, abundance of porphyry, serpentine, etc., far exceeding any in Rome, St. Peter's hardly excepted. I much admired the splendid history of our blessed Savior, composed all of Mosaic over the _facciata_, below which and over the four chief gates are cast four horses in copper as big as the life, the same that formerly were transported from Rome by Constantine to Byzantium, and thence by the Venetians hither.[33] They are supported by eight porphyry columns, of very great size and value. Being come into the church, you see nothing, and tread on nothing, but what is precious. The floor is all inlaid with agates, lazulis, chalcedons, jaspers, porphyries, and other rich marbles, admirable also for the work; the walls sumptuously incrusted, and presenting to the imagination the shapes of men, birds, houses, flowers, and a thousand varieties. The roof is of most excellent Mosaic; but what most persons admire is the new work of the emblematic tree at the other passage out of the church. In the midst of this rich _volto_ rise five cupolas, the middle very large and sustained by thirty-six marble columns, eight of which are of precious marbles: under these cupolas is the high altar, on which is a reliquary of several sorts of jewels, engraven with figures, after the Greek manner, and set together with plates of pure gold. The altar is covered with a canopy of ophite, on which is sculptured the story of the Bible, and so on the pillars, which are of Parian marble, that support it. Behind these, are four other columns of transparent and true Oriental alabaster, brought hither out of the mines of Solomon's Temple, as they report. There are many chapels and notable monuments of illustrious persons, dukes, cardinals, etc., as Zeno, J. Soranzi, and others: there is likewise a vast baptistry, of copper. Among other venerable relics is a stone, on which they say our blessed Lord stood preaching to those of Tyre and Sidon, and near the door is an image of Christ, much adorned, esteeming it very sacred, for that a rude fellow striking it they say, there gushed out a torrent of blood. In one of the corners lies the body of St. Isidore, brought hither 500 years since from the island of Chios. A little farther, they show the picture of St. Dominic and Francis, affirmed to have been made by the Abbot Joachim (many years before any of them were born). Going out of the church, they showed us the stone where Alexander III. trod on the neck of the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, pronouncing that verse of the psalm, "_super basiliscum_," etc. The doors of the church are of massy copper. There are near 500 pillars in this building, most of them porphyry and serpentine, and brought chiefly from Athens, and other parts of Greece, formerly in their power. At the corner of the church, are inserted into the main wall four figures, as big as life, cut in porphyry; which they say are the images of four brothers who poisoned one another, by which means were escheated to the Republic that vast treasury of relics now belonging to the church. At the other entrance that looks toward the sea, stands in a small chapel that statue of our Lady, made (as they affirm) of the same stone, or rock, out of which Moses brought water to the murmuring Israelites at Horeb, or Meriba. [Footnote 33: They were taken away by Bonaparte to Paris; but in 1815, were sent back to Venice.] After all that is said, this church is, in my opinion, much too dark and dismal, and of heavy work; the fabric,--as is much of Venice, both for buildings and other fashions and circumstances,--after the Greeks, their next neighbors. The next day, by favor of the French ambassador, I had admittance with him to view the Reliquary, called here Tesoro di San Marco, which very few, even of travelers, are admitted to see. It is a large chamber full of presses. There are twelve breastplates or pieces of pure golden armor, studded with precious stones, and as many crowns dedicated to St. Mark, by so many noble Venetians, who had recovered their wives taken at sea by the Saracens; many curious vases of agates; the cap, or coronet, of the Dukes of Venice, one of which had a ruby set on it, esteemed worth 200,000 crowns; two unicorns' horns; numerous vases and dishes of agate, set thick with precious stones and vast pearls; divers heads of Saints enchased in gold; a small ampulla, or glass, with our Savior's blood; a great morsel of the real cross; one of the nails; a thorn; a fragment of the column to which our Lord was bound, when scourged; the standard or ensign, of Constantine; a piece of St. Luke's arm; a rib of St. Stephen; a finger of Mary Magdalen; numerous other things, which I could not remember. But a priest, first vesting himself in his sacerdotals, with the stole about his neck, showed us the gospel of St. Mark (their tutelar patron) written by his own hand, and whose body they show buried in the church, brought hither from Alexandria many years ago. The Religious de li Servi have fine paintings of Paolo Veronese, especially the Magdalen. A French gentleman and myself went to the Courts of Justice, the Senate House, and Ducal Palace. The first court near this church is almost wholly built of several colored sorts of marble, like checkerwork on the outside; this is sustained by vast pillars, not very shapely, but observable for their capitals, and that out of thirty-three no two are alike. Under this fabric is the cloister where merchants meet morning and evening, as also the grave senators and gentlemen, to confer of state affairs, in their gowns and caps, like so many philosophers; it is a very noble and solemn spectacle. In another quadrangle, stood two square columns of white marble, carved, which they said had been erected to hang one of their Dukes on, who designed to make himself Sovereign. Going through a stately arch, there were standing in niches divers statues of great value, among which is the so celebrated Eve, esteemed worth its weight in gold; it is just opposite to the stairs where are two Colossuses of Mars and Neptune, by Sansovino. We went up into a Corridor built with several Tribunals and Courts of Justice; and by a well-contrived staircase were landed in the Senate hall, which appears to be one of the most noble and spacious rooms in Europe, being seventy-six paces long, and thirty-two in breadth. At the upper end, are the Tribunals of the Doge, Council of Ten, and Assistants: in the body of the hall, are lower ranks of seats, capable of containing 1,500 Senators; for they consist of no fewer on grand debates. Over the Duke's throne are the paintings of the Final Judgment, by Tintoret, esteemed among the best pieces in Europe. On the roof are the famous Acts of the Republic, painted by several excellent masters, especially Bassano; next them, are the effigies of the several Dukes, with their Elogies. Then, we turned into a great Court painted with the Battle of Lepanto, an excellent piece; afterward, into the Chamber of the Council of Ten, painted by the most celebrated masters. From hence, by the special favor of an Illustrissimo, we were carried to see the private Armory of the Palace, and so to the same court we first entered, nobly built of polished white marble, part of which is the Duke's Court, _pro tempore_; there are two wells adorned with excellent work in copper. This led us to the seaside, where stand those columns of ophite stone in the entire piece, of a great height, one bearing St. Mark's Lion, the other St. Theodorus: these pillars were brought from Greece, and set up by Nicholas Baraterius, the architect; between them public executions are performed. Having fed our eyes with the noble prospect of the Island of St. George, the galleys, gondolas, and other vessels passing to and fro, we walked under the cloister on the other side of this goodly piazza, being a most magnificent building, the design of Sansovino. Here we went into the _Zecca_, or mint; at the entrance, stand two prodigious giants, or Hercules, of white marble; we saw them melt, beat, and coin silver, gold, and copper. We then went up into the Procuratory, and a library of excellent MSS. and books belonging to it and the public. After this, we climbed up the tower of St. Mark, which we might have done on horseback, as it is said one of the French Kings did; there being no stairs, or steps, but returns that take up an entire square on the arches forty feet, broad enough for a coach. This steeple stands by itself, without any church near it, and is rather a watch tower in the corner of the great piazza, 230 feet in height, the foundation exceeding deep; on the top, is an angel, that turns with the wind; and from hence is a prospect down the Adriatic, as far as Istria and the Dalmatian side, with the surprising sight of this miraculous city, lying in the bosom of the sea, in the shape of a lute, the numberless islands tacked together by no fewer than 450 bridges. At the foot of this tower, is a public tribunal of excellent work, in white marble polished, adorned with several brass statues and figures of stone and mezzo-relievo, the performance of some rare artist. It was now Ascension-week, and the great mart, or fair, of the whole year was kept, everybody at liberty and jolly; the noblemen stalking with their ladies on _choppines_. These are high-heeled shoes, particularly affected by these proud dames, or, as some say, invented to keep them at home, it being very difficult to walk with them; whence, one being asked how he liked the Venetian dames, replied, they were "_mezzo carne, mezzo legno_," half flesh, half wood, and he would have none of them. The truth is, their garb is very odd, as seeming always in masquerade; their other habits also totally different from all nations. They wear very long, crisp hair, of several streaks and colors, which they make so by a wash, disheveling it on the brims of a broad hat that has no crown, but a hole to put out their heads by; they dry them in the sun, as one may see them at their windows. In their tire, they set silk flowers and sparkling stones, their petticoats coming from their very arm-pits, so that they are near three quarters and a half apron; their sleeves are made exceedingly wide, under which their shift-sleeves as wide, and commonly tucked up to the shoulder, showing their naked arms, through false sleeves of tiffany, girt with a bracelet or two, with knots of point richly tagged about their shoulders and other places of their body, which they usually cover with a kind of yellow veil of lawn, very transparent. Thus attired, they set their hands on the heads of two matron-like servants, or old women, to support them, who are mumbling their beads. It is ridiculous to see how these ladies crawl in and out of their gondolas, by reason of their _choppines_; and what dwarfs they appear, when taken down from their wooden scaffolds; of these I saw near thirty together, stalking half as high again as the rest of the world. For courtesans, or the citizens, may not wear _choppines_, but cover their bodies and faces with a veil of a certain glittering taffeta, or lustrée, out of which they now and then dart a glance of their eye, the whole face being otherwise entirely hid with it: nor may the common misses take this habit; but go abroad barefaced. To the corner of these virgin-veils hang broad but flat tassels of curious Point de Venice. The married women go in black veils. The nobility wear the same color, but a fine cloth lined with taffeta, in summer, with fur of the bellies of squirrels, in the winter, which all put on at a certain day, girt with a girdle embossed with silver, the vest not much different from what our Bachelors of Arts wear in Oxford, and a hood of cloth, made like a sack, cast over their left shoulder, and a round cloth black cap fringed with wool, which is not so comely; they also wear their collar open, to show the diamond button of the stock of their shirt. I have never seen pearls for color and bigness comparable to what the ladies wear, most of the noble families being very rich in jewels, especially pearls, which are always left to the son, or brother who is destined to marry; which the eldest seldom do. The Doge's vest is of crimson velvet, the Procurator's, etc. of damask, very stately. Nor was I less surprised with the strange variety of the several nations seen every day in the streets and piazzas; Jews, Turks, Armenians, Persians, Moors, Greeks, Sclavonians, some with their targets and bucklers, and all in their native fashions, negotiating in this famous Emporium, which is always crowded with strangers. This night, having with my Lord Bruce taken our places before we went to the Opera, where comedies and other plays are represented in recitative music, by the most excellent musicians, vocal and instrumental, with variety of scenes painted and contrived with no less art of perspective, and machines for flying in the air, and other wonderful notions; taken together, it is one of the most magnificent and expensive diversions the wit of man can invent. The history was, Hercules in Lydia; the scenes changed thirteen times. The famous voices, Anna Rencia, a Roman, and reputed the best treble of women; but there was an eunuch who, in my opinion, surpassed her; also a Genoese that sung an incomparable bass. This held us by the eyes and ears till two in the morning, when we went to the Chetto de san Felice, to see the noblemen and their ladies at basset, a game at cards which is much used; but they play not in public, and all that have inclination to it are in masquerade, without speaking one word, and so they come in, play, lose or gain, and go away as they please. This time of license is only in carnival and this Ascension-week; neither are their theatres open for that other magnificence, or for ordinary comedians, save on these solemnities, they being a frugal and wise people, and exact observers of all sumptuary laws. There being at this time a ship bound for the Holy Land, I had resolved to embark, intending to see Jerusalem, and other parts of Syria, Egypt and Turkey; but after I had provided all necessaries, laid in snow to cool our drink, bought some sheep, poultry, biscuit, spirits, and a little cabinet of drugs in case of sickness, our vessel (whereof Captain Powell was master), happened to be pressed for the service of the State, to carry provisions to Candia, now newly attacked by the Turks; which altogether frustrated my design, to my great mortification. [Sidenote: PADUA] On the ... of June, we went to Padua, to the fair of their St. Anthony, in company of divers passengers. The first _terra firma_ we landed at was Fusina, being only an inn where we changed our barge, and were then drawn up by horses through the river Brenta, a straight channel as even as a line for twenty miles, the country on both sides deliciously adorned with country villas and gentlemen's retirements, gardens planted with oranges, figs, and other fruit, belonging to the Venetians. At one of these villas we went ashore to see a pretty contrived palace. Observable in this passage was buying their water of those who farm the sluices; for this artificial river is in some places so shallow, that reserves of water are kept with sluices, which they open and shut with a most ingenious invention, or engine, governed even by a child. Thus they keep up the water, or let it go, till the next channel be either filled by the stop, or abated to the level of the other; for which every boat pays a certain duty. Thus, we stayed near half an hour and more, at three several places, so as it was evening before we got to Padua. This is a very ancient city, if the tradition of Antenor's, being the founder, be not a fiction; but thus speaks the inscription over a stately gate: "_Hanc antiquissimam urbem literarum omnium asylum, cujus agrum fertilitatis Lumen Natura esse voluit, Antenor condidit, anno ante Christum natum M. Cxviii; Senatus autem Venetus his belli propugnaculis ornavit._" The town stands on the river Padus, whence its name, and is generally built like Bologna, on arches and on brick, so that one may walk all around it, dry, and in the shade; which is very convenient in these hot countries, and I think I was never sensible of so burning a heat as I was this season, especially the next day, which was that of the fair, filled with noble Venetians, by reason of a great and solemn procession to their famous cathedral. Passing by St. Lorenzo, I met with this subscription: "_Inclytus Antenor patriam vox nisa quietem Transtulit huc Henetum Dardanidumq; fuga, Expulit Euganeos, Patavinam condidit urbem, Quem tegit hic humili marmore cæsa domus._" Under the tomb, was a cobbler at his work. Being now come to St. Antony's (the street most of the way straight, well built, and outside excellently painted in _fresco_), we surveyed the spacious piazza, in which is erected a noble statue of copper of a man on horseback, in memory of one Catta Malata, a renowned captain. The church, _à la Greca_, consists of five handsome cupolas, leaded. At the left hand within is the tomb of St. Antony and his altar, about which a mezzo-relievo of the miracles ascribed to him is exquisitely wrought in white marble by the three famous sculptors, Tullius Lombardus, Jacobus Sansovinus, and Hieronymus Compagno. A little higher is the choir, walled parapet-fashion, with sundry colored stone, half relievo, the work of Andrea Reccij. The altar within is of the same metal, which, with the candlestick and bases, is, in my opinion, as magnificent as any in Italy. The wainscot of the choir is rarely inlaid and carved. Here are the sepulchres of many famous persons, as of Rodolphus Fulgosi, etc.; and among the rest, one for an exploit at sea, has a galley exquisitely carved thereon. The procession bore the banners with all the treasure of the cloister, which was a very fine sight. Hence, walking over the Prato delle Valle, I went to see the convent of St. Justina, than which I never beheld one more magnificent. The church is an excellent piece of architecture, of Andrea Palladio, richly paved, with a stately cupola that covers the high altar enshrining the ashes of that saint. It is of _pietra-commessa_, consisting of flowers very naturally done. The choir is inlaid with several sorts of wood representing the holy history, finished with exceeding industry. At the far end, is that rare painting of St. Justina's Martyrdom, by Paolo Veronese; and a stone on which they told us divers primitive Christians had been decapitated. In another place (to which leads a small cloister well painted) is a dry well, covered with a brass-work grate, wherein are the bones of divers martyrs. They show also the bones of St. Luke, in an old alabaster coffin; three of the Holy Innocents; and the bodies of St. Maximus and Prosdocimus.[34] The dormitory above is exceedingly commodious and stately; but what most pleased me, was the old cloister so well painted with the legendary saints, mingled with many ancient inscriptions, and pieces of urns dug up, it seems, at the foundation of the church. Thus, having spent the day in rambles, I returned the next day to Venice. [Footnote 34: St. Peter's disciple, first Bishop of Padua.] [Sidenote: VENICE] The arsenal is thought to be one of the best furnished in the world. We entered by a strong port, always guarded, and, ascending a spacious gallery, saw arms of back, breast, and head, for many thousands; in another were saddles; over them, ensigns taken from the Turks. Another hall is for the meeting of the Senate; passing a graff, are the smiths' forges, where they are continually employed on anchors and iron work. Near it is a well of fresh water, which they impute to two rhinoceros's horns which they say lie in it, and will preserve it from ever being empoisoned. Then we came to where the carpenters were building their magazines of oars, masts, etc., for an hundred galleys and ships, which have all their apparel and furniture near them. Then the foundry, where they cast ordnance; the forge is 450 paces long, and one of them has thirteen furnaces. There is one cannon, weighing 16,573 pounds, cast while Henry the Third dined, and put into a galley built, rigged, and fitted for launching within that time. They have also arms for twelve galeasses, which are vessels to row, of almost 150 feet long, and thirty wide, not counting prow or poop, and contain twenty-eight banks of oars, each seven men, and to carry 1,300 men, with three masts. In another, a magazine for fifty galleys, and place for some hundreds more. Here stands the Bucentaur, with a most ample deck, and so contrived that the slaves are not seen, having on the poop a throne for the Doge to sit, when he goes in triumph to espouse the Adriatic. Here is also a gallery of 200 yards long for cables, and above that a magazine of hemp. Opposite these, are the saltpetre houses, and a large row of cells, or houses, to protect their galleys from the weather. Over the gate, as we go out, is a room full of great and small guns, some of which discharge six times at once. Then, there is a court full of cannon, bullets, chains, grapples, grenadoes, etc., and over that arms for 800,000 men, and by themselves arms for 400, taken from some that were in a plot against the state; together with weapons of offense and defense for sixty-two ships; thirty-two pieces of ordnance, on carriages taken from the Turks, and one prodigious mortar-piece. In a word, it is not to be reckoned up what this large place contains of this sort. There were now twenty-three galleys, and four galley-grossi, of 100 oars to a side. The whole arsenal is walled about, and may be in compass about three miles, with twelve towers for the watch, besides that the sea environs it. The workmen, who are ordinarily 500, march out in military order, and every evening receive their pay through a small hole in the gate where the governor lives. The next day, I saw a wretch executed, who had murdered his master, for which he had his head chopped off by an ax that slid down a frame of timber, between the two tall columns in St. Mark's piazza, at the sea-brink; the executioner striking on the ax with a beetle; and so the head fell off the block. Hence, by Gudala, we went to see Grimani's Palace, the portico whereof is excellent work. Indeed, the world cannot show a city of more stately buildings, considering the extent of it, all of square stone, and as chargeable in their foundations as superstructure, being all built on piles at an immense cost. We returned home by the church of St. Johanne and Paulo, before which is, in copper, the statue of Bartolomeo Colone, on horseback, double gilt, on a stately pedestal, the work of Andrea Verrochio, a Florentine. This is a very fine church, and has in it many rare altarpieces of the best masters, especially that on the left hand, of the Two Friars slain, which is of Titian. The day after, being Sunday, I went over to St. George's to the ceremony of the schismatic Greeks, who are permitted to have their church, though they are at defiance with Rome. They allow no carved images, but many painted, especially the story of their patron and his dragon. Their rites differ not much from the Latins, save that of communicating in both species, and distribution of the holy bread. We afterward fell into a dispute with a Candiot, concerning the procession of the Holy Ghost. The church is a noble fabric. The church of St. Zachary is a Greek building, by Leo IV., Emperor, and has in it the bones of that prophet, with divers other saints. Near this, we visited St. Luke's, famous for the tomb of Aretin. Tuesday, we visited several other churches, as Santa Maria, newly incrusted with marble on the outside, and adorned with porphyry, ophite, and Spartan stone. Near the altar and under the organ, are sculptures, that are said to be of the famous artist Praxiteles. To that of St. Paul I went purposely, to see the tomb of Titian. Then to St. John the Evangelist, where among other heroes, lies Andrea Baldarius, the inventor of oars applied to great vessels for fighting. We also saw St. Roche, the roof whereof is, with the school, or hall, of that rich confraternity, admirably painted by Tintoretto, especially the Crucifix in the _sacristia_. We saw also the church of St. Sebastian, and Carmelites' monastery. Next day, taking our gondola at St. Mark's, I passed to the island of St. George Maggiore, where is a Convent of Benedictines, and a well-built church of Andrea Palladio, the great architect. The pavement, cupola, choir, and pictures, very rich and sumptuous. The cloister has a fine garden to it, which is a rare thing at Venice, though this is an island a little distant from the city; it has also an olive orchard, all environed by the sea. The new cloister now building has a noble staircase paved with white and black marble. From hence, we visited St. Spirito, and St. Laurence, fair churches in several islands; but most remarkable is that of the Padri Olivetani, in St. Helen's island, for the rare paintings and carvings, with inlaid work, etc. [Sidenote: PADUA] The next morning, we went again to Padua, where, on the following day, we visited the market, which is plentifully furnished, and exceedingly cheap. Here we saw the great hall, built in a spacious piazza, and one of the most magnificent in Europe; its ascent is by steps a good height, of a reddish marble polished, much used in these parts, and happily found not far off; it is almost 200 paces long, and forty in breadth, all covered with lead, without any support of columns. At the further end stands the bust, in white marble, of Titus Livius, the historian. In this town is the house wherein he was born, full of inscriptions, and pretty fair. Near to the monument of Speron Speroni, is painted on the ceiling the celestial zodiac, and other astronomical figures; without side, there is a corridor, in manner of a balcony, of the same stone; and at the entry of each of the three gates is the head of some famous person, as Albert Eremitano, Julio Paullo (lawyers), and Peter Aponius. In the piazza is the Podesta's and Capitano Grande's Palace, well built; but above all, the Monte Pietà, the front whereof is of most excellent architecture. This is a foundation of which there is one in most of the cities in Italy, where there is a continual bank of money to assist the poorer sort, on any pawn, and at reasonable interest, together with magazines for deposit of goods, till redeemed. Hence, to the Schools of this flourishing and ancient University, especially for the study of physic and anatomy. They are fairly built in quadrangle, with cloisters beneath, and above with columns. Over the great gate are the arms of the Venetian State, and under the lion of St. Mark. _Sic ingredere, ut teipso quotidie doctior; sic egredere ut indies Patriæ Christianæq; Republicæ utilior evadas; ita demùm Gymnasium à te felicitèr se ornatum existimabit._ CIC.IX. About the court walls, are carved in stone and painted the blazons of the Consuls of all the nations, that from time to time have had that charge and honor in the University, which at my being there was my worthy friend Dr. Rogers, who here took that degree. The Schools for the lectures of the several sciences are above, but none of them comparable, or so much frequented, as the theater for anatomy, which is excellently contrived both for the dissector and spectators. I was this day invited to dinner, and in the afternoon (30th July) received my _matricula_, being resolved to spend some months here at study, especially physic and anatomy, of both which there were now the most famous professors in Europe. My _matricula_ contained a clause, that I, my goods, servants, and messengers, should be free from all tolls and reprises, and that we might come, pass, return, buy, or sell, without any toll, etc. The next morning, I saw the garden of simples, rarely furnished with plants, and gave order to the gardener to make me a collection of them for an _hortus hyemalis_, by permission of the Cavalier Dr. Veslingius, then Prefect and Botanic Professor as well as of Anatomy. This morning, the Earl of Arundel,[35] now in this city, a famous collector of paintings and antiquities, invited me to go with him to see the garden of Mantua, where, as one enters, stands a huge _colosse_ of Hercules. From hence to a place where was a room covered with a noble cupola, built purposely for music; the fillings up, or cove, between the walls, were of urns and earthen pots, for the better sounding; it was also well painted. After dinner, we walked to the Palace of Foscari all' Arena, there remaining yet some appearances of an ancient theater, though serving now for a court only before the house. There were now kept in it two eagles, a crane, a Mauritanian sheep, a stag, and sundry fowls, as in a vivary. [Footnote 35: The celebrated Thomas, Earl of Arundel, part of whose collection was eventually procured for the University of Oxford by Evelyn, and is distinguished by the name _Marmora Arundeliana_.] [Sidenote: VENICE] Three days after, I returned to Venice, and passed over to Murano, famous for the best glasses in the world, where having viewed their furnaces, and seen their work, I made a collection of divers curiosities and glasses, which I sent for England by long sea. It is the white flints they have from Pavia, which they pound and sift exceedingly small, and mix with ashes made of a seaweed brought out of Syria, and a white sand, that causes this manufacture to excel. The town is a Podestaria by itself, at some miles distant on the sea from Venice, and like it, built on several small islands. In this place, are excellent oysters, small and well tasted like our Colchester, and they were the first, as I remember, that I ever could eat; for I had naturally an aversion to them. At our return to Venice, we met several gondolas full of Venetian ladies, who come thus far in fine weather to take the air, with music and other refreshments. Besides that, Murano is itself a very nobly built town, and has divers noblemen's palaces in it, and handsome gardens. In coming back, we saw the islands of St. Christopher and St. Michael, the last of which has a church enriched and incrusted with marbles and other architectonic ornaments, which the monks very courteously showed us. It was built and founded by Margaret Emiliana of Verona, a famous courtesan, who purchased a great estate, and by this foundation hoped to commute for her sins. We then rowed by the isles of St. Nicholas, whose church, with the monuments of the Justinian family, entertained us awhile; and then got home. The next morning, Captain Powell, in whose ship I was to embark toward Turkey, invited me on board, lying about ten miles from Venice, where we had a dinner of English powdered beef and other good meat, with store of wine and great guns, as the manner is. After dinner, the Captain presented me with a stone he had lately brought from Grand Cairo, which he took from the mummy-pits, full of hieroglyphics; I drew it on paper with the true dimensions, and sent it in a letter to Mr. Henshaw to communicate to Father Kircher, who was then setting forth his great work "Obeliscus Pamphilius," where it is described, but without mentioning my name. The stone was afterward brought for me into England, and landed at Wapping, where, before I could hear of it, it was broken into several fragments, and utterly defaced, to my no small disappointment. The boatswain of the ship also gave me a hand and foot of a mummy, the nails whereof had been overlaid with thin plates of gold, and the whole body was perfect, when he brought it out of Egypt; but the avarice of the ship's crew broke it to pieces, and divided the body among them. He presented me also with two Egyptian idols, and some loaves of the bread which the Coptics use in the Holy Sacrament, with other curiosities. 8th August, 1645. I had news from Padua of my election to be _Syndicus Artistarum_, which caused me, after two days idling in a country villa with the Consul of Venice, to hasten thither, that I might discharge myself of that honor, because it was not only chargeable, but would have hindered my progress, and they chose a Dutch gentleman in my place, which did not well please my countrymen, who had labored not a little to do me the greatest honor a stranger is capable of in that University. Being freed from this impediment, and having taken leave of Dr. Janicius, a Polonian, who was going as physician in the Venetian galleys to Candia, I went again to Venice, and made a collection of several books and some toys. Three days after, I returned to Padua, where I studied hard till the arrival of Mr. Henshaw, Bramstone, and some other English gentlemen whom I had left at Rome, and who made me go back to Venice, where I spent some time in showing them what I had seen there. 26th September, 1645. My dear friend, and till now my constant fellow-traveler, Mr. Thicknesse, being obliged to return to England upon his particular concern, and who had served his Majesty in the wars, I accompanied him part of his way, and, on the 28th, returned to Venice. 29th September, 1645. Michaelmas day, I went with my Lord Mowbray (eldest son to the Earl of Arundel, and a most worthy person) to see the collection of a noble Venetian, Signor Rugini. He has a stately palace, richly furnished with statues and heads of Roman Emperors, all placed in an ample room. In the next, was a cabinet of medals, both Latin and Greek, with divers curious shells and two fair pearls in two of them; but, above all, he abounded in things petrified, walnuts, eggs in which the yoke rattled, a pear, a piece of beef with the bones in it, a whole hedgehog, a plaice on a wooden trencher turned into stone and very perfect, charcoal, a morsel of cork yet retaining its levity, sponges, and a piece of taffety part rolled up, with innumerable more. In another cabinet, supported by twelve pillars of oriental agate, and railed about with crystal, he showed us several noble intáglios of agate, especially a head of Tiberius, a woman in a bath with her dog, some rare cornelians, onyxes, crystals, etc., in one of which was a drop of water not congealed, but moving up and down, when shaken; above all, a diamond which had a very fair ruby growing in it; divers pieces of amber, wherein were several insects, in particular one cut like a heart that contained in it a salamander without the least defect, and many pieces of mosaic. The fabric of this cabinet was very ingenious, set thick with agates, turquoises, and other precious stones, in the midst of which was an antique of a dog in stone scratching his ear, very rarely cut, and comparable to the greatest curiosity I had ever seen of that kind for the accurateness of the work. The next chamber had a bedstead all inlaid with agates, crystals, cornelians, lazuli, etc., esteemed worth 16,000 crowns, but, for the most part, the bedsteads in Italy are of forged iron gilded, since it is impossible to keep the wooden ones from the cimices. [Sidenote: PADUA] From hence, I returned to Padua, when that town was so infested with soldiers, that many houses were broken open in the night, some murders committed, and the nuns next our lodging disturbed, so as we were forced to be on our guard with pistols and other firearms to defend our doors; and indeed the students themselves take a barbarous liberty in the evenings when they go to their strumpets, to stop all that pass by the house where any of their companions in folly are with them. This custom they call _chi vali_, so as the streets are very dangerous, when the evenings grow dark; nor is it easy to reform this intolerable usage, where there are so many strangers of several nations. Using to drink my wine cooled with snow and ice, as the manner here is, I was so afflicted with an angina and sore throat, that it had almost cost me my life. After all the remedies Cavalier Veslingius, chief professor here, could apply, old Salvatico (that famous physician) being called, made me be cupped, and scarified in the back in four places; which began to give me breath, and consequently life; for I was in the utmost danger; but, God being merciful to me, I was after a fortnight abroad again, when, changing my lodging, I went over against Pozzo Pinto; where I bought for winter provision 3,000 weight of excellent grapes, and pressed my own wine, which proved incomparable liquor. This was on 10th of October. Soon after came to visit me from Venice Mr. Henry Howard, grandchild to the Earl of Arundel, Mr. Bramstone, son to the Lord Chief Justice, and Mr. Henshaw, with whom I went to another part of the city to lodge near St. Catherine's over against the monastery of nuns, where we hired the whole house, and lived very nobly. Here I learned to play on the theorb, taught by Signor Dominico Bassano, who had a daughter married to a doctor of laws, that played and sung to nine several instruments, with that skill and address as few masters in Italy exceeded her; she likewise composed divers excellent pieces: I had never seen any play on the Naples viol before. She presented me afterward with two recitativos of hers, both words and music. 31st October, 1645. Being my birthday, the nuns of St. Catherine's sent me flowers of silkwork. We were very studious all this winter till Christmas, when on Twelfth-day, we invited all the English and Scots in town to a feast, which sunk our excellent wine considerably. [Sidenote: VENICE] 1645-46. In January, Signor Molino was chosen Doge of Venice, but the extreme snow that fell, and the cold, hindered my going to see the solemnity, so as I stirred not from Padua till Shrovetide, when all the world repair to Venice, to see the folly and madness of the Carnival; the women, men, and persons of all conditions disguising themselves in antique dresses, with extravagant music and a thousand gambols, traversing the streets from house to house, all places being then accessible and free to enter. Abroad, they fling eggs filled with sweet water, but sometimes not over-sweet. They also have a barbarous custom of hunting bulls about the streets and piazzas, which is very dangerous, the passages being generally narrow. The youth of the several wards and parishes contend in other masteries and pastimes, so that it is impossible to recount the universal madness of this place during this time of license. The great banks are set up for those who will play at bassett; the comedians have liberty, and the operas are open; witty pasquils are thrown about, and the mountebanks have their stages at every corner. The diversions which chiefly took me up was three noble operas, where were excellent voices and music, the most celebrated of which was the famous Anna Rencia, whom we invited to a fish dinner after four days in Lent, when they had given over at the theater. Accompanied with an eunuch whom she brought with her, she entertained us with rare music, both of them singing to a harpsichord. It growing late, a gentleman of Venice came for her, to show her the galleys, now ready to sail for Candia. This entertainment produced a second, given us by the English consul of the merchants, inviting us to his house, where he had the Genoese, the most celebrated bass in Italy, who was one of the late opera band. This diversion held us so late at night, that, conveying a gentlewoman who had supped with us to her gondola at the usual place of landing, we were shot at by two carbines from another gondola, in which were a noble Venetian and his courtesan unwilling to be disturbed, which made us run in and fetch other weapons, not knowing what the matter was, till we were informed of the danger we might incur by pursuing it farther. Three days after this, I took my leave of Venice, and went to Padua, to be present at the famous anatomy lecture, celebrated here with extraordinary apparatus, lasting almost a whole month. During this time, I saw a woman, a child, and a man dissected with all the manual operations of the chirurgeon on the human body. The one was performed by Cavalier Veslingius and Dr. Jo. Athelsteninus Leonoenas, of whom I purchased those rare tables of veins and nerves, and caused him to prepare a third of the lungs, liver, and nervi _sexti par_: with the gastric veins, which I sent into England, and afterward presented to the Royal Society, being the first of that kind that had been seen there, and, for aught I know, in the world, though afterward there were others. When the anatomy lectures, which were in the mornings, were ended, I went to see cures done in the hospitals; and certainly as there are the greatest helps and the most skillful physicians, so there are the most miserable and deplorable objects to exercise upon. Nor is there any, I should think, so powerful an argument against the vice reigning in this licentious country, as to be spectator of the misery these poor creatures undergo. They are indeed very carefully attended, and with extraordinary charity. 20th March, 1646. I returned to Venice, where I took leave of my friends. 22d March, 1646. I was invited to excellent English potted venison, at Mr. Hobbson's, a worthy merchant. 23d March, 1646. I took my leave of the Patriarch and the Prince of Wirtemberg, and Monsieur Grotius (son of the learned Hugo) now going as commander to Candia; and, in the afternoon, received of Vandervoort, my merchant, my bills of exchange of 300 ducats for my journey. He showed me his rare collection of Italian books, esteemed very curious, and of good value. The next day, I was conducted to the Ghetto, where the Jews dwell together in as a tribe or ward, where I was present at a marriage. The bride was clad in white, sitting in a lofty chair, and covered with a white veil; then two old Rabbis joined them together, one of them holding a glass of wine in his hand, which, in the midst of the ceremony, pretending to deliver to the woman, he let fall, the breaking whereof was to signify the frailty of our nature, and that we must expect disasters and crosses amid all enjoyments. This done we had a fine banquet, and were brought into the bride-chamber, where the bed was dressed up with flowers, and the counterpane strewn in works. At this ceremony, we saw divers very beautiful Portuguese Jewesses, with whom we had some conversation. I went to the Spanish Ambassador with Bonifacio, his confessor, and obtained his pass to serve me in the Spanish dominions; without which I was not to travel, in this pompous form: "_Don Caspar de Teves y Guzman, Marques de la Fuente, Señor Le Lerena y Verazuza, Commendador de Colos, en la Orden de Sant Yago, Alcalde Mayor perpetuo y Escrivano Mayor de la Ciudad de Sevilla, Gentilhombre de la Camara de S. M. su Azimilero Mayor, de su Consejo, su Embaxador extraordinario a los Principes de Italia, y Alemania, y a esta serenissima Republica de Venetia, etc. Haviendo de partir de esta Ciudad para La Milan el Signior Cavallero Evelyn Ingles, con un Criado, mi han pedido Passa-porte para los Estates de su M. Le he mandado dar el presente, firmando de mi mano, y sellado con el sello de mis armas, por el qual encargo a todos los menestros de S. M. antes quien le presentase y a los que no lo son, supplico les dare passar libramente sin permitir que se le haya vexation alguna antes mandar le las favor para continuar su viage. Fecho en Venecia a 24 del mes de Marzo del an'o 1646._ _Mar. de la Fuentes, etc._" Having packed up my purchases of books, pictures, casts, treacle, etc. (the making an extraordinary ceremony whereof I had been curious to observe, for it is extremely pompous and worth seeing), I departed from Venice, accompanied with Mr. Waller (the celebrated poet), now newly gotten out of England, after the Parliament had extremely worried him for attempting to put in execution the commission of Array, and for which the rest of his colleagues were hanged by the rebels. The next day, I took leave of my comrades at Padua, and receiving some directions from Dr. Salvatico as to the care of my health, I prepared for my journey toward Milan. It was Easter-Monday that I was invited to breakfast at the Earl of Arundel's. I took my leave of him in his bed, where I left that great and excellent man in tears on some private discourse of crosses that had befallen his illustrious family, particularly the undutifulness of his grandson Philip turning Dominican Friar (since Cardinal of Norfolk), and the misery of his country now embroiled in civil war. He caused his gentleman to give me directions, all written with his own hand, what curiosities I should inquire after in my journey; and, so enjoining me to write sometimes to him, I departed. There stayed for me below, Mr. Henry Howard (afterward Duke of Norfolk), Mr. J. Digby, son of Sir Kenelm Digby, and other gentlemen, who conducted me to the coach. The famous lapidaries of Venice for false stones and pastes, so as to emulate the best diamonds, rubies, etc., were Marco Terrasso and Gilbert. An account of what Bills of Exchange I took up at Venice since my coming from Rome, till my departure from Padua: 11th Aug., 1645 200 7th Sept. 135 1st Oct. 100 15th Jan., 1646 100 23d April 300 --- 835 Ducati di Banco. In company, then, with Mr. Waller, one Captain Wray (son of Sir Christopher, whose father had been in arms against his Majesty, and therefore by no means welcome to us), with Mr. Abdy, a modest and learned man, we got that night to Vicenza, passing by the Euganéan hills, celebrated for the prospects and furniture of rare simples, which we found growing about them. The ways were something deep, the whole country flat and even as a bowling-green. The common fields lie square, and are orderly planted with fruit trees, which the vines run and embrace, for many miles, with delicious streams creeping along the ranges. Vicenza is a city in the Marquisate of Treviso, yet appertaining to the Venetians, full of gentlemen and splendid palaces, to which the famous Palladio, born here, has exceedingly contributed, having been the architect. Most conspicuous is the Hall of Justice; it has a tower of excellent work; the lower pillars are of the first order; those in the three upper corridors are Doric; under them, are shops in a spacious piazza. The hall was built in imitation of that at Padua, but of a nobler design, _à la moderne_. The next morning, we visited the theater, as being of that kind the most perfect now standing, and built by Palladio, in exact imitation of the ancient Romans, and capable of containing 5,000 spectators. The scene, which is all of stone, represents an imperial city, the order Corinthian, decorated with statues. Over the Scenario is inscribed: "_Virtuti ac Genio Olympior: Academia Theatrum hoc à fundamentis erexit Palladio Architect: 1584_." The scene declines eleven feet, the _soffito_ painted with clouds. To this there joins a spacious hall for solemn days to ballot in, and a second for the Academics. In the piazza is also the _podesta_, or governor's house, the _facciata_ being of the Corinthian order, very noble. The piazza itself is so large as to be capable of jousts and tournaments, the nobility of this city being exceedingly addicted to this knight-errantry, and other martial diversions. In this place are two pillars in imitation of those at St. Mark's at Venice, bearing one of them a winged lion, the other the statue of St. John the Baptist. In a word, this sweet town has more well-built palaces than any of its dimensions in all Italy, besides a number begun and not yet finished (but of stately design) by reason of the domestic dissensions between them and those of Brescia, fomented by the sage Venetians, lest by combining, they might think of recovering their ancient liberty. For this reason, also, are permitted those disorders and insolences committed at Padua among the youth of these two territories. It is no dishonor in this country to be some generations in finishing their palaces, that without exhausting themselves by a vast expense at once, they may at last erect a sumptuous pile. Count Oleine's Palace is near perfected in this manner. Count Ulmarini is more famous for his gardens, being without the walls, especially his _cedrario_, or conserve of oranges, eleven score of my paces long, set in order and ranges, making a canopy all the way by their intermixing branches for more than 200 of my single paces, and which being full of fruit and blossoms, was a most delicious sight. In the middle of this garden, was a cupola made of wire, supported by slender pillars of brick, so closely covered with ivy, both without and within, that nothing was to be perceived but green; between the arches there dangled festoons of the same. Here is likewise a most inextricable labyrinth. I had in this town recommendation to a very civil and ingenious apothecary, called Angelico, who had a pretty collection of paintings. I would fain have visited a palace, called the Rotunda, which was a mile out of town, belonging to Count Martio Capra; but one of our companions hastening to be gone, and little minding anything save drinking and folly, caused us to take coach sooner than we should have done. A little from the town, we passed the Campo Martio, set out in imitation of ancient Rome, wherein the nobles exercised their horses, and the ladies make the Corso; it is entered by a stately triumphal arch, the invention of Palladio. [Sidenote: VERONA] Being now set out for Verona, about midway we dined at Ostaria Nova, and came late to our resting-place, which was the Cavaletto, just over the monument of the Scalageri,[36] formerly princes of Verona, adorned with many devices in stone of ladders, alluding to the name. [Footnote 36: Or della Scala.] Early next morning, we went about the city, which is built on the gentle declivity, and bottom of a hill, environed in part with some considerable mountains and downs of fine grass, like some places in the south of England, and, on the other side, having the rich plain where Caius Marius overthrew the Cimbrians. The city is divided in the midst by the river Adige, over which are divers stately bridges, and on its banks are many goodly palaces, whereof one is well painted in _chiaro-oscuro_ on the outside, as are divers in this dry climate of Italy. The first thing that engaged our attention and wonder, too, was the amphitheater, which is the most entire of ancient remains now extant. The inhabitants call it the ARENA: it has two porticos, one within the other, and is thirty-four rods long, twenty-two in breadth, with forty-two ranks of stone benches, or seats, which reach to the top. The vastness of the marble stones is stupendous. "_L. V. Flaminius, Consul. anno. urb. con. liii._" This I esteem to be one of the noblest antiquities in Europe, it is so vast and entire, having escaped the ruins of so many other public buildings for above 1,400 years. There are other arches, as that of the victory of Marius; temples, aqueducts, etc., showing still considerable remains in several places of the town, and how magnificent it has formerly been. It has three strong castles and a large and noble wall. Indeed, the whole city is bravely built, especially the Senate house, where we saw those celebrated statues of Cornelius Nepos, Æmilius Marcus, Plinius, and Vitruvius, all having honored Verona by their birth; and, of later date, Julius Cæsar Scaliger, that prodigy of learning. In the evening we saw the garden of Count Giusti's villa where are walks cut out of the main rock, from whence we had a pleasant prospect of Mantua and Parma, though at great distance. At the entrance of this garden, grows the goodliest cypress, I fancy, in Europe, cut in a pyramid; it is a prodigious tree both for breadth and height, entirely covered, and thick to the base. Dr. Cortone, a civilian, showed us, among other rarities, a St. Dorothea, of Raphael. We could not see the rare drawings, especially of Parmensis, belonging to Dr. Marcello, another advocate, on account of his absence. Verona deserved all those elogies Scaliger has honored it with; for in my opinion, the situation is the most delightful I ever saw, it is so sweetly mixed with rising ground and valleys, so elegantly planted with trees on which Bacchus seems riding as it were in triumph every autumn, for the vines reach from tree to tree; here, of all places I have seen in Italy, would I fix a residence. Well has that learned man given it the name of the very eye of the world: "_Oscelle mundi, Sidus Itali coeli, Flos Urbium, flos cornicuumq' amoenum, Quot sunt, eruntve, quot fuere, Verona._" The next morning we traveled over the downs where Marius fought and fancied ourselves about Winchester, and the country toward Dorsetshire. We dined at an inn called Cavalli Caschieri, near Peschiera, a very strong fort of the Venetian Republic, and near the Lago di Garda, which disembogues into that of Mantua, near forty miles in length, highly spoken of by my Lord Arundel to me, as the most pleasant spot in Italy, for which reason I observed it with the more diligence, alighting out of the coach, and going up to a grove of cypresses growing about a gentleman's country-house, from whence indeed it presents a most surprising prospect. The hills and gentle risings about it produce oranges, citrons, olives, figs, and other tempting fruits, and the waters abound in excellent fish, especially trouts. In the middle of this lake stands Sermonea, on an island; here Captain Wray bought a pretty nag of the master of our inn where we dined, for eight pistoles, which his wife, our hostess, was so unwilling to part with, that she did nothing but kiss and weep and hang about the horse's neck, till the captain rode away. [Sidenote: BRESCIA] We came this evening to Brescia, which next morning we traversed, according to our custom, in search of antiquities and new sights. Here, I purchased of old Lazarino Cominazzo my fine carbine, which cost me nine pistoles, this city being famous for these firearms, and that workman, Jo. Bap. Franco, the best esteemed. The city consists most in artists, every shop abounding in guns, swords, armorers, etc. Most of the workmen come out of Germany. It stands in a fertile plain, yet the castle is built on a hill. The streets abound in fair fountains. The Torre della Pallada is of a noble Tuscan order, and the Senate house is inferior to few. The piazza is but indifferent; some of the houses arched as at Padua. The Cathedral was under repair. We would from hence have visited Parma, Piacenza, Mantua, etc.; but the banditti and other dangerous parties being abroad, committing many enormities, we were contented with a Pisgah sight of them. We dined next day, at Ursa Vecchia, and, after dinner, passed by an exceeding strong fort of the Venetians, called Ursa Nova, on their frontier. Then by the river Oglio, and so by Sonano, where we enter the Spanish dominions, and that night arrived at Crema, which belongs to Venice, and is well defended. The Podesta's Palace is finely built, and so is the Duomo, or Cathedral, and the tower to it, with an ample piazza. [Sidenote: MILAN] Early next day, after four miles' riding, we entered into the State of Milan, and passed by Lodi, a great city famous for cheese, little short of the best Parmeggiano. We dined at Marignano, ten miles before coming to Milan, where we met half a dozen suspicious cavaliers, who yet did us no harm. Then, passing as through a continual garden, we went on with exceeding pleasure; for it is the Paradise of Lombardy, the highways as even and straight as a line, the fields to a vast extent planted with fruit about the inclosures, vines to every tree at equal distances, and watered with frequent streams. There was likewise much corn, and olives in abundance. At approach of the city, some of our company, in dread of the Inquisition (severer here than in all Spain), thought of throwing away some Protestant books and papers. We arrived about three in the afternoon, when the officers searched us thoroughly for prohibited goods; but, finding we were only gentlemen travelers, dismissed us for a small reward, and we went quietly to our inn, the THREE KINGS, where, for that day, we refreshed ourselves, as we had need. The next morning, we delivered our letters of recommendation to the learned and courteous Ferrarius, a Doctor of the Ambrosian College, who conducted us to all the remarkable places of the town, the first of which was the famous Cathedral. We entered by a portico, so little inferior to that of Rome that, when it is finished, it will be hard to say which is the fairest; the materials are all of white and black marble, with columns of great height, of Egyptian granite. The outside of the church is so full of sculpture, that you may number 4,000 statues, all of white marble, among which that of St. Bartholomew is esteemed a masterpiece. The church is very spacious, almost as long as St. Peter's at Rome, but not so large. About the choir, the sacred Story is finely sculptured, in snow-white marble, nor know I where it is exceeded. About the body of the church are the miracles of St. Charles Borromeo, and in the vault beneath is his body before the high altar, grated, and inclosed, in one of the largest crystals in Europe. To this also belongs a rich treasure. The cupola is all of marble within and without, and even covered with great planks of marble, in the Gothic design. The windows are most beautifully painted. Here are two very fair and excellent organs. The fabric is erected in the midst of a fair piazza, and in the center of the city. Hence, we went to the Palace of the Archbishop, which is a quadrangle, the architecture of Theobaldi, who designed much for Philip II. in the Escurial, and has built much in Milan. Hence, into the Governor's Palace, who was Constable of Castile. Tempted by the glorious tapestries and pictures, I adventured so far alone, that peeping into a chamber where the great man was under the barber's hands, he sent one of his negroes (a slave) to know what I was. I made the best excuse I could, and that I was only admiring the pictures, which he returning and telling his lord, I heard the Governor reply that I was a spy; on which I retired with all the speed I could, passed the guard of Swiss, got into the street, and in a moment to my company, who were gone to the Jesuits' Church, which in truth is a noble structure, the front especially, after the modern. After dinner, we were conducted to St. Celso, a church of rare architecture, built by Bramante; the carvings of the marble _facciata_ are by Annibal Fontana, whom they esteem at Milan equal to the best of the ancients. In a room joining to the church, is a marble Madonna, like a Colosse, of the same sculptor's work, which they will not expose to the air. There are two _sacristias_, in one of which is a fine Virgin, of Leonardo da Vinci; in the other is one of Raphael d'Urbino, a piece which all the world admires. The Sacristan showed us a world of rich plate, jewels, and embroidered copes, which are kept in presses. Next, we went to see the Great Hospital, a quadrangular cloister of a vast compass, a truly royal fabric, with an annual endowment of 50,000 crowns of gold. There is in the middle of it a cross building for the sick, and, just under it, an altar so placed as to be seen in all places of the Infirmary. There are divers colleges built in this quarter, richly provided for by the same Borromeo and his nephew, the last Cardinal Frederico, some not yet finished, but of excellent design. In St. Eustorgio, they tell us, formerly lay the bodies of the three Magi, since translated to Cologne in Germany; they, however, preserve the tomb, which is a square stone, on which is engraven a star, and, under it, "_Sepulchrum trium Magorum_." Passing by St. Laurence, we saw sixteen columns of marble, and the ruins of a Temple of Hercules, with this inscription yet standing: "_Imp. Cæsari L. Aurelio Vero Aug. Arminiaco Medio Parthico Maxi Tribi Pot. VII. Impi IIII. Cos. III. P. P. Divi Antonini Pij Divi Hadriani Nepoti Divi Trajani Parthici Pro-Nepoti Divi Nervæ Abnepoti Dec. Dec._" We concluded this day's wandering at the Monastery of Madonna delle Grazie, and in the refectory admired that celebrated _Coena Domini_ of Leonardo da Vinci, which takes up the entire wall at the end, and is the same that the great virtuoso, Francis I., of France, was so enamored of, that he consulted to remove the whole wall by binding it about with ribs of iron and timber, to convey it into France. It is indeed one of the rarest paintings that was ever executed by Leonardo, who was long in the service of that Prince, and so dear to him that the King, coming to visit him in his old age and sickness, he expired in his arms. But this incomparable piece is now exceedingly impaired. Early next morning came the learned Dr. Ferrarius to visit us, and took us in his coach to see the Ambrosian Library, where Cardinal Fred Borromeo has expended so vast a sum on this building, and in furnishing with curiosities, especially paintings and drawings of inestimable value among painters. It is a school fit to make the ablest artists. There are many rare things of Hans Breugel, and among them the Four Elements. In this room, stands the glorious [boasting] inscription of Cavaliero Galeazzo Arconati, valuing his gift to the library of several drawings by Da Vinci; but these we could not see, the keeper of them being out of town, and he always carrying the keys with him; but my Lord Marshal, who had seen them, told me all but one book are small that a huge folio contained 400 leaves full of scratches of Indians, etc. But whereas the inscription pretends that our King Charles had offered £1,000 for them,--the truth is, and my Lord himself told me, that it was he who treated with Galeazzo for himself, in the name and by permission of the King, and that the Duke of Feria, who was then Governor, should make the bargain; but my Lord, having seen them since, did not think them of so much worth. In the great room, where is a goodly library, on the right hand of the door, is a small wainscot closet, furnished with rare manuscripts. Two original letters of the Grand Signor were shown us, sent to two Popes, one of which was (as I remember) to Alexander VI. [Borgia], and the other mentioning the head of the lance which pierced our Blessed Savior's side, as a present to the Pope: I would feign have gotten a copy of them, but could not; I hear, however, that they are since translated into Italian, and that therein is a most honorable mention of Christ. We revisited St. Ambrose's church. The high altar is supported by four porphyry columns, and under it lie the remains of that holy man. Near it they showed us a pit, or well (an obscure place it is), where they say St. Ambrose baptized St. Augustine, and recited the _Te Deum_; for so imports the inscription. The place is also famous for some Councils that have been held here, and for the coronation of divers Italian Kings and Emperors, receiving the iron crown from the Archbishop of this see.[37] They show the History by Josephus, written on the bark of trees. The high altar is wonderfully rich. [Footnote 37: Bonaparte afterward took it, and placed it on his own head.] Milan is one of the most princely cities in Europe: it has no suburbs, but is circled with a stately wall for ten miles, in the center of a country that seems to flow with milk and honey. The air is excellent; the fields fruitful to admiration, the market abounding with all sorts of provisions. In the city are near 100 churches, 71 monasteries, and 40,000 inhabitants; it is of a circular figure, fortified with bastions, full of sumptuous palaces and rare artists, especially for works in crystal, which is here cheap, being found among the Alps. They have curious straw-work among the nuns, even to admiration. It has a good river, and a citadel at some small distance from the city, commanding it, of great strength for its works and munitions of all kinds. It was built by Galeatius II., and consists of four bastions, and works at the angles and fronts; the graff is faced with brick to a very great depth; has two strong towers as one enters, and within is another fort, and spacious lodgings for the soldiers, and for exercising them. No accommodation for strength is wanting, and all exactly uniform. They have here also all sorts of work and tradesmen, a great magazine of arms and provisions. The fosse is of spring water, with a mill for grinding corn, and the ramparts vaulted underneath. Don Juan Vasques Coronada was now Governor; the garrison Spaniards only. There is nothing better worth seeing than the collection of Signor Septalla, a canon of St. Ambrose, famous over Christendom for his learning and virtues. Among other things, he showed us an Indian wood, that has the perfect scent of civet; a flint, or pebble, that has a quantity of water in it, which is plainly to be seen, it being clear as agate; divers crystals that have water moving in them, some of them having plants, leaves, and hog's bristles in them; much amber full of insects, and divers things of woven amianthus. Milan is a sweet place, and though the streets are narrow, they abound in rich coaches, and are full of noblesse, who frequent the course every night. Walking a turn in the portico before the dome, a cavaliero who passed by, hearing some of us speaking English, looked a good while earnestly on us, and by and by sending his servant, desiring we would honor him the next day at dinner. We looked on this as an odd invitation, he not speaking to us himself, but we returned his civility with thanks, though not fully resolved what to do, or indeed what might be the meaning of it in this jealous place; but on inquiry, it was told us he was a Scots Colonel, who had an honorable command in the city, so that we agreed to go. This afternoon, we were wholly taken up in seeing an opera represented by some Neapolitans, performed all in excellent music with rare scenes, in which there acted a celebrated beauty. Next morning, we went to the Colonel's, who had sent his servant again to conduct us to his house, which we found to be a noble palace, richly furnished. There were other guests, all soldiers, one of them a Scotchman, but we could not learn one of their names. At dinner, he excused his rudeness that he had not himself spoken to us; telling us it was his custom, when he heard of any English travelers (who but rarely would be known to pass through that city for fear of the Inquisition), to invite them to his house, where they might be free. We had a sumptuous dinner; and the wine was so tempting, that after some healths had gone about, and we had risen from the table, the Colonel led us into his hall, where there hung up divers colors, saddles, bridles, pistols, and other arms, being trophies which he had taken with his own hands from the enemy; among them, he would needs bestow a pair of pistols on Captain Wray, one of our fellow-travelers, and a good drinking gentleman, and on me a Turkish bridle woven with silk and very curiously embossed, with other silk trappings, to which hung a half moon finely wrought, which he had taken from a bashaw whom he had slain. With this glorious spoil, I rode the rest of my journey as far as Paris, and brought it afterward into England. He then showed us a stable of brave horses, with his menage and cavalerizzo. Some of the horses he caused to be brought out, which he mounted, and performed all the motions of an excellent horseman. When this was done, and he had alighted,--contrary to the advice of his groom and page, who knew the nature of the beast, and that their master was a little spirited with wine, he would have a fiery horse that had not yet been managed and was very ungovernable, but was otherwise a very beautiful creature; this he mounting, the horse, getting the reins in a full _carriere_, rose so desperately that he fell quite back, crushing the Colonel so forcibly against the wall of the menage, that though he sat on him like a Centaur, yet recovering the jade on all fours again, he desired to be taken down and so led in, where he cast himself on a pallet; and, with infinite lamentations, after some time we took leave of him, being now speechless. The next morning, going to visit him, we found before the door the canopy which they usually carry over the host, and some with lighted tapers; which made us suspect he was in a very sad condition, and so indeed we found him, an Irish Friar standing by his bedside as confessing him, or at least disguising a confession, and other ceremonies used _in extremis_; for we afterward learned that the gentleman was a Protestant, and had this Friar, his confidant; which was a dangerous thing at Milan, had it been but suspected. At our entrance, he sighed grievously, and held up his hands, but was not able to speak. After vomiting some blood, he kindly took us all by the hand, and made signs that he should see us no more, which made us take our leave of him with extreme reluctancy and affliction for the accident. This sad disaster made us consult about our departure as soon as we could, not knowing how we might be inquired after, or engaged, the Inquisition being so cruelly formidable and inevitable, on the least suspicion. The next morning, therefore, discharging our lodgings, we agreed for a coach to carry us to the foot of the Alps, not a little concerned for the death of the Colonel, which we now heard of, and who had so courteously entertained us. The first day we got as far as Castellanza, by which runs a considerable river into Lago Maggiore; here, at dinner, were two or three Jesuits, who were very pragmatical and inquisitive, whom we declined conversation with as decently as we could; so we pursued our journey through a most fruitful plain, but the weather was wet and uncomfortable. At night, we lay at Sesto. The next morning, leaving our coach, we embarked in a boat to carry us over the lake (being one of the largest in Europe), and whence we could see the towering Alps, and among them the great San Bernardo, esteemed the highest mountain in Europe, appearing to be some miles above the clouds. Through this vast water, passes the river Ticinus, which discharges itself into the Po, by which means Helvetia transports her merchandizes into Italy, which we now begin to leave behind us. Having now sailed about two leagues, we were hauled ashore at Arona, a strong town belonging to the Duchy of Milan, where, being examined by the Governor, and paying a small duty, we were dismissed. Opposite to this fort, is Angiera, another small town, the passage very pleasant with the prospect of the Alps covered with pine and fir trees, and above them snow. We passed the pretty island Isabella, about the middle of the lake, on which is a fair house built on a mount; indeed, the whole island is a mount ascended by several terraces and walks all set above with orange and citron trees. [Sidenote: ISOLA] The next we saw was Isola, and we left on our right hand the Isle of St. Jovanni; and so sailing by another small town built also on an island, we arrived at night at Margazzo, an obscure village at the end of the lake, and at the very foot of the Alps, which now rise as it were suddenly after some hundreds of miles of the most even country in the world, and where there is hardly a stone to be found, as if Nature had here swept up the rubbish of the earth in the Alps, to form and clear the plains of Lombardy, which we had hitherto passed since our coming from Venice. In this wretched place, I lay on a bed stuffed with leaves, which made such a crackling and did so prick my skin through the tick, that I could not sleep. The next morning, I was furnished with an ass, for we could not get horses; instead of stirrups, we had ropes tied with a loop to put our feet in, which supplied the place of other trappings. Thus, with my gallant steed, bridled with my Turkish present, we passed through a reasonably pleasant but very narrow valley, till we came to Duomo, where we rested, and, having showed the Spanish pass, the Governor would press another on us, that his secretary might get a crown. Here we exchanged our asses for mules, sure-footed on the hills and precipices, being accustomed to pass them. Hiring a guide, we were brought that night through very steep, craggy, and dangerous passages to a village called Vedra, being the last of the King of Spain's dominions in the Duchy of Milan. We had a very infamous wretched lodging. The next morning we mounted again through strange, horrid, and fearful crags and tracts, abounding in pine trees, and only inhabited by bears, wolves, and wild goats; nor could we anywhere see above a pistol shot before us, the horizon being terminated with rocks and mountains, whose tops, covered with snow, seemed to touch the skies, and in many places pierced the clouds. Some of these vast mountains were but one entire stone, between whose clefts now and then precipitated great cataracts of melted snow, and other waters, which made a terrible roaring, echoing from the rocks and cavities; and these waters in some places breaking in the fall, wet us as if we had passed through a mist, so as we could neither see nor hear one another, but, trusting to our honest mules, we jogged on our way. The narrow bridges, in some places made only by felling huge fir trees, and laying them athwart from mountain to mountain, over cataracts of stupendous depth, are very dangerous, and so are the passages and edges made by cutting away the main rock; others in steps; and in some places we pass between mountains that have been broken and fallen on one another; which is very terrible, and one had need of a sure foot and steady head to climb some of these precipices, besides that they are harbors for bears and wolves, who have sometimes assaulted travelers. In these straits, we frequently alighted, now freezing in the snow, and anon frying by the reverberation of the sun against the cliffs as we descend lower, when we meet now and then a few miserable cottages so built upon the declining of the rocks, as one would expect their sliding down. Among these, inhabit a goodly sort of people, having monstrous gullets, or wens of flesh, growing to their throats, some of which I have seen as big as an hundred pound bag of silver hanging under their chins; among the women especially, and that so ponderous, as that to ease them, many wear linen cloth bound about their head, and coming under the chin to support it; but _quis tumidum guttur miratur in Alpibus?_ Their drinking so much snow water is thought to be the cause of it; the men using more wine, are not so strumous as the women. The truth is, they are a peculiar race of people, and many great water drinkers here have not these prodigious tumors; it runs, as we say, in the blood, and is a vice in the race, and renders them so ugly, shriveled and deformed, by its drawing the skin of the face down, that nothing can be more frightful; to this add a strange puffing dress, furs, and that barbarous language, being a mixture of corrupt High German, French, and Italian. The people are of great stature, extremely fierce and rude, yet very honest and trusty. [Sidenote: MOUNT SAMPION] This night, through almost inaccessible heights, we came in prospect of Mons Sempronius, now Mount Sampion, which has on its summit a few huts and a chapel. Approaching this, Captain Wray's water spaniel (a huge filthy cur that had followed him out of England) hunted a herd of goats down the rocks into a river made by the melting of the snow. Arrived at our cold harbor (though the house had a stove in every room) and supping on cheese and milk with wretched wine, we went to bed in cupboards so high from the floor, that we climbed them by a ladder; we were covered with feathers, that is, we lay between two ticks stuffed with them, and all little enough to keep one warm. The ceilings of the rooms are strangely low for those tall people. The house was now (in September) half covered with snow, nor is there a tree, or a bush, growing within many miles. From this uncomfortable place, we prepared to hasten away the next morning; but, as we were getting on our mules, comes a huge young fellow demanding money for a goat which he affirmed that Captain Wray's dog had killed; expostulating the matter, and impatient of staying in the cold, we set spurs and endeavored to ride away, when a multitude of people being by this time gotten together about us (for it being Sunday morning and attending for the priest to say mass), they stopped our mules, beat us off our saddles, and, disarming us of our carbines, drew us into one of the rooms of our lodging, and set a guard upon us. Thus we continued prisoners till mass was ended, and then came half a score grim Swiss, who, taking on them to be magistrates, sat down on the table, and condemned us to pay a pistole for the goat, and ten more for attempting to ride away, threatening that if we did not pay it speedily, they would send us to prison, and keep us to a day of public justice, where, as they perhaps would have exaggerated the crime, for they pretended we had primed our carbines and would have shot some of them (as indeed the Captain was about to do), we might have had our heads cut off, as we were told afterward, for that among these rude people a very small misdemeanor does often meet that sentence. Though the proceedings appeared highly unjust, on consultation among ourselves we thought it safer to rid ourselves out of their hands, and the trouble we were brought into; and therefore we patiently laid down the money, and with fierce countenances had our mules and arms delivered to us, and glad we were to escape as we did. This was cold entertainment, but our journey after was colder, the rest of the way having been (as they told us) covered with snow since the Creation; no man remembered it to be without; and because, by the frequent snowing, the tracks are continually filled up, we passed by several tall masts set up to guide travelers, so as for many miles they stand in ken of one another, like to our beacons. In some places, where there is a cleft between two mountains, the snow fills it up, while the bottom, being thawed, leaves as it were a frozen arch of snow, and that so hard as to bear the greatest weight; for as it snows often, so it perpetually freezes, of which I was so sensible that it flawed the very skin of my face. Beginning now to descend a little, Captain Wray's horse (that was our sumpter and carried all our baggage) plunging through a bank of loose snow, slid down a frightful precipice, which so incensed the choleric cavalier, his master, that he was sending a brace of bullets into the poor beast, lest our guide should recover him, and run away with his burden; but, just as he was lifting up his carbine, we gave such a shout, and so pelted the horse with snow-balls, as with all his might plunging through the snow, he fell from another steep place into another bottom, near a path we were to pass. It was yet a good while ere we got to him, but at last we recovered the place, and, easing him of his charge, hauled him out of the snow, where he had been certainly frozen in, if we had not prevented it, before night. It was as we judged almost two miles that he had slid and fallen, yet without any other harm than the benumbing of his limbs for the present, but, with lusty rubbing and chafing he began to move, and, after a little walking, performed his journey well enough. All this way, affrighted with the disaster of this horse, we trudged on foot, driving our mules before us; sometimes we fell, sometimes we slid, through this ocean of snow, which after October is impassible. Toward night, we came into a larger way, through vast woods of pines, which clothe the middle parts of these rocks. Here, they were burning some to make pitch and rosin, peeling the knotty branches, as we do to make charcoal, reserving what melts from them, which hardens into pitch. We passed several cascades of dissolved snow, that had made channels of formidable depth in the crevices of the mountains, and with such a fearful roaring as we could hear it for seven long miles. It is from these sources that the Rhone and the Rhine, which pass through all France and Germany, derive their originals. Late at night, we got to a town called Briga, at the foot of the Alps, in the Valteline. Almost every door had nailed on the outside and next the street a bear's, wolf's, or fox's head, and divers of them, all three; a savage kind of sight, but, as the Alps are full of the beasts, the people often kill them. The next morning, we returned to our guide, and took fresh mules, and another to conduct us to the Lake of Geneva, passing through as pleasant a country as that we had just traveled was melancholy and troublesome. A strange and sudden change it seemed; for the reverberation of the sunbeams from the mountains and rocks that like walls range it on both sides, not above two flight-shots in breadth, for a very great number of miles, renders the passage excessively hot. Through such extremes we continued our journey, that goodly river, the Rhone, gliding by us in a narrow and quiet channel almost in the middle of this Canton, fertilizing the country for grass and corn, which grow here in abundance. [Sidenote: SION] We arrived this night at Sion, a pretty town and city, a bishop's seat, and the head of Valesia. There is a castle, and the bishop who resides in it, has both civil and ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Our host, as the custom of these Cantons is, was one of the chiefest of the town, and had been a Colonel in France: he treated us with extreme civility, and was so displeased at the usage we received at Mount Sampion, that he would needs give us a letter to the Governor of the country, who resided at St. Maurice, which was in our way to Geneva, to revenge the affront. This was a true old blade, and had been a very curious virtuoso, as we found by a handsome collection of books, medals, pictures, shells, and other antiquities. He showed two heads and horns of the true capricorn, which animal he told us was frequently killed among the mountains; one branch of them was as much as I could well lift, and near as high as my head, not much unlike the greater sort of goat's, save that they bent forward, by help whereof they climb up and hang on inaccessible rocks, from whence the inhabitants now and then shoot them. They speak prodigious things of their leaping from crag to crag, and of their sure footing, notwithstanding their being cloven-footed, unapt (one would think) to take hold and walk so steadily on those horrible ridges as they do. The Colonel would have given me one of these beams, but the want of a convenience to carry it along with me, caused me to refuse his courtesy. He told me that in the castle there were some Roman and Christian antiquities, and he had some inscriptions in his own garden. He invited us to his country-house, where he said he had better pictures, and other rarities; but, our time being short, I could not persuade my companions to stay and visit the places he would have had us see, nor the offer he made to show us the hunting of the bear, wolf, and other wild beasts. The next morning, having presented his daughter, a pretty well-fashioned young woman, with a small ruby ring, we parted somewhat late from our generous host. Passing through the same pleasant valley between the horrid mountains on either hand, like a gallery many miles in length, we got to Martigni, where also we were well entertained. The houses in this country are all built of fir boards, planed within, low, and seldom above one story. The people very clownish and rusticly clad, after a very odd fashion, for the most part in blue cloth, very whole and warm, with little variety of distinction between the gentleman and common sort, by a law of their country being exceedingly frugal. Add to this their great honesty and fidelity, though exacting enough for what they part with: I saw not one beggar. We paid the value of twenty shillings English, for a day's hire of one horse. Every man goes with a sword by his side, the whole country well disciplined, and indeed impregnable, which made the Romans have such ill success against them; one lusty Swiss at their narrow passages is sufficient to repel a legion. It is a frequent thing here for a young tradesman, or farmer, to leave his wife and children for twelve or fifteen years, and seek his fortune in the wars in Spain, France, Italy, or Germany, and then return again to work. I look upon this country to be the safest spot of all Europe, neither envied nor envying; nor are any of them rich, nor poor; they live in great simplicity and tranquillity; and, though of the fourteen Cantons half be Roman Catholics, the rest reformed, yet they mutually agree, and are confederate with Geneva, and are its only security against its potent neighbors, as they themselves are from being attacked by the greater potentates, by the mutual jealousy of their neighbors, as either of them would be overbalanced, should the Swiss, who are wholly mercenary and auxiliaries, be subjected to France or Spain. [Sidenote: BEVERETTA] [Sidenote: GENEVA] We were now arrived at St. Maurice, a large handsome town and residence of the President, where justice is done. To him we presented our letter from Sion, and made known the ill usage we had received for killing a wretched goat, which so incensed him, that he swore if we would stay he would not only help us to recover our money again, but most severely punish the whole rabble; but our desire of revenge had by this time subsided, and glad we were to be gotten so near France, which we reckoned as good as home. He courteously invited us to dine with him; but we excused ourselves, and, returning to our inn, while we were eating something before we took horse, the Governor had caused two pages to bring us a present of two great vessels of covered plate full of excellent wine, in which we drank his health, and rewarded the youths; they were two vast bowls supported by two Swiss, handsomely wrought after the German manner. This civility and that of our host at Sion, perfectly reconciled us to the highlanders; and so, proceeding on our journey we passed this afternoon through the gate which divides the Valais from the Duchy of Savoy, into which we were now entering, and so, through Montei, we arrived that evening at Beveretta. Being extremely weary and complaining of my head, and finding little accommodation in the house, I caused one of our hostess's daughters to be removed out of her bed and went immediately into it while it was yet warm, being so heavy with pain and drowsiness that I would not stay to have the sheets changed; but I shortly after paid dearly for my impatience, falling sick of the smallpox as soon as I came to Geneva, for by the smell of frankincense and the tale the good woman told me of her daughter having had an ague, I afterward concluded she had been newly recovered of the smallpox. Notwithstanding this, I went with my company, the next day, hiring a bark to carry us over the lake; and indeed, sick as I was, the weather was so serene and bright, the water so calm, and air so temperate, that never had travelers a sweeter passage. Thus, we sailed the whole length of the lake, about thirty miles, the countries bordering on it (Savoy and Berne) affording one of the most delightful prospects in the world, the Alps covered with snow, though at a great distance, yet showing their aspiring tops. Through this lake, the river Rhodanus passes with that velocity as not to mingle with its exceeding deep waters, which are very clear, and breed the most celebrated trout for largeness and goodness of any in Europe. I have ordinarily seen one of three feet in length sold in the market for a small price, and such we had in the lodging where we abode, which was at the White Cross. All this while, I held up tolerably; and the next morning having a letter for Signor John Diodati, the famous Italian minister and translator of the Holy Bible into that language, I went to his house, and had a great deal of discourse with that learned person. He told me he had been in England, driven by tempest into Deal, while sailing for Holland, that he had seen London, and was exceedingly taken with the civilities he received. He so much approved of our Church-government by Bishops, that he told me the French Protestants would make no scruple to submit to it and all its pomp, had they a king of the Reformed religion as we had. He exceedingly deplored the difference now between his Majesty and the Parliament. After dinner, came one Monsieur Saladine, with his little pupil, the Earl of Caernarvon, to visit us, offering to carry us to the principal places of the town; but, being now no more able to hold up my head, I was constrained to keep my chamber, imagining that my very eyes would have dropped out; and this night I felt such a stinging about me, that I could not sleep. In the morning, I was very ill, but sending for a doctor, he persuaded me to be bled. He was a very learned old man, and, as he said, he had been physician to Gustavus the Great, King of Sweden, when he passed this way into Italy, under the name of Monsieur Gars, the initial letters of Gustavus Adolphus Rex Sueciæ, and of our famous Duke of Buckingham, on his returning out of Italy. He afterward acknowledged that he should not have bled me, had he suspected the smallpox, which broke out a day after. He afterward purged me, and applied leeches, and God knows what this would have produced, if the spots had not appeared, for he was thinking of bleeding me again. They now kept me warm in bed for sixteen days, tended by a vigilant Swiss matron, whose monstrous throat, when I sometimes awakened out of unquiet slumbers, would affright me. After the pimples were come forth, which were not many, I had much ease as to pain, but infinitely afflicted with heat and noisomeness. By God's mercy, after five weeks' keeping my chamber, I went abroad. Monsieur Saladine and his lady sent me many refreshments. Monsieur Le Chat, my physician, to excuse his letting me bleed, told me it was so burnt and vicious as it would have proved the plague, or spotted fever, had he proceeded by any other method. On my recovering sufficiently to go abroad, I dined at Monsieur Saladine's, and in the afternoon went across the water on the side of the lake, and took a lodging that stood exceedingly pleasant, about half a mile from the city for the better airing; but I stayed only one night, having no company there, save my pipe; so, the next day, I caused them to row me about the lake as far as the great stone, which they call NEPTUNE'S ROCK, on which they say sacrifice was anciently offered to him. Thence, I landed at certain cherry gardens and pretty villas by the side of the lake, and exceedingly pleasant. Returning, I visited their conservatories of fish; in which were trouts of six and seven feet long, AS THEY AFFIRMED. The Rhone, which parts the city in the midst dips into a cavern underground, about six miles from it, and afterward rises again, and runs its open course, like our Mole, or Swallow, by Dorking, in Surrey. The next morning (being Thursday) I heard Dr. Diodati preach in Italian, many of that country, especially of Lucca, his native place, being inhabitants of Geneva, and of the Reformed religion. The town lying between Germany, France, and Italy, those three tongues are familiarly spoken by the inhabitants. It is a strong, well-fortified city, part of it built on a rising ground. The houses are not despicable, but the high pent-houses (for I can hardly call them cloisters, being all of wood), through which the people pass dry and in the shade, winter and summer, exceedingly deform the fronts of the buildings. Here are abundance of booksellers; but their books are of ill impressions; these, with watches (of which store are made here), crystal, and excellent screwed guns, are the staple commodities. All provisions are good and cheap. The town-house is fairly built of stone; the portico has four black marble columns; and, on a table of the same, under the city arms, a demi-eagle and cross, between cross-keys, is a motto, "POST TENEBRAS LUX," and this inscription: _Quum anno 1535 profligatâ Romanâ Anti-Christi Tyrannide, abrogatisq; ejus superstitionibus, sacro-sancta Christi Religio hìc in suam puritatem, Ecclesiâ in meliorem ordinem singulari Dei beneficio repositâ, et simul pulsis fugatisq; hostibus, urbs ipsa in suam libertatem, non sine insigni miraculo, restituta fuerit; Senatus Populusq; Genevensis Monumentum hoc perpetuæ memoriæ causâ fieri atque hoc loco erigi curavit, quod suam erga Deum gratitudinem ad posteros testatum fuerit._ The territories about the town are not so large as many ordinary gentlemen have about their country farms, for which cause they are in continual watch, especially on the Savoy side; but, in case of any siege the Swiss are at hand, as this inscription in the same place shows, toward the street: D.O.M.S. _Anno a verâ Religione divinitûs cum veteri Libertate Genevæ restitutâ, et quasi novo Jubilæo ineunte, plurimis vitatis domi et forsi insidiis et superatis tempestatibus, et cum Helvetiorum Primari Tigurini æquo jure in societatem perpetuam nobiscum venerint, et veteres fidissimi socii Bernenses prius vinculum novo adstrinxerint, S.P.Q.G. quod felix esse velit D.O.M. tanti, beneficii monumentum consecrârunt, anno temporis ultimi_ CC[~C~].I[~C~].XXXIV. In the Senate-house, were fourteen ancient urns, dug up as they were removing earth in the fortifications. A little out of the town is a spacious field, which they call Campus Martius; and well it may be so termed, with better reason, than that at Rome at present (which is no more a field, but all built into streets), for here on every Sunday, after the evening devotions, this precise people permit their youth to exercise arms, and shoot in guns, and in the long and cross bows, in which they are exceedingly expert, reputed to be as dexterous as any people in the world. To encourage this, they yearly elect him who has won most prizes at the mark, to be their king, as the king of the long-bow, gun, or cross-bow. He then wears that weapon in his hat in gold, with a crown over it made fast to the hat like a brooch. In this field, is a long house wherein their arms and furniture are kept in several places very neatly. To this joins a hall, where, at certain times, they meet and feast; in the glass windows are the arms and names of their kings [of arms]. At the side of the field, is a very noble Pall-Mall, but it turns with an elbow. There is also a bowling-place, a tavern, and a trey-table, and here they ride their menaged horses. It is also the usual place of public execution of those who suffer for any capital crime, though committed in another country, by which law divers fugitives have been put to death, who have fled hither to escape punishment in their own country. Among other severe punishments here, adultery is death. Having seen this field, and played a game at mall, I supped with Mr. Saladine. On Sunday, I heard Dr. Diodati preach in French, and after the French mode, in a gown with a cape, and his hat on. The Church Government is severely Presbyterian, after the discipline of Calvin and Beza, who set it up, but nothing so rigid as either our Scots or English sectaries of that denomination. In the afternoon, Monsieur Morice, a most learned young person and excellent poet, chief Professor of the University, preached at St. Peter's, a spacious Gothic fabric. This was heretofore a cathedral and a reverend pile. It has four turrets, on one of which stands a continual sentinel; in another cannons are mounted. The church is very decent within; nor have they at all defaced the painted windows, which are full of pictures of saints; nor the stalls, which are all carved with the history of our Blessed Savior. In the afternoon, I went to see the young townsmen exercise in Mars' Field, where the prizes were pewter-plates and dishes; 'tis said that some have gained competent estates by what they have thus won. Here I first saw huge ballistæ, or cross-bows, shot in, being such as they formerly used in wars, before great guns were known; they were placed in frames, and had great screws to bend them, doing execution at an incredible distance. They were most accurate at the long-bow and musket, rarely missing the smallest mark. I was as busy with the carbine I brought from Brescia as any of them. After every shot, I found them go into a long house, and cleanse their guns, before they charged again. On Monday, I was invited to a little garden without the works, where were many rare tulips, anemones, and other choice flowers. The Rhone, running athwart the town out of the Lake, makes half the city a suburb, which, in imitation of Paris, they call St. Germain's Fauxbourg, and it has a church of the same name. On two wooden bridges that cross the river are several water-mills, and shops of trades, especially smiths and cutlers; between the bridges is an island, in the midst of which is a very ancient tower, said to have been built by Julius Cæsar. At the end of the other bridge is the mint, and a fair sun-dial. Passing again by the town-house, I saw a large crocodile hanging in chains; and against the wall of one of the chambers, seven judges were painted without hands, except one in the middle, who has but one hand; I know not the story. The Arsenal is at the end of this building, well furnished and kept. After dinner Mr. Morice led us to the college, a fair structure; in the lower part are the schools, which consist of nine classes; and a hall above, where the students assemble; also a good library. They showed us a very ancient Bible, of about 300 years old, in the vulgar French, and a MS. in the old Monkish character: here have the Professors their lodgings. I also went to the Hospital, which is very commodious; but the Bishop's Palace is now a prison. This town is not much celebrated for beautiful women, for, even at this distance from the Alps, the gentlewomen have somewhat full throats; but our Captain Wray (afterward Sir William, eldest son of that Sir Christopher, who had both been in arms against his Majesty for the Parliament) fell so mightily in love with one of Monsieur Saladine's daughters that, with much persuasion, he could not be prevailed on to think on his journey into France, the season now coming on extremely hot. My sickness and abode here cost me forty-five pistoles of gold to my host, and five to my honest doctor, who for six weeks' attendance and the apothecary thought it so generous a reward that, at my taking leave, he presented me with his advice for the regimen of my health, written with his own hand in Latin. This regimen I much observed, and I bless God passed the journey without inconvenience from sickness, but it was an extraordinarily hot unpleasant season and journey, by reason of the craggy ways. 5th July, 1646. We took, or rather purchased, a boat, for it could not be brought back against the stream of the Rhone. We were two days going to Lyons, passing many admirable prospects of rocks and cliffs, and near the town down a very steep declivity of water for a full mile. From Lyons, we proceeded the next morning, taking horse to Roanne, and lay that night at Feurs. At Roanne we indulged ourselves with the best that all France affords, for here the provisions are choice and plentiful, so as the supper we had might have satisfied a prince. We lay in damask beds, and were treated like emperors. The town is one of the neatest built in all France, on the brink of the Loire; and here we agreed with an old fisher to row us as far as Orleans. The first night we came as far as Nevers, early enough to see the town, the Cathedral (St. Cyre), the Jesuits' College, and the Castle, a palace of the Duke's, with the bridge to it nobly built. The next day we passed by La Charité, a pretty town, somewhat distant from the river. Here I lost my faithful spaniel Piccioli, who had followed me from Rome. It seems he had been taken up by some of the Governor's pages, or footmen, without recovery; which was a great displeasure to me, because the cur had many useful qualities. [Sidenote: ORLEANS] The next day we arrived at Orleans, taking our turns to row, of which I reckon my share came to little less than twenty leagues. Sometimes, we footed it through pleasant fields and meadows; sometimes, we shot at fowls, and other birds; nothing came amiss: sometimes, we played at cards, while others sung, or were composing verses; for we had the great poet, Mr. Waller, in our company, and some other ingenious persons. At Orleans we abode but one day; the next, leaving our mad Captain behind us, I arrived at Paris, rejoiced that, after so many disasters and accidents in a tedious peregrination, I was gotten so near home, and here I resolved to rest myself before I went further. It was now October, and the only time that in my whole life that I spent most idly, tempted from my more profitable recesses; but I soon recovered my better resolutions and fell to my study, learning the High Dutch and Spanish tongues, and now and then refreshing my dancing, and such exercises as I had long omitted, and which are not in much reputation among the sober Italians. 28th January, 1647. I changed my lodging in the Place de Monsieur de Metz, near the Abbey of St. Germains; and thence, on the 12th of February, to another in Rue Columbier, where I had a very fair apartment, which cost me four pistoles per month. The 18th, I frequented a course of Chemistry, the famous Monsieur Le Febure operating upon most of the nobler processes. March 3d, Monsieur Mercure began to teach me on the lute, though to small perfection. In May, I fell sick, and had very weak eyes; for which I was four times let bleed. 22d May, 1647. My valet (Herbert) robbed me of clothes and plate, to the value of three score pounds; but, through the diligence of Sir Richard Browne, his Majesty's Resident at the Court of France, and with whose lady and family I had contracted a great friendship (and particularly set my affections on a daughter), I recovered most of them, obtaining of the Judge, with no small difficulty, that the process against the thief should not concern his life, being his first offense. 10th June, 1647. We concluded about my marriage, in order to which I went to St. Germains, where his Majesty, then Prince of Wales, had his court, to desire of Dr. Earle, then one of his chaplains (since Dean of Westminster, Clerk of the Closet, and Bishop of Salisbury), that he would accompany me to Paris, which he did; and, on Thursday, 27th of June, 1647, he married us in Sir Richard Browne's chapel, between the hours of eleven and twelve, some few select friends being present. And this being Corpus Christi feast, was solemnly observed in this country; the streets were sumptuously hung with tapestry, and strewed with flowers. 10th September, 1647. Being called into England, to settle my affairs after an absence of four years, I took leave of the Prince and Queen, leaving my wife, yet very young, under the care of an excellent lady and prudent mother. 4th October, 1647. I sealed and declared my will, and that morning went from Paris, taking my journey through Rouen, Dieppe, Ville-dieu, and St. Vallerie, where I stayed one day with Mr. Waller, with whom I had some affairs, and for which cause I took this circle to Calais, where I arrived on the 11th, and that night embarking in a packet boat, was by one o'clock got safe to Dover; for which I heartily put up my thanks to God who had conducted me safe to my own country, and been merciful to me through so many aberrations. Hence, taking post, I arrived at London the next day at evening, being the 2d of October, new style. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 5th October, 1647. I came to Wotton, the place of my birth, to my brother, and on the 10th to Hampton Court where I had the honor to kiss his Majesty's hand, and give him an account of several things I had in charge, he being now in the power of those execrable villains who not long after murdered him. I lay at my cousin, Sergeant Hatton's at Thames Ditton, whence, on the 13th, I went to London. 14th October, 1647. To Sayes Court, at Deptford, in Kent (since my house), where I found Mr. Pretyman, my wife's uncle, who had charge of it and the estate about it, during my father-in-law's residence in France. On the 15th, I again occupied my own chambers in the Middle Temple. 9th November, 1647. My sister opened to me her marriage with Mr. Glanville. 14th January, 1647-48. From London I went to Wotton to see my young nephew; and thence to Baynards [in Ewhurst], to visit my brother Richard. 5th February, 1648. Saw a tragi-comedy acted in the cockpit, after there had been none of these diversions for many years during the war. 28th February, 1648. I went with my noble friend, Sir William Ducy (afterward Lord Downe), to Thistleworth, where we dined with Sir Clepesby Crew, and afterward to see the rare miniatures of Peter Oliver, and rounds of plaster, and then the curious flowers of Mr. Barill's garden, who has some good medals and pictures. Sir Clepesby has fine Indian hangings, and a very good chimney-piece of water colors, by Breughel, which I bought for him. 26th April, 1648. There was a great uproar in London, that the rebel army quartering at Whitehall, would plunder the City, on which there was published a Proclamation for all to stand on their guard. 4th May, 1648. Came up the Essex petitioners for an agreement between his Majesty and the rebels. The 16th, the Surrey men addressed the Parliament for the same; of which some of them were slain and murdered by Cromwell's guards, in the new palace yard. I now sold the impropriation of South Malling, near Lewes, in Sussex, to Messrs. Kemp and Alcock, for £3,000. 30th May, 1648. There was a rising now in Kent, my Lord of Norwich being at the head of them. Their first rendezvous was in Broome-field, next my house at Sayes Court, whence they went to Maidstone, and so to Colchester, where was that memorable siege. 27th June, 1648. I purchased the manor of Hurcott, in Worcestershire, of my brother George, for £3,300. 1st July, 1648. I sate for my picture, in which there is a Death's head, to Mr. Walker, that excellent painter. 10th July, 1648. News was brought me of my Lord Francis Villiers being slain by the rebels near Kingston. 16th August, 1648. I went to Woodcote (in Epsom) to the wedding of my brother, Richard, who married the daughter and coheir of Esquire Minn, lately deceased; by which he had a great estate both in land and money on the death of a brother. The coach in which the bride and bridegroom were, was overturned in coming home; but no harm was done. 28th August, 1648. To London from Sayes Court, and saw the celebrated follies of Bartholomew Fair. 16th September, 1648. Came my lately married brother, Richard, and his wife, to visit me, when I showed them Greenwich, and her Majesty's Palace, now possessed by the rebels. 28th September, 1648. I went to Albury, to visit the Countess of Arundel, and returned to Wotton. 31st October, 1648. I went to see my manor of Preston Beckhelvyn, and the Cliffhouse. 29th November, 1648. Myself, with Mr. Thomas Offley, and Lady Gerrard, christened my niece Mary, eldest daughter of my brother, George Evelyn, by my Lady Cotton, his second wife. I presented my niece a piece of plate which cost me £18, and caused this inscription to be set on it-- IN MEMORIAM FACTI. ANNO CIC IX. XLIIX. CAL. DECEM. VIII. VIRGINUM CASTISS: XTIANORUM INNOCENTIS: NEPT: SUAVIS: MARIÆ. JOHAN. EVELYNUS AVUNCULUS ET SUSCEPTOR VASCULUM HOC CUM EPIGRAPHE L. M. Q. D. AVE MARIA GRATIÂ SIS PLENA; DOMINUS TECUM. 2d December, 1648. This day I sold my manor of Hurcott for £3,400 to one Mr. Bridges. 13th December, 1648. The Parliament now sat up the whole night, and endeavored to have concluded the Isle of Wight Treaty; but were surprised by the rebel army; the members dispersed, and great confusion every where in expectation of what would be next. 17th December, 1648. I heard an Italian sermon, in Mercers' Chapel, one Dr. Middleton, an acquaintance of mine, preaching. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th December, 1648. I got privately into the council of the rebel army, at Whitehall, where I heard horrid villanies. This was a most exceedingly wet year, neither frost nor snow all the winter for more than six days in all. Cattle died every where of a murrain. 1st January, 1648-49. I had a lodging and some books at my father-in-law's house, Sayes Court. 2d January, 1649. I went to see my old friend and fellow-traveler, Mr. Henshaw, who had two rare pieces of Stenwyck's perspective. 17th January, 1649. To London. I heard the rebel, Peters, incite the rebel powers met in the Painted Chamber, to destroy his Majesty; and saw that archtraitor, Bradshaw, who not long after condemned him. 19th January, 1649. I returned home, passing an extraordinary danger of being drowned by our wherries falling foul in the night on another vessel then at anchor, shooting the bridge at three quarters' ebb, for which His mercy God Almighty be praised. 21st January, 1649. Was published my translation of Liberty and Servitude, for the preface of which I was severely threatened. 22d January, 1649. I went through a course of chemistry, at Sayes Court. Now was the Thames frozen over, and horrid tempests of wind. The villany of the rebels proceeding now so far as to try, condemn, and murder our excellent King on the 30th of this month, struck me with such horror, that I kept the day of his martyrdom a fast, and would not be present at that execrable wickedness; receiving the sad account of it from my brother George, and Mr. Owen, who came to visit me this afternoon, and recounted all the circumstances. 1st February, 1649. Now were Duke Hamilton, the Earl of Norwich, Lord Capell, etc., at their trial before the rebels' NEW COURT OF INJUSTICE. 15th February, 1649. I went to see the collection of one Trean, a rich merchant, who had some good pictures, especially a rare perspective of Stenwyck; from thence, to other virtuosos. The painter, La Neve has an Andromeda, but I think it a copy after Vandyke from Titian, for the original is in France. Webb, at the Exchange, has some rare things in miniature, of Breughel's, also Putti, in twelve squares, that were plundered from Sir James Palmer. At Du Bois, we saw two tables of Putti, that were gotten, I know not how, out of the Castle of St. Angelo, by old Petit, thought to be Titian's; he had some good heads of Palma, and one of Stenwyck. Bellcar showed us an excellent copy of his Majesty's Sleeping Venus and the Satyr, with other figures; for now they had plundered, sold, and dispersed a world of rare paintings of the King's, and his loyal subjects. After all, Sir William Ducy showed me some excellent things in miniature, and in oil of Holbein's; Sir Thomas More's head, and a whole-length figure of Edward VI., which were certainly his Majesty's; also a picture of Queen Elizabeth; the Lady Isabella Thynne; a rare painting of Rothenhamer, being a Susanna; and a Magdalen, of Quintin, the blacksmith; also a Henry VIII., of Holbein; and Francis I., rare indeed, but of whose hand I know not. 16th February, 1649. Paris being now strictly besieged by the Prince de Condé, my wife being shut up with her father and mother, I wrote a letter of consolation to her: and, on the 22d, having recommended Obadiah Walker, a learned and most ingenious person, to be tutor to, and travel with, Mr. Hillyard's two sons, returned to Sayes Court. 25th February, 1649. Came to visit me Dr. Joyliffe, discoverer of the lymphatic vessels, and an excellent anatomist. 26th February, 1649. Came to see me Captain George Evelyn, my kinsman, the great traveler, and one who believed himself a better architect than really he was; witness the portico in the Garden at Wotton; yet the great room at Albury is somewhat better understood. He had a large mind, but over-built everything. 27th February, 1649. Came out of France my wife's uncle (Paris still besieged), being robbed at sea by the Dunkirk pirates: I lost, among other goods, my wife's picture, painted by Monsieur Bourdon. 5th March, 1649. Now were the Lords murdered in the Palace Yard. 18th March, 1649. Mr. Owen, a sequestered and learned minister, preached in my parlor, and gave us the blessed Sacrament, now wholly out of use in the parish churches, on which the Presbyterians and fanatics had usurped. 21st March, 1649. I received letters from Paris from my wife, and from Sir Richard [Browne], with whom I kept up a political correspondence, with no small danger of being discovered. 25th March, 1649. I heard the Common Prayer (a rare thing in these days) in St. Peter's, at Paul's Wharf, London; and, in the morning, the Archbishop of Armagh, that pious person and learned man, Usher, in Lincoln's-Inn Chapel. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d April, 1649. To London, and inventoried my movables that had hitherto been dispersed for fear of plundering: wrote into France, touching my sudden resolutions of coming over to them. On the 8th, again heard an excellent discourse from Archbishop Usher, on Ephes. 4, v. 26-27. My Italian collection being now arrived, came Moulins, the great chirurgeon, to see and admire the Tables of Veins and Arteries, which I purchased and caused to be drawn out of several human bodies at Padua. 11th April, 1649. Received news out of France that peace was concluded; dined with Sir Joseph Evelyn, at Westminster; and on the 13th I saw a private dissection at Moulins's house. 17th April, 1649. I fell dangerously ill of my head; was blistered and let bleed behind the ears and forehead: on the 23d, began to have ease by using the fumes of camomile on embers applied to my ears, after all the physicians had done their best. 29th April, 1649. I saw in London a huge ox bred in Kent, 17 feet in length, and much higher than I could reach. 12th May, 1649. I purchased the manor of Warley Magna, in Essex: in the afternoon went to see Gildron's collections of paintings, where I found Mr. Endymion Porter, of his late Majesty's bedchamber. 17th May, 1649. Went to Putney by water, in the barge with divers ladies, to see the schools, or colleges, of the young gentlewomen. 19th May, 1649. To see a rare cabinet of one Delabarr, who had some good paintings, especially a monk at his beads. 30th May, 1649. Unkingship was proclaimed, and his Majesty's statues thrown down at St. Paul's Portico, and the Exchange. 7th June, 1649. I visited Sir Arthur Hopton[38] (brother to Sir Ralph, Lord Hopton, that noble hero), who having been Ambassador extraordinary in Spain, sojourned some time with my father-in-law at Paris, a most excellent person. Also Signora Lucretia, a Greek lady, whom I knew in Italy, now come over with her husband, an English gentleman. Also, the Earl and Countess of Arundel, taking leave of them and other friends now ready to depart for France. This night was a scuffle between some rebel soldiers and gentlemen about the Temple. [Footnote 38: Sir Arthur Hopton was uncle, not brother, to Lord Hopton (so well known for his services to Charles in the course of the Civil War).] June 10th, 1649. Preached the Archbishop of Armagh in Lincoln's-Inn, from Romans 5, verse 13. I received the blessed Sacrament, preparatory to my journey. 13th June, 1649. I dined with my worthy friend, Sir John Owen, newly freed from sentence of death among the lords that suffered. With him was one Carew, who played incomparably on the Welsh harp; afterward I treated divers ladies of my relations, in Spring Garden. This night was buried with great pomp, Dorislaus, slain at the Hague, the villain who managed the trial against his sacred Majesty. 17th June, 1649. I got a pass from the rebel Bradshaw, then in great power. 20th June, 1649. I went to Putney, and other places on the Thames, to take prospects in crayon, to carry into France, where I thought to have them engraved. 2d July, 1649. I went from Wotton to Godstone (the residence of Sir John Evelyn), where was also Sir John Evelyn of Wilts., when I took leave of both Sir Johns and their ladies. Mem. the prodigious memory of Sir John of Wilts' daughter, since married to Mr. W. Pierrepont, and mother of the present Earl of Kingston. I returned to Sayes Court this night. 4th July, 1649. Visited Lady Hatton, her lord sojourning at Paris with my father-in-law. 9th July, 1649. Dined with Sir Walter Pye, and my good friend, Mr. Eaton, afterward a judge, who corresponded with me in France. 11th July, 1649. Came to see me old Alexander Rosse, the divine historian and poet; Mr. Henshaw, Mr. Scudamore, and other friends to take leave of me. [Sidenote: GRAVESEND] 12th July, 1649. It was about three in the afternoon, I took oars for Gravesend, accompanied by my cousin, Stephens, and sister, Glanville, who there supped with me and returned; whence I took post immediately to Dover, where I arrived by nine in the morning; and, about eleven that night, went on board a barque guarded by a pinnace of eight guns; this being the first time the Packet-boat had obtained a convoy, having several times before been pillaged. We had a good passage, though chased for some hours by a pirate, but he dared not attack our frigate, and we then chased him till he got under the protection of the castle at Calais. It was a small privateer belonging to the Prince of Wales. I carried over with me my servant, Richard Hoare, an incomparable writer of several hands, whom I afterward preferred in the Prerogative Office, at the return of his Majesty. Lady Catherine Scott, daughter of the Earl of Norwich, followed us in a shallop, with Mr. Arthur Slingsby, who left England _incognito_. At the entrance of the town, the Lieutenant Governor, being on his horse with the guards, let us pass courteously. I visited Sir Richard Lloyd, an English gentleman, and walked in the church, where the ornament about the high altar of black marble is very fine, and there is a good picture of the Assumption. The citadel seems to be impregnable, and the whole country about it to be laid under water by sluices for many miles. 16th July, 1649. We departed from Paris, in company with that very pleasant lady, Lady Catherine Scott, and others. In all this journey we were greatly apprehensive of parties, which caused us to alight often out of our coach and walk separately on foot, with our guns on our shoulders, in all suspected places. [Sidenote: PARIS] 1st August, 1649. At three in the afternoon we came to St. Denis, saw the rarities of the church and treasury; and so to Paris that evening. The next day, came to welcome me at dinner the Lord High Treasurer Cottington, Sir Edward Hyde, Chancellor, Sir Edward Nicholas, Secretary of State, Sir George Carteret, Governor of Jersey, and Dr. Earle, having now been absent from my wife above a year and a half. 18th August, 1649. I went to St. Germains, to kiss his Majesty's hand; in the coach, which was my Lord Wilmot's, went Mrs. Barlow, the King's mistress[39] and mother to the Duke of Monmouth, a brown, beautiful, bold, but insipid creature. [Footnote 39: The lady here referred to was Lucy, daughter of Richard Walters, Esq., of Haverfordwest. She had two children by the King; James, subsequently so celebrated as the Duke of Monmouth, and Mary, whose lot was obscure in comparison with that of her brother, but of course infinitely happier. She married a Mr. William Sarsfield, of Ireland, and after his death, William Fanshawe, Esq.] 19th August, 1649. I went to salute the French King and the Queen Dowager; and, on the 21st, returned in one of the Queen's coaches with my Lord Germain, Duke of Buckingham, Lord Wentworth, and Mr. Croftes, since Lord Croftes. 7th September, 1649. Went with my wife and dear Cousin to St. Germains, and kissed the Queen-Mother's hand; dined with my Lord Keeper and Lord Hatton. Divers of the great men of France came to see the King. The next day, came the Prince of Condé. Returning to Paris, we went to see the President Maison's palace, built castle-wise, of a milk-white fine freestone; the house not vast, but well contrived, especially the staircase, and the ornaments of Putti, about it. It is environed in a dry moat, the offices under ground, the gardens very excellent with extraordinary long walks, set with elms, and a noble prospect toward the forest, and on the Seine toward Paris. Take it altogether, the meadows, walks, river, forest, corn-ground, and vineyards, I hardly saw anything in Italy to exceed it. The iron gates are very magnificent. He has pulled down a whole village to make room for his pleasure about it. 12th September, 1649. Dr. Crighton, a Scotchman, and one of his Majesty's chaplains, a learned Grecian who set out the Council of Florence, preached. 13th September, 1649. The King invited the Prince of Condé to supper at St. Cloud; there I kissed the Duke of York's hand in the tennis court, where I saw a famous match between Monsieur Saumeurs and Colonel Cooke, and so returned to Paris. It was noised about that I was knighted, a dignity I often declined. 1st October, 1649. Went with my cousin Tuke (afterward Sir Samuel), to see the fountains of St. Cloud and Ruel; and, after dinner, to talk with the poor ignorant and superstitious anchorite at Mount Calvary, and so to Paris. 2d October, 1649. Came Mr. William Coventry (afterward Sir William) and the Duke's secretary, etc., to visit me. 5th October, 1649. Dined with Sir George Ratcliffe, the great favorite of the late Earl of Stratford, formerly Lord Deputy of Ireland, decapitated. 7th October, 1649. To the Louvre, to visit the Countess of Moreton, governess to Madame. 15th October, 1649. Came news of Drogheda being taken by the rebels, and all put to the sword, which made us very sad, forerunning the loss of all Ireland. 21st October, 1649. I went to hear Dr. d'Avinson's lecture in the physical garden, and see his laboratory, he being Prefect of that excellent garden, and Professor Botanicus. 30th October, 1649. I was at the funeral of one Mr. Downes, a sober English gentleman. We accompanied his corpse to Charenton, where he was interred in a cabbage-garden, yet with the office of our church, which was said before in our chapel at Paris. Here I saw also where they buried the great soldier, Gassion, who had a tomb built over him like a fountain, the design and materials mean enough. I returned to Paris with Sir Philip Musgrave, and Sir Marmaduke Langdale, since Lord Langdale.--Memorandum. This was a very sickly and mortal autumn. 5th November, 1649. I received divers letters out of England, requiring me to come over about settling some of my concerns. 7th November, 1649. Dr. George Morley (since Bishop of Winchester) preached in our chapel on Matthew 4, verse 3. 18th November, 1649. I went with my father-in-law to see his audience at the French Court, where next the Pope's Nuncio, he was introduced by the master of ceremonies, and, after delivery of his credentials, as from our King, since his father's murder, he was most graciously received by the King of France and his mother, with whom he had a long audience. This was in the Palais Cardinal. After this, being presented to his Majesty and the Queen Regent I went to see the house built by the late great Cardinal de Richelieu. The most observable thing is the gallery, painted with the portraits of the most illustrious persons and single actions in France, with innumerable emblems between every table. In the middle of the gallery, is a neat chapel, rarely paved in work and devices of several sorts of marble, besides the altar-piece and two statues of white marble, one of St. John, the other of the Virgin Mary, by Bernini. The rest of the apartments are rarely gilded and carved, with some good modern paintings. In the presence hang three huge branches of crystal. In the French King's bedchamber, is an alcove like another chamber, set as it were in a chamber like a movable box, with a rich embroidered bed. The fabric of the palace is not magnificent, being but of two stories; but the garden is so spacious as to contain a noble basin and fountain continually playing, and there is a mall, with an elbow, or turning, to protract it. So I left his Majesty on the terrace, busy in seeing a bull-baiting, and returned home in Prince Edward's coach with Mr. Paul, the Prince Elector's agent. 19th November, 1649. Visited Mr. Waller, where meeting Dr. Holden, an English Sorbonne divine, we fell into some discourse about religion. 28th December, 1649. Going to wait on Mr. Waller, I viewed St. Stephen's church; the building, though Gothic, is full of carving; within it is beautiful, especially the choir and winding stairs. The glass is well painted, and the tapestry hung up this day about the choir, representing the conversion of Constantine, was exceedingly rich. I went to that excellent engraver, Du Bosse, for his instruction about some difficulties in perspective which were delivered in his book. I concluded this year in health, for which I gave solemn thanks to Almighty God.[40] [Footnote 40: This he does not fail to repeat at the end of every year, but it will not always be necessary here to insert it.] 29th December, 1649. I christened Sir Hugh Rilie's child with Sir George Radcliffe in our chapel, the parents being so poor that they had provided no gossips, so as several of us drawing lots it fell on me, the Dean of Peterborough (Dr. Cousin) officiating: we named it Andrew, being on the eve of that Apostle's day. 1st January, 1649-50. I began this Jubilee with the public office in our chapel: dined at my Lady Herbert's, wife of Sir Edward Herbert, afterward Lord Keeper. 18th January, 1650. This night was the Prince of Condé and his brother carried prisoners to the Bois de Vincennes. 6th February, 1650. In the evening, came Signor Alessandro, one of the Cardinal Mazarine's musicians, and a person of great name for his knowledge in that art, to visit my wife, and sung before divers persons of quality in my chamber. 1st March, 1650. I went to see the masquerados, which was very fantastic; but nothing so quiet and solemn as I found it at Venice. 13th March, 1650. Saw a triumph in Monsieur del Camp's Academy, where divers of the French and English noblesse, especially my Lord of Ossory, and Richard, sons to the Marquis of Ormond (afterward Duke), did their exercises on horseback in noble equipage, before a world of spectators and great persons, men and ladies. It ended in a collation. 25th April, 1650. I went out of town to see Madrid, a palace so called, built by Francis I. It is observable only for its open manner of architecture, being much of terraces and galleries one over another to the very roof; and for the materials, which are mostly of earth painted like porcelain, or China-ware, whose colors appear very fresh, but is very fragile. There are whole statues and relievos of this pottery, chimney-pieces, and columns both within and without. Under the chapel is a chimney in the midst of a room parted from the _Salle des Gardes_. The house is fortified with a deep ditch, and has an admirable vista toward the Bois de Boulogne and river. 30th April, 1650. I went to see the collection of the famous sculptor, Steffano de la Bella, returning now into Italy, and bought some prints; and likewise visited Perelle, the landscape graver. 3d May, 1650. At the hospital of La Charité I saw the operation of cutting for the stone. A child of eight or nine years old underwent the operation with most extraordinary patience, and expressing great joy when he saw the stone was drawn. The use I made of it was, to give Almighty God hearty thanks that I had not been subject to this deplorable infirmity. 7th May, 1650. I went with Sir Richard Browne's lady and my wife, together with the Earl of Chesterfield, Lord Ossory and his brother, to Vamber, a place near the city famous for butter; when, coming homeward, being on foot, a quarrel arose between Lord Ossory and a man in a garden, who thrust Lord Ossory from the gate with uncivil language; on which our young gallants struck the fellow on the pate, and bade him ask pardon, which he did with much submission, and so we parted. But we were not gone far before we heard a noise behind us, and saw people coming with guns, swords, staves, and forks, and who followed, flinging stones; on which, we turned, and were forced to engage, and with our swords, stones, and the help of our servants (one of whom had a pistol) made our retreat for near a quarter of a mile, when we took shelter in a house, where we were besieged, and at length forced to submit to be prisoners. Lord Hatton, with some others, were taken prisoners in the flight, and his lordship was confined under three locks and as many doors in this rude fellow's master's house, who pretended to be steward to Monsieur St. Germain, one of the presidents of the Grand Chambre du Parlement, and a Canon of Nôtre Dame. Several of us were much hurt. One of our lackeys escaping to Paris, caused the bailiff of St. Germain to come with his guard and rescue us. Immediately afterward, came Monsieur St. Germain himself, in great wrath, on hearing that his housekeeper was assaulted; but when he saw the King's officers, the gentlemen and noblemen, with his Majesty's Resident and understood the occasion, he was ashamed of the accident, requesting the fellow's pardon, and desiring the ladies to accept their submission and a supper at his house. It was ten o'clock at night ere we got to Paris, guarded by Prince Griffith (a Welsh hero going under that name, and well known in England for his extravagancies), together with the scholars of two academies, who came forth to assist and meet us on horseback, and would fain have alarmed the town we received the affront from: which, with much ado, we prevented. 12th May, 1650. Complaint being come to the Queen and Court of France of the affront we had received, the President was ordered to ask pardon of Sir R. Browne, his Majesty's Resident, and the fellow to make submission, and be dismissed. There came along with him the President de Thou, son of the great Thuanus [the historian], and so all was composed. But I have often heard that gallant gentleman, my Lord Ossory, affirm solemnly that in all the conflicts he was ever in at sea or on land (in the most desperate of both which he had often been), he believed he was never in so much danger as when these people rose against us. He used to call it the _bataile de Vambre_, and remember it with a great deal of mirth as an adventure, _en cavalier_. 24th May, 1650. We were invited by the Noble Academies to a running at the ring where were many brave horses, gallants, and ladies, my Lord Stanhope entertaining us with a collation. 12th June, 1650. Being Trinity Sunday, the Dean of Peterborough preached; after which there was an ordination of two divines, Durell and Brevent (the one was afterward Dean of Windsor, the other of Durham, both very learned persons). The Bishop of Galloway officiated with great gravity, after a pious and learned exhortation declaring the weight and dignity of their function, especially now in a time of the poor Church of England's affliction. He magnified the sublimity of the calling, from the object, viz, the salvation of men's souls, and the glory of God; producing many human instances of the transitoriness and vanity of all other dignity; that of all the triumphs the Roman conquerors made, none was comparable to that of our Blessed Savior's, when he led captivity captive, and gave gifts to men, namely, that of the Holy Spirit, by which his faithful and painful ministers triumphed over Satan as often as they reduced a sinner from the error of his ways. He then proceeded to the ordination. They were presented by the Dean in their surplices before the altar, the Bishop sitting in a chair at one side; and so were made both Deacons and Priests at the same time, in regard to the necessity of the times, there being so few Bishops left in England, and consequently danger of a failure of both functions. Lastly, they proceeded to the Communion. This was all performed in Sir Richard Browne's chapel, at Paris. 13th June, 1650. I sate to the famous sculptor, Nanteuil, who was afterward made a knight by the French King for his art. He engraved my picture in copper. At a future time he presented me with my own picture, done all with his pen; an extraordinary curiosity. 21st June, 1650. I went to see the Samaritan, or pump, at the end of the Pont Neuf, which, though to appearance promising no great matter, is, besides the machine, furnished with innumerable rarities both of art and nature; especially the costly grotto, where are the fairest corals, growing out of the very rock, that I have seen; also great pieces of crystals, amethysts, gold in the mine, and other metals and marcasites, with two great conchas, which the owner told us cost him 200 crowns at Amsterdam. He showed us many landscapes and prospects, very rarely painted in miniature, some with the pen and crayon; divers antiquities and relievos of Rome; above all, that of the inside of the amphitheater of Titus, incomparably drawn by Monsieur St. Clere himself; two boys and three skeletons, molded by Fiamingo; a book of statues, with the pen made for Henry IV., rarely executed, and by which one may discover many errors in the _taille-douce_ of Perrier, who has added divers conceits of his own that are not in the originals. He has likewise an infinite collection of _taille-douces_, richly bound in morocco. He led us into a stately chamber furnished to have entertained a prince, with pictures of the greatest masters, especially a Venus of Perino del Vaga; the Putti carved in the chimney-piece by the Fleming; the vases of porcelain, and many designed by Raphael; some paintings of Poussin, and Fioravanti; antiques in brass; the looking-glass and stands rarely carved. In a word, all was great, choice, and magnificent, and not to be passed by as I had often done, without the least suspicion that there were such rare things to be seen in that place. At a future visit, he showed a new grotto and a bathing place, hewn through the battlements of the arches of Pont Neuf into a wide vault at the intercolumniation, so that the coaches and horses thundered over our heads. [Sidenote: CALAIS] 27th June, 1650. I made my will, and, taking leave of my wife and other friends, took horse for England, paying the messenger eight pistoles for me and my servant to Calais, setting out with seventeen in company well-armed, some Portuguese, Swiss, and French, whereof six were captains and officers. We came the first night to Beaumont; next day, to Beauvais, and lay at Pois, and the next, without dining, reached Abbeville; next, dined at Montreuil, and proceeding met a company on foot (being now within the inroads of the parties which dangerously infest this day's journey from St. Omers and the frontiers), which we drew very near to, ready and resolute to charge through, and accordingly were ordered and led by a captain of our train; but, as we were on the speed, they called out, and proved to be Scotchmen, newly raised and landed, and few among them armed. This night, we were well treated at Boulogne. The next day, we marched in good order, the passage being now exceeding dangerous, and got to Calais by a little after two. The sun so scorched my face, that it made the skin peel off. I dined with Mr. Booth, his Majesty's agent; and, about three in the afternoon, embarked in the packet-boat; hearing there was a pirate then also setting sail, we had security from molestation, and so with a fair S. W. wind in seven hours we landed at Dover. The busy watchman would have us to the mayor to be searched, but the gentleman being in bed, we were dismissed. Next day, being Sunday, they would not permit us to ride post, so that afternoon our trunks were visited. The next morning, by four, we set out for Canterbury, where I met with my Lady Catherine Scott, whom that very day twelve months before I met at sea going for France; she had been visiting Sir Thomas Peyton, not far off, and would needs carry me in her coach to Gravesend. We dined at Sittingbourne, came late to Gravesend, and so to Deptford, taking leave of my lady about four the next morning. 5th July, 1650. I supped in the city with my Lady Catherine Scott, at one Mr. Dubois, where was a gentlewoman called Everard, who was a very great chemist. Sunday 7th July, 1650. In the afternoon, having a mind to see what was doing among the Rebels, then in full possession at Whitehall, I went thither, and found one at exercise in the chapel, after their way; thence, to St. James's, where another was preaching in the court abroad. 17th July, 1650. I went to London to obtain a pass,[41] intending but a short stay in England. [Footnote 41: A copy of it is subjoined. "These are to will and require you to permit and suffer the bearer thereof, John Evelyn, Esq., to transport himself, two servants, and other necessaries, into any port of France without any your lets or molestations, of which you are not to fail, and for which this shall be your sufficient warrant. Given at the Council of State at Whitehall this 25th of June, 1650. "Signed in the Name and by Order of the Council of State, appointed by authority of Parliament, JO. BRADSHAWE, President. "To all Customers, Comptrollers and Searchers, and all other officers of the Ports, or Customs." Subjoined to the signature, Evelyn has added in his own writing; "The hand of that villain who sentenced our Charles I. of B[lessed] M[emory."] Its endorsement, also in his writing, is, "The Pass from the Council of State, 1650."] 25th July, 1650. I went by Epsom to Wotton, saluting Sir Robert Cook and my sister Glanville; the country was now much molested by soldiers, who took away gentlemen's horses for the service of the state, as then called. 4th August, 1650. I heard a sermon at the Rolls; and, in the afternoon, wandered to divers churches, the pulpits full of novices and novelties. 6th August, 1650. To Mr. Walker's, a good painter, who showed me an excellent copy of Titian. 12th August, 1650. Set out for Paris, taking post at Gravesend, and so that night to Canterbury, where being surprised by the soldiers, and having only an antiquated pass, with some fortunate dexterity I got clear of them though not without extraordinary hazard, having before counterfeited one with success, it being so difficult to procure one of the rebels without entering into oaths, which I never would do. At Dover, money to the searchers and officers was as authentic as the hand and seal of Bradshawe himself, where I had not so much as my trunk opened. [Sidenote: CALAIS] 13th August, 1650. At six in the evening, set sail for Calais; the wind not favorable, I was very sea-sick, coming to an anchor about one o'clock; about five in the morning, we had a long boat to carry us to land, though at a good distance; this we willingly entered, because two vessels were chasing us; but, being now almost at the harbor's mouth, through inadvertency there broke in upon us two such heavy seas, as had almost sunk the boat, I being near the middle up in water. Our steersman, it seems, apprehensive of the danger, was preparing to leap into the sea and trust to swimming, but seeing the vessel emerge, he put her into the pier, and so, God be thanked! we got to Calais, though wet. Here I waited for company, the passage toward Paris being still infested with volunteers from the Spanish frontiers. 16th August, 1650. The Regiment of Picardy, consisting of about 1,400 horse and foot (among them was a captain whom I knew), being come to town, I took horses for myself and servant, and marched under their protection to Boulogne. It was a miserable spectacle to see how these tattered soldiers pillaged the poor people of their sheep, poultry, corn, cattle, and whatever came in their way; but they had such ill pay, that they were ready themselves to starve. As we passed St. Denis, the people were in uproar, the guards doubled, and everybody running with their movables to Paris, on an alarm that the enemy was within five leagues of them; so miserably exposed was even this part of France at this time. [Sidenote: PARIS] The 30th, I got to Paris, after an absence of two months only. 1st September, 1650. My Lady Herbert invited me to dinner; Paris, and indeed all France, being full of loyal fugitives. Came Mr. Waller to see me, about a child of his which the Popish midwife had baptized. 15th October, 1650. Sir Thomas Osborne (afterward Lord Treasurer) and Lord Stanhope shot for a wager of five louis, to be spent on a treat; they shot so exact that it was a drawn match. 1st November, 1650. Took leave of my Lord Stanhope, going on his journey toward Italy; also visited my Lord Hatton, Comptroller of his Majesty's Household, the Countess of Morton, Governess to the Lady Henrietta, and Mrs. Gardner, one of the Queen's maids of honor. 6th November, 1650. Sir Thomas Osborne supping with us, his groom was set upon in the street before our house, and received two wounds, but gave the assassin nine, who was carried off to the Charité Hospital. Sir Thomas went for England on the 8th, and carried divers letters for me to my friends. 16th November, 1650. I went to Monsieur Visse's, the French King's Secretary, to a concert of French music and voices, consisting of twenty-four, two theorbos, and but one bass viol, being a rehearsal of what was to be sung at vespers at St. Cecilia's, on her feast, she being patroness of Musicians. News arrived of the death of the Princess of Orange of the smallpox. 14th December, 1650. I went to visit Mr. Ratcliffe, in whose lodging was an imposter that had liked to have imposed upon us a pretended secret of multiplying gold; it is certain he had lived some time in Paris in extraordinary splendor, but I found him to be an egregious cheat. 22d December, 1650. Came the learned Dr. Boet to visit me. 31st December, 1650. I gave God thanks for his mercy and protection the past year, and made up my accounts, which came this year to 7,015 livres, near £600 sterling. 1st January, 1650-51. I wrote to my brother at Wotton, about his garden and fountains. After evening prayer, Mr. Wainsford called on me: he had long been Consul at Aleppo, and told me many strange things of those countries, the Arabs especially. 27th January, 1651. I had letters of the death of Mrs. Newton, my grand-mother-in-law; she had a most tender care of me during my childhood, and was a woman of extraordinary charity and piety. 29th January, 1651. Dr. Duncan preached on 8 Matt. v. 34, showing the mischief of covetousness. My Lord Marquis of Ormonde and Inchiquin, come newly out of Ireland, were this day at chapel. 9th February, 1651. Cardinal Mazarin was proscribed by Arrêt du Parlement, and great commotions began in Paris. 23d February, 1651. I went to see the Bonnes Hommes, a convent that has a fair cloister painted with the lives of hermits; a glorious altar now erecting in the chapel; the garden on the rock with divers descents, with a fine vineyard, and a delicate prospect toward the city. 24th February, 1651. I went to see a dromedary, a very monstrous beast, much like the camel, but larger. There was also dancing on the rope; but, above all, surprising to those who were ignorant of the address, was the water-spouter, who, drinking only fountain-water, rendered out of his mouth in several glasses all sorts of wine and sweet waters. For a piece of money he discovered the secret to me. I waited on Friar Nicholas at the convent at Chaillot, who, being an excellent chemist, showed me his laboratory, and rare collection of spagyrical remedies. He was both physician and apothecary of the convent, and, instead of the names of his drugs, he painted his boxes and pots with the figure of the drug, or simple, contained in them. He showed me as a rarity some [Transcriber's note: special symbol for the planet Mercury] of antimony. He had cured Monsieur Senatin of a desperate sickness, for which there was building a monumental altar that was to cost £1,500. 11th March, 1651. I went to the Châtelet, or prison, where a malefactor was to have the question, or torture, given to him, he refusing to confess the robbery with which he was charged, which was thus: they first bound his wrist with a strong rope, or small cable, and one end of it to an iron ring made fast to the wall, about four feet from the floor, and then his feet with another cable, fastened about five feet further than his utmost length to another ring on the floor of the room. Thus suspended, and yet lying but aslant, they slid a horse of wood under the rope which bound his feet, which so exceedingly stiffened it, as severed the fellow's joints in miserable sort, drawing him out at length in an extraordinary manner, he having only a pair of linen drawers on his naked body. Then, they questioned him of a robbery (the lieutenant being present and a clerk that wrote), which not confessing, they put a higher horse under the rope, to increase the torture and extension. In this agony, confessing nothing, the executioner with a horn (just such as they drench horses with) stuck the end of it into his mouth, and poured the quantity of two buckets of water down his throat and over him, which so prodigiously swelled him, as would have pitied and affrighted any one to see it; for all this, he denied all that was charged to him. They then let him down, and carried him before a warm fire to bring him to himself, being now to all appearance dead with pain. What became of him, I know not; but the gentleman whom he robbed constantly averred him to be the man, and the fellow's suspicious pale looks, before he knew he should be racked, betrayed some guilt; the lieutenant was also of that opinion, and told us at first sight (for he was a lean, dry, black young man) he would conquer the torture; and so it seems they could not hang him, but did use in such cases, where the evidence is very presumptive, to send them to the galleys, which is as bad as death. There was another malefactor to succeed, but the spectacle was so uncomfortable, that I was not able to stay the sight of another. It represented yet to me the intolerable sufferings which our Blessed Savior must needs undergo, when his body was hanging with all its weight upon the nails on the cross. 20th March, 1651. I went this night with my wife to a ball at the Marquis de Crevecoeur's, where were divers princes, dukes, and great persons; but what appeared to me very mean was, that it began with a puppet-play. 6th May, 1651. I attended the ambassador to a masque at Court, where the French King in person danced five entries, but being engaged in discourse, and better entertained with one of the Queen-Regent's secretaries, I soon left the entertainment. 11th May, 1651. To the Palace Cardinal, where the Master of the Ceremonies placed me to see the royal masque, or opera. The first scene represented a chariot of singers composed of the rarest voices that could be procured, representing Cornaro[42] and Temperance; this was overthrown by Bacchus and his revelers; the rest consisted of several entries and pageants of excess, by all the elements. A masque representing fire was admirable; then came a Venus out of the clouds. The conclusion was a heaven, whither all ascended. But the glory of the masque was the great persons performing in it, the French King, his brother the Duke of Anjou, with all the grandees of the Court, the King performing to the admiration of all. The music was twenty-nine violins, vested _à l'antique_, but the habits of the masquers were stupendously rich and glorious. [Footnote 42: The famous Venetian writer on Temperance.] 23d May, 1651. I went to take leave of the ambassadors for Spain, which were my Lord Treasurer Cottington and Sir Edward Hyde; and, as I returned, I visited Mr. Morine's garden, and his other rarities, especially corals, minerals, stones, and natural curiosities; crabs of the Red Sea, the body no bigger than a small bird's egg, but flatter, and the two legs, or claws, a foot in length. He had abundance of shells, at least 1,000 sorts, which furnished a cabinet of great price; and had a very curious collection of scarabees and insects, of which he was compiling a natural history. He had also the pictures of his choice flowers and plants in miniature. He told me there were 10,000 sorts of tulips only. He had _taille-douces_ out of number; the head of the rhinoceros bird, which was very extravagant, and one butterfly resembling a perfect bird. 25th May, 1651. I went to visit Mr. Thomas White, a learned priest and famous philosopher,[43] author of the book "De Mundo," with whose worthy brother I was well acquainted at Rome. I was shown a cabinet of Maroquin, or Turkey leather, so curiously inlaid with other leather, and gilding, that the workman demanded for it 800 livres. [Footnote 43: A native of Essex, who was born in 1582, educated abroad, and, his family being Catholic, became a priest of that church, the sub-rector of the college at Douay. He advocated the Cartesian philosophy, and this brought him into an extensive correspondence with Hobbes and Descartes, in the course of which he Latinized his name into Thomas Albius, or De Albis. He died in 1676.] The Dean (of Peterborough) preached on the feast of Pentecost, perstringing those of Geneva for their irreverence of the Blessed Virgin. 4th June, 1651. Trinity Sunday, I was absent from church in the afternoon on a charitable affair for the Abbess of Bourcharvant, who but for me had been abused by that chemist, Du Menie. Returning, I stepped into the Grand Jesuits, who had this high day exposed their Cibarium, made all of solid gold and imagery, a piece of infinite cost. Dr. Croydon, coming out of Italy and from Padua, came to see me, on his return to England. 5th June, 1651. I accompanied my Lord Strafford, and some other noble persons, to hear Madam Lavaran sing, which she did both in French and Italian excellently well, but her voice was not strong. 7th June, 1651. Corpus Christi Day, there was a grand procession, all the streets tapestried, several altars erected there, full of images, and other rich furniture, especially that before the Court, of a rare design and architecture. There were abundance of excellent pictures and great vases of silver. 13th June, 1651. I went to see the collection of one Monsieur Poignant, which for variety of agates, crystals, onyxes, porcelain, medals, statues, relievos, paintings, _taille-douces_, and antiquities, might compare with the Italian virtuosos. 21st June, 1651. I became acquainted with Sieur William Curtius, a very learned and judicious person of the Palatinate. He had been a scholar to Alstedius, the Encyclopedist, was well advanced in years, and now Resident for his Majesty at Frankfort. 2d July, 1651. Came to see me the Earl of Strafford, Lord Ossory and his brother, Sir John Southcott, Sir Edward Stawell, two of my Lord Spencer's sons, and Dr. Stewart, Dean of St. Paul's, a learned and pious man, where we entertained the time upon several subjects, especially the affairs of England, and the lamentable condition of our Church. The Lord Gerrard also called to see my collection of sieges and battles. 21st July, 1651. An extraordinary fast was celebrated in our Chapel, Dr. Stewart, Dean of St. Paul's, preaching. 2d August, 1651. I went with my wife to Conflans, where were abundance of ladies and others bathing in the river; the ladies had their tents spread on the water for privacy. 29th August, 1651. Was kept as a solemn fast for the calamities of our poor Church, now trampled on by the rebels. Mr. Waller, being at St. Germains, desired me to send him a coach from Paris, to bring my wife's goddaughter to Paris, to be buried by the Common Prayer. 6th September, 1651. I went with my wife to St. Germains, to condole with Mr. Waller's loss. I carried with me and treated at dinner that excellent and pious person the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. Stewart, and Sir Lewis Dives (half-brother to the Earl of Bristol), who entertained us with his wonderful escape out of prison in Whitehall, the very evening before he was to have been put to death, leaping down out of a jakes two stories high into the Thames at high water, in the coldest of winter, and at night; so as by swimming he got to a boat that attended for him, though he was guarded by six musketeers. After this, he went about in women's habit, and then in a small-coal-man's, traveling 200 miles on foot, embarked for Scotland with some men he had raised, who coming on shore were all surprised and imprisoned on the Marquis of Montrose's score; he not knowing anything of their barbarous murder of that hero. This he told us was his fifth escape, and none less miraculous; with this note, that the charging through 1,000 men armed, or whatever danger could befall a man, he believed could not more confound and distract a man's thoughts than the execution of a premeditated escape, the passions of hope and fear being so strong. This knight was indeed a valiant gentleman; but not a little given to romance, when he spoke of himself. I returned to Paris the same evening. 7th September, 1651. I went to visit Mr. Hobbes, the famous philosopher of Malmesbury, with whom I had long acquaintance. From his window we saw the whole equipage and glorious cavalcade of the young French Monarch, Louis XIV., passing to Parliament, when first he took the kingly government on him, now being in his 14th year, out of his minority and the Queen Regent's pupilage. First came the captain of the King's Aids, at the head of 50, richly liveried; next, the Queen-Mother's Light Horse, 100, the lieutenant being all over covered with embroidery and ribbons, having before him four trumpets habited in black velvet, full of lace, and casques of the same. Then, the King's Light Horse, 200, richly habited, with four trumpets in blue velvet embroidered with gold, before whom rode the Count d'Olonne coronet [cornet], whose belt was set with pearl. Next went the grand Prévôt's company on foot, with the Prévôt on horseback; after them, the Swiss in black velvet toques, led by two gallant cavaliers habited in scarlet-colored satin, after their country fashion, which is very fantastic; he had in his cap a _pennach_ of heron, with a band of diamonds, and about him twelve little Swiss boys, with halberds. Then, came the _Aide des Cérémonies_; next, the grandees of court, governors of places and lieutenants-general of provinces, magnificently habited and mounted; among whom I must not forget the Chevalier Paul, famous for many sea-fights and signal exploits there, because it is said he had never been an Academist, and yet governed a very unruly horse, and besides his rich suit his Malta Cross was esteemed at 10,000 crowns. These were headed by two trumpets, and the whole troop, covered with gold, jewels, and rich caparisons, were followed by six trumpets in blue velvet also, preceding as many heralds in blue velvet _semée_ with fleurs-de-lis, caduces in their hands, and velvet caps on their heads; behind them, came one of the masters of the ceremonies; then, divers marshals and many of the nobility, exceeding splendid; behind them Count d'Harcourt, grand Ecuyer, alone, carrying the King's sword in a scarf, which he held up in a blue sheath studded with fleurs-de-lis; his horse had for reins two scarfs of black taffeta. Then came abundance of footmen and pages of the King, new-liveried with white and red feathers; next, the _garde du corps_ and other officers; and lastly, appeared the King himself on an Isabella barb, on which a housing _semee_, with crosses of the Order of the Holy Ghost, and fleurs-de-lis; the King himself, like a young Apollo, was in a suit so covered with rich embroidery, that one could perceive nothing of the stuff under it; he went almost the whole way with his hat in hand, saluting the ladies and acclamators, who had filled the windows with their beauty, and the air with _Vive le Roi_. He seemed a prince of a grave yet sweet countenance. After the King, followed divers great persons of the Court, exceeding splendid, also his esquires; masters of horse, on foot; then the company of _Exempts des Gardes_, and six guards of Scotch. Between their files were divers princes of the blood, dukes, and lords; after all these, the Queen's guard of Swiss, pages, and footmen; then, the Queen-Mother herself, in a rich coach, with Monsieur the King's brother, the Duke of Orleans, and some other lords and ladies of honor. About the coach, marched her _Exempts des Gardes_: then the company of the King's _Gens d'armes_, well mounted, 150, with four trumpets, and as many of the Queen's; lastly, an innumerable company of coaches full of ladies and gallants. In this equipage, passed the monarch to the Parliament, henceforth exercising his kingly government. 15th September, 1651. I accompanied Sir Richard Browne, my father-in-law, to the French Court, when he had a favorable audience of the French King, and the Queen, his mother; congratulating the one on his coming to the exercise of his royal charge, and the other's prudent and happy administration during her late regency, desiring both to preserve the same amity for his master, our King, as they had hitherto done, which they both promised, with many civil expressions and words of course upon such occasions. We were accompanied both going and returning by the Introductor of Ambassadors and Aid of Ceremonies. I also saw the audience of Morosini, the Ambassador of Venice, and divers other Ministers of State from German Princes, Savoy, etc. Afterward I took a walk in the King's gardens, where I observed that the mall goes the whole square there of next the wall, and bends with an angle so made as to glance the wall; the angle is of stone. There is a basin at the end of the garden fed by a noble fountain and high jetto. There were in it two or three boats, in which the King now and then rows about. In another part is a complete fort, made with bastions, graft, half-moons, ravelins, and furnished with great guns cast on purpose to instruct the King in fortification. 22d September, 1651. Arrived the news of the fatal battle at Worcester, which exceedingly mortified our expectations. 28th September, 1651. I was shown a collection of books and prints made for the Duke of York. 1st October, 1651. The Dean of Peterborough [Dr. Cosin] preached on Job xiii., verse 15, encouraging our trust in God on all events and extremities, and for establishing and comforting some ladies of great quality, who were then to be discharged from our Queen-Mother's service unless they would go over to the Romish Mass. The Dean, dining this day at our house, told me the occasion of publishing those Offices, which among the Puritans were wont to be called COSIN'S COZENING DEVOTIONS, by way of derision. At the first coming of the Queen into England, she and her French ladies were often upbraiding our religion, that had neither appointed nor set forth any hours of prayer, or breveries, by which ladies and courtiers, who have much spare time, might edify and be in devotion, as they had. Our Protestant ladies, scandalized it seems at this, moved the matter to the King; whereupon his Majesty presently called Bishop White to him and asked his thoughts of it, and whether there might not be found some forms of prayer proper on such occasions, collected out of some already approved forms, that so the court ladies and others (who spent much time in trifling) might at least appear as devout, and be so too, as the new-come-over French ladies, who took occasion to reproach our want of zeal and religion. On which, the Bishop told his Majesty that it might be done easily, and was very necessary; whereupon the King commanded him to employ some person of the clergy to compile such a Work, and presently the Bishop naming Dr. Cosin, the King enjoined him to charge the Doctor in his name to set about it immediately. This the Dean told me he did; and three months after, bringing the book to the King, he commanded the Bishop of London to read it over, and make his report; this was so well liked, that (contrary to former custom of doing it by a chaplain) he would needs give it an _imprimatur_ under his own hand. Upon this there were at first only 200 copies printed; nor, said he, was there anything in the whole book of my own composure, nor did I set any name as author to it, but those necessary prefaces, etc., out of the Fathers, touching the times and seasons of prayer; all the rest being entirely translated and collected out of an OFFICE published by authority of Queen Elizabeth, anno 1560, and our own Liturgy. This I rather mention to justify that industrious and pious Dean, who had exceedingly suffered by it, as if he had done it of his own head to introduce Popery, from which no man was more averse, and one who in this time of temptation and apostacy held and confirmed many to our Church. 29th October, 1651. Came news and letters to the Queen and Sir Richard Browne (who was the first that had intelligence of it) of his Majesty's miraculous escape after the fight at Worcester; which exceedingly rejoiced us. 7th November, 1651. I visited Sir Kenelm Digby, with whom I had much discourse on chemical matters. I showed him a particular way of extracting oil of sulphur, and he gave me a certain powder with which he affirmed that he had fixed [Transcriber's note: special symbol for the planet Mercury] (mercury) before the late King. He advised me to try and digest a little better, and gave me a water which he said was only rain water of the autumnal equinox, exceedingly rectified, very volatile; it had a taste of a strong vitriolic, and smelt like _aqua fortis_. He intended it for a dissolvent of calx of gold; but the truth is, Sir Kenelm was an arrant mountebank. Came news of the gallant Earl of Derby's execution by the rebels. 14th November, 1651. Dr. Clare preached on Genesis xxviii., verses 20, 21, 22, upon Jacob's vow, which he appositely applied, it being the first Sunday his Majesty came to chapel after his escape. I went, in the afternoon, to visit the Earl of Norwich; he lay at the Lord of Aubigny's. 16th November, 1651. Visited Dean Stewart, who had been sick about two days; when, going up to his lodging, I found him dead; which affected me much, as besides his particular affection and love to me, he was of incomparable parts and great learning, of exemplary life, and a very great loss to the whole church. He was buried the next day with all our church's ceremonies, many noble persons accompanying the corpse. 17th November, 1651. I went to congratulate the marriage of Mrs. Gardner, maid of honor, lately married to that odd person, Sir Henry Wood: but riches do many things. To see Monsieur Febure's course of chemistry, where I found Sir Kenelm Digby, and divers curious persons of learning and quality. It was his first opening the course and preliminaries, in order to operations. 1st December, 1651. I now resolved to return to England. 3d December, 1651. Sir Lewis Dives dined with us, who relating some of his adventures, showed me divers pieces of broad gold, which, being in his pocket in a fight, preserved his life by receiving a musket bullet on them, which deadened its violence, so that it went no further; but made such a stroke on the gold as fixed the impressions upon one another, battering and bending several of them; the bullet itself was flatted, and retained on it the color of the gold. He assured us that of a hundred of them, which it seems he then had in his pocket, not one escaped without some blemish. He affirmed that his being protected by a Neapolitan Prince, who connived at his bringing some horses into France, contrary to the order of the Viceroy, by assistance of some banditti, was the occasion of a difference between those great men, and consequently of the late civil war in that kingdom, the Viceroy having killed the Prince standing on his defense at his own castle. He told me that the second time of the Scots coming into England, the King was six times their number, and might easily have beaten them; but was betrayed, as were all other his designs and counsels, by some, even of his bedchamber, meaning M. Hamilton, who copied Montrose's letters from time to time when his Majesty was asleep. 11th December, 1651. Came to visit me, Mr. Obadiah Walker, of University College, with his two pupils, the sons of my worthy friend, Henry Hyldiard, Esq., whom I had recommended to his care. 21st December, 1651. Came to visit my wife, Mrs. Lane,[44] the lady who conveyed the King to the seaside at his escape from Worcester. Mr. John Cosin, son of the Dean, debauched by the priests, wrote a letter to me to mediate for him with his father. I prepared for my last journey, being now resolved to leave France altogether. [Footnote 44: Sister of Colonel Lane, an English officer in the army of Charles II. dispersed at the battle of Worcester. She assisted the King in effecting his escape after that battle, his Majesty traveling with her disguised as her serving man, William Jackson.] 25th December, 1651. The King and Duke received the Sacrament first by themselves, the Lords Byron and Wilmot holding the long towel all along the altar. 26th December, 1651. Came news of the death of that rebel, Ireton. 31st December, 1651. Preached Dr. Wolley, after which was celebrated the Holy Communion, which I received also, preparative of my journey, being now resolved to leave France altogether, and to return God Almighty thanks for His gracious protection of me this past year. 2d January, 1651-52. News of my sister Glanville's death in childbed, which exceedingly affected me. I went to one Mark Antonio, an incomparable artist in enameling. He wrought by the lamp figures in boss, of a large size, even to the life, so that nothing could be better molded. He told us stories of a Genoese jeweler, who had the great ARCANUM, and had made projection before him several times. He met him at Cyprus traveling into Egypt; in his return from whence, he died at sea, and the secret with him, that else he had promised to have left it to him; that all his effects were seized on, and dissipated by the Greeks in the vessel, to an immense value. He also affirmed, that being in a goldsmith's shop at Amsterdam, a person of very low stature came in, and desired the goldsmith to melt him a pound of lead; which done, he unscrewed the pommel of his sword, and taking out of a little box a small quantity of powder, casting it into the crucible, poured an ingot out, which when cold he took up, saying, "Sir, you will be paid for your lead in the crucible," and so went out immediately. When he was gone the goldsmith found four ounces of good gold in it; but could never set eye again on the little man, though he sought all the city for him. Antonio asserted this with great obtestation; nor know I what to think of it, there are so many impostors and people who love to tell strange stories, as this artist did, who had been a great rover, and spoke ten different languages. 13th January, 1652. I took leave of Mr. Waller, who, having been proscribed by the rebels, had obtained of them permission to return, was going to England. 29th January, 1652. Abundance of my French and English friends and some Germans came to take leave of me, and I set out in a coach for Calais, in an exceedingly hard frost which had continued for some time. We got that night to Beaumont; 30th, to Beauvais; 31st, we found the ways very deep with snow, and it was exceedingly cold; dined at Pois; lay at Pernèe, a miserable cottage of miserable people in a wood, wholly unfurnished, but in a little time we had sorry beds and some provision, which they told me they hid in the wood for fear of the frontier enemy, the garrisons near them continually plundering what they had. They were often infested with wolves. I cannot remember that I ever saw more miserable creatures. 1st February, 1652. I dined at Abbeville; 2d, dined at Montreuil, lay at Boulogne; 3d, came to Calais, by eleven in the morning; I thought to have embarked in the evening, but, for fear of pirates plying near the coast, I dared not trust our small vessel, and stayed till Monday following, when two or three lusty vessels were to depart. I brought with me from Paris Mr. Christopher Wase, sometime before made to resign his Fellowship in King's College, Cambridge, because he would not take the Covenant. He had been a soldier in Flanders, and came miserable to Paris. From his excellent learning, and some relation he had to Sir R. Browne, I bore his charges into England, and clad and provided for him, till he should find some better condition; and he was worthy of it. There came with us also Captain Griffith, Mr. Tyrell, brother to Sir Timothy Tyrell, of Shotover (near Oxford). At Calais, I dined with my Lord Wentworth, and met with Mr. Heath, Sir Richard Lloyd, Captain Paine, and divers of our banished friends, of whom understanding that the Count de la Strade, Governor of Dunkirk, was in the town, who had bought my wife's picture, taken by pirates at sea the year before (my wife having sent it for me in England), as my Lord of Norwich had informed me at Paris, I made my address to him, who frankly told me that he had such a picture in his own bedchamber among other ladies, and how he came by it; seeming well pleased that it was his fortune to preserve it for me, and he generously promised to send it to any friend I had at Dover; I mentioned a French merchant there and so took my leave. 6th February, 1652. I embarked early in the packet boat, but put my goods in a stouter vessel. It was calm, so that we got not to Dover till eight at night. I took horse for Canterbury, and lay at Rochester; next day, to Gravesend, took a pair of oars, and landed at Sayes Court, where I stayed three days to refresh, and look after my packet and goods, sent by a stouter vessel. I went to visit my cousin, Richard Fanshawe, and divers other friends. 6th March, 1652. Saw the magnificent funeral of that arch-rebel, Ireton, carried in pomp from Somerset House to Westminster, accompanied with divers regiments of soldiers, horse and foot; then marched the mourners, General Cromwell (his father-in-law), his mock-parliament-men, officers, and forty poor men in gowns, three led horses in housings of black cloth, two led in black velvet, and his charging horse, all covered over with embroidery and gold, on crimson velvet; then the guidons, ensigns, four heralds, carrying the arms of the State (as they called it), namely, the red cross and Ireland, with the casque, wreath, sword, spurs, etc.; next, a chariot canopied of black velvet, and six horses, in which was the corpse; the pall held up by the mourners on foot; the mace and sword, with other marks of his charge in Ireland (where he died of the plague), carried before in black scarfs. Thus, in a grave pace, drums covered with cloth, soldiers reversing their arms, they proceeded through the streets in a very solemn manner. This Ireton was a stout rebel, and had been very bloody to the King's party, witness his severity at Colchester, when in cold blood he put to death those gallant gentlemen, Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle. My cousin, R. Fanshawe, came to visit me, and informed me of many considerable affairs. Sir Henry Herbert presented me with his brother, my Lord Cherbury's book, "_De Veritate_." [Sidenote: DEPTFORD] 9th March, 1652. I went to Deptford, where I made preparation for my settlement, no more intending to go out of England, but endeavor a settled life, either in this or some other place, there being now so little appearance of any change for the better, all being entirely in the rebels' hands; and this particular habitation and the estate contiguous to it (belonging to my father-in-law, actually in his Majesty's service) very much suffering for want of some friend to rescue it out of the power of the usurpers, so as to preserve our interest, and take some care of my other concerns, by the advice and endeavor of my friends I was advised to reside in it, and compound with the soldiers. This I was besides authorized by his Majesty to do, and encouraged with a promise that what was in lease from the Crown, if ever it pleased God to restore him, he would secure to us in fee farm. I had also addresses and cyphers, to correspond with his Majesty and Ministers abroad: upon all which inducements, I was persuaded to settle henceforth in England, having now run about the world, most part out of my own country, near ten years. I therefore now likewise meditated sending over for my wife, whom as yet I had left at Paris. 14th March, 1652. I went to Lewisham, where I heard an honest sermon on 1 Cor. ii. 5-7, being the first Sunday I had been at church since my return, it being now a rare thing to find a priest of the Church of England in a parish pulpit, most of which were filled with Independents and Fanatics. 15th March, 1652. I saw the "Diamond" and "Ruby" launched in the Dock at Deptford, carrying forty-eight brass cannon each; Cromwell and his grandees present, with great acclamations. 18th March, 1652. That worthy divine, Mr. Owen, of Eltham, a sequestered person, came to visit me. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th March, 1652. Invited by Lady Gerrard, I went to London, where we had a great supper; all the vessels, which were innumerable, were of porcelain, she having the most ample and richest collection of that curiosity in England. 22d March, 1652. I went with my brother Evelyn to Wotton, to give him what directions I was able about his garden, which he was now desirous to put into some form; but for which he was to remove a mountain overgrown with huge trees and thicket, with a moat within ten yards of the house. This my brother immediately attempted, and that without great cost, for more than a hundred yards south, by digging down the mountain, and flinging it into a rapid stream; it not only carried away the sand, etc., but filled up the moat, and leveled that noble area, where now the garden and fountain is. The first occasion of my brother making this alteration was my building the little retiring place between the great wood eastward next the meadow, where, some time after my father's death, I made a triangular pond, or little stew, with an artificial rock after my coming out of Flanders. 29th March, 1652. I heard that excellent prelate, the primate of Ireland (Jacobus Usher) preach in Lincoln's Inn, on Heb. iv. 16, encouraging of penitent sinners. 5th April, 1652. My brother George brought to Sayes Court Cromwell's Act of Oblivion to all that would submit to the Government. 13th April, 1652. News was brought me that Lady Cotton, my brother George's wife was delivered of a son. I was moved by a letter out of France to publish the letter which some time since I sent to Dean Cosin's proselyted son; but I did not conceive it convenient, for fear of displeasing her Majesty, the Queen. 15th April, 1652. I wrote to the Dean, touching my buying his library, which was one of the choicest collections of any private person in England. The Count de Strade most generously and handsomely sent me the picture of my wife from Dunkirk, in a large tin case without any charge. It is of Mr. Bourdon, and is that which has the dog in it, and is to the knees, but it has been somewhat spoiled by washing it ignorantly with soapsuds. 25th April, 1652. I went to visit Alderman Kendrick, a fanatic Lord Mayor, who had married a relation of ours, where I met with a Captain who had been thirteen times to the East Indies. 29th April, 1652. Was that celebrated eclipse of the sun, so much threatened by the astrologers, and which had so exceedingly alarmed the whole nation that hardly any one would work, nor stir out of their houses. So ridiculously were they abused by knavish and ignorant star-gazers. We went this afternoon to see the Queen's house at Greenwich, now given by the rebels to Bulstrode Whitelocke, one of their unhappy counselors, and keeper of pretended liberties. 10th May, 1652. Passing by Smithfield, I saw a miserable creature burning, who had murdered her husband. I went to see some workmanship of that admirable artist, Reeves, famous for perspective, and turning curiosities in ivory. 29th May, 1652. I went to give order about a coach to be made against my wife's coming, being my first coach, the pattern whereof I brought out of Paris. 30th May, 1652. I went to obtain of my Lord Devonshire that my nephew, George, might be brought up with my young Lord, his son, to whom I was recommending Mr. Wase. I also inspected the manner of camleting silk and grograms at one Monsieur La Dorées in Moor-fields, and thence to Colonel Morley, one of their Council of State, as then called, who had been my schoolfellow, to request a pass for my wife's safe landing, and the goods she was to bring with her out of France; which he courteously granted, and did me many other kindnesses, that was a great matter in those days. In the afternoon, at Charlton church, where I heard a Rabinical sermon. Here is a fair monument in black marble of Sir Adam Newton, who built that fair house near it for Prince Henry, and where my noble friend, Sir Henry Newton, succeeded him. 3d June, 1652. I received a letter from Colonel Morley to the Magistrates and Searchers at Rye, to assist my wife at her landing, and show her all civility. 4th June, 1652. I set out to meet her now on her journey from Paris, after she had obtained leave to come out of that city, which had now been besieged some time by the Prince of Condé's army in the time of the rebellion, and after she had been now near twelve years from her own country, that is, since five years of age, at which time she went over. I went to Rye to meet her, where was an embargo on occasion of the late conflict with the Holland fleet, the two nations being now in war, and which made sailing very unsafe. On Whit Sunday, I went to the church (which is a very fair one), and heard one of the canters, who dismissed the assembly rudely, and without any blessing. Here I stayed till the 10th with no small impatience, when I walked over to survey the ruins of Winchelsea, that ancient cinq-port, which by the remains and ruins of ancient streets and public structures, discovers it to have been formerly a considerable and large city. There are to be seen vast caves and vaults, walls and towers, ruins of monasteries and of a sumptuous church, in which are some handsome monuments, especially of the Templars, buried just in the manner of those in the Temple at London. This place being now all in rubbish, and a few despicable hovels and cottages only standing, hath yet a Mayor. The sea, which formerly rendered it a rich and commodious port, has now forsaken it. [Sidenote: TUNBRIDGE] 11th June, 1652. About four in the afternoon, being at bowls on the green, we discovered a vessel which proved to be that in which my wife was, and which got into the harbor about eight that evening, to my no small joy. They had been three days at sea, and escaped the Dutch fleet, through which they passed, taken for fishers, which was great good fortune, there being seventeen bales of furniture and other rich plunder, which I bless God came all safe to land, together with my wife, and my Lady Browne, her mother, who accompanied her. My wife being discomposed by having been so long at sea, we set not forth toward home till the 14th, when, hearing the smallpox was very rife in and about London, and Lady Browne having a desire to drink Tunbridge waters, I carried them thither, and stayed in a very sweet place, private and refreshing, and took the waters myself till the 23d, when I went to prepare for their reception, leaving them for the present in their little cottage by the Wells. The weather being hot, and having sent my man on before, I rode negligently under favor of the shade, till, within three miles of Bromley, at a place called the Procession Oak, two cutthroats started out, and striking with long staves at the horse, and taking hold of the reins, threw me down, took my sword, and hauled me into a deep thicket, some quarter of a mile from the highway, where they might securely rob me, as they soon did. What they got of money, was not considerable, but they took two rings, the one an emerald with diamonds, the other an onyx, and a pair of buckles set with rubies and diamonds, which were of value, and after all bound my hands behind me, and my feet, having before pulled off my boots; they then set me up against an oak, with most bloody threats to cut my throat if I offered to cry out, or make any noise; for they should be within hearing, I not being the person they looked for. I told them that if they had not basely surprised me they should not have had so easy a prize, and that it would teach me never to ride near a hedge, since, had I been in the midway, they dared not have adventured on me; at which they cocked their pistols, and told me they had long guns, too, and were fourteen companions. I begged for my onyx, and told them it being engraved with my arms would betray them; but nothing prevailed. My horse's bridle they slipped, and searched the saddle, which they pulled off, but let the horse graze, and then turning again bridled him and tied him to a tree, yet so as he might graze, and thus left me bound. My horse was perhaps not taken, because he was marked and cropped on both ears, and well known on that road. Left in this manner, grievously was I tormented with flies, ants, and the sun, nor was my anxiety little how I should get loose in that solitary place, where I could neither hear nor see any creature but my poor horse and a few sheep straggling in the copse. After near two hours attempting, I got my hands to turn palm to palm, having been tied back to back, and then it was long before I could slip the cord over my wrists to my thumb, which at last I did, and then soon unbound my feet, and saddling my horse and roaming a while about, I at last perceived dust to rise, and soon after heard the rattling of a cart, toward which I made, and, by the help of two countrymen, I got back into the highway. I rode to Colonel Blount's, a great justiciary of the times, who sent out hue and cry immediately. The next morning, sore as my wrists and arms were, I went to London, and got 500 tickets printed and dispersed by an officer of Goldsmiths' Hall, and within two days had tidings of all I had lost, except my sword, which had a silver hilt, and some trifles. The rogues had pawned one of my rings for a trifle to a goldsmith's servant, before the tickets came to the shop, by which means they escaped; the other ring was bought by a victualer, who brought it to a goldsmith, but he having seen the ticket seized the man. I afterward discharged him on his protestation of innocence. Thus did God deliver me from these villains, and not only so, but restored what they took, as twice before he had graciously done, both at sea and land, I mean when I had been robbed by pirates, and was in danger of a considerable loss at Amsterdam; for which, and many, many signal preservations, I am extremely obliged to give thanks to God my Savior. 25th June, 1652. After a drought of near four months, there fell so violent a tempest of hail, rain, wind, thunder, and lightning, as no man had seen the like in his age; the hail being in some places four or five inches about, broke all glass about London, especially at Deptford, and more at Greenwich. 29th June, 1652. I returned to Tunbridge, and again drank the water, till 10th of July. We went to see the house of my Lord Clanrickarde at Summer hill, near Tunbridge (now given to that villain, Bradshawe, who condemned the King). 'Tis situated on an eminent hill, with a park; but has nothing else extraordinary. 4th July, 1652. I heard a sermon at Mr. Packer's chapel at Groomsbridge, a pretty melancholy seat, well wooded and watered. In this house was one of the French kings[45] kept prisoner. The chapel was built by Mr. Packer's father, in remembrance of King Charles the First's safe return out of Spain. [Footnote 45: The Duke of Orleans, taken at the battle of Agincourt, 4 Hen. V., by Richard Waller, then owner of this place. See Hasted's "Kent," vol. i., p. 431.] [Sidenote: PENSHURST] 9th July, 1652. We went to see Penshurst, the Earl of Leicester's, famous once for its gardens and excellent fruit, and for the noble conversation which was wont to meet there, celebrated by that illustrious person, Sir Philip Sidney, who there composed divers of his pieces. It stands in a park, is finely watered, and was now full of company, on the marriage of my old fellow-collegiate, Mr. Robert Smith, who married my Lady Dorothy Sidney, widow of the Earl of Sunderland. One of the men who robbed me was taken; I was accordingly summoned to appear against him; and, on the 12th, was in Westminster Hall, but not being bound over, nor willing to hang the fellow, I did not appear, coming only to save a friend's bail; but the bill being found, he was turned over to the Old Bailey. In the meantime, I received a petition from the prisoner, whose father I understood was an honest old farmer in Kent. He was charged, with other crimes, and condemned, but reprieved. I heard afterward that, had it not been for his companion, a younger man, he would probably have killed me. He was afterward charged with some other crime, but, refusing to plead, was pressed to death. 23d July, 1652. Came my old friend, Mr. Spencer, to visit me. 30th July, 1652. I took advice about purchasing Sir Richard's [Browne] interest of those who had bought Sayes Court. 1st August, 1652. Came old Jerome Lennier, of Greenwich, a man skilled in painting and music, and another rare musician, called Mell. I went to see his collection of pictures, especially those of Julio Romano, which surely had been the King's, and an Egyptian figure, etc. There were also excellent things of Polydore, Guido, Raphael, and Tintoretto. Lennier had been a domestic of Queen Elizabeth, and showed me her head, an intaglio in a rare sardonyx, cut by a famous Italian, which he assured me was exceedingly like her. 24th August, 1652. My first child, a son, was born precisely at one o'clock. 2d September, 1652. Mr. Owen, the sequestered divine, of Eltham, christened my son by the name of Richard. 22d September, 1652. I went to Woodcott, where Lady Browne was taken with scarlet fever, and died. She was carried to Deptford, and interred in the church near Sir Richard's relations with all decent ceremonies, and according to the church-office, for which I obtained permission, after it had not been used in that church for seven years. Thus ended an excellent and virtuous lady, universally lamented, having been so obliging on all occasions to those who continually frequented her house in Paris, which was not only an hospital, but an asylum to all our persecuted and afflicted countrymen, during eleven years' residence there in that honorable situation. 25th September, 1652. I went to see Dr. Mason's house, so famous for the prospect (for the house is a wretched one) and description of Barclay's "_Icon Animarum_."[46] [Footnote 46: The book here referred to is in the British Museum, entitled "_Joannis Barclaii Icon Animarum_," and printed at London, 1614, small 12mo. It is written in Latin, and dedicated to Louis XIII. of France, for what reason does not appear, the author speaking of himself as a subject of this country. It mentions the necessity of forming the minds of youth, as a skillful gardener forms his trees; the different dispositions of men, in different nations; English, Scotch, and Irish, etc. Chapter second contains a florid description of the beautiful scenery about Greenwich, but does not mention Dr. Mason, or his house.] 5th November, 1652. To London, to visit some friends, but the insolences were so great in the streets that I could not return till the next day. Dr. Scarborough was instant with me to give the Tables of Veins and Arteries to the College of Physicians, pretending he would not only read upon them, but celebrate my curiosity as being the first who caused them to be completed in that manner, and with that cost; but I was not so willing yet to part with them, as to lend them to the College during their anatomical lectures; which I did accordingly. 22d November, 1652. I went to London, where was proposed to me the promoting that great work (since accomplished by Dr. Walton, Bishop of Chester), "_Biblia Polyglotta_," by Mr. Pierson, that most learned divine. 25th December, 1652. Christmas day, no sermon anywhere, no church being permitted to be open, so observed it at home. The next day, we went to Lewisham, where an honest divine preached. 31st December, 1652. I adjusted all accompts, and rendered thanks to Almighty God for his mercies to me the year past. [Sidenote: SAYES COURT] 1st January, 1652-53. I set apart in preparation for the Blessed Sacrament, which the next day Mr. Owen administered to me and all my family in Sayes Court, preaching on John vi. 32, 33, showing the exceeding benefits of our blessed Savior taking our nature upon him. He had christened my son and churched my wife in our own house as before noticed. 17th January, 1653. I began to set out the oval garden at Sayes Court, which was before a rude orchard, and all the rest one entire field of 100 acres, without any hedge, except the hither holly hedge joining to the bank of the mount walk. This was the beginning of all the succeeding gardens, walks, groves, inclosures, and plantations there. 21st January, 1653. I went to London, and sealed some of the writings of my purchase of Sayes Court. 30th January, 1653. At our own parish church, a stranger preached. There was now and then an honest orthodox man got into the pulpit, and, though the present incumbent was somewhat of the Independent, yet he ordinarily preached sound doctrine, and was a peaceable man; which was an extraordinary felicity in this age. 1st February, 1653. Old Alexander Rosse (author of "_Virgilius Evangelizans_," and many other little books) presented me with his book against Mr. Hobbes's "Leviathan." 19th February, 1653. I planted the orchard at Sayes Court; new moon, wind west. 22d February, 1653. Was perfected the sealing, livery, and seisin of my purchase of Sayes Court. My brother, George Glanville, Mr. Scudamore, Mr. Offley, Co. William Glanville (son to Sergeant Glanville, sometime Speaker of the House of Commons), Co. Stephens, and several of my friends dining with me. I had bargained for £3,200, but I paid £3,500. 25th March, 1653. Came to see me that rare graver in _taille-douce_, Monsieur Richett, he was sent by Cardinal Mazarine to make a collection of pictures. 11th April, 1653. I went to take the air in Hyde Park, where every coach was made to pay a shilling, and horse sixpence, by the sordid fellow who had purchased it of the state, as they called it. 17th May, 1653. My servant Hoare, who wrote those exquisite several hands, fell of a fit of an apoplexy, caused, as I suppose, by tampering with mercury about an experiment in gold. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th May, 1653. I went to London, to take my last leave of my honest friend, Mr. Barton, now dying; it was a great loss to me and to my affairs. On the sixth of June, I attended his funeral. 8th June, 1653. Came my brother George, Captain Evelyn, the great traveler, Mr. Muschamp, my cousin, Thomas Keightly, and a virtuoso, fastastical Simons, who had the talent of embossing so to the life. 9th June, 1653. I went to visit my worthy neighbor, Sir Henry Newton [at Charlton], and consider the prospect, which is doubtless for city, river, ships, meadows, hill, woods, and all other amenities, one of the most noble in the world; so as, had the house running water, it were a princely seat. Mr. Henshaw and his brother-in-law came to visit me, and he presented me with a seleniscope. 19th June, 1653. This day, I paid all my debts to a farthing; oh, blessed day! 21st June, 1653. My Lady Gerrard, and one Esquire Knight, a very rich gentleman, living in Northamptonshire, visited me. 23d June, 1653. Mr. Lombart, a famous graver, came to see my collections. 27th June, 1653. Monsieur Roupel sent me a small phial of his _aurum potabile_, with a letter, showing the way of administering it, and the stupendous cures it had done at Paris; but, ere it came to me, by what accident I know not, it was all run out. 17th August, 1653. I went to visit Mr. Hyldiard, at his house at Horsley (formerly the great Sir Walter Raleigh's[47]), where met me Mr. Oughtred, the famous mathematician; he showed me a box, or golden case, of divers rich and aromatic balsams, which a chemist, a scholar of his, had sent him out of Germany. [Footnote 47: Evelyn is here in error: Mr. Hyldiard was of East Horsley, Sir Walter of West.] 21st August, 1653. I heard that good old man, Mr. Higham, the parson of the parish of Wotton where I was born, and who had baptized me, preach after his very plain way on Luke, comparing this troublesome world to the sea, the ministers to the fishermen, and the saints to the fish. 22d August, 1653. We all went to Guildford, to rejoice at the famous inn, the Red Lion, and to see the hospital, and the monument of Archbishop Abbot, the founder, who lies buried in the chapel of his endowment. 28th September, 1653. At Greenwich preached that holy martyr, Dr. Hewer, on Psalm xc. 11, magnifying the grace of God to penitents, and threatening the extinction of his Gospel light for the prodigious impiety of the age. 11th October, 1653. My son, John Stansfield, was born, being my second child, and christened by the name of my mother's father, that name now quite extinct, being of Cheshire. Christened by Mr. Owen, in my library, at Sayes Court, where he afterward churched my wife, I always making use of him on these occasions, because the parish minister dared not have officiated according to the form and usage of the Church of England, to which I always adhered. 25th October, 1653. Mr. Owen preached in my library at Sayes Court on Luke xviii. 7, 8, an excellent discourse on the unjust judge, showing why Almighty God would sometimes be compared by such similitudes. He afterward administered to us all the Holy Sacrament. [Sidenote: LONDON] 28th October, 1653. Went to London, to visit my Lady Gerrard, where I saw that cursed woman called the Lady Norton, of whom it was reported that she spit in our King's face as he went to the scaffold. Indeed, her talk and discourse was like an impudent woman. 21st November, 1653. I went to London, to speak with Sir John Evelyn, my kinsman, about the purchase of an estate of Mr. Lambard's at Westeram, which afterward Sir John himself bought for his son-in-law, Leech. 4th December, 1653. Going this day to our church, I was surprised to see a tradesman, a mechanic, step up; I was resolved yet to stay and see what he would make of it. His text was from 2 Sam. xxiii. 20: "And Benaiah went down also and slew a lion in the midst of a pit in the time of snow"; the purport was, that no danger was to be thought difficult when God called for shedding of blood, inferring that now the saints were called to destroy temporal governments; with such feculent stuff; so dangerous a crisis were things grown to. 25th December, 1653. Christmas day. No churches, or public assembly. I was fain to pass the devotions of that Blessed day with my family at home. 20th January, 1653-54. Come to see my old acquaintance and the most incomparable player on the Irish harp, Mr. Clark,[48] after his travels. He was an excellent musician, a discreet gentleman, born in Devonshire (as I remember). Such music before or since did I never hear, that instrument being neglected for its extraordinary difficulty; but, in my judgment, far superior to the lute itself, or whatever speaks with strings. [Footnote 48: See under the year 1688, November.] 25th January, 1654. Died my son, J. Stansfield, of convulsion fits; buried at Deptford on the east corner of the church, near his mother's great-grandfather, and other relatives. 8th February, 1654. Ash Wednesday. In contradiction to all custom and decency, the usurper, Cromwell, feasted at the Lord Mayor's, riding in triumph through the city. 14th February, 1654. I saw a tame lion play familiarly with a lamb; he was a huge beast, and I thrust my hand into his mouth and found his tongue rough like a cat's; a sheep also with six legs, which made use of five of them to walk; a goose that had four legs, two crops, and as many vents. 29th March, 1654. That excellent man, Mr. Owen, preached in my library on Matt. xxviii. 6, a resurrection sermon, and after it we all received the Holy Communion. 6th April, 1654. Came my Lord Herbert, Sir Kenelm Digby, Mr. Denham, and other friends to see me. 15th April, 1654. I went to London to hear the famous Jeremy Taylor (since Bishop of Down and Connor) at St. Gregory's (near St. Paul's) on Matt. vi, 48, concerning evangelical perfection. 5th May, 1654. I bound my lackey, Thomas Headly, apprentice to a carpenter, giving with him five pounds and new clothing; he thrived very well, and became rich. 8th May, 1654. I went to Hackney, to see Lady Brook's garden, which was one of the neatest and most celebrated in England, the house well furnished, but a despicable building. Returning, visited one Mr. Tomb's garden; it has large and noble walks, some modern statues, a vineyard, planted in strawberry borders, staked at ten feet distances, the banqueting-house of cedar, where the couch and seats were carved _à l'antique_; some good pictures in the house, especially one of Vandyke's, being a man in his shirt; also some of Stenwyck. I also called at Mr. Ducie's, who has indeed a rare collection of the best masters, and one of the largest stories of H. Holbein. I also saw Sir Thomas Fowler's aviary, which is a poor business. [Illustration: _OLIVER CROMWELL DICTATING TO JOHN MILTON_ _The letter to the Duke of Savoy to stop the persecution of the Protestants of Piedmont, 1655. Photogravure from an engraving by Sartain after Newenham_] 10th May, 1654. My Lady Gerrard treated us at Mulberry Garden, now the only place of refreshment about the town for persons of the best quality to be exceedingly cheated at; Cromwell and his partisans having shut up and seized on Spring Garden, which, till now, had been the usual rendezvous for the ladies and gallants at this season. 11th May, 1654. I now observed how the women began to paint themselves, formerly a most ignominious thing, and used only by prostitutes. 14th May, 1654. There being no such thing as church anniversaries in the parochial assemblies, I was forced to provide at home for Whit Sunday. 15th May, 1654. Came Sir Robert Stapylton, the translator of "Juvenal," to visit me. 8th June, 1654. My wife and I set out in a coach and four horses, in our way to visit relations of hers in Wiltshire, and other parts, where we resolved to spend some months. We dined at Windsor, saw the Castle and Chapel of St. George, where they have laid our blessed Martyr, King Charles, in the VAULT JUST BEFORE THE ALTAR. The church and workmanship in stone is admirable. The Castle itself is large in circumference; but the rooms melancholy, and of ancient magnificence. The keep, or mount, hath, besides its incomparable prospect, a very profound well; and the terrace toward Eton, with the park, meandering Thames, and sweet meadows, yield one of the most delightful prospects. That night, we lay at Reading. Saw my Lord Craven's house at Causam [Caversham], now in ruins, his goodly woods felling by the Rebels. 9th June, 1654. Dined at Marlborough, which having been lately fired, was now new built. At one end of this town, we saw my Lord Seymour's house, but nothing observable save the Mount, to which we ascended by windings for near half a mile. It seems to have been cast up by hand. We passed by Colonel Popham's, a noble seat, park, and river. Thence, to Newbury, a considerable town, and Donnington, famous for its battle, siege, and castle, this last had been in the possession of old Geoffrey Chaucer. Then to Aldermaston, a house of Sir Humphrey Forster's, built _à la moderne_. Also, that exceedingly beautiful seat of my Lord Pembroke, on the ascent of hill, flanked with wood, and regarding the river, and so, at night, to Cadenham, the mansion of Edward Hungerford, Esq., uncle to my wife, where we made some stay. The rest of the week we did nothing but feast and make good cheer, to welcome my wife. 27th June, 1654. We all went to see Bath, where I bathed in the cross bath. Among the rest of the idle diversions of the town, one musician was famous for acting a changeling, which indeed he personated strangely. The _facciáta_ of this cathedral is remarkable for its historical carving. The King's Bath is esteemed the fairest in Europe. The town is entirely built of stone, but the streets narrow, uneven and unpleasant. Here, we trifled and bathed, and intervisited with the company who frequent the place for health, till the 30th, and then went to Bristol, a city emulating London, not for its large extent, but manner of building, shops, bridge, traffic, exchange, market-place, etc. The governor showed us the castle, of no great concernment. The city wholly mercantile, as standing near the famous Severn, commodiously for Ireland, and the Western world. Here I first saw the manner of refining sugar and casting it into loaves, where we had a collection of eggs fried in the sugar furnace, together with excellent Spanish wine. But, what appeared most stupendous to me, was the rock of St. Vincent, a little distance from the town, the precipice whereof is equal to anything of that nature I have seen in the most confragose cataracts of the Alps, the river gliding between them at an extraordinary depth. Here, we went searching for diamonds, and to the Hot Wells, at its foot. There is also on the side of this horrid Alp a very romantic seat: and so we returned to Bath in the evening, and July 1st to Cadenham. 4th July, 1654. On a letter from my wife's uncle, Mr. Pretyman, I waited back on her to London, passing by Hungerford, a town famous for its trouts, and the next day arrived at Deptford, which was 60 miles, in the extremity of heat. [Sidenote: OXFORD] 6th July, 1654. I went early to London, and the following day met my wife and company at Oxford, the eve of the Act. 8th July, 1654. Was spent in hearing several exercises in the schools; and, after dinner, the Proctor opened the Act at St. Mary's (according to custom), and the Prevaricators, their drollery. Then, the Doctors disputed. We supped at Wadham College. 9th July, 1654. Dr. French preached at St. Mary's, on Matt. xii. 42, advising the students the search after true wisdom, not to be had in the books of philosophers, but in the Scriptures alone. In the afternoon, the famous Independent, Dr. Owen, perstringing Episcopacy. He was now Cromwell's Vice-Chancellor. We dined with Dr. Ward, Mathematical Professor (since Bishop of Sarum), and at night supped in Baliol College Hall, where I had once been student and fellow-commoner, and where they made me extraordinarily welcome. 10th July, 1654. On Monday, I went again to the schools, to hear the several faculties, and in the afternoon tarried out the whole Act in St. Mary's, the long speeches of the Proctors, the Vice-Chancellor, the several Professors, creation of Doctors, by the cap, ring, kiss, etc., those ancient ceremonies and institution being as yet not wholly abolished. Dr. Kendal, now Inceptor among others, performing his Act incomparably well, concluded it with an excellent oration, abating his Presbyterian animosities, which he withheld, not even against that learned and pious divine, Dr. Hammond. The Act was closed with the speech of the Vice-Chancellor, there being but four in theology, and three in medicine, which was thought a considerable matter, the times considered. I dined at one Monsieur Fiat's, a student of Exeter College, and supped at a magnificent entertainment of Wadham Hall, invited by my dear and excellent friend, Dr. Wilkins, then Warden (after, Bishop of Chester). 11th July, 1654. Was the Latin sermon, which I could not be at, though invited, being taken up at All Souls, where we had music, voices, and theorbos, performed by some ingenious scholars. After dinner, I visited that miracle of a youth, Mr. Christopher Wren, nephew to the Bishop of Ely. Then Mr. Barlow (since Bishop of Lincoln), bibliothecarius of the Bodleian Library, my most learned friend. He showed us the rarities of that most famous place, manuscripts, medals, and other curiosities. Among the MSS. an old English Bible, wherein the Eunuch mentioned to be baptized by Philip, is called the Gelding: "and Philip and the Gelding went down into the water," etc. The original Acts of the Council of Basil 900 years since, with the _bulla_, or leaden affix, which has a silken cord passing through every parchment; a MS. of Venerable Bede of 800 years antiquity; the old Ritual _secundum usum Sarum_ exceeding voluminous; then, among the nicer curiosities, the "Proverbs of Solomon," written in French by a lady, every chapter of a several character, or hand, the most exquisite imaginable; an hieroglyphical table, or carta, folded up like a map, I suppose it painted on asses' hide, extremely rare; but, what is most illustrious, there were no less than 1,000 MSS. in nineteen languages, especially Oriental, furnishing that new part of the library built by Archbishop Laud, from a design of Sir Kenelm Digby and the Earl of Pembroke. In the closet of the tower, they show some Indian weapons, urns, lamps, etc., but the rarest is the whole Alcoran, written on one large sheet of calico, made up in a priest's vesture, or cope, after the Turkish and Arabic character, so exquisitely written, as no printed letter comes near it; also, a roll of magical charms, divers talismans, and some medals. Then, I led my wife into the Convocation House, finely wainscoted; the Divinity School, and Gothic carved roof; the Physic, or Anatomy School, adorned with some rarities of natural things; but nothing extraordinary save the skin of a jackal, a rarely-colored jackatoo, or prodigious large parrot, two humming birds, not much bigger than our bumblebee, which indeed I had not seen before, that I remember. 12th July, 1654. We went to St. John's, saw the library and the two skeletons, which are finely cleansed and put together; observable is here also the store of mathematical instruments, chiefly given by the late Archbishop Laud, who built here a handsome quadrangle. Thence we went to New College, where the chapel was in its ancient garb, notwithstanding the scrupulosity of the times. Thence, to Christ's Church, in whose library was shown us an Office of Henry VIII., the writing, miniatures, and gilding whereof is equal, if not surpassing, any curiosity I had seen of that kind; it was given by their founder, Cardinal Wolsey. The glass windows of the cathedral (famous in my time) I found much abused. The ample hall and column, that spreads its capital to sustain the roof as one goes up the stairs, is very remarkable. Next we walked to Magdalen College, where we saw the library and chapel, which was likewise in pontifical order, the altar only I think turned tablewise, and there was still the double organ, which abominations (as now esteemed) were almost universally demolished; Mr. Gibbon, that famous musician, giving us a taste of his skill and talents on that instrument. Hence, to the Physic Garden, where the sensitive plant was shown us for a great wonder. There grew canes, olive trees, rhubarb, but no extraordinary curiosities, besides very good fruit, which, when the ladies had tasted, we returned in our coach to our lodgings. 13th July, 1654. We all dined at that most obliging and universally-curious Dr. Wilkins's, at Wadham College. He was the first who showed me the transparent apiaries, which he had built like castles and palaces, and so ordered them one upon another, as to take the honey without destroying the bees. These were adorned with a variety of dials, little statues, vanes, etc.; and, he was so abundantly civil, finding me pleased with them, to present me with one of the hives which he had empty, and which I afterward had in my garden at Sayes Court, where it continued many years, and which his Majesty came on purpose to see and contemplate with much satisfaction. He had also contrived a hollow statue, which gave a voice and uttered words by a long, concealed pipe that went to its mouth,[49] while one speaks through it at a good distance. He had, above in his lodgings and gallery, variety of shadows, dials, perspectives, and many other artificial, mathematical, and magical curiosities, a waywiser, a thermometer, a monstrous magnet, conic, and other sections, a balance on a demi-circle; most of them of his own, and that prodigious young scholar Mr. Christopher Wren, who presented me with a piece of white marble, which he had stained with a lively red, very deep, as beautiful as if it had been natural. [Footnote 49: Such were the speaking figures long ago exhibited in Spring Gardens, and in Leicester Fields.] Thus satisfied with the civilities of Oxford, we left it, dining at Farringdon, a town which had been newly fired during the wars; and, passing near the seat of Sir Walter Pye, we came to Cadenham. 16th July, 1654. We went to another uncle and relative of my wife's, Sir John Glanville, a famous lawyer, formerly Speaker of the House of Commons; his seat is at Broad Hinton, where he now lived but in the gate-house, his very fair dwelling house having been burnt by his own hands, to prevent the rebels making a garrison of it. Here, my cousin William Glanville's eldest son showed me such a lock for a door, that for its filing, and rare contrivances was a masterpiece, yet made by a country blacksmith. But, we have seen watches made by another with as much curiosity as the best of that profession can brag of; and, not many years after, there was nothing more frequent than all sorts of ironwork more exquisitely wrought and polished than in any part of Europe, so as a door lock of a tolerable price was esteemed a curiosity even among foreign princes. Went back to Cadenham, and, on the 19th, to Sir Edward Baynton's at Spie Park, a place capable of being made a noble seat; but the humorous old knight has built a long single house of two low stories on the precipice of an incomparable prospect, and landing on a bowling-green in the park. The house is like a long barn, and has not a window on the prospect side. After dinner, they went to bowls, and, in the meantime, our coachmen were made so exceedingly drunk, that in returning home we escaped great dangers. This, it seems, was by order of the knight, that all gentlemen's servants be so treated; but the custom is barbarous, and much unbecoming a knight still less a Christian. [Sidenote: SALISBURY] 20th July, 1654. We proceeded to Salisbury; the cathedral I take to be the most complete piece of Gothic work in Europe, taken in all its uniformity. The pillars, reputed to be cast, are of stone manifestly cut out of the quarry; most observable are those in the chapter house. There are some remarkable monuments, particularly the ancient Bishops, founders of the Church, Knights Templars, the Marquis of Hertford's, the cloisters of the palace and garden, and the great mural dial. In the afternoon we went to Wilton, a fine house of the Earl of Pembroke, in which the most observable are the dining room in the modern-built part toward the garden, richly gilded and painted with story, by De Crete; also some other apartments, as that of hunting landscapes, by Pierce; some magnificent chimney-pieces, after the best French manner; a pair of artificial winding stairs of stone, and divers rare pictures. The garden, heretofore esteemed the noblest in England, is a large handsome plain, with a grotto and waterworks, which might be made much more pleasant, were the river that passes through cleansed and raised; for all is effected by a mere force. It has a flower garden, not inelegant. But, after all, that which renders the seat delightful is, its being so near the downs and noble plains about the country contiguous to it. The stables are well ordered and yield a graceful front, by reason of the walks of lime trees, with the court and fountain of the stables adorned with the Cæsars' heads. We returned this evening by the plain, and fourteen-mile race, where out of my lord's hare warren we were entertained with a long course of a hare for near two miles in sight. Near this, is a _pergola_, or stand, built to view the sports; and so we came to Salisbury, and saw the most considerable parts of the city. The market place, with most of the streets, are watered by a quick current and pure stream running through the middle of them, but are negligently kept, when with a small charge they might be purged and rendered infinitely agreeable, and this made one of the sweetest towns, but now the common buildings are despicable, and the streets dirty. 22d July, 1654. We departed and dined at a farm of my Uncle Hungerford's, called Darnford Magna, situated in a valley under the plain, most sweetly watered, abounding in trouts caught by spear in the night, when they come attracted by a light set in the stern of a boat. After dinner, continuing our return, we passed over the goodly plain, or rather sea of carpet, which I think for evenness, extent, verdure, and innumerable flocks, to be one of the most delightful prospects in nature, and reminded me of the pleasant lives of shepherds we read of in romances. Now we arrived at Stonehenge, indeed a stupendous monument, appearing at a distance like a castle; how so many and huge pillars of stone should have been brought together, some erect, others transverse on the tops of them, in a circular area as rudely representing a cloister or heathen and more natural temple, is wonderful. The stone is so exceedingly hard, that all my strength with a hammer could not break a fragment; which hardness I impute to their so long exposure. To number them exactly is very difficult, they lie in such variety of postures and confusion, though they seemed not to exceed 100; we counted only 95. As to their being brought thither, there being no navigable river near, is by some admired; but for the stone, there seems to be the same kind about 20 miles distant, some of which appear above ground. About the same hills, are divers mounts raised, conceived to be ancient intrenchments, or places of burial, after bloody fights. We now went by Devizes, a reasonable large town, and came late to Cadenham. 27th July, 1654. To the hunting of a sorel deer, and had excellent chase for four or five hours, but the venison little worth. 29th July, 1654. I went to Langford to see my Cousin Stephens. I also saw Dryfield, the house heretofore of Sir John Pretyman, grandfather to my wife, and sold by her uncle; both the seat and house very honorable and well built, much after the modern fashion. 31st July, 1654. Taking leave of Cadenham, where we had been long and nobly entertained, we went a compass into Leicestershire, where dwelt another relation of my wife's; for I indeed made these excursions to show her the most considerable parts of her native country, who, from her childhood, had lived altogether in France, as well as for my own curiosity and information. [Sidenote: GLOUCESTER] About two miles before coming to Gloucester, we have a prospect from woody hills into a most goodly vale and country. Gloucester is a handsome city, considerable for the church and monuments. The minster is indeed a noble fabric. The whispering gallery is rare, being through a passage of twenty-five yards in a many-angled cloister, and was, I suppose, either to show the skill of the architect, or some invention of a cunning priest, who, standing unseen in a recess in the middle of the chapel, might hear whatever was spoken at either end. This is above the choir, in which lies buried King Stephen[50] under a monument of Irish oak, not ill carved considering the age. The new library is a noble though a private design. I was likewise pleased with the Severn gliding so sweetly by it. The Duke's house, the castle works, are now almost quite dismantled; nor yet without sad thoughts did I see the town, considering how fatal the siege had been a few years before to our good King. [Footnote 50: King Stephen was buried at Faversham. The effigy Evelyn alluded to is that of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy.] 1st August, 1654. We set out toward Worcester, by a way thickly planted with cider fruit. We deviated to the Holy Wells, trickling out of a valley through a steep declivity toward the foot of the great Malvern Hills; they are said to heal many infirmities, as king's evil, leprosy, sore eyes, etc. Ascending a great height above them to the trench dividing England from South Wales, we had the prospect of all Herefordshire, Radnor, Brecknoch, Monmouth, Worcester, Gloucester, Shropshire, Warwick, Derbyshires, and many more. We could discern Tewkesbury, King's road, toward Bristol, etc.; so as I esteem it one of the goodliest vistas in England. 2d August, 1654. This evening we arrived at Worcester, the Judges of Assize and Sheriff just entering as we did. Viewing the town the next day, we found the Cathedral much ruined by the late wars, otherwise a noble structure. The town is neatly paved and very clean, the goodly river Severn running by it, and standing in a most fertile country. 3d August, 1654. We passed next through Warwick, and saw the castle, the dwelling house of the Lord Brook, and the furniture noble. It is built on an eminent rock which gives prospect into a most goodly green, a woody and plentifully watered country; the river running so delightfully under it, that it may pass for one of the most surprising seats one should meet with. The gardens are prettily disposed; but might be much improved. Here they showed us Sir Guy's great two-handed sword, staff, horse-arms, pot, and other relics of that famous knight-errant. Warwick is a fair old town, and hath one church full of ancient monuments. Having viewed these, I went to visit my worthy friend, Sir H. Puckering, at the Abbey, and though a melancholy old seat, yet in a rich soil. Hence to Sir Guy's grot, where they say he did his penances, and died. It is a squalid den made in the rock, crowned yet with venerable oaks and looking on a goodly stream, so as, were it improved as it might be, it were capable of being made a most romantic and pleasant place. Near this, we were showed his chapel and gigantic statue hewn out of the solid rock, out of which there are likewise divers other caves cut, and some very capacious. The next place to Coventry. The cross is remarkable for Gothic work and rich gilding, comparable to any I had ever seen, except that of Cheapside in London, now demolished. This city has many handsome churches, a beautiful wall, a fair free school and library to it; the streets full of great shops, clean and well paved. At going forth the gate, they show us the bone, or rib, of a wild boar, said to have been killed by Sir Guy, but which I take to be the chine of a whale. [Sidenote: LEICESTER] 4th August, 1654. Hence, riding through a considerable part of Leicestershire, an open, rich, but unpleasant country, we came late in the evening to Horninghold, a seat of my wife's uncle. 7th August, 1654. Went to Uppingham, the shire town of Rutland, pretty and well built of stone, which is a rarity in that part of England, where most of the rural parishes are but of mud; and the people living as wretchedly as in the most impoverished parts of France, which they much resemble, being idle and sluttish. The country (especially Leicestershire) much in common; the gentry free drinkers. 9th August, 1654. To the old and ragged city of Leicester, large and pleasantly seated, but despicably built, the chimney flues like so many smiths' forges; however, famous for the tomb of the tyrant, Richard III., which is now converted to a cistern, at which (I think) cattle drink. Also, here in one of the churches lies buried the magnificent Cardinal Wolsey. John of Gaunt has here also built a large but poor hospital, near which a wretch has made him a house out of the ruins of a stately church. Saw the ruins of an old Roman Temple, thought to be of Janus. Entertained at a very fine collection of fruits, such as I did not expect to meet with so far North, especially very good melons. We returned to my uncle's. 14th August, 1654. I took a journey into the Northern parts, riding through Oakham, a pretty town in Rutlandshire, famous for the tenure of the Barons (Ferrers), who hold it by taking off a shoe from every nobleman's horse that passes with his lord through the street, unless redeemed with a certain piece of money. In token of this, are several gilded shoes nailed up on the castle gate, which seems to have been large and fair. Hence, we went by Brook, a very sweet seat and park of the old Lady Camden's. Next, by Burleigh House, belonging to the Duke of Buckingham, and worthily reckoned among the noblest seats in England, situate on the brow of a hill, built _à la moderne_ near a park walled in, and a fine wood at the descent. Now we were come to Cottsmore, a pretty seat belonging to Mr. Heath, son of the late Lord Chief Justice of that name. Here, after dinner, parting with the company that conducted us thus far, I passed that evening by Belvoir Castle, built on a round mount at the point of a long ridge of hills, which affords a stately prospect, and is famous for its strenuous resistance in the late civil war. Went by Newark-on-Trent, a brave town and garrison. Next, by Wharton House, belonging to the Lord Chaworth, a handsome seat; then by Home, a noble place belonging to the Marquis of Dorchester, and passed the famous river Trent, which divides the South from the North of England; and so lay that night at Nottingham. This whole town and county seems to be but one entire rock, as it were, an exceedingly pleasant shire, full of gentry. Here, I observed divers to live in the rocks and caves, much after the manner as about Tours, in France. The church is well built on an eminence; there is a fair house of the Lord Clare's, another of Pierrepont's; an ample market place; large streets, full of crosses; the relics of an ancient castle, hollowed beneath which are many caverns, especially that of the Scots' King, and his work while there. This place is remarkable for being the place where his Majesty first erected his standard at the beginning of our late unhappy differences. The prospects from this city toward the river and meadows are most delightful. 15th August, 1654. We passed next through Sherwood Forest, accounted the most extensive in England. Then, Paplewick, an incomparable vista with the pretty castle near it. Thence, we saw Newstead Abbey, belonging to the Lord Byron, situated much like Fontainebleau in France, capable of being made a noble seat, accommodated as it is with brave woods and streams; it has yet remaining the front of a glorious abbey church. Next, by Mansfield town; then Welbeck, the house of the Marquis of Newcastle, seated in a bottom in a park, and environed with woods, a noble yet melancholy seat. The palace is a handsome and stately building. Next to Worksop Abbey, almost demolished; the church has a double flat tower entire, and a pretty gate. The manor belongs to the Earl of Arundel, and has to it a fair house at the foot of a hill in a park that affords a delicate prospect. Tickel, a town and castle, has a very noble prospect. All these in Nottinghamshire. 16th August, 1654. We arrived at Doncaster, where we lay this night; it is a large fair town, famous for great wax lights, and good stockings. 17th August, 1654. Passed through Pontefract; the castle famous for many sieges both of late and ancient times, and the death of that unhappy King murdered in it (Richard II.), was now demolishing by the Rebels; it stands on a mount, and makes a goodly show at a distance. The Queen has a house here, and there are many fair seats near it, especially Mr. Pierrepont's, built at the foot of a hill out of the castle ruins. We all alighted in the highway to drink at a crystal spring, which they call Robin Hood's Well; near it, is a stone chair, and an iron ladle to drink out of, chained to the seat. We rode to Tadcaster, at the side of which we have prospect of the Archbishop's Palace (which is a noble seat), and in sight of divers other gentlemen's fair houses. This tract is a goodly, fertile, well-watered, and wooded country, abounding with pasture and plenty of provisions. [Sidenote: YORK] To York, the second city of England, fairly walled, of a circular form, watered by the brave river Ouse, bearing vessels of considerable burden on it; over it is a stone bridge emulating that of London, and built on; the middle arch is larger than any I have seen in England, with a wharf of hewn stone, which makes the river appear very neat. But most remarkable and worth seeing is St. Peter's Cathedral, which of all the great churches in England had been best preserved from the fury of the sacrilegious, by composition with the Rebels when they took the city, during the many incursions of Scotch and others. It is a most entire magnificent piece of Gothic architecture. The screen before the choir is of stone carved with flowers, running work and statues of the old kings. Many of the monuments are very ancient. Here, as a great rarity in these days and at this time, they showed me a Bible and Common Prayer Book covered with crimson velvet, and richly embossed with silver gilt; also a service for the altar of gilt wrought plate, flagons, basin, ewer, plates, chalices, patins, etc., with a gorgeous covering for the altar and pulpit, carefully preserved in the vestry, in the hollow wall whereof rises a plentiful spring of excellent water. I got up to the tower, whence we had a prospect toward Durham, and could see Ripon, part of Lancashire, the famous and fatal Marston Moor, the Spas of Knaresborough, and all the environs of that admirable country. Sir ---- Ingoldsby has here a large house, gardens, and tennis court; also the King's house and church near the castle, which was modernly fortified with a palisade and bastions. The streets are narrow and ill-paved, the shops like London. 18th August, 1654. We went to Beverley, a large town with two stately churches, St. John's and St. Mary's, not much inferior to the best of our cathedrals. Here a very old woman showed us the monuments, and, being above 100 years of age, spoke the language of Queen Mary's days, in whose time she was born; she was widow of a sexton who had belonged to the church a hundred years. Hence, we passed through a fenny but rich country to Hull, situated like Calais, modernly and strongly fortified with three block-houses of brick and earth. It has a good market place and harbor for ships. Famous also (or rather infamous) is this town for Hotham's refusing entrance to his Majesty. The water-house is worth seeing. And here ends the south of Yorkshire. [Sidenote: LINCOLN] 19th August, 1654. We pass the Humber, an arm of the sea of about two leagues breadth. The weather was bad, but we crossed it in a good barge to Barton, the first town in that part of Lincolnshire. All marsh ground till we came to Brigg, famous for the plantations of licorice, and then had brave pleasant riding to Lincoln, much resembling Salisbury Plain. Lincoln is an old confused town, very long, uneven, steep, and ragged; formerly full of good houses, especially churches and abbeys. The Minster almost comparable to that of York itself, abounding with marble pillars, and having a fair front (herein was interred Queen Eleanora, the loyal and loving wife who sucked the poison out of her husband's wound); the abbot founder, with rare carving in the stone; the great bell, or Tom, as they call it. I went up the steeple, from whence is a goodly prospect all over the country. The soldiers had lately knocked off most of the brasses from the gravestones, so as few inscriptions were left; they told us that these men went in with axes and hammers, and shut themselves in, till they had rent and torn off some barge loads of metal, not sparing even the monuments of the dead; so hellish an avarice possessed them: beside which, they exceedingly ruined the city. Here, I saw a tall woman six feet two inches high, comely, middle-aged, and well-proportioned, who kept a very neat and clean alehouse, and got most by people's coming to see her on account of her height. 20th August, 1654. From hence we had a most pleasant ride over a large heath open like Salisbury Plain, to Grantham, a pretty town, so well situated on the side of a bottom which is large and at a distance environed with ascending grounds, that for pleasure I consider it comparable to most inland places of England; famous is the steeple for the exceeding height of the shaft, which is of stone. About eighteen miles south, we pass by a noble seat, and see Boston at a distance. Here, we came to a parish of which the parson had tithe ale. Thence through Rutland, we brought night to Horninghold, from whence I set out on this excursion. 22d August, 1654. I went a setting and hawking, where we had tolerable sport. 25th August, 1654. To see Kirby, a very noble house of my Lord Hatton's, in Northamptonshire, built _à la moderne_; the garden and stables agreeable, but the avenue ungraceful, and the seat naked: returned that evening. 27th August, 1654. Mr. Allington preached an excellent discourse from Romans vi. 19. This was he who published those bold sermons of the members warring against the mind, or the Jews crucifying Christ, applied to the wicked regicides; for which he was ruined. We had no sermon in the afternoon. 30th August, 1654. Taking leave of my friends, who had now feasted me more than a month, I, with my wife, etc., set our faces toward home, and got this evening to Peterborough, passing by a stately palace (Thorpe) of St. John's (one deep in the blood of our good king), built out of the ruins of the Bishop's palace and cloister. The church is exceeding fair, full of monuments of great antiquity. Here lies Queen Catherine, the unhappy wife of Henry VIII., and the no less unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. On the steeple, we viewed the fens of Lincolnshire, now much inclosed and drained with infinite expense, and by many sluices, cuts, mounds, and ingenious mills, and the like inventions; at which the city and country about it consisting of a poor and very lazy sort of people, were much displeased. Peterborough is a handsome town, and hath another well-built church. 31st August, 1654. Through part of Huntingdonshire, we passed that town, fair and ancient, a river running by it. The country about it so abounds in wheat that, when any King of England passes through it, they have a custom to meet him with a hundred plows. [Sidenote: CAMBRIDGE] This evening, to Cambridge; and went first to St. John's College, well built of brick, and library, which I think is the fairest of that University. One Mr. Benlowes has given it all the ornaments of _pietra commessa_,[51] whereof a table and one piece of perspective is very fine; other trifles there also be of no great value, besides a vast old song-book, or Service, and some fair manuscripts. There hangs in the library the picture of John Williams, Archbishop of York, sometime Lord Keeper, my kinsman, and their great benefactor. [Footnote 51: Marble, inlaid of various colors, representing flowers, birds, etc.] Trinity College is said by some to be the fairest quadrangle of any university in Europe; but in truth is far inferior to that of Christ Church, in Oxford; the hall is ample and of stone, the fountain in the quadrangle is graceful, the chapel and library fair. There they showed us the prophetic manuscript of the famous Grebner, but the passage and emblem which they would apply to our late King, is manifestly relating to the Swedish; in truth, it seems to be a mere fantastic rhapsody, however the title may bespeak strange revelations. There is an office in manuscript with fine miniatures, and some other antiquities, given by the Countess of Richmond, mother of Henry VIII., and the before-mentioned Archbishop Williams, when Bishop of Lincoln. The library is pretty well stored. The Greek Professor had me into another large quadrangle cloistered and well built, and gave us a handsome collation in his own chamber. Thence to Caius, and afterward to King's College, where I found the chapel altogether answered expectation, especially the roof, all of stone, which for the flatness of its laying and carving may, I conceive, vie with any in Christendom. The contignation of the roof (which I went upon), weight, and artificial joining of the stones is admirable. The lights are also very fair. In one aisle lies the famous Dr. Collins, so celebrated for his fluency in the Latin tongue. From this roof we could descry Ely, and the encampment of Sturbridge fair now beginning to set up their tents and booths; also Royston, Newmarket, etc., houses belonging to the King. The library is too narrow. Clare-Hall is of a new and noble design, but not finished. Peter-House, formerly under the government of my worthy friend, Dr. Joseph Cosin, Dean of Peterborough; a pretty neat college, having a delicate chapel. Next to Sidney, a fine college. Catherine-Hall, though a mean structure, is yet famous for the learned Bishop Andrews, once Master. Emanuel College, that zealous house, where to the hall they have a parlor for the Fellows. The chapel is reformed, _ab origine_, built north and south, and meanly erected, as is the library. Jesus-College, one of the best built, but in a melancholy situation. Next to Christ-College, a very noble erection, especially the modern part, built without the quadrangle toward the gardens, of exact architecture. The Schools are very despicable, and Public Library but mean, though somewhat improved by the wainscoting and books lately added by the Bishop Bancroft's library and MSS. They showed us little of antiquity, only King James's Works, being his own gift, and kept very reverently. The market place is very ample, and remarkable for old Hobson, the pleasant carrier's beneficence of a fountain.[52] But the whole town is situate in a low, dirty, unpleasant place, the streets ill-paved, the air thick and infected by the fens, nor are its churches, (of which St. Mary's is the best) anything considerable in compare to Oxford.[53] [Footnote 52: A conduit it should rather be called.] [Footnote 53: The reader must remember that an Oxford man is speaking.] From Cambridge, we went to Audley-End, and spent some time in seeing that goodly place built by Howard, Earl of Suffolk, once Lord Treasurer. It is a mixed fabric, between antique and modern, but observable for its being completely finished, and without comparison is one of the stateliest palaces in the kingdom. It consists of two courts, the first very large, winged with cloisters. The front had a double entrance; the hall is fair, but somewhat too small for so august a pile. The kitchen is very large, as are the cellars, arched with stone, very neat and well disposed; these offices are joined by a wing out of the way very handsomely. The gallery is the most cheerful and I think one of the best in England; a fair dining-room, and the rest of the lodgings answerable, with a pretty chapel. The gardens are not in order, though well inclosed. It has also a bowling-alley, a noble well-walled, wooded and watered park, full of fine _collines_ and ponds: the river glides before the palace, to which is an avenue of lime trees, but all this is much diminished by its being placed in an obscure bottom. For the rest, is a perfectly uniform structure, and shows without like a diadem, by the decorations of the cupolas and other ornaments on the pavilions; instead of rails and balusters, there is a border of capital letters, as was lately also on Suffolk-House, near Charing-Cross, built by the same Lord Treasurer. This house stands in the parish of Saffron Walden, famous for the abundance of saffron there cultivated, and esteemed the best of any foreign country. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d October, 1654. Having dined here, we passed through Bishop Stortford, a pretty watered town, and so by London, late home to Sayes Court, after a journey of 700 miles, but for the variety an agreeable refreshment after my turmoil and building. 10th October, 1654. To my brother at Wotton, who had been sick. 14th October, 1654. I went to visit my noble friend Mr. Hyldiard, where I met that learned gentleman, my Lord Aungier, and Dr. Stokes, one of his Majesty's chaplains. 15th October, 1654. To Betchworth Castle, to Sir Ambrose Browne, and other gentlemen of my sweet and native country. 24th October, 1654. The good old parson, Higham, preached at Wotton Church: a plain preacher, but innocent and honest man. 23d November, 1654. I went to London, to visit my cousin Fanshawe, and this day I saw one of the rarest collections of agates, onyxes, and intaglios, that I had ever seen either at home or abroad, collected by a conceited old hatmaker in Blackfriars, especially one agate vase, heretofore the great Earl of Leicester's. 28th November, 1654. Came Lady Langham, a kinswoman of mine, to visit us; also one Captain Cooke, esteemed the best singer, after the Italian manner, of any in England; he entertained us with his voice and theorbo. 30th November, 1654. My birthday, being the 34th year of my age: blessing God for his providence, I went to London to visit my brother. 3d December, 1654. Advent Sunday. There being no Office at the church but extemporary prayers after the Presbyterian way, for now all forms were prohibited, and most of the preachers were usurpers, I seldom went to church upon solemn feasts; but, either went to London, where some of the orthodox sequestered divines did privately use the Common Prayer, administer sacraments, etc., or else I procured one to officiate in my house; wherefore, on the 10th, Dr. Richard Owen, the sequestered minister of Eltham, preached to my family in my library, and gave us the Holy Communion. 25th December, 1654. Christmas day. No public offices in churches, but penalties on observers, so as I was constrained to celebrate it at home. 1st January, 1654-55. Having with my family performed the public offices of the day, and begged a blessing on the year I was now entering, I went to keep the rest of Christmas at my brother's, R. Evelyn, at Woodcot. 19th January, 1655. My wife was brought to bed of another son, being my third, but second living. Christened on the 26th by the name of John. 28th January, 1655. A stranger preached from Colossians iii. 2, inciting our affections to the obtaining heavenly things. I understood afterward that this man had been both chaplain and lieutenant to Admiral Penn, using both swords; whether ordained or not I cannot say; into such times were we fallen! 24th February, 1655. I was showed a table clock whose balance was only a crystal ball, sliding on parallel wires, without being at all fixed, but rolling from stage to stage till falling on a spring concealed from sight, it was thrown up to the utmost channel again, made with an imperceptible declivity, in this continual vicissitude of motion prettily entertaining the eye every half minute, and the next half giving progress to the hand that showed the hour, and giving notice by a small bell, so as in 120 half minutes, or periods of the bullet's falling on the ejaculatory spring, the clock part struck. This very extraordinary piece (richly adorned) had been presented by some German prince to our late king, and was now in the possession of the usurper; valued at £200. 2d March, 1655. Mr. Simpson, the King's jeweler, showed me a most rich agate cup, of an escalop-shape, and having a figure of Cleopatra at the scroll, her body, hair, mantle, and veil, of the several natural colors. It was supported by a half Mark Antony, the colors rarely natural, and the work truly antique, but I conceived they were of several pieces; had they been all of one stone, it were invaluable. 18th March, 1655. Went to London, on purpose to hear that excellent preacher, Dr. Jeremy Taylor, on Matt. xiv. 17, showing what were the conditions of obtaining eternal life; also, concerning abatements for unavoidable infirmities, how cast on the accounts of the cross. On the 31st, I made a visit to Dr. Jeremy Taylor, to confer with him about some spiritual matters, using him thenceforward as my ghostly father. I beseech God Almighty to make me ever mindful of, and thankful for, his heavenly assistances! 2d April, 1655. This was the first week, that, my uncle Pretyman being parted with his family from me, I began housekeeping, till now sojourning with him in my own house. 9th April, 1655. I went to see the great ship newly built by the usurper, Oliver, carrying ninety-six brass guns, and 1,000 tons burden. In the prow was Oliver on horseback, trampling six nations under foot, a Scot, Irishman, Dutchman, Frenchman, Spaniard, and English, as was easily made out by their several habits. A Fame held a laurel over his insulting head; the word, GOD WITH US. 15th April, 1655. I went to London with my family, to celebrate the feast of Easter. Dr. Wild preached at St. Gregory's; the ruling Powers conniving at the use of the Liturgy, etc., in the church alone. In the afternoon, Mr. Pierson (since Bishop of Chester) preached at Eastcheap, but was disturbed by an alarm of fire, which about this time was very frequent in the city. 29th May, 1655. I sold Preston to Colonel Morley. 17th June, 1655. There was a collection for the persecuted churches and Christians in Savoy, remnants of the ancient Albigenses. 3d July, 1655. I was shown a pretty Terella, described with all the circles, and showing all the magnetic deviations. 14th July, 1655. Came Mr. Pratt, my old acquaintance at Rome, also Sir Edward Hales, Sir Joseph Tufton, with Mr. Seymour. 1st August, 1655. I went to Dorking, to see Mr. Charles Howard's amphitheater, garden, or solitary recess, being fifteen acres environed by a hill. He showed us divers rare plants, caves, and an elaboratory. [Sidenote: ALBURY] 10th August, 1655. To Albury, to visit Mr. Howard, who had begun to build, and alter the gardens much. He showed me many rare pictures, particularly the Moor on horseback; Erasmus, as big as the life, by Holbein; a Madonna, in miniature, by Oliver; but, above all, the skull, carved in wood, by Albert Durer, for which his father was offered £100; also Albert's head, by himself, with divers rare agates, intaglios, and other curiosities. 21st August, 1655. I went to Ryegate, to visit Mrs. Cary, at my Lady Peterborough's, in an ancient monastery well in repair, but the park much defaced; the house is nobly furnished. The chimney-piece in the great chamber, carved in wood, was of Henry VIII., and was taken from a house of his in Bletchingley. At Ryegate, was now the Archbishop of Armagh, the learned James Usher, whom I went to visit. He received me exceeding kindly. In discourse with him, he told me how great the loss of time was to study much the Eastern languages; that, excepting Hebrew, there was little fruit to be gathered of exceeding labor; that, besides some mathematical books, the Arabic itself had little considerable; that the best text was the Hebrew Bible; that the Septuagint was finished in seventy days, but full of errors, about which he was then writing; that St. Hierome's was to be valued next the Hebrew; also that the seventy translated the Pentateuch only, the rest was finished by others; that the Italians at present understood but little Greek, and Kircher was a mountebank; that Mr. Selden's best book was his "Titles of Honor"; that the church would be destroyed by sectaries, who would in all likelihood bring in Popery. In conclusion he recommended to me the study of philology, above all human studies; and so, with his blessing, I took my leave of this excellent person, and returned to Wotton. 27th August, 1655. I went to Boxhill, to see those rare natural bowers, cabinets, and shady walks in the box copses: hence we walked to Mickleham, and saw Sir F. Stidolph's seat, environed with elm trees and walnuts innumerable, and of which last he told us they received a considerable revenue. Here are such goodly walks and hills shaded with yew and box, as render the place extremely agreeable, it seeming from these evergreens to be summer all the winter. 28th August, 1655. Came that renowned mathematician, Mr. Oughtred, to see me, I sending my coach to bring him to Wotton, being now very aged. Among other discourse, he told me he thought water to be the philosopher's first matter, and that he was well persuaded of the possibility of their elixir; he believed the sun to be a material fire, the moon a continent, as appears by the late selenographers; he had strong apprehensions of some extraordinary event to happen the following year, from the calculation of coincidence with the diluvian period; and added that it might possibly be to convert the Jews by our Savior's visible appearance, or to judge the world; and therefore, his word was, "_Parate in occursum_"; he said original sin was not met with in the Greek Fathers, yet he believed the thing; this was from some discourse on Dr. Taylor's late book, which I had lent him. 16th September, 1655. Preached at St. Gregory's one Darnel, on Psalm iv. 4, concerning the benefit of self-examination; more learning in SO SHORT A TIME AS AN HOUR I have seldom heard. 17th September, 1655. Received £2,600 of Mr. Hurt, for the Manor of Warley Magna, in Essex, purchased by me some time since. The taxes were so intolerable that they ate up the rents, etc., surcharged as that county had been above all others during our unnatural war. 19th September, 1655. Came to see me Sir Edward Hales, Mr. Ashmole, Mr. Harlakenton, and Mr. Thornhill: and, the next day, I visited Sir Henry Newton at Charlton, where I met the Earl of Winchelsea and Lady Beauchamp, daughter to the Lord Capel. On Sunday afternoon, I frequently staid at home to catechize and instruct my family, those exercises universally ceasing in the parish churches, so as people had no principles, and grew very ignorant of even the common points of Christianity; all devotion being now placed in hearing sermons and discourses of speculative and national things. 26th September, 1655. I went to see Colonel Blount's subterranean warren, and drank of the wine of his vineyard, which was good for little. 30th September, 1655. Sir Nicholas Crisp came to treat with me about his vast design of a mole to be made for ships in part of my grounds at Sayes Court. 3d November, 1655. I had accidentally discourse with a Persian and a Greek concerning the devastation of Poland by the late incursion of the Swedes. [Sidenote: LONDON] 27th November, 1655. To London about Sir Nicholas Crisp's designs. I went to see York House and gardens, belonging to the former great Buckingham, but now much ruined through neglect. Thence, to visit honest and learned Mr. Hartlib, a public spirited and ingenious person, who had propagated many useful things and arts. He told me of the castles which they set for ornament on their stoves in Germany (he himself being a Lithuanian, as I remember), which are furnished with small ordnance of silver on the battlements, out of which they discharge excellent perfumes about the rooms, charging them with a little powder to set them on fire, and disperse the smoke: and in truth no more than need, for their stoves are sufficiently nasty. He told me of an ink that would give a dozen copies, moist sheets of paper being pressed on it; and remain perfect; and a receipt how to take off any print without the least injury to the original. This gentleman was master of innumerable curiosities, and very communicative. I returned home that evening by water; and was afflicted for it with a cold that had almost killed me. This day, came forth the Protector's Edict, or Proclamation, prohibiting all ministers of the Church of England from preaching or teaching any schools, in which he imitated the apostate, Julian; with the decimation of all the royal party's revenues throughout England. 14th December, 1655. I visited Mr. Hobbes, the famous philosopher of Malmesbury, with whom I had been long acquainted in France. Now were the Jews admitted. 25th December, 1655. There was no more notice taken of Christmas-day in churches. I went to London, where Dr. Wild preached the funeral sermon of Preaching, this being the last day; after which Cromwell's proclamation was to take place, that none of the Church of England should dare either to preach, or administer Sacraments, teach schools, etc., on pain of imprisonment, or exile. So this was the most mournful day that in my life I had seen, or the Church of England herself, since the Reformation; to the great rejoicing of both Papist and Presbyter.[54] So pathetic was his discourse, that it drew many tears from the auditory. Myself, wife, and some of our family, received the Communion, God make me thankful, who hath hitherto provided for us the food of our souls as well as bodies! The Lord Jesus pity our distressed Church, and bring back the captivity of Zion! [Footnote 54: The text was 2 Cor. xiii 9. That, however persecution dealt with the Ministers of God's Word, they were still to pray for the flock, and wish their perfection, as it was the flock to pray for and assist their pastors, by the example of St. Paul.--EVELYN'S NOTE.] 5th January, 1655-56. Came to visit me my Lord Lisle, son to the Earl of Leicester, with Sir Charles Ouseley, two of the Usurper's council; Mr. John Hervey, and John Denham, the poet. 18th January, 1656. Went to Eltham on foot, being a great frost, but a mist falling as I returned, gave me such a rheum as kept me within doors near a whole month after. 5th February, 1656. Was shown me a pretty perspective and well represented in a triangular box, the great Church of Haarlem in Holland, to be seen through a small hole at one of the corners, and contrived into a handsome cabinet. It was so rarely done, that all the artists and painters in town flocked to see and admire it. 10th February, 1656. I heard Dr. Wilkins preach before the Lord Mayor in St. Paul's, showing how obedience was preferable to sacrifice. He was a most obliging person, who had married the Protector's sister, and took great pains to preserve the Universities from the ignorant, sacrilegious commanders and soldiers, who would fain have demolished all places and persons that pretended to learning. 11th February, 1656. I ventured to go to Whitehall, where of many years I had not been, and found it very glorious and well furnished, as far as I could safely go, and was glad to find they had not much defaced that rare piece of Henry VII., etc., done on the walls of the King's privy chamber. 14th February, 1656. I dined with Mr. Berkeley, son of Lord Berkeley, of Berkeley Castle, where I renewed my acquaintance with my Lord Bruce, my fellow-traveler in Italy. 19th February, 1656. Went with Dr. Wilkins to see Barlow, the famous painter of fowls, beasts, and birds. 4th March, 1656. This night I was invited by Mr. Roger L'Estrange to hear the incomparable Lubicer on the violin. His variety on a few notes and plain ground, with that wonderful dexterity, was admirable. Though a young man, yet so perfect and skillful, that there was nothing, however cross and perplexed, brought to him by our artists, which he did not play off at sight with ravishing sweetness and improvements, to the astonishment of our best masters. In sum, he played on the single instrument a full concert, so as the rest flung down their instruments, acknowledging the victory. As to my own particular, I stand to this hour amazed that God should give so great perfection to so young a person. There were at that time as excellent in their profession as any were thought to be in Europe, Paul Wheeler, Mr. Mell, and others, till this prodigy appeared. I can no longer question the effects we read of in David's harp to charm evil spirits, or what is said some particular notes produced in the passions of Alexander, and that King of Denmark. 12th April, 1656. Mr. Berkeley and Mr. Robert Boyle (that excellent person and great virtuoso), Dr. Taylor, and Dr. Wilkins, dined with me at Sayes Court, when I presented Dr. Wilkins with my rare burning-glass. In the afternoon, we all went to Colonel Blount's, to see his newly-invented plows. 22d April, 1656. Came to see Mr. Henshaw and Sir William Paston's son, since Earl of Yarmouth. Afterward, I went to see his Majesty's house at Eltham, both palace and chapel in miserable ruins, the noble woods and park destroyed by Rich, the rebel. 6th May, 1656. I brought Monsieur le Franc, a young French Sorbonnist, a proselyte, to converse with Dr. Taylor; they fell to dispute on original sin, in Latin, upon a book newly published by the Doctor, who was much satisfied with the young man. Thence, to see Mr. Dugdale, our learned antiquary and herald. Returning, I was shown the three vast volumes of Father Kircher's, "_Obeliscus Pamphilius_" and "_Ægyptiacus_"; in the second volume I found the hieroglyphic I first communicated and sent to him at Rome by the hands of Mr. Henshaw, whom he mentions; I designed it from the stone itself brought me to Venice from Cairo by Captain Powell. 7th May, 1656. I visited Dr. Taylor, and prevailed on him to propose Monsieur le Franc to the Bishop that he might have Orders, I having sometime before brought him to a full consent to the Church of England, her doctrine and discipline, in which he had till of late made some difficulty; so he was this day ordained both deacon and priest by the Bishop of Meath. I paid the fees to his lordship, who was very poor and in great want; to that necessity were our clergy reduced! In the afternoon I met Alderman Robinson, to treat with Mr. Papillion about the marriage of my cousin, George Tuke, with Mrs. Fontaine. 8th May, 1656. I went to visit Dr. Wilkins, at Whitehall, when I first met with Sir P. Neal, famous for his optic glasses. Greatorix, the mathematical instrument maker, showed me his excellent invention to quench fire. 12th May, 1656. Was published my "Essay on Lucretius," with innumerable errata by the negligence of Mr. Triplet, who undertook the correction of the press in my absence. Little of the Epicurean philosophy was then known among us. 28th May, 1656. I dined with Nieuport, the Holland Ambassador, who received me with extraordinary courtesy. I found him a judicious, crafty, and wise man. He gave me excellent cautions as to the danger of the times, and the circumstances our nation was in. I remember the observation he made upon the ill success of our former Parliaments, and their private animosities, and little care of the public. Came to visit me the old Marquis of Argyle (since executed), Lord Lothian, and some other Scotch noblemen, all strangers to me. Note, the Marquis took the turtle-doves in the aviary for owls. The Earl of Southampton (since Treasurer) and Mr. Spencer, brother to the Earl of Sunderland, came to see my garden. 7th July, 1656. I began my journey to see some parts of the northeast of England; but the weather was so excessively hot and dusty, I shortened my progress. 8th July, 1656. To Colchester, a fair town, but now wretchedly demolished by the late siege, especially the suburbs, which were all burned, but were then repairing. The town is built on a rising ground, having fair meadows on one side, and a river with a strong ancient castle, said to have been built by King Coilus, father of Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, of whom I find no memory save at the pinnacle of one of their wool-staple houses, where is a statue of Coilus, in wood, wretchedly carved. The walls are exceedingly strong, deeply trenched, and filled with earth. It has six gates, and some watchtowers, and some handsome churches. But what was shown us as a kind of miracle, at the outside of the Castle, the wall where Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle, those valiant and noble persons who so bravely behaved themselves in the last siege, were barbarously shot, murdered by Ireton in cold blood, after surrendering on articles; having been disappointed of relief from the Scotch army, which had been defeated with the King at Worcester. The place was bare of grass for a large space, all the rest of it abounding with herbage. For the rest, this is a ragged and factious town, now swarming with sectaries. Their trading is in cloth with the Dutch, and baize and says with Spain; it is the only place in England where these stuffs are made unsophisticated. It is also famous for oysters and eringo root, growing hereabout, and candied for sale. Went to Dedham, a pretty country town, having a very fair church, finely situated, the valley well watered. Here, I met with Dr. Stokes, a young gentleman, but an excellent mathematician. This is a clothing town, as most are in Essex, but lies in the unwholesome hundreds. Hence to Ipswich, doubtless one of the sweetest, most pleasant, well-built towns in England. It has twelve fair churches, many noble houses, especially the Lord Devereux's; a brave quay, and commodious harbor, being about seven miles from the main; an ample market place. Here was born the great Cardinal Wolsey, who began a palace here, which was not finished. I had the curiosity to visit some Quakers here in prison; a new fanatic sect, of dangerous principles, who show no respect to any man, magistrate, or other, and seem a melancholy, proud sort of people, and exceedingly ignorant. One of these was said to have fasted twenty days; but another, endeavoring to do the like, perished on the 10th, when he would have eaten, but could not. 10th July, 1656. I returned homeward, passing again through Colchester; and, by the way, near the ancient town of Chelmsford, saw New Hall, built in a park by Henry VII. and VIII., and given by Queen Elizabeth to the Earl of Sussex, who sold it to the late great Duke of Buckingham, and since seized on by Oliver Cromwell (pretended Protector). It is a fair old house, built with brick, low, being only of two stories, as the manner then was; the gate-house better; the court, large and pretty; the staircase, of extraordinary wideness, with a piece representing Sir Francis Drake's action in the year 1580, an excellent sea-piece; the galleries are trifling; the hall is noble; the garden a fair plot, and the whole seat well accommodated with water; but, above all, I admired the fair avenue planted with stately lime trees, in four rows, for near a mile in length. It has three descents, which is the only fault, and may be reformed. There is another fair walk of the same at the mall and wilderness, with a tennis-court, and pleasant terrace toward the park, which was well stored with deer and ponds. 11th July, 1656. Came home by Greenwich ferry, where I saw Sir J. Winter's project of charring sea-coal, to burn out the sulphur, and render it sweet. He did it by burning the coals in such earthen pots as the glass men melt their metal, so firing them without consuming them, using a bar of iron in each crucible, or pot, which bar has a hook at one end, that so the coals being melted in a furnace with other crude sea-coals under them, may be drawn out of the pots sticking to the iron, whence they are beaten off in great half-exhausted cinders, which being rekindled, make a clear, pleasant chamber-fire, deprived of their sulphur and arsenic malignity. What success it may have, time will discover.[55] [Footnote 55: Many years ago, Lord Dundonald revived the project, with the proposed improvement of extracting and saving the tar. Unfortunately he did not profit by it. The coal thus charred is sold as COKE, a very useful fuel for many purposes.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d August, 1656. I went to London, to receive the Blessed Sacrament, the first time the Church of England was reduced to a chamber and conventicle; so sharp was the persecution. The parish churches were filled with sectaries of all sorts, blasphemous and ignorant mechanics usurping the pulpits everywhere. Dr. Wild preached in a private house in Fleet Street, where we had a great meeting of zealous Christians, who were generally much more devout and religious than in our greatest prosperity. In the afternoon, I went to the French Church in the Savoy, where I heard Monsieur d'Espagne catechize, and so returned to my house. 20th August, 1656. Was a confused election of Parliament called by the Usurper. 7th September, 1656. I went to take leave of my excellent neighbor and friend, Sir. H. Newton and lady, now going to dwell at Warwick; and Mr. Needham, my dear and learned friend, came to visit me. 14th September, 1656. Now was old Sir Henry Vane[56] sent to Carisbrook Castle, in Wight, for a foolish book he published; the pretended Protector fortifying himself exceedingly, and sending many to prison. [Footnote 56: Evelyn means the younger Vane. This was "Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old," the nobleness and independence of whose character, as well as his claims to the affection of posterity, are not ill expressed in the two facts recorded by Evelyn--his imprisonment by Cromwell, and his judicial murder by Charles II. The foolish book to which Evelyn refers was an able and fearless attack on Cromwell's government.] 2d October, 1656. Came to visit me my cousin, Stephens, and Mr. Pierce (since head of Magdalen College, Oxford), a learned minister of Brington, in Northamptonshire, and Captain Cooke, both excellent musicians. 2d November, 1656. There was now nothing practical preached, or that pressed reformation of life, but high and speculative points and strains that few understood, which left people very ignorant, and of no steady principles, the source of all our sects and divisions, for there was much envy and uncharity in the world; God of his mercy amend it! Now, indeed, that I went at all to church, while these usurpers possessed the pulpits, was that I might not be suspected for a Papist, and that, though the minister was Presbyterianly affected, he yet was as I understood duly ordained, and preached sound doctrine after their way, and besides was an humble, harmless, and peaceable man. [Sidenote: LONDON] 25th December, 1656. I went to London, to receive the Blessed Communion, this holy festival at Dr. Wild's lodgings, where I rejoiced to find so full an assembly of devout and sober Christians. 26th December, 1656. I invited some of my neighbors and tenants, according to custom, and to preserve hospitality and charity. 28th December, 1656. A stranger preached on Luke xviii. 7, 8, on which he made a confused discourse, with a great deal of Greek and ostentation of learning, to but little purpose. 30th December, 1656. Dined with me Sir William Paston's son, Mr. Henshaw, and Mr. Clayton. 31st December, 1656. I begged God's blessing and mercies for his goodness to me the past year, and set my domestic affairs in order. 1st January, 1656-57. Having prayed with my family, and celebrated the anniversary, I spent some time in imploring God's blessing the year I was entered into. 7th January, 1657. Came Mr. Matthew Wren (since secretary to the Duke), slain in the Dutch war, eldest son to the Bishop of Ely, now a prisoner in the Tower; a most worthy and honored gentleman. 10th January, 1657. Came Dr. Joyliffe, that famous physician and anatomist, first detector of the lymphatic veins; also the old Marquis of Argyle, and another Scotch Earl. 5th February, 1657. Dined at the Holland Ambassador's; he told me the East India Company of Holland had constantly a stock of £400,000 in India, and forty-eight men-of-war there: he spoke of their exact and just keeping their books and correspondence, so as no adventurer's stock could possibly be lost, or defeated; that it was a vulgar error that the Hollanders furnished their enemies with powder and ammunition for their money, though engaged in a cruel war, but that they used to merchandise indifferently, and were permitted to sell to the friends of their enemies. He laughed at our Committee of Trade, as composed of men wholly ignorant of it, and how they were the ruin of commerce, by gratifying some for private ends. 10th February, 1657. I went to visit the governor of Havannah, a brave, sober, valiant Spanish gentleman, taken by Captain Young, of Deptford, when, after twenty years being in the Indies, and amassing great wealth, his lady and whole family, except two sons, were burned, destroyed, and taken within sight of Spain, his eldest son, daughter, and wife, perishing with immense treasure. One son, of about seventeen years old, with his brother of one year old, were the only ones saved. The young gentleman, about seventeen, was a well-complexioned youth, not olive-colored; he spoke Latin handsomely, was extremely well-bred, and born in the Caraccas, 1,000 miles south of the equinoctial, near the mountains of Potosi; he had never been in Europe before. The Governor was an ancient gentleman of great courage, of the order of St. Jago, sorely wounded in his arm, and his ribs broken; he lost for his own share £100,000 sterling, which he seemed to bear with exceeding indifference, and nothing dejected. After some discourse, I went with them to Arundel House, where they dined. They were now going back into Spain, having obtained their liberty from Cromwell. An example of human vicissitude! [Sidenote: LONDON] 14th February, 1657. To London, where I found Mrs. Cary; next day came Mr. Mordaunt (since Viscount Mordaunt), younger son to the Countess of Peterborough, to see his mistress, bringing with him two of my Lord of Dover's daughters: so, after dinner, they all departed. 5th March, 1657. Dr. Rand, a learned physician, dedicated to me his version of Gassendi's "_Vita Peiriskii_." 25th March, 1657. Dr. Taylor showed me his MS. of "Cases of Conscience," or "_Ductor Dubitantium_," now fitted for the press. The Protector Oliver, now affecting kingship, is petitioned to take the title on him by all his newly-made sycophant lords, etc.; but dares not, for fear of the fanatics, not thoroughly purged out of his rebel army. 21st April, 1657. Came Sir Thomas Hanmer, of Hanmer, in Wales, to see me. I then waited on my Lord Hatton, with whom I dined: at my return, I stepped into Bedlam, where I saw several poor, miserable creatures in chains; one of them was mad with making verses. I also visited the Charter House, formerly belonging to the Carthusians, now an old, neat, fresh, solitary college for decayed gentlemen. It has a grove, bowling green, garden, chapel, and a hall where they eat in common. I likewise saw Christ Church and Hospital, a very good Gothic building; the hall, school, and lodgings in great order for bringing up many hundreds of poor children of both sexes; it is an exemplary charity. There is a large picture at one end of the hall, representing the governors, founders, and the institution. 25th April, 1657. I had a dangerous fall out of the coach in Covent Garden, going to my brother's, but without harm; the Lord be praised! 1st May, 1657. Divers soldiers were quartered at my house; but I thank God went away the next day toward Flanders. 5th May, 1657. I went with my cousin, George Tuke, to see Baynard, in Surrey, a house of my brother Richard's, which he would have hired. This is a very fair, noble residence, built in a park, and having one of the goodliest avenues of oaks up to it that ever I saw: there is a pond of 60 acres near it; the windows of the chief rooms are of very fine painted glass. The situation is excessively dirty and melancholy. 15th May, 1657. Lawrence, President of Oliver's Council, and some other of his Court-Lords, came in the afternoon to see my garden and plantations. 7th June, 1657. My fourth son was born, christened George (after my grandfather); Dr. Jeremy Taylor officiated in the drawing-room. 18th June, 1657. At Greenwich I saw a sort of cat[57] brought from the East Indies, shaped and snouted much like the Egyptian racoon, in the body like a monkey, and so footed; the ears and tail like a cat, only the tail much longer, and the skin variously ringed with black and white; with the tail it wound up its body like a serpent, and so got up into trees, and with it would wrap its whole body round. Its hair was woolly like a lamb; it was exceedingly nimble, gentle, and purred as does the cat. [Footnote 57: This was probably the animal called a Mocock (_maucaco_), since well known.] 16th July, 1657. On Dr. Jeremy Taylor's recommendation, I went to Eltham, to help one Moody, a young man, to that living, by my interest with the patron. 6th August, 1657. I went to see Colonel Blount, who showed me the application of the waywiser[58] to a coach, exactly measuring the miles, and showing them by an index as we went on. It had three circles, one pointing to the number of rods, another to the miles, by 10 to 1,000, with all the subdivisions of quarters; very pretty and useful. [Footnote 58: Beckmann, in his "History of Inventions," has written an account of the different instruments applied to carriages to measure the distance they pass over. He places the first introduction of the _adometer_ in England at about the end of the seventeenth century, instead of about the middle, and states it to have been the invention of an ingenious artist named Butterfield.] 10th August, 1657. Our vicar, from John xviii. 36, declaimed against the folly of a sort of enthusiasts and desperate zealots, called the FIFTH-MONARCHY-MEN, pretending to set up the kingdom of Christ with the sword. To this pass was this age arrived when we had no King in Israel. 21st August, 1657. Fell a most prodigious rain in London, and the year was very sickly in the country. 1st September, 1657. I visited Sir Edmund Bowyer, at his melancholy seat at Camberwell. He has a very pretty grove of oaks, and hedges of yew in his garden, and a handsome row of tall elms before his court. [Sidenote: LONDON] 15th September, 1657. Going to London with some company, we stepped in to see a famous rope-dancer, called THE TURK. I saw even to astonishment the agility with which he performed. He walked barefooted, taking hold by his toes only of a rope almost perpendicular, and without so much as touching it with his hands; he danced blind-fold on the high rope, and with a boy of twelve years old tied to one of his feet about twenty feet beneath him, dangling as he danced, yet he moved as nimbly as if it had been but a feather. Lastly, he stood on his head, on the top of a very high mast, danced on a small rope that was very slack, and finally flew down the perpendicular, on his breast, his head foremost, his legs and arms extended, with divers other activities.--I saw the hairy woman, twenty years old, whom I had before seen when a child. She was born at Augsburg, in Germany. Her very eyebrows were combed upward, and all her _forehead_ as thick and even as grows on any woman's head, neatly dressed; a very long lock of hair out of each ear; she had also a most prolix beard, and _moustachios_, with long locks growing on the middle of her nose, like an Iceland dog exactly, the color of a bright brown, fine as well-dressed flax. She was now married, and told me she had one child that was not hairy, nor were any of her parents, or relations. She was very well shaped, and played well on the harpsichord. 17th September, 1657. To see Sir Robert Needham, at Lambeth, a relation of mine; and thence to John Tradescant's museum, in which the chiefest rarities were, in my opinion, the ancient Roman, Indian, and other nations' armor, shields, and weapons; some habits of curiously-colored and wrought feathers, one from the phoenix wing, as tradition goes. Other innumerable things there were printed in his catalogue by Mr. Ashmole, to whom after the death of the widow they are bequeathed, and by him designed as a gift to Oxford. 19th October, 1657. I went to see divers gardens about London: returning, I saw at Dr. Joyliffe's two Virginian rattlesnakes alive, exceeding a yard in length, small heads, slender tails, but in the middle nearly the size of my leg; when vexed, swiftly vibrating and shaking their tails, as loud as a child's rattle; this, by the collision of certain gristly skins curiously jointed, yet loose, and transparent as parchment, by which they give warning; a providential caution for other creatures to avoid them. The Doctor tried their biting on rats and mice, which they immediately killed: but their vigor must needs be much exhausted here, in another climate, and kept only in a barrel of bran. 22d October, 1657. To town, to visit the Holland Ambassador, with whom I had now contracted much friendly correspondence, useful to the intelligence I constantly gave his Majesty abroad. 26th November, 1657. I went to London, to a court of the East India Company on its new union, in Merchant-Taylors' Hall, where was much disorder by reason of the Anabaptists, who would have the adventurers obliged only by an engagement, without swearing, that they still might pursue their private trade; but it was carried against them. Wednesday was fixed on for a general court for election of officers, after a sermon and prayers for good success. The Stock resolved on was £800,000. 27th November, 1657. I took the oath at the East India House, subscribing £500. 2d December, 1657. Dr. Raynolds (since Bishop of Norwich) preached before the company at St. Andrew Under-shaft, on Nehemiah xiii. 31, showing, by the example of Nehemiah, all the perfections of a trusty person in public affairs, with many good precepts apposite to the occasion, ending with a prayer for God's blessing on the company and the undertaking. 3d December, 1657. Mr. Gunning preached on John iii. 3, against the Anabaptists, showing the effect and necessity of the sacrament of baptism. This sect was now wonderfully spread. [Sidenote: LONDON] 25th December, 1657. I went to London with my wife, to celebrate Christmas-day, Mr. Gunning preaching in Exeter chapel, on Micah vii. 2. Sermon ended, as he was giving us the Holy Sacrament, the chapel was surrounded with soldiers, and all the communicants and assembly surprised and kept prisoners by them, some in the house, others carried away. It fell to my share to be confined to a room in the house, where yet I was permitted to dine with the master of it, the Countess of Dorset, Lady Hatton, and some others of quality who invited me. In the afternoon, came Colonel Whalley, Goffe, and others, from Whitehall, to examine us one by one; some they committed to the marshal, some to prison. When I came before them, they took my name and abode, examined me why, contrary to the ordinance made, that none should any longer observe the superstitious time of the nativity (so esteemed by them), I durst offend, and particularly be at common prayers, which they told me was but the mass in English, and particularly pray for Charles Stuart; for which we had no Scripture. I told them we did not pray for Charles Stuart, but for all Christian kings, princes, and governors. They replied, in so doing we prayed for the king of Spain, too, who was their enemy and a Papist, with other frivolous and ensnaring questions, and much threatening; and, finding no color to detain me, they dismissed me with much pity of my ignorance. These were men of high flight and above ordinances, and spoke spiteful things of our Lord's nativity. As we went up to receive the Sacrament, the miscreants held their muskets against us, as if they would have shot us at the altar; but yet suffering us to finish the office of Communion, as perhaps not having instructions what to do, in case they found us in that action. So I got home late the next day; blessed be God! 27th January, 1657-58. After six fits of a quartan ague, with which it pleased God to visit him, died my dear son, Richard, to our inexpressible grief and affliction, five years and three days old only, but at that tender age a prodigy for wit and understanding; for beauty of body, a very angel; for endowment of mind, of incredible and rare hopes. To give only a little taste of them, and thereby glory to God, who "out of the mouths of babes and infants does sometimes perfect his praises," he had learned all his catechism; at two years and a half old, he could perfectly read any of the English, Latin, French, or Gothic letters, pronouncing the first three languages exactly. He had, before the fifth year, or in that year, not only skill to read most written hands, but to decline all the nouns, conjugate the verbs regular, and most of the irregular; learned out "Puerilis," got by heart almost the entire vocabulary of Latin and French primitives and words, could make congruous syntax, turn English into Latin, and _vice versâ_, construe and prove what he read, and did the government and use of relatives, verbs, substantives, ellipses, and many figures and tropes, and made a considerable progress in Comenius's "_Janua_"; began himself to write legibly, and had a strong passion for Greek. The number of verses he could recite was prodigious, and what he remembered of the parts of plays, which he would also act; and, when seeing a Plautus in one's hand, he asked what book it was, and, being told it was comedy, and too difficult for him, he wept for sorrow. Strange was his apt and ingenious application of fables and morals; for he had read Æsop; he had a wonderful disposition to mathematics, having by heart divers propositions of Euclid that were read to him in play, and he would make lines and demonstrate them. As to his piety, astonishing were his applications of Scripture upon occasion, and his sense of God; he had learned all his catechism early, and understood the historical part of the Bible and New Testament to a wonder, how Christ came to redeem mankind, and how, comprehending these necessaries himself, his godfathers were discharged of their promise. These and the like illuminations, far exceeding his age and experience, considering the prettiness of his address and behavior, cannot but leave impressions in me at the memory of him. When one told him how many days a Quaker had fasted, he replied that was no wonder; for Christ had said that man should not live by bread alone, but by the Word of God. He would of himself select the most pathetic psalms, and chapters out of Job, to read to his maid during his sickness, telling her, when she pitied him, that all God's children must suffer affliction. He declaimed against the vanities of the world, before he had seen any. Often he would desire those who came to see him to pray by him, and a year before he fell sick, to kneel and pray with him alone in some corner. How thankfully would he receive admonition! how soon be reconciled! how indifferent, yet continually cheerful! He would give grave advice to his brother, John, bear with his impertinences, and say he was but a child. If he heard of or saw any new thing, he was unquiet till he was told how it was made; he brought to us all such difficulties as he found in books, to be expounded. He had learned by heart divers sentences in Latin and Greek, which, on occasion, he would produce even to wonder. He was all life, all prettiness, far from morose, sullen, or childish in anything he said or did. The last time he had been at church (which was at Greenwich), I asked him, according to custom, what he remembered of the sermon; two good things, Father, said he, _bonum gratiæ_ and _bonum gloriæ_, with a just account of what the preacher said. The day before he died, he called to me: and in a more serious manner than usual, told me that for all I loved him so dearly I should give my house, land, and all my fine things to his brother Jack, he should have none of them; and, the next morning, when he found himself ill, and that I persuaded him to keep his hands in bed, he demanded whether he might pray to God with his hands unjoined; and a little after, while in great agony, whether he should not offend God by using his holy name so often calling for ease. What shall I say of his frequent pathetical ejaculations uttered of himself: "Sweet Jesus, save me, deliver me, pardon my sins, let thine angels receive me!" So early knowledge, so much piety and perfection! But thus God, having dressed up a saint fit for himself, would not longer permit him with us, unworthy of the future fruits of this incomparable hopeful blossom. Such a Child I never saw: for such a child I bless God, in whose bosom he is! May I and mine become as this little child, who now follows the child Jesus that Lamb of God in a white robe, whithersoever he goes; even so, Lord Jesus, _fiat voluntas tua_! Thou gavest him to us, thou hast taken him from us, blessed be the name of the Lord! That I had anything acceptable to thee was from thy grace alone, seeing from me he had nothing but sin, but that thou hast pardoned! blessed be my God for ever, Amen. In my opinion, he was suffocated by the women and maids that attended him, and covered him too hot with blankets as he lay in a cradle, near an excessive hot fire in a close room. I suffered him to be opened, when they found that he was what is vulgarly called liver-grown. I caused his body to be coffined in lead, and deposited on the 30th at eight o'clock that night in the church at Deptford, accompanied with divers of my relations and neighbors, among whom I distributed rings with this motto: "_Dominus abstulit_;" intending, God willing, to have him transported with my own body to be interred in our dormitory in Wotton Church, in my dear native county of Surrey, and to lay my bones and mingle my dust with my fathers, if God be gracious to me, and make me as fit for him as this blessed child was. The Lord Jesus sanctify this and all other my afflictions, Amen. Here ends the joy of my life, and for which I go even mourning to the grave. 15th February, 1658. The afflicting hand of God being still upon us, it pleased him also to take away from us this morning my youngest son, George, now seven weeks languishing at nurse, breeding teeth, and ending in a dropsy. God's holy will be done! He was buried in Deptford Church, the 17th following. 25th February, 1658. Came Dr. Jeremy Taylor, and my brothers, with other friends, to visit and condole with us. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th March, 1658. To London, to hear Dr. Taylor in a private house on Luke xiii. 23, 24. After the sermon, followed the blessed Communion, of which I participated. In the afternoon, Dr. Gunning, at Exeter House, expounding part of the Creed. This had been the severest winter that any man alive had known in England. The crows' feet were frozen to their prey. Islands of ice inclosed both fish and fowl frozen, and some persons in their boats. 15th May, 1658, was a public fast, to avert an epidemical sickness, very mortal this spring. 20th May, 1658. I went to see a coach race in Hyde Park, and collationed in Spring Garden. 23d May, 1658. Dr. Manton, the famous Presbyterian, preached at Covent Garden, on Matthew vi. 10, showing what the kingdom of God was, how pray for it, etc. There was now a collection for persecuted and sequestered Ministers of the Church of England, whereof divers are in prison. A sad day! The Church now in dens and caves of the earth. 31st May, 1658. I went to visit my Lady Peterborough, whose son, Mr. Mordaunt, prisoner in the Tower, was now on his trial, and acquitted but by one voice; but that holy martyr, Dr. Hewer, was condemned to die without law, jury, or justice, but by a mock Council of State, as they called it. A dangerous, treacherous time! 2d June, 1658. An extraordinary storm of hail and rain, the season as cold as winter, the wind northerly near six months. 3d June, 1658. A large whale was taken between my land abutting on the Thames and Greenwich, which drew an infinite concourse to see it, by water, horse, coach, and on foot, from London, and all parts. It appeared first below Greenwich at low water, for at high water it would have destroyed all the boats, but lying now in shallow water encompassed with boats, after a long conflict, it was killed with a harping iron, struck in the head, out of which spouted blood and water by two tunnels; and after a horrid groan, it ran quite on shore, and died. Its length was fifty-eight feet, height sixteen; black skinned, like coach leather; very small eyes, great tail, only two small fins, a peaked snout and a mouth so wide, that divers men might have stood upright in it; no teeth, but sucked the slime only as through a grate of that bone which we call whalebone; the throat yet so narrow, as would not have admitted the least of fishes. The extremes of the cetaceous bones hang downward from the upper jaw, and are hairy toward the ends and bottom within side: all of it prodigious; but in nothing more wonderful than that an animal of so great a bulk should be nourished only by slime through those grates. 8th June, 1658. That excellent preacher and holy man, Dr. Hewer, was martyred for having intelligence with his Majesty, through the Lord Marquis of Ormond. 9th June, 1658. I went to see the Earl of Northumberland's pictures, whereof that of the Venetian Senators was one of the best of Titian's and another of Andrea del Sarto, viz, a Madonna, Christ, St. John, and an Old Woman; a St. Catherine of Da Vinci, with divers portraits of Vandyck; a Nativity of Georgioni; the last of our blessed Kings (Charles I.), and the Duke of York, by Lely, a Rosary by the famous Jesuits of Brussels, and several more. This was in Suffolk House: the new front toward the gardens is tolerable, were it not drowned by a too massy and clumsy pair of stairs of stone, without any neat invention. 10th June, 1658. I went to see the Medical Garden at Westminster, well stored with plants, under Morgan, a very skillful botanist. 26th June, 1658. To Eltham, to visit honest Mr. Owen. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d July, 1658. To London, and dined with Mr. Henshaw, Mr. Dorell, and Mr. Ashmole, founder of the Oxford repository of rarities, with divers doctors of physic and virtuosos. 15th July, 1658. Came to see my Lord Kilmurry and Lady, Sir Robert Needham, Mr. Offley, and two daughters of my Lord Willoughby, of Parham. 3d August, 1658. Went to Sir John Evelyn at Godstone. The place is excellent, but might be improved by turning some offices of the house, and removing the garden. The house being a noble fabric, though not comparable to what was first built by my uncle, who was master of all the powder mills. 5th August, 1658. We went to Squirries to visit my Cousin Leech, daughter to Sir John; a pretty, finely wooded, well watered seat, the stables good, the house old, but convenient. 6th. Returned to Wotton. 10th August, 1658. I dined at Mr. Carew Raleigh's, at Horsley, son to the famous Sir Walter. 14th August, 1658. We went to Durdans [at Epsom] to a challenged match at bowls for £10, which we won. 18th August, 1658. To Sir Ambrose Browne, at Betchworth Castle, in that tempestuous wind which threw down my greatest trees at Sayes Court, and did so much mischief all over England. It continued the whole night; and, till three in the afternoon of the next day, in the southwest, and destroyed all our winter fruit. 3d September, 1658. Died that arch-rebel, Oliver Cromwell, called Protector. 16th September, 1658. Was published my translation of St. Chrysostom on "Education of Children," which I dedicated to both my brothers to comfort them on the loss of their children. 21st September, 1658. My Lord Berkeley, of Berkeley Castle, invited me to dinner. 26th September, 1658. Mr. King preached at Ashted, on Proverbs xv. 24; a Quaker would have disputed with him. In the afternoon, we heard Dr. Hacket (since Bishop of Litchfield) at Cheam, where the family of the Lumleys lie buried. 27th September, 1658. To Beddington, that ancient seat of the Carews, a fine old hall, but a scambling house, famous for the first orange garden in England, being now overgrown trees, planted in the ground, and secured in winter with a wooden tabernacle and stoves. This seat is rarely watered, lying low, and environed with good pastures. The pomegranates bear here. To the house is also added a fine park. Thence, to Carshalton, excellently watered, and capable of being made a most delicious seat, being on the sweet downs, and a champaign about it full planted with walnut and cherry trees, which afford a considerable rent. Riding over these downs, and discoursing with the shepherds, I found that digging about the bottom near Sir Christopher Buckle's,[59] near Banstead, divers medals have been found, both copper and silver, with foundations of houses, urns, etc. Here, indeed, anciently stood a city of the Romans. See Antonine's "Itineraries." [Footnote 59: Not far from the course of the Roman Road from Chichester, through Sussex, passing through Ockley, and Dorking churchyard. Considerable remains of a Roman building have since been found on Waltonheath, south of this house.] 29th September, 1658. I returned home, after a ten weeks' absence. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d October, 1658. I went to London, to receive the Holy Sacrament. On the 3d, Dr. Wild preached in a private place on Isaiah i. 4, showing the parallel between the sins of Israel and those of England. In the afternoon, Mr. Hall (son to Joseph, Bishop of Norwich) on 1 Cor. vi. 2, of the dignity of the Saints; a most excellent discourse. 4th October, 1658. I dined with the Holland ambassador, at Derby House: returning, I diverted to see a very WHITE RAVEN, bred in Cumberland; also a porcupine, of that kind that shoots its quills, of which see Claudian; it was headed like a rat, the fore feet like a badger, the hind feet like a bear. 19th October, 1658. I was summoned to London, by the commissioners for new buildings; afterward, to the commission of sewers; but because there was an oath to be taken of fidelity to the Government as now constituted without a king, I got to be excused, and returned home. 22d October, 1658. Saw the superb funeral of the protector. He was carried from Somerset House in a velvet bed of state, drawn by six horses, housed with the same; the pall held by his new lords; Oliver lying in effigy, in royal robes, and crowned with a crown, sceptre, and globe, like a king. The pendants and guidons were carried by the officers of the army; the imperial banners, achievements, etc., by the heralds in their coats; a rich caparisoned horse, embroidered all over with gold; a knight of honor, armed _cap-a-pie_, and, after all, his guards, soldiers, and innumerable mourners. In this equipage, they proceeded to Westminster: but it was the most joyful funeral I ever saw; for there were none that cried but dogs, which the soldiers hooted away with a barbarous noise, drinking and taking tobacco in the streets as they went. I returned not home till the 17th of November. I was summoned again to London by the commissioners for new foundations to be erected within such a distance of London. 6th December, 1658. Now was published my "French Gardener," the first and best of the kind that introduced the use of the olitory garden to any purpose. 23d December, 1658. I went with my wife to keep Christmas at my cousin, George Tuke's, at Cressing Temple, in Essex. Lay that night at Brentwood. 25th December, 1658. Here was no public service, but what we privately used. I blessed God for his mercies the year past; and 1st of January, begged a continuance of them. Thus, for three Sundays, by reason of the incumbent's death, here was neither praying nor preaching, though there was a chapel in the house. 17th January, 1659. Our old vicar preached, taking leave of the parish in a pathetical speech, to go to a living in the city. 24th March, 1659. I went to London, to speak to the patron, Alderman Cuttler, about presenting a fit pastor for our destitute parish church. 5th April, 1659. Came the Earl of Northampton and the famous painter, Mr. Wright, to visit me. 10th April, 1659. One Mr. Littler, being now presented to the living of our parish, preached on John vi. 55, a sermon preparatory to the Holy Sacrament. 25th April, 1659. A wonderful and sudden change in the face of the public; the new protector, Richard, slighted; several pretenders and parties strive for the government: all anarchy and confusion; Lord have mercy on us! 5th May, 1659. I went to visit my brother in London; and next day, to see a new opera, after the Italian way, in recitative music and scenes, much inferior to the Italian composure and magnificence; but it was prodigious that in a time of such public consternation such a vanity should be kept up, or permitted. I, being engaged with company, could not decently resist the going to see it, though my heart smote me for it. 7th May, 1659. Came the Ambassador of Holland and his lady to visit me, and stayed the whole afternoon. 12th May, 1659. I returned the visit, discoursing much of the revolutions, etc. 19th May, 1659. Came to dine with me my Lord Galloway and his son, a Scotch Lord and learned: also my brother and his lady, Lord Berkeley and his lady, Mrs. Shirley, and the famous singer, Mrs. Knight,[60] and other friends. [Footnote 60: Afterward one of Charles II.'s mistresses.] 23d May, 1659. I went to Rookwood, and dined with Sir William Hicks, where was a great feast and much company. It is a melancholy old house, environed with trees and rooks. 26th May, 1659. Came to see me my Lord George Berkeley, Sir William Ducie, and Sir George Pott's son of Norfolk. 29th May, 1659. The nation was now in extreme confusion and unsettled, between the Armies and the Sectaries, the poor Church of England breathing as it were her last; so sad a face of things had overspread us. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th June, 1659. To London, to take leave of my brother, and see the foundations now laying for a long street and buildings in Hatton Garden, designed for a little town, lately an ample garden. 1st September, 1659. I communicated to Mr. Robert Boyle, son to the Earl of Cork, my proposal for erecting a philosophic and mathematic college. 15th September, 1659. Came to see me Mr. Brereton,[61] a very learned gentleman, son to my Lord Brereton, with his and divers other ladies. Also, Henry Howard of Norfolk, since Duke of Norfolk. [Footnote 61: William, afterward third Lord Brereton; an accomplished and able man, who assisted Evelyn in establishing the Royal Society. He died in 1679.] 30th September, 1659. I went to visit Sir William Ducie and Colonel Blount, where I met Sir Henry Blount, the famous traveler and water drinker. 10th October, 1659. I came with my wife and family to London: took lodgings at the Three Feathers, in Russell Street, Covent Garden, for the winter, my son being very unwell. 11th October, 1659. Came to visit me Mr. William Coventry (since secretary to the Duke), son to the Lord Keeper, a wise and witty gentleman. The Army now turned out the Parliament. We had now no government in the nation: all in confusion; no magistrate either owned or pretended; but the soldiers, and they not agreed. God Almighty have mercy on us, and settle us! 17th October, 1659. I visited Mr. Howard, at Arundel House, who gave me a fair onyx set in gold, and showed me his design of a palace there. 21st October, 1659. A private fast was kept by the Church of England Protestants in town, to beg of God the removal of his judgments, with devout prayers for his mercy to our calamitous Church. 7th November, 1659. Was published my bold "Apology for the King" in this time of danger, when it was capital to speak or write in favor of him. It was twice printed; so universally it took. 9th November, 1659. We observed our solemn Fast for the calamity of our Church. 12th November, 1659. I went to see the several drugs for the confection of treacle, dioscordium, and other electuaries, which an ingenious apothecary had not only prepared and ranged on a large and very long table, but covered every ingredient with a sheet of paper, on which was very lively painted the thing in miniature, well to the life, were it plant, flower, animal, or other exotic drug. 15th November, 1659. Dined with the Dutch Ambassador. He did in a manner acknowledge that his nation mind only their own profit, do nothing out of gratitude, but collaterally as it relates to their gain, or security; and therefore the English were to look for nothing of assistance to the banished King. This was to me no very grateful discourse, though an ingenuous confession. 18th November, 1659. Mr. Gunning celebrated the wonted Fast, and preached on Phil. ii. 12, 13. 24th November, 1659. Sir John Evelyn [of Godstone] invited us to the forty-first wedding-day feast, where was much company of friends. 26th November, 1659. I was introduced into the acquaintance of divers learned and worthy persons, Sir John Marsham, Mr. Dugdale, Mr. Stanley, and others. 9th December, 1659. I supped with Mr. Gunning, it being our fast day, Dr. Fearne, Mr. Thrisco, Mr. Chamberlain, Dr. Henchman, Dr. Wild, and other devout and learned divines, firm confessors, and excellent persons. Note: Most of them since made bishops. 10th December, 1659. I treated privately with Colonel Morley, then Lieutenant of the Tower, and in great trust and power, concerning delivering it to the King, and the bringing of him in, to the great hazard of my life, but the Colonel had been my schoolfellow, and I knew would not betray me. 12th December, 1659. I spent in public concerns for his Majesty, pursuing the point to bring over Colonel Morley, and his brother-in-law, Fay, Governor of Portsmouth. 18th December, 1659. Preached that famous divine, Dr. Sanderson (since Bishop of Lincoln), now eighty years old, on Jer. xxx. 13, concerning the evil of forsaking God. 29th December, 1659. Came my Lord Count Arundel, of Wardour, to visit me. I went also to see my Lord Viscount Montague. 31st December, 1659. Settling my domestic affairs in order, blessed God for his infinite mercies and preservations the past year. ANNUS MIRABILIS, January 1st, 1659-60. Begging God's blessings for the following year, I went to Exeter Chapel, when Mr. Gunning began the year on Galatians iv. 3-7, showing the love of Christ in shedding his blood so early for us. 12th January, 1660. Wrote to Colonel Morley again to declare for his Majesty. 22d January, 1660. I went this afternoon to visit Colonel Morley. After dinner I discoursed with him; but he was very jealous, and would not believe that Monk came in to do the King any service; I told him that he might do it without him, and have all the honor. He was still doubtful, and would resolve on nothing yet, so I took leave. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d February, 1660. Kept the Fast. General Monk came now to London out of Scotland; but no man knew what he would do or declare; yet he was met on his way by the gentlemen of all the counties which he passed with petitions that he would recall the old long-interrupted Parliament, and settle the nation in some order, being at this time in most prodigious confusion, and under no government, everybody expecting what would be next and what he would do. 10th February, 1660. Now were the gates of the city broken down by General Monk; which exceedingly exasperated the city, the soldiers marching up and down as triumphing over it, and all the old army of the fanatics put out of their posts and sent out of town. 11th February, 1660. A signal day. Monk, perceiving how infamous and wretched a pack of knaves would have still usurped the supreme power, and having intelligence that they intended to take away his commission, repenting of what he had done to the city, and where he and his forces were quartered, marches to Whitehall, dissipates that nest of robbers, and convenes the old Parliament, the Rump Parliament (so called as retaining some few rotten members of the other) being dissolved; and for joy whereof were many thousands of rumps roasted publicly in the streets at the bonfires this night, with ringing of bells, and universal jubilee. This was the first good omen. From 17th February to 5th April, I was detained in bed with a kind of double tertian, the cruel effects of the spleen and other distempers, in that extremity that my physicians, Drs. Wetherborn, Needham, and Claude, were in great doubt of my recovery; but it pleased God to deliver me out of this affliction, for which I render him hearty thanks: going to church the 8th, and receiving the blessed eucharist. During this sickness came divers of my relations and friends to visit me, and it retarded my going into the country longer than I intended; however, I wrote and printed a letter in defense of his Majesty,[62] against a wicked forged paper, pretended to be sent from Brussels to defame his Majesty's person and virtues and render him odious, now when everybody was in hope and expectation of the General and Parliament recalling him, and establishing the Government on its ancient and right basis. The doing this toward the decline of my sickness, and sitting up long in my bed, had caused a small relapse, out of which it yet pleased God also to free me, so as by the 14th I was able to go into the country, which I did to my sweet and native air at Wotton. [Footnote 62: With the title of "The Late News, or Message from Brussels Unmasked." This, and the pamphlet which gave rise to it, are reprinted in "Evelyn's Miscellaneous Writings."] 3d May, 1660. Came the most happy tidings of his Majesty's gracious declaration and applications to the Parliament, General, and people, and their dutiful acceptance and acknowledgment, after a most bloody and unreasonable rebellion of near twenty years. Praised be forever the Lord of Heaven, who only doeth wondrous things, because his mercy endureth forever. 8th May, 1660. This day was his Majesty proclaimed in London, etc. [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th May, 1660. I was desired and designed to accompany my Lord Berkeley with the public address of the Parliament, General, etc., to the King, and invite him to come over and assume his Kingly Government, he being now at Breda; but I was yet so weak, I could not make that journey by sea, which was not a little to my detriment, so I went to London to excuse myself, returning the 10th, having yet received a gracious message from his Majesty by Major Scot and Colonel Tuke. 24th May, 1660. Came to me Colonel Morley, about procuring his pardon, now too late, seeing his error and neglect of the counsel I gave him, by which, if he had taken it he had certainly done the great work with the same ease that Monk did it, who was then in Scotland, and Morley in a post to have done what he pleased, but his jealousy and fear kept him from that blessing and honor. I addressed him to Lord Mordaunt, then in great favor, for his pardon, which he obtained at the cost of £1,000, as I heard. Oh, the sottish omission of this gentleman! what did I not undergo of danger in this negotiation, to have brought him over to his Majesty's interest, when it was entirely in his hands! 29th May, 1660. This day, his Majesty, Charles II. came to London, after a sad and long exile and calamitous suffering both of the King and Church, being seventeen years. This was also his birthday, and with a triumph of above 20,000 horse and foot, brandishing their swords, and shouting with inexpressible joy; the ways strewn with flowers, the bells ringing, the streets hung with tapestry, fountains running with wine; the Mayor, Aldermen, and all the companies, in their liveries, chains of gold, and banners; Lords and Nobles, clad in cloth of silver, gold, and velvet; the windows and balconies, all set with ladies; trumpets, music, and myriads of people flocking, even so far as from Rochester, so as they were seven hours in passing the city, even from two in the afternoon till nine at night. I stood in the Strand and beheld it, and blessed God. And all this was done without one drop of blood shed, and by that very army which rebelled against him: but it was the Lord's doing, for such a restoration was never mentioned in any history, ancient or modern, since the return of the Jews from their Babylonish captivity; nor so joyful a day and so bright ever seen in this nation, this happening when to expect or effect it was past all human policy. 4th June, 1660. I received letters of Sir Richard Browne's landing at Dover, and also letters from the Queen, which I was to deliver at Whitehall, not as yet presenting myself to his Majesty, by reason of the infinite concourse of people. The eagerness of men, women, and children, to see his Majesty, and kiss his hands, was so great, that he had scarce leisure to eat for some days, coming as they did from all parts of the nation; and the King being as willing to give them that satisfaction, would have none kept out, but gave free access to all sorts of people. Addressing myself to the Duke, I was carried to his Majesty, when very few noblemen were with him, and kissed his hands, being very graciously received. I then returned home, to meet Sir Richard Browne, who came not till the 8th, after nineteen years exile, during all which time he kept up in his chapel the Liturgy and Offices of the Church of England, to his no small honor, and in a time when it was so low, and as many thought utterly lost, that in various controversies both with Papists and Sectaries, our divines used to argue for the visibility of the Church, from his chapel and congregation. I was all this week to and fro at court about business. 16th June, 1660. The French, Italian, and Dutch Ministers came to make their address to his Majesty, one Monsieur Stoope pronouncing the harangue with great eloquence. 18th June, 1660. I proposed the embassy to Constantinople for Mr. Henshaw; but my Lord Winchelsea struck in. Goods that had been pillaged from Whitehall during the Rebellion were now daily brought in, and restored upon proclamation; as plate, hangings, pictures, etc. 22d June, 1660. The Warwickshire gentlemen (as did all the shires and chief towns in all the three nations) presented their congratulatory address. It was carried by my Lord Northampton. 30th June, 1660. The Sussex gentlemen presented their address, to which was my hand. I went with it, and kissed his Majesty's hand, who was pleased to own me more particularly by calling me his old acquaintance, and speaking very graciously to me. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d July, 1660. I went to Hyde Park, where was his Majesty, and abundance of gallantry. 4th July, 1660. I heard Sir Samuel Tuke harangue to the House of Lords, in behalf of the Roman Catholics, and his account of the transaction at Colchester in murdering Lord Capel, and the rest of those brave men, that suffered in cold blood, after articles of rendition. 5th July, 1660. I saw his Majesty go with as much pomp and splendor as any earthly prince could do to the great city feast, the first they had invited him to since his return; but the exceeding rain which fell all that day much eclipsed its lustres. This was at Guildhall, and there was also all the Parliament men, both Lords and Commons. The streets were adorned with pageants, at immense cost. 6th July, 1660. His Majesty began first to TOUCH FOR THE EVIL! according to custom, thus: his Majesty sitting under his state in the banqueting house, the chirurgeons cause the sick to be brought, or led, up to the throne, where they kneeling, the King strokes their faces, or cheeks with both his hands at once, at which instant a chaplain in his formalities says, "He put his hands upon them, and he healed them." This is said to every one in particular. When they have all been touched, they come up again in the same order, and the other chaplain kneeling, and having angel gold[63] strung on white ribbon on his arm, delivers them one by one to his Majesty, who puts them about the necks of the touched as they pass, while the first chaplain repeats, "That is the true light who came into the world." Then follows, an Epistle (as at first a Gospel) with the Liturgy, prayers for the sick, with some alteration; lastly the blessing; and then the Lord Chamberlain and the Comptroller of the Household bring a basin, ewer, and towel, for his Majesty to wash. [Footnote 63: Pieces of money, so called from the figure of an angel on them.] The King received a congratulatory address from the city of Cologne, in Germany, where he had been some time in his exile; his Majesty saying they were the best people in the world, the most kind and worthy to him that he ever met with. I recommended Monsieur Messary to be Judge Advocate in Jersey, by the Vice-Chamberlain's mediation with the Earl of St. Albans; and saluted my excellent and worthy noble friend, my Lord Ossory, son to the Marquis of Ormond, after many years' absence returned home. 8th July, 1660. Mr. Henchman preached on Ephes. v. 5, concerning Christian circumspection. From henceforth, was the Liturgy publicly used in our churches, whence it had been for so many years banished. 15th July, 1660. Came Sir George Carteret and lady to visit us: he was now Treasurer of the Navy. 28th July, 1660. I heard his Majesty's speech in the Lords' House, on passing the Bills of Tonnage and Poundage; restoration of my Lord Ormond to his estate in Ireland; concerning the commission of sewers, and continuance of the excise. In the afternoon I saluted my old friend, the Archbishop of Armagh, formerly of Londonderry (Dr. Bramhall). He presented several Irish divines to be promoted as Bishops in that kingdom, most of the Bishops in the three kingdoms being now almost worn out, and the Sees vacant. 31st July, 1660. I went to visit Sir Philip Warwick, now secretary to the Lord Treasurer, at his house in North Cray. 19th August, 1660. Our vicar read the Thirty-nine Articles to the congregation, the national assemblies beginning now to settle, and wanting instruction. 23d August, 1660. Came Duke Hamilton, Lord Lothian, and several Scottish Lords, to see my garden. 25th August, 1660. Colonel Spencer, colonel of a regiment of horse in our county of Kent, sent to me, and intreated that I would take a commission for a troop of horse, and that I would nominate my lieutenant and ensigns; I thanked him for the honor intended me; but would by no means undertake the trouble. 4th September, 1660. I was invited to an ordination by the Bishop of Bangor, in Henry VII.'s chapel, Westminster, and afterward saw the audience of an Envoyée from the Duke of Anjou, sent to compliment his Majesty's return. 5th September, 1660. Came to visit and dine with me the Envoyée of the King of Poland, and Resident of the King of Denmark, etc. 7th September, 1660. I went to Chelsea to visit Mr. Boyle, and see his pneumatic engine perform divers experiments. Thence, to Kensington, to visit Mr. Henshaw, returning home that evening. 13th September, 1660. I saw in Southwark, at St. Margaret's fair, monkeys and apes dance, and do other feats of activity on the high rope; they were gallantly clad _á la monde_, went upright, saluted the company, bowing and pulling off their hats; they saluted one another with as good a grace as if instructed by a dancing master; they turned heels over head with a basket having eggs in it, without breaking any; also, with lighted candles in their hands, and on their heads, without extinguishing them, and with vessels of water without spilling a drop. I also saw an Italian wench dance, and perform all the tricks on the high rope to admiration; all the Court went to see her. Likewise, here was a man who took up a piece of iron cannon of about 400lb. weight with the hair of his head only. [Sidenote: LONDON] 17th September, 1660. Went to London, to see the splendid entry of the Prince de Ligne, Ambassador extraordinary from Spain; he was general of the Spanish King's horse in Flanders, and was accompanied with divers great persons from thence, and an innumerable retinue. His train consisted of seventeen coaches, with six horses of his own, besides a great number of English, etc. Greater bravery had I never seen. He was received in the Banqueting House, in exceeding state, all the great officers of Court attending. 23d September, 1660. In the midst of all this joy and jubilee, the Duke of Gloucester died of the smallpox, in the prime of youth, and a prince of extraordinary hopes. 27th September, 1660. The King received the merchant's addresses in his closet, giving them assurances of his persisting to keep Jamaica, choosing Sir Edward Massey Governor. In the afternoon, the Danish Ambassador's condolences were presented, on the death of the Duke of Gloucester. This evening, I saw the Princess Royal, mother to the Prince of Orange, now come out of Holland in a fatal period. 6th October, 1660. I paid the great tax of poll money, levied for disbanding the army, till now kept up. I paid as an Esquire £10, and one shilling for every servant in my house. 7th October, 1660. There dined with me a French count, with Sir George Tuke, who came to take leave of me, being sent over to the Queen-Mother, to break the marriage of the Duke with the daughter of Chancellor Hyde. The Queen would fain have undone it; but it seems matters were reconciled, on great offers of the Chancellor's to befriend the Queen, who was much in debt, and was now to have the settlement of her affairs go through his hands. 11th October, 1660. The regicides who sat on the life of our late King, were brought to trial in the Old Bailey, before a commission of oyer and terminer. 14th October, 1660. Axtall, Carew, Clement, Hacker, Hewson, and Peters, were executed. 17th October, 1660. Scot, Scroop, Cook, and Jones, suffered for reward of their iniquities at Charing Cross, in sight of the place where they put to death their natural prince, and in the presence of the King his son, whom they also sought to kill. I saw not their execution, but met their quarters, mangled, and cut, and reeking, as they were brought from the gallows in baskets on the hurdle. Oh, the miraculous providence of God! 28th October, 1660. His Majesty went to meet the Queen-Mother. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th October, 1660. Going to London, my Lord Mayor's show stopped me in Cheapside; one of the pageants represented a great wood, with the royal oak, and history of his Majesty's miraculous escape at Boscobel. 31st October, 1660. Arrived now to my fortieth year, I rendered to Almighty God my due and hearty thanks. 1st November, 1660. I went with some of my relations to Court, to show them his Majesty's cabinet and closet of rarities; the rare miniatures of Peter Oliver, after Raphael, Titian, and other masters, which I infinitely esteem; also, that large piece of the Duchess of Lennox, done in enamel, by Petitot, and a vast number of agates, onyxes, and intaglios, especially a medallion of Cæsar, as broad as my hand; likewise, rare cabinets of pietra-commessa, a landscape of needlework, formerly presented by the Dutch to King Charles I. Here I saw a vast book of maps, in a volume near four yards large; a curious ship model; and, among the clocks, one that showed the rising and setting of the sun in the zodiac; the sun represented by a face and rays of gold, upon an azure sky, observing the diurnal and annual motion, rising and setting behind a landscape of hills,--the work of our famous Fromantil,--and several other rarities. 3d October, 1660. Arrived the Queen-Mother in England, whence she had been banished for almost twenty years; together with her illustrious daughter, the Princess Henrietta, divers princes and noblemen, accompanying them. 15th October, 1660. I kissed the Queen-Mother's hand. 20th October, 1660. I dined at the Clerk Comptroller's of the Green Cloth, being the first day of the re-establishment of the Court diet, and settling of his Majesty's household. 23d October, 1660. Being this day in the bedchamber of the Princess Henrietta, where were many great beauties and noblemen, I saluted divers of my old friends and acquaintances abroad; his Majesty carrying my wife to salute the Queen and Princess, and then led her into his closet, and with his own hands showed her divers curiosities. 25th October, 1660. Dr. Rainbow preached before the King, on Luke ii. 14, of the glory to be given God for all his mercies, especially for restoring the Church and government; now the service was performed with music, voices, etc., as formerly. 27th November, 1660. Came down the Clerk Comptroller [of the Green Cloth] by the Lord Steward's appointment, to survey the land at Sayes Court, on which I had pretense, and to make his report. 6th December, 1660. I waited on my brother and sister Evelyn to Court. Now were presented to his Majesty those two rare pieces of drollery, or rather a Dutch Kitchen, painted by Dowe, so finely as hardly to be distinguished from enamel. I was also shown divers rich jewels and crystal vases; the rare head of Jo. Bellino, Titian's master; Christ in the Garden, by Hannibal Caracci; two incomparable heads, by Holbein; the Queen-Mother in a miniature, almost as big as the life; an exquisite piece of carving; two unicorn's horns, etc. This in the closet. 13th December, 1660. I presented my son, John, to the Queen-Mother, who kissed him, talked with and made extraordinary much of him. 14th December, 1660. I visited my Lady Chancellor, the Marchioness of Ormond, and Countess of Guildford, all of whom we had known abroad in exile. 18th December, 1660. I carried Mr. Spellman, a most ingenious gentleman, grandchild to the learned Sir Henry, to my Lord Mordaunt, to whom I had recommended him as secretary. 21st December, 1660. This day died the Princess of Orange, of the smallpox, which entirely altered the face and gallantry of the whole Court. 22d December, 1660. The marriage of the Chancellor's daughter being now newly owned, I went to see her, she being Sir Richard Browne's intimate acquaintance when she waited on the Princess of Orange; she was now at her father's, at Worcester House, in the Strand. We all kissed her hand, as did also my Lord Chamberlain (Manchester) and Countess of Northumberland. This was a strange change--can it succeed well?--I spent the evening at St. James's, whither the Princess Henrietta was retired during the fatal sickness of her sister, the Princess of Orange, now come over to salute the King her brother. The Princess gave my wife an extraordinary compliment and gracious acceptance, for the "Character"[64] she had presented her the day before, and which was afterward printed. [Footnote 64: "A Character of England," reprinted in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings," pp. 141-67.] 25th December, 1660. Preached at the Abbey, Dr. Earle, Clerk of his Majesty's Closet, and my dear friend, now Dean of Westminster, on Luke ii. 13, 14, condoling the breach made in the public joy by the lamented death of the Princess. 30th December, 1660. I dined at Court with Mr. Crane, Clerk of the Green Cloth. 31st December, 1660. I gave God thanks for his many signal mercies to myself, church, and nation, this wonderful year. 2d January, 1661. The Queen-Mother, with the Princess Henrietta, began her journey to Portsmouth, in order to her return into France. 5th January, 1661. I visited my Lord Chancellor Clarendon, with whom I had been well acquainted abroad. 6th January, 1661. Dr. Allestree preached at the Abbey, after which four Bishops were consecrated, Hereford, Norwich, ... This night was suppressed a bloody insurrection of some FIFTH-MONARCHY ENTHUSIASTS. Some of them were examined at the Council the next day; but could say nothing to extenuate their madness and unwarrantable zeal. I was now chosen (and nominated by his Majesty for one of the Council), by suffrage of the rest of the members, a Fellow of the Philosophic Society now meeting at Gresham College, where was an assembly of divers learned gentlemen. This being the first meeting since the King's return; but it had been begun some years before at Oxford, and was continued with interruption here in London during the Rebellion. There was another rising of the fanatics, in which some were slain. 16th January, 1661. I went to the Philosophic Club, where was examined the Torricellian experiment. I presented my Circle of Mechanical Trades, and had recommended to me the publishing what I had written of Chalcography. 25th January, 1661. After divers years since I had seen any play, I went to see acted "The Scornful Lady," at a new theater in Lincoln's-Inn Fields. 30th January, 1661. Was the first solemn fast and day of humiliation to deplore the sins which had so long provoked God against this afflicted church and people, ordered by Parliament to be annually celebrated to expiate the guilt of the execrable murder of the late King. This day (Oh, the stupendous and inscrutable judgments of God!) were the carcasses of those arch-rebels, Cromwell, Bradshawe (the judge who condemned his Majesty), and Ireton (son-in-law to the Usurper), dragged out of their superb tombs in Westminster among the Kings, to Tyburn, and hanged on the gallows there from nine in the morning till six at night, and then buried under that fatal and ignominious monument in a deep pit; thousands of people who had seen them in all their pride being spectators. Look back at October 22, 1658,[65] and be astonished! and fear God and honor the King; but meddle not with them who are given to change! [Footnote 65: The entry in the "Diary" describing the Protector's funeral.] 6th February, 1661. To London, to our Society, where I gave notice of the visit of the Danish Ambassador-Extraordinary, and was ordered to return him their acceptance of that honor, and to invite him the next meeting day. 10th February, 1661. Dr. Baldero preached at Ely-house, on Matthew vi. 33, of seeking early the kingdom of God; after sermon, the Bishop (Dr. Wren) gave us the blessing, very pontifically. 13th February, 1661. I conducted the Danish Ambassador to our meeting at Gresham College, where were shown him various experiments in vacuo, and other curiosities. 21st February, 1661. Prince Rupert first showed me how to grave in _mezzo tinto_. 26th February, 1661. I went to Lord Mordaunt's, at Parson's Green. 27th February, 1661. Ash Wednesday. Preached before the King the Bishop of London (Dr. Sheldon) on Matthew xviii. 25, concerning charity and forgiveness. 8th March, 1661. I went to my Lord Chancellor's, and delivered to him the state of my concernment at Sayes Court. 9th March, 1661. I went with that excellent person and philosopher, Sir Robert Murray, to visit Mr. Boyle at Chelsea, and saw divers effects of the eolipile for weighing air. 13th March, 1661. I went to Lambeth, with Sir R. Browne's pretense to the Wardenship of Merton College, Oxford, to which, as having been about forty years before a student of that house, he was elected by the votes of every Fellow except one; but the statutes of the house being so that, unless every Fellow agree, the election devolves to the Visitor, who is the Archbishop of Canterbury (Dr. Juxon), his Grace gave his nomination to Sir T. Clayton, resident there, and the Physic Professor: for which I was not at all displeased, because, though Sir Richard missed it by much ingratitude and wrong of the Archbishop (Clayton being no Fellow), yet it would have hindered Sir Richard from attending at Court to settle his greater concerns, and so have prejudiced me, though he was much inclined to have passed his time in a collegiate life, very unfit for him at that time, for many reasons. So I took leave of his Grace, who was formerly Lord Treasurer in the reign of Charles I. This afternoon, Prince Rupert showed me, with his own hands, the new way of graving, called _mezzo tinto_, which afterward, by his permission, I published in my "History of Chalcography"; this set so many artists on work, that they soon arrived to the perfection it is since come to, emulating the tenderest miniatures. Our Society now gave in my relation of the Peak of Teneriffe, in the Great Canaries, to be added to more queries concerning divers natural things reported of that island. I returned home with my Cousin, Tuke, now going for France, as sent by his Majesty to condole the death of that great Minister and politician, Count Mazarine. 29th March, 1661. Dr. Heylin (author of the "Geography") preached at the Abbey, on Cant. v. 25, concerning friendship and charity; he was, I think, at this time quite dark, and so had been for some years. 31st March, 1661. This night, his Majesty promised to make my wife Lady of the Jewels (a very honorable charge) to the future Queen (but which he never performed). 1st April, 1661. I dined with that great mathematician and virtuoso, Monsieur Zulichem, inventor of the pendule clock, and discoverer of the phenomenon of Saturn's annulus: he was elected into our Society. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th April, 1661. To London, and saw the bathing and rest of the ceremonies of the Knights of the Bath, preparatory to the coronation; it was in the Painted Chamber, Westminster. I might have received this honor; but declined it. The rest of the ceremony was in the chapel at Whitehall, when their swords being laid on the altar, the Bishop delivered them. 22d April, 1661. Was the splendid cavalcade of his Majesty from the Tower of London to Whitehall, when I saw him in the Banqueting House create six Earls, and as many Barons, viz: Edward Lord Hyde, Lord Chancellor, Earl of Clarendon; supported by the Earls of Northumberland and Sussex; the Earl of Bedford carried the cap and coronet, the Earl of Warwick, the sword, the Earl of Newport, the mantle. Next, was Capel, created Earl of Essex. Brudenell, Cardigan; Valentia, Anglesea; Greenvill, Bath; and Howard, Earl of Carlisle. The Barons were: Denzille Holles; Cornwallis; Booth; Townsend; Cooper; Crew; who were led up by several Peers, with Garter and officers of arms before them; when, after obedience on their several approaches to the throne, their patents were presented by Garter King-at-Arms, which being received by the Lord Chamberlain, and delivered to his Majesty, and by him to the Secretary of State, were read, and then again delivered to his Majesty, and by him to the several Lords created; they were then robed, their coronets and collars put on by his Majesty, and they were placed in rank on both sides of the state and throne; but the Barons put off their caps and circles, and held them in their hands, the Earls keeping on their coronets, as cousins to the King. I spent the rest of the evening in seeing the several archtriumphals built in the streets at several eminent places through which his Majesty was next day to pass, some of which, though temporary, and to stand but one year, were of good invention and architecture, with inscriptions. 23d April, 1661. Was the coronation of his Majesty Charles II. in the Abbey-Church of Westminster; at all which ceremony I was present. The King and his Nobility went to the Tower, I accompanying my Lord Viscount Mordaunt part of the way; this was on Sunday, the 22d; but indeed his Majesty went not till early this morning, and proceeded from thence to Westminster in this order: First went the Duke of York's Horse Guards. Messengers of the Chamber. 136 Esquires to the Knights of the Bath, each of whom had two, most richly habited. The Knight Harbinger. Sergeant Porter. Sewers of the Chamber. Quarter Waiters. Six Clerks of Chancery. Clerk of the Signet. Clerk of the Privy Seal. Clerks of the Council, of the Parliament, and of the Crown. Chaplains in ordinary having dignities, 10. King's Advocates and Remembrancer. Council at Law. Masters of the Chancery. Puisne Sergeants. King's Attorney and Solicitor. King's eldest Sergeant. Secretaries of the French and Latin tongue. Gentlemen Ushers. Daily Waiters, Sewers, Carvers, and Cupbearers in ordinary. Esquires of the body, 4. Masters of standing offices, being no Counsellors, viz, of the Tents, Revels, Ceremonies, Armory, Wardrobe, Ordnance, Requests. Chamberlain of the Exchequer. Barons of the Exchequer. Judges. Lord Chief-Baron. Lord Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas. Master of the Rolls. Lord Chief-Justice of England. Trumpets. Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber. Knights of the Bath, 68, in crimson robes, exceeding rich, and the noblest show of the whole cavalcade, his Majesty excepted. Knight Marshal. Treasurer of the Chamber. Master of the Jewels. Lords of the Privy Council. Comptroller of the Household. Treasurer of the Household. Trumpets. Sergeant Trumpet. Two Pursuivants at Arms. Barons. Two Pursuivants at Arms. Viscounts. Two Heralds. Earls. Lord Chamberlain of the Household. Two Heralds. Marquises. Dukes. Heralds Clarencieux and Norroy. Lord Chancellor. Lord High Steward of England. Two persons representing the Dukes of Normandy and Acquitaine, viz, Sir Richard Fanshawe and Sir Herbert Price, in fantastic habits of the time. Gentlemen Ushers. Garter. Lord Mayor of London. The Duke of York alone (the rest by twos). Lord High Constable of England. Lord Great Chamberlain of England. The sword borne by the Earl Marshal of England. The KING, in royal robes and equipage. Afterward, followed equerries, footmen, gentlemen pensioners. Master of the Horse, leading a horse richly caparisoned. Vice-Chamberlain. Captain of the Pensioners. Captain of the Guard. The Guard. The Horse Guard. The troop of Volunteers, with many other officers and gentlemen. This magnificent train on horseback, as rich as embroidery, velvet, cloth of gold and silver, and jewels, could make them and their prancing horses, proceeded through the streets strewed with flowers, houses hung with rich tapestry, windows and balconies full of ladies; the London militia lining the ways, and the several companies, with their banners and loud music, ranked in their orders; the fountains running wine, bells ringing, with speeches made at the several triumphal arches; at that of the Temple Bar (near which I stood) the Lord Mayor was received by the Bailiff of Westminster, who, in a scarlet robe, made a speech. Thence, with joyful acclamations, his Majesty passed to Whitehall. Bonfires at night. The next day, being St. George's, he went by water to Westminster Abbey. When his Majesty was entered, the Dean and Prebendaries brought all the regalia, and delivered them to several noblemen to bear before the King, who met them at the west door of the church, singing an anthem, to the choir. Then, came the Peers, in their robes, and coronets in their hands, till his Majesty was placed on a throne elevated before the altar. Afterward, the Bishop of London (the Archbishop of Canterbury being sick) went to every side of the throne to present the King to the people, asking if they would have him for their King, and do him homage; at this, they shouted four times "God save King Charles II!" Then, an anthem was sung. His Majesty, attended by three Bishops, went up to the altar, and he offered a pall and a pound of gold. Afterward, he sat down in another chair during the sermon, which was preached by Dr. Morley, Bishop of Worcester. After sermon, the King took his oath before the altar to maintain the religion, Magna Charta, and laws of the land. The hymn _Véni S. Sp._ followed, and then the Litany by two Bishops. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury, present, but much indisposed and weak, said "Lift up your hearts"; at which, the King rose up, and put off his robes and upper garments, and was in a waistcoat so opened in divers places, that the Archbishop might commodiously anoint him, first in the palms of his hands, when an anthem was sung, and a prayer read; then, his breast and between the shoulders, bending of both arms; and, lastly, on the crown of the head, with apposite hymns and prayers at each anointing; this done, the Dean closed and buttoned up the waistcoat. After which, was a coif put on, and the cobbium, sindon or dalmatic, and over this a super-tunic of cloth of gold, with buskins and sandals of the same, spurs, and the sword; a prayer being first said over it by the Archbishop on the altar, before it was girt on by the Lord Chamberlain. Then, the armill, mantle, etc. Then, the Archbishop placed the crown imperial on the altar, prayed over it, and set it on his Majesty's head, at which all the Peers put on their coronets. Anthems, and rare music, with lutes, viols, trumpets, organs, and voices, were then heard, and the Archbishop put a ring on his Majesty's finger. The King next offered his sword on the altar, which being redeemed, was drawn, and borne before him. Then, the Archbishop delivered him the sceptre, with the dove in one hand, and, in the other, the sceptre with the globe. The King kneeling, the Archbishop pronounced the blessing. His Majesty then ascending again his royal throne, while _Te Deum_ was singing, all the Peers did their homage, by every one touching his crown. The Archbishop, and the rest of the Bishops, first kissing the King; who received the Holy Sacrament, and so disrobed, yet with the crown imperial on his head, and accompanied with all the nobility in the former order, he went on foot upon blue cloth, which was spread and reached from the west door of the Abbey to Westminster stairs, when he took water in a triumphal barge to Whitehall where was extraordinary feasting. 24th April, 1661. I presented his Majesty with his "Panegyric"[66] in the Privy Chamber, which he was pleased to accept most graciously; I gave copies to the Lord Chancellor, and most of the noblemen who came to me for it. I dined at the Marquis of Ormond's where was a magnificent feast, and many great persons. [Footnote 66: A poem which Evelyn had composed on his Majesty's Coronation; the 23d of April, 1661, being St. George's day.] 1st May, 1661. I went to Hyde Park to take the air, where was his Majesty and an innumerable appearance of gallants and rich coaches, being now a time of universal festivity and joy. 2d May, 1661. I had audience of my Lord Chancellor about my title to Sayes Court. 3d May, 1661. I went to see the wonderful engine for weaving silk stockings, said to have been the invention of an Oxford scholar forty years since; and I returned by Fromantil's, the famous clockmaker, to see some pendules, Monsieur Zulichem being with us. This evening, I was with my Lord Brouncker, Sir Robert Murray, Sir Patrick Neill, Monsieur Zulichem, and Bull (all of them of our Society, and excellent mathematicians), to show his Majesty, who was present, Saturn's annulus, as some thought, but as Zulichem affirmed with his _balteus_ (as that learned gentleman had published), very near eclipsed by the moon, near the Mons Porphyritis; also, Jupiter and satellites, through his Majesty's great telescope, drawing thirty-five feet; on which were divers discourses. 8th May, 1661. His Majesty rode in state, with his imperial crown on, and all the peers in their robes, in great pomp to the Parliament now newly chosen (the old one being dissolved); and, that evening, declared in council his intention to marry the Infanta of Portugal. 9th May, 1661. At Sir Robert Murray's, where I met Dr. Wallis, Professor of Geometry in Oxford, where was discourse of several mathematical subjects. 11th May, 1661. My wife presented to his Majesty the Madonna she had copied in miniature from P. Oliver's painting, after Raphael, which she wrought with extraordinary pains and judgment. The King was infinitely pleased with it, and caused it to be placed in his cabinet among his best paintings. 13th May, 1661. I heard and saw such exercises at the election of scholars at Westminster School to be sent to the University in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic, in themes and extemporary verses, as wonderfully astonished me in such youths, with such readiness and wit, some of them not above twelve or thirteen years of age. Pity it is, that what they attain here so ripely, they either do not retain, or do not improve more considerably when they come to be men, though many of them do; and no less is to be blamed their odd pronouncing of Latin, so that out of England none were able to understand, or endure it. The examinants, or posers, were, Dr. Duport, Greek Professor at Cambridge; Dr. Fell, Dean of Christ Church, Oxford; Dr. Pierson; Dr. Allestree, Dean of Westminster, and any that would. 14th May, 1661. His Majesty was pleased to discourse with me concerning several particulars relating to our Society, and the planet Saturn, etc., as he sat at supper in the withdrawing-room to his bedchamber. 16th May, 1661. I dined with Mr. Garmus, the Resident from Hamburg, who continued his feast near nine whole hours, according to the custom of his country, though there was no great excess of drinking, no man being obliged to take more than he liked. 22d May, 1661. The Scotch Covenant was burnt by the common hangman in divers places in London. Oh, prodigious change! 29th May, 1661. This was the first anniversary appointed by act of Parliament to be observed as a day of general thanksgiving for the miraculous restoration of his Majesty: our vicar preaching on Psalm cxviii. 24, requiring us to be thankful and rejoice, as indeed we had cause. 4th June, 1661. Came Sir Charles Harbord, his Majesty's surveyor, to take an account of what grounds I challenged at Sayes Court. 27th June, 1661. I saw the Portugal ambassador at dinner with his Majesty in state, where was excellent music. 2d July, 1661. I went to see the New Spring-Garden, at Lambeth, a prettily contrived plantation. [Sidenote: DEPTFORD] 19th July, 1661. We tried our Diving-Bell, or engine, in the water dock at Deptford, in which our curator continued half an hour under water; it was made of cast lead, let down with a strong cable. 3d August, 1661. Came my Lord Hatton, Comptroller of his Majesty's household to visit me. 9th August, 1661. I tried several experiments on the sensitive plant and _humilis_, which contracted with the least touch of the sun through a burning glass, though it rises and opens only when it shines on it. I first saw the famous Queen Pine brought from Barbadoes, and presented to his Majesty; but the first that were ever seen in England were those sent to Cromwell four years since. I dined at Mr. Palmer's in Gray's Inn, whose curiosity excelled in clocks and pendules, especially one that had innumerable motions, and played nine or ten tunes on the bells very finely, some of them set in parts: which was very harmonious. It was wound up but once in a quarter. He had also good telescopes and mathematical instruments, choice pictures, and other curiosities. Thence, we went to that famous mountebank, Jo. Punteus. Sir Kenelm Digby presented every one of us his "Discourse of the Vegetation of Plants"; and Mr. Henshaw, his "History of Saltpeter and Gunpowder." I assisted him to procure his place of French Secretary to the King, which he purchased of Sir Henry De Vic. I went to that famous physician, Sir Fr. Prujean, who showed me his laboratory, his workhouse for turning, and other mechanics; also many excellent pictures, especially the Magdalen of Caracci; and some incomparable _paysages_ done in distemper; he played to me likewise on the _polythore_, an instrument having something of the harp, lute, and theorbo; by none known in England, nor described by any author, nor used, but by this skillful and learned Doctor. 15th August, 1661. I went to Tunbridge-Wells, my wife being there for the benefit of her health. Walking about the solitudes, I greatly admired the extravagant turnings, insinuations, and growth of certain birch trees among the rocks. [Sidenote: LONDON] 13th September, 1661. I presented my "_Fumifugium_"[67] dedicated to his Majesty, who was pleased that I should publish it by his special commands, being much gratified with it. [Footnote 67: This pamphlet having become scarce, was in 1772 reprinted in 4to, and is now incorporated in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings."] 18th September, 1661. This day was read our petition to his Majesty for his royal grant, authorizing our Society to meet as a corporation, with several privileges. An exceedingly sickly, wet autumn. 1st October, 1661. I sailed this morning with his Majesty in one of his yachts (or pleasure boats), vessels not known among us till the Dutch East India Company presented that curious piece to the King; being very excellent sailing vessels. It was on a wager between his other new pleasure boat, built frigate-like, and one of the Duke of York's; the wager £100; the race from Greenwich to Gravesend and back. The King lost it going, the wind being contrary, but saved stakes in returning. There were divers noble persons and lords on board, his Majesty sometimes steering himself. His barge and kitchen boat attended. I brake fast this morning with the King at return in his smaller vessel, he being pleased to take me and only four more, who were noblemen, with him; but dined in his yacht, where we all ate together with his Majesty. In this passage he was pleased to discourse to me about my book inveighing against the nuisance of the smoke of London, and proposing expedients how, by removing those particulars I mentioned, it might be reformed; commanding me to prepare a Bill against the next session of Parliament, being, as he said, resolved to have something done in it. Then he discoursed to me of the improvement of gardens and buildings, now very rare in England comparatively to other countries. He then commanded me to draw up the matter of fact happening at the bloody encounter which then had newly happened between the French and Spanish Ambassadors near the Tower, contending for precedency, at the reception of the Swedish Ambassador; giving me orders to consult Sir William Compton, Master of the Ordnance, to inform me of what he knew of it, and with his favorite, Sir Charles Berkeley, captain of the Duke's life guard, then present with his troop and three foot companies; with some other reflections and instructions, to be prepared with a declaration to take off the reports which went about of his Majesty's partiality in the affairs, and of his officers' and spectators' rudeness while the conflict lasted. So I came home that night, and went next morning to London, where from the officers of the Tower, Sir William Compton, Sir Charles Berkeley, and others who were attending at this meeting of the Ambassadors three days before, having collected what I could, I drew up a Narrative in vindication of his Majesty, and the carriage of his officers and standers-by. On Thursday his Majesty sent one of the pages of the back stairs for me to wait on him with my papers, in his cabinet where was present only Sir Henry Bennett (Privy-Purse), when beginning to read to his Majesty what I had drawn up, by the time I had read half a page, came in Mr. Secretary Morice with a large paper, desiring to speak with his Majesty, who told him he was now very busy, and therefore ordered him to come again some other time; the Secretary replied that what he had in his hand was of extraordinary importance. So the King rose up, and, commanding me to stay, went aside to a corner of the room with the Secretary; after a while, the Secretary being dispatched, his Majesty returning to me at the table, a letter was brought him from Madame out of France;[68] this he read and then bid me proceed from where I left off. This I did till I had ended all the narrative, to his Majesty's great satisfaction; and, after I had inserted one or two more clauses, in which his Majesty instructed me, commanded that it should that night be sent to the posthouse, directed to the Lord Ambassador at Paris (the Earl of St. Alban's), and then at leisure to prepare him a copy, which he would publish. This I did, and immediately sent my papers to the Secretary of State, with his Majesty's express command of dispatching them that night for France. Before I went out of the King's closet, he called me back to show me some ivory statues, and other curiosities that I had not seen before. [Footnote 68: Henrietta Maria.] 3d October, 1661. Next evening, being in the withdrawing-room adjoining the bedchamber, his Majesty espying me came to me from a great crowd of noblemen standing near the fire, and asked me if I had done; and told me he feared it might be a little too sharp, on second thoughts, for he had that morning spoken with the French Ambassador, who it seems had palliated the matter, and was very tame; and therefore directed me where I should soften a period or two, before it was published (as afterward it was). This night also he spoke to me to give him a sight of what was sent, and to bring it to him in his bedchamber; which I did, and received it again from him at dinner, next day. By Saturday, having finished it with all his Majesty's notes, the King being gone abroad, I sent the papers to Sir Henry Bennett (Privy-Purse and a great favorite), and slipped home, being myself much indisposed and harassed with going about, and sitting up to write. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th October, 1661. I went to London to visit my Lord of Bristol, having been with Sir John Denham (his Majesty's surveyor) to consult with him about the placing of his palace at Greenwich, which I would have had built between the river and the Queen's house, so as a large square cut should have let in the Thames like a bay; but Sir John was for setting it on piles at the very brink of the water, which I did not assent to; and so came away, knowing Sir John to be a better poet than architect, though he had Mr. Webb (Inigo Jones's man) to assist him. 29th October, 1661. I saw the Lord Mayor pass in his water triumph to Westminster, being the first solemnity of this nature after twenty years. 2d November, 1661. Came Sir Henry Bennett, since Lord Arlington, to visit me, and to acquaint me that his Majesty would do me the honor to come and see my garden; but, it being then late, it was deferred. 3d November, 1661. One Mr. Breton preached his probation sermon at our parish church, and indeed made a most excellent discourse on John i. 29, of God's free grace to penitents, so that I could not but recommend him to the patron. 10th November, 1661. In the afternoon, preached at the Abbey Dr. Basire, that great traveler, or rather French Apostle, who had been planting the Church of England in divers parts of the Levant and Asia. He showed that the Church of England was, for purity of doctrine, substance, decency, and beauty, the most perfect under Heaven; that England was the very land of Goshen. 11th November, 1661. I was so idle as to go to see a play called "Love and Honor." Dined at Arundel House; and that evening discoursed with his Majesty about shipping, in which he was exceedingly skillful. 15th November, 1661. I dined with the Duke of Ormond, who told me there were no moles in Ireland, nor any rats till of late, and that in but one county; but it was a mistake that spiders would not live there, only they were not poisonous. Also, that they frequently took salmon with dogs. 16th November, 1661. I presented my translation of "Naudæus concerning Libraries" to my Lord Chancellor; but it was miserably false printed. 17th November, 1661. Dr. Creighton, a Scot, author of the "Florentine Council," and a most eloquent man and admirable Grecian, preached on Cant. vi. 13, celebrating the return and restoration of the Church and King. 20th November, 1661. At the Royal Society, Sir William Petty proposed divers things for the improvement of shipping; a versatile keel that should be on hinges and concerning sheathing ships with thin lead. 24th November, 1661. This night his Majesty fell into discourse with me concerning bees, etc. 26th November, 1661. I saw "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark" played; but now the old plays began to disgust this refined age, since his Majesty's being so long abroad. 28th November, 1661. I dined at Chiffinch's house-warming, in St. James's Park; he was his Majesty's closet-keeper, and had his new house full of good pictures, etc. There dined with us Russell, Popish Bishop of Cape Verd, who was sent out to negotiate his Majesty's match with the Infanta of Portugal, after the Ambassador was returned. 29th November, 1661. I dined at the Countess of Peterborough's and went that evening to Parson's Green with my Lord Mordaunt, with whom I stayed that night. 1st December, 1661. I took leave of my Lord Peterborough, going now to Tangier, which was to be delivered to the English on the match with Portugal. 3d December, 1661. By universal suffrage of our philosophic assembly, an order was made and registered that I should receive their public thanks for the honorable mention I made of them by the name of Royal Society, in my Epistle dedicatory to the Lord Chancellor, before my Traduction of Naudæus. Too great an honor for a trifle. 4th December, 1661. I had much discourse with the Duke of York, concerning strange cures he affirmed of a woman who swallowed a whole ear of barley, which worked out at her side. I told him of the KNIFE SWALLOWED[69] and the pins. [Footnote 69: This refers to the Dutchman, _ante_, 28th August, 1641; and to an extraordinary case contained in a "Miraculous Cure of the Prussian Swallow Knife, etc., by Dan Lakin, P. C." quarto, London, 1642, with a woodcut representing the object of the cure and the size of the knife.] I took leave of the Bishop of Cape Verd, now going in the fleet to bring over our new Queen. 7th December, 1661. I dined at Arundel House, the day when the great contest in Parliament was concerning the restoring the Duke of Norfolk; however, it was carried for him. I also presented my little trifle of Sumptuary Laws, entitled "Tyrannus" [or "The Mode"]. 14th December, 1661. I saw otter hunting with the King, and killed one. 16th December, 1661. I saw a French comedy acted at Whitehall. 20th December, 1661. The Bishop of Gloucester preached at the Abbey at the funeral of the Bishop of Hereford, brother to the Duke of Albemarle. It was a decent solemnity. There was a silver miter, with episcopal robes, borne by the herald before the hearse, which was followed by the Duke his brother, and all the bishops, with divers noblemen. 23d December, 1661. I heard an Italian play and sing to the guitar with extraordinary skill before the Duke. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st January, 1661-62. I went to London, invited to the solemn foolery of the Prince de la Grange, at Lincoln's-Inn, where came the King, Duke, etc. It began with a grand masque, and a formal pleading before the mock Princes, Grandees, Nobles, and Knights of the Sun. He had his Lord Chancellor, Chamberlain, Treasurer, and other Royal Officers, gloriously clad and attended. It ended in a magnificent banquet. One Mr. Lort was the young spark who maintained the pageantry. 6th January, 1662. This evening, according to custom, his Majesty opened the revels of that night by throwing the dice himself in the privy chamber, where was a table set on purpose, and lost his £100. (The year before he won £1,500.) The ladies also played very deep. I came away when the Duke of Ormond had won about £1,000, and left them still at passage, cards, etc. At other tables, both there and at the groom-porter's, observing the wicked folly and monstrous excess of passion among some losers; sorry am I that such a wretched custom as play to that excess should be countenanced in a Court, which ought to be an example of virtue to the rest of the kingdom. 9th January, 1662. I saw acted "The Third Part of the Siege of Rhodes." In this acted the fair and famous comedian called Roxalana from the part she performed; and I think it was the last, she being taken to be the Earl of Oxford's MISS (as at this time they began to call lewd women). It was in recitative music. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th January, 1662. Being called into his Majesty's closet when Mr. Cooper, the rare limner, was crayoning of the King's face and head, to make the stamps for the new milled money now contriving, I had the honor to hold the candle while it was doing, he choosing the night and candlelight for the better finding out the shadows. During this, his Majesty discoursed with me on several things relating to painting and graving. 11th January, 1662. I dined at Arundel House, where I heard excellent music performed by the ablest masters, both French and English, on theorbos, viols, organs, and voices, as an exercise against the coming of the Queen, purposely composed for her chapel. Afterward, my Lord Aubigny (her Majesty's Almoner to be) showed us his elegant lodging, and his wheel-chair for ease and motion, with divers other curiosities; especially a kind of artificial glass, or porcelain, adorned with relievos of paste, hard and beautiful. Lord Aubigny (brother to the Duke of Lennox) was a person of good sense, but wholly abandoned to ease and effeminacy. I received of Sir Peter Ball, the Queen's attorney, a draft of an Act against the nuisance of the smoke of London, to be reformed by removing several trades which are the cause of it, and endanger the health of the King and his people. It was to have been offered to the Parliament, as his Majesty commanded. 12th January, 1662. At St. James's chapel preached, or rather harangued, the famous orator, Monsieur Morus, in French. There were present the King, Duke, French Ambassador, Lord Aubigny, Earl of Bristol, and a world of Roman Catholics, drawn thither to hear this eloquent Protestant. 15th January, 1662. There was a general fast through the whole nation, and now celebrated in London, to avert God's heavy judgments on this land. Great rain had fallen without any frost, or seasonable cold, not only in England, but in Sweden, and the most northern parts, being here near as warm as at midsummer in some years. This solemn fast was held for the House of Commons at St. Margaret's. Dr. Reeves, Dean of Windsor, preached on Joshua vii. 12, showing how the neglect of exacting justice on offenders (by which he insinuated such of the old King's murderers as were yet reprieved and in the Tower) was a main cause of God's punishing a land. He brought in that of the Gibeonites, as well as Achan and others, concluding with an eulogy of the Parliament for their loyalty in restoring the Bishops and Clergy, and vindicating the Church from sacrilege. 16th January, 1662. Having notice of the Duke of York's intention to visit my poor habitation and garden this day, I returned, when he was pleased to do me that honor of his own accord, and to stay some time viewing such things as I had to entertain his curiosity. Afterward he caused me to dine with him at the Treasurer of the Navy's house, and to sit with him covered at the same table. There were his Highness, the Duke of Ormond, and several Lords. Then they viewed some of my grounds about a project for a receptacle for ships to be moored in, which was laid aside as a fancy of Sir Nicholas Crisp. After this, I accompanied the Duke to an East India vessel that lay at Blackwall, where we had entertainment of several curiosities. Among other spirituous drinks, as punch, etc., they gave us Canary that had been carried to and brought from the Indies, which was indeed incomparably good. I returned to London with his Highness. This night was acted before his Majesty "The Widow," a lewd play. 18th January, 1662. I came home to be private a little, not at all affecting the life and hurry of Court. 24th January, 1662. His Majesty entertained me with his intentions of building his Palace of Greenwich, and quite demolishing the old one; on which I declared my thoughts. 25th January, 1662. I dined with the Trinity Company at their house, that corporation being by charter fixed at Deptford. 3d February, 1662. I went to Chelsea, to see Sir Arthur Gorges' house. 11th February, 1662. I saw a comedy acted before the Duchess of York at the Cockpit. The King was not at it. 17th February, 1662. I went with my Lord of Bristol to see his house at Wimbledon, newly bought of the Queen-Mother, to help contrive the garden after the modern. It is a delicious place for prospect and the thickets, but the soil cold and weeping clay. Returned that evening with Sir Henry Bennett. This night was buried in Westminster Abbey the Queen of Bohemia, after all her sorrows and afflictions being come to die in the arms of her nephew, the King; also this night and the next day fell such a storm of hail, thunder, and lightning, as never was seen the like in any man's memory, especially the tempest of wind, being southwest, which subverted, besides huge trees, many houses, innumerable chimneys (among others that of my parlor at Sayes Court), and made such havoc at land and sea, that several perished on both. Divers lamentable fires were also kindled at this time; so exceedingly was God's hand against this ungrateful and vicious nation and Court. 20th February, 1662. I returned home to repair my house, miserably shattered by the late tempest. 24th March, 1662. I returned home with my whole family, which had been most part of the winter, since October, at London, in lodgings near the Abbey of Westminster. 6th April, 1662. Being of the Vestry, in the afternoon we ordered that the communion-table should be set (as usual) altar-wise, with a decent rail in front, as before the Rebellion. 17th April, 1662. The young Marquis of Argyle, whose turbulent father was executed in Scotland, came to see my garden. He seemed a man of parts. 7th May, 1662. I waited on Prince Rupert to our Assembly where were tried several experiments in Mr. Boyle's VACUUM. A man thrusting in his arm, upon exhaustion of the air, had his flesh immediately swelled so as the blood was near bursting the veins: he drawing it out, we found it all speckled. 14th May, 1662. To London, being chosen one of the Commissioners for reforming the buildings, ways, streets, and incumbrances, and regulating the hackney coaches in the city of London, taking my oath before my Lord Chancellor, and then went to his Majesty's Surveyor's office, in Scotland Yard, about naming and establishing officers, adjourning till the 16th, when I went to view how St. Martin's Lane might be made more passable into the Strand. There were divers gentlemen of quality in this commission. 25th May, 1662. I went this evening to London, in order to our journey to Hampton Court, to see the Queen; who, having landed at Portsmouth, had been married to the King a week before by the Bishop of London. 30th May, 1662. The Queen arrived with a train of Portuguese ladies in their monstrous fardingales, or guard-infantes, their complexions olivader[70] and sufficiently unagreeable. Her Majesty in the same habit, her foretop long and turned aside very strangely. She was yet of the handsomest countenance of all the rest, and, though low of stature, prettily shaped, languishing and excellent eyes, her teeth wronging her mouth by sticking a little too far out; for the rest, lovely enough. [Footnote 70: Of a dark olive complexion. It has been noticed in other accounts that Katharine of Braganza's Portuguese Ladies of Honor, who came over with her, were uncommonly ill-favored, and disagreeable in their appearance. See Faithorne's curious print of the Queen in the costume here described.] 31st May, 1662. I saw the Queen at dinner; the Judges came to compliment her arrival, and, after them, the Duke of Ormond brought me to kiss her hand. 2d June, 1662. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen made their addresses to the Queen, presenting her £1,000 in gold. Now saw I her Portuguese ladies, and the Guardadamas, or mother of her maids,[71] and the old knight, a lock of whose hair quite covered the rest of his bald pate, bound on by a thread, very oddly. I saw the rich gondola sent to his Majesty from the State of Venice; but it was not comparable for swiftness to our common wherries, though managed by Venetians. [Footnote 71: The Maids of Honor had a mother at least as early as the reign of Elizabeth. The office is supposed to have been abolished about the period of the Revolution of 1688.] 4th June, 1662. Went to visit the Earl of Bristol, at Wimbledon. 8th June, 1662. I saw her Majesty at supper privately in her bedchamber. 9th June, 1662. I heard the Queen's Portugal music, consisting of pipes, harps, and very ill voices. [Sidenote: HAMPTON COURT] Hampton Court is as noble and uniform a pile, and as capacious as any Gothic architecture can have made it. There is an incomparable furniture in it, especially hangings designed by Raphael, very rich with gold; also many rare pictures, especially the Cæsarean Triumphs of Andrea Mantegna, formerly the Duke of Mantua's; of the tapestries, I believe the world can show nothing nobler of the kind than the stories of Abraham and Tobit. The gallery of horns is very particular for the vast beams of stags, elks, antelopes, etc. The Queen's bed was an embroidery of silver on crimson velvet, and cost £8,000, being a present made by the States of Holland when his Majesty returned, and had formerly been given by them to our King's sister, the Princess of Orange, and, being bought of her again, was now presented to the King. The great looking-glass and toilet, of beaten and massive gold, was given by the Queen-Mother. The Queen brought over with her from Portugal such Indian cabinets as had never before been seen here. The great hall is a most magnificent room. The chapel roof excellently fretted and gilt. I was also curious to visit the wardrobe and tents, and other furniture of state. The park, formerly a flat and naked piece of ground, now planted with sweet rows of lime trees; and the canal for water now near perfected; also the air-park. In the garden is a rich and noble fountain, with Sirens, statues, etc., cast in copper, by Fanelli; but no plenty of water. The cradle-work of horn beam in the garden is, for the perplexed twining of the trees, very observable. There is a parterre which they call Paradise, in which is a pretty banqueting-house set over a cave, or cellar. All these gardens might be exceedingly improved, as being too narrow for such a palace. 10th June, 1662. I returned to London, and presented my "History of Chalcography" (dedicated to Mr. Boyle) to our Society.[72] [Footnote 72: See Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings."] 19 June, 1662. I went to Albury, to visit Mr. Henry Howard, soon after he had procured the Dukedom to be restored. This gentleman had now compounded a debt of £200,000, contracted by his grandfather. I was much obliged to that great virtuoso, and to this young gentleman, with whom I stayed a fortnight. 2d July, 1662. We hunted and killed a buck in the park, Mr. Howard inviting most of the gentlemen of the country near him. 3d July, 1662. My wife met me at Woodcot, whither Mr. Howard accompanied me to see my son John, who had been much brought up among Mr. Howard's children at Arundel House, till, for fear of their perverting him in the Catholic religion, I was forced to take him home. [Sidenote: LONDON] 8th July, 1662. To London, to take leave of the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, going then into Ireland with an extraordinary retinue. 13th July, 1662. Spent some time with the Lord Chancellor, where I had discourse with my Lord Willoughby, Governor of Barbadoes, concerning divers particulars of that colony. 28th July, 1662. His Majesty going to sea to meet the Queen-Mother, now coming again for England, met with such ill weather as greatly endangered him. I went to Greenwich, to wait on the Queen, now landed. 30th July, 1662. To London, where was a meeting about Charitable Uses, and particularly to inquire how the city had disposed of the revenues of Gresham College, and why the salaries of the professors there were no better improved. I was on this commission, with divers Bishops and Lords of the Council; but little was the progress we could make. 31st July, 1662. I sat with the Commissioners about reforming buildings and streets of London, and we ordered the paving of the way from St. James's North, which was a quagmire, and also of the Haymarket about Piqudillo [Piccadilly], and agreed upon instructions to be printed and published for the better keeping the streets clean. 1st August, 1662. Mr. H. Howard, his brothers Charles, Edward, Bernard, Philip,[73] now the Queen's Almoner (all brothers of the Duke of Norfolk, still in Italy), came with a great train, and dined with me; Mr. H. Howard leaving with me his eldest and youngest sons, Henry and Thomas, for three or four days, my son, John, having been sometime bred up in their father's house. [Footnote 73: Since Cardinal at Rome. "Evelyn's Note."] 4th August, 1662. Came to see me the old Countess of Devonshire, with that excellent and worthy person, my Lord her son, from Roehampton. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th August, 1662. To London, and next day to Hampton Court, about my purchase, and took leave of Sir R. Fanshawe, now going Ambassador to Portugal. 13th August, 1662. Our Charter being now passed under the broad Seal, constituting us a corporation under the name of the Royal Society for the improvement of natural knowledge by experiment, was this day read and was all that was done this afternoon, being very large. 14th August, 1662. I sat on the commission for Charitable Uses, the Lord Mayor and others of the Mercers' Company being summoned, to answer some complaints of the Professors, grounded on a clause in the will of Sir Thomas Gresham, the founder. This afternoon, the Queen-Mother, with the Earl of St. Alban's and many great ladies and persons, was pleased to honor my poor villa with her presence, and to accept of a collation. She was exceedingly pleased, and staid till very late in the evening. 15th August, 1662. Came my Lord Chancellor (the Earl of Clarendon) and his lady, his purse and mace borne before him, to visit me. They were likewise collationed with us, and were very merry. They had all been our old acquaintance in exile, and indeed this great person had ever been my friend. His son, Lord Cornbury, was here, too. 17th August, 1662. Being the Sunday when the Common Prayer Book, reformed and ordered to be used for the future, was appointed to be read, and the solemn League and Covenant to be abjured by all the incumbents of England under penalty of losing their livings; our vicar read it this morning. 20th August, 1662. There were strong guards in the city this day, apprehending some tumults, many of the Presbyterian ministers not conforming. I dined with the Vice-Chamberlain, and then went to see the Queen-Mother, who was pleased to give me many thanks for the entertainment she received at my house, when she recounted to me many observable stories of the sagacity of some dogs she formerly had. 21st August, 1662. I was admitted and then sworn one of the Council of the Royal Society, being nominated in his Majesty's original grant to be of this Council for the regulation of the Society, and making laws and statutes conducible to its establishment and progress, for which we now set apart every Wednesday morning till they were all finished. Lord Viscount Brouncker (that excellent mathematician) was also by his Majesty, our founder, nominated our first President. The King gave us the arms of England to be borne in a canton in our arms, and sent us a mace of silver gilt, of the same fashion and size as those carried before his Majesty, to be borne before our president on meeting days. It was brought by Sir Gilbert Talbot, master of his Majesty's jewel house. 22d August, 1662. I dined with my Lord Brouncker and Sir Robert Murray, and then went to consult about a newly modeled ship at Lambeth, the intention being to reduce that art to as certain a method as any other part of architecture. 23d August, 1662. I was spectator of the most magnificent triumph that ever floated on the Thames, considering the innumerable boats and vessels, dressed and adorned with all imaginable pomp, but, above all, the thrones, arches, pageants, and other representations, stately barges of the Lord Mayor and companies, with various inventions, music, and peals of ordnance both from the vessels and the shore, going to meet and conduct the new Queen from Hampton Court to Whitehall, at the first time of her coming to town. In my opinion, it far exceeded all the Venetian Bucentoras, etc., on the Ascension, when they go to espouse the Adriatic. His Majesty and the Queen came in an antique-shaped open vessel, covered with a state, or canopy, of cloth of gold, made in form of a cupola, supported with high Corinthian pillars, wreathed with flowers, festoons and garlands. I was in our newly built vessel, sailing among them. 29th August, 1662. The Council and Fellows of the Royal Society went in a body to Whitehall, to acknowledge his Majesty's royal grace in granting our Charter, and vouchsafing to be himself our founder; when the President made an eloquent speech, to which his Majesty gave a gracious reply and we all kissed his hand. Next day we went in like manner with our address to my Lord Chancellor, who had much promoted our patent: he received us with extraordinary favor. In the evening I went to the Queen-Mother's Court, and had much discourse with her. 1st September, 1662. Being invited by Lord Berkeley, I went to Durdans, where dined his Majesty, the Queen, Duke, Duchess, Prince Rupert, Prince Edward, and abundance of noblemen. I went, after dinner, to visit my brother of Woodcot, my sister having been delivered of a son a little before, but who had now been two days dead. 4th September, 1662. Commission for Charitable Uses, my Lord Mayor and Aldermen being again summoned, and the improvements of Sir Thomas Gresham's estate examined. There were present the Bishop of London, the Lord Chief Justice, and the King's attorney. 6th September, 1662. Dined with me Sir Edward Walker, Garter King-at-Arms, Mr. Slingsby, master of the Mint, and several others. 17th September, 1662. We now resolved that the Arms of the Society should be a field argent, with a canton of the arms of England; the supporters two talbots argent; crest, an eagle Or holding a shield with the like arms of England, viz, three lions. The words "_Nullius in verbâ_." It was presented to his Majesty for his approbation, and orders given to Garter King-at-Arms to pass the diploma of their office for it. 20th September, 1662. I presented a petition to his Majesty about my own concerns, and afterward accompanied him to Monsieur Febure his chemist (and who had formerly been my master in Paris), to see his accurate preparation for the composing Sir Walter Raleigh's rare cordial: he made a learned discourse before his Majesty in French on each ingredient. 27th September, 1662. Came to visit me Sir George Saville, grandson to the learned Sir Henry Saville, who published St. Chrysostom. Sir George was a witty gentleman, if not a little too prompt and daring. 3d October, 1662. I was invited to the College of Physicians, where Dr. Meret, a learned man and library-keeper, showed me the library, theater for anatomy, and divers natural curiosities; the statue and epigram under it of that renowned physician, Dr. Harvey, discoverer of the circulation of the blood. There I saw Dr. Gilbert, Sir William Paddy's and other pictures of men famous in their faculty. Visited Mr. Wright, a Scotchman, who had lived long at Rome, and was esteemed a good painter. The pictures of the Judges at Guildhall are of his hand, and so are some pieces in Whitehall, as the roof in his Majesty's old bedchamber, being Astræa, the St. Catherine, and a chimney-piece in the Queen's privy chamber; but his best, in my opinion, is Lacy, the famous Roscius or comedian, whom he has painted in three dresses, as a gallant, a Presbyterian minister, and a Scotch highlander in his plaid. It is in his Majesty's dining room at Windsor. He had at his house an excellent collection, especially that small piece of Correggio, Scotus of de la Marca, a design of Paulo; and, above all, those ruins of Polydore, with some good agates and medals, especially a Scipio, and a Cæsar's head of gold. 15th October, 1662. I this day delivered my "Discourse concerning Forest Trees" to the Society, upon occasion of certain queries sent to us by the Commissioners of his Majesty's Navy, being the first book that was printed by order of the Society, and by their printer, since it was a corporation. [Sidenote: LONDON] 16th October, 1662. I saw "_Volpone_" acted at Court before their Majesties. 21st October, 1662. To the Queen-Mother's Court, where her Majesty related to us divers passages of her escapes during the Rebellion and wars in England. 28th October, 1662. To Court in the evening where the Queen-Mother, the Queen-Consort, and his Majesty being advertised of some disturbance, forbore to go to the Lord Mayor's show and feast appointed next day, the new Queen not having yet seen that triumph. 29th October, 1662. Was my Lord Mayor's show, with a number of sumptuous pageants, speeches, and verses. I was standing in a house in Cheapside against the place prepared for their Majesties. The Prince and heir of Denmark was there, but not our King. There were also the maids of honor. I went to Court this evening, and had much discourse with Dr. Basiers, one of his Majesty's chaplains, the great traveler, who showed me the syngraphs and original subscriptions of divers eastern patriarchs and Asian churches to our confession. 4th November, 1662. I was invited to the wedding of the daughter of Sir George Carteret (The Treasurer of the Navy and King's Vice-Chamberlain), married to Sir Nicholas Slaning, Knight of the Bath, by the Bishop of London, in the Savoy chapel; after which was an extraordinary feast. 5th November, 1662. The Council of the Royal Society met to amend the Statutes, and dined together; afterward meeting at Gresham College, where was a discourse suggested by me, concerning planting his Majesty's Forest of Dean with oak, now so much exhausted of the choicest ship timber in the world. 20th November, 1662. Dined with the Comptroller, Sir Hugh Pollard; afterward saw "The Young Admiral" acted before the King. 21st November, 1662. Spent the evening at Court, Sir Kenelm Digby giving me great thanks for my "Sylva." [Sidenote: LONDON] 27th November, 1662. Went to London to see the entrance of the Russian Ambassador, whom his Majesty ordered to be received with much state, the Emperor not only having been kind to his Majesty in his distress, but banishing all commerce with our nation during the Rebellion. First, the city companies and trained bands were all in their stations: his Majesty's army and guards in great order. His Excellency came in a very rich coach, with some of his chief attendants; many of the rest on horseback, clad in their vests, after the Eastern manner, rich furs, caps, and carrying the presents, some carrying hawks, furs, teeth, bows, etc. It was a very magnificent show. I dined with the Master of the Mint, where was old Sir Ralph Freeman;[74] passing my evening at the Queen-Mother's Court; at night, saw acted "The Committee," a ridiculous play of Sir R. Howard, where the mimic, Lacy, acted the Irish footman to admiration. [Footnote 74: Of Betchworth, in Surrey.] 30th November, 1662. St. Andrew's day. Invited by the Dean of Westminster to his consecration dinner and ceremony, on his being made Bishop of Worcester. Dr. Bolton preached in the Abbey Church; then followed the consecration by the Bishops of London, Chichester, Winchester, Salisbury, etc. After this, was one of the most plentiful and magnificent dinners that in my life I ever saw; it cost near £600 as I was informed. Here were the judges, nobility, clergy, and gentlemen innumerable, this Bishop being universally beloved for his sweet and gentle disposition. He was author of those Characters which go under the name of Blount. He translated his late Majesty's "Icon" into Latin, was Clerk of his Closet, Chaplain, Dean of Westminster, and yet a most humble, meek, and cheerful man, an excellent scholar, and rare preacher. I had the honor to be loved by him. He married me at Paris, during his Majesty's and the Church's exile. When I took leave of him, he brought me to the cloisters in his episcopal habit. I then went to prayers at Whitehall, where I passed that evening. 1st December, 1662. Having seen the strange and wonderful dexterity of the sliders on the new canal in St. James's Park, performed before their Majesties by divers gentlemen and others with skates, after the manner of the Hollanders, with what swiftness they pass, how suddenly they stop in full career upon the ice; I went home by water, but not without exceeding difficulty, the Thames being frozen, great flakes of ice encompassing our boat. 17th December, 1662, I saw acted before the King "The Law against Lovers."[75] [Footnote 75: By Sir William Davenant, a hotch-potch out of "Measure for Measure" and "Much Ado about Nothing."] 21st December, 1662. One of his Majesty's chaplains preached; after which, instead of the ancient, grave, and solemn wind music accompanying the organ, was introduced a concert of twenty-four violins between every pause, after the French fantastical light way, better suiting a tavern, or playhouse, than a church. This was the first time of change, and now we no more heard the cornet which gave life to the organ; that instrument quite left off in which the English were so skillful. I dined at Mr. Povey's, where I talked with Cromer, a great musician. 23d December, 1662. I went with Sir George Tuke, to hear the comedians con and repeat his new comedy, "The Adventures of Five Hours," a play whose plot was taken out of the famous Spanish poet, Calderon. 27th December, 1662. I visited Sir Theophilus Biddulph. 29th December, 1662. Saw the audience of the Muscovy Ambassador, which was with extraordinary state, his retinue being numerous, all clad in vests of several colors, with buskins, after the Eastern manner! their caps of fur; tunics, richly embroidered with gold and pearls, made a glorious show. The King being seated under a canopy in the Banqueting House, the Secretary of the Embassy went before the Ambassador in a grave march, holding up his master's letters of credence in a crimson taffeta scarf before his forehead. The Ambassador then delivered it with a profound reverence to the King, who gave it to our Secretary of State: it was written in a long and lofty style. Then came in the presents, borne by 165 of his retinue, consisting of mantles and other large pieces lined with sable, black fox, and ermine; Persian carpets, the ground cloth of gold and velvet; hawks, such as they said never came the like; horses said to be Persian; bows and arrows, etc. These borne by so long a train rendered it very extraordinary. Wind music played all the while in the galleries above. This finished, the Ambassador was conveyed by the master of the ceremonies to York House, where he was treated with a banquet, which cost £200, as I was assured. 7th January, 1663. At night I saw the ball, in which his Majesty danced with several great ladies. 8th January, 1663. I went to see my kinsman, Sir George Tuke's, comedy acted at the Duke's theater, which took so universally, that it was acted for some weeks every day, and it was believed it would be worth to the comedians £400 or £500. The plot was incomparable; but the language stiff and formal. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th January, 1663. I saw a ball again at Court, danced by the King, the Duke, and ladies, in great pomp. 21st January, 1663. Dined at Mr. Treasurer's, of the Household, Sir Charles Berkeley's, where were the Earl of Oxford, Lord Bellassis, Lord Gerard, Sir Andrew Scrope, Sir William Coventry, Dr. Fraser, Mr. Windham, and others. 5th February, 1663. I saw "The Wild Gallant," a comedy;[76] and was at the great ball at Court, where his Majesty, the Queen, etc., danced. [Footnote 76: By Dryden. It was unsuccessful on the first representation, but was subsequently altered to the form in which it now appears.] 6th February, 1663. Dined at my Lord Mayor's, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower. 15th February, 1663. This night some villains broke into my house and study below, and robbed me to the value of £60 in plate, money and goods:--this being the third time I have been thus plundered. 26th March, 1663. I sat at the Commission of Sewers, where was a great case pleaded by his Majesty's counsel; he having built a wall over a water course, denied the jurisdiction of the Court. The verdict went for the plaintiff.[77] [Footnote 77: That is against the King.] 30th April, 1663. Came his Majesty to honor my poor villa with his presence, viewing the gardens, and even every room of the house, and was pleased to take a small refreshment. There were with him the Duke of Richmond, Earl of St. Alban's, Lord Lauderdale, and several persons of quality. 14th May, 1663. Dined with my Lord Mordaunt, and thence went to Barnes, to visit my excellent and ingenious friend, Abraham Cowley. 17th May, 1663. I saluted the old Bishop of Durham, Dr. Cosin, to whom I had been kind, and assisted in his exile; but which he little remembered in his greatness. 29th May, 1663. Dr. Creighton preached his extravagant sermon at St. Margaret's, before the House of Commons. 30th May, 1663. This morning was passed my lease of Sayes Court from the Crown, for the finishing of which I had been obliged to make such frequent journeys to London. I returned this evening, having seen the Russian Ambassador take leave of their Majesties with great solemnity. 2d July, 1663. I saw the great Masque at Court, and lay that night at Arundel House. 4th July, 1663. I saw his Majesty's Guards, being of horse and foot 4,000, led by the General, the Duke of Albemarle, in extraordinary equipage and gallantry, consisting of gentlemen of quality and veteran soldiers, excellently clad, mounted, and ordered, drawn up in battalia before their Majesties in Hyde Park, where the old Earl of Cleveland trailed a pike, and led the right-hand file in a foot company, commanded by the Lord Wentworth, his son; a worthy spectacle and example, being both of them old and valiant soldiers. This was to show the French Ambassador, Monsieur Comminges; there being a great assembly of coaches, etc., in the park. 7th July, 1663. Dined at the Comptroller's; after dinner we met at the Commission about the streets, and to regulate hackney coaches, also to make up our accounts to pass the Exchequer. 16th July, 1663. A most extraordinary wet and cold season. Sir George Carteret, Treasurer of the Navy, had now married his daughter, Caroline, to Sir Thomas Scott, of Scott's Hall, in Kent. This gentleman was thought to be the son of Prince Rupert. 2d August, 1663. This evening I accompanied Mr. Treasurer and Vice-Chamberlain Carteret to his lately married son-in-law's, Sir Thomas Scott, to Scott's Hall. We took barge as far as Gravesend, and thence by post to Rochester, whence in coach and six horses to Scott's Hall; a right noble seat, uniformly built, with a handsome gallery. It stands in a park well stored, the land fat and good. We were exceedingly feasted by the young knight, and in his pretty chapel heard an excellent sermon by his chaplain. In the afternoon, preached the learned Sir Norton Knatchbull (who has a noble seat hard by, and a plantation of stately fir trees). In the churchyard of the parish church I measured an overgrown yew tree, that was eighteen of my paces in compass, out of some branches of which, torn off by the winds, were sawed divers goodly planks. 10th August, 1663. We returned by Sir Norton's, whose house is likewise in a park. This gentleman is a worthy person, and learned critic, especially in Greek and Hebrew. Passing by Chatham, we saw his Majesty's Royal Navy, and dined at Commissioner Pett's,[78] master-builder there, who showed me his study and models, with other curiosities belonging to his art. He is esteemed for the most skillful shipbuilder in the world. He hath a pretty garden and banqueting house, pots, statues, cypresses, resembling some villas about Rome. After a great feast we rode post to Gravesend, and, sending the coach to London, came by barge home that night. [Footnote 78: A monument to him in Deptford Church bears a most pompous inscription: "_Qui fuit patriæ decus, patriæ suæ magnum munimentum_;" to the effect that he had not only restored our naval affairs, but he invented that excellent and new ornament of the Navy which we call Frigate, formidable to our enemies, to us most useful and safe: he was to be esteemed, indeed, by this invention, the Noah of his age, which, like another Ark, had snatched from shipwreck our rights and our dominion of the seas.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th August, 1663. To London, to see my Lord Chancellor, where I had discourse with my Lord Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Winchester, who enjoined me to write to Dr. Pierce, President of Magdalen College, Oxford, about a letter sent him by Dr. Goffe, a Romish Oratorian, concerning an answer to Dean Cressy's late book. 20th August, 1663. I dined at the Comptroller's [of the Household] with the Earl of Oxford and Mr. Ashburnham; it was said it should be the last of the public diets, or tables, at Court, it being determined to put down the old hospitality, at which was great murmuring, considering his Majesty's vast revenue and the plenty of the nation. Hence, I went to sit in a Committee, to consider about the regulation of the Mint at the Tower; in which some small progress was made. 27th August, 1663. Dined at Sir Philip Warwick's, Secretary to my Lord Treasurer, who showed me the accounts and other private matters relating to the revenue. Thence, to the Commissioners of the Mint, particularly about coinage, and bringing his Majesty's rate from fifteen to ten shillings for every pound weight of gold. 31st August, 1663. I was invited to the translation of Dr. Sheldon, Bishop of London, from that see to Canterbury, the ceremony performed at Lambeth. First, went his Grace's mace bearer, steward, treasurer, comptroller, all in their gowns, and with white staves; next, the bishops in their habits, eight in number; Dr. Sweate, Dean of the Arches, Dr. Exton, Judge of the Admiralty, Sir William Merick, Judge of the Prerogative Court, with divers advocates in scarlet. After divine service in the chapel, performed with music extraordinary, Dr. French and Dr. Stradling (his Grace's chaplains) said prayers. The Archbishop in a private room looking into the chapel, the bishops, who were commissioners, went up to a table placed before the altar, and sat round it in chairs. Then Dr. Chaworth presented the commission under the broad seal to the Bishop of Winchester, and it was read by Dr. Sweate. After which, the Vicar-General went to the vestry, and brought his Grace into the chapel, his other officers marching before. He being presented to the Commissioners, was seated in a great armchair at one end of the table, when the definitive sentence was read by the Bishop of Winchester, and subscribed by all the bishops, and proclamation was three times made at the chapel door, which was then set open for any to enter, and give their exceptions; if any they had. This done, we all went to dinner in the great hall to a mighty feast. There were present all the nobility in town, the Lord Mayor of London, Sheriffs, Duke of Albemarle, etc. My Lord Archbishop did in particular most civilly welcome me. So going to visit my Lady Needham, who lived at Lambeth, I went over to London. 10th September, 1663. I dined with Mr. Treasurer of the Navy, where, sitting by Mr. Secretary Morice, we had much discourse about books and authors, he being a learned man, and had a good collection. 24th October, 1663. Mr. Edward Phillips came to be my son's preceptor: this gentleman was nephew to Milton, who wrote against Salmasius's "_Defensio_"; but was not at all infected with his principles, though brought up by him. 5th November, 1663. Dr. South, my Lord Chancellor's chaplain, preached at Westminster Abbey an excellent discourse concerning obedience to magistrates, against the pontificians and sectaries. I afterward dined at Sir Philip Warwick's, where was much company. 6th November, 1663. To Court, to get Sir John Evelyn, of Godstone, off from being Sheriff of Surrey. 30th November, 1663. Was the first anniversary of our Society for the choice of new officers, according to the tenor of our patent and institution. It being St. Andrew's day, who was our patron, each fellow wore a St. Andrew's cross of ribbon on the crown of his hat. After the election we dined together, his Majesty sending us venison. 16th December, 1663. To our Society, where Mr. P. Balle, our treasurer at the late election, presented the Society with an iron chest, having three locks, and in it £100 as a gift. 18th December, 1663. Dined with the gentlemen of his Majesty's bedchamber at Whitehall. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d January, 1663-64. To Barn Elms, to see Abraham Cowley after his sickness; and returned that evening to London. 4th February, 1664. Dined at Sir Philip Warwick's; thence, to Court, where I had discourse with the King about an invention of glass-grenades, and several other subjects. 5th February, 1664. I saw "The Indian Queen" acted, a tragedy well written,[79] so beautiful with rich scenes as the like had never been seen here, or haply (except rarely) elsewhere on a mercenary theater. [Footnote 79: By Sir Robert Howard and Dryden.] 16th February, 1664. I presented my "Sylva" to the Society; and next day to his Majesty, to whom it was dedicated; also to the Lord Treasurer and the Lord Chancellor. 24th February, 1664. My Lord George Berkeley, of Durdans, and Sir Samuel Tuke came to visit me. We went on board Sir William Petty's double-bottomed vessel, and so to London. 26th February, 1664. Dined with my Lord Chancellor; and thence to Court, where I had great thanks for my "Sylva," and long discourse with the King of divers particulars. 2d March, 1664. Went to London to distribute some of my books among friends. 4th March, 1664. Came to dine with me the Earl of Lauderdale, his Majesty's great favorite, and Secretary of Scotland; the Earl of Teviot; my Lord Viscount Brouncker, President of the Royal Society; Dr. Wilkins, Dean of Ripon; Sir Robert Murray, and Mr. Hooke, Curator to the Society. This spring I planted the Home field and West field about Sayes Court with elms, being the same year that the elms were planted by his Majesty in Greenwich Park. 9th March, 1664. I went to the Tower, to sit in commission about regulating the Mint; and now it was that the fine new-milled coin, both of white money and guineas, was established. 26th March, 1664. It pleased God to take away my son, Richard, now a month old, yet without any sickness of danger perceivably, being to all appearance a most likely child; we suspected much the nurse had overlain him; to our extreme sorrow, being now again reduced to one: but God's will be done. 29th March, 1664. After evening prayers, was my child buried near the rest of his brothers--my very dear children. 27th April, 1664. Saw a facetious comedy, called "Love in a Tub"; and supped at Mr. Secretary Bennett's. 3d May, 1664. Came the Earl of Kent, my kinsman, and his Lady, to visit us. 5th May, 1664. Went with some company a journey of pleasure on the water, in a barge, with music, and at Mortlake had a great banquet, returning late. The occasion was, Sir Robert Carr now courting Mrs. Bennett, sister to the Secretary of State. 6th May, 1664. Went to see Mr. Wright the painter's collection of rare shells, etc. 8th June, 1664. To our Society, to which his Majesty had sent that wonderful horn of the fish which struck a dangerous hole in the keel of a ship in the India sea, which, being broken off with the violence of the fish, and left in the timber, preserved it from foundering. 9th June, 1664. Sir Samuel Tuke[80] being this morning married to a lady, kinswoman to my Lord Arundel of Wardour, by the Queen's Lord Almoner, L. Aubigny in St. James's chapel, solemnized his wedding night at my house with much company. [Footnote 80: A Roman Catholic.] 22d June, 1664. One Tomson, a Jesuit, showed me such a collection of rarities, sent from the Jesuits of Japan and China to their Order at Paris, as a present to be reserved in their repository, but brought to London by the East India ships for them, as in my life I had not seen. The chief things were, rhinoceros's horns; glorious vests, wrought and embroidered on cloth of gold, but with such lively colors, that for splendor and vividness we have nothing in Europe that approaches it; a girdle studded with agates and rubies of great value and size; knives, of so keen an edge as one could not touch them, nor was the metal of our color, but more pale and livid; fans, like those our ladies use, but much larger, and with long handles curiously carved and filled with Chinese characters; a sort of paper very broad, thin, and fine, like abortive parchment, and exquisitely polished, of an amber yellow, exceedingly glorious and pretty to look on, and seeming to be like that which my Lord Verulam describes in his "_Nova Atlantis_"; several other sorts of paper, some written, others printed; prints of landscapes, their idols, saints, pagods, of most ugly serpentine monstrous and hideous shapes, to which they paid devotion; pictures of men and countries, rarely painted on a sort of gummed calico, transparent as glass; flowers, trees, beasts, birds, etc., excellently wrought in a kind of sleeve silk, very natural; divers drugs that our druggists and physicians could make nothing of, especially one which the Jesuit called _Lac Tigridis_: it looked like a fungus, but was weighty like metal, yet was a concretion, or coagulation, of some other matter; several book MSS.; a grammar of the language written in Spanish; with innumerable other rarities. 1st July, 1664. Went to see Mr. Povey's elegant house in Lincoln's-Inn Fields, where the perspective in his court, painted by Streeter, is indeed excellent, with the vases in imitation of porphyry, and fountains; the inlaying of his closet; above all, his pretty cellar and ranging of his wine bottles. 7th July, 1664. To Court, where I subscribed to Sir Arthur Slingsby's lottery, a desperate debt owing me long since in Paris. 14th July, 1664. I went to take leave of the two Mr. Howards, now going to Paris, and brought them as far as Bromley; thence to Eltham, to see Sir John Shaw's new house, now building; the place is pleasant, if not too wet, but the house not well contrived; especially the roof and rooms too low pitched, and the kitchen where the cellars should be; the orangery and aviary handsome, and a very large plantation about it. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th July, 1664. To London, to see the event of the lottery which his Majesty had permitted Sir Arthur Slingsby to set up for one day in the Banqueting House, at Whitehall; I gaining only a trifle, as well as did the King, Queen-Consort, and Queen-Mother, for near thirty lots; which was thought to be contrived very unhandsomely by the master of it, who was, in truth, a mere shark. 21st July, 1664. I dined with my Lord Treasurer at Southampton House, where his Lordship used me with singular humanity. I went in the afternoon to Chelsea, to wait on the Duke of Ormond, and returned to London. 28th July, 1664. Came to see me Monsieur Zuylichen, Secretary to the Prince of Orange, an excellent Latin poet, a rare lutinist, with Monsieur Oudart. 3d August, 1664. To London; a concert of excellent musicians, especially one Mr. Berkenshaw, that rare artist, who invented a mathematical way of composure very extraordinary, true as to the exact rules of art, but without much harmony. 8th August, 1664. Came the sad and unexpected news of the death of Lady Cotton, wife to my brother George, a most excellent lady. 9th August, 1664. Went with my brother Richard to Wotton, to visit and comfort my disconsolate brother; and on the 13th saw my friend, Mr. Charles Howard, at Dipden, near Dorking. 16th August, 1664. I went to see Sir William Ducie's house at Charlton; which he purchased of my excellent friend, Sir Henry Newton, now nobly furnished. 22d August, 1664. I went from London to Wotton, to assist at the funeral of my sister-in-law, the Lady Cotton, buried in our dormitory there, she being put up in lead. Dr. Owen made a profitable and pathetic discourse, concluding with an eulogy of that virtuous, pious, and deserving lady. It was a very solemn funeral, with about fifty mourners. I came back next day with my wife to London. 2d September, 1664. Came Constantine Huygens, Signor de Zuylichen, Sir Robert Morris, Mr. Oudart, Mr. Carew, and other friends, to spend the day with us. 5th October, 1664. To our Society. There was brought a newly-invented instrument of music, being a harpsichord with gut-strings, sounding like a concert of viols with an organ, made vocal by a wheel, and a zone of parchment that rubbed horizontally against the strings. 6th October, 1664. I heard the anniversary oration in praise of Dr. Harvey, in the Anatomy Theatre in the College of Physicians; after which I was invited by Dr. Alston, the President, to a magnificent feast. 7th October, 1664. I dined at Sir Nicholas Strood's, one of the Masters of Chancery, in Great St. Bartholomew's; passing the evening at Whitehall, with the Queen, etc. 8th October, 1664. Sir William Curtius, his Majesty's Resident in Germany, came to visit me; he was a wise and learned gentleman, and, as he told me, scholar to Henry Alstedius, the Encyclopedist. 15th October, 1664. Dined at the Lord Chancellor's, where was the Duke of Ormond, Earl of Cork, and Bishop of Winchester. After dinner, my Lord Chancellor and his lady carried me in their coach to see their palace (for he now lived at Worcester-House in the Strand), building at the upper end of St. James's street, and to project the garden. In the evening, I presented him with my book on Architecture,[81] as before I had done to his Majesty and the Queen-Mother. His lordship caused me to stay with him in his bedchamber, discoursing of several matters very late, even till he was going into his bed. [Footnote 81: "Parallel between Ancient and Modern Architecture, originally written in French, by Roland Freart, Sieur de Chambray," and translated by Evelyn. See his "Miscellaneous Writings."] 17th October, 1664. I went with my Lord Viscount Cornbury, to Cornbury, in Oxfordshire, to assist him in the planting of the park, and bear him company, with Mr. Belin and Mr. May, in a coach with six horses; dined at Uxbridge, lay at Wycombe. [Sidenote: OXFORD] 18th October, 1664. At Oxford. Went through Woodstock, where we beheld the destruction of that royal seat and park by the late rebels, and arrived that evening at Cornbury, a house lately built by the Earl of Denbigh, in the middle of a sweet park, walled with a dry wall. The house is of excellent freestone, abounding in that part, (a stone that is fine, but never sweats, or casts any damp); it is of ample dimensions, has goodly cellars, the paving of the hall admirable for its close laying. We designed a handsome chapel that was yet wanting: as Mr. May had the stables, which indeed are very fair, having set out the walks in the parks and gardens. The lodge is a pretty solitude, and the ponds very convenient; the park well stored. 20th October, 1664. Hence, to see the famous wells, natural and artificial grots and fountains, called Bushell's Wells, at Enstone. This Bushell had been Secretary to my Lord Verulam. It is an extraordinary solitude. There he had two mummies; a grot where he lay in a hammock, like an Indian. Hence, we went to Dichley, an ancient seat of the Lees, now Sir Henry Lee's; it is a low ancient timber-house, with a pretty bowling-green. My Lady gave us an extraordinary dinner. This gentleman's mother was Countess of Rochester, who was also there, and Sir Walter St. John. There were some pictures of their ancestors, not ill painted; the great-grandfather had been Knight of the Garter; there was a picture of a Pope, and our Savior's head. So we returned to Cornbury. 24th October, 1664. We dined at Sir Timothy Tyrill's at Shotover. This gentleman married the daughter and heir of Dr. James Usher, Archbishop of Armagh, that learned prelate. There is here in the grove a fountain of the coldest water I ever felt, and very clear. His plantation of oaks and other timber is very commendable. We went in the evening to Oxford, lay at Dr. Hyde's, principal of Magdalen-Hall (related to the Lord Chancellor), brother to the Lord Chief Justice and that Sir Henry Hyde, who lost his head for his loyalty. We were handsomely entertained two days. The Vice-Chancellor, who with Dr. Fell, Dean of Christ Church, the learned Dr. Barlow, Warden of Queen's, and several heads of houses, came to visit Lord Cornbury (his father being now Chancellor of the University), and next day invited us all to dinner. I went to visit Mr. Boyle (now here), whom I found with Dr. Wallis and Dr. Christopher Wren, in the tower of the schools, with an inverted tube, or telescope, observing the discus of the sun for the passing of Mercury that day before it; but the latitude was so great that nothing appeared; so we went to see the rarities in the library, where the keepers showed me my name among the benefactors. They have a cabinet of some medals, and pictures of the muscular parts of man's body. Thence, to the new theater, now building at an exceeding and royal expense by the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury [Sheldon], to keep the Acts in for the future, till now being in St. Mary's Church. The foundation had been newly laid, and the whole designed by that incomparable genius my worthy friend, Dr. Christopher Wren, who showed me the model, not disdaining my advice in some particulars. Thence, to see the picture on the wall over the altar of All Souls, being the largest piece of fresco painting (or rather in imitation of it, for it is in oil of turpentine) in England, not ill designed by the hand of one Fuller; yet I fear it will not hold long. It seems too full of nakeds for a chapel. Thence, to New College, and the painting of Magdalen chapel, which is on blue cloth in _chiar oscuro_, by one Greenborow, being a _Coena Domini_, and a "Last Judgment" on the wall by Fuller, as in the other, but somewhat varied. Next to Wadham, and the Physic Garden, where were two large locust trees, and as many platani (plane trees), and some rare plants under the culture of old Bobart. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th October, 1664. We came back to Beaconsfield; next day to London, where we dined at the Lord Chancellor's, with my Lord Bellasis. 27th October, 1664. Being casually in the privy gallery at Whitehall, his Majesty gave me thanks before divers lords and noblemen for my book of "Architecture," and again for my "_Sylva_" saying they were the best designed and useful for the matter and subject, the best printed and designed (meaning the _taille-douces_ of the Parallel of Architecture) that he had seen. He then caused me to follow him alone to one of the windows, and asked me if I had any paper about me unwritten, and a crayon; I presented him with both, and then laying it on the window-stool, he with his own hands designed to me the plot for the future building of Whitehall, together with the rooms of state, and other particulars. After this, he talked with me of several matters, asking my advice, in which I find his Majesty had an extraordinary talent becoming a magnificent prince. The same day at Council, there being Commissioners to be made to take care of such sick and wounded and prisoners of war, as might be expected upon occasion of a succeeding war and action at sea, war being already declared against the Hollanders, his Majesty was pleased to nominate me to be one, with three other gentlemen, Parliament men, viz, Sir William Doily, Knt. and Bart., Sir Thomas Clifford, and Bullein Rheymes, Esq.; with a salary of £1,200 a year among us, besides extraordinaries for our care and attention in time of station, each of us being appointed to a particular district, mine falling out to be Kent and Sussex, with power to constitute officers, physicians, chirurgeons, provost-marshals, and to dispose of half of the hospitals through England. After the Council, we kissed his Majesty's hand. At this Council I heard Mr. Solicitor Finch plead most elegantly for the merchants trading to the Canaries, praying for a new Charter. 29th October, 1664. Was the most magnificent triumph by water and land of the Lord Mayor. I dined at Guildhall at the upper table, placed next to Sir H. Bennett, Secretary of State, opposite to my Lord Chancellor and the Duke of Buckingham, who sat between Monsieur Comminges, the French Ambassador, Lord Treasurer, the Dukes of Ormond and Albemarle, Earl of Manchester, Lord Chamberlain, and the rest of the great officers of state. My Lord Mayor came twice up to us, first drinking in the golden goblet his Majesty's health, then the French King's as a compliment to the Ambassador; we returned my Lord Mayor's health, the trumpets and drums sounding. The cheer was not to be imagined for the plenty and rarity, with an infinite number of persons at the tables in that ample hall. The feast was said to cost £1,000. I slipped away in the crowd, and came home late. 31st October, 1664. I was this day 44 years of age; for which I returned thanks to Almighty God, begging his merciful protection for the year to come. 2d November, 1664. Her Majesty, the Queen-Mother, came across the gallery in Whitehall to give me thanks for my book of "Architecture," which I had presented to her, with a compliment that I did by no means deserve. 16th November, 1664. We chose our treasurer, clerks, and messengers, and appointed our seal, which I ordered should be the good Samaritan, with this motto, "_Fac similiter_." Painters' Hall was lent us to meet in. In the great room were divers pictures, some reasonably good, that had been given to the Company by several of the wardens and masters of the Company. 23d November, 1664. Our statutes now finished, were read before a full assembly of the Royal Society. 24th November, 1664. His Majesty was pleased to tell me what the conference was with the Holland Ambassador, which, as after I found, was the heads of the speech he made at the reconvention of the Parliament, which now began. 2d December, 1664. We delivered the Privy Council's letters to the Governors of St. Thomas's Hospital, in Southwark, that a moiety of the house should be reserved for such sick and wounded as should from time to time be sent from the fleet during the war. This being delivered at their Court, the President and several Aldermen, Governors of that Hospital, invited us to a great feast in Fishmongers' Hall. [Sidenote: LONDON] 20th December, 1664. To London, our last sitting, taking order for our personal visiting our several districts. I dined at Captain Cocke's (our treasurer), with that most ingenious gentleman, Matthew Wren, son to the Bishop of Ely, and Mr. Joseph Williamson, since Secretary of State. 22d December, 1664. I went to the launching of a new ship of two bottoms, invented by Sir William Petty, on which were various opinions; his Majesty being present, gave her the name of the "Experiment": so I returned home, where I found Sir Humphry Winch, who spent the day with me. This year I planted the lower grove next the pond at Sayes Court. It was now exceedingly cold, and a hard, long, frosty season, and the comet was very visible. 28th December, 1664. Some of my poor neighbors dined with me, and others of my tenants, according to my annual custom. 31st December, 1664. Set my affairs in order, gave God praise for His mercies the past year, and prepared for the reception of the Holy Sacrament, which I partook of the next day, after hearing our minister on the 4th of Galatians, verses 4, 5, of the mystery of our Blessed Savior's Incarnation. Transcriber's Note Page headers in the original text indicated the location of the author. I have converted these to sidenotes. When the location did not change over several pages, only one sidenote was used. "[)u]" is used in the text to represent "u" with a breve above it. "^" is used in the text to represent superscripts. "[~C~]" is used to represent a backwards "C" Footnotes have been moved below the paragraph to which they relate. Inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - Comma removed after "King" on Page xxii - Comma removed after "ARTIBUS" and word was moved to the start of following line on Page 17 - "extrordinary" changed to "extraordinary" on Page 22 - Period changed to comma after "considerable" on Page 50 - Colon changed to semicolon after "good" on Page 57 - "Cum-anno" changed to "Cum anno" on Page 60 - "ceörcuit" changed to "coërcuit" on Page 60 - Period added after "capital" on Page 66 - Comma changed to a period added after "head" on Page 68 - Comma added after "churches" on Page 70 - Period added after "Paris" on Page 73 - Period changed to a colon after after "vetustiss" on Page 98 - "qu" changed to "qui" on Page 99 - "suffiently" changed to "sufficiently" on Page 100 - "theorboes" changed to "theorbos" on Page 107 - "hicerigi" changed to "hic erigi" on Page 112 - "d Arpino" changed to "d'Arpino" on Page 119 - "Mosiac" changed to "Mosaic" on Page 123 - "Sextns" changed to "Sextus" on Page 124 - "S.P. Q.R.D.D." changed to "S.P.Q.R.D.D." on Page 124 - "tune" changed to "tunc" on Page 124 - "Mosiac" changed to "Mosaic" on Page 132 - "viz." changed to "viz" on Page 138 - Period added after "grosse" on Page 138 - Semicolon added after "Cybel" on Page 140 - "Scipio'o" changed to "Scipio's" on Page 140 - "forman" changed to "formam" on Page 144 - Quote added before "Inclyta" on Page 146 - "cinceres" changed to "cineres" on Page 153 - Colon changed to a semicolon after "brass" on Page 161 - Round bracket added after "excepted" on Page 164 - "Lanframe" changed to "Lanfranc" on Page 166 - Comma changed to a period after "VIII" on Page 167 - "sinking" changed to "stinking" on Page 178 - "suphurous" changed to "sulphurous" on Page 178 - Comma added after "Pegasus" on Page 178 - "gread" changed to "great" on Page 179 - Colon changed to semicolon after "mummy" on Page 182 - Period changed to comma after "ordnance" on Page 187 - Comma changed to a semicolon after "marble" on Page 200 - Period added after "October" on Page 212 - "thought" changed to "taught" on Page 213 - Extra "to" removed on Page 214 - Extra "of" removed on Page 217 - "Poti" changed to "Pot."-- on Page 223 - Comma added after "August" on Page 243 - "father s" changed to "father's" on Page 251 - "Cecilia's" changed to "Cecilia's" on Page 259 - "Musician's" changed to "Musicians" on Page 259 - Extra "the" removed on Page 264 - "captan" changed to "captain" on Page 265 - "taffet" changed to "taffeta" on Page 265 - "Febur's" changed to "Febure's" on Page 269 - "Cromwells" changed to "Cromwell's" on Page 274 - "Condè's" changed to "Condé's" on Page 275 - Period added after "1653" on Page 281 - Period added after "1653" on Page 281 - Duplicate "the" removed on Page 284 - Comma changed to a period after "Mr" on Page 284 - "delighful" changed to "delightful" on Page 285 - "Pophams" changed to "Popham's" on Page 285 - "June" changed to "July" on Page 287 - "June" changed to "July" on Page 287 - Comma added after "music" on Page 287 - "MSS." changed to "MS." on Page 288 - "meantine" changed to "meantime" on Page 290 - Period added after "prospect" on Page 296 - Comma added after "December" on Page 302 - Comma changed to a period after "it" on Page 308 - "indiffierently" changed to "indifferently" on Page 314 - "January" changed to "February" on Page 314 - "January" changed to "February" on Page 315 - "deperate" changed to "desperate" on Page 317 - Period added after "1657" on Page 317 - Period added after "country" on Page 317 - "commisioners" changed to "commissioners" on Page 326 - Comma added after "November" on Page 328 - "1650" changed to "1660" on Page 336 - Period added after "Crisp" on Page 356 - Comma changed to a period after "modern" on Page 356 - Period added after "St" on Page 360 - Extra "the" removed on Page 362 - Comma changed to a period after "St" on Page 364 - Period added after "Sylva" on Page 365 - "October" changed to "November" on Page 366 - Period added after "Worcester" on Page 366 - Period added after "St" on Page 366 - Comma changed to a period after "1664" on Page 376 - "againt" changed to "against" on Page 378 
39975	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. AUDUBON AND HIS JOURNALS [Illustration] AUDUBON AND HIS JOURNALS BY MARIA R. AUDUBON WITH ZOÖLOGICAL AND OTHER NOTES BY ELLIOTT COUES VOLUME I. NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1897 _Copyright, 1897_, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. In Loving Memory OF MY FATHER, JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON, AND OF HIS LOVE AND ADMIRATION FOR HIS FATHER, JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN. PREFACE It is customary at the close of a Preface to make some acknowledgment of the services rendered by others in the preparation of a volume; but in my case this aid has been so generous, so abundant, and so helpful, that I must reverse the order of things and begin by saying that my heartiest thanks are due to the many who have assisted me in a work which for many years has been my dream. Without the very material aid, both by pen and advice, of Dr. Elliott Coues, these pages would have lost more than I care to contemplate. All the zoölogical notes are his, and many of the geographical, besides suggestions too numerous to mention; moreover, all this assistance was most liberally given at a time when he personally was more than busy; and yet my wishes and convenience have always been consulted. Next to the memory of my father, Mr. Ruthven Deane has been the motive power which has caused this volume to be written. For many years he has urged me to attempt it, and has supplied me with some valuable material, especially regarding Henderson. During the months that I have been working on much that I have felt incompetent to deal with, his encouragement has helped me over many a difficulty. To my sisters Harriet and Florence, and my cousin M. Eliza Audubon, I am especially indebted. The first and last have lent me of their choicest treasures; letters, journals, and other manuscripts they have placed unconditionally in my hands, besides supplying many details from other sources; and my sister Florence has been my almost hourly assistant in more ways than I can specify. The arrangement of the papers and journals was suggested by the late Dr. G. Brown Goode; and many names come to mind of friends who have helped me in other ways. Among them are those of Mr. W. H. Wetherill, Messrs. Richard R. and William Rathbone, my aunt, Mrs. James Hall, Dr. Arthur T. Lincoln, Mr. Morris F. Tyler, Mr. Joseph Coolidge, Rev. A. Gordon Bakewell, and Mr. George Bird Grinnell. I wish also to say that without the loving generosity of my friend the late Miss M. Louise Comstock, I should never have had the time at my command which I have needed for this work; and last, but by no means least, I thank my mother for her many memories, and for her wise criticisms. There came into my hands about twelve years ago some of these journals,--those of the Missouri and Labrador journeys; and since then others have been added, all of which had been virtually lost for years. The story of how I heard of some, and traced others, is too long to tell here, so I will only say that these journals have formed my chief sources of information. So far as has been possible I have verified and supplemented them by every means. Researches have been made in San Domingo, New Orleans, and France; letters and journals have been consulted which prove this or that statement; and from the mass of papers I have accumulated, I have used perhaps one fifth. "The Life of Audubon the Naturalist, edited by Mr. Robert Buchanan from material supplied by his widow," covers, or is supposed to cover, the same ground I have gone over. That the same journals were used is obvious; and besides these, others, destroyed by fire in Shelbyville, Ky., were at my grandmother's command, and more than all, her own recollections and voluminous diaries. Her manuscript, which I never saw, was sent to the English publishers, and was not returned to the author by them or by Mr. Buchanan. How much of it was valuable, it is impossible to say; but the fact remains that Mr. Buchanan's book is so mixed up, so interspersed with anecdotes and episodes, and so interlarded with derogatory remarks of his own, as to be practically useless to the world, and very unpleasant to the Audubon family. Moreover, with few exceptions everything about birds has been left out. Many errors in dates and names are apparent, especially the date of the Missouri River journey, which is ten years later than he states. However, if Mr. Buchanan had done his work better, there would have been no need for mine; so I forgive him, even though he dwells at unnecessary length on Audubon's vanity and selfishness, of which I find no traces. In these journals, nine in all, and in the hundred or so of letters, written under many skies, and in many conditions of life, by a man whose education was wholly French, one of the journals dating as far back as 1822, and some of the letters even earlier,--there is not one sentence, one expression, that is other than that of a refined and cultured gentleman. More than that, there is not one utterance of "anger, hatred or malice." Mr. George Ord and Mr. Charles Waterton were both my grandfather's bitter enemies, yet one he rarely mentions, and of the latter, when he says, "I had a scrubby letter from Waterton," he has said his worst. But the journals will speak for themselves better than I can, and so I send them forth, believing that to many they will be of absorbing interest, as they have been to me. M. R. A. CONTENTS VOLUME I PAGE INTRODUCTION 3 AUDUBON 5 THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS. 1826-1829 79 THE LABRADOR JOURNAL. 1833 343 THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS. 1843 447 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. VOL. I. PAGE AUDUBON _Frontispiece_ From the portrait by J. W. Audubon, November, 1843. MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK 16 From a photograph from W. H. Wetherill, Esq. FATLAND FORD MANSION, LOOKING TOWARD VALLEY FORGE 20 From a photograph from W. H. Wetherill, Esq. AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KY. 34 Now owned by Mr. David Clark. JOHN J. AUDUBON 48 From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, published by Robert Havell, January 12, 1835. MRS. AUDUBON 64 From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1835. AUDUBON 74 Date unknown. From a daguerreotype owned by M. Eliza Audubon. AUDUBON MONUMENT IN TRINITY CHURCH CEMETERY, NEW YORK 76 FLYCATCHERS. (_Heretofore unpublished._) 114 From a drawing made by Audubon in 1826, and presented to Mrs. Rathbone of Green Bank, Liverpool. Still in the possession of the Rathbone family. FROM A PENCIL SKETCH OF AUDUBON 128 Drawn by himself for Mrs. Rathbone. Now in the possession of Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, Glan-y-Menai, Anglesey. AUDUBON IN INDIAN DRESS 132 From a pencil sketch drawn by himself for Miss Rathbone, 1826. Now in the possession of Mrs. Abraham Dixon (née Rathbone), London, England. AUDUBON 206 From the portrait by Henry Inman. Now in the possession of the family. FACSIMILE OF ENTRY IN JOURNAL 221 EAGLE AND LAMB 342 Painted by Audubon, London, 1828. In the possession of the family. AUDUBON 348 From the portrait by George P. A. Healy, London, 1838. Now in the possession of the Boston Society of Natural History. VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON 384 From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1838. JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON 412 From the miniature by F. Cruikshank, 1838. AUDUBON 454 From the portrait by John Woodhouse Audubon (about 1841). COLUMBA PASSERINA (NOW COLUMBIGALLINA PASSERINA TERRESTRIS), GROUND DOVE 474 From the unpublished drawing by J. J. Audubon, 1838. FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNAL 510 Reduced one third. VIEW ON THE MISSOURI RIVER, ABOVE GREAT BEND 516 From a water-color drawing by Isaac Sprague. INDIAN HATCHET PIPE 532 Carried by Audubon during many of his journeys. AUDUBON INTRODUCTION In the brief biography of Audubon which follows, I have given, I believe, the only correct account that has been written, and as such I present it. I am not competent to give an opinion as to the merits of his work, nor is it necessary. His place as naturalist, woodsman, artist, author, has long since been accorded him, and he himself says: "My enemies have been few, and my friends numerous." I have tried only to put Audubon _the man_ before my readers, and in his own words so far as possible, that they may know what he was, not what others _thought_ he was. M. R. A. AUDUBON The village of Mandeville in the parish of St. Tammany, Louisiana, is about twenty miles from New Orleans on the north shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Here, on the plantation of the same name, owned by the Marquis de Mandeville de Marigny, John James Laforest Audubon[1] was born, the Marquis having lent his home, in the generous southern fashion, to his friend Admiral Jean Audubon, who, with his Spanish Creole wife, lived here some months. In the same house, towards the close of the last century, Louis Philippe found refuge for a time with the ever hospitable Marigny family, and he named the beautiful plantation home "Fontainebleau." Since then changes innumerable have come, the estate has other owners, the house has gone, those who once dwelt there are long dead, their descendants scattered, the old landmarks obliterated. Audubon has given a sketch of his father in his own words in "Myself," which appears in the pages following; but of his mother little indeed is known. Only within the year, have papers come into the hands of her great-grandchildren, which prove her surname to have been _Rabin_. Audubon himself tells of her tragic death, which was not, however, in the St. Domingo insurrection of 1793, but in one of the local uprisings of the slaves which were of frequent occurrence in that beautiful island, whose history is too dark to dwell upon. Beyond this nothing can be found relating to the mother, whom Audubon lost before he was old enough to remember her, except that in 1822 one of the family Marigny told my father, John Woodhouse Audubon, then a boy of ten, who with his parents was living in New Orleans, that she was "une dame d'une beauté incomparable et avec beaucoup de fierté." It may seem strange that nothing more can be found regarding this lady, but it is to be remembered these were troublous days, when stormy changes were the rule; and the roving and adventurous sailor did not, I presume, encumber himself with papers. To these circumstances also it is probably due that the date of Audubon's birth is not known, and must always remain an open question. In his journals and letters various allusions are made to his age, and many passages bearing on the matter are found, but with one exception no two agree; he may have been born anywhere between 1772 and 1783, and in the face of this uncertainty the date usually given, May 5, 1780, may be accepted, though the true one is no doubt earlier. The attachment between Audubon and his father was of the strongest description, as the long and affectionate, if somewhat infrequent letters, still in the possession of the family, fully demonstrate. When the Admiral was retired from active service, he lived at La Gerbétière in France with his second wife, Anne Moynette, until his death, on February 19, 1818, at the great age of ninety-five. In this home near the Loire, Audubon spent his happy boyhood and youth, dearly beloved and loving, and receiving the best education time and place afforded. As the boy grew older and more advantages were desired for him, came absences when he was at school in La Rochelle and Paris; but La Gerbétière was his home till in early manhood he returned to America, the land he loved above all others, as his journals show repeatedly. The impress of the years in France was never lost; he always had a strong French accent, he possessed in a marked degree the adaptability to circumstances which is a trait of that nation, and his disposition inherited from both parents was elated or depressed by a trifle. He was quick-tempered, enthusiastic, and romantic, yet affectionate, forgiving, and with unlimited industry and perseverance; he was generous to every one with time, money, and possessions; nothing was too good for others, but his own personal requirements were of the simplest character. His life shows all this and more, better than words of mine can tell; and as the only account of his years till he left Henderson, Ky., in 1819, is in his own journal, it is given here in full.[2] MYSELF.[3] The precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I can only say what I have often heard my father repeat to me on this subject, which is as follows: It seems that my father had large properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and known by the name of, Louisiana, then owned by the French Government. During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my father three sons and a daughter,--I being the youngest of the sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother, soon after my birth, accompanied my father to the estate of Aux Cayes, on the island of Santo Domingo, and she was one of the victims during the ever-to-be-lamented period of the negro insurrection of that island. My father, through the intervention of some faithful servants, escaped from Aux Cayes with a good portion of his plate and money, and with me and these humble friends reached New Orleans in safety. From this place he took me to France, where, having married the only mother I have ever known, he left me under her charge and returned to the United States in the employ of the French Government, acting as an officer under Admiral Rochambeau. Shortly afterward, however, he landed in the United States and became attached to the army under La Fayette. The first of my recollective powers placed me in the central portion of the city of Nantes, on the Loire River, in France, where I still recollect particularly that I was much cherished by my dear stepmother, who had no children of her own, and that I was constantly attended by one or two black servants, who had followed my father from Santo Domingo to New Orleans and afterward to Nantes. One incident which is as perfect in my memory as if it had occurred this very day, I have thought of thousands of times since, and will now put on paper as one of the curious things which perhaps did lead me in after times to love birds, and to finally study them with pleasure infinite. My mother had several beautiful parrots and some monkeys; one of the latter was a full-grown male of a very large species. One morning, while the servants were engaged in arranging the room I was in, "Pretty Polly" asking for her breakfast as usual, "_Du pain au lait pour le perroquet Mignonne_," the man of the woods probably thought the bird presuming upon his rights in the scale of nature; be this as it may, he certainly showed his supremacy in strength over the denizen of the air, for, walking deliberately and uprightly toward the poor bird, he at once killed it, with unnatural composure. The sensations of my infant heart at this cruel sight were agony to me. I prayed the servant to beat the monkey, but he, who for some reason preferred the monkey to the parrot, refused. I uttered long and piercing cries, my mother rushed into the room, I was tranquillized, the monkey was forever afterward chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp of a cherished lost one. This made, as I have said, a very deep impression on my youthful mind. But now, my dear children, I must tell you somewhat of _my_ father, and of his parentage. John Audubon, my grandfather, was born and lived at the small village of Sable d'Olhonne, and was by trade a very humble fisherman. He appears to have made up for the want of wealth by the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he actually raised to man and womanhood. All were sons, with one exception; my aunt, one uncle, and my father, who was the twentieth son, being the only members of that extraordinary numerous family who lived to old age. In subsequent years, when I visited Sable d'Olhonne, the old residents assured me that they had seen the whole family, including both parents, at church many times. When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father presented him with a shirt, a dress of coarse material, a stick, and his blessing, and urged him to go and seek means for his future support and sustenance. Some _kind_ whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a "Boy." Of his life during his early voyages it would be useless to trouble you; let it suffice for me to say that they were of the usual most uncomfortable nature. How many trips he made I cannot say, but he told me that by the time he was seventeen he had become an able seaman before the mast; when twenty-one he commanded a fishing-smack, and went to the great Newfoundland Banks; at twenty-five he owned several small crafts, all fishermen, and at twenty-eight sailed for Santo Domingo with his little flotilla heavily loaded with the produce of the deep. "Fortune," said he to me one day, "now began to smile upon me. I did well in this enterprise, and after a few more voyages of the same sort gave up the sea, and purchased a small estate on the Isle à Vaches;[4] the prosperity of Santo Domingo was at its zenith, and in the course of ten years I had realized something very considerable. The then Governor gave me an appointment which called me to France, and having received some favors there, I became once more a seafaring man, the government having granted me the command of a small vessel of war."[5] How long my father remained in the service, it is impossible for me to say. The different changes occurring at the time of the American Revolution, and afterward during that in France, seem to have sent him from one place to another as if a foot-ball; his property in Santo Domingo augmenting, however, the while, and indeed till the liberation of the black slaves there. During a visit he paid to Pennsylvania when suffering from the effects of a sunstroke, he purchased the beautiful farm of Mill Grove, on the Schuylkill and Perkiomen streams. At this place, and a few days only before the memorable battle (_sic_) of Valley Forge, General Washington presented him with his portrait, now in my possession; and highly do I value it as a memento of that noble man and the glories of those days.[6] At the conclusion of the war between England and her child of the West, my father returned to France and continued in the employ of the naval department of that country, being at one time sent to Plymouth, England, in a seventy-five-gun ship to exchange prisoners. This was, I think, in the short peace that took place between England and France in 1801. He returned to Rochefort, where he lived for several years, still in the employ of government. He finally sent in his resignation and returned to Nantes and La Gerbétière. He had many severe trials and afflictions before his death, having lost my two older brothers early in the French Revolution; both were officers in the army. His only sister was killed by the Chouans of La Vendée,[7] and the only brother he had was not on good terms with him. This brother resided at Bayonne, and, I believe, had a large family, none of whom I have ever seen or known.[8] In personal appearance my father and I were of the same height and stature, say about five feet ten inches, erect, and with muscles of steel; his manners were those of a most polished gentleman, for those and his natural understanding had been carefully improved both by observation and by self-education. In temper we much resembled each other also, being warm, irascible, and at times violent; but it was like the blast of a hurricane, dreadful for a time, when calm almost instantly returned. He greatly approved of the change in France during the time of Napoleon, whom he almost idolized. My father died in 1818, regretted most deservedly on account of his simplicity, truth, and perfect sense of honesty. Now I must return to myself. My stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me, far too much so for my good, was desirous that I should be brought up to live and die "like a gentleman," thinking that fine clothes and filled pockets were the only requisites needful to attain this end. She therefore completely spoiled me, hid my faults, boasted to every one of my youthful merits, and, worse than all, said frequently in my presence that I was the handsomest boy in France. All my wishes and idle notions were at once gratified; she went so far as actually to grant me _carte blanche_ at all the confectionery shops in the town, and also of the village of Couéron, where during the summer we lived, as it were, in the country. My father was quite of another, and much more valuable description of mind as regarded my future welfare; he believed not in the power of gold coins as efficient means to render a man happy. He spoke of the stores of the mind, and having suffered much himself through the want of education, he ordered that I should be put to school, and have teachers at home. "Revolutions," he was wont to say, "too often take place in the lives of individuals, and they are apt to lose in one day the fortune they before possessed; but talents and knowledge, added to sound mental training, assisted by honest industry, can never fail, nor be taken from any one once the possessor of such valuable means." Therefore, notwithstanding all my mother's entreaties and her tears, off to a school I was sent. Excepting only, perhaps, military schools, none were good in France at this period; the thunders of the Revolution still roared over the land, the Revolutionists covered the earth with the blood of man, woman, and child. But let me forever drop the curtain over the frightful aspect of this dire picture. To think of these dreadful days is too terrible, and would be too horrible and painful for me to relate to you, my dear sons. The school I went to was none of the best; my private teachers were the only means through which I acquired the least benefit. My father, who had been for so long a seaman, and who was then in the French navy, wished me to follow in his steps, or else to become an engineer. For this reason I studied drawing, geography, mathematics, fencing, etc., as well as music, for which I had considerable talent. I had a good fencing-master, and a first-rate teacher of the violin; mathematics was hard, dull work, I thought; geography pleased me more. For my other studies, as well as for dancing, I was quite enthusiastic; and I well recollect how anxious I was then to become the commander of a corps of dragoons. My father being mostly absent on duty, my mother suffered me to do much as I pleased; it was therefore not to be wondered at that, instead of applying closely to my studies, I preferred associating with boys of my own age and disposition, who were more fond of going in search of birds' nests, fishing, or shooting, than of better studies. Thus almost every day, instead of going to school when I ought to have gone, I usually made for the fields, where I spent the day; my little basket went with me, filled with good eatables, and when I returned home, during either winter or summer, it was replenished with what I called curiosities, such as birds' nests, birds' eggs, curious lichens, flowers of all sorts, and even pebbles gathered along the shore of some rivulet. The first time my father returned from sea after this my room exhibited quite a show, and on entering it he was so pleased to see my various collections that he complimented me on my taste for such things: but when he inquired what else I had done, and I, like a culprit, hung my head, he left me without saying another word. Dinner over he asked my sister for some music, and, on her playing for him, he was so pleased with her improvement that he presented her with a beautiful book. I was next asked to play on my violin, but alas! for nearly a month I had not touched it, it was stringless; not a word was said on that subject. "Had I any drawings to show?" Only a few, and those not good. My good father looked at his wife, kissed my sister, and humming a tune left the room. The next morning at dawn of day my father and I were under way in a private carriage; my trunk, etc., were fastened to it, my violin-case was under my feet, the postilion was ordered to proceed, my father took a book from his pocket, and while he silently read I was left entirely to my own thoughts. After some days' travelling we entered the gates of Rochefort. My father had scarcely spoken to me, yet there was no anger exhibited in his countenance; nay, as we reached the house where we alighted, and approached the door, near which a sentinel stopped his walk and presented arms, I saw him smile as he raised his hat and said a few words to the man, but so low that not a syllable reached my ears. The house was furnished with servants, and everything seemed to go on as if the owner had not left it. My father bade me sit by his side, and taking one of my hands calmly said to me: "My beloved boy, thou art now safe. I have brought thee here that I may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies; thou shalt have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder _must_ be employed with industry and care. This day is entirely thine own, and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the docks, the fine ships-of-war, and walk round the wall, thou may'st accompany me." I accepted, and off together we went; I was presented to every officer we met, and they noticing me more or less, I saw much that day, yet still I perceived that I was like a prisoner-of-war on parole in the city of Rochefort. My best and most amiable companion was the son of Admiral, or Vice-Admiral (I do not precisely recollect his rank) Vivien, who lived nearly opposite to the house where my father and I then resided; his company I much enjoyed, and with him all my leisure hours were spent. About this time my father was sent to England in a corvette with a view to exchange prisoners, and he sailed on board the man-of-war "L'Institution" for Plymouth. Previous to his sailing he placed me under the charge of his secretary, Gabriel Loyen Dupuy Gaudeau, the son of a fallen nobleman. Now this gentleman was of no pleasing nature to me; he was, in fact, more than too strict and severe in all his prescriptions to me, and well do I recollect that one morning, after having been set to a very arduous task in mathematical problems, I gave him the slip, jumped from the window, and ran off through the gardens attached to the Marine Secrétariat. The unfledged bird may stand for a while on the border of its nest, and perhaps open its winglets and attempt to soar away, but his youthful imprudence may, and indeed often does, prove inimical to his prowess, as some more wary and older bird, that has kept an eye toward him, pounces relentlessly upon the young adventurer and secures him within the grasp of his more powerful talons. This was the case with me in this instance. I had leaped from the door of my cage and thought myself quite safe, while I rambled thoughtlessly beneath the shadow of the trees in the garden and grounds in which I found myself; but the secretary, with a side glance, had watched my escape, and, ere many minutes had elapsed, I saw coming toward me a corporal with whom, in fact, I was well acquainted. On nearing me, and I did not attempt to escape, our past familiarity was, I found, quite evaporated; he bid me, in a severe voice, to follow him, and on my being presented to my father's secretary I was at once ordered on board the pontoon in port. All remonstrances proved fruitless, and on board the pontoon I was conducted, and there left amid such a medley of culprits as I cannot describe, and of whom, indeed, I have but little recollection, save that I felt vile myself in their vile company. My father returned in due course, and released me from these floating and most disagreeable lodgings, but not without a rather severe reprimand. Shortly after this we returned to Nantes, and later to La Gerbétière. My stay here was short, and I went to Nantes to study mathematics anew, and there spent about one year, the remembrance of which has flown from my memory, with the exception of one incident, of which, when I happen to pass my hand over the left side of my head, I am ever and anon reminded. 'Tis this: one morning, while playing with boys of my own age, a quarrel arose among us, a battle ensued, in the course of which I was knocked down by a round stone, that brought the blood from that part of my skull, and for a time I lay on the ground unconscious, but soon rallying, experienced no lasting effects but the scar. During all these years there existed within me a tendency to follow Nature in her walks. Perhaps not an hour of leisure was spent elsewhere than in woods and fields, and to examine either the eggs, nest, young, or parents of any species of birds constituted my delight. It was about this period that I commenced a series of drawings of the birds of France, which I continued until I had upward of two hundred drawings, all bad enough, my dear sons, yet they were representations of birds, and I felt pleased with them. Hundreds of anecdotes respecting my life at this time might prove interesting to you, but as they are not in my mind at this moment I will leave them, though you may find some of them in the course of the following pages. I was within a few months of being seventeen years old, when my stepmother, who was an earnest Catholic, took into her head that I should be confirmed; my father agreed. I was surprised and indifferent, but yet as I loved her as if she had been my own mother,--and well did she merit my deepest affection,--I took to the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the ceremony, and all was performed to her liking. Not long after this, my father, anxious as he was that I should be enrolled in Napoleon's army as a Frenchman, found it necessary to send me back to my own beloved country, the United States of America, and I came with intense and indescribable pleasure. On landing at New York I caught the yellow fever by walking to the bank at Greenwich to get the money to which my father's letter of credit entitled me. The kind man who commanded the ship that brought me from France, whose name was a common one, John Smith, took particular charge of me, removed me to Morristown, N.J., and placed me under the care of two Quaker ladies who kept a boarding-house. To their skilful and untiring ministrations I may safely say I owe the prolongation of my life. Letters were forwarded by them to my father's agent, Miers Fisher of Philadelphia, of whom I have more to say hereafter. He came for me in his carriage and removed me to his villa, at a short distance from Philadelphia and on the road toward Trenton. There I would have found myself quite comfortable had not incidents taken place which are so connected with the change in my life as to call immediate attention to them. Miers Fisher had been my father's trusted agent for about eighteen years, and the old gentlemen entertained great mutual friendship; indeed it would seem that Mr. Fisher was actually desirous that I should become a member of his family, and this was evinced within a few days by the manner in which the good Quaker presented me to a daughter of no mean appearance, but toward whom I happened to take an unconquerable dislike. Then he was opposed to music of all descriptions, as well as to dancing, could not bear me to carry a gun, or fishing-rod, and, indeed, condemned most of my amusements. All these things were difficulties toward accomplishing a plan which, for aught I know to the contrary, had been premeditated between him and my father, and rankled the heart of the kindly, if somewhat strict Quaker. They troubled me much also; at times I wished myself anywhere but under the roof of Mr. Fisher, and at last I reminded him that it was his duty to install me on the estate to which my father had sent me. One morning, therefore, I was told that the carriage was ready to carry me there, and toward my future home he and I went. You are too well acquainted with the position of Mill Grove for me to allude to that now; suffice it to say that we reached the former abode of my father about sunset. I was presented to our tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took possession under certain restrictions, which amounted to my not receiving more than enough money per quarter than was considered sufficient for the expenditure of a young gentleman. [Illustration: MILL GROVE MANSION ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.] Miers Fisher left me the next morning, and after him went my blessings, for I thought his departure a true deliverance; yet this was only because our tastes and educations were so different, for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill Grove was ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought I perceived the traces left by my father as I looked on the even fences round the fields, or on the regular manner with which avenues of trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by his hand. The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the cave, which you too remember, where the Pewees were wont to build, I never failed to find quietude and delight. Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment; cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I purchased excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbors as I found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy could be. A few months after my arrival at Mill Grove, I was informed one day that an English family had purchased the plantation next to mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell, and moreover that he had several very handsome and interesting daughters, and beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but cared not a jot about them at the time. The place was within sight of Mill Grove, and Fatland Ford, as it was called, was merely divided from my estate by a road leading to the Schuylkill River. Mr. William Bakewell, the father of the family, had called on me one day, but, finding I was rambling in the woods in search of birds, left a card and an invitation to go shooting with him. Now this gentleman was an Englishman, and I such a foolish boy that, entertaining the greatest prejudices against all of his nationality, I did not return his visit for many weeks, which was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite. Mrs. Thomas, good soul, more than once spoke to me on the subject, as well as her worthy husband, but all to no import; English was English with me, my poor childish mind was settled on that, and as I wished to know none of the race the call remained unacknowledged. Frosty weather, however, came, and anon was the ground covered with the deep snow. Grouse were abundant along the fir-covered ground near the creek, and as I was in pursuit of game one frosty morning I chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell in the woods. I was struck with the kind politeness of his manner, and found him an expert marksman. Entering into conversation, I admired the beauty of his well-trained dogs, and, apologizing for my discourtesy, finally promised to call upon him and his family. Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please God that I may never forget it, when for the first time I entered Mr. Bakewell's dwelling. It happened that he was absent from home, and I was shown into a parlor where only one young lady was snugly seated at her work by the fire. She rose on my entrance, offered me a seat, and assured me of the gratification her father would feel on his return, which, she added, would be in a few moments, as she would despatch a servant for him. Other ruddy cheeks and bright eyes made their transient appearance, but, like spirits gay, soon vanished from my sight; and there I sat, my gaze riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me, who, half working, half talking, essayed to make the time pleasant to me. Oh! may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons, who afterward became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr. Bakewell soon made his appearance, and received me with the manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other members of the family were soon introduced to me, and "Lucy" was told to have luncheon produced. She now arose from her seat a second time, and her form, to which I had previously paid but partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my heart followed every one of her steps. The repast over, guns and dogs were made ready. Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some favor, and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I felt that certain "_je ne sais quoi_" which intimated that, at least, she was not indifferent to me. To speak of the many shooting parties that took place with Mr. Bakewell would be quite useless, and I shall merely say that he was a most excellent man, a great shot, and possessed of extraordinary learning--aye, far beyond my comprehension. A few days after this first interview with the family the Perkiomen chanced to be bound with ice, and many a one from the neighborhood was playing pranks on the glassy surface of that lovely stream. Being somewhat of a skater myself, I sent a note to the inhabitants of Fatland Ford, inviting them to come and partake of the simple hospitality of Mill Grove farm, and the invitation was kindly received and accepted. My own landlady bestirred herself to the utmost in the procuring of as many pheasants and partridges as her group of sons could entrap, and now under my own roof was seen the whole of the Bakewell family, seated round the table which has never ceased to be one of simplicity and hospitality. After dinner we all repaired to the ice on the creek, and there in comfortable sledges, each fair one was propelled by an ardent skater. Tales of love may be extremely stupid to the majority, so that I will not expatiate on these days, but to me, my dear sons, and under such circumstances as then, and, thank God, now exist, every moment was to me one of delight. But let me interrupt my tale to tell you somewhat of other companions whom I have heretofore neglected to mention. These are two Frenchmen, by name Da Costa and Colmesnil. A lead mine had been discovered by my tenant, William Thomas, to which, besides the raising of fowls, I paid considerable attention; but I knew nothing of mineralogy or mining, and my father, to whom I communicated the discovery of the mine, sent Mr. Da Costa as a partner and partial guardian from France. This fellow was intended to teach me mineralogy and mining engineering, but, in fact, knew nothing of either; besides which he was a covetous wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father, and indeed swindled both of us to a large amount. I had to go to France and expose him to my father to get rid of him, which I fortunately accomplished at first sight of my kind parent. A greater scoundrel than Da Costa never probably existed, but peace be with his soul. The other, Colmesnil, was a very interesting young Frenchman with whom I became acquainted. He was very poor, and I invited him to come and reside under my roof. This he did, remaining for many months, much to my delight. His appearance was typical of what he was, a perfect gentleman; he was handsome in form, and possessed of talents far above my own. When introduced to your mother's family he was much thought of, and at one time he thought himself welcome to my Lucy; but it was only a dream, and when once undeceived by her whom I too loved, he told me he must part with me. This we did with mutual regret, and he returned to France, where, though I have lost sight of him, I believe he is still living. During the winter connected with this event your uncle Thomas Bakewell, now residing in Cincinnati, was one morning skating with me on the Perkiomen, when he challenged me to shoot at his hat as he tossed it in the air, which challenge I accepted with great pleasure. I was to pass by at full speed, within about twenty-five feet of where he stood, and to shoot only when he gave the word. Off I went like lightning, up and down, as if anxious to boast of my own prowess while on the glittering surface beneath my feet; coming, however, within the agreed distance the signal was given, the trigger pulled, off went the load, and down on the ice came the hat of my future brother-in-law, as completely perforated as if a sieve. He repented, alas! too late, and was afterward severely reprimanded by Mr. Bakewell. Another anecdote I must relate to you on paper, which I have probably too often repeated in words, concerning my skating in those early days of happiness; but, as the world knows nothing of it, I shall give it to you at some length. It was arranged one morning between your young uncle, myself, and several other friends of the same age, that we should proceed on a duck-shooting excursion up the creek, and, accordingly, off we went after an early breakfast. The ice was in capital order wherever no air-holes existed, but of these a great number interrupted our course, all of which were, however, avoided as we proceeded upward along the glittering, frozen bosom of the stream. The day was spent in much pleasure, and the game collected was not inconsiderable. [Illustration: FATLAND FORD MANSION, LOOKING TOWARD VALLEY FORGE. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.] On our return, in the early dusk of the evening, I was bid to lead the way; I fastened a white handkerchief to a stick, held it up, and we all proceeded toward home as a flock of wild ducks to their roosting-grounds. Many a mile had already been passed, and, as gayly as ever, we were skating swiftly along when darkness came on, and now our speed was increased. Unconsciously I happened to draw so very near a large air-hole that to check my headway became quite impossible, and down it I went, and soon felt the power of a most chilling bath. My senses must, for aught I know, have left me for a while; be this as it may, I must have glided with the stream some thirty or forty yards, when, as God would have it, up I popped at another air-hole, and here I did, in some way or another, manage to crawl out. My companions, who in the gloom had seen my form so suddenly disappear, escaped the danger, and were around me when I emerged from the greatest peril I have ever encountered, not excepting my escape from being murdered on the prairie, or by the hands of that wretch S---- B----, of Henderson. I was helped to a shirt from one, a pair of dry breeches from another, and completely dressed anew in a few minutes, if in motley and ill-fitting garments; our line of march was continued, with, however, much more circumspection. Let the reader, whoever he may be, think as he may like on this singular and, in truth, most extraordinary escape from death; it is the truth, and as such I have written it down as a wonderful act of Providence. Mr. Da Costa, my tutor, took it into his head that my affection for your mother was rash and inconsiderate. He spoke triflingly of her and of her parents, and one day said to me that for a man of my rank and expectations to marry Lucy Bakewell was out of the question. If I laughed at him or not I cannot tell you, but of this I am certain, that my answers to his talks on this subject so exasperated him that he immediately afterward curtailed my usual income, made some arrangements to send me to India, and wrote to my father accordingly. Understanding from many of my friends that his plans were fixed, and finally hearing from Philadelphia, whither Da Costa had gone, that he had taken my passage from Philadelphia to Canton, I walked to Philadelphia, entered his room quite unexpectedly, and asked him for such an amount of money as would enable me at once to sail for France and there see my father. The cunning wretch, for I cannot call him by any other name, smiled, and said: "Certainly, my dear sir," and afterward gave me a letter of credit on a Mr. Kauman, a half-agent, half-banker, then residing at New York. I returned to Mill Grove, made all preparatory plans for my departure, bid a sad adieu to my Lucy and her family, and walked to New York. But never mind the journey; it was winter, the country lay under a covering of snow, but withal I reached New York on the third day, late in the evening. Once there, I made for the house of a Mrs. Palmer, a lady of excellent qualities, who received me with the utmost kindness, and later on the same evening I went to the house of your grand-uncle, Benjamin Bakewell, then a rich merchant of New York, managing the concerns of the house of Guelt, bankers, of London. I was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Bakewell, of Fatland Ford, to this brother of his, and there I was again most kindly received and housed. The next day I called on Mr. Kauman; he read Da Costa's letter, smiled, and after a while told me he had nothing to give me, and in plain terms said that instead of a letter of credit, Da Costa--that rascal!--had written and advised him to have me arrested and shipped to Canton. The blood rose to my temples, and well it was that I had no weapon about me, for I feel even now quite assured that his heart must have received the result of my wrath. I left him half bewildered, half mad, and went to Mrs. Palmer, and spoke to her of my purpose of returning at once to Philadelphia and there certainly murdering Da Costa. Women have great power over me at any time, and perhaps under all circumstances. Mrs. Palmer quieted me, spoke religiously of the cruel sin I thought of committing, and, at last, persuaded me to relinquish the direful plan. I returned to Mr. Bakewell's low-spirited and mournful, but said not a word about all that had passed. The next morning my sad visage showed something was wrong, and I at last gave vent to my outraged feelings. Benjamin Bakewell was a _friend_ of his brother (may you ever be so toward each other). He comforted me much, went with me to the docks to seek a vessel bound to France, and offered me any sum of money I might require to convey me to my father's house. My passage was taken on board the brig "Hope," of New Bedford, and I sailed in her, leaving Da Costa and Kauman in a most exasperated state of mind. The fact is, these rascals intended to cheat both me and my father. The brig was bound direct for Nantes. We left the Hook under a very fair breeze, and proceeded at a good rate till we reached the latitude of New Bedford, in Massachusetts, when my captain came to me as if in despair, and said he must run into port, as the vessel was so leaky as to force him to have her unloaded and repaired before he proceeded across the Atlantic. Now this was only a trick; my captain was newly married, and was merely anxious to land at New Bedford to spend a few days with his bride, and had actually caused several holes to be bored below water-mark, which leaked enough to keep the men at the pumps. We came to anchor close to the town of New Bedford; the captain went on shore, entered a protest, the vessel was unloaded, the apertures bunged up, and after a week, which I spent in being rowed about the beautiful harbor, we sailed for La Belle France. A few days after having lost sight of land we were overtaken by a violent gale, coming fairly on our quarter, and before it we scudded at an extraordinary rate, and during the dark night had the misfortune to lose a fine young sailor overboard. At one part of the sea we passed through an immensity of dead fish floating on the surface of the water, and, after nineteen days from New Bedford, we had entered the Loire, and anchored off Painboeuf, the lower harbor of Nantes. On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs, he came on board, and afterward sent me to my father's villa, La Gerbétière, in his barge, and with his own men, and late that evening I was in the arms of my beloved parents. Although I had written to them previous to leaving America, the rapidity of my voyage had prevented them hearing of my intentions, and to them my appearance was sudden and unexpected. Most welcome, however, I was; I found my father hale and hearty, and _chère maman_ as fair and good as ever. Adored _maman_, peace be with thee! I cannot trouble you with minute accounts of my life in France for the following two years, but will merely tell you that my first object being that of having Da Costa disposed of, this was first effected; the next was my father's consent to my marriage, and this was acceded to as soon as my good father had received answers to letters written to your grandfather, William Bakewell. In the very lap of comfort my time was happily spent; I went out shooting and hunting, drew every bird I procured, as well as many other objects of natural history and zoölogy, though these were not the subjects I had studied under the instruction of the celebrated David. It was during this visit that my sister Rosa was married to Gabriel Dupuy Gaudeau, and I now also became acquainted with Ferdinand Rozier, whom you well know. Between Rozier and myself my father formed a partnership to stand good for nine years in America. France was at that time in a great state of convulsion; the republic had, as it were, dwindled into a half monarchical, half democratic era. Bonaparte was at the height of success, overflowing the country as the mountain torrent overflows the plains in its course. Levies, or conscriptions, were the order of the day, and my name being French my father felt uneasy lest I should be forced to take part in the political strife of those days. I underwent a mockery of an examination, and was received as midshipman in the navy, went to Rochefort, was placed on board a man-of-war, and ran a short cruise. On my return, my father had, in some way, obtained passports for Rozier and me, and we sailed for New York. Never can I forget the day when, at St. Nazaire, an officer came on board to examine the papers of the many passengers. On looking at mine he said: "My dear Mr. Audubon, I wish you joy; would to God that I had such papers; how thankful I should be to leave unhappy France under the same passport." About a fortnight after leaving France a vessel gave us chase. We were running before the wind under all sail, but the unknown gained on us at a great rate, and after a while stood to the windward of our ship, about half a mile off. She fired a gun, the ball passed within a few yards of our bows; our captain heeded not, but kept on his course, with the United States flag displayed and floating in the breeze. Another and another shot was fired at us; the enemy closed upon us; all the passengers expected to receive her broadside. Our commander hove to: a boat was almost instantaneously lowered and alongside our vessel;[9] two officers leaped on board, with about a dozen mariners; the first asked for the captain's papers, while the latter with his men kept guard over the whole. The vessel which had pursued us was the "Rattlesnake" and was what I believe is generally called a privateer, which means nothing but a pirate; every one of the papers proved to be in perfect accordance with the laws existing between England and America, therefore we were not touched nor molested, but the English officers who had come on board robbed the ship of almost everything that was nice in the way of provisions, took our pigs and sheep, coffee and wines, and carried off our two best sailors despite all the remonstrances made by one of our members of Congress, I think from Virginia, who was accompanied by a charming young daughter. The "Rattlesnake" kept us under her lee, and almost within pistol-shot, for a whole day and night, ransacking the ship for money, of which we had a good deal in the run beneath a ballast of stone. Although this was partially removed they did not find the treasure. I may here tell you that I placed the gold belonging to Rozier and myself, wrapped in some clothing, under a cable in the bow of the ship, and there it remained snug till the "Rattlesnake" had given us leave to depart, which you may be sure we did without thanks to her commander or crew; we were afterward told the former had his wife with him. After this rencontre we sailed on till we came to within about thirty miles of the entrance to the bay of New York,[10] when we passed a fishing-boat, from which we were hailed and told that two British frigates lay off the entrance of the Hook, had fired an American ship, shot a man, and impressed so many of our seamen that to attempt reaching New York might prove to be both unsafe and unsuccessful. Our captain, on hearing this, put about immediately, and sailed for the east end of Long Island Sound, which we entered uninterrupted by any other enemy than a dreadful gale, which drove us on a sand-bar in the Sound, but from which we made off unhurt during the height of the tide and finally reached New York. I at once called on your uncle Benjamin Bakewell, stayed with him a day, and proceeded at as swift a rate as possible to Fatland Ford, accompanied by Ferdinand Rozier. Mr. Da Costa was at once dismissed from his charge. I saw my dear Lucy, and was again my own master. Perhaps it would be well for me to give you some slight information respecting my mode of life in those days of my youth, and I shall do so without gloves. I was what in plain terms may be called extremely extravagant. I had no vices, it is true, neither had I any high aims. I was ever fond of shooting, fishing, and riding on horseback; the raising of fowls of every sort was one of my hobbies, and to reach the maximum of my desires in those different things filled every one of my thoughts. I was ridiculously fond of dress. To have seen me going shooting in black satin smallclothes, or breeches, with silk stockings, and the finest ruffled shirt Philadelphia could afford, was, as I now realize, an absurd spectacle, but it was one of my many foibles, and I shall not conceal it. I purchased the best horses in the country, and rode well, and felt proud of it; my guns and fishing-tackle were equally good, always expensive and richly ornamented, often with silver. Indeed, though in America, I cut as many foolish pranks as a young dandy in Bond Street or Piccadilly. I was extremely fond of music, dancing, and drawing; in all I had been well instructed, and not an opportunity was lost to confirm my propensities in those accomplishments. I was, like most young men, filled with the love of amusement, and not a ball, a skating-match, a house or riding party took place without me. Withal, and fortunately for me, I was not addicted to gambling; cards I disliked, and I had no other evil practices. I was, besides, temperate to an _intemperate_ degree. I lived, until the day of my union with your mother, on milk, fruits, and vegetables, with the addition of game and fish at times, but never had I swallowed a single glass of wine or spirits until the day of my wedding. The result has been my uncommon, indeed iron, constitution. This was my constant mode of life ever since my earliest recollection, and while in France it was extremely annoying to all those round me. Indeed, so much did it influence me that I never went to dinners, merely because when so situated my peculiarities in my choice of food occasioned comment, and also because often not a single dish was to my taste or fancy, and I could eat nothing from the sumptuous tables before me. Pies, puddings, eggs, milk, or cream was all I cared for in the way of food, and many a time have I robbed my tenant's wife, Mrs. Thomas, of the cream intended to make butter for the Philadelphia market. All this time I was as fair and as rosy as a girl, though as strong, indeed stronger than most young men, and as active as a buck. And why, have I thought a thousand times, should I not have kept to that delicious mode of living? and why should not mankind in general be more abstemious than mankind is? Before I sailed for France I had begun a series of drawings of the birds of America, and had also begun a study of their habits. I at first drew my subjects dead, by which I mean to say that, after procuring a specimen, I hung it up either by the head, wing, or foot, and copied it as closely as I possibly could. In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He always commended my efforts, nay he even went farther, for one morning, while I was drawing a figure of the _Ardea herodias_,[11] he assured me the time might come when I should be a great American naturalist. However curious it may seem to the scientific world that these sayings from the lips of such a man should affect me, I assure you they had great weight with me, and I felt a certain degree of pride in these words even then. Too young and too useless to be married, your grandfather William Bakewell advised me to study the mercantile business; my father approved, and to insure this training under the best auspices I went to New York, where I entered as a clerk for your great-uncle Benjamin Bakewell, while Rozier went to a French house at Philadelphia. The mercantile business did not suit me. The very first venture which I undertook was in indigo; it cost me several hundred pounds, the whole of which was lost. Rozier was no more fortunate than I, for he shipped a cargo of hams to the West Indies, and not more than one-fifth of the cost was returned. Yet I suppose we both obtained a smattering of business. Time passed, and at last, on April 8th, 1808, your mother and I were married by the Rev. Dr. Latimer, of Philadelphia, and the next morning left Fatland Ford and Mill Grove for Louisville, Ky. For some two years previous to this, Rozier and I had visited the country from time to time as merchants, had thought well of it, and liked it exceedingly. Its fertility and abundance, the hospitality and kindness of the people were sufficiently winning things to entice any one to go there with a view to comfort and happiness. We had marked Louisville as a spot designed by nature to become a place of great importance, and, had we been as wise as we now are, I might never have published the "Birds of America;" for a few hundred dollars laid out at that period, in lands or town lots near Louisville, would, if left to grow over with grass to a date ten years past (this being 1835), have become an immense fortune. But young heads are on young shoulders; it was not to be, and who cares? On our way to Pittsburg, we met with a sad accident, that nearly cost the life of your mother. The coach upset on the mountains, and she was severely, but fortunately not fatally hurt. We floated down the Ohio in a flatboat, in company with several other young families; we had many goods, and opened a large store at Louisville, which went on prosperously when I attended to it; but birds were birds then as now, and my thoughts were ever and anon turning toward them as the objects of my greatest delight. I shot, I drew, I looked on nature only; my days were happy beyond human conception, and beyond this I really cared not. Victor was born June 12, 1809, at Gwathway's Hotel of the Indian Queen. We had by this time formed the acquaintance of many persons in and about Louisville; the country was settled by planters and farmers of the most benevolent and hospitable nature; and my young wife, who possessed talents far above par, was regarded as a gem, and received by them all with the greatest pleasure. All the sportsmen and hunters were fond of me, and I became their companion; my fondness for fine horses was well kept up, and I had as good as the country--and the country was Kentucky--could afford. Our most intimate friends were the Tarascons and the Berthouds, at Louisville and Shippingport. The simplicity and whole-heartedness of those days I cannot describe; man was man, and each, one to another, a brother. I seldom passed a day without drawing a bird, or noting something respecting its habits, Rozier meantime attending the counter. I could relate many curious anecdotes about him, but never mind them; he made out to grow rich, and what more could _he_ wish for? In 1810 Alexander Wilson the naturalist--not the _American_ naturalist--called upon me.[12] About 1812 your uncle Thomas W. Bakewell sailed from New York or Philadelphia, as a partner of mine, and took with him all the disposable money which I had at that time, and there [New Orleans] opened a mercantile house under the name of "Audubon & Bakewell." Merchants crowded to Louisville from all our Eastern cities. None of them were, as I was, intent on the study of birds, but all were deeply impressed with the value of dollars. Louisville did not give us up, but we gave up Louisville. I could not bear to give the attention required by my business, and which, indeed, every business calls for, and, therefore, my business abandoned me. Indeed, I never thought of it beyond the ever-engaging journeys which I was in the habit of taking to Philadelphia or New York to purchase goods; these journeys I greatly enjoyed, as they afforded me ample means to study birds and their habits as I travelled through the beautiful, the darling forests of Ohio, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania. Were I here to tell you that once, when travelling, and driving several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost sight of the pack-saddles, and the cash they bore, to watch the motions of a warbler, I should only repeat occurrences that happened a hundred times and more in those days. To an ordinary reader this may appear very odd, but it is as true, my dear sons, as it is that I am now scratching this poor book of mine with a miserable iron pen. Rozier and myself still had some business together, but we became discouraged at Louisville, and I longed to have a wilder range; this made us remove to Henderson, one hundred and twenty-five miles farther down the fair Ohio. We took there the remainder of our stock on hand, but found the country so very new, and so thinly populated that the commonest goods only were called for. I may say our guns and fishing-lines were the principal means of our support, as regards food. John Pope, our clerk, who was a Kentuckian, was a good shot and an excellent fisherman, and he and I attended to the procuring of game and fish, while Rozier again stood behind the counter. Your beloved mother and I were as happy as possible, the people round loved us, and we them in return; our profits were enormous, but our sales small, and my partner, who spoke English but badly, suggested that we remove to St. Geneviève, on the Mississippi River. I acceded to his request to go there, but determined to leave your mother and Victor at Henderson, not being quite sure that our adventure would succeed as we hoped. I therefore placed her and the children under the care of Dr. Rankin and his wife, who had a fine farm about three miles from Henderson, and having arranged our goods on board a large flatboat, my partner and I left Henderson in the month of December, 1810, in a heavy snow-storm. This change in my plans prevented me from going, as I had intended, on a long expedition. In Louisville we had formed the acquaintance of Major Croghan (an old friend of my father's), and of General Jonathan Clark, the brother of General William Clark, the first white man who ever crossed the Rocky Mountains. I had engaged to go with him, but was, as I have said, unfortunately prevented. To return to our journey. When we reached Cash Creek we were bound by ice for a few weeks; we then attempted to ascend the Mississippi, but were again stopped in the great bend called Tawapatee Bottom, where we again planted our camp till a thaw broke the ice.[13] In less than six weeks, however, we reached the village of St. Geneviève. I found at once it was not the place for me; its population was then composed of low French Canadians, uneducated and uncouth, and the ever-longing wish to be with my beloved wife and children drew my thoughts to Henderson, to which I decided to return almost immediately. Scarcely any communication existed between the two places, and I felt cut off from all dearest to me. Rozier, on the contrary, liked it; he found plenty of French with whom to converse. I proposed selling out to him, a bargain was made, he paid me a certain amount in cash, and gave me bills for the residue. This accomplished, I purchased a beauty of a horse, for which I paid dear enough, and bid Rozier farewell. On my return trip to Henderson I was obliged to stop at a humble cabin, where I so nearly ran the chance of losing my life, at the hands of a woman and her two desperate sons, that I have thought fit since to introduce this passage in a sketch called "The Prairie," which is to be found in the first volume of my "Ornithological Biography." Winter was just bursting into spring when I left the land of lead mines. Nature leaped with joy, as it were, at her own new-born marvels, the prairies began to be dotted with beauteous flowers, abounded with deer, and my own heart was filled with happiness at the sights before me. I must not forget to tell you that I crossed those prairies on foot at another time, for the purpose of collecting the money due to me from Rozier, and that I walked one hundred and sixty-five miles in a little over three days, much of the time nearly ankle deep in mud and water, from which I suffered much afterward by swollen feet. I reached Henderson in early March, and a few weeks later the lower portions of Kentucky and the shores of the Mississippi suffered severely by earthquakes. I felt their effects between Louisville and Henderson, and also at Dr. Rankin's. I have omitted to say that my second son, John Woodhouse, was born under Dr. Rankin's roof on November 30, 1812; he was an extremely delicate boy till about a twelvemonth old, when he suddenly acquired strength and grew to be a lusty child. Your uncle, Thomas W. Bakewell, had been all this time in New Orleans, and thither I had sent him almost all the money I could raise; but notwithstanding this, the firm could not stand, and one day, while I was making a drawing of an otter, he suddenly appeared. He remained at Dr. Rankin's a few days, talked much to me about our misfortunes in trade, and left us for Fatland Ford. My pecuniary means were now much reduced. I continued to draw birds and quadrupeds, it is true, but only now and then thought of making any money. I bought a wild horse, and on its back travelled over Tennessee and a portion of Georgia, and so round till I finally reached Philadelphia, and then to your grandfather's at Fatland Ford. He had sold my plantation of Mill Grove to Samuel Wetherell, of Philadelphia, for a good round sum, and with this I returned through Kentucky and at last reached Henderson once more. Your mother was well, both of you were lovely darlings of our hearts, and the effects of poverty troubled us not. Your uncle T. W. Bakewell was again in New Orleans and doing rather better, but this was a mere transient clearing of that sky which had been obscured for many a long day. Determined to do something for myself, I took to horse, rode to Louisville with a few hundred dollars in my pockets, and there purchased, half cash, half credit, a small stock, which I brought to Henderson. _Chemin faisant_, I came in contact with, and was accompanied by, General Toledo, then on his way as a revolutionist to South America. As our flatboats were floating one clear moonshiny night lashed together, this individual opened his views to me, promising me wonders of wealth should I decide to accompany him, and he went so far as to offer me a colonelcy on what he was pleased to call "his Safe Guard." I listened, it is true, but looked more at the heavens than on his face, and in the former found so much more of peace than of war that I concluded not to accompany him. When our boats arrived at Henderson, he landed with me, purchased many horses, hired some men, and coaxed others, to accompany him, purchased a young negro from me, presented me with a splendid Spanish dagger and my wife with a ring, and went off overland toward Natchez, with a view of there gathering recruits. I now purchased a ground lot of four acres, and a meadow of four more at the back of the first. On the latter stood several buildings, an excellent orchard, etc., lately the property of an English doctor, who had died on the premises, and left the whole to a servant woman as a gift, from whom it came to me as a freehold. The pleasures which I have felt at Henderson, and under the roof of that log cabin, can never be effaced from my heart until after death. The little stock of goods brought from Louisville answered perfectly, and in less than twelve months I had again risen in the world. I purchased adjoining land, and was doing extremely well when Thomas Bakewell came once more on the tapis, and joined me in commerce. We prospered at a round rate for a while, but unfortunately for me, he took it into his brain to persuade me to erect a steam-mill at Henderson, and to join to our partnership an Englishman of the name of Thomas Pears, now dead. Well, up went the steam-mill at an enormous expense, in a country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me to attempt to settle in the moon. Thomas Pears came to Henderson with his wife and family of children, the mill was raised, and worked very badly. Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost ours. It was now our misfortune to add other partners and petty agents to our concern; suffice it for me to tell you, nay, to assure you, that I was gulled by all these men. The new-born Kentucky banks nearly all broke in quick succession; and again we started with a new set of partners; these were your present uncle N. Berthoud and Benjamin Page of Pittsburg. Matters, however, grew worse every day; the times were what men called "bad," but I am fully persuaded the great fault was ours, and the building of that accursed steam-mill was, of all the follies of man, one of the greatest, and to your uncle and me the worst of all our pecuniary misfortunes. How I labored at that infernal mill! from dawn to dark, nay, at times all night. But it is over now; I am old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the different trials of those sad days. We also took it into our heads to have a steamboat, in partnership with the engineer who had come from Philadelphia to fix the engine of that mill. This also proved an entire failure, and misfortune after misfortune came down upon us like so many avalanches, both fearful and destructive. About this time I went to New Orleans, at the suggestion of your uncle, to arrest T---- B----, who had purchased a steamer from us, but whose bills were worthless, and who owed us for the whole amount. I travelled down to New Orleans in an open skiff, accompanied by two negroes of mine; I reached New Orleans one day too late; Mr. B---- had been compelled to surrender the steamer to a prior claimant. I returned to Henderson, travelling part way on the steamer "Paragon," walked from the mouth of the Ohio to Shawnee, and rode the rest of the distance. On my arrival old Mr. Berthoud told me that Mr. B---- had arrived before me, and had sworn to kill me. My affrighted Lucy forced me to wear a dagger. Mr. B---- walked about the streets and before my house as if watching for me, and the continued reports of our neighbors prepared me for an encounter with this man, whose violent and ungovernable temper was only too well known. As I was walking toward the steam-mill one morning, I heard myself hailed from behind; on turning, I observed Mr. B---- marching toward me with a heavy club in his hand. I stood still, and he soon reached me. He complained of my conduct to him at New Orleans, and suddenly raising his bludgeon laid it about me. Though white with wrath, I spoke nor moved not till he had given me twelve severe blows, then, drawing my dagger with my left hand (unfortunately my right was disabled and in a sling, having been caught and much injured in the wheels of the steam-engine), I stabbed him and he instantly fell. Old Mr. Berthoud and others, who were hastening to the spot, now came up, and carried him home on a plank. Thank God, his wound was not mortal, but his friends were all up in arms and as hot-headed as himself. Some walked through my premises armed with guns; my dagger was once more at my side, Mr. Berthoud had his gun, our servants were variously armed, and our carpenter took my gun "Long Tom." Thus protected, I walked into the Judiciary Court, that was then sitting, and was blamed, _only_,--for not having killed the scoundrel who attacked me. [Illustration: AUDUBON'S MILL AT HENDERSON, KENTUCKY. NOW OWNED BY MR. DAVID CLARK.] The "bad establishment," as I called the steam-mill, worked worse and worse every day. Thomas Bakewell, who possessed more brains than I, sold his town lots and removed to Cincinnati, where he has made a large fortune, and glad I am of it. From this date my pecuniary difficulties daily increased; I had heavy bills to pay which I could not meet or take up. The moment this became known to the world around me, that moment I was assailed with thousands of invectives; the once wealthy man was now nothing. I parted with every particle of property I held to my creditors, keeping only the clothes I wore on that day, my original drawings, and my gun. Your mother held in her arms your baby sister Rosa, named thus on account of her extreme loveliness, and after my own sister Rosa. _She_ felt the pangs of our misfortunes perhaps more heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her brave and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches from her beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I not always rich? Finally I paid every bill, and at last left Henderson, probably forever, without a dollar in my pocket, walked to Louisville alone, by no means comfortable in mind, there went to Mr. Berthoud's, where I was kindly received; they were indeed good friends. My plantation in Pennsylvania had been sold, and, in a word, nothing was left to me but my humble talents. Were those talents to remain dormant under such exigencies? Was I to see my beloved Lucy and children suffer and want bread, in the abundant State of Kentucky? Was I to repine because I had acted like an honest man? Was I inclined to cut my throat in foolish despair? No!! I _had_ talents, and to them I instantly resorted. To be a good draughtsman in those days was to me a blessing; to any other man, be it a thousand years hence, it will be a blessing also. I at once undertook to take portraits of the human "head divine," in black chalk, and, thanks to my master, David, succeeded admirably. I commenced at exceedingly low prices, but raised these prices as I became more known in this capacity. Your mother and yourselves were sent up from Henderson to our friend Isham Talbot, then Senator for Kentucky; this was done without a cent of expense to me, and I can never be grateful enough for his kind generosity. In the course of a few weeks I had as much work to do as I could possibly wish, so much that I was able to rent a house in a retired part of Louisville. I was sent for four miles in the country, to take likenesses of persons on their death-beds, and so high did my reputation suddenly rise, as the best delineator of heads in that vicinity, that a clergyman residing at Louisville (I would give much now to recall and write down his name) had his dead child disinterred, to procure a fac-simile of his face, which, by the way, I gave to the parents as if still alive, to their intense satisfaction. My drawings of birds were not neglected meantime; in this particular there seemed to hover round me almost a mania, and I would even give up doing a head, the profits of which would have supplied our wants for a week or more, to represent a little citizen of the feathered tribe. Nay, my dear sons, I thought that I now drew birds far better than I had ever done before misfortune intensified, or at least developed, my abilities. I received an invitation to go to Cincinnati,[14] a flourishing place, and which you now well know to be a thriving town in the State of Ohio. I was presented to the president of the Cincinnati College, Dr. Drake, and immediately formed an engagement to stuff birds for the museum there, in concert with Mr. Robert Best, an Englishman of great talent. My salary was large, and I at once sent for your mother to come to me, and bring you. Your dearly beloved sister Rosa died shortly afterward. I now established a large drawing-school at Cincinnati, to which I attended thrice per week, and at good prices. The expedition of Major Long[15] passed through the city soon after, and well do I recollect how he, Messrs. T. Peale,[16] Thomas Say,[17] and others stared at my drawings of birds at that time. So industrious were Mr. Best and I that in about six months we had augmented, arranged, and finished all we could do for the museum. I returned to my portraits, and made a great number of them, without which we must have once more been on the starving list, as Mr. Best and I found, sadly too late, that the members of the College museum were splendid promisers and very bad paymasters. In October of 1820 I left your mother and yourselves at Cincinnati, and went to New Orleans on board a flat-boat commanded and owned by a Mr. Haromack. From this date my journals are kept with fair regularity, and if you read them you will easily find all that followed afterward. In glancing over these pages, I see that in my hurried and broken manner of laying before you this very imperfect (but perfectly correct) account of my early life I have omitted to tell you that, before the birth of your sister Rosa, a daughter was born at Henderson, who was called, of course, Lucy. Alas! the poor, dear little one was unkindly born, she was always ill and suffering; two years did your kind and unwearied mother nurse her with all imaginable care, but notwithstanding this loving devotion she died, in the arms which had held her so long, and so tenderly. This infant daughter we buried in our garden at Henderson, but after removed her to the Holly burying-ground in the same place. Hundreds of anecdotes I could relate to you, my dear sons, about those times, and it may happen that the pages that I am now scribbling over may hereafter, through your own medium, or that of some one else be published. I shall try, should God Almighty grant me life, to return to these less important portions of my history, and delineate them all with the same faithfulness with which I have written the ornithological biographies of the birds of my beloved country. Only one event, however, which possesses in itself a lesson to mankind, I will here relate. After our dismal removal from Henderson to Louisville, one morning, while all of us were sadly desponding, I took you both, Victor and John, from Shippingport to Louisville. I had purchased a loaf of bread and some apples; before we reached Louisville you were all hungry, and by the river side we sat down and ate our scanty meal. On that day the world was with me as a blank, and my heart was sorely heavy, for scarcely had I enough to keep my dear ones alive; and yet through these dark ways I was being led to the development of the talents I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to us _all_, for it is with deep thankfulness that I record that you, my sons, have passed your lives almost continuously with your dear mother and myself. But I will here stop with one remark. One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse circumstances was that I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or delineating them in the best way that I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrush's melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God. This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often necessary for me to exert my will, and compel myself to return to my fellow-beings. To speak more fully on some of the incidents which Audubon here relates, I turn to one of the two journals which are all that fire has spared of the many volumes which were filled with his fine, rather illegible handwriting previous to 1826. In the earlier of these journals I read: "I went to France not only to escape Da Costa, but even more to obtain my father's consent to my marriage with my Lucy, and this simply because I thought it my moral and religious duty to do so. But although my request was immediately granted, I remained in France nearly two years. As I told you, Mr. Bakewell considered my Lucy too young (she was then but seventeen), and me too unbusiness-like to marry; so my father decided that I should remain some months with him, and on returning to America it was his plan to associate me with some one whose commercial knowledge would be of value to me. "My father's beautiful country seat, situated within sight of the Loire, about mid-distance between Nantes and the sea, I found quite delightful to my taste, notwithstanding the frightful cruelties I had witnessed in that vicinity, not many years previously. The gardens, greenhouses, and all appertaining to it appeared to me then as if of a superior cast; and my father's physician was above all a young man precisely after my own heart; his name was D'Orbigny, and with his young wife and infant son he lived not far distant. The doctor was a good fisherman, a good hunter, and fond of all objects in nature. Together we searched the woods, the fields, and the banks of the Loire, procuring every bird we could, and I made drawings of every one of them--very bad, to be sure, but still they were of assistance to me. The lessons which I had received from the great David[18] now proved all-important to me, but what I wanted, and what I had the good fortune to stumble upon a few years later, was the knowledge of putting up my models, in true and good positions according to the ways and habits of my beautiful feathered subjects. During these happy years I managed to make drawings of about two hundred species of birds, all of which I brought to America and gave to my Lucy.[19] "At last my father associated me with Ferdinand Rozier, as you already know, and we were fairly smuggled out of France; for he was actually an officer attached to the navy of that country, and though I had a passport stating I was born at New Orleans, my French name would have swept that aside very speedily. Rozier's passport was a Dutch one, though he did not understand a single word in that language. Indeed, our passengers were a medley crowd; two days out two monks appeared among us from the hold, where our captain had concealed them." This same "medley crowd" appears to have comprised many refugees from the rule of Napoleon, this being about 1806, and the amusements were varied, including both gaming and dancing. To quote again: "Among the passengers was a handsome Virginian girl, young and graceful. She was constantly honored by the attentions of two Frenchmen who belonged to the nobility; both were fine young fellows, travelling, as was not uncommon then, under assumed names. One lovely day the bonnet of the fair lady was struck by a rope and knocked overboard. One of the French chevaliers at once leaped into the ocean, captured the bonnet, and had the good fortune to be picked up himself by the yawl. On reaching the deck he presented the bonnet with a graceful obeisance and perfect _sang froid_, while the rival looked at him as black as a raven. No more was heard of the matter till dawn, when reports of firearms were heard; the alarm was general, as we feared pirates. On gaining the deck it was found that a challenge had been given and accepted, a duel had positively taken place, ending, alas! in the death of the rescuer of the bonnet. The young lady felt this deeply, and indeed it rendered us all very uncomfortable." The voyage ended, Audubon returned to Mill Grove, where he remained some little time before his marriage to Lucy Bakewell. It was a home he always loved, and never spoke of without deep feeling. His sensitive nature, romantic if you will, was always more or less affected by environment, and Mill Grove was a most congenial spot to him. This beautiful estate in Montgomery Co., Pa., lies in a lovely part of the country. The house, on a gentle eminence, almost a natural terrace, overlooks, towards the west, the rapid waters of Perkiomen Creek, which just below empties into the Schuylkill river, across which to the south is the historic ground of Valley Forge. The property has remained in the Wetherill family nearly ever since Audubon sold it to Samuel Wetherill in 1813. The present owner[20] delights to treasure every trace of the bird lover, and not only makes no changes in anything that he can in the least degree associate with him, but has added many photographs and engravings of Audubon which adorn his walls. The house, of the usual type of those days, with a hall passing through the centre and rooms on either side, was built of rubble-stone by Roland Evans in 1762, and in 1774 was sold to Admiral Audubon, who in the year following built an addition, also of rubble-stone. This addition is lower than the main house, which consists of two full stories and an attic with dormer windows, where, it is said, Audubon kept his collections. The same Franklin stove is in the parlor which stood there giving out its warmth and cheer when the young man came in from the hunting and skating expeditions on which he loved to dwell. The dense woods which once covered the ground are largely cut down, but sufficient forest growth remains to give the needed shade and beauty; the hemlocks in particular are noticeable, so large and of such perfect form. Going down a foot-path to Perkiomen Creek, a few steps lead to the old mill which gave the place its name. Built of stone and shaded by cottonwood trees, the stream rushing past as in days long gone, the mill-wheel still revolves, though little work is done there now. When I saw Mill Grove[21] the spring flowers were abundant; the soft, pale blossom of the May-apple (_Podophyllum peltatum_) held its head above the blue of many violets, the fingers of the potentilla with their yellow stars crept in and out among the tangled grass and early undergrowth; the trilliums, both red and white, were in profusion; in the shade the wood anemones, with their shell pink cups grew everywhere, while in damp spots by the brook yet remained a few adder's-tongues, and under the hemlocks in the clefts of the rocks the delicate foliage of the Dutchmen's breeches (_Dicentra cucullaria_) with a few late blossoms; all these and many more which I do not now recall, Audubon has pictured with the birds found in the same regions, as his imperishable tribute to the home he loved--Mill-Grove Farm on the Perkiomen Creek. Fatland Ford, to the south of Mill Grove, is a far larger and grander mansion than that of the modest Quaker Evans; as one approaches, the white columns of the imposing entrance are seen for some distance before entering the avenue which leads to the front of the mansion. Like Mill Grove it stands on a natural terrace, and has an extensive outlook over the Schuylkill and Valley Forge. This house was built by James Vaux in 1760. He was a member of the Society of Friends and an Englishman, but in sympathy with the colonists. One end of Sullivan's Bridge was not far from the house; the spot where it once stood is now marked by the remains of a red-sandstone monument.[22] Washington spent a night in the mansion house with Mr. Vaux, and left only twelve hours in advance of the arrival of Howe, who lodged there the following night.[23] The old walled garden still remains, and the stable with accommodation for many horses. A little withdrawn from all these and on the edge of a wood are "the graves of a household," not neglected, as is so often the case, but preserved and cared for by those who own Fatland Farm[24] as well as Mill Grove. Dear as Mill Grove was to Audubon, he left it with his young bride the day following their wedding, which took place at Fatland Ford on April 8, 1808, and departed for Louisville, Ky., where he and Rozier, his partner, had previously done some business. Though they had both lost money they liked the place, which reason seemed quite sufficient to decide them to return and lose more money, as they promptly did. They remained at Louisville till 1810, when they moved to Henderson, where Rozier did what business was done, and Audubon drew, fished, hunted, and rambled in the woods to his heart's content, but his purse's depletion. He describes this life in the episode "Fishing in the Ohio," and in these rushing times such an Arcadian existence seems impossible. Small wonder that his wife's relatives, with their English thrift, lost patience with him, could not believe he was aught but idle, because he did not work their way. I doubt not many would think, as they did, that he wasted his days, when in truth he was laying up stores of knowledge which later in life brought him a rich harvest. Waiting times are always long, longest to those who do not understand the silent inner growth which goes on and on, yet makes no outward sign for months and even years, as in the case of Audubon. Henderson was then a tiny place, and gains being small if any, Rozier and Audubon, in December, 1810, started for St. Geneviève, spent their winter in camp, and reached their destination when the ice broke up. On April 11, 1811, they dissolved partnership, and wrote each as they felt, Audubon saying: "Rozier cared only for money and liked St. Geneviève;" Rozier writing: "Audubon had no taste for commerce, and was continually in the forest." Once more, however, he went to St. Geneviève to try to get money Rozier owed him, and returned to Henderson on foot, still unpaid, in February or March of 1812. He had gone with a party of Osage Indians, but his journey back was made alone. He writes in his journal, simply with date of April, 1812:-- "Bidding Rozier good-bye, I whistled to my dog, crossed the Mississippi and went off alone and on foot, bent on reaching Shawanee Town as soon as possible; but little had I foreseen the task before me, for soon as I had left the river lands and reached the prairies, I found them covered with water, like large lakes; still nothing would have made me retrace my steps, and the thoughts of my Lucy and my boy made me care little what my journey might be. Unfortunately I had no shoes, and my moccasins constantly slipping made the wading extremely irksome; notwithstanding, I walked forty-five miles and swam the Muddy River. I only saw two cabins that day, but I had great pleasure in viewing herds of Deer crossing the prairie, like myself ankle deep in water. Their beautiful movements, their tails spread to the breeze, were perceivable for many miles. A mound covered with trees through which a light shone, gave me an appetite, and I made for it. I was welcomed kindly by the woman of the house, and while the lads inspected my fine double-barrelled gun, the daughters bustled about, ground coffee, fried venison, boiled some eggs, and made me feel at once at home. "Such hospitality is from the heart, and when the squatter came in, his welcome was not less genuine than that of his family. Night fell; I slept soundly on some bearskins, but long before day was ready to march. My hostess was on the alert; after some breakfast she gave me a small loaf and some venison in a clean rag, and as no money would be received, I gave the lads a flask of gunpowder, a valuable article in those days to a squatter. "My way lay through woods, and many small crossroads now puzzled me, but I walked on, and must have travelled another forty-five miles. I met a party of Osage Indians encamped, and asked in French to stay with them. They understood me, and before long I had my supper of boiled bear's-fat and pecan-nuts, of which I ate heartily, then lay down with my feet to the fire, and slept so soundly that when I awoke my astonishment was great to find all the Indians had gone hunting, and only left two dogs to keep the camp free from wolves. "I walked off gayly, my dog full of life, but met no one till four o'clock when I passed the first salt well, and thirty minutes more brought me to Shawanee Town. As I entered the inn I was welcomed by several whom I knew, who had come to purchase salt. I felt no fatigue, ate heartily, slept soundly without being rocked, and having come forty miles had only forty-seven more to walk to reach my home. Early next morning I pursued my way; the ferry boat took me from Illinois to Kentucky, and as night came I found myself with my wife beside me, my child on my knee." The time from now till 1819 was the most disastrous period of Audubon's life, as regarded his finances. With his brother-in-law, Thomas W. Bakewell, he engaged in various ventures in which, whatever others did, he lost money at every turn. The financial affairs of Kentucky were, it is true, not on a very sound basis, but Audubon frankly acknowledges the fault in many cases was his own. Thomas W. Bakewell was often in New Orleans, where they had a mercantile establishment, and Audubon spent not only days, but weeks and months, at his favorite pursuits. On his journeys to Philadelphia to procure goods he wandered miles in all directions from the main route; when in Henderson he worked, at times, very hard in the mill, for, indeed, he never did anything except intensely; but the cry of the wild geese overhead, the sound of the chattering squirrel, the song of the thrush, the flash of the humming-bird with its jewelled throat, were each and all enough to take him from work he hated as he never hated anything else. When first in Henderson he bought land, and evidently had some idea of remaining there permanently; for, "on March 16, 1816, he and Mr. Bakewell took a ninety-five years' lease of a part of the river front between First and Second Sts., intending to erect a grist and saw mill, which mill was completed in 1817, and yet stands, though now incorporated in the factory of Mr. David Clark. The weather-boarding whip-sawed out of yellow poplar is still intact on three sides, the joists are of unhewn logs, and the foundation walls of pieces of flat broken rock are four and a half feet thick. For those days it was built on a large scale, and did the sawing for the entire country."[25] It has been said that the inside walls had many drawings of birds on them, but this, while quite likely, has never been proved; what was proved conclusively is that, from his woodcutters, whose labors were performed on a tract of forest land of about 1200 acres, which Audubon purchased from the government, to those who were his partners, by far the greater number had the advantage of him. The New Orleans venture has a similar record; money left him by his father was lost by the failure of the merchant who held it until Audubon could prove his right to it, and finally he left Henderson absolutely penniless. He writes: "Without a dollar in the world, bereft of all revenues beyond my own personal talents and acquirements, I left my dear log house, my delightful garden and orchards with that heaviest of burdens, a heavy heart, and turned my face toward Louisville. This was the saddest of all my journeys,--the only time in my life when the Wild Turkeys that so often crossed my path, and the thousands of lesser birds that enlivened the woods and the prairies, all looked like enemies, and I turned my eyes from them, as if I could have wished that they had never existed." From Louisville Audubon went almost at once to Shippingport, where he was kindly received by his friends Nicholas Berthoud, who was also his brother-in-law, and the Tarascon family. Here he was joined by his wife and two sons, Victor Gifford and John Woodhouse, and again I quote from Audubon's own words: "As we were straitened to the very utmost, I undertook to draw portraits at the low price of five dollars per head, in black chalk. I drew a few gratis, and succeeded so well that ere many days had elapsed I had an abundance of work; and being industrious both by nature and habit I produced a great number of those black-chalk sketches."[26] This carried him on for some months, but the curse, or blessing, of the "wandering foot" was his, and as soon as money matters were a little ahead, off he went again to the forests. It was during these years, that is from 1811 to 1819, that many months were passed hunting with the Indians, the Osage tribe being the one whose language Audubon spoke. Late in life he wrote: "Of all the Indian tribes I know, the Osage are by far the superior." With them he delighted to track the birds and quadrupeds as only an Indian or one of like gifts, can; from them he learned much woodcraft; with them he strengthened his already iron constitution; and in fearlessness, endurance, patience, and marvellously keen vision, no Indian surpassed him. He had a wonderful gift of making and retaining friends, and even in these days of poverty and depression he never seemed too poor to help others; and certainly from others he received much kindness, which he never ceased to remember and acknowledge. Through one of these friends--I believe a member of the Tarascon family--he was offered a position in the Museum at Cincinnati. Without delay, or any written agreement, Audubon and his family were again (1818) in new surroundings, and the work being congenial, he entered heartily into it with Mr. Robert Best. The promised salary was large, but being never paid Audubon began drawing classes to support his modest household. In Cincinnati he first met Mr. Daniel Mallory (whose second daughter afterwards married Victor G. Audubon) and Captain Samuel Cummings. This latter gentleman had many tastes similar to Audubon's, and later went with him to New Orleans. [Illustration: John J. Audubon FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, PUBLISHED BY ROBERT HAVELL, January 12, 1835.] The life at Cincinnati was one of strict economy. Mrs. Audubon was a woman of great ability and many resources, and with one less gifted her unpractical husband would have fared far worse than he did. To quote again: "Our living here [Cincinnati] is extremely moderate; the markets are well supplied and cheap, beef only two and a half cents a pound, and I am able to provide a good deal myself; Partridges are frequently in the streets, and I can shoot Wild Turkeys within a mile or so; Squirrels and Woodcock are very abundant in the season, and fish always easily caught." Even with these advantages, Audubon, receiving no money[27] from Dr. Drake, president of the Museum, decided on going to New Orleans. He had now a great number of drawings and the idea of publishing these had suggested itself both to him and his wife. To perfect his collection he planned going through many of the Southern States, then pushing farther west, and thence returning to Cincinnati. On Oct. 12, 1820, he left Cincinnati with Captain Samuel Cummings for New Orleans, but with a long pause at Natchez, did not reach that city before mid-winter, where he remained with varying success until the summer of 1821, when he took a position as tutor in the family of Mrs. Charles Percy of Bayou Sara. Here, in the beloved Louisiana whose praises he never wearied of singing, whose magnolia woods were more to him than palaces, whose swamps were storehouses of treasures, he stayed till autumn, when, all fear of yellow fever being over, he sent for his wife and sons. Many new drawings had been made in this year of separation from them, and these were by far the greater part of the furniture in the little house in Dauphine St., to which he took his family on their arrival in December, 1821. The former life of drawing portraits, giving lessons, painting birds, and wandering through the country, began again, though there was less of this last, Audubon realizing that he _must_ make money. He had had to use strong persuasions to induce Mrs. Audubon to join him in New Orleans. She had relatives in Cincinnati, as well as many friends, and several pupils brought her a small income. Who, recalling her early married life, can wonder that she hesitated before leaving this home for the vicissitudes of an unknown city? She and her husband were devotedly attached to each other, but she thought more of the uncertainty for her sons than for herself. They were now boys of twelve and nine years old, and their mother, whose own education was far beyond the average, realized how unwise a thing for them the constant change was. Audubon was most anxious also that his "Kentucky lads," as he often called them, should be given every advantage, but he had the rare quality of being able to work equally well in any surroundings, in doors or out, and he failed to understand why others could not, just as he failed to see why his wife should ever doubt the desirability of going anywhere, at any time, under any conditions. He thus writes to her in a letter, dated New Orleans, May 3, 1821: "Thou art not, it seems, as daring as I am about leaving one place to go to another, without the means. I am sorry for that. I never will fear want as long as I am well; and if God will grant me health with the little talents I have received from Nature, I would dare go to England or anywhere, without one cent, one single letter of introduction to any one." This, as we know, was no empty boast, but the principle on which Audubon proceeded numberless times in his life. His own courage, or persuasions, brought his wife, as has been said, to join him in the Crescent City, and here as elsewhere that noble woman proved her courage and endurance fully equal to his, although perhaps in another line. Under the date of January 1, 1822, Audubon writes: "Two months and five days have elapsed before I could venture to dispose of one hundred and twenty-five cents to pay for this book, that probably, like all other things in the world, is ashamed to find me so poor." On March 5th of the same year: "During January my time was principally spent in giving lessons in painting and drawing, to supply my family and pay for the schooling of Victor and Johnny at a Mr. Branards', where they received notions of geography, arithmetic, grammar, and writing, for six dollars per month each. Every moment I had to spare I drew birds for my ornithology, in which my Lucy and myself alone have faith. February was spent in drawing birds strenuously, and I thought I had improved much by applying coats of water-color under the pastels, thereby preventing the appearance of the paper, that in some instances marred my best productions. I discovered also many imperfections in my earlier drawings, and formed the resolution to redraw the whole of them; consequently I hired two French hunters, who swept off every dollar that I could raise for specimens. I have few acquaintances; my wife and sons are more congenial to me than all others in the world, and we have no desire to force ourselves into a society where every day I receive fewer bows." This winter (1821-1822) in New Orleans, proved to Audubon that his wife's judgment was correct; it was not the place for them to make either a permanent income or home. True, they had been able to live with extreme simplicity, and to send the boys to school; they had had their own pleasures, as the worn, brown volume, the journal of 1822-24, with its faded entries, bears witness. There are accounts of walks and of musical evenings when they were joined by one or two friends of like tastes and talents. Both played well, she on the piano, and he on a variety of instruments, principally the violin, flute, and flageolet. For over two months a fifth inmate was added to the home circle in Mr. Matabon, a former friend, whom Audubon found one morning in the market, in a state of great poverty. He at once took him to his house and kept him as a guest, till, like Micawber, "something turned up" for him to do. When this gentleman left, this entry is made: "Mr. Matabon's departure is regretted by us all, and we shall sorely miss his beautiful music on the flute." Summer approaching, when those who purchased pictures and took drawing-lessons were about to leave the city, Audubon accepted a position as tutor in the household of a Mr. Quaglas near Natchez. Mrs. Audubon, who had for some time been teaching in the family of Mr. Brand, removed to that gentleman's house with her sons; they, however, were almost immediately sent to school at Washington, nine miles from Natchez, Audubon's salary enabling him to do this, and in September he was joined by his wife. While at Natchez, the long summer days permitted the drawing of birds as well as the teaching, which was conscientiously performed, and the hope of eventually publishing grew stronger. In the autumn of this year (1822), Audubon met a portrait painter named John Steen or Stein, from Washington, Pa., and thus writes, December, 1822: "He gave me the first lesson in painting in oils I ever took in my life; it was a copy of an Otter from one of my water-colors. Together we painted a full length portrait of Père Antonio, which was sent to Havana." January, 1823, brought fresh changes. Mrs. Audubon, with her son John, went to Mrs. Percy's plantation, Beechwoods, to teach not only Marguerite Percy, but also the daughters of the owners of the neighboring plantations, and Audubon, with Victor and Mr. Steen, started on a tour of the Southern States in a dearborn, intending to paint for their support. The journal says, March, 1823; "I regretted deeply leaving my Natchez friends, especially Charles Carré and Dr. Provan. The many birds I had collected to take to France I made free; some of the doves had become so fond of me that I was obliged to chase them to the woods, fearing the wickedness of the boys, who would, no doubt, have with pleasure destroyed them." So it would seem boys then were much the same as now. Jackson and other places were visited, and finally New Orleans, whence Audubon started for Louisville with Victor, May 1. The whole of this summer (1823) was one of enjoyment in many ways to the naturalist. He felt his wife was in a delightful home (where she remained many years), beloved by those around her; Victor now was nearly fourteen, handsome, strong, and very companionable, old for his years, and as his father was always young for his, they were good comrades, and till both were attacked by yellow fever, the days passed smoothly on. Nursed through this malady by the ever devoted wife and mother, who had come to them at once on hearing they were ill, some time was spent at the Beechwoods to recuperate, and on October 1, 1823, Audubon with Victor departed for Kentucky by boat. The water being low, their progress was greatly delayed; he became impatient and at Trinity left the boat with his son and two gentlemen, and walked to Louisville. This walk, of which we have a full published account[28] began on October 15, and on the 21st they reached Green River, when Victor becoming weary, the remaining distance was performed in a wagon. It was on this journey, which Audubon undertook fearing, so he says, that he should not have enough money to provide for himself and Victor in Louisville beyond a few weeks, that he relates this incident: "The squatter had a Black Wolf, perfectly gentle, and completely under the control of his master; I put my hand in my pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill, which I offered for it, but it was refused. I respected the man for his attachment to the wolf, for I doubted if he had ever seen a hundred dollars before." Louisville was speedily quitted for Shippingport, where Audubon engaged a room for Victor and himself, and painted all winter (1823-24) at birds, landscapes, portraits, and even signs. Shippingport was then a small village with mills, and was largely owned by the Tarascons and Berthouds, the latter living in the mansion of the place, and possessed of a very beautiful garden. Steamers and boats for the river traffic were built here, and it was a stirring place for its size, situated on the Falls of the Ohio, about two miles from Louisville then, but now part of that city. With forests and river to solace his anxieties, another season was passed by the man whose whole energies were now bent on placing his work before the best judges in Europe. This winter too, he lost one of his best and dearest friends, Madame Berthoud; how he felt this parting his own words best tell: "January 20, 1824. I arose this morning by that transparent light which is the effect of the moon before dawn, and saw Dr. Middleton passing at full gallop towards the white house; I followed--alas! my old friend was dead! What a void in the world for me! I was silent; many tears fell from my eyes, accustomed to sorrow. It was impossible for me to work; my heart, restless, moved from point to point all round the compass of my life. Ah, Lucy! what have I felt to-day! how can I bear the loss of our truest friend? This has been a sad day, most truly; I have spent it thinking, thinking, learning, weighing my thoughts, and quite sick of life. I wished I had been as quiet as my venerable friend, as she lay for the last time in her room." As I turn over the pages of this volume[29] from which only a few extracts have been taken, well do I understand the mental suffering of which it tells so constantly. Poverty for himself, Audubon did not mind, but for those he loved it was a great and bitter trial to him. His keenly sensitive nature was wounded on every hand; no one but his wife, from whom he was now absent, had any faith in him or his genius. He never became indifferent, as most of us do, to the coldness of those who had in earlier days sought him, not for what he _was_, but for what he _had_. Chivalrous, generous, and courteous to his heart's core, he could not believe others less so, till painful experiences taught him; then he was grieved, hurt, but never imbittered; and more marvellous yet, with his faith in his fellows as strong as ever, again and again he subjected himself to the same treatment. This was not stupidity, nor dulness of perception; it was that always, even to the end, Audubon kept the freshness of childhood; he was one of those who had "the secret of youth;" he was "old in years only, his heart was young. The earth was fair; plants still bloomed, and birds still sang for him."[30] It has been hard for me to keep from copying much from this journal, but I have felt it too sacred. Some would see in it the very heart of the man who wrote it, but to others--and the greater number--it would be, as I have decided to leave it, a sealed book. Early in March, 1824, Audubon left Shippingport for Philadelphia, Victor remaining in the counting-house of Mr. Berthoud. He had some money, with which he decided to take lessons in painting either from Rembrandt Peale or Thomas Sully. He much preferred the latter both as artist and friend, and he remained in Philadelphia from April until August of the same year. This visit was marked by his introduction to Charles Lucien Bonaparte[31] and Edward Harris, both of whom became life-long friends, especially Mr. Harris, with whom he corresponded frequently when they were separated, and with whom he made many journeys, the most prolonged and important being that to the Yellowstone in 1843. To copy again: "April 10, 1824. I was introduced to the son of Lucien Bonaparte, nephew of Napoleon, a great ornithologist, I was told. He remained two hours, went out, and returned with two Italian gentlemen, and their comments made me very contented." That evening he was taken to the Philosophical Academy[32] where the drawings were greatly admired, and their author says: "_I_ do not think much of them except when in the very act of drawing them." At this meeting Mr. George Ord met Audubon and objected strongly to the birds and plants being drawn together, "but spoke well of them otherwise." Mr. Ord was one of those (of the very few, I might say) who disliked the naturalist from first to last,[33] who was perhaps, his bitterest enemy. In later years Dr. John Bachman resented his conduct, and wrote a very trenchant reply[34] to one of Mr. Ord's published articles about Audubon; but there is no word of anger anywhere in the letters or journals, only of regret or pain.[35] Of Mr. Harris we find this: "July 12, 1824. I drew for Mr. Fairman a small grouse to be put on a bank-note belonging to the State of New-Jersey; this procured me the acquaintance of a young man named Edward Harris of Moorestown, an ornithologist, who told me he had seen some English Snipes[36] within a few days, and that they bred in the marshes about him." And also: "July 19th. Young Harris, God bless him, looked at the drawings I had for sale, and said he would take them _all_, at my prices. I would have kissed him, but that it is not the custom in this icy city." Other friends were made here, almost as valuable as Mr. Harris, though not as well _loved_, for these two were truly congenial souls, who never wearied of each other, and between whom there was never a shadow of difference. Thomas Sully, the artist, Dr. Richard Harlan,[37] Reuben Haines, Le Sueur,[38] Dr. Mease, and many another honored name might be given. In August Philadelphia was quitted, and another period of travel in search of birds was begun. Of this next year, 1825, no record whatever can be found besides the episodes of "Niagara" and "Meadville," and two detached pages of journal. Audubon went to New York, up the Hudson, along the Great Lakes, then to Pittsburg, and finally to Bayou Sara, where, having decided to go to England, he made up his mind to resume at once his classes in drawing, music, and dancing, to make money for the European journey, for which he never ceased to accumulate pictures of his beloved birds. Reaching Bayou Sara in December, 1825, this work at once began by giving lessons in dancing to the young ladies under my grandmother's care; and Judge Randolph, a near neighbor, had his sons take lessons in fencing. In these branches Audubon was so successful that the residents of the village of Woodville, fifteen miles distant, engaged him for Friday and Saturday of each week, and here he had over sixty pupils. From the account of this class I take the following: "I marched to the hall with my violin under my arm, bowed to the company assembled, tuned my violin; played a cotillon, and began my lesson by placing the gentlemen in a line. Oh! patience support me! how I labored before I could promote the first appearance of elegance or ease of motion; in doing this I first broke my bow, and then my violin; I then took the ladies and made them take steps, as I sang in time to accompany their movements." These lessons continued three months, and were in every sense a success, Audubon realizing about $2000 from his winter's work. With this, and the greater part of the savings of his wife, which she had hoarded to forward this journey, so long the goal of their hopes, another farewell was taken, the many valued drawings packed up, and on April 26, 1826, the vessel with the naturalist and his precious freight left New Orleans for England. The journals from this date, until May 1, 1829, are kept with the usual regularity, and fortunately have escaped the destruction which has befallen earlier volumes. They tell of one of the most interesting periods of Audubon's life, and are given beyond,--not entire, yet so fully that I pass on at once to the last date they contain, which marks Audubon's return to America, May 5, 1829. His time abroad had seen the publication of the "Birds of America"[39] successfully begun, had procured him subscribers enough to warrant his continuing the vast undertaking, and had given him many friends. His object now was to make drawings of birds which he had not yet figured for the completion of his work, and then to take his wife, and possibly his sons with him to England. During these years Mrs. Audubon was latterly alone, as John had taken a position with Victor and was in Louisville. Victor, meantime, had worked steadily and faithfully, and had earned for himself a position and a salary far beyond that of most young men of his age. Both parents relied on him to an extent that is proof in itself of his unusual ability; these words in a letter from his father, dated London, Dec. 23, 1828, "Victor's letters to me are highly interesting, full of candor, sentiment, and sound judgment, and I am very proud of him," are certainly testimony worth having. As the years went on both sons assisted their father in every way, and to an extent that the world has never recognized. Great as was Audubon's wish to proceed without delay to Louisiana, he felt it due to his subscribers to get to work at once, and wrote to his wife under date of New York, May 10, 1829: "I have landed here from on board the packet ship Columbia after an agreeable passage of thirty-five days from Portsmouth. I have come to America to remain as long as consistent with the safety of the continuation of my publication in London without my personal presence. According to future circumstances I shall return to England on the 1st of October next, or, if possible, not until April, 1830. I wish to employ and devote every moment of my sojourn in America to drawing such birds and plants as I think necessary to enable me to give my publication throughout the degree of perfection that I am told exists in that portion already published. I have left my business going on quite well; my engraver[40] has in his hands all the drawings wanted to complete this present year, and those necessary to form the first number of next year. I have finished the two first years of publication, the two most difficult years to be encountered." To Victor he writes from Camden, N.J., July 10, 1829: "I shall this year have issued ten numbers, each containing five plates, making in all fifty.[41] I cannot publish more than five numbers annually, because it would make too heavy an expense to my subscribers, and indeed require more workmen than I could find in London. The work when finished will contain eighty numbers,[42] therefore I have seventy to issue, which will take fourteen years more. It is a long time to look forward to, but it cannot be helped. I think I am doing well; I have now one hundred and forty-four subscribers." All this summer and early fall, until October 10th, Audubon spent in the neighborhood of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, working as few can work, four hours continuing to be his allowance for sleep. Six weeks in September and October were spent in the Great Pine Swamp, or Forest,[43] as he called it, his permanent lodgings being at Camden, N.J. Here he writes, October 11, 1829: "I am at work and have done much, but I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and another body to shoot the specimens; still I am delighted at what I have accumulated in drawings this season. Forty-two drawings in four months, eleven large, eleven middle size, and twenty-two small, comprising ninety-five birds, from Eagles downwards, with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty different kinds of eggs. I live alone, see scarcely any one, besides those belonging to the house where I lodge. I rise long before day and work till nightfall, when I take a walk, and to bed. "I returned yesterday from Mauch Chunk; after all, there is nothing perfect but _primitiveness_, and my efforts at copying nature, like all other things attempted by us poor mortals, fall far short of the originals. Few better than myself can appreciate this with more despondency than I do." Very shortly after this date Audubon left for Louisiana, crossed the Alleghanies to Pittsburg, down the Ohio by boat to Louisville, where he saw Victor and John. "Dear boys!" he says; "I had not seen Victor for nearly five years, and so much had he changed I hardly knew him, but he recognized me at once. Johnny too had much grown and improved." Remaining with his sons a few days, he again took the boat for Bayou Sara, where he landed in the middle of the night. The journal says: "It was dark, sultry, and I was quite alone. I was aware yellow fever was still raging at St. Francisville, but walked thither to procure a horse. Being only a mile distant, I soon reached it, and entered the open door of a house I knew to be an inn; all was dark and silent. I called and knocked in vain, it was the abode of Death alone! The air was putrid; I went to another house, another, and another; everywhere the same state of things existed; doors and windows were all open, but the living had fled. Finally I reached the home of Mr. Nübling, whom I knew. He welcomed me, and lent me his horse, and I went off at a gallop. It was so dark that I soon lost my way, but I cared not, I was about to rejoin my wife, I was in the woods, the woods of Louisiana, my heart was bursting with joy! The first glimpse of dawn set me on my road, at six o'clock I was at Mr. Johnson's house;[44] a servant took the horse, I went at once to my wife's apartment; her door was ajar, already she was dressed and sitting by her piano, on which a young lady was playing. I pronounced her name gently, she saw me, and the next moment I held her in my arms. Her emotion was so great I feared I had acted rashly, but tears relieved our hearts, once more we were together." Audubon remained in Louisiana with his wife till January, 1830, when together they went to Louisville, Washington, Philadelphia, and New York, whence they sailed for England in April. All his former friends welcomed them on their arrival, and the kindness the naturalist had received on his first visit was continued to his wife as well as himself. Finding many subscribers had not paid, and others had lapsed, he again painted numerous pictures for sale, and journeyed hither and yon for new subscribers as well as to make collections. Mrs. Audubon, meanwhile, had taken lodgings in London, but that city being no more to her taste than to her husband's, she joined him, and they travelled together till October, when to Audubon's joy he found himself at his old lodgings at 26 George St., Edinburgh, where he felt truly at home with Mrs. Dickie; and here he began the "Ornithological Biography," with many misgivings, as the journal bears witness: "Oct. 16, 1830. I know that I am a poor writer, that I scarcely can manage to scribble a tolerable English letter, and not a much better one in French, though that is easier to me. I know I am not a scholar, but meantime I am aware that no man living knows better than I do the habits of our birds; no man living has studied them as much as I have done, and with the assistance of my old journals and memorandum-books which were written on the spot, I can at least put down plain truths, which may be useful and perhaps interesting, so I shall set to at once. I cannot, however, give _scientific_ descriptions, and here must have assistance." His choice of an assistant would have been his friend Mr. William Swainson, but this could not be arranged, and Mr. James Wilson recommended Mr. William MacGillivray.[45] Of this gentleman Mr. D. G. Elliot says:[46] "No better or more fortunate choice could have been made. Audubon worked incessantly, MacGillivray keeping abreast of him, and Mrs. Audubon re-wrote the entire manuscript to send to America, and secure the copyright there." The happy result of this association of two great men, so different in most respects as Audubon and MacGillivray, is characterized by Dr. Coues in the following terms ("Key to North American Birds," 2d ed., 1884, p. xxii): "Vivid and ardent was his genius, matchless he was both with pen and pencil in giving life and spirit to the beautiful objects he delineated with passionate love; but there was a strong and patient worker by his side,--William MacGillivray, the countryman of Wilson, destined to lend the sturdy Scotch fibre to an Audubonian epoch.[47] The brilliant French-American Naturalist was little of a 'scientist'. Of his work the magical beauties of form and color and movement are all his; his page is redolent of Nature's fragrance; but MacGillivray's are the bone and sinew, the hidden anatomical parts beneath the lovely face, the nomenclature, the classification,--in a word, the technicalities of the science." [Illustration: MRS. AUDUBON. FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1835.] Though somewhat discouraged at finding that no less than three editions of Alexander Wilson's "American Ornithology" were about to be published, Audubon went bravely on. My grandmother wrote to her sons: "Nothing is heard, but the steady movement of the pen; your father is up and at work before dawn, and writes without ceasing all day. Mr. MacGillivray breakfasts at nine each morning, attends the Museum four days in the week, has several works on hand besides ours, and is moreover engaged as a lecturer in a new seminary on botany and natural history. His own work[48] progresses slowly, but surely, for he writes until far into the night." The first volume of "Ornithological Biography" was finished, but no publisher could be found to take it, so Audubon published it himself in March, 1831.[49] During this winter an agreement had been made with Mr. J. B. Kidd to copy some of the birds, put in backgrounds, sell them, and divide the proceeds. Eight were finished and sold immediately, and the agreement continued till May, 1, 1831, when Audubon was so annoyed by Mr. Kidd's lack of industry that the copying was discontinued. Personally, I have no doubt that many of the paintings which are said to be by Audubon are these copies. They are all on mill-board,--a material, however, which grandfather used himself, so that, as he rarely signed an oil painting,[50] the mill-board is no proof of identity one way or the other. On April 15, 1831, Mr. and Mrs. Audubon left Edinburgh for London, then went on to Paris, where there were fourteen subscribers. They were in France from May until the end of July, when London again received them. On August 2d they sailed for America, and landed on September 4th. They went to Louisville at once, where Mrs. Audubon remained with her sons, and the naturalist went south, his wish being to visit Florida and the adjacent islands. It was on this trip that, stopping at Charleston, S.C., he made the acquaintance of the Rev. John Bachman[51] in October, 1831. The two soon became the closest friends, and this friendship was only severed by death. Never were men more dissimilar in character, but both were enthusiastic and devoted naturalists; and herein was the bond, which later was strengthened by the marriages of Victor and John to Dr. Bachman's two eldest daughters.[52] The return from Florida in the spring of 1832 was followed by a journey to New Brunswick and Maine, when, for the first time in many years, the whole family travelled together. They journeyed in the most leisurely manner, stopping where there were birds, going on when they found none, everywhere welcomed, everywhere finding those willing to render assistance to the "American backwoodsman" in his researches. Audubon had the simplicity and charm of manner which interested others at once, and his old friend Dr. Bachman understood this when he wrote: "Audubon has _given_ to him what nobody else can _buy_." On this Maine journey, the friendship between the Lincolns at Dennysville, begun in the wanderer's earlier years, was renewed, and with this hospitable family Mrs. Audubon remained while her husband and sons made their woodland researches. In October of 1832, Victor sailed for England, to superintend the publishing of the work; his father remained in America drawing and re-drawing, much of the time in Boston, where, as everywhere, many friends were made, and where he had a short, but severe illness--an unusual experience with him. In the spring of 1833, the long proposed trip to Labrador was planned and undertaken. The schooner "Ripley," Captain Emery commanding, was chartered. Audubon was accompanied by five young men, all under twenty-four years of age, namely: Joseph Coolidge, George C. Shattuck, William Ingalls, Thomas Lincoln and John Woodhouse, the naturalist's younger son. On June 6 they sailed for the rocky coasts and storm-beaten islands, which are so fully described in the Labrador Journal, now first published entire in the present work. Victor was still in England, and to him his father wrote, on May 16, 1833, a long letter filled with careful directions as to the completion of the work now so far accomplished, and which was so dear--as it is to-day--to all the family. The entire letter is too long and too personal to give beyond a few extracts: "Should the Author of all things deprive us of our lives, work for and comfort the dear being who gave you birth. Work for her, my son, as long as it may be the pleasure of God to grant her life; never neglect her a moment; in a word, prove to her that you are truly _a son_! Continue the publication of our work to the last; you have in my journals all necessary facts, and in yourself sufficient ability to finish the letter-press, with the assistance of our worthy friend John Bachman, as well as MacGillivray. If you should deem it wise to remove the publication of the work to this country, I advise you to settle in Boston; _I have faith in the Bostonians_. I entreat you to be careful, industrious, and persevering; pay every one most punctually, and never permit your means to be over-reached. May the blessings of those who love you be always with you, supported by those of Almighty God." During the Labrador voyage, which was both arduous and expensive, many bird-skins (seventy-three) were prepared and brought back, besides the drawings made, a large collection of plants, and other curiosities. Rough as the experience was, it was greatly enjoyed, especially by the young men. Only one of these[53] is now living (1897), and he bears this testimony to the character of the naturalist, with whom he spent three months in the closest companionship. In a letter to me dated Oct. 9, 1896, he says: "You had only to meet him to love him; and when you had conversed with him for a moment, you looked upon him as an old friend, rather than a stranger.... To this day I can see him, a magnificent gray-haired man, childlike in his simplicity, kind-hearted, noble-souled, lover of nature and lover of youth, friend of humanity, and one whose religion was the golden rule." The Labrador expedition ended with summer, and Mr. and Mrs. Audubon went southward by land, John going by water to meet them at Charleston, S.C.,--Victor meanwhile remaining in London. In the ever hospitable home of the Bachmans part of the winter of 1833-34 was spent, and many a tale is told of hunting parties, of camping in the Southern forests, while the drawings steadily increased in number. Leaving Charleston, the travels were continued through North and South Carolina and northward to New York, when the three sailed for Liverpool April 16, and joined Victor in London, in May, 1834. It has been erroneously stated that Audubon kept no journals during this second visit to England and Scotland, for the reasons that his family--for whom he wrote--was with him, and also that he worked so continuously for the "Ornithological Biography;" but this is a mistake. Many allusions to the diaries of these two years from April, 1834, until August, 1836, are found, and conclusive proof is that Victor writes: "On the 19th of July last, 1845, the copper-plates from which the "Birds of America" had been printed were ruined by fire,[54] though not entirely destroyed, as were many of my fathers journals,--most unfortunately those which he had written during his residence in London and Edinburgh while writing and publishing the letter-press." It was at this time that Victor and John went to the Continent for five months, being with their parents the remainder of the time, both studying painting in their respective branches, Victor working at landscapes, John at portraits and birds. In July, 1836, Audubon and John returned to America, to find that nearly everything in the way of books, papers, the valuable and curious things collected both at home and abroad, had been destroyed in New York in the fire of 1835, Mr. Berthoud's warehouse being one of those blown up with gunpowder to stay the spread of the fire. Mrs. Audubon and Victor remained in London, in the house where they had lived some time, 4 Wimpole St., Cavendish Square. After a few weeks in New York, father and son went by land to Charleston, pausing at Washington and other cities; and being joined by Mr. Edward Harris in the spring of 1837, they left Dr. Bachman's where they had spent the winter, for the purpose of exploring part of the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. This expedition they were assisted in making by Col. John Abert,[55] who procured them the Revenue cutter "Campbell." Fire having afterward (in 1845) destroyed the journals of this period, only a few letters remain to tell us of the coasting voyage to Galveston Bay, Texas, though the ornithological results of this journey are all in the "Birds of America." It was during this visit to Charleston that the plans were begun which led to the "Quadrupeds of North America," under the joint authorship of Audubon and Bachman.[56] In the late summer of 1837, Audubon, with John and his wife,--for he had married Maria, Dr. Bachman's eldest daughter,--returned to England, his last voyage there, and remained abroad until the autumn of 1839, when the family, with the addition of the first grandchild,[57] once more landed in America, and settled, if such wanderers can ever be said to settle, in New York, in the then uptown region of 86 White St. The great ornithological work had been finished, absolutely completed,[58] in the face of incredible delays and difficulties, and representing an amount of work which in these days of easy travel it is hard to comprehend. The "Synopsis" also was published in this year, and the indefatigable worker began at once the octavo edition of the "Birds," and the drawings of the quadrupeds. For this edition of the "Birds" Victor attended almost wholly to the printing and publishing, and John reduced every drawing to the required size with the aid of the camera lucida, Audubon devoting his time to the coloring and obtaining of subscribers. Having fully decided to settle in New York City, and advised their friends to that effect, Audubon found he could not live in any city, except, as he writes, "perhaps fair Edinburgh;" so in the spring of 1842, the town house was sold, and the family moved to "Minniesland," now known as Audubon Park, in the present limits of New York City. The name came from the fact that my father and uncle always used the Scotch name "Minnie" for mother. The land when bought was deeded to her, and always spoken of as _Minnie's land_, and this became the name which the Audubons gave it, by which to day those of us who are left recall the lovely home where their happy childhood was spent; for here were born all but three of the fourteen grandchildren. No railroad then separated the lawn from the beach where Audubon so often hauled the seine; the dense woods all around resounded to the songs of the birds he so loved; many animals (deer, elk, moose, bears, wolves, foxes, and smaller quadrupeds) were kept in enclosures--never in cages--mostly about a quarter of a mile distant from the river, near the little building known as the "painting house." What joyous memories are those of the rush out of doors, lessons being over, to the little brook, following which one gathered the early blossoms in their season, or in the autumn cleared out leaves, that its waters might flow unimpeded, and in winter found icicles of wondrous shape and beauty; and just beyond its source stood the painting house, where every child was always welcome,[59] where the wild flowers from hot little hands were painted in the pictures of what we called "the animals," to the everlasting pride and glory of their finder. It was hoped that only shorter trips would now be taken, and a visit to Canada as far as Quebec was made in August and September of 1842. But even in this home after his own tastes, where hospitality and simplicity ruled, Audubon could not stay, for his heart had always been set on going farther west, and though both family and friends thought him growing too old for such a journey, he started in March, 1843, for St. Louis, and thence up the Missouri on the steamboat "Omega" of the American Fur Company, which left on its annual trip April 25, 1843, taking up supplies of all sorts, and returning with thousands of skins and furs. Here again Audubon speaks for himself, and I shall not now anticipate his account with words of mine, as the Missouri journal follows in full. He was accompanied on this trip by Mr. Edward Harris, his faithful friend of many years, John G. Bell as taxidermist, Isaac Sprague as artist, and Lewis Squires as secretary and general assistant. With the exception of Mr. Harris, all were engaged by Audubon, who felt his time was short, his duties many, while the man of seventy (?) had no longer the strength of youth. November of 1843 saw him once more at Minniesland, and the _long_ journeys were forever over; but work on the "Quadrupeds" was continued with the usual energy. The next few years were those of great happiness. His valued friend Dr. Thomas M. Brewer, of Boston, visited him in 1846. Writing of him Dr. Brewer says:[60] "The patriarch had greatly changed since I had last seen him. He wore his hair longer, and it now hung down in locks of snowy whiteness on his shoulders. His once piercing gray eyes, though still bright, had already begun to fail him. He could no longer paint with his wonted accuracy, and had at last, most reluctantly, been forced to surrender to his sons the task of completing the illustrations to the "Quadrupeds of North America." Surrounded by his large family, including his devoted wife, his two sons with their wives,[61] and quite a troop of grandchildren, his enjoyments of life seemed to leave him little to desire.... A pleasanter scene, or a more interesting household it has never been the writer's good fortune to witness." Of this period one of his daughters-in-law[62] speaks in her journal as follows: "Mr. Audubon was of a most kindly nature; he never passed a workman or a stranger of either sex without a salutation, such as, 'Good-day, friend,' 'Well, my good man, how do you do?' If a boy, it was, 'Well, my little man,' or a little girl, 'Good morning, lassie, how are you to-day?' All were noticed, and his pleasant smile was so cordial that all the villagers and work-people far and near, knew and liked him. He painted a little after his return from the Yellowstone River, but as he looked at his son John's animals, he said: 'Ah, Johnny, no need for the old man to paint any more when you can do work like that.' He was most affectionate in his disposition, very fond of his grandchildren, and it was a pleasant sight to see him sit with one on his knee, and others about him, singing French songs in his lively way. It was sweet too, to see him with his wife; he was always her lover, and invariably used the pronouns 'thee' and 'thou' in his speech to her. Often have I heard him say, 'Well, sweetheart! always busy; come sit thee down a few minutes and rest.'" My mother has told me that when the picture of the Cougars came from Texas, where my father had painted it, my grandfather's delight knew no bounds. He was beside himself with joy that "his boy Johnny" could paint a picture he considered so fine; he looked at it from every point, and could not keep quiet, but walked up and down filled with delight. Of these years much might be said, but much has already been written of them, so I will not repeat.[63] Many characteristics Audubon kept to the last; his enthusiasm, freshness, and keenness of enjoyment and pain were never blunted. His ease and grace of speech and movement were as noticeable in the aged man as they had been in the happy youth of Mill Grove. His courteous manners to all, high and low, were always the same; his chivalry, generosity, and honor were never dimmed, and his great personal beauty never failed to attract attention; always he was handsome. His stepmother writes from Nantes to her husband in Virginia: "He is the handsomest boy in Nantes, but perhaps not the most studious." At Mill Grove Mr. David Pawling wrote in January, 1805: "To-day I saw the swiftest skater I ever beheld; backwards and forwards he went like the wind, even leaping over large air-holes fifteen or more feet across, and continuing to skate without an instant's delay. I was told he was a young Frenchman, and this evening I met him at a ball, where I found his dancing exceeded his skating; all the ladies wished him as partner; moreover, a handsomer man I never saw, his eyes alone command attention; his name, Audubon, is strange to me." [Illustration: AUDUBON. DATE UNKNOWN. FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE OWNED BY M. ELIZA AUDUBON.] Abroad it was the same; Mr. Rathbone speaks of "his beautiful expressive face," as did Christopher North, and so on until the beauty of youth and manhood passed into the "magnificent gray-haired man." But "the gay young Frenchman who danced with all the girls," was an old man now, not so much as the years go, but in the intensity of his life. He had never done anything by halves; he had played and worked, enjoyed and sorrowed, been depressed and elated, each and all with his highly strung nature at fever heat, and the end was not far. He had seen the accomplishment of his hopes in the "Birds," and the "Quadrupeds" he was content to leave largely to other hands; and surely no man ever had better helpers. From first to last his wife had worked, in more ways than one, to further the aim of his life; Victor had done the weary mechanical business work; John had hunted, and preserved specimens, taken long journeys--notably to Texas and California--and been his father's travelling companion on more than one occasion. Now the time had come when he no longer led; Victor had full charge of the publication of the "Quadrupeds," besides putting in many of the backgrounds, and John painted a large proportion of the animals. But I think that none of them regarded their work as individual,--it was always _ours_, for father and sons were comrades and friends; and with Dr. Bachman's invaluable aid this last work was finished, but not during Audubon's life. He travelled more or less in the interests of his publications during these years, largely in New England and in the Middle States. In 1847 the brilliant intellect began to be dimmed; at first it was only the difficulty of finding the right word to express an idea, the gradual lessening of interest, and this increased till in May, 1848, Dr. Bachman tells the pathetic close of the enthusiastic and active life: "Alas, my poor friend Audubon! The outlines of his beautiful face and form are there, but his noble mind is all in ruins. It is indescribably sad." Through these last years the devotion of the entire household was his. He still loved to wander in the woods, he liked to hear his wife read to him, and music was ever a delight. To the very last his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Victor G. Audubon, sang a little Spanish song to him every evening, rarely permitting anything to interfere with what gave him so much pleasure, and evening by evening he listened to the _Buenas Noches_, which was so soon to be his in reality. His grandchildren, also, were a constant source of enjoyment to him, and he to them, for children always found a friend in him; and thus quietly did he pass through that valley which had no shadows for him. I wish to wholly correct the statement that Audubon became blind. His sight became impaired by old age, as is usually the case; he abhorred spectacles or glasses of any kind, would not wear them except occasionally, and therefore did not get the right focus for objects near by; but his far-sight was hardly impaired. That wonderful vision which surprised even the keen-eyed Indian never failed him. [Illustration: AUDUBON MONUMENT IN TRINITY CHURCH CEMETERY, NEW YORK. _The reverse of the base bears the inscription_-- Erected to the Memory of JOHN JAMES AUDUBON In the year 1893, by subscriptions raised by the New York Academy of Science.] Well do I remember the tall figure with snow-white hair, wandering peacefully along the banks of the beautiful Hudson. Already he was resting in that border land which none can fathom, and it could not have been far to go, no long and weary journey, when, after a few days of increasing feebleness, for there was no illness, just as sunset was flooding the pure, snow-covered landscape with golden light, at five o'clock on Monday, January 27, 1851, the "pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift, ... outsoared the shadow of our night." * * * * * In a quiet spot in Trinity Church Cemetery, not far from the home where Audubon spent his last years, the remains of the naturalist were laid with all honor and respect, on the Thursday following his death. Time brought changes which demanded the removal of the first burial-place, and a second one was chosen in the same cemetery, which is now marked by the beautiful monument erected by the New York Academy of Sciences.[64] Now wife and sons have joined him; together they rest undisturbed by winter storms or summer heat; the river they loved so well flows past their silent home as in days long gone when its beauties won their hearts. Truly the place where they dwelt shall know them no more, but "while the melody of the mocking-bird is heard in the cypress forests of Louisiana, and the squirrel leaps from its leafy curtain like a thing of beauty, the name of Audubon will live in the hearts of coming generations." FOOTNOTES: [1] "My name is John James Laforest Audubon. The name Laforest I never sign except when writing to my wife, and she is the only being, since my father's death, who calls me by it." (Letter of Audubon to Mrs. Rathbone, 1827.) All Mrs. Audubon's letters to her husband address him as Laforest. [2] This manuscript was found in an old book which had been in a barn on Staten Island for years. [3] Reprinted from Scribner's Magazine, March, 1893, p. 267. A few errors in names and dates are now corrected. [4] Isle à Vache, eight miles south of Aux Cayes. [5] This vessel was the "Annelle." [6] The family still own this portrait, of which Victor G. Audubon writes: "This portrait is probably the _first_ one taken of that great and good man, and although the drawing is hard, the coloring and costume are correct, I have no doubt. It was copied by Greenhow, the sculptor, when he was preparing to model his 'Washington' for the Capitol, and he considered it as a valuable addition to the material already obtained. This portrait was painted by an artist named Polk, but who or what he was, I know not." [7] There still remain those who recall how Audubon would walk up and down, snapping his fingers, a habit he had when excited, when relating how he had seen his aunt tied to a wagon and dragged through the streets of Nantes in the time of Carrier. [8] This brother left three daughters; only one married, and her descendants, if any, cannot be traced. [9] "The Polly," Captain Sammis commander. [10] May 26, 1806. [11] Great Blue Heron. [12] This visit passed into history in the published works of each of the great ornithologists, who were never friends. See "Behind the Veil," by Dr. Coues in Bulletin of Nuttall Ornithological Club, Oct., 1880, p. 200. [13] Episode "Breaking of the Ice." [14] 1819. [15] Stephen Harriman Long, Corps of Engineers, U.S. Army, who was then on his way to explore the region of the upper Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. [16] Titian R. Peale, afterward naturalist of the U.S. Exploring Expedition, under Commodore Wilkes. Later in life he was for many years an examiner in the Patent Office at Washington, and died at a very advanced age. He was a member of the eminent Peale family of artists, one of whom established Peale's Museum in Philadelphia.--E. C. [17] The distinguished naturalist of that name.--E. C. [18] Jacques Louis David (1748-1825), court painter to Louis XVI. and afterwards to Napoleon I. [19] In 1836, Audubon wrote to Dr. John Bachman: "Some of my early drawings of European birds are still in our possession, but many have been given away, and the greatest number were destroyed, not by the rats that gnawed my collection of the "Birds of America," but by the great fire in New York, as these drawings were considered my wife's special property and seldom out of her sight. Would that the others had been under her especial care also! Yet, after all, who can say that it was not a material advantage, both to myself and to the world, that the Norway rats destroyed those drawings?" [20] Mr. W. H. Wetherill, of Philadelphia. [21] April 28, 1893. [22] "I have often seen the red-sandstone monument placed to mark the terminal of the Sullivan Bridge on our side of the river, but the curiosity hunters have so marred it that only 'livans' and part of the date remain." (Extract from letter of Mr. W. H. Wetherill, Aug. 12, 1893.) [23] This statement is from the "Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography," vol. xiv., No. 2, page 218, July, 1890. [24] "Under the will of Col. Jno. Macomb Wetherill, late owner of Fatland Farm, 40 feet square were deeded out of the farm, and placed in trust, and $1000 trusteed to keep the grove and lot in order. A granite curb and heavy iron rail surround this plot; Col. Wetherill was buried there and his remains lie with those of your ancestors." (Extract from letter of W. H. Wetherill, May 10, 1897.) [25] From "History of Henderson County, Kentucky," by E. L. Starling, page 794. [26] Of these many sketches few can be traced, and none purchased. [27] Mrs. Audubon afterwards received four hundred dollars, of the twelve hundred dollars due; the remainder was never paid. [28] See Episode: "A Tough Walk for a Youth." [29] The before-mentioned journal, 1822-24. [30] (With slight alterations) from "Bird Life," by F. M. Chapman, 1897, p. 13. [31] Prince of Musignano, and subsequently a distinguished ornithologist. In March, 1824, Bonaparte was just publishing his "Observations on the Nomenclature of Wilson's Ornithology," which ran through the "Journal of the Academy of Natural Sciences," of Philadelphia, from April 5, 1824, to Aug. 25, 1825, in five parts. This was preliminary to Bonaparte's "American Ornithology," which appeared in four quarto vols., 1825-33, to his "Synopsis," of 1828, and to his "Comparative List," of 1838.--E. C. [32] Probably the Academy of Natural Sciences. [33] Ord had edited the posthumous vols. viii. and ix. of "Wilson's Ornithology," which appeared in 1814; and in 1824 was engaged upon that edition of Wilson which was published in 3 vols. 8vo, in 1828-29, with a folio atlas of 76 plates. This is probably enough to account for his attitude toward Audubon.--E. C. [34] "Defence of Audubon," by John Bachman. "Bucks Co. Intelligencer," 1835, and other papers. [35] Almost the only other enemy Audubon appears to have ever had in public print was Charles Waterton, who vehemently assailed him in "Loudon's Magazine of Natural History," vi. 1833, pp. 215-218, and vii., 1834, pp. 66-74. Audubon was warmly defended by his son Victor in the same magazine, vi. 1833, p. 369, and at greater length by "R. B.," _ibid._, pp. 369-372. Dr. Coues characterizes Waterton's attack as "flippant and supercilious animadversion," in "Birds of the Colorado Valley," 1878, p. 622. The present is hardly the occasion to bring up the countless reviews and notices of Audubon's published life-work; but a few references I have at hand may be given. One of the earliest, if not the first, appeared in the "Edinburgh Journal of Science," vi. p. 184 (1827). In 1828, Audubon himself published "An Account of the Method of Drawing Birds," etc., in the same Journal, viii., pp. 48-54. The "Report of a Committee appointed by the Lyceum of Natural History of New York to examine the splendid work of Mr. Audubon," etc., appeared in "Silliman's Journal," xvi., 1829, pp. 353, 354. His friend William Swainson published some highly commendatory and justly appreciative articles on the same subject in "Loudon's Magazine," i., 1829, pp. 43-52, and in the "Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal," x., 1831, pp. 317-332, under the pseudonym "Ornithophilus." Another anonymous review, highly laudatory, appeared in the same Journal, xviii., 1834, pp. 131-144. Dr. John Bachman defended the truthfulness of Audubon's drawings in the "Journal of the Boston Society of Natural History," i. 1834, pp. 15-31. One of the most extended notices appeared anonymously in the "North American Review," July, 1835, pp. 194-231; and another signed "B," in "Loudon's Magazine," viii., 1835, PP. 184-190. In Germany, "Isis von Oken" contained others, xxx., 1837, pp. 922-928, xxxv., 1842, pp. 157, 158; and xxxvii., 1844, pp. 713-718. "Silliman's Journal" again reviewed the work in xlii., 1842, pp. 130-136.--E. C. [36] That is the species now known as Wilson's Snipe, _Gallinago delicata_. [37] Dr. Richard Harlan is the author of the well-known "Fauna Americana," 8vo, Philadelphia, 1825, and of many scientific papers. Audubon dedicated to him the Black Warrior, _Falco harlani_, a large, dark hawk of the genus _Buteo_, shot at St. Francisville, La., Nov. 18, 1829. [38] Charles Alexandre Le Sueur, 1778-1846, distinguished French naturalist. Best biography in Youman's "Pioneers of Science in America," 8vo, N.Y., 1896, pp. 128-139, with portrait. The same volume contains a biographical sketch of Audubon, pp. 152-166, with portrait after the oil painting by George P. A. Healy, belonging to the Boston Society of Natural History.--E. C. [39] Of the great folios, parts i.-v., containing plates 1-25, were originally published at successive dates (not ascertained) in 1827; parts vi.-x., plates 26-50, appeared in the course of 1828,--all in London. The whole work was completed in 1838; it is supposed to have been issued in 87 parts of 5 plates each, making the actual total of 435 plates, giving 1065 figures of birds. On the completion of the series, the plates were to be bound in 4 vols. Vol. i., pll. 1-100, 1827-30; vol. ii., pll. 101-200, 1831-34; vol. iii., pll. 201-300, 1834-35; vol. iv., pll. 301-435, 1835-38 (completed June 30). These folios had no text except the title-leaf of each volume. The original price was two guineas a part; a complete copy is now worth $1,500 to $2,000, according to condition of binding, etc., and is scarce at any price. The text to the plates appeared under the different title of "Ornithological Biography," in 5 large 8vo volumes, Edinburgh, 1831-39; vol. i., 1831; vol. ii., 1834; vol. iii., 1835; vol. iv., 1838; vol. v., 1839. In 1840-44, the work reappeared in octavo, text and plates together, under the original title of "Birds of America;" the text somewhat modified by the omission of the "Delineations of American Scenery and Manners," the addition of some new matter acquired after 1839, and change in the names of many species to agree with the nomenclature of Audubon's Synopsis of 1839; the plates reduced by the camera lucida, rearranged and renumbered, making 500 in all. The two original works, thus put together and modified, became the first octavo edition called "Birds of America," issued in 100 parts, to be bound in 7 volumes, 1840-44. There have been various subsequent issues, partial or complete, upon which I cannot here enlarge. For full bibliographical data see Dr. Coues' "Birds of the Colorado Valley," Appendix, 1878, pp. 612, 618, 625, 629, 644, 661, 666, 669 and 686.--E. C. [40] Referring to Mr. Robert Havell, of No. 77 Oxford St., London. His name will be recalled in connection with _Sterna havellii_, the Tern which Audubon shot at New Orleans in 1820, and dedicated to his engraver in "Orn. Biogr." v., 1839, p. 122, "B. Amer.," 8vo, vii., 1844, p. 103, pl. 434. It is the winter plumage of the bird Nuttall called _S. forsteri_ in his "Manual," ii., 1834, p. 274. See Coues, "Proceedings of the Philadelphia Academy of Science," 1862, p. 543.--E. C. [41] See previous note on p. 59, where it is said that plates 1-25 appeared in 1827, and plates 26-50 in 1828--in attestation of which the above words to Victor Audubon become important.--E. C. [42] It actually ran to 87 numbers, as stated in a previous note. [43] See Episodes "Great Egg Harbor" and "Great Pine Swamp." [44] Mr. Garrett Johnson, where Mrs. Audubon was then teaching. [45] There has been much question as to the spelling of MacGillivray's name, Professor Newton and most others writing it Macgillivray, but in the autograph letters we own the capital "G" is always used. [46] Address at the special meeting of the New York Academy of Sciences, April 26, 1893. [47] Referring to one of the six "epochs" into which, in the same work, Dr. Coues divided the progress of American Ornithology. His "Audubon epoch" extends from 1824 to 1853, and one of the four periods into which this epoch is divided is the "Audubonian period," 1834-1853. [48] Descriptions of the Rapacious Birds of Great Britain. By William MacGillivray, A.M., Edinburgh, 1836, I vol. small 8vo. This valuable treatise is dedicated "To John James Audubon, in admiration of his talents as an ornithologist, and in gratitude for many acts of friendship." Mr. MacGillivray also had then in preparation or contemplation his larger "History of British Birds," 3 volumes of which appeared in 1837-40, but the 4th and 5th volumes not till 1852.--E. C. [49] The completed volume bears date of MDCCCXXXI. on the titlepage and the publisher's imprint of "Adam Black, 55, North Bridge, Edinburgh." The collation is pp. i-xxiv, 1-512, + 15 pp. of Prospectus, etc. This is the text to plates I.-C. (1-100) of the elephant folios. Other copies are said to bear the imprint of "Philadelphia, E. L. Carey and A. Hart, MDCCCXXXI."--E. C. Audubon wrote to Dr. Richard Harlan on March 13, 1831, "I have sent a copy of the first volume to you to-day." [50] We only possess one oil painting signed "Audubon." [51] John Bachman, D.D., LL.D., Ph.D., Feb. 4, 1790-April 24, 1874. Author of many works, scientific, zoölogical, and religious. For sixty years he was pastor of St. John's Lutheran Church, Charleston, S.C. [52] Both these daughters died young,--Maria, the eldest, who married John, before she was twenty-four; Eliza, who married Victor, still younger, during the first year of her wedded life. [53] Mr. Joseph Coolidge, formerly of Maine, now of San Francisco, Cal. Two others are known by name to every ornithologist through Audubon's _Emberiza shattuckii_ and _Fringilla lincolnii_; for these birds see notes beyond.--E. C. [54] The offices 34 Liberty St., New York, were burned at this time. [55] John James Abert, who was in 1837 brevet lieutenant-colonel of Topographical Engineers, U.S. Army, and afterward chief of his corps. Abert's Squirrel, _Sciurus aberti_, forms the subject of plate 153, fig. 1, of Audubon and Bachman's "Quadrupeds." [56] This important and standard work on American Mammalogy was not, however, finished till many years afterward, nor did Audubon live to see its completion. Publication of the colored plates in oblong folio, without text, began at least as early as 1840, and with few exceptions they first appeared in this form. They were subsequently reduced to large octavo size, and issued in parts with the text, then first published. The whole, text and plates, were then gathered in 3 volumes: vol. i., 1846; vol. ii., 1851; vol. iii., to page 254 and pl. 150, 1853; vol. iii., p. 255 to end, 1854. There are in all 155 plates; 50 in vol. i., 50 in vol. ii., 55 in vol. iii.; about half of them are from Audubon's brush, the rest by John Woodhouse. The exact character of the joint authorship does not appear; but no doubt the technical descriptions are by Dr. Bachman. Publication was made in New York by Victor Audubon; and there was a reissue of some parts of the work at least, as vol. i. is found with copyright of 1849, and date 1851 on the title.--E. C. [57] Lucy, now Mrs. Delancey B. Williams. [58] Victor Audubon wrote in reply to a question as to how many copies of the "Birds" were in existence: "About 175 copies; of these I should say 80 were in our own country. The length of time over which the work extended brought many changes to original subscribers, and this accounts for the odd volumes which are sometimes offered for sale." In stating that the work had been "absolutely completed" in 1838, I must not omit to add that when the octavo reissue appeared it contained a few additional birds chiefly derived from Audubon's fruitful voyage up the Missouri in 1843, which also yielded much material for the work on the Quadrupeds. The appearance of the "Synopsis" in 1839 marks the interval between the completion of the original undertaking and the beginning of plans for its reduction to octavo.--E. C. [59] "These little folk, of all sizes, sit and play in my room and do not touch the specimens." (Letter of Dr. Bachman, May 11, 1848, to his family in Charleston.) [60] Harper's Monthly Magazine, October, 1880, p. 665. [61] Both sons had married a second time. Victor had married Georgiana R. Mallory of New York, and John, Caroline Hall of England. [62] Mrs. V. G. Audubon. [63] Reminiscences of Audubon, Scribner's Monthly, July, 1876, p. 333; Turf, Field, and Farm, Nov. 18, 1881. [64] Unveiled April 26, 1893, on which occasion eulogies were pronounced by Mr. D. G. Elliot, ex-president of the American Ornithologists' Union, and Prof. Thomas Egleston of Columbia College. THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 1826-1829 THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 1826-1829 On _the 26th April_, 1826, I left my beloved wife Lucy Audubon, and my son John Woodhouse with our friends the Percys at Bayou Sara. I remained at Doctor Pope's at St. Francisville till Wednesday at four o'clock P. M., when I took the steamboat "Red River," Captain Kemble, for New Orleans, which city I reached at noon on Wednesday, 27th. Visited many vessels for my passage to England, and concluded to go in the ship "Delos" of Kennebunk, Captain Joseph Hatch, bound to Liverpool, and loaded entirely with cotton. During my stay in New Orleans, I lived at G. L. Sapinot's, and saw many of my old friends and acquaintances, but the whole time of waiting was dull and heavy. I generally walked from morning till dusk. New Orleans, to a man who does not trade in dollars or other such stuff, is a miserable spot. Finally, discovering that the ship would not be ready for sea for several days longer, I ascended the Mississippi again in the "Red River," and arrived at Mrs. Percy's at three o'clock in the morning, having had a dark ride through the Magnolia woods. I remained two days, left at sunrise, and breakfasted with my good friend Augustin Bourgeat. Arrived at New Orleans, I called on the governor, who gave me a letter bearing the seal of the State, obviating the necessity of a passport. I received many letters of introduction from different persons which will be of use to me. Also I wrote to Charles Bonaparte, apprising him of the box of bird skins forwarded to him. On the _17th of May_, my baggage was put on board, I following, and the steamboat "Hercules" came alongside at seven P. M., and in ten hours put the "Delos" to sea. I was immediately affected with sea-sickness, which, however, lasted but a short time; I remained on deck constantly, forcing myself to exercise. We calculated our day of departure to be May 18, 1826, at noon, when we first made an observation. It is now the 28th; the weather has been generally fair with light winds. The first objects which diverted my thoughts from the dear ones left behind me, were the beautiful Dolphins that glided by the vessel like burnished gold by day, and bright meteors by night. Our captain and mate proved experts at alluring them with baited hooks, and dexterous at piercing them with a five-pronged instrument, generally called by seamen "grain." If hooked, the Dolphin flounces desperately, glides off with all its natural swiftness, rises perpendicularly out of the water several feet, and often shakes off the hook and escapes; if, however, he is well hooked, he is played about for a while, soon exhausted, and hauled into the ship. Their flesh is firm, dry, yet quite acceptable at sea. They differ much in their sizes, being, according to age, smaller or larger; I saw some four and a half feet long, but a fair average is three feet. The paunch of all we caught contained more or less small fishes of different varieties, amongst which the flying-fish is most prevalent. Dolphins move in companies of from four or five to twenty or more. They chase the flying-fish, that with astonishing rapidity, after having escaped their sharp pursuer a while in the water, emerge, and go through the air with the swiftness of an arrow, sometimes in a straight course, sometimes forming part of a circle; yet frequently the whole is unavailing, for the Dolphin bounds from the sea in leaps of fifteen or twenty feet, and so moves rapidly towards his prey, and the little fish falls, to be swallowed by his antagonist. You must not suppose, however, that the Dolphin moves through the seas without risk or danger; he, as well as others has vigilant and powerful enemies. One is the Barracouta, in shape much like a Pike, growing sometimes to a large size; one of these cut off upwards of a foot of a Dolphin's tail, as if done with an axe, as the Dolphin made for a baited hook; and I may say we about divided the bounty. There is a degree of sympathy existing between Dolphins quite remarkable; the moment one of them is hooked or grained, all those in company immediately make towards him, and remain close to him till the unfortunate is hauled on board, then they move off and will rarely bite. The skin of the fish is a tissue of small scales, softer in their substance than is generally the case in scaley fishes of such size; the skin is tough. We also caught a Porpoise about seven feet in length. This was accomplished during the night, when the moon gave me a full view of all that happened. The fish, contrary to custom, was _grained_ instead of harpooned, but grained in such a way and so effectually, through the forehead, that it was then held and suffered to flounce and beat about the bow of the ship, until the man who had first speared it gave the line holding the grain to our captain, slid along the bobstay with a rope, then, after some little time and perhaps some difficulty, the fish was secured immediately about its tail, and hoisted with that part upwards. Arrived at the deck it gave a deep groan, much like the last from a dying hog, flapped heavily once or twice, and died. I had never before examined one of these closely, and the duck-bill-like snout, and the curious disposition of the tail, with the body, were new and interesting matters of observation to me. The large, sleek, black body, the quantity of warm, black blood issuing from the wound, the blowing apertures placed over the forehead,--all attracted my attention. I requested it might be untouched till the next morning, and my wish was granted. On opening it the intestines were still warm (say eight hours after death), and resembled very much those of a hog. The paunch contained several cuttle-fish partly decayed. The flesh was removed from the skeleton and left the central bone supported on its sides by two horizontal, and one perpendicular bone, giving it the appearance of a four-edged cutting instrument; the lower jaw, or as I would prefer writing it, mandible, exceeds the upper about three-fourths of an inch. Both were furnished with single rows of divided conical teeth, about one-half an inch in length, so parted as to admit those of the upper jaw between each of those of the lower. The fish might weigh about two hundred pounds. The eyes were small in proportion to the size of the animal, and having a breathing aperture above, of course it had no gills. Porpoises move in large companies, and generally during spring and early summer go in pairs. I have seen a parcel of them leap perpendicularly about twenty feet, and fall with a heavy dash in the sea. Our captain told us that there were instances when small boats had been sunk by one of these heavy fish falling into them. Whilst I am engaged with the finny tribe (of which, however, I know little or nothing), I may as well tell you that one morning when moving gently, two miles per hour, the captain called me to show me some pretty little fishes just caught from the cabin window. These measured about three inches, were broad, and moved very quickly through the water. We had pin-hooks, and with these, in about two hours, three hundred and seventy were caught; they were sweet and good as food. They are known ordinarily as Rudder-fish, and always keep on the lee side of the rudder, as it affords them a strong eddy to support them, and enable them to follow the vessel in that situation; when calm they disperse about the bow and sides, and then will not bite. The least breeze brings them all astern again in a compact body, when they seize the baited hook the moment it reaches the water. We have also caught two Sharks, one a female about seven feet long, that had ten young, alive, and able to swim well; one of them was thrown overboard and made off as if well accustomed to take care of himself. Another was cut in two, and the head half swam off out of our sight. The remainder, as well as the parent, were cut in pieces for bait for Dolphins, which are extremely partial to that meat. The weather being calm and pleasant, I felt desirous to have a view of the ship from a distance and Captain Hatch politely took me in the yawl and had it rowed all round the "Delos." This was a sight I had not enjoyed for twenty years, and I was much pleased with it; afterwards having occasion to go out to try the bearings of the current, I again accompanied him, and bathed in the sea, not however without some fears as to Sharks. To try the bearings of the current we took an iron pot fastened to a line of one hundred and twenty fathoms, and made a log-board out of a barrel's head leaded on one side to make it sink perpendicularly on its edge, and tried the velocity of the current with it fixed to a line _by the help of a second glass_,[65] whilst our iron pot acted as an anchor. Let me change my theme, and speak of birds awhile. Mother Carey's Chickens (_Procellaria_) came about us, and I longed to have _at least one_ in my possession. I had watched their evolutions, their gentle patting of the sea when on the wing, with the legs hanging and the web extended, seen them take large and long ranges in search of food, and return for bits of fat thrown overboard for them, I had often looked at different figures given by scientific men; but all this could not diminish for a moment the long-wished for pleasure of possessing one in the flesh. I fired, and dropped the first one that came alongside, and the captain most courteously sent for it with the yawl. I made two drawings of it; it proved to be a female with eggs, numerous, but not larger than grains of fine powder, inducing me to think that these birds must either breed earlier, or much later, than any in our southern latitude. I should be inclined to think that the specimen I inspected had not laid this season, though I am well satisfied that it was an old bird. During many succeeding weeks I discovered that numbers flew mated side by side, and occasionally, particularly on calm, pleasant days caressed each other as Ducks are known to do. _May 27, 1826._ Five days ago we saw a small vessel with all sails set coming toward us; we were becalmed and the unknown had a light breeze. It approached gradually; suspicions were entertained that it might be a pirate, as we had heard that same day reports, which came undoubtedly from cannon, and from the very direction from which this vessel was coming. We were well manned, tolerably armed, and were all bent on resistance, knowing well that these gentry gave no quarter, to purses at least, and more or less uneasiness was perceptible on every face. Night arrived, a squally breeze struck us, and off we moved, and lost sight of the pursuing vessel in a short time. The next day a brig that had been in our wake came near us, was hailed, and found to be the "Gleaner," of Portland, commanded by an acquaintance of our commander, and bound also to Liverpool. This vessel had left New Orleans five days before us. We kept close together, and the next day Captain Hatch and myself boarded her, and were kindly received; after a short stay her captain, named Jefferson, came with us and remained the day. I opened my drawings and showed a few of them. Mr. Swift was anxious to see some, and I wanted to examine in what state they kept, and the weather being dry and clear I feared nothing. It was agreed the vessels should keep company until through the Gulf Stream, for security against pirates. So fine has the weather been so far, that all belonging to the cabin have constantly slept on deck; an awning has been extended to protect from the sun by day and the dampness by night. When full a hundred leagues at sea, a female Rice Bunting came on board, and remained with us one night, and part of a day. A Warbler also came, but remained only a few minutes, and then made for the land we had left. It moved while on board with great activity and sprightliness; the Bunting, on the contrary, was exhausted, panted, and I have no doubt died of inanition. Many Sooty Terns were in sight during several days. I saw one Frigate Pelican high in air, and could only judge it to be such through the help of a telescope. Flocks of unknown birds were also about the ship during a whole day. They swam well, and preferred the water to the air. They resembled large Phalaropes, but I could not be certain. A small Alligator, that I had purchased for a dollar in New Orleans, died at the end of nine days, through my want of knowledge, or thought, that salt matter was poisonous to him. In two days he swelled to nearly double his natural size, breathed hard, and, as I have said, died. In latitude 24°, 27´, a Green Heron came on board, and remained until, becoming frightened, it flew towards the brig "Gleaner;" it did not appear in the least fatigued. The captain of the brig told me that on a former voyage from Europe to New Orleans, when about fifty leagues from the Balize, a fully grown Whooping Crane came on board his vessel during the night, passing over the length of his deck, close over his head, over the helmsman, and fell in the yawl; the next morning the bird was found there completely exhausted, when every one on board supposed it had passed on. A cage was made for it, but it refused food, lingered a few days, and then died. It was plucked and found free from any wound, and in good condition; a very singular case in birds of the kind, that are inured to extensive journeys, and, of course liable to spend much time without the assistance of food. _June 4._ We are a few miles south of the Line, for the second time in my life. Since I wrote last we have parted from our companion the "Gleaner," and are yet in the Gulf of Mexico. I have been at sea three Sundays, and yet we have not made the shores of Cuba. Since my last date I have seen a large Sword-fish, but _only_ saw it, two Gannets, caught a live Warbler, and killed a Great-footed Hawk. This bird, after having alighted several times on our yards, made a dash at a Warbler which was feeding on the flies about the vessel, seized it, and ate it in our sight, _on the wing_, much like a Mississippi Kite devouring the Red-throated Lizards. The warbler we caught was a nondescript, which I named "The Cape Florida Songster." We also saw two Frigate Pelicans at a great height, and a large species of Petrel, entirely unknown to me. I have read Byron's "Corsair" with much enjoyment. _June 17._ A brig bound to Boston, called the "Andromache," came alongside, and my heart rejoiced at the idea that letters could be carried by her to America. I set to, and wrote to my wife and to Nicholas Berthoud. A sudden squall separated us till quite late, but we boarded her, I going with the captain; the sea ran high, and the tossing of our light yawl was extremely disagreeable to my feelings. The brig was loaded with cotton, extremely filthy, and I was glad to discover that with all _our_ disagreeables we were comparatively comfortable on the "Delos." We have been in sight of Cuba four days; the heat excessive. I saw three beautiful White-headed Pigeons, or Doves, flying about our ship, but after several rounds they shaped their course towards the Floridas and disappeared. The Dolphins we catch here are said to be poisonous; to ascertain whether they are or not, a piece of fish is boiled with a silver dollar till quite cooked, when if the coin is not tarnished or green, the fish is safe eating. I find bathing in the sea water extremely refreshing, and enjoy this luxury every night and morning. Several vessels are in sight. _June 26._ We have been becalmed many days, and I should be dull indeed were it not for the fishes and birds, and my pen and pencil. I have been much interested in the Dusky Petrels; the mate killed four at one shot, so plentiful were they about our vessel, and I have made several drawings from these, which were brought on board for that purpose. They skim over the sea in search of what is here called Gulf Weed, of which there are large patches, perhaps half an acre in extent. They flap the wings six or seven times, then soar for three or four seconds, the tail spread, the wings extended. Four or five of these birds, indeed sometimes as many as fifteen or twenty, will alight on this weed, dive, flutter, and swim with all the gayety of ducks on a pond, which they have reached after a weary journey. I heard no note from any of them. No sooner have the Petrels eaten or dispersed the fish than they rise and extend their wings for flight, in search of more. At times, probably to rest themselves, they alighted, swam lightly, dipping their bills frequently in the water as Mergansers and fishy Ducks do when trying, by tasting, if the water contains much fish. On inspection of the body, I found the wings powerfully muscular and strong for the size of the bird, a natural requisite for individuals that have such an extent of water to traverse, and frequently heavy squalls to encounter and fight against. The stomach, or pouch, resembled a leather purse of four inches in length and was much distended by the contents, which were a compound of fishes of different kinds, some almost entire, others more or less digested. The gullet was capable of great extension. Fishes two and a half inches by one inch were found nearly fresh. The flesh of these Petrels smelt strong, and was tough and not fit to eat. I tasted some, and found it to resemble the flesh of the Porpoise. There was no difference in the sexes, either in size or color; they are sooty black above, and snowy white below. The exact measurements are in my memorandum-book. _June 29._ This morning we came up with the ship "Thalia," of Philadelphia, Captain John R. Butler, from Havana to Minorca up the Mediterranean, with many passengers, Spaniards, on board. The captain very politely offered us some fruit, which was gladly accepted, and in return we sent them a large Dolphin, they having caught none. I sent a Petrel, stuffed some days previously, as the captain asked for it for the Philadelphia Society of Sciences. _June 30._ Whilst sailing under a gentle breeze last night, the bird commonly called by seamen "Noddy" alighted on the boom of the vessel, and was very soon caught by the mate. It then uttered a rough cry, not unlike that of a young crow when taken from the nest. It bit severely and with quickly renewed movement of the bill, which, when it missed the object in view, snapped like that of our larger Flycatchers. I found it one of the same species that hovered over the seaweeds in company with the large Petrel. Having kept it alive during the night, when I took it in hand to draw it it was dull looking and silent. I know nothing of this bird more than what our sailors say, that it is a Noddy, and that they often alight on vessels in this latitude, particularly in the neighborhood of the Florida Keys. The bird was in beautiful plumage, but poor. The gullet was capable of great extension, the paunch was empty, the heart large for the bird, and the liver uncommonly so. A short time before the capture of the above bird, a vessel of war, a ship that we all supposed to be a South American Republican, or Columbian, came between us and the "Thalia," then distant from us about one and a half miles astern, fired a gun, and detained her for some time, the reason probably being that the passengers were Spaniards, and the cargo Spanish property; however, this morning both vessels were in view making different routes. The man-of-war deigned not to come to us, and none of us were much vexed at this mark of inattention. This day has been calm; my drawing finished, I caught four Dolphins; how much I have gazed at these beautiful creatures, watching their last moments of life, as they changed their hue in twenty varieties of richest arrangement of tints, from burnished gold to silver bright, mixed with touches of ultramarine, rose, green, bronze, royal purple, quivering to death on our hard, broiling deck. As I stood and watched them, I longed to restore them to their native element in all their original strength and vitality, and yet I felt but a few moments before a peculiar sense of pleasure in catching them with a hook to which they were allured by false pretences. We have at last entered the Atlantic Ocean this morning and with a propitious breeze; the land birds have left us, and I--I leave my beloved America, my wife, my children, my friends. The purpose of this voyage is to visit not only England, but the continent of Europe, with the intention of publishing my work on the "Birds of America." If not sadly disappointed my return to these shores, these happy shores, will be the brightest day I have ever enjoyed. Oh! wife, children, friends, America, farewell! farewell! _July 9._ _At sea._ My leaving America had for some time the feelings of a dream; I could scarce make up my mind fixedly on the subject. I thought continually I still saw my beloved friends, and my dear wife and children. I still felt every morning when I awoke that the land of America was beneath me, and that I would in a short time throw myself on the ground in her shady woods, and watch for, and listen to the many lovely warblers. But now that I have positively been at sea since _fifty-one_ days, tossing to and fro, without the sight or the touch of those dear to me, I feel fully convinced, and look forward with an anxiety such as I never felt before, when I calculate that not less than four months, the third of a year, must elapse before my wife and children can receive any tidings of my arrival on the distant shores to which I am bound. When I think that many more months must run from the Life's sand-glass allotted to my existence before I can think of returning, and that my re-union with my friends and country is yet an unfolded and unknown event, I am filled with sudden apprehensions which I cannot describe nor dispel. Our fourth of July was passed near the Grand Banks, and how differently from any that I can recollect. The weather was thick, foggy, and as dull as myself; not a sound of rejoicing reached my ears, not once did I hear "Hail Columbia! Happy land." My companion passengers lay about the deck and on the cotton-bales, basking like Crocodiles, while the sun occasionally peeped out of the smoky haze that surrounded us; yet the breeze was strong, the waves moved majestically, and thousands of large Petrels displayed their elegant, aerial movements. How much I envied their power of flight to enable me to be here, there, and all over the globe comparatively speaking, in a few moments, throwing themselves edgeways against the breeze, as if a well sharpened arrow shot with the strength and grace of one sprung from the bow of an Apollo. I had remarked a regular increase in the number of these Petrels ever since the capes of Florida were passed; but here they were so numerous, and for part of a day flew in such succession towards the west and southwest, that I concluded they were migrating to some well known shore to deposit their eggs, or perhaps leading their young. These very seldom alighted; they were full the size of a common gull, and as they flew they showed in quick alternations the whole upper and under part of their bodies, sometimes skimming low, sometimes taking immense curves, then dashing along the deep trough of the sea, going round our vessel (always out of gun-reach) as if she had been at anchor. Their lower parts are white, the head all white, and the upper part of the body and wings above sooty brown. I would imagine that one of these Petrels flies over as much distance in one hour, as one of the little black Petrels in our wake does in twelve. Since we have left the neighborhood of the Banks, these birds have gradually disappeared, and now in latitude 44°, 53´ I see none. Our captain and sailors speak of them as companions in storms, as much as their little relations Mother Carey's chickens. As suddenly as if we had just turned the summit of a mountain dividing a country south of the equator from Iceland, the weather altered in the present latitude and longitude. My light summer clothing was not sufficient, and the dews that fell at night rendered the deck, where I always slept, too damp to be comfortable. This, however, of two evils I preferred, for I could not endure the more disagreeable odors of the cabin, where now the captain, officers, and Mr. Swift, eat their meals daily. The length of the days has increased astonishingly; at nine o'clock I can easily read large print. Dawn comes shortly after 2 A. M., and a long day is before us. _At Sea--July, 1826._ We had several days a stiff breeze that wafted us over the deep fully nine miles an hour. This was congenial to my wishes, but not to my feelings. The motion of the vessel caused violent headaches, far more distressing than any seasickness I had ever experienced. Now, for the third or fourth time, I read Thomson's "Seasons," and I believe enjoyed them better than ever. Among our live stock on board, we had a large hen. This bird was very tame and quite familiar with the ins and outs of the vessel, and was allowed all the privileges of the deck. She had been hatched on board, and our cook, who claimed her as his property, was much attached to her, as was also the mate. One morning she imprudently flew overboard, while we were running three miles an hour. The yawl was immediately lowered, four men rowed her swiftly towards the floating bird that anxiously looked at her place of abode gliding from her; she was picked up, and her return on board seemed to please every one, and I was gratified to see such kind treatment to a bird; it assured me, had I needed that assurance, that the love of animals develops the better side of all natures. Our hen, however, ended her life most distressingly not long after this narrow escape; she again flew over the side, and the ship moving at nine knots, the sea very high and rough, the weather rainy and squally, the captain thought it imprudent to risk the men for the fowl; so, notwithstanding the pleadings of the cook, we lost sight of the adventurous bird in a few moments. We have our long boat as usual lashed to the deck; but instead of being filled with lumber as is usually the case, it now contained three passengers, all bound to Europe to visit friends, with the intention of returning to America in the autumn. One has a number of books which he politely offered me; he plays most sweetly on the flute, and is a man superior to his apparent situation. We have a tailor also; this personage is called a deck hand, but the fact is, that two thirds of his time is spent sleeping on the windlass. This man, however, like all others in the world, is useful in his way. He works whenever called on, and will most cheerfully put a button or a patch on any one's clothing; his name is Crow, and during the entire voyage, thus far, he has lived solely on biscuit and raw bacon. We now see no fish except now and then a shoal of porpoises. I frequently long for the beautiful Dolphins in the Gulf of Mexico; Whales have been seen by the sailors, but not by me. During this tedious voyage I frequently sit and watch our captain at his work; I do not remember ever to have seen a man more industrious or more apt at doing nearly everything he needs himself. He is a skilful carpenter and turner, cooper, tin and black smith, and an excellent tailor; I saw him making a pair of pantaloons of fine cloth with all the neatness that a city brother of the cross-legged faculty could have used. He made a handsome patent swift for his wife, and a beautiful plane for his own use, manufactured out of a piece of beechwood that probably grew on the banks of the Ohio, as I perceived it had been part of a flat-boat, and brought on board to be used for fuel. He can plait straw in all sorts of ways, and make excellent bearded fishhooks out of common needles. He is an excellent sailor, and the more stormy it becomes, the gayer he is, even when drenched to the skin. I was desirous of understanding the means of ascertaining the latitude on land, and also to find the true rising of the sun whilst travelling in the uninhabited parts of America; this he showed me with pleasure, and I calculated our latitude and longitude from this time, though not usually fond of mathematics. To keep busy I go often about the deck pencil in hand, sketching the different attitudes of the sailors, and many a laugh is caused by these rough drawings. Both the mates have shown a kindness towards me that I cannot forget. The first mate is S. L. Bragdon from Wells, the second Wm. Hobart from Kennebunk. To-day we came in with a new set and species of Petrels, resembling those in the Gulf of Mexico, but considerably larger; between fifty and sixty were at one time close to the vessel, catching small fish that we guessed to be herrings; the birds swam swiftly over the water, their wings raised, and now and then diving and dipping after the small fry; they flew heavily, and with apparent reluctance, and alighted as soon as we passed them. I was satisfied that several in our wake had followed us from the Gulf of Mexico; the sudden change in the weather must have been seriously felt by them. _July 12._ I had a beautiful view of a Whale about five hundred yards from the vessel when we first perceived it; the water thrown from his spiracles had the appearance of a small, thick cloud, twelve or fourteen feet wide. Never have I felt the weather so cold in July. We are well wrapped up, and yet feel chilly in the drizzling rain. _July 15._ Yesterday-night ended the ninth Sunday passed at sea; the weather continues cold, but the wind is propitious. We are approaching land, and indeed I thought I smelt the "land smell." We have had many Whales near us during the day, and an immense number of Porpoises; our captain, who prefers their flesh to the best of veal, beef, or mutton, said he would give five dollars for one; but our harpoon is broken, and although several handles were fastened for a while to the grain, the weapon proved too light, and the fish invariably made their escape after a few bounces, probably to go and die in misery. European Hawks were seen, and two Curlews; these gave me hope that we might see the long desired land shortly. _July 18, 1826._ The sun is shining clear over Ireland; that land was seen at three o'clock this morning by the man at the helm, and the mate, with a stentorian voice, announced the news. As we approached the coast a small boat neared us, and came close under our lee; the boat looked somewhat like those employed in bringing in heavy loads to New Orleans, but her sails were more tattered, her men more fair in complexion. They hailed us and offered for sale fresh fish, new potatoes, fresh eggs. All were acceptable, I assure thee. They threw a light line to us most dexterously. Fish, potatoes, and eggs were passed to us, in exchange for whiskey, salt pork, and tobacco, which were, I trust, as acceptable to them as their wares were to us. I thought the exchange a fair one, but no!--they called for rum, brandy, whiskey, more of everything. Their expressions struck me with wonder; it was "Here's to your Honor,"--"Long life to your Honor,"--"God bless your Honor,"--_Honors_ followed with such rapidity that I turned away in disgust. The breeze freshened and we proceeded fast on our way. Perhaps to-morrow may see me safe on land again--perhaps to-morrow may see us all stranded, perishing where the beautiful "Albion" went ashore. _St. George's Channel, Thursday, July 20._ I am approaching very fast the shores of England, indeed Wales is abreast of our ship, and we can plainly distinguish the hedges that divide the fields of grain; but what nakedness the country exhibits, scarce a patch of timber to be seen; our fine forests of pine, of oak, of heavy walnut-trees, of magnificent magnolias, of hickories or ash or maple, are represented here by a diminutive growth called "furze." But I must not criticise so soon! I have not seen the country, I have not visited any of the historic castles, or the renowned parks, for never have I been in England nor Scotland, that land made famous by the entrancing works of Walter Scott. We passed yesterday morning the Tuskar, a handsome light on a bare rock. This morning we saw Holyhead, and we are now not more than twenty-five miles from Liverpool; but I feel no pleasure, and were it not for the sake of my Lucy and my children, I would readily embark to-morrow to return to America's shores and all they hold for me.... The pilot boat that came to us this morning contained several men all dressed in blue, with overcoats of oiled linen,--all good, hearty, healthy-looking men.... I have been on deck, and from the bow the land of England is plainly distinguishable; the sight around us is a beautiful one, I have counted fifty-six vessels with spreading sails, and on our right are mountains fading into the horizon; my dull thoughts have all abandoned me, I am elated, my heart is filled with hope. To-morrow we shall land at the city of Liverpool, but when I think of Custom House officials, acceptancy of Bills, hunting up lodgings,--again my heart fails me; I must on deck. _Mersey River opposite Liverpool_, 9.30 P. M. The night is cloudy, and we are at anchor! The lights of the city show brightly, for we are not more than two hundred yards distant from them. _Liverpool, July 21._ This morning when I landed it was raining, yet the appearance of the city was agreeable; but no sooner had I entered it than the smoke became so oppressive to my lungs that I could hardly breathe; it affected my eyes also. All was new to me. After a breakfast at an inn with Mr. Swift for 2/6, we went to the Exchange Buildings, to the counting-house of Gordon and Forstall, as I was anxious to deliver my letters to Mr. Gordon from Mr. Briggs. I also presented during the morning my bill of exchange. The rest of the day was spent in going to the Museum, gazing about, and clearing my brains as much as possible; but how lonely I feel,--not a soul to speak to freely when Mr. Swift leaves me for Ireland. We took lodgings at the Commercial Inn not far from the Exchange Buildings; we are well fed, and well attended to, although, to my surprise, altogether by women, neatly dressed and modest. I found the persons of whom I enquired for different directions, remarkably kind and polite; I had been told this would not be the case, but I have met with only real politeness from all. _Liverpool, July 22._ The Lark that sings so sweetly, and that now awakened me from happy dreams, is nearly opposite my table, prisoner in a cage hanging by a window where from time to time a young person comes to look on the world below; I think of the world of the West and--but the Lark, delightful creature, sings sweetly, yet in a cage! The Custom House suddenly entered my head, and after considerable delay there, my drawings went through a regular, strict, and complete examination. The officers were all of opinion that they were free of duty, but the law was looked at and I was obliged to pay two pence on each drawing, as they were water-colored. My books being American, I paid four pence _per pound_, and when all was settled, I took my baggage and drawings, and went to my lodgings. The noise of pattens on the sidewalk startles me very frequently; if the sound is behind me I often turn my head expecting to see a horse, but instead I observe a neat, plump-looking maid, tripping as briskly as a Killdeer. I received a polite note from Mr. Rathbone[66] this morning, inviting me to dine next Wednesday with him and Mr. Roscoe.[67] I shall not forget the appointment. _Sunday, July 23._ Being Sunday I must expect a long and lonely day; I woke at dawn and lay for a few moments only, listening to the sweet-voiced Lark; the day was beautiful; thermometer in the sun 65°, in the shade 41°; I might say 40°, but I love odd numbers,--it is a foolish superstition with me. I spent my forenoon with Mr. Swift and a friend of his, Mr. R. Lyons, who was afterwards kind enough to introduce us to the Commercial Reading Room at the Exchange Buildings. In the afternoon we went across the Mersey. The country is somewhat dull; we returned to supper, sat chatting in the coffee room, and the day ended. _July 24, Monday._ As early as I thought proper I turned my steps to No. 87 Duke Street, where the polite English gentleman, Mr. Richard Rathbone,[68] resides. My locks blew freely from under my hat in the breeze, and nearly every lady I met looked at them with curiosity. Mr. Rathbone was not in, but was at his counting-house, where I soon found myself. A full dozen of clerks were at their separate desks, work was going on apace, letters were being thrown into an immense bag belonging to a packet that sailed this day for the shores where I hope my Lucy is happy--dearest friend! My name was taken to the special room of Mr. Rathbone, and in a moment I was met by one who acted towards me as a brother. He did not give _his card_ to poor Audubon, he gave his hand, and a most cordial invitation to be at his house at two o'clock, which hour found me there. I was ushered into a handsome dining-room, and Mr. Rathbone almost immediately entered the same, with a most hearty greeting. I dined with this hospitable man, his charming wife and children. Mrs. Rathbone is not only an amiable woman, but a most intelligent and highly educated one. Mr. Rathbone took me to the Exchange Buildings in order to see the American consul, Mr. Maury, and others. Introduction followed introduction; then I was taken through the entire building, the mayor's public dining-hall, etc. I gazed on pictures of royalty by Sir Thomas Lawrence and others, mounted to the dome and looked over Liverpool and the harbor that Nature formed for her. It was past five when I went to keep my appointment with Mr. Swift. _July 25._ The day has passed quickly. In the morning I made a crayon portrait of Mr. Swift--or rather began it--for his father, then took a walk, and on my return found a note from Mr. Richard Rathbone awaiting me. He desired me to come at once with one of my portfolios to Duke Street. I immediately took a hackney coach and found Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone with Mr. James Pyke awaiting me, to take me to the home of Mr. Rathbone, Sr., who lives some miles out of Liverpool.[69] Their youngest boy, Basil, a sweet child, took a fancy to me and I to him, and we made friends during our drive. The country opened gradually to our view, and presently passing up an avenue of trees we entered the abode of the venerable pair, and I was heartily made welcome. I felt painfully awkward, as I always do in new company, but so much kindness and simplicity soon made me more at ease. I saw as I entered the house a full and beautiful collection of the birds of England, well prepared and arranged. What sensations I had whilst I helped to untie the fastenings of my portfolio! I knew by all around me that these good friends were possessed of both taste and judgment, and I did not know that I should please. I was panting like the winged Pheasant, but ah! these kind people praised _my Birds_, and I felt the praise to be honest; once more I breathed freely. My portfolio thoroughly examined, we returned to Liverpool, and later the Rev. Wm. Goddard, rector of Liverpool, and several ladies called on me, and saw some drawings; _all_ praised them. Oh! what can I hope, my Lucy, for thee and for us all? _July 26._ It is very late, and I am tired, but I will not omit writing on that account. The morning was beautiful, but for some reason I was greatly depressed, and it appeared to me as if I could not go on with the work before me. However, I recollected that the venerable Mr. Maury must not be forgotten. I saw him; Mr. Swift left for Dublin with his crayon portrait; I called at the post-office for news from America, but in vain. I wrote for some time, and then received a call from Mr. Rathbone with his brother William; the latter invited me to dine on Friday at his house, which I promised to do, and this evening I dined with Mr. Rd. Rathbone. I went at half-past six, my heart rather failing me, entered the corridor, my hat was taken, and going upstairs I entered Mr. Rathbone's drawing-room. I have frequently thought it strange that my _observatory nerves_ never give way, no matter how much I am overcome by _mauvaise honte_, nor did they now. Many pictures embellished the walls, and helped, with Mr. Rathbone's lively mien, to remove the misery of the moment. Mr. Edward Roscoe came in immediately,--tall, with a good eye under a well marked brow. Dinner announced, we descended to the room I had entered on my first acquaintance with this charming home, and I was conducted to the place of honor. Mr. Roscoe sat next, Mr. Barclay of London, and Mr. Melly opposite with Consul Maury; the dinner was enlivened with mirth and _bon mots_, and I found in such good company infinite pleasure. After we left the table Mrs. Rathbone joined us in the parlor, and I had now again to show my drawings. Mr. Roscoe, who had been talking to me about them at dinner, would not give me any hopes, and I felt unusually gloomy as one by one I slipped them from their case; but after looking at a few only, the great man said heartily: "Mr. Audubon, I am filled with surprise and admiration." On bidding me adieu he invited me to dine with him to-morrow, and to visit the Botanical Gardens. Later Mrs. Rathbone showed me some of her drawings, where talent has put an undeniable stamp on each touch. _July 27._ I reached Mr. Roscoe's place, about one and a half miles distant from Liverpool, about three o'clock, and was at once shown into a little drawing-room where all was nature. Mr. Roscoe was drawing a very handsome plant most beautifully. The room was ornamented with many flowers, receiving from his hands the care and treatment they required; they were principally exotics from many distant and different climes. His three daughters were introduced to me, and we then started for the Gardens. Mr. Roscoe and I rode there in what he called his little car, drawn by a pony so small that I was amazed to see it pull us both with apparent ease. Mr. Roscoe is a _come-at-able_ person, who makes me feel at home immediately, and we have much in common. I was shown the whole of the Gardens, which with the hot-house were in fine order. The ground is level, well laid out, and beautifully kept; but the season was, so Mr. Roscoe said, a little advanced for me to see the place to the best advantage. On our return to the charming _laboratoire_ of Mr. Roscoe the large portfolio is again in sight. I will not weary you with the details of this. One of the daughters draws well, and I saw her look closely at me very often, and she finally made known her wish to take a sketch of my head, to which I gave reluctant consent for some future time. Mr. Roscoe is very anxious I should do well, and says he will try to introduce me to Lord Stanley, and assured me nothing should be left undone to meet my wishes; he told me that the honorable gentleman "is rather shy." It was nine o'clock when I said good-night, leaving my drawings with him at his request. On my return to Dale Street I found the following note: "Mr. Martin, of the Royal Institution of Liverpool, will do himself the pleasure to wait upon Mr. Ambro to-morrow at eleven o'clock." Why do people make such errors with my simple name? _July 28._ A _full grown man_ with a scarlet vest and breeches, black stockings and shoes for the coloring of his front, and a long blue coat covering his shoulders and back reminds me somewhat of our summer red bird (_Tanagra rubra_). Both man and bird attract the eye, but the scientific appellation of the _man_ is unknown to me. At eleven Mr. Martin (who I expect is secretary to the Royal Institution) called, and arranged with me a notice to the members of the Institution, announcing that I would exhibit my drawings for two hours on the mornings of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday following, at the Institution. Later, feeling lonely and sad, I called on Mrs. R. Rathbone, whom I found putting away in a little box, a dissected map, with which, _Edgeworth-like_, she had been transmitting knowledge with pleasure. She is so truly delightful a companion that had it been possible I should have made my call long instead of short, but I walked home by a roundabout way, and found a note from Mr. Wm. Rathbone reminding me of my promise to dine with him, and adding that he wished me to meet a brother-in-law of his from London who may be of use to me, so will I bring a few drawings? At the hour named I found myself in Abercrombie Street and in the parlor with two little daughters of my host, the elder about thirteen, extremely handsome. Mrs. Rathbone soon entered and greeted me as if she had known me all my life; her husband followed, and the guests, all gentlemen, collected. Mr. Hodgson, to whom I had a letter from Mr. Nolté[70] was particularly kind to me, but every one seemed desirous I should succeed in England. A Swiss gentleman urged me not to waste time here, but proceed at once to Paris, but he was not allowed to continue his argument, and at ten I left with Mr. Pyke for my lodgings. _July 29._ To-day I visited Mr. Hunt,[71] the best landscape painter of this city. I examined much of his work and found some beautiful representations of the scenery of Wales. I went to the Royal Institution to judge of the light, for naturally I wish my work to have every possible advantage. I have not found the population of Liverpool as dense as I expected, and except during the evenings (that do not at this season commence before eight o'clock) I have not been at all annoyed by the elbowings of the crowd, as I remember to have been in my youth, in the large cities of France. Some shops here are beautifully supplied, and have many customers. The new market is in my opinion an object worth the attention of all travelers. It is the finest I have ever seen--it is a large, high and long building, divided into five spacious avenues, each containing its specific commodities. I saw here viands of all descriptions, fish, vegetables, game, fruits,--both indigenous and imported from all quarters of the globe,--bird sellers, with even little collections of stuffed specimens, cheeses of enormous size, butter in great abundance, immense crates of hen's-eggs packed in layers of oats imported from Ireland, twenty-five for one shilling. This market is so well lighted with gas that this evening at ten o'clock I could plainly see the colors of the irids of living pigeons in cages. The whole city is lighted with gas; each shop has many of these illuminating fires, and fine cambric can be looked at by good judges. Mr. A. Hodgson called on me, and I am to dine with him on Monday; he has written to Lord Stanley about me. He very kindly asked if my time passed heavily, gave me a note of admittance for the Athenæum, and told me he would do all in his power for me. I dined at the inn to-day for the second time only since my arrival. _July 30._ It is Sunday again, but not a dull one; I have become better acquainted, and do not feel such an utter stranger. I went to the church of the Asylum for the Blind. A few steps of cut stone lead to an iron gate, and under a colonnade; at the inner gate you pay whatever you please _over_ sixpence. Near the entrance is a large picture of Christ healing the blind. The general structure is a well proportioned oblong; ten light columns support the flat ceiling. A fine organ is placed over the entrance in a kind of upper lobby, which contains also the musicians, who are blind. All is silent, and the mind is filled with heavenly thoughts, when suddenly the sublime music glides into one's whole being, and the service has begun. Nowhere have I ever seen such devotion in a church. In the afternoon the Rev. Wm. Goddard took me to some institutions for children on the Lancastrian system; all appeared well dressed, clean, and contented. I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Gordon;[72] Anne advised me to have my hair cut, and to buy a fashionable coat. _July 31._ This day has been one of trial to me. At nine of the morning I was quite busy, arranging and disposing in sets my drawings, that they might be inspected by the public. The doors were thrown open at noon, and the ladies flocked in. I knew but one, Mrs. Richard Rathbone, but I had many glances to meet and questions to answer. The time passed, however, and at two the doors were closed. At half-past four I drove with Mr. Adam Hodgson to his cottage, where I was introduced to Mrs. Hodgson, a tall young woman with the freshness of spring, who greeted me most kindly; there were three other guests, and we passed a quiet evening after the usual excellent dinner. Soon after ten we retired to our rooms. _August 1._ I arose to listen to the voice of an English Blackbird just as the day broke. It was a little after three, I dressed; and as silently as in my power moved downstairs carrying my boots in my hand, gently opened the door, and was off to the fields and meadows. I walked a good deal, went to the seashore, saw a Hare, and returned to breakfast, after which and many invitations to make my kind hosts frequent visits, I was driven back to town, and went immediately to the Institution, where I met Dr. Traill[73] and many other persons of distinction. Several gentlemen attached to the Institution, wished me to be remunerated for exhibiting my pictures, but though I am poor enough, God knows, I do not think I should do that, as the room has been given to me gratis. Four hundred and thirteen persons were admitted to see my drawings. _August 2._ I put up this day two hundred and twenty-five of my drawings; the _coup d'oeil_ was not bad, and the room was crowded. Old Mr. Roscoe did me the honor to present me to Mr. Jean Sismondi,[74] of Geneva. Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone had gone to their country home, "Green Bank," but I sent a note telling them how many pictures I had added to the first day's exhibition. I have decided to collect what letters I can for London, and go there as soon as possible. I was introduced to Mr. Booth of Manchester, who promised me whatever aid he could in that city. After a call at Mr. Roscoe's, I went, with a gentleman from Charleston, S.C., to the theatre, as I was anxious to see the renowned Miss Foote. Miss Foote has been pretty, nay, handsome, nay, beautiful, but--she _has been_. The play was good, the playhouse bad, and the audience numerous and fashionable. _August 4._ I had no time to write yesterday; my morning was spent at the Institution, the room was again crowded, I was wearied with bowing to the many to whom I was introduced. Some one was found copying one of the pictures, but the doorkeeper, an alert Scotchman, saw his attempt, turned him out, and tore his sketch. Mr. A. Hodgson invited me to dine with Lord Stanley to-morrow in company with Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Sr. Mr. Sismondi gave me a letter to Baron von Humboldt, and showed me a valuable collection of insects from Thibet, and after this I took tea with Mr. Roscoe. This morning I breakfasted with Mr. Hodgson, and met Mrs. Wm. Rathbone somewhat later at the Institution; never was a woman better able to please, and more disposed to do so; a woman possessed of beauty, good sense, great intelligence, and rare manners, with a candor and sweetness not to be surpassed. Mr. William Roscoe sent his carriage for me, and I again went to his house, where quite a large company had assembled, among others two botanists who knew every plant and flower, and were most obliging in giving me much delightful information. Having to walk to "Green Bank," the home of Mr. William Rathbone, Sr., I left Mr. Roscoe's at sunset (which by the way was beautiful). The evening was calm and lovely, and I soon reached the avenue of trees leading to the house I sought. Almost immediately I found myself on the lawn with a group of archers, and was interested in the sport; some of the ladies shot very well. Mr. Rathbone, Sr., asked me much about Indians, and American trees, the latter quite unknown here, and as yet I have seen none larger than the saplings of Louisiana. When the other guests had left, I was shown the new work on the Birds of England; I did not like it as well as I had hoped; I much prefer Thomas Bewick. Bewick is the Wilson of England. _August 5._ Miss Hannah Rathbone[75] drove me into Liverpool with great speed. Two little Welsh ponies, well matched, drew us beautifully in a carriage which is the young lady's special property. After she left me my head was full of Lord Stanley. I am a very poor fool, to be sure, to be troubled at the idea of meeting an English _gentleman_, when those I have met have been in kindness, manners, talents, all I could desire, far more than I expected. The Misses Roscoe were at the Institution, where they have been every day since my pictures were exhibited. Mrs. Wm. Rathbone, with her daughter--her younger self--at her side, was also there, and gave me a packet of letters from her husband. On opening this packet later I found the letters were contained in a handsome case, suitable for my pocket, and a card from Mr. Rathbone asking me to use it as a token of his affectionate regard. In the afternoon I drove with Mr. Hodgson to his cottage, and while chatting with his amiable wife the door opened to admit Lord Stanley.[76] I have not the least doubt that if my head had been looked at, it would have been thought to be the body, globularly closed, of one of our largest porcupines; all my hair--and I have enough--stood straight on end, I am sure. He is tall, well formed, made for activity, simply but well dressed; he came to me at once, bowing to Mrs. Hodgson as he did so, and taking my hand in his, said: "Sir, I am glad to see you." Not the words only, but his manner put me at once at my ease. My drawings were soon brought out. Lord Stanley is a great naturalist, and in an instant he was exclaiming over my work, "Fine!" "Beautiful!" and when I saw him on his knees, having spread my drawings on the floor, the better to compare them, I forgot he was Lord Stanley, I knew only he too loved Nature. At dinner I looked at him closely; his manner reminded me of Thomas Sully, his forehead would have suited Dr. Harlan, his brow would have assured that same old friend of his great mental powers. He cordially invited me to call on him in Grosvenor Street in _town_ (thus he called London), shook hands with me again, and mounting a splendid hunter rode off. I called to thank Mr. Rathbone for his letters and gift, but did so, I know, most awkwardly. Oh! that I had been flogged out of this miserable shyness and _mauvaise honte_ when I was a youth. _August 6, Sunday._ When I arrived in this city I felt dejected, miserably so; the uncertainty as to my reception, my doubts as to how my work would be received, all conspired to depress me. Now, how different are my sensations! I am well received everywhere, my works praised and admired, and my poor heart is at last relieved from the great anxiety that has for so many years agitated it, for I know now that I have not worked in vain. This morning I went to church; the sermon was not to my mind, but the young preacher may improve. This afternoon I packed up Harlan's "Fauna" for Mr. E. Roscoe, and went to the Institution, where Mr. Munro was to meet me and escort me to Mr. Wm. Roscoe, Jr., where I was to take tea. Mr. Munro was not on hand, so, after a weary waiting, I went alone to Mr. Roscoe's habitation. It was full of ladies and gentlemen, all his own family, and I knew almost every one. I was asked to imitate the calls of some of the wild birds, and though I did not wish to do so, consented to satisfy the curiosity of the company. I sat between Mr. Wm. Roscoe and his son Edward, and answered question after question. Finally, the good old gentleman and I retired to talk about my plans. He strongly advises me not to exhibit my works without remuneration. Later more guests came in, and more questions were asked; they appeared surprised that I have no wonderful tales to tell, that, for instance, I have not been devoured at least six times by _tigers_, bears, wolves, foxes; no, I never was troubled by any larger animals than ticks and mosquitoes, and that is quite enough. At last one after another took leave. The _well bred_ society of England is the perfection of manners; such tone of voice I never heard in America. Indeed, thus far, I have great reason to like England. My plans now are to go to Manchester, to Derbyshire to visit Lord Stanley (Earl of Derby), Birmingham, London for three weeks, Edinburgh, back to London, and then to France, Paris, Nantes, to see my venerable stepmother, Brussels, and return to England. I am advised to do this by men of learning and excellent judgment, who say this will enable me to find where my work may be published with greatest advantage. I have letters given me to Baron Humboldt, General La Fayette, Sir Walter Scott, Sir Humphry Davy, Miss Hannah More, Miss Edgeworth, Sir Thomas Lawrence, etc., etc. How I wish Victor could be with me; what an opportunity to see the best of this island; few ordinary individuals ever enjoyed the same reception. Many persons of distinction have begged drawing lessons of me at a guinea an hour. I am astonished at the plainness of the ladies' dress; in the best society there are no furbelows and fandangoes. _August 7._ I am just now from the society of the learned Dr. Traill, and have greatly enjoyed two hours of his interesting company; to what perfection men like him can rise in this island of instruction. I dined at Mr. Edward Roscoe's, whose wife wished me to draw something for her while she watched me. I drew a flower for her, and one for Miss Dale, a fine artist. I am grieved I could not reach "Green Bank" this evening to enjoy the company of my good friends, the Rathbones; they with the Roscoes and Hodgsons have done more for me in every way than I can express. I must have walked twenty miles to-day on these pavements; that is equal to forty-five in the woods, where there is so much to see. _August 8._ Although I am extremely fatigued and it is past midnight, I will write. Mr. Roscoe spoke much of my exhibiting my drawings for an admission fee, and he, as well as Dr. Traill and others, have advised me so strongly to do so that I finally consented, though not quite agreeable to me, and Mr. Roscoe drew a draft of a notice to be inserted in the papers, after which we passed some charming hours together. _August 9._ The Committee of the Royal Institution met to-day and _requested_ me to exhibit my drawings by ticket of admission. This request must and will, I am sure, take off any discredit attached to the tormenting feeling of showing my work for money. _August 10._ The morning was beautiful, and I was out very early; the watchmen have, however, ceased to look upon me with suspicion, and think, perhaps, I am a harmless lunatic. I walked to the "Mound" and saw the city and the country beyond the Mersey plainly; then I sat on the grass and watched four truant boys rolling marbles with great spirit; how much they brought before me my younger days. I would have liked them still better had they been _clean_; but they were not so, and as I gave them some money to buy marbles, I recommended that some of it be spent in soap. I begin to feel most powerfully the want of occupation at drawing and studying the habits of the birds that I see about me; and the little Sparrows that hop in the streets, although very sooty with coal smoke, attract my attention greatly; indeed, I watched one of them to-day in the dust of the street, with as much pleasure as in far different places I have watched the play of finer birds. All this induced me to begin. I bought water colors and brushes, for which I paid dearer than in New Orleans. I dined with Mr. Edward Roscoe. As you go to Park Place the view is extensive up and down the Mersey; it gives no extraordinary effects, but is a calming vision of repose to the eyes wearied with the bustle of the streets. There are plenty of steam vessels, but not to be compared to those on the Ohio; these look like smoky, dirty dungeons. Immediately opposite Mr. Roscoe's dwelling is a pond where I have not yet seen a living thing, not even a frog. No moccasin nor copper-headed snake is near its margin; no snowy Heron, no Rose-colored Ibis ever is seen here, wild and charming; no sprightly trout, nor waiting gar-fish, while above hovers no Vulture watching for the spoils of the hunt, nor Eagle perched on dreary cypress in a gloomy silence. No! I am in England, and I cannot but long with unutterable longing for America, charming as England is, and there is nothing in England more charming than the Roscoe family. Our dinner is simple, therefore healthful. Two ladies and a gentleman came in while we were at dessert, and almost as soon as we left the table tea was announced. It is a singular thing that in England dinner, dessert, wines, and tea drinking follow each other so quickly that if we did not remove to another room to partake of the last, it would be a constant repast. I walked back to Liverpool, and more than once my eyes were shocked whilst crossing the fields, to see signs with these words: "Any person trespassing on these grounds will be prosecuted with the rigor of the law." This must be a mistake, certainly; this cannot be English freedom and liberty, surely. Of this I intend to know more hereafter; but that I saw these words painted on boards there is really no doubt. _Sunday, August 13._ I am greatly disappointed that not yet have I had letters from home, though several vessels have arrived; perhaps to-morrow may bring me what I long for inexpressibly. This morning I went again to the church for the blind, and spent the remainder of the day at my kind friend's, Mr. Wm. Roscoe. _August 14._ This day I have passed with the delightful Rathbone family at Green Bank; I have been drawing for Mrs. Rathbone,[77] and after dinner we went through the greenhouse and _jardin potager_. How charming is Green Bank and the true hospitality of these English friends. It is a cold night, the wind blowing like November; it has been the first day of my exhibition of pictures per card, and one hundred and sixty-four persons were admitted. _August 15. Green Bank, three miles from Liverpool._ I am now at this quiet country home; the morning passed in drawing, and this afternoon I took a long walk with Miss Rathbone and her nephew; we were accompanied by a rare dog from Kamschatka. How I did wish _I_ could have conducted them towards the beech woods where we could move wherever fancy led us; but no, it could not be, and we walked between dreary walls, without the privilege of advancing towards any particular object that might attract the eye. Is it not shocking that while in England all is hospitality _within_, all is so different _without_? No one dare _trespass_, as it is called. Signs of _large dogs_ are put up; steel traps and spring guns are set up, and even _eyes_ are kept out by high walls. Everywhere we meet beggars, for England though rich, has poverty gaping every way you look, and the beggars ask for _bread_,--yes, absolutely for food. I can only pray, May our Heavenly Father have mercy on them. _August 17._ _Green Bank._ This morning I lay on the grass a long time listening to the rough voice of a Magpie; it is not the same bird that we have in America. I drove to the Institution with the _Queen Bee_ of Green Bank, and this afternoon began a painting of the Otter in a trap, with the intention to present it (if it is good) to my friend Mr. Roscoe's wife. This evening dined at Mr. Wm. Rathbone's, and there met a Quaker lady, Mrs. Abigail ----, who talked much and well about the present condition of England, her poor, her institutions, etc. It is dreadful to know of the want of bread here; will it not lead to the horrors of another revolution? The children of the very poor are often forced by their parents to collect daily a certain amount by begging, or perhaps even stealing; failing to obtain this they are cruelly punished on their return home, and the tricks they resort to, to gain their ends, are numberless and curious. The newspapers abound with such accounts, and are besides filled with histories of murders, thefts, hangings, and other abominable acts; I can scarce look at them. [Illustration: FLYCATCHERS. (_Heretofore unpublished._) From a drawing made by Audubon in 1826, and presented to Mrs. Rathbone of Green Bank, Liverpool. Still in the possession of the Rathbone family.] _August 19._ Dined with Mr. A. Melly in Grenville St. The dinner was quite _à la française_, all gayety, witticism, and good cheer. The game, however, was what I call _highly tainted_, the true flavor for the lords of England. _August 21._ I painted many hours this day, finished my Otter; it was viewed by many and admired. I was again invited to remove to Green Bank, but declined until I have painted the Wild Turkey cock for the Royal Institution, say three days more. _September 4._ Having been too busy to write for many days, I can only relate the principal facts that have taken place. I have been to two very notable suppers, one at Dr. Traill's in company with the French consul and two other French gentlemen; I was much encouraged, and urged to visit France at once. The other at the house of Mr. Molineux; there indeed my ears were feasted; such entertaining conversation, such delightful music; Mr. Clementi[78] and Mr. Tomlinson from London were present. Many persons came to my painting room, they wonder at the rapidity of my work and that I can paint fourteen hours without fatigue. My Turkeys are now framed, and hung at the Institution which is open daily, and paying well. I have made many small drawings for different friends. All my Sundays are alike,--breakfast with Mr. Melly, church with the blind, dinner with Mr. Roscoe. Every one is surprised at my habits of early rising, and at my rarely touching meat, except game. _Green Bank, September 6._ When I reached this place I was told that Lady Isabella Douglass, the sister of Lord Selkirk, former governor of Canada, was here; she is unable to walk, and moves about in a rolling chair. At dinner I sat between her and Mrs. Rathbone, and I enjoyed the conversation of Lady Douglass much, her broad Scotch accent is agreeable to me; and I amused her by eating some tomatoes raw; neither she, nor any of the company had ever seen them on the table without being cooked. _September 9._ Dr. Traill has ordered all my drawings to be packed by the curator of the Institution, so that has given me no trouble whatever. It is hard to say farewell to all those in town and country who have been so kind, so hospitable to me, but to-morrow I leave for Manchester, where Mr. Roscoe advises me to go next. _Manchester, County of Lancashire, September 10, 1826._ I must write something of my coming here. After bidding adieu to many friends, I went to Dr. Traill, who most kindly insisted on my taking Mr. Munro with me for two days to assist me, and we left by coach with my portfolios, my trunk to follow by a slower conveyance. I paid one pound for our inside seats. I felt depressed at leaving all my good friends, yet Mr. Munro did all in his power to interest me. He made me remark Lord Stanley's domains, and I looked on the Hares, Partridges, and other game with a thought of apprehension that the apparent freedom and security they enjoyed was very transient. I thought it more cruel to permit them to grow tame and gentle, and then suddenly to turn and murder them by thousands, than to give them the fair show that our game has in our forests, to let them be free and as wild as nature made them, and to let the hunter pay for them by the pleasure and work of pursuing them. We stopped, I thought frequently, to renew the horses, and wherever we stopped a neatly dressed maid offered cakes, ale, or other refreshments for sale. I remarked little shrubs in many parts of the meadows that concealed traps for moles and served as beacons for the persons who caught them. The road was good, but narrow, the country in a high degree of cultivation. We crossed a canal conducting from Liverpool here; the sails moving through the meadows reminded me of Rochester, N.Y. I am, then, now at Manchester, thirty-eight miles from Liverpool, and nearly six thousand from Louisiana. _Manchester, September 12._ Yesterday was spent in delivering my letters to the different persons to whom I was recommended. The American consul, Mr. J. S. Brookes, with whom I shall dine to-morrow, received me as an American gentleman receives another, most cordially. The principal banker here, Arthur Heywood, Esq., was equally kind; indeed _everywhere_ I meet a most amiable reception. I procured, through these gentlemen, a good room to exhibit my pictures, in the Exchange buildings, had it cleared, cleaned, and made ready by night. At five this morning Mr. Munro (the curator of the Institution at Liverpool and a most competent help) with several assistants and myself began putting up, and by eleven all was ready. Manchester, as I have seen it in my walks, seems a miserably laid out place, and the smokiest I ever was in. I think I ought not to use the words "laid out" at all. It is composed of an astonishing number of small, dirty, narrow, crooked lanes, where one cart can scarce pass another. It is full of noise and tumult; I thought last night not one person could have enjoyed repose. The postilion's horns, joined to the cry of the watchmen, kept my eyelids asunder till daylight again gave me leave to issue from the King's Arms. The population appears denser and worse off than in Liverpool. The vast number of youth of both sexes, with sallow complexions, ragged apparel, and downcast looks, made me feel they were not as happy as the slaves of Louisiana. Trade is slowly improving, but the times are dull. I have heard the _times_ abused ever since my earliest recollections. I saw to-day several members of the Gregg family. _September 13, Wednesday._ I have visited the Academy of Sciences; my time here was largely spoiled by one of those busybodies who from time to time rise to the surface,--a dealer in stuffed specimens, and there ends his history. I wished him in Hanover, or Congo, or New Zealand, or Bombay, or in a bomb-shell _en route_ to eternity. Mr. Munro left me to-day, and I removed from the hotel to the house of a Mrs. Edge, in King Street, who keeps a circulating library; here I have more quietness and a comfortable parlor and bedroom. I engaged a man named Crookes, well recommended, to attend as money receiver at the door of my exhibition room. I pay him fifteen shillings per week; he finds himself, and copies letters for me. Two men came to the exhibition room and inquired if I wished a band of music to entertain the visitors. I thanked them, but do not consider it necessary in the company of so many songsters. My pictures here must depend on their _real_ value; in Liverpool I _knew_ I was supported by my particular friends.... It is eleven o'clock, and I have just returned from Consul Brookes' dinner. The company were all gentlemen, among whom were Mr. Lloyd, the wealthy banker, and Mr. Garnet. Our host is from Boston, a most intelligent and polite man. Judge of my surprise when, during the third course, I saw on the table a dish of Indian corn, purposely for me. To see me eat it buttered and salted, held as if I intended gagging myself, was a matter of much wonder to the English gentlemen, who did not like the vegetable. We had an English dinner Americanized, and the profusion of wines, and the quantity drank was uncomfortable to me; I was constantly obliged to say, "No." The gentleman next me was a good naturalist; much, of course, was said about my work and that of Charles Bonaparte. The conversation turned on politics, and Mr. Brookes and myself, the only Americans present, ranged ourselves and toasted "Our enemies in war, but our friends in peace." I am particularly fond of a man who speaks well of his country, and the peculiar warmth of Englishmen on this subject is admirable. I have had a note from Lord de Tabelay, who is anxious to see my drawings and me, and begs me to go to his domain fourteen miles distant, on my way to Birmingham. I observed that many persons who visited the exhibition room investigated my style more closely than at Liverpool. A Dr. Hulme spent several hours both yesterday and to-day looking at them, and I have been asked many times if they were for sale. I walked some four miles out of the town; the country is not so verdant, nor the country seats so clean-looking, as Green Bank for instance. The funnels raised from the manufactories to carry off the smoke appear in hundreds in every direction, and as you walk the street, the whirring sound of machinery is constantly in your ears. The changes in the weather are remarkable; at daylight it rained hard, at noon it was fair, this afternoon it rained again, at sunset was warm, and now looks like a severe frost. _September 14, Thursday._ I have dined to-day at the home of Mr. George W. Wood, about two miles from the town. He drove me thither in company with four gentlemen, all from foreign countries, Mexico, Sumatra, Constantinople, and La Guayra; all were English and had been travelling for business or pleasure, not for scientific or literary purposes. Mrs. Wood was much interested in her gardens, which are very fine, and showed me one hundred bags of black gauze, which she had made to protect as many bunches of grapes from the wasps. _September 15._ FROST. This morning the houses were covered with frost, and I felt uncommonly cold and shivery. My exhibition was poorly attended, but those who came seemed interested. Mr. Hoyle, the eminent chemist, came with four very pretty little daughters, in little gray satin bonnets, gray silk spencers, and white petticoats, as befitted them, being Quakers; also Mr. Heywood, the banker, who invited me to dine next Sunday. I spent the evening at the Rev. James I. Taylor's, in company with himself, his wife, and two gentlemen, one a Parisian. I cannot help expressing my surprise that the people of England, generally speaking, are so unacquainted with the customs and localities of our country. The principal conversation about it always turns to Indians and their ways, as if the land produced nothing else. Almost every lady in England draws in water-colors, many of them extremely well, very much better than I ever will do, yet few of them dare to show their productions. Somehow I do not like Manchester. _September 17, Sunday._ I have been thinking over my stay in Liverpool; surely I can never express, much less hope to repay, my indebtedness to my many friends there, especially the Roscoes, the three families of Rathbone, and Dr. Thomas S. Traill. My drawings were exhibited for four weeks without a cent of expense to me, and brought me £100. I gave to the Institution a large piece, the wild Turkey Cock; to Mrs. Rathbone, Sr., the Otter in a trap, to Mr. Roscoe a Robin, and to many of my other friends some small drawing, as mementos of one who will always cherish their memories. I wrote a long letter to my son John Woodhouse urging him to spend much of his time at drawing _from nature only_, and to keep every drawing with the date, that he may trace improvement, if any, also to speak French constantly, that he may not forget a language in which he is now perfect. I have also written to the Governor of New York, his Excellency De Witt Clinton, to whose letters I am indebted for much of my cordial reception here. At two I started for Clermont, Mr. Heywood's residence, where I was to dine. The grounds are fine, and on a much larger scale than Green Bank, but the style is wholly different. The house is immense, but I was kindly received and felt at ease at once. After dinner the ladies left us early. We soon retired to the library to drink tea, and Miss Heywood showed me her portfolio of drawings, and not long after I took my leave. _September 18, Monday._ Mr. Sergeant came for me at half-past three and escorted me to his house. I am delighted with him--his house--his pictures--his books--his guns--and his dogs, and very much so with a friend of his from London, who dined with us. The weather has been beautiful, and more persons than usual at my rooms. _September 19, Tuesday._ I saw Mr. Melly this morning at the Exchange; he had not long arrived from Liverpool. He had been to my door-keeper, examined the _Book of Income_, and told me he was sorry and annoyed at my want of success, and advised me to go at once to London or Paris. He depressed me terribly, so that I felt really ill. He invited me to dine with him, but I told him I had already engaged to go to Mr. Samuel Gregg[79] at Quarry Bank, fourteen miles distant, to pass the night. Mr. Gregg, who is the father of a large family, met me as if he had known me fifty years; with him came his brother William and his daughter, the carriage was ready, and off we drove. We crossed a river in the course of our journey nearly fifty feet wide. I was told it was a stream of great importance: the name I have forgotten,[80] but I know it is seven miles from Manchester _en route_ to Derbyshire. The land is highly improved, and grows wheat principally; the country is pretty, and many of the buildings are really beautiful. We turn down a declivity to Quarry Bank, a most enchanting spot, situated on the edge of the same river we had crossed,--the grounds truly picturesque, and cultivated to the greatest possible extent. In the drawing-room I met three ladies, the daughters of Mr. Gregg, and the second daughter of Mr. Wm. Rathbone. After tea I drew a dog in charcoal, and rubbed it with a cork to give an idea of the improvement over the common stumps ordinarily used. Afterwards I accompanied the two brothers to a debating club, instituted on their premises for the advancement of their workmen; on the way we passed a chapel and a long row of cottages for the work-people, and finally reached the schoolroom, where about thirty men had assembled. The question presented was "Which was the more advantageous, the discovery of the compass, or that of the art of printing?" I listened with interest, and later talked with the men on some of the wonders of my own country, in which they seemed to be much interested. _Quarry Bank, September 20._ Though the weather was cloudy and somewhat rainy, I rose early, took an immense walk, up and down the river, through the gardens, along the road, and about the woods, fields, and meadows; saw a flock of Partridges, and at half-past eight had done this and daubed in a sketch of an Esquimau in a sledge, drawn by four dogs. The offer was made me to join a shooting party in the afternoon; all was arranged, and the pleasure augmented by the presence of Mr. Shaw, the principal game-keeper of Lord Stanford, who obligingly promised to show us many _birds_ (so are Partridges called). Our guns are no longer than my arm, and we had two good dogs. Pheasants are not to be touched till the first of October, but an exception was made for me and one was shot, and I picked it up while his eye was yet all life, his feathers all brilliancy. We had a fine walk and saw the Derbyshire hills. Mr. Shaw pocketed five shillings, and we the game. This was my first hunting on English soil, on Lord Stanford's domain, where every tree--such as we should call saplings--was marked and numbered, and for all that I know pays either a tax to the government or a tithe to the parish. I am told that a Partridge which crosses the river, or a road, or a boundary, and alights on ground other than Lord Stanford's, is as safe from his gun as if in Guinea. _September 21._ I returned to town this morning with my Pheasant. Reached my exhibition room and received miserable accounts. I see plainly that my expenses in Manchester will not be repaid, in which case I must move shortly. I called on Dr. Hulme and represented the situation, and he went to the Academy of Natural History and ordered a committee to meet on Saturday, to see if the Academy could give me a room. Later I mounted my pheasant, and all is ready for work to-morrow. _September 22._ I have drawn all day and am fatigued. Only twenty people to see my birds; sad work this. The consul, Mr. Brookes, came to see me, and advised me to have a subscription book for my work. I am to dine with him at Mr. Lloyd's at one next Sunday. _September 23._ My drawing this morning moved rapidly, and at eleven I walked to the Exchange and met Dr. Hulme and several other friends, who told me the Committee had voted unanimously to grant me a room gratis to exhibit my drawings. I thanked them most heartily, as this greatly lessens my expenses. More people than usual came to my rooms, and I dined with Mr. Samuel Gregg, Senior, in Fountain Street. I purchased some chalk, for which I paid more than four times as much as in Philadelphia, England is so overdone with duty. I visited the cotton mills of George Murray, Esq., where fifteen hundred souls are employed. These mills consist of a square area of about eight acres, built round with houses five, six, and seven stories high, having in the centre of the square a large basin of water from the canal. Two engines of forty and forty-five horse-power are kept going from 6 A. M. to 8 P. M. daily. Mr. Murray himself conducted me everywhere. This is the largest establishment owned by a single individual in Manchester. Some others, belonging to companies, have as many as twenty-five hundred hands, as poor, miserable, abject-looking wretches as ever worked in the mines of Golconda. I was asked to spend Monday night at Mr. Robert Hyde Gregg's place, Higher Ardwick, but I have a ticket for a fine concert, and I so love music that it is doubtful if I go. I took tea at Mr. Bartley's, and promised to write on his behalf for the bones of an alligator of a good size. Now we shall see if he gets one as quickly as did Dr. Harlan. I have concluded to have a "Book of Subscriptions" open to receive the names of all persons inclined to have the best illustrations of American birds yet published; but alas! I am but a beginner in depicting the beautiful works of God. _Sunday, September 24._ I drew at my Pheasant till near eleven o'clock, the weather warm and cloudy. Then I went to church and then walked to Mr. Lloyd's. I left the city and proceeded two miles along the turnpike, having only an imperfect view of the country; I remarked, however, that the foliage was deeply colored with autumnal tints. I reached the home of Mr. Brookes, and together we proceeded to Mr. Lloyd's. This gentleman met us most kindly at the entrance, and we went with him through his garden and hot-houses. The grounds are on a declivity affording a far view of agreeable landscape, the gardens most beautifully provided with all this wonderful island affords, and the hot-houses contain abundant supplies of exotics, flower, fruit, and shrub. The coffee-tree was bearing, the banana ripening; here were juicy grapes from Spain and Italy, the sensitive plant shrunk at my touch, and all was growth, blossom, and perfume. Art here helps Nature to produce her richest treasures at will, and man in England, _if rich_, may be called the God of the present day. Flower after flower was plucked for me, and again I felt how perfectly an English gentleman makes a stranger feel at home. We were joined by Mr. Thomas Lloyd and Mr. Hindley as we moved towards the house, where we met Mrs. Lloyd, two daughters, and a lady whose name escapes me. We were, of course, surrounded by all that is rich, comfortable, pleasing to the eye. Three men servants in livery trimmed with red on a white ground moved quietly as Killdeers; everything was choice and abundant; the conversation was general and lively; but we sat at the table _five hours_, two after the ladies left us, and I grew restless; unless drawing or out of doors I like not these long periods of repose. After joining the ladies in the library, tea and coffee were served, and in another hour we were in a coach _en route_ for Manchester. _September 25._ Who should come to my room this morning about seven whilst I was busily finishing the ground of my Pheasant but a handsome Quaker, about thirty years of age and very neatly dressed, and thus he spoke: "My friends are going out of Manchester before thee opens thy exhibition rooms; can we see thy collection at nine o'clock?" I answer, "Yes," and show him my drawing. Now were all the people here Quakers, I might perhaps have some encouragement, but really, my Lucy, my times are dull, heavy, long, painful, and my mind much harassed. Five minutes before nine I was standing waiting for the Quaker and his friends in the lobby of the Exchange, when two persons came in and held the following discourse. "Pray, have you seen Mr. Audubon's collections of birds? I am told it is well worth a shilling; suppose we go now." "Pah! it is all a hoax; save your shilling for better use. I _have_ seen them; the fellow ought to be drummed out of town." I dared not raise my head lest I might be known, but depend upon it I wished myself in America. The Quakers, however, restored my equilibrium, for they all praised my drawings so much that I blushed in spite of my old age. I took my drawing of the Pheasant to Mr. Fanetti's (?) shop and had it put in a good light. I have made arrangements to have my pictures in my new place in King Street, and hope to do better next week. At four I took down two hundred and forty drawings and packed them ready for removal. Now for the concert. It was six o'clock and raining when I left for Fountain Street, where already carriages had accumulated to a great number. I presented my ticket, and was asked to write my name and residence, for this is not exactly a public affair, but most select; so I am told. The room is full of red, white, blue, and green turbans well fitted to the handsome heads of the ladies. I went to one side where my ear and my intellect might be well satisfied, and where I should not be noticed; but it would not do, my long hair and unfashionable garments were observed far more than was agreeable to me. But the music soon began, and I forgot all else for the time; still between the various performances I felt myself gazed at through lorgnettes, and was most ill at ease. I have passed many uncomfortable evenings in company, and this one may be added. _Quarry Bank, September 26._ Whilst putting up my pictures in my newly granted "apartment" I received a note from Mrs. Gregg inviting me here for the night to meet Professor Smyth.[81] He is a tall, fine-looking gentleman from Cambridge, full of knowledge, good taste, and kindness. At dinner the Professor sat opposite the Woodsman, and America was largely the topic of conversation. One evening spent with people such as these is worth a hundred fashionable ones. _Wednesday, September 27._ It is a strange atmosphere, warm, damp, rainy, then fair again, all in less than two hours, which was the time consumed by my early walk. On my return soon after eight I found four of the ladies all drawing in the library; that in this country is generally the sitting-room. At about ten we had breakfast, when we talked much of duels, and of my friend Clay[82] and crazy Randolph.[83] Much is unknown about our country, and yet all are deeply interested in it. To-morrow I am off to Liverpool again; how much I shall enjoy being once again with the charming Rathbones. _Green Bank, near Liverpool, September 28._ At five this morning I left Manchester and its smoke behind me; but I left there the labors of about ten years of my life, fully one half of my collection. The ride was a wet one, heavy rain falling continuously. I was warmly welcomed by my good Liverpool friends, and though completely drenched I felt it not, so glad was I to be in Liverpool again. My being here is soon explained. I felt it best to see Dr. Traill and Mr. Roscoe, and I dined with the latter; we talked of Manchester and our friends there, and Mr. Roscoe thought well of the subscription book. From here to Green Bank, where I am literally _at home_. Mr. Rathbone and Mr. Roscoe will both aid me in the drawing up of a prospectus for my work. _Green Bank, September 29._ It rained during the night and all the early portion of the day. I breakfasted early, and at half-past nine Mr. Rathbone and I drove in the gig to Mrs. Wm. S. Roscoe.[84] After a little conversation we decided nothing could be done about the prospectus without more definite knowledge of what the cost of publication would be, and I was again referred to Dr. Traill. It happened that here I met a Mr. Bohn, from London, not a publisher, but a bookseller with an immense establishment, two hundred thousand volumes as a regular stock. He advised me to proceed at once to London, meet the principal naturalists of the day, and through them to see the best engravers, colorists, printers, paper-merchants, etc., and thus form some idea of the cost; then to proceed to Paris, Brussels, and possibly Berlin, with proper letters, and follow the same course, thereby becoming able to judge of the advantages and disadvantages attached to each country and _to determine myself when, where, and how_ the work should be undertaken; to be during this time, through the medium of friends, correspondence, and scientific societies, announced to the world in some of the most widely read periodical publications. "Then, Mr. Audubon, issue a prospectus, and bring forth one number of your work, and I think you will succeed and do well; but remember my observations on the _size_ of your book, and be governed by this fact, that at present productions of taste are purchased with delight, by persons who receive much company particularly, and to have your book laid on the table as a pastime, or an evening's entertainment, will be the principal use made of it, and that if it needs so much room as to crowd out other things or encumber the table, it will not be purchased by the set of people who now are the very life of the trade. If large public institutions only and a few noblemen purchase, instead of a thousand copies that may be sold if small, not more than a hundred will find their way out of the shops; the size must be suitable for the _English market_" (such was his expression), "and ought not to exceed that of double Wilson." This conversation took place in the presence of Dr. Traill, and both he and Mr. Roscoe are convinced it is my only plan. Mr. Bohn told Dr. Traill, as well as myself, that exhibiting my pictures would not do well; that I might be in London a year before I should be known at all, but that through the scientific periodicals I should be known over Europe in the same time, when probably my first number would be published. He strongly advised me to have the work printed and finished in Paris, bring over to England say two hundred and fifty copies, to have it bound and the titlepage printed, to be issued to the world of England as an English publication. _This I will not do_; no work of mine shall be other than true metal--if copper, copper, if gold, gold, but not copper gilded. He admitted it would be a great undertaking, and immensely laborious, but, he added, my drawings being so superior, I might rest assured success would eventually be mine. This plan, therefore, I will pursue with the same perseverance that since twenty-five years has not wavered, and God's will be done. Having now determined on this I will return to Manchester after a few days, visit thy native place, gaze on the tombs of thy ancestors in Derby and Leicester, and then enter London with a head humbly bent, but with a heart intently determined to conquer. On returning to this abode of peace, I was overtaken by a gentleman in a gig, unknown to me quite, but who offered me a seat. I thanked him, accepted, and soon learned he was a Mr. Dearman. He left me at Green Bank, and the evening was truly delightful. [Illustration: FROM A PENCIL SKETCH OF AUDUBON. DRAWN BY HIMSELF FOR MRS. RATHBONE. Now in the possession of Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, Glan-y-Menai, Anglesey.] _September 30, Woodcroft._ I am now at Mr. Richard Rathbone's; I did not leave Green Bank this morning till nearly noon. The afternoon was spent with Dr. Traill, with whom I dined; there was only his own family, and I was much entertained by Dr. Traill and his son. A man of such extensive and well digested knowledge as Dr. Traill cannot fail to be agreeable. About eight his son drove me to Woodcroft, where were three other guests, Quakers. The remainder of the evening was spent with a beautiful microscope and a Diamond Beetle. Mr. Rathbone is enthusiastic over my publishing plans, and I will proceed with firm resolution to attempt the being an author. It is a terrible thing to me; far better am I fitted to study and delineate in the forest, than to arrange phrases with suitable grammatical skill. For the present the public exhibiting of my work will be laid aside,--_I_ hope, forever. I now intend going to Matlock, and from there to my Lucy's native place, pass through Oxford, and so reach the great London, and once more become the man of business. From there to France, but, except to see my venerable mother, I shall not like France, I am sure, as I _now_ do England; and I sincerely hope that this country may be preferred to that, on financial grounds, for the production of my work. Yet I love France most truly, and long to enter my old garden on the Loire and with rapid steps reach my mother,--yes, my mother! the only one I truly remember; and no son ever had a better, nor more loving one. Let no one speak of her as my "stepmother." I was ever to her as a son of her own flesh and blood, and she to me a true mother. I have written to Louisiana to have forwarded from Bayou Sara six segments of magnolia, yellow-poplar, beech, button-wood or sycamore, sassafras, and oak, each about seven or eight inches in thickness of the largest diameter that can be procured in the woods; to have each segment carefully handled so as not to mar the bark, and to have each name neatly painted on the face, with the height of the tree. These are for the Liverpool Royal Institution. _Green Bank, October 1._ Though the morning was bright it was near four before I left my room and stepped into the fresh air, where I could watch the timid birds fly from bush to bush before me. I turned towards the Mersey reflecting the calm, serene skies, and listened to the voice of the Quail, here so shy. I walked to the tide-beaten beach and watched the Solan Goose in search of a retreat from the destroyer, man. Suddenly a poorly dressed man, in somewhat of a sailor garb, and carrying a large bag dashed past me; his movement suggested flight, and instinctively I called, "Stop thief!" and made towards him in a style that I am sure he had never seen used by the gentlemen of the customs, who at this hour are doubtless usually drowsy. I was not armed, but to my surprise he turned, fell at my feet, and with eyes starting from his head with apprehension, begged for mercy, said the bag only contained a few leaves of rotten tobacco, and it was the first time he had ever smuggled. This, then, was a smuggler! I told him to rise, and as he did so I perceived the boat that had landed him. There were five men in it, but instead of landing and defending their companion, they fled by rowing, like cowards, swiftly away. I was astonished at such conduct from Englishmen. I told the abject creature to bring his bag and open it; this he did. It was full of excellent tobacco, but the poor wretch looked ill and half starved, and I never saw a human being more terrified. He besought me to take the tobacco and let him go, that it was of the rarest quality. I assured him I never had smoked a single cigar, nor did I intend to, and told him to take care he did not offend a second time. One of my pockets was filled with the copper stuff the shop-keepers here give, which they call penny. I gave them all to him, and told him to go. He thanked me many times and disappeared through a thick hedge. The bag must have contained fifty pounds of fine tobacco and two pistols, which were not loaded, or so he said. I walked back to Green Bank thinking of the smuggler. When I told Mr. Rathbone of my adventure he said I had been extremely rash, and that I might have been shot dead on the spot, as these men are often desperadoes. Well! I suppose I might have thought of this, but dear me! one cannot always think over every action carefully before committing it. On my way back I passed a man digging potatoes; they were small and indifferently formed. The season has been uncommonly dry and hot--so the English say; for my part I am almost freezing most of the time, and I have a bad cough. _October 2._ This morning Mrs. Rathbone asked me if I would draw her a sketch of the Wild Turkey, about the size of my thumb-nail. I assured her I would with pleasure, but that I could perhaps do better did I know for what purpose. She colored slightly, and replied after a moment that it was for something she desired to have made; so after I had reached the Institution and finished my business there, I sat opposite my twenty-three hours' picture and made the diminutive sketch in less than twenty-three minutes. The evening was spent at Woodcroft, and Mr. Rathbone sent his servant to drive me in the gig to Green Bank, the night being cold and damp. The man was quite surprised I did not make use of a great coat which had been placed at my disposal. How little he knew how often I had lain down to rest, wet, hungry, harassed and full of sorrow, with millions of mosquitoes buzzing round me as I lay awake listening to the Chuckmill's Widow, the Horned Owl, and the hoarse Bull-frog, impatiently awaiting the return of day to enable me to hunt the forests and feast my eyes on their beautiful inhabitants. I thought of all this and then moved the scene to the hunter's cabin. Again wet, harassed, and hungry, I felt the sudden warmth of the "Welcome, stranger!" saw the busy wife unhook dry clothes from the side of the log hut, untie my moccasins, and take my deerskin coat; I saw the athletic husband wipe my gun, clean the locks, hang all over the bright fire; the eldest boy pile on more wood, whilst my ears were greeted with the sound of the handmill crushing the coffee, or the rye, for my evening drink; I saw the little ones, roused by the stranger's arrival, peeping from under the Buffalo robe, and then turn over on the Black Bear skin to resume their slumbers. I _saw_ all this, and then arrived at Green Bank to meet the same hearty welcome. The squatter is rough, true, and hospitable; my friends here polished, true, and generous. Both give what they have, freely, and he who during the tough storms of life can be in such spots may well say he has known happiness. [Illustration: AUDUBON IN INDIAN DRESS. From a pencil sketch drawn by himself for Miss Rathbone, 1826. Now in the possession of Mrs. Abraham Dixon (_née_ Rathbone), London, England.] _Green Bank, October 3._ To-day I have visited the jail at Liverpool. The situation is fine, it is near the mouth of the estuary that is called the river Mersey, and from its walls is an extensive view of the Irish Channel. The area owned by this institution is about eight acres. It is built almost circular in form, having gardens in the court in the centre, a court of sessions on one side and the main entrance on the other. It contains, besides the usual cells, a chapel, and yards in which the prisoners take exercise, kitchens, store-rooms, etc., besides treadmills. The treadmills I consider infamous; conceive a wild Squirrel in a round cage constantly moving, without progressing. The labor is too severe, and the true motive of correction destroyed, as there are no mental resources attached to this laborious engine of shame. Why should not these criminals--if so they are--be taught different trades, enabling them when again thrown into the world to earn their living honestly? It would be more profitable to the government, and the principle would be more honorable. It is besides injurious to health; the wheel is only six feet in diameter, therefore the motion is rapid, and each step must be taken in quick succession, and I know a quick, short step is more fatiguing than a long one. The emaciated bodies of the poor fellows proved this to my eyes, as did my powers of calculation. The circulation of air was much needed; it was painful to me to breathe in the room where the mill was, and I left it saddened and depressed. The female department is even more lamentable, but I will say no more, except that my guide and companion was Miss Mary Hodgson, a Quakeress of great benevolence and solid understanding, whose labors among these poor unfortunates have been of immense benefit. I dined with her, her sister and brother, the latter a merchant of this busy city. _Manchester, October 6._ This morning after four hours' rest I rose early. Again taking my boots in my hand, I turned the latch gently, and found myself alone in the early dawn. It was one of those mornings when not sufficiently cold for a frost; the dew lay in large drops on each object, weighing down the points of every leaf, every blade of grass. The heavens were cloudless, all breezes hushed, and the only sound the twitterings of the Red-breasted Warbler. I saw the Blackbird mounted on the slender larch, waiting to salute the morning sun, the Thrush on the grass by the mulberry tree, and the Lark unwilling to bid farewell to summer. The sun rose, the Rook's voice now joined with that of the Magpie. I saw a Stock Pigeon fly over me, and I started and walked swiftly into Liverpool. Here, arriving before six, no one was up, but by repeated knockings I aroused first Mr. Pillet, and then Mr. Melly. On my return to the country I encountered Mr. Wm. Roscoe, also out for an early walk. For several days past the last Swallows have flown toward the south, frosts have altered the tints of the foliage, and the mornings have been chilly; and I was rubbing my hands to warm them when I met Mr. Roscoe. "A fine, warm morning this, Mr. Audubon." "Yes," I replied, "the kind of morning I like a fire with half a cord of wood." He laughed and said I was too tropical in my tastes, but I was glad to keep warm by my rapid walking. At eleven I was on my way to Manchester, this time in a private carriage with Mrs. Rathbone and Miss Hannah. We changed horses twelve miles from Green Bank; it was done in a moment, up went a new postilion, and off we went. Our luncheon had been brought with us, and was really _well served_ as we rolled swiftly along. After plenty of substantials, our dessert consisted of grapes, pears, and a melon, this last by no means so frequently seen here as in Louisiana. We reached smoky Manchester and I was left at the door of the Academy of Natural History, where I found the man I had left in charge much intoxicated. Seldom in my life have I felt more vexed. When he is sober I shall give him the opportunity of immediately finding a new situation. _Quarry Bank, October 7, Saturday._ From Green Bank to Quarry Bank from one pleasure to another, is not like the butterfly that skips from flower to flower and merely sees their beauties, but more, I hope, as a bee gathering honeyed stores for future use. My cold was still quite troublesome, and many remedies were offered me, but I never take physic, and will not, even for kind Mrs. Gregg. _Sunday, October 8._ I went to church at Mr. Gregg's chapel; the sermon was good, and the service being over, took Miss Helen a long ramble through the gardens, in which even now there is much of beauty. _October 9._ As soon as possible a male Chaffinch was procured, and I sat to draw it to give an idea of what Mrs. Gregg calls "my style." The Chaffinch was outlined, daubed with water-colors, and nearly finished when we were interrupted by callers, Dr. Holland among them, with whom I was much pleased and interested, though I am neither a craniologist nor a physiognomist. Lord Stanford's gamekeeper again came for us, and we had a long walk, and I killed a Pheasant and a Hare. _October 10._ To-day I returned to Manchester to meet Mr. Bohn. We went to the Academy together, and examined my drawings. Mr. Bohn was at first simply surprised, then became enthusiastic, and finally said they must be published the full size of life, and he was _sure_ they would pay. God grant it! He strongly advised me to leave Manchester, and go to London, where he knew I should at once be recognized. I dined at the good Quaker's, Mr. Dockray, where my friends Mrs. and Miss Rathbone are visiting; there is a large and interesting family. I sketched an Egret for one, a Wild Turkey for another, a Wood Thrush for a third. _Bakewell, October 11._ I am at last, my Lucy, at the spot which has been honored with thy ancestor's name. Though dark and rainy I have just returned from a walk in the churchyard of the village, where I went with Miss Hannah Rathbone, she and her mother having most kindly accompanied me hither. It was perhaps a strange place to go first, but we were attracted by the ancient Gothic edifice. It seemed to me a sort of illusion that made me doubt whether I lived or dreamed. When I think how frequently our plans have been laid to come here, and how frequently defeated, it is no great wonder that I find it hard to believe I am here at last. This morning at breakfast, Lady Rathbone spoke of coming to Matlock, and in a few moments all was arranged. She, with her niece, Mrs. Dockray, and Miss Hannah, with several of the children and myself, should leave in two chaises at noon. I spent the time till then in going over Mr. Dockray's wool mill. He procures the wool rough from the sheep, and it is cloth when he disposes of it; he employs about seventy weavers, and many other people in the various departments. I was much interested in the dyeing apparatus. I packed up a few of my drawings to take with me. We started, seven of us, in two chaises; all was new, and therefore interesting. We reached Stockport, a manufacturing town lying between two elongated hillsides, where we changed horses, and again at Chapel En-La-Frith, thirty miles from the point of departure. I saw a good deal of England that I admired very much. The railways were new to me, but the approach of the mountains dampened my spirits; the aridity of the soil, the want of hedges, and of course of birds, the scarcity of cattle, and the superabundance of stone walls cutting the hills in all sorts of distorted ways, made me a very unsocial companion, but the comfortable inn, and our lively evening has quite restored my cheerfulness. _Matlock, October 12._ This morning I was out soon after sunrise; again I walked round the church, remarked its decaying state, and that of all the thatched roofs of the humble cottages. I ascended the summit of the hill, crossing a bridge which spanned a winding stream, and had a lovely view of the country just lighted by the sun's first beams, and returned to the inn, the Rutland Arms, in time for the hour of departure, seven. The weather was now somewhat fitful, but the road good, and the valley charming. We passed the seat of the Duke of Devonshire, and Matlock opened to our eyes in all its beauty, the hills dotted with cottages and gentlemen's seats, the autumnal tints diversifying the landscape and enriching beautiful nature; the scenery reminds me of that part of America on the river called the Clear Juniata. All is remarkably clean; we rise slowly to more elevated ground, leave the river and approach the New Baths Hotel, where our host, Mr. Saxton, has breakfast ready. After this we took a long walk, turning many times to view the delightful scenery, though the weather had become quite rainy. We visited the celebrated cave, each carrying a lighted candle, and saw the different chambers containing rich minerals and spars; the walls in many places shone like burnished steel. On our return, which was down-hill, I heard with much pleasure the repeated note of the Jackdaws that constantly flew from hole to hole along the rocky declivities about us. After dinner, notwithstanding the rain, we rowed in a boat down the stream, to a dam and a waterfall, where we landed, walked through the woods, gathered some beautiful mosses, and saw some Hares, heard a Kestrell just as if in America, returned to our boat and again rowed, but this time up-stream, and so left the Derwent River. _Matlock, October 13._ Still rainy, but I found a sheltered spot, and made this sketch. We entered part of the grounds of Sir Thomas Arkwright, saw his castle, his church, and his meadows. The Rooks and Jackdaws were over our heads by hundreds. The steep banks of the Derwent were pleasantly covered with shrubby trees; the castle on the left bank, on a fine elevation, is too regular to be called (by me) well adapted to the rich natural scenery about it. We passed along a canal, by a large manufactory, and a coal-yard to the inn, the Crumford, and the rest of the day was employed in drawing. The sketch I took was from "The Heights of Abraham," and I copied it for Miss Hannah. About sunset we visited the Rutland Cave, which surpassed all my expectations; the natural chambers sparkled with brilliancy, and lights were placed everywhere. I saw there some little fishes which had not seen the daylight for three years, and yet were quite sprightly. A certain portion of the roof represented a very good head of a large tiger. I imitated, at Mrs. Rathbone's request, the Owl's cry, and the Indian yell. This latter music never pleased my fancy much, and I well know the effects it produces previous to and during an attack whilst the scalping knife is at work. We had a pleasant walk back to the inn, for the evening was calm and clear, and the moon shone brightly; so after a hasty tea we all made for the river, took a boat, and seated ourselves to contemplate the peace around us. I rowed, and sung many of the river songs which I learned in scenes far from quiet Matlock. _Manchester, October 14, Mr. Dockray's House, Hardwick._ By five o'clock this morning I was running by the Derwent; everything was covered with sparkling congealed dew. The fog arising from the little stream only permitted us to see its waters when they made a ripple against some rock. The vale was all mist, and had I not known where I was, and heard the notes of the Jackdaws above my head, I might have conceived myself walking through a subterraneous passage. But the sun soon began to dispel the mist, and gradually the tops of the trees, the turrets of the castle, and the church pierced through, and stood as if suspended above all objects below. All was calm till a bell struck my ear, when I soon saw the long files of women and little girls moving towards Arkwright's Mills. Almost immediately we started for Bakewell, and breakfasted at the Rutland Arms. Proceeding we changed our route, and made for the well known watering place, Buxton, still in Derbyshire. The country here is barren, rocky, but so picturesque that the want of trees is almost atoned for. The road winds along a very narrow valley for several miles, bringing a vast variety of detached views before us, all extremely agreeable to the sight. The scantiness of vegetable growth forces the cattle to risk much to obtain food, and now and then when seeing a bull, on bent knee with outstretched neck, putting out his tongue to seize the few grasses hanging over the precipices, I was alarmed for his safety. The Hawk here soars in vain; after repeated rounds he is forced to abandon the dreary steep, having espied only a swift Kingfisher. Suddenly the view was closed, a high wall of rock seemed to put an end to our journey, yet the chaise ran swiftly down-hill, and turning a sharp angle afforded delight to our eyes. Here we alighted and walked to view the beauties around at our leisure, and we reached the large inn, the Crescent, where I met the American consul, my friend Mr. Maury, who has visited this place regularly for twenty-five years. We had what my friends called a luncheon; I considered it an excellent dinner, but the English eat heartily. On our resuming our journey a fine drizzle set in, and as we neared Manchester the air became thick with coal smoke, the carts, coaches, and horsemen gradually filled the road, faces became less clean and rosy, and the children had none of the liveliness found amongst those in the Derbyshire Hills. I dreaded returning to the town, yet these days among the beauties of England in such delightful society are enough to refresh one after years of labor. _Manchester, October 15, Sunday._ I went to the Unitarian Chapel to hear a sermon from the Rev. John Taylor, but to my regret he had gone to preach elsewhere, and I was obliged to content myself with another,--not quite so practical a sermon as I care for. I dined and spent the night at Mr. Bentley's; after retiring to my room I was surprised at a knock; I opened my door and there stood Mr. Bentley, who said he thought he heard me asking for something as he passed by. I told him I prayed aloud every night, as had been my habit from a child at my mother's knees in Nantes. He said nothing for a moment, then again wished me good-night, and was gone. _October 18._ This evening I was to dine with Dr. Hulme and (as he said) "_a few friends_;" so when at four o'clock I entered his sitting-room, I was surprised to find it filled with ladies and gentlemen, and felt awkward for a moment. Some of my drawings were asked for, and at five we went to dinner; after the ladies had retired, wine and wit flowed till a late hour. _Quarry Bank, 12 miles from Manchester, October 19._ At five, my cane in hand, I made my way from Manchester, bound on foot for Quarry Bank; the morning was pleasant and I enjoyed my walk very much, but found myself quite out of the right road; therefore, instead of twelve miles, I measured sixteen, and was hungry enough when I reached my destination. I was soon put at my drawing, and drew the whole day; in the afternoon I began a sketch of Mr. Gregg, and felt quite satisfied with my work, but not so everybody else. Faults were found, suggestions made, and I enjoyed the criticisms very much, especially those of an Irish nephew of Mr. Gregg's, who, after several comments, drew me confidentially aside, and asked who it was intended to represent; after this, amid hearty laughter, I concluded to finish it next day. Later we took a walk and I entered a cottage where dwelt a silk weaver; all was clean and well arranged, and I saw the weaving going on for the first time since I left France. _October 20._ Drawing again all morning, and a walk later. I was taken to a cottage, where to my great surprise I saw two cases of well stuffed birds, the work of the weaver who lived in the cottage. I was taken to the dairy, where I saw the finest cattle I have yet met with in England. _October 21._ This has been a busy day. On my return from Quarry Bank I saw Mr. Bentley, Mr. Heywood, and other friends. Mr. H. gave me a letter to Professor Jameson, of Edinburgh. Called on Dr. Hulme; paid, in all, twenty visits, and dined with Mr. Bentley,[85] and with his assistance packed up my birds safe and snug, though much fatigued; it was late when we parted; he is a brother Mason and has been most kind to me. I wrote down for Mrs. Rathbone a brief memorandum of the flight of birds, with a few little pencil sketches to make my figures more interesting: Swallows, two and a half miles a minute; Wild Pigeons, when travelling, two miles per minute; Swans, ditto two miles, Wild Turkeys, one mile and three quarters. _Manchester, October 23, 1826, Monday._ This day was absolutely all spent packing and making ready for my start for Edinburgh; my seat in the coach taken and paid for,--three pounds fifteen shillings. I spent my last evening with Mr. Bentley and his family. As the coach leaves at 5 A. M., I am sleeping at the inn to be ready when called. I am leaving Manchester much poorer than I was when I entered it. _Carlisle, Tuesday, October 24._ The morning was clear and beautiful, and at five I left Manchester; but as no dependence can be placed on the weather in this country, I prepared for rain later. I was alone in the coach, and had been regretting I had no companion, when a very tall gentleman entered, but after a few words, he said he was much fatigued and wished to sleep; he composed himself therefore and soon slept soundly. How I envied him! We rolled on, however, and arrived at the village of Preston, where we breakfasted as quickly as if we had been Kentuckians. The coaches were exchanged, packages transferred, and I entered the conveyance and met two new gentlemen whose appearance I liked; we soon commenced to chat, and before long were wandering all over America, part of India, and the Atlantic Ocean. We discussed the emancipation of the slaves, and the starvation of the poor in England, the Corn Law, and many other topics, the while I looked frequently from the windows. The approach to Lancaster is beautiful; the view of the well placed castle is commanding, and the sea view bounded by picturesque shores. We dined at Kendal, having passed through Bolton and Burton, but before this my two interesting companions had been left behind at a place where we stopped to change horses, and only caught up with the coach by running across some fields. This caused much altercation between them, the driver, and the guard; one of the proprietors of the coach who was on board interfered, and being very drunk made matters worse, and a complaint was lodged against driver and guard. The tall gentleman was now wide awake; he introduced himself as a Mr. Walton, and knew the other gentlemen, who were father and son, the Messrs. Patison from Cornwall; all were extremely polite to me, a stranger in their land, but so have I ever found the _true English gentleman_. We now entered a most dreary country, poor beyond description, immense rolling hills in constant succession, dotted here and there with miserable cots, the residences of poor shepherds. No game was seen, the weather was bleak and rainy, and I cannot say that I now enjoyed the ride beyond the society of my companions. We passed through Penrith and arrived at Carlisle at half-past nine, having ridden one hundred and twenty-two miles. I was told that in hard winters the road became impassable, so choked with snow, and that when not entirely obstructed it was customary to see posts painted black at the top, every hundred yards or so, to point out the road surely. We had a miserable supper, but good beds, and I enjoyed mine, for I felt very wearied, my cold and cough having been much increased from my having ridden outside the coach some thirty miles, to see the country. _Edinburgh, Scotland, October 25, Wednesday._ We breakfasted at Carlisle, left there at eight, but I was sadly vexed at having to pay twelve shillings for my trunk and portfolio, as I had been positively assured at Manchester that no further charge would be made. For perhaps ten miles we passed through an uncommonly flat country, meandering awhile along a river, passed through a village called Longtown, and entered _Scotland_ at ten minutes before ten. I was then just six miles from the spot where runaway matches are rendered lawful. The country changed its aspect, and became suddenly quite woody; we ran along, and four times crossed a beautiful little stream like a miniature Mohawk; many little rapids were seen in its windings. The foliage was about to fall, and looked much as it does with us about our majestic western streams, only much less brilliant. This scenery, however, lasted only one stage of perhaps twelve miles, and again we entered country of the same dreariness as yesterday, mere burnt mountains, which were not interesting. The number of sheep grazing on these hills was very great, and they all looked well, though of a very small species; many of them had black heads and legs, the body white, with no horns; others with horns, and still others very small, called here "Cheviots." The shepherds were poor, wrapped up in a thin piece of plaid, and did not seem of that noble race so well painted by Sir Walter Scott. I saw the sea again to-day. We dined at Hawick on excellent sea fish, and for the first time in my life, I tasted Scotch whiskey. It appeared very potent, so after a few sips I put it down, and told Mr. Patison I suspected his son of wishing to make me tipsy; to which he replied that probably it was to try if I would in such a case be as good-natured as I was before. I took this as quite a compliment and forgave the son. The conversation at dinner was very agreeable, several Scotch gentlemen having joined us; some of them drank their native whiskey pure, as if water, but I found it both smoky and fiery; so much for habit. We passed through Selkirk, having driven nearly the whole day through the estates of the young Duke of ----, a young fellow of twenty who passes his days just now shooting Black-cock; he has something like two hundred thousand pounds per annum. Some of the shepherds on this astonishing estate have not probably more than two hundred pounds of oatmeal, a terrible contrast. We passed so near Sir Walter Scott's seat that I stood up and stretched my neck some inches to see it, but in vain, and who knows if I shall ever see the home of the man to whom I am indebted for so much pleasure? We passed a few miles from Melrose; I had a great wish to see the old abbey, and the gentleman to whom Dr. Rutter had given me a letter, but the coach rolled on, and at ten o'clock I entered this splendid city. I have seen yet but a very small portion of it, and that by gaslight, yet I call it a splendid city! The coach stopped at the Black Bull Hotel, but it was so full no room could be procured, so we had our baggage taken to the Star. The clerk, the guard, the driver, all swore at my baggage, and said that had I not paid at Carlisle, I would have been charged more here. Now it is true that my trunk is large and heavy, and so is the portfolio I carry with me, but to give an idea of the charges and impositions connected with these coaches (or their owners) and the attendants, remark the price I paid; to begin with,-- at Manchester, £3 15 00, at Carlisle, 12 00, and during the two days to drivers and guards, 18 06, --------- £5 5 06, nearly twenty-seven dollars in our money for two days' travelling from Manchester to Edinburgh. It is not so much the general amount, although I am sure it is quite enough for two hundred and twelve miles, but the beggarly manners used to obtain about one half of it; to see a fellow with a decent coat on, who calls himself an independent free-born Englishman, open the door of the coach every ten or twelve miles, and beg for a shilling each time, is detestable, and quite an abuse; but this is not all: they never are satisfied, and if you have the appearance of wealth about you, they hang on and ask for more. The porters here were porters indeed, carrying all on their backs, the first I have seen in this island. At the Star we had a good supper, and chatted a long time, and it was near one before the Messrs. Patison and I parted; Mr. Walton had gone on another course. I thought so much of the multitude of learned men that abound in this place, that I dreaded the delivery of my letters to-morrow. _George St., Edinburgh, October 26._ It was ten o'clock when I breakfasted, because I wished to do so with the Patisons, being so much pleased with their company. I was much interested in the different people in the room, which was quite full, and the waiters were kept skipping about with the nimbleness of Squirrels. My companions, who knew Edinburgh well, offered to accompany me in search of lodgings, and we soon entered the second door in George Street, and in a few minutes made an arrangement with Mrs. Dickie for a fine bedroom and a well furnished sitting-room. I am to pay her one guinea per week, which I considered low, as the situation is fine, and the rooms clean and comfortable. I can see, from where I am now writing, the Frith, and the boats plying on it. I had my baggage brought by a man with a tremendous beard, who imposed on me most impudently by bringing a brass shilling, which he said he would swear I had given him. I gave him another, threw the counterfeit in the fire, and promised to myself to pay some little attention hereafter to what kind of money I give or receive. I walked to Professor Jameson's[86] in the Circus,--not at home; to James Hall, Advocate, 128 George St.,--absent in the country. Dr. Charles Henry of the Royal Infirmary was sought in vain, Dr. Thompson was out also, and Professor Duncan[87] could not be seen until six o'clock. I only saw Dr. Knox in Surgeon's Square, and Professor Jameson at the college. This latter received me, I thought, rather coolly; said that Sir Walter Scott was now quite a recluse, and was busy with a novel and the Life of Napoleon, and that probably I should not see him. "_Not see Walter Scott?_" thought I; "I SHALL, if I have to crawl on all-fours for a mile!" But I was a good deal surprised when he added it would be several days before _he_ could pay me a visit, that his business was large, and must be attended to; but I could not complain, as I am bent on doing the same towards myself; and besides, why should I expect any other line of conduct? I have been spoiled by the ever-to-be-remembered families of Roscoes and Rathbones. Dr. Knox came at once to see me, dressed in an overgown and with bloody fingers. He bowed, washed his hands, read Dr. Traill's letter, and promised me at once to do all in his power for me and my drawings, and said he would bring some scientific friends to meet me, and to examine my drawings. Dr. Knox is a distinguished anatomist, and a great student; Professor Jameson's special science is mineralogy. I walked a good deal and admired the city very much, the great breadth of the streets, the good pavements and footways, the beautiful buildings, their natural gray coloring, and wonderful cleanliness; perhaps all was more powerfully felt, coming direct from dirty Manchester, but the picturesqueness of the _toute ensemble_ is wonderful. A high castle here, another there, on to a bridge whence one looks at a second city below, here a rugged mountain, and there beautiful public grounds, monuments, the sea, the landscape around, all wonderfully put together indeed; it would require fifty different views at least to give a true idea, but I will try from day to day to describe what I may see, either in the old or new part of the town. I unpacked my birds and looked at them with pleasure, and yet with a considerable degree of fear that they would never be published. I felt very much alone, and many dark thoughts came across my mind; I felt one of those terrible attacks of depression to which I so often fall a prey overtaking me, and I forced myself to go out to destroy the painful gloom that I dread at all times, and of which I am sometimes absolutely afraid. After a good walk I returned more at ease, and looked at a pair of stuffed pheasants on a large buffet in my present sitting-room, at the sweetly scented geraniums opposite to them, the black hair-cloth sofa and chairs, the little cherubs on the mantelpiece, the painted landscape on my right hand, and the mirror on my left, in which I saw not only my own face, but such strong resemblance to that of my venerated father that I almost imagined it was he that I saw; the thoughts of my mother came to me, my sister, my young days,--all was at hand, yet how far away. Ah! how far is even the last moment, that is never to return again. _Edinburgh, October 27, 1826._ I visited the market this morning, but to go to it I first crossed the New Town into the Old, over the north bridge, went down many flights of winding steps, and when at the desired spot was positively _under_ the bridge that has been built to save the trouble of descending and mounting from one side of Edinburgh to the other, the city being mostly built on the slopes of two long ranges of high, broken hills. The vegetable market was well arranged, and looked, as did the sections for meats and fruits, attractive; but the situation, and the narrow booths in which the articles were exhibited, was, compared with the Liverpool market, nothing. I ascended the stairs leading to the New Town, and after turning to the right, saw before me the monument in honor of Nelson, to which I walked. Its elevated situation, the broken, rocky way along which I went, made it very picturesque; but a tremendous shower of rain accompanied by a heavy gust of cold wind made me hurry from the spot before I had satisfied myself, and I returned _home_ to breakfast. I was struck with the resemblance of the women of the lower classes to our Indian squaws. Their walk is precisely the same, and their mode of carrying burdens also; they have a leather strap passed over the forehead attached to large baskets without covers, and waddle through the streets, just like the Shawanees, for instance. Their complexion, if fair, is beyond rosy, partaking, indeed, of purple--dull, and disagreeable. If dark, they are dark indeed. Many of the men wear long whiskers and beards, and are extremely uncouth in manners, and still more so in language. I had finished breakfast when Messrs. Patison came to see my drawings, and brought with them a Miss Ewart, who was said to draw beautifully. She looked at one drawing after another, but remained mute till I came to the doves; she exclaimed at this, and then told me she knew Sir Walter Scott well, "and," she added, "he will be delighted to see your magnificent collection." Later I called again at Dr. Thompson's, but as he was not at home, left the letter and my card; the same at Professor Duncan's. I then walked to the fish market, where I found Patrick Neill, Esq.,[88] at his desk, after having passed between two long files of printers at their work. Mr. Neill shook hands cordially, gave me his home address, promised to come and see me, and accompanied me to the street, begging me not to visit the Museum until Professor Jameson had sent me a general ticket of admission. I went then to the Port of Leith, distant not quite three miles, but missing my way, reached the Frith of Forth at Trinity, a small village on the bay, from whence I could see the waters of the German Ocean; the shore opposite was distant about seven miles, and looked naked and hilly. During my walk I frequently turned to view the beautiful city behind me, rising in gradual amphitheatre, most sublimely backed by mountainous clouds that greatly improved the whole. The wind was high, the waters beat the shore violently, the vessels at anchor pitched,--all was grand. On inquiry I found this was no longer an admiral's station, and that in a few more weeks the steamboats that ply between this and London, and other parts of the north of this island, would stop their voyages, the ocean being too rough during the winter season. I followed along the shores, and reached Leith in about twenty minutes. I saw a very pretty iron jetty with three arches, at the extremity of which vessels land passengers and freight. Leith is a large village apparently, mostly connected with Hamburg and the seaports of Holland. Much business is going on. I saw here great numbers of herring-boats and the nets for capturing these fishes; also some curious drags for oysters, clams, and other shellfish. The docks are small, and contain mostly Dutch vessels, none of them large. An old one is fitted up as a chapel for mariners. I waited till after sunset before returning to my lodgings, when I told my landlady I was going to the theatre, that I might not be locked out, and went off to see "Rob Roy." The theatre not opening till half-past six, I spent some little time in a bookseller's shop, reading an account of the Palace and Chapel of Holyrood. The pit, where I sat, was crowded with gentlemen and ladies; for ladies of the second class go to the pit, the superior classes to the boxes, and those of neither class way above. The house is small but well lighted. "God save the King" was the overture, and every one rose uncovered. "Rob Roy" was represented as if _positively_ in the Highlands; the characters were natural, the scenery perfectly adapted, the dress and manners quite true to the story. I may truthfully say that I saw a good picture of the great outlaw, his Ellen, and the unrelenting Dougal. I would, were it possible, always see "Rob Roy" in Edinburgh, "Le Tartuffe" in Paris, and "She Stoops to Conquer" in England. "Rob Roy," as exhibited in America, is a burlesque; we do not even know how the hardy mountaineer of this rigid country throws on his plaid, or wears his cap or his front piece, beautifully made of several tails of the red deer; neither can we render the shrill tone of the horn bugle that hangs at his side, the merry bagpipe is wanted, also the scenery. I would just as soon see "Le Tartuffe" in broken French, by a strolling company, as to see "Rob Roy" again as I have seen it in Kentucky. It is almost to be regretted that each country does not keep to its own productions; to do otherwise only leads to fill our minds with ideas far different from the truth. I did not stay to see "Rosina;" though I liked Miss Stephens pretty well, yet she is by no means equal to Miss Foote. _Edinburgh, October 28, 1826._ To-day I have visited the Royal Palace of Holyrood; it is both interesting and curious, especially the chapel and the rooms where the present King of France resided during his exile. I find Professor Jameson is engaged with Mr. Selby[89] and others in a large ornithological publication, and Mr. Ed. Roscoe has written, suggesting that I try to connect myself with them; but my independent spirit does not turn to the idea with any pleasure, and I think if my work deserves the attention of the public, it must stand on its own legs, not on the reputation of men superior in education and literary acquirements, but possibly not so in the actual observation of Nature at her best, in the wilds, as I certainly have seen her. _October 29, Sunday._ With the exception of the short walk to the post-office with my letters, I have been as busy as a bee all day, for I have written much. Yesterday at ten Messrs. Patison brought twelve ladies and the Messrs. Thomas and John Todd of this city to see my drawings; they remained full two hours. Professor Duncan came in and was truly a kind friend. After my company had left, and I had been promised several letters for Sir Walter Scott, I took a walk, and entered a public garden, where I soon found myself a prisoner, and where, had I not found a pretty maid who took pity on my _étourderie_, I certainly would have felt very awkward, as I had neither letter nor pocket-book to show for my identification. I then went in search of a Scotch pebble; one attracted me, but a boy in the shop said his father could make one still handsomer. I wanted not pebbles made by man, I wanted them the result of nature, but I enquired of the lad how they were made. Without hesitation the boy answered: "by fire-heat, and whilst the pores of the pebbles are open colored infusions are impregnated." Now what will not man do to deceive his brother? I called on Mr. Jeffrey,[90] who was not in; he comes from his Hall, two and a half miles off, every day for two hours, from two to four o'clock; therefore I entered his sanctum sanctorum, sealed the letter, and wrote on my card that I would be happy to see him. What a mass of books, papers, portfolios, dirt, beautiful paintings, engravings, casts, with such parcels of unopened packages all directed "Francis Jeffrey, Esq." Whilst I looked at this mass I thought, What have _I_ done, compared with what this man has done, and has to do? I much long to see the famous critic. As I came away my thoughts reverted to Holyrood Palace. What a variety of causes has brought king after king to that spot; what horrors have been committed there! The general structure is not of a defensive nature; it lies in a valley, and has simply its walls to guard it. I was surprised that the narrow stairs which led to the small chamber where the murder was committed, communicated at once with the open country, and I was also astonished to see that the mirrors were positively much superior to those of the present day in point of intrinsic purity of reflection; the plates cannot be less than three-fourths of an inch in thickness. The furniture is all decaying fast, as well as the paintings which are set into the walls. The great room for the King's audience contains a throne by no means corresponding with the ideas _de luxe_ that I had formed. The room, however, being hung in scarlet cloth, had a very warm effect, and I remember it with pleasure. I also recall the view I then had from a high hill, of the whole city of Edinburgh and the country around the sea; the more I look on Edinburgh the better I like it. To-day, as I have said, I have been in my rooms constantly, and after much writing received Dr. Knox and a friend of his. The former pronounced my drawings the finest of their kind in the world. No light praise this. They promised to see that I was presented to the Wernerian Society, and talked very scientifically, indeed quite too much so for the poor man of the woods. They assured me the ornithological work now about being published by Messrs. "Selby, Jameson, and Sir Somebody[91] and Co.," was a "job book." It is both amusing and distressing to see how inimical to each other men of science are; and why are they so? _October 30._ Mr. Neill took me to a Mr. Lizars,[92] in St. James Square, the engraver for Mr. Selby, who came with us to see my work. As we walked along under an umbrella he talked of nothing else than the astonishing talent of his employer, how quickly he drew and how well, until we reached my lodgings. I lost hope at every step, and I doubt if I opened my lips. I slowly unbuckled my portfolio, placed a chair for him, and with my heart like a stone held up a drawing. Mr. Lizars rose from his seat, exclaiming: "My God! I never saw anything like this before." He continued to be delighted and astonished, and said Sir William Jardine[93] must see them, and that he would write to him; that Mr. Selby must see them; and when he left at dark he went immediately to Mr. Wm. Heath, an artist from London, who came at once to see me. I had gone out and missed him; but he left a note. Not knowing who he might be, I went to see him, up three pairs of stairs, _à l'artisan_; met a brunette who was Mrs. Heath, and a moment after the gentleman himself. We talked together, he showed me some of his work and will call on me to-morrow. _October 31._ So at last Professor Jameson has called on me! That warm-hearted Mr. Lizars brought him this morning, just as I was finishing a letter to Victor. He was kind to me, very kind, and yet I do not understand the man clearly; he has a look quite above my reach, I must acknowledge, but I am to breakfast with him to-morrow at nine. He says he will, with my permission, announce my work to the world, and I doubt not I shall find him an excellent friend. Dr. Thompson's sons came in, tall, slender, and well-looking, made an apology for their father, and invited me to breakfast on Thursday; and young Dr. Henry called and also invited me to breakfast. Mr. Patrick Symes, a learned Scotchman, was with me a long time, and my morning was a very agreeable one within, though outside it was cold and rained. Edinburgh even in the rain, for I took a walk, is surprisingly beautiful, picturesque, romantic; I am delighted with it. Mr. Lizars has invited me to call at _nine_ to spend the evening with him; now I call it much more as if going to spend the night. I met Mrs. Lizars when I stopped at his house for a moment to-day; she is the first lady to whom I have been introduced here, and is a very beautiful one. Eleven and a half o'clock and I have just returned from Mr. Lizars, where my evening has been extremely pleasant. I have seen some of Mr. Selby's original drawings, and some of Sir William Jardine's, and I no longer feel afraid. But I must to rest, for I hate late hours and love to be up before daylight. _November 1._ I breakfasted at Professor Jameson's. A most splendid house, splendid everything, breakfast to boot. The professor wears his hair in three distinct, different courses; when he sits fronting the south, for instance, the hair on his forehead bends westwardly, the hair behind eastwardly, and the very short hair on top mounts directly upward, perhaps somewhat like the quills of the "fretful porcupine." But never mind the ornamental, external appendages of his skull, the sense _within_ is great, and full of the nobleness which comes from a kind, generous heart. Professor Jameson to-day is no more the man I took him to be when I first met him. He showed me an uncommon degree of cordiality, and promised me his powerful assistance so forcibly that I am sure I can depend upon him. I left him and his sister at ten, as we both have much to do besides talking, and drinking hot, well creamed coffee; but our separation was not long, for at noon he entered my room with several gentlemen to see my drawings. Till four I was occupied showing one picture after another, holding each one at arm's-length, and was very tired, and my left arm once I thought had an idea of revolutionizing. When my guests had gone I walked out, took plenty of needed exercise, often hearing remarks about myself such as "That's a German physician;" "There's a French nobleman." I ended my walk at Mr. Lizars', and while with him expressed a wish to secure some views of beautiful Edinburgh; he went to another room and brought in a book of views for me to look at, which I did with interest. He then asked me to draw something for him, and as I finished a vignette he pushed the book of superb Edinburgh towards me; on the first leaf he had written, "To John J. Audubon, as a very imperfect expression of the regard entertained for his abilities as an artist, and for his worth as a friend, by William H. Lizars, engraver of the 'Views of Edinburgh.'" I saw--though by gas-light--some of Mr. Lizars' work, printing from copper, coloring with water-color and oils, etc., on the same, for the first time in my life. How little I know! how ignorant I am! but I will learn. I went to bed after reading Sir Walter's last novel till I was so pleased with the book that I put it under my pillow to dream about, as children do at Christmas time; but my dreams all went another way and I dreamed of the beech woods in my own dear land. _November 2, Thursday._ I drew the bell at the door of No. 80 George Street, where lives Dr. Thompson, just as the great bell of St. Andrews struck nine, and we soon sat down to breakfast. Dr. Thompson is a good, and good-looking man, and extremely kind; at the table were also his wife, daughter, son, and another young gentleman; and just as my second cup of coffee was handed to me a certain Dr. Fox entered with the air of an old friend, and at once sat down. He had been seventeen years in France, and speaks the language perfectly, of course. After having spoken somewhat about the scrubbiness of the timber here, and the lofty and majestic trees of my country dear, I rose to welcome Mrs. Lizars, who came in with her husband and some friends. Mr. Lizars had not seen one of my largest drawings; he had been enamoured with the Mocking-birds and Rattle-snake, but, Lucy, the Turkeys--her brood, the pose of the Cock Turkey--the Hawk pouncing on seventeen Partridges, the Whooping Crane devouring alligators newly born--at these he exclaimed again and again. All were, he said, wonderful productions; he wished to engrave the Partridges; but when the Great-footed Hawks came with bloody rags at their beaks' ends, and cruel delight in the glance of their daring eyes, he stopped mute an instant, then said, "_That_ I will engrave and publish." We were too numerous a party to transact business then, and the subject was adjourned. Fatigued and excited by this, I wrote for some hours, and at four walked out and paid my respects to young Dr. Henry at the Infirmary,--a nice young man,--and at five I found myself at Mr. Lizars', who at once began on the topic of my drawings, and asked why I did not publicly exhibit them. I told him how kind and generous the Institution at Liverpool had been, as well as Manchester, and that I had a letter of thanks from the Committees. He returned with me to my lodgings, read the letter, and we marched arm in arm from Mrs. Dickie's to Professor Jameson, who kept the letter, so he said, to make good use of it; I showed Mr. Lizars other letters of recommendation, and as he laid down the last he said: "Mr. Audubon, the people here don't know who you are at all, but depend upon it they _shall_ know." We then talked of the engraving of the Hawks, and it seems that it will be done. Perhaps even yet fame may be mine, and enable me to provide all that is needful for my Lucy and my children. Wealth I do not crave, but comfort; and for my boys I have the most ardent desire that they may receive the best of education, far above any that I possess; and day by day science advances, new thoughts and new ideas crowd onward, there is always fresh food for enjoyment, study, improvement, and I must place them where all this may be a possession to them. _November 3, Friday._ My birds were visited by many persons this day, among whom were some ladies, artists, of both ability and taste, and with the numerous gentlemen came Professor James Wilson,[94] a naturalist, an agreeable man, who invited me to dine at his cottage next week. Mr. Lizars, who is certainly _mon bon cheval de bataille_, is exerting himself greatly in my behalf. At half-past three good Mr. Neill came, and together we walked towards his little hermitage, a sweet spot, quite out of town; nice garden, hot-house filled with exotics, and house-walls peopled by thousands of sparrows secure in the luxuriant masses of ivy that only here and there suffer the eye to see that the habitat is of stone. The Heron's sharp lance lay on his downy breast while he balanced on one leg, silent and motionless; the Kittiwake Gull screamed for food; the Cormorant greedily swallowed it; whilst the waddling Gannet welcomed her master by biting his foot, the little Bantams and the great rooster leaped for the bread held out, the faithful Pigeon cooed to his timid mate, and the huge watch-dog rubbed against the owner's legs with joy. We entered the house, other guests were there, and full of gayety we sat down to a sumptuous dinner. Eyes sparkled with wit, sense, knowledge. Mr. Combe[95] who was present has a head quite like our Henry Clay. My neighbor, Mr. Bridges,[96] is all life; but after a few observations concerning the birds of our woods he retired to let the world know that many of them are arrived in Scotland. It is unanimously agreed that I must sit for my portrait to Mr. Syme,[97] and that friend Lizars must engrave it to be distributed abroad. On my return to my lodgings I was presented with some pears and apples of native growth, somewhat bigger than green peas; but ah! this is both ungrateful and discourteous. To-morrow I am to meet Lord Somebody, and Miss Stephens; she was called "that delicious actress" so fervently and so frequently by my learned friends that I reverse my judgment, or will at least suspend it, until I see more of her. _November 4, Saturday._ Now had I the faculties of my good friend Mr. Bridges, I should be able to write all that I feel towards him and the good people of this romantic Edina's Academic Halls; I would set to, and write long accounts of all I have enjoyed this day. But, alas! poor me! I can only scratch a few words next to unintelligible, and simply say that my little room has been full all day of individuals good, great, and friendly, and I am very wearied to-night; it is now past one. I dined at Mr. Lizars', where were beauties, music, conviviality, and wit. I am working hard withal; I do with four hours' sleep, keep up a great correspondence, keep up my journal, and write many hours on the letter-press for my "Birds" which is almost done. _November 5, Sunday._ At ten o'clock my room was filled with visitors. Friend Bridges came, and stayed a long time. Miss Stephens the actress and her brother also paid me a visit. Mr. Bridges insisted on my going home to dine with him at four, and I never perceived I was in my slippers till I reached the port of destination. A Mr. Hovey dined with us. Mrs. Bridges is a stately, handsome lady, and the _diner en famille_ pleased me exceedingly. I saw quite a stock of pictures and engravings, well selected by my knowing friend. I returned home early and found a note from Mr. John Gregg, who came himself later bringing me a _scrubby_ letter from Charles Waterton,[98] and a sweet little sketch from fair Ellen of Quarry Bank. I was delighted to see him; it seemed like _old times_ to me. With all this I am by no means in spirits to write, I am so alone in this strange land, so far from those I love the best, and the future rises ofttimes dark before me. _Monday, November 6._ The same sad heart to-day, and but little work and much company. I was glad, however, to see those who came, among others my coach companion from Manchester, Mr. Walton, who invited me in a very friendly manner to see him often. It snowed this morning, and was quite a new sight to me, for I have not seen any for about five years--I think. The papers give such accounts of my drawings and of myself that I am quite ashamed to walk the streets; but I am dispirited and melancholy. _Sunday, November 19._ I do not know when I have thus pitilessly put away my journal for nearly two weeks. My head and heart would not permit me to write, so I must try to _memorandum_ now all I have _seen_. What I have _felt_ is too much for me to write down, for when these attacks of depression overwhelm me life is almost unendurable. Every day I exhibited my drawings to those who came to see them. I had many noblemen, among whom I especially liked Sir Patrick Walker and his lady; but I welcomed all ladies, gentlemen, artists, and, I dare say, critics. At last the Committee of the Royal Institution invited me to exhibit publicly in their rooms; I owe this invitation, I know, to the astonishing perseverance of some unknown friends. When my pictures were removed there I was no longer "At Home." I painted from dawn to dark, closely, and perhaps more attentively than I ever have done before. The picture was large, contained a Turkey Cock, a hen, and nine young, all the size of life. Mr. Lizars and his amiable wife visited me often; often I spent the evenings with them. Mr. David Bridges, Mr. Cameron, and several others had regular admittance, and they all saw the regular progress of my work; all, apparently, admired it. I dined at many houses, was always kindly received, and as far as my isolated condition and unfortunate melancholy permitted, enjoyed myself. It was settled by Mr. Lizars that he would undertake the publication of the first number of the "Birds of America," and that was enough to put all my powers of acting and thinking at fever heat. The papers also began to be more eulogistic of the merits of myself and my productions, and I felt bewildered with alternate uncertainties of hope and fear. I have received many letters from my dear Liverpool friends, and one, most precious of all, from the wonderful "Queen Bee" of Green Bank, with a most beautiful seal of the Wild Turkey and the motto "America, my country."[99] When my drawings were exhibited to the public, professors, students, artists, spoke well of them. I forwarded by post seventy-five tickets to the principal persons who had been kind to me, and to all the artists in Edinburgh. I sat once for my portrait, but my picture kept me at home ever since. I saw, and dined, and dined again with Sir William Jardine, and like him very much. He visited me frequently, and sat and stood watching me painting during his stay in the city. The famous phrenologist George Combe visited me also; spoke much of the truth of his theory as exhibited and verified by my poor skill; begged I would allow a cast of my head to be taken, etc., etc., and sent me a card of admission to his lectures this winter. The famous Professor Wilson of "Blackwood" fame, I might almost say the author of "Blackwood's Magazine," visited me also, and was very friendly; indeed, every one is kind, most truly so. How proud I feel that in Edinburgh, the seat of learning, science, and solidity of judgment, I am liked, and am received so kindly. How much I wish my Lucy could also enjoy it, that our sons might have partaken of it, this would have rendered each moment an age of pleasure. I have now determined to remain here till my first number is published, when I shall go to Liverpool again, with proofs in hand. I will forward some of this number to the friends at home as well as abroad, and will continue painting here the while, and watch the progress of the engravers and colorists; two drawings are now under the hand of the engraver, and God grant me success. I am going to try to find time to spend a week at Jardine Hall, and some days at Mrs. Fletcher's; it will remove me from the pressure and excitement to which I am hourly subjected, and be a complete change for me in every way. _November 20._ Whilst my breakfast was preparing, and daylight improving, I sat at my little table to write a notice of descriptive import about my painting of the Wild Turkeys that now leaned against the wall of my room, _finished_. My breakfast came in, but my pen carried me along the Arkansas River, and so much did I long for my beloved country that not a morsel could I swallow. While writing, Mr. Bridges, who usually pays me a daily visit, happened to come in. I read my description and told him it was my intention to have it printed, or written out in a clear hand, to lay on the table of the exhibition room, for the use of the public. He advised me to go to Professor Wilson for criticism; so I went at once to his residence, and reached "Blackwood's" door about ten o'clock. I did not even ask if Professor Wilson was in; no, I simply told the man to say Mr. Audubon from America wished to speak with him. In a moment I was conducted to a room where I wished that all that had been written in it was my own to remember, to enjoy, to profit by; but I had not been here many minutes before a sweet child, a happy daughter of this great man, asked me to go upstairs, saying, "Papa will be there in a minute;" and truly, almost at once the Professor came in, with freedom and kindness of manner, life in his eye, and benevolence in his heart. My case was soon explained; he took my paper, read it, and said if I would allow him to keep it, he would make one or two alterations and return it in good time. Back to my lodgings and hungry by this time, and cooled off, my mind relieved, my painting finished, I dressed more carefully and walked to the Royal Institution, and was pleased at seeing there a good deal of company. But the disagreeable part of my day is yet to come. I had to dine at Professor Graham's,[100] it was five o'clock when I reached there, a large assembly of ladies and gentlemen were there, and I was introduced to Mrs. Graham only, by some oversight I am sure, but none the less was my position awkward. There I stood, motionless as a Heron, and when I dared, gazed about me at my surroundings, but no one came near me. There I stood and thought of the concert at Manchester; but there was this difference: _there_ I was looked at rudely, _here_ I was with polite company; so I waited patiently for a change of situation, and the change came. A woman, aye, an angel, spoke to me in such a quiet, easy way that in a few moments my _mal aise_ was gone; then the ringing of a bell summoned us to the dining-room; I sat near the blue satin lady (for her name I do not know) who came to my rescue, and a charming young lady, Miss M----, was my companion. But the sumptuous dinners of this country are too much for me. They are so long, so long, that I recall briefer meals that I have had, with much more enjoyment than I eat the bountiful fare before me. This is not a _goûter_ with friend Bourgeat on the Flat Lake, roasting the orange-fleshed Ibis, and a few sun-perch; neither is it on the heated banks of Thompson's Creek, on the Fourth of July, swallowing the roasted eggs of a large Soft-shelled Turtle; neither was I at Henderson, at good Dr. Rankin's, listening to the howlings of the Wolves, while sitting in security, eating well roasted and jellied venison,--no, alas! it was far from all these dear spots, in Great King Street, No. 62, at Dr. Graham's, a distinguished professor of botany, with a dinner of so many rich dishes that I cannot remember them. _November 24._ I have just finished a long letter to Mr. Wm. Rathbone, telling him of my reception in beautiful Edinburgh, and my present plans, which are to publish one number at my own expense and risk, and with it under my arm, make my way. If I can procure three hundred good substantial names of persons or associations or institutions, I cannot fail doing well for my family; but, to do this, I must abandon my life to its success, and undergo many sad perplexities, and perhaps never again--certainly not for some years--see my beloved America. The work, from what I have seen of Mr. Lizars' execution, will be equal to anything in the world at present, and of the rest the world must judge for itself. I shall superintend both engraving and coloring personally, and I pray my courage may not fail; my industry I know will not. It is true the work will be procured only at a great expense, but then, a number of years must elapse before it is completed, so that renders payment an easier task. This is what I shall _try_; if I do not succeed I can return to my woods and there in peace and quiet live and die. I am sorry that some of my friends, particularly Dr. Traill, are against the pictures being the size of life, and I must acknowledge it renders the work rather bulky, but my heart was always bent on it, and I cannot refrain from attempting it. I shall publish the letter-press in a separate book, at the same time with the illustrations, and shall accompany the descriptions of the birds with many anecdotes and accounts of localities connected with the birds themselves, and with my travels in search of them. I miss my "Wild Turkeys," on which I worked steadily and from dawn to dark, a long time here,--for sixteen days. It would be impossible for me to write down all my feelings and thoughts about my work, or my life here; it may be that in time I shall be reconciled or habituated to the life I now lead, but I can scarce believe this, and often think the woods the only place in which I truly _live_. _November 25, 1826._ I have been drawing all day at some Wood Pigeons, as they are emphatically called here, though woods there are none. The day was cold, wet, and snowy. Mr. Lizars, however, called with Dr. Brewster,[101] an eminent and entertaining man. I received a note from Geo. Combe, Esq., the phrenologist, who wishes to plaster my poor head to take an impression of the bumps, ordinary and extraordinary; he also invited me to sup with him on Monday next. I was to dine at Dr. Monroe's, Craiglockhart, near Slateford, so I dressed and sent for a coach that took me _two and a half_ miles for _twelve_ shillings, and I had to pay one shilling toll,--a dear dinner this. I arrived and entered a house richly furnished, and was presented to three ladies, and four gentlemen. The ladies were Mrs. Monroe, Miss Maria Monroe, and Mrs. Murray; amongst the gentlemen I at once recognized the amiable and learned Staff-Surgeon Lyons. Mrs. Monroe I found a woman of most extraordinary powers, a brilliant conversationalist, highly educated, and most attractive. She sat by me, and entertained me most charmingly, and the rest of her company as well. I need not say the dinner was sumptuous, for I find no other kind in hospitable Edinburgh. After dinner we had music from Miss Monroe, a skilled songstress, and her rich voice, with the pathetic Scotch ballads which she sang so unaffectedly, brought tears to my eyes. My return to my lodgings was very cold, for snow lies all about the hills that surround this enchanting city. _Sunday, November 26._ I went to a Scotch church this morning, but it was cold and the services seemed to me cold also, but it may have been that I was unaccustomed to them. Snow lay thick on the ground and my lodgings looked cheerless, all but my picture, at which I worked on my return. I had put my work on the floor, and was standing on a chair to see the effect at a good distance, when Mrs. Lizars entered with her husband; they had come to invite me to dine with them on roasted sheep's-head (a Scotch dish), and I was glad to accept, for I was on the verge of a fit of depression, one of those severe ones when I am almost afraid to be alone in my lodgings; alone indeed I am, without one soul to whom I can open my heart. True, I have been alone before, but that was in beloved America, where the ocean did not roll between me and my wife and sons. At four, therefore, I reached James' Square and dined with these good people without pomp or ostentation; it is the only true way to live. Found the sheep's-head delicious, and spent the evening most agreeably. I was shown many beautiful sketches, and two plates of my birds well advanced. Mr. Lizars walked home with me; the weather was intensely cold, and the wind blew a gale; on turning a corner it almost threw me down, and although warmly dressed I felt the chill keenly. This morning seems a long way off, so many things have I thought of this day. _Monday, November 27._ As soon as it dawned I was up and at work, and quite finished my drawing before breakfast. Mr. Syme came to see me, and was surprised to find it done. I had also outlined my favorite subject, the Otter in a trap. At twelve I went to _stand up_ for my picture, and sick enough I was of it by two; at the request of Mr. Lizars I wear my wolf-skin coat, and if the head is not a strong likeness, perhaps the coat may be; but this is discourteous of me, even to my journal. Mr. Lizars brought a Mr. Key, an artist, to throw a sky over my drawing, and the gentleman did it in handsome style, giving me some hints about this kind of work for which I am grateful. I dined at home on herrings, mutton-chops, cabbage, and fritters. As I am now going to sup with Mr. George Combe, I will write to-morrow what I may hear to-night. A kind note from Professor Jameson, whom I have not seen for some time, for he is a busy man, with a card of admittance to the Museum. _Tuesday, 28th._ After writing thus far I left my room and went to watch the engravers at work on my birds. I was delighted to see how faithfully copied they were, and scarcely able to conceive the great "_adroit_" required to form all the lines exactly _contrary_ to the model before them. I took a cup of coffee with Mr. and Mrs. Lizars, went home to dress, and at nine was again with Mr. Lizars, who was to accompany me to Mr. Combe's, and reaching Brower Square we entered the dwelling of Phrenology! Mr. Scot, the president of that society, Mr. D. Stewart,[102] Mr. McNalahan, and many others were there, and also a German named Charles N. Weiss, a great musician. Mr. George Combe immediately asked this gentleman and myself if we had any objection to have our heads _looked at_ by the president, who had not yet arrived. We both signified our willingness, and were seated side by side on a sofa. When the president entered Mr. Combe said: "I have here two gentlemen of talent; will you please tell us in what their natural powers consist?" Mr. Scot came up, bowed, looked at Mr. Weiss, felt his head carefully all over, and pronounced him possessed of musical faculty in a great degree; I then underwent the same process, and he said: "There cannot exist a moment of doubt that this gentleman is a painter, colorist, and compositor, and I would add an amiable, though quick-tempered man." Much conversation ensued, we had supper, Miss Scot and Miss Combe were present, the only ladies. Afterwards Mr. Weiss played most sweetly on the flute, Mr. Scot sang Scotch airs, glees and madrigals followed, and it was after one o'clock when "Music and Painting" left the company arm in arm. I soon reached my lodgings. Mr. Weiss gave me a ticket to his concert, and Mrs. Dickie, who kindly sat up for me, gave me a ship letter. I hoped it was from my Lucy, but no, it was from Governor DeWitt Clinton; it was dated thirty days previous to my receiving it. _Tuesday, 28th._ The fog was so dense this morning that at nine o'clock I could hardly see to write. I put the drawing of the Stock Pigeons in the Institution, framed superbly, and it looked well, I thought, even though so dark a day. I again _stood_ for my picture, two dreadfully long hours, and I am sure I hope it may prove a good resemblance to my poor self. Whilst yet in my hunting-dress, I received word that Sir Walter Scott was in the Institution and wished to see me; you may depend I was not long in measuring the distance, and reached the building quite out of breath, but to no purpose. Sir Walter had been compelled to go to preside at a meeting upstairs, and left an apology for me, and a request that unless too dark for him to see my work I would wait; but it very soon became quite dark, and I therefore abandoned all thought of meeting him this time. I dined at Mr. Lizars', and saw the first-proof impression of one of my drawings. It looked pretty well, and as I had procured one subscriber, Dr. Meikleham of Trinidad, I felt well contented. _Wednesday, 29th._ The day was cloudy, and sitting for my portrait has become quite an arduous piece of business. I was positively in "durance vile" for two and a half hours. Just as I was finishing my dinner, Mrs. F----, the cousin of Mr. Gregg, called; ladies having the right to command, I went immediately, and found a woman whose features had more force and character than women generally show in their lineaments. Her eyes were very penetrating, and I was struck with the strength of all she said, though nothing seemed to be studied. She showed the effects of a long, well learned round of general information. She, of course, praised my work, but I scarce thought her candid. Her eyes seemed to reach my very soul; I knew that at one glance she had discovered my inferiority. The group of children she had with her were all fine-looking, but not so gracefully obedient as those of the beautiful Mrs. Rathbone of Woodcroft. She invited me to her home, near Roslyn, and I shall, of course, accept this courtesy, though I felt, and feel now, that she asked me from politeness more than because she liked _me_, and I must say the more I realized her intelligence the more stupid did I become. Afterwards I went to Mr. Lizars' to meet Dr. Meikleham, who wishes me to go with him to Trinidad, where I shall draw, so he says, four hundred birds for him, for a publication of "Birds of the West Indies." On Friday I go to Mrs. Isabella Murray's, to see her and some fine engravings. I have omitted to say that the first impression of the beautiful seal sent me by Mrs. Rathbone was sent to my beloved wife; the seal itself is much admired, and the workmanship highly praised. Mr. Combe has been to see me, and says my poor skull is a greater exemplification of the evidences of the truth of his system than any he has seen, except those of one or two whose great names only are familiar to me; and positively I have been so tormented about the shape of my head that my brains are quite out of sorts. Nor is this all; my eyes will have to be closed for about one hour, my face and hair oiled over, and plaster of Paris poured over my nose (a greased quill in each nostril), and a bust will be made. On the other hand, an artist quite as crazy and foolishly inclined, has said that my head was a perfect Vandyke's, and to establish this fact, my portrait is now growing under the pencil of the ablest artist of the science here. It is a strange-looking figure, with gun, strap, and buckles, and eyes that to me are more those of an enraged Eagle than mine. Yet it is to be engraved. Sir Walter Scott saw my drawings for a few moments yesterday, and I hope to meet him to-morrow when I dine with the Antiquarian Society at the Waterloo Hotel, where an annual feast is given. My work is proceeding in very good style, and in a couple of days colored plates will be at the exhibition rooms, and at the different booksellers; but with all this bustle, and my hopes of success, my heart is heavy, for _hopes_ are not _facts_. The weather is dull, moist, and disagreeably cold at times, and just now the short duration of the daylight here is shocking; the lamps are lighted in the streets at half-past three o'clock P. M., and are yet burning at half-past seven A. M. _November 30._ My portrait was finished to-day. I cannot say that I think it a very good resemblance, but it is a fine picture, and the public must judge of the rest. I had a bad headache this morning, which has now passed; to be ill far from home would be dreadful, away from my Lucy, who would do more for me in a day than all the doctors in Christendom in a twelvemonth. I visited the exhibition rooms for a few minutes; I would like to go there oftener, but really to be gazed at by a crowd is, of all things, most detestable to me. Mr. Gregg called about four, also Mr. Bridges and an acquaintance of the famous "Alligator Rider," and I was told that Mr. Waterton said that Joseph Bonaparte imitated the manners and habits of his brother Napoleon; that is much more than I know or saw. But St. Andrew's Day and my invitation to dine with the Antiquarians was not forgotten. At five I was at Mr. Lizars', where I found Mr. Moule and we proceeded to the Waterloo Hotel. The sitting-room was soon filled; I met many that I knew, and a few minutes after the Earl of Elgin[103] made his _entrée_, I was presented to him by Mr. Innes of Stow; he shook hands with me and spoke in a very kind and truly complimentary manner about my pencil's productions. At six we walked in couples to the dining-room; I had the arm of my good friend Patrick Neill, Mr. Lizars sat on my other side, and there was a sumptuous dinner indeed. It at first consisted entirely of Scotch messes of old fashion, such as marrow-bones, codfish-heads stuffed with oatmeal and garlic, black puddings, sheep's-heads smelling of singed wool, and I do not know what else. Then a _second_ dinner was served quite _à l'anglaise_. I finished with a bit of grouse. Then came on the toasts. Lord Elgin, being president and provided with an auctioneer's mallet, brought all the company to order by rapping smartly on the table with the instrument. He then rose, and simply said: "The King! four times four!" Every one rose to drink to the monarch's health, and the president saying, "Ip, ip, ip," sixteen cheers were loudly given. The Dukes of York, Argyle, and many others had their healths drunk, then Sir Walter Scott (who, to my great regret, was not able to be present), and so on and on, one and another, until mine was proposed by Mr. Skene,[104] the first secretary of the society. Whilst he was engaged in a handsome panegyric the perspiration poured from me, I thought I should faint; and I was seated in this wretched condition when everybody rose, and the Earl called out: "Mr. Audubon." I had seen each individual when toasted, rise, and deliver a speech; that being the case, could I remain speechless like a fool? No! I summoned all my resolution, and for the first time in my life spoke to a large assembly, saying these few words: "Gentlemen, my command of words in which to reply to your kindness is almost as humble as that of the birds hanging on the walls of your institution. I am truly obliged for your favors. Permit me to say, May God bless you all, and may this society prosper." I felt my hands wet with perspiration. Mr. Lizars poured me out a glass of wine and said: "Bravo! take this," which I gladly did. More toasts were given, and then a delightful old Scotch song was sung by Mr. Innes; the refrain was "Put on thy cloak about thee." Then Mr. McDonald sang. Wm. Allan, Esq.,[105] the famous painter, told a beautiful story, then rose, and imitated the buzzing of a bumble-bee confined in a room, and followed the bee (apparently) as if flying from him, beating it down with his handkerchief; a droll performance most admirably done. At ten, the Earl rose, and bid us farewell, and at half-past ten I proposed to Mr. Lizars to go, and we did. I was much pleased at having been a guest at this entertainment, particularly as Lord Elgin expressed a wish to see me again. I went to Mr. Lizars', where we sat chatting for an hour, when I returned to my lodgings and took myself to bed. _December 1._ My portrait was hung up in the exhibition room; I prefer it to be gazed at rather than the original from which it was taken. The day was shockingly bad, wet, slippery, cold. I had to visit Lord Clancarty and his lady at noon, therefore I went. I met Mrs. M---- and her children and the eldest daughter of Mr. Monroe. Mrs. M---- began a long speech, telling me of her father, Lord S----, and his loyalty to the Stuarts; the details not only of that royal family but all the kings of England were being poured out, and I should probably be there yet, merely saying "Yes" from time to time, if a lucky interruption had not come in the form of a message from Lord Elgin, to say he desired to see me at the Institution. I soon reached that place, where I met Lord Elgin, in company with Secretary Skene and Mr. Hall the advocate, in the art room. Mr. Hall is nephew to Lady Douglas, and this gave me an opportunity to hand him her letter. But the best thing to relate is my breakfast with that wonderful man David Bridges. I was at his house at a quarter before nine; a daughter was practising the piano, the son reading, his wife, well-dressed, was sewing. I conversed with her and looked at the pictures till the door opened and my friend came in, attired in his _robe de chambre_, shook my hand warmly, and taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he began whisking and wiping chimney mantel, tables, chairs, desk, etc., to my utter annoyance, for I felt for the wife whose poor housewifery was thus exposed. After breakfast we walked to see my portrait and to criticise it, for both Mr. Lizars and Mr. Bridges are connoisseurs. In the evening I visited Mr. Howe, the editor of the "Courant" and then to the theatre with Mr. Bridges to see Wairner (?) perform "Tyke" in "The School of Reform." We met at the Rainbow Tavern, and soon entered the theatre, which was thinly attended; but I was delighted with the piece, and the performance of it, though we left before it was concluded to attend Mr. Weiss's concert in the Assembly Rooms in George Street. The flute playing was admirable both in execution and tone; Mr. Bridges supped with me. It is now again one o'clock, and I am quite worn out. _December 2, Saturday._ The weather was a sharp frost till evening, when it rained. I was busy painting all day, and did not put foot out of doors till I went to dine with Dr. Brown, the professor of theology.[106] Mr. Bridges went with me, and told me that Professor Wilson had prepared a notice for "Blackwood's Magazine" respecting myself and my work. I think the servant who called out my name at Dr. Brown's must have received a most capital lesson in pronunciation, for seldom in my travels did I hear my name so clearly and well pronounced. Several other guests were present, Professor Jameson among them, and we passed a most agreeable evening. I must not forget that Sir James Hall and his brother called to receive information respecting the comfort that may be expected in travelling through my dear country. _Sunday, December 3._ My good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lizars came in as usual after church; they like the Otter better than the Turkeys. It was nearly finished, to the great astonishment of Mr. Syme and Mr. Cameron, who came to announce that the rooms at the Institution were mine till the 20th inst. Mr. Cameron looked long at the picture and said: "No man in either England or Scotland could paint that picture in so short a time." Now to me this is all truly wonderful; I came to this Europe fearful, humble, dreading all, scarce able to hold up my head and meet the glance of the learned, and I am praised so highly! It is quite unaccountable, and I still fear it will not last; these good people certainly give me more merit than I am entitled to; it can only be a glance of astonishment or surprise operating on them because my style is new, and somewhat different from those who have preceded me. Mr. Bridges, who knows everybody, and goes everywhere, went with me to dine with Mr. Witham of Yorkshire. We dined--had coffee--supped at eleven. At twelve the ladies left us; I wished to leave, but it was impossible. Dr. Knox said he wished to propose me as an honorary member of the Wernerian Society; our host said he would second the motion; my health was drunk, and I finally retired with Dr. Knox, leaving Mr. Bridges and the other gentlemen making whiskey toddy from that potent Scotch liquor which as yet I cannot swallow. It was now half-past two; what hours do I keep! Am I to lead this life long? If I do I must receive from my Maker a new supply of strength, for even my strong constitution cannot stand it. _Monday, December 4._ I gave early orders to Mrs. Dickie to have a particularly good breakfast ready by nine o'clock because Mr. Witham had offered last night to come and partake of it with me; I then took to my brushes and finished my Otter entirely. I had been just thirteen hours at it, and had I labored for thirteen weeks, I do not think I should have bettered it. Nine o'clock--ten o'clock--and no Mr. Witham. I was to accompany him to Dr. Knox, whose lecture on Anatomy he was to hear. At last he came with many apologies, having already breakfasted, and giving me but ten minutes for my morning meal. We then hurried off, the weather beautiful, but extremely cold. We ascended the stairs and opened the door of the lecture room, where were seated probably one hundred and fifty students; a beating of feet and clapping of hands took place that quite shocked me. We seated ourselves and each person who entered the room was saluted as we had been, and during the intervals a low beating was kept up resembling in its regularity the footsteps of a regiment on a flat pavement. Dr. Knox entered, and all was as hushed as if silence had been the principal study of all present. I am not an anatomist. Unfortunately, no! I know almost less than nothing, but I was much interested in the lecture, which lasted three quarters of an hour, when the Dr. took us through the anatomical Museum, and his dissecting-room. The sights were extremely disagreeable, many of them shocking beyond all I ever thought could be. I was glad to leave this charnel house and breathe again the salubrious atmosphere of the streets of "Fair Edina." I was engaged most certainly to dine out, but could not recollect where, and was seated trying to remember, when the Rev. W. J. Bakewell, my wife's first cousin, and the son of Robert Bakewell the famous grazier and zoölogist of Derbyshire, came in to see me. He asked many questions about the family in America, gave me his card and invited me to dine with him next Monday week, which is my first unengaged day. I had a letter from Mr. Monroe at Liverpool telling me I had been elected a member of the Literary and Philosophical Societies of that city. Not being able to recall where I was to dine, I was guilty of what must seem great rudeness to my intended hosts, and which is truly most careless on my part; so I went to Mr. Lizars, where I am always happy. The wild Turkey-cock is to be the large bird of my first number, to prove the necessity of the size of the work. I am glad to be able to retire at an early hour. It seems to me an extraordinary thing, my present situation in Edinburgh; looked upon with respect, receiving the attentions of the most distinguished people, and supported by men of science and learning. It is wonderful to me; am I, or is my work, deserving of all this? _Tuesday, December 5._ After I had put my Otter in the exhibition room, I met Mr. Syme and with him visited Mr. Wm. Nicholson,[107] a portrait painter, and there saw, independent of his own work, a picture from the far-famed Snyders, intended for a Bear beset with dogs of all sorts. The picture had great effect, fine coloring, and still finer finishing, but the Bear was no Bear at all, and the dogs were so badly drawn, distorted caricatures that I am sure Snyders did not draw from specimens put in real postures, in my way. I was quite disappointed, so much had I heard of this man's pictures of quadrupeds, and I thought of Dr. Traill, who, although well acquainted with birds scientifically, told me he had an engraving of birds where both legs of each individual were put on the same side, and that he never noticed the defect till it was pointed out to him. This made me reflect how easily man can be impressed by general effect and beauty. I returned to the Institution and had the pleasure of meeting Captain Basil Hall,[108] of the Royal Navy, his wife, and Lady Hunter. They were extremely kind to me, and spoke of my dear friends the Rathbones and Greggs in terms which delighted me. The captain asked if I did not intend to exhibit by gaslight, and when I replied that the Institution had granted me so much favor already that I could not take it upon myself to speak of that, said that he should do so at once, and would let me know the answer from Mr. Skene, the secretary. I wrote the history of my picture of the Otter, and sent with a note to Professor Wilson, who had asked for it. _Wednesday, December 6._ After breakfast I called on Professor Jameson, and as the Wild Turkey is to be in my first number, proposed to give him the account of the habits of the Turkey Buzzard instead; he appeared anxious to have any I would give. I spoke to him about the presentation of my name to the Wernerian Society; he said it was desirable for me to join it as it would attach me to the country, and he would give his aid gladly. I visited Captain Basil Hall of the Royal Navy; as I ascended the stairs to his parlor I heard the sweet sounds of a piano, and found Mrs. Hall was the performer. Few women have ever attracted me more at first sight; her youth and her fair face are in unison with her manners; and her husband also received me most kindly, especially when I recalled our previous slight acquaintance. I spent here a most agreeable hour. They spoke of visiting the States, and I urged them to do so. Captain Hall, a man of extraordinary talents, a great traveller, and a rich man, has made the most of all, and I found him the best of company. From thence to friend Neill's establishment in the Old Town to see at what time my memoranda must be ready for the press; to my astonishment I was told that to-morrow was my last day, and I ran home to scribble. Professor Monroe called on me with a friend and asked me what I would take to draw skulls, etc., for him; then Mr. Syme brought an engraver to consult with me on the subject of my portrait being immortalized. Young Gregg paid me a visit, and at last I dressed in a hurry and ran to Mr. Lizars' to know the way to Mr. Ritchie's, where I was to dine. Mr. Lizars sent a young man to show me the way, and I arrived at the appointed spot just one hour too late. I dined however, and dined well. Miss Scott was there, Miss Combe, Mr. Weiss, and several others; but when dinner was over and we ascended to the tea room, a crowd of ladies and gentlemen not before seen were in waiting to see the "Woodsman from America." We had music and dancing, and I did not leave till a late hour and must now write more for the printers. I must tell thee that someone gave a false note of one pound at my exhibition rooms, and therefore _I_ paid him well to see my birds. A man who met me to-day at the door of the Institution asked me if they were very well worth seeing. Dost thou think I said "Yes"? Not I! I positively said "No!" and off he went; but a few yards off I saw him stop to talk to another man, when he returned and went in. _Thursday, December 7._ I wrote as hard as I could till early this morning, and finished the paper for Professor Jameson, who sent me a note desiring me to put down the University of Edinburgh as a subscriber to my work. I was highly pleased with this, being a powerful leader. I saw in this day's paper that Charles Bonaparte had arrived at Liverpool in the "Canada" from New York. How I longed to see him! Had I been sure of his remaining at Liverpool a few days, I positively would have gone there by the evening mail-coach. I saw to-day two of my drawings in proof; I was well pleased with them; indeed one of them I liked better than the first that were done. My dinner was at Mr. Howe's, the editor of the "Courant." Mr. Allan the artist came in at nine, when his lessons were just ended at the Academy of Arts,--an extremely agreeable man, full of gayety, wit, and good sense, a great traveller in Russia, Greece, and Turkey. _Friday, December 8, 1826._ Men and their lives are very like the different growths of our woods; the noble magnolia, all odoriferous, has frequently the teasing nettle growing so near its large trunk as to sometimes be touched by it. Edinburgh contains a Walter Scott, a Wilson, a Jameson, but it contains also many nettles of the genus Mammalia, amongst which _men_ hold a very prominent station. Now I have run into one of these latter gentry. To speak out at once, one of my drawings was gently purloined last evening from the rooms of the Institution. So runs the fact; perhaps a few minutes before the doors closed a somebody in a large cloak paid his shilling, entered the hall and made his round, and with great caution took a drawing from the wall, rolled it up, and walked off. The porter and men in attendance missed it almost immediately, and this morning I was asked if I or Mr. Lizars had taken it to be engraved. I immediately told Mr. Lizars; we went to Mr. Bridges, and by his advice to the court, where Captain Robeson--who, by the way, was at the battle of New Orleans--issued a warrant against a young man of the name of I----, deaf and dumb, who was strongly suspected. Gladly would I have painted a bird for the poor fellow, and I certainly did not want him arrested, but the Institution guards were greatly annoyed at the occurrence. However, I induced Mr. Lizars to call on the family of the youth, which is a very good one and well known in Edinburgh. I returned to my lodgings and on the stairs met a beggar woman with a child in her arms, but passed her without much notice beyond pitying her in her youth and poverty, reached my door, where I saw a roll of paper; I picked it up, walked in, opened it, and found my drawing of the Black-poll Warbler! Is not this a curious story? The thief--whoever he may be, God pardon him--had, we conceived, been terror-struck on hearing of the steps we had taken, and had resorted to this method of restoring the drawing before he was arrested. I was in time to stop the warrant, and the affair was silenced. During the afternoon I was called on twice by Capt. Basil Hall, who was so polite as to present me with a copy of his work, two volumes, on South America, with a kind note, and an invitation to dine with him on Thursday next at eight o'clock. The weather is miserable. _Saturday, December 9._ I wrote closely all morning from six to twelve, only half dressed, and not stopping for breakfast beyond a cup of coffee, and while thus busily employed Mr. Hall came in and handed me a note from Lady Hunter, requesting the honor of my company on Saturday next to dine at six; he looked at me with surprise and doubtless thought me the strangest-looking man in the town. I had much running about with Professor Jameson to the printer, and with my manuscript to Mr. Lizars, who took it to Professor Brewster. We visited the Museum together, called on a Mr. Wilson, where I saw a most beautiful dead Pheasant that I longed to have to paint. Then to Dr. Lizars' lecture on anatomy, and with him to the dissecting-rooms, but one glance was enough for me, and I hastily, and I hope forever, made my escape. The day was extremely wet, and I was glad to be in my room. I hear Mr. Selby is expected next Monday night. _December 10, Sunday._ My situation in Edinburgh borders almost on the miraculous. With scarce one of those qualities necessary to render a man able to pass through the throng of the learned people here, I am positively looked on by all the professors and many of the principal persons here as a very extraordinary man. I cannot comprehend this in the least. Indeed I have received here so much kindness and attention that I look forward with regret to my removal to Glasgow, fifty miles hence, where I expect to go the last of this month. Sir William Jardine has been spending a few days here purposely to see me, and I am to meet Mr. Selby, and with these two gentlemen discuss the question of a joint publication, which may possibly be arranged. It is now a month since my work was begun by Mr. Lizars; the paper is of unusual size, called "double elephant," and the plates are to be finished in such superb style as to eclipse all of the same kind in existence. The price of each number, which will contain five prints, is two guineas, and all individuals have the privilege of subscribing for the whole, or any portion of it. The two plates now finished are truly beautiful. This number consists of the Turkey-cock, the Cuckoos on the pawpaws, and three small drawings, which in the centre of the large sheet have a fine effect, and an air of richness, that I think must ensure success, though I do not yet feel assured that all will go well. Yet on the other hand, all things bear a better aspect than I expected to see for many months, if ever. I think that if my work takes in Edinburgh, it will anywhere. I have strong friends here who interest themselves in me, but I must wait patiently till the first number is finished. Mr. Jameson, the first professor of this place, and the conductor of the "Philosophical Journal," gives a beautiful announcement of my work in the present number, with an account, by me, of the Turkey Buzzard. Dr. Brewster also announces it, with the introductory letter to my work, and Professor Wilson also, in "Blackwood's Magazine." These three journals print upwards of thirty thousand copies, so that my name will spread quickly enough. I am to deliver lectures on Natural History at the Wernerian Society at each of the meetings while I am here, and Professor Jameson told me I should soon be made a member of all the other societies here, and that would give my work a good standing throughout Europe. Much as I find here to enjoy, the great round of company I am thrown in has become fatiguing to me in the extreme, nor does it agree with my early habits. I go out to dine at six, seven, or even eight o'clock in the evening, and it is often one or two when the party breaks up; then painting all day, with my immense correspondence which increases daily, makes my head feel like an immense hornet's-nest, and my body wearied beyond all calculation; yet it has to be done; those who have my interests at heart tell me I must not refuse a single invitation. _December 11, Monday._ Though I awoke feeling much depressed, my dull feelings were soon dissipated by letters from my sweet wife and sons. What joy to know them well and happy on the 14th and 27th of September. My day was a busy one, and at seven I went to Mr. Lizars', having engaged to go with him to the Antiquarian Society, where I met many of my friends, saw a gun-barrel and other things that had belonged to the Spanish Armada, and heard a curious and interesting account of that vast fleet read by Dr. Hibbert, and saw the Scottish antiquities belonging to the society. _Tuesday, December 12._ This morning at ten I went to the house of Dr. Brewster, whom I found writing in a large room with several fine pictures on the walls. He received me very kindly, and in a few minutes I began reading my paper on the habits of the Carrion Crow, _Vultur atratus_. About midway my nervousness affected my respiration; I paused a moment, and he was good enough to say it was highly interesting. I resumed, and went on to the end, much to my relief. He who has been brought up an auctioneer, or on the boards of some theatre, with all the knowledge of the proper usage of the voice, and all the _aplomb_ such a life would give, knows nothing of the feelings of bashfulness which agitated me, a man who never looked into an English grammar and who has forgotten most of what he learned in French and Spanish ones--a man who has always felt awkward and shy in the presence of a stranger--a man habituated to ramble alone, with his thoughts usually bent on the beauties of Nature herself--this man, _me_, to be seated opposite Dr. Brewster in Edinburgh, reading one of my puny efforts at describing habits of birds that none but an Almighty Creator can ever know, was ridiculously absurd in my estimation, during all the time; besides, I also felt the penetrating looks and keen observation of the learned man before me, so that the cold sweat started from me. As I wiped my forehead on finishing my paper, a large black dog came in, caressed his master, and made a merciful diversion, and as my agitation gradually subsided I was able to talk with Dr. Brewster and was afterwards introduced to his lady, who put me soon at my ease, and told me I was to be introduced to Sir Walter Scott on Monday next at the Royal Academy. Poor me!--far from Sir Walter I could talk to him; hundreds of times have I spoken to him quite loudly in the woods, as I looked on the silvery streamlets, or the dense swamps, or the noble Ohio, or on mountains losing their peaks in gray mists. How many times have I longed for him to come to my beloved country, that he might describe, as no one else ever can, the stream, the swamp, the river, the mountain, for the sake of future ages. A century hence they will not be here as I see them, Nature will have been robbed of many brilliant charms, the rivers will be tormented and turned astray from their primitive courses, the hills will be levelled with the swamps, and perhaps the swamps will have become a mound surmounted by a fortress of a thousand guns. Scarce a magnolia will Louisiana possess, the timid Deer will exist nowhere, fish will no longer abound in the rivers, the Eagle scarce ever alight, and these millions of lovely songsters be driven away or slain by man. Without Sir Walter Scott these beauties must perish unknown to the world. To the great and good man himself I can never say this, therefore he can never know it, or my feelings towards him--but if he did? What have I to say more than a world of others who all admire him, perhaps are better able to do so, because more enlightened. Ah! Walter Scott! when I am presented to thee my head will droop, my heart will swell, my limbs will tremble, my lips will quiver, my tongue congeal; nevertheless I shall feel elevated if I am permitted to touch the hand to which the world owes so much. _December 13, Wednesday._ I have spent the greater portion of this day in the company of Mr. Selby the ornithologist, who, in appearance is well formed, and in manners clever and polite, yet plain and unassuming. We were together some hours at the Institution,--he was greatly pleased with my drawings,--and we then dined at Mr. Lizars' in company with Dr. Lizars, and we all talked ornithology. I wish I possessed the scientific knowledge of the subject that Mr. Selby does. He wished to hear my paper on the "Buzzard," and after doing so, took it with him to read to Sir Wm. Jardine, to whom he goes to-morrow, but will return on Monday. Later Dr. Brewster came to my room with the proof of the paper on the "Carrion Crow." He read it, and we both corrected. He told me it was a question whether or no I could be made a member of the Royal Academy, for only _thirty_ foreigners were allowed by law, and the number was already complete; still he hoped an exception would be made in my case. He thanked me very cordially for my paper, and said Sir Walter Scott wished to meet me, and would do so on Monday at the Royal Academy. Mr. Bridges gave me a very fine notice in the _Scotsman_, and has again invited me to dine with him to meet some distinguished Germans, and before that I must call at Lord Clancarty's to see Mrs. Murray. _Thursday, December 14._ I paid my visit to Mrs. Murray this forenoon, but the lady was out; so I handed my card to the slender youth who had opened the door and who stood before me looking at my hair like an ass at a fine thistle, and then made off quickly to Dr. Brewster. My business was before him in an instant; I wished not to be introduced to Sir Walter in a crowd, and he promised me not to do so. Much relieved I went to the University to see Dr. Andrew Brown, Professor of Rhetoric. I found him a very polished man, and after some conversation he asked me to write him a paper on the manners and customs of Indians. But I must promise less writing of this kind, for I am too busy otherwise; however, immediately on my return home I sat down to write a long list of memoranda for a journey in America which I had promised Captain Basil Hall, and I wrote till my head ached. Mr. Daniel Lizars has invited me to dine with him on Friday at three, and has procured two cats, which he wishes me to paint. Now this suits me to a "T"--a long morning's work, a short meal, and some hours more of work; very different from to-day, for it was five minutes of seven when I reached Captain Hall's. We dined delightfully with just the company he had promised me, and I was not compelled to ask any one to take wine with me, a thing in my opinion detestable quite, a foppish art I cannot bear. I wish everybody was permitted to drink when he is thirsty, or at least only when he likes, and not when he dislikes it. The ladies having left us, the map of my native land was put on the table; I read my notes, the Captain followed the course with his pencil from New York to New Orleans, visiting besides Niagara, St. Louis, and a hundred other places. We talked of nothing but his journey in my dear country, and Mrs. Hall is delighted at the prospect. The Captain wishes to write a book, and he spoke of it with as little concern as I should say, "I will draw a duck;" is it not surprising? He said to me, "Why do not you write a little book telling what you have seen?" I cannot write at all, but if I could how could I make a _little_ book, when I have seen enough to make a dozen _large_ books? I will not write at all. _Friday, December 15._ I have just returned from the theatre, where I saw for the first time "The Beggars' Opera" and "The Lord of the Manor." They were both badly represented, most certainly. Only one lady could sing, or act her part at all well. It was most truly a Beggars' Opera; I went with Mr. Daniel Lizars and his wife and brother-in-law. They were all desirous to see a certain Mr. St. Clair perform; but I truly think that the gentleman in question had drank too much brandy this day, or was it of the smoky whiskey which these Scots relish? I did little work this day, but walked much to refresh myself after all the hard work and constant writing I have lately done. The weather was most inviting, and as pleasant as Louisiana at this season. Upwards of two hundred people were at my exhibition, and to-morrow it closes. Baron Stokoe called whilst I was absent and left word he wished to see me, that he had heard from a friend of mine, whom I suppose to be Charles Bonaparte. Baron Stokoe was formerly a physician of eminence in the British service; when Dr. O'Meara was taken away from St. Helena, where he was physician to Napoleon, this gentleman was put in his place, but did not suit the peculiar ideas of his barbarous governor, and was also dismissed, not only from the island, but from the service, with a trifling pension. He had become acceptable to Napoleon even in the short time they were together, and when he returned from that lonely rock was employed by Joseph Bonaparte to attend his daughters from Rome to Philadelphia. I met him with Charles Bonaparte during his stay in America. So pleased was Joseph Bonaparte with his conduct that he is now one of his _pensionnaires_, and his general agent in Europe. _Saturday, December 16._ I have really done much to-day. At half-past nine I faced the inclement weather, crossed the bridge, passed the college regretting such a curious and valuable monument was quite buried among the antiquated, narrow streets, and dismal houses that surround it, then rang the bell, and was admitted to Baron S----'s parlor. He was still snug asleep; so that I had enjoyed four and a half hours of life while he slept. He saw me at once in his bedroom and told me that if I wrote to the Prince of Musignano at London this morning, the letter would probably reach him. I returned home, wrote my letter, or rather began it, when I received several pages from my good friend Mr. Rathbone which quite depressed me. He feared my work would not succeed on account of the unusual size; and Mrs. Rathbone, Senior, refused me the pleasure of naming a bird after her, on account of the publicity, she said; yet I longed to do so, for what greater compliment could I pay any lady than to give her name to one of the most exquisite creations of the Almighty? The whole made me most dismal, but yet not in the least discouraged or disheartened about my work. If Napoleon by perseverance and energy rose from the ranks to be an emperor, why should not Audubon with perseverance and energy be able to leave the woods of America for a time and publish and sell a book?--always supposing that Audubon has _some_ knowledge of his work, as Napoleon had _great_ knowledge of his. No, no, I shall not cease to work for this end till old age incapacitates me. I thought long over Mr. Rathbone's letter, then finished mine to Charles and put it in the post-office. I then purchased a Pigeon, killed it, packed up my wires and hammer, and at one o'clock took these things with my "position board," called a coach, and went to the meeting of the Wernerian Society at the University. Lady Morton had joined me, hence my need for the coach. Mr. Skene met me at the door, where I parted from Lady Morton, who made me promise to visit her at Dalmahoy. She is a small, handsome woman, who speaks most excellent French. Mr. Lizars joined me, and we all entered the room of the Wernerian Society of Edinburgh! The room is a plain one; two tables, one fireplace, many long benches or seats, and a chair for the president were all the furniture I saw, except a stuffed sword-fish, which lay on one of the tables for examination that day. Many persons were already present, and I unrolled the drawing of the Buzzard for them to see. Professor Jameson came in, and the meeting began. My paper on the Buzzard was the first thing, read by Patrick Neill,--not very well, as my writing was not easy reading for him. Professor Jameson then rose, and gave quite a eulogy upon it, my works, and lastly--myself. I then had the thanks of the society, and showed them my manner of putting up my specimens for drawing birds, etc.; this they thought uncommonly ingenious. Professor Jameson then offered me as an honorary member, when arose a great clapping of hands and stamping of feet, as a mark of approbation. Then Professor Jameson desired that the usual law requiring a delay of some months between the nomination and the election be laid aside on this occasion; and again the same acclamations took place, and it was decided I should be elected at the next meeting; after which the meeting was ended, I having promised to read a paper on the habits of the Alligator at the following assembly of the society. Then came my dinner at Lady Hunter's. At precisely six I found myself at No. 16 Hope St. I was shown upstairs, and presented to Lady Mary Clark, who knew both General Wolfe and General Montgomery, a most amiable English lady eighty-two years of age. Many other interesting people were present, and I had the pleasure of taking Mrs. Basil Hall to dinner, and was seated next her mother, Lady Hunter, and almost opposite Lady Mary Clark. I did not feel so uncomfortable as usual; all were so kind, affable, and _truly_ well-bred. At nine the ladies left us, and Captain Basil Hall again attacked me about America, and hundreds of questions were put to me by all, which I answered as plainly and briefly as I could. At eleven we joined the ladies, and tea and coffee were handed round; other guests had come in, card-tables were prepared, and we had some music. Portfolios of prints were ready for those interested in them. I sat watching all, but listening to Mrs. Hall's sweet music. This bustle does not suit me, I am not fitted for it, I prefer more solitude in the woods. I left at last with young Gregg, but I was the first to go, and we stepped out into the rainy Sunday morning, for it was long, long past midnight, and I hastened to my lodgings to commit murder,--yes, to commit murder; for the cats Mr. Daniel Lizars wished me to paint had been sent, and good Mrs. Dickie much objected to them in my rooms; her son helped me, and in two minutes the poor animals were painlessly killed. I at once put them up in fighting attitude, ready for painting when daylight appeared, which would not be long. Good-night, or good-morning; it is now nearly three o'clock. _Sunday, December 17._ I painted all day, that is, during all the time I could see, and I was up at six this morning writing by candle-light, which I was compelled to use till nearly nine. Mr. Bridges called, and I dined at home on fried oysters and stewed Scotch herrings, then went to Mr. Lizars', where I nearly fell asleep; but a cup of coffee thoroughly awakened me, and I looked at some drawings of birds, which I thought miserable, by Mr. Pelletier. Mr. Lizars walked home with me to see my cats. _Monday, December 18._ My painting of two cats fighting like two devils over a dead Squirrel was finished at three o'clock. I had been ten hours at it, but should not call it by the dignified title of "painting," for it is too rapidly done for the more finished work I prefer; but I cannot give more time to it now, and the drawing is good. I dressed, and took the painting--so I continue to call it--to Mrs. Lizars', who wished to see it, and it had rained so hard all day she had not been able to come to my rooms. At five I dined with George Combe, the conversation chiefly phrenology. George Combe is a delightful host, and had gathered a most agreeable company. At seven Mr. Lizars called for me, and we went to the meeting of the Royal Academy. Two of my plates were laid on the table. Dr. Brewster and Mr. Allan wished the Academy to subscribe for my work, and the committee retired to act on this and other business. The meeting was very numerous and no doubt very learned; Sir William Jardine and Mr. Selby arrived a little before the society was seated. The door of the hall was thrown open and we all marched in and seated ourselves on most slippery hair-cloth seats. The room is rich and beautiful; it is a large oblong, the walls covered with brilliant scarlet paper in imitation of morocco. The ceiling is painted to represent oak panels. The windows are immensely large, framed to correspond with the ceiling, and with green jalousies; large chandeliers, with gas, light every corner brilliantly. The president sat in a large arm-chair lined with red morocco, and after the minutes of the last meeting had been read, Professor ---- gave us a long, tedious, and labored lecture on the origin of languages, their formation, etc. It seemed a very poor mess to me, though that was probably because I did not understand it. My friend Ord would have doubtless swallowed it whole, but I could make neither head nor tail of it. A few fossil bones were then exhibited, and then, thank heaven! it was over. Sir William Jardine brought some birds with him from Jardine Hall, and to-morrow will see my style of posing them for painting. As I had promised to go to supper with Dr. Russell, I left soon after ten, without knowing what decision the committee had reached as to subscribing to my work. I met several of the Academicians at Dr. Russell's, as well as others whom I knew; but I am more and more surprised to find how little these men, learned as they are, know of America beyond the situation of her principal cities. We sat down to supper at eleven,--everything magnificent; but I was greatly fatigued, for I had been at work since before five this morning, either painting or writing or thinking hard. We left the table about one, and I was glad to come home and shall now soon be asleep. _Tuesday, December 19._ My writing takes me full two hours every morning, and soon as finished to-day, I dressed to go to breakfast with Sir William Jardine and Mr. Selby at Barry's Hotel. It was just nine, the morning fine and beautiful, the sun just above the line of the Old Town, the horizon like burnished gold, the walls of the Castle white in the light and almost black in the shade. All this made a beautiful scene, and I dwelt on the power of the great Creator who formed all, with a thought of all man had done and was doing, when a child, barefooted, ragged, and apparently on the verge of starvation, altered my whole train of ideas. The poor child complained of want, and, had I dared, I would have taken him to Sir William Jardine, and given him breakfast at the hotel; but the world is so strange I feared this might appear odd, so I gave the lad a shilling, and then bid him return with me to my lodgings. I looked over all my garments, gave him a large bundle of all that were at all worn, added five shillings, and went my way feeling as if God smiled on me through the face of the poor boy. The hotel was soon reached, and I was with my friends; they had brought Ducks, Hawks, and small birds for me to draw. After breakfast we all went to my room, and I showed these gentlemen how I set up my specimens, squared my paper, and soon had them both at work drawing a Squirrel. They called this a lesson. It was to me like a dream, that I, merely a woodsman, should teach men so much my superiors. They worked very well indeed, although I perceived at once that Mr. Selby was more enthusiastic, and therefore worked faster than Sir William; but he finished more closely, so that it was hard to give either the supremacy. They were delighted, especially Mr. Selby, who exclaimed, "I will paint all our quadrupeds for my own house." They both remained with me till we could see no more. At their request I read them my letter on the "Carrion Crow;" but Dr. Brewster had altered it so much that I was quite shocked at it, it made me quite sick. He had, beyond question, greatly improved the style (for I have none), but he had destroyed the matter. I dined at Major Dodd's with a complete set of military gentry, generals, colonels, captains, majors, and, to my surprise, young Pattison, my companion in the coach from Manchester; he was Mrs. Dodd's cousin. I retired rather early, for I did not care for the blustering talk of all these warriors. Sir William Jardine and Mr. Lizars came to my lodgings and announced that I was elected by universal acclamation a member of the Society of Arts of the city of Edinburgh. _Wednesday, December 20._ Phrenology was the order of the morning. I was at Brown Square, at the house of George Combe by nine o'clock, and breakfasted most heartily on mutton, ham, and good coffee, after which we walked upstairs to his _sanctum sanctorum_. A beautiful silver box containing the instruments for measuring the cranium, was now opened,--the box and contents were a present from the ladies who have attended Mr. Combe's lectures during the past two years,--and I was seated fronting the light. Dr. Combe acted as secretary and George Combe, thrusting his fingers under my hair, began searching for miraculous bumps. My skull was measured as minutely and accurately as I measure the bill or legs of a new bird, and all was duly noted by the scribe. Then with most exquisite touch each protuberance was found as numbered by phrenologists, and also put down according to the respective size. I was astounded when they both gave me the results of their labors in writing, and agreed in saying I was a strong and constant lover, an affectionate father, had great veneration for talent, would have made a brave general, that music did not equal painting in my estimation, that I was generous, quick-tempered, forgiving, and much else which I know to be true, though how they discovered these facts is quite a puzzle to me. They asked my permission to read the notes at their next meeting, to which I consented. I then went to court to meet Mr. Simpson the advocate, who was to introduce me to Francis Jeffrey. I found Mr. Simpson and a hundred others in their raven gowns, and powdered, curled wigs, but Mr. Jeffrey was not there. After doing many things and writing much, I went this evening to Mr. Lizars', and with him to Dr. Greville, the botanist.[109] He rarely leaves his house in winter and suffers much from asthma; I found him wearing a green silk night-cap, and we sat and talked of plants till 2 A. M. When I entered my rooms I found Mr. Selby had sent me three most beautiful Pheasants, and to-morrow I begin a painting of these birds attacked by a Fox for the Exhibition in London next March. Also I had a note from the Earl of Morton to spend a day and night at his home at Dalmahoy, saying he would send his carriage for me next Wednesday, one week hence. _Thursday, December 21._ To-day I received letters from De Witt Clinton and Thomas Sully in answer to mine in forty-two days; it seems absolutely impossible the distance should have been covered so rapidly; yet it is so, as I see by my memorandum book. I have written already in reply to Thomas Sully, promising him a copy of my first number when finished, say a month hence, with the request that he forward it, in my name, to that Institution which thought me unworthy to be a member. There is no malice in my heart, and I wish no return or acknowledgment from them. I am now _determined_ never to be a member of that Philadelphia Society, but I still think talents, no matter how humble, should be fostered in one's own country. The weather is clear, with a sharp frost. What a number of Wild Ducks could I shoot on a morning like this, with a little powder and plenty of shot; but I had other fish to fry. I put up a beautiful male Pheasant, and outlined it on coarse gray paper to _pounce_ it in proper position on my canvas. Sir Wm. Jardine and Mr. Selby were here drawing under my direction most of the day. My time is so taken up, and daylight so short, that though four hours is all I allow for sleep, I am behind-hand, and have engaged an amanuensis. I go out so much that I frequently dress three times a day, the greatest bore in the world to me; why I cannot dine in my blue coat as well as a black one, I cannot say, but so it seems. Mrs. Lizars came with a friend, Mr. Simpson, to invite me to a phrenological supper, Dr. Charles Fox, looking very ill, and two friends of Mr. Selby; the whole morning passed away, no canvas came for me, and I could not have left my guests to work, if it had. I looked often at the beautiful Pheasant, with longing eyes, but when the canvas came and my guests had gone, daylight went with them, so I had lost a most precious day; that is a vast deal in a man's life-glass. The supper was really a phrenological party; my head and Mr. Selby's were compared, and at twelve o'clock he and I went home together. I was glad to feel the frosty air and to see the stars. I think Mr. Selby one of those rare men that are seldom met with, and when one is found it proves how good some of our species may be. Never before did I so long for a glimpse of our rich magnolia woods; I never before felt the want of a glance at our forests as I do now; could I be there but a moment, hear the mellow Mock-bird, or the Wood-thrush, to me always so pleasing, how happy should I be; but alas! I am far from those scenes. I seem, in a measure, to have gone back to my early days of society and fine dressing, silk stockings and pumps, and all the finery with which I made a popinjay of myself in my youth. _December 22, Friday._ I painted a good portion to-day though it was quite dark by three of the afternoon; how I long for the fair days of summer. My room to-day was a perfect levee; it is Mr. Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon there; I only hope they will not make a conceited fool of Mr. Audubon at last. I received every one as politely as I could, palette and brushes in hand, and conducted each in his turn to the door. I was called from my work twenty-five times, but I was nevertheless glad to see one and all. I supped with Sir William Jardine, Mr. Lizars, and Mr. Moule, Sir William's uncle, at Barry's Hotel; we talked much of fish and fishing, for we were all sportsmen. I left at midnight and found at my room a long letter from Charles Bonaparte. _Saturday, December 23._ I had to grind up my own colors this morning; I detest it, it makes me hot, fretful, moody, and I am convinced has a bad effect on my mind. However, I worked closely, but the day was shockingly short; I cannot see before half-past nine, and am forced to stop at three.... The 24th and 25th I remained closely at my work painting; on the 24th my drawings were all taken down and my paintings also. I wrote to the president of the Royal Institution and presented that society with my large painting of the "Wild Turkeys." I should have hesitated about offering it had I not been assured it had some value, as Gally, the picture dealer, offered me a hundred guineas for it the previous day; and I was glad to return some acknowledgment of the politeness of the Institution in a handsome manner. My steady work brought on a bad headache, but I rose early, took a walk of many miles, and it has gone. _December 26._ My steady painting, my many thoughts, and my brief nights, bring on me now every evening a weariness that I cannot surmount on command. This is, I think, the first time in my life when, _if needed_, I could not rouse myself from sleepiness, shake myself and be ready for action in an instant; but now I cannot do that, and I have difficulty often in keeping awake as evening comes on; this evening I had to excuse myself from a gathering at Lady Hunter's, and came home intending to go at once to bed; but I lay down on my sofa for a moment, fell asleep, and did not wake till after midnight, when I found myself both cold and hungry. I have taken some food and now will rest, though no longer sleepy, for to-morrow I go to Earl Morton's, where I wish, at least, to keep awake. _Dalmahoy, eight miles from Edinburgh, December 27, Wednesday._ I am now seated at a little table in the _Yellow Bedchamber_ at Earl Morton's, and will give an account of my day. After my breakfast, not anxious to begin another Pheasant, I did some writing and paid some visits, returned to my lodgings and packed a box for America with various gifts, some mementos I had received, and several newspapers, when Lord Morton's carriage was announced. My _porte-feuille_ and valise were carried down, and I followed them and entered a large carriage lined with purple morocco; never was I in so comfortable a conveyance before; the ship that under easy sail glides slowly on an even sea has a more fatiguing motion; I might have been in a swinging hammock. We passed the castle, through Charlotte Square, and out on the Glasgow road for eight miles, all so swiftly that my watch had barely changed the time from one hour to another when the porter pushed open the gate of Dalmahoy. I now began to think of my meeting with the man who had been great Chamberlain to the late Queen Charlotte. I did not so much mind meeting the Countess, for I had become assured of her sweetness of disposition when we had met on previous occasions, but the Chamberlain I could not help dreading to encounter. This, however, did not prevent the carriage from proceeding smoothly round a great circle, neither did it prevent me from seeing a large, square, half Gothic building with two turrets, ornamented with great lions, and all the signs of heraldry belonging to Lord Morton. The carriage stopped, a man in livery opened the door, and I walked in, giving him my hat and gloves and my American stick (that, by the bye, never leaves me unless I leave it). Upstairs I went and into the drawing-room. The Countess rose at once and came to greet me, and then presented Lord Morton to me--yes, really not me to him; for the moment I was taken aback, I had expected something so different. I had formed an idea that the Earl was a man of great physical strength and size; instead I saw a small, slender man, tottering on his feet, weaker than a newly hatched Partridge; he welcomed me with tears in his eyes, held one of my hands and attempted speaking, which was difficult to him, the Countess meanwhile rubbing his other hand. I saw at a glance his situation and begged he would be seated, after which I was introduced to the mother of the Countess, Lady Boulcar, and I took a seat on a sofa that I thought would swallow me up, so much down swelled around me. It was a vast room, at least sixty feet long, and wide in proportion, let me say thirty feet, all hung with immense paintings on a rich purple ground; all was purple about me. The large tables were covered with books, instruments, drawing apparatus, and a telescope, with hundreds of ornaments. As I glanced at the pictures I could see the Queen of England fronting Mary of Scotland, a chamberlain here, a duke there, and in another place a beautiful head by Rembrandt. Van Dyke had not been forgotten; Claude Lorraine had some landscapes here also; while the celebrated Titian gave a lustre to the whole. I rose to take a closer view, the Countess explaining all to me, but conceive my surprise when, looking from the middle window, I saw at the horizon the castle and city of Edinburgh, a complete miniature eight miles off, a landscape of fields, water, and country between us and it. Luncheon was announced; I am sure if my friends complain that I eat but little, they must allow that I eat often; never were such lands for constant meals as England and Scotland. The Countess of Boulcar rolled Lord Morton in his castored chair, I gave my arm to Lady Morton, we crossed a large antechamber, into a dining-room quite rich in paintings, and at present with a sumptuous repast. Three gentlemen, also visitors, entered by another door,--Messrs. Hays, Ramsay, and a young clergyman whose name I forget. After luncheon my drawings were produced, the Earl was rolled into a good position for light, and my "Book of Nature" was unbuckled. I am not going to repeat praises again. The drawings seen, we adjourned to the drawing-room and the Countess begged me to give her a lesson to-morrow, which I shall most gladly do. The Countess is not exactly beautiful, but she is good-looking, with fine eyes, a brilliant complexion, and a good figure; she is a woman of superior intellect and conversation, and I should think about forty years of age; she was dressed in a rich crimson gown, and her mother in black satin. At six I re-entered the house, having taken a short walk with the gentlemen, and was shown to my room. "The yellow room," I heard the Countess say to the lackey who showed me the way. My valise had been unpacked, and all was most comfortable, and truly yellow in this superb apartment. The bed was hung with yellow of some rich material, and ornamented with yellow crowns, and was big enough for four of my size; a large sofa and large arm-chairs, all yellow, the curtains, dressing-table, all indeed was yellow, intensified by the glow of a bright wood fire. My evening toilet is never a very lengthy matter,--for in my opinion it is a vile loss of time to spend as many minutes in arranging a cravat as a hangman does in tying his knot,--and I was ready long before seven, when I again gave the Countess my arm, and Lord Morton was again rolled in, in his chair. The waiters, I think there were four, were powdered and dressed in deep red, almost maroon liveries, except the butler, who was in black, and who appeared to me to hand fresh plates continuously. After a dinner of somewhat more than an hour, the ladies retired with the Earl, and I remained with the three gentlemen to talk and drink wine. The conversation was entirely of antiquities. Mr. Hays is a deeply learned and interesting man, besides being quite an original. At the hour of ten we joined the Countess, the Earl having retired, and I have been much interested looking at the signatures of the kings of old, as well as that of Marie, Queen of Scots, and those of many other celebrated men and women, while two of the gentlemen were examining a cabinet of antique coins. The Countess looked very brilliant, being attired in white satin with a crimson turban. At midnight (coffee having been served about eleven), the ladies bid us good-night, and we sat down to talk, and drink, if we wished to, Madeira wine. What a life! I could not stand this ceremony daily, I long for the woods; but I hope this life will enable me to enjoy them more than ever at a future period, so I must bear it patiently. After a few moments I left the gentlemen, and came to my yellow room. _Thursday, December 28._ Daylight came and I opened all my yellow curtains, and explored my room by daylight; and I have forgotten to tell thee that the dressing-room, with its large porcelain tub and abundance of clear water, opened from it, and was warm with crimson of the color of the Countess's turban. The chimney-piece was decorated with choice shells, and above it a painting representing Queen Mary in her youth. The house seemed very still, but after dressing I decided to go down, for the morning was clear and the air delightful. As I entered the drawing-room I saw two housemaids busily cleaning; the younger saw me first, and I heard her say, "The American gentleman is down already," when they both vanished. I went out to look about the grounds, and in about an hour was joined by the young clergyman, and a walk was immediately undertaken. The Hares started before our dogs, and passing through various woods, we came by a turn to the stables, where I saw four superbly formed Abyssinian horses, with tails reaching to the earth, and the legs of one no larger than those of an Elk. The riding-room was yet lighted, and the animals had been exercised that morning. The game-keeper was unkennelling his dogs; he showed me a large tame Fox. Then through other woods we proceeded to the Manor, now the habitat of the great falconer _John Anderson_ and his Hawks. He had already received orders to come to the Hall at eleven to show me these birds in their full dress. We visited next the hot-houses, where roses were blooming most sweetly, and then following a brook reached the Hall about ten. The ladies were in the drawing-room, and the Earl came in, when we went to breakfast. Neither at this meal nor at luncheon are seen any waiters. The meal over, all was bustle in the drawing-room; chalks, crayons, papers, all required was before me in a few minutes, and I began to give the Countess a most unnecessary lesson, for she drew much better than I did; but I taught her how to rub with cork, and prepare for water-color. The Earl sat by watching us, and then asked to see my drawings again. The falconer came, and I saw the Falcons ready for the chase. He held the birds on his gloved hands, with bells and hoods and crests; but the morning was not fit for a flight, so I lost that pleasure. The Countess asked for my subscription book and wrote with a steel pen, "The Countess of Morton;" she wished to pay for the first number now, but this I declined. She promised me letters for England, with which offer I was much pleased. Desiring some fresh Pheasants for my work, she immediately ordered some killed for me. After luncheon I walked out to see a herd of over a hundred brown Deer, that like sheep were feeding within a few hundred paces of the Hall. I approached quite close to them, and saw that many had shed their horns; they scampered off when they sighted me, knowing perhaps what a hunter I was! Lady Morton wished me to remain longer, but as I had promised to dine with Captain Hall I could not do so; it was therefore decided that I should return next week to spend another night and give another lesson. My ride to Edinburgh was soon over, and a letter and a book from Charles Bonaparte were at my lodgings. Captain Hall told me at dinner that he was a midshipman on board the Leander when Pierce was killed off New York, and when I was on my way from France, when our captain, seeing the British vessel, wore about round Long Island and reached New York by Hell Gate. There is a curious notice about me by Professor Wilson in "Blackwood's Magazine." _Friday, December 29._ I painted all day, and did this most happily and cheerfully, for I had received two long letters from my Lucy, of October 14 and 23. The evening was spent with Captain Hall, Mr. Lizars, and his brother. _Saturday, December 30._ So stormy a day that I have not been disturbed by visitors, nor have I been out, but painted all day. _Sunday, December 31._ This evening I dined at Captain Hall's, especially for the purpose of being introduced to Francis Jeffrey, the principal writer in the "Edinburgh Review." Following the advice given me I did not take my watch, lest it should be stolen from me on my return, for I am told this is always a turbulent night in Edinburgh. Captain Hall and his wife received me with their usual cordiality, and we were soon joined by Mr. McCulloch, a writer on Political Economy and a plain, agreeable man. Then Francis Jeffrey and his wife entered; he is a small (not to say tiny) being, with a woman under one arm and a hat under the other. He bowed very seriously indeed, so much so that I conceived him to be fully aware of his weight in society. His looks were shrewd, but I thought his eyes almost cunning. He talked a great deal and very well, yet I did not like him; but he may prove better than I think, for this is only my first impression. Mrs. Jeffrey was nervous and very much dressed. If I mistake not Jeffrey was shy of me, and I of him, for he has used me very cavalierly. When I came I brought a letter of introduction to him; I called on him, and, as he was absent, left the letter and my card. When my exhibition opened I enclosed a card of admittance to him, with another of my own cards. He never came near me, and I never went near him; for if _he_ was Jeffrey, _I_ was Audubon, and felt quite independent of all the tribe of Jeffreys in England, Scotland, and Ireland, put together. This evening, however, he thanked me for my card politely. At dinner he sat opposite to me and the conversation was on various topics. America, however, was hardly alluded to, as whenever Captain Hall tried to bring that country into our talk, Mr. Jeffrey most skilfully brought up something else. After coffee had been served Mr. Jeffrey made some inquiries about my work, and at ten I took my leave, having positively seen the little man whose fame is so great both in Scotland and abroad. I walked home briskly; this was the eve of a New Year, and in Edinburgh they tell me it is rather a dangerous thing to be late in the streets, for many vagabonds are abroad at this time, and murders and other fearful deeds take place. To prevent these as far as possible, the watch is doubled, and an unusual quantity of gas-lights are afforded. I reached my room, sat down and outlined a Pheasant, to save daylight to-morrow, and was about going to bed, when Mrs. Dickie came in and begged I would wait till twelve o'clock to take some toddy with her and Miss Campbell, my American boarding companion, to wish all a happy New Year. I did so, of course, and had I sat up all night, and written, or drawn, or sat thinking by my fire, I should have done as well, for the noise kept increasing in the streets, and the confusion was such that until morning I never closed my eyes. At early morning this first day of January, 1827, I received from Captain Hall three volumes of his voyages, and from the Countess of Morton four beautiful Pheasants and a basket of rare hot-house flowers. * * * * * _Edinburgh, January 1, 1827, Monday._[110] A Happy New Year to you, my book. Bless me! how fair you look this very cold day. Which way, pray, are you travelling? Travelling wherever chance or circumstance may lead you? Well, I will take you for my companion, and we will talk together on all kinds of subjects, and you will help me to remember, for my memory is bad, very bad. I never can recollect the name of an enemy, for instance; it is only my friends whom I can remember, and to write down somewhat of their kind treatment of me is a delight I love to enjoy. _January 6, Saturday._ Ever since the first day of this month I have been most closely engaged at my painting of the "Pheasants Attacked by a Fox." I have, however, spent another day and night at Dalmahoy. I have written a long paper for the Wernerian Society on the habits of Alligators, and am always very weary at night. _January 7._ I keep at my painting closely, and for a wonder was visited by Dr. Bridges. I have labored hard, but my work is bad; some inward feeling tells me when it is good. No one, I think, paints in my method; I, who have never studied but by piecemeal, form my pictures according to my ways of study. For instance, I am now working on a Fox; I take one neatly killed, put him up with wires, and when satisfied of the truth of the position, I take my palette and work as rapidly as possible; the same with my birds. If practicable, I finish the bird at one sitting,--often, it is true, of fourteen hours,--so that I think they are correct, both in detail and composition. _Monday, 8th._ I rose this morning two and a half hours before day, and wrote much before breakfast. Thanks to my good spirit not a soul called upon me this day, and I brushed away without losing a moment of the precious light of these short days. This evening I saw my plate of the Wild Turkey, and went to hear Captain Basil Hall lecture at the Royal Society on the Trade Winds. The practical as well as theoretical knowledge of this learned man rendered this a most valuable evening to me. I was introduced to Mr. Perceval, the son of the King of England's Secretary of State,[111] who was shamefully and barbarously murdered some years since. _Tuesday, 9th._ Mr. Hays, the Dalmahoy antiquarian, called on me, and brought me a copy of Bewick's "Quadrupeds." At eight this evening I went to the Society of Arts, of which I have been elected a member. Here I saw a capital air-gun, and a steam-carriage in full motion; but _I_ had to operate, and showed my manner of putting up my birds with wires, and I positively shook so that I feared I should not be able to proceed to the termination; this bashfulness is dreadful, how am I ever to overcome it? _January 10._ The weather has been most strange, at times so dark that I could not see to paint, and suddenly the sun shone so brightly that I was dazzled. It rained, it blew, it snowed; we have had all seasons. A Mr. Buchanan from London came to see my work, and Professor Wilson at the same time; both liked my painting, and strangely enough the two had known each other twenty years ago. I went to the theatre to see Miss Foote and Mr. Murray; both were much applauded, and the house was crowded. I am very fond of the theatre; I think it the best of all ways to spend an evening for _délassement_. I often find myself when there laughing or crying like a child. _January 11._ Scarce daylight at half-past seven, but I was up and away with a coal porter and his cart into the country. I wanted some large, rough stones for my foreground; this was my reason for my excursion. I passed a small, dirty, and almost lost building, where the union between Scotland and England was ratified. At one o'clock Professor Russell called in his carriage with Mr. Lizars, then we went to see a picture of the famous Hondekoeter. To me the picture was destitute of _life_; the animals seemed to me to be drawn from poorly stuffed specimens, but the coloring, the finish, the manner, the effect, was most beautiful, and but for the lack of Nature in the animals was a picture which commanded admiration and attention. Would that I could _paint_ like Hondekoeter! At eight I went to the Phrenological Society, and may safely say that never before was I in such company; the deepest philosophers in this city of learning were there, and George Combe read an essay on the mental powers of man, as illustrated by phrenological researches, that astounded me; it lasted one and a half hours, and will remain in my mind all my life. _January 12._ My painting has now arrived at the difficult point. To finish highly without destroying the general effect, or to give the general effect and care not about the finishing? I am quite puzzled. Sometimes I like the picture, then a heat rises to my face and I think it a miserable daub. This is the largest piece I have ever done; as to the birds, as far as _they_ are concerned I am quite satisfied, but the ground, the foliage, the sky, the distance are dreadful. To-day I was so troubled about this that at two o'clock, when yet a good hour of daylight remained, I left it in disgust, and walked off to Dr. Bridges. I passed on my way the place where a man was murdered the night before last; a great multitude of people were looking at the spot, gazing like fools, for there was nothing to be seen. How is it that our sages tell us our species is much improved? If we murder now in cool blood, and in a most terrifying way, our brother, we are not a jot forward since the time of Cain. _January 13._ Painted five hours, and at two o'clock accompanied by Mr. Lizars, reached the University and entered the rooms of the Wernerian Society with a paper on the habits of Alligators in my pocket, to be read to the members and visitors present. This I read after the business of the meeting had been transacted, and, thank God, after the effort of once beginning, I went on unfalteringly to the end. In the evening I went with Mr. Lizars to see "As You Like It." Miss Foote performed and also Mr. Murray, but the house was so crowded that I could scarce see. _January 14._ Could not work on my picture, for I have no white Pheasant for a key-stone of light, but Professor Jameson called and said he would write for one for me to the Duke of Buccleugh. After receiving many callers I went to Mr. O'Neill's to have a cast taken of my head. My coat and neckcloth were taken off, my shirt collar turned down, I was told to close my eyes; Mr. O'Neill took a large brush and oiled my whole face, the almost liquid plaster of Paris was poured over it, as I sat uprightly till the whole was covered; my nostrils only were exempt. In a few moments the plaster had acquired the needful consistency, when it was taken off by pulling it down gently. The whole operation lasted hardly five minutes; the only inconvenience felt was the weight of the material pulling downward over my sinews and flesh. On my return from the Antiquarian Society that evening, I found _my face_ on the table, an excellent cast. _January 17 to Sunday, 21st._ John Syme, the artist, asked me if I did not wish to become an associate member of the _Scottish Artists_. I answered, "Yes." I have promised to paint a picture of Black Cock for their exhibition, and with that view went to market, where for fifteen shillings I purchased two superb males and one female. I have been painting pretty much all day and every day. Among my visitors I have had the son of Smollett, the great writer, a handsome young gentleman. Several noblemen came to see my Pheasants, and all promised me a _white_ one. Professor Russell called and read me a letter from Lord ----, _giving me leave_ to see the pictures at his hall, but I, poor Audubon, go nowhere without an _invitation_. _January 22, Monday._ I was painting diligently when Captain Hall came in, and said: "Put on your coat, and come with me to Sir Walter Scott; he wishes to see you _now_." In a moment I was ready, for I really believe my coat and hat came to me instead of my going to them. My heart trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over. Had not his wondrous pen penetrated my soul with the consciousness that here was a genius from God's hand? I felt overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Sir Walter, the Great Unknown. We reached the house, and a powdered waiter was asked if Sir Walter were in.[112] We were shown forward at once, and entering a very small room Captain Hall said: "Sir Walter, I have brought Mr. Audubon." Sir Walter came forward, pressed my hand warmly, and said he was "glad to have the honor of meeting me." His long, loose, silvery locks struck me; he looked like Franklin at his best. He also reminded me of Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of Wm. Roscoe about him, and a kindness most prepossessing. I could not forbear looking at him, my eyes feasted on his countenance. I watched his movements as I would those of a celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck me forcibly. His little room was tidy, though it partook a good deal of the character of a laboratory. He was wrapped in a quilted morning-gown of light purple silk; he had been at work writing on the "Life of Napoleon." He writes close lines, rather curved as they go from left to right, and puts an immense deal on very little paper. After a few minutes had elapsed he begged Captain Hall to ring a bell; a servant came and was asked to bid Miss Scott come to see Mr. Audubon. Miss Scott came, black-haired and black-dressed, not handsome but said to be highly accomplished, and she is the daughter of Sir Walter Scott. There was much conversation. I talked little, but, believe me, I listened and observed, careful if ignorant. I cannot write more now.--I have just returned from the Royal Society. Knowing that I was a candidate for the electorate of the society, I felt very uncomfortable and would gladly have been hunting on Tawapatee Bottom. [Illustration: AUDUBON. From the portrait by Henry Inman. Now in the possession of the family.] _January 23, Tuesday._ My first visitor was Mr. Hays the antiquarian, who needed my assistance, or rather my knowledge of French in the translation of a passage relating to "le droit du seigneur." Dr. Combe called later and begged me to go to Mr. Joseph, the sculptor, with him, and through a great fall of snow we went through Windsor Street, one of the handsomest in this beautiful city. Mr. Joseph was in, and I saw an uncommonly good bust of Sir Walter, one of Lord Morton, and several others. I have powerfully in my mind to give my picture of the "Trapped Otter" to Mrs. Basil Hall, and, by Washington, I will. No one deserves it more, and I cannot receive so many favors without trying to make some return. _January 24._ My second visit to Sir Walter Scott was much more agreeable than my first. My portfolio and its contents were matters on which I could speak substantially,[113] and I found him so willing to level himself with me for a while that the time spent at his home was agreeable and valuable. His daughter improved in looks the moment she spoke, having both vivacity and good sense. _January 28._ Yesterday I had so many visitors that I was quite fatigued; my rooms were full all the time, yet I work away as if they were so many cabbages, except for a short time taken to show them a few drawings, give them chairs, and other civil attentions. In the evening I went to the theatre to see the "Merchant of Venice;" the night was violently stormy, the worst I remember for years. I thought of the poor sailors, what hard lives they have. _January 30, Tuesday._ The days begin to show a valuable augmentation. I could this morning begin work at eight, and was still at my easel at four. A man may do a good deal on a painting in eight hours provided he has the power of laying the true tints at once, and does not muddy his colors or need glazing afterwards. Now a query arises. Did the ancient artists and colorists ever glaze their work? I sometimes think they did not, and I am inclined to think thus because their work is of great strength of standing, and extremely solid and confirmed on the canvas--a proof with me that they painted clean and bright at once, but that this _once_ they repeated, perhaps, as often as three times. Glazing certainly is a beautiful way of effecting transparency, particularly over shadowy parts, but I frequently fear the coating being so thin, and that time preys on these parts more powerfully than on those unglazed, so that the work is sooner destroyed by its application than without it. I am confident Sir Joshua Reynolds' pictures fade so much in consequence of his constant glazing. Lord Hay, who has only one arm, called this morning, and promised me White Pheasants by Saturday morning. So many people have called that I have not put a foot out to-day. _January 31, Wednesday._ I had the delight of receiving letters from home to-day; how every word carried me to my beloved America. Oh, that I could be with you and see those magnificent forests, and listen to sweet Wood Thrushes and the Mock-Birds so gay! _February 1._ I have just finished a picture of Black Cock sunning and dusting themselves, with a view in the background of Loch Lomond, nine feet by six, for which I am offered two hundred guineas. It will be exhibited at the Royal Institute rooms next week, and the picture of the Pheasants, the same size, at the Scottish Society of Artists, of which I am now an associate member. _February 5._ None of my promised White Pheasants have come, but I have determined the picture shall be finished if I have to paint in a black Crow instead. Dr. Brewster spoke to me of a camera lucida to enable me to outline birds with great rapidity. I would like such an instrument if merely to save time in hot weather, when outlining correctly is more than half the work. At eight o'clock I entered the rooms of the Royal Society. I opened my large sheets and laid them on the table; the astonishment of every one was great, and I saw with pleasure many eyes look from them to me. The business of the society was then done behind closed doors; but when these were opened and we were called into the great room, Captain Hall, taking my hand, led me to a seat immediately opposite to Sir Walter Scott; then, Lucy, I had a perfect view of that great man, and I studied from Nature Nature's noblest work. After a lecture on the introduction of the Greek language into England, the president, Sir Walter, rose and we all followed his example. Sir Walter came to me, shook my hand cordially, and asked me how the cold weather of Edinburgh agreed with me. This mark of attention was observed by other members, who looked at me as if I had been a distinguished stranger. _February 9._ I have been, and am yet, greatly depressed, yet why I am so it is impossible for me to conceive, unless it be that slight vexations, trifling in themselves, are trying to me, because, alas! I am only a very, very common man. I dined to-night at Professor Jameson's, and as my note said "with a few friends," was surprised to find thirty besides myself. The engineer, Mr. S----, was here, and many other noted men, including the famous Professor Leslie,[114] an enormous mass of flesh and an extremely agreeable man, who had been in Virginia many years ago, but recollects those days well. _February 10._ I visited the Royal Institution this morning, and saw my Black Cocks over the first of the first-room doors. I know well that the birds are drawn as well as any birds ever have been; but what a difference exists between drawing one bird or a dozen and amalgamating them with a sky, a landscape, and a well adapted foreground. Who has not felt a sense of fear while trying to combine all this? I looked at my work long, then walked round the room, when my eyes soon reached a picture by Landseer, the death of a stag. I saw much in it of the style of those men who know how to handle a brush and carry a good effect; but Nature was not there, although a Stag, three dogs, and a Highlander were introduced on the canvas. The Stag had his tongue out and his mouth shut! The principal dog, a greyhound, held the Deer by one ear just as if a loving friend; the young hunter has laced the Deer by one horn very prettily, and in the attitude of a ballet-dancer was about to cast the noose over the head of the animal. To me, or to my friends Dr. Pope or Mr. Bourgeat such a picture is quite a farce; not so here however. Many other pictures drew my attention, and still more so the different artists who came in with brushes and palettes _to tickle their pictures_. I was to read a paper at the Wernerian Society on the Rattlesnake, but had not had time to finish it; nevertheless I went to the society rooms, which were crowded. I was sorry I was not prepared to read to those assembled that a Rattlesnake rattled his tail, not to give knowledge to man of his presence, but because he never strikes without rattling, and that destitute of that appendage he cannot strike at all. The wind blows a doleful tune and I feel utterly alone. _Monday, February 12._ Mr. Lizars insisted on my going to the Antiquarian Society, saying it was usual for a member newly elected to be present on the first occasion possible. I went, of course, but felt very sheepish withal. We had an excellent paper by Mr. Hays respecting a bell found in Argyle, of very ancient date. _Tuesday, February 13._ This was the grand, long promised, and much wished-for day of the opening of the Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal Institution. At one o'clock I went, the doors were just opened, and in a few minutes the rooms were crowded. Sir Walter Scott was present; he came towards me, shook my hand cordially, and pointing to Landseer's picture said: "Many such scenes, Mr. Audubon, have I witnessed in my younger days." We talked much of all about us, and I would gladly have joined him in a glass of wine, but my foolish habits prevented me, and after inquiring of his daughter's health, I left him, and shortly afterwards the rooms; for I had a great appetite, and although there were tables loaded with delicacies, and I saw the ladies particularly eating freely, I must say to my shame _I_ dared not lay my fingers on a single thing. In the evening I went to the theatre where I was much amused by "The Comedy of Errors," and afterwards "The Green Room." I admire Miss Neville's singing very much; and her manners also; there is none of the actress about her, but much of the lady. _Tuesday, 20th._ A week has passed without writing here because I have done nothing else but write--many letters for Captain Hall, and at his request a paper to be read at the Natural History Society. I pitched on the "Habits of the Wild Pigeon." I began on Wednesday, and it took me until half-past three of the morning, and after a few hours' sleep I rose to correct it, which was needed, I can assure thee. Were it not for the _facts_ it contains, I would not give a cent for it, nor anybody else, I dare say. I positively brought myself so much among the Pigeons and in the woods of America that my ears were as if really filled with the noise of their wings; I was tired and my eyes ached. I dined at a Mr. Tytler's and met among the guests Mr. Cruden, brother of the compiler of the famous concordance. On Sunday I made for the seashore, and walked eight miles; the weather was extremely cold, my ears and nose I thought would drop off, yet I went on. Monday Captain Hall called to speak to me about my paper on Pigeons; he complained that I expressed the belief that Pigeons were possessed of affection and tenderest love, and that this raised the brute species to a level with man. O man! misled, self-conceited being, when wilt thou keep within the sphere of humility that, with all thy vices and wickedness about thee, should be thine. At the exhibition rooms I put up my drawing of the Wild Pigeons and Captain Hall read my paper. I was struck with the silence and attention of the audience. The president invited me to supper with him, but I was too excited, so excused myself. _February 21._ I wrote again nearly all day, and in the evening went to the theatre to see "The School for Grown Children." _February 23._ Young Hutchinson came about the middle of the day, and I proposed we should have an early dinner and a long walk after for the sake of exercise, that I now find much needed. We proceeded towards the village of Portobello, distant three miles, the weather delightful, the shore dotted with gentlemen on horseback galloping over the sand in all directions. The sea calm and smooth, had many fishing-boats. The village is a summer resort, built handsomely of white stone, and all was quietness. From here we proceeded across country to Duddingston, about a mile and a half, to see the skaters on the _lake_, a mere duck puddle; but the ice was too thin, and no skaters were there. We gradually ascended the hill called Arthur's Seat, and all of a sudden came in full view of the fair city. We entered in the Old Town and reached my lodgings by the North Bridge. I was quite tired, and yet I had not walked more than ten miles. I thought this strange, and wondered if it could be the same body that travelled over one hundred and sixty-five miles in four days without a shade of fatigue. The cities do not tempt me to walk, and so I lose the habit. _February 24._ To the Wernerian Society at two o'clock, my drawing of the Mocking-Bird with me. The room was completely filled, and a paper on the rhubarb of commerce was read; it was short, and then Professor Jameson called my name. I rose, and read as distinctly as I could my paper on Rattlesnakes, a job of three quarters of an hour. Having finished I was cheered by all, and the thanks of the Assembly unanimously voted. My cheeks burned, and after a few questions had been put me by the president and some of the gentlemen present, I handed my manuscript to Professor Jameson, and was glad to be gone. Young Murray, the son of the London publisher, accompanied me to the Scottish Society Exhibition, but I soon left him as so many eyes were directed to me that I was miserable. _February 27._ It blew and rained tremendously, and this morning I parted from Captain Hall, who goes to London. His leaving Edinburgh affects me considerably; he is a kind, substantial friend, and when we finally shook hands, I doubt not he knew the feeling in my heart. This evening was spent at Mr. Joseph's the sculptor. There were a number of guests, and music and dancing was proposed. My fame as a dancer produced, I am sure, false expectations; nevertheless I found myself on the floor with Mrs. Joseph, a lively, agreeable little lady, much my junior, and about my Lucy's age. After much dancing, during which light refreshments were served, we sat down to supper at twelve o'clock, and we did not leave till three. _February 28._ I have been reading Captain Hall's "Voyages and Travels," and going much about to rest my eyes and head; but these few days of idleness have completely sickened me, and have given me what is named the Blue Devils so effectually that the sooner I drive them off the better. _March 1._ Mr. Kidd,[115] the landscape artist, breakfasted with me, and we talked painting a long time. I admired him for his talents at so early a period of life, he being only nineteen. What would I have been now if equally gifted by nature at that age? But, sad reflection, I have been forced constantly to hammer and stammer as if in opposition to God's will, and so therefore am nothing now but poor Audubon. I asked him to come to me daily to eat, drink, and give me the pleasure of his company and advice. I told him my wish was so intense to improve in the delightful art of painting that I should begin a new picture to-morrow, and took down my portfolio to look for one of my drawings to copy in oil. He had never seen my work, and his bright eyes gazed eagerly on what he saw with admiration. _March 2._ Mr. Kidd breakfasted with me, and we painted the whole day. _March 3._ I painted as constantly to-day, as it snowed and blew hard outside my walls. I thought frequently that the devils must be at the handles of Æolus' bellows, and turned the cold blasts into the Scotch mists to freeze them into snow. It is full twenty years since I saw the like before. I dined at Mr. Ritchie's, reaching his house safely through more than two feet of snow. _March 4._ The weather tolerably fair, but the snow lay deep. The mails from all quarters were stopped, and the few people that moved along the streets gave a fuller idea of winter in a northern clime than anything I have seen for many years. Mr. Hays called for me, and we went to breakfast with the Rev. Mr. Newbold, immediately across the street. I was trundled into a sedan chair to church. I had never been in a sedan chair before, and I like to try, as well as see, all things on the face of this strange world of ours; but so long as I have two legs and feet below them, never will I again enter one of these machines, with their quick, short, up-and-down, swinging motion, resembling the sensations felt during the great earthquake in Kentucky. But Sydney Smith preached. Oh! what a soul there must be in the body of that great man. What sweet yet energetic thoughts, what goodness he must possess. It was a sermon _to me_. He made me smile, and he made me think deeply. He pleased me at times by painting my foibles with due care, and again I felt the color come to my cheeks as he portrayed my sins. I left the church full of veneration not only towards God, but towards the wonderful man who so beautifully illustrates his noblest handiwork. After lunch Mr. Hays and I took a walk towards Portobello, tumbling and pitching in the deep snow. I saw Sky-Larks, poor things, caught in snares as easily--as men are caught. For a wonder I have done no work to-day. _March 5._ As a lad I had a great aversion to anything English or Scotch, and I remember when travelling with my father to Rochefort in January, 1800, I mentioned this to him, for to him, thank God, I always told all my thoughts and expressed all my ideas. How well I remember his reply: "Laforest, thy blood will cool in time, and thou wilt be surprised to see how gradually prejudices are obliterated, and friendships acquired, towards those that at one time we held in contempt. Thou hast not been in England; I have, and it is a fine country." What has since taken place? I have admired and esteemed many English and Scotch, and therefore do I feel proud to tell thee that I am a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. My day has been rather dull, though I painted assiduously. This evening I went to the Society of Arts, where beautiful experiments were shown by the inventors themselves; a steam coach moved with incomprehensible regularity. I am undetermined whether to go to Glasgow on my way to Dublin, or proceed overland to Newcastle, Liverpool, Oxford, Cambridge, and so on to London, but I shall move soon. _March 7._ This evening I was introduced to Sydney Smith, the famous preacher of last Sunday, and his fair daughters, and heard them sing most sweetly. I offered to show them some of my drawings and they appointed Saturday at one o'clock. The wind is blowing as if intent to destroy the fair city of Edinburgh. _March 8._ The weather was dreadful last night and still continues so; the snow is six feet deep in some parts of the great roads, and I was told at the Post Office that horsemen sent with the mail to London had been obliged to abandon their horses, and proceed on foot. Wrote a letter to Sir Walter Scott requesting a letter of introduction, or shall I say _endorsement_, and his servant brought me a gratifying reply at eight of the evening. At one Dr. Spence came with Miss Neville, the delightful singer at the theatre, her mother, and Miss Hamilton. They sat with me some time, and I was glad to see near-by the same Miss Neville whom I admire so much at the play. I found her possessed of good sense and modesty, and like her much; her mother asked me to spend the evening of next Saturday with them, and said her daughter would sing for me with pleasure. Had a note from Sydney Smith; the man should study economy; he would destroy more paper in a day than Franklin in a week; but all great men are more or less eccentric. Walter Scott writes a diminutive hand, very difficult to read, Napoleon a large, scrawling one, still more difficult, and Sydney Smith goes up-hill all the way with large strides. _March 9._ My first work this day was to send as a present to Miss Anne Scott a copy of my first number. Professor Wilson called and promised to come again on Monday. _March 10._ I visited Mr. James B. Fraser,[116] a great traveller in Asia and Africa, and saw there a large collection of drawings and views in water-colors of the scenery of these countries. The lecture at the Wernerian Society was very interesting; it was on the uses of cotton in Egypt, and the origin of the name in the English language. I dined at Mr. Neill's; among the guests was a Mr. Blair, the superintendent of the Botanical Gardens here; he has been in different parts of America frequently. There were several other gentlemen present interested in like subjects, and we talked of little else than trees and exotic plants, birds and beasts; in fact it was a naturalists' dinner, but a much better one than naturalists generally have who study in the woods. I was obliged to leave early, as I had an engagement at Miss Neville's. Tea was served, after which Miss Neville rose, and said she would open the concert. I was glad to see her simply but beautifully dressed in a plain white gown of fine muslin, with naught but her fine auburn hair loose in large curls about her neck, and a plain scarf of a light-rose color. She sang and played most sweetly; the gentlemen present were all more or less musical, and we had fine glees, duets, trios. The young lady scarcely left off singing, for no sooner was a song finished than some one asked for another; she immediately replied, "Oh, yes," and in a moment the room was filled with melody. I thought she must be fatigued, and told her so, but she replied: "Mr. Audubon, singing is like painting; it never fatigues if one is fond of it, and I am." After a handsome supper we had more singing, and it was past two o'clock when I rose, shook hands with Miss Neville, bowed to the company, and made my exit. _March 12._ I can scarcely believe that this day, there is in many places six feet of snow, yet with all this no invitation is ever laid aside, and last evening I went to dinner in a coach drawn by four horses. At noon to-day I went with Mr. Lizars to the Assembly Rooms, to see the fencing. About a thousand persons, all in full dress, gathered in a few minutes, and a circle being formed, eight young men came in, and went through the first principles of fencing; we had fine martial music and a succession of fencing turns till two o'clock, when the assault began between the two best scholars. Five hits were required to win the prize--a fine sword--and it was presented to the conqueror, a Mr. Webster. At half-past six I dined at Mr. Hamilton's, where a numerous and agreeable party was assembled. At ten Miss Neville and her mother came with still others. We had dancing and singing, and here I am, quite wearied at half-past three; but I must be up early to-morrow morning. _March 13._ The little I slept had a bad effect on me, for I rose cross of mind and temper. I took a long walk on the London road, returned and reached Brae House, and breakfasted with the famous Mrs. Grant,[117] an old lady very deaf, but very agreeable withal. Her son and daughter and another lady formed our party. We talked of nothing but America; Mrs. Grant is positively the only person I have met here who knows anything true about my country. I promised to call again soon. This evening I dined at Sir James Riddell's, and I do not know when I have spent a more uncomfortable evening; the company were all too high for me, though Sir James and his lady did all they could for me. The _ton_ here surpassed that at the Earl of Morton's; _five gentlemen_ waited on us while at table, and two of these put my cloak about my shoulders, notwithstanding all I could say to the contrary. Several of these men were quite as well dressed as their master. What will that sweet lady, Mrs. Basil Hall think of a squatter's hut in Mississippi in contrast with this? No matter! whatever may be lacking, there is usually a hearty welcome. Oh! my America, how dearly I love thy plain, simple manners. _March 14._ I have been drawing all day, two Cat-birds and some blackberries for the Countess of Morton, and would have finished it had I not been disturbed by visitors. Mr. Hays came with his son; he asked me if it would not be good policy for me to cut my hair and have a fashionable coat made before I reached London. I laughed, and he laughed, and my hair is yet as God made it. _March 17._ I had long wished to visit Roslyn Castle and the weather being beautiful I applied to Mrs. Dickie for a guide, and she sent her son with me. We passed over the North Bridge and followed the turnpike road, passing along the foot of the Pentland Hills, looking back frequently to view Edinburgh under its cloud of smoke, until we had passed a small eminence that completely hid it afterwards from our sight. Not an object of interest lay in our way until we suddenly turned southeast and entered the little village of Roslyn. I say _little_, because not more than twenty houses are there, and these are all small except one. It is high, however, so much so that from it we looked down on the ruined castle, although the elevation of the castle above the country around is very great. On inquiry, we were assured that the chapel was the only remaining edifice worthy of attention. We walked down to it and entered an enclosure, when before us stood the remains of the once magnificent Chapel of Roslyn. What volumes of thoughts rushed into my mind. I, who had read of the place years before, who knew by tradition the horrors of the times subsequent to the founding of the edifice, now confronted reality. I saw the marks of sacrilegious outrage on objects silent themselves and which had been raised in adoration to God. Strange that times which produced such beautiful works of art should allow the thief and the murderer to go almost unpunished. This Gothic chapel is a superb relic; each stone is beautifully carved, and each differs from all the others. The ten pillars and five arches are covered with the finest fret-work, and all round are seen the pedestals that once supported the images that Knox's party were wont to destroy without thought or reason. I went down some mouldering steps into the Sacristy, but found only bare walls, decaying very fast; yet here a curious plant was growing, of a verdigris color. To reach the castle we went down and along a narrow ridge, on each side of which the ground went abruptly to the bottom of a narrow, steep valley, through which a small, petulant stream rushed with great rapidity over a rocky bed. This guards three sides of the promontory on which Roslyn Castle once was; for now only a few masses of rubbish were to be seen, and a house of modern structure occupies nearly the original site. In its day it must have been a powerful structure, but now, were it existing, cannon could destroy it in a few hours, if they were placed on the opposite hills. A large meadow lay below us, covered with bleaching linen, and the place where we stood was perfectly lonely, not even the reviving chirp of a single bird could be heard, and my heart sank low while my mind was engaged in recollections of the place. In silence we turned and left the Castle and the little village, and returned by another route to busy Edinburgh. The people were just coming out of church, and as I walked along I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard good Mr. Neill say, "Where are you going at the rate of six miles an hour?" and he took me home to dine with him, after we had been to my lodgings, where I put my feet in ice cold water for ten minutes, when I felt as fresh as ever. [Illustration: FACSIMILE OF ENTRY IN JOURNAL] _March 19, 1827._ This day my hair was sacrificed, and the will of God usurped by the wishes of man. As the barber clipped my locks rapidly, it reminded me of the horrible times of the French Revolution when the same operation was performed upon all the victims murdered at the guillotine; my heart sank low. JOHN J. AUDUBON.[118] Shortly after breakfast I received a note from Captain Hall, and another from his brother, both filled with entreaties couched in strong terms that I should _alter my hair_ before I went to London. Good God! if Thy works are hated by man it must be with Thy permission. I sent for a barber, and my hair was mowed off in a trice. I knew I was acting weakly, but rather than render my good friend miserable about it, I suffered the loss patiently. _March 20._ I visited Mr. Hays at his office, and had the pleasure of seeing all the curious ancient manuscripts, letters, mandates, Acts of Parliament, etc., connected with the official events of Scotland with England for upwards of three hundred years past. Large volumes are written on parchment, by hand, and must have been works of immense labor. The volumes containing the mere transfers of landed estates filed within the last forty years amounted to almost three thousand, and the parcels of ancient papers filled many rooms in bundles and in bags of leather, covered with dust, and mouldering with age. The learned antiquarian, Mr. Thompson, has been at great pains to put in order all these valuable and curious documents. The edifice of the Registry is immense, and the long, narrow passages proved a labyrinth to me. Mr. Hays' allotted portion of curiosities consists of Heraldry, and I saw the greatest display of coats of arms of all sorts, emblazoned in richest style on sleek vellum and parchment. _March 21._ Called on Miss D----, the fair American. To my surprise I saw the prints she had received the evening before quite abused and tumbled. This, however, was not my concern, and I regretted it only on her account, that so little care should be taken of a book that in fifty years will be sold at immense prices because of its rarity.[119] The wind blew great guns all morning. Finding it would be some days before my business would permit me to leave, I formed an agreement to go to see the interior of the Castle, the regalia, and other curiosities of the place to-morrow. I received a valuable letter of introduction to the Secretary of the Home Department, Mr. Peel, from the Lord Advocate of Scotland, given me at the particular request of the Countess of Morton, a most charming lady; the Earl of Morton would have written himself but for the low state of his health. _March 22._ After lunch the Rev. Wm. Newbold and I proceeded to the Castle; the wind blew furiously, and consequently no smoke interfered with the objects I wished to see. We passed a place called the "Mound," a thrown-up mass of earth connecting now the New with the Old city of Edinburgh. We soon reached the gates of the Castle, and I perceived plainly that I was looked upon as an officer from the continent. Strange! three days ago I was taken for a priest, quick transition caused only by the clipping of my locks. We crossed the drawbridge and looked attentively at the deep and immense dried ditches below, passed through the powerful double gates, all necessary securities to such a place. We ascended continually until we reached the parapets where the King stood during his visit, bowing, I am told, to the gaping multitude below, his hat off, and proud enough, no doubt, of his _high station_. My hat was also off, but under different impulses; I was afraid that the wind would rob me of it suddenly. I did not bow to the people, but I looked with reverence and admiration on the beauties of nature and of art that surrounded me, with a pleasure seldom felt before. The ocean was rugged with agitated waves as far as the eye could reach eastwardly; not a vessel dared spread its sails, so furious was the gale. The high mountains of wild Scotland now and then faintly came to our view as the swift-moving clouds passed, and suffered the sun to cast a momentary glance at them. The coast of the Frith of Forth exhibited handsome villas, and noblemen's seats, bringing at once before me the civilization of man, and showing how weak and insignificant we all are. My eyes followed the line of the horizon and stopped at a couple of small elevations, that I knew to be the home of the Countess of Morton; then I turned to the immense city below, where men looked like tiny dwarfs, and horses smaller than sheep. To the east lay the Old Town, and now and then came to my ears the music of a band as the squall for a moment abated. I could have remained here a whole day, but my companion called, and I followed him to the room where the regalia are kept. We each wrote our names, paid our shilling, and the large padlock was opened by a red-faced, bulky personage dressed in a fanciful scarlet cloth, hanging about him like mouldering tapestry. A small oblong room, quite dark, lay before us; it was soon lighted, however, by our conductor. A high railing of iron, also of an oblong form, surrounded a table covered with scarlet cloth, on which lay an immense sword and its scabbard, two sceptres, a large, square, scarlet cushion ornamented with golden tassels, and above all the crown of Scotland. All the due explanations were cried out by our conductor, on whose face the reflection of all the red articles was so powerfully displayed just now that it looked like a large tomato, quite as glittering, but of a very different flavor, I assure thee. We looked at all till I was tired; not long did this take, for it had not one thousandth portion of the beauties I had seen from the parapet. We left the Castle intending to proceed to the stone quarries three miles distant, but the wind was now so fierce, and the dust so troubled my eyes, that the jaunt was put off till another day. I paid young Kidd three guineas for his picture. Have just had some bread and butter and will go to bed. _March 23._ Young Kidd breakfasted with me, and no sooner had he gone than I set to and packed up. I felt very low-spirited; the same wind keeps blowing, and I am now anxious to be off to Mr. Selby's Newcastle, and my dear Green Bank. My head was so full of all manner of thoughts that I thought it was Saturday, instead of Friday, and at five o'clock I dressed in a great hurry and went to Mr. Henry Witham's with all possible activity. My Lucy, I was not expected till to-morrow! Mr. Witham was not at home, and his lady tried to induce me to remain and dine with her and her lovely daughter; but I declined, and marched home as much ashamed of my blunder as a fox who has lost his tail in a trap. Once before I made a sad blunder; I promised to dine at three different houses the same day, and when it came I discovered my error, and wrote an apology to all, and went to none. _Twizel House, Belford--Northumberland, April 10, 1827._ Probably since ten years I have not been so long without recording my deeds or my thoughts; and even now I feel by no means inclined to write, and for no particular reason. From Friday the 23d of March till the 5th of April my time was busily employed, copying some of my drawings, from five in the morning till seven at night. I dined out rarely, as I found the time used by this encroached too much on that needed by my ardent desire to improve myself in oil and in perspective, which I wished to study with close attention. Every day brought me packets of letters of introduction, and I called here and there to make my adieux. I went often in the evening to Mr. Lizars'; I felt the parting with him and his wife and sister would be hard, and together we attended meetings of the different societies. The last night I went to the Royal Society. Sir Wm. Hamilton[120] read a paper _against_ phrenology, which would seem to quite destroy the theory of Mr. Combe. I left many things in the care of my landlady, as well as several pictures, and at six o'clock on the morning of April 5, left Edinburgh, where I hope to go again. The weather was delightful. We passed Dunbar and Berwick, our road near the sea most of the time, and at half-past four, the coach stopped opposite the lodge of Twizel House. I left my baggage in the care of the woman at the lodge, and proceeded through some small woods towards the house, which I saw after a few minutes,--a fine house, commanding an extensive view of the country, the German Ocean, and Bamborough Castle. I ascended the great staircase with pleasure, for I knew that here was congeniality of feeling. Hearing the family were out and would not return for two hours, I asked to be shown to the library, and told my name. The man said not a word, went off, and about ten minutes after, whilst I was reading the preface of William Roscoe to his "Leo X.," returned and said his master would be with me in a moment. I understood all this. Mr. Selby came in, in hunting-dress, and we shook hands as hunters do. He took me at once out in his grounds, where Mrs. Selby, his three daughters, and Captain Mitford his brother-in-law were all engaged transplanting trees, and I felt at home at once. When we returned to the house Mr. Selby conducted me to his _laboratory_, where guns, birds, etc., were everywhere. I offered to make a drawing and Captain Mitford went off to shoot a Chaffinch. We had supper, after which the eagerness of the young ladies made me open my box of drawings; later we had music, and the evening passed delightfully. I thought much of home I assure thee, and of Green Bank also, and then of my first sight of thee at Fatland, and went to bed thanking God for the happy moments he has granted us. The next morning I felt afraid my early habits would create some disturbance in the repose of the family, and was trying to make good my outing at five, and thought I had already done so, when to my surprise and consternation the opening of the hall door made such a noise as I doubted not must have been heard over the whole establishment; notwithstanding, I issued into the country fresh air, and heard all around me the Black-birds, Thrushes, and Larks at their morning songs. I walked, or rather ran about, like a bird just escaped from a cage; plucked flowers, sought for nests, watched the fishes, and came back to draw. All went well; although the _shooting season_ (as the English please to call it) was long since over, we took frequent walks with guns, and a few individuals were the sufferers from my anxiety to see their bills, and eyes, and feathers; and many a mile did I race over the moors to get them. More or less company came daily to see my drawings, and I finished a drawing for Mr. Selby of three birds, a Lapwing for Mrs. Selby, who drew fully as well as I did, and who is now imitating my style, and to whom I have given some lessons. Also I finished a small picture in oil for the charming elder daughter Louise; the others are Jane and Fanny. So much at home did we become that the children came about me as freely as if I had long known them; I was delighted at this, for to me to have familiar intercourse with children, the most interesting of beings, is one of my greatest enjoyments, and my time here was as happy as at Green Bank; I can say no more. The estate is well situated, highly ornamented, stocked with an immensity of game of the country, and trout abound in the little rivulets that tumble from rock to rock towards the northern ocean. To-morrow I leave this with Captain Mitford for his country seat. _Mitford Castle, near Morpeth, Northumberland, April 11, 1827._ I rose as early as usual, and not to disturb my kind friends, I marched down the staircase in my stockings, as I often do where the family are not quite such early risers; instead of opening the hall door I sat down in the study, and outlined a Lapwing, in an extremely difficult position, for my friend Selby, and did not go on my walk until the servants made their appearance, and then I pushed off to the garden and the woods to collect violets. I felt quite happy, the fragrance of the air seemed equal to that of the little blue flowers which I gathered. We breakfasted, and at ten o'clock I bid farewell to Mrs. Selby; good, amiable lady, how often she repeated her invitation to me to come and spend a goodly time with them. Mr. Selby and the children walked down to the lodge with the captain and me, and having reached the place too early we walked about the woods awhile. The parting moment came at last, all too soon, our baggage was put on the top of the "Dart," an opposition coach, and away we rolled. My good companion Captain Mitford kept my spirits in better plight than they would otherwise have been, by his animated conversation about game, fishing, America, etc., and after a ride of about twelve miles we entered the small village of Alnwick, commanded by the fine castle of the Duke of Northumberland. Having to change horses and wait two hours, we took a walk, and visited the interior of that ancient mass of buildings, the whole being deserted at present, the Duke absent. I saw the armory, the dungeons, the place for racking prisoners, but the grotesque figures of stone standing in all sorts of attitudes, defensive and _offensive_, all round the top of the turrets and bastions, struck me most. They looked as if about to move, or to take great leaps to the ground, to cut our throats. This castle covers five acres of ground, is elevated, and therefore in every direction are good views of the country. From it I saw the cross put up in memory of King Malcolm killed by Hammond. At two precisely (for in England and Scotland coaches start with great punctuality) we were again _en route_. We passed over the Aln River, a very pretty little streamlet, and reached Felton, where we changed horses. The whole extent of country we passed this day was destitute of woods, and looked to me very barren. We saw little game; about five we arrived within two miles of Morpeth, where the captain and I alighted; we walked to a pretty little vale and the ruins of the old castle lay before us, still doomed to moulder more, and walking on reached the confluence of two small, pretty streams from which originated the name of my friend's ancestors, _Meetingford_. We reached the house, and having heard of his brother's indisposition, the captain and I entered quietly, and I was presented to the owner of the hall. I saw before me a thin, pale, emaciated being who begged I would go to him, as he could not rise. I shook his withered hand and received his kind welcome. During the evening I had ample opportunity to observe how clever and scientific he was, and regretted the more his frail body. He was extremely anxious to see my drawings, and he examined them more closely than I can ever remember any one to have done before, and was so well acquainted with good drawing that I felt afraid to turn them over for his inspection. After looking at probably a hundred without saying a single word, he exclaimed suddenly: "They are truly beautiful; our King ought to purchase them, they are too good to belong to a _single_ individual." We talked much on subjects of natural history, and he told me that he made it a rule that not a gun was ever fired during the breeding season on any part of his beautiful estate; he delighted to see the charming creatures enjoy life and pleasure without any annoyance. Rooks, Jackdaws, Wood-Pigeons, and Starlings were flying in hundreds about the ruined castle. We sat up till after twelve, when hot water and spirits were produced, after which we said good-night; but I needed nothing to make me sleep, for in five minutes after I lay down I was--I know not where. _April 12._ I am now at last where the famous Bewick produced his handsome and valuable work on the birds of England. It is a dirty-looking place, this Newcastle, and I do not know if it will prove at all pleasant. This morning early the captain and myself took a good ramble about Mitford Hall grounds; saw the rookery, the ruins of the castle, and walked some way along the little river front. We breakfasted about ten with his brother, who wished to see my drawings by daylight. Afterwards my baggage was taken to Morpeth, and the captain and I walked thither about twelve. Our way was along a pretty little stream called the Wansbeck, but the weather changed and the rain assured me that none of the persons we expected to see in the village would come, on this account, and I was not mistaken. At half-past four I mounted the coach for this place, and not an object of interest presented itself in the journey of thirteen miles. _Newcastle-upon-Tyne, April 13._ At ten o'clock I left the inn, having had a very indifferent breakfast, served on dirty plates; therefore I would not recommend the "Rose and Crown," or the hostess, to any friend of mine. Yet my bed was quite comfortable, and my sleep agreeably disturbed about one hour before day by some delightful music on the bugle. I often, even before this, have had a wish to be a performer on this instrument, so sure I am that our grand forests and rivers would re-echo its sonorous sounds with fine effect. I passed through many streets, but what a shabby appearance this Newcastle-upon-Tyne has, after a residence of nearly six months in the beautiful city of Edinburgh. All seems dark and smoky, indeed I conceive myself once more in Manchester. The cries of fish, milk, and vegetables, were all different, and I looked in vain for the rosy cheeks of the Highlanders. I had letters to the members of the Johnson family, given me by Captain Mitford, and therefore went to St. James Square, where I delivered them, and was at once received by a tall, fine-looking young gentleman, who asked me if I had breakfasted. On being answered in the affirmative, he requested me to excuse him till he had finished his, and I sat opposite the fire thinking about the curious pilgrimage I had now before me. Will the result repay the exertions? Alas! it is quite impossible for me to say, but that I shall carry the plan out in all its parts is certain unless life departs, and then I must hope that our Victor will fall into my place and accomplish my desires, with John's help to draw the birds, which he already does well. Mr. Edward Johnson soon re-entered, bringing with him Mr. John Adamson, secretary to the Literary and Philosophical Society of this place. I presented the letter for him from Mr. Selby, but I saw at once that he knew me by name. Soon after he very kindly aided me to find suitable lodgings, which I did in Collingwood Street. We then walked to Mr. Bewick's, the engraver, son of the famous man, and happily met him. He is a curious-looking man; his head and shoulders are both broad, but his keen, penetrating eyes proved that Nature had stamped him for some use in this world. I gave him the letters I had for him, and appointed a time to call on his father. I again suffered myself to be imposed upon when I paid my bill at the inn on removing to my lodgings, and thought of Gil Blas of Santillane. Five persons called to see my drawings this afternoon, and I received a note from Mr. Bewick inviting me to tea at six; so I shall see and talk with the wonderful man. I call him wonderful because I am sincerely of the opinion that his work on wood is superior to anything ever attempted in ornithology. It is now near eleven at night. Robert Bewick (the son) called for me about six, and we proceeded to his father's house. On our way I saw an ancient church with a remarkably beautiful _Lanterne_ at top, St. Nicholas' Church I was told, then we passed over the Tyne, on a fine strong bridge of stone, with several arches, I think six or seven. This is distant from the sea, and I must say that the Tyne _here_ is the only stream I have yet seen since my landing resembling at all a river. It is about as large as Bayou Sara opposite the Beech Woods, when full. I saw some of the boats used in carrying coals down the stream; they are almost of oval shape, and are managed with long, sweeping oars, and steerers much like our flat-boats on the Ohio. My companion did not talk much; he is more an acting man than a talker, and I did not dislike him for that. After ascending a long road or lane, we arrived at Bewick's dwelling, and I was taken at once to where he was at work, and saw the man himself. He came to me and welcomed me with a hearty shake of the hand, and took off for a moment his half-clean cotton night-cap tinged with the smoke of the place. He is tall, stout, has a very large head, and his eyes are further apart than those of any man I remember just now. A complete Englishman, full of life and energy though now seventy-four, very witty and clever, better acquainted with America than most of his countrymen, and an honor to England. Having shown me the work he was at, a small vignette cut on a block of box-wood not more than three by two inches, representing a dog frightened during the night by false appearances of men formed by curious roots and branches of trees, rocks, etc., he took me upstairs and introduced me to his three daughters--all tall, and two of them with extremely fine figures; they were desirous to make my visit an agreeable one and most certainly succeeded. I met there a Mr. Goud, and saw from his pencil a perfect portrait of Thomas Bewick, a miniature, full-length, in oil, highly finished, well drawn and composed. The old gentleman and I stuck to each other; he talked of my drawings, and I of his woodcuts, till we liked each other very much. Now and then he would take off his cotton cap, but the moment he became animated with the conversation the cap was on, yet almost off, for he had stuck it on as if by magic. His eyes sparkled, his face was very expressive, and I enjoyed him much more, I am sure, than he supposed. He had heard of my drawings and promised to call early to-morrow morning with his daughters and some friends. I did not forget dear John's wish to possess a copy of his work on quadrupeds, and having asked where I could procure one, he answered "Here." After coffee and tea had been served, young Bewick, to please me, brought a bagpipe of a new construction, called a "Durham," and played simple, nice Scotch and English airs with peculiar taste; the instrument sounded like a hautboy. Soon after ten the company broke up, and we walked into Newcastle. The streets were desolate, and their crookedness and narrowness made me feel the more the beauty of fair Edinburgh. _April 14._ The weather is now becoming tolerable and spring is approaching. The Swallows glide past my windows, and the Larks are heard across the Tyne. Thomas Bewick, his whole family, and about a hundred others have kept me busy exhibiting drawings. Mr. Bewick expressed himself as perfectly astounded at the boldness of my undertaking. I am to dine with him to-morrow, Mr. Adamson to-day, and Mr. Johnson on Wednesday if I do not go on to York that day. _April 15._ Mr. Adamson called for me at church time, and we proceeded a short distance and entered St. Nicholas' church. He ordered an officer to take me to what he called _the mansion house_ and I was led along the aisles to a place enclosed by an iron railing and showed a seat. In looking about me I saw a large organ over the door I had entered, and in front of this were seated many children, the lasses in white, the lads in blue. An immense painting of the Lord's Supper filled the end opposite the entrance, and the large Gothic windows were brilliant with highly colored glass. A few minutes passed, when a long train of office bearers and the magistrates of the town, headed by the mayor, came in procession and entered _the mansion house_ also; a gentleman at my elbow rose and bowed to these and I followed his example; I discovered then that I was seated in the most honorable place. The service and sermon were long and tedious; often to myself I said, "Why is not Sydney Smith here?" Being in church I sat patiently, but I must say I thought the priest uncommonly stupid. Home to luncheon and afterwards went to Heath, the painter,[121] who with his wife received me with extreme kindness. He showed me many sketches, a number of which were humorous. He likes Newcastle better than Edinburgh, and I would not give an hour at Edinburgh, especially were I with friend Lizars, his wife, and sister, for a year here. So much for difference of taste.--I have just returned from old Bewick's. We had a great deal of conversation, all tending towards Natural History; other guests came in as the evening fell, and politics and religion were touched upon. Whilst this was going on old Bewick sat silent chewing his tobacco; the son, too, remained quiet, but the eldest daughter, who sat next to me, was very interesting, and to my surprise resembles my kind friend Hannah Rathbone so much, that I frequently felt as if Miss Hannah, with her black eyes and slender figure, were beside me. I was invited to breakfast to-morrow at eight with Mr. Bewick to see the old gentleman at work. _April 16._ I breakfasted with old Bewick this morning quite _sans cérémonie_, and then the old man set to work to show me how simple it was to _cut wood_! But cutting wood as he did is no joke; he did it with as much ease as I can feather a bird; he made all his tools, which are delicate and very beautiful, and his artist shop was clean and attractive. Later I went with Mr. Plummer, the officiating American consul at this place, to the court-rooms, and Merchant Coffee House, also to a new fish market, small and of a half-moon form, contiguous to the river, that I have forgotten to say is as dirty and muddy as an alligator hole. The coal boats were moving down by hundreds, with only one oar and a steerer, to each of which I saw three men. We then went to the Literary and Philosophical Society rooms; the library is a fine, large room with many books--the museum small, but in neat order, and well supplied with British specimens. Since then I have been showing my drawings to at least two hundred persons who called at my lodgings. I was especially struck with a young lady who came with her brother. I saw from my window a groom walking three fine horses to and fro, and almost immediately the lady and gentleman entered, whip in hand, and spurred like fighting-cocks; the lady, with a beaver and black silk neckerchief, came in first and alone, holding up with both hands her voluminous blue riding-habit, and with a _ton_ very unbecoming her fine eyes and sweet face. She bowed carelessly, and said: "Compliments, sir;" and perceiving how much value she put on herself, I gave her the best seat in the room. For some time she sat without a word; when her brother began to put questions, however, she did also, and so fast and so searchingly that I thought them _Envoies Extraordinaires_ from either Temminck or Cuvier. Mr. Adamson, who sat by all the time, praised me, when they had gone, for my patience, and took me home to dine with him _en famille_. A person (a glazier, I suppose), after seeing about a hundred pictures, asked me if I did not want glass and frames for them. How I wish I was in America's dark woods, admiring God's works in all their beautiful ways. _April 17._ Whilst I was lying awake this morning waiting for it to get light, I presently recollected I was in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and recalled the name of Smollett, no mean man, by the bye, and remembered his eulogium of the extraordinary fine view he obtained when travelling on foot from London to this place, looking up the Tyne from Isbet Hill, and I said, "If Smollett admired the prospect, I can too," and leaped from my bed as a hare from his form on newly ploughed ground at the sound of the sportsman's bugle, or the sight of the swift greyhound. I ran downstairs, out-of-doors, and over the Tyne, as if indeed a pack of jackals had been after me. Two miles is nothing to me, and I ascended the hill where poor Isbet, deluded by a wretched woman, for her sake robbed the mail, and afterwards suffered death on a gibbet; and saw--the sea! Far and wide it extended; the Tyne led to it, with its many boats with their coaly burdens. Up the river the view was indeed enchanting; the undulating meadows sloped gently to the water's edge on either side, and the Larks that sprang up before me, welcoming the sun's rise, animated my thoughts so much that I felt tears trickling down my cheeks as I gave praise to the God who gave life to all these in a day. There was a dew on the ground, the bees were gathering honey from the tiniest flowerets, and here and there the Blackbird so shy sought for a fibrous root to entwine his solid nest of clay. Lapwings, like butterflies of a larger size, passed wheeling and tumbling over me through the air, and had not the dense smoke from a thousand engines disturbed the peaceful harmony of Nature, I might have been there still, longing for my Lucy to partake of the pleasure with me. But the smoke recalled me to my work, and I turned towards Newcastle. So are all transient pleasures followed by sorrows, except those emanating from the adoration of the Supreme Being. It was still far from breakfast time; I recrossed the Tyne and ascended the east bank for a couple of miles before returning to my lodgings. The morning afterward was spent as usual. I mean, holding up drawings to the company that came in good numbers. _Morning_ here is the time from ten to five, and I am told that in London it sometimes lengthens to eight of the evening as we term it. Among these visitors was a Mr. Donkin, who remained alone with me when the others had left, and we had some conversation; he is an advocate, or, as I would call it, a chancellor. He asked me to take a bachelor's dinner with him at five; I accepted, and he then proposed we should drive out and see a house he was building two miles in the country. I again found myself among the rolling hills, and we soon reached his place. I found a beautiful, low house of stone, erected in the simplest style imaginable, but so well arranged and so convenient that I felt satisfied he was a man of taste as well as wealth. Garden, grounds, all was in perfect harmony, and the distant views up and down the river, the fine woods and castle, all came in place,--not to satiate the eye, but to induce it to search for further beauties. On returning to town Mr. Donkin showed me the old mansion where poor Charles the First was delivered up to be beheaded. He could have escaped through a conduit to the river, where a boat was waiting, but the conduit was all darkness and his heart failed him. Now I should say that he had no heart, and was very unfit for a king. At Mr. Donkin's house I was presented to his partners, and we had a good dinner; the conversation ran much on politics, and they supported the King and Mr. Canning. I left early, as I had promised to take a cup of tea with old Bewick. The old gentleman was seated as usual with his night-cap on, and his tobacco pouch in one hand ready to open; his countenance beamed with pleasure as I shook hands with him. "I could not bear the idea of your going off without telling you in written words what I think of your 'Birds of America;' here it is in black and white, and make whatever use you may of it, if it be of use at all," he said, and put an unsealed letter in my hand. We chatted away on natural-history subjects, and he would now and then exclaim: "Oh that I was young[122] again! I would go to America. What a country it will be." "It is now, Mr. Bewick," I would retort, and then we went on. The young ladies enjoyed the sight and remarked that for years their father had not had such a flow of spirits. _April 19._ This morning I paid a visit of farewell to Mr. Bewick and his family; as we parted he held my hand closely and repeated three times, "God preserve you." I looked at him in such a manner that I am sure he understood I could not speak. I walked slowly down the hilly lane, and thought of the intrinsic value of this man to the world, and compared him with Sir Walter Scott. The latter will be forever the most eminent in station, being undoubtedly the most learned and most brilliant of the two; but Thomas Bewick is a son of Nature. Nature alone has reared him under her peaceful care, and he in gratitude of heart has copied one department of her works that must stand unrivalled forever; I say "forever" because imitators have only a share of real merit, compared with inventors, and Thomas Bewick is an inventor, and _the first wood-cutter in the world_! These words, "first wood-cutter" would, I dare say, raise the ire of many of our hearty squatters, who, no doubt, on hearing me express myself so strongly, would take the axe, and fell down an enormous tree whilst talking about it; but the moment I would explain to them that each of their chips would produce under his chisel a mass of beauties, the good fellows would respect him quite as much as I do. My room was filled all day with people to see my works and _me_ whom some one had said resembled in physiognomy Napoleon of France. Strange simile this, but I care not whom I resemble, if it be only in looks, if my heart preserves the love of the truth. _Saturday, April 21._ I am tired out holding up drawings, I may say, all day; but have been rewarded by an addition of five subscribers to my work. Am off to-morrow to York. God bless thee, my Lucy. _York, Sunday, April 22, 1827._ Left Newcastle at eight; the weather cold and disagreeable, still I preferred a seat on top to view the country. Passed through Durham, a pretty little town with a handsome castle and cathedral, planted on an elevated peninsula formed by a turn of the river Wear, and may be seen for many miles. It is a rolling country, and the river wound about among the hills; we crossed it three times on stone bridges. Darlington, where we changed horses, is a neat, small place, supported by a set of very industrious Quakers; much table linen is manufactured here. As we approached York the woods became richer and handsomer, and trees were dispersed all over the country; it looked once more like England, and the hedges reminded me of those about "Green Bank." They were larger and less trimmed than in Scotland. I saw York Minster six or seven miles before reaching the town, that is entered by old gates. The streets are disgustingly crooked and narrow, and crossed like the burrows of a rabbit-warren. I was put down at the Black Swan. Though the coach was full, not a word had been spoken except an occasional oath at the weather, which was indeed very cold; and I, with all the other passengers, went at once to the fires. Anxious to find lodgings _not_ at the Black Swan, I went to Rev. Wm. Turner, son of a gentleman I had met at Newcastle, for information. His father had prepared him for my visit at my request, and I was soon installed at Mrs. Pulleyn's in Blake Street. My present landlady's weight, in ratio with that of her husband, is as one pound avoirdupois to one ounce apothecary! She looks like a round of beef, he like a farthing candle. Oh that I were in Louisiana, strolling about the woods, looking in the gigantic poplars for new birds and new flowers! _April 23, Monday._ The weather looked more like approaching winter than spring; indeed snow fell at short intervals, and it rained, and was extremely cold and misty. Notwithstanding the disagreeable temperature, I have walked a good deal. I delivered my letters as early as propriety would allow, but found no one in; at least I was told so, for beyond that I cannot say with any degree of accuracy I fear. The Rev. Mr. Turner called with the curator of the Museum, to whom I showed some drawings. After my dinner, eaten _solus_, I went out again; the Minster is undoubtedly the finest piece of ancient architecture I have seen since I was in France, if my recollection serves me. I walked round and round it for a long time, examining its height, form, composition, and details, until my neck ached. The details are wonderful indeed,--all cut of the same stone that forms the mass outwardly. Leaving it and going without caring about my course, I found myself in front of an ancient castle,[123] standing on a mound, covered with dark ivy, fissured by time and menacing its neighborhood with an appearance of all tumbling down at no remote period. I turned east and came to a pretty little stream called the Ouse, over which I threw several pebbles by way of exercise. On the west bank I found a fine walk, planted with the only trees of size I have seen in this country; it extended about half a mile. Looking up the stream a bridge of fine stone is seen, and on the opposite shores many steam mills were in operation. I followed down this mighty stream till the road gave out, and, the grass being very wet and the rain falling heavily, I returned to my rooms. York is much cleaner than Newcastle, and I remarked more Quakers; but alas! how far both these towns are below fair Edinburgh. The houses here are low, covered with tiles, and sombre-looking. No birds have I seen except Jackdaws and Rooks. To my surprise my host waited upon me at supper; when he enters my room I think of Scroggins' ghost. I have spent my evening reading "Blackwood's Magazine." _April 24._ How doleful has this day been to me! It pleased to rain, and to snow, and to blow cold all day. I called on Mr. Phillips, the curator of the Museum, and he assured me that the society was too poor to purchase my work. I spent the evening by invitation at the Rev. Wm. Turner's in company with four other gentlemen. Politics and emancipation were the chief topics of conversation. How much more good would the English do by revising their own intricate laws, and improving the condition of their poor, than by troubling themselves and their distant friends with what does not concern them. I feel nearly determined to push off to-morrow, and yet it would not do; I may be wrong, and to-morrow may be fairer to me in every way; but this "hope deferred" is a very fatiguing science to study. I could never make up my mind to live and die in England whilst the sweet-scented jessamine and the magnolias flourish so purely in my native land, and the air vibrates with the songs of the sweet birds. _April 25._ I went out of the house pretty soon this morning; it was cold and blowing a strong breeze. I pushed towards the river with an idea of following it downwards two hours by my watch, but as I walked along I saw a large flock of Starlings, at a time when I thought all birds were paired, and watched their motions for some time, and thereby drew the following conclusion, namely: that the bird commonly called the Meadow Lark with us is more nearly related to the Starling of this country than to any other bird. I was particularly surprised that a low note, resembling the noise made by a wheel not well greased, was precisely the same in both, that the style of their walk and gait was also precisely alike, and that in _short_ flights the movement of the wings had the same tremulous action before they alighted. Later I had visitors to see my pictures, possibly fifty or more. It has rained and snowed to-day, and I feel as dull as a Martin surprised by the weather. It will be strange if York gives me no subscribers, when I had eight at Newcastle. Mr. P---- called and told me it would be well for me to call personally on the nobility and gentry in the neighborhood and take some drawings with me. I thanked him, but told him that my standing in society did not admit of such conduct, and that although there were lords in England, we of American blood think ourselves their equals. He laughed, and said I was not as much of a Frenchman as I looked. _April 26._ I have just returned from a long walk out of town, on the road toward Newcastle. The evening was calm, and the sunset clear. At such an hour how often have I walked with my Lucy along the banks of the Schuylkill, Perkiomen Creek, the Ohio River, or through the fragrant woods of Louisiana; how often have we stopped short to admire the works of the Creator; how often have we been delighted at hearing the musical notes of the timid Wood Thrush, that appeared to give her farewell melody to the disappearing day! We have looked at the glittering fire-fly, heard the Whip-poor-will, and seen the vigilant Owl preparing to search field and forest! Here the scene was not quite so pleasing, though its charms brought youth and happiness to my recollection. One or two Warblers perched on the eglantine, almost blooming, and gave their little powers full vent. The shrill notes of Thrushes (not ours) came from afar, and many Rooks with loaded bills were making fast their way towards the nests that contained their nearly half-grown offspring. The cattle were treading heavily towards their pens, and the sheep gathered to the lee of each protecting hedge. To-day have I had a great number of visitors, and three subscribers. _April 27._ A long walk early, and then many visitors, Mr. Vernon[124] among them, who subscribed for my work. All sorts of people come. If Matthews the comic were now and then to present himself at my levees, how he would act the scenes over. I am quite worn out; I think sometimes my poor arms will give up their functions before I secure five hundred subscribers. _Saturday, 28th._ During my early walk along the Ouse I saw a large butterfly, quite new to me, and attempted to procure it with a stroke of my cane; but as I whirled it round, off went the scabbard into the river, more than half across, and I stood with a naked small sword as if waiting for a duel. I would have swam out for it, but that there were other pedestrians; so a man in a boat brought it to me for sixpence. I have had a great deal of company, and five subscribers. Mr. Wright took me all over the Minster, and also on the roof. We had a good spy-glass, and I had an astonishing view of the spacious vales that surround the tile-covered city of York. I could easily follow the old walls of defence. It made me giddy to look directly down, as a great height is always unpleasant to me. Now I have packed up, paid an enormous bill to my landlady. _Leeds, Sunday, April 28._ The town of Leeds is much superior to anything I have seen since Edinburgh, and I have been walking till I feel quite exhausted. I breakfasted in York at five this morning; the coach did not start till six, so I took my refreshing walk along the Ouse. The weather was extremely pleasant; I rode outside, but the scenery was little varied, almost uniformly level, well cultivated, but poor as to soil. I saw some "game" as every bird is called here. I was amused to see the great interest which was excited by a covey of Partridges. What would be said to a gang of Wild Turkeys,--several hundred trotting along a sand-bar of the Upper Mississippi? I reached Leeds at half-past nine, distant from York, I believe, twenty-six miles. I found lodgings at once at 39 Albion Street, and then started with my letters. _April 30._ Were I to conclude from first appearances as to the amount of success I may expect here, compared with York, by the difference of attention paid me at both places so soon after my arrival, I should certainly expect much more here; for no sooner was breakfast over than Mr. Atkinson called, to be followed by Mr. George and many others, among them a good ornithologist,[125]--not a _closet naturalist_, but a real true-blue, who goes out at night and watches Owls and Night-jars and Water-fowl to some purpose, and who knows more about these things than any other man I have met in Europe. This evening I took a long walk by a small stream, and as soon as out of sight undressed and took a dive smack across the creek; the water was so extremely cold that I performed the same feat back again and dressed in a hurry; my flesh was already quite purple. Following the stream I found some gentlemen catching minnows with as much anxiety as if large trout, playing the little things with beautiful lines and wheels. Parallel to this stream is a canal; the adjacent country is rolling, with a number of fine country-seats. I wish I had some one to go to in the evenings like friend Lizars. _May 1, 1827._ This is the day on which last year I left my Lucy and my boys with intention to sail for Europe. How uncertain my hopes at that time were as to the final results of my voyage,--about to leave a country where most of my life had been spent devoted to the study of Nature, to enter one wholly unknown to me, without a friend, nay, not an acquaintance in it. Until I reached Edinburgh I despaired of success; the publication of a work of enormous expense, and the length of time it must necessarily take; to accomplish the whole has been sufficient to keep my spirits low, I assure thee. Now I feel like beginning a New Year. My work is about to be known, I have made a number of valuable and kind friends, I have been received by men of science on friendly terms, and now I have a hope of success if I continue to be honest, industrious, and consistent. My pecuniary means are slender, but I hope to keep afloat, for my tastes are simple; if only I can succeed in rendering thee and our sons happy, not a moment of sorrow or discomfort shall I regret. _May 2._ Mr. George called very early, and said that his colleague, the Secretary of the Literary and Philosophical Society, would call and subscribe, and he has done so. I think I must tell thee how every one stares when they read on the first engraving that I present for their inspection this name: "The Bonaparte Fly-catcher"--the very bird I was anxious to name the "Rathbone Fly-catcher" in honor of my excellent friend "Lady" Rathbone, but who refused to accept this little mark of my gratitude. I afterwards meant to call it after thee, but did not, because the world is so strangely composed just now that I feared it would be thought childish; so I concluded to call it after my friend Charles Bonaparte. Every one is struck by the name, so explanations take place, and the good people of England will know him as a great naturalist, and my friend. I intend to name, one after another, every one of my new birds, either for some naturalist deserving this honor, or through a wish to return my thanks for kindness rendered me. Many persons have called, quite a large party at one time, led by Lady B----. I am sorry to say I find it generally more difficult to please this class of persons than others, and I feel in consequence more reserved in their presence, I can scarcely say why. I walked out this evening to see Kirkstall Abbey, or better say the ruins of that ancient edifice. It is about three miles out of Leeds and is worthy the attention of every traveller. It is situated on the banks of the little river Ayre, the same I bathed in, and is extremely romantic in its appearance, covered with ivy, and having sizable trees about and amongst its walls. The entrance is defended by a board on which is painted: "Whoever enters these ruins, or damages them in the least, will be prosecuted with all the rigor of the law." I did not transgress, and soon became very cautious of my steps, for immediately after, a second board assured every one that spring-guns and steel-traps are about the gardens. However, no entreaty having been expressed to prevent me from sketching the whole, I did so on the back of one of my cards for thee. From that spot I heard a Cuckoo cry, for I do not, like the English, call it singing. I attempted to approach the bird, but in vain; I believe I might be more successful in holding a large Alligator by the tail. Many people speak in raptures of the sweet voice of the Cuckoo, and the same people tell me in cold blood that we have no birds that can sing in America. I wish they had a chance to judge of the powers of the Mock-bird, the Red Thrush, the Cat-bird, the Oriole, the Indigo Bunting, and even the Whip-poor-will. What would they say of a half-million of Robins about to take their departure for the North, making our woods fairly tremble with melodious harmony? But these pleasures are not to be enjoyed in manufacturing towns like Leeds and Manchester; neither can any one praise a bird who sings by tuition, like a pupil of Mozart, as a few Linnets and Starlings do, and that no doubt are here taken as the foundation stone of the singing powers allotted to European birds generally. Well, is not this a long digression for thee? I dare say thou art fatigued enough at it, and so am I. _May 3._ Until two o'clock this day I had only one visitor, Mr. John Marshall, a member of Parliament to whom I had a letter; he told me he knew nothing at all about birds, but most generously subscribed, because, he told me, it was such a work as every one ought to possess, and to encourage enterprise. This evening I dined with the Messrs. Davy, my old friends of Mill Grove; the father, who for many months has not left his bed-chamber, desired to see me. We had not met since 1810, but he looked as fresh as when I last saw him, and is undoubtedly the handsomest and noblest-looking man I have ever seen in my life, excepting the Marquis de Dupont de Nemours. I have at Leeds only five subscribers,--poor indeed compared with the little town of York. _May 5._ I breakfasted with young Mr. Davy, who after conducted me to Mr. Marshall's mills. We crossed the Ayre in a ferry boat for a half-penny each, and on the west bank stood the great works. The first thing to see was the great engine, 150 horse-power, a stupendous structure, and so beautiful in all its parts that no one could, I conceive, stand and look at it without praising the ingenuity of man. Twenty-five hundred persons of all ages and both sexes are here, yet nothing is heard but the _burr_ of machinery. All is wonderfully arranged; a good head indeed must be at the commander's post in such a vast establishment. _Manchester, May 6 1827._ My journey was uneventful and through the rain. I reached Mr. Bentley's soon after noon, and we were both glad to meet. _May 7._ The rooms of the Natural History Society were offered to me, to show my work, but hearing accidentally that the Royal Institution of Manchester was holding an exhibition at the Messrs. Jackson's and thinking that place better suited to me, I saw these gentlemen and was soon installed there. I have had five subscribers. I searched for lodgings everywhere, but in vain, and was debating what to do, when Dr. Harlan's friend, Mr. E. W. Sergeant, met me, and insisted on my spending my time under his roof. He would take no refusal, so I accepted. How much kindness do I meet with everywhere. I have had much running about and calling on different people, and at ten o'clock this evening was still at Mr. Bentley's, not knowing where Mr. Sergeant resided. Mr. Surr was so kind as to come with me in search of the gentleman; we found him at home and he gave me his groom to go for my portmanteau. Of course I returned to Mr. Bentley's again, and he returned with me to see me safely lodged. Mr. Sergeant insisted on his coming in; we had coffee, and sat some time conversing; it is now past two of the morning. _May 8._ I saw Mr. Gregg and the fair Helen of Quarry Bank this morning; they met me with great friendship. I have saved myself much trouble here by exhibiting no drawings, only the numbers of my work now ready. Mr. Sergeant has purchased my drawing of the Doves for twenty pounds. _May 13, Sunday._ My time has been so completely occupied during each day procuring subscribers, and all my evenings at the house of one or another of my friends and acquaintances that my hours have been late, and I have bidden thee good-night without writing it down.[126] Manchester has most certainly retrieved its character, for I have had eighteen subscribers in _one week_, which is more than anywhere else. _Liverpool, Monday, May 14._ I breakfasted with my good friend Bentley, and left in his care my box containing 250 drawings, to be forwarded by the "caravan,"--the name given to covered coaches. I cannot tell how extremely kind Mr. Sergeant has been to me during all my stay. He exerted himself to procure subscribers as if the work had been his own, and made my time at his house as pleasant as I could desire. I was seated on top of the coach at ten o'clock, and at three was put down safely at Dale St. I went immediately to the Institution, where I found Mr. Munro. I did not like to go to Green Bank abruptly, therefore shall spend the night where I am, but sent word to the Rathbones I was here. I have called on Dr. Chorley and family, and Dr. Traill; found all well and as kind as ever. At six Mr. Wm. Rathbone came, and gave me good tidings of the whole family; I wait impatiently for the morrow, to see friends all so dear. _May 19, Saturday night._ I leave this to-morrow morning for London, a little anxious to go there, as I have oftentimes desired to be in sight of St. Paul's Church. I have not been able to write because I felt great pleasure in letting my good friends the Rathbones know what I had done since I was here last; so the book has been in the fair hands of my friend Hannah. "Lady" Rathbone and Miss Hannah are not at Green Bank, but at Woodcroft, and there we met. While I waited in the library how different were my thoughts from those I felt on my first entry into Liverpool. As I thought, I watched the well-shaped Wagtails peaceably searching for food within a few paces of me. The door opened, and I met my good, kind friends, the same as ever, full of friendship, benevolence, and candor. I spent most of the morning with them, and left my book, as I said, with them. _Thy_ book, I should have written, for it is solely for thee. I was driven into Liverpool by Mr. Rd. Rathbone, with his mother and Miss Hannah, and met Mr. Chorley by appointment, that we might make the respectful visits I owed. First to Edward Roscoe's, but saw only his charming wife; then to William Roscoe's. The venerable man had just returned from a walk, and in an instant our hands were locked. He asked me many questions about my publication, praised the engraving and the coloring. He has much changed. Time's violent influence has rendered his cheeks less rosy, his eye-brows more bushy, forced his fine eyes more deeply in their sockets, made his frame more bent, his walk weaker; but his voice had all its purity, his language all its brilliancy. I then went to the Botanic Gardens, where all was rich and beautiful; the season allows it. Then to Alexander Gordon's and Mr. Hodgson. Both out, and no card in my pocket. _Just like me._ I found the intelligent Swiss[127] in his office, and his "Ah, Audubon! Comment va?" was all-sufficient. I left him to go to Mr. Rathbone's, where I have spent every night except the last. As usual I escaped every morning at four for my walk and to write letters. I have not done much work since here, but I have enjoyed that which I have long desired, the society of my dear friends the Rathbones. Whilst writing this, I have often wished I could take in the whole at one glance, as I do a picture; this need has frequently made me think that writing a good book must be much more difficult than to paint a good picture. To my great joy, Mr. Bentley is going with me to London. With a heavy heart I said adieu to these dear Rathbones, and will proceed to London lower in spirits than I was in Edinburgh the first three days. _Shrewsbury, May 20._ After all sorts of difficulties with the coach, which left one hour and a half late, we reached Chester at eleven, and were detained an hour. I therefore took a walk under the piazzas that go all through the town. Where a street has to be crossed we went down some steps, crossed the street and re-ascended a few steps again. Overhead are placed the second stories of every house; the whole was very new and singular to me. These avenues are clean, but rather low; my hat touched the top once or twice, and I want an inch and a half of six feet, English measure. At last we proceeded; passed the village of Wrexham, and shortly after through another village, much smaller, but the sweetest, neatest, and pleasantest spot I have seen in all my travels in this country. It was composed of small, detached cottages of simple appearance, divided by gardens sufficiently large for each house, supplied with many kinds of vegetables and fruit trees, luxuriant with bloom, while round the doors and windows, and clambering over the roofs, were creeping plants and vines covered with flowers of different hues. At one spot were small beds of variegated tulips, the sweet-scented lilies at another, the hedges looked snowy white, and everywhere, in gentle curves, abundance of honeysuckle. This village was on a gentle declivity from which, far over the Mersey, rising grounds were seen, and the ascending smoke of Liverpool also. I could not learn the name of this little terrestrial paradise, and must wait for a map to tell me. We dined in a hurry at Eastham, and after passing through a narrow slip in Wales, and seeing what I would thus far call the most improved and handsomest part of England, we are now at Shrewsbury for five hours. Mr. Bentley and I had some bread and butter and pushed out to see the town, and soon found ourselves on the bank of the Severn, a pretty little stream about sixty yards wide. Many men and boys were doing what they called fishing, but I only saw two sprats in one of the boys' hats during the whole walk. Some one told us that up the river we should find a place called the "Quarry" with beautiful trees, and there we proceeded. About a dozen men, too awkward to be sailors, were rowing a long, narrow, pleasure boat, while one in the bow gave us fine music with the bugle. We soon reached the Quarry, and found ourselves under tall, luxuriant, handsome trees forming broad avenues, following the course of the river, extremely agreeable. Indeed, being a woodsman, I think this the finest sight I have seen in England. How the Severn winds round the town, in the form of a horse-shoe! About the centre of this horse-shoe, another avenue, still more beautiful, is planted, going gently up the hill towards the town. I enjoyed this walk more than I can tell thee, and when I thought of the disappointment I had felt at five hours delay at Shrewsbury, and the pleasure I now felt, I repeated for the more than one thousand and first time, "Certainly all is for the best in this world, except our own sins." LONDON, _May 21, 1827_. I should begin this page perhaps with a great exclamation mark, and express much pleasure, but I have not the wish to do either; to me London is just like the mouth of an immense monster, guarded by millions of sharp-edged teeth, from which if I escape unhurt it must be called a miracle. I have many times longed to see London, and now I am here I feel a desire beyond words to be in my beloved woods. The latter part of the journey I spent closely wrapped in both coat and cloak, for we left Shrewsbury at ten, and the night was chilly; my companions were Mr. Bentley and two Italians, one of whom continually sang, and very well, while the other wished for daylight. In this way we continued till two of the morning, and it was then cold. From twelve until four I was so sleepy I could scarcely hold up my head, and I suffered much for the want of my regular allowance of sleep which I take between these hours; it is not much, yet I greatly missed it. We breakfasted at Birmingham at five, where the worst stuff bearing the name of coffee that I ever tasted was brought to us. I say _tasted_, for I could do no more. The country constantly improved in beauty; on we drove through Stratford-on-Avon, Woodstock, and Oxford. A cleaner and more interesting city I never saw; three thousand students are here at present. It was ten o'clock when we entered the turnpike gate that is designated as the line of demarcation of London, but for many miles I thought the road forming a town of itself. We followed Oxford Street its whole length, and then turning about a few times came to the Bull and Mouth tavern where we stay the night. _May 23._ Although two full days have been spent in London, not a word have I written; my heart would not bear me up sufficiently. Monday was positively a day of gloom to me. After breakfast Mr. Bentley took a walk with me through the _City_, he leading, and I following as if an ox to the slaughter. Finally we looked for and found lodgings, at 55 Great Russell Street, to which we at once removed, and again I issued forth, noting nothing but the great dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. I delivered several letters and was well received by all at home. With Mr. Children[128] I went in the evening to the Linnæan Society and exhibited my first number. All those present pronounced my work _unrivalled_, and warmly wished me success. _Sunday, May 28._ Ever since my last date I have been delivering letters, and attending the meetings of different societies. One evening was spent at the Royal Society, where, as in all Royal Societies, I heard a dull, heavy lecture. Yesterday my first call was on Sir Thos. Lawrence; it was half-past eight, as I was assured later would not do. I gave my name, and in a moment the servant returned and led me to him. I was a little surprised to see him dressed as for the whole day. He rose and shook hands with me the moment I pronounced my good friend Sully's name. While he read deliberately the two letters I had brought, I examined his face; it did not exhibit the look of genius that one is always expecting to meet with in a man of his superior talents; he looked pale and pensive. He wished much to see my drawings, and appointed Thursday at eight of the morning, when, knowing the value of his time, I retired. Several persons came to see me or my drawings, among others Mr. Gallatin, the American minister. I went to Covent Garden Theatre with Mr. Bentley in the evening, as he had an admittance ticket. The theatre opens at six, and orders are not good after seven. I saw Madame Vestris; she sings middling well, but not so well in my opinion as Miss Neville in Edinburgh. The four brothers Hermann I admired very much; their voices sounded like four flutes. _May 29._ I have been about indeed like a post-boy, taking letters everywhere. In the evening I went to the Athenæum at the corner of Waterloo Place, expecting to meet Sir Thomas Lawrence and other gentlemen; but I was assured that about eleven or half-past was the fashionable time for these gentlemen to assemble; so I returned to my rooms, being worn out; for I must have walked forty miles on these hard pavements, from Idol Lane to Grosvenor Square, and across in many different directions, all equally far apart. _Tuesday, May 30._ At twelve o'clock I proceeded with some of my drawings to see Mr. Gallatin, our _Envoy extraordinaire_. He has the ease and charm of manner of a perfect gentleman, and addressed me in French. Seated by his side we soon travelled (in conversation) to America; he detests the English, and spoke in no measured terms of London as the most disagreeable place in Europe. While we were talking Mrs. and Miss Gallatin came in, and the topic was changed, and my drawings were exhibited. The ladies knew every plant, and Mr. Gallatin nearly every bird. I found at home that new suit of clothes that my friend Basil Hall insisted upon my procuring. I looked this remarkable black dress well over, put it on, and thus attired like a mournful Raven, went to dine at Mr. Children's. On my return I found a note from Lord Stanley, asking me to put his name down as a subscriber; this pleased me exceedingly, as I consider Lord Stanley a man eminently versed in _true_ and _real_ ornithological pursuits. Of course my spirits are better; how little does alter a man. A trifle raises him, a little later another casts him down. Mr. Bentley has come in and tells me three poor fellows were hanged at Newgate this morning for stealing sheep. My God! how awful are the laws of this land, to take a human life for the theft of a miserable sheep. _June 1._ As I was walking, not caring whither, I suddenly met a face well known to me; I stopped and warmly greeted young Kidd of Edinburgh. His surprise was as great as mine, for he did not know where I had been since I left Edinburgh. Together we visited the exhibition at the British gallery. Ah! what good work is here, but most of the painters of these beautiful pictures are no longer on this earth, and who is there to keep up their standing? I was invited to dine with Sir Robert Inglis,[129] and took a seat in the Clapham coach to reach his place. The Epsom races are in full activity about sixteen miles distant, and innumerable coaches, men on horseback, barouches, foot passengers, filled the road, all classes from the _beau monde_ to the beggar intent on seeing men run the chance of breaking their necks on horses going like the wind, as well as losing or gaining pence, shillings, or guineas by the thousand. Clapham is distant from London five miles, and Sir Robert invited me to see the grounds while he dressed, as he came in almost as I did. How different from noisy London! I opened a door and found myself on a circular lawn so beautifully ornamented that I was tempted to exclaim, "How beautiful are Thy works, O God!" I walked through avenues of foreign trees and shrubs, amongst which were tulip-trees, larches, and cypresses from America. Many birds were here, some searching for food, while others gave vent to their happy feelings in harmonious concerts. The house itself was covered with vines, the front a mass of blooming roses exuberant with perfume. What a delightful feast I had in this peaceful spot! At dinner there were several other guests, among them the widow of Sir Thomas Stanford Raffles, governor of Java, a most superior woman, and her conversation with Dr. Horsfield was deeply interesting. The doctor is a great zoölogist, and has published a fine work on the birds of Java. It was a true _family_ dinner, and therefore I enjoyed it; Sir Robert is at the head of the business of the Carnatic association of India. _Friday, June 2._ At half-past seven I reached Sir Thomas Lawrence, and found him writing letters. He received me kindly, and at once examined some of my drawings, repeating frequently, "Very clever, indeed!" From such a man these words mean much. During breakfast, which was simple enough and _sans cérémonie_, he asked me many questions about America and about my work. After leaving him I met Mr. Vigors[130] by appointment, who said everything possible to encourage me, and told me I would be elected as a foreign member to the Athenæum. Young Kidd called to see me, and I asked him to come and paint in my room; his youth, simplicity, and cleverness have attached me to him very much. _June 18._ Is it not strange I should suffer whole weeks to pass without writing down what happens to me? But I have felt too dull, and too harassed. On Thursday morning I received a long letter from Mr. Lizars, informing me that his colorers had struck work, and everything was at a stand-still; he requested me to try to find some persons here who would engage in that portion of the business, and he would do his best to bring all right again. This was quite a shock to my nerves; but I had an appointment at Lord Spencer's and another with Mr. Ponton; my thoughts cooled, I concluded to keep my appointments. On my return I found a note from Mr. Vigors telling me Charles Bonaparte was in town. I walked as quickly as possible to his lodgings, but he was absent. I wrote him a note and came back to my lodgings, and very shortly was told that the Prince of Musignano was below, and in a moment I held him by the hand. We were pleased to meet each other on this distant shore. His fine head was not altered, his mustachios, his bearded chin, his keen eye, all was the same. He wished to see my drawings, and I, for the first time since I had been in London, had pleasure in showing them. Charles at once subscribed, and I felt really proud of this. Other gentlemen came in, but the moment the whole were gone my thoughts returned to the colorers, and my steps carried me in search of some; and this for three days I have been doing. I have been about the suburbs and dirtier parts of London, and more misery and poverty cannot exist without absolute starvation. By chance I entered a print shop, and the owner gave me the name of a man to whom I went, and who has engaged to color more cheaply than it is done in Edinburgh, and young Kidd has taken a letter from me to Mr. Lizars telling him to send me twenty-five copies. _June 19._ I paid a visit to Sir Thomas Lawrence this morning and after waiting a short time in his gallery he came to me and invited me into his painting-room. I had a fair opportunity of looking at some of his unfinished work. The piece before me represented a fat man sitting in an arm-chair, not only correctly outlined but beautifully sketched in black chalk, somewhat in the style of Raphael's cartoons. I cannot well conceive the advantage of all that trouble, as Sir Thomas paints in opaque color, and not as I do on asphaltum grounds, as I believe the old masters did, showing a glaze under the colors, instead of over, which I am convinced can be but of short duration. His colors were ground, and his enormous palette of white wood well set; a large table was literally covered with all sorts of brushes, and the room filled with unfinished pictures, some of which appeared of very old standing. I now had the pleasure of seeing this great artist at work, which I had long desired to do. I went five times to see Mr. Havell the colorer, but he was out of town. I am full of anxiety and greatly depressed. Oh! how sick I am of London. _June 21._ I received a letter from Mr. Lizars that was far from allaying my troubles. I was so struck with the tenure of it that I cannot help thinking now that he does not wish to continue my work. I have painted a great deal to-day and called on Charles Bonaparte. _June 22._ I was particularly invited to dine at the Royal Society Club with Charles Bonaparte, but great dinners always so frighten me that I gave over the thought and dined peaceably at home. This evening Charles B. called with some gentlemen, among whom were Messrs. Vigors, Children, Featherstonehaugh, and Lord Clifton. My portfolios were opened before this set of learned men, and they saw many birds they had not dreamed of. Charles offered to name them for me, and I felt happy that he should; and with a pencil he actually christened upwards of fifty, urging me to publish them at once in manuscript at the Zoölogical Society. These gentlemen dropped off one by one, leaving only Charles and Mr. Vigors. Oh that _our_ knowledge could be arranged into a solid mass. I am sure the best ornithological publication of the birds of my beloved country might then be published. I cannot tell you how surprised I was when at Charles's lodgings to hear his man-servant call him "your Royal Highness." I thought this ridiculous in the extreme, and I cannot conceive how good Charles can bear it; though probably he _does_ bear it because he _is_ good Charles. I have no painting to do to-morrow morning, or going to bed at two would not do. I was up at three this morning, and finished the third picture since in London. _June 28._ I have no longer the wish to write my days. I am quite wearied of everything in London; my work does not proceed, and I am dispirited. _July 2._ I am yet so completely out of spirits that in vain have I several times opened my book, held the pen, and tried to write. I am too dull, too mournful. I have finished another picture of Rabbits; that is all my consolation. I wish I was out of London. _Leeds, September 30, 1827._ I arrived here this day, just five months since my first visit to the place, but it is three long months since I tarnished one of thy cheeks, my dear book. I am quite ashamed of it, for I have had several incidents well deserving to be related even in my poor humble style,--a style much resembling my _paintings in oil_. Now, nevertheless, I will in as quick a manner as possible recapitulate the principal facts. _First._ I removed the publication of my work from Edinburgh to London, from the hands of Mr. Lizars into those of Robert Havell, No. 79 Newman St., because the difficulty of finding colorers made it come too slowly, and also because I have it done better and cheaper in London. I have painted much and visited little; I hate as much as ever large companies. I have removed to Great Russell St., number 95, to a Mrs. W----'s, an intelligent widow, with eleven children, and but little cash. _Second._ The King!! My dear Book! it was presented to him by Sir Walter Waller, Bart., K.C.H., at the request of my most excellent friend J. P. Children, of the British Museum. His Majesty was pleased to call it fine, permitted me to publish it under his particular patronage, approbation, and protection, became a subscriber on the usual terms, not as kings generally do, but as a gentleman, and my friends all spoke as if a mountain of sovereigns had dropped in an ample purse at once, and for me. The Duchess of Clarence also subscribed. I attended to my business closely, but my agents neither attended to it nor to my orders to them; and at last, nearly at bay for means to carry on so heavy a business, I decided to make a sortie for the purpose of collecting my dues, and to augment my subscribers, and for that reason left London this day fortnight past for Manchester, where I was received by my friends _à bras ouverts_. I lived and lodged at friend Sergeant's, collected all my money, had an accession of nine subscribers, found a box of beautiful bird-skins sent Bentley by my dear boy Johnny,[131] left in good spirits, and here I am at Leeds. On my journey hither in the coach a young sportsman going from London to York was my companion; he was about to join a shooting expedition, and had two dogs with him in a basket on top of the coach. We spoke of game, fish, and such topics, and presently he said a work on ornithology was being published in London by an American (he told me later he took me for a Frenchman) named Audubon, and spoke of my industry and regretted he had not seen them, as his sisters had, and spoke in raptures of them, etc. I could not of course permit this, so told him my name, when he at once shook hands, and our conversation continued even more easily than before. I am in the same lodgings as formerly. My landlady was talking with a meagre-looking child, who told a sad story of want, which my good landlady confirmed. I never saw greater pleasure than sparkled in that child's face as I gave her a few pieces of silver for her mother. I never thought it necessary to be rich to help those poorer than ourselves; I have considered it a duty to God, and to grow poorer in so doing is a blessing to me. I told the good landlady to send for one of the child's brothers, who was out of work, to do my errands for me. I took a walk and listened with pleasure to the song of the little Robin. _October 1._ I called at the Philosophical Hall and at the Public Library, but I am again told that Leeds, though wealthy, has no taste; nevertheless I hope to establish an agency here. _October 3._ I visited the museum of a Mr. Calvert, a man who, like myself, by dint of industry and perseverance is now the possessor of the finest collection I have seen in England, with the exception of the one at Manchester. I received a letter from Mr. Havell only one day old; wonderful activity this in the post-office department. I have been reading good Bewick's book on quadrupeds. I have had no success in Leeds, and to-morrow go to York. _York, October 5._ Mr. Barclay, my agent here, I soon found had done almost nothing, had not indeed delivered all the numbers. I urged him to do better, and went to the Society Hall, where I discovered that the number which had been forwarded from Edinburgh after I had left there was miserably poor, scarcely colored at all. I felt quite ashamed of it, although Mr. Wright thought it good; but I sent it at once to Havell for proper treatment. Being then too late to pay calls, I borrowed a volume of Gil Blas, and have been reading. _October 6._ No luck to-day, my Lucy. I am, one would think, generally either before or after the proper time. I am told that last week, when the Duke of Wellington was here, would have been the better moment. I shall have the same song given me at Newcastle, I dare foretell. I have again been reading Gil Blas; how replete I always find it of good lessons. _October 8._ I walked this morning with Mr. Barclay to the house of Mr. F----, a mile out of town, to ascertain if he had received the first number. His house was expressly built for Queen Elizabeth, who, I was told, had never been in it after all. It resembles an old church, the whole front being of long, narrow windows. The inside is composed of large rooms, highly decorated with ancient pictures of the F---- family. The gardens are also of ancient appearance; there were many box-trees cut in the shape of hats, men, birds, etc. I was assured the number had not been received, so I suppose it never was sent. On our return Mr. Barclay showed me an asylum built by Quakers for the benefit of lunatics, and so contrived with gardens, pleasure-grounds, and such other modes of recreation, that in consequence of these pleasant means of occupying themselves many had recovered. _October 9._ How often I thought during these visits of poor Alexander Wilson. When travelling as I am now, to procure subscribers, he as well as myself was received with rude coldness, and sometimes with that arrogance which belongs to _parvenus_. _October 11._ It has been pouring down rain during all last night and this day, and looks as if it would not cease for some time; it is, however, not such distressing falls of water as we have in Louisiana; it carries not every object off with the storm; the banks of the rivers do not fall in with a crash, with hundreds of acres of forest along with them; no houses are seen floating on the streams with cattle, game, and the productions of the husbandman. No, it rains as if Nature was in a state of despondency, and I am myself very dull; I have been reading Stanley's Tales. _October 12._ This morning I walked along the Ouse; the water had risen several feet and was quite muddy. I had the pleasure of seeing a little green Kingfisher perched close to me for a few minutes; but the instant his quick eye espied me, he dashed off with a shrill squeak, almost touching the water. I must say I longed for a gun to have stopped him, as I never saw one fresh killed. I saw several men fishing with a large scoop-net, fixed to a long pole. The fisherman laid the net gently on the water, and with a good degree of force he sank it, meantime drawing it along the bottom and grassy banks towards him. The fish, intent on feeding, attempted to escape, and threw themselves into the net and were hauled ashore. This was the first successful way of fishing I have seen in England. Some pikes of eight or ten pounds were taken, and I saw some eels. I have set my heart on having two hundred subscribers on my list by the first of May next; should I succeed I shall feel well satisfied, and able to have thee and our sons all together. Thou seest that castles are still building on hopeful foundations only; but he who does not try anything cannot obtain his ends. _October 15, Newcastle._ Yesterday I took the coach and found myself here after an uneventful journey, the route being now known to me, and came to my former lodgings, where I was followed almost immediately by the Marquis of Londonderry, who subscribed at once. Then I called upon friend Adamson, who before I could speak invited me to dinner every day that I was disengaged. He advised me to have a notice in the papers of my being here for a few days, so I went to the _Tyne Mercury_; saw Mr. Donkin, who invited me to breakfast with him to-morrow at half-past seven, _quite my hour_. _October 17._ During the day Mr. Wingate, an excellent practical ornithologist, came to see me, and we had much conversation which interested me greatly. Also came the mayor, who invited me to dine with him publicly to-morrow. I have written to Mr. Selby to ask if he will be at Alnwick Castle on Friday, as if so I will meet him there, and try to find some subscribers. Several persons have asked me how I came to part with Mr. Lizars, and I have felt glad to be able to say that it was at his desire, and that we continue esteemed friends. I have been pleased to find since I left London that all my friends cry against my painting in oil; it proves to me the real taste of good William Rathbone; and _now I do declare to thee_ that I will not spoil any more canvas, but will draw in my usual old, untaught way, which is what God meant me to do. _October 18._ This morning I paid a visit to old Mr. Bewick. I found the good gentleman as usual at work, but he looked much better, as the cotton cap had been discarded for a fur one. He was in good spirits, and we met like old friends. I could not spend as much time with him as I wished, but saw sufficient of him and his family to assure me they were well and happy. I met Mr. Adamson, who went with me to dine at the Mansion House. We were received in a large room, furnished in the ancient style, panelled with oak all round, and very sombre. The company all arrived, we marched in couples to dinner and I was seated in the centre, the mayor at one end, the high sheriff at the other; we were seventy-two in number. As my bad luck would have it, I was toasted by John Clayton, Esq.; he made a speech, and _I_, poor fellow, was obliged to return the compliment, which I did, as usual, most awkwardly and covered with perspiration. Miserable stupidity that never will leave me! I had thousands of questions to answer about the poor aborigines. It was dark when I left, and at my room was a kind letter from Mr. Selby, inviting me to meet him at Alnwick to-morrow. _Twizel House, October 19._ I arrived at Alnwick about eleven this morning, found the little village quite in a bustle, and Mr. Selby at the court. How glad I was to see him again I cannot say, but I well know I feel the pleasure yet, though twelve hours have elapsed. Again I dined with the gentlemen of the Bar, fourteen in number. A great ball takes place at Alnwick Castle this night, but Mr. Selby took me in his carriage and has brought me to his family,--a thousand times more agreeable to me than the motley crowd at the Castle. I met again Captain Mitford, most cordial to me always. To my regret many of my subscribers have not yet received the third number, not even Mr. Selby. I cannot understand this apparent neglect on the part of Mr. Lizars. _Sunday, October 21._ Although it has been raining and blowing without mercy these two days, I have spent my time most agreeably. The sweet children showed their first attachment to me and scarce left me a moment during their pleasure hours, which were too short for us all. Mrs. Selby, who was away with her sick brother, returned yesterday. Confined to the house, reading, music, and painting were our means of enjoyment. Both this morning and this evening Mr. Selby read prayers and a chapter in the Bible to the whole household, the storm being so severe. _Edinburgh, October 22._ I am again in the beautiful Edinburgh; I reached it this afternoon, cold, uncomfortable and in low spirits. Early as it was when I left this morning, Mrs. Selby and her lovely daughter came down to bid me good-bye, and whenever I leave those who show me such pure kindness, and especially such friends as these dear Selbys, it is an absolute pain to me. I think that as I grow older my attachment augments for those who are kind to me; perhaps not a day passes without I visit in thought those mansions where I have been so hospitably received, the inmates of which I recall with every sense of gratitude; the family Rathbone _always first_, the Selbys next, in London Mr. Children, in Manchester the Greggs and Bentleys and my good friend Sergeant, at Leeds Mr. Atkinson, at Newcastle dear old Bewick, Mr. Adamson, and the Rev. William Turner, and here Mr. Lizars and too many to enumerate; but I must go back to Liverpool to name John Chorley, to whom I feel warmly attached. It rained during my whole journey here, and I saw the German Ocean agitated, foaming and dark in the distance, scarce able to discern the line of the horizon. I send my expense account to you, to give Victor an idea of what the cost of travelling will be when he takes charge of my business here, whilst I am procuring fresh specimens. I intend next year _positively_ to keep a cash account with myself and others,--a thing I have never yet done. _October 23._ I visited Mr. Lizars first, and found him as usual at work; he received me well, and asked me to dine with him. I was sorry to learn that Lady Ellen Hall and W. H. Williams had withdrawn their subscriptions, therefore I must exert myself the more. _October 27._ Anxious to appoint an agent at Edinburgh, I sent for Mr. Daniel Lizars the bookseller, and made him an offer which he has accepted; I urged him not to lose a moment in forwarding the numbers which have been lying too long at his brother's; many small matters have had to be arranged, but now I believe all is settled. W. H. Lizars saw the plates of No. 3, and admired them much; called his workmen, and observed to them that the London artists beat them completely. He brought his account, and I paid him in full. I think he regrets now that he decided to give my work up; for I was glad to hear him say that should I think well to intrust him with a portion of it, it should be done as well as Havell's, and the plates delivered in London at the same price. If he can fall twenty-seven pounds in the engraving of each number, and do them in superior style to his previous work, how enormous must his profits have been; good lesson this for me in the time to come, though I must remember Havell is more reasonable owing to what has passed between us in our business arrangements, and the fact that he owes so much to me.[132] I have made many calls, and been kindly welcomed at every house. The "Courant" and the "Scotchman" have honored me with fine encomiums on my work. The weather has been intolerable, raining and blowing constantly. _October 31._ Mr. W. H. Lizars has dampened my spirits a good deal by assuring me that I would not find Scotland so ready at paying for my work as England, and positively advised me not to seek for more subscribers either here or at Glasgow. It is true, six of my first subscribers have abandoned the work without even giving me a reason; so my mind has wavered. If I go to Glasgow and can only obtain names that in the course of a few months will be withdrawn, I am only increasing expenses and losing time, and of neither time nor money have I too great a portion; but when I know that Glasgow is a place of wealth, and has many persons of culture, I decide to go. _November 2._ I called on Professor Wilson this morning who welcomed me heartily, and offered to write something about my work in the journal called "Blackwood"; he made me many questions, and asked me to breakfast to-morrow, and promised me some letters for Glasgow. _November 3._ My breakfast with the Professor was very agreeable. His fine daughter headed the table, and two sons were with us. The more I look at Wilson, the more I admire his originalities,--a man not equal to Walter Scott, it is true, but in many ways nearly approaching him; as free from the detestable stiffness of ceremonies as I am when I can help myself, no cravat, no waistcoat, but a fine _frill_ of his own profuse beard, his hair flowing uncontrolled, and in his speech dashing at once at the object in view, without circumlocution; with a countenance beaming with intellect, and eyes that would do justice to the _Bird of Washington_. He gives me comfort, by being comfortable himself. With such a man I can talk for a whole day, and could listen for years. _Glasgow, November 4._ At eleven I entered the coach for my ride of forty-two miles; three inside passengers besides myself made the entire journey without having uttered a single word; we all sat like so many owls of different species, as if afraid of one another, and on the _qui vive_, all as dull as the barren country I travelled this day. A few glimpses of dwarflike yellow pines here and there seemed to wish to break the dreariness of this portion of Scotland, but the attempt was in vain, and I sat watching the crows that flew under the dark sky foretelling winter's approach. I arrived here too late to see any portion of the town, for when the coach stopped at the Black Bull all was so dark that I could only see it was a fine, broad, long street. _November 8._ I am off to-morrow morning, and perhaps forever will say farewell to Glasgow. I have been here _four_ days and have obtained _one_ subscriber. One subscriber in a city of 150,000 souls, rich, handsome, and with much learning. Think of 1400 pupils in one college! Glasgow is a fine city; the Clyde here is a small stream crossed by three bridges. The shipping consists of about a hundred brigs and schooners, but I counted eighteen steam vessels, black, ugly things as ever were built. One sees few carriages, but _thousands_ of carts. _Edinburgh, November 9._ In my old lodgings, after a journey back from the "City of the West" which was agreeable enough, all the passengers being men of intellect and social natures. _November 10._ I left this house this morning an hour and a half before day, and pushed off for the sea-shore, or, as it is called, The Firth. It was calm and rather cold, but I enjoyed it, and reached Professor Jameson's a few minutes before breakfast. I was introduced to the "Lord of Ireland," an extremely intelligent person and an enthusiast in zoölogical researches; he had been a great traveller, and his conversation was highly interesting. In the afternoon I went to the summit of Arthur's Seat; the day was then beautiful and the extensive view cheered my spirits. _November 13._ I arrived at Twizel Hall at half-past four in good time for dinner, having travelled nearly eighty miles quite alone in the coach, not the Mail but the Union. Sir William Jardine met me on my arrival. I assure thee it was a pleasure to spend two days here,--shooting while it was fair, and painting when rainy. In one of our walks I shot five Pheasants, one Hare, one Rabbit, and one Partridge; gladly would I remain here longer, but my work demands me elsewhere. _York, November 18._ I have been here five hours. The day was so-so, and my companions in the coach of the dormouse order; eighty-two miles and no conversation is to me dreadful. Moreover our coachman, having in sight a coach called the "High-Flyer," felt impelled to keep up with that vehicle, and so lashed the horses that we kept close to it all the while. Each time we changed our animals I saw them quite exhausted, panting for breath, and covered with sweat and the traces of the blows they had received; I assure thee my heart ached. How such conduct agrees with the ideas of humanity I constantly hear discussed, I leave thee to judge. _Liverpool, November 22._ I left Manchester at four this morning; it was very dark, and bitterly cold, but my travelling companions were pleasant, so the time passed quite quickly. At a small village about half-way here, three felons and a man to guard them mounted the coach, bound to Botany Bay. These poor wretches were chained to each other by the legs, had scarcely a rag on, and those they wore so dirty that no one could have helped feeling deep pity for them, case-hardened in vice as they seemed to be. They had some money, for they drank ale and brandy wherever we stopped. Though cold, the sun rose in full splendor, but the fickleness of the weather in this country is wonderful; before reaching here it snowed, rained, and cleared up again. On arriving I went at once to the Royal Institution, and on my way met William Rathbone. I recognized him as far as I could see him, but could easily have passed him unnoticed, as, shivering with cold, I was wrapped up in my large cloak. Glad was I to hold him once more by the hand, and to learn that all my friends were well. I have seen Dr. Traill, John Chorley, and many others who were kind to me when I was here before. All welcomed me warmly. _November 22._ This day after my arrival I rose before day and walked to Green Bank. When half my walk was over the sun rose, and my pleasure increased every moment that brought me nearer to my generous, kind "Lady" Rathbone and her sweet daughter, Miss Hannah. When I reached the house all was yet silent within, and I rambled over the frozen grass, watching the birds that are always about the place, enjoying full peace and security. The same Black Thrush (probably) that I have often heard before was perched on a fir-tree announcing the beauty of this winter morning in his melodious voice; the little Robins flitted about, making towards those windows that they knew would soon be opened to them. How I admired every portion of the work of God. I entered the hot-house and breathed the fragrance of each flower, yet sighed at the sight of some that I recognized as offsprings of my own beloved country. Henry Chorley, who had been spending the night at Green Bank, now espied me from his window, so I went in and soon was greeted by that best of friends, "Lady" Rathbone. After breakfast Miss Hannah opened the window and her favorite little Robin hopped about the carpet, quite at home. I returned to Liverpool with Mr. B.[133] Rathbone, who, much against my wishes, for I can do better work now, bought my picture of the Hawk pouncing on the Partridges. _November 26._ Visited Dr. Traill, to consult with him on the best method of procuring subscribers, and we have decided that I am to call on Mr. W. W. Currie, the president of the Athenæum, to obtain his leave to show my work in the Reading Room, and for me to have notes of invitation printed and sent to each member, for them to come and inspect the work as far as it goes. I called on Mr. Currie and obtained his permission at once, so the matter is _en train_. _November 30._ I have spent the day at Woodcroft with Richard Rathbone. Mrs. Rathbone wishes me to teach her how to paint in oils. Now is it not too bad that I cannot do so, for want of talent? My birds in _water-colors_ have plumage and soft colors, but in oils--alas! I walked into town with Richard Rathbone, who rode his horse. I kept by his side all the way, the horse walking. I do not rely as much on my activity as I did twenty years ago, but I still think I could kill any horse in England in twenty days, taking the travel over rough and level grounds. This might be looked upon as a boast by many, but, I am quite satisfied, not by those who have seen me travel at the rate of five miles an hour all day. Once indeed I recollect going from Louisville to Shippingport[134] in fourteen minutes, with as much ease as if I had been on skates. _December 3._ This morning I made sketches of all the parts of the Platypus[135] for William Gregg, who is to deliver a lecture on this curious animal. To-day and yesterday have been rainy, dismal indeed; very dismal is an English December. I am working very hard, writing constantly. The greater part of this day was spent at the Athenæum; many visitors, but no subscribers. _December 4._ Again at the library and had one subscriber. A letter from Charles Bonaparte tells me he has decided not to reside in America, but in Florence; this I much regret. I have been reading the "Travels of the Marquis de Chastelleux" in our country, which contains very valuable and correct facts. _December 10._ Mr. Atherton, a relation of friend Selby's, took breakfast with me, and then conducted me to see a very beautiful bird (alive) of the Eagle kind, from the Andes.[136] It is quite unknown to me; about the size of the Bird of Washington, much shorter in the wings, larger talons and longer claws, with erected feathers, in the form of a fan, on the head. The bill was dark blue, the crest yellow, upper part of the body dark brown; so was the whole head and neck, as well as the tail and vent, but the belly and breast were white. I soon perceived that it was a young bird; its cry resembled that of almost every Eagle, but was weaker in sound on account of its tender age, not exceeding ten months. Were I to give it a name, it would be the _Imperial Crowned Eagle_. It was fed on raw beef, and occasionally a live fowl by way of a treat to the by-standers, who, it seems, always take much pleasure in cruel acts. The moment I saw this magnificent bird I wished to own it, to send it as a present to the Zoölogical Gardens. I received a letter from Thomas Sully telling me in the most frank and generous manner that I have been severely handled in one of the Philadelphia newspapers. The editor calls all I said in my papers read before the different societies in Edinburgh "a pack of lies." Friend Sully is most heartily indignant, but with me my motto is: "_Le temps découvrira la vérité._" It is, however, hard that a poor man like me, who has been so devotedly intent on bringing forth facts of curious force, should be brought before the world as a liar by a man who doubtless knows little of the inhabitants of the forests on the Schuylkill, much less of those elsewhere. It is both unjust and ungenerous, but I forgive him. I shall keep up a good heart, trust to my God, attend to my work with industry and care, and in time outlive these trifles. _December 13._ I went this evening to hear the Tyrolese Singers, three brothers and their sister. They were all dressed in the costume of their country, but when they sang I saw no more; I know not how to express my feelings. I was in an instant transported into some wild glen from which arose high mountain crags, which threw back the melodious echoes. The wild, clear, harmonious music so entered into my being that for a time I was not sure that what I heard was a reality. Imagine the warbling of strong-throated Thrushes, united with the bugle-horn, a flute, and a hautboy, in full unison. I could have listened all night. _December 14, 1827._ By the advice of our consul, Mr. Maury, I have presented a copy of my work to the President of the United States, and another to the House of Congress through Henry Clay. _December 16, Sunday._ I went to the service at my favorite church, the one at the Blind Asylum; the anthems were so exquisitely sung that I felt, as all persons ought to do when at church, full of fervent devotion. _December 18._ It was with great regret that I found my friend Wm. Roscoe very unwell. This noble man has had a paralytic attack; his mind is fully sensible of the decay of his body, and he meets this painful trial with patience and almost contentment. This only can be the case with those who in their past life have been upright and virtuous. I finished drawing a little Wren for my good friend Hannah, as well as artificial light would allow. _December 20._ I have done nothing to-day; I have had that sort of laziness that occasionally feeds upon my senses unawares; it is a kind of constitutional disease with me from time to time, as if to give my body necessary rest, and enable me to recommence with fresh vigor and alacrity whatever undertaking I have in hand. When it has passed, however, I always reproach myself that I have lost a day. I went to the theatre with John Chorley to see "The Hypocrite;" it is stolen from Molière's famous "Tartuffe,"--cut and sliced to suit the English market. I finished my evening by reading the Life of Tasso. _December 24._ The whole town appears to be engaged in purchasing eatables for to-morrow. I saw some people carrying large nosegays of holly ornamented with flowers in imitation of white roses, carnations, and others, cut out of turnips and carrots; but I heard not a single gun fire, no fireworks going on anywhere,--a very different time to what we have in Louisiana. I spent my evening with Dr. Rutter looking at his valuable collection of prints of the men of the Revolution. Poor Charette,[137] whom I saw shot on the Place de Viarme at Nantes, was peculiarly good, as were General Moreau, Napoleon, when Consul, and many others; and Dr. Rutter knew their lives well. _December 25._ At midnight I was awakened by Dr. Munroe, who came with a bottle of that smoky Scotch whiskey which I can never like, and who insisted on my taking a glass with him in honor of the day. Christmas in my country is very different indeed from what I have seen here. With us it is a general merry-making, a day of joy. Our lads have guns, and fire almost all night, and dance all day and the next night. Invitations are sent to all friends and acquaintances, and the time passes more gayly than I can describe. Here, _families_ only join together, they go to church together, eat a very good dinner together, I dare say; but all is dull--silent--mournful. As to myself, I took a walk and dined with Mr. Munroe and family, and spent a quiet evening with John Chorley. This is my Christmas day for 1827. _December 28._ Immediately after breakfast the box came containing the fifth number, and three full sets for my new subscribers here. The work pleased me quite. _December 29._ This morning I walked to "Lady" Rathbone's with my fifth number. It is quite impossible to approach Green Bank, when the weather is at all fair, without enjoying the song of some birds; for, Lucy, that sweet place is sacred, and all the feathered tribe in perfect safety. A Redwing particularly delighted me to-day; I found something of the note of our famous Mock-bird in his melody. * * * * * _January 1, 1828, Manchester._ How many times since daylight reached my eyes, I have wished thee, my Lucy, our sons, and our friends, a year of comfort, of peace and enjoyment, I cannot tell, for the day is to me always one on which to pray for those we love. Now, my Lucy, when I wished thee a happy New Year this morning I emptied my snuff box, locked up the box in my trunk, and will take _no more_. The habit within a few weeks has grown upon me, so farewell to it; it is a useless and not very clean habit, besides being an expensive one. Snuff! farewell to thee. Thou knowest, Lucy, well that when I will _I will_. I came here straight to friend Sergeant's; I need not say I was welcomed; and Bentley soon came in to spend the evening with us. _London, January 5, 1828._ At six last evening I was in the coach with three companions; I slept well after we stopped for supper at nine o'clock, but not long enough. I cannot sleep in the morning, and was awake four long hours before day. The moon, that had shone brightly, sunk in the west as day dawned, the frost appeared thickly strewn over the earth, and not a cloud was in sight. I saw a few flocks of Partridges on their roost, which thou knowest well is on the ground, with their heads all turned to east, from which a gentle waft of air was felt; the cattle were lying here and there; a few large flocks of Starlings were all that interested me. The dawn was clear, but before we left Northampton it rained, snowed, and blew as if the elements had gone mad; strange country, to be sure. The three gentlemen in the coach with me suggested cards, and asked me to take a hand; of course I said yes, but only on condition that they did not play for money, a thing I have never done. They agreed very courteously, though expressing their surprise, and we played whist all day, till I was weary. I know little about cards, and never play unless obliged to by circumstances; I feel no pleasure in the game, and long for other occupation. Twenty-four hours after leaving Manchester, we stopped at the Angel Inn, Islington Road. I missed my snuff all day; whenever my hands went into my pockets in search of my box, and I discovered the strength of habit, thus acting without thought, I blessed myself that my mind was stronger than my body. I am again in London, but not dejected and low of spirits and disheartened as I was when I came in May last; no, indeed! I have now _friends_ in London, and hope to keep them. _95 Great Russell St., January 6._ I took a famous walk before day, up to Primrose Hill, and was back before anyone in the house was up. I have spent the whole day going over my drawings, and decided on the twenty-five that are to form the numbers for 1828. The new birds I have named as follows: Children,[138] Vigors,[139] Temminck, Cuvier.[140] Havell came and saw the drawings; it gave him an idea of the work to be performed between now and next January. _January 8._ I have ordered one set of my birds to be colored by Havell _himself_, for Congress, and the numbers already out will soon be _en route_. My frame maker came in, and the poor man took it for granted that I was _an artist_, but, dear me! what a mistake; I can draw, but I shall never paint well. The weather is extremely dull and gloomy; during the morning the light was of a deep yellow cast. _January 9._ Had a long letter from John Chorley, and after some talk with my good friend J. G. Children, have decided to write nothing more except the biographies of my birds. It takes too much time to write to this one and that one, to assure them that what I have written is _fact_. When Nature as it is found in my beloved America is better understood, these things will be known generally, and when I have been dead twenty years, more or less, my statements will be accepted everywhere; till then they may wait.[141] I have a violent cough and sore throat that renders me heavy and stupid; twenty-five years ago I would not have paid it the least attention; now I am told that at my age and in this climate (which, God knows, is indeed a very bad one), I may have trouble if I do not take some remedy. I walked out at four this morning, but the air was thick and I did not enjoy it. _January 10_. I am going to surprise thee. I had a dentist inspect my teeth, as they ached; he thought it was the effect of my cold, as all are quite perfect and I have never lost one. My throat continuing very sore, I remained in my rooms, and have had Havell, Robert Sully, and Mr. Children for companions. _January 14._ I feel now much better, after several feverish days, but have not moved from the house; every one of my friends show me much kindness. _January 17._ A long morning with Havell settling accounts; it is difficult work for a man like me to see that I am neither cheating nor cheated. All is paid for 1827, and I am well ahead in funds. Had I made such regular settlements all my life, I should never have been as poor a man as I have been; but on the other hand I should never have published the "Birds of America." America! my country! Oh, to be there! _January 18._ Spent the morning with Dr. Lambert and Mr. Don,[142] the famous botanist; we talked much of the plants and trees of America and of Mr. Nuttall[143] while opening and arranging a great parcel of dried plants from the Indies. This afternoon I took a cab and with my portfolio went to Mr. Children's. I cannot, he tells me, take my portfolio on my shoulder in London as I would in New York, or even _tenacious_ Philadelphia. _January 20._ Oh! how dull I feel; how long am I to be confined in this immense jail? In London, amidst all the pleasures, I feel unhappy and dull; the days are heavy, the nights worse. Shall I ever again see and enjoy the vast forests in their calm purity, the beauties of America? I wish myself anywhere but in London. _Why_ do I dislike London? Is it because the constant evidence of the contrast between the rich and the poor is a torment to me, or is it because of its size and crowd? I know not, but I long for sights and sounds of a different nature. Young Green came to ask me to go with him to see Regent's Park, and we went accordingly, I rather an indifferent companion, I fear, till we reached the bridge that crosses the waters there, where I looked in vain for water-fowl. Failing to find any I raised my eyes towards the peaceful new moon, and to my astonishment saw a large flock of Wild Ducks passing over me; after a few minutes a second flock passed, which I showed my young friend. Two flocks of Wild Ducks, of upwards of twenty each! Wonderful indeed! I thought of the many I have seen when bent on studying their habits, and grew more homesick than ever. _January 21._ Notwithstanding this constant darkness of mood, my business must be attended to; therefore soon after dawn I joined Havell and for many hours superintended his coloring of the plates for Congress. While I am not a colorist, and Havell is a very superior one, I _know_ the birds; would to God I was among them. From here I went to find a bookseller named Wright, but I passed the place twice because I looked too high for his sign; the same occurs to young hunters, who, when first they tread the woods in search of a Deer, keep looking high, and far in the distance, and so pass many a one of these cunning animals, that, squatted in a parcel of dry brush-wood, sees his enemy quite well, and suffers him to pass without bouncing from his couch. The same instinct that leads me through woods struck me in the Haymarket, and now I found Mr. Wright. Our interview over, I made for Piccadilly, the weather as mild as summer, and the crowd innumerable. Piccadilly was filled with carriages of all sorts, men on horseback, and people everywhere; what a bustle! _January 22._ I was so comfortless last night that I scarcely closed my eyes, and at last dressed and walked off in the dark to Regent's Park, led there because _there_ are some objects in the shape of trees, the grass is green, and from time to time the sweet notes of a Blackbird strike my ear and revive my poor heart, as it carries my mind to the woods around thee, my Lucy. As daylight came a flock of Starlings swept over my head, and I watched their motions on the green turf where they had alighted, until I thought it time to return to breakfast, and I entered my lodgings quite ready for my usual bowl of bread and milk, which I still keep to for my morning meal; how often have I partaken of it in simple cabins, much more to my taste than all the pomp of London. Drawing all day long. _January 23._ How delighted and pleased I have been this day at the receiving of thy letter of the 1st of November last. My Lucy, thou art so good to me, and thy advices are so substantial, that, rest assured, I will follow them closely. _January 24._ To my delight friend Bentley appeared this evening. I was glad I could give him a room while he is in London. He brought news of some fresh subscribers, and a letter from the Rev. D---- to ask to be excused from continuing the work. Query: how many amongst my now long list of subscribers will continue the work throughout? _January 25._ I usually leave the house two hours before day for a long walk; this morning it was again to Regent's Park; this gives me a long day for my work. After breakfast Bentley and I paid a long visit to Mr. Leadbeater, the great stuffer of birds. He was very cordial, and showed us many beautiful and rare specimens; but they were all _stuffed_, and I cannot bear them, no matter how well mounted they may be. I received to-day a perpetual ticket of admission to Mr. Cross's exhibition of quadrupeds, live birds, etc., which pleased me very much, for there I can look upon Nature, even if confined in iron cages. Bentley made me a present of a curiosity,--a "double penny" containing a single one, a half-penny within that, a farthing in that, and a silver penny within all. Now, my Lucy, who could have thought to make a thing like that? _January 26._ Of course my early walk. After breakfast, Bentley being desirous to see Regent's Park, I accompanied him thither and we walked all round it; I think it is rather more than a mile in diameter. We saw a squadron of horse, and as I am fond of military manoeuvres, and as the horses were all handsome, with full tails, well mounted and managed, it was a fine sight, and we both admired it. We then went to Mr. Cross, and I had the honor of riding on a very fine and gentle elephant; I say "honor," because the immense animal was so well trained and so obedient as to be an example to many human beings who are neither. The Duchess of A---- came in while I was there,--a large, very fat, red-faced woman, but with a sweet voice, who departed in a coach drawn by four horses with two riders, and two footmen behind; almost as much attendance as when she was a queen on the boards of ---- theatre, thirty years ago. _January 28._ I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day announcing to me the loss of four subscribers; but these things do not damp my spirits half so much as the smoke of London. I am as dull as a beetle. _January 31._ I have been in my room most of this day, and very dull in this dark town. _February 1, 1828._ Another Journal! It has now twenty-six brothers;[144] some are of French manufacture, some from Gilpin's "Mills on the Brandywine," some from other parts of America, but you are positively a Londoner. I bought you yesterday from a man across the street for fourteen shillings; and what I write in you is for my wife, Lucy Audubon, a matchless woman, and for my two Kentucky lads, whom I do fervently long to press to my heart again. It has rained all day. Bentley and I paid a visit to the great anatomist, Dr. J. Brookes,[145] to see his collection of skeletons of divers objects. He received us with extreme kindness. I saw in his yard some few rare birds. He was called away on sudden and important business before we saw his museum, so we are to go on Monday. Mr. Cross, of the Exeter Exchange, had invited Bentley and me to dinner with his quadrupeds and bipeds, and at three o'clock we took a coach, for the rain was too heavy for Bentley, and drove to the Menagerie. Mr. Cross by no means deserves his name, for he is a pleasant man, and we dined with his wife and himself and the keepers of the BEASTS (name given by _men_ to quadrupeds). None of the company were very polished, but all behaved with propriety and good humor, and I liked it on many accounts. Mr. Cross conversed very entertainingly. Bentley had two tickets for Drury Lane Theatre. It was "The Critic" again; immediately after, as if in spite of that good lesson, "The Haunted Inn" was performed, and the two gentlemen called _Matthews_ and _Litton_ so annoyed me with their low wit that I often thought that, could Shakespeare or Garrick be raised from their peaceful places of rest, tears of sorrow would have run down their cheeks to see how abused their darling theatre was this night. Bentley was more fortunate than I, he went to sleep. At my rooms I found a little circular piece of ivory with my name, followed by "and friends," and a letter stating it was a perpetual ticket of admission to the Zoölogical Gardens. This was sent at the request of Mr. Brookes. _February 2._ Bentley and I went to the Gardens of the Zoölogical Society, which are at the opposite end of Regent's Park from my lodgings. The Gardens are quite in a state of infancy; I have seen more curiosities in a swamp in America in one morning than is collected here since eighteen months; all, however, is well planned, clean, and what specimens they have are fine and in good condition. As we were leaving I heard my name called, and turning saw Mr. Vigors with a companion to whom he introduced me; it was the famous Captain Sabine,[146] a tall, thin man, who at once asked me if among the Eagles they had, any were the young of the White-headed Eagle, or as he called the bird, the _Falco leucocephalus_. Strange that such great men should ask a woodsman questions like that, which I thought could be solved by either of them at a glance. I answered in the affirmative, for I have seen enough of them to know. _February 4._ I made a present to Bentley of the first number of my work, and some loose prints for his brothers. Then we went to Mr. Brookes, the surgeon, and saw his immense and wonderful collection of anatomical subjects. The man has spent about the same number of years at this work as I have at my own, and now offers it for sale at £10,000. I then called on Vigors and told him I wished to name my new bird in No. 6 after him, and he expressed himself well pleased. This evening I took my portfolio to Soho Square and entered the rooms of the Linnæan Society, where I found I was the first arrival. I examined the various specimens till others came in. The meeting was called to order, and I was shortly after elected a member; my drawings were examined, and more than one told me it was a sad thing they were so little known in London. _February 7._ Havell brought me the sets he owed me for 1827, and I paid him in full. Either through him or Mr. Lizars I have met with a loss of nearly £100, for I am charged for fifty numbers more than can be accounted for by my agents or myself. This seems strange always to me, that people cannot be honest, but I must bring myself to believe many are not, from my own experiences. My evening was spent in Bruton Street, at the Zoölogical Society rooms, where Lord Stanley accompanied me, with Lord Auckland and good old General Hardwicke, and my portfolio was again opened and my work discussed. _February 10._ This morning I took one of my drawings from my portfolio and began to copy it, and intend to finish it in better style. It is the White-headed Eagle which I drew on the Mississippi some years ago, feeding on a Wild Goose; now I shall make it breakfast on a Catfish, the drawing of which is also with me, with the marks of the talons of another Eagle, which I disturbed on the banks of that same river, driving him from his prey. I worked from seven this morning till dark. _February 11._ Precisely the same as yesterday, neither cross nor dull, therefore, but perfectly happy. _February 12._ Still hard at it, and this evening the objects on my paper look more like a bird and a fish than like a windmill, as they have done. Three more days and the drawing will be finished if I have no interruptions. _February 14._ No drawing to-day; no, indeed! At nine this morning I was at the house of friend Hays, No. 21 Queen Street, to meet the Secretary of the Colonial Department. Mr. Hays showed me a superb figure of a Hercules in brass, found in France by a peasant while ploughing, and for which £300 has been refused. _February 16._ Yesterday I worked at my drawing all day, and began this morning at seven, and worked till half-past four, only ceasing my work to take a glass of milk brought me by my landlady. I have looked carefully at the effect and the finishing. Ah! my Lucy, that I could paint in oils as I can in my own style! How proud I should be, and what handsome pictures I should soon have on hand. _February 24._ I heard to-day of the death of Mrs. Gregg of Quarry Bank. I was grieved to know that kind lady, who had showed me much hospitality, should have died; I have hesitated to write to her son-in-law, Mr. Rathbone, fearing to disturb the solemnity of his sorrow. At the Linnæan Society this evening, my friend Selby's work lay on the table by mine, and very unfair comparisons were drawn between the two; I am quite sure that had he had the same opportunities that my curious life has granted me, his work would have been far superior to mine; I supported him to the best of my power. The fact is, _I_ think, that no man yet has done anything in the way of illustrating the birds of England comparable to his great work; then besides, he is an excellent man, devoted to his science, and if he has committed slight errors, it becomes men of science not to dwell upon these to the exclusion of all else. I was to-day elected an original member of the Zoölogical Society. I also learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence who prevented the British Museum from subscribing to my work; he considered the drawing so-so, and the engraving and coloring bad; when I remember how he praised these same drawings _in my presence_, I wonder--that is all. _February 25._ A most gloomy day; had I no work what a miserable life I should lead in London. I receive constantly many invitations, but all is so formal, so ceremonious, I care not to go. Thy piano sailed to-day; with a favorable voyage it may reach New Orleans in sixty days. I have read the Grand Turk's proclamation and sighed at the awful thought of a war all over Europe; but there, thou knowest I am no politician. A fine young man, Mr. J. F. Ward, a bird-stuffer to the King, came to me this afternoon to study some of the positions of my birds. I told him I would lend him anything I had. _February 28._ To-day I called by appointment on the Earl of Kinnoul, a small man, with a face like the caricature of an owl; he said he had sent for me to tell me all my birds _were alike_, and he considered my work a swindle. He may really think this, his knowledge is probably small; but it is not the custom to send for a gentleman to abuse him in one's own house. I heard his words, bowed, and without speaking, left the rudest man I have met in this land; but he is only thirty, and let us hope may yet learn how to behave to a perfect stranger under his roof. _February 29._ A man entered my room this afternoon, and said: "Sir, I have some prisoners to deliver to you from the town of York." "Prisoners!" I exclaimed, "why, who are they?" The good man produced a very small cage, and I saw two sweet little Wood Larks, full of vivacity, and as shy as prisoners in custody. Their eyes sparkled with fear, their little bodies were agitated, the motions of their breasts showed how their hearts palpitated; their plumage was shabby, but they were Wood Larks, and I saw them with a pleasure bordering on frenzy. Wood Larks! The very word carried me from this land into woods indeed. These sweet birds were sent to me from York, by my friend John Backhouse, an ornithologist of real merit, and with them came a cake of bread made of a peculiar mixture, for their food. I so admired the dear captives that for a while I had a strong desire to open their prison, and suffer them to soar over London towards the woodlands dearest to them; and yet the selfishness belonging to man alone made me long to keep them. Ah! man! _what a brute thou art!_--so often senseless of those sweetest feelings that ought to ornament our species, if indeed we are the "lords of creation." _Cambridge, March 3._ I arrived at this famous University town at half-past four this afternoon, after a tedious ride of eight and a half hours from London, in a heavy coach in which I entered at the White Horse, Fetter Lane, and I am now at the Blue Boar, and blue enough am I. But never mind, I was up _truly early_, took a good walk in Regent's Park, and was back before any one in the house was up. Sully took breakfast with me, and took charge of my Larks, and saw me off. I thought we never would get rid of London, it took just one hour to get clear of the city. What a place! Yet many persons live there solely because they like it. At last the refreshing country air filled my lungs; I saw with pleasure many tender flowers peeping out of the earth, anxious to welcome the approaching spring. The driver held confidences with every grog shop between London and Cambridge, and his purple face gave powerful evidences that malt liquor is more enticing to him than water. The country is flat, but it was country, and I saw a few lambs gambolling by their timorous dams, a few Rooks digging the new-ploughed ground for worms, a few Finches on the budding hedges. On entering Cambridge I was struck with its cleanliness, the regular shape of the colleges, and the number of students with floating mantles, flat caps, and long tassels of silk, hanging sideways. I had a letter for a lodging house where I expected to stay, but no numbers are affixed to any doors in Cambridge. I do not know if it is so in order to teach the students to better remember things, but I found it very inconvenient; I hunted and searched in vain, and as the students in their gay moods have been in the habit of destroying all the door-bells, I had to knock loudly at any door where I wished to make inquiries, but not finding the good lady to whom my letter was addressed, I am still at the inn. _March 4._ One of my travelling-companions, Mr. ----, an architect, offered to show me some of the Colleges, and put me in the way of delivering some of my letters; so we walked through the different courts of Trinity, and I was amazed at the exquisite arrangement of the buildings, and when we arrived at the walks I was still more pleased. I saw beautiful grass-plats, fine trees, around which the evergreen, dark, creeping ivy, was entwined, and heard among the birds that enlivened these the shrill notes of the Variegated Woodpecker, quite enchanting. As I passed under these trees I tried to recollect how many illustrious learned men have studied within the compass of their shade. A little confined, but pure streamlet, called the Cam, moved slowly on, and the air was delicious. We went to St. John's, where my companion was engaged in some work, and here I left him, and continued on my way alone, to deliver my letters. I called on the Rev. H. Greenwood, Professor Sedgwick,[147] and Professor Whewell;[148] all were most kind, as were the Rev. Thos. Catton, Mr. G. A. Brown, Mr. George Heath, and Professor Henslow,[149] and I have made several engagements to dine, etc. _March 5._ Since I left Edinburgh, I have not had a day as brilliant as this in point of being surrounded by learned men. This morning I took a long walk among the Colleges, and watched many birds; while thus employed, a well dressed man handed me a card on which was written in _English_, "The bearer desires to meet with some one who speaks either French, Italian, or Spanish." I spoke to him in Spanish and French, both of which he knew well. He showed me a certificate from the consul of Sweden, at Leith, which affirmed his story, that he with three sailors had been shipwrecked, and now wished to return to the Continent, but they had only a few shillings, and none of them spoke English. I gave him a sovereign, just as I saw Professor Sedgwick approaching; he came to my room to see my birds, but could only give me a short time as he had a lecture to deliver. I returned to my rooms, and just as I was finishing lunch the Vice-Chancellor made his appearance,--a small old man, with hair as white as snow, dressed in a flowing gown, with two little bits of white muslin in lieu of cravat. He remained with me upwards of two hours; he admired my work, and promised to do all he could. I was delighted with his conversation; he is a man of wide knowledge, and it seemed to me of sound judgment. Professor Henslow invited me to dine on Friday, and just as I finished my note of acceptance, came in with three gentlemen. At four I went to Mr. Greenwood's to dine; as I entered I saw with dismay upwards of thirty gentlemen; I was introduced to one after another, and then we went to the "Hall," where dinner was set. This hall resembled the interior of a Gothic church; a short prayer was said, and we sat down to a sumptuous dinner. Eating was not precisely my object, it seldom is; I looked first at the _convives_. A hundred students sat apart from our table, and the "Fellows," twelve in number, with twenty guests constituted our "mess." The dinner, as I said, was excellent, and I thought these learned "Fellows" must have read, among other studies, Dr. Kitchener on the "Art of Cookery." The students gradually left in parcels, as vultures leave a carcass; we remained. A fine gilt or gold tankard, containing a very strong sort of nectar, was handed to me; I handed it, after tasting, to the next, and so it went round. Now a young man came, and as we rose, he read a short prayer from a small board (such as butchers use to kill flies with). We then went to the room where we had assembled, and conversation at once began; perhaps the wines went the rounds for an hour, then tea and coffee, after which the table was cleared, and I was requested to open my portfolio. I am proud _now_ to show them, and I saw with pleasure these gentlemen admired them. I turned over twenty-five, but before I had finished received the subscription of the Librarian for the University, and the assurance of the Secretary of the Philosophical Society that they would take it. It was late before I was allowed to come away. _Thursday, March 6._ A cold snowy day; I went to the library of the University and the Philosophical Society rooms, and dined again in "Hall," with Professor Sedgwick. There were four hundred students, and forty "Fellows;" quite a different scene from Corpus College. Each one devoured his meal in a hurry; in less than half an hour grace was read again by _two_ students, and Professor Whewell took me to his own rooms with some eight or ten others. My book was inspected as a matter of courtesy. Professor Sedgwick was gay, full of wit and cleverness; the conversation was very animated, and I enjoyed it much. Oh! my Lucy, that I also had received a university education! I listened and admired for a long time, when suddenly Professor Whewell began asking me questions about the woods, the birds, the aborigines of America. The more I rove about, the more I find how little known the interior of America is; we sat till late. No subscriber to-day, but I must not despair; nothing can be done without patience and industry, and, thank God, I have both. _March 7._ The frost was so severe last night that the ground was white when I took my walk; I saw ice an eighth of an inch thick. As most of the fruit trees are in blossom, the gardeners will suffer this year. Inclement though it was, the birds were courting, and some, such as Jackdaws and Rooks, forming nests. After breakfast I went to the library, having received a permit, and looked at three volumes of Le Vaillant's "Birds of Africa," which contain very bad figures. I was called from here to show my work to the son of Lord Fitzwilliam, who came with his tutor, Mr. Upton. The latter informed me the young nobleman wished to own the book. I showed my drawings, and he, being full of the ardor of youth, asked where he should write his name. I gave him my list; his youth, his good looks, his courtesy, his refinement attracted me much, and made me wish his name should stand by that of some good friend. There was no room by Mrs. Rathbone's, so I asked that he write immediately above the Countess of Morton, and he wrote in a beautiful hand, which I wish I could equal, "Hon. W. C. Wentworth Fitzwilliam." He is a charming young man, and I wish him _bon voyage_ through life. On returning to my lodgings this evening, my landlord asked me to join him in what he called "a glass of home-brewed." I accepted, not to hurt his feelings, a thing I consider almost criminal; but it is muddy looking stuff, not to my taste. _Saturday, 8th._ The weather bad, but my eyes and ears were greeted by more birds than I have seen yet in this country. I dined at the Vice-Chancellor's, and found myself among men of deep research, learning, and knowledge,--mild in expressions, kind in attentions, and under whom I fervently wished it had been my lot to have received such an education as they possess. _Sunday, March 9._ Cambridge on a Sunday is a place where I would suppose the basest mind must relax, for the time being, from the error of denying the existence of a Supreme Being; all is calm--silent-- solemn--almost sublime. The beautiful bells fill the air with melody, and the heart with a wish for prayer. I went to church with Mr. Whewell at Great St. Mary's, and heard an impressive sermon on Hope from Mr. Henslow. After that I went to admire Nature, as the day was beautifully inviting. Professor Heath of King's College wished me to see his splendid chapel, and with a ticket of admission I resorted there at three. We had simple hymns and prayers, the former softly accompanied by the notes of an immense organ, standing nearly in the centre of that astonishing building; the chanters were all young boys in white surplices. I walked with Mr. Heath to Mr. Whewell's, and with him went to Trinity Chapel. The charm that had held me all day was augmented many fold as I entered an immense interior where were upward of four hundred collegians in their white robes. The small wax tapers, the shadowy distances, the slow footfalls of those still entering, threw my imagination into disorder. A kind of chilliness almost as of fear came to me, my lips quivered, my heart throbbed, I fell on my knees and prayed to be helped and comforted. I shall remember this sensation forever, my Lucy. When at Liverpool, I always go to the church for the blind; did I reside at Cambridge, I would be found each Sunday at Trinity Chapel. _March 12._ I was introduced to Judge ----, on his way to court,--a monstrously ugly old man, with a wig that might make a capital bed for an Osage Indian during the whole of a cold winter on the Arkansas River. _London, March 15._ The scene is quite changed, or better say returned, for I am again in London. I found my little Larks as lively as ever, but judge of my pleasure when I found three letters from thee and Victor and Johnny, dated Nov. 10, Dec. 19, and Jan. 20. What comfort would it be to see thee. Havell tells me a hundred sets of No. 6 are in hand for coloring. Mr. David Lyon called to see my work, and said it had been recommended to him by Sir Thos. Lawrence. This seems strange after what I heard before, but like all other men Sir Thomas has probably his enemies, and falsehoods have been told about him. _March 20._ Called on Havell and saw the plate of the Parroquets nearly finished; I think it is a beautiful piece of work. My landlady received a notice that if she did not pay her rent to-morrow an officer would be put in possession. I perceived she was in distress when I came in, and asking her trouble gave her what assistance I could by writing a cheque for £20, which she has promised to repay. This evening I went to Covent Garden to see "Othello;" I had an excellent seat. I saw Kean, Young, and Kemble; the play was terrifyingly well performed. _Saturday, March 20._ To-day I was with friend Sergeant most of the time; this evening have paid Havell in full, and now, thank God, feel free to leave noisy, smoky London. _Oxford, March 24._ I am now in Oxford _the clean_, and in comfortable lodgings. I arrived at four o'clock, shrunk to about one half my usual size by the coldness of the weather, having ridden on top of the coach, facing the northern blast, that caused a severe frost last night, and has, doubtless, nipped much fruit in the bud. As I travelled I saw Windsor Castle about two miles distant, and also witnessed the turning out of a Stag from a cart, before probably a hundred hounds and as many huntsmen. A curious land, and a curious custom, to catch an animal, and set it free merely to catch again. We crossed the Thames twice, near its head; it does not look like the Ohio, I assure thee; a Sand-hill Crane could easily wade across it without damping its feathers. _March 25._ My feet are positively sore battering the pavement; I have walked from one house and College to another all day, but have a new subscriber, and one not likely to die soon, the Anatomical School, through Dr. Kidd.[150] He and I ran after each other all day like the Red-headed Woodpeckers in the spring. I took a walk along two little streams, bearing of course the appellation of rivers, the Isis and the Charwell; the former freezes I am told at the bottom, never at the top. Oxford seems larger than Cambridge, but is not on the whole so pleasing to me. I do not think the walks as fine, there are fewer trees, and the population is more mixed. I have had some visitors, and lunched with Dr. Williams, who subscribed for the Radcliffe Library, whither we both went to inspect the first number. When I saw it, it drew a sigh from my heart. Ah! Mr. Lizars! was this the way to use a man who paid you so amply and so punctually? I rolled it up and took it away with me, for it was hardly colored at all, and have sent a fair new set of five numbers. I dined at the Vice-Chancellor's at six; his niece, Miss Jenkins, did the honors of the table most gracefully. There were ten gentlemen and four ladies, and when the latter left, the conversation became more general. I was spoken to about Wilson and C. Bonaparte, and could heartily praise both. _March 27._ Breakfasted with Mr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel College, and went immediately after with him to the Dean of Trinity. The large salon was filled with ladies and gentlemen engaged with my work; my drawings followed, and I showed them, but, oh, Lucy, how tired I am of doing this. The Dean has, I think, the finest family of daughters I have ever seen; eight blooming, interesting young ladies; from here to Dr. Kidd, where was another room full of company to see my drawings. Among my visitors was Dr. Ed. Burton,[151] who invited me to breakfast to-morrow. _March 28._ Never since I was at the delightful Green Bank, or at Twizel House have I had so agreeable a breakfast as I enjoyed this morning. I was shown into a neat parlor giving on a garden, and was greeted by a very beautiful and gracious woman; this was Mrs. Burton. Dr. Burton came in through the window from the garden; in a moment we were at table and I felt at once at home, as if with my good friend "Lady" Rathbone. Dr. and Mrs. Burton have an astonishing collection of letters, portraits, etc., and I was asked to write my name and the date of my birth as well as the present date. The former, I could not do, except approximately, and Mrs. Burton was greatly amused that I should not know; what I _do_ know is that I am no longer a young man. A letter from Mr. Hawkins told me Dr. Buckland[152] was expected to-morrow, and I was asked to meet him at dinner at his own house by Mrs. Buckland. I dined with the Provost of Oriel and nine other gentlemen, among them the son of the renowned Mr. Wilberforce. _March 29._ To-morrow, probably, I leave here, and much disappointed. There are here twenty-two colleges intended to promote science in all its branches; I have brought here samples of a work acknowledged to be at least good, and not one of the colleges has subscribed. I have been most hospitably treated, but with so little encouragement for my work there is no reason for me to remain. _London, March 30._ Left Oxford at eleven this morning, the weather still intensely cold. We had a guard dressed in red with sizable buttons, a good artist on the bugle, who played in very good style, especially fugues and anthems, which were harmonious but not cheerful. I saw a poor man and his wife trudging _barefoot_ this weather, a sight which drew the rings of my purse asunder. Almost as soon as I reached my lodgings a gentleman, Mr. Loudon,[153] called to ask me to write zoölogical papers for his journal. I declined, for I will never write anything to call down upon me a second volley of abuse. I can only write _facts_, and when I write those the Philadelphians call me a liar. _April 1, 1828._ I have the honor to be a Fellow of the Linnæan Society of London, quite fresh from the mint, for the news reached me when the election was not much more than over. Mr. Vigors tells me Baron Cuvier is to be here this week. I had some agreeable time with a gentleman from Ceylon, Bennett[154] by name, who has a handsome collection of fish from that place. _April 2._ Called on Mr. Children, and together we walked to Mr. Havell's, where he saw the drawings for No. 7. How slowly my immense work progresses; yet it goes on apace, and may God grant me life to see it accomplished and finished. Then, indeed, will I have left a landmark of my existence. _April 3._ I have had many corrections to make to my Prospectus, which have taken much time. I also examined many of my drawings, which I thought had suffered exceedingly from the damp; this quite frightened me. What a misfortune it would be if they should be spoiled, for few men would attempt the severe task I have run through, I think. And as to me, alas! I am growing old, and although my spirits are as active as ever, my body declines, and perhaps I never could renew them all. I shall watch them carefully. Indeed, should I find it necessary, I will remove them to Edinburgh or Paris, where the atmosphere is less dangerous. _April 6._ I have not written a word for three days, because, in truth, I have little to mention. Whenever I am in this London all is alike indifferent to me, and I in turn indifferent. Ah! my love, on a day like this in America I could stroll in magnificent woods, I could listen to sounds fresh and pure, I could look at a _blue_ sky. Mr. Loudon called and said he was anxious to have a review of my work in his magazine, and would write to Mr. Wm. Swainson,[155] a naturalist and friend of Dr. Traill's, to do so. He again begged me to write an article for him, for which he would pay eight guineas; but no, I will write no more for publication except, as has been urged, to accompany my own pictures. _April 10._ I have now only one set on hand; I had fifteen when I went to Cambridge. I hope soon to hear from Liverpool; the silence of a friend sometimes terrifies me; I dread to learn that my venerable, good "Lady" Rathbone is ill. _April 14._ I cannot conceive why, but my spirits have been much too low for my own comfort. I thought strongly of returning to America; such a long absence from thee is dreadful. I sometimes fear we shall never meet again _in this world_. I called on Havell, who showed me the White-headed Eagle, a splendid plate indeed, and nearly finished. _April 17._ I did but little yesterday, I was quite unwell; in the afternoon I walked to Bruton St. and saw Mr. Vigors, who assisted me in the nomenclature of the Hawk for Lord Stanley. This afternoon I received a letter from Mr. Wm. Swainson, inviting me to go to spend a day with him. My work continues to be well received, and as I have a tolerable list of subscribers I hope it will continue to improve. _April 21._ The same feelings still exist this year that I felt last, during my whole stay in London. I hate it, yes, I cordially hate London, and yet cannot escape from it. I neither can write my journal when here, nor draw well, and if I walk to the fields around, the very voice of the sweet birds I hear has no longer any charm for me, the pleasure being too much mingled with the idea that in another hour all will again be bustle, filth, and smoke. Last Friday, when about to answer Mr. Swainson's letter, I suddenly thought that it would be best for me to go to see him at once. The weather was shocking; a dog would scarce have turned out to hunt the finest of game. I dined at two, and went to a coach office, when, after waiting a long time, the coachman assured me that unless I had been to Mr. Swainson's before, it would be madness to go that day, as his house lay off from the main road fully five miles, and it was a difficult place to find; moreover, the country, he said, was _swimming_. This is the first advice I have ever had from a coachman to stop me from paying my fare; I thanked him, and returned home, and wrote to Mr. Swainson; then walked twice round Kensington Gardens, most dull and melancholy. Ah! cannot I return to America? _April 24._ I have been so harassed in mind and body, since ten days, that I am glad to feel partially relieved at last. All the colorers abandoned the work because I found _one_ of their number was doing miserable daubing, and wished him dismissed unless he improved; but now they are all replaced. _May 1._ Mr. Swainson has published a review of my work in Mr. Loudon's magazine, and how he has raised my talents. Would that I could do as well as he says I do; then indeed would my pencil be eager to portray the delicate and elegant contours of the feathered tribe, the softness of their plumage, and their gay movements. Alas, now I must remain in London overlooking engravers, colorers, and agents. Yet when I close my eyes I hear the birds warbling, nay, every sound; the shriek of the Falcon, the coy Doves cooing; the whistling note of the Grackle seems to fill my ear, again I am in the cornfield amidst millions of these birds, and then, transported afar, I must tread lightly and with care, to avoid the venomous Rattler. I sent the first proof of the White-headed Eagle to the Marquis of Landsdowne; he being the president of the Zoölogical Society, I thought it courteous to do so. _Sunday, May 4._ Immediately after breakfast I went out with George Woodley, and walked to the pretty village called Hampstead. The rain that fell last night seemed only sufficient to revive nature's productions; the trees were lightly covered with foliage of a tender hue; the hawthorns dispersed along the thickets had opened their fragrant cups, the rich meadows showed promise of a fair crop. Here and there a shy Blackbird's note burst clearly, yet softly, while the modest Blackcap skipped across our way. I enjoyed it all, but only transiently; I felt as if I must return to the grand beauties of the Western World, so strong is the attachment impressed in man for his own country. I have been summing up the pros and cons respecting a voyage to America, with an absence of twelve months. The difficulties are many, but I am determined to arrange for it, if possible. I should like to renew about fifty of my drawings; I am sure that now I could make better compositions, and select better plants than when I drew merely for amusement, and without the thought of ever bringing them to public view. To effect this wish of mine, I must find a true, devoted friend who will superintend my work and see to its delivery--this is no trifle in itself. Then I must arrange for the regular payments of twelve months' work, and _that_ is no trifle; but when I consider the difficulties I have surmounted, the privations of all sorts that I have borne, the many hairbreadth escapes I have had, the times I have been near sinking under the weight of the enterprise--ah! such difficulties as even poor Wilson never experienced--what reasons have I now to suppose, or to make me think for a moment, that the omnipotent God who gave me a heart to endure and overcome all these difficulties, will abandon me now. No! my faith is the same--my desires are of a pure kind; I only wish to enjoy more of Him by admiring His works still more than I have ever done before. He will grant me life, He will support me in my journeys, and enable me to meet thee again in America. _May 6._ I walked early round the Regent's Park, and there purchased four beautiful little Redpolls from a sailor, put them in my pocket, and, when arrived at home, having examined them to satisfy myself of their identity with the one found in our country, I gave them all liberty to go. What pleasure they must have felt rising, and going off over London; and I felt pleasure too, to know they had the freedom I so earnestly desired. _May 10._ I received a long letter from Charles Bonaparte, and perceived it had been dipped in vinegar to prevent it from introducing the plague from Italy to England. _June 2._ I was at Mr. Swainson's from May 28 till yesterday, and my visit was of the most agreeable nature. Mr. and Mrs. Swainson have a charming home at Tittenhanger Green, near St. Albans. Mrs. Swainson plays well on the piano, is amiable and kind; Mr. Swainson a superior man indeed; and their children blooming with health and full of spirit. Such talks on birds we have had together. Why, Lucy, thou wouldst think that birds were all that we cared for in this world, but thou knowest this is not so. Whilst there I began a drawing for Mrs. Swainson, and showed Mr. Swainson how to put up birds in my style, which delighted him. _August 9._ More than two months have passed since I have opened my journal--not through idleness, but because, on the contrary, I have been too busy with my plates, and in superintending the coloring of them, and with painting. I wished again to try painting in oil, and set to with close attention, day after day, and have now before me eight pictures begun, but not one entirely finished. I have a great desire to exhibit some of these in this wonderful London. One of these pictures is from my sketch of an Eagle pouncing on a Lamb,[156] dost thou remember it? They are on the top of a dreary mountain; the sky is dark and stormy, and I am sure the positions of the bird and his prey are wholly correct. My drawing is good, but the picture at present shows great coldness and want of strength. Another is a copy of the very group of Black Cocks, or Grouse, for which Mr. Gaily paid me £100, and I copy it with his permission; if it is better than his, and I think it will be, he must exchange, for assuredly he should own the superior picture. The others are smaller and less important. With the exception of such exercise as has been necessary, and my journeys (often several times a day) to Havell's, I have not left my room, and have labored as if not to be painting was a heinous crime. I have been at work from four every morning till dark; I have kept up my large correspondence, my publication goes on well and regularly, and this very day seventy sets have been distributed; yet the number of my subscribers has not increased; on the contrary, I have lost some. I have met a Mr. Parker, whom I once knew in Natchez; he asked me to permit him to paint my portrait as a woodsman, and though it is very tiresome to me, I have agreed to his request. The return of Captain Basil Hall to England has rather surprised me; he called on me at once; he had seen our dear Victor, Mr. Sully, Dr. Harlan, and many of my friends, to whom I had given him letters, for which he thanked me heartily. He has seen much of the United States, but says he is too true an Englishman to like things there. Time will show his ideas more fully, as he told me he should publish his voyage, journeys, and a number of anecdotes. _August 10._ My usual long walk before breakfast, after which meal Mr. Parker took my first sitting, which consisted merely of the outlines of the head; this was a job of more than three hours, much to my disgust. We then went for a walk and turned into the Zoölogical Gardens, where we remained over an hour. I remarked two large and beautiful Beavers, seated with the tail as usual under the body, their forelegs hanging like those of a Squirrel. _August 13._ I wrote to Mr. Swainson asking if he could not accompany me to France, where he said he wished to go when we were talking together at Tittenhanger. _August 19._ My absence from this dusty place has prevented my writing daily, but I can easily sum up. Thursday afternoon on returning from Havell's, I found Mr. Swainson just arrived. He had come to take me to Tittenhanger Green, where the pure air, the notes of the birds, the company of his wife and children, revived my drooping spirits. How very kind this was of him, especially when I reflect on what a short time I have known him. We procured some powder and shot, and seated ourselves in the coach for the journey. Just as we were leaving London and its smoke, a man begged I would take a paper bag from him, containing a Carrier Pigeon, and turn it out about five miles off. The poor bird could have been put in no better hands, I am sure; when I opened the bag and launched it in the air, I wished from my heart I had its powers of flight; I would have ventured across the ocean to Louisiana. At Tittenhanger Mrs. Swainson and her darling boy came to meet us, and we walked slowly to the house; its happy cheer had great influence on my feelings. Our evening was spent in looking over Levaillant's[157] work. We discovered, to the great satisfaction of my friend, two species of Chatterers, discovered by the famous traveller in Africa; until now our American species stood by itself, in the mind of the naturalist. My time afterwards was spent in shooting, painting, reading, talking, and examining specimens. But, my Lucy, the most agreeable part of all this is that we three have decided to go to Paris about the first of September, from there probably to Brussels, Rotterdam, and possibly Amsterdam. _August 20._ Messrs. Children and Gray[158] of the British Museum called to see me this afternoon, and we talked much of that establishment. I was surprised when Mr. Gray told me £200 per annum was all that was allowed for the purchase of natural curiosities. We were joined by Captain Basil Hall. I now feel more and more convinced that he has not remained in America long enough, and that his judgment of things there must be only superficial. Since these gentlemen left I have written to Charles Bonaparte a long letter, part of which I copy for thee: "My _Sylvia roscoe_, is, I assure you, a distinct species from Vieillot's; my _Turdus aquaticus_ is very different from Wilson's Water Thrush, as you will see when both birds are published. Mine never reaches further south than Savannah, its habits are quite different. _Troglodytes bewickii_ is a new and rather a rare species, found only in the lowlands of the Mississippi and Louisiana. I have killed five or six specimens, and it differs greatly from _Troglodytes ludovicianus_; I wish I had a specimen to send you. I particularly thank you for your observations, and I hope that you will criticise my work at all points, as a good friend should do, for how am I to improve if not instructed by men of superior talents? I cannot determine at present about '_Stanleii_,' because I never have seen the _Falco_ you mention. My bird is surely another found in the south and north, but a very rare species in all my travels; when you see the two figures, size of life, then you will be able to judge and to inform me. My journey to the mouth of the Columbia is always uppermost in my mind, and I look to my return from that country to this as the most brilliant portion of my life, as I am confident many new birds and plants must be there, yet unknown to man. You are extremely kind to speak so favorably of my work, and to compare it with your own; it would be more worthy of that comparison, perhaps, if I had had the advantages of a classical education; all I deserve, I think, is the degree of encouragement due to my exertions and perseverance in figuring _exactly_ the different birds, and the truth respecting their habits, which will appear in my text. However, I accept all your kind sayings as coming from a friend, and one himself devoted to that beautiful department of science, Ornithology." My subscribers are yet far from enough to pay my expenses, and my purse suffers severely for the want of greater patronage. The Zoölogical Gardens improve daily; they are now building winter quarters for the animals there. The specimens of skins from all parts of the world which are presented there are wonderful, but they have no place for them. _August 25._ I have had the pleasure of a long letter from our Victor, dated July 20; this letter has reached me more rapidly than any since I have been in England. I am becoming impatient to start for Paris. I do not expect much benefit by this trip, but I shall be glad to see what may be done. Mr. Parker has nearly finished my portrait, which he considers a good one, and _so do I_.[159] He has concluded to go to Paris with us, so we shall be quite a party. Mr. Vigors wrote asking me to write some papers for the "Zoölogical Journal," but I have refused him as all others. No _money_ can pay for abuse. This afternoon I had a visit from a Mr. Kirkpatrick, who bought my picture of the Bantams. _August 29._ I packed up my clothes early this morning and had my trunk weighed, as only forty pounds are allowed to each person. I also put my effects to rights, and was ready to start for anywhere by seven. _August 30._ While Mr. Swainson was sitting with me, old Bewick and his daughters called on me. Good old man! how glad I was to see him again. It was, he said, fifty-one years since he had been in London, which is no more congenial to him than to me. He is now seventy-eight, and sees to engrave as well as when he was twenty years of age. DOVER, _September 1, 1828_. Now, my dear book, prepare yourself for a good scratching with my pen, for I have entered on a journey that I hope will be interesting. I had breakfast at six with Mr. Parker; we were soon joined by Mr. and Mrs. Swainson and proceeded to the office in Piccadilly, where we took our seats in the coach. At the "Golden Cross" in Charing Cross we took up the rest of our cargo. Bless me! what a medley! A little, ill-looking Frenchman--who fastened a gilt balancing-pole _under_ the coach, and put his wife and little daughter on top,--four men all foreigners, and a tall, rather good-looking demoiselle, with a bonnet not wanting in height or breadth or bows of blue ribbon, so stiff they must have been starched. She took her seat on top of the coach and soared aloft, like a Frigate Pelican over the seas. We started at eight and were soon out of London. The pure air of the country animated my spirits, and all were gay. We passed over Black Heath, through Hartford and Canterbury, the first a poor, dirty-looking place, the latter quite the contrary. The majestic cathedral rose above every other object, like one of God's monuments made to teach us His glory. The country more hilly, on an average, than any part of this island I have yet seen, but the land very poor. We saw the Thames several times, and the sea at a great distance. The river Medway, which we crossed at Rochester, is influenced by the tides as far as that town. About six miles from this little seaport we suddenly saw Dover Castle, which with the sea and the undulating landscape made a pretty picture. As soon as we arrived we all went to see the cliffs that rise almost perpendicularly along the shore, the walks crowded with persons come to see the regatta to-morrow. _Paris, September 4._ I arrived here this morning at seven o'clock, and I assure thee, my Lucy, that I and all my companions were pleased to get rid of the diligence, and the shocking dust that tormented us during our whole journey. We left Dover at one, on Tuesday, 2d; the wind blew sharply, and I felt that before long the sea would have evil effects on me, as it always has. We proceeded towards Calais at a good rate, going along the shores of England until opposite the French port, for which we then made direct, and landed after three and a half hours' beating against wind and water. As soon as we landed we left our luggage and passports with a Commissionaire, and went to dine at Hôtel Robart, where we had been recommended. Our still sickly bodies were glad to rest, and there our passports were returned to us. I was much tickled to read that my complexion was _copper red_; as the Monsieur at the office had never seen me, I suppose the word American suggested that all the natives of our country were aborigines. We then entered the diligence, a vehicle ugly and clumsy in the extreme, but tolerably comfortable unless over-crowded, and it travelled from six to seven miles an hour, drawn generally by five horses, two next the coach, and three abreast before those; the driver rides on the near wheel-horse dressed precisely like the monkeys in shows of animals. Calais is a decaying fortified town; the ditches are partly filled with earth, and I cannot tell why there should exist at this time a drawbridge. As we proceeded it did not take much time to see already many differences between France and England. I will draw no parallel between these countries, I will merely tell thee what I saw. The country is poorly cultivated, although the land is good. No divisions exist to the eye, no cleanly trimmed hedges, no gates, no fences; all appeared to me like one of the old abandoned cotton plantations of the South. I remarked that there were more and taller trees than in England, and nearly the whole road was planted like the avenue to a gentleman's house. The road itself was better than I had expected, being broad, partly macadamized, and partly paved with square stones; I found it much alike during the whole journey. Night coming on we lost the means of observation for a time, and stopped soon after dark for refreshment, and had some excellent coffee. I assure thee, Lucy, that coffee in France is certainly better than anywhere else. We passed through St. Omer, and a little farther on saw the lights of the fires from an encampment of twelve thousand soldiers. Breakfast was had at another small village, where we were sadly annoyed by beggars. The country seems _very poor_; the cottages of the peasants are wretched mud huts. We passed through the Departments of Artois and Picardy, the country giving now and then agreeable views. We dined at Amiens, where the cathedral externally is magnificent. After travelling all night again, we found ourselves within forty miles of Paris, and now saw patches of vineyards and found fruit of all kinds cheap, abundant, and good. We were put down at the Messagerie Royale rue des Victoires, and I found to my sorrow that my plates were not among the luggage; so I did what I could about it, and we went to lodgings to which we had been recommended, with M. Percez. Mrs. Swainson's brother, Mr. Parkes, came to see us at once, and we all went to the Jardin des Plantes, or Jardin du Roi, which fronts on a very bad bridge, built in great haste in the days of Napoleon, then called Le pont d'Austerlitz, but now Le pont Ste. Geneviève. I thought the gardens well laid out, large, handsome, but not everywhere well kept. We saw everything, then walked to the entrance of the famous Musée; it was closed, but we knocked and asked for Baron Cuvier.[160] He was in, but, we were told, too busy to be seen. Being determined to look at the Great Man, we waited, knocked again, and with a certain degree of _firmness_ sent our names. The messenger returned, bowed, and led the way upstairs, where in a minute Monsieur le Baron, like an excellent good man, came to us. He had heard much of my friend Swainson and greeted him as he deserves to be greeted; he was polite and kind to me, though my name had never made its way to his ears. I looked at him, and here follows the result: age about sixty-five; size corpulent, five feet five, English measure; head large; face wrinkled and brownish; eyes gray, brilliant and sparkling; nose aquiline, large and red; mouth large, with good lips; teeth few, blunted by age, excepting one on the lower jaw, measuring nearly three-quarters of an inch square. Thus, my Lucy, have I described Cuvier almost as if a _new species of man_. He has invited us to dine with him next Saturday at six, and as I hope to have many opportunities of seeing him I will write more as I become acquainted with him. After dinner Mr. Parker and I went roving anywhere and everywhere, but as it grew dark, and Paris is very badly lighted, little can I say, more than that we saw the famous Palais Royal, and walked along each of its four avenues. The place was crowded, and filled with small shops, themselves filled with all sorts of bagatelles. _September 5._ After breakfast, which was late but good, consisting of grapes, figs, sardines, and _French_ coffee, Swainson and I proceeded to Les Jardins des Plantes, by the side of the famous river Seine, which here, Lucy, is not so large as the Bayou Sara, where I have often watched the Alligators while bathing. Walking in Paris is disagreeable in the extreme; the streets are paved, but with scarcely a sidewalk, and a large gutter filled with dirty black water runs through the centre of each, and the people go about without any kind of order, in the centre, or near the houses; the carriages, carts, etc., do the same, and I have wondered that so few accidents take place. We saw a very ugly bridge of iron called the Pont Neuf, and the splendid statue of Henri Quatre. We were, however, more attracted by the sight of the immense numbers of birds offered for sale along the quays, and some were rare specimens. A woman took us into her house and showed us some hundreds from Bengal and Senegal, and I assure thee that we were surprised. We proceeded to our appointment with Baron Cuvier, who gave us tickets for the Musée, and promised all we could wish. At the Musée M. Valenciennes[161] was equally kind. Having a letter for M. Geoffroy de St. Hilaire,[162] we went to his house in the Jardins, and with him we were particularly pleased. He proved to me that he understood the difference in the ideas of the French and English perfectly. He repeated the words of Cuvier and assured us my work had not been heard of in France. He promised to take us to the Académie des Sciences on Monday next. I left Swainson at work in the Musée, and went to the Louvre. There, entering the first open door, I was shown into the public part of the King's _Appartement_, a thing I have never been able to accomplish in England. I saw the room where the grand councils are held, and many paintings illustrating the horrors of the French Revolution. Then to the galleries of painting and sculpture, where I found Parker, and saw a number of artists copying in oil the best pictures. This evening we went to the Théâtre Français, where I saw the finest drop curtain I have yet beheld, and a fine tragedy, Fiésque, which I enjoyed much. _September 6._ The strange things one sees in this town would make a mountain of volumes if closely related; but I have not time, and can only speak to thee of a few. After our breakfast of figs and bread and butter, Swainson and I went down the Boulevard to the Jardins Royaux. These boulevards are planted with trees to shade them, and are filled with shops containing more objects of luxury and of necessity than can well be imagined. The boulevard we took is a grand promenade, and the seat of great bargains. I mean to say that a person unacquainted with the ways of the French _petit marchand_ may be cheated here, with better grace, probably, than anywhere else in the world; but one used to their tricks may buy cheap and good articles. In the afternoon we went again to the Louvre, and admired the paintings in the splendid gallery, and lunched on chicken, a bottle of good wine, vegetables and bread, for thirty-five sous each. Evening coming on, we proceeded, after dressing, to Baron Cuvier's house to dine. We were announced by a servant in livery, and received by the Baron, who presented us to his only remaining daughter,--a small, well-made, good-looking lady, with sparkling black eyes, and extremely amiable. As I seldom go anywhere without meeting some one who has met me, I found among the guests a Fellow of the Linnæan Society, who knew me well. The Baroness now came in--a good-looking, motherly lady, and the company, amounting to sixteen, went to dinner. The Baroness led the way with a gentleman, and the Baron took in his daughter, but made friend Swainson and me precede them; Swainson sat next mademoiselle, who, fortunately for him, speaks excellent English. I was opposite to her, by the side of the Baron. There was not the show of opulence at this dinner that is seen in the same rank of life in England, no, not by far, but it was a good dinner, served _à la française_. All seemed happy, and went on with more simplicity than in London. The dinner finished, the Baroness rose, and we all followed her into the library. I liked this much; I cannot bear the _drinking matches_ of wine at the English tables. We had coffee, and the company increased rapidly; amongst them all I knew only Captain Parry, M. de Condolleot (?), and Mr. Lesson,[163] just returned from a voyage round the world. Cuvier stuck to us, and we talked ornithology; he asked me the price of my work, and I gave him a prospectus. The company filled the room, it grew late, and we left well satisfied with the introductory step among _les savans français_. _Sunday, September 7._ The traveller who visits France without seeing a fête, such as I have seen this day at St. Cloud, leaves the country unacquainted with that species of knowledge best adapted to show the manners of a people. St. Cloud is a handsome town on the Seine, about five miles below Paris, built in horseshoe form on the undulating hills of this part of the country. These hills are covered with woods, through which villas, cottages, and chateaux emerge, and give life to the scene. On the west side of the village, and on its greatest elevation, stands the Palace of the Kings, the Emperors, and the people. I say the people, because they are allowed to see the interior every day. With Parker, I took a cab directly after breakfast to the _barrière des bons hommes_, and walked the remaining distance, say three miles. We had the Seine in view most of the way, and crossed it on a fine iron bridge, one end of which forms the entrance to St. Cloud, in front of which the river winds. We reached the gates of the palace, and found they were not opened till twelve o'clock; but a sergeant offered to show us the King's garden,--an offer we accepted with pleasure. The entrance is by an avenue of fine trees, their tops meeting over our heads, and presenting, through the vista they made, a frame for a beautiful landscape. We passed several pieces of water, the peaceful abode of numerous fish, basking on the surface; swans also held their concave wings unfurled to the light breeze--orange trees of fair size held their golden fruit pendent--flowers of every hue covered the borders, and a hundred statues embellished all with their well-modelled forms. So unmolested are the birds that a Green Woodpecker suffered my inspection as if in the woods of our dear, dear America. At the right time we found ourselves in the King's antechamber, and then passed through half a dozen rooms glittering with richest ornaments, painted ceilings, large pictures, and lighted by immense windows; all, however, too fine for my taste, and we were annoyed by the _gens d'armes_ watching us as if we were thieves. It was near two o'clock when we left, the weather beautiful, and heat such as is usually felt in Baltimore about this season. The population of Paris appeared now to flock to St. Cloud; the road was filled with conveyances of all sorts, and in the principal walk before the Palace were hundreds of _petits marchands_, opening and arranging their wares. Music began in different quarters, groups lay on the grass, enjoying their repasts; every one seemed joyous and happy. One thing surprised me: we were at St. Cloud ten hours,--they told us fifty thousand (?) were there, and I saw only three women of noticeable beauty; yet these short brunettes are animated and apparently thoughtless, and sing and dance as if no shadow could ever come over them. At four o'clock all was in full vigor; the sounds of horns and bugles drew us towards a place where we saw on a platform a party of musicians, three of whom were Flemish women, and so handsome that they were surrounded by crowds. We passed through a sort of turnstile, and in a few minutes an equestrian performance began, in which the riders showed great skill, jugglers followed with other shows, and then we left; the same show in London would have cost three shillings; here, a franc. We saw people shooting at a target with a crossbow. When the marksman was successful in hitting the centre, a spring was touched, and an inflated silken goldfish, as large as a barrel, rose fifty yards in the air,--a pretty sight, I assure thee; the fins of gauze moved with the breeze, he plunged and rose and turned about, almost as a real fish would do in his element. Shows of everything were there; such a medley--such crowds--such seeming pleasure in all around us, I never remarked anywhere but in France. No word of contention did I hear; all was peace and joy, and when we left not a disturbance had taken place. We had an excellent dinner, with a bottle of Chablis, for three francs each, and returning to the place we had left, found all the fountains were playing, and dancing was universal; the musicians were good and numerous, but I was surprised to remark very few fine dancers. The woods, which were illuminated, looked extremely beautiful; the people constantly crossing and re-crossing them made the lights appear and disappear, reminding me of fireflies in our own woods in a summer night. As we passed out of the gates, we perceived as many persons coming as going, and were told the merriment would last till day. With difficulty we secured two seats in a cart, and returned to Paris along a road with a double line of vehicles of all sorts going both ways. Every few rods were guards on foot, and _gens d'armes_ on horseback, to see that all went well; and we at last reached our hotel, tired and dusty, but pleased with all we had seen, and at having had such an opportunity to see, to compare, and to judge of the habits of a people so widely different from either Americans or English. _September 8._ We went to pay our respects to Baron Cuvier and Geoffroy St. Hilaire;[164] we saw only the first, who told us to be at the Académie Royale des Sciences in an hour. I had _hired_ a portfolio, and took my work. As soon as we entered, Baron Cuvier very politely came to us, ordered a porter to put my book on a table, and gave me a seat of honor. The séance was opened by a tedious lecture on the vision of the Mole; then Cuvier arose, announcing my friend Swainson and me and spoke of my work; it was shown and admired as usual, and Cuvier requested to review it for the "Mémoires of the Academy." Poor Audubon! here thou art, a simple woodsman, among a crowd of talented men, yet kindly received by all--so are the works of God as shown in His birds loved by them. I left my book, that the librarian might show it to all who wished to see it. _September 9._ Went to the Jardin du Roi, where I met young Geoffroy, who took me to a man who stuffs birds for the Prince d'Essling, who, I was told, had a copy of my work, but after much talk could not make out whether it was Wilson's, Selby's, or mine. I am to call on him to-morrow. I took a great walk round the Boulevards, looking around me and thinking how curious my life has been, and how wonderful my present situation is. I took Mrs. Swainson to the Louvre, and as we were about to pass one of the gates of the Tuileries, the sentinel stopped us, saying no one could pass with a _fur cap_; so we went to another gate, where no such challenge was given, and reached the Grand Gallery. Here amongst the Raphaels, Correggios, Titians, Davids, and thousands of others, we feasted our eyes and enlarged our knowledge. Taking Mrs. Swainson home, I then made for L'Institut de France by appointment, and gave my prospectus to the secretary of the library. Young Geoffroy, an amiable and learned young man, paid me every attention, and gave me a room for Swainson and myself to write in and for the inspection of specimens. How very different from the public societies in England, where instead of being bowed to, you have to bow to every one. Now, my Lucy, I have certainly run the gauntlet of England and Paris, and may feel proud of two things, that I am considered the first ornithological painter, and the first practical naturalist of America; may God grant me life to accomplish my serious and gigantic work. _September 10._ Breakfast over, I made for the Boulevards to present the letters from good friends Rathbone and Melly. I saw Mr. B----, the banker, who read the letter I gave him, and was most polite, but as to ornithology, all he knew about it was that large feathers were called _quills_, and were useful in posting ledgers. From there to the Jardin du Roi, where I called on Monsieur L. C. Kiener, bird stuffer to the Prince of Massena (or Essling),[165] who wished me to call on the Prince with him at two, the Prince being too ill to leave the house. Mr. and Mrs. Swainson were to go with me to see the collection he had made, of many curious and beautiful things, and when we reached the house we were shown at once to the museum, which surpasses in magnificence and number of rare specimens of birds, shells, and books, all I have yet seen. This for a while, when I was told the Prince would receive me. I took my _pamphlet_ in my arms and entered a fine room, where he was lying on a sofa; he rose at once, bowed, and presented his beautiful wife. As soon as I had untied my portfolio, and a print was seen, both exclaimed, "Ah! c'est bien beau!" I was asked if I did not know Charles Bonaparte, and when I said yes, they again both exclaimed, "Ah! c'est lui, the gentleman of whom we have heard so much, the man of the woods, who has made so many and such wonderful drawings." The Prince regretted very much there were so few persons in France able to subscribe to such a work, and said I must not expect more than six or eight names in Paris. He named all whom he and his lady knew, and then said it would give him pleasure to add his name to my list; he wrote it himself, next under that of the Duke of Rutland. This prince, son of the famous marshal, is about thirty years of age, apparently delicate, pale, slender, and yet good-looking, entirely devoted to Natural History; his wife a beautiful young woman, not more than twenty, extremely graceful and polite. They both complimented me on the purity of my French, and wished me all success. My room at the hotel being very cramped, I have taken one at L'Hôtel de France, large, clean, and comfortable, for which I pay twenty-five sous a day. We are within gun-shot of Les Jardins des Tuileries. The _retraite_ is just now beating. This means that a few drummers go through the streets at eight o'clock in the evening, beating their drums, to give notice to all soldiers to make for their quarters. _September 12._ I went early to Rue Richelieu to see the librarian of the King, Mr. Van Praët, a small, white-haired gentleman, who assured me in the politest manner imaginable that it was out of the question to subscribe for such a work; he, however, gave me a card of introduction to M. Barbier, a second librarian, belonging to the King's private library at the Louvre. On my way I posted my letters for London; the inland postage of a single letter from Paris to London is twenty-four sous, and the mail for London leaves four days in the week. M. Barbier was out, but when I saw him later he advised me to write to the Baron de la Bouillerie, intendant of the King's household. So go my days.--This evening we went to the Italian Opera; it was not open when we arrived, so we put ourselves in the line of people desirous to enter, and at seven followed regularly, with no pushing or crowding (so different from England), as the arrangements are so perfect. We received our tickets, the change was counted at leisure, and we were shown into the pit, which contains three divisions; that nearest the orchestra contains the most expensive seats. The theatre is much less in extent than either Drury Lane or Covent Garden, but is handsome, and splendidly decorated and lighted. The orchestra contains more than double the number of musicians, and when the music began, not another sound was heard, all was silence and attention. Never having been at the opera since my youth, the music astounded me. The opera was Semiramis, and well executed, but I was not much pleased with it; it was too clamorous, a harmonious storm, and I would have preferred something more tranquil. I remarked that persons who left their seats intending to return laid on their seats a hat, glove, or card, which was quite sufficient to keep the place for them. In London what a treat for the thieves, who are everywhere. I walked home; the pure atmosphere of Paris, the clear sky, the temperature, almost like that of America, make me light-hearted indeed, yet would that I were again in the far distant, peaceful retreats of my happiest days. Europe might whistle for me; I, like a free bird, would sing, "Never--no, never, will I leave America." _September 13._ I had to take my portfolio to Baron Cuvier, and I went first to Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, who liked it much, and retracted his first opinion of the work being too large. Monsieur Dumesnil, a first-rate engraver, came to see me, sent by Prince de Massena, and we talked of the work, which he told me honestly could not be published in France _to be delivered in England_ as cheaply as if the work were done in London, and probably not so well. This has ended with me all thoughts of ever removing it from Havell's hands, unless he should discontinue the present excellent state of its execution. Copper is dearer here than in England, and good colorers much scarcer. I saw Cuvier, who invited us to spend the evening, and then returned to the Pont des Arts to look for bird-skins. I found none, but purchased an engraved portrait of Cuvier, and another of "Phidias and the Thorn." I have just returned with Swainson from Baron Cuvier's, who gives public receptions to scientific men every Saturday. My book was on the table; Cuvier received me with special kindness, and put me at my ease. Mademoiselle Cuvier I found remarkably agreeable, as also Monsieur de Condillot. The first very willingly said he would sit to Parker for his portrait, and the other told me that if I went to Italy, I must make his house my home. My work was seen by many, and Cuvier pronounced it the finest of its kind in existence. _September 14, Sunday._ Versailles, where we have spent our day, is truly a magnificent place; how long since I have been here, and how many changes in my life since those days! We first saw the orangerie, of about two hundred trees, that to Frenchmen who have never left Paris look well, but to me far from it, being martyrized by the hand of man, who has clipped them into stiff ovals. One is 407 years old. They produce no golden fruit, as their boxes are far too small to supply sufficient nourishment, and their fragrant blossoms are plucked to make orange-flower water. From this spot the woods, the hunting-grounds of the King, are seen circling the gardens, and are (we are told) filled with all kinds of game. The King's apartments, through which we afterwards went, are too full of gilding for my eyes, and I frequently resorted to the large windows to glance at the green trees. Amongst the paintings I admired most little Virginia and Paul standing under a palm-tree with their mothers; Paul inviting the lovely child to cross a brook. In the stables are a hundred beautiful horses, the choice of Arabia, Australasia, Normandy, Limousin, etc., each the model of his race, with fiery eyes, legs sinewy and slender, tails to the ground, and manes never curtailed. Among them still remain several that have borne the great Napoleon. From here we walked again through woods and gardens; thus, my Lucy, once more have I been at Versailles, and much have I enjoyed it. _September 15._ France, my dearest friend, is indeed poor! This day I have attended at the Royal Academy of Sciences, and had all my plates spread over the different large tables, and they were viewed by about one hundred persons. "Beau! bien beau!" issued from every mouth, but, "Quel ouvrage!" "Quel prix!" as well. I said that I had thirty subscribers at Manchester; they seemed surprised, but acknowledged that England, the little isle of England, alone was able to support poor Audubon. Poor France! thy fine climate, thy rich vineyards, and the wishes of the learned avail nothing; thou art a destitute beggar, and not the powerful friend thou wast represented to be. Now I see plainly how happy, or lucky, or prudent I was, not to follow friend Melly's enthusiastic love of country. Had I come first to France my work never would have had even a beginning; it would have perished like a flower in October. It happened that a gentleman who saw me at Versailles yesterday remembered my face, and spoke to me; he is the under secretary of this famous society, and he wrote for me a note to be presented to the Minister of the Interior, who has, I am told, the power to subscribe to anything, and for as many copies of any work as the farmers of France can well pay for through the enormous levies imposed on them. Cuvier, St. Hilaire, and many others spoke to me most kindly. I had been to Cuvier in the morning to talk with him and Parker about the portrait the latter is to paint, and I believe I will describe Cuvier's house to thee. The footman asked us to follow him upstairs, and in the first room we caught a glimpse of a slight figure dressed all in black, that glided across the floor like a sylph; it was Mlle. Cuvier, not quite ready to see gentlemen: off she flew like a Dove before Falcons. We followed our man, who continually turned, saying, "This way, gentlemen." Eight rooms we passed filled with books, and each with a recessed bed, and at last reached a sort of laboratory, the _sanctum sanctorum_ of Cuvier; there was nothing in it but books and skeletons of animals, reptiles, etc. Our conductor, surprised, bid us sit down, and left us to seek the Baron. My eyes were fully employed, and I contemplated in imagination the extent of the great man's knowledge. His books were in great disorder, and I concluded that he read and studied them, and owned them for other purposes than for show. Our man returned and led us back through the same avenue of bed-chambers, lined with books instead of satin, and we were conducted through the kitchen to another laboratory, where the Baron was found. Politeness in great men is shown differently from the same quality in fashionable society: a smile suffices to show you are welcome, without many words, and the work in hand is continued as if you were one of the family. Ah! how I delight in this! and how pleased I was to be thus welcomed by this learned man. Cuvier was looking at a small lizard in a tiny vial filled with spirit. I see now his sparkling eye half closed, as if quizzing its qualities, and as he put it down he wrote its name on a label. He made an appointment with Mr. Parker, and went on quizzing lizards. Being desirous of seeing a gambling house, young Geoffroy took me to one in the Palais Royal, a very notorious one, containing several roulette tables, and there we saw a little of the tactics of the gentlemen of the trade. The play, however, was not on this occasion high. The _banquiers_, or head thieves, better call them, are lank and pale, their countenances as unmoved as their hearts. From here we went to the establishment of Franconi, where I saw wonderful feats of horsemanship. _September 17._ There is absolutely nothing to be done here to advance my subscription list, and at two o'clock I went with Swainson to a _marchand naturaliste_ to see some drawings of birds of which I had heard. They were not as well drawn as mine, but much better painted. _September 18._ I went to install Parker at Baron Cuvier's. He had his canvas, etc., all ready and we arrived at half-past nine, too early quite. At ten, having spent our time in the apartment of the Giraffe, Parker went in to take a second breakfast, and I to converse with Mlle. Cuvier. The Baron came in, and after a few minutes to arrange about the light, sat down in a comfortable arm-chair, quite ready. Great men as well as great women have their share of vanity, and I soon discovered that the Baron thinks himself a fine-looking man. His daughter seemed to know this, and remarked more than once that her father's under lip was swelled more than usual, and she added that the line of his nose was extremely fine. I passed my fingers over mine, and, lo! I thought just the same. I see the Baron now, quite as plainly as I did this morning; an old green surtout about him, a neck-cloth, that might well surround his body if unfolded, loosely tied about his chin, and his silver locks like those of a man more bent on studying books than on visiting barbers. His fine eyes shot fire from under his bushy eyebrows, and he smiled as he conversed with me. Mlle. Cuvier, asked to read to us, and opening a book, read in a clear, well accentuated manner a comic play, well arranged to amuse us for a time, for sitting for a portrait is certainly a great bore. The Baroness joined us; I thought her looks not those of a happy person, and her melancholy affected me. The Baron soon said he was fatigued, rose and went out, but soon returned, and I advised Parker not to keep him too long. The time was adjourned to Sunday next. In Connecticut this would be thought horrible, in England it would be difficult to effect it, and in Paris it is considered the best day for such things. Again I went to the Louvre, and this evening went with young Geoffroy to the celebrated Frascati. This house is a handsome hôtel, and we were introduced by two servants in fine livery into a large wainscoted room, where a roulette table was at work. Now none but _gentlemen_ gamble here. We saw, and saw only! In another room _rouge et noir_ was going on, and the double as well as the single Napoleons easily changed hands, yet all was smiling and serene. Some wealthy personage drew gold in handsful from his pockets, laid it on a favorite spot, and lost it calmly, more than once. Ladies also resort to this house, and good order is always preserved; without a white cravat, shoes instead of boots, etc., no one is admitted. I soon became tired of watching this and we left. _September 19._ Friend Swainson requested me to go with him this morning to complete a purchase of skins, and this accomplished I called on M. Milbert, to whom I had a letter from my old friend Le Sueur,[166] but he was absent. I now went to the Jardin du Roi, and at the library saw the so-called fine drawings of Mr. H----. Lucy, they were just such drawings as our boy Johnny made before I left home, stiff and dry as a well-seasoned fiddle-stick. The weather and the sky are most charming. This evening M. Cainard, whom I have met several times, asked me to play billiards with him, but the want of practice was such that I felt as if I never had played before. Where is the time gone when I was considered one of the best of players? To-morrow I will try to see M. Redouté.[167] _September 20._ I had the pleasure of seeing old Redouté this morning, the flower-painter _par excellence_. After reading Le Sueur's note to him, dated five years ago, he looked at me fixedly, and said, "Well, sir, I am truly glad to become acquainted with you," and without further ceremony showed me his best works. His flowers are grouped with peculiar taste, well drawn and precise in the outlines, and colored with a pure brilliancy that depicts nature incomparably better than I ever saw it before. Old Redouté dislikes all that is not _nature alone_; he cannot bear either the drawings of stuffed birds or of quadrupeds, and evinced a strong desire to see a work wherein nature was delineated in an animated manner. He said that as he dined every Friday at the Duke of Orleans', he would take my work there next week, and procure his subscription, if not also that of the Duchess, and requested me to give him a prospectus. I looked over hundreds of his drawings, and found out that he sold them well; he showed me some worth two hundred and fifty guineas. On my way to the Comte de Lasterie, I met the under secretary of the King's private library, who told me that the Baron de la Bouillerie had given orders to have my work inspected and if approved of to subscribe to it. I reached the Comte de Lasterie's house, found him half dressed, very dirty, and not very civil. He was at breakfast with several gentlemen, and told me to call again, which I will take into _consideration_. I must not forget that in crossing the city this morning I passed through the flower market, a beautiful exhibition to me at all times. This market is abundantly supplied twice a week with exotics and flowers of all sorts, which are sold at a cheap rate. _September 21._ The weather is still beautiful, and Parker and I took the omnibus at the Pont des Arts, which vehicle, being Sunday, was crowded. I left Parker to make a second sitting with Cuvier, and went to the Jardin du Roi, already filled with pleasure-seekers. I took a seat beside a venerable old soldier, and entered into conversation with him. Soldier during more than thirty years, he had much to relate. The Moscow campaign was spoken of, and I heard from the lips of this veteran the sufferings to which Napoleon's armies had been exposed. He had been taken prisoner, sent to the interior for two years, fed on musty bread by the Cossacks, who forced them to march all day. He had lost his toes and one ear by the frost, and sighed, as he said, "And to lose the campaign after all this!" I offered him a franc, and to my surprise he refused it, saying he had his pension, and was well fed. The garden was now crowded, children were scrambling for horse-chestnuts, which were beginning to fall, ladies playing battledore and shuttlecock, venders of fruit and lemonade were calling their wares, and I was interested and amused by all. Now to Baron Cuvier again. I found him sitting in his arm-chair; a gentleman was translating the dedication of Linné (Linnæus) to him, as he was anxious that the Latin should not be misconstrued; he often looked in some book or other, and I dare say often entirely forgot Parker, who notwithstanding has laid in a good likeness. The Baron wishes me to be at the Institute to-morrow at half-past one. _September 22._ I was at the Institute at half-past one--no Baron there. I sat opposite the clock and counted minutes one after another; the clock ticked on as if I did not exist; I began the counting of the numerous volumes around me, and as my eyes reached the centre of the hall they rested on the statue of Voltaire; he too had his share of troubles. Savants entered one after another; many bowed to me, and passed to their seats. My thoughts journeyed to America; I passed from the Missouri to the Roanoke, to the Hudson, to the Great Lakes--then floated down the gentle Ohio, and met the swift Mississippi which would carry me to thee. The clock vibrated in my ears, it struck two, and I saw again that I was in an immense library, where the number of savants continually increased, but no Cuvier; I tried to read, but could not; now it was half-past two; I was asked several times if I was waiting for the Baron, and was advised to go to his house, but like a sentinel true to his post I sat firm and waited. All at once I heard his voice, and saw him advancing, very warm and apparently fatigued. He met me with many apologies, and said, "Come with me;" and we walked along, he explaining all the time why he had been late, while his hand drove a pencil with great rapidity, and he told me that he was actually _now_ writing the report on my work!! I thought of La Fontaine's fable of the Turtle and the Hare; I was surprised that so great a man should leave till the last moment the writing of a report to every word of which the forty critics of France would lend an attentive ear. For being on such an eminence he has to take more care of his actions than a common individual, to prevent his fall, being surrounded, as all great men are more or less, by envy and malice. My enormous book lay before him, and I shifted as swift as lightning the different plates that he had marked for examination. His pencil moved as constantly and as rapidly. He turned and returned the sheets of his manuscript with amazing accuracy, and noted as quickly as he saw, _and he saw all_. We were both wet with perspiration. It wanted but a few minutes of three when we went off to the Council room, Cuvier still writing, and bowing to every one he met. I left him, and was glad to get into the pure air. At my lodgings I found a card asking me to go to the Messageries Royales, and I went at once, thinking perhaps it was my numbers from London; but no such thing. My name was asked, and I was told that orders had been received to remit me ten francs, the coach having charged me for a seat better than the one I had had. This is indeed honesty. When I asked the gentleman how he had found out my lodgings, he smiled, and answered that he knew every stranger in Paris that had arrived for the last three months, through his line of employees, and that any police-officer was able to say how I spent my time. _September 23._ The great Gérard, the pupil of my old master, David, has written saying he wishes to see my work, and myself also, and I have promised to go to-morrow evening at nine. To-day I have been to the King's library, a fine suite of twelve rooms, filled with elegant and most valuable copies of all the finest works. I should suppose that a hundred thousand volumes are contained here, as well as portfolios filled with valuable originals of the first masters. The King seldom reads, but he shoots well. Napoleon read, or was read to, constantly, and hardly knew how to hold a gun. I was surprised when I spoke of Charles Bonaparte to notice that no response was made, and the conversation was abruptly turned from ornithologists to engraving. I have now been nearly three weeks in Paris and have _two_ subscribers--almost as bad as Glasgow. I am curious to see the Baron's report, and should like to have it in his own handwriting. This is hardly possible; he seldom writes, Mlle. Cuvier does his writing for him. _September 24._ To have seen me trot about from pillar to post, across this great town, from back of the Palais Royal to the Jardin du Luxembourg, in search of M. Le Médecin Bertrand and a copy of Cuvier's report, would have amused any one, and yet I did it with great activity. Such frailty does exist in man, all of whom are by nature avaricious of praise. Three times did I go in vain to each place, _i. e._, to the house in the Rue d'Enfans, and the Globe Office, three miles asunder. Fatigue at last brought me to bay, and I gave up the chase. I proceeded to the King's library. My work had had the honor to have been inspected by the Committee, who had passed a favorable judgment on its merits. I was informed that should the King subscribe, I must leave in France a man authorized by act of attorney to receive my dues, without which I might never have a sol. The librarian, a perfect gentleman, told me this in friendship, and would have added (had he dared) that Kings are rarely expected to pay. I, however, cut the matter short, knowing within myself that, should I not receive my money, I was quite able to keep the work. In the evening I dressed to go to M. Gérard's with M. Valenciennes; but he did not come, so there must have been some mistake--probably mine. _September 25._ Went with Swainson to the Panthéon, to see if the interior corresponds with the magnificence of the exterior; it is fine, but still unfinished. All, or almost all, the public edifices of Paris far surpass those of London. Then to see Cuvier, who was sitting for his portrait, while the Baroness was reading to him the life of Garrick. He had known Mrs. Garrick, and his observations were interesting. The likeness is good, and Cuvier is much pleased with it; he gave me a note for M. Vallery the King's librarian. Parker had received a note from M. Valenciennes, saying he had forgot my address, and had spent the evening going from place to place searching for me, and requested I would go with him to Gérard next Thursday. Did he forget to question the all-knowing police, or did the gentleman at the Messageries exaggerate? _September 26._ I spent some time in the Louvre examining _very closely_ the most celebrated pictures of animals, birds, fruits, and flowers. Afterwards we all went to the French Opera, or, as it is called here, L'École de Musique Royale. The play was "La Muette," a wonderful piece, and the whole arrangement of the performance still more so. There were at one time two hundred persons on the stage. The scenery was the finest I have ever beheld,--at the last, Mount Vesuvius in full and terrific eruption; the lava seemed absolutely to roll in a burning stream down the sides of the volcano, and the stones which were apparently cast up from the earth added to the grand representation. The whole house resounded with the most vociferous applause, and we enjoyed our evening, I assure thee. _September 27._ Found old Redouté at his painting. The size of my portfolio surprised him, and when I opened the work, he examined it most carefully, and spoke highly of it, and wished he could afford it. I proposed, at last, that we should exchange works, to which he agreed gladly, and gave me at once nine numbers of his "Belles fleurs" and promised to send "Les Roses." Now, my Lucy, this will be a grand treat for thee, fond of flowers as thou art; when thou seest these, thy eyes will feast on the finest thou canst imagine. From here to the Globe office, where I saw the _rédacteur_ who was glad to have me correct the proof sheets as regarded the technical names. I did so, and he gave me, to my delight, the original copy of Cuvier himself. It is a great eulogium certainly, but not so feelingly written as the one by Swainson, nevertheless it will give the French an idea of my work. _September 28._ I have lived many years, and have only seen one horse race. Perhaps I should not have seen that, which took place to-day at the Champ de Mars, had I not gone out of curiosity with M. Vallery. The Champ de Mars is on the south side of the Seine, about one and one half miles below Paris; we passed through Les Jardins des Tuileries, followed the river, and crossed the Pont de Jéna opposite the entrance to l'École Militaire, situated at the farther end of the oval that forms the Champ de Mars. This is a fine area, and perfectly level, surrounded by a levee of earth, of which I should suppose the material was taken from the plain on which the course is formed. Arriving early, we walked round it; saw with pleasure the trees that shaded the walks; the booths erected for the royal family, the prefect, the gentry, and the _canaille_, varying greatly in elegance, as you may suppose. Chairs and benches were to be hired in abundance, and we each took one. At one o'clock squadrons of _gens d'armes_ and whole regiments of infantry made their appearance from different points, and in a few minutes the whole ground was well protected. The King was expected, but I saw nothing of him, nor, indeed, of any of the royal family, and cannot even assert that they came. At two every seat was filled, and several hundreds of men on horseback had taken the centre of the plain divided from the race track by a line of ropes. The horses for the course made their appearance,--long-legged, slender-bodied, necks straight, light of foot, and fiery-eyed. They were soon mounted, and started, but I saw none that I considered swift; not one could have run half as fast as a buck in our woods. Five different sets were run, one after another, but I must say I paid much greater attention to a Mameluke on a dark Arab steed, which with wonderful ease leaped over the ground like a Squirrel; going at times like the wind, then, being suddenly checked by his rider, almost sat on his haunches, wheeled on his hind legs, and cut all sorts of mad tricks at a word from his skilful master. I would rather see _him_ again than all the races in the world; horse racing, like gambling, can only amuse people who have nothing better to attend to; however, I have seen a race! _September 30._ I saw Constant, the great engraver, Rue Percie, No. 12; he was at work, and I thought he worked well. I told him the purpose of my visit, and he dropped his work at once to see mine. How he stared! how often he exclaimed, "Oh, mon Dieu, quel ouvrage!" I showed him all, and he began calculating, but did so, far too largely for me, and we concluded no bargain. Old Redouté visited me and brought me a letter from the Duc d'Orléans, whom I was to call upon at one o'clock. Now, dearest friend, as I do not see Dukes every day I will give thee a circumstantial account of my visit. The Palais of the Duc d'Orléans is actually the entrance of the Palais-Royal, where we often go in the evening, and is watched by many a sentinel. On the right, I saw a large, fat, red-coated man through the ground window, whom I supposed the porter of his Royal Highness. I entered and took off my fur cap, and went on in an unconcerned way towards the stairs, when he stopped me, and asked my wishes. I told him I had an engagement with his master at one, and gave him my card to take up. He said Monseigneur was not in (a downright lie), but that I might go to the antechamber. I ordered the fat fellow to have my portfolio taken upstairs, and proceeded to mount the finest staircase my feet have ever trod. The stairs parted at bottom in rounding form of about twenty-four feet in breadth, to meet on the second floor, on a landing lighted by a skylight, which permitted me to see the beauties of the surrounding walls, and on this landing opened three doors, two of which I tried in vain to open. The third, however, gave way, and I found myself in the antechamber, with about twelve servants, who all rose and stood, until I had seated myself on a soft, red-velvet-covered bench. Not a word was said to me, and I gazed at all of them with a strange sensation of awkwardness mingled with my original pride. This room had bare walls, and a floor of black and white square marble flags. A man I call a sergeant d'armes, not knowing whether I am right or wrong, wore a sword fastened to a belt of embroidered silk, very wide; and he alone retained his hat. In a few minutes a tall, thin gentleman made his entrance from another direction from that by which I had come. The servants were again all up in a moment, the sergeant took off his hat, and the gentleman disappeared as if he had not seen me, though I had risen and bowed. A few minutes elapsed, when the same thing occurred again. Not knowing how long this might continue, I accosted the sergeant, told him I came at the request of the Duke, and wished to see him. A profound bow was the answer, and I was conducted to another room, where several gentlemen were seated writing. I let one of them know my errand, and in a moment was shown into an immense and superbly furnished apartment, and my book was ordered to be brought up. In this room I bowed to two gentlemen whom I knew to be members of the Légion d'Honneur, and walked about admiring the fine marble statues and the paintings. A gentleman soon came to me, and asked if perchance my name was Audubon? I bowed, and he replied: "Bless me, we thought that you had gone and left your portfolio; my uncle has been waiting for you twenty minutes; pray, sir, follow me." We passed through a file of bowing domestics, and a door being opened I saw the Duke coming towards me, to whom I was introduced by the nephew. Lucy, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama have furnished the finest men in the world, as regards physical beauty; I have also seen many a noble-looking Osage chief; but I do not recollect a finer-looking man, in form, deportment, and manners, than this Duc d'Orléans. He had my book brought up, and helped me to untie the strings and arrange the table, and began by saying that he felt a great pleasure in subscribing to the work of an American, for that he had been most kindly treated in the United States, and should never forget it. The portfolio was at last opened, and when I held up the plate of the Baltimore Orioles, with a nest swinging amongst the tender twigs of the yellow poplar, he said: "This surpasses all I have seen, and I am not astonished now at the eulogiums of M. Redouté." He spoke partly English, and partly French; spoke much of America, of Pittsburgh, the Ohio, New Orleans, the Mississippi, steamboats, etc., etc., and added: "You are a great nation, a wonderful nation." The Duke promised me to write to the Emperor of Austria, King of Sweden, and other crowned heads, and asked me to write to-day to the Minister of the Interior. I remained talking with him more than an hour; I showed him my list of English subscribers, many of whom he knew. I asked him for his own signature; he took my list and with a smile wrote, in very large and legible characters, "Le Duc d'Orléans." I now felt to remain longer would be an intrusion, and thanking him respectfully I bowed, shook hands with him, and retired. He wished to keep the set I had shown him, but it was soiled, and to such a good man a good set must go. At the door I asked the fat porter if he would tell me again his master was out. He tried in vain to blush. _October 1._ Received to-day the note from the Minister of the Interior asking me to call to-morrow at two. At eight in the evening I was ready for M. Valenciennes to call for me to go with him to Gérard. I waited till ten, when my gentleman came, and off we went; what a time to pay a visit! But I was told Gérard[168] keeps late hours, rarely goes to bed before two, but is up and at work by ten or eleven. When I entered I found the rooms filled with both sexes, and my name being announced, a small, well-formed man came to me, took my hand, and said, "Welcome, Brother in Arts." I liked this much, and was gratified to have the ice broken so easily. Gérard was all curiosity to see my drawings, and old Redouté, who was present, spoke so highly of them before the book was opened, that I feared to discover Gérard's disappointment. The book opened accidentally at the plate of the Parrots, and Gérard, taking it up without speaking, looked at it, I assure thee, with as keen an eye as my own, for several minutes; put it down, took up the one of the Mocking-Birds, and, offering me his hand, said: "Mr. Audubon, you are the king of ornithological painters; we are all children in France and in Europe. Who would have expected such things from the woods of America?" My heart thrilled with pride at his words. Are not we of America men? Have we not the same nerves, sinews, and mental faculties which other nations possess? By Washington! we have, and may God grant us the peaceable use of them forever. I received compliments from all around me; Gérard spoke of nothing but my work, and requested some prospectuses for Italy. He repeated what Baron Cuvier had said in the morning, and hoped that the Minister would order a good, round set of copies for the Government. I closed the book, and rambled around the rooms which were all ornamented with superb prints, mostly of Gérard's own paintings. The ladies were all engaged at cards, and money did not appear to be scarce in this portion of Paris. _October 2._ Well, my Lucy, this day found me, about two o'clock, in contemplation of a picture by Gérard in the salon of the Minister of the Interior. Very different, is it not, from looking up a large decaying tree, watching the movements of a Woodpecker? I was one of several who were waiting, but only one person was there when I arrived, who entered into conversation with me,--a most agreeable man and the King's physician, possessed of fine address and much learning, being also a good botanist. Half an hour elapsed, when the physician was called; he was absent only a few minutes, and returning bowed to me and smiled as my name was called. I found the Minister a man about my own age, apparently worn out with business; he wore a long, loose, gray surtout, and said, "Well, sir, I am glad to see you; where is your great work?" I had the portfolio brought in, and the plates were exhibited. "Really, monsieur, it is a very fine thing;" and after some questions and a little conversation he asked me to write to him again, and put my terms in writing, and he would reply as soon as possible. He looked at me very fixedly, but so courteously I did not mind it. I tied up my portfolio and soon departed, having taken as much of the time of M. de Marignac as I felt I could do at this hour. _October 4._ Went with Swainson to the Jardin du Roi to interpret for him, and afterwards spent some time with Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, hearing from him some curious facts respecting the habits and conformation of the Mole. He gave me a ticket to the distribution of the Grand Prix at the Institut. I then ascended four of the longest staircases I know, to reach the cabinet of M. Pascale, the director of the expenses of S.A.R. the Duc d'Orléans. What order was here! Different bookcases contained the papers belonging to the forests--horses--furniture--fine arts--libraries--fisheries--personal expenses, and so on. M. Pascale took out M. Redouté's letter, and I perceived the day of subscription, number of plates per annum, all, was noted on the margin. M. Pascale sent me to the private apartments of the Duchesse. Judge of my astonishment when I found this house connected with the Palais-Royal. I went through a long train of corridors, and reached the cabinet of M. Goutard. He took my name and heard my request and promised to make an appointment for me through M. Redouté, who is the drawing-master of the daughters of the Duchesse. With Parker I went to see the distribution of prizes at L'Institut Français. The entrance was crowded, and, as in France pushing and scrambling to get forward is out of the question, and very properly so, I think, we reached the amphitheatre when it was already well filled with a brilliant assemblage, but secured places where all could be seen. The members dress in black trimmed with rich green laces. The youths aspiring to rewards were seated round a table, facing the audience. The reports read, the prizes were given, those thus favored receiving a crown of laurel with either a gold or silver medal. We remained here from two till five. _Sunday, October 5._ After a wonderful service at Notre Dame I wandered through Les Jardins des Plantes, and on to Cuvier's, who had promised me a letter to some one who would, he thought, subscribe to my book; but with his usual procrastination it was not ready, and he said he would write it to-morrow. Oh, cursed to-morrow! Do men forget, or do they not know how swiftly time moves on? _October 6._ Scarce anything to write. No letter yet from the Minister of the Interior, and I fear he too is a "To-morrow man." I went to Cuvier for his letter; when he saw me he laughed, and told me to sit down and see his specimens for a little while; he was surrounded by reptiles of all sorts, arranging and labelling them. In half an hour he rose and wrote the letter for me to the Duke of Levis, but it was too late to deliver it to-day. _October 7._ While with M. Lesson to-day, he spoke of a Monsieur d'Orbigny[169] of La Rochelle; and on my making some inquiries I discovered he was the friend of my early days, my intimate companion during my last voyage from France to America; that he was still fond of natural history, and had the management of the Musée at La Rochelle. His son Charles, now twenty-one, I had held in my arms many times, and as M. Lesson said he was in Paris, I went at once to find him; he was out, but shortly after I had a note from him saying he would call to-morrow morning. _October 8._ This morning I had the great pleasure of receiving my god-son Charles d'Orbigny. Oh! what past times were brought to my mind. He told me he had often heard of me from his father, and appeared delighted to meet me. He, too, like the rest of his family, is a naturalist, and I showed him my work with unusual pleasure. His father was the most intimate friend I have ever had, except thee, my Lucy, and my father. I think I must have asked a dozen times to-day if no letter had come for me. Oh, Ministers! what patience you do teach artists! _October 11._ This afternoon, as I was despairing about the ministers, I received a note from Vicomte Siméon,[170] desiring I should call on Monday. I may then finish with these high dignitaries. I saw the King and royal family get out of their carriages at the Tuileries; bless us! what a show! Carriages fairly glittering--eight horses in each, and two hundred hussars and outriders. A fine band of music announced their arrival. Dined at Baron Cuvier's, who subscribed to my work; he being the father of all naturalists, I felt great pleasure at this. I left at eleven, the streets dark and greasy, and made for the shortest way to my hotel, which, as Paris is a small town compared to London, I found no difficulty in doing. I am astonished to see how early all the shops close here. _October 13._ At twelve o'clock I was seated in the antechamber of the Vicomte Siméon; when the sergeant perceived me he came to me and said that M. Siméon desired me to have the first interview. I followed him and saw a man of ordinary stature, about forty, fresh-looking, and so used to the courtesy of the great world that before I had opened my lips he had paid me a very handsome compliment, which I have forgot. The size of my work astonished him, as it does every one who sees it for the first time. He told me that the work had been under discussion, and that he advised me to see Baron de la Brouillerie and Baron Vacher, the secretary of the Dauphin. I told him I wished to return to England to superintend my work there, and he promised I should have the decision to-morrow (hated word!) or the next day. I thought him kind and complaisant. He gave the signal for my departure by bowing, and I lifted my book, as if made of feathers, and passed out with swiftness and alacrity. I ordered the cab at once to the Tuileries, and after some trouble found the Cabinet of the Baron de Vacher; there, Lucy, I really waited like a Blue Heron on the edge of a deep lake, the bottom of which the bird cannot find, nor even know whether it may turn out to be good fishing. Many had their turns before me, but I had my interview. The Baron, a fine young man about twenty-eight, promised me to do all he could, but that his master was allowed so much (how much I do not know), and his expenses swallowed all. _October 14._ Accompanied Parker while he was painting Redouté's portrait, and during the outlining of that fine head I was looking over the original drawings of the great man; never have I seen drawings more beautifully wrought up, and so true to nature. The washy, slack, imperfect messes of the British artists are _nothing_ in comparison. I remained here three hours, which I enjoyed much. _October 15._ Not a word from the minister, and the time goes faster than I like, I assure thee. Could the minister know how painful it is for an individual like me to wait nearly a month for a decision that might just as well have been concluded in one minute, I am sure things would be different. _October 18._ I have seen two ministers this day, but from both had only promises. But this day has considerably altered my ideas of ministers. I have had a fair opportunity of seeing how much trouble they have, and how necessary it is to be patient with them. I arrived at Baron de la Brouillerie's at half-past eleven. A soldier took my portfolio, that weighs nearly a hundred pounds, and showed me the entrance to a magnificent antechamber. Four gentlemen and a lady were there, and after they had been admitted and dismissed, my name was called. The Baron is about sixty years old; tall, thin, not handsome, red in the face, and stiff in his manners. I opened my book, of which he said he had read much in the papers, and asked me why I had not applied to him before. I told him I had written some weeks ago. This he had forgot, but now remembered, somewhat to his embarrassment. He examined every sheet very closely, said he would speak to the King, and I must send him a written and exact memorandum of everything. He expressed surprise the Duc d'Orléans had taken only one copy. I walked from here to Vicomte Siméon. It was his audience day, and in the antechamber twenty-six were already waiting. My seat was close to the door of his cabinet, and I could not help hearing some words during my penance, which lasted one hour and a half. The Vicomte received every one with the same words, "Monsieur (or Madame), j'ai l'honneur de vous saluer;" and when each retired, "Monsieur, je suis votre très humble serviteur." Conceive, my Lucy, the situation of this unfortunate being, in his cabinet since eleven, repeating these sentences to upwards of one hundred persons, answering questions on as many different subjects. What brains he must have, and--how long can he keep them? As soon as I entered he said: "Your business is being attended to, and I give you _my word_ you shall have your answer on Tuesday. Have you seen Barons Vacher and La Brouillerie?" I told him I had, and he wished me success as I retired. _October 19._ About twelve walked to the plains d'Issy to see the review of the troops by the King in person. It is about eight miles from that portion of Paris where I was, and I walked it with extreme swiftness, say five and a half miles per hour. The plain is on the south bank of the Seine, and almost level. Some thousands of soldiers were already ranged in long lines, handsomely dressed, and armed as if about to be in action. I made for the top of a high wall, which I reached at the risk of breaking my neck, and there, like an Eagle on a rock, I surveyed all around me. The carriage of the Duc d'Orléans came first at full gallop, all the men in crimson liveries, and the music struck up like the thunder of war. Then the King, all his men in white liveries, came driving at full speed, and followed by other grandees. The King and these gentry descended from their carriages and mounted fine horses, which were in readiness for them; they were immediately surrounded by a brilliant staff, and the review began, the Duchesses d'Orléans and de Berry having now arrived in open carriages; from my perch I saw all. The Swiss troops began, and the manoeuvres were finely gone through; three times I was within twenty-five yards of the King and his staff, and, as a Kentuckian would say, "could have closed his eye with a rifle bullet." He is a man of small stature, pale, not at all handsome, and rode so bent over his horse that his appearance was neither kingly nor prepossessing. He wore a three-cornered hat, trimmed with white feathers, and had a broad blue sash from the left shoulder under his right arm. The Duc d'Orléans looked uncommonly well in a hussar uniform, and is a fine rider; he sat his horse like a Turk. The staff was too gaudy; I like not so much gold and silver. None of the ladies were connections of Venus, except most distantly; few Frenchwomen are handsome. The review over, the King and his train rode off. I saw a lady in a carriage point at me on the wall; she doubtless took me for a large black Crow. The music was uncommonly fine, especially that by the band belonging to the Cuirassiers, which was largely composed of trumpets of various kinds, and aroused my warlike feelings. The King and staff being now posted at some little distance, a new movement began, the cannon roared, the horses galloped madly, the men were enveloped in clouds of dust and smoke; this was a sham battle. No place of retreat was here, no cover of dark woods, no deep swamp; there would have been no escape here. This was no battle of New Orleans, nor Tippecanoe. I came down from my perch, leaving behind me about thirty thousand idlers like myself, and the soldiers, who must have been hot and dusty enough. _October 20._ Nothing to do, and tired of sight-seeing. Four subscriptions in seven weeks. Slow work indeed. I took a long walk, and watched the Stock Pigeons or Cushats in the trees of Le Jardin des Tuileries, where they roost in considerable numbers, arriving about sunset. They settle at first on the highest trees, and driest, naked branches, then gradually lower themselves, approach the trunks of the trees, and thickest parts, remain for the night, leave at day-break, and fly northerly. Blackbirds do the same, and are always extremely noisy before dark; a few Rooks are seen, and two or three Magpies. In the Jardin, and in the walks of the Palais-Royal, the common Sparrow is prodigiously plenty, very tame, fed by ladies and children, killed or missed with blow-guns by mischievous boys. The Mountain Finch passes in scattered numbers over Paris at this season, going northerly, and is caught in nets. Now, my love, wouldst thou not believe me once more in the woods, hard at it? Alas! I wish I was; what precious time I am wasting in Europe. _October 21._ Redouté told me the young Duchesse d'Orléans had subscribed, and I would receive a letter to that effect. Cuvier sent me one hundred printed copies of his _Procès verbal_. _October 22._ The second day of promise is over, and not a word from either of the ministers. Now, do those good gentlemen expect me to remain in Paris all my life? They are mistaken. Saturday I pack; on Tuesday morning farewell to Paris. Redouté sent me three volumes of his beautiful roses, which thou wilt so enjoy, and a compliment which is beyond all truth, so I will not repeat it. _October 26._ I received a letter from Baron de la Brouillerie announcing that the King had subscribed to my work for his private library. I was visited by the secretary of the Duc d'Orléans, who sat with me some time, a clever and entertaining man with whom I felt quite at ease. He told me that I might now expect the subscriptions of most of the royal family, because none of them liked to be outdone or surpassed by any of the others.[171] Good God! what a spirit is this; what a world we live in! I also received a M. Pitois, who came to look at my book, with a view to becoming my agent here; Baron Cuvier recommended him strongly, and I have concluded a bargain with him. He thinks he can procure a good number of names. His manners are plain, and I hope he will prove an honest man. He had hardly gone, when I received a letter from M. Siméon, telling me the Minister of the Interior would take six copies for various French towns and universities, and he regretted it was not twelve. So did I, but I am well contented. I have now thirteen subscribers in Paris; I have been here two months, and have expended forty pounds. My adieux will now be made, and I shall be _en route_ for London before long. _London, November 4._ I travelled from Paris to Boulogne with two nuns, that might as well be struck off the calendar of animated beings. They stirred not, they spoke not, they saw not; they replied neither by word nor gesture to the few remarks I made. In the woods of America I have never been in such silence; for in the most retired places I have had the gentle murmuring streamlet, or the sound of the Woodpecker tapping, or the sweet melodious strains of that lovely recluse, my greatest favorite, the Wood Thrush. The great poverty of the country struck me everywhere; the peasantry are beggarly and ignorant, few know the name of the _Département_ in which they live; their hovels are dirty and uncomfortable, and appear wretched indeed after Paris. In Paris alone can the refinements of society, education, and the fine arts be found. To Paris, or to the large cities, the country gentleman must go, or have nothing; how unlike the beautiful country homes of the English. I doubt not the "New Monthly" would cry out: "Here is Audubon again, in all his extravagance." This may be true, but I write as I think I see, and that is enough to render me contented with my words. The passage from Calais was short, and I was free from my usual seasickness, and London was soon reached, where I have been busy with many letters, many friends, and my work. I have presented a copy of my birds to the Linnæan Society, and sold a little picture for ten guineas. And now I must to work on the pictures that have been ordered in France. _November 7._ To-day is of some account, as Mr. Havell has taken the drawings that are to form the eleventh number of my work. It will be the first number for the year 1829. I have as yet had no answer from the Linnæan Society, but thou knowest how impatient my poor nature always is. _November 10._ I have been painting as much as the short days will allow, but it is very hard for me to do so, as my Southern constitution suffers so keenly from the cold that I am freezing on the side farthest from the fire at this very instant. I have finished the two pictures for the Duc d'Orléans; that of the Grouse I regret much to part with, without a copy; however, I may at some future time group another still more naturally. _November 15._ We have had such dismal fog in this London that I could scarcely see to write at twelve o'clock; however, I did write nearly all day. It has been extremely cold besides, and in the streets in the middle of the day I saw men carrying torches, so dark it was. _November 17._ I anticipated this day sending all my copies for Paris, but am sadly disappointed. One of the colorers employed brought a number so shamefully done that I would not think of forwarding it. It has gone to be washed, hot pressed, and done over again. Depend upon it, my work will not fail for the want of my own very particular attention. _December 23._ After so long neglecting thee, my dear book, it would be difficult to enter a connected account of my time, but I will trace the prominent parts of the lapse. Painting every day, and I may well add constantly, has been the main occupation. I have (what I call) finished my two large pictures of the Eagle and the Lamb, and the Dog and the Pheasants, and now, as usual, can scarce bear to look at either. My friends the Swainsons have often been to see me, and good Bentley came and lived with me for a month as a brother would. I parted from him yesterday with pain and regret. Several artists have called upon me, and have given me _false praises_, as I have heard afterwards, and I hope they will keep aloof. It is charity to speak the truth to a man who knows the poverty of his talents and wishes to improve; it is villanous to mislead him, by praising him to his face, and laughing at his work as they go down the stairs of his house. I have, however, applied to one whom I _know_ to be candid, and who has promised to see them, and to give his opinion with truth and simplicity; this is no other, my Lucy, than the president of the Royal Academy, Sir Thomas Lawrence. The steady work and want of exercise has reduced me almost to a skeleton; I have not allowed myself the time even to go to the Zoölogical Gardens. _December 26._ I dined yesterday (another Christmas day away from my dear country) at a Mr. Goddard's; our company was formed of Americans, principally sea-captains. During my absence Sir Thomas Lawrence came to see my paintings, which were shown to him by Mr. Havell, who reported as follows. On seeing the Eagle and Lamb he said, "That is a fine picture." He examined it closely, and was shown that of the Pheasants, which I call "_Sauve qui peut_." He approached it, looked at it sideways, up and down, and put his face close to the canvas, had it moved from one situation to two others in different lights, but gave no opinion. The Otter came next, and he said that the "animal" was very fine, and told Havell he would come again to see them in a few days. I paid him my respects the next morning, and thought him kinder than usual. He said he would certainly come to make a choice for me of one to be exhibited at Somerset House, and would speak to the Council about it. * * * * * The remaining three months before Audubon sailed for America, April 1, 1829, were passed in preparations for his absence from his book, and many pages of his fine, close writing are filled with memoranda for Mr. Havell, Mr. J. G. Children, and Mr. Pitois. Audubon writes: "I have made up my mind to go to America, and with much labor and some trouble have made ready. My business is as well arranged for as possible; I have given the agency of my work to my excellent friend Children, of the British Museum, who kindly offered to see to it during my absence. I have collected some money, paid all my debts, and taken my passage in the packet-ship 'Columbia,' Captain Delano. I chose the ship on account of her name, and paid thirty pounds for my passage. I am about to leave this smoky city for Portsmouth, and shall sail on April 1." The voyage was uneventful, and America was reached on May 1. Almost immediately began the search for new birds, and those not delineated already, for the continuation and completion of the "Birds of America." [Illustration: EAGLE AND LAMB. PAINTED BY AUDUBON, LONDON, 1828. IN THE POSSESSION OF THE FAMILY.] FOOTNOTES: [65] This sounds involved, but is copied verbatim. [66] Mr. Wm. Rathbone, of the firm of Rathbone Bros. & Co., to whom Audubon had a letter from Mr. Vincent Nolté. To Messrs. Wm. and Richard Rathbone, and their father Wm. Rathbone, Sr., Audubon was more deeply indebted than to any other of his many kind friends in England. Their hospitality was only equalled by their constant and valuable assistance in preparing for the publication of the "Birds," and when this was an assured fact, they were unresting in their efforts to aid Audubon in procuring subscribers. It is with pleasure that Audubon's descendants to-day acknowledge this indebtedness to the "family Rathbone," which is ever held in grateful remembrance. [67] William Roscoe, historical, botanical, and miscellaneous writer, 1753-1831. [68] In a charming letter written to me by Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, son of this gentleman, dated Glan y Menai, Anglesey, May 14, 1897, he says: "To us there was a halo of romance about Mr. Audubon, artist, naturalist, quondam backwoodsman, and the author of that splendid work which I used to see on a table constructed to hold the copy belonging to my Uncle William, opening with hinges so as to raise the bird portraits as if on a desk. But still more I remember his amiable character, though tinged with melancholy by past sufferings; and his beautiful, expressive face, kept alive in my memory by his autograph crayon sketch thereof, in profile, with the words written at foot, 'Audubon at Green Bank. _Almost_ happy, 9th September, 1826.' Mr. Audubon painted for my father, as a gift, an Otter (in oils) caught by the fore-foot in a steel trap, and after vainly gnawing at the foot to release himself, throwing up his head, probably with a yell of agony, and displaying his wide-open jaws dripping with blood. This picture hung on our walls for years, until my mother could no longer bear the horror of it, and persuaded my father to part with it. We also had a full-length, life-sized portrait of the American Turkey, striding through the forest. Both pictures went to a public collection in Liverpool. I have also a colored sketch by Mr. Audubon of a Robin Redbreast, shot by him at Green Bank, which I saw him pin with long pins into a bit of board to fix it into position for the instruction of my mother." [69] At Green Bank. [70] Vincent Nolté, born at Leghorn, 1779, traveller, merchant, adventurer. [71] William Henry Hunt (1790-1864). [72] Mrs. Alexander Gordon was Mrs. Audubon's sister Anne. [73] Thomas Stewart Traill, M.D., Scottish naturalist, born in Orkney, 1781; edited the eighth edition of the "Encyclopædia Britannica," was associated with the Royal Institute at Liverpool; he died 1862. [74] The Swiss historian, born at Geneva, 1773, died 1842. [75] Daughter of Mr. William Rathbone, Sr.; married Dr. William Reynolds. [76] Edward, fourteenth Earl of Derby, 1799-1869. Member of Parliament, Chief Secretary for Ireland, Secretary for the Colonies, First Lord of the Treasury, and Prime Minister. Translated Homer's Iliad into blank verse. His was a life of many interests: literature, art, society, public affairs, sportmanship, and above all "the most perfect orator of his day." [77] Mrs. Wm. Rathbone, Sr., whom Audubon often calls "Lady Rathbone," and also "The Queen Bee." [78] Muzio Clementi, composer and pianist, born in Rome, 1752, died in London, 1832. Head of the piano firm of that name. [79] Relative of Mr. Wm. Rathbone, Sr. [80] The Irwell. [81] William Smyth, 1766-1849, poet, scholar, and Professor of Modern History at Cambridge. [82] Henry Clay. [83] John Randolph of Roanoke, 1773-1833, American orator and statesman. [84] William S. Roscoe, son of William Roscoe, 1781-1843. [85] I believe Mr. Robert Bentley, the publisher. [86] Robert Jameson, the eminent Scotch naturalist, 1774-1854. Regius Professor of Natural History in the University of Edinburgh. Founder of the Wernerian Society of that city, and with Sir David Brewster originated the "Edinburgh Philosophical Review." Wrote many works on geology and mineralogy. [87] Andrew Duncan, M.D., 1745-1828. Lecturer in the University of Edinburgh. [88] Patrick Neill, 1776-1851, Scottish naturalist and horticulturalist. Was a printer in Edinburgh at this time. [89] Prideaux John Selby, English ornithologist, author of "British Birds" and other works; died 1867. [90] Lord Francis Jeffrey, 1773-1850, the distinguished Scottish critic and essayist. [91] Sir William Jardine. [92] W. H. Lizars, the engraver who made a few of the earliest plates of the "Birds of America." [93] Scottish naturalist, 1800-1874. Published "Naturalists' Library" and other works. [94] James Wilson, brother of Professor John Wilson (Christopher North), naturalist and scientific writer, 1795-1856. [95] George Combe, an eminent phrenologist and author on that subject. Born and died in Edinburgh, 1788-1856. [96] David Bridges, editor of one of the Edinburgh newspapers. [97] John Syme. His portrait of Audubon was the first one ever engraved. [98] Charles Waterton, English naturalist and traveller, 1782-1865,--always an enemy of Audubon's. [99] This seal Audubon always used afterwards, and it is still in the possession of the family. [100] Robert Graham, Scottish physician and botanist, born at Stirling, 1786, died at Edinburgh, 1845. [101] David Brewster, author, scientist, and philosopher, Edinburgh, 1781- [102] Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy, author, etc., Edinburgh, 1753-1828. [103] Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl of Elgin. 1777-1841. [104] Wm. Forbes Skene, Scottish historian. [105] Afterwards Sir William Allan, historical painter; in 1833 was elected president of the Scottish Royal Academy, Edinburgh. 1782-1850. [106] An eminent divine 1784-1858; father of Dr. John Brown, author of "Rab and his Friends," etc. [107] William Nicholson, First Secretary of the Scottish Academy and portrait painter. 1784-1844. [108] Traveller and author. 1788-1844. [109] Robert Kaye Greville, author of "Plants of Edinburgh" and other botanical works, 1794-1866. [110] This entry begins a new blank book, in shape and size like a ledger, every line of which is closely written. [111] Spencer Perceval, born 1762, assassinated in the lobby of the House of Commons, May 11, 1812. [112] "Jan. 22, 1827. A visit from Basil Hall with Mr. Audubon the ornithologist, who has followed that pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests. He is an American by naturalization, a Frenchman by birth, but less of a Frenchman than I have ever seen,--no dash, no glimmer or shine about him, but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person and plainly dressed; wears long hair which time has not yet tinged; his countenance acute, handsome, and interesting, but still simplicity is the predominant characteristic." (Journal of Sir Walter Scott, vol. i., p. 343.) [113] "January 24. Visit from Mr. Audubon, who brings some of his birds. The drawings are of the first order--the attitudes of the birds of the most animated character, and the situations appropriate.... This sojourner of the desert had been in the woods for months together. He preferred associating with the Indians to the company of the settlers; very justly, I daresay, for a civilized man of the lower order when thrust back on the savage state becomes worse than a savage." (Journal of Sir Walter Scott, vol. i., p. 345.) [114] Sir John Leslie, 1766-1832, Scottish geometer and natural philosopher and voluminous author on these subjects. [115] Joseph B. Kidd, who later copied many of Audubon's birds. [116] James Baillie Fraser, 1783-1856, Scottish writer of travels. [117] Mrs. Anne Grant, poetess and miscellaneous writer. Born 1755, died 1838. [118] This entry is the only one on a large page, of which a facsimile is given. It is written in the centre, and all around the edge of the paper is a heavy black border, an inch in depth. [119] A distinguished ornithologist said of the book in 1895: "It is one of the few illustrated books, if not the only one, that steadily increases in price as the years go on." [120] One of the greatest metaphysicians of modern times. Born at Glasgow 1788, died in Edinburgh, 1856. [121] Possibly Charles Heath, engraver, 1784-1848. [122] Thomas Bewick was at this time nearly seventy-four. He died Nov. 8, 1828, being then past seventy-five. [123] Probably St. Mary's Abbey. [124] Mr. Vernon was the president of the Philosophical Society of York. [125] Mr. John Backhouse. [126] Nearly every entry in all the journals begins and ends with a morning greeting, and an affectionate good-night. These have been omitted with occasional exceptions. [127] Mr. Melly. [128] John George Children, 1777-1852, English physicist and naturalist, at this time secretary of the Royal Society. [129] Robert Inglis, 1786-1855, of the East India Company. [130] Nicholas Aylward Vigors, 1787-1840, naturalist, First Secretary of the Zoölogical Society of London. [131] Then a boy not fifteen, who was at Bayou Sara with his mother. [132] When found by Audubon the Havells were in extreme poverty. He provided everything for them, and his publication made them comparatively wealthy. [133] Benson Rathbone. [134] The distance between these places is about two miles. [135] The Duck-billed Platypus, _Ornithorynchus paradoxus_ of Australia.--E. C. [136] The Andean Eagle is undoubtedly the Harpy, _Thrasaëtos harpyia_.--E. C. [137] François Athanase de Charette, a leader of the Vendéans against the French Republic; executed at Nantes, on May 12, 1797. [138] Children's Warbler. Plate xxxv. [139] Vigors' Warbler. Plate xxx. [140] Cuvier's Regulus. Plate lv. No bird was named after Temminck by Audubon. [141] This decision was made in consequence of various newspaper and personal attacks, which, then as now, came largely from people who knew nothing of the matter under consideration. It was a decision, however, never altered except in so far as regards the Episodes published in the "Ornithological Biography." [142] David Don, Scottish botanist, 1800-1840; at this time Librarian of Linnæan Society. [143] Thomas Nuttall, botanist and ornithologist; born in England 1786, died at St. Helen's, England, September 10, 1859. [144] Of all the twenty-six only three are known to be in existence; the other volumes now extant are all of later date. [145] Joshua Brookes, 1761-1833, anatomist and surgeon. [146] Captain (Sir) Edward Sabine accompanied Parry's expedition to the Arctic regions,--a mathematician, traveller, and Fellow of the Royal Society, 1819. Born in Dublin, 1788, died in Richmond, 1883. [147] Adam Sedgwick, geologist. 1785-1873. [148] William Whewell, 1795-1866, Professor of Moral Philosophy, Mineralogy, and other sciences. [149] John Stevens Henslow, botanist, 1796-1861. [150] Dr. John Kidd, 1775-1851, Professor of Chemistry and Medicine at Oxford. [151] Edward Burton, D.D., 1794-1836, Professor of Divinity at Oxford. [152] William Buckland, D.D., 1784-1856, geologist. [153] John Claudius Loudon, 1783-1843, writer on horticulture and arboriculture. In 1828-1836, editor of the "Magazine of Natural History." [154] Edward Turner Bennett, 1797-1836, zoölogist. [155] William Swainson, naturalist and writer. Born in England 1789, emigrated in 1841 to New Zealand, where he died 1855. [156] This picture is still in the family, being owned by one of the granddaughters. [157] François Levaillant, born at Paramaribo, 1753; died in France, 1824. [158] John Edward Gray, 1800-1875, zoölogist. [159] No trace of this portrait can be found. [160] George Chrétien Léopold Frédéric Dagobert Cuvier, Baron, 1769-1832; statesman, author, philosopher, and one of the greatest naturalists of modern times. [161] Achille Valenciennes, born 1794, French naturalist. [162] Étienne Geoffroy de St. Hilaire, 1772-1844, French naturalist. [163] René Primevère Lesson, a French naturalist and author, born at Rochefort, 1794, died 1849. [164] Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 1805-1861, zoölogist. [165] Son of André, Prince d'Essling and Duc de Rivoli, one of the marshals of Napoleon. [166] Charles Alexandre Le Sueur, French naturalist. 1778-1846. [167] Pierre Joseph Redouté, French painter of flowers. 1759-1840. [168] François Gérard, born at Rome 1770, died 1837; the best French portrait painter of his time, distinguished also for historical pictures. [169] Charles d'Orbigny, son of Audubon's early friend, M. le docteur d'Orbigny. [170] Count Joseph Jérôme Siméon, French Minister of State. 1781-1846. [171] The words of the secretary were fully verified within a few months. THE LABRADOR JOURNAL 1833 INTRODUCTION The Labrador trip, long contemplated, was made with the usual object, that of procuring birds and making the drawings of them for the continuation of the "Birds of America," the publication of which was being carried on by the Havells, under the supervision of Victor, the elder son, who was in London at this time. To him Audubon writes from Eastport, Maine, under date of May 31, 1833:-- "We are on the eve of our departure for the coast of Labrador. Our party consists of young Dr. George Shattuck of Boston, Thomas Lincoln of Dennysville, William Ingalls, son of Dr. Ingalls of Boston, Joseph Coolidge, John, and myself. I have chartered a schooner called the 'Ripley,' commanded by Captain Emery, who was at school with my friend Lincoln; he is reputed to be a gentleman, as well as a good sailor. Coolidge, too, has been bred to the sea, and is a fine, active youth of twenty-one. The schooner is a new vessel, only a year old, of 106 tons, for which we pay three hundred and fifty dollars per month for the entire use of the vessel with the men, but we supply ourselves with provisions.[172] The hold of the vessel has been floored, and our great table solidly fixed in a tolerably good light under the main hatch; it is my intention to draw whenever possible, and that will be many hours, for the daylight is with us nearly all the time in those latitudes, and the fishermen say you can do with little sleep, the air is so pure. I have been working hard at the birds from the Grand Menan, as well as John, who is overcoming his habit of sleeping late, as I call him every morning at four, and we have famous long days. We are well provided as to clothes, and strange figures indeed do we cut in our dresses, I promise you: fishermen's boots, the soles of which are all nailed to enable us to keep our footing on the sea-weeds, trousers of _fearnought_ so coarse that our legs look like bears' legs, oiled jackets and over-trousers for rainy weather, and round, white, wool hats with a piece of oil cloth dangling on our shoulders to prevent the rain from running down our necks. A coarse bag is strapped on the back to carry provisions on inland journeys, with our guns and hunting-knives; you can form an idea of us from this. Edward Harris is not to be with us; this I regret more than I can say. This day seven vessels sailed for the fishing-grounds, some of them not more than thirty tons' burden, for these hardy fishermen care not in what they go; but _I do_, and, indeed, such a boat would be too small for us." The 1st of June was the day appointed for the start, but various delays occurred which retarded this until the 6th, when the journal which follows tells its own tale. Of all the members of the party Mr. Joseph Coolidge, now (1897) living in San Francisco, is the sole survivor. M. R. A. [Illustration: AUDUBON. From the portrait by George P. A. Healy, London, 1838. Now in the possession of the Boston Society of Natural History.] THE LABRADOR JOURNAL 1833 _Eastport, Maine, June 4._ Our vessel is being prepared for our reception and departure, and we have concluded to hire two extra sailors and a lad; the latter to be a kind of major-domo, to clean our guns, etc., search for nests, and assist in skinning birds. Whilst rambling in the woods this morning, I found a Crow's nest, with five young, yet small. As I ascended the tree, the parents came to their offspring crying loudly, and with such perseverance that in less than fifteen minutes upwards of fifty pairs of these birds had joined in their vociferations; yet when first the parents began to cry I would have supposed them the only pair in the neighborhood. _Wednesday, June 5._ This afternoon, when I had concluded that everything relating to the charter of the "Ripley" was arranged, some difficulty arose between myself and Mr. Buck, which nearly put a stop to our having his vessel. Pressed, however, as I was, by the lateness of the season, I gave way and suffered myself to be imposed upon as usual, with a full knowledge that I was so. The charter was signed, and we hoped to have sailed, but to-morrow is now the day appointed. Our promised Hampton boat is not come. _Thursday, June 6._ We left the wharf of Eastport about one o'clock P. M. Every one of the male population came to see the show, just as if no schooner the size of the "Ripley" had ever gone from this mighty port to Labrador. Our numerous friends came with the throng, and we all shook hands as if never to meet again. The batteries of the garrison, and the cannon of the revenue cutter, saluted us, each firing four loud, oft-echoing reports. Captain Coolidge accompanied us, and indeed was our pilot, until we had passed Lubec. The wind was light and ahead, and yet with the assistance of the tide we drifted twenty-five miles, down to Little River, during the night, and on rising on the morning of June 7 we were at anchor near some ugly rocks, the sight of which was not pleasing to our good captain. _June 7._ The whole morning was spent trying to enter Little River, but in vain; the men were unable to tow us in. We landed for a few minutes, and shot a Hermit Thrush, but the appearance of a breeze brought us back, and we attempted to put to sea. Our position now became rather dangerous, as we were drawn by the current nearly upon the rocks; but the wind rose at last, and we cleared for sea. At three o'clock it became suddenly so foggy that we could not see the bowsprit. The night was spent in direful apprehensions of ill luck; at midnight a smart squall decided in our favor, and when day broke on the morning of June 8 the wind was from the northeast, blowing fresh, and we were dancing on the waters, all shockingly sea-sick, crossing that worst of all dreadful bays, the Bay of Fundy. We passed between the Seal Islands and the Mud Islands; in the latter _Procellaria wilsonii_, the Stormy Petrel, breeds abundantly; their nests are dug out of the sand in an oblique direction to the depth of two, or two and a half feet. At the bottom of these holes, and on the sand, the birds deposit their pure white eggs. The holes are perforated, not in the banks like the Bank Swallow, but are like rat holes over the whole of the islands. On Seal Islands _Larus argentatus_, the Herring Gull, breeds as abundantly as on Grand Menan, but altogether _on trees_. As we passed Cape Sable, so called on account of its being truly a sand-point of some caved-in elevation, we saw a wrecked ship with many small crafts about it. I saw there _Uria troile_, the Foolish Guillemot, and some Gannets. The sea was dreadful, and scarcely one of us was able to eat or drink this day. We came up with the schooner "Caledonia," from Boston for Labrador; her captain wished to keep in our company, and we were pretty much together all night and also on Sunday. _June 9._ We now had a splendid breeze, but a horrid sea, and were scarce able to keep our feet, or sleep. The "Caledonia" was very near to us for some time, but when the breeze increased to a gale, and both vessels had to reef, we showed ourselves superior in point of sailing. So good was our run that on the next morning, June 10, we found ourselves not more than thirty miles from Cape Canseau, ordinarily called Cape Cancer. The wind was so fair for proceeding directly to Labrador that our captain spoke of doing so, provided it suited my views; but, anxious as I am not to suffer any opportunity to escape of doing all I can to fulfil my engagements, I desired that we should pass through what is called "The Gut of Canseau," and we came into the harbor of that name[173] at three of the afternoon. Here we found twenty vessels, all bound to Labrador, and, of course, all fishermen. We had been in view of the southeastern coast of Nova Scotia all day, a dreary, poor, and inhospitable-looking country. As we dropped our anchor we had a snowfall, and the sky had an appearance such as I never before recollect having seen. Going on shore we found not a tree in blossom, though the low plants near the ground were all in bloom; I saw azaleas, white and blue violets, etc., and in some situations the grass really looked well. The Robins were in full song; one nest of that bird was found; the White-throated Sparrow and Savannah Finch were also in full song. The _Fringilla nivalis_[174] was seen, and we were told that _Tetrao canadensis_[175] was very abundant, but saw none. About a dozen houses form this settlement; there was no Custom House officer, and not an individual who could give an answer of any value to our many questions. We returned on board and supped on a fine codfish. The remainder of our day was spent in catching lobsters, of which we procured forty. They were secured simply by striking them in shallow water with a gaff-hook. It snowed and rained at intervals, and to my surprise we did not observe a single seabird. _June 11._ _Larus marinus_ (the Great Black-backed Gull) is so superior both in strength and courage to Fulmars, _Lestris_, or even Gannets, to say nothing of Gulls of all sorts, that at its approach they all give way, and until it has quite satiated itself, none venture to approach the precious morsel on which it is feeding. In this respect, it is as the Eagle to the Vultures or Carrion Crows. I omitted saying that last night, before we retired to rest, after much cold, snow, rain, and hail, the frogs were piping in all the pools on the shore, and we all could hear them clearly, from the deck of the "Ripley." The weather to-day is beautiful, the wind fair, and when I reached the deck at four A. M. we were under way in the wake of the whole of the fleet which last evening graced the Harbor of Canseau, but which now gave life to the grand bay across which all were gliding under easy pressure of sail. The land locked us in, the water was smooth, the sky pure, and the thermometer was only 46°, quite cold; indeed, it was more grateful to see the sunshine whilst on deck this morning, and to feel its warmth, than I can recollect before at this season. After sailing for twenty-one miles, and passing one after another every vessel of the fleet, we entered the Gut of Canseau, so named by the Spanish on account of the innumerable Wild Geese which, in years long past and forgotten, resorted to this famed passage. The land rises on each side in the form of an amphitheatre, and on the Nova Scotia side, to a considerable height. Many _appearances_ of dwellings exist, but the country is too poor for comfort; the timber is small, and the land, very stony. Here and there a small patch of ploughed land, planted, or to be planted, with potatoes, was all we could see evincing cultivation. Near one house we saw a few apple-trees, yet without leaves. The general appearance of this passage reminded me of some parts of the Hudson River, and accompanied as we were by thirty smaller vessels, the time passed agreeably. Vegetation about as forward as at Eastport; saw a Chimney Swallow, heard some Blue Jays, saw some Indians in a bark canoe, passed Cape Porcupine, a high, rounding hill, and Cape George, after which we entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence. From this place, on the 20th of May last year, the sea was a complete sheet of ice as far as a spy-glass could inform. As we advanced, running parallel with the western coast of Cape Breton Island, the country looked well, at the distance we were from it; the large, undulating hills were scattered with many hamlets, and here and there a bit of cultivated land was seen. It being calm when we reached Jestico Island, distant from Cape Breton about three miles, we left the vessel and made for it. On landing we found it covered with well grown grass sprinkled everywhere with the blossoms of the wild strawberry; the sun shone bright, and the weather was quite pleasant. Robins, Savannah Finches, Song Sparrows, Tawny Thrushes, and the American Redstart were found. The Spotted Sand-piper, _Totanus macularius_, was breeding in the grass, and flew slowly with the common tremor of their wings, uttering their "wheet-wheet-wheet" note, to invite me to follow them. A Raven had a nest and three young in it, one standing near it, the old birds not seen. _Uria troile_[176] and _U. grylle_[177] were breeding in the rocks, and John saw several _Ardea herodias_[178] flying in pairs, also a pair of Red-breasted Mergansers that had glutted themselves with fish so that they were obliged to disgorge before they could fly off. Amongst the plants the wild gooseberry, nearly the size of a green pea, was plentiful, and the black currant, I think of a different species from the one found in Maine. The wind rose and we returned on board. John and the sailors almost killed a Seal with their oars. _June 12._ At four this morning we were in sight of the Magdalene Islands, or, as they are called on the chart, Amherst Islands; they appeared to be distant about twenty miles. The weather was dull and quite calm, and I thought the prospect of reaching these isles this day very doubtful, and returned to my berth sadly disappointed. After breakfast a thick fog covered the horizon on our bow, the islands disappeared from sight, and the wind rose sluggishly, and dead ahead. Several brigs and ships loaded with lumber out from Miramichi came near us, beating their way towards the Atlantic. We are still in a great degree land-locked by Cape Breton Island, the highlands of which look dreary and forbidding; it is now nine A. M., and we are at anchor in four fathoms of water, and within a quarter of a mile of an island, one of the general group; for our pilot, who has been here for ten successive years, informs us that all these islands are connected by dry sand-bars, without any other ship channel between them than the one which we have taken, and which is called Entrée Bay, formed by Entrée Island and a long, sandy, projecting reef connected with the main island. This latter measures forty-eight miles in length, by an average of about three in breadth; Entrée Island contains about fifteen hundred acres of land, such as it is, of a red, rough, sandy formation, the northwest side constantly falling into the sea, and exhibiting a very interesting sight. Guillemots were seen seated upright along the projecting shelvings in regular order, resembling so many sentinels on the look-out. Many Gannets also were seen about the extreme point of this island. On Amherst Island we saw many houses, a small church, and on the highest land a large cross, indicating the Catholic tendency of the inhabitants. Several small schooners lay in the little harbor called Pleasant Bay, and we intend to pay them an early visit to-morrow. The wind is so cold that it feels to us all like the middle of December at Boston. _Magdalene Islands, June 13._ This day week we were at Eastport, and I am sure not one of our party thought of being here this day. At four this morning we were seated at breakfast around our great drawing-table; the thermometer was at 44°; we blew our fingers and drank our coffee, feeling as if in the very heart of winter, and when we landed I felt so chilled that it would have been quite out of the question to use my hands for any delicate work. We landed between two great bluffs, that looked down upon us with apparent anger, the resort of many a Black Guillemot and noble Raven, and following a tortuous path, suddenly came plump upon one of God's best finished jewels, a woman. She saw us first, for women are always keenest in sight and sympathy, in perseverance and patience, in fortitude, and love, and sorrow, and faith, and, for aught I know, much more. At the instant that my eyes espied her, she was in full run towards her cottage, holding to her bosom a fine babe, simply covered with a very short shirt, the very appearance of which set me shivering. The woman was dressed in coarse French homespun, a close white cotton cap which entirely surrounded her face tied under her chin, and I thought her the wildest-looking woman, both in form and face, I had seen for many a day. At a venture, I addressed her in French, and it answered well, for she responded in a wonderful jargon, about one third of which I understood, and abandoned the rest to a better linguist, should one ever come to the island. She was a plain, good woman, I doubt not, and the wife of an industrious fisherman. We walked through the woods, and followed the _road_ to the church. Who would have thought that on these wild islands, among these impoverished people, we should have found a church; that we should have been suddenly confronted with a handsome, youthful, vigorous, black-haired, black-bearded fellow, in a soutane as black as the Raven's wedding-dress, and with a heart as light as a bird on the wing? Yet we met with both church and priest, and our ears were saluted by the sound of a bell which measures one foot by nine and a half inches in diameter, and weighs thirty pounds; and this bell may be heard a full quarter of a mile. It is a festival day, _La Petite Fête de Dieu_. The chapel was illuminated at six o'clock, and the inhabitants, even from a distance, passed in; among them were many old women, who, staff in hand, had trudged along the country road. Their backs were bent by age and toil, their eyes dimmed by time; they crossed their hands upon their breasts, and knelt before the sacred images in the church with so much simplicity and apparent truth of heart that I could not help exclaiming, "This is indeed religion!" The priest, Père Brunet, is originally from Quebec. These islands belong, or are attached, to Lower Canada; he, however, is under the orders of the Bishop of Halifax. He is a shrewd-looking fellow, and, if I mistake not, has a dash of the devil in him. He told me there were no reptiles on the island, but this was an error; for, while rambling about, Tom Lincoln, Ingalls, and John saw a snake, and I heard Frogs a-piping. He also told me that Black and Red Foxes, and the changeable Hare, with Rats lately imported, were the only quadrupeds to be found, except cows, horses, and mules, of which some had been brought over many years ago, and which had multiplied, but to no great extent. The land, he assured us, was poor in every respect,--soil, woods, game; that the Seal fisheries had been less productive these last years than formerly. On these islands, about a dozen in number, live one hundred and sixty families, all of whom make their livelihood by the Cod, Herring, and Mackerel fisheries. One or two vessels from Quebec come yearly to collect this produce of the ocean. Not a bird to be found larger than a Robin, but certainly thousands of those. Père Brunet said he lived the life of a recluse, and invited us to accompany him to the house where he boarded, and take a glass of good French wine. During our ramble on the island we found the temperature quite agreeable; indeed, in some situations the sun was pleasant and warm. Strawberry blossoms were under our feet at every step, and here and there the grass looked well. I was surprised to find the woods (by woods I mean land covered with any sort of trees, from the noblest magnolia down to dwarf cedars) rich in Warblers, Thrushes, Finches, Buntings, etc. The Fox-tailed Sparrow breeds here, the Siskin also. The Hermit and Tawny Thrushes crossed our path every few yards, the Black-capped Warbler flashed over the pools, the Winter Wren abounded everywhere. Among the water-birds we found the Great Tern (_Sterna hirundo_) very abundant, and shot four of them on the sand-ridges. The Piping Plover breeds here--shot two males and one female; so plaintive is the note of this interesting species that I feel great aversion to killing them. These birds certainly are the swiftest of foot of any water-birds which I know, of their size. We found many land-snails, and collected some fine specimens of gypsum. This afternoon, being informed that across the bay where we are anchored we might, perhaps, purchase some Black Fox skins, we went there, and found Messieurs Muncey keen fellows; they asked £5 for Black Fox and $1.50 for Red. No purchase on our part. Being told that Geese, Brents, Mergansers, etc., breed eighteen miles from here, at the eastern extremity of these islands, we go off there to-morrow in boats. Saw Bank Swallows and House Swallows. The woods altogether small evergreens, extremely scrubby, almost impenetrable, and swampy beneath. At seven this evening the thermometer is at 52°. This morning it was 44°. After our return to the "Ripley," our captain, John, Tom Lincoln, and Coolidge went off to the cliffs opposite our anchorage, in search of Black Guillemots' eggs. This was found to be quite an undertaking; these birds, instead of having to _jump_ or _hop_ from one place to another on the rocks, to find a spot suitable to deposit their spotted egg, as has been stated, are on the contrary excellent walkers, at least upon the rocks, and they can fly from the water to the very entrance of the holes in the fissures, where the egg is laid. Sometimes this egg is deposited not more than eight or ten feet above high-water mark, at other times the fissure in the rock which has been chosen stands at an elevation of a hundred feet or more. The egg is laid on the bare rock without any preparation, but when the formation is sandy, a certain scoop is indicated on the surface. In one instance, I found two feathers with the egg; this egg is about the size of a hen's, and looks extravagantly large, splashed with black or deep umber, apparently at random, the markings larger and more frequent towards the great end. At the barking of a dog from any place where these birds breed, they immediately fly towards the animal, and will pass within a few feet of the observer, as if in defiance. At other times they leave the nest and fall in the water, diving to an extraordinary distance before they rise again. John shot a Gannet on the wing; the flesh was black and unpleasant. The Piping Plover, when missed by the shot, rises almost perpendicularly, and passes sometimes out of sight; this is, I am convinced by the many opportunities I have had to witness the occurrence, a habit of the species. These islands are well watered by large springs, and rivulets intersect the country in many directions. We saw large flocks of Velvet Ducks feeding close to the shores; these did not appear to be in pairs. The Gannet dives quite under the water after its prey, and when empty of food rises easily off the water. _June 14, off the Gannett Rocks._ We rose at two o'clock with a view to proceed to the eastern extremity of these islands in search of certain ponds, wherein, so we were told, Wild Geese and Ducks of different kinds are in the habit of resorting annually to breed. Our informer added that formerly Brents bred there in abundance, but that since the erection of several buildings owned by Nova Scotians, and in the immediate vicinity of these ponds or lakes, the birds have become gradually very shy, and most of them now proceed farther north. Some of these lakes are several miles in circumference, with shallow, sandy bottoms; most of them are fresh water, the shores thickly overgrown with rank sedges and grasses, and on the surface are many water-lilies. It is among these that the wild fowl, when hid from the sight of man, deposit their eggs. Our way to these ponds would have been through a long and narrow bay, formed by what seamen call sea-walls. In this place these walls are entirely of light-colored sand, and form connecting points from one island to another, thus uniting nearly the whole archipelago. Our journey was abandoned just as we were about to start, in consequence of the wind changing, and being fair for our passage to Labrador, the ultimatum of our desires. Our anchor was raised, and we bid adieu to the Magdalenes. Our pilot, a Mr. Godwin from Nova Scotia, put the vessel towards what he called "The Bird Rocks," where he told us that Gannets (_Sula bassana_) bred in great numbers. For several days past we have met with an increased number of Gannets, and as we sailed this morning we observed long and numerous files, all flying in the direction of the rocks. Their flight now was low above the water, forming easy undulations, flapping thirty or forty times, and sailing about the same distance; these were all returning from fishing, and were gorged with food for their mates or young. About ten a speck rose on the horizon, which I was told was the Rock; we sailed well, the breeze increased fast, and we neared this object apace. At eleven I could distinguish its top plainly from the deck, and thought it covered with snow to the depth of several feet; this appearance existed on every portion of the flat, projecting shelves. Godwin said, with the coolness of a man who had visited this Rock for ten successive seasons, that what we saw was not snow--but Gannets! I rubbed my eyes, took my spy-glass, and in an instant the strangest picture stood before me. They were birds we saw,--a mass of birds of such a size as I never before cast my eyes on. The whole of my party stood astounded and amazed, and all came to the conclusion that such a sight was of itself sufficient to invite any one to come across the Gulf to view it at this season. The nearer we approached, the greater our surprise at the enormous number of these birds, all calmly seated on their eggs or newly hatched brood, their heads all turned to windward, and towards us. The air above for a hundred yards, and for some distance around the whole rock, was filled with Gannets on the wing, which from our position made it appear as if a heavy fall of snow was directly above us. Our pilot told us the wind was too high to permit us to land, and I felt sadly grieved at this unwelcome news. Anxious as we all were, we decided to make the attempt; our whale-boat was overboard, the pilot, two sailors, Tom Lincoln, and John pushed off with guns and clubs. Our vessel was brought to, but at that instant the wind increased, and heavy rain began to fall. Our boat neared the rock, and went to the lee of it, and was absent nearly an hour, but could not land. The air was filled with Gannets, but no difference could we perceive on the surface of the rock. The birds, which we now could distinctly see, sat almost touching each other and in regular lines, seated on their nests quite unconcerned. The discharge of the guns had no effect on those that were not touched by the shot, for the noise of the Gulls, Guillemots, etc., deadened the sound of the gun; but where the shot took effect, the birds scrambled and flew off in such multitudes, and in such confusion, that whilst some eight or ten were falling into the water either dead or wounded, others pushed off their eggs, and these fell into the sea by hundreds in all directions. The sea now becoming very rough, the boat was obliged to return, with some birds and some eggs; but the crew had not climbed the rock, a great disappointment to me. Godwin tells me the top of the rock is about a quarter of a mile wide, north and south, and a little narrower east and west; its elevation above the sea between three and four hundred feet. The sea beats round it with great violence, except after long calms, and it is extremely difficult to land upon it, and much more so to climb to the top of it, which is a platform; it is only on the southeast shore that a landing can be made, and the moment a boat touches, it must be hauled up on the rocks. The whole surface is perfectly covered with nests, placed about two feet apart, in such regular order that you may look through the lines as you would look through those of a planted patch of sweet potatoes or cabbages. The fishermen who kill these birds, to get their flesh for codfish bait, ascend in parties of six or eight, armed with clubs; sometimes, indeed, the party comprises the crews of several vessels. As they reach the top, the birds, alarmed, rise with a noise like thunder, and fly off in such hurried, fearful confusion as to throw each other down, often falling on each other till there is a bank of them many feet high. The men strike them down and kill them until fatigued or satisfied. Five hundred and forty have been thus murdered in one hour by six men. The birds are skinned with little care, and the flesh cut off in chunks; it will keep fresh about a fortnight. The nests are made by scratching down a few inches, and the edges surrounded with sea-weeds. The eggs are pure white, and as large as those of a Goose. By the 20th of May the rock is already covered with birds and eggs; about the 20th of June they begin to hatch. So great is the destruction of these birds annually that their flesh supplies the bait for upwards of forty fishing-boats, which lie close to the Byron Island each season. When the young are hatched they are black, and for a fortnight or more the skin looks like that of the dog-fish. They become gradually downy and white, and when two months old look much like young lambs. Even while shooting at these birds, hundreds passed us carrying great masses of weeds to their nests. The birds were thick above our heads, and I shot at one to judge of the effect of the report of the gun; it had none. A great number of Kittiwake Gulls breed on this rock, with thousands of Foolish Guillemots. The Kittiwake makes its nest of eel-weeds, several inches in thickness, and in places too small for a Gannet or a Guillemot to place itself; in some instances these nests projected some inches over the edge of the rock. We could not see any of their eggs. The breeze was now so stiff that the waves ran high; so much so that the boat was perched on the comb of the wave one minute, the next in the trough. John steered, and he told me afterwards he was nearly exhausted. The boat was very cleverly hauled on deck by a single effort. The stench from the rock is insufferable, as it is covered with the remains of putrid fish, rotten eggs, and dead birds, old and young. No man who has not seen what we have this day can form the least idea of the impression the sight made on our minds. By dark it blew a gale and we are now most of us rather shaky; rain is falling in torrents, and the sailors are reefing. I forgot to say that when a man walks towards the Gannets, they will now and then stand still, merely opening and shutting their bills; the Gulls remained on their nests with more confidence than the Guillemots, all of which flew as we approached. The feathering of the Gannet is curious, differing from that of most other birds, inasmuch as each feather is concave, and divided in its contour from the next. Under the roof of the mouth and attached to the upper mandible, are two fleshy appendages like two small wattles. _June 15._ All our party except Coolidge were deadly sick. The thermometer was down to 43°, and every sailor complained of the cold. It has rained almost all day. I felt so very sick this morning that I removed from my berth to a hammock, where I soon felt rather more easy. We lay to all this time, and at daylight were in sight of the Island of Anticosti, distant about twenty miles; but the fog soon after became so thick that nothing could be observed. At about two we saw the sun, the wind hauled dead ahead, and we ran under one sail only. _June 16, Sunday._ The weather clear, beautiful, and much warmer; but it was calm, so we fished for cod, of which we caught a good many; most of them contained crabs of a curious sort, and some were filled with shrimps. One cod measured three feet six and a half inches, and weighed twenty-one pounds. Found two curious insects fastened to the skin of a cod, which we saved. At about six o'clock the wind sprang up fair, and we made all sail for Labrador. _June 17._ I was on deck at three this morning; the sun, although not above the horizon, indicated to the mariner at the helm one of those doubtful days the result of which seldom can be truly ascertained until sunset. The sea was literally covered with Foolish Guillemots, playing in the very spray of the bow of our vessel, plunging under it, as if in fun, and rising like spirits close under our rudder. The breeze was favorable, although we were hauled to the wind within a point or so. The helmsman said he saw land from aloft, but the captain pronounced his assertion must be a mistake, by true calculation. We breakfasted on the best of fresh codfish, and I never relished a breakfast more. I looked on our landing on the coast of Labrador as a matter of great importance. My thoughts were filled, not with airy castles, but with expectations of the new knowledge of birds and quadrupeds which I hoped to acquire. The "Ripley" ploughed the deep, and proceeded swiftly on her way; she always sails well, but I thought that now as the land was expected to appear every moment, she fairly skipped over the waters. At five o'clock the cry of land rang in our ears, and my heart bounded with joy; so much for anticipation. We sailed on, and in less than an hour the land was in full sight from the deck. We approached, and saw, as we supposed, many sails, and felt delighted at having hit the point in view so very closely; but, after all, the sails proved to be large snow-banks. We proceeded, however, the wind being so very favorable that we could either luff or bear away. The air was now filled with Velvet Ducks; _millions_ of these birds were flying from the northwest towards the southeast. The Foolish Guillemots and the _Alca torda_[179] were in immense numbers, flying in long files a few yards above the water, with rather undulating motions, and passing within good gunshot of the vessel, and now and then rounding to us, as if about to alight on the very deck. We now saw a schooner at anchor, and the country looked well at this distance, and as we neared the shore the thermometer, which had been standing at 44°, now rose up to nearly 60°; yet the appearance of the great snow-drifts was forbidding. The shores appeared to be margined with a broad and handsome sand-beach; our imaginations now saw Bears, Wolves, and Devils of all sorts scampering away on the rugged shore. When we reached the schooner we saw beyond some thirty fishing-boats, fishing for cod, and to our great pleasure found Captain Billings of Eastport standing in the bow of his vessel; he bid us welcome, and we saw the codfish thrown on his deck by thousands. We were now opposite to the mouth of the Natasquan River, where the Hudson's Bay Company have a fishing establishment, but where no American vessels are allowed to come in. The shore was lined with bark-covered huts, and some vessels were within the bight, or long point of land which pushes out from the extreme eastern side of the entrance of the river. We went on to an American Harbor, four or five miles distant to the westward, and after a while came to anchor in a small bay, perfectly secure from any winds. And now we are positively on the Labrador coast, latitude 50° and a little more,--farther north than I ever was before. But what a country! When we landed and passed the beach, we sank nearly up to our knees in mosses of various sorts, producing as we moved through them a curious sensation. These mosses, which at a distance look like hard rocks, are, under foot, like a velvet cushion. We scrambled about, and with anxiety stretched our necks and looked over the country far and near, but not a square foot of _earth_ could we see. A poor, rugged, miserable country; the trees like so many mops of wiry composition, and where the soil is not rocky it is boggy up to a man's waist. We searched and searched; but, after all, only shot an adult Pigeon-Hawk, a summer-plumage Tell-tale Godwit, and an _Alca torda_. We visited all the islands about the harbor; they were all rocky, nothing but rocks. The _Larus marinus_ was sailing magnificently all about us. The Great Tern was plunging after shrimps in every pool, and we found four eggs of the _Totanus macularius_;[180] the nest was situated under a rock in the grass, and made of a quantity of dried grass, forming a very decided nest, at least much more so than in our Middle States, where the species breed so very abundantly. Wild Geese were seen by our party, and these birds also breed here; we saw Loons and Eider Ducks, _Anas obscura_[181] and the _Fuligula [[OE]demia] americana_.[182] We came to our anchorage at twenty minutes past twelve. Tom Lincoln and John heard a Ptarmigan. Toads were abundant. We saw some rare plants, which we preserved, and butterflies and small bees were among the flowers which we gathered. We also saw Red-breasted Mergansers. The male and female Eider Ducks separate as soon as the latter begin to lay; after this they are seen flying in large flocks, each sex separately. We found a dead Basking Shark, six and a half feet long; this fish had been wounded by a harpoon and ran ashore, or was washed there by the waves. At Eastport fish of this kind have been killed thirty feet long. _June 18._ I remained on board all day, drawing; our boats went off to some islands eight or ten miles distant, after birds and eggs, but the day, although very beautiful, did not prove valuable to us, as some eggers from Halifax had robbed the places ere the boats arrived. We, however, procured about a dozen of _Alca torda, Uria troile_, a female Eider Duck, a male Surf Duck, and a Sandpiper, or _Tringa_,--which, I cannot ascertain, although the _least_[183] I ever saw, not the _Pusilla_ of Bonaparte's Synopsis. Many nests of the Eider Duck were seen, some at the edge of the woods, placed under the rampant boughs of the fir-trees, which in this latitude grow only a few inches above the surface of the ground, and to find the nest, these boughs had to be raised. The nests were scooped a few inches deep in the mossy, rotten substance that forms here what must be called earth; the eggs are deposited on a bed of down and covered with the same material; and so warm are these nests that, although not a parent bird was seen near them, the eggs were quite warm to the touch, and the chicks in some actually hatching in the absence of the mother. Some of the nests had the eggs uncovered; six eggs was the greatest number found in a nest. The nests found on grassy islands are fashioned in the same manner, and generally placed at the foot of a large tussock of grass. Two female Ducks had about twelve young on the water, and these they protected by flapping about the water in such a way as to raise a spray, whilst the little ones dove off in various directions. Flocks of thirty to forty males were on the wing without a single female among them. The young birds procured were about one week old, of a dark mouse-color, thickly covered with a soft and warm down, and their feet appeared to be more perfect, for their age, than any other portion, because more necessary to secure their safety, and to enable them to procure food. John found many nests of the _Larus marinus_, of which he brought both eggs and young. The nest of this fine bird is made of mosses and grasses, raised on the solid rock, and handsomely formed within; a few feathers are in this lining. Three eggs, large, hard-shelled, with ground color of dirty yellowish, splashed and spotted with dark umber and black. The young, although small, were away from the nest a few feet, placing themselves to the lee of the nearest sheltering rock. They did not attempt to escape, but when taken uttered a cry not unlike that of a young chicken under the same circumstances. The parents were so shy and so wary that none could be shot. At the approach of the boats to the rocks where they breed, a few standing as sentinels gave the alarm, and the whole rose immediately in the air to a great elevation. On another rock, not far distant, a number of Gulls of the same size, white, and with the same hoarse note, were to be seen, but they had no nests; these, I am inclined to think (at present) the bird called _Larus argentatus_ (Herring Gull), which is simply the immature bird of _Larus marinus_.[184] I am the more led to believe this because, knowing the tyrannical disposition of the _L. marinus_, I am sure they would not suffer a species almost as powerful as themselves in their immediate neighborhood. They fly altogether, but the white ones do not alight on the rocks where the _Marinus_ has its nests. John watched their motion and their cry very closely, and gave me this information. Two eggs of a Tern,[185] resembling the Cayenne Tern, were found in a nest on the rocks, made of moss also, but the birds, although the eggs were nearly ready to hatch, kept out of gunshot. These eggs measured one and a half inches in length, very oval, whitish, spotted and dotted irregularly with brown and black all over. The cry of those Terns which _I_ saw this afternoon resembles that of the Cayenne Tern that I met with in the Floridas, and I could see a large orange bill, but could not discern the black feet. Many nests of the Great Tern (_Sterna hirundo_) were found--two eggs in each, laid on the short grass scratched out, but no nest. One _Tringa pusilla_ [_minutilla_], the smallest I ever saw, was procured; these small gentry are puzzles indeed; I do not mean to say in nature, but in Charles's[186] Synopsis. We went ashore this afternoon and made a Bear trap with a gun, baited with heads and entrails of codfish, Bruin having been seen within a few hundred yards of where the lure now lies in wait. It is truly interesting to see the activity of the cod-fishermen about us, but I will write of this when I know more of their filthy business. _June 19._ Drawing as much as the disagreeable motion of the vessel would allow me to do; and although at anchor and in a good harbor, I could scarcely steady my pencil, the wind being high from southwest. At three A. M. I had all the young men up, and they left by four for some islands where the _Larus marinus_ breeds. The captain went up the little Natasquan River. When John returned he brought eight _Alca torda_ and four of their eggs _identified_; these eggs measure three inches in length, one and seven-eighths in breadth, dirty-white ground, broadly splashed with deep brown and black, more so towards the greater end. This _Alca_ feeds on fish of a small size, flies swiftly with a quick beat of the wings, rounding to and fro at the distance of fifty or more yards, exhibiting, as it turns, the pure white of its lower parts, or the jet black of its upper. These birds sit on the nest in an almost upright position; they are shy and wary, diving into the water, or taking flight at the least appearance of danger; if wounded slightly they dive, and we generally lost them, but if unable to do this, they throw themselves on their back and defend themselves fiercely, biting severely whoever attempts to seize them. They run over and about the rocks with ease, and not awkwardly, as some have stated. The flesh of this bird when stewed in a particular manner is good eating, much better than would be expected from birds of its class and species. The _Larus argentatus_ breeds on the same islands, and we found many eggs; the nests were all on the rocks, made of moss and grasses, and rather neat inwardly. The Arctic Tern was found breeding abundantly; we took some of their eggs; there were two in each nest, one and a quarter inches long, five-eighths broad, rather sharp at the little end. The ground is light olive, splashed with dark umber irregularly, and more largely at the greater end; these were deposited two or three on the rocks, wherever a little grass grew, no nest of any kind apparent. In habits this bird resembles the _S. hirundo_, and has nearly the same harsh note; it feeds principally on shrimps, which abound in these waters. Five young _L. marinas_ were brought alive, small and beautifully spotted yet over the head and back, somewhat like a Leopard; they walked well about the deck, and managed to pick up the food given them; their cry was a "hac, hac, hac, wheet, wheet, wheet." Frequently, when one was about to swallow a piece of flesh, a brother or sister would jump at it, tug, and finally deprive its relative of the morsel in an instant. John assured me that the old birds were too shy to be approached at all. John shot a fine male of the Scoter Duck, which is scarce here. Saw some Wild Geese (_Anser canadensis_), which breed here, though they have not yet formed their nests. The Red-breasted Merganser (_Mergus serrator_) breeds also here, but is extremely shy and wary, flying off as far as they can see us, which to me in this wonderfully wild country is surprising; indeed, thus far all the sea-fowl are much wilder than those of the Floridas. Twenty nests of a species of Cormorant,[187] not yet ascertained, were found on a small detached, rocky island; these were built of sticks, sea-weeds, and grasses, on the naked rock, and about two feet high, as filthy as those of their relations the Floridians.[188] Three eggs were found in one nest, which is the complement, but not a bird could be shot--too shy and vigilant. This afternoon the captain and I walked to the Little Natasquan River, and proceeded up it about four miles to the falls or rapids--a small river, dark, irony waters, sandy shores, and impenetrable woods along these, except here and there is a small space overgrown with short wiry grass unfit for cattle; a thing of little consequence, as no cattle are to be found here. Returning this evening the tide had so fallen that we waded a mile and a half to an island close to our anchorage; the sailors were obliged to haul the boat that distance in a few inches of water. We have removed the "Ripley" closer in shore, where I hope she will be steady enough for my work to-morrow. _June 20._ Thermometer 60° at noon. Calm and beautiful. Drew all day, and finished two _Uria troile_. I rose at two this morning, for we have scarcely any darkness now; about four a man came from Captain Billings to accompany some of our party to Partridge Bay on a shooting excursion. John and his party went off by land, or rather by rock and moss, to some ponds three or four miles from the sea; they returned at four this afternoon, and brought only one Scoter Duck, male; saw four, but could not discover the nests, although they breed here; saw also about twenty Wild Geese, one pair Red-necked Divers, one _Anas fusca_, one Three-toed Woodpecker, and Tell-tale Godwits. The ponds, although several miles long, and of good proportion and depth, had no fish in them that could be discovered, and on the beach no shells nor grasses; the margins are reddish sand. A few toads were seen, which John described as "pale-looking and poor." The country a barren rock as far as the eye extended; mosses more than a foot deep on the average, of different varieties but principally the white kind, hard and crisp. Saw not a quadruped. Our Bear trap was discharged, but we could not find the animal for want of a dog. An Eider Duck's nest was found fully one hundred yards from the water, unsheltered on the rocks, with five eggs and clean down. In no instance, though I have tried with all my powers, have I approached nearer than eight or ten yards of the sitting birds; they fly at the least appearance of danger. We concluded that the absence of fish in these ponds was on account of their freezing solidly every winter, when fish must die. Captain Billings paid me a visit, and very generously offered to change our whale-boat for a large one, and his pilot boat for ours; the industry of this man is extraordinary. The specimen of _Uria troile_ drawn with a white line round the eye[189] was a female; the one without this line was a young bird. I have drawn seventeen and a half hours this day, and my poor head aches badly enough. One of Captain Billings' mates told me of the _Procellarias_ breeding in great numbers in and about Mount Desert Island rocks, in the months of June and July; there they deposit their one white egg in the deepest fissures of the rocks, and sit upon it only during the night. When approached whilst on the egg, they open their wings and bill, and offer to defend themselves from the approach of intruders. The Eider Ducks are seen leaving the islands on which they breed, at daybreak every fair morning, in congregated flocks of males or females separately, and proceed to certain fishing grounds where the water is only a few fathoms deep, and remain till towards evening, when the females sit on their eggs for the night, and the males group on the rocks by themselves. This valuable bird is extremely abundant here; we find their nests without any effort every time we go out. So sonorous is the song of the Fox-colored Sparrow that I can hear it for hours, most distinctly, from the cabin where I am drawing, and yet it is distant more than a quarter of a mile. This bird is in this country what the Towhee Bunting is in the Middle States. _June 22._ I drew all day at an adult Gannet which we brought from the great rock of which I have spoken; it was still in good order. Many eggs of the Arctic Tern were collected to-day, two or three in a nest; these birds are as shy here as all others, and the moment John and Coolidge landed, or indeed approached the islands on which they breed, they all rose in the air, passed high overhead, screaming and scolding all the time the young men were on the land. When one is shot the rest plunge towards it, and can then be easily shot. Sometimes when wounded in the body, they sail off to extraordinary distances, and are lost. The same is the case with the _Larus marinus_. When our captain returned he brought about a dozen female Eider Ducks, a great number of their eggs, and a bag of down; also a fine Wild Goose, but nothing new for the pencil. In one nest of the Eider ten eggs were found; this is the most we have seen as yet in any one nest. The female draws the down from her abdomen as far towards her breast as her bill will allow her to do, but the _feathers_ are not pulled, and on examination of several specimens I found these well and regularly planted, and cleaned from their original down, as a forest of trees is cleared of its undergrowth. In this state the female is still well clothed, and little or no difference can be seen in the plumage unless examined. These birds have now nearly all hatched in this latitude, but we are told that we shall over-reach them in that, and meet with nests and eggs as we go northeast until August. So abundant were the nests of these birds on the islands of Partridge Bay, about forty miles west of this place, that a boat load of their eggs might have been collected if they had been fresh; they are then excellent eating. Our captain called on a half-breed Indian in the employ of the Northeast Fur and Fish Co., living with his squaw and two daughters. A potato patch of about an acre was planted in _sand_, for not a foot of _soil_ is there to be found hereabouts. The man told him his potatoes grew well and were good, ripening in a few weeks, which he called the summer. The mosquitoes and black gnats are bad enough on shore. I heard a Wood Pewee. The Wild Goose is an excellent diver, and when with its young uses many beautiful stratagems to save its brood, and elude the hunter. They will dive and lead their young under the surface of the water, and always in a contrary direction to the one expected; thus if you row a boat after one it will dive under it, and now and then remain under it several minutes, when the hunter with outstretched neck, is looking, all in vain, in the distance for the _stupid Goose_! Every time I read or hear of a stupid animal in a wild state, I cannot help wishing that the stupid animal who speaks thus, was half as wise as the brute he despises, so that he might be able to thank his Maker for what knowledge he may possess. I found many small flowers open this day, where none appeared last evening. All vegetable life here is of the pygmy order, and so ephemeral that it shoots out of the tangled mass of ages, blooms, fructifies, and dies, in a few weeks. We ascertained to-day that a party of four men from Halifax took last spring nearly forty thousand eggs, which they sold at Halifax and other towns at twenty-five cents per dozen, making over $800; this was done in about two months. Last year upwards of twenty sail were engaged in "egging;" so some idea may be formed of the birds that are destroyed in this rascally way. The eggers destroy all the eggs that are sat upon, to force the birds to lay again, and by robbing them regularly, they lay till nature is exhausted, and few young are raised. In less than half a century these wonderful nurseries will be entirely destroyed, unless some kind government will interfere to stop the shameful destruction. _June 22._ It was very rainy, and thermometer 54°. After breakfast dressed in my oilskins and went with the captain in the whale-boat to the settlement at the entrance of the true Natasquan, five miles east. On our way we saw numerous Seals; these rise to the surface of the water, erect the head to the full length of the neck, snuff the air, and you also, and sink back to avoid any further acquaintance with man. We saw a great number of Gulls of various kinds, but mostly _L. marinus_ and _L. tridactylus_; these were on the extreme points of sand-bars, but could not be approached, and certainly the more numerous they are, the more wild and wary. On entering the river we saw several nets set across a portion of the stream for the purpose of catching salmon; these seines were fastened in the stream about sixty yards from either shore, supported by buoys; the net is fastened to the shore by stakes that hold it perpendicular to the water; the fish enter these, and entangle themselves until removed by the fishermen. On going to a house on the shore, we found it a tolerably good cabin, floored, containing a good stove, a chimney, and an oven at the bottom of this, like the ovens of the French peasants, three beds, and a table whereon the breakfast of the family was served. This consisted of coffee in large bowls, good bread, and fried salmon. Three Labrador dogs came and sniffed about us, and then returned under the table whence they had issued, with no appearance of anger. Two men, two women, and a babe formed the group, which I addressed in French. They were French Canadians and had been here several years, winter and summer, and are agents for the Fur and Fish Co., who give them food, clothes, and about $80 per annum. They have a cow and an ox, about an acre of potatoes planted in sand, seven feet of snow in winter, and two-thirds less salmon than was caught here ten years since. Then three hundred barrels was a fair season; now one hundred is the maximum; this is because they will catch the fish both ascending and descending the river. During winter the men hunt Foxes, Martens, and Sables, and kill some Bear of the black kind, but neither Deer nor other game is to be found without going a great distance in the interior, where Reindeer are now and then procured. One species of Grouse and one of Ptarmigan, the latter white at all seasons; the former I suppose to be the Willow Grouse. The men would neither sell nor give us a single salmon, saying that so strict were their orders that, should they sell _one_ the place might be taken from them. If this should prove the case everywhere, I shall not purchase many for my friends. The furs which they collect are sent off to Quebec at the first opening of the waters in spring, and not a skin of any sort was here for us to look at. We met here two large boats containing about twenty Montagnais Indians, old and young, men and women. They carried canoes lashed to the sides, like whale-ships, for the Seal fishery. The men were stout and good-looking, spoke tolerable French, the skin redder than any Indians I have ever seen, and more _clear_; the women appeared cleaner than usual, their hair braided and hanging down, jet black, but short. All were dressed in European costume except the feet, on which coarse moccasins of sealskin took the place of shoes. I made a bargain with them for some Grouse, and three young men were despatched at once. On leaving the harbor this morning we saw a black man-of-war-like looking vessel entering it with the French flag; she anchored near us, and on our return we were told it was the Quebec cutter. I wrote a note to the officer commanding, enclosing my card, and requesting an interview. The commander replied he would receive me in two hours. His name was Captain Bayfield, the vessel the "Gulnare." The sailor who had taken my note was asked if I had procured many birds, and how far I intended to proceed. After dinner, which consisted of hashed Eider Ducks, which were very good, the females always being fat when sitting, I cut off my three weeks' beard, put on clean linen, and with my credentials in my pocket went to the "Gulnare." I was received politely, and after talking on deck for a while, was invited into the cabin, and was introduced to the doctor, who appeared to be a man of talents, a student of botany and conchology. Thus men of the same tastes meet everywhere, yet surely I did not expect to meet a naturalist on the Labrador coast. The vessel is on a surveying cruise, and we are likely to be in company the whole summer. The first lieutenant studies ornithology and collects. After a while I gave my letter from the Duke of Sussex to the captain, who read and returned it without comment. As I was leaving, the rain poured down, and I was invited to remain, but declined; the captain promised to do anything for me in his power. Saw many Siskins, but cannot get a shot at one. _June 23._ It was our intention to have left this morning for another harbor, about fifty miles east, but the wind being dead ahead we are here still. I have drawn all day, at the background of the Gannets. John and party went off about six miles, and returned with half a dozen Guillemots, and ten or twelve dozen eggs. Coolidge brought in Arctic Terns and _L. marinus_; two young of the latter about three weeks old, having the same voice and notes as the old ones. When on board they ran about the deck, and fed themselves with pieces of fish thrown to them. These young Gulls, as well as young Herons of every kind, sit on the tarsus when fatigued, with their feet extended before them in a very awkward-looking position, but one which to them is no doubt comfortable. Shattuck and I took a walk over the dreary hills about noon; the sun shone pleasantly, and we found several flowers in full bloom, amongst which the _Kalmia glauca_, a beautiful small species, was noticeable. The captain and surgeon from the "Gulnare" called and invited me to dine with them to-morrow. This evening we have been visiting the Montagnais Indians' camp, half a mile from us, and found them skinning Seals, and preparing the flesh for use. Saw a robe the size of a good blanket made of seal-skins tanned so soft and beautiful, with the hair on, that it was as pliant as a kid glove; they would not sell it. The chief of the party proves to be well informed, and speaks French so as to be understood. He is a fine-looking fellow of about forty; has a good-looking wife and fine babe. His brother is also married, and has several sons from fourteen to twenty years old. When we landed the men came to us, and after the first salutations, to my astonishment offered us some excellent rum. The women were all seated apart outside of the camp, engaged in closing up sundry packages of provisions and accoutrements. We entered a tent, and seated ourselves round a cheerful fire, the smoke of which escaped through the summit of the apartment, and over the fire two kettles boiled. I put many questions to the chief and his brother, and gained this information. The country from here to the first settlement of the Hudson's Bay Co. is as barren and rocky as that about us. Very large lakes of great depth are met with about two hundred miles from this seashore; these lakes abound in very large trout, carp, and white fish, and many mussels, unfit to eat, which they describe as black outside and purple within, and are no doubt unios. Not a bush is to be met with, and the Indians who now and then go across are obliged to carry their tent poles with them, as well as their canoes; they burn moss for fuel. So tedious is the travelling said to be that not more than ten miles on an average per day can be made, and when the journey is made in two months it is considered a good one. Wolves and Black Bear are frequent, no Deer, and not many Caribous; not a bird of any kind except Wild Geese and Brent about the lakes, where they breed in perfect peace. When the journey is undertaken in the winter, which is very seldom the case, it is performed on snow-shoes, and no canoes are taken. Fur animals are scarce, yet some few Beavers and Otters are caught, a few Martens and Sables, and some Foxes and Lynx, but every year diminishes their numbers. The Fur Company may be called the exterminating medium of these wild and almost uninhabitable climes, where cupidity and the love of gold can alone induce man to reside for a while. Where can I go now, and visit nature undisturbed? The _Turdus migratorius_[190] must be the hardiest of the whole genus. I hear it at this moment, eight o'clock at night, singing most joyously its "Good-night!" and "All's well!" to the equally hardy Labradorians. The common Crow and the Raven are also here, but the Magdalene Islands appear to be the last outpost of the Warblers, for here the Black-poll Warbler, the only one we see, is scarce. The White-throated and the White-crowned Sparrows are the only tolerably abundant land birds. The Indians brought in no Grouse. A fine adult specimen of the _Larus marinus_ killed this day has already changed full half of its primary feathers next the body; this bird had two young ones, and was shot as it dove through the air towards John, who was near the nest; this is the first instance we have seen of so much attachment being shown to the progeny with danger at hand. Two male Eider Ducks were shot and found very much advanced in the moult. No doubt exists in my mind that male birds are much in advance of female in their moults; this is very slow, and indeed is not completed until late in winter, after which the brilliancy of the bills and the richness of the coloring of the legs and feet only improve as they depart from the south for the north. _June 24._ Drawing most of this day, no birds procured, but some few plants. I dined on board the "Gulnare" at five o'clock, and was obliged to shave and dress--quite a bore on the coast of Labrador, believe me. I found the captain, surgeon, and three officers formed our party; the conversation ranged from botany to politics, from the Established Church of England to the hatching of eggs by steam. I saw the maps being made of this coast, and was struck with the great accuracy of the shape of our present harbor, which I now know full well. I returned to our vessel at ten, and am longing to be farther north; but the wind is so contrary it would be a loss of time to attempt it now. The weather is growing warmer, and mosquitoes are abundant and hungry. Coolidge shot a White-crowned Sparrow, a male, while in the act of carrying some materials to build a nest with; so they must breed here. _June 25._ Made a drawing of the Arctic Tern, of which a great number breed here. I am of Temminck's opinion that the upper plumage of this species is much darker than that of _S. hirundo_. The young men, who are always ready for sport, caught a hundred codfish in half an hour, and _somewhere_ secured three fine salmon, one of which we sent to the "Gulnare" with some cod. Our harbor is called "American Harbor," and also "Little Natasquan;" it is in latitude 50° 12´ north, longitude 23° east of Quebec and 61° 53´ west of Greenwich. The waters of all the streams which we have seen are of a rusty color, probably on account of the decomposed mosses, which appear to be quite of a peaty nature. The rivers appear to be formed by the drainage of swamps, fed apparently by rain and the melting snows, and in time of freshets the sand is sifted out, and carried to the mouth of every stream, where sand-bars are consequently met with. Below the mouth of each stream proves to be the best station for cod-fishing, as there the fish accumulate to feed on the fry which runs into the river to deposit spawn, and which they follow to sea after this, as soon as the fry make off from the rivers to deep water. It is to be remarked that so shy of strangers are the agents of the Fur and Fish Company that they will evade all questions respecting the interior of the country, and indeed will willingly tell you such untruths as at once disgust and shock you. All this through the fear that strangers should attempt to settle here, and divide with them the profits which they enjoy. Bank Swallows in sight this moment, with the weather thick, foggy, and an east wind; where are these delicate pilgrims bound? The Black-poll Warbler is more abundant, and forever singing, if the noise it makes can be called a song; it resembles the clicking of small pebbles together five or six times, and is renewed every few minutes. _June 26._ We have been waiting five days for wind, and so has the "Gulnare." The fishing fleet of six or seven sails has made out to beat four miles to other fishing grounds. It has rained nearly all day, but we have all been on shore, to be beaten back by the rain and the mosquitoes. John brought a female White-crowned Sparrow; the black and white of the head was as pure as in the male, which is not common. It rains hard, and is now calm. God send us a fair wind to-morrow morning, and morning here is about half-past two. _June 27._ It rained quite hard when I awoke this morning; the fog was so thick the very shores of our harbor, not distant more than a hundred yards, were enveloped in gloom. After breakfast we went ashore; the weather cleared up and the wind blew fresh. We rambled about the brushwoods till dinner time, shot two Canada Jays, one old and one young, the former much darker than those of Maine; the young one was full fledged, but had no white about its head; the whole of the body and head was of a deep, very deep blue. It must have been about three weeks old, and the egg from which it was hatched must have been laid about the 10th of May, when the thermometer was below the freezing-point. We shot also a Ruby-crowned Wren;[191] no person who has not heard it would believe that the song of this bird is louder, stronger, and far more melodious than that of the Canary bird. It sang for a long time ere it was shot, and perched on the tops of the tallest fir-trees removing from one to another as we approached. So strange, so beautiful was that song that I pronounced the musician, ere it was shot, a new species of Warbler. John shot it; it fell to the ground, and though the six of us looked for it we could not find it, and went elsewhere; in the course of the afternoon we passed by the spot again, and John found it and gave it to me. We shot a new species of Finch, which I have named _Fringilla lincolnii_; it is allied to the Swamp Sparrow in general appearance, but is considerably smaller, and may be known at once from all others thus far described, by the light buff streak which runs from the base of the lower mandible, until it melts into the duller buff of the breast, and by the bright ash-streak over the eye. The note of this bird attracted me at once; it was loud and sonorous; the bird flew low and forward, perching on the firs, very shy, and cunningly eluding our pursuit; we, however, shot three, but lost one. I shall draw it to-morrow.[192] _June 28._ The weather shocking--rainy, foggy, dark and cold. I began drawing at daylight, and finished one of my new Finches and outlined another. At noon the wind suddenly changed and blew hard from the northwest, with heavy rain, and such a swell that I was almost sea-sick, and had to abandon drawing. We dined, and immediately afterward the wind came round to southwest; all was bustle with us and with the "Gulnare," for we both were preparing our sails and raising our anchors ere proceeding to sea. _We_ sailed, and managed so well that we cleared the outer cape east of our harbor, and went out to sea in good style. The "Gulnare" was not so fortunate; she attempted to beat out in vain, and returned to her anchorage. The sea was so high in consequence of the late gales that we all took to our berths, and I am only now able to write. _June 29._ At three this morning we were off the land about fifteen miles, and about fifty from American Harbor. Wind favorable, but light; at about ten it freshened. We neared the shore, but as before our would-be pilot could not recognize the land, and our captain had to search for the harbor where we now are, himself. We passed near an island covered with Foolish Guillemots, and came to, for the purpose of landing; we did so through a heavy surf, and found two eggers just landed, and running over the rocks for eggs. We did the same, and soon collected about a hundred. These men told me they visited every island in the vicinity every day, and that, in consequence they had fresh eggs every day. They had collected eight hundred dozen, and expect to get two thousand dozen. The number of broken eggs created a fetid smell on this island, scarcely to be borne. The _L. marinus_ were here in hundreds, and destroying the eggs of the Guillemots by thousands. From this island we went to another, and there found the _Mormon arcticus_[193] breeding in great numbers. We caught many in their burrows, killed some, and collected some of the eggs. On this island their burrows were dug in the light black loam formed of decayed moss, three to six feet deep, yet not more than about a foot under the surface. The burrows ran in all directions, and in some instances connected; the end of the burrow is rounded, and there is the pure white egg. Those caught at the holes bit most furiously and scratched shockingly with the inner claw, making a mournful noise all the time. The whole island was perforated with their burrows. No young were yet hatched, and the eggers do not collect these eggs, finding them indifferent. They say the same of the eggs of the _Alca torda_, which they call "Tinkers."[194] The _Mormon_, they call "Sea Parrots." Each species seems to have its own island except the _Alca torda_, which admits the Guillemots. As we advanced, we passed by a rock literally covered with Cormorants, of what species I know not yet; their effluvia could be perceived more than a mile off. We made the fine anchorage where we now are about four o'clock. We found some difficulty in entering on account of our pilot being an ignorant ass; _twice_ did we see the rocks under our vessel. The appearance of the country around is quite different from that near American Harbor; nothing in view here as far as eye can reach, but bare, high, rugged rocks, grand indeed, but not a shrub a foot above the ground. The moss is shorter and more compact, the flowers are fewer, and every plant more diminutive. No matter which way you glance, the prospect is cold and forbidding; deep banks of snow appear here and there, and yet I have found the Shore Lark (_Alauda alpestris_[195]) in beautiful summer plumage. I found the nest of the Brown Lark (_Anthus spinoletta_[196]) with five eggs in it; the nest was planted at the foot of a rock, buried in dark mould, and beautifully made of fine grass, well and neatly worked in circularly, without any hair or other lining. We shot a White-crowned Sparrow, two Savannah Finches, and saw more, and a Red-bellied Nuthatch; this last bird must have been blown here accidentally, as not a bush is there for it to alight upon. I found the tail of an unknown Owl, and a dead Snow-bird which from its appearance must have died from cold and famine. John brought a young Cormorant alive from the nest, but I cannot ascertain its species without the adult, which we hope to secure to-morrow. At dusk the "Gulnare" passed us. All my young men are engaged in skinning the _Mormon arcticus_. [Illustration: VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON. FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1838.] _June 30._ I have drawn three birds this day since eight o'clock, one _Fringilla lincolnii_, one Ruby-crowned Wren, and a male White-winged Crossbill. Found a nest of the Savannah Finch with two eggs; it was planted in the moss, and covered by a rampant branch; it was made of fine grass, neither hair nor feathers in its composition. Shot the _L. marinus_ in fine order, all with the wings extending nearly two inches beyond the tail, and all in the same state of moult, merely showing in the middle primaries. These birds suck other birds' eggs like Crows, Jays, and Ravens. Shot six _Phalacrocorax carbo_[197] in full plumage, species well ascertained by their white throat; found abundance of their eggs and young. _July 1._ The weather was so cold that it was painful for me to draw almost the whole day, yet I have drawn a White-winged Crossbill[198] and a _Mormon arcticus_. We have had three of these latter on board, alive, these three days past; it is amusing to see them running about the cabin and the hold with a surprising quickness, watching our motions, and particularly our eyes. A Pigeon Hawk's[199] nest was found to-day; it was on the top of a fir-tree about ten feet high, made of sticks and lined with moss, and as large as a Crow's nest; it contained two birds just hatched, and three eggs, which the young inside had just cracked. The parent birds were anxious about their newly born ones, and flew close to us. The little ones were pure white, soft and downy. We found also three young of the _Charadrius semipalmatus_,[200] and several old ones; these birds breed on the margin of a small lake among the low grasses. Traces have been seen of Hares or Rabbits, and one island is perforated throughout its shallow substratum of moss by a species of Rat, but in such burrows search for them is vain. The "Gulnare" came in this evening; our captain brought her in as pilot. We have had an almost complete eclipse of the moon this evening at half-past seven. The air very chilly. _July 2._ A beautiful day for Labrador. Drew another _M. arcticus_. Went on shore, and was most pleased with what I saw. The country, so wild and grand, is of itself enough to interest any one in its wonderful dreariness. Its mossy, gray-clothed rocks, heaped and thrown together as if by chance, in the most fantastical groups imaginable, huge masses hanging on minor ones as if about to roll themselves down from their doubtful-looking situations, into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays without end, sprinkled with rocky islands of all shapes and sizes, where in every fissure a Guillemot, a Cormorant, or some other wild bird retreats to secure its egg, and raise its young, or save itself from the hunter's pursuit. The peculiar cast of the sky, which never seems to be certain, butterflies flitting over snow-banks, probing beautiful dwarf flowerets of many hues pushing their tender stems from the thick bed of moss which everywhere covers the granite rocks. Then the morasses, wherein you plunge up to your knees, or the walking over the stubborn, dwarfish shrubbery, making one think that as he goes he treads down the _forests_ of Labrador. The unexpected Bunting, or perhaps Sylvia, which perchance, and indeed as if by chance alone, you now and then see flying before you, or hear singing from the creeping plants on the ground. The beautiful fresh-water lakes, on the rugged crests of greatly elevated islands, wherein the Red and Black-necked Divers swim as proudly as swans do in other latitudes, and where the fish appear to have been cast as strayed beings from the surplus food of the ocean. All--all is wonderfully grand, wild--aye, and terrific. And yet how beautiful it is now, when one sees the wild bee, moving from one flower to another in search of food, which doubtless is as sweet to it, as the essence of the magnolia is to those of favored Louisiana. The little Ring Plover rearing its delicate and tender young, the Eider Duck swimming man-of-war-like amid her floating brood, like the guardship of a most valuable convoy; the White-crowned Bunting's sonorous note reaching the ear ever and anon; the crowds of sea-birds in search of places wherein to repose or to feed--how beautiful is all this in this wonderful rocky desert at this season, the beginning of July, compared with the horrid blasts of winter which here predominate by the will of God, when every rock is rendered smooth with snows so deep that every step the traveller takes is as if entering into his grave; for even should he escape an avalanche, his eye dreads to search the horizon, for full well does he know that snow--snow--is all that can be seen. I watched the Ring Plover for some time; the parents were so intent on saving their young that they both lay on the rocks as if shot, quivering their wings and dragging their bodies as if quite disabled. We left them and their young to the care of the Creator. I would not have shot one of the old ones, or taken one of the young for any consideration, and I was glad my young men were as forbearing. The _L. marinus_ is extremely abundant here; they are forever harassing every other bird, sucking their eggs, and devouring their young; they take here the place of Eagles and Hawks; not an Eagle have we seen yet, and only two or three small Hawks, and one small Owl; yet what a harvest they would have here, were there trees for them to rest upon. _July 3._ We had a regular stiff gale from the eastward the whole day, accompanied with rain and cold weather, and the water so rough that I could not go ashore to get plants to draw. This afternoon, however, the wind and waves abated, and we landed for a short time. The view from the topmost rock overlooking the agitated sea was grand; the small islets were covered with the angry foam. Thank God! we were not at sea. I had the pleasure of coming immediately upon a Cormorant's nest, that lay in a declivity not more than four or five yards below me; the mother bird was on her nest with three young; I was unobserved by her for some minutes, and was delighted to see how kindly attentive she was to her dear brood; suddenly her keen eye saw me, and she flew off as if to dive in the sea. _July 4._ At four this morning I sent Tom Lincoln on shore after four plants and a Cormorant's nest for me to draw. The nest was literally _pasted_ to the rock's edge, so thick was the decomposed, putrid matter below it, and to which the upper part of the nest was attached. It was formed of such sticks as the country affords, sea-moss and other garbage, and weighed over fifteen pounds. I have drawn all day, and have finished the plate of the _Fringilla lincolnii_, to which I have put three plants of the country, all new to me and probably never before figured; to us they are very fitting for the purpose, as Lincoln gathered them. Our party divided as usual into three bands: John and Lincoln off after Divers; Coolidge, Shattuck, and Ingalls to the main land, and our captain and four men to a pond after fish, which they will catch with a seine. Captain Bayfield sent us a quarter of mutton, a rarity, I will venture to say, on this coast even on the Fourth of July. John and Lincoln returned with a Red-necked Diver, or Scapegrace, Coolidge and party with the nest and two eggs of the _Colymbus glacialis_.[201] This nest was found on the margin of a pond, and was made of short grasses, weeds, etc.; well fashioned and fifteen inches in diameter. After dinner John and I went on shore to release a _Uria grylle_ that we had confined in the fissure of a rock; the poor thing was sadly weak, but will soon recover from this trial of ours. _July 5._ John and Lincoln returned at sunset with a Red-necked Diver, and one egg of that bird, they also found _Uria grylle_, whose pebbled nests were placed beneath large rolling stones on the earth, and not in fissures; Lincoln thought them a different species, but John did not. They brought some curious Eels, and an Arctic Tern, and saw the tracks of Deer and Caribou, also Otter paths from one pond to another. They saw several Loons and _tolled_ them by running towards them hallooing and waving a handkerchief, at which sight and cry the Loon immediately swam towards them, until within twenty yards. This "tolling" is curious and wonderful. Many other species of water-fowl are deceived by these manoeuvres, but none so completely as the Loon. Coolidge's party was fortunate enough to kill a pair of Ptarmigans, and to secure seven of the young birds, hatched yesterday at furthest. They met with these on the dreary, mossy tops of the hills, over which we tread daily in search of knowledge. This is the species of Grouse of which we heard so much at Dennysville last autumn, and glad I am that it is a resident bird with us. The _Larus marinus_ was observed trying to catch the young of the Eiders. I drew from four o'clock this morning till three this afternoon; finished a figure of the _Colymbus septentrionalis_.[202] Feeling the want of exercise, went off with the captain a few miles, to a large rough island. To tread over the spongy moss of Labrador is a task beyond conception until tried; at every step the foot sinks in a deep, soft cushion which closes over it, and it requires a good deal of exertion to pull it up again. Where this moss happens to be over a marsh, then you sink a couple of feet deep every step you take; to reach a bare rock is delightful, and quite a relief. This afternoon I thought the country looked more terrifyingly wild than ever; the dark clouds, casting their shadows on the stupendous masses of rugged rock, lead the imagination into regions impossible to describe. The Scoter Ducks, of which I have seen many this day, were partially moulted, and could fly only a short distance, and must be either barren or the young bachelors, as I find _parents_ in full plumage, convincing me that these former moult earlier than the breeding Ducks. I have observed this strange fact so often now that I shall say no more about it; I have found it in nearly all the species of the birds here. I do not know of any writer on the history of birds having observed this curious fact before. I have now my hands full of work, and go to bed delighted that to-morrow I shall draw a Ptarmigan which I can swear to, as being a United States species. I am much fatigued and wet to the very skin, but, oh! we found the nest of a Peregrine Falcon on a tremendous cliff, with a young one about a week old, quite white with down; the parents flew fiercely at our eyes. _July 6._ By dint of hard work and rising at three, I have drawn a _Colymbus septentrionalis_ and a young one, and nearly finished a Ptarmigan; this afternoon, however, at half-past five, my fingers could no longer hold my pencil, and I was forced to abandon my work and go ashore for exercise. The fact is that I am growing old too fast; alas! I feel it--and yet work I will, and may God grant me life to see the last plate of my mammoth work finished. I have heard the Brown Lark (_Anthus spinoletta_) sing many a time this day, both on the wing and whilst sitting on the ground. When on the wing it sings while flying very irregularly in zigzags, up and down, etc.; when on a rock (which it prefers) it stands erect, and sings, I think, more clearly. John found the nest of a White-crowned Bunting with five eggs; he was creeping through some low bushes after a Red-necked Diver, and accidentally coming upon it, startled the female, which made much noise and complaint. The nest was like the one Lincoln found placed in the moss, under a low bough, and formed of beautiful moss outwardly, dried, fine grass next inside, and exquisitely lined with fibrous roots of a rich yellow color; the eggs are light greenish, slightly sprinkled with reddish-brown, in size about the same as eggs of the Song Sparrow. This _Fringilla_[203] is the most abundant in this part of Labrador. We have seen two Swamp Sparrows only. We have found two nests of the Peregrine Falcon, placed high on rocky declivities. Coolidge and party shot two Oyster Catchers; these are becoming plentiful. Lieutenant Bowen of the "Gulnare" brought me a Peregrine Falcon, and two young of the _Alca torda_, the first hatched we have seen, and only two or three days old. _July 7._ Drawing all day; finished the female Grouse and five young, and prepared the male bird. The captain, John, and Lincoln, went off this afternoon with a view to camp on a bay about ten miles distant. Soon after, we had a change of weather, and, for a wonder, bright lightning and something like summer clouds. When fatigued with drawing I went on shore for exercise, and saw many pretty flowers, amongst them a flowering Sea-pea, quite rich in color. Dr. Kelly from the "Gulnare" went with me. Captain Bayfield and Lieutenant Bowen went off this morning on a three weeks' expedition in open boats, but with tents and more comforts than I have ever enjoyed in hunting excursions. The mosquitoes quite as numerous as in Louisiana. _July 8._ Rainy, dirty weather, wind east. Was at work at half-past three, but disagreeable indeed is my situation during bad weather. The rain falls on my drawing-paper, despite all I can do, and even the fog collects and falls in large drops from the rigging on my table; now and then I am obliged to close my skylight, and then may be said to work almost in darkness. Notwithstanding, I finished my cock Ptarmigan, and three more young, and now consider it a handsome large plate. John and party returned, cold, wet, and hungry. Shot nothing, camp disagreeable, and nothing to relate but that they heard a Wolf, and found an island with thousands of the _Mormon arcticus_ breeding on it. To-morrow I shall draw the beautiful _Colymbus glacialis_ in most perfect plumage. _July 9._ The wind east, of course disagreeable; wet and foggy besides. The most wonderful climate in the world. Cold as it is, mosquitoes in profusion, plants blooming by millions, and at every step you tread on such as would be looked upon with pleasure in more temperate climes. I wish I were a better botanist, that I might describe them as I do birds. Dr. Wm. Kelly has given me the list of such plants as he has observed on the coast as far as Macatine Island. I have drawn all day at the Loon, a most difficult bird to imitate. For my part, I cannot help smiling at the presumption of some of our authors, who modestly assert that their figures are "up to nature." May God forgive them, and teach me to _copy_ His works; glad and happy shall I then be. Lincoln and Shattuck brought some fresh-water shells from a large pond inland; they saw a large bird which they took for an Owl, but which they could not approach; they also caught a frog, but lost it out of their game bag. _July 10._ Could I describe one of these dismal gales which blow ever and anon over this desolate country, it would in all probability be of interest to one unacquainted with the inclemency of the climate. Nowhere else is the power of the northeast gale, which blows every week on the coast of Labrador, so keenly felt as here. I cannot describe it; all I can say is that whilst we are in as fine and safe a harbor as could be wished for, and completely land-locked all round, so strong does the wind blow, and so great its influence on our vessel, that her motion will not allow me to draw, and indeed once this day forced me to my berth, as well as some others of our party. One would imagine all the powers of Boreas had been put to work to give us a true idea of what his energies can produce, even in so snug a harbor. What is felt outside I cannot imagine, but greatly fear that few vessels could ride safely before these horrid blasts, that now and then seem strong enough to rend the very rocks asunder. The rain is driven in sheets which seem scarcely to fall on sea or land; I can hardly call it rain, it is rather a mass of water, so thick that all objects at any distance from us are lost to sight every three or four minutes, and the waters comb up and beat about us in our rock-bound harbor as a newly caged bird does against its imprisoning walls. The Great Black-backed Gull alone is seen floating through the storm, screaming loudly and mournfully as it seeks its prey; not another bird is to be seen abroad; the Cormorants are all settled in the rocks close to us, the Guillemots are deep in the fissures, every Eider Duck lays under the lee of some point, her brood snugly beneath her opened wings, the Loon and the Diver have crawled among the rankest weeds, and are patiently waiting for a return of fair weather, the Grouse is quite hid under the creeping willow, the Great Gray Owl is perched on the southern declivity of some stupendous rock, and the gale continues as if it would never stop. On rambling about the shores of the numerous bays and inlets of this coast, you cannot but observe immense beds of round stone of all sizes, some of very large dimensions rolled side by side and piled one upon another many deep, cast there by some great force of nature. I have seen many such places, and never without astonishment and awe. If those great boulders are brought from the bottom of the sea, and cast hundreds of yards on shore, this will give some idea of what a gale on the coast of Labrador can be, and what the force of the waves. I tried to finish my drawing of the Loon, but in vain; I covered my paper to protect it from the rain, with the exception only of the few inches where I wished to work, and yet that small space was not spared by the drops that fell from the rigging on my table; there is no window, and the only light is admitted through hatches. _July 11._ The gale, or hurricane, or whatever else the weather of yesterday was, subsided about midnight, and at sunrise this morning it was quite calm, and the horizon fiery red. It soon became cloudy, and the wind has been all round the compass. I wished to go a hundred miles farther north, but the captain says I must be contented here, so I shall proceed with my drawings. I began a Cormorant and two young, having sent John and Lincoln for them before three this morning; and they procured them in less than half an hour. Many of the young are nearly as large as their parents, and yet have scarcely a feather, but are covered with woolly down, of a sooty black. The excursions brought in nothing new. The Shore Lark has become abundant, but the nest remains still unknown. A tail feather of the Red-tailed Hawk, young, was found; therefore that species exists here. We are the more surprised that not a Hawk nor an Owl is seen, as we find hundreds of sea-birds devoured, the wings only remaining. _July 12._ At this very moment it is blowing another gale from the east, and it has been raining hard ever since the middle of the day. Of course it has been very difficult to draw, but I have finished the Cormorant. John and Lincoln brought in nothing new, except the nest and ten eggs of a Red-breasted Merganser. The nest was placed near the edge of a very small fresh-water pond, under the creeping branches of one of this country's fir-trees, the top of which would be about a foot above ground; it is like the Eider's nest, but smaller and better fashioned, of weeds and mosses, and warmly lined with down. The eggs are dirty yellow, very smooth shelled, and look like hen's-eggs, only rather stouter. John lay in wait for the parent over two hours, but though he saw her glide off the nest, she was too wary to return. I saw a Black-backed Gull plunge on a Crab as big as my two fists, in about two feet of water, seize it and haul it ashore, where it ate it while I watched it; I could see the Crab torn piece by piece, till the shell and legs alone remained. The Gull then flew in a direct line towards her nest, distant about a mile, probably to disgorge her food in favor of her young. Our two young Gulls, which we now have had for nearly a month, act just as Vultures would. We throw them a dead Duck or even a dead Gull, and they tear it to pieces, drinking the blood and swallowing the flesh, each constantly trying to rob the other of the piece of flesh which he has torn from the carcass. They do not drink water, but frequently wash the blood off their bills by plunging them in water, and then violently shaking their heads. They are now half fledged. _July 13._ When I rose this morning at half-past three, the wind was northeast, and but little of it. The weather was cloudy and looked bad, as it always does here after a storm. I thought I would spend the day on board the "Gulnare," and draw at the ground of my Grouse, which I had promised to Dr. Kelly. However, at seven the wind was west, and we immediately prepared to leave our fine harbor. By eight we passed the "Gulnare," bid her officers and crew farewell, beat out of the narrow passage beautifully, and proceeded to sea with the hope of reaching the harbor of Little Macatine, distant forty-three miles; but ere the middle of the day it became calm, then rain, then the wind to the east again, and all were sea-sick as much as ever. I saw a _Lestris_[204] near the vessel, but of what kind I could not tell,--it flew like a Pigeon Hawk, alighting on the water like a Gull, and fed on some codfish liver which was thrown overboard for it,--and some _Thalassidroma_,[205] but none came within shot, and the sea was too rough to go after them. About a dozen common Crossbills, and as many Redpolls (_Fringilla_ [_Acanthis_] _linaria_) came and perched on our top-yards, but I would not have them shot, and none were caught. Our young men have been fishing to pass the time, and have caught a number of cod. _July 14._ The wind blew cold and sharp from the northeast this morning, and we found ourselves within twenty miles of "Little Macatine," the sea beating heavily on our bows, as we beat to the windward, tack after tack. At noon it was quite calm, and the wished-for island in sight, but our captain despairs of reaching it to-day. It looks high and horribly rugged, the highest land we have yet seen. At four o'clock, being about a mile and a half distant, we took the green boat, and went off. As we approached, I was surprised to see how small some Ducks looked which flew between us and the rocks, so stupendously high were the rough shores under which our little bark moved along. We doubled the cape and came to the entrance of the Little Macatine harbor, but so small did it appear to me that I doubted if it was the harbor; the shores were terribly wild, fearfully high and rugged, and nothing was heard but the croaking of a pair of Ravens and their half-grown brood, mingling with the roar of the surf against the rocky ledges which projected everywhere, and sent the angry waters foaming into the air. The wind now freshened, the "Ripley's" sails swelled, and she was gently propelled through the water and came within sight of the harbor, on the rocks of which we stood waiting for her, when all of a sudden she veered, and we saw her topsails hauled in and bent in a moment; we thought she must have seen a sunken rock, and had thus wheeled to avoid it, but soon saw her coming up again and learned that it was merely because she had nearly passed the entrance of the harbor ere aware of it. Our harbor is the very representation of the bottom of a large bowl, in the centre of which our vessel is now safely at anchor, surrounded by rocks fully a thousand feet high, and the wildest-looking place I ever was in. After supper we all went ashore; some scampered up the steepest hills next to us, but John, Shattuck, and myself went up the harbor, and after climbing to the top of a mountain (for I cannot call it a hill) went down a steep incline, up another hill, and so on till we reached the crest of the island, and surveyed all beneath us. Nothing but rocks--barren rocks--wild as the wildest of the Apennines everywhere; the moss only a few inches deep, and the soil or decomposed matter beneath it so moist that, wherever there was an incline, the whole slipped from under our feet like an avalanche, and down we slid for feet or yards. The labor was excessive; at the bottom of each dividing ravine the scrub bushes intercepted our way for twenty or thirty paces, over which we had to scramble with great exertion, and on our return we slid down fifty feet or more into an unknown pit of moss and mire, more or less deep. We started a female Black-cap Warbler from her nest, and I found it with four eggs, placed in the fork of a bush about three feet from the ground; a beautiful little mansion, and I will describe it to-morrow. I am wet through, and find the mosquitoes as troublesome as in the Floridas. _July 15._ Our fine weather of yesterday was lost sometime in the night. As every one was keen to go off and see the country, we breakfasted at three o'clock this morning. The weather dubious, wind east. Two boats with the young men moved off in different directions. I sat to finishing the ground of my Grouse, and by nine had to shift my quarters, as it rained hard. By ten John and Lincoln had returned; these two always go together, being the strongest and most active, as well as the most experienced shots, though Coolidge and Ingalls are not far behind them in this. They brought a Red-necked Diver and one egg of that bird; the nest was placed on the edge of a very small pond, not more than ten square yards. Our harbor had many _Larus zonorhynchus_[206] (Common Gull); the captain shot one. I have never seen them so abundant as here. Their flight is graceful and elevated; when they descend for food the legs and feet generally drop below the body. They appear to know gunshot distance with wonderful precision, and it is seldom indeed that one comes near enough to be secured. They alight on the water with great delicacy, and swim beautifully. Coolidge's party brought a nest of the White-crowned Bunting (_Fringilla leucophyrs_) and three specimens of the bird, also two _Charadrius semipalmatus_. They found an island with many nests of the _Phalacrocorax dilophus_,[207] but only one egg, and thought the nests were old and abandoned. One of the young Ravens from the nest flew off at the sight of one of our men, and fell into the water; it was caught and brought to me; it was nearly fledged. I trimmed one of its wings, and turned it loose on the deck, but in attempting to rejoin its mother, who called most loudly from on high on the wing, the young one walked to the end of the bowsprit, jumped into the water, and was drowned; and soon after I saw the poor mother chased by a Peregrine Falcon with great fury; she made for her nest, and when the Falcon saw her alight on the margin of her ledge, it flew off. I never thought that such a Hawk could chase with effect so large and so powerful a bird as the Raven. Some of our men who have been eggers and fishermen have seen these Ravens here every season for the last eight or nine years. _July 16._ Another day of dirty weather, and all obliged to remain on board the greater portion of the time. I managed to draw at my Grouse and put in some handsome wild peas, Labrador tea-plant, and also one other plant, unknown to me. This afternoon the young men went off, and the result has been three White-crowned Buntings, and a female Black-capped Warbler. Our captain did much better for me, for in less than an hour he returned on board with thirty fine codfish, some of which we relished well at our supper. This evening the fog is so thick that we cannot see the summit of the rocks around us. The harbor has been full of Gulls the whole day. The captain brought me what he called an Esquimau codfish, which perhaps has never been described, and we have _spirited_ him. We found a new species of floweret of the genus _Silene_,[208] but unknown to us. We have now lost four days in succession. _July 17._ The mosquitoes so annoyed me last night that I did not even close my eyes. I tried the deck of the vessel, and though the fog was as thick as fine rain, these insects attacked me by thousands, and I returned below, where I continued fighting them till daylight, when I had a roaring fire made and got rid of them. The fog has been as thick as ever, and rain has fallen heavily, though the wind is southwest. I have drawn five eggs of land-birds: that of _Falco columbarius_,[209] _Fringilla leucophyrs_,[210] _Anthus spinoletta_,[211] _Sylvia striata_,[212] and _Fringilla savanna_.[213] I also outlined in the mountainous hills near our vessel, as a background to my Willow Grouse. John and Coolidge with their companions brought in several specimens, but nothing new. Coolidge brought two young of the Red-necked Diver, which he caught _at the bottom_ of a small pond by putting his gun rod on them,--the little things diving most admirably, and going about the bottom with as much apparent ease as fishes would. The captain and I went to an island where the _Phalacrocorax dilophus_[214] were abundant; thousands of young of all sizes, from just hatched to nearly full-grown, all opening their bills and squawking most vociferously; the noise was shocking and the stench intolerable. No doubt exists with us now that the Shore Lark breeds here; we meet with them very frequently. A beautiful species of violet was found, and I have transplanted several for Lucy, but it is doubtful if they will survive the voyage. _July 18._ We all, with the exception of the cook, left the "Ripley" in three boats immediately after our early breakfast, and went to the main land, distant some five miles. The fog was thick enough, but the wind promised fair weather, and we have had it. As soon as we landed the captain and I went off over a large extent of marsh ground, the first we have yet met with in this country; the earth was wet, our feet sank far in the soil, and walking was extremely irksome. In crossing what is here called a wood, we found a nest of _Parus hudsonicus_[215] containing four young, able to fly; we procured the parents also, and I shall have the pleasure of drawing them to-morrow; this bird has never been figured that I know. Their _manners_ resemble those of the Black-headed Titmouse, or Chickadee, and their notes are fully as strong, and clamorous, and constant as those of either of our own species. Few birds do I know that possess more active powers. The nest was dug by the bird out of a dead and rotten stump, about five feet from the ground; the aperture, one and a quarter inches in diameter, was as round as if made by a small Woodpecker, or a Flying-squirrel. The hole inside was four by six inches; at the bottom a bed of chips was found, but the nest itself resembled a purse formed of the most beautiful and softest hair imaginable,--of Sables, Ermines, Martens, Hares, etc.; a warmer and snugger apartment no bird could desire, even in this cold country. On leaving the wood we shot a Spruce Partridge leading her young. On seeing us she ruffled her feathers like a barnyard hen, and rounded within a few feet of us to defend her brood; her very looks claimed our forbearance and clemency, but the enthusiastic desire to study nature prompted me to destroy her, and she was shot, and her brood secured in a few moments; the young very pretty and able to fly. This bird was so very gray that she might almost have been pronounced a different species from those at Dennysville, Me., last autumn; but this difference is occasioned by its being born so much farther north; the difference is no greater than in _Tetrao umbellus_[216] in Maine, and the same bird in western Pennsylvania. We crossed a savannah of many miles in extent; in many places the soil appeared to wave under us, and we expected at each step to go through the superficial moss carpet up to our middles in the mire; so wet and so spongy was it that I think I never labored harder in a walk of the same extent. In travelling through this quagmire we met with a small grove of good-sized, fine white-birch trees, and a few pines full forty feet high, quite a novelty to us at this juncture. On returning to our boats the trudging through the great bog was so fatiguing that we frequently lay down to rest; our sinews became cramped, and for my part, more than once I thought I should give up from weariness. One man killed a _Falco columbarius_, in the finest plumage I have ever seen. I heard the delightful song of the Ruby-crowned Wren again and again; what would I give to find the nest of this _northern Humming-Bird_? We found the Fox-colored Sparrow in full song, and had our captain been up to birds' ways, he would have found its nest; for one started from his feet, and doubtless from the eggs, as she fluttered off with drooping wings, and led him away from the spot, which could not again be found. John and Co. found an island with upwards of two hundred nests of the _Larus canus_,[217] all with eggs, but not a young one hatched. The nests were placed on the bare rock; formed of sea-weed, about six inches in diameter within, and a foot without; some were much thicker and larger than others; in many instances only a foot apart, in others a greater distance was found. The eggs are much smaller than those of _Larus marinus_. The eggs of the Cayenne Tern,[218] were also found, and a single pair of those remarkable birds, which could not be approached. Two Ptarmigans were killed; these birds have no whirring of the wings, even when surprised; they flew at the gunners in defence of the young, and one was killed with a gun-rod. The instant they perceive they are observed, when at a distance, they squat or lie flat on the moss, when it is almost impossible to see them unless right under your feet. From the top of a high rock I had fine view of the most extensive and the dreariest wilderness I have ever beheld. It chilled the heart to gaze on these barren lands of Labrador. Indeed I now dread every change of harbor, so horribly rugged and dangerous is the whole coast and country, especially to the inexperienced man either of sea or land. The mosquitoes, many species of horse-fly, small bees, and black gnats filled the air; the frogs croaked; and yet the thermometer was not high, not above 55°. This is one of the wonders of this extraordinary country. We have returned to our vessel, wet, shivering with cold, tired, and very hungry. During our absence the cook caught some fine lobsters; but fourteen men, each with a gun, six of which were double-barrelled, searched all day for game, and have not averaged two birds apiece, nineteen being all that were shot to-day. We all conclude that no one man could provide food for himself without extreme difficulty. Some animal was seen at a great distance, so far indeed that we could not tell whether it was a Wolf or a Caribou. _July 19._ So cold, rainy, and foggy has this day been that no one went out shooting, and only a ramble on shore was taken by way of escaping the motion of the vessel, which pitched very disagreeably, the wind blowing almost directly in our harbor; and I would not recommend this anchorage to a _painter naturalist_, as Charles Bonaparte calls me. I have drawn two _Parus hudsonicus_, and this evening went on shore with the captain for exercise, and enough have I had. We climbed the rocks and followed from one to another, crossing fissures, holding to the moss hand and foot and with difficulty, for about a mile, when suddenly we came upon the deserted mansion of a Labrador sealer. It looked snug outside, and we entered it. It was formed of short slabs, all very well greased with seal oil; an oven without a pipe, a salt-box hung on a wooden peg, a three-legged stool, and a wooden box of a bedstead, with a flour-barrel containing some hundreds of seine-floats, and an old Seal seine, completed the list of goods and chattels. Three small windows, with four panes of glass each, were still in pretty good order, and so was the low door, which moved on wooden hinges, for which the maker has received no patent, I'll be bound. This cabin made of hewn logs, brought from the main, was well put together, about twelve feet square, well roofed with bark of birch and spruce, thatched with moss, and every aperture rendered air-tight with oakum. But it was deserted and abandoned; the Seals are all caught, and the sealers have nought to do here now-a-days. We found a pile of good hard wood close to this abode, which we will have removed on board our vessel to-morrow. I discovered that this cabin had been the abode of two French Canadians; first, because their almanac, written with chalk on one of the logs, was in French; and next, the writing was in two very different styles. As we returned to our vessel I paused several times to contemplate the raging waves breaking on the stubborn, precipitous rocks beneath us, and thought how dreadful they would prove to any one who should be wrecked on so inhospitable a shore. No vessel, the captain assured me, could stand the sea we gazed upon at that moment, and I fully believed him, for the surge dashed forty feet or more high against the precipitous rocks. The Ravens flew above us, and a few Gulls beat to windward by dint of superior sailing; the horizon was hid by fog, so thick there, and on the crest of the island, that it looked like dense smoke. Though I wore thick mittens and very heavy clothing, I felt chilly with the cold. John's violin notes carry my thoughts far, far from Labrador, I assure thee. _July 20._ Labrador deserves credit for _one_ fine day! To-day has been calm, warm, and actually such a day as one might expect in the Middle States about the month of May. I drew from half-past three till ten this morning. The young men went off early, and the captain and myself went to the island next to us, but saw few birds: a Brown Lark, some Gulls, and the two White-crowned Buntings. In some small bays which we passed we found the stones thrown up by the sea in immense numbers, and of enormous size. These stones I now think are probably brought on shore in the masses of ice during the winter storms. These icebergs, then melting and breaking up, leave these enormous pebble-shaped stones, from ten to one hundred feet deep. When I returned to my drawing the captain went fishing, and caught thirty-seven cod in less than an hour. The wind rose towards evening, and the boats did not get in till nine o'clock, and much anxiety did I feel about them. Coolidge is an excellent sailor, and John too, for that matter, but very venturesome; and Lincoln equally so. The chase, as usual, poor; two Canadian Grouse in moult,--these do moult earlier than the Willow Grouse,[219]--some White-throated Sparrows, Yellow-rump Warblers, the Green Black-cap Flycatcher, the small Wood Pewee (?). I think this a new species, but cannot swear to it.[220] The young of the Tawny Thrush were seen with the mother, almost full-grown. All the party are very tired, especially Ingalls, who was swamped up to his arm-pits and was pulled out by his two companions; tired as they are, they have yet energy to eat tremendously. _July 21._ I write now from a harbor which has no name, for we have mistaken it for the right one, which lies two miles east of this; but it matters little, for the coast of Labrador is all alike comfortless, cold and foggy, yet grand. We left Little Macatine at five this morning, with a stiff southwest breeze, and by ten our anchor was dropped here. We passed Captain Bayfield and his two boats engaged in the survey of the coast. We have been on shore; no birds but about a hundred Eider Ducks and Red-breasted Mergansers in the inner bay, with their broods all affrighted as our boats approached. Returning on board, found Captain Bayfield and his lieutenants, who remained to dine with us. They were short of provisions, and we gave them a barrel of ship-bread, and seventy pounds of beef. I presented the captain with a ham, with which he went off to their camp on some rocks not far distant. This evening we paid him a visit; he and his men are encamped in great comfort. The tea-things were yet arranged on the iron-bound bed, the trunks served as seats, and the sail-cloth clothes-bags as pillows. The moss was covered with a large tarred cloth, and neither wind nor damp was admitted. I gazed on the camp with much pleasure, and it was a great enjoyment to be with men of education and refined manners, such as are these officers of the Royal Navy; it was indeed a treat. We talked of the country where we were, of the beings best fitted to live and prosper here, not only of our species, but of all species, and also of the enormous destruction of everything here, except the rocks; the aborigines themselves melting away before the encroachments of the white man, who looks without pity upon the decrease of the devoted Indian, from whom he rifles home, food, clothing, and life. For as the Deer, the Caribou, and all other game is killed for the dollar which its skin brings in, the Indian must search in vain over the devastated country for that on which he is accustomed to feed, till, worn out by sorrow, despair, and want, he either goes far from his early haunts to others, which in time will be similarly invaded, or he lies on the rocky seashore and dies. We are often told rum kills the Indian; I think not; it is oftener the want of food, the loss of hope as he loses sight of all that was once abundant, before the white man intruded on his land and killed off the wild quadrupeds and birds with which he has fed and clothed himself since his creation. Nature herself seems perishing. Labrador must shortly be depeopled, not only of aboriginal man, but of all else having life, owing to man's cupidity. When no more fish, no more game, no more birds exist on her hills, along her coasts, and in her rivers, then she will be abandoned and deserted like a worn-out field. _July 22._ At six this morning, Captain Bayfield and Lieutenant Bowen came alongside in their respective boats to bid us farewell, being bound westward to the "Gulnare." We embarked in three boats and proceeded to examine a small harbor about a mile east, where we found a whaling schooner of fifty-five tons from Cape Gaspé in New Brunswick. When we reached it we found the men employed at boiling blubber in what, to me, resembled sugar boilers. The blubber lay heaped on the shore in chunks of six to twenty pounds, and looked filthy enough. The captain, or owner, of the vessel appeared to be a good, sensible man of that class, and cut off for me some strips of the skin of the whale from under the throat, with large and curious barnacles attached to it. They had struck four whales, of which three had sunk and were lost; this, I was told, was a very rare occurrence. We found at this place a French Canadian, a Seal-catcher, who gave me the following information. This portion of Labrador is free to any one to settle on, and he and another man had erected a small cabin, have Seal-nets, and traps to catch Foxes, and guns to shoot Bears and Wolves. They carry their quarry to Quebec, receive fifty cents per gallon for Seal oil, and from three to five guineas for Black and Silver-Fox skins, and other furs in proportion. From November till spring they kill Seals in great numbers. Two thousand five hundred were killed by seventeen men in three days; this great feat was done with short sticks, each Seal being killed with a single blow on the snout, while resting on the edges of the field ice. The Seals are carried to the camp on sledges drawn by Esquimaux dogs, that are so well trained that on reaching home they push the Seals off the sledge with their noses, and return to the hunters with despatch. (Remember, my Lucy, this is hearsay.) At other times the Seals are driven into nets one after another, until the poor animals become so hampered and confined that, the gun being used, they are easily and quickly despatched. He showed me a spot within a few yards of his cabin where, last winter, he caught six Silver-gray Foxes; these had gone to Quebec with his partner, who was daily expected. Bears and Caribous abound during winter, as well as Wolves, Hares, and Porcupines. The Hare (I suppose the Northern one) is brown at this season, and white in winter; the Wolves are mostly of a dun color, very ferocious and daring. A pack of about thirty followed a man to his cabin, and have more than once killed his dogs at his very door. I was the more surprised at this, as the dogs he had were as large as any Wolves I have ever seen. These dogs are extremely tractable; so much so that, when harnessed to a sledge, the leader starts at the word of command, and the whole pack gallops off swiftly enough to convey a man sixty miles in the course of seven or eight hours. They howl like Wolves, and are not at all like our common dogs. They were extremely gentle, came to us, jumped on us, and caressed us, as if we were old acquaintances. They do not take to the water, and are only fitted for drawing sledges and chasing Caribou. They are the only dogs which at all equal the Caribou in speed. As soon as winter's storms and thick ice close the harbors and the spaces between the mainland and the islands, the Caribous are seen moving in great gangs, first to the islands, where, the snow being more likely to be drifted, the animal finds places where the snow has blown away, and he can more easily reach the moss, which at this season is its only food. As the season increases in severity, the Caribous follow a due northwestern direction, and gradually reach a comparatively milder climate; but nevertheless, on their return in March and April, which return is as regular as the migration of birds, they are so poor and emaciated that the white man himself takes pity on them, and does not kill them. (Merciful beings, who spare life when the flesh is off the bones, and no market for the bones is at hand.) The Otter is tolerably abundant; these are principally trapped at the foot of the waterfalls to which they resort, these places being the latest to freeze, and the first to thaw. The Marten and the Sable are caught, but are by no means abundant, and every winter makes a deep impression on beast as well as on man. These Frenchmen receive their supplies from Quebec, where they send their furs and oil. At this time, which the man here calls "the idle time," he lolls about his cabin, lies in the sunshine like a Seal, eats, drinks, and sleeps his life away, careless of all the world, and the world, no doubt, careless of him. His dogs are his only companions until his partner's return, who, for all I know, is not himself better company than a dog. They have placed their very small cabin in a delightful situation, under the protection of an island, on the southwestern side of the main shore, where I was surprised to find the atmosphere quite warm, and the vegetation actually rank; for I saw plants with leaves fully a foot in breadth, and grasses three feet high. The birds had observed the natural advantages of this little paradise, for here we found the musical Winter Wren in full song, the first time in Labrador, the White-crowned Sparrow, or Bunting, singing melodiously from every bush, the Fox-tail Sparrow, the Black-cap Warbler, the Shore Lark nesting, but too cunning for us; the White-throated Sparrow and a Peregrine Falcon, besides about half a dozen of Lincoln's Finch. This afternoon the wind has been blowing a tremendous gale; our anchors have dragged with sixty fathoms of chain out. Yet one of the whaler's boats came to us with six men, who wished to see my drawings, and I gratified them willingly; they, in return, have promised to let me see a whale before cut up, if they should catch one ere we leave this place for Bras d'Or. Crows are not abundant here; the Ravens equal them in number, and Peregrine Falcons are more numerous. The horse-flies are so bad that they drove our young men on board. _July 23._ We visited to-day the Seal establishment of a Scotchman, Samuel Robertson, situated on what he calls Sparr Point, about six miles east of our anchorage. He received us politely, addressed me by name, and told me that he had received intimation of my being on a vessel bound to this country, through the English and Canadian newspapers. This man has resided here twenty years, married a Labrador lady, daughter of a Monsieur Chevalier of Bras d'Or, a good-looking woman, and has six children. His house is comfortable, and in a little garden he raises a few potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables. He appears to be lord of these parts and quite contented with his lot. He told me his profits last year amounted to £600. He will not trade with the Indians, of whom we saw about twenty, of the Montagnais tribes, and employs only white serving-men. His Seal-oil tubs were full, and he was then engaged in loading two schooners for Quebec with that article. I bought from him the skin of a Cross Fox for three dollars. He complained of the American fishermen very much, told us they often acted as badly as pirates towards the Indians, the white settlers, and the eggers, all of whom have been more than once obliged to retaliate, when bloody encounters have been the result. He assured me he had seen a fisherman's crew kill thousands of Guillemots in the course of a day, pluck the feathers from the breasts, and throw the bodies into the sea. He also told me that during mild winters his little harbor is covered with pure white Gulls (the Silvery), but that all leave at the first appearance of spring. The travelling here is effected altogether on the snow-covered ice, by means of sledges and Esquimaux dogs, of which Mr. Robertson keeps a famous pack. With them, at the rate of about six miles an hour, he proceeds to Bras d'Or seventy-five miles, with his wife and six children, in one sledge drawn by ten dogs. Fifteen miles north of this place, he says, begins a lake represented by the Indians as four hundred miles long by one hundred broad. This sea-like lake is at times as rough as the ocean in a storm; it abounds with Wild Geese, and the water-fowl breed on its margins by millions. We have had a fine day, but very windy; Mr. R. says this July has been a remarkable one for rough weather. The Caribou flies have driven the hunters on board; Tom Lincoln, who is especially attacked by them, was actually covered with blood, and looked as if he had had a gouging fight with some rough Kentuckians. Mr. R.'s newspapers tell of the ravages of cholera in the south and west, of the indisposition of General Jackson at the Tremont House, Boston, etc.; thus even here the news circulates now and then. The mosquitoes trouble me so much that in driving them away I bespatter my paper with ink, as thou seest, God bless thee! Good-night. _July 24._ The _Charadrius semipalmatus_ breeds on the tops or sides of the high hills, and amid the moss of this country. I have not found the nest, but have been so very near the spot where it undoubtedly was, that the female has moved before me, trailing her wings and spreading her tail to draw me away; uttering a plaintive note, the purpose of which I easily conceive. The Shore Lark has served us the same way; that nest must also be placed amid the deep mosses, over which these beautiful birds run as nimbly as can be imagined. They have the power of giving two notes, so very different from each other that a person not seeing the bird would be inclined to believe that two birds of different species were at hand. Often after these notes comes a sweet trill; all these I have thought were in intimation of danger, and with the wish to induce the sitting mate to lie quiet and silent. Tom Lincoln, John, and I went on shore after two Bears, which I heard distinctly, but they eluded our pursuit by swimming from an island to the main land. Coolidge's party went to the Murre Rocks, where the Guillemots breed, and brought about fifteen hundred eggs. Shattuck killed two Gannets with a stick; they could have done the same with thousands of Guillemots when they landed; the birds scrambled off in such a hurried, confused, and frightened manner as to render them what Charles Bonaparte calls _stupid_, and they were so terrified they could scarcely take to wing. The island was literally covered with eggs, dung, and feathers, and smelt so shockingly that Ingalls and Coolidge were quite sick. Coolidge killed a White-winged Crossbill on these Murre rocks; for several weeks we have seen these birds pass over us, but have found none anywhere on shore. We have had a beautiful day, and would have sailed for Bras d'Or, but our anchor stuck into a rock, and just as we might have sailed, a heavy fog came on, so here we are. [Illustration: JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON. FROM THE MINIATURE BY F. CRUIKSHANK, 1838.] _July 26._ I did not write last night because we were at sea and the motion was too disagreeable, and my mind was as troubled as the ocean. We left Baie de Portage before five in the morning, with a good breeze, intending to come to at Chevalier's settlement, forty-seven miles; but after sailing thirty, the wind failed us, it rained and blew, with a tremendous sea which almost shook the masts out of our good vessel, and about eight we were abreast of Bonne Espérance; but as our pilot knew as much of this harbor as he did of the others, which means _nothing at all_, our captain thought prudent to stand off and proceed to Bras d'Or. The coast we have followed is like that we have hitherto seen, crowded with islands of all sizes and forms, against which the raging waves break in a frightful manner. We saw few birds, with the exception of Gannets, which were soaring about us most of the day feeding on capelings, of which there were myriads. I had three _Uria troile_ thrown overboard alive to observe their actions. Two fluttered on top of the water for twenty yards or so, then dove, and did not rise again for fully a hundred yards from the vessel. The third went in head-foremost, like a man diving, and swam _under the surface_ so smoothly and so rapidly that it looked like a fish with wings. At daylight we found ourselves at the mouth of Bras d'Or harbor, where we are snugly moored. Our pilot not knowing a foot of the ground, we hoisted our ensign, and Captain Billings came to us in his Hampton boat and piloted us in. Bras d'Or is the grand rendezvous of almost all the fishermen that resort to this coast for codfish. We found here a flotilla of about one hundred and fifty sail, principally fore-and-aft schooners, a few pickaxes, etc., mostly from Halifax and the eastern portions of the United States. There was a life and stir about this harbor which surprised us after so many weeks of wilderness and loneliness--the boats moving to and fro, going after fish, and returning loaded to the gunwales, others with seines, others with capelings for bait. A hundred or more were anchored out about a mile from us, hauling the poor codfish by thousands; hundreds of men engaged at cleaning and salting, their low jokes and songs resembling those of the Billingsgate gentry. On entering the port I observed a large flock of small Gulls, which species I could not ascertain, also _Lestris_ of two species, one small and one large. As soon as breakfast was over, the young men went ashore to visit Mr. Jones, the owner of the Seal-fishing establishment here. He received them well--a rough, brown Nova Scotia man, the lord of this portion of Labrador--and he gave John and the others a good deal of information. Four or five species of Grouse, the Velvet Duck, the _Anas glacialis_,[221] and _Fuligula histrionica_,[222] the Wild Goose, and others breed in the swampy deserts at the head waters of the rivers, and around the edges of the lakes and ponds which everywhere abound. He also knew of my coming. John and Coolidge joined parties and brought me eight Red-polls, _Fringilla linaria_, old and young, which I will draw to-morrow. Query, is it the same which is found in Europe? Their note resembles that of the Siskin; their flight that of the Siskin and Linnet combined. The young were as large as the old, and could fly a mile at a stretch; they resort to low bushes along the edges of ponds and brooks; the hunters saw more than they shot. They brought also Savannah Finches, and White-crowned Sparrows. They saw a fine female _Tetrao canadensis_, not quite so gray as the last; the young flew well and alighted on trees and bushes, and John would not allow any of them to be shot, they were so trusting. They saw a Willow Grouse, which at sight of them, though at some distance, flew off and flew far; on being started again, flew again to a great distance with a loud, cackling note, but no whirr of the wings. They were within three hundred yards of an Eagle, which, from its dark color and enormous size and extent of wings, they took to be a female Washington Eagle.[223] I have made many inquiries, but every one tells me Eagles are most rare. It sailed away over the hills slowly and like a Vulture. After drawing two figures of the female White-winged Crossbill, I paid a visit to the country seat of Mr. Jones.[224] The snow is still to be seen in patches on every hill around us; the borders of the water courses are edged with grasses and weeds as rank of growth as may be seen in the Middle States in like situations. I saw a small brook filled with fine trout; but what pleased me best, I found a nest of the Shore Lark; it was embedded in moss so much the color of the birds, that when these sit on it, it is next to impossible to observe them; it was buried to its full depth, about seven inches,--composed outwardly of mosses of different sorts; within, fine grass circularly arranged, and mixed with many large, soft Duck feathers. These birds breed on high table-lands, one pair to a certain district. The place where I found the nest was so arid, poor and rocky that nothing grew there. We see the high mountains of Newfoundland, the summits, at present, far above the clouds. Two weeks since, the ice filled the very harbor where we now are, and not a vessel could approach; since then the ice has sunk, and none is to be seen far or near. _July 27._ It has blown a tremendous gale the whole day; fortunately I had two _Fringilla linaria_ to draw. The adult male alone possesses those rich colors on the breast; the female has only the front head crimson. They resemble the Cross-bills, notwithstanding Bonaparte, Nuttall, and others to the contrary. John kept me company and skinned fourteen small birds. Mr. Jones dined with us, after which the captain and the rest of our party went off through the storm to Blanc Sablons, four miles distant. This name is turned into "Nancy Belong" by the fishermen, who certainly tell very strange tales respecting this country. Mr. Jones entertained us by his account of travelling with dogs during winter. They are harnessed, he says, with a leather collar, a belly and back band, through the upper part of which passes the line of sealskin, which is attached to the sledge, and acts for a rein as well as a trace. An odd number of dogs always form the gang, from seven up, according to the distance of the journey, or the weight of the load; each dog is estimated to draw two hundred pounds, at a rate of five or six miles an hour. The leader is always a well-broken dog, and is placed ahead of the pack with a draught-line of from six to ten fathoms' length, and the rest with gradually shorter ones, to the last, which is about eight feet from the sledge; they are not, however, coupled, as often represented in engravings, but are each attached separately, so that when in motion they are more like a flock of Partridges, all flying loosely and yet in the same course. They always travel at a gallop, no matter what the state of the country may be, and to go down-hill is both difficult and dangerous; and at times it is necessary for the driver to guide the sledge with his feet, or with a strong staff planted in the snow as the sledge proceeds; and when heavily laden, and the descent great, the dogs are often taken off, and the sledge glides down alone, the man steering with his toes, and lying flat on his face, thus descending head-foremost like boys on their sleds. The dogs are so well acquainted with the courses and places in the neighborhood, that they never fail to take their master and his sledge to their destination, even should a tremendous snow-storm occur whilst under way; and it is always safer to leave one's fate to the instinct which these fine animals possess than to trust to human judgment, for it has been proved more than once that men who have made their dogs change their course have been lost, and sometimes died, in consequence. When travellers meet, both parties come circuitously, and as slowly as possible towards each other, which gives the separate packs the opportunity of observing that their masters are acquainted, when they meet without fighting, a thing which almost always occurs if the dogs meet unexpectedly. Mr. Jones lost a son of fourteen, a few years ago, in a snow-storm, owing to the servant in whose care he was, imprudently turning the dogs from their course; the dogs obeyed the command and struck towards Hudson's Bay; when the weather cleared the servant perceived his mistake, but alas! too late; the food was exhausted, and the lad gradually sank, and died in the arms of the man. _July 28._ At daylight this morning the storm had abated, and although it was almost calm, the sea was high, and the "Ripley" tossed and rolled in a way which was extremely unpleasant to me. Breakfast over, we all proceeded to Mr. Jones' establishment with a view to procuring more information, and to try to have some of his men make Esquimaux boots and garments for us. We received little information, and were told no work could be done for us; on asking if his son, a youth of about twenty-three, could be hired to guide some of us into the interior some forty miles, Mr. Jones said the boy's mother had become so fearful of accidents since the loss of the other son that he could not say without asking her permission, which she would not grant. We proceeded over the table-lands towards some ponds. I found three young Shore Larks just out of the nest, and not yet able to fly; they hopped pretty briskly over the moss, uttering a soft _peep_, to which the parent bird responded at every call. I am glad that it is in my power to make a figure of these birds in summer, winter, and young plumage. We also found the breeding-place of the _Fuligula histrionica_ in the corner of a small pond in some low bushes. By another pond we found the nest of the Velvet Duck, called here the White-winged Coot; it was placed on the moss among the grass, close to the water; it contained feathers, but no down as others. The female had six young, five of which we procured. They were about a week old, and I could readily recognize the male birds; they all had the white spot under the eye. Four were killed with one shot; one went on shore and squatted in the grass, where Lincoln caught it; but I begged for its life, and we left it to the care of its mother, and of its Maker. We also found the breeding-place of _Fuligula glacialis_ by a very large pond; these breed in companies and are shyer than in the States. The Pied Duck[225] breeds here on the top of the low bushes, but the season is so far advanced we have not found its nest. Mr. Jones tells me the King Duck passes here northwards in the early part of March, returning in October, flying high, and in lines like the Canada Goose. The Snow Goose is never seen here; none, indeed, but oceanic species are seen here. (I look on _Anas fusca_[226] as an oceanic species.) Mr. Jones has never been more than a mile in the interior, and knows nothing of it. There are two species of Woodpecker here, and only two, the Three-toed and the Downy. When I began writing it was calm, now it blows a hurricane, rains hard, and the sea is as high as ever. _July 29._ Another horrid, stormy day. The very fishermen complain. Five or six vessels left for further east, but I wish and long to go west. The young men, except Coolidge, went off this morning after an early breakfast to a place called Port Eau, eighteen miles distant, to try to procure some Esquimaux dresses, particularly moccasins. I felt glad when the boat which took them across the bay returned, as it assured me they were at least on terra firma. I do not expect them till to-morrow night, and I greatly miss them. When all our party is present, music, anecdotes, and jokes, journalizing and comparing notes, make the time pass merrily; but this evening the captain is on deck, Coolidge is skinning a bird, and I am writing that which is scarcely worth recording, with a horridly bad patent pen. I have to-day drawn three young Shore Larks, _Alauda alpestris_, the first ever portrayed by man. I did wish to draw an adult male, in full summer plumage, but could not get a handsome one. In one month all these birds must leave this coast, or begin to suffer. The young of many birds are full-fledged, and scamper over the rocks; the Ducks alone seem backward, but being more hardy can stay till October, when deep snows drive them off, ready or not for their laborious journey. I saw this afternoon two, or a pair, of the _Phalaropus hyperboreus_;[227] they were swimming in a small fresh-water pond, feeding on insects, and no doubt had their nest close by, as they evinced great anxiety at my approach. I did not shoot at them, and hope to find the nest or young; but to find nests in the moss is a difficult job, for the whole country looks alike. "The Curlews are coming;" this is as much of a saying here as that about the Wild Pigeons in Kentucky. What species of Curlew, I know not yet, for none have been killed, but one of our men, who started with John and party, broke down, and was sent back; he assured me that he had seen some with bills about four inches long, and the body the size of a Wild Pigeon. The accounts given of these Curlews border on the miraculous, and I shall say nothing about them till I have tested the fishermen's stories.[228] It is now calm, for a wonder, but as cold as vengeance, on deck; we have a good fire in the stove, and I am roasting on one side and freezing on the other. The water of our harbor is actually coated with oil, and the bottom fairly covered with the refuse of the codfish; the very air I breathe and smell is impregnated with essence of codfish. _July 30._ It was a beautiful morning when I arose, and such a thing as a beautiful morning in this mournful country almost amounts to a phenomenon. The captain and myself went off to an island and searched for an _Alauda alpestris_, and found a good number of old and young, associated, both equally wild. The young were led off with great care by the adults, and urged to squat quietly till nearly within gunshot, when at a "tweet" from the parent they took to the wing and were off. These birds are very pugnacious, and attack a rival at once, when both come to the scratch with courage and tenacity. I saw one beautiful male in full summer dress, which I secured, and have drawn, with a portion of moss. I intend to add two drawn in winter plumage. This afternoon we visited Mr. Jones and his wife, a good motherly woman, who talked well. Our young men returned from Port Eau fatigued, and, as usual, hungry; complained, as I expected, of the country, the climate, and the scarcity of birds and plants, and not a pair of moccasins to be bought; so Lincoln and Shattuck are now barefooted. They brought a _Lestris pomarinus_,[229] female, a full-grown young Raven, and some Finches. Coolidge's party had some Lesser Red-polls, several Swamp Sparrows, three small Black-cap Green Flycatchers, Black-cap Warblers, old and young, the last fully grown, a _Fringilla lincolnii_, and a Pine Grosbeak. They saw many Gulls of various species, and also an iceberg of immense size. There is at Port Eau a large fishing establishment belonging to fishermen who come annually from the Island of Jersey, and have a large store with general supplies. Ere I go to rest let me tell thee that it is now blowing a young hurricane, and the prospect for to-morrow is a bad one. A few moments ago the report of a cannon came to our ears from the sea, and it is supposed that it was from the "Gulnare." I wish she was at our side and snugly moored as we are. _July 31._ Another horrid hurricane, accompanied with heavy rain. I could not go on with my drawing either in the cabin or the hold, though everything was done that could be thought of, to assist me in the attempt; not a thing to relate, as not one of us could go on shore. _August 1._ Bras d'Or, Coast of Labrador.[230] I have drawn my _Lestris pomarinus_, but under difficulties; the weather has quite changed; instead of a hurricane from the east, we have had one all day from the southwest, but no rain. At noon we were visited by an iceberg, which has been drifting within three miles of us, and is now grounded at the entrance of the bay; it looks like a large man-of-war dressed in light green muslin, instead of canvas, and when the sun strikes it, it glitters with intense brilliancy. When these transient monuments of the sea happen to tumble or roll over, the fall is tremendous, and the sound produced resembles that of loud, distant thunder; these icebergs are common here all summer, being wafted south with every gale that blows; as the winds are usually easterly, the coast of Newfoundland is more free from them than that of Labrador. I have determined to make a last thorough search of the mountain tops, plains and ponds, and if no success ensues, to raise anchor and sail towards the United States once more; and blessed will the day be when I land on those dear shores, where all I long for in the world exists and lives, I hope. We have been on shore for an hour for exercise, but the wind blew so fiercely we are glad to return. _August 2._ Noon. The thermometer has risen to 58°, but it has rained hard all day; about dinner time a very handsome schooner from Boston, the size of ours, called the "Wizard," commanded by Captain Wilcomb of Ipswich, arrived, only nine days from Boston; but to our sorrow and disappointment, not a letter or paper did she bring, but we learned with pleasure that our great cities are all healthy, and for this intelligence I thank God. The "Wizard" brought two young Italian clerks as supercargo, who are going to purchase fish; they visited us and complained bitterly of the cold and the general appearance of the country. The retrograde migration of many birds has already commenced, more especially that of the lesser species both of land and water birds. _August 3._ I was suddenly awakened last night about one o'clock by the shock which our vessel received from the "Wizard," which had broken her stern chain in the gale, which at that time was raging most furiously. Our captain was up in a moment, the vessels were parted and tranquillity was restored, but to John's sorrow, and my vexation, our beautiful and most comfortable gig had been struck by the "Wizard," and her bows stove in; at daylight it rained hard and the gale continued. Lincoln went on shore and shot some birds, but nothing of importance. This afternoon we all went ashore, through a high and frightful sea which drenched us to the skin, and went to the table-lands; there we found the true Esquimau Curlew, _Numenius borealis_, so carelessly described in Bonaparte's Synopsis. This species here takes the place of the Migratory Pigeon; it has now arrived; I have seen many hundreds this afternoon, and shot seven. They fly in compact bodies, with beautiful evolutions, overlooking a great extent of country ere they make choice of a spot on which to alight; this is done wherever a certain berry, called here "Curlew berry,"[231] proves to be abundant. Here they balance themselves, call, whistle, and of common accord come to the ground, as the top of the country here must be called. They devour every berry, and if pursued squat in the manner of Partridges. A single shot starts the whole flock; off they fly, ramble overhead for a great distance ere they again alight. This rambling is caused by the scarcity of berries. This is the same bird of which three specimens were sent to me by William Oakes, of Ipswich, Mass. The iceberg has been broken into thousands of pieces by the gale. _August 4._ Still raining as steadily as ever; the morning was calm, and on shore the mosquitoes were shockingly bad, though the thermometer indicates only 49°. I have been drawing at the _Numenius borealis_; I find them difficult birds to represent. The young men went on shore and brought me four more; every one of the lads observed to-day the great tendency these birds have, in squatting to elude the eye, to turn the tail towards their pursuer, and to lay the head flat. This habit is common to many of the _Tringas_, and some of the _Charadrius_. This species of Curlew, the smallest I ever saw, feeds on the berries it procures, with a rapidity equalled only by that of the Passenger Pigeon; in an instant all the ripe berries on the plant are plucked and swallowed, and the whole country is cleared of these berries as our Western woods are of the mast. In their evolutions they resemble Pigeons also, sweeping over the ground, cutting backward and forward in the most interesting manner, and now and then poising in the air like a Hawk in sight of quarry. There is scarcely any difference in the appearance of the adult and the young. The _Alauda alpestris_ of this season has now made such progress in its growth that the first moulting is so forward that the small wing-coverts and secondaries are already come, and have assumed the beautiful rosy tints of the adults in patches at these parts; a most interesting state of their plumage, probably never seen by any naturalist before. It is quite surprising to see how quickly the growth is attained of every living thing in this country, either animal or vegetable. In six weeks I have seen the eggs laid, the birds hatched, their first moult half over, their association in flocks, and preparations begun for their leaving the country. That the Creator should have commanded millions of delicate, diminutive, tender creatures to cross immense spaces of country to all appearance a thousand times more congenial to them than this, to cause them to people, as it were, this desolate land for a time, to enliven it by the songs of the sweet feathered musicians for two months at most, and by the same command induce them to abandon it almost suddenly, is as wonderful as it is beautiful. The fruits are now ripe, yet six weeks ago the whole country was a sheet of snow, the bays locked in ice, the air a constant storm. Now the grass is rich in growth, at every step flowers are met with, insects fill the air, the snow-banks are melting; now and then an appearance as of summer does exist, but in thirty days all is over; the dark northern clouds will enwrap the mountain summits; the rivulets, the ponds, the rivers, the bays themselves will begin to freeze; heavy snowfalls will cover all these shores, and nature will resume her sleeping state, nay, more than that, one of desolation and death. Wonderful! Wonderful! But this marvellous country must be left to an abler pen than mine to describe. The _Tringa maritima_[232] and _Tringa pusilla_[233] were both shot in numbers this day; the young are now as large as the old, and we see little flocks everywhere. We heard the "Gulnare" was at Bonne Espérance, twenty miles west of us; I wish she was here, I should much like to see her officers again. _August 5._ This has been a fine day, no hurricane. I have finished two Labrador Curlews, but not the ground. A few Curlews were shot, and a Black-breasted Plover. John shot a Shore Lark that had almost completed its moult; it appears to me that northern birds come to maturity sooner than southern ones, yet the reverse is the case in our own species. Birds of the Tringa kind are constantly passing over our heads in small bodies bound westward, some of the same species which I observed in the Floridas in October. The migration of birds is perhaps much more wonderful than that of fishes, almost all of which go feeling their way along the shores and return to the very same river, creek, or even hole to deposit their spawn, as birds do to their former nest; but the latter do not _feel_ their way, but launching high in air go at once and correctly too, across vast tracts of country, yet at once stopping in portions heretofore their own, and of which they know by previous experiences the comforts and advantages. We have had several arrivals of vessels, some so heavily loaded with fish that the water runs over their decks; others, in ballast, have come to purchase fish. _August 10._ I now sit down to post my poor book, while a heavy gale is raging furiously around our vessel. My reason for not writing at night is that I have been drawing so constantly, often seventeen hours a day, that the weariness of my body at night has been unprecedented, by such work at least. At times I felt as if my physical powers would abandon me; my neck, my shoulders, and, more than all, my fingers, were almost useless through actual fatigue at drawing. Who would believe this?--yet nothing is more true. When at the return of dawn my spirits called me out of my berth, my body seemed to beg my mind to suffer it to rest a while longer; and as dark forced me to lay aside my brushes I immediately went to rest as if I had walked sixty-five miles that day, as I have done _a few times_ in my stronger days. Yesternight, when I rose from my little seat to contemplate my work and to judge of the effect of it compared with the nature which I had been attempting to copy, it was the affair of a moment; and instead of waiting, as I always like to do, until that hazy darkness which is to me the best time to judge of the strength of light and shade, I went at once to rest as if delivered from the heaviest task I ever performed. The young men think my fatigue is added to by the fact that I often work in wet clothes, but I have done that all my life with no ill effects. No! no! it is that I am no longer young. But I thank God that I did accomplish my task; my drawings are finished to the best of my ability, the skins well prepared by John. We have been to Paroket Island to procure the young of the _Mormon arcticus_. As we approached the breeding-place, the air was filled with these birds, and the water around absolutely covered with them, while on the rocks were thousands, like sentinels on the watch. I took a stand, loaded and shot twenty-seven times, and killed twenty-seven birds, singly and on the wing, without missing a shot; as friend Bachman would say, "Pretty fair, Old Jostle!" The young men laughed, and said the birds were so thick no one could miss if he tried; however, none of them did so well. We had more than we wanted, but the young were all too small to draw with effect. Nearly every bird I killed had a fish in its beak, closely held by the head, and the body dangling obliquely in the air. These fish were all of the kind called here _Lints_, a long slender fish now in shoals of millions. How many must the multitude of Mormons inhabiting this island destroy daily? Whilst flying they all issue a rough croak, but none dropped the fish, nor indeed did they let it go when brought to the earth. The _Larus marinus_ have now almost all gone south with their young; indeed, very few Gulls of any sort are now to be seen. Whilst on the island we saw a Hawk pounce on a Puffin and carry it off. Curlews have increased in numbers, but during two fair days we had they could not be approached; indeed, they appear to be so intent on their passage south that whenever the weather permits they are seen to strike high in the air across the harbor. The gale is so severe that our anchors have dragged forty or fifty yards, but by letting out still more chain we are now safe. It blows and rains so hard that it is impossible to stand in the bow of our vessel. But this is not all,--who, _now_, will deny the existence of the Labrador Falcon?[234] Yes, my Lucy, one more new species is on the list of the "Birds of America," and may we have the comfort of seeing its beautiful figure multiplied by Havell's engraver. This bird (both male and female) was shot by John whilst on an excursion with all our party, and on the 6th inst., when I sat till after twelve o'clock that night to outline one of them to save daylight the next day to color it, as I have done hundreds of times before. John shot them on the wing, whilst they were in company with their two young ones. The birds, one would be tempted to believe, had never seen a man before, for these affectionate parents dashed towards the gunners with fierce velocity, and almost instantly died from the effects of two well-directed shots. All efforts to procure the young birds were ineffectual; they were full grown, and as well as could be seen, exactly resembled the dead ones. The whole group flew much like the Peregrine Falcon, which indeed resembles them much in form, but neither in size nor color. Sometimes they hover almost high in air like a small Sparrow Hawk when watching some object fit for prey on the ground, and now and then cry much like the latter, but louder in proportion with the difference of size in the two species. Several times they alighted on stakes in the sandbar at the entrance of Bras d'Or River, and stood not as Hawks generally do, uprightly, but horizontally and much like a _Lestris_ or a Tern. Beneath their nest we found the remains of _Alca torda_, _Uria troile_, and _Mormon arcticus_--all of which are within their reach on an island here called Parocket Island--also the remains of Curlews and Ptarmigans. The nest was so situated that it could not be reached, only seen into. Both birds were brought to me in excellent order. No more is known of this bird, I believe. My evening has been enlivened by the two Italians from the "Wizard," who have been singing many songs to the accompaniment of John's violin. _August 11. At sea, Gulf of St. Lawrence._ We are now, seven of the evening, fully fifty miles from the coast of Labrador. We left our harbor at eleven o'clock with a fair breeze; the storm of last night had died away and everything looked promising. The boats were sent ashore for a supply of fresh water; John and Coolidge went after Curlews; the rest of the crew, assisted by that of the "Wizard," raised the anchors, and all was soon in readiness. The bottom of our vessel had been previously scraped and cleaned from the thousands of barnacles, which, with a growth of seaweeds, seemed to feed upon her as they do on the throat of a whale. The two Italians and Captain Wilcomb came on board to bid us adieu; we hoisted sail, and came out of the Labrador harbor. Seldom in my life have I left a country with as little regret as I do this; the next nearest to this was East Florida, after my excursions up the St. John's River. As we sailed away, and I saw, probably for the last time, the high rugged hills partly immersed in masses of the thick fog that usually hovers over them, and knew that now the bow of our truly fine vessel was turned towards the place where thou, my Lucy, art waiting for me, I felt rejoiced, although yet far away. Now we are sailing in full sight of the northwestern coast of Newfoundland, the mountains of which are high, with drifted snow-banks dotted over them, and cut horizontally with floating strata of fogs reaching along the land as far as the eye can see. The sea is quite smooth; at least I think so, or have become a better seaman through habit. John and Lincoln are playing airs on the violin and flute; the other young men are on deck. It is worth saying that during the two months we have been on the coast of Labrador, moving from one harbor to another, or from one rocky isle to another, only three nights have we spent at sea. Twenty-three drawings have been executed, or commenced and nearly completed. Whether this voyage will prove a fruitful one remains to be proved; but I am content, and hope the Creator will permit us to reach our country and find our friends well and happy. _August 13. Harbor of St. George, St. George's Bay, Newfoundland._ We have been running, as the sailors say, till five this evening, when we anchored here. Our way here was all in sight of land along the northwest shores of Newfoundland, the highest land we have yet seen; in some places the scenery was highly picturesque and agreeable to the eye, though little more vegetation appeared than in Labrador. Last night was a boisterous one, and we were all uncomfortable. This morning we entered the mouth of St. George's Bay, about thirteen leagues broad and fully eighteen deep. A more beautiful and ample basin cannot easily be found; not an obstruction is within it. The northeast shores are high and rocky, but the southern ones are sandy, low, and flat. It took us till five o'clock to ascend it and come to our present anchorage, in sight of a small village, the only one we have seen these two months, and on a harbor wherein more than fifty line-of-battle ships could safely ride, the bottom being of clay. The village is built on an elongated point of sand, or natural sea-wall, under which we now are, and is perfectly secure from every wind but the northeast. The country as we ascended the bay became more woody and less rough. The temperature changed quite suddenly, and this afternoon the weather was so mild that it was agreeable on deck, and congenial even to a southerner like myself. We find here several small vessels engaged in the fisheries, and an old hulk from Hull, England, called "Charles Tennison"; she was lost near this on her way from Quebec to Hull some years ago. As we came up the bay, a small boat with two men approached and boarded us, assisting as pilots. They had a barrel of fine salmon, which I bought for ten dollars. As soon as our anchors touched bottom, our young men went on shore to try to purchase some fresh provisions, but returned with nothing but two bottles of milk, though the village is said to contain two hundred inhabitants. Mackerel are caught all round us, and sharks of the man-eating kind are said to be abundant just now, and are extremely troublesome to the fishers' nets. Some signs of cultivation are to be seen across the harbor, and many huts of Mic-Mac Indians _adorn_ the shores. We learn the winter here is not nearly as severe as at Quebec; the latitude of this place and the low, well-guarded situation of the little village, at once account for this; yet not far off I see patches of snow remaining from last winter. Some tell us birds are abundant, others that there are none; but we shall soon ascertain which report is true. I have not slept a minute since we left Labrador. The ice here did not break up so that the bay could be navigated till the 17th of May, and I feel confident no one could enter the harbors of Labrador before the 10th of June, or possibly even later. _August 14._ All ashore in search of birds, plants, shells, and all the usual _et ceteras_ attached to our vocations; but we all were driven on board soon, by a severe storm of wind and rain, showing that Newfoundland has its share of bad weather. Whilst on shore we found the country quite rich compared with Labrador, all the vegetable productions being much larger, more abundant, and finer. We saw a flock of House Swallows that had bred about the little village, now on their passage southwest, and all gay and singing. I forgot to say that two days since, when about forty miles out at sea, we saw a flock of the Republican Swallow. I saw here the Blue yellow-eyed Warbler, the Fish-Hawk, several species of Sparrows, among them the Lincoln's Finch, the Canada Titmouse, Black-headed ditto, White-winged Crossbill, Pine Grosbeak, Maryland Yellow-throat, Pigeon Hawk, Hairy Woodpecker, Bank Swallow, Tell-tale Godwit, Golden-eyed Duck, Red-breasted Merganser, three Loons,--of which two were young and almost able to fly; the Spotted Sandpiper, and a flock of Tringas, the species of which could not be ascertained. We spoke to some of the native Indians to try to engage them to show us the way to the interior, where we are told the Small, or True Ptarmigan abounds, but they were too lazy even to earn money. Among the plants we found two varieties of rose, and the narrow-leaved kalmia. Few supplies can be obtained, and a couple of small clearings are all the cultivated land we have seen since we left the Magdalene Islands. On returning to our vessel, I was rowed on the roughest sea I have ever before encountered in an open boat, but our captain was at the helm and we reached the deck safely but drenched to the skin. The wind has now abated, and I hope to draw plants all day. This evening a flock of Terns, twenty or thirty with their young, travelled due south; they were very clamorous and beat against the gale most beautifully. Several Indians came on board and promised to go to-morrow after Hares. _August 15._ We have had a beautiful day; this morning some Indians came alongside; they had half a Reindeer or Caribou, and a Hare which I had never seen before. We took the forty-four pounds of fresh meat and gave in exchange twenty-one of pork and thirty-three of ship-biscuit, and paid a quarter of a dollar for the Hare, which plainly shows that these Indians know full well the value of the game which they procure. I spent a portion of the day in adding a plant to my drawing of the Red-necked Diver, after which we all went on shore to the Indians' camp across the bay. We found them, as I expected, all lying down pell-mell in their wigwams. A strong mixture of blood was apparent in their skins, shape, and deportment; some indeed were nearly white, and sorry I am to say that the nearer to our own noble selves, the filthier and lazier they are; the women and children were particularly disgusting. Some of the former, from whom I purchased some rough baskets, were frightfully so. Other women had been out collecting the fruit called here "baked apple" [_Rubus chamæmorus_]. When a little roasted it tastes exactly like baked apple. The children were engaged in catching lobsters and eels, of which there are numbers in all the bays here; at Labrador, lobsters are rare. The young Indians simply waded out up to their knees, turned the eel grass over, and secured their prey. After much parley, we engaged two hunters to go as guides into the interior to procure Caribou and Hares, for which they were to receive a dollar a day each. Our men caught ninety-nine lobsters, all of good size; the shores truly abound in this valuable shell-fish. The Indians roast them in a fire of brushwood, and devour them without salt or any other _et ceteras_. The Caribous are now "in velvet," and their skins light gray, the flesh tender, but the animal poor. The average weight when in good condition, four hundred pounds. In the early part of March the Caribou leave the hills and come to the sea-shore to feed on kelp and sea-grasses cut off by the ice and cast on the shore. Groups of many hundreds may be seen thus feeding. The flesh here is held in low estimation; it tastes like poor venison. I saw to-day several pairs of Cayenne Terns on their way south; they flew high, and were very noisy. The Great Terns passed also in vast multitudes. When the weather is stormy, they skim close over the water; if fair, they rise very high and fly more at leisure. The Tell-tale Godwit is now extremely fat, extremely juicy, extremely tender, and extremely good. The _Parus hudsonicus_ is very abundant; so is the Pine Grosbeak, but in a shocking state of moult. The _Kalmia angustifolia_[235] the natives say, is an antidote for cramp and rheumatism. I was on the point of bidding thee good-night, when we all were invited to a ball[236] on shore. I am going with the rest out of curiosity. _August 16._ The people seemed to enjoy themselves well at the ball, and John played the violin for them till half-past two. I returned on board before eleven, and slept soundly till the young men hailed for a boat. This morning has been spent drawing a kalmia to a bird. The young men went off with the Indians this morning, but returned this evening driven back by flies and mosquitoes. Lincoln is really in great pain. They brought a pair of Willow Grouse, old and young; the latter had no hairy feathers yet on the legs. They saw Canada Jays, Crossbills, Pine Grosbeaks, Robins, one Golden-winged Woodpecker, many Canadian Titmice, a Martin Swallow, a Kingfisher (none in Labrador), heard a Squirrel which sounded like the Red Squirrel. The country was described as being "up and down the whole way." The moss almost as deep as in Labrador, the morasses quite as much so; no tall wood, and no hard wood. The lads were all so fatigued that they are now sound asleep. _August 17._ We would now be "ploughing the deep" had the wind been fair; but as it was not, here we still are _in statu quo_. I have drawn a curious species of alder to my White-winged Crossbill, and finished it. I had a visit from an old Frenchman who has resided on this famous island for fifty years; he assured me that no Red Indians were now to be found: the last he heard of were seen twenty-two years ago. These native Indians give no quarter to anybody; usually, after killing their foes, they cut the heads off the latter, and leave the body to the wild beasts of the country. Several flocks of Golden Plovers passed over the bay this forenoon; two _Lestris pomarina_ came in this evening. Ravens abound here, but no Crows have been seen. The Great Tern is passing south by thousands, and a small flock of Canada Geese was seen. A young of the Golden-crested Wren was shot, full grown and fledged, but not a sign of yellow on the head. A _Muscicapa_ (Flycatcher) was killed which probably is new; to-morrow will tell. I bought seven Newfoundland dogs for seventeen dollars; now I shall be able to fulfil my promises to friends. The American Bittern breeds here, and leaves in about two weeks hence. _August 18._ At daylight the wind was fair, and though cloudy, we broke our anchorage, and at five were under way. We coasted Newfoundland till evening, when the wind blew a gale from the southwest, and a regular tempest set in. Our vessel was brought to at dusk, and we danced and kicked over the waves all evening, and will do so all night. _August 19._ The storm still continues, without any sign of abating; we are still at anchor, tossed hither and thither, and withal sea-sick. _August 21._ To-day the storm ceased, but the wind is still so adverse that we could make no port of Newfoundland; towards this island we steered, for none of us wished to return to Labrador. We tried to enter the Strait of Canseau, but the wind failed us; while the vessel lay becalmed we decided to try to reach Pictou in Nova Scotia and travel by land. We are now beating about towards that port and hope to reach it early to-morrow morning. The great desire we all have to see Pictou, Halifax, and the country between them and Eastport, is our inducement. _August 22._ After in vain attempting to reach Pictou, we concluded, after dinner, that myself and party should be put ashore anywhere, and the "Ripley" should sail back towards the Straits of Canseau, the wind and tide being favorable. We drank a glass of wine to our wives and our friends, and our excellent little captain took us to the shore, while the vessel stood still, with all sails up, awaiting his return. We happened to land on an island called Ruy's Island, where, fortunately for us, we found some men making hay. Two of these we engaged to carry our trunks and two of the party to this place, Pictou, for two dollars--truly cheap. Our effects, or rather those we needed, were soon put up, we all shook hands most heartily with the captain--to whom we now feel really attached--said farewell to the crew, and parted, giving three hearty cheers. We were now, thanks to God, positively on the mainland of our native country, and after four days' confinement in our berths, and sick of sea-sickness, the sea and all its appurtenances, we felt so refreshed that the thought of walking nine miles seemed like nothing more than dancing a quadrille. The air felt deliciously warm, the country, compared with those we have so lately left, appeared perfectly beautiful, and the smell of the new-mown grass was the sweetest that ever existed. Even the music of the crickets was delightful to mine ears, for no such insect does either Labrador or Newfoundland afford. The voice of a Blue Jay was melody to me, and the sight of a Humming-bird quite filled my heart with delight. We were conveyed a short distance from the island to the main; Ingalls and Coolidge remained in the boat, and the rest of us took the road, along which we moved as lightly as if boys just out of school. The roads were good, or seemed to be so; the woods were all of tall timber, and the air that circulated freely was filled with perfume. Almost every plant we saw brought to mind some portion of the United States; in a word, all of us felt quite happy. Now and then, as we crossed a hill and looked back over the sea, we saw our beautiful vessel sailing freely before the wind, and as she gradually neared the horizon, she looked like a white speck, or an Eagle high in air. We wished our captain a most safe voyage to Quoddy. We arrived opposite Pictou in two hours and a half, and lay down on the grass to await the arrival of the boat, enjoying the scenery around us. A number of American vessels were in the harbor, loading with coal; the village, placed at the upper end of a fine bay, looked well, though small. Three churches rose above the rest of the buildings, all of which are of wood, and several vessels were on the stocks. The whole country appeared in a high state of cultivation, and looked well; the population is about two thousand. Our boat came, we crossed the bay, and put up at the "Royal Oak," the best house, and have had what seemed to be, after our recent fare, a most excellent supper. The very treading on a carpeted floor was quite wonderful. This evening we called on Professor McCullough, who received us very kindly, gave us a glass of wine, showed his fine collection of well-preserved birds and other things, and invited us to breakfast to-morrow at eight, when we are again to inspect his curiosities. The Professor's mansion is a quarter of a mile out of town, and looks much like a small English villa. _August 23._ We had an excellent Scotch breakfast at Professor McCullough's. His whole family were present, four sons and a daughter, besides his wife and her sister. I became more pleased with the professor the more he talked. I showed a few Labrador drawings, after which we went in a body to the University, once more to examine his fine collection. I found there half a dozen specimens of birds which I longed for and said so; the Professor had the cases opened, the specimens taken out, and he offered them to me with so much apparent good will that I took them. He then asked me to look around and not to leave any object which might be of assistance in my publication; but so generous had he already proved himself that I remained mute; I saw several I would have liked to have, but I could not mention them. He offered me all his fresh-water shells, and any minerals I might choose. I took a few specimens of iron and copper. I am much surprised that this valuable collection is not purchased by the government of the Province; he offered it for £500. I think it well worth £1,000. Thou wilt say I am an enthusiast; to this I will reply--True, but there are many more in the world, particularly in Europe. On our return to the "Royal Oak" we were called on by Mr. Blanchard, the deputy consul for the United States, an agreeable man, who offered to do whatever he could for us; but the coach was almost ready, our birds were packed, our bill paid, and the coach rolled off. I walked on ahead with Mr. Blanchard for about a mile; he spoke much of England, and knew John Adamson of Newcastle and other friends there. The coach came up, and we said farewell. The wind had commenced to blow, and soon rain fell heavily; we went on smoothly, the road being as good as any in England, and broader. We passed through a fine tract of country, well wooded, well cultivated, and a wonderful relief to our eyes after the barren and desolate regions of rocks, snow, tempests, and storms. We stopped to dine at four in the afternoon at a wayside house. The rain poured down; two ladies and a gentleman--the husband of one of them--had arrived before us in an open cart, or "jersey," and I, with all the gallantry of my nature, at once offered to change vehicles with them. They accepted the exchange at once, but did not even thank us in return. Shattuck, Ingalls, and I jumped into the open cart when dinner was ended. I was seated by a very so-so Irish dame named Katy; her husband was our driver. Our exchange proved a most excellent one: the weather cleared up; we saw the country much better than we could have done in the coach. To our surprise we were suddenly passed by Professor McCullough, who said he would see us at Truro. Towards sunset we arrived in view of this pretty, scattered village, in sight of the head waters of the Bay of Fundy. What a delightful sensation at that moment ran through my frame, as I realized that I was within a few days of home! We reached the tavern, or hotel, or whatever else the house of stoppage might be called, but as only three of us could be accommodated there we went across the street to another. Professor McCullough came in and introduced us to several members of the Assembly of this Province, and I was handed several pinches of snuff by the Professor, who _loves it_. We tried in vain to obtain a conveyance for ourselves to-morrow morning instead of going by coach to-night; it could not be done. Professor McCullough then took me to the house of Samuel George Archibald, Esq., Speaker of the Assembly, who introduced me to his wife and handsome young daughter. I showed them a few drawings, and received a letter from Mr. Archibald to the Chief Justice of Halifax, and now we are waiting for the mail coach to proceed to that place. The village of Truro demands a few words. It is situated in the middle of a most beautiful valley, of great extent and well cultivated; several brooks water this valley, and empty into the Bay of Fundy, the broad expanse of which we see to the westward. The buildings, though principally of wood, are good-looking, and as cleanly as those in our pretty eastern villages, white, with green shutters. The style of the people, be it loyal or otherwise, is extremely genteel, and I was more than pleased with all those whom I saw. The coach is at the door, the cover of my trunk is gaping to receive this poor book, and therefore once more, good-night. _August 24._ Wind due east, hauling to the northeast, good for the "Ripley." We are now at Halifax in Nova Scotia, but let me tell thee how and in what manner we reached it. It was eleven last night when we seated ourselves in the coach; the night was beautiful, and the moon shone brightly. We could only partially observe the country until the morning broke; but the road we can swear was hilly, and our horses lazy, or more probably very poor. After riding twenty miles, we stopped a good hour to change horses and warm ourselves. John went to sleep, but the rest of us had some supper, served by a very handsome country girl. At the call, "Coach ready!" we jumped in, and had advanced perhaps a mile and a half when the linch-pin broke, and there we were at a stand-still. Ingalls took charge of the horses, and responded with great energy to the calls of the owls that came from the depths of the woods, where they were engaged either at praying to Diana or at calling to their parents, friends, and distant relations. John, Lincoln, and Shattuck, always ready for a nap, made this night no exception; Coolidge and I, not trusting altogether to Ingalls' wakefulness, kept awake and prayed to be shortly delivered from this most disagreeable of travelling experiences, detention--at all times to be avoided if possible, and certainly to be dreaded on a chilly night in this latitude. Looking up the road, the vacillating glimmer of the flame intended to assist the coachman in the recovery of the lost linch-pin was all that could be distinguished, for by this the time was what is called "wolfy." The man returned, put out the pine-knot--the linch-pin could not be found--and another quarter of an hour was spent in repairing with all sorts of odds and ends. How much longer Ingalls could, or would, have held the horses, we never asked him, as from different exclamations we heard him utter we thought it well to be silent on that subject. The day dawned fair and beautiful. I ran a mile or so ahead of the coach to warm my feet, and afterwards sat by the driver to obtain, if possible, some information about the country, which became poorer and poorer as our journey proceeded. We were all very hungry, and were told the "_stand_" stood twenty-five miles from the lost linch-pin. I asked our driver to stop wherever he thought we could procure a dozen or so of hard-boiled eggs and some coffee, or indeed anything eatable; so he drew up at a house where the owner looked us over, and said it would be quite impossible to provide a breakfast for six persons of our appearance. We passed on and soon came on the track of a tolerably large bear, _in the road_, and at last reached the breakfast ground at a house on the margin of Green Lake, a place where fish and game, in the season, abound. This lake forms part of the channel which was intended to be cut for connecting by canal the Atlantic, the Baie of Fundy, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, at Bay Verte. Ninety thousand pounds have been expended, but the canal is not finished, and probably never will be; for we are told the government will not assist the company by which it was undertaken, and private spirit is slumbering. We had an excellent breakfast at this house, seventeen miles from Halifax; this place would be a most delightful summer residence. The road was now level, but narrow; the flag of the Halifax garrison was seen when two miles distant. Suddenly we turned short, and stopped at a gate fronting a wharf, where was a small ferry-boat. Here we were detained nearly an hour; how would this work in the States? Why did Mrs. Trollope not visit Halifax? The number of beggarly-looking negroes and negresses would have afforded her ample scope for contemplation and description. We crossed the harbor, in which rode a sixty-four-gun flag-ship, and arrived at the house of one Mr. Paul. This was the best hotel in Halifax, yet with great difficulty we obtained _one_ room with four beds, but no private parlor--which we thought necessary. With a population of eighteen thousand souls, and just now two thousand soldiers added to these, Halifax has not one good hotel, for here the attendance is miserable, and the table far from good. We have walked about to see the town, and all have aching feet and leg-bones in consequence of walking on hard ground after tramping only on the softest, deepest mosses for two months. _August 25._ I rose at four and wrote to thee and Dr. Parkman;[237] Shattuck wrote to his father, and he and I took these letters to an English schooner bound to Boston. I was surprised to find every wharf gated, the gates locked and barred, and sentinels at every point. I searched everywhere for a barber; they do not here shave on Sunday; finally, by dint of begging, and assuring the man that I was utterly unacquainted with the laws of Halifax, being a stranger, my long beard was cut at last. Four of us went to church where the Bishop read and preached; the soldiers are divided up among the different churches and attend in full uniform. This afternoon we saw a military burial; this was a grand sight. The soldiers walked far apart, with arms reversed; an excellent band executed the most solemn marches and a fine anthem. I gave my letters from Boston to Mr. Tremaine, an amiable gentleman. _August 26._ This day has been spent in writing letters to thyself, Nicholas Berthoud, John Bachman, and Edward Harris; to the last I have written a long letter describing all our voyage. I took the letters to the "Cordelia" packet, which sails on Wednesday, and may reach Boston before we do. I delivered my letters to Bishop Inglis and the Chief-Justice, but were assured both were out. John and Ingalls spent their evening very agreeably with Commissary Hewitson. _August 27._ Breakfast eaten and bill paid, we entered the coach at nine o'clock, which would only contain five, so though it rained one of us sat with the driver. The road between Halifax and Windsor, where we now are, is macadamized and good, over hills and through valleys, and though the distance is forty-five miles, we had only one pair of horses, which nevertheless travelled about six and a half miles an hour. Nine miles of our road lay along the Bay of Halifax, and was very pleasant. Here and there a country home came in sight. Our driver told us that a French squadron was pursued by an English fleet to the head of this bay, and the seven French vessels were compelled to strike their colors; but the French commodore or admiral sunk all his vessels, preferring this to surrendering them to the British. So deep was the water that the very tops of the masts sank far out of sight, and once only since that time, twenty years ago, have they been seen; this was on an unusually calm, clear day seven years past. We saw _en passant_ the abandoned lodge of Prince Edward, who spent a million pounds on the building, grounds, etc. The whole now is in the greatest state of ruin; thirty years have gone by since it was in its splendor. On leaving the bay, we followed the Salmon River, a small rivulet of swift water, which abounds in salmon, trout, and other fish. The whole country is miserably poor, yet much cultivation is seen all the way. Much game and good fishing was to be had round the inn where we dined; the landlord said his terms were five dollars a week, and it would be a pleasant summer residence. We passed the seat of Mr. Jeffries, President of the Assembly, now Acting Governor. The house is large and the grounds in fine order. It is between two handsome fresh-water lakes; indeed, the country is covered with lakes, all of which are well supplied with trout. We saw the college and the common school, built of freestone, both handsome buildings. We crossed the head of the St. Croix River, which rolls its impetuous waters into the Bay of Fundy. From here to Windsor the country improved rapidly and the crops looked well. Windsor is a neat, pretty village; the vast banks of plaster of Paris all about it give employment to the inhabitants and bring wealth to the place; it is shipped from here in large quantities. Our coach stopped at the best _boarding-house_ here, for nowhere in the Provinces have we heard of hotels; the house was full and we were conveyed to another, where, after more than two hours' delay, we had a very indifferent supper. Meantime we walked to see the Windsor River, on the east bank of which the village is situated. The view was indeed novel; the bed of the river, nearly a mile wide and quite bare as far as eye could reach,--about ten miles. Scarcely any water to be seen, and yet the spot where we stood, sixty-five feet above the river bed, showed that at high tide this wonderful basin must be filled to the brim. Opposite to us, indeed, the country is diked in, and vessels left dry at the wharves had a strange appearance. We are told that there have been instances when vessels have slid sidewise from the top of the bank to the level of the gravelly bed of the river. The shores are covered for a hundred yards with mud of a reddish color. This conveys more the idea of a flood or great freshet than the result of tide, and I long to see the waters of the ocean advancing at the rate of four knots an hour to fill this extraordinary basin; this sight I hope to enjoy to-morrow. _August 28._ I can now say that I have seen the tide waters of the Bay of Fundy rise sixty-five feet.[238] We were seated on one of the wharves and saw the mass of water accumulating with a rapidity I cannot describe. At half-flow the water rose three feet in ten minutes, but it is even more rapid than this. A few minutes after its greatest height is attained it begins to recede, and in a few hours the whole bed of the river is again emptied. We rambled over the beautiful meadows and fields, and John shot two Marsh Hawks, one of each sex, and we saw many more. These birds here are much darker above and much deeper rufous below, than any I ever procured in the Middle States or farther south. Indeed, it may be said that the farther north I have been, the deeper in tint have I found the birds. The steamboat has just arrived, and the young men have been on board to secure our passage. No news from the States. _Eastport, Maine, August 31._ We arrived here yesterday afternoon in the steamer "Maid of the Mist." We left Windsor shortly before twelve noon, and reached St. John's, New Brunswick, at two o'clock at night. Passed "Cape Blow-me-down," "Cape Split," and "Cape d'Or." We were very comfortable, as there were few passengers, but the price was sufficient for all we had, and more. We perambulated the streets of St. John's by moonlight, and when the shops opened I purchased two suits of excellent stuff for shooting garments. At the wharf, just as the steamer was about to leave, I had the great pleasure of meeting my most excellent friend Edward Harris, who gave me a letter from thee, and the first intelligence from the big world we have left for two months. Here we were kindly received by all our acquaintance; our trunks were not opened, and the new clothes paid no duties; this ought to be the case with poor students of nature all over the world. We gave up the "Ripley" to Messrs. Buck and Tinkham, took up our quarters with good Mr. Weston, and all began packing immediately. We reached New York on Saturday morning, the 7th of September, and, thank God, found all well. Whilst at Boston I wrote several letters, one very long one to Thomas Nuttall, in which I gave him some account of the habits of water-birds with which he was unacquainted; he sent me an extremely kind letter in answer. FOOTNOTES: [172] These terms were not, however, held to by the owners of the vessel, and the provisioning was left also to them, the whole outlay being about $1500 for the entire trip. [173] Now commonly spelled Canso--not Canseau. [174] _Plectrophenax nivalis_, the Snow Bunting.--E. C. [175] _Canachites canadensis_, the Canada Grouse.--E. C. [176] Foolish Guillemot. [177] Black Guillemot. [178] Great Blue Heron. [179] Razor-billed Auk. [180] Spotted Sandpiper, now _Actitis macularia_.--E. C. [181] Dusky Duck. [182] Scoter Duck. [183] The Least or Wilson's Sandpiper, _Tringa (Actodromas) minutilla_.--E. C. [184] A mistake, which Audubon later corrected. The Herring Gull is of course quite distinct from the Black-backed. The former is of the variety called by me _Larus argentatus smithsonianus_, as it differs in some respects from the common Herring Gull of Europe.--E. C. [185] Perhaps Forster's Tern, _Sterna forsteri_.--E. C. [186] Charles Lucien Bonaparte. [187] No doubt the common species, _Phalacrocorax carbo_, as Audubon afterward identified it. See beyond, date of June 30.--E. C. [188] That is, the species which Audubon named the Florida Cormorant, _Phalacrocorax floridanus_, now known to be a small southern form of the Double-crested Cormorant, _P. dilophus_.--E. C. [189] This is the so-called Bridled Guillemot, _Uria ringvia_. The white mark is not characteristic of sex, age, or season. The bird is not specifically distinct from _Uria troile_.--E. C. [190] _Merula migratoria_, the American Robin. [191] Kinglet, _Regulus calendula_.--E. C. [192] An interesting note of this new species figured in B. of Am., folio pl. 193, and described in Orn. Biogr. ii., 1834, p. 539. It is now known as _Melospiza lincolni_.--E. C. [193] The Common Puffin, now called _Fratercula arctica_.--E. C. [194] This is the usual sailors' name of the Razor-billed Auk in Labrador and Newfoundland, and was the only one heard by me in Labrador in 1860 (see Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci., 1861, p. 249).--E. C. [195] Now _Otocorys alpestris_.--E. C. [196] Now _Anthus pennsylvanicus_.--E. C. [197] Common Cormorant. See note on page 370. [198] _Loxia leucoptera._ [199] _Le petit caporal, Falco temerarius_, AUD. Ornith. Biog. i., 1831, p. 381, pl. 85. _Falco columbarius_, AUD. Ornith. Biog. i., 1831, p. 466, pl. 92; v., 1838, p. 368. Synopsis, 1839, p. 16. B. Amer. 8vo, ed. 1., 1840, p. 88, pl. 21. _Falco auduboni_, BLACKWALL, Zoöl. Researches, 1834.--E. C. In vol. v., p. 368, Audubon says: "The bird represented in the last mentioned plate, and described under the name of _Falco temerarius_, was merely a beautiful adult of the Pigeon Hawk, _F. columbarius_. The great inferiority in size of the individual represented as _F. temararius_ was the cause of my mistaking it for a distinct species, and I have pleasure in stating that the Prince of Musignano [Charles Bonaparte] was the first person who pointed out my error to me soon after the publication of my first volume." Bonaparte alludes to this in his edition of Wilson, vol. iii. p. 252. [200] American Ring Plover, now known as _Ægialitis semipalmata_.--E. C. [201] Great Northern Diver or Loon, now called _Urinator_, or _Gavia_, _imber_. The other Diver above mentioned as the "Scapegrace" is _U., or G., lumme_. [202] Red-throated Diver, now _Urinator_, or _Gavia_, _lumme_.--E. C. [203] The White-crowned and White-throated Sparrows are now placed in the genus _Zonotrichia_.--E. C. [204] Jager. [205] Petrels, most probably _Cymochorea leucorrhoa_.--E. C. [206] Now _L. delawarensis_, also called Ring-billed Gull.--E. C. [207] Double-crested Cormorant. [208] The Catchfly. [209] Pigeon Hawk. [210] White-crowned Sparrow. [211] Brown Titlark. [212] Black-poll Warbler. [213] Savannah Finch. [214] Double-crested Cormorant. [215] Hudson's Bay Titmouse. [216] The Ruffed Grouse, _Bonasa umbellus_.--E. C. [217] Common Gull. This record raises an interesting question, which can hardly be settled satisfactorily. _Larus canus_, the common Gull of Europe, is given by various authors in Audubon's time, besides himself, as a bird of the Atlantic coast of North America, from Labrador southward. But it is not known as such to ornithologists of the present day. The American Ornithologists' Union catalogues _L. canus_ as merely a straggler in North America, with the query, "accidental in Labrador?" In his Notes on the Ornithology of Labrador, in Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci., Phila. 1861, p. 246, Dr. Coues gives _L. delawarensis_, the Ring-billed Gull, three specimens of which he procured at Henley Harbor, Aug. 21, 1860. These were birds of the year, and one of them, afterward sent to England, was identified by Mr. Howard Saunders as _L. canus_ (P.Z.S. 1877, p. 178; Cat. B. Brit. Mus., xxv. 1896, p. 281). This would seem to bear out Audubon's Journal; but the "Common American Gull" of his published works is the one he calls _L. zonorhynchus_ (_i. e._, _L. delawarensis_), and on p. 155 of the Birds of Am., 8vo ed., he gives the very incident here narrated in his Journal, as pertaining to the latter species. The probabilities are that, notwithstanding Dr. Coues' finding of the supposed _L. canus_ in Labrador, the whole Audubonian record really belongs to _L. delawarensis_.--E. C. [218] This appears to be an error, reflected in all of Audubon's published works. The Cayenne Tern of Audubon, as described and figured by him, is _Sterna regia_, which has never been known to occur in Labrador. Audubon never knew the Caspian Tern, _S. tschegrava_, and it is believed that this is the species which he saw in Labrador, and mistook for the Cayenne Tern--as he might easily do. See Coues, Birds of the Northwest, 1874, p. 669, where the case is noted.--E. C. [219] Or Willow Ptarmigan, _Lagopus albus_--the same that Audubon has already spoken of procuring and drawing; but this is the first mention he makes which enables us to judge which of two species occurring in Labrador he had. The other is the Rock Grouse, or Ptarmigan, _L. rupestris_.--E. C. [220] This is the bird which Audubon afterward identified with _Tyrannula richardsonii_ of Swainson, Fn., Bor.-Am., ii., 1831, p. 146, pl. 46, lower fig., and published under the name of the Short-legged Pewee or Pewit Fly-catcher, _Muscicapa phoebe_, in Orn. Biogr., v. p. 299, pl. 434; B. Am., 8vo ed., i. p. 219, pl. 61. The species is now well known as the Western Wood Pewee, _Contopus richardsoni_; but it has never since Audubon's time been authenticated as a bird of Labrador. Audubon was of course perfectly familiar with the common Wood Pewee, _Contopus virens_, and with the Pewit Flycatcher, _Sayornis phoebe_. We can hardly imagine him mistaken regarding the identity of either of these familiar birds; yet there is something about this Labrador record of supposed _C. richardsonii_ which has never been satisfactorily explained.--E. C. [221] _Harelda hiemalis_, the Old Squaw or Long-Tailed Duck.--E. C. [222] _Histrionicus histrionicus_, the Harlequin Duck.--E. C. [223] The Washington Eagle, or "Bird of Washington," of Audubon's works, is based upon the young Bald Eagle, _Haliaëtus leucocephaluis_. The bird here noted may have been either this species, or the _Aquila chrysaëtus_.--E. C. [224] See Episode "A Labrador Squatter." [225] Or Labrador Duck, _Camptolæmus labradorius_. This is a notable record, considering that the species became extinct about 1875.--E. C. [226] This is the White-winged Coot or Scoter just mentioned above, _[OE]demia deglandi_.--E. C. [227] Brown or Northern Phalarope. [228] The Curlew which occurs in almost incredible numbers in Labrador is the Eskimo, _Numenius borealis_; the one with the bill about four inches long, also found in that country, but less commonly, is the Hudsonian, _N. hudsonicus_. See Coues, Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci., Philada., 1861, p. 236.--E. C. [229] Pomarine Jager, or Gull-hunter, now called _Stercorarius pomarinus_.--E. C. [230] A small village on the coast of Labrador, latitude 51°; _not_ the Bras D'Or of Cape Breton Island. [231] _Empetrum nigrum._ [232] The Purple or Rock Sandpiper, _Tringa (Arquatella) maritima_.--E. C. [233] Not _Ereunetes pusillus_, but the Least Sandpiper, _Tringa (Actodromas) minutilla_, which appears as _Tringa pusilla_ in Audubon's works.--E. C. [234] This is the bird figured by Audubon as _Falco labradora_ on folio pl. 196, 8vo pl. 19, but which he afterward considered to be the same as his _F. islandicus_. It is now held, however, to represent a dark variety of Gyrfalcon, known as _F. gyrfalco obsoletus_, confined to Labrador and thence southward in winter to New England and New York.--E. C. [235] Sheep laurel. [236] See Episode, "A Ball in Newfoundland." [237] Dr. George Parkman, of Boston, who was murdered by Professor J. W. Webster in Boston, November 23, 1849. [238] See Episode, "The Bay of Fundy." THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS 1843 INTRODUCTION This journey, which occupied within a few days of eight months,--from March 11, 1843, to November 6 of the same year,--was undertaken in the interest of the "Quadrupeds of North America," in which the three Audubons and Dr. Bachman were then deeply engaged. The journey has been only briefly touched upon in former publications, and the entire record from August 16 until the return home was lost in the back of an old secretary from the time of Audubon's return in November, 1843, until August, 1896, when two of his granddaughters found it. Mrs. Audubon states in her narrative that no record of this part of the trip was known to exist, and none of the family now living had ever seen it until the date mentioned. Not only is the diary most valuable from the point of view of the naturalist, but also from that of the historian interested in the frontier life of those days. M. R. A. As the only account of the journey from New York to St. Louis which can now be found is contained in a letter to my uncle Mr. James Hall, dated St. Louis, March 29, 1843, the following extract is given:-- "The weather has been bad ever since we left Baltimore. There we encountered a snow-storm that accompanied us all the way to this very spot, and at this moment the country is whitened with this precious, semi-congealed, heavenly dew. As to ice!--I wish it were all in your icehouse when summer does come, should summer show her bright features in the year of our Lord 1843. We first encountered ice at Wheeling, and it has floated down the Ohio all around us, as well as up the Mississippi to pleasant St. Louis. And such a steamer as we have come in from Louisville here!--the very filthiest of all filthy old rat-traps I ever travelled in; and the fare worse, certainly much worse, and so scanty withal that our worthy commander could not have given us another meal had we been detained a night longer. I wrote a famous long letter to my Lucy on the subject, and as I know you will hear it, will not repeat the account of our situation on board the 'Gallant'--a pretty name, too, but alas! her name, like mine, is only a shadow, for as she struck a sawyer[239] one night we all ran like mad to make ready to leap overboard; but as God would have it, our lives and the 'Gallant,' were spared--she from sinking, and we from swimming amid rolling and crashing hard ice. THE LADIES screamed, the babies squalled, the dogs yelled, the steam roared, the captain (who, by the way, is a very gallant man) swore--not like an angel, but like the very devil--and all was confusion and uproar, just as if Miller's prophecy had actually been nigh. Luckily, we had had our _supper_, as the thing was called on board the 'Gallant,' and every man appeared to feel resolute, if not resolved to die. "I would have given much at that moment for a picture of the whole. Our _compagnons de voyage_, about one hundred and fifty, were composed of Buckeyes, Wolverines, Suckers, Hoosiers, and gamblers, with drunkards of each and every denomination, their ladies and babies of the same nature, and specifically the dirtiest of the dirty. We had to dip the water for washing from the river in tin basins, soap ourselves all from the same cake, and wipe the one hundred and fifty with the same solitary one towel rolling over a pin, until it would have been difficult to say, even with your keen eyes, whether it was manufactured of hemp, tow, flax, or cotton. My bed had two sheets, of course, measuring seven-eighths of a yard wide; my pillow was filled with corn-shucks. Harris fared even worse than I, and our 'state-room' was evidently better fitted for the smoking of hams than the smoking of Christians. When it rained outside, it rained also within, and on one particular morning, when the snow melted on the upper deck, or roof, it was a lively scene to see each person seeking for a spot free from the many spouts overhead. "We are at the Glasgow Hotel, and will leave it the day after to-morrow, as it is too good for our purses. We intended to have gone twenty miles in Illinois to Edwardsville, but have changed our plans, and will go northwest sixteen miles to Florissant, where we are assured game is plenty, and the living quite cheap. We do not expect to leave this till the 20th or 22d of April, and should you feel inclined to write to me, do so by return of mail, if possible, and I may get your letter before I leave this for the Yellowstone. "The markets here abound with all the good things of the land, and of nature's creation. To give you an idea of this, read the following items: Grouse, two for a York shilling; three chickens for the same; Turkeys, wild or tame, 25 cents; flour $2.00 a barrel; butter, sixpence for the best--fresh, and really good. Beef, 3 to 4 cents; veal, the same; pork, 2 cents; venison hams, large and dried, 15 cents each; potatoes, 10 cents a bushel; Ducks, three for a shilling; Wild Geese, 10 cents each; Canvas-back Ducks, a shilling a pair; vegetables for the asking, as it were; and only think, in the midst of this abundance and cheapness, we are paying at the rate of $9.00 per week at our hotel, the Glasgow, and at the Planters we were asked $10.00. "I have been extremely kindly received and treated by Mr. Chouteau and partners. Mr. Sire, the gentleman who will command the steamer we go in, is one of the finest-looking men I have seen for many a day, and the accounts I hear of him correspond with his noble face and general appearance." FOOTNOTE: [239] A fallen tree that rests on the root end at the bottom of a stream or river, and sways up or down with the current. THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS 1843 I left home at ten o'clock of the morning, on Saturday the 11th of March, 1843, accompanied by my son Victor. I left all well, and I trust in God for the privilege and happiness of rejoining them all some time next autumn, when I hope to return from the Yellowstone River, an expedition undertaken solely for the sake of our work on the Quadrupeds of North America. The day was cold, but the sun was shining, and after having visited a few friends in the city of New York, we departed for Philadelphia in the cars, and reached that place at eleven of the night. As I was about landing, I was touched on the shoulder by a tall, robust-looking man, whom I knew not to be a sheriff, but in fact my good friend Jediah Irish,[240] of the Great Pine Swamp. I also met my friend Edward Harris, who, with old John G. Bell,[241] Isaac Sprague, and young Lewis Squires, are to be my companions for this campaign. We all put up at Mr. Sanderson's. Sunday was spent in visits to Mr. Bowen,[242] Dr. Morton,[243] and others, and we had many calls made upon us at the hotel. On Monday morning we took the cars for Baltimore, and Victor returned home to Minniesland. The weather was rainy, blustery, cold, but we reached Baltimore in time to eat our dinner there, and we there spent the afternoon and the night. I saw Gideon B. Smith and a few other friends, and on the next morning we entered the cars for Cumberland, which we reached the same evening about six. Here we had all our effects weighed, and were charged thirty dollars additional weight--a first-rate piece of robbery. We went on now by coaches, entering the gap, and ascending the Alleghanies amid a storm of snow, which kept us company for about forty hours, when we reached Wheeling, which we left on the 16th of March, and went on board the steamer, that brought us to Cincinnati all safe. We saw much game on our way, such as Geese, Ducks, etc., but no Turkeys as in times of yore. We left for Louisville in the U.S. mail steamer, and arrived there before daylight on the 19th inst. My companions went to the Scott House, and I to William G. Bakewell's, whose home I reached before the family were up. I remained there four days, and was, of course, most kindly treated; and, indeed, during my whole stay in this city of my youth I did enjoy myself famously well, with dancing, dinner-parties, etc. We left for St. Louis on board the ever-to-be-remembered steamer "Gallant," and after having been struck by a log which did not send us to the bottom, arrived on the 28th of March. On the 4th of April, Harris went off to Edwardsville, with the rest of my companions, and I went to Nicholas Berthoud, who began housekeeping here that day, though Eliza was not yet arrived from Pittsburgh. My time at St. Louis would have been agreeable to any one fond of company, dinners, and parties; but of these matters I am not, though I did dine at three different houses, _bon gré_, _mal gré_. In fact, my time was spent procuring, arranging, and superintending the necessary objects for the comfort and utility of the party attached to my undertaking. The Chouteaux supplied us with most things, and, let it be said to their honor, at little or no profit. Captain Sire took me in a light wagon to see old Mr. Chouteau one afternoon, and I found the worthy old gentleman so kind and so full of information about the countries of the Indians that I returned to him a few days afterwards, not only for the sake of the pleasure I enjoyed in his conversation, but also with the view to procure, both dead and alive, a species of Pouched Rat (_Pseudostoma bursarius_)[244] wonderfully abundant in this section of country. One day our friend Harris came back, and brought with him the prepared skins of birds and quadrupeds they had collected, and informed me that they had removed their quarters to B----'s. He left the next day, after we had made an arrangement for the party to return the Friday following, which they did. I drew four figures of Pouched Rats, and outlined two figures of _Sciurus capistratus_,[245] which is here called "Fox Squirrel." [Illustration: AUDUBON. FROM THE PORTRAIT BY JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON (ABOUT 1841).] The 25th of April at last made its appearance, the rivers were now opened, the weather was growing warm, and every object in nature proved to us that at last the singularly lingering winter of 1842 and 1843 was over. Having conveyed the whole of our effects on board the steamer, and being supplied with excellent letters, we left St. Louis at 11.30 A. M., with Mr. Sarpy on board, and a hundred and one trappers of all descriptions and nearly a dozen different nationalities, though the greater number were French Canadians, or Creoles of this State. Some were drunk, and many in that stupid mood which follows a state of nervousness produced by drinking and over-excitement. Here is the scene that took place on board the "Omega" at our departure, and what followed when the roll was called. First the general embarkation, when the men came in pushing and squeezing each other, so as to make the boards they walked upon fairly tremble. The Indians, poor souls, were more quiet, and had already seated or squatted themselves on the highest parts of the steamer, and were tranquil lookers-on. After about three quarters of an hour, the crew and all the trappers (these are called _engagés_)[246] were on board, and we at once pushed off and up the stream, thick and muddy as it was. The whole of the effects and the baggage of the _engagés_ was arranged in the main cabin, and presently was seen Mr. Sarpy, book in hand, with the list before him, wherefrom he gave the names of these _attachés_. The men whose names were called nearly filled the fore part of the cabin, where stood Mr. Sarpy, our captain, and one of the clerks. All awaited orders from Mr. Sarpy. As each man was called, and answered to his name, a blanket containing the apparel for the trip was handed to him, and he was ordered at once to retire and make room for the next. The outfit, by the way, was somewhat scanty, and of indifferent quality. Four men were missing, and some appeared rather reluctant; however, the roll was ended, and one hundred and one were found. In many instances their bundles were thrown to them, and they were ordered off as if slaves. I forgot to say that as the boat pushed off from the shore, where stood a crowd of loafers, the men on board had congregated upon the hurricane deck with their rifles and guns of various sorts, all loaded, and began to fire what I should call a very disorganized sort of a salute, which lasted for something like an hour, and which has been renewed at intervals, though in a more desultory manner, at every village we have passed. However, we now find them passably good, quiet, and regularly sobered men. We have of course a motley set, even to Italians. We passed the mouth of the Missouri, and moved very slowly against the current, for it was not less than twenty minutes after four the next morning, when we reached St. Charles,[247] distant forty-two miles. Here we stopped till half-past five, when Mr. Sarpy, to whom I gave my letters home, left us in a wagon. _April 26._ A rainy day, and the heat we had experienced yesterday was now all gone. We saw a Wild Goose running on the shore, and it was killed by Bell; but our captain did not stop to pick it up, and I was sorry to see the poor bird dead, uselessly. We now had found out that our berths were too thickly inhabited for us to sleep in; so I rolled myself in my blanket, lay down on deck, and slept very sound. _27th._ A fine clear day, cool this morning. Cleaned our boilers last night, landing where the "Emily Christian" is sunk, for a few moments; saw a few Gray Squirrels, and an abundance of our common Partridges in flocks of fifteen to twenty, very gentle indeed. About four this afternoon we passed the mouth of the Gasconade River, a stream coming from the westward, valuable for its yellow-pine lumber. At a woodyard above us we saw a White Pelican[248] that had been captured there, and which, had it been clean, I should have bought. I saw that its legs and feet were red, and not yellow, as they are during autumn and winter. Marmots are quite abundant, and here they perforate their holes in the loose, sandy soil of the river banks, as well as the same soil wherever it is somewhat elevated. We do not know yet if it is _Arctomys monax_, or a new species.[249] The weather being fine, and the night clear, we ran all night and on the morning of the 28th, thermometer 69° to 78° at sunrise, we were in sight of the seat of government, Jefferson. The State House stands prominent, with a view from it up and down the stream of about ten miles; but, with the exception of the State House and the Penitentiary, Jefferson is a poor place, the land round being sterile and broken. This is _said_ to be 160 or 170 miles above St. Louis.[250] We saw many Gray Squirrels this morning. Yesterday we passed under long lines of elevated shore, surmounted by stupendous rocks of limestone, with many curious holes in them, where we saw Vultures and Eagles[251] enter towards dusk. Harris saw a Peregrine Falcon; the whole of these rocky shores are ornamented with a species of white cedar quite satisfactorily known to us. We took wood at several places; at one I was told that Wild Turkeys were abundant and Squirrels also, but as the squatter observed, "Game is very scarce, especially Bears." Wolves begin to be troublesome to the settlers who have sheep; they are obliged to drive the latter home, and herd them each night. This evening the weather became cloudy and looked like rain; the weather has been very warm, the thermometer being at 78° at three this afternoon. We saw a pair of Peregrine Falcons, one of them with a bird in its talons; also a few White-fronted Geese, some Blue-winged Teal, and some Cormorants,[252] but none with the head, neck, and breast pure white, as the one I saw two days ago. The strength of the current seemed to increase; in some places our boat merely kept her own, and in one instance fell back nearly half a mile to where we had taken in wood. At about ten this evening we came into such strong water that nothing could be done against it; we laid up for the night at the lower end of a willow island, and then cleaned the boilers and took in 200 fence-rails, which the French Canadians call "perches." Now a _perche_ in French means a pole; therefore this must be _patois_. _29th._ We were off at five this rainy morning, and at 9 A. M. reached Booneville,[253] distant from St. Louis about 204 miles. We bought at this place an axe, a saw, three files, and some wafers; also some chickens, at one dollar a dozen. We found here some of the Santa Fé traders with whom we had crossed the Alleghanies. They were awaiting the arrival of their goods, and then would immediately start. I saw a Rabbit sitting under the shelf of a rock, and also a Gray Squirrel. It appears to me that _Sciurus macrourus_[254] of Say relishes the bottom lands in preference to the hilly or rocky portions which alternately present themselves along these shores. On looking along the banks of the river, one cannot help observing the half-drowned young willows, and cotton trees of the same age, trembling and shaking sideways against the current; and methought, as I gazed upon them, of the danger they were in of being immersed over their very tops and thus dying, not through the influence of fire, the natural enemy of wood, but from the force of the mighty stream on the margin of which they grew, and which appeared as if in its wrath it was determined to overwhelm, and undo all that the Creator in His bountifulness had granted us to enjoy. The banks themselves, along with perhaps millions of trees, are ever tumbling, falling, and washing away from the spots where they may have stood and grown for centuries past. If this be not an awful exemplification of the real course of Natures intention, that all should and must live and die, then, indeed, the philosophy of our learned men cannot be much relied upon! This afternoon the steamer "John Auld" came up near us, but stopped to put off passengers. She had troops on board and a good number of travellers. We passed the _city_ of Glasgow[255] without stopping there, and the blackguards on shore were so greatly disappointed that they actually fired at us with rifles; but whether with balls or not, they did us no harm, for the current proved so strong that we had to make over to the opposite side of the river. We did not run far; the weather was still bad, raining hard, and at ten o'clock, with wood nearly exhausted, we stopped on the west shore, and there remained all the night, cleaning boilers, etc. _Sunday 30th._ This morning was cold, and it blew a gale from the north. We started, however, for a wooding-place, but the "John Auld" had the advantage of us, and took what there was; the wind increased so much that the waves were actually running pretty high down-stream, and we stopped until one o'clock. You may depend my party was not sorry for this; and as I had had no exercise since we left St. Louis, as soon as breakfast was over we started--Bell, Harris, Squires, and myself, with our guns--and had quite a frolic of it, for we killed a good deal of game, and lost some. Unfortunately we landed at a place where the water had overflowed the country between the shores and the hills, which are distant about one mile and a half. We started a couple of Deer, which Bell and I shot at, and a female Turkey flying fast; at my shot it extended its legs downwards as if badly wounded, but it sailed on, and must have fallen across the muddy waters. Bell, Harris, and myself shot running exactly twenty-eight Rabbits, _Lepus sylvaticus_, and two Bachmans, two _Sciurus macrourus_ of Say, two _Arctomys monax_, and a pair of _Tetrao_ [_Bonasa_] _umbellus_. The woods were alive with the Rabbits, but they were very wild; the Ground-hogs, Marmots, or _Arctomys_, were in great numbers, judging from the innumerable burrows we saw, and had the weather been calm, I have no doubt we would have seen many more. Bell wounded a Turkey hen so badly that the poor thing could not fly; but Harris frightened it, and it was off, and was lost. Harris shot an _Arctomys_ without pouches, that had been forced out of its burrow by the water entering it; it stood motionless until he was within ten paces of it; when, ascertaining what it was, he retired a few yards, and shot it with No. 10 shot, and it fell dead on the spot. We found the woods filled with birds--all known, however, to us: Golden-crowned Thrush, Cerulean Warblers, Woodpeckers of various kinds, etc.; but not a Duck in the bayou, to my surprise. At one the wind lulled somewhat, and as we had taken all the fence-rails and a quantity of dry stuff of all sorts, we were ready to attempt our ascent, and did so. It was curious to see sixty or seventy men carrying logs forty or fifty feet long, some well dried and some green, on their shoulders, all of which were wanted by our captain, for some purpose or other. In a great number of instances the squatters, farmers, or planters, as they may be called, are found to abandon their dwellings or make towards higher grounds, which fortunately are here no farther off than from one to three miles. After we left, we met with the strength of the current, but with our stakes, fence-rails, and our dry wood, we made good headway. At one place we passed a couple of houses, with women and children, perfectly surrounded by the flood; these houses stood apparently on the margin of a river[256] coming in from the eastward. The whole farm was under water, and all around was the very perfection of disaster and misfortune. It appeared to us as if the men had gone to procure assistance, and I was grieved that we could not offer them any. We saw several trees falling in, and beautiful, though painful, was the sight. As they fell, the spray which rose along their whole length was exquisite; but alas! these magnificent trees had reached the day of oblivion. A few miles above New Brunswick we stopped to take in wood, and landed three of our Indians, who, belonging to the Iowa tribe, had to travel up La Grande Rivière. The wind lulled away, and we ran all night, touching, for a few minutes, on a bar in the middle of the river. _May 1._ This morning was a beautiful one; our run last night was about thirty miles, but as we have just begun this fine day, I will copy here the habits of the Pouched Rats, from my notes on the spot at old Mr. Chouteau's, and again at St. Louis, where I kept several alive for four or five days:-- Plantation of Pierre Chouteau, Sen., four miles west of St. Louis, April 13, 1843. I came here last evening in the company of Mr. Sarpy, for the express purpose of procuring some Pouched Rats, and as I have been fortunate enough to secure several of these strange creatures, and also to have seen and heard much connected with their habits and habitats, I write on the spot, with the wish that no recollection of facts be passed over. The present species is uncommonly abundant throughout this neighborhood, and is even found in the gardens of the city of St. Louis, upon the outskirts. They are extremely pernicious animals to the planter and to the gardener, as they devour every root, grass, or vegetable within their reach, and burrow both day and night in every direction imaginable, wherever they know their insatiable appetites can be recompensed for their labor. They bring forth from five to seven young, about the 25th of March, and these are rather large at birth. The nest, or place of deposit, is usually rounded, and about eight inches in diameter, being globular, and well lined with the hair of the female. This nest is not placed at the end of a burrow, or in any particular one of their long galleries, but oftentimes in the road that may lead to hundreds of yards distant. From immediately around the nest, however, many galleries branch off in divers directions, all tending towards such spots as are well known to the parents to afford an abundance of food. I cannot ascertain how long the young remain under the care of the mother. Having observed several freshly thrown-up mounds in Mr. Chouteau's garden, this excellent gentleman called to some negroes to bring spades, and to dig for the animals with the hope I might procure one alive. All hands went to work with alacrity, in the presence of Dr. Trudeau of St. Louis, my friends the father and son Chouteau, and myself. We observed that the "Muloë"[257] (the name given these animals by the creoles of this country) had worked in two or more opposite directions, and that the main gallery was about a foot beneath the surface of the ground, except where it had crossed the walks, when the burrow was sunk a few inches deeper. The work led the negroes across a large square and two of the walks, on one side of which we found large bunches of carnations, from which the roots had been cut off obliquely, close to the surface of the ground, thereby killing the plants. The roots measured 7/8 of an inch, and immediately next to them was a rosebush, where ended the burrow. The other side was now followed, and ended amidst the roots of a fine large peach-tree; these roots were more or less gashed and lacerated, but no animal was there, and on returning on our tracks, we found that several galleries, probably leading outside the garden, existed, and we gave up the chase. This species throws up the earth in mounds rarely higher than twelve to fifteen inches, and these mounds are thrown up at extremely irregular distances, being at times near to each other, and elsewhere ten to twenty, or even thirty, paces apart, yet generally leading to particular spots, well covered with grapes or vegetables of different kinds. This species remains under ground during the whole winter, inactive, and probably dormant, as they never raise or work the earth at this time. The earth thrown up is as if pulverized, and as soon as the animal has finished his labors, which are for no other purpose than to convey him securely from one spot to another, he closes the aperture, which is sometimes on the top, though more usually on the side towards the sun, leaving a kind of ring nearly one inch in breadth, and about the diameter of the body of the animal. Possessed of an exquisite sense of hearing and of feeling the external pressure of objects travelling on the ground, they stop their labors instantaneously on the least alarm; but if you retire from fifteen to twenty paces to the windward of the hole, and wait for a quarter of an hour or so, you see the "Gopher" (the name given to it by the Missourians--_Americans_) raising the earth with its back and shoulders, and forcing it out forward, leaving the aperture open during the process, and from which it at times issues a few steps, cuts the grasses around, with which it fills its pouches, and then retires to its hole to feed upon its spoils; or it sometimes sits up on its haunches and enjoys the sun, and it may then be shot, provided you are quick. If missed you see it no more, as it will prefer altering the course of its burrow and continuing its labors in quite a different direction. They may be caught in common steel-traps, and two of them were thus procured to-day; but they then injure the foot, the hind one. They are also not uncommonly thrown up by the plough, and one was caught in this manner. They have been known to destroy the roots of hundreds of young fruit-trees in the course of a few days and nights, and will cut roots of grown trees of the most valued kinds, such as apple, pear, peach, plum, etc. They differ greatly in their size and also in their colors, according to age, but not in the sexes. The young are usually gray, the old of a dark chestnut, glossy and shining brown, very difficult to represent in a drawing. The opinion commonly received and entertained, that these Pouched Rats fill their pouches with the earth of their burrows, and empty them when at the entrance, is, I think, quite erroneous; about a dozen which were shot in the act of raising their mounds, and killed at the very mouth of their burrows, had no earth in any of these sacs; the fore feet, teeth, nose, and the anterior portion of the head were found covered with adhesive earth, and most of them had their pouches filled either with blades of grass or roots of different sizes; and I think their being hairy rather corroborates the fact that these pouches are only used for food. In a word, they appear to me to raise the earth precisely in the manner employed by the Mole. When travelling the tail drags on the ground, and they hobble along with their long front claws drawn underneath; at other times, they move by slow leaping movements, and can travel backwards almost as fast as forwards. When turned over they have much difficulty in replacing themselves in their natural position, and you may see them kicking with their legs and claws for a minute or two before they are right. They bite severely, and do not hesitate to make towards their enemies or assailants with open mouth, squealing like a rat. When they fight among themselves they make great use of the nose in the manner of hogs. They cannot travel faster than the slow walk of a man. They feed frequently while seated on the rump, using their fore paws and long claws somewhat like a squirrel. When sleeping they place the head beneath the breast, and become round, and look like a ball of earth. They clean their whiskers and body in the manner of Rats, Squirrels, etc. The four which I kept alive never drank anything, though water was given to them. I fed them on potatoes, cabbages, carrots, etc. They tried constantly to make their escape by gnawing at the floor, but in vain. They slept wherever they found clothing, etc., and the rascals cut the lining of my hunting-coat all to bits, so that I was obliged to have it patched and mended. In one instance I had some clothes rolled up for the washerwoman, and, on opening the bundle to count the pieces, one of the fellows caught hold of my right thumb, with fortunately a single one of its upper incisors, and hung on till I shook it off, violently throwing it on the floor, where it lay as if dead; but it recovered, and was as well as ever in less than half an hour. They gnawed the leather straps of my trunks during the night, and although I rose frequently to stop their work, they would begin anew as soon as I was in bed again. I wrote and sent most of the above to John Bachman from St. Louis, after I had finished my drawing of four figures of these most strange and most interesting creatures. And now to return to this day: When we reached Glasgow, we came in under the stern of the "John Auld." As I saw several officers of the United States army I bowed to them, and as they all knew that I was bound towards the mighty Rocky Mountains, they not only returned my salutations, but came on board, as well as Father de Smet.[258] They all of them came to my room and saw specimens and skins. Among them was Captain Clark,[259] who married the sister of Major Sandford, whom you all know. They had lost a soldier overboard, two had deserted, and a fourth was missing. We proceeded on until about ten o'clock, and it was not until the 2d of May that we actually reached Independence. _May 2._ It stopped raining in the night while I was sound asleep, and at about one o'clock we did arrive at Independence, distant about 379 miles from St. Louis.[260] Here again was the "John Auld," putting out freight for the Santa Fé traders, and we saw many of their wagons. Of course I exchanged a hand-shake with Father de Smet and many of the officers I had seen yesterday. Mr. Meeks, the agent of Colonel Veras, had 148 pounds of tow in readiness for us, and I drew on the Chouteaux for $30.20, for we were charged no less than 12½ to 25 cts. per pound; but this tow might have passed for fine flax, and I was well contented. We left the "Auld," proceeded on our way, and stopped at Madame Chouteau's plantation, where we put out some freight for Sir William Stuart. The water had been two feet deep in her house, but the river has now suddenly fallen about six feet. At Madame Chouteau's I saw a brother of our friend Pierre Chouteau, Senr., now at New York, and he gave me some news respecting the murder of Mr. Jarvis. About twenty picked men of the neighborhood had left in pursuit of the remainder of the marauders, and had sent one of their number back, with the information that they had remained not two miles from the rascally thieves and murderers. I hope they will overtake them all, and shoot them on the spot. We saw a few Squirrels, and Bell killed two Parrakeets. _May 3._ We ran all last night and reached Fort Leavenworth at six this morning. We had an early breakfast, as we had intended to walk across the Bend; but we found that the ground was overflowed, and that the bridges across two creeks had been carried away, and reluctantly we gave up our trip. I saw two officers who came on board, also a Mr. Ritchie. The situation of the fort is elevated and fine, and one has a view of the river up and down for some distance. Seeing a great number of Parrakeets, we went after them; Bell killed one. Unfortunately my gun snapped twice, or I should have killed several more. We saw several Turkeys on the ground and in the trees early this morning. On our reaching the landing, a sentinel dragoon came to watch that no one tried to escape. After leaving this place we fairly entered the Indian country on the west side of the river, for the State of Missouri, by the purchase of the Platte River country, continues for about 250 miles further on the east side, where now we see the only settlements. We saw a good number of Indians in the woods and on the banks, gazing at us as we passed; these are, however, partly civilized, and are miserable enough. Major Mason, who commands here at present, is ill, and I could not see him. We saw several fine horses belonging to different officers. We soon passed Watson, which is considered the head of steam navigation. In attempting to pass over a shallow, but a short, cut, we grounded on a bar at five o'clock; got off, tried again, and again grounded broadside; and now that it is past six o'clock all hands are busily engaged in trying to get the boat off, but with what success I cannot say. To me the situation is a bad one, as I conceive that as we remain here, the washings of the muddy sands as they float down a powerful current will augment the bar on the weather side (if I may so express myself) of the boat. We have seen another Turkey and many Parrakeets, as well as a great number of burrows formed by the "Siffleurs," as our French Canadians call all and every species of Marmots; Bell and I have concluded that there must be not less than twenty to thirty of these animals for one in any portion of the Atlantic States. We saw them even around the open grounds immediately about Fort Leavenworth. About half-past seven we fortunately removed our boat into somewhat deeper water, by straightening her bows against the stream, and this was effected by fastening our very long cable to a snag above us, about 200 yards; and now, if we can go backwards and reach the deep waters along shore a few hundred yards below, we shall be able to make fast there for the night. Unfortunately it is now raining hard, the lightning is vivid, and the appearance of the night forbidding. _Thursday, May 4._ We had constant rain, lightning and thunder last night. This morning, at the dawn of day, the captain and all hands were at work, and succeeded in removing the boat several hundred yards below where she had struck; but unfortunately we got fast again before we could reach deep water, and all the exertions to get off were renewed, and at this moment, almost nine, we have a line fastened to the shore and expect to be afloat in a short time. But I fear that we shall lose most of the day before we leave this shallow, intricate, and dangerous channel. At ten o'clock we found ourselves in deep water, near the shore on the west side. We at once had the men at work cutting wood, which was principally that of ash-trees of moderate size, which wood was brought on board in great quantities and lengths. Thank Heaven, we are off in a few minutes, and I hope will have better luck. I saw on the shore many "Gopher" hills, in all probability the same as I have drawn. Bell shot a Gray Squirrel which I believe to be the same as our _Sciurus carolinensis_. Friend Harris shot two or three birds, which we have not yet fully established, and Bell shot one Lincoln's Finch[261]--strange place for it, when it breeds so very far north as Labrador. Caught a Woodpecker, and killed a Cat-bird, Water-thrush, seventeen Parrakeets, a Yellow Chat, a new Finch,[262] and very curious, two White-throated Finches, one White-crown, a Yellow-rump Warbler, a Gray Squirrel, a Loon, and two Rough-winged Swallows. We saw Cerulean Warblers, Hooded Flycatchers, Kentucky Warblers, Nashville ditto, Blue-winged ditto, Red-eyed and White-eyed Flycatchers, Great-crested and Common Pewees, Redstarts, Towhee Buntings, Ferruginous Thrushes, Wood Thrush, Golden-crowned Thrush, Blue-gray Flycatcher, Blue-eyed Warbler, Blue Yellow-back, Chestnut-sided, Black-and-White Creepers, Nuthatch, Kingbirds, Red Tanagers, Cardinal Grosbeaks, common House Wren, Blue-winged Teals, Swans, large Blue Herons, Crows, Turkey-buzzards, and a Peregrine Falcon, Red-tailed Hawks, Red-headed, Red-bellied, and Golden-winged Woodpeckers, and Partridges. Also, innumerable "Gopher" hills, one Ground-hog, one Rabbit, two Wild Turkeys, one Whippoorwill, one Maryland Yellow-throat, and Swifts. We left the shore with a strong gale of wind, and after having returned to our proper channel, and rounded the island below our troublesome situation of last night, we were forced to come to under the main shore. Here we killed and saw all that is enumerated above, as well as two nests of the White-headed Eagle. We are now for the night at a wooding-place, where we expect to purchase some fresh provisions, if any there are; and as it is nine o'clock I am off to bed. _Friday, May 5._ The appearance of the weather this morning was rather bad; it was cloudy and lowering, but instead of rain we have had a strong southwesterly wind to contend with, and on this account our day's work does not amount to much. At this moment, not eight o'clock, we have stopped through its influence. At half-past twelve we reached the Black Snake Hills[263] settlement, and I was delighted to see this truly beautiful site for a town or city, as will be no doubt some fifty years hence. The hills themselves are about 200 feet above the river, and slope down gently into the beautiful prairie that extends over some thousands of acres, of the richest land imaginable. Five of our trappers did not come on board at the ringing of the bell, and had to walk several miles across a bend to join us and be taken on again. We have not seen much game this day, probably on account of the high wind. We saw, however, a large flock of Willets, two Gulls, one Grebe, many Blue-winged Teals, Wood Ducks, and Coots, and one pair of mated Wild Geese. This afternoon a Black Squirrel was seen. This morning I saw a Marmot; and Sprague, a _Sciurus macrourus_ of Say. On examination of the Finch killed by Harris yesterday, I found it to be a new species, and I have taken its measurements across this sheet of paper.[264] It was first seen on the ground, then on low bushes, then on large trees; no note was heard. Two others, that were females to all appearance, could not be procured on account of their extreme shyness. We saw the Indigo-bird, Barn Swallows, Purple Martin, and Greenbacks;[265] also, a Rabbit at the Black Snake Hills. The general aspect of the river is materially altered for the worse; it has become much more crooked or tortuous, in some places very wide with sand-banks naked and dried, so that the wind blows the sand quite high. In one place we came to a narrow and swift chute, four miles above the Black Snake Hills, that in time of extreme high water must be very difficult of ascent. During these high winds it is very hard to steer the boat, and also to land her. The settlers on the Missouri side of the river appear to relish the sight of a steamer greatly, for they all come to look at this one as we pass the different settlements. The thermometer has fallen sixteen degrees since two o'clock, and it feels now very chilly. _Saturday, May 6._ High wind all night and cold this morning, with the wind still blowing so hard that at half-past seven we stopped on the western shore, under a range of high hills, but on the weather side of them. We took our guns and went off, but the wind was so high we saw but little; I shot a Wild Pigeon and a Whippoorwill, female, that gave me great trouble, as I never saw one so remarkably wild before. Bell shot two Gray Squirrels and several Vireos, and Sprague, a Kentucky Warbler. Traces of Turkeys and of Deer were seen. We also saw three White Pelicans, but no birds to be added to our previous lot, and I have no wish to keep a strict account of the number of the same species we daily see. It is now half-past twelve; the wind is still very high, but our captain is anxious to try to proceed. We have cut some green wood, and a considerable quantity of hickory for axe-handles. In cutting down a tree we caught two young Gray Squirrels. A Pewee Flycatcher, of some species or other, was caught by the steward, who ran down the poor thing, which was starved on account of the cold and windy weather. Harris shot another of the new Finches, a male also, and I saw what I believe is the female, but it flew upwards of 200 yards without stopping. Bell also shot a small Vireo, which is in all probability a new species[266] (to me at least). We saw a Goshawk, a Marsh Hawk, and a great number of Blackbirds, but could not ascertain the species.[267] The wind was still high when we left our stopping place, but we progressed, and this afternoon came alongside of a beautiful prairie of some thousands of acres, reaching to the hills. Here we stopped to put out our Iowa Indians, and also to land the goods we had for Mr. Richardson, the Indian agent. The goods were landed, but at the wrong place, as the Agent's agent would not receive them there, on account of a creek above, which cannot at present be crossed with wagons. Our Sac Indian chief started at once across the prairie towards the hills, on his way to his wigwam, and we saw Indians on their way towards us, running on foot, and many on horseback, generally riding double on skins or on Spanish saddles. Even the squaws rode, and rode well too! We counted about eighty, amongst whom were a great number of youths of different ages. I was heartily glad that our own squad of them left us here. I observed that though they had been absent from their friends and relatives, they never shook hands, or paid any attention to them. When the freight was taken in we proceeded, and the whole of the Indians followed along the shore at a good round run; those on horseback at times struck into a gallop. I saw more of these poor beings when we approached the landing, perched and seated on the promontories about, and many followed the boat to the landing. Here the goods were received, and Major Richardson came on board, and paid freight. He told us we were now in the country of the Fox Indians as well as that of the Iowas, that the number about him is over 1200, and that his district extends about seventy miles up the river. He appears to be a pleasant man; told us that Hares[268] were very abundant--by the way, Harris saw one to-day. We are now landed on the Missouri side of the river, and taking in wood. We saw a Pigeon Hawk, found Partridges paired, and some also in flocks. When we landed during the high wind we saw a fine sugar camp belonging to Indians. I was pleased to see that many of the troughs they make are formed of bark, and that both ends are puckered and tied so as to resemble a sort of basket or canoe. They had killed many Wild Turkeys, Geese, and Crows, all of which they eat. We also procured a White-eyed and a Warbling Vireo, and shot a male Wild Pigeon. Saw a Gopher throwing out the dirt with his fore feet and not from his pouches. I was within four or five feet of it. Shot a Humming-bird, saw a Mourning Warbler, and Cedar-birds. [Illustration: COLUMBA PASSERINA, GROUND DOVE. (Now Columbigallina passerina terrestri.) FROM THE UNPUBLISHED DRAWING BY J. J. AUDUBON, 1838.] _May 7, Sunday._ Fine weather, but cool. Saw several Gray Squirrels and one Black. I am told by one of our pilots, who has killed seven or eight, that they are much larger than _Sciurus macrourus_, that the hair is coarse, that they are clumsy in their motions, and that they are found from the Black Snake Hills to some distance above the Council Bluffs. We landed to cut wood at eleven, and we went ashore. Harris killed another of the new Finches, a male also; the scarcity of the females goes on, proving how much earlier the males sally forth on their migrations towards the breeding grounds. We saw five Sand-hill Cranes, some Goldfinches, Yellowshanks, Tell-tale Godwits, Solitary Snipes, and the woods were filled with House Wrens singing their merry songs. The place, however, was a bad one, for it was a piece of bottom land that had overflowed, and was sadly muddy and sticky. At twelve the bell rang for Harris, Bell, and me to return, which we did at once, as dinner was preparing for the table. Talking of dinner makes me think of giving you the hours, usually, of our meals. Breakfast at half-past six, dinner at half-past twelve, tea or supper at seven or later as the case may be. We have not taken much wood here; it is ash, but quite green. We saw Orchard Orioles, Blue-gray Flycatchers, Great-crested and Common Pewees, Mallards, Pileated Woodpeckers, Blue Jays, and Bluebirds; heard a Marsh Wren, saw a Crow, a Wood Thrush, and Water Thrush. Indigo-birds and Parrakeets plentiful. This afternoon we went into the pocket of a sand bar, got aground, and had to back out for almost a mile. We saw an abundance of Ducks, some White Pelicans, and an animal that we guessed was a Skunk. We have run about fifty miles, and therefore have done a good day's journey. We have passed the mouths of several small rivers, and also some very fine prairie land, extending miles towards the hills. It is now nine o'clock, a beautiful night with the moon shining. We have seen several Ravens, and White-headed Eagles on their nests. _May 8, Monday._ A beautiful calm day; the country we saw was much the same as that we passed yesterday, and nothing of great importance took place except that at a wooding-place on the very verge of the State of Missouri (the northwest corner) Bell killed a Black Squirrel which friend Bachman has honored with the name of my son John, _Sciurus Audubonii_.[269] We are told that this species is not uncommon here. It was a good-sized adult male, and Sprague drew an outline of it. Harris shot another specimen of the new Finch. We saw Parrakeets and many small birds, but nothing new or very rare. This evening I wrote a long letter to each house, John Bachman, Gideon B. Smith of Baltimore, and J. W. H. Page of New Bedford, with the hope of having them forwarded from the Council Bluffs. _May 9, Tuesday._ Another fine day. After running until eleven o'clock we stopped to cut wood, and two Rose-breasted Grosbeaks were shot, a common Blue-bird, and a common Northern Titmouse. We saw White Pelicans, Geese, Ducks, etc. One of our trappers cut one of his feet dreadfully with his axe, and Harris, who is now the doctor, attended to it as best he could. This afternoon we reached the famous establishment of Belle Vue[270] where resides the brother of Mr. Sarpy of St. Louis, as well as the Indian Agent, or, as he might be more appropriately called, the Custom House officer. Neither were at home, both away on the Platte River, about 300 miles off. We had a famous pack of rascally Indians awaiting our landing--filthy and half-starved. We landed some cargo for the establishment, and I saw a trick of the trade which made me laugh. Eight cords of wood were paid for with five tin cups of sugar and three of coffee--value at St. Louis about twenty-five cents. We have seen a Fish Hawk, Savannah Finch, Green-backed Swallows, Rough-winged Swallows, Martins, Parrakeets, Black-headed Gulls, Blackbirds, and Cow-birds; I will repeat that the woods are fairly alive with House Wrens. Blue Herons, _Emberiza pallida_--Clay-colored Bunting of Swainson--Henslow's Bunting, Crow Blackbirds; and, more strange than all, two large cakes of ice were seen by our pilots and ourselves. I am very much fatigued and will finish the account of this day to-morrow. At Belle Vue we found the brother-in-law of old Provost, who acts as clerk in the absence of Mr. Sarpy. The store is no great affair, and yet I am told that they drive a good trade with Indians on the Platte River, and others, on this side of the Missouri. We unloaded some freight, and pushed off. We saw here the first ploughing of the ground we have observed since we left the lower settlements near St. Louis. We very soon reached the post of Fort Croghan,[271] so called after my old friend of that name with whom I hunted Raccoons on his father's plantation in Kentucky some thirty-eight years ago, and whose father and my own were well acquainted, and fought together in conjunction with George Washington and Lafayette, during the Revolutionary War, against "Merrie England." Here we found only a few soldiers, dragoons; their camp and officers having been forced to move across the prairie to the Bluffs, five miles. After we had put out some freight for the sutler, we proceeded on until we stopped for the night a few miles above, on the same side of the river. The soldiers assured us that their parade ground, and so-called barracks, had been four feet under water, and we saw fair and sufficient evidence of this. At this place our pilot saw the first Yellow-headed Troupial we have met with. We landed for the night under trees covered by muddy deposits from the great overflow of this season. I slept soundly, and have this morning, May 10, written this. _May 10, Wednesday._ The morning was fine, and we were under way at daylight; but a party of dragoons, headed by a lieutenant, had left their camp four miles distant from our anchorage at the same time, and reached the shore before we had proceeded far; they fired a couple of rifle shots ahead of us, and we brought to at once. The young officer came on board, and presented a letter from his commander, Captain Burgwin, from which we found that we had to have our cargo examined. Our captain[272] was glad of it, and so were we all; for, finding that it would take several hours, we at once ate our breakfast, and made ready to go ashore. I showed my credentials and orders from the Government, Major Mitchell of St. Louis, etc., and I was therefore immediately settled comfortably. I desired to go to see the commanding officer, and the lieutenant very politely sent us there on horseback, guided by an old dragoon of considerable respectability. I was mounted on a young white horse, Spanish saddle with holsters, and we proceeded across the prairie towards the Bluffs and the camp. My guide was anxious to take a short cut, and took me across several bayous, one of which was really up to the saddle; but we crossed that, and coming to another we found it so miry, that his horse wheeled after two or three steps, whilst I was looking at him before starting myself; for you all well know that an old traveller is, and must be, prudent. We now had to retrace our steps till we reached the very tracks that the squad sent after us in the morning had taken, and at last we reached the foot of the Bluffs, when my guide asked me if I "could ride at a gallop," to which not answering him, but starting at once at a round run, I neatly passed him ere his horse was well at the pace; on we went, and in a few minutes we entered a beautiful dell or valley, and were in sight of the encampment. We reached this in a trice, and rode between two lines of pitched tents to one at the end, where I dismounted, and met Captain Burgwin,[273] a young man, brought up at West Point, with whom I was on excellent and friendly terms in less time than it has taken me to write this account of our meeting. I showed him my credentials, at which he smiled, and politely assured me that I was too well known throughout our country to need any letters. While seated in front of his tent, I heard the note of a bird new to me, and as it proceeded from a tree above our heads, I looked up and saw the first Yellow-headed Troupial alive that ever came across my own migrations. The captain thought me probably crazy, as I thought Rafinesque when he was at Henderson; for I suddenly started, shot at the bird, and killed it. Afterwards I shot three more at one shot, but only one female amid hundreds of these Yellow-headed Blackbirds. They are quite abundant here, feeding on the surplus grain that drops from the horses' troughs; they walked under, and around the horses, with as much confidence as if anywhere else. When they rose, they generally flew to the very tops of the tallest trees, and there, swelling their throats, partially spreading their wings and tail, they issue their croaking note, which is a compound, not to be mistaken, between that of the Crow Blackbird and that of the Red-winged Starling. After I had fired at them twice they became quite shy, and all of them flew off to the prairies. I saw then two Magpies[274] in a cage, that had been caught in nooses, by the legs; and their actions, voice, and general looks, assured me as much as ever, that they are the very same species as that found in Europe. Prairie Wolves are extremely abundant hereabouts. They are so daring that they come into the camp both by day and by night; we found their burrows in the banks and in the prairie, and had I come here yesterday I should have had a superb specimen killed here, but which was devoured by the hogs belonging to the establishment. The captain and the doctor--Madison[275] by name--returned with us to the boat, and we saw many more Yellow-headed Troupials. The high Bluffs back of the prairie are destitute of stones. On my way there I saw abundance of Gopher hills, two Geese paired, two Yellow-crowned Herons, Red-winged Starlings, Cowbirds, common Crow Blackbirds, a great number of Baltimore Orioles, a Swallow-tailed Hawk, Yellow Red-poll Warbler, Field Sparrow, and Chipping Sparrow. Sprague killed another of the beautiful Finch. Robins are very scarce, Parrakeets and Wild Turkeys plentiful. The officers came on board, and we treated them as hospitably as we could; they ate their lunch with us, and are themselves almost destitute of provisions. Last July the captain sent twenty dragoons and as many Indians on a hunt for Buffaloes. During the hunt they killed 51 Buffaloes, 104 Deer, and 10 Elks, within 80 miles of the camp. The Sioux Indians are great enemies to the Potowatamies, and very frequently kill several of the latter in their predatory excursions against them. This kind of warfare has rendered the Potowatamies very cowardly, which is quite a remarkable change from their previous valor and daring. Bell collected six different species of shells, and found a large lump of pumice stone which does float on the water. We left our anchorage (which means tied to the shore) at twelve o'clock, and about sunset we did pass the real Council Bluffs.[276] Here, however, the bed of the river is utterly changed, though you may yet see that which is now called the Old Missouri. The Bluffs stand, truly speaking, on a beautiful bank almost forty feet above the water, and run off on a rich prairie, to the hills in the background in a gentle slope, that renders the whole place a fine and very remarkable spot. We tied up for the night about three miles above them, and all hands went ashore to cut wood, which begins to be somewhat scarce, of a good quality. Our captain cut and left several cords of green wood for his return trip, at this place; Harris and Bell went on shore, and saw several Bats, and three Turkeys. This afternoon a Deer was seen scampering across the prairies until quite out of sight. Wild-gooseberry bushes are very abundant, and the fruit is said to be very good. _May 11, Thursday._ We had a night of rain, thunder, and heavy wind from the northeast, and we did not start this morning till seven o'clock, therefore had a late breakfast. There was a bright blood-red streak on the horizon at four o'clock that looked forbidding, but the weather changed as we proceeded, with, however, showers of rain at various intervals during the day. We have now come to a portion of the river more crooked than any we have passed; the shores on both sides are evidently lower, the hills that curtain the distance are further from the shores, and the intervening space is mostly prairie, more or less overflowed. We have seen one Wolf on a sand-bar, seeking for food, perhaps dead fish. The actions were precisely those of a cur dog with a long tail, and the bellowing sound of the engine did not seem to disturb him. He trotted on parallel to the boat for about one mile, when we landed to cut drift-wood. Bell, Harris, and I went on shore to try to have a shot at him. He was what is called a brindle-colored Wolf,[277] of the common size. One hundred trappers, however, with their axes at work, in a few moments rather stopped his progress, and when he saw us coming, he turned back on his track, and trotted off, but Bell shot a very small load in the air to see the effect it would produce. The fellow took two or three leaps, stopped, looked at us for a moment, and then started on a gentle gallop. When I overtook his tracks they appeared small, and more rounded than usual. I saw several tracks at the same time, therefore more than one had travelled over this great sandy and muddy bar last night, if not this morning. I lost sight of him behind some large piles of drift-wood, and could see him no more. Turkey-buzzards were on the bar, and I thought that I should have found some dead carcass; but on reaching the spot, nothing was there. A fine large Raven passed at one hundred yards from us, but I did not shoot. Bell found a few small shells, and Harris shot a Yellow-rumped Warbler. We have seen several White Pelicans, Geese, Black-headed Gulls, and Green-backed Swallows, but nothing new. The night is cloudy and intimates more rain. We are fast to a willowed shore, and are preparing lines to try our luck at catching a Catfish or so. I was astonished to find how much stiffened I was this morning, from the exercise I took on horseback yesterday, and think that now it would take me a week, at least, to accustom my body to riding as I was wont to do twenty years ago. The timber is becoming more scarce as we proceed, and I greatly fear that our only opportunities of securing wood will be those afforded us by that drifted on the bars. _May 12, Friday._ The morning was foggy, thick, and calm. We passed the river called the _Sioux Pictout_,[278] a small stream formerly abounding with Beavers, Otters, Muskrats, etc., but now quite destitute of any of these creatures. On going along the banks bordering a long and wide prairie, thick with willows and other small brush-wood, we saw four Black-tailed Deer[279] immediately on the bank; they trotted away without appearing to be much alarmed; after a few hundred yards, the two largest, probably males, raised themselves on their hind feet and pawed at each other, after the manner of stallions. They trotted off again, stopping often, but after a while disappeared; we saw them again some hundreds of yards farther on, when, becoming suddenly alarmed, they bounded off until out of sight. They did not trot or run irregularly as our Virginian Deer does, and their color was of a brownish cast, whilst our common Deer at this season is red. Could we have gone ashore, we might in all probability have killed one or two of them. We stopped to cut wood on the opposite side of the river, where we went on shore, and there saw many tracks of Deer, Elk, Wolves, and Turkeys. In attempting to cross a muddy place to shoot at some Yellow-headed Troupials that were abundant, I found myself almost mired, and returned with difficulty. We only shot a Blackburnian Warbler, a Yellow-winged ditto, and a few Finches. We have seen more Geese than usual as well as Mallards and Wood Ducks. This afternoon the weather cleared up, and a while before sunset we passed under Wood's Bluffs,[280] so called because a man of that name fell overboard from his boat while drunk. We saw there many Bank Swallows, and afterwards we came in view of the Blackbird Hill,[281] where the famous Indian chief of that name was buried, at his request, on his horse, whilst the animal was alive. We are now fast to the shore opposite this famed bluff. We cut good ash wood this day, and have made a tolerable run, say forty miles. _Saturday, May 13._ This morning was extremely foggy, although I could plainly see the orb of day trying to force its way through the haze. While this lasted all hands were engaged in cutting wood, and we did not leave our fastening-place till seven, to the great grief of our commander. During the wood cutting, Bell walked to the top of the hills, and shot two Lark Buntings, males, and a Lincoln's Finch. After a while we passed under some beautiful bluffs surmounted by many cedars, and these bluffs were composed of fine white sandstone, of a soft texture, but very beautiful to the eye. In several places along this bluff we saw clusters of nests of Swallows, which we all looked upon as those of the Cliff Swallow, although I saw not one of the birds. We stopped again to cut wood, for our opportunities are not now very convenient. Went out, but only shot a fine large Turkey-hen, which I brought down on the wing at about forty yards. It ran very swiftly, however, and had not Harris's dog come to our assistance, we might have lost it. As it was, however, the dog pointed, and Harris shot it, with my small shot-gun, whilst I was squatted on the ground amid a parcel of low bushes. I was astonished to see how many of the large shot I had put into her body. This hen weighed 11¾ pounds. She had a nest, no doubt, but we could not find it. We saw a good number of Geese, though fewer than yesterday; Ducks also. We passed many fine prairies, and in one place I was surprised to see the richness of the bottom lands. We saw this morning eleven Indians of the Omaha tribe. They made signals for us to land, but our captain never heeded them, for he hates the red-skins as most men hate the devil. One of them fired a gun, the group had only one, and some ran along the shore for nearly two miles, particularly one old gentleman who persevered until we came to such bluff shores as calmed down his spirits. In another place we saw one seated on a log, close by the frame of a canoe; but he looked surly, and never altered his position as we passed. The frame of this boat resembled an ordinary canoe. It is formed by both sticks giving a half circle; the upper edges are fastened together by a long stick, as well as the centre of the bottom. Outside of this stretches a Buffalo skin without the hair on; it is said to make a light and safe craft to cross even the turbid, rapid stream--the Missouri. By simply looking at them, one may suppose that they are sufficiently large to carry two or three persons. On a sand-bar afterwards we saw three more Indians, also with a canoe frame, but we only interchanged the common yells usual on such occasions. They looked as destitute and as hungry as if they had not eaten for a week, and no doubt would have given much for a bottle of whiskey. At our last landing for wood-cutting, we also went on shore, but shot nothing, not even took aim at a bird; and there was an Indian with a flint-lock rifle, who came on board and stared about until we left, when he went off with a little tobacco. I pity these poor beings from my heart! This evening we came to the burial-ground bluff of Sergeant Floyd,[282] one of the companions of the never-to-be-forgotten expedition of Lewis and Clark, over the Rocky Mountains, to the Pacific Ocean. A few minutes afterwards, before coming to Floyd's Creek, we started several Turkey-cocks from their roost, and had we been on shore could have accounted for more than one of them. The prairies are becoming more common and more elevated; we have seen more evergreens this day than we have done for two weeks at least. This evening is dark and rainy, with lightning and some distant thunder, and we have entered the mouth of the Big Sioux River,[283] where we are fastened for the night. This is a clear stream and abounds with fish, and on one of the branches of this river is found the famous red clay, of which the precious pipes, or calumets are manufactured. We will try to procure some on our return homeward. It is late; had the weather been clear, and the moon, which is full, shining, it was our intention to go ashore, to try to shoot Wild Turkeys; but as it is pouring down rain, and as dark as pitch, we have thrown our lines overboard and perhaps may catch a fish. We hope to reach Vermilion River day after to-morrow. We saw abundance of the birds which I have before enumerated. _May 14, Sunday._ It rained hard and thundered during the night; we started at half-past three, when it had cleared, and the moon shone brightly. The river is crooked as ever, with large bars, and edged with prairies. Saw many Geese, and a Long-billed Curlew. One poor Goose had been wounded in the wing; when approached, it dived for a long distance and came up along the shore. Then we saw a Black Bear, swimming across the river, and it caused a commotion. Some ran for their rifles, and several shots were fired, some of which almost touched Bruin; but he kept on, and swam very fast. Bell shot at it with large shot and must have touched it. When it reached the shore, it tried several times to climb up, but each time fell back. It at last succeeded, almost immediately started off at a gallop, and was soon lost to sight. We stopped to cut wood at twelve o'clock, in one of the vilest places we have yet come to. The rushes were waist-high, and the whole underbrush tangled by grape vines. The Deer and the Elks had beaten paths which we followed for a while, but we saw only their tracks, and those of Turkeys. Harris found a heronry of the common Blue Heron, composed of about thirty nests, but the birds were shy and he did not shoot at any. Early this morning a dead Buffalo floated by us, and after a while the body of a common cow, which had probably belonged to the fort above this. Mr. Sire told us that at this point, two years ago, he overtook three of the deserters of the company, who had left a keel-boat in which they were going down to St. Louis. They had a canoe when overtaken; he took their guns from them, destroyed the canoe, and left them there. On asking him what had become of them, he said they had walked back to the establishment at the mouth of Vermilion River, which by land is only ten miles distant; ten miles, through such woods as we tried in vain to hunt in, is a walk that I should not like at all. We stayed cutting wood for about two hours, when we started again; but a high wind arose, so that we could not make headway, and had to return and make fast again, only a few hundred yards from the previous spot. On such occasions our captain employs his wood-cutters in felling trees, and splitting and piling the wood until his return downwards, in about one month, perhaps, from now. In talking with our captain he tells us that the Black Bear is rarely seen swimming this river, and that one or two of them are about all he observes on going up each trip. I have seen them swimming in great numbers on the lower parts of the Ohio, and on the Mississippi. It is said that at times, when the common Wolves are extremely hard pressed for food, they will eat certain roots which they dig up for the purpose, and the places from which they take this food look as if they had been spaded. When they hunt a Buffalo, and have killed it, they drag it to some distance--about sixty yards or so--and dig a hole large enough to receive and conceal it; they then cover it with earth, and lie down over it until hungry again, when they uncover, and feed upon it. Along the banks of the rivers, when the Buffaloes fall, or cannot ascend, and then die, the Wolves are seen in considerable numbers feeding upon them. Although cunning beyond belief in hiding at the report of a gun, they almost instantly show themselves from different parts around, and if you wish to kill some, you have only to hide yourself, and you will see them coming to the game you have left, when you are not distant more than thirty or forty yards. It is said that though they very frequently hunt their game until the latter take to the river, they seldom, if ever, follow after it. The wind that drove us ashore augmented into a severe gale, and by its present appearance looks as if it would last the whole night. Our fire was comfortable, for, as you know, the thermometer has been very changeable since noon. We have had rain also, though not continuous, but quite enough to wet our men, who, notwithstanding have cut and piled about twelve cords of wood, besides the large quantity we have on board for to-morrow, when we hope the weather will be good and calm. _May 15, Monday._ The wind continued an irregular gale the whole of the night, and the frequent logs that struck our weather side kept me awake until nearly daybreak, when I slept about two hours; it unfortunately happened that we were made fast upon the weather shore. This morning the gale kept up, and as we had nothing better to do, it was proposed that we should walk across the bottom lands, and attempt to go to the prairies, distant about two and a half miles. This was accordingly done; Bell, Harris, Mr. La Barge[284]--the first pilot--a mulatto hunter named Michaux, and I, started at nine. We first crossed through tangled brush-wood, and high-grown rushes for a few hundreds of yards, and soon perceived that here, as well as all along the Missouri and Mississippi, the land is highest nearest the shore, and falls off the farther one goes inland. Thus we soon came to mud, and from mud to muddy water, as _pure_ as it runs in the Missouri itself; at every step which we took we raised several pounds of mud on our boots. Friend Harris very wisely returned, but the remainder of us proceeded through thick and thin until we came in sight of the prairies. But, alas! between us and them there existed a regular line of willows--and who ever saw willows grow far from water? Here we were of course stopped, and after attempting in many places to cross the water that divided us from the dry land, we were forced back, and had to return as best we could. We were mud up to the very middle, the perspiration ran down us, and at one time I was nearly exhausted; which proves to me pretty clearly that I am no longer as young, or as active, as I was some thirty years ago. When we reached the boat I was glad of it. We washed, changed our clothes, dined, and felt much refreshed. During our excursion out, Bell saw a Virginian Rail, and our sense of smell brought us to a dead Elk, putrid, and largely consumed by Wolves, whose tracks were very numerous about it. After dinner we went to the heronry that Harris had seen yesterday afternoon; for we had moved only one mile above the place of our wooding before we were again forced on shore. Here we killed four fine individuals, all on the wing, and some capital shots they were, besides a Raven. Unfortunately we had many followers, who destroyed our sport; therefore we returned on board, and at half-past four left our landing-place, having cut and piled up between forty and fifty cords of wood for the return of the "Omega." The wind has lulled down considerably, we have run seven or eight miles, and are again fast to the shore. It is reported that the water has risen two feet, but this is somewhat doubtful. We saw abundance of tracks of Elk, Deer, Wolf, and Bear, and had it been anything like tolerably dry ground, we should have had a good deal of sport. Saw this evening another dead Buffalo floating down the river. _May 16, Tuesday._ At three o'clock this fair morning we were under way, but the water has actually risen a great deal, say three feet, since Sunday noon. The current therefore is very strong, and impedes our progress greatly. We found that the Herons we had killed yesterday had not yet laid the whole of their eggs, as we found one in full order, ripe, and well colored and conditioned. I feel assured that the Ravens destroy a great many of their eggs, as I saw one helping itself to two eggs, at two different times, on the same nest. We have seen a great number of Black-headed Gulls, and some Black Terns, some Indians on the east side of the river, and a Prairie Wolf, dead, hung across a prong of a tree. After a while we reached a spot where we saw ten or more Indians who had a large log cabin, and a field under fence. Then we came to the establishment called that of Vermilion River,[285] and met Mr. Cerré, called usually Pascal, the agent of the Company at this post, a handsome French gentleman, of good manners. He dined with us. After this we landed, and walked to the fort, if the place may so be called, for we found it only a square, strongly picketed, without portholes. It stands on the immediate bank of the river, opposite a long and narrow island, and is backed by a vast prairie, all of which was inundated during the spring freshet. He told me that game was abundant, such as Elk, Deer, and Bear; but that Ducks, Geese, and Swans were extremely scarce this season. Hares are plenty--no Rabbits. We left as soon as possible, for our captain is a pushing man most truly. We passed some remarkable bluffs of blue and light limestone, towards the top of which we saw an abundance of Cliff-Swallows, and counted upwards of two hundred nests. But, alas! we have finally met with an accident. A plate of one of our boilers was found to be burned out, and we were obliged to stop on the west side of the river, about ten miles below the mouth of the Vermilion River. Here we were told that we might go ashore and hunt to our hearts' content; and so I have, but shot at nothing. Bell, Michaux, and I, walked to the hills full three miles off, saw an extraordinary quantity of Deer, Wolf, and Elk tracks, as well as some of Wild Cats. Bell started a Deer, and after a while I heard him shoot. Michaux took to the top of the hills, Bell about midway, and I followed near the bottom; all in vain, however. I started a Woodcock, and caught one of her young, and I am now sorry for this evil deed. A dead Buffalo cow and calf passed us a few moments ago. Squires has seen one other, during our absence. We took at Mr. Cerré's establishment two _engagés_ and four Sioux Indians. We are obliged to keep bright eyes upon them, for they are singularly light-fingered. The woods are filled with wild-gooseberry bushes, and a kind of small locust not yet in bloom, and quite new to me. The honey bee was not found in this country twenty years ago, and now they are abundant. A keel-boat passed, going down, but on the opposite side of the river. Bell and Michaux have returned. Bell wounded a large Wolf, and also a young Deer, but brought none on board, though he saw several of the latter. Harris killed one of the large new Finches, and a Yellow-headed Troupial. Bell intends going hunting to-morrow at daylight, with Michaux; I will try my luck too, but do not intend going till after breakfast, for I find that walking eight or ten miles through the tangled and thorny underbrush, fatigues me considerably, though twenty years ago I should have thought nothing of it. _May 17, Wednesday._ This was a most lovely morning. Bell went off with Michaux at four A. M. I breakfasted at five, and started with Mr. La Barge. When we reached the hunting-grounds, about six miles distant, we saw Bell making signs to us to go to him, and I knew from that that they had some fresh meat. When we reached them, we found a very large Deer that Michaux had killed. Squires shot a Woodcock, which I ate for my dinner, in company with the captain. Michaux had brought the Deer--Indian fashion--about two miles. I was anxious to examine some of the intestines, and we all three started on the tracks of Michaux, leaving Squires to keep the Wolves away from the dead Deer. We went at once towards a small stream meandering at the foot of the hills, and as we followed it, Bell shot at a Turkey-cock about eighty yards; his ball cut a streak of feathers from its back, but the gobbler went off. When we approached the spot where Michaux had opened the Deer, we did so cautiously, in the hope of then shooting a Wolf, but none had come; we therefore made our observations, and took up the tongue, which had been forgotten. Bell joined us, and as we were returning to Squires we saw flocks of the Chestnut-collared Lark or Ground-finch, whose exact measurement I have here given, and almost at the same time saw Harris. He and Bell went off after the Finches; we pursued our course to Squires, and waited for their return. Seeing no men to help carry the Deer, Michaux picked it up, Squires took his gun, etc., and we made for the river again. We had the good luck to meet the barge coming, and we reached our boat easily in a few minutes, with our game. I saw upwards of twelve of Harris' new Finch (?) a Marsh Hawk, Henslow's Bunting, _Emberiza pallida_, Robins, Wood Thrushes, Bluebirds, Ravens, the same abundance of House Wrens, and all the birds already enumerated. We have seen floating eight Buffaloes, one Antelope, and one Deer; how great the destruction of these animals must be during high freshets! The cause of their being drowned in such extraordinary numbers might not astonish one acquainted with the habits of these animals, but to one who is not, it may be well enough for me to describe it. Some few hundred miles above us, the river becomes confined between high bluffs or cliffs, many of which are nearly perpendicular, and therefore extremely difficult to ascend. When the Buffaloes have leaped or tumbled down from either side of the stream, they swim with ease across, but on reaching these walls, as it were, the poor animals try in vain to climb them, and becoming exhausted by falling back some dozens of times, give up the ghost, and float down the turbid stream; their bodies have been known to pass, swollen and putrid, the city of St. Louis. The most extraordinary part of the history of these drowned Buffaloes is, that the different tribes of Indians on the shores, are ever on the lookout for them, and no matter how putrid their flesh may be, provided the hump proves at all fat, they swim to them, drag them on shore, and cut them to pieces; after which they cook and eat this loathsome and abominable flesh, even to the marrow found in the bones. In some instances this has been done when the whole of the hair had fallen off, from the rottenness of the Buffalo. Ah! Mr. Catlin, I am now sorry to see and to read your accounts of the Indians _you_ saw[286]--how very different they must have been from any that I have seen! Whilst we were on the top of the high hills which we climbed this morning, and looked towards the valley beneath us, including the river, we were undetermined as to whether we saw as much land dry as land overflowed; the immense flat prairie on the east side of the river looked not unlike a lake of great expanse, and immediately beneath us the last freshet had left upwards of perhaps two or three hundred acres covered by water, with numbers of water fowl on it, but so difficult of access as to render our wishes to kill Ducks quite out of the question. From the tops of the hills we saw only a continual succession of other lakes, of the same form and nature; and although the soil was of a fair, or even good, quality, the grass grew in tufts, separated from each other, and as it grows green in one spot, it dies and turns brown in another. We saw here no "carpeted prairies," no "velvety distant landscape;" and if these things are to be seen, why, the sooner we reach them the better. This afternoon I took the old nest of a Vireo, fully three feet above my head, filled with dried mud; it was attached to two small prongs issuing from a branch fully the size of my arm; this proves how high the water must have risen. Again, we saw large trees of which the bark had been torn off by the rubbing or cutting of the ice, as high as my shoulder. This is accounted for as follows: during the first breaking up of the ice, it at times accumulates, so as to form a complete dam across the river; and when this suddenly gives way by the heat of the atmosphere, and the great pressure of the waters above the dam, the whole rushes on suddenly and overflows the country around, hurling the ice against any trees in its course. Sprague has shot two _Emberiza pallida_, two Lincoln's Finches, and a Black and Yellow Warbler, _Sylvicola [Dendroeca] maculosa_. One of our trappers, who had gone to the hills, brought on board two Rattlesnakes of a kind which neither Harris nor myself had seen before. The four Indians we have on board are three Puncas[287] and one Sioux; the Puncas were formerly attached to the Omahas; but, having had some difficulties among themselves, they retired further up the river, and assumed this new name. The Omahas reside altogether on the west side of the Missouri. Three of the Puncas have walked off to the establishment of Mr. Cerré to procure moccasins, but will return to-night. They appear to be very poor, and with much greater appetites than friend Catlin describes them to have. Our men are stupid, and very superstitious; they believe the rattles of Snakes are a perfect cure for the headache; also, that they never die till after sunset, etc. We have discovered the female of Harris's Finch, which, as well as in the White-crowned Finch, resembles the male almost entirely; it is only a very little paler in its markings. I am truly proud to name it _Fringilla Harrisii_, in honor of one of the best friends I have in this world. _May 18, Thursday._ Our good captain called us all up at a quarter before four this fair morning, to tell us that four barges had arrived from Fort Pierre, and that we might write a few letters, which Mr. Laidlaw,[288] one of the partners, would take to St. Louis for us. I was introduced to that gentleman and also to Major Dripps,[289] the Indian agent. I wrote four short letters, which I put in an envelope addressed to the Messieurs Chouteau & Co., of St. Louis, who will post them, and we have hopes that some may reach their destination. The names of these four boats are "War Eagle," "White Cloud," "Crow feather," and "Red-fish." We went on board one of them, and found it comfortable enough. They had ten thousand Buffalo robes on the four boats; the men live entirely on Buffalo meat and pemmican. They told us that about a hundred miles above us the Buffalo were by thousands, that the prairies were covered with dead calves, and the shores lined with dead of all sorts; that Antelopes were there also, and a great number of Wolves, etc.; therefore we shall see them after a while. Mr. Laidlaw told me that he would be back at Fort Pierre in two months, and would see us on our return. He is a true Scot, and apparently a clean one. We gave them six bottles of whiskey, for which they were very thankful; they gave us dried Buffalo meat, and three pairs of moccasins. They breakfasted with us, preferring salt meat to fresh venison. They departed soon after six o'clock, and proceeded rapidly down-stream in Indian file. These boats are strong and broad; the tops, or roofs, are supported by bent branches of trees, and these are covered by water-proof Buffalo hides; each has four oarsmen and a steersman, who manages the boat standing on a broad board; the helm is about ten feet long, and the rudder itself is five or six feet long. They row constantly for sixteen hours, and stop regularly at sundown; they, unfortunately for us, spent the night about two miles above us, for had we known of their immediate proximity we should have had the whole of the night granted for writing long, long letters. Our prospect of starting to-day is somewhat doubtful, as the hammering at the boilers still reaches my ears. The day is bright and calm. Mr. Laidlaw told us that on the 5th of May the snow fell two feet on the level, and destroyed thousands of Buffalo calves. We felt the same storm whilst we were fast on the bar above Fort Leavenworth. This has been a day of almost pure idleness; our tramps of yesterday and the day previous had tired me, and with the exception of shooting at marks, and Sprague killing one of Bell's Vireo, and a Least Pewee, as well as another female of Harris's Finch, we have done nothing. Bell this evening went off to look for Bats, but saw none. _May 19, Friday._ This has been a beautiful, but a very dull day to us all. We started by moonlight at three this morning, and although we have been running constantly, we took the wrong channel twice, and thereby lost much of our precious time; so I look upon this day's travel as a very poor one. The river was in several places inexpressibly wide and shallow. We saw a Deer of the common kind swimming across the stream; but few birds were killed, although we stopped (unfortunately) three times for wood. I forgot to say yesterday two things which I should have related, one of which is of a dismal and very disagreeable nature, being no less than the account given us of the clerks of the Company having killed one of the chiefs of the Blackfeet tribe of Indians, at the upper settlement of the Company, at the foot of the great falls of the Missouri, and therefore at the base of the Rocky Mountains, and Mr. Laidlaw assured us that it would be extremely dangerous for us to go that far towards these Indians. The other thing is that Mr. Laidlaw brought down a daughter of his, a half-breed of course, whom he is taking to St. Louis to be educated. We saw another Deer crossing the river, and have shot only a few birds, of no consequence. _May 20, Saturday._ We have not made much progress this day, for the wind rose early, and rather ahead. We have passed to-day Jacques River,[290] or, as I should call it, La Rivière à Jacques, named after a man who some twenty or more years ago settled upon its banks, and made some money by collecting Beavers, etc., but who is dead and gone. Three White Wolves were seen this morning, and after a while we saw a fourth, of the brindled kind, which was trotting leisurely on, about 150 yards distant from the bank, where he had probably been feeding on some carrion or other. A shot from a rifle was quite enough to make him turn off up the river again, but farther from us, at a full gallop; after a time he stopped again, when the noise of our steam pipe started him, and we soon lost sight of him in the bushes. We saw three Deer in the flat of one of the prairies, and just before our dinner we saw, rather indistinctly, a number of Buffaloes, making their way across the hills about two miles distant; after which, however, we saw their heavy tracks in a well and deep cut line across the said hills. Therefore we are now in what is pronounced to be the "Buffalo country," and may expect to see more of these animals to-morrow. We have stopped for wood no less than three times this day, and are fast for the night. Sprague killed a _Pipilo arcticus_, and Bell three others of the same species. We procured also another Bat, the _Vespertilio subulatus_ of Say, and this is all. The country around us has materially changed, and we now see more naked, and to my eyes more completely denuded, hills about us, and less of the rich bottoms of alluvial land, than we passed below our present situation. I will not anticipate the future by all that we hear of the country above, but will continue steadily to accumulate in this, my poor journal, all that may take place from day to day. Three of our Indian rascals left us at our last wooding-ground, and have gone towards their miserable village. We have now only one Sioux with us, who will, the captain says, go to Fort Pierre in our company. They are, all that we have had as yet, a thieving and dirty set, covered with vermin. We still see a great number of Black-headed Gulls, but I think fewer Geese and Ducks than below; this probably on account of the very swampy prairie we have seen, and which appears to become scarce as we are advancing in this strange wilderness. _May 21, Sunday._ We have had a great deal that interested us all this day. In the first place we have passed no less than five of what are called rivers, and their names are as follows:[291] Manuel, Basil, L'Eau qui Court, Ponca Creek, and Chouteau's River, all of which are indifferent streams of no magnitude, except the swift-flowing L'Eau qui Court,[292] which in some places is fully as broad as the Missouri itself, fully as muddy, filled with quicksands, and so remarkably shallow that in the autumn its navigation is very difficult indeed. We have seen this day about fifty Buffaloes; two which we saw had taken to the river, with intent to swim across it, but on the approach of our thundering, noisy vessel, turned about and after struggling for a few minutes, did make out to reach the top of the bank, after which they travelled at a moderate gait for some hundreds of yards; then, perhaps smelling or seeing the steamboat, they went off at a good though not very fast gallop, on the prairie by our side, and were soon somewhat ahead of us; they stopped once or twice, again resumed their gallop, and after a few diversions in their course, made to the hill-tops and disappeared altogether. We stopped to wood at a very propitious place indeed, for it was no less than the fort put up some years ago by Monsieur Le Clerc. Finding no one at the spot, we went to work cutting the pickets off his fortifications till we were loaded with the very best of dry wood. After we left that spot, were found several _Pipilo arcticus_ which were shot, as well as a Say's Flycatcher. The wind rose pretty high, and after trying our best to stem the current under very high cliffs, we were landed on Poncas Island, where all of us excepting Squires, who was asleep, went on shore to hunt, and to shoot whatever we might find. It happened that this island was well supplied with game; we saw many Deer, and Bell killed a young Doe, which proved good as fresh meat. Some twelve or fourteen of these animals were seen, and Bell saw three Elks which he followed across the island, also a Wolf in its hole, but did not kill it. Sprague saw a Forked-tailed Hawk, too far off to shoot at. We passed several dead Buffaloes near the shore, on which the Ravens were feeding gloriously. The _Pipilo arcticus_ is now extremely abundant, and so is the House Wren, Yellow-breasted Chat, etc. We have seen this day Black-headed Gulls, Sandpipers, and Ducks, and now I am going to rest, for after my long walk through the deep mud to reach the ridge on the islands, I feel somewhat wearied and fatigued. Three Antelopes were seen this evening. _May 22, Monday._ We started as early as usual, _i. e._, at half-past three; the weather was fine. We breakfasted before six, and immediately after saw two Wild Cats of the common kind; we saw them running for some hundreds of yards. We also saw several large Wolves, noticing particularly one pure white, that stood and looked at us for some time. Their movements are precisely those of the common cur dog. We have seen five or six this day. We began seeing Buffaloes again in small gangs, but this afternoon and evening we have seen a goodly number, probably more than a hundred. We also saw fifteen or twenty Antelopes. I saw ten at once, and it was beautiful to see them running from the top of a high hill down to its base, after which they went round the same hill, and were lost to us. We have landed three times to cut wood, and are now busy at it on Cedar Island.[293] At both the previous islands we saw an immense number of Buffalo tracks, more, indeed, than I had anticipated. The whole of the prairies as well as the hills have been so trampled by them that I should have considered it quite unsafe for a man to travel on horseback. The ground was literally covered with their tracks, and also with bunches of hair, while the bushes and the trunks of the trees, between which they had passed, were hanging with the latter substance. I collected some, and intend to carry a good deal home. We found here an abundance of what is called the White Apple,[294] but which is anything else but an apple. The fruit grows under the ground about six inches; it is about the size of a hen's egg, covered with a woody, hard pellicle, a sixteenth of an inch thick, from which the fruit can be drawn without much difficulty; this is quite white; the exterior is a dirty, dark brown. The roots are woody. The flowers were not in bloom, but I perceived that the leaves are ovate, and attached in fives. This plant is collected in great quantities by the Indians at this season and during the whole summer, and put to dry, which renders it as hard as wood; it is then pounded fine, and makes an excellent kind of mush, upon which the Indians feed greedily. I will take some home. We found pieces of crystallized gypsum; we saw Meadow Larks whose songs and single notes are quite different from those of the Eastern States; we have not yet been able to kill one to decide if new or not.[295] We have seen the Arkansas Flycatcher, Sparrow-hawks, Geese, etc. The country grows poorer as we ascend; the bluffs exhibit oxide of iron, sulphur, and also magnesia. We have made a good day's run, though the wind blew rather fresh from the northwest. Harris shot a Marsh Hawk, Sprague a Night-hawk, and some small birds, and I saw Martins breeding in Woodpeckers' holes in high and large cotton-trees. We passed the "Grand Town"[296] very early this morning; I did not see it, however. Could we have remained on shore at several places that we passed, we should have made havoc with the Buffaloes, no doubt; but we shall have enough of that sport ere long. They all look extremely poor and shabby; we see them sporting among themselves, butting and tearing up the earth, and when at a gallop they throw up the dust behind them. We saw their tracks all along both shores; where they have landed and are unable to get up the steep cliffs, they follow along the margin till they reach a ravine, and then make their way to the hills, and again to the valleys; they also have roads to return to the river to drink. They appear at this season more on the west side of the Missouri. The Elks, on the contrary, are found on the islands and low bottoms, well covered with timber; the common Deer is found indifferently everywhere. All the Antelopes we have seen were on the west side. After we had left our first landing-place a few miles, we observed some seven or eight Indians looking at us, and again retiring to the woods, as if to cover themselves; when we came nearly opposite them, however, they all came to the shore, and made signs to induce us to land. The boat did not stop for their pleasure, and after we had fairly passed them they began firing at us, not with blank cartridges, but with well-directed rifle-balls, several of which struck the "Omega" in different places. I was standing at that moment by one of the chimneys, and saw a ball strike the water a few feet beyond our bows; and Michaux, the hunter, heard its passing within a few inches of his head. A Scotchman, who was asleep below, was awakened and greatly frightened by hearing a ball pass through the partition, cutting the lower part of his pantaloons, and deadening itself against a trunk. Fortunately no one was hurt. Those rascals were attached to a war party, and belong to the Santee tribes which range across the country from the Mississippi to the Missouri. I will make no comment upon their conduct, but I have two of the balls that struck our boat; it seems to be a wonder that not one person was injured, standing on deck as we were to the number of a hundred or more. We have not seen Parrakeets or Squirrels for several days; Partridges have also deserted us, as well as Rabbits; we have seen Barn Swallows, but no more Rough-winged. We have yet plenty of Red-headed Woodpeckers. Our captain has just sent out four hunters this evening, who are to hunt early to-morrow morning, and will meet the boat some distance above; Squires has gone with them. How I wish I were twenty-five years younger! I should like such a tramp greatly; but I do not think it prudent now for me to sleep on the ground when I can help it, while it is so damp. _May 23, Tuesday._ The wind blew from the south this morning and rather stiffly. We rose early, and walked about this famous Cedar Island, where we stopped to cut large red cedars [_Juniperus virginianus_] for one and a half hours; we started at half-past five, breakfasted rather before six, and were on the lookout for our hunters. _Hunters!_ Only two of them had ever been on a Buffalo hunt before. One was lost almost in sight of the river. They only walked two or three miles, and camped. Poor Squires' first experience was a very rough one; for, although they made a good fire at first, it never was tended afterwards, and his pillow was formed of a buck's horn accidentally picked up near the place. Our Sioux Indian helped himself to another, and they all felt chilly and damp. They had forgotten to take any spirits with them, and their condition was miserable. As the orb of day rose as red as blood, the party started, each taking a different direction. But the wind was unfavorable; it blew up, not down the river, and the Buffaloes, Wolves, Antelopes, and indeed every animal possessed of the sense of smell, had scent of them in time to avoid them. There happened however to be attached to this party two good and true men, that may be called hunters. One was Michaux; the other a friend of his, whose name I do not know. It happened, by hook or by crook, that these two managed to kill four Buffaloes; but one of them was drowned, as it took to the river after being shot. Only a few pieces from a young bull, and its tongue, were brought on board, most of the men being too lazy, or too far off, to cut out even the tongues of the others; and thus it is that thousands multiplied by thousands of Buffaloes are murdered in senseless play, and their enormous carcasses are suffered to be the prey of the Wolf, the Raven and the Buzzard. However, the hunters all returned safely to the boat, and we took them in, some tired enough, among whom was friend Squires. He had worn out his moccasins, and his feet were sore, blistered, and swollen; he was thirsty enough too, for in taking a drink he had gone to a beautiful clear spring that unfortunately proved to be one of magnesia, which is common enough in this part of our country, and this much increased his thirst. He drank four tumblers of water first, then a glass of grog, ate somewhat of a breakfast, and went to bed, whence I called him a few minutes before dinner. However, he saw some Buffaloes, and had hopes of shooting one, also about twenty Antelopes. Michaux saw two very large White Wolves. At the place where we decided to take the fatigued party in, we stopped to cut down a few dead cedars, and Harris shot a common Rabbit and one Lark Finch. Bell and Sprague saw several Meadow-larks, which I trust will prove new, as these birds have quite different notes and songs from those of our eastern birds. They brought a curious cactus, some handsome well-scented dwarf peas, and several other plants unknown to me. On the island I found abundance of dwarf wild-cherry bushes in full blossom, and we have placed all these plants in press. We had the misfortune to get aground whilst at dinner, and are now fast till to-morrow morning; for all our efforts to get the boat off, and they have been many, have proved ineffectual. It is a bad spot, for we are nearly halfway from either shore. I continued my long letter for home, and wrote the greatest portion of another long one to John Bachman. I intend to write till a late hour this night, as perchance we may reach Fort Pierre early next week. _May 24,_[297] _Wednesday._ We remained on the said bar till four this afternoon. The wind blew hard all day. A boat from Fort Pierre containing two men passed us, bound for Fort Vermilion; one of them was Mr. Charity, one of the Company's associate traders. The boat was somewhat of a curiosity, being built in the form of a scow; but instead of being made of wood, had only a frame, covered with Buffalo skins with the hair on. They had been nine days coming 150 miles, detained every day, more or less, by Indians. Mr. Charity gave me some leather prepared for moccasins--for a consideration, of course. We have seen Buffaloes, etc., but the most important animal to us was one of Townsend's Hare.[298] We shot four Meadow-larks [_Sturnella neglecta_] that have, as I said, other songs and notes than ours, but could not establish them as new. We procured a Red-shafted Woodpecker, two Sparrow-hawks, two Arkansas Flycatchers, a Blue Grosbeak, saw Say's Flycatcher, etc. I went on shore with Harris's small double-barrelled gun, and the first shot I had was pretty near killing me; the cone blew off, and passed so near my ear that I was stunned, and fell down as if shot, and afterwards I was obliged to lie down for several minutes. I returned on board, glad indeed that the accident was no greater. We passed this afternoon bluffs of sulphur, almost pure to look at, and a patch that has burnt for two years in succession. Alum was found strewn on the shores. A toad was brought, supposed to be new by Harris and Bell. We landed for the night on an island so thick with underbrush that it was no easy matter to walk through; perhaps a hundred Buffalo calves were dead in it, and the smell was not pleasant, as you may imagine. The boat of Mr. Charity went off when we reached the shore, after having escaped from the bar. We have seen more White Wolves this day, and few Antelopes. The whole country is trodden down by the heavy Buffaloes, and this renders the walking both fatiguing and somewhat dangerous. The garlic of this country has a red blossom, otherwise it looks much like ours; when Buffalo have fed for some time on this rank weed, their flesh cannot be eaten. [Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNAL. REDUCED ONE THIRD.] _May 25, Thursday._ The weather looked cloudy, and promised much rain when we rose this morning at five o'clock; our men kept busy cutting and bringing wood until six, when the "Omega" got under way. It began raining very soon afterwards and it has continued to this present moment. The dampness brought on a chilliness that made us have fires in each of the great cabins. Michaux brought me two specimens of _Neotoma floridana_, so young that their eyes were not open. The nest was found in the hollow of a tree cut down for firewood. Two or three miles above us, we saw three Mackinaw barges on the shore, just such as I have described before; all these belonged to the (so-called) Opposition Company of C. Bolton, Fox, Livingstone & Co., of New York, and therefore we passed them without stopping; but we had to follow their example a few hundred yards above them, for we had to stop also; and then some of the men came on board, to see and talk to their old acquaintances among our extraordinary and motley crew of trappers and _engagés_. On the roofs of the barges lay much Buffalo meat, and on the island we left this morning probably some hundreds of these poor animals, mostly young calves, were found dead at every few steps; and since then we have passed many dead as well as many groups of living. In one place we saw a large gang swimming across the river; they fortunately reached a bank through which they cut their way towards the hills, and marched slowly and steadily on, paying no attention to our boat, as this was far to the lee of them. At another place on the west bank, we saw eight or ten, or perhaps more, Antelopes or Deer of some kind or other, but could not decide whether they were the one or the other. These animals were all lying down, which would be contrary to the general habit of our common Deer, which never lie down during rain, that I am aware of. We have had an extremely dull day of it, as one could hardly venture out of the cabin for pleasure. We met with several difficulties among sand-bars. At three o'clock we passed the entrance into the stream known as White River;[299] half an hour ago we were obliged to land, and send the yawl to try for the channel, but we are now again on our way, and have still the hope of reaching Great Cedar Island[300] this evening, where we must stop to cut wood.--_Later._ Our attempt to reach the island I fear will prove abortive, as we are once more at a standstill for want of deeper water, and the yawl has again gone ahead to feel for a channel. Within the last mile or so, we must have passed upwards of a hundred drowned young Buffalo calves, and many large ones. I will await the moment when we must make fast somewhere, as it is now past eight o'clock. The rain has ceased, and the weather has the appearance of a better day to-morrow, overhead at least. Now it is after nine o'clock; we are fastened to the shore, and I will, for the first time since I left St. Louis, sleep in my cabin, and between sheets. _May 26, Friday._ The weather was fine, but we moved extremely slowly, not having made more than ten miles by twelve o'clock. The captain arranged all his papers for Fort Pierre. Three of the best walkers, well acquainted with the road, were picked from among our singularly mixed crew of _engagés_, and were put ashore at Big Bend Creek, on the banks of a high cliff on the western side; they ascended through a ravine, and soon were out of sight. We had stopped previously to cut wood, where our men had to lug it fully a quarter of a mile. We ourselves landed of course, but found the prairie so completely trodden by Buffaloes that it was next to impossible to walk. Notwithstanding this, however, a few birds were procured. The boat continued on with much difficulty, being often stopped for the want of water. At one place we counted over a hundred dead Buffalo calves; we saw a great number, however, that did reach the top of the bank, and proceeded to feeding at once. We saw one animal, quite alone, wading and swimming alternately, till it had nearly crossed the river, when for reasons unknown to us, and when only about fifty yards from the land, it suddenly turned about, and swam and waded back to the western side, whence it had originally come; this fellow moved through the water as represented in this very imperfect sketch, which I have placed here, and with his tail forming nearly half a circle by its erection during the time he swam. It was mired on several occasions while passing from one shoal or sand-bar to another. It walked, trotted, or galloped, while on the solid beach, and ultimately, by swimming a few hundred yards, returned to the side from whence it had started, though fully half a mile below the exact spot. There now was heard on board some talk about the _Great Bend_, and the captain asked me whether I would like to go off and camp, and await his arrival on the other side to-morrow. I assured him that nothing would give us more pleasure, and he gave us three stout young men to go with us to carry our blankets, provisions, etc., and to act as guides and hunters. All was ready by about five of the afternoon, when Harris, Bell, Sprague, and I, as well as the three men, were put ashore; and off we went at a brisk walk across a beautiful, level prairie, whereon in sundry directions we could see small groups of Buffaloes, grazing at leisure. Proceeding along, we saw a great number of Cactus, some Bartram Sandpipers, and a Long-billed Curlew. Presently we observed a village of prairie Marmots, _Arctomys [Cynomys] ludovicianus_, and two or three of our party diverged at once to pay them their respects. The mounds which I passed were very low indeed; the holes were opened, but I saw not one of the owners. Harris, Bell, and Michaux, I believe, shot at some of them, but killed none, and we proceeded on, being somewhat anxious to pitch our camp for the night before dark. Presently we reached the hills and were surprised at their composition; the surface looked as if closely covered with small broken particles of coal, whilst the soil was of such greasy or soapy nature, that it was both painful and fatiguing to ascend them. Our guides assured us that such places were never in any other condition, or as they expressed it, were "never dry." Whilst travelling about these remarkable hills, Sprague saw one of Townsend's Hare, and we started the first and only Prairie Hen we have seen since our departure from St. Louis. Gradually we rose on to the very uppermost crest of the hills we had to cross, and whilst reposing ourselves for some minutes we had the gratification of seeing around us one of the great panoramas this remarkable portion of our country affords. There was a vast extent of country beneath and around us. Westward rose the famous Medicine Hill, and in the opposite direction were the wanderings of the Missouri for many miles, and from the distance we were then from it, the river appeared as if a small, very circuitous streamlet. The Great Bend was all in full view, and its course almost resembled that of a chemist's retort, being formed somewhat like the scratch of my pen thus:-- [Illustration] The walk from our landing crossing the prairies was quite four miles, whilst the distance by water is computed to be twenty-six. From the pinnacle we stood on, we could see the movements of our boat quite well, and whilst the men were employed cutting wood for her engines, we could almost count every stroke of their axes, though fully two miles distant, as the crow flies. As we advanced we soon found ourselves on the ridges leading us across the Bend, and plainly saw that we were descending towards the Missouri once more. _Chemin faisant_, we saw four Black-tailed Deer, a shot at which Michaux or Bell, who were in advance, might perhaps have had, had not Harris and Sprague taken a route across the declivity before them, and being observed by these keen-sighted animals, the whole made off at once. I had no fair opportunity of witnessing their movements; but they looked swiftness itself, combined with grace. They were not followed, and we reached the river at a spot which evidently had been previously camped on by Indians; here we made our minds up to stop at once, and arrange for the night, which now promised to be none of the fairest. One man remained with us to prepare the camp, whilst Michaux and the others started in search of game, as if blood-hounds. Meantime we lighted a large and glowing fire, and began preparing some supper. In less than half an hour Michaux was seen to return with a load on his back, which proved to be a fine young buck of the Black-tailed Deer. This produced animation at once. I examined it carefully, and Harris and Sprague returned promptly from the point to which they had gone. The darkness of the night, contrasting with the vivid glare of our fire, which threw a bright light on the skinning of the Deer, and was reflected on the trunks and branches of the cottonwood trees, six of them in one clump, almost arising from the same root, gave such superb effect that I retired some few steps to enjoy the truly fine picture. Some were arranging their rough couches, whilst others were engaged in carrying wood to support our fire through the night; some brought water from the great, muddy stream, and others were busily at work sharpening long sticks for skewers, from which large pieces of venison were soon seen dropping their rich juices upon the brightest of embers. The very sight of this sharpened our appetites, and it must have been laughable to see how all of us fell to, and ate of this first-killed Black-tailed Deer. After a hearty meal we went to sleep, one and all, under the protection of God, and not much afraid of Indians, of whom we have not seen a specimen since we had the pleasure of being fired on by the Santees. We slept very well for a while, till it began to sprinkle rain; but it was only a very slight shower, and I did not even attempt to shelter myself from it. Our fires were mended several times by one or another of the party, and the short night passed on, refreshing us all as only men can be refreshed by sleep under the sky, breathing the purest of air, and happy as only a clear conscience can make one. [Illustration: VIEW ON THE MISSOURI RIVER, ABOVE GREAT BEND. FROM A WATER-COLOR DRAWING BY ISAAC SPRAGUE.] _May 27, Saturday._ At half-past three this morning my ears were saluted by the delightful song of the Red Thrush, who kept on with his strains until we were all up. Harris and Bell went off, and as soon as the two hunters had cleaned their rifles they followed. I remained in camp with Sprague for a while; the best portions of the Deer, _i. e._, the liver, kidneys, and tongue, were cooked for breakfast, which all enjoyed. No Wolves had disturbed our slumbers, and we now started in search of quadrupeds, birds, and adventures. We found several plants, all new to me, and which are now in press. All the ravines which we inspected were well covered by cedars of the red variety, and whilst ascending several of the hills we found them in many parts partially gliding down as if by the sudden effects of very heavy rain. We saw two very beautiful Avocets [_Recurvirostra americana_] feeding opposite our camp; we saw also a Hawk nearly resembling what is called Cooper's Hawk, but having a white rump. Bell joined the hunters and saw some thousands of Buffalo; and finding a very large bull within some thirty yards of them, they put in his body three large balls. The poor beast went off, however, and is now, in all probability, dead. Many fossil remains have been found on the hills about us, but we saw none. These hills are composed of limestone rocks, covered with much shale. Harris thinks this is a different formation from that of either St. Louis or Belle Vue--but, alas! we are not much of geologists. We shot only one of Say's Flycatcher, and the Finch we have called _Emberiza pallida_,[301] but of which I am by no means certain, for want of more exact descriptions than those of a mere synopsis. Our boat made its appearance at two o'clock; we had observed from the hill-tops that it had been aground twice. At three our camp was broken up, our effects removed, our fire left burning, and our boat having landed for us, and for cutting cedar trees, we got on board, highly pleased with our camping out, especially as we found all well on board. We had not proceeded very far when the difficulties of navigation increased so much that we grounded several times, and presently saw a few Indians on the shore; our yawl was out sounding for a passage amid the many sand-bars in view; the Indians fired, not balls, but a salute, to call us ashore. We neared shore, and talked to them; for, they proving to be Sioux, and our captain being a good scholar in that tongue, there was no difficulty in so doing. He told them to follow us, and that he would come-to. They ran to their horses on the prairie, all of which stood still, and were good-looking, comparatively speaking, leaped on their backs without saddles or stirrups, and followed us with ease at a walk. They fired a second salute as we landed; there were only four of them, and they are all at this moment on board. They are fine-looking fellows; the captain introduced Harris and me to the chief, and we shook hands all round. They are a poor set of beggars after all. The captain gave them supper, sugar and coffee, and about one pound of gunpowder, and the chief coolly said: "What is the use of powder, without balls?" It is quite surprising that these Indians did not see us last night, for I have no doubt our fire could have been seen up and down the river for nearly twenty miles. But we are told their lodges are ten miles inland, and that may answer the question. I shall not be sorry now to go to bed. Our camp of the _Six Trees_ is deserted and silent. The captain is almost afraid he may be forced to leave half his cargo somewhere near this, and proceed to Fort Pierre, now distant fifty miles, and return for the goods. The Indians saw nothing of the three men who were sent yesterday to announce our approach to Fort Pierre. _Sunday, May 28._ This morning was beautiful, though cool. Our visiting Indians left us at twelve last night, and I was glad enough to be rid of these beggars by trade. Both shores were dotted by groups of Buffaloes as far as the eye could reach, and although many were near the banks they kept on feeding quietly till we nearly approached them; those at the distance of half a mile never ceased their avocations. A Gray Wolf was seen swimming across our bows, and some dozens of shots were sent at the beast, which made it open its mouth and raise its head, but it never stopped swimming away from us, as fast as possible; after a while it reached a sand-bar, and immediately afterwards first trotted, and then galloped off. Three Buffaloes also crossed ahead of us, but at some distance; they all reached the shore, and scrambled up the bank. We have run better this morning than for three or four days, and if fortunate enough may reach Fort Pierre sometime to-morrow. The prairies appear better now, the grass looks green, and probably the poor Buffaloes will soon regain their flesh. We have seen more than 2,000 this morning up to this moment--twelve o'clock. We reached Fort George[302] at about three this afternoon. This is what is called the "Station of the Opposition line;" some Indians and a few lodges are on the edge of the prairie. Sundry bales of Buffalo robes were brought on board, and Major Hamilton, who is now acting Indian agent here until the return of Major Crisp, came on board also. I knew his father thirty-five years ago. He pointed out to us the cabin on the opposite shore,[303] where a partner of the "Opposition line" shot at and killed two white men and wounded two others, all of whom were remarkable miscreants. We are about thirty miles below Fort Pierre. Indians were seen on both sides the river, ready to trade both here and at Fort Pierre, where I am told there are five hundred lodges standing. The Indian dogs which I saw here so very closely resemble wild Wolves, that I feel assured that if I was to meet with one of them in the woods, I should most assuredly kill it as such. A few minutes after leaving Fort George, we stopped to sound the channel, and could not discover more than three and a half feet of water; our captain told us we would proceed no farther this day, but would camp here. Bell, Harris, and Sprague went off with guns; Squires and I walked to Fort George, and soon met a young Englishman going towards our boat on a "Buffalo Horse" at a swift gallop; but on being hailed he reined up. His name was Illingsworth; he is the present manager of this establishment. He welcomed us, and as he was going to see Captain Sire, we proceeded on. Upon reaching the camp we found a strongly built log cabin, in one end of which we met Mr. Cutting, who told me he had known Victor [Audubon] in Cuba. This young gentleman had been thrown from his horse in a recent Buffalo chase, and had injured one foot so that he could not walk. A Buffalo cow had hooked the horse and thrown the rider about twenty feet, although the animal had not been wounded. We also met here a Mr. Taylor, who showed me the petrified head of a Beaver, which he supposed to be that of a Wolf; but I showed him the difference in the form at once. I saw two young Wolves about six weeks old, of the common kind, alive. They looked well, but their nature was already pretty apparently that of the parents. I saw an abundance of semi-wolf Dogs, and their howlings were distressing to my ear. We entered the lodge of a trader attached to our company, a German, who is a clever man, has considerable knowledge of botany, and draws well. There were about fifteen lodges, and we saw a greater number of squaws and half-breed children than I had expected. But as every clerk and agent belonging to the companies has "a wife," as it is _called_, a spurious population soon exhibits itself around the wigwams. I will not comment upon this here. We returned before dark to our boat, and I am off to bed. _Monday, May 29._ I was up early, and as soon as breakfast was over, Major Hamilton and myself walked to Fort George. We found the three gentlemen to whom I showed the plate of quadrupeds, and afterwards I went to their store to see skins of Wolves and of the Swift Fox. I found a tolerably good Fox skin which was at once given me; I saw what I was assured were two distinct varieties (for I cannot call them species) of Wolves. Both, however, considering the difference in size, were old and young of the same variety. They both had the top of the back dark gray, and the sides, belly, legs, and tail, nearly white. When I have these two sorts in the flesh, I may derive further knowledge. I looked at the Indian Dogs again with much attention, and was assured that there is much cross breeding between these Dogs and Wolves, and that all the varieties actually come from the same root. Harris now joined us, and found he had met a brother of Mr. Cutting in Europe. The gentlemen from the fort came back to the boat with us; we gave them a luncheon, and later a good substantial dinner, the like of which, so they told us, they had not eaten for many a day. Mr. Illingsworth told us much about Buffaloes; he says the hunting is usually more or less dangerous. The Porcupine is found hereabouts and feeds on the leaves and bark as elsewhere, but not unfrequently retires into the crevices of rocks, whenever no trees of large size are to be found in its vicinity. Elks, at times, assemble in groups of from fifty to two hundred, and their movements are as regular as those of a flock of White Pelicans, so that if the oldest Elk starts in any one direction, all the rest follow at once in his tracks. Where he stops, they all stop, and at times all will suddenly pause, range themselves as if a company of dragoons, ready to charge upon the enemy; which, however, they seldom if ever attempt. After dinner Mr. Illingsworth told me he would go and shoot a Buffalo calf for me--we will see. Bell, Harris, Squires, and myself went off to shoot some Prairie-dogs, as the _Arctomys ludovicianus_ is called. After walking over the hills for about one mile, we came to the "village," and soon after heard their cries but not their barkings. The sound they make is simply a "chip, chip, chip," long and shrill enough, and at every cry the animal jerks its tail, without however erecting it upright, as I have seen them represented. Their holes are not perpendicular, but oblique, at an angle of about forty degrees, after which they seem to deviate; but whether sideways or upwards, I cannot yet say. I shot at two of them, which appeared to me to be standing, not across their holes, but in front of them. The first one I never saw after the shot; the second I found dying at the entrance of the burrow, but at my appearance it worked backwards. I drew my ramrod and put the end in its mouth; this it bit hard but kept working backwards, and notwithstanding my efforts, was soon out of sight and touch. Bell saw two enter the same hole, and Harris three. Bell saw some standing quite erect and leaping in the air to see and watch our movements. I found, by lying down within twenty or thirty steps of the hole, that they reappeared in fifteen or twenty minutes. This was the case with me when I shot at the two I have mentioned. Harris saw one that, after coming out of its hole, gave a long and somewhat whistling note, which he thinks was one of invitation to its neighbors, as several came out in a few moments. I have great doubts whether their cries are issued at the appearance of danger or not. I am of opinion that they are a mode of recognition as well as of amusement. I also think they feed more at night than in the day. On my return to the boat, I rounded a small hill and started a Prairie Wolf within a few steps of me. I was unfortunately loaded with No. 3 shot. I pulled one trigger and then the other, but the rascal went off as if unhurt for nearly a hundred yards, when he stopped, shook himself rather violently, and I saw I had hit him; but he ran off again at a very swift rate, his tail down, stopped again, and again shook himself as before, after which he ran out of my sight between the hills. Buffalo cows at this season associate together, with their calves, but if pursued, leave the latter to save themselves. The hides at present are not worth saving, and the Indians as well as the white hunters, when they shoot a Buffalo, tear off the hide, cut out the better portions of the flesh, as well as the tongue, and leave the carcass to the Wolves and Ravens. By the way, Bell saw a Magpie this day, and Harris killed two Black-headed Grosbeaks. Bell also saw several Evening Grosbeaks to-day; therefore there's not much need of crossing the Rocky Mountains for the few precious birds that the talented and truth-speaking Mr. ---- brought or sent to the well-paying Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia! The two men sent to Fort Pierre a few days ago have returned, one this evening, in a canoe, the other this afternoon, by land. _May 30, Tuesday._ We had a fine morning, and indeed a very fair day. I was called up long before five to receive a Buffalo calf, and the head of another, which Mr. Illingsworth had the goodness to send me. Sprague has been busy ever since breakfast drawing one of the heads, the size of nature. The other entire calf has been skinned, and will be in strong pickle before I go to bed. Mr. Illingsworth killed two calves, one bull, and one cow. The calves, though not more than about two months old, as soon as the mother was wounded, rushed towards the horse or the man who had struck her. The one bull skinned was so nearly putrid, though so freshly killed, that its carcass was thrown overboard. This gentleman, as well as many others, assured us that the hunting of Buffaloes, for persons unaccustomed to it, was very risky indeed; and said no one should attempt it unless well initiated, even though he may be a first-rate rider. When calves are caught alive, by placing your hands over the eyes and blowing into the nostrils, in the course of a few minutes they will follow the man who performs this simple operation. Indeed if a cow perchance leaves her calf behind during a time of danger, or in the chase, the calf will often await the approach of man and follow him as soon as the operation mentioned is over. Mr. Illingsworth paid us a short visit, and told us that Mr. Cutting was writing to his post near Fort Union to expect us, and to afford us all possible assistance. We made a start at seven, and after laboring over the infernal sand-bars until nearly four this afternoon, we passed them, actually cutting our own channel with the assistance of the wheel. Whilst we were at this, we were suddenly boarded by the yawl of the "Trapper," containing Mr. Picotte, Mr. Chardon, and several others. They had left Fort Pierre this morning, and had come down in one hour and a half. We were all duly presented to the whole group, and I gave to each of these gentlemen the letters I had for them. I found them very kind and affable. They dined after us, being somewhat late, but ate heartily and drank the same. They brought a first-rate hunter with them, of whom I expect to have much to say hereafter. Mr. Picotte promised me the largest pair of Elk horns ever seen in this country, as well as several other curiosities, all of which I will write about when I have them. We have reached Antelope River,[304] a very small creek on the west side. We saw two Wolves crossing the river, and Harris shot a Lark Finch. We have now no difficulties before us, and hope to reach Fort Pierre very early to-morrow morning. _Fort Pierre,_[305] _May 31, Wednesday._ After many difficulties we reached this place at four o'clock this afternoon, having spent the whole previous part of the day, say since half-past three this morning, in coming against the innumerable bars--only _nine miles_! I forgot to say last evening, that where we landed for the night our captain caught a fine specimen of _Neotoma floridana_, a female. We were forced to come-to about a quarter of a mile above Fort Pierre, after having passed the steamer "Trapper" of our Company. Bell, Squires, and myself walked to the Fort as soon as possible, and found Mr. Picotte and Mr. Chardon there. More kindness from strangers I have seldom received. I was presented with the largest pair of Elk horns I ever saw, and also a skin of the animal itself, most beautifully prepared, which I hope to give to my beloved wife. I was also presented with two pairs of moccasins, an Indian riding-whip, one collar of Grizzly Bear's claws, and two long strings of dried white apples, as well as two Indian dresses. I bought the skin of a fine young Grizzly Bear, two Wolf skins, and a parcel of fossil remains. I saw twelve young Buffalo calves, caught a few weeks ago, and yet as wild, apparently, as ever. Sprague will take outlines of them to-morrow morning, and I shall draw them. We have put ashore about one-half of our cargo and left fifty of our _engagés_, so that we shall be able to go much faster, in less water than we have hitherto drawn. We are all engaged in finishing our correspondence, the whole of the letters being about to be forwarded to St. Louis by the steamer "Trapper." I have a letter of seven pages to W. G. Bakewell, James Hall, J. W. H. Page, and Thomas M. Brewer,[306] of Boston, besides those to my family. We are about one and a half miles above the Teton River, or, as it is now called, the Little Missouri,[307] a swift and tortuous stream that finds its source about 250 miles from its union with this great river, in what are called the Bad Lands of Teton River, where it seems, from what we hear, that the country has been at one period greatly convulsed, and is filled with fossil remains. I saw the young Elk belonging to our captain, looking exceedingly shabby, but with the most beautiful eyes I ever beheld in any animal of the Deer kind. We have shot nothing to-day. I have heard all the notes of the Meadow Lark found here and they are utterly different from those of our common species. And now that I am pretty well fatigued with writing letters and this journal, I will go to rest, though I have matter enough in my poor head to write a book. We expect to proceed onwards some time to-morrow. _June 1, Thursday._ I was up at half-past three, and by four Sprague and I walked to the Fort, for the purpose of taking sketches of young Buffalo calves. These young beasts grunt precisely like a hog, and I would defy any person not seeing the animals to tell one sound from the other. The calves were not out of the stable, and while waiting I measured the Elk horns given me by Mr. Picotte. They are as follows: length, 4 feet 6½ inches; breadth 27 to 27½ inches; circumference at the skull 16 inches, round the knob 12 inches; between the knobs 3 inches. This animal, one of the largest ever seen in this country, was killed in November last. From seventeen to twenty-one poles are necessary to put up a lodge, and the poles when the lodge is up are six or seven feet above the top. The holes at the bottom, all round, suffice to indicate the number of these wanted to tighten the lodge. In time Sprague made several outline sketches of calves, and I drew what I wished. We had breakfast very early, and I ate some good bread and fresh butter. Mr. Picotte presented me with two pipe-stems this morning, quite short, but handsome. At eleven we were on our way, and having crossed the river, came alongside of the "Trapper," of which Mr. John Durack takes the command to St. Louis. The name of our own captain is Joseph A. Sire. Mr. Picotte gave me a letter for Fort Union, as Mr. Culbertson will not be there when we arrive. One of Captain Sire's daughters and her husband are going up with us. She soled three pairs of moccasins for me, as skilfully as an Indian. Bell and Harris shot several rare birds. Mr. Bowie promised to save for me all the curiosities he could procure; he came on board and saw the plates of quadrupeds, and I gave him an almanac, which he much desired. After we had all returned on board, I was somewhat surprised that Sprague asked me to let him return with the "Omega" to St. Louis. Of course I told him that he was at liberty to do so, though it will keep me grinding about double as much as I expected. Had he said the same at New York, I could have had any number of young and good artists, who would have leaped for joy at the very idea of accompanying such an expedition. Never mind, however. We have run well this afternoon, for we left Fort Pierre at two o'clock, and we are now more than twenty-five miles above it. We had a rascally Indian on board, who hid himself for the purpose of murdering Mr. Chardon; the latter gave him a thrashing last year for thieving, and Indians never forget such things--he had sworn vengeance, and that was enough. Mr. Chardon discovered him below, armed with a knife; he talked to him pretty freely, and then came up to ask the captain to put the fellow ashore. This request was granted, and he and his bundle were dropped overboard, where the water was waist deep; the fellow scrambled out, and we heard, afterward, made out to return to Fort Pierre. I had a long talk with Sprague, who thought I was displeased with him--a thing that never came into my head--and in all probability he will remain with us. Harris shot a pair of Arkansas Flycatchers, and Squires procured several plants, new to us all. Harris wrote a few lines to Mr. Sarpy at St. Louis, and I have had the pleasure to send the Elk horns, and the great balls from the stomachs of Buffalo given me by our good captain. I am extremely fatigued, for we have been up since before daylight. _At 12 o'clock of the night._ I have got up to scribble this, which it is not strange that after all I saw this day, at this curious place, I should have forgotten. Mr. Picotte took me to the storehouse where the skins procured are kept, and showed me eight or ten packages of White Hare skins, which I feel assured are all of Townsend's Hare of friend Bachman, as no other species are to be met with in this neighborhood during the winter months, when these animals migrate southward, both in search of food and of a milder climate. _June 2, Friday._ We made an extremely early start about three A. M. The morning was beautiful and calm. We passed Cheyenne River at half-past seven, and took wood a few miles above it. Saw two White Pelicans, shot a few birds. My hunter, Alexis Bombarde, whom I have engaged, could not go shooting last night on account of the crossing of this river, the Cheyenne, which is quite a large stream. Mr. Chardon gave me full control of Alexis, till we reach the Yellowstone. He is a first-rate hunter, and powerfully built; he wears his hair long about his head and shoulders, as I was wont to do; but being a half-breed, his does not curl as mine did. Whilst we are engaged cutting wood again, many of the men have gone after a Buffalo, shot from the boat. We have seen more Wolves this day than ever previously. We saw where carcasses of Buffaloes had been quite devoured by these animals, and the diversity of their colors and of their size is more wonderful than all that can be said of them. Alexis Bombarde, whom hereafter I shall simply call _Alexis_, says that with a small-bored rifle common size, good shot will kill any Wolf at sixty or eighty yards' distance, as well as bullets. We passed one Wolf that, crossing our bows, went under the wheel and yet escaped, though several shots were fired at it. I had a specimen of _Arvicola pennsylvanicus_[308] brought to me, and I was glad to find this species so very far from New York. These animals in confinement eat each other up, the strongest one remaining, often maimed and covered with blood. This I have seen, and I was glad to have it corroborated by Bell. We are told the Buffalo cows are generally best to eat in the month of July; the young bulls are, however, tough at this season. Our men have just returned with the whole of the Buffalo except its head; it is a young bull, and may prove good. When they reached it, it was standing, and Alexis shot at it twice, to despatch it as soon as possible. It was skinned and cut up in a very few minutes, and the whole of the flesh was brought on board. I am now astonished at the poverty of the bluffs which we pass; no more of the beautiful limestone formations that we saw below. Instead of those, we now run along banks of poor and crumbling clay, dry and hard now, but after a rain soft and soapy. Most of the cedars in the ravines, formerly fine and thrifty, are now, generally speaking, dead and dried up. Whether this may be the effect of the transitions of the weather or not, I cannot pretend to assert. We have seen more Wolves to-day than on any previous occasions. We have made a good day's work of it also, for I dare say that when we stop for the night, we shall have travelled sixty miles. The water is rising somewhat, but not to hurt our progress. We have seen young Gadwall Ducks, and a pair of Geese that had young ones swimming out of our sight. _June 3, Saturday._ Alexis went off last night at eleven o'clock, walked about fifteen miles, and returned at ten this morning; he brought three Prairie Dogs, or, as I call them, Prairie Marmots. The wind blew violently till we had run several miles; at one period we were near stopping. We have had many difficulties with the sand-bars, having six or seven times taken the wrong channel, and then having to drop back and try our luck again. The three Marmots had been killed with shot quite too large, and not one of them was fit for drawing, or even skinning. Sprague and I have taken measurements of all their parts, which I give at once. [_Here follow forty-two measurements, all external, of the male and female._] I received no further intelligence about the habits of this species, except that they are quite numerous in every direction. We passed four rivers to-day; the Little Chayenne,[309] the Moroe, the Grand, and the Rampart. The Moroe is a handsome stream and, I am told, has been formerly a good one for Beaver. It is navigable for barges for a considerable distance. Just before dinner we stopped to cut drift-wood on a sand-bar, and a Wolf was seen upon it. Bell, Harris, and some one else went after it. The wily rascal cut across the bar and, hiding itself under the bank, ran round the point, and again stopped. But Bell had returned towards the very spot, and the fellow was seen swimming off, when Bell pulled the trigger and shot it dead, in or near the head. The captain sent the yawl after it, and it was brought on board. It was tied round the neck and dipped in the river to wash it. It smelled very strong, but I was heartily glad to have it in my power to examine it closely, and to be enabled to take very many measurements of this the first Wolf we have actually procured. It was a male, but rather poor; its general color a grayish yellow; its measurements are as follows [_omitted_]. We saw one Goose with a gosling, several Coots, Grebes, Blue Herons, Doves, Magpies, Red-shafted Woodpeckers, etc. On a sand-bar Bell counted ten Wolves feeding on some carcass. We also saw three young whelps. This morning we saw a large number of Black-headed Gulls feeding on a dead Buffalo with some Ravens; the Gulls probably were feeding on the worms, or other insects about the carcass. We saw four Elks, and a large gang of Buffaloes. One Wolf was seen crossing the river towards our boat; being fired at, it wheeled round, but turned towards us again, again wheeled round, and returned to where it had started. We ran this evening till our wood was exhausted, and I do not know how we will manage to-morrow. Good-night. God bless you all. [Illustration: INDIAN HATCHET-PIPE. Carried by Audubon during many of his journeys.] FOOTNOTES: [240] See Episode "Great Pine Swamp." [241] The celebrated taxidermist. Born Sparkhill, New York, July 12, 1812, died at the same place, October, 1879. [242] J. T. Bowen, Lithographer of the Quad. of N.A. [243] Samuel G. Morton, the eminent craniologist. [244] Described and figured under this name by Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. i., 1849, p. 332, pl. 44. This is the commonest Pocket Gopher of the Mississippi basin, now known as _Geomys bursarius_.--E. C. [245] Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. ii., 1851, p. 132, pl. 68. The plate has three figures. This is the Fox Squirrel with white nose and ears, now commonly called _Sciurus niger_, after Linnæus, 1758, as based on Catesby's Black Squirrel. _S. capistratus_ is Bosc's name, bestowed in 1802.--E. C. [246] The _Engagés_ of the South and Southwest corresponded to the _Coureurs de Bois_, of whom Irving says, in his "Astoria," p. 36: "Originally men who had accompanied the Indians in their hunting expeditions, and made themselves acquainted with remote tracts and tribes.... Many became so accustomed to the Indian mode of living that they lost all relish for civilization, and identified themselves with the savages among whom they dwelt.... They may be said to have sprung up out of the fur trade." [247] One of the oldest settlements in Missouri, on the left bank of the river, still known by the same name, and giving name to St. Charles County, Mo. It was once called Petite Côte, from the range of small hills at the foot of which it is situated. When Lewis and Clark were here, in May, 1804, the town had nearly 100 small wooden houses, including a chapel, and a population of about 450, chiefly of Canadian French origin. See "Lewis and Clark," Coues' ed., 1893, p. 5.--E. C. [248] The species which Audubon described and figured as new under the name of _Pelecanus americanus_: Ornith. Biogr. iv., 1838, p. 88, pl. 311; Birds of Amer. vii., 1844, p. 20, pl. 422. This is _P. erythrorhynchus_ of Gmelin, 1788, and _P. trachyrhynchus_ of Latham, 1790.--E. C. [249] No other species of Marmot than the common Woodchuck, _Arctomys monax_, is known to occur in this locality.--E. C. [250] The actual distance of Jefferson City above the mouth of the river is given on the Missouri River Commission map as 145-8/10 miles. The name of the place was once Missouriopolis.--E. C. [251] Turkey-buzzards (_Cathartes aura_) and Bald Eagles (_Haliæëtus leucocephalus_).--E. C. [252] What Cormorants these were is somewhat uncertain, as more than one species answering to the indications given may be found in this locality. Probably they were _Phalacrocorax dilophus floridanus_, first described and figured by Audubon as the Florida Cormorant, _P. floridanus_: Orn. Biog. iii., 1835, p. 387, pl. 251; B. of Amer. vi., 1843, p. 430, pl. 417. The alternative identification in this case is _P. mexicanus_ of Brandt.--E. C. [253] In present Cooper County, Mo., near the mouth of Mine River. It was named for the celebrated Daniel Boone, who owned an extensive grant of land in this vicinity. Booneville followed upon the earlier settlement at Boone's Lick, or Boone's Salt Works, and in 1819 consisted of eight houses. According to the Missouri River Commission charts, the distance from the mouth of the Missouri River is 197 miles.--E. C. [254] Say, in Long's Exped. i., 1823, p. 115, described from what is now Kansas. This is the well-known Western Fox Squirrel, _S. ludovicianus_ of Custis, in Barton's Med. and Phys. Journ. ii., 1806, p. 43. It has been repeatedly described and figured under other names, as follows: _S. subauratus_, Aud. and Bach. ii., 1851, p. 67, pl. 58; _S. rubicaudatus_, Aud. and Bach. ii., 1851, p. 30, pl. 55; _S. auduboni_, Bach. P.Z.S. 1838, p. 97 (dusky variety); Aud. and Bach. iii., 1854, p. 260, pl. 152, fig. 2; _S. occidentalis_, Aud. and Bach., Journ. Philada. Acad. viii., 1842, p. 317 (dusky variety); _S. sayii_, Aud. and Bach. ii., 1851, p. 274, pl. 89. The last is ostensibly based on the species described by Say, whose name _macroura_ was preoccupied for a Ceylonese species. The Western Fox Squirrel has also been called _S. rufiventer_ and _S. magnicaudatus_, both of which names appear in Harlan's Fauna Americana, 1825, p. 176 and p. 178.--E. C. [255] Audubon underscores "city" as a bit of satire, Glasgow being at that time a mere village or hamlet.--E. C. [256] This is the stream then as now known as Grand River, which at its mouth separates Chariton from Carroll County, Mo. Here is the site of Brunswick, or New Brunswick, which Audubon presently mentions.--E. C. [257] From the French "Mulots," field-mice. [258] P. J. de Smet, the Jesuit priest, well known for his missionary labors among various tribes of Indians in the Rocky Mountains, on the Columbia River, and in other parts of the West. His work entitled "Oregon Missions and Travels over the Rocky Mountains in 1845-46" was published in New York by Edward Dunigan in 1847. On p. 39 this book will be found mention of the journey Father de Smet was taking in 1843, when met by Audubon.--E. C. [259] Captain Clark of the U.S.A. [260] The distance of Independence from the mouth of the Missouri is about 376 miles by the Commission charts. In 1843 this town was still, as it long had been, the principal point of departure from the river on the Santa Fé caravan route. Trains starting hence went through Westport, Mo., and so on into the "Indian Territory."--E. C. [261] This is the bird which Audubon first discovered in Labrador, in 1833, and named _Fringilla lincolnii_ in honor of his young companion, Thomas Lincoln. It is described and figured under that name in Orn. Biogr. ii., 1834, p. 539, pl. 193, and as _Peucæa lincolnii_ in B. of Am. iii., 1841, p. 116, pl. 177, but is now known as _Melospiza lincolni_. It ranges throughout the greater part of North America.--E. C. [262] Apparently the very first intimation we have of the beautiful Finch which Audubon dedicated to Mr. Harris as _Fringilla harrisii_, as will be seen further on in his journal. The other birds mentioned in the above text were all well-known species in 1843.--E. C. [263] Black Snake Hills (in the vicinity of St. Joseph, Mo.). "On the 24th we saw the chain of the Blacksnake Hills, but we met with so many obstacles in the river that we did not reach them till towards evening. They are moderate eminences, with many singular forms, with an alternation of open green and wooded spots." (Maximilian, Prince of Wied, "Travels in North America," p. 123.) [264] The measurements in pen and ink are marked over the writing of the journal. As already stated, this bird is _Fringilla harrisii_: Aud. B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 331, pl. 484. It had previously been discovered by Mr. Thomas Nuttall, who ascended the Missouri with Mr. J. K. Townsend in 1834, and named by him _F. querula_ in his Man. Orn. 2d ed. i., 1840, p. 555. Its modern technical name is _Zonotrichia querula_, though it continues to bear the English designation of Harris's Finch.--E. C. [265] That is, the Green-backed or White-bellied Swallow, _Hirundo bicolor_ of Vieillot, _Tachycineta bicolor_ of Cabanis, and _Iridoprocne bicolor_ of Coues.--E. C. [266] The surmise proved to be correct; for this is the now well-known Bell's Vireo, _Vireo bellii_ of Audubon: B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 333, pl. 485.--E. C. [267] No doubt the species named Brewer's Blackbird, _Quiscalus brewerii_ of Audubon, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 345, pl. 492, now known as _Scolecophagus cyanocephalus_.--E. C. [268] The Prairie Hare, _Lepus virginianus_ of Richardson, Fauna Boreali-Americana, i., 1829, p. 229, later described as _L. campestris_ by Bachman, Journ. Philad. Acad. vii., 1837, p. 349, and then described and figured as _L. townsendii_ by Aud. and Bach., Quad. N.A. i., 1849, p. 25, pl. 3. This is the characteristic species of the Great Plains, where it is commonly called "Jack-rabbit."--E. C. [269] Not a good species, but the dusky variety of the protean Western Fox Squirrel, _Sciurus ludovicianus_; for which, see a previous note.--E. C. [270] Or Bellevue, in what is now Sarpy County, Neb., on the right bank of the Missouri, a few miles above the mouth of the Platte.--E. C. [271] Vicinity of present Omaha, Neb., and Council Bluffs, Ia., but somewhat above these places. The present Council Bluffs, in Iowa, is considerably below the position of the original Council Bluff of Lewis and Clark, which Audubon presently notices. See "Lewis and Clark," ed. of 1893, p. 66.--E. C. [272] The journals of Captain Joseph A. Sire, from 1841 to 1848, are extant, and at present in the possession of Captain Joseph La Barge, who has permitted them to be examined by Captain Chittenden. The latter informs us of an interesting entry at date of May 10, 1843, regarding the incident of the military inspection of the "Omega" for contraband liquor, of which Audubon speaks. But the inside history of how cleverly Captain Sire outwitted the military does not appear from the following innocent passage: "_Mercredi, 10 May_. Nous venons trés bien jusqu'aux côtes à Hart, où, à sept heures, nous sommes sommés par un officier de dragons de mettre à terre. Je reçois une note polie du Capt. Burgwin m'informant que son devoir l'oblige de faire visiter le bateau. Aussitôt nous nous mettons à l'ouvrage, et pendant ce temps M. Audubon va faire une visite au Capitaine. Ils reviennent ensemble deux heures après. Je force en quelque sorte l'officier à faire une recherche aussi stricte que possible, mais à la condition qu'il en fera de même avec les autres traiteurs." The two precious hours of Audubon's visit were utilized by the clever captain in so arranging the cargo that no liquor should be found on board by Captain Burgwin.--E. C. [273] John Henry K. Burgwin, cadet at West Point in 1828; in 1843 a captain of the 1st Dragoons. He died Feb. 7, 1847, of wounds received three days before in the assault on Pueblo de Taos, New Mexico.--E. C. [274] The question of the specific identity of the American and European Magpies has been much discussed. Ornithologists now generally compromise the case by considering our bird to be subspecifically distinct, under the name of _Pica pica hudsonica_.--E. C. [275] No doubt Thomas C. Madison of Virginia, appointed Assist. Surg. U.S.A., Feb. 27, 1840. He served as a surgeon of the Confederacy during our Civil War, and died Nov. 7, 1866.--E. C. [276] Council Bluff, so named by Lewis and Clark on Aug. 3, 1804, on which day they and their followers, with a number of Indians, including six chiefs, held a council here, to make terms with the Ottoe and Missouri Indians. The account of the meeting ends thus: "The incident just related induced us to give to this place the name of the Council-bluff; the situation of it is exceedingly favorable for a fort and trading factory, as the soil is well calculated for bricks, there is an abundance of wood in the neighborhood, and the air is pure and healthy." In a foot-note Dr. Coues says: "It was later the site of Fort Calhoun, in the present Washington Co., Neb. We must also remember, in attempting to fix this spot, how much the Missouri has altered its course since 1804." ("Expedition of Lewis and Clark," 1893, p. 65.) [277] This Wolf is to be distinguished from the Prairie Wolf, _Canis latrans_, which Audubon has already mentioned. It is the common large Wolf of North America, of which Audubon has much to say in the sequel; and wherever he speaks of "Wolves" without specification, we are to understand that this is the animal meant. It occurs in several different color-variations, from quite blackish through different reddish and brindled grayish shades to nearly white. The variety above mentioned is that named by Dr. Richardson _griseo-albus_, commonly known in the West as the Buffalo Wolf and the Timber Wolf. Mr. Thomas Say named one of the dark varieties _Canis nubilus_ in 1823; and naturalists who consider the American Wolf to be specifically distinct from _Canis lupus_ of Europe now generally name the brindled variety _C. nubilus griseo-albus_.--E. C. [278] Little Sioux River of present geography, in Harrison Co., Iowa: see "Lewis and Clark," ed. of 1893, p. 69.--E. C. [279] Otherwise known as the Mule Deer, from the great size of the ears, and the peculiar shape of the tail, which is white with a black tuft at the tip, and suggests that of the Mule. It is a fine large species, next to the Elk or Wapiti in stature, and first became generally known from the expedition of Lewis and Clark. It is the _Cervus macrotis_ of Say, figured and described under this name by Aud. and Bach. Quad. N.A. ii., 1851, p. 206, pl. 78, and commonly called by later naturalists _Cariacus macrotis_. But its first scientific designation is _Damelaphus hemionus_, given by C. S. Rafinesque in 1817.--E. C. [280] Wood's Bluff has long ceased to be known by this name, but there is no doubt from what Audubon next says of Blackbird Hill, that the bluff in question is that on the west or right bank of the river, at and near Decatur, Burt Co., Neb.; the line between Burt and Blackbird counties cuts through the bluff, leaving most of it in the latter county. See Lewis and Clark, ed. of 1893, p. 71, date of Aug. 10, 1804, where "a cliff of yellow stone on the left" is mentioned. This is Wood's Bluff; the situation is 750 miles up the river by the Commission Charts.--E. C. [281] Blackbird Hill. "Aug. 11 [1804].... We halted on the south side for the purpose of examining a spot where one of the great chiefs of the Mahas [Omahas], named Blackbird, who died about four years ago, of the smallpox, was buried. A hill of yellow soft sandstone rises from the river in bluffs of various heights, till it ends in a knoll about 300 feet above the water; on the top of this a mound, of twelve feet diameter at the base, and six feet high, is raised over the body of the deceased king, a pole about eight feet high is fixed in the centre, on which we placed a white flag, bordered with red, blue, and white. Blackbird seems to have been a person of great consideration, for ever since his death he has been supplied with provisions, from time to time, by the superstitious regard of the Mahas." ("Expedition of Lewis and Clark," by Elliott Coues, 1893, p. 71.) "The 7th of May (1833) we reached the chain of hills on the left bank; ... these are called Wood's Hills, and do not extend very far. On one of them we saw a small conical mound, which is the grave of the celebrated Omaha chief Washinga-Sabba (the Blackbird). In James' 'Narrative of Major Long's Expedition,' is a circumstantial account of this remarkable and powerful chief, who was a friend to the white man; he contrived, by means of arsenic, to make himself feared and dreaded, and passed for a magician.... An epidemical smallpox carried him off, with a great part of his nation, in 1800, and he was buried, sitting upright, upon a live mule, at the top of a green hill on Wakonda Creek. When dying he gave orders they should bury him on that hill, with his face turned to the country of the whites." ("Travels in North America," Maximilian, Prince of Wied.) Irving, in chap. xvi. of "Astoria," gives a long account of Blackbird, based on Bradbury and Brackenridge, but places his death in 1802, incorrectly; and ends: "The Missouri washes the base of the promontory, and after winding and doubling in many links and mazes, returns to within nine hundred yards of its starting-place; so that for thirty miles the voyager finds himself continually near to this singular promontory, as if spell bound. It was the dying command of Blackbird, that his tomb should be on the summit of this hill, in which he should be interred, seated on his favorite horse, that he might overlook his ancient domain, and behold the backs of the white men as they came up the river to trade with his people." [282] "Aug. 20th, 1804. Here we had the misfortune to lose one of our sergeants, Charles Floyd.... He was buried on the top of the bluff with the honors due to a brave soldier; the place of his interment was marked by a cedar post, on which his name and the day of his death were inscribed." ("Expedition of Lewis and Clark," by Elliott Coues, p. 79.) "On the following day [May 8, 1833] we came to Floyd's grave, where the sergeant of that name was buried by Lewis and Clark. The bank on either side is low. The left is covered with poplars; on the right, behind the wood, rises a hill like the roof of a building, at the top of which Floyd is buried. A short stick marks the place where he is laid, and has often been renewed by travellers, when the fires in the prairie have destroyed it." ("Travels in North America," p. 134, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.)--M. R. A. Floyd's grave became a landmark for many years, and is noticed by most of the travellers who have written of voyaging on the Missouri. In 1857 the river washed away the face of the bluff to such an extent that the remains were exposed. These were gathered and reburied about 200 yards further back on the same bluff. This new grave became obliterated in the course of time, but in 1895 it was rediscovered after careful search. The bones were exhumed by a committee of citizens of Sioux City; and on Aug. 20 of that year, the 91st anniversary of Floyd's death, were reburied in the same spot with imposing ceremonies, attended by a concourse of several hundred persons. A large flat stone slab, with suitable inscription, now marks the spot, and the Floyd Memorial Association, which was formed at the time of the third burial, proposes to erect a monument to Floyd in a park to be established on the bluff.--E. C. [283] Which separates Iowa from South Dakota. Here the Missouri ceases to separate Nebraska from Iowa, and begins to separate Nebraska from South Dakota. Audubon is therefore at the point where these three States come together. He is also just on the edge of Sioux City, Iowa, which extends along the left bank of the Missouri from the vicinity of Floyd's Bluff to the Big Sioux River.--E. C. [284] This is Captain Joseph La Barge, the oldest living pilot on the Missouri, and probably now the sole survivor of the "Omega" voyage of 1843. He was born Oct. 1, 1815, of French parentage, his father having come to St. Louis, Mo., from Canada, and his mother from lower Louisiana. The family has been identified with the navigation of the Western rivers from the beginning of the century, and in 1850 there were seven licensed pilots of that name in the port of St. Louis. Captain Joseph La Barge still lives in St. Louis, at the age of eighty-two, and has a vivid recollection of Audubon's voyage of 1843, some incidents of which he has kindly communicated through Captain H. M. Chittenden, U.S. army. [285] Vermilion is still the name of this river, and also of the town at its mouth which has replaced old Fort Vermilion, and is now the seat of Clay County, South Dakota. On the opposite side of the Missouri is Dixon Co., Nebraska. The stream was once known as Whitestone River, as given in "Lewis and Clark."--E. C. [286] As Audubon thus gently chides the extravagant statements of George Catlin, the well-known painter and panegyrist of the Indian, it may be well to state here that his own account of the putridity of drowned buffalo which the Indians eat with relish is not in the least exaggerated. Mr. Alexander Henry, the fur-trader of the North West Company, while at the Mandans in 1806, noticed the same thing that Audubon narrates, and described it in similar terms. [287] "The Puncas, as they are now universally called, or as some travellers formerly called them, Poncaras, or Poncars, the Pons of the French, were originally a branch of the Omahas, and speak nearly the same language. They have, however, long been separated from them, and dwell on both sides of Running-water River (L'Eau qui Court) and on Punca Creek, which Lewis and Clark call Poncara. They are said to have been brave warriors, but have been greatly reduced by war and the small-pox. According to Dr. Morse's report, they numbered in 1822 1,750 in all; at present the total number is estimated at about 300." ("Travels in North America," Maximilian, Prince of Wied, p. 137.) "Poncar, Poncha, Ponca or Ponka, Punka, Puncah, etc. 'The remnant of a nation once respectable in point of numbers. They formerly [before 1805] resided on a branch of the Red River of Lake Winnipie; being oppressed by the Sioux, they removed to the west side of the Missouri on Poncar River ... and now reside with the Mahas, whose language they speak." ("Lewis and Clark," p. 109, ed. 1893.) [288] Wm. Laidlaw was a member of the Columbia Fur Company at the time of its absorption by the Western Department of the American Fur Company, his service with the latter being mainly at Fort Pierre. With the exception, perhaps, of Kenneth McKenzie, also of the Columbia Fur Company, Laidlaw was the ablest of the Upper Missouri traders. [289] This is Andrew Dripps, one of the early traders, long associated with Lucien Fontenelle, under the firm name of Fontenelle and Dripps, in the Rocky Mountain Fur Trade. In later years he was appointed Indian Agent, and was serving in that capacity during the "Omega" voyage of 1843.--E. C. [290] This is the largest river which enters the Missouri thus far above Big Sioux River, coming from the north through South Dakota. The origin of the name, as given by Audubon, is known to few persons. _Jacques_ is French for "James," and the stream has oftener been known as James River. Another of its names was Yankton River, derived from that of a tribe of the Sioux. But it is now usually called Dakota River, and will be found by this name on most modern maps.--E. C. [291] It is not difficult to identify these five streams, though only one of them is of considerable size. See "Lewis and Clark," ed. of 1893, pp. 106-108. 1st. "Manuel" River is Plum Creek of Lewis and Clark, falling into the Missouri at Springfield, Bonhomme Co., S.D. It is Wananri River of Nicollet and of Warren; to be found on the General Land Office maps as Emanuel Creek, named for Manuel da Lisa, a noted trader on the Missouri in early days. 2d. "Basil" River is White Paint Creek of Lewis and Clark, falling in on the Nebraska side, a little below the mouth of the Niobrara, at the 935th mile point of the Missouri. The modern name is variously spelled Bazile, Basille, Bozzie, etc. 3d. L'Eau qui Court is of course the well-known Niobrara River. 4th. Ponca River falls in a mile or two above the Niobrara, on the same side of the Missouri. 5th. Chouteau Creek is present name of the stream next above, on the other side of the Missouri, at the 950th mile point.--E. C. [292] L'Eau qui Court River has been called Rapid River, Spreading Water, Running Water, and Quicourt. "This river rises in the Black Hills, near the sources of Tongue River, and discharges itself into the Missouri about 1,000 miles from its mouth. The mouth is said to be 150 paces broad, and its current very rapid. There are said to be hot springs in this neighborhood, such as are known to exist in several places on the banks of the Missouri." ("Travels in North America," Maximilian, Prince of Wied, p. 141.) [293] "'Cedar' is the name which has been applied by various authors to several different islands, many miles apart, in this portion of the river.... We reached an island extending for two miles in the middle of the river, covered with red cedar, from which it derives its name of Cedar Island." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. of 1893.) "Cedar Island is said to be 1075 miles from the mouth of the Missouri. On the steep banks of this long, narrow island which lies near the southwest bank, there were thickets of poplars, willows, and buffalo-berry; the rest of the island is covered with a dark forest of red cedars, of which we immediately felled a goodly number. The notes of numerous birds were heard in the gloom of the cedar forest, into which no ray of sun could penetrate. Here, too, we found everywhere traces of the elks and stags, and saw where they had rubbed off the bark with their antlers." ("Travels in North America," Maximilian, Prince of Wied, p. 144.) [294] Translating the usual French name (_pomme blanche_) of the _Psoralea esculenta_. [295] This is Audubon's first mention of the Western Meadow Lark, which he afterward decided to be a distinct species and named _Sturnella neglecta_, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 339, pl. 487. It is interesting to find him noting the difference in the song from that of the Eastern species before he had had an opportunity of examining the bird itself.--E. C. [296] "Grand Town" is perhaps the large prairie-dog village which once covered several acres on the right bank of the Missouri, in the vicinity of the butte known as the Dome, or Tower, between Yankton and Fort Randall.--E. C. [297] May 24 is the date given by Audubon, B. Amer. viii., p. 338, as that on which Mr. Bell shot the specimen which became type of _Emberiza Le Conteii_, figured on plate 488. This bird is now _Ammodramus_ (_Coturniculus_) _lecontei_; it long remained an extreme rarity.--E. C. [298] The common Prairie Hare, _Lepus campestris_, for which see a previous note.--E. C. [299] La Rivière Blanche of the French, also sometimes called White Earth River, and Mankizitah River; a considerable stream which falls into the right bank of the Missouri in Lyman Co., South Dakota, at the 1056 mile point of the Commission charts.--E. C. [300] So called from its size, in distinction from the Cedar Island already mentioned on p. 505. This is Second Cedar Island of Warren's and Nicollet's maps, noticed by Lewis and Clark, Sept. 18, 1804, as "nearly a mile in length and covered with red cedar." It was once the site of an establishment called Fort Recovery. The position is near the 1070th-mile point of the Missouri.--E. C. [301] Audubon probably refers to the brief description in his own Synopsis of 1839, p. 103, a copy of which no doubt accompanied him up the Missouri. He had described and figured what he supposed to be _Emberiza pallida_ in the Orn. Biogr. v., 1839, p. 66, pl. 398, fig. 2; B. Amer. iii., 1841, p. 71, pl. 161, from specimens taken in the Rocky Mts. by J. K. Townsend, June 15, 1834. But this bird was not the true _pallida_ of Swainson, being that afterwards called _Spizella breweri_ by Cassin, Pr. Acad. Philad., 1856, p. 40. The true _pallida_ of Swainson is what Audubon described as _Emberiza shattuckii_, B. Amer. vii., 1844, p. 347, pl. 493, naming it for Dr. Geo. C. Shattuck, of Boston, one of his Labrador companions. He speaks of it as "abundant throughout the country bordering the upper Missouri;" and all mention in the present Journal of the "Clay-colored Bunting," or "_Emberiza pallida_," refers to what Audubon later named Shattuck's Bunting--not to what he gives as _Emberiza pallida_ in the Orn. Biog. and Synopsis of 1839; for the latter is _Spizella breweri_.--E. C. [302] Situated on the right bank of the Missouri, in Presho Co., South Dakota. See "Lewis and Clark," ed. of 1893, p. 127.--E. C. [303] This "cabin on the opposite shore" was somewhere in the vicinity of Rousseau, at or near the mouth of present Little Medicine Creek (formerly East Medicine Knoll River, originally named Reuben's Creek by Lewis and Clark, after Reuben Fields, one of their men).--E. C. [304] Or Antelope Creek, then as now the name of the small stream which falls into the Missouri on the right bank, about 10 miles below the mouth of the Teton. It has also been known as Cabri Creek, Katota Tokah, and High-water Creek, the latter being the designation originally bestowed by Lewis and Clark, Sept. 24, 1804. It runs in Presho Co., S. Dak.--E. C. [305] The _old_ fort of this name was three miles above the mouth of the Teton River; this was abandoned, and another fort built, higher up, on the west bank of the Missouri. The Prince of Wied reached this fort on the fifty-first day of his voyage up the Missouri, and Audubon on the thirty-third of his; a gain in time which may possibly be attributed both to better weather and to the improvement in steamboats during ten years. The Prince says: "Fort Pierre is one of the most considerable settlements of the Fur Company on the Missouri, and forms a large quadrangle surrounded by pickets. Seven thousand buffalo skins and other furs were put on board our boat to take to St. Louis.... The leather tents of the Sioux Indians, the most distinguished being that of the old interpreter, Dorion (or Durion), a half Sioux, who is mentioned by many travellers, and resides here with his Indian family. His tent was large, and painted red; at the top of the poles composing the frame, several scalps hung." ("Travels in North America," p. 156, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.) [306] W. G. Bakewell was Audubon's brother-in-law; James Hall, brother of Mrs. John W. Audubon; J. W. H. Page, of New Bedford. Thomas Mayo Brewer, who became a noted ornithologist, edited the 12mo edition of Wilson, wrote Part I. of the "Oölogy of North America," which was published by the Smithsonian Institution in 1857, and was one of the authors of Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway's "History of North American Birds." He died in Boston Jan. 23, 1880, having been born there Nov. 21, 1814. He is notorious for his mistaken zeal in introducing the English Sparrow in this country.--E. C. [307] The Teton, or Bad River, has long ceased to be known as the Little Missouri,--a name now applied to another branch of the Missouri, which falls in from the south much higher up, about 23 miles above present Fort Berthold. Teton River was so named by Lewis and Clark, Sept. 24, 1804, from the tribe of Sioux found at its mouth: see the History of the Expedition, ed. of 1893, p. 131, and compare p. 267. The Indian name was Chicha, Schicha, or Shisha.--E. C. [308] Wilson's Meadow Mouse. This is the name used by Aud. and Bach. Quad. N. Am. i., 1849, p. 341, pl. 45, for the _Arvicola riparius_ of Ord, now known as _Microtus riparius_. But the specimen brought to Audubon can only be very doubtfully referred to this species.--E. C. [309] This is spelt thus in the Journal, and also on Tanner's map of 1829: see also Lewis and Clark, ed. of 1893, p. 152. The "Moroe" River of the above text is present Moreau River, falling into the Missouri from the west in Dewey Co., S. Dak. Grand River was also known by its Arikara name, Weterhoo, or Wetarhoo. Rampart River is about two miles above Grand River; it was also called Maropa River.--E. C. 
4125	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 PREFACE Although the Diary of Samuel Pepys has been in the hands of the public for nearly seventy years, it has not hitherto appeared in its entirety. In the original edition of 1825 scarcely half of the manuscript was printed. Lord Braybrooke added some passages as the various editions were published, but in the preface to his last edition he wrote: "there appeared indeed no necessity to amplify or in any way to alter the text of the Diary beyond the correction of a few verbal errors and corrupt passages hitherto overlooked." The public knew nothing as to what was left unprinted, and there was therefore a general feeling of gratification when it was announced some eighteen years ago that a new edition was to be published by the Rev. Mynors Bright, with the addition of new matter equal to a third of the whole. It was understood that at last the Diary was to appear in its entirety, but there was a passage in Mr. Bright's preface which suggested a doubt respecting the necessary completeness. He wrote: "It would have been tedious to the reader if I had copied from the Diary the account of his daily work at the office." As a matter of fact, Mr. Bright left roughly speaking about one-fifth of the whole Diary still unprinted, although he transcribed the whole, and bequeathed his transcript to Magdalene College. It has now been decided that the whole of the Diary shall be made public, with the exception of a few passages which cannot possibly be printed. It may be thought by some that these omissions are due to an unnecessary squeamishness, but it is not really so, and readers are therefore asked to have faith in the judgment of the editor. Where any passages have been omitted marks of omission are added, so that in all cases readers will know where anything has been left out. Lord Braybrooke made the remark in his "Life of Pepys," that "the cipher employed by him greatly resembles that known by the name of 'Rich's system.'" When Mr. Bright came to decipher the MS., he discovered that the shorthand system used by Pepys was an earlier one than Rich's, viz., that of Thomas Shelton, who made his system public in 1620. In his various editions Lord Braybrooke gave a large number of valuable notes, in the collection and arrangement of which he was assisted by the late Mr. John Holmes of the British Museum, and the late Mr. James Yeowell, sometime sub-editor of "Notes and Queries." Where these notes are left unaltered in the present edition the letter "B." has been affixed to them, but in many instances the notes have been altered and added to from later information, and in these cases no mark is affixed. A large number of additional notes are now supplied, but still much has had to be left unexplained. Many persons are mentioned in the Diary who were little known in the outer world, and in some instances it has been impossible to identify them. In other cases, however, it has been possible to throw light upon these persons by reference to different portions of the Diary itself. I would here ask the kind assistance of any reader who is able to illustrate passages that have been left unnoted. I have received much assistance from the various books in which the Diary is quoted. Every writer on the period covered by the Diary has been pleased to illustrate his subject by quotations from Pepys, and from these books it has often been possible to find information which helps to explain difficult passages in the Diary. Much illustrative matter of value was obtained by Lord Braybrooke from the "Diurnall" of Thomas Rugge, which is preserved in the British Museum (Add. MSS. 10,116, 10,117). The following is the description of this interesting work as given by Lord Braybrooke "MERCURIUS POLITICUS REDIVIVUS; or, A Collection of the most materiall occurrances and transactions in Public Affairs since Anno Dni, 1659, untill 28 March, 1672, serving as an annuall diurnall for future satisfaction and information, BY THOMAS RUGGE. Est natura hominum novitatis avida.--Plinius. "This MS. belonged, in 1693, to Thomas Grey, second Earl of Stamford. It has his autograph at the commencement, and on the sides are his arms (four quarterings) in gold. In 1819, it was sold by auction in London, as part of the collection of Thomas Lloyd, Esq. (No. 1465), and was then bought by Thomas Thorpe, bookseller. Whilst Mr. Lloyd was the possessor, the MS. was lent to Dr. Lingard, whose note of thanks to Mr. Lloyd is preserved in the volume. From Thorpe it appears to have passed to Mr. Heber, at the sale of whose MSS. in Feb. 1836, by Mr. Evans, of Pall Mall, it was purchased by the British Museum for L8 8s. "Thomas Rugge was descended from an ancient Norfolk family, and two of his ancestors are described as Aldermen of Norwich. His death has been ascertained to have occurred about 1672; and in the Diary for the preceding year he complains that on account of his declining health, his entries will be but few. Nothing has been traced of his personal circumstances beyond the fact of his having lived for fourteen years in Covent Garden, then a fashionable locality." Another work I have found of the greatest value is the late Mr. J. E. Doyle's "Official Baronage of England" (1886), which contains a mass of valuable information not easily to be obtained elsewhere. By reference to its pages I have been enabled to correct several erroneous dates in previous notes caused by a very natural confusion of years in the case of the months of January, February, and March, before it was finally fixed that the year should commence in January instead of March. More confusion has probably been introduced into history from this than from any other cause of a like nature. The reference to two years, as in the case of, say, Jan. 5, 1661-62, may appear clumsy, but it is the only safe plan of notation. If one year only is mentioned, the reader is never sure whether or not the correction has been made. It is a matter for sincere regret that the popular support was withheld from Mr. Doyle's important undertaking, so that the author's intention of publishing further volumes, containing the Baronies not dealt with in those already published, was frustrated. My labours have been much lightened by the kind help which I have received from those interested in the subject. Lovers of Pepys are numerous, and I have found those I have applied to ever willing to give me such information as they possess. It is a singular pleasure, therefore, to have an opportunity of expressing publicly my thanks to these gentlemen, and among them I would especially mention Messrs. Fennell, Danby P. Fry, J. Eliot Hodgkin, Henry Jackson, J. K. Laughton, Julian Marshall, John Biddulph Martin, J. E. Matthew, Philip Norman, Richard B. Prosser, and Hugh Callendar, Fellow of Trinity College, who verified some of the passages in the manuscript. To the Master and Fellows of Magdalene College, also, I am especially indebted for allowing me to consult the treasures of the Pepysian Library, and more particularly my thanks are due to Mr. Arthur G. Peskett, the Librarian. H. B. W. BRAMPTON, OPPIDANS ROAD, LONDON, N.W. February, 1893. PREVIOUS EDITIONS OF THE DIARY. I. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II., comprising his Diary from 1659 to 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, A.B., of St. John's College, Cambridge, from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library, and a Selection from his Private Correspondence. Edited by Richard, Lord Braybrooke. In two volumes. London, Henry Colburn... 1825. 4vo. 2. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S.... Second edition. In five volumes. London, Henry Colburn.... 1828. 8vo. 3. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II.; with a Life and Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke; the third edition, considerably enlarged. London, Henry Colburn.... 1848-49. 5 vols. sm. 8vo. 4. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S.... The fourth edition, revised and corrected. In four volumes. London, published for Henry Colburn by his successors, Hurst and Blackett... 1854. 8vo. The copyright of Lord Braybrooke's edition was purchased by the late Mr. Henry G. Bohn, who added the book to his Historical Library. 5. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., from his MS. Cypber in the Pepysian Library, with a Life and Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke. Deciphered, with additional notes, by the Rev. Mynors Bright, M.A.... London, Bickers and Son, 1875-79. 6 vols. 8vo. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 being out of copyright have been reprinted by various publishers. No. 5 is out of print. PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF SAMUEL PEPYS. The family of Pepys is one of considerable antiquity in the east of England, and the Hon. Walter Courtenay Pepys [Mr. W. C. Pepys has paid great attention to the history of his family, and in 1887 he published an interesting work entitled "Genealogy of the Pepys Family, 1273-1887," London, George Bell and Sons, which contains the fullest pedigrees of the family yet issued.] says that the first mention of the name that he has been able to find is in the Hundred Rolls (Edw. I, 1273), where Richard Pepis and John Pepes are registered as holding lands in the county of Cambridge. In the next century the name of William Pepis is found in deeds relating to lands in the parish of Cottenham, co. Cambridge, dated 1329 and 1340 respectively (Cole MSS., British Museum, vol. i., p. 56; vol. xlii., p. 44). According to the Court Roll of the manor of Pelhams, in the parish of Cottenham, Thomas Pepys was "bayliffe of the Abbot of Crowland in 1434," but in spite of these references, as well as others to persons of the same name at Braintree, Essex, Depedale, Norfolk, &c., the first ancestor of the existing branches of the family from whom Mr. Walter Pepys is able to trace an undoubted descent, is "William Pepis the elder, of Cottenham, co. Cambridge," whose will is dated 20th March, 1519. In 1852 a curious manuscript volume, bound in vellum, and entitled "Liber Talboti Pepys de instrumentis ad Feoda pertinentibus exemplificatis," was discovered in an old chest in the parish church of Bolney, Sussex, by the vicar, the Rev. John Dale, who delivered it to Henry Pepys, Bishop of Worcester, and the book is still in the possession of the family. This volume contains various genealogical entries, and among them are references to the Thomas Pepys of 1434 mentioned above, and to the later William Pepys. The reference to the latter runs thus:-- "A Noate written out of an ould Booke of my uncle William Pepys." "William Pepys, who died at Cottenham, 10 H. 8, was brought up by the Abbat of Crowland, in Huntingdonshire, and he was borne in Dunbar, in Scotland, a gentleman, whom the said Abbat did make his Bayliffe of all his lands in Cambridgeshire, and placed him in Cottenham, which William aforesaid had three sonnes, Thomas, John, and William, to whom Margaret was mother naturallie, all of whom left issue." In illustration of this entry we may refer to the Diary of June 12th, 1667, where it is written that Roger Pepys told Samuel that "we did certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland." The references to various members of the family settled in Cottenham and elsewhere, at an early date already alluded to, seem to show that there is little foundation for this very positive statement. With regard to the standing of the family, Mr. Walter Pepys writes:-- "The first of the name in 1273 were evidently but small copyholders. Within 150 years (1420) three or four of the name had entered the priesthood, and others had become connected with the monastery of Croyland as bailiffs, &c. In 250 years (1520) there were certainly two families: one at Cottenham, co. Cambridge, and another at Braintree, co. Essex, in comfortable circumstances as yeomen farmers. Within fifty years more (1563), one of the family, Thomas, of Southcreeke, co. Norfolk, had entered the ranks of the gentry sufficiently to have his coat-of-arms recognized by the Herald Cooke, who conducted the Visitation of Norfolk in that year. From that date the majority of the family have been in good circumstances, with perhaps more than the average of its members taking up public positions." There is a very general notion that Samuel Pepys was of plebeian birth because his father followed the trade of a tailor, and his own remark, "But I believe indeed our family were never considerable,"--[February 10th, 1661-62.] has been brought forward in corroboration of this view, but nothing can possibly be more erroneous, and there can be no doubt that the Diarist was really proud of his descent. This may be seen from the inscription on one of his book-plates, where he is stated to be:-- "Samuel Pepys of Brampton in Huntingdonshire, Esq., Secretary of the Admiralty to his Matr. King Charles the Second: Descended from ye antient family of Pepys of Cottenham in Cambridgeshire." Many members of the family have greatly distinguished themselves since the Diarist's day, and of them Mr. Foss wrote ("Judges of England," vol. vi., p. 467):-- "In the family of Pepys is illustrated every gradation of legal rank from Reader of an Inn of Court to Lord High Chancellor of England." The William Pepys of Cottenham who commences the pedigree had three sons and three daughters; from the eldest son (Thomas) descended the first Norfolk branch, from the second son (John Pepys of Southcreeke) descended the second Norfolk branch, and from the third son (William) descended the Impington branch. The latter William had four sons and two daughters; two of these sons were named Thomas, and as they were both living at the same time one was distinguished as "the black" and the other as "the red." Thomas the red had four sons and four daughters. John, born 1601, was the third son, and he became the father of Samuel the Diarist. Little is known of John Pepys, but we learn when the Diary opens that he was settled in London as a tailor. He does not appear to have been a successful man, and his son on August 26th, 1661, found that there was only L45 owing to him, and that he owed about the same sum. He was a citizen of London in 1650, when his son Samuel was admitted to Magdalene College, but at an earlier period he appears to have had business relations with Holland. In August, 1661, John Pepys retired to a small property at Brampton (worth about L80 per annum), which had been left to him by his eldest brother, Robert Pepys, where he died in 1680. The following is a copy of John Pepys's will: "MY FATHER'S WILL. [Indorsement by S. Pepys.] "Memorandum. That I, John Pepys of Ellington, in the county of Huntingdon, Gent.", doe declare my mind in the disposall of my worldly goods as followeth: "First, I desire that my lands and goods left mee by my brother, Robert Pepys, deceased, bee delivered up to my eldest son, Samuell Pepys, of London, Esqr., according as is expressed in the last Will of my brother Robert aforesaid. "Secondly, As for what goods I have brought from London, or procured since, and what moneys I shall leave behind me or due to me, I desire may be disposed of as followeth: "Imprimis, I give to the stock of the poore of the parish of Brampton, in which church I desire to be enterred, five pounds. "Item. I give to the Poore of Ellington forty shillings. "Item. I desire that my two grandsons, Samuell and John Jackson, have ten pounds a piece. "Item. I desire that my daughter, Paulina Jackson, may have my largest silver tankerd. "Item. I desire that my son John Pepys may have my gold seale-ring. "Lastly. I desire that the remainder of what I shall leave be equally distributed between my sons Samuel and John Pepys and my daughter Paulina Jackson. "All which I leave to the care of my eldest son Samuel Pepys, to see performed, if he shall think fit. "In witness hereunto I set my hand." His wife Margaret, whose maiden name has not been discovered, died on the 25th March, 1667, also at Brampton. The family of these two consisted of six sons and five daughters: John (born 1632, died 1640), Samuel (born 1633, died 1703), Thomas (born 1634, died 1664), Jacob (born 1637, died young), Robert (born 1638, died young), and John (born 1641, died 1677); Mary (born 1627), Paulina (born 1628), Esther (born 1630), Sarah (born 1635; these four girls all died young), and Paulina (born 1640, died 1680), who married John Jackson of Brampton, and had two sons, Samuel and John. The latter was made his heir by Samuel Pepys. Samuel Pepys was born on the 23rd February, 1632-3, but the place of birth is not known with certainty. Samuel Knight, D.D., author of the "Life of Colet," who was a connection of the family (having married Hannah Pepys, daughter of Talbot Pepys of Impington), says positively that it was at Brampton. His statement cannot be corroborated by the registers of Brampton church, as these records do not commence until the year 1654. Samuel's early youth appears to have been spent pretty equally between town and country. When he and his brother Tom were children they lived with a nurse (Goody Lawrence) at Kingsland, and in after life Samuel refers to his habit of shooting with bow and arrow in the fields around that place. He then went to school at Huntingdon, from which he was transferred to St. Paul's School in London. He remained at the latter place until 1650, early in which year his name was entered as a sizar on the boards of Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He was admitted on the 21st June, but subsequently he transferred his allegiance to Magdalene College, where he was admitted a sizar on the 1st October of this same year. He did not enter into residence until March 5th, 1650-51, but in the following month he was elected to one of Mr. Spendluffe's scholarships, and two years later (October 14th, 1653) he was preferred to one on Dr. John Smith's foundation. Little or nothing is known of Pepys's career at college, but soon after obtaining the Smith scholarship he got into trouble, and, with a companion, was admonished for being drunk. [October 21st, 1653. "Memorandum: that Peapys and Hind were solemnly admonished by myself and Mr. Hill, for having been scandalously over-served with drink ye night before. This was done in the presence of all the Fellows then resident, in Mr. Hill's chamber.--JOHN WOOD, Registrar." (From the Registrar's-book of Magdalene College.)] His time, however, was not wasted, and there is evidence that he carried into his busy life a fair stock of classical learning and a true love of letters. Throughout his life he looked back with pleasure to the time he spent at the University, and his college was remembered in his will when he bequeathed his valuable library. In this same year, 1653, he graduated B.A. On the 1st of December, 1655, when he was still without any settled means of support, he married Elizabeth St. Michel, a beautiful and portionless girl of fifteen. Her father, Alexander Marchant, Sieur de St. Michel, was of a good family in Anjou, and son of the High Sheriff of Bauge (in Anjou). Having turned Huguenot at the age of twenty-one, when in the German service, his father disinherited him, and he also lost the reversion of some L20,000 sterling which his uncle, a rich French canon, intended to bequeath to him before he left the Roman Catholic church. He came over to England in the retinue of Henrietta Maria on her marriage with Charles I, but the queen dismissed him on finding that he was a Protestant and did not attend mass. Being a handsome man, with courtly manners, he found favour in the sight of the widow of an Irish squire (daughter of Sir Francis Kingsmill), who married him against the wishes of her family. After the marriage, Alexander St. Michel and his wife having raised some fifteen hundred pounds, started, for France in the hope of recovering some part of the family property. They were unfortunate in all their movements, and on their journey to France were taken prisoners by the Dunkirkers, who stripped them of all their property. They now settled at Bideford in Devonshire, and here or near by were born Elizabeth and the rest of the family. At a later period St. Michel served against the Spaniards at the taking of Dunkirk and Arras, and settled at Paris. He was an unfortunate man throughout life, and his son Balthasar says of him: "My father at last grew full of whimsies and propositions of perpetual motion, &c., to kings, princes and others, which soaked his pocket, and brought all our family so low by his not minding anything else, spending all he had got and getting no other employment to bring in more." While he was away from Paris, some "deluding papists" and "pretended devouts" persuaded Madame St. Michel to place her daughter in the nunnery of the Ursulines. When the father heard of this, he hurried back, and managed to get Elizabeth out of the nunnery after she had been there twelve days. Thinking that France was a dangerous place to live in, he removed his family to England, where soon afterwards his daughter was married, although, as Lord Braybrooke remarks, we are not told how she became acquainted with Pepys. St. Michel was greatly pleased that his daughter had become the wife of a true Protestant, and she herself said to him, kissing his eyes: "Dear father, though in my tender years I was by my low fortune in this world deluded to popery, by the fond dictates thereof I have now (joined with my riper years, which give me some understanding) a man to my husband too wise and one too religious to the Protestant religion to suffer my thoughts to bend that way any more." [These particulars are obtained from an interesting letter from Balthasar St. Michel to Pepys, dated "Deal, Feb. 8, 1673-4," and printed in "Life, Journals, and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys," 1841, vol. i., pp. 146-53.] Alexander St. Michel kept up his character for fecklessness through life, and took out patents for curing smoking chimneys, purifying water, and moulding bricks. In 1667 he petitioned the king, asserting that he had discovered King Solomon's gold and silver mines, and the Diary of the same date contains a curious commentary upon these visions of wealth:-- "March 29, 1667. 4s. a week which his (Balty St. Michel's) father receives of the French church is all the subsistence his father and mother have, and about; L20 a year maintains them." As already noted, Pepys was married on December 1st, 1655. This date is given on the authority of the Registers of St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, [The late Mr. T. C. Noble kindly communicated to me a copy of the original marriage certificate, which is as follows: "Samuell Peps of this parish Gent. & Elizabeth De Snt. Michell of Martins in the fields, Spinster. Published October 19tn, 22nd, 29th 1655, and were married by Richard Sherwin Esqr one of the justices of the Peace of the Cittie and Lyberties of Westm. December 1st. (Signed) Ri. Sherwin."] but strangely enough Pepys himself supposed his wedding day to have been October 10th. Lord Braybrooke remarks on this, "It is notorious that the registers in those times were very ill kept, of which we have here a striking instance.... Surely a man who kept a diary could not have made such a blunder." What is even more strange than Pepys's conviction that he was married on October 10th is Mrs. Pepys's agreement with him: On October 10th, 1666, we read, "So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night, but how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten." Here Mrs. Pepys was wrong, as it was eleven years; so she may have been wrong in the day also. In spite of the high authority of Mr. and Mrs. Pepys on a question so interesting to them both, we must accept the register as conclusive on this point until further evidence of its incorrectness is forthcoming. Sir Edward Montage (afterwards Earl of Sandwich), who was Pepys's first cousin one remove (Pepys's grandfather and Montage's mother being brother and sister), was a true friend to his poor kinsman, and he at once held out a helping hand to the imprudent couple, allowing them to live in his house. John Pepys does not appear to have been in sufficiently good circumstances to pay for the education of his son, and it seems probable that Samuel went to the university under his influential cousin's patronage. At all events he owed his success in life primarily to Montage, to whom he appears to have acted as a sort of agent. On March 26th, 1658, he underwent a successful operation for the stone, and we find him celebrating each anniversary of this important event of his life with thanksgiving. He went through life with little trouble on this score, but when he died at the age of seventy a nest of seven stones was found in his left kidney. ["June 10th, 1669. I went this evening to London, to carry Mr. Pepys to my brother Richard, now exceedingly afflicted with the stone, who had been successfully cut, and carried the stone, as big as a tennis ball, to show him and encourage his resolution to go thro' the operation."--Evelyn's Diary.] In June, 1659, Pepys accompanied Sir Edward Montage in the "Naseby," when the Admiral of the Baltic Fleet and Algernon Sidney went to the Sound as joint commissioners. It was then that Montage corresponded with Charles II., but he had to be very secret in his movements on account of the suspicions of Sidney. Pepys knew nothing of what was going on, as he confesses in the Diary: "I do from this raise an opinion of him, to be one of the most secret men in the world, which I was not so convinced of before." On Pepys's return to England he obtained an appointment in the office of Mr., afterwards Sir George Downing, who was one of the Four Tellers of the Receipt of the Exchequer. He was clerk to Downing when he commenced his diary on January 1st, 1660, and then lived in Axe Yard, close by King Street, Westminster, a place on the site of which was built Fludyer Street. This, too, was swept away for the Government offices in 1864-65. His salary was L50 a year. Downing invited Pepys to accompany him to Holland, but he does not appear to have been very pressing, and a few days later in this same January he got him appointed one of the Clerks of the Council, but the recipient of the favour does not appear to have been very grateful. A great change was now about to take place in Pepys's fortunes, for in the following March he was made secretary to Sir Edward Montage in his expedition to bring about the Restoration of Charles II., and on the 23rd he went on board the "Swiftsure" with Montage. On the 30th they transferred themselves to the "Naseby." Owing to this appointment of Pepys we have in the Diary a very full account of the daily movements of the fleet until, events having followed their natural course, Montage had the honour of bringing Charles II. to Dover, where the King was received with great rejoicing. Several of the ships in the fleet had names which were obnoxious to Royalists, and on the 23rd May the King came on board the "Naseby" and altered there--the "Naseby" to the "Charles," the "Richard" to the "Royal James," the "Speaker" to the "Mary," the "Winsby" to the "Happy Return," the "Wakefield" to the "Richmond," the "Lambert" to the "Henrietta," the "Cheriton" to the "Speedwell," and the "Bradford" to the "Success." This portion of the Diary is of particular interest, and the various excursions in Holland which the Diarist made are described in a very amusing manner. When Montagu and Pepys had both returned to London, the former told the latter that he had obtained the promise of the office of Clerk of the Acts for him. Many difficulties occurred before Pepys actually secured the place, so that at times he was inclined to accept the offers which were made to him to give it up. General Monk was anxious to get the office for Mr. Turner, who was Chief Clerk in the Navy Office, but in the end Montagu's influence secured it for Pepys. Then Thomas Barlow, who had been appointed Clerk of the Acts in 1638, turned up, and appeared likely to become disagreeable. Pepys bought him off with an annuity of too, which he did not have to pay for any length of time, as Barlow died in February, 1664-65. It is not in human nature to be greatly grieved at the death of one to whom you have to pay an annuity, and Pepys expresses his feelings in a very naive manner:-- "For which God knows my heart I could be as sorry as is possible for one to be for a stranger by whose death he gets L100 per annum, he being a worthy honest man; but when I come to consider the providence of God by this means unexpectedly to give me L100 a year more in my estate, I have cause to bless God, and do it from the bottom of my heart." This office was one of considerable importance, for not only was the holder the secretary or registrar of the Navy Board, but he was also one of the principal officers of the navy, and, as member of the board, of equal rank with the other commissioners. This office Pepys held during the whole period of the Diary, and we find him constantly fighting for his position, as some of the other members wished to reduce his rank merely to that of secretary. In his contention Pepys appears to have been in the right, and a valuable MS. volume in the Pepysian library contains an extract from the Old Instructions of about 1649, in which this very point is argued out. The volume appears to have been made up by William Penn the Quaker, from a collection of manuscripts on the affairs of the navy found in his father's, "Sir William Penn's closet." It was presented to Charles II., with a dedication ending thus:-- "I hope enough to justifie soe much freedome with a Prince that is so easie to excuse things well intended as this is "BY "Great Prince, "Thy faithfull subject, "WM. PENN" "London, the 22 of the Mo. called June, 1680." It does not appear how the volume came into Pepys's possession. It may have been given him by the king, or he may have taken it as a perquisite of his office. The book has an index, which was evidently added by Pepys; in this are these entries, which show his appreciation of the contents of the MS.:-- "Clerk of the Acts, his duty, his necessity and usefulness." The following description of the duty of the Clerk of the Acts shows the importance of the office, and the statement that if the clerk is not fitted to act as a commissioner he is a blockhead and unfit for his employment is particularly racy, and not quite the form of expression one would expect to find in an official document: "CLERKE OF THE ACTS. "The clarke of the Navye's duty depends principally upon rateing (by the Board's approbation) of all bills and recording of them, and all orders, contracts & warrants, making up and casting of accompts, framing and writing answers to letters, orders, and commands from the Councell, Lord High Admirall, or Commissioners of the Admiralty, and he ought to be a very able accomptant, well versed in Navall affairs and all inferior officers dutyes. "It hath been objected by some that the Clarke of the Acts ought to be subordinate to the rest of the Commissioners, and not to be joyned in equall power with them, although he was so constituted from the first institution, which hath been an opinion only of some to keep him at a distance, least he might be thought too forward if he had joynt power in discovering or argueing against that which peradventure private interest would have concealed; it is certaine no man sees more of the Navye's Transactions than himselfe, and possibly may speak as much to the project if required, or else he is a blockhead, and not fitt for that imployment. But why he should not make as able a Commissioner as a Shipp wright lett wise men judge." In Pepys's patent the salary is stated to be L33 6s. 8d., but this was only the ancient "fee out of the Exchequer," which had been attached to the office for more than a century. Pepys's salary had been previously fixed at L350 a-year. Neither of the two qualifications upon which particular stress is laid in the above Instructions was possessed by Pepys. He knew nothing about the navy, and so little of accounts that apparently he learned the multiplication table for the first time in July, 1661. We see from the particulars given in the Diary how hard he worked to obtain the knowledge required in his office, and in consequence of his assiduity he soon became a model official. When Pepys became Clerk of the Acts he took up his residence at the Navy Office, a large building situated between Crutched Friars and Seething Lane, with an entrance in each of those places. On July 4th, 1660, he went with Commissioner Pett to view the houses, and was very pleased with them, but he feared that the more influential officers would jockey him out of his rights. His fears were not well grounded, and on July 18th he records the fact that he dined in his own apartments, which were situated in the Seething Lane front. On July 24th, 1660, Pepys was sworn in as Lord Sandwich's deputy for a Clerkship of the Privy Seal. This office, which he did not think much of at first, brought him "in for a time L3 a day." In June, 1660, he was made Master of Arts by proxy, and soon afterwards he was sworn in as a justice of the Peace for Middlesex, Essex, Kent, and Hampshire, the counties in which the chief dockyards were situated. Pepys's life is written large in the Diary, and it is not necessary here to do more than catalogue the chief incidents of it in chronological order. In February, 1661-62, he was chosen a Younger Brother of the Trinity House, and in April, 1662, when on an official visit to Portsmouth Dockyard, he was made a burgess of the town. In August of the same year he was appointed one of the commissioners for the affairs of Tangier. Soon afterwards Thomas Povy, the treasurer, got his accounts into a muddle, and showed himself incompetent for the place, so that Pepys replaced him as treasurer to the commission. In March, 1663-64, the Corporation of the Royal Fishery was appointed, with the Duke of York as governor, and thirty-two assistants, mostly "very great persons." Through Lord Sandwich's influence Pepys was made one of these. The time was now arriving when Pepys's general ability and devotion to business brought him prominently into notice. During the Dutch war the unreadiness of the ships, more particularly in respect to victualling, was the cause of great trouble. The Clerk of the Acts did his utmost to set things right, and he was appointed Surveyor-General of the Victualling Office. The kind way in which Mr. Coventry proposed him as "the fittest man in England" for the office, and the Duke of York's expressed approval, greatly pleased him. During the fearful period when the Plague was raging, Pepys stuck to his business, and the chief management of naval affairs devolved upon him, for the meetings at the Navy Office were but thinly attended. In a letter to Coventry he wrote:-- "The sickness in general thickens round us, and particularly upon our neighbourhood. You, sir, took your turn of the sword; I must not, therefore, grudge to take mine of the pestilence." At this time his wife was living at Woolwich, and he himself with his clerks at Greenwich; one maid only remained in the house in London. Pepys rendered special service at the time of the Fire of London. He communicated the king's wishes to the Lord Mayor, and he saved the Navy Office by having up workmen from Woolwich and Deptford Dockyards to pull down the houses around, and so prevent the spread of the flames. When peace was at length concluded with the Dutch, and people had time to think over the disgrace which the country had suffered by the presence of De Ruyter's fleet in the Medway, it was natural that a public inquiry into the management of the war should be undertaken. A Parliamentary Committee was appointed in October, 1667, to inquire into the matter. Pepys made a statement which satisfied the committee, but for months afterwards he was continually being summoned to answer some charge, so that he confesses himself as mad to "become the hackney of this office in perpetual trouble and vexation that need it least." At last a storm broke out in the House of Commons against the principal officers of the navy, and some members demanded that they should be put out of their places. In the end they were ordered to be heard in their own defence at the bar of the House. The whole labour of the defence fell upon Pepys, but having made out his case with great skill, he was rewarded by a most unexpected success. On the 5th March, 1667-68, he made the great speech of his life, and spoke for three hours, with the effect that he so far removed the prejudice against the officers of the Navy Board, that no further proceedings were taken in parliament on the subject. He was highly praised for his speech, and he was naturally much elated at his brilliant success. About the year 1664 we first hear of a defect in Pepys's eyesight. He consulted the celebrated Cocker, and began to wear green spectacles, but gradually this defect became more pronounced, and on the 31st of May, 1669, he wrote the last words in his Diary: "And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now as long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand." He feared blindness and was forced to desist, to his lasting regret and our great loss. At this time he obtained leave of absence from the duties of his office, and he set out on a tour through France and Holland accompanied by his wife. In his travels he was true to the occupation of his life, and made collections respecting the French and Dutch navies. Some months after his return he spoke of his journey as having been "full of health and content," but no sooner had he and his wife returned to London than the latter became seriously ill with a fever. The disease took a fatal turn, and on the 10th of November, 1669, Elizabeth Pepys died at the early age of twenty-nine years, to the great grief of her husband. She died at their house in Crutched Friars, and was buried at St. Olave's Church, Hart Street, where Pepys erected a monument to her memory. Pepys's successful speech at the bar of the House of Commons made him anxious to become a member, and the Duke of York and Sir William Coventry heartily supported him in his resolution. An opening occurred in due course, at Aldborough, in Suffolk, owing to the death of Sir Robert Brooke in 1669, but, in consequence of the death of his wife, Pepys was unable to take part in the election. His cause was warmly espoused by the Duke of York and by Lord Henry Howard (afterwards Earl of Norwich and sixth Duke of Norfolk), but the efforts of his supporters failed, and the contest ended in favour of John Bruce, who represented the popular party. In November, 1673, Pepys was more successful, and was elected for Castle Rising on the elevation of the member, Sir Robert Paston, to the peerage as Viscount Yarmouth. His unsuccessful opponent, Mr. Offley, petitioned against the return, and the election was determined to be void by the Committee of Privileges. The Parliament, however, being prorogued the following month without the House's coming to any vote on the subject, Pepys was permitted to retain his seat. A most irrelevant matter was introduced into the inquiry, and Pepys was charged with having a crucifix in his house, from which it was inferred that he was "a papist or popishly inclined." The charge was grounded upon reported assertions of Sir John Banks and the Earl of Shaftesbury, which they did not stand to when examined on the subject, and the charge was not proved to be good. ["The House then proceeding upon the debate touching the Election for Castle Rising, between Mr. Pepys and Mr. Offley, did, in the first place, take into consideration what related personally to Mr. Pepys. Information being given to the House that they had received an account from a person of quality, that he saw an Altar with a Crucifix upon it, in the house of Mr. Pepys; Mr. Pepys, standing up in his place, did heartily and flatly deny that he ever had any Altar or Crucifix, or the image or picture of any Saint whatsoever in his house, from the top to the bottom of it; and the Members being called upon to name the person that gave them the information, they were unwilling to declare it without the order of the House; which, being made, they named the Earl of Shaftesbury; and the House being also informed that Sir J. Banks did likewise see the Altar, he was ordered to attend the Bar of the House, to declare what he knew of this matter. 'Ordered that Sir William Coventry, Sir Thomas Meeres, and Mr. Garraway do attend Lord Shaftesbury on the like occasion, and receive what information his Lordship, can give on this matter.'"--Journals of the House of Commons, vol. ix., p. 306.--" 13th February, Sir W. Coventry reports that they attended the Earl of Shaftesbury, and received from him the account which they had put in writing. The Earl of Shaftesbury denieth that he ever saw an Altar in Mr. Pepys's house or lodgings; as to the Crucifix, he saith he hath, some imperfect memory of seeing somewhat which he conceived to be a Crucifix. When his Lordship was asked the time, he said it was before the burning of the Office of the Navy. Being asked concerning the manner, he said he could not remember whether it were painted or carved, or in what manner the thing was; and that his memory was so very imperfect in it, that if he were upon his oath he could give no testimony."--. Ibid., vol. ix., p. 309.--" 16th February--Sir John Banks was called in--The Speaker desired him to answer what acquaintance he had with; Mr. Pepys, and whether he used to have recourse to him to his house and had ever seen there any Altar or Crucifix, or whether he knew of his being a Papist, or Popishly inclined. Sir J. Banks said that he had known and had been acquainted with Mr. Pepys several years, and had often visited him and conversed with him at the Navy Office, and at his house there upon several occasions, and that he never saw in his house there any Altar or Crucifix, and that he does not believe him to be a Papist, or that way inclined in the least, nor had any reason or ground to think or believe it."--Ibid., vol, ix., p. 310.] It will be seen from the extracts from the Journals of the House of Commons given in the note that Pepys denied ever having had an altar or crucifix in his house. In the Diary there is a distinct statement of his possession of a crucifix, but it is not clear from the following extracts whether it was not merely a varnished engraving of the Crucifixion which he possessed: July 20, 1666. "So I away to Lovett's, there to see how my picture goes on to be varnished, a fine crucifix which will be very fine." August 2. "At home find Lovett, who showed me my crucifix, which will be very fine when done." Nov. 3. "This morning comes Mr. Lovett and brings me my print of the Passion, varnished by him, and the frame which is indeed very fine, though not so fine as I expected; but pleases me exceedingly." Whether he had or had not a crucifix in his house was a matter for himself alone, and the interference of the House of Commons was a gross violation of the liberty of the subject. In connection with Lord Shaftesbury's part in this matter, the late Mr. W. D. Christie found the following letter to Sir Thomas Meres among the papers at St. Giles's House, Dorsetshire:-- "Exeter House, February 10th, 1674. "Sir,--That there might be no mistake, I thought best to put my answer in writing to those questions that yourself, Sir William Coventry, and Mr. Garroway were pleased to propose to me this morning from the House of Commons, which is that I never designed to be a witness against any man for what I either heard or saw, and therefore did not take so exact notice of things inquired of as to be able to remember them so clearly as is requisite to do in a testimony upon honour or oath, or to so great and honourable a body as the House of Commons, it being some years distance since I was at Mr. Pepys his lodging. Only that particular of an altar is so signal that I must needs have remembered it had I seen any such thing, which I am sure I do not. This I desire you to communicate with Sir William Coventry and Mr. Garroway to be delivered as my answer to the House of Commons, it being the same I gave you this morning. "I am, Sir, "Your most humble servant, "SHAFTESBURY." After reading this letter Sir William Coventry very justly remarked, "There are a great many more Catholics than think themselves so, if having a crucifix will make one." Mr. Christie resented the remarks on Lord Shaftesbury's part in this persecution of Pepys made by Lord Braybrooke, who said, "Painful indeed is it to reflect to what length the bad passions which party violence inflames could in those days carry a man of Shaftesbury's rank, station, and abilities." Mr. Christie observes, "It is clear from the letter to Meres that Shaftesbury showed no malice and much scrupulousness when a formal charge, involving important results, was founded on his loose private conversations." This would be a fair vindication if the above attack upon Pepys stood alone, but we shall see later on that Shaftesbury was the moving spirit in a still more unjustifiable attack. Lord Sandwich died heroically in the naval action in Southwold Bay, and on June 24th,1672, his remains were buried with some pomp in Westminster Abbey. There were eleven earls among the mourners, and Pepys, as the first among "the six Bannerolles," walked in the procession. About this time Pepys was called from his old post of Clerk of the Acts to the higher office of Secretary of the Admiralty. His first appointment was a piece of favouritism, but it was due to his merits alone that he obtained the secretaryship. In the summer of 1673, the Duke of York having resigned all his appointments on the passing of the Test Act, the King put the Admiralty into commission, and Pepys was appointed Secretary for the Affairs of the Navy. [The office generally known as Secretary of the Admiralty dates back many years, but the officer who filled it was sometimes Secretary to the Lord High Admiral, and sometimes to the Commission for that office. "His Majesties Letters Patent for ye erecting the office of Secretary of ye Admiralty of England, and creating Samuel Pepys, Esq., first Secretary therein," is dated June 10th, 1684.] He was thus brought into more intimate connection with Charles II., who took the deepest interest in shipbuilding and all naval affairs. The Duke of Buckingham said of the King:-- "The great, almost the only pleasure of his mind to which he seemed addicted was shipping and sea affairs, which seemed to be so much his talent for knowledge as well as inclination, that a war of that kind was rather an entertainment than any disturbance to his thoughts." When Pepys ceased to be Clerk of the Acts he was able to obtain the appointment for his clerk, Thomas Hayter, and his brother, John Pepys, who held it jointly. The latter does not appear to have done much credit to Samuel. He was appointed Clerk to the Trinity House in 1670 on his brother's recommendation, and when he died in 1677 he was in debt L300 to his employers, and this sum Samuel had to pay. In 1676 Pepys was Master of the Trinity House, and in the following year Master of the Clothworkers' Company, when he presented a richly-chased silver cup, which is still used at the banquets of the company. On Tuesday, 10th September, 1677, the Feast of the Hon. Artillery Company was held at Merchant Taylors' Hall, when the Duke of York, the Duke of Somerset, the Lord Chancellor, and other distinguished persons were present. On this occasion Viscount Newport, Sir Joseph Williamson, and Samuel Pepys officiated as stewards. About this time it is evident that the secretary carried himself with some haughtiness as a ruler of the navy, and that this was resented by some. An amusing instance will be found in the Parliamentary Debates. On May 11th, 1678, the King's verbal message to quicken the supply was brought in by Mr. Secretary Williamson, when Pepys spoke to this effect: "When I promised that the ships should be ready by the 30th of May, it was upon the supposition of the money for 90 ships proposed by the King and voted by you, their sizes and rates, and I doubt not by that time to have 90 ships, and if they fall short it will be only from the failing of the Streights ships coming home and those but two..... "Sir Robert Howard then rose and said, 'Pepys here speaks rather like an Admiral than a Secretary, "I" and "we." I wish he knows half as much of the Navy as he pretends.'" Pepys was chosen by the electors of Harwich as their member in the short Parliament that sat from March to July, 1679, his colleague being Sir Anthony Deane, but both members were sent to the Tower in May on a baseless charge, and they were superseded in the next Parliament that met on the 17th October, 1679. The high-handed treatment which Pepys underwent at this time exhibits a marked instance of the disgraceful persecution connected with the so-called Popish plot. He was totally unconnected with the Roman Catholic party, but his association with the Duke of York was sufficient to mark him as a prey for the men who initiated this "Terror" of the seventeenth century. Sir. Edmund Berry Godfrey came to his death in October, 1678, and in December Samuel Atkins, Pepys's clerk, was brought to trial as an accessory to his murder. Shaftesbury and the others not having succeeded in getting at Pepys through his clerk, soon afterwards attacked him more directly, using the infamous evidence of Colonel Scott. Much light has lately been thrown upon the underhand dealings of this miscreant by Mr. G. D. Scull, who printed privately in 1883 a valuable work entitled, "Dorothea Scott, otherwise Gotherson, and Hogben of Egerton House, Kent, 1611-1680." John Scott (calling himself Colonel Scott) ingratiated himself into acquaintance with Major Gotherson, and sold to the latter large tracts of land in Long Island, to which he had no right whatever. Dorothea Gotherson, after her husband's death, took steps to ascertain the exact state of her property, and obtained the assistance of Colonel Francis Lovelace, Governor of New York. Scott's fraud was discovered, and a petition for redress was presented to the King. The result of this was that the Duke of York commanded Pepys to collect evidence against Scott, and he accordingly brought together a great number of depositions and information as to his dishonest proceedings in New England, Long Island, Barbadoes, France, Holland, and England, and these papers are preserved among the Rawlinson Manuscripts in the Bodleian. Scott had his revenge, and accused Pepys of betraying the Navy by sending secret particulars to the French Government, and of a design to dethrone the king and extirpate the Protestant religion. Pepys and Sir Anthony Deane were committed to the Tower under the Speaker's warrant on May 22nd, 1679, and Pepys's place at the Admiralty was filled by the appointment of Thomas Hayter. When the two prisoners were brought to the bar of the King's Bench on the 2nd of June, the Attorney-General refused bail, but subsequently they were allowed to find security for L30,000. Pepys was put to great expense in collecting evidence against Scott and obtaining witnesses to clear himself of the charges brought against him. He employed his brother-in-law, Balthasar St. Michel, to collect evidence in France, as he himself explains in a letter to the Commissioners of the Navy:-- "His Majesty of his gracious regard to me, and the justification of my innocence, was then pleased at my humble request to dispence with my said brother goeing (with ye shippe about that time designed for Tangier) and to give leave to his goeing into France (the scene of ye villannys then in practice against me), he being the only person whom (from his relation to me, together with his knowledge in the place and language, his knowne dilligence and particular affection towards mee) I could at that tyme and in soe greate a cause pitch on, for committing the care of this affaire of detecting the practice of my enemies there." In the end Scott refused to acknowledge to the truth of his original deposition, and the prisoners were relieved from their bail on February 12th, 1679-80. John James, a butler previously in Pepys's service, confessed on his deathbed in 1680 that he had trumped up the whole story relating to his former master's change of religion at the instigation of Mr. William Harbord, M.P. for Thetford. Pepys wrote on July 1st, 1680, to Mrs. Skinner: "I would not omit giving you the knowledge of my having at last obtained what with as much reason I might have expected a year ago, my full discharge from the bondage I have, from one villain's practice, so long lain under." William Harbord, of Cadbury, co. Somerset, second son of Sir Charles Harbord, whom he succeeded in 1682 as Surveyor. General of the Land Revenues of the Crown, was Pepys's most persistent enemy. Several papers referring to Harbord's conduct were found at Scott's lodging after his flight, and are now preserved among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian. One of these was the following memorandum, which shows pretty plainly Pepys's opinion of Harbord:-- "That about the time of Mr. Pepys's surrender of his employment of Secretary of the Admiralty, Capt. Russell and myself being in discourse about Mr. Pepys, Mr. Russell delivered himself in these or other words to this purport: That he thought it might be of advantage to both, if a good understanding were had between his brother Harbord and Mr. Pepys, asking me to propose it to Mr. Pepys, and he would to his brother, which I agreed to, and went immediately from him to Mr. Pepys, and telling him of this discourse, he gave me readily this answer in these very words: That he knew of no service Mr. Harbord could doe him, or if he could, he should be the last man in England he would receive any from." [William Harbord sat as M.P. for Thetford in several parliaments. In 1689 he was chosen on the Privy Council, and in 1690 became Vice- Treasurer for Ireland. He was appointed Ambassador to Turkey in 1692, and died at Belgrade in July of that year.] Besides Scott's dishonesty in his dealings with Major Gotherson, it came out that he had cheated the States of Holland out of L7,000, in consequence of which he was hanged in effigy at the Hague in 1672. In 1682 he fled from England to escape from the law, as he had been guilty of wilful murder by killing George Butler, a hackney coachman, and he reached Norway in safety, where he remained till 1696. In that year some of his influential friends obtained a pardon for him from William III., and he returned to England. In October, 1680, Pepys attended on Charles II. at Newmarket, and there he took down from the King's own mouth the narrative of his Majesty's escape from Worcester, which was first published in 1766 by Sir David Dalrymple (Lord Hailes) from the MS., which now remains in the Pepysian library both in shorthand and in longhand? It is creditable to Charles II. and the Duke of York that both brothers highly appreciated the abilities of Pepys, and availed themselves of his knowledge of naval affairs. In the following year there was some chance that Pepys might retire from public affairs, and take upon himself the headship of one of the chief Cambridge colleges. On the death of Sir Thomas Page, the Provost of King's College, in August, 1681, Mr. S. Maryon, a Fellow of Clare Hall, recommended Pepys to apply to the King for the appointment, being assured that the royal mandate if obtained would secure his election. He liked the idea, but replied that he believed Colonel Legge (afterwards Lord Dartmouth) wanted to get the office for an old tutor. Nothing further seems to have been done by Pepys, except that he promised if he were chosen to give the whole profit of the first year, and at least half of that of each succeeding year, to "be dedicated to the general and public use of the college." In the end Dr. John Coplestone was appointed to the post. On May 22nd, 1681, the Rev. Dr. Milles, rector of St. Olave's, who is so often mentioned in the Diary, gave Pepys a certificate as to his attention to the services of the Church. It is not quite clear what was the occasion of the certificate, but probably the Diarist wished to have it ready in case of another attack upon him in respect to his tendency towards the Church of Rome. Early in 1682 Pepys accompanied the Duke of York to Scotland, and narrowly escaped shipwreck by the way. Before letters could arrive in London to tell of his safety, the news came of the wreck of the "Gloucester" (the Duke's ship), and of the loss of many lives. His friends' anxiety was relieved by the arrival of a letter which Pepys wrote from Edinburgh to Hewer on May 8th, in which he detailed the particulars of the adventure. The Duke invited him to go on board the "Gloucester" frigate, but he preferred his own yacht (the "Catherine "), in which he had more room, and in consequence of his resolution he saved himself from the risk of drowning. On May 5th the frigate struck upon the sand called "The Lemon and Oar," about sixteen leagues from the mouth of the Humber. This was caused by the carelessness of the pilot, to whom Pepys imputed "an obstinate over-weening in opposition to the contrary opinions of Sir I. Berry, his master, mates, Col. Legg, the Duke himself, and several others, concurring unanimously in not being yet clear of the sands." The Duke and his party escaped, but numbers were drowned in the sinking ship, and it is said that had the wreck occurred two hours earlier, and the accompanying yachts been at the distance they had previously been, not a soul would have escaped. Pepys stayed in Edinburgh for a short time, and the Duke of York allowed him to be present at two councils. He then visited; with Colonel George Legge, some of the principal places in the neighbourhood, such as Stirling, Linlithgow, Hamilton, and Glasgow. The latter place he describes as "a very extraordinary town indeed for beauty and trade, much superior to any in Scotland." Pepys had now been out of office for some time, but he was soon to have employment again. Tangier, which was acquired at the marriage of the King to Katharine of Braganza, had long been an incumbrance, and it was resolved at last to destroy the place. Colonel Legge (now Lord Dartmouth) was in August, 1683, constituted Captain-General of his Majesty's forces in Africa, and Governor of Tangier, and sent with a fleet of about twenty sail to demolish and blow up the works, destroy the harbour, and bring home the garrison. Pepys received the King's commands to accompany Lord Dartmouth on his expedition, but the latter's instructions were secret, and Pepys therefore did not know what had been decided upon. He saw quite enough, however, to form a strong opinion of the uselessness of the place to England. Lord Dartmouth carried out his instructions thoroughly, and on March 29th, 1684, he and his party (including Pepys) arrived in the English Channel. The King himself now resumed the office of Lord High Admiral, and appointed Pepys Secretary of the Admiralty, with a salary of L500 per annum. In the Pepysian Library is the original patent, dated June 10th, 1684: "His Majesty's Letters Patent for ye erecting the office of Secretary of ye Admiralty of England, and creating Samuel Pepys, Esq., first Secretary therein." In this office the Diarist remained until the period of the Revolution, when his official career was concluded. A very special honour was conferred upon Pepys in this year, when he was elected President of the Royal Society in succession to Sir Cyril Wyche, and he held the office for two years. Pepys had been admitted a fellow of the society on February 15th, 1664-65, and from Birch's "History" we find that in the following month he made a statement to the society:-- "Mr. Pepys gave an account of what information he had received from the Master of the Jersey ship which had been in company with Major Holmes in the Guinea voyage concerning the pendulum watches (March 15th, 1664-5)." The records of the society show that he frequently made himself useful by obtaining such information as might be required in his department. After he retired from the presidency, he continued to entertain some of the most distinguished members of the society on Saturday evenings at his house in York Buildings. Evelyn expressed the strongest regret when it was necessary to discontinue these meetings on account of the infirmities of the host. In 1685 Charles II. died, and was succeeded by James, Duke of York. From his intimate association with James it might have been supposed that a long period of official life was still before Pepys, but the new king's bigotry and incapacity soon made this a practical impossibility. At the coronation of James II. Pepys marched in the procession immediately behind the king's canopy, as one of the sixteen barons of the Cinque Ports. In the year 1685 a new charter was granted to the Trinity Company, and Pepys was named in it the first master, this being the second time that he had held the office of master. Evelyn specially refers to the event in his Diary, and mentions the distinguished persons present at the dinner on July 20th. It is evident that at this time Pepys was looked upon as a specially influential man, and when a parliament was summoned to meet on May 19th, 1685, he was elected both for Harwich and for Sandwich. He chose to serve for Harwich, and Sir Philip Parker was elected to fill his place at Sandwich. This parliament was dissolved by proclamation July 2nd, 1687, and on August 24th the king declared in council that another parliament should be summoned for November 27th, 1688, but great changes took place before that date, and when the Convention Parliament was called together in January and February, 1689-90, Pepys found no place in it. The right-hand man of the exiled monarch was not likely to find favour in the eyes of those who were now in possession. When the election for Harwich came on, the electors refused to return him, and the streets echoed to the cry of "No Tower men, no men out of the Tower!" They did not wish to be represented in parliament by a disgraced official. We have little or no information to guide us as to Pepys's proceedings at the period of the Revolution. We know that James II. just before his flight was sitting to Kneller for a portrait intended for the Secretary to the Admiralty, and that Pepys acted in that office for the last time on 20th February, 1688-89, but between those dates we know nothing of the anxieties and troubles that he must have suffered. On the 9th March an order was issued from the Commissioners of the Admiralty for him to deliver up his books, &c., to Phineas Bowies, who superseded him as secretary. Pepys had many firm friends upon whom he could rely, but he had also enemies who lost no opportunity of worrying him. On June 10th, 1690, Evelyn has this entry in his Diary, which throws some light upon the events of the time:-- "Mr. Pepys read to me his Remonstrance, skewing with what malice and injustice he was suspected with Sir Anth. Deane about the timber of which the thirty ships were built by a late Act of Parliament, with the exceeding danger which the fleete would shortly be in, by reason of the tyranny and incompetency of those who now managed the Admiralty and affairs of the Navy, of which he gave an accurate state, and shew'd his greate ability." On the 25th of this same month Pepys was committed to the Gatehouse at Westminster on a charge of having sent information to the French Court of the state of the English navy. There was no evidence of any kind against him, and at the end of July he was allowed to return to his own house on account of ill-health. Nothing further was done in respect to the charge, but he was not free till some time after, and he was long kept in anxiety, for even in 1692 he still apprehended some fresh persecution. Sir Peter Palavicini, Mr. James Houblon, Mr. Blackburne, and Mr. Martin bailed him, and he sent them the following circular letter:-- "October 15, 1690. "Being this day become once again a free man in every respect, I mean but that of my obligation to you and the rest of my friends, to whom I stand indebted for my being so, I think it but a reasonable part of my duty to pay you and them my thanks for it in a body; but know not how otherwise to compass it than by begging you, which I hereby do, to take your share with them and me here, to-morrow, of a piece of mutton, which is all I dare promise you, besides that of being ever, "Your most bounden and faithful humble servant, "S. P." He employed the enforced idleness caused by being thrust out of his employment in the collection of the materials for the valuable work which he published in 1690, under the title of "Memoirs of the Navy." Little more was left for him to do in life, but as the government became more firmly established, and the absolute absurdity of the idea of his disloyalty was proved, Pepys held up his head again as a man to be respected and consulted, and for the remainder of his life he was looked upon as the Nestor of the Navy. There is little more to be told of Pepys's life. He continued to keep up an extended correspondence with his many friends, and as Treasurer of Christ's Hospital he took very great interest in the welfare of that institution. He succeeded in preserving from impending ruin the mathematical foundation which had been originally designed by him, and through his anxious solicitations endowed and cherished by Charles II. and James II. One of the last public acts of his life was the presentation of the portrait of the eminent Dr. John Wallis, Savilian Professor of Geometry, to the University of Oxford. In 1701 he sent Sir Godfrey Kneller to Oxford to paint the portrait, and the University rewarded him with a Latin diploma containing in gorgeous language the expression of thanks for his munificence.' On the 26th May, 1703, Samuel Pepys, after long continued suffering, breathed his last in the presence of the learned Dr. George Hickes, the nonjuring Dean of Worcester, and the following letter from John Jackson to his uncle's lifelong friend Evelyn contains particulars as to the cause of death: Mr. Jackson to Mr. Evelyn. "Clapham, May 28th, 1703. "Friday night. "Honoured Sir, "'Tis no small addition to my grief, to be obliged to interrupt the quiet of your happy recess with the afflicting tidings of my Uncle Pepys's death: knowing how sensibly you will partake with me herein. But I should not be faithful to his desires, if I did not beg your doing the honour to his memory of accepting mourning from him, as a small instance of his most affectionate respect and honour for you. I have thought myself extremely unfortunate to be out of the way at that only time when you were pleased lately to touch here, and express so great a desire of taking your leave of my Uncle; which could not but have been admitted by him as a most welcome exception to his general orders against being interrupted; and I could most heartily wish that the circumstances of your health and distance did not forbid me to ask the favour of your assisting in the holding up of the pawll at his interment, which is intended to be on Thursday next; for if the manes are affected with what passes below, I am sure this would have been very grateful to his. "I must not omit acquainting you, sir, that upon opening his body, (which the uncommonness of his case required of us, for our own satisfaction as well as public good) there was found in his left kidney a nest of no less than seven stones, of the most irregular, figures your imagination can frame, and weighing together four ounces and a half, but all fast linked together, and adhering to his back; whereby they solve his having felt no greater pains upon motion, nor other of the ordinary symptoms of the stone. Some other lesser defects there also were in his body, proceeding from the same cause. But his stamina, in general, were marvellously strong, and not only supported him, under the most exquisite pains, weeks beyond all expectations; but, in the conclusion, contended for nearly forty hours (unassisted by any nourishment) with the very agonies of death, some few minutes excepted, before his expiring, which were very calm. "There remains only for me, under this affliction, to beg the consolation and honour of succeeding to your patronage, for my Uncle's sake; and leave to number myself, with the same sincerity he ever did, among your greatest honourers, which I shall esteem as one of the most valuable parts of my inheritances from him; being also, with the faithfullest wishes of health and a happy long life to you, "Honoured Sir, "Your most obedient and "Most humble Servant, "J. JACKSON. "Mr. Hewer, as my Uncle's Executor, and equally your faithful Servant, joins with me in every part hereof. "The time of my Uncle's departure was about three-quarters past three on Wednesday morning last." Evelyn alludes in his Diary to Pepys's death and the present to him of a suit of mourning. He speaks in very high terms of his friend:-- "1703, May 26th. This day died Mr. Sam Pepys, a very worthy, industrious, and curious person, none in England exceeding him in knowledge of the navy, in which he had passed thro' all the most considerable offices, Clerk of the Acts and Secretary of the Admiralty, all which he performed with great integrity. When K. James II. went out of England, he laid down his office, and would serve no more, but withdrawing himselfe from all public affaires, he liv'd at Clapham with his partner Mr. Hewer, formerly his clerk, in a very noble and sweete place, where he enjoy'd the fruits of his labours in greate prosperity. He was universally belov'd, hospitable, generous, learned in many things, skilfd in music, a very greate cherisher of learned men of whom he had the conversation .... Mr. Pepys had been for neere 40 yeeres so much my particular friend that Mr. Jackson sent me compleat mourning, desiring me to be one to hold up the pall at his magnificent obsequies, but my indisposition hinder'd me from doing him this last office." The body was brought from Clapham and buried in St. Olave's Church, Hart Street, on the 5th June, at nine o'clock at night, in a vault just beneath the monument to the memory of Mrs. Pepys. Dr. Hickes performed the last sad offices for his friend. Pepys's faithful friend, Hewer, was his executor, and his nephew, John Jackson, his heir. Mourning was presented to forty persons, and a large number of rings to relations, godchildren, servants, and friends, also to representatives of the Royal Society, of the Universities of Cambridge and Oxford, of the Admiralty, and of the Navy Office. The bulk of the property was bequeathed to Jackson, but the money which was left was much less than might have been expected, for at the time of Pepys's death there was a balance of L28,007 2s. 1d. due to him from the Crown, and none of this was ever paid. The books and other collections were left to Magdalene College, Cambridge, but Jackson was to have possession of them during his lifetime. These were the most important portion of Pepys's effects, for with them was the manuscript of the immortal Diary. The following are the directions for the disposition of the library, taken from Harl. MS., No. 7301: "For the further settlement and preservation of my said library, after the death of my nephew. John Jackson, I do hereby declare, That could I be sure of a constant succession of heirs from my said nephew, qualified like himself for the use of such a library, I should not entertain a thought of its ever being alienated from them. But this uncertainty considered, with the infinite pains, and time, and cost employed in my collecting, methodising and reducing the same to the state it now is, I cannot but be greatly solicitous that all possible provision should be made for its unalterable preservation and perpetual security against the ordinary fate of such collections falling into the hands of an incompetent heir, and thereby being sold, dissipated, or embezzled. And since it has pleased God to visit me in a manner that leaves little appearance of being myself restored to a condition of concerting the necessary measures for attaining these ends, I must and do with great confidence rely upon the sincerity and direction of my executor and said nephew for putting in execution the powers given them, by my forementioned will relating hereto, requiring that the same be brought to a determination in twelve months after my decease, and that special regard be had therein to the following particulars which I declare to be my present thoughts and prevailing inclinations in this matter, viz.: "1. That after the death of my said nephew, my said library be placed and for ever settled in one of our universities, and rather in that of Cambridge than Oxford. "2. And rather in a private college there, than in the public library. "3. And in the colleges of Trinity or Magdalen preferably to all others. "4. And of these too, 'caeteris paribus', rather in the latter, for the sake of my own and my nephew's education therein. "5. That in which soever of the two it is, a fair roome be provided therein. "6. And if in Trinity, that the said roome be contiguous to, and have communication with, the new library there. "7. And if in Magdalen, that it be in the new building there, and any part thereof at my nephew's election. "8. That my said library be continued in its present form and no other books mixed therein, save what my nephew may add to theirs of his own collecting, in distinct presses. "9. That the said room and books so placed and adjusted be called by the name of 'Bibliotheca Pepysiana.' "10. That this 'Bibliotheca Pepysiana' be under the sole power and custody of the master of the college for the time being, who shall neither himself convey, nor suffer to be conveyed by others, any of the said books from thence to any other place, except to his own lodge in the said college, nor there have more than ten of them at a time; and that of those also a strict entry be made and account kept, at the time of their having been taken out and returned, in a book to be provided, and remain in the said library for that purpose only. "11. That before my said library be put into the possession of either of the said colleges, that college for which it shall be designed, first enter into covenants for performance of the foregoing articles. "12. And that for a yet further security herein, the said two colleges of Trinity and Magdalen have a reciprocal check upon one another; and that college which shall be in present possession of the said library, be subject to an annual visitation from the other, and to the forfeiture thereof to the life, possession, and use of the other, upon conviction of any breach of their said covenants. "S. PEPYS." The library and the original book-cases were not transferred to Magdalene College until 1724, and there they have been preserved in safety ever since. A large number of Pepys's manuscripts appear to have remained unnoticed in York Buildings for some years. They never came into Jackson's hands, and were thus lost to Magdalene College. Dr. Rawlinson afterwards obtained them, and they were included in the bequest of his books to the Bodleian Library. Pepys was partial to having his portrait taken, and he sat to Savill, Hales, Lely, and Kneller. Hales's portrait, painted in 1666, is now in the National Portrait Gallery, and an etching from the original forms the frontispiece to this volume. The portrait by Lely is in the Pepysian Library. Of the three portraits by Kneller, one is in the hall of Magdalene College, another at the Royal Society, and the third was lent to the First Special Exhibition of National Portraits, 1866, by the late Mr. Andrew Pepys Cockerell. Several of the portraits have been engraved, but the most interesting of these are those used by Pepys himself as book-plates. These were both engraved by Robert White, and taken from paintings by Kneller. The church of St. Olave, Hart Street, is intimately associated with Pepys both in his life and in his death, and for many years the question had been constantly asked by visitors, "Where is Pepys's monument?" On Wednesday, July 5th, 1882, a meeting was held in the vestry of the church, when an influential committee was appointed, upon which all the great institutions with which Pepys was connected were represented by their masters, presidents, or other officers, with the object of taking steps to obtain an adequate memorial of the Diarist. Mr. (now Sir) Alfred Blomfield, architect of the church, presented an appropriate design for a monument, and sufficient subscriptions having been obtained for the purpose, he superintended its erection. On Tuesday afternoon, March 18th, 1884, the monument, which was affixed to the wall of the church where the gallery containing Pepys's pew formerly stood, was unveiled in the presence of a large concourse of visitors. The Earl of Northbrook, First Lord of the Admiralty, consented to unveil the monument, but he was at the last moment prevented by public business from attending. The late Mr. Russell Lowell, then the American Minister, took Lord Northbrook's place, and made a very charming and appreciative speech on the occasion, from which the following passages are extracted:-- "It was proper," his Excellency said, "that he should read a note he had received from Lord Northbrook. This was dated that day from the Admiralty, and was as follows: "'My dear Mr. Lowell, "'I am very much annoyed that I am prevented from assisting at the ceremony to-day. It would be very good if you would say that nothing but very urgent business would have kept me away. I was anxious to give my testimony to the merits of Pepys as an Admiralty official, leaving his literary merits to you. He was concerned with the administration of the Navy from the Restoration to the Revolution, and from 1673 as secretary. I believe his merits to be fairly stated in a contemporary account, which I send. "'Yours very truly, "'NORTHBROOK. "The contemporary account, which Lord Northbrook was good enough to send him, said: "'Pepys was, without exception, the greatest and most useful Minister that ever filled the same situations in England, the acts and registers of the Admiralty proving this beyond contradiction. The principal rules and establishments in present use in these offices are well known to have been of his introducing, and most of the officers serving therein since the Restoration, of his bringing- up. He was a most studious promoter and strenuous asserter of order and discipline. Sobriety, diligence, capacity, loyalty, and subjection to command were essentials required in all whom he advanced. Where any of these were found wanting, no interest or authority was capable of moving him in favour of the highest pretender. Discharging his duty to his Prince and country with a religious application and perfect integrity, he feared no one, courted no one, and neglected his own fortune.' "That was a character drawn, it was true, by a friendly hand, but to those who were familiar with the life of Pepys, the praise hardly seemed exaggerated. As regarded his official life, it was unnecessary to dilate upon his peculiar merits, for they all knew how faithful he was in his duties, and they all knew, too, how many faithful officials there were working on in obscurity, who were not only never honoured with a monument but who never expected one. The few words, Mr. Lowell went on to remark, which he was expected to say upon that occasion, therefore, referred rather to what he believed was the true motive which had brought that assembly together, and that was by no means the character of Pepys either as Clerk of the Acts or as Secretary to the Admiralty. This was not the place in which one could go into a very close examination of the character of Pepys as a private man. He would begin by admitting that Pepys was a type, perhaps, of what was now called a 'Philistine'. We had no word in England which was equivalent to the French adjective Bourgeois; but, at all events, Samuel Pepys was the most perfect type that ever existed of the class of people whom this word described. He had all its merits as well as many of its defects. With all those defects, however perhaps in consequence of them--Pepys had written one of the most delightful books that it was man's privilege to read in the English language or in any other. Whether Pepys intended this Diary to be afterwards read by the general public or not--and this was a doubtful question when it was considered that he had left, possibly by inadvertence, a key to his cypher behind him--it was certain that he had left with us a most delightful picture, or rather he had left the power in our hands of drawing for ourselves some, of the most delightful pictures, of the time in which he lived. There was hardly any book which was analogous to it..... If one were asked what were the reasons for liking Pepys, it would be found that they were as numerous as the days upon which he made an entry in his Diary, and surely that was sufficient argument in his favour. There was no book, Mr. Lowell said, that he knew of, or that occurred to his memory, with which Pepys's Diary could fairly be compared, except the journal of L'Estoile, who had the same anxious curiosity and the same commonness, not to say vulgarity of interest, and the book was certainly unique in one respect, and that was the absolute sincerity of the author with himself. Montaigne is conscious that we are looking over his shoulder, and Rousseau secretive in comparison with him. The very fact of that sincerity of the author with himself argued a certain greatness of character. Dr. Hickes, who attended Pepys at his deathbed, spoke of him as 'this great man,' and said he knew no one who died so greatly. And yet there was something almost of the ridiculous in the statement when the 'greatness' was compared with the garrulous frankness which Pepys showed towards himself. There was no parallel to the character of Pepys, he believed, in respect of 'naivete', unless it were found in that of Falstaff, and Pepys showed himself, too, like Falstaff, on terms of unbuttoned familiarity with himself. Falstaff had just the same 'naivete', but in Falstaff it was the 'naivete' of conscious humour. In Pepys it was quite different, for Pepys's 'naivete' was the inoffensive vanity of a man who loved to see himself in the glass. Falstaff had a sense, too, of inadvertent humour, but it was questionable whether Pepys could have had any sense of humour at all, and yet permitted himself to be so delightful. There was probably, however, more involuntary humour in Pepys's Diary than there was in any other book extant. When he told his readers of the landing of Charles II. at Dover, for instance, it would be remembered how Pepys chronicled the fact that the Mayor of Dover presented the Prince with a Bible, for which he returned his thanks and said it was the 'most precious Book to him in the world.' Then, again, it would be remembered how, when he received a letter addressed 'Samuel Pepys, Esq.,' he confesses in the Diary that this pleased him mightily. When, too, he kicked his cookmaid, he admits that he was not sorry for it, but was sorry that the footboy of a worthy knight with whom he was acquainted saw him do it. And the last instance he would mention of poor Pepys's 'naivete' was when he said in the Diary that he could not help having a certain pleasant and satisfied feeling when Barlow died. Barlow, it must be remembered, received during his life the yearly sum from Pepys of L100. The value of Pepys's book was simply priceless, and while there was nothing in it approaching that single page in St. Simon where he described that thunder of courtierly red heels passing from one wing of the Palace to another as the Prince was lying on his death-bed, and favour was to flow from another source, still Pepys's Diary was unequalled in its peculiar quality of amusement. The lightest part of the Diary was of value, historically, for it enabled one to see London of 200 years ago, and, what was more, to see it with the eager eyes of Pepys. It was not Pepys the official who had brought that large gathering together that day in honour of his memory: it was Pepys the Diarist." In concluding this account of the chief particulars of Pepys's life it may be well to add a few words upon the pronunciation of his name. Various attempts appear to have been made to represent this phonetically. Lord Braybrooke, in quoting the entry of death from St. Olave's Registers, where the spelling is "Peyps," wrote, "This is decisive as to the proper pronunciation of the name." This spelling may show that the name was pronounced as a monosyllable, but it is scarcely conclusive as to anything else, and Lord Braybrooke does not say what he supposes the sound of the vowels to have been. At present there are three pronunciations in use--Peps, which is the most usual; Peeps, which is the received one at Magdalene College, and Peppis, which I learn from Mr. Walter C. Pepys is the one used by other branches of the family. Mr. Pepys has paid particular attention to this point, and in his valuable "Genealogy of the Pepys Family" (1887) he has collected seventeen varieties of spelling of the name, which are as follows, the dates of the documents in which the form appears being attached: 1. Pepis (1273); 2. Pepy (1439); 3. Pypys (1511); 4. Pipes (1511); 5. Peppis (1518); 6. Peppes (1519); 7. Pepes (1520); 8. Peppys (1552); 9. Peaps (1636); 10. Pippis (1639); 11. Peapys (1653); 12. Peps (1655); 13. Pypes (1656); 14. Peypes (1656); 15. Peeps (1679); 16. Peepes (1683); 17. Peyps (1703). Mr. Walter Pepys adds:-- "The accepted spelling of the name 'Pepys' was adopted generally about the end of the seventeenth century, though it occurs many years before that time. There have been numerous ways of pronouncing the name, as 'Peps,' 'Peeps,' and 'Peppis.' The Diarist undoubtedly pronounced it 'Peeps,' and the lineal descendants of his sister Paulina, the family of 'Pepys Cockerell' pronounce it so to this day. The other branches of the family all pronounce it as 'Peppis,' and I am led to be satisfied that the latter pronunciation is correct by the two facts that in the earliest known writing it is spelt 'Pepis,' and that the French form of the name is 'Pepy.'" The most probable explanation is that the name in the seventeenth century was either pronounced 'Pips' or 'Papes'; for both the forms 'ea' and 'ey' would represent the latter pronunciation. The general change in the pronunciation of the spelling 'ea' from 'ai' to 'ee' took place in a large number of words at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth-century, and three words at least (yea, break, and great) keep this old pronunciation still. The present Irish pronunciation of English is really the same as the English pronunciation of the seventeenth century, when the most extensive settlement of Englishmen in Ireland took place, and the Irish always pronounce ea like ai (as, He gave him a nate bating--neat beating). Again, the 'ey' of Peyps would rhyme with they and obey. English literature is full of illustrations of the old pronunciation of ea, as in "Hudibras;" "Doubtless the pleasure is as great In being cheated as to cheat," which was then a perfect rhyme. In the "Rape of the Lock" tea (tay) rhymes with obey, and in Cowper's verses on Alexander Selkirk sea rhymes with survey.' It is not likely that the pronunciation of the name was fixed, but there is every reason to suppose that the spellings of Peyps and Peaps were intended to represent the sound Pepes rather than Peeps. In spite of all the research which has brought to light so many incidents of interest in the life of Samuel Pepys, we cannot but feel how dry these facts are when placed by the side of the living details of the Diary. It is in its pages that the true man is displayed, and it has therefore not been thought necessary here to do more than set down in chronological order such facts as are known of the life outside the Diary. A fuller "appreciation" of the man must be left for some future occasion. H. B. W. JANUARY 1659-1660 [The year did not legally begin in England before the 25th March until the act for altering the style fixed the 1st of January as the first day of the year, and previous to 1752 the year extended from March 25th to the following March 24th. Thus since 1752 we have been in the habit of putting the two dates for the months of January and February and March 1 to 24--in all years previous to 1752. Practically, however, many persons considered the year to commence with January 1st, as it will be seen Pepys did. The 1st of January was considered as New Year's day long before Pepys's time. The fiscal year has not been altered; and the national accounts are still reckoned from old Lady Day, which falls on the 6th of April.] Blessed be God, at the end of the last year I was in very good health, without any sense of my old pain, but upon taking of cold. [Pepys was successfully cut for the stone on March 26th, 1658. See March 26th below. Although not suffering from this cause again until the end of his life, there are frequent references in the Diary to pain whenever he caught cold. In a letter from Pepys to his nephew Jackson, April 8th, 1700, there is a reference to the breaking out three years before his death of the wound caused by the cutting for the stone: "It has been my calamity for much the greatest part of this time to have been kept bedrid, under an evil so rarely known as to have had it matter of universal surprise and with little less general opinion of its dangerousness; namely, that the cicatrice of a wound occasioned upon my cutting for the stone, without hearing anything of it in all this time, should after more than 40 years' perfect cure, break out again." At the post-mortem examination a nest of seven stones, weighing four and a half ounces, was found in the left kidney, which was entirely ulcerated.] I lived in Axe Yard, [Pepys's house was on the south side of King Street, Westminster; it is singular that when he removed to a residence in the city, he should have settled close to another Axe Yard. Fludyer Street stands on the site of Axe Yard, which derived its name from a great messuage or brewhouse on the west side of King Street, called "The Axe," and referred to in a document of the 23rd of Henry VIII--B.] having my wife, and servant Jane, and no more in family than us three. My wife.... gave me hopes of her being with child, but on the last day of the year....[the hope was belied.] [Ed. note:.... are used to denote censored passages] The condition of the State was thus; viz. the Rump, after being disturbed by my Lord Lambert, [John Lambert, major-general in the Parliamentary army. The title Lord was not his by right, but it was frequently given to the republican officers. He was born in 1619, at Calton Hall, in the parish of Kirkby-in-Malham-Dale, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. In 1642 he was appointed captain of horse under Fairfax, and acted as major-general to Cromwell in 1650 during the war in Scotland. After this Parliament conferred on him a grant of lands in Scotland worth L1000 per annum. He refused to take the oath of allegiance to Cromwell, for which the Protector deprived him of his commission. After Cromwell's death he tried to set up a military government. The Commons cashiered Lambert, Desborough, and other officers, October 12th, 1659, but Lambert retaliated by thrusting out the Commons, and set out to meet Monk. His men fell away from him, and he was sent to the Tower, March 3rd, 1660, but escaped. In 1662 he was tried on a charge of high treason and condemned, but his life was spared. It is generally stated that he passed the remainder of his life in the island of Guernsey, but this is proved to be incorrect by a MS. in the Plymouth Athenaeum, entitled "Plimmouth Memoirs collected by James Yonge, 1684" This will be seen from the following extracts quoted by Mr. R. J. King, in "Notes and Queries," "1667 Lambert the arch-rebel brought to this island [St. Nicholas, at the entrance of Plymouth harbour]." "1683 Easter day Lambert that olde rebell dyed this winter on Plimmouth Island where he had been prisoner 15 years and more."] was lately returned to sit again. The officers of the Army all forced to yield. Lawson [Sir John Lawson, the son of a poor man at Hull, entered the navy as a common sailor, rose to the rank of admiral, and distinguished himself during the Protectorate. Though a republican, he readily closed with the design of restoring the King. He was vice-admiral under the Earl of Sandwich, and commanded the "London" in the squadron which conveyed Charles II. to England. He was mortally wounded in the action with the Dutch off Harwich, June, 1665. He must not be confounded with another John Lawson, the Royalist, of Brough Hall, in Yorkshire, who was created a Baronet by Charles II, July 6th, 1665.] lies still in the river, and Monk--[George Monk, born 1608, created Duke of Albemarle, 1660, married Ann Clarges, March, 1654, died January 3rd, 1676.]--is with his army in Scotland. Only my Lord Lambert is not yet come into the Parliament, nor is it expected that he will without being forced to it. The new Common Council of the City do speak very high; and had sent to Monk their sword-bearer, to acquaint him with their desires for a free and full Parliament, which is at present the desires, and the hopes, and expectation of all. Twenty-two of the old secluded members ["The City sent and invited him [Monk] to dine the next day at Guildhall, and there he declared for the members whom the army had forced away in year forty-seven and forty-eight, who were known by the names of secluded members."--Burnet's Hist. of his Own Time, book i.] having been at the House-door the last week to demand entrance, but it was denied them; and it is believed that [neither] they nor the people will be satisfied till the House be filled. My own private condition very handsome, and esteemed rich, but indeed very poor; besides my goods of my house, and my office, which at present is somewhat uncertain. Mr. Downing master of my office. [George Downing was one of the Four Tellers of the Receipt of the Exchequer, and in his office Pepys was a clerk. He was the son of Emmanuel Downing of the Inner Temple, afterwards of Salem, Massachusetts, and of Lucy, sister of Governor John Winthrop. He is supposed to have been born in August, 1623. He and his parents went to New England in 1638, and he was the second graduate of Harvard College. He returned to England about 1645, and acted as Colonel Okey's chaplain before he entered into political life. Anthony a Wood (who incorrectly describes him as the son of Dr. Calybute Downing, vicar of Hackney) calls Downing a sider with all times and changes: skilled in the common cant, and a preacher occasionally. He was sent by Cromwell to Holland in 1657, as resident there. At the Restoration, he espoused the King's cause, and was knighted and elected M.P. for Morpeth, in 1661. Afterwards, becoming Secretary to the Treasury and Commissioner of the Customs, he was in 1663 created a Baronet of East Hatley, in Cambridgeshire, and was again sent Ambassador to Holland. His grandson of the same name, who died in 1749, was the founder of Downing College, Cambridge. The title became extinct in 1764, upon the decease of Sir John Gerrard Downing, the last heir-male of the family. Sir George Downing's character will be found in Lord Clarendon's "Life," vol. iii. p. 4. Pepys's opinion seems to be somewhat of a mixed kind. He died in July, 1684.] Jan. 1st (Lord's day). This morning (we living lately in the garret,) I rose, put on my suit with great skirts, having not lately worn any other, clothes but them. Went to Mr. Gunning's [Peter Gunning, afterwards Master of St. John's College, Cambridge, and successively Bishop of Chichester and Ely. He had continued to read the Liturgy at the chapel at Exeter House when the Parliament was most predominant, for which Cromwell often rebuked him. Evelyn relates that on Christmas Day, 1657, the chapel was surrounded with soldiers, and the congregation taken prisoners, he and his wife being among them. There are several notices of Dr. Gunning in Evelyn's Diary. When he obtained the mastership of St. John's College upon the ejection of Dr. Tuckney, he allowed that Nonconformist divine a handsome annuity during his life. He was a great controversialist, and a man of great reading. Burnet says he "was a very honest sincere man, but of no sound judgment, and of no prudence in affairs" ("Hist. of his Own. Time"). He died July 6th, 1684, aged seventy-one.] chapel at Exeter House, where he made a very good sermon upon these words:--"That in the fulness of time God sent his Son, made of a woman," &c.; showing, that, by "made under the law," is meant his circumcision, which is solemnized this day. Dined at home in the garret, where my wife dressed the remains of a turkey, and in the doing of it she burned her hand. I staid at home all the afternoon, looking over my accounts; then went with my wife to my father's, and in going observed the great posts which the City have set up at the Conduit in Fleet-street. Supt at my father's, where in came Mrs. The. Turner--[Theophila Turner, daughter of Sergeant John and Jane Turner, who married Sir Arthur Harris, Bart. She died 1686.]--and Madam Morrice, and supt with us. After that my wife and I went home with them, and so to our own home. 2nd. In the morning before I went forth old East brought me a dozen of bottles of sack, and I gave him a shilling for his pains. Then I went to Mr. Sheply,--[Shepley was a servant of Admiral Sir Edward Montagu]--who was drawing of sack in the wine cellar to send to other places as a gift from my Lord, and told me that my Lord had given him order to give me the dozen of bottles. Thence I went to the Temple to speak with Mr. Calthropp about the L60 due to my Lord, [Sir Edward Montagu, born 1625, son of Sir Sidney Montagu, by Paulina, daughter of John Pepys of Cottenham, married Jemima, daughter of John Crew of Stene. He died in action against the Dutch in Southwold Bay, May 28th, 1672. The title of "My Lord" here applied to Montagu before he was created Earl of Sandwich is of the same character as that given to General Lambert.] but missed of him, he being abroad. Then I went to Mr. Crew's [John Crew, born 1598, eldest son of Sir Thomas Crew, Sergeant-at- Law and Speaker of the House of Commons. He sat for Brackley in the Long Parliament. Created Baron Crew of Stene, in the county of Northampton, at the coronation of Charles II. He married Jemima, daughter and co-heir of Edward Walgrave (or Waldegrave) of Lawford, Essex. His house was in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He died December 12th, 1679.] and borrowed L10 of Mr. Andrewes for my own use, and so went to my office, where there was nothing to do. Then I walked a great while in Westminster Hall, where I heard that Lambert was coming up to London; that my Lord Fairfax [Thomas, Lord Fairfax, Generalissimo of the Parliament forces. After the Restoration, he retired to his country seat, where he lived in private till his death, 1671. In a volume (autograph) of Lord Fairfax's Poems, preserved in the British Museum, 11744, f. 42, the following lines occur upon the 30th of January, on which day the King was beheaded. It is believed that they have never been printed. "O let that day from time be bloted quitt, And beleef of 't in next age be waved, In depest silence that act concealed might, That so the creadet of our nation might be saved; But if the powre devine hath ordered this, His will's the law, and our must aquiess." These wretched verses have obviously no merit; but they are curious as showing that Fairfax, who had refused to act as one of Charles I's judges; continued long afterwards to entertain a proper horror for that unfortunate monarch's fate. It has recently been pointed out to me, that the lines were not originally composed by Fairfax, being only a poor translation of the spirited lines of Statius (Sylvarum lib. v. cap. ii. l. 88) "Excidat illa dies aevo, ne postera credant Secula, nos certe taceamus; et obruta multa Nocte tegi propria patiamur crimina gentis." These verses were first applied by the President de Thou to the massacre of St. Bartholomew, 1572; and in our day, by Mr. Pitt, in his memorable speech in the House of Commons, January, 1793, after the murder of Louis XVI.--B.] was in the head of the Irish brigade, but it was not certain what he would declare for. The House was to-day upon finishing the act for the Council of State, which they did; and for the indemnity to the soldiers; and were to sit again thereupon in the afternoon. Great talk that many places have declared for a free Parliament; and it is believed that they will be forced to fill up the House with the old members. From the Hall I called at home, and so went to Mr. Crew's (my wife she was to go to her father's), thinking to have dined, but I came too late, so Mr. Moore and I and another gentleman went out and drank a cup of ale together in the new market, and there I eat some bread and cheese for my dinner. After that Mr. Moore and I went as far as Fleet-street together and parted, he going into the City, I to find Mr. Calthrop, but failed again of finding him, so returned to Mr. Crew's again, and from thence went along with Mrs. Jemimah [Mrs. Jemimah, or Mrs. Jem, was Jemima, eldest daughter of Sir Edward Montagu. At this time she and her sister, Mrs. Ann, seem to have been living alone with their maids in London, and Pepys's duty was to look after them.] home, and there she taught me how to play at cribbage. Then I went home, and finding my wife gone to see Mrs. Hunt, I went to Will's, [Pepys constantly visited "Will's" about this time; but this could not be the famous coffee-house in Covent Garden, because he mentions visiting there for the first time, February 3rd, 1663-64. It was most probably the house of William Joyce, who kept a place of entertainment at Westminster (see Jan. 29th).] and there sat with Mr. Ashwell talking and singing till nine o'clock, and so home, there, having not eaten anything but bread and cheese, my wife cut me a slice of brawn which. I received from my Lady;--[Jemima, wife of Sir Edward Montagu, daughter of John Crew of Stene, afterwards Lord Crew.]--which proves as good as ever I had any. So to bed, and my wife had a very bad night of it through wind and cold. 3rd. I went out in the morning, it being a great frost, and walked to Mrs. Turner's [Jane, daughter of John Pepys of South Creake, Norfolk, married to John Turner, Sergeant-at-law, Recorder of York; their only child, Theophila, frequently mentioned as The. or Theoph., became the wife of Sir Arthur Harris, Bart., of Stowford, Devon, and died 1686, s.p.] to stop her from coming to see me to-day, because of Mrs. Jem's corning, thence I went to the Temple to speak with Mr. Calthrop, and walked in his chamber an hour, but could not see him, so went to Westminster, where I found soldiers in my office to receive money, and paid it them. At noon went home, where Mrs. Jem, her maid, Mr. Sheply, Hawly, and Moore dined with me on a piece of beef and cabbage, and a collar of brawn. We then fell to cards till dark, and then I went home with Mrs. Jem, and meeting Mr. Hawly got him to bear me company to Chancery Lane, where I spoke with Mr. Calthrop, he told me that Sir James Calthrop was lately dead, but that he would write to his Lady, that the money may be speedily paid. Thence back to White Hall, where I understood that the Parliament had passed the act for indemnity to the soldiers and officers that would come in, in so many days, and that my Lord Lambert should have benefit of the said act. They had also voted that all vacancies in the House, by the death of any of the old members, shall be filled up; but those that are living shall not be called in. Thence I went home, and there found Mr. Hunt and his wife, and Mr. Hawly, who sat with me till ten at night at cards, and so broke up and to bed. 4th. Early came Mr. Vanly--[Mr Vanley appears to have been Pepys's landlord; he is mentioned again in the Diary on September 20th, 1660.]--to me for his half-year's rent, which I had not in the house, but took his man to the office and there paid him. Then I went down into the Hall and to Will's, where Hawly brought a piece of his Cheshire cheese, and we were merry with it. Then into the Hall again, where I met with the Clerk and Quarter Master of my Lord's troop, and took them to the Swan' and gave them their morning's draft, [It was not usual at this time to sit down to breakfast, but instead a morning draught was taken at a tavern.] they being just come to town. Mr. Jenkins shewed me two bills of exchange for money to receive upon my Lord's and my pay. It snowed hard all this morning, and was very cold, and my nose was much swelled with cold. Strange the difference of men's talk! Some say that Lambert must of necessity yield up; others, that he is very strong, and that the Fifth-monarchy-men [will] stick to him, if he declares for a free Parliament. Chillington was sent yesterday to him with the vote of pardon and indemnity from the Parliament. From the Hall I came home, where I found letters from Hinchinbroke [Hinchinbroke was Sir Edward Montagu's seat, from which he afterwards took his second title. Hinchinbroke House, so often mentioned in the Diary, stood about half a mile to the westward of the town of Huntingdon. It was erected late in the reign of Elizabeth, by Sir Henry Cromwell, on the site of a Benedictine nunnery, granted at the Dissolution, with all its appurtenances, to his father, Richard Williams, who had assumed the name of Cromwell, and whose grandson, Sir Oliver, was the uncle and godfather of the Protector. The knight, who was renowned for, his hospitality, had the honour of entertaining King James at Hinchinbroke, but, getting into pecuniary difficulties, was obliged to sell his estates, which were conveyed, July 28th, 1627, to Sir Sidney Montagu of Barnwell, father of the first Earl of Sandwich, in whose descendant they are still vested. On the morning of the 22nd January, 1830, during the minority of the seventh Earl, Hinchinbroke was almost entirely destroyed by fire, but the pictures and furniture were mostly saved, and the house has been rebuilt in the Elizabethan style, and the interior greatly improved, under the direction of Edward Blore, Esq., R.A.--B.] and news of Mr. Sheply's going thither the next week. I dined at home, and from thence went to Will's to Shaw, who promised me to go along with me to Atkinson's about some money, but I found him at cards with Spicer and D. Vines, and could not get him along with me. I was vext at this, and went and walked in the Hall, where I heard that the Parliament spent this day in fasting and prayer; and in the afternoon came letters from the North, that brought certain news that my Lord Lambent his forces were all forsaking him, and that he was left with only fifty horse, and that he did now declare for the Parliament himself; and that my Lord Fairfax did also rest satisfied, and had laid down his arms, and that what he had done was only to secure the country against my Lord Lambert his raising of money, and free quarter. I went to Will's again, where I found them still at cards, and Spicer had won 14s. of Shaw and Vines. Then I spent a little time with G. Vines and Maylard at Vines's at our viols. [It was usual to have a "chest of viols," which consisted of six, viz., two trebles, two tenors, and two basses (see note in North's "Memoirs of Musick," ed. Rimbault, p. 70). The bass viol was also called the 'viola da gamba', because it was held between the legs.] So home, and from thence to Mr. Hunt's, and sat with them and Mr. Hawly at cards till ten at night, and was much made of by them. Home and so to bed, but much troubled with my nose, which was much swelled. 5th. I went to my office, where the money was again expected from the Excise office, but none brought, but was promised to be sent this afternoon. I dined with Mr. Sheply, at my Lord's lodgings, upon his turkey-pie. And so to my office again; where the Excise money was brought, and some of it told to soldiers till it was dark. Then I went home, and after writing a letter to my Lord and told him the news that the Parliament hath this night voted that the members that were discharged from sitting in the years 1648 and 49, were duly discharged; and that there should be writs issued presently for the calling of others in their places, and that Monk and Fairfax were commanded up to town, and that the Prince's lodgings were to be provided for Monk at Whitehall. Then my wife and I, it being a great frost, went to Mrs. Jem's, in expectation to eat a sack-posset, but Mr. Edward--[Edward Montage, son of Sir Edward, and afterwards Lord Hinchinbroke.]--not coming it was put off; and so I left my wife playing at cards with her, and went myself with my lanthorn to Mr. Fage, to consult concerning my nose, who told me it was nothing but cold, and after that we did discourse concerning public business; and he told me it is true the City had not time enough to do much, but they are resolved to shake off the soldiers; and that unless there be a free Parliament chosen, he did believe there are half the Common Council will not levy any money by order of this Parliament. From thence I went to my father's, where I found Mrs. Ramsey and her grandchild, a pretty girl, and staid a while and talked with them and my mother, and then took my leave, only heard of an invitation to go to dinner to-morrow to my cosen Thomas Pepys.--[Thomas Pepys, probably the son of Thomas Pepys of London (born, 1595), brother of Samuel's father, John Pepys.]--I went back to Mrs. Jem, and took my wife and Mrs. Sheply, and went home. 6th. This morning Mr. Sheply and I did eat our breakfast at Mrs. Harper's, (my brother John' being with me,) [John Pepys was born in 1641, and his brother Samuel took great interest in his welfare, but he did not do any great credit to his elder.] upon a cold turkey-pie and a goose. From thence I went to my office, where we paid money to the soldiers till one o'clock, at which time we made an end, and I went home and took my wife and went to my cosen, Thomas Pepys, and found them just sat down to dinner, which was very good; only the venison pasty was palpable beef, which was not handsome. After dinner I took my leave, leaving my wife with my cozen Stradwick,--[Elizabeth, daughter of Richard Pepys, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, and wife of Thomas Stradwick.]--and went to Westminster to Mr. Vines, where George and I fiddled a good while, Dick and his wife (who was lately brought to bed) and her sister being there, but Mr. Hudson not coming according to his promise, I went away, and calling at my house on the wench, I took her and the lanthorn with me to my cosen Stradwick, where, after a good supper, there being there my father, mother, brothers, and sister, my cosen Scott and his wife, Mr. Drawwater and his wife, and her brother, Mr. Stradwick, we had a brave cake brought us, and in the choosing, Pall was Queen and Mr. Stradwick was King. After that my wife and I bid adieu and came home, it being still a great frost. 7th. At my office as I was receiving money of the probate of wills, in came Mrs. Turner, Theoph., Madame Morrice, and Joyce, and after I had done I took them home to my house and Mr. Hawly came after, and I got a dish of steaks and a rabbit for them, while they were playing a game or two at cards. In the middle of our dinner a messenger from Mr. Downing came to fetch me to him, so leaving Mr. Hawly there, I went and was forced to stay till night in expectation of the French Embassador, who at last came, and I had a great deal of good discourse with one of his gentlemen concerning the reason of the difference between the zeal of the French and the Spaniard. After he was gone I went home, and found my friends still at cards, and after that I went along with them to Dr. Whores (sending my wife to Mrs. Jem's to a sack-posset), where I heard some symphony and songs of his own making, performed by Mr. May, Harding, and Mallard. Afterwards I put my friends into a coach, and went to Mrs. Jem's, where I wrote a letter to my Lord by the post, and had my part of the posset which was saved for me, and so we went home, and put in at my Lord's lodgings, where we staid late, eating of part of his turkey-pie, and reading of Quarles' Emblems. So home and to bed. 8th (Sunday). In the morning I went to Mr. Gunning's, where a good sermon, wherein he showed the life of Christ, and told us good authority for us to believe that Christ did follow his father's trade, and was a carpenter till thirty years of age. From thence to my father's to dinner, where I found my wife, who was forced to dine there, we not having one coal of fire in the house, and it being very hard frosty weather. In the afternoon my father, he going to a man's to demand some money due to my Aunt Bells my wife and I went to Mr. Mossum's, where a strange doctor made a very good sermon. From thence sending my wife to my father's, I went to Mrs. Turner's, and staid a little while, and then to my father's, where I found Mr. Sheply, and after supper went home together. Here I heard of the death of Mr. Palmer, and that he was to be buried at Westminster tomorrow. 9th. For these two or three days I have been much troubled with thoughts how to get money to pay them that I have borrowed money of, by reason of my money being in my uncle's hands. I rose early this morning, and looked over and corrected my brother John's speech, which he is to make the next apposition,--[Declamations at St. Paul's School, in which there were opponents and respondents.]--and after that I went towards my office, and in my way met with W. Simons, Muddiman, and Jack Price, and went with them to Harper's and in many sorts of talk I staid till two of the clock in the afternoon. I found Muddiman a good scholar, an arch rogue; and owns that though he writes new books for the Parliament, yet he did declare that he did it only to get money; and did talk very basely of many of them. Among other things, W. Simons told me how his uncle Scobel was on Saturday last called to the bar, for entering in the journal of the House, for the year 1653, these words: "This day his Excellence the Lord General Cromwell dissolved this House;" which words the Parliament voted a forgery, and demanded of him how they came to be entered. He answered that they were his own handwriting, and that he did it by virtue of his office, and the practice of his predecessor; and that the intent of the practice was to--let posterity know how such and such a Parliament was dissolved, whether by the command of the King, or by their own neglect, as the last House of Lords was; and that to this end, he had said and writ that it was dissolved by his Excellence the Lord G[eneral]; and that for the word dissolved, he never at the time did hear of any other term; and desired pardon if he would not dare to make a word himself when it was six years after, before they came themselves to call it an interruption; but they were so little satisfied with this answer, that they did chuse a committee to report to the House, whether this crime of Mr. Scobell's did come within the act of indemnity or no. Thence I went with Muddiman to the Coffee-House, and gave 18d. to be entered of the Club. Thence into the Hall, where I heard for certain that Monk was coming to London, and that Bradshaw's 2 lodgings were preparing for him. Thence to Mrs. Jem's, and found her in bed, and she was afraid that it would prove the small-pox. Thence back to Westminster Hall, where I heard how Sir H. Vane--[Sir Harry Vane the younger, an inflexible republican. He was executed in 1662, on a charge of conspiring the death of Charles I.]--was this day voted out of the House, and to sit no more there; and that he would retire himself to his house at Raby, as also all the rest of the nine officers that had their commissions formerly taken away from them, were commanded to their farthest houses from London during the pleasure of the Parliament. Here I met with the Quarter Master of my Lord's troop, and his clerk Mr. Jenings, and took them home, and gave them a bottle of wine, and the remainder of my collar of brawn; and so good night. After that came in Mr. Hawly, who told me that I was mist this day at my office, and that to-morrow I must pay all the money that I have, at which I was put to a great loss how I should get money to make up my cash, and so went to bed in great trouble. 10th. Went out early, and in my way met with Greatorex,--[Ralph Greatorex, the well-known mathematical instrument maker of his day. He is frequently mentioned by Pepys.]--and at an alehouse he showed me the first sphere of wire that ever he made, and indeed it was very pleasant; thence to Mr. Crew's, and borrowed L10, and so to my office, and was able to pay my money. Thence into the Hall, and meeting the Quarter Master, Jenings, and Captain Rider, we four went to a cook's to dinner. Thence Jenings and I into London (it being through heat of the sun a great thaw and dirty) to show our bills of return, and coming back drank a pint of wine at the Star in Cheapside. So to Westminster, overtaking Captain Okeshott in his silk cloak, whose sword got hold of many people in walking. Thence to the Coffee-house, where were a great confluence of gentlemen; viz. Mr. Harrington, Poultny, chairman, Gold, Dr. Petty; &c., where admirable discourse till at night. Thence with Doling to Mother Lams, who told me how this day Scott [Thomas Scott, M.P., was made Secretary of State to the Commonwealth on the 17th of this same January. He signed the death warrant of Charles I., for which he was executed at Charing Cross, October 16th, 1660. He gloried in his offence, and desired to have written on his tombstone, "Thomas Scott who adjudged to death the late king."] was made Intelligencer, and that the rest of the members that were objected against last night, their business was to be heard this day se'nnight. Thence I went home and wrote a letter, and went to Harper's, and staid there till Tom carried it to the postboy at Whitehall. So home to bed. 11th. Being at Will's with Captain Barker, who hath paid me L300 this morning at my office, in comes my father, and with him I walked, and leave him at W. Joyce's, and went myself to Mr. Crew's, but came too late to dine, and therefore after a game at shittle-cocks--[The game of battledore and shuttlecock was formerly much played even in tennis courts, and was a very violent game.]--with Mr. Walgrave and Mr. Edward, I returned to my father, and taking him from W. Joyce's, who was not abroad himself, we inquired of a porter, and by his direction went to an alehouse, where after a cup or two we parted. I went towards London, and in my way went in to see Crowly, who was now grown a very great loon and very tame. Thence to Mr. Steven's with a pair of silver snuffers, and bought a pair of shears to cut silver, and so homeward again. From home I went to see Mrs. Jem, who was in bed, and now granted to have the small-pox. Back again, and went to the Coffee-house, but tarried not, and so home. 12th. I drink my morning at Harper's with Mr. Sheply and a seaman, and so to my office, where Captain Holland came to see me, and appointed a meeting in the afternoon. Then wrote letters to Hinchinbroke and sealed them at Will's, and after that went home, and thence to the Half Moon, where I found the Captain and Mr. Billingsly and Newman, a barber, where we were very merry, and had the young man that plays so well on the Welsh harp. Billingsly paid for all. Thence home, and finding my letters this day not gone by the carrier I new sealed them, but my brother Tom coming we fell into discourse about my intention to feast the Joyces. I sent for a bit of meat for him from the cook's, and forgot to send my letters this night. So I went to bed, and in discourse broke to my wife what my thoughts were concerning my design of getting money by, &c. 13th. Coming in the morning to my office, I met with Mr. Fage and took him to the Swan? He told me how high Haselrigge, and Morly, the last night began at my Lord Mayor's to exclaim against the City of London, saying that they had forfeited their charter. And how the Chamberlain of the City did take them down, letting them know how much they were formerly beholding to the City, &c. He also told me that Monk's letter that came to them by the sword-bearer was a cunning piece, and that which they did not much trust to; but they were resolved to make no more applications to the Parliament, nor to pay any money, unless the secluded members be brought in, or a free Parliament chosen. Thence to my office, where nothing to do. So to Will's with Mr. Pinkney, who invited me to their feast at his Hall the next Monday. Thence I went home and took my wife and dined at Mr. Wades, and after that we went and visited Catan. From thence home again, and my wife was very unwilling to let me go forth, but with some discontent would go out if I did, and I going forth towards Whitehall, I saw she followed me, and so I staid and took her round through Whitehall, and so carried her home angry. Thence I went to Mrs. Jem, and found her up and merry, and that it did not prove the small-pox, but only the swine-pox; so I played a game or two at cards with her. And so to Mr. Vines, where he and I and Mr. Hudson played half-a-dozen things, there being there Dick's wife and her sister. After that I went home and found my wife gone abroad to Mr. Hunt's, and came in a little after me.--So to bed. 14th. Nothing to do at our office. Thence into the Hall, and just as I was going to dinner from Westminster Hall with Mr. Moore (with whom I had been in the lobby to hear news, and had spoke with Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper about my Lord's lodgings) to his house, I met with Captain Holland, who told me that he hath brought his wife to my house, so I posted home and got a dish of meat for them. They staid with me all the afternoon, and went hence in the evening. Then I went with my wife, and left her at market, and went myself to the Coffee-house, and heard exceeding good argument against Mr. Harrington's assertion, that overbalance of propriety [i.e., property] was the foundation of government. Home, and wrote to Hinchinbroke, and sent that and my other letter that missed of going on Thursday last. So to bed. 15th. Having been exceedingly disturbed in the night with the barking of a dog of one of our neighbours that I could not sleep for an hour or two, I slept late, and then in the morning took physic, and so staid within all day. At noon my brother John came to me, and I corrected as well as I could his Greek speech to say the Apposition, though I believe he himself was as well able to do it as myself. After that we went to read in the great Officiale about the blessing of bells in the Church of Rome. After that my wife and I in pleasant discourse till night, then I went to supper, and after that to make an end of this week's notes in this book, and so to bed. It being a cold day and a great snow my physic did not work so well as it should have done. 16th. In the morning I went up to Mr. Crew's, and at his bedside he gave me direction to go to-morrow with Mr. Edward to Twickenham, and likewise did talk to me concerning things of state; and expressed his mind how just it was that the secluded members should come to sit again. I went from thence, and in my way went into an alehouse and drank my morning draft with Matthew Andrews and two or three more of his friends, coachmen. And of one of them I did hire a coach to carry us to-morrow to Twickenham. From thence to my office, where nothing to do; but Mr. Downing he came and found me all alone; and did mention to me his going back into Holland, and did ask me whether I would go or no, but gave me little encouragement, but bid me consider of it; and asked me whether I did not think that Mr. Hawly could perform the work of my office alone or no. I confess I was at a great loss, all the day after, to bethink myself how to carry this business. At noon, Harry Ethall came to me and went along with Mr. Maylard by coach as far as Salsbury Court, and there we set him down, and we went to the Clerks, where we came a little too late, but in a closet we had a very good dinner by Mr. Pinkny's courtesy, and after dinner we had pretty good singing, and one, Hazard, sung alone after the old fashion, which was very much cried up, but I did not like it. Thence we went to the Green Dragon, on Lambeth Hill, both the Mr. Pinkney's, Smith, Harrison, Morrice, that sang the bass, Sheply and I, and there we sang of all sorts of things, and I ventured with good success upon things at first sight, and after that I played on my flageolet, and staid there till nine o'clock, very merry and drawn on with one song after another till it came to be so late. After that Sheply, Harrison and myself, we went towards Westminster on foot, and at the Golden Lion, near Charing Cross, we went in and drank a pint of wine, and so parted, and thence home, where I found my wife and maid a-washing. I staid up till the bell-man came by with his bell just under my window as I was writing of this very line, and cried, "Past one of the clock, and a cold, frosty, windy morning." I then went to bed, and left my wife and the maid a-washing still. 17th. Early I went to Mr. Crew's, and having given Mr. Edward money to give the servants, I took him into the coach that waited for us and carried him to my house, where the coach waited for me while I and the child went to Westminster Hall, and bought him some pictures. In the Hall I met Mr. Woodfine, and took him to Will's and drank with him. Thence the child and I to the coach, where my wife was ready, and so we went towards Twickenham. In our way, at Kensington we understood how that my Lord Chesterfield had killed another gentleman about half an hour before, and was fled. [Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield, ob. 1713, act. suae 80. We learn, from the memoir prefixed to his "Printed Correspondence," that he fought three duels, disarming and wounding his first and second antagonists, and killing the third. The name of the unfortunate gentleman who fell on this occasion was Woolly. Lord Chesterfield, absconding, went to Breda, where he obtained the royal pardon from Charles II. He acted a busy part in the eventful times in which he lived, and was remarkable for his steady adherence to the Stuarts. Lord Chesterfield's letter to Charles II., and the King's answer granting the royal pardon, occur in the Correspondence published by General Sir John Murray, in 1829. "Jan. 17th, 1659. The Earl of Chesterfield and Dr. Woolly's son of Hammersmith, had a quarrel about a mare of eighteen pounds price; the quarrel would not be reconciled, insomuch that a challenge passed between them. They fought a duel on the backside of Mr. Colby's house at Kensington, where the Earl and he had several passes. The Earl wounded him in two places, and would fain have then ended, but the stubbornness and pride of heart of Mr. Woolly would not give over, and the next pass [he] was killed on the spot. The Earl fled to Chelsea, and there took water and escaped. The jury found it chance-medley."--Rugge's "Diurnal," Addit MSS., British Museum.--B.] We went forward and came about one of the clock to Mr. Fuller's, but he was out of town, so we had a dinner there, and I gave the child 40s. to give to the two ushers. After that we parted and went homewards, it being market day at Brainford [Brentford]. I set my wife down and went with the coach to Mr. Crew's, thinking to have spoke with Mr. Moore and Mrs. Jem, he having told me the reason of his melancholy was some unkindness from her after so great expressions of love, and how he had spoke to her friends and had their consent, and that he would desire me to take an occasion of speaking with her, but by no means not to heighten her discontent or distaste whatever it be, but to make it up if I can. But he being out of doors, I went away and went to see Mrs. Jem, who was now very well again, and after a game or two at cards, I left her. So I went to the Coffee Club, and heard very good discourse; it was in answer to Mr. Harrington's answer, who said that the state of the Roman government was not a settled government, and so it was no wonder that the balance of propriety [i.e., property] was in one hand, and the command in another, it being therefore always in a posture of war; but it was carried by ballot, that it was a steady government, though it is true by the voices it had been carried before that it was an unsteady government; so to-morrow it is to be proved by the opponents that the balance lay in one hand, and the government in another. Thence I went to Westminster, and met Shaw and Washington, who told me how this day Sydenham [Colonel William Sydenham had been an active officer during the Civil Wars, on the Parliament side; M.P. for Dorsetshire, Governor of Melcombe, and one of the Committee of Safety. He was the elder brother of the celebrated physician of that name.--B.] was voted out of the House for sitting any more this Parliament, and that Salloway was voted out likewise and sent to the Tower, during the pleasure of the House. Home and wrote by the Post, and carried to Whitehall, and coming back turned in at Harper-'s, where Jack Price was, and I drank with him and he told me, among other, things, how much the Protector [Richard Cromwell, third son of Oliver Cromwell, born October 4th, 1626, admitted a member of Lincoln's Inn, May 27th, 1647, fell into debt and devoted himself to hunting and field sports. His succession to his father as Protector was universally accepted at first, but the army soon began to murmur because he was not a general. Between the dissensions of various parties he fell, and the country was left in a state of anarchy: He went abroad early in the summer of 1660, and lived abroad for some years, returning to England in 1680. After his fall he bore the name of John Clarke. Died at Cheshunt, July 12th, 1712.] is altered, though he would seem to bear out his trouble very well, yet he is scarce able to talk sense with a man; and how he will say that "Who should a man trust, if he may not trust to a brother and an uncle;" and "how much those men have to answer before God Almighty, for their playing the knave with him as they did." He told me also, that there was; L100,000 offered, and would have been taken for his restitution, had not the Parliament come in as they did again; and that he do believe that the Protector will live to give a testimony of his valour and revenge yet before he dies, and that the Protector will say so himself sometimes. Thence I went home, it being late and my wife in bed. 18th. To my office and from thence to Will's, and there Mr. Sheply brought me letters from the carrier and so I went home. After that to Wilkinson's, where we had a dinner for Mr. Talbot, Adams, Pinkny and his son, but his son did not come. Here we were very merry, and while I was here Mr. Fuller came thither and staid a little, while. After that we all went to my Lord's, whither came afterwards Mr. Harrison, and by chance seeing Mr. Butler--[Mr. Butler is usually styled by Pepys Mons. l'Impertinent.]--coming by I called him in and so we sat drinking a bottle of wine till night. At which time Mistress Ann--[Probably Mrs. (afterwards Lady) Anne Montagu, daughter of Sir Edward Montagu, and sister to Mrs. Jem.]--came with the key of my Lord's study for some things, and so we all broke up and after I had gone to my house and interpreted my Lord's letter by his character--[The making of ciphers was a popular amusement about this time. Pepys made several for Montagu, Downing, and others.]--I came to her again and went with her to her lodging and from thence to Mr. Crew's, where I advised with him what to do about my Lord's lodgings and what answer to give to Sir Ant. Cooper and so I came home and to bed. All the world is at a loss to think what Monk will do: the City saying that he will be for them, and the Parliament saying he will be for them. 19th. This morning I was sent for to Mr. Downing, and at his bed side he told me, that he had a kindness for me, and that he thought that he had done me one; and that was, that he had got me to be one of the Clerks of the Council; at which I was a little stumbled, and could not tell what to do, whether to thank him or no; but by and by I did; but not very heartily, for I feared that his doing of it was but only to ease himself of the salary which he gives me. After that Mr. Sheply staying below all this time for me we went thence and met Mr. Pierce, [Pepys had two friends named Pierce, one the surgeon and the other the purser; he usually (but not always) distinguishes them. The one here alluded to was probably the surgeon, and husband of pretty Mrs. Pierce. After the Restoration James Pearse or Pierce became Surgeon to the Duke of York, and he was also Surgeon-General of the Fleet.] so at the Harp and Ball drank our morning draft and so to Whitehall where I met with Sir Ant. Cooper and did give him some answer from my Lord and he did give us leave to keep the lodgings still. And so we did determine thereupon that Mr. Sheply might now go into the country and would do so to-morrow. Back I went by Mr. Downing's order and staid there till twelve o'clock in expectation of one to come to read some writings, but he came not, so I staid all alone reading the answer of the Dutch Ambassador to our State, in answer to the reasons of my Lord's coming home, which he gave for his coming, and did labour herein to contradict my Lord's arguments for his coming home. Thence to my office and so with Mr. Sheply and Moore, to dine upon a turkey with Mrs. Jem, and after that Mr. Moore and I went to the French Ordinary, where Mr. Downing this day feasted Sir Arth. Haselrigge, and a great many more of the Parliament, and did stay to put him in mind of me. Here he gave me a note to go and invite some other members to dinner tomorrow. So I went to White Hall, and did stay at Marsh's, with Simons, Luellin, and all the rest of the Clerks of the Council, who I hear are all turned out, only the two Leighs, and they do all tell me that my name was mentioned the last night, but that nothing was done in it. Hence I went and did leave some of my notes at the lodgings of the members and so home. To bed. 20th. In the morning I went to Mr. Downing's bedside and gave him an account what I had done as to his guests, land I went thence to my Lord Widdrington who I met in the street, going to seal the patents for the judges to-day, and so could not come to dinner. I called upon Mr. Calthrop about the money due to my Lord. Here I met with Mr. Woodfine and drank with him at the Sun in Chancery Lane and so to Westminster Hall, where at the lobby I spoke with the rest of my guests and so to my office. At noon went by water with Mr. Maylard and Hales to the Swan in Fish Street at our Goal Feast, where we were very merry at our Jole of Ling, and from thence after a great and good dinner Mr. Falconberge would go drink a cup of ale at a place where I had like to have shot at a scholar that lay over the house of office. Thence calling on Mr. Stephens and Wootton (with whom I drank) about business of my Lord's I went to the Coffee Club where there was nothing done but choosing of a Committee for orders. Thence to Westminster Hall where Mrs. Lane and the rest of the maids had their white scarfs, all having been at the burial of a young bookseller in the Hall. [These stationers and booksellers, whose shops disfigured Westminster Hall down to a late period, were a privileged class. In the statutes for appointing licensers and regulating the press, there is a clause exempting them from the pains and penalties of these obnoxious laws.] Thence to Mr. Sheply's and took him to my house and drank with him in order to his going to-morrow. So parted and I sat up late making up my accounts before he go. This day three citizens of London went to meet Monk from the Common Council! "Jan. 20th. Then there went out of the City, by desire of the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen, Alderman Fowke and Alderman Vincett, alias Vincent, and Mr. Broomfield, to compliment General Monk, who lay at Harborough Town, in Leicestershire." "Jan. 21st. Because the Speaker was sick, and Lord General Monk so near London, and everybody thought that the City would suffer for their affronts to the soldiery, and because they had sent the sword- bearer to, the General without the Parliament's consent, and the three Aldermen were gone to give him the welcome to town, these four lines were in almost everybody's mouth: "Monk under a hood, not well understood, The City pull in their horns; The Speaker is out, and sick of the gout, And the Parliament sit upon thorns." --Rugge's 'Diurnal.'--B." 21st. Up early in finishing my accounts and writing to my Lord and from thence to my Lord's and took leave of Mr. Sheply and possession of all the keys and the house. Thence to my office for some money to pay Mr. Sheply and sent it him by the old man. I then went to Mr. Downing who chid me because I did not give him notice of some of his guests failed him but I told him that I sent our porter to tell him and he was not within, but he told me that he was within till past twelve o'clock. So the porter or he lied. Thence to my office where nothing to do. Then with Mr. Hawly, he and I went to Mr. Crew's and dined there. Thence into London, to Mr. Vernon's and I received my L25 due by bill for my troopers' pay. Then back again to Steadman's. At the Mitre, in Fleet street, in our way calling on Mr. Fage, who told me how the City have some hopes of Monk. Thence to the Mitre, where I drank a pint of wine, the house being in fitting for Banister to come hither from Paget's. Thence to Mrs. Jem and gave her L5. So home and left my money and to Whitehall where Luellin and I drank and talked together an hour at Marsh's and so up to the clerks' room, where poor Mr. Cook, a black man, that is like to be put out of his clerk's place, came and railed at me for endeavouring to put him out and get myself in, when I was already in a good condition. But I satisfied him and after I had wrote a letter there to my Lord, wherein I gave him an account how this day Lenthall took his chair again, and [the House] resolved a declaration to be brought in on Monday next to satisfy the world what they intend to do. So home and to bed. 22nd. I went in the morning to Mr. Messum's, where I met with W. Thurburn and sat with him in his pew. A very eloquent sermon about the duty of all to give good example in our lives and conversation, which I fear he himself was most guilty of not doing. After sermon, at the door by appointment my wife met me, and so to my father's to dinner, where we had not been to my shame in a fortnight before. After dinner my father shewed me a letter from Mr. Widdrington, of Christ's College, in Cambridge, wherein he do express very great kindness for my brother, and my father intends that my brother shall go to him. To church in the afternoon to Mr. Herring, where a lazy poor sermon. And so home with Mrs. Turner and sitting with her a while we went to my father's where we supt very merry, and so home. This day I began to put on buckles to my shoes, which I have bought yesterday of Mr. Wotton. 23rd. In the morning called out to carry L20 to Mr. Downing, which I did and came back, and finding Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, I took him to the Axe and gave him his morning draft. Thence to my office and there did nothing but make up my balance. Came home and found my wife dressing of the girl's head, by which she was made to look very pretty. I went out and paid Wilkinson what I did owe him, and brought a piece of beef home for dinner. Thence I went out and paid Waters, the vintner, and went to see Mrs. Jem, where I found my Lady Wright, but Scott was so drunk that he could not be seen. Here I staid and made up Mrs. Ann's bills, and played a game or two at cards, and thence to Westminster Hall, it being very dark. I paid Mrs. Michell, my bookseller, and back to Whitehall, and in the garden, going through to the Stone Gallery--[The Stone Gallery was a long passage between the Privy Garden and the river. It led from the Bowling Green to the Court of the Palace]--I fell into a ditch, it being very dark. At the Clerk's chamber I met with Simons and Luellin, and went with them to Mr. Mount's chamber at the Cock Pit, where we had some rare pot venison, and ale to abundance till almost twelve at night, and after a song round we went home. This day the Parliament sat late, and resolved of the declaration to be printed for the people's satisfaction, promising them a great many good things. 24th. In the morning to my office, where, after I had drank my morning draft at Will's with Ethell and Mr. Stevens, I went and told part of the excise money till twelve o'clock, and then called on my wife and took her to Mr. Pierces, she in the way being exceedingly troubled with a pair of new pattens, and I vexed to go so slow, it being late. There when we came we found Mrs. Carrick very fine, and one Mr. Lucy, who called one another husband and wife, and after dinner a great deal of mad stir. There was pulling off Mrs. bride's and Mr. bridegroom's ribbons; [The scramble for ribbons, here mentioned by Pepys in connection with weddings (see also January 26th, 1660-61, and February 8th, 1662-3), doubtless formed part of the ceremony of undressing the bridegroom, which, as the age became more refined, fell into disuse. All the old plays are silent on the custom; the earliest notice of which occurs in the old ballad of the wedding of Arthur O'Bradley, printed in the Appendix to "Robin Hood," 1795, where we read-- "Then got they his points and his garters, And cut them in pieces like martyrs; And then they all did play For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley." Sir Winston Churchill also observes ("Divi Britannici," p. 340) that James I. was no more troubled at his querulous countrymen robbing him than a bridegroom at the losing of his points and garters. Lady Fanshawe, in her "Memoirs," says, that at the nuptials of Charles II. and the Infanta, "the Bishop of London declared them married in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; and then they caused the ribbons her Majesty wore to be cut in little pieces; and as far as they would go, every one had some." The practice still survives in the form of wedding favours. A similar custom is still of every day's occurrence at Dieppe. Upon the morrow after their marriage, the bride and bridegroom perambulate the streets, followed by a numerous cortege, the guests at the wedding festival, two and two; each individual wearing two bits of narrow ribbon, about two inches in length, of different colours, which are pinned crossways upon the breast. These morsels of ribbons originally formed the garters of the bride and bridegroom, which had been divided amidst boisterous mirth among the assembled company, the moment the happy pair had been formally installed in the bridal bed.--Ex. inf. Mr. William.Hughes, Belvedere, Jersey.--B.] with a great deal of fooling among them that I and my wife did not like. Mr. Lucy and several other gentlemen coming in after dinner, swearing and singing as if they were mad, only he singing very handsomely. There came in afterwards Mr. Southerne, clerk to Mr. Blackburne, and with him Lambert, lieutenant of my Lord's ship, and brought with them the declaration that came out to-day from the Parliament, wherein they declare for law and gospel, and for tythes; but I do not find people apt to believe them. After this taking leave I went to my father's, and my wife staying there, he and I went to speak with Mr. Crumlum (in the meantime, while it was five o'clock, he being in the school, we went to my cozen Tom Pepys' shop, the turner in Paul's Churchyard, and drank with him a pot of ale); he gave my father directions what to do about getting my brother an exhibition, and spoke very well of my brother. Thence back with my father home, where he and I spoke privately in the little room to my sister Pall about stealing of things as my wife's scissars and my maid's book, at which my father was much troubled. Hence home with my wife and so to Whitehall, where I met with Mr. Hunt and Luellin, and drank with them at Marsh's, and afterwards went up and wrote to my Lord by the post. This day the Parliament gave order that the late Committee of Safety should come before them this day se'nnight, and all their papers, and their model of Government that they had made, to be brought in with them. So home and talked with my wife about our dinner on Thursday. 25th. Called up early to Mr. Downing; he gave me a Character, such a one as my Lord's, to make perfect, and likewise gave me his order for L500 to carry to Mr. Frost, which I did and so to my office, where I did do something about the character till twelve o'clock. Then home find found my wife and the maid at my Lord's getting things ready against to-morrow. I went by water to my Uncle White's' to dinner, where I met my father, where we alone had a fine jole of Ling to dinner. After dinner I took leave, and coming home heard that in Cheapside there had been but a little before a gibbet set up, and the picture of Huson [John Hewson, who, from a low origin, became a colonel in the Parliament army, and sat in judgment on the King: he escaped hanging by flight, and died in 1662, at Amsterdam. A curious notice of Hewson occurs in Rugge's "Diurnal," December 5th, 1659, which states that "he was a cobbler by trade, but a very stout man, and a very good commander; but in regard of his former employment, they [the city apprentices] threw at him old shoes, and slippers, and turniptops, and brick-bats, stones, and tiles."... "At this time [January, 1659-60] there came forth, almost every day, jeering books: one was called 'Colonel Hewson's Confession; or, a Parley with Pluto,' about his going into London, and taking down the gates of Temple-Bar." He had but one eye, which did not escape the notice of his enemies.--B.] hung upon it in the middle of the street. I called at Paul's Churchyard, where I bought Buxtorf's Hebrew Grammar; and read a declaration of the gentlemen of Northampton which came out this afternoon. Thence to my father's, where I staid with my mother a while and then to Mr. Crew's about a picture to be sent into the country, of Mr. Thomas Crew, to my Lord. So [to] my Lady Wright to speak with her, but she was abroad, so Mr. Evans, her butler, had me into his buttery, and gave me sack and a lesson on his lute, which he played very well. Thence I went to my Lord's and got most things ready against tomorrow, as fires and laying the cloth, and my wife was making of her tarts and larding of her pullets till eleven o'clock. This evening Mr. Downing sent for me, and gave me order to go to Mr. Jessop for his papers concerning his dispatch to Holland which were not ready, only his order for a ship to transport him he gave me. To my Lord's again and so home with my wife, tired with this day's work. 26th. To my office for L20 to carry to Mr. Downing, which I did and back again. Then came Mr. Frost to pay Mr. Downing his L500, and I went to him for the warrant and brought it Mr. Frost. Called for some papers at Whitehall for Mr. Downing, one of which was an Order of the Council for L1800 per annum, to be paid monthly; and the other two, Orders to the Commissioners of Customs, to let his goods pass free. Home from my office to my Lord's lodgings where my wife had got ready a very fine dinner--viz. a dish of marrow bones; a leg of mutton; a loin of veal; a dish of fowl, three pullets, and two dozen of larks all in a dish; a great tart, a neat's tongue, a dish of anchovies; a dish of prawns and cheese. My company was my father, my uncle Fenner, his two sons, Mr. Pierce, and all their wives, and my brother Tom. We were as merry as I could frame myself to be in the company, W. Joyce talking after the old rate and drinking hard, vexed his father and mother and wife. And I did perceive that Mrs. Pierce her coming so gallant, that it put the two young women quite out of courage. When it became dark they all went away but Mr. Pierce, and W. Joyce, and their wives and Tom, and drank a bottle of wine afterwards, so that Will did heartily vex his father and mother by staying. At which I and my wife were much pleased. Then they all went and I fell to writing of two characters for Mr. Downing, and carried them to him at nine o'clock at night, and he did not like them but corrected them, so that to-morrow I am to do them anew. To my Lord's lodging again and sat by the great log, it being now a very good fire, with my wife, and ate a bit and so home. The news this day is a letter that speaks absolutely Monk's concurrence with this Parliament, and nothing else, which yet I hardly believe. After dinner to-day my father showed me a letter from my Uncle Robert, in answer to my last, concerning my money which I would have out of my Coz. Beck's' hand, wherein Beck desires it four months longer, which I know not how to spare. 27th. Going to my office I met with Tom Newton, my old comrade, and took him to the Crown in the Palace, and gave him his morning draft. And as he always did, did talk very high what he would do with the Parliament, that he would have what place he would, and that he might be one of the Clerks to the Council if he would. Here I staid talking with him till the offices were all shut, and then I looked in the Hall, and was told by my bookseller, Mrs. Michell, that Mr. G. Montagu had inquired there for me. So I went to his house, and was forced by him to dine with him, and had a plenteous brave dinner and the greatest civility that ever I had from any man. Thence home and so to Mrs. Jem, and played with her at cards, and coming home again my wife told me that Mr. Hawly had been there to speak with me, and seemed angry that I had not been at the office that day, and she told me she was afraid that Mr. Downing may have a mind to pick some hole in my coat. So I made haste to him, but found no such thing from him, but he sent me to Mr. Sherwin's about getting Mr. Squib to come to him tomorrow, and I carried him an answer. So home and fell a writing the characters for Mr. Downing, and about nine at night Mr. Hawly came, and after he was gone I sat up till almost twelve writing, and--wrote two of them. In the morning up early and wrote another, my wife lying in bed and reading to me. 28th. I went to Mr. Downing and carried him three characters, and then to my office and wrote another, while Mr. Frost staid telling money. And after I had done it Mr. Hawly came into the office and I left him and carried it to Mr. Downing, who then told me that he was resolved to be gone for Holland this morning. So I to my office again, and dispatch my business there, and came with Mr. Hawly to Mr. Downing's lodging, and took Mr. Squib from White Hall in a coach thither with me, and there we waited in his chamber a great while, till he came in; and in the mean time, sent all his things to the barge that lay at Charing-Cross Stairs. Then came he in, and took a very civil leave of me, beyond my expectation, for I was afraid that he would have told me something of removing me from my office; but he did not, but that he would do me any service that lay in his power. So I went down and sent a porter to my house for my best fur cap, but he coming too late with it I did not present it to him. Thence I went to Westminster Hall, and bound up my cap at Mrs. Michell's, who was much taken with my cap, and endeavoured to overtake the coach at the Exchange and to give it him there, but I met with one that told me that he was gone, and so I returned and went to Heaven, [A place of entertainment within or adjoining Westminster Hall. It is called in "Hudibras," "False Heaven, at the end of the Hall." There were two other alehouses near Westminster Hall, called Hell and Purgatory. "Nor break his fast In Heaven and Hell." Ben Jonson's Alchemist, act v. SC. 2.] where Luellin and I dined on a breast of mutton all alone, discoursing of the changes that we have seen and the happiness of them that have estates of their own, and so parted, and I went by appointment to my office and paid young Mr. Walton L500; it being very dark he took L300 by content. He gave me half a piece and carried me in his coach to St. Clement's, from whence I went to Mr. Crew's and made even with Mr. Andrews, and took in all my notes and gave him one for all. Then to my Lady Wright and gave her my Lord's letter which he bade me give her privately. So home and then to Will's for a little news, then came home again and wrote to my Lord, and so to Whitehall and gave them to the post-boy. Back again home and to bed. 29th. In the morning I went to Mr. Gunning's, where he made an excellent sermon upon the 2d of the Galatians, about the difference that fell between St. Paul and St. Peter (the feast day of St. Paul being a day or two ago), whereby he did prove, that, contrary to the doctrine of the Roman Church, St. Paul did never own any dependance, or that he was inferior to St. Peter, but that they were equal, only one a particular charge of preaching to the Jews, and the other to the Gentiles. Here I met with Mr. Moore, and went home with him to dinner to Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Spurrier being in town did dine with us. From thence I went home and spent the afternoon in casting up my accounts, and do find myself to be worth L40 and more, which I did not think, but am afraid that I have forgot something. To my father's to supper, where I heard by my brother Tom how W. Joyce would the other day have Mr. Pierce and his wife to the tavern after they were gone from my house, and that he had so little manners as to make Tom pay his share notwithstanding that he went upon his account, and by my father I understand that my uncle Fenner and my aunt were much pleased with our entertaining them. After supper home without going to see Mrs. Turner. 30th. This morning, before I was up, I fell a-singing of my song, "Great, good, and just," &c. [This is the beginning of the Marquis of Montrose's verses on the execution of Charles I., which Pepys had set to music: "Great, good, and just, could I but rate My grief and thy too rigid fate, I'd weep the world to such a strain That it should deluge once again. But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies More from Briareus' hands, than Argus eyes, I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds, And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds."] and put myself thereby in mind that this was the fatal day, now ten years since, his Majesty died. Scull the waterman came and brought me a note from the Hope from Mr. Hawly with direction, about his money, he tarrying there till his master be gone. To my office, where I received money of the excise of Mr. Ruddyer, and after we had done went to Will's and staid there till 3 o'clock and then I taking my L12 10s. 0d. due to me for my last quarter's salary, I went with them by water to London to the house where Signr. Torriano used to be and staid there a while with Mr. Ashwell, Spicer and Ruddier. Then I went and paid L12 17s. 6d. due from me to Captn. Dick Matthews according to his direction the last week in a letter. After that I came back by water playing on my flageolette and not finding my wife come home again from her father's I went and sat awhile and played at cards with Mrs. Jam, whose maid had newly got an ague and was ill thereupon. So homewards again, having great need to do my business, and so pretending to meet Mr. Shott the wood monger of Whitehall I went and eased myself at the Harp and Ball, and thence home where I sat writing till bed-time and so to bed. There seems now to be a general cease of talk, it being taken for granted that Monk do resolve to stand to the Parliament, and nothing else. Spent a little time this night in knocking up nails for my hat and cloaks in my chamber. 31st. In the morning I fell to my lute till 9 o'clock. Then to my Lord's lodgings and set out a barrel of soap to be carried to Mrs. Ann. Here I met with Nick Bartlet, one that had been a servant of my Lord's at sea and at Harper's gave him his morning draft. So to my office where I paid; L1200 to Mr. Frost and at noon went to Will's to give one of the Excise office a pot of ale that came to-day to tell over a bag of his that wanted; L7 in it, which he found over in another bag. Then home and dined with my wife when in came Mr. Hawly newly come from shipboard from his master, and brought me a letter of direction what to do in his lawsuit with Squib about his house and office. After dinner to Westminster Hall, where all we clerks had orders to wait upon the Committee, at the Star Chamber that is to try Colonel Jones, [Colonel John Jones, impeached, with General Ludlow and Miles Corbet, for treasonable practices in Ireland.] and were to give an account what money we had paid him; but the Committee did not sit to-day. Hence to Will's, where I sat an hour or two with Mr. Godfrey Austin, a scrivener in King Street. Here I met and afterwards bought the answer to General Monk's letter, which is a very good one, and I keep it by me. Thence to Mrs. Jem, where I found her maid in bed in a fit of the ague, and Mrs. Jem among the people below at work and by and by she came up hot and merry, as if they had given her wine, at which I was troubled, but said nothing; after a game at cards, I went home and wrote by the post and coming back called in at Harper's and drank with Mr. Pulford, servant to Mr. Waterhouse, who tells me, that whereas my Lord Fleetwood should have answered to the Parliament to-day, he wrote a letter and desired a little more time, he being a great way out of town. And how that he is quite ashamed of himself, and confesses how he had deserved this, for his baseness to his brother. And that he is like to pay part of the money, paid out of the Exchequer during the Committee of Safety, out of his own purse again, which I am glad of. Home and to bed, leaving my wife reading in Polixandre. ["Polexandre," by Louis Le Roy de Gomberville, was first published in 1632. "The History of Polexander" was "done into English by W. Browne," and published in folio, London, 1647. It was the earliest of the French heroic romances, and it appears to have been the model for the works of Calprenede and Mdlle. de Scuderi; see Dunlop's "History of Fiction" for the plot of the romance.] I could find nothing in Mr. Downing's letter, which Hawly brought me, concerning my office; but I could discern that Hawly had a mind that I would get to be Clerk of the Council, I suppose that he might have the greater salary; but I think it not safe yet to change this for a public employment. FEBRUARY 1659-1660 February 1st. In the morning went to my office where afterwards the old man brought me my letters from the carrier. At noon I went home and dined with my wife on pease porridge and nothing else. After that I went to the Hall and there met with Mr. Swan and went with him to Mr. Downing's Counsellor, who did put me in very little hopes about the business between Mr. Downing and Squib, and told me that Squib would carry it against him, at which I was much troubled, and with him went to Lincoln's Inn and there spoke with his attorney, who told me the day that was appointed for the trial. From thence I went to Sir Harry Wright's and got him to give me his hand for the L60 which I am to-morrow to receive from Mr. Calthrop and from thence to Mrs. Jem and spoke with Madam Scott and her husband who did promise to have the thing for her neck done this week. Thence home and took Gammer East, and James the porter, a soldier, to my Lord's lodgings, who told me how they were drawn into the field to-day, and that they were ordered to march away to-morrow to make room for General Monk; but they did shut their Colonel Fitch, and the rest of the officers out of the field, and swore they would not go without their money, and if they would not give it them, they would go where they might have it, and that was the City. So the Colonel went to the Parliament, and commanded what money could be got, to be got against to-morrow for them, and all the rest of the soldiers in town, who in all places made a mutiny this day, and do agree together. Here I took some bedding to send to Mrs. Ann for her to lie in now she hath her fits of the ague. Thence I went to Will's and staid like a fool there and played at cards till 9 o'clock and so came home, where I found Mr. Hunt and his wife who staid and sat with me till 10 and so good night. 2d. Drank at Harper's with Doling, and so to my office, where I found all the officers of the regiments in town, waiting to receive money that their soldiers might go out of town, and what was in the Exchequer they had. At noon after dining at home I called at Harper's for Doling, and he and I met with Luellin and drank with him at the Exchequer at Charing Cross, and thence he and I went to the Temple to Mr. Calthrop's chamber, and from thence had his man by water to London Bridge to Mr. Calthrop, a grocer, and received L60 for my Lord. In our way we talked with our waterman, White, who told us how the watermen had lately been abused by some that had a desire to get in to be watermen to the State, and had lately presented an address of nine or ten thousand hands to stand by this Parliament, when it was only told them that it was to a petition against hackney coaches; and that to-day they had put out another to undeceive the world and to clear themselves, and that among the rest Cropp, my waterman and one of great practice, was one that did cheat them thus. After I had received the money we went to the Bridge Tavern and drank a quart of wine and so back by water, landing Mr. Calthrop's man at the Temple and we went homewards, but over against Somerset House, hearing the noise of guns, we landed and found the Strand full of soldiers. So I took my money and went to Mrs. Johnson, my Lord's sempstress, and giving her my money to lay up, Doling and I went up stairs to a window, and looked out and see the foot face the horse and beat them back, and stood bawling and calling in the street for a free Parliament and money. By and by a drum was heard to beat a march coming towards them, and they got all ready again and faced them, and they proved to be of the same mind with them; and so they made a great deal of joy to see one another. After all this, I took my money, and went home on foot and laying up my money, and changing my stockings and shoes, I this day having left off my great skirt suit, and put on my white suit with silver lace coat, and went over to Harper's, where I met with W. Simons, Doling, Luellin and three merchants, one of which had occasion to use a porter, so they sent for one, and James the soldier came, who told us how they had been all day and night upon their guard at St. James's, and that through the whole town they did resolve to stand to what they had began, and that to-morrow he did believe they would go into the City, and be received there. After all this we went to a sport called, selling of a horse for a dish of eggs and herrings, and sat talking there till almost twelve o'clock and then parted, they were to go as far as Aldgate. Home and to bed. 3rd. Drank my morning draft at Harper's, and was told there that the soldiers were all quiet upon promise of pay. Thence to St. James's Park, and walked there to my place for my flageolet and then played a little, it being a most pleasant morning and sunshine. Back to Whitehall, where in the guard-chamber I saw about thirty or forty 'prentices of the City, who were taken at twelve o'clock last night and brought prisoners hither. Thence to my office, where I paid a little more money to some of the soldiers under Lieut.-Col. Miller (who held out the Tower against the Parliament after it was taken away from Fitch by the Committee of Safety, and yet he continued in his office). About noon Mrs. Turner came to speak with me, and Joyce, and I took them and shewed them the manner of the Houses sitting, the doorkeeper very civilly opening the door for us. Thence with my cozen Roger Pepys, [Roger Pepys, son of Talbot Pepys of Impington, a barrister of the Middle Temple, M.P. for Cambridge, 1661-78, and Recorder of that town, 1660-88. He married, for the third time, Parnell, daughter and heiress of John Duke, of Workingham, co. Suffolk, and this was the wedding for which the posy ring was required.] it being term time, we took him out of the Hall to Priors, the Rhenish wine-house, and there had a pint or two of wine and a dish of anchovies, and bespoke three or four dozen bottles of wine for him against his wedding. After this done he went away, and left me order to call and pay for all that Mrs. Turner would have. So we called for nothing more there, but went and bespoke a shoulder of mutton at Wilkinson's to be roasted as well as it could be done, and sent a bottle of wine home to my house. In the meantime she and I and Joyce went walking all over White Hall, whither General Monk was newly come, and we saw all his forces march by in very good plight and stout officers. Thence to my house where we dined, but with a great deal of patience, for the mutton came in raw, and so we were fain to stay the stewing of it. In the meantime we sat studying a Posy [It is supposed that the fashion of having mottoes inscribed on rings was of Roman origin. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the posy was inscribed on the outside of the ring, and in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it was placed inside. A small volume was published in 1674, entitled "Love's Garland: or Posies for Rings, Handkerchers and Gloves, and such pretty tokens that Lovers send their Loves."] for a ring for her which she is to have at Roger Pepys his wedding. After dinner I left them and went to hear news, but only found that the Parliament House was most of them with Monk at White Hall, and that in his passing through the town he had many calls to him for a free Parliament, but little other welcome. I saw in the Palace Yard how unwilling some of the old soldiers were yet to go out of town without their money, and swore if they had it not in three days, as they were promised, they would do them more mischief in the country than if they had staid here; and that is very likely, the country being all discontented. The town and guards are already full of Monk's soldiers. I returned, and it growing dark I and they went to take a turn in the park, where Theoph. (who was sent for to us to dinner) outran my wife and another poor woman, that laid a pot of ale with me that she would outrun her. After that I set them as far as Charing Cross, and there left them and my wife, and I went to see Mrs. Ann, who began very high about a flock bed I sent her, but I took her down. Here I played at cards till 9 o'clock. So home and to bed. 4th. In the morning at my lute an hour, and so to my office, where I staid expecting to have Mr. Squib come to me, but he did not. At noon walking in the Hall I found Mr. Swan and got him and Captain Stone together, and there advised about Mr. Downing's business. So to Will's, and sat there till three o'clock and then to Mr. Swan's, where I found his wife in very genteel mourning for her father, and took him out by water to the Counsellor at the Temple, Mr. Stephens, and from thence to Gray's Inn, thinking to speak with Sotherton Ellis, but found him not, so we met with an acquaintance of his in the walks, and went and drank, where I ate some bread and butter, having ate nothing all day, while they were by chance discoursing of Marriot, the great eater, so that I was, I remember, ashamed to eat what I would have done. Here Swan shewed us a ballad to the tune of Mardike which was most incomparably wrote in a printed hand, which I borrowed of him, but the song proved but silly, and so I did not write it out. Thence we went and leaving Swan at his master's, my Lord Widdrington, I met with Spicer, Washington, and D. Vines in Lincoln's Inn Court, and they were buying of a hanging jack to roast birds on of a fellow that was there selling of some. I was fain to slip from there and went to Mrs. Crew's to her and advised about a maid to come and be with Mrs. Jem while her maid is sick, but she could spare none. Thence to Sir Harry Wright's, but my lady not being within I spoke to Mrs. Carter about it, who will get one against Monday. So with a link boy [Links were torches of tow or pitch to light the way. Ed.] to Scott's, where Mrs. Ann was in a heat, but I spoke not to her, but told Mrs. Jem what I had done, and after that went home and wrote letters into the country by the post, and then played awhile on my lute, and so done, to supper and then to bed. All the news to-day is, that the Parliament this morning voted the House to be made up four hundred forthwith. This day my wife killed her turkeys that Mr. Sheply gave her, that came out of Zealand with my Lord, and could not get her m'd Jane by no means at any time to kill anything. 5th,(Lord's day). In the morning before church time Mr. Hawly, who had for this day or two looked something sadly, which methinks did speak something in his breast concerning me, came to me telling me that he was out L24 which he could not tell what was become of, and that he do remember that he had such a sum in a bag the other day, and could not tell what he did with it, at which I was very sorry but could not help him. In the morning to Mr. Gunning, where a stranger, an old man, preached a good honest sermon upon "What manner of love is this that we should be called the sons of God." After sermon I could not find my wife, who promised to be at the gate against my coming out, and waited there a great while; then went to my house and finding her gone I returned and called at the Chequers, thinking to dine at the ordinary with Mr. Chetwind and Mr. Thomas, but they not being there I went to my father and found her there, and there I dined. To their church in the afternoon, and in Mrs. Turner's pew my wife took up a good black hood and kept it. A stranger preached a poor sermon, and so read over the whole book of the story of Tobit. After sermon home with Mrs. Turner, staid with her a little while, then she went into the court to a christening and we to my father's, where I wrote some notes for my brother John to give to the Mercers' to-morrow, it being the day of their apposition. After supper home, and before going to bed I staid writing of this day its passages, while a drum came by, beating of a strange manner of beat, now and then a single stroke, which my wife and I wondered at, what the meaning of it should be. This afternoon at church I saw Dick Cumberland newly come out of the country from his living, but did not speak to him. 6th. Before I went to my office I went to Mr. Crew's and paid Mr. Andrews the same L60 that he had received of Mr. Calthrop the last week. So back to Westminster and walked with him thither, where we found the soldiers all set in the Palace Yard, to make way for General Monk to come to the House. At the Hall we parted, and meeting Swan, he and I to the Swan and drank our morning draft. So back again to the Hall, where I stood upon the steps and saw Monk go by, he making observance to the judges as he went along. At noon my father dined with me upon my turkey that was brought from Denmark, and after dinner he and I to the Bull Head Tavern, where we drank half a pint of wine and so parted. I to Mrs. Ann, and Mrs. Jem being gone out of the chamber she and I had a very high bout, I rattled her up, she being in her bed, but she becoming more cool, we parted pretty good friends. Thence I went to Will's, where I staid at cards till 10 o'clock, losing half a crown, and so home to bed. 7th. In the morning I went early to give Mr. Hawly notice of my being forced to go into London, but he having also business we left our office business to Mr. Spicer and he and I walked as far as the Temple, where I halted a little and then went to Paul's School, but it being too soon, went and drank my morning draft with my cozen Tom Pepys the turner, and saw his house and shop, thence to school, where he that made the speech for the seventh form in praise of the founder, did show a book which Mr. Crumlum had lately got, which is believed to be of the Founder's own writing. After all the speeches, in which my brother John came off as well as any of the rest, I went straight home and dined, then to the Hall, where in the Palace I saw Monk's soldiers abuse Billing and all the Quakers, that were at a meeting-place there, and indeed the soldiers did use them very roughly and were to blame. ["Fox, or some other 'weighty' friend, on hearing of this, complained to Monk, who issued the following order, dated March 9th: 'I do require all officers and soldiers to forbear to disturb peaceable meetings of the Quakers, they doing nothing prejudicial to the Parliament or the Commonwealth of England. George Monk.' This order, we are told, had an excellent effect on the soldiers."--A. C. Bickley's 'George Fox and the Early Quakers, London, 1884, p. 179. The Quakers were at this time just coming into notice. The first preaching of George Fox, the founder, was in 1648, and in 1655 the preachers of the sect numbered seventy-three. Fox computed that there were seldom less than a thousand quakers in prison. The statute 13 and 14 Car. II. cap. i. (1662) was "An act for preventing the mischiefs and dangers that may arise by certain persons called quakers and others, refusing to take lawful oaths." Billing is mentioned again on July 22nd, 1667, when he addressed Pepys in Westminster Hall.] So after drinking with Mr. Spicer, who had received L600 for me this morning, I went to Capt. Stone and with him by coach to the Temple Gardens (all the way talking of the disease of the stone), where we met Mr. Squib, but would do nothing till to-morrow morning. Thence back on foot home, where I found a letter from my Lord in character [private cryptic code Ed.], which I construed, and after my wife had shewn me some ribbon and shoes that she had taken out of a box of Mr. Montagu's which formerly Mr. Kipps had left here when his master was at sea, I went to Mr. Crew and advised with him about it, it being concerning my Lord's coming up to Town, which he desires upon my advice the last week in my letter. Thence calling upon Mrs. Ann I went home, and wrote in character to my Lord in answer to his letter. This day Mr. Crew told me that my Lord St. John is for a free Parliament, and that he is very great with Monk, who hath now the absolute command and power to do any thing that he hath a mind to do. Mr. Moore told me of a picture hung up at the Exchange of a great pair of buttocks shooting of a turd into Lawson's mouth, and over it was wrote "The thanks of the house." Boys do now cry "Kiss my Parliament, instead of "Kiss my [rump]," so great and general a contempt is the Rump come to among all the good and bad. 8th. A little practice on my flageolet, and afterwards walking in my yard to see my stock of pigeons, which begin now with the spring to breed very fast. I was called on by Mr. Fossan, my fellow pupil at Cambridge, and I took him to the Swan in the Palace yard, and drank together our morning draft. Thence to my office, where I received money, and afterwards Mr. Carter, my old friend at Cambridge, meeting me as I was going out of my office I took him to the Swan, and in the way I met with Captain Lidcott, and so we three went together and drank there, the Captain talking as high as ever he did, and more because of the fall of his brother Thurlow. [John Thurloe, born 1616; Secretary of State to Cromwell; M.P. for Ely, 1656, and for the University of Cambridge in Richard Cromwell's Parliament of December, 1658. He was never employed after the Restoration, although the King solicited his services. He died February 21st, 1668. Pepys spells the name Thurlow, which was a common spelling at the time.] Hence I went to Captain Stone, who told me how Squib had been with him, and that he could do nothing with him, so I returned to Mr. Carter and with him to Will's, where I spent upon him and Monsieur L'Impertinent, alias Mr. Butler, who I took thither with me, and thence to a Rhenish wine house, and in our way met with Mr. Hoole, where I paid for my cozen Roger Pepys his wine, and after drinking we parted. So I home, in my way delivering a letter which among the rest I had from my Lord to-day to Sir N. Wheeler. At home my wife's brother brought her a pretty black dog which I liked very well, and went away again. Hence sending a porter with the hamper of bottles to the Temple I called in my way upon Mrs. Jem, who was much frighted till I came to tell her that her mother was well. So to the Temple, where I delivered the wine and received the money of my cos. Roger that I laid out, and thence to my father's, where he shewed me a base angry letter that he had newly received from my uncle Robert about my brother John, at which my father was very sad, but I comforted him and wrote an answer. My brother John has an exhibition granted him from the school. My father and I went down to his kitchen, and there we eat and drank, and about 9 o'clock I went away homewards, and in Fleet Street, received a great jostle from a man that had a mind to take the wall, which I could not help? [This was a constant trouble to the pedestrian until the rule of passing to the right of the person met was generally accepted. Gay commences his "Trivia" with an allusion to this-- "When to assert the wall, and when resign--" and the epigram on the haughty courtier and the scholar is well known.] I came home and to bed. Went to bed with my head not well by my too much drinking to-day, and I had a boil under my chin which troubled me cruelly. 9th. Soon as out of my bed I wrote letters into the country to go by carrier to-day. Before I was out of my bed, I heard the soldiers very busy in the morning, getting their horses ready where they lay at Hilton's, but I knew not then their meaning in so doing: After I had wrote my letters I went to Westminster up and down the Hall, and with Mr. Swan walked a good [deal] talking about Mr. Downing's business. I went with him to Mr. Phelps's house where he had some business to solicit, where we met Mr. Rogers my neighbour, who did solicit against him and talked very high, saying that he would not for a L1000 appear in a business that Swan did, at which Swan was very angry, but I believe he might be guilty enough. In the Hall I understand how Monk is this morning gone into London with his army; and met with Mr. Fage, who told me that he do believe that Monk is gone to secure some of the Common-council of the City, who were very high yesterday there, and did vote that they would not pay any taxes till the House was filled up. I went to my office, where I wrote to my Lord after I had been at the Upper Bench, where Sir Robert Pye [Sir Robert Pye, the elder, was auditor of the Exchequer, and a staunch Royalist. He garrisoned his house at Faringdon, which was besieged by his son, of the same names, a decided Republican, son- in-law to Hampden, and colonel of horse under Fairfax. The son, here spoken of, was subsequently committed to the Tower for presenting a petition to the House of Commons from the county of Berks, which he represented in Parliament, complaining of the want of a settled form of government. He had, however, the courage to move for an habeas corpus, but judge Newdigate decided that the courts of law had not the power to discharge him. Upon Monk's coming to London, the secluded members passed a vote to liberate Pye, and at the Restoration he was appointed equerry to the King. He died in 1701.--B.] this morning came to desire his discharge from the Tower; but it could not be granted. After that I went to Mrs. Jem, who I had promised to go along with to her Aunt Wright's, but she was gone, so I went thither, and after drinking a glass of sack I went back to Westminster Hall, and meeting with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who would needs take me home, where Mr. Lucy, Burrell, and others dined, and after dinner I went home and to Westminster Hall, where meeting Swan I went with him by water to the Temple to our Counsel, and did give him a fee to make a motion to-morrow in the Exchequer for Mr. Downing. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I heard an action very finely pleaded between my Lord Dorset and some other noble persons, his lady and other ladies of quality being here, and it was about; L330 per annum, that was to be paid to a poor Spittal, which was given by some of his predecessors; and given on his side. Thence Swan and I to a drinking-house near Temple Bar, where while he wrote I played on my flageolet till a dish of poached eggs was got ready for us, which we eat, and so by coach home. I called at Mr. Harper's, who told me how Monk had this day clapt up many of the Common-council, and that the Parliament had voted that he should pull down their gates and portcullisses, their posts and their chains, which he do intend to do, and do lie in the City all night. I went home and got some ahlum to my mouth, where I have the beginnings of a cancer, and had also a plaster to my boil underneath my chin. 10th. In the morning I went to Mr. Swan, who took me to the Court of Wards, where I saw the three Lords Commissioners sitting upon some cause where Mr. Scobell was concerned, and my Lord Fountaine took him up very roughly about some things that he said. After that we went to the Exchequer, where the Barons were hearing of causes, and there I made affidavit that Mr. Downing was gone into Holland by order of the Council of State, and this affidavit I gave to Mr. Stevens our lawyer. Thence to my office, where I got money of Mr. Hawly to pay the lawyer, and there found Mr. Lenard, one of the Clerks of the Council, and took him to the Swan and gave him his morning draft. Then home to dinner, and after that to the Exchequer, where I heard all the afternoon a great many causes before the Barons; in the end came ours, and Squib proved clearly by his patent that the house and office did now belong to him. Our lawyer made some kind of opposition, but to no purpose, and so the cause was found against us, and the foreman of the jury brought in L10 damages, which the whole Court cried shame of, and so he cried 12d. Thence I went home, vexed about this business, and there I found Mr. Moore, and with him went into London to Mr. Fage about the cancer in my mouth, which begins to grow dangerous, who gave me something for it, and also told me what Monk had done in the City, how he had pulled down the most part of the gates and chains that they could break down, and that he was now gone back to White Hall. The City look mighty blank, and cannot tell what in the world to do; the Parliament having this day ordered that the Common-council sit no more; but that new ones be chosen according to what qualifications they shall give them. Thence I went and drank with Mr. Moore at the Sugar Loaf by Temple Bar, where Swan and I were last night, and so we parted. At home I found Mr. Hunt, who sat talking with me awhile, and so to bed. 11th. This morning I lay long abed, and then to my office, where I read all the morning my Spanish book of Rome. At noon I walked in the Hall, where I heard the news of a letter from Monk, who was now gone into the City again, and did resolve to stand for the sudden filling up of the House, and it was very strange how the countenance of men in the Hall was all changed with joy in half an hour's time. So I went up to the lobby, where I saw the Speaker reading of the letter; and after it was read, Sir A. Haselrigge came out very angry, and Billing--[The quaker mentioned before on the 7th of this month.]--standing at the door, took him by the arm, and cried, "Thou man, will thy beast carry thee no longer? thou must fall!" The House presently after rose, and appointed to meet again at three o'clock. I went then down into the Hall, where I met with Mr. Chetwind, who had not dined no more than myself, and so we went toward London, in our way calling at two or three shops, but could have no dinner. At last, within Temple Bar, we found a pullet ready roasted, and there we dined. After that he went to his office in Chancery Lane, calling at the Rolls, where I saw the lawyers pleading. Then to his office, where I sat in his study singing, while he was with his man (Mr. Powell's son) looking after his business. Thence we took coach for the City to Guildhall, where the Hall was full of people expecting Monk and Lord Mayor to come thither, and all very joyfull. Here we stayed a great while, and at last meeting with a friend of his we went to the 3 Tun tavern and drank half a pint of wine, and not liking the wine we went to an alehouse, where we met with company of this third man's acquaintance, and there we drank a little. Hence I went alone to Guildhall to see whether Monk was come again or no, and met with him coming out of the chamber where he had been with the Mayor and Aldermen, but such a shout I never heard in all my life, crying out, "God bless your Excellence." Here I met with Mr. Lock, and took him to an alehouse, and left him there to fetch Chetwind; when we were come together, Lock told us the substance of the letter that went from Monk to the Parliament; wherein, after complaints that he and his officers were put upon such offices against the City as they could not do with any content or honour, that there are many members now in the House that were of the late tyrannical Committee of Safety. That Lambert and Vane are now in town, contrary to the vote of Parliament. That there were many in the House that do press for new oaths to be put upon men; whereas we have more cause to be sorry for the many oaths that we have already taken and broken. That the late petition of the fanatique people presented by Barebone, for the imposing of an oath upon all sorts of people, was received by the House with thanks. That therefore he [Monk] do desire that all writs for filling up of the House be issued by Friday next, and that in the mean time, he would retire into the City and only leave them guards for the security of the House and Council. The occasion of this was the order that he had last night to go into the City and disarm them, and take away their charter; whereby he and his officers say that the House had a mind to put them upon things that should make them odious; and so it would be in their power to do what they would with them. He told us that they [the Parliament] had sent Scott and Robinson to him [Monk] this afternoon, but he would not hear them. And that the Mayor and Aldermen had offered him their own houses for himself and his officers; and that his soldiers would lack for nothing. And indeed I saw many people give the soldiers drink and money, and all along in the streets cried, "God bless them!" and extraordinary good words. Hence we went to a merchant's house hard by, where Lock wrote a note and left, where I saw Sir Nich. Crisp, and so we went to the Star Tavern (Monk being then at Benson's), where we dined and I wrote a letter to my Lord from thence. In Cheapside there was a great many bonfires, and Bow bells and all the bells in all the churches as we went home were a-ringing. Hence we went homewards, it being about ten o'clock. But the common joy that was every where to be seen! The number of bonfires, there being fourteen between St. Dunstan's and Temple Bar, and at Strand Bridge' I could at one view tell thirty-one fires. In King-street seven or eight; and all along burning, and roasting, and drinking for rumps. There being rumps tied upon sticks and carried up and down. The butchers at the May Pole in the Strand rang a peal with their knives when they were going to sacrifice their rump. On Ludgate Hill there was one turning of the spit that had a rump tied upon it, and another basting of it. Indeed it was past imagination, both the greatness and the suddenness of it. At one end of the street you would think there was a whole lane of fire, and so hot that we were fain to keep still on the further side merely for heat. We came to the Chequers at Charing Cross, where Chetwind wrote a letter and I gave him an account of what I had wrote for him to write. Thence home and sent my letters to the posthouse in London, and my wife and I (after Mr. Hunt was gone, whom I found waiting at my house) went out again to show her the fires, and after walking as far as the Exchange we returned and to bed. 12th. In the morning, it being Lord's day, Mr. Pierce came to me to enquire how things go. We drank our morning draft together and thence to White Hall, where Dr. Hones preached; but I staid not to hear, but walking in the court, I heard that Sir Arth. Haselrigge was newly gone into the City to Monk, and that Monk's wife removed from White Hall last night. Home again, where at noon came according to my invitation my cos. Thos. Pepys and his partner and dined with me, but before dinner we went and took a walk round the park, it being a most pleasant day as ever I saw. After dinner we three went into London together, where I heard that Monk had been at Paul's in the morning, and the people had shouted much at his coming out of the church. In the afternoon he was at a church in Broad-street, whereabout he do lodge. But not knowing how to see him we went and walked half a hour in Moorfields, which were full of people, it being so fine a day. Here I took leave of them, and so to Paul's, where I met with Mr. Kirton's' apprentice (the crooked fellow) and walked up and down with him two hours, sometimes in the street looking for a tavern to drink in, but not finding any open, we durst not knock; other times in the churchyard, where one told me that he had seen the letter printed. Thence to Mr. Turner's, where I found my wife, Mr. Edw. Pepys, and Roger' and Mr. Armiger being there, to whom I gave as good an account of things as I could, and so to my father's, where Charles Glascocke was overjoyed to see how things are now; who told me the boys had last night broke Barebone's windows. Hence home, and being near home we missed our maid, and were at a great loss and went back a great way to find her, but when we could not see her we went homewards and found her there, got before us which we wondered at greatly. So to bed, where my wife and I had some high words upon my telling her that I would fling the dog which her brother gave her out of window if he [dirtied] the house any more. 13th. To my office till noon, thence home to dinner, my mouth being very bad of the cancer and my left leg beginning to be sore again. After dinner to see Mrs. Jem, and in the way met with Catan on foot in the street and talked with her a little, so home and took my wife to my father's. In my way I went to Playford's, and for two books that I had and 6s. 6d. to boot I had my great book of songs which he sells always for r 4s. At my father's I staid a while, while my mother sent her maid Bess to Cheapside for some herbs to make a water for my mouth. Then I went to see Mr. Cumberland, and after a little stay with him I returned, and took my wife home, where after supper to bed. This day Monk was invited to White Hall to dinner by my Lords; not seeming willing, he would not come. I went to Mr. Fage from my father's, who had been this afternoon with Monk, who do promise to live and die with the City, and for the honour of the City; and indeed the City is very open-handed to the soldiers, that they are most of them drunk all day, and have money given them. He did give me something for my mouth which I did use this night. 14th. Called out in the morning by Mr. Moore, whose voice my wife hearing in my dressing-chamber with me, got herself ready, and came down and challenged him for her valentine, this being the day. [The practice of choosing valentines was very general at this time, but some of the best examples of the custom are found in this Diary.] To Westminster Hall, there being many new remonstrances and declarations from many counties to Monk and the City, and one coming from the North from Sir Thomas Fairfax. Hence I took him to the Swan and gave him his morning draft. So to my office, where Mr. Hill of Worcestershire came to see me and my partner in our office, with whom we went to Will's to drink. At noon I went home and so to Mr. Crew's, but they had dined, and so I went to see Mrs. Jem where I stayed a while, and home again where I stayed an hour or two at my lute, and so forth to Westminster Hall, where I heard that the Parliament hath now changed the oath so much talked of to a promise; and that among other qualifications for the members that are to be chosen, one is, that no man, nor the son of any man that hath been in arms during the life of the father, shall be capable of being chosen to sit in Parliament. To Will's, where like a fool I staid and lost 6d. at cards. So home, and wrote a letter to my Lord by the post. So after supper to bed. This day, by an order of the House, Sir H. Vane was sent out of town to his house in Lincolnshire. 15th. Called up in the morning by Captain Holland and Captain Cuttance, and with them to Harper's, thence to my office, thence with Mr. Hill of Worcestershire to Will's, where I gave him a letter to Nan Pepys, and some merry pamphlets against the Rump to carry to her into the country. So to Mr. Crew's, where the dining room being full, Mr. Walgrave and I dined below in the buttery by ourselves upon a good dish of buttered salmon. Thence to Hering' the merchant about my Lord's Worcester money and back to Paul's Churchyard, where I staid reading in Fuller's History of the Church of England an hour or two, and so to my father's, where Mr. Hill came to me and I gave him direction what to do at Worcester about the money. Thence to my Lady Wright's and gave her a letter from my Lord privily. So to Mrs. Jem and sat with her, who dined at Mr. Crew's to-day, and told me that there was at her coming away at least forty gentlemen (I suppose members that were secluded, for Mr. Walgrave told me that there were about thirty met there the last night) came dropping in one after another thither. Thence home and wrote into the country against to-morrow by the carrier and so to bed. At my father's I heard how my cousin Kate Joyce had a fall yesterday from her horse and had some hurt thereby. No news to-day, but all quiet to see what the Parliament will do about the issuing of the writs to-morrow for filling up of the House, according to Monk's desire. 16th, In the morning at my lute. Then came Shaw and Hawly, and I gave them their morning draft at my house. So to my office, where I wrote by the carrier to my Lord and sealed my letter at Will's, and gave it old East to carry it to the carrier's, and to take up a box of china oranges and two little barrels of scallops at my house, which Captain Cuttance sent to me for my Lord. Here I met with Osborne and with Shaw and Spicer, and we went to the Sun Tavern in expectation of a dinner, where we had sent us only two trenchers-full of meat, at which we were very merry, while in came Mr. Wade and his friend Capt. Moyse (who told us of his hopes to get an estate merely for his name's sake), and here we staid till seven at night, I winning a quart of sack of Shaw that one trencherfull that was sent us was all lamb and he that it was veal. I by having but 3d. in my pocket made shift to spend no more, whereas if I had had more I had spent more as the rest did, so that I see it is an advantage to a man to carry little in his pocket. Home, and after supper, and a little at my flute, I went to bed. 17th. In the morning Tom that was my Lord's footboy came to see me and had 10s. of me of the money which I have to keep of his. So that now I have but 35s. more of his. Then came Mr. Hills the instrument maker, and I consulted with him about the altering my lute and my viall. After that I went into my study and did up my accounts, and found that I am about; L40 beforehand in the world, and that is all. So to my office and from thence brought Mr. Hawly home with me to dinner, and after dinner wrote a letter to Mr. Downing about his business and gave it Hawly, and so went to Mr. Gunning's to his weekly fast, and after sermon, meeting there with Monsieur L'Impertinent, we went and walked in the park till it was dark. I played on my pipe at the Echo, and then drank a cup of ale at Jacob's. So to Westminster Hall, and he with me, where I heard that some of the members of the House were gone to meet with some of the secluded members and General Monk in the City. Hence we went to White Hall, thinking to hear more news, where I met with Mr. Hunt, who told me how Monk had sent for all his goods that he had here into the City; and yet again he told me, that some of the members of the House had this day laid in firing into their lodgings at White Hall for a good while, so that we are at a great stand to think what will become of things, whether Monk will stand to the Parliament or no. Hence Mons. L'Impertinent and I to Harper's, and there drank a cup or two to the King, and to his fair sister Frances--[Frances Butler, the great beauty, who is sometimes styled. la belle Boteler.]--good health, of whom we had much discourse of her not being much the worse for the small pox, which she had this last summer. So home and to bed. This day we are invited to my uncle Fenner's wedding feast, but went not, this being the 27th year. 18th. A great while at my vial and voice, learning to sing "Fly boy, fly boy," without book. So to my office, where little to do. In the Hall I met with Mr. Eglin and one Looker, a famous gardener, servant to my Lord Salsbury, and among other things the gardener told a strange passage in good earnest.... Home to dinner, and then went to my Lord's lodgings to my turret there and took away most of my books, and sent them home by my maid. Thither came Capt. Holland to me who took me to the Half Moon tavern and Mr. Southorne, Blackburne's clerk. Thence he took me to the Mitre in Fleet Street, where we heard (in a room over the music room) very plainly through the ceiling. Here we parted and I to Mr. Wotton's, and with him to an alehouse and drank while he told me a great many stories of comedies that he had formerly seen acted, and the names of the principal actors, and gave me a very good account of it. Thence to Whitehall, where I met with Luellin and in the clerk's chamber wrote a letter to my Lord. So home and to bed. This day two soldiers were hanged in the Strand for their late mutiny at Somerset-house. 19th (Lord's day). Early in the morning I set my books that I brought home yesterday up in order in my study. Thence forth to Mr. Harper's to drink a draft of purle,--[Purl is hot beer flavoured with wormwood or other aromatic herbs. The name is also given to hot beer flavoured with gin, sugar, and ginger.]--whither by appointment Monsieur L'Impertinent, who did intend too upon my desire to go along with me to St. Bartholomew's, to hear one Mr. Sparks, but it raining very hard we went to Mr. Gunning's and heard an excellent sermon, and speaking of the character that the Scripture gives of Ann the mother of the blessed Virgin, he did there speak largely in commendation of widowhood, and not as we do to marry two or three wives or husbands, one after another. Here I met with Mr. Moore, and went home with him to dinner, where he told me the discourse that happened between the secluded members and the members of the House, before Monk last Friday. How the secluded said, that they did not intend by coming in to express revenge upon these men, but only to meet and dissolve themselves, and only to issue writs for a free Parliament. He told me how Haselrigge was afraid to have the candle carried before him, for fear that the people seeing him, would do him hurt; and that he is afraid to appear in the City. That there is great likelihood that the secluded members will come in, and so Mr. Crew and my Lord are likely to be great men, at which I was very glad. After diner there was many secluded members come in to Mr. Crew, which, it being the Lord's day, did make Mr. Moore believe that there was something extraordinary in the business. Hence home and brought my wife to Mr. Mossum's to hear him, and indeed he made a very good sermon, but only too eloquent for a pulpit. Here Mr. L'Impertinent helped me to a seat. After sermon to my father's; and fell in discourse concerning our going to Cambridge the next week with my brother John. To Mrs. Turner where her brother, Mr. Edward Pepys, was there, and I sat a great while talking of public business of the times with him. So to supper to my Father's, all supper talking of John's going to Cambridge. So home, and it raining my wife got my mother's French mantle and my brother John's hat, and so we went all along home and to bed. 20th. In the morning at my lute. Then to my office, where my partner and I made even our balance. Took him home to dinner with me, where my brother John came to dine with me. After dinner I took him to my study at home and at my Lord's, and gave him some books and other things against his going to Cambridge. After he was gone I went forth to Westminster Hall, where I met with Chetwind, Simons, and Gregory. And with them to Marsh's at Whitehall to drink, and staid there a pretty while reading a pamphlet well writ and directed to General Monk, in praise of the form of monarchy which was settled here before the wars. [This pamphlet is among the Thomason Collection of Civil War Tracts (British Museum), and dated in MS. this same day, February 20th-- "A Plea for Limited Monarchy as it was established in this Nation before the late War. In an Humble Address to his Excellency General Monck. By a Zealot for the good old Laws of his Country, before any Faction or Caprice, with additions." "An Eccho to the Plea for Limited Monarchy, &c.," was published soon afterwards.] They told me how the Speaker Lenthall do refuse to sign the writs for choice of new members in the place of the excluded; and by that means the writs could not go out to-day. In the evening Simons and I to the Coffee Club, where nothing to do only I heard Mr. Harrington, and my Lord of Dorset and another Lord, talking of getting another place as the Cockpit, and they did believe it would come to something. After a small debate upon the question whether learned or unlearned subjects are the best the Club broke up very poorly, and I do not think they will meet any more. Hence with Vines, &c. to Will's, and after a pot or two home, and so to bed. 21st. In the morning going out I saw many soldiers going towards Westminster, and was told that they were going to admit the secluded members again. So I to Westminster Hall, and in Chancery Row I saw about twenty of them who had been at White Hall with General Monk, who came thither this morning, and made a speech to them, and recommended to them a Commonwealth, and against Charles Stuart. They came to the House and went in one after another, and at last the Speaker came. But it is very strange that this could be carried so private, that the other members of the House heard nothing of all this, till they found them in the House, insomuch that the soldiers that stood there to let in the secluded members, they took for such as they had ordered to stand there to hinder their coming in. Mr. Prin came with an old basket-hilt sword on, and had a great many great shouts upon his going into the Hall. They sat till noon, and at their coming out Mr. Crew saw me, and bid me come to his house, which I did, and he would have me dine with him, which I did; and he very joyful told me that the House had made General Monk, General of all the Forces in England, Scotland, and Ireland; and that upon Monk's desire, for the service that Lawson had lately done in pulling down the Committee of Safety, he had the command of the Sea for the time being. He advised me to send for my Lord forthwith, and told me that there is no question that, if he will, he may now be employed again; and that the House do intend to do nothing more than to issue writs, and to settle a foundation for a free Parliament. After dinner I back to Westminster Hall with him in his coach. Here I met with Mr. Lock and Pursell, Masters of Music,--[Henry Purcell, father of the celebrated composer, was gentleman of the Chapel Royal.]--and with them to the Coffee House, into a room next the water, by ourselves, where we spent an hour or two till Captain Taylor came to us, who told us, that the House had voted the gates of the City to be made up again, and the members of the City that are in prison to be set at liberty; and that Sir G. Booth's' case be brought into the House to-morrow. Here we had variety of brave Italian and Spanish songs, and a canon for eight voices, which Mr. Lock had lately made on these words: "Domine salvum fac Regem," an admirable thing. Here also Capt. Taylor began a discourse of something that he had lately writ about Gavelkind in answer to one that had wrote a piece upon the same subject; and indeed discovered a great deal of study in antiquity in his discourse. Here out of the window it was a most pleasant sight to see the City from one end to the other with a glory about it, so high was the light of the bonfires, and so thick round the City, and the bells rang everywhere. Hence home and wrote to my Lord, afterwards came down and found Mr. Hunt (troubled at this change) and Mr. Spong, who staid late with me singing of a song or two, and so parted. My wife not very well, went to bed before. This morning I met in the Hall with Mr. Fuller, of Christ's, and told him of my design to go to Cambridge, and whither. He told me very freely the temper of Mr. Widdrington, how he did oppose all the fellows in the College, and that there was a great distance between him and the rest, at which I was very sorry, for that he told me he feared it would be little to my brother's advantage to be his pupil. 22nd. In the morning intended to have gone to Mr. Crew's to borrow some money, but it raining I forbore, and went to my Lord's lodging and look that all things were well there. Then home and sang a song to my viall, so to my office and to Will's, where Mr. Pierce found me out, and told me that he would go with me to Cambridge, where Colonel Ayre's regiment, to which he was surgeon, lieth. Walking in the Hall, I saw Major-General Brown, who had along time been banished by the Rump, but now with his beard overgrown, he comes abroad and sat in the House. To my father's to dinner, where nothing but a small dish of powdered beef--[Boiled salt beef. To powder was to sprinkle with salt, and the powdering tub a vessel in which meat was salted.]--and dish of carrots; they being all busy to get things ready for my brother John to go to-morrow. After dinner, my wife staying there, I went to Mr. Crew's, and got; L5 of Mr. Andrews, and so to Mrs. Jemimah, who now hath her instrument about her neck, and indeed is infinitely, altered, and holds her head upright. I paid her, maid 40s. of the money that I have received of Mr. Andrews. Hence home to my study, where I only wrote thus much of this day's passages to this * and so out again. To White Hall, where I met with Will. Simons and Mr. Mabbot at Marsh's, who told me how the House had this day voted that the gates of the City should be set up at the cost of the State. And that Major-General Brown's being proclaimed a traitor be made void, and several other things of that nature. Home for my lanthorn and so to my father's, where I directed John what books to put for Cambridge. After that to supper, where my Uncle Fenner and my Aunt, The. Turner, and Joyce, at a brave leg of veal roasted, and were very merry against John's going to Cambridge. I observed this day how abominably Barebone's windows are broke again last night. At past 9 o'clock my wife and I went home. 23rd. Thursday, my birthday, now twenty-seven years. A pretty fair morning, I rose and after writing a while in my study I went forth. To my office, where I told Mr. Hawly of my thoughts to go out of town to-morrow. Hither Mr. Fuller comes to me and my Uncle Thomas too, thence I took them to drink, and so put off my uncle. So with Mr. Fuller home to my house, where he dined with me, and he told my wife and me a great many stories of his adversities, since these troubles, in being forced to travel in the Catholic countries, &c. He shewed me his bills, but I had not money to pay him. We parted, and I to Whitehall, where I was to see my horse which Mr. Garthwayt lends me to-morrow. So home, where Mr. Pierce comes to me about appointing time and place where and when to meet tomorrow. So to Westminster Hall, where, after the House rose, I met with Mr. Crew, who told me that my Lord was chosen by 73 voices, to be one of the Council of State. Mr. Pierpoint had the most, 101, and himself the next, too. He brought me in the coach home. He and Mr. Anslow being in it. I back to the Hall, and at Mrs. Michell's shop staid talking a great while with her and my Chaplain, Mr. Mumford, and drank a pot or two of ale on a wager that Mr. Prin is not of the Council. Home and wrote to my Lord the news of the choice of the Council by the post, and so to bed. 24th. I rose very early, and taking horse at Scotland Yard, at Mr. Garthwayt's stable, I rode to Mr. Pierces, who rose, and in a quarter of an hour, leaving his wife in bed (with whom Mr. Lucy methought was very free as she lay in bed), we both mounted, and so set forth about seven of the clock, the day and the way very foul. About Ware we overtook Mr. Blayton, brother-in-law to Dick Vines, who went thenceforwards with us, and at Puckeridge we baited, where we had a loin of mutton fried, and were very merry, but the way exceeding bad from Ware thither. Then up again and as far as Foulmer, within six miles of Cambridge, my mare being almost tired: here we lay at the Chequer, playing at cards till supper, which was a breast of veal roasted. I lay with Mr. Pierce, who we left here the next morning upon his going to Hinchingbroke to speak with my Lord before his going to London, and we two come to Cambridge by eight o'clock in the morning. 25th. To the Falcon, in the Petty Cury, [The old Falcon Inn is on the south side of Petty Cury. It is now divided into three houses, one of which is the present Falcon Inn, the other two being houses with shops. The Falcon yard is but little changed. From the size of the whole building it must have been the principal inn of the town. The room said to have been used by Queen Elizabeth for receptions retains its original form.--M. B. The Petty Cury. The derivation of the name of this street, so well known to all Cambridge men, is a matter of much dispute among antiquaries. (See "Notes and Queries.") The most probable meaning of it is the Parva Cokeria, or little cury, where the cooks of the town lived, just as "The Poultry," where the Poulters (now Poulterers) had their shops. "The Forme of Cury," a Roll of Antient English Cookery, was compiled by the principal cooks of that "best and royalest viander of all Christian Kings," Richard the Second, and edited with a copious Index and Glossary by Dr. Samuel Pegge, 1780.--M. B.] where we found my father and brother very well. After dressing myself, about ten o'clock, my father, brother, and I to Mr. Widdririgton, at Christ's College, who received us very civilly, and caused my brother to be admitted, while my father, he, and I, sat talking. After that done, we take leave. My father and brother went to visit some friends, Pepys's, scholars in Cambridge, while I went to Magdalene College, to Mr. Hill, with whom I found Mr. Zanchy, Burton, and Hollins, and was exceeding civilly received by them. I took leave on promise to sup with them, and to my Inn again, where I dined with some others that were there at an ordinary. After dinner my brother to the College, and my father and I to my Cozen Angier's, to see them, where Mr. Fairbrother came to us. Here we sat a while talking. My father he went to look after his things at the carrier's, and my brother's chamber, while Mr. Fairbrother, my Cozen Angier, and Mr. Zanchy, whom I met at Mr. Merton's shop (where I bought 'Elenchus Motuum', having given my former to Mr. Downing when he was here), to the Three Tuns, where we drank pretty hard and many healths to the King, &c., till it began to be darkish: then we broke up and I and Mr. Zanchy went to Magdalene College, where a very handsome supper at Mr. Hill's chambers, I suppose upon a club among them, where in their discourse I could find that there was nothing at all left of the old preciseness in their discourse, specially on Saturday nights. And Mr. Zanchy told me that there was no such thing now-a-days among them at any time. After supper and some discourse then to my Inn, where I found my father in his chamber, and after some discourse, and he well satisfied with this day's work, we went to bed, my brother lying with me, his things not being come by the carrier that he could not lie in the College. 26th (Sunday). My brother went to the College to Chapel. My father and I went out in the morning, and walked out in the fields behind King's College, and in King's College Chapel Yard, where we met with Mr. Fairbrother, who took us to Botolph's Church, where we heard Mr. Nicholas, of Queen's College, who I knew in my time to be Tripos, [The Tripos or Bachelor of the Stool, who made the speech on Ash Wednesday, when the senior Proctor called him up and exhorted him to be witty but modest withal. Their speeches, especially after the Restoration, tended to be boisterous, and even scurrilous. "26 Martii 1669. Da Hollis, fellow of Clare Hall is to make a publick Recantation in the Bac. Schools for his Tripos speeche." The Tripos verses still come out, and are circulated on Ash Wednesday. The list of successful candidates for honours is printed on the same paper, hence the term "Tripos" applied to it.] with great applause, upon this text, "For thy commandments are broad." Thence my father and I to Mr. Widdrington's chamber to dinner, where he used us very courteously again, and had two Fellow Commoners at table with him, and Mr. Pepper, a Fellow of the College. After dinner, while we sat talking by the fire, Mr. Pierces man came to tell me that his master was come to town, so my father and I took leave, and found Mr. Pierce at our Inn, who told us that he had lost his journey, for my Lord was gone from Hinchingbroke to London on Thursday last, at which I was a little put to a stand. So after a cup of drink I went to Magdalene College to get the certificate of the College for my brother's entrance there, that he might save his year. I met with Mr. Burton in the Court, who took me to Mr. Pechell's chamber, where he was and Mr. Zanchy. By and by, Mr. Pechell and Sanchy and I went out, Pechell to Church, Sanchy and I to the Rose Tavern, where we sat and drank till sermon done, and then Mr. Pechell came to us, and we three sat drinking the King's and his whole family's health till it began to be dark. Then we parted; Sanchy and I went to my lodging, where we found my father and Mr. Pierce at the door, and I took them both and Mr. Blayton to the Rose Tavern, and there gave them a quart or two of wine, not telling them that we had been there before. After this we broke up, and my father, Mr. Zanchy, and I to my Cosen Angier to supper, where I caused two bottles of wine to be carried from the Rose Tavern; that was drunk up, and I had not the wit to let them know at table that it was I that paid for them, and so I lost my thanks for them. After supper Mr. Fairbrother, who supped there with us, took me into a room by himself, and shewed me a pitiful copy of verses upon Mr. Prinn which he esteemed very good, and desired that I would get them given to Mr. Prinn, in hopes that he would get him some place for it, which I said I would do, but did laugh in my sleeve to think of his folly, though indeed a man that has always expressed great civility to me. After that we sat down and talked; I took leave of all my friends, and so to my Inn, where after I had wrote a note and enclosed the certificate to Mr. Widdrington, I bade good night to my father, and John went to bed, but I staid up a little while, playing the fool with the lass of the house at the door of the chamber, and so to bed. 27th. Up by four o'clock, and after I was ready, took my leave of my father, whom I left in bed, and the same of my brother John, to whom I gave 10s. Mr. Blayton and I took horse and straight to Saffron Walden, where at the White Hart, we set up our horses, and took the master of the house to shew us Audley End House, who took us on foot through the park, and so to the house, where the housekeeper shewed us all the house, in which the stateliness of the ceilings, chimney-pieces, and form of the whole was exceedingly worth seeing. He took us into the cellar, where we drank most admirable drink, a health to the King. Here I played on my flageolette, there being an excellent echo. He shewed us excellent pictures; two especially, those of the four Evangelists and Henry VIII. After that I gave the man 2s. for his trouble, and went back again. In our going, my landlord carried us through a very old hospital or almshouse, where forty poor people was maintained; a very old foundation; and over the chimney in the mantelpiece was an inscription in brass: "Orate pre anima Thomae Bird," &c.; and the poor box also was on the same chimney-piece, with an iron door and locks to it, into which I put 6d. They brought me a draft of their drink in a brown bowl, tipt with silver, which I drank off, and at the bottom was a picture of the Virgin and the child in her arms, done in silver. So we went to our Inn, and after eating of something, and kissed the daughter of the house, she being very pretty, we took leave, and so that night, the road pretty good, but the weather rainy to Ep[p]ing, where we sat and played a game at cards, and after supper, and some merry talk with a plain bold maid of the house, we went to bed. 28th. Up in the morning, and had some red herrings to our breakfast, while my boot-heel was a-mending, by the same token the boy left the hole as big as it was before. Then to horse, and for London through the forest, where we found the way good, but only in one path, which we kept as if we had rode through a canal all the way. We found the shops all shut, and the militia of the red regiment in arms at the Old Exchange, among whom I found and spoke to Nich. Osborne, who told me that it was a thanksgiving-day through the City for the return of the Parliament. At Paul's I light, Mr. Blayton holding my horse, where I found Dr. Reynolds' in the pulpit, and General Monk there, who was to have a great entertainment at Grocers' Hall. So home, where my wife and all well. Shifted myself,--[Changed his dress.]--and so to Mr. Crew's, and then to Sir Harry Wright's, where I found my Lord at dinner, who called for me in, and was glad to see me. There was at dinner also Mr. John Wright and his lady, a very pretty lady, Alderman Allen's daughter. I dined here with Will. Howe, and after dinner went out with him to buy a hat (calling in my way and saw my mother), which we did at the Plough in Fleet Street by my Lord's direction, but not as for him. Here we met with Mr. Pierce a little before, and he took us to the Greyhound Tavern, and gave us a pint of wine, and as the rest of the seamen do, talked very high again of my Lord. After we had done about the hat we went homewards, he to Mr. Crew's and I to Mrs. Jem, and sat with her a little. Then home, where I found Mr. Sheply, almost drunk, come to see me, afterwards Mr. Spong comes, with whom I went up and played with him a Duo or two, and so good night. I was indeed a little vexed with Mr. Sheply, but said nothing, about his breaking open of my study at my house, merely to give him the key of the stair door at my Lord's, which lock he might better have broke than mine. 29th. To my office, and drank at Will's with Mr. Moore, who told me how my Lord is chosen General at Sea by the Council, and that it is thought that Monk will be joined with him therein. Home and dined, after dinner my wife and I by water to London, and thence to Herring's, the merchant in Coleman Street, about L50 which he promises I shall have on Saturday next. So to my mother's, and then to Mrs. Turner's, of whom I took leave, and her company, because she was to go out of town to-morrow with Mr. Pepys into Norfolk. Here my cosen Norton gave me a brave cup of metheglin, [A liquor made of honey and water, boiled and fermenting. By 12 Charles II. cap. 23, a grant of certain impositions upon beer, ale, and other liquors, a duty of 1d. per gallon was laid upon "all metheglin or mead."] the first I ever drank. To my mother's and supped there. She shewed me a letter to my father from my uncle inviting him to come to Brampton while he is in the country. So home and to bed. This day my Lord came to the House, the first time since he came to town; but he had been at the Council before. MARCH 1659-1660 March 1st. In the morning went to my Lord's lodgings, thinking to have spoke with Mr. Sheply, having not been to visit him since my coming to town. But he being not within I went up, and out of the box where my Lord's pamphlets lay, I chose as many as I had a mind to have for my own use and left the rest. Then to my office, where little to do, abut Mr. Sheply comes to me, so at dinner time he and I went to Mr. Crew's, whither Mr. Thomas was newly come to town, being sent with Sir H. Yelverton, a my old school-fellow at Paul's School, to bring the thanks of the county to General Monk for the return of the Parliament. But old Mr. Crew and my Lord not coming home to dinner, we tarried late before we went to dinner, it being the day that John, Mr. John Crew's coachman, was to be buried in the afternoon, he being a day or two before killed with a blow of one of his horses that struck his skull into his brain. From thence Mr. Sheply and I went into London to Mr. Laxton's; my Lord's apothecary, and so by water to Westminster, where at the Sun [tavern] he and I spent two or three hours in a pint or two of wine, discoursing of matters in the country, among other things telling me that my uncle did to him make a very kind mention of me, and what he would do for me. Thence I went home, and went to bed betimes. This day the Parliament did vote that they would not sit longer than the 15th day of this month. 2d. This morning I went early to my Lord at Mr. Crew's, where I spoke to him. Here were a great many come to see him, as Secretary Thurlow who is now by this Parliament chosen again Secretary of State. There were also General Monk's trumpeters to give my Lord a sound of their trumpets this morning. Thence I went to my office, and wrote a letter to Mr. Downing about the business of his house. Then going home, I met with Mr. Eglin, Chetwind, and Thomas, who took me to the Leg [another tavern] in King's street, where we had two brave dishes of meat, one of fish, a carp and some other fishes, as well done as ever I ate any. After that to the Swan tavern, where we drank a quart or two of wine, and so parted. So I to Mrs. Jem and took Mr. Moore with me (who I met in the street), and there I met W. Howe and Sheply. After that to Westminster Hall, where I saw Sir G. Booth at liberty. This day I hear the City militia is put into good posture, and it is thought that Monk will not be able to do any great matter against them now, if he have a mind. I understand that my Lord Lambert did yesterday send a letter to the Council, and that to-night he is to come and appear to the Council in person. Sir Arthur Haselrigge do not yet appear in the House. Great is the talk of a single person, and that it would now be Charles, George, or Richard again.--[Charles II., or George Monk, or Richard Cromwell.]--For the last of which, my Lord St. John is said to speak high. Great also is the dispute now in the House, in whose name the writs shall run for the next Parliament; and it is said that Mr. Prin, in open House, said, "In King Charles's." From Westminster Hall home. Spent the evening in my study, and so after some talk with my wife, then to bed. 3d. To Westminster Hall, where I found that my Lord was last night voted one of the Generals at Sea, and Monk the other. I met my Lord in the Hall, who bid me come to him at noon. I met with Mr. Pierce the purser, Lieut. Lambert, Mr. Creed, and Will. Howe, and went with them to the Swan tavern. Up to my office, but did nothing. At noon home to dinner to a sheep's head. My brother Tom came and dined with me, and told me that my mother was not very well, and that my Aunt Fenner was very ill too. After dinner I to Warwick House, in Holborn, to my Lord, where he dined with my Lord of Manchester, Sir Dudley North, my Lord Fiennes, and my Lord Barkly. I staid in the great hall, talking with some gentlemen there, till they all come out. Then I, by coach with my Lord, to Mr. Crew's, in our way talking of publick things, and how I should look after getting of his Commissioner's despatch. He told me he feared there was new design hatching, as if Monk had a mind to get into the saddle. Here I left him, and went by appointment to Hering, the merchant, but missed of my money, at which I was much troubled, but could not help myself. Returning, met Mr. Gifford, who took me and gave me half a pint of wine, and told me, as I hear this day from many, that things are in a very doubtful posture, some of the Parliament being willing to keep the power in their hands. After I had left him, I met with Tom Harper, who took me into a place in Drury Lane, where we drank a great deal of strong water, more than ever I did in my life at onetime before. He talked huge high that my Lord Protector would come in place again, which indeed is much discoursed of again, though I do not see it possible. Hence home and wrote to my father at Brampton by the post. So to bed. This day I was told that my Lord General Fleetwood told my lord that he feared the King of Sweden is dead of a fever at Gottenburg. 4th. Lord's day. Before I went to church I sang Orpheus' Hymn to my viall. After that to Mr. Gunning's, an excellent sermon upon charity. Then to my mother to dinner, where my wife and the maid were come. After dinner we three to Mr. Messum's where we met Mons. L'Impertinent, who got us a seat and told me a ridiculous story how that last week he had caused a simple citizen to spend; L80 in entertainments of him and some friends of his upon pretence of some service that he would do him in his suit after a widow. Then to my mother again, and after supper she and I talked very high about religion, I in defence of the religion I was born in. Then home. 5th. Early in the morning Mr. Hill comes to string my theorbo, [The theorbo was a bass lute. Having gut strings it was played with the fingers. There is a humorous comparison of the long waists of ladies, which came into fashion about 1621, with the theorbo, by Bishop Corbet: "She was barr'd up in whale-bones, that did leese None of the whale's length, for they reached her knees; Off with her head, and then she hath a middle As her waste stands, just like the new found fiddle, The favourite Theorbo, truth to tell ye, Whose neck and throat are deeper than the belly." Corbet, 'Iter Boreale'.] which we were about till past ten o'clock, with a great deal of pleasure. Then to Westminster, where I met with Mr. Sheply and Mr. Pinkney at Will's, who took me by water to Billingsgate, at the Salutation Tavern, whither by-and-by, Mr. Talbot and Adams came, and bring a great [deal of] good meat, a ham of bacon, &c. Here we staid and drank till Mr. Adams began to be overcome. Then we parted, and so to Westminster by water, only seeing Mr. Pinkney at his own house, where he shewed me how he had alway kept the Lion and Unicorn, in the back of his chimney, bright, in expectation of the King's coming again. At home I found Mr. Hunt, who told me how the Parliament had voted that the Covenant be printed and hung in churches again. Great hopes of the King's coming again. To bed. 6th. (Shrove Tuesday.) I called Mr. Sheply and we both went up to my Lord's lodgings at Mr. Crew's, where he bade us to go home again, and get a fire against an hour after. Which we did at White Hall, whither he came, and after talking with him and me about his going to sea, he called me by myself to go along with him into the garden, where he asked me how things were with me, and what he had endeavoured to do with my uncle to get him to do something for me but he would say nothing too. He likewise bade me look out now at this turn some good place, and he would use all his own, and all the interest of his friends that he had in England, to do me good. And asked me whether I could, without too much inconvenience, go to sea as his secretary, and bid me think of it. He also began to talk of things of State, and told me that he should want one in that capacity at sea, that he might trust in, and therefore he would have me to go. He told me also, that he did believe the King would come in, and did discourse with me about it, and about the affection of the people and City, at which I was full glad. After he was gone, I waiting upon him through the garden till he came to the Hall, where I left him and went up to my office, where Mr. Hawly brought one to me, a seaman, that had promised Rio to him if he get him a purser's place, which I think to endeavour to do. Here comes my uncle Tom, whom I took to Will's and drank with, poor man, he comes to inquire about the knights of Windsor, of which he desires to get to be one. [The body of Poor Knights of Windsor was founded by Edward III. The intention of the king with regard to the poor knights was to provide relief and comfortable subsistence for such valiant soldiers as happened in their old age to fall into poverty and decay. On September 20th, 1659, a Report having been read respecting the Poor Knights of Windsor, the House "ordered that it be referred to a Committee, to look into the revenue for maintenance of the Poor Knights of Windsor," &c. (See Tighe and Davis's "Annals of Windsor.")] While we were drinking, in comes Mr. Day, a carpenter in Westminster, to tell me that it was Shrove Tuesday, and that I must go with him to their yearly Club upon this day, which I confess I had quite forgot. So I went to the Bell, where were Mr. Eglin, Veezy, Vincent a butcher, one more, and Mr. Tanner, with whom I played upon a viall, and he a viallin, after dinner, and were very merry, with a special good dinner, a leg of veal and bacon, two capons and sausages and fritters, with abundance of wine. After that I went home, where I found Kate Sterpin who hath not been here a great while before. She gone I went to see Mrs. Jem, at whose chamber door I found a couple of ladies, but she not being there, we hunted her out, and found that she and another had hid themselves behind a door. Well, they all went down into the dining-room, where it was full of tag, rag, and bobtail, dancing, singing, and drinking, of which I was ashamed, and after I had staid a dance or two I went away. Going home, called at my Lord's for Mr. Sheply, but found him at the Lion with a pewterer, that he had bought pewter to-day of. With them I drank, and so home and wrote by the post, by my Lord's command, for J. Goods to come up presently. For my Lord intends to go forthwith into the Swiftsure till the Nazeby be ready. This day I hear that the Lords do intend to sit, and great store of them are now in town, and I see in the Hall to-day. Overton at Hull do stand out, but can, it is thought, do nothing; and Lawson, it is said, is gone with some ships thither, but all that is nothing. My Lord told me, that there was great endeavours to bring in the Protector again; but he told me, too, that he did believe it would not last long if he were brought in; no, nor the King neither (though he seems to think that he will come in), unless he carry himself very soberly and well. Every body now drinks the King's health without any fear, whereas before it was very private that a man dare do it. Monk this day is feasted at Mercers' Hall, and is invited one after another to all the twelve Halls in London! Many think that he is honest yet, and some or more think him to be a fool that would raise himself, but think that he will undo himself by endeavouring it. My mind, I must needs remember, has been very much eased and joyed at my Lord's great expressions of kindness this day, and in discourse thereupon my wife and I lay awake an hour or two in our bed. 7th. (Ash Wednesday.) In the morning I went to my Lord at Mr. Crew's, in my way Washington overtook me and told me upon my question whether he knew of any place now void that I might have, by power over friends, that this day Mr. G. Montagu was to be made 'Custos Rotulorum' for Westminster, and that by friends I might get to be named by him Clerk of the Peace, with which I was, as I am at all new things, very much joyed, so when I came to Mr. Crew's, I spoke to my Lord about it, who told me he believed Mr. Montagu had already promised it, and that it was given him only that he might gratify one person with the place I look for. Here, among many that were here, I met with Mr. Lynes, the surgeon, who promised me some seeds of the sensitive plant. [Evelyn, about the same date (August 9th, 1661), "tried several experiments on the sensitive plant and humilis, which contracted with the least touch of the sun through a burning glass, though it rises and opens only when it shines on it"] I spoke too with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who gave me great encouragement to go to sea with my Lord. Thence going homewards, my Lord overtook me in his coach, and called me in, and so I went with him to St. James's, and G. Montagu being gone to White Hall, we walked over the Park thither, all the way he discoursing of the times, and of the change of things since the last year, and wondering how he could bear with so great disappointment as he did. He did give me the best advice that he could what was best for me, whether to stay or go with him, and offered all the ways that could be, how he might do me good, with the greatest liberty and love that could be. I left him at Whitehall, and myself went to Westminster to my office, whither nothing to do, but I did discourse with Mr. Falconbridge about Le Squire's place, and had his consent to get it if I could. I afterwards in the Hall met with W. Simons, who put me in the best way how to get it done. Thence by appointment to the Angel in King Street, where Chetwind, Mr. Thomas and Doling were at oysters, and beginning Lent this day with a fish dinner. After dinner Mr. Thomas and I by water to London, where I went to Herring's and received the L50 of my Lord's upon Frank's bill from Worcester. I gave in the bill and set my hand to his bill. Thence I went to the Pope's Head Alley and called on Adam Chard, and bought a catcall there, it cost me two groats. Thence went and gave him a cup of ale. After that to the Sun behind the Exchange, where meeting my uncle Wight by the way, took him with me thither, and after drinking a health or two round at the Cock (Mr. Thomas being gone thither), we parted, he and I homewards, parted at Fleet Street, where I found my father newly come home from Brampton very well. He left my uncle with his leg very dangerous, and do believe he cannot continue in that condition long. He tells me that my uncle did acquaint him very largely what he did intend to do with his estate, to make me his heir and give my brother Tom something, and that my father and mother should have likewise something, to raise portions for John and Pall. I pray God he may be as good as his word. Here I staid and supped and so home, there being Joyce Norton there and Ch. Glascock. Going home I called at Wotton's and took home a piece of cheese. At home Mr. Sheply sat with me a little while, and so we all to bed. This news and my Lord's great kindness makes me very cheerful within. I pray God make me thankful. This day, according to order, Sir Arthur [Haselrigge] appeared at the House; what was done I know not, but there was all the Rumpers almost come to the House to-day. My Lord did seem to wonder much why Lambert was so willing to be put into the Tower, and thinks he has some design in it; but I think that he is so poor that he cannot use his liberty for debts, if he were at liberty; and so it is as good and better for him to be there, than any where else. 8th. To Whitehall to bespeak some firing for my father at Short's, and likewise to speak to Mr. Blackburne about Batters being gunner in the "Wexford." Then to Westminster Hall, where there was a general damp over men's minds and faces upon some of the Officers of the Army being about making a remonstrance against Charles Stuart or any single person; but at noon it was told, that the General had put a stop to it, so all was well again. Here I met with Jasper, who was to look for me to bring me to my Lord at the lobby; whither sending a note to my Lord, he comes out to me and gives me direction to look after getting some money for him from the Admiralty, seeing that things are so unsafe, that he would not lay out a farthing for the State, till he had received some money of theirs. Home about two o'clock, and took my wife by land to Paternoster Row, to buy some Paragon for a petticoat and so home again. In my way meeting Mr. Moore, who went home with me while I ate a bit and so back to Whitehall again, both of us. He waited at the Council for Mr. Crew. I to the Admiralty, where I got the order for the money, and have taken care for the getting of it assigned upon Mr. Hutchinson, Treasurer for the Navy, against tomorrow. Hence going home I met with Mr. King that belonged to the Treasurers at War and took him to Harper's, who told me that he and the rest of his fellows are cast out of office by the new Treasurers. This afternoon, some of the Officers of the Army, and some of the Parliament, had a conference at White Hall to make all right again, but I know not what is done. This noon I met at the Dog tavern Captain Philip Holland, with whom I advised how to make some advantage of my Lord's going to sea, which he told me might be by having of five or six servants entered on board, and I to give them what wages I pleased, and so their pay to be mine; he was also very urgent to have me take the Secretary's place, that my Lord did proffer me. At the same time in comes Mr. Wade and Mr. Sterry, secretary to the plenipotentiary in Denmark, who brought the news of the death of the King of Sweden at Gottenburgh the 3rd of the last month, and he told me what a great change he found when he came here, the secluded members being restored. He also spoke very freely of Mr. Wades profit, which he made while he was in Zeeland, how he did believe that he cheated Mr. Powell, and that he made above L500 on the voyage, which Mr. Wade did very angrily deny, though I believe he was guilty enough. 9th. To my Lord at his lodging, and came to Westminster with him in the coach, with Mr. Dudley with him, and he in the Painted Chamber [The Painted Chamber, or St. Edward's Chamber, in the old Palace at Westminster. The first name was given to it from the curious paintings on the walls, and the second from the tradition that Edward the Confessor died in it.] walked a good while; and I telling him that I was willing and ready to go with him to sea, he agreed that I should, and advised me what to write to Mr. Downing about it, which I did at my office, that by my Lord's desire I offered that my place might for a while be supplied by Mr. Moore, and that I and my security should be bound by the same bond for him. I went and dined at Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Hawly comes to me, and I told him the business and shewed him the letter promising him L20 a year, which he liked very well of. I did the same to Mr. Moore, which he also took for a courtesy. In the afternoon by coach, taking Mr. Butler with me to the Navy Office, about the L500 for my Lord, which I am promised to have to-morrow morning. Then by coach back again, and at White Hall at the Council Chamber spoke with my Lord and got him to sign the acquittance for the L500, and he also told me that he had spoke to Mr. Blackburne to put off Mr. Creed and that I should come to him for direction in the employment. After this Mr. Butler and I to Harper's, where we sat and drank for two hours till ten at night; the old woman she was drunk and began to talk foolishly in commendation of her son James. Home and to bed. All night troubled in my thoughts how to order my business upon this great change with me that I could not sleep, and being overheated with drink I made a promise the next morning to drink no strong drink this week, for I find that it makes me sweat and puts me quite out of order. This day it was resolved that the writs do go out in the name of the Keepers of the Liberty, and I hear that it is resolved privately that a treaty be offered with the King. And that Monk did check his soldiers highly for what they did yesterday. 10th. In the morning went to my father's, whom I took in his cutting house,--[His father was a tailor, and this was his cutting-out room.]--and there I told him my resolution to go to sea with my Lord, and consulted with him how to dispose of my wife, and we resolved of letting her be at Mr. Bowyer's. Thence to the Treasurer of the Navy, where I received L500 for my Lord, and having left L200 of it with Mr. Rawlinson at his house for Sheply, I went with the rest to the Sun tavern on Fish Street Hill, where Mr. Hill, Stevens and Mr. Hater of the Navy Office had invited me, where we had good discourse and a fine breakfast of Mr. Hater. Then by coach home, where I took occasion to tell my wife of my going to sea, who was much troubled at it, and was with some dispute at last willing to continue at Mr. Bowyer's in my absence. After this to see Mrs. Jem and paid her maid L7, and then to Mr. Blackburne, who told me what Mr. Creed did say upon the news of my coming into his place, and that he did propose to my Lord that there should be two Secretaries, which made me go to Sir H. Wright's where my Lord dined and spoke with him about it, but he seemed not to agree to the motion. Hither W. Howe comes to me and so to Westminster. In the way he told me, what I was to provide and so forth against my going. He went with me to my office, whither also Mr. Madge comes half foxed and played the fool upon the violin that made me weary. Then to Whitehall and so home and set many of my things in order against my going. My wife was late making of caps for me, and the wench making an end of a pair of stockings that she was knitting of. So to bed. 11th. (Sunday.) All the day busy without my band on, putting up my books and things, in order to my going to sea. At night my wife and I went to my father's to supper, where J. Norton and Chas. Glascocke supt with us, and after supper home, where the wench had provided all things against tomorrow to wash, and so to bed, where I much troubled with my cold and coughing. 12th. This day the wench rose at two in the morning to wash, and my wife and I lay talking a great while. I by reason of my cold could not tell how to sleep. My wife and I to the Exchange, where we bought a great many things, where I left her and went into London, and at Bedells the bookseller's at the Temple gate I paid L12 10s. 6d. for Mr. Fuller by his direction. So came back and at Wilkinson's found Mr. Sheply and some sea people, as the cook of the Nazeby and others, at dinner. Then to the White Horse in King Street, where I got Mr. Buddle's horse to ride to Huntsmore to Mr. Bowyer's, where I found him and all well, and willing to have my wife come and board with them while I was at sea, which was the business I went about. Here I lay and took a thing for my cold, namely a spoonful of honey and a nutmeg scraped into it, by Mr. Bowyer's direction, and so took it into my mouth, which I found did do me much good. 13th. It rained hard and I got up early, and got to London by 8 o'clock at my Lord's lodgings, who told me that I was to be secretary, and Creed to be deputy treasurer to the Fleet, at which I was troubled, but I could not help it. After that to my father's to look after things, and so at my shoemaker's and others. At night to Whitehall, where I met with Simons and Luellin at drink with them at Roberts at Whitehall. Then to the Admiralty, where I talked with Mr. Creed till the Brothers, and they were very seemingly willing and glad that I have the place since my Lord would dispose of it otherwise than to them. Home and to bed. This day the Parliament voted all that had been done by the former Rump against the House of Lords be void, and to-night that the writs go out without any qualification. Things seem very doubtful what will be the end of all; for the Parliament seems to be strong for the King, while the soldiers do all talk against. 14th. To my Lord, where infinity of applications to him and to me. To my great trouble, my Lord gives me all the papers that was given to him, to put in order and give him an account of them. Here I got half-a-piece of a person of Mr. Wright's recommending to my Lord to be Preacher of the Speaker frigate. I went hence to St. James's and Mr. Pierce the surgeon with me, to speak with Mr. Clerke, Monk's secretary, about getting some soldiers removed out of Huntingdon to Oundle, which my Lord told me he did to do a courtesy to the town, that he might have the greater interest in them, in the choice of the next Parliament; not that he intends to be chosen himself, but that he might have Mr. G. Montagu and my Lord Mandeville chose there in spite of the Bernards. This done (where I saw General Monk and methought he seemed a dull heavy man), he and I to Whitehall, where with Luellin we dined at Marsh's. Coming home telling my wife what we had to dinner, she had a mind to some cabbage, and I sent for some and she had it. Went to the Admiralty, where a strange thing how I am already courted by the people. This morning among others that came to me I hired a boy of Jenkins of Westminster and Burr to be my clerk. This night I went to Mr. Creed's chamber where he gave me the former book of the proceedings in the fleet and the Seal. Then to Harper's where old Beard was and I took him by coach to my Lord's, but he was not at home, but afterwards I found him out at Sir H. Wright's. Thence by coach, it raining hard, to Mrs. Jem, where I staid a while, and so home, and late in the night put up my things in a sea-chest that Mr. Sheply lent me, and so to bed. 15th. Early packing up my things to be sent by cart with the rest of my Lord's. So to Will's, where I took leave of some of my friends. Here I met Tom Alcock, one that went to school with me at Huntingdon, but I had not seen him these sixteen years. So in the Hall paid and made even with Mrs. Michell; afterwards met with old Beale, and at the Axe paid him this quarter to Ladyday next. In the afternoon Dick Mathews comes to dine, and I went and drank with him at Harper's. So into London by water, and in Fish Street my wife and I bought a bit of salmon for 8d. and went to the Sun Tavern and ate it, where I did promise to give her all that I have in the world but my books, in case I should die at sea. From thence homewards; in the way my wife bought linen for three smocks and other things. I went to my Lord's and spoke with him. So home with Mrs. Jem by coach and then home to my own house. From thence to the Fox in King-street to supper on a brave turkey of Mr. Hawly's, with some friends of his there, Will Bowyer, &c. After supper I went to Westminster Hall, and the Parliament sat till ten at night, thinking and being expected to dissolve themselves to-day, but they did not. Great talk to-night that the discontented officers did think this night to make a stir, but prevented. To the Fox again. Home with my wife, and to bed extraordinary sleepy. 16th. No sooner out of bed but troubled with abundance of clients, seamen. My landlord Vanly's man came to me by my direction yesterday, for I was there at his house as I was going to London by water, and I paid him rent for my house for this quarter ending at Lady day, and took an acquittance that he wrote me from his master. Then to Mr. Sheply, to the Rhenish Tavern House, where Mr. Pim, the tailor, was, and gave us a morning draft and a neat's tongue. Home and with my wife to London, we dined at my father's, where Joyce Norton and Mr. Armiger dined also. After dinner my wife took leave of them in order to her going to-morrow to Huntsmore. In my way home I went to the Chapel in Chancery Lane to bespeak papers of all sorts and other things belonging to writing against my voyage. So home, where I spent an hour or two about my business in my study. Thence to the Admiralty, and staid a while, so home again, where Will Bowyer came to tell us that he would bear my wife company in the coach to-morrow. Then to Westminster Hall, where I heard how the Parliament had this day dissolved themselves, and did pass very cheerfully through the Hall, and the Speaker without his mace. The whole Hall was joyful thereat, as well as themselves, and now they begin to talk loud of the King. To-night I am told, that yesterday, about five o'clock in the afternoon, one came with a ladder to the Great Exchange, and wiped with a brush the inscription that was upon King Charles, and that there was a great bonfire made in the Exchange, and people called out "God bless. King Charles the Second!" ["Then the writing in golden letters, that was engraven under the statue of Charles I, in the Royal Exchange ('Exit tyrannus, Regum ultimus, anno libertatis Angliae, anno Domini 1648, Januarie xxx.) was washed out by a painter, who in the day time raised a ladder, and with a pot and brush washed the writing quite out, threw down his pot and brush and said it should never do him any more service, in regard that it had the honour to put out rebels' hand-writing. He then came down, took away his ladder, not a misword said to him, and by whose order it was done was not then known. The merchants were glad and joyful, many people were gathered together, and against the Exchange made a bonfire. "Rugge's Diurnal." In the Thomason Collection of Civil War Tracts at the British Museum is a pamphlet which is dated in MS. March 21st, 1659-60, where this act is said to be by order of Monk: "The Loyal Subjects Teares for the Sufferings and Absence of their Sovereign Charles II., King of England, Scotland, and Ireland; with an Observation upon the expunging of 'Exit Tyrannus, Regum ultimus', by order of General Monk, and some Advice to the Independents, Anabaptists, Phanatiques, &c. London, 1660."] From the Hall I went home to bed, very sad in mind to part with my wife, but God's will be done. 17th. This morning bade adieu in bed to the company of my wife. We rose and I gave my wife some money to serve her for a time, and what papers of consequence I had. Then I left her to get her ready and went to my Lord's with my boy Eliezer to my Lord's lodging at Mr. Crew's. Here I had much business with my Lord, and papers, great store, given me by my Lord to dispose of as of the rest. After that, with Mr. Moore home to my house and took my wife by coach to the Chequer in Holborn, where, after we had drank, &c., she took coach and so farewell. I staid behind with Tom Alcock and Mr. Anderson, my old chamber fellow at Cambridge his brother, and drank with them there, who were come to me thither about one that would have a place at sea. Thence with Mr. Hawly to dinner at Mr. Crew's. After dinner to my own house, where all things were put up into the dining-room and locked up, and my wife took the keys along with her. This day, in the presence of Mr. Moore (who made it) and Mr. Hawly, I did before I went out with my wife, seal my will to her, whereby I did give her all that I have in the world, but my books which I give to my brother John, excepting only French books, which my wife is to have. In the evening at the Admiralty, I met my Lord there and got a commission for Williamson to be captain of the Harp frigate, and afterwards went by coach taking Mr. Crips with me to my Lord and got him to sign it at table as he was at supper. And so to Westminster back again with him with me, who had a great desire to go to sea and my Lord told me that he would do him any favour. So I went home with him to his mother's house by me in Axe Yard, where I found Dr. Clodius's wife and sat there talking and hearing of old Mrs. Crisp playing of her old lessons upon the harpsichon till it was time to go to bed. After that to bed, and Laud, her son lay with me in the best chamber in her house, which indeed was finely furnished. 18th. I rose early and went to the barber's (Jervas) in Palace Yard and I was trimmed by him, and afterwards drank with him a cup or two of ale, and did begin to hire his man to go with me to sea. Then to my Lord's lodging where I found Captain Williamson and gave him his commission to be Captain of the Harp, and he gave me a piece of gold and 20s. in silver. So to my own house, where I staid a while and then to dinner with Mr. Shepley at my Lord's lodgings. After that to Mr. Mossum's, where he made a very gallant sermon upon "Pray for the life of the King and the King's son." (Ezra vi. 10.) From thence to Mr. Crew's, but my Lord not being within I did not stay, but went away and met with Mr. Woodfine, who took me to an alehouse in Drury Lane, and we sat and drank together, and ate toasted cakes which were very good, and we had a great deal of mirth with the mistress of the house about them. From thence homewards, and called at Mr. Blagrave's, where I took up my note that he had of mine for 40s., which he two years ago did give me as a pawn while he had my lute. So that all things are even between him and I. So to Mrs. Crisp, where she and her daughter and son and I sat talking till ten o'clock at night, I giving them the best advice that I could concerning their son, how he should go to sea, and so to bed. 19th. Early to my Lord, where infinity of business to do, which makes my head full; and indeed, for these two or three days, I have not been without a great many cares and thoughts concerning them. After that to the Admiralty, where a good while with Mr. Blackburne, who told me that it was much to be feared that the King would come in, for all good men and good things were now discouraged. Thence to Wilkinson's, where Mr. Sheply and I dined; and while we were at dinner, my Lord Monk's lifeguard come by with the Serjeant at Arms before them, with two Proclamations, that all Cavaliers do depart the town; but the other that all officers that were lately disbanded should do the same. The last of which Mr. R. Creed, I remember, said, that he looked upon it as if they had said, that all God's people should depart the town. Thence with some sea officers to the Swan, where we drank wine till one comes to me to pay me some money from Worcester, viz., L25. His name is Wilday. I sat in another room and took my money and drank with him till the rest of my company were gone and so we parted. Going home the water was high, and so I got Crockford to carry me over it. So home, and left my money there. All the discourse now-a-day is, that the King will come again; and for all I see, it is the wishes of all; and all do believe that it will be so. My mind is still much troubled for my poor wife, but I hope that this undertaking will be worth my pains. To Whitehall and staid about business at the Admiralty late, then to Tony Robins's, where Capt. Stokes, Mr. Luddington and others were, and I did solicit the Captain for Laud Crisp, who gave me a promise that he would entertain him. After that to Mrs. Crisp's where Dr. Clodius and his wife were. He very merry with drink. We played at cards late and so to bed. This day my Lord dined at my Lord Mayor's [Allen], and Jasper was made drunk, which my Lord was very angry at. 20th. This morning I rose early and went to my house to put things in a little order against my going, which I conceive will be to-morrow (the weather still very rainy). After that to my Lord, where I found very great deal of business, he giving me all letters and papers that come to him about business, for me to give him account of when we come on shipboard. Hence with Capt. Isham by coach to Whitehall to the Admiralty. He and I and Chetwind, Doling and Luellin dined together at Marsh's at Whitehall. So to the Bull Head whither W. Simons comes to us and I gave them my foy [Foy. A feast given by one who is about to leave a place. In Kent, according to Grose, a treat to friends, either at going abroad or coming home. See Diary, November 25th, 1661.] against my going to sea; and so we took leave one of another, they promising me to write to me to sea. Hither comes Pim's boy, by my direction, with two monteeres--[Monteeres, montero (Spanish), a kind of huntsman's cap.]--for me to take my choice of, and I chose the saddest colour and left the other for Mr. Sheply. Hence by coach to London, and took a short melancholy leave of my father and mother, without having them to drink, or say anything of business one to another. And indeed I had a fear upon me I should scarce ever see my mother again, she having a great cold then upon her. Then to Westminster, where by reason of rain and an easterly wind, the water was so high that there was boats rowed in King Street and all our yard was drowned, that one could not go to my house, so as no man has seen the like almost, most houses full of water. ["In this month the wind was very high, and caused great tides, so that great hurt was done to the inhabitants of Westminster, King Street being quite drowned. The Maidenhead boat was cast away, and twelve persons with her. Also, about Dover the waters brake in upon the mainland; and in Kent was very much damage done; so that report said, there was L20,000 worth of harm done."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] Then back by coach to my Lord's; where I met Mr. Sheply, who staid with me waiting for my Lord's coming in till very late. Then he and I, and William Howe went with our swords to bring my Lord home from Sir H. Wright's. He resolved to go to-morrow if the wind ceased. Sheply and I home by coach. I to Mrs. Crisp's, who had sat over a good supper long looking for me. So we sat talking and laughing till it was very late, and so Laud and I to bed. 21st. To my Lord's, but the wind very high against us, and the weather bad we could not go to-day; here I did very much business, and then to my Lord Widdrington's from my Lord, with his desire that he might have the disposal of the writs of the Cinque Ports. My Lord was very civil to me, and called for wine, and writ a long letter in answer. Thence I went to a tavern over against Mr. Pierce's with judge Advocate Fowler and Mr. Burr, and sat and drank with them two or three pints of wine. After that to Mr. Crew's again and gave my Lord an account of what I had done, and so about my business to take leave of my father and mother, which by a mistake I have put down yesterday. Thence to Westminster to Crisp's, where we were very merry; the old woman sent for a supper for me, and gave me a handkercher with strawberry buttons on it, and so to bed. 22nd. Up very early and set things in order at my house, and so took leave of Mrs. Crispe and her daughter (who was in bed) and of Mrs. Hunt. Then to my Lord's lodging at the gate and did so there, where Mr. Hawly came to me and I gave him the key of my house to keep, and he went with me to Mr. Crew's, and there I took my last leave of him. But the weather continuing very bad my Lord would not go to-day. My Lord spent this morning private in sealing of his last will and testament with Mr. W. Mountagu. After that I went forth about my own business to buy a pair of riding grey serge stockings and sword and belt and hose, and after that took Wotton and Brigden to the Pope's Head Tavern in Chancery Lane, where Gilb. Holland and Shelston were, and we dined and drank a great deal of wine, and they paid all. Strange how these people do now promise me anything; one a rapier, the other a vessel of wine or a gun, and one offered me his silver hatband to do him a courtesy. I pray God to keep me from being proud or too much lifted up hereby. After that to Westminster, and took leave of Kate Sterpin who was very sorry to part with me, and after that of Mr. George Mountagu, and received my warrant of Mr. Blackburne, to be Secretary to the two Generals of the Fleet. Then to take my leave of the Clerks of the Council, and thence Doling and Luellin would have me go with them to Mount's chamber, where we sat and talked and then I went away. So to my Lord (in my way meeting Chetwind and Swan and bade them farewell) where I lay all night with Mr. Andrews. This day Mr. Sheply went away on board and I sent my boy with him. This day also Mrs. Jemimah went to Marrowbone, so I could not see her. Mr. Moore being out of town to-night I could not take leave of him nor speak to him about business which troubled me much. I left my small case therefore with Mr. Andrews for him. 23rd. Up early, carried my Lord's will in a black box to Mr. William Montagu for him to keep for him. Then to the barber's and put on my cravat there. So to my Lord again, who was almost ready to be gone and had staid for me. Hither came Gilb. Holland, and brought me a stick rapier and Shelston a sugar-loaf, and had brought his wife who he said was a very pretty woman to the Ship tavern hard by for me to see but I could not go. Young Reeve also brought me a little perspective glass which I bought for my Lord, it cost me 8s. So after that my Lord in Sir H. Wright's coach with Captain Isham, Mr. Thomas, John Crew, W. Howe, and I in a Hackney to the Tower, where the barges staid for us; my Lord and the Captain in one, and W. Howe and I, &c., in the other, to the Long Reach, where the Swiftsure lay at anchor; (in our way we saw the great breach which the late high water had made, to the loss of many L1000 to the people about Limehouse.) Soon as my Lord on board, the guns went off bravely from the ships. And a little while after comes the Vice-Admiral Lawson, and seemed very respectful to my Lord, and so did the rest of the Commanders of the frigates that were thereabouts. I to the cabin allotted for me, which was the best that any had that belonged to my Lord. I got out some things out of my chest for writing and to work presently, Mr. Burr and I both. I supped at the deck table with Mr. Sheply. We were late writing of orders for the getting of ships ready, &c.; and also making of others to all the seaports between Hastings and Yarmouth, to stop all dangerous persons that are going or coming between Flanders and there. After that to bed in my cabin, which was but short; however I made shift with it and slept very well, and the weather being good I was not sick at all yet, I know not what I shall be. 24th. At work hard all the day writing letters to the Council, &c. This day Mr. Creed came on: board and dined very boldly with my Lord, but he could not get a bed there. At night Capt. Isham who had been at Gravesend all last night and to-day came and brought Mr. Lucy (one acquainted with Mrs. Pierce, with whom I had been at her house), I drank with him in the Captain's cabin, but my business could not stay with him. I despatch many letters to-day abroad and it was late before we could get to bed. Mr. Sheply and Howe supped with me in my cabin. The boy Eliezer flung down a can of beer upon my papers which made me give him a box of the ear, it having all spoiled my papers and cost me a great deal of work. So to bed. 25th. (Lord's day). About two o'clock in the morning, letters came from London by our coxon, so they waked me, but I would not rise but bid him stay till morning, which he did, and then I rose and carried them in to my Lord, who read them a-bed. Among the rest, there was the writ and mandate for him to dispose to the Cinque Ports for choice of Parliament-men. There was also one for me from Mr. Blackburne, who with his own hand superscribes it to S.P. Esq., of which God knows I was not a little proud. After that I wrote a letter to the Clerk of Dover Castle, to come to my Lord about issuing of those writs. About ten o'clock Mr. Ibbott, at the end of the long table, begun to pray and preach and indeed made a very good sermon, upon the duty of all Christians to be stedfast in faith. After that Captain Cuttance and I had oysters, my Lord being in his cabin not intending to stir out to-day. After that up into the great cabin above to dinner with the Captain, where was Captain Isham and all the officers of the ship. I took place of all but the Captains; after dinner I wrote a great many letters to my friends at London. After that, sermon again, at which I slept, God forgive me! After that, it being a fair day, I walked with the Captain upon the deck talking. At night I supped with him and after that had orders from my Lord about some business to be done against to-morrow, which I sat up late and did and then to bed. 26th. This day it is two years since it pleased God that I was cut of the stone at Mrs. Turner's in Salisbury Court. And did resolve while I live to keep it a festival, as I did the last year at my house, and for ever to have Mrs. Turner and her company with me. But now it pleases God that I am where I am and so prevented to do it openly; only within my soul I can and do rejoice, and bless God, being at this time blessed be his holy name, in as good health as ever I was in my life. This morning I rose early, and went about making of an establishment of the whole Fleet, and a list of all the ships, with the number of men and guns: About an hour after that, we had a meeting of the principal commanders and seamen, to proportion out the number of these things. After that to dinner, there being very many commanders on board. All the afternoon very many orders were made, till I was very weary. At night Mr. Sheply and W. Howe came and brought some bottles of wine and some things to eat in my cabin, where we were very merry, remembering the day of being cut for the stone. Captain Cuttance came afterwards and sat drinking a bottle of wine till eleven, a kindness he do not usually do the greatest officer in the ship. After that to bed. 27th. Early in the morning at making a fair new establishment of the Fleet to send to the Council. This morning, the wind came about, and we fell into the Hope,--[A reach of the Thames near Tilbury.]--and in our passing by the Vice-Admiral, he and the rest of the frigates, with him, did give us abundance of guns and we them, so much that the report of them broke all the windows in my cabin and broke off the iron bar that was upon it to keep anybody from creeping in at the Scuttle.--["A small hole or port cut either in the deck or side of a ship, generally for ventilation. That in the deck is a small hatch-way."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.]--This noon I sat the first time with my Lord at table since my coming to sea. All the afternoon exceeding busy in writing of letters and orders. In the afternoon, Sir Harry Wright came onboard us, about his business of being chosen Parliament-man. My Lord brought him to see my cabin, when I was hard a-writing. At night supped with my Lord too, with the Captain, and after that to work again till it be very late. So to bed. 28th. This morning and the whole day busy, and that the more because Mr. Burr was about his own business all the day at Gravesend. At night there was a gentleman very well bred, his name was Banes, going for Flushing, who spoke French and Latin very well, brought by direction from Captain Clerke hither, as a prisoner, because he called out of the vessel that he went in, "Where is your King, we have done our business, Vive le Roi." He confessed himself a Cavalier in his heart, and that he and his whole family had fought for the King; but that he was then drunk, having been all night taking his leave at Gravesend the night before, and so could not remember what it was that he said; but in his words and carriage showed much of a gentleman. My Lord had a great kindness for him, but did not think it safe to release him, but commanded him to be used civilly, so he was taken to the Master's Cabin and had supper there. In the meantime I wrote a letter to the Council about him, and an order for the vessel to be sent for back that he was taken out of. But a while after, he sent a letter down to my Lord, which my Lord did like very well, and did advise with me what was best to be done. So I put in something to my Lord and then to the Captain that the gentleman was to be released and the letter stopped, which was done. So I went up and sat and talked with him in Latin and French, and drank a bottle or two with him; and about eleven at night he took boat again, and so God bless him. Thence I to my cabin and to bed. This day we had news of the election at Huntingdon for Bernard and Pedly, at which my Lord was much troubled for his friends' missing of it. 29th. We lie still a little below Gravesend. At night Mr. Sheply returned from London, and told us of several elections for the next Parliament. That the King's effigies was new making to be set up in the Exchange again. This evening was a great whispering of some of the Vice-Admiral's captains that they were dissatisfied, and did intend to fight themselves, to oppose the General. But it was soon hushed, and the Vice-Admiral did wholly deny any such thing, and protested to stand by the General. At night Mr. Sheply, W. Howe, and I supped in my cabin. So up to the Master's cabin, where we sat talking, and then to bed. 30th. I was saluted in the morning with two letters, from some that I had done a favour to, which brought me in each a piece of gold. This day, while my Lord and we were at dinner, the Nazeby came in sight towards us, and at last came to anchor close by us. After dinner my Lord and many others went on board her, where every thing was out of order, and a new chimney made for my Lord in his bedchamber, which he was much pleased with. My Lord, in his discourse, discovered a great deal of love to this ship. 31st. This morning Captain Jowles of the "Wexford" came on board, for whom I got commission from my Lord to be commander of the ship. Upon the doing thereof he was to make the 20s. piece that he sent me yesterday, up L5; wherefore he sent me a bill that he did owe me L4., which I sent my boy to Gravesend with him, and he did give the boy L4 for me, and the boy gave him the bill under his hand. This morning, Mr. Hill that lives in Axe-yard was here on board with the Vice-Admiral. I did give him a bottle of wine, and was exceedingly satisfied of the power that I have to make my friends welcome. Many orders to make all the afternoon. At night Mr. Sheply, Howe, Ibbott, and I supped in my cabin together. APRIL 1660 April 1st (Lord's day). Mr. Ibbott preached very well. After dinner my Lord did give me a private list of all the ships that were to be set out this summer, wherein I do discern that he bath made it his care to put by as much of the Anabaptists as he can. By reason of my Lord and my being busy to send away the packet by Mr. Cooke of the Nazeby, it was four o'clock before we could begin sermon again. This day Captain Guy come on board from Dunkirk, who tells me that the King will come in, and that the soldiers at Dunkirk do drink the King's health in the streets. At night the Captain, Sir R. Stayner, Mr. Sheply, and I did sup together in the Captain's cabin. I made a commission for Captain Wilgness, of the Bear, to-night, which got me 30s. So after writing a while I went to bed. 2d. Up very early, and to get all my things and my boy's packed up. Great concourse of commanders here this morning to take leave of my Lord upon his going into the Nazeby, so that the table was full, so there dined below many commanders, and Mr. Creed, who was much troubled to hear that he could not go along with my Lord, for he had already got all his things thither, thinking to stay there, but W. Howe was very high against it, and he indeed did put him out, though everybody was glad of it. After dinner I went in one of the boats with my boy before my Lord, and made shift before night to get my cabin in pretty good order. It is but little, but very convenient, having one window to the sea and another to the deck, and a good bed. This morning comes Mr. Ed. Pickering, like a coxcomb as he always was. He tells me that the King will come in, but that Monk did resolve to have the doing of it himself, or else to hinder it. 3d. Late to bed. About three in the morning there was great knocking at my cabin, which with much difficulty (so they say) waked me, and I rose, but it was only for a packet, so went to my bed again, and in the morning gave it my Lord. This morning Capt. Isham comes on board to see my Lord and drunk his wine before he went into the Downs, there likewise come many merchants to get convoy to the Baltique, which a course was taken for. They dined with my Lord, and one of them by name Alderman Wood talked much to my Lord of the hopes that we have now to be settled, (under the King he meant); but my Lord took no notice of it. After dinner which was late my Lord went on shore, and after him I and Capt. Sparling went in his boat, but the water being almost at low water we could not stay for fear of not getting into our boat again. So back again. This day come the Lieutenant of the Swiftsure, who was sent by my Lord to Hastings, one of the Cinque Ports, to have got Mr. Edward Montagu to have been one of their burgesses, but could not, for they were all promised before. After he had done his message, I took him and Mr. Pierce, the surgeon (who this day came on board, and not before), to my cabin, where we drank a bottle of wine. At night, busy a-writing, and so to bed. My heart exceeding heavy for not hearing of my dear wife, and indeed I do not remember that ever my heart was so apprehensive of her absence as at this very time. 4th. This morning I dispatch many letters of my own private business to London. There come Colonel Thomson with the wooden leg, and General Pen, [This is the first mention in the Diary of Admiral (afterwards Sir William) Penn, with whom Pepys was subsequently so particularly intimate. At this time admirals were sometimes styled generals. William Penn was born at Bristol in 1621, of the ancient family of the Penns of Penn Lodge, Wilts. He was Captain at the age of twenty-one; Rear-Admiral of Ireland at twenty-three; Vice-Admiral of England and General in the first Dutch war, at thirty-two. He was subsequently M.P. for Weymouth, Governor of Kingsale, and Vice- Admiral of Munster. He was a highly successful commander, and in 1654 he obtained possession of Jamaica. He was appointed a Commissioner of the Navy in 1660, in which year he was knighted. After the Dutch fight in 1665, where he distinguished himself as second in command under the Duke of York, he took leave of the sea, but continued to act as a Commissioner for the Navy till 1669, when he retired to Wanstead, on account of his bodily infirmities, and dying there, September 16th, 1670, aged forty-nine, was buried in the church of St. Mary Redcliffe, in Bristol, where a monument to his memory was erected.] and dined with my Lord and Mr. Blackburne, who told me that it was certain now that the King must of necessity come in, and that one of the Council told him there is something doing in order to a treaty already among them. And it was strange to hear how Mr. Blackburne did already begin to commend him for a sober man, and how quiet he would be under his government, &c. I dined all alone to prevent company, which was exceeding great to-day, in my cabin. After these two were gone Sir W. Wheeler and Sir John Petters came on board and staid about two or three hours, and so went away. The Commissioners came to-day, only to consult about a further reducement of the Fleet, and to pay them as fast as they can. I did give Davis, their servant, L5 10s. to give to Mr. Moore from me, in part of the L7 that I borrowed of him, and he is to discount the rest out of the 36s. that he do owe me. At night, my Lord resolved to send the Captain of our ship to Waymouth and promote his being chosen there, which he did put himself into a readiness to do the next morning. 5th. Infinity of business all the morning of orders to make, that I was very much perplexed that Mr. Burr had failed me of coming back last night, and we ready to set sail, which we did about noon, and came in the evening to Lee roads and anchored. At night Mr. Sheply overtook us who had been at Gray's Market this morning. I spent all the afternoon upon the deck, it being very pleasant weather. This afternoon Sir Rich. Stayner and Mr. Creed, after we were come to anchor, did come on board, and Creed brought me L30, which my Lord had ordered him to pay me upon account, and Captain Clerke brought me a noted caudle. At night very sleepy to bed. 6th. This morning came my brother-in-law Balty to see me, and to desire to be here with me as Reformado,--["a broken or disbanded officer."] which did much trouble me. But after dinner (my Lord using him very civilly, at table) I spoke to my Lord, and he presented me a letter to Captain Stokes for him that he should be there. All the day with him walking and talking, we under sail as far as the Spitts. In the afternoon, W. Howe and I to our viallins, the first time since we came on board. This afternoon I made even with my Lord to this day, and did give him all the money remaining in my hands. In the evening, it being fine moonshine, I staid late walking upon the quarter-deck with Mr. Cuttance, learning of some sea terms; and so down to supper and to bed, having an hour before put Balty into Burr's cabin, he being out of the ship. 7th. This day, about nine o'clock in the morning, the wind grew high, and we being among the sands lay at anchor; I began to be dizzy and squeamish. Before dinner my Lord sent for me down to eat some oysters, the best my Lord said that ever he ate in his life, though I have ate as good at Bardsey. After dinner, and all the afternoon I walked upon the deck to keep myself from being sick, and at last about five o'clock, went to bed and got a caudle made me, and sleep upon it very well. This day Mr. Sheply went to Sheppy. 8th (Lord's day). Very calm again, and I pretty well, but my head aked all day. About noon set sail; in our way I see many vessels and masts, which are now the greatest guides for ships. We had a brave wind all the afternoon, and overtook two good merchantmen that overtook us yesterday, going to the East Indies. The lieutenant and I lay out of his window with his glass, looking at the women that were on board them, being pretty handsome. This evening Major Willoughby, who had been here three or four days on board with Mr. Pickering, went on board a catch [ketch] for Dunkirk. We continued sailing when I went to bed, being somewhat ill again, and Will Howe, the surgeon, parson, and Balty supped in the Lieutenant's cabin and afterwards sat disputing, the parson for and I against extemporary prayers, very hot. 9th. We having sailed all night, were come in sight of the Nore and South Forelands in the morning, and so sailed all day. In the afternoon we had a very fresh gale, which I brooked better than I thought I should be able to do. This afternoon I first saw France and Calais, with which I was much pleased, though it was at a distance. About five o'clock we came to the Goodwin, so to the Castles about Deal; where our Fleet lay, among whom we anchored. Great was the shout of guns from the castles and ships, and our answers, that I never heard yet so great rattling of guns. Nor could we see one another on board for the smoke that was among us, nor one ship from another. Soon as we came to anchor, the captains came from on board their ships all to us on board. This afternoon I wrote letters for my Lord to the Council, &c., which Mr. Dickering was to carry, who took his leave this night of my Lord, and Balty after I had wrote two or three letters by him to my wife and Mr. Bowyer, and had drank a bottle of wine with him in my cabin which J. Goods and W. Howe brought on purpose, he took leave of me too to go away to-morrow morning with Mr. Dickering. I lent Balty 15s. which he was to pay to my wife. It was one in the morning before we parted. This evening Mr. Sheply came on board, having escaped a very great danger upon a sand coming from Chatham. 10th. This morning many or most of the commanders in the Fleet came on board and dined here, so that some of them and I dined together in the Round-house, where we were very merry. Hither came the Vice-Admiral to us, and sat and talked and seemed a very good-natured man. At night as I was all alone in my cabin, in a melancholy fit playing on my viallin, my Lord and Sir R. Stayner came into the coach ["A sort of chamber or apartment in a large ship of war, just before the great cabin. The floor of it is formed by the aftmost part of the quarter deck, and the roof of it by the poop: it is generally the habitation of the flag-captain."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] and supped there, and called me out to supper with them. After that up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where he and I and Sir Richard sat till 11 o'clock talking, and so to bed. This day my Lord Goring returned from France, and landed at Dover. 11th. A Gentleman came this morning from my Lord of Manchester to my Lord for a pass for Mr. Boyle,' which was made him. I ate a good breakfast by my Lord's orders with him in the great cabin below. The wind all this day was very high, so that a gentleman that was at dinner with my Lord that came along with Sir John Bloys (who seemed a fine man) was forced to rise from table. This afternoon came a great packet of letters from London directed to me, among the rest two from my wife, the first that I have since coming away from London. All the news from London is that things go on further towards a King. That the Skinners' Company the other day at their entertaining of General Monk had took down the Parliament Arms in their Hall, and set up the King's. In the evening my Lord and I had a great deal of discourse about the several Captains of the Fleet and his interest among them, and had his mind clear to bring in the King. He confessed to me that he was not sure of his own Captain [Cuttance] to be true to him, and that he did not like Captain Stokes. At night W. Howe and I at our viallins in my cabin, where Mr. Ibbott and the lieutenant were late. I staid the lieutenant late, shewing him my manner of keeping a journal. After that to bed. It comes now into my mind to observe that I am sensible that I have been a little too free to make mirth with the minister of our ship, he being a very sober and an upright man. 12th. This day, the weather being very bad, we had no strangers on board. In the afternoon came the Vice-Admiral on board, with whom my Lord consulted, and I sent a packet to London at night with several letters to my friends, as to my wife about my getting of money for her when she should need it, to Mr. Bowyer that he tell me when the Messieurs of the offices be paid, to Mr. Moore about the business of my office, and making even with him as to matter of money. At night after I had despatched my letters, to bed. 13th. This day very foul all day for rain and wind. In the afternoon set my own things in my cabin and chests in better order than hitherto, and set my papers in order. At night sent another packet to London by the post, and after that was done I went up to the lieutenant's cabin and there we broached a vessel of ale that we had sent for among us from Deal to-day. There was the minister and doctor with us. After that till one o'clock in the morning writing letters to Mr. Downing about my business of continuing my office to myself, only Mr. Moore to execute it for me. I had also a very serious and effectual letter from my Lord to him to that purpose. After that done then to bed, and it being very rainy, and the rain coming upon my bed, I went and lay with John Goods in the great cabin below, the wind being so high that we were faro to lower some of the masts. I to bed, and what with the goodness of the bed and the rocking of the ship I slept till almost ten o'clock, and then-- 14th. Rose and drank a good morning draught there with Mr. Sheply, which occasioned my thinking upon the happy life that I live now, had I nothing to care for but myself. The sea was this morning very high, and looking out of the window I saw our boat come with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, in it in great danger, who endeavouring to come on board us, had like to have been drowned had it not been for a rope. This day I was informed that my Lord Lambert is got out of the Towers and that there is L100 proffered to whoever shall bring him forth to the Council of State. [The manner of the escape of John Lambert, out of the Tower, on the 11th inst., as related by Rugge:--"That about eight of the clock at night he escaped by a rope tied fast to his window, by which he slid down, and in each hand he had a handkerchief; and six men were ready to receive him, who had a barge to hasten him away. She who made the bed, being privy to his escape, that night, to blind the warder when he came to lock the chamber-door, went to bed, and possessed Colonel Lambert's place, and put on his night-cap. So, when the said warder came to lock the door, according to his usual manner, he found the curtains drawn, and conceiving it to be Colonel John Lambert, he said, 'Good night, my Lord.' To which a seeming voice replied, and prevented all further jealousies. The next morning, on coming to unlock the door, and espying her face, he cried out, 'In the name of God, Joan, what makes you here? Where is my Lord Lambert?' She said, 'He is gone; but I cannot tell whither.' Whereupon he caused her to rise, and carried her before the officer in the Tower, and [she] was committed to custody. Some said that a lady knit for him a garter of silk, by which he was conveyed down, and that she received L100 for her pains."--B] My Lord is chosen at Waymouth this morning; my Lord had his freedom brought him by Captain Tiddiman of the port of Dover, by which he is capable of being elected for them. This day I heard that the Army had in general declared to stand by what the next Parliament shall do. At night supped with my Lord. 15th (Lord's day). Up early and was trimmed by the barber in the great cabin below. After that to put my clothes on and then to sermon, and then to dinner, where my Lord told us that the University of Cambridge had a mind to choose him for their burgess, which he pleased himself with, to think that they do look upon him as a thriving man, and said so openly at table. At dinner-time Mr. Cook came back from London with a packet which caused my Lord to be full of thoughts all day, and at night he bid me privately to get two commissions ready, one for Capt. Robert Blake to be captain of the Worcester, in the room of Capt. Dekings, an anabaptist, and one that had witnessed a great deal of discontent with the present proceedings. The other for Capt. Coppin to come out of that into the Newbury in the room of Blake, whereby I perceive that General Monk do resolve to make a thorough change, to make way for the King. From London I hear that since Lambert got out of the Tower, the Fanatiques had held up their heads high, but I hope all that will come to nothing. Late a writing of letters to London to get ready for Mr. Cook. Then to bed. 16th. And about 4 o'clock in the morning Mr. Cook waked me where I lay in the great cabin below, and I did give him his packet and directions for London. So to sleep again. All the morning giving out orders and tickets to the Commanders of the Fleet to discharge all supernumeraries that they had above the number that the Council had set in their last establishment. After dinner busy all the afternoon writing, and so till night, then to bed. 17th. All the morning getting ready commissions for the Vice-Admiral and the Rear-Admiral, wherein my Lord was very careful to express the utmost of his own power, commanding them to obey what orders they should receive from the Parliament, &c., or both or either of the Generals. [Sir Edward Montagu afterwards recommended the Duke of York as High Admiral, to give regular and lawful commissions to the Commanders of the Fleet, instead of those which they had received from Sir Edward himself, or from the Rump Parliament.--Kennett's Register, p. 163.] The Vice-Admiral dined with us, and in the afternoon my Lord called me to give him the commission for him, which I did, and he gave it him himself. A very pleasant afternoon, and I upon the deck all the day, it was so clear that my Lord's glass shewed us Calais very plain, and the cliffs were as plain to be seen as Kent, and my Lord at first made me believe that it was Kent. At night, after supper, my Lord called for the Rear-Admiral's commission, which I brought him, and I sitting in my study heard my Lord discourse with him concerning D. King's and Newberry's being put out of commission. And by the way I did observe that my Lord did speak more openly his mind to me afterwards at night than I can find that he did to the Rear-Admiral, though his great confidant. For I was with him an hour together, when he told me clearly his thoughts that the King would carry it, and that he did think himself very happy that he was now at sea, as well for his own sake, as that he thought he might do his country some service in keeping things quiet. To bed, and shifting myself from top to toe, there being J. Goods and W. Howe sat late by my bedside talking. So to sleep, every day bringing me a fresh sense of the pleasure of my present life. 18th. This morning very early came Mr. Edward Montagu on board, but what was the business of his coming again or before without any servant and making no stay at all I cannot guess. This day Sir R. Stayner, Mr. Sheply, and as many of my Lord's people as could be spared went to Dover to get things ready against to-morrow for the election there. I all the afternoon dictating in my cabin (my own head being troubled with multiplicity of business) to Burr, who wrote for me above a dozen letters, by which I have made my mind more light and clear than I have had it yet since I came on board. At night sent a packet to London, and Mr. Cook returned hence bringing me this news, that the Sectaries do talk high what they will do, but I believe all to no purpose, but the Cavaliers are something unwise to talk so high on the other side as they do. That the Lords do meet every day at my Lord of Manchester's, and resolve to sit the first day of the Parliament. That it is evident now that the General and the Council do resolve to make way for the King's coming. And it is now clear that either the Fanatiques must now be undone, or the gentry and citizens throughout England, and clergy must fall, in spite of their militia and army, which is not at all possible I think. At night I supped with W. Howe and Mr. Luellin (being the first time that I had been so long with him) in the great cabin below. After that to bed, and W. Howe sat by my bedside, and he and I sang a psalm or two and so I to sleep. 19th. A great deal of business all this day, and Burr being gone to shore without my leave did vex me much. At dinner news was brought us that my Lord was chosen at Dover. This afternoon came one Mr. Mansell on board as a Reformado, to whom my Lord did shew exceeding great respect, but upon what account I do not yet know. This day it has rained much, so that when I came to go to bed I found it wet through, so I was fain to wrap myself up in a dry sheet, and so lay all night. 20th. All the morning I was busy to get my window altered, and to have my table set as I would have it, which after it was done I was infinitely pleased with it, and also to see what a command I have to have every one ready to come and go at my command. This evening came Mr. Boyle on board, for whom I writ an order for a ship to transport him to Flushing. He supped with my Lord, my Lord using him as a person of honour. This evening too came Mr. John Pickering on board us. This evening my head ached exceedingly, which I impute to my sitting backwards in my cabin, otherwise than I am used to do. To-night Mr. Sheply told me that he heard for certain at Dover that Mr. Edw. Montagu did go beyond sea when he was here first the other day, and I am apt to believe that he went to speak with the King. This day one told me how that at the election at Cambridge for knights of the shire, Wendby and Thornton by declaring to stand for the Parliament and a King and the settlement of the Church, did carry it against all expectation against Sir Dudley North and Sir Thomas Willis! I supped to-night with Mr. Sheply below at the half-deck table, and after that I saw Mr. Pickering whom my Lord brought down to his cabin, and so to bed. 21st. This day dined Sir John Boys [Of Bonnington and Sandwich, Gentleman of the Privy-Chamber to Charles I. He defended Donnington Castle, Berkshire, for the King against Jeremiah Horton, 1644, and received an augmentation to his arms in consequence.] and some other gentlemen formerly great Cavaliers, and among the rest one Mr. Norwood, for whom my Lord give a convoy to carry him to the Brill,--[Brielle, or Den Briel, a seaport town in the province of South Holland.]--but he is certainly going to the King. For my Lord commanded me that I should not enter his name in my book. My Lord do show them and that sort of people great civility. All their discourse and others are of the King's coming, and we begin to speak of it very freely. And heard how in many churches in London, and upon many signs there, and upon merchants' ships in the river, they had set up the King's arms. In the afternoon the Captain would by all means have me up to his cabin, and there treated me huge nobly, giving me a barrel of pickled oysters, and opened another for me, and a bottle of wine, which was a very great favour. At night late singing with W. Howe, and under the barber's hands in the coach. This night there came one with a letter from Mr. Edw. Montagu to my Lord, with command to deliver it to his own hands. I do believe that he do carry some close business on for the King. [Pepys's guess at E. Montagu's business is confirmed by Clarendon's account of his employment of him to negotiate with Lord Sandwich on behalf of the King. ("History of the Rebellion," book xvi.)--Notes and Queries, vol. x. p. 3--M. B.] This day I had a large letter from Mr. Moore, giving me an account of the present dispute at London that is like to be at the beginning of the Parliament, about the House of Lords, who do resolve to sit with the Commons, as not thinking themselves dissolved yet. Which, whether it be granted or no, or whether they will sit or no, it will bring a great many inconveniences. His letter I keep, it being a very well writ one. 22d (Easter Sunday). Several Londoners, strangers, friends of the Captains, dined here, who, among other things told us, how the King's Arms are every day set up in houses and churches, particularly in Allhallows Church in Thames-street, John Simpson's church, which being privately done was, a great eye-sore to his people when they came to church and saw it. Also they told us for certain, that the King's statue is making by the Mercers' Company (who are bound to do it) to set up in the Exchange. After sermon in the afternoon I fell to writing letters against to-morrow to send to London. After supper to bed. 23rd. All the morning very busy getting my packet ready for London, only for an hour or two had the Captain and Mr. Sheply in my cabin at the barrel of pickled oysters that the Captain did give me on Saturday last. After dinner I sent Mr. Dunn to London with the packet. This afternoon I had 40s. given me by Captain Cowes of the Paradox.' In the evening the first time that we had any sport among the seamen, and indeed there was extraordinary good sport after my Lord had done playing at ninepins. After that W. Howe and I went to play two trebles in the great cabin below, which my Lord hearing, after supper he called for our instruments, and played a set of Lock's, two trebles, and a base, and that being done, he fell to singing of a song made upon the Rump, with which he played himself well, to the tune of "The Blacksmith." After all that done, then to bed. ["The Blacksmith" was the same tune as "Green Sleeves." The earliest known copy of "The Praise of the Blacksmith" is in "An Antidote against Melancholy," 1661. See "Roxburghe Ballads," ed. W. Chappell, 1872, vol. ii. p. 126. (Ballad Society:)] 24th. This morning I had Mr. Luellin and Mr. Sheply to the remainder of my oysters that were left yesterday. After that very busy all the morning. While I was at dinner with my Lord, the Coxon of the Vice-Admiral came for me to the Vice-Admiral to dinner. So I told my Lord and he gave me leave to go. I rose therefore from table and went, where there was very many commanders, and very pleasant we were on board the London, which hath a state-room much bigger than the Nazeby, but not so rich. After that, with the Captain on board our own ship, where we were saluted with the news of Lambert's being taken, which news was brought to London on Sunday last. He was taken in Northamptonshire by Colonel Ingoldsby, at the head of a party, by which means their whole design is broke, and things now very open and safe. And every man begins to be merry and full of hopes. In the afternoon my Lord gave a great large character to write out, so I spent all the day about it, and after supper my Lord and we had some more very good musique and singing of "Turne Amaryllis," as it is printed in the song book, with which my Lord was very much pleased. After that to bed. 25th. All the morning about my Lord's character. Dined to-day with Captain Clerke on board the Speaker (a very brave ship) where was the Vice-Admiral, Rear-Admiral, and many other commanders. After dinner home, not a little contented to see how I am treated, and with what respect made a fellow to the best commanders in the Fleet. All the afternoon finishing of the character, which I did and gave it my Lord, it being very handsomely done and a very good one in itself, but that not truly Alphabetical. Supped with Mr. Sheply, W. Howe, &c. in Mr. Pierce, the Purser's cabin, where very merry, and so to bed. Captain Isham came hither to-day. 26th. This day came Mr. Donne back from London, who brought letters with him that signify the meeting of the Parliament yesterday. And in the afternoon by other letters I hear, that about twelve of the Lords met and had chosen my Lord of Manchester' Speaker of the House of Lords (the young Lords that never sat yet, do forbear to sit for the present); and Sir Harbottle Grimstone, Speaker for the House of Commons. The House of Lords sent to have a conference with the House of Commons, which, after a little debate, was granted. Dr. Reynolds' preached before the Commons before they sat. My Lord told me how Sir H. Yelverton (formerly my school-fellow) was chosen in the first place for Northamptonshire and Mr. Crew in the second. And told me how he did believe that the Cavaliers have now the upper hand clear of the Presbyterians. All the afternoon I was writing of letters, among the rest one to W. Simons, Peter Luellin and Tom Doling, which because it is somewhat merry I keep a copy of. After that done Mr. Sheply, W. Howe and I down with J. Goods into my Lord's storeroom of wine and other drink, where it was very pleasant to observe the massy timbers that the ship is made of. We in the room were wholly under water and yet a deck below that. After that to supper, where Tom Guy supped with us, and we had very good laughing, and after that some musique, where Mr. Pickering beginning to play a bass part upon the viall did it so like a fool that I was ashamed of him. After that to bed. 27th. This morning Burr was absent again from on board, which I was troubled at, and spoke to Mr. Pierce, Purser, to speak to him of it, and it is my mind. This morning Pim [the tailor] spent in my cabin, putting a great many ribbons to a suit. After dinner in the afternoon came on board Sir Thomas Hatton and Sir R. Maleverer going for Flushing; but all the world know that they go where the rest of the many gentlemen go that every day flock to the King at Breda. [The King arrived at Breda on the 14th April. Sir W. Lower writes ("Voiage and Residence of Charles II. in Holland," p. 5): "Many considerations obliged him to depart the territories under the obedience of the King of Spain in this conjuncture of affairs."] They supped here, and my Lord treated them as he do the rest that go thither, with a great deal of civility. While we were at supper a packet came, wherein much news from several friends. The chief is that, that I had from Mr. Moore, viz. that he fears the Cavaliers in the House will be so high, that the others will be forced to leave the House and fall in with General Monk, and so offer things to the King so high on the Presbyterian account that he may refuse, and so they will endeavour some more mischief; but when I told my Lord it, he shook his head and told me, that the Presbyterians are deceived, for the General is certainly for the King's interest, and so they will not be able to prevail that way with him. After supper the two knights went on board the Grantham, that is to convey them to Flushing. I am informed that the Exchequer is now so low, that there is not L20 there, to give the messenger that brought the news of Lambert's being taken; which story is very strange that he should lose his reputation of being a man of courage now at one blow, for that he was not able to fight one stroke, but desired of Colonel Ingoldsby several times for God's sake to let him escape. Late reading my letters, my mind being much troubled to think that, after all our hopes, we should have any cause to fear any more disappointments therein. To bed. This day I made even with Mr. Creed, by sending him my bill and he me my money by Burr whom I sent for it. 28th. This morning sending a packet by Mr. Dunne to London. In the afternoon I played at ninepins with Mr. Pickering, I and Mr. Pett against him and Ted Osgood, and won a crown apiece of him. He had not money enough to pay me. After supper my Lord exceeding merry, and he and I and W. Howe to sing, and so to bed. 29th (Sunday). This day I put on first my fine cloth suit made of a cloak that had like to have been [dirted] a year ago, the very day that I put it on. After sermon in the morning Mr. Cook came from London with a packet, bringing news how all the young lords that were not in arms against the Parliament do now sit. That a letter is come from the King to the House, which is locked up by the Council 'till next Tuesday that it may be read in the open House when they meet again, they having adjourned till then to keep a fast tomorrow. And so the contents is not yet known. L13,000 of the L20,000 given to General Monk is paid out of the Exchequer, he giving L12 among the teller clerks of Exchequer. My Lord called me into the great cabin below, where I opened my letters and he told me that the Presbyterians are quite mastered by the Cavaliers, and that he fears Mr. Crew did go a little too far the other day in keeping out the young lords from sitting. That he do expect that the King should be brought over suddenly, without staying to make any terms at all, saying that the Presbyterians did intend to have brought him in with such conditions as if he had been in chains. But he shook his shoulders when he told me how Monk had betrayed him, for it was he that did put them upon standing to put out the lords and other members that came not within the qualifications, which he [Montagu] did not like, but however he [Monk] had done his business, though it be with some kind of baseness. After dinner I walked a great while upon the deck with the chyrurgeon and purser, and other officers of the ship, and they all pray for the King's coming, which I pray God send. 30th. All the morning getting instructions ready for the Squadron of ships that are going to-day to the Streights, among others Captain Teddiman, Curtis, and Captain Robert Blake to be commander of the whole Squadron. After dinner to ninepins, W. Howe and I against Mr. Creed and the Captain. We lost 5s. apiece to them. After that W. Howe, Mr. Sheply and I got my Lord's leave to go to see Captain Sparling. So we took boat and first went on shore, it being very pleasant in the fields; but a very pitiful town Deal is. We went to Fuller's (the famous place for ale), but they have none but what was in the vat. After that to Poole's, a tavern in the town, where we drank, and so to boat again, and went to the Assistance, where we were treated very civilly by the Captain, and he did give us such music upon the harp by a fellow that he keeps on board that I never expect to hear the like again, yet he is a drunken simple fellow to look on as any I ever saw. After that on board the Nazeby, where we found my Lord at supper, so I sat down and very pleasant my Lord was with Mr. Creed and Sheply, who he puzzled about finding out the meaning of the three notes which my Lord had cut over the chrystal of his watch. After supper some musique. Then Mr. Sheply, W. Howe and I up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where we drank, and I and W. Howe were very merry, and among other frolics he pulls out the spigot of the little vessel of ale that was there in the cabin and drew some into his mounteere, and after he had drank, I endeavouring to dash it in his face, he got my velvet studying cap and drew some into mine too, that we made ourselves a great deal of mirth, but spoiled my clothes with the ale that we dashed up and down. After that to bed very late with drink enough in my head. MAY 1660 May 1st. This morning I was told how the people of Deal have set up two or three Maypoles, and have hung up their flags upon the top of them, and do resolve to be very merry to-day. It being a very pleasant day, I wished myself in Hide Park. This day I do count myself to have had full two years of perfect cure for the stone, for which God of heaven be blessed. This day Captain Parker came on board, and without his expectation I had a commission for him for the Nonsuch frigate [The "Nonsuch" was a fourth-rate of thirty-two guns, built at Deptford in 1646 by Peter Pett, jun. The captain was John Parker.] (he being now in the Cheriton), for which he gave me a French pistole. Captain H. Cuttance has commission for the Cheriton. After dinner to nine-pins, and won something. The rest of the afternoon in my cabin writing and piping. While we were at supper we heard a great noise upon the Quarter Deck, so we all rose instantly, and found it was to save the coxon of the Cheriton, who, dropping overboard, could not be saved, but was drowned. To-day I put on my suit that was altered from the great skirts to little ones. To-day I hear they were very merry at Deal, setting up the King's flag upon one of their maypoles, and drinking his health upon their knees in the streets, and firing the guns, which the soldiers of the Castle threatened; but durst not oppose. 2nd. In the morning at a breakfast of radishes at the Purser's cabin. After that to writing till dinner. At which time comes Dunne from London, with letters that tell us the welcome news of the Parliament's votes yesterday, which will be remembered for the happiest May-day that bath been many a year to England. The King's letter was read in the House, wherein he submits himself and all things to them, as to an Act of Oblivion to all, ["His Majesty added thereunto an excellent Declaration for the safety and repose of those, who tortured in their consciences, for having partaken in the rebellion, might fear the punishment of it, and in that fear might oppose the tranquillity of the Estate, and the calling in of their lawful Prince. It is printed and published as well as the letter, but that shall not hinder me to say, that there was never seen a more perfect assemblage of all the most excellent natural qualities, and of all the venues, as well Royal as Christian, wherewith a great Prince may be endowed, than was found in those two wonderful productions."--Sir William Lowers 'Relation ... of the voiage and Residence Which... Charles the II. Hath made in Holland,' Hague, 1660, folio, p. 3.] unless they shall please to except any, as to the confirming of the sales of the King's and Church lands, if they see good. The House upon reading the letter, ordered L50,000 to be forthwith provided to send to His Majesty for his present supply; and a committee chosen to return an answer of thanks to His Majesty for his gracious letter; and that the letter be kept among the records of the Parliament; and in all this not so much as one No. So that Luke Robinson himself stood up and made a recantation for what he had done, and promises to be a loyal subject to his Prince for the time to come. The City of London have put a Declaration, wherein they do disclaim their owing any other government but that of a King, Lords, and Commons. Thanks was given by the House to Sir John Greenville, [Created Earl of Bath, 1661; son of Sir Bevil Grenville, killed at the battle of Lansdowne; he was, when a boy, left for dead on the field at the second battle of Newbury, and said to have been the only person entrusted by Charles II. and Monk in bringing about the Restoration.] one of the bedchamber to the King, who brought the letter, and they continued bare all the time it was reading. Upon notice made from the Lords to the Commons, of their desire that the Commons would join with them in their vote for King, Lords, and Commons; the Commons did concur and voted that all books whatever that are out against the Government of King, Lords, and Commons, should be brought into the House and burned. Great joy all yesterday at London, and at night more bonfires than ever, and ringing of bells, and drinking of the King's health upon their knees in the streets, which methinks is a little too much. But every body seems to be very joyfull in the business, insomuch that our sea-commanders now begin to say so too, which a week ago they would not do. ["The picture of King Charles II. was often set up in houses, without the least molestation, whereas a while ago, it was almost a hanging matter so to do; but now the Rump Parliament was so hated and jeered at, that the butchers' boys would say, 'Will you buy any Parliament rumps and kidneys?' And it was a very ordinary thing to see little children make a fire in the streets, and burn rumps." --Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] And our seamen, as many as had money or credit for drink, did do nothing else this evening. This day came Mr. North (Sir Dudley North's son) on board, to spend a little time here, which my Lord was a little troubled at, but he seems to be a fine gentleman, and at night did play his part exceeding well at first sight. After musique I went up to the Captain's Cabin with him and Lieutenant Ferrers, who came hither to-day from London to bring this news to my Lord, and after a bottle of wine we all to bed. 3d. This morning my Lord showed me the King's declaration and his letter to the two Generals to be communicated to the fleet. ["King Charles II. his Declaration to all his loving Subjects of the Kingdome of England, dated from his Court at Breda in Holland 4/14 of April, 1660, and read in Parliament with his Majesties Letter of the same date to his Excellence the Ld. Gen. Monck to be communicated to the Ld. President of the Council of State and to the Officers of the Army under his Command. London, Printed by W. Godbid for John Playford in the Temple, 1660." 40, pp. 8.] The contents of the letter are his offer of grace to all that will come in within forty days, only excepting them that the Parliament shall hereafter except. That the sales of lands during these troubles, and all other things, shall be left to the Parliament, by which he will stand. The letter dated at Breda, April, 4 1660, in the 12th year of his reign. Upon the receipt of it this morning by an express, Mr. Phillips, one of the messengers of the Council from General Monk, my Lord summoned a council of war, and in the mean time did dictate to me how he would have the vote ordered which he would have pass this council. Which done, the Commanders all came on board, and the council sat in the coach (the first council of war that had been in my time), where I read the letter and declaration; and while they were discoursing upon it, I seemed to draw up a vote, which being offered, they passed. Not one man seemed to say no to it, though I am confident many in their hearts were against it. After this was done, I went up to the quarter-deck with my Lord and the Commanders, and there read both the papers and the vote; which done, and demanding their opinion, the seamen did all of them cry out, "God bless King Charles!" with the greatest joy imaginable. That being done, Sir R. Stayner, who had invited us yesterday, took all the Commanders and myself on board him to dinner, which not being ready, I went with Captain Hayward to the Plimouth and Essex, and did what I had to do there and returned, where very merry at dinner. After dinner, to the rest of the ships (staid at the Assistance to hear the harper a good while) quite through the fleet. Which was a very brave sight to visit all the ships, and to be received with the respect and honour that I was on board them all; and much more to see the great joy that I brought to all men; not one through the whole fleet showing the least dislike of the business. In the evening as I was going on board the Vice-Admiral, the General began to fire his guns, which he did all that he had in the ship, and so did all the rest of the Commanders, which was very gallant, and to hear the bullets go hissing over our heads as we were in the boat. This done and finished my Proclamation, I returned to the Nazeby, where my Lord was much pleased to hear how all the fleet took it in a transport of joy, showed me a private letter of the King's to him, and another from the Duke of York in such familiar style as to their common friend, with all kindness imaginable. And I found by the letters, and so my Lord told me too, that there had been many letters passed between them for a great while, and I perceive unknown to Monk. And among the rest that had carried these letters Sir John Boys is one, and that Mr. Norwood, which had a ship to carry him over the other day, when my Lord would not have me put down his name in the book. The King speaks of his being courted to come to the Hague, but do desire my Lord's advice whither to come to take ship. And the Duke offers to learn the seaman's trade of him, in such familiar words as if Jack Cole and I had writ them. This was very strange to me, that my Lord should carry all things so wisely and prudently as he do, and I was over joyful to see him in so good condition, and he did not a little please himself to tell me how he had provided for himself so great a hold on the King. After this to supper, and then to writing of letters till twelve at night, and so up again at three in the morning. My Lord seemed to put great confidence in me, and would take my advice in many things. I perceive his being willing to do all the honour in the world to Monk, and to let him have all the honour of doing the business, though he will many times express his thoughts of him to be but a thick-sculled fool. So that I do believe there is some agreement more than ordinary between the King and my Lord to let Monk carry on the business, for it is he that must do the business, or at least that can hinder it, if he be not flattered and observed. This, my Lord will hint himself sometimes. My Lord, I perceive by the King's letter, had writ to him about his father, Crew,--[When only seventeen years old, Montagu had married Jemima, daughter of John Crew, created afterwards Baron Crew of Stene.]--and the King did speak well of him; but my Lord tells me, that he is afeard that he hath too much concerned himself with the Presbyterians against the House of Lords, which will do him a great discourtesy. 4th. I wrote this morning many letters, and to all the copies of the vote of the council of war I put my name, that if it should come in print my name maybe at it. I sent a copy of the vote to Doling, inclosed in this letter: "SIR, "He that can fancy a fleet (like ours) in her pride, with pendants loose, guns roaring, caps flying, and the loud 'Vive le Roys,' echoed from one ship's company to another, he, and he only, can apprehend the joy this inclosed vote was received with, or the blessing he thought himself possessed of that bore it, and is "Your humble servant." About nine o'clock I got all my letters done, and sent them by the messenger that came yesterday. This morning came Captain Isham on board with a gentleman going to the King, by whom very cunningly, my Lord tells me, he intends to send an account of this day's and yesterday's actions here, notwithstanding he had writ to the Parliament to have leave of them to send the King the answer of the fleet. Since my writing of the last paragraph, my Lord called me to him to read his letter to the King, to see whether I could find any slips in it or no. And as much of the letter' as I can remember, is thus: "May it please your Most Excellent Majesty," and so begins. "That he yesterday received from General Monk his Majesty's letter and direction; and that General Monk had desired him to write to the Parliament to have leave to send the vote of the seamen before he did send it to him, which he had done by writing to both Speakers; but for his private satisfaction he had sent it thus privately (and so the copy of the proceedings yesterday was sent him), and that this come by a gentleman that came this day on board, intending to wait upon his Majesty, that he is my Lord's countryman, and one whose friends have suffered much on his Majesty's behalf. That my Lords Pembroke and Salisbury are put out of the House of Lords. That my Lord is very joyful that other countries do pay him the civility and respect due to him; and that he do much rejoice to see that the King do resolve to receive none of their assistance (or some such words), from them, he having strength enough in the love and loyalty of his own subjects to support him. That his Majesty had chosen the best place, Scheveling,--[Schevingen, the port of the Hague]--for his embarking, and that there is nothing in the world of which he is more ambitious, than to have the honour of attending his Majesty, which he hoped would be speedy. That he had commanded the vessel to attend at Helversluce--[Hellevoetsluis, in South Holland] --till this gentleman returns, that so if his Majesty do not think it fit to command the fleet himself, yet that he may be there to receive his commands and bring them to his Lordship. He ends his letter, that he is confounded with the thoughts of the high expressions of love to him in the King's letter, and concludes, "Your most loyall, dutifull, faithfull and obedient subject and servant, E. M." The rest of the afternoon at ninepins. In the evening came a packet from London, among the rest a letter from my wife, which tells me that she has not been well, which did exceedingly trouble me, but my Lord sending Mr. Cook at night, I wrote to her and sent a piece of gold enclosed to her, and wrote also to Mrs. Bowyer, and enclosed a half piece to her for a token. After supper at the table in the coach, my Lord talking concerning the uncertainty of the places of the Exchequer to them that had them now; he did at last think of an office which do belong to him in case the King do restore every man to his places that ever had been patent, which is to be one of the clerks of the signet, which will be a fine employment for one of his sons. After all this discourse we broke up and to bed. In the afternoon came a minister on board, one Mr. Sharpe, who is going to the King; who tells me that Commissioners are chosen both of Lords and Commons to go to the King; and that Dr. Clarges [Thomas Clarges, physician to the army, created a baronet, 1674, died 1695. He had been previously knighted; his sister Anne married General Monk. "The Parliament also permitted General Monk to send Mr. Clarges, his brother-in-law, accompanied with some officers of the army, to assure his Majesty of the fidelity and obedience of the army, which had made publick and solemn protestations thereof, after the Letter and Declaration was communicated unto them by the General."--Sir William Lowers Relation... of the Voiage and Residence which... Charles the II. Hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, folio.] is going to him from the Army, and that he will be here to-morrow. My letters at night tell me, that the House did deliver their letter to Sir John Greenville, in answer to the King's sending, and that they give him L500 for his pains, to buy him a jewel, and that besides the L50,000 ordered to be borrowed of the City for the present use of the King, the twelve companies of the City do give every one of them to his Majesty, as a present, L1000. 5th. All the morning very busy writing letters to London, and a packet to Mr. Downing, to acquaint him with what had been done lately in the fleet. And this I did by my Lord's command, who, I thank him, did of himself think of doing it, to do me a kindness, for he writ a letter himself to him, thanking him for his kindness to me. All the afternoon at ninepins, at night after supper good musique, my Lord, Mr. North, I and W. Howe. After that to bed. This evening came Dr. Clarges to Deal, going to the King; where the towns-people strewed the streets with herbes against his coming, for joy of his going. Never was there so general a content as there is now. I cannot but remember that our parson did, in his prayer to-night, pray for the long life and happiness of our King and dread Soveraign, that may last as long as the sun and moon endureth. 6th (Lord's day). This morning while we were at sermon comes in Dr. Clarges and a dozen gentlemen to see my Lord, who, after sermon, dined with him; I remember that last night upon discourse concerning Clarges my Lord told me that he was a man of small entendimiento.--[Entendimiento, Spanish: the understanding.]--This afternoon there was a gentleman with me, an officer of Dunkirk going over, who came to me for an order and told me he was lately with my uncle and Aunt Fenner and that Kate's fits of the convulsions did hold her still. It fell very well to-day, a stranger preached here for Mr. Ibbot, one Mr. Stanley, who prayed for King Charles, by the Grace of God, &c., which gave great contentment to the gentlemen that were on board here, and they said they would talk of it, when they come to Breda, as not having it done yet in London so publickly. After they were gone from on board, my Lord writ a letter to the King and give it to me to carry privately to Sir William Compton' on board the Assistance, which I did, and after a health to his Majesty on board there, I left them under sail for Breda. Back again and found them at sermon. I went up to my cabin and looked over my accounts, and find that, all my debts paid and my preparations to sea paid for, I have L640 clear in my purse. After supper to bed. 7th. This morning Captain Cuttance sent me 12 bottles of Margate ale. Three of them I drank presently with some friends in the Coach. My Lord went this morning about the flag-ships in a boat, to see what alterations there must be, as to the arms and flags. He did give me order also to write for silk flags and scarlett waistcloathes. [Waist-cloths are the painted canvas coverings of the hammocks which are stowed in the waist-nettings.] For a rich barge; for a noise of trumpets, [A set or company of musicians, an expression constantly used by old writers without any disparaging meaning. It is sometimes applied to voices as well as to instruments.] and a set of fidlers. Very great deal of company come today, among others Mr. Bellasses, Sir Thomas Lenthropp, Sir Henry Chichley, Colonel Philip Honiwood, and Captain Titus, the last of whom my Lord showed all our cabins, and I suppose he is to take notice what room there will be for the King's entertainment. Here were also all the Jurates of the town of Dover come to give my Lord a visit, and after dinner all went away. I could not but observe that the Vice-Admiral after dinner came into the great cabin below, where the Jurates and I and the commanders for want of room dined, and there told us we must drink a health to the King, and himself called for a bottle of wine, and begun his and the Duke of York's. In the afternoon I lost 5s. at ninepins. After supper musique, and to bed. Having also among us at the Coach table wrote a letter to the French ambassador, in French, about the release of a ship we had taken. After I was in bed Mr. Sheply and W. Howe came and sat in my cabin, where I gave them three bottles of Margate ale, and sat laughing and very merry, till almost one o'clock in the morning, and so good night. 8th. All the morning busy. After dinner come several persons of honour, as my Lord St. John and others, for convoy to Flushing, and great giving of them salutes. My Lord and we at nine-pins: I lost 9s. While we were at play Mr. Cook brings me word of my wife. He went to Huntsmore to see her, and brought her and my father Bowyer to London, where he left her at my father's, very well, and speaks very well of her love to me. My letters to-day tell me how it was intended that the King should be proclaimed to-day in London, with a great deal of pomp. I had also news who they are that are chosen of the Lords and Commons to attend the King. And also the whole story of what we did the other day in the fleet, at reading of the King's declaration, and my name at the bottom of it. After supper some musique and to bed. I resolving to rise betimes to-morrow to write letters to London. 9th. Up very early, writing a letter to the King, as from the two Generals of the fleet, in answer to his letter to them, wherein my Lord do give most humble thanks for his gracious letter and declaration; and promises all duty and obedience to him. This letter was carried this morning to Sir Peter Killigrew, [Sir Peter Killigrew, Knight, of Arwenack, Cornwall, was known as "Peter the Post," from the alacrity with which he despatched "like wild fire" all the messages and other commissions entrusted to him in the King's cause. His son Peter, who succeeded his uncle as second baronet in 1665, was M.P. for Camelford in 1660.] who came hither this morning early to bring an order from the Lords' House to my Lord, giving him power to write an answer to the King. This morning my Lord St. John and other persons of honour were here to see my Lord, and so away to Flushing. After they were gone my Lord and I to write letters to London, which we sent by Mr. Cook, who was very desirous to go because of seeing my wife before she went out of town. As we were sitting down to dinner, in comes Noble with a letter from the House of Lords to my Lord, to desire him to provide ships to transport the Commissioners to the King, which are expected here this week. He brought us certain news that the King was proclaimed yesterday with great pomp, and brought down one of the Proclamations, with great joy to us all; for which God be praised. After dinner to ninepins and lost 5s. This morning came Mr. Saunderson, [Afterwards Sir William Sanderson, gentleman of the chamber, author of the "History of Mary Queen of Scots, James I., and Charles I." His wife, Dame Bridget, was mother of the maids.] that writ the story of the King, hither, who is going over to the King. He calls me cozen and seems a very knowing man. After supper to bed betimes, leaving my Lord talking in the Coach with the Captain. 10th. This morning came on board Mr. Pinkney and his son, going to the King with a petition finely writ by Mr. Whore, for to be the King's embroiderer; for whom and Mr. Saunderson I got a ship. This morning come my Lord Winchelsea and a great deal of company, and dined here. In the afternoon, while my Lord and we were at musique in the great cabin below, comes in a messenger to tell us that Mr. Edward Montagu, [Sir Edward Montagu's eldest son, afterwards second Earl of Sandwich, called by Pepys "The child."] my Lord's son, was come to Deal, who afterwards came on board with Mr. Pickering with him. The child was sick in the evening. At night, while my Lord was at supper, in comes my Lord Lauderdale and Sir John Greenville, who supped here, and so went away. After they were gone, my Lord called me into his cabin, and told me how he was commanded to set sail presently for the King, ["Ordered that General Montagu do observe the command of His Majesty for the disposing of the fleet, in order to His Majesty's returning home to England to his kingly government: and that all proceedings in law be in His Majesty's name."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] and was very glad thereof, and so put me to writing of letters and other work that night till it was very late, he going to bed. I got him afterwards to sign things in bed. After I had done some more work I to bed also. 11th. Up very early in the morning, and so about a great deal of business in order to our going hence to-day. Burr going on shore last night made me very angry. So that I sent for Mr. Pitts to come tome from the Vice-Admiral's, intending not to have employed Burr any more. But Burr by and by coming and desiring humbly that I would forgive him and Pitts not coming I did set him to work. This morning we began to pull down all the State's arms in the fleet, having first sent to Dover for painters and others to come to set up the King's. The rest of the morning writing of letters to London which I afterwards sent by Dunne. I had this morning my first opportunity of discoursing with Dr. Clarke, [Timothy Clarke, M. D., one of the original Fellows of the Royal Society. He was appointed one of the physicians in ordinary to Charles II. on the death of Dr. Quartermaine in 1667.] whom I found to be a very pretty man and very knowing. He is now going in this ship to the King. There dined here my Lord Crafford and my Lord Cavendish, and other Scotchmen whom I afterwards ordered to be received on board the Plymouth, and to go along with us. After dinner we set sail from the Downs, I leaving my boy to go to Deal for my linen. In the afternoon overtook us three or four gentlemen; two of the Berties, and one Mr. Dormerhoy, a Scotch gentleman, whom I afterwards found to be a very fine man, who, telling my Lord that they heard the Commissioners were come out of London to-day, my Lord dropt anchor over against Dover Castle (which give us about thirty guns in passing), and upon a high debate with the Vice and Rear Admiral whether it were safe to go and not stay for the Commissioners, he did resolve to send Sir R. Stayner to Dover, to enquire of my Lord Winchelsea, whether or no they are come out of London, and then to resolve to-morrow morning of going or not; which was done. It blew very hard all this night that I was afeard of my boy. About 11 at night came the boats from Deal, with great store of provisions, by the same token John Goods told me that above 20 of the fowls are smothered, but my boy was put on board the Northwich. To bed. 12th. This morning I inquired for my boy, whether he was come well or no, and it was told me that he was well in bed. My Lord called me to his chamber, he being in bed, and gave me many orders to make for direction for the ships that are left in the Downs, giving them the greatest charge in the world to bring no passengers with them, when they come after us to Scheveling Bay, excepting Mr. Edward Montagu, Mr. Thomas Crew, and Sir H. Wright. Sir R. Stayner hath been here early in the morning and told my Lord, that my Lord Winchelsea understands by letters, that the Commissioners are only to come to Dover to attend the coming over of the King. So my Lord did give order for weighing anchor, which we did, and sailed all day. In our way in the morning, coming in the midway between Dover and Calais, we could see both places very easily, and very pleasant it was to me that the further we went the more we lost sight of both lands. In the afternoon at cards with Mr. North and the Doctor.--[Clarke]--There by us, in the Lark frigate, Sir R. Freeman and some others, going from the King to England, come to see my Lord and so onward on their voyage. In the afternoon upon the quarterdeck the Doctor told Mr. North and me an admirable story called "The Fruitless Precaution," an exceeding pretty story and worthy my getting without book when I can get the book.[??] This evening came Mr. Sheply on board, whom we had left at Deal and Dover getting of provision and borrowing of money. In the evening late, after discoursing with the Doctor, &c., to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Trimmed in the morning, after that to the cook's room with Mr. Sheply, the first time that I was there this voyage. Then to the quarter-deck, upon which the tailors and painters were at work, cutting out some pieces of yellow cloth into the fashion of a crown and C. R. and put it upon a fine sheet, and that into the flag instead of the State's arms, which after dinner was finished and set up after it had been shewn to my Lord, who took physic to-day and was in his chamber, and liked it so well as to bid me give the tailors 20s. among them for doing of it. This morn Sir J. Boys and Capt. Isham met us in the Nonsuch, the first of whom, after a word or two with my Lord, went forward, the other staid. I heard by them how Mr. Downing had never made any address to the King, and for that was hated exceedingly by the Court, and that he was in a Dutch ship which sailed by us, then going to England with disgrace. Also how Mr. Morland was knighted by the King this week, and that the King did give the reason of it openly, that it was for his giving him intelligence all the time he was clerk to Secretary Thurloe. In the afternoon a council of war, only to acquaint them that the Harp must be taken out of all their flags, [In May, 1658, the old Union Jack (being the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew combined) was revived, with the Irish harp over the centre of the flag. This harp was taken off at the Restoration. (See "The National Flags of the Commonwealth," by H. W. Henfrey," Journ. Brit. Arch. Assoc.," vol. xxxi, p. 54.) The sign of the "Commonwealth Arms" was an uncommon one, but a token of one exists-- "Francis Wood at ye Commonwealth arms in Mary Maudlens" [St. Mary Magdalen, Old Fish Street].] it being very offensive to the King. Mr. Cook, who came after us in the Yarmouth, bringing me a letter from my wife and a Latin letter from my brother John, with both of which I was exceedingly pleased. No sermon all day, we being under sail, only at night prayers, wherein Mr. Ibbott prayed for all that were related to us in a spiritual and fleshly way. We came within sight of Middle's shore. Late at night we writ letters to the King of the news of our coming, and Mr. Edward Picketing carried them. Capt. Isham went on shore, nobody showing of him any respect; so the old man very fairly took leave of my Lord, and my Lord very coldly bid him "God be with you," which was very strange, but that I hear that he keeps a great deal of prating and talking on shore, on board, at the King's Courts, what command he had with my Lord, &c. After letters were gone then to bed. 14th. In the morning when I woke and rose, I saw myself out of the scuttle close by the shore, which afterwards I was told to be the Dutch shore; the Hague was clearly to be seen by us. My Lord went up in his nightgown into the cuddy, ["A sort of cabin or cook-room, generally in the fore-part, but sometimes near the stern of lighters and barges of burden."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] to see how to dispose thereof for himself and us that belong to him, to give order for our removal to-day. Some nasty Dutchmen came on board to proffer their boats to carry things from us on shore, &c., to get money by us. Before noon some gentlemen came on board from the shore to kiss my Lord's hands. And by and by Mr. North and Dr. Clerke went to kiss the Queen of Bohemia's' hands, from my Lord, with twelve attendants from on board to wait on them, among which I sent my boy, who, like myself, is with child to see any strange thing. After noon they came back again after having kissed the Queen of Bohemia's hand, and were sent again by my Lord to do the same to the Prince of Orange. [Son of the Prince of Orange and Mary, eldest daughter of Charles I. --afterwards William III. He was then in his tenth year, having been born in 1650.] So I got the Captain to ask leave for me to go, which my Lord did give, and I taking my boy and judge Advocate with me, went in company with them. The weather bad; we were sadly washed when we came near the shore, it being very hard to land there. The shore is, as all the country between that and the Hague, all sand. The rest of the company got a coach by themselves; Mr. Creed and I went in the fore part of a coach wherein were two very pretty ladies, very fashionable and with black patches, who very merrily sang all the way and that very well, and were very free to kiss the two blades that were with them. I took out my flageolette and piped, but in piping I dropped my rapier-stick, but when I came to the Hague, I sent my boy back again for it and he found it, for which I did give him 6d., but some horses had gone over it and broke the scabbard. The Hague is a most neat place in all respects. The houses so neat in all places and things as is possible. Here we walked up and down a great while, the town being now very full of Englishmen, for that the Londoners were come on shore today. But going to see the Prince,--[Prince of Orange, afterwards William III.]--he was gone forth with his governor, and so we walked up and down the town and court to see the place; and by the help of a stranger, an Englishman, we saw a great many places, and were made to understand many things, as the intention of may-poles, which we saw there standing at every great man's door, of different greatness according to the quality of the person. About 10 at night the Prince comes home, and we found an easy admission. His attendance very inconsiderable as for a prince; but yet handsome, and his tutor a fine man, and himself a very pretty boy. It was bright moonshine to-night. This done we went to a place we had taken to sup in, where a sallet and two or three bones of mutton were provided for a matter of ten of us which was very strange. After supper the Judge and I to another house, leaving them there, and he and I lay in one press bed, there being two more in the same room, but all very neat and handsome, my boy sleeping upon a bench by me. 15th. We lay till past three o'clock, then up and down the town, to see it by daylight, where we saw the soldiers of the Prince's guard, all very fine, and the burghers of the town with their arms and muskets as bright as silver. And meeting this morning a schoolmaster that spoke good English and French, he went along with us and shewed us the whole town, and indeed I cannot speak enough of the gallantry of the town. Every body of fashion speaks French or Latin, or both. The women many of them very pretty and in good habits, fashionable and black spots. He went with me to buy a couple of baskets, one of them for Mrs. Pierce, the other for my wife. After he was gone, we having first drank with him at our lodging, the judge and I to the Grande Salle where we were shewed the place where the States General sit in council. The hall is a great place, where the flags that they take from their enemies are all hung up; and things to be sold, as in Westminster Hall, and not much unlike it, but that not so big, but much neater. After that to a bookseller's and bought for the love of the binding three books: the French Psalms in four parts, Bacon's Organon, and Farnab. Rhetor. ["Index Rhetoricus" of Thomas Farnaby was a book which went through several editions. The first was published at London by R. Allot in 1633.] After that the judge, I and my boy by coach to Scheveling again, where we went into a house of entertainment and drank there, the wind being very high, and we saw two boats overset and the gallants forced to be pulled on shore by the heels, while their trunks, portmanteaus, hats, and feathers, were swimming in the sea. Among others I saw the ministers that come along with the Commissioners (Mr. Case among the rest) sadly dipped. [Thomas Case, born 1598, was a famous preacher and a zealous advocate for the Solemn League and Covenant, a member of the assembly of divines, and rector of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields. He was one of the deputation to Charles II. at Breda, and appointed a royal chaplain. He was ejected by the Act of Uniformity, but remained in London after his ejection. Died May 30th, 1682.] So they came in where we were, and I being in haste left my Copenhagen knife, and so lost it. Having staid here a great while a gentleman that was going to kiss my Lord's hand, from the Queen of Bohemia, and I hired a Dutch boat for four rixdollars to carry us on board. We were fain to wait a great while before we could get off from the shore, the sea being very rough. The Dutchman would fain have made all pay that came into our boat besides us two and our company, there being many of our ship's company got in who were on shore, but some of them had no money, having spent all on shore. Coming on board we found all the Commissioners of the House of Lords at dinner with my Lord, who after dinner went away for shore. Mr. Morland, now Sir Samuel, was here on board, but I do not find that my Lord or any body did give him any respect, he being looked upon by him and all men as a knave. Among others he betrayed Sir Rich. Willis [This is somewhat different to the usual account of Morland's connection with Sir Richard Willis. In the beginning of 1659 Cromwell, Thurloe, and Willis formed a plot to inveigle Charles II. into England and into the hands of his enemies. The plot was discussed in Thurloe's office, and Morland, who pretended to be asleep, heard it and discovered it. Willis sent for Morland, and received him in a cellar. He said that one of them must have discovered the plot. He laid his hand upon the Bible and swore that he had not been the discoverer, calling upon Morland to do the same. Morland, with presence of mind, said he was ready to do so if Willis would give him a reason why he should suspect him. By this ready answer he is said to have escaped the ordeal (see Birch's "Life of Thurloe").] that married Dr. F. Jones's daughter, that he had paid him L1000 at one time by the Protector's and Secretary Thurloe's order, for intelligence that he sent concerning the King. In the afternoon my Lord called me on purpose to show me his fine cloathes which are now come hither, and indeed are very rich as gold and silver can make them, only his sword he and I do not like. In the afternoon my Lord and I walked together in the coach two hours, talking together upon all sorts of discourse: as religion, wherein he is, I perceive, wholly sceptical, as well as I, saying, that indeed the Protestants as to the Church of Rome are wholly fanatiques: he likes uniformity and form of prayer; about State-business, among other things he told me that his conversion to the King's cause (for so I was saying that I wondered from what time the King could look upon him to become his friend), commenced from his being in the Sound, when he found what usage he was likely to have from a Commonwealth. My Lord, the Captain, and I supped in my Lord's chamber, where I did perceive that he did begin to show me much more respect than ever he did yet. After supper, my Lord sent for me, intending to have me play at cards with him, but I not knowing cribbage, we fell into discourse of many things, till it was so rough sea and the ship rolled so much that I was not able to stand, and so he bid me go to bed. 16th. Soon as I was up I went down to be trimmed below in the great cabin, but then come in some with visits, among the rest one from Admiral Opdam, [The admiral celebrated in Lord Dorset's ballad, "To all you ladies now at land." "Should foggy Opdam chance to know Our sad and dismal story; The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, And quit their fort at Goree For what resistance can they find From men who've left their hearts behind?"--B.] who spoke Latin well, but not French nor English, to whom my Lord made me to give his answer and to entertain; he brought my Lord a tierce of wine and a barrel of butter, as a present from the Admiral. After that to finish my trimming, and while I was doing of it in comes Mr. North very sea-sick from shore, and to bed he goes. After that to dinner, where Commissioner Pett was come to take care to get all things ready for the King on board. My Lord in his best suit, this the first day, in expectation to wait upon the King. But Mr. Edw. Pickering coming from the King brought word that the King would not put my Lord to the trouble of coming to him; but that he would come to the shore to look upon the fleet to-day, which we expected, and had our guns ready to fire, and our scarlet waistcloathes out and silk pendants, but he did not come. My Lord and we at ninepins this afternoon upon the Quarterdeck, which was very pretty sport. This evening came Mr. John Pickering on board, like an ass, with his feathers and new suit that he had made at the Hague. My Lord very angry for his staying on shore, bidding me a little before to send to him, telling me that he was afraid that for his father's sake he might have some mischief done him, unless he used the General's name. To supper, and after supper to cards. I stood by and looked on till 11 at night and so to bed. This afternoon Mr. Edwd. Pickering told me in what a sad, poor condition for clothes and money the King was, and all his attendants, when he came to him first from my Lord, their clothes not being worth forty shillings the best of them. [Andrew Marvell alludes to the poor condition, for clothes and money, in which the King was at this time, in "A Historical Poem":-- "At length, by wonderful impulse of fate, The people call him back to help the State; And what is more, they send him money, too, And clothe him all from head to foot anew."] And how overjoyed the King was when Sir J. Greenville brought him some money; so joyful, that he called the Princess Royal and Duke of York to look upon it as it lay in the portmanteau before it was taken out. My Lord told me, too, that the Duke of York is made High Admiral of England. 17th. Up early to write down my last two days' observations. Dr. Clerke came to me to tell me that he heard this morning, by some Dutch that are come on board already to see the ship, that there was a Portuguese taken yesterday at the Hague, that had a design to kill the King. But this I heard afterwards was only the mistake upon one being observed to walk with his sword naked, he having lost his scabbard. Before dinner Mr. Edw. Pickering and I, W. Howe, Pim, and my boy,--[Edward Montagu, afterwards Lord Hinchinbroke.]--to Scheveling, where we took coach, and so to the Hague, where walking, intending to find one that might show us the King incognito, I met with Captain Whittington (that had formerly brought a letter to my Lord from the Mayor of London) and he did promise me to do it, but first we went and dined at a French house, but paid 16s. for our part of the club. At dinner in came Dr. Cade, a merry mad parson of the King's. And they two after dinner got the child and me (the others not being able to crowd in) to see the King, who kissed the child very affectionately. Then we kissed his, and the Duke of York's, and the Princess Royal's hands. The King seems to be a very sober man; and a very splendid Court he hath in the number of persons of quality that are about him, English very rich in habit. From the King to the Lord Chancellor, [On January 29th, 1658, Charles II. entrusted the Great Seal to Sir Edward Hyde, with the title of Lord Chancellor, and in that character Sir Edward accompanied the King to England.] who did lie bed-rid of the gout: he spoke very merrily to the child and me. After that, going to see the Queen of Bohemia, I met with Dr. Fullers whom I sent to a tavern with Mr. Edw. Pickering, while I and the rest went to see the Queen,--[Henrietta Maria.]--who used us very respectfully; her hand we all kissed. She seems a very debonaire, but plain lady. After that to the Dr.'s, where we drank a while or so. In a coach of a friend's of Dr. Cade we went to see a house of the Princess Dowager's in a park about half-a-mile or a mile from the Hague, where there is one, the most beautiful room for pictures in the whole world. She had here one picture upon the top, with these words, dedicating it to the memory of her husband:--"Incomparabili marito, inconsolabilis vidua." [Mary, Princess Royal, eldest daughter of Charles I., and widow of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. She was not supposed to be inconsolable, and scandal followed her at the court of Charles II., where she died of small-pox, December 24th, 1660.] Here I met with Mr. Woodcock of Cambridge, Mr. Hardy and another, and Mr. Woodcock beginning we had two or three fine songs, he and I, and W. Howe to the Echo, which was very pleasant, and the more because in a heaven of pleasure and in a strange country, that I never was taken up more with a sense of pleasure in my life. After that we parted and back to the Hague and took a tour or two about the Forehault,--[The Voorhout is the principal street of the Hague, and it is lined with handsome trees.]--where the ladies in the evening do as our ladies do in Hide Park. But for my life I could not find one handsome, but their coaches very rich and themselves so too. From thence, taking leave of the Doctor, we took wagon to Scheveling, where we had a fray with the Boatswain of the Richmond, who would not freely carry us on board, but at last he was willing to it, but then it was so late we durst not go. So we returned between 10 and 11 at night in the dark with a wagon with one horse to the Hague, where being come we went to bed as well as we could be accommodated, and so to sleep. 18th. Very early up, and, hearing that the Duke of York, our Lord High Admiral, would go on board to-day, Mr. Pickering and I took waggon for Scheveling, leaving the child in Mr. Pierces hands, with directions to keep him within doors all day till he heard from me. But the wind being very high that no boats could get off from shore, we returned to the Hague (having breakfasted with a gentleman of the Duke's, and Commissioner Pett, sent on purpose to give notice to my Lord of his coming), where I hear that the child is gone to Delfe to see the town. So we all and Mr. Ibbott, the Minister, took a schuit--[The trekschuit (drag-boat) along the canal is still described as an agreeable conveyance from Leyden to Delft.]--and very much pleased with the manner and conversation of the passengers, where most speak French; went after them, but met them by the way. But however we went forward making no stop. Where when we were come we got a smith's boy of the town to go along with us, but could speak nothing but Dutch, and he showed us the church where Van Trump lies entombed with a very fine monument. His epitaph concluded thus:--"Tandem Bello Anglico tantum non victor, certe invictus, vivere et vincere desiit." There is a sea-fight cut in marble, with the smoke, the best expressed that ever I saw in my life. From thence to the great church, that stands in a fine great market-place, over against the Stadt-house, and there I saw a stately tomb of the old Prince of Orange, of marble and brass; wherein among other rarities there are the angels with their trumpets expressed as it were crying. Here were very fine organs in both the churches. It is a most sweet town, with bridges, and a river in every street. Observing that in every house of entertainment there hangs in every room a poor-man's box, and desiring to know the reason thereof, it was told me that it is their custom to confirm all bargains by putting something into the poor people's box, and that binds as fast as any thing. We also saw the Guesthouse, where it was very pleasant to see what neat preparation there is for the poor. We saw one poor man a-dying there. After we had seen all, we light by chance of an English house to drink in, where we were very merry, discoursing of the town and the thing that hangs up in the Stadthouse like a bushel, which I was told is a sort of punishment for some sort of offenders to carry through the streets of the town over his head, which is a great weight. Back by water, where a pretty sober Dutch lass sat reading all the way, and I could not fasten any discourse upon her. At our landing we met with Commissioner Pett going down to the water-side with Major Harly, who is going upon a dispatch into England. They having a coach I left the Parson and my boy and went along with Commissioner Pett, Mr. Ackworth and Mr. Dawes his friends, to the Princess Dowager's house again. Thither also my Lord Fairfax and some other English Lords did come to see it, and my pleasure was increased by seeing of it again. Besides we went into the garden, wherein are gallant nuts better than ever I saw, and a fine Echo under the house in a vault made on purpose with pillars, where I played on my flageolette to great advantage. Back to the Hague, where not finding Mr. Edward, I was much troubled, but went with the Parson to supper to Commissioner Pett, where we sat late. And among other mirth Mr. Ackworth vyed wives, each endeavouring to set his own wife out to the best advantage, he having as they said an extraordinary handsome wife. But Mr. Dawes could not be got to say anything of his. After that to our lodging where W. Howe and I exceeding troubled not to know what is become of our young gentleman. So to bed. 19th. Up early, hearing nothing of the child, and went to Scheveling, where I found no getting on board, though the Duke of York sent every day to see whether he could do it or no. Here I met with Mr. Pinkney and his sons, and with them went back to the Hague, in our way lighting and going to see a woman that makes pretty rock-work in shells, &c., which could I have carried safe I would have bought some of. At the Hague we went to buy some pictures, where I saw a sort of painting done upon woollen cloth, drawn as if there was a curtain over it, which was very pleasant, but dear. Another pretty piece of painting I saw, on which there was a great wager laid by young Pinkney and me whether it was a principal or a copy. But not knowing how to decide, it was broken off, and I got the old man to lay out as much as my piece of gold come to, and so saved my money, which had been 24s. lost, I fear. While we were here buying of pictures, we saw Mr. Edward and his company land. Who told me that they had been at Leyden all night, at which I was very angry with Mr. Pierce, and shall not be friends I believe a good while. To our lodging to dinner. After that out to buy some linen to wear against to-morrow, and so to the barber's. After that by waggon to Lausdune, where the 365 children were born. We saw the hill where they say the house stood and sunk wherein the children were born. The basins wherein the male and female children were baptized do stand over a large table that hangs upon a wall, with the whole story of the thing in Dutch and Latin, beginning, "Margarita Herman Comitissa," &c. The thing was done about 200 years ago. The town is a little small village which answers much to one of our small villages, such a one as Chesterton in all respects, and one could have thought it in England but for the language of the people. We went into a little drinking house where there were a great many Dutch boors eating of fish in a boorish manner, but very merry in their way. But the houses here as neat as in the great places. From thence to the Hague again playing at crambo--[Crambo is described as "a play at short verses in which a word is given, and the parties contend who can find most rhymes to it."]--in the waggon, Mr. Edward, Mr. Ibbott, W. Howe, Mr. Pinkney, and I. When we were come thither W. Howe, and Mr. Ibbott, and Mr. Pinckney went away for Scheveling, while I and the child to walk up and down the town, where I met my old chamber-fellow, Mr. Ch. Anderson, and a friend of his (both Physicians), Mr. Wright, who took me to a Dutch house, where there was an exceeding pretty lass, and right for the sport, but it being Saturday we could not have much of her company, but however I staid with them (having left the child with my uncle Pickering, whom I met in the street) till 12 at night. By that time Charles was almost drunk, and then broke up, he resolving to go thither again, after he had seen me at my lodging, and lie with the girl, which he told me he had done in the morning. Going to my lodging we met with the bellman, who struck upon a clapper, which I took in my hand, and it is just like the clapper that our boys frighten the birds away from the corn with in summer time in England. To bed. 20th. Up early, and with Mr. Pickering and the child by waggon to Scheveling, where it not being yet fit to go off, I went to lie down in a chamber in the house, where in another bed there was a pretty Dutch woman in bed alone, but though I had a month's-mind [Month's-mind. An earnest desire or longing, explained as alluding to "a woman's longing." See Shakespeare, "Two Gentlemen of Verona," act i. sc. 2: "I see you have a month's mind to them."--M. B.] I had not the boldness to go to her. So there I slept an hour or two. At last she rose, and then I rose and walked up and down the chamber, and saw her dress herself after the Dutch dress, and talked to her as much as I could, and took occasion, from her ring which she wore on her first finger, to kiss her hand, but had not the face to offer anything more. So at last I left her there and went to my company. About 8 o'clock I went into the church at Scheveling, which was pretty handsome, and in the chancel a very great upper part of the mouth of a whale, which indeed was of a prodigious bigness, bigger than one of our long boats that belong to one of our ships. Commissioner Pett at last came to our lodging, and caused the boats to go off; so some in one boat and some in another we all bid adieu to the shore. But through badness of weather we were in great danger, and a great while before we could get to the ship, so that of all the company not one but myself that was not sick. I keeping myself in the open air, though I was soundly wet for it. This hath not been known four days together such weather at this time of year, a great while. Indeed our fleet was thought to be in great danger, but we found all well, and Mr. Thos. Crew came on board. I having spoke a word or two with my Lord, being not very well settled, partly through last night's drinking and want of sleep, I lay down in my gown upon my bed and slept till the 4 o'clock gun the next morning waked me, which I took for 8 at night, and rising ... mistook the sun rising for the sun setting on Sunday night. 21st. So into my naked bed [This is a somewhat late use of an expression which was once universal. It was formerly the custom for both sexes to sleep in bed without any nightlinen. "Who sees his true love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white." Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis. Nares ("Glossary") notes the expression so late as in the very odd novel by T. Amory, called "John Bunde," where a young lady declares, after an alarm, "that she would never go into naked bed on board ship again." Octavo edition, vol. i. p. 90.] and slept till 9 o'clock, and then John Goods waked me, [by] and by the captain's boy brought me four barrels of Mallows oysters, which Captain Tatnell had sent me from Murlace.--[Apparently Mallows stands for St. Malo and Murlace for Morlaise.]--The weather foul all this day also. After dinner, about writing one thing or other all day, and setting my papers in order, having been so long absent. At night Mr. Pierce, Purser (the other Pierce and I having not spoken to one another since we fell out about Mr. Edward), and Mr. Cook sat with me in my cabin and supped with me, and then I went to bed. By letters that came hither in my absence, I understand that the Parliament had ordered all persons to be secured, in order to a trial, that did sit as judges in the late King's death, and all the officers too attending the Court. Sir John Lenthall moving in the House, that all that had borne arms against the King should be exempted from pardon, he was called to the bar of the House, and after a severe reproof he was degraded his knighthood. At Court I find that all things grow high. The old clergy talk as being sure of their lands again, and laugh at the Presbytery; and it is believed that the sales of the King's and Bishops' lands will never be confirmed by Parliament, there being nothing now in any man's, power to hinder them and the King from doing what they have a mind, but every body willing to submit to any thing. We expect every day to have the King and Duke on board as soon as it is fair. My Lord do nothing now, but offers all things to the pleasure of the Duke as Lord High Admiral. So that I am at a loss what to do. 22nd. Up very early, and now beginning to be settled in my wits again, I went about setting down my last four days' observations this morning. After that, was trimmed by a barber that has not trimmed me yet, my Spaniard being on shore. News brought that the two Dukes are coming on board, which, by and by, they did, in a Dutch boats the Duke of York in yellow trimmings, the Duke of Gloucester [Henry, Duke of Gloucester, the youngest child of Charles L, born July 6th, 16--, who, with his sister Elizabeth, was allowed a meeting with his father on the night before the King's execution. Burnet says: "He was active, and loved business; was apt to have particular friendships, and had an insinuating temper which was generally very acceptable. The King loved him much better than the Duke of York." He died of smallpox at Whitehall, September 13th, 1660, and was buried in Henry VII's Chapel.] in grey and red. My Lord went in a boat to meet them, the Captain, myself, and others, standing at the entering port. So soon as they were entered we shot the guns off round the fleet. After that they went to view the ship all over, and were most exceedingly pleased with it. They seem to be both very fine gentlemen. After that done, upon the quarter-deck table, under the awning, the Duke of York and my Lord, Mr. Coventry, [William Coventry, to whom Pepys became so warmly attached afterwards, was the fourth son of Thomas, first Lord Coventry, the Lord Keeper. He was born in 1628, and entered at Queen's College, Oxford, in 1642; after the Restoration he became private secretary to the Duke of York, his commission as Secretary to the Lord High Admiral not being conferred until 1664; elected M.P. for Great Yarmouth in 1661. In 1662 he was appointed an extra Commissioner of the Navy, an office he held until 1667; in 1665, knighted and sworn a Privy Councillor, and, in 1667, constituted a Commissioner of the Treasury; but, having been forbid the court on account of his challenging the Duke of Buckingham, he retired into the country, nor could he subsequently be prevailed upon to accept of any official employment. Burnet calls Sir William Coventry the best speaker in the House of Commons, and "a man of the finest and best temper that belonged to the court," and Pepys never omits an opportunity of paying a tribute to his public and private worth. He died, 1686, of gout in the stomach.] and I, spent an hour at allotting to every ship their service, in their return to England; which having done, they went to dinner, where the table was very full: the two Dukes at the upper end, my Lord Opdam next on one side, and my Lord on the other. Two guns given to every man while he was drinking the King's health, and so likewise to the Duke's health. I took down Monsieur d'Esquier to the great cabin below, and dined with him in state alone with only one or two friends of his. All dinner the harper belonging to Captain Sparling played to the Dukes. After dinner, the Dukes and my Lord to see the Vice and Rear-Admirals; and I in a boat after them. After that done, they made to the shore in the Dutch boat that brought them, and I got into the boat with them; but the shore was so full of people to expect their coming, as that it was as black (which otherwise is white sand), as every one could stand by another. When we came near the shore, my Lord left them and came into his own boat, and General Pen and I with him; my Lord being very well pleased with this day's work. By the time we came on board again, news is sent us that the King is on shore; so my Lord fired all his guns round twice, and all the fleet after him, which in the end fell into disorder, which seemed very handsome. The gun over against my cabin I fired myself to the King, which was the first time that he had been saluted by his own ships since this change; but holding my head too much over the gun, I had almost spoiled my right eye. Nothing in the world but going of guns almost all this day. In the evening we began to remove cabins; I to the carpenter's cabin, and Dr. Clerke with me, who came on board this afternoon, having been twice ducked in the sea to-day coming from shore, and Mr. North and John Pickering the like. Many of the King's servants came on board to-night; and so many Dutch of all sorts came to see the ship till it was quite dark, that we could not pass by one another, which was a great trouble to us all. This afternoon Mr. Downing (who was knighted yesterday by the King') was here on board, and had a ship for his passage into England, with his lady and servants. ["About midnight arrived there Mr. Downing, who did the affairs of England to the Lords the Estates, in quality of Resident under Oliver Cromwell, and afterward under the pretended Parliament, which having changed the form of the government, after having cast forth the last Protector, had continued him in his imploiment, under the quality of Extraordinary Envoy. He began to have respect for the King's person, when he knew that all England declared for a free parliament, and departed from Holland without order, as soon as he understood that there was nothing that could longer oppose the re- establishment of monarchal government, with a design to crave letters of recommendation to General Monk. This lord considered him, as well because of the birth of his wife, which is illustrious, as because Downing had expressed some respect for him in a time when that eminent person could not yet discover his intentions. He had his letters when he arrived at midnight at the house of the Spanish Embassador, as we have said. He presented them forthwith to the King, who arose from table a while after, read the letters, receiv'd the submissions of Downing, and granted him the pardon and grace which he asked for him to whom he could deny nothing. Some daies after the King knighted him, and would it should be believed, that the strong aversions which this minister of the Protector had made appear against him on all occasions, and with all sorts of persons indifferently, even a few daies before the publick and general declaration of all England, proceeded not from any evil intention, but only from a deep dissimulation, wherewith he was constrained to cover his true sentiments, for fear to prejudice the affairs of his Majesty."--Sir William Lowers Relation... of the Voiage and Residence which... Charles the II. hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, folio, pp. 72-73.] By the same token he called me to him when I was going to write the order, to tell me that I must write him Sir G. Downing. My Lord lay in the roundhouse to-night. This evening I was late writing a French letter myself by my Lord's order to Monsieur Kragh, Embassador de Denmarke a la Haye, which my Lord signed in bed. After that I to bed, and the Doctor, and sleep well. 23rd. The Doctor and I waked very merry, only my eye was very red and ill in the morning from yesterday's hurt. In the morning came infinity of people on board from the King to go along with him. My Lord, Mr. Crew, and others, go on shore to meet the King as he comes off from shore, where Sir R. Stayner bringing His Majesty into the boat, I hear that His Majesty did with a great deal of affection kiss my Lord upon his first meeting. The King, with the two Dukes and Queen of Bohemia, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, came on board, where I in their coming in kissed the King's, Queen's, and Princess's hands, having done the other before. Infinite shooting off of the guns, and that in a disorder on purpose, which was better than if it had been otherwise. All day nothing but Lords and persons of honour on board, that we were exceeding full. Dined in a great deal of state, the Royall company by themselves in the coach, which was a blessed sight to see. I dined with Dr. Clerke, Dr. Quarterman, and Mr. Darcy in my cabin. This morning Mr. Lucy came on board, to whom and his company of the King's Guard in another ship my Lord did give three dozen of bottles of wine. He made friends between Mr. Pierce and me. After dinner the King and Duke altered the name of some of the ships, viz. the Nazeby into Charles; the Richard, James; the Speakers Mary; the Dunbar (which was not in company with us), the Henry; Winsly, Happy Return; Wakefield, Richmond; Lambert; the Henrietta; Cheriton, the Speedwell; Bradford, the Success. That done, the Queen, Princess Royal, and Prince of Orange, took leave of the King, and the Duke of York went on board the London, and the Duke of Gloucester, the Swiftsure. Which done, we weighed anchor, and with a fresh gale and most happy weather we set sail for England. All the afternoon the King walked here and there, up and down (quite contrary to what I thought him to have been), very active and stirring. Upon the quarterdeck he fell into discourse of his escape from Worcester, [For the King's own account of his escape dictated to Pepys, see "Boscobel" (Bohn's "Standard Library").] where it made me ready to weep to hear the stories that he told of his difficulties that he had passed through, as his travelling four days and three nights on foot, every step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing but a green coat and a pair of country breeches on, and a pair of country shoes that made him so sore all over his feet, that he could scarce stir. Yet he was forced to run away from a miller and other company, that took them for rogues. His sitting at table at one place, where the master of the house, that had not seen him in eight years, did know him, but kept it private; when at the same table there was one that had been of his own regiment at Worcester, could not know him, but made him drink the King's health, and said that the King was at least four fingers higher than he. At another place he was by some servants of the house made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead, which they swore he was. In another place at his inn, the master of the house, [This was at Brighton. The inn was the "George," and the innkeeper was named Smith. Charles related this circumstance again to Pepys in October, 1680. He then said, "And here also I ran into another very great danger, as being confident I was known by the master of the inn; for, as I was standing after supper by the fireside, leaning my hand upon a chair, and all the rest of the company being gone into another room, the master of the inn came in and fell a- talking with me, and just as he was looking about, and saw there was nobody in the room, he upon a sudden kissed my hand that was upon the back of the chair, and said to me, 'God bless you wheresoever you go! I do not doubt before I die, but to be a lord, and my wife a lady.' So I laughed, and went away into the next room."] as the King was standing with his hands upon the back of a chair by the fire-side, kneeled down and kissed his hand, privately, saying, that he would not ask him who he was, but bid God bless him whither he was going. Then the difficulty of getting a boat to get into France, where he was fain to plot with the master thereof to keep his design from the four men and a boy (which was all his ship's company), and so got to Fecamp in France. [On Saturday, October 11th, 1651, Colonel Gunter made an agreement at Chichester with Nicholas Tettersell, through Francis Mansell (a French merchant), to have Tettersell's vessel ready at an hour's warning. Charles II., in his narrative dictated to Pepys in 1680, said, "We went to a place, four miles off Shoreham, called Brighthelmstone, where we were to meet with the master of the ship, as thinking it more convenient to meet there than just at Shoreham, where the ship was. So when we came to the inn at Brighthelmstone we met with one, the merchant Francis Mansell] who had hired the vessel, in company with her master [Tettersell], the merchant only knowing me, as having hired her only to carry over a person of quality that was escaped from the battle of Worcester without naming anybody." The boat was supposed to be bound for Poole, but Charles says in his narrative: "As we were sailing the master came to me, and desired me that I would persuade his men to use their best endeavours with him to get him to set us on shore in France, the better to cover him from any suspicion thereof, upon which I went to the men, which were four and a boy." After the Restoration Mansell was granted a pension of L200 a year, and Tettersell one of L100 a year. (See "Captain Nicholas Tettersell and the Escape of Charles II.," by F. E. Sawyer, F.S.A., "Sussex Archaeological Collections," vol. xxxii. pp. 81-104).) At Rouen he looked so poorly, that the people went into the rooms before he went away to see whether he had not stole something or other. In the evening I went up to my Lord to write letters for England, which we sent away with word of our coming, by Mr. Edw. Pickering. The King supped alone in the coach; after that I got a dish, and we four supped in my cabin, as at noon. About bed-time my Lord Bartlett [A mistake for Lord Berkeley of Berkeley, who had been deputed, with Lord Middlesex and four other Peers, by the House of Lords to present an address of congratulation to the King.--B.] (who I had offered my service to before) sent for me to get him a bed, who with much ado I did get to bed to my Lord Middlesex in the great cabin below, but I was cruelly troubled before I could dispose of him, and quit myself of him. So to my cabin again, where the company still was, and were talking more of the King's difficulties; as how he was fain to eat a piece of bread and cheese out of a poor boy's pocket; how, at a Catholique house, he was fain to lie in the priest's hole a good while in the house for his privacy. After that our company broke up, and the Doctor and I to bed. We have all the Lords Commissioners on board us, and many others. Under sail all night, and most glorious weather. 24th. Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with the Tinning stockings on and wide canons--["Cannions, boot hose tops; an old-fashioned ornament for the legs." That is to say, a particular addition to breeches.]--that I bought the other day at Hague. Extraordinary press of noble company, and great mirth all the day. There dined with me in my cabin (that is, the carpenter's) Dr. Earle [John Earle, born about 1601; appointed in 1643 one of the Westminster Assembly of Divines, but his principles did not allow him to act. He accompanied Charles II. when he was obliged to fly from England. Dean of Westminster at the Restoration, Bishop of Worcester, November 30th, 1662, and translated to Salisbury, September 28th, 1663. He was tender to the Nonconformists, and Baxter wrote of him, "O that they were all such!" Author of "Microcosmography." Died November 17th, 1665, and was buried in the chapel of Merton College, of which he had been a Fellow. Charles II. had the highest esteem for him.] and Mr. Hollis, [Denzil Holles, second son of John, first Earl of Clare, born at Houghton, Notts, in 1597. He was one of the five members charged with high treason by Charles I. in 1641. He was a Presbyterian, and one of the Commissioners sent by Parliament to wait on Charles II. at the Hague. Sir William Lower, in his "Relation," 1660, writes: "All agreed that never person spake with more affection nor expressed himself in better terms than Mr. Denzil Hollis, who was orator for the Deputies of the Lower House, to whom those of London were joined." He was created Baron Holles on April 20th, 1661, on the occasion of the coronation of Charles II.] the King's Chaplins, Dr. Scarborough, [Charles Scarburgh, M.D., an eminent physician who suffered for the royal cause during the Civil Wars. He was born in London, and educated at St. Paul's School and Caius College, Cambridge. He was ejected from his fellowship at Caius, and withdrew to Oxford. He entered himself at Merton College, then presided over by Harvey, with whom he formed a lifelong friendship. He was knighted by Charles II. in 1669, and attended the King in his last illness. He was also physician to James II. and to William III., and died February 26th, 1693-4.] Dr. Quarterman, and Dr. Clerke, Physicians, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Fox [Stephen Fox, born 1627, and said to have been a choir-boy in Salisbury Cathedral. He was the first person to announce the death of Cromwell to Charles II., and at the Restoration he was made Clerk of the Green Cloth, and afterwards Paymaster of the Forces. He was knighted in 1665. He married Elizabeth, daughter of William Whittle of Lancashire. (See June 25th, 1660.) Fox died in 1716. His sons Stephen and Henry were created respectively Earl of Ilchester and Lord Holland.] (both very fine gentlemen), the King's servants, where we had brave discourse. Walking upon the decks, where persons of honour all the afternoon, among others, Thomas Killigrew (a merry droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with the King), who told us many merry stories: one, how he wrote a letter three or four days ago to the Princess Royal, about a Queen Dowager of Judaea and Palestine, that was at the Hague incognita, that made love to the King, &c., which was Mr. Cary (a courtier's) wife that had been a nun, who are all married to Jesus. At supper the three Drs. of Physic again at my cabin; where I put Dr. Scarborough in mind of what I heard him say about the use of the eyes, which he owned, that children do, in every day's experience, look several ways with both their eyes, till custom teaches them otherwise. And that we do now see but with one eye, our eyes looking in parallel lines. After this discourse I was called to write a pass for my Lord Mandeville to take up horses to London, which I wrote in the King's name,--[This right of purveyance was abolished in Charles's reign.]--and carried it to him to sign, which was the first and only one that ever he signed in the ship Charles. To bed, coming in sight of land a little before night. 25th. By the morning we were come close to the land, and every body made ready to get on shore. The King and the two Dukes did eat their breakfast before they went, and there being set some ship's diet before them, only to show them the manner of the ship's diet, they eat of nothing else but pease and pork, and boiled beef. I had Mr. Darcy in my cabin and Dr. Clerke, who eat with me, told me how the King had given L50 to Mr. Sheply for my Lord's servants, and L500 among the officers and common men of the ship. I spoke with the Duke of York about business, who called me Pepys by name, and upon my desire did promise me his future favour. Great expectation of the King's making some Knights, but there was none. About noon (though the brigantine that Beale made was there ready to carry him) yet he would go in my Lord's barge with the two Dukes. Our Captain steered, and my Lord went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. Mansell, and one of the King's footmen, with a dog that the King loved, [Charles II.'s love of dogs is well known, but it is not so well known that his dogs were continually being stolen from him. In the "Mercurius Publicus," June 28-July 5, 1660, is the following advertisement, apparently drawn up by the King himself: "We must call upon you again for a Black Dog between a greyhound and a spaniel, no white about him, onely a streak on his brest, and his tayl a little bobbed. It is His Majesties own Dog, and doubtless was stoln, for the dog was not born nor bred in England, and would never forsake His master. Whoesoever findes him may acquaint any at Whitehal for the Dog was better known at Court, than those who stole him. Will they never leave robbing his Majesty! Must he not keep a Dog? This dog's place (though better than some imagine) is the only place which nobody offers to beg." (Quoted in "Notes and Queries," 7th S., vii. 26, where are printed two other advertisements of Charles's lost dogs.)] (which [dirted] the boat, which made us laugh, and me think that a King and all that belong to him are but just as others are), in a boat by ourselves, and so got on shore when the King did, who was received by General Monk with all imaginable love and respect at his entrance upon the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of all sorts. The Mayor of the town came and gave him his white staff, the badge of his place, which the King did give him again. The Mayor also presented him from the town a very rich Bible, which he took and said it was the thing that he loved above all things in the world. A canopy was provided for him to stand under, which he did, and talked awhile with General Monk and others, and so into a stately coach there set for him, and so away through the town towards Canterbury, without making any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy expressed by all is past imagination. Seeing that my Lord did not stir out of his barge, I got into a boat, and so into his barge, whither Mr. John Crew stepped, and spoke a word or two to my Lord, and so returned, we back to the ship, and going did see a man almost drowned that fell out of his boat into the sea, but with much ado was got out. My Lord almost transported with joy that he had done all this without any the least blur or obstruction in the world, that could give an offence to any, and with the great honour he thought it would be to him. Being overtook by the brigantine, my Lord and we went out of our barge into it, and so went on board with Sir W. Batten, [Clarendon describes William Batten as an obscure fellow, and, although unknown to the service, a good seaman, who was in 1642 made Surveyor to the Navy; in which employ he evinced great animosity against the King. The following year, while Vice-Admiral to the Earl of Warwick, he chased a Dutch man-of-war into Burlington Bay, knowing that Queen Henrietta Maria was on board; and then, learning that she had landed and was lodged on the quay, he fired above a hundred shot upon the house, some of which passing through her majesty's chamber, she was obliged, though indisposed, to retire for safety into the open fields. This act, brutal as it was, found favour with the Parliament. But Batten became afterwards discontented; and, when a portion of the fleet revolted, he carried the "Constant Warwick," one of the best ships in the Parliament navy, over into Holland, with several seamen of note. For this act of treachery he was knighted and made a Rear-Admiral by Prince Charles. We hear no more of Batten till the Restoration, when he became a Commissioner of the Navy, and was soon after M.P. for Rochester. See an account of his second wife, in note to November 24th, 1660, and of his illness and death, October 5th, 1667. He had a son, Benjamin, and a daughter, Martha, by his first wife.--B.] and the Vice and Rear-Admirals. At night my Lord supped and Mr. Thomas Crew with Captain Stoakes, I supped with the Captain, who told me what the King had given us. My Lord returned late, and at his coming did give me order to cause the marke to be gilded, and a Crown and C. R. to be made at the head of the coach table, where the King to-day with his own hand did mark his height, which accordingly I caused the painter to do, and is now done as is to be seen. 26th. Thanks to God I got to bed in my own poor cabin, and slept well till 9 o'clock this morning. Mr. North and Dr. Clerke and all the great company being gone, I found myself very uncouth all this day for want thereof. My Lord dined with the Vice-Admiral to-day (who is as officious, poor man! as any spaniel can be; but I believe all to no purpose, for I believe he will not hold his place), so I dined commander at the coach table to-day, and all the officers of the ship with me, and Mr. White of Dover. After a game or two at nine-pins, to work all the afternoon, making above twenty orders. In the evening my Lord having been a-shore, the first time that he hath been a-shore since he came out of the Hope (having resolved not to go till he had brought his Majesty into England), returned on board with a great deal of pleasure. I supped with the Captain in his cabin with young Captain Cuttance, and afterwards a messenger from the King came with a letter, and to go into France, and by that means we supped again with him at 12 o'clock at night. This night the Captain told me that my Lord had appointed me L30 out of the 1000 ducats which the King had given to the ship, at which my heart was very much joyed. To bed. 27th (Lord's day). Called up by John Goods to see the Garter and Heralds coat, which lay in the coach, brought by Sir Edward Walker, [Edward Walker was knighted February 2nd, 1644-5, and on the 24th of the same month was sworn in as Garter King at Arms. He adhered to the cause of the king, and published "Iter Carolinum", being a succinct account of the necessitated marches, retreats, and sufferings of his Majesty King Charles I., from Jan. 10, 1641, to the time of his death in 1648, collected by a daily attendant upon his sacred Majesty during all that time: He joined Charles II. in exile, and received the reward of his loyalty at the Restoration. He died at Whitehall, February 19th, 1676-7, and was buried at Stratford-on-Avon, his daughter having married Sir John Clepton of that place.] King at Arms, this morning, for my Lord. My Lord hath summoned all the Commanders on board him, to see the ceremony, which was thus: Sir Edward putting on his coat, and having laid the George and Garter, and the King's letter to my Lord, upon a crimson cushion (in the coach, all the Commanders standing by), makes three congees to him, holding the cushion in his arms. Then laying it down with the things upon it upon a chair, he takes the letter, and delivers it to my Lord, which my Lord breaks open and gives him to read. It was directed to our trusty and well beloved Sir Edward Montagu, Knight, one of our Generals at sea, and our Companion elect of our Noble Order of the Garter. The contents of the letter is to show that the Kings of England have for many years made use of this honour, as a special mark of favour, to persons of good extraction and virtue (and that many Emperors, Kings and Princes of other countries have borne this honour), and that whereas my Lord is of a noble family, and hath now done the King such service by sea, at this time, as he hath done; he do send him this George and Garter to wear as Knight of the Order, with a dispensation for the other ceremonies of the habit of the Order, and other things, till hereafter, when it can be done. So the herald putting the ribbon about his neck, and the Garter about his left leg, he salutes him with joy as Knight of the Garter, and that was all. After that was done, and the Captain and I had breakfasted with Sir Edward while my Lord was writing of a letter, he took his leave of my Lord, and so to shore again to the King at Canterbury, where he yesterday gave the like honour to General Monk, ["His Majesty put the George on his Excellency, and the two Dukes put on the Garter. The Princes thus honoured the Lord-General for the restoration of that lawful family."--Rugge's Diurnal.] who are the only two for many years that have had the Garter given them, before they had other honours of Earldom, or the like, excepting only the Duke of Buckingham, who was only Sir George Villiers when he was made Knight of the Garter. A while after Mr. Thos. Crew and Mr. J. Pickering (who had staid long enough to make all the world see him to be a fool), took ship for London. So there now remain no strangers with my Lord but Mr. Hetley, who had been with us a day before the King went from us. My Lord and the ship's company down to sermon. I staid above to write and look over my new song book, which came last night to me from London in lieu of that that my Lord had of me. The officers being all on board, there was not room for me at table, so I dined in my cabin, where, among other things, Mr. Drum brought me a lobster and a bottle of oil, instead of a bottle of vinegar, whereby I spoiled my dinner. Many orders in the ordering of ships this afternoon. Late to a sermon. After that up to the Lieutenant's cabin, where Mr. Sheply, I, and the Minister supped, and after that I went down to W. Howe's cabin, and there, with a great deal of pleasure, singing till it was late. After that to bed. 28th. Called up at two in the morning for letters for my Lord from the Duke of York, but I went to bed again till 5. Trimmed early this morning. This morning the Captain did call over all the men in the ship (not the boys), and give every one of them a ducat of the King's money that he gave the ship, and the officers according to their quality. I received in the Captain's cabin, for my share, sixty ducats. The rest of the morning busy writing letters. So was my Lord that he would not come to dinner. After dinner to write again in order to sending to London, but my Lord did not finish his, so we did not send to London to-day. A great part of the afternoon at nine-pins with my Lord and Mr. Hetley. I lost about 4s. Supped with my Lord, and after that to bed. At night I had a strange dream of--myself, which I really did, and having kicked my clothes off, I got cold; and found myself all much wet in the morning, and had a great deal of pain... which made me very melancholy. 29th. The King's birthday. Busy all the morning writing letters to London, among the rest one to Mr. Chetwind to give me an account of the fees due to the Herald for the Order of the Garter, which my Lord desires to know. After dinner got all ready and sent away Mr. Cook to London with a letter and token to my wife. After that abroad to shore with my Lord (which he offered me of himself, saying that I had a great deal of work to do this month, which was very true). On shore we took horses, my Lord and Mr. Edward, Mr. Hetly and I, and three or four servants, and had a great deal of pleasure in riding. Among other things my Lord showed me a house that cost a great deal of money, and is built in so barren and inconvenient a place that my Lord calls it the fool's house. At last we came upon a very high cliff by the sea-side, and rode under it, we having laid great wagers, I and Dr. Mathews, that it was not so high as Paul's; my Lord and Mr. Hetly, that it was. But we riding under it, my Lord made a pretty good measure of it with two sticks, and found it to be not above thirty-five yards high, and Paul's is reckoned to be about ninety. From thence toward the barge again, and in our way found the people at Deal going to make a bonfire for joy of the day, it being the King's birthday, and had some guns which they did fire at my Lord's coming by. For which I did give twenty shillings among them to drink. While we were on the top of the cliffe, we saw and heard our guns in the fleet go off for the same joy. And it being a pretty fair day we could see above twenty miles into France. Being returned on board, my Lord called for Mr. Sheply's book of Paul's, by which we were confirmed in our wager. After that to supper and then to musique, and so to bed. The pain that I have got last night by cold is not yet gone, but troubles me at the time of.... This day, it is thought, the King do enter the city of London. ["Divers maidens, in behalf of themselves and others, presented a petition to the Lord Mayor of London, wherein they pray his Lordship to grant them leave and liberty to meet His Majesty on the day of his passing through the city; and if their petition be granted, that they will all be clad in white waistcoats and crimson petticoats, and other ornaments of triumph and rejoicing."-Rugge's Diurnal, May, 1660.--B.] 30th. About eight o'clock in the morning the lieutenant came to me to know whether I would eat a dish of mackerel, newly catched, for my breakfast, which the Captain and we did in the coach. All yesterday and to-day I had a great deal of pain... and in my back, which made me afeard. But it proved nothing but cold, which I took yesterday night. All this morning making up my accounts, in which I counted that I had made myself now worth about L80, at which my heart was glad, and blessed God. Many Dover men come and dine with my Lord. My Lord at ninepins in the afternoon. In the afternoon Mr. Sheply told me how my Lord had put me down for 70 guilders among the money which was given to my Lord's servants, which my heart did much rejoice at. My Lord supped alone in his chamber. Sir R. Stayner supped with us, and among other things told us how some of his men did grumble that no more of the Duke's money come to their share and so would not receive any; whereupon he called up those that had taken it, and gives them three shares apiece more, which was very good, and made good sport among the seamen. To bed. 31st. This day my Lord took physic, and came not out of his chamber. All the morning making orders. After dinner a great while below in the great cabin trying with W. Howe some of Mr. Laws' songs,' particularly that of "What is a kiss," with which we had a great deal of pleasure. After that to making of orders again. Captain Sparling of the Assistance brought me a pair of silk stockings of a light blue, which I was much pleased with. The Captain and I to supper, and after that a most pleasant walk till to at night with him upon the deck, it being a fine evening. My pain was gone again that I had yesterday, blessed be God. This day the month ends, I in very good health, and all the world in a merry mood because of the King's coming. This day I began to teach Mr. Edward; who I find to have a very good foundation laid for his Latin by Mr. Fuller. I expect every minute to hear how my poor wife do. I find myself in all things well as to body and mind, but troubled for the absence of my wife. JUNE 1660 June 1st. This morning Mr. Sheply disposed of the money that the Duke of York did give my Lord's servants, 22 ducatoons 3 came to my share, whereof he told me to give Jaspar something because my Lord left him out. [Foreign coins were in frequent use at this time. A Proclamation, January 29th, 1660-61, declared certain foreign gold and silver coins to be current at certain rates. The rate of the ducatoon was at 5s. 9d.] I did give Mr. Sheply the fine pair of buckskin gloves that I bought myself about five years ago. My Lord took physic to-day, and so come not out all day. The Captain on shore all day. After dinner Captain Jefferys and W. Howe, and the Lieutenant and I to ninepins, where I lost about two shillings and so fooled away all the afternoon. At night Mr. Cooke comes from London with letters, leaving all things there very gallant and joyful. And brought us word that the Parliament had ordered the 29th of May, the King's birthday, to be for ever kept as a day of thanksgiving for our redemption from tyranny, and the King's return to his Government, he entering London that day. My wife was in London when he came thither, and had been there a week with Mr. Bowyer and his wife. My poor wife has not been well a week before, but thanks be to God is well again. She would fain see me and be at her house again, but we must be content. She writes word how the Joyces grow very rich and very proud, but it is no matter, and that there was a talk that I should be knighted by the King, which they (the Joyces) laugh at; but I think myself happier in my wife and estate than they are in theirs. To bed. The Captain come on board, when I was going to bed, quite fuddled; and himself the next morning told me so too, that the Vice-Admiral, Rear-Admiral, and he had been drinking all day. 2d. Being with my Lord in the morning about business in his cabin, I took occasion to give him thanks for his love to me in the share that he had given me of his Majesty's money, and the Duke's. He told the he hoped to do me a more lasting kindness, if all things stand as they are now between him and the King, but, says he, "We must have a little patience and we will rise together; in the mean time I will do you all the good jobs I can." Which was great content for me to hear from my Lord. All the morning with the Captain, computing how much the thirty ships that come with the King from Scheveling their pay comes to for a month (because the King promised to give them all a month's pay), and it comes to L6,538, and the Charles particularly L777. I wish we had the money. All the afternoon with two or three captains in the Captain's cabin, drinking of white wine and sugar, and eating pickled oysters, where Captain Sparling told us the best story that ever I heard, about a gentleman that persuaded a country fool to let him gut his oysters or else they would stink. At night writing letters to London and Weymouth, for my Lord being now to sit in the House of Peers he endeavours to get Mr. Edward Montagu for Weymouth and Mr. George for Dover. Mr. Cooke late with me in my cabin while I wrote to my wife, and drank a bottle of wine and so took leave of me on his journey and I to bed. 3d. Waked in the morning by one who when I asked who it was, he told me one from Bridewell, which proved Captain Holland. I rose presently to him. He is come to get an order for the setting out of his ship, and to renew his commission. He tells me how every man goes to the Lord Mayor to set down their names, as such as do accept of his Majesty's pardon, and showed me a certificate under the Lord Mayor's hand that he had done so. At sermon in the morning; after dinner into my cabin, to cast my accounts up, and find myself to be worth near L100, for which I bless Almighty God, it being more than I hoped for so soon, being I believe not clearly worth L25 when I came to sea besides my house and goods. Then to set my papers in order, they being increased much upon my hands through want of time to put them in order. The ship's company all this while at sermon. After sermon my Lord did give me instruction to write to London about business, which done, after supper to bed. 4th. Waked in the morning at four o'clock to give some money to Mr. Hetly, who was to go to London with the letters that I wrote yesterday night. After he was gone I went and lay down in my gown upon my bed again an hour or two. At last waked by a messenger come for a Post Warrant for Mr. Hetly and Mr. Creed, who stood to give so little for their horses that the men would not let them have any without a warrant, which I sent them. All the morning getting Captain Holland's commission done, which I did, and he at noon went away. I took my leave of him upon the quarter-deck with a bottle of sack, my Lord being just set down to dinner. Then he being gone I went to dinner and after dinner to my cabin to write. This afternoon I showed my Lord my accounts, which he passed, and so I think myself to be worth near L100 now. In the evening I made an order for Captain Sparling of the Assistance to go to Middleburgh, to fetch over some of the King's goods. I took the opportunity to send all my Dutch money, 70 ducatoons and 29 gold ducats to be changed, if he can, for English money, which is the first venture that ever I made, and so I have been since a little afeard of it. After supper some music and so to bed. This morning the King's Proclamation against drinking, swearing, and debauchery, was read to our ships' companies in the fleet, and indeed it gives great satisfaction to all. [The King's "Proclamation against vicious, debauched, and prophane Persons" is dated May 30th. It is printed in "Somers's Tracts," ed. 1812, vol. vii. p. 423.] 5th. A-bed late. In the morning my Lord went on shore with the Vice-Admiral a-fishing, and at dinner returned. In the afternoon I played at ninepins with my Lord, and when he went in again I got him to sign my accounts for L115, and so upon my private balance I find myself confirmed in my estimation that I am worth L100. In the evening in my cabin a great while getting the song without book, "Help, help Divinity, &c." After supper my Lord called for the lieutenant's cittern, and with two candlesticks with money in them for symballs, we made barber's music, [In the "Notices of Popular Histories," printed for the Percy Society, there is a curious woodcut representing the interior of a barber's shop, in which, according to the old custom, the person waiting to be shaved is playing on the "ghittern" till his turn arrives. Decker also mentions a "barber's cittern," for every serving-man to play upon. This is no doubt "the barber's music" with which Lord Sandwich entertained himself.--B.] with which my Lord was well pleased. So to bed. 6th. In the morning I had letters come, that told me among other things, that my Lord's place of Clerk of the Signet was fallen to him, which he did most lovingly tell me that I should execute, in case he could not get a better employment for me at the end of the year. Because he thought that the Duke of York would command all, but he hoped that the Duke would not remove me but to my advantage. I had a great deal of talk about my uncle Robert, [Robert Pepys of Brampton, eldest son of Thomas Pepys the red, and brother of Samuel's father.] and he told me that he could not tell how his mind stood as to his estate, but he would do all that lay in his power for me. After dinner came Mr. Gooke from London, who told me that my wife he left well at Huntsmore, though her health not altogether so constant as it used to be, which my heart is troubled for. Mr. Moore's letters tell me that he thinks my Lord will be suddenly sent for up to London, and so I got myself in readiness to go. My letters tell me, that Mr. Calamy [Edmund Calamy, D.D., the celebrated Nonconformist divine, born February, 1600, appointed Chaplain to Charles II., 1660. He refused the bishopric of Lichfield which was offered to him. Died October 29th, 1666.] had preached before the King in a surplice (this I heard afterwards to be false); that my Lord, Gen. Monk, and three more Lords, are made Commissioners for the Treasury; [The names of the Commissioners were--Sir Edward Hyde, afterwards Earl of Clarendon, General Monk, Thomas, Earl of Southampton, John, Lord Robartes, Thomas, Lord Colepeper, Sir Edward Montagu, with Sir Edward Nicholas and Sir William Morrice as principal Secretaries of State. The patents are dated June 19th, 1660.] that my Lord had some great place conferred on him, and they say Master of the Wardrobe; [The duty of the Master of the Wardrobe was to provide "proper furniture for coronations, marriages, and funerals" of the sovereign and royal family, "cloaths of state, beds, hangings, and other necessaries for the houses of foreign ambassadors, cloaths of state for Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Prince of Wales, and ambassadors abroad," as also to provide robes for Ministers of State, Knights of the Garter, &c. The last Master of the Wardrobe was Ralph, Duke of Montague, who died 1709.] that the two Dukes--[Duke of York and Duke of Gloucester.]--do haunt the Park much, and that they were at a play, Madam Epicene,--["Epicene, or the Silent Woman," a comedy, by Ben Jonson.]--the other day; that Sir. Ant. Cooper, Mr. Hollis, and Mr. Annesly,& late President of the Council of State, are made Privy Councillors to the King. At night very busy sending Mr. Donne away to London, and wrote to my father for a coat to be made me against I come to London, which I think will not be long. At night Mr. Edward Montagu came on board and staid long up with my Lord. I to bed and about one in the morning, 7th. W. Howe called me up to give him a letter to carry to my Lord that came to me to-day, which I did and so to, sleep again. About three in the morning the people began to wash the deck, and the water came pouring into my mouth, which waked me, and I was fain to rise and get on my gown, and sleep leaning on my table. This morning Mr. Montagu went away again. After dinner come Mr. John Wright and Mr. Moore, with the sight of whom my heart was very glad. They brought an order for my Lord's coming up to London, which my Lord resolved to do tomorrow. All the afternoon getting my things in order to set forth to-morrow. At night walked up and down with Mr. Moore, who did give me an account of all things at London. Among others, how the Presbyterians would be angry if they durst, but they will not be able to do any thing. Most of the Commanders on board and supped with my Lord. Late at night came Mr. Edw. Pickering from London, but I could not see him this night. I went with Mr. Moore to the Master's cabin, and saw him there in order to going to bed. After that to my own cabin to put things in order and so to bed. 8th. Out early, took horses at Deale. I troubled much with the King's gittar, and Fairbrother, the rogue that I intrusted with the carrying of it on foot, whom I thought I had lost. Col. Dixwell's horse taken by a soldier and delivered to my Lord, and by him to me to carry to London. Came to Canterbury, dined there. I saw the minster and the remains of Becket's tomb. To Sittiligborne and Rochester. At Chatham and Rochester the ships and bridge. Mr. Hetly's mistake about dinner. Come to Gravesend. A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen a great while. Supped with my Lord, drank late below with Penrose, the Captain. To bed late, having first laid out all my things against to-morrow to put myself in a walking garb. Weary and hot to bed to Mr. Moore. 9th. Up betimes, 25s. the reckoning for very bare. Paid the house and by boats to London, six boats. Mr. Moore, W. Howe, and I, and then the child in the room of W. Howe. Landed at the Temple. To Mr. Crew's. To my father's and put myself into a handsome posture to wait upon my Lord, dined there. To White Hall with my Lord and Mr. Edwd. Montagu. Found the King in the Park. There walked. Gallantly great. 10th. (Lord's day.) At my father's found my wife and to walk with her in Lincoln's Inn walks. 11th. Betimes to my Lord. Extremely much people and business. So with him to Whitehall to the Duke. Back with him by coach and left him in Covent Garden. I back to Will's and the Hall to see my father. Then to the Leg in King Street with Mr. Moore, and sent for. L'Impertinent to dinner with me. After that with Mr. Moore about Privy Seal business. To Mr. Watkins, so to Mr. Crew's. Then towards my father's met my Lord and with him to Dorset House to the Chancellor. So to Mr. Crew's and saw my Lord at supper, and then home, and went to see Mrs. Turner, and so to bed. 12th. Visited by the two Pierces, Mr. Blackburne, Dr. Clerk and Mr. Creed, and did give them a ham of bacon. So to my Lord and with him to the Duke of Gloucester. The two Dukes dined with the Speaker, and I saw there a fine entertainment and dined with the pages. To Mr. Crew's, whither came Mr. Greatorex, and with him to the Faithornes, and so to the Devils tavern. To my Lord's and staid till 12 at night about business. So to my father's, my father and mother in bed, who had been with my uncle Fenner, &c., and my wife all day and expected me. But I found Mr. Cook there, and so to bed. 13th. To my Lord's and thence to the Treasurer's of the Navy,' with Mr. Creed and Pierce the Purser to Rawlinson's, whither my uncle Wight came, and I spent 12s. upon them. So to Mr. Crew's, where I blotted a new carpet--[It was customary to use carpets as table cloths.]--that was hired, but got it out again with fair water. By water with my Lord in a boat to Westminster, and to the Admiralty, now in a new place. After business done there to the Rhenish wine-house with Mr. Blackburne, Creed, and Wivell. So to my Lord's lodging and to my father's, and to bed. 14th. Up to my Lord and from him to the Treasurer of the Navy for L500. After that to a tavern with Washington the Purser, very gallant, and ate and drank. To Mr. Crew's and laid my money. To my Lady Pickering with the plate that she did give my Lord the other day. Then to Will's and met William Symons and Doling and Luellin, and with them to the Bull-head, and then to a new alehouse in Brewer's Yard, where Winter that had the fray with Stoakes, and from them to my father's. 15th. All the morning at the Commissioners of the Navy about getting out my bill for L650 for the last quarter, which I got done with a great deal of ease, which is not common. After that with Mr. Turner to the Dolphin and drunk, and so by water to W. Symons, where D. Scobell with his wife, a pretty and rich woman. Mrs. Symons, a very fine woman, very merry after dinner with marrying of Luellin and D. Scobell's kinswoman that was there. Then to my Lord who told me how the King has given him the place of the great Wardrobe. My Lord resolves to have Sarah again. I to my father's, and then to see my uncle and aunt Fenner. So home and to bed. 16th. Rose betimes and abroad in one shirt, which brought me a great cold and pain. Murford took me to Harvey's by my father's to drink and told me of a business that I hope to get L5 by. To my Lord, and so to White Hall with him about the Clerk of the Privy Seal's place, which he is to have. Then to the Admiralty, where I wrote same letters. Here Coll. Thompson told me, as a great secret; that the Nazeby was on fire when the King was there, but that is not known; when God knows it is quite false. Got a piece of gold from Major Holmes for the horse of Dixwell's I brought to town. Dined at Mr. Crew's, and after dinner with my Lord to Whitehall. Court attendance infinite tedious. Back with my Lord to my Lady Wright's and staid till it had done raining, which it had not done a great while. After that at night home to my father's and to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Lay long abed. To Mr. Mossum's; a good sermon. This day the organs did begin to play at White Hall before the King.--[All organs were removed from churches by an ordinance dated 1644.]--Dined at my father's. After dinner to Mr. Mossum's again, and so in the garden, and heard Chippell's father preach, that was Page to the Protector, and just by the window that I stood at sat Mrs. Butler, the great beauty. After sermon to my Lord. Mr. Edward and I into Gray's Inn walks, and saw many beauties. So to my father's, where Mr. Cook, W. Bowyer, and my coz Roger Wharton supped and to bed. 18th. To my Lord's, where much business and some hopes of getting some money thereby. With him to the Parliament House, where he did intend to have gone to have made his appearance to-day, but he met Mr. Crew upon the stairs, and would not go in. He went to Mrs. Brown's, and staid till word was brought him what was done in the House. This day they made an end of the twenty men to be excepted from pardon to their estates. By barge to Stepny with my Lord, where at Trinity House we had great entertainment. With, my Lord there went Sir W. Pen, Sir H. Wright, Hetly, Pierce; Creed, Hill, I and other servants. Back again to the Admiralty, and so to my Lord's lodgings, where he told me that he did look after the place of the Clerk of the Acts--[The letters patent appointing Pepys to the office of Clerk of the Acts is dated July 13th, 1660.]--for me. So to Mr. Crew's and my father's and to bed. My wife went this day to Huntsmore for her things, and I was very lonely all night. This evening my wife's brother, Balty, came to me to let me know his bad condition and to get a place for him, but I perceive he stands upon a place for a gentleman, that may not stain his family when, God help him, he wants bread. 19th. Called on betimes by Murford, who showed me five pieces to get a business done for him and I am resolved to do it., Much business at my Lord's. This morning my Lord went into the House of Commons, and there had the thanks of the House, in the name of the Parliament and Commons of England, for his late service to his King and Country. A motion was made for a reward for him, but it was quashed by Mr. Annesly, who, above most men, is engaged to my Lord's and Mr. Crew's families. Meeting with Captain Stoakes at Whitehall, I dined with him and Mr. Gullop, a parson (with whom afterwards I was much offended at his importunity and impertinence, such another as Elborough), [Thomas Elborough was one of Pepys's schoolfellows, and afterwards curate of St. Lawrence Poultney.] and Mr. Butler, who complimented much after the same manner as the parson did. After that towards my Lord's at Mr. Crew's, but was met with by a servant of my Lady Pickering, who took me to her and she told me the story of her husband's case and desired my assistance with my Lord, and did give me, wrapped up in paper, L5 in silver. After that to my Lord's, and with him to Whitehall and my Lady Pickering. My Lord went at night with the King to Baynard's Castle' to supper, and I home to my father's to bed. My wife and the girl and dog came home to-day. When I came home I found a quantity of chocolate left for me, I know not from whom. We hear of W. Howe being sick to-day, but he was well at night. 20th. Up by 4 in the morning to write letters to sea and a commission for him that Murford solicited for. Called on by Captain Sparling, who did give me my Dutch money again, and so much as he had changed into English money, by which my mind was eased of a great deal of trouble. Some other sea captains. I did give them a good morning draught, and so to my Lord (who lay long in bed this day, because he came home late from supper with the King). With my Lord to the Parliament House, and, after that, with him to General Monk's, where he dined at the Cock-pit. I home and dined with my wife, now making all things ready there again. Thence to my Lady Pickering, who did give me the best intelligence about the Wardrobe. Afterwards to the Cockpit to my Lord with Mr. Townsend, one formerly and now again to be employed as Deputy of the Wardrobe. Thence to the Admiralty, and despatched away Mr. Cooke to sea; whose business was a letter from my Lord about Mr. G. Montagu to be chosen as a Parliament-man in my Lord's room at Dover;' and another to the Vice-Admiral to give my Lord a constant account of all things in the fleet, merely that he may thereby keep up his power there; another letter to Captn. Cuttance to send the barge that brought the King on shore, to Hinchingbroke by Lynne. To my own house, meeting G. Vines, and drank with him at Charing Cross, now the King's Head Tavern. With my wife to my father's, where met with Swan,--[William Swan is called a fanatic and a very rogue in other parts of the Diary.]--an old hypocrite, and with him, his friend and my father, and my cozen Scott to the Bear Tavern. To my father's and to bed. 21st. To my Lord, much business. With him to the Council Chamber, where he was sworn; and the charge of his being admitted Privy Counsellor is L26. To the Dog Tavern at Westminster, where Murford with Captain Curle and two friends of theirs went to drink. Captain Curle, late of the Maria, gave me five pieces in gold and a silver can for my wife for the Commission I did give him this day for his ship, dated April 20, 1660 last. Thence to the Parliament door and came to Mr. Crew's to dinner with my Lord, and with my Lord to see the great Wardrobe, where Mr. Townsend brought us to the governor of some poor children in tawny clothes; who had been maintained there these eleven years, which put my Lord to a stand how to dispose of them, that he may have the house for his use. The children did sing finely, and my Lord did bid me give them five pieces in gold at his going away. Thence back to White Hall, where, the King being gone abroad, my Lord and I walked a great while discoursing of the simplicity of the Protector, in his losing all that his father had left him. My Lord told me, that the last words that he parted with the Protector with (when he went to the Sound), were, that he should rejoice more to see him in his grave at his return home, than that he should give way to such things as were then in hatching, and afterwards did ruin him: and the Protector said, that whatever G. Montagu, my Lord Broghill, Jones, and the Secretary, would have him to do, he would do it, be it what it would. Thence to my wife, meeting Mr. Blagrave, who went home with me, and did give me a lesson upon the flageolet, and handselled my silver can with my wife and me. To my father's, where Sir Thomas Honeywood and his family were come of a sudden, and so we forced to lie all together in a little chamber, three stories high. 22d. To my Lord, where much business. With him to White Hall, where the Duke of York not being up, we walked a good while in the Shield Gallery. Mr. Hill (who for these two or three days hath constantly attended my Lord) told me of an offer of L500 for a Baronet's dignity, which I told my Lord of in the balcone in this gallery, and he said he would think of it. I to my Lord's and gave order for horses to be got to draw my Lord's great coach to Mr. Crew's. Mr. Morrice the upholsterer came himself to-day to take notice what furniture we lack for our lodgings at Whitehall. My dear friend Mr. Fuller of Twickenham and I dined alone at the Sun Tavern, where he told me how he had the grant of being Dean of St. Patrick's, in Ireland; and I told him my condition, and both rejoiced one for another. Thence to my Lord's, and had the great coach to Brigham's, who went with me to the Half Moon, and gave me a can of good julep, and told me how my Lady Monk deals with him and others for their places, asking him L500, though he was formerly the King's coach-maker, and sworn to it. My Lord abroad, and I to my house and set things in a little order there. So with Mr. Moore to my father's, I staying with Mrs. Turner who stood at her door as I passed. Among other things she told me for certain how my old Lady Middlesex----herself the other day in the presence of the King, and people took notice of it. Thence called at my father's, and so to Mr. Crew's, where Mr. Hetley had sent a letter for me, and two pair of silk stockings, one for W. Howe, and the other for me. To Sir H. Wright's to my Lord, where he, was, and took direction about business, and so by link home about 11 o'clock. To bed, the first time since my coming from sea, in my own house, for which God be praised. 23d. By water with Mr. Hill towards my Lord's lodging and so to my Lord. With him to Whitehall, where I left him and went to Mr. Holmes to deliver him the horse of Dixwell's that had staid there fourteen days at the Bell. So to my Lord's lodgings, where Tom Guy came to me, and there staid to see the King touch people for the King's evil. But he did not come at all, it rayned so; and the poor people were forced to stand all the morning in the rain in the garden. Afterward he touched them in the Banquetting-house. [This ceremony is usually traced to Edward the Confessor, but there is no direct evidence of the early Norman kings having touched for the evil. Sir John Fortescue, in his defence of the House of Lancaster against that of York, argued that the crown could not descend to a female, because the Queen is not qualified by the form of anointing her, used at the coronation, to cure the disease called the King's evil. Burn asserts, "History of Parish Registers," 1862, p. 179, that "between 1660 and 1682, 92,107 persons were touched for the evil." Everyone coming to the court for that purpose, brought a certificate signed by the minister and churchwardens, that he had not at any time been touched by His Majesty. The practice was supposed to have expired with the Stuarts, but the point being disputed, reference was made to the library of the Duke of Sussex, and four several Oxford editions of the Book of Common Prayer were found, all printed after the accession of the house of Hanover, and all containing, as an integral part of the service, "The Office for the Healing." The stamp of gold with which the King crossed the sore of the sick person was called an angel, and of the value of ten shillings. It had a hole bored through it, through which a ribbon was drawn, and the angel was hanged about the patient's neck till the cure was perfected. The stamp has the impression of St. Michael the Archangel on one side, and a ship in full sail on the other. "My Lord Anglesey had a daughter cured of the King's evil with three others on Tuesday."--MS. Letter of William Greenhill to Lady Bacon, dated December 31st, 1629, preserved at Audley End. Charles II. "touched" before he came to the throne. "It is certain that the King hath very often touched the sick, as well at Breda, where he touched 260 from Saturday the 17 of April to Sunday the 23 of May, as at Bruges and Bruxels, during the residence he made there; and the English assure... it was not without success, since it was the experience that drew thither every day, a great number of those diseased even from the most remote provinces of Germany."--Sir William Lower's Relation of the Voiage and Residence which Charles the II. hath made in Holland, Hague, 1660, p. 78. Sir William Lower gives a long account of the touching for the evil by Charles before the Restoration.] With my Lord, to my Lord Frezendorfe's, where he dined to-day. Where he told me that he had obtained a promise of the Clerk of the Acts place for me, at which I was glad. Met with Mr. Chetwind, and dined with him at Hargrave's, the Cornchandler, in St. Martin's Lane, where a good dinner, where he showed me some good pictures, and an instrument he called an Angelique. [An angelique is described as a species of guitar in Murray's "New English Dictionary," and this passage from the Diary is given as a quotation. The word appears as angelot in Phillips's "English Dictionary" (1678), and is used in Browning's "Sordello," as a "plaything of page or girl."] With him to London, changing all my Dutch money at Backwell's [Alderman Edward Backwell, an eminent banker and goldsmith, who is frequently mentioned in the Diary. His shop was in Lombard Street. He was ruined by the closing of the Exchequer by Charles II. in 1672. The crown then owed him L295,994 16s. 6d., in lieu of which the King gave him an annuity of L17,759 13s. 8d. Backwell retired into Holland after the closing of the Exchequer, and died there in 1679. See Hilton Price's "Handbook of London Bankers," 1876.] for English, and then to Cardinal's Cap, where he and the City Remembrancer who paid for all. Back to Westminster, where my Lord was, and discoursed with him awhile about his family affairs. So he went away, I home and wrote letters into the country, and to bed. 24th. Sunday. Drank my morning draft at Harper's, and bought a pair of gloves there. So to Mr. G. Montagu, and told him what I had received from Dover, about his business likely to be chosen there. So home and thence with my wife towards my father's. She went thither, I to Mr. Crew's, where I dined and my Lord at my Lord Montagu of Boughton in Little Queen Street. In the afternoon to Mr. Mossum's with Mr. Moore, and we sat in Mr. Butler's pew. Then to Whitehall looking for my Lord but in vain, and back again to Mr. Crew's where I found him and did give him letters. Among others some simple ones from our Lieutenant, Lieut. Lambert to him and myself, which made Mr. Crew and us all laugh. I went to my father's to tell him that I would not come to supper, and so after my business done at Mr. Crew's I went home and my wife within a little while after me, my mind all this while full of thoughts for my place of Clerk of the Acts. 25th. With my Lord at White Hall, all the morning. I spoke with Mr. Coventry about my business, who promised me all the assistance I could expect. Dined with young Mr. Powell, lately come from the Sound, being amused at our great changes here, and Mr. Southerne, now Clerk to Mr. Coventry, at the Leg in King-street. Thence to the Admiralty, where I met with Mr. Turner [Thomas Turner (or Tourner) was General Clerk at the Navy Office, and on June 30th he offered Pepys L150 to be made joint Clerk of the Acts with him. In a list of the Admiralty officers just before the King came in, preserved in the British Museum, there occur, Richard Hutchinson; Treasury of the Navy, salary L1500; Thomas Tourner, General Clerk, for himself and clerk, L100.] of the Navy-office, who did look after the place of Clerk of the Acts. He was very civil to me, and I to him, and shall be so. There came a letter from my Lady Monk to my Lord about it this evening, but he refused to come to her, but meeting in White Hall, with Sir Thomas Clarges, her brother, my Lord returned answer, that he could not desist in my business; and that he believed that General Monk would take it ill if my Lord should name the officers in his army; and therefore he desired to have the naming of one officer in the fleet. With my Lord by coach to Mr. Crew's, and very merry by the way, discoursing of the late changes and his good fortune. Thence home, and then with my wife to Dorset House, to deliver a list of the names of the justices of the peace for Huntingdonshire. By coach, taking Mr. Fox part of the way with me, that was with us with the King on board the Nazeby, who I found to have married Mrs. Whittle, that lived at Mr. Geer's so long. A very civil gentleman. At Dorset House I met with Mr. Kipps, my old friend, with whom the world is well changed, he being now sealbearer to the Lord Chancellor, at which my wife and I are well pleased, he being a very good natured man. Home and late writing letters. Then to my Lord's lodging, this being the first night of his coming to Whitehall to lie since his coming from sea. 26th. My Lord dined at his lodgings all alone to-day. I went to Secretary Nicholas [Sir Edward Nicholas, Secretary of State to Charles I. and II. He was dismissed from his office through the intrigues of Lady Castlemaine in 1663. He died 1669, aged seventy-seven.] to carry him my Lord's resolutions about his title, which he had chosen, and that is Portsmouth. [Montagu changed his mind, and ultimately took his title from the town of Sandwich, leaving that of Portsmouth for the use of a King's mistress.] I met with Mr. Throgmorton, a merchant, who went with me to the old Three Tuns, at Charing Cross, who did give me five pieces of gold for to do him a small piece of service about a convoy to Bilbo, which I did. In the afternoon, one Mr. Watts came to me, a merchant, to offer me L500 if I would desist from the Clerk of the Acts place. I pray God direct me in what I do herein. Went to my house, where I found my father, and carried him and my wife to Whitefriars, and myself to Puddlewharf, to the Wardrobe, to Mr. Townsend, who went with me to Backwell, the goldsmith's, and there we chose L100 worth of plate for my Lord to give Secretary Nicholas. Back and staid at my father's, and so home to bed. 27th. With my Lord to the Duke, where he spoke to Mr. Coventry to despatch my business of the Acts, in which place every body gives me joy, as if I were in it, which God send. [The letters patent, dated July 13th, 12 Charles II., recite and revoke letters patent of February 16th, 14 Charles I., whereby the office of Clerk of the Ships had been given to Dennis Fleming and Thomas Barlow, or the survivor. D. F. was then dead, but T. B. living, and Samuel Pepys was appointed in his room, at a salary of L33 6s. 8d. per annum, with 3s. 4d. for each day employed in travelling, and L6 per annum for boathire, and all fees due. This salary was only the ancient "fee out of the Exchequer," which had been attached to the office for more than a century. Pepys's salary had been previously fixed at L350 a year.] Dined with my Lord and all the officers of his regiment, who invited my Lord and his friends, as many as he would bring, to dinner, at the Swan, at Dowgate, a poor house and ill dressed, but very good fish and plenty. Here Mr. Symons, the Surgeon, told me how he was likely to lose his estate that he had bought, at which I was not a little pleased. To Westminster, and with Mr. Howe by coach to the Speaker's, where my Lord supped with the King, but I could not get in. So back again, and after a song or two in my chamber in the dark, which do (now that the bed is out) sound very well, I went home and to bed. 28th. My brother Tom came to me with patterns to choose for a suit. I paid him all to this day, and did give him L10 upon account. To Mr. Coventry, who told me that he would do me all right in my business. To Sir G. Downing, the first visit I have made him since he came. He is so stingy a fellow I care not to see him; I quite cleared myself of his office, and did give him liberty to take any body in. Hawly and he are parted too, he is going to serve Sir Thos. Ingram. I went also this morning to see Mrs. Pierce, the chirurgeon['s wife]. I found her in bed in her house in Margaret churchyard. Her husband returned to sea. I did invite her to go to dinner with me and my wife to-day. After all this to my Lord, who lay a-bed till eleven o'clock, it being almost five before he went to bed, they supped so late last night with the King. This morning I saw poor Bishop Wren [Matthew Wren, born 1585, successively Bishop of Hereford, Norwich, and Ely. At the commencement of the Rebellion he was sent to the Tower, and remained a prisoner there eighteen years. Died April 24th, 1667.] going to Chappel, it being a thanksgiving-day ["A Proclamation for setting apart a day of Solemn and Publick Thanksgiving throughout the whole Kingdom," dated June 5th, 1660.] for the King's return. After my Lord was awake, I went up to him to the Nursery, where he do lie, and, having talked with him a little, I took leave and carried my wife and Mrs. Pierce to Clothworkers'-Hall, to dinner, where Mr. Pierce, the Purser, met us. We were invited by Mr. Chaplin, the Victualler, where Nich. Osborne was. Our entertainment very good, a brave hall, good company, and very good music. Where among other things I was pleased that I could find out a man by his voice, whom I had never seen before, to be one that sang behind the curtaine formerly at Sir W. Davenant's opera. Here Dr. Gauden and Mr. Gauden the victualler dined with us. After dinner to Mr. Rawlinson's, [Daniel Rawlinson kept the Mitre in Fenchurch Street, and there is a farthing token of his extant, "At the Mitetr in Fenchurch Streete, D. M. R." The initials stand for Daniel and Margaret Rawlinson (see "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 595) In "Reliquiae Hearnianae" (ed. Bliss, 1869, vol. ii. p. 39) is the following extract from Thomas Rawlinson's Note Book R.: "Of Daniel Rawlinson, my grandfather, who kept the Mitre tavern in Fenchurch Street, and of whose being sequestred in the Rump time I have heard much, the Whiggs tell this, that upon the king's murder he hung his signe in mourning. He certainly judged right. The honour of the Mitre was much eclipsed through the loss of so good a parent of the church of England. These rogues say, this endeared him so much to the churchmen that he soon throve amain and got a good estate." Mrs. Rawlinson died of the plague (see August 9th, 1666), and the house was burnt in the Great Fire. Mr. Rawlinson rebuilt the Mitre, and he had the panels of the great room painted with allegorical figures by Isaac Fuller. Daniel was father of Sir Thomas Rawlinson, of whom Thomas Hearne writes (October 1st, 1705): "Sir Thomas Rawlinson is chosen Lord Mayor of London for ye ensueing notwithstanding the great opposition of ye Whigg party" (Hearne's "Collections," ed. Doble, 1885, vol. i. p. 51). The well-known antiquaries, Thomas and Richard Rawlinson, sons of Sir Thomas, were therefore grandsons of Daniel.] to see him and his wife, and would have gone to my Aunt Wight, but that her only child, a daughter, died last night. Home and to my Lord, who supped within, and Mr. E. Montagu, Mr. Thos. Crew, and others with him sat up late. I home and to bed. 29th. This day or two my maid Jane--[Jane Wayneman.]--has been lame, that we cannot tell what to do for want of her. Up and to White Hall, where I got my warrant from the Duke to be Clerk of the Acts. Also I got my Lord's warrant from the Secretary for his honour of Earle of Portsmouth, and Viscount Montagu of Hinchingbroke. So to my Lord, to give him an account of what I had done. Then to Sir Geffery Palmer, to give them to him to have bills drawn upon them, who told me that my Lord must have some good Latinist to make the preamble to his Patent, which must express his late service in the best terms that he can, and he told me in what high flaunting terms Sir J. Greenville had caused his to be done, which he do not like; but that Sir Richard Fanshawe had done General Monk's very well. Back to Westminster, and meeting Mr. Townsend in the Palace, he and I and another or two went and dined at the Leg there. Then to White Hall, where I was told by Mr. Hutchinson at the Admiralty, that Mr. Barlow, my predecessor, Clerk of the Acts, is yet alive, and coming up to town to look after his place, which made my heart sad a little. At night told my Lord thereof, and he bade me get possession of my Patent; and he would do all that could be done to keep him out. This night my Lord and I looked over the list of the Captains,. and marked some that my Lord had a mind to have put out. Home and to bed. Our wench very lame, abed these two days. 30th. By times to Sir R. Fanshawe to draw up the preamble to my Lord's Patent. So to my Lord, and with him to White Hall, where I saw a great many fine antique heads of marble, that my Lord Northumberland had given the King. Here meeting with Mr. De Cretz, he looked over many of the pieces, in the gallery with me and told me [by] whose hands they were, with great pleasure. Dined at home and Mr. Hawly with me upon six of my pigeons, which my wife has resolved to kill here. This day came Will, [William Wayneman was constantly getting into trouble, and Pepys had to cane him. He was dismissed on July 7th, 1663.] my boy, to me; the wench continuing lame, so that my wife could not be longer without somebody to help her. In the afternoon with Sir Edward Walker, at his lodgings by St. Giles Church, for my Lord's pedigree, and carried it to Sir R. Fanshawe. To Mr. Crew's, and there took money and paid Mrs. Anne, Mrs. Jemima's maid, off quite, and so she went away and another came to her. To White Hall with Mr. Moore, where I met with a letter from Mr. Turner, offering me L150 to be joined with me in my patent, and to advise me how to improve the advantage of my place, and to keep off Barlow. To my Lord's till late at night, and so home. JULY 1660 July 1st. This morning came home my fine Camlett cloak, [Camlet was a mixed stuff of wool and silk. It was very expensive, and later Pepys gave L24 for a suit. (See June 1st, 1664.)] with gold buttons, and a silk suit, which cost me much money, and I pray God to make me able to pay for it. I went to the cook's and got a good joint of meat, and my wife and I dined at home alone. In the afternoon to the Abbey, where a good sermon by a stranger, but no Common Prayer yet. After sermon called in at Mrs. Crisp's, where I saw Mynheer Roder, that is to marry Sam Hartlib's sister, a great fortune for her to light on, she being worth nothing in the world. Here I also saw Mrs. Greenlife, who is come again to live in Axe Yard with her new husband Mr. Adams. Then to my Lord's, where I staid a while. So to see for Mr. Creed to speak about getting a copy of Barlow's patent. To my Lord's, where late at night comes Mr. Morland, whom I left prating with my Lord, and so home. 2nd. Infinite of business that my heart and head and all were full. Met with purser Washington, with whom and a lady, a friend of his, I dined at the Bell Tavern in King Street, but the rogue had no more manners than to invite me and to let me pay my club. All the afternoon with my Lord, going up and down the town; at seven at night he went home, and there the principal Officers of the Navy, [A list of the Officers of the Admiralty, May 31st, 1660. From a MS. in the Pepysian Library in Pepys's own handwriting. His Royal Highness James, Duke of York, Lord High Admiral. Sir George Carteret, Treasurer. Sir Robert Slingsby, (soon after) Comptroller. Sir William Batten, Surveyor. Samuel Pepys, Esq., Clerk of the Acts. John, Lord Berkeley (of Stratton,)| Sir William Penn, | Commissioners. Peter Pett, Esq.--B,] | among the rest myself was reckoned one. We had order to meet to-morrow, to draw up such an order of the Council as would put us into action before our patents were passed. At which my heart was glad. At night supped with my Lord, he and I together, in the great dining-room alone by ourselves, the first time I ever did it in London. Home to bed, my maid pretty well again. 3d. All the morning the Officers and Commissioners of the Navy, we met at Sir G. Carteret's [Sir George Carteret, born 1599, had originally been bred to the sea service, and became Comptroller of the Navy to Charles I., and Governor of Jersey, where he obtained considerable reputation by his gallant defence of that island against the Parliament forces. At the Restoration he was made Vice-Chamberlain to the King, Treasurer of the Navy, and a Privy Councillor, and in 1661 he was elected M.P. for Portsmouth. In 1666 he exchanged the Treasurership of the Navy with the Earl of Anglesea for the Vice-Treasurership of Ireland. He became a Commissioner of the Admiralty in 1673. He continued in favour with Charles II. till his death, January 14th, 1679, in his eightieth year. He married his cousin Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Philip Carteret, Knight of St. Ouen, and had issue three sons and five daughters.] chamber, and agreed upon orders for the Council to supersede the old ones, and empower us to act. Dined with Mr. Stephens, the Treasurer's man of the Navy, and Mr. Turner, to whom I offered L50 out of my own purse for one year, and the benefit of a Clerk's allowance beside, which he thanked me for; but I find he hath some design yet in his head, which I could not think of. In the afternoon my heart was quite pulled down, by being told that Mr. Barlow was to enquire to-day for Mr. Coventry; but at night I met with my Lord, who told me that I need not fear, for he would get me the place against the world. And when I came to W. Howe, he told me that Dr. Petty had been with my Lord, and did tell him that Barlow was a sickly man, and did not intend to execute the place himself, which put me in great comfort again. Till 2 in the morning writing letters and things for my Lord to send to sea. So home to my wife to bed. 4th. Up very early in the morning and landing my wife at White Friars stairs, I went to the Bridge and so to the Treasurer's of the Navy, with whom I spake about the business of my office, who put me into very good hopes of my business. At his house comes Commissioner Pett, and he and I went to view the houses in Seething Lane, belonging to the Navy, [The Navy Office was erected on the site of Lumley House, formerly belonging to the Fratres Sancta Crucis (or Crutched Friars), and all business connected with naval concerns was transacted there till its removal to Somerset House.--The ground was afterwards occupied by the East India Company's warehouses. The civil business of the Admiralty was removed from Somerset House to Spring Gardens in 1869.] where I find the worst very good, and had great fears in my mind that they will shuffle me out of them, which troubles me. From thence to the Excise Office in Broad Street, where I received L500 for my Lord, by appointment of the Treasurer, and went afterwards down with Mr. Luddyard and drank my morning draft with him and other officers. Thence to Mr. Backewell's, the goldsmith, where I took my Lord's L100 in plate for Mr. Secretary Nicholas, and my own piece of plate, being a state dish and cup in chased work for Mr. Coventry, cost me above L19. Carried these and the money by coach to my Lord's at White Hall, and from thence carried Nicholas's plate to his house and left it there, intending to speak with him anon. So to Westminster Hall, where meeting with M. L'Impertinent and W. Bowyer, I took them to the Sun Tavern, and gave them a lobster and some wine, and sat talking like a fool till 4 o'clock. So to my Lord's, and walking all the afternoon in White Hall Court, in expectation of what shall be done in the Council as to our business. It was strange to see how all the people flocked together bare, to see the King looking out of the Council window. At night my Lord told me how my orders that I drew last night about giving us power to act, are granted by the Council. At which he and I were very glad. Home and to bed, my boy lying in my house this night the first time. 5th. This morning my brother Tom brought me my jackanapes coat with silver buttons. It rained this morning, which makes us fear that the glory of this great day will be lost; the King and Parliament being to be entertained by the City to-day with great pomp. ["July 5th. His Majesty, the two Dukes, the House of Lords, and the House of Commons, and the Privy Council, dined at the Guildhall. Every Hall appeared with their colours and streamers to attend His Majesty; the Masters in gold chains. Twelve pageants in the streets between Temple Bar and Guildhall. Forty brace of bucks were that day spent in the City of London."--Rugge's Diurnal.--B.] Mr. Hater' was with me to-day, and I agreed with him to be my clerk. [Thomas Hayter. He remained with Pepys for some time; and by his assistance was made Petty Purveyor of Petty Missions. He succeeded Pepys as Clerk of the Acts in 1673, and in 1679 he was Secretary of the Admiralty, and Comptroller of the Navy from 1680 to 1682.] Being at White Hall, I saw the King, the Dukes, and all their attendants go forth in the rain to the City, and it bedraggled many a fine suit of clothes. I was forced to walk all the morning in White Hall, not knowing how to get out because of the rain. Met with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, who took me to dinner among the gentlemen waiters, and after dinner into the wine-cellar. He told me how he had a project for all us Secretaries to join together, and get money by bringing all business into our hands. Thence to the Admiralty, where Mr. Blackburne and I (it beginning to hold up) went and walked an hour or two in the Park, he giving of me light in many things in my way in this office that I go about. And in the evening I got my present of plate carried to Mr. Coventry's. At my Lord's at night comes Dr. Petty to me, to tell me that Barlow had come to town, and other things, which put me into a despair, and I went to bed very sad. 6th. In the morning with my Lord at Whitehall, got the order of the Council for us to act. From thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with the Doctor that shewed us so much kindness at the Hague, and took him to the Sun tavern, and drank with him. So to my Lord's and dined with W. Howe and Sarah, thinking it might be the last time that I might dine with them together. In the afternoon my Lord and I, and Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, went and took possession of the Navy Office, whereby my mind was a little cheered, but my hopes not great. From thence Sir G. Carteret and I to the Treasurer's Office, where he set some things in order. And so home, calling upon Sir Geoffry Palmer, who did give me advice about my patent, which put me to some doubt to know what to do, Barlow being alive. Afterwards called at Mr. Pim's, about getting me a coat of velvet, and he took me to the Half Moon, and the house so full that we staid above half an hour before we could get anything. So to my Lord's, where in the dark W. Howe and I did sing extemporys, and I find by use that we are able to sing a bass and a treble pretty well. So home, and to bed. 7th. To my Lord, one with me to buy a Clerk's place, and I did demand L100. To the Council Chamber, where I took an order for the advance of the salaries of the officers of the Navy, and I find mine to be raised to L350 per annum. Thence to the Change, where I bought two fine prints of Ragotti from Rubens, and afterwards dined with my Uncle and Aunt Wight, where her sister Cox and her husband were. After that to Mr. Rawlinson's with my uncle, and thence to the Navy Office, where I began to take an inventory of the papers, and goods, and books of the office. To my Lord's, late writing letters. So home to bed. 8th (Lord's day). To White Hall chapel, where I got in with ease by going before the Lord Chancellor with Mr. Kipps. Here I heard very good music, the first time that ever I remember to have heard the organs and singing-men in surplices in my life. [During the Commonwealth organs were destroyed all over the country, and the following is the title of the Ordinances under which this destruction took place: "Two Ordinances of the Lords and Commons assembled in Parliament, for the speedy demolishing of all organs, images, and all matters of superstitious monuments in all Cathedrals and Collegiate or Parish Churches and Chapels throughout the Kingdom of England and the dominion of Wales; the better to accomplish the blessed reformation so happily begun, and to remove all offences and things illegal in the worship of God. Dated May 9th, 1644." When at the period of the Restoration music again obtained its proper place in the services of the Church, there was much work for the organ builders. According to Dr. Rimbault ("Hopkins on the Organ," 1855, p. 74), it was more than fifty years after the Restoration when our parish churches began commonly to be supplied with organs. Drake says, in his "Eboracum" (published in 1733), that at that date only one parish church in the city of York possessed an organ. Bernard Schmidt, better known as "Father Smith," came to England from Germany at the time of the Restoration, and he it was who built the organ at the Chapel Royal. He was in high favour with Charles II., who allowed, him apartments in Whitehall Palace.] The Bishop of Chichester preached before the King, and made a great flattering sermon, which I did not like that Clergy should meddle with matters of state. Dined with Mr. Luellin and Salisbury at a cook's shop. Home, and staid all the afternoon with my wife till after sermon. There till Mr. Fairebrother came to call us out to my father's to supper. He told me how he had perfectly procured me to be made Master in Arts by proxy, which did somewhat please me, though I remember my cousin Roger Pepys was the other day persuading me from it. While we were at supper came Win. Howe to supper to us, and after supper went home to bed. 9th. All the morning at Sir G. Palmer's advising about getting my bill drawn. From thence to the Navy office, where in the afternoon we met and sat, and there I begun to sign bills in the Office the first time. From thence Captain Holland and Mr. Browne of Harwich took me to a tavern and did give me a collation. From thence to the Temple to further my bills being done, and so home to my Lord, and thence to bed. 10th. This day I put on first my new silk suit, the first that ever I wore in my life. This morning came Nan Pepys' husband Mr. Hall to see me being lately come to town. I had never seen him before. I took him to the Swan tavern with Mr. Eglin and there drank our morning draft. Home, and called my wife, and took her to Dr. Clodius's to a great wedding of Nan Hartlib to Mynheer Roder, which was kept at Goring House with very great state, cost, and noble company. But, among all the beauties there, my wife was thought the greatest. After dinner I left the company, and carried my wife to Mrs. Turner's. I went to the Attorney-General's, and had my bill which cost me seven pieces. I called my wife, and set her home. And finding my Lord in White Hall garden, I got him to go to the Secretary's, which he did, and desired the dispatch of his and my bills to be signed by the King. His bill is to be Earl of Sandwich, Viscount Hinchingbroke, and Baron of St. Neot's. [The motive for Sir Edward Montagu's so suddenly altering his intended title is not explained; probably, the change was adopted as a compliment to the town of Sandwich, off which the Fleet was lying before it sailed to bring Charles from Scheveling. Montagu had also received marked attentions from Sir John Boys and other principal men at Sandwich; and it may be recollected, as an additional reason, that one or both of the seats for that borough have usually been placed at the disposal of the Admiralty. The title of Portsmouth was given, in 1673, for her life, to the celebrated Louise de Querouaille, and becoming extinct with her, was, in 1743, conferred upon John Wallop, Viscount Lymington, the ancestor of the present Earl of Portsmouth.--B.] Home, with my mind pretty quiet: not returning, as I said I would, to see the bride put to bed. 11th. With Sir W. Pen by water to the Navy office, where we met, and dispatched business. And that being done, we went all to dinner to the Dolphin, upon Major Brown's invitation. After that to the office again, where I was vexed, and so was Commissioner Pett, to see a busy fellow come to look out the best lodgings for my Lord Barkley, and the combining between him and Sir W. Pen; and, indeed, was troubled much at it. Home to White Hall, and took out my bill signed by the King, and carried it to Mr. Watkins of the Privy Seal to be despatched there, and going home to take a cap, I borrowed a pair of sheets of Mr. Howe, and by coach went to the Navy office, and lay (Mr. Hater, my clerk, with me) at Commissioner Willoughby's' house, where I was received by him very civilly and slept well. 12th. Up early and by coach to White Hall with Commissioner Pett, where, after we had talked with my Lord, I went to the Privy Seal and got my bill perfected there, and at the Signet: and then to the House of Lords, and met with Mr. Kipps, who directed me to Mr. Beale to get my patent engrossed; but he not having time to get it done in Chancery-hand, I was forced to run all up and down Chancery-lane, and the Six Clerks' Office [The Six Clerks' Office was in Chancery Lane, near the Holborn end. The business of the office was to enrol commissions, pardons, patents, warrants, &c., that had passed the Great Seal; also other business in Chancery. In the early history of the Court of Chancery, the Six Clerks and their under-clerks appear to have acted as the attorneys of the suitors. As business increased, these under-clerks became a distinct body, and were recognized by the court under the denomination of 'sworn clerks,' or 'clerks in court.' The advance of commerce, with its consequent accession of wealth, so multiplied the subjects requiring the judgment of a Court of Equity, that the limits of a public office were found wholly inadequate to supply a sufficient number of officers to conduct the business of the suitors. Hence originated the 'Solicitors' of the "Court of Chancery." See Smith's "Chancery Practice," p. 62, 3rd edit. The "Six Clerks" were abolished by act of Parliament, 5 Vict. c. 5.] but could find none that could write the hand, that were at leisure. And so in a despair went to the Admiralty, where we met the first time there, my Lord Montagu, my Lord Barkley, Mr. Coventry, and all the rest of the principal Officers and Commissioners, [except] only the Controller, who is not yet chosen. At night to Mr. Kipps's lodgings, but not finding him, I went to Mr. Spong's and there I found him and got him to come to me to my Lord's lodgings at 11 o'clock of night, when I got him to take my bill to write it himself (which was a great providence that he could do it) against to-morrow morning. I late writing letters to sea by the post, and so home to bed. In great trouble because I heard at Mr. Beale's to-day that Barlow had been there and said that he would make a stop in the business. 13th. Up early, the first day that I put on my black camlett coat with silver buttons. To Mr. Spong, whom I found in his night-down writing of my patent, and he had done as far as he could "for that &c." by 8 o'clock. It being done, we carried it to Worcester House to the Chancellor, where Mr. Kipps (a strange providence that he should now be in a condition to do me a kindness, which I never thought him capable of doing for me), got me the Chancellor's recepi to my bill; and so carried it to Mr. Beale for a dockett; but he was very angry, and unwilling to do it, because he said it was ill writ (because I had got it writ by another hand, and not by him); but by much importunity I got Mr. Spong to go to his office and make an end of my patent; and in the mean time Mr. Beale to be preparing my dockett, which being done, I did give him two pieces, after which it was strange how civil and tractable he was to me. From thence I went to the Navy office, where we despatched much business, and resolved of the houses for the Officers and Commissioners, which I was glad of, and I got leave to have a door made me into the leads. From thence, much troubled in mind about my patent, I went to Mr. Beale again, who had now finished my patent and made it ready for the Seal, about an hour after I went to meet him at the Chancellor's. So I went away towards Westminster, and in my way met with Mr. Spong, and went with him to Mr. Lilly and ate some bread and cheese, and drank with him, who still would be giving me council of getting my patent out, for fear of another change, and my Lord Montagu's fall. After that to Worcester House, where by Mr. Kipps's means, and my pressing in General Montagu's name to the Chancellor, I did, beyond all expectation, get my seal passed; and while it was doing in one room, I was forced to keep Sir G. Carteret (who by chance met me there, ignorant of my business) in talk, while it was a doing. Went home and brought my wife with me into London, and some money, with which I paid Mr. Beale L9 in all, and took my patent of him and went to my wife again, whom I had left in a coach at the door of Hinde Court, and presented her with my patent at which she was overjoyed; so to the Navy office, and showed her my house, and were both mightily pleased at all things there, and so to my business. So home with her, leaving her at her mother's door. I to my Lord's, where I dispatched an order for a ship to fetch Sir R. Honywood home, for which I got two pieces of my Lady Honywood by young Mr. Powell. Late writing letters; and great doings of music at the next house, which was Whally's; the King and Dukes there with Madame Palmer, [Barbara Villiers, only child of William, second Viscount Grandison, born November, 1640, married April 14th, 1659, to Roger Palmer, created Earl of Castlemaine, 1661. She became the King's mistress soon after the Restoration, and was in 1670 made Baroness Nonsuch, Countess of Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland. She had six children by the King, one of them being created Duke of Grafton, and the eldest son succeeding her as Duke of Cleveland. She subsequently married Beau Fielding, whom she prosecuted for bigamy. She died October 9th, 1709, aged sixty-nine. Her life was written by G. Steinman Steinman, and privately printed 1871, with addenda 1874, and second addenda 1878.] a pretty woman that they have a fancy to, to make her husband a cuckold. Here at the old door that did go into his lodgings, my Lord, I, and W. Howe, did stand listening a great while to the music. After that home to bed. This day I should have been at Guildhall to have borne witness for my brother Hawly against Black Collar, but I could not, at which I was troubled. To bed with the greatest quiet of mind that I have had a great while, having ate nothing but a bit of bread and cheese at Lilly's to-day, and a bit of bread and butter after I was a-bed. 14th. Up early and advised with my wife for the putting of all our things in a readiness to be sent to our new house. To my Lord's, where he was in bed very late. So with Major Tollhurst and others to Harper's, and I sent for my barrel of pickled oysters and there ate them; while we were doing so, comes in Mr. Pagan Fisher; the poet, and promises me what he had long ago done, a book in praise of the King of France, with my armes, and a dedication to me very handsome. After him comes Mr. Sheply come from sea yesterday, whom I was glad to see that he may ease me of the trouble of my Lord's business. So to my Lord's, where I staid doing his business and taking his commands. After that to Westminster Hall, where I paid all my debts in order to my going away from hence. Here I met with Mr. Eglin, who would needs take me to the Leg in King Street and gave me a dish of meat to dinner; and so I sent for Mons. L'Impertinent, where we sat long and were merry. After that parted, and I took Mr. Butler [Mons. L'Impertinent] with me into London by coach and shewed him my house at the Navy Office, and did give order for the laying in coals. So into Fenchurch Street, and did give him a glass of wine at Rawlinson's, and was trimmed in the street. So to my Lord's late writing letters, and so home, where I found my wife had packed up all her goods in the house fit for a removal. So to bed. 15th. Lay long in bed to recover my rest. Going forth met with Mr. Sheply, and went and drank my morning draft with him at Wilkinson's, and my brother Spicer.--[Jack Spicer, brother clerk of the Privy Seal.]--After that to Westminster Abbey, and in Henry the Seventh's Chappell heard part of a sermon, the first that ever I heard there. To my Lord's and dined all alone at the table with him. After dinner he and I alone fell to discourse, and I find him plainly to be a sceptic in all things of religion, and to make no great matter of anything therein, but to be a perfect Stoic. In the afternoon to Henry the Seventh's Chappell, where I heard service and a sermon there, and after that meeting W. Bowyer there, he and I to the Park, and walked a good while till night. So to Harper's and drank together, and Captain Stokes came to us and so I fell into discourse of buying paper at the first hand in my office, and the Captain promised me to buy it for me in France. After that to my Lord's lodgings, where I wrote some business and so home. My wife at home all the day, she having no clothes out, all being packed up yesterday. For this month I have wholly neglected anything of news, and so have beyond belief been ignorant how things go, but now by my patent my mind is in some quiet, which God keep. I was not at my father's to-day, I being afraid to go for fear he should still solicit me to speak to my Lord for a place in the Wardrobe, which I dare not do, because of my own business yet. My wife and I mightily pleased with our new house that we hope to have. My patent has cost me a great deal of money, about L40, which is the only thing at present which do trouble me much. In the afternoon to Henry the Seventh's chapel, where I heard a sermon and spent (God forgive me) most of my time in looking upon Mrs. Butler. After that with W. Bowyer to walk in the Park. Afterwards to my Lord's lodgings, and so home to bed, having not been at my father's to-day. 16th, This morning it proved very rainy weather so that I could not remove my goods to my house. I to my office and did business there, and so home, it being then sunrise, but by the time that I got to my house it began to rain again, so that I could not carry my goods by cart as I would have done. After that to my Lord's and so home and to bed. 17th. This morning (as indeed all the mornings nowadays) much business at my Lord's. There came to my house before I went out Mr. Barlow, an old consumptive man, and fair conditioned, with whom I did discourse a great while, and after much talk I did grant him what he asked, viz., L50 per annum, if my salary be not increased, and (100 per annum, in case it be to L350), at which he was very well pleased to be paid as I received my money and not otherwise. Going to my Lord's I found my Lord had got a great cold and kept his bed, and so I brought him to my Lord's bedside, and he and I did agree together to this purpose what I should allow him. That done and the day proving fair I went home and got all my goods packed up and sent away, and my wife and I and Mrs. Hunt went by coach, overtaking the carts a-drinking in the Strand. Being come to my house and set in the goods, and at night sent my wife and Mrs. Hunt to buy something for supper; they bought a Quarter of Lamb, and so we ate it, but it was not half roasted. Will, Mr. Blackburne's nephew, is so obedient, that I am greatly glad of him. At night he and I and Mrs. Hunt home by water to Westminster. I to my Lord, and after having done some business with him in his chamber in the Nursery, which has been now his chamber since he came from sea, I went on foot with a linkboy to my home, where I found my wife in bed and Jane washing the house, and Will the boy sleeping, and a great deal of sport I had before I could wake him. I to bed the first night that I ever lay here with my wife. 18th. This morning the carpenter made an end of my door out of my chamber upon the leads. This morning we met at the office: I dined at my house in Seething Lane, and after that, going about 4 o'clock to Westminster, I met with Mr. Carter and Mr. Cooke coming to see me in a coach, and so I returned home. I did also meet with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, with a porter with him, with a barrel of Lemons, which my man Burr sends me from sea. I took all these people home to my house and did give them some drink, and after them comes Mr. Sheply, and after a little stay we all went by water to Westminster as far as the New Exchange. Thence to my Lord about business, and being in talk in comes one with half a buck from Hinchinbroke, and it smelling a little strong my Lord did give it me (though it was as good as any could be). I did carry it to my mother, where I had not been a great while, and indeed had no great mind to go, because my father did lay upon me continually to do him a kindness at the Wardrobe, which I could not do because of my own business being so fresh with my Lord. But my father was not at home, and so I did leave the venison with her to dispose of as she pleased. After that home, where W. Hewer now was, and did lie this night with us, the first night. My mind very quiet, only a little trouble I have for the great debts which I have still upon me to the Secretary, Mr. Kipps, and Mr. Spong for my patent. 19th. I did lie late a-bed. I and my wife by water, landed her at Whitefriars with her boy with an iron of our new range which is already broke and my wife will have changed, and many other things she has to buy with the help of my father to-day. I to my Lord and found him in bed. This day I received my commission to swear people the oath of allegiance and supremacy delivered me by my Lord. After talk with my Lord I went to Westminster Hall, where I took Mr. Michell and his wife, and Mrs. Murford we sent for afterwards, to the Dog Tavern, where I did give them a dish of anchovies and olives and paid for all, and did talk of our old discourse when we did use to talk of the King, in the time of the Rump, privately; after that to the Admiralty Office, in White Hall, where I staid and writ my last observations for these four days last past. Great talk of the difference between the Episcopal and Presbyterian Clergy, but I believe it will come to nothing. So home and to bed. 20th. We sat at the office this morning, Sir W. Batten and Mr. Pett being upon a survey to Chatham. This morning I sent my wife to my father's and he is to give me L5 worth of pewter. After we rose at the office, I went to my father's, where my Uncle Fenner and all his crew and Captain Holland and his wife and my wife were at dinner at a venison pasty of the venison that I did give my mother the other day. I did this time show so much coldness to W. Joyce that I believe all the table took notice of it. After that to Westminster about my Lord's business and so home, my Lord having not been well these two or three days, and I hear that Mr. Barnwell at Hinchinbroke is fallen sick again. Home and to bed. 21st. This morning Mr. Barlow had appointed for me to bring him what form I would have the agreement between him and me to pass, which I did to his lodgings at the Golden Eagle in the new street--[Still retains the name New Street.]--between Fetter Lane and Shoe Lane, where he liked it very well, and I from him went to get Mr. Spong to engross it in duplicates. To my Lord and spoke to him about the business of the Privy Seal for me to be sworn, though I got nothing by it, but to do Mr. Moore a kindness, which he did give me a good answer to. Went to the Six Clerks' office to Mr. Spong for the writings, and dined with him at a club at the next door, where we had three voices to sing catches. So to my house to write letters and so to Whitehall about business of my Lord's concerning his creation,--[As Earl of Sandwich.]--and so home and to bed. 22nd. Lord's day. All this last night it had rained hard. My brother Tom came this morning the first time to see me, and I paid him all that I owe my father to this day. Afterwards I went out and looked into several churches, and so to my uncle Fenner's, whither my wife was got before me, and we, my father and mother, and all the Joyces, and my aunt Bell, whom I had not seen many a year before. After dinner to White Hall (my wife to church with K. Joyce), where I find my Lord at home, and walked in the garden with him, he showing me all the respect that can be. I left him and went to walk in the Park, where great endeavouring to get into the inward Park,--[This is still railed off from St. James's Park, and called the Enclosure.]--but could not get in; one man was basted by the keeper, for carrying some people over on his back through the water. Afterwards to my Lord's, where I staid and drank with Mr. Sheply, having first sent to get a pair of oars. It was the first time that ever I went by water on the Lord's day. Home, and at night had a chapter read; and I read prayers out of the Common Prayer Book, the first time that ever I read prayers in this house. So to bed. 23rd. This morning Mr. Barlow comes to me, and he and I went forth to a scrivener in Fenchurch Street, whom we found sick of the gout in bed, and signed and sealed our agreement before him. He urged to have these words (in consideration whereof) to be interlined, which I granted, though against my will. Met this morning at the office, and afterwards Mr. Barlow by appointment came and dined with me, and both of us very pleasant and pleased. After dinner to my Lord, who took me to Secretary Nicholas, and there before him and Secretary Morris, my Lord and I upon our knees together took our oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy; and the Oath of the Privy Seal, of which I was much glad, though I am not likely to get anything by it at present; but I do desire it, for fear of a turn-out of our office. That done and my Lord gone from me, I went with Mr. Cooling and his brother, and Sam Hartlibb, little Jennings and some others to the King's Head Tavern at Charing Cross, where after drinking I took boat and so home, where we supped merrily among ourselves (our little boy proving a droll) and so after prayers to bed. This day my Lord had heard that Mr. Barnwell was dead, but it is not so yet, though he be very ill. I was troubled all this day with Mr. Cooke, being willing to do him good, but my mind is so taken up with my own business that I cannot. 24th. To White Hall, where I did acquaint Mr. Watkins with my being sworn into the Privy Seal, at which he was much troubled, but put it up and did offer me a kinsman of his to be my clerk, which I did give him some hope of, though I never intend it. In the afternoon I spent much time in walking in White Hall Court with Mr. Bickerstaffe, who was very glad of my Lord's being sworn, because of his business with his brother Baron, which is referred to my Lord Chancellor, and to be ended to-morrow. Baron had got a grant beyond sea, to come in before the reversionary of the Privy Seal. This afternoon Mr. Mathews came to me, to get a certificate of my Lord's and my being sworn, which I put in some forwardness, and so home and to bed. 25th. In the morning at the office, and after that down to Whitehall, where I met with Mr. Creed, and with him and a Welsh schoolmaster, a good scholar but a very pedagogue, to the ordinary at the Leg in King Street.' I got my certificate of my Lord's and my being sworn. This morning my Lord took leave of the House of Commons, and had the thanks of the House for his great services to his country. In the afternoon (but this is a mistake, for it was yesterday in the afternoon) Monsieur L'Impertinent and I met and I took him to the Sun and drank with him, and in the evening going away we met his mother and sisters and father coming from the Gatehouse; where they lodge, where I did the first time salute them all, and very pretty Madame Frances--[Frances Butler, the beauty.]--is indeed. After that very late home and called in Tower Street, and there at a barber's was trimmed the first time. Home and to bed. 26th. Early to White Hall, thinking to have a meeting of my Lord and the principal officers, but my Lord could not, it being the day that he was to go and be admitted in the House of Lords, his patent being done, which he presented upon his knees to the Speaker; and so it was read in the House, and he took his place. I at the Privy Seal Office with Mr. Hooker, who brought me acquainted with Mr. Crofts of the Signet, and I invited them to a dish of meat at the Leg in King Street, and so we dined there and I paid for all and had very good light given me as to my employment there. Afterwards to Mr. Pierces, where I should have dined but I could not, but found Mr. Sheply and W. Howe there. After we had drunk hard we parted, and I went away and met Dr. Castle, who is one of the Clerks of the Privy Seal, and told him how things were with my Lord and me, which he received very gladly. I was this day told how Baron against all expectation and law has got the place of Bickerstaffe, and so I question whether he will not lay claim to wait the next month, but my Lord tells me that he will stand for it. In the evening I met with T. Doling, who carried me to St. James's Fair, [August, 1661: "This year the Fair, called St. James's Fair, was kept the full appointed time, being a fortnight; but during that time many lewd and infamous persons were by his Majesty's express command to the Lord Chamberlain, and his Lordship's direction to Robert Nelson, Esq., committed to the House of Correction."--Rugge's Diurnal. St; James's fair was held first in the open space near St. James's Palace, and afterwards in St. James's Market. It was prohibited by the Parliament in 1651, but revived at the Restoration. It was, however, finally suppressed before the close of the reign of Charles II.] and there meeting with W. Symons and his wife, and Luellin, and D. Scobell's wife and cousin, we went to Wood's at the Pell Mell [This is one of the earliest references to Pall Mall as an inhabited street, and also one of the earliest uses of the word clubbing.] (our old house for clubbing), and there we spent till 10 at night, at which time I sent to my Lord's for my clerk Will to come to me, and so by link home to bed. Where I found Commissioner Willoughby had sent for all his things away out of my bedchamber, which is a little disappointment, but it is better than pay too dear for them. 27th: The last night Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen came to their houses at the office. Met this morning and did business till noon. Dined at home and from thence to my Lord's where Will, my clerk, and I were all the afternoon making up my accounts, which we had done by night, and I find myself worth about L100 after all my expenses. At night I sent to W. Bowyer to bring me L100, being that he had in his hands of my Lord's. in keeping, out of which I paid Mr. Sheply all that remained due to my Lord upon my balance, and took the rest home with me late at night. We got a coach, but the horses were tired and could not carry us farther than St. Dunstan's. So we 'light and took a link and so home weary to bed. 28th. Early in the morning rose, and a boy brought me a letter from Poet Fisher, who tells me that he is upon a panegyrique of the King, and desired to borrow a piece of me; and I sent him half a piece. To Westminster, and there dined with Mr. Sheply and W. Howe, afterwards meeting with Mr. Henson, who had formerly had the brave clock that went with bullets (which is now taken away from him by the King, it being his goods). [Some clocks are still made with a small ball, or bullet, on an inclined plane, which turns every minute. The King's clocks probably dropped bullets. Gainsborough the painter had a brother who was a dissenting minister at Henley-on-Thames, and possessed a strong genius for mechanics. He invented a clock of a very peculiar construction, which, after his death, was deposited in the British Museum. It told the hour by a little bell, and was kept in motion by a leaden bullet, which dropped from a spiral reservoir at the top of the clock, into a little ivory bucket. This was so contrived as to discharge it at the bottom, and by means of a counter-weight was carried up to the top of the clock, where it received another bullet, which was discharged as the former. This seems to have been an attempt at the perpetual motion.--Gentleman's Magazine, 1785, p. 931.--B.] I went with him to the Swan Tavern and sent for Mr. Butler, who was now all full of his high discourse in praise of Ireland, whither he and his whole family are going by Coll. Dillon's persuasion, but so many lies I never heard in praise of anything as he told of Ireland. So home late at night and to bed. 29th. Lord's day. I and my boy Will to Whitehall, and I with my Lord to White Hall Chappell, where I heard a cold sermon of the Bishop of Salisbury's, and the ceremonies did not please me, they do so overdo them. My Lord went to dinner at Kensington with my Lord Camden. So I dined and took Mr. Birfett, my Lord's chaplain, and his friend along with me, with Mr. Sheply at my Lord's. In the afternoon with Dick Vines and his brother Payton, we walked to Lisson Green and Marybone and back again, and finding my Lord at home I got him to look over my accounts, which he did approve of and signed them, and so we are even to this day. Of this I was glad, and do think myself worth clear money about L120. Home late, calling in at my father's without stay. To bed. 30th. Sat at our office to-day, and my father came this day the first time to see us at my new office. And Mrs. Crisp by chance came in and sat with us, looked over our house and advised about the furnishing of it. This afternoon I got my L50, due to me for my first quarter's salary as Secretary to my Lord, paid to Tho. Hater for me, which he received and brought home to me, of which I am full glad. To Westminster and among other things met with Mr. Moore, and took him and his friend, a bookseller of Paul's Churchyard, to the Rhenish Winehouse, and drinking there the sword-bearer of London (Mr. Man) came to ask for us, with whom we sat late, discoursing about the worth of my office of Clerk of the Acts, which he hath a mind to buy, and I asked four years' purchase. We are to speak more of it to-morrow. Home on foot, and seeing him at home at Butler's merry, he lent me a torch, which Will carried, and so home. 31st. To White Hall, where my Lord and the principal officers met, and had a great discourse about raising of money for the Navy, which is in very sad condition, and money must be raised for it. Mr. Blackburne, Dr. Clerke, and I to the Quaker's and dined there. I back to the Admiralty, and there was doing things in order to the calculating of the debts of the Navy and other business, all the afternoon. At night I went to the Privy Seal, where I found Mr. Crofts and Mathews making up all their things to leave the office tomorrow, to those that come to wait the next month. I took them to the Sun Tavern and there made them drink, and discoursed concerning the office, and what I was to expect tomorrow about Baron, who pretends to the next month. Late home by coach so far as Ludgate with Mr. Mathews, and thence home on foot with W. Hewer with me, and so to bed. AUGUST 1660 August 1st. Up very early, and by water to Whitehall to my Lord's, and there up to my Lord's lodging (Win. Howe being now ill of the gout at Mr. Pierce's), and there talked with him about the affairs of the Navy, and how I was now to wait today at the Privy Seal. Commissioner Pett went with me, whom I desired to make my excuse at the office for my absence this day. Hence to the Privy Seal Office, where I got (by Mr. Mathews' means) possession of the books and table, but with some expectation of Baron's bringing of a warrant from the King to have this month. Nothing done this morning, Baron having spoke to Mr. Woodson and Groome (clerks to Mr. Trumbull of the Signet) to keep all work in their hands till the afternoon, at which time he expected to have his warrant from the King for this month.--[The clerks of the Privy Seal took the duty of attendance for a month by turns.]--I took at noon Mr. Harper to the Leg in King Street, and did give him his dinner, who did still advise me much to act wholly myself at the Privy Seal, but I told him that I could not, because I had other business to take up my time. In the afternoon at, the office again, where we had many things to sign; and I went to the Council Chamber, and there got my Lord to sign the first bill, and the rest all myself; but received no money today. After I had signed all, I went with Dick Scobell and Luellin to drink at a bottle beer house in the Strand, and after staying there a while (had sent W. Hewer home before), I took boat and homewards went, and in Fish Street bought a Lobster, and as I had bought it I met with Winter and Mr. Delabarr, and there with a piece of sturgeon of theirs we went to the Sun Tavern in the street and ate them. Late home and to bed. 2d. To Westminster by water with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen (our servants in another boat) to the Admiralty; and from thence I went to my Lord's to fetch him thither, where we stayed in the morning about ordering of money for the victuailers, and advising how to get a sum of money to carry on the business of the Navy. From thence dined with Mr. Blackburne at his house with his friends (his wife being in the country and just upon her return to London), where we were very well treated and merry. From thence W. Hewer and I to the office of Privy Seal, where I stayed all the afternoon, and received about L40 for yesterday and to-day, at which my heart rejoiced for God's blessing to me, to give me this advantage by chance, there being of this L40 about L10 due to me for this day's work. So great is the present profit of this office, above what it was in the King's time; there being the last month about 300 bills; whereas in the late King's time it was much to have 40. With my money home by coach, it, being the first time that I could get home before our gates were shut since I came to the Navy office. When I came home I found my wife not very well of her old pain.... which she had when we were married first. I went and cast up the expense that I laid out upon my former house (because there are so many that are desirous of it, and I am, in my mind, loth to let it go out of my hands, for fear of a turn). I find my layings-out to come to about L20, which with my fine will come to about L22 to him that shall hire my house of me.--[Pepys wished to let his house in Axe Yard now that he had apartments at the Navy Office.]--To bed. 3rd. Up betimes this morning, and after the barber had done with me, then to the office, where I and Sir William Pen only did meet and despatch business. At noon my wife and I by coach to Dr. Clerke's to dinner: I was very much taken with his lady, a comely, proper woman, though not handsome; but a woman of the best language I ever heard. Here dined Mrs. Pierce and her husband. After dinner I took leave to go to Westminster, where I was at the Privy Seal Office all day, signing things and taking money, so that I could not do as I had intended, that is to return to them and go to the Red Bull Playhouse, [This well-known theatre was situated in St. John's Street on the site of Red Bull Yard. Pepys went there on March 23rd, 1661, when he expressed a very poor opinion of the place. T. Carew, in some commendatory lines on Sir William. Davenant's play, "The just Italian," 1630, abuses both audiences and actors:-- "There are the men in crowded heaps that throng To that adulterate stage, where not a tongue Of th' untun'd kennel can a line repeat Of serious sense." There is a token of this house (see "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 725).] but I took coach and went to see whether it was done so or no, and I found it done. So I returned to Dr. Clerke's, where I found them and my wife, and by and by took leave and went away home. 4th. To White Hall, where I found my Lord gone with the King by water to dine at the Tower with Sir J. Robinson,' Lieutenant. I found my Lady Jemimah--[Lady Jemima Montage, daughter of Lord Sandwich, previously described as Mrs. Jem.]--at my Lord's, with whom I staid and dined, all alone; after dinner to the Privy Seal Office, where I did business. So to a Committee of Parliament (Sir Hen[eage] Finch, Chairman), to give them an answer to an order of theirs, "that we could not give them any account of the Accounts of the Navy in the years 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, as they desire." After that I went and bespoke some linen of Betty Lane in the Hall, and after that to the Trumpet, where I sat and talked with her, &c. At night, it being very rainy, and it thundering and lightning exceedingly, I took coach at the Trumpet door, taking Monsieur L'Impertinent along with me as far as the Savoy, where he said he went to lie with Cary Dillon, [Colonel Cary Dillon, a friend of the Butlers, who courted the fair Frances; but the engagement was subsequently broken off, see December 31 st, 1661.] and is still upon the mind of going (he and his whole family) to Ireland. Having set him down I made haste home, and in the courtyard, it being very dark, I heard a man inquire for my house, and having asked his business, he told me that my man William (who went this morning--out of town to meet his aunt Blackburne) was come home not very well to his mother, and so could not come home to-night. At which I was very sorry. I found my wife still in pain. To bed, having not time to write letters, and indeed having so many to write to all places that I have no heart to go about them. Mrs. Shaw did die yesterday and her husband so sick that he is not like to live. 5th. Lord's day. My wife being much in pain, I went this morning to Dr. Williams (who had cured her once before of this business), in Holborn, and he did give me an ointment which I sent home by my boy, and a plaister which I took with me to Westminster (having called and seen my mother in the morning as I went to the doctor), where I dined with Mr. Sheply (my Lord dining at Kensington). After dinner to St. Margaret's, where the first time I ever heard Common Prayer in that Church. I sat with Mr. Hill in his pew; Mr. Hill that married in Axe Yard and that was aboard us in the Hope. Church done I went and Mr. Sheply to see W. Howe at Mr. Pierces, where I staid singing of songs and psalms an hour or two, and were very pleasant with Mrs. Pierce and him. Thence to my Lord's, where I staid and talked and drank with Mr. Sheply. After that to Westminster stairs, where I saw a fray between Mynheer Clinke, a Dutchman, that was at Hartlibb's wedding, and a waterman, which made good sport. After that I got a Gravesend boat, that was come up to fetch some bread on this side the bridge, and got them to carry me to the bridge, and so home, where I found my wife. After prayers I to bed to her, she having had a very bad night of it. This morning before I was up Will came home pretty well again, he having been only weary with riding, which he is not used to. 6th. This morning at the office, and, that being done, home to dinner all alone, my wife being ill in pain a-bed, which I was troubled at, and not a little impatient. After dinner to Whitehall at the Privy Seal all the afternoon, and at night with Mr. Man to Mr. Rawlinson's in Fenchurch Street, where we staid till eleven o'clock at night. So home and to bed, my wife being all this day in great pain. This night Mr. Man offered me L1000 for my office of Clerk of the Acts, which made my mouth water; but yet I dare not take it till I speak with my Lord to have his consent. 7th. This morning to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and took Mr. Moore and myself and dined at my Lord's with Mr. Sheply. While I was at dinner in come Sam. Hartlibb and his brother-in-law, now knighted by the King, to request my promise of a ship for them to Holland, which I had promised to get for them. After dinner to the Privy Seal all the afternoon. At night, meeting Sam. Hartlibb, he took me by coach to Kensington, to my Lord of Holland's; I staid in the coach while he went in about his business. He staying long I left the coach and walked back again before on foot (a very pleasant walk) to Kensington, where I drank and staid very long waiting for him. At last he came, and after drinking at the inn we went towards Westminster. Here I endeavoured to have looked out Jane that formerly lived at Dr. Williams' at Cambridge, whom I had long thought to live at present here, but I found myself in an error, meeting one in the place where I expected to have found her, but she proved not she though very like her. We went to the Bullhead, where he and I sat and drank till 11 at night, and so home on foot. Found my wife pretty well again, and so to bed. 8th. We met at the office, and after that to dinner at home, and from thence with my wife by water to Catan Sterpin, with whom and her mistress Pye we sat discoursing of Kate's marriage to Mons. Petit, her mistress and I giving the best advice we could for her to suspend her marriage till Mons. Petit had got some place that may be able to maintain her, and not for him to live upon the portion that she shall bring him. From thence to Mr. Butler's to see his daughters, the first time that ever we made a visit to them. We found them very pretty, and Coll. Dillon there, a very merry and witty companion, but methinks they live in a gaudy but very poor condition. From thence, my wife and I intending to see Mrs. Blackburne, who had been a day or two again to see my wife, but my wife was not in condition to be seen, but she not being at home my wife went to her mother's and I to the Privy Seal. At night from the Privy Seal, Mr. Woodson and Mr. Jennings and I to the Sun Tavern till it was late, and from thence to my Lord's, where my wife was come from Mrs. Blackburne's to me, and after I had done some business with my Lord, she and I went to Mrs. Hunt's, who would needs have us to lie at her house to-night, she being with my wife so late at my Lord's with us, and would not let us go home to-night. We lay there all night very pleasantly and at ease... 9th. Left my wife at Mrs. Hunt's and I to my Lord's, and from thence with judge Advocate Fowler, Mr. Creed, and Mr. Sheply to the Rhenish Wine-house, and Captain Hayward of the Plymouth, who is now ordered to carry my Lord Winchelsea, Embassador to Constantinople. We were very merry, and judge Advocate did give Captain Hayward his Oath of Allegiance and Supremacy. Thence to my office of Privy Seal, and, having signed some things there, with Mr. Moore and Dean Fuller to the Leg in King Street, and, sending for my wife, we dined there very merry, and after dinner, parted. After dinner with my wife to Mrs. Blackburne to visit her. She being within I left my wife there, and I to the Privy Seal, where I despatch some business, and from thence to Mrs. Blackburne again, who did treat my wife and me with a great deal of civility, and did give us a fine collation of collar of beef, &c. Thence I, having my head full of drink from having drunk so much Rhenish wine in the morning, and more in the afternoon at Mrs. Blackburne's, came home and so to bed, not well, and very ill all night. 10th. I had a great deal of pain all night, and a great loosing upon me so that I could not sleep. In the morning I rose with much pain and to the office. I went and dined at home, and after dinner with great pain in my back I went by water to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and that done with Mr. Moore and Creed to Hide Park by coach, and saw a fine foot-race three times round the Park between an Irishman and Crow, that was once my Lord Claypoole's footman. (By the way I cannot forget that my Lord Claypoole did the other day make enquiry of Mrs. Hunt, concerning my House in Axe-yard, and did set her on work to get it of me for him, which methinks is a very great change.) Crow beat the other by above two miles. Returned from Hide Park, I went to my Lord's, and took Will (who waited for me there) by coach and went home, taking my lute home with me. It had been all this while since I came from sea at my Lord's for him to play on. To bed in some pain still. For this month or two it is not imaginable how busy my head has been, so that I have neglected to write letters to my uncle Robert in answer to many of his, and to other friends, nor indeed have I done anything as to my own family, and especially this month my waiting at the Privy Seal makes me much more unable to think of anything, because of my constant attendance there after I have done at the Navy Office. But blessed be God for my good chance of the Privy Seal, where I get every day I believe about L3. This place I got by chance, and my Lord did give it me by chance, neither he nor I thinking it to be of the worth that he and I find it to be. Never since I was a man in the world was I ever so great a stranger to public affairs as now I am, having not read a new book or anything like it, or enquiring after any news, or what the Parliament do, or in any wise how things go. Many people look after my house in Axe-yard to hire it, so that I am troubled with them, and I have a mind to get the money to buy goods for my house at the Navy Office, and yet I am loth to put it off because that Mr. Man bids me L1000 for my office, which is so great a sum that I am loth to settle myself at my new house, lest I should take Mr. Man's offer in case I found my Lord willing to it. 11th. I rose to-day without any pain, which makes me think that my pain yesterday was nothing but from my drinking too much the day before. To my Lord this morning, who did give me order to get some things ready against the afternoon for the Admiralty where he would meet. To the Privy Seal, and from thence going to my own house in Axeyard, I went in to Mrs. Crisp's, where I met with Mr. Hartlibb; for whom I wrote a letter for my Lord to sign for a ship for his brother and sister, who went away hence this day to Gravesend, and from thence to Holland. I found by discourse with Mrs. Crisp that he is very jealous of her, for that she is yet very kind to her old servant Meade. Hence to my Lord's to dinner with Mr. Sheply, so to the Privy Seal; and at night home, and then sent for the barber, and was trimmed in the kitchen, the first time that ever I was so. I was vexed this night that W. Hewer was out of doors till ten at night but was pretty well satisfied again when my wife told me that he wept because I was angry, though indeed he did give me a good reason for his being out; but I thought it a good occasion to let him know that I do expect his being at home. So to bed. 12th. Lord's day. To my Lord, and with him to White Hall Chappell, where Mr. Calamy preached, and made a good sermon upon these words "To whom much is given, of him much is required." He was very officious with his three reverences to the King, as others do. After sermon a brave anthem of Captain Cooke's, [Henry Cooke, chorister of the Chapel Royal, adhered to the royal cause at the breaking out of the Civil Wars, and for his bravery obtained a captain's commission. At the Restoration he received the appointment of Master of the Children of the Chapel Royal; he was an excellent musician, and three of his pupils turned out very distinguished musicians, viz, Pelham Humphrey, John Blow, and Michael Wise. He was one of the original performers in the "Siege, of Rhodes." He died July 13th, 1672,: and was buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. In another place, Pepys says, "a vain coxcomb he is, though he sings so well."] which he himself sung, and the King was well pleased with it. My Lord dined at my Lord Chamberlain's, and I at his house with Mr. Sheply. After dinner I did give Mr. Donne; who is going to sea, the key of my cabin and direction for the putting up of my things. After, that I went to walk, and meeting Mrs. Lane of Westminster Hall, I took her to my Lord's, and did give her a bottle of wine in the garden, where Mr. Fairbrother, of Cambridge, did come and found us, and drank with us. After that I took her to my house, where I was exceeding free in dallying with her, and she not unfree to take it. At night home and called at my father's, where I found Mr. Fairbrother, but I did not stay but went homewards and called in at Mr. Rawlinson's, whither my uncle Wight was coming and did come, but was exceeding angry (he being a little fuddled, and I think it was that I should see him in that case) as I never saw him in my life, which I was somewhat troubled at. Home and to bed. 13th. A sitting day at our office. After dinner to Whitehall; to the Privy Seal, whither my father came to me, and staid talking with me a great while, telling me that he had propounded Mr. John Pickering for Sir Thomas Honywood's daughter, which I think he do not deserve for his own merit: I know not what he may do for his estate. My father and Creed and I to the old Rhenish Winehouse, and talked and drank till night. Then my father home, and I to my Lord's; where he told me that he would suddenly go into the country, and so did commend the business of his sea commission to me in his absence. After that home by coach, and took my L100 that I had formerly left at Mr. Rawlinson's, home with me, which is the first that ever I was master of at once. To prayers, and to bed. 14th. To the Privy Seal, and thence to my Lord's, where Mr. Pim, the tailor, and I agreed upon making me a velvet coat. From thence to the Privy Seal again, where Sir Samuel Morland came in with a Baronet's grant to pass, which the King had given him to make money of. Here he staid with me a great while; and told me the whole manner of his serving the King in the time of the Protector; and how Thurloe's bad usage made him to do it; how he discovered Sir R. Willis, and how he hath sunk his fortune for the King; and that now the King hath given him a pension of L500 per annum out of the Post Office for life, and the benefit of two Baronets; all which do make me begin to think that he is not so much a fool as I took him to be. Home by water to the Tower, where my father, Mr. Fairbrother, and Cooke dined with me. After dinner in comes young Captain Cuttance of the Speedwell, who is sent up for the gratuity given the seamen that brought the King over. He brought me a firkin of butter for my wife, which is very welcome. My father, after dinner, takes leave, after I had given him 40s. for the last half year for my brother John at Cambridge. I did also make even with Mr. Fairbrother for my degree of Master of Arts, which cost me about L9 16s. To White Hall, and my wife with me by water, where at the Privy Seal and elsewhere all the afternoon. At night home with her by water, where I made good sport with having the girl and the boy to comb my head, before I went to bed, in the kitchen. 15th. To the office, and after dinner by water to White Hall, where I found the King gone this morning by 5 of the clock to see a Dutch pleasure-boat below bridge, [A yacht which was greatly admired, and was imitated and improved by Commissioner Pett, who built a yacht for the King in 1661, which was called the "Jenny." Queen Elizabeth had a yacht, and one was built by Phineas Pett in 1604.] where he dines, and my Lord with him. The King do tire all his people that are about him with early rising since he came. To the office, all the afternoon I staid there, and in the evening went to Westminster Hall, where I staid at Mrs. Michell's, and with her and her husband sent for some drink, and drank with them. By the same token she and Mrs. Murford and another old woman of the Hall were going a gossiping tonight. From thence to my Lord's, where I found him within, and he did give me direction about his business in his absence, he intending to go into the country to-morrow morning. Here I lay all night in the old chamber which I had now given up to W. Howe, with whom I did intend to lie, but he and I fell to play with one another, so that I made him to go lie with Mr. Sheply. So I lay alone all night. 16th. This morning my Lord (all things being ready) carried me by coach to Mr. Crew's, (in the way talking how good he did hope my place would be to me, and in general speaking that it was not the salary of any place that did make a man rich, but the opportunity of getting money while he is in the place) where he took leave, and went into the coach, and so for Hinchinbroke. My Lady Jemimah and Mr. Thomas Crew in the coach with him. Hence to Whitehall about noon, where I met with Mr. Madge, who took me along with him and Captain Cooke (the famous singer) and other masters of music to dinner at an ordinary about Charing Cross where we dined, all paying their club. Hence to the Privy Seal, where there has been but little work these two days. In the evening home. 17th. To the office, and that done home to dinner where Mr. Unthanke, my wife's tailor, dined with us, we having nothing but a dish of sheep's trotters. After dinner by water to Whitehall, where a great deal of business at the Privy Seal. At night I and Creed and the judge-Advocate went to Mr. Pim, the tailor's, who took us to the Half Moon, and there did give us great store of wine and anchovies, and would pay for them all. This night I saw Mr. Creed show many the strangest emotions to shift off his drink I ever saw in my life. By coach home and to bed. 18th. This morning I took my wife towards Westminster by water, and landed her at Whitefriars, with L5 to buy her a petticoat, and I to the Privy Seal. By and by comes my wife to tell me that my father has persuaded her to buy a most fine cloth of 26s. a yard, and a rich lace, that the petticoat will come to L5, at which I was somewhat troubled, but she doing it very innocently, I could not be angry. I did give her more money, and sent her away, and I and Creed and Captain Hayward (who is now unkindly put out of the Plymouth to make way for Captain Allen to go to Constantinople, and put into his ship the Dover, which I know will trouble my Lord) went and dined at the Leg in King Street, where Captain Ferrers, my Lord's Cornet, comes to us, who after dinner took me and Creed to the Cockpitt play, [The Cockpit Theatre, situated in Drury Lane, was occupied as a playhouse in the reign of James I. It was occupied by Davenant and his company in 1658, and they remained in it until November 15th, 1660, when they removed to Salisbury Court.] the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, "The Loyall Subject," where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life, only her voice not very good. After the play done, we three went to drink, and by Captain Ferrers' means, Kinaston and another that acted Archas, the General, came and drank with us. Hence home by coach, and after being trimmed, leaving my wife to look after her little bitch, which was just now a-whelping, I to bed. 19th (Lord's day). In the morning my wife tells me that the bitch has whelped four young ones and is very well after it, my wife having had a great fear that she would die thereof, the dog that got them being very big. This morning Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself, went to church to the churchwardens, to demand a pew, which at present could not be given us, but we are resolved to have one built. So we staid and heard Mr. Mills;' a very, good minister. Home to dinner, where my wife had on her new petticoat that she bought yesterday, which indeed is a very fine cloth and a fine lace; but that being of a light colour, and the lace all silver, it makes no great show. Mr. Creed and my brother Tom dined with me. After dinner my wife went and fetched the little puppies to us, which are very pretty ones. After they were gone, I went up to put my papers in order, and finding my wife's clothes lie carelessly laid up, I was angry with her, which I was troubled for. After that my wife and I went and walked in the garden, and so home to bed. 20th (Office day). As Sir W. Pen and I were walking in the garden, a messenger came to me from the Duke of York to fetch me to the Lord Chancellor. So (Mrs. Turner with her daughter The. being come to my house to speak with me about a friend of hers to send to sea) I went with her in her coach as far as Worcester House, but my Lord Chancellor being gone to the House of Lords, I went thither, and (there being a law case before them this day) got in, and there staid all the morning, seeing their manner of sitting on woolpacks, &c., which I never did before. [It is said that these woolpacks were placed in the House of Lords for the judges to sit on, so that the fact that wool was a main source of our national wealth might be kept in the popular mind. The Lord Chancellor's seat is now called the Woolsack.] After the House was up, I spoke to my Lord, and had order from him to come to him at night. This morning Mr. Creed did give me the Papers that concern my Lord's sea commission, which he left in my hands and went to sea this day to look after the gratuity money. This afternoon at the Privy Seal, where reckoning with Mr. Moore, he had got L100 for me together, which I was glad of, guessing that the profits of this month would come to L100. In the evening I went all alone to drink at Mr. Harper's, where I found Mrs. Crisp's daughter, with whom and her friends I staid and drank, and so with W. Hewer by coach to Worcester House, where I light, sending him home with the L100 that I received to-day. Here I staid, and saw my Lord Chancellor come into his Great Hall, where wonderful how much company there was to expect him at a Seal. Before he would begin any business, he took my papers of the state of the debts of the Fleet, and there viewed them before all the people, and did give me his advice privately how to order things, to get as much money as we can of the Parliament. That being done, I went home, where I found all my things come home from sea (sent by desire by Mr. Dun), of which I was glad, though many of my things are quite spoilt with mould by reason of lying so long a shipboard, and my cabin being not tight. I spent much time to dispose of them tonight, and so to bed. 21st. This morning I went to White Hall with Sir W. Pen by water, who in our passage told me how he was bred up under Sir W. Batten. We went to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and consulted of drawing my papers of debts of the Navy against the afternoon for the Committee. So to the Admiralty, where W. Hewer and I did them, and after that he went to his Aunt's Blackburn (who has a kinswoman dead at her house to-day, and was to be buried to-night, by which means he staid very late out). I to Westminster Hall, where I met Mr. Crew and dined with him, where there dined one Mr. Hickeman, an Oxford man, who spoke very much against the height of the now old clergy, for putting out many of the religious fellows of Colleges, and inveighing against them for their being drunk, which, if true, I am sorry to hear. After that towards Westminster, where I called on Mr. Pim, and there found my velvet coat (the first that ever I had) done, and a velvet mantle, which I took to the Privy Seal Office, and there locked them up, and went to the Queen's Court, and there, after much waiting, spoke with Colonel Birch, who read my papers, and desired some addition, which done I returned to the Privy Seal, where little to do, and with Mr. Moore towards London, and in our way meeting Monsieur Eschar (Mr. Montagu's man), about the Savoy, he took us to the Brazennose Tavern, and there drank and so parted, and I home by coach, and there, it being post-night, I wrote to my Lord to give him notice that all things are well; that General Monk is made Lieutenant of Ireland, which my Lord Roberts (made Deputy) do not like of, to be Deputy to any man but the King himself. After that to bed. 22nd. Office, which done, Sir W. Pen took me into the garden, and there told me how Mr. Turner do intend to petition the Duke for an allowance extra as one of the Clerks of the Navy, which he desired me to join with him in the furthering of, which I promised to do so that it did not reflect upon me or to my damage to have any other added, as if I was not able to perform my place; which he did wholly disown to be any of his intention, but far from it. I took Mr. Hater home with me to dinner, with whom I did advise, who did give me the same counsel. After dinner he and I to the office about doing something more as to the debts of the Navy than I had done yesterday, and so to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and having done there, with my father (who came to see me) to Westminster Hall and the Parliament House to look for Col. Birch, but found him not. In the House, after the Committee was up, I met with Mr. G. Montagu, and joyed him in his entrance (this being his 3d day) for Dover. Here he made me sit all alone in the House, none but he and I, half an hour, discoursing how things stand, and in short he told me how there was like to be many factions at Court between Marquis Ormond, General Monk, and the Lord Roberts, about the business of Ireland; as there is already between the two Houses about the Act of Indemnity; and in the House of Commons, between the Episcopalian and Presbyterian men. Hence to my father's (walking with Mr. Herring, the minister of St. Bride's), and took them to the Sun Tavern, where I found George, my old drawer, come again. From thence by water, landed them at Blackfriars, and so home and to bed. 23rd. By water to Doctors' Commons to Dr. Walker, to give him my Lord's papers to view over concerning his being empowered to be Vice-Admiral under the Duke of York. There meeting with Mr. Pinkney, he and I to a morning draft, and thence by water to White Hall, to the Parliament House, where I spoke with Colonel Birch, and so to the Admiralty chamber, where we and Mr. Coventry had a meeting about several businesses. Amongst others, it was moved that Phineas Pett (kinsman to the Commissioner) of Chatham, should be suspended his employment till he had answered some articles put in against him, as that he should formerly say that the King was a bastard and his mother a whore. Hence to Westminster Hall, where I met with my father Bowyer, and Mr. Spicer, and them I took to the Leg in King Street, and did give them a dish or two of meat, and so away to the Privy Seal, where, the King being out of town, we have had nothing to do these two days. To Westminster Hall, where I met with W. Symons, T. Doling, and Mr. Booth, and with them to the Dogg, where we eat a musk melon ["Melons were hardly known in England till Sir George Gardiner brought one from Spain, when they became in general estimation. The ordinary price was five or six shillings."--Quarterly Review, vol, xix.] (the first that I have eat this year), and were very merry with W. Symons, calling him Mr. Dean, because of the Dean's lands that his uncle had left him, which are like to be lost all. Hence home by water, and very late at night writing letters to my Lord to Hinchinbroke, and also to the Vice-Admiral in the Downs, and so to bed. 24th. Office, and thence with Sir William Batten and Sir William Pen to the parish church to find out a place where to build a seat or a gallery to sit in, and did find one which is to be done speedily. Hence with them to dinner at a tavern in Thames Street, where they were invited to a roasted haunch of venison and other very good victuals and company. Hence to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, but nothing to do. At night by land to my father's, where I found my mother not very well. I did give her a pint of sack. My father came in, and Dr. T. Pepys, who talked with me in French about looking out for a place for him. But I found him a weak man, and speaks the worst French that ever I heard of one that had been so long beyond sea. Hence into Pant's Churchyard and bought Barkley's Argenis in Latin, and so home and to bed. I found at home that Captain Burr had sent me 4 dozen bottles of wine today. The King came back to Whitehall to-night. 25th. This morning Mr. Turner and I by coach from our office to Whitehall (in our way I calling on Dr. Walker for the papers I did give him the other day, which he had perused and found that the Duke's counsel had abated something of the former draught which Dr. Walker drew for my Lord) to Sir G. Carteret, where we there made up an estimate of the debts of the Navy for the Council. At noon I took Mr. Turner and Mr. Moore to the Leg in King Street, and did give them a dinner, and afterward to the Sun Tavern, and did give Mr. Turner a glass of wine, there coming to us Mr. Fowler the apothecary (the judge's son) with a book of lute lessons which his father had left there for me, such as he formerly did use to play when a young man, and had the use of his hand. To the Privy Seal, and found some business now again to do there. To Westminster Hall for a new half-shirt of Mrs. Lane, and so home by water. Wrote letters by the post to my Lord and to sea. This night W. Hewer brought me home from Mr. Pim's my velvet coat and cap, the first that ever I had. So to bed. 26th (Lord's day). With Sir W. Pen to the parish church, where we are placed in the highest pew of all, where a stranger preached a dry and tedious long sermon. Dined at home. To church again in the afternoon with my wife; in the garden and on the leads at night, and so to supper and to bed. 27th. This morning comes one with a vessel of Northdown ale from Mr. Pierce, the purser, to me, and after him another with a brave Turkey carpet and a jar of olives from Captain Cuttance, and a pair of fine turtle-doves from John Burr to my wife. These things came up to-day in our smack, and my boy Ely came along with them, and came after office was done to see me. I did give him half a crown because I saw that he was ready to cry to see that he could not be entertained by me here. In the afternoon to the Privy Seal, where good store of work now toward the end of the month. From thence with Mr. Mount, Luellin, and others to the Bull head till late, and so home, where about to o'clock Major Hart came to me, whom I did receive with wine and anchovies, which made me so dry that I was ill with them all night, and was fain to have the girle rise and fetch me some drink. 28th. At home looking over my papers and books and house as to the fitting of it to my mind till two in the afternoon. Some time I spent this morning beginning to teach my wife some scale in music, and found her apt beyond imagination. To the Privy Seal, where great store of work to-day. Colonel Scroope--[Colonel Adrian Scroope, one of the persons who sat in judgment upon Charles I.]--is this day excepted out of the Act of Indemnity, which has been now long in coming out, but it is expected to-morrow. I carried home L80 from the Privy Seal, by coach, and at night spent a little more time with my wife about her music with great content. This day I heard my poor mother had then two days been very ill, and I fear she will not last long. To bed, a little troubled that I fear my boy Will [Pepys refers to two Wills. This was Will Wayneman; the other was William Hewer.] is a thief and has stole some money of mine, particularly a letter that Mr. Jenkins did leave the last week with me with half a crown in it to send to his son. 29th (Office day). Before I went to the office my wife and I examined my boy Will about his stealing of things, but he denied all with the greatest subtlety and confidence in the world. To the office, and after office then to the Church, where we took another view of the place where we had resolved to build a gallery, and have set men about doing it. Home to dinner, and there I found my wife had discovered my boy Will's theft and a great deal more than we imagined, at which I was vexed and intend to put him away. To my office at the Privy Seal in the afternoon, and from thence at night to the Bull Head, with Mount, Luellin, and others, and hence to my father's, and he being at my uncle Fenner's, I went thither to him, and there sent for my boy's father and talked with him about his son, and had his promise that if I will send home his boy, he will take him notwithstanding his indenture. Home at night, and find that my wife had found out more of the boy's stealing 6s. out of W. Hewer's closet, and hid it in the house of office, at which my heart was troubled. To bed, and caused the boy's clothes to be brought up to my chamber. But after we were all a-bed, the wench (which lies in our chamber) called us to listen of a sudden, which put my wife into such a fright that she shook every joint of her, and a long time that I could not get her out of it. The noise was the boy, we did believe, got in a desperate mood out of his bed to do himself or William [Hewer] some mischief. But the wench went down and got a candle lighted, and finding the boy in bed, and locking the doors fast, with a candle burning all night, we slept well, but with a great deal of fear. 30th. We found all well in the morning below stairs, bu the boy in a sad plight of seeming sorrow; but he is the most cunning rogue that ever I met with of his age. To White Hall, where I met with the Act of Indemnity--[12 Car. II. cap. II, an act of free and general pardon, indemnity, and oblivion.]--(so long talked of and hoped for), with the Act of Rate for Pole-money, an for judicial proceedings. At Westminster Hall I met with Mr. Paget the lawyer, and dined with him at Heaven. This afternoon my wife went to Mr. Pierce's wife's child's christening, and was urged to be godmother, but I advised her before-hand not to do it, so she did not, but as proxy for my Lady Jemimah. This the first day that ever I saw my wife wear black patches since we were married! [The fashion of placing black patches on the face was introduced towards the close of the reign of Charles I., and the practice is ridiculed in the "Spectator."] My Lord came to town to-day, but coming not home till very late I staid till 10 at night, and so home on foot. Mr. Sheply and Mr. Childe this night at the tavern. 31st. Early to wait upon my Lord at White Hall, and with him to the Duke's chamber. So to my office in Seething Lane. Dined at home, and after dinner to my Lord again, who told me that he is ordered to go suddenly to sea, and did give me some orders to be drawing up against his going. This afternoon I agreed to let my house quite out of my hands to Mr. Dalton (one of the wine sellers to the King, with whom I had drunk in the old wine cellar two or three times) for L41. At night made even at Privy Seal for this month against tomorrow to give up possession, but we know not to whom, though we most favour Mr. Bickerstaffe, with whom and Mr. Matthews we drank late after office was done at the Sun, discoursing what to do about it tomorrow against Baron, and so home and to bed. Blessed be God all things continue well with and for me. I pray God fit me for a change of my fortune. SEPTEMBER 1660 September 1st. This morning I took care to get a vessel to carry my Lord's things to the Downs on Monday next, and so to White Hall to my Lord, where he and I did look over the Commission drawn for him by the Duke's Council, which I do not find my Lord displeased with, though short of what Dr. Walker did formerly draw for him. Thence to the Privy Seal to see how things went there, and I find that Mr. Baron had by a severe warrant from the King got possession of the office from his brother Bickerstaffe, which is very strange, and much to our admiration, it being against all open justice. Mr. Moore and I and several others being invited to-day by Mr. Goodman, a friend of his, we dined at the Bullhead upon the best venison pasty that ever I eat of in my life, and with one dish more, it was the best dinner I ever was at. Here rose in discourse at table a dispute between Mr. Moore and Dr. Clerke, the former affirming that it was essential to a tragedy to have the argument of it true, which the Doctor denied, and left it to me to be judge, and the cause to be determined next Tuesday morning at the same place, upon the eating of the remains of the pasty, and the loser to spend 10s. All this afternoon sending express to the fleet, to order things against my Lord's coming and taking direction of my Lord about some rich furniture to take along with him for the Princess!--[Mary, Princess Royal and Princess of Orange, who died in December of this year.]--And talking of this, I hear by Mr. Townsend, that there is the greatest preparation against the Prince de Ligne's a coming over from the King of Spain, that ever was in England for their Embassador. Late home, and what with business and my boy's roguery my mind being unquiet, I went to bed. 2nd (Sunday). To Westminster, my Lord being gone before my coming to chapel. I and Mr. Sheply told out my money, and made even for my Privy Seal fees and gratuity money, &c., to this day between my Lord and me. After that to chappell, where Dr. Fern, a good honest sermon upon "The Lord is my shield." After sermon a dull anthem, and so to my Lord's (he dining abroad) and dined with Mr. Sheply. So, to St. Margarett's, and heard a good sermon upon the text "Teach us the old way," or something like it, wherein he ran over all the new tenets in policy and religion, which have brought us into all our late divisions. From church to Mrs. Crisp's (having sent Win. Hewer home to tell my wife that I could not come home to-night because of my Lord's going out early to-morrow morning), where I sat late, and did give them a great deal of wine, it being a farewell cup to Laud Crisp. I drank till the daughter began to be very loving to me and kind, and I fear is not so good as she should be. To my Lord's, and to bed with Mr. Sheply. 3rd. Up and to Mr.-----, the goldsmith near the new Exchange, where I bought my wedding ring, and there, with much ado, got him to put a gold ring to the jewell, which the King of Sweden did give my Lord: out of which my Lord had now taken the King's picture, and intends to make a George of it. This morning at my Lord's I had an opportunity to speak with Sir George Downing, who has promised me to give me up my bond, and to pay me for my last quarter while I was at sea, that so I may pay Mr. Moore and Hawly. About noon my Lord, having taken leave of the King in the Shield Gallery (where I saw with what kindness the King did hug my Lord at his parting), I went over with him and saw him in his coach at Lambeth, and there took leave of him, he going to the Downs, which put me in mind of his first voyage that ever he made, which he did begin like this from Lambeth. In the afternoon with Mr. Moore to my house to cast up our Privy Seal accounts, where I found that my Lord's comes to 400 and odd pounds, and mine to L132, out of which I do give him as good as L25 for his pains, with which I doubt he is not satisfied, but my heart is full glad. Thence with him to Mr. Crew's, and did fetch as much money as did make even our accounts between him and me. Home, and there found Mr. Cooke come back from my Lord for me to get him some things bought for him to be brought after them, a toilet cap and comb case of silk, to make use of in Holland, for he goes to the Hague, which I can do to-morrow morning. This day my father and my uncle Fenner, and both his sons, have been at my house to see it, and my wife did treat them nobly with wine and anchovies. By reason of my Lord's going to-day I could not get the office to meet to-day. 4th. I did many things this morning at home before I went out, as looking over the joiners, who are flooring my diningroom, and doing business with Sir Williams ["Both Sir Williams" is a favourite expression with Pepys, meaning Sir William Batten and Sir William Penn.] both at the office, and so to Whitehall, and so to the Bullhead, where we had the remains of our pasty, where I did give my verdict against Mr. Moore upon last Saturday's wager, where Dr. Fuller coming in do confirm me in my verdict. From thence to my Lord's and despatched Mr. Cooke away with the things to my Lord. From thence to Axe Yard to my house, where standing at the door Mrs. Diana comes by, whom I took into my house upstairs, and there did dally with her a great while, and found that in Latin "Nulla puella negat." So home by water, and there sat up late setting my papers in order, and my money also, and teaching my wife her music lesson, in which I take great pleasure. So to bed. 5th. To the office. From thence by coach upon the desire of the principal officers to a Master of Chancery to give Mr. Stowell his oath, whereby he do answer that he did hear Phineas Pett say very high words against the King a great while ago. Coming back our coach broke, and so Stowell and I to Mr. Rawlinson's, and after a glass of wine parted, and I to the office, home to dinner, where (having put away my boy in the morning) his father brought him again, but I did so clear up my boy's roguery to his father, that he could not speak against my putting him away, and so I did give him 10s. for the boy's clothes that I made him, and so parted and tore his indenture. All the afternoon with the principal officers at Sir W. Batten's about Pett's business (where I first saw Col. Slingsby, who has now his appointment for Comptroller), but did bring it to no issue. This day I saw our Dedimus to be sworn in the peace by, which will be shortly. In the evening my wife being a little impatient I went along with her to buy her a necklace of pearl, which will cost L4 10s., which I am willing to comply with her in for her encouragement, and because I have lately got money, having now above L200 in cash beforehand in the world. Home, and having in our way bought a rabbit and two little lobsters, my wife and I did sup late, and so to bed. Great news now-a-day of the Duke d'Anjou's [Philip, Duke of Anjou, afterwards Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV. (born 1640, died 1701), married the Princess Henrietta, youngest daughter of Charles I., who was born June 16th, 1644, at Exeter. She was known as "La belle Henriette." In May, 1670, she came to Dover on a political mission from Louis XIV. to her brother Charles II., but the visit was undertaken much against the wish of her husband. Her death occurred on her return to France, and was attributed to poison. It was the occasion of one of the finest of Bossuet's "Oraisons Funebres."] desire to marry the Princesse Henrietta. Hugh Peters is said to be taken, [Hugh Peters, born at Fowey, Cornwall, and educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated M.A. 1622. He was tried as one of the regicides, and executed. A broadside, entitled "The Welsh Hubub, or the Unkennelling and earthing of Hugh Peters that crafty Fox," was printed October 3rd, 1660.] and the Duke of Gloucester is ill, and it is said it will prove the small-pox. 6th. To Whitehall by water with Sir W. Batten, and in our passage told me how Commissioner Pett did pay himself for the entertainment that he did give the King at Chatham at his coming in, and 20s. a day all the time he was in Holland, which I wonder at, and so I see there is a great deal of envy between the two. At Whitehall I met with Commissioner Pett, who told me how Mr. Coventry and Fairbank his solicitor are falling out, one complaining of the other for taking too great fees, which is too true. I find that Commissioner Pett is under great discontent, and is loth to give too much money for his place, and so do greatly desire me to go along with him in what we shall agree to give Mr. Coventry, which I have promised him, but am unwilling to mix my fortune with him that is going down the wind. We all met this morning and afterwards at the Admiralty, where our business is to ask provision of victuals ready for the ships in the Downs, which we did, Mr. Gauden promising to go himself thither and see it done. Dined Will and I at my Lord's upon a joint of meat that I sent Mrs. Sarah for. Afterwards to my office and sent all my books to my Lord's, in order to send them to my house that I now dwell in. Home and to bed. 7th. Not office day, and in the afternoon at home all the day, it being the first that I have been at home all day since I came hither. Putting my papers, books and other things in order, and writing of letters. This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland. 8th. All day also at home. At night sent for by Sir W. Pen, with whom I sat late drinking a glass of wine and discoursing, and I find him to be a very sociable man, and an able man, and very cunning. 9th (Sunday). In the morning with Sir W. Pen to church, and a very good sermon of Mr. Mills. Home to dinner, and Sir W. Pen with me to such as I had, and it was very handsome, it being the first time that he ever saw my wife or house since we came hither. Afternoon to church with my wife, and after that home, and there walked with Major Hart, who came to see me, in the garden, who tells me that we are all like to be speedily disbanded; [The Trained Bands were abolished in 1663, but those of the City of London were specially excepted. The officers of the Trained Bands were supplied by the Hon. Artillery Company.] and then I lose the benefit of a muster. After supper to bed. 10th (Office day). News of the Duke's intention to go tomorrow to the fleet for a day or two to meet his sister. Col. Slingsby and I to Whitehall, thinking to proffer our service to the Duke to wait upon him, but meeting with Sir G. Carteret he sent us in all haste back again to hire two Catches for the present use of the Duke. So we returned and landed at the Bear at the Bridge foot, where we saw Southwark Fair (I having not at all seen Bartholomew Fair), and so to the Tower wharf, where we did hire two catches. So to the office and found Sir W. Batten at dinner with some friends upon a good chine of beef, on which I ate heartily, I being very hungry. Home, where Mr. Snow (whom afterwards we called one another cozen) came to me to see me, and with him and one Shelston, a simple fellow that looks after an employment (that was with me just upon my going to sea last), to a tavern, where till late with them. So home, having drunk too much, and so to bed. 11th. At Sir W. Batten's with Sir W. Pen we drank our morning draft, and from thence for an hour in the office and dispatch a little business. Dined at Sir W. Batten's, and by this time I see that we are like to have a very good correspondence and neighbourhood, but chargeable. All the afternoon at home looking over my carpenters. At night I called Thos. Hater out of the office to my house to sit and talk with me. After he was gone I caused the girl to wash the wainscot of our parlour, which she did very well, which caused my wife and I good sport. Up to my chamber to read a little, and wrote my Diary for three or four days past. The Duke of York did go to-day by break of day to the Downs. The Duke of Gloucester ill. The House of Parliament was to adjourn to-day. I know not yet whether it be done or no. To bed. 12th (Office day). This noon I expected to have had my cousin Snow and my father come to dine with me, but it being very rainy they did not come. My brother Tom came to my house with a letter from my brother John, wherein he desires some books: Barthol. Anatom., Rosin. Rom. Antiq., and Gassend. Astronom., the last of which I did give him, and an angel--[A gold coin varying in value at different times from 6s. 8d. to 10s.]--against my father buying of the others. At home all the afternoon looking after my workmen, whose laziness do much trouble me. This day the Parliament adjourned. 13th. Old East comes to me in the morning with letters, and I did give him a bottle of Northdown ale, which made the poor man almost drunk. In the afternoon my wife went to the burial of a child of my cozen Scott's, and it is observable that within this month my Aunt Wight was brought to bed of two girls, my cozen Stradwick of a girl and a boy, and my cozen Scott of a boy, and all died. In the afternoon to Westminster, where Mr. Dalton was ready with his money to pay me for my house, but our writings not being drawn it could not be done to-day. I met with Mr. Hawly, who was removing his things from Mr. Bowyer's, where he has lodged a great while, and I took him and W. Bowyer to the Swan and drank, and Mr. Hawly did give me a little black rattoon,--[Probably an Indian rattan cane.]--painted and gilt. Home by water. This day the Duke of Gloucester died of the small-pox, by the great negligence of the doctors. 14th (Office day). I got L42 15s. appointed me by bill for my employment of Secretary to the 4th of this month, it being the last money I shall receive upon that score. My wife went this afternoon to see my mother, who I hear is very ill, at which my heart is very sad. In the afternoon Luellin comes to my house, and takes me out to the Mitre in Wood Street, where Mr. Samford, W. Symons and his wife, and Mr. Scobell, Mr. Mount and Chetwind, where they were very merry, Luellin being drunk, and I being to defend the ladies from his kissing them, I kissed them myself very often with a great deal of mirth. Parted very late, they by coach to Westminster, and I on foot. 15th. Met very early at our office this morning to pick out the twenty-five ships which are to be first paid off: After that to Westminster and dined with Mr. Dalton at his office, where we had one great court dish, but our papers not being done we could [not] make an end of our business till Monday next. Mr. Dalton and I over the water to our landlord Vanly, with whom we agree as to Dalton becoming a tenant. Back to Westminster, where I met with Dr. Castles, who chidd me for some errors in our Privy-Seal business; among the rest, for letting the fees of the six judges pass unpaid, which I know not what to say to, till I speak to Mr. Moore. I was much troubled, for fear of being forced to pay the money myself. Called at my father's going home, and bespoke mourning for myself, for the death of the Duke of Gloucester. I found my mother pretty well. So home and to bed. 16th (Sunday). To Dr. Hardy's church, and sat with Mr. Rawlinson and heard a good sermon upon the occasion of the Duke's death. His text was, "And is there any evil in the city and the Lord hath not done it?" Home to dinner, having some sport with Win. [Hewer], who never had been at Common Prayer before. After dinner I alone to Westminster, where I spent my time walking up and down in Westminster Abbey till sermon time with Ben. Palmer and Fetters the watchmaker, who told me that my Lord of Oxford is also dead of the small-pox; in whom his family dies, after 600 years having that honour in their family and name. From thence to the Park, where I saw how far they had proceeded in the Pell-mell, and in making a river through the Park, which I had never seen before since it was begun. [This is the Mall in St. James's Park, which was made by Charles II., the former Mall (Pall Mall) having been built upon during the Commonwealth. Charles II. also formed the canal by throwing the several small ponds into one.] Thence to White Hall garden, where I saw the King in purple mourning for his brother. ["The Queen-mother of France," says Ward, in his Diary, p. 177, "died at Agrippina, 1642, and her son Louis, 1643, for whom King Charles mourned in Oxford in purple, which is Prince's mourning."] So home, and in my way met with Dinah, who spoke to me and told me she had a desire to speak too about some business when I came to Westminster again. Which she spoke in such a manner that I was afraid she might tell me something that I would not hear of our last meeting at my house at Westminster. Home late, being very dark. A gentleman in the Poultry had a great and dirty fall over a waterpipe that lay along the channel. 17th. Office very early about casting up the debts of those twenty-five ships which are to be paid off, which we are to present to the Committee of Parliament. I did give my wife L15 this morning to go to buy mourning things for her and me, which she did. Dined at home and Mr. Moore with me, and afterwards to Whitehall to Mr. Dalton and drank in the Cellar, where Mr. Vanly according to appointment was. Thence forth to see the Prince de Ligne, Spanish Embassador, come in to his audience, which was done in very great state. That being done, Dalton, Vanly, Scrivener and some friends of theirs and I to the Axe, and signed and sealed our writings, and hence to the Wine cellar again, where I received L41 for my interest in my house, out of which I paid my Landlord to Michaelmas next, and so all is even between him and me, and I freed of my poor little house. Home by link with my money under my arm. So to bed after I had looked over the things my wife had bought to-day, with which being not very well pleased, they costing too much, I went to bed in a discontent. Nothing yet from sea, where my Lord and the Princess are. 18th. At home all the morning looking over my workmen in my house. After dinner Sir W. Batten, Pen, and myself by coach to Westminster Hall, where we met Mr. Wayte the lawyer to the Treasurer, and so we went up to the Committee of Parliament, which are to consider of the debts of the Army and Navy, and did give in our account of the twenty-five ships. Col. Birch was very impertinent and troublesome. But at last we did agree to fit the accounts of our ships more perfectly for their view within a few days, that they might see what a trouble it is to do what they desire. From thence Sir Williams both going by water home, I took Mr. Wayte to the Rhenish winehouse, and drank with him and so parted. Thence to Mr. Crew's and spoke with Mr. Moore about the business of paying off Baron our share of the dividend. So on foot home, by the way buying a hat band and other things for my mourning to-morrow. So home and to bed. This day I heard that the Duke of York, upon the news of the death of his brother yesterday, came hither by post last night. 19th (Office day). I put on my mourning and went to the office. At noon thinking to have found my wife in hers, I found that the tailor had failed her, at which I was vexed because of an invitation that we have to a dinner this day, but after having waited till past one o'clock I went, and left her to put on some other clothes and come after me to the Mitre tavern in Wood-street (a house of the greatest note in London), where I met W. Symons, and D. Scobell, and their wives, Mr. Samford, Luellin, Chetwind, one Mr. Vivion, and Mr. White, [According to Noble, Jeremiah White married Lady Frances Cromwell's waiting-woman, in Oliver's lifetime, and they lived together fifty years. Lady Frances had two husbands, Mr. Robert Rich and Sir John Russell of Chippenham, the last of whom she survived fifty-two years dying 1721-22 The story is, that Oliver found White on his knees to Frances Cromwell, and that, to save himself, he pretended to have been soliciting her interest with her waiting-woman, whom Oliver compelled him to marry. (Noble's "Life of Cromwell," vol. ii. pp. 151, 152.) White was born in 1629 and died 1707.] formerly chaplin to the Lady Protectresse--[Elizabeth, wife of Oliver Cromwell.]--(and still so, and one they say that is likely to get my Lady Francess for his wife). Here we were very merry and had a very good dinner, my wife coming after me hither to us. Among other pleasures some of us fell to handycapp, ["A game at cards not unlike Loo, but with this difference, the winner of one trick has to put in a double stake, the winner of two tricks a triple stake, and so on. Thus, if six persons are playing, and the general stake is 1s., suppose A gains the three tricks, he gains 6s., and has to 'hand i' the cap,' or pool, 4s. for the next deal. Suppose A gains two tricks and B one, then A gains 4s. and B 2s., and A has to stake 3s. and B 2s. for the next deal."--Hindley's Tavern Anecdotes.--M. B.] a sport that I never knew before, which was very good. We staid till it was very late; it rained sadly, but we made shift to get coaches. So home and to bed. 20th. At home, and at the office, and in the garden walking with both Sir Williams all the morning. After dinner to Whitehall to Mr. Dalton, and with him to my house and took away all my papers that were left in my closet, and so I have now nothing more in the house or to do with it. We called to speak with my Landlord Beale, but he was not within but spoke with the old woman, who takes it very ill that I did not let her have it, but I did give her an answer. From thence to Sir G. Downing and staid late there (he having sent for me to come to him), which was to tell me how my Lord Sandwich had disappointed him of a ship to bring over his child and goods, and made great complaint thereof; but I got him to write a letter to Lawson, which it may be may do the business for him, I writing another also about it. While he was writing, and his Lady and I had a great deal of discourse in praise of Holland. By water to the Bridge, and so to Major Hart's lodgings in Cannon-street, who used me very kindly with wine and good discourse, particularly upon the ill method which Colonel Birch and the Committee use in defending of the army and the navy; promising the Parliament to save them a great deal of money, when we judge that it will cost the King more than if they had nothing to do with it, by reason of their delays and scrupulous enquirys into the account of both. So home and to bed. 21st (Office day). There all the morning and afternoon till 4 o'clock. Hence to Whitehall, thinking to have put up my books at my Lord's, but am disappointed from want of a chest which I had at Mr. Bowyer's. Back by water about 8 o'clock, and upon the water saw the corpse of the Duke of Gloucester brought down Somerset House stairs, to go by water to Westminster, to be buried to-night. I landed at the old Swan and went to the Hoop Tavern, and (by a former agreement) sent for Mr. Chaplin, who with Nicholas Osborne and one Daniel came to us and we drank off two or three quarts of wine, which was very good; the drawing of our wine causing a great quarrel in the house between the two drawers which should draw us the best, which caused a great deal of noise and falling out till the master parted them, and came up to us and did give us a large account of the liberty that he gives his servants, all alike, to draw what wine they will to please his customers; and we did eat above 200 walnuts. About to o'clock we broke up and so home, and in my way I called in with them at Mr. Chaplin's, where Nicholas Osborne did give me a barrel of samphire, [Samphire was formerly a favourite pickle; hence the "dangerous trade" of the samphire gatherer ("King Lear," act iv. sc. 6) who supplied the demand. It was sold in the streets, and one of the old London cries was "I ha' Rock Samphier, Rock Samphier!"] and showed me the keys of Mardyke Fort, [A fort four miles east of Dunkirk, probably dismantled when that town was sold to Louis XIV.] which he that was commander of the fort sent him as a token when the fort was demolished, which I was mightily pleased to see, and will get them of him if I can. Home, where I found my boy (my maid's brother) come out of the country to-day, but was gone to bed and so I could not see him to-night. To bed. 22nd. This morning I called up my boy, and found him a pretty, well-looked boy, and one that I think will please me. I went this morning by land to Westminster along with Luellin, who came to my house this morning to get me to go with him to Capt. Allen to speak with him for his brother to go with him to Constantinople, but could not find him. We walked on to Fleet street, where at Mr. Standing's in Salsbury Court we drank our morning draft and had a pickled herring. Among other discourse here he told me how the pretty woman that I always loved at the beginning of Cheapside that sells child's coats was served by the Lady Bennett (a famous strumpet), who by counterfeiting to fall into a swoon upon the sight of her in her shop, became acquainted with her, and at last got her ends of her to lie with a gentleman that had hired her to procure this poor soul for him. To Westminster to my Lord's, and there in the house of office vomited up all my breakfast, my stomach being ill all this day by reason of the last night's debauch. Here I sent to Mr. Bowyer's for my chest and put up my books and sent them home. I staid here all day in my Lord's chamber and upon the leads gazing upon Diana, who looked out of a window upon me. At last I went out to Mr. Harper's, and she standing over the way at the gate, I went over to her and appointed to meet to-morrow in the afternoon at my Lord's. Here I bought a hanging jack. From thence by coach home by the way at the New Exchange [In the Strand; built, under the auspices of James I., in 1608, out of the stables of Durham House, the site of the present Adelphi. The New Exchange stood where Coutts's banking-house now is. "It was built somewhat on the model of the Royal Exchange, with cellars beneath, a walk above, and rows of shops over that, filled chiefly with milliners, sempstresses, and the like." It was also called "Britain's Burse." "He has a lodging in the Strand... to watch when ladies are gone to the china houses, or to the Exchange, that he may meet them by chance and give them presents, some two or three hundred pounds worth of toys, to be laughed at"--Ben Jonson, The Silent Woman, act i. sc. 1.] I bought a pair of short black stockings, to wear over a pair of silk ones for mourning; and here I met with The. Turner and Joyce, buying of things to go into mourning too for the Duke, (which is now the mode of all the ladies in town), where I wrote some letters by the post to Hinchinbroke to let them know that this day Mr. Edw. Pickering is come from my Lord, and says that he left him well in Holland, and that he will be here within three or four days. To-day not well of my last night's drinking yet. I had the boy up to-night for his sister to teach him to put me to bed, and I heard him read, which he did pretty well. 23rd (Lord's day). My wife got up to put on her mourning to-day and to go to Church this morning. I up and set down my journall for these 5 days past. This morning came one from my father's with a black cloth coat, made of my short cloak, to walk up and down in. To church my wife and I, with Sir W. Batten, where we heard of Mr. Mills a very good sermon upon these words, "So run that ye may obtain." After dinner all alone to Westminster. At Whitehall I met with Mr. Pierce and his wife (she newly come forth after childbirth) both in mourning for the Duke of Gloucester. She went with Mr. Child to Whitehall chapel and Mr. Pierce with me to the Abbey, where I expected to hear Mr. Baxter or Mr. Rowe preach their farewell sermon, and in Mr. Symons's pew I sat and heard Mr. Rowe. Before sermon I laughed at the reader, who in his prayer desires of God that He would imprint his word on the thumbs of our right hands and on the right great toes of our right feet. In the midst of the sermon some plaster fell from the top of the Abbey, that made me and all the rest in our pew afeard, and I wished myself out. After sermon with Mr. Pierce to Whitehall, and from thence to my Lord, but Diana did not come according to our agreement. So calling at my father's (where my wife had been this afternoon but was gone home) I went home. This afternoon, the King having news of the Princess being come to Margate, he and the Duke of York went down thither in barges to her. 24th (Office day). From thence to dinner by coach with my wife to my Cozen Scott's, and the company not being come, I went over the way to the Barber's. So thither again to dinner, where was my uncle Fenner and my aunt, my father and mother, and others. Among the rest my Cozen Rich. Pepys, [Richard Pepys, eldest son of Richard Pepys, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland. He went to Boston, Mass., in 1634, and returned to England about 1646.] their elder brother, whom I had not seen these fourteen years, ever since he came from New England. It was strange for us to go a gossiping to her, she having newly buried her child that she was brought to bed of. I rose from table and went to the Temple church, where I had appointed Sir W. Batten to meet him; and there at Sir Heneage Finch Sollicitor General's chambers, before him and Sir W. Wilde, [William Wilde, elected Recorder on November 3rd, 1659, and appointed one of the commissioners sent to Breda to desire Charles II. to return to England immediately. He was knighted after the King's return, called to the degree of Serjeant, and created a baronet, all in the same year. In 1668 he ceased to be Recorder, and was appointed judge of the Court of Common Pleas. In 1673 he was removed to the King's Bench. He was turned out of his office in 1679 on account of his action in connection with the Popish Plot, and died November 23rd of the same year.] Recorder of London (whom we sent for from his chamber) we were sworn justices of peace for Middlesex, Essex, Kent, and Southampton; with which honour I did find myself mightily pleased, though I am wholly ignorant in the duty of a justice of peace. From thence with Sir William to Whitehall by water (old Mr. Smith with us) intending to speak with Secretary Nicholas about the augmentation of our salaries, but being forth we went to the Three Tuns tavern, where we drank awhile, and then came in Col. Slingsby and another gentleman and sat with us. From thence to my Lord's to enquire whether they have had any thing from my Lord or no. Knocking at the door, there passed me Mons. L'Impertinent [Mr. Butler] for whom I took a coach and went with him to a dancing meeting in Broad Street, at the house that was formerly the glass-house, Luke Channel, Master of the School, where I saw good dancing, but it growing late, and the room very full of people and so very hot, I went home. 25th. To the office, where Sir W. Batten, Colonel Slingsby, and I sat awhile, and Sir R. Ford [Sir Richard Ford was one of the commissioners sent to Breda to desire Charles II. to return to England immediately.] coming to us about some business, we talked together of the interest of this kingdom to have a peace with Spain and a war with France and Holland; where Sir R. Ford talked like a man of great reason and experience. And afterwards I did send for a cup of tee' [That excellent and by all Physicians, approved, China drink, called by the Chineans Tcha, by other nations Tay alias Tee, is sold at the Sultaness Head Coffee-House, in Sweetings Rents, by the "Royal Exchange, London." "Coffee, chocolate, and a kind of drink called tee, sold in almost every street in 1659."--Rugge's Diurnal. It is stated in "Boyne's Trade Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., 1889, p. 593 "that the word tea occurs on no other tokens than those issued from 'the Great Turk' (Morat ye Great) coffeehouse in Exchange Alley. The Dutch East India Company introduced tea into Europe in 1610, and it is said to have been first imported into England from Holland about 1650. The English "East India Company" purchased and presented 2 lbs. of tea to Charles II. in 1660, and 23 lbs. in 1666. The first order for its importation by the company was in 1668, and the first consignment of it, amounting to 143 lbs., was received from Bantam in 1669 (see Sir George Birdwood's "Report on the Old Records at the India Office," 1890, p. 26). By act 12 Car. II., capp. 23, 24, a duty of 8d. per gallon was imposed upon the infusion of tea, as well as on chocolate and sherbet.] (a China drink) of which I never had drank before, and went away. Then came Col. Birch and Sir R. Browne by a former appointment, and with them from Tower wharf in the barge belonging to our office we went to Deptford to pay off the ship Success, which (Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Pen coming afterwards to us) we did, Col. Birch being a mighty busy man and one that is the most indefatigable and forward to make himself work of any man that ever I knew in my life. At the Globe we had a very good dinner, and after that to the pay again, which being finished we returned by water again, and I from our office with Col. Slingsby by coach to Westminster (I setting him down at his lodgings by the way) to inquire for my Lord's coming thither (the King and the Princess ["The Princess Royall came from Gravesend to Whitehall by water, attended by a noble retinue of about one hundred persons, gentry, and servants, and tradesmen, and tirewomen, and others, that took that opportunity to advance their fortunes, by coming in with so excellent a Princess as without question she is."-Rugge's Diurnal. A broadside, entitled "Ourania, the High and Mighty Lady the Princess Royal of Aurange, congratulated on her most happy arrival, September the 25th, 1660," was printed on the 29th.] coming up the river this afternoon as we were at our pay), and I found him gone to Mr. Crew's, where I found him well, only had got some corns upon his foot which was not well yet. My Lord told me how the ship that brought the Princess and him (The Tredagh) did knock six times upon the Kentish Knock, [A shoal in the North Sea, off the Thames mouth, outside the Long Sand, fifteen miles N.N.E. of the North Foreland. It measures seven miles north-eastward, and about two miles in breadth. It is partly dry at low water. A revolving light was set up in 1840.] which put them in great fear for the ship; but got off well. He told me also how the King had knighted Vice-Admiral Lawson and Sir Richard Stayner. From him late and by coach home, where the plasterers being at work in all the rooms in my house, my wife was fain to make a bed upon the ground for her and me, and so there we lay all night. 26th. Office day. That done to the church, to consult about our gallery. So home to dinner, where I found Mrs. Hunt, who brought me a letter for me to get my Lord to sign for her husband, which I shall do for her. At home with the workmen all the afternoon, our house being in a most sad pickle. In the evening to the office, where I fell a-reading of Speed's Geography for a while. So home thinking to have found Will at home, but he not being come home but gone somewhere else I was very angry, and when he came did give him a very great check for it, and so I went to bed. 27th. To my Lord at Mr. Crew's, and there took order about some business of his, and from thence home to my workmen all the afternoon. In the evening to my Lord's, and there did read over with him and Dr. Walker my lord's new commission for sea, and advised thereupon how to have it drawn. So home and to bed. 28th (Office day). This morning Sir W. Batten and Col. Slingsby went with Col. Birch and Sir Wm. Doyly to Chatham to pay off a ship there. So only Sir W. Pen and I left here in town. All the afternoon among my workmen till 10 or 11 at night, and did give them drink and very merry with them, it being my luck to meet with a sort of drolling workmen on all occasions. To bed. 29th. All day at home to make an end of our dirty work of the plasterers, and indeed my kitchen is now so handsome that I did not repent of all the trouble that I have been put to, to have it done. This day or yesterday, I hear, Prince Rupert [This is the first mention in the Diary of this famous prince, third son of Frederick, Prince Palatine of the Rhine, and Elizabeth, daughter of James I., born December 17th, 1619. He died at his house in Spring Gardens, November 29th, 1682.] is come to Court; but welcome to nobody. 30th (Lord's day). To our Parish church both forenoon and afternoon all alone. At night went to bed without prayers, my house being every where foul above stairs. OCTOBER 1660 October 1st. Early to my Lord to Whitehall, and there he did give me some work to do for him, and so with all haste to the office. Dined at home, and my father by chance with me. After dinner he and I advised about hangings for my rooms, which are now almost fit to be hung, the painters beginning to do their work to-day. After dinner he and I to the Miter, where with my uncle Wight (whom my father fetched thither), while I drank a glass of wine privately with Mr. Mansell, a poor Reformado of the Charles, who came to see me. Here we staid and drank three or four pints of wine and so parted. I home to look after my workmen, and at night to bed. The Commissioners are very busy disbanding of the army, which they say do cause great robbing. My layings out upon my house an furniture are so great that I fear I shall not be able to go through them without breaking one of my bags of L100, I having but L200 yet in the world. 2nd. With Sir Wm. Pen by water to Whitehall, being this morning visited before I went out by my brother Tom, who told me that for his lying out of doors a day and a night my father had forbade him to come any more into his house, at which I was troubled, and did soundly chide him for doing so, and upon confessing his fault I told him I would speak to my father. At Whitehall I met with Captain Clerk, and took him to the Leg in King Street, and did give him a dish or two of meat, and his purser that was with him, for his old kindness to me on board. After dinner I to Whitehall, where I met with Mrs. Hunt, and was forced to wait upon Mr. Scawen at a committee to speak for her husband, which I did. After that met with Luellin, Mr. Fage, and took them both to the Dog, and did give them a glass of wine. After that at Will's I met with Mr. Spicer, and with him to the Abbey to see them at vespers. There I found but a thin congregation already. So I see that religion, be it what it will, is but a humour, [The four humours of the body described by the old physicians were supposed to exert their influence upon the mind, and in course of time the mind as well as the body was credited with its own particular humours. The modern restricted use of the word humour did not become general until the eighteenth century.] and so the esteem of it passeth as other things do. From thence with him to see Robin Shaw, who has been a long time ill, and I have not seen him since I came from sea. He is much changed, but in hopes to be well again. From thence by coach to my father's, and discoursed with him about Tom, and did give my advice to take him home again, which I think he will do in prudence rather than put him upon learning the way of being worse. So home, and from home to Major Hart, who is just going out of town to-morrow, and made much of me, and did give me the oaths of supremacy and allegiance, that I may be capable of my arrears. So home again, where my wife tells me what she has bought to-day, namely, a bed and furniture for her chamber, with which very well pleased I went to bed. 3d. With Sir W. Batten and Pen by water to White Hall, where a meeting of the Dukes of York and Albemarle, my Lord Sandwich and all the principal officers, about the Winter Guard, but we determined of nothing. To my Lord's, who sent a great iron chest to White Hall; and I saw it carried, into the King's closet, where I saw most incomparable pictures. Among the rest a book open upon a desk, which I durst have sworn was a reall book, and back again to my Lord, and dined all alone with him, who do treat me with a great deal of respect; and after dinner did discourse an hour with me, and advise about some way to get himself some money to make up for all his great expenses, saying that he believed that he might have any thing that he would ask of the King. This day Mr. Sheply and all my Lord's goods came from sea, some of them laid of the Wardrobe and some brought to my Lord's house. From thence to our office, where we met and did business, and so home and spent the evening looking upon the painters that are at work in my house. This day I heard the Duke speak of a great design that he and my Lord of Pembroke have, and a great many others, of sending a venture to some parts of Africa to dig for gold ore there. They intend to admit as many as will venture their money, and so make themselves a company. L250 is the lowest share for every man. But I do not find that my Lord do much like it. At night Dr. Fairbrother (for so he is lately made of the Civil Law) brought home my wife by coach, it being rainy weather, she having been abroad today to buy more furniture for her house. 4th. This morning I was busy looking over papers at the office all alone, and being visited by Lieut. Lambert of the Charles (to whom I was formerly much beholden), I took him along with me to a little alehouse hard by our office, whither my cozen Thomas Pepys the turner had sent for me to show me two gentlemen that had a great desire to be known to me, one his name is Pepys, of our family, but one that I never heard of before, and the other a younger son of Sir Tho. Bendishes, and so we all called cozens. After sitting awhile and drinking, my two new cozens, myself, and Lieut. Lambert went by water to Whitehall, and from thence I and Lieut. Lambert to Westminster Abbey, where we saw Dr. Frewen translated to the Archbishoprick of York. Here I saw the Bishops of Winchester, Bangor, Rochester, Bath and Wells, and Salisbury, all in their habits, in King Henry Seventh's chappell. But, Lord! at their going out, how people did most of them look upon them as strange creatures, and few with any kind of love or respect. From thence at 2 to my Lord's, where we took Mr. Sheply and Wm. Howe to the Raindeer, and had some oysters, which were very good, the first I have eat this year. So back to my Lord's to dinner, and after dinner Lieut. Lambert and I did look upon my Lord's model, and he told me many things in a ship that I desired to understand. From thence by water I (leaving Lieut. Lambert at Blackfriars) went home, and there by promise met with Robert Shaw and Jack Spicer, who came to see me, and by the way I met upon Tower Hill with Mr. Pierce the surgeon and his wife, and took them home and did give them good wine, ale, and anchovies, and staid them till night, and so adieu. Then to look upon my painters that are now at work in my house. At night to bed. 5th. Office day; dined at home, and all the afternoon at home to see my painters make an end of their work, which they did to-day to my content, and I am in great joy to see my house likely once again to be clean. At night to bed. 6th. Col. Slingsby and I at the office getting a catch ready for the Prince de Ligne to carry his things away to-day, who is now going home again. About noon comes my cozen H. Alcock, for whom I brought a letter for my Lord to sign to my Lord Broghill for some preferment in Ireland, whither he is now a-going. After him comes Mr. Creed, who brought me some books from Holland with him, well bound and good books, which I thought he did intend to give me, but I found that I must pay him. He dined with me at my house, and from thence to Whitehall together, where I was to give my Lord an account of the stations and victualls of the fleet in order to the choosing of a fleet fit for him to take to sea, to bring over the Queen, but my Lord not coming in before 9 at night I staid no longer for him, but went back again home and so to bed. 7th (Lord's day). To White Hall on foot, calling at my father's to change my long black cloak for a short one (long cloaks being now quite out); but he being gone to church, I could not get one, and therefore I proceeded on and came to my Lord before he went to chapel and so went with him, where I heard Dr. Spurstow preach before the King a poor dry sermon; but a very good anthem of Captn. Cooke's afterwards. Going out of chapel I met with Jack Cole, my old friend (whom I had not seen a great while before), and have promised to renew acquaintance in London together. To my Lord's and dined with him; he all dinner time talking French to me, and telling me the story how the Duke of York hath got my Lord Chancellor's daughter with child, [Anne Hyde, born March 12th, 1637, daughter of Edward, first Earl of Clarendon. She was attached to the court of the Princess of Orange, daughter of Charles I., 1654, and contracted to James, Duke of York, at Breda, November 24th, 1659. The marriage was avowed in London September 3rd, 1660. She joined the Church of Rome in 1669, and died March 31st, 1671.] and that she, do lay it to him, and that for certain he did promise her marriage, and had signed it with his blood, but that he by stealth had got the paper out of her cabinet. And that the King would have him to marry her, but that he will not. [The Duke of York married Anne Hyde, and he avowed the marriage September 3rd, so that Pepys was rather behindhand in his information.] So that the thing is very bad for the Duke, and them all; but my Lord do make light of it, as a thing that he believes is not a new thing for the Duke to do abroad. Discoursing concerning what if the Duke should marry her, my Lord told me that among his father's many old sayings that he had wrote in a book of his, this is one--that he that do get a wench with child and marry her afterwards is as if a man should----in his hat and then clap it on his head. I perceive my Lord is grown a man very indifferent in all matters of religion, and so makes nothing of these things. After dinner to the Abbey, where I heard them read the church-service, but very ridiculously, that indeed I do not in myself like it at all. A poor cold sermon of Dr. Lamb's, one of the prebends, in his habit, came afterwards, and so all ended, and by my troth a pitiful sorry devotion that these men pay. So walked home by land, and before supper I read part of the Marian persecution in Mr. Fuller. So to supper, prayers, and to bed. 8th. Office day, and my wife being gone out to buy some household stuff, I dined all alone, and after dinner to Westminster, in my way meeting Mr. Moore coming to me, who went back again with me calling at several places about business, at my father's about gilded leather for my dining room, at Mr. Crew's about money, at my Lord's about the same, but meeting not Mr. Sheply there I went home by water, and Mr. Moore with me, who staid and supped with me till almost 9 at night. We love one another's discourse so that we cannot part when we do meet. He tells me that the profit of the Privy Seal is much fallen, for which I am very sorry. He gone and I to bed. 9th. This morning Sir W. Batten with Colonel Birch to Deptford, to pay off two ships. Sir W. Pen and I staid to do business, and afterwards together to White Hall, where I went to my Lord, and found him in bed not well, and saw in his chamber his picture,--[Lord Sandwich's portrait by Lely, see post, 22nd of this same month.]--very well done; and am with child [A figurative expression for an eager longing desire, used by Udall and by Spenser. The latest authority given by Dr. Murray in the "New English Dictionary," is Bailey in 1725.] till I get it copied out, which I hope to do when he is gone to sea. To Whitehall again, where at Mr. Coventry's chamber I met with Sir W. Pen again, and so with him to Redriffe by water, and from thence walked over the fields to Deptford (the first pleasant walk I have had a great while), and in our way had a great deal of merry discourse, and find him to be a merry fellow and pretty good natured, and sings very bawdy songs. So we came and found our gentlemen and Mr. Prin at the pay. About noon we dined together, and were very merry at table telling of tales. After dinner to the pay of another ship till 10 at night, and so home in our barge, a clear moonshine night, and it was 12 o'clock before we got home, where I found my wife in bed, and part of our chambers hung to-day by the upholster, but not being well done I was fretted, and so in a discontent to bed. I found Mr. Prin a good, honest, plain man, but in his discourse not very free or pleasant. Among all the tales that passed among us to-day, he told us of one Damford, that, being a black man, did scald his beard with mince-pie, and it came up again all white in that place, and continued to his dying day. Sir W. Pen told us a good jest about some gentlemen blinding of the drawer, and who he catched was to pay the reckoning, and so they got away, and the master of the house coming up to see what his man did, his man got hold of him, thinking it to be one of the gentlemen, and told him that he was to pay the reckoning. 10th. Office day all the morning. In the afternoon with the upholster seeing him do things to my mind, and to my content he did fit my chamber and my wife's. At night comes Mr. Moore, and staid late with me to tell me how Sir Hards. Waller--[Sir Hardress Waller, Knt., one of Charles I. judges. His sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life.]--(who only pleads guilty), Scott, Coke, Peters, Harrison, [General Thomas Harrison, son of a butcher at Newcastle-under-Lyme, appointed by Cromwell to convey Charles I. from Windsor to Whitehall, in order to his trial. He signed the warrant for the execution of the King. He was hanged, drawn, and quartered on the 13th.] &c. were this day arraigned at the bar at the Sessions House, there being upon the bench the Lord Mayor, General Monk, my Lord of Sandwich, &c.; such a bench of noblemen as had not been ever seen in England! They all seem to be dismayed, and will all be condemned without question. In Sir Orlando Bridgman's charge, he did wholly rip up the unjustness of the war against the King from the beginning, and so it much reflects upon all the Long Parliament, though the King had pardoned them, yet they must hereby confess that the King do look upon them as traitors. To-morrow they are to plead what they have to say. At night to bed. 11th. In the morning to my Lord's, where I met with Mr. Creed, and with him and Mr. Blackburne to the Rhenish wine house, where we sat drinking of healths a great while, a thing which Mr. Blackburne formerly would not upon any terms have done. After we had done there Mr. Creed and I to the Leg in King Street, to dinner, where he and I and my Will had a good udder to dinner, and from thence to walk in St. James's Park, where we observed the several engines at work to draw up water, with which sight I was very much pleased. Above all the rest, I liked best that which Mr. Greatorex brought, which is one round thing going within all with a pair of stairs round; round which being laid at an angle of 45 deg., do carry up the water with a great deal of ease. Here, in the Park, we met with Mr. Salisbury, who took Mr. Creed and me to the Cockpitt to see "The Moore of Venice," which was well done. Burt acted the Moore; 'by the same token, a very pretty lady that sat by me, called out, to see Desdemona smothered. From thence with Mr. Creed to Hercules Pillars, where we drank and so parted, and I went home. 12th. Office day all the morning, and from thence with Sir W. Batten and the rest of the officers to a venison pasty of his at the Dolphin, where dined withal Col. Washington, Sir Edward Brett, and Major Norwood, very noble company. After dinner I went home, where I found Mr. Cooke, who told me that my Lady Sandwich is come to town to-day, whereupon I went to Westminster to see her, and found her at super, so she made me sit down all alone with her, and after supper staid and talked with her, she showing me most extraordinary love and kindness, and do give me good assurance of my uncle's resolution to make me his heir. From thence home and to bed. 13th. To my Lord's in the morning, where I met with Captain Cuttance, but my Lord not being up I went out to Charing Cross, to see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn; and quartered; which was done there, he looking as cheerful as any man could do in that condition. He was presently cut down, and his head and heart shown to the people, at which there was great shouts of joy. It is said, that he said that he was sure to come shortly at the right hand of Christ to judge them that now had judged him; and that his wife do expect his coming again. Thus it was my chance to see the King beheaded at White Hall, and to see the first blood shed in revenge for the blood of the King at Charing Cross. From thence to my Lord's, and took Captain Cuttance and Mr. Sheply to the Sun Tavern, and did give them some oysters. After that I went by water home, where I was angry with my wife for her things lying about, and in my passion kicked the little fine basket, which I bought her in Holland, and broke it, which troubled me after I had done it. Within all the afternoon setting up shelves in my study. At night to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Early to my Lord's, in my way meeting with Dr. Fairbrother, who walked with me to my father's back again, and there we drank my morning draft, my father having gone to church and my mother asleep in bed. Here he caused me to put my hand among a great many honorable hands to a paper or certificate in his behalf. To White Hall chappell, where one Dr. Crofts made an indifferent sermon, and after it an anthem, ill sung, which made the King laugh. Here I first did see the Princess Royal since she came into England. Here I also observed, how the Duke of York and Mrs. Palmer did talk to one another very wantonly through the hangings that parts the King's closet and the closet where the ladies sit. To my Lord's, where I found my wife, and she and I did dine with my Lady (my Lord dining with my Lord Chamberlain), who did treat my wife with a good deal of respect. In the evening we went home through the rain by water in a sculler, having borrowed some coats of Mr. Sheply. So home, wet and dirty, and to bed. 15th. Office all the morning. My wife and I by water; I landed her at Whitefriars, she went to my father's to dinner, it being my father's wedding day, there being a very great dinner, and only the Fenners and Joyces there. This morning Mr. Carew [John Carew signed the warrant for the execution of Charles I. He held the religion of the Fifth Monarchists, and was tried October 12th, 1660. He refused to avail himself of many opportunities of escape, and suffered death with much composure.] was hanged and quartered at Charing Cross; but his quarters, by a great favour, are not to be hanged up. I was forced to go to my Lord's to get him to meet the officers of the Navy this afternoon, and so could not go along with her, but I missed my Lord, who was this day upon the bench at the Sessions house. So I dined there, and went to White Hall, where I met with Sir W. Batten and Pen, who with the Comptroller, Treasurer, and Mr. Coventry (at his chamber) made up a list of such ships as are fit to be kept out for the winter guard, and the rest to be paid off by the Parliament when they can get money, which I doubt will not be a great while. That done, I took coach, and called my wife at my father's, and so homewards, calling at Thos. Pepys the turner's for some things that we wanted. And so home, where I fell to read "The Fruitless Precaution" (a book formerly recommended by Dr. Clerke at sea to me), which I read in bed till I had made an end of it, and do find it the best writ tale that ever I read in my life. After that done to sleep, which I did not very well do, because that my wife having a stopping in her nose she snored much, which I never did hear her do before. 16th. This morning my brother Tom came to me, with whom I made even for my last clothes to this day, and having eaten a dish of anchovies with him in the morning, my wife and I did intend to go forth to see a play at the Cockpit this afternoon, but Mr. Moore coming to me, my wife staid at home, and he and I went out together, with whom I called at the upholsters and several other places that I had business with, and so home with him to the Cockpit, where, understanding that "Wit without money" was acted, I would not stay, but went home by water, by the way reading of the other two stories that are in the book that I read last night, which I do not like so well as it. Being come home, Will. told me that my Lord had a mind to speak with me to-night; so I returned by water, and, coming there, it was only to enquire how the ships were provided with victuals that are to go with him to fetch over the Queen, which I gave him a good account of. He seemed to be in a melancholy humour, which, I was told by W. Howe, was for that he had lately lost a great deal of money at cards, which he fears he do too much addict himself to now-a-days. So home by water and to bed. 17th. Office day. At noon came Mr. Creed to me, whom I took along with me to the Feathers in Fish Street, where I was invited by Captain Cuttance to dinner, a dinner made by Mr. Dawes and his brother. We had two or three dishes of meat well done; their great design was to get me concerned in a business of theirs about a vessel of theirs that is in the service, hired by the King, in which I promise to do them all the service I can. From thence home again with Mr. Crew, where I finding Mrs. The. Turner and her aunt Duke I would not be seen but walked in the garden till they were gone, where Mr. Spong came to me and Mr. Creed, Mr. Spong and I went to our music to sing, and he being gone, my wife and I went to put up my books in order in closet, and I to give her her books. After that to bed. 18th. This morning, it being expected that Colonel Hacker and Axtell should die, I went to Newgate, but found they were reprieved till to-morrow. So to my aunt Fenner's, where with her and my uncle I drank my morning draft. So to my father's, and did give orders for a pair of black baize linings to be made me for my breeches against to-morrow morning, which was done. So to my Lord's, where I spoke with my Lord, and he would have had me dine with him, but I went thence to Mr. Blackburne, where I met my wife and my Will's father and mother (the first time that ever I saw them), where we had a very fine dinner. Mr. Creed was also there. This day by her high discourse I found Mrs. Blackburne to be a very high dame and a costly one. Home with my wife by coach. This afternoon comes Mr. Chaplin and N. Osborn to my house, of whom I made very much, and kept them with me till late, and so to bed. At my coming home. I did find that The. Turner hath sent for a pair of doves that my wife had promised her; and because she did not send them in the best cage, she sent them back again with a scornful letter, with which I was angry, but yet pretty well pleased that she was crossed. 19th. Office in the morning. This morning my dining-room was finished with green serge hanging and gilt leather, which is very handsome. This morning Hacker and Axtell were hanged and quartered, as the rest are. This night I sat up late to make up my accounts ready against to-morrow for my Lord. I found him to be above L80 in my debt, which is a good sight, and I bless God for it. 20th. This morning one came to me to advise with me where to make me a window into my cellar in lieu of one which Sir W. Batten had stopped up, and going down into my cellar to look I stepped into a great heap of----by which I found that Mr. Turner's house of office is full and comes into my cellar, which do trouble me, but I shall have it helped. To my Lord's by land, calling at several places about business, where I dined with my Lord and Lady; when he was very merry, and did talk very high how he would have a French cook, and a master of his horse, and his lady and child to wear black patches; which methought was strange, but he is become a perfect courtier; and, among other things, my Lady saying that she could get a good merchant for her daughter Jem., he answered, that he would rather see her with a pedlar's pack at her back, so she married a gentleman, than she should marry a citizen. This afternoon, going through London, and calling at Crowe's the upholster's, in Saint Bartholomew's, I saw the limbs of some of our new traitors set upon Aldersgate, which was a sad sight to see; and a bloody week this and the last have been, there being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered. Home, and after writing a letter to my uncle by the post, I went to bed. 21st (Lord's day). To the Parish church in the morning, where a good sermon by Mr. Mills. After dinner to my Lord's, and from thence to the Abbey, where I met Spicer and D. Vines and others of the old crew. So leaving my boy at the Abbey against I came back, we went to Prior's by the Hall back door, but there being no drink to be had we went away, and so to the Crown in the Palace Yard, I and George Vines by the way calling at their house, where he carried me up to the top of his turret, where there is Cooke's head set up for a traytor, and Harrison's set up on the other side of Westminster Hall. Here I could see them plainly, as also a very fair prospect about London. From the Crown to the Abbey to look for my boy, but he was gone thence, and so he being a novice I was at a loss what was become of him. I called at my Lord's (where I found Mr. Adams, Mr. Sheply's friend) and at my father's, but found him not. So home, where I found him, but he had found the way home well enough, of which I was glad. So after supper, and reading of some chapters, I went to bed. This day or two my wife has been troubled with her boils in the old place, which do much trouble her. Today at noon (God forgive me) I strung my lute, which I had not touched a great while before. 22nd. Office day; after that to dinner at home upon some ribs of roast beef from the Cook's (which of late we have been forced to do because of our house being always under the painters' and other people's hands, that we could not dress it ourselves). After dinner to my Lord's, where I found all preparing for my Lord's going to sea to fetch the Queen tomorrow. At night my Lord came home, with whom I staid long, and talked of many things. Among others I got leave to have his picture, that was done by Lilly, [Peter Lely, afterwards knighted. He lived in the Piazza, Covent Garden. This portrait was bought by Lord Braybrooke at Mr. Pepys Cockerell's sale in 1848, and is now at Audley End.] copied, and talking of religion, I found him to be a perfect Sceptic, and said that all things would not be well while there was so much preaching, and that it would be better if nothing but Homilies were to be read in Churches. This afternoon (he told me) there hath been a meeting before the King and my Lord Chancellor, of some Episcopalian and Presbyterian Divines; but what had passed he could not tell me. After I had done talk with him, I went to bed with Mr. Sheply in his chamber, but could hardly get any sleep all night, the bed being ill made and he a bad bedfellow. 23rd. We rose early in the morning to get things ready for My Lord, and Mr. Sheply going to put up his pistols (which were charged with bullets) into the holsters, one of them flew off, and it pleased God that, the mouth of the gun being downwards, it did us no hurt, but I think I never was in more danger in my life, which put me into a great fright. About eight o'clock my Lord went; and going through the garden my Lord met with Mr. William Montagu, who told him of an estate of land lately come into the King's hands, that he had a mind my Lord should beg. To which end my Lord writ a letter presently to my Lord Chancellor to do it for him, which (after leave taken of my Lord at White Hall bridge) I did carry to Warwick House to him; and had a fair promise of him, that he would do it this day for my Lord. In my way thither I met the Lord Chancellor and all the judges riding on horseback and going to Westminster Hall, it being the first day of the term, which was the first time I ever saw any such solemnity. Having done there I returned to Whitehall, where meeting with my brother Ashwell and his cozen Sam. Ashwell and Mr. Mallard, I took them to the Leg in King Street and gave them a dish of meat for dinner and paid for it. From thence going to Whitehall I met with Catan Stirpin in mourning, who told me that her mistress was lately dead of the small pox, and that herself was now married to Monsieur Petit, as also what her mistress had left her, which was very well. She also took me to her lodging at an Ironmonger's in King Street, which was but very poor, and I found by a letter that she shewed me of her husband's to the King, that he is a right Frenchman, and full of their own projects, he having a design to reform the universities, and to institute schools for the learning of all languages, to speak them naturally and not by rule, which I know will come to nothing. From thence to my Lord's, where I went forth by coach to Mrs. Parker's with my Lady, and so to her house again. From thence I took my Lord's picture, and carried it to Mr. de Cretz to be copied. So to White Hall, where I met Mr. Spong, and went home with him and played, and sang, and eat with him and his mother. After supper we looked over many books, and instruments of his, especially his wooden jack in his chimney, which goes with the smoke, which indeed is very pretty. I found him to be as ingenious and good-natured a man as ever I met with in my life, and cannot admire him enough, he being so plain and illiterate a man as he is. From thence by coach home and to bed, which was welcome to me after a night's absence. 24th. I lay and slept long to-day. Office day. I took occasion to be angry with my wife before I rose about her putting up of half a crown of mine in a paper box, which she had forgot where she had lain it. But we were friends again as we are always. Then I rose to Jack Cole, who came to see me. Then to the office, so home to dinner, where I found Captain Murford, who did put L3 into my hands for a friendship I had done him, but I would not take it, but bade him keep it till he has enough to buy my wife a necklace. This afternoon people at work in my house to make a light in my yard into my cellar. To White Hall, in my way met with Mr. Moore, who went back with me. He tells me, among other things, that the Duke of York is now sorry for his lying with my Lord Chancellor's daughter, who is now brought to bed of a boy. From Whitehall to Mr. De Cretz, who I found about my Lord's picture. From thence to Mr. Lilly's, where, not finding Mr. Spong, I went to Mr. Greatorex, where I met him, and so to an alehouse, where I bought of him a drawing-pen; and he did show me the manner of the lamp-glasses, which carry the light a great way, good to read in bed by, and I intend to have one of them. So to Mr. Lilly's with Mr. Spong, where well received, there being a club to-night among his friends. Among the rest Esquire Ashmole, who I found was a very ingenious gentleman. With him we two sang afterward in Mr. Lilly's study. That done, we all pared; and I home by coach, taking Mr. Booker' with me, who did tell me a great many fooleries, which may be done by nativities, and blaming Mr. Lilly for writing to please his friends and to keep in with the times (as he did formerly to his own dishonour), and not according to the rules of art, by which he could not well err, as he had done. I set him down at Lime-street end, and so home, where I found a box of Carpenter's tools sent by my cozen, Thomas Pepys, which I had bespoke of him for to employ myself with sometimes. To bed. 25th. All day at home doing something in order to the fitting of my house. In the evening to Westminster about business. So home and to bed. This night the vault at the end of the cellar was emptied. 26th. Office. My father and Dr. Thomas Pepys dined at my house, the last of whom I did almost fox with Margate ale. My father is mightily pleased with my ordering of my house. I did give him money to pay several bills. After that I to Westminster to White Hall, where I saw the Duke de Soissons go from his audience with a very great deal of state: his own coach all red velvet covered with gold lace, and drawn by six barbes, and attended by twenty pages very rich in clothes. To Westminster Hall, and bought, among, other books, one of the Life of our Queen, which I read at home to my wife; but it was so sillily writ, that we did nothing but laugh at it: among other things it is dedicated to that paragon of virtue and beauty, the Duchess of Albemarle. Great talk as if the Duke of York do now own the marriage between him and the Chancellor's daughter. 27th. In London and Westminster all this day paying of money and buying of things for my house. In my going I went by chance by my new Lord Mayor's house (Sir Richard Browne), by Goldsmith's Hall, which is now fitting, and indeed is a very pretty house. In coming back I called at Paul's Churchyard and bought Alsted's Encyclopaedia,' which cost me 38s. Home and to bed, my wife being much troubled with her old pain. 28th (Lord's day). There came some pills and plaister this morning from Dr. Williams for my wife. I to Westminster Abbey, where with much difficulty, going round by the cloysters, I got in; this day being a great day for the consecrating of five Bishopps, which was done after sermon; but I could not get into Henry the Seventh's chappell. So I went to my Lord's, where I dined with my Lady, and my young Lord, and Mr. Sidney, who was sent for from Twickenham to see my Lord Mayor's show to-morrow. Mr. Child did also dine with us. After dinner to White Hall chappell; my Lady and my Lady Jemimah and I up to the King's closet (who is now gone to meet the Queen). So meeting with one Mr. Hill, that did know my Lady, he did take us into the King's closet, and there we did stay all service-time, which I did think a great honour. We went home to my Lord's lodgings afterwards, and there I parted with my Lady and went home, where I did find my wife pretty well after her physic. So to bed. 29th. I up early, it being my Lord Mayor's day, [When the calendar was reformed in England by the act 24 Geo. II. c. 23, different provisions were made as regards those anniversaries which affect directly the rights of property and those which do not. Thus the old quarter days are still noted in our almanacs, and a curious survival of this is brought home to payers of income tax. The fiscal year still begins on old Lady-day, which now falls on April 6th. All ecclesiastical fasts and feasts and other commemorations which did not affect the rights of property were left on their nominal days, such as the execution of Charles I. on January 30th and the restoration of Charles II. on May 29th. The change of Lord Mayor's day from the 29th of October to the 9th of November was not made by the act for reforming the calendar (c. 23), but by another act of the same session (c. 48), entitled "An Act for the Abbreviation of Michaelmas Term," by which it was enacted, "that from and after the said feast of St. Michael, which shall be in the year 1752, the said solemnity of presenting and swearing the mayors of the city of London, after every annual election into the said office, in the manner and form heretofore used on the 29th day of October, shall be kept and observed on the ninth day of November in every year, unless the same shall fall on a Sunday, and in that case on the day following."] (Sir Richd. Browne), and neglecting my office I went to the Wardrobe, where I met my Lady Sandwich and all the children; and after drinking of some strange and incomparable good clarett of Mr. Rumball's he and Mr. Townsend did take us, and set the young Lords at one Mr. Nevill's, a draper in Paul's churchyard; and my Lady and my Lady Pickering and I to one Mr. Isaacson's, a linendraper at the Key in Cheapside; where there was a company of fine ladies, and we were very civilly treated, and had a very good place to see the pageants, which were many, and I believe good, for such kind of things, but in themselves but poor and absurd. After the ladies were placed I took Mr. Townsend and Isaacson to the next door, a tavern, and did spend 5s. upon them. The show being done, we got as far as Paul's with much ado, where I left my Lady in the coach, and went on foot with my Lady Pickering to her lodging, which was a poor one in Blackfryars, where she never invited me to go in at all, which methought was very strange for her to do. So home, where I was told how my Lady Davis is now come to our next lodgings, and has locked up the leads door from me, which puts me into so great a disquiet that I went to bed, and could not sleep till morning at it. 30th. Within all the morning and dined at home, my mind being so troubled that I could not mind nor do anything till I spoke with the Comptroller to whom the lodgings belong. In the afternoon, to ease my mind, I went to the Cockpit all alone, and there saw a very fine play called "The Tamer Tamed;" very well acted. That being done, I went to Mr. Crew's, where I had left my boy, and so with him and Mr. Moore (who would go a little way with me home, as he will always do) to the Hercules Pillars to drink, where we did read over the King's declaration in matters of religion, which is come out to-day, which is very well penned, I think to the satisfaction of most people. So home, where I am told Mr. Davis's people have broken open the bolt of my chamber door that goes upon the leads, which I went up to see and did find it so, which did still trouble me more and more. And so I sent for Griffith, and got him to search their house to see what the meaning of it might be, but can learn nothing to-night. But I am a little pleased that I have found this out. I hear nothing yet of my Lord, whether he be gone for the Queen from the Downs or no; but I believe he is, and that he is now upon coming back again. 31st Office day. Much troubled all this morning in my mind about the business of my walk on the leads. I spoke of it to the Comptroller and the rest of the principal officers, who are all unwilling to meddle in anything that may anger my Lady Davis. And so I am fain to give over for the time that she do continue therein. Dined at home, and after dinner to Westminster Hall, where I met with Billing the quaker at Mrs. Michell's shop, who is still of the former opinion he was of against the clergymen of all sorts, and a cunning fellow I find him to be. Home, and there I had news that Sir W. Pen is resolved to ride to Sir W. Batten's country house to-morrow, and would have me go with him, so I sat up late, getting together my things to ride in, and was fain to cut an old pair of boots to make leathers for those I was to wear. This month I conclude with my mind very heavy for the loss of the leads, as also for the greatness of my late expenses, insomuch that I do not think that I have above L150 clear money in the world, but I have, I believe, got a great deal of good household stuff: I hear to-day that the Queen is landed at Dover, and will be here on Friday next, November 2nd. My wife has been so ill of late of her old pain that I have not known her this fortnight almost, which is a pain to me. NOVEMBER 1660 November 1st. This morning Sir W. Pen and I were mounted early, and had very merry discourse all the way, he being very good company. We came to Sir W. Batten's, where he lives like a prince, and we were made very welcome. Among other things he showed us my Lady's closet, where was great store of rarities; as also a chair, which he calls King Harry's chair, where he that sits down is catched with two irons, that come round about him, which makes good sport. Here dined with us two or three more country gentle men; among the rest Mr. Christmas, my old school-fellow, with whom I had much talk. He did remember that I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy, and I was much afraid that he would have remembered the words that I said the day the King was beheaded (that, were I to preach upon him, my text should be "The memory of the wicked shall rot"); but I found afterwards that he did go away from school before that time. [Pepys might well be anxious on this point, for in October of this year Phieas Pett, assistant master shipwright at Chatham, was dismissed from his post for having when a Child spoken disrespectfully of the King. See ante, August 23rd.] He did make us good sport in imitating Mr. Case, Ash, and Nye, the ministers, which he did very well, but a deadly drinker he is, and grown exceeding fat. From his house to an ale-house near the church, where we sat and drank and were merry, and so we mounted for London again, Sir W. Batten with us. We called at Bow and drank there, and took leave of Mr. Johnson of Blackwall, who dined with us and rode with us thus far. So home by moonlight, it being about 9 o'clock before we got home. 2nd. Office. Then dined at home, and by chance Mr. Holliard [Thomas Holliard or Hollier was appointed in 1638 surgeon for scald heads at St. Thomas's Hospital, and on January 25th, 1643-4, he was chosen surgeon in place of Edward Molins. In 1670 his son of the same names was allowed to take his place during his illness. Ward, in his Diary, p. 235, mentions that the porter at St. Thomas's Hospital told him, in 1661, of Mr. Holyard's having cut thirty for the stone in one year, who all lived.] called at dinner time and dined with me, with whom I had great discourse concerning the cure of the King's evil, which he do deny altogether any effect at all. In the afternoon I went forth and saw some silver bosses put upon my new Bible, which cost me 6s. 6d. the making, and 7s. 6d. the silver, which, with 9s. 6d. the book, comes in all to L1 3s. 6d. From thence with Mr. Cooke that made them, and Mr. Stephens the silversmith to the tavern, and did give them a pint of wine. So to White Hall, where when I came I saw the boats going very thick to Lambeth, and all the stairs to be full of people. I was told the Queen was a-coming; ["Nov. 2. The Queen-mother and the Princess Henrietta came into London, the Queen having left this land nineteen years ago. Her coming was very private, Lambeth-way, where the King, Queen, and the Duke of York, and the rest, took water, crossed the Thames, and all safely arrived at Whitehall.--"Rugge's Diurnal."] so I got a sculler for sixpence to carry me thither and back again, but I could not get to see the Queen; so come back, and to my Lord's, where he was come; and I supt with him, he being very merry, telling merry stories of the country mayors, how they entertained the King all the way as he come along; and how the country gentlewomen did hold up their heads to be kissed by the King, not taking his hand to kiss as they should do. I took leave of my Lord and Lady, and so took coach at White Hall and carried Mr. Childe as far as the Strand, and myself got as far as Ludgate by all the bonfires, but with a great deal of trouble; and there the coachman desired that I would release him, for he durst not go further for the fires. So he would have had a shilling or 6d. for bringing of me so far; but I had but 3d. about me and did give him it. In Paul's church-yard I called at Kirton's, and there they had got a mass book for me, which I bought and cost me twelve shillings; and, when I came home, sat up late and read in it with great pleasure to my wife, to hear that she was long ago so well acquainted with. So to bed. I observed this night very few bonfires in the City, not above three in all London, for the Queen's coming; whereby I guess that (as I believed before) her coming do please but very few. 3d. Saturday. At home all the morning. In the afternoon to White Hall, where my Lord and Lady were gone to kiss the Queene's hand. To Westminster Hall, where I met with Tom Doling, and we two took Mrs. Lane to the alehouse, where I made her angry with commending of Tom Newton and her new sweetheart to be both too good for her, so that we parted with much anger, which made Tom and me good sport. So home to write letters by the post, and so to bed. 4th (Lord's day). In the morn to our own church, where Mr. Mills did begin to nibble at the Common Prayer, by saying "Glory be to the Father, &c." after he had read the two psalms; but the people had been so little used to it, that they could not tell what to answer. This declaration of the King's do give the Presbyterians some satisfaction, and a pretence to read the Common Prayer, which they would not do before because of their former preaching against it. After dinner to Westminster, where I went to my Lord's, and having spoke with him, I went to the Abbey, where the first time that ever I heard the organs in a cathedral! Thence to my Lord's, where I found Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and with him and Mr. Sheply, in our way calling at the Bell to see the seven Flanders mares that my Lord has bought lately, where we drank several bottles of Hull ale. Much company I found to come to her, and cannot wonder at it, for she is very pretty and wanton. Hence to my father's, where I found my mother in greater and greater pain of the stone. I staid long and drank with them, and so home and to bed. My wife seemed very pretty to-day, it being the first time I had given her leave to wear a black patch. 5th (Office day). Being disappointed of money, we failed of going to Deptford to pay off the Henrietta to-day. Dined at home, and at home all day, and at the office at night, to make up an account of what the debts of nineteen of the twenty-five ships that should have been paid off, is increased since the adjournment of the Parliament, they being to sit again to-morrow. This 5th of November is observed exceeding well in the City; and at night great bonfires and fireworks. At night Mr. Moore came and sat with me, and there I took a book and he did instruct me in many law notions, in which I took great pleasure. To bed. 6th. In the morning with Sir W. Batten and Pen by water to Westminster, where at my Lord's I met with Mr. Creed. With him to see my Lord's picture (now almost done), and thence to Westminster Hall, where we found the Parliament met to-day, and thence meeting with Mr. Chetwind, I took them to the Sun, and did give them a barrel of oysters, and had good discourse; among other things Mr. Chetwind told me how he did fear that this late business of the Duke of York's would prove fatal to my Lord Chancellor. From thence Mr. Creed and I to Wilkinson's, and dined together, and in great haste thence to our office, where we met all, for the sale of two ships by an inch of candle [The old-fashioned custom of sale by auction by inch of candle was continued in sales by the Admiralty to a somewhat late date. See September 3rd, 1662.] (the first time that ever I saw any of this kind), where I observed how they do invite one another, and at last how they all do cry,--[To cry was to bid.]--and we have much to do to tell who did cry last. The ships were the Indian, sold for L1,300, and the Half-moon, sold for L830. Home, and fell a-reading of the tryalls of the late men that were hanged for the King's death, and found good satisfaction in reading thereof. At night to bed, and my wife and I did fall out about the dog's being put down into the cellar, which I had a mind to have done because of his fouling the house, and I would have my will, and so we went to bed and lay all night in a quarrel. This night I was troubled all night with a dream that my wife was dead, which made me that I slept ill all night. 7th (Office day). This day my father came to dine at my house, but being sent for in the morning I could not stay, but went by water to my Lord, where I dined with him, and he in a very merry humour (present Mr. Borfett and Childe) at dinner: he, in discourse of the great opinion of the virtue--gratitude (which he did account the greatest thing in the world to him, and had, therefore, in his mind been often troubled in the late times how to answer his gratitude to the King, who raised his father), did say it was that did bring him to his obedience to the King; and did also bless himself with his good fortune, in comparison to what it was when I was with him in the Sound, when he durst not own his correspondence with the King; which is a thing that I never did hear of to this day before; and I do from this raise an opinion of him, to be one of the most secret men in the world, which I was not so convinced of before. After dinner he bid all go out of the room, and did tell me how the King had promised him L4000 per annum for ever, and had already given him a bill under his hand (which he showed me) for L4000 that Mr. Fox is to pay him. My Lord did advise with me how to get this received, and to put out L3000 into safe hands at use, and the other he will make use of for his present occasion. This he did advise with me about with much secresy. After all this he called for the fiddles and books, and we two and W. Howe, and Mr. Childe, did sing and play some psalmes of Will. Lawes's, and some songs; and so I went away. So I went to see my Lord's picture, which is almost done, and do please me very well. Hence to Whitehall to find out Mr. Fox, which I did, and did use me very civilly, but I did not see his lady, whom I had so long known when she was a maid, Mrs. Whittle. From thence meeting my father Bowyer, I took him to Mr. Harper's, and there drank with him. Among other things in discourse he told me how my wife's brother had a horse at grass with him, which I was troubled to hear, it being his boldness upon my score. Home by coach, and read late in the last night's book of Trials, and told my wife about her brother's horse at Mr. Bowyer's, who is also much troubled for it, and do intend to go to-morrow to inquire the truth. Notwithstanding this was the first day of the King's proclamation against hackney coaches coming into the streets to stand to be hired, yet I got one to carry me home. ["A Proclamation to restrain the abuses of Hackney Coaches in the Cities of London and Westminster and the Suburbs thereof." This is printed in "Notes and Queries," First Series, vol. viii. p. 122. "In April, 1663, the poor widows of hackney-coachmen petitioned for some relief, as the parliament had reduced the number of coaches to 400; there were before, in and about London, more than 2,000." --Rugge's Diurnal.] 8th. This morning Sir Wm. and the Treasurer and I went by barge with Sir Wm. Doyley and Mr. Prin to Deptford, to pay off the Henrietta, and had a good dinner. I went to Mr. Davys's and saw his house (where I was once before a great while ago) and I found him a very pretty man. In the afternoon Commissioner Pett and I went on board the yacht, which indeed is one of the finest things that ever I saw for neatness and room in so small a vessel. Mr. Pett is to make one to outdo this for the honour of his country, which I fear he will scarce better. From thence with him as far as Ratcliffe, where I left him going by water to London, and I (unwilling to leave the rest of the officers) went back again to Deptford, and being very much troubled with a sudden looseness, I went into a little alehouse at the end of Ratcliffe, and did give a groat for a pot of ale, and there I did... So went forward in my walk with some men that were going that way a great pace, and in our way we met with many merry seamen that had got their money paid them to-day. We sat very late doing the work and waiting for the tide, it being moonshine we got to London before two in the morning. So home, where I found my wife up, she shewed me her head which was very well dressed to-day, she having been to see her father and mother. So to bed. 9th. Lay long in bed this morning though an office day, because of our going to bed late last night. Before I went to my office Mr. Creed came to me about business, and also Mr. Carter, my old Cambridge friend, came to give me a visit, and I did give them a morning draught in my study. So to the office, and from thence to dinner with Mr. Wivell at the Hoop Tavern, where we had Mr. Shepley, Talbot, Adams, Mr. Chaplin and Osborne, and our dinner given us by Mr. Ady and another, Mr. Wine, the King's fishmonger. Good sport with Mr. Talbot, who eats no sort of fish, and there was nothing else till we sent for a neat's tongue. From thence to Whitehall where I found my Lord, who had an organ set up to-day in his dining-room, but it seems an ugly one in the form of Bridewell. Thence I went to Sir Harry Wright's, where my Lord was busy at cards, and so I staid below with Mrs. Carter and Evans (who did give me a lesson upon the lute), till he came down, and having talked with him at the door about his late business of money, I went to my father's and staid late talking with my father about my sister Pall's coming to live with me if she would come and be as a servant (which my wife did seem to be pretty willing to do to-day), and he seems to take it very well, and intends to consider of it. Home and to bed. 10th. Up early. Sir Wm. Batten and I to make up an account of the wages of the officers and mariners at sea, ready to present to the Committee of Parliament this afternoon. Afterwards came the Treasurer and Comptroller, and sat all the morning with us till the business was done. So we broke up, leaving the thing to be wrote over fair and carried to Trinity House for Sir Wm. Batten's hand. When staying very long I found (as appointed) the Treasurer and Comptroller at Whitehall, and so we went with a foul copy to the Parliament house, where we met with Sir Thos. Clarges and Mr. Spry, and after we had given them good satisfaction we parted. The Comptroller and I to the coffee-house, where he shewed me the state of his case; how the King did owe him about L6000. But I do not see great likelihood for them to be paid, since they begin already in Parliament to dispute the paying of the just sea-debts, which were already promised to be paid, and will be the undoing of thousands if they be not paid. So to Whitehall to look but could not find Mr. Fox, and then to Mr. Moore at Mr. Crew's, but missed of him also. So to Paul's Churchyard, and there bought Montelion, which this year do not prove so good as the last was; so after reading it I burnt it. After reading of that and the comedy of the Rump, which is also very silly, I went to bed. This night going home, Will and I bought a goose. 11th (Lord's day). This morning I went to Sir W. Batten's about going to Deptford to-morrow, and so eating some hog's pudding of my Lady's making, of the hog that I saw a fattening the other day at her house, he and I went to Church into our new gallery, the first time it was used, and it not being yet quite finished, there came after us Sir W. Pen, Mr. Davis, and his eldest son. There being no woman this day, we sat in the foremost pew, and behind us our servants, and I hope it will not always be so, it not being handsome for our servants to sit so equal with us. This day also did Mr. Mills begin to read all the Common Prayer, which I was glad of. Home to dinner, and then walked to Whitehall, it being very cold and foul and rainy weather. I found my Lord at home, and after giving him an account of some business, I returned and went to my father's where I found my wife, and there we supped, and Dr. Thomas Pepys, who my wife told me after I was come home, that he had told my brother Thomas that he loved my wife so well that if she had a child he would never marry, but leave all that he had to my child, and after supper we walked home, my little boy carrying a link, and Will leading my wife. So home and to prayers and to bed. I should have said that before I got to my Lord's this day I went to Mr. Fox's at Whitehall, when I first saw his lady, formerly Mrs. Elizabeth Whittle, whom I had formerly a great opinion of, and did make an anagram or two upon her name when I was a boy. She proves a very fine lady, and mother to fine children. To-day I agreed with Mr. Fox about my taking of the; L4000 of him that the King had given my Lord. 12th. Lay long in bed to-day. Sir Wm. Batten went this morning to Deptford to pay off the Wolf. Mr. Comptroller and I sat a while at the office to do business, and thence I went with him to his house in Lime Street, a fine house, and where I never was before, and from thence by coach (setting down his sister at the new Exchange) to Westminster Hall, where first I met with Jack Spicer and agreed with him to help me to tell money this afternoon. Hence to De Cretz, where I saw my Lord's picture finished, which do please me very well. So back to the Hall, where by appointment I met the Comptroller, and with him and three or four Parliament men I dined at Heaven, and after dinner called at Will's on Jack Spicer, and took him to Mr. Fox's, who saved me the labour of telling me the money by giving me; L3000 by consent (the other L1000 I am to have on Thursday next), which I carried by coach to the Exchequer, and put it up in a chest in Spicer's office. From thence walked to my father's, where I found my wife, who had been with my father to-day, buying of a tablecloth and a dozen of napkins of diaper the first that ever I bought in my life. My father and I took occasion to go forth, and went and drank at Mr. Standing's, and there discoursed seriously about my sister's coming to live with me, which I have much mind for her good to have, and yet I am much afeard of her ill-nature. Coming home again, he and I, and my wife, my mother and Pall, went all together into the little room, and there I told her plainly what my mind was, to have her come not as a sister in any respect, but as a servant, which she promised me that she would, and with many thanks did weep for joy, which did give me and my wife some content and satisfaction. So by coach home and to bed. The last night I should have mentioned how my wife and I were troubled all night with the sound of drums in our ears, which in the morning we found to be Mr. Davys's jack, [The date of the origin of smoke jacks does not appear to be known, but the first patent taken out for an improved smoke-jack by Peter Clare is dated December 24th, 1770. The smoke jack consists of a wind-wheel fixed in the chimney, which communicates motion by means of an endless band to a pulley, whence the motion is transmitted to the spit by gearing. In the valuable introduction to the volume of "Abridgments of Specifications relating to Cooking, 1634-1866" (Patent Office), mention is made of an Italian work by Bartolomeo Scappi, published first at Rome in 1572, and afterwards reprinted at Venice in 1622, which gives a complete account of the kitchens of the time and the utensils used in them. In the plates several roasting-jacks are represented, one worked by smoke or hot air and one by a spring.] but not knowing the cause of its going all night, I understand to-day that they have had a great feast to-day. 13th. Early going to my Lord's I met with Mr. Moore, who was going to my house, and indeed I found him to be a most careful, painful,--[Painful, i.e. painstaking or laborious. Latimer speaks of the "painful magistrates."]--and able man in business, and took him by water to the Wardrobe, and shewed him all the house; and indeed there is a great deal of room in it, but very ugly till my Lord hath bestowed great cost upon it. So to the Exchequer, and there took Spicer and his fellow clerks to the Dog tavern, and did give them a peck of oysters, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife making of pies and tarts to try, her oven with, which she has never yet done, but not knowing the nature of it, did heat it too hot, and so a little overbake her things, but knows how to do better another time. At home all the afternoon. At night made up my accounts of my sea expenses in order to my clearing off my imprest bill of L30 which I had in my hands at the beginning of my voyage; which I intend to shew to my Lord to-morrow. To bed. 14th (Office day). But this day was the first that we do begin to sit in the afternoon, and not in the forenoon, and therefore I went into Cheapside to Mr. Beauchamp's, the goldsmith, to look out a piece of plate to give Mr. Fox from my Lord, for his favour about the L4,000, and did choose a gilt tankard. So to Paul's Churchyard and bought "Cornelianum dolium:" ["Cornelianum dolium" is a Latin comedy, by T. R., published at London in 1638. Douce attributed it to Thomas Randolph (d. 1635). The book has a frontispiece representing the sweating tub which, from the name of the patient, was styled Cornelius's tub. There is a description of the play in the "European Magazine," vol. xxxvii. (1805), p. 343] So home to dinner, and after that to the office till late at night, and so Sir W. Pen, the Comptroller, and I to the Dolphin, where we found Sir W. Batten, who is seldom a night from hence, and there we did drink a great quantity of sack and did tell many merry stories, and in good humours we were all. So home and to bed. 15th. To Westminster, and it being very cold upon the water I went all alone to the Sun and drank a draft of mulled white wine, and so to Mr. de Cretz, whither I sent for J. Spicer (to appoint him to expect me this afternoon at the office, with the other L1000 from Whitehall), and here we staid and did see him give some finishing touches to my Lord's picture, so at last it is complete to my mind, and I leave mine with him to copy out another for himself, and took the original by a porter with me to my Lord's, where I found my Lord within, and staid hearing him and Mr. Child playing upon my Lord's new organ, the first time I ever heard it. My Lord did this day show me the King's picture, which was done in Flanders, that the King did promise my Lord before he ever saw him, and that we did expect to have had at sea before the King came to us; but it came but to-day, and indeed it is the most pleasant and the most like him that ever I saw picture in my life. As dinner was coming on table, my wife came to my Lord's, and I got her carried in to my Lady, who took physic to-day, and was just now hiring of a French maid that was with her, and they could not understand one another till my wife came to interpret. Here I did leave my wife to dine with my Lord, the first time he ever did take notice of her as my wife, and did seem to have a just esteem for her. And did myself walk homewards (hearing that Sir W. Pen was gone before in a coach) to overtake him and with much ado at last did in Fleet Street, and there I went in to him, and there was Sir Arnold Brames, and we all three to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, he having a couple of Servants married to-day; and so there was a great number of merchants, and others of good quality on purpose after dinner to make an offering, which, when dinner was done, we did, and I did give ten shillings and no more, though I believe most of the rest did give more, and did believe that I did so too. From thence to Whitehall again by water to Mr. Fox and by two porters carried away the other L1000. He was not within himself, but I had it of his kinsman, and did give him L4. and other servants something; but whereas I did intend to have given Mr. Fox himself a piece of plate of L50 I was demanded L100, for the fee of the office at 6d. a pound, at which I was surprised, but, however, I did leave it there till I speak with my Lord. So I carried it to the Exchequer, where at Will's I found Mr. Spicer, and so lodged it at his office with the rest. From thence after a pot of ale at Will's I took boat in the dark and went for all that to the old Swan, and so to Sir Wm. Batten's, and leaving some of the gallants at cards I went home, where I found my wife much satisfied with my Lord's discourse and respect to her, and so after prayers to bed. 16th. Up early to my father's, where by appointment Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I to the Temple, and thence to Westminster Hall to speak with Mr. Wm. Montagu about his looking upon the title of those lands which I do take as security for L3000 of my Lord's money. That being done Mr. Moore and I parted, and in the Hall I met with Mr. Fontleroy (my old acquaintance, whom I had not seen a long time), and he and I to the Swan, and in discourse he seems to be wise and say little, though I know things are changed against his mind. Thence home by water, where my father, Mr. Snow, and Mr. Moore did dine with me. After dinner Mr. Snow and I went up together to discourse about the putting out of L80 to a man who lacks the money and would give me L15 per annum for 8 years for it, which I did not think profit enough, and so he seemed to be disappointed by my refusal of it, but I would not now part with my money easily. He seems to do it as a great favour to me to offer to come in upon a way of getting of money, which they call Bottomry, ["The contract of bottomry is a negotiable instrument, which may be put in suit by the person to whom it is transferred; it is in use in all countries of maritime commerce and interests. A contract in the nature of a mortgage of a ship, when the owner of it borrows money to enable him to carry on the voyage, and pledges the keel or bottom of the ship as a security for the repayment. If the ship be lost the lender loses his whole money; but if it returns in safety, then he shall receive back his principal, and also the premium stipulated to be paid, however it may exceed the usual or legal rate of interest."--Smyth's "Sailor's Word Book".] which I do not yet understand, but do believe there may be something in it of great profit. After we were parted I went to the office, and there we sat all the afternoon, and at night we went to a barrel of oysters at Sir W. Batten's, and so home, and I to the setting of my papers in order, which did keep me up late. So to bed. 17th. In the morning to Whitehall, where I inquired at the Privy Seal Office for a form for a nobleman to make one his Chaplain. But I understanding that there is not any, I did draw up one, and so to my Lord's, and there I did give him it to sign for Mr. Turner to be his first Chaplain. I did likewise get my Lord to sign my last sea accounts, so that I am even to this day when I have received the balance of Mr. Creed. I dined with my Lady and my Lady Pickering, where her son John dined with us, who do continue a fool as he ever was since I knew him. His mother would fain marry him to get a portion for his sister Betty but he will not hear of it. Hither came Major Hart this noon, who tells me that the Regiment is now disbanded, and that there is some money coming to me for it. I took him to my Lord to Mr. Crew's, and from thence with Mr. Shepley and Mr. Moore to the Devil Tavern, and there we drank. So home and wrote letters by the post. Then to my lyra viall, [The lyre viol is a viol with extra open bass strings, holding the same relation to the viol as the theorbo does to the lute. A volume entitled "Musick's Recreation on the Lyra Viol," was printed by John Playford in 1650.] and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). In the morning to our own church, Where Mr. Powel (a crook legged man that went formerly with me to Paul's School), preached a good sermon. In the afternoon to our own church and my wife with me (the first time that she and my Lady Batten came to sit in our new pew), and after sermon my Lady took us home and there we supped with her and Sir W. Batten, and Pen, and were much made of. The first time that ever my wife was there. So home and to bed. 19th (Office day). After we had done a little at the office this morning, I went with the Treasurer in his coach to White Hall, and in our way, in discourse, do find him a very good-natured man; and, talking of those men who now stand condemned for murdering the King, he says that he believes that, if the law would give leave, the King is a man of so great compassion that he would wholly acquit them. Going to my Lord's I met with Mr. Shepley, and so he and I to the Sun, and I did give him a morning draft of Muscadine. [Muscadine or muscadel, a rich sort of wine. 'Vinum muscatum quod moschi odorem referat.' "Quaffed off the muscadel, and threw the sops All in the sexton's face." Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act iii. SC. 2.--M. B.] And so to see my Lord's picture at De Cretz, and he says it is very like him, and I say so too. After that to Westminster Hall, and there hearing that Sir W. Batten was at the Leg in the Palace, I went thither, and there dined with him and some of the Trinity House men who had obtained something to-day at the House of Lords concerning the Ballast Office. After dinner I went by water to London to the Globe in Cornhill, and there did choose two pictures to hang up in my house, which my wife did not like when I came home, and so I sent the picture of Paris back again. To the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night. So home, and there came Mr. Beauchamp to me with the gilt tankard, and I did pay him for it L20. So to my musique and sat up late at it, and so to bed, leaving my wife to sit up till 2 o'clock that she may call the wench up to wash. 20th. About two o'clock my wife wakes me, and comes to bed, and so both to sleep and the wench to wash. I rose and with Will to my Lord's by land, it being a very hard frost, the first we have had this year. There I staid with my Lord and Mr. Shepley, looking over my Lord's accounts and to set matters straight between him and Shepley, and he did commit the viewing of these accounts to me, which was a great joy to me to see that my Lord do look upon me as one to put trust in. Hence to the organ, where Mr. Child and one Mr Mackworth (who plays finely upon the violin) were playing, and so we played till dinner and then dined, where my Lord in a very good humour and kind to me. After dinner to the Temple, where I met Mr. Moore and discoursed with him about the business of putting out my Lord's L3000, and that done, Mr. Shepley and I to the new Play-house near Lincoln's-Inn-Fields (which was formerly Gibbon's tennis-court), where the play of "Beggar's Bush" was newly begun; and so we went in and saw it, it was well acted: and here I saw the first time one Moone, [Michael Mohun, or Moone, the celebrated actor, who had borne a major's commission in the King's army. The period of his death is uncertain, but he is known to have been dead in 1691. Downes relates that an eminent poet [Lee] seeing him act Mithridates "vented suddenly this saying: 'Oh, Mohun, Mohun, thou little man of mettle, if I should write a 100, I'd write a part for thy mouth.'" --Roscius Anglicanus, p. 17.] who is said to be the best actor in the world, lately come over with the King, and indeed it is the finest play-house, I believe, that ever was in England. From thence, after a pot of ale with Mr. Shepley at a house hard by, I went by link home, calling a little by the way at my father's and my uncle Fenner's, where all pretty well, and so home, where I found the house in a washing pickle, and my wife in a very joyful condition when I told her that she is to see the Queen next Thursday, which puts me in mind to say that this morning I found my Lord in bed late, he having been with the King, Queen, and Princess, at the Cockpit [The Cockpit at Whitehall. The plays at the Cockpit in Drury Lane were acted in the afternoon.] all night, where. General Monk treated them; and after supper a play, where the King did put a great affront upon Singleton's' musique, he bidding them stop and bade the French musique play, which, my Lord says, do much outdo all ours. But while my Lord was rising, I went to Mr. Fox's, and there did leave the gilt tankard for Mrs. Fox, and then to the counting-house to him, who hath invited me and my wife to dine with him on Thursday next, and so to see the Queen and Princesses. 21st. Lay long in bed. This morning my cozen Thomas Pepys, the turner, sent me a cupp of lignum vitae [A hard, compact, black-green wood, obtained from 'Guaiacum offcinale', from which pestles, ship-blocks, rollers, castors, &c., are turned.] for a token. This morning my wife and I went to Paternoster Row, and there we bought some green watered moyre for a morning wastecoate. And after that we went to Mr. Cade's' to choose some pictures for our house. After that my wife went home, and I to Pope's Head, and bought me an aggate hafted knife, which cost me 5s. So home to dinner, and so to the office all the afternoon, and at night to my viallin (the first time that I have played on it since I came to this house) in my dining room, and afterwards to my lute there, and I took much pleasure to have the neighbours come forth into the yard to hear me. So down to supper, and sent for the barber, who staid so long with me that he was locked into the house, and we were fain to call up Griffith, to let him out. So up to bed, leaving my wife to wash herself, and to do other things against to-morrow to go to court. 22d. This morning came the carpenters to make me a door at the other side of my house, going into the entry, which I was much pleased with. At noon my wife and I walked to the Old Exchange, and there she bought her a white whisk [A gorget or neckerchief worn by women at this time. "A woman's neck whisk is used both plain and laced, and is called of most a gorget or falling whisk, because it falleth about the shoulders." --Randle Hohnt (quoted by Planche).] and put it on, and I a pair of gloves, and so we took coach for Whitehall to Mr. Fox's, where we found Mrs. Fox within, and an alderman of London paying L1000 or L1500 in gold upon the table for the King, which was the most gold that ever I saw together in my life. Mr. Fox came in presently and did receive us with a great deal of respect; and then did take my wife and I to the Queen's presence-chamber; where he got my wife placed behind the Queen's chair, and I got into the crowd, and by and by the Queen and the two Princesses came to dinner. The Queen a very little plain old woman, and nothing more in her presence in any respect nor garb than any ordinary woman. The Princess of Orange I had often seen before. The Princess Henrietta is very pretty, but much below my expectation; and her dressing of herself with her hair frized short up to her ears, did make her seem so much the less to me. But my wife standing near her with two or three black patches on, and well dressed, did seem to me much handsomer than she. Dinner being done, we went to Mr. Fox's again, where many gentlemen dined with us, and most princely dinner, all provided for me and my friends, but I bringing none but myself and wife, he did call the company to help to eat up so much good victuals. At the end of dinner, my Lord Sandwich's health was drunk in the gilt tankard that I did give to Mrs. Fox the other day. After dinner I had notice given me by Will my man that my Lord did inquire for me, so I went to find him, and met him and the Duke of York in a coach going towards Charing Cross. I endeavoured to follow them but could not, so I returned to Mr. Fox, and after much kindness and good discourse we parted from thence. I took coach for my wife and me homewards, and I light at the Maypole in the Strand, and sent my wife home. I to the new playhouse and saw part of the "Traitor," a very good Tragedy; Mr. Moon did act the Traitor very well. So to my Lord's, and sat there with my Lady a great while talking. Among other things, she took occasion to inquire (by Madame Dury's late discourse with her) how I did treat my wife's father and mother. At which I did give her a good account, and she seemed to be very well opinioned of my wife. From thence to White Hall at about 9 at night, and there, with Laud the page that went with me, we could not get out of Henry the Eighth's gallery into the further part of the boarded gallery, where my Lord was walking with my Lord Ormond; and we had a key of Sir S. Morland's, but all would not do; till at last, by knocking, Mr. Harrison the door-keeper did open us the door, and, after some talk with my Lord about getting a catch to carry my Lord St. Albans a goods to France, I parted and went home on foot, it being very late and dirty, and so weary to bed. 23rd. This morning standing looking upon the workmen doing of my new door to my house, there comes Captain Straughan the Scot (to whom the King has given half of the money that the two ships lately sold do bring), and he would needs take me to the Dolphin, and give me a glass of ale and a peck of oysters, he and I. He did talk much what he is able to advise the King for good husbandry in his ships, as by ballasting them with lead ore and many other tricks, but I do believe that he is a knowing man in sea-business. Home and dined, and in the afternoon to the office, where till late, and that being done Mr. Creed did come to speak with me, and I took him to the Dolphin, where there was Mr. Pierce the purser and his wife and some friends of theirs. So I did spend a crown upon them behind the bar, they being akin to the people of the house, and this being the house where Mr. Pierce was apprentice. After they were gone Mr. Creed and I spent an hour in looking over the account which he do intend to pass in our office for his lending moneys, which I did advise about and approve or disapprove of as I saw cause. After an hour being, serious at this we parted about 11 o'clock at night. So I home and to bed, leaving my wife and the maid at their linen to get up. 24th. To my Lord's, where after I had done talking with him Mr. Townsend, Rumball, Blackburn, Creed and Shepley and I to the Rhenish winehouse, and there I did give them two quarts of Wormwood wine, [Wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) is celebrated for its intensely bitter, tonic, and stimulating qualities, which have caused it to be used in various medicinal preparations, and also in the making of liqueurs, as wormwood wine and creme d'absinthe.] and so we broke up. So we parted, and I and Mr. Creed to Westminster Hall and looked over a book or two, and so to my Lord's, where I dined with my lady, there being Mr. Child and Mrs. Borfett, who are never absent at dinner there, under pretence of a wooing. From thence I to Mr. de Cretz and did take away my Lord's picture, which is now finished for me, and I paid L3 10s. for it and the frame, and am well pleased with it and the price. So carried it home by water, Will being with me. At home, and had a fire made in my closet, and put my papers and books and things in order, and that being done I fell to entering these two good songs of Mr. Lawes, "Helpe, helpe, O helpe," and "O God of Heaven and Hell" in my song book, to which I have got Mr. Child to set the base to the Theorbo, and that done to bed. 25th (Lord's day). In the forenoon I alone to our church, and after dinner I went and ranged about to many churches, among the rest to the Temple, where I heard Dr. Wilkins' a little (late Maister of Trinity in Cambridge). That being done to my father's to see my mother who is troubled much with the stone, and that being done I went home, where I had a letter brought me from my Lord to get a ship ready to carry the Queen's things over to France, she being to go within five or six days. So to supper and to bed. 26th (Office day). To it all the morning, and dined at home where my father come and dined with me, who seems to take much pleasure to have a son that is neat in his house. I being now making my new door into the entry, which he do please himself much with. After dinner to the office again, and there till night. And that being done the Comptroller and I to the Mitre to a glass of wine, when we fell into a discourse of poetry, and he did repeat some verses of his own making which were very good. Home, there hear that my Lady Batten had given my wife a visit (the first that ever she made her), which pleased me exceedingly. So after supper to bed. 27th. To Whitehall, where I found my Lord gone abroad to the Wardrobe, whither he do now go every other morning, and do seem to resolve to understand and look after the business himself. From thence to Westminster Hall, and in King Street there being a great stop of coaches, there was a falling out between a drayman and my Lord Chesterfield's coachman, and one of his footmen killed. At the Hall I met with Mr. Creed, and he and I to Hell to drink our morning draught, and so to my Lord's again, where I found my wife, and she and I dined with him and my Lady, and great company of my Lord's friends, and my Lord did show us great respect. Soon as dinner was done my wife took her leave, and went with Mr. Blackburne and his wife to London to a christening of a Brother's child of his on Tower Hill, and I to a play, "The Scorn-full Lady," and that being done, I went homewards, and met Mr. Moore, who had been at my house, and took him to my father's, and we three to Standing's to drink. Here Mr. Moore told me how the House had this day voted the King to have all the Excise for ever. This day I do also hear that the Queen's going to France is stopt, which do like, me well, because then the King will be in town the next month, which is my month again at the Privy Seal. From thence home, where when I come I do remember that I did leave my boy Waineman at Whitehall with order to stay there for me in the court, at which I was much troubled, but about 11 o'clock at night the boy came home well, and so we all to bed. 28th. This morning went to Whitehall to my Lord's, where Major Hart did pay me; L23 14s. 9d., due to me upon my pay in my Lord's troop at the time of our disbanding, which is a great blessing to have without taking any law in the world for. But now I must put an end to any hopes of getting any more, so that I bless God for this. From thence with Mr. Shepley and Pinkney to the Sun, and did give them a glass of wine and a peck of oysters for joy of my getting this money. So home, where I found that Mr. Creed had sent me the L11 5s. that is due to me upon the remains of account for my sea business, which is also so much clear money to me, and my bill of impresse [For "bill of impress" In Italian 'imprestare' means "to lend." In the ancient accounts of persons officially employed by the crown, money advanced, paid on, account, was described as "de prestito," or "in prestitis."--M. B.] for L30 is also cleared, so that I am wholly clear as to the sea in all respects. To the office, and was there till late at night, and among the officers do hear that they may have our salaries allowed by the Treasurer, which do make me very glad, and praise God for it. Home to supper, and Mr. Hater supped with me, whom I did give order to take up my money of the Treasurer to-morrow if it can be had. So to bed. 29th. In the morning seeing a great deal of foul water come into my parlour from under the partition between me and Mr. Davis, I did step thither to him and tell him of it, and he did seem very ready to have it stopt, and did also tell me how thieves did attempt to rob his house last night, which do make us all afraid. This noon I being troubled that the workmen that I have to do my door were called to Mr. Davis's away, I sent for them, when Mr. Davis sent to inquire a reason of, and I did give him a good one, that they were come on purpose to do some work with me that they had already begun, with which he was well pleased, and I glad, being unwilling to anger them. In the afternoon Sir W. Batten and I met and did sell the ship Church for L440; and we asked L391, and that being done, I went home, and Dr. Petty came to me about Mr. Barlow's money, and I being a little troubled to be so importuned before I had received it, and that they would have it stopt in Mr. Fenn's hands, I did force the Doctor to go fetch the letter of attorney that he had to receive it only to make him same labour, which he did bring, and Mr. Hales came along with him from the Treasury with my money for the first quarter (Michaelmas last) that ever I received for this employment. So I paid the Dr. L25 and had L62 10s. for myself, and L7 10s. to myself also for Will's salary, which I do intend yet to keep for myself. With this my heart is much rejoiced, and do bless Almighty God that he is pleased to send so sudden and unexpected payment of my salary so soon after my great disbursements. So that now I am worth L200 again. In a great ease of mind and spirit I fell about the auditing of Mr. Shepley's last accounts with my Lord by my Lord's desire, and about that I sat till 12 o'clock at night, till I began to doze, and so to bed, with my heart praising God for his mercy to us. 30th (Office day). To the office, where Sir G. Carteret did give us an account how Mr. Holland do intend to prevail with the Parliament to try his project of discharging the seamen all at present by ticket, and so promise interest to all men that will lend money upon them at eight per cent., for so long as they are unpaid; whereby he do think to take away the growing debt, which do now lie upon the kingdom for lack of present money to discharge the seamen. But this we are, troubled at as some diminution to us. I having two barrels of oysters at home, I caused one of them and some wine to be brought to the inner room in the office, and there the Principal Officers did go and eat them. So we sat till noon, and then to dinner, and to it again in the afternoon till night. At home I sent for Mr. Hater, and broke the other barrel with him, and did afterwards sit down discoursing of sea terms to learn of him. And he being gone I went up and sat till twelve at night again to make an end of my Lord's accounts, as I did the last night. Which at last I made a good end of, and so to bed. DECEMBER 1660 December 1st. This morning, observing some things to be laid up not as they should be by the girl, I took a broom and basted her till she cried extremely, which made me vexed, but before I went out I left her appeased. So to Whitehall, where I found Mr. Moore attending for me at the Privy Seal, but nothing to do to-day. I went to my Lord St. Albans lodgings, and found him in bed, talking to a priest (he looked like one) that leaned along over the side of the bed, and there I desired to know his mind about making the catch stay longer, which I got ready for him the other day. He seems to be a fine civil gentleman. To my Lord's, and did give up my audit of his accounts, which I had been then two days about, and was well received by my Lord. I dined with my Lord and Lady, and we had a venison pasty. Mr. Shepley and I went into London, and calling upon Mr. Pinkney, the goldsmith, he took us to the tavern, and gave us a pint of wine, and there fell into our company old Mr. Flower and another gentleman; who tell us how a Scotch knight was killed basely the other day at the Fleece in Covent Garden, where there had been a great many formerly killed. So to Paul's Churchyard, and there I took the little man at Mr. Kirton's and Mr. Shepley to Ringstead's at the Star, and after a pint of wine I went home, my brains somewhat troubled with so much wine, and after a letter or two by the post I went to bed. 2d (Lord's day). My head not very well, and my body out of order by last night's drinking, which is my great folly. To church, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon; so home to dinner. My wife and I all alone to a leg of mutton, the sawce of which being made sweet, I was angry at it, and eat none, but only dined upon the marrow bone that we had beside. To church in the afternoon, and after sermon took Tom Fuller's Church History and read over Henry the 8th's life in it, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. This morning I took a resolution to rise early in the morning, and so I rose by candle, which I have not done all this winter, and spent my morning in fiddling till time to go to the office, where Sir G. Carteret did begin again discourse on Mr. Holland's proposition, which the King do take very ill, and so Sir George in lieu of that do propose that the seamen should have half in ready money and tickets for the other half, to be paid in three months after, which we judge to be very practicable. After office home to dinner, where come in my cozen Snow by chance, and I had a very good capon to dinner. So to the office till night, and so home, and then come Mr. Davis, of Deptford (the first time that ever he was at my house), and after him Mons. L'Impertinent, who is to go to Ireland to-morrow, and so came to take his leave of me. They both found me under the barber's hand; but I had a bottle of good sack in the house, and so made them very welcome. Mr. Davis sat with me a good while after the other was gone, talking of his hard usage and of the endeavour to put him out of his place in the time of the late Commissioners, and he do speak very highly of their corruption. After he was gone I fell a reading 'Cornelianum dolium' till 11 o'clock at night with great pleasure, and after that to bed. 4th. To Whitehall to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, where all the officers met, and so we went up to the Duke of York, and he took us into his closet, and we did open to him our project of stopping the growing charge of the fleet by paying them in hand one moyety, and the other four months hence. This he do like, and we returned by his order to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, and there we did draw up this design in order to be presented to the Parliament. From thence I to my Lord's, and dined with him and told him what we had done to-day. Sir Tho. Crew dined with my Lord to-day, and we were very merry with Mrs. Borfett, who dined there still as she has always done lately. After dinner Sir Tho. and my Lady to the Playhouse to see "The Silent Woman." I home by water, and with Mr. Hater in my chamber all alone he and I did put this morning's design into order, which being done I did carry it to Sir W. Batten, where I found some gentlemen with him (Sir W. Pen among the rest pretty merry with drink) playing at cards, and there I staid looking upon them till one o'clock in the morning, and so Sir W. Pen and I went away, and I to bed. This day the Parliament voted that the bodies of Oliver, Ireton, Bradshaw, &c., should be taken up out of their graves in the Abbey, and drawn to the gallows, and there hanged and buried under it: which (methinks) do trouble me that a man of so great courage as he was, should have that dishonour, though otherwise he might deserve it enough. 5th. This morning the Proposal which I wrote the last night I showed to the officers this morning, and was well liked of, and I wrote it fair for Sir. G. Carteret to show to the King, and so it is to go to the Parliament. I dined at home, and after dinner I went to the new Theatre and there I saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor" acted, the humours of the country gentleman and the French doctor very well done, but the rest but very poorly, and Sir J. Falstaffe t as bad as any. From thence to Mr. Will. Montagu's chamber to have sealed some writings tonight between Sir R. Parkhurst and myself about my Lord's L2000, but he not coming, I went to my father's and there found my mother still ill of the stone, and had just newly voided one, which she had let drop into the chimney, and looked and found it to shew it me. From thence home and to bed. 6th. This morning some of the Commissioners of Parliament and Sir W. Batten went to Sir G. Carteret's office here in town, and paid off the Chesnut. I carried my wife to White Friars and landed her there, and myself to Whitehall to the Privy Seal, where abundance of pardons to seal, but I was much troubled for it because that there are no fees now coming for them to me. Thence Mr. Moore and I alone to the Leg in King Street, and dined together on a neat's tongue and udder. From thence by coach to Mr. Crew's to my Lord, who told me of his going out of town to-morrow to settle the militia in Huntingdonshire, and did desire me to lay up a box of some rich jewels and things that there are in it, which I promised to do. After much free discourse with my Lord, who tells me his mind as to his enlarging his family, &c., and desiring me to look him out a Master of the Horse and other servants, we parted. From thence I walked to Greatorex (he was not within), but there I met with Mr. Jonas Moore, [Jonas Moore was born at Whitley, Lancashire, February 8th, 1617, and was appointed by Charles I. tutor to the Duke of York. Soon after the Restoration he was knighted and made Surveyor-General of the Ordnance. He was famous as a mathematician, and was one of the founders of the Royal Society. He died August 27th, 1679, and at his funeral sixty pieces of ordnance were discharged at the Tower.] and took him to the Five Bells,' and drank a glass of wine and left him. To the Temple, when Sir R. Parkhurst (as was intended the last night) did seal the writings, and is to have the L2000 told to-morrow. From, thence by water to Parliament Stairs, and there at an alehouse to Doling (who is suddenly to go into Ireland to venture his fortune); Simonds (who is at a great loss for L200 present money, which I was loth to let him have, though I could now do it, and do love him and think him honest and sufficient, yet lothness to part with money did dissuade me from it); Luellin (who was very drowsy from a dose that he had got the last night), Mr. Mount and several others, among the rest one Mr. Pierce, an army man, who did make us the best sport for songs and stories in a Scotch tone (which he do very well) that ever I heard in my life. I never knew so good a companion in all my observation. From thence to the bridge by water, it being a most pleasant moonshine night, with a waterman who did tell such a company of bawdy stories, how once he carried a lady from Putney in such a night as this, and she bade him lie down by her, which he did, and did give her content, and a great deal more roguery. Home and found my girl knocking at the door (it being 11 o'clock at night), her mistress having sent her out for some trivial business, which did vex me when I came in, and so I took occasion to go up and to bed in a pet. Before I went forth this morning, one came to me to give me notice that the justices of Middlesex do meet to-morrow at Hicks Hall, and that I as one am desired to be there, but I fear I cannot be there though I much desire it. 7th. This morning the judge Advocate Fowler came to see me, and he and I sat talking till it was time to go to the office. To the office and there staid till past 12 o'clock, and so I left the Comptroller and Surveyor and went to Whitehall to my Lord's, where I found my Lord gone this morning to Huntingdon, as he told me yesterday he would. I staid and dined with my Lady, there being Laud the page's mother' there, and dined also with us, and seemed to have been a very pretty woman and of good discourse. Before dinner I examined Laud in his Latin and found him a very pretty boy and gone a great way in Latin. After dinner I took a box of some things of value that my Lord had left for me to carry to the Exchequer, which I did, and left them with my Brother Spicer, who also had this morning paid L1000 for me by appointment to Sir R. Parkhurst. So to the Privy Seal, where I signed a deadly number of pardons, which do trouble me to get nothing by. Home by water, and there was much pleased to see that my little room is likely to come to be finished soon. I fell a-reading Fuller's History of Abbys, and my wife in Great Cyrus till twelve at night, and so to bed. 8th. To Whitehall to the Privy Seal, and thence to Mr. Pierces the Surgeon to tell them that I would call by and by to go to dinner. But I going into Westminster Hall met with Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Pen (who were in a great fear that we had committed a great error of L100,000 in our late account gone into the Parliament in making it too little), and so I was fain to send order to Mr. Pierces to come to my house; and also to leave the key of the chest with Mr. Spicer; wherein my Lord's money is, and went along with Sir W. Pen by water to the office, and there with Mr. Huchinson we did find that we were in no mistake. And so I went to dinner with my wife and Mr. and Mrs. Pierce the Surgeon to Mr. Pierce, the Purser (the first time that ever I was at his house) who does live very plentifully and finely. We had a lovely chine of beef and other good things very complete and drank a great deal of wine, and her daughter played after dinner upon the virginals, [All instruments of the harpsichord and spinet kind were styled virginals.] and at night by lanthorn home again, and Mr. Pierce and his wife being gone home I went to bed, having drunk so much wine that my head was troubled and was not very well all night, and the wind I observed was rose exceedingly before I went to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Being called up early by Sir W. Batten I rose and went to his house and he told me the ill news that he had this morning from Woolwich, that the Assurance (formerly Captain Holland's ship, and now Captain Stoakes's, designed for Guiny and manned and victualled), was by a gust of wind sunk down to the bottom. Twenty men drowned. Sir Williams both went by barge thither to see how things are, and I am sent to the Duke of York to tell him, and by boat with some other company going to Whitehall from the Old Swan. I went to the Duke. And first calling upon Mr. Coventry at his chamber, I went to the Duke's bed-side, who had sat up late last night, and lay long this morning, who was much surprised, therewith. This being done I went to chappell, and sat in Mr. Blagrave's pew, and there did sing my part along with another before the King, and with much ease. From thence going to my Lady I met with a letter from my Lord (which Andrew had been at my house to bring me and missed me), commanding me to go to Mr. Denham, to get a man to go to him to-morrow to Hinchinbroke, to contrive with him about some alterations in his house, which I did and got Mr. Kennard. Dined with my Lady and staid all the afternoon with her, and had infinite of talk of all kind of things, especially of beauty of men and women, with which she seems to be much pleased to talk of. From thence at night to Mr. Kennard and took him to Mr. Denham, the Surveyor's. Where, while we could not speak with him, his chief man (Mr. Cooper) did give us a cup of good sack. From thence with Mr. Kennard to my Lady who is much pleased with him, and after a glass of sack there; we parted, having taken order for a horse or two for him and his servant to be gone to-morrow. So to my father's, where I sat while they were at supper, and I found my mother below, stairs and pretty well. Thence home, where I hear that the Comptroller had some business with me, and (with Giffin's lanthorn) I went to him and there staid in discourse an hour 'till late, and among other things he showed me a design of his, by the King's making an Order of Knights of the Seal to give an encouragement for persons of honour to undertake the service of the sea, and he had done it with great pains and very ingeniously. So home and to prayers and to bed. 10th. Up exceedingly early to go to the Comptroller, but he not being up and it being a very fine, bright, moonshine morning I went and walked all alone twenty turns in Cornhill, from Gracious Street corner to the Stockes and back again, from 6 o'clock till past 7, so long that I was weary, and going to the Comptroller's thinking to find him ready, I found him gone, at which I was troubled, and being weary went home, and from thence with my wife by water to Westminster, and put her to my father Bowyer's (they being newly come out of the country), but I could not stay there, but left her there. I to the Hall and there met with Col. Slingsby. So hearing that the Duke of York is gone down this morning, to see the ship sunk yesterday at Woolwich, he and I returned by his coach to the office, and after that to dinner. After dinner he came to me again and sat with me at my house, ands among other discourse he told me that it is expected that the Duke will marry the Lord Chancellor's daughter at last which is likely to be the ruin of Mr. Davis and my Lord Barkley, who have carried themselves so high against the Chancellor; Sir Chas. Barkley swearing that he and others had lain with her often, which all believe to be a lie. He and I in the evening to the Coffee House in Cornhill, the first time that ever I was there, and I found much pleasure in it, through the diversity of company and discourse. Home and found my wife at my Lady Batten's, and have made a bargain to go see the ship sunk at Woolwich, where both the Sir Williams are still since yesterday, and I do resolve to go along with them. From thence home and up to bed, having first been into my study, and to ease my mind did go to cast up how my cash stands, and I do find as near as I can that I am worth in money clear L240, for which God be praised. This afternoon there was a couple of men with me with a book in each of their hands, demanding money for pollmoney, [Pepys seems to have been let off very easily, for, by Act of Parliament 18 Car. II. cap. I (1666), servants were to pay one shilling in the pound of their wages, and others from one shilling to three shillings in the pound.] and I overlooked the book and saw myself set down Samuel Pepys, gent. 10s. for himself and for his servants 2s., which I did presently pay without any dispute, but I fear I have not escaped so, and therefore I have long ago laid by L10 for them, but I think I am not bound to discover myself. 11th. My wife and I up very early this day, and though the weather was very bad and the wind high, yet my Lady Batten and her maid and we two did go by our barge to Woolwich (my Lady being very fearfull) where we found both Sir Williams and much other company, expecting the weather to be better, that they might go about weighing up the Assurance, which lies there (poor ship, that I have been twice merry in, in Captn. Holland's time,) under water, only the upper deck may be seen and the masts. Captain Stoakes is very melancholy, and being in search for some clothes and money of his, which he says he hath lost out of his cabin. I did the first office of a justice of Peace to examine a seaman thereupon, but could find no reason to commit him. This last tide the Kingsale was also run aboard and lost her mainmast, by another ship, which makes us think it ominous to the Guiny voyage, to have two of her ships spoilt before they go out. After dinner, my Lady being very fearfull she staid and kept my wife there, and I and another gentleman, a friend of Sir W. Pen's, went back in the barge, very merry by the way, as far as Whitehall in her. To the Privy Seal, where I signed many pardons and some few things else. From thence Mr. Moore and I into London to a tavern near my house, and there we drank and discoursed of ways how to put out a little money to the best advantage, and at present he has persuaded me to put out L250 for L50 per annum for eight years, and I think I shall do it. Thence home, where I found the wench washing, and I up to my study, and there did make up an even L100, and sealed it to lie by. After that to bed. 12th. Troubled with the absence of my wife. This morning I went (after the Comptroller and I had sat an hour at the office) to Whitehall to dine with my Lady, and after dinner to the Privy Seal and sealed abundance of pardons and little else. From thence to the Exchequer and did give my mother Bowyer a visit and her daughters, the first time that I have seen them since I went last to sea. From thence up with J. Spicer to his office and took L100, and by coach with it as far as my father's, where I called to see them, and my father did offer me six pieces of gold, in lieu of six pounds that he borrowed of me the other day, but it went against me to take it of him and therefore did not, though I was afterwards a little troubled that I did not. Thence home, and took out this L100 and sealed it up with the other last night, it being the first L200 that ever I saw together of my own in my life. For which God be praised. So to my Lady Batten, and sat an hour or two, and talked with her daughter and people in the absence of her father and mother and my wife to pass away the time. After that home and to bed, reading myself asleep, while the wench sat mending my breeches by my bedside. 13th. All the day long looking upon my workmen who this day began to paint my parlour. Only at noon my Lady Batten and my wife came home, and so I stepped to my Lady's, where were Sir John Lawson and Captain Holmes, and there we dined and had very good red wine of my Lady's own making in England. 14th. Also all this day looking upon my workmen. Only met with the Comptroller at the office a little both forenoon and afternoon, and at night step a little with him to the Coffee House where we light upon very good company and had very good discourse concerning insects and their having a generative faculty as well as other creatures. This night in discourse the Comptroller told me among other persons that were heretofore the principal officers of the Navy, there was one Sir Peter Buck, a Clerk of the Acts, of which to myself I was not a little proud. 15th. All day at home looking upon my workmen, only at noon Mr. Moore came and brought me some things to sign for the Privy Seal and dined with me. We had three eels that my wife and I bought this morning of a man, that cried them about, for our dinner, and that was all I did to-day. 16th. In the morning to church, and then dined at home. In the afternoon I to White Hall, where I was surprised with the news of a plot against the King's person and my Lord Monk's; and that since last night there are about forty taken up on suspicion; and, amongst others, it was my lot to meet with Simon Beale, the Trumpeter, who took me and Tom Doling into the Guard in Scotland Yard, and showed us Major-General Overton, where I heard him deny that he is guilty of any such things; but that whereas it is said that he is found to have brought many arms to town, he says it is only to sell them, as he will prove by oath. From thence with Tom Doling and Boston and D. Vines (whom we met by the way) to Price's, and there we drank, and in discourse I learnt a pretty trick to try whether a woman be a maid or no, by a string going round her head to meet at the end of her nose, which if she be not will come a great way beyond. Thence to my Lady's and staid with her an hour or two talking of the Duke of York and his lady, the Chancellor's daughter, between whom, she tells me, that all is agreed and he will marry her. But I know not how true yet. It rained hard, and my Lady would have had me have the coach, but I would not, but to my father's, where I met my wife, and there supped, and after supper by link home and to bed. 17th. All day looking after my workmen, only in the afternoon to the office where both Sir Williams were come from Woolwich, and tell us that, contrary to their expectations, the Assurance is got up, without much damage to her body, only to the goods that she hath within her, which argues her to be a strong, good ship. This day my parlour is gilded, which do please me well. 18th. All day at home, without stirring at all, looking after my workmen. 19th. At noon I went and dined with my Lady at Whitehall, and so back again to the office, and after that home to my workmen. This night Mr. Gauden sent me a great chine of beef and half a dozen of tongues. 20th. All day at home with my workmen, that I may get all done before Christmas. This day I hear that the Princess Royal has the small pox. 21st. By water to Whitehall (leaving my wife at Whitefriars going to my father's to buy her a muff and mantle), there I signed many things at the Privy Seal, and carried L200 from thence to the Exchequer, and laid it up with Mr. Hales, and afterwards took him and W. Bowyer to the Swan and drank with them. They told me that this is St. Thomas's [day], and that by an old custom, this day the Exchequer men had formerly, and do intend this night to have a supper; which if I could I promised to come to, but did not. To my Lady's, and dined with her: she told me how dangerously ill the Princess Royal is and that this morning she was said to be dead. But she hears that she hath married herself to young Jermyn, which is worse than the Duke of York's marrying the Chancellor's daughter, which is now publicly owned. After dinner to the office all the afternoon. At seven at night I walked through the dirt to Whitehall to see whether my Lord be come to town, and I found him come and at supper, and I supped with him. He tells me that my aunt at Brampton has voided a great stone (the first time that ever I heard she was troubled therewith) and cannot possibly live long, that my uncle is pretty well, but full of pain still. After supper home and to bed. 22nd. All the morning with my painters, who will make an end of all this day I hope. At noon I went to the Sun tavern; on Fish Street hill, to a dinner of Captn. Teddimans, where was my Lord Inchiquin (who seems to be a very fine person), Sir W. Pen, Captn. Cuttance, and one Mr. Lawrence (a fine gentleman now going to Algiers), and other good company, where we had a very fine dinner, good musique, and a great deal of wine. We staid here very late, at last Sir W. Pen and I home together, he so overcome with wine that he could hardly go; I was forced to lead him through the streets and he was in a very merry and kind mood. I home (found my house clear of the workmen and their work ended), my head troubled with wine, and I very merry went to bed, my head akeing all night. 23rd (Lord's day). In the morning to Church, where our pew all covered with rosemary and baize. A stranger made a dull sermon. Home and found my wife and maid with much ado had made shift to spit a great turkey sent me this week from Charles Carter, my old colleague, now minister in Huntingdonshire, but not at all roasted, and so I was fain to stay till two o'clock, and after that to church with my wife, and a good sermon there was, and so home. All the evening at my book, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. In the morning to the office and Commissioner Pett (who seldom comes there) told me that he had lately presented a piece of plate (being a couple of flaggons) to Mr. Coventry, but he did not receive them, which also put me upon doing the same too; and so after dinner I went and chose a payre of candlesticks to be made ready for me at Alderman Backwell's. To the office again in the afternoon till night, and so home, and with the painters till 10 at night, making an end of my house and the arch before my door, and so this night I was rid of them and all other work, and my house was made ready against to-morrow being Christmas day. This day the Princess Royal died at Whitehall. 25th (Christmas day). In the morning very much pleased to see my house once more clear of workmen and to be clean, and indeed it is so, far better than it was that I do not repent of my trouble that I have been at. In the morning to church, where Mr. Mills made a very good sermon. After that home to dinner, where my wife and I and my brother Tom (who this morning came to see my wife's new mantle put on, which do please me very well), to a good shoulder of mutton and a chicken. After dinner to church again, my wife and I, where we had a dull sermon of a stranger, which made me sleep, and so home, and I, before and after supper, to my lute and Fuller's History, at which I staid all alone in my chamber till 12 at night, and so to bed. 26th. In the morning to Alderman Backwell's for the candlesticks for Mr. Coventry, but they being not done I went away, and so by coach to Mr. Crew's, and there took some money of Mr. Moore's for my Lord, and so to my Lord's, where I found Sir Thomas Bond (whom I never saw before) with a message from the Queen about vessells for the carrying over of her goods, and so with him to Mr. Coventry, and thence to the office (being soundly washed going through the bridge) to Sir Wm. Batten and Pen (the last of whom took physic to-day), and so I went up to his chamber, and there having made an end of the business I returned to White Hall by water, and dined with my Lady Sandwich, who at table did tell me how much fault was laid upon Dr. Frazer and the rest of the Doctors, for the death of the Princess! My Lord did dine this day with Sir Henry Wright, in order to his going to sea with the Queen. Thence to my father Bowyer's where I met my wife, and with her home by water. 27th. In the morning to Alderman Backwell's again, where I found the candlesticks done, and went along with him in his coach to my Lord's and left the candlesticks with Mr. Shepley. I staid in the garden talking much with my Lord, who do show me much of his love and do communicate his mind in most things to me, which is my great content. Home and with my wife to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, where much and good company. My wife not very well went home, I staid late there seeing them play at cards, and so home to bed. This afternoon there came in a strange lord to Sir William Batten's by a mistake and enters discourse with him, so that we could not be rid of him till Sir Arn. Breames and Mr. Bens and Sir W. Pen fell a-drinking to him till he was drunk, and so sent him away. About the middle of the night I was very ill--I think with eating and drinking too much--and so I was forced to call the maid, who pleased my wife and I in her running up and down so innocently in her smock, and vomited in the bason, and so to sleep, and in the morning was pretty well, only got cold, and so had pain.... as I used to have. 28th. Office day. There all the morning. Dined at home alone with my wife, and so staid within all the afternoon and evening; at my lute, with great pleasure, and so to bed with great content. 29th. Within all the morning. Several people to speak with me; Mr. Shepley for L100; Mr. Kennard and Warren, the merchant, about deals for my Lord. Captain Robert Blake lately come from the Straights about some Florence Wine for my Lord, and with him I went to Sir W. Pen, who offering me a barrel of oysters I took them both home to my house (having by chance a good piece of roast beef at the fire for dinner), and there they dined with me, and sat talking all the afternoon-good company. Thence to Alderman Backwell's and took a brave state-plate and cupp in lieu of the candlesticks that I had the other day and carried them by coach to my Lord's and left them there. And so back to my father's and saw my mother, and so to my uncle Fenner's, whither my father came to me, and there we talked and drank, and so away; I home with my father, he telling me what bad wives both my cozen Joyces make to their husbands, which I much wondered at. After talking of my sister's coming to me next week, I went home and to bed. 30th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and being up, I went with Will to my Lord's, calling in at many churches in my way. There I found Mr. Shepley, in his Venetian cap, taking physique in his chamber, and with him I sat till dinner. My Lord dined abroad and my Lady in her chamber, so Mr. Hetly, Child and I dined together, and after dinner Mr. Child and I spent some time at the lute, and so promising to prick me some lessons to my theorbo he went away to see Henry Laws, who lies very sick. I to the Abby and walked there, seeing the great confusion of people that come there to hear the organs. So home, calling in at my father's, but staid not, my father and mother being both forth. At home I fell a-reading of Fuller's Church History till it was late, and so to bed. 31st. At the office all the morning and after that home, and not staying to dine I went out, and in Paul's Church-yard I bought the play of "Henry the Fourth," and so went to the new Theatre (only calling at Mr. Crew's and eat a bit with the people there at dinner) and saw it acted; but my expectation being too great, it did not please me, as otherwise I believe it would; and my having a book, I believe did spoil it a little. That being done I went to my Lord's, where I found him private at cards with my Lord Lauderdale and some persons of honour. So Mr. Shepley and I over to Harper's, and there drank a pot or two, and so parted. My boy taking a cat home with him from my Lord's, which Sarah had given him for my wife, we being much troubled with mice. At Whitehall inquiring for a coach, there was a Frenchman with one eye that was going my way, so he and I hired the coach between us and he set me down in Fenchurch Street. Strange how the fellow, without asking, did tell me all what he was, and how he had ran away from his father and come into England to serve the King, and now going back again. Home and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR 1960 N.S. PEPY'S DIARY A very fine dinner A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen Among all the beauties there, my wife was thought the greatest An exceeding pretty lass, and right for the sport An offer of L500 for a Baronet's dignity And in all this not so much as one Asleep, while the wench sat mending my breeches by my bedside Barkley swearing that he and others had lain with her often Bought for the love of the binding three books Boy up to-night for his sister to teach him to put me to bed But we were friends again as we are always But I think I am not bound to discover myself Cavaliers have now the upper hand clear of the Presbyterians Confusion of years in the case of the months of January (etc.) Court attendance infinite tedious Cure of the King's evil, which he do deny altogether Diana did not come according to our agreement Did not like that Clergy should meddle with matters of state Dined with my wife on pease porridge and nothing else Dined upon six of my pigeons, which my wife has resolved to kill Do press for new oaths to be put upon men Drink at a bottle beer house in the Strand Drinking of the King's health upon their knees in the streets Duke of York and Mrs. Palmer did talk to one another very wanton Else he is a blockhead, and not fitt for that imployment Fashionable and black spots Finding my wife's clothes lie carelessly laid up First time I had given her leave to wear a black patch First time that ever I heard the organs in a cathedral Five pieces of gold for to do him a small piece of service Fixed that the year should commence in January instead of March Formerly say that the King was a bastard and his mother a whore Gave him his morning draft Gentlewomen did hold up their heads to be kissed by the King God help him, he wants bread. Had no more manners than to invite me and to let me pay Hand i' the cap Hanging jack to roast birds on Have her come not as a sister in any respect, but as a servant Have not known her this fortnight almost, which is a pain to me He and I lay in one press bed, there being two more He is, I perceive, wholly sceptical, as well as I He that must do the business, or at least that can hinder it He was fain to lie in the priest's hole a good while He did very well, but a deadly drinker he is He made the great speech of his life, and spoke for three hours He knew nothing about the navy Hired her to procure this poor soul for him How the Presbyterians would be angry if they durst I fear is not so good as she should be I never designed to be a witness against any man I was demanded L100, for the fee of the office at 6d. a pound I took a broom and basted her till she cried extremely I pray God to make me able to pay for it. I was angry with her, which I was troubled for I went to the cook's and got a good joint of meat I was exceeding free in dallying with her, and she not unfree I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy If it should come in print my name maybe at it Ill all this day by reason of the last night's debauch In discourse he seems to be wise and say little In comes Mr. North very sea-sick from shore In perpetual trouble and vexation that need it least Inoffensive vanity of a man who loved to see himself in the glass It not being handsome for our servants to sit so equal with us John Pickering on board, like an ass, with his feathers King do tire all his people that are about him with early rising King's Proclamation against drinking, swearing, and debauchery Kiss my Parliament, instead of "Kiss my [rump]" Kissed them myself very often with a great deal of mirth L100 worth of plate for my Lord to give Secretary Nicholas Learned the multiplication table for the first time in 1661 Learnt a pretty trick to try whether a woman be a maid or no Long cloaks being now quite out Made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead Montaigne is conscious that we are looking over his shoulder Most of my time in looking upon Mrs. Butler Mottoes inscribed on rings was of Roman origin Much troubled with thoughts how to get money My luck to meet with a sort of drolling workmen on all occasions My new silk suit, the first that ever I wore in my life My wife and I had some high words My wife was very unwilling to let me go forth My wife was making of her tarts and larding of her pullets My Lord, who took physic to-day and was in his chamber Nothing in it approaching that single page in St. Simon Offer me L500 if I would desist from the Clerk of the Acts place Petition against hackney coaches Playing the fool with the lass of the house Posies for Rings, Handkerchers and Gloves Presbyterians against the House of Lords Protestants as to the Church of Rome are wholly fanatiques Put to a great loss how I should get money to make up my cash Resolve to have the doing of it himself, or else to hinder it Sceptic in all things of religion She had six children by the King Show many the strangest emotions to shift off his drink Sit up till 2 o'clock that she may call the wench up to wash Smoke jack consists of a wind-wheel fixed in the chimney So we went to bed and lay all night in a quarrel So I took occasion to go up and to bed in a pet Some merry talk with a plain bold maid of the house Strange thing how I am already courted by the people Strange how civil and tractable he was to me The present Irish pronunciation of English The rest did give more, and did believe that I did so too The ceremonies did not please me, they do so overdo them There being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered This afternoon I showed my Lord my accounts, which he passed This day I began to put on buckles to my shoes Thus it was my chance to see the King beheaded at White Hall To see the bride put to bed To the Swan and drank our morning draft To see Major-general Harrison hanged, drawn; and quartered Upon the leads gazing upon Diana We cannot tell what to do for want of her (the maid) Wedding for which the posy ring was required Went to bed with my head not well by my too much drinking to-day Where I find the worst very good Which I did give him some hope of, though I never intend it Woman that they have a fancy to, to make her husband a cuckold 
39979	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_, bold text by =equals=. AUDUBON AND HIS JOURNALS [Illustration: EMBERIZA TOWNSENDII, TOWNSEND'S BUNTING. (Now Spiza townsendii.) FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAWING BY J. J. AUDUBON OF THE ONLY SPECIMEN EVER KNOWN, SHOT MAY 11, 1833. IN CHESTER CO., PA., BY J. K. TOWNSEND.] AUDUBON AND HIS JOURNALS BY MARIA R. AUDUBON WITH ZOÖLOGICAL AND OTHER NOTES BY ELLIOTT COUES _ILLUSTRATED_ VOLUME II. NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1897 _Copyright, 1897_, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS. University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. CONTENTS VOLUME II PAGE THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS (_continued_) 1 EPISODES: LOUISVILLE IN KENTUCKY 199 THE OHIO 203 FISHING IN THE OHIO 208 A WILD HORSE 215 BREAKING UP OF THE ICE 222 THE PRAIRIE 225 THE REGULATORS 231 THE EARTHQUAKE 234 THE HURRICANE 237 COLONEL BOONE 241 NATCHEZ IN 1820 246 THE LOST PORTFOLIO 250 THE ORIGINAL PAINTER 254 THE COUGAR 260 THE RUNAWAY 267 A TOUGH WALK FOR A YOUTH 274 HOSPITALITY IN THE WOODS 280 NIAGARA 286 MEADVILLE 289 THE BURNING OF THE FORESTS 294 A LONG CALM AT SEA 301 STILL BECALMED 306 GREAT EGG HARBOR 310 THE GREAT PINE SWAMP 314 THE LOST ONE 321 THE LIVE-OAKERS 327 SPRING GARDEN 333 DEATH OF A PIRATE 339 THE WRECKERS OF FLORIDA 345 ST. JOHN'S RIVER IN FLORIDA 352 THE FLORIDA KEYS. I 358 THE FLORIDA KEYS. II 365 THE TURTLERS 371 THE FORCE OF THE WATERS 380 JOURNEY IN NEW BRUNSWICK AND MAINE 387 A MOOSE HUNT 393 LABRADOR 401 THE EGGERS OF LABRADOR 406 THE SQUATTERS OF LABRADOR 411 COD FISHING 418 A BALL IN NEWFOUNDLAND 426 THE BAY OF FUNDY 431 A FLOOD 437 THE SQUATTERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI 443 IMPROVEMENTS IN THE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI 449 KENTUCKY SPORTS 455 THE TRAVELLER AND THE POLE-CAT 462 DEER HUNTING 466 THE ECCENTRIC NATURALIST 473 SCIPIO AND THE BEAR 481 A KENTUCKY BARBECUE 486 A RACCOON HUNT IN KENTUCKY 490 PITTING OF WOLVES 497 THE OPOSSUM 501 A MAPLE-SUGAR CAMP 506 THE WHITE PERCH AND ITS FAVORITE BAIT 509 THE AMERICAN SUN PERCH 515 MY STYLE OF DRAWING BIRDS 522 INDEX 529 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. VOL. II. PAGE EMBERIZA TOWNSENDII (NOW SPIZA TOWNSENDII), TOWNSEND'S BUNTING _Frontispiece_ From an unfinished drawing by J. J. Audubon of the only specimen ever known. Shot May 11, 1833, in Chester County, Pa., by J. K. Townsend. AUDUBON 84 From the pencil sketch by Isaac Sprague, 1842. In the possession of the Sprague family, Wellesley Hills, Mass. CAMP AT THE THREE MAMELLES 118 From a drawing by Audubon, hitherto unpublished. CAMP ON THE MISSOURI 160 From a drawing by Isaac Sprague. MRS. AUDUBON. 1854 176 From a daguerreotype. AUDUBON. 1839 234 Painted in Edinburgh by J. W. Audubon. VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON 274 Painted by Audubon about 1823. JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON 310 Painted by Audubon about 1823. TRINGA ALPINA (NOW PELIDNA ALPINA PACIFICA), RED-BACKED SANDPIPER 352 From the unpublished drawing by J. J. Audubon, November 24, 1831. AUDUBON. 1850 406 From a daguerreotype. Owned by Mrs. Elizabeth Berthoud Grimshaw. VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON. 1853 456 JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON. 1853 486 OLD MILL AND MILLER'S COTTAGE AT MILL GROVE ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK 524 From a photograph from W. H. Wetherill, Esq. AUDUBON 526 From a pencil sketch after death by John Woodhouse Audubon, January 28, 1851. BOWIE KNIFE 527 Presented by Henry Carleton. FACSIMILES OF DIPLOMAS _At end of volume_ La Société Linnéenne de Paris. 6 Novembre, 1823. Lyceum of Natural History, New York. January 13, 1824. Société d'Histoire Naturelle de Paris. 5 Decembre, 1828. American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Massachusetts. November 10, 1830. Royal Society of Edinburgh. March 5, 1831. Royal Jennerian Society, London. July 15, 1836. Literary and Historical Society of Quebec. November 19, 1836. Western Academy of Natural Sciences, St. Louis, Mo. April 17, 1843. Natural History Society of Montreal. March 29, 1847. THE MISSOURI RIVER JOURNALS 1843 (_Continued_) _June 4, Sunday._ We have run pretty well, though the wind has been tolerably high; the country we have passed this day is somewhat better than what we saw yesterday, which, as I said, was the poorest we have seen. No occurrence of interest has taken place. We passed this morning the old Riccaree[1] Village, where General Ashley[2] was so completely beaten as to lose eighteen of his men, with the very weapons and ammunition that he had trafficked with the Indians of that village, against all the remonstrances of his friends and interpreters; yet he said that it proved fortunate for him, as he turned his steps towards some other spot, where he procured one hundred packs of Beaver skins for a mere song. We stopped to cut wood at an old house put up for winter quarters, and the wood being ash, and quite dry, was excellent. We are now fast for the night at an abandoned post, or fort, of the Company, where, luckily for us, a good deal of wood was found cut. We saw only one Wolf, and a few small gangs of Buffaloes. Bell shot a Bunting which resembles Henslow's, but we have no means of comparing it at present. We have collected a few plants during our landing. The steam is blowing off, and therefore our day's run is ended. When I went to bed last night it was raining smartly, and Alexis did not go off, as he did wish. By the way, I forgot to say that along with the three Prairie Marmots, he brought also four Spoon-billed Ducks, which we ate at dinner to-day, and found delicious. Bell saw many Lazuli Finches this morning. Notwithstanding the tremendous shaking of our boat, Sprague managed to draw four figures of the legs and feet of the Wolf shot by Bell yesterday, and my own pencil was not idle. _June 5, Monday._ Alexis went off in the night sometime, and came on board about three o'clock this morning; he had seen nothing whatever, except the traces of Beavers and of Otters, on Beaver Creek, which, by the way, he had to cross on a raft. Speaking of rafts, I am told that one of these, made of two bundles of rushes, about the size of a man's body, and fastened together by a few sticks, is quite sufficient to take two men and two packs of Buffalo robes across this muddy river. In the course of the morning we passed Cannon Ball River,[3] and the very remarkable bluffs about it, of which we cannot well speak until we have stopped there and examined their nature. We saw two Swans alighting on the prairie at a considerable distance. We stopped to take wood at Bowie's settlement, at which place his wife was killed by some of the Riccaree Indians, after some Gros Ventres had assured him that such would be the case if he suffered his wife to go out of the house. She went out, however, on the second day, and was shot with three rifle-balls. The Indians took parts of her hair and went off. She was duly buried; but the Gros Ventres returned some time afterwards, took up the body, and carried off the balance of her hair. They, however, reburied her; and it was not until several months had elapsed that the story came to the ears of Mr. Bowie. We have also passed Apple Creek,[4] but the chief part is yet to be added. At one place where the bluffs were high, we saw five Buffaloes landing a few hundred yards above us on the western side; one of them cantered off immediately, and by some means did reach the top of the hills, and went out of our sight; the four others ran, waded, and swam at different places, always above us, trying to make their escape. At one spot they attempted to climb the bluff, having unconsciously passed the place where their leader had made good his way, and in their attempts to scramble up, tumbled down, and at last became so much affrighted that they took to the river for good, with the intention to swim to the shore they had left. Unfortunately for them, we had been gaining upon them; we had all been anxiously watching them, and the moment they began to swim we were all about the boat with guns and rifles, awaiting the instant when they would be close under our bows. The moment came; I was on the lower deck among several of the people with guns, and the firing was soon heavy; but not one of the Buffaloes was stopped, although every one must have been severely hit and wounded. Bell shot a load of buckshot at the head of one, which disappeared entirely under the water for perhaps a minute. I sent a ball through the neck of the last of the four, but all ineffectually, and off they went, swimming to the opposite shore; one lagged behind the rest, but, having found footing on a sand-bar, it rested awhile, and again swam off to rejoin its companions. They all reached the shore, but were quite as badly off on that side as they had been on the other, and their difficulties must have been great indeed; however, in a short time we had passed them. Mr. Charles Primeau,[5] who is a good shot, and who killed the young Buffalo bull the other day, assured me that it was his opinion the whole of these would die before sundown, but that Buffaloes swimming were a hundred times more difficult to kill than those on shore. I have been told also, that a Buffalo shot by an Indian, in the presence of several whites, exhibited some marks on the inside of the skin that looked like old wounds, and that on close examination they found no less than six balls in its paunch. Sometimes they will run a mile after having been struck through the heart; whilst at other times they will fall dead without such desperate shot. Alexis told me that once he shot one through the thigh, and that it fell dead on the spot. We passed this afternoon a very curious conical mound of earth, about which Harris and I had some curiosity, by which I lost two pounds of snuff, as he was right, and I was wrong. We have seen Geese and Goslings, Ravens, Blue Herons, Bluebirds, Thrushes, Red-headed Woodpeckers and Red-shafted ditto, Martins, an immense number of Rough-winged Swallows about their holes, and Barn Swallows. We heard Killdeers last evening. Small Crested Flycatchers, Summer Yellow-birds, Maryland Yellow-throats, House Wrens are seen as we pass along our route; while the Spotted Sandpiper accompanies us all along the river. Sparrow Hawks, Turkey Buzzards, Arctic Towhee Buntings, Cat-birds, Mallards, Coots, Gadwalls, King-birds, Yellow-breasted Chats, Red Thrushes, all are noted as we pass. We have had a good day's run; it is now half-past ten. The wind has been cold, and this evening we have had a dash of rain. We have seen only one Wolf. We have heard some wonderful stories about Indians and white men, none of which I can well depend upon. We have stopped for the night a few miles above where the "Assiniboin"[6] steamer was burnt with all her cargo uninsured, in the year 1835. I heard that after she had run ashore, the men started to build a scow to unload the cargo; but that through some accident the vessel was set on fire, and that a man and a woman who alone had been left on board, walked off to the island, where they remained some days unable to reach shore. _June 6, Tuesday._ This morning was quite cold, and we had a thick white frost on our upper deck. It was also extremely cloudy, the wind from the east, and all about us looked dismal enough. The hands on board seemed to have been busy the whole of the night, for I scarcely slept for the noise they made. We soon came to a very difficult part of the river, and had to stop full three hours. Meanwhile the yawl went off to seek and sound for a channel, whilst the wood-cutters and the carriers--who, by the way, are called "charrettes"[7]--followed their work, and we gathered a good quantity of drift-wood, which burns like straw. Our hopes of reaching the Mandan Village were abandoned, but we at last proceeded on our way and passed the bar; it was nearly dinner-time. Harris and Bell had their guns, and brought two Arctic Towhee Buntings and a Black-billed Cuckoo. They saw two large flocks of Geese making their way westward. The place where we landed showed many signs of Deer, Elk, and Buffaloes. I saw trees where the latter had rubbed their heavy bodies against the bark, till they had completely robbed the tree of its garment. We saw several Red-shafted Woodpeckers, and other birds named before. The Buffalo, when hunted on horseback, does _not_ carry its tail erect, as has been represented in books, but close between the legs; but when you see a Buffalo bull work its tail sideways in a twisted rolling fashion, _then_ take care of him, as it is a sure sign of his intention to rush against his pursuer's horse, which is very dangerous, both to hunter and steed. As we proceeded I saw two fine White-headed Eagles alighting on their nest, where perhaps they had young--and how remarkably late in the season this species does breed here! We also saw a young Sandhill Crane, and on an open prairie four Antelopes a few hundred yards off. Alexis tells me that at this season this is a rare occurrence, as the females are generally in the brushwood now; but in this instance the male and three females were on open prairie. We have passed what is called the Heart[8] River, and the Square Hills, which, of course, are by no means square, but simply more level than the generality of those we have passed for upwards of three weeks. We now saw four barges belonging to our company, and came to, above them, as usual. A Mr. Kipp, one of the partners, came on board; and Harris, Squires, and myself had time to write each a short letter to our friends at home. Mr. Kipp had a peculiar looking crew who appeared not much better than a set of bandits among the Pyrenees or the Alps; yet they seem to be the very best sort of men for trappers and boatmen. We exchanged four of our men for four of his, as the latter are wanted at the Yellowstone. The country appears to Harris and to myself as if we had outrun the progress of vegetation, as from the boat we observed oaks scarcely in leaflets, whilst two hundred miles below, and indeed at a much less distance, we saw the same timber in nearly full leaf; flowers are also scarce. A single Wolf was seen by some one on deck. Nothing can be possibly keener than the senses of hearing and sight, as well as of smell, in the Antelope. Not one was ever known to jump up close to a hunter; and the very motion of the grasses, as these are wafted by the wind, will keep them awake and on the alert. Immediately upon the breaking up of the ice about the Mandan Village, three Buffaloes were seen floating down on a large cake; they were seen by Mr. Primeau from his post, and again from Fort Pierre. How much further the poor beasts travelled, no one can tell. It happens not infrequently, when the river is entirely closed in with ice, that some hundreds of Buffaloes attempt to cross; their aggregate enormous weight forces the ice to break, and the whole of the gang are drowned, as it is impossible for these animals to climb over the surrounding sharp edges of the ice. We have seen not less than three nests of White-headed Eagles this day. We are fast ashore about sixteen miles below the Mandan Villages, and will, in all probability, reach there to-morrow morning at an early hour. It is raining yet, and the day has been a most unpleasant one. _June 7, Wednesday._ We had a vile night of rain, and wind from the northeast, which is still going on, and likely to continue the whole of this blessed day. Yesterday, when we had a white frost, ice was found in the kettles of Mr. Kipp's barges. We reached Fort Clark[9] and the Mandan Villages at half-past seven this morning. Great guns were fired from the fort and from the "Omega," as our captain took the guns from the "Trapper" at Fort Pierre. The site of this fort appears a good one, though it is placed considerably below the Mandan Village. We saw some small spots cultivated, where corn, pumpkins, and beans are grown. The fort and village are situated on the high bank, rising somewhat to the elevation of a hill. The Mandan mud huts are very far from looking poetical, although Mr. Catlin has tried to render them so by placing them in regular rows, and all of the same size and form, which is by no means the case. But different travellers have different eyes! We saw more Indians than at any previous time since leaving St. Louis; and it is possible that there are a hundred huts, made of mud, all looking like so many potato winter-houses in the Eastern States. As soon as we were near the shore, every article that could conveniently be carried off was placed under lock and key, and our division door was made fast, as well as those of our own rooms. Even the axes and poles were put by. Our captain told us that last year they stole his cap and his shot-pouch and horn, and that it was through the interference of the first chief that he recovered his cap and horn; but that a squaw had his leather belt, and would not give it up. The appearance of these poor, miserable devils, as we approached the shore, was wretched enough. There they stood in the pelting rain and keen wind, covered with Buffalo robes, red blankets, and the like, some partially and most curiously besmeared with mud; and as they came on board, and we shook hands with each of them, I felt a clamminess that rendered the ceremony most repulsive. Their legs and naked feet were covered with mud. They looked at me with apparent curiosity, perhaps on account of my beard, which produced the same effect at Fort Pierre. They all looked very poor; and our captain says they are the _ne plus ultra_ of thieves. It is said there are nearly three thousand men, women, and children that, during winter, cram themselves into these miserable hovels. Harris and I walked to the fort about nine o'clock. The walking was rascally, passing through mud and water the whole way. The yard of the fort itself was as bad. We entered Mr. Chardon's own room, crawled up a crazy ladder, and in a low garret I had the great pleasure of seeing alive the Swift or Kit Fox which he has given to me. It ran swiftly from one corner to another, and, when approached, growled somewhat in the manner of a common Fox. Mr. Chardon told me that good care would be taken of it until our return, that it would be chained to render it more gentle, and that I would find it an easy matter to take it along. I sincerely hope so. Seeing a remarkably fine skin of a large Cross Fox[10] which I wished to buy, it was handed over to me. After this, Mr. Chardon asked one of the Indians to take us into the village, and particularly to show us the "Medicine Lodge." We followed our guide through mud and mire, even into the Lodge. We found this to be, in general terms, like all the other lodges, only larger, measuring twenty-three yards in diameter, with a large squarish aperture in the centre of the roof, some six or seven feet long by about four wide. We had entered this curiosity shop by pushing aside a wet Elk skin stretched on four sticks. Looking around, I saw a number of calabashes, eight or ten Otter skulls, two very large Buffalo skulls with the horns on, evidently of great age, and some sticks and other magical implements with which none but a "Great Medicine Man" is acquainted. During my survey there sat, crouched down on his haunches, an Indian wrapped in a dirty blanket, with only his filthy head peeping out. Our guide spoke to him; but he stirred not. Again, at the foot of one of the posts that support the central portion of this great room, lay a parcel that I took for a bundle of Buffalo robes; but it moved presently, and from beneath it half arose the emaciated body of a poor blind Indian, whose skin was quite shrivelled; and our guide made us signs that he was about to die. We all shook both hands with him; and he pressed our hands closely and with evident satisfaction. He had his pipe and tobacco pouch by him, and soon lay down again. We left this abode of mysteries, as I was anxious to see the interior of one of the common huts around; and again our guide led us through mud and mire to his own lodge, which we entered in the same way as we had done the other. All these lodges have a sort of portico that leads to the door, and on the tops of most of them I observed Buffalo skulls. This lodge contained the whole family of our guide--several women and children, and another man, perhaps a son-in-law or a brother. All these, except the man, were on the outer edge of the lodge, crouching on the ground, some suckling children; and at nearly equal distances apart were placed berths, raised about two feet above the ground, made of leather, and with square apertures for the sleepers or occupants to enter. The man of whom I have spoken was lying down in one of these, which was all open in front. I walked up to him, and, after disturbing his happy slumbers, shook hands with him; he made signs for me to sit down; and after Harris and I had done so, he rose, squatted himself near us, and, getting out a large spoon made of boiled Buffalo horn, handed it to a young girl, who brought a great rounded wooden bowl filled with pemmican, mixed with corn and some other stuff. I ate a mouthful or so of it, and found it quite palatable; and Harris and the rest then ate of it also. Bell was absent; we had seen nothing of him since we left the boat. This lodge, as well as the other, was dirty with water and mud; but I am told that in dry weather they are kept cleaner, and much cleaning do they need, most truly. A round, shallow hole was dug in the centre for the fire; and from the roof descended over this a chain, by the aid of which they do their cooking, the utensil being attached to the chain when wanted. As we returned towards the fort, I gave our guide a piece of tobacco, and he appeared well pleased. He followed us on board, and as he peeped in my room, and saw the dried and stuffed specimens we have, he evinced a slight degree of curiosity. Our captain, Mr. Chardon, and our men have been busily engaged in putting ashore that portion of the cargo designed for this fort, which in general appearance might be called a poor miniature representation of Fort Pierre. The whole country around was overgrown with "Lamb's quarters" (_Chenopòdium album_), which I have no doubt, if boiled, would take the place of spinach in this wild and, to my eyes, miserable country, the poetry of which lies in the imagination of those writers who have described the "velvety prairies" and "enchanted castles" (of mud), so common where we now are. We observed a considerable difference in the color of these Indians, who, by the way, are almost all Riccarees; many appeared, and in fact are, redder than others; they are lank, rather tall, and very alert, but, as I have said before, all look poor and dirty. After dinner we went up the muddy bank again to look at the corn-fields, as the small patches that are meanly cultivated are called. We found poor, sickly looking corn about two inches high, that had been represented to us this morning as full six inches high. We followed the prairie, a very extensive one, to the hills, and there found a deep ravine, sufficiently impregnated with saline matter to answer the purpose of salt water for the Indians to boil their corn and pemmican, clear and clean; but they, as well as the whites at the fort, resort to the muddy Missouri for their drinking water, the only fresh water at hand. Not a drop of spirituous liquor has been brought to this place for the last two years; and there can be no doubt that on this account the Indians have become more peaceable than heretofore, though now and then a white man is murdered, and many horses are stolen. As we walked over the plain, we saw heaps of earth thrown up to cover the poor Mandans who died of the small-pox. These mounds in many instances appear to contain the remains of several bodies and, perched on the top, lies, pretty generally, the rotting skull of a Buffalo. Indeed, the skulls of the Buffaloes seem as if a kind of relation to these most absurdly superstitious and ignorant beings. I could not hear a word of the young Grizzly Bear of which Mr. Chardon had spoken to me. He gave me his Buffalo head-dress and other trifles--as he was pleased to call them; all of which will prove more or less interesting and curious to you when they reach Minniesland. He presented Squires with a good hunting shirt and a few other things, and to all of us, presented moccasins. We collected a few round cacti;[11] and I saw several birds that looked much the worse for the cold and wet weather we have had these last few days. Our boat has been thronged with Indians ever since we have tied to the shore; and it is with considerable difficulty and care that we can stop them from intruding into our rooms when we are there. We found many portions of skulls lying on the ground, which, perhaps, did at one period form the circles of them spoken of by Catlin. All around the village is filthy beyond description. Our captain tells us that no matter what weather we may have to-morrow, he will start at daylight, even if he can only go across the river, to get rid of these wolfish-looking vagabonds of Indians. I sincerely hope that we may have a fair day and a long run, so that the air around us may once more be pure and fresh from the hand of Nature. After the Riccarees had taken possession of this Mandan Village, the remains of that once powerful tribe removed about three miles up the river, and there have now fifteen or twenty huts, containing, of course, only that number of families. During the worst periods of the epidemic which swept over this village with such fury, many became maniacs, rushed to the Missouri, leaped into its turbid waters, and were seen no more. Mr. Primeau, wife, and children, as well as another half-breed, have gone to the fort, and are to remain there till further orders. The fort is in a poor condition, roofs leaking, etc. Whilst at the fort this afternoon, I was greatly surprised to see a tall, athletic Indian thrashing the dirty rascals about Mr. Chardon's door most severely; but I found on inquiry that he was called "the soldier,"[12] and that he had authority to do so whenever the Indians intruded or congregated in the manner this _canaille_ had done. After a while the same tall fellow came on board with his long stick, and immediately began belaboring the fellows on the lower guards; the latter ran off over the planks, and scrambled up the muddy banks as if so many affrighted Buffaloes. Since then we have been comparatively quiet; but I hope they will all go off, as the captain is going to put the boat from the shore, to the full length of our spars. The wind has shifted to the northward, and the atmosphere has been so chilled that a House Swallow was caught, benumbed with cold, and brought to me by our captain. Harris, Bell, and I saw a Cliff Swallow take refuge on board; but this was not caught. We have seen Say's Flycatcher, the Ground Finch, Cow Buntings, and a few other birds. One of the agents arrived this afternoon from the Gros Ventre, or Minnetaree Village, about twelve miles above us. He is represented as a remarkably brave man, and he relates some strange adventures of his prowess. Several _great warriors_ have condescended to shake me by the hand; their very touch is disgusting--it will indeed be a deliverance to get rid of all this "Indian poetry." We are, nevertheless, to take a few to the Yellowstone. Alexis has his wife, who is, in fact, a good-looking young woman; an old patroon, Provost, takes one of his daughters along; and we have, besides, several red-skinned single gentlemen. We were assured that the northern parts of the hills, that form a complete curtain to the vast prairie on which we have walked this afternoon, are still adorned with patches of snow that fell there during last winter. It is now nine o'clock, but before I go to rest I cannot resist giving you a description of the curious exhibition that we have had on board, from a numerous lot of Indians of the first class, say some forty or fifty. They ranged themselves along the sides of the large cabin, squatting on the floor. Coffee had been prepared for the whole party, and hard sea-biscuit likewise. The coffee was first given to each of them, and afterwards the biscuits, and I had the honor of handing the latter to the row on one side of the boat; a box of tobacco was opened and laid on the table. The man who came from the Gros Ventres this afternoon proved to be an excellent interpreter; and after the captain had delivered his speech to him, he spoke loudly to the group, and explained the purport of the captain's speech. They grunted their approbation frequently, and were, no doubt, pleased. Two individuals (Indians) made their appearance highly decorated, with epaulets on the shoulders, red clay on blue uniforms, three cocks' plumes in their head-dress, rich moccasins, leggings, etc. These are men who, though in the employ of the Opposition company, act truly as friends; but who, meantime, being called "Braves," never grunted, bowed, or shook hands with any of us. Supper over and the tobacco distributed, the whole body arose simultaneously, and each and every one of these dirty wretches we had all to shake by the hand. The two braves sat still until all the rest had gone ashore, and then retired as majestically as they had entered, not even shaking hands with our good-humored captain. I am told that this performance takes place once every year, on the passing of the Company's boats. I need not say that the coffee and the two biscuits apiece were gobbled down in less than no time. The tobacco, which averaged about two pounds to each man, was hid in their robes or blankets for future use. Two of the Indians, who must have been of the highest order, and who distributed the "rank weed," were nearly naked; one had on only a breech-clout and one legging, the other was in no better case. They are now all ashore except one or more who are going with us to the Yellowstone; and I will now go to my rest. Though I have said "Good-night," I have arisen almost immediately, and I must write on, for we have other scenes going on both among the trappers below and some of the people above. Many Indians, squaws as well as men, are bartering and trading, and keep up such a babble that Harris and I find sleep impossible; needless to say, the squaws who are on board are of the lowest grade of morality. _June 8, Thursday._ This morning was fair and cold, as you see by the range of the thermometer, 37° to 56°. We started at a very early hour, and breakfasted before five, on account of the village of Gros Ventres, where our captain had to stop. We passed a few lodges belonging to the tribe of the poor Mandans, about all that remained. I only counted eight, but am told there are twelve. The village of the Gros Ventres (Minnetarees) has been cut off from the bank of the river by an enormous sand-bar, now overgrown with willows and brush, and we could only see the American flag flying in the cool breeze. Two miles above this, however, we saw an increasing body of Indians, for the prairie was sprinkled with small parties, on horse and on foot. The first who arrived fired a salute of small guns, and we responded with our big gun. They had an abundance of dogs harnessed to take wood back to the village, and their yells and fighting were severe upon our ears. Some forty or more of the distinguished blackguards came on board; and we had to close our doors as we did yesterday. After a short period they were feasted as last evening; and speeches, coffee, and tobacco, as well as some gunpowder, were given them, which they took away in packs, to be divided afterward. We took one more passenger, and lost our interpreter, who is a trader with the Minnetarees. The latter are by no means as fine-looking a set of men as those we have seen before, and I observed none of that whiteness of skin among them. There were numbers of men, women, and children. We saw a crippled and evidently tame Wolf, and two Indians, following us on the top of the hills. We saw two Swans on a bar, and a female Elk, with her young fawn, for a few minutes. I wished that we had been ashore, as I know full well that the mother would not leave her young; and the mother killed, the young one would have been easily caught alive. We are now stopping for the night, and our men are cutting wood. We have done this, I believe, four times to-day, and have run upward of sixty miles. At the last wood-cutting place, a young leveret was started by the men, and after a short race, the poor thing squatted, and was killed by the stroke of a stick. It proved to be the young of _Lepus townsendii_ [_L. campestris_], large enough to have left the mother, and weighing rather more than a pound. It is a very beautiful specimen. The eyes are very large, and the iris pure amber color. Its hair is tightly, but beautifully curled. Its measurements are as follows [_omitted_]. Bell will make a fine skin of it to-morrow morning. We have had all sorts of stories related to us; but Mr. Kipp, who has been in the country for twenty-two years, is evidently a person of truth, and I expect a good deal of information from him. Our captain told us that on a previous voyage some Indians asked him if, "when the great Medicine" (meaning the steamer) "was tired, he gave it whiskey." Mr. Sire laughed, and told them he did. "How much?" was the query. "A barrelful, to be sure!" The poor wretches at first actually believed him, and went off contented, but were naturally angry at being undeceived on a later occasion. I have now some hope of finding a young of the Antelope alive at Fort Union, as Mr. Kipp left one there about ten days ago. I am now going to bed, though our axemen and "charettes" are still going; and I hope I may not be called up to-morrow morning, to be ready for breakfast at half-past four. Harris and Bell went off with Alexis. Bell fired at a bird, and a large Wolf immediately made its appearance. This is always the case in this country; when you shoot an animal and hide yourself, you may see, in less than half an hour, from ten to thirty of these hungry rascals around the carcass, and have fine fun shooting at them. We have had a windy day, but a good run on the whole. I hope to-morrow may prove propitious, and that we shall reach Fort Union in five more days. _June 9, Friday._ Thermometer 42°, 75°, 66°. We had a heavy white frost last night, but we have had a fine, pleasant day on the whole, and to me a most interesting one. We passed the Little Missouri[13] (the real one) about ten this morning. It is a handsome stream, that runs all the way from the Black Hills, one of the main spurs of the mighty Rocky Mountains. We saw three Elks swimming across it, and the number of this fine species of Deer that are about us now is almost inconceivable. We have heard of burning springs, which we intend to examine on our way down. We started a Goose from the shore that had evidently young ones; she swam off, beating the water with wings half extended, until nearly one hundred yards off. A shot from a rifle was fired at her, and happily missed the poor thing; she afterwards lowered her neck, sank her body, and with the tip of the bill only above water, kept swimming away from us till out of sight. Afterwards one of the trappers shot at two Geese with two young ones. We landed at four o'clock, and Harris and Bell shot some Bay-winged Buntings and _Emberiza pallida_, whilst Sprague and I went up to the top of the hills, bounding the beautiful prairie, by which we had stopped to repair something about the engine. We gathered some handsome lupines, of two different species, and many other curious plants. From this elevated spot we could see the wilderness to an immense distance; the Missouri looked as if only a brook, and our steamer a very small one indeed. At this juncture we saw two men running along the shore upwards, and I supposed they had seen an Elk or something else, of which they were in pursuit. Meantime, gazing around, we saw a large lake, where we are told that Ducks, Geese, and Swans breed in great numbers; this we intend also to visit when we come down. At this moment I heard the report of a gun from the point where the men had been seen, and when we reached the steamboat, we were told that a Buffalo had been killed. From the deck I saw a man swimming round the animal; he got on its side, and floated down the stream with it. The captain sent a parcel of men with a rope; the swimmer fastened this round the neck of the Buffalo, and with his assistance, for he now swam all the way, the poor beast was brought alongside; and as the tackle had been previously fixed, it was hauled up on the fore deck. Sprague took its measurements with me, which are as follows: length from nose to root of tail, 8 feet; height of fore shoulder to hoof, 4 ft. 9½ in.; height at the rump to hoof, 4 ft. 2 in. The head was cut off, as well as one fore and one hind foot. The head is so full of symmetry, and so beautiful, that I shall have a drawing of it to-morrow, as well as careful ones of the feet. Whilst the butchers were at work, I was highly interested to see one of our Indians cutting out the milk-bag of the cow and eating it, quite fresh and raw, in pieces somewhat larger than a hen's egg. One of the stomachs was partially washed in a bucket of water, and an Indian swallowed a large portion of this. Mr. Chardon brought the remainder on the upper deck and ate it uncleaned. I had a piece well cleaned and tasted it; to my utter astonishment, it was very good, but the idea was repulsive to me; besides which, I am not a meat-eater, as you know, except when other provisions fail. The animal was in good condition; and the whole carcass was cut up and dispersed among the men below, reserving the nicer portions for the cabin. This was accomplished with great rapidity; the blood was washed away in a trice, and half an hour afterwards no one would have known that a Buffalo had been dressed on deck. We now met with a somewhat disagreeable accident; in starting and backing off the boat, our yawl was run beneath the boat; this strained it, and sprung one of the planks so much that, when we landed on the opposite side of the river, we had to haul it on shore, and turn it over for examination; it was afterwards taken to the forecastle to undergo repairs to-morrow, as it is often needed. Whilst cutting wood was going on, we went ashore. Bell shot at two Buffaloes out of eight, and killed both; he would also have shot a Wolf, had he had more bullets. Harris saw, and shot at, an Elk; but he knows little about still hunting, and thereby lost a good chance. A negro fire-tender went off with his rifle and shot two of Townsend's Hares. One was cut in two by his ball, and he left it on the ground; the other was shot near the rump, and I have it now hanging before me; and, let me tell you, that I never before saw so beautiful an animal of the same family. My drawing will be a good one; it is a fine specimen, an old male. I have been hearing much of the prevalence of scurvy, from living so constantly on dried flesh, also about the small-pox, which destroyed such numbers of the Indians. Among the Mandans, Riccarées, and Gros Ventres, hundreds died in 1837, only a few surviving; and the Assiniboins were nearly exterminated. Indeed it is said that in the various attacks of this scourge 52,000 Indians have perished. This last visitation of the dread disease has never before been related by a traveller,[14] and I will write more of it when at Fort Union. It is now twenty minutes to midnight; and, with walking and excitement of one kind or another, I am ready for bed. Alexis and another hunter will be off in an hour on a hunt. _June 10, Saturday._ I rose at half-past three this morning. It was clear and balmy; our men were cutting wood, and we went off shooting. We saw a female Elk that was loath to leave the neighborhood; and Bell shot a Sharp-tailed Grouse, which we ate at our supper and found pretty good, though sadly out of season. As we were returning to the boat, Alexis and his companion went off after Buffaloes that we saw grazing peaceably on the bank near the river. Whilst they were shooting at the Buffaloes, and almost simultaneously, the fawn of the female Elk was seen lying asleep under the bank. It rose as we approached, and Bell shot at it, but missed; and with its dam it went briskly off. It was quite small, looking almost red, and was beautifully spotted with light marks of the color of the Virginia Deer's fawn. I would have given five dollars for it, as I saw it skipping over the prairie. At this moment Alexis came running, and told the captain they had killed two Buffaloes; and almost all the men went off at once with ropes, to bring the poor animals on board, according to custom. One, however, had been already dressed. The other had its head cut off, and the men were tugging at the rope, hauling the beast along over the grass. Mr. Chardon was seated on it; until, when near the boat, the rope gave way, and the bull rolled over into a shallow ravine. It was soon on board, however, and quickly skinned and cut up. The two hunters had been absent three-quarters of an hour. At the report of the guns, two Wolves made their appearance, and no doubt fed at leisure on the offal left from the first Buffalo. Harris saw a gang of Elks, consisting of between thirty and forty. We have passed a good number of Wild Geese with goslings; the Geese were shot at, notwithstanding my remonstrances on account of the young, but fortunately all escaped. We passed some beautiful scenery when about the middle of the "Bend," and almost opposite had the pleasure of seeing five Mountain Rams, or Bighorns, on the summit of a hill. I looked at them through the telescope; they stood perfectly still for some minutes, then went out of sight, and then again were in view. One of them had very large horns; the rest appeared somewhat smaller. Our captain told us that he had seen them at, or very near by, the same place last season, on his way up. We saw many very curious cliffs, but not one answering the drawings engraved for Catlin's work. We passed Knife River,[15] _Rivière aux Couteaux_, and stopped for a short time to take in wood. Harris killed a Sparrow Hawk, and saw several Red-shafted Woodpeckers. Bell was then engaged in saving the head of the Buffalo cow, of which I made a drawing, and Sprague an outline, notwithstanding the horrible motion of our boat. We passed safely a dangerous chain of rocks extending across the river; we also passed White River;[16] both the streams I have mentioned are insignificant. The weather was warm, and became cloudy, and it is now raining smartly. We have, however, a good quantity of excellent wood, and have made a good run, say sixty miles. We saw what we supposed to be three Grizzly Bears, but could not be sure. We saw on the prairie ahead of us some Indians, and as we neared them, found them to be Assiniboins. There were about ten altogether, men, squaws, and children. The boat was stopped, and a smart-looking, though small-statured man came on board. He had eight plugs of tobacco given him, and was asked to go off; but he talked a vast deal, and wanted powder and ball. He was finally got rid of. During his visit, our Gros Ventre chief and our Sioux were both in my own cabin. The first having killed three of that tribe and scalped them, and the Sioux having a similar record, they had no wish to meet. A few miles above this we stopped to cut wood. Bell and Harris went on shore; and we got a White Wolf, so old and so poor that we threw it overboard. Meantime a fawn Elk was observed crossing the river, coming toward our shore; it was shot at twice, but missed; it swam to the shore, but under such a steep bank that it could not get up. Alexis, who was told of this, ran down the river bank, reached it, and fastened his suspenders around its neck, but could not get it up the bank. Bell had returned, and went to his assistance, but all in vain; the little thing was very strong, and floundered and struggled till it broke the tie, and swam swiftly with the current down the river, and was lost. A slight rope would have secured it to us. This was almost the same spot where the captain caught one alive last season with the yawl; and we could have performed the same feat easily, had not the yawl been on deck undergoing repairs. We pushed off, and very soon saw more Indians on the shore, also Assiniboins. They had crossed the "Bend" below us, and had brought some trifles to trade with us; but our captain passed on, and the poor wretches sat and looked at the "Great Medicine" in astonishment. Shortly after this, we saw a Wolf attempting to climb a very steep bank of clay; he fell down thrice, but at last reached the top and disappeared at once. On the opposite shore another Wolf was lying down on a sand-bar, like a dog, and might readily have been taken for one. We have stopped for the night at nine o'clock; and I now have done my day's putting-up of memoranda and sketches, intending to enlarge upon much after I return home. I forgot to say that last evening we saw a large herd of Buffaloes, with many calves among them; they were grazing quietly on a fine bit of prairie, and we were actually opposite to them and within two hundred yards before they appeared to notice us. They stared, and then started at a handsome canter, suddenly wheeled round, stopped, closed up their ranks, and then passed over a slight knoll, producing a beautiful picturesque view. Another thing I forgot to speak of is a place not far below the Little Missouri, where Mr. Kipp assured us we should find the remains of a petrified forest, which we hope to see later. _June 11, Sunday._ This day has been tolerably fine, though windy. We have seen an abundance of game, a great number of Elks, common Virginian Deer, Mountain Rams in two places, and a fine flock of Sharp-tailed Grouse, that, when they flew off from the ground near us, looked very much like large Meadow Larks. They were on a prairie bordering a large patch of Artemisia, which in the distance presents the appearance of acres of cabbages. We have seen many Wolves and some Buffaloes. One young bull stood on the brink of a bluff, looking at the boat steadfastly for full five minutes; and as we neared the spot, he waved his tail, and moved off briskly. On another occasion, a young bull that had just landed at the foot of a very steep bluff was slaughtered without difficulty; two shots were fired at it, and the poor thing was killed by a rifle bullet. I was sorry, for we did not stop for it, and its happy life was needlessly ended. I saw near that spot a large Hawk, and also a very small Tamias, or Ground Squirrel. Harris saw a Spermophile, of what species none of us could tell. We have seen many Elks swimming the river, and they look almost the size of a well-grown mule. They stared at us, were fired at, at an enormous distance, it is true, and yet stood still. These animals are abundant beyond belief hereabouts. We have seen much remarkably handsome scenery, but nothing at all comparing with Catlin's descriptions; his book must, after all, be altogether a humbug. Poor devil! I pity him from the bottom of my soul; had he studied, and kept up to the old French proverb that says, "Bon renommé vaut mieux que ceinture doré," he might have become an "honest man"--the quintessence of God's works. We did hope to have reached L'Eau Bourbeux (the Muddy River[17]) this evening, but we are now fast ashore, about six miles below it, about the same distance that we have been told we were ever since shortly after dinner. We have had one event: our boat caught fire, and burned for a few moments near the stern, the effects of the large, hot cinders coming from the chimney; but it was almost immediately put out, thank God! Any inattention, with about 10,000 lbs. of powder on board, might have resulted in a sad accident. We have decided to write a short letter of thanks to our truly gentlemanly captain, and to present him with a handsome six-barrelled pistol, the only thing we have that may prove of service to him, although I hope he may never need it. Sprague drew four figures of the Buffalo's foot; and Bell and I have packed the whole of our skins. We ran to-day all round the compass, touching every point. The following is a copy of the letter to Captain Sire, signed by all of us. FORT UNION, MOUTH OF YELLOWSTONE, UPPER MISSOURI, _June 11th, 1843_. DEAR SIR,--We cannot part with you previous to your return to St. Louis, without offering to you our best wishes, and our thanks for your great courtesy, assuring you how highly we appreciate, and feel grateful for, your uniform kindness and gentlemanly deportment to each and all of us. We are most happy to add that our passage to the Yellowstone River has been devoid of any material accident, which we can only attribute to the great regularity and constant care with which you have discharged your arduous duties in the difficult navigation of the river. We regret that it is not in our power, at this moment, to offer you a suitable token of our esteem, but hope you will confer on us the favor of accepting at our hands a six-barrelled, silver-mounted pistol, which we sincerely hope and trust you may never have occasion to use in defence of your person. We beg you to consider us, Your well-wishers and friends, etc., _Fort Union, June 12, Monday._ We had a cloudy and showery day, and a high wind besides. We saw many Wild Geese and Ducks with their young. We took in wood at two places, but shot nothing. I saw a Wolf giving chase, or driving away four Ravens from a sand-bar; but the finest sight of all took place shortly before we came to the mouth of the Yellowstone, and that was no less than twenty-two Mountain Rams and Ewes mixed, and amid them one young one only. We came in sight of the fort at five o'clock, and reached it at seven. We passed the Opposition fort three miles below this; their flags were hoisted, and ours also. We were saluted from Fort Union, and we fired guns in return, six in number. The moment we had arrived, the gentlemen of the fort came down on horseback, and appeared quite a cavalcade. I was introduced to Mr. Culbertson and others, and, of course, the introduction went the rounds. We walked to the fort and drank some first-rate port wine, and returned to the boat at half-past nine o'clock. Our captain was pleased with the letter and the pistol. Our trip to this place has been the quickest on record, though our boat is the slowest that ever undertook to reach the Yellowstone. Including all stoppages and detentions, we have made the trip in forty-eight days and seven hours from St. Louis. We left St. Louis April 25th, at noon; reaching Fort Union June 12th, at seven in the evening. _June 13, Tuesday._ We had a remarkably busy day on board and on shore, but spent much of our time writing letters. I wrote home at great length to John Bachman, N. Berthoud, and Gideon B. Smith. We walked to the fort once and back again, and dined on board with our captain and the gentlemen of the fort. We took a ride also in an old wagon, somewhat at the risk of our necks, for we travelled too fast for the nature of what I was told was the road. We slept on board the "Omega," probably for the last time. We have been in a complete state of excitement unloading the boat, reloading her with a new cargo, and we were all packing and arranging our effects, as well as writing letters. After dinner our belongings were taken to the landing of the fort in a large keel-boat, with the last of the cargo. The room which we are to occupy during our stay at this place is rather small and low, with only one window, on the west side. However, we shall manage well enough, I dare say, for the few weeks we are to be here. This afternoon I had a good deal of conversation with Mr. Culbertson, and found him well disposed to do all he can for us; and no one can ask for more politeness than is shown us. Our captain having invited us to remain with him to-night, we have done so, and will breakfast with him to-morrow morning. It is his intention to leave as early as he can settle his business here. All the trappers are gone to the fort, and in a few weeks will be dispersed over different and distant parts of the wilderness. The filth they had left below has been scraped and washed off, as well indeed as the whole boat, of which there was need enough. I have copied this journal and send it to St. Louis by our good captain; also one box of skins, one pair Elk horns, and one bundle of Wolf and other skins. _June 14, Wednesday._ At six this morning all hands rose early; the residue of the cargo for St. Louis was placed on board. Our captain told us time was up, and we all started for the fort on foot, quite a short distance. Having deposited our guns there, Bell, Squires, and I walked off to the wooding-place, where our captain was to remain a good while, and it was there we should bid him adieu. We found this walk one of the worst, the very worst, upon which we ever trod; full of wild rose-bushes, tangled and matted with vines, burs, and thorns of all sorts, and encumbered by thousands of pieces of driftwood, some decayed, some sunk in the earth, while others were entangled with the innumerable roots exposed by floods and rains. We saw nothing but a few Ravens. When nearly half way, we heard the trampling of galloping horses, and loud hallooings, which we found to proceed from the wagon of which we have spoken, which, loaded with men, passed us at a speed one would have thought impossible over such ground. Soon after we had a heavy shower of rain, but reached the boat in good order. Harris and Sprague, who had followed us, came afterwards. I was pretty hot, and rather tired. The boat took on wood for half an hour after we arrived; then the captain shook us all by the hand most heartily, and we bade him God speed. I parted from him really with sorrow, for I have found him all I could wish during the whole passage; and his position is no sinecure, to say naught of the rabble under his control. All the wood-cutters who remained walked off by the road; and we went back in the wagon over a bad piece of ground--much easier, however, than returning on foot. As we reached the prairies, we travelled faster, and passed by the late garden of the fort, which had been abandoned on account of the thieving of the men attached to the Opposition Company, at Fort Mortimer. Harris caught a handsome snake, now in spirits. We saw Lazuli Finches and several other sorts of small birds. Upon reaching the fort, from which many great guns were fired as salutes to the steamer, which were loudly returned, I was amused at the terror the firing occasioned to the squaws and their children, who had arrived in great numbers the previous evening; they howled, fell down on the earth, or ran in every direction. All the dogs started off, equally frightened, and made for the distant hills. Dinner not being ready, three of us took a walk, and saw a good number of Tamias holes, many cacti of two sorts, and some plants hitherto uncollected by us. We saw a few Arctic Ground Finches and two Wolves. After dinner Mr. Culbertson told us that if a Wolf made its appearance on the prairie near the fort, he would give it chase on horseback, and bring it to us, alive or dead; and he was as good as his word. It was so handsomely executed, that I will relate the whole affair. When I saw the Wolf (a white one), it was about a quarter of a mile off, alternately standing and trotting; the horses were about one-half the distance off. A man was started to drive these in; and I thought the coursers never would reach the fort, much less become equipped so as to overhaul the Wolf. We were all standing on the platform of the fort, with our heads only above the palisades; and I was so fidgety that I ran down twice to tell the hunters that the Wolf was making off. Mr. Culbertson, however, told me he would see it did not make off; and in a few moments he rode out of the fort, gun in hand, dressed only in shirt and breeches. He threw his cap off within a few yards, and suddenly went off with the swiftness of a jockey bent on winning a race. The Wolf trotted on, and ever and anon stopped to gaze at the rider and the horse; till, finding out the meaning (too late, alas! for him), he galloped off with all his might; but the horse was too swift for the poor cur, as we saw the rider gaining ground rapidly. Mr. Culbertson fired his gun off as a signal, I was told, that the Wolf would be brought in; and the horse, one would think, must have been of the same opinion, for although the Wolf had now reached the hills, and turned into a small ravine, the moment it had entered it, the horse dashed after, the sound of the gun came on the ear, the Wolf was picked up by Mr. Culbertson without dismounting, hardly slackening his pace, and thrown across the saddle. The rider returned as swiftly as he had gone, wet through with a smart shower that had fallen meantime; and the poor Wolf was placed at my disposal. The time taken from the start to the return in the yard did not exceed twenty minutes, possibly something less. Two other men who had started at the same time rode very swiftly also, and skirted the hills to prevent the Wolf's escape; and one of them brought in Mr. C.'s gun, which he had thrown on the ground as he picked up the Wolf to place it on the saddle. The beast was not quite dead when it arrived, and its jaws told of its dying agonies; it scratched one of Mr. C.'s fingers sorely; but we are assured that such things so often occur that nothing is thought of it. And now a kind of sham Buffalo hunt was proposed, accompanied by a bet of a suit of clothes, to be given to the rider who would load and fire the greatest number of shots in a given distance. The horses were mounted as another Wolf was seen trotting off towards the hills, and Mr. Culbertson again told us he would bring it in. This time, however, he was mistaken; the Wolf was too far off to be overtaken, and it reached the hill-tops, made its way through a deep ravine full of large rocks, and was then given up. Mr. Culbertson was seen coming down without his quarry. He joined the riders, started with his gun empty, loaded in a trice, and fired the first shot; then the three riders came on at full speed, loading and firing first on one side, then on the other of the horse, as if after Buffaloes. Mr. C. fired eleven times before he reached the fort, and within less than half a mile's run; the others fired once less, each. We were all delighted to see these feats. No one was thrown off, though the bridles hung loose, and the horses were under full gallop all the time. Mr. Culbertson's mare, which is of the full Blackfoot Indian breed, is about five years old, and could not be bought for four hundred dollars. I should like to see some of the best English hunting gentlemen hunt in the like manner. We are assured that after dusk, or as soon as the gates of the fort are shut, the Wolves come near enough to be killed from the platform, as these beasts oftentimes come to the trough where the hogs are fed daily. We have seen no less than eight this day from the fort, moving as leisurely as if a hundred miles off. A heavy shower put off running a race; but we are to have a regular Buffalo hunt, where I must act only as a spectator; for, alas! I am now too near seventy to run and load whilst going at full gallop. Two gentlemen arrived this evening from the Crow Indian Nation; they crossed to our side of the river, and were introduced at once. One is Mr. Chouteau, son of Auguste Chouteau, and the other a Scotchman, Mr. James Murray, at whose father's farm, on the Tweed, we all stopped on our return from the Highlands of Scotland. They told us that the snow and ice was yet three feet deep near the mountains, and an abundance over the whole of the mountains themselves. They say they have made a good collection of robes, but that Beavers are very scarce. This day has been spent altogether in talking, sight-seeing, and enjoyment. Our room was small, dark, and dirty, and crammed with our effects. Mr. Culbertson saw this, and told me that to-morrow he would remove us to a larger, quieter, and better one. I was glad to hear this, as it would have been very difficult to draw, write, or work in; and yet it is the very room where the Prince de Neuwied resided for two months, with his secretary and bird-preserver. The evening was cloudy and cold; we had had several showers of rain since our bath in the bushes this morning, and I felt somewhat fatigued. Harris and I made our beds up; Squires fixed some Buffalo robes, of which nine had been given us, on a long old bedstead, never knowing it had been the couch of a foreign prince;[18] Bell and Sprague settled themselves opposite to us on more Buffalo skins, and night closed in. But although we had lain down, it was impossible for us to sleep; for above us was a drunken man affected with a _goître_, and not only was his voice rough and loud, but his words were continuous. His oaths, both in French and English, were better fitted for the Five Points in New York, or St. Giles of London, than anywhere among Christians. He roared, laughed like a maniac, and damned himself and the whole creation. I thought that time would quiet him, but, no! for now clarionets, fiddles, and a drum were heard in the dining-room, where indeed they had been playing at different times during the afternoon, and our friend above began swearing at this as if quite fresh. We had retired for the night; but an invitation was sent us to join the party in the dining-room. Squires was up in a moment, and returned to say that a ball was on foot, and that "all the beauty and fashion" would be skipping about in less than no time. There was no alternative; we all got up, and in a short time were amid the _beau monde_ of these parts. Several squaws, attired in their best, were present, with all the guests, _engagés_, clerks, etc. Mr. Culbertson played the fiddle very fairly; Mr. Guèpe the clarionet, and Mr. Chouteau the drum, as if brought up in the army of the great Napoleon. Cotillions and reels were danced with much energy and apparent enjoyment, and the company dispersed about one o'clock. We retired for the second time, and now occurred a dispute between the drunkard and another man; but, notwithstanding this, I was so wearied that I fell asleep. _June 15, Thursday._ We all rose late, as one might expect; the weather was quite cool for the season, and it was cloudy besides. We did nothing else than move our effects to an upstairs room. The Mackinaw boats arrived at the fort about noon, and were unloaded in a precious short time; and all hands being called forth, the empty boats themselves were dragged to a ravine, turned over, and prepared for calking previous to their next voyage up or down, as the case might be. The gentlemen from these boats gave me a fine pair of Deer's horns; and to Mr. Culbertson a young Gray Wolf, and also a young Badger, which they had brought in. It snarled and snapped, and sometimes grunted not unlike a small pig, but did not bite. It moved somewhat slowly, and its body looked flattish all the time; the head has all the markings of an adult, though it is a young of the present spring. Bell and Harris hunted a good while, but procured only a Lazuli Finch and a few other birds. Bell skinned the Wolf, and we put its hide in the barrel with the head of the Buffalo cow, etc. I showed the plates of the quadrupeds to many persons, and I hope with success, as they were pleased and promised me much. To-morrow morning a man called Black Harris is to go off after Antelopes for me; and the hunters for the men of the fort and themselves; and perhaps some of the young men may go with one or both parties. I heard many stories about Wolves; particularly I was interested in one told by Mr. Kipp, who assured us he had caught upwards of one hundred with baited fish-hooks. Many other tales were told us; but I shall not forget them, so will not write them down here, but wait till hereafter. After shooting at a mark with a bow made of Elk horn, Mr. Kipp presented it to me. We saw several Wolves, but none close to the fort. Both the common Crow and Raven are found here; Bell killed one of the former. _June 16, Friday._ The weather was cool this morning, with the wind due east. I drew the young Gray Wolf, and Sprague made an outline of it. Bell, Provost, Alexis, and Black Harris went over the river to try to procure Antelopes; Bell and Alexis returned to dinner without any game, although they had seen dozens of the animals wanted, and also some Common Deer. The two others, who travelled much farther, returned at dusk with empty stomachs and a young fawn of the Common Deer. Harris and I took a long walk after my drawing was well towards completion, and shot a few birds. The Buffalo, old and young, are fond of rolling on the ground in the manner of horses, and turn quite over; this is done not only to clean themselves, but also to rub off the loose old coat of hair and wool that hangs about their body like so many large, dirty rags. Those about the fort are gentle, but will not allow a person to touch their bodies, not even the young calves of the last spring. Our young Badger is quite fond of lying on his back, and then sleeps. His general appearance and gait remind me of certain species of Armadillo. There was a good deal of talking and jarring about the fort; some five or six men came from the Opposition Company, and would have been roughly handled had they not cleared off at the beginning of trouble. Arrangements were made for loading the Mackinaw barges, and it is intended that they shall depart for St. Louis, leaving on Sunday morning. We shall all be glad when these boats with their men are gone, as we are now full to the brim. Harris has a new batch of patients, and enjoys the work of physician. _June 17, Saturday._ Warm and fair, with the river rising fast. The young fawn was hung up, and I drew it. By dinner-time Sprague had well prepared the Gray Wolf, and I put him to work at the fawn. Bell went shooting, and brought five or six good birds. The song of the Lazuli Finch so much resembles that of the Indigo Bird that it would be difficult to distinguish them by the note alone. They keep indifferently among the low bushes and high trees. He also brought a few specimens of _Spermophilus hoodii_ of Richardson,[19] of which the measurements were taken. Wolves often retreat into holes made by the sinking of the earth near ravines, burrowing in different directions at the bottoms of these. I sent Provost early this morning to the Opposition fort, to inquire whether Mr. Cutting had written letters about us, and also to see a fine Kit Fox, brought in one of their boats from the Yellowstone. Much has been done in the way of loading the Mackinaw boats. Bell has skinned the young Wolf, and Sprague will perhaps finish preparing the fawn. The hunters who went out yesterday morning have returned, and brought back a quantity of fresh Buffalo meat. Squires brought many fragments of a petrified tree. No Antelopes were shot, and I feel uneasy on this score. Provost returned and told me Mr. Cutting's men with the letters had not arrived, but that they were expected hourly. The Kit Fox had been suffocated to death by some dozens of bundles of Buffalo robes falling on it, while attached to a ladder, and had been thrown out and eaten by the Wolves or the dogs. This evening, quite late, I shot a fine large Gray Wolf. I sincerely hope to see some Antelopes to-morrow, as well as other animals. _June 18, Sunday._ This day has been a beautiful, as well as a prosperous one to us. At daylight Provost and Alexis went off hunting across the river. Immediately after an early breakfast, Mr. Murray and three Mackinaw boats started for St. Louis. After the boats were fairly out of sight, and the six-pounders had been twice fired, and the great flag floated in the stiff southwesterly breeze, four other hunters went off over the river, and Squires was one of them. I took a walk with Mr. Culbertson and Mr. Chardon, to look at some old, decaying, and simply constructed coffins, placed on trees about ten feet above ground, for the purpose of finding out in what manner, and when it would be best for us to take away the skulls, some six or seven in number, all Assiniboin Indians. It was decided that we would do so at dusk, or nearly at dark. My two companions assured me that they never had walked so far from the fort unarmed as on this occasion, and said that even a _single_ Indian with a gun and a bow might have attacked us; but if several were together, they would pay no attention to us, as that might be construed to mean war. This is a good lesson, however, and one I shall not forget. About ten o'clock Alexis came to me and said that he had killed two male Antelopes, and Provost one Deer, and that he must have a cart to bring the whole in. This was arranged in a few minutes; and Harris and I went across the river on a ferry flat, taking with us a cart and a most excellent mule. Alexis' wife went across also to gather gooseberries. The cart being made ready, we mounted it, I sitting down, and Harris standing up. We took an old abandoned road, filled with fallen timber and bushes innumerable; but Alexis proved to be an excellent driver, and the mule the most active and the strongest I ever saw. We jogged on through thick and thin for about two miles, when we reached a prairie covered with large bushes of Artemisia (called here "Herbe Sainte"), and presently, cutting down a slope, came to where lay our Antelope, a young male, and the skin of the Deer, while its carcass hung on a tree. These were placed in the cart, and we proceeded across the prairie for the other Antelope, which had been tied by the horns to a large bush of Artemisia, being alive when Alexis left it; but it was now dead and stiff. I looked at its eyes at once. This was a fine old male with its coat half shed. I was sorry enough it was dead. We placed it by its relation in the cart, jumped in, and off we went at a good round trot, not returning to the road, but across the prairie and immediately under the clay hills where the Antelope go after they have fed in the prairie below from early dawn until about eight o'clock; there are of course exceptions to the contrary. Part of the way we travelled between ponds made by the melting of the snows, and having on them a few Ducks and a Black Tern, all of which no doubt breed here. After we had passed the last pond, we saw three Antelopes several hundred yards to the lee of us; the moment they perceived us Alexis said they would be off; and so they were, scampering towards the hills until out of sight. We now entered the woods, and almost immediately Harris saw the head of a Deer about fifty yards distant. Alexis, who had only a rifle, would have shot him from the cart, had the mule stood still; but as this was not the case, Alexis jumped down, took a long, deliberate aim, the gun went off, and the Deer fell dead in its tracks. It proved to be a doe with very large milk-bags, and doubtless her fawn or fawns were in the vicinity; but Alexis could not find them in the dense bush. He and Harris dragged her to the cart, where I stood holding the mule. We reached the ferry, where the boat had awaited our return, placed the cart on board without touching the game; and, on landing at the fort, the good mule pulled it up the steep bank into the yard. We now had two Antelopes and two Deer that had been killed before noon. Immediately after dinner, the head of the old male was cut off, and I went to work outlining it; first small, with the camera, and then by squares. Bell was engaged in skinning both the bodies; but I felt vexed that he had carelessly suffered the Gray Wolf to be thrown into the river. I spoke to him on the subject of never losing a specimen till we were quite sure it would not be needed; and I feel well assured he is so honest a man and so good a worker that what I said will last for all time. While looking at the Deer shot this day, Harris and I thought that their tails were very long, and that the animals themselves were very much larger than those we have to the eastward; and we all concluded to have more killed, and examine and measure closely, as this one may be an exception. It was unfortunate we did not speak of this an hour sooner, as two Deer had been killed on this side the river by a hunter belonging to the fort; but Mr. Culbertson assured me that we should have enough of them in a few days. I am told that the Rocky Mountain Rams lost most of their young during the hard frosts of the early spring; for, like those of the common sheep, the lambs are born as early as the 1st of March, and hence their comparative scarcity. Harris and Bell have shot a handsome White Wolf, a female, from the ramparts; having both fired together, it is not known which shot was the fatal one. Bell wounded another in the leg, as there were several marauders about; but the rascal made off. _June 19, Monday._ It began raining early this morning; by "early," I mean fully two hours before daylight. The first news I heard was from Mr. Chardon, who told me he had left a Wolf feeding out of the pig's trough, which is immediately under the side of the fort. The next was from Mr. Larpenteur,[20] who opens the gates when the bell rings at sunrise, who told us he saw seven Wolves within thirty yards, or less, of the fort. I have told him since, with Mr. Chardon's permission, to call upon us before he opens these mighty portals, whenever he espies Wolves from the gallery above, and I hope that to-morrow morning we may shoot one or more of these bold marauders. Sprague has been drawing all day, and I a good part of it; and it has been so chilly and cold that we have had fires in several parts of the fort. Bell and Harris have gone shooting this afternoon, and have not yet returned. Bell cleaned the Wolf shot last night, and the two Antelopes; old Provost boiled brine, and the whole of them are now in pickle. There are some notions that two kinds of Deer are found hereabouts, one quite small, the other quite large; but of this I have no proof at present. The weather was too bad for Alexis to go hunting. Young Mr. McKenzie and a companion went across the river, but returned soon afterwards, having seen nothing but one Grizzly Bear. The water is either at a stand, or falling a little.--_Later_. Harris and Bell have returned, and, to my delight and utter astonishment, have brought two new birds: one a Lark,[21] small and beautiful; the other like our common Golden-winged Woodpecker, but with a red mark instead of a black one along the lower mandible running backward.[22] I am quite amazed at the differences of opinion respecting the shedding--or not shedding--of the horns of the Antelope;[23] and this must be looked to with the greatest severity, for if these animals _do_ shed their horns, they are no longer _Antelopes_. We are about having quite a ball in honor of Mr. Chardon, who leaves shortly for the Blackfoot Fort. _June 20, Tuesday._ It rained nearly all night; and though the ball was given, I saw nothing of it, and heard but little, for I went to bed and to sleep. Sprague finished the drawing of the old male Antelope, and I mine, taking besides the measurements, etc., which I give here.... Bell has skinned the head and put it in pickle. The weather was bad, yet old Provost, Alexis, and Mr. Bonaventure, a good hunter and a first-rate shot, went over the river to hunt. They returned, however, without anything, though they saw three or four Deer, and a Wolf almost black, with very long hair, which Provost followed for more than a mile, but uselessly, as the rascal outwitted him after all. Harris and Bell are gone too, and I hope they will bring some more specimens of Sprague's Lark and the new Golden-winged Woodpecker. To fill the time on this dreary day, I asked Mr. Chardon to come up to our room and give us an account of the small-pox among the Indians, especially among the Mandans and Riccarees, and he related as follows: Early in the month of July, 1837, the steamer "Assiniboin" arrived at Fort Clark with many cases of small-pox on board. Mr. Chardon, having a young son on the boat, went thirty miles to meet her, and took his son away. The pestilence, however, had many victims on the steamboat, and seemed destined to find many more among the helpless tribes of the wilderness. An Indian stole the blanket of one of the steamboat's watchmen (who lay at the point of death, if not already dead), wrapped himself in it, and carried it off, unaware of the disease that was to cost him his life, and that of many of his tribe--thousands, indeed. Mr. Chardon offered a reward immediately for the return of the blanket, as well as a new one in its stead, and promised that no punishment should be inflicted. But the robber was a great chief; through shame, or some other motive, he never came forward, and, before many days, was a corpse. Most of the Riccarees and Mandans were some eighty miles in the prairies, hunting Buffaloes and saving meat for the winter. Mr. Chardon despatched an express to acquaint them all of the awful calamity, enjoining them to keep far off, for that death would await them in their villages. They sent word in return, that their corn was suffering for want of work, that they were not afraid, and would return; the danger to them, poor things, seemed fabulous, and doubtless they thought other reasons existed, for which this was an excuse. Mr. Chardon sent the man back again, and told them their crop of corn was nothing compared to their lives; but Indians are Indians, and, in spite of all entreaties, they moved _en masse_, to confront the awful catastrophe that was about to follow. When they reached the villages, they thought the whites had saved the Riccarees, and put the plague on them alone (they were Mandans). Moreover, they thought, and said, that the whites had a preventive medicine, which the whites would not give them. Again and again it was explained to them that this was not the case, but all to no purpose; the small-pox had taken such a hold upon the poor Indians, and in such malignant form, that they died oftentimes within the rising and setting of a day's sun. They died by hundreds daily; their bodies were thrown down beneath the high bluff, and soon produced a stench beyond description. Men shot their wives and children, and afterwards, driving several balls in their guns, would place the muzzle in their mouths, and, touching the trigger with their feet, blow their brains out. About this time Mr. Chardon was informed that one of the young Mandan chiefs was bent on shooting him, believing he had brought the pestilence upon the Indians. One of Mr. Chardon's clerks heard of this plot, and begged him to remain in the store; at first Mr. Chardon did not place any faith in the tale, but later was compelled to do so, and followed his clerk's advice. The young chief, a short time afterwards, fell a victim to this fearful malady; but probably others would have taken his life had it not been for one of those strange incidents which come, we know not why, nor can we explain them. A number of the chiefs came that day to confer with Mr. Chardon, and while they were talking angrily with him, he sitting with his arms on a table between them, a Dove, being pursued by a Hawk, flew in through the open door, and sat panting and worn out on Mr. Chardon's arm for more than a minute, when it flew off. The Indians, who were quite numerous, clustered about him, and asked him what the bird came to him for? After a moment's thought, he told them that the bird had been sent by the white men, his friends, to see if it was true that the Mandans had killed him, and that it must return with the answer as soon as possible; he added he had told the Dove to say that the Mandans were his friends, and would never kill him, but would do all they could for him. The superstitious redmen believed this story implicitly; thenceforth they looked on Mr. Chardon as one of the Great Spirit's sons, and believed he alone could help them. Little, however, could be done; the small-pox continued its fearful ravages, and the Indians grew fewer and fewer day by day. For a long time the Riccarees did not suffer; the Mandans became more and more astounded at this, and became exasperated against both whites and Indians. The disease was of the most virulent type, so that within a few hours after death the bodies were a mass of rottenness. Men killed themselves, to die a nobler death than that brought by the dreaded plague. One young warrior sent his wife to dig his grave; and she went, of course, for no Indian woman dares disobey her lord. The grave was dug, and the warrior, dressed in his most superb apparel, with lance and shield in hand, walked towards it singing his own death song, and, finding the grave finished, threw down all his garments and arms, and leaped into it, drawing his knife as he did so, and cutting his body almost asunder. This done, the earth was thrown over him, the grave filled up, and the woman returned to her lodge to live with her children, perhaps only another day. A great chief, who had been a constant friend to the whites, having caught the pest, and being almost at the last extremity, dressed himself in his fineries, mounted his war-steed, and, fevered and in agony, rode among the villages, speaking against the whites, urging the young warriors to charge upon them and destroy them all. The harangue over, he went home, and died not many hours afterward. The exposure and exertion brought on great pains, and one of the men from the fort went to him with something that gave him temporary relief; before he died, he acknowledged his error in trying to create trouble between the whites and Indians, and it was his wish to be buried in front of the gate of the fort, with all his trophies around and above his body; the promise was given him that this should be done, and he died in the belief that the white man, as he trod on his grave, would see that he was humbled before him, and would forgive him. Two young men, just sickening with the disease, began to talk of the dreadful death that awaited them, and resolved not to wait for the natural close of the malady, the effects of which they had seen among their friends and relatives. One said the knife was the surest and swiftest weapon to carry into effect their proposed self-destruction; the other contended that placing an arrow in the throat and forcing it into the lungs was preferable. After a long debate they calmly rose, and each adopted his own method; in an instant the knife was driven into the heart of one, the arrow into the throat of the other, and they fell dead almost at the same instant. Another story was of an extremely handsome and powerful Indian who lost an only son, a beautiful boy, upon whom all his hopes and affections were placed. The loss proved too much for him; he called his wife, and, after telling her what a faithful husband he had been, said to her, "Why should we live? all we cared for is taken from us, and why not at once join our child in the land of the Great Spirit?" She consented; in an instant he shot her dead on the spot, reloaded his gun, put the muzzle in his mouth, touched the trigger, and fell back dead. On the same day another curious incident occurred; a young man, covered with the eruption, and apparently on the eve of death, managed to get to a deep puddle of mire or mud, threw himself in it, and rolled over and over as a Buffalo is wont to do. The sun was scorching hot, and the poor fellow got out of the mire covered with a coating of clay fully half an inch thick and laid himself down; the sun's heat soon dried the clay, so as to render it like unburnt bricks, and as he walked or crawled along towards the village, the mud drying and falling from him, taking the skin with it, and leaving the flesh raw and bleeding, he was in agony, and besought those who passed to kill him; but, strange to say, after enduring tortures, the fever left him, he recovered, and is still living, though badly scarred. Many ran to the river, in the delirium of the burning fever, plunged in the stream, and rose no more. The whites in the fort, as well as the Riccarees, took the disease after all. The Indians, with few exceptions, died, and three of the whites. The latter had no food in the way of bread, flour, sugar, or coffee, and they had to go stealthily by night to steal small pumpkins, about the size of a man's fist, to subsist upon--and this amid a large number of wild, raving, mad Indians, who swore revenge against them all the while. This is a mere sketch of the terrible scourge which virtually annihilated two powerful tribes of Indians, and of the trials of the traders attached to the Fur Companies on these wild prairies, and I can tell you of many more equally strange. The mortality, as taken down by Major Mitchell, was estimated by that gentleman at 150,000 Indians, including those from the tribes of the Riccarees, Mandans, Sioux, and Blackfeet. The small-pox was in the very fort from which I am now writing this account, and its ravages here were as awful as elsewhere. Mr. Chardon had the disease, and was left for dead; but one of his clerks saw signs of life, and forced him to drink a quantity of hot whiskey mixed with water and nutmeg; he fell into a sound sleep, and his recovery began from that hour. He says that with him the pains began in the small of the back, and on the back part of his head, and were intense. He concluded by assuring us all that the small-pox had never been known in the civilized world, as it had been among the poor Mandans and other Indians. Only _twenty-seven_ Mandans were left to tell the tale; they have now augmented to ten or twelve lodges in the six years that have nearly elapsed since the pestilence.[24] Harris and Bell came back bringing several small birds, among which three or four proved to be a Blackbird[25] nearly allied to the Rusty Grakle, but with evidently a much shorter and straighter bill. Its measurements will be given, of course. The weather is still lowering and cold, and it rains at intervals. We are now out of specimens of quadrupeds to draw from. Our gentlemen seem to remember the ball of last night, and I doubt not will go early to bed, as I shall. _June 21, Wednesday._ Cloudy and lowering weather; however, Provost went off over the river, before daylight, and shot a Deer, of what kind we do not know; he returned about noon, very hungry. The mud was dreadful in the bottoms. Bell and young McKenzie went off after breakfast, but brought nothing but a Sharp-tailed Grouse, though McKenzie shot two Wolves. The one Harris shot last night proved to be an old female not worth keeping; her companions had seamed her jaws, for in this part of the world Wolves feed upon Wolves, and no mistake. This evening I hauled the beast under the ramparts, cut her body open, and had a stake driven quite fast through it, to hold it as a bait. Harris and Bell are this moment on the lookout for the rascals. Wolves here not only eat their own kind, but are the most mischievous animals in the country; they eat the young Buffalo calves, the young Antelopes, and the young of the Bighorn on all occasions, besides Hares of different sorts, etc. Buffaloes never scrape the snow with their feet, but with their noses, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, even by Mr. Catlin. Bell brought home the hind parts, the head, and one forefoot of a new species of small Hare.[26] We are told these Hares are very plentiful, and yet this is the first specimen we have seen, and sorry am I that it amounts to no specimen at all. Harris and I walked several miles, but killed nothing; we found the nest of a Sparrow-hawk, and Harris, assisted by my shoulders, reached the nest, and drew out two eggs. Sprague went across the hills eastward, and was fortunate enough to shoot a superb specimen of the Arctic Bluebird. This evening, Mr. Culbertson having told me the Rabbits, such as Bell had brought, were plentiful on the road to the steamboat landing, Harris, Bell, and I walked there; but although we were very cautious, we saw none, and only procured a Black-headed Grosbeak, which was shot whilst singing delightfully. To-morrow morning Mr. Chardon leaves us in the keel-boat for the Blackfoot Fort, and Mr. Kipp will leave for the Crows early next week. _June 22, Thursday._ We rose very late this morning, with the exception of Provost, who went out shooting quite early; but he saw nothing fit for his rifle. All was bustle after breakfast, as Mr. Chardon's boat was loading, the rigging being put in order, the men moving their effects, etc., and a number of squaws, the wives of the men, were moving to and fro for hours before the ultimate departure of the boat, which is called the "Bee." The cargo being arranged, thirty men went on board, including the commander, friend Chardon, thirteen squaws, and a number of children, all more or less half-breeds. The flag of Fort Union was hoisted, the four-pounder run out of the front gate, and by eleven o'clock all was ready. The keel-boat had a brass swivel on her bows, and fired first, then off went the larger gun, and many an Antelope and Deer were doubtless frightened at the report that echoed through the hills far and near. We bid adieu to our good friend Chardon; and his numerous and willing crew, taking the cordelle to their shoulders, moved the boat against a strong current in good style. Harris and Bell had gone shooting and returned with several birds, among which was a female Red-patched Woodpecker,[27] and a Lazuli Finch. Dinner over, I went off with young McKenzie after Hares; found none, but started a Grizzly Bear from her lair. Owen McKenzie followed the Bear and I continued after Hares; he saw no more of Bruin, and I not a Hare, and we both returned to the fort after a tramp of three hours. As I was walking over the prairie, I found an Indian's skull (an Assiniboin) and put it in my game pouch. Provost made a whistle to imitate the noise made by the fawns at this season, which is used to great advantage to decoy the female Deer; shortly afterward Mr. Bonaventure returned, and a cart was sent off at once to bring in a doe which he had killed below. This species of Deer is much larger than the one we have in Virginia, but perhaps no more so than those in Maine; and as yet we cannot tell whether it may, or may not, prove a distinct species. We took all its measurements, and Bell and Provost are now skinning it. Its gross weight is 140 lbs., which I think is heavier than any doe I have seen before. The animal is very poor and evidently has fawns in the woods. The little new Lark that I have named after Sprague has almost all the habits of the Skylark of Europe. Whilst looking anxiously after it, on the ground where we supposed it to be singing, we discovered it was high over our heads, and that sometimes it went too high for us to see it at all. We have not yet been able to discover its nest. Bell is of opinion that the Red-collared Ground Finch[28] has its nest in the deserted holes of the Ground Squirrel, and we intend to investigate this. He also believes that Say's Flycatcher builds in rocky caverns or fissures, as he found the nest of a bird in some such place, after having wounded one of this species, which retired into the fissures of the rock, which he examined in pursuit of the wounded bird. The nest had no eggs; we are going to pay it a visit. Bell was busy most of the day skinning birds, and Sprague drew a beautiful plant. I found a number of wild roses in bloom, quite sweet-scented, though single, and of a very pale rose-color. _June 23, Friday._ We have had a fine, warm day. The hunters of Buffaloes started before daylight, and Squires accompanied them; they are not expected back till sometime to-morrow. Provost went across the river with them, and with the assistance of his bleating whistle, brought several does round him, and a good many Wolves. He killed two does, drew them to a tree, and hung his coat near them while he returned for help to bring them to the fort. The hunters have a belief that a garment hung near game freshly killed will keep the Wolves at bay for a time; but there are exceptions to all rules, as when he returned with the cart, a dozen hungry rascals of Wolves had completely devoured one doe and all but one ham of the other; this he brought to the fort. The does at this season, on hearing the "bleat," run to the spot, supposing, no doubt, that the Wolves have attacked their fawns, and in rushing to the rescue, run towards the hunter, who despatches them without much trouble, unless the woods are thickly overgrown with bushes and brush, when more difficulty is experienced in seeing them, although one may hear them close by; but it is a cruel, deceitful, and unsportsmanlike method, of which I can never avail myself, and which I try to discountenance. Bell was busy all day with skins, and Sprague with flowers, which he delineates finely. Mr. Kipp presented me with a complete dress of a Blackfoot warrior, ornamented with many tufts of Indian hair from scalps, and also with a saddle. After dinner, Harris, who felt poorly all morning, was better, and we went to pay a visit at the Opposition fort. We started in a wagon with an old horse called Peter, which stands fire like a stump. In going, we found we could approach the birds with comparative ease, and we had the good fortune to shoot three of the new Larks. I killed two, and Harris one. When this species starts from the ground, they fly in a succession of undulations, which renders aim at them quite difficult; after this, and in the same manner, they elevate themselves to some considerable height, as if about to sing, and presently pitch towards the ground, where they run prettily, and at times stand still and quite erect for a few minutes; we hope to discover their nests soon. Young Meadow Larks, Red-shafted Woodpeckers, and the Red-cheeked ditto,[29] are abundant. We reached Fort Mortimer in due time; passed first between several sulky, half-starved looking Indians, and came to the gate, where we were received by the "bourgeois,"[30] a young man by the name of Collins, from Hopkinsville, Ky. We found the place in a most miserable condition, and about to be carried away by the falling in of the banks on account of the great rise of water in the Yellowstone, that has actually dammed the Missouri. The current ran directly across, and the banks gave way at such a rate that the men had been obliged already to tear up the front of the fort and remove it to the rear. To-morrow they are to remove the houses themselves, should they stand the coming night, which appeared to me somewhat dubious. We saw a large athletic man who has crossed the mountains twice to the Pacific; he is a Philadelphian, named Wallis, who had been a cook at Fort Union four years, but who had finally deserted, lived for a time with the Crows, and then joined the Opposition. These persons were very polite to us, and invited us to remain and take supper with them; but as I knew they were short of provisions, I would not impose myself upon them, and so, with thanks for their hospitality, we excused ourselves and returned to Fort Union. As we were in search of birds, we saw a small, whitish-colored Wolf trotting across the prairie, which hereabouts is very extensive and looks well, though the soil is poor. We put Peter to a trot and gained on the Wolf, which did not see us until we were about one hundred yards off; he stopped suddenly, and then went off at a canter. Harris gave the whip to Peter, and off we went, evidently gaining rapidly on the beast, when it saw an Indian in its road; taking fright, it dashed to one side, and was soon lost in a ravine. We congratulated ourselves, on reaching the fort, that we had such good fortune as to be able to sup and sleep here, instead of at Fort Mortimer. Bell had taken a walk and brought in a few birds. The prairie is covered with cacti, and Harris and I suffered by them; my feet were badly pricked by the thorns, which penetrated my boots at the junction of the soles with the upper leathers. I have to-day heard several strange stories about Grizzly Bears, all of which I must have corroborated before I fully accept them. The Otters and Musk-rats of this part of the country are smaller than in the States; the first is the worst enemy that the Beaver has. _June 24, Saturday._ Bell killed a small Wolf last night, and Harris wounded another. This morning Provost started at daylight, and Bell followed him; but they returned without game. After breakfast Harris went off on horseback, and brought in a Sharp-tailed Grouse. He saw only one Deer, species not identified. Sprague and I went off last, but brought in nothing new. This afternoon I thought would be a fair opportunity to examine the manners of Sprague's Lark on the wing. Bell drove Peter for me, and I killed four Larks; we then watched the flight of several. The male rises by constant undulations to a great height, say one hundred yards or more; and whilst singing its sweet-sounding notes, beats its wings, poised in the air like a Hawk, without rising at this time; after which, and after each burst of singing, it sails in divers directions, forming three quarters of a circle or thereabouts, then rises again, and again sings; the intervals between the singing are longer than those which the song occupies, and at times the bird remains so long in the air as to render it quite fatiguing to follow it with the eye. Sprague thought one he watched yesterday remained in the air about one hour. Bell and Harris watched one for more than half an hour, and this afternoon I gazed upon one, whilst Bell timed it, for thirty-six minutes. We continued on to Fort Mortimer to see its condition, were received as kindly as yesterday, and saw the same persons. It was four o'clock, and the men were all at dinner, having been obliged to wait until this time because they had no meat in the fort, and their hunters had returned only one hour and a half before. We found that the river had fallen about fourteen inches since last evening, and the men would not remove for the present. On our way homeward Bell shot a fifth Lark, and when we reached the ravine I cut out of a tree-stump the nest of an Arctic Bluebird, with six eggs in it, of almost the same size and color as those of the common Bluebird. Sprague had brought a female of his Lark, and her nest containing five eggs; the measurements of these two species I will write out to-morrow. Our Buffalo hunters are not yet returned, and I think that Squires will feel pretty well fatigued when he reaches the fort. Mr. Culbertson presented me with a pair of stirrups, and a most splendid Blackfoot crupper for my saddle. The day has been warm and clear. We caught seven catfish at the river near the fort, and most excellent eating they are, though quite small when compared with the monsters of this species on the Missouri below. _June 25, Sunday._ This day has been warm and the wind high, at first from the south, but this afternoon from the north. Little or nothing has been done in the way of procuring birds or game, except that Harris and Mr. Denig brought in several Arkansas Flycatchers. Not a word from the hunters, and therefore they must have gone far before they met Buffaloes. A few more catfish have been caught, and they are truly excellent. _June 26, Monday._ The hunters returned this afternoon about three o'clock; _i. e._, Squires and McKenzie; but the carts did not reach the fort till after I had gone to bed. They have killed three Antelopes, three bull Buffaloes, and one Townsend's Hare, but the last was lost through carelessness, and I am sorry for it. The men had eaten one of the Antelopes, and the two others are fine males; Bell skinned one, and saved the head and the fore-legs of the other. One of them had the tips of the horns as much crooked inwardly (backwards) as the horns of the European Chamois usually are. This afternoon early Provost brought in a Deer of the large kind, and this also was skinned. After this Harris and Bell went off and brought in several Lazuli Finches, and a black Prairie Lark Finch of the species brought from the Columbia by Townsend and Nuttall. We caught several catfish and a very curious sturgeon, of which Sprague took an outline with the camera, and I here give the measurements.... It had run on the shore, and was caught by one of the men. I made a bargain this morning with the hunter Bonaventure Le Brun to procure me ten Bighorns, at $10.00 apiece, or the same price for any number he may get. Mr. Culbertson lent him old Peter, the horse, and I wrote a _petit billet_ to Mr. John Collins, to ask him to have them ferried across the river, as our boat was away on a wood-cutting expedition. As Le Brun did not return, of course he was taken across, and may, perhaps, come back this evening, or early to-morrow morning, with something worth having. At this moment Bell has shot a Wolf from the ramparts, and sadly crippled another, but it made off somehow. _June 27, Tuesday._ This morning was quite cool, and the wind from the north. After breakfast Bell and Owen McKenzie went off on horseback on this side of the river, to see how far off the Buffaloes are, and they may probably bring home some game. Sprague and I have been drawing all day yesterday and most of to-day. Provost has been making whistles to call the Deer; later he, Harris, and I, walked to the hills to procure the black root plant which is said to be the best antidote for the bite of the rattlesnake. We found the root and dug one up, but the plant is not yet in bloom. The leaves are long and narrow, and the flowers are said to resemble the dwarf sunflower. Harris shot two of what he calls the Small Shore Lark, male and female; but beyond the size being a little smaller than those found at Labrador, I cannot discover any specific difference. From the top of the hills we saw a grand panorama of a most extensive wilderness, with Fort Union beneath us and far away, as well as the Yellowstone River, and the lake across the river. The hills across the Missouri appeared quite low, and we could see the high prairie beyond, forming the background. Bell and McKenzie returned, having shot a Wolf in a curious manner. On reaching the top of a hill they found themselves close to the Wolf. Bell's horse ran quite past it, but young McKenzie shot and broke one fore-leg, and it fell. Bell then gave his horse to McKenzie, jumped off, ran to the Wolf, and took hold of it by the tail, pulling it towards the horses; but it got up and ran rapidly. Bell fired two shots in its back with a pistol without stopping it, then he ran as fast as he could, shot it in the side, and it fell. Bell says its tail was longer than usual, but it was not measured, and the Wolf was left on the prairie, as they had no means of bringing it in. They saw an Antelope, some Magpies, and a Swift Fox, but no Buffaloes, though they were fifteen miles from the fort. They ran a Long-tailed Deer, and describe its movements precisely as do Lewis and Clark.[31] Between every three or four short leaps came the long leap of fully twenty-five feet, if not more. The Kit or Swift Fox which they saw stood by a bunch of wormwood, and whilst looking at the hunters, was seen to brush off the flies with his paws. I am now going to take this book to Lewis Squires and ask him to write in it his account of the Buffalo hunt. (The following is in Mr. Squires' handwriting:) "By Mr. Audubon's desire I will relate the adventures that befell me in my first Buffalo hunt, and I am in hopes that among the rubbish a trifle, at least, may be obtained which may be of use or interest to him. On the morning of Friday, the 23d, before daylight, I was up, and in a short time young McKenzie made his appearance. A few minutes sufficed to saddle our horses, and be in readiness for our contemplated hunt. We were accompanied by Mr. Bonaventure the younger, one of the hunters of the fort, and two carts to bring in whatever kind of meat might be procured. We were ferried across the river in a flatboat, and thence took our departure for the Buffalo country. We passed through a wooded bottom for about one mile, and then over a level prairie for about one mile and a half, when we commenced the ascent of the bluffs that bound the western side of the Missouri valley; our course then lay over an undulating prairie, quite rough, and steep hills with small ravines between, and over dry beds of streams that are made by the spring and fall freshets. Occasionally we were favored with a level prairie never exceeding two miles in extent. When the carts overtook us, we exchanged our horses for them, and sat on Buffalo robes on the bottom, our horses following on behind us. As we neared the place where the Buffaloes had been killed on the previous hunt, Bonaventure rode alone to the top of a hill to discover, if possible, their whereabouts; but to our disappointment nothing living was to be seen. We continued on our way watching closely, ahead, right and left. Three o'clock came and as yet nothing had been killed; as none of us had eaten anything since the night before, our appetites admonished us that it was time to pay attention to them. McKenzie and Bonaventure began to look about for Antelopes; but before any were 'comeatable,' I fell asleep, and was awakened by the report of a gun. Before we, in the carts, arrived at the spot from whence this report proceeded, the hunters had killed, skinned, and nearly cleaned the game, which was a fine male Antelope. I regretted exceedingly I was not awake when it was killed, as I might have saved the skin for Mr. Audubon, as well as the head, but I was too late. It was now about five o'clock, and one may well imagine I was _somewhat_ hungry. Owen McKenzie commenced eating the raw liver, and offered me a piece. What others can eat, I felt assured I could at least taste. I accordingly took it and ate quite a piece of it; to my utter astonishment, I found it not only palatable but very good; this experience goes far to convince me that our prejudices make things appear more disgusting than fact proves them to be. Our Antelope cut up and in the cart, we proceeded on our 'winding way,' and scarcely had we left the spot where the entrails of the animal remained, before the Wolves and Ravens commenced coming from all quarters, and from places where a minute before there was not a sign of one. We had not proceeded three hundred yards at the utmost, before eight Wolves were about the spot, and others approaching. On our way, both going and returning, we saw a cactus of a conical shape, having a light straw-colored, double flower, differing materially from the flower of the flat cactus, which is quite common; had I had any means of bringing one in, I would most gladly have done so, but I could not depend on the carts, and as they are rather unpleasant companions, I preferred awaiting another opportunity, which I hope may come in a few days. We shot a young of Townsend's Hare, about seven or eight steps from us, with about a dozen shot; I took good care of it until I left the cart on my return to the fort, but when the carts arrived it had carelessly been lost. This I regretted very much, as Mr. Audubon wanted it. It was nearly sunset when Bonaventure discovered a Buffalo bull, so we concluded to encamp for the night, and run the Buffaloes in the morning. We accordingly selected a spot near a pond of water, which in spring and fall is quite a large lake, and near which there was abundance of good pasture; our horses were soon unsaddled and hoppled, a good fire blazing, and some of the Antelope meat roasting on sticks before it. As soon as a bit was done, we commenced operations, and it was soon gone 'the way of all flesh.' I never before ate meat without salt or pepper, and until then never fully appreciated these two _luxuries_, as they now seemed, nor can any one, until deprived of them, and seated on a prairie as we were, or in some similar situation. On the opposite side of the lake we saw a Grizzly Bear, but he was unapproachable. After smoking our pipes we rolled ourselves in our robes, with our saddles for pillows, and were soon lost in a sound, sweet sleep. During the night I was awakened by a crunching sound; the fire had died down, and I sat up and looking about perceived a Wolf quietly feeding on the remains of our supper. One of the men awoke at the same time and fired at the Wolf, but without effect, and the fellow fled; we neither saw nor heard more of him during the night. By daylight we were all up, and as our horses had not wandered far, it was the work of a few minutes to catch and saddle them. We rode three or four miles before we discovered anything, but at last saw a group of three Buffaloes some miles from us. We pushed on, and soon neared them; before arriving at their feeding-ground, we saw, scattered about, immense quantities of pumice-stone, in detached pieces of all sizes; several of the hills appeared to be composed wholly of it. As we approached within two hundred yards of the Buffaloes they started, and away went the hunters after them. My first intention of being merely a looker-on continued up to this moment, but it was impossible to resist following; almost unconsciously I commenced urging my horse after them, and was soon rushing up hills and through ravines; but my horse gave out, and disappointment and anger followed, as McKenzie and Bonaventure succeeded in killing two, and wounding a third, which escaped. As soon as they had finished them, they commenced skinning and cutting up one, which was soon in the cart, the offal and useless meat being left on the ground. Again the Wolves made their appearance as we were leaving; they seemed shy, but Owen McKenzie succeeded in killing one, which was old and useless. The other Buffalo was soon skinned and in the cart. In the meantime McKenzie and I started on horseback for water. The man who had charge of the keg had let it all run out, and most fortunately none of us had wanted water until now. We rode to a pond, the water of which was very salt and warm, but we had to drink this or none; we did so, filled our flasks for the rest of the party, and a few minutes afterward rejoined them. We started again for more meat to complete our load. I observed, as we approached the Buffaloes, that they stood gazing at us with their heads erect, lashing their sides with their tails; as soon as they discovered what we were at, with the quickness of thought they wheeled, and with the most surprising speed, for an animal apparently so clumsy and awkward, flew before us. I could hardly imagine that these enormous animals could move so quickly, or realize that their speed was as great as it proved to be; and I doubt if in this country one horse in ten can be found that will keep up with them. We rode five or six miles before we discovered any more. At last we saw a single bull, and while approaching him we started two others; slowly we wended our way towards them until within a hundred yards, when away they went. I had now begun to enter into the spirit of the chase, and off I started, full speed, down a rough hill in swift pursuit; at the bottom of the hill was a ditch about eight feet wide; the horse cleared this safely. I continued, leading the others by some distance, and rapidly approaching the Buffaloes. At this prospect of success my feelings can better be imagined than described. I kept the lead of the others till within thirty or forty yards of the Buffaloes, when I began making preparations to fire as soon as I was sufficiently near; imagine, if possible, my disappointment when I discovered that now, when all my hopes of success were raised to the highest pitch, I was fated to meet a reverse as mortifying as success would have been gratifying. My horse failed, and slackened his pace, despite every effort of mine to urge him on; the other hunters rushed by me at full speed, and my horse stopped altogether. I saw the others fire; the animal swerved a little, but still kept on. After breathing my horse a while, I succeeded in starting him up again, followed after them, and came up in time to fire one shot ere the animal was brought down. I think that I never saw an eye so ferocious in expression as that of the wounded Buffalo; rolling wildly in its socket, inflamed as the eye was, it had the most frightful appearance that can be imagined; and in fact, the picture presented by the Buffalo as a whole is quite beyond my powers of description. The fierce eyes, blood streaming from his sides, mouth, and nostrils, he was the wildest, most unearthly-looking thing it ever fell to my lot to gaze upon. His sufferings were short; he was soon cut up and placed in the cart, and we retraced our steps homeward. Whilst proceeding towards our camping-ground for the night, two Antelopes were killed, and placed on our carts. Whenever we approached these animals they were very curious to see what we were; they would run, first to the right, and then to the left, then suddenly run straight towards us until within gun-shot, or nearly so. The horse attracted their attention more than the rider, and if a slight elevation or bush was between us, they were easily killed. As soon as their curiosity was gratified they would turn and run, but it was not difficult to shoot before this occurred. When they turned they would fly over the prairie for about a mile, when they would again stop and look at us. During the day we suffered very much for want of water, and drank anything that had the appearance of it, and most of the water, in fact all of it, was either impregnated with salt, sulphur, or magnesia--most disgusting stuff at any other time, but drinkable now. The worst of all was some rain-water that we were obliged to drink, first placing our handkerchiefs over the cup to strain it, and keep the worms out of our mouths. I drank it, and right glad was I to get even this. We rode about five miles to where we encamped for the night, near a little pond of water. In a few minutes we had a good fire of Buffalo dung to drive away mosquitoes that were in clouds about us. The water had taken away our appetites completely, and we went to bed without eating any supper. Our horses and beds were arranged as on the previous evening. McKenzie and I intended starting for the fort early in the morning. We saw a great many Magpies, Curlews, Plovers, Doves, and numbers of Antelopes. About daylight I awoke and roused McKenzie; a man had gone for the horses, but after a search of two hours returned without finding them; all the party now went off except one man and myself, and all returned without success except Bonaventure, who found an old horse that had been lost since April last. He was despatched on this to the fort to get other horses, as we had concluded that ours were either lost or stolen. As soon as he had gone, one of the men started again in search of the runaways, and in a short time returned with them. McKenzie and I soon rode off. We saw two Grizzly Bears at the lake again. Our homeward road we made much shorter by cutting off several turns; we overtook Bonaventure about four miles from our encampment, and passed him. We rode forty miles to the fort in a trifle over six hours. We had travelled in all about one hundred and twenty miles. Bonaventure arrived two hours after we did, and the carts came in the evening." _Wednesday, June 28._ This is an account of Squires' Buffalo hunt, his first one, which he has kindly written in my journal and which I hope some day to publish. This morning was very cloudy, and we had some rain, but from ten o'clock until this moment the weather has been beautiful. Harris shot a handsome though rather small Wolf; I have made a large drawing, and Sprague a fine diminished one, of the rascal. The first news we had this morning was that the ferry flat had been stolen last night, probably by the deserters from the fort who have had the wish to return to St. Louis. Some person outside of the fort threw a large stone at an Indian woman, and her husband fired in the dark, but no one could be found on searching. There is much trouble and discomfort to the managers of such an establishment as this. Provost went shooting, but saw nothing. Young McKenzie and another man were sent to find the scow, but in vain. On their return they said a hunter from Fort Mortimer had brought a Bighorn, and skinned it, and that he would let me have it if I wished. I sent Bell and Squires, and they brought the skin in. It proves to be that of an old female in the act of shedding her winter coat, and I found that she was covered with abundance of downy wool like the Antelopes under similar circumstances. Mr. Larpenteur caught five small catfish, which we ate at breakfast. After dinner Le Brun returned home, but brought only the skin of a young female of the White-tailed Deer, and I was surprised to see that it had the germ of a horn about one inch long; the skin was quite red, and it is saved. A young Elk was brought in good condition, as the hunters here know how to save skins properly; it was too young, however, to take measurements. The horns were in velvet about six inches long. When one sees the powerful bones and muscles of this young animal, one cannot fail to think of the great strength of the creature when mature, and its ability to bear with ease the enormous antlers with which its head is surmounted. The flesh of the Antelope is not comparable with that of the Deer, being dry and usually tough. It is very rarely indeed that a fat Antelope is killed. Bell has been very busy in skinning small birds and animals. We procured a young Red-shafted Woodpecker, killed by an Indian boy with a bow and arrow. Mr. Kipp's "Mackinaw" was launched this evening, and sent across the river with men to relieve the charcoal-burners; she returned immediately and we expect that Mr. Kipp's crew will go off to-morrow about twelve. I was told a curious anecdote connected with a Grizzly Bear, that I will write down; it is as follows: One of the _engagés_ of the Company was forced to run away, having killed an Indian woman, and made his way to the Crow Fort, three hundred miles up the Yellowstone River. When he arrived there he was in sad plight, having his own squaw and one or two children along, who had all suffered greatly with hunger, thirst, and exposure. They were received at the fort, but in a short time, less than a week afterwards, he again ran off with his family, and on foot. The discovery was soon made, and two men were sent after him; but he eluded their vigilance by keeping close in ravines, etc. The men returned, and two others with an Indian were despatched on a second search, and after much travel saw the man and his family on an island, where he had taken refuge from his pursuers. The Buffalo-hide canoe in which he had attempted to cross the river was upset, and it was with difficulty that he saved his wife and children. They were now unable to escape, and when talking as to the best way to secure their return to the fort, the soldiers saw him walk to the body of a dead Buffalo lying on the shore of the island, with the evident intention of procuring some of it for food. As he stooped to cut off a portion, to his utter horror he saw a small Grizzly Bear crawl out from the carcass. It attacked him fiercely, and so suddenly that he was unable to defend himself; the Bear lacerated his face, arms, and the upper part of his body in a frightful manner, and would have killed him, had not the Indian raised his gun and fired at the Bear, wounding him severely, while a second shot killed him. The _engagé_ was too much hurt to make further effort to escape, and one of the Company's boats passing soon after, he and his family were taken back to the fort, where he was kept to await his trial. _June 29, Thursday._ It rained hard during the night, but at dawn Provost went shooting and returned to dinner, having shot a doe, which was skinned and the meat saved. He saw a Grouse within a few feet of him, but did not shoot, as he had only a rifle. Bell and I took a long walk, and shot several birds. We both were surprised to find a flock of Cliff Swallows endeavoring to build nests beneath the ledges of a clay bank. Watching the moment when several had alighted against the bank, I fired, and killed three. Previous to this, as I was walking along a ravine, a White Wolf ran past within fifteen or twenty paces of me, but I had only very small shot, and did not care to wound where I could not kill. The fellow went off at a limping gallop, and Bell after it, squatting whenever the Wolf stopped to look at him; but at last the rascal lost himself in a deep ravine, and a few minutes after we saw him emerge from the shrubs some distance off, and go across the prairie towards the river. Bell saw two others afterwards, and if ever there was a country where Wolves are surpassingly abundant, it is the one we now are in. Wolves are in the habit of often lying down on the prairies, where they form quite a bed, working at bones the while. We found a nest of the Prairie Lark, with four eggs. We saw Arctic Bluebirds, Say's Flycatcher and Lazuli Finches. Say's Flycatcher has a note almost like the common Pewee. They fly over the prairies like Hawks, looking for grasshoppers, upon which they pounce, and if they lose sight of them, they try again at another place. We returned home to dinner, and after this a discussion arose connected with the Red-shafted Woodpecker. We determined to go and procure one of the young, and finding that these have pale-yellow shafts, instead of deep orange-red, such as the old birds have, the matter was tested and settled according to my statement. Harris and I went off after the doe killed this morning, and killed another, but as I have now skins enough, the measurements only were taken, and the head cut off, which I intend drawing to-morrow. Harris shot also a Grouse, and a Woodpecker that will prove a _Canadensis_; he killed the male also, but could not find it, and we found seven young Red-shafted Woodpeckers in one nest. I killed a female Meadow Lark, the first seen in this country by us. Provost told me (and he is a respectable man) that, during the breeding season of the Mountain Ram, the battering of the horns is often heard as far as a mile away, and that at such times they are approached with comparative ease; and there is no doubt that it is during such encounters that the horns are broken and twisted as I have seen them, and not by leaping from high places and falling on their horns, as poetical travellers have asserted. The fact is that when these animals leap from any height they alight firmly on all their four feet. At this season the young are always very difficult to catch, and I have not yet seen one of them. Harris, Bell, and young McKenzie are going Bighorn hunting to-morrow, and I hope they will be successful; I, alas! am no longer young and alert enough for the expedition. We find the mosquitoes very troublesome, and very numerous. _June 30, Friday._ The weather was dark, with the wind at the northwest, and looked so like rain that the hunters did not start as they had proposed. Sprague, Harris, and Bell went out, however, after small game. I began drawing at five this morning, and worked almost without cessation till after three, when, becoming fatigued for want of practice, I took a short walk, regretting I could no longer draw twelve or fourteen hours without a pause or thought of weariness. It is now raining quite hard. Mr. Larpenteur went after a large tree to make a ferry-boat, and the new skiff was begun this morning. I sent Provost to Fort Mortimer to see if any one had arrived from below; he found a man had done so last evening and brought letters to Mr. Collins, requesting him to do all he can for us. He also reported that a party of Sioux had had a battle with the Gros Ventres, and had killed three of the latter and a white man who lived with them as a blacksmith. The Gros Ventres, on the other hand, had killed eight of the Sioux and put them to flight. The blacksmith killed two Sioux, and the enemies cut off one leg and one arm, scalped him, and left the mangled body behind them. It is said there is now no person living who can recollect the manner in which the bitter enmity of these two nations originated. The Yellowstone River is again rising fast, and Mr. Kipp will have tough times before he reaches Fort Alexander, which was built by Mr. Alexander Culbertson, our present host, and the Company had it honored by his name. When a herd of Buffaloes is chased, although the bulls themselves run very swiftly off, their speed is not to be compared to that of the cows and yearlings; for these latter are seen in a few minutes to leave the bulls behind them, and as cows and young Buffaloes are preferable to the old males, when the hunters are well mounted they pursue the cows and young ones invariably. Last winter Buffaloes were extremely abundant close to this fort, so much so that while the people were engaged in bringing hay in carts, the Buffaloes during the night came close in, and picked up every wisp that was dropped. An attempt to secure them alive was made by strewing hay in such a manner as to render the bait more and more plentiful near the old fort, which is distant about two hundred yards, and which was once the property of Mr. Sublette and Co.; but as the hogs and common cattle belonging to the fort are put up there regularly at sunset, the Buffaloes ate the hay to the very gates, but would not enter the enclosure, probably on account of the different smells issuing therefrom. At this period large herds slept in front of the fort, but just before dawn would remove across the hills about one mile distant, and return towards night. An attempt was made to shoot them with a cannon--a four-pounder; three were killed and several wounded. Still the Buffaloes came to their sleeping ground at evening, and many were killed during the season. I saw the head of one Mr. Culbertson shot, and the animal must have been of unusual size. _July 1, Saturday._ It was still raining when I got up, but a few minutes later the sun was shining through one of our windows, and the wind being at northwest we anticipated a fine day. The ground was extremely wet and muddy, but Harris and Bell went off on horseback, and returned a few minutes after noon. They brought some birds and had killed a rascally Wolf. Bell found the nest of the Arkansas Flycatcher. The nest and eggs, as well as the manners, of this bird resemble in many ways those of our King-bird. The nest was in an elm, twenty or twenty-five feet above the ground, and he saw another in a similar situation. Mr. Culbertson and I walked to the Pilot Knob with a spy-glass, to look at the present condition of Fort Mortimer. This afternoon Squires, Provost, and I walked there, and were kindly received as usual. We found all the people encamped two hundred yards from the river, as they had been obliged to move from the tumbling fort during the rain of last night. Whilst we were there a trapper came in with a horse and told us the following: This man and four others left that fort on the 1st of April last on an expedition after Beavers. They were captured by a party of about four hundred Sioux, who took them prisoners and kept him one day and a half, after which he was released, but his companions were kept prisoners. He crossed the river and found a horse belonging to the Indians, stole it, and reached the fort at last. He looked miserable indeed, almost without a rag of clothing, long hair, filthy beyond description, and having only one very keen, bright eye, which looked as if he was both proud and brave. He had subsisted for the last eleven days on pomme blanche and the thick leaves of the cactus, which he roasted to get rid of the thorns or spines, and thus had fared most miserably; for, previous to the capture of himself and his companions, he had upset his bull canoe and lost his rifle, which to a trapper is, next to life, his dependence. When he was asked if he would have some dinner, he said that he had forgotten the word, but would try the taste of meat again. Mr. Collins was very polite to me, and promised me a hunter for the whole of next week, expressly to shoot Bighorns. I hope this promise may be better kept than that of Mr. Chardon, who told me that should he have one killed within forty miles he would send Alexis back with it at once. We heard some had been killed, but this may not be true; at any rate, men are men all over the world, and a broken promise is not unheard-of. This evening Mr. Culbertson presented me with a splendid dress, as well as one to Harris and one to Bell, and promised one to Sprague, which I have no doubt he will have. Harris and Sprague went off to procure Woodpeckers' nests, and brought the most curious set of five birds that I ever saw, and which I think will puzzle all the naturalists in the world. The first was found near the nest, of which Sprague shot the female, a light-colored Red-shafted Woodpecker. It proved to be of the same color, but had the rudiments of black stripes on the cheeks. Next, Sprague shot an adult yellow-winged male, with the markings principally such as are found in the Eastern States. Harris then shot a young Red-shafted, just fledged, with a black stripe on the cheek. His next shot was a light-colored Red-shafted male, with black cheeks, and another still, a yellow Red-shafted with a red cheek.[32] After all this Mr. Culbertson proposed to run a sham Buffalo hunt again. He, Harris, and Squires started on good horses, went about a mile, and returned full tilt, firing and cracking. Squires fired four times and missed once. Harris did not shoot at all; but Mr. Culbertson fired eleven times, starting at the onset with an empty gun, snapped three times, and reached the fort with his gun loaded. A more wonderful rider I never saw. _July 2, Sunday._ The weather was cool and pleasant this morning, with no mosquitoes, which indeed--plentiful and troublesome as they are--Provost tells me are more scarce this season than he ever knew them thus far up the Missouri. Sprague finished his drawing of the doe's head about dinner-time, and it looks well. After dinner he went after the puzzling Woodpeckers, and brought three, all different from each other. Mr. Culbertson, his squaw wife, and I rode to Fort Mortimer, accompanied by young McKenzie, and found Mr. Collins quite ill. We saw the hunters of that fort, and they promised to supply me with Bighorns, at ten dollars apiece in the flesh, and also some Black-tailed Deer, and perhaps a Grizzly Bear. This evening they came to the fort for old Peter and a mule, to bring in their game; and may success attend them! When we returned, Harris started off with Mr. Culbertson and his wife to see the condition of Mr. Collins, to whom he administered some remedies. Harris had an accident that was near being of a serious nature; as he was getting into the wagon, thinking that a man had hold of the reins, which was not the case, his foot was caught between the axle-tree and the wagon, he was thrown down on his arm and side, and hurt to some extent; fortunately he escaped without serious injury, and does not complain much this evening, as he has gone on the ramparts to shoot a Wolf. Sprague saw a Wolf in a hole a few yards from the fort, but said not a word of it till after dinner, when Bell and Harris went there and shot it through the head. It was a poor, miserable, crippled old beast, that could not get out of the hole, which is not more than three or four feet deep. After breakfast we had a hunt after Hares or Rabbits, and Harris saw two of them, but was so near he did not care to shoot at them. Whilst Harris and Mr. Culbertson went off to see Mr. Collins, Mr. Denig and I walked off with a bag and instruments, to take off the head of a three-years-dead Indian chief, called the White Cow. Mr. Denig got upon my shoulders and into the branches near the coffin, which stood about ten feet above ground. The coffin was lowered, or rather tumbled, down, and the cover was soon hammered off; to my surprise, the feet were placed on the pillow, instead of the head, which lay at the foot of the coffin--if a long box may so be called. Worms innumerable were all about it; the feet were naked, shrunk, and dried up. The head had still the hair on, but was twisted off in a moment, under jaw and all. The body had been first wrapped up in a Buffalo skin without hair, and then in another robe with the hair on, as usual; after this the dead man had been enveloped in an American flag, and over this a superb scarlet blanket. We left all on the ground but the head. Squires, Mr. Denig and young Owen McKenzie went afterwards to try to replace the coffin and contents in the tree, but in vain; the whole affair fell to the ground, and there it lies; but I intend to-morrow to have it covered with earth. The history of this man is short, and I had it from Mr. Larpenteur, who was in the fort at the time of his decease, or self-committed death. He was a good friend to the whites, and knew how to procure many Buffalo robes for them; he was also a famous orator, and never failed to harangue his people on all occasions. He was, however, consumptive, and finding himself about to die, he sent his squaw for water, took an arrow from his quiver, and thrusting it into his heart, expired, and was found dead when his squaw returned to the lodge. He was "buried" in the above-mentioned tree by the orders of Mr. McKenzie, who then commanded this fort. Mr. Culbertson drove me so fast, and Harris so much faster, over this rough ground, that I feel quite stiff. I must not forget to say that we had another sham Buffalo chase over the prairie in front of the fort, the riders being Squires, young McKenzie, and Mr. Culbertson; and I was glad and proud to see that Squires, though so inexperienced a hunter, managed to shoot five shots within the mile, McKenzie eleven, and Mr. Culbertson eight. Harris killed an old Wolf, which he thought was larger and fatter than any killed previously. It was very large, but on examination it was found to be poor and without teeth in the upper jaw. _July 3, Monday._ We have had a warm night and day; after breakfast we all six crossed the river in the newly built skiff, and went off in divers directions. Provost and I looked thoroughly through the brushwood, and walked fully six miles from the fort; we saw three Deer, but so far were they that it was useless to shoot. Deer-shooting on the prairies is all hazard; sometimes the animals come tripping along within ten yards of you, and at other times not nearer can you get than one hundred and fifty yards, which was the case this day. The others killed nothing of note, and crossed the river back to the fort two hours at least before us; and we shot and bawled out for nearly an hour, before the skiff was sent for us. I took a swim, found the water very pleasant, and was refreshed by my bath. The Bighorn hunters returned this afternoon with a Bighorn, a female, and also a female Black-tailed Deer. I paid them $15 for the two, and they are to start again to-morrow evening, or the next day. _July 4, Tuesday._ Although we had some fireworks going on last evening, after I had laid myself down for the night, the anniversary of the Independence of the United States has been almost the quietest I have ever spent, as far as my recollection goes. I was drawing the whole day, and Sprague was engaged in the same manner, painting a likeness of Mr. Culbertson. Harris and Bell went off to try and procure a buck of the Long White-tailed Deer, and returned after dinner much fatigued and hungry enough. Bell had shot at a Deer and wounded it very severely; the poor thing ran on, but soon lay down, for the blood and froth were gushing out of its mouth. Bell saw the buck lying down, and not being an experienced hunter, thought it was dead, and instead of shooting it again, went back to call Harris; when they returned, the Deer was gone, and although they saw it again and again, the Deer outwitted them, and, as I have said, they returned weary, with no Deer. After dinner I spoke to Mr. Culbertson on the subject, and he told me that the Deer could probably be found, but that most likely the Wolves would devour it. He prepared to send young McKenzie with both my friends; the horses were soon saddled, and the three were off at a gallop. The poor buck's carcass was found, but several Wolves and Turkey Buzzards had fared well upon it; the vertebræ only were left, with a few bits of skin and portions of the horns in velvet. These trophies were all that they brought home. It was a superb and very large animal, and I am very sorry for the loss of it, as I am anxious to draw the head of one of such a size as they represent this to have been. They ran after a Wolf, which gave them leg bail. Meanwhile Squires and Provost started with the skiff in a cart to go up the river two miles, cross, and camp on the opposite shore. The weather became very gloomy and chill. In talking with Mr. Culbertson he told me that no wise man would ever follow a Buffalo bull immediately in his track, even in a hunt, and that no one well initiated would ever run after Buffaloes between the herd and another hunter, as the latter bears on the former ever and anon, and places him in imminent danger. Buffalo cows rarely, if ever, turn on the assailant, but bulls oftentimes will, and are so dangerous that many a fine hunter has been gored and killed, as well as his horse. _July 5, Wednesday._ It rained the whole of last night and the weather has been bad all day. I am at the Bighorn's head, and Sprague at Mr. Culbertson. Provost and Squires returned drenched and hungry, before dinner. They had seen several Deer, and fresh tracks of a large Grizzly Bear. They had waded through mud and water enough for one day, and were well fatigued. Harris and Bell both shot at Wolves from the ramparts, and as these things are of such common occurrence I will say no more about them, unless we are in want of one of these beasts. Harris and I went over to see Mr. Collins, who is much better; his hunters had not returned. We found the men there mostly engaged in playing cards and backgammon. The large patches of rose bushes are now in full bloom, and they are so full of sweet fragrance that the air is perfumed by them. The weather looks clear towards the north, and I expect a fine to-morrow. Old Provost has been telling me much of interest about the Beavers, once so plentiful, but now very scarce. It takes about seventy Beaver skins to make a pack of a hundred pounds; in a good market this pack is worth five hundred dollars, and in fortunate seasons a trapper sometimes made the large sum of four thousand dollars. Formerly, when Beavers were abundant, companies were sent with as many as thirty and forty men, each with from eight to a dozen traps, and two horses. When at a propitious spot, they erected a camp, and every man sought his own game; the skins alone were brought to the camp, where a certain number of men always remained to stretch and dry them. _July 6, Thursday._ The weather has been pleasant, with the wind at northwest, and the prairies will dry a good deal. After breakfast Harris, Bell, and McKenzie went off on horseback. They saw a Red Fox of the country,[33] which is different from those of the States; they chased it, and though it ran slowly at first, the moment it saw the hunters at full gallop, it ran swiftly from them. McKenzie shot with a rifle and missed it. They saw fresh tracks of the small Hare, but not any of the animals themselves. After dinner I worked at Mr. Culbertson's head and dress, and by evening had the portrait nearly finished. At four o'clock Harris, Bell, and Sprague went across the river in the skiff; Sprague to take a view of the fort, the others to hunt. Harris and Bell shot twice at a buck, and killed it, though only one buckshot entered the thigh. Whilst we were sitting at the back gate of the fort, we saw a parcel of Indians coming towards the place, yelling and singing what Mr. Culbertson told me was the song of the scalp dance; we saw through the telescope that they were fourteen in number, with their faces painted black, and that it was a detachment of a war party. When within a hundred yards they all stopped, as if awaiting an invitation; we did not hurry as to this, and they seated themselves on the ground and looked at us, while Mr. Culbertson sent Mr. Denig to ask them to come in by the front gate of the fort, and put them in the Indian house, a sort of camp for the fellows. They all looked miserably poor, filthy beyond description, and their black faces and foully smelling Buffalo robes made them appear to me like so many devils. The leader, who was well known to be a famous rascal, and was painted red, was a tall, well-formed man. The party had only three poor guns, and a few had coarse, common lances; every man had a knife, and the leader was armed with a stick in which were inserted three blades of butcher's-knives; a blow from this weapon would doubtless kill a man. Some of the squaws of the fort, having found that they were Assiniboins, went to meet them; they took one of these, and painted her face black, as a sign of friendship. Most of these mighty warriors had a lump of fresh Buffalo meat slung on his back, which was all traded for by Mr. Larpenteur, who gave them in exchange some dried meat, not worth the notice of Harris's dog, and some tobacco. The report of their expedition is as follows: Their party at first consisted of nearly fifty; they travelled several hundred miles in search of Blackfeet, and having discovered a small troop of them, they hid till the next morning, when at daylight (this is always the time they prefer for an attack) they rushed upon the enemy, surprised them, killed one at the onset, and the rest took to flight, leaving guns, horses, shields, lances, etc., on the ground. The Assiniboins took several guns and seven horses, and the scalp of the dead Indian. It happened that the man they killed had some time ago killed the father of their chief, and he was full of joy. After eating and resting awhile, they followed the trail of the Blackfeet, hoping to again surprise them; but not seeing them, they separated into small parties, and it is one of these parties that is now with us. The chief, to show his pride and delight at killing his enemy, has borrowed a drum; and the company have nearly ever since been yelling, singing, and beating that beastly tambour. Boucherville came to me, and told me that if the swamp over the river was sufficiently dried by to-morrow morning, he would come early with a companion for two horses, and would go after Bighorns. He returned this afternoon from a Buffalo hunt and had killed six. These six animals, all bulls, will suffice for Fort Mortimer only three days. A rascally Indian had stolen his gun and Bighorn bow; the gun he said he could easily replace, but the loss of the bow he regretted exceedingly. _July 7, Friday._ This morning the dirty Indians, who could have washed had they so minded, were beating the tambour and singing their miserable scalp song, until Mr. Culbertson ordered the drum taken away, and gave them more tobacco and some vermilion to bedaub their faces. They were permitted to remain about the fort the remainder of the day, and the night coming they will again be sheltered; but they must depart to-morrow morning. After breakfast Sprague worked on the view of the fort. I went on with the portrait of Mr. Culbertson, who is about as bad a sitter as his wife, whose portrait is very successful, notwithstanding her extreme restlessness. After dinner Harris, Bell, and I started on foot, and walked about four miles from the fort; the day was hot, and horseflies and mosquitoes pretty abundant, but we trudged on, though we saw nothing; we had gone after Rabbits, the tracks of which had been seen previously. We walked immediately near the foot of the clay hills which run from about a mile from and above the fort to the Lord knows where. We first passed one ravine where we saw some very curious sandstone formations, coming straight out horizontally from the clay banks between which we were passing; others lay loose and detached; they had fallen down, or had been washed out some time or other. All were compressed in such a manner that the usual form was an oval somewhat depressed in the centre; but, to give you some idea of these formations, I will send you a rough sketch. Those in the banks extended from five to seven feet, and the largest one on the ground measured a little less than ten feet. Bell thought they would make good sharpening-stones, but I considered them too soft. They were all smooth, and the grain was alike in all. We passed two much depressed and very broken ravines, and at last reached the Rabbit ground. Whilst looking at the wild scenery around, and the clay hills on the other side of the Missouri opposite the fort, I thought that if all these were granite, the formation and general appearance would resemble the country of Labrador, though the grandeur and sublimity of the latter far surpass anything that I have seen since I left them forever. I must not forget to say that on our way we passed through some grasses with bearded shafts, so sharp that they penetrated our moccasins and entered our feet and ankles, and in the shade of a stumpy ash-tree we took off our moccasins and drew the spines out. The Lazuli Finches and Arctic Bluebirds sang in our view; but though we beat all the clumps of low bushes where the Rabbits must go in, whether during night or day, we did not start one. We saw a Wolf which ran close by, reached the brow of the hill, and kept where he could watch our every motion; this they do on all possible occasions. We were all very warm, so we rested awhile, and ate some service-berries, which I found good; the gooseberries were small and green, and almost choked Harris with their sharp acidity. On our return, as we were descending the first deep ravine, a Raven flew off close by; it was so near Bell that he had no time to shoot. I followed it and although loaded with No. 6 shot, I drew my trigger and the bird fell dead; only one shot had touched it, but that had passed through the lungs. After we reached the prairie I shot a Meadow Lark, but lost it, as we had unfortunately not taken Bragg (Harris's dog). We saw a patch of wood called in these regions a "Point;" we walked towards it for the purpose of shooting Deer. I was sent to the lower end, Bell took one side, and Harris the other, and the hound we had with us was sent in; no Deer there, however, and we made for the fort, which we reached hot and thirsty enough after our long walk. As soon as I was cooled I took a good swim. I think the Indians hereabouts poor swimmers; they beat the water with their arms, attempting to "nage à la brasse;" but, alas! it is too bad to mention. I am told, however, that there are no good specimens to judge from at the fort, so this is not much of an opinion. It is strange how very scarce snakes of every description are, as well as insects, except mosquitoes and horseflies. Young McKenzie had been sent to seek for the lost ferry-boat, but returned without success; the new one is expected to be put in the water to-morrow evening. Squires and Provost had the skiff carried overland three miles, and they crossed the river in it with the intention to remain hunting until Sunday night. _July 8, Saturday._ Mr. Culbertson told me this morning that last spring early, during a snow-storm, he and Mr. Larpenteur were out in an Indian lodge close by the fort, when they heard the mares which had young colts making much noise; and that on going out they saw a single Wolf that had thrown down one of the colts, and was about doing the same with another. They both made towards the spot with their pistols; and, fearing that the Wolf might kill both the colts, fired before reaching the spot, when too far off to take aim. Master Wolf ran off, but both colts bear evidence of his teeth to this day. When I came down this morning early, I was delighted to see the dirty and rascally Indians walking off to their lodge on the other side of the hills, and before many days they will be at their camp enjoying their merriment (rough and senseless as it seems to me), yelling out their scalp song, and dancing. Now this dance, to commemorate the death of an enemy, is a mere bending and slackening of the body, and patting of the ground with both feet at once, in very tolerable time with their music. Our squaws yesterday joined them in this exemplary ceremony; one was blackened, and all the others painted with vermilion. The art of painting in any color is to mix the color desired with grease of one sort or another; and when well done, it will stick on for a day or two, if not longer. Indians are not equal to the whites in the art of dyeing Porcupine quills; their ingredients are altogether too simple and natural to equal the knowledge of chemicals. Mr. Denig dyed a good quantity to-day for Mrs. Culbertson; he boiled water in a tin kettle with the quills put in when the water boiled, to remove the oil attached naturally to them; next they were thoroughly washed, and fresh water boiled, wherein he placed the color wanted, and boiled the whole for a few minutes, when he looked at them to judge of the color, and so continued until all were dyed. Red, yellow, green, and black quills were the result of his labors. A good deal of vegetable acid is necessary for this purpose, as minerals, so they say here, will not answer. I drew at Mr. Culbertson's portrait till he was tired enough; his wife--a pure Indian--is much interested in my work. Bell and Sprague, after some long talk with Harris about geological matters, of which valuable science he knows a good deal, went off to seek a Wolf's hole that Sprague had seen some days before, but of which, with his usual reticence, he had not spoken. Sprague returned with a specimen of rattle-snake root, which he has already drawn. Bell saw a Wolf munching a bone, approached it and shot at it. The Wolf had been wounded before and ran off slowly, and Bell after it. Mr. Culbertson and I saw the race; Bell gained on the Wolf until within thirty steps when he fired again; the Wolf ran some distance further, and then fell; but Bell was now exhausted by the heat, which was intense, and left the animal where it lay without attempting to skin it. Squires and Provost returned this afternoon about three o'clock, but the first alone had killed a doe. It was the first one he had ever shot, and he placed seven buckshot in her body. Owen went off one way, and Harris and Bell another, but brought in nothing. Provost went off to the Opposition camp, and when he returned told me that a Porcupine was there, and would be kept until I saw it; so Harris drove me over, at the usual breakneck pace, and I bought the animal. Mr. Collins is yet poorly, their hunters have not returned, and they are destitute of everything, not having even a medicine chest. We told him to send a man back with us, which he did, and we sent him some medicine, rice, and two bottles of claret. The weather has been much cooler and pleasanter than yesterday. _July 9, Sunday._ I drew at a Wolf's head, and Sprague worked at a view of the fort for Mr. Culbertson. I also worked on Mr. Culbertson's portrait about an hour. I then worked at the Porcupine, which is an animal such as I never saw or Bell either. Its measurements are: from nose to anterior canthus of the eye, 1-5/8 in., posterior ditto, 2-1/8; conch of ear, 3-1/2; distances from eyes posteriorly, 2-1/4; fore feet stretched beyond nose, 3-1/2; length of head around, 4-1/8; nose to root of tail, 18-1/2; length of tail vertebræ, 6-3/8; to end of hair, 7-3/4; hind claws when stretched equal to end of tail; greatest breadth of palm, 1-1/4; of sole, 1-3/8; outward width of tail at base, 3-5/8; depth of ditto, 3-1/8; length of palm, 1-1/2; ditto of sole, 1-7/8; height at shoulder, 11; at rump, 10-1/4; longest hair on the back, 8-7/8; breadth between ears, 2-1/4; from nostril to split of upper lip, 3/4; upper incisors, 5/8; lower ditto, 3/4; tongue quite smooth; weight 11 lbs. The habits of this animal are somewhat different from those of the Canadian Porcupine. The one of this country often goes in crevices or holes, and young McKenzie caught one in a Wolf's den, along with the old Wolf and seven young; they climb trees, however. Provost tells me that Wolves are oftentimes destroyed by wild horses, which he has seen run at the Wolves head down, and when at a proper distance take them by the middle of the back with their teeth, and throw them several feet in the air, after which they stamp upon their bodies with the fore feet until quite dead. I have a bad blister on the heel of my right foot, and cannot walk without considerable pain. _July 10, Monday._ Squires, Owen, McKenzie, and Provost, with a mule, a cart, and Peter the horse, went off at seven this morning for Antelopes. Bell did not feel well enough to go with them, and was unable to eat his usual meal, but I made him some good gruel, and he is better now. This afternoon Harris went off on horseback after Rabbits, and he will, I hope, have success. The day has been fine, and cool compared with others. I took a walk, and made a drawing of the beautiful sugar-loaf cactus; it does not open its blossoms until after the middle of the day, and closes immediately on being placed in the shade. _July 11, Tuesday._ Harris returned about ten o'clock last night, but saw no Hares; how we are to procure any is more than I can tell. Mr. Culbertson says that it was dangerous for Harris to go so far as he did alone up the country, and he must not try it again. The hunters returned this afternoon, but brought only one buck, which is, however, beautiful, and the horns in velvet so remarkable that I can hardly wait for daylight to begin drawing it. I have taken all the measurements of this perfect animal; it was shot by old Provost. Mr. Culbertson--whose portrait is nearly finished--his wife, and I took a ride to look at some grass for hay, and found it beautiful and plentiful. We saw two Wolves, a common one and a prairie one. Bell is better. Sprague has drawn another cactus; Provost and I have now skinned the buck, and it hangs in the ice-house; the head, however, is untouched. _July 12, Wednesday._ I rose before three, and began at once to draw the buck's head. Bell assisted me to place it in the position I wanted, and as he felt somewhat better, while I drew, he finished the skin of the Porcupine; so that is saved. Sprague continued his painting of the fort. Just after dinner a Wolf was seen leisurely walking within one hundred yards of the fort. Bell took the repeating rifle, went on the ramparts, fired, and missed it. Mr. Culbertson sent word to young Owen McKenzie to get a horse and give it chase. All was ready in a few minutes, and off went the young fellow after the beast. I left my drawing long enough to see the pursuit, and was surprised to see that the Wolf did not start off on a gallop till his pursuer was within one hundred yards or so of him, and who then gained rapidly. Suddenly the old sinner turned, and the horse went past him some little distance. As soon as he could be turned about McKenzie closed upon him, his gun flashed twice; but now he was almost _à bon touchant_, the gun went off--the Wolf was dead. I walked out to meet Owen with the beast; it was very poor, very old, and good for nothing as a specimen. Harris, who had shot at one last night in the late twilight, had killed it, but was not aware of it till I found the villain this morning. It had evidently been dragged at by its brothers, who, however, had not torn it. Provost went over to the other fort to find out where the Buffaloes are most abundant, and did not return till late, so did no hunting. A young dog of this country's breed ate up all the berries collected by Mrs. Culbertson, and her lord had it killed for our supper this evening. The poor thing was stuck with a knife in the throat, after which it was placed over a hot fire outside of the fort, singed, and the hair scraped off, as I myself have treated Raccoons and Opossums. Then the animal was boiled, and I intend to taste one mouthful of it, for I cannot say that just now I should relish an entire meal from such peculiar fare. There are men, however, who much prefer the flesh to Buffalo meat, or even venison. An ox was broken to work this day, and worked far better than I expected. I finished at last Mr. Culbertson's portrait, and it now hangs in a frame. He and his wife are much pleased with it, and I am heartily glad they are, for in conscience I am not; however, it is all I could do, especially with a man who is never in the same position for one whole minute; so no more can be expected. The dog was duly cooked and brought into Mr. Culbertson's room; he served it out to Squires, Mr. Denig, and myself, and I was astonished when I tasted it. With great care and some repugnance I put a very small piece in my mouth; but no sooner had the taste touched my palate than I changed my dislike to liking, and found this victim of the canine order most excellent, and made a good meal, finding it fully equal to any meat I ever tasted. Old Provost had told me he preferred it to any meat, and his subsequent actions proved the truth of his words. We are having some music this evening, and Harris alone is absent, being at his favorite evening occupation, namely, shooting at Wolves from the ramparts. [Illustration: AUDUBON. From the pencil sketch by Isaac Sprague, 1842. In the possession of the Sprague family, Wellesley Hills, Mass.] _July 13, Thursday._ This has been a cloudy and a sultry day. Sprague finished his drawing and I mine. After dinner Mr. Culbertson, Squires, and myself went off nine miles over the prairies to look at the "meadows," as they are called, where Mr. Culbertson has heretofore cut his winter crop of hay, but we found it indifferent compared with that above the fort. We saw Sharp-tailed Grouse, and what we thought a new species of Lark, which we shot at no less than ten times before it was killed by Mr. Culbertson, but not found. I caught one of its young, but it proved to be only the Shore Lark. Before we reached the meadows we saw a flock of fifteen or twenty Bob-o-link, _Emberiza orizivora_, and on our return shot one of them (a male) on the wing. It is the first seen since we left St. Louis. We reached the meadows at last, and tied our nag to a tree, with the privilege of feeding. Mr. Culbertson and Squires went in the "meadows," and I walked round the so-called patch. I shot seven Arkansas Flycatchers on the wing. After an hour's walking, my companions returned, but had seen nothing except the fresh tracks of a Grizzly Bear. I shot at one of the White-rumped Hawks, of which I have several times spoken, but although it dropped its quarry and flew very wildly afterwards, it went out of my sight. We found the beds of Elks and their fresh dung, but saw none of these animals. I have forgotten to say that immediately after breakfast this morning I drove with Squires to Fort Mortimer, and asked Mr. Collins to let me have his hunter, Boucherville, to go after Mountain Rams for me, which he promised to do. In the afternoon he sent a man over to ask for some flour, which Mr. Culbertson sent him. They are there in the utmost state of destitution, almost of starvation, awaiting the arrival of the hunters like so many famished Wolves. Harris and Bell went across the river and shot a Wolf under the river bank, and afterwards a Duck, but saw nothing else. But during their absence we have had a fine opportunity of witnessing the agility and extreme strength of a year-old Buffalo bull belonging to the fort. Our cook, who is an old Spaniard, threw his lasso over the Buffalo's horns, and all the men in the fort at the time, hauled and pulled the beast about, trying to get him close to a post. He kicked, pulled, leaped sideways, and up and down, snorting and pawing until he broke loose, and ran, as if quite wild, about the enclosure. He was tied again and again, without any success, and at last got out of the fort, but was soon retaken, the rope being thrown round his horns, and he was brought to the main post of the Buffalo-robe press. There he was brought to a standstill, at the risk of breaking his neck, and the last remnant of his winter coat was removed by main strength, which was the object for which the poor animal had undergone all this trouble. After Harris returned to the fort he saw six Sharp-tailed Grouse. At this season this species have no particular spot where you may rely upon finding them, and at times they fly through the woods, and for a great distance, too, where they alight on trees; when, unless you accidentally see them, you pass by without their moving. After we passed Fort Mortimer on our return we saw coming from the banks of the river no less than eighteen Wolves, which altogether did not cover a space of more than three or four yards, they were so crowded. Among them were two Prairie Wolves. Had we had a good running horse some could have been shot; but old Peter is long past his running days. The Wolves had evidently been feeding on some carcass along the banks, and all moved very slowly. Mr. Culbertson gave me a grand pair of leather breeches and a very handsome knife-case, all manufactured by the Blackfeet Indians. _July 14, Friday._ Thermometer 70°-95°. Young McKenzie went off after Antelopes across the river alone, but saw only one, which he could not get near. After breakfast Harris, Squires, and I started after birds of all sorts, with the wagon, and proceeded about six miles on the road we had travelled yesterday. We met the hunter from Fort Mortimer going for Bighorns for me, and Mr. Culbertson lent him a horse and a mule. We caught two young of the Shore Lark, killed seven of Sprague's Lark, but by bad management lost two, either from the wagon, my hat, or Harris's pockets. The weather was exceedingly hot. We hunted for Grouse in the wormwood bushes, and after despairing of finding any, we started up three from the plain, and they flew not many yards to the river. We got out of the wagon and pushed for them; one rose, and Harris shot it, though it flew some yards before he picked it up. He started another, and just as he was about to fire, his gunlock caught on his coat, and off went Mr. Grouse, over and through the woods until out of sight, and we returned slowly home. We saw ten Wolves this morning. After dinner we had a curious sight. Squires put on my Indian dress. McKenzie put on one of Mr. Culbertson's, Mrs. Culbertson put on her own _superb_ dress, and the cook's wife put on the one Mrs. Culbertson had given me. Squires and Owen were painted in an awful manner by Mrs. Culbertson, the _Ladies_ had their hair loose, and flying in the breeze, and then all mounted on horses with Indian saddles and trappings. Mrs. Culbertson and her maid rode astride like men, and all rode a furious race, under whip the whole way, for more than one mile on the prairie; and how amazed would have been any European lady, or some of our modern belles who boast their equestrian skill, at seeing the magnificent riding of this Indian princess--for that is Mrs. Culbertson's rank--and her servant. Mr. Culbertson rode with them, the horses running as if wild, with these extraordinary Indian riders, Mrs. Culbertson's magnificent black hair floating like a banner behind her. As to the men (for two others had joined Squires and McKenzie), I cannot compare them to anything in the whole creation. They ran like wild creatures of unearthly compound. Hither and thither they dashed, and when the whole party had crossed the ravine below, they saw a fine Wolf and gave the whip to their horses, and though the Wolf cut to right and left Owen shot at him with an arrow and missed, but Mr. Culbertson gave it chase, overtook it, his gun flashed, and the Wolf lay dead. They then ascended the hills and away they went, with our princess and her faithful attendant in the van, and by and by the group returned to the camp, running full speed till they entered the fort, and all this in the intense heat of this July afternoon. Mrs. Culbertson, herself a wonderful rider, possessed of both strength and grace in a marked degree, assured me that Squires was equal to any man in the country as a rider, and I saw for myself that he managed his horse as well as any of the party, and I was pleased to see him in his dress, ornaments, etc., looking, however, I must confess, after Mrs. Culbertson's painting his face, like a being from the infernal regions. Mr. Culbertson presented Harris with a superb dress of the Blackfoot Indians, and also with a Buffalo bull's head, for which Harris had in turn presented him with a gun-barrel of the short kind, and well fitted to shoot Buffaloes. Harris shot a very young one of Townsend's Hare, Mr. Denig gave Bell a Mouse, which, although it resembles _Mus leucopus_ greatly, is much larger, and has a short, thick, round tail, somewhat blunted. _July 15, Saturday._ We were all up pretty early, for we propose going up the Yellowstone with a wagon, and the skiff on a cart, should we wish to cross. After breakfast all of us except Sprague, who did not wish to go, were ready, and along with two extra men, the wagon, and the cart, we crossed the Missouri at the fort, and at nine were fairly under way--Harris, Bell, Mr. Culbertson, and myself in the wagon, Squires, Provost, and Owen on horseback. We travelled rather slowly, until we had crossed the point, and headed the ponds on the prairie that run at the foot of the hills opposite. We saw one Grouse, but it could not be started, though Harris searched for it. We ran the wagon into a rut, but got out unhurt; however, I decided to walk for a while, and did so for about two miles, to the turning point of the hills. The wheels of our vehicle were very shackling, and had to be somewhat repaired, and though I expected they would fall to pieces, in some manner or other we proceeded on. We saw several Antelopes, some on the prairie which we now travelled on, and many more on the tops of the hills, bounding westward. We stopped to water the horses at a saline spring, where I saw that Buffaloes, Antelopes, and other animals come to allay their thirst, and repose on the grassy margin. The water was too hot for us to drink, and we awaited the arrival of the cart, when we all took a good drink of the river water we had brought with us. After waiting for nearly an hour to allow the horses to bait and cool themselves, for it was very warm, we proceeded on, until we came to another watering-place, a river, in fact, which during spring overflows its banks, but now has only pools of water here and there. We soaked our wheels again, and again drank ourselves. Squires, Provost, and Owen had left sometime before us, but were not out of our sight, when we started, and as we had been, and were yet, travelling a good track, we soon caught up with them. We shot a common Red-winged Starling, and heard the notes of what was supposed to be a new bird by my companions, but which to my ears was nothing more than the Short-billed Marsh Wren of Nuttall. We reached our camping-place, say perhaps twenty miles' distance, by four o'clock, and all things were unloaded, the horses put to grass, and two or three of the party went in "the point" above, to shoot something for supper. I was hungry myself, and taking the Red-wing and the fishing-line, I went to the river close by, and had the good fortune to catch four fine catfish, when, my bait giving out, I was obliged to desist, as I found that these catfish will not take parts of their own kind as food. Provost had taken a bath, and rowed the skiff (which we had brought this whole distance on the cart, dragged by a mule) along with two men, across the river to seek for game on the point opposite our encampment. They returned, however, without having shot anything, and my four catfish were all the fresh provisions that we had, and ten of us partook of them with biscuit, coffee, and claret. Dusk coming on, the tent was pitched, and preparations to rest made. Some chose one spot and some another, and after a while we were settled. Mr. Culbertson and I lay together on the outside of the tent, and all the party were more or less drowsy. About this time we saw a large black cloud rising in the west; it was heavy and lowering, and about ten o'clock, when most of us were pretty nearly sound asleep, the distant thunder was heard, the wind rose to a gale, and the rain began falling in torrents. All were on foot in a few moments, and considerable confusion ensued. Our guns, all loaded with balls, were hurriedly placed under the tent, our beds also, and we all crawled in, in the space of a very few minutes. The wind blew so hard that Harris was obliged to hold the flappers of the tent with both hands, and sat in the water a considerable time to do this. Old Provost alone did not come in, he sat under the shelving bank of the river, and kept dry. After the gale was over, he calmly lay down in front of the tent on the saturated ground, and was soon asleep. During the gale, our fire, which we had built to keep off the myriads of mosquitoes, blew in every direction, and we had to watch the embers to keep them from burning the tent. After all was over, we snugged ourselves the best way we could in our small tent and under the wagon, and slept soundly till daylight. Mr. Culbertson had fixed himself pretty well, but on arising at daylight to smoke his pipe, Squires immediately crept into his comfortable corner, and snored there till the day was well begun. Mr. Culbertson had my knees for a pillow, and also my hat, I believe, for in the morning, although the first were not hurt, the latter was sadly out of shape in all parts. We had nothing for our breakfast except some vile coffee, and about three quarters of a sea-biscuit, which was soon settled among us. The men, poor fellows, had nothing at all. Provost had seen two Deer, but had had no shot, so of course we were in a quandary, but it is now-- _July 16, Sunday._ The weather pleasant with a fine breeze from the westward, and all eyes were bent upon the hills and prairie, which is here of great breadth, to spy if possible some object that might be killed and eaten. Presently a Wolf was seen, and Owen went after it, and it was not until he had disappeared below the first low range of hills, and Owen also, that the latter came within shot of the rascal, which dodged in all sorts of manners; but Owen would not give up, and after shooting more than once, he killed the beast. A man had followed him to help bring in the Wolf, and when near the river he saw a Buffalo, about two miles off, grazing peaceably, as he perhaps thought, safe in his own dominions; but, alas! white hunters had fixed their eyes upon him, and from that moment his doom was pronounced. Mr. Culbertson threw down his hat, bound his head with a handkerchief, his saddle was on his mare, he was mounted and off and away at a swift gallop, more quickly than I can describe, not towards the Buffalo, but towards the place where Owen had killed the Wolf. The man brought the Wolf on old Peter, and Owen, who was returning to the camp, heard the signal gun fired by Mr. Culbertson, and at once altered his course; his mare was evidently a little heated and blown by the Wolf chase, but both hunters went after the Buffalo, slowly at first, to rest Owen's steed, but soon, when getting within running distance, they gave whip, overhauled the Bison, and shot at it twice with balls; this halted the animal; the hunters had no more balls, and now loaded with pebbles, with which the poor beast was finally killed. The wagon had been sent from the camp. Harris, Bell, and Squires mounted on horseback, and travelled to the scene of action. They met Mr. Culbertson returning to camp, and he told Bell the Buffalo was a superb one, and had better be skinned. A man was sent to assist in the skinning who had been preparing the Wolf which was now cooking, as we had expected to dine upon its flesh; but when Mr. Culbertson returned, covered with blood and looking like a wild Indian, it was decided to throw it away; so I cut out the liver, and old Provost and I went fishing and caught eighteen catfish. I hooked two tortoises, but put them back in the river. I took a good swim, which refreshed me much, and I came to dinner with a fine appetite. This meal consisted wholly of fish, and we were all fairly satisfied. Before long the flesh of the Buffalo reached the camp, as well as the hide. The animal was very fat, and we have meat for some days. It was now decided that Squires, Provost, and Basil (one of the men) should proceed down the river to the Charbonneau, and there try their luck at Otters and Beavers, and the rest of us, with the cart, would make our way back to the fort. All was arranged, and at half-past three this afternoon we were travelling towards Fort Union. But hours previous to this, and before our scanty dinner, Owen had seen another bull, and Harris and Bell joined us in the hunt. The bull was shot at by McKenzie, who stopped its career, but as friend Harris pursued it with two of the hunters and finished it I was about to return, and thought sport over for the day. However, at this stage of the proceedings Owen discovered another bull making his way slowly over the prairie towards us. I was the only one who had balls, and would gladly have claimed the privilege of running him, but fearing I might make out badly on my slower steed, and so lose meat which we really needed, I handed my gun and balls to Owen McKenzie, and Bell and I went to an eminence to view the chase. Owen approached the bull, which continued to advance, and was now less than a quarter of a mile distant; either it did not see, or did not heed him, and they came directly towards each other, until they were about seventy or eighty yards apart, when the Buffalo started at a good run, and Owen's mare, which had already had two hard runs this morning, had great difficulty in preserving her distance. Owen, perceiving this, breathed her a minute, and then applying the whip was soon within shooting distance, and fired a shot which visibly checked the progress of the bull, and enabled Owen to soon be alongside of him, when the contents of the second barrel were discharged into the lungs, passing through the shoulder blade. This brought him to a stand. Bell and I now started at full speed, and as soon as we were within speaking distance, called to Owen not to shoot again. The bull did not appear to be much exhausted, but he was so stiffened by the shot on the shoulder that he could not turn quickly, and taking advantage of this we approached him; as we came near he worked himself slowly round to face us, and then made a lunge at us; we then stopped on one side and commenced discharging our pistols with little or no effect, except to increase his fury with every shot. His appearance was now one to inspire terror had we not felt satisfied of our ability to avoid him. However, even so, I came very near being overtaken by him. Through my own imprudence, I placed myself directly in front of him, and as he advanced I fired at his head, and then ran _ahead_ of him, instead of veering to one side, not supposing that he was able to overtake me; but turning my head over my shoulder, I saw to my horror, Mr. Bull within three feet of me, prepared to give me a taste of his horns. The next instant I turned sharply off, and the Buffalo being unable to turn quickly enough to follow me, Bell took the gun from Owen and shot him directly behind the shoulder blade. He tottered for a moment, with an increased jet of blood from the mouth and nostrils, fell forward on his horns, then rolled over on his side, and was dead. He was a very old animal, in poor case, and only part of him was worth taking to the fort. Provost, Squires, and Basil were left at the camp preparing for their departure after Otter and Beaver as decided. We left them eight or nine catfish and a quantity of meat, of which they took care to secure the best, namely the boss or hump. On our homeward way we saw several Antelopes, some quite in the prairie, others far away on the hills, but all of them on the alert. Owen tried unsuccessfully to approach several of them at different times. At one place where two were seen he dismounted, and went round a small hill (for these animals when startled or suddenly alarmed always make to these places), and we hoped would have had a shot; but alas! no! One of the Antelopes ran off to the top of another hill, and the other stood looking at him, and us perhaps, till Owen (who had been re-mounted) galloped off towards us. My surprise was great when I saw the other Antelope following him at a good pace (but not by bounds or leaps, as I had been told by a former traveller they sometimes did), until it either smelt him, or found out he was no friend, and turning round galloped speedily off to join the one on the lookout. We saw seven or eight Grouse, and Bell killed one on the ground. We saw a Sand-hill Crane about two years old, looking quite majestic in a grassy bottom, but it flew away before we were near enough to get a shot. We passed a fine pond or small lake, but no bird was there. We saw several parcels of Ducks in sundry places, all of which no doubt had young near. When we turned the corner of the great prairie we found Owen's mare close by us. She had run away while he was after Antelopes. We tied her to a log to be ready for him when he should reach the spot. He had to walk about three miles before he did this. However, to one as young and alert as Owen, such things are nothing. Once they were not to me. We saw more Antelope at a distance, here called "Cabris," and after a while we reached the wood near the river, and finding abundance of service-berries, we all got out to break branches of these plants, Mr. Culbertson alone remaining in the wagon; he pushed on for the landing. We walked after him munching our berries, which we found very good, and reached the landing as the sun was going down behind the hills. Young McKenzie was already there, having cut across the point. We decided on crossing the river ourselves, and leaving all behind us except our guns. We took to the ferry-boat, cordelled it up the river for a while, then took to the nearest sand-bar, and leaping into the mud and water, hauled the heavy boat, Bell and Harris steering and poling the while. I had pulled off my shoes and socks, and when we reached the shore walked up to the fort barefooted, and made my feet quite sore again; but we have had a rest and a good supper, and I am writing in Mr. Culbertson's room, thinking over all God's blessings on this delightful day. _July 17, Monday._ A beautiful day, with a west wind. Sprague, who is very industrious at all times, drew some flowers, and I have been busy both writing and drawing. In the afternoon Bell went after Rabbits, but saw one only, which he could not get, and Sprague walked to the hills about two miles off, but could not see any portion of the Yellowstone River, which Mr. Catlin has given in his view, as if he had been in a balloon some thousands of feet above the earth. Two men arrived last evening by land from Fort Pierre, and brought a letter, but no news of any importance; one is a cook as well as a hunter, the other named Wolff, a German, and a tinsmith by trade, though now a trapper. _July 18, Tuesday._ When I went to bed last night the mosquitoes were so numerous downstairs that I took my bed under my arm and went to a room above, where I slept well. On going down this morning, I found two other persons from Fort Pierre, and Mr. Culbertson very busy reading and writing letters. Immediately after breakfast young McKenzie and another man were despatched on mules, with a letter for Mr. Kipp, and Owen expects to overtake the boat in three or four days. An Indian arrived with a stolen squaw, both Assiniboins; and I am told such things are of frequent occurrence among these sons of nature. Mr. Culbertson proposed that we should take a ride to see the mowers, and Harris and I joined him. We found the men at work, among them one called Bernard Adams, of Charleston, S.C., who knew the Bachmans quite well, and who had read the whole of the "Biographies of Birds." Leaving the men, we entered a ravine in search of plants, etc., and having started an Owl, which I took for the barred one, I left my horse and went in search of it, but could not see it, and hearing a new note soon saw a bird not to be mistaken, and killed it, when it proved, as I expected, to be the Rock Wren; then I shot another sitting by the mouth of a hole. The bird did not fly off; Mr. Culbertson watched it closely, but when the hole was demolished no bird was to be found. Harris saw a Shrike, but of what species he could not tell, and he also found some Rock Wrens in another ravine. We returned to the fort and promised to visit the place this afternoon, which we have done, and procured three more Wrens, and killed the Owl, which proves to be precisely the resemblance of the Northern specimen of the Great Horned Owl, which we published under another name. The Rock Wren, which might as well be called the Ground Wren, builds its nest in holes, and now the young are well able to fly, and we procured one in the act. In two instances we saw these birds enter a hole here, and an investigation showed a passage or communication, and on my pointing out a hole to Bell where one had entered, he pushed his arm in and touched the little fellow, but it escaped by running up his arm and away it flew. Black clouds now arose in the west, and we moved homewards. Harris and Bell went to the mowers to get a drink of water, and we reached home without getting wet, though it rained violently for some time, and the weather is much cooler. Not a word yet from Provost and Squires. _July 19, Wednesday._ Squires and Provost returned early this morning, and again I give the former my journal that I may have the account of the hunt in his own words. "As Mr. Audubon has said, he left Provost, Basil, and myself making ready for our voyage down the Yellowstone. The party for the fort were far in the blue distance ere we bid adieu to our camping-ground. We had wished the return party a pleasant ride and safe arrival at the fort as they left us, looking forward to a good supper, and what I _now_ call a comfortable bed. We seated ourselves around some boiled Buffalo hump, which, as has been before said, we took good care to appropriate to ourselves according to the established rule of this country, which is, 'When you can, take the best,' and we had done so in this case, more to our satisfaction than to that of the hunters. Our meal finished, we packed everything we had in the skiff, and were soon on our way down the Yellowstone, happy as could be; Provost acting pilot, Basil oarsman, and your humble servant seated on a Buffalo robe, quietly smoking, and looking on the things around. We found the general appearance of the Yellowstone much like the Missouri, but with a stronger current, and the water more muddy. After a voyage of two hours Charbonneau River made its appearance, issuing from a clump of willows; the mouth of this river we found to be about ten feet wide, and so shallow that we were obliged to push our boat over the slippery mud for about forty feet. This passed, we entered a pond formed by the contraction of the mouth and the collection of mud and sticks thereabouts, the pond so formed being six or eight feet deep, and about fifty feet wide, extending about a mile up the river, which is very crooked indeed. For about half a mile from the Yellowstone the shore is lined with willows, beyond which is a level prairie, and on the shores of the stream just beyond the willows are a few scattered trees. About a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the river, we discovered what we were in search of, the Beaver lodge. To measure it was impossible, as it was not perfect, in the first place, in the next it was so muddy that we could not get ashore, but as well as I can I will describe it. The lodge is what is called the summer lodge; it was comprised wholly of brush, willow chiefly, with a single hole for the entrance and exit of the Beaver. The pile resembled, as much as anything to which I can compare it, a brush heap about six feet high, and about ten or fifteen feet base, and standing seven or eight feet from the water. There were a few Beaver tracks about, which gave us some encouragement. We proceeded to our camping-ground on the edge of the prairie; here we landed all our baggage; while Basil made a fire, Provost and I started to set our traps--the two extremes of hunters, the skilful old one, and the ignorant pupil; but I was soon initiated in the art of setting Beaver traps, and to the uninitiated let me say, '_First_, find your game, _then_ catch it,' if you can. The first we did, the latter we tried to do. We proceeded to the place where the greatest number of tracks were seen, and commenced operations. At the place where the path enters the water, and about four inches beneath the surface, a level place is made in the mud, upon which the trap is placed, the chain is then fastened to a stake which is firmly driven in the ground under water. The end of a willow twig is then chewed and dipped in the 'Medicine Horn,' which contains the bait; this consists of castoreum mixed with spices; a quantity is collected on the chewed end of the twig, the stick is then placed or stuck in the mud on the edge of the water, leaving the part with the bait about two inches above the surface and in front of the trap; on each side the bait and about six inches from it, two dried twigs are placed in the ground; this done, all's done, and we are ready for the visit of Monsieur Castor. We set two traps, and returned to our camp, where we had supper, then pitched our tent and soon were sound asleep, but before we were asleep we heard a Beaver dive, and slap his tail, which sounded like the falling of a round stone in the water; here was encouragement again. In the morning (Monday) we examined our traps and found--nothing. We did not therefore disturb the traps, but examined farther up the river, where we discovered other tracks and resolved to set our traps there, as Provost concluded that there was but one Beaver, and that a male. We returned to camp and made a good breakfast on Buffalo meat and coffee, _sans_ salt, _sans_ pepper, _sans_ sugar, _sans_ anything else of any kind. After breakfast Provost shot a doe. In the afternoon we removed one trap, Basil and I gathered some wild-gooseberries which I stewed for supper, and made a sauce, which, though _rather acid_, was very good with our meat. The next morning, after again examining our traps and finding nothing, we decided to raise camp, which was accordingly done; everything was packed in the skiff, and we proceeded to the mouth of the river. The water had fallen so much since we had entered, as to oblige us to strip, jump in the mud, and haul the skiff over; rich and rare was the job; the mud was about half thigh deep, and a kind of greasy, sticky, black stuff, with a something about it so very peculiar as to be _rather_ unpleasant; however, we did not mind much, and at last got into the Yellowstone, scraped and washed the mud off, and encamped on a prairie about one hundred yards below the Charbonneau. It was near sunset; Provost commenced fishing; we joined him, and in half an hour we caught sixteen catfish, quite large ones. During the day Provost started to the Mauvaises Terres to hunt Bighorns, but returned unsuccessful. He baited his traps for the last time. During his absence thunder clouds were observed rising all around us; we stretched our tent, removed everything inside it, ate our supper of meat and coffee, and then went to bed. It rained some part of the night, but not enough to wet through the tent. The next morning (Tuesday) at daylight, Provost started to examine his traps, while we at the camp put everything in the boat, and sat down to await his return, when we proceeded on our voyage down the Yellowstone to Fort Mortimer, and from thence by land to Fort Union. Nothing of any interest occurred except that we saw two does, one young and one buck of the Bighorns; I fired at the buck which was on a high cliff about a hundred and fifty yards from us; I fired above it to allow for the falling of the ball, but the gun shot so well as to carry where I aimed. The animal was a very large buck; Provost says one of the largest he had seen. As soon as I fired he started and ran along the side of the hill which looked almost perpendicular, and I was much astonished, not only at the feat, but at the surprising quickness with which he moved along, with no apparent foothold. We reached Fort Mortimer about seven o'clock; I left Basil and Provost with the skiff, and I started for Fort Union on foot to send a cart for them. On my way I met Mr. Audubon about to pay a visit to Fort Mortimer; I found all well, despatched the cart, changed my clothes, and feel none the worse for my five days' camping, and quite ready for a dance I hear we are to have to-night." This morning as I walked to Fort Mortimer, meeting Squires as he has said, well and happy as a Lark, I was surprised to see a good number of horses saddled, and packed in different ways, and I hastened on to find what might be the matter. When I entered the miserable house in which Mr. Collins sleeps and spends his time when not occupied out of doors, he told me thirteen men and seven squaws were about to start for the lakes, thirty-five miles off, to kill Buffaloes and dry their meat, as the last his hunters brought in was already putrid. I saw the cavalcade depart in an E.N.E. direction, remained a while, and then walked back. Mr. Collins promised me half a dozen balls from young animals. Provost was discomfited and crestfallen at the failure of the Beaver hunt; he brought half a doe and about a dozen fine catfish. Mr. Culbertson and I are going to see the mowers, and to-morrow we start on a grand Buffalo hunt, and hope for Antelopes, Wolves, and Foxes. _July 20, Thursday._ We were up early, and had our breakfast shortly after four o'clock, and before eight had left the landing of the fort, and were fairly under way for the prairies. Our equipment was much the same as before, except that we had two carts this time. Mr. C. drove Harris, Bell, and myself, and the others rode on the carts and led the hunting horses, or runners, as they are called here. I observed a Rabbit running across the road, and saw some flowers different from any I had ever seen. After we had crossed a bottom prairie, we ascended between the high and rough ravines until we were on the rolling grounds of the plains. The fort showed well from this point, and we also saw a good number of Antelopes, and some young ones. These small things run even faster than the old ones. As we neared the Fox River some one espied four Buffaloes, and Mr. C., taking the telescope, showed them to me, lying on the ground. Our heads and carts were soon turned towards them, and we travelled within half a mile of them, concealed by a ridge or hill which separated them from us. The wind was favorable, and we moved on slowly round the hill, the hunters being now mounted. Harris and Bell had their hats on, but Owen and Mr. Culbertson had their heads bound with handkerchiefs. With the rest of the party I crawled on the ridge, and saw the bulls running away, but in a direction favorable for us to see the chase. On the word of command the horses were let loose, and away went the hunters, who soon were seen to gain on the game; two bulls ran together and Mr. C. and Bell followed after them, and presently one after another of the hunters followed them. Mr. C. shot first, and his bull stopped at the fire, walked towards where I was, and halted about sixty yards from me. His nose was within a few inches of the ground; the blood poured from his mouth, nose, and side, his tail hung down, but his legs looked as firm as ever, but in less than two minutes the poor beast fell on his side, and lay quite dead. Bell and Mr. Culbertson went after the second. Harris took the third, and Squires the fourth. Bell's shot took effect in the buttock, and Mr. Culbertson shot, placing his ball a few inches above or below Bell's; after this Mr. Culbertson ran no more. At this moment Squires's horse threw him over his head, fully ten feet; he fell on his powder-horn and was severely bruised; he cried to Harris to catch his horse, and was on his legs at once, but felt sick for a few minutes. Harris, who was as cool as a cucumber, neared his bull, shot it through the lungs, and it fell dead on the spot. Bell was now seen in full pursuit of his game, and Harris joined Squires, and followed the fourth, which, however, was soon out of my sight. I saw Bell shooting two or three times, and I heard the firing of Squires and perhaps Harris, but the weather was hot, and being afraid of injuring their horses, they let the fourth bull make his escape. Bell's bull fell on his knees, got up again, and rushed on Bell, and was shot again. The animal stood a minute with his tail partially elevated, and then fell dead; through some mishap Bell had no knife with him, so did not bring the tongue, as is customary. Mr. Culbertson walked towards the first bull and I joined him. It was a fine animal about seven years old; Harris's and Bell's were younger. The first was fat, and was soon skinned and cut up for meat. Mr. Culbertson insisted on calling it my bull, so I cut off the brush of the tail and placed it in my hat-band. We then walked towards Harris, who was seated on his bull, and the same ceremony took place, and while they were cutting the animal up for meat, Bell, who said he thought his bull was about three quarters of a mile distant, went off with me to see it; we walked at least a mile and a half, and at last came to it. It was a poor one, and the tongue and tail were all we took away, and we rejoined the party, who had already started the cart with Mr. Pike, who was told to fall to the rear, and reach the fort before sundown; this he could do readily, as we were not more than six miles distant. Mr. Culbertson broke open the head of "my" bull, and ate part of the brains raw, and yet warm, and so did many of the others, even Squires. The very sight of this turned my stomach, but I am told that were I to hunt Buffalo one year, I should like it "even better than dog meat." Mr. Pike did not reach the fort till the next morning about ten, I will say _en passant_. We continued our route, passing over the same road on which we had come, and about midway between the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers. We saw more Antelopes, but not one Wolf; these rascals are never abundant where game is scarce, but where game is, there too are the Wolves. When we had travelled about ten miles further we saw seven Buffaloes grazing on a hill, but as the sun was about one hour high, we drove to one side of the road where there was a pond of water, and there stopped for the night; while the hunters were soon mounted, and with Squires they went off, leaving the men to arrange the camp. I crossed the pond, and having ascended the opposite bank, saw the bulls grazing as leisurely as usual. The hunters near them, they started down the hill, and the chase immediately began. One broke from the rest and was followed by Mr. C. who shot it, and then abandoned the hunt, his horse being much fatigued. I now counted ten shots, but all was out of my sight, and I seated myself near a Fox hole, longing for him. The hunters returned in time; Bell and Harris had killed one, but Squires had no luck, owing to his being unable to continue the chase on account of the injury he had received from his fall. We had a good supper, having brought abundance of eatables and drinkables. The tent was pitched; I put up my mosquito-bar under the wagon, and there slept very soundly till sunrise. Harris and Bell wedged together under another bar, Mr. C. went into the tent, and Squires, who is tough and likes to rough it with the hunters, slept on a Buffalo hide somewhere with Moncrévier, one of the most skilful of the hunters. The horses were all hoppled and turned to grass; they, however, went off too far, and had to be sent after, but I heard nothing of all this. As there is no wood on the prairies proper, our fire was made of Buffalo dung, which is so abundant that one meets these deposits at every few feet and in all directions. _July 21, Friday._ We were up at sunrise, and had our coffee, after which Lafleur a mulatto, Harris, and Bell went off after Antelopes, for we cared no more about bulls; where the cows are, we cannot tell. Cows run faster than bulls, yearlings faster than cows, and calves faster than any of these. Squires felt sore, and his side was very black, so we took our guns and went after Black-breasted Lark Buntings, of which we saw many, but could not near them. I found a nest of them, however, with five eggs. The nest is planted in the ground, deep enough to sink the edges of it. It is formed of dried fine grasses and roots, without any lining of hair or wool. By and by we saw Harris sitting on a high hill about one mile off, and joined him; he said the bulls they had killed last evening were close by, and I offered to go and see the bones, for I expected that the Wolves had devoured it during the night. We travelled on, and Squires returned to the camp. After about two miles of walking against a delightful strong breeze, we reached the animals; Ravens or Buzzards had worked at the eyes, but only one Wolf, apparently, had been there. They were bloated, and smelt quite unpleasant. We returned to the camp and saw a Wolf cross our path, and an Antelope looking at us. We determined to stop and try to bring him to us; I lay on my back and threw my legs up, kicking first one and then the other foot, and sure enough the Antelope walked towards us, slowly and carefully, however. In about twenty minutes he had come two or three hundred yards; he was a superb male, and I looked at him for some minutes; when about sixty yards off I could see his eyes, and being loaded with buck-shot pulled the trigger without rising from my awkward position. Off he went; Harris fired, but he only ran the faster for some hundred yards, when he turned, looked at us again, and was off. When we reached camp we found Bell there; he had shot three times at Antelopes without killing; Lafleur had also returned, and had broken the foreleg of one, but an Antelope can run fast enough with three legs, and he saw no more of it. We now broke camp, arranged the horses and turned our heads towards the Missouri, and in four and three-quarter hours reached the landing. On entering the wood we again broke branches of service-berries, and carried a great quantity over the river. I much enjoyed the trip; we had our supper, and soon to bed in our hot room, where Sprague says the thermometer has been at 99° most of the day. I noticed it was warm when walking. I must not forget to notice some things which happened on our return. First, as we came near Fox River, we thought of the horns of our bulls, and Mr. Culbertson, who knows the country like a book, drove us first to Bell's, who knocked the horns off, then to Harris's, which was served in the same manner; this bull had been eaten entirely except the head, and a good portion of mine had been devoured also; it lay immediately under "Audubon's Bluff" (the name Mr. Culbertson gave the ridge on which I stood to see the chase), and we could see it when nearly a mile distant. Bell's horns were the handsomest and largest, mine next best, and Harris's the smallest, but we are all contented. Mr. Culbertson tells me that Harris and Bell have done wonders, for persons who have never shot at Buffaloes from on horseback. Harris had a fall too, during his second chase, and was bruised in the manner of Squires, but not so badly. I have but little doubt that Squires killed his bull, as he says he shot it three times, and Mr. Culbertson's must have died also. What a terrible destruction of life, as it were for nothing, or next to it, as the tongues only were brought in, and the flesh of these fine animals was left to beasts and birds of prey, or to rot on the spots where they fell. The prairies are literally _covered_ with the skulls of the victims, and the roads the Buffalo make in crossing the prairies have all the appearance of heavy wagon tracks. We saw young Golden Eagles, Ravens, and Buzzards. I found the Short-billed Marsh Wren quite abundant, and in such localities as it is found eastward. The Black-breasted Prairie-bunting flies much like a Lark, hovering while singing, and sweeping round and round, over and above its female while she sits on the eggs on the prairie below. I saw only one Gadwall Duck; these birds are found in abundance on the plains where water and rushes are to be found. Alas! alas! eighteen Assiniboins have reached the fort this evening in two groups; they are better-looking than those previously seen by us. _July 22, Saturday._ Thermometer 99°-102°. This day has been the hottest of the season, and we all felt the influence of this densely oppressive atmosphere, not a breath of air stirring. Immediately after breakfast Provost and Lafleur went across the river in search of Antelopes, and we remained looking at the Indians, all Assiniboins, and very dirty. When and where Mr. Catlin saw these Indians as he has represented them, dressed in magnificent attire, with all sorts of extravagant accoutrements, is more than I can divine, or Mr. Culbertson tell me. The evening was so hot and sultry that Mr. C. and I went into the river, which is now very low, and remained in the water over an hour. A dozen catfish were caught in the main channel, and we have had a good supper from part of them. Finding the weather so warm I have had my bed brought out on the gallery below, and so has Squires. The Indians are, as usual, shut _out_ of the fort, all the horses, young Buffaloes, etc., shut _in_; and much refreshed by my bath, I say God bless you, and good-night. _July 23, Sunday._ Thermometer 84°. I had a very pleasant night, and no mosquitoes, as the breeze rose a little before I lay down; and I anticipated a heavy thunder storm, but we had only a few drops of rain. About one o'clock Harris was called to see one of the Indians, who was bleeding at the nose profusely, and I too went to see the poor devil. He had bled quite enough, and Harris stopped his nostrils with cotton, put cold water on his neck and head--God knows when they had felt it before--and the bleeding stopped. These dirty fellows had made a large fire between the walls of the fort, but outside the inner gates, and it was a wonder that the whole establishment was not destroyed by fire. Before sunrise they were pounding at the gate to be allowed to enter, but, of course, this was not permitted. When the sun had fairly risen, some one came and told me the hill-tops were covered with Indians, probably Blackfeet. I walked to the back gate, and the number had dwindled, or the account been greatly exaggerated, for there seemed only fifty or sixty, and when, later, they were counted, there were found to be exactly seventy. They remained a long time on the hill, and sent a youth to ask for whiskey. But whiskey there is none for them, and very little for any one. By and by they came down the hill leading four horses, and armed principally with bows and arrows, spears, tomahawks, and a few guns. They have proved to be a party of Crees from the British dominions on the Saskatchewan River, and have been fifteen days in travelling here. They had seen few Buffaloes, and were hungry and thirsty enough. They assured Mr. Culbertson that the Hudson's Bay Company supplied them all with abundance of spirituous liquors, and as the white traders on the Missouri had none for them, they would hereafter travel with the English. Now ought not this subject to be brought before the press in our country and forwarded to England? If our Congress will not allow our traders to sell whiskey or rum to the Indians, why should not the British follow the same rule? Surely the British, who are so anxious about the emancipation of the blacks, might as well take care of the souls and bodies of the redskins. After a long talk and smoking of pipes, tobacco, flints, powder, gun-screws and vermilion were placed before their great chief (who is tattooed and has a most rascally look), who examined everything minutely, counting over the packets of vermilion; more tobacco was added, a file, and a piece of white cotton with which to adorn his head; then he walked off, followed by his son, and the whole posse left the fort. They passed by the garden, pulled up a few squash vines and some turnips, and tore down a few of the pickets on their way elsewhere. We all turned to, and picked a quantity of peas, which with a fine roast pig, made us a capital dinner. After this, seeing the Assiniboins loitering about the fort, we had some tobacco put up as a target, and many arrows were sent to enter the prize, but I never saw Indians--usually so skilful with their bows--shoot worse in my life. Presently some one cried there were Buffaloes on the hill, and going to see we found that four bulls were on the highest ridge standing still. The horses being got in the yard, the guns were gathered, saddles placed, and the riders mounted, Mr. C., Harris, and Bell; Squires declined going, not having recovered from his fall, Mr. C. led his followers round the hills by the ravines, and approached the bulls quite near, when the affrighted cattle ran down the hills and over the broken grounds, out of our sight, followed by the hunters. When I see game chased by Mr. Culbertson, I feel confident of its being killed, and in less than one hour he had killed two bulls, Harris and Bell each one. Thus these poor animals which two hours before were tranquilly feeding are now dead; short work this. Harris and Bell remained on the hills to watch the Wolves, and carts being ordered, Mr. C. and I went off on horseback to the second one he had killed. We found it entire, and I began to operate upon it at once; after making what measurements and investigations I desired, I saved the head, the tail, and a large piece of the silky skin from the rump. The meat of three of the bulls was brought to the fort, the fourth was left to rot on the ground. Mr. C. cut his finger severely, but paid no attention to that; I, however, tore a strip off my shirt and bound it up for him. It is so hot I am going to sleep on the gallery again; the thermometer this evening is 89°. _July 24, Monday._ I had a fine sleep last night, and this morning early a slight sprinkling of rain somewhat refreshed the earth. After breakfast we talked of going to see if Mr. Culbertson's bull had been injured by the Wolves. Mr. C., Harris, and I went off to the spot by a roundabout way, and when we reached the animal it was somewhat swollen, but untouched, but we made up our minds to have it weighed, _coute qui coute_. Harris proposed to remain and watch it, looking for Hares meantime, but saw none. The Wolves must be migratory at this season, or so starved out that they have gone elsewhere, as we now see but few. We returned first to the fort, and mustered three men and Bell, for Sprague would not go, being busy drawing a plant, and finding the heat almost insupportable. We carried all the necessary implements, and found Harris quite ready to drink some claret and water which we took for him. To cut up so large a bull, and one now with so dreadful an odor, was no joke; but with the will follows the success, and in about one hour the poor beast had been measured and weighed, and we were once more _en route_ for the fort. This bull measured as follows: from end of nose to root of tail, 131 inches; height at shoulder, 67 inches; at rump, 57 inches; tail vertebræ, 15½ inches, hair in length beyond it 11 inches. We weighed the whole animal by cutting it in parts and then by addition found that this Buffalo, which was an old bull, weighed 1777 lbs. avoirdupois. The flesh was all tainted, and was therefore left for the beasts of prey. Our road was over high hills, and presented to our searching eyes a great extent of broken ground, and here and there groups of Buffaloes grazing. This afternoon we are going to bring in the skeleton of Mr. Culbertson's second bull. I lost the head of my first bull because I forgot to tell Mrs. Culbertson that I wished to save it, and the princess had its skull broken open to enjoy its brains. Handsome, and really courteous and refined in many ways, I cannot reconcile to myself the fact that she partakes of raw animal food with such evident relish. Before our departure, in came six half-breeds, belonging, or attached to Fort Mortimer; and understanding that they were first-rate hunters, I offered them ten dollars in goods for each Bighorn up to eight or ten in number. They have promised to go to-morrow, but, alas! the half-breeds are so uncertain I cannot tell whether they will move a step or not. Mrs. Culbertson, who has great pride in her pure Indian blood, told me with scorn that "all such no-color fellows are lazy." We were delayed in starting by a very heavy gale of wind and hard rain, which cooled the weather considerably; but we finally got off in the wagon, the cart with three mules following, to bring in the skeleton of the Buffalo which Mr. Culbertson had killed; but we were defeated, for some Wolves had been to it, dragged it about twenty-five feet, and gnawed the ends of the ribs and the backbone. The head of Harris's bull was brought in, but it was smaller; the horns alone were pretty good, and they were given to Sprague. On our return Mrs. Culbertson was good enough to give me six young Mallards, which she had caught by swimming after them in the Missouri; she is a most expert and graceful swimmer, besides being capable of remaining under water a long time; all the Blackfoot Indians excel in swimming and take great pride in the accomplishment. We found three of the Assiniboins had remained, one of whom wanted to carry off a squaw, and probably a couple of horses too. He strutted about the fort in such a manner that we watched him pretty closely. Mr. Culbertson took his gun, and a six-barrelled pistol in his pocket; I, my double-barrelled gun, and we stood at the back gate. The fellow had a spear made of a cut-and-thrust sword, planted in a good stick covered with red cloth, and this he never put down at any time; but no more, indeed, do any Indians, who carry all their goods and chattels forever about their persons. The three gentlemen, however, went off about dusk, and took the road to Fort Mortimer, where six half-breeds from the Northeast brought to Fort Mortimer eleven head of cattle, and came to pay a visit to their friends here. All these men know Provost, and have inquired for him. I feel somewhat uneasy about Provost and La Fleur, who have now been gone four full days. The prairie is wet and damp, so I must sleep indoors. The bull we cut up was not a fat one; I think in good condition it would have weighed 2000 lbs. _July 25, Tuesday._ We were all rather lazy this morning, but about dinner-time Owen and his man arrived, and told us they had reached Mr. Kipp and his boat at the crossings within about half a mile of Fort Alexander; that his men were all broken down with drawing the cordelle through mud and water, and that they had lost a white horse, which, however, Owen saw on his way, and on the morning of his start from this fort. About the same time he shot a large Porcupine, and killed four bulls and one cow to feed upon, as well as three rattlesnakes. They saw a large number of Buffalo cows, and we are going after them to-morrow morning bright and early. About two hours later Provost and La Fleur, about whom I had felt some uneasiness, came to the landing, and brought the heads and skins attached to two female Antelopes. Both had been killed by one shot from La Fleur, and his ball broke the leg of a third. Provost was made quite sick by the salt water he had drunk; he killed one doe, on which they fed as well as on the flesh of the "Cabris." Whilst following the Mauvaises Terres (broken lands), they saw about twenty Bighorns, and had not the horse on which Provost rode been frightened at the sight of a monstrous buck of these animals, he would have shot it down within twenty yards. They saw from fifteen to twenty Buffalo cows, and we hope some of the hunters will come up with them to-morrow. I have been drawing the head of one of these beautiful female Antelopes; but their horns puzzle me, and all of us; they seem to me as if they were _new_ horns, soft and short; time, however, will prove whether they shed them or not. Our preparations are already made for preserving the skins of the Antelopes, and Sprague is making an outline which I hope will be finished before the muscles of the head begin to soften. Not a word from the six hunters who promised to go after Bighorns on the Yellowstone. _July 26, Wednesday._ We were all on foot before daybreak and had our breakfast by an early hour, and left on our trip for Buffalo cows. The wagon was sent across by hauling it through the east channel, which is now quite low, and across the sand-bars, which now reach seven-eighths of the distance across the river. We crossed in the skiff, and walked to the ferry-boat--I barefooted, as well as Mr. Culbertson; others wore boots or moccasins, but my feet have been tender of late, and this is the best cure. Whilst looking about for sticks to support our mosquito bars, I saw a Rabbit standing before me, within a few steps, but I was loaded with balls, and should have torn the poor thing so badly that it would have been useless as a specimen, so let it live. We left the ferry before six, and went on as usual. We saw two Antelopes on entering the bottom prairie, but they had the wind of us, and scampered off to the hills. We saw two Grouse, one of which Bell killed, and we found it very good this evening for our supper. Twelve bulls were seen, but we paid no attention to them. We saw a fine large Hawk, apparently the size of a Red-tailed Hawk, but with the whole head white. It had alighted on a clay hill or bank, but, on being approached, flew off to another, was pursued and again flew away, so that we could not procure it, but I have no doubt that it is a species not yet described. We now crossed Blackfoot River, and saw great numbers of Antelopes. Their play and tricks are curious; I watched many of the groups a long time, and will not soon forget them. At last, seeing we should have no meat for supper, and being a party of nine, it was determined that the first animal seen should be run down and killed. We soon saw a bull, and all agreed to give every chance possible to Squires. Mr. C., Owen, and Squires started, and Harris followed without a gun, to see the chase. The bull was wounded twice by Squires, but no blood came from the mouth, and now all three shot at it, but the bull was not apparently hurt seriously; he became more and more furious, and began charging upon them. Unfortunately, Squires ran between the bull and a ravine quite close to the animal, and it suddenly turned on him; his horse became frightened and jumped into the ravine, the bull followed, and now Squires lost his balance; however, he threw his gun down, and fortunately clung to the mane of his horse and recovered his seat. The horse got away and saved his life, for, from what Mr. C. told me, had he fallen, the bull would have killed him in a few minutes, and no assistance could be afforded him, as Mr. C. and Owen had, at that moment, empty guns. Squires told us all; he had never been so bewildered and terrified before. The bull kept on running, and was shot at perhaps twenty times, for when he fell he had _twelve balls_ in his side, and had been shot twice in the head. Another bull was now seen close by us, and Owen killed it after four shots. Whilst we were cutting up this one, La Fleur and some one else went to the other, which was found to be very poor, and, at this season smelling very rank and disagreeable. A few of the best pieces were cut away, and, as usual, the hunters ate the liver and fat quite raw, like Wolves, and we were now on the move again. Presently we saw seven animals coming towards us, and with the glass discovered there were six bulls and one cow. The hunters mounted in quick time, and away after the cow, which Owen killed very soon. To my surprise the bulls did not leave her, but stood about one hundred yards from the hunters, who were cutting her in pieces; the best parts were taken for dried meat. Had we not been so many, the bulls would, in all probability, have charged upon the butchers, but after a time they went off at a slow canter. At this moment Harris and I were going towards the party thus engaged, when a Swift Fox started from a hole under the feet of Harris' horse. I was loaded with balls, and he also; he gave chase and gained upon the beautiful animal with remarkable quickness. Bell saw this, and joined Harris, whilst I walked towards the butchering party. The Fox was overtaken by Harris, who took aim at it several times, but could not get sight on him, and the little fellow doubled and cut about in such a manner that it escaped into a ravine, and was seen no more. Now who will tell me that no animal can compete with this Fox in speed, when Harris, mounted on an Indian horse, overtook it in a few minutes? We were now in sight of a large band of cows and bulls, but the sun was low, and we left them to make our way to the camping-place, which we reached just before the setting of the sun. We found plenty of water, and a delightful spot, where we were all soon at work unsaddling our horses and mules, bringing wood for fires, and picking service-berries, which we found in great quantities and very good. We were thirty miles from Fort Union, close to the three Mamelles, but must have travelled near fifty, searching for and running down the game. All slept well, some outside and others inside the tent, after our good supper. We had a clear, bright day, with the wind from the westward. _July 27, Thursday._ This morning was beautiful, the birds singing all around us, and after our early breakfast, Harris, with La Fleur and Mr. Culbertson, walked to the top of the highest of the three Mamelles; Bell went to skinning the birds shot yesterday,[34] among which was a large Titmouse of the Eastern States, while I walked off a short distance, and made a sketch of the camp and the three Mamelles. I hope to see a fair picture from this, painted by Victor, this next winter, God willing. During the night the bulls were heard bellowing, and the Wolves howling, all around us. Bell had seen evidences of Grizzly Bears close by, but we saw none of the animals. An Antelope was heard snorting early this morning, and seen for a while, but La Fleur could not get it. The snorting of the Antelope is more like a whistling, sneezing sound, than like the long, clear snorting of our common Deer, and it is also very frequently repeated, say every few minutes, when in sight of an object of which the animal does not yet know the nature; for the moment it is assured of danger, it bounds three or four times like a sheep, and then either trots off or gallops like a horse. On the return of the gentlemen from the eminence, from which they had seen nothing but a Hawk, and heard the notes of the Rock Wren, the horses were gathered, and preparations made to go in search of cows. I took my gun and walked off ahead, and on ascending the first hill saw an Antelope, which, at first sight, I thought was an Indian. It stood still, gazing at me about five hundred yards off; I never stirred, and presently it walked towards me; I lay down and lowered my rifle; the animal could not now see my body; I showed it my feet a few times, at intervals. Presently I saw it coming full trot towards me; I cocked my gun, loaded with buck-shot in one barrel and ball in the other. He came within thirty yards of me and stopped suddenly, then turned broadside towards me. I could see his very eyes, his beautiful form, and his fine horns, for it was a buck. I pulled one trigger--it snapped, the animal moved not; I pulled the other, snapped again, and away the Antelope bounded, and ran swiftly from me. I put on fresh caps, and saw it stop after going a few hundred yards, and presently it came towards me again, but not within one hundred and fifty yards, when seeing that it would not come nearer I pulled the trigger with the ball; off it went, and so did the Antelope, which this time went quite out of my sight. I returned to camp and found all ready for a move. Owen went up a hill to reconnoitre for Antelopes and cows; seeing one of the former he crept after it. Bell followed, and at this moment a Hare leaped from the path before us, and stopped within twenty paces. Harris was not loaded with shot, and I only with buck-shot; however, I fired and killed it; it proved to be a large female, and after measuring, we skinned it, and I put on a label "Townsend's Hare, killed a few miles from the three Mamelles, July 27, 1843." After travelling for a good while, Owen, who kept ahead of us, made signs from the top of a high hill that Buffaloes were in sight. This signal is made by walking the rider's horse backwards and forwards several times. We hurried on towards him, and when we reached the place, he pointed to the spot where he had seen them, and said they were travelling fast, being a band of both cows and bulls. The hunters were mounted at once, and on account of Squires' soreness I begged him not to run; so he drove me in the wagon as fast as possible over hills, through plains and ravines of all descriptions, at a pace beyond belief. From time to time we saw the hunters, and once or twice the Buffaloes, which were going towards the fort. At last we reached an eminence from which we saw both the game and the hunters approaching the cattle, preparatory to beginning the chase. It seems there is no etiquette among Buffalo hunters, and this proved a great disappointment to friend Harris, who was as anxious to kill a cow, as he had been to kill a bull. Off went the whole group, but the country was not as advantageous to the pursuers, as to the pursued. The cows separated from the bulls, the latter making their way towards us, and six of them passed within one hundred yards of where I stood; we let them pass, knowing well how savage they are at these times, and turned our eyes again to the hunters. I saw Mr. C. pursuing one cow, Owen another, and Bell a third. Owen shot one and mortally wounded it; it walked up on a hill and stood there for some minutes before falling. Owen killed a second close by the one Mr. C. had now killed, Bell's dropped dead in quite another direction, nearly one mile off. Two bulls we saw coming directly towards us, so La Fleur and I went under cover of the hill to await their approach, and they came within sixty yards of us. I gave La Fleur the choice of shooting first, as he had a rifle; he shot and missed; they turned and ran in an opposite direction, so that I, who had gone some little distance beyond La Fleur, had no chance, and I was sorry enough for my politeness. Owen had shot a third cow, which went part way up a hill, fell, and kicked violently; she, however, rose and again fell, and kept kicking with all her legs in the air. Squires now drove to her, and I walked, followed by Moncrévier, a hunter; seeing Mr. C. and Harris on the bottom below we made signs for them to come up, and they fortunately did, and by galloping to Squires probably saved that young man from more danger; for though I cried to him at the top of my voice, the wind prevented him from hearing me; he now stopped, however, not far from a badly broken piece of ground over which had he driven at his usual speed, which I doubt not he would have attempted, some accident must have befallen him. Harris and Mr. C. rode up to the cow, which expired at that moment. The cow Mr. C. had killed was much the largest, and we left a cart and two men to cut up this, and the first two Owen had killed, and went to the place where the first lay, to have it skinned for me. Bell joined us soon, bringing a tongue with him, and he immediately began operations on the cow, which proved a fine one, and I have the measurements as follows: "Buffalo Cow, killed by Mr. Alexander Culbertson, July 27, 1843. Nose to root of tail, 96 inches. Height at shoulder, 60; at rump, 55-1/2. Length of tail vertebræ, 13; to end of hair, 25; from brisket to bottom of feet, 21-1/2; nose to anterior canthus, 10-1/2; between horns at root, 11-3/8; between tops of ditto, 17-1/8; between nostrils, 2-1/4; length of ditto, 2-1/2; height of nose, 3-1/8; nose to opening of ear, 20; ear from opening to tip, 5; longest hair on head, 14 inches; from angle of mouth to end of under lip, 3-1/2." Whilst we were at this, Owen and Pike were hacking at their cow. After awhile all was ready for departure, and we made for the "coupe" at two o'clock, and expected to have found water to enable us to water our horses, for we had yet some gallons of the Missouri water for our own use. We found the road to the "coupe," which was seen for many, many miles. The same general appearance of country shows throughout the whole of these dreary prairies; up one hill and down on the other side, then across a plain with ravines of more or less depth. About two miles west of the "coupe," Owen and others went in search of water, but in vain; and we have had to cross the "coupe" and travel fully two miles east of it, when we came to a mere puddle, sufficient however, for the night, and we stopped. The carts with the meat, and our effects, arrived after a while; the meat was spread on the grass, the horses and mules hoppled and let go, to drink and feed. All hands collected Buffalo dung for fuel, for not a bush was in sight, and we soon had a large fire. In the winter season this prairie fuel is too wet to burn, and oftentimes the hunters have to eat their meat raw, or go without their supper. Ours was cooked however; I made mine chiefly from the liver, as did Harris; others ate boiled or roasted meat as they preferred. The tent was pitched, and I made a bed for Mr. C. and myself, and guns, etc., were all under cover; the evening was cool, the wind fresh, and no mosquitoes. We had seen plenty of Antelopes; I shot at one twenty yards from the wagon with small shot. Harris killed a Wolf, but we have seen very few, and now I will wish you all good-night; God bless you! [Illustration: CAMP AT THE THREE MAMELLES. FROM A DRAWING BY AUDUBON, HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED.] _July 28, Friday._ This morning was cold enough for a frost, but we all slept soundly until daylight, and about half-past three we were called for breakfast. The horses had all gone but four, and, as usual, Owen was despatched for them. The horses were brought back, our coffee swallowed, and we were off, Mr. C. and I, in the wagon. We saw few Antelopes, no Buffalo, and reached the ferry opposite the fort at half-past seven. We found all well, and about eleven Assiniboins, all young men, headed by the son of a great chief called "Le mangeur d'hommes" (the man-eater). The poor wretched Indian whom Harris had worked over, died yesterday morning, and was buried at once. I had actually felt chilly riding in the wagon, and much enjoyed a breakfast Mrs. Culbertson had kindly provided for me. We had passed over some very rough roads, and at breakneck speed, but I did not feel stiff as I expected, though somewhat sore, and a good night's rest is all I need. This afternoon the cow's skin and head, and the Hare arrived, and have been preserved. A half-breed well known to Provost has been here to make a bargain with me about Bighorns, Grizzly Bear, etc., and will see what he and his two sons can do; but I have little or no confidence in these gentry. I was told this afternoon that at Mouse River, about two hundred miles north of this, there are eight hundred carts in one gang, and four hundred in another, with an adequate number of half-breeds and Indians, killing Buffalo and drying their meat for winter provisions, and that the animals are there in millions. When Buffalo bulls are shot from a distance of sixty or seventy yards, they rarely charge on the hunter, and Mr. Culbertson has killed as many as nine bulls from the same spot, when unseen by these terrible beasts. Beavers, when shot swimming, and killed, sink at once to the bottom, but their bodies rise again in from twenty to thirty minutes. Hunters, who frequently shoot and kill them by moonlight, return in the morning from their camping-places, and find them on the margins of the shores where they had shot. Otters do the same, but remain under water for an hour or more. _July 29, Saturday._ Cool and pleasant. About one hour after daylight Harris, Bell, and two others, crossed the river, and went in search of Rabbits, but all returned without success. Harris, after breakfast, went off on this side, saw none, but killed a young Raven. During the course of the forenoon he and Bell went off again, and brought home an old and young of the Sharp-tailed Grouse. This afternoon they brought in a Loggerhead Shrike and two Rock Wrens. Bell skinned all these. Sprague made a handsome sketch of the five young Buffaloes belonging to the fort. This evening Moncrévier and Owen went on the other side of the river, but saw nothing. We collected berries of the dwarf cherries of this part, and I bottled some service-berries to carry home. _July 30, Sunday._ Weather cool and pleasant. After breakfast we despatched La Fleur and Provost after Antelopes and Bighorns. We then went off and had a battue for Rabbits, and although we were nine in number, and all beat the rose bushes and willows for several hundred yards, not one did we see, although their traces were apparent in several places. We saw tracks of a young Grizzly Bear near the river shore. After a good dinner of Buffalo meat, green peas, and a pudding, Mr. C., Owen, Mr. Pike, and I went off to Fort Mortimer. We had an arrival of five squaws, half-breeds, and a gentleman of the same order, who came to see our fort and our ladies. The princess went out to meet them covered with a fine shawl, and the visitors followed her to her own room. These ladies spoke both the French and Cree languages. At Fort Mortimer we found the hunters from the north, who had returned last evening and told me they had seen nothing. I fear that all my former opinions of the half-breeds are likely to be realized, and that they are all more _au fait_ at telling lies, than anything else; and I expect now that we shall have to make a regular turn-out ourselves, to kill both Grizzly Bears and Bighorns. As we were riding along not far from this fort, Mr. Culbertson fired off the gun given him by Harris, and it blew off the stock, lock, and breech, and it was a wonder it did not kill him, or me, as I was sitting by his side. After we had been at home about one hour, we were all called out of a sudden by the news that the _Horse Guards_ were coming, full gallop, driving the whole of their charge before them. We saw the horses, and the cloud of dust that they raised on the prairies, and presently, when the Guards reached the gates, they told us that they had seen a party of Indians, which occasioned their hurried return. It is now more than one hour since I wrote this, and the Indians are now in sight, and we think they were frightened by three or four squaws who had left the fort in search of "pommes blanches." Sprague has collected a few seeds, but I intend to have some time devoted to this purpose before we leave on our passage downwards. This evening five Indians arrived, among whom is the brother of the man who died a few days ago; he brought a horse, and an Elk skin, which I bought, and he now considers himself a rich man. He reported Buffaloes very near, and to-morrow morning the hunters will be after them. When Buffaloes are about to lie down, they draw all their four feet together slowly, and balancing the body for a moment, bend their fore legs, and fall on their knees first, and the hind ones follow. In young animals, some of which we have here, the effect produced on their tender skin is directly seen, as callous round patches without hair are found; after the animal is about one year old, these are seen no more. I am told that Wolves have not been known to attack men and horses in these parts, but they do attack mules and colts, always making choice of the fattest. We scarcely see one now-a-days about the fort, and yet two miles from here, at Fort Mortimer, Mr. Collins tells me it is impossible to sleep, on account of their howlings at night. When Assiniboin Indians lose a relative by death, they go and cry under the box which contains the body, which is placed in a tree, cut their legs and different parts of the body, and moan miserably for hours at a time. This performance has been gone through with by the brother of the Indian who died here. _July 31, Monday._ Weather rather warmer. Mr. Larpenteur went after Rabbits, saw none, but found a horse, which was brought home this afternoon. Mr. C., Harris, Bell, and Owen went after Buffaloes over the hills, saw none, so that all this day has been disappointment to us. Owen caught a _Spermophilus hoodii_. The brother of the dead Indian, who gashed his legs fearfully this morning, went off with his wife and children and six others, who had come here to beg. One of them had for _a letter of recommendation_ one of the advertisements of the steamer "Trapper," which will be kept by his chief for time immemorial to serve as a pass for begging. He received from us ammunition and tobacco. Sprague collected seeds this morning, and this afternoon copied my sketch of the three Mamelles. Towards sunset I intend to go myself after Rabbits, along the margins of the bushes and the shore. We have returned from my search after Rabbits; Harris and I each shot one. We saw five Wild Geese. Harris lost his snuff-box, which he valued, and which I fear will never be found. Squires to-day proposed to me to let him remain here this winter to procure birds and quadrupeds, and I would have said "yes" at once, did he understand either or both these subjects, or could draw; but as he does not, it would be useless. _August 1, Tuesday._ The weather fine, and warmer than yesterday. We sent off four Indians after Rabbits, but as we foolishly gave them powder and shot, they returned without any very soon, having, of course, hidden the ammunition. After breakfast Mr. C. had a horse put in the cart, and three squaws went off after "pommes blanches," and Sprague and I followed in the wagon, driven by Owen. These women carried sticks pointed at one end, and blunt at the other, and I was perfectly astonished at the dexterity and rapidity with which they worked. They place the pointed end within six inches of the plant, where the stem enters the earth, and bear down upon the other end with all their weight and move about to the right and left of the plant until the point of the stick is thrust in the ground to the depth of about seven inches, when acting upon it in the manner of a lever, the plant is fairly thrown out, and the root procured. Sprague and I, who had taken with us an instrument resembling a very narrow hoe, and a spade, having rather despised the simple instruments of the squaws, soon found out that these damsels could dig six or seven, and in some cases a dozen, to our _one_. We collected some seeds of these plants as well as those of some others, and walked fully six miles, which has rendered my feet quite tender again. Owen told me that he had seen, on his late journey up the Yellowstone, Grouse, both old and young, with a black breast and with a broad tail; they were usually near the margin of a wood. What they are I cannot tell, but he and Bell are going after them to-morrow morning. Just after dinner Provost and La Fleur returned with two male Antelopes, skinned, one of them a remarkably large buck, the other less in size, both skins in capital order. We have taken the measurements of the head of the larger. The timber for our boat has been hauling across the sand-bar ever since daylight, and of course the work will proceed pretty fast. The weather is delightful, and at night, indeed, quite cool enough. I spoke to Sprague last night about remaining here next winter, as he had mentioned his wish to do so to Bell some time ago, but he was very undecided. My regrets that I promised you all so faithfully that I would return this fall are beyond description. I am, as years go, an old man, but I do not feel old, and there is so much of interest here that I forget oftentimes that I am not as young as Owen. _August 2, Wednesday._ Bell and Owen started on their tour up the Yellowstone[35] after Cocks of the Plain [Sage Grouse, _Centrocercus urophasianus_]. Provost and Moncrévier went in the timber below after Deer, but saw none. We had an arrival of six Chippeway Indians, and afterwards about a dozen Assiniboins. Both these parties were better dressed, and looked better off than any previous groups that we have seen at this fort. They brought some few robes to barter, and the traffic was carried on by Mr. Larpenteur in his little shop, through a wicket. On the arrival of the Assiniboins, who were headed by an old man, one of the Chippeways discovered a horse, which he at once not only claimed, but tied; he threw down his new blanket on the ground, and was leading off the horse, when the other Indian caught hold of it, and said that he had fairly bought it, etc. The Chippeway now gave him his gun, powder, and ball, as well as his _looking-glass_, the most prized of all his possessions, and the Assiniboin, now apparently satisfied, gave up the horse, which was led away by the new (or old) owner. We thought the matter was ended, but Mr. Culbertson told us that either the horse or the Chippeway would be caught and brought back. The latter had mounted a fine horse which he had brought with him, and was leading the other away, when presently a gun was heard out of the fort, and Mr. C. ran to tell us that the horse of the Chippeway had been shot, and that the rider was running as fast as he could to Fort Mortimer. Upon going out we found the horse standing still, and the man running; we went to the poor animal, and found that the ball had passed through the thigh, and entered the belly. The poor horse was trembling like an aspen; he at last moved, walked about, and went to the river, where he died. Now it is curious that it was not the same Assiniboin who had sold the horse that had shot, but another of their party; and we understand that it was on account of an old grudge against the Chippeway, who, by the way, was a surly-looking rascal. The Assiniboins brought eight or ten horses and colts, and a number of dogs. One of the colts had a necklace of "pommes blanches," at the end of which hung a handful of Buffalo calves' hoofs, not more than 3/4 inch long, and taken from the calves before birth, when the mothers had been killed. Harris and I took a ride in the wagon over the Mauvaises Terres above the fort, in search of petrified wood, but though we found many specimens, they were of such indifferent quality that we brought home but one. On returning we followed a Wolf path, of which there are hundreds through the surrounding hills, all leading to the fort. It is curious to see how well they understand the best and shortest roads. From what had happened, we anticipated a row among the Indians, but all seemed quiet. Mr. C. gave us a good account of Fort McKenzie. I have been examining the fawn of the Long-tailed Deer of this country, belonging to old Baptiste; the man feeds it regularly, and the fawn follows him everywhere. It will race backwards and forwards over the prairie back of the fort, for a mile or more, running at the very top of its speed; suddenly it will make for the gate, rush through and overwhelm Baptiste with caresses, as if it had actually lost him for some time. If Baptiste lies on the ground pretending to sleep, the fawn pushes with its nose, and licks his face as a dog would, till he awakens. _August 3, Thursday._ We observed yesterday that the atmosphere was thick, and indicated the first appearance of the close of summer, which here is brief. The nights and mornings have already become cool, and summer clothes will not be needed much longer, except occasionally. Harris and Sprague went to the hills so much encrusted with shells. We have had some talk about going to meet Bell and Owen, but the distance is too great, and Mr. C. told me he was not acquainted with the road beyond the first twenty-five or thirty miles. We have had a slight shower, and Mr. C. and I walked across the bar to see the progress of the boat. The horse that died near the river was hauled across to the sand-bar, and will make good catfish bate for our fishers. This morning we had another visitation of Indians, seven in number; they were very dirty, wrapped in disgusting Buffalo robes, and were not allowed inside the inner gate, on account of their filthy condition. _August 4, Friday._ We were all under way this morning at half-past five, on a Buffalo hunt, that is to say, the residue of us, Harris and I, for Bell was away with Owen, and Squires with Provost after Bighorns, and Sprague at Fort Mortimer. Tobacco and matches had been forgotten, and that detained us for half an hour; but at last we started in good order, with only one cart following us, which carried Pike and Moncrévier. We saw, after we had travelled ten miles, some Buffalo bulls; some alone, others in groups of four or five, a few Antelopes, but more shy than ever before. I was surprised to see how careless the bulls were of us, as some actually gave us chances to approach them within a hundred yards, looking steadfastly, as if not caring a bit for us. At last we saw one lying down immediately in our road, and determined to give him a chance for his life. Mr. C. had a white horse, a runaway, in which he placed a good deal of confidence; he mounted it, and we looked after him. The bull did not start till Mr. C. was within a hundred yards, and then at a gentle and slow gallop. The horse galloped too, but only at the same rate. Mr. C. thrashed him until his hands were sore, for he had no whip, the bull went off without even a shot being fired, and the horse is now looked upon as forever disgraced. About two miles farther another bull was observed lying down in our way, and it was concluded to run him with the white horse, accompanied, however, by Harris. The chase took place, and the bull was killed by Harris, but the white horse is now scorned by every one. A few pieces of meat, the tongue, tail, and head, were all that was taken from this very large bull. We soon saw that the weather was becoming cloudy, and we were anxious to reach a camping-place; but we continued to cross ranges of hills, and hoped to see a large herd of Buffaloes. The weather was hot "out of mind," and we continued till, reaching a fine hill, we saw in a beautiful valley below us seventy to eighty head, feeding peacefully in groups and singly, as might happen. The bulls were mixed in with the cows, and we saw one or two calves. Many bulls were at various distances from the main group, but as we advanced towards them they galloped off and joined the others. When the chase began it was curious to see how much swifter the cows were than the bulls, and how soon they divided themselves into parties of seven or eight, exerting themselves to escape from their murderous pursuers. All in vain, however; off went the guns and down went the cows, or stood bleeding through the nose, mouth, or bullet holes. Mr. C. killed three, and Harris one in about half an hour. We had quite enough, and the slaughter was ended. We had driven up to the nearest fallen cow, and approached close to her, and found that she was not dead, but trying to rise to her feet. I cannot bear to see an animal suffer unnecessarily, so begged one of the men to take my knife and stab her to the heart, which was done. The animals were cut up and skinned, with considerable fatigue. To skin bulls and cows and cut up their bodies is no joke, even to such as are constantly in the habit of doing it. Whilst Mr. Culbertson and the rest had gone to cut up another at some distance, I remained on guard to save the meat from the Wolves, but none came before my companions returned. We found the last cow quite dead. As we were busy about her the rain fell in torrents, and I found my blanket _capote_ of great service. It was now nearly sundown, and we made up our minds to camp close by, although there was no water for our horses, neither any wood. Harris and I began collecting Buffalo-dung from all around, whilst the others attended to various other affairs. The meat was all unloaded and spread on the ground, the horses made fast, the fire burned freely, pieces of liver were soon cooked and devoured, coffee drunk in abundance, and we went to rest. _August 5, Saturday_. It rained in the night; but this morning the weather was cool, wind at northwest, and cloudy, but not menacing rain. We made through the road we had come yesterday, and on our way Harris shot a young of the Swift Fox, which we could have caught alive had we not been afraid of running into some hole. We saw only a few bulls and Antelopes, and some Wolves. The white horse, which had gone out as a _hunter_, returned as a _pack-horse_, loaded with the entire flesh of a Buffalo cow; and our two mules drew three more and the heads of all four. This morning at daylight, when we were called to drink our coffee, there was a Buffalo feeding within twenty steps of our tent, and it moved slowly towards the hills as we busied ourselves making preparations for our departure. We reached the fort at noon; Squires, Provost, and La Fleur had returned; they had wounded a Bighorn, but had lost it. Owen and Bell returned this afternoon; they had seen no Cocks of the plains, but brought the skin of a female Elk, a Porcupine, and a young White-headed Eagle. Provost tells me that Buffaloes become so very poor during hard winters, when the snows cover the ground to the depth of two or three feet, that they lose their hair, become covered with scabs, on which the Magpies feed, and the poor beasts die by hundreds. One can hardly conceive how it happens, notwithstanding these many deaths and the immense numbers that are murdered almost daily on these boundless wastes called prairies, besides the hosts that are drowned in the freshets, and the hundreds of young calves who die in early spring, so many are yet to be found. Daily we see so many that we hardly notice them more than the cattle in our pastures about our homes. But this cannot last; even now there is a perceptible difference in the size of the herds, and before many years the Buffalo, like the Great Auk, will have disappeared; surely this should not be permitted. Bell has been relating his adventures, our boat is going on, and I wish I had a couple of Bighorns. God bless you all. _August 6, Sunday._ I very nearly lost the skin of the Swift Fox, for Harris supposed the animal rotten with the great heat, which caused it to have an odor almost insupportable, and threw it on the roof of the gallery. Bell was so tired he did not look at it, so I took it down, skinned it, and with the assistance of Squires put the coat into pickle, where I daresay it will keep well enough. The weather is thick, and looks like a thunderstorm. Bell, having awaked refreshed by his night's rest, has given me the measurements of the Elk and the Porcupine. Provost has put the skin of the former in pickle, and has gone to Fort Mortimer to see Boucherville and others, to try if they would go after Bighorn to-morrow morning. This afternoon we had an arrival of Indians, the same who were here about two weeks ago. They had been to Fort Clark, and report that a battle had taken place between the Crees and Gros Ventres, and that the latter had lost. Antelopes often die from the severity of the winter weather, and are found dead and shockingly poor, even in the immediate vicinity of the forts. These animals are caught in pens in the manner of Buffaloes, and are despatched with clubs, principally by the squaws. In 1840, during the winter, and when the snow was deep on the prairies and in the ravines by having drifted there, Mr. Laidlow, then at Fort Union, caught four Antelopes by following them on horseback and forcing them into these drifts, which were in places ten or twelve feet deep. They were brought home on a sleigh, and let loose about the rooms. They were so very gentle that they permitted the children to handle them, although being loose they could have kept from them. They were removed to the carpenter's shop, and there one broke its neck by leaping over a turning-lathe. The others were all killed in some such way, for they became very wild, and jumped, kicked, etc., till all were dead. Very young Buffaloes have been caught in the same way, by the same gentleman, assisted by Le Brun and four Indians, and thirteen of these he took down the river, when they became somewhat tamed. The Antelopes cannot be tamed except when caught young, and then they can rarely be raised. Mr. Wm. Sublette, of St. Louis, had one however, a female, which grew to maturity, and was so gentle that it would go all over his house, mounting and descending steps, and even going on the roof of the house. It was alive when I first reached St. Louis, but I was not aware of it, and before I left, it was killed by an Elk belonging to the same gentleman. Provost returned, and said that Boucherville would go with him and La Fleur to-morrow morning early, _but I doubt it_. _August 7, Monday._ Provost, Bell, and La Fleur started after breakfast, having waited nearly four hours for Boucherville. They left at seven, and the Indians were curious to know where they were bound, and looked at them with more interest than we all liked. At about nine, we saw Boucherville, accompanied by five men, all mounted, and they were surprised that Provost had not waited for them, or rather that he had left so early. I gave them a bottle of whiskey, and they started under the whip, and must have overtaken the first party in about two hours. To-day has been warmer than any day we have had for two weeks. Sprague has been collecting seeds, and Harris and I searching for stones with impressions of leaves and fern; we found several. Mr. Denig says the Assiniboins killed a Black Bear on White Earth River, about sixty miles from the mouth; they are occasionally killed there, but it is a rare occurrence. Mr. Denig saw the skin of a Bear at their camp last winter, and a Raccoon was also killed on the Cheyenne River by the Sioux, who knew not what to make of it. Mr. Culbertson has given me the following account of a skirmish which took place at Fort McKenzie in the Blackfoot country, which I copy from his manuscript. "_August 28, 1834._ At the break of day we were aroused from our beds by the report of an enemy being in sight. This unexpected news created naturally a confusion among us all; never was a set of unfortunate beings so surprised as we were. By the time that the alarm had spread through the fort, we were surrounded by the enemy, who proved to be Assiniboins, headed by the chief Gauché (the Antelope). The number, as near as we could judge, was about four hundred. Their first attack was upon a few lodges of Piegans, who were encamped at the fort. They also, being taken by surprise, could not escape. We exerted ourselves, however, to save as many as we could, by getting them into the fort. But the foolish squaws, when they started from their lodges, each took a load of old saddles and skins, which they threw in the door, and stopped it so completely that they could not get in, and here the enemy massacred several. In the mean time our men were firing with muskets and shot-guns. Unfortunately for us, we could not use our cannon, as there were a great many Piegans standing between us and the enemy; this prevented us from firing a telling shot on them at once. The engagement continued nearly an hour, when the enemy, finding their men drop very fast, retreated to the bluffs, half a mile distant; there they stood making signs for us to come on, and give them an equal chance on the prairie. Although our force was much weaker than theirs, we determined to give them a trial. At the same time we despatched an expert runner to an encampment of Piegans for a reinforcement. We mounted our horses, and proceeded to the field of battle, which was a perfect level, where there was no chance to get behind a tree, or anything else, to keep off a ball. We commenced our fire at two hundred yards, but soon lessened the distance to one hundred. Here we kept up a constant fire for two hours, when, our horses getting fatigued, we concluded to await the arrival of our reinforcements. As yet none of us were killed or badly wounded, and nothing lost but one horse, which was shot under one of our men named Bourbon. Of the enemy we cannot tell how many were killed, for as fast as they fell they were carried off the field. After the arrival of our reinforcements, which consisted of one hundred and fifty mounted Piegans, we charged and fought again for another two hours, and drove them across the Maria River, where they took another stand; and here Mr. Mitchell's horse was shot under him and he was wounded. In this engagement the enemy had a decided advantage over us, as they were concealed in the bushes, while we were in the open prairie. However, we succeeded in making them retreat from this place back on to a high prairie, but they suddenly rushed upon us and compelled us to retreat across the Maria. Then they had us in their power; but for some reason, either lack of courage or knowledge, they did not avail themselves of their opportunity. They could have killed a great many of us when we rushed into the water, which was almost deep enough to swim our horses; they were close upon us, but we succeeded in crossing before they fired. This foolish move came near being attended with fatal consequences, which we were aware of, but our efforts to stop it were unsuccessful. We, however, did not retreat far before we turned upon them again, with the determination of driving them to the mountains, in which we succeeded. By this time it was so dark that we could see no more, and we concluded to return. During the day we lost seven killed, and twenty wounded. Two of our dead the enemy had scalped. It is impossible to tell how many of the enemy were killed, but their loss must have been much greater than ours, as they had little ammunition, and at the last none. Our Indians took two bodies and burned them, after scalping them. The Indians who were with us in this skirmish deserve but little credit for their bravery, for in every close engagement the whites, who were comparatively few, always were in advance of them. This, however, had one good effect, for it removed the idea they had of our being cowards, and made them believe we were unusually brave. Had it not been for the assistance we gave the Piegans they would have been cut off, for I never saw Indians behave more bravely than the enemy this day; and had they been well supplied with powder and ball they would have done much more execution. But necessity compelled them to spare their ammunition, as they had come a long way, and they must save enough to enable them to return home. And on our side had we been positive they were enemies, even after they had surprised us in the manner they did, we could have killed many of them at first, but thinking that they were a band of Indians coming with this ceremony to trade (which is not uncommon) we did not fire upon them till the balls and arrows came whistling about our heads; then only was the word given, 'Fire!' Had they been bold enough at the onset to have rushed into the fort, we could have done nothing but suffer death under their tomahawks." Mr. Denig gave me the following "Bear Story," as he heard it from the parties concerned: "In the year 1835 two men set out from a trading-post at the head of the Cheyenne, and in the neighborhood of the Black Hills, to trap Beaver; their names were Michel Carrière and Bernard Le Brun. Carrière was a man about seventy years old, and had passed most of his life in the Indian country, in this dangerous occupation of trapping. One evening as they were setting their traps along the banks of a stream tributary to the Cheyenne, somewhat wooded by bushes and cottonwood trees, their ears were suddenly saluted by a growl, and in a moment a large she Bear rushed upon them. Le Brun, being a young and active man, immediately picked up his gun, and shot the Bear through the bowels. Carrière also fired, but missed. The Bear then pursued them, but as they ran for their lives, their legs did them good service; they escaped through the bushes, and the Bear lost sight of them. They had concluded the Bear had given up the chase, and were again engaged in setting their traps, when Carrière, who was a short distance from Le Brun, went through a small thicket with a trap and came directly in front of the huge, wounded beast, which, with one spring, bounded upon him and tore him in an awful manner. With one stroke of the paw on his face and forehead he cut his nose in two, and one of the claws reached inward nearly to the brain at the root of the nose; the same stroke tore out his right eye and most of the flesh from that side of his face. His arm and side were _literally torn to pieces_, and the Bear, after handling him in this gentle manner for two or three minutes, threw him upwards about six feet, when he lodged, to all appearance dead, in the fork of a tree. Le Brun, hearing the noise, ran to his assistance, and again shot the Bear and killed it. He then brought what he at first thought was the dead body of his friend to the ground. Little appearance of a human being was left to the poor man, but Le Brun found life was not wholly extinct. He made a _travaille_ and carried him by short stages to the nearest trading-post, where the wounded man slowly recovered, but was, of course, the most mutilated-looking being imaginable. Carrière, in telling the story, says that he fully believes it to have been the Holy Virgin that lifted him up and placed him in the fork of the tree, and thus preserved his life. The Bear is stated to have been as large as a common ox, and must have weighed, therefore, not far from 1500 lbs." Mr. Denig adds that he saw the man about a year after the accident, and some of the wounds were, even then, not healed. Carrière fully recovered, however, lived a few years, and was killed by the Blackfeet near Fort Union. When Bell was fixing his traps on his horse this morning, I was amused to see Provost and La Fleur laughing outright at him, as he first put on a Buffalo robe under his saddle, a blanket over it, and over that his mosquito bar and his rain protector. These old hunters could not understand why he needed all these things to be comfortable; then, besides, he took a sack of ship-biscuit. Provost took only an old blanket, a few pounds of dried meat, and his tin cup, and rode off in his shirt and dirty breeches. La Fleur was worse off still, for he took no blanket, and said he could borrow Provost's tin cup; but he, being a most temperate man, carried the bottle of whiskey to mix with the brackish water found in the Mauvaises Terres, among which they have to travel till their return. Harris and I contemplated going to a quarry from which the stones of the powder magazine were brought, but it became too late for us to start in time to see much, and the wrong horses were brought us, being both _runners_; we went, however, across the river after Rabbits. Harris killed a Red-cheeked Woodpecker and shot at a Rabbit, which he missed. We had a sort of show by Moncrévier which was funny, and well performed; he has much versatility, great powers of mimicry, and is a far better actor than many who have made names for themselves in that line. Jean Baptiste told me the following: "About twelve years ago when Mr. McKenzie was the superintendent of this fort, at the season when green peas were plenty and good, Baptiste was sent to the garden about half a mile off, to gather a quantity. He was occupied doing this, when, at the end of a row, to his astonishment, he saw a very large Bear gathering peas also. Baptiste dropped his tin bucket, ran back to the fort as fast as possible, and told Mr. McKenzie, who immediately summoned several other men with guns; they mounted their horses, rode off, and killed the Bear; but, alas! Mr. Bruin had emptied the bucket of peas." _August 8, Tuesday._ Another sultry day. Immediately after breakfast Mr. Larpenteur drove Harris and myself in search of geological specimens, but we found none worth having. We killed a _Spermophilus hoodii_, which, although fatally wounded, entered its hole, and Harris had to draw it out by the hind legs. We saw a family of Rock Wrens, and killed four of them. I killed two at one shot; one of the others must have gone in a hole, for though we saw it fall we could not find it. Another, after being shot, found its way under a flat stone, and was there picked up, quite dead, Mr. Larpenteur accidentally turning the stone up. We saw signs of Antelopes and of Hares (Townsend), and rolled a large rock from the top of a high hill. The notes of the Rock Wren are a prolonged cree-è-è-è. On our return home we heard that Boucherville and his five hunters had returned with nothing for me, and they had not met Bell and his companions. We were told also that a few minutes after our departure the roarings and bellowings of Buffalo were heard across the river, and that Owen and two men had been despatched with a cart to kill three fat cows but _no more_; so my remonstrances about useless slaughter have not been wholly unheeded. Harris was sorry he had missed going, and so was I, as both of us could have done so. The milk of the Buffalo cow is truly good and finely tasted, but the bag is never large as in our common cattle, and this is probably a provision of nature to render the cows more capable to run off, and escape from their pursuers. Bell, Provost, and La Fleur returned just before dinner; they had seen no Bighorns, and only brought the flesh of two Deer killed by La Fleur, and a young Magpie. This afternoon Provost skinned a calf that was found by one of the cows that Owen killed; it was _very_ young, only a few hours old, but large, and I have taken its measurements. It is looked upon as a phenomenon, as no Buffalo cow calves at this season. The calving time is from about the 1st of February to the last of May. Owen went six miles from the fort before he saw the cattle; there were more than three hundred in number, and Harris and I regretted the more we had not gone, but had been fruitlessly hunting for stones. It is curious that while Harris was searching for Rabbits early this morning, he heard the bellowing of the bulls, and thought first it was the growling of a Grizzly Bear, and then that it was the fort bulls, so he mentioned it to no one. To-morrow evening La Fleur and two men will go after Bighorns again, and they are not to return before they have killed one male, at least. This evening we went a-fishing across the river, and caught ten good catfish of the upper Missouri species, the sweetest and best fish of the sort that I have eaten in any part of the country. Our boat is going on well, and looks pretty to boot. Her name will be the "Union," in consequence of the united exertions of my companions to do all that could be done, on this costly expedition. The young Buffaloes now about the fort have begun shedding their red coats, the latter-colored hair dropping off in patches about the size of the palm of my hand, and the new hair is dark brownish black. _August 9, Wednesday._ The weather is cool and we are looking for rain. Squires, Provost, and La Fleur went off this morning after an early breakfast, across the river for Bighorns with orders not to return without some of these wild animals, which reside in the most inaccessible portions of the broken and lofty clay hills and stones that exist in this region of the country; they never resort to the low lands except when moving from one spot to another; they swim rivers well, as do Antelopes. I have scarcely done anything but write this day, and my memorandum books are now crowded with sketches, measurements, and descriptions. We have nine Indians, all Assiniboins, among whom _five_ are chiefs. These nine Indians fed for three days on the flesh of only a single Swan; they saw no Buffaloes, though they report large herds about their village, fully two hundred miles from here. This evening I caught about one dozen catfish, and shot a _Spermophilus hoodii_, an old female, which had her pouches distended and filled with the seeds of the wild sunflower of this region. I am going to follow one of their holes and describe the same. _August 10, Thursday._ Bell and I took a walk after Rabbits, but saw none. The nine Indians, having received their presents, went off with apparent reluctance, for when you begin to give them, the more they seem to demand. The horseguards brought in another _Spermophilus hoodii_; after dinner we are going to examine one of their burrows. We have been, and have returned; the three burrows which we dug were as follows: straight downward for three or four inches, and gradually becoming deeper in an oblique slant, to the depth of eight or nine inches, but not more, and none of these holes extended more than six or seven feet beyond this. I was disappointed at not finding nests, or rooms for stores. Although I have said much about Buffalo running, and butchering in general, I have not given the particular manner in which the latter is performed by the hunters of this country,--I mean the white hunters,--and I will now try to do so. The moment that the Buffalo is dead, three or four hunters, their faces and hands often covered with gunpowder, and with pipes lighted, place the animal on its belly, and by drawing out each fore and hind leg, fix the body so that it cannot fall down again; an incision is made near the root of the tail, immediately above the root in fact, and the skin cut to the neck, and taken off in the roughest manner imaginable, downwards and on both sides at the same time. The knives are going in all directions, and many wounds occur to the hands and fingers, but are rarely attended to at this time. The pipe of one man has perhaps given out, and with his bloody hands he takes the one of his nearest companion, who has his own hands equally bloody. Now one breaks in the skull of the bull, and with bloody fingers draws out the hot brains and swallows them with peculiar zest; another has now reached the liver, and is gobbling down enormous pieces of it; whilst, perhaps, a third, who has come to the paunch, is feeding luxuriously on some--to me--disgusting-looking offal. But the main business proceeds. The flesh is taken off from the sides of the boss, or hump bones, from where these bones begin to the very neck, and the hump itself is thus destroyed. The hunters give the name of "hump" to the mere bones when slightly covered by flesh; and it is cooked, and very good when fat, young, and well broiled. The pieces of flesh taken from the sides of these bones are called _filets_, and are the best portion of the animal when properly cooked. The fore-quarters, or shoulders, are taken off, as well as the hind ones, and the sides, covered by a thin portion of flesh called the _depouille_, are taken out. Then the ribs are broken off at the vertebræ, as well as the boss bones. The marrow-bones, which are those of the fore and hind legs only, are cut out last. The feet usually remain attached to these; the paunch is stripped of its covering of layers of fat, the head and the backbone are left to the Wolves, the pipes are all emptied, the hands, faces, and clothes all bloody, and now a glass of grog is often enjoyed, as the stripping off the skins and flesh of three or four animals is truly very hard work. In some cases when no water was near, our supper was cooked without our being washed, and it was not until we had travelled several miles the next morning that we had any opportunity of cleaning ourselves; and yet, despite everything, we are all hungry, eat heartily, and sleep soundly. When the wind is high and the Buffaloes run towards it, the hunter's guns very often snap, and it is during their exertions to replenish their pans, that the powder flies and sticks to the moisture every moment accumulating on their faces; but nothing stops these daring and usually powerful men, who the moment the chase is ended, leap from their horses, let them graze, and begin their butcher-like work. _August 11, Friday._ The weather has been cold and windy, and the day has passed in comparative idleness with me. Squires returned this afternoon alone, having left Provost and La Fleur behind. They have seen only two Bighorns, a female and her young. It was concluded that, if our boat was finished by Tuesday next, we would leave on Wednesday morning, but I am by no means assured of this, and Harris was quite startled at the very idea. Our boat, though forty feet long, is, I fear, too small. _Nous verrons!_ Some few preparations for packing have been made, but Owen, Harris, and Bell are going out early to-morrow morning to hunt Buffaloes, and when they return we will talk matters over. The activity of Buffaloes is almost beyond belief; they can climb the steep defiles of the Mauvaises Terres in hundreds of places where men cannot follow them, and it is a fine sight to see a large gang of them proceeding along these defiles four or five hundred feet above the level of the bottoms, and from which pathway if one of the number makes a mis-step or accidentally slips, he goes down rolling over and over, and breaks his neck ere the level ground is reached. Bell and Owen saw a bull about three years old that leaped a ravine filled with mud and water, at least twenty feet wide; it reached the middle at the first bound, and at the second was mounted on the opposite bank, from which it kept on bounding, till it gained the top of quite a high hill. Mr. Culbertson tells me that these animals can endure hunger in a most extraordinary manner. He says that a large bull was seen on a spot half way down a precipice, where it had slid, and from which it could not climb upwards, and either could not or would not descend; at any rate, it did not leave the position in which it found itself. The party who saw it returned to the fort, and, on their way back on the _twenty-fifth_ day after, they passed the hill, and saw the bull standing there. The thing that troubles them most is crossing rivers on the ice; their hoofs slip from side to side, they become frightened, and stretch their four legs apart to support the body, and in such situations the Indians and white hunters easily approach, and stab them to the heart, or cut the hamstrings, when they become an easy prey. When in large gangs those in the centre are supported by those on the outposts, and if the stream is not large, reach the shore and readily escape. Indians of different tribes hunt the Buffalo in different ways; some hunt on horseback, and use arrows altogether; they are rarely expert in reloading the gun in the close race. Others hunt on foot, using guns, arrows, or both. Others follow with patient perseverance, and kill them also. But I will give you the manner pursued by the Mandans. Twenty to fifty men start, as the occasion suits, each provided with two horses, one of which is a pack-horse, the other fit for the chase. They have quivers with from twenty to fifty arrows, according to the wealth of the hunter. They ride the pack horse bareback, and travel on, till they see the game, when they leave the pack-horse, and leap on the hunter, and start at full speed and soon find themselves amid the Buffaloes, on the flanks of the herd, and on both sides. When within a few yards the arrow is sent, they shoot at a Buffalo somewhat ahead of them, and send the arrow in an oblique manner, so as to pass through the lights. If the blood rushes out of the nose and mouth the animal is fatally wounded, and they shoot at it no more; if not, a second, and perhaps a third arrow, is sent before this happens. The Buffaloes on starting carry the tail close in between the legs, but when wounded they switch it about, especially if they wish to fight, and then the hunter's horse shies off and lets the mad animal breathe awhile. If shot through the heart, they occasionally fall dead on the instant; sometimes, if not hit in the right place, a dozen arrows will not stop them. When wounded and mad they turn suddenly round upon the hunter, and rush upon him in such a quick and furious manner that if horse and rider are not both on the alert, the former is overtaken, hooked and overthrown, the hunter pitched off, trampled and gored to death. Although the Buffalo is such a large animal, and to all appearance a clumsy one, it can turn with the quickness of thought, and when once enraged, will rarely give up the chase until avenged for the wound it has received. If, however, the hunter is expert, and the horse fleet, they outrun the bull, and it returns to the herd. Usually the greater number of the gang is killed, but it very rarely happens that some of them do not escape. This however is not the case when the animal is pounded, especially by the Gros Ventres, Black Feet, and Assiniboins. These pounds are called "parks," and the Buffaloes are made to enter them in the following manner: The park is sometimes round and sometimes square, this depending much on the ground where it is put up; at the end of the park is what is called a _precipice_ of some fifteen feet or less, as may be found. It is approached by a funnel-shaped passage, which like the park itself is strongly built of logs, brushwood, and pickets, and when all is ready a young man, very swift of foot, starts at daylight covered over with a Buffalo robe and wearing a Buffalo head-dress. The moment he sees the herd to be taken, he bellows like a young calf, and makes his way slowly towards the contracted part of the funnel, imitating the cry of the calf, at frequent intervals. The Buffaloes advance after the decoy; about a dozen mounted hunters are yelling and galloping behind them, and along both flanks of the herd, forcing them by these means to enter the mouth of the funnel. Women and children are placed behind the fences of the funnel to frighten the cattle, and as soon as the young man who acts as decoy feels assured that the game is in a fair way to follow to the bank or "precipice," he runs or leaps down the bank, over the barricade, and either rests, or joins in the fray. The poor Buffaloes, usually headed by a large bull, proceed, leap down the bank in haste and confusion, the Indians all yelling and pursuing till every bull, cow, and calf is impounded. Although this is done at all seasons, it is more general in October or November, when the hides are good and salable. Now the warriors are all assembled by the pen, calumets are lighted, and the chief smokes to the Great Spirit, the four points of the compass, and lastly to the Buffaloes. The pipe is passed from mouth to mouth in succession, and as soon as this ceremony is ended, the destruction commences. Guns shoot, arrows fly in all directions, and the hunters being on the outside of the enclosure, destroy the whole gang, before they jump over to clean and skin the murdered herd. Even the children shoot small, short arrows to assist in the destruction. It happens sometimes however, that the leader of the herd will be restless at the sight of the precipices, and if the fence is weak will break through it, and all his fellows follow him, and escape. The same thing sometimes takes place in the pen, for so full does this become occasionally that the animals touch each other, and as they cannot move, the very weight against the fence of the pen is quite enough to break it through; the smallest aperture is sufficient, for in a few minutes it becomes wide, and all the beasts are seen scampering over the prairies, leaving the poor Indians starving and discomfited. Mr. Kipp told me that while travelling from Lake Travers to the Mandans, in the month of August, he rode in a heavily laden cart for six successive days through masses of Buffaloes, which divided for the cart, allowing it to pass without opposition. He has seen the immense prairie back of Fort Clark look black to the tops of the hills, though the ground was covered with snow, so crowded was it with these animals; and the masses probably extended much further. In fact it is _impossible to describe or even conceive_ the vast multitudes of these animals that exist even now, and feed on these ocean-like prairies. _August 12, Saturday._ Harris, Bell, and Owen went after Buffaloes; killed six cows and brought them home. Weather cloudy, and rainy at times. Provost returned with La Fleur this afternoon, had nothing, but had seen a Grizzly Bear. The "Union" was launched this evening and packing, etc., is going on. I gave a memorandum to Jean Baptiste Moncrévier of the animals I wish him to procure for me. _August 13, Sunday._ A most beautiful day. About dinner time I had a young Badger brought to me dead; I bought it, and gave in payment two pounds of sugar. The body of these animals is broader than high, the neck is powerfully strong, as well as the fore-arms, and strongly clawed fore-feet. It weighed 8½ lbs. Its measurements were all taken. When the pursuer gets between a Badger and its hole, the animal's hair rises, and it at once shows fight. A half-breed hunter told Provost, who has just returned from Fort Mortimer, that he was anxious to go down the river with me, but I know the man and hardly care to have him. If I decide to take him Mr. Culbertson, to whom I spoke of the matter, told me my only plan was to pay him by the piece for what he killed and brought on board, and that in case he did not turn out well between this place and Fort Clark, to leave him there; so I have sent word to him to this effect by Provost this afternoon. Bell is skinning the Badger, Sprague finishing the map of the river made by Squires, and the latter is writing. The half-breed has been here, and the following is our agreement: "It is understood that François Détaillé will go with me, John J. Audubon, and to secure for me the following quadrupeds--if possible--for which he will receive the prices here mentioned, payable at Fort Union, Fort Clark, or Fort Pierre, as may best suit him. For each Bighorn male $10.00 For a large Grizzly Bear 20.00 For a large male Elk 6.00 For a Black-tailed Deer, male or female 6.00 For Red Foxes 3.00 For small Gray Foxes 3.00 For Badgers 2.00 For large Porcupine 2.00 Independent of which I agree to furnish him with his passage and food, he to work as a hand on board. Whatever he kills for food will be settled when he leaves us, or, as he says, when he meets the Opposition boat coming up to Fort Mortimer." He will also accompany us in our hunt after Bighorns, which I shall undertake, notwithstanding Mr. Culbertson and Squires, who have been to the Mauvaises Terres, both try to dissuade me from what they fear will prove over-fatiguing; but though my strength is not what it was twenty years ago, I am yet equal to much, and my eyesight far keener than that of many a younger man, though that too tells me I am no longer a youth.... The only idea I can give in _writing_ of what are called the "Mauvaises Terres" would be to place some thousands of loaves of sugar of different sizes, from quite small and low, to large and high, all irregularly truncated at top, and placed somewhat apart from each other. No one who has not seen these places can form any idea of these resorts of the Rocky Mountain Rams, or the difficulty of approaching them, putting aside their extreme wildness and their marvellous activity. They form paths around these broken-headed cones (that are from three to fifteen hundred feet high), and run round them at full speed on a track that, to the eye of the hunter, does not appear to be more than a few inches wide, but which is, in fact, from a foot to eighteen inches in width. In some places there are piles of earth from eight to ten feet high, or even more, the tops of which form platforms of a hard and shelly rocky substance, where the Bighorn is often seen looking on the hunter far below, and standing immovable, as if a statue. No one can imagine how they reach these places, and that too with their young, even when the latter are quite small. Hunters say that the young are usually born in such places, the mothers going there to save the helpless little one from the Wolves, which, after men, seem to be their greatest destroyers. The Mauvaises Terres are mostly formed of grayish white clay, very sparsely covered with small patches of thin grass, on which the Bighorns feed, but which, to all appearance, is a very scanty supply, and there, and there only, they feed, as not one has ever been seen on the bottom or prairie land further than the foot of these most extraordinary hills. In wet weather, no man can climb any of them, and at such times they are greasy, muddy, sliding grounds. Oftentimes when a Bighorn is seen on a hill-top, the hunter has to ramble about for three or four miles before he can approach within gunshot of the game, and if the Bighorn ever sees his enemy, pursuit is useless. The tops of some of these hills, and in some cases whole hills about thirty feet high, are composed of a conglomerated mass of stones, sand, and clay, with earth of various sorts, fused together, and having a brick-like appearance. In this mass pumice-stone of various shapes and sizes is to be found. The whole is evidently the effect of volcanic action. The bases of some of these hills cover an area of twenty acres or more, and the hills rise to the height of three or four hundred feet, sometimes even to eight hundred or a thousand; so high can the hunter ascend that the surrounding country is far, far beneath him. The strata are of different colored clays, coal, etc., and an earth impregnated with a salt which appears to have been formed by internal fire or heat, the earth or stones of which I have first spoken in this account, lava, sulphur, salts of various kinds, oxides and sulphates of iron; and in the sand at the tops of some of the highest hills I have found marine shells, but so soft and crumbling as to fall apart the instant they were exposed to the air. I spent some time over various lumps of sand, hoping to find some perfect ones that would be hard enough to carry back to St. Louis; but 't was "love's labor lost," and I regretted exceedingly that only a few fragments could be gathered. I found globular and oval shaped stones, very heavy, apparently composed mostly of iron, weighing from fifteen to twenty pounds; numbers of petrified stumps from one to three feet in diameter; the Mauvaises Terres abound with them; they are to be found in all parts from the valleys to the tops of the hills, and appear to be principally of cedar. On the sides of the hills, at various heights, are shelves of rock or stone projecting out from two to six, eight, or even ten feet, and generally square, or nearly so; these are the favorite resorts of the Bighorns during the heat of the day, and either here or on the tops of the highest hills they are to be found. Between the hills there is generally quite a growth of cedar, but mostly stunted and crowded close together, with very large stumps, and between the stumps quite a good display of grass; on the summits, in some _few_ places, there are table-lands, varying from an area of one to ten or fifteen acres; these are covered with a short, dry, wiry grass, and immense quantities of flat leaved cactus, the spines of which often warn the hunter of their proximity, and the hostility existing between them and his feet. These plains are not more easily travelled than the hillsides, as every step may lead the hunter into a bed of these pests of the prairies. In the valleys between the hills are ravines, some of which are not more than ten or fifteen feet wide, while their depth is beyond the reach of the eye. Others vary in depth from ten to fifty feet, while some make one giddy to look in; they are also of various widths, the widest perhaps a hundred feet. The edges, at times, are lined with bushes, mostly wild cherry; occasionally Buffaloes make paths across them, but this is rare. The only safe way to pass is to follow the ravine to the head, which is usually at the foot of some hill, and go round. These ravines are mostly between every two hills, although like every general rule there are variations and occasionally places where three or more hills make only one ravine. These small ravines all connect with some larger one, the size of which is in proportion to its tributaries. The large one runs to the river, or the water is carried off by a subterranean channel. In these valleys, and sometimes on the tops of the hills, are holes, called "sink holes;" these are formed by the water running in a small hole and working away the earth beneath the surface, leaving a crust incapable of supporting the weight of a man; and if an unfortunate steps on this crust, he soon finds himself in rather an unpleasant predicament. This is one of the dangers that attend the hunter in these lands; these holes eventually form a ravine such as I have before spoken of. Through these hills it is almost impossible to travel with a horse, though it is sometimes done by careful management, and a correct knowledge of the country. The sides of the hills are very steep, covered with the earth and stones of which I have spoken, all of which are quite loose on the surface; occasionally a bunch of wormwood here and there seems to assist the daring hunter; for it is no light task to follow the Bighorns through these lands, and the pursuit is attended with much danger, as the least slip at times would send one headlong into the ravines below. On the sides of these high hills the water has washed away the earth, leaving caves of various sizes; and, in fact, in some places all manner of fantastic forms are made by the same process. Occasionally in the valleys are found isolated cones or domes, destitute of vegetation, naked and barren. Throughout the Mauvaises Terres there are springs of water impregnated with salt, sulphur, magnesia, and many other salts of all kinds. Such is the water the hunter is compelled to drink, and were it not that it is as cold as ice it would be almost impossible to swallow it. As it is, many of these waters operate as cathartics or emetics; this is one of the most disagreeable attendants of hunting in these lands. Moreover, venomous snakes of many kinds are also found here. I saw myself only one copperhead, and a common garter-snake. Notwithstanding the rough nature of the country, the Buffaloes have paths running in all directions, and leading from the prairies to the river. The hunter sometimes, after toiling for an hour or two up the side of one of these hills, trying to reach the top in hopes that when there he will have for a short distance at least, either a level place or good path to walk on, finds to his disappointment that he has secured a point that only affords a place scarcely large enough to stand on, and he has the trouble of descending, perhaps to renew his disappointment in the same way, again and again, such is the deceptive character of the country. I was thus deceived time and again, while in search of Bighorns. If the hill does not terminate in a point it is connected with another hill, by a ridge so narrow that nothing but a Bighorn can walk on it. This is the country that the Mountain Ram inhabits, and if, from this imperfect description, any information can be derived, I shall be more than repaid for the trouble I have had in these tiresome hills. Whether my theory be correct or incorrect, it is this: These hills were at first composed of the clays that I have mentioned, mingled with an immense quantity of combustible material, such as coal, sulphur, bitumen, etc.; these have been destroyed by fire, or (at least the greater part) by volcanic action, as to this day, on the Black Hills and in the hills near where I have been, fire still exists; and from the immense quantities of pumice-stone and melted ores found among the hills, even were there no fire now to be seen, no one could doubt that it had, at some date or other, been there; as soon as this process had ceased, the rains washed out the loose material, and carried it to the rivers, leaving the more solid parts as we now find them; the action of water to this day continues. As I have said, the Bighorns are very fond of resorting to the shelves, or ledges, on the sides of the hills, during the heat of the day, when these places are shaded; here they lie, but are aroused instantly upon the least appearance of danger, and, as soon as they have discovered the cause of alarm, away they go, over hill and ravine, occasionally stopping to look round, and when ascending the steepest hill, there is no apparent diminution of their speed. They will ascend and descend places, when thus alarmed, so inaccessible that it is almost impossible to conceive how, and where, they find a foothold. When observed before they see the hunter, or while they are looking about when first alarmed, are the only opportunities the hunter has to shoot them; for, as soon as they start there is no hope, as to follow and find them is a task not easily accomplished, for where or how far they go when thus on the alert, heaven only knows, as but few hunters have ever attempted a chase. At all times they have to be approached with the greatest caution, as the least thing renders them on the qui vive. When not found on these shelves, they are seen on the tops of the most inaccessible and highest hills, looking down on the hunters, apparently conscious of their security, or else lying down tranquilly in some sunny spot quite out of reach. As I have observed before, the only times that these animals can be shot are when on these ledges, or when moving from one point to another. Sometimes they move only a few hundred yards, but it will take the hunter several hours to approach near enough for a shot, so long are the _détours_ he is compelled to make. I have been thus baffled two or three times. The less difficult hills are found cut up by paths made by these animals; these are generally about eighteen inches wide. These animals appear to be quite as agile as the European Chamois, leaping down precipices, across ravines, and running up and down almost perpendicular hills. The only places I could find that seemed to afford food for them, was between the cedars, as I have before mentioned; but the places where they are most frequently found are barren, and without the least vestige of vegetation. From the character of the lands where these animals are found, their own shyness, watchfulness, and agility, it is readily seen what the hunter must endure, and what difficulties he must undergo to near these "Wild Goats." It is one constant time of toil, anxiety, fatigue, and danger. Such the country! Such the animal! Such the hunting! _August 16._ Started from Fort Union at 12 M. in the Mackinaw barge "Union." Shot five young Ducks. Camped at the foot of a high bluff. Good supper of Chickens and Ducks. _Thursday, 17th._ Started early. Saw three Bighorns, some Antelopes, and many Deer, fully twenty; one Wolf, twenty-two Swans, many Ducks. Stopped a short time on a bar. Mr. Culbertson shot a female Elk, and I killed two bulls. Camped at Buffalo Bluff, where we found Bear tracks. _Friday, 18th._ Fine. Bell shot a superb male Elk. The two bulls untouched since killed. Stopped to make an oar, when I caught four catfish. "Kayac" is the French Missourian's name for Buffalo Bluffs, original French for Moose; in Assiniboin "Tah-Tah," in Blackfoot "Sick-e-chi-choo," in Sioux "Tah-Tah." Fifteen to twenty female Elks drinking, tried to approach them, but they broke and ran off to the willows and disappeared. We landed and pursued them. Bell shot at one, but did not find it, though it was badly wounded. These animals are at times unwary, but at others vigilant, suspicious, and well aware of the coming of their enemies. _Saturday, 19th._ Wolves howling, and bulls roaring, just like the long continued roll of a hundred drums. Saw large gangs of Buffaloes walking along the river. Headed Knife River one and a half miles. Fresh signs of Indians, burning wood embers, etc. I knocked a cow down with two balls, and Mr. Culbertson killed her. Abundance of Bear tracks. Saw a great number of bushes bearing the berries of which Mrs. Culbertson has given me a necklace. Herds of Buffaloes on the prairies. Mr. Culbertson killed another cow, and in going to see it I had a severe fall over a partially sunken log. Bell killed a doe and wounded the fawn. _Sunday, 20th._ _Tamias quadrivittatus_ runs up trees; abundance of them in the ravine, and Harris killed one. Bell wounded an Antelope. Thousands upon thousands of Buffaloes; the roaring of these animals resembles the grunting of hogs, with a rolling sound from the throat. Mr. C. killed two cows, Sprague killed one bull, and I made two sketches of it after death. The men killed a cow, and the bull would not leave her although shot four times. Stopped by the high winds all this day. Suffered much from my fall. _Monday, 21st._ Buffaloes all over the bars and prairies, and many swimming; the roaring can be heard for miles. The wind stopped us again at eight o'clock; breakfasted near the tracks of Bears surrounded by hundreds of Buffaloes. We left our safe anchorage and good hunting-grounds too soon; the wind blew high, and we were obliged to land again on the opposite shore, where the gale has proved very annoying. Bear tracks led us to search for those animals, but in vain. Collected seeds. Shot at a Rabbit, but have done nothing. Saw many young and old Ducks,--Black Mallards and Gadwalls. I shot a bull and broke his thigh, and then shot at him thirteen times before killing. Camped at the same place. _Tuesday, 22d._ Left early and travelled about twelve miles. Went hunting Elks. Mr. Culbertson killed a Deer, and he and Squires brought the meat in on their backs. I saw nothing, but heard shots which I thought were from Harris. I ran for upwards of a mile to look for him, hallooing the whole distance, but saw nothing of him. Sent three men who hallooed also, but came back without further intelligence. Bell shot a female Elk and brought in part of the meat. We walked to the Little Missouri and shot the fourth bull this trip. We saw many Ducks. In the afternoon we started again, and went below the Little Missouri, returned to the bull and took his horns, etc. Coming back to the boat Sprague saw a Bear; we went towards the spot; the fellow had turned under the high bank and was killed in a few seconds. Mr. Culbertson shot it first through the neck, Bell and I in the body. _Wednesday, 23d._ Provost skinned the Bear. No Prairie-Dogs caught. The wind high and cold. Later two Prairie-Dogs were shot; their notes resemble precisely those of the Arkansas Flycatcher. Left this afternoon and travelled about ten miles. Saw another Bear and closely observed its movements. We saw several drowned Buffaloes, and were passed by Wolves and Passenger Pigeons. Camped in a bad place under a sky with every appearance of rain. _Thursday, 24th._ A bad night of wind, very cloudy; left early, as the wind lulled and it became calm. Passed "L'Ours qui danse," travelled about twenty miles, when we were again stopped by the wind. Hunted, but found nothing. The fat of our Bear gave us seven bottles of oil. We heard what some thought to be guns, but I believed it to be the falling of the banks. Then the Wolves howled so curiously that it was supposed they were Indian dogs. We went to bed all prepared for action in case of an attack; pistols, knives, etc., but I slept very well, though rather cold. _Friday, 25th._ Fair, but foggy, so we did not start early. I found some curious stones with impressions of shells. It was quite calm, and we passed the two Riccaree winter villages. Many Eagles and Peregrine Falcons. Shot another bull. Passed the Gros Ventre village at noon; no game about the place. "La Main Gauche," an Assiniboin chief of great renown, left seventy warriors killed and thirty wounded on the prairie opposite, the year following the small-pox. The Gros Ventres are a courageous tribe. Reached the Mandan village; hundreds of Indians swam to us with handkerchiefs tied on their heads like turbans. Our old friend "Four Bears" met us on the shore; I gave him eight pounds of tobacco. He came on board and went down with us to Fort Clark, which we reached at four o'clock. Mr. Culbertson and Squires rode out to the Gros Ventre village with "Four Bears" after dark, and returned about eleven; they met with another chief who curiously enough was called "The Iron Bear." _Saturday, 26th._ Fine, but a cold, penetrating wind. Started early and landed to breakfast. A canoe passed us with two men from the Opposition. We were stopped by the wind for four hours, but started again at three; passed the Butte Quarré at a quarter past five, followed now by the canoe, as the two fellows are afraid of Indians, and want to come on board our boat; we have not room for them, but will let them travel with us. Landed for the night, and walked to the top of one of the buttes from which we had a fine and very extensive view. Saw a herd of Buffaloes, which we approached, but by accident did not kill a cow. Harris, whom we thought far off, shot too soon and Moncrévier and the rest of us lost our chances. We heard Elks whistling, and saw many Swans. The canoe men camped close to us. _Sunday, 27th._ Started early in company with the canoe. Saw four Wolves and six bulls, the latter to our sorrow in a compact group and therefore difficult to attack. They are poor at this season, and the meat very rank, but yet are fresh meat. The wind continued high, but we landed in the weeds assisted by the canoe men, as we saw a gang of cows. We lost them almost immediately though we saw their _wet tracks_ and followed them for over a mile, but then gave up the chase. On returning to the river we missed the boat, as she had been removed to a better landing below; so we had quite a search for her. Mrs. Culbertson worked at the _parflèche_ with Golden Eagle feathers; she had killed the bird herself. Stopped by the wind at noon. Walked off and saw Buffaloes, but the wind was adverse. Bell and Harris, however, killed a cow, a single one, that had been wounded, whether by shot or by an arrow no one can tell. We saw a bull on a sand-bar; the poor fool took to the water and swam so as to meet us. We shot at him about a dozen times, I shot him through one eye, Bell, Harris, and Sprague about the head, and yet the animal made for our boat and came so close that Mr. Culbertson touched him with a pole, when he turned off and swam across the river, but acted as if wild or crazy; he ran on a sand-bar, and at last swam again to the opposite shore, in my opinion to die, but Mr. Culbertson says he may live for a month. We landed in a good harbor on the east side about an hour before sundown. Moncrévier caught a catfish that weighed sixteen pounds, a fine fish, though the smaller ones are better eating. _Monday, 28th._ A gale all night and this morning also. We are in a good place for hunting, and I hope to have more to say anon. The men returned and told us of many Bear tracks, and four of us started off. Such a walk I do not remember; it was awful--mire, willows, vines, holes, fallen logs; we returned much fatigued and having seen nothing. The wind blowing fiercely. _Tuesday, 29th._ Heavy wind all night. Bad dreams about my own Lucy. Walked some distance along the shores and caught many catfish. Two Deer on the other shore. Cut a cotton-tree to fasten to the boat to break the force of the waves. The weather has become sultry. Beavers during the winter oftentimes come down amid the ice, but enter any small stream they meet with at once. Apple River, or Creek, was formerly a good place for them, as well as Cannon Ball River. Saw a Musk-rat this morning swimming by our barge. Slept on a muddy bar with abundance of mosquitoes. _Wednesday, 30th._ Started at daylight. Mr. Culbertson and I went off to the prairies over the most infernal ground I ever saw, but we reached the high prairies by dint of industry, through swamps and mire. We saw two bulls, two calves, and one cow; we killed the cow and the larger calf, a beautiful young bull; returned to the boat through the most abominable swamp I ever travelled through, and reached the boat at one o'clock, thirsty and hungry enough. Bell and all the men went after the meat and the skin of the young bull. I shot the cow, but missed the calf by shooting above it. We started later and made about ten miles before sunset. _Thursday, 31st._ Started early; fine and calm. Saw large flocks of Ducks, Geese, and Swans; also four Wolves. Passed Mr. Primeau's winter trading-house; reached Cannon Ball River at half-past twelve. No game; water good-tasted, but warm. Dinner on shore. Saw a Rock Wren on the bluffs here. Saw the prairie on fire, and signs of Indians on both sides. Weather cloudy and hot. Reached Beaver Creek. Provost went after Beavers, but found none. Caught fourteen catfish. Saw a wonderful example of the power of the Buffalo in working through the heavy, miry bottom lands. _Friday, September 1._ Hard rain most of the night, and uncomfortably hot. Left our encampment at eight o'clock. Saw Buffaloes and landed, but on approaching them found only bulls; so returned empty-handed to the boat, and started anew. We landed for the night on a large sand-bar connected with the mainland, and saw a large gang of Buffaloes, and Mr. Culbertson and a man went off; they shot at two cows and killed one, but lost her, as she fell in the river and floated down stream, and it was dusk. A heavy cloud arose in the west, thunder was heard, yet the moon and stars shone brightly. After midnight rain came on. The mosquitoes are far too abundant for comfort. _Saturday, September 2._ Fine but windy. Went about ten miles and stopped, for the gale was so severe. No fresh meat on board. Saw eight Wolves, four white ones. Walked six miles on the prairies, but saw only three bulls. The wind has risen to a gale. Saw abundance of Black-breasted Prairie Larks, and a pond with Black Ducks. Returned to the pond after dinner and killed four Ducks. _Sunday, 3d._ Beautiful, calm, and cold. Left early and at noon put ashore to kill a bull, having no fresh meat on board. He took the wind and ran off. Touched on a bar, and I went overboard to assist in pushing off and found the water very pleasant, for our cold morning had turned into a hot day. Harris shot a Prairie Wolf. At half-past four saw ten or twelve Buffaloes. Mr. Culbertson, Bell, a canoe man, and I, went after them; the cattle took to the river, and we went in pursuit; the other canoe man landed, and ran along the shore, but could not head them. He shot, however, and as the cattle reached the bank we gave them a volley, but uselessly, and are again under way. Bell and Mr. C. were well mired and greatly exhausted in consequence. No meat for another day. Stopped for the night at the mouth of the Moreau River. Wild Pigeons, Sandpipers, but no fish. _Monday, 4th._ Cool night. Wind rose early, but a fine morning. Stopped by the wind at eleven. Mr. Culbertson, Bell, and Moncrévier gone shooting. Many signs of Elk, etc., and flocks of Wild Pigeons. A bad place for hunting, but good for safety. Found Beaver tracks, and small trees cut down by them. Provost followed the bank and found their lodge, which he says is an old one. It is at present a mass of sticks of different sizes matted together, and fresh tracks are all around it. To dig them out would have proved impossible, and we hope to catch them in traps to-night. Beavers often feed on berries when they can reach them, especially Buffalo berries [_Shepherdia argentea_]. Mr. Culbertson killed a buck, and we have sent men to bring it entire. The Beavers in this lodge are not residents, but vagrant Beavers. The buck was brought in; it is of the same kind as at Fort Union, having a longer tail, we think, than the kind found East. Its horns were very small, but it is skinned and in brine. We removed our camp about a hundred yards lower down, but the place as regards wood is very bad. Provost and I went to set traps for Beaver; he first cut two dry sticks eight or nine feet long; we reached the river by passing through the tangled woods; he then pulled off his breeches and waded about with a pole to find the depth of the water, and having found a fit spot he dug away the mud in the shape of a half circle, placed a bit of willow branch at the bottom and put the trap on that. He had two small willow sticks in his mouth; he split an end of one, dipped it in his horn of castoreum, or "medicine," as he calls his stuff, and left on the end of it a good mass of it, which was placed in front of the jaws of the trap next the shore; he then made the chain of the trap secure, stuck in a few untrimmed branches on each side, and there the business ended. The second one was arranged in the same way, except that there was no bit of willow under it. Beavers when caught in shallow water are often attacked by the Otter, and in doing this the latter sometimes lose their own lives, as they are very frequently caught in the other trap placed close by. Mr. Culbertson and Bell returned without having shot, although we heard one report whilst setting the traps. Elks are very numerous here, but the bushes crack and make so much noise that they hear the hunters and fly before them. Bell shot five Pigeons at once. Harris and Squires are both poorly, having eaten too indulgently of Buffalo brains. We are going to move six or seven hundred yards lower down, to spend the night in a more sheltered place. I hope I may have a large Beaver to-morrow. [Illustration: CAMP ON THE MISSOURI. FROM A DRAWING BY ISAAC SPRAGUE.] _Tuesday, 5th._ At daylight, after some discussion about Beaver lodges, Harris, Bell, Provost, and I, with two men, went to the traps--nothing caught. We now had the lodge demolished outwardly, namely, all the sticks removed, under which was found a hole about two and a half feet in diameter, through which Harris, Bell, and Moncrévier (who had followed us) entered, but found nothing within, as the Beaver had gone to the river. Harris saw it, and also the people at the boat. I secured some large specimens of the cuttings used to build the lodge, and a pocketful of the chips. Before Beavers fell the tree they long for, they cut down all the small twigs and saplings around. The chips are cut above and below, and then split off by the animal; the felled trees lay about us in every direction. We left our camp at half-past five; I again examined the lodge, which was not finished, though about six feet in diameter. We saw a Pigeon Hawk giving chase to a Spotted Sandpiper on the wing. When the Hawk was about to seize the little fellow it dove under water and escaped. This was repeated five or six times; to my great surprise and pleasure, the Hawk was obliged to relinquish the prey. As the wind blew high, we landed to take breakfast, on a fine beach, portions of which appeared as if paved by the hand of man. The canoe men killed a very poor cow, which had been wounded, and so left alone. The wind fell suddenly, and we proceeded on our route till noon, when it rose, and we stopped again. Mr. Culbertson went hunting, and returned having killed a young buck Elk. Dined, and walked after the meat and skin, and took the measurements. Returning, saw two Elks driven to the hills by Mr. Culbertson and Bell. Met Harris, and started a monstrous buck Elk from its couch in a bunch of willows; shot at it while running about eighty yards off, but it was not touched. Meantime Provost had heard us from our dinner camp; loading his rifle he came within ten paces, when his gun snapped. We yet hope to get this fine animal. Harris found a Dove's nest with one young one, and an egg just cracked by the bird inside; the nest was on the ground. Curious all this at this late late season, and in a woody part of the country. Saw a Bat. _Wednesday, 6th._ Wind blowing harder. Ransacked the point and banks both below and above, but saw only two Wolves; one a dark gray, the largest I have yet seen. Harris shot a young of the Sharp-tailed Grouse; Bell, three Pigeons; Provost went off to the second point below, about four miles, after Elks; Sprague found another nest of Doves on the ground, with very small young. The common Bluebird was seen, also a Whip-poor-will and a Night-Hawk. Wind high and from the south. _Thursday, 7th._ About eleven o'clock last night the wind shifted _suddenly_ to northwest, and blew so violently that we all left the boat in a hurry. Mrs. Culbertson, with her child in her arms, made for the willows, and had a shelter for her babe in a few minutes. Our guns and ammunition were brought on shore, as we were afraid of our boat sinking. We returned on board after a while; but I could not sleep, the motion making me very sea-sick; I went back to the shore and lay down after mending our fire. It rained hard for about two hours; the sky then became clear, and the wind wholly subsided, so I went again to the boat and slept till eight o'clock. A second gale now arose; the sky grew dark; we removed our boat to a more secure position, but I fear we are here for another day. Bell shot a _Caprimulgus_,[36] so small that I have no doubt it is the one found on the Rocky Mountains by Nuttall, after whom I have named it. These birds are now travelling south. Mr. Culbertson and I walked up the highest hills of the prairie, but saw nothing. The river has suddenly risen two feet, the water rises now at the rate of eight inches in two and a half hours, and the wind has somewhat moderated. The little Whip-poor-will proves an old male, but it is now in moult. Left our camp at five, and went down rapidly to an island four miles below. Mr. Culbertson, Bell, Harris, and Provost went off to look for Elks, but I fear fruitlessly, as I see no tracks, nor do I find any of their beds. About ten o'clock Harris called me to hear the notes of the new Whip-poor-will; we heard two at once, and the sound was thus: "Oh-will, oh-will," repeated often and quickly, as in our common species. The night was beautiful, but cold. _Friday, 8th._ Cloudy and remarkably cold; the river has risen 6½ feet since yesterday, and the water is muddy and thick. Started early. The effect of sudden rises in this river is wonderful upon the sand-bars, which are no sooner covered by a foot or so of water than they at once break up, causing very high waves to run, through which no small boat could pass without imminent danger. The swells are felt for many feet as if small waves at sea. Appearances of rain. The current very strong; but we reached Fort Pierre at half-past five, and found all well. _Saturday, 9th._ Rain all night. Breakfasted at the fort. Exchanged our boat for a larger one. Orders found here obliged Mr. Culbertson to leave us and go to the Platte River establishment, much to my regret. _Sunday, 10th._ Very cloudy. Mr. Culbertson gave me a _parflèche_[37] which had been presented to him by "L'Ours de Fer," the Sioux chief. It is very curiously painted, and is a record of a victory of the Sioux over their enemies, the Gros Ventres. Two rows of horses with Indians dressed in full war rig are rushing onwards; small black marks everywhere represent the horse tracks; round green marks are shields thrown away by the enemy in their flight, and red spots on the horses, like wafers, denote wounds. _Monday, 11th._ Cloudy; the men at work fitting up our new boat. Rained nearly all day, and the wind shifted to every point of the compass. Nothing done. _Tuesday, 12th._ Partially clear this morning early, but rained by ten o'clock. Nothing done. _Wednesday, 13th._ Rainy again. Many birds were seen moving southwest. Our boat is getting into travelling shape. I did several drawings of objects in and about the fort. _Thursday, 14th._ Cloudy and threatening. Mr. Laidlow making ready to leave for Fort Union, and ourselves for our trip down the river. Mr. Laidlow left at half-past eleven, and we started at two this afternoon; landed at the farm belonging to the fort, and procured a few potatoes, some corn, and a pig. _Friday, 15th._ A foggy morning. Reached Fort George. Mr. Illingsworth left at half-past ten. Wind ahead, and we were obliged to stop on this account at two. Fresh signs of both Indians and Buffaloes, but nothing killed. _Saturday, 16th._ Windy till near daylight. Started early; passed Ebbett's new island. Bell heard Parrakeets. The day was perfectly calm. Found _Arvicola pennsylvanica_. Landed at the Great Bend for Black-tailed Deer and wood. Have seen nothing worthy our attention. Squires put up a board at our old camp the "Six Trees," which I hope to see again. The Deer are lying down, and we shall not go out to hunt again till near sunset. The note of the Meadow Lark here is now unheard. I saw fully two hundred flying due south. Collected a good deal of the Yucca plant. _Sunday, 17th._ We had a hard gale last night with rain for about an hour. This morning was beautiful; we started early, but only ran for two hours, when we were forced to stop by the wind, which blew a gale. Provost saw fresh signs of Indians, and we were told that there were a few lodges at the bottom of the Bend, about two miles below us. The wind is north and quite cold, and the contrast between to-day and yesterday is great. Went shooting, and killed three Sharp-tailed Grouse. Left our camp about three o'clock as the wind abated. Saw ten or twelve Antelopes on the prairie where the Grouse were. We camped about a mile from the spot where we landed in May last, at the end of the Great Bend. The evening calm and beautiful. _Monday, 18th._ The weather cloudy and somewhat windy. Started early; saw a Fish Hawk, two Gulls, two White-headed Eagles and abundance of Golden Plovers. The Sharp-tailed Grouse feeds on rose-berries and the seeds of the wild sunflower and grasshoppers. Stopped at twenty minutes past nine, the wind was so high, and warmed some coffee. Many dead Buffaloes are in the ravines and on the prairies. Harris, Bell, and Sprague went hunting, but had no show with such a wind. Sprague outlined a curious hill. The wind finally shifted, and then lulled down. Saw Say's Flycatcher, with a Grosbeak. Saw two of the common Titlark. Left again at two, with a better prospect. Landed at sunset on the west side. Signs of Indians. Wolves howling, and found one dead on the shore, but too far gone to be skinned; I was sorry, as it was a beautiful gray one. These animals feed on wild plums in great quantities. Tried to shoot some Doves for my Fox and Badger, but without success. Pea-vines very scarce. _Tuesday, 19th._ Dark and drizzly. Did not start until six. Reached Cedar Island, and landed for wood to use on the boat. Bell went off hunting. Wind north. Found no fit trees and left. Passed the burning cliffs and got on a bar. The weather fine, and wind behind us. Wolves will even eat the frogs found along the shores of this river. Saw five, all gray. At three o'clock we were obliged to stop on account of the wind, under a poor point. No game. _Wednesday, 20th._ Wind very high. Tracks of Wild Cats along the shore. The motion of the boat is so great it makes me sea-sick. Sprague saw a Sharp-tailed Grouse. We left at half-past twelve. Saw immense numbers of Pin-tailed Ducks, but could not get near them. Stopped on an island to procure pea-vines for my young Deer, and found plenty. Our camp of last night was only two miles and a half below White River. Ran on a bar and were delayed nearly half an hour. Shot two Blue-winged Teal. Camped opposite Bijou's Hill. _Thursday, 21st._ Wind and rain most of the night. Started early. Weather cloudy and cold. Landed to examine Burnt Hills, and again on an island for pea-vines. Fresh signs of Indians. Saw many Antelopes and Mule Deer. At twelve saw a bull on one side of the river, and in a few moments after a herd of ten cattle on the other side. Landed, and Squires, Harris, Bell, and Provost have gone to try to procure fresh meat; these are the first Buffaloes seen since we left Fort Pierre. The hunters only killed one bull; no cows among eleven bulls, and this is strange at this season. Saw three more bulls in a ravine. Stopped to camp at the lower end of great Cedar Island at five o'clock. Fresh signs of Buffaloes and Deer. We cut some timber for oars. Rain set in early in the evening, and it rained hard all night. _Friday, 22d._ Raining; left at a quarter past eight, with the wind ahead. Distant thunder. Everything wet and dirty after a very uncomfortable night. We went down the river about a mile, when we were forced to come to on the opposite side by the wind and the rain. Played cards for a couple of hours. No chance to cook or get hot coffee, on account of the heavy storm. We dropped down a few miles and finally camped till next day in the mud, but managed to make a roaring fire. Wolves in numbers howling all about us, and Owls hooting also. Still raining heavily. We played cards till nine o'clock to kill time. Our boat a quagmire. _Saturday, 23d._ A cloudy morning; we left at six o'clock. Five Wolves were on a sand-bar very near us. Saw Red-shafted Woodpeckers, and two House Swallows. Have made a good run of about sixty miles. At four this afternoon we took in three men of the steamer "New Haven" belonging to the Opposition, which was fast on the bar, eight miles below. We reached Ponca Island and landed for the night. At dusk the steamer came up, and landed above us, and we found Messrs. Cutting and Taylor, and I had the gratification of a letter from Victor and Johnny, of July 22d. _Sunday, 24th._ Cloudy, windy, and cold. Both the steamer and ourselves left as soon as we could see. Saw a Wolf on a bar, and a large flock of White Pelicans, which we took at first for a keel-boat. Passed the Poncas, L'Eau qui Court, Manuel, and Basil rivers by ten o'clock.[38] Landed just below Basil River, stopped by wind. Hunted and shot one Raven, one Turkey Buzzard, and four Wood-ducks. Ripe plums abound, and there are garfish in the creek. Found feathers of the Wild Turkey. Signs of Indians, Elks, and Deer. Provost and the men made four new oars. Went to bed early. _Monday, 25th._ Blowing hard all night, and began raining before day. Cold, wet, and misty. Started at a quarter past ten, passed Bonhomme Island at four, and landed for the night at five, fifteen miles below. _Tuesday, 26th._ Cold and cloudy; started early. Shot a Pelican. Passed Jack's River at eleven. Abundance of Wild Geese. Bell killed a young White Pelican. Weather fairer but coldish. Sprague killed a Goose, but it was lost. Camped a few miles above the Vermilion River. Harris saw Raccoon tracks on Basil River. _Wednesday, 27th._ Cloudy but calm. Many Wood-ducks, and saw Raccoon tracks again this morning. Passed the Vermilion River at half-past seven. My Badger got out of his cage last night, and we had to light a candle to secure it. We reached the Fort of Vermilion at twelve, and met with a kind reception from Mr. Pascal. Previous to this we met a barge going up, owned and commanded by Mr. Tybell, and found our good hunter Michaux. He asked me to take him down, and I promised him $20 per month to St. Louis. We bought two barrels of superb potatoes, two of corn, and a good fat cow. For the corn and potatoes I paid no less than $16.00. _Thursday, 28th._ A beautiful morning, and we left at eight. The young man who brought me the calf at Fort George has married a squaw, a handsome girl, and she is here with him. Antelopes are found about twenty-five miles from this fort, but not frequently. Landed fifteen miles below on Elk Point. Cut up and salted the cow. Provost and I went hunting, and saw three female Elks, but the order was to shoot only bucks; a large one started below us, jumped into the river, and swam across, carrying his horns flat down and spread on each side of his back; the neck looked to me about the size of a flour-barrel. Harris killed a hen Turkey, and Bell and the others saw plenty but did not shoot, as Elks were the order of the day. I cannot eat beef after being fed on Buffaloes. I am getting an old man, for this evening I missed my footing on getting into the boat, and bruised my knee and my elbow, but at seventy and over I cannot have the spring of seventeen. _Friday, 29th._ Rained most of the night, and it is raining and blowing at present. Crossed the river and have encamped at the mouth of the Iowa River,[39] the boundary line of the Sioux and Omahas. Harris shot a Wolf. My knee too sore to allow me to walk. Stormy all day. _Saturday, 30th._ Hard rain all night, the water rose four inches. Found a new species of large bean in the Wild Turkey. Mosquitoes rather troublesome. The sun shining by eight o'clock, and we hope for a good dry day. Whip-poor-wills heard last night, and Night-hawks seen flying. Saw a Long-tailed Squirrel that ran on the shore at the cry of our Badger. Michaux had the boat landed to bring on a superb set of Elk-horns that he secured last week. Abundance of Geese and Ducks. Weather clouding over again, and at two we were struck by a heavy gale of wind, and were obliged to land on the weather shore; the wind continued heavy, and the motion of the boat was too much for me, so I slipped on shore and with Michaux made a good camp, where we rolled ourselves in our blankets and slept soundly. _Sunday, October 1._ The wind changed, and lulled before morning, so we left at a quarter past six. The skies looked rather better, nevertheless we had several showers. Passed the [Big] Sioux River at twenty minutes past eleven. Heard a Pileated Woodpecker, and saw Fish Crows. Geese very abundant. Landed below the Sioux River to shoot Turkeys, having seen a large male on the bluffs. Bell killed a hen, and Harris two young birds; these will keep us going some days. Stopped again by the wind opposite Floyd's grave; started again and ran about four miles, when we were obliged to land in a rascally place at twelve o'clock. Had hail and rain at intervals. Camped at the mouth of the Omaha River, six miles from the village. The wild Geese are innumerable. The wind has ceased and stars are shining. _Monday, 2d._ Beautiful but _cold_. The water has risen nine inches, and we travel well. Started early. Stopped at eight by the wind at a vile place, but plenty of Jerusalem artichokes, which we tried and found very good. Started again at three, and made a good run till sundown, when we found a fair camping-place and made our supper from excellent young Geese. _Tuesday, 3d._ A beautiful, calm morning; we started early. Saw three Deer on the bank. A Prairie Wolf travelled on the shore beside us for a long time before he found a place to get up on the prairie. Plenty of Sandhill Cranes were seen as we passed the Little Sioux River. Saw three more Deer, another Wolf, two Swans, several Pelicans, and abundance of Geese and Ducks. Passed Soldier River at two o'clock. We were caught by a snag that scraped and tore us a little. Had we been two feet nearer, it would have ruined our barge. We passed through a very swift cut-off, most difficult of entrance. We have run eighty-two miles and encamped at the mouth of the cut-off, near the old bluffs. Killed two Mallards; the Geese and Ducks are abundant beyond description. Brag, Harris' dog, stole and hid all the meat that had been cooked for our supper. _Wednesday, 4th._ Cloudy and coldish. Left early and can't find my pocket knife, which I fear I have lost. We were stopped by the wind at Cabané Bluffs, about twenty miles above Fort Croghan; we all hunted, with only fair results. Saw some hazel bushes, and some black walnuts. Wind-bound till night, and nothing done. _Thursday, 5th._ Blew hard all night, but a clear and beautiful sunrise. Started early, but stopped by the wind at eight. Bell, Harris, and Squires have started off for Fort Croghan. As there was every appearance of rain we left at three and reached the fort about half-past four. Found all well, and were most kindly received. We were presented with some green corn, and had a quantity of bread made, also bought thirteen eggs from an Indian for twenty-five cents. Honey bees are found here, and do well, but none are seen above this place. I had an unexpected slide on the bank, as it had rained this afternoon; and Squires had also one at twelve in the night, when he and Harris with Sprague came to the boat after having played whist up to that hour. _Friday, 6th._ Some rain and thunder last night. A tolerable day. Breakfast at the camp, and left at half-past eight. Our man Michaux was passed over to the officer's boat, to steer them down to Fort Leavenworth, where they are ordered, but we are to keep in company, and he is to cook for us at night. The whole station here is broken up, and Captain Burgwin[40] leaves in a few hours by land with the dragoons, horses, etc. Stopped at Belle Vue at nine, and had a kind reception; bought 6 lbs. coffee, 13 eggs, 2 lbs. butter, and some black pepper. Abundance of Indians, of four different nations. Major Miller, the agent, is a good man for this place. Left again at eleven. A fine day. Passed the Platte and its hundreds of snags, at a quarter past one, and stopped for the men to dine. The stream quite full, and we saw some squaws on the bar, the village was in sight. Killed two Pelicans, but only got one. Encamped about thirty miles below Fort Croghan. Lieutenant Carleton supped with us, and we had a rubber of whist. _Saturday, 7th._ Fine night, and fine morning. Started too early, while yet dark, and got on a bar. Passed McPherson's, the first house in the State of Missouri, at eight o'clock. Bell skinned the young of _Fringilla harrisi_. Lieutenant Carleton came on board to breakfast with us--a fine companion and a perfect gentleman. Indian war-whoops were heard by him and his men whilst embarking this morning after we left. We encamped at the mouth of Nishnebottana, a fine, clear stream. Went to the house of Mr. Beaumont, who has a pretty wife. We made a fine run of sixty or seventy miles. _Sunday, 8th._ Cloudy, started early, and had rain by eight o'clock. Stopped twice by the storm, and played cards to relieve the dulness. Started at noon, and ran till half-past four. The wind blowing hard we stopped at a good place for our encampment. Presented a plate of the quadrupeds to Lieut. James Henry Carleton,[41] and he gave me a fine Black Bear skin, and has promised me a set of Elk horns. Stopped on the east side of the river in the evening. Saw a remarkably large flock of Geese passing southward. _Monday, 9th._ Beautiful and calm; started early. Bell shot a Gray Squirrel, which was divided and given to my Fox and my Badger. Squires, Carleton, Harris, Bell, and Sprague walked across the Bend to the Black Snake Hills, and killed six Gray Squirrels, four Parrakeets, and two Partridges. Bought butter, eggs, and some whiskey for the men; exchanged knives with the lieutenant. Started and ran twelve miles to a good camp on the Indian side. _Tuesday, 10th._ Beautiful morning, rather windy; started early. Great flocks of Geese and Pelicans; killed two of the latter. Reached Fort Leavenworth at four, and, as usual everywhere, received most kindly treatment and reception from Major Morton. Lieutenant Carleton gave me the Elk horns. Wrote to John Bachman, Gideon B. Smith, and a long letter home. _Wednesday, 11th._ Received a most welcome present of melons, chickens, bread, and butter from the generous major. Lieutenant Carleton came to see me off, and we parted reluctantly. Left at half-past six; weather calm and beautiful. Game scarce, paw-paws plentiful. Stopped at Madame Chouteau's, where I bought three pumpkins. Stopped at Liberty Landing and delivered the letters of Laidlow to Black Harris. Reached Independence Landing at sundown; have run sixty miles. Found no letters. Steamer "Lebanon" passed upwards at half-past eight. _Thursday, 12th._ Beautiful and calm; stopped and bought eggs, etc., at a Mr. Shivers', from Kentucky. Ran well to Lexington, where we again stopped for provisions; ran sixty miles to-day. _Friday, 13th._ Heavy white frost, and very foggy. Started early and ran well. Tried to buy butter at several places, but in vain. At Greenville bought coffee. Abundance of Geese and White Pelicans; many Sandhill Cranes. Harris killed a Wood-duck. Passed Grand River; stopped at New Brunswick, where we bought excellent beef at 2½ cents a pound, but very inferior to Buffalo. Camped at a deserted wood yard, after running between sixty and seventy miles. _Saturday, 14th._ A windy night, and after eight days' good run, I fear we shall be delayed to-day. Stopped by a high wind at twelve o'clock. We ran ashore, and I undertook to push the boat afloat, and undressing for the purpose got so deep in the mud that I had to spend a much longer time than I desired in very cold water. Visited two farm houses, and bought chickens, eggs, and butter; very little of this last. At one place we procured corn bread. The squatter visited our boat, and we camped near him. He seemed a good man; was from North Carolina, and had a fine family. Michaux killed two Hutchins' Geese,[42] the first I ever saw in the flesh. Ran about twenty miles; steamer "Lebanon" passed us going downwards, one hour before sunset. Turkeys and Long-tailed Squirrels very abundant. _Sunday, 15th._ Cold, foggy, and cloudy; started early. Passed Chariton River and village, and Glasgow; bought bread, and oats for my Deer. Abundance of Geese and Ducks. Passed Arrow Rock at eleven. Passed Boonesville, the finest country on this river; Rocheport, with high, rocky cliffs; six miles below which we encamped, having run sixty miles. _Monday, 16th._ Beautiful autumnal morning, a heavy white frost and no wind. Started early, before six. The current very strong. Passed Nashville, Marion, and steamer "Lexington" going up. Jefferson City at twelve. Passed the Osage River and saw twenty-four Deer opposite Smith Landing; camped at sundown, and found Giraud, the "strong man." Ran sixty-one miles. Met the steamer "Satan," badly steered. Abundance of Geese and Ducks everywhere. _Tuesday, 17th._ Calm and very foggy. Started early and floated a good deal with the strong current. Saw two Deer. The fog cleared off by nine o'clock. Passed the Gasconade River at half-past nine. Landed at Pinckney to buy bread, etc. Buffaloes have been seen mired, and unable to defend themselves, and the Wolves actually eating their noses while they struggled, but were eventually killed by the Wolves. Passed Washington and encamped below it at sundown; a good run. _Wednesday, 18th._ Fine and calm; started very early. Passed Mount Pleasant. Landed at St. Charles to purchase bread, etc. Provost became extremely drunk, and went off by land to St. Louis. Passed the Charbonnière River, and encamped about one mile below. The steamer "Tobacco Plant" landed on the shore opposite. Bell and Harris killed a number of Gray Squirrels. _Thursday, 19th._ A heavy white frost, foggy, but calm. We started early, the steamer after us. Forced by the fog to stop on a bar, but reached St. Louis at three in the afternoon. Unloaded and sent all the things to Nicholas Berthoud's warehouse. Wrote home. Left St. Louis October 22, in steamer "Nautilus" for Cincinnati. Reached home at 3 P.M., November 6th, 1843, and thank God, found all my family quite well.[43] [COPIED FROM BELL'S JOURNAL.[44]] "_August 2._ Started at half-past seven this morning; saw several Yellow-legs (Godwits), and some young Blue-winged Teal in the pond in the first prairie. Shot two Curlews; saw two very fine male Elks; they were lying down quite near us, under a bank where they got the wind of us. The Sharp-tailed Grouse are first-rate eating now, as they feed entirely on grasshoppers, and berries of different kinds. Owen climbed a tree to a White-headed Eagle's nest, and drove a young one out, which fell to the ground and was caught alive, and brought to the fort. Is it not very remarkable that Eagles of this species should have their young in the nest at this late season, when in the Floridas I have shot them of the same size in February? Shot at a Wolf, which being wounded, went off about one hundred yards, and yelled like a dog; a very remarkable instance, as all we have killed or wounded, and they have been many, rarely make any sound, and if they do it is simply a snapping at their pursuer. As we went up the Missouri on the 7th instant, I found numbers of Cliff Swallow's nests, with the old ones feeding their young. This is also very late and uncommon at this season. Saw a Peregrine Falcon feeding its young. La Fleur shot two bucks of the White-tailed Deer with two shots, and the meat, which we brought home, proved fat and good. Saw Beaver tracks, and young Green-winged Teals. We saw hills impregnated with sulphur and coal, some of them on fire, and now and then portions of them gave way, by hundreds of tons at a time. In one place I saw a vein of coal on fire; we were following a path close to the foot of a high hill, and at a turn as we looked ahead, we found the way suddenly blocked by the earth falling down from above us, and looking up saw a line of coal, or other dark substance; it was about two feet thick, and about seventy-five feet from the bottom and forty from the top. It was burning very slowly, and in several places, for about fifty yards, emitting whitish smoke, something like sulphur when burning, and turning the earth or rock above, quite red, or of a brick color. It would undermine the earth above, which then fell in large masses, and this was the cause of the obstruction in the path before us. It must have been burning for a long time, as it had already burned some distance along the hill, and hundreds of tons of earth had fallen. In some places I saw banks of clay twenty feet high, quite red, hard in some parts, and in others very scaly and soft, even crumbling to pieces. Where the fire was burning, the clay was red, varying from one to three feet in thickness; no appearance of coal presented itself where the fire had passed along and was extinguished, but very distinct above the fire, and I have no doubt there is a small quantity of sulphur mixed with this coal, or whatever the substance may be. In another place a short distance from these hills, and in a ravine, I also saw some red stones which looked very much as if the corners of a house which had once been there still remained, with the remnants of two sides yet straight. These stones varied from six to twenty inches in thickness, and many of them were square and about eighteen or twenty feet high; we had not time to remain and examine and measure as carefully as I should have liked to do." [Illustration: MRS. AUDUBON, 1854. FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE.] EXTRACTS from Mr. Culbertson's Journal, kept at Fort McKenzie, Blackfeet Indian Country in 1834.[45] "_Friday, June 13._ Blood Indians started this morning to go to war against the Crows. They had not left long, when the 'Old Bull's Backfat's' son, with his sister, brother, and brother-in-law, returned to the fort, saying they must go back to the camp. After I had given them tobacco and ammunition they all started, but did not get more than two miles from the fort before they were all killed by the Crows, except one, who by some means leaped on one of the Crow horses and fled to the fort. The squaw no doubt was taken prisoner, as in the evening I went out and found the bodies of her husband and brother, but she was not there. On Saturday, the 14th, I went out and brought in the bodies, and had them decently interred. The young man who had escaped was only slightly wounded, and started again for the camp with three Gros Ventres. "_Tuesday, 24th._ We were all surprised this evening at the arrival of the squaw who had been taken prisoner, and who had been carried to the Crow village where she was kept tied every night until the one in which she made her escape. During the previous day having it in contemplation to escape, she took the precaution of hiding a knife under her garment of skins, but most unfortunately she went out with one of the Crow squaws, and in stooping, the knife fell out; this was reported, and as a punishment she was stripped of every particle of clothing, and when night came was not tied, as it was not imagined she would leave the cover of the tent. However, she decided nothing should keep her from availing herself of the only opportunity she might ever have; she started with _absolutely no covering of any kind_, and in this plight she travelled across the prairies, almost without stopping to rest, and with little food, for _four days and three nights_; unfortunately the weather was unusually cold for the season, as well as wet. She arrived at the fort in a most wretched and pitiable condition, but greatly to the joy and consolation of her relations and friends. She said that after her arrival at the Crow village, they made her dance with the scalps of her brother and husband tied to her hair, and clothed in the bloody shirt of the latter. On Wednesday, 25th, a band of four hundred Crows arrived with the intention of taking the fort by stratagem if they could get the opportunity; but they failed in this, as I would not allow one of them inside the fort, or to come within firing distance of their arms. They used every artifice in their power to persuade me to let in a few of them to smoke the pipe of peace, assuring me that their intentions were good, and that they loved the white people. Finding all this of no avail, they brought their best horses to give to me, for which they did not wish to receive anything more than the privilege of letting some of them come in; but all this was in vain, as I was well aware of their treacherous intentions. I divided my men in the two bastions, with orders to fire upon the first one that might approach during the night, and warned them of my having given such orders, telling them that I did not wish to strike the first blow, but that if they commenced they would go off with small numbers, and sore hearts. There was an American with them who now told me of their intentions, and that they were determined to take the fort. I sent them word by him that we were ready for them if they thought themselves able to do so, and to come and try; but when they saw our cannon pointed towards them, they were not so anxious to make a rush. On the 26th the Crows made another attempt to get in, but after a long and persuasive talk they found that it would not do. They then crossed the river and came on the high bank opposite to the fort, and fired upon us, and while some of them were yet crossing the river I let loose a cannon ball among them, which, if it did no harm, made them move at a quick pace, and after a while they all went off, leaving us without food of any sort; but fortunately on Monday the 30th, a party of Blood Indians came in from the Crows with fifteen horses and considerable meat. The Crows had taken all our horses shortly before, and promised to return them in a few days if I would let them in. I was also informed that they had even brought pack-horses to carry off the goods from the fort after having accomplished the destruction of the building and the massacre of ourselves." From these extracts the nature of the Indians of these regions may be exemplified a thousand times better, _because true_, than by all the trashy stuff written and published by Mr. Catlin. DESCRIPTION OF FORT UNION BY EDWIN T. DENIG. JULY 30, 1843 "Fort Union, the principal and handsomest trading-post on the Missouri River, is situated on the north side, about six and a half miles above the mouth of the Yellowstone River; the country around it is beautiful, and well chosen for an establishment of the kind. The front of the fort is but a few steps, say twenty-five, from the bank of the Missouri. Behind the fort is a prairie with an agreeable ascent to the commencement of the bluffs, about one and a half miles in width, and two in length, surrounded at the borders with high hills, or bluffs. Above and below, at the distance of two hundred yards commence the points, or bottoms, of the Missouri, which contain great quantities of cottonwood, ash, and elm, supplying the fort with fuel, boat and building timber. The fort itself was begun in the fall of 1829, under the superintendence of Kenneth McKenzie, Esq., an enterprising and enlightened Scotchman, and now a well known and successful merchant in St. Louis. As the immense deal of work about such an undertaking had but few men to accomplish it, it was not wholly completed till after the expiration of _four years_, and indeed since then has been greatly improved by the other gentlemen who subsequently took charge of the fort. The plan of the fort is laid nearly due north and south, fronting 220 feet and running back 240 feet. This space is enclosed by pickets or palisades of twenty feet high, made of large hewn cottonwood, and founded upon stone. The pickets are fitted into an open framework in the inside, of sufficient strength to counterbalance their weight, and sustained by braces in the form of an X, which reaches in the inside from the pickets to the frame, so as to make the whole completely solid and secure, from either storm or attack. On the southwest and northeast corners, are bastions, built entirely out of stone, and measuring 24 feet square, over 30 feet high, and the wall three feet thick; this is whitewashed. Around the tops of the second stories are balconies with railings, which serve for observatories, and from the tops of the roofs are two flag-staffs 25 feet high, on which wave the proud Eagle of America. Two weathercocks, one a Buffalo bull, the other an Eagle, complete the outsides. In the interior of the northeast bastion are placed opposite their port-holes one three-pounder iron cannon and one brass swivel, both mounted, and usually kept loaded, together with a dozen muskets in case of a sudden attack from the Indians. Balls, cartridges, and other ammunition are always in readiness for the use of the same. The contents of the southeast bastion are similar to those of the other, with the exception of the cannon, having but one small swivel. These and other preparations render the place impregnable to any force without, not furnished with artillery. The principal building in the establishment, and that of the gentleman in charge, or Bourgeois, is now occupied by Mr. Culbertson, one of the partners of the Company. It is 78 feet front by 24 feet depth, and a story and a half high. The front has a very imposing appearance, being neatly weather-boarded, and painted white, and with green window-shutters; it is roofed with shingle, painted red to preserve the wood. In the roof in front are four dormer windows, which serve to give light to the attic. The piazza in front adds much to the comfort and appearance, the posts are all turned, and painted white. It serves as a pleasant retreat from the heat of the day, and is a refreshing place to sleep at night when mosquitoes are plenty. Mr. Audubon, the naturalist, now here upon scientific researches, together with his secretary, Mr. Squires, prefer this hard bed to the more luxurious comforts of feathers and sheets. The interior of this building is handsomely papered and ornamented with portraits and pictures, and portioned off in the following manner. Mr. Culbertson has the principal room, which is large, commodious, and well-furnished; from it he has a view of all that passes within the fort. Next to this is the office, which is devoted exclusively to the business of the Company, which is immense. This department is now under my supervision (viz., E. T. Denig). These two rooms occupy about one-half the building. In the middle is a hall, eight feet wide, which separates these rooms from the other part. In this is the mess-room, which is nearly equal in size to that of Mr. Culbertson. Here the Bourgeois, taking his seat at the head of the table, attends to its honors, and serves out the _luxuries_ this wilderness produces to his visitors and clerks, who are seated in their proper order and rank. The mechanics of the fort eat at the second table. Adjoining this room is the residence of Mr. Denig. In the upper story are at present located Mr. Audubon and his suite. Here from the pencils of Mr. Audubon and Mr. Sprague emanate the splendid paintings and drawings of animals and plants, which are the admiration of all; and the Indians regard them as marvellous, and almost to be worshipped. In the room next to this is always kept a selection of saddlery and harness, in readiness for rides of pleasure, or for those rendered necessary for the protection of the horses which are kept on the prairie, and which suffer from frequent depredations on the part of the Indians, which it is the duty of the men at the fort to ward off as far as possible. The next apartment is the tailor's shop, so placed as to be out of the way of the Indian visitors as much as possible, who, were it at all easy of access, would steal some of the goods which it is necessary to have always on hand. So much for the principal house. On the east side of the fort, extending north and south, is a building, on range, all under one roof, 127 ft. long by 25 ft. deep, and used for the following purposes. A small room at the north end for stores and luggage; then the retail store, in which is kept a fair supply of merchandise, and where all white persons buy or sell. The prices of all goods are fixed by a tariff or stationary value, so that no bargaining or cheating is allowed; this department is now in charge of Mr. Larpenteur. Adjoining this is the wholesale warehouse, in which is kept the principal stock of goods intended for the extensive trade; this room is 57 ft. in length. Next is a small room for the storage of meat and other supplies. At the end is the press room, where all robes, furs, and peltries are stored. The dimensions extend to the top of the roof inside, which roof is perfectly waterproof. It will contain from 2800 to 3000 packs of Buffalo robes. All this range is very strongly put together, weather-boarded outside, and lined with plank within. It has also cellar and garret. Opposite this, on the other side of the fort enclosure, is a similar range of buildings 119 ft. long by 21 ft. wide, perhaps not quite so strongly built, but sufficiently so to suit all purposes. The height of the building is in proportion to that of the pickets; it is one large story high, and shingle-roofed. This is partitioned off into six different apartments of nearly equal size. The first two are appropriated to the use of the clerks who may be stationed at the post. The next is the residence of the hunters, and the remaining three the dwellings of the men in the employ of the Company. An ice-house 24 by 21 ft. is detached from this range, and is well filled with ice during the winter, which supply generally lasts till fall. Here is put all fresh meat in the hot weather, and the fort in the summer season is usually provisioned for ten days. The kitchen is behind the Bourgeois' house on the north side, and about two steps from the end of the hall,--so situated for convenience in carrying in the cooked victuals to the mess-room. Two or three cooks are usually employed therein, at busy times more. The inside frame-work of the fort, which sustains the pickets, forms all around a space about eight feet wide described by the braces or =X=, and about fifteen feet high. A balcony is built on the top of this, having the summit of the =X= for its basis, and is formed of sawed plank nailed to cross beams from one brace to another. This balcony affords a pleasant walk all round the inside of the fort, within five feet of the top of the pickets; from here also is a good view of the surrounding neighborhood, and it is well calculated for a place of defence. It is a favorite place from which to shoot Wolves after nightfall, and for standing guard in time of danger. The openings that would necessarily follow from such a construction, under the gallery, are fitted in some places with small huts or houses. Behind the kitchen there are five of such houses, leaving at the same time plenty of space between them and the other buildings. The first of these is a stable for Buffalo calves, which are annually raised here, being caught during the severe storms of winter; the second a hen-house, well lined, plastered, and filled with chickens; third, a very pleasant room intended as an artist's work-room, fourth, a cooper's shop, and then the milk house and dairy. Several houses of the same kind and construction are also built on the west and south sides; one contains coal for the blacksmith, and ten stables, in all 117 ft. long, and 10 ft. wide, with space enough to quarter fifty horses. These are very useful, as the Company have always a number of horses and cattle here. These buildings, it will be understood, do not interfere with the Area or Parade of the fort, and are hardly noticed by a casual observer, but occupy the space under the balcony that would otherwise be useless and void. Fifty more of the same kind could be put up without intruding upon any portion of the fort used for other purposes. On the front side, and west of the gate, is a house 50 by 21 feet, which, being divided into two parts, one half opening into the fort, is used as a blacksmith's, gunsmith's, and tinner's shop; the other part is used as a reception-room for Indians, and opens into the passage, which is made by the double gate. There are two large outside gates to the fort, one each in the middle of the front and rear, and upon the top of the front one is a painting of a treaty of peace between the Indians and whites executed by J. B. Moncrévier, Esq. These gates are 12 ft. wide, and 14 ft. high. At the front there is an inside gate of the same size at the inner end of the Indian reception room, which shuts a passage from the outside gate of 32 ft. in length, and the same width as the gate; the passage is formed of pickets. The outside gate can be left open, and the inside one closed, which permits the Indians to enter the reception room without their having any communication with the fort. Into this room are brought all trading and war parties, until such time as their business is ascertained; there is also behind this room a trade shop, and leading into it a window through which the Indians usually trade, being secure from rain or accident; there is also another window through the pickets to the outside of the fort, which is used in trading when the Indians are troublesome, or too numerous. The Powder Magazine is perhaps the best piece of work, as regards strength and security, that could be devised for a fort like this. The dimensions are 25 by 18 ft.; it is built out of stone, which is a variety of limestone with a considerable quantity of sand in its composition. The walls are 4 ft. thick at the base, and increasing with the curve of the arch become gradually thicker as they rise, so that near the top they are about 6 ft. in thickness. The inside presents a complete semicircular arch, which is covered on the top with stones and gravel to the depth of 18 inches. The whole is covered with a shingle roof through which fire may burn yet with no danger to the powder within. There are two doors, one on the outside, the other a few feet within; the outer one is covered with tin. There are several other small buildings under the balcony, which are used for harness, tool-houses, meat, etc. The space behind the warehouse between that and the pickets, being free from buildings, affords a good horse yard, and some shelter to the horses in bad weather. The area of the fort within the fronts of the houses is 189 ft. long, and 141 ft. wide. In the centre of this arises a flag-staff 63 ft. high. This is surrounded at the base by a railing and panel work in an octagonal form, enclosing a portion of ground 12 ft. in diameter, in which are planted lettuce, radishes, and cress, and which presents at the same time a useful and handsome appearance. By the side of this stands a mounted four-pounder iron cannon. This flag-staff is the glory of the fort, for on high, seen from far and wide, floats the Star Spangled Banner, an immense flag which once belonged to the United States Navy, and gives the certainty of security from dangers, rest to the weary traveller, peace and plenty to the fatigued and hungry, whose eyes are gladdened by the sight of it on arriving from the long and perilous voyages usual in this far western wild. It is customary on the arrivals and departures of the Bourgeois, or of the boats of gentlemen of note, to raise the flag, and by the firing of the cannon show them a welcome, or wish them a safe arrival at their point of destination. When interest and affection are as circumscribed as here, they must necessarily be more intense, and partings are more regretted, being accompanied by dangers to the departing friends, and meetings more cordial, those dangers having been surmounted. The casualties of the country are common to all, and felt the more by the handful, who, far from civilization, friends, or kindred, are associated in those risks and excitements which accrue from a life among savages. About two hundred feet east of Fort Union is an enclosure about 150 ft. square, which is used for hay and other purposes. Two hundred and fifty good cart-loads of hay are procured during the summer and stacked up in this place for winter use of horses and cattle, the winter being so severe and long, and snow so deep that little food is to be found for them on the prairies at that season. There are, at present, in this place thirty head of cattle, forty horses, besides colts, and a goodly number of hogs. A garden on a small scale is attached to the 'old fort' as it is called, which supplies the table with peas, turnips, radishes, lettuce, beets, onions, etc. The large garden, half a mile off and below the fort, contains one and a half acres, and produces most plentiful and excellent crops of potatoes, corn, and every kind of vegetable, but has not been worked this year. In the summer of 1838, Mr. Culbertson had from it 520 bushels of potatoes, and as many other vegetables as he required for the use of the fort. Rainy seasons prove most favorable in this climate for vegetation, but they rarely occur. It is indeed pleasant to know that the enterprising men who commenced, and have continued with untiring perseverance, the enlargement of the Indian trade, and labored hard for the subordination, if not civilization, of the Indians, should occasionally sit down under their own vine and fig-tree, and enjoy at least the semblance of living like their more quiet, though not more useful brothers in the United States." FORT McKENZIE BY ALEXANDER CULBERTSON, ESQ. AUGUST 7, 1843 "The American Fur Company, whose untiring perseverance and enterprise have excited the wonder and admiration of many people, both in this and other countries, and who have already acquired a well-earned fame for their labors among the aborigines of this wilderness, and who are now an example of the energy of the American people, had, until the year 1832, no stations among the Blackfeet, Piegans, Blood Indians, or Gros Ventres de Prairie, these tribes being so hostile and bloodthirsty as to make the trading, or the erecting of a fort among them too dangerous to be attempted. At last, however, these dangers and difficulties were undertaken, commenced, and surmounted, and Fort McKenzie was erected in the very heart of these tribes. The fort was begun in 1832, under the superintendence of David D. Mitchell, then one of the clerks of the Company, now U.S. Superintendent of Indian Affairs. The fort was completed by me, Alexander Culbertson, then a clerk of the Company, now one of the partners. During the first year, owing to the exigencies of the occasion, a temporary, though substantial fort was erected, which, however, served to protect the daring few who undertook and accomplished the perilous task. To those who are quietly sitting by their firesides in the heart of civilized life, enjoying all its luxuries, pleasures, and comforts, and who are far removed from the prairie land and the red men, the situation of this party can hardly be pictured. They were surrounded by dangers of all kinds, but more especially from the tribes of Indians before mentioned. Two thousand lodges of Blackfeet were near them, waiting only until an opportunity should offer to satisfy their thirst for blood, to fall upon and kill them. Apart from this tribe the others were loitering around them for the same purpose; add to this, privations, fatigues, hardships, and personal ills which have to be encountered in a country like this. All, however, was met courageously; undaunted by appearances, unintimidated by threats, not unmanned by hardships and fatigues, they pushed ahead, completed the fort, and at last accomplished their object of establishing a trade with the tribes above mentioned; and they now enjoy a comparative peace, and are living upon fairly friendly terms with their late most violent enemies. During the following year another fort was commenced and completed, and retained its former name of Fort McKenzie, being named after Kenneth McKenzie, Esq., one of the partners of the Company. The fort is situated on the north side of the Missouri, about six miles above the mouth of the Maria, and about forty miles below the 'Great Falls' of the Missouri, on a beautiful prairie, about fifteen feet above the highest-water mark, and about 225 feet from the river. The prairie rises gradually from the water's edge to the hills in the rear, about half a mile from the river. It is about a mile long, terminating at a 'côte qui trompe de l'eau' on the lower end, and in a point at the upper end, formerly heavily covered with timber, but now entirely destitute. Opposite the fort is a high perpendicular bank of black clay, rising from the river to the height of 150 feet; from this all that takes place within the walls of the fort can be seen, which would seem to have rendered the placing of the fort in such a position extremely injudicious. But not through carelessness was this done; it is simply the _sole place_ in this section of country, near the river, where a fort can be built, as the land is so rough and uneven as to render the erection of a fort at any other spot _impossible_. From this bank little or no danger is apprehended, as the river is about one hundred yards wide, and a ball fired by the Indians from this height, and at this distance, with the weapons that they have, would be incapable of doing any execution. Timber in this country has become very scarce; points which a few years ago were covered with heavy forests of the different kinds of wood of the district have by some law of nature become entirely destitute, especially a point below the island called by the voyageurs the 'Grand Isle' (which is situated at the commencement of the Mauvaises Terres), where it has dwindled to a few scattering cottonwoods and box elders; and this is the only wood now to be found in this section of the country between 'Grand Isle' and the 'Great Falls' of the Missouri. It is with the greatest difficulty and economy that from the little wood to be found the fort is supplied with the necessary fuel; this is dealt out as a ration, allowing a certain quantity to each room, sufficient, however, to do the cooking, and warm the inmates. _At all times,_ except when serving the ration, the wood is kept closely locked. This is one of the privations of the country, and, indeed the country affords very little which adds to the comfort of the trader who makes these wilds his home, except such as can be procured from the wild animals. Three sides of the fort are built of pickets of hewn cottonwood, squared, placed close together, eighteen feet long, planted three feet deep in the earth, leaving fifteen feet above ground. The pickets are connected at the top by a strong piece pinned to them. The fourth side, facing the northeast, is built of pickets framed in wooden sills lying in the ground, similar to those at Fort Union. The fort is two hundred feet square, ranging north and south and facing south. On the northeast and southwest corners are bastions built of cottonwood timber, ball proof, rising about eight feet above the pickets, twenty feet square and divided into two stories. In each bastion is a cannon, loaded muskets, cartridges, balls, and every requisite necessary to prevent and repel any attack that may take place, and which is hourly expected, from the surrounding tribes of Indians. In each bastion are port and loop holes for the cannon and muskets, and these command the four sides of pickets, and an extensive range over the prairie. Along the rear line of pickets, and about twenty-five feet from them, is the principal range of buildings in the fort. These are occupied by the Bourgeois, clerks, and interpreters. It is divided into three apartments; the principal room, with every comfort that this dreary place affords, belongs to the Bourgeois and is twenty feet square; and here, to partially remove the _ennui_ of dull times, is a library of such books as time and opportunity have permitted the dwellers in the fort to collect; this is at the command of those who choose to 'drive dull care away,' and contains a little of everything, science, history, poetry, and fiction. Adjoining this room is a hall or passage eight feet wide, running from front to rear of the building, with a door opening into the Bourgeois's room, another opening into the clerk's room; the clerk's room is also used as a mess-room and is the same size as that of the Bourgeois. Adjoining the clerk's room is the one belonging to the interpreters; it is twenty-four by twenty feet and is also used as a council room, and reception room for the chiefs that may arrive at the fort. _The chiefs only_ are admitted within the walls; not that any danger is apprehended now from them, but to prevent any trouble that might possibly occur were numbers permitted to enter. The house is of cottonwood logs, with a plank roof covered with earth, chimneys of mud, two windows and doors in the Bourgeois's room, one each in the other rooms. The interior is ceiled and walled with plank. In the Bourgeois's room are two doors made of pine plank which was sawed in the Rocky Mountains. The house is 75 by 20 ft. Most of the buildings in the fort are made in a similar manner. Above the three rooms described is a garret extending the whole length of the building. About three feet back of this edifice is the kitchen, a neat building twenty feet square, in which everything belonging to this most important and useful apartment is to be found, always in good order, clean and bright, as it is the imperative duty of the cook, or person in charge, to have all connected with this department in perfect order. From this room _all_ persons are excluded, unless duty or business requires them to be there. Adjoining this, on the same line north, is a house of the same dimensions as the kitchen, which is used for salting and preserving tongues, one of the delicacies of the civilized world; when not thus used it answers the purpose of a wash-house. In these buildings are bedrooms occupied by the persons having charge of these departments. Extending along the west line of pickets, and about three feet from them, leaving a space between the range and the Bourgeois's house is a line of buildings divided in four apartments; one used for a blacksmith's and tinner's shop, another for a carpenter's shop, one for the tailor, and the other for the men. In the square formed by the pickets and ends of the Bourgeois's and men's houses, is a yard for sawing timber, a quantity of which is necessarily required about the fort. A house running from the south bastion to the passage, twenty-four feet square, is used as a reception room for war and trading parties; a door leads from this to the passage formed by the double gates, thereby cutting off all communication with the interior of the fort. In this room all parties are received by the interpreter, who is always ready to smoke and talk with the Indians. Next to this room is a passage formed by the double gates, and two parallel lines of pickets extending inwards, making the passage about thirty feet long and twelve wide; at the ends are two large gates, about twelve feet wide and the same height. Opposite the room last described is a similar one 20 by 15 ft., in which the Indians bring their robes to trade. Next this is a trade store, where are kept goods, trinkets, etc., to be traded with the Indians. The trading is done through a window or wicket two feet square, and a foot thick, strongly hinged to the picket; this opening is at the command of the trader, who can open or close it, as the Indians may appear friendly or otherwise, thereby completely cutting off, if necessary, all communication between the Indians and the trade store; and it is through this opening _only_ that trade is carried on. Next this is a room twenty-four feet square, where all goods obtained from the Indians are placed as soon as the trade is finished; and adjoining the trade shop is a room, between it and the pickets, about ten feet square, with a window and door opening into the trade shop, with a chimney, fireplace, and stove used only for warming the trader when off duty, or when awaiting the arrival of Indians. Along the east line of pickets, and about forty feet from them, is another range of buildings, about a hundred feet long and twenty deep, divided into five apartments. The first three are for storing packs of robes, furs, peltries, etc., and will hold eighteen hundred packs of robes; the fourth room is a retail store, 15 by 20 ft., in which is always a good assortment of stores, the prices fixed by a regular tariff, so no cheating is possible. All whites buy and sell here. Fifth, is the wholesale warehouse, in which are boxes, bales, and all goods kept in quantity till required. Within a few feet of this, and northeast, is the meat house, twenty-four feet square, in which all meat traded from the Indians is kept till needed for use. Near the meat house south is a powder magazine, a hole dug in the ground ten feet square, walled with timber to the surface, covered with a timber roof four feet above the surface in the centre, and this is covered to the depth of three feet with earth; in the roof is an outer door three feet square, opening upon another of the same size; this is so arranged that in case of fire the whole can be covered in a few minutes, and rendered fire-proof. In the southeast corner is a large barn, 60 by 50 ft., capable of containing sufficient hay for all the cattle and horses during the long, cold, tedious winters of this country. Adjoining is a range of large and warm stables for the horses of the fort, and some extra ones if required, providing them with a good shelter from the piercing cold and severe storms. Extending from the stables is a range of small buildings used for keeping saddlery, harness, boat-rigging, tools, etc., thereby providing 'a place for everything,' and it is required that everything shall be in its place. Over this is a gallery extending along this line of pickets, answering the purposes of a promenade, observatory, guard station, and place of defence. In the southeast corner in front of the barn is a yard 30 by 60 ft., used for receiving carts, wagons, wood, and so forth. At the end of the yard in the rear of the dry-goods warehouse is an ice house, that will contain nearly forty loads of ice; meat placed here will keep several days in the heat of summer, and thus save the hunter from a daily ride over the burning prairies. The stock belonging to the fort consists of thirty to forty horses, ten or twelve cattle, and a number of hogs. Fort McKenzie boasts of one of the most splendid Durham bulls that can be found in the United States or Territories. The area in front of the buildings is about a hundred feet square; from the centre rises a flag-staff fifty feet high; from this wave the glorious folds of the starry banner of our native land, made more beautiful by its situation in the dreary wilderness around it. The wanderer, as he sees the bright folds from afar, hails them with gladness, as it means for him a place of safety. No sight is more welcome to the voyageur, the hunter, or the trapper. That flag cheers all who claim it as theirs, and it protects all, white men or red. Here in the wilderness all fly to it for refuge, and depend on it for security. Upon the arrival or departure of the Bourgeois, men of note, or arrival and departure of the boats, the flag is raised, and salutes fired. Here, where but few are gathered together, undying attachments are formed, a unanimity of feeling exists, to be found perhaps only in similar situations. When the hour of parting comes it is with regret, for amid the common dangers, so well known, none know when the meeting again will be, and when the hour of meeting comes, the joy is honest and unfeigned that the dangers are safely surmounted. Such is Fort McKenzie, such are its inmates. Removed as they are from civilization and its pleasures, home and friends, they find in each other friends and brothers: friends that forsake not in the hour of danger, but cling through all changes; brothers in feeling and action, and 'though there be many, in heart they are one.'" FOOTNOTES: [1] "We halted for dinner at a village which we suppose to have belonged to the Ricaras. It is situated in a low plain on the river, and consists of about eighty lodges of an octagon form, neatly covered with earth, placed as close to each other as possible, and picketed round." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.) "The village of the Rikaras, Arickaras, or Rikarees, for the name is variously written, is between the 46th and 47th parallels of north latitude, and 1,430 miles above the mouth of the Missouri.... It was divided into two portions, about eighty yards apart, being inhabited by two distinct bands. The whole extended about three quarters of a mile along the river bank, and was composed of conical lodges, that looked like so many small hillocks, being wooden frames intertwined with osier, and covered with earth." ("Astoria," W. Irving.) "From the hills we had a fine prospect over the bend of the river, on which the villages of the Arikkaras are situated. The two villages of this tribe are on the west bank, very near each other, but separated by a small stream. They consist of a great number of clay huts, round at top, with a square entrance in front, and the whole surrounded with a fence of stakes, which were much decayed and in many places thrown down." ("Travels in North America," p. 166, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.) [2] "General Ashley of Missouri, a man whose courage and achievements in the prosecution of his enterprises had rendered him famous in the Far West in conjunction with Mr. [Andrew?] Henry, of the Missouri Trading Co., established a post on the banks of the Yellowstone River in 1822." ("Capt. Bonneville," W. Irving.) [3] "We reached the mouth of Le Boulet, or Cannon Ball River. This stream rises in the Black Mts. and falls into the Missouri; its channel is about 140 feet wide, though the water is now confined within 40; its name is derived from the numbers of perfectly round stones on the shore and in the bluffs just above." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.) "We came to an aperture in the chain of hills, from which this river, which was very high, issues. On the north side of the mouth there was a steep, yellow clay wall; and on the southern, a flat, covered with poplars and willows. This river has its name from the singular regular sandstone balls which are found in its banks, and in those of the Missouri in its vicinity. They are of various sizes, from that of a musket ball to that of a large bomb, and lie irregularly on the bank, or in the strata, from which they often project to half their thickness; when the river has washed away the earth they then fall down, and are found in great numbers on the bank. Many of them are rather elliptical, others are more flattened, others flat on one side and convex on the other. Of the _perfectly spherical_ balls, I observed some two feet in diameter. A mile above the mouth of Cannon Ball River I saw no more of them." ("Travels in North America," p. 167, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.) [4] Present name of the stream which falls into the Missouri from the east, about five miles below Fort Rice; Chewah or Fish River of Lewis and Clark; Shewash River of Maximilian. Audubon is now approaching Bismarck, the capital of North Dakota.--E. C. [5] Charles Primeau was born at St. Louis, Mo., entered the American Fur Company as clerk, and continued in that service many years. Later he helped to form an opposition company under the name of Harvey, Primeau, & Co., which did business for a few years, until, like most of the smaller concerns, it was absorbed by the American Fur Co. He then went back to his former employers, and afterward was engaged by the U.S. Government as Indian interpreter, long holding this position. In 1896 he was living in the vicinity of Fort Yates.--E. C. [6] The "Assiniboin" was the steamer on which Maximilian, Prince of Wied, travelled down the Missouri in 1833. [7] This is an interesting note of the early French name on the Missouri of the persons about a boat whom we should call "stevedores," or "roustabouts." The French word _charette_, or _charrette_, occurs also as a personal name, and it will be remembered that there was a town of La Charette on the Lower Missouri.--E. C. [8] Heart River, the stream which falls into the Missouri near the town of Mandan, about opposite Bismarck, N. Dak. Here the river is now bridged by the Northern Pacific Railroad, which crosses the Missouri from Bismarck, and follows up Heart River for some distance.--E. C. [9] "Fort Clark came in sight, with a background of the blue prairie hills, and with the gay American banner waving from the flag-staff.... The fort is built on a smaller scale, on a plan similar to that of all the other trading posts or forts of the company. Immediately behind the fort there were, in the prairie, seventy leather tents of the Crows." (Prince of Wied, p. 171.) Fort Clark stood on the right bank of the Missouri, and thus across the river from the original Fort Mandan built by Lewis and Clark in the fall of 1804. Maximilian has much to say of it and of Mr. Kipp. [10] This Fox was probably the cross variety of the Long-tailed Prairie Fox, _Vulpes macrourus_ of Baird, Stansbury's Exped. Great Salt Lake, June, 1852, p. 309; _Vulpes utah_ of Aud. and Bach. Quad. N. Am. iii., 1853, p. 255, pl. 151 (originally published by them in Proc. Acad. Philad., July, 1852, p. 114).--E. C. [11] No doubt the _Mammillaria vivipara_, a small globose species, quite different from the common _Opuntia_ or prickly pear of the Missouri region.--E. C. [12] The individual so designated was an important functionary in these villages, whose authority corresponded with that of our "chief of police," and was seldom if ever disputed.--E. C. [13] "It rises to the west of the Black Mts., across the northern extremity of which it finds a narrow, rapid passage along high perpendicular banks, then seeks the Missouri in a northeasterly direction, through a broken country with highlands bare of timber, and the low grounds particularly supplied with cottonwood, elm, small ash, box, alder, and an undergrowth of willow, red-wood, red-berry, and choke-cherry.... It enters the Missouri with a bold current, and is 134 yards wide, but its greatest depth is two feet and a half, which, joined to its rapidity and its sand-bars, makes the navigation difficult except for canoes." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893, pp. 267, 268.) "We came to a green spot at the mouth of the Little Missouri, which is reckoned to be 1670 miles from the mouth of the great Missouri. The chain of blue hills, with the same singular forms as we had seen before, appeared on the other side of this river." ("Travels in North America," Prince of Wied, p. 182.) [14] At this time the account of the Prince of Wied had not been published in English; that translation appeared December, 1843, two years after the German edition. [15] This is the Little Knife, or Upper Knife River, to be carefully distinguished from that Knife River at the mouth of which were the Minnetaree villages. It falls into the Missouri from the north, in Mountraille Co., 55 miles above the mouth of the Little Missouri. This is probably the stream named Goat-pen Creek by Lewis and Clark: see p. 274 of the edition of 1893.--E. C. [16] Or White Earth River of some maps, a comparatively small stream, eighteen and one half miles above the mouth of Little Knife River.--E. C. [17] Present name of the stream which flows into the Missouri from the north, in Buford Co. This is the last considerable affluent below the mouth of the Yellowstone, and the one which Lewis and Clark called White Earth River, by mistake. See last note.--E. C. [18] Maximilian, Prince of Wied. [19] This is a synonym of _Spermophilus tridecem-lineatus_, the Thirteen-lined, or Federation Sphermophile, the variety that is found about Fort Union being _S. t. pallidus_.--E. C. [20] Charles Larpenteur, whose MS. autobiography I possess.--E. C. [21] This is the first intimation we have of the discovery of the Missouri Titlark, which Audubon dedicated to Mr. Sprague under the name of _Alauda spragueii_, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 334, pl. 486. It is now well known as _Anthus (Neocorys) spraguei_.--E. C. [22] Here is the original indication of the curious Flicker of the Upper Missouri region, which Audubon named _Picus ayresii_, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 348, pl. 494, after W. O. Ayres. It is the _Colaptes hybridus_ of Baird, and the _C. aurato-mexicanus_ of Hartlaub; in which the specific characters of the Golden-winged and Red-shafted Flickers are mixed and obscured in every conceivable degree. We presently find Audubon puzzled by the curious birds, whose peculiarities have never been satisfactorily explained.--E. C. [23] The fact that the _Antilocapra americana_ does shed its horns was not satisfactorily established till several years after 1843. It was first brought to the notice of naturalists by Dr. C. A. Canfield of California, April 10, 1858, and soon afterward became generally known. (See Proc. Zoöl. Soc. Lond. 1865, p. 718, and 1866, p. 105.) Thereupon it became evident that, as Audubon says, these animals are not true Antelopes, and the family _Antilocapridæ_ was established for their reception. On the whole subject see article in Encycl. Amer. i., 1883, pp. 237-242, figs. 1-5.--E. C. [24] That the account given by Audubon is not exaggerated may be seen from the two accounts following; the first from Lewis and Clark, the second from the Prince of Wied:-- "The ancient Maha village had once consisted of 300 cabins, but was burnt about four years ago (1800), soon after the small-pox had destroyed four hundred men, and a proportion of women and children.... The accounts we have had of the effects of the small-pox are most distressing; ... when these warriors saw their strength wasting before a malady which they could not resist, their frenzy was extreme; they burnt their village, and many of them put to death their wives and children, to save them from so cruel an affliction, and that they might go together to some better country." "New Orleans, June 6, 1838. We have from the trading posts on the western frontier of Missouri the most frightful accounts of the ravages of small-pox among the Indians.... The number of victims within a few months is estimated at 30,000, and the pestilence is still spreading.... The small-pox was communicated to the Indians by a person who was on board the steamboat which went last summer to the mouth of the Yellowstone, to convey both the government presents for the Indians, and the goods for the barter trade of the fur-dealers.... The officers gave notice of it to the Indians, and exerted themselves to the utmost to prevent any intercourse between them and the vessel; but this was a vain attempt.... The disease first broke out about the 15th of June, 1837, in the village of the Mandans, from which it spread in all directions with unexampled fury.... Among the remotest tribes of the Assiniboins from fifty to one hundred died daily.... The ravages of the disorder were most frightful among the Mandans. That once powerful tribe was exterminated, with the exception of thirty persons. Their neighbors, the Gros Ventres and the Riccarees, were out on a hunting excursion at the time the disorder broke out, so that it did not reach them till a month later; yet half the tribe were destroyed by October 1. Very few of those who were attacked recovered.... Many put an end to their lives with knives or muskets, or by precipitating themselves from the summit of the rock near the settlement. The prairie all around is a vast field of death, covered with unburied corpses. The Gros Ventres and the Riccarees, lately amounting to 4,000 souls, were reduced to less than one half. The Assiniboins, 9,000 in number, are nearly exterminated. They, as well as the Crows and Blackfeet, endeavored to fly in all directions; but the disease pursued them.... The accounts of the Blackfeet are awful. The inmates of above 1,000 of their tents are already swept away. No language can picture the scene of desolation which the country presents. The above does not complete the terrible intelligence which we receive.... According to the most recent accounts, the number of Indians who have been swept away by the small-pox, on the Western frontier of the United States, amounts to more than 60,000." [25] _Quiscalus brewerii_ of Audubon, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 345, pl. 492, now known as _Scolecophagus cyanocephalus_. It was new to our fauna when thus dedicated by Audubon to his friend Dr. Thomas M. Brewer of Boston, but had already been described by Wagler from Mexico as _Psarocolius cyanocephalus_. It is an abundant bird in the West, where it replaces its near ally, _Scolecophagus carolinus_.--E. C. [26] This is no doubt the _Lepus artemisia_ of Bachman, Journ. Philad. Acad. viii., 1839, p. 94, later described and figured by Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. ii., 1851, p. 272, pl. 88. It is now generally rated as a subspecies of the common Cottontail, _L. sylvaticus_. Compare also _L. nuttalli_, Aud. and Bach. ii., 1851, p. 300, pl. 94.--E. C. [27] This is the same hybrid Woodpecker which has been already noted on p. 14.--E. C. [28] That is, the Chestnut-collared Longspur, _Calcarius ornatus_, which Mr. Bell was mistaken in supposing to breed in holes of the Ground Squirrels, or Spermophiles, as it nests on the open ground, like Sprague's Lark, McCown's Longspur, and most other small birds of the Western plains. But the surmise regarding the nesting of Say's Flycatcher is correct. This is a near relative of the common Pewit Flycatcher, _S. phoebe_, and its nesting places are similar.--E. C. [29] This passage shows that Audubon observed individuals of the hybrid Woodpecker which he considered identical with _Colaptes cafer_, and also others which he regarded as belonging to the supposed new species--his _C. ayresii_.--E. C. [30] The usual title or designation of the chief trader or person in charge of any establishment of a fur company.--E. C. [31] "The black-tailed deer never runs at full speed, but bounds with every foot from the ground at the same time, like the mule-deer." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.) [32] The above is a very good example of the way these Woodpeckers vary in color, presenting a case which, as Audubon justly observes, is a "puzzle to all the naturalists in the world." See note, p. 14.--E. C. [33] _Vulpes utah_ of Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. iii., 1853, p. 255, pl. 151, or _V. macrourus_ of Baird, as already noted. This is the Western variety of the common Red Fox, now usually called _Vulpes fulvus macrourus_.--E. C. [34] Among the "birds shot yesterday," July 26, when Audubon was too full of his Buffalo hunt to notice them in his Journal, were two, a male and a female, killed by Mr. Bell, which turned out to be new to science. For these were no other than Baird's Bunting, _Emberiza bairdii_ of Audubon, B. Amer, vii., 1844, p. 359, pl. 500. Audubon there says it was "during one of our Buffalo hunts, on the 26th July, 1843," and adds: "I have named this species after my young friend Spencer F. Baird, of Carlisle, Pennsylvania." Special interest attaches to this case; for the bird was not only the first one ever dedicated to Baird, but the last one ever named, described, and figured by Audubon; and the plate of it completes the series of exactly 500 plates which the octavo edition of the "Birds of America" contains. This bird became the _Centronyx bairdii_ of Baird, the _Passerculus bairdi_ of Coues, and the _Ammodramus bairdi_ of some other ornithologists. See "Birds of the Colorado Valley," i., 1878, p. 630. One of Audubon's specimens shot this day is catalogued in Baird's Birds of N. Am., 1858, p. 441.--E. C. [35] See Bell's account of the trip, page 176. [36] Nuttall's Poor-will, now known as _Phalænoptilus nuttalli_, which has a two-syllabled note, rendered "oh-will" in the text beyond.--E. C. [37] A _parflèche_ is a hide, usually a Buffalo bull's, denuded of hair, dressed and stretched to the desired shape. All articles made from this hide are also called parflèche, such as wallets, pouches, etc. [38] Niobrara River; for which, and for others here named, see the previous note, date of May 20. [39] On the south side of the Missouri, in present Nebraska, a short distance above the mouth of the Big Sioux. This small stream is Roloje Creek of Lewis and Clark, Ayoway River of Nicollet, appearing by error as "Norway" and "Nioway" Creek on General Land Office maps.--E. C. [40] J. H. K. Burgwin. See a previous note, date of May 10. [41] Of Maine; in 1843 a second lieutenant of the First Dragoons. He rose during the Civil War to be lieutenant-colonel of the Fourth Cavalry, and Brevet Major-General of Volunteers; died Jan. 7, 1873. [42] _Branta hutchinsi._ [43] Audubon's daughter-in-law, Mrs. V. G. Audubon, writes: "He returned on the 6th of November, 1843. It was a bright day, and the whole family, with his old friend Captain Cummings, were on the piazza waiting for the carriage to come from Harlem [then the only way of reaching New York by rail] There were two roads, and hearing wheels, some ran one way and some another, each hoping to be the first to see him; but he had left the carriage at the top of the hill, and came on foot straight down the steepest part, so that those who remained on the piazza had his first kiss. He kissed his sons as well as the ladies of the party. He had on a green blanket coat with fur collar and cuffs; his hair and beard were very long, and he made a fine and striking appearance. In this dress his son John painted his portrait." [44] See page 126. [45] These extracts, as well as the descriptions by Mr. Denig and Mr. Culbertson, of Forts Union and McKenzie, which follow, are in Audubon's writing, at the end of one of the Missouri River journals, and are given as descriptions of the life and habitations of those early western pioneers and fur-traders. EPISODES[46] These Episodes were introduced in the letterpress of the first three volumes of the "Ornithological Biographies," but are not in the octavo edition of the "Birds of America," and I believe no entire reprint of them has been made before. So far as possible they have been arranged chronologically. Louisville, in Kentucky. 1808. The Ohio. 1810. Fishing in the Ohio. 1810. A Wild Horse. 1811. Breaking up of the Ice. 1811. The Prairie. 1812. The Regulators. The Earthquake. 1812. The Hurricane. 1814. Colonel Boone. 1815. Natchez in 1820. The Lost Portfolio. 1820. The Original Painter. 1821. The Cougar. 1821. The Runaway. 1821. A Tough Walk for a Youth. 1822. Hospitality in the Woods. 1822. Niagara. 1824. Meadville. 1824. The Burning of the Forests. 1824. A Long Calm at Sea. 1826. Still Becalmed. 1826. Great Egg Harbor. 1829. The Great Pine Swamp. 1829. The Lost One. 1832. The Live-Oakers. 1832. Spring Garden. 1832. Death of a Pirate. 1832. Wreckers of Florida. 1832. St. John's River, in Florida. 1832. The Florida Keys, No. 1. 1832. The Florida Keys, No. 2. 1832. The Turtlers. 1832. The Form of the Waters. 1833. Journey in New Brunswick and Maine. 1833. A Moose Hunt. 1833. Labrador. 1833. The Eggers of Labrador. 1833. The Squatters of Labrador. 1833. Cod-Fishing. 1833. A Ball in Newfoundland. 1833. The Bay of Fundy. 1833. A Flood. The Squatters of the Mississippi. Improvements in the Navigation of the Mississippi. Kentucky Sports. The Traveller and the Pole-cat. Deer-Hunting. The Eccentric Naturalist. Scipio and the Bear. A Kentucky Barbecue. A Raccoon Hunt in Kentucky. The Pitting of Wolves. The Opossum. A Maple-Sugar Camp. The White Perch. The American Sun-Perch. My Style of drawing Birds. FOOTNOTE: [46] One episode has been added,--"My Style of drawing Birds,"--and three have been omitted, that on Bewick being in the "Journal of England and France," and the others not of general interest. EPISODES LOUISVILLE IN KENTUCKY Louisville in Kentucky has always been a favorite place of mine. The beauty of its situation on the banks of _La Belle Rivière_, just at the commencement of the famed rapids, commonly called the Falls of the Ohio, had attracted my notice, and when I removed to it, immediately after my marriage, I found it more agreeable than ever. The prospect from the town is such that it would please even the eye of a Swiss. It extends along the river for seven or eight miles, and is bounded on the opposite side by a fine range of low mountains, known by the name of the Silver Hills. The rumbling sound of the waters as they tumble over the rock-paved bed of the rapids is at all times soothing to the ear. Fish and game are abundant. But, above all, the generous hospitality of the inhabitants, and the urbanity of their manners, had induced me to fix upon it as a place of residence; and I did so with the more pleasure when I found that my wife was as much gratified as myself by the kind attentions which were shown to us, utter strangers as we were, on our arrival. No sooner had we landed, and made known our intention of remaining, than we were introduced to the principal inhabitants of the place and its vicinity, although we had not brought a single letter of introduction, and could not but see, from their unremitting kindness, that the Virginian spirit of hospitality displayed itself in all the words and actions of our newly formed friends. I wish here to name those persons who so unexpectedly came forward to render our stay among them agreeable, but feel at a loss with whom to begin, so equally deserving are they of our gratitude. The Croghans, the Clarks (our great traveller included), the Berthouds, the Galts, the Maupins, the Tarascons, the Beals, and the Booths, form but a small portion of the long list which I could give. The matrons acted like mothers to my wife, the daughters proved agreeable associates, and the husbands and sons were friends and companions to me. If I absented myself on business, or otherwise, for any length of time, my wife was removed to the hospitable abode of some friend in the neighborhood until my return, and then, kind reader, I was several times obliged to spend a week or more with these good people before they could be prevailed upon to let us return to our own residence. We lived for two years at Louisville, where we enjoyed many of the best pleasures which this life can afford; and whenever we have since chanced to pass that way, we have found the kindness of our former friends unimpaired. During my residence at Louisville, much of my time was employed in my ever favorite pursuits. I drew and noted the habits of everything which I procured, and my collection was daily augmenting, as every individual who carried a gun always sent me such birds or quadrupeds as he thought might prove useful to me. My portfolios already contained upwards of two hundred drawings. Dr. W. C. Galt being a botanist, was often consulted by me, as well as his friend, Dr. Ferguson. Mr. Gilly drew beautifully, and was fond of my pursuits. So was my friend, and now relative, N. Berthoud. As I have already said, our time was spent in the most agreeable manner, through the hospitable friendship of our acquaintance. One fair morning I was surprised by the sudden entrance into our counting-room of Mr. Alexander Wilson, the celebrated author of the "American Ornithology," of whose existence I had never until that moment been apprised. This happened in March, 1810. How well do I remember him, as he walked up to me! His long, rather hooked nose, the keenness of his eyes, and his prominent cheek bones, stamped his countenance with a peculiar character. His dress, too, was of a kind not usually seen in that part of the country,--a short coat, trousers, and a waistcoat of gray cloth. His stature was not above the middle size. He had two volumes under his arm, and as he approached the table at which I was working, I thought I discovered something like astonishment in his countenance. He, however, immediately proceeded to disclose the object of his visit, which was to procure subscriptions for his work. He opened his books, explained the nature of his occupations, and requested my patronage. I felt surprised and gratified at the sight of his volumes, turned over a few of the plates, and had already taken a pen to write my name in his favor, when my partner, rather abruptly, said to me in French, "My dear Audubon, what induces you to subscribe to this work? Your drawings are certainly far better, and again, you must know as much of the habits of American birds as this gentlemen." Whether Mr. Wilson understood French or not, or if the suddenness with which I paused disappointed him, I cannot tell; but I clearly perceived he was not pleased. Vanity and the encomiums of my friend prevented me from subscribing. Mr. Wilson asked me if I had many drawings of birds. I rose, took down a large portfolio, laid it on the table, and showed him, as I would show you, kind reader, or any other person fond of such subjects, the whole of the contents, with the same patience with which he had shown me his own engravings. His surprise appeared great, as he told me he never had the most distant idea that any other individual than himself had been engaged in forming such a collection. He asked me if it was my intention to publish, and when I answered in the negative, his surprise seemed to increase. And, truly, such was not my intention; for until long after, when I meet the Prince of Musignano in Philadelphia, I had not the least idea of presenting the fruits of my labors to the world. Mr. Wilson now examined my drawings with care, asked if I should have any objections to lending him a few during his stay, to which I replied that I had none; he then bade me good-morning, not, however, until I had made an arrangement to explore the woods in the vicinity with him, and had promised to procure for him some birds of which I had drawings in my collection, but which he had never seen. It happened that he lodged in the same house with us, but his retired habits, I thought, exhibited either a strong feeling of discontent or a decided melancholy. The Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute made me melancholy too, and I felt for him. I presented him to my wife and friends, and seeing that he was all enthusiasm, exerted myself as much as was in my power to procure for him the specimens which he wanted. We hunted together, and obtained birds which he had never before seen; but, reader, I did not subscribe to his work, for, even at that time, my collection was greater than his. Thinking that perhaps he might be pleased to publish the results of my researches, I offered them to him, merely on condition that what I had drawn, or might afterwards draw and send to him, should be mentioned in his work as coming from my pencil. I, at the same time, offered to open a correspondence with him, which I thought might prove beneficial to us both. He made no reply to either proposal, and before many days had elapsed, left Louisville, on his way to New Orleans, little knowing how much his talents were appreciated in our little town, at least by myself and my friends. Some time elapsed, during which I never heard of him, or of his work. At length, having occasion to go to Philadelphia, I, immediately after my arrival there, inquired for him, and paid him a visit. He was then drawing a White-headed Eagle. He received me with civility, and took me to the exhibition rooms of Rembrandt Peale, the artist, who had then portrayed Napoleon crossing the Alps. Mr. Wilson spoke not of birds nor drawings. Feeling, as I was forced to do, that my company was not agreeable, I parted from him; and after that I never saw him again. But judge of my astonishment sometime after, when, on reading the thirty-ninth page of the ninth volume of "American Ornithology," I found in it the following paragraph:-- "_March 23, 1810._ I bade adieu to Louisville, to which place I had four letters of recommendation, and was taught to expect much of everything there; but neither received one act of civility from those to whom I was recommended, one subscriber nor one new bird; though I delivered my letters, ransacked the woods repeatedly, and visited all the characters likely to subscribe. Science or literature has not one friend in this place." THE OHIO When my wife, my eldest son (then an infant), and myself were returning from Pennsylvania to Kentucky, we found it expedient, the waters being unusually low, to provide ourselves with a _skiff_, to enable us to proceed to our abode at Henderson. I purchased a large, commodious, and light boat of that denomination. We procured a mattress, and our friends furnished us with ready prepared viands. We had two stout negro rowers, and in this trim we left the village of Shippingport, in expectation of reaching the place of our destination in a very few days. It was in the month of October. The autumnal tints already decorated the shores of that queen of rivers, the Ohio. Every tree was hung with long and flowing festoons of different species of vines, many loaded with clustered fruits of varied brilliancy, their rich bronzed carmine mingling beautifully with the yellow foliage, which now predominated over the yet green leaves, reflecting more lively tints from the clear stream than ever landscape painter portrayed, or poet imagined. The days were yet warm. The sun had assumed the rich and glowing hue which at that season produces the singular phenomenon called there the "Indian Summer." The moon had rather passed the meridian of her grandeur. We glided down the river, meeting no other ripple of the water than that formed by the propulsion of our boat. Leisurely we moved along, gazing all day on the grandeur and beauty of the wild scenery around us. Now and then a large catfish rose to the surface of the water, in pursuit of a shoal of fry, which, starting simultaneously from the liquid element like so many silver arrows, produced a shower of light, while the pursuer with open jaws seized the stragglers, and, with a splash of his tail, disappeared from our view. Other fishes we heard, uttering beneath our bark a rumbling noise, the strange sound of which we discovered to proceed from the white perch, for on casting our net from the bow, we caught several of that species, when the noise ceased for a time. Nature, in her varied arrangements, seems to have felt a partiality towards this portion of our country. As the traveller ascends or descends the Ohio, he cannot help remarking that alternately, nearly the whole length of the river, the margin, on one side, is bounded by lofty hills and a rolling surface, while on the other, extensive plains of the richest alluvial land are seen as far as the eye can command the view. Islands of varied size and form rise here and there from the bosom of the water, and the winding course of the stream frequently brings you to places where the idea of being on a river of great length changes to that of floating on a lake of moderate extent. Some of these islands are of considerable size and value; while others, small and insignificant, seem as if intended for contrast, and as serving to enhance the general interest of the scenery. These little islands are frequently overflowed during great freshets or floods, and receive at their heads prodigious heaps of drifted timber. We foresaw with great concern the alterations that cultivation would soon produce along those delightful banks. As night came, sinking in darkness the broader portions of the river, our minds became affected by strong emotions, and wandered far beyond the present moments. The tinkling of bells told us that the cattle which bore them were gently roving from valley to valley in search of food, or returning to their distant homes. The hooting of the Great Owl, or the muffled noise of its wings, as it sailed smoothly over the stream, were matters of interest to us; so was the sound of the boatman's horn, as it came winding more and more softly from afar. When daylight returned, many songsters burst forth with echoing notes, more and more mellow to the listening ear. Here and there the lonely cabin of a squatter struck the eye, giving note of commencing civilization. The crossing of the stream by a Deer foretold how soon the hills would be covered with snow. Many sluggish flatboats we overtook and passed; some laden with produce from the different head-waters of the small rivers that pour their tributary streams into the Ohio; others, of less dimensions, crowded with emigrants from distant parts, in search of a new home. Purer pleasures I never felt; nor have you, reader, I ween, unless indeed you have felt the like, and in such company. The margins of the shores and of the river were, at this season, amply supplied with game. A Wild Turkey, a Grouse, or a Blue-winged Teal, could be procured in a few moments; and we fared well, for, whenever we pleased we landed, struck up a fire, and provided as we were with the necessary utensils, procured a good repast. Several of these happy days passed, and we neared our home, when, one evening, not far from Pigeon Creek (a small stream which runs into the Ohio from the State of Indiana), a loud and strange noise was heard, so like the yells of Indian warfare, that we pulled at our oars, and made for the opposite side as fast and as quietly a possible. The sounds increased, we imagined we heard cries of "murder;" and as we knew that some depredations had lately been committed in the country by dissatisfied parties of aborigines, we felt for a while extremely uncomfortable. Ere long, however, our minds became more calmed, and we plainly discovered that the singular uproar was produced by an enthusiastic set of Methodists, who had wandered thus far out of the common way for the purpose of holding one of their annual camp-meetings, under the shade of a beech forest. Without meeting with any other interruption, we reached Henderson, distant from Shippingport, by water, about two hundred miles. When I think of these times,[47] and call back to my mind the grandeur and beauty of those almost uninhabited shores; when I picture to myself the dense and lofty summits of the forests, that everywhere spread along the hills and overhung the margins of the stream, unmolested by the axe of the settler; when I know how dearly purchased the safe navigation of that river has been, by the blood of many worthy Virginians; when I see that no longer any aborigines are to be found there, and that the vast herds of Elk, Deer, and Buffaloes which once pastured on these hills, and in these valleys, making for themselves great roads to the several salt-springs, have ceased to exist; when I reflect that all this grand portion of our Union, instead of being in a state of nature, is now more or less covered with villages, farms, and towns, where the din of hammers and machinery is constantly heard; that the woods are fast disappearing under the axe by day, and the fire by night; that hundreds of steamboats are gliding to and fro, over the whole length of the majestic river, forcing commerce to take root and to prosper at every spot; when I see the surplus population of Europe coming to assist in the destruction of the forest, and transplanting civilization into its darkest recesses; when I remember that these extraordinary changes have all taken place in the short period of twenty years, I pause, wonder, and although I know all to be fact, can scarcely believe its reality. Whether these changes are for the better or for the worse, I shall not pretend to say; but in whatever way my conclusions may incline, I feel with regret that there are on record no satisfactory accounts of the state of that portion of the country, from the time when our people first settled in it. This has not been because no one in America is able to accomplish such an undertaking. Our Irvings and our Coopers have proved themselves fully competent for the task. It has more probably been because the changes have succeeded each other with such rapidity as almost to rival the movements of their pens. However, it is not too late yet; and I sincerely hope that either or both of them will ere long furnish the generations to come with those delightful descriptions which they are so well qualified to give, of the original state of a country that has been so rapidly forced to change her form and attire under the influence of increasing population. Yes, I hope to read, ere I close my earthly career, accounts from those delightful writers of the progress of civilization in our Western Country. They will speak of the Clarks, the Croghans, the Boones, and many other men of great and daring enterprise. They will analyze, as it were, into each component part, the country as it once existed, and will render the picture, as it ought to be, immortal. FISHING IN THE OHIO It is with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret that I recall to my mind the many pleasant days I have spent on the shores of the Ohio. The visions of former years crowd on my view, as I picture to myself the fertile soil and genial atmosphere of our great western garden, Kentucky, and view the placid waters of the fair stream that flows along its western boundary. Methinks I am now on the banks of the noble river. Twenty years of my life have returned to me; my sinews are strong, and the "bowspring of my spirit is not slack;" bright visions of the future float before me, as I sit on a grassy bank, gazing on the glittering waters. Around me are dense forests of lofty trees and thickly tangled undergrowth, amid which are heard the songs of feathered choristers, and from whose boughs hang clusters of glowing fruits and beautiful flowers. Reader, I am very happy. But now the dream has vanished, and here I am in the British Athens, penning an episode for my Ornithological Biography, and having before me sundry well-thumbed and weather-beaten folios, from which I expect to be able to extract some interesting particulars respecting the methods employed in those days in catching catfish. But before entering on my subject I will present you with a brief description of the place of my residence on the banks of the Ohio. When I first landed at Henderson in Kentucky, my family, like the village, was quite small. The latter consisted of six or eight houses, the former of my wife, myself, and a young child. Few as the houses were, we fortunately found one empty. It was a log _cabin_, not a log _house_; but as better could not be had, we were pleased. Well, then, we were located. The country around was thinly peopled, and all purchasable provisions rather scarce; but our neighbors were friendly, and we had brought with us flour and bacon-hams. Our pleasures were those of young people not long married, and full of life and merriment; a single smile from our infant was, I assure you, more valued by us than all the treasure of a modern Croesus would have been. The woods were amply stocked with game, the river with fish; and now and then the hoarded sweets of the industrious bees were brought from some hollow tree to our little table. Our child's cradle was our richest piece of furniture, our guns and fishing-lines our most serviceable implements, for although we began to cultivate a garden, the rankness of the soil kept the seeds we planted far beneath the tall weeds that sprung up the first year. I had then a partner, a "man of business," and there was also with me a Kentucky youth, who much preferred the sports of the forest and river to either day-book or ledger. He was naturally, as I may say, a good woodsman, hunter, and angler, and, like me, thought chiefly of procuring supplies of fish and fowl. To the task accordingly we directed all our energies. Quantity as well as quality was an object with us, and although we well knew that three species of catfish existed in the Ohio, and that all were sufficiently good, we were not sure as to the best method of securing them. We determined, however, to work on a large scale, and immediately commenced making a famous "trot-line." Now, reader, as you may probably know nothing about this engine, I shall describe it to you. A trot-line is one of considerable length and thickness, both qualities, however, varying according to the extent of water, and the size of the fish you expect to catch. As the Ohio, at Henderson, is rather more than half a mile in breadth, and as catfishes weigh from one to an hundred pounds, we manufactured a line which measured about two hundred yards in length, as thick as the little finger of some fair one yet in her teens, and as white as the damsel's finger well could be, for it was wholly of Kentucky cotton, just, let me tell you, because that substance stands the water better than either hemp or flax. The main line finished, we made a hundred smaller ones, about five feet in length, to each of which we fastened a capital hook of Kirby and Co.'s manufacture. Now for the bait! It was the month of May. Nature had brought abroad myriads of living beings; they covered the earth, glided through the water, and swarmed in the air. The catfish is a voracious creature, not at all nice in feeding, but one who, like the Vulture, contents himself with carrion when nothing better can be had. A few experiments proved to us that, of the dainties with which we tried to allure them to our hooks, they gave a decided preference, at that season, to _live toads_. These animals were very abundant about Henderson. They ramble or feed, whether by instinct or reason, during early or late twilight more than at any other time, especially after a shower, and are unable to bear the heat of the sun's rays for several hours before and after noon. We have a good number of these crawling things in America, particularly in the western and southern parts of the Union, and are very well supplied with frogs, snakes, lizards, and even crocodiles, which we call alligators; but there is enough of food for them all, and we generally suffer them to creep about, to leap or to flounder as they please, or in accordance with the habits which have been given them by the great Conductor of all. During the month of May, and indeed until autumn, we found an abundant supply of toads. Many "fine ladies," no doubt, would have swooned, or at least screamed and gone into hysterics, had they seen one of our baskets filled with these animals, all alive and plump. Fortunately we had no tragedy queen or sentimental spinster at Henderson. Our Kentucky ladies mind their own affairs, and seldom meddle with those of others farther than to do all they can for their comfort. The toads, collected one by one, and brought home in baskets, were deposited in a barrel for use. And now that night is over, and as it is the first trial we are going to give our trot-line, just watch our movements from that high bank beside the stream. There sit down under the large cotton-wood tree. You are in no danger of catching cold at this season. My assistant follows me with a gaff hook, while I carry the paddle of our canoe; a boy bears on his back a hundred toads as good as ever hopped. Our line--oh, I forgot to inform you that we had set it last night, but without the small ones you now see on my arm. Fastening one end to yon sycamore, we paddled our canoe, with the rest nicely coiled in the stern, and soon reached its extremity, when I threw over the side the heavy stone fastened to it as a sinker. All this was done that it might be thoroughly soaked, and without kinks or snarls in the morning. Now, you observe, we launch our light bark, the toads in the basket are placed next to my feet in the bow; I have the small lines across my knees already looped at the end. Nat, with the paddle, and assisted by the current, keeps the stern of our boat directly down stream; and David fixes by the skin of the back and hind parts, the living bait to the hook. I hold the main line all the while, and now, having fixed one linelet to it, over goes the latter. Can you see the poor toad kicking and flouncing in the water? "No?"--well, I do. You observe at length that all the lines, one after another, have been fixed, baited, and dropped. We now return swiftly to the shore. "What a delightful thing is fishing!" have I more than once heard some knowing angler exclaim, who, with "the patience of Job," stands or slowly moves along some rivulet twenty feet wide, and three or four feet deep, with a sham fly to allure a trout, which, when at length caught, weighs half a pound. Reader, I never had such patience. Although I have waited ten years, and yet see only three-fourths of the "Birds of America" engraved, although some of the drawings of that work were patiently made so long ago as 1805, and although I have to wait with patience two years more before I see the end of it, I never could hold a line or a rod for many minutes, unless I had--not a "nibble" but a hearty bite, and could throw the fish at once over my head on the ground. No, no--if I fish for trout, I must soon give up, or catch as I have done in Pennsylvania's Lehigh, or the streams of Maine, fifty or more in a couple of hours. But the trot-line is in the river, and there _it_ may patiently wait, until I visit it towards night. Now I take up my gun and note-book, and accompanied by my dog, intend to ramble through the woods until breakfast. Who knows but I may shoot a turkey or a deer? It is barely four o'clock, and see what delightful mornings we have at this season in Kentucky! Evening has returned. The heavens have already opened their twinkling eyes, although the orb of day has yet scarcely withdrawn itself from our view. How calm is the air! The nocturnal insects and quadrupeds are abroad; the Bear is moving through the dark cane-brake, the land Crows are flying towards their roosts, their aquatic brethren towards the interior of the forests, the Squirrel is barking his adieu, and the Barred Owl glides silently and swiftly from his retreat to seize upon the gay and noisy animal. The boat is pushed off from the shore; the main line is in my hands; now it shakes, surely some fish have been hooked. Hand over hand I proceed to the first hook. Nothing there! but now I feel several jerks, stronger and more frequent than before. Several hooks I pass; but see, what a fine catfish is twisting round and round the little line to which he is fast! Nat, look to your gaff--hook him close to the tail. Keep it up, my dear fellow!--there now, we have him. More are on, and we proceed. When we have reached the end many goodly fishes are lying in the bottom of our skiff. New bait has been put on, and, as we return, I congratulate myself and my companions on the success of our efforts; for there lies fish enough for ourselves and our neighbors. A trot-line at this period was perfectly safe at Henderson, should I have allowed it to remain for weeks at a time. The navigation was mostly performed by flat-bottomed boats, which during calm nights floated in the middle current of the river, so that the people on board could not observe the fish that had been hooked. Not a single steamer had as yet ever gone down the Ohio; now and then, it is true, a barge or a keel-boat was propelled by poles and oars, but the nature of the river is such at that place, that these boats when ascending were obliged to keep near the Indiana shore, until above the landing of the village (below which I always fixed my lines), when they pulled across the stream. Several species or varieties of catfish are found in the Ohio, namely, the Blue, the White, and the Mud Cats, which differ considerably in their form and color, as well as in their habits. The Mud Cat is the best, although it seldom attains so great a size as the rest. The Blue Cat is the coarsest, but when not exceeding from four to six pounds it affords tolerable eating. The White Cat is preferable to the last, but not so common; and the Yellow Mud Cat is the best and rarest. Of the Blue kind some have been caught that weighed a hundred pounds. Such fish, however, are looked upon as monsters. The form in all the varieties inclines to the conical, the head being disproportionately large, while the body tapers away to the root of the tail. The eyes, which are small, are placed far apart, and situated as it were on the top of the forehead, but laterally. Their mouth is wide and armed with numerous small and very sharp teeth, while it is defended by single-sided spines, which, when the fish is in the agonies of death, stand out at right angles, and are so firmly fixed as sometimes to break before you can loosen them. The catfish has also feelers of proportionate length, apparently intended to guide its motions over the bottom, whilst its eyes are watching the objects passing above. Trot-lines cannot be used with much success unless during the middle stages of the water. When very low, it is too clear, and the fish, although extremely voracious, will rarely risk its life for a toad. When the waters are rising rapidly, your trot-lines are likely to be carried away by one of the numerous trees that float in the stream. A "happy medium" is therefore best. When the waters are rising fast and have become muddy, a single line is used for catching catfish. It is fastened to the elastic branch of some willow several feet above the water, and must be twenty or thirty feet in length. The entrails of a Wild Turkey, or a piece of fresh venison furnish good bait; and if, when you visit your line the next morning after you have set it, the water has not risen too much, the swinging of the willow indicates that a fish has been hooked, and you have only to haul the prize ashore. One evening I saw that the river was rising at a great rate, although it was still within its banks. I knew that the white perch were running, that is, ascending the river from the sea, and, anxious to have a tasting of that fine fish, I baited a line with a crayfish, and fastened it to the bough of a tree. Next morning as I pulled in the line, it felt as if fast at the bottom, yet on drawing it slowly I found that it came. Presently I felt a strong pull, the line slipped through my fingers, and next instant a large catfish leaped out of the water. I played it for a while until it became exhausted, when I drew it ashore. It had swallowed the hook, and I cut off the line close to its head. Then passing a stick through one of the gills, I and a servant tugged the fish home. On cutting it open, we, to our surprise, found in its stomach a fine white perch, dead, but not in the least injured. The perch had been lightly hooked, and the catfish, after swallowing it, had been hooked in the stomach, so that, although the instrument was small, the torture caused by it no doubt tended to disable the catfish. The perch we ate, and the cat, which was fine, we divided into four parts, and distributed among our neighbors. My most worthy friend and relative, Nicholas Berthoud, Esq., who formerly resided at Shippingport in Kentucky, but now in New York, a better fisher than whom I never knew, once placed a trot-line in the basin below "Tarascon's Mills," at the foot of the Rapids of the Ohio. I cannot recollect the bait which was used; but on taking up the line we obtained a remarkably fine catfish, in which was found the greater part of a sucking pig. I may here add that I have introduced a figure of the catfish in Plate XXXI. of the first volume of my illustrations, in which I have represented the White-headed Eagle. A WILD HORSE While residing at Henderson in Kentucky, I became acquainted with a gentleman who had just returned from the country in the neighborhood of the head-waters of the Arkansas River, where he had purchased a newly caught "Wild Horse," a descendant of some of the horses originally brought from Spain, and set at liberty in the vast prairies of the Mexican lands. The animal was by no means handsome; he had a large head, with a considerable prominence in its frontal region, his thick and unkempt mane hung along his neck to the breast, and his tail, too scanty to be called flowing, almost reached the ground. But his chest was broad, his legs clean and sinewy, and his eyes and nostrils indicated spirit, vigor, and endurance. He had never been shod, and although he had been ridden hard, and had performed a long journey, his black hoofs had suffered no damage. His color inclined to bay, the legs of a deeper tint, and gradually darkening below until they became nearly black. I inquired what might be the value of such an animal among the Osage Indians, and was answered that, the horse being only four years old, he had given for him, with the tree and the buffalo-tug fastened to his head, articles equivalent to about thirty-five dollars. The gentleman added that he had never mounted a better horse, and had very little doubt that, if well fed, he could carry a man of ordinary weight from thirty-five to forty miles a day for a month, as he had travelled at that rate upon him, without giving him any other food than the grass of the prairies, or the canes of the bottom lands, until he had crossed the Mississippi at Natchez, when he fed him with corn. Having no farther use for him, now that he had ended his journey, he said he was anxious to sell him, and thought he might prove a good hunting-horse for me, as his gaits were easy, and he stood fire as well as any charger he had seen. Having some need of a horse possessed of qualities similar to those represented as belonging to the one in question, I asked if I might be allowed to try him. "Try him, sir, and welcome; nay, if you will agree to feed him and take care of him, you may keep him for a month if you choose." So I had the horse taken to the stable and fed. About two hours afterwards, I took my gun, mounted the prairie nag, and went to the woods. I was not long in finding him very sensible to the spur, and as I observed that he moved with great ease, both to himself and his rider, I thought of leaping over a log several feet in diameter, to judge how far he might prove serviceable in deer-driving or bear-hunting. So I gave him the reins, and pressed my legs to his belly without using the spur, on which, as if aware that I wished to try his mettle, he bounded off, and cleared the log as lightly as an elk. I turned him, and made him leap the same log several times, which he did with equal ease, so that I was satisfied of his ability to clear any impediment in the woods. I next determined to try his strength, for which purpose I took him to a swamp, which I knew was muddy and tough. He entered it with his nose close to the water, as if to judge of its depth, at which I was well pleased, as he thus evinced due caution. I then rode through the swamp in different directions, and found him prompt, decided, and unflinching. Can he swim well? thought I,--for there are horses, which, although excellent, cannot swim at all, but will now and then lie on their side, as if contented to float with the current, when the rider must either swim and drag them to the shore, or abandon them. To the Ohio then I went, and rode into the water. He made off obliquely against the current, his head well raised above the surface, his nostrils expanded, his breathing free, and without any of the grunting noise emitted by many horses on such occasions. I turned him down the stream, then directly against it, and finding him quite to my mind, I returned to the shore, on reaching which he stopped of his own accord, spread his legs, and almost shook me off my seat. After this, I put him to a gallop, and returning home through the woods, shot from the saddle a Turkey-cock, which he afterwards approached as if he had been trained to the sport, and enabled me to take it up without dismounting. As soon as I reached the house of Dr. Rankin, where I then resided, I sent word to the owner of the horse that I should be glad to see him. When he came, I asked him what price he would take; he said, fifty dollars in silver was the lowest. So I paid the money, took a bill of sale, and became master of the horse. The doctor, who was an excellent judge, said smiling to me, "Mr. Audubon, when you are tired of him, I will refund you the fifty dollars, for depend upon it he is a capital horse." The mane was trimmed, but the tail left untouched; the doctor had him shod "all round," and for several weeks he was ridden by my wife, who was highly pleased with him. Business requiring that I should go to Philadelphia, Barro (he was so named after his former owner) was put up for ten days, and well tended. The time of my departure having arrived, I mounted him, and set off at the rate of four miles an hour--but here I must give you the line of my journey, that you may, if you please, follow my course on some such map as that of Tanner's. From Henderson through Russellville, Nashville, and Knoxville, Abingdon in Virginia, the Natural Bridge, Harrisonburg, Winchester, and Harper's Ferry, Frederick, and Lancaster, to Philadelphia. There I remained four days, after which I returned by way of Pittsburgh, Wheeling, Zanesville, Chillicothe, Lexington, and Louisville, to Henderson. But the nature of my business was such as to make me deviate considerably from the main roads, and I computed the whole distance at nearly two thousand miles, the post roads being rather more than sixteen hundred. I travelled not less than forty miles a day, and it was allowed by the doctor that my horse was in as good condition on my return as when I set out. Such a journey on a single horse may seem somewhat marvellous in the eyes of a European; but in these days almost every merchant had to perform the like, some from all parts of the western country, even from St. Louis on the Missouri, although the travellers not unfrequently, on their return, sold their horses at Baltimore, Philadelphia, or Pittsburg, at which latter place they took boat. My wife rode on a single horse from Henderson to Philadelphia, travelling at the same rate. The country was then comparatively new; few coaches travelled, and in fact the roads were scarcely fit for carriages. About twenty days were considered necessary for performing a journey on horseback from Louisville to Philadelphia, whereas now the same distance may be travelled in six or seven days,[48] or even sometimes less, this depending on the height of the water in the Ohio. It may not be uninteresting to you to know the treatment which the horse received on those journeys. I rose every morning before day, cleaned my horse, pressed his back with my hand, to see if it had been galled, and placed on it a small blanket folded double, in such a manner that when the saddle was put on, half of the cloth was turned over it. The surcingle, beneath which the saddlebags were placed, confined the blanket to the seat, and to the pad behind was fastened the great coat or cloak, tightly rolled up. The bridle had a snaffle bit; a breast-plate was buckled in front to each skirt, to render the seat secure during an ascent; but my horse required no crupper, his shoulders being high and well-formed. On starting he trotted off at the rate of four miles an hour, which he continued. I usually travelled from fifteen to twenty miles before breakfast, and after the first hour allowed my horse to drink as much as he would. When I halted for breakfast, I generally stopped two hours, cleaned the horse, and gave him as much corn-blades as he could eat. I then rode on until within half an hour of sunset, when I watered him well, poured a bucket of cold water over his back, had his skin well rubbed, his feet examined and cleaned. The rack was filled with blades, the trough with corn, a good-sized pumpkin or some hen's-eggs, whenever they could be procured, were thrown in, and if oats were to be had, half a bushel of them was given in preference to corn, which is apt to heat some horses. In the morning, the nearly empty trough and rack afforded sufficient evidence of the state of his health. I had not ridden him many days before he became so attached to me that on coming to some limpid stream in which I had a mind to bathe, I could leave him at liberty to graze, and he would not drink if told not to do so. He was ever sure-footed, and in such continual good spirits that now and then, when a Turkey happened to rise from a dusting-place before me, the mere inclination of my body forward was enough to bring him to a smart canter, which he would continue until the bird left the road for the woods, when he never failed to resume his usual trot. On my way homeward I met at the crossings of the Juniata River a gentleman from New Orleans, whose name is Vincent Nolte.[49] He was mounted on a superb horse, for which he had paid three hundred dollars, and a servant on horseback led another as a change. I was then an utter stranger to him, and as I approached and praised his horse, he not very courteously observed that he wished I had as good a one. Finding that he was going to Bedford to spend the night, I asked him at what hour he would get there. "Just soon enough to have some trout ready for our supper, provided you will join when you get there." I almost imagined that Barro understood our conversation; he pricked up his ears, and lengthened his pace, on which Mr. Nolte caracoled his horse, and then put him to a quick trot; but all in vain, for I reached the hotel nearly a quarter of an hour before him, ordered the trout, saw to the putting away of my good horse, and stood at the door ready to welcome my companion. From that day Vincent Nolte has been a friend to me. It was from him I received letters of introduction to the Rathbones of Liverpool, for which I shall ever be grateful to him. We rode together as far as Shippingport, where my worthy friend Nicholas Berthoud, Esq., resided, and on parting with me he repeated what he had many times said before, that he never had seen so serviceable a creature as Barro. If I recollect rightly, I gave a short verbal account of this journey, and of the good qualities of my horse, to my learned friend J. Skinner, Esq., of Baltimore, who, I believe, has noticed them in his excellent Sporting Magazine. We agreed that the importation of horses of this kind from the Western prairies might improve our breeds generally; and judging from those which I have seen, I am inclined to think that some of them may prove fit for the course. A few days after reaching Henderson, I parted with Barro, not without regret, for a hundred and twenty dollars. BREAKING UP OF THE ICE While proceeding up the Mississippi above its junction with the Ohio,[50] I found to my great mortification that its navigation was obstructed by ice. The chief conductor of my bark, who was a French Canadian, was therefore desired to take us to a place suitable for winter quarters, which he accordingly did, bringing us into a great bend of the river called Tawapatee Bottom. The waters were unusually low, the thermometer indicated excessive cold, the earth all around was covered with snow, dark clouds were spread over the heavens, and as all appearances were unfavorable to the hope of a speedy prosecution of our voyage, we quietly set to work. Our bark, which was a large keel-boat, was moored close to the shore, the cargo was conveyed to the woods, large trees were felled over the water, and were so disposed as to keep off the pressure of the floating masses of ice. In less than two days, our stores, baggage, and ammunition were deposited in a great heap under one of the magnificent trees of which the forest was here composed, our sails were spread over all, and a complete camp was formed in the wilderness. Everything around us seemed dreary and dismal, and had we not been endowed with the faculty of deriving pleasure from the examination of nature, we should have made up our minds to pass the time in a state similar to that of Bears during their time of hibernation. We soon found employment, however, for the woods were full of game; and Deer, Turkeys, Raccoons, and Opossums might be seen even around our camp; while on the ice that now covered the broad stream rested flocks of Swans, to surprise which the hungry Wolves were at times seen to make energetic but unsuccessful efforts. It was curious to see the snow-white birds all lying flat on the ice, but keenly intent on watching the motions of their insidious enemies, until the latter advanced within the distance of a few hundred yards, when the Swans, sounding their trumpet-notes of alarm, would all rise, spread out their broad wings, and after running some yards and battering the ice until the noise was echoed like thunder through the woods, rose exultingly into the air, leaving their pursuers to devise other schemes for gratifying their craving appetites. The nights being extremely cold, we constantly kept up a large fire, formed of the best wood. Fine trees of ash and hickory were felled, cut up into logs of convenient size, and rolled into a pile, on the top of which, with the aid of twigs, a fire was kindled. There were about fifteen of us, some hunters, others trappers, and all more or less accustomed to living in the woods. At night, when all had returned from their hunting grounds, some successful and others empty-handed, they presented a picture in the strong glare of the huge fire that illuminated the forest, which it might prove interesting to you to see, were it copied by a bold hand on canvas. Over a space of thirty yards or more, the snow was scraped away, and piled up into a circular wall, which protected us from the cold blast. Our cooking utensils formed no mean display, and before a week had elapsed, Venison, Turkeys, and Raccoons hung on the branches in profusion. Fish, too, and that of excellent quality, often graced our board, having been obtained by breaking holes in the ice of the lakes. It was observed that the Opossums issued at night from holes in the banks of the river, to which they returned about daybreak; and having thus discovered their retreat, we captured many of them by means of snares. At the end of a fortnight our bread failed, and two of the party were directed to proceed across the bend, towards a village on the western bank of the Mississippi, in quest of that commodity; for although we had a kind of substitute for it in the dry white flesh of the breast of the wild Turkey, bread is bread after all, and more indispensable to civilized man than any other article of food. The expedition left the camp early one morning; one of the party boasted much of his knowledge of woods, while the other said nothing, but followed. They walked on all day, and returned next morning to the camp with empty wallets. The next attempt, however, succeeded, and they brought on a sledge a barrel of flour, and some potatoes. After a while we were joined by many Indians, the observation of whose manners afforded us much amusement. Six weeks were spent in Tawapatee Bottom. The waters had kept continually sinking, and our boat lay on her side high and dry. On both sides of the stream, the ice had broken into heaps, forming huge walls. Our pilot visited the river daily, to see what prospect there might be of a change. One night, while, excepting himself, all were sound asleep, he suddenly roused us with loud cries of "The ice is breaking! Get up, get up! Down to the boat, lads! Bring out your axes! Hurry on, or we may lose her! Here, let us have a torch!" Starting up as if we had been attacked by a band of savages, we ran pell-mell to the bank. The ice was indeed breaking up; it split with reports like those of heavy artillery, and as the water had suddenly risen from an overflow of the Ohio, the two streams seemed to rush against each other with violence; in consequence of which the congealed mass was broken into large fragments, some of which rose nearly erect here and there, and again fell with thundering crash, as the wounded whale, when in the agonies of death, springs up with furious force and again plunges into the foaming waters. To our surprise the weather, which in the evening had been calm and frosty, had become wet and blowy. The water gushed from the fissures formed in the ice, and the prospect was extremely dismal. When day dawned, a spectacle strange and fearful presented itself: the whole mass of water was violently agitated, its covering was broken into small fragments, and although not a foot of space was without ice, not a step could the most daring have ventured to make upon it. Our boat was in imminent danger, for the trees which had been placed to guard it from the ice were cut or broken into pieces, and were thrust against her. It was impossible to move her; but our pilot ordered every man to bring down great bunches of cane, which were lashed along her sides; and before these were destroyed by the ice, she was afloat and riding above it. While we were gazing on the scene a tremendous crash was heard, which seemed to have taken place about a mile below, when suddenly the great dam of ice gave way. The current of the Mississippi had forced its way against that of the Ohio, and in less than four hours we witnessed the complete breaking up of the ice. During that winter the ice was so thick on the Mississippi that, opposite St. Louis, horses and heavy wagons crossed the river. Many boats had been detained in the same manner as our own, so that provisions and other necessary articles had become very scarce, and sold at a high price. This was the winter of 1810-11. THE PRAIRIE On my return from the Upper Mississippi I found myself obliged to cross one of the wide prairies which, in that portion of the United States, vary the appearance of the country. The weather was fine; all around me was as fresh and blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of Nature. My knapsack, my gun, and my dog were all I had for baggage and company. But, although well moccasined, I moved slowly along, attracted by the brilliancy of the flowers, and the gambols of the fawns around their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless of danger as I felt myself. My march was of long duration; I saw the sun sinking below the horizon long before I could perceive any appearance of woodland, and nothing in the shape of man had I met with that day. The track which I followed was only an old Indian trace, and as darkness overshadowed the prairie I felt some desire to reach at least a copse, in which I might lie down to rest. The Night Hawks were skimming over and around me, attracted by the buzzing wings of the beetles which form their food, and the distant howling of wolves gave me some hope that I should soon arrive at the skirts of some woodlands. I did so, and almost at the same instant, a firelight attracting my eye, I moved towards it, full of confidence that it proceeded from the camp of some wandering Indians. I was mistaken: I discovered by its glare that it was from the hearth of a small log cabin, and that a tall figure passed and repassed between it and me, as if busily engaged in household arrangements. I reached the spot, and presenting myself at the door, asked the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take shelter under her roof for the night. Her voice was gruff, and her attire negligently thrown about her. She answered in the affirmative. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and quietly seated myself by the fire. The next object that attracted my notice was a finely formed young Indian, resting his head between his hands, with his elbows on his knees. A long bow rested against the log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and two or three Raccoon skins lay at his feet. He moved not; he apparently breathed not. Accustomed to the habits of Indians, and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of civilized strangers (a circumstance which in some countries is considered as evincing the apathy of their character), I addressed him in French, a language not infrequently partially known to the people in that neighborhood. He raised his head, pointed to one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a significant glance with the other. His face was covered with blood. The fact was that an hour before this, as he was in the act of discharging an arrow at a Raccoon in the top of a tree, the arrow had split upon the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his right eye as to destroy it forever. Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of fare I might expect. Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, but many large untanned Bear and Buffalo hides lay piled in a corner. I drew a fine time-piece from my breast, and told the woman that it was late, and that I was fatigued. She had espied my watch, the richness of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with electric quickness. She told me there was plenty of venison and jerked buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I should find a cake. But my watch had struck her fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. I took off the gold chain that secured it, from around my neck, and presented it to her; she was all ecstasy, spoke of its beauty, asked me its value, and put the chain round her brawny neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch would make her. Thoughtless, and as I fancied myself in so retired a spot secure, I paid little attention to her talk or her movements. I helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands of my own appetite. The Indian rose from his seat, as if in extreme suffering. He passed and repassed me several times, and once pinched me on the side so violently that the pain nearly brought forth an exclamation of anger. I looked at him. His eye met mine, but his look was so forbidding that it struck a chill into the more nervous part of my system. He again seated himself, drew his butcher-knife from its greasy scabbard, examined its edge, as I would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again taking his tomahawk from his back, filled the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me expressive glances, whenever our hostess chanced to have her back towards us. Never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the danger which I now suspected to be about me. I returned glance for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that, whatever enemies I might have, he was not of their number. I asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under pretence of wishing to see how the weather might probably be on the morrow, took up my gun, and walked out of the cabin. I slipped a ball into each barrel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed the primings, and returning to the hut gave a favorable report of my observations. I took a few Bear skins, made a pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down, with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was, to all appearance, fast asleep. A short time had elapsed when some voices were heard, and from the corner of my eye I saw two athletic youths making their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a pole. They disposed of their burden, and asking for whiskey, helped themselves freely to it. Observing me and the wounded Indian, they asked who I was, and why the devil that rascal (meaning the Indian, who, they knew, understood not a word of English) was in the house. The mother--for so she proved to be--bade them speak less loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them to a corner, where a conversation took place, the purport of which it required little shrewdness in me to guess. I tapped my dog gently. He moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw his fine eyes alternately fixed on me, and raised towards the trio in the corner. I felt that he perceived danger in my situation. The Indian exchanged a last glance with me. The lads had eaten and drunk themselves into such a condition that I already looked upon them as _hors de combat_; and the frequent visits of the whiskey bottle to the ugly mouth of their dam, I hoped would soon reduce her to a like state. Judge of my astonishment, reader, when I saw this incarnate fiend take a large carving-knife, and go to the grindstone to whet its edge; I saw her pour the water on the turning machine, and watched her working away with the dangerous instrument, until the cold sweat covered every part of my body, in despite of my determination to defend myself to the last. Her task finished, she walked to her reeling sons, and said: "There, that'll soon settle him! Boys, kill yon ---- ----, and then for the watch." I turned, cocked my gun-locks silently, touched my faithful companion, and lay ready to start up and shoot the first who might attempt my life. The moment was fast approaching, and that night might have been my last in this world, had not Providence made preparations for my rescue. All was ready. The infernal hag was advancing slowly, probably contemplating the best way of despatching me, whilst her sons should be engaged with the Indian. I was several times on the eve of rising and shooting her on the spot; but she was not to be punished thus. The door was suddenly opened, and there entered two stout travellers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. I bounced up on my feet, and making them most heartily welcome, told them how well it was for me that they should have arrived at that moment. The tale was told in a minute. The drunken sons were secured, and the woman, in spite of her defence and vociferations, shared the same fate. The Indian fairly danced with joy, and gave us to understand that, as he could not sleep for pain, he would watch over us. You may suppose we slept much less than we talked. The two strangers gave me an account of their once having been themselves in a somewhat similar situation. Day came, fair and rosy, and with it the punishment of our captives. They were now quite sobered. Their feet were unbound, but their arms were still securely tied. We marched them into the woods off the road, and having used them as Regulators were wont to use such delinquents, we set fire to the cabin, gave all the skins and implements to the young Indian warrior, and proceeded, well pleased, towards the settlements. During upwards of twenty-five years, when my wanderings extended to all parts of our country, this was the only time at which my life was in danger from my fellow-creatures. Indeed, so little risk do travellers run in the United States that no one born there ever dreams of any to be encountered on the road; and I can only account for this occurrence by supposing that the inhabitants of the cabin were not Americans. Will you believe, good-natured reader, that not many miles from the place where this adventure happened, and where fifteen years ago, no habitation belonging to civilized man was expected, and very few ever seen, large roads are now laid out, cultivation has converted the woods into fertile fields, taverns have been erected, and much of what we Americans call comfort is to be met with? So fast does improvement proceed in our abundant and free country.[51] THE REGULATORS The population of many parts of America is derived from the refuse of every other country. I hope I shall elsewhere prove to you, kind reader, that even in this we have reason to feel a certain degree of pride, as we often see our worst denizens becoming gradually freed from error, and at length changing to useful and respectable citizens. The most depraved of these emigrants are forced to retreat farther and farther from the society of the virtuous, the restraints imposed by whom they find incompatible with their habits and the gratification of their unbridled passions. On the extreme verge of civilization, however, their evil propensities find more free scope, and the dread of punishments for their deeds, or the infliction of that punishment, are the only means that prove effectual in reforming them. In those remote parts, no sooner is it discovered that an individual has conducted himself in a notoriously vicious manner, or has committed some outrage upon society, than a conclave of the honest citizens takes place, for the purpose of investigating the case, with a rigor without which no good result could be expected. These honest citizens, selected from among the most respectable persons in the district, and vested with power suited to the necessity of preserving order on the frontiers, are named Regulators. The accused person is arrested, his conduct laid open, and if he is found guilty of a first crime, he is warned to leave the country, and go farther from society, within an appointed time. Should the individual prove so callous as to disregard the sentence, and remain in the same neighborhood, to commit new crimes, then woe be to him; for the Regulators, after proving him guilty a second time, pass and execute a sentence which, if not enough to make him perish under the infliction, is at least forever impressed upon his memory. The punishment inflicted is usually a severe castigation, and the destruction by fire of his cabin. Sometimes, in cases of reiterated theft or murder, death is considered necessary; and, in some instances, delinquents of the worst species have been shot, after which their heads have been stuck on poles, to deter others from following their example. I shall give you an account of one of these desperadoes, as I received it from a person who had been instrumental in bringing him to punishment. The name of Mason is still familiar to many of the navigators of the Lower Ohio and Mississippi. By dint of industry in bad deeds, he became a notorious horse-stealer, formed a line of worthless associates from the eastern part of Virginia (a State greatly celebrated for its fine breed of horses) to New Orleans, and had a settlement on Wolf Island, not far from the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi, from which he issued to stop the flatboats, and rifle them of such provisions and other articles as he and his party needed. His depredations became the talk of the whole Western country; and to pass Wolf Island was not less to be dreaded than to anchor under the walls of Algiers. The horses, the negroes, and the cargoes, his gang carried off and sold. At last, a body of Regulators undertook, at great peril, and for the sake of the country, to bring the villain to punishment. Mason was as cunning and watchful as he was active and daring. Many of his haunts were successively found out and searched, but the numerous spies in his employ enabled him to escape in time. One day, however, as he was riding a beautiful horse in the woods he was met by one of the Regulators, who immediately recognized him, but passed him as if an utter stranger. Mason, not dreaming of danger, pursued his way leisurely, as if he had met no one. But he was dogged by the Regulator, and in such a manner as proved fatal to him. At dusk, Mason, having reached the lowest part of a ravine, no doubt well known to him, hoppled (tied together the fore-legs of) his stolen horse, to enable it to feed during the night without chance of straying far, and concealed himself in a hollow log to spend the night. The plan was good, but proved his ruin. The Regulator, who knew every hill and hollow of the woods, marked the place and the log with the eye of an experienced hunter, and as he remarked that Mason was most efficiently armed, he galloped off to the nearest house where he knew he should find assistance. This was easily procured, and the party proceeded to the spot. Mason, on being attacked, defended himself with desperate valor; and as it proved impossible to secure him alive he was brought to the ground with a rifle ball. His head was cut off, and stuck on the end of a broken branch of a tree, by the nearest road to the place where the affray happened. The gang soon dispersed, in consequence of the loss of their leader, and this infliction of merited punishment proved beneficial in deterring others from following a similar predatory life. The punishment by castigation is performed in the following manner. The individual convicted of an offence is led to some remote part of the woods, under the escort of some forty or fifty Regulators. When arrived at the chosen spot, the criminal is made fast to a tree, and a few of the Regulators remain with him, while the rest scour the forest to assure themselves that no strangers are within reach, after which they form an extensive ring, arranging themselves on their horses, well armed with rifles and pistols, at equal distances and in each other's sight. At a given signal that "all's ready," those about the culprit, having provided themselves with young twigs of hickory, administer the number of lashes prescribed by the sentence, untie the sufferer, and order him to leave the country immediately. One of these castigations, which took place more within my personal knowledge, was performed on a fellow who was neither a thief nor a murderer, but who had misbehaved otherwise sufficiently to bring himself under the sentence with mitigation. He was taken to a place where nettles were known to grow in great luxuriance, completely stripped and so lashed with them that, although not materially hurt, he took it as a hint not to be neglected, left the country, and was never again heard of by any of the party concerned. Probably at the moment when I am copying these notes respecting the early laws of our frontier people, few or no Regulating Parties exist, the terrible examples that were made having impressed upon the new settlers a salutary dread, which restrains them from the commission of flagrant crimes. THE EARTHQUAKE Travelling through the Barrens of Kentucky (of which I shall give you an account elsewhere) in the month of November, I was jogging on one afternoon, when I remarked a sudden and strange darkness rising from the western horizon. Accustomed to our heavy storms of thunder and rain I took no more notice of it, as I thought the speed of my horse might enable me to get under shelter of the roof of an acquaintance, who lived not far distant, before it should come up. I had proceeded about a mile, when I heard what I imagined to be the distant rumbling of a violent tornado, on which I spurred my steed, with a wish to gallop as fast as possible to a place of shelter; but it would not do, the animal knew better than I what was forthcoming, and instead of going faster, so nearly stopped that I remarked he placed one foot after another on the ground, with as much precaution as if walking on a smooth sheet of ice. I thought he had suddenly foundered, and, speaking to him, was on the point of dismounting and leading him, when he all of a sudden fell a-groaning piteously, hung his head, spread out his four legs, as if to save himself from falling, and stood stock still, continuing to groan. I thought my horse was about to die, and would have sprung from his back had a minute more elapsed, but at that instant all the shrubs and trees began to move from their very roots, the ground rose and fell in successive furrows, like the ruffled waters of a lake, and I became bewildered in my ideas, as I too plainly discovered that all this awful commotion in nature was the result of an earthquake. [Illustration: AUDUBON, 1839. PAINTED IN EDINBURGH BY J. W. AUDUBON.] I had never witnessed anything of the kind before, although, like every other person, I knew of earthquakes by description. But what is description compared with the reality? Who can tell of the sensations which I experienced when I found myself rocking as it were on my horse, and with him moved to and fro like a child in a cradle, with the most imminent danger around, and expecting the ground every moment to open and present to my eye such an abyss as might engulf myself and all around me? The fearful convulsion, however, lasted only a few minutes, and the heavens again brightened as quickly as they had become obscured; my horse brought his feet to their natural position, raised his head, and galloped off as if loose and frolicking without a rider. I was not, however, without great apprehension respecting my family, from which I was yet many miles distant, fearful that where they were the shock might have caused greater havoc than I had witnessed. I gave the bridle to my steed, and was glad to see him appear as anxious to get home as myself. The pace at which he galloped accomplished this sooner than I had expected, and I found with much pleasure that hardly any greater harm had taken place than the apprehension excited for my own safety. Shock succeeded shock almost every day or night for several weeks, diminishing, however, so gradually as to dwindle away into mere vibrations of the earth. Strange to say, I for one became so accustomed to the feeling as rather to enjoy the fears manifested by others. I never can forget the effects of one of the slighter shocks which took place when I was at a friend's house, where I had gone to enjoy the merriment that, in our Western country, attends a wedding. The ceremony being performed, supper over, and the fiddles tuned, dancing became the order of the moment. This was merrily followed up to a late hour, when the party retired to rest. We were in what is called, with great propriety, a _log-house_, one of large dimensions, and solidly constructed. The owner was a physician, and in one corner were not only his lancets, tourniquets, amputating knives, and other sanguinary apparatus, but all the drugs which he employed for the relief of his patients, arranged in jars and phials of different sizes. These had some days before had a narrow escape from destruction, but had been fortunately preserved by closing the doors of the cases in which they were contained. As I have said, we had all retired to rest, some to dream of sighs or smiles, some to sink into oblivion. Morning was fast approaching, when the rumbling noise that precedes the earthquake, began so loudly as to waken and alarm the whole party, and drive them out of bed in the greatest consternation. The scene which ensued it is impossible for me to describe, and it would require the humorous pencil of Cruikshank to do justice to it. Fear knows no restraint. Every person, young and old, filled with alarm at the creaking of the log-house, and apprehending instant destruction, rushed wildly out to the grass enclosure fronting the building. The full moon was slowly descending from her throne, covered at times by clouds that rolled heavily along, as if to conceal from her view the scenes of terror which prevailed on the earth below. On the grass-plat we all met, in such condition as rendered it next to impossible to discriminate any of the party, all huddled together in a state of great dishabille. The earth waved like a field of corn before the breeze; the birds left their perches, and flew about, not knowing whither; and the doctor, recollecting the danger of his gallipots, ran to his shop room, to prevent their dancing off the shelves to the floor. Never for a moment did he think of closing the doors, but, spreading his arms, jumped about the front of the cases, pushing back here and there the falling jars; with so little success, however, that before the shock was over he had lost nearly all he possessed. The shock at length ceased, and the frightened women now sensible of their undress, fled to their several apartments. The earthquake produced more serious consequences in other places. Near New Madrid and for some distance on the Mississippi, the earth was rent asunder in several places, one or two islands sunk forever, and the inhabitants fled in dismay towards the eastern shore. THE HURRICANE Various portions of our country have at different periods suffered severely from the influence of violent storms of wind, some of which have been known to traverse nearly the whole extent of the United States, and to leave such deep impressions in their wake as will not easily be forgotten. Having witnessed one of these awful phenomena, in all its grandeur, I shall attempt to describe it for your sake, kind reader, and for your sake only; the recollection of that astonishing revolution of the ethereal element even now bringing with it so disagreeable a sensation that I feel as if about to be affected by a sudden stoppage of the circulation of my blood. I had left the village of Shawanee, situated on the banks of the Ohio, on my return from Henderson, which is also situated on the banks of the same beautiful stream. The weather was pleasant, and I thought not warmer than usual at that season. My horse was jogging quietly along, and my thoughts were, for once at least in the course of my life, entirely engaged in commercial speculations. I had forded Highland Creek, and was on the eve of entering a tract of bottom land or valley that lay between it and Canoe Creek, when on a sudden I remarked a great difference in the aspect of the heavens. A hazy thickness had overspread the country, and I for some time expected an earthquake; but my horse exhibited no propensity to stop and prepare for such an occurrence. I had nearly arrived at the verge of the valley, when I thought fit to stop near a brook, and dismounted to quench the thirst which had come upon me. I was leaning on my knees, with my lips about to touch the water, when, from my proximity to the earth, I heard a distant murmuring sound of an extraordinary nature. I drank, however, and as I rose on my feet, looked towards the southwest, where I observed a yellowish oval spot, the appearance of which was quite new to me. Little time was left me for consideration, as the next moment a smart breeze began to agitate the taller trees. It increased to an unexpected height, and already the smaller branches and twigs were seen falling in a slanting direction towards the ground. Two minutes had scarcely elapsed, when the whole forest before me was in fearful motion. Here and there, where one tree pressed against another, a creaking noise was produced, similar to that occasioned by the violent gusts which sometimes sweep over the country. Turning instinctively towards the direction from which the wind blew, I saw to my great astonishment that the noblest trees of the forest bent their lofty heads for a while, and, unable to stand against the blast, were falling into pieces. First the branches were broken off with a crackling noise; then went the upper parts of the massy trunks; and in many places whole trees of gigantic size were falling entire to the ground. So rapid was the progress of the storm that before I could think of taking measures to insure my safety the hurricane was passing opposite the place where I stood. Never can I forget the scene which at that moment presented itself. The tops of the trees were seen moving in the strangest manner, in the central current of the tempest, which carried along with it a mingled mass of twigs and foliage that completely obscured the view. Some of the largest trees were seen bending and writhing under the gale; others suddenly snapped across; and many, after a momentary resistance, fell uprooted to the earth. The mass of branches, twigs, foliage, and dust that moved through the air was whirled onwards like a cloud of feathers, and on passing disclosed a wide space filled with fallen trees, naked stumps, and heaps of shapeless ruins which marked the path of the tempest. This space was about a fourth of a mile in breadth, and to my imagination resembled the dried up bed of the Mississippi, with its thousands of planters and sawyers strewed in the sand and inclined in various degrees. The horrible noise resembled that of the great cataracts of Niagara, and, as it howled along in the track of the desolating tempest, produced a feeling in my mind which it were impossible to describe. The principal force of the hurricane was now over, although millions of twigs and small branches that had been brought from a great distance were seen following the blast, as if drawn onwards by some mysterious power. They even floated in the air for some hours after, as if supported by the thick mass of dust that rose high above the ground. The sky had now a greenish lurid hue, and an extremely disagreeable sulphurous odor was diffused in the atmosphere. I waited in amazement, having sustained no material injury, until nature at length resumed her wonted aspect. For some moments I felt undetermined whether I should return to Morgantown, or attempt to force my way through the wrecks of the tempest. My business, however, being of an urgent nature, I ventured into the path of the storm, and after encountering innumerable difficulties, succeeded in crossing it. I was obliged to lead my horse by the bridle, to enable him to leap over the fallen trees, whilst I scrambled over or under them in the best way I could, at times so hemmed in by the broken tops and tangled branches as almost to become desperate. On arriving at my house, I gave an account of what I had seen, when, to my astonishment, I was told there had been very little wind in the neighborhood, although in the streets and gardens many branches and twigs had fallen in a manner which excited great surprise. Many wondrous accounts of the devastating effects of this hurricane were circulated in the country after its occurrence. Some log houses, we were told, had been overturned and their inmates destroyed. One person informed me that a wire sifter had been conveyed by the gust to a distance of many miles. Another had found a cow lodged in the fork of a large half-broken tree. But, as I am disposed to relate only what I have myself seen, I shall not lead you into the region of romance, but shall content myself with saying that much damage was done by this awful visitation. The valley is yet a desolate place, overgrown with briers and bushes, thickly entangled amidst the tops and trunks of the fallen trees, and is the resort of ravenous animals, to which they betake themselves when pursued by man, or after they have committed their depredations on the farms of the surrounding district. I have crossed the path of the storm at a distance of a hundred miles from the spot where I witnessed its fury, and again, four hundred miles farther off, in the State of Ohio. Lastly, I observed traces of its ravages on the summits of the mountains connected with the Great Pine Forest of Pennsylvania, three hundred miles beyond the place last mentioned. In all these different parts it appeared to me not to have exceeded a quarter of a mile in breadth. COLONEL BOONE Daniel Boone, or, as he was usually called in the Western country, Colonel Boone, happened to spend a night with me under the same roof, more than twenty years ago. We had returned from a shooting excursion, in the course of which his extraordinary skill in the management of the rifle had been fully displayed. On retiring to the room appropriated to that remarkable individual and myself for the night, I felt anxious to know more of his exploits and adventures than I did, and accordingly took the liberty of proposing numerous questions to him. The stature and general appearance of this wanderer of the western forests approached the gigantic. His chest was broad and prominent; his muscular powers displayed themselves in every limb; his countenance gave indication of his great courage, enterprise, and perseverance; and when he spoke, the very motion of his lips brought the impression that whatever he uttered could not be otherwise than strictly true. I undressed, whilst he merely took off his hunting shirt, and arranged a few folds of blankets on the floor, choosing rather to lie there, as he observed, than on the softest bed. When we had both disposed of ourselves, each after his own fashion, he related to me the following account of his powers of memory, which I lay before you, kind reader, in his own words, hoping that the simplicity of his style may prove interesting to you. "I was once," said he, "on a hunting expedition on the banks of the Green River, when the lower parts of this State (Kentucky) were still in the hands of nature, and none but the sons of the soil were looked upon as its lawful proprietors. We Virginians had for some time been waging a war of intrusion upon them, and I, amongst the rest, rambled through the woods in pursuit of their race as I now would follow the tracks of any ravenous animal. The Indians outwitted me one dark night, and I was as unexpectedly as suddenly made a prisoner by them. The trick had been managed with great skill; for no sooner had I extinguished the fire of my camp, and laid me down to rest, in full security as I thought, than I felt myself seized by an indistinguishable number of hands, and was immediately pinioned, as if about to be led to the scaffold for execution. To have attempted to be refractory would have proved useless and dangerous to my life; and I suffered myself to be removed from my camp to theirs, a few miles distant, without uttering even a word of complaint. You are aware, I dare say, that to act in this manner was the best policy, as you understand that, by so doing, I proved to the Indians at once that I was born and bred as fearless of death as any of themselves. "When we reached the camp, great rejoicings were exhibited. Two squaws and a few pappooses appeared particularly delighted at the sight of me, and I was assured, by very unequivocal gestures and words, that, on the morrow, the mortal enemy of the Red-skins would cease to live. I never opened my lips, but was busy contriving some scheme which might enable me to give the rascals the slip before dawn. The women immediately fell a-searching about my hunting-shirt for whatever they might think valuable, and, fortunately for me, soon found my flask filled with _monongahela_ (that is, reader, strong whiskey). A terrific grin was exhibited on their murderous countenances, while my heart throbbed with joy at the anticipation of their intoxication. The crew immediately began to beat their bellies and sing, as they passed the bottle from mouth to mouth. How often did I wish the flask ten times its size, and filled with aqua-fortis! I observed that the squaws drank more freely than the warriors, and again my spirits were about to be depressed, when the report of a gun was heard at a distance. The Indians all jumped on their feet. The singing and drinking were both brought to a stand, and I saw, with inexpressible joy, the men walk off to some distance and talk to the squaws. I knew that they were consulting about me, and I foresaw that in a few moments the warriors would go to discover the cause of the gun having been fired so near their camp. I expected that the squaws would be left to guard me. Well, sir, it was just so. They returned; the men took up their guns and walked away. The squaws sat down again, and in less than five minutes had my bottle up to their dirty mouths, gurgling down their throats the remains of the whiskey. "With what pleasure did I see them becoming more and more drunk, until the liquor took such hold of them that it was quite impossible for these women to be of any service. They tumbled down, rolled about, and began to snore: when I, having no other chance of freeing myself from the cords that fastened me, rolled over and over towards the fire, and, after a short time, burned them asunder. I rose on my feet, stretched my stiffened sinews, snatched up my rifle, and, for once in my life, spared that of Indians. I now recollect how desirous I once or twice felt to lay open the skulls of the wretches with my tomahawk; but when I again thought upon killing beings unprepared and unable to defend themselves, it looked like murder without need, and I gave up the idea. "But, sir, I felt determined to mark the spot, and walking to a thrifty ash sapling, I cut out of it three large chips, and ran off. I soon reached the river, soon crossed it, and threw myself deep into the cane-brakes, imitating the tracks of an Indian with my feet, so that no chance might be left for those from whom I had escaped to overtake me. "It is now nearly twenty years since this happened, and more than five since I left the Whites' settlements, which I might probably never have visited again had I not been called on as a witness in a law-suit that was pending in Kentucky, and which I really believe would never have been settled had I not come forward and established the beginning of a certain boundary line. This is the story, sir. "Mr. ---- moved from Old Virginia into Kentucky, and having a large tract granted to him in the new State, laid claim to a certain parcel of land adjoining Green River, and, as chance would have it, took for one of his corners the very ash-tree on which I had made my mark, and finished his survey of some thousands of acres, beginning, as it is expressed in the deed, 'at an Ash marked by three distinct notches of the tomahawk of a white man.' "The tree had grown much, and the bark had covered the marks; but, somehow or other, Mr. ---- heard from some one all that I have already said to you, and thinking that I might remember the spot alluded to in the deed, but which was no longer discoverable, wrote for me to come and try at least to find the place or the tree. His letter mentioned that all my expenses should be paid, and not caring much about once more going back to Kentucky, I started and met Mr. ----. After some conversation, the affair with the Indians came to my recollection. I considered for a while, and began to think that after all I could find the very spot, as well as the tree, if it was yet standing. "Mr. ---- and I mounted our horses, and off we went to the Green River Bottoms. After some difficulties, for you must be aware, sir, that great changes have taken place in those woods, I found at last the spot where I had crossed the river, and, waiting for the moon to rise, made for the course in which I thought the ash-tree grew. On approaching the place, I felt as if the Indians were there still, and as if I was still a prisoner among them. Mr. ---- and I camped near what I conceived the spot, and waited until the return of day. "At the rising of the sun I was on foot, and, after a good deal of musing, thought that an ash-tree then in sight must be the very one on which I had made my mark. I felt as if there could be no doubt of it, and mentioned my thought to Mr. ----. 'Well, Colonel Boone,' said he, 'if you think so, I hope it may prove true, but we must have some witnesses; do you stay here about, and I will go and bring some of the settlers whom I know.' I agreed. Mr. ---- trotted off, and I, to pass the time, rambled about to see if a Deer was still living in the land. But ah! sir, what a wonderful difference thirty years makes in the country! Why, at the time when I was caught by the Indians, you would not have walked out in any direction for more than a mile without shooting a buck or a Bear. There were then thousands of Buffaloes on the hills in Kentucky; the land looked as if it never would become poor; and to hunt in those days was a pleasure indeed. But when I was left to myself on the banks of Green River, I dare say for the last time in my life, a few _signs_ only of Deer were to be seen, and as to a Deer itself, I saw none. "Mr. ---- returned, accompanied by three gentlemen. They looked upon me as if I had been Washington himself, and walked to the ash-tree, which I now called my own, as if in quest of a long-lost treasure. I took an axe from one of them, and cut a few chips off the bark. Still no signs were to be seen. So I cut again until I thought it was time to be cautious, and I scraped and worked away with my butcher knife until I _did_ come to where my tomahawk had left an impression in the wood. We now went regularly to work, and scraped at the tree with care, until three hacks as plain as any three notches ever were, could be seen. Mr. ---- and the other gentlemen were astonished, and, I must allow, I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made affidavit of this remarkable occurrence in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. ---- gained his cause. I left Green River forever, and came to where we now are; and, sir, I wish you a good night." I trust, kind reader, that when I again make my appearance with another volume of Ornithological Biography, I shall not have to search in vain for the impression which I have made, but shall have the satisfaction of finding its traces still unobliterated. I now withdraw, and, in the words of the noted wanderer of the Western wilds, "wish you a good night." NATCHEZ IN 1820 One clear, frosty morning in December I approached in my flatboat the city of Natchez. The shores were crowded with boats of various kinds, laden with the produce of the Western country; and there was a bustle about them such as you might see at a general fair, each person being intent on securing the advantage of a good market. Yet the scene was far from being altogether pleasing, for I was yet "under the hill;" but on removing from the Lower Town I beheld the cliffs on which the city, properly so called, has been built. Vultures unnumbered flew close along the ground on expanded pinions, searching for food; large pines and superb magnolias here and there raised their evergreen tops towards the skies; while on the opposite shores of the Mississippi vast alluvial beds stretched along, and the view terminated with the dense forest. Steamers moved rapidly on the broad waters of the great stream; the sunbeams fell with a peculiarly pleasant effect on the distant objects; and as I watched the motions of the White-headed Eagle while pursuing the Fishing Hawk, I thought of the wonderful ways of that Power to whom I too owe my existence. Before reaching the land I had observed that several saw-mills were placed on ditches or narrow canals, along which the water rushed from the inner swamps towards the river, and by which the timber is conveyed to the shore; and, on inquiring afterwards, I found that one of those temporary establishments had produced a net profit of upwards of six thousand dollars in a single season. There is much romantic scenery about Natchez. The Lower Town forms a most remarkable contrast with the Upper; for in the former the houses were not regularly built, being generally dwellings formed of the abandoned flatboats, placed in rows, as if with the view of forming a long street. The inhabitants formed a medley which it is beyond my power to describe; hundreds of laden carts and other vehicles jogged along the declivity between the two towns; but when, by a very rude causeway, I gained the summit, I was relieved by the sight of an avenue of those beautiful trees called here the Pride of China. In the Upper Town I found the streets all laid off at right angles to each other, and tolerably well lined with buildings constructed with painted bricks or boards. The agricultural richness of the surrounding country was shown by the heaps of cotton bales and other produce that encumbered the streets. The churches, however, did not please me; but as if to make up for this, I found myself unexpectedly accosted by my relative, Mr. Berthoud, who presented me with letters from my wife and sons. These circumstances put me in high spirits, and we proceeded towards the best hotel in the place, that of Mr. Garnier. The house, which was built on the Spanish plan, and of great size, was surrounded by large verandas over-looking a fine garden, and stood at a considerable distance from any other. At this period the city of Natchez had a population not exceeding three thousand individuals. I have not visited it often since, but I have no doubt that, like all the other towns in the western district of our country, it has greatly increased. It possessed a bank, and the mail arrived there thrice in the week from all parts of the Union. The first circumstance that strikes a stranger is the mildness of the temperature. Several vegetables as pleasing to the eye as agreeable to the palate, and which are seldom seen in our Eastern markets before May, were here already in perfection. The Pewee Fly-catcher had chosen the neighborhood of the city for its winter quarters, and our deservedly famed Mocking-bird sang and danced gratis to every passer by. I was surprised to see the immense number of Vultures that strode along the streets or slumbered on the roofs. The country for many miles inland is gently undulated. Cotton is produced abundantly, and wealth and happiness have taken up their abode under most of the planters' roofs, beneath which the wearied traveller or the poor wanderer in search of a resting-place is sure to meet with comfort and relief. Game is abundant, and the free Indians were wont in those days to furnish the markets with ample supplies of venison and Wild Turkey. The Mississippi, which bathes the foot of the hill some hundred feet below the town, supplies the inhabitants with fish of various kinds. The greatest deficiency is that of water, which for common purposes is dragged on sledges or wheels from the river, while that used for drinking is collected in tanks from the roofs, and becomes very scarce during protracted droughts. Until of late years the orange-tree bore fruit in the open air; but, owing to the great change that has taken place in the temperature, severe though transient frosts occasionally occur, which now prevent this plant from coming to perfection in the open air. The remains of an old Spanish fort are still to be seen at a short distance from the city. If I am correctly informed, about two years previous to this visit of mine a large portion of the hill near it gave way, sank about a hundred feet, and carried many of the houses of the Lower Town into the river. This, it would appear, was occasioned by the quicksand running springs that flow beneath the strata of mixed pebbles and clay of which the hill is composed. The part that has subsided presents the appearance of a basin or bowl, and is used as a depot for the refuse of the town, on which the Vultures feed when they can get nothing better. There it was that I saw a White-headed Eagle chase one of those filthy birds, knock it down, and feast on the entrails of a horse which the Carrion Crow had partly swallowed. I did not meet at Natchez many individuals fond of ornithological pursuits, but the hospitality with which I was received was such as I am not likely to forget. Mr. Gamier subsequently proved an excellent friend to me, as you may find elsewhere recorded. Of another individual, whose kindness to me is indelibly impressed on my heart, I would say a few words, although he was such a man as Fénelon alone could describe. Charles Carré was of French origin, the son of a nobleman of the old régime. His acquirements and the benevolence of his disposition were such that when I first met him I could not help looking upon him as another Mentor. Although his few remaining locks were gray, his countenance still expressed the gayety and buoyant feelings of youth. He had the best religious principles; for his heart and his purse were ever open to the poor. Under his guidance it was that I visited the whole neighborhood of Natchez; for he was acquainted with all its history, from the period at which it had first come under the power of the Spaniards to that of their expulsion from the country, its possession by the French, and subsequently by ourselves. He was also well versed in the Indian languages, spoke French with the greatest purity, and was a religious poet. Many a pleasant hour have I spent in his company; but alas! he has gone the way of all the earth! THE LOST PORTFOLIO While I was at Natchez, on the 31st of December, 1820, my kind friend, Nicholas Berthoud, Esq., proposed to me to accompany him in his keel-boat to New Orleans. At one o'clock the steam-boat "Columbus" hauled off from the landing and took our bark in tow. The steamer was soon ploughing along at full speed, and little else engaged our minds than the thought of our soon arriving at the emporium of the commerce of the Mississippi. Towards evening, however, several inquiries were made respecting particular portions of the luggage, among which ought to have been one of my portfolios, containing a number of drawings made by me while gliding down the Ohio and Mississippi from Cincinnati to Natchez, and of which some were to me peculiarly valuable, being of birds previously unfigured, and perhaps undescribed. The portfolio was nowhere to be found, and I recollected that I had brought it under my arm to the margin of the stream, and there left it to the care of one of my friend's servants, who, in the hurry of our departure, had neglected to take it on board. Besides the drawings of birds, there was in this collection a sketch in black chalk to which I always felt greatly attached while from home. It is true the features which it represented were indelibly engraved in my heart; but the portrait of her to whom I owe so much of the happiness that I have enjoyed was not the less dear to me. When I thought during the following night of the loss I had sustained in consequence of my own negligence, imagined the possible fate of the collection, and saw it in the hands of one of the numerous boatmen lounging along the shores, who might paste the drawings to the walls of his cabin, nail them to the steering-oars of his flatboat, or distribute them among his fellows, I felt little less vexed than I did some years before when the rats, as you know, devoured a much larger collection. It was useless to fret myself, and so I began to devise a scheme for recovering the drawings. I wrote to Mr. Garnier and my venerable friend Charles Carré. Mr. Berthoud also wrote to a mercantile acquaintance. The letters were forwarded to Natchez from the first landing-place at which we stopped, and in the course of time we reached the great eddy running by the levee, or artificial embankment, at New Orleans. But before I present you with the answers to the letters sent to our acquaintances at Natchez, allow me to offer a statement of our adventures upon the Mississippi. After leaving the eddy at Natchez, we passed a long file of exquisitely beautiful bluffs. At the end of twenty hours we reached Bayou Sara, where we found two brigs at anchor, several steamers, and a number of flatboats, the place being of considerable mercantile importance. Here the "Columbus" left us to shift for ourselves, her commander being anxious to get to Baton Rouge by a certain hour, in order to secure a good cargo of cotton. We now proceeded along the great stream, sometimes floating and sometimes rowing. The shores gradually became lower and flatter, orange-trees began to make their appearance around the dwellings of the wealthy planters, and the verdure along the banks assumed a brighter tint. The thermometer stood at 68° in the shade at noon; Butterflies fluttered among the flowers, of which many were in full blow; and we expected to have seen Alligators half awake floating on the numberless logs that accompanied us in our slow progress. The eddies were covered with Ducks of various kinds, more especially with the beautiful species that breeds by preference on the great sycamores that every now and then present themselves along our southern waters. Baton Rouge is a very handsome place, but at present I have no time to describe it. Levees now began to stretch along the river, and wherever there was a sharp point on the shore, negroes were there amusing themselves by raising shrimps, and now and then a catfish, with scooping-nets. The river increased in breadth and depth, and the sawyers and planters, logs so called, diminished in number the nearer we drew towards the famed city. At every bend we found the plantations increased, and now the whole country on both sides became so level and destitute of trees along the water's edge that we could see over the points before us, and observe the great stream stretching along for miles. Within the levees the land is much lower than the surface of the river when the water is high; but at this time we could see over the levee from the deck of our boat only the upper windows of the planters' houses, or the tops of the trees about them, and the melancholy-looking cypresses covered with Spanish moss forming the background. Persons rode along the levees at full speed; Pelicans, Gulls, Vultures, and Carrion Crows sailed over the stream, and at times there came from the shore a breeze laden with the delicious perfume of the orange-trees, which were covered with blossoms and golden fruits. Having passed Bayou Lafourche, our boat was brought to on account of the wind, which blew with violence. We landed, and presently made our way to the swamps, where we shot a number of those beautiful birds called Boat-tailed Grakles. The Mocking-birds on the fence stakes saluted us with so much courtesy and with such delightful strains that we could not think of injuring them; but we thought it no harm to shoot a whole covey of Partridges. In the swamps we met with warblers of various kinds, lively and beautiful, waiting in these their winter retreats for the moment when Boreas should retire to his icy home, and the gentle gales of the South should waft them toward their breeding-places in the North. Thousands of Swallows flew about us, the Cat-birds mewed in answer to their chatterings, the Cardinal Grosbeak elevated his glowing crest as he stood perched on the magnolia branch, the soft notes of the Doves echoed among the woods, nature smiled upon us, and we were happy. On the fourth of January we stopped at Bonnet Carré, where I entered a house to ask some questions about birds. I was received by a venerable French gentleman, whom I found in charge of about a dozen children of both sexes, and who was delighted to hear that I was a student of nature. He was well acquainted with my old friend Charles Carré, and must, I thought, be a good man, for he said he never suffered any of his pupils to rob a bird of her eggs or young, although, said he with a smile, "they are welcome to peep at them and love them." The boys at once surrounded me, and from them I received satisfactory answers to most of my queries respecting birds. The 6th of January was so cold that the thermometer fell to 30°, and we had seen ice on the running-boards of our keel-boat. This was quite unlooked for, and we felt uncomfortable; but before the middle of the day, all nature was again in full play. Several beautiful steamers passed us. The vegetation seemed not to have suffered from the frost; green peas, artichokes, and other vegetables were in prime condition. This reminds me that on one of my late journeys I ate green peas in December in the Floridas, and had them once a week at least in my course over the whole of the Union, until I found myself and my family feeding on the same vegetable more than a hundred miles to the north of the St. John's River in New Brunswick. Early on the 7th, thousands of tall spars, called masts by the mariners, came in sight; and as we drew nearer, we saw the port filled with ships of many nations, each bearing the flag of its country. At length we reached the levee, and found ourselves once more at New Orleans. In a short time my companions dispersed, and I commenced a search for something that might tend to compensate me for the loss of my drawings. On the 16th of March following, I had the gratification of receiving a letter from Mr. A. P. Bodley, of Natchez, informing me that my portfolio had been found and deposited at the office of the "Mississippi Republican," whence an order from me would liberate it. Through the kindness of Mr. Garnier, I received it on the 5th of April. So very generous had been the finder of it, that when I carefully examined the drawings in succession, I found them all present and uninjured, save one, which had probably been kept by way of commission. THE ORIGINAL PAINTER As I was lounging one fair and very warm morning on the levee at New Orleans, I chanced to observe a gentleman whose dress and other accompaniments greatly attracted my attention. I wheeled about, and followed him for a short space, when, judging by everything about him that he was a true original, I accosted him. But here, kind reader, let me give you some idea of his exterior. His head was covered by a straw hat, the brim of which might cope with those worn by the fair sex in 1830; his neck was exposed to the weather; the broad frill of a shirt, then fashionable, flapped about his breast, whilst an extraordinary collar, carefully arranged, fell over the top of his coat. The latter was of a light green color, harmonizing well with a pair of flowing yellow nankeen trousers, and a pink waistcoat, from the bosom of which, amidst a large bunch of the splendid flowers of the magnolia, protruded part of a young Alligator, which seemed more anxious to glide through the muddy waters of some retired swamp than to spend its life swinging to and fro among folds of the finest lawn. The gentleman held in one hand a cage full of richly-plumed Nonpareils, whilst in the other he sported a silk umbrella, on which I could plainly read, "Stolen from I," these words being painted in large white characters. He walked as if conscious of his own importance--that is, with a good deal of pomposity, singing, "My love is but a lassie yet," and that with such thorough imitation of the Scotch emphasis that had not his physiognomy brought to my mind a denial of his being from "within a mile of Edinburgh," I should have put him down in my journal for a true Scot. But no: his tournure, nay, the very shape of his visage, pronounced him an American from the farthest parts of our eastern Atlantic shores. All this raised my curiosity to such a height that I accosted him with, "Pray, sir, will you allow me to examine the birds you have in that cage?" The gentleman stopped, straightened his body, almost closed his left eye, then spread his legs apart, and, with a look altogether quizzical, answered, "Birds, sir; did you say birds?" I nodded, and he continued, "What the devil do you know about birds, sir?" Reader, this answer brought a blush into my face. I felt as if caught in a trap; for I was struck by the force of the gentleman's question--which, by the way, was not much in discordance with a not unusual mode of granting an answer in the United States. Sure enough, thought I, little or perhaps nothing do I know of the nature of those beautiful denizens of the air; but the next moment vanity gave me a pinch, and urged me to conceive that I knew at least as much about birds as the august personage in my presence. "Sir," replied I, "I am a student of Nature, and admire her works, from the noblest figure of man to the crawling reptile which you have in your bosom."--"Ah!" replied he, "a--a--a naturalist, I presume!"--"Just so, my good sir," was my answer. The gentleman gave me the cage; and I observed, from the corner of one of my eyes, that his were cunningly inspecting my face. I examined the pretty Finches as long as I wished, returned the cage, made a low bow, and was about to proceed on my walk, when this odd sort of being asked me a question quite accordant with my desire of knowing more of him: "Will you come with me, sir? If you will, you shall see some more curious birds, some of which are from different parts of the world. I keep quite a collection." I assured him I should feel gratified, and accompanied him to his lodgings. We entered a long room, where, to my surprise, the first objects that attracted my attention were a large easel with a full-length unfinished portrait upon it, a table with palettes and pencils, and a number of pictures of various sizes placed along the walls. Several cages containing birds were hung near the windows, and two young gentlemen were busily engaged in copying some finished portraits. I was delighted with all I saw. Each picture spoke for itself: the drawing, the coloring, the handling, the composition, and the keeping--all proved, that, whoever was the artist, he certainly was possessed of superior talents. I did not know if my companion was the painter of the picture, but, as we say in America, I strongly guessed, and, without waiting any longer, paid him the compliments which I thought he fairly deserved. "Ay," said he, "the world is pleased with my work. I wish I were so too; but time and industry are required, as well as talents, to make a good artist. If you will examine the birds, I'll to my labor." So saying, the artist took up his palette, and was searching for a rest-stick; but not finding the one with which he usually supported his hand, he drew the rod of a gun, and was about to sit, when he suddenly threw down his implements on the table, and, taking the gun, walked to me and asked if "I had ever seen a percussion-lock." I had not, for that improvement was not yet in vogue. He not only explained the superiority of the lock in question, but undertook to prove that it was capable of acting effectually under water. The bell was rung, a flat basin of water was produced, the gun was charged with powder, and the lock fairly immersed. The report terrified the birds, causing them to beat against the gilded walls of their prisons. I remarked this to the artist. He replied, "The devil take the birds!--more of them in the market; why, sir, I wish to show you that I am a marksman as well as a painter." The easel was cleared of the large picture, rolled to the further end of the room, and placed against the wall. The gun was loaded in a trice, and the painter, counting ten steps from the easel, and taking aim at the supporting-pin on the left, fired. The bullet struck the head of the wooden pin fairly, and sent the splinters in all directions. "A bad shot, sir," said this extraordinary person. "The ball ought to have driven the pin farther into the hole, but it struck on one side; I'll try at the hole itself." After reloading his piece, the artist took aim again, and fired. The bullet this time had accomplished its object, for it had passed through the aperture and hit the wall behind. "Mr. ----, ring the bell and close the windows," said the painter, and, turning to me, continued, "Sir, I will show you the _ne plus ultra_ of shooting." I was quite amazed, and yet so delighted that I bowed my assent. A servant having appeared, a lighted candle was ordered. When it arrived, the artist placed it in a proper position, and retiring some yards, put out the light with a bullet, in the manner which I have elsewhere in this volume described. When light was restored, I observed the uneasiness of the poor little Alligator, as it strove to effect its escape from the artist's waistcoat. I mentioned this to him. "True, true," he replied. "I had quite forgot the reptile; he shall have a dram;" and unbuttoning his vest, unclasped a small chain, and placed the Alligator in the basin of water on the table. Perfectly satisfied with the acquaintance which I had formed with this renowned artist, I wished to withdraw, fearing I might inconvenience him by my presence. But my time was not yet come. He bade me sit down, and paying no more attention to the young pupils in the room than if they had been a couple of cabbages, said, "If you have leisure and will stay awhile, I will show you how I paint, and will relate to you an incident of my life which will prove to you how sadly situated an artist is at times." In full expectation that more eccentricities were to be witnessed, or that the story would prove a valuable one, even to a naturalist, who is seldom a painter, I seated myself at his side, and observed with interest how adroitly he transferred the colors from his glistening palette to the canvas before him. I was about to compliment him on his facility of touch, when he spoke as follows:-- "This is, sir, or, I ought to say rather, this will be the portrait of one of our best navy officers--a man as brave as Cæsar, and as good a sailor as ever walked the deck of a seventy-four. Do you paint, sir?" I replied, "Not yet."--"Not yet! what do you mean?"--"I mean what I say: I intend to paint as soon as I can draw better than I do at present."--"Good," said he; "you are quite right. To draw is the first object; but, sir, if you should ever paint, and paint portraits, you will often meet with difficulties. For instance, the brave Commodore of whom this is the portrait, although an excellent man at everything else, is the worst sitter I ever saw; and the incident I promised to relate to you, as one curious enough, is connected with his bad mode of sitting. Sir, I forgot to ask if you would take any refreshment--a glass of wine, or--" I assured him I needed nothing more than his agreeable company, and he proceeded. "Well, sir, the first morning that the Commodore came to sit, he was in full uniform, and with his sword at his side. After a few moments of conversation, and when all was ready on my part, I bade him ascend this _throne_, place himself in the attitude which I contemplated, and assume an air becoming an officer of the navy. He mounted, placed himself as I had desired, but merely looked at me as if I had been a block of stone. I waited a few minutes, when, observing no change on his placid countenance, I ran the chalk over the canvas to form a rough outline. This done, I looked up to his face again, and opened a conversation which I thought would warm his warlike nature; but in vain. I waited and waited, talked and talked, until, my patience--sir, you must know I am not overburdened with phlegm--being almost run out, I rose, threw my palette and brushes on the floor, stamped, walking to and fro about the room, and vociferated such calumnies against our navy that I startled the good Commodore. He still looked at me with a placid countenance, and, as he has told me since, thought I had lost my senses. But I observed him all the while, and, fully as determined to carry my point as he would be to carry off an enemy's ship, I gave my oaths additional emphasis, addressed him as a representative of the navy, and, steering somewhat clear of personal insult, played off my batteries against the craft. The Commodore walked up to me, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and told me, in a resolute manner, that if I intended to insult the navy, he would instantly cut off my ears. His features exhibited all the spirit and animation of his noble nature, and as I had now succeeded in rousing the lion, I judged it time to retreat. So, changing my tone, I begged his pardon, and told him he now looked precisely as I wished to represent him. He laughed, and, returning to his seat, assumed a bold countenance. And now, sir, see the picture!" At some future period I may present you with other instances of the odd ways in which this admired artist gave animation to his sitters. For the present, kind reader, we shall leave him finishing the Commodore, while we return to our proper studies. THE COUGAR There is an extensive swamp in the section of the State of Mississippi which lies partly in the Choctaw territory. It commences at the borders of the Mississippi, at no great distance from a Chickasaw village situated near the mouth of a creek known by the name of Vanconnah, and partly inundated by the swellings of several large bayous, the principal of which, crossing the swamp in its whole extent, discharges its waters not far from the mouth of the Yazoo River. This famous bayou is called False River. The swamp of which I am speaking follows the windings of the Yazoo, until the latter branches off to the northeast, and at this point forms the stream named Cold Water River, below which the Yazoo receives the draining of another bayou inclining towards the northwest and intersecting that known by the name of False River at a short distance from the place where the latter receives the waters of the Mississippi. This tedious account of the situation of the swamp is given with the view of pointing it out to all students of nature who may happen to go that way, and whom I would earnestly urge to visit its interior, as it abounds in rare and interesting productions,--birds, quadrupeds, and reptiles, as well as molluscous animals, many of which, I am persuaded, have never been described. In the course of one of my rambles, I chanced to meet with a squatter's cabin on the banks of the Cold Water River. In the owner of this hut, like most of those adventurous settlers in the uncultivated tracts of our frontier districts, I found a person well versed in the chase, and acquainted with the habits of some of the larger species of quadrupeds and birds. As he who is desirous of instruction ought not to disdain listening to any one who has knowledge to communicate, however humble may be his lot, or however limited his talents, I entered the squatter's cabin, and immediately opened a conversation with him respecting the situation of the swamp, and its natural productions. He told me he thought it the very place I ought to visit, spoke of the game which it contained, and pointed to some Bear and Deer skins, adding that the individuals to which they had belonged formed but a small portion of the number of those animals which he had shot within it. My heart swelled with delight, and on asking if he would accompany me through the great morass, and allow me to become an inmate of his humble but hospitable mansion, I was gratified to find that he cordially assented to all my proposals. So I immediately unstrapped my drawing materials, laid up my gun, and sat down to partake of the homely but wholesome fare intended for the supper of the squatter, his wife, and his two sons. The quietness of the evening seemed in perfect accordance with the gentle demeanor of the family. The wife and children, I more than once thought, seemed to look upon me as a strange sort of person, going about, as I told them I was, in search of birds and plants; and were I here to relate the many questions which they put to me in return for those I addressed to them, the catalogue would occupy several pages. The husband, a native of Connecticut, had heard of the existence of such men as myself, both in our own country and abroad, and seemed greatly pleased to have me under his roof. Supper over, I asked my kind host what had induced him to remove to this wild and solitary spot. "The people are growing too numerous now to thrive in New England," was his answer. I thought of the state of some parts of Europe, and calculating the denseness of their population compared with that of New England, exclaimed to myself, "How much more difficult must it be for men to thrive in those populous countries!" The conversation then changed, and the squatter, his sons and myself, spoke of hunting and fishing until at length, tired, we laid ourselves down on pallets of Bear skins, and reposed in peace on the floor of the only apartment of which the hut consisted. Day dawned, and the squatter's call to his hogs, which, being almost in a wild state, were suffered to seek the greater portion of their food in the woods, awakened me. Being ready dressed I was not long in joining him. The hogs and their young came grunting at the well known call of their owner, who threw them a few ears of corn, and counted them, but told me that for some weeks their number had been greatly diminished by the ravages committed upon them by a large _Panther_, by which name the Cougar is designated in America, and that the ravenous animal did not content himself with the flesh of his pigs, but now and then carried off one of his calves, notwithstanding the many attempts he had made to shoot it. The _Painter_, as he sometimes called it, had on several occasions robbed him of a dead Deer; and to these exploits the squatter added several remarkable feats of audacity which it had performed, to give me an idea of the formidable character of the beast. Delighted by his description, I offered to assist him in destroying the enemy, at which he was highly pleased, but assured me that unless some of his neighbors should join us with their dogs and his own, the attempt would prove fruitless. Soon after, mounting a horse, he went off to his neighbors several of whom lived at a distance of some miles, and appointed a day of meeting. The hunters, accordingly, made their appearance, one fine morning, at the door of the cabin, just as the sun was emerging from beneath the horizon. They were five in number, and fully equipped for the chase, being mounted on horses which in some parts of Europe might appear sorry nags, but which in strength, speed, and bottom, are better fitted for pursuing a Cougar or a Bear through woods and morasses than any in that country. A pack of large, ugly curs were already engaged in making acquaintance with those of the squatter. He and myself mounted his two best horses, whilst his sons were bestriding others of inferior quality. Few words were uttered by the party until we had reached the edge of the swamp, where it was agreed that all should disperse and seek for the fresh track of the Painter, it being previously settled that the discoverer should blow his horn, and remain on the spot, until the rest should join him. In less than an hour, the sound of the horn was clearly heard, and, sticking close to the squatter, off we went through the thick woods, guided only by the now and then repeated call of the distant huntsmen. We soon reached the spot, and in a short time the rest of the party came up. The best dog was sent forward to track the Cougar, and in a few moments the whole pack were observed diligently trailing, and bearing in their course for the interior of the Swamp. The rifles were immediately put in trim, and the party followed the dogs, at separate distances, but in sight of each other, determined to shoot at no other game than the Panther. The dogs soon began to mouth, and suddenly quickened their pace. My companion concluded that the beast was on the ground, and putting our horses to a gentle gallop, we followed the curs, guided by their voices. The noise of the dogs increased, when, all of a sudden their mode of barking became altered, and the squatter, urging me to push on, told me that the beast was _treed_, by which he meant that it had got upon some low branch of a large tree to rest for a few moments, and that should we not succeed in shooting him when thus situated, we might expect a long chase of it. As we approached the spot, we all by degrees united into a body, but on seeing the dogs at the foot of a large tree, separated again, and galloped off to surround it. Each hunter now moved with caution, holding his gun ready, and allowing the bridle to dangle on the neck of his horse, as it advanced slowly towards the dogs. A shot from one of the party was heard, on which the Cougar was seen to leap to the ground, and bound off with such velocity as to show that he was very unwilling to stand our fire longer. The dogs set off in pursuit with great eagerness and a deafening cry. The hunter who had fired came up and said that his ball had hit the monster, and had probably broken one of his fore-legs near the shoulder, the only place at which he could aim. A slight trail of blood was discovered on the ground, but the curs proceeded at such a rate that we merely noticed this, and put spurs to our horses, which galloped on towards the centre of the Swamp. One bayou was crossed, then another still larger and more muddy; but the dogs were brushing forward, and as the horses began to pant at a furious rate, we judged it expedient to leave them and advance on foot. These determined hunters knew that the Cougar being wounded, would shortly ascend another tree, where in all probability he would remain for a considerable time, and that it would be easy to follow the track of the dogs. We dismounted, took off the saddles and bridles, set the bells attached to the horses' necks at liberty to jingle, hoppled the animals, and left them to shift for themselves. Now, kind reader, follow the group marching through the swamp, crossing muddy pools, and making the best of their way over fallen trees and amongst the tangled rushes that now and then covered acres of ground. If you are a hunter yourself, all this will appear nothing to you; but if crowded assemblies of "beauty and fashion," or the quiet enjoyment of your "pleasure grounds" alone delight you, I must mend my pen before I attempt to give you an idea of the pleasure felt on such an expedition. After marching for a couple of hours, we again heard the dogs. Each of us pressed forward, elated at the thought of terminating the career of the Cougar. Some of the dogs were heard whining, although the greater number barked vehemently. We felt assured that the Cougar was treed, and that he would rest for some time to recover from his fatigue. As we came up to the dogs, we discovered the ferocious animal lying across a large branch, close to the trunk of a cotton-wood tree. His broad breast lay towards us; his eyes were at one time bent on us and again on the dogs beneath and around him; one of his fore-legs hung loosely by his side, and he lay crouched, with his ears lowered close to his head, as if he thought he might remain undiscovered. Three balls were fired at him, at a given signal, on which he sprang a few feet from the branch, and tumbled headlong to the ground. Attacked on all sides by the enraged curs, the infuriated Cougar fought with desperate valor; but the squatter, advancing in front of the party, and almost in the midst of the dogs, shot him immediately behind and beneath the left shoulder. The Cougar writhed for a moment in agony, and in another lay dead. The sun was now sinking in the west. Two of the hunters separated from the rest to procure venison, whilst the squatter's sons were ordered to make the best of their way home, to be ready to feed the hogs in the morning. The rest of the party agreed to camp on the spot. The Cougar was despoiled of its skin, and its carcass left to the hungry dogs. Whilst engaged in preparing our camp, we heard the report of a gun, and soon after one of our hunters returned with a small Deer. A fire was lighted, and each hunter displayed his _pone_ of bread, along with a flask of whiskey. The deer was skinned in a trice, and slices placed on sticks before the fire. These materials afforded us an excellent meal, and as the night grew darker, stories and songs went round, until my companions, fatigued, laid themselves down, close under the smoke of the fire, and soon fell asleep. I walked for some minutes round the camp, to contemplate the beauties of that nature from which I have certainly derived my greatest pleasures. I thought of the occurrences of the day, and glancing my eye around, remarked the singular effects produced by the phosphorescent qualities of the large decayed trunks which lay in all directions around me. How easy, I thought, would it be for the confused and agitated mind of a person bewildered in a swamp like this, to imagine in each of these luminous masses some wondrous and fearful being, the very sight of which might make the hair stand erect on his head. The thought of being myself placed in such a predicament burst over my mind, and I hastened to join my companions, beside whom I laid me down and slept, assured that no enemy could approach us without first rousing the dogs, which were growling in fierce dispute over the remains of the Cougar. At daybreak we left our camp, the squatter bearing on his shoulder the skin of the late destroyer of his stock, and retraced our steps until we found our horses, which had not strayed far from the place where we had left them. These we soon saddled, and jogging along, in a direct course, guided by the sun, congratulating each other on the destruction of so formidable a neighbor as the Panther had been, we soon arrived at my host's cabin. The five neighbors partook of such refreshment as the house could afford, and dispersing, returned to their homes, leaving me to follow my favorite pursuits. THE RUNAWAY Never shall I forget the impression made on my mind by the _rencontre_ which forms the subject of this article, and I even doubt if the relation of it will not excite in that of my reader emotions of varied character. Late in the afternoon of one of those sultry days which render the atmosphere of the Louisiana swamps pregnant with baneful effluvia, I directed my course towards my distant home, laden with a pack, consisting of five or six Wood Ibises, and a heavy gun, the weight of which, even in those days, when my natural powers were unimpaired, prevented me from moving with much speed. Reaching the banks of a miry bayou, only a few yards in breadth, but of which I could not ascertain the depth, on account of the muddiness of its waters, I thought it might be dangerous to wade through it with my burden, for which reason, throwing to the opposite side each of my heavy birds in succession, together with my gun, powder-flask, and shot-bag, and drawing my hunting-knife from its scabbard, to defend myself, if need should be, against Alligators, I entered the water, followed by my faithful dog. As I advanced carefully, and slowly, "Plato" swam around me, enjoying the refreshing influence of the liquid element that cooled his fatigued and heated frame. The water deepened, as did the mire of its bed; but with a stroke or two I gained the shore. Scarcely had I stood erect on the opposite bank, when my dog ran to me, exhibiting marks of terror; his eyes seeming ready to burst from their sockets, and his mouth grinning with the expression of hatred, while his feelings found vent in a stifled growl. Thinking that all this was produced by the scent of a Wolf or Bear, I stooped to take up my gun, when a stentorian voice commanded me to "stand still, or die!" Such a _qui vive_ in these woods was as unexpected as it was rare. I instantly raised and cocked my gun; and although I did not yet perceive the individual who had thus issued so peremptory a mandate, I felt determined to combat with him for the free passage of the grounds. Presently a tall, firmly built negro emerged from the bushy underwood, where until that moment he must have been crouched, and in a louder voice repeated his injunction. Had I pressed a trigger, his life would have instantly terminated; but observing that the gun which he aimed at my breast, was a wretched, rusty piece, from which fire could not readily be produced, I felt little fear, and therefore did not judge it necessary to proceed at once to extremities. I laid my gun at my side, tapped my dog quietly, and asked the man what he wanted. My forbearance, and the stranger's long habit of submission, produced the most powerful effect on his mind. "Master," said he, "I am a runaway; I might perhaps shoot you down; but God forbids it, for I feel just now as if I saw him ready to pass his judgment against me for such a foul deed, and I ask mercy at your hands. For God's sake, do not kill me, master!" "And why," answered I, "have you left your quarters, where certainly you must have fared better than in these unwholesome swamps?" "Master, my story is a short, but a sorrowful one. My camp is close by, and, as I know you cannot reach home this night, if you will follow me there, depend upon _my honor_ you shall be safe until the morning, when I will carry your birds, if you choose, to the great road." The large, intelligent eyes of the negro, the complacency of his manners, and the tones of his voice, I thought invited me to venture; and as I felt that I was at least his equal, while moreover, I had my dog to second me, I answered that I would _follow him_. He observed the emphasis laid on the words, the meaning of which he seemed to understand so thoroughly that, turning to me, he said, "There, master, take my butcher's knife, while I throw away the flint and priming from my gun!" Reader, I felt confounded: this was too much for me: I refused the knife, and told him to keep his piece ready, in case we might accidentally meet a Cougar or a Bear. Generosity exists everywhere. The greatest monarch acknowledges its impulse, and all around him, from the lowliest menial to the proud nobles that encircle his throne, at times experience that overpowering sentiment. I offered to shake hands with the runaway. "Master," said he, "I beg you thanks," and with this he gave me a squeeze that alike impressed me with the goodness of his heart and his great physical strength. From that moment we proceeded through the woods together. My dog smelt at him several times, but as he heard me speak in my usual tone of voice, he soon left us and rambled around as long as my whistle was unused. As we proceeded, I observed that he was guiding me towards the setting of the sun, and quite contrary to my homeward course. I remarked this to him, when he with the greatest simplicity replied, "Merely for our security." After trudging along for some distance, and crossing several bayous, at all of which he threw his gun and knife to the opposite bank, and stood still until I had got over, we came to the borders of an immense cane-brake, from which I had, on former occasions, driven and killed several Deer. We entered, as I had frequently done before, now erect, then on "all fours." He regularly led the way, divided here and there the tangled stalks, and, whenever we reached a fallen tree, assisted me in getting over it, with all possible care. I saw that he was a perfect Indian in his knowledge of the woods, for he kept a direct course as precisely as any "Red-skin" I ever travelled with. All of a sudden he emitted a loud shriek, not unlike that of an Owl, which so surprised me, that I once more instantly levelled my gun. "No harm, master, I only give notice to my wife and children I am coming." A tremulous answer of the same nature gently echoed through the tree tops. The runaway's lips separated with an expression of gentleness and delight, when his beautiful set of ivory teeth seemed to smile through the dusk of evening that was thickening around us. "Master," said he, "my wife, though black, is as beautiful to me as the President's wife is to him; she is my queen, and I look on our young ones as so many princes; but you shall see them all, for here they are, thank God." There, in the heart of the cane-brake, I found a regular camp. A small fire was lighted, and on its embers lay gridling some large slices of venison. A lad nine or ten years old was blowing the ashes from some fine sweet potatoes. Various articles of household furniture were carefully disposed around, and a large pallet of Bear and Deer skins, seemed to be the resting-place of the whole family. The wife raised not her eyes towards mine, and the little ones, three in number, retired into a corner, like so many discomfited Raccoons; but the Runaway, bold, and apparently happy, spoke to them in such cheering words, that at once one and all seemed to regard me as one sent by Providence to relieve them from all their troubles. My clothes were hung up by them to dry, and the negro asked if he might clean and grease my gun, which I permitted him to do, while the wife threw a large piece of Deer's flesh to my dog, which the children were already caressing. Only think of my situation, reader! Here I was, ten miles at least from home, and four or five from the nearest plantation, in the camp of runaway slaves, and quite at their mercy. My eyes involuntarily followed their motions, but as I thought I perceived in them a strong desire to make me their confidant and friend, I gradually relinquished all suspicions. The venison and potatoes looked quite tempting, and by this time I was in a condition to relish much less savory fare; so, on being humbly asked to divide the viands before us, I partook of as hearty a meal as I had ever done in my life. Supper over, the fire was completely extinguished, and a small lighted pine-knot placed in a hollowed calabash. Seeing that both the husband and the wife were desirous of communicating something to me, I at once and fearlessly desired them to unburden their minds, when the Runaway told me a tale of which the following is the substance. About eighteen months before, a planter, residing not very far off, having met with some losses, was obliged to expose his slaves at a public sale. The value of his negroes was well known, and on the appointed day the auctioneer laid them out in small lots, or offered them singly, in the manner which he judged most advantageous to their owner. The Runaway, who was well known as being the most valuable next to his wife, was put up by himself for sale, and brought an immoderate price. For his wife, who came next, and alone, eight hundred dollars were bidden and paid down. Then the children were exposed, and, on account of their breed, brought high prices. The rest of the slaves went off at rates corresponding to their qualifications. The Runaway chanced to be bought by the overseer of the plantation; the wife was bought by an individual residing about a hundred miles off, and the children went to different places along the river. The heart of the husband and father failed him under this dire calamity. For a while he pined in sorrow under his new master; but having marked down in his memory the names of the different persons who had purchased each dear portion of his family, he feigned illness, if indeed, he whose affections had been so grievously blasted could be said to feign it, refrained from food for several days, and was little regarded by the overseer, who felt himself disappointed in what he had considered a bargain. On a stormy night, when the elements raged with all the fury of a hurricane, the poor negro made his escape, and being well acquainted with all the neighboring swamps, at once made directly for the cane-brake in the centre of which I found his camp. A few nights afterwards he gained the abode of his wife, and the very next after their meeting, he led her away. The children, one after another, he succeeded in stealing, until at last the whole of the objects of his love were under his care. To provide for five individuals was no easy task in those wilds, which after the first notice was given of the wonderful disappearance of this extraordinary family, were daily ransacked by armed planters. Necessity, it is said, will bring the Wolf from the forest. The Runaway seems to have well understood the maxim, for under the cover of night he approached his first master's plantation, where he had ever been treated with the greatest kindness. The house-servants knew him too well not to aid him to the best of their power, and at the approach of each morning he returned to his camp with an ample supply of provisions. One day, while in search of wild fruits, he found a Bear dead before the muzzle of a gun that had been set for the purpose. Both articles he carried to his home. His friends at the plantation managed to supply him with some ammunition, and on damp and cloudy days he first ventured to hunt around his camp. Possessed of courage and activity, he gradually became more careless, and rambled farther in search of game. It was on one of his excursions that I met him, and he assured me the noise which I made in passing the bayou had caused him to lose the chance of killing a fine Deer, "although," said he, "my old musket misses fire sadly too often." The Runaways, after disclosing their secret to me, both rose from their seat, with eyes full of tears. "Good master, for God's sake, do something for us and our children," they sobbed forth with one accord. Their little ones lay sound asleep in the fearlessness of their innocence. Who could have heard such a tale without emotion? I promised them my most cordial assistance. They both sat up that night to watch my repose, and I slept close to their urchins, as if on a bed of the softest down. Day broke so fair, so pure, and so gladdening that I told them such heavenly appearances were ominous of good, and that I scarcely doubted of obtaining their full pardon. I desired them to take their children with them, and promised to accompany them to the plantation of their first master. They gladly obeyed. My Ibises were hung round their camp, and, as a memento of my having been there, I notched several trees; after which I bade adieu, perhaps for the last time, to that cane-brake. We soon reached the plantation, the owner of which, with whom I was well acquainted, received me with all the generous kindness of a Louisiana planter. Ere an hour had elapsed, the Runaway and his family were looked upon as his own. He afterwards repurchased them from their owners, and treated them with his former kindness; so that they were rendered as happy as slaves generally are in that country, and continued to cherish that attachment to each other which had led to their adventures. Since this event happened, it has, I have been informed, become illegal to separate slave families without their consent. A TOUGH WALK FOR A YOUTH About twelve years ago I was conveyed, along with my son Victor, from Bayou Sara to the mouth of the Ohio, on board the steamer "Magnet," commanded by Mr. McKnight, to whom I here again offer my best thanks for his attentions. The very sight of the waters of that beautiful river filled me with joy as we approached the little village of Trinity, where we were landed along with several other passengers, the water being too low to enable the vessel to proceed to Louisville. No horses could be procured, and as I was anxious to continue my journey without delay, I consigned my effects to the care of the tavern-keeper, who engaged to have them forwarded by the first opportunity. My son, who was not fourteen, with all the ardor of youth, considered himself able to accomplish, on foot, the long journey which we contemplated. Two of the passengers evinced a desire to accompany us, "provided," said the tallest and stoutest of them, "the lad can keep up. My business," he continued, "is urgent, and I shall push for Frankfort pretty fast." Dinner, to which we had contributed some fish from the river, being over, my boy and I took a ramble along the shores of Cash Creek, on which, some years before, I had been detained several weeks by ice. We slept at the tavern, and next morning prepared for our journey, and were joined by our companions, although it was past twelve before we crossed the creek. [Illustration: VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON. PAINTED BY AUDUBON ABOUT 1823.] One of our fellow-travellers, named Rose, who was a delicate and gentlemanly person, acknowledged that he was not a good walker, and said he was glad that my son was with us, as he might be able to keep up with the lively youth. The other, a burly personage, at once pushed forwards. We walked in Indian file along the narrow track cut through the canes, passed a wood-yard, and entered the burnt forest, in which we met with so many logs and briers that we judged it better to make for the river, the course of which we followed over a bed of pebbles, my son sometimes ahead, and again falling back, until we reached America, a village having a fine situation, but with a shallow approach to the shore. Here we halted at the best house, as every traveller ought to do, whether pedestrian or equestrian, for he is there sure of being well treated, and will not have to pay more than in an inferior place. Now we constituted Mr. Rose purser. We had walked twelve miles over rugged paths and pebbly shores, and soon proceeded along the edge of the river. Seven tough miles ended, we found a house near the bank, and in it we determined to pass the night. The first person we met with was a woman picking cotton in a small field. On asking her if we might stay in her cabin for the night, she answered we might, and hoped we could make shift with the fare on which she and her husband lived. While she went to the house to prepare supper, I took my son and Mr. Rose to the water, knowing how much we should be refreshed by a bath. Our fellow-traveller refused, and stretched himself on a bench by the door. The sun was setting; thousands of Robins were flying southward in the calm and clear air; the Ohio was spread before us smooth as a mirror, and into its waters we leaped with pleasure. In a short time the good man of the hut called us to supper, and in a trice we were at his heels. He was a tall, raw-boned fellow, with an honest, bronzed face. After our frugal meal we all four lay down on a large bed, spread on the floor, while the good people went up to a loft. The woodsman, having, agreeably to our instructions, roused us at daybreak, told us that about seven miles farther we should meet with a breakfast much better than the last supper we had. He refused any pecuniary compensation, but accepted from me a knife. So we again started. My dear boy appeared very weak at first, but soon recovered, and our stout companion, whom I shall call S., evidently showed symptoms of lassitude. On arriving at the cabin of a lazy man, blessed with an industrious wife and six healthy children, all of whom labored for his support, we were welcomed by the woman, whose motions and language indicated her right to belong to a much higher class. Better breakfast I never ate: the bread was made of new corn, ground on a tin grater by the beautiful hands of our blue-eyed hostess; the chickens had been prepared by one of her lovely daughters; some good coffee was added, and my son had fresh milk. The good woman, who now held a babe to her bosom, seemed pleased to see how heartily we all ate; the children went to work, and the lazy husband went to the door to smoke a corn-cob pipe. A dollar was put into the ruddy hand of the chubby urchin, and we bade its mother farewell. Again we trudged along the beach, but after a while betook ourselves to the woods. My son became faint. Dear boy! never can I forget how he lay exhausted on a log, large tears rolling down his cheeks. I bathed his temples, spoke soothingly to him, and chancing to see a fine Turkey Cock run close by, directed his attention to it, when, as if suddenly refreshed, he got up and ran a few yards towards the bird. From that moment he seemed to acquire new vigor, and at length we reached Wilcox's, where we stopped for the night. We were reluctantly received at the house, and had little attention paid to us, but we had a meal and went to bed. The sun rose in all its splendor, and the Ohio reflected its ruddy beams. A finer view of that river can scarcely be obtained than that from the house which we were leaving. Two miles through intricate woods brought us to Belgrade, and having passed Fort Massacre, we halted and took breakfast. S. gave us to understand that the want of roads made travelling very unpleasant; he was not, he added, in the habit of "skulking through the bushes, or tramping over stony bars in the full sunshine;" but how else he had travelled was not explained. Mr. Rose kept up about as well as Victor, and I now led the way. Towards sunset we reached the shores of the river, opposite the mouth of the Cumberland. On a hill, the property of a Major B., we found a house, and a solitary woman, wretchedly poor, but very kind. She assured us that if we could not cross the river, she would give us food and shelter for the night, but said that, as the moon was up, she could get us put over when her skiff came back. Hungry and fatigued, we laid us down on the brown grass, waiting either a scanty meal or the skiff that was to convey us across the river. I had already grated the corn for our supper, run down the chickens, and made a fire, when a cry of "Boat coming!" roused us all. We crossed half of the Ohio, walked over Cumberland Isle, and after a short ferry found ourselves in Kentucky, the native land of my beloved sons. I was now within a few miles of the spot where, some years before, I had a horse killed under me by lightning. It is unnecessary to detain you with a long narrative, and state every occurrence till we reached the banks of Green River. We had left Trinity at twelve o'clock of the 15th of October, and on the morning of the 18th four travellers, descending a hill, were admiring the reflection of the sun's rays on the forest-margined horizon. The frost, which lay thick on the ground and the fences, glittered in the sheen, and dissolved away; all nature seemed beautiful in its calm repose; but the pleasure which I felt in gazing on the scene was damped by the fatigue of my son, who now limped like a lamed Turkey, although, as the rest of the party were not much better off, he smiled, straightened himself, and strove to keep up with us. Poor S. was panting many yards behind, and was talking of purchasing a horse. We had now, however, a tolerably good road, and in the evening got to a house, where I inquired if we could have a supper and beds. When I came out, Victor was asleep on the grass, Mr. Rose looking at his sore toes, and S. just finishing a jug of monongahela. Here we resolved that, instead of going by Henderson, we should take a cut across to the right, and make direct for Smith's Ferry, by way of Highland Lick Creek. Next day we trudged along, but nothing very remarkable occurred excepting that we saw a fine black Wolf, quite tame and gentle, the owner of which refused a hundred dollars for it. Mr. Rose, who was an engineer, and a man of taste, amused us with his flageolet, and frequently spoke of his wife, his children, and his fireside, which increased my good opinion of him. At an orchard we filled our pockets with October peaches, and when we came to Trade Water River we found it quite low. The acorns were already drifted on its shallows, and the Wood Ducks were running about picking them up. Passing a flat bottom, we saw a large Buffalo Lick. Where now are the bulls which erst scraped its earth away, bellowing forth their love or their anger? Good Mr. Rose's feet became sorer and sorer each succeeding day; Mr. S. at length nearly gave up; my son had grown brisker. The 20th was cloudy, and we dreaded rain, as we knew the country to be flat and clayey. In Union County, we came to a large opening, and found the house of a justice, who led us kindly to the main road, and accompanied us for a mile, giving us excellent descriptions of brooks, woods, and barrens; notwithstanding which we should have been much puzzled, had not a neighbor on horseback engaged to show us the way. The rain now fell in torrents and rendered us very uncomfortable, but at length we reached Highland Lick, where we stumbled on a cabin, the door of which we thrust open, overturning a chair that had been placed behind it. On a dirty bed lay a man, a table with a journal or perhaps a ledger before him, a small cask in a corner near him, a brass pistol on a nail over his head, and a long Spanish dagger by his side. He rose and asked what was wanted. "The way to a better place, the road to Suggs's." "Follow the road, and you'll get to his house in about five miles!" My party were waiting for me, warming themselves by the fires of the salt-kettles. The being I had seen was an overseer. By and by we crossed a creek; the country was hilly, clayey, and slippery; Mr. S. was cursing, Rose limped like a lame Duck, but Victor kept up like a veteran. Another day, kind reader, and I shall for a while shut my journal. The morning of the 21st was beautiful; we had slept comfortably at Suggs's, and we soon found ourselves on pleasant barrens, with an agreeable road. Rose and S. were so nearly knocked up that they proposed to us to go on without them. We halted and talked a few minutes on the subject, when our companions stated their resolution to proceed at a slower pace. So we bade them adieu. I asked my son how he felt; he laughed and quickened his steps; and in a short time our former associates were left out of sight. In about two hours we were seated in the Green River Ferry-boat, with our legs hanging in the water. At Smith's Ferry this stream looks like a deep lake; and the thick cane on its banks, the large overhanging willows, and its dark, green waters, never fail to form a fine picture, more especially in the calm of an autumnal evening. Mr. Smith gave us a good supper, sparkling cider, and a comfortable bed. It was arranged that he should drive us to Louisville in his dearborn; and so ended our walk of two hundred and fifty miles. Should you wish to accompany us during the remainder of our journey I have only to refer you to the article "Hospitality in the Woods." HOSPITALITY IN THE WOODS Hospitality is a virtue the exercise of which, although always agreeable to the stranger, is not always duly appreciated. The traveller who has acquired celebrity is not unfrequently received with a species of hospitality which is much alloyed by the obvious attention of the host to his own interest; and the favor conferred upon the stranger must have less weight when it comes mingled with almost interminable questions as to his perilous adventures. Another receives hospitality at the hands of persons who, possessed of all the comforts of life, receive the way-worn wanderer with pomposity, lead him from one part of their spacious mansion to another, and bidding him good-night, leave him to amuse himself in his solitary apartment, because he is thought unfit to be presented to a party of friends. A third stumbles on a congenial spirit, who receives him with open arms, offers him servants, horses, perhaps even his purse, to enable him to pursue his journey, and parts from him with regret. In all these cases the traveller feels more or less under obligation, and is accordingly grateful. But, kind reader, the hospitality received from the inhabitant of the forest, who can offer only the shelter of his humble roof and the refreshment of his homely fare, remains more deeply impressed on the memory of the bewildered traveller than any other. This kind of hospitality I have myself frequently experienced in our woods, and now proceed to relate an instance of it. I had walked several hundred miles, accompanied by my son, then a stripling, and, coming upon a clear stream, observed a house on the opposite shore. We crossed in a canoe, and finding that we had arrived at a tavern, determined upon spending the night there. As we were both greatly fatigued, I made an arrangement with our host to be conveyed in a light Jersey wagon a distance of a hundred miles, the period of our departure to be determined by the rising of the moon. Fair Cynthia, with her shorn beams, peeped over the forest about two hours before dawn, and our conductor, provided with a long twig of hickory, took his station in the fore-part of the wagon. Off we went at a round trot, dancing in the cart like peas in a sieve. The road, which was just wide enough to allow us to pass, was full of deep ruts, and covered here and there with trunks and stumps, over all which we were hurried. Our conductor, Mr. Flint, the landlord of the tavern, boasting of his perfect knowledge of the country, undertook to drive us by a short cut, and we willingly confided ourselves to his management. So we jogged along, now and then deviating to double the fallen timber. Day commenced with promise of fine weather, but several nights of white frost having occurred, a change was expected. To our sorrow, the change took place long before we got to the road again. The rain fell in torrents; the thunder bellowed; the lightning blazed. It was now evening, but the storm had brought perfect night, black and dismal. Our cart had no cover. Cold and wet, we sat silent and melancholy, with no better expectation than that of passing the night under the little shelter the cart could afford us. To stop was considered worse than to proceed. So we gave the reins to the horses, with some faint hope that they would drag us out of our forlorn state. Of a sudden the steeds altered their course, and soon after we perceived the glimmer of a faint light in the distance, and almost at the same moment heard the barking of dogs. Our horses stopped by a high fence and fell a-neighing, while I hallooed at such a rate that an answer was speedily obtained. The next moment a flaming pine torch crossed the gloom, and advanced to the spot where we stood. The negro boy who bore it, without waiting to question us, enjoined us to follow the fence, and said that Master had sent him to show the strangers to the house. We proceeded, much relieved, and soon reached the gate of a little yard, in which a small cabin was perceived. A tall, fine-looking young man stood in the open door, and desired us get out of the cart and walk in. We did so, when the following conversation took place. "A bad night this, strangers; how came you to be along the fence? You certainly must have lost your way, for there is no public road within twenty miles." "Ay," answered Mr. Flint, "sure enough we lost our way; but, thank God! we have got to a house; and thank _you_ for your reception." "Reception!" replied the woodsman; "no very great thing after all; you are all here safe, and that's enough. Eliza," turning to his wife, "see about some victuals for the strangers, and you, Jupiter," addressing the negro lad, "bring some wood and mend the fire. Eliza, call the boys up, and treat the strangers the best way you can. Come, gentlemen, pull off your wet clothes, and draw to the fire. Eliza, bring some socks and a shirt or two." For my part, kind reader, knowing my countrymen as I do, I was not much struck at all this; but my son, who had scarcely reached the age of thirteen, drew near to me, and observed how pleasant it was to have met with such good people. Mr. Flint bore a hand in getting his horses put under a shed. The young wife was already stirring with so much liveliness that to have doubted for a moment that all she did was a pleasure to her would have been impossible. Two negro lads made their appearance, looked at us for a moment, and going out, called the dogs. Soon after the cries of the poultry informed us that good cheer was at hand. Jupiter brought more wood, the blaze of which illumined the cottage. Mr. Flint and our host returned, and we already began to feel the comforts of hospitality. The woodsman remarked that it was a pity we had not chanced to come that day three weeks; "for," said he, "it was our wedding-day, and father gave us a good house-warming, and you might have fared better; but, however, if you can eat bacon and eggs, and a broiled chicken, you shall have that. I have no whiskey in the house, but father has some capital cider, and I'll go over and bring a keg of it." I asked how far off his father lived. "Only three miles, sir, and I'll be back before Eliza has cooked your supper." Off he went accordingly, and the next moment the galloping of his horse was heard. The rain fell in torrents, and now I also became struck with the kindness of our host. To all appearance the united ages of the pair under whose roof we had found shelter did not exceed two score. Their means seemed barely sufficient to render them comfortable, but the generosity of their young hearts had no limits. The cabin was new. The logs of which it was formed were all of the tulip-tree, and were nicely pared. Every part was beautifully clean. Even the coarse slabs of wood that formed the floor looked as if newly washed and dried. Sundry gowns and petticoats of substantial homespun hung from the logs that formed one of the sides of the cabin, while the other was covered with articles of male attire. A large spinning-wheel, with rolls of wool and cotton, occupied one corner. In another was a small cupboard, containing the little stock of new dishes, cups, plates, and tin pans. The table was small also, but quite new, and as bright as polished walnut could be. The only bed that I saw was of domestic manufacture, and the counterpane proved how expert the young wife was at spinning and weaving. A fine rifle ornamented the chimney-piece. The fireplace was of such dimensions that it looked as if it had been purposely constructed for holding the numerous progeny expected to result from the happy union. The black boy was engaged in grinding some coffee. Bread was prepared by the fair hands of the bride, and placed on a flat board in front of the fire. The bacon and eggs already murmured and spluttered in the frying-pan, and a pair of chickens puffed and swelled on a gridiron over the embers, in front of the hearth. The cloth was laid, and everything arranged, when the clattering of hoofs announced the return of the husband. In he came, bearing a two-gallon keg of cider. His eyes sparkled with pleasure as he said, "Only think, Eliza; father wanted to rob us of the strangers, and was for coming here to ask them to his own house, just as if we could not give them enough ourselves; but here's the drink. Come, gentlemen, sit down and help yourselves." We did so, and I, to enjoy the repast, took a chair of the husband's making, in preference to one of those called _Windsor_, of which there were six in the cabin. This chair was bottomed with a piece of Deer's skin tightly stretched, and afforded a very comfortable seat. The wife now resumed her spinning, and the husband filled a jug with the sparkling cider, and, seated by the blazing fire, was drying his clothes. The happiness he enjoyed beamed from his eye, as at my request he proceeded to give us an account of his affairs and prospects, which he did in the following words: "I shall be twenty-two next Christmas-day," said our host. "My father came from Virginia when young, and settled on the large tract of land where he yet lives, and where with hard working he has done well. There were nine children of us. Most of them are married and settled in the neighborhood. The old man has divided his lands among some of us, and bought others for the rest. The land where I am he gave me two years ago, and a finer piece is not easily to be found. I have cleared a couple of fields, and planted an orchard. Father gave me a stock of cattle, some hogs, and four horses, with two negro boys. I camped here for most of the time when clearing and planting; and when about to marry the young woman you see at the wheel, father helped me in raising this hut. My wife, as luck would have it, had a negro also, and we have begun the world as well off as most folks, and, the Lord willing, may--But, gentlemen, you don't eat; do help yourselves. Eliza, maybe the strangers would like some milk." The wife stopped her work, and kindly asked if we preferred sweet or sour milk; for you must know, reader, that sour milk is by some of our farmers considered a treat. Both sorts were produced, but, for my part, I chose to stick to the cider. Supper over, we all neared the fire, and engaged in conversation. At length our kind host addressed his wife as follows: "Eliza, the gentlemen would like to lie down, I guess. What sort of bed can you fix for them?" Eliza looked up with a smile, and said: "Why, Willy, we will divide the bedding, and arrange half on the floor, on which we can sleep very well, and the gentlemen will have the best we can spare them." To this arrangement I immediately objected, and proposed lying on a blanket by the fire; but neither Willy nor Eliza would listen. So they arranged a part of their bedding on the floor, on which, after some debate, we at length settled. The negroes were sent to their own cabin, the young couple went to bed, and Mr. Flint lulled us all asleep with a long story intended to show us how passing strange it was that he should have lost his way. "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," and so forth. But Aurora soon turned her off. Mr. Speed, our host, rose, went to the door, and returning assured us that the weather was too bad for us to attempt proceeding. I really believe he was heartily glad of it; but anxious to continue our journey, I desired Mr. Flint to see about his horses. Eliza by this time was up too, and I observed her whispering to her husband, when he immediately said aloud, "To be sure, the gentlemen will eat breakfast before they go, and I will show them the way to the road." Excuses were of no avail. Breakfast was prepared and eaten. The weather brightened a little, and by nine we were under way. Willy, on horseback, headed us. In a few hours our cart arrived at a road, by following which we at length got to the main one, and parted from our woodsman with the greater regret that he would accept nothing from any of us. On the contrary, telling Mr. Flint, with a smile, that he hoped he might some time again follow the longest track for a short cut, he bade us adieu, and trotted back to his fair Eliza and his happy home. NIAGARA After wandering on some of our great lakes for many months, I bent my course towards the celebrated Falls of Niagara, being desirous of taking a sketch of them. This was not my first visit to them, and I hoped it should not be the last. Artists (I know not if I can be called one) too often imagine that what they produce must be excellent, and with that foolish idea go on spoiling much paper and canvas, when their time might have been better employed in a different manner. But, digressions aside, I directed my steps towards the Falls of Niagara, with the view of representing them on paper, for the amusement of my family. Returning as I then was from a tedious journey, and possessing little more than some drawings of rare birds and plants, I reached the tavern at Niagara Falls in such plight as might have deterred many an individual from obtruding himself upon a circle of well-clad and perhaps well-bred society. Months had passed since the last of my linen had been taken from my body, and used to clean that useful companion, my gun. I was in fact covered just like one of the poorer class of Indians, and was rendered even more disagreeable to the eye of civilized man by not having, like them, plucked my beard, or trimmed my hair in any way. Had Hogarth been living, and there when I arrived, he could not have found a fitter subject for a Robinson Crusoe. My beard covered my neck in front, my hair fell much lower at my back, the leather dress which I wore had for months stood in need of repair, a large knife hung at my side, a rusty tin-box containing my drawings and colors, and wrapped up in a worn-out blanket that had served me for a bed, was buckled to my shoulders. To every one I must have seemed immersed in the depths of poverty, perhaps of despair. Nevertheless, as I cared little about my appearance during those happy rambles, I pushed into the sitting-room, unstrapped my little burden, and asked how soon breakfast would be ready. In America, no person is ever refused entrance to the inns, at least far from cities. We know too well how many poor creatures are forced to make their way from other countries in search of employment or to seek uncultivated land, and we are ever ready to let them have what they may call for. No one knew who I was, and the landlord, looking at me with an eye of close scrutiny, answered that breakfast would be on the table as soon as the company should come down from their rooms. I approached this important personage, told him of my avocations, and convinced him that he might feel safe as to remuneration. From this moment I was, with him at least, on equal footing with every other person in his house. He talked a good deal of the many artists who had visited the Falls that season, from different parts, and offered to assist me by giving such accommodations as I might require to finish the drawings I had in contemplation. He left me, and as I looked about the room I saw several views of the Falls, by which I was so disgusted that I suddenly came to my better senses. "What!" thought I, "have I come here to mimic nature in her grandest enterprise, and add _my_ caricature of one of the wonders of the world to those which I here see? No; I give up the vain attempt. I shall look on these mighty cataracts and imprint them, where alone they can be represented--on my mind!" Had I taken a view, I might as well have given you what might be termed a regular account of the form, the height, the tremendous roar of these Falls; might have spoken of people perilling their lives by going between the rock and the sheet of water, calculated the density of the atmosphere in that strange position, related wondrous tales of Indians and their canoes having been precipitated the whole depth--might have told of the narrow, rapid, and rockbound river that leads the waters of the Erie into those of Ontario, remarking _en passant_ the Devil's Hole and sundry other places or objects. But, supposing you had been there, my description would prove useless, and quite as puny as my intended view would have been for my family; and should you not have seen them, and are fond of contemplating the more magnificent of the Creator's works, go to Niagara, reader; for all the pictures you may see, all the descriptions you may read, of these mighty Falls, can only produce in your mind the faint glimmer of a glow-worm compared with the overpowering glory of the meridian sun. I breakfasted amid a crowd of strangers, who gazed and laughed at me, paid my bill, rambled about and admired the Falls for a while, saw several young gentlemen _sketching on cards_ the mighty mass of foaming waters, and walked to Buffalo, where I purchased new apparel and sheared my beard. I then enjoyed civilized life as much as, a month before, I had enjoyed the wildest solitudes and the darkest recesses of mountain and forest. MEADVILLE The incidents that occur in the life of a student of nature are not all of the agreeable kind; in proof of which I shall present you, good reader, with an extract from one of my journals. My money was one day stolen from me, by a person who perhaps imagined that to a naturalist it was of little importance. This happened on the shores of Upper Canada. The affair was as unexpected as it well could be, and as adroitly managed as if it had been planned and executed in Cheapside. To have repined when the thing could not be helped would certes not have been acting manfully. I therefore told my companion to keep a good heart, for I felt satisfied that Providence had some relief in store for us. The whole amount of cash left with two individuals fifteen hundred miles from home was just seven dollars and a half. Our passage across the lake had fortunately been paid for. We embarked and soon got to the entrance of Presque Isle Harbor, but could not pass the bar, on account of a violent gale which came on as we approached it. The anchor was dropped, and we remained on board during the night, feeling at times very disagreeable, under the idea of having taken so little care of our money. How long we might have remained at anchor I cannot tell, had not that Providence on whom I have never ceased to rely come to our aid. Through some means to me quite unknown, Captain Judd, of the U.S. Navy, then probably commandant at Presque Isle, sent a gig with six men to our relief. It was on the 29th of August, 1824, and never shall I forget that morning. My drawings were put into the boat with the greatest care. We shifted into it, and seated ourselves according to directions politely given us. Our brave fellows pulled hard, and every moment brought us nearer to the American shore. I leaped upon it with elated heart. My drawings were safely landed, and for anything else I cared little at the moment. I searched in vain for the officer of our navy, to whom I still feel grateful, and gave one of our dollars to the sailors to drink the "freedom of the waters;" after which we betook ourselves to a humble inn to procure bread and milk, and consider how we were to proceed. Our plans were soon settled, for to proceed was decidedly the best. Our luggage was rather heavy, so we hired a cart to take it to Meadville, for which we offered five dollars. This sum was accepted, and we set off. The country through which we passed might have proved favorable to our pursuits, had it not rained nearly the whole day. At night we alighted and put up at a house belonging to our conductor's father. It was Sunday night. The good folks had not yet returned from a distant meeting-house, the grandmother of our driver being the only individual about the premises. We found her a cheerful dame, who bestirred herself as actively as age would permit, got up a blazing fire to dry our wet clothes, and put as much bread and milk on the table as might have sufficed for several besides ourselves. Being fatigued by the jolting of the cart, we asked for a place in which to rest, and were shown into a room in which were several beds. We told the good woman that I should paint her portrait next morning for the sake of her children. My companion and myself were quickly in bed, and soon asleep, in which state we should probably have remained till morning, had we not been awakened by a light, which we found to be carried by three young damsels, who, having observed where we lay, blew it out, and got into a bed opposite to ours. As we had not spoken, it is probable the girls supposed us sound asleep, and we heard them say how delighted they would be to have their portraits taken, as well as that of their grandmother. My heart silently met their desire, and we fell asleep without further disturbance. In our backwoods it is frequently the case that one room suffices for all the members of a family. Day dawned, and as we were dressing we discovered that we were alone in the apartment, the good country girls having dressed in silence, and left us before we had awakened. We joined the family and were kindly greeted. No sooner had I made known my intentions as to the portraits than the young folks disappeared, and soon after returned attired in their Sunday clothes. The black chalk was at work in a few minutes, to their great delight, and as the fumes of the breakfast that was meantime preparing reached my sensitive nose, I worked with redoubled ardor. The sketches were soon finished, and soon too was the breakfast over. I played a few airs on my flageolet, while our guide was putting the horses to the cart, and by ten o'clock we were once more under way towards Meadville. Never shall I forget Maxon Randell and his hospitable family. My companion was as pleased as myself, and as the weather was now beautiful we enjoyed our journey with all that happy thoughtlessness best suited to our character. The country now became covered with heavy timber, principally evergreens, the pines and the cucumber trees loaded with brilliant fruits, and the spruces throwing a shade over the land in good keeping for a mellow picture. The lateness of the crops was the only disagreeable circumstance that struck us; hay was yet standing, probably, however, a second crop; the peaches were quite small and green, and a few persons here and there, as we passed the different farms, were reaping oats. At length we came in sight of French Creek, and soon after reached Meadville. Here we paid the five dollars promised to our conductor, who instantly faced about, and applying the whip to his nags, bade us adieu, and set off. We had now only one hundred and fifty cents. No time was to be lost. We put our baggage and ourselves under the roof of a tavern keeper known by the name of J. E. Smith, at the sign of the Traveller's Rest, and soon after took a walk to survey the little village that was to be laid under contribution for our further support. Its appearance was rather dull, but, thanks to God, I have never despaired while rambling thus for the sole purpose of admiring his grand and beautiful works. I had opened the case that contained my drawings, and putting my portfolio under my arm, and a few good credentials in my pocket, walked up Main Street, looking to the right and left, examining the different _heads_ which occurred, until I fixed my eyes on a gentleman in a store who looked as if he might want a sketch. I begged him to allow me to sit down. This granted, I remained purposely silent until he very soon asked me what was "_in that portfolio_." These three words sounded well, and without waiting another instant, I opened it to his view. This was a Hollander, who complimented me much on the execution of the drawings of birds and flowers in my portfolio. Showing him a sketch of the best friend I have in the world at present, I asked him if he would like one in the same style of himself. He not only answered in the affirmative, but assured me that he would exert himself in procuring as many more customers as he could. I thanked him, be assured, kind reader; and having fixed upon the next morning for drawing the sketch, I returned to the Traveller's Rest, with a hope that to-morrow might prove propitious. Supper was ready, and as in America we generally have but one sort of _table d'hôte_, we sat down, when, every individual looking upon me as a missionary priest, on account of my hair, which in those days flowed loosely on my shoulders, I was asked to say grace, which I did with a fervent spirit. Daylight returned. I visited the groves and woods around with my companion, returned, breakfasted, and went to the store, where, notwithstanding my ardent desire to begin my task, it was ten o'clock before the sitter was ready. But, reader, allow me to describe the _artist's room_. See me ascending a crazy flight of steps, from the back part of a store room into a large garret extending over the store and counting room, and mark me looking round to see how the light could be stopped from obtruding on me through no less than four windows facing each other at right angles. Then follow me scrutinizing the corners, and finding in one a cat nursing her young among a heap of rags intended for the paper mill. Two hogsheads filled with oats, a parcel of Dutch toys carelessly thrown on the floor, a large drum and a bassoon in another part, fur caps hanging along the wall, and the portable bed of the merchant's clerk swinging like a hammock near the centre, together with some rolls of sole leather, made up the picture. I saw all this at a glance, and closing the extra windows with blankets, I soon procured a _painter's light_. A young gentleman sat to try my skill. I finished his phiz, which was approved of. The merchant then took the chair, and I had the good fortune to please him also. The room became crowded with the gentry of the village. Some laughed, while others expressed their wonder; but my work went on, notwithstanding the observations which were made. My sitter invited me to spend the evening with him, which I did, and joined him in some music on the flute and violin. I returned to my companion with great pleasure, and you may judge how much that pleasure was increased when I found that he also had made two sketches. Having written a page or two of our journals, we retired to rest. The following day was spent much in the same manner. I felt highly gratified that from under my gray coat my talents had made their way, and I was pleased to discover that industry and moderate abilities prove at least as valuable as first-rate talents without the former of these qualities. We left Meadville on foot, having forwarded our baggage by wagon. Our hearts were light, our pockets replenished, and we walked in two days to Pittsburgh, as happy as circumstances permitted us to be. THE BURNING OF THE FORESTS. With what pleasure have I seated myself by the blazing fire of some lonely cabin, when, faint with fatigue, and chilled with the piercing blast, I had forced my way to it through the drifted snows that covered the face of the country as with a mantle. The affectionate mother is hushing her dear babe to repose, while a group of sturdy children surround their father, who has just returned from the chase, and deposited on the rough flooring of his hut the varied game which he has procured. The great back-log, that with some difficulty has been rolled into the ample chimney, urged, as it were, by lighted pieces of pine, sends forth a blaze of light over the happy family. The dogs of the hunter are already licking away the trickling waters of the thawing icicles that sparkle over their shaggy coats, and the comfort-loving cat is busied in passing her furry paws over each ear, or with her rough tongue smoothing her glossy coat. How delightful to me has it been when, kindly received and hospitably treated under such a roof, by persons whose means were as scanty as their generosity was great, I have entered into conversation with them respecting subjects of interest to me, and received gratifying information. When the humble but plentiful repast was ended, the mother would take from the shelf the Book of books, and mildly request the attention of her family, while the father read aloud a chapter. Then to Heaven would ascend their humble prayers, and a good-night would be bidden to all friends far and near. How comfortably have I laid my wearied frame on the Buffalo hide, and covered me with the furry skin of some huge Bear! How pleasing have been my dreams of home and happiness, as I there lay, secure from danger and sheltered from the inclemency of the weather. I recollect that once while in the State of Maine, I passed such a night as I have described. Next morning the face of nature was obscured by the heavy rains that fell in torrents, and my generous host begged me to remain, in such pressing terms that I was well content to accept his offer. Breakfast over, the business of the day commenced; the spinning-wheels went round, and the boys employed themselves, one in searching for knowledge, another in attempting to solve some ticklish arithmetical problem. In a corner lay the dogs, dreaming of plunder, while close to the ashes stood grimalkin, seriously purring in concert with the wheels. The hunter and I seated ourselves each on a stool, while the matron looked after her domestic arrangements. "Puss," quoth the dame, "get away; you told me last night of this day's rain, and I fear you may now give us worse news with tricky paws." Puss accordingly went off, leaped on a bed, and rolling herself in a ball, composed herself for a comfortable nap. I asked the husband what his wife meant by what she had just said. "The good woman," said he, "has some curious notions at times, and she believes, I think, in the ways of animals of all kinds. Now, her talk to the cat refers to the fires of the woods around us, and although they have happened long ago, she fears them quite as much as ever, and, indeed, she and I and all of us have good reason to dread them, as they have brought us many calamities." Having read of the great fires to which my host alluded, and frequently observed with sorrow the mournful state of the forests, I felt anxious to know something of the causes by which these direful effects had been produced. I therefore requested him to give me an account of the events resulting from those fires which he had witnessed. Willingly he at once went on, nearly as follows:-- "About twenty-five years ago the larch, or hackmatack, trees were nearly all killed by insects. This took place in what hereabouts is called the 'black soft growth' land, that is, the spruce, pine, and all other firs. The destruction of the trees was effected by the insects cutting the leaves, and you must know that, although other trees are not killed by the loss of their leaves, the evergreens always are. Some few years after this destruction of the larch, the same insects attacked the spruces, pines, and other firs, in such a manner that, before half a dozen years were over, they began to fall, and, tumbling in all directions, they covered the whole country with matted masses. You may suppose that when partially dried or seasoned, they would prove capital fuel, as well as supplies for the devouring flames, which accidentally, or perhaps by intention, afterwards raged over the country, and continued burning at intervals for years, in many places stopping all communication by the roads; the resinous nature of the firs being of course best fitted to insure and keep up the burning of the deep beds of dry leaves or of the other trees." Here I begged him to give me some idea of the form of the insects which had caused such havoc. "The insects," said he, "were, in their caterpillar form, about three quarters of an inch in length, and as green as the leaves of the trees they fed on, when they committed their ravages. I must tell you also that, in most of the places over which the fire passed, a new growth of wood has already sprung up, of what we lumberers call hard wood, which consists of all other sorts but pine or fir; and I have always remarked that wherever the first natural growth of a forest is destroyed, either by the axe, the hurricane, or the fire, there springs up spontaneously another of quite a different kind." I again stopped my host to inquire if he knew the method or nature of the first kindling of the fires. "Why, sir," said he, "there are different opinions about this. Many believe that the Indians did it, either to be the better able to kill the game, or to punish their enemies the Pale-faces. My opinion, however, is different; and I derive it from my experience in the woods as a lumberer. I have always thought that the fires began by the accidental fall of a dry trunk against another, when their rubbing together, especially as many of them are covered with resin, would produce fire. The dry leaves on the ground are at once kindled, next the twigs and branches, when nothing but the intervention of the Almighty could stop the progress of the fire. "In some instances, owing to the wind, the destructive element approached the dwellings of the inhabitants of the woods so rapidly that it was difficult for them to escape. In some parts, indeed, hundreds of families were obliged to flee from their homes, leaving all they had behind them, and here and there some of the affrighted fugitives were burnt alive." At this moment a rush of wind came down the chimney, blowing the blaze of the fire towards the room. The wife and daughter, imagining for a moment that the woods were again on fire, made for the door, but the husband explaining the cause of their terror, they resumed their work. "Poor things," said the lumberer, "I dare say that what I have told you brings sad recollections to the minds of my wife and eldest daughter, who, with myself, had to fly from our home, at the time of the great fires." I felt so interested in his relation of the causes of the burnings that I asked him to describe to me the particulars of his misfortunes at the time. "If Prudence and Polly," said he, looking towards his wife and daughter, "will promise to sit still should another puff of smoke come down the chimney, I will do so." The good-natured smile with which he made this remark elicited a return from the women and he proceeded:-- "It is a difficult thing, sir, to describe, but I will do my best to make your time pass pleasantly. We were sound asleep one night in a cabin about a hundred miles from this, when, about two hours before day, the snorting of the horses and lowing of the cattle which I had ranging in the woods suddenly awakened us. I took yon rifle and went to the door, to see what beast had caused the hubbub, when I was struck by the glare of light reflected on all the trees before me, as far as I could see through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snorting loudly, and the cattle ran among them with their tails raised straight over their backs. On going to the back of the house, I plainly heard the crackling made by the burning brushwood, and saw the flames coming towards us in a far extended line. I ran to the house, told my wife to dress herself and the child as quick as possible, and take the little money we had, while I managed to catch and saddle the two best horses. All this was done in a very short time, for I guessed that every moment was precious to us. "We then mounted, and made off from the fire. My wife, who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me; my daughter, who was then a small child, I took in one arm. When making off as I said, I looked back and saw that the frightful blaze was close upon us, and had already laid hold of the house. By good luck, there was a horn attached to my hunting-clothes, and I blew it, to bring after us, if possible, the remainder of my live stock, as well as the dogs. The cattle followed for a while; but, before an hour had elapsed, they all ran as if mad through the woods, and that, sir, was the last of them. My dogs, too, although at other times extremely tractable, ran after the Deer that in bodies sprung before us, as if fully aware of the death that was so rapidly approaching. "We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbors as we proceeded, and knew that they were in the same predicament. Intent on striving to the utmost to preserve our lives, I thought of a large lake some miles off, which might possibly check the flames; and, urging my wife to whip up her horse, we set off at full speed, making the best way we could over the fallen trees and brush-heaps, which lay like so many articles placed on purpose to keep up the terrific fires that advanced with a broad front upon us. "By this time we could feel the heat; and we were afraid that our horses would drop every instant. A singular kind of breeze was passing over our heads, and the glare of the atmosphere shone over the daylight. I was sensible of a slight faintness, and my wife looked pale. The heat had produced such a flush in the child's face that when she turned towards either of us, our grief and perplexity were greatly increased. Ten miles, you know, are soon gone over on swift horses; but, notwithstanding this, when we reached the borders of the lake, covered with sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat of the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire flew over us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the shores, however, coasted the lake for a while, and got round to the lee side. There we gave up our horses, which we never saw again. Down among the rushes we plunged by the edge of the water, and laid ourselves flat, to wait the chance of escaping from being burnt or devoured. The water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the coolness. "On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the woods. Such a sight may we never see! The heavens, themselves, I thought were frightened, for all above us was a red glare mixed with clouds of smoke, rolling and sweeping away. Our bodies were cool enough, but our heads were scorching, and the child, who now seemed to understand the matter, cried so as nearly to break our hearts. "The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many wild beasts came plunging into the water beside us, and others swam across to our side and stood still. Although faint and weary, I managed to shoot a Porcupine, and we all tasted its flesh. The night passed, I cannot tell you how. Smouldering fires covered the ground, and trees stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each other. The stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and the burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us. How we got through that night I really cannot tell, for about some of it I remember nothing." Here the hunter paused, and took breath. The recital of his adventure seemed to have exhausted him. His wife proposed that we should have a bowl of milk, and the daughter having handed it to us, we each took a draught. "Now," said he, "I will proceed. Towards morning, although the heat did not abate, the smoke became less, and blasts of fresh air sometimes made their way to us. When morning came, all was calm, but a dismal smoke still filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. We were now cooled enough, and shivered as if in an ague fit; so we removed from the water, and went up to a burning log, where we warmed ourselves. What was to become of us, I did not know. My wife hugged the child to her breast, and wept bitterly; but God had preserved us through the worst of the danger, and the flames had gone past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful to him and unmanly to despair now. Hunger once more pressed upon us, but this was easily remedied. Several Deer were still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted; and after eating it we felt wonderfully strengthened. "By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, although the ground was still burning in many places, and it was dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After resting awhile, and trimming ourselves, we prepared to commence our march. Taking up the child, I led the way over the hot ground and rocks; and, after two weary days and nights, during which we shifted in the best manner we could, we at last reached the 'hard woods' which had been free of the fire. Soon after we came to a house, where we were kindly treated for a while. Since then, sir, I have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer; but, thanks be to God, here we are safe, sound, and happy!" A LONG CALM AT SEA On the 17th of May, 1826, I left New Orleans on board the ship "Delos," commanded by Joseph Hatch, Esq., of Kennebunk, bound for Liverpool. The steamer "Hercules," which towed the ship, left us several miles outside of the Balize, about ten hours after our departure; but there was not a breath of wind, the waters were smoother than the prairies of the Opelousas, and notwithstanding our great display of canvas, we lay like a dead whale, floating at the mercy of the currents. The weather was uncommonly fair, and the heat excessive; and in this helpless state we continued for many days. About the end of a week we had lost sight of the Balize, although I was assured by the commander that all this while the ship had rarely answered the helm. The sailors whistled for wind, and raised their hands in all directions, anxious as they were to feel some motion in the air; but all to no purpose; it was a dead calm, and we concluded that "Æolus" had agreed with "Neptune" to detain us, until our patience should be fairly tried, or our sport exhausted; for sport we certainly had, both on board and around the ship. I doubt if I can better contribute to your amusement at present than by giving you a short account of the occurrences that took place during this sleepy fit of the being on whom we depended for our progress toward merry England. Vast numbers of beautiful Dolphins glided by the side of the vessel, glancing like burnished gold through the day, and gleaming like meteors by night. The captain and his mates were expert at alluring them with baited hooks, and not less so at piercing them with five-pronged instruments, which they called grains; and I was delighted with the sport, because it afforded me an opportunity of observing and noting some of the habits of this beautiful fish, as well as several other kinds. On being hooked, the Dolphin flounces vigorously, shoots off with great impetuosity to the very end of the line, when, being suddenly checked, it often rises perpendicularly several feet out of the water, shakes itself violently in the air, gets disentangled, and thus escapes. But when well secured, it is held in play for a while by the experienced fisher, soon becomes exhausted, and is hauled on board. Some persons prefer pulling them in at once, but they seldom succeed, as the force with which the fish shakes itself on being raised out of the water is generally sufficient to enable it to extricate itself. Dolphins move in shoals, varying from four or five to twenty or more, hunting in packs in the waters, as Wolves pursue their prey on land. The object of their pursuit is generally the Flying-fish, now and then the Bonita; and when nothing better can be had, they will follow the little Rudder-fish, and seize it immediately under the stern of the ship. The Flying-fishes after having escaped for a while by dint of their great velocity, on being again approached by the Dolphin, emerge from the waters, and spreading their broad wing-like fins, sail through the air and disperse in all directions, like a covey of timid Partridges before the rapacious Falcon. Some pursue a direct course, others diverge on either side; but in a short time they all drop into their natural element. While they are travelling in the air, their keen and hungry pursuer, like a greyhound, follows in their wake, and performing a succession of leaps, many feet in extent, rapidly gains upon the quarry, which is often seized just as it falls into the sea. Dolphins manifest a very remarkable sympathy with each other. The moment one of them is hooked or grained, those in company make up to it, and remain around until the unfortunate fish is pulled on board, when they generally move off together, seldom biting at anything thrown out to them. This, however, is the case only with the larger individuals, which keep apart from the young, in the same manner as is observed in several species of birds; for when the smaller Dolphins are in large shoals, they all remain under the bows of a ship, and bite in succession at any sort of line, as if determined to see what has become of their lost companions, in consequence of which they are often all caught. You must not suppose that the Dolphin is without its enemies. Who, in this world, man or fish, has not enough of them? Often it conceives itself on the very eve of swallowing a fish, which, after all, is nothing but a piece of lead, with a few feathers fastened to it, to make it look like a Flying-fish, when it is seized and severed in two by the insidious Balacouda, which I have once seen to carry off by means of its sharp teeth, the better part of a Dolphin that was hooked, and already hoisted to the surface of the water. The Dolphins caught in the Gulf of Mexico during this calm were suspected to be poisonous; and to ascertain whether this was really the case, our cook, who was an African negro, never boiled or fried one without placing beside it a dollar. If the silver was not tarnished by the time the Dolphin was ready for the table, the fish was presented to the passengers, with an assurance that it was perfectly good. But as not a single individual of the hundred that we caught had the property of converting silver into copper, I suspect that our African sage was no magician. One morning, that of the 22d of June, the weather sultry, I was surprised on getting out of my hammock, which was slung on deck, to find the water all around swarming with Dolphins, which were sporting in great glee. The sailors assured me that this was a certain "token of wind," and, as they watched the movements of the fishes, added, "ay, and of a fair breeze too." I caught several Dolphins in the course of an hour, after which scarcely any remained about the ship. Not a breath of air came to our relief all that day, no, nor even the next. The sailors were in despair, and I should probably have become despondent also, had not my spirits been excited by finding a very large Dolphin on my hook. When I had hauled it on board, I found it to be the largest I had ever caught. It was a magnificent creature. See how it quivers in the agonies of death! its tail flaps the hard deck, producing a sound like the rapid roll of a drum. How beautiful the changes of its colors! Now it is blue, now green, silvery, golden, and burnished copper! Now it presents a blaze of all the hues of the rainbow intermingled; but, alack! it is dead, and the play of its colors is no longer seen. It has settled into the deep calm that has paralyzed the energies of the blustering winds, and smoothed down the proud waves of the ocean. The best bait for the Dolphin is a long strip of Shark's flesh. I think it generally prefers this to the semblance of the Flying-fish, which indeed it does not often seize unless when the ship is under way, and it is made to rise to the surface. There are times, however, when hunger and the absence of their usual food will induce the Dolphins to dash at any sort of bait; and I have seen some caught by means of a piece of white linen fastened to a hook. Their appetite is as keen as that of the Vulture, and whenever a good opportunity occurs, they gorge themselves to such a degree that they become an easy prey to their enemies the Balacouda and the Bottle-nosed Porpoise. One that had been grained while lazily swimming immediately under the stern of our ship, was found to have its stomach completely crammed with Flying-fish, all regularly disposed side by side, with their tails downwards--by which I mean to say that the Dolphin always _swallows its prey tail-foremost_. They looked in fact like so many salted Herrings packed in a box, and were to the number of twenty-two, each six or seven inches in length. The usual length of the Dolphins caught in the Gulf of Mexico is about three feet, and I saw none that exceeded four feet two inches. The weight of one of the latter size was only eighteen pounds; for this fish is extremely narrow in proportion to its length, although rather deep in its form. When just caught, the upper fin, which reaches from the forehead to within a short distance of the tail, is of a fine dark blue. The upper part of the body in its whole length is azure, and the lower parts are of a golden hue, mottled irregularly with deep-blue spots. It seems that they at times enter very shallow water, as in the course of my last voyage along the Florida coast, some were caught in a seine, along with their kinsman the "Cavalier," of which I shall speak elsewhere. The flesh of the Dolphin is rather firm, very white, and lies in flakes when cooked. The first caught are generally eaten with great pleasure, but when served many days in succession, they become insipid. It is not, as an article of food, equal to the Balacouda, which is perhaps as good as any fish caught in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. STILL BECALMED On the 4th of June, we were still in the same plight, although the currents of the Gulf had borne us to a great distance from the place where, as I have informed you, we had amused ourselves with catching Dolphins. These currents are certainly very singular, for they carried us hither and thither, at one time rendering us apprehensive of drifting on the coast of Florida, at another threatening to send us to Cuba. Sometimes a slight motion in the air revived our hopes, swelled our sails a little, and carried us through the smooth waters like a skater gliding on ice; but in a few hours it was again a dead calm. One day several small birds, after alighting on the spars, betook themselves to the deck. One of them, a female Rice Bunting, drew our attention more particularly, for, a few moments after her arrival, there came down, as if in her wake, a beautiful Peregrine Falcon. The plunderer hovered about for a while, then stationed himself on the end of one of the yard-arms, and suddenly pouncing on the little gleaner of the meadows, clutched her and carried her off in exultation. But, reader, mark the date, and judge besides of my astonishment when I saw the Falcon feeding on the Finch while on wing, precisely with the same ease and composure as the Mississippi Kite might show while devouring high in air a Red-throated Lizard, swept from one of the magnificent trees of the Louisiana woods. There was a favorite pet on board belonging to our captain, and which was nothing more nor less than the female companion of a cock--in other words, a common hen. Some liked her because she now and then dropped a fresh egg--a rare article at sea, even on board the "Delos;" others, because she exhibited a pleasing simplicity of character; others again, because, when they had pushed her overboard, it gave them pleasure to see the poor thing in terror strike with her feet, and strive to reach her floating home, which she would never have accomplished, however, had it not been for the humane interference of our captain, Mr. Joseph Hatch, of Kennebunk. Kind, good-hearted man! when, several weeks after, the same pet hen accidentally flew overboard, as we were scudding along at a furious rate, I thought I saw a tear stand in his eye, as she floated panting in our wake. But as yet we are becalmed, and heartily displeased at old "Æolus" for overlooking us. One afternoon we caught two Sharks. In one of them, a female, about seven feet long, we found ten young ones, all alive, and quite capable of swimming, as we proved by experiment; for, on casting one of them into the sea, it immediately made off, as if it had been accustomed to shift for itself. Of another, that had been cut in two, the head half swam off out of our sight. The rest were cut in pieces, as was the old shark, as bait for the Dolphins, which I have already said are fond of such food. Our captain, who was much intent on amusing me, informed me that the Rudder-fishes were plentiful astern, and immediately set to dressing hooks for the purpose of catching them. There was now some air above us, the cotton sheets aloft bulged out, the ship moved through the water, and the captain and I repaired to the cabin window. I was furnished with a fine hook, a thread line, and some small bits of bacon, as was the captain, and we dropped our bait among the myriads of delicate little fishes below. Up they came, one after another, so fast in succession that, according to my journal, we caught three hundred and seventy in about two hours. What a mess! and how delicious when roasted! If ever I am again becalmed in the Gulf of Mexico, I shall not forget the Rudder-fish. The little things scarcely measured three inches in length; they were thin and deep in form, and afforded excellent eating. It was curious to see them keep to the lee of the rudder in a compact body; and so voracious were they that they actually leaped out of the water at the sight of the bait, as "sunnies" are occasionally wont to do in our rivers. But the very instant that the ship became still, they dispersed around her sides, and would no longer bite. I made a figure of one of them, as indeed I tried to do of every other species that occurred during this deathlike calm. Not one of these fishes did I ever see when crossing the Atlantic, although many kinds at times come close to the stern of any vessel in the great sea, and are called by the same name. Another time we caught a fine Porpoise, which measured about two yards in length. This took place at night, when the light of the moon afforded me a clear view of the spot. The fish, contrary to custom, was grained, instead of being harpooned; but in such a way and so effectually, through the forehead, that it was thus held fast, and allowed to flounce and beat about the bows of the ship, until the person who had struck it gave the line holding the grains to the captain, slid down upon the bob-stays with a rope, and after a while managed to secure it by the tail. Some of the crew then hoisted it on board. When it arrived on deck, it gave a deep groan, flapped with great force, and soon expired. On opening it next morning, eight hours after death, we found its intestines still warm. They were arranged in the same manner as those of a pig; the paunch contained several cuttle-fishes partially digested. The lower jaw extended beyond the upper about three-fourths of an inch, and both were furnished with a single row of conical teeth, about half an inch long, and just so far separated as to admit those of one jaw between the corresponding ones of the other. The animal might weigh about four hundred pounds; its eyes were extremely small, its flesh was considered delicate by some on board; but in my opinion, if it be good, that of a large Alligator is equally so; and on neither do I intend to feast for some time. The captain told me that he had seen these Porpoises leap at times perpendicularly out of the water to the height of several feet, and that small boats have now and then been sunk by their falling into them when engaged with their sports. During all this time flocks of Pigeons were crossing the Gulf, between Cuba and the Floridas; many a Rose-breasted Gull played around by day; Noddies alighted on the rigging by night; and now and then the Frigate bird was observed ranging high over head in the azure of the cloudless sky. The directions of the currents were tried, and our captain, who had an extraordinary genius for mechanics, was frequently employed in turning powder-horns and other articles. So calm and sultry was the weather that we had a large awning spread, under which we took our meals and spent the night. At length we got so wearied of it that the very sailors, I thought, seemed disposed to leap overboard and swim to land. But at length, on the thirty-seventh day after our departure, a smart breeze overtook us. Presently there was an extraordinary bustle on board; about twelve the Tortugas light-house bore north of us, and in a few hours more we gained the Atlantic. Æolus had indeed awakened from his long sleep; and on the nineteenth day after leaving the Capes of Florida, I was landed at Liverpool. GREAT EGG HARBOR Some years ago, after having spent the spring in observing the habits of the migratory Warblers and other land birds, which arrived in vast numbers in the vicinity of Camden in New Jersey, I prepared to visit the sea shores of that State, for the purpose of making myself acquainted with their feathered inhabitants. June had commenced, the weather was pleasant, and the country seemed to smile in the prospect of bright days and gentle gales. Fishermen-gunners passed daily between Philadelphia and the various small seaports, with Jersey wagons, laden with fish, fowls, and other provisions, or with such articles as were required by the families of those hardy boatmen; and I bargained with one of them to take myself and my baggage to Great Egg Harbor. One afternoon, about sunset, the vehicle halted at my lodgings, and the conductor intimated that he was anxious to proceed as quickly as possible. A trunk, a couple of guns, and such other articles as are found necessary by persons whose pursuits are similar to mine, were immediately thrust into the wagon, and were followed by their owner. The conductor whistled to his steeds, and off we went at a round pace over the loose and deep sand that in almost every part of this State forms the basis of the roads. After a while we overtook a whole caravan of similar vehicles, moving in the same direction, and when we got near them our horses slackened their pace to a regular walk, the driver leaped from his seat, I followed his example, and we presently found ourselves in the midst of a group of merry wagoners, relating their adventures of the week, it being now Saturday night. One gave intimation of the number of "Sheep-heads" he had taken to town, another spoke of the Curlews which yet remained on the sands, and a third boasted of having gathered so many dozens of Marsh Hens' eggs. I inquired if the Fish Hawks were plentiful near Great Egg Harbor, and was answered by an elderly man, who with a laugh asked if I had ever seen the "Weak fish" along the coast without the bird in question. Not knowing the animal he had named, I confessed my ignorance, when the whole party burst into a loud laugh, in which, there being nothing better for it, I joined. [Illustration: JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON. PAINTED BY AUDUBON ABOUT 1823.] About midnight the caravan reached a half-way house, where we rested a while. Several roads diverged from this spot, and the wagons separated, one only keeping us company. The night was dark and gloomy, but the sand of the road indicated our course very distinctly. Suddenly the galloping of horses struck my ear, and on looking back we perceived that our wagon must in an instant be in imminent danger. The driver leaped off, and drew his steeds aside, barely in time to allow the runaways to pass without injuring us. Off they went at full speed, and not long after their owner came up panting, and informed us that they had suddenly taken fright at some noise proceeding from the woods, but hoped they would soon stop. Immediately after we heard a crack; then for a few moments all was silent; but the neighing of horses presently assured us that they had broken loose. On reaching the spot we found the wagon upset, and a few yards farther on were the horses, quietly browsing by the roadside. The first dawn of morn in the Jerseys in the month of June is worthy of a better description than I can furnish, and therefore I shall only say that the moment the sunbeams blazed over the horizon, the loud and mellow notes of the Meadow Lark saluted our ears. On each side of the road were open woods, on the tallest trees of which I observed at intervals the nest of a Fish Hawk, far above which the white-breasted bird slowly winged its way, as it commenced its early journey to the sea, the odor of which filled me with delight. In half an hour more we were in the centre of Great Egg Harbor. There I had the good fortune to be received into the house of a thoroughbred fisherman-gunner, who, besides owning a comfortable cot only a few hundred yards from the shore, had an excellent woman for a wife, and a little daughter as playful as a kitten, though as wild as a Sea-Gull. In less than half an hour I was quite at home, and the rest of the day was spent in devotion. Oysters, though reckoned out of season at this period, are as good as ever when fresh from their beds, and my first meal was of some as large and white as any I have eaten. The sight of them placed before me on a clean table, with an honest and industrious family in my company, never failed to afford more pleasure than the most sumptuous fare under different circumstances; and our conversation being simple and harmless, gayety shone in every face. As we became better acquainted, I had to answer several questions relative to the object of my visit. The good man rubbed his hands with joy, as I spoke of shooting and fishing, and of long excursions through the swamps and marshes around. My host was then, and I hope still is, a tall, strong-boned, muscular man, of dark complexion, with eyes as keen as those of the Sea-Eagle. He was a tough walker, laughed at difficulties, and could pull an oar with any man. As to shooting, I have often doubted whether he or Mr. Egan, the worthy pilot of Indian Isle, was best; and rarely indeed have I seen either of them miss a shot. At daybreak on Monday, I shouldered my double-barrelled gun, and my host carried with him a long fowling-piece, a pair of oars, and a pair of oyster-tongs, while the wife and daughter brought along a seine. The boat was good, the breeze gentle, and along the inlets we sailed for parts well known to my companions. To such naturalists as are qualified to observe many different objects at the same time, Great Egg Harbor would probably afford as ample a field as any part of our coast, excepting the Florida Keys. Birds of many kinds are abundant, as are fishes and testaceous animals. The forests shelter many beautiful plants, and even on the driest sand-bar you may see insects of the most brilliant tints. Our principal object, however, was to procure certain birds known there by the name of Lawyers, and to accomplish this we entered and followed for several miles a winding inlet or bayou, which led us to the interior of a vast marsh, where after some search we found the birds and their nests. Our seine had been placed across the channel, and when we returned to it the tide had run out, and left in it a number of fine fish, some of which we cooked and ate on the spot. One, which I considered as a curiosity, was saved, and transmitted to Baron Cuvier. Our repast ended, the seine was spread out to dry, and we again betook ourselves to the marshes to pursue our researches until the return of the tide. Having collected enough to satisfy us, we took up our oars, and returned to the shore in front of the fisherman's house, where we dragged the seine several times with success. In this manner I passed several weeks along those delightful and healthy shores, one day going to the woods, to search the swamps in which the Herons bred, passing another amid the joyous cries of the Marsh Hens, and on a third carrying slaughter among the White-breasted Sea-Gulls; by way of amusement sometimes hauling the fish called the Sheep's-head from an eddy along the shore, or watching the gay Terns as they danced in the air, or plunged into the waters to seize the tiny fry. Many a drawing I made at Great Egg Harbor, many a pleasant day I spent along its shores; and much pleasure would it give me once more to visit the good and happy family in whose house I resided there. THE GREAT PINE SWAMP I left Philadelphia, at four of the morning, by the coach, with no other accoutrements than I knew to be absolutely necessary for the jaunt which I intended to make. These consisted of a wooden box, containing a small stock of linen, drawing-paper, my journal, colors, and pencils, together with twenty-five pounds of shot, some flints, the due quantum of cash, my gun _Tear-jacket_, and a heart as true to Nature as ever. Our coaches are none of the best, nor do they move with the velocity of those of some other countries. It was eight, and a dark night, when I reached Mauch Chunk, now so celebrated in the Union for its rich coal-mines, and eighty-eight miles distant from Philadelphia. I had passed through a very diversified country, part of which was highly cultivated, while the rest was yet in a state of nature, and consequently much more agreeable to me. On alighting, I was shown to the traveller's room, and on asking for the landlord, saw coming towards me a fine-looking young man, to whom I made known my wishes. He spoke kindly, and offered to lodge and board me at a much lower rate than travellers who go there for the very simple pleasure of being dragged on the railway. In a word, I was fixed in four minutes, and that most comfortably. No sooner had the approach of day been announced by the cocks of the little village, than I marched out with my gun and note-book, to judge for myself of the wealth of the country. After traversing much ground, and crossing many steep hills, I returned, if not wearied, at least much disappointed at the extraordinary scarcity of birds. So I bargained to be carried in a cart to the central parts of the Great Pine Swamp, and, although a heavy storm was rising, ordered my conductor to proceed. We winded round many a mountain and at last crossed the highest. The storm had become tremendous, and we were thoroughly drenched, but, my resolution being fixed, the boy was obliged to continue his driving. Having already travelled about fifteen miles or so, we left the turnpike, and struck up a narrow and bad road, that seemed merely cut out to enable the people of the Swamp to receive the necessary supplies from the village which I had left. Some mistakes were made, and it was almost dark when a post directed us to the habitation of a Mr. Jediah Irish, to whom I had been recommended. We now rattled down a steep declivity, edged on one side by almost perpendicular rocks, and on the other by a noisy stream, which seemed grumbling at the approach of strangers. The ground was so overgrown by laurels and tall pines of different kinds that the whole presented only a mass of darkness. At length we reached the house, the door of which was already opened, the sight of strangers being nothing uncommon in our woods, even in the most remote parts. On entering, I was presented with a chair, while my conductor was shown the way to the stable, and on expressing a wish that I should be permitted to remain in the house for some weeks, I was gratified by receiving the sanction of the good woman to my proposal, although her husband was then from home. As I immediately began to talk about the nature of the country, and inquired if birds were numerous in the neighborhood, Mrs. Irish, more _au fait_ in household affairs than ornithology, sent for a nephew of her husband's, who soon made his appearance, and in whose favor I became at once prepossessed. He conversed like an educated person, saw that I was comfortably disposed of, and finally bade me good-night in such a tone as made me quite happy. The storm had rolled away before the first beams of the morning sun shone brightly on the wet foliage, displaying all its richness and beauty. My ears were greeted by the notes, always sweet and mellow, of the Wood Thrush and other songsters. Before I had gone many steps, the woods echoed to the report of my gun, and I picked from among the leaves a lovely Sylvia,[52] long sought for, but until then sought for in vain. I needed no more, and standing still for a while, I was soon convinced that the Great Pine Swamp harbored many other objects as valuable to me. The young man joined me, bearing his rifle, and offered to accompany me through the woods, all of which he well knew. But I was anxious to transfer to paper the form and beauty of the little bird I had in my hand; and requesting him to break a twig of blooming laurel, we returned to the house, speaking of nothing else than the picturesque beauty of the country around. A few days passed, during which I became acquainted with my hostess and her sweet children, and made occasional rambles, but spent the greater portion of my time in drawing. One morning, as I stood near the window of my room, I remarked a tall and powerful man alight from his horse, loose the girth of the saddle, raise the latter with one hand, pass the bridle over the head of the animal with the other, and move towards the house, while the horse betook himself to the little brook to drink. I heard some movements in the room below, and again the same tall person walked towards the mill and stores, a few hundred yards from the house. In America business is the first object in view at all times, and right it is that it should be so. Soon after my hostess entered my room, accompanied by the fine-looking woodsman, to whom, as Mr. Jediah Irish, I was introduced. Reader, to describe to you the qualities of that excellent man were vain; you should know him, as I do, to estimate the value of such men in our sequestered forests. He not only made me welcome, but promised all his assistance in forwarding my views. The long walks and long talks we have had together I can never forget, nor the many beautiful birds which we pursued, shot, and admired. The juicy venison, excellent Bear flesh, and delightful trout that daily formed my food, methinks I can still enjoy. And then, what pleasure I had in listening to him as he read his favorite poems of Burns, while my pencil was occupied in smoothing and softening the drawing of the bird before me! Was not this enough to recall to my mind the early impressions that had been made upon it by the description of the golden age, which I here found realized? The Lehigh about this place forms numerous short turns between the mountains, and affords frequent falls, as well as below the falls deep pools, which render this stream a most valuable one for mills of any kind. Not many years before this date, my host was chosen by the agent of the Lehigh Coal Company, as their mill-wright, and manager for cutting down the fine trees which covered the mountains around. He was young, robust, active, industrious, and persevering. He marched to the spot where his abode now is, with some workmen, and by dint of hard labor first cleared the road mentioned above, and reached the river at the centre of a bend, where he fixed on erecting various mills. The pass here is so narrow that it looks as if formed by the bursting asunder of the mountain, both sides ascending abruptly, so that the place where the settlement was made is in many parts difficult of access, and the road then newly cut was only sufficient to permit men and horses to come to the spot where Jediah and his men were at work. So great, in fact, were the difficulties of access that, as he told me, pointing to a spot about one hundred and fifty feet above us, they for many months slipped from it their barrelled provisions, assisted by ropes, to their camp below. But no sooner was the first saw-mill erected than the axe-men began their devastations. Trees, one after another, were, and are yet, constantly heard falling during the days; and in calm nights, the greedy mills told the sad tale that in a century the noble forests around should exist no more. Many mills were erected, many dams raised, in defiance of the impetuous Lehigh. One full third of the trees have already been culled, turned into boards, and floated as far as Philadelphia. In such an undertaking the cutting of the trees is not all. They have afterwards to be hauled to the edge of the mountains bordering the river, launched into the stream, and led to the mills over many shallows and difficult places. Whilst I was in the Great Pine Swamp, I frequently visited one of the principal places for the launching of logs. To see them tumbling from such a height, touching here and there the rough angle of a projecting rock, bouncing from it with the elasticity of a foot-ball, and at last falling with an awful crash into the river, forms a sight interesting in the highest degree, but impossible for me to describe. Shall I tell you that I have seen masses of these logs heaped above each other to the number of five thousand? I may so tell you, for such I have seen. My friend Irish assured me that at some seasons, these piles consisted of a much greater number, the river becoming in those places completely choked up. When _freshets_ (or floods) take place, then is the time chosen for forwarding the logs to the different mills. This is called a _Frolic_. Jediah Irish, who is generally the leader, proceeds to the upper leap with his men, each provided with a strong wooden handspike, and a short-handled axe. They all take to the water, be it summer or winter, like so many Newfoundland spaniels. The logs are gradually detached, and, after a time, are seen floating down the dancing stream, here striking against a rock and whirling many times round, there suddenly checked in dozens by a shallow, over which they have to be forced with the handspikes. Now they arrive at the edge of a dam, and are again pushed over. Certain numbers are left in each dam, and when the party has arrived at the last, which lies just where my friend Irish's camp was first formed, the drenched leader and his men, about sixty in number, make their way home, find there a healthful repast, and spend the evening and a portion of the night in dancing and frolicking, in their own simple manner, in the most perfect amity, seldom troubling themselves with the idea of the labor prepared for them on the morrow. That morrow now come, one sounds a horn from the door of the store-house, at the call of which each returns to his work. The sawyers, the millers, the rafters, and raftsmen are all immediately busy. The mills are all going, and the logs, which a few months before were the supporters of broad and leafy tops, are now in the act of being split asunder. The boards are then launched into the stream, and rafts are formed of them for market. During the months of summer and autumn, the Lehigh, a small river of itself, soon becomes extremely shallow, and to float the rafts would prove impossible, had not art managed to provide a supply of water for this express purpose. At the breast of the lower dam is a curiously constructed lock, which is opened at the approach of the rafts. They pass through this lock with the rapidity of lightning, propelled by the water that had been accumulated in the dam, and which is of itself generally sufficient to float them to Mauch Chunk, after which, entering regular canals, they find no other impediments, but are conveyed to their ultimate destination. Before population had greatly advanced in this part of Pennsylvania, game of all description found within that range was extremely abundant. The Elk itself did not disdain to browse on the shoulders of the mountains near the Lehigh. Bears and the common Deer must have been plentiful, as, at the moment when I write, many of both are seen and killed by the resident hunters. The Wild Turkey, the Pheasant, and the Grouse, are also tolerably abundant, and as to trout in the streams--ah, reader, if you are an angler, do go there and try for yourself. For my part, I can only say that I have been made weary with pulling up from the rivulets the sparkling fish, allured by the struggles of the common grasshopper. A comical affair happened with the Bears, which I shall relate to you, good reader. A party of my friend Irish's raftsmen, returning from Mauch Chunk one afternoon, through sundry short-cuts over the mountains, at the season when the huckleberries are ripe and plentiful, were suddenly apprised of the proximity of some of these animals by their snuffing the air. No sooner was this perceived than, to the astonishment of the party, not fewer than eight Bears, I was told, made their appearance. Each man, being provided with his short-handled axe, faced about, and willingly came to the scratch; but the assailed soon proved the assailants, and with claw and tooth drove the men off in a twinkling. Down they all rushed from the mountain; the noise spread quickly; rifles were soon procured and shouldered; but when the spot was reached, no Bears were to be found; night forced the hunters back to their homes, and a laugh concluded the affair. I spent six weeks in the Great Pine Forest--Swamp it cannot be called--where I made many a drawing. Wishing to leave Pennsylvania, and to follow the migratory flocks of our birds to the South, I bade adieu to the excellent wife and rosy children of my friend, and to his kind nephew. Jediah Irish, shouldering his heavy rifle, accompanied me, and trudging directly across the mountains, we arrived at Mauch Chunk in good time for dinner. Shall I ever have the pleasure of seeing that good, that generous man again?[53] At Mauch Chunk, where we both spent the night, Mr. White, the civil engineer, visited me, and looked at the drawings which I had made in the Great Pine Forest. The news he gave me of my sons, then in Kentucky, made me still more anxious to move in their direction; and long before daybreak, I shook hands with the good man of the forest, and found myself moving towards the capital of Pennsylvania,[54] having as my sole companion a sharp, frosty breeze. Left to my thoughts, I felt amazed that such a place as the Great Pine Forest should be so little known to the Philadelphians, scarcely any of whom could direct me towards it. How much it is to be regretted, thought I, that the many young gentlemen who are there, so much at a loss how to employ their leisure days, should not visit these wild retreats, valuable as they are to the student of nature. How differently would they feel, if, instead of spending weeks in smoothing a useless bow, and walking out in full dress, intent on displaying the make of their legs, to some rendezvous where they may enjoy their wines, they were to occupy themselves in contemplating the rich profusion which nature has poured around them, or even in procuring some desiderated specimen for their Peale's Museum, once so valuable, and so finely arranged! But, alas, no! they are none of them aware of the richness of the Great Pine Swamp, nor are they likely to share the hospitality to be found there. THE LOST ONE A "LIVE-OAKER" employed on the St. John's River, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on the banks of that stream, and, with his axe on his shoulder, proceeded towards the swamp in which he had several times before plied his trade of felling and squaring the giant trees that afford the most valuable timber for naval architecture and other purposes. At the season which is the best for this kind of labor, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the country, so as to render it difficult for one to see farther than thirty or forty yards in any direction. The woods, too, present so little variety that every tree seems the mere counterpart of every other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt, is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot see over it, whence it is necessary for him to proceed with great caution, lest he should unwittingly deviate from the ill-defined trail which he follows. To increase the difficulty, several trails often meet, in which case, unless the explorer be perfectly acquainted with the neighborhood, it would be well for him to lie down, and wait until the fog should disperse. Under such circumstances, the best woodsmen are not unfrequently bewildered for a while; and I well remember that such an occurrence happened to myself, at a time when I had imprudently ventured to pursue a wounded quadruped, which led me some distance from the track. The live-oaker had been jogging onwards for several hours, and became aware that he must have travelled considerably more than the distance between his cabin and the "hummock" which he desired to reach. To his alarm, at the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the sun at its meridian height, and could not recognize a single object around him. Young, healthy, and active, he imagined he had walked with more than usual speed, and had passed the place to which he was bound. He accordingly turned his back upon the sun, and pursued a different route, guided by a small trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his course; he saw it gradually descend in the west; but all around him continued as if enveloped with mystery. The huge gray trees spread their giant boughs over him, the rank grass extended on all sides, not a living being crossed his path; all was silent and still, and the scene was like a dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion. He wandered like a forgotten ghost that had passed into the land of spirits, without yet meeting one of his kind with whom to hold converse. The condition of a man lost in the woods is one of the most perplexing that could be imagined by a person who has not himself been in a like predicament. Every object he sees, he at first thinks he recognizes, and while his whole mind is bent on searching for more that may gradually lead to his extrication, he goes on committing greater errors the farther he proceeds. This was the case with the live-oaker. The sun was now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees it sunk in its full circular form, as if giving warning of a sultry morrow. Myriads of insects, delighted at its departure, now filled the air on buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from the muddy pool in which it had concealed itself; the Squirrel retired to its hole, the Crow to its roost, and, far above, the harsh, croaking voice of the Heron announced that, full of anxiety, it was wending its way towards the miry interior of some distant swamp. Now the woods began to resound to the shrill cries of the Owl; and the breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems of the forest trees, came laden with heavy and chilling dews. Alas! no moon with her silvery light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost One, wearied and vexed, laid himself down on the damp ground. Prayer is always consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished his family a happier night than it was his lot to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day. You may imagine the length of that dull, cold, moonless night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart, pursued a course which he thought might lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he calculated the many hours of daylight he had before him, and the farther he went, the faster he walked. But vain were all his hopes; that day was spent in fruitless endeavors to regain the path that led to his home, and when night again approached, the terror that had been gradually spreading over his mind, together with the nervous debility produced by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not been for the piety with which his parents had in early life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, would have cursed his existence. Famished as he now was, he laid himself on the ground, and fed on the weeds and grasses that grew around him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and terror. "I knew my situation," he said to me. "I was fully aware that unless Almighty God came to my assistance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had not met with a brook, from which I could quench my thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips and bloodshot eyes. I knew that if I should not meet with some stream I must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and although Deer and Bears now and then started within a few yards, or even feet of me, not one of them could I kill; and although I was in the midst of abundance, not a mouthful did I expect to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty stomach. Sir, may God preserve you from ever feeling as I did the whole of that day." For several days after, no one can imagine the condition in which he was, for when he related to me this painful adventure, he assured me that he had lost all recollection of what had happened. "God," he continued, "must have taken pity on me one day, for, as I ran wildly through those dreadful pine barrens, I met with a tortoise. I gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and, although I knew that were I to follow it undisturbed, it would lead me to some water, my hunger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinking its blood. With one stroke of my axe the beast was cut in two, and in a few moments I had despatched all but the shell. Oh, sir, how much I thanked God, whose kindness had put the Tortoise in my way! I felt greatly renewed. I sat down at the foot of a pine, gazed on the heavens, thought of my poor wife and children, and again and again thanked my God for my life; for now I felt less distracted in mind, and more assured that before long I must recover my way, and get back to my home." The Lost One remained and passed the night, at the foot of the same tree under which his repast had been made. Refreshed by a sound sleep, he started at dawn to resume his weary march. The sun rose bright, and he followed the direction of the shadows. Still the dreariness of the woods was the same, and he was on the point of giving up in despair, when he observed a Raccoon lying squatted in the grass. Raising his axe, he drove it with such violence through the helpless animal that it expired without a struggle. What he had done with the tortoise, he now did with the Raccoon, the greater part of which he actually devoured at one meal. With more comfortable feelings he then resumed his wanderings--his journey, I cannot say--for although in the possession of all his faculties, and in broad daylight, he was worse off than a lame man groping his way in the dark out of a dungeon, of which he knew not where the doors stood. Days, one after another, passed--nay, weeks in succession. He fed now on cabbage-trees, then on frogs and snakes. All that fell in his way was welcome and savory. Yet he became daily more emaciated, until at length he could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed, by his own reckoning, when he at last reached the banks of the river. His clothes in tatters, his once bright axe dimmed with rust, his face begrimed with beard, his hair matted, and his feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered with parchment, there he laid himself down to die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his fevered fancy, he thought he heard the noise of oars far away on the silent river. He listened, but the sounds died away on his ear. It was, indeed, a dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and now the light of life was about to be quenched forever. But again the sound of oars woke him from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly that the hum of a fly could not have escaped his ear. They were, indeed, the measured beats of oars. And now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke the tumultuous pulses of returning hope. On his knees did the eye of God see that poor man by the broad, still stream that glittered in the sunbeams, and human eyes soon saw him too, for round that headland covered with tangled brushwood, boldly advances the little boat, propelled by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his feeble voice on high; it was a loud, shrill scream of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look around. Another, but feebler scream, and they observe him. It comes, his heart flutters, his sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for breath. It comes--it has run upon the beach, and the Lost One is found. This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an actual occurrence, which might be embellished, no doubt, but which is better in the plain garb of truth. The notes by which I recorded it were written in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker, about four years after the painful incident occurred. His amiable wife, and loving children, were present at the recital, and never shall I forget the tears that flowed from their eyes as they listened to it, albeit it had long been more familiar to them than a tale thrice told. Sincerely do I wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may ever elicit such sympathy by having undergone such sufferings, although no doubt, such sympathy would be a rich recompense for them. It only remains for me to say that the distance between the cabin and the live-oak hummock to which the woodsman was bound, scarcely exceeded eight miles, while the part of the river where he was found was thirty-eight miles from his house. Calculating his daily wanderings at ten miles, we may believe they amounted in all to four hundred. He must therefore have rambled in a circuitous direction, which people generally do in such circumstances. Nothing but the great strength of his constitution, and the merciful aid of his Maker, could have supported him for so long a time. THE LIVE-OAKERS The greater part of the forests of East Florida consist principally of what in that country are called "pine barrens." In these districts, the woods are rather thin, and the only trees that are seen in them are tall pines of indifferent quality, beneath which is a growth of rank grass, here and there mixed with low bushes, and sword-palmettoes. The soil is of a sandy nature, mostly flat, and consequently either covered with water during the rainy season, or parched in the summer or autumn, although you meet at times with ponds of stagnant water, where the cattle, which are abundant, allay their thirst, and around which resort the various kinds of game found in these wilds. The traveller, who has pursued his course for many miles over the barrens, is suddenly delighted to see in the distance the appearance of a dark "hummock" of live-oaks and other trees, seeming as if they had been planted in the wilderness. As he approaches, the air feels cooler and more salubrious, the song of numerous birds delights his ear, the herbage assumes a more luxuriant appearance, the flowers become larger and brighter, and a grateful fragrance is diffused around. These objects contribute to refresh his mind, as much as the sight of the waters of some clear spring gliding among the undergrowth seems already to allay his thirst. Overhead festoons of innumerable vines, jessamines, and bignonias, link each tree with those around it, their slender stems being interlaced as if in mutual affection. No sooner, in the shade of these beautiful woods, has the traveller finished his mid-day repast than he perceives small parties of men lightly accoutred, and each bearing an axe, approaching towards his resting-place. They exchange the usual civilities, and immediately commence their labors, for they too have just finished their meal. I think I see them proceeding to their work. Here two have stationed themselves on the opposite sides of the trunk of a noble and venerable live-oak. Their keen-edged and well-tempered axes seem to make no impression on it, so small are the chips that drop at each blow around the mossy and wide-spreading roots. There, one is ascending the stem of another, of which, in its fall, the arms have stuck among the tangled tops of the neighboring trees. See how cautiously he proceeds, barefooted, and with a handkerchief around his head. Now he has climbed to the height of about forty feet from the ground; he stops, and squaring himself with the trunk on which he so boldly stands, he wields with sinewy arms his trusty blade, the repeated blows of which, although the tree be as tough as it is large, will soon sever it in two. He has changed sides, and his back is turned to you. The trunk now remains connected only by a thin strip of wood. He places his feet on the part which is lodged, and shakes it with all his might. Now swings the huge log under his leaps, now it suddenly gives way, and as it strikes upon the ground its echoes are repeated through the hummock, and every Wild Turkey within hearing utters his gobble of recognition. The wood-cutter however, remains collected and composed; but the next moment, he throws his axe to the ground, and, assisted by the nearest grape-vine, slides down and reaches the earth in an instant. Several men approach and examine the prostrate trunk. They cut at both its extremities, and sound the whole of its bark, to enable them to judge if the tree has been attacked by the white rot. If such has unfortunately been the case, there, for a century or more, this huge log will remain until it gradually crumbles; but if not, and if it is free of injury or "wind-shakes," while there is no appearance of the sap having already ascended, and its pores are altogether sound, they proceed to take its measurement. Its shape ascertained, and the timber that is fit for use laid out by the aid of models, which, like fragments of the skeleton of a ship, show the forms and sizes required, the "hewers" commence their labors. Thus, reader, perhaps every known hummock in the Floridas is annually attacked, and so often does it happen that the white rot or some other disease has deteriorated the quality of the timber, that the woods may be seen strewn with trunks that have been found worthless, so that every year these valuable oaks are becoming scarcer. The destruction of the young trees of this species caused by the fall of the great trunks is of course immense, and as there are no artificial plantations of these trees in our country, before long a good-sized live-oak will be so valuable that its owner will exact an enormous price for it, even while it yet stands in the wood. In my opinion, formed on personal observation, live-oak hummocks are _not quite_ so plentiful as they are represented to be, and of this I will give you _one_ illustration. On the 25th of February, 1832, I happened to be far up the St. John's River in East Florida, in the company of a person employed by our government in protecting the live-oaks of that section of the country, and who received a good salary for his trouble. While we were proceeding along one of the banks of that most singular stream, my companion pointed out some large hummocks of dark-leaved trees on the opposite side, which he said were entirely formed of live-oaks. I thought differently, and as our controversy on the subject became a little warm, I proposed that our men should row us to the place, where we might examine the leaves and timber, and so decide the point. We soon landed, but after inspecting the woods, not a single tree of the species did we find, although there were thousands of large "swamp-oaks." My companion acknowledged his mistake, and I continued to search for birds. One dark evening as I was seated on the banks of this same river, considering what arrangements I should make for the night, as it began to rain in torrents, a man who happened to see me, came up and invited me to go to his cabin, which he said was not far off. I accepted his kind offer, and followed him to his humble dwelling. There I found his wife, several children, and a number of men, who, as my host told me, were, like himself, live-oakers. Supper was placed on a large table, and on being desired to join the party, I willingly assented, doing my best to diminish the contents of the tin pans and dishes set before the company by the active and agreeable housewife. We then talked of the country, its climate and productions, until a late hour, when we laid ourselves down on Bears' skins, and reposed till daybreak. I longed to accompany these hardy woodcutters to the hummock where they were engaged in preparing live-oak timber for a man-of-war. Provided with axes and guns, we left the house to the care of the wife and children, and proceeded for several miles through a pine-barren, such as I have attempted to describe. One fine Wild Turkey was shot, and when we arrived at the _shanty_ put up near the hummock, we found another party of wood-cutters waiting our arrival, before eating their breakfast, already prepared by a negro man, to whom the Turkey was consigned to be roasted for part of that day's dinner. Our repast was an excellent one, and vied with a Kentucky breakfast; beef, fish, potatoes, and other vegetables, were served up, with coffee in tin cups, and plenty of biscuit. Every man seemed hungry and happy, and the conversation assumed the most humorous character. The sun now rose above the trees, and all, excepting the cook, proceeded to the hummock, on which I had been gazing with great delight, as it promised rare sport. My host, I found, was the chief of the party; and although he also had an axe, he made no other use of it than for stripping here and there pieces of bark from certain trees which he considered of doubtful soundness. He was not only well versed in his profession, but generally intelligent, and from him I received the following account, which I noted at the time. The men who are employed in cutting the live-oak, after having discovered a good hummock, build shanties of small logs, to retire to at night, and feed in by day. Their provisions consist of beef, pork, potatoes, biscuit, flour, rice and fish, together with excellent whiskey. They are mostly hale, strong, and active men, from the eastern parts of the Union, and receive excellent wages, according to their different abilities. Their labors are only of a few months' duration. Such hummocks as are found near navigable streams are first chosen, and when it is absolutely necessary, the timber is sometimes hauled five or six miles to the nearest water-course, where, although it sinks, it can with comparative ease, be shipped to its destination. The best time for cutting the live-oak is considered to be from the first of December to the beginning of March, or while the sap is completely down. When the sap is flowing, the tree is "bloom," and more apt to be "shaken." The white-rot, which occurs so frequently in the live-oak, and is perceptible only by the best judges, consists of round spots, about an inch and a half in diameter, on the outside of the bark, through which, at that spot, a hard stick may be driven several inches, and generally follows the heart up or down the trunk of the tree. So deceiving are these spots and trees to persons unacquainted with this defect, that thousands of trees are cut, and afterwards abandoned. The great number of trees of this sort strewn in the woods would tend to make a stranger believe that there is much more good oak in the country than there really is; and perhaps, in reality, not more than one-fourth of the quantity usually reported, is to be procured. The live-oakers generally revisit their distant homes in the Middle and Eastern Districts, where they spend the summer, returning to the Floridas at the approach of winter. Some, however, who have gone there with their families, remain for years in succession; although they suffer much from the climate, by which their once good constitutions are often greatly impaired. This was the case with the individual above mentioned, from whom I subsequently received much friendly assistance in my pursuits. SPRING GARDEN Having heard many wonderful accounts of a certain spring near the sources of the St. John's River in East Florida, I resolved to visit it, in order to judge for myself. On the 6th of January, 1832, I left the plantation of my friend John Bulow, accompanied by an amiable and accomplished Scotch gentleman, an engineer employed by the planters of those districts in erecting their sugar-house establishments. We were mounted on horses of the Indian breed, remarkable for their activity and strength, and were provided with guns and some provisions. The weather was pleasant, but not so our way, for no sooner had we left the "King's Road," which had been cut by the Spanish government for a goodly distance, than we entered a thicket of scrubby oaks, succeeded by a still denser mass of low palmettoes, which extended about three miles, and among the roots of which our nags had great difficulty in making good their footing. After this we entered the pine barrens, so extensively distributed in this portion of the Floridas. The sand seemed to be all sand and nothing but sand, and the palmettoes at times so covered the narrow Indian trail which we followed, that it required all the instinct or sagacity of ourselves and our horses to keep it. It seemed to us as if we were approaching the end of the world. The country was perfectly flat, and, so far as we could survey it, presented the same wild and scraggy aspect. My companion, who had travelled there before, assured me that, at particular seasons of the year, he had crossed the barrens when they were covered with water fully knee-deep, when, according to his expression, they "looked most awful;" and I readily believed him, as we now and then passed through muddy pools, which reached the saddle-girths of our horses. Here and there large tracts covered with tall grasses, and resembling the prairies of the western wilds, opened to our view. Wherever the country happened to be sunk a little beneath the general level, it was covered with cypress trees, whose spreading arms were hung with a profusion of Spanish moss. The soil in such cases consisted of black mud, and was densely covered with bushes, chiefly of the Magnolia family. We crossed in succession the heads of three branches of Haw Creek, of which the waters spread from a quarter to half a mile in breadth, and through which we made our way with extreme difficulty. While in the middle of one, my companion told me that once, when in the very spot where we then stood, his horse chanced to place his fore-feet on the back of a large alligator, which, not well pleased at being disturbed in his repose, suddenly raised his head, opened his monstrous jaws, and snapped off part of the lips of the affrighted pony. You may imagine the terror of the poor beast, which, however, after a few plunges, resumed its course, and succeeded in carrying its rider through in safety. As a reward for this achievement, it was ever after honored with the appellation of "Alligator." We had now travelled about twenty miles, and, the sun having reached the zenith, we dismounted to partake of some refreshment. From a muddy pool we contrived to obtain enough of tolerably clear water to mix with the contents of a bottle, the like of which I would strongly recommend to every traveller in these swampy regions; our horses, too, found something to grind among the herbage that surrounded the little pool; but as little time was to be lost, we quickly remounted, and resumed our disagreeable journey, during which we had at no time proceeded at a rate exceeding two miles and a half in the hour. All at once, however, a wonderful change took place:--the country became more elevated and undulating; the timber was of a different nature, and consisted of red and live-oaks, magnolias, and several kinds of pine. Thousands of "Mole-hills," or the habitations of an animal here called "the Salamander," and "Gopher's burrows" presented themselves to the eye, and greatly annoyed our horses, which now and then sank to the depth of a foot, and stumbled at the risk of breaking their legs, and what we considered fully as valuable, our necks. We now saw beautiful lakes of the purest water, and passed along a green space, having a series of them on each side of us. These sheets of water became larger and more numerous the farther we advanced--some of them extending to a length of several miles, and having a depth of from two to twenty feet of clear water; but their shores being destitute of vegetation, we observed no birds near them. Many tortoises, however, were seen basking in the sun, and all, as we approached, plunged into the water. Not a trace of man did we observe during our journey, scarcely a bird, and not a single quadruped, not even a Rat; nor can one imagine a poorer and more desolate country than that which lies between the Halifax River, which we had left in the morning, and the undulating grounds at which we had now arrived. But at length we perceived the tracks of living beings, and soon after saw the huts of Colonel Rees's negroes. Scarcely could ever African traveller have approached the city of Timbuctoo with more excited curiosity than we felt in approaching this plantation. Our Indian horses seemed to participate in our joy, and trotted at a smart rate towards the principal building, at the door of which we leaped from our saddles, just as the sun was withdrawing his ruddy light. Colonel Rees was at home, and received us with great kindness. Refreshments were immediately placed before us, and we spent the evening in agreeable conversation. The next day I walked over the plantation, and examining the country around, found the soil of good quality, it having been reclaimed from swampy ground of a black color, rich, and very productive. The greater part of the cultivated land was on the borders of a lake, which communicates with others, leading to the St. John's River, distant about seven miles, and navigable so far by vessels not exceeding fifty or sixty tons. After breakfast, our amiable host showed us the way to the celebrated spring, the sight of which afforded me pleasure sufficient to counterbalance the tediousness of my journey. This spring presents a circular basin, having a diameter of about sixty feet, from the centre of which the water is thrown up with great force, although it does not rise to a height of more than a few inches above the general level. A kind of whirlpool is formed, on the edges of which are deposited vast quantities of shells, with pieces of wood, gravel, and other substances, which have coalesced into solid masses, having a very curious appearance. The water is quite transparent, although of a dark color, but so impregnated with sulphur that it emits an odor which to me was highly nauseous. Its surface lies fifteen or twenty feet below the level of the woodland lakes in the neighborhood, and its depth, in the autumnal months, is about seventeen feet, when the water is lowest. In all the lakes, the same species of shell as those thrown up by the spring, occur in abundance, and it seems more than probable that it is formed of the water collected from them by infiltration, or forms the subterranean outlet of some of them. The lakes themselves are merely reservoirs, containing the residue of the waters which fall during the rainy seasons, and contributing to supply the waters of the St. John's River, with which they all seem to communicate by similar means. This spring pours its waters into "Rees's Lake," through a deep and broad channel called Spring Garden Creek. This channel is said to be in some places fully sixty feet deep, but it becomes more shallow as you advance towards the entrance of the lake, at which you are surprised to find yourself on a mud-flat covered only by about fifteen inches of water, under which the depositions from the spring lie to a depth of four or five feet in the form of the softest mud, while under this again is a bed of fine white sand. When this mud is stirred up by the oars of your boat or otherwise, it appears of a dark-green color, and smells strongly of sulphur. At all times it sends up numerous bubbles of air, which probably consist of suphuretted hydrogen gas. The mouth of this curious spring is calculated to be two and a half feet square; and the velocity of its water, during the rainy season, is three feet per second. This would render the discharge per hour about 499,500 gallons. Colonel Rees showed us the remains of another spring of the same kind, which had dried up from some natural cause. My companion, the engineer, having occupation for another day, I requested Colonel Rees to accompany me in his boat towards the river St. John's, which I was desirous of seeing, as well as the curious country in its neighborhood. He readily agreed, and after an early breakfast next morning, we set out, accompanied by two servants to manage the boat. As we crossed Rees's Lake, I observed that its northeastern shores were bounded by a deep swamp, covered by a rich growth of tall cypresses, while the opposite side presented large marshes and islands ornamented by pines, live-oaks, and orange-trees. With the exception of a very narrow channel, the creek was covered with nympheæ, and in its waters swam numerous Alligators, while Ibises, Gallinules, Anhingas, Coots, and Cormorants were seen pursuing their avocations on its surface or along its margins. Over our heads the Fish Hawks were sailing, and on the broken trees around we saw many of their nests. We followed Spring Garden Creek for about two miles and a half, and passed a mud bar, before we entered "Dexter's Lake." The bar was stuck full of unios, in such profusion that each time the negroes thrust their hands into the mud they took up several. According to their report these shell-fish are quite unfit for food. In this lake the water had changed its hue, and assumed a dark chestnut color, although it was still transparent. The depth was very uniformly five feet, and the extent of the lake was about eight miles by three. Having crossed it we followed the creek, and soon saw the entrance of Woodruff's Lake, which empties its still darker waters into the St. John's River. I here shot a pair of curious Ibises, which you will find described in my fourth volume, and landed on a small island covered with wild orange trees, the luxuriance and freshness of which were not less pleasing to the sight than the perfume of their flowers was to the smell. The group seemed to me like a rich bouquet formed by nature to afford consolation to the weary traveller, cast down by the dismal scenery of swamps and pools and rank grass around him. Under the shade of these beautiful evergreens, and amidst the golden fruits that covered the ground, while the Humming-birds fluttered over our heads, we spread our cloth on the grass, and with a happy and thankful heart, I refreshed myself with the bountiful gifts of an ever-careful Providence. Colonel Rees informed me that this charming retreat was one of the numerous _terræ incognitæ_ of this region of lakes, and that it should henceforth bear the name of "Audubon's Isle." In conclusion, let me inform you that the spring has been turned to good account by my generous host, Colonel Rees, who, aided by my amiable companion, the engineer, has directed its current so as to turn a mill, which suffices to grind the whole of his sugar-cane. DEATH OF A PIRATE In the calm of a fine moonlight night, as I was admiring the beauty of the clear heavens, and the broad glare of light that glanced from the trembling surface of the waters around, the officer on watch came up and entered into conversation with me. He had been a turtler in other years, and a great hunter to boot, and although of humble birth and pretensions, energy and talent, aided by education, had raised him to a higher station. Such a man could not fail to be an agreeable companion, and we talked on various subjects, principally, you may be sure, birds and other natural productions. He told me he once had a disagreeable adventure, when looking out for game, in a certain cove on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico; and, on my expressing a desire to hear it, he willingly related to me the following particulars, which I give you, not, perhaps, precisely in his own words, but as nearly so as I can remember. "Towards evening, one quiet summer day, I chanced to be paddling along a sandy shore, which I thought well fitted for my repose, being covered with tall grass, and as the sun was not many degrees above the horizon, I felt anxious to pitch my mosquito bar or net, and spend the night in this wilderness. The bellowing notes of thousands of bull-frogs in a neighboring swamp might lull me to rest, and I looked upon the flocks of Blackbirds that were assembling as sure companions in this secluded retreat. "I proceeded up a little stream, to insure the safety of my canoe from any sudden storm, when, as I gladly advanced, a beautiful yawl came unexpectedly in view. Surprised at such a sight in a part of the country then scarcely known, I felt a sudden check in the circulation of my blood. My paddle dropped from my hands, and fearfully indeed, as I picked it up, did I look towards the unknown boat. On reaching it, I saw its sides marked with stains of blood, and looking with anxiety over the gunwale, I perceived, to my horror, two human bodies covered with gore. Pirates or hostile Indians, I was persuaded, had perpetrated the foul deed, and my alarm naturally increased; my heart fluttered, stopped, and heaved with unusual tremors, and I looked towards the setting sun in consternation and despair. How long my reveries lasted I cannot tell; I can only recollect that I was roused from them by the distant groans of one apparently in mortal agony. I felt as if refreshed by the cold perspiration that oozed from every pore, and I reflected that though alone, I was well armed, and might hope for the protection of the Almighty. "Humanity whispered to me that, if not surprised and disabled, I might render assistance to some sufferer, or even be the means of saving a useful life. Buoyed up by this thought, I urged my canoe on shore, and seizing it by the bow, pulled it at one spring high among the grass. "The groans of the unfortunate person fell heavy on my ear as I cocked and reprimed my gun, and I felt determined to shoot the first that should rise from the grass. As I cautiously proceeded, a hand was raised over the weeds, and waved in the air in the most supplicating manner. I levelled my gun about a foot below it, when the next moment the head and breast of a man covered with blood were convulsively raised, and a faint hoarse voice asked me for mercy and help! A deathlike silence followed his fall to the ground. I surveyed every object around with eyes intent, and ears impressible by the slightest sound, for my situation that moment I thought as critical as any I had ever been in. The croaking of the frogs, and the last Blackbirds alighting on their roosts, were the only sounds or sights; and I now proceeded towards the object of my mingled alarm and commiseration. "Alas! the poor being who lay prostrate at my feet was so weakened by loss of blood that I had nothing to fear from him. My first impulse was to run back to the water, and having done so, I returned with my cap filled to the brim. I felt at his heart, washed his face and breast, and rubbed his temples with the contents of a phial which I kept about me as an antidote for the bites of snakes. His features, seamed by the ravages of time, looked frightful and disgusting; but he had been a powerful man, as the breadth of his chest plainly showed. He groaned in the most appalling manner, as his breath struggled through the mass of blood that seemed to fill his throat. His dress plainly disclosed his occupation. A large pistol he had thrust into his bosom, a naked cutlass lay near him on the ground, a red silk handkerchief was bound over his projecting brows, and over a pair of loose trousers he wore fisherman's boots. He was, in short, a pirate. "My exertions were not in vain, for as I continued to bathe his temples he revived, his pulse resumed some strength, and I began to hope that he might perhaps survive the deep wounds he had received. Darkness, deep darkness, now enveloped us. I spoke of making a fire. 'Oh! for mercy's sake,' he exclaimed, 'don't.' Knowing, however, that under existing circumstances it was expedient for me to do so, I left him, went to his boat, and brought the rudder, the benches, and the oars, which with my hatchet I soon splintered. I then struck a light, and presently stood in the glare of a blazing fire. The pirate seemed struggling between terror and gratitude for my assistance; he desired me several times in half English and Spanish to put out the flames; but after I had given him a draught of strong spirits, he at length became more composed. I tried to stanch the blood that flowed from the deep gashes in his shoulders and side. I expressed my regret that I had no food about me, but when I spoke of eating he sullenly waved his head. "My situation was one of the most extraordinary that I have ever been placed in. I naturally turned my talk towards religious subjects, but, alas, the dying man hardly believed in the existence of a God. 'Friend,' said he, 'for friend you seem to be, I have never studied the ways of Him of whom you talk. I am an outlaw, perhaps you will say a wretch--I have been for many years a pirate. The instructions of my parents were of no avail to me, for I have always believed that I was born to be a most cruel man. I now lie here, about to die in the weeds, because I long ago refused to listen to their many admonitions. Do not shudder when I tell you--these now useless hands murdered the mother whom they had embraced. I feel that I have deserved the pangs of the wretched death that hovers over me; and I am thankful that one of my kind will alone witness my last gaspings.' "A fond but feeble hope that I might save his life, and perhaps assist in procuring his pardon, induced me to speak to him on the subject. 'It is all in vain, friend--I have no objection to die--I am glad that the villains who wounded me were not my conquerors--I want no pardon from _any one_. Give me some water, and let me die alone.' With the hope that I might learn from his conversation something that might lead to the capture of his guilty associates, I returned from the creek with another capful of water, nearly the whole of which I managed to introduce into his parched mouth, and begged him, for the sake of his future peace, to disclose his history to me. 'It is impossible,' said he; 'there will not be time, the beatings of my heart tell me so. Long before day these sinewy limbs will be motionless. Nay, there will hardly be a drop of blood in my body; and that blood will only serve to make the grass grow. My wounds are mortal, and I must and will die without what you call confession.' "The moon rose in the east. The majesty of her placid beauty impressed me with reverence. I pointed towards her, and asked the pirate if he could not recognize God's features there. 'Friend, I see what you are driving at,' was his answer; 'you, like the rest of our enemies, feel the desire of murdering us all. Well--be it so. To die is, after all, nothing more than a jest; and were it not for the pain, no one, in my opinion, need care a jot about it. But, as you really have befriended me, I will tell you all that is proper.' "Hoping his mind might take a useful turn, I again bathed his temples, and washed his lips with spirits. His sunk eyes seemed to dart fire at mine; a heavy and deep sigh swelled his chest, and struggled through his blood-choked throat, and he asked me to raise him for a little. I did so, when he addressed me somewhat as follows; for, as I have told you, his speech was a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, forming a jargon the like of which I had never heard before, and which I am utterly unable to imitate. However, I shall give you the substance of his declaration. "'First, tell me how many bodies you found in the boat, and what sort of dresses they had on.' I mentioned their number and described their apparel. 'That's right,' said he; 'they are the bodies of the scoundrels who followed me in that infernal Yankee barge. Bold rascals they were, for when they found the water too shallow for their craft, they took to it, and waded after me. All my companions had been shot, and to lighten my own boat I flung them overboard; but as I lost time in this, the two ruffians caught hold of my gunwale, and struck on my head and body in such a manner that after I had disabled and killed them both in the boat, I was scarce able to move. The other villains carried off our schooner and one of our boats, and perhaps ere now have hung all my companions whom they did not kill at the time. I have commanded my beautiful vessel many years, captured many ships, and sent many rascals to the devil. I always hated the Yankees, and only regret that I have not killed more of them.--I sailed from Matanzas.--I have often been in concert with others. I have money without counting, but it is buried where it will never be found, and it would be useless to tell you of it.' His throat filled with blood, his voice failed, the cold hand of death was laid on his brow; feebly and hurriedly he muttered, 'I am a dying man. Farewell!' "Alas! it is painful to see death in any shape; in this it was horrible, for there was no hope. The rattling of his throat announced the moment of dissolution, and already did the body fall on my arms with a weight that was insupportable. I laid him on the ground. A mass of dark blood poured from his mouth; then came a frightful groan, the last breathing of that foul spirit; and what now lay at my feet in the wild desert?--a mangled mass of clay! "The remainder of that night was passed in no enviable mood; but my feelings cannot be described. At dawn I dug a hole with the paddle of my canoe, rolled the body into it, and covered it. On reaching the boat I found several buzzards feeding on the bodies, which I in vain attempted to drag to the shore. I therefore covered them with mud and weeds, and launching my canoe, paddled from the cove with a secret joy for my escape, overshadowed with the gloom of mingled dread and abhorrence." THE WRECKERS OF FLORIDA Long before I reached the lovely islets that border the southeastern shores of the Floridas, the accounts I had heard of "The Wreckers" had deeply prejudiced me against them. Often had I been informed of the cruel and cowardly methods which it was alleged they employed to allure vessels of all nations to the dreaded reefs, that they might plunder their cargoes, and rob their crews and passengers of their effects. I therefore could have little desire to meet with such men under any circumstances, much less to become liable to receive their aid; and with the name of Wreckers there were associated in my mind ideas of piratical depredations, barbarous usage, and even murder. One fair afternoon, while I was standing on the polished deck of the United States revenue cutter, the "Marion," a sail hove in sight, bearing in an opposite course, and close-hauled to the wind. The gentle rake of her masts, as she rocked to and fro in the breeze, brought to my mind the wavings of the reeds on the fertile banks of the Mississippi. By and by the vessel, altering her course, approached us. The "Marion," like a sea-bird with extended wings, swept through the waters, gently inclining to either side, while the unknown vessel leaped as it were, from wave to wave, like the dolphin in eager pursuit of his prey. In a short time we were gliding side by side, and the commander of the strange schooner saluted our captain, who promptly returned the compliment. What a beautiful vessel! we all thought; how trim, how clean rigged, and how well manned! She swims like a duck; and now with a broad sheer, off she makes for the reefs a few miles under our lee. There, in that narrow passage, well known to her commander, she rolls, tumbles, and dances, like a giddy thing, her copper sheathing now gleaming and again disappearing under the waves. But the passage is thridded, and now, hauling on the wind, she resumes her former course, and gradually recedes from the view. Reader, it was a Florida Wrecker. When at the Tortugas, I paid a visit to several vessels of this kind, in company with my excellent friend Robert Day, Esq. We had observed the regularity and quickness of the men then employed at their arduous tasks, and as we approached the largest schooner, I admired her form, so well adapted to her occupation, her great breadth of beam, her light draught, the correctness of her water-line, the neatness of her painted sides, the smoothness of her well-greased masts, and the beauty of her rigging. We were welcomed on board with all the frankness of our native tars. Silence and order prevailed on her decks. The commander and the second officer led us into a spacious cabin, well-lighted, and furnished with every convenience for fifteen or more passengers. The former brought me his collection of marine shells, and whenever I pointed to one that I had not seen before, offered it with so much kindness that I found it necessary to be careful in expressing my admiration of any particular shell. He had also many eggs of rare birds, which were all handed over to me, with an assurance that before the month should expire, a new set could easily be procured; "for," said he, "we have much idle time on the reefs at this season." Dinner was served, and we partook of their fare, which consisted of fish, fowl, and other materials. These rovers, who were both from "down east," were stout, active men, cleanly and smart in their attire. In a short time we were all extremely social and merry. They thought my visit to the Tortugas, in quest of birds, was rather a "curious fancy;" but, notwithstanding, they expressed their pleasure while looking at some of my drawings, and offered their services in procuring specimens. Expeditions far and near were proposed, and on settling that one of them was to take place on the morrow, we parted friends. Early next morning, several of these kind men accompanied me to a small Key called Booby Island, about ten miles distant from the lighthouse. Their boats were well-manned, and rowed with long and steady strokes, such as whalers and men-of-war's men are wont to draw. The captain sang, and at times, by way of frolic, ran a race with our own beautiful bark. The Booby Isle was soon reached, and our sport there was equal to any we had elsewhere. They were capital shots, had excellent guns, and knew more about Boobies and Noddies than nine-tenths of the best naturalists in the world. But what will you say when I tell you the Florida Wreckers are excellent at a Deer hunt, and that at certain seasons, "when business is slack," they are wont to land on some extensive Key, and in a few hours procure a supply of delicious venison. Some days afterwards, the same party took me on an expedition in quest of sea shells. There we were all in water, at times to the waist, and now and then much deeper. Now they would dip, like ducks, and on emerging would hold up a beautiful shell. This occupation they seemed to enjoy above all others. The duties of the "Marion," having been performed, intimation of our intended departure reached the Wreckers. An invitation was sent to me to go and see them on board their vessels, which I accepted. Their object on this occasion was to present me with some superb corals, shells, live Turtles of the Hawk-bill species, and a great quantity of eggs. Not a "picayune" would they receive in return, but putting some letters in my hands, requested me "to be so good as to put them in the mail at Charleston," adding that they were for their wives "down east." So anxious did they appear to be to do all they could for me, that they proposed to sail before the "Marion," and meet her under way, to give me some birds that were rare on the coast, and of which they knew the haunts. Circumstances connected with "the service" prevented this, however, and with sincere regret, and a good portion of friendship, I bade these excellent fellows adieu. How different, thought I, is often the knowledge of things acquired by personal observation from that obtained by report! I had never before seen Florida Wreckers, nor has it since been my fortune to fall in with any; but my good friend Dr. Benjamin Strobel, having furnished me with a graphic account of a few days which he spent with them, I shall present you with it in his own words:-- "On the 12th day of September, while lying in harbor at Indian Key, we were joined by five wrecking vessels. Their licenses having expired, it was necessary to go to Key West to renew them. We determined to accompany them the next morning; and here it will not be amiss for me to say a few words respecting these far-famed Wreckers, their captains and crews. From all that I had heard, I expected to see a parcel of dirty, pirate-looking vessels, officered and manned by a set of black-whiskered fellows, who carried murder in their very looks. I was agreeably surprised on discovering the vessels were fine large sloops and schooners, regular clippers, kept in first-rate order. The captains generally were jovial, good-natured sons of Neptune who manifested a disposition to be polite and hospitable, and to afford every facility to persons passing up and down the Reef. The crews were hearty, well-dressed and honest-looking men. "On the 13th, at the appointed hour, we all set sail together; that is, the five Wreckers and the schooner 'Jane.' As our vessel was not noted for fast sailing, we accepted an invitation to go on board of a Wrecker. The fleet got under way about eight o'clock in the morning, the wind light but fair, the water smooth, the day fine. I can scarcely find words to express the pleasure and gratification which I this day experienced. The sea was of a beautiful, soft, pea-green color, smooth as a sheet of glass, and as transparent, its surface agitated only by our vessels as they parted its bosom, or by the Pelican in pursuit of his prey, which rising for a considerable distance in the air, would suddenly plunge down with distended mandibles, and secure his food. The vessels of our little fleet with every sail set that could catch a breeze, and the white foam curling round the prows, glided silently along, like islands of flitting shadows, on an immovable sea of light. Several fathoms below the surface of the water, and under us, we saw great quantities of fish diving and sporting among the sea-grass, sponges, sea-feathers, and corals, with which the bottom was covered. On our right hand were the Florida Keys, which, as we made them in the distance, looked like specks upon the surface of the water, but as we neared them, rose to view as if by enchantment, clad in the richest livery of spring, each variety of color and hue rendered soft and delicate by a clear sky and a brilliant sun overhead. All was like a fairy scene; my heart leaped up in delighted admiration, and I could not but exclaim, in the language of Scott,-- 'Those seas behold Round thrice an hundred islands rolled. The trade wind played round us with balmy and refreshing sweetness; and, to give life and animation to the scene, we had a contest for the mastery between all the vessels of the fleet, while a deep interest was excited in favor of this or that vessel, as she shot ahead, or fell astern. "About three o'clock in the afternoon, we arrived off the Bay of Honda. The wind being light and no prospect of reaching Key West that night, it was agreed that we should make a harbor here. We entered a beautiful basin, and came to anchor about four o'clock. Boats were got out, and several hunting parties formed. We landed, and were soon on the scent, some going in search of shells, others of birds. An Indian, who had been picked up somewhere along the coast by a Wrecker, and who was employed as a hunter, was sent ashore in search of venison. Previous to his leaving the vessel, a rifle was loaded with a single ball and put into his hands. After an absence of several hours, he returned with two Deer, which he had killed at a single shot. He watched until they were both in range of his gun, side by side, when he fired and brought them down. "All hands having returned, and the fruits of our excursion being collected, we had wherewithal to make an abundant supper. Most of the game was sent on board the largest vessel, where we proposed supping. Our vessels were all lying within hail of each other, and as soon as the moon arose, boats were seen passing from vessel to vessel, and all were busily and happily engaged in exchanging civilities. One could never have supposed that these men were professional rivals, so apparent was the good feeling that prevailed among them. About nine o'clock we started for supper; a number of persons had already collected, and as soon as we arrived on board the vessel, a German sailor, who played remarkably well on the violin, was summoned on the quarter-deck, when all hands, with a good will, cheerily danced to lively airs until supper was ready. The table was laid in the cabin, and groaned under its load of venison, Wild Ducks, Pigeons, Curlews, and fish. Toasting and singing succeeded the supper, and among other curious matters introduced, the following song was sung by the German fiddler, who accompanied his voice with his instrument. He is said to be the author of the song. I say nothing of the poetry, but merely give it as it came on my ear. It is certainly very characteristic:-- THE WRECKERS' SONG. Come, ye good people, one and all, Come listen to my song; A few remarks I have to make, Which won't be very long. 'Tis of our vessel, stout and good As ever yet was built of wood, Along the reef where the breakers roar, The Wreckers on the Florida shore! Key Tavernier's our rendezvous; At anchor there we lie, And see the vessels in the Gulf, Carelessly passing by. When night comes on we dance and sing, Whilst the current some vessel is floating in; When daylight comes, a ship's on shore, Among the rocks where the breakers roar. When daylight dawns we're under way, And every sail is set, And if the wind it should prove light, Why, then our sails we wet. To gain her first each eager strives, To save the cargo and the people's lives, Amongst the rocks where the breakers roar, The Wreckers on the Florida shore. When we get 'longside we find she's bilged; We know well what to do, Save the cargo that we can. The sails and rigging too; Then down to Key West we soon will go, When quickly our salvage we shall know; When everything it is fairly sold, Our money down to us it is told. Then one week's _cruise_ we'll have on shore, Before we do sail again, And drink success to the sailor lads That are ploughing of the main. And when you are passing by this way, On the Florida reef should you chance to stray, Why we will come to you on the shore, Amongst the rocks where the breakers roar. Great emphasis was laid upon particular words by the singer, who had a broad German accent. Between the verses he played an interlude, remarking, 'Gentlemen, I makes dat myself.' The chorus was trolled by twenty or thirty voices, which, in the stillness of the night, produced no unpleasant effect." ST. JOHN'S RIVER IN FLORIDA Soon after landing at St. Augustine, in East Florida, I formed acquaintance with Dr. Simmons, Dr. Porcher, Judge Smith, the Misses Johnson, and other individuals, my intercourse with whom was as agreeable as beneficial to me. Lieutenant Constantine Smith, of the United States army, I found of a congenial spirit, as was the case with my amiable but since deceased friend, Dr. Bell of Dublin. Among the planters who extended their hospitality to me, I must particularly mention General Hernandez, and my esteemed friend John Bulow, Esq. To all these estimable individuals I offer my sincere thanks. While in this part of the peninsula I followed my usual avocation, although with little success, it then being winter. I had letters from the Secretaries of the Navy and Treasury of the United States, to the commanding officers of vessels of war of the revenue service, directing them to afford me any assistance in their power; and the schooner "Spark" having come to St. Augustine, on her way to the St. John's River, I presented my credentials to her commander Lieutenant Piercy, who readily and with politeness received me and my assistants on board. We soon after set sail with a fair breeze. The strict attention to duty on board even this small vessel of war, afforded matter of surprise to me. Everything went on with the regularity of a chronometer: orders were given, answered to, and accomplished, before they had ceased to vibrate on the ear. The neatness of the crew equalled the cleanliness of the white planks of the deck; the sails were in perfect condition; and, built as the "Spark" was, for swift sailing, on she went, gambolling from wave to wave. [Illustration: TRINGA ALPINA, RED-BACKED SANDPIPER. (Now Pelidna alpina pacifica.) FROM THE UNPUBLISHED DRAWING BY J. J. AUDUBON, NOVEMBER 24, 1831.] I thought that, while thus sailing, no feeling but that of pleasure could exist in our breasts; but, alas! how fleeting are our enjoyments. When we were almost at the entrance of the river, the wind changed, the sky became clouded, and, before many minutes had elapsed, the little bark was lying to "like a Duck," as her commander expressed himself. It blew a hurricane--let it blow, reader. At break of day we were again at anchor within the bar of St. Augustine. Our next attempt was successful. Not many hours after we had crossed the bar, we perceived the star-like glimmer of the light in the great lantern at the entrance of the St. John's River. This was before daylight; and, as the crossing of the sand-banks or bars, which occur at the mouths of all the streams of this peninsula is difficult, and can be accomplished only when the tide is up, one of the guns was fired as a signal for the government pilot. The good man, it seemed, was unwilling to leave his couch, but a second gun brought him in his canoe alongside. The depth of the channel was barely sufficient. My eyes, however, were not directed towards the waters, but on high, where flew some thousands of snowy Pelicans, which had fled affrighted from their resting-grounds. How beautifully they performed their broad gyrations, and how matchless, after a while, was the marshalling of their files, as they flew past us. On the tide we proceeded apace. Myriads of Cormorants covered the face of the waters, and over it Fish-Crows innumerable were already arriving from their distant roosts. We landed at one place to search for the birds whose charming melodies had engaged our attention, and here and there some young Eagles we shot, to add to our store of fresh provisions. The river did not seem to me equal in beauty to the fair Ohio; the shores were in many places low and swampy, to the great delight of the numberless Herons that moved along in gracefulness, and the grim Alligators that swam in sluggish sullenness. In going up a bayou, we caught a great number of the young of the latter for the purpose of making experiments upon them. After sailing a considerable way, during which our commander and officers took the soundings, as well as the angles and bearings of every nook and crook of the sinuous stream, we anchored one evening at a distance of fully one hundred miles from the mouth of the river. The weather, although it was the 12th of February, was quite warm, the thermometer on board standing at 75°, and on shore at 90°. The fog was so thick that neither of the shores could be seen, and yet the river was not a mile in breadth. The "blind mosquitoes" covered every object, even in the cabin, and so wonderfully abundant were these tormentors that they more than once fairly extinguished the candles whilst I was writing my journal, which I closed in despair, crushing between the leaves more than a hundred of the little wretches. Bad as they are, however, these blind mosquitoes do not bite. As if purposely to render our situation doubly uncomfortable, there was an establishment for jerking beef on the nearer shores, to the windward of our vessel, from which the breeze came laden with no sweet odors. In the morning when I arose, the country was still covered with thick fogs, so that although I could plainly hear the notes of the birds on shore, not an object could I see beyond the bowsprit, and the air was as close and sultry as on the previous evening. Guided by the scent of the jerkers' works we went on shore, where we found the vegetation already far advanced. The blossoms of the jessamine, ever pleasing, lay steeped in dew, the humming bee was collecting her winter's store from the snowy flowers of the native orange; and the little warblers frisked along the twigs of the smilax. Now, amid the tall pines of the forest, the sun's rays began to force their way, and as the dense mists dissolved in the atmosphere, the bright luminary at length shone forth. We explored the woods around, guided by some friendly live-oakers who had pitched their camp in the vicinity. After a while the "Spark" again displayed her sails, and as she silently glided along, we spied a Seminole Indian approaching us in his canoe. The poor, dejected son of the woods, endowed with talents of the highest order, although rarely acknowledged by the proud usurpers of his native soil, has spent the night in fishing, and the morning in procuring the superb feathered game of the swampy thickets; and with both he comes to offer them for our acceptance. Alas! thou fallen one, descendant of an ancient line of freeborn hunters, would that I could restore to thee thy birthright, thy natural independence, the generous feelings that were once fostered in thy brave bosom. But the irrevocable deed is done, and I can merely admire the perfect symmetry of his frame, as he dexterously throws on our deck the Trout and Turkeys which he has captured. He receives a recompense, and without smile or bow, or acknowledgment of any kind, off he starts with the speed of an arrow from his own bow. Alligators were extremely abundant, and the heads of the fishes which they had snapped off, lay floating around on the dark waters. A rifle bullet was now and then sent through the eye of one of the largest, which, with a tremendous splash of its tail, expired. One morning we saw a monstrous fellow lying on the shore. I was desirous of obtaining him to make an accurate drawing of his head, and accompanied by my assistant and two of the sailors, proceeded cautiously towards him. When within a few yards, one of us fired, and sent through his side an ounce ball which tore open a hole large enough to receive a man's hand. He slowly raised his head, bent himself upwards, opened his huge jaws, swung his tail to and fro, rose on his legs, blew in a frightful manner, and fell to the earth. My assistant leaped on shore, and, contrary to my injunctions, caught hold of the animal's tail, when the alligator, awakening from its trance, with a last effort crawled slowly towards the water, and plunged heavily into it. Had he thought of once flourishing his tremendous weapon, there might have been an end of his assailant's life, but he fortunately went in peace to his grave, where we left him, as the water was too deep. The same morning, another of equal size was observed swimming directly for the bows of our vessel, attracted by the gentle rippling of the water there. One of the officers, who had watched him, fired, and scattered his brain through the air, when he tumbled and rolled at a fearful rate, blowing all the while most furiously. The river was bloody for yards around, but although the monster passed close by the vessel, we could not secure him, and after a while he sunk to the bottom. Early one morning, I hired a boat and two men, with the view of returning to St. Augustine by a short-cut. Our baggage being placed on board, I bade adieu to the officers, and off we started. About four in the afternoon we arrived at the short-cut, forty miles distant from our point of departure, and where we had expected to procure a wagon, but were disappointed. So we laid our things on the bank, and leaving one of my assistants to look after them, I set out accompanied by the other and my Newfoundland dog. We had eighteen miles to go; and as the sun was only two hours high, we struck off at a good rate. Presently we entered a pine-barren. The country was as level as a floor; our path, although narrow, was well-beaten, having been used by the Seminole Indians for ages, and the weather was calm and beautiful. Now and then a rivulet occurred, from which we quenched our thirst, while the magnolias and other flowering plants on its banks relieved the dull uniformity of the woods. When the path separated into two branches, both seemingly leading the same way, I would follow one, while my companion took the other, and unless we met again in a short time, one of us would go across the intervening forest. The sun went down behind a cloud, and the southeast breeze that sprung up at this moment, sounded dolefully among the tall pines. Along the eastern horizon lay a bed of black vapor, which gradually rose, and soon covered the heavens. The air felt hot and oppressive, and we knew that a tempest was approaching. Plato was now our guide, the white spots on his coat being the only objects that we could discern amid the darkness, and as if aware of his utility in this respect, he kept a short way before us on the trail. Had we imagined ourselves more than a few miles from the town, we should have made a camp, and remained under its shelter for the night; but conceiving that the distance could not be great, we resolved to trudge along. Large drops began to fall from the murky mass overhead; thick impenetrable darkness surrounded us, and to my dismay, the dog refused to proceed. Groping with my hands on the ground, I discovered that several trails branched out at the spot where he lay down; and when I had selected one, he went on. Vivid flashes of lightning streamed across the heavens, the wind increased to a gale, and the rain poured down upon us like a torrent. The water soon rose on the level ground so as almost to cover our feet, and we slowly advanced, fronting the tempest. Here and there a tall pine on fire presented a magnificent spectacle, illumining the trees around it, and surrounding them with a halo of dim light, abruptly bordered with the deep black of the night. At one time we passed through a tangled thicket of low trees, at another crossed a stream flushed by the heavy rain, and again proceeded over the open barrens. How long we thus, half lost, groped our way is more than I can tell you; but at length the tempest passed over, and suddenly the clear sky became spangled with stars. Soon after, we smelt the salt marshes, and walking directly towards them, like pointers advancing on a covey of partridges, we at last to our great joy descried the light of the beacon near St. Augustine. My dog began to run briskly around, having met with ground on which he had hunted before, and taking a direct course, led us to the great causeway that crosses the marshes at the back of the town. We refreshed ourselves with the produce of the first orange-tree that we met with, and in half an hour more arrived at our hotel. Drenched with rain, steaming with perspiration, and covered to the knees with mud, you may imagine what figures we cut in the eyes of the good people whom we found snugly enjoying themselves in the sitting-room. Next morning, Major Gates, who had received me with much kindness, sent a wagon with mules and two trusty soldiers for my companion and luggage. THE FLORIDA KEYS I As the "Marion" neared the Inlet called "Indian Key," which is situated on the eastern coast of the peninsula of Florida, my heart swelled with uncontrollable delight. Our vessel once over the coral reef that everywhere stretches along the shore like a great wall reared by an army of giants, we found ourselves in safe anchoring grounds, within a few furlongs of the land. The next moment saw the oars of a boat propelling us towards the shore, and in brief time we stood on the desired beach. With what delightful feelings did we gaze on the objects around us!--the gorgeous flowers, the singular and beautiful plants, the luxuriant trees. The balmy air which we breathed filled us with animation, so pure and salubrious did it seem to be. The birds which we saw were almost all new to us; their lovely forms appeared to be arrayed in more brilliant apparel than I had ever seen before, and as they fluttered in happy playfulness among the bushes, or glided over the light green waters, we longed to form a more intimate acquaintance with them. Students of nature spend little time in introductions, especially when they present themselves to persons who feel an interest in their pursuits. This was the case with Mr. Thruston, the deputy collector of the island, who shook us all heartily by the hand, and in a trice had a boat manned, and at our service. Accompanied by him, his pilot and fishermen, off we went, and after a short pull landed on a large key. Few minutes had elapsed when shot after shot might be heard, and down came whirling through the air the objects of our desire. One thrust himself into the tangled groves that covered all but the beautiful coral beach that in a continued line bordered the island, while others gazed on the glowing and diversified hues of the curious inhabitants of the deep. I saw one of my party rush into the limpid element to seize on a crab, that, with claws extended upward, awaited his approach, as if determined not to give way. A loud voice called him back to the land, for sharks are as abundant along these shores as pebbles, and the hungry prowlers could not have found a more savory dinner. The pilot, besides being a first-rate shot, possessed a most intimate acquaintance with the country. He had been a "conch diver," and no matter what number of fathoms measured the distance between the surface of the water and its craggy bottom, to seek for curious shells in their retreat seemed to him more pastime than toil. Not a Cormorant or Pelican, a Flamingo, an Ibis, or Heron had ever in his days formed its nest without his having marked the spot; and as to the Keys to which the Doves are wont to resort, he was better acquainted with them than many fops are with the contents of their pockets. In a word, he positively knew every channel that led to these islands, and every cranny along their shores. For years his employment had been to hunt those singular animals called Sea-cows or Manatees, and he had conquered hundreds of them, "merely," as he said, because the flesh and hide bring "a fair price" at Havana. He never went anywhere to land without "Long Tom," which proved indeed to be a wonderful gun, and which made smart havoc when charged with "groceries" a term by which he designated the large shot he used. In like manner, he never paddled his light canoe without having by his side the trusty javelin with which he unerringly transfixed such fishes as he thought fit either for market or for his own use. In attacking Turtles, netting, or overturning them, I doubt if his equal ever lived on the Florida coast. No sooner was he made acquainted with my errand, than he freely offered his best services, and from that moment until I left Key West he was seldom out of my hearing. While the young gentlemen who accompanied us were engaged in procuring plants, shells, and small birds, he tapped me on the shoulder, and with a smile said to me, "Come along, I'll show you something better worth your while." To the boat we betook ourselves, with the captain and only a pair of tars, for more he said would not answer. The yawl for a while was urged at a great rate, but as we approached a point, the oars were taken in, and the pilot alone sculling desired us to make ready, for in a few minutes we should have "rare sport." As we advanced, the more slowly did we move, and the most profound silence was maintained, until suddenly coming almost in contact with a thick shrubbery of mangroves, we beheld, right before us, a multitude of Pelicans. A discharge of artillery seldom produced more effect; the dead, the dying, and the wounded, fell from the trees upon the water, while those unscathed flew screaming through the air in terror and dismay. "There," said he, "did not I tell you so; is it not rare sport?" The birds, one after another, were lodged under the gunwales, when the pilot desired the captain to order the lads to pull away. Within about half a mile we reached the extremity of the Key. "Pull away," cried the pilot, "never mind them on the wing, for those black rascals don't mind a little firing--now, boys, lay her close under the nests." And there we were with four hundred Cormorant's nests over our heads. The birds were sitting, and when we fired, the number that dropped as if dead, and plunged into the water was such, that I thought by some unaccountable means or other we had killed the whole colony. You would have smiled at the loud laugh and curious gestures of the pilot. "Gentlemen," said he, "almost a blank shot!" And so it was, for, on following the birds as one after another peeped up from the water, we found only a few unable to take to wing. "Now," said the pilot, "had you waited until _I had spoken_ to the black villains, you might have killed a score or more of them." On inspection, we found that our shots had lodged in the tough dry twigs of which these birds form their nests, and that we had lost the more favorable opportunity of hitting them, by not waiting until they rose. "Never mind," said the pilot, "if you wish it, you may load _The Lady of the Green Mantle_[55] with them in less than a week. Stand still, my lads; and now, gentlemen, in ten minutes you and I will bring down a score of them." And so we did. As we rounded the island, a beautiful bird of the species called Peale's Egret came up, and was shot. We now landed, took in the rest of our party, and returned to Indian Key, where we arrived three hours before sunset. The sailors and other individuals to whom my name and pursuits had become known, carried our birds to the pilot's house. His good wife had a room ready for me to draw in, and my assistant might have been seen busily engaged in skinning, while George Lehman was making a sketch of the lovely isle. Time is ever precious to the student of nature. I placed several birds in their natural attitudes, and began to outline them. A dance had been prepared also, and no sooner was the sun lost to our eye, than males and females, including our captain and others from the vessel, were seen advancing gayly towards the house in full apparel. The birds were skinned, the sketch was on paper, and I told my young men to amuse themselves. As to myself, I could not join in the merriment, for, full of the remembrance of you, reader, and of the patrons of my work both in America and in Europe, I went on "grinding"--not on an organ, like the Lady of Bras d'Or, but on paper, to the finishing not merely of my outlines, but of my notes respecting the objects seen this day. The room adjoining that in which I worked was soon filled. Two miserable fiddlers screwed their screeching, silken strings,--not an inch of catgut graced their instruments,--and the bouncing of brave lads and fair lasses shook the premises to the foundation. One with a slip came down heavily on the floor, and the burst of laughter that followed echoed over the isle. Diluted claret was handed round to cool the ladies, while a beverage of more potent energies warmed their partners. After supper our captain returned to the "Marion," and I, with my young men, slept in light swinging hammocks under the eaves of the piazza. It was the end of April, when the nights were short, and the days therefore long. Anxious to turn every moment to account, we were on board Mr. Thruston's boat at three next morning. Pursuing our way through the deep and tortuous channels that everywhere traverse the immense muddy soap-like flats that stretch from the outward Keys to the Main, we proceeded on our voyage of discovery. Here and there we met with great beds of floating sea-weeds, which showed us that Turtles were abundant there, these masses being the refuse of their feeding. On talking to Mr. Thruston of the nature of these muddy flats, he mentioned that he had once been lost amongst their narrow channels for several days and nights, when in pursuit of some smugglers' boat, the owners of which were better acquainted with the place than the men who were along with him. Although in full sight of several of the Keys, as well as of the main land, he was unable to reach either until a heavy gale raised the water, when he sailed directly over the flats, and returned home almost exhausted with fatigue and hunger. His present pilot often alluded to the circumstance afterwards, ending with a great laugh, and asserting that had he "been there, the rascals would not have escaped." Coming under a Key on which multitudes of Frigate Pelicans had begun to form their nests, we shot a good number of them, and observed their habits. The boastings of our pilot were here confirmed by the exploits which he performed with his long gun, and on several occasions he brought down a bird from a height of fully a hundred yards. The poor bird, unaware of the range of our artillery, sailed calmly along, so that it was not difficult for "Long Tom," or rather for his owner, to furnish us with as many as we required. The day was spent in this manner, and towards night we returned, laden with booty, to the hospitable home of the pilot. The next morning was delightful. The gentle sea-breeze glided over the flowery isle, the horizon was clear, and all was silent, save the long breakers that rushed over the distant reefs. As we were proceeding towards some Keys seldom visited by men, the sun rose from the bosom of the waters with a burst of glory that flashed on my soul the idea of that power which called into existence so magnificent an object. The moon, thin and pale, as if ashamed to show her feeble light, concealed herself in the dim west. The surface of the waters shone in its tremulous smoothness, and the deep blue of the clear heavens was pure as the world that lies beyond them. The Heron heavily flew towards the land, like a glutton retiring at daybreak, with well lined paunch, from the house of some wealthy patron of good cheer. The Night Heron and the Owl, fearful of day, with hurried flight sought safety in the recesses of the deepest swamps; while the Gulls and Terns, ever cheerful, gambolled over the water, exulting in the prospect of abundance. I also exulted in hope, my whole frame seemed to expand; and our sturdy crew showed by their merry faces that nature had charms for them too. How much of beauty and joy is lost to them who never view the rising sun, and of whose waking existence, the best half is nocturnal. Twenty miles our men had to row before we reached "Sandy Island," and as on its level shores we all leaped, we plainly saw the southernmost cape of the Floridas. The flocks of birds that covered the shelly beaches, and those hovering overhead, so astonished us that we could for a while scarcely believe our eyes. The first volley procured a supply of food sufficient for two days' consumption. Such tales, you have already been told, are well enough at a distance from the place to which they refer; but you will doubtless be still more surprised when I tell you that our first fire among a crowd of the Great Godwits laid prostrate sixty-five of these birds. Rose-colored Curlews stalked gracefully beneath the mangroves. Purple Herons rose at almost every step we took, and each cactus supported the nest of a White Ibis. The air was darkened by whistling wings, while, on the waters, floated Gallinules and other interesting birds. We formed a kind of shed with sticks and grass, the sailor cook commenced his labors, and ere long we supplied the deficiencies of our fatigued frames. The business of the day over, we secured ourselves from insects by means of mosquito-nets, and were lulled to rest by the cacklings of the beautiful Purple Gallinules! In the morning we rose from our sandy beds, and-- THE FLORIDA KEYS II I left you abruptly, perhaps uncivilly, reader, at the dawn of day, on Sandy Island, which lies just six miles from the extreme point of South Florida. I did so because I was amazed at the appearance of things around me, which in fact looked so different then from what they seemed at night, that it took some minutes' reflection to account for the change. When we laid ourselves down in the sand to sleep, the waters almost bathed our feet; when we opened our eyes in the morning, they were at an immense distance. Our boat lay on her side, looking not unlike a whale reposing on a mud bank. The birds in myriads were probing their exposed pasture-ground. There great flocks of Ibises fed apart from equally large collections of Godwits, and thousands of Herons gracefully paced along, ever and anon thrusting their javelin bills into the body of some unfortunate fish confined in a small pool of water. Of Fish-Crows, I could not estimate the number, but from the havoc they made among the crabs, I conjecture that these animals must have been scarce by the time of next ebb. Frigate Pelicans chased the Jager, which himself had just robbed a poor Gull of its prize, and all the Gallinules, ran with spread wings from the mud-banks to the thickets of the island, so timorous had they become when they perceived us. Surrounded as we were by so many objects that allured us, not one could we yet attain, so dangerous would it have been to venture on the mud; and our pilot, having assured us that nothing could be lost by waiting, spoke of our eating, and on this hint told us that he would take us to a part of the island where "our breakfast would be abundant although uncooked." Off we went, some of the sailors carrying baskets, others large tin pans and wooden vessels, such as they use for eating their meals in. Entering a thicket of about an acre in extent, we found on every bush several nests of the Ibis, each containing three large and beautiful eggs, and all hands fell to gathering. The birds gave way to us, and ere long we had a heap of eggs that promised delicious food. Nor did we stand long in expectation, for, kindling a fire, we soon prepared in one way or other enough to satisfy the cravings of our hungry maws. Breakfast ended, the pilot, looking at the gorgeous sunrise, said: "Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for fun; the tide is coming." Over these enormous mud-flats, a foot or two of water is quite sufficient to drive all the birds ashore, even the tallest Heron or Flamingo, and the tide seems to flow at once over the whole expanse. Each of us, provided with a gun, posted himself behind a bush, and no sooner had the water forced the winged creatures to approach the shore than the work of destruction commenced. When it at length ceased, the collected mass of birds of different kinds looked not unlike a small haycock. Who could not with a little industry have helped himself to a few of their skins? Why, reader, surely no one as fond of these things as I am. Every one assisted in this, and even the sailors themselves tried their hand at the work. Our pilot, good man, told us he was no hand at such occupations and would go after something else. So taking "Long Tom" and his fishing-tackle, he marched off quietly along the shores. About an hour afterwards we saw him returning, when he looked quite exhausted, and on our inquiring the cause said, "There is a dewfish yonder, and a few balacoudas, but I am not able to bring them, or even to haul them here; please send the sailors after them." The fishes were accordingly brought, and as I had never seen a dewfish, I examined it closely, and took an outline of its form, which some days hence you may perhaps see. It exceeded a hundred pounds in weight, and afforded excellent eating. The balacouda is also a good fish, but at times a dangerous one, for, according to the pilot, on more than one occasion "some of these gentry" had followed him when waist-deep in the water, in pursuit of a more valuable prize, until in self-defence, he had to spear them, fearing that "the gentlemen" might at one dart cut off his legs, or some other nice bit, with which he was unwilling to part. Having filled our cask from a fine well, long since dug in the sand of Cape Sable, either by Seminole Indians or pirates, no matter which, we left Sandy Isle about full tide, and proceeded homeward, giving a call here and there at different Keys, with the view of procuring rare birds, and also their nests and eggs. We had twenty miles to go, "as the birds fly," but the tortuosity of the channels rendered our course fully a third longer. The sun was descending fast, when a black cloud suddenly obscured the majestic orb. Our sails swelled by a breeze that was scarcely felt by us; and the pilot, requesting us to sit on the weather gunwale, told us that we were "going to get it." One sail was hauled in and secured, and the other was reefed, although the wind had not increased. A low murmuring noise was heard, and across the cloud that now rolled along in tumultuous masses shot vivid flashes of lightning. Our experienced guide steered directly across a flat towards the nearest land. The sailors passed their quids from one cheek to the other, and our pilot having covered himself with his oil jacket, we followed his example. "Blow, sweet breeze," cried he at the tiller, and "we'll reach the land before the blast overtakes us, for, gentlemen, it is a furious cloud yon." A furious cloud indeed was the one which now, like an eagle on outstretched wings, approached so swiftly that one might have deemed it in haste to destroy us. We were not more than a cable's length from the shore, when, with an imperative voice, the pilot calmly said to us, "Sit quite still, gentlemen, for I should not like to lose you overboard just now; the boat can't upset, my word for that, if you will but sit still--Here we have it!" Reader, persons who have never witnessed a hurricane, such as not unfrequently desolates the sultry climates of the South, can scarcely form an idea of their terrific grandeur. One would think that, not content with laying waste all on land, it must needs sweep the waters of the shallows quite dry, to quench its thirst. No respite for an instant does it afford to the objects within the reach of its furious current. Like the scythe of the destroying angel, it cuts everything by the roots, as it were, with the careless ease of the experienced mower. Each of its revolving sweeps collects a heap that might be likened to the full-sheaf which the husbandman flings by his side. On it goes with a wildness and fury that are indescribable, and when at last its frightful blasts have ceased, Nature, weeping and disconsolate, is left bereaved of her beauteous offspring. In some instances, even a full century is required before, with all her powerful energies, she can repair her loss. The planter has not only lost his mansion, his crops, and his flocks, but he has to clear his lands anew, covered and entangled as they are with the trunks and branches of trees that are everywhere strewn. The bark, overtaken by the storm, is cast on the lee-shore, and if any are left to witness the fatal results, they are the "wreckers" alone, who, with inward delight, gaze upon the melancholy spectacle. Our light bark shivered like a leaf the instant the blast reached her sides. We thought she had gone over; but the next instant she was on the shore. And now in contemplation of the sublime and awful storm, I gazed around me. The waters drifted like snow; the tough mangroves hid their tops amid their roots, and the loud roaring of the waves driven among them blended with the howl of the tempest. It was not rain that fell; the masses of water flew in a horizontal direction, and where a part of my body was exposed I felt as if a smart blow had been given me on it. But enough--in half an hour it was over. The pure blue sky once more embellished the heavens, and although it was now quite night, we considered our situation a good one. The crew and some of the party spent the night in the boat. The pilot, myself, and one of my assistants took to the heart of the mangroves, and having found high land, we made a fire as well as we could, spread a tarpauling, and fixing our insect bars over us, soon forgot in sleep the horrors that had surrounded us. Next day the "Marion" proceeded on her cruise, and in a few more days, having anchored in another safe harbor, we visited other Keys, of which I will, with your leave, give you a short account. The deputy-collector of Indian Isle gave me the use of his pilot for a few weeks, and I was the more gratified by this, that besides knowing him to be a good man, and a perfect sailor, I was now convinced that he possessed a great knowledge of the habits of birds, and could without loss of time lead me to their haunts. We were a hundred miles or so farther to the south. Gay May, like a playful babe, gambolled on the bosom of his mother Nature, and everything was replete with life and joy. The pilot had spoken to me of some birds which I was very desirous of obtaining. One morning, therefore, we went in two boats to some distant isle, where they were said to breed. Our difficulties in reaching that Key might to some seem more imaginary than real, were I faithfully to describe them. Suffice it for me to tell you that after hauling our boats and pushing them with our hands, for upwards of nine miles, over the flats, we at last reached the deep channel that usually surrounds each of the mangrove islands. We were much exhausted by the labor and excessive heat, but we were now floating on deep water, and by resting a short while under the shade of some mangroves, we were soon refreshed by the breeze that gently blew from the Gulf. We further repaired our strength by taking some food; and I may as well tell you here that, during all the time I spent in that part of the Floridas, my party restricted themselves to fish and soaked biscuit, while our only and constant beverage was molasses and water. I found that in these warm latitudes, exposed as we constantly were to alternate heat and moisture, ardent spirits and more substantial food would prove dangerous to us. The officers, and those persons who from time to time kindly accompanied us, adopted the same regimen, and not an individual of us had ever to complain of so much as a headache. But we were under the mangroves; at a great distance on one of the flats, the Heron which I have named _Ardea occidentalis_[56] was seen moving majestically in great numbers. The tide rose and drove them away, and as they came towards us, to alight and rest for a time on the tallest trees, we shot as many as I wished. I also took under my charge several of their young alive. At another time we visited the "Mule Keys." There the prospect was in many respects dismal in the extreme. As I followed their shores, I saw bales of cotton floating in all the coves, while spars of every description lay on the beach, and far off on the reefs I could see the last remains of a lost ship, her dismantled hulk. Several schooners were around her; they were wreckers. I turned me from the sight with a heavy heart. Indeed, as I slowly proceeded, I dreaded to meet the floating or cast-ashore bodies of some of the unfortunate crew. Our visit to the Mule Keys was in no way profitable, for besides meeting with but a few birds, in two or three instances I was, whilst swimming in the deep channel of a mangrove isle, much nearer a large shark than I wish ever to be again. "The service" requiring all the attention, prudence, and activity of Captain Day and his gallant officers, another cruise took place, of which you will find some account in the sequel; and while I rest a little on the deck of the "Lady of the Green Mantle," let me offer my humble thanks to the Being who has allowed me the pleasure of thus relating to you, kind reader, a small part of my adventures. THE TURTLERS The Tortugas are a group of islands lying about eighty miles from Key West, and the last of those that seem to defend the peninsula of the Floridas. They consist of five or six extremely low, uninhabitable banks, formed of shelly sand, and are resorted to principally by that class of men called wreckers and turtlers. Between these islands are deep channels, which, although extremely intricate, are well known to those adventurers, as well as to the commanders of the revenue cutters, whose duties call them to that dangerous coast. The great coral reef, or wall, lies about eight miles from these inhospitable isles, in the direction of the Gulf, and on it many an ignorant or careless navigator has suffered shipwreck. The whole ground around them is densely covered with corals, sea-fans, and other productions of the deep, amid which crawl innumerable testaceous animals, while shoals of curious and beautiful fishes fill the limpid waters above them. Turtles of different species resort to these banks, to deposit their eggs in the burning sand, and clouds of sea-fowl arrive every spring for the same purpose. These are followed by persons called "eggers," who, when their cargoes are completed, sail to distant markets, to exchange their ill-gotten ware for a portion of that gold on the acquisition of which all men seem bent. The "Marion" having occasion to visit the Tortugas, I gladly embraced the opportunity of seeing those celebrated islets. A few hours before sunset the joyful cry of "Land!" announced our approach to them; but as the breeze was fresh, and the pilot was well acquainted with all the windings of the channels, we held on, and dropped anchor before twilight. If you have never seen the sun setting in those latitudes, I would recommend to you to make a voyage for the purpose, for I much doubt if, in any other portion of the world, the departure of the orb of day is accompanied with such gorgeous appearances. Look at the great red disk, increased to triple its ordinary dimensions! Now it has partially sunk beneath the distant line of waters, and with its still remaining half irradiates the whole heavens with a flood of golden light, purpling the far-off clouds that hover over the western horizon. A blaze of refulgent glory streams through the portals of the west, and the masses of vapor assume the semblance of mountains of molten gold. But the sun has now disappeared, and from the east slowly advances the gray curtain which night draws over the world. The Night-hawk is flapping its noiseless wings in the gentle sea-breeze; the Terns, safely landed, have settled on their nests; the Frigate Pelicans are seen wending their way to distant mangroves; and the Brown Gannet, in search of a resting-place, has perched on the yard of the vessel. Slowly advancing landward, their heads alone above the water, are observed the heavily laden Turtles, anxious to deposit their eggs in the well-known sands. On the surface of the gently rippling stream, I dimly see their broad forms, as they toil along, while at intervals may be heard their hurried breathings, indicative of suspicion and fear. The moon with her silvery light now illumines the scene, and the Turtle, having landed, slowly and laboriously drags her heavy body over the sand, her "flippers" being better adapted for motion in the water than on shore. Up the slope, however, she works her way; and see how industriously she removes the sand beneath her, casting it out on either side. Layer after layer she deposits her eggs, arranging them in the most careful manner, and with her hind paddles brings the sand over them. The business is accomplished, the spot is covered over, and with a joyful heart the Turtle swiftly retires towards the shore, and launches into the deep. But the Tortugas are not the only breeding places of the Turtles; these animals, on the contrary, frequent many other Keys, as well as various parts of the coast of the mainland. There are four different species, which are known by the names of the _Green_ Turtle, the _Hawk-billed_ Turtle, the _Logger-head_ Turtle, and the _Trunk_ Turtle. The first is considered the best as an article of food, in which capacity it is well known to most epicures. It approaches the shores, and enters the bays, inlets, and rivers, early in the month of April, after having spent the winter in the deep waters. It deposits its eggs in convenient places, at two different times in May, and once again in June. The first deposit is the largest, and the last the least, the total quantity being, at an average, about two hundred and forty. The Hawk-billed Turtle, whose shell is so valuable as an article of commerce, being used for various purposes in the arts, is the next with respect to the quality of its flesh. It resorts to the outer Keys only, where it deposits its eggs in two sets, first in July, and again in August, although it "crawls" the beaches of these Keys much earlier in the season, as if to look for a safe place. The average number of its eggs is about three hundred. The Logger-head visits the Tortugas in April, and lays from that period until late in June three sets of eggs, each set averaging one hundred and seventy. The Trunk Turtle, which is sometimes of an enormous size, and which has a pouch like a Pelican, reaches the shores latest. The shell and flesh are so soft that one may push his finger into them, almost as into a lump of butter. This species is therefore considered as the least valuable, and, indeed, is seldom eaten, unless by the Indians, who, ever alert when the Turtle season commences, first carry off the eggs, and afterwards catch the Turtles themselves. The average number of eggs which it lays in the season, in two sets, may be three hundred and fifty. The Logger-head and the Trunk Turtles are the least cautious in choosing the places in which to deposit their eggs, whereas the two other species select the wildest and most secluded spots. The Green Turtle resorts either to the shores of the Main, between Cape Sable and Cape Florida, or enters Indian, Halifax, and other large rivers or inlets, from which it makes its retreat as speedily as possible, and betakes itself to the open sea. Great numbers, however, are killed by the turtlers and Indians, as well as by various species of carnivorous animals, as Cougars, Lynxes, Bears, and Wolves. The Hawk-bill, which is still more wary, and is always the most difficult to surprise, keeps to the sea-islands. All the species employ nearly the same method in depositing their eggs in the sand, and as I have several times observed them in the act, I am enabled to present you with a circumstantial account of it. On first nearing the shores, and mostly on fine, calm, moonlight nights, the Turtle raises her head above the water, being still distant thirty or forty yards from the beach, looks around her, and attentively examines the objects on the shore. Should she observe nothing likely to disturb her intended operations, she emits a loud hissing sound, by which such of her many enemies as are unaccustomed to it are startled, and so are apt to remove to another place, although unseen by her. Should she hear any noise, or perceive indications of danger, she instantly sinks, and goes off to a considerable distance; but should everything be quiet, she advances slowly towards the beach, crawls over it, her head raised to the full stretch of her neck, and when she has reached a place fitted for her purpose, she gazes all round in silence. Finding "all well" she proceeds to form a hole in the sand, which she effects by removing it from _under_ her body with her _hind_ flippers, scooping it out with so much dexterity that the sides seldom if ever fall in. The sand is raised alternately with each flipper, as with a large ladle, until it has accumulated behind her, when, supporting herself with her head and fore part on the ground fronting her body, she, with a spring from each flipper, sends the sand around her, scattering it to the distance of several feet. In this manner the hole is dug to the depth of eighteen inches, or sometimes more than two feet. This labor I have seen performed in the short period of nine minutes. The eggs are then dropped one by one, and disposed in regular layers, to the number of a hundred and fifty, or sometimes nearly two hundred. The whole time spent in this part of the operation may be about twenty minutes. She now scrapes the loose sand back over the eggs, and so levels and smooths the surface that few persons on seeing the spot could imagine anything had been done to it. This accomplished to her mind, she retreats to the water with all possible despatch, leaving the hatching of the eggs to the heat of the sand. When a Turtle, a Logger-head for example, is in the act of dropping her eggs, she will not move, although one should go up to her, or even seat himself on her back, for it seems that at this moment she finds it necessary to proceed at all events, and is unable to intermit her labor. The moment it is finished, however, off she starts; nor would it then be possible for one, unless he were as strong as a Hercules, to turn her over and secure her. To upset a Turtle on the shore, one is obliged to fall on his knees, and placing his shoulder behind her fore-arm, gradually raise her up by pushing with great force, and then with a jerk throw her over. Sometimes it requires the united strength of several men to accomplish this; and, if the Turtle should be of very great size, as often happens on that coast, even handspikes are employed. Some turtlers are so daring as to swim up to them while lying asleep on the surface of the water, and turn them over in their own element, when, however, a boat must be at hand, to enable them to secure their prize. Few Turtles can bite beyond the reach of their fore-legs, and few, when once turned over, can, without assistance, regain their natural position; but, notwithstanding this, their flippers are generally secured by ropes so as to render their escape impossible. Persons who search for Turtles' eggs, are provided with a light stiff cane or a gun-rod, with which they go along the shores probing the sand near the tracks of the animals, which, however, cannot always be seen, on account of the winds and heavy rains that often obliterate them. The nests are discovered not only by men, but also by beasts of prey, and the eggs are collected, or destroyed on the spot, in great numbers, as on certain parts of the shores hundreds of Turtles are known to deposit their eggs within the space of a mile. They form a new hole each time they lay, and the second is generally dug near the first, as if the animal were quite unconscious of what had befallen it. It will readily be understood that the numerous eggs seen in a Turtle on cutting it up, could not be all laid the same season. The whole number deposited by an individual in one summer may amount to four hundred, whereas, if the animal is caught on or near her nest, as I have witnessed, the remaining eggs, all small, without shells, and as it were threaded like so many large beads, exceed three thousand. In an instance where I found that number, the Turtle weighed nearly four hundred pounds. The young, soon after being hatched, and when yet scarcely larger than a dollar, scratch their way through their sandy covering, and immediately betake themselves to the water. The food of the Green Turtle consists chiefly of marine plants, more especially the Grasswrack (_Zostera marina_) which they cut near the roots to procure the most tender and succulent parts. Their feeding-grounds, as I have elsewhere said, are easily discovered by floating masses of these plants on the flats, or along the shores to which they resort. The Hawk-billed species feeds on sea-weeds, crabs, various kinds of shell-fish and fishes; the Logger-head mostly on the fish of conch-shells of large size, which they are enabled, by means of their powerful beak, to crush to pieces with apparently as much ease as a man cracks a walnut. One which was brought on board the "Marion," and placed near the fluke of one of her anchors, made a deep indentation in that hammered piece of iron, which quite surprised me. The Trunk Turtle feeds on mollusca, fish, crustacea, sea urchins, and various marine plants. All the species move through the water with surprising speed; but the Green and Hawk-billed, in particular, remind you, by their celerity and the ease of their motions, of the progress of a bird in the air. It is, therefore, no easy matter to strike one with a spear, and yet this is often done by an accomplished turtler. While at Key West, and other islands on the coast, where I made the observations here presented to you, I chanced to have need to purchase some Turtles, to feed my friends on board "The Lady of the Green Mantle"--not my friends her gallant officers, or the brave tars who formed her crew, for all of them had already been satiated with Turtle soup, but my friends the Herons, of which I had a goodly number alive in coops, intending to carry them to John Bachman of Charleston, and other persons for whom I ever feel a sincere regard. So I went to a "crawl" accompanied by Dr. Benjamin Strobel, to inquire about prices, when, to my surprise, I found that the smaller the Turtles above ten-pounds weight, the dearer they were, and that I could have purchased one of the Logger-head kind that weighed more than seven hundred pounds, for little more money than another of only thirty pounds. While I gazed on the large one, I thought of the soups the contents of its shell would have furnished for a "Lord Mayor's dinner," of the numerous eggs which its swollen body contained, and of the curious carriage which might be made of its shell--a car in which Venus herself might sail over the Caribbean Sea, provided her tender Doves lent their aid in drawing the divinity, and provided no shark or hurricane came to upset it. The turtler assured me that although the "great monster" was, in fact, better meat than any other of a less size, there was no disposing of it, unless, indeed, it had been in his power to have sent it to some very distant market. I would willingly have purchased it, but I knew that if killed, its flesh could not keep much longer than a day, and on that account I bought eight or ten small ones, which "my friends" really relished exceedingly, and which served to support them for a long time. Turtles, such as I have spoken of, are caught in various ways on the coasts of the Floridas, or in estuaries and rivers. Some turtlers are in the habit of setting great nets across the entrance of streams, so as to answer the purpose either at the flow or at the ebb of the waters. These nets are formed of very large meshes, into which the Turtles partially enter, when, the more they attempt to extricate themselves, the more they get entangled. Others harpoon them in the usual manner; but in my estimation no method is equal to that employed by Mr. Egan, the pilot of Indian Isle. That extraordinary turtler had an iron instrument which he called a _peg_, and which at each end had a point not unlike what nail-makers call a brad, it being four-cornered but flattish, and of a shape somewhat resembling the beak of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker, together with a neck and shoulder. Between the two shoulders of this instrument a fine tough-line, fifty or more fathoms in length, was fastened by one end being passed through a hole in the centre of the peg and the line itself was carefully coiled up, and placed in a convenient part of the canoe. One extremity of this peg enters a sheath of iron that loosely attaches it to a long wooden spear, until a Turtle has been pierced through the shell by the other extremity. He of the canoe paddles away as silently as possible whenever he spies a Turtle basking on the water, until he gets within a distance of ten or twelve yards, when he throws the spear so as to hit the animal about the place which an entomologist would choose, were it a large insect, for pinning it to a piece of cork. As soon as the Turtle is struck, the wooden handle separates from the peg, in consequence of the looseness of its attachment. The smart of the wound urges on the animal as if distracted, and it appears that the longer the peg remains in its shell, the more firmly fastened it is, so great a pressure is exercised upon it by the shell of the Turtle, which, being suffered to run like a whale, soon becomes fatigued, and is secured by hauling in the line with great care. In this manner, as the pilot informed me, eight hundred Green Turtles were caught by one man in twelve months. Each turtler has his _crawl_, which is a square wooden building or pen formed of logs, which are so far separated as to allow the tide to pass freely through, and stand erect in the mud. The Turtles are placed in this enclosure, fed and kept there until sold. If the animals thus confined have not laid their eggs previous to their seizure, they drop them in the water, so that they are lost. The price of Green Turtles, when I was at Key West, was from four to six cents per pound. The loves of the Turtles are conducted in the most extraordinary manner; but as the recital of them must prove out of place here, I shall pass them over. There is, however, a circumstance relating to their habits which I cannot omit, although I have it not from my own ocular evidence, but from report. When I was in the Floridas several of the turtlers assured me that any Turtle taken from the depositing ground, and carried on the deck of a vessel several hundred miles, would, if then let loose, certainly be met with at the same spot, either immediately after, or in the following breeding season. Should this prove true, and it certainly may, how much will be enhanced the belief of the student in the uniformity and solidity of Nature's arrangements, when he finds that the Turtle, like a migratory bird, returns to the same locality, with perhaps a delight similar to that experienced by the traveller, who, after visiting distant countries, once more returns to the bosom of his cherished family. THE FORCE OF THE WATERS The men who are employed in cutting down the trees, and conveying the logs to the saw-mills or the places for shipping, are, in the State of Maine, called "lumberers." Their labors may be said to be continual. Before winter has commenced, and while the ground is yet uncovered with a great depth of snow, they leave their homes to proceed to the interior of the pine forests, which in that part of the country are truly magnificent, and betake themselves to certain places already well known to them. Their provisions, axes, saws, and other necessary articles, together with provender for their cattle, are conveyed by oxen in heavy sledges. Almost at the commencement of their march, they are obliged to enter the woods, and they have frequently to cut a way for themselves for considerable spaces, as the ground is often covered with the decaying trunks of immense trees, which have fallen either from age, or in consequence of accidental burnings. These trunks, and the undergrowth which lies entangled in their tops render many places almost impassable even to men on foot. Over miry ponds they are sometimes forced to form causeways, this being, under all circumstances, the easiest mode of reaching the opposite side. Then, reader, is the time for witnessing the exertions of their fine large cattle. No rods do their drivers use to pain their flanks; no oaths or imprecations are ever heard to fall from the lips of these most industrious and temperate men, for in them, as in most of the inhabitants of our Eastern States, education and habit have tempered the passions, and reduced the moral constitution to a state of harmony. Nay, the sobriety that exists in many of the villages of Maine, I acknowledge, I have often considered as carried to excess, for on asking for brandy, rum, or whiskey, not a drop could I obtain, and it is probable there was an equal lack of spirituous liquors of every other kind. Now and then I saw some good old wines, but they were always drunk in careful moderation. But to return to the management of the oxen. Why, reader, the lumbermen speak to them as if they were rational beings. Few words seem to suffice, and their whole strength is applied to the labor, as if in gratitude to those who treat them with so much gentleness and humanity. While present on more than one occasion at what Americans call "ploughing matches," which they have annually in many of the States, I have been highly gratified, and in particular at one, of which I have still a strong recollection, and which took place a few miles from the fair and hospitable city of Boston. There I saw fifty or more ploughs drawn by as many pairs of oxen, which performed their work with so much accuracy and regularity--without the infliction of whip or rod, but merely guided by the verbal mandates of the ploughmen--that I was perfectly astonished. After surmounting all obstacles, the lumberers with their stock arrive at the spot which they have had in view, and immediately commence building a camp. The trees around soon fall under the blows of their axes, and before many days have elapsed a low habitation is reared and fitted within for the accommodation of their cattle, while their provender is secured on a kind of loft covered with broad shingles or boards. Then their own cabin is put up; rough bedsteads, manufactured on the spot, are fixed in the corners; a chimney composed of a frame of sticks plastered with mud leads away the smoke; the skins of Bears or Deer, with some blankets, form their bedding, and around the walls are hung their changes of homespun clothing, guns, and various necessaries of life. Many prefer spending the night on the sweet-scented hay and corn blades of their cattle, which are laid on the ground. All arranged within, the lumberers set their "dead falls," large "steel traps," and "spring guns," in suitable places round their camps, to procure some of the Bears that ever prowl around such establishments. Now the heavy clouds of November, driven by the northern blasts, pour down the snow in feathery flakes. The winter has fairly set in, and seldom do the sun's gladdening rays fall on the wood-cutter's hut. In warm flannels his body is enveloped, the skin of a Raccoon covers his head and brows, his Moose-skin leggings reach the girdle that secures them around his waist, while on broad moccasins, or snow-shoes, he stands from the earliest dawn until night, hacking away at majestic pines, that for a century past have embellished the forest. The fall of these valuable trees no longer resounds on the ground; and, as they tumble here and there nothing is heard but the rustling and cracking of their branches, their heavy trunks sinking into the deep snows. Thousands of large pines thus cut down every winter afford room for younger trees, which spring up profusely to supply the wants of man. Weeks and weeks have elapsed; the earth's pure white covering has become thickly and firmly crusted by the increasing intensity of the cold, the fallen trees have all been sawn into measured logs, and the long repose of the oxen has fitted them for hauling them to the nearest frozen streams. The ice gradually becomes covered with the accumulating mass of timber, and, their task completed, the lumberers wait impatiently for the breaking up of the winter. At this period they pass the time in hunting the Moose, the Deer, and the Bear, for the benefit of their wives and children; and as these men are most excellent woodsmen great havoc is made among the game. Many skins of Sables, Martens, and Musk-Rats they have procured during the intervals of their labor, or under night. The snows are now giving way, as the rains descend in torrents, and the lumberers collect their utensils, harness their cattle, and prepare for their return. This they accomplish in safety. From being lumberers they now become millers, and with pleasure each applies the grating file to his saws. Many logs have already reached the dams on the swollen waters of the rushing streams, and the task commences, which is carried on through the summer, of cutting them up into boards. The great heats of the dog-days have parched the ground; every creek has become a shallow, except here and there where in a deep hole the salmon and the trout have found a retreat; the sharp, slimy angles of multitudes of rocks project, as if to afford resting-places to the Wood-ducks and Herons that breed on the borders of these streams. Thousands of "saw-logs" remain in every pool, beneath and above each rapid or fall. The miller's dam has been emptied of its timber, and he must now resort to some expedient to procure a fresh supply. It was my good fortune to witness the method employed for the purpose of collecting the logs that had not reached their destination, and I had the more pleasure that it was seen in company with my little family. I wish, for your sake, reader, that I could describe in an adequate manner the scene which I viewed; but, although not so well qualified as I could wish, rely upon it that the desire which I feel to gratify you will induce me to use all my endeavors to give you an _idea_ of it. It was the month of September. At the upper extremity of Dennysville, which is itself a pretty village, are the saw-mills and ponds of the hospitable Judge Lincoln and other persons. The creek that conveys the logs to these ponds, and which bears the name of the village, is interrupted in its course by many rapids and narrow embanked gorges. One of the latter is situated about half a mile above the mill-dams, and is so rocky and rugged in its bottom and sides as to preclude the possibility of the trees passing along it at low water, while, as I conceived, it would have given no slight labor to an army of woodsmen or millers to move the thousands of large logs that had accumulated in it. They lay piled in confused heaps to a great height along an extent of several hundred yards, and were in some places so close as to have formed a kind of dam. Above the gorge there is a large natural reservoir, in which the head-waters of the creek settle, while only a small portion of them ripples through the gorge below, during the later weeks of summer and in early autumn, when the streams are at their lowest. At the _neck_ of this basin the lumberers raised a temporary barrier with the refuse of their sawn logs. The boards were planted nearly upright, and supported at their tops by a strong tree extending from side to side of the creek, which might there be about forty feet in breadth. It was prevented from giving way under pressure of the rising waters by having strong abutments of wood laid against its centre, while the ends of these abutments were secured by wedges, which could be knocked off when necessary. The temporary dam was now finished. Little or no water escaped through the barrier, and that in the creek above it rose in the course of three weeks to its top, which was about ten feet high, forming a sheet that extended upwards fully a mile from the dam. My family was invited early one morning to go and witness the extraordinary effect which would be produced by the breaking down of the barrier, and we all accompanied the lumberers to the place. Two of the men, on reaching it, threw off their jackets, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and fastened to their bodies a long rope, the end of which was held by three or four others, who stood ready to drag their companions ashore, in case of danger or accident. The two operators, each bearing an axe, walked along the abutments, and at a given signal knocked out the wedges. A second blow from each sent off the abutments themselves, and the men, leaping with extreme dexterity from one cross log to another, sprung to the shore with almost the quickness of thought. Scarcely had they effected their escape from the frightful peril which threatened them, when the mass of waters burst forth with a horrible uproar. All eyes were bent towards the huge heaps of logs in the gorge below. The tumultuous burst of the waters instantly swept away every object that opposed their progress, and rushed in foaming waves among the timbers that everywhere blocked up the passage. Presently a slow, heavy motion was perceived in the mass of logs; one might have imagined that some mighty monster lay convulsively writhing beneath them, struggling with a fearful energy to extricate himself from the crushing weight. As the waters rose, this movement increased; the mass of timber extended in all directions, appearing to become more and more entangled each moment; the logs bounced against each other, thrusting aside, demersing, or raising into the air those with which they came in contact; it seemed as if they were waging a war of destruction, such as ancient authors describe the efforts of the Titans, the foamings of whose wrath might to the eye of the painter have been represented by the angry curlings of the waters, while the tremulous and rapid motions of the logs, which at times reared themselves almost perpendicularly, might by the poet have been taken for the shakings of the confounded and discomfited giants. Now the rushing element filled up the gorge to its brim. The logs, once under way, rolled, reared, tossed, and tumbled amid the foam, as they were carried along. Many of the smaller trees broke across, from others great splinters were sent up, and all were in some degree seamed and scarred. Then in tumultuous majesty swept along the mingled wreck, the current being now increased to such a pitch that the logs, as they were dashed against the rocky shores, resounded like the report of distant artillery, or the angry rumblings of the thunder. Onward it rolls, the emblem of wreck and ruin, destruction and chaotic strife. It seemed to me as if I witnessed the rout of a vast army, surprised, overwhelmed, and overthrown. The roar of the cannon, the groans of the dying, and the shouts of the avengers were thundering through my brain, and amid the frightful confusion of the scene, there came over my spirit a melancholy feeling, which had not entirely vanished at the end of many days. In a few hours almost all the timber that had lain heaped in the rocky gorge, was floating in the great pond of the millers; and as we walked homeward we talked of the _Force of the Waters_. JOURNEY IN NEW BRUNSWICK AND MAINE The morning after that which we had spent with Sir Archibald Campbell and his delightful family, saw us proceeding along the shores of the St. John River, in the British Province of New Brunswick. As we passed the Government House, our hearts bade its generous inmates adieu; and as we left Fredericton behind, the recollection of the many acts of kindness which we had received from its inhabitants came powerfully on our minds. Slowly advancing over the surface of the translucent stream, we still fancied our ears saluted by the melodies of the unrivalled band of the 43d Regiment. In short, with the remembrance of kindness experienced, the feeling of expectations gratified, the hope of adding to our knowledge, and the possession of health and vigor, we were luxuriating in happiness. The "Favorite," the bark in which we were, contained not only my whole family, but nearly a score and a half of individuals of all descriptions, so that the crowded state of the cabin soon began to prove rather disagreeable. The boat itself was a mere scow, commanded by a person of rather uncouth aspect and rude manners. Two sorry nags he had fastened to the end of a long tow-line, on the nearer of which rode a negro youth, less than half clad, with a long switch in one hand, and the joined bridles in the other, striving with all his might to urge them on at the rate of something more than two miles an hour. How fortunate it is for one to possess a little of the knowledge of a true traveller! Following the advice of a good and somewhat aged one, we had provided ourselves with a large basket, which was not altogether empty when we reached the end of our aquatic excursion. Here and there the shores of the river were delightful, the space between them and the undulating hills that bounded the prospect being highly cultivated, while now and then the abrupt and rocky banks assumed a most picturesque appearance. Although it was late in September, the mowers were still engaged in cutting the grass, and the gardens of the farmers showed patches of green peas. The apples were still green, and the vegetation in general reminded us that we were in a northern latitude. Gradually and slowly we proceeded, until in the afternoon we landed to exchange our jaded horses. We saw a house on an eminence, with groups of people assembled round it, but there no dinner could be obtained, because, as the landlord told us, an election was going on. So the basket was had recourse to, and on the greensward we refreshed ourselves with its contents. This done, we returned to the scow, and resumed our stations. As usual in such cases, in every part of the world that I have visited, our second set of horses was worse than the first. However, on we went; to tell you how often the tow-line gave way would not be more amusing to you than it was annoying to us. Once our commander was in consequence plunged into the stream, but after some exertion he succeeded in regaining his gallant bark, when he consoled himself by giving utterance to a volley of blasphemies, which it would as ill become me to repeat, as it would be disagreeable to you to hear. We slept somewhere that night; it does not suit my views of travelling to tell you where. Before day returned to smile on the "Favorite" we proceeded. Some rapids we came to, when every one, glad to assist her, leaped on shore, and tugged _à la cordelle_. Some miles farther we passed a curious cataract, formed by the waters of the Pokioke. There Sambo led his steeds up the sides of a high bank, when, lo! the whole party came tumbling down, like so many hogsheads of tobacco rolled from a store-house to the banks of the Ohio. He at the steering oar hoped "the black rascal" had broken his neck, and congratulated himself in the same breath for the safety of the horses, which presently got on their feet. Sambo, however, alert as an Indian chief, leaped on the naked back of one, and showing his teeth, laughed at his master's curses. Shortly after this we found our boat very snugly secured on the top of a rock, midway in the stream, just opposite the mouth of Eel River. Next day at noon, none injured, but all chop-fallen, we were landed at Woodstock village, yet in its infancy. After dining there we procured a cart, and an excellent driver, and proceeded along an execrable road to Houlton in Maine, glad enough, after all our mishaps, at finding ourselves in our own country. But before I bid farewell to the beautiful river of St. John, I must tell you that its navigation seldom exceeds eight months each year, the passage during the rest being performed on the ice, of which we were told that last season there was an unusual quantity, so much, indeed, as to accumulate, by being jammed at particular spots, to the height of nearly fifty feet above the ordinary level of the river, and that when it broke loose in spring, the crash was awful. All the low grounds along the river were suddenly flooded, and even the elevated plain on which Fredericton stands was covered to the depth of four feet. Fortunately, however, as on the greater streams of the Western and Southern Districts, such an occurrence seldom takes place. Major Clarke, commander of the United States garrison, received us with remarkable kindness. The next day was spent in a long though fruitless ornithological excursion, for although we were accompanied by officers and men from the garrison, not a bird did any of our party procure that was of any use to us. We remained a few days, however, after which, hiring a cart, two horses, and a driver, we proceeded in the direction of Bangor. Houlton is a neat village, consisting of some fifty houses. The fort is well situated, and commands a fine view of Mars' Hill, which is about thirteen miles distant. A custom-house has been erected here, the place being on the boundary line of the United States and the British Provinces. The road which was cut by the soldiers of this garrison, from Bangor to Houlton, through the forests, is at this moment a fine turnpike, of great breadth, almost straight in its whole length, and perhaps the best now in the Union. It was incomplete, however, for some miles, so that our travelling over that portion was slow and disagreeable. The rain, which fell in torrents, reduced the newly raised earth to a complete bed of mud, and at one time our horses became so completely mired that, had we not been extricated by two oxen, we must have spent the night near the spot. Jogging along at a very slow pace, we were overtaken by a gay wagoner, who had excellent horses, two of which a little "siller" induced him to join to ours, and we were taken to a tavern, at the "Cross Roads," where we spent the night in comfort. While supper was preparing, I made inquiries respecting birds, quadrupeds, and fishes, and was pleased to hear that many of these animals abounded in the neighborhood. Deer, Bears, Trout, and Grouse were quite plentiful, as was the Great Gray Owl. When we resumed our journey next morning Nature displayed all her loveliness, and Autumn with her mellow tints, her glowing fruits, and her rich fields of corn, smiled in placid beauty. Many of the fields had not yet been reaped, the fruits of the forests and orchards hung clustering around us, and as we came in view of the Penobscot River, our hearts thrilled with joy. Its broad transparent waters here spread out their unruffled surface, there danced along the rapids, while canoes filled with Indians glided swiftly in every direction, raising before them the timorous waterfowl that had already flocked in from the north. Mountains, which you well know are indispensable in a beautiful landscape, reared their majestic crests in the distance. The Canada Jay leaped gaily from branch to twig; the Kingfisher, as if vexed at being suddenly surprised, rattled loudly as it swiftly flew off; and the Fish Hawk and Eagle spread their broad wings over the waters. All around was beautiful, and we gazed on the scene with delight, as seated on a verdant bank, we refreshed our frames from our replenished stores. A few rare birds were procured here, and the rest of the road being level and firm, we trotted on at a good pace for several hours, the Penobscot keeping company with us. Now we came to a deep creek, of which the bridge was undergoing repairs, and the people saw our vehicle approach with much surprise. They, however, assisted us with pleasure, by placing a few logs across, along which our horses one after the other were carefully led, and the cart afterwards carried. These good fellows were so averse to our recompensing them for their labor that after some altercation we were obliged absolutely to force what we deemed a suitable reward upon them. Next day we continued our journey along the Penobscot, the country changing its aspect at every mile, and when we first descried Old Town, that village of saw-mills looked like an island covered with manufactories. The people here are noted for their industry and perseverance, and any one possessing a mill, and attending to his saws, and the floating of the timber into his dams, is sure to obtain a competency in a few years. Speculations in land covered with pine, lying to the north of this place, are carried on to a great extent, and to discover a good tract of such ground many a miller of Old Town undertakes long journeys. Reader, with your leave, I will here introduce one of them. Good luck brought us into acquaintance with Mr. Gillies, whom we happened to meet in the course of our travels, as he was returning from an exploring tour. About the first of August he formed a party of sixteen persons, each carrying a knapsack and an axe. Their provisions consisted of two hundred and fifty pounds of pilot bread, one hundred and fifty of salt pork, four of tea, two large loaves of sugar, and some salt. They embarked in light canoes twelve miles north of Bangor, and followed the Penobscot as far as Wassataquoik River, a branch leading to the northwest, until they reached the Seboois Lakes, the principal of which lie in a line, with short portages between them. Still proceeding northwest they navigated these lakes, and then turning west, carried their canoes to the great lake Baamchenunsgamook; thence north to Wallaghasquegantook Lake, then along a small stream to the upper Umsaskiss Pond, when they reached the Albagash River which leads into the St. John in about latitude 47°. Many portions of that country had not been visited before even by the Indians, who assured Mr. Gillies of this fact. They continued their travels down the St. John to the Grand Falls, where they met with a portage of half a mile, and having reached Meduxmekeag Creek, a little above Woodstock, the party walked to Houlton, having travelled twelve hundred miles, and described almost an oval over the country by the time they returned to Old Town, on the Penobscot. While anxiously looking for "lumber-lands," they ascended the eminences around, then climbed the tallest trees, and by means of a good telescope, inspected the pine woods in the distance. And such excellent judges are these persons of the value of the timber which they thus observe, when it is situated at a convenient distance from water, that they never afterwards forget the different spots at all worthy of their attention. They had observed only a few birds and quadrupeds, the latter principally Porcupines. The borders of the lakes and rivers afforded them fruits of various sorts, and abundance of cranberries, while the uplands yielded plenty of wild white onions, and a species of black plum. Some of the party continued their journey in canoes down the St. John, ascended Eel River, and the lake of the same name to Matanemheag River, due southwest of the St. John, and after a few portages fell into the Penobscot. I had made arrangements to accompany Mr. Gillies on a journey of this kind, when I judged it would be more interesting as well as useful to me to visit the distant country of Labrador. The road which we followed from Old Town to Bangor was literally covered with Penobscot Indians returning from market. On reaching the latter beautiful town, we found very comfortable lodging in an excellent hotel, and next day we proceeded by the mail to Boston. A MOOSE HUNT In the spring of 1833 the Moose were remarkably abundant in the neighborhood of the Schoodiac Lakes; and, as the snow was so deep in the woods as to render it almost impossible for them to escape, many of them were caught. About the 1st of March, 1833, three of us set off on a hunt, provided with snow-shoes, guns, hatchets, and provisions for a fortnight. On the first day we went fifty miles, in a sledge drawn by one horse, to the nearest lake, where we stopped for the night, in the hut of an Indian named Lewis, of the Passamaquoddy tribe, who had abandoned the wandering life of his race, and turned his attention to farming and lumbering. Here we saw the operation of making snow-shoes, which requires more skill than one might imagine. The men generally make the bows to suit themselves, and the women weave in the threads, which are usually made of the skin of the Caribou Deer. The next day we went on foot sixty-two miles farther, when a heavy rain-storm coming on, we were detained a whole day. The next morning we put on snow-shoes, and proceeded about thirteen miles, to the head of the Musquash Lake, where we found a camp, which had been erected by some lumberers in the winter; and here we established our headquarters. In the afternoon an Indian had driven a female Moose-deer, and two young ones of the preceding year, within a quarter of a mile of our camp, when he was obliged to shoot the old one. We undertook to procure the young alive, and after much exertion succeeded in getting one of them, and shut it up in the shed made for the oxen; but as the night was falling, we were compelled to leave the other in the woods. The dogs having killed two fine Deer that day, we feasted upon some of their flesh, and upon Moose, which certainly seemed to us the most savory meat we had ever eaten, although a keen appetite is very apt to warp one's judgment in such a case. After supper we laid ourselves down before the huge fire we had built up, and were soon satisfied that we had at last discovered the most comfortable mode of sleeping. In the morning we started off on the track of a Moose, which had been driven from its haunt, or yard, by the Indians the day before; and although the snow was in general five feet deep, and in some places much deeper, we travelled three miles before we came to the spot where the Moose had rested for the night. He had not left this place more than an hour, when we came to it. So we pushed on faster than before, trusting that ere long we should overtake him. We had proceeded about a mile and a half farther, when he took a sudden turn, which threw us off his track, and when we again found it, we saw that an Indian had taken it up, and gone in pursuit of the harassed animal. In a short time we heard the report of a gun, and immediately running up, we saw the Moose, standing in a thicket, wounded, when we brought him down. The animal finding himself too closely pursued, had turned upon the Indian, who fired, and instantly ran into the bushes to conceal himself. It was three years old, and consequently not nearly grown, although already about six feet and a half in height. It is difficult to conceive how an animal could have gone at such a rate when the snow was so deep, with a thick crust at top. In one place, he had followed the course of a brook, over which the snow had sunk considerably on account of the higher temperature of the water, and we had an opportunity of seeing evidence of the great power which the species possess in leaping over objects that obstruct his way. There were places in which the snow had drifted to so great a height that you would have imagined it impossible for any animal to leap over it, and yet we found that he had done so at a single bound, without leaving the least trace. As I did not measure these snow-heaps, I cannot positively say how high they were, but I am well persuaded that some of them were ten feet. We proceeded to skin and dress the Moose, and buried the flesh under the snow, where it will keep for weeks. On opening the animal we were surprised to see the great size of the heart and lungs, compared with the contents of the abdomen. The heart was certainly larger than that of any animal which I had seen. The head bears a great resemblance to that of a horse, but the "muffle" is more than twice as large, and when the animal is irritated or frightened, it projects that part much farther than usual. It is stated in some descriptions of the Moose that he is short-winded and tender-footed, but he certainly is capable of long continued and very great exertion, and his feet, for anything that I have seen to the contrary, are as hard as those of any other quadruped. The young Moose was so exhausted and fretted that it offered no opposition to us as we led it to the camp; but in the middle of the night we were awakened by a great noise in the hovel, and found that as it had in some measure recovered from its terror and state of exhaustion, it began to think of getting home, and was now much enraged at finding itself so securely imprisoned. We were unable to do anything with it, for if we merely approached our hands to the openings of the hut, it would spring at us with the greatest fury, roaring and erecting its mane, in a manner that convinced us of the futility of all attempts to save it alive. We threw to it the skin of a Deer, which it tore to pieces in a moment. This individual was a yearling, and about six feet high. When we went to look for the other, which we had left in the woods, we found that he had "taken his back-track" or retraced his steps, and gone to the "beat," about a mile and a half distant, and which it may be interesting to describe. At the approach of winter, parties of Moose-deer, from two to fifty in number, begin to lessen their range, and proceed slowly to the south side of some hill, where they feed within still narrower limits, as the snow begins to fall. When it accumulates on the ground, the snow, for a considerable space, is divided into well trodden, irregular paths, in which they keep, and browse upon the bushes at the sides, occasionally striking out a new path, so that, by the spring, many of those made at the beginning of winter are obliterated. A "yard" for half a dozen Moose, would probably contain about twenty acres. A good hunter, although still a great way off, will not only perceive that there is a yard in the vicinity, but can tell the direction in which it lies, and even be pretty sure of the distance. It is by the marks on the trees that he discovers this circumstance; he finds the young maple, and especially the moose-wood and birch, with the bark gnawed off to the height of five or six feet on one side, and the twigs bitten, with the impression of the teeth left in such a manner, that the position of the animal when browsing on them, may be ascertained. Following the course indicated by these marks, the hunter gradually finds them more distinct and frequent, until at length he arrives at the yard; but there he finds no Moose, for long before he reaches the place, their extremely acute smell and hearing warn them of his approach, when they leave the yard, generally altogether, the strongest leading in one track, or in two or three parties. When pursued they usually separate, except the females, which keep with their young, and go before to break the track for them; nor will they leave them under any circumstances until brought down by their ruthless pursuers. The males, especially the old ones, being quite lean at this season, go off at great speed, and unless the snow is extremely deep, soon outstrip the hunters. They usually go in the direction of the wind, making many short turns to keep the scent, or to avoid some bad passage; and although they may sink to the bottom at every step, they cannot be overtaken in less than three or four days. The females, on the contrary, are remarkably fat, and it is not at all unfrequent to find in one of them a hundred pounds of raw tallow. But let us return to the young buck, which had regained the yard. We found him still more untractable than the female we had left in the hovel; he had trodden down the snow for a small space around him, which he refused to leave, and would spring with great fury at any one who approached the spot too near; and as turning on snow-shoes is not an easy operation, we were content to let him alone, and try to find one in a better situation for capture, knowing that if we did eventually secure him, he would probably, in the struggle injure himself too much to live. I have good reason to believe that the only practicable mode of taking them uninjured, except when they are very young, is, when they are exhausted and completely defenceless, to bind them securely, and keep them so till they have become pacified, and convinced of the uselessness of any attempt at resistance. If allowed to exert themselves as they please, they almost always kill themselves, as we found by experience. On the following day we again set out, and coming across the tracks of two young bucks, which had been started by the Indians, we pursued them, and in two or three miles, overtook them. As it was desirable to obtain them as near the camp as possible, we attempted to steer them that way. For a while we succeeded very well in our scheme, but at last one of them, after making many ineffectual attempts to get another way, turned upon his pursuer, who, finding himself not very safe, felt obliged to shoot him. His companion, who was a little more tractable, we drove on a short way, but as he had contrived to take many turnings, he could approach us on his back-track too swiftly, so that we were compelled to shoot him also. We "dressed" them, taking with us the tongues and muffles, which are considered the most delicate parts. We had not walked more than a quarter of a mile, when we perceived some of the indications before mentioned, which we followed for half a mile, when we came across a yard, and going round it, we found where the Moose had left it, though we afterwards learned that we had missed a fine buck, which the dogs, however, discovered later. We soon overtook a female with a young one, and were not long in sight of them when they stood at bay. It is really wonderful how soon they beat down a hard space in the snow to stand upon, when it is impossible for a dog to touch them, as they stamp so violently with their fore-feet that it is certain death to approach them. This Moose had only one calf with her, though the usual number is two, almost invariably a male and a female. We shot them with a ball through the brain. The Moose bears a considerable resemblance to the horse in his conformation, and in his disposition a still greater, having much of the sagacity as well as viciousness of that animal. We had an opportunity of observing the wonderful acuteness of its hearing and smelling. As we were standing by one, he suddenly erected his ears, and put himself on the alert, evidently aware of the approach of some person. About ten minutes after, one of our party came up, who must have been at the time at least half a mile off, and the wind was from the Moose towards him. This species of Deer feeds on the hemlock, cedar, fir, or pine, but will not touch the spruce. It also eats the twigs of the maple, birch, and soft shoots of other trees. In the autumn they may be enticed by imitating their peculiar cry, which is described as truly frightful. The hunter gets up into a tree, or conceals himself in some other secure place, and imitates this cry by means of a piece of birch-bark rolled up to give the proper tone. Presently he hears the Moose come dashing along, and when he gets near enough, takes a good aim, and soon despatches him. It is very unsafe to stand within reach of the animal, for he would certainly endeavor to demolish you. A full-grown male Moose is said to measure nine feet in height, and with his immense branching antlers presents a truly formidable appearance. Like the Virginia Deer, and the male Caribou, they shed their horns every year about the beginning of December. The first year their horns are not dropped in spring. When irritated the Moose makes a great grinding with his teeth, erects his mane, lays back his ears, and stamps with violence. When disturbed he makes a hideous whining noise, much in the manner of the Camel. In that wild and secluded part of the country, seldom visited but by the Indians, the common Deer were without number, and it was with great difficulty that we kept the dogs with us, as they were continually meeting with "beats." In its habits that species greatly resembles the Moose. The Caribou has a very broad, flat foot, and can spread it on the snow to the fetlock, so as to be able to run on a crust scarcely hard enough to bear a dog. When the snow is soft, they keep in immense droves around the margins of the large lakes to which they betake themselves when pursued, the crust being much harder there than elsewhere. When it becomes more firm, they strike into the woods. As they possess such facility of running on snow, they do not require to make any yards, and consequently have no fixed place in the winter. The speed of this animal is not well known, but I am inclined to believe it much greater than that of the fleetest horse. In our camp we saw great numbers of Crossbills, Grosbeaks, and various other small birds. Of the first of these were two species which were very tame, and alighted on our hut with the greatest familiarity. We caught five or six at once, under a snow-shoe. The Pine-Martin and Wild Cat were also very abundant.[57] LABRADOR When I look back upon the many pleasant hours that I spent with the young gentlemen who composed my party, during our excursions along the coast of sterile and stormy Labrador, I think that a brief account of our employments may prove not altogether uninteresting to my readers. We had purchased our stores at Boston, with the aid of my generous friend, Dr. Parkman of that city; but unfortunately many things necessary on an expedition like ours were omitted. At Eastport in Maine we therefore laid in these requisites. No traveller, let me say, ought to neglect anything that is calculated to insure the success of his undertaking, or to contribute to his personal comfort, when about to set out on a long and perhaps hazardous voyage. Very few opportunities of replenishing stores of provisions, clothing, or ammunition, occur in such a country as Labrador; and yet, we all placed too much confidence in the zeal and foresight of our purveyors at Eastport. We had abundance of ammunition, excellent bread, meat, and potatoes; but the butter was quite rancid, the oil only fit to grease our guns, the vinegar too liberally diluted with cider, the mustard and pepper deficient in due pungency. All this, however, was not discovered until it was too late to be remedied. Several of the young men were not clothed as hunters should be, and some of the guns were not so good as we could have wished. We were, however, fortunate with respect to our vessel, which was a notable sailer, did not leak, had a good crew, and was directed by a capital seaman. The hold of the schooner was floored, and an entrance made to it from the cabin, so that in it we had a very good parlor, dining-room, drawing-room, library, etc., all those apartments, however, being comprised in one. An extravagantly elongated deal table ranged along the centre; one of the party had slung his hammock at one end, and in its vicinity slept the cook and a lad who acted as armorer. The cabin was small; but being fitted in the usual manner with side berths, was used for a dormitory. It contained a small table and a stove, the latter of diminutive size, but smoky enough to discomfit a host. We had adopted in a great measure the clothing worn by the American fishermen on that coast, namely, thick blue cloth trousers, a comfortable waistcoat, and a pea-jacket of blanket. Our boots were large, round-toed, strong, and well studded with large nails to prevent sliding on the rocks. Worsted comforters, thick mittens, and round broad-brimmed hats, completed our dress, which was more picturesque than fashionable. As soon as we had an opportunity, the boots were exchanged for Esquimaux mounted moccasins of Seal-skin, impermeable to water, light, easy, and fastening at top about the middle of the thigh to straps, which when buckled over the hips secured them well. To complete our equipment, we had several good boats, one of which was extremely light and adapted for shallow water. No sooner had we reached the coast and got into harbor, than we agreed to follow certain regulations intended for the general benefit. Every morning the cook was called before three o'clock. At half-past three, breakfast was on the table, and everybody equipped. The guns, ammunition, botanical boxes, and baskets for eggs or minerals were all in readiness. Our breakfast consisted of coffee, bread, and various other materials. At four, all except the cook, and one seaman, went off in different directions, not forgetting to carry with them a store of cooked provisions. Some betook themselves to the islands, others to the deep bays; the latter on landing wandered over the country till noon, when laying themselves down on the rich moss, or sitting on the granite rock, they would rest for an hour, eat their dinner, and talk of their successes or disappointments. I often regret that I did not take sketches of the curious groups formed by my young friends on such occasions, and when, after returning at night, all were engaged in measuring, weighing, comparing, and dissecting the birds we had procured; operations which were carried on with the aid of a number of candles thrust into the necks of bottles. Here one examined the flowers and leaves of a plant, there another explored the recesses of a Diver's gullet, while a third skinned a Gull or a Grouse. Nor was one journal forgotten. Arrangements were made for the morrow, and at twelve we left matters to the management of the cook, and retired to our roosts. If the wind blew hard, all went on shore, and, excepting on a few remarkably rainy days, we continued our pursuits, much in the same manner during our stay in the country. The physical powers of the young men were considered in making our arrangements. Shattuck and Ingalls went together; the captain and Coolidge were fond of each other, the latter having also been an officer; Lincoln and my son being the strongest and most determined hunters, generally marched by themselves; and I went with one or other of the parties, according to circumstances, although it was by no means my custom to do so regularly, as I had abundance of work on hand in the vessel. The return of my young companions and the sailors was always looked for with anxiety. On getting on board, they opened their budgets, and laid their contents on the deck, amid much merriment, those who had procured most specimens being laughed at by those who had obtained the rarest, and the former joking the latter in return. A substantial meal always awaited them, and fortunate we were in having a capital cook, although he was a little too fond of the bottle. Our "Fourth of July" was kept sacred, and every Saturday night the toast of "wives and sweethearts" was the first given, "parents and friends" the last. Never was there a more merry set. Some with the violin and flute accompanied the voices of the rest, and few moments were spent in idleness. Before a month had elapsed, the spoils of many a fine bird hung around the hold; shrubs and flowers were in the press, and I had several drawings finished, some of which you have seen, and of which I hope you will ere long see the remainder. Large jars were filling apace with the bodies of rare birds, fishes, quadrupeds and reptiles, as well as molluscous animals. We had several pets too, Gulls, Cormorants, Guillemots, Puffins, Hawks, and a Raven. In some of the harbors, curious fishes were hooked in our sight, so clear was the water. We found that camping out at night was extremely uncomfortable, on account of the annoyance caused by flies and mosquitoes, which attacked the hunters in swarms at all times, but more especially when they lay down, unless they enveloped themselves in thick smoke, which is not much more pleasant. Once when camping the weather became very bad, and the party was twenty miles distant from Whapatigan as night threw her mantle over the earth. The rain fell in torrents, the northeast wind blew furiously, and the air was extremely cold. The oars of the boats were fixed so as to support some blankets, and a small fire was with difficulty kindled, on the embers of which a scanty meal was cooked. How different from a camp on the shores of the Mississippi, where wood is abundant, and the air generally not lacking heat, where mosquitoes, although plentiful enough, are not accompanied by Caribou flies, and where the barkings of a joyful Squirrel, or the notes of the Barred Owl, that grave buffoon of our western woods, never fail to gladden the camper as he cuts to the right and left such branches and canes as most easily supply materials for forming a lodging for the night. On the coast of Labrador there are no such things; granite and green moss are spread around, silence like that of the grave envelops all, and when night has closed the dreary scene from your sight, the Wolves, attracted by the scent of the remains of your scanty repast, gather around you. Cowards as they are they dare not venture on a charge; but their howlings effectually banish sleep. You must almost roast your feet to keep them warm, while your head and shoulders are chilled by the blast. When morning comes, she smiles not on you with rosy cheeks, but appears muffled in a gray mantle of cold mist, which shows you that there is no prospect of a fine day. The object of the expedition, which was to procure some Owls that had been observed there by day, was entirely frustrated. At early dawn the party rose stiffened and dispirited, and glad were they to betake themselves to their boats, and return to their floating home. Before we left Labrador, several of my young friends began to feel the want of suitable clothing. The sailor's ever-tailoring system, was, believe me, fairly put to the test. Patches of various colors ornamented knees and elbows; our boots were worn out; our greasy garments and battered hats were in harmony with our tanned and weather-beaten faces; and, had you met with us, you might have taken us for a squad of wretched vagrants; but we were joyous in the expectation of a speedy return, and exulted at the thoughts of our success. As the chill blast that precedes the winter's tempest thickened the fogs on the hills and ruffled the dark waters, each successive day saw us more anxious to leave the dreary wilderness of grim rocks and desolate moss-clad valleys. Unfavorable winds prevented us for a while from spreading our white sails; but at last one fair morning smiled on the wintry world, the "Ripley" was towed from the harbor, her tackle trimmed, and as we bounded over the billows, we turned our eyes towards the wilds of Labrador, and heartily bade them farewell forever! THE EGGERS OF LABRADOR The distinctive appellation of "eggers" is given to certain persons who follow, principally or exclusively, the avocation of procuring the eggs of wild birds, with the view of disposing of them at some distant port. Their great object is to plunder every nest, wherever they can find it, no matter where, and at whatever risk. They are the pest of the feathered tribes, and their brutal propensity to destroy the poor creatures after they have robbed them, is abundantly gratified whenever an opportunity presents itself. Much had been said to me respecting these destructive pirates before I visited the coast of Labrador, but I could not entirely credit all their cruelties until I had actually witnessed their proceedings, which were such as to inspire no small degree of horror. But you shall judge for yourself. See yon shallop, shyly sailing along; she sneaks like a thief wishing, as it were, to shun the very light of heaven. Under the lee of every rocky isle some one at the tiller steers her course. Were his trade an honest one, he would not think of hiding his back behind the terrific rocks that seem to have been placed there as a resort to the myriads of birds that annually visit this desolate region of the earth, for the purpose of rearing their young at a distance from all disturbers of their peace. How unlike the open, the bold, the honest mariner, whose face needs no mask, who scorns to skulk under any circumstances. The vessel herself is a shabby thing; her sails are patched with stolen pieces of better canvas, the owners of which have probably been stranded on some inhospitable coast, and have been plundered, perhaps murdered, by the wretches before us. Look at her again! Her sides are neither painted, nor even pitched; no, they are daubed over, plastered and patched with strips of Seal-skins laid along the seams. Her deck has never been washed or sanded; her hold--for no cabin has she--though at present empty, sends forth an odor pestilential as that of a charnel house. The crew, eight in number, lie sleeping at the foot of their tottering mast, regardless of the repairs needed in every part of her rigging. But see! she scuds along, and as I suspect her crew to be bent on the commission of some evil deed, let us follow her to the first harbor. [Illustration: AUDUBON, 1850. FROM A DAGUERREOTYPE. OWNED BY MRS. ELIZABETH BERTHOUD GRIMSHAW.] There rides the filthy thing! The afternoon is half over. Her crew have thrown their boat overboard, they enter and seat themselves, each with a rusty gun. One of them sculls the skiff towards an island for a century past the breeding-place of myriads of Guillemots, which are now to be laid under contribution. At the approach of the vile thieves, clouds of birds rise from the rock and fill the air around, wheeling and screaming over their enemies. Yet thousands remain in an erect posture, each covering its single egg, the hope of both parents. The reports of several muskets loaded with heavy shot are now heard, while several dead and wounded birds fall heavily on the rock, or into the water. Instantly all the sitting birds rise and fly off affrighted to their companions above, and hover in dismay over their assassins, who walk forward exultingly, and with their shouts mingling oaths and execrations. Look at them! See how they crush the chick within its shell, how they trample on every egg in their way with their huge and clumsy boots. Onward they go, and when they leave the isle, not an egg that they can find is left entire. The dead birds they collect and carry to their boat. Now they have regained their filthy shallop; they strip the birds by a single jerk, of their feathery apparel while the flesh is yet warm, and throw them on some coals, where in a short time they are broiled. The rum is produced when the Guillemots are fit for eating, and after stuffing themselves with this oily fare, and enjoying the pleasure of beastly intoxication, over they tumble on the deck of their crazed craft, where they pass the short hours of night in turbid slumber. The sun now rises above the snow-clad summit of the eastern mount. "Sweet is the breath of morn," even in this desolate land. The gay Bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate. The Willow Grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud. Each floweret chilled by the night air expands its pure petals. The gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy dew-drops. On the Guillemot isle the birds have again settled, and now renew their loves. Startled by the light of day, one of the eggers springs to his feet and rouses his companions, who stare around them for a while, endeavoring to collect their senses. Mark them, as with clumsy fingers they clear their drowsy eyes! Slowly they rise on their feet. See how the filthy lubbers stretch out their arms, and yawn; you shrink back, for verily "that throat might frighten a shark." But the master soon recollecting that so many eggs are worth a dollar or a crown, casts his eye towards the rock, marks the day in his memory and gives orders to depart. The light breeze enables them to reach another harbor a few miles distant, one which, like the last, lies concealed from the ocean by some other rocky isle. Arrived there, they re-act the scene of yesterday, crushing every egg they can find. For a week each night is passed in drunkenness and brawls, until, having reached the last breeding-place on the coast, they return, touch at every isle in succession, shoot as many birds as they need, collect the fresh eggs, and lay in a cargo. At every step each ruffian picks up an egg so beautiful that any man with a feeling heart would pause to consider the motive which could induce him to carry it off. But nothing of this sort occurs to the egger, who gathers and gathers until he has swept the rock bare. The dollars alone chink in his sordid mind, and he assiduously plies the trade which no man would ply who had the talents and industry to procure subsistence by honorable means. With a bark nearly half filled with fresh eggs they proceed to the principal rock, that on which they first landed. But what is their surprise when they find others there helping themselves as industriously as they can! In boiling rage they charge their guns and ply their oars. Landing on the rock they run up to the eggers, who, like themselves, are desperadoes. The first question is a discharge of musketry, the answer another. Now, man to man, they fight like tigers. One is carried to his boat with a fractured skull, another limps with a shot in his leg, and a third feels how many of his teeth have been driven through the hole in his cheek. At last, however, the quarrel is settled; the booty is to be equally divided; and now see them all drinking together. Oaths and curses and filthy jokes are all that you hear; but see, stuffed with food, and reeling with drink, down they drop one by one; groans and execrations from the wounded mingle with the snoring of the heavy sleepers. There let the brutes lie. Again it is dawn, but no one stirs. The sun is high; one by one they open their heavy eyes, stretch their limbs, yawn, and raise themselves from the deck. But see, here comes a goodly company. A hundred honest fishermen, who for months past have fed on salt meat, have felt a desire to procure some eggs. Gallantly their boats advance, impelled by the regular pull of their long oars. Each buoyant bark displays the flag of its nation. No weapons do they bring, nor anything that can be used as such save their oars and their fists. Cleanly clad in Sunday attire, they arrive at the desired spot, and at once prepare to ascend the rock. The eggers, now numbering a dozen, all armed with guns and bludgeons, bid defiance to the fishermen. A few angry words pass between the parties. One of the eggers, still under the influence of drink, pulls his trigger, and an unfortunate sailor is seen to reel in agony. Three loud cheers fill the air. All at once rush on the malefactors; a horrid fight ensues, the result of which is that every egger is left on the rock beaten and bruised. Too frequently the fishermen man their boats, row to the shallops, and break every egg in the hold. The eggers of Labrador not only rob the birds in this cruel manner, but also the fishermen, whenever they can find an opportunity; and the quarrels they excite are numberless. While we were on the coast, none of our party ever ventured on any of the islands which these wretches call their own, without being well provided with means of defence. On one occasion, when I was present, we found two eggers at their work of destruction. I spoke to them respecting my visit, and offered them premiums for rare birds and some of their eggs; but although they made fair promises, not one of the gang ever came near the "Ripley." These people gather all the eider-down they can find; yet so inconsiderate are they, that they kill every bird which comes in their way. The eggs of Gulls, Guillemots, and Ducks are searched for with care; and the Puffins and some other birds they massacre in vast numbers for the sake of their feathers. So constant and persevering are their depredations that these species, which, according to the accounts of the few settlers I saw in the country, were exceedingly abundant twenty years ago, have abandoned their ancient breeding places, and removed much farther north in search of peaceful security. Scarcely, in fact, could I procure a young Guillemot before the eggers left the coast, nor was it until late in July that I succeeded, after the birds had laid three or four eggs each, instead of one, and when, nature having been exhausted, and the season nearly spent, thousands of these birds left the country without having accomplished the purpose for which they had visited it. This war of extermination cannot last many years more. The eggers themselves will be the first to repent the entire disappearance of the myriads of birds that made the coast of Labrador their summer residence, and unless they follow the persecuted tribes to the northward, they must renounce their trade. THE SQUATTERS OF LABRADOR Go where you will, if a shilling can there be procured, you may expect to meet with individuals in search of it. In the course of last summer, I met with several persons, as well as families, whom I could not compare to anything else than what in America we understand by the appellation of "squatters." The methods they employed to accumulate property form the subject of the observations which I now lay before you. Our schooner lay at anchor in a beautiful basin on the coast of Labrador, surrounded by uncouth granitic rocks, partially covered with stunted vegetation. While searching for birds and other objects I chanced one morning to direct my eye towards the pinnacle of a small island, separated from the mainland by a very narrow channel, and presently commenced inspecting it with my telescope. There I saw a man on his knees with clasped hands, and face inclined heavenwards. Before him was a small monument of unhewn stones, supporting a wooden cross. In a word, reader, the person whom I thus unexpectedly discovered was engaged in prayer. Such an incident in that desolate land was affecting, for there one seldom finds traces of human beings; and the aid of the Almighty, although necessary everywhere, seems there peculiarly required to enable them to procure the means of subsistence. My curiosity having been raised, I betook myself to my boat, landed on the rock, and scrambled to the place, where I found the man still on his knees. When his devotions were concluded, he bowed to me, and addressed me in very indifferent French. I asked him why he had chosen so dreary a spot for his prayers. "Because," answered he, "the sea lies before me, and from it I receive my spring and summer sustenance. When winter approaches, I pray fronting the mountains on the main, as at that period the Caribous come towards the shore, and I kill them, feed on their flesh, and form my bedding of their skins." I thought the answer reasonable, and as I longed to know more of him, followed him to his hut. It was low, and very small, formed of stones plastered with mud to a considerable thickness. The roof was composed of a sort of thatching made of weeds and moss. A large Dutch stove filled nearly one half the place; a small port-hole then stuffed with old rags, served at times instead of a window; the bed was a pile of Deerskins; a bowl, a jug, and an iron pot were placed on a rude shelf; three old and rusty muskets, their locks fastened by thongs, stood in a corner; and his buckshot, powder, and flints, were tied up in bags of skin. Eight Esquimaux dogs yelled and leaped about us. The strong smell that emanated from them, together with the smoke and filth of the apartment, rendered my stay in it extremely disagreeable. Being a native of France, the good man showed much politeness, and invited me to take some refreshment, when, without waiting for my assent, he took up his bowl, and went off I knew not whither. No sooner had he and his strange dogs disappeared than I went out also, to breathe the pure air, and gaze on the wild and majestic scenery around. I was struck with the extraordinary luxuriance of the plants and grasses that had sprung up on the scanty soil in the little valley which the squatter had chosen for his home. Their stalks and broad blades reached my waist. June had come, and the flies, mosquitoes, and other insects filled the air, and were as troublesome to me as if I had been in a Florida swamp. The squatter returned, but he was chop-fallen; nay, I thought his visage had assumed a cadaverous hue. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he told me that his barrel of _rum_ had been stolen by the "eggers" or some fishermen. He said that he had been in the habit of hiding it in the bushes, to prevent its being carried away by those merciless thieves, who must have watched him in some of his frequent walks to the spot. "Now," said he, "I can expect none till next spring, and God knows what will become of me in the winter." Pierre Jean Baptiste Michaux had resided in that part of the world for upwards of ten years. He had run away from the fishing-smack that had brought him from his fair native land, and expected to become rich some day by the sale of the furs, Seal-skins, eider-down, and other articles, which he collected yearly, and sold to the traders who regularly visited his dreary abode. He was of moderate stature, firmly framed, and as active as a Wild Cat. He told me that excepting the loss of his rum, he had never experienced any other cause of sorrow, and that he felt as "happy as a lord." Before parting with this fortunate mortal, I inquired how his dogs managed to find sufficient food. "Why, sir, during spring and summer they ramble along the shores, where they meet with abundance of dead fish, and in winter they eat the flesh of the Seals which I kill late in autumn, when these animals return from the north. As to myself, everything eatable is good, and when hard pushed, I relish the fare of my dogs, I assure you, as much as they do themselves." Proceeding along the rugged indentations of the bay with my companions, I reached the settlement of another person, who, like the first, had come to Labrador with the view of making his fortune. We found him after many difficulties; but as our boats turned a long point jutting out into the bay, we were pleased to see several small schooners at anchor, and one lying near a sort of wharf. Several neat-looking houses enlivened the view, and on landing, we were kindly greeted with a polite welcome from a man who proved to be the owner of the establishment. For the rude simplicity of him of the rum-cask, we found here the manners and dress of a man of the world. A handsome fur cap covered his dark brow, his clothes were similar to our own, and his demeanor was that of a gentleman. On my giving my name to him, he shook me heartily by the hand, and on introducing each of my companions to him, he extended the like courtesy to them also. Then, to my astonishment, he addressed me as follows: "My dear sir, I have been expecting you these three weeks, having read _in the papers_ your intention to visit Labrador; and some fishermen told me of your arrival at Little Natasquam. Gentlemen, walk in." Having followed him to his neat and comfortable mansion, he introduced us to his wife and children. Of the latter there were six, all robust and rosy. The lady, although a native of the country, was of French extraction, handsome, and sufficiently accomplished to make an excellent companion to a gentleman. A smart girl brought us a luncheon, consisting of bread, cheese, and good port wine, to which, having rowed fourteen or fifteen miles that morning, we helped ourselves in a manner that seemed satisfactory to all parties. Our host gave us newspapers from different parts of the world, and showed us his small, but choice collection of books. He inquired after the health of the amiable Captain Bayfield of the Royal Navy, and the officers under him, and hoped they would give him a call. Having refreshed ourselves, we walked out with him, when he pointed to a very small garden, where a few vegetables sprouted out, anxious to see the sun. Gazing on the desolate country around, I asked him how _he_ had thus secluded himself from the world. For it he had no relish, and although he had received a liberal education, and had mixed with society, he never intended to return to it. "The country around," said he, "is all my own, much farther than you can see. No fees, no lawyers, no taxes are _here_. I do pretty much as I choose. My means are ample through my own industry. These vessels come here for Seal-skins, Seal-oil, and salmon, and give me in return all the necessaries, and indeed comforts, of the life I love to follow; and what else could _the world_ afford me?" I spoke of the education of his children. "My wife and I teach them all that is _useful_ for them to know, and is not that enough? My girls will marry their countrymen, my sons the daughters of my neighbors, and I hope all of them will live and die in the country!" I said no more, but by way of compensation for the trouble I had given him, purchased from his eldest child a beautiful Fox's skin. Few birds, he said, came round him in summer, but in winter thousands of Ptarmigans were killed, as well as great numbers of Gulls. He had a great dislike to all fishermen and eggers, and I really believe was always glad to see the departure even of the hardy navigators who annually visited him for the sake of his salmon, Seal-skins, and oil. He had more than forty Esquimaux dogs; and as I was caressing one of them he said, "Tell my brother-in-law at Bras d'Or, that we are all well here, and that, after visiting my wife's father, I will give him a call." Now, reader, his wife's father resided at the distance of seventy miles down the coast, and, like himself, was a recluse. He of Bras d'Or, was at double that distance; but, when the snows of winter have thickly covered the country, the whole family, in sledges drawn by dogs, travel with ease, and pay their visits, or leave their cards. This good gentleman had already resided there more than twenty years. Should he ever read this article, I desire him to believe that I shall always be grateful to him and his wife for their hospitable welcome. When our schooner, the "Ripley," arrived at Bras d'Or, I paid a visit to Mr. ----, the brother-in-law, who lived in a house imported from Quebec, which fronted the strait of Belle Isle, and overlooked a small island, over which the eye reached the coast of Newfoundland, whenever it was the wind's pleasure to drive away the fogs that usually lay over both coasts. The gentleman and his wife, we were told, were both out on a walk, but would return in a very short time, which they in fact did, when we followed them into the house, which was yet unfinished. The usual immense Dutch stove formed a principal feature of the interior. The lady had once visited the metropolis of Canada, and seemed desirous of acting the part of a blue-stocking. Understanding that I knew something of the fine arts, she pointed to several of the vile prints hung on the bare walls, which she said were _elegant_ Italian pictures, and continued her encomiums upon them, assuring me that she had purchased them from an Italian, who had come there with a trunk full of them. She had paid a shilling sterling for each, frame included. I could give no answer to the good lady on this subject, but I felt glad to find that she possessed a feeling heart, for one of her children had caught a Siskin, and was tormenting the poor bird, when she rose from her seat, took the little fluttering thing from the boy, kissed it, and gently launched it into the air. This made me quite forget the tattle about the fine arts. Some excellent milk was poured out for us in clean glasses. It was a pleasing sight, for not a cow had we yet seen in the country. The lady turned the conversation on music, and asked me if I played on any instrument. I answered that I did, but very indifferently. Her forte, she said, was music, of which she was indeed immoderately fond. Her instrument had been sent to Europe to be repaired, but would return that season, when the whole of her children would again perform many beautiful airs; for in fact anybody could use it with ease, as when she or the children felt fatigued, the servant played on it for them. Rather surprised at the extraordinary powers of this family of musicians, I asked what sort of an instrument it was, when she described it as follows: "Gentlemen, my instrument is large, longer than broad, and stands on four legs, like a table. At one end is a crooked handle, by turning which round, either fast or slow, I do assure you we make most excellent music." The lips of my young friends and companions instantly curled, but a glance from me as instantly recomposed their features. Telling the fair one that it must be a hand-organ she used, she laughingly said, "Ah, that is it; it is a hand-organ, but I had forgot the name, and for the life of me could not recollect it." The husband had gone out to work, and was in the harbor calking an old schooner. He dined with me on board the "Ripley," and proved to be also an excellent fellow. Like his brother-in-law, he had seen much of the world, having sailed nearly round it; and, although no scholar like him, too, he was disgusted with it. He held his land on the same footing as his neighbors, caught Seals without number, lived comfortably and happily, visited his father-in-law and the scholar, by the aid of his dogs, of which he kept a great pack, bartered or sold his commodities, as his relations did, and cared about nothing else in the world. Whenever the weather was fair, he walked with his dame over the moss-covered rocks of the neighborhood; and during winter killed Ptarmigans and Caribous, while his eldest son attended to the traps, and skinned the animals caught in them. He had the only horse that was to be found in that part of the country, as well as several cows; but, above all, he was kind to every one, and every one spoke well of him. The only disagreeable thing about his plantation or settlement, was a heap of fifteen hundred carcasses of skinned Seals, which, at the time when we visited the place, in the month of August, notwithstanding the coolness of the atmosphere, sent forth a stench that, according to the ideas of some naturalists, might have sufficed to attract all the Vultures in the United States. During our stay at Bras d'Or, the kind-hearted and good Mrs. ---- daily sent us fresh milk and butter, for which we were denied the pleasure of making any return. COD FISHING Although I had seen, as I thought, abundance of fish along the coasts of the Floridas, the numbers which I found in Labrador quite astonished me. Should your surprise while reading the following statements be as great as mine was while observing the facts related, you will conclude, as I have often done, that Nature's means of providing small animals for the use of larger ones, and _vice versa_, are as ample as is the grandeur of that world which she has so curiously constructed. The coast of Labrador is visited by European as well as American fishermen, all of whom are, I believe, entitled to claim portions of fishing-ground assigned to each nation by mutual understanding. For the present, however, I shall confine my observations to those of our own country, who, after all, are probably the most numerous. The citizens of Boston, and many others of our eastern seaports, are those who chiefly engage in this department of our commerce. Eastport in Maine sends out every year a goodly fleet of schooners and "pickaxes" to Labrador, to procure Cod, Mackerel, Halibut, and sometimes Herring, the latter being caught in the intermediate space. The vessels from that port, and others in Maine and Massachusetts, sail as soon as the warmth of spring has freed the gulf of ice, that is, from the beginning of May to that of June. A vessel of one hundred tons or so is provided with a crew of twelve men, who are equally expert as sailors and fishers, and for every couple of these hardy tars, a Hampton boat is provided, which is lashed on the deck, or hung in stays. Their provision is simple, but of good quality, and it is very seldom that any spirits are allowed, beef, pork and biscuit with water being all they take with them. The men are supplied with warm clothing, waterproof oiled jackets and trousers, large boots, broad-brimmed hats with a round crown, and stout mittens, with a few shirts. The owner or captain furnishes them with lines, hooks, and nets, and also provides the bait best adapted to insure success. The hold of the vessel is filled with casks, of various dimensions, some containing salt, and others for the oil that may be procured. The bait generally used at the beginning of the season consists of mussels salted for the purpose; but as soon as the capelings reach the coast they are substituted to save expense, and in many instances the flesh of Gannets and other sea-fowl is employed. The wages of fishermen vary from sixteen to thirty dollars per month, according to the qualifications of the individual. The labor of these men is excessively hard, for, unless on Sunday, their allowance of rest in the twenty-four hours seldom exceeds three. The cook is the only person who fares better in this respect, but he must also assist in curing the fish. He has breakfast, consisting of coffee, bread, and meat, ready for the captain and the whole crew, by three o'clock every morning, excepting Sunday. Each person carries with him his dinner ready cooked, which is commonly eaten on the fishing-grounds. Thus, at three in the morning, the crew are prepared for their day's labor, and ready to betake themselves to their boats, each of which has two oars and lugsails. They all depart at once, and either by rowing or sailing, reach the banks to which the fishes are known to resort. The little squadron drop their anchors at short distances from each other, in a depth of from ten to twenty feet, and the business is immediately commenced. Each man has two lines, and each stands in one end of the boat, the middle of which is boarded off, to hold the fish. The baited lines have been dropped into the water, one on each side of the boat; their leads have reached the bottom, a fish has taken the hook, and after giving the line a slight jerk, the fisherman hauls up his prize with a continued pull, throws the fish athwart a small round bar of iron placed near his back, which forces open the mouth, while the weight of the body, however small the fish may be, tears out the hook. The bait is still good, and over the side the line again goes, to catch another fish, while that on the left is now drawn up, and the same course pursued. In this manner, a fisher busily plying at each end, the operation is continued until the boat is so laden that her gunwale is brought within a few inches of the surface, when they return to the vessel in harbor, seldom distant more than eight miles from the banks. During the greater part of the day the fishermen have kept up a constant conversation, of which the topics are the pleasure of finding a good supply of cod, their domestic affairs, the political prospects of the nation, and other matters similarly connected. Now the repartee of one elicits a laugh from the other; this passes from man to man, and the whole flotilla enjoy the joke. The men of one boat strive to outdo those of the others in hauling up the greatest quantity of fish in a given time, and this forms another source of merriment. The boats are generally filled about the same time, and all return together. Arrived at the vessel, each man employs a pole armed with a bent iron, resembling the prong of a hay-fork, with which he pierces the fish, and throws it with a jerk on deck, counting the number thus discharged with a loud voice. Each cargo is thus safely deposited, and the boats instantly return to the fishing-ground, when, after anchoring, the men eat their dinner, and begin anew. There, good reader, with your leave, I will let them pursue their avocations for a while, as I am anxious that you should witness what is doing on board the vessel. The captain, four men, and the cook have, in the course of the morning, erected long tables fore and aft the main hatchway; they have taken to the shore most of the salt barrels, and have placed in a row their large empty casks, to receive the livers. The hold of the vessel is quite clear, except a corner where is a large heap of salt. And now the men, having dined precisely at twelve, are ready with their large knives. One begins with breaking off the head of the fish, a slight pull of the hand and a gash with the knife, effecting this in a moment. He slits up its belly, with one hand pushes it aside to his neighbor, then throws overboard the head, and begins to doctor another. The next man tears out the entrails, separates the liver, which he throws into a cask, and casts the rest overboard. A third person dexterously passes his knife beneath the vertebræ of the fish, separates them from the flesh, heaves the latter through the hatchway, and the former into the water. Now, if you will peep into the hold, you will see the last stage of the process, the salting and packing. Six experienced men generally manage to head, clean, bone, salt, and pack all the fish caught in the morning by the return of the boats with fresh cargoes, when all hands set to work, and clear the deck of the fish. Thus their labors continue till midnight, when they wash their faces and hands, put on clean clothes, hang their fishing apparel on the shrouds, and, betaking themselves to the forecastle, are soon in a sound sleep. At three the next morning, comes the captain from his berth, rubbing his eyes, and in a loud voice calling, "All hands, ho!" Stiffened in limb, and but half awake, the crew quickly appear on the deck. Their fingers and hands are so cramped and swollen by pulling the lines that it is difficult for them to straighten even a thumb; but this matters little at present, for the cook, who had a good nap yesterday, has risen an hour before them, and prepared their coffee and eatables. Breakfast despatched, they exchange their clean clothes for the fishing apparel, and leap into their boats, which had been washed the previous night, and again the flotilla bounds to the fishing-grounds. As there may not be less than one hundred schooners or pickaxes in the harbor, three hundred boats resort to the banks each day, and, as each boat may procure two thousand Cods per diem, when Saturday night comes about six hundred thousand fishes have been brought to the harbor. This having caused some scarcity on the fishing-grounds, and Sunday being somewhat of an idle day, the captain collects the salt ashore, and sets sail for some other convenient harbor, which he expects to reach long before sunset. If the weather be favorable, the men get a good deal of rest during the voyage, and on Monday things go on as before. I must not omit to tell you, reader, that, while proceeding from one harbor to another, the vessel has passed near a rock which is the breeding-place of myriads of Puffins. She has laid to for an hour or so, while part of the crew have landed, and collected a store of eggs, excellent as a substitute for cream, and not less so when hard boiled as food for the fishing-grounds. I may as well inform you also how these adventurous fellows distinguish the fresh eggs from the others. They fill up some large tubs with water, throw in a quantity of eggs, and allow them to remain a minute or so, when those which come to the surface are tossed overboard, and even those that manifest any upward tendency share the same treatment. All that remain at bottom, you may depend upon it, good reader, are perfectly sound, and not less palatable than any that you have ever eaten, or that your best guinea fowl has just dropped in your barn-yard. But let us return to the Codfish. The fish already procured and salted is taken ashore at the new harbor by part of the crew, whom the captain has marked as the worst hands at fishing. There, on the bare rocks, or on elevated scaffolds of considerable extent, the salted Cod are laid side by side to dry in the sun. They are turned several times a day, and in the intervals the men bear a hand on board at clearing and stowing away the daily produce of the fishing-banks. Towards evening they return to the drying-grounds, and put up the fish in piles resembling so many hay-stacks, disposing those towards the top in such a manner that the rain cannot injure them, and placing a heavy stone on the summit to prevent their being thrown down should it blow hard during the night. You see, reader, that the life of a Labrador fisherman is not one of idleness. The capelings have approached the shores, and in myriads enter every basin and stream, to deposit their spawn, for now July is arrived. The Cods follow them as the bloodhound follows his prey, and their compact masses literally line the shores. The fishermen now adopt another method; they have brought with them long and deep seines, one end of which is by means of a line fastened to the shore, while the other is, in the usual manner, drawn out in a broad sweep, to inclose as great a space as possible, and hauled on shore by means of a capstan. Some of the men, in boats, support the corked part of the net, and beat the water to frighten the fishes within towards the land, while others, armed with poles, enter the water, hook the fishes, and fling them on the beach, the net being gradually drawn closer as the number of fish diminishes. What do you think, reader, as to the number of Cod secured in this manner in a single haul? Thirty, or thirty thousand? You may form some notion of the matter when I tell you that the young gentlemen of my party, while going along the shores, caught Codfish alive with their hands, and trout of many pounds' weight with a piece of twine and a mackerel-hook hung to their gun-rods; and that, if two of them walked knee-deep along the rocks, holding a handkerchief by the corners, they swept it full of capelings. Should you not trust me in this, I refer you to the fishermen themselves, or recommend you to go to Labrador, where you will give credit to the testimony of your eyes. The seining of the Codfish, I believe, is not _quite_ lawful, for a great proportion of the codlings which are dragged ashore at last are so small as to be considered useless; and, instead of being returned to the water, as they ought to be, are left on the shore, where they are ultimately eaten by Bears, Wolves, and Ravens. The fish taken along the coast, or on fishing stations only a few miles off, are of small dimensions; and I believe I am correct in saying that few of them weigh more than two pounds when perfectly cured, or exceed six when taken out of the water. The fish are liable to several diseases, and at times are annoyed by parasitic animals, which in a short time render them lean and unfit for use. Some individuals, from laziness or other causes, fish with naked hooks, and thus frequently wound the Cod, without securing them; in consequence of which the shoals are driven away, to the detriment of the other fishers. Some carry their cargoes to other parts before drying them, while others dispose of them to agents from distant shores. Some have only a pickaxe of fifty tons, while others are owners of seven or eight vessels of equal or larger burden; but whatever be their means, should the season prove favorable, they are generally well repaid for their labor. I have known instances of men who, on their first voyage, ranked as "boys," and in ten years after were in independent circumstances, although they still continue to resort to the fishing; for, said they to me, "How could we be content to spend our time in idleness at home?" I know a person of this class who has carried on the trade for many years, and who has quite a little fleet of schooners, one of which, the largest and most beautifully built, has a cabin as neat and comfortable as any that I have ever seen in a vessel of the same size. This vessel took fish on board only when perfectly cured, or acted as pilot to the rest, and now and then would return home with an ample supply of halibut, or a cargo of prime mackerel. On another occasion, I will offer some remarks on the improvements which I think might be made in the Cod-fisheries of the coast of Labrador. A BALL IN NEWFOUNDLAND On our return from the singularly wild and interesting country of Labrador, the "Ripley" sailed close along the northern coast of Newfoundland. The weather was mild and clear, and, while my young companions amused themselves on the deck with the music of various instruments, I gazed on the romantic scenery spread along the bold and often magnificent shores. Portions of the wilds appeared covered with a luxuriance of vegetable growth, far surpassing that of the regions which we had just left, and in some of the valleys I thought I saw trees of moderate size. The number of habitations increased apace, and many small vessels and boats danced on the waves of the coves which we passed. Here a precipitous shore looked like the section of a great mountain, of which the lost half had sunk into the depths of the sea, and the dashing of the waters along its base was such as to alarm the most daring seaman. The huge masses of broken rock impressed my mind with awe and reverence, as I thought of the power that still gave support to the gigantic fragments which everywhere hung, as if by magic, over the sea, awaiting, as it were, the proper moment to fall upon and crush the impious crew of some piratical vessel. There, again, gently swelling hills reared their heads towards the sky, as if desirous of existing within the influence of its azure purity; and I thought the bleatings of Reindeer came on my ear. Dark clouds of Curlews were seen winging their way towards the south, and thousands of Larks and Warblers were flitting through the air. The sight of these birds excited in me a wish that I also had wings to fly back to my country and friends. Early one morning our vessel doubled the northern cape of the Bay of St. George, and, as the wind was light, the sight of that magnificent expanse of water, which extends inward to the length of eighteen leagues, with a breadth of thirteen, gladdened the hearts of all on board. A long range of bold shores bordered it on one side, throwing a deep shadow over the water, which added greatly to the beauty of the scene. On the other side, the mild beams of the autumnal sun glittered on the water, and whitened the sails of the little barks that were sailing to and fro, like so many silvery Gulls. The welcome sight of cattle feeding in cultivated meadows, and of people at their avocations, consoled us for the labors which we had undergone, and the privations which we had suffered; and, as the "Ripley" steered her course into a snug harbor that suddenly opened to our view, the number of vessels that were anchored there, and a pretty village that presented itself increased our delight. Although the sun was fast approaching the western horizon when our anchor was dropped, no sooner were the sails furled than we all went ashore. There appeared a kind of curious bustle among the people, as if they were anxious to know who we were; for our appearance, and that of our warlike looking schooner showed that we were not fishermen. As we bore our usual arms and hunting accoutrements, which were half Indian and half civilized, the individuals we met on shore manifested considerable suspicion, which our captain observing, he instantly made a signal, when the star-spangled banner glided to the mast-head, and saluted the flags of France and Britain in kindly greeting. We were welcomed and supplied with abundance of fresh provisions. Glad at once more standing on something like soil, we passed through the village, and walked round it, but as night was falling were quickly obliged to return to our floating home, where, after a hearty supper, we serenaded with repeated glees the peaceful inhabitants of the village. At early dawn I was on deck admiring the scene of industry that presented itself. The harbor was already covered with fishing-boats employed in procuring mackerel, some of which we appropriated to ourselves. Signs of cultivation were observed on the slopes of the hills, the trees seemed of goodly size, a river made its way between two ranges of steep rocks, and here and there a group of Micmac Indians were searching along the shores for lobsters, crabs, and eels, all of which we found abundant and delicious. A canoe laden with Reindeer meat came alongside, paddled by a pair of athletic Indians, who exchanged their cargo for some of our stores. You would have been amused to see the manner in which these men, and their families on shore cooked the lobsters; they threw them alive into a great wood fire, and as soon as they were broiled devoured them, while yet so hot that none of us could have touched them. When properly cooled, I tasted these roasted lobsters, and found them infinitely better flavored than boiled ones. The country was represented as abounding in game. The temperature was higher by twenty degrees than that of Labrador, and yet I was told that the ice in the bay seldom broke up before the middle of May, and that few vessels attempted to go to Labrador before the 10th of June, when the cod-fishery at once commences. One afternoon we were visited by a deputation from the inhabitants of the village, inviting our whole party to a ball which was to take place that night, and requesting us to take with us our musical instruments. We unanimously accepted the invitation, which had been made from friendly feelings; and finding that the deputies had a relish for "old Jamaica" we helped them pretty freely to some, which soon showed that it had lost nothing of its energies by having visited Labrador. At ten o'clock, the appointed hour, we landed, and were lighted to the dancing-hall by paper lanterns, one of us carrying a flute, another a violin, and I with a flageolet stuck into my waistcoat pocket. The hall proved nothing else than the ground-floor of a fisherman's house. We were presented to his wife, who, like her neighbors, was an adept in the piscatory art. She courtesied, not _à la_ Taglioni, it is true, but with a modest assurance, which to me was quite as pleasing as the airiness with which the admired performer just mentioned might have paid her respects. The good woman was rather unprepared, and quite _en negligée_, as was the apartment, but full of activity, and anxious to arrange things in becoming style. In one hand she held a bunch of candles, in the other a lighted torch, and distributing the former at proper intervals along the walls, she applied the latter to them in succession. This done, she emptied the contents of a large tin vessel into a number of glasses, which were placed on a tea-tray on the only table in the room. The chimney, black and capacious, was embellished with coffee-pots, milk-jugs, cups and saucers, knives and forks, and all the paraphernalia necessary on so important an occasion. A set of primitive wooden stools and benches was placed around, for the reception of the belles of the village, some of whom now dropped in, flourishing in all the rosy fatness produced by an invigorating northern climate, and in decoration vying with the noblest Indian queen of the West. Their stays seemed ready to burst open, and their shoes were equally pressed. Around their necks, brilliant beads mingled with ebony tresses, and their naked arms might have inspired apprehension had they not been constantly employed in arranging flowing ribbons, gaudy flowers, and muslin flounces. Now arrived one of the beaux, just returned from the fishing, who, knowing all, and being equally known, leaped without ceremony on the loose boards that formed a kind of loft overhead, where he soon exchanged his dripping apparel for a dress suited to the occasion, when he dropped upon the floor, and strutting up and down, bowed and scraped to the ladies, with as much ease, if not elegance, as a Bond Street highly scented exquisite. Others came in by degrees, ready dressed, and music was called for. My son, by way of overture, played "Hail Columbia, happy land," then went on with "La Marseillaise," and ended with "God save the King." Being merely a spectator, I ensconced myself in a corner, by the side of an old European gentleman, whom I found an agreeable and well informed companion, to admire the decorum of the motley assemblage. The dancers stood in array, little time having been spent in choosing partners, and a Canadian accompanying my son on his Cremona, mirth and joy soon abounded. Dancing is certainly one of the most healthful and innocent amusements; I have loved it a vast deal more than watching for the nibble of a trout, and I have sometimes thought the enjoyment of it softened my nature as much as the pale, pure light of the moon softens and beautifies a winter night. A maiden lady who sat at my side, and who was the only daughter of my talkative companion, relished my remarks on the subject so much that the next set saw her gracing the floor with her tutored feet. At each pause of the musicians refreshments were handed round by the hostess and her son, and I was not a little surprised to see all the ladies, maids and matrons, swallow, like their sweethearts and husbands, a full glass of pure rum, with evident pleasure. I should perhaps have recollected that, in cold climates, a glass of ardent spirits is not productive of the same effects as in burning latitudes, and that refinement had not yet induced these healthy and robust dames to affect a delicacy foreign to their nature. It was now late, and knowing how much I had to accomplish next day, I left the party and proceeded to the shore. My men were sound asleep in the boat, but in a few moments I was on board the "Ripley." My young friends arrived towards daylight, but many of the fishermen's sons and daughters kept up the dance, to the music of the Canadian, until after our breakfast was over. THE BAY OF FUNDY It was in the month of May that I sailed in the United States revenue cutter, the "Swiftsure," engaged in a cruise in the Bay of Fundy. Our sails were quickly unfurled and spread out to the breeze. The vessel seemed to fly over the surface of the liquid element, as the sun rose in full splendor, while the clouds that floated here and there formed, with their glowing hues, a rich contrast with the pure azure of the heavens above us. We approached apace the island of Grand Menan, of which the stupendous cliffs gradually emerged from the deep with the majestic boldness of her noblest native chief. Soon our bark passed beneath its craggy head, covered with trees, which, on account of the height, seemed scarcely larger than shrubs. The prudent Raven spread her pinions, launched from the cliff, and flew away before us; the Golden Eagle, soaring aloft, moved majestically along in wide circles; the Guillemots sat on their eggs upon the shelving precipices, or plunging into the water, dived, and rose again at a great distance; the broad-breasted Eider Duck covered her eggs among the grassy tufts; on a naked rock the Seal lazily basked, its sleek sides glistening in the sunshine; while shoals of porpoises were swiftly gliding through the waters around us, showing by their gambols that, although doomed to the deep, their life was not devoid of pleasure. Far away stood the bold shores of Nova Scotia, gradually fading in the distance, of which the gray tints beautifully relieved the wing-like sails of many a fishing bark. Cape after cape, forming eddies and counter currents far too terrific to be described by a landsman, we passed in succession, until we reached a deep cove, near the shores of White Head Island, which is divided from Grand Menan by a narrow strait, where we anchored secure from every blast that could blow. In a short time we found ourselves under the roof of Captain Frankland, the sole owner of the isle, of which the surface contains about fifteen hundred acres. He received us all with politeness and gave us permission to seek out its treasures, which we immediately set about doing, for I was anxious to study the habits of certain Gulls that breed there in great numbers. As Captain Coolidge, our worthy commander, had assured me, we found them on their nests on almost every _tree_ of a wood that covered several acres. What a treat, reader, was it to find birds of this kind lodged on fir-trees, and sitting comfortably on their eggs! Their loud cackling notes led us to their place of resort, and ere long we had satisfactorily observed their habits, and collected as many of themselves and their eggs as we considered sufficient. In our walks we noticed a Rat, the only quadruped found on the island, and observed abundance of gooseberries, currants, raspberries, strawberries, and huckleberries. Seating ourselves on the summit of the rocks, in view of the vast Atlantic, we spread out our stores, and refreshed ourselves with our simple fare. Now we followed the objects of our pursuit through the tangled woods, now carefully picked our steps over the spongy grounds. The air was filled with the melodious concerts of birds, and all Nature seemed to smile in quiet enjoyment. We wandered about until the setting sun warned us to depart, when, returning to the house of the proprietor, we sat down to an excellent repast, and amused ourselves with relating anecdotes and forming arrangements for the morrow. Our captain complimented us on our success, when we reached the "Swiftsure," and in due time we betook ourselves to our hammocks. The next morning, a strange sail appearing in the distance, preparations were instantly made to pay her commander a visit. The signal staff of White Head Island displayed the British flag, while Captain Frankland and his men stood on the shore, and as we gave our sails to the wind, three hearty cheers filled the air, and were instantly responded to by us. The vessel was soon approached, but all was found right with her, and squaring our yards, onward we sped, cheerily bounding over the gay billows, until our captain sent us ashore at Eastport. At another time my party was received on board the revenue cutter's tender, the "Fancy,"--a charming name for so beautiful a craft. We set sail towards evening. The cackling of the "old wives" that covered the bay filled me with delight, and thousands of Gulls and Cormorants seemed as if anxious to pilot us into Head Harbor Bay, where we anchored for the night. Leaping on the rugged shore, we made our way to the lighthouse, where we found Mr. Snelling, a good and honest Englishman from Devonshire. His family consisted of three wild-looking lasses, beautiful, like the most finished productions of nature. In his lighthouse snugly ensconced, he spent his days in peaceful forgetfulness of the world, subsisting principally on the fish of the bay. When day broke, how delightful it was to see fair Nature open her graceful eyelids, and present herself arrayed in all that was richest and purest before her Creator. Ah, reader, how indelibly are such moments engraved on my soul! With what ardor have I at such times gazed around me, full of the desire of being enabled to comprehend all that I saw! How often have I longed to converse with the feathered inhabitants of the forest, all of which seemed then intent on offering up their thanks to the object of my own adoration! But the wish could not be gratified, although I now feel satisfied that I have enjoyed as much of the wonders and beauties of nature as it was proper for me to enjoy. The delightful trills of the Winter Wren rolled through the underwood, the Red Squirrel smacked time with his chops, the loud notes of the Robin sounded clearly from the tops of the trees, the rosy Grosbeak nipped the tender blossoms of the maples, and high overhead the Loons passed in pairs, rapidly wending their way towards far distant shores. Would that I could have followed in their wake! The hour of our departure had come; and, as we sailed up the bay, our pilot, who had been fishing for cod, was taken on board. A few of his fish were roasted on a plank before the embers, and formed the principal part of our breakfast. The breeze was light, and it was not until afternoon that we arrived at Point Lepreaux Harbor, where every one, making choice of his course, went in search of curiosities and provender. Now, reader, the little harbor in which, if you wish it, we shall suppose we still are, is renowned for a circumstance which I feel much inclined to endeavor to explain to you. Several species of Ducks, that in myriads cover the waters of the Bay of Fundy, are at times destroyed in this particular spot in a very singular manner. When July has come, all the water birds that are no longer capable of reproducing, remain like so many forlorn bachelors and old maids, to renew their plumage along the shores. At the period when these poor birds are unfit for flight, troops of Indians make their appearance in light bark canoes, paddled by their squaws and papooses. They form their flotilla into an extended curve, and drive before them the birds, not in silence, but with simultaneous horrific yells, at the same time beating the surface of the water with long poles and paddles. Terrified by the noise, the birds swim a long way before them, endeavoring to escape with all their might. The tide is high, every cove is filled, and into the one where we now are, thousands of Ducks are seen entering. The Indians have ceased to shout, and the canoes advance side by side. Time passes on, the tide swiftly recedes as it rose, and there are the birds left on the beach. See with what pleasure each wild inhabitant of the forest seizes his stick, the squaws and younglings following with similar weapons! Look at them rushing on their prey, falling on the disabled birds, and smashing them with their cudgels, until all are destroyed! In this manner upwards of five hundred wild fowls have often been procured in a few hours. Three pleasant days were spent at Point Lepreaux, when the "Fancy" spread her wings to the breeze. In one harbor we fished for shells with a capital dredge, and in another searched along the shore for eggs. The Passamaquoddy chief is seen gliding swiftly over the deep in his fragile bark. He has observed a porpoise breathing. Watch him, for now he is close upon the unsuspecting dolphin. He rises erect, aims his musket; smoke rises curling from the pan, and rushes from the iron tube, when soon after the report comes on the ear. Meantime the porpoise has suddenly turned back downwards,--it is dead. The body weighs a hundred pounds or more, but this to the tough-fibred son of the woods is nothing; he reaches it with his muscular arms, and at a single jerk, while with his legs he dexterously steadies the canoe, he throws it lengthwise at his feet. Amidst the highest waves of the Bay of Fundy, these feats are performed by the Indians during the whole of the season when the porpoises resort thither. You have often, no doubt, heard of the extraordinary tides of this bay; so had I, but, like others, I was loath to believe the reports were strictly true. So I went to the pretty town of Windsor in Nova Scotia, to judge for myself. But let us leave the "Fancy" for a while, and imagine ourselves at Windsor. Late one day in August my companions and I were seated on the grassy and elevated bank of the river, about eighty feet or so above its bed, which was almost dry, and extended for nine miles below like a sandy wilderness. Many vessels lay on the high banks taking in their lading of gypsum. We thought the appearance very singular, but we were too late to watch the tide that evening. Next morning we resumed our station, and soon perceived the water flowing towards us, and rising with a rapidity of which we had previously seen no example. We planted along the steep declivity of the bank a number of sticks, each three feet long, the base of one being placed on a level with the top of that below it, and when about half flow the tide reached their tops, one after another, rising three feet in ten minutes, or eighteen in the hour; and, at high water the surface was sixty-five feet above the bed of the river! On looking for the vessels which we had seen the preceding evening, we were told most of them were gone with the night tide. But now we are again on board the "Fancy;" Mr. Claredge stands near the pilot, who sits next to the man at the helm. On we move swiftly for the breeze has freshened; many islands we pass in succession; the wind increases to a gale; with reefed sails we dash along, and now rapidly pass a heavily laden sloop gallantly running across our course with undiminished sail; when suddenly we see her upset. Staves and spars are floating around, and presently we observe three men scrambling up her sides, and seating themselves on the keel, where they make signals of distress to us. By this time we have run to a great distance; but Claredge, cool and prudent, as every seaman ought to be, has already issued his orders to the helmsman and crew, and now near the wind we gradually approach the sufferers. A line is thrown to them, and the next moment we are alongside the vessel. A fisher's boat, too, has noticed the disaster; and, with long strokes of her oars, advances, now rising on the curling wave, and now sinking out of sight. By our mutual efforts the men are brought on board, and the sloop is slowly towed into a safe harbor. An hour later my party was safely landed at Eastport, where, on looking over the waters, and observing the dense masses of vapor that veiled the shores, we congratulated ourselves at having escaped from the Bay of Fundy. A FLOOD Many of our larger streams, such as the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Illinois, the Arkansas, and the Red River, exhibit at certain seasons the most extensive overflowings of their waters, to which the name of _floods_ is more appropriate than the term _freshets_, usually applied to the sudden risings of smaller streams. If we consider the vast extent of country through which an inland navigation is afforded by the never-failing supply of water furnished by these wonderful rivers, we cannot suppose them exceeded in magnitude by any other in the known world. It will easily be imagined what a wonderful spectacle must present itself to the eye of the traveller who for the first time views the enormous mass of waters, collected from the vast central regions of our continent, booming along, turbid and swollen to overflowing, in the broad channels of the Mississippi and Ohio, the latter of which has a course of more than a thousand miles, and the former of several thousands. To give you some idea of a _Booming Flood_ of these gigantic streams, it is necessary to state the causes which give rise to it. These are, the sudden melting of the snows on the mountains, and heavy rains continued for several weeks. When it happens that, during a severe winter, the Alleghany Mountains have been covered with snow to the depth of several feet, and the accumulated mass has remained unmelted for a length of time, the materials of a flood are thus prepared. It now and then happens that the winter is hurried off by a sudden increase of temperature, when the accumulated snows melt away simultaneously over the whole country, and the southeasterly wind, which then usually blows, brings along with it a continued fall of heavy rain, which, mingling with the dissolving snow, deluges the alluvial portions of the western country, filling up the rivulets, ravines, creeks, and small rivers. These delivering their waters to the great streams, cause the latter not merely to rise to a surprising height, but to overflow their banks, wherever the land is low. On such occasions the Ohio itself presents a splendid, and at the same time, an appalling spectacle; but when its waters mingle with those of the Mississippi, then, kind reader, is the time to view an American flood in all its astonishing magnificence. At the foot of the Falls of the Ohio, the water has been known to rise upwards of sixty feet above its lowest level. The river, at this point, has already run a course of nearly seven hundred miles from its origin at Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania, during which it has received the waters of its numberless tributaries, and overflowing all the bottom lands or valleys, has swept along the fences and dwellings which have been unable to resist its violence. I could relate hundreds of incidents which might prove to you the dreadful effects of such an inundation, and which have been witnessed by thousands besides myself. I have known, for example, of a cow swimming through a window, elevated at least seven feet from the ground, and sixty-two feet above low-water mark. The house was then surrounded by water from the Ohio, which runs in front of it, while the neighboring country was overflowed; yet, the family did not remove from it, but remained in its upper portion, having previously taken off the sashes of the lower windows, and opened the doors. But let us return to the Mississippi. There the overflow is astonishing, for no sooner has the water reached the upper part of the banks than it rushes out and overspreads the whole of the neighboring swamps, presenting an ocean overgrown with stupendous forest-trees. So sudden is the calamity that every individual, whether man or beast, has to exert his utmost ingenuity to enable him to escape from the dreaded element. The Indian quickly removes to the hills of the interior, the cattle and game swim to the different strips of land that remain uncovered in the midst of the flood, or attempt to force their way through the waters until they perish from fatigue. Along the banks of the river, the inhabitants have rafts ready made, on which they remove themselves, their cattle, and their provisions, and which they then fasten with ropes or grape-vines to the larger trees, while they contemplate the melancholy spectacle presented by the current, as it carries off their houses and wood-yards piece by piece. Some who have nothing to lose, and are usually known by the name of _squatters_, take this opportunity of traversing the woods in canoes, for the purpose of procuring game, and particularly the skins of animals, such as the Deer and Bear, which may be converted into money. They resort to the low ridges surrounded by the waters, and destroy thousands of Deer, merely for their skins, leaving the flesh to putrefy. The river itself, rolling its swollen waters along, presents a spectacle of the most imposing nature. Although no large vessel, unless propelled by steam, can now make its way against the current, it is seen covered by boats, laden with produce, which, running out from all the smaller streams, float silently towards the city of New Orleans, their owners meanwhile not very well assured of finding a landing-place even there. The water is covered with yellow foam and pumice, the latter having floated from the Rocky Mountains of the Northwest. The eddies are larger and more powerful than ever. Here and there tracts of forest are observed undermined, the trees gradually giving way, and falling into the stream. Cattle, horses, Bears, and Deer are seen at times attempting to swim across the impetuous mass of foaming and boiling water; whilst here and there a Vulture or an Eagle is observed perched on a bloated carcass, tearing it up in pieces, as regardless of the flood as on former occasions it would have been of the numerous sawyers and planters with which the surface of the river is covered when the water is low. Even the steamer is frequently distressed. The numberless trees and logs that float along break its paddles, and retard its progress. Besides, it is on such occasions difficult to procure fuel to maintain its fires; and it is only at very distant intervals that a wood-yard can be found which the water has not carried off. Following the river in your canoe, you reach those parts of the shores that are protected against the overflowings of the waters, and are called _levees_. There you find the whole population of the district at work repairing and augmenting those artificial barriers, which are several feet above the level of the fields. Every person appears to dread the opening of a _crevasse_, by which the waters may rush into his fields. In spite of all exertions, however, the crevasse opens, the water bursts impetuously over the plantations, and lays waste the crops which so lately were blooming in all the luxuriance of spring. It opens up a new channel, which, for aught I know to the contrary, may carry its waters even to the Mexican Gulf. I have floated on the Mississippi and Ohio when thus swollen, and have in different places visited the submersed lands of the interior, propelling a light canoe by the aid of a paddle. In this manner I have traversed immense portions of the country overflowed by the waters of these rivers, and particularly when floating over the Mississippi bottom-lands I have been struck with awe at the sight. Little or no current is met with, unless when the canoe passes over the bed of a bayou. All is silent and melancholy, unless when the mournful bleating of the hemmed-in Deer reaches your ear, or the dismal scream of an Eagle or a Raven is heard, as the foul bird rises, disturbed by your approach, from the carcass on which it was allaying its craving appetite. Bears, Cougars, Lynxes, and all other quadrupeds that can ascend the trees are observed crouched among their top branches. Hungry in the midst of abundance, although they see floating around them the animals on which they usually prey, they dare not venture to swim to them. Fatigued by the exertions which they have made to reach the dry land, they will there stand the hunter's fire, as if to die by a ball were better than to perish amid the waste of waters. On occasions like this, all these animals are shot by hundreds. Opposite the city of Natchez, which stands on a bluff bank of considerable elevation, the extent of inundated land is immense, the greater portion of the tract lying between the Mississippi and the Red River, which is more than thirty miles in breadth, being under water. The mail-bag has often been carried through the immersed forests, in a canoe, for even a greater distance, in order to be forwarded to Natchitochez. But now, kind reader, observe this great flood gradually subsiding, and again see the mighty changes which it has effected. The waters have now been carried into the distant ocean. The earth is everywhere covered by a deep deposit of muddy loam, which in drying splits into deep and narrow chasms, presenting a reticulated appearance, and from which, as the weather becomes warmer, disagreeable, and at times noxious, exhalations arise, and fill the lower stratum of the atmosphere as with a dense fog. The banks of the river have almost everywhere been broken down in a greater or less degree. Large streams are now found to exist, where none were formerly to be seen, having forced their way in direct lines from the upper parts of the bends. These are by the navigator called _short-cuts_. Some of them have proved large enough to produce a change in the navigation of the Mississippi. If I mistake not, one of these, known by the name of the _Grand Cut-off_, and only a few miles in length, has diverted the river from its natural course, and has shortened it by fifty miles. The upper parts of the islands present a bulwark consisting of an enormous mass of floated trees of all kinds, which have lodged there. Large sand-banks have been completely removed by the impetuous whirls of the waters, and have been deposited in other places. Some appear quite new to the eye of the navigator, who has to mark their situation and bearings in his log-book. The trees on the margins of the banks have in many parts given way. They are seen bending over the stream, like the grounded arms of an overwhelmed army of giants. Everywhere are heard the lamentations of the farmer and planter, whilst their servants and themselves are busily employed in repairing the damages occasioned by the floods. At one crevasse an old ship or two, dismantled for the purpose, are sunk, to obstruct the passage opened by the still rushing waters, while new earth is brought to fill up the chasms. The squatter is seen shouldering his rifle, and making his way through the morass, in search of his lost stock, to drive the survivors home, and save the skins of the drowned. New fences have everywhere to be formed; even new houses must be erected, to save which from a like disaster, the settler places them on an elevated platform supported by pillars made by the trunks of trees. The land must be ploughed anew, and if the season is not too far advanced, a crop of corn and potatoes may yet be raised. But the rich prospects of the planter are blasted. The traveller is impeded in his journey, the creeks and smaller streams having broken up their banks in a degree proportionate to their size. A bank of sand, which seems firm and secure, suddenly gives way beneath the traveller's horse, and the next moment the animal has sunk in the quicksand, either to the chest in front, or over the crupper behind, leaving its master in a situation not to be envied. Unlike the mountain torrents and small rivers of other parts of the world, the Mississippi rises but slowly during these floods, continuing for several weeks to increase at the rate of about an inch a day. When at its height, it undergoes little fluctuation for some days, and after this, subsides as slowly as it rose. The usual duration of a flood is from four to six weeks, although, on some occasions, it is protracted to two months. Every one knows how largely the idea of floods and cataclysms enters into the speculations of the geologist. If the streamlets of the European continent afford illustrations of the formation of strata, how much more must the Mississippi, with its ever-shifting sand-banks, its crumbling shores, its enormous masses of drift timber, the source of future beds of coal, its extensive and varied alluvial deposits, and its mighty mass of waters rolling sullenly along, like the flood of eternity. THE SQUATTERS OF THE MISSISSIPPI Although every European traveller who has glided down the Mississippi, at the rate of ten miles an hour, has told his tale of the squatters, yet none has given any other account of them, than that they are "a sallow, sickly looking sort of miserable beings," living in swamps, and subsisting on pig-nuts, Indian-corn, and Bear's-flesh. It is obvious, however, that none but a person acquainted with their history, manners, and condition, can give any real information respecting them. The individuals who become squatters, choose that sort of life of their own free will. They mostly remove from other parts of the United States, after finding that land has become too high in price, and they are persons who, having a family of strong and hardy children, are anxious to enable them to provide for themselves. They have heard from good authorities that the country extending along the great streams of the West, is of all parts of the Union, the richest in its soil, the growth of its timber, and the abundance of its game; that, besides, the Mississippi is the great road to and from all the markets in the world; and that every vessel borne by its waters affords to settlers some chance of selling their commodities, or of exchanging them for others. To these recommendations is added another, of even greater weight with persons of the above denomination, namely, the prospect of being able to settle on land, and perhaps to hold it for a number of years, without purchase, rent or tax of any kind. How many thousands of individuals in all parts of the globe would gladly try their fortune with such prospects, I leave to you, reader, to determine. As I am not disposed too highly to color the picture which I am about to submit to your inspection, instead of pitching on individuals who have removed from our eastern boundaries, and of whom certainly there are a good number, I shall introduce to you the members of a family from Virginia, first giving you an idea of their condition in that country, previous to their migration to the west. The land which they and their ancestors have possessed for a hundred years, having been constantly forced to produce crops of one kind or another, is now completely worn out. It exhibits only a superficial layer of red clay, cut up by deep ravines, through which much of the soil has been conveyed to some more fortunate neighbor, residing in a yet rich and beautiful valley. Their strenuous efforts to render it productive have failed. They dispose of everything too cumbrous or expensive for them to remove, retaining only a few horses, a servant or two, and such implements of husbandry and other articles as may be necessary on their journey, or useful when they arrive at the spot of their choice. I think I see them at this moment harnessing their horses, and attaching them to their wagons, which are already filled with bedding, provisions, and the younger children, while on their outside are fastened spinning-wheels and looms, and a bucket filled with tar and tallow swings between the hind wheels. Several axes are secured to the bolster, and the feeding-trough of the horses contains pots, kettles, and pans. The servant, now become a driver, rides the near saddled horse, the wife is mounted on another, the worthy husband shoulders his gun, and his sons, clad in plain substantial homespun, drive the cattle ahead, and lead the procession, followed by the hounds and other dogs. Their day's journey is short, and not agreeable; the cattle, stubborn or wild, frequently leave the road for the woods, giving the travellers much trouble; the harness of the horses here and there gives way, and needs immediate repair; a basket, which has accidentally dropped, must be gone after, for nothing that they have can be spared; the roads are bad, and now and then all hands are called to push on the wagon, or prevent it from upsetting. Yet by sunset they have proceeded perhaps twenty miles. Rather fatigued, all assemble round the fire, which has been lighted, supper is prepared, and a camp being erected, there they pass the night. Days and weeks, nay months, of unremitting toil, pass before they gain the end of their journey. They have crossed both the Carolinas, Georgia, and Alabama. They have been travelling from the beginning of May to that of September, and with heavy hearts they traverse the State of Mississippi. But now, arrived on the banks of the broad stream, they gaze in amazement on the dark deep woods around them. Boats of various kinds they see gliding downwards with the current, while others slowly ascend against it. A few inquiries are made at the nearest dwelling, and assisted by the inhabitants with their boats, and canoes, they at once cross the Mississippi, and select their place of habitation. The exhalations arising from the swamps and morasses around them have a powerful effect on these new settlers, but all are intent on preparing for the winter. A small patch of ground is cleared by the axe and the fire, a temporary cabin is erected, to each of the cattle is attached a jingling bell before it is let loose into the neighboring cane-brake, and the horses remain about the house, where they find sufficient food at that season. The first trading-boat that stops at their landing, enables them to provide themselves with some flour, fish-hooks, and ammunition, as well as other commodities. The looms are mounted, the spinning-wheels soon furnish some yarn, and in a few weeks the family throw off their ragged clothes, and array themselves in suits adapted to the climate. The father and sons meanwhile have sown turnips and other vegetables; and from some Kentucky flatboat, a supply of live poultry has been procured. October tinges the leaves of the forest, the morning dews are heavy, the days hot, the nights chill, and the unacclimated family in a few days are attacked with ague. The lingering disease almost prostrates their whole faculties, and one seeing them at such a period might well call them sallow and sickly. Fortunately the unhealthy season soon passes over, and the hoar-frosts make their appearance. Gradually each individual recovers strength. The largest ash-trees are felled; their trunks are cut, split, and corded in front of the building; a large fire is lighted at night on the edge of the water, and soon a steamer calls to purchase the wood, and thus add to their comforts during the winter. The first fruit of their industry imparts new courage to them; their exertions multiply, and when spring returns, the place has a cheerful look. Venison, Bear's-flesh, Wild Turkeys, Ducks and Geese, with now and then some fish, have served to keep up their strength, and now their enlarged field is planted with corn, potatoes, and pumpkins. Their stock of cattle, too, has augmented; the steamer, which now stops there as if by preference, buys a calf or a pig, together with the whole of their wood. Their store of provisions is renewed, and brighter rays of hope enliven their spirits. Who is he of the settlers on the Mississippi that cannot realize some profit? Truly none who is industrious. When the autumnal months return, all are better prepared to encounter the ague which then prevails. Substantial food, suitable clothing, and abundant firing, repel its attacks; and before another twelvemonth has elapsed the family is naturalized. The sons have by this time discovered a swamp covered with excellent timber, and as they have seen many great rafts of saw logs, bound for the mills of New Orleans, floating past their dwelling, they resolve to try the success of a little enterprise. Their industry and prudence have already enhanced their credit. A few cross-saws are purchased, and some broad-wheeled "carry-logs" are made by themselves. Log after log, is hauled to the bank of the river, and in a short time their first raft is made on the shore, and loaded with cord-wood. When the next freshet sets it afloat, it is secured by long grape-vines or cables, until the proper time being arrived, the husband and sons embark on it, and float down the mighty stream. After encountering many difficulties, they arrive in safety at New Orleans, where they dispose of their stock, the money obtained for which may be said to be all profit, supply themselves with such articles as may add to their convenience or comfort, and with light hearts procure a passage on the upper deck of a steamer, at a very cheap rate, on account of the benefit of their labor in taking in wood or otherwise. And now the vessel approaches their home. See the joyous mother and daughters as they stand on the bank! A store of vegetables lies around them, a large tub of fresh milk is at their feet, and in their hands are plates, filled with rolls of butter. As the steamer stops, three broad straw hats are waved from the upper deck, and soon husband and wife, brothers and sisters, are in each other's embrace. The boat carries off the provisions for which value has been left, and as the captain issues his orders for putting on the steam, the happy family enter their humble dwelling. The husband gives his bag of dollars to the wife, while the sons present some token of affection to the sisters. Surely, at such a moment, the squatters are richly repaid for all their labors. Every successive year has increased their savings. They now possess a large stock of horses, cows, and hogs, with abundance of provisions, and domestic comfort of every kind. The daughters have been married to the sons of neighboring squatters, and have gained sisters to themselves by the marriage of their brothers. The government secures to the family the lands on which, twenty years before, they settled in poverty and sickness. Larger buildings are erected on piles, secure from the inundations; where a single cabin once stood, a neat village is now to be seen; warehouses, stores, and workshops increase the importance of the place. The squatters live respected, and in due time die regretted by all who knew them. Thus are the vast frontiers of our country peopled, and thus does cultivation, year after year, extend over the western wilds. Time will no doubt be, when the great valley of the Mississippi, still covered with primeval forests interspersed with swamps, will smile with corn-fields and orchards, while crowded cities will rise at intervals along its banks, and enlightened nations will rejoice in the bounties of Providence. IMPROVEMENTS IN THE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI I have so frequently spoken of the Mississippi that an account of the progress of navigation on that extraordinary stream may be interesting even to the student of nature. I shall commence with the year 1808, at which time a great portion of the western country, and the banks of the Mississippi River, from above the city of Natchez particularly, were little more than a waste, or to use words better suited to my feelings, remained in their natural state. To ascend the great stream against a powerful current, rendered still stronger wherever islands occurred, together with the thousands of sand-banks, as liable to changes and shiftings as the alluvial shores themselves, which at every deep curve or _bend_ were seen giving way, as if crushed down by the weight of the great forests that everywhere reached to the very edge of the water, and falling and sinking in the muddy stream by acres at a time, was an adventure of no small difficulty and risk, and which was rendered more so by the innumerable logs, called _sawyers_ and _planters_, that everywhere raised their heads above the water, as if bidding defiance to all intruders. Few white inhabitants had yet marched towards its shores, and these few were of a class little able to assist the navigator. Here and there a solitary encampment of native Indians might be seen, but its inmates were as likely to prove foes as friends, having from their birth been made keenly sensible of the encroachments of the white men upon their lands. Such was then the nature of the Mississippi and its shores. That river was navigated, principally in the direction of the current, in small canoes, pirogues, keel-boats, some flatboats, and a few barges. The canoes and pirogues, being generally laden with furs from the different heads of streams that feed the great river, were of little worth after reaching the market of New Orleans, and seldom reascended, the owners making their way home through the woods, amidst innumerable difficulties. The flatboats were demolished and used as fire-wood. The keel-boats and barges were employed in conveying produce of different kinds besides furs, such as lead, flour, pork, and other articles. These returned laden with sugar, coffee, and dry goods suited for the markets of St. Geneviève and St. Louis on the upper Mississippi, or branched off and ascended the Ohio to the foot of the Falls near Louisville in Kentucky. But, reader, follow their movements, and judge for yourself of the fatigues, troubles, and risks of the men employed in that navigation. A keel-boat was generally manned by ten hands, principally Canadian French, and a patroon or master. These boats seldom carried more than from twenty to thirty tons. The barges frequently had forty or fifty men, with a patroon, and carried fifty or sixty tons. Both these kinds of vessels were provided with a mast, a square sail, and coils of cordage known by the name of _cordelles_. Each boat or barge carried its own provisions. We shall suppose one of these boats under way, and, having passed Natchez, entering upon what were the difficulties of their ascent. Wherever a point projected, so as to render the course or bend below it of some magnitude, there was an eddy, the returning current of which was sometimes as strong as that of the middle of the great stream. The bargemen therefore rowed up pretty close under the bank, and had merely to keep watch in the bow, lest the boat should run against a planter or sawyer. But the boat has reached the point, and there the current is to all appearance of double strength, and right against it. The men, who have all rested a few minutes, are ordered to take their stations, and lay hold of their oars, for the river must be crossed, it being seldom possible to double such a point, and proceed along the same shore. The boat is crossing, its head slanting to the current, which is, however, too strong for the rowers, and when the other side of the river has been reached, it has drifted perhaps a quarter of a mile. The men are by this time exhausted, and, as we shall suppose it to be twelve o'clock, fasten the boat to the shore or to a tree. A small glass of whiskey is given to each, when they cook and eat their dinner, and after repairing their fatigue by an hour's repose, recommence their labors. The boat is again seen slowly advancing against the stream. It has reached the lower end of a large sand-bar, along the edge of which it is propelled by means of long poles, if the bottom be hard. Two men called bowsmen remain at the prow, to assist, in concert with the steersman, in managing the boat, and keeping its head right against the current. The rest place themselves on the land side of the footway of the vessel, put one end of their poles on the ground, the other against their shoulders, and push with all their might. As each of the men reaches the stern, he crosses to the other side, runs along it, and comes again to the landward side of the bow, when he recommences operations. The barge in the meantime is ascending at a rate not exceeding one mile in the hour. The bar is at length passed, and as the shore in sight is straight on both sides of the river, and the current uniformly strong, the poles are laid aside, and the men being equally divided, those on the river side take to their oars, whilst those on the land side lay hold of the branches of willows, or other trees, and thus slowly propel the boat. Here and there however, the trunk of a fallen tree, partly lying on the bank, and partly projecting beyond it, impedes their progress, and requires to be doubled. This is performed by striking it with the iron points of the poles and gaff-hooks. The sun is now quite low, and the barge is again secured in the best harbor within reach. The navigators cook their supper, and betake themselves to their blankets or Bear skins to rest, or perhaps light a large fire on the shore, under the smoke of which they repose, in order to avoid the persecutions of the myriads of mosquitoes which are found along the river during the whole summer. Perhaps, from dawn to sunset, the boat may have advanced fifteen miles. If so, it has done well. The next day, the wind proves favorable, the sail is set, the boat takes all advantages, and meeting with no accident, has ascended thirty miles, perhaps double that distance. The next day comes with a very different aspect. The wind is right ahead, the shores are without trees of any kind, and the canes on the bank are so thick and stout that not even the cordelles can be used. This occasions a halt. The time is not altogether lost, as most of the men, being provided with rifles, betake themselves to the woods, and search for the Deer, the Bears, or the Turkeys that are generally abundant there. Three days may pass before the wind changes, and the advantages gained on the previous fine day are forgotten. Again the boat proceeds, but in passing over a shallow place, runs on a log, swings with the current, but hangs fast, with her lee side almost under water. Now for the poles! All hands are on deck, bustling and pushing. At length, towards sunset, the boat is once more afloat, and is again taken to the shore, where the wearied crew pass another night. I shall not continue this account of difficulties, it having already become painful in the extreme. I could tell you of the crew abandoning the boat and cargo, and of numberless accidents and perils; but be it enough to say that advancing in this tardy manner, the boat that left New Orleans on the first of March often did not reach the Falls of the Ohio until the month of July,--nay, sometimes not until October; and after all this immense trouble, it brought only a few bags of coffee, and at most one hundred hogsheads of sugar. Such was the state of things in 1808. The number of barges at that period did not amount to more than twenty-five or thirty, and the largest probably did not exceed one hundred tons burden. To make the best of this fatiguing navigation, I may conclude by saying that a barge which came up in three months had done wonders, for, I believe, few voyages were performed in that time. If I am not mistaken, the first steamboat that went down out of the Ohio to New Orleans was named the "Orleans," and, if I remember right, was commanded by Captain Ogden. This voyage, I believe, was performed in the spring of 1810. It was, as you may suppose, looked upon as the _ne plus ultra_ of enterprise. Soon after, another vessel came from Pittsburgh, and before many years elapsed, to see a vessel so propelled had become a common occurrence. In 1826, after a lapse of time that proved sufficient to double the population of the United States of America, the navigation of the Mississippi had so improved, both in respect to facility and quickness, that I know no better way of giving you an idea of it than by presenting you with an extract from a letter written by my eldest son, which was taken from the books of N. Berthoud, Esq., with whom he at that time resided. "You ask me in your last letter for a list of the arrivals and departures here. I give you an abstract from our list of 1826, showing the number of boats which plied each year, their tonnage, the trips they performed, and the quantity of goods landed here from New Orleans and intermediate places:-- Boats. Tons. Trips. Tons. 1823, from Jan. 1 to Dec. 31, 42 7860 98 19,453 1824, " " " Nov. 25, 36 6393 118 20,291 1825, " " " Aug. 15, 42 7484 140 24,102 1826, " " " Dec. 31, 51 9386 182 28,914 The amount for the present year will be much greater than any of the above. The number of flatboats and keel-boats is beyond calculation. The number of steamboats above the Falls I cannot say much about, except that one or two arrive at and leave Louisville every day. Their passage from Cincinnati is commonly fourteen or sixteen hours. The "Tecumseh," a boat which runs between this place and New Orleans, which is of 210 tons, arrived here on the 10th inst. in nine days, seven hours, from port to port; and the "Philadelphia," of 300 tons, made the passage in nine days, nine and a half hours, the computed distance being 1650 miles. These are the quickest trips made. There are now in operation on the waters west of the Alleghany Mountains 140 or 150 boats. We had last spring (1826) a very high freshet, which came four and a half feet deep in the counting-room. The rise was 57 feet 3 inches perpendicular." All the steamboats of which this is an account did not perform voyages to New Orleans only, but to all points on the Mississippi, and other rivers which fall into it. I am certain that since the above date the number has increased, but to what extent I cannot at present say. When steamboats first plied between Shippingport and New Orleans, the cabin passage was a hundred dollars, and a hundred and fifty dollars on the upward voyage. In 1829, I went down to Natchez from Shippingport for twenty-five dollars, and ascended from New Orleans on board the "Philadelphia," in the beginning of January, 1830, for sixty dollars, having taken two state-rooms for my wife and myself. On that voyage we met with a trifling accident, which protracted it to fourteen days, the computed distance being, as mentioned above, 1650 miles, although the real distance is probably less. I do not remember to have spent a day without meeting with a steamboat, and some days we met several. I might here be tempted to give you a description of one of these steamers of the western waters, but the picture having been often drawn by abler hands, I shall desist. KENTUCKY SPORTS It may not be amiss, kind reader, before I attempt to give you some idea of the pleasures experienced by the sportsmen of Kentucky, to introduce the subject with a slight description of that State. Kentucky was formerly attached to Virginia, but in those days the Indians looked upon that portion of the western wilds as their own, and abandoned the district only when forced to do so, moving with disconsolate hearts farther into the recesses of the unexplored forests. Doubtless the richness of its soil, and the beauty of its borders, situated as they are along one of the most beautiful rivers in the world, contributed as much to attract the Old Virginians as the desire, so generally experienced in America, of spreading over the uncultivated tracts, and bringing into cultivation lands that have for unknown ages teemed with the wild luxuriance of untamed nature. The conquest of Kentucky was not performed without many difficulties. The warfare that long existed between the intruders and the Redskins was sanguinary and protracted; but the former at length made good their footing, and the latter drew off their shattered bands, dismayed by the mental superiority and indomitable courage of the white men. This region was probably discovered by a daring hunter, the renowned Daniel Boone. The richness of its soil, its magnificent forests, its numberless navigable streams, its salt springs and licks, its saltpetre caves, its coal strata, and the vast herds of Buffaloes and Deer that browsed on its hills and amidst its charming valleys, afforded ample inducements to the new settler, who pushed forward with a spirit far above that of the most undaunted tribes which for ages had been the sole possessors of the soil. The Virginians thronged towards the Ohio. An axe, a couple of horses, and a heavy rifle, with store of ammunition, were all that were considered necessary for the equipments of the man, who, with his family, removed to the new State, assured that, in that land of exuberant fertility, he could not fail to provide amply for all his wants. To have witnessed the industry and perseverance of these emigrants must at once have proved the vigor of their minds. Regardless of the fatigue attending every movement which they made, they pushed through an unexplored region of dark and tangled forests, guiding themselves by the sun alone, and reposing at night on the bare ground. Numberless streams they had to cross on rafts, with their wives and children, their cattle and their luggage, often drifting to considerable distances before they could effect a landing on the opposite shores. Their cattle would often stray amid the rice pasturage of these shores, and occasion a delay of several days. To these troubles add the constantly impending danger of being murdered, while asleep in their encampments, by the prowling and ruthless Indians; while they had before them a distance of hundreds of miles to be traversed, before they could reach certain places of rendezvous called _Stations_. To encounter difficulties like these must have required energies of no ordinary kind; and the reward which these veteran settlers enjoy was doubtless well merited. [Illustration: VICTOR GIFFORD AUDUBON, 1853.] Some removed from the Atlantic shores to those of the Ohio in more comfort and security. They had their wagons, their negroes, and their families. Their way was cut through the woods by their own axemen, the day before their advance, and when night overtook them, the hunters attached to the party came to the place pitched upon for encamping, loaded with the dainties of which the forest yielded an abundant supply, the blazing light of a huge fire guiding their steps as they approached, and the sounds of merriment that saluted their ears assuring them that all was well. The flesh of the Buffalo, the Bear, and the Deer soon hung, in large and delicious steaks, in front of the embers; the cakes already prepared were deposited in their proper places, and under the rich drippings of the juicy roasts were quickly baked. The wagons contained the bedding, and whilst the horses which had drawn them were turned loose to feed on the luxuriant undergrowth of the woods--some perhaps hoppled, but the greater number merely with a light bell hung to their neck, to guide their owners in the morning to the spot where they might have rambled--the party were enjoying themselves after the fatigues of the day. In anticipation all is pleasure; and these migrating bands feasted in joyous sociality, unapprehensive of any greater difficulties than those to be encountered in forcing their way through the pathless woods to the land of abundance; and although it took months to accomplish the journey, and a skirmish now and then took place between them and the Indians, who sometimes crept unperceived into their very camp, still did the Virginians cheerfully proceed towards the western horizon, until the various groups all reached the Ohio, when, struck with the beauty of that magnificent stream, they at once commenced the task of clearing land, for the purpose of establishing a permanent residence. Others, perhaps encumbered with too much luggage, preferred descending the stream. They prepared _arks_ pierced with port-holes, and glided on the gentle current, more annoyed, however, than those who marched by land by the attacks of the Indians who watched their motions. Many travellers have described these boats, formerly called _arks_, but now named _flatboats_. But have they told you, kind reader, that in those times a boat thirty or forty feet in length, by ten or twelve in breadth, was considered a stupendous fabric; that this boat contained men, women and children, huddled together, with horses, cattle, hogs and poultry for their companions, while the remaining portion was crammed with vegetables and packages of seeds? The roof or deck of the boat was not unlike a farm-yard, being covered with hay, ploughs, carts, wagons, and various agricultural implements, together with numerous others, among which the spinning-wheels of the matrons were conspicuous. Even the sides of the floating-mass were loaded with the wheels of the different vehicles, which themselves lay on the roof. Have they told you that these boats contained the little all of each family of venturous emigrants, who, fearful of being discovered by the Indians under night moved in darkness, groping their way from one part to another of these floating habitations, denying themselves the comfort of fire or light, lest the foe that watched them from the shore should rush upon them and destroy them? Have they told you that this boat was used, after the tedious voyage was ended, as the first dwelling of these new settlers? No, kind reader, such things have not been related to you before. The travellers who have visited our country have had other objects in view. I shall not describe the many massacres which took place among the different parties of white and red men, as the former moved down the Ohio; because I have never been very fond of battles, and indeed have always wished that the world were more peaceably inclined than it is; and shall merely add that, in one way or other, Kentucky was wrested from the original owners of the soil. Let us, therefore, turn our attention to the sports still enjoyed in that now happy portion of the United States. We have individuals in Kentucky, kind reader, that even there are considered wonderful adepts in the management of the rifle. To _drive a nail_ is a common feat, not more thought of by the Kentuckians than to cut off a Wild Turkey's head, at a distance of a hundred yards. Others will _bark_ off Squirrels one after another, until satisfied with the number procured. Some, less intent on destroying game, may be seen under night _snuffing a candle_ at the distance of fifty yards, off-hand, without extinguishing it. I have been told that some have proved so expert and cool as to make choice of the eye of a foe at a wonderful distance, boasting beforehand of the sureness of their piece, which has afterwards been fully proved when the enemy's head has been examined! Having resided some years in Kentucky, and having more than once been witness of rifle sport, I shall present you with the results of my observation, leaving you to judge how far rifle-shooting is understood in that State. Several individuals who conceive themselves expert in the management of the gun are often seen to meet for the purpose of displaying their skill, and betting a trifling sum, put up a target, in the centre of which a common-sized nail is hammered for about two-thirds of its length. The marksmen make choice of what they consider a proper distance, which may be forty paces. Each man cleans the interior of his tube, which is called _wiping_ it, places a ball in the palm of his hand, pouring as much powder from his horn upon it as will cover it. This quantity is supposed to be sufficient for any distance within a hundred yards. A shot which comes very close to the nail is considered as that of an indifferent marksman; the bending of the nail is, of course, somewhat better; but nothing less than hitting it right on the head is satisfactory. Well, kind reader, one out of three shots generally hits the nail, and should the shooters amount to half a dozen, two nails are frequently needed before each can have a shot. Those who drive the nail have a further trial amongst themselves, and the two best shots out of these generally settle the affair, when all the sportsmen adjourn to some house, and spend an hour or two in friendly intercourse, appointing, before they part, a day for another trial. This is technically termed _driving the nail_. _Barking off Squirrels_ is delightful sport, and in my opinion requires a greater degree of accuracy than any other. I first witnessed this manner of procuring Squirrels whilst near the town of Frankfort. The performer was the celebrated Daniel Boone. We walked out together, and followed the rocky margins of the Kentucky River, until we reached a piece of flat land thickly covered with black walnuts, oaks, and hickories. As the general mast was a good one that year, Squirrels were seen gambolling on every tree around us. My companion, a stout, hale, and athletic man, dressed in a homespun hunting-shirt, bare-legged and moccasined, carried a long and heavy rifle, which, as he was loading it, he said had proved efficient in all his former undertakings, and which he hoped would not fail on this occasion, as he felt proud to show me his skill. The gun was wiped, the powder measured, the ball patched with six-hundred-thread linen, and the charge sent home with a hickory rod. We moved not a step from the place, for the Squirrels were so numerous that it was unnecessary to go after them. Boone pointed to one of these animals which had observed us, and was crouched on a branch about fifty paces distant, and bade me mark well the spot where the ball should hit. He raised his piece gradually, until the _bead_ (that being the name given by the Kentuckians to the _sight_) of the barrel was brought to a line with the spot which he intended to hit. The whip-like report resounded through the woods and along the hills, in repeated echoes. Judge of my surprise when I perceived that the ball had hit the piece of the bark immediately beneath the Squirrel, and shivered it into splinters, the concussion produced by which had killed the animal, and sent it whirling through the air, as if it had been blown up by the explosion of a powder magazine. Boone kept up his firing, and, before many hours had elapsed, we had procured as many Squirrels as we wished; for you must know, kind reader, that to load a rifle requires only a moment, and that if it is wiped once after each shot, it will do duty for hours. Since that first interview with our veteran Boone I have seen many other individuals perform the same feat. The _snuffing of a candle_ with a ball, I first had an opportunity of seeing near the banks of Green River, not far from a large Pigeon-roost to which I had previously made a visit. I heard many reports of guns during the early part of a dark night, and knowing them to be those of rifles, I went towards the spot to ascertain the cause. On reaching the place, I was welcomed by a dozen of tall stout men, who told me they were exercising, for the purpose of enabling them to shoot under night at the reflected light from the eyes of a Deer or Wolf, by torchlight, of which I shall give you an account somewhere else. A fire was blazing near, the smoke of which rose curling among the thick foliage of the trees. At a distance which rendered it scarcely distinguishable, stood a burning candle, as if intended for an offering to the goddess of night, but which in reality was only fifty yards from the spot on which we all stood. One man was within a few yards of it, to watch the effects of the shots, as well as to light the candle should it chance to go out, or to replace it should the shot cut it across. Each marksman shot in his turn. Some never hit either the snuff or the candle, and were congratulated with a loud laugh; while others actually snuffed the candle without putting it out, and were recompensed for their dexterity by numerous hurrahs. One of them, who was particularly expert, was very fortunate, and snuffed the candle three times out of seven, whilst all the other shots either put out the candle or cut it immediately under the light. Of the feats performed by the Kentuckians with the rifle, I could say more than might be expedient on the present occasion. In every thinly peopled portion of the State, it is rare to meet one without a gun of that description, as well as a tomahawk. By way of recreation, they often cut off a piece of the bark of a tree, make a target of it, using a little powder wetted with water or saliva, for the bull's-eye, and shoot into the mark all the balls they have about them, picking them out of the wood again. After what I have said, you may easily imagine with what ease a Kentuckian procures game, or despatches an enemy, more especially when I tell you that every one in the State is accustomed to handle the rifle from the time when he is first able to shoulder it until near the close of his career. That murderous weapon is the means of procuring them subsistence during all their wild and extensive rambles, and is the source of their principal sports and pleasures. THE TRAVELLER AND THE POLE-CAT On a journey from Louisville to Henderson in Kentucky, performed during very severe winter weather, in company with a foreigner, the initials of whose name are D. T., my companion, spying a beautiful animal, marked with black and pale yellow, and having a long and bushy tail, exclaimed, "Mr. Audubon, is not that a beautiful Squirrel?" "Yes," I answered, "and of a kind that will suffer you to approach it and lay hold of it, if you are well gloved." Mr. D. T., dismounting, took up a dry stick, and advanced towards the pretty animal, with his large cloak floating in the breeze. I think I see him approach, and laying the stick gently across the body of the animal, try to secure it; and I can yet laugh almost as heartily as I did then, when I plainly saw the discomfiture of the traveller. The Pole-cat (for a true Pole-cat it was, the _Mephitis americana_ of zoölogists) raised its fine bushy tail, and showered such a discharge of the fluid given him by nature as a defence that my friend, dismayed and infuriated, began to belabor the poor animal. The swiftness and good management of the Pole-cat, however, saved its bones, and as it made its retreat towards its hole, it kept up at every step a continued ejectment, which fully convinced the gentleman that the pursuit of such Squirrels as these was at the best an unprofitable employment. This was not all, however. I could not suffer his approach, nor could my horse; it was with difficulty he mounted his own; and we were forced to continue our journey far asunder, and he much to leeward. Nor did the matter end here. We could not proceed much farther that night; as, in the first place, it was nearly dark when we saw the Pole-cat, and as, in the second place, a heavy snow-storm began, and almost impeded our progress. We were forced to make for the first cabin we saw. Having asked and obtained permission to rest for the night, we dismounted and found ourselves amongst a crowd of men and women who had met for the purpose of _corn-shucking_. To a European who has not visited the western parts of the United States, an explanation of this corn-shucking may not be unacceptable. Corn (or you may prefer calling it maize) is gathered in the husk, that is, by breaking each large ear from the stem. These ears are first thrown into heaps in the field, and afterwards carried in carts to the barn, or, as in this instance, and in such portions of Kentucky, to a shed made of the blades or long leaves that hang in graceful curves from the stalk, and which, when plucked and dried, are used instead of hay as food for horses and cattle. The husk consists of several thick leaves rather longer than the corn-ear itself, and which secure it from the weather. It is quite a labor to detach these leaves from the ear when thousands of bushels of the corn are gathered and heaped together. For this purpose, however, and in the western country more especially, several neighboring families join alternately at each other's plantations, and assist in clearing away the husks, thus preparing the maize for the market or for domestic use. The good people whom we met with at this hospitable house were on the point of going to the barn (the farmer here being in rather good condition) to work until towards the middle of the night. When we had stood the few stares to which strangers must accustom themselves, no matter where, even in a drawing-room, we approached the fire. What a shock for the whole party! The scent of the Pole-cat, that had been almost stifled on my companion's vestments by the cold of the evening air, now recovered its primitive strength. The cloak was put out of the house, but its owner could not well be used in the same way. The company, however, took to their heels, and there only remained a single black servant, who waited on us till supper was served. I felt vexed with myself, as I saw the good traveller displeased. But he had so much good-breeding as to treat this important affair with great forbearance, and merely said he was sorry for his want of knowledge in zoölogy. The good gentleman, however, was not only deficient in zoölogical lore, but, fresh as he was from Europe, felt more than uneasy in this out-of-the-way house, and would have proceeded towards my own home that night, had I not at length succeeded in persuading him that he was in perfect security. We were shown to bed. As I was almost a stranger to him, and he to me, he thought it a very awkward thing to be obliged to lie in the same bed with me, but afterwards spoke of it as a happy circumstance, and requested that I should suffer him to be placed next the logs, thinking, no doubt, that there he should run no risk. We started by break of day, taking with us the frozen cloak, and after passing a pleasant night in my own house, we parted. Some years after, I met my Kentucky companion in a far distant land, when he assured me that whenever the sun shone on his cloak or it was brought near a fire, the scent of the Pole-cat became so perceptible that he at last gave it to a poor monk in Italy. The animal commonly known in America by the name of the Pole-cat is about a foot and a half in length, with a large bushy tail, nearly as long as the body. The color is generally brownish-black, with a large white patch on the back of the head; but there are many varieties of coloring, in some of which the broad white bands of the back are very conspicuous. The Pole-cat burrows, or forms a subterranean habitation among the roots of trees, or in rocky places. It feeds on birds, young Hares, Rats, Mice, and other animals, and commits great depredations on poultry. The most remarkable peculiarity of this animal is the power, alluded to above, of squirting for its defence a most nauseously scented fluid contained in a receptacle situated under the tail, which it can do to a distance of several yards. It does not, however, for this purpose sprinkle its tail with the fluid, as some allege, unless when extremely harassed by its enemies. The Pole-cat is frequently domesticated. The removal of the glands prevents the secretion of the nauseous fluid, and when thus improved, the animal becomes a great favorite, and performs the offices of the common cat with great dexterity. DEER HUNTING The different modes of Deer hunting are probably too well understood, and too successfully practised in the United States; for, notwithstanding the almost incredible abundance of these beautiful animals in our forests and prairies, such havoc is carried on amongst them that, in a few centuries, they will probably be as scarce in America as the Great Bustard now is in Britain. We have three modes of hunting Deer, each varying in some slight degree in the different States and districts. The first is termed _still hunting_, and is by far the most destructive. The second is called _fire-light hunting_, and is next in its exterminating effects. The third, which may be looked upon as a mere amusement, is named _driving_. Although many Deer are destroyed by this latter method, it is not by any means so pernicious as the others. These methods I shall describe separately. _Still hunting_ is followed as a kind of trade by most of our frontier-men. To be practised with success it requires great activity, an expert management of the rifle, and a thorough knowledge of the forest, together with an intimate acquaintance with the habits of the Deer, not only at different seasons of the year, but also at every hour of the day, as the hunters must be aware of the situations which the game prefers, and in which it is most likely to be found at any particular time. I might here present you with a full account of the habits of our Deer, were it not my intention to lay before you, at some future period, in the form of a distinct work, the observations which I have made on the various quadrupeds of our extensive territories. Illustrations of any kind require to be presented in the best possible light. We shall therefore suppose that we are now about to follow the _true hunter_, as the "still hunter" is also called, through the interior of the tangled woods, across morasses, ravines, and such places, where the game may prove more or less plentiful, even should none be found there in the first instance. We shall allow our hunter all the agility, patience, and care which his occupation requires, and will march in his rear, as if we were spies, watching all his motions. His dress, you observe, consists of a leather hunting-shirt, and a pair of trousers of the same material. His feet are well moccasined; he wears a belt round his waist; his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny shoulder; on one side hangs his ball pouch, surmounted by the horn of an ancient Buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now containing a pound of the best gunpowder; his butcher knife is scabbarded in the same strap; and behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been thrust through his girdle. He walks with so rapid a step that probably few men, beside ourselves, that is, myself and my kind reader, could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their anxiety to witness his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks to the flint of his gun, its priming, and the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, to judge of the course most likely to lead him to the game. The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the dew hangs in pearly drops at the top of every leaf. Already has the emerald hue of the foliage been converted into the more glowing tints of our autumnal months. A slight frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As he proceeds he looks to the dead foliage under his feet, in search of the well-known traces of a buck's hoof. Now he bends towards the ground, on which something has attracted his attention. See! he alters his course, increases his speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now he moves with caution, stops at almost every tree, and peeps forward, as if already within shooting distance of the game. He advances again, but how very slowly! He has reached the declivity, upon which the sun shines in all its growing splendor; but mark him! he takes the gun from his shoulder, has already thrown aside the leathern cover of the lock, and is wiping the edge of the flint with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental figure, perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and the game which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, the report follows, and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I speak to him, and ask him the result of this first essay? Assuredly, reader, for I know him well. "Pray, friend, what have you killed?" for to say, "What have you shot at?" might imply the possibility of having missed, and so might hurt his feelings. "Nothing but a buck." "And where is it?" "Oh, it has taken a jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball struck, and must have gone through his heart." We arrive at the spot where the animal had laid itself down among the grass in a thicket of grape-vines, sumach, and spruce bushes, where it intended to repose during the middle of the day. The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the Deer have left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies produced by its wound; but the blood that has gushed from its side discloses the course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot. There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath exhausted; it is dead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts the buck's throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it. For this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a tree. When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the rest of the carcass to the Wolves and Vultures, reloads his gun, flings the venison, enclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with a strap, and walks off in search of more game, well knowing that, in the immediate neighborhood, another at least is to be found. Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have sought for the buck along the _shadowy_ side of the hills. Had it been the spring season, he would have led us through some thick cane-brake, to the margin of some remote lake, where you would have seen the Deer immersed to his head in the water, to save his body from the tormenting attacks of mosquitoes. Had winter overspread the earth with a covering of snow, he would have searched the low, damp woods, where the mosses and lichens, on which at that period the Deer feeds, abound; the trees being generally crusted with them for several feet from the ground. At one time he might have marked the places where the Deer clears the velvet from his horns by rubbing them against the low stems of bushes, and where he frequently scrapes the earth with his fore-hoofs; at another he would have betaken himself to places where persimmons and crab-apples abound, as beneath these trees the Deer frequently stops to munch their fruits. During early spring our hunter would imitate the bleating of the doe, and thus frequently obtain both her and the fawn, or, like some tribes of Indians, he would prepare a Deer's head, placed on a stick, and creeping with it amongst the tall grass of the prairies, would decoy Deer in reach of his rifle. But, kind reader, you have seen enough of the _still hunter_. Let it suffice for me to add that by the mode pursued by him thousands of Deer are annually killed, many individuals shooting these animals merely for the skin, not caring for even the most valuable portions of the flesh, unless hunger, or a near market, induce them to carry off the hams. The mode of destroying deer by _fire-light_, or, as it is named in some parts of the country, _forest-light_, never fails to produce a very singular feeling in him who witnesses it for the first time. There is something in it which at times appears awfully grand. At other times a certain degree of fear creeps over the mind, and even affects the physical powers of him who follows the hunter through the thick undergrowth of our woods, having to leap his horse over hundreds of huge fallen trunks, at one time impeded by a straggling grape-vine crossing his path, at another squeezed between two stubborn saplings, whilst their twigs come smack in his face, as his companion has forced his way through them. Again, he now and then runs the risk of breaking his neck, by being suddenly pitched headlong on the ground, as his horse sinks into a hole covered over with moss. But I must proceed in a more regular manner, and leave you, kind reader, to judge whether such a mode of hunting would suit your taste or not. The hunter has returned to his camp or his house, has rested and eaten of his game. He waits impatiently for the return of night. He has procured a quantity of pine knots filled with resinous matter, and has an old frying-pan, that, for aught I know to the contrary, may have been used by his great-grandmother, in which the pine-knots are to be placed when lighted. The horses stand saddled at the door. The hunter comes forth, his rifle slung on his shoulder, and springs upon one of them, while his son, or a servant, mounts the other with the frying-pan and the pine-knots. Thus accoutred, they proceed towards the interior of the forest. When they have arrived at the spot where the hunt is to begin, they strike fire with a flint and steel, and kindle the resinous wood. The person who carries the fire moves in the direction judged to be the best. The blaze illuminates the near objects, but the distant parts seem involved in deepest obscurity. The hunter who bears the gun keeps immediately in front, and after a while discovers before him two feeble lights, which are produced by the reflection of the pine-fire from the eyes of an animal of the Deer or Wolf kind. The animal stands quite still. To one unacquainted with this strange mode of hunting, the glare from its eyes might bring to his imagination some lost hobgoblin that had strayed from its usual haunts. The hunter, however, nowise intimidated, approaches the object, sometimes so near as to discern its form, when, raising the rifle to his shoulder, he fires and kills it on the spot. He then dismounts, secures the skin and such portions of the flesh as he may want, in the manner already described, and continues his search through the greater part of the night, sometimes until the dawn of day, shooting from five to ten Deer, should these animals be plentiful. This kind of hunting proves fatal, not to the Deer alone, but also sometimes to Wolves, and now and then to a horse or cow, which may have straggled far into the woods. Now, kind reader, prepare to mount a generous, full-blood Virginian hunter. See that your gun is in complete order, for hark to the sound of the bugle and horn, and the mingled clamor of a pack of harriers! Your friends are waiting for you, under the shade of the wood, and we must together go _driving_ the light-footed Deer. The distance over which one has to travel is seldom felt when pleasure is anticipated as the result; so galloping we go pell-mell through the woods, to some well-known place where many a fine buck has drooped its antlers under the ball of the hunter's rifle. The servants, who are called the drivers, have already begun their search. Their voices are heard exciting the hounds, and unless we put spurs to our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and thus lose the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting game as it passes by. Hark again! The dogs are in chase, the horn sounds louder and more clearly. Hurry, hurry on, or we shall be sadly behind! Here we are at last! Dismount, fasten your horse to this tree, place yourself by the side of that large yellow poplar, and mind you do not shoot me! The Deer is fast approaching; I will to my own stand, and he who shoots him dead wins the prize. The Deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently cracked a dead stick with its hoof, and the dogs are now so near that it will pass in a moment. There it comes! How beautifully it bounds over the ground! What a splendid head of horns! How easy its attitudes, depending, as it seems to do, on its own swiftness for safety! All is in vain, however; a gun is fired, the animal plunges and doubles with incomparable speed. There he goes! He passes another stand, from which a second shot, better directed than the first, brings him to the ground. The dogs, the servants, the sportsmen are now rushing forward to the spot. The hunter who has shot it is congratulated on his skill or good luck, and the chase begins again in some other part of the woods. A few lines of explanation may be required to convey a clear idea of this mode of hunting. Deer are fond of following and retracing paths which they have formerly pursued, and continue to do so even after they have been shot at more than once. These tracks are discovered by persons on horseback in the woods, or a Deer is observed crossing a road, a field, or a small stream. When this has been noticed twice, the deer may be shot from the places called _stands_ by the sportsman, who is stationed there, and waits for it, a line of stands being generally formed so as to cross the path which the game will follow. The person who ascertains the usual pass of the game, or discovers the parts where the animal feeds or lies down during the day, gives intimation to his friends, who then prepare for the chase. The servants start the Deer with the hounds, and by good management generally succeed in making it run the course that will soonest bring it to its death. But, should the Deer be cautious, and take another course, the hunters, mounted on swift horses, gallop through the woods to intercept it, guided by the sound of the horns and the cry of the dogs, and frequently succeed in shooting it. This sport is extremely agreeable, and proves successful on almost every occasion. Hoping that this account will be sufficient to induce you, kind reader, to go _driving_ in our western and southern woods, I now conclude my chapter on Deer Hunting by informing you that the species referred to above is the Virginia Deer, _Cervus virginianus_; and that, until I be able to present you with a full account of its habits and history, you may consult for information respecting it the excellent "Fauna Americana" of my esteemed friend Dr. Harlan, of Philadelphia. THE ECCENTRIC NATURALIST "What an odd-looking fellow!" said I to myself, as, while walking by the river, I observed a man landing from a boat, with what I thought a bundle of dried clover on his back; "how the boatmen stare at him! sure he must be an original!" He ascended with a rapid step, and approaching me asked if I could point out the house in which Mr. Audubon resided. "Why, I am the man," said I, "and will gladly lead you to my dwelling." The traveller rubbed his hands together with delight, and drawing a letter from his pocket handed it to me without any remark. I broke the seal and read as follows: "My dear Audubon, I send you an odd fish, which you may prove to be undescribed, and hope you will do so in your next letter. Believe me always your friend B." With all the simplicity of a woodsman I asked the bearer where the odd fish was, when M. de T. (for, kind reader, the individual in my presence was none else than that renowned naturalist) smiled, rubbed his hands, and with the greatest good-humor said, "I am that odd fish I presume, Mr. Audubon." I felt confounded and blushed, but contrived to stammer an apology. We soon reached the house, when I presented my learned guest to my family, and was ordering a servant to go to the boat for M. de T.'s luggage, when he told me he had none but what he brought on his back. He then loosened the pack of weeds which had first drawn my attention. The ladies were a little surprised, but I checked their critical glances for the moment. The naturalist pulled off his shoes, and while engaged in drawing his stockings, not up, but down, in order to cover the holes about the heels, told us in the gayest mood imaginable that he had walked a great distance, and had only taken a passage on board the _ark_, to be put on this shore, and that he was sorry his apparel had suffered so much from his late journey. Clean clothes were offered, but he would not accept them, and it was with evident reluctance that he performed the lavations usual on such occasions before he sat down to dinner. At table, however, his agreeable conversation made us all forget his singular appearance; and, indeed, it was only as we strolled together in the garden that his attire struck me as exceedingly remarkable. A long loose coat of yellow nankeen, much the worse for the many rubs it had got in its time, and stained all over with the juice of plants, hung loosely about him like a sac. A waistcoat of the same, with enormous pockets, and buttoned up to his chin, reached below over a pair of tight pantaloons, the lower parts of which were buttoned down to the ankles. His beard was as long as I have known my own to be during some of my peregrinations, and his lank black hair hung loosely over his shoulders. His forehead was so broad and prominent that any tyro in phrenology would instantly have pronounced it the residence of a mind of strong powers. His words impressed an assurance of rigid truth, and as he directed the conversation to the study of the natural sciences, I listened to him with as much delight as Telemachus could have listened to Mentor. He had come to visit me, he said, expressly for the purpose of seeing my drawings, having been told that my representations of birds were accompanied with those of shrubs and plants, and he was desirous of knowing whether I might chance to have in my collection any with which he was unacquainted. I observed some degree of impatience in his request to be allowed at once to see what I had. We returned to the house, when I opened my portfolios and laid them before him. He chanced to turn over the drawing of a plant quite new to him. After inspecting it closely, he shook his head, and told me no such plant existed in nature; for, kind reader, M. de T., although a highly scientific man, was suspicious to a fault, and believed such plants only to exist as he had himself seen, or such as, having been discovered of old, had, according to Father Malebranche's expression, acquired a "venerable beard." I told my guest that the plant was common in the immediate neighborhood, and that I should show it him on the morrow. "And why to-morrow, Mr. Audubon? Let us go now." We did so, and on reaching the bank of the river I pointed to the plant. M. de T., I thought, had gone mad. He plucked the plants one after another, danced, hugged me in his arms, and exultingly told me that he had got not merely a new species, but a new genus. When we returned home, the naturalist opened the bundle which he had brought on his back, and took out a journal rendered water-proof by means of a leather case, together with a small parcel of linen, examined the new plant, and wrote its description. The examination of my drawings then went on. You would be pleased, kind reader, to hear his criticisms, which were of the greatest advantage to me, for, being well acquainted with books as well as with nature, he was well fitted to give me advice. It was summer, and the heat was so great that the windows were all open. The light of the candles attracted many insects, among which was observed a large species of Scarabæus. I caught one, and, aware of his inclination to believe only what he should himself see, I showed him the insect, and assured him it was so strong that it would crawl on the table with the candlestick on its back. "I should like to see the experiment made, Mr. Audubon," he replied. It was accordingly made, and the insect moved about, dragging its burden so as to make the candlestick change its position as if by magic, until coming upon the edge of the table, it dropped on the floor, took to wing, and made its escape. When it waxed late, I showed him to the apartment intended for him during his stay, and endeavored to render him comfortable, leaving him writing materials in abundance. I was indeed heartily glad to have a naturalist under my roof. We had all retired to rest. Every person I imagined was in deep slumber save myself, when of a sudden I heard a great uproar in the naturalist's room. I got up, reached the place in a few moments, and opened the door, when to my astonishment, I saw my guest running about the room naked, holding the handle of my favorite violin, the body of which he had battered to pieces against the walls in attempting to kill the bats which had entered by the open window, probably attracted by the insects flying around his candle. I stood amazed, but he continued jumping and running round and round, until he was fairly exhausted, when he begged me to procure one of the animals for him, as he felt convinced they belonged to "a new species." Although I was convinced of the contrary, I took up the bow of my demolished Cremona, and administering a smart tap to each of the bats as it came up, soon got specimens enough. The war ended, I again bade him good-night, but could not help observing the state of the room. It was strewed with plants, which it would seem he had arranged into groups, but which were now scattered about in confusion. "Never mind, Mr. Audubon," quoth the eccentric naturalist, "never mind, I'll soon arrange them again. I have the bats, and that's enough." Some days passed, during which we followed our several occupations. M. de T. searched the woods for plants, and I for birds. He also followed the margins of the Ohio, and picked up many shells, which he greatly extolled. With us, I told him, they were gathered into heaps to be converted into lime. "Lime! Mr. Audubon; why, they are worth a guinea apiece in any part of Europe." One day, as I was returning from a hunt in a cane-brake, he observed that I was wet and spattered with mud, and desired me to show him the interior of one of these places, which he said he had never visited. The cane, kind reader, formerly grew spontaneously over the greater portions of the State of Kentucky and other western districts of our Union, as well as in many farther south. Now, however, cultivation, the introduction of cattle and horses, and other circumstances connected with the progress of civilization, have greatly altered the face of the country, and reduced the cane within comparatively small limits. It attains a height of from twelve to thirty feet, and a diameter of from one to two inches, and grows in great patches resembling osier-holts, in which occur plants of all sizes. The plants frequently grow so close together, and in course of time become so tangled, as to present an almost impenetrable thicket. A portion of ground thus covered with canes is called a _cane-brake_. If you picture to yourself one of these cane-brakes growing beneath the gigantic trees that form our western forests, interspersed with vines of many species, and numberless plants of every description, you may conceive how difficult it is for one to make his way through it, especially after a heavy shower of rain or a fall of sleet, when the traveller, in forcing his way through, shakes down upon himself such quantities of water as soon reduce him to a state of the utmost discomfort. The hunters often cut little paths through the thickets with their knives, but the usual mode of passing through them is by pushing one's self backward, and wedging a way between the stems. To follow a Bear or a Cougar pursued by dogs through these brakes is a task the accomplishment of which may be imagined, but of the difficulties and dangers accompanying which I cannot easily give an adequate representation. The canes generally grow on the richest soil, and are particularly plentiful along the margins of the great western rivers. Many of our new settlers are fond of forming farms in their immediate vicinity, as the plant is much relished by all kinds of cattle and horses, which feed upon it at all seasons, and again because these brakes are plentifully stocked with game of various kinds. It sometimes happens that the farmer clears a portion of the brake. This is done by cutting the stems--which are fistular and knotted, like those of other grasses--with a large knife or cutlass. They are afterwards placed in heaps, and when partially dried set fire to. The moisture contained between the joints is converted into steam, which causes the cane to burst with a smart report, and when a whole mass is crackling, the sounds resemble discharges of musketry. Indeed, I have been told that travellers floating down the rivers, and unacquainted with these circumstances, have been induced to pull their oars with redoubled vigor, apprehending the attack of a host of savages, ready to scalp every one of the party. A day being fixed, we left home after an early breakfast, crossed the Ohio, and entered the woods. I had determined that my companion should view a cane-brake in all its perfection, and after leading him several miles in a direct course, came upon as fine a sample as existed in that part of the country. We entered, and for some time proceeded without much difficulty, as I led the way, and cut down the canes which were most likely to incommode him. The difficulties gradually increased, so that we were presently obliged to turn our backs to the foe, and push ourselves on the best way we could. My companion stopped here and there to pick up a plant and examine it. After a while we chanced to come upon the top of a fallen tree, which so obstructed our passage that we were on the eve of going round, instead of thrusting ourselves through amongst the branches, when, from its bed in the centre of the tangled mass, forth rushed a Bear, with such force, and snuffing the air in so frightful a manner, that M. de T. became suddenly terror-struck, and, in his haste to escape, made a desperate attempt to run, but fell amongst the canes in such a way that he looked as if pinioned. Perceiving him jammed in between the stalks, and thoroughly frightened, I could not refrain from laughing at the ridiculous exhibition which he made. My gayety, however, was not very pleasing to the _savant_, who called out for aid, which was at once administered. Gladly would he have retraced his steps, but I was desirous that he should be able to describe a cane-brake, and enticed him to follow me by telling him that our worst difficulties were nearly over. We proceeded, for by this time the Bear was out of hearing. The way became more and more tangled. I saw with delight that a heavy cloud, portentous of a thunder gust, was approaching. In the mean time, I kept my companion in such constant difficulties that he now panted, perspired, and seemed almost overcome by fatigue. The thunder began to rumble, and soon after a dash of heavy rain drenched us in a few minutes. The withered particles of leaves and bark attached to the canes stuck to our clothes. We received many scratches from briers, and now and then a switch from a nettle. M. de T. seriously inquired if we should ever get alive out of the horrible situation in which we were. I spoke of courage and patience, and told him I hoped we should soon get to the margin of the brake, which, however, I knew to be two miles distant. I made him rest, and gave him a mouthful of brandy from my flask; after which, we proceeded on our slow and painful march. He threw away all his plants, emptied his pockets of the fungi, lichens, and mosses which he had thrust into them, and finding himself much lightened, went on for thirty or forty yards with a better grace. But, kind reader, enough--I led the naturalist first one way, then another, until I had nearly lost myself in the brake, although I was well acquainted with it, kept him tumbling and crawling on his hands and knees until long after mid-day, when we at length reached the edge of the river. I blew my horn, and soon showed my companion a boat coming to our rescue. We were ferried over, and on reaching the house, found more agreeable occupation in replenishing our empty coffers. M. de T. remained with us for three weeks, and collected multitudes of plants, shells, bats, and fishes, but never again expressed a desire of visiting a cane-brake. We were perfectly reconciled to his oddities, and, finding him a most agreeable and intelligent companion, hoped that his sojourn might be of long duration. But, one evening when tea was prepared, and we expected him to join the family, he was nowhere to be found. His grasses and other valuables were all removed from his room. The night was spent in searching for him in the neighborhood. No eccentric naturalist could be discovered. Whether he had perished in a swamp, or had been devoured by a Bear or a Gar-fish, or had taken to his heels, were matters of conjecture; nor was it until some weeks after that a letter from him, thanking us for our attention, assured me of his safety. SCIPIO AND THE BEAR The Black Bear (_Ursus americanus_), however clumsy in appearance, is active, vigilant, and persevering; possesses great strength, courage, and address; and undergoes with little injury the greatest fatigues and hardships in avoiding the pursuit of the hunter. Like the Deer, it changes its haunts with the seasons, and for the same reason, namely, the desire of obtaining suitable food, or of retiring to the more inaccessible parts, where it can pass the time in security, unobserved by man, the most dangerous of its enemies. During the spring months, it searches for food in the low rich alluvial lands that border the rivers, or by the margins of such inland lakes as, on account of their small size, are called by us ponds. There it procures abundance of succulent roots, and of the tender juicy stems of plants, upon which it chiefly feeds at that season. During the summer heat, it enters the gloomy swamps, passes much of its time in wallowing in the mud, like a hog, and contents itself with crayfish, roots, and nettles, now and then, when hard pressed by hunger, seizing on a young pig, or perhaps a sow, or even a calf. As soon as the different kinds of berries which grow on the mountains begin to ripen, the Bears betake themselves to the high grounds, followed by their cubs. In such retired parts of the country where there are no hilly grounds, it pays visits to the maize fields, which it ravages for a while. After this, the various species of nuts, acorns, grapes, and other forest fruits, that form what in the western country is called _mast_, attract its attention. The Bear is then seen rambling singly through the woods to gather this harvest, not forgetting meanwhile to rob every _Bee-tree_ it meets with, Bears being, as you well know, expert at this operation. You also know that they are good climbers, and may have been told, or at least may now be told, that the Black Bear now and then _houses_ itself in the hollow trunks of the larger trees for weeks together, when it is said to suck its paws. You are probably not aware of a habit in which it indulges, and which, being curious, must be interesting to you. At one season, the Black Bear may be seen examining the lower part of the trunk of a tree for several minutes with much attention, at the same time looking around, and snuffing the air, to assure itself that no enemy is near. It then raises itself on its hind-legs, approaches the trunk, embraces it with its fore-legs, and scratches the bark with its teeth and claws for several minutes in continuance. Its jaws clash against each other, until a mass of foam runs down on both sides of the mouth. After this it continues its rambles. In various portions of our country, many of our woodsmen and hunters who have seen the Bear performing the singular operation just described, imagine that it does so for the purpose of leaving behind it an indication of its size and power. They measure the height at which the scratches are made, and in this manner can, in fact, form an estimate of the magnitude of the individual. My own opinion, however, is different. It seems to me that the Bear scratches the trees, not for the purpose of shewing its size or its strength, but merely for that of sharpening its teeth and claws, to enable it better to encounter a rival of its own species during the amatory season. The Wild Boar of Europe clashes its tusks and scrapes the earth with its feet, and the Deer rubs its antlers against the lower part of the stems of young trees or bushes, for the same purpose. Being one night sleeping in the house of a friend, I was wakened by a negro servant bearing a light, who gave me a note, which he said his master had just received. I ran my eye over the paper, and found it to be a communication from a neighbor, requesting my friend and myself to join him as soon as possible, and assist in killing some Bears at that moment engaged in destroying his corn. I was not long in dressing, you may be assured, and, on entering the parlor, found my friend equipped and only waiting for some bullets, which a negro was employed in casting. The overseer's horn was heard calling up the negroes from their different cabins. Some were already engaged in saddling our horses, whilst others were gathering all the cur-dogs of the plantation. All was bustle. Before half an hour had elapsed, four stout negro men, armed with axes and knives, and mounted on strong nags of their own (for you must know, kind reader, that many of our slaves rear horses, cattle, pigs, and poultry, which are exclusively their own property), were following us at a round gallop through the woods, as we made directly for the neighbor's plantation, a little more than five miles off. The night was none of the most favorable, a drizzling rain rendering the atmosphere thick and rather sultry; but as we were well acquainted with the course, we soon reached the house, where the owner was waiting our arrival. There were now three of us armed with guns, half a dozen servants, and a good pack of dogs of all kinds. We jogged on towards the detached field in which the Bears were at work. The owner told us that for some days several of these animals had visited his corn, and that a negro who was sent every afternoon to see at what part of the enclosure they entered, had assured him there were at least five in the field that night. A plan of attack was formed: the bars at the usual gap of the fence were to be put down without noise; the men and dogs were to divide, and afterwards proceed so as to surround the Bears, when, at the sounding of our horns, every one was to charge towards the centre of the field, and shout as loudly as possible, which it was judged would so intimidate the animals as to induce them to seek refuge upon the dead trees with which the field was still partially covered. The plan succeeded. The horns sounded, the horses galloped forward, the men shouted, the dogs barked and howled. The shrieks of the negroes were enough to frighten a legion of Bears, and those in the field took to flight, so that by the time we reached the centre they were heard hurrying towards the tops of the trees. Fires were immediately lighted by the negroes. The drizzling rain had ceased, the sky cleared, and the glare of the crackling fires proved of great assistance to us. The Bears had been so terrified that we now saw several of them crouched at the junction of the larger boughs with the trunks. Two were immediately shot down. They were cubs of no great size, and being already half dead, we left them to the dogs, which quickly despatched them. We were anxious to procure as much sport as possible, and having observed one of the Bears, which from its size we conjectured to be the mother, ordered the negroes to cut down the tree on which it was perched, when it was intended the dogs should have a tug with it, while we should support them, and assist in preventing the Bear from escaping by wounding it in one of the hind-legs. The surrounding woods now echoed to the blows of the axemen. The tree was large and tough, having been girded more than two years, and the operation of felling it seemed extremely tedious. However, it began to vibrate at each stroke; a few inches alone now supported it; and in a short time it came crashing to the ground, in so awful a manner that Bruin must doubtless have felt the shock as severe as we should feel a shake of the globe produced by the sudden collision of a comet. The dogs rushed to the charge, and harassed the Bear on all sides. We had remounted, and now surrounded the poor animal. As its life depended upon its courage and strength, it exercised both in the most energetic manner. Now and then it seized a dog, and killed him by a single stroke. At another time, a well administered blow of one of its fore-legs sent an assailant off yelping so piteously that he might be looked upon as _hors de combat_. A cur had daringly ventured to seize the Bear by the snout, and was seen hanging to it, covered with blood, whilst a dozen or more scrambled over its back. Now and then the infuriated animal was seen to cast a revengeful glance at some of the party, and we had already determined to despatch it, when, to our astonishment, it suddenly shook off all the dogs, and, before we could fire, charged upon one of the negroes, who was mounted on a pied horse. The Bear seized the steed with teeth and claws, and clung to its breast. The terrified horse snorted and plunged. The rider, an athletic young man, and a capital horseman, kept his seat, although only saddled on a sheep's-skin tightly girthed, and requested his master not to fire at the Bear. Notwithstanding his coolness and courage, our anxiety for his safety was raised to the highest pitch, especially when in a moment we saw rider and horse come to the ground together; but we were instantly relieved on witnessing the masterly manner in which Scipio despatched his adversary, by laying open his skull with a single well-directed blow of his axe, when a deep growl announced the death of the Bear, and the valorous negro sprung to his feet unhurt. Day dawned, and we renewed our search. Two of the remaining Bears were soon discovered, lodged in a tree about a hundred yards from the spot where the last one had been overpowered. On approaching them in a circle, we found that they manifested no desire to come down, and we resolved to try _smoking_. We surrounded the tree with a pile of brushwood and large branches. The flames ascended and caught hold of the dry bark. At length the tree assumed the appearance of a pillar of flame. The Bears mounted to the top branches. When they had reached the uppermost, they were seen to totter, and soon after, the branch cracking and snapping across, they came to the ground, bringing with them a mass of broken twigs. They were cubs, and the dogs soon worried them to death. The party returned to the house in triumph. Scipio's horse, being severely wounded, was let loose in the field, to repair his strength by eating the corn. A cart was afterwards sent for the game. But before we had left the field, the horses, dogs, and Bears, together with the fires, had destroyed more corn within a few hours than the poor Bear and her cubs had during the whole of their visits. A KENTUCKY BARBECUE Beargrass Creek, which is one of the many beautiful streams of the highly cultivated and happy State of Kentucky, meanders through a deeply shaded growth of majestic beechwoods, in which are interspersed various species of walnut, oak, elm, ash, and other trees, extending on either side of its course. The spot on which I witnessed the celebration of an anniversary of the glorious proclamation of our independence is situated on its banks near the city of Louisville. The woods spread their dense tufts towards the shores of the fair Ohio on the west, and over the gently rising grounds to the south and east. Every open spot forming a plantation was smiling in the luxuriance of a summer harvest. The farmer seemed to stand in admiration of the spectacle; the trees of his orchards bowed their branches, as if anxious to restore to their mother earth the fruit with which they were laden; the flocks leisurely ruminated as they lay on their grassy beds; and the genial warmth of the season seemed inclined to favor their repose. [Illustration: JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON, 1853.] The free, single-hearted Kentuckian, bold, erect, and proud of his Virginian descent, had, as usual, made arrangements for celebrating the day of his country's independence. The whole neighborhood joined with one consent. No personal invitation was required where every one was welcomed by his neighbor, and from the governor to the guider of the plough, all met with light hearts and merry faces. It was indeed a beautiful day; the bright sun rode in the clear blue heavens; the gentle breezes wafted around the odors of the gorgeous flowers; the little birds sang their sweetest songs in the woods, and the fluttering insects danced in the sunbeams. Columbia's sons and daughters seemed to have grown younger that morning. For a whole week or more many servants and some masters had been busily engaged in clearing an area. The undergrowth had been carefully cut down, the low boughs lopped off, and the grass alone, verdant and gay, remained to carpet the sylvan pavilion. Now the wagons were seen slowly moving along under their load of provisions which had been prepared for the common benefit. Each denizen had freely given his ox, his ham, his venison, his Turkeys and other fowls. Here were to be seen flagons of every beverage used in the country; "la belle rivière" had opened her finny stores, the melons of all sorts, peaches, plums, and pears, would have sufficed to stock a market. In a word, Kentucky, the land of abundance, had supplied a feast for her children. A purling stream gave its waters freely, while the grateful breezes cooled the air. Columns of smoke from the newly kindled fires rose above the trees; fifty cooks or more moved to and fro as they plied their trade; waiters of all qualities were disposing the dishes, the glasses and the punch-bowls, amid vases filled with rich wines. "Old Monongahela" filled many a barrel for the crowd. And now the roasting viands perfume the air, and all appearances conspire to predict the speedy commencement of a banquet such as may suit the vigorous appetite of American woodsmen. Every steward is at his post ready to receive the joyous groups that at this moment begin to emerge from the dark recesses of the woods. Each comely fair one, clad in pure white, is seen advancing under the protection of her sturdy lover, the neighing of their prancing steeds proclaiming how proud they are of their burden. The youthful riders leap from their seats, and the horses are speedily secured by twisting their bridles round a branch. As the youth of Kentucky lightly and gayly advanced towards the barbecue, they resembled a procession of nymphs and disguised divinities. Fathers and mothers smiled upon them as they followed the brilliant cortége. In a short time the ground was alive with merriment. A great wooden cannon bound with iron hoops was now crammed with home-made powder; fire was conveyed to it by means of a train, and as the explosion burst forth, thousands of hearty huzzas mingled with its echoes. From the most learned a good oration fell in proud and gladdening words on every ear, and although it probably did not equal the eloquence of a Clay, an Everett, a Webster, or a Preston, it served to remind every Kentuckian present of the glorious name, the patriotism, the courage, and the virtue of our immortal Washington. Fifes and drums sounded the march which had ever led him to glory; and as they changed to our celebrated "Yankee-Doodle," the air again rang with acclamations. Now the stewards invited the assembled throngs to the feast. The fair led the van, and were first placed around the tables, which groaned under the profusion of the best productions of the country that had been heaped upon them. On each lovely nymph attended her gay beau, who in her chance or sidelong glances ever watched an opportunity of reading his happiness. How the viands diminished under the action of so many agents of destruction, I need not say, nor is it necessary that you should listen to the long recital. Many a national toast was offered and accepted, many speeches were delivered, and many essayed in amicable reply. The ladies then retired to booths that had been erected at a little distance, to which they were conducted by their partners, who returned to the table, and having thus cleared for action, recommenced a series of hearty rounds. However, as Kentuckians are neither slow nor long at their meals, all were in a few minutes replenished, and after a few more draughts from the bowl, they rejoined the ladies and prepared for the dance. Double lines of a hundred fair ones extended along the ground in the most shady part of the woods, while here and there smaller groups awaited the merry trills of reels and cotillons. A burst of music from violins, clarionets, and bugles gave the welcome notice, and presently the whole assemblage seemed to be gracefully moving through the air. The "hunting-shirts" now joined in the dance, their fringed skirts keeping time with the gowns of the ladies, and the married people of either sex stepped in and mixed with their children. Every countenance beamed with joy, every heart leaped with gladness; no pride, no pomp, no affectation were there; their spirits brightened as they continued their exhilarating exercise, and care and sorrow were flung to the winds. During each interval of rest refreshments of all sorts were handed round, and while the fair one cooled her lips with the grateful juice of the melon, the hunter of Kentucky quenched his thirst with ample draughts of well-tempered punch. I know, reader, that had you been with me on that day you would have richly enjoyed the sight of this national _fête champêtre_. You would have listened with pleasure to the ingenuous tale of the lover, the wise talk of the elder on the affairs of the State, the accounts of improvement in stock and utensils, and the hopes of continued prosperity to the country at large, and to Kentucky in particular. You would have been pleased to see those who did not join in the dance shooting at distant marks with their heavy rifles, or watched how they showed off the superior speed of their high bred "Old Virginia" horses, while others recounted their hunting exploits, and at intervals made the woods ring with their bursts of laughter. With me the time sped like an arrow in its flight, and although more than twenty years have elapsed since I joined a Kentucky barbecue, my spirit is refreshed every Fourth of July by the recollection of that day's merriment. But now the sun has declined, and the shades of evening creep over the scene. Large fires are lighted in the woods, casting the long shadows of the live columns far along the trodden ground, and flaring on the happy groups loath to separate. In the still, clear sky, begin to sparkle the distant lamps of heaven. One might have thought that Nature herself smiled on the joy of her children. Supper now appeared on the tables, and after all had again refreshed themselves, preparations were made for departure. The lover hurried for the steed of his fair one, the hunter seized the arm of his friend, families gathered into loving groups, and all returned in peace to their happy homes. And now, reader, allow me also to take my leave, and wish you good-night, trusting that when I again appear with another volume,[58] you will be ready to welcome me with a cordial greeting. A RACCOON HUNT IN KENTUCKY The Raccoon, which is a cunning and crafty animal, is found in all our woods, so that its name is familiar to every child in the Union. The propensity which it evinces to capture all kinds of birds accessible to it in its nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their flesh, induces me to endeavor to afford you some idea of the pleasure which our western hunters feel in procuring it. With your leave, then, reader, I will take you to a "Coon Hunt." A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the "far west." The woodland choristers have disappeared, the matron has cradled her babe, and betaken herself to the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and "the stranger," are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are to come. Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her head to the keen blast of approaching winter; the corn, though still on its stalk, has lost its blades; the wood-pile is as large as the woodsman's cabin; the nights have become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual change in the dews, which now crust the withered herbage with a coat of glittering white. The sky is still cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect their light from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. In the cheerful cabin all is happiness; its inmates generously strive to contribute to the comfort of the stranger who has chanced to visit them; and, as Raccoons are abundant in the neighborhood, they propose a hunt. The offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves her wheel, for she has listened to her husband's talk; now she approaches the fire, takes up the board shovel, stirs the embers, produces a basket filled with sweet potatoes, arranges its contents side by side in front of the hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. All this she does because she "guesses" that hungry stomachs will be calling for food when the sport is over. Ah! reader, what "homely joys" there are in such scenes, and how you would enjoy them! The rich may produce a better, or a more sumptuous meal, but his feelings can never be like those of the poor woodsman. Poor, I ought not to call him, for nature and industry bountifully supply all his wants; the woods and rivers produce his chief dainties, and his toils are his pleasures. Now mark him! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet; his sons and the stranger prepare for the march. Horns and rifles are in requisition. The good man opens the wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud enough to scare a Wolf. The Raccoons scamper away from the corn-fields, break through the fences, and hie to the woods. The hunter has taken an axe from the wood-pile, and returning, assures us that the night is fine, and that we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle to ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts a feather into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung at his side is attached a powder-horn; his sheath-knife is there also; below hangs a narrow strip of homespun linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his teeth the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the ball on one hand, and with the other pours the powder upon it until it is just overtopped. Raising the horn to his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and restores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the tube; springs the box of his gun, greases the "patch" over with some melted tallow, or damps it; then places it on the honey-combed muzzle of his piece. The bullet is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with the handle of the knife, which now trims the edge of the linen. The elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, smoothly pushes the ball to its bed; once, twice, thrice has it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it were into the hunter's arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole, the powder fills the pan, which is closed. "Now I'm ready," cries the woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly more than a minute has elapsed. I wish, reader, you had seen this fine fellow--but hark! the dogs are barking. All is now bustle within and without; a servant lights a torch, and off we march to the woods. "Don't mind the boys, my dear sir," says the woodsman, "follow me close, for the ground is covered with logs, and the grape-vines hang everywhere across. Toby, hold up the light, man, or we'll never see the gullies. Trail your gun, sir, as General Clark used to say--not so, but this way--that's it; now then, no danger, you see; no fear of snakes, poor things! They are stiff enough, I'll be bound. The dogs have treed one. Toby, you old fool, why don't you turn to the right?--not so much; there--go ahead, and give us light. What's that? Who's there? Ah, you young rascals! you've played us a trick, have you? It's all well enough, but now just keep behind, or I'll--" And, in fact, the boys, with eyes good enough to see in the dark, although not quite so well as an Owl's, had cut directly across the dogs, which had surprised a Raccoon on the ground, and bayed it until the lads knocked it on the head. "Seek him, boys!" cried the hunter. The dogs, putting their noses to the ground, pushed off at a good rate. "Master, they're making for the creek," says old Toby. On towards it therefore we push. What woods, to be sure! No gentleman's park this, I assure you, reader. We are now in a low flat; the soil thinly covers the hard clay; nothing but beech-trees hereabouts, unless now and then a maple. Hang the limbs! say I--hang the supple-jacks too--here I am, fast by the neck; cut it with your knife. My knee has had a tremendous rub against a log; now my foot is jammed between two roots; and here I stick. "Toby, come back; don't you know the stranger is not up to the woods? Halloo, Toby, Toby!" There I stood perfectly shackled, the hunter laughing heartily, and the lads glad of an opportunity of slipping off. Toby arrived, and held the torch near the ground, on which the hunter, cutting one of the roots with his hatchet, set me free. "Are you hurt, sir?"--"No, not in the least." Off we start again. The boys had got up with the dogs, which were baying a Raccoon in a small puddle. We soon joined them with the light. "Now, stranger, watch and see!" The Raccoon was all but swimming, and yet had hold of the bottom of the pool with his feet. The glare of the lighted torch was doubtless distressing to him; his coat was ruffled, and his rounded tail seemed thrice its ordinary size; his eyes shone like emeralds; with foaming jaws he watched the dogs, ready to seize each by the snout if it came within reach. They kept him busy for several minutes; the water became thick with mud; his coat now hung dripping, and his draggled tail lay floating on the surface. His guttural growlings, in place of intimidating his assailants excited them the more; and they very unceremoniously closed upon him, curs as they were, and without the breeding of gentle dogs. One seized him by the rump, and tugged, but was soon forced to let go; another stuck to his side, but soon taking a better directed bite of his muzzle than another dog had just done of his tail, Coon made him yelp; and pitiful were the cries of luckless Tyke. The Raccoon would not let go, but in the mean time the other dogs seized him fast, and worried him to death, yet to the last he held by his antagonist's snout. Knocked on the head by an axe, he lay gasping his last breath, and the heaving of his chest was painful to see. The hunters stood gazing at him in the pool, while all around was by the flare of the torch rendered trebly dark and dismal. It was a good scene for a skilful painter. We had now two Coons, whose furs were worth two quarters of a dollar, and whose bodies, which I must not forget, as Toby informed us, were worth two more. "What now?" I asked. "What now?" quoth the father; "why, go after more, to be sure." So we did, the dogs ahead, and I far behind. In a short time the curs treed another, and when we came up, we found them seated on their haunches, looking upwards, and barking. The hunters now employed their axes, and sent the chips about at such a rate that one of them coming in contact with my cheek, marked it so that a week after several of my friends asked me where, in the name of wonder, I had got that black eye. At length the tree began to crack, and slowly leaning to one side, the heavy mass swung rustling through the air, and fell to the earth with a crash. It was not one Coon that was surprised here, but three--ay, three of them, one of which, more crafty than the rest, leaped fairly from the main top while the tree was staggering. The other two stuck to the hollow of a branch, from which they were soon driven by one of the dogs. Tyke and Lion, having nosed the cunning old one, scampered after him, not mouthing like the well-trained hounds of our southern Fox-hunters, but yelling like furies. The hunter's sons attacked those on the tree, while the woodsman and I, preceded by Toby, made after the other; and busy enough we all were. Our animal was of extraordinary size, and after some parley, a rifle-ball was sent through his brain. He reeled once only; next moment he lay dead. The rest were despatched by the axe and the club, for a shot in those days was too valuable to be spent when it could be saved. It could procure a Deer, and therefore was worth more than a Coon's skin. Now, look at the moon! how full and clear has she risen on the Raccoon hunters! Now is the time for sport! Onward we go, one following the long shadow of his precursor. The twigs are no impediment, and we move at a brisker pace, as we return to the hills. What a hue and cry! here are the dogs. Overhead and all around, on the forks of each tree, the hunter's keen eye searches for something round, which is likely to prove a coiled-up Raccoon. There's one! Between me and the moon I spied the cunning thing crouched in silence. After taking aim, I raise my barrel ever so little, the trigger is pressed; down falls the Raccoon to the ground. Another and another are on the same tree. Off goes a bullet, then a second; and we secure the prey. "Let us go home, stranger," says the woodsman; and contented with our sport, towards his cabin we trudge. On arriving there, we find a cheerful fire. Toby stays without, prepares the game, stretches the skins on a frame of cane, and washes the bodies. The table is already set; the cake and the potatoes are all well done; four bowls of buttermilk are ranged in order, and now the hunters fall to. The Raccoon is a cunning animal, and makes a pleasant pet. Monkey-like, it is quite dexterous in the use of its fore-feet, and it will amble after its master, in the manner of a Bear, and even follow him into the street. It is fond of eggs, but prefers them raw, and it matters not whether it be morning, noon, or night when it finds a dozen in the pheasant's nest, or one placed in your pocket to please him. He knows the habits of mussels better than most conchologists. Being an expert climber he ascends to the hole of the Woodpecker, and devours the young birds. He knows, too, how to watch the soft-shelled Turtle's crawl, and, better still, how to dig up her eggs. Now, by the edge of the pond, grimalkin-like, he lies seemingly asleep, until the Summer-Duck comes within reach. No negro knows better when the corn is juicy and pleasant to eat; and although Squirrels and Woodpeckers know this too, the Raccoon is found in the corn-field longer in the season than any of them, the havoc he commits there amounting to a tithe. His fur is good in winter, and many think his flesh good also; but for my part, I prefer a live Raccoon to a dead one; and should find more pleasure in hunting one than in eating him. PITTING OF WOLVES There seems to be a universal feeling of hostility among men against the Wolf, whose strength, agility, and cunning, which latter is scarcely inferior to that of his relative, Master Reynard, tend to render him an object of hatred, especially to the husbandman, on whose flocks he is ever apt to commit depredations. In America, where this animal was formerly abundant, and in many parts of which it still occurs in considerable numbers, it is not more mercifully dealt with than in other parts of the world. Traps and snares of all sorts are set for catching it, while dogs and horses are trained for hunting the Fox. The Wolf, however, unless in some way injured, being more powerful and perhaps better winded than the Fox, is rarely pursued with hounds or any other dogs in open chase; but as his depredations are at times extensive and highly injurious to the farmer, the greatest exertions have been used to exterminate his race. Few instances have occurred among us of any attack made by Wolves on man, and only one has come under my own notice. Two young negroes who resided near the banks of the Ohio, in the lower part of the state of Kentucky, about twenty-three years ago, had sweethearts living on a plantation ten miles distant. After the labors of the day were over, they frequently visited the fair ladies of their choice, the nearest way to whose dwelling lay directly across a great cane-brake. As to the lover every moment is precious, they usually took this route to save time. Winter had commenced, cold, dark, and forbidding, and after sunset scarcely a glimpse of light or glow of warmth, one might imagine, could be found in that dreary swamp, excepting in the eyes and bosoms of the ardent youths, or the hungry Wolves that prowled about. The snow covered the earth, and rendered them more easy to be scented from a distance by the famished beasts. Prudent in a certain degree, the young lovers carried their axes on their shoulders, and walked as briskly as the narrow path would allow. Some transient glimpses of light now and then met their eyes, but so faint were they that they believed them to be caused by their faces coming in contact with the slender reeds covered with snow. Suddenly, however, a long and frightful howl burst upon them, and they instantly knew that it proceeded from a troop of hungry, perhaps desperate Wolves. They stopped, and putting themselves in an attitude of defence, awaited the result. All around was dark, save a few feet of snow, and the silence of night was dismal. Nothing could be done to better their situation, and after standing a few minutes in expectation of an attack, they judged it best to resume their march; but no sooner had they replaced their axes on their shoulders and begun to move, than the foremost found himself assailed by several foes. His legs were held fast as if pressed by a powerful screw, and the torture inflicted by the fangs of the ravenous animal was for a moment excruciating. Several Wolves in the meantime sprung upon the breast of the other negro, and dragged him to the ground. Both struggled manfully against their foes; but in a short time one of them ceased to move, and the other, reduced in strength, and perhaps despairing of maintaining his ground, still more of aiding his unfortunate companion, sprung to the branch of a tree, and speedily gained a place of safety near the top. The next morning the mangled remains of his comrade lay scattered around on the snow, which was stained with blood. Three dead Wolves lay around, but the rest of the pack had disappeared, and Scipio, sliding to the ground, took up the axes, and made the best of his way home, to relate the sad adventure. About two years after this occurrence, as I was travelling between Henderson and Vincennes, I chanced to stop for the night at a farmer's house by the side of the road. After putting up my horse and refreshing myself, I entered into conversation with mine host, who asked if I should like to pay a visit to the Wolf-pits, which were about half a mile distant. Glad of the opportunity I accompanied him across the fields to the neighborhood of a deep wood, and soon saw the engines of destruction. He had three pits, within a few hundred yards of each other. They were about eight feet deep and broader at bottom, so as to render it impossible for the most active animal to escape from them. The aperture was covered with a revolving platform of twigs attached to a central axis. On either surface of the platform was fastened a large piece of putrid venison, with other matters by no means pleasing to my olfactory nerves, although no doubt attractive to the Wolves. My companion wished to visit them that evening, merely as he was in the habit of doing so daily, for the purpose of seeing that all was right. He said that Wolves were very abundant that autumn, and had killed nearly the whole of his sheep and one of his colts, but that he was now "paying them off in full;" and added that if I would tarry a few hours with him next morning, he would beyond a doubt show me some sport rarely seen in those parts. We retired to rest in due time, and were up with the dawn. "I think," said my host, "that all's right, for I see the dogs are anxious to get away to the pits, and although they are nothing but curs, their noses are none the worse for that." As he took up his gun, an axe, and a large knife, the dogs began to howl and bark, and whisked around us, as if full of joy. When we reached the first pit, we found the bait all gone, and the platform much injured; but the animal that had been entrapped had scraped a subterranean passage for himself, and so escaped. On peeping into the next, he assured me that "three famous fellows were safe enough" in it. I also peeped in and saw the Wolves, two black, and the other brindled, all of goodly size, sure enough. They lay flat on the earth, their ears laid close over the head, their eyes indicating fear more than anger. "But how are we to get them out?" "How, sir?" said the farmer; "why, by going down, to be sure, and hamstringing them." Being a novice in these matters, I begged to be merely a looker-on. "With all my heart," quoth the farmer; "stand here and look at me through the brush." Whereupon he glided down, taking with him his axe and knife, and leaving his rifle to my care. I was not a little surprised to see the cowardice of the Wolves. He pulled out successively their hind legs, and with a side stroke of the knife cut the principal tendon above the joint, exhibiting as little fear as if he had been marking lambs. "Lo!" exclaimed the farmer, when he had got out, "we have forgotten the rope; I'll go after it." Off he went accordingly, with as much alacrity as any youngster could show. In a short time he returned out of breath, and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand--"Now for it." I was desired to raise and hold the platform on its central balance, whilst he, with all the dexterity of an Indian, threw a noose over the neck of one of the Wolves. We hauled it up motionless with fright, as if dead, its disabled legs swinging to and fro, its jaws wide open, and the gurgle in its throat alone indicating that it was alive. Letting him drop on the ground, the farmer loosened the rope by means of a stick, and left him to the dogs, all of which set upon him with great fury and soon worried him to death. The second was dealt with in the same manner; but the third, which was probably the oldest, as it was the blackest, showed some spirit the moment it was left loose to the mercy of the curs. This Wolf, which we afterwards found to be a female, scuffled along on its fore-legs at a surprising rate, giving a snap every now and then to the nearest dog, which went off howling dismally, with a mouthful of skin torn from its side. And so well did the furious beast defend itself, that apprehensive of its escape, the farmer levelled his rifle at it, and shot it through the heart, on which the curs rushed upon it, and satiated their vengeance on the destroyer of their master's flock. THE OPOSSUM This singular animal is found more or less abundant in most parts of the Southern, Western, and Middle States of the Union. It is the _Didelphis virginiana_ of Pennant, Harlan, and other authors who have given some accounts of its habits; but as none of them, so far as I know, have illustrated its propensity to dissimulate, and as I have had opportunities of observing its manners, I trust that a few particulars of its biography will prove amusing. The Opossum is fond of secluding itself during the day, although it by no means confines its predatory rangings to the night. Like many other quadrupeds which feed principally on flesh, it is also both frugivorous and herbivorous, and, when very hard pressed by hunger, it seizes various kinds of insects and reptiles. Its gait, while travelling, and at a time when it supposes itself unobserved, is altogether ambling; in other words, it, like a young foal, moves the two legs of one side forward at once. The Newfoundland dog manifests a similar propensity. Having a constitution as hardy as that of the most northern animals, it stands the coldest weather, and does not hibernate, although its covering of fur and hair may be said to be comparatively scanty even during winter. The defect, however, seems to be compensated by a skin of considerable thickness, and a general subcutaneous layer of fat. Its movements are usually rather slow, and as it walks or ambles along, its curious prehensile tail is carried just above the ground, its rounded ears are directed forward, and at almost every step its pointed nose is applied to the objects beneath it, in order to discover what sort of creatures may have crossed its path. Methinks I see one at this moment slowly and cautiously trudging over the melting snows by the side of an unfrequented pond, nosing as it goes for the fare its ravenous appetite prefers. Now it has come upon the fresh track of a Grouse or Hare, and it raises its snout and snuffs the keen air. At length it has decided on its course, and it speeds onward at the rate of a man's ordinary walk. It stops and seems at a loss in what direction to go, for the object of its pursuit has either taken a considerable leap or has cut backwards before the Opossum entered its track. It raises itself up, stands for a while on its hind feet, looks around, snuffs the air again, and then proceeds; but now, at the foot of a noble tree, it comes to a full stand. It walks round the base of the huge trunk, over the snow-covered roots, and among them finds an aperture which it at once enters. Several minutes elapse, when it re-appears, dragging along a Squirrel already deprived of life, with which in its mouth it begins to ascend the tree. Slowly it climbs. The first fork does not seem to suit it, for perhaps it thinks it might there be too openly exposed to the view of some wily foe; and so it proceeds, until it gains a cluster of branches intertwined with grape-vines, and there composing itself, it twists its tail round one of the twigs, and with its sharp teeth demolishes the unlucky Squirrel, which it holds all the while with its fore-paws. The pleasant days of spring have arrived, and the trees vigorously shoot forth their buds; but the Opossum is almost bare, and seems nearly exhausted by hunger. It visits the margins of creeks, and is pleased to see the young frogs, which afford it a tolerable repast. Gradually the poke-berry and the nettle shoot up, and on their tender and juicy stems it gladly feeds. The matin calls of the Wild Turkey Cock delight the ear of the cunning creature, for it well knows that it will soon hear the female and trace her to her nest, when it will suck the eggs with delight. Travelling through the woods, perhaps on the ground, perhaps aloft, from tree to tree, it hears a cock crow, and its heart swells as it remembers the savory food on which it regaled itself last summer in the neighboring farm-yard. With great care, however, it advances, and at last conceals itself in the very hen-house. Honest farmer! why did you kill so many Crows last winter? ay and Ravens too? Well, you have had your own way of it; but now hie to the village and procure a store of ammunition, clean your rusty gun, set your traps, and teach your lazy curs to watch the Opossum. There it comes. The sun is scarcely down, but the appetite of the prowler is keen; hear the screams of one of your best chickens that has been seized by him! The cunning beast is off with it, and nothing can now be done, unless you stand there to watch the Fox or the Owl, now exulting in the thought that you have killed their enemy and your own friend, the poor Crow. That precious hen under which you last week placed a dozen eggs or so is now deprived of them. The Opossum, notwithstanding her angry outcries and rufflings of feathers, has removed them one by one, and now look at the poor bird as she moves across your yard; if not mad, she is at least stupid, for she scratches here and there, calling to her chickens all the while. All this comes from your shooting Crows. Had you been more merciful or more prudent, the Opossum might have been kept within the woods, where it would have been satisfied with a Squirrel, a young Hare, the eggs of a Turkey, or the grapes that so profusely adorn the boughs of our forest trees. But I talk to you in vain. There cannot be a better exemplification of maternal tenderness than the female Opossum. Just peep into that curious sack in which the young are concealed, each attached to a teat. The kind mother not only nourishes them with care, but preserves them from their enemies; she moves with them as the shark does with its progeny, and now, aloft on the tulip-tree, she hides among the thick foliage. By the end of two months they begin to shift for themselves; each has been taught its particular lesson, and must now practise it. But suppose the farmer has surprised an Opossum in the act of killing one of his best fowls. His angry feelings urge him to kick the poor beast, which, conscious of its inability to resist, rolls off like a ball. The more the farmer rages, the more reluctant is the animal to manifest resentment; at last there it lies, not dead, but exhausted, its jaws open, its tongue extended, its eye dimmed; and there it would lie until the bottle-fly should come to deposit its eggs, did not its tormentor at length walk off. "Surely," says he to himself, "the beast must be dead." But no, reader, it is only "'possuming," and no sooner has its enemy withdrawn than it gradually gets on its legs, and once more makes for the woods. Once, while descending the Mississippi, in a sluggish flat-bottomed boat, expressly for the purpose of studying those objects of nature more nearly connected with my favorite pursuits, I chanced to meet with two well-grown Opossums, and brought them alive to the "ark." The poor things were placed on the roof or deck, and were immediately assailed by the crew, when, following their natural instinct, they lay as if quite dead. An experiment was suggested, and both were thrown overboard. On striking the water, and for a few moments after, neither evinced the least disposition to move; but finding their situation desperate, they began to swim towards our uncouth rudder, which was formed of a long slender tree, extending from the middle of the boat thirty feet beyond its stern. They both got upon it, were taken up, and afterwards let loose in their native woods. In the year 1829, I was in a portion of lower Louisiana, where the Opossum abounds at all seasons, and having been asked by the President and the Secretary of the Zoölogical Society of London, to forward live animals of this species to them, I offered a price a little above the common, and soon found myself plentifully supplied, twenty-five having been brought to me. I found them excessively voracious, and not less cowardly. They were put into a large box, with a great quantity of food, and conveyed to a steamer bound for New Orleans. Two days afterwards, I went to that city, to see about sending them off to Europe; but, to my surprise, I found that the old males had destroyed the younger ones, and eaten off their heads, and that only sixteen remained alive. A separate box was purchased for each, and some time after they reached my friends, the Rathbones of Liverpool, who, with their usual attention, sent them off to London, where, on my return, I saw a good number of them in the Zoölogical Gardens. This animal is fond of grapes, of which a species now bears its name. Persimmons are greedily eaten by it, and in severe weather I have observed it eating lichens. Fowls of every kind, and quadrupeds less powerful than itself, are also its habitual prey. The flesh of the Opossum resembles that of a young pig, and would perhaps be as highly prized, were it not for the prejudice generally entertained against it. Some "very particular" persons, to my knowledge, have pronounced it excellent eating. After cleaning its body, suspend it for a whole week in the frosty air, for it is not eaten in summer; then place it on a heap of hot wood embers; sprinkle it when cooked with gunpowder; and now tell me, good reader, does it not equal the famed Canvas-back Duck? Should you visit any of our markets, you may see it there in company with the best game. A MAPLE-SUGAR CAMP While advancing the best way I could through the magnificent woods that cover the undulating grounds in the vicinity of the Green River in Kentucky, I was overtaken by night. With slow and cautious steps I proceeded, feeling some doubt as to my course, when the moon came forth, as if purposely to afford me her friendly light. The air I thought was uncommonly keen, and the gentle breeze that now and then shook the tops of the tall trees more than once made me think of halting for the night, and forming a camp. At times I thought of the campaigns of my old friend, Daniel Boone, his strange adventures in these very woods, and the extraordinary walk which he performed to save his fellow creatures at Fort Massacre from the scalping knives of the irritated Indians.[59] Now and then a Raccoon or Opossum, causing the fallen leaves to rustle, made me pause for a moment; and thus I was forcing my way, thinking on many things dismal as well as pleasing, when the glimmer of a distant fire suddenly aroused me from my reveries, and inspired me with fresh animation. As I approached it, I observed forms of different kinds moving to and fro before it, like spectres; and ere long, bursts of laughter, shouts, and songs apprised me of some merry-making. I thought at first I had probably stumbled upon a camp meeting; but I soon perceived that the mirth proceeded from a band of sugar-makers. Every man, woman, and child stared as I passed them, but all were friendly, and, without more ceremony than was needful, I walked up to the fire, at which I found two or three old women, with their husbands, attending to the kettles. Their plain dresses of Kentucky homespun were far more pleasing to my sight than the ribboned turbans of city dames, or the powdered wigs and embroidered waistcoats of antique beaux. I was heartily welcomed, and supplied with a goodly pone of bread, a plate of molasses, and some sweet potatoes. Fatigued with my long ramble, I lay down under the lee of the smoke, and soon fell into a sound sleep. When day returned, the frost lay thick around; but the party arose cheerful and invigorated, and after performing their orisons, resumed their labor. The scenery was most pleasing; the ground all round looked as if it had been cleared of underwood; the maples, straight and tall, seemed as if planted in rows; between them meandered several rills, which gently murmured as they hastened toward the larger stream; and as the sun dissolved the frozen dews the few feathered songsters joined the chorus of the woodsmen's daughters. Whenever a burst of laughter suddenly echoed through the woods, an Owl or Wild Turkey would respond to it, with a signal welcome to the young men of the party. With large ladles the sugar-makers stirred the thickening juice of the maple; pails of sap were collected from the trees and brought in by the young people, while here and there some sturdy fellow was seen first hacking a cut in a tree, and afterwards boring with an auger a hole, into which he introduced a piece of hollow cane, by which the sap was to be drained off. About half a dozen men had felled a noble yellow poplar, and sawed its great trunk into many pieces, which, after being split, they were scooping into troughs to be placed under the cane-cocks, to receive the maple juice. Now, good reader, should you ever chance to travel through the maple grounds that lie near the banks of that lovely stream the Green River of Kentucky, either in January or in March, or through those on the broader Monongahela in April; nay, should you find yourself by the limpid streamlets that roll down the declivities of the Pocano Mountains to join the Lehigh, and there meet with a sugar camp, take my advice and tarry for a while. If you be on foot or on horseback, and are thirsty, you can nowhere find a more wholesome or more agreeable beverage than the juice of the maple. A man when in the Floridas may drink molasses diffused in water; in Labrador he may drink what he can get; and at New York or Philadelphia he may drink what he chooses; but in the woods a draught from the sugar maple is delicious and most refreshing. How often, when travelling, have I quenched my thirst with the limpid juice of the receiving-troughs, from which I parted with regret; nay, even my horse, I have thought, seemed to desire to linger as long as he could. But let me endeavor to describe to you the manner in which the sugar is obtained. The trees that yield it (_Acer saccharinum_) are found more or less abundantly in all parts of the United States from Louisiana to Maine, growing on elevated rich grounds. An incision is made into the trunk at a height of from two to six feet; a pipe of cane or of any other kind is thrust into the aperture, a trough is placed beneath and receives the juice, which trickles by drops, and is as limpid as the purest spring water. When all the trees of a certain space have been tapped, and the troughs filled, the people collect the juice, and pour it into large vessels. A camp has already been pitched in the midst of a grove; several iron boilers have been fixed on stone or brick supports, and the business proceeds with vigor. At times several neighboring families join, and enjoy the labor, as if it were a pastime, remaining out day and night for several weeks; for the troughs and kettles must be attended to from the moment when they are first put in requisition until the sugar is produced. The men and boys perform the most laborious part of the business, but the women and girls are not less busy. It takes ten gallons of sap to produce a pound of fine-_grained sugar_; but an inferior kind in lumps, called _cake sugar_, is obtained in greater quantity. When the season is far advanced, the juice will no longer grain by boiling, and only produces a syrup. I have seen maple sugar so good, that some months after it was manufactured it resembled candy; and well do I remember the time when it was an article of commerce throughout Kentucky, where, twenty-five or thirty years ago, it sold at from 6½ to 12½ cents per pound, according to its quality, and was daily purchased in the markets or stores. Trees that have been thus bored rarely last many years; for the cuts and perforations made in their trunks injure their health, so that after some years of _weeping_ they become sickly, exhibit monstrosities about their lower parts, gradually decay, and at length die. I have no doubt, however, that, with proper care, the same quantity of sap might be obtained with less injury to the trees; and it is now fully time that the farmers and land-owners should begin to look to the preservation of their sugar-maples. THE WHITE PERCH AND THE FAVORITE BAIT No sooner have the overflowing waters of early spring subsided within their banks, and the temperature become pleasant, than the trees of our woods are seen to unfold their buds and blossoms, and the White Perch which during the winter has lived in the ocean, rushes up our streams, to seek the well-known haunts in which it last year deposited its spawn. With unabating vigor it ascends the turbulent current of the Mississippi, of which, however, the waters are too muddy to suit its habits; and glad no doubt it is to enter one of the numberless tributaries whose limpid waters are poured into the mighty river. Of these subsidiary waters the Ohio is one in whose pure stream the White Perch seems to delight; and towards its head-springs the fish advance in numerous shoals, following the banks with easy progress. Over many a pebbly or gravelly bar does it seek its food. Here the crawling Mussel it crunches and devours; there, with the speed of an arrow, it darts upon the minnow; again, at the edge of a shelving rock, or by the side of a stone, it secures a cray-fish. No impure food will "the Growler" touch; therefore, reader, never make use of such to allure it, otherwise not only will your time be lost, but you will not enjoy the gratification of tasting this delicious fish. Should you have no experience in fishing for Perch I would recommend to you to watch the men you see on that shore, for they are excellent anglers. Smooth are the waters, clear is the sky, and gently does the stream move--perhaps its velocity does not exceed a mile in the hour. Silence reigns around you. See, each fisher has a basket or calabash, containing many a live cray; and each line, as thick as a crowquill, measures scarce a furlong. At one end two Perch-hooks are so fastened that they cannot interfere with each other. A few inches beyond the reaching point of the farthest hook, the sinker, perhaps a quarter of a pound in weight, having a hole bored through its length, is passed upon the line, and there secured by a stout knot at its lower extremity. The other end of the line is fastened ashore. The tackle, you observe, is carefully coiled on the sand at the fisher's feet. Now on each hook he fixes a cray-fish, piercing the shell beneath the tail, and forcing the keen weapon to reach the very head of the suffering creature, while all its legs are left at liberty to move. Now each man, holding his line a yard or so from the hooks, whirls it several times overhead, and sends it off to its full length directly across the stream. No sooner has it reached the gravelly bed than, gently urged by the current, it rolls over and over, until the line and the water follow the same direction. Before this, however, I see that several of the men have had a bite, and that by a short jerk they have hooked the fish. Hand over hand they haul in their lines. Poor Perch, it is useless labor for thee to flounce and splash in that manner, for no pity will be shown thee, and thou shalt be dashed on the sand, and left there to quiver in the agonies of death. The lines are within a few yards of being in. I see the fish gasping on its side. Ah! there are two on this line, both good; on most of the others there is one; but I see some of the lines have been robbed by some cunning inhabitant of the water. What beautiful fishes these Perches are! So silvery beneath, so deeply colored above! What a fine eye, too! But, friend, I cannot endure their gaspings. Pray put them on this short line, and place them in the water beside you, until you prepare to go home. In a few hours each fisher has obtained as many as he wishes. He rolls up his line, fastens five or six Perches on each side of his saddle, mounts his horse, and merrily wends his way. In this manner the White Perch is caught along the sandy banks of the Ohio, from its mouth to its source. In many parts above Louisville some fishers prefer using the trot-line, which, however, ought to be placed upon, or very little above, the bottom of the stream. When this kind of line is employed, its hooks are more frequently baited with mussels than with cray-fish, the latter being, perhaps, not so easily procured there as farther down the stream. Great numbers of Perches are also caught in seines, especially during a transient rise of the water. Few persons fish for them with the pole, as they generally prefer following the edges of the sand-bars, next to deep water. Like all others of its tribe, the White Perch is fond of depositing its spawn on gravelly or sandy beds, but rarely at a depth of less than four or five feet. These beds are round, and have an elevated margin formed of the sand removed from their centre, which is scooped out for two or three inches. The fish, although it generally remains for some days over its treasure, is by no means so careful of it as the little "Sunny," but starts off at the least appearance of danger. I have more than once taken considerable pleasure in floating over their beds, when the water was sufficiently clear to admit of my seeing both the fish and its place of deposit; but I observed that if the sun was shining, the very sight of the boat's shadow drove the Perches away. I am of opinion that most of them return to the sea about the beginning of November; but of this I am not certain. The usual length of this fish, which on the Ohio is called the White Perch, and in the state of New York the Growler, is from fifteen to twenty inches. I have, however, seen some considerably larger. The weight varies from a pound and a half to four, and even six pounds. For the first six weeks of their arrival in fresh-water streams they are in season; the flesh is then white and firm, and affords excellent eating; but during the heats of summer they become poor, and are seldom very good. Now and then, in the latter days of September, I have eaten some that tasted as well as in spring. One of the most remarkable habits of this fish is that from which it has received the name of Growler. When poised in the water, close to the bottom of the boat, it emits a rough croaking noise, somewhat resembling a groan. Whenever this sound is heard under a boat, if the least disturbance is made by knocking on the gunwale or bottom, it at once ceases; but is renewed when everything is quiet. It is seldom heard, however, unless in fine, calm weather. The White Perch bites at the hook with considerable care, and very frequently takes off the bait without being caught. Indeed, it requires a good deal of dexterity to hook it, for if this is not done the first time it touches the bait, you rarely succeed afterward; and I have seen young hands at the game, who, in the course of a morning, seldom caught more than one or two, although they lost perhaps twenty crays. But now that I have afforded you some information respecting the habits of the White Perch, allow me to say a few words on the subject of its favorite bait. The cray is certainly not a fish, although usually so styled; but as every one is acquainted with its form and nature, I shall not inflict on you any disquisition regarding it. It is a handsome crustaceous animal certainly, and its whole tribe I consider as dainties of the first order. To me "_Écrevisses_," whether of salt or fresh water, stripped of their coats and blended into a soup or a "Gombo," have always been most welcome. Boiled or roasted, too, they are excellent in my estimation, and mayhap in yours. The cray-fish, of which I here more particularly speak--for I shall not deprive them of their caudal appendage, lest, like a basha without his tail, they might seem of less consequence--are found most abundantly swimming, crawling at the bottom or on shore, or working at their muddy burrows, in all the southern parts of the Union. If I mistake not, we have two species at least, one more an inhabitant of rocky streamlets than the other, and that one by far the best, though the other is good too. Both species swim by means of rapid strokes of the tail, which propel them backwards to a considerable distance at each repetition. All that I regret concerning these animals is that they are absolutely little aquatic vultures--or, if you please, crustacea with vulturine habits--for they feed on everything impure that comes in their way, when they cannot obtain fresh aliment. However this may be, the crays somehow fall in with this sort of food, and any person may catch as many as he may wish, by fastening a piece of flesh to a line, allowing it to remain under water for a while, and drawing it up with care, when, with the aid of a hand-net, he may bring it ashore with _a few_! But although this is a good method of procuring cray-fish, it answers only for those that live in running waters. The form of these is delicate, their color a light olive, and their motions in the water are very lively. The others are larger, of a dark, greenish brown, less active in the water than on land, although they are most truly amphibious. The first conceal themselves beneath shelving rocks, stones, or water-plants; the others form a deep burrow in the damp earth, depositing the materials drawn up as a man would do in digging a well. The manner in which they dispose of the mud you may see by glancing at the plate of the White Ibis, in my third volume of illustrations, where also you will find a tolerable portrait of one of these creatures. According to the nature of the ground, the burrows of this cray-fish are more or less deep. Indeed, this also depends partly on the increasing dryness of the soil, when influenced by the heat of summer, as well as on the texture of the substratum. Thus, in some places, where the cray can reach the water after working a few inches, it rests contented during the day, but crawls out for food at night. Should it, however, be left dry, it renews its labors; and thus while one burrow may be only five or six inches deep, another may be two or three feet, and a third even more. They are easily procured when thus lodged in shallow holes; but when the burrow is deep, a thread is used, with a small piece of flesh fastened to it. The cray eagerly seizes the bait, and is gently drawn up, and thrown to a distance, when he becomes an easy prey. You have read of the method used by the White Ibis in procuring crays,[60] and I leave you to judge whether the bird or the man is the best fisher. This species is most abundant round the borders of the stagnant lakes, bayous, or ponds of the Southern Districts; and I have seen them caught even in the streets of the suburbs of New Orleans, after a heavy shower. They become a great pest by perforating embankments of all sorts, and many are the maledictions that are uttered against them, both by millers and planters, nay, even by the overseers of the levees along the banks of the Mississippi. But they are curious creatures, formed no doubt for useful purposes, and as such they are worthy of your notice. THE AMERICAN SUN PERCH Few of our smaller fresh-water fishes excel, either in beauty or in delicacy and flavor, the species which I have chosen as the subject of this article, and few afford more pleasure to young fishers. Although it occurs in all our streams, whether rapid or gentle, small or large, in the mill-dam overshadowed by tall forest trees, or in the open lake margined with reeds, you must never expect to find it in impure waters. Let the place be deep or shallow, broad or narrow, the water must be clear enough to allow the sun's rays to fall unimpaired on the rich coat of mail that covers the body of the Sunfish. Look at him as he poises himself under the lee of the protecting rock beneath our feet! See how steadily he maintains his position, and yet how many rapid motions of his fins are necessary to preserve it! Now another is by his side glowing with equal beauty, and poising itself by equally easy and graceful movements. The sun is shining, and under the lee of every stone, and sunk log, some of the little creatures are rising to the surface to enjoy the bright blaze, which enhances all their beauty. The golden hues of some parts of the body, blend with the green of the emerald, while the coral tints of the lower parts and the red of its sparkling eye, render our little favorite a perfect gem of the waters. The rushing stream boils and gurgles as it forces its way over the obstacles presented by its bed, the craggy points, large stones and logs that are strewn along the bottom. Every one of these proves a place of rest, safety, and observation to the little things, whose eyes are ever anxiously watching their favorite prey as it passes. There an unfortunate moth, swept along by the current, labors in vain to extricate itself from the treacherous element; its body, indeed, at intervals, rises a little above the surface, but its broad wings, now wet and heavy, bear it down again to the water. The Sunfish has marked it, and as it passes his retreat, he darts towards it, with twenty of his fellows, all eager to seize the prize. The swiftest swallows it in a moment, and all immediately return to their lurking-places, where they fancy themselves secure. But, alas! the Sunfish is no more without enemies than the moth, or any other living creature. So has nature determined, evidently, to promote prudence and industry, without which none can reap the full advantage of life. On the top of yon miller's dam stands boldly erect the ardent fisher. Up to the knees and regardless of the danger of his situation, he prepares his apparatus of destruction. A keen hook attached to his grass line is now hid within the body of a worm or grasshopper. With a knowing eye he marks one after another every surge of the water below. Observing the top of a rock scarcely covered, he sends his hook towards it with gentleness and certainty; the bait now floats and anon sinks; his reel slowly lengthens the line, which is suddenly tightened, and he feels that a fish is secured. Now whirls the reel again; thrice has the fish tried its utmost strength and speed, but soon, panting and exhausted, it is seen floating for a moment on the surface. Nothing now is required but to bring it to hand, which done, the angler baits anew, and sends forth the treacherous morsel. For an hour or more he continues the agreeable occupation, drawing from the stream a fish at every short interval. To the willow twig fastened to his waist a hundred "Sunnies" are already attached. Suddenly the sky is overcast, and the crafty fisher, although aware that with a different hook and bait he might soon procure a fine eel or two, carefully wades to the shore, and homeward leisurely plods his way. In this manner are the Sunfishes caught by the regular or "scientific" anglers, and a beautiful sight it is to see the ease and grace with which they allure the objects of their desire, whether in the open turbulence of the waters, or under the low boughs of the overhanging trees, where, in some deep hole, a swarm of the little creatures may be playing in fancied security. Rarely does his tackle become entangled, whilst, with incomparable dexterity, he draws one after another from the waters. Thousands of individuals, however, there are, who, less curious in their mode of fishing, often procure as many "Sunnies" without allowing them to play for a moment. Look at these boys! One stands on the shore, while the others are on fallen trees that project over the stream. Their rods, as you perceive, are merely shoots of the hazel or hickory, their lines are simply twine, and their hooks none of the finest. One has a calabash filled with worms and grubs of many sorts, kept alive in damp earth, and another is supplied with a bottle containing half a gross of live "hoppers;" the third has no bait at all, but borrows from his nearest neighbor. Well, there they are, "three merry boys," whirling their rods in the air to unroll their lines, on one of which, you observe, a cork is fastened, while on another is a bit of light wood, and on the third a grain or two of large shot, to draw it at once to a certain depth. Now their hooks are baited and all are ready. Each casts his line as he thinks best, after he has probed the depth of the stream with his rod, to enable him to place his buoy at the proper point. Bob, bob, goes the cork; down it moves; the bit of wood disappears, the leaded line tightens; in a moment up swing the "Sunnies," which, getting unhooked, are projected far among the grass, where they struggle in vain, until death ends their efforts. The hooks are now baited anew, and dropped into the water. The fish is abundant, the weather propitious and delightful, for it is now October; and so greedy have the "Sunnies" become of grasshoppers and grubs that dozens at once dash at the same bait. The lads, believe me, have now rare sport, and in an hour scarcely a fish remains in the hole. The happy children have caught, perhaps, some hundreds of delicious "panfish," to feed their parents and delight their little sisters. Surely their pleasure is fully as great as that experienced by the scientific angler. I have known instances when the waters of a dam having been let out, for some reason better known to the miller than to myself, all the Sunfish have betaken themselves to one or two deep holes, as if to avoid being carried away from their favorite abode. There I have seen them in such multitudes that one could catch as many as he pleased with a pin-hook, fastened to any sort of line, and baited with any sort of worm or insect, or even with a piece of newly caught fish. Yet, and I am not able to account for it, all of a sudden, without apparent cause, they would cease to take, and no allurement whatever could entice them or the other fishes in the pool to seize the hook. During high freshets, this species of Perch seldom bites at anything; but you may procure them with a cast-net or a seine, provided you are well acquainted with the localities. On the contrary, when the waters are clear and low, every secluded hole, every eddy under the lee of a rock, every place sheltered by a raft of timber, will afford you amusement. In some parts of the Southern States, the negroes procure these fishes late in the autumn in shallow ponds or bayous, by wading through the water with caution, and placing at every few steps a wicker apparatus, not unlike a small barrel, open at both ends. The moment the fishes find themselves confined within the lower part of this, which is pressed to the bottom of the stream, their skippings announce their capture, and the fisher secures his booty. This species, the _Labrus auritus_ of Linnæus, the _Pomotis vulgaris_ of Cuvier, seldom exceeds five or six inches in length, but is rather deep in proportion. The usual size is from four to five inches, with a depth of from two to two and a half. They are not bony, and at all seasons afford delicate eating. Having observed a considerable change in their color in different parts of the United States, and in different streams, ponds, or lakes, I was led to think that this curious effect might be produced by the difference of color in the water. Thus the Sunfish caught in the deep waters of Green River, in Kentucky, exhibit a depth of olive-brown quite different from the general tint of those caught in the colorless waters of the Ohio or Schuylkill; those of the reddish-colored waters of the bayous of the Louisiana swamps look as if covered with a coppery tarnish; and, lastly, those met with in streams that glide beneath cedars or other firs, have a pale and sallow complexion. The Sun Perch, wherever found, seems to give a decided preference to sandy, gravelly, or rocky beds of streams, avoiding those of which the bottom is muddy. At the period of depositing their eggs this preference is still more apparent. The little creature is then seen swimming rapidly over shallows, the bed of which is mostly formed of fine gravel, when after a time it is observed to poise itself and gradually sink to the bottom, where with its fin it pushes aside the sand to the extent of eight or ten inches, thus forming a circular cavity. In a few days a little ridge is thus raised around, and in the cleared area the roe is deposited. By wading carefully over the extent of the place, a person may count forty, fifty, or more of these beds, some within a few feet of each other, and some several yards apart. Instead of abandoning its spawn, as others of the family are wont to do, this little fish keeps guard over it with all the care of a sitting bird. You observe it poised over the bed, watching the objects around. Should the rotten leaf of a tree, a piece of wood, or any other substance, happen to be rolled over the border of the bed, the Sunfish carefully removes it, holding the obnoxious matter in its mouth, and dropping it over the margin. Having many times witnessed this act of prudence and cleanliness in the little sunny, and observed that at this period it will not seize on any kind of bait, I took it into my head one fair afternoon to make a few experiments for the purpose of judging how far its instinct or reason might induce it to act when disturbed or harassed. Provided with a fine fishing-line, and such insects as I knew were relished by this fish, I reached a sand-bar covered by about one foot of water, where I had previously seen many deposits. Approaching the nearest to the shore with great care, I baited my hook with a living ground-worm, the greater part of which was left at liberty to writhe as it pleased, and, throwing the line up the stream, managed it so that at last it passed over the border of the nest, when I allowed it to remain on the bottom. The fish, I perceived, had marked me, and as the worm intruded on its premises, it swam to the farther side, there poised itself for a few moments, then approached the worm, and carried it in its mouth over the side next to me, with a care and gentleness so very remarkable as to afford me much surprise. I repeated the experiment six or seven times, and always with the same result. Then changing the bait, I employed a young grasshopper, which I floated into the egg-bed. The insect was removed, as the worm had been, and two attempts to hook the fish proved unsuccessful. I now threw my line with the hook bare, and managed as before. The Sunny appeared quite alarmed. It swam to one side, then to another, in rapid succession, and seemed to entertain a fear that the removal of the suspicious object might prove extremely dangerous to it. Yet it gradually approached the hook, took it delicately up, and the next instant dropped it over the edge of the bed. Reader, if you are one who, like me, have studied Nature with a desire to improve your mental faculties, and contemplate the wonderful phenomena that present themselves to the view at every step we take in her wide domain, you would have been struck, had you witnessed the actions of this little fish, as I was, with admiration of the Being who gave such instincts to so humble an object. I gazed in amazement at the little creature, and wondered that Nature had endowed it with such feelings and powers. The irrepressible desire of acquiring knowledge prompted me to continue the experiment; but with whatever dexterity I could in those days hook a fish, all my efforts proved abortive, not with this individual only, but with many others which I subjected to the same trials. Satisfied that at this period the Sunfish was more than a match for me, I rolled up my line, and with the rod gave a rap on the water as nearly over the fish as I could. The Sunny darted off to a distance of several yards, poised itself steadily, and as soon as my rod was raised from the water, returned to its station. The effect of the blow on the water was now apparent, for I perceived that the fish was busily employed in smoothing the bed; but here ended my experiments on the Sunfish. MY STYLE OF DRAWING BIRDS[61] When, as a little lad, I first began my attempts at representing birds on paper, I was far from possessing much knowledge of their nature, and, like hundreds of others, when I had laid the effort aside, I was under the impression that it was a finished picture of a bird because it possessed some sort of a head and tail, and two sticks in lieu of legs; I never troubled myself with the thought that abutments were requisite to prevent it from falling either backward or forward, and oh! what bills and claws I did draw, to say nothing of a perfectly straight line for a back, and a tail stuck in anyhow, like an unshipped rudder. Many persons besides my father saw my miserable attempts, and so many praised them to the skies that perhaps no one was ever nearer being completely wrecked than I by these mistaken, though affectionate words. My father, however, spoke very differently to me; he constantly impressed upon me that nothing in the world possessing life and animation was easy to imitate, and that as I grew older he hoped I would become more and more alive to this. He was so kind to me, and so deeply interested in my improvement that to have listened carelessly to his serious words would have been highly ungrateful. I listened less to others, more to him, and his words became my law. The first collection of drawings I made were from European specimens, procured by my father or myself, and I still have them in my possession.[62] They were all represented _strictly ornithologically_, which means neither more nor less than in stiff, unmeaning profiles, such as are found in most works published to the present day. My next set was begun in America, and there, without my honored mentor, I betook myself to the drawing of specimens hung by a string tied to one foot, having a desire to show every portion, as the wings lay loosely spread, as well as the tail. In this manner I made some pretty fair signs for poulterers. One day, while watching the habits of a pair of Pewees at Mill Grove, I looked so intently at their graceful attitudes that a thought struck my mind like a flash of light, that nothing, after all, could ever answer my enthusiastic desires to represent nature, except to copy her in her own way, alive and moving! Then I began again. On I went, forming, literally, hundreds of outlines of my favorites, the Pewees; how good or bad I cannot tell, but I fancied I had mounted a step on the high pinnacle before me. I continued for months together, simply outlining birds as I observed them, either alighted or on the wing, but could finish none of my sketches. I procured many individuals of different species, and laying them on the table or on the ground, tried to place them in such attitudes as I had sketched. But, alas! they were _dead_, to all intents and purposes, and neither wing, leg, nor tail could I place according to my wishes. A second thought came to my assistance; by means of threads I raised or lowered a head, wing, or tail, and by fastening the threads securely, I had something like life before me; yet much was wanting. When I saw the living birds, I felt the blood rush to my temples, and almost in despair spent about a month without drawing, but in deep thought, and daily in the company of the feathered inhabitants of dear Mill Grove. I had drawn from the "manikin" whilst under David, and had obtained tolerable figures of our species through this means, so I cogitated how far a manikin of a bird would answer. I labored with wood, cork, and wires, and formed a grotesque figure, which I cannot describe in any other words than by saying that when set up it was a tolerable-looking Dodo. A friend roused my ire by laughing at it immoderately, and assuring me that if I wished to represent a tame gander it might do. I gave it a kick, broke it to atoms, walked off, and thought again. Young as I was, my impatience to obtain my desire filled my brains with many plans. I not infrequently dreamed that I had made a new discovery; and long before day, one morning, I leaped out of bed fully persuaded that I had obtained my object. I ordered a horse to be saddled, mounted, and went off at a gallop towards the little village of Norristown, distant about five miles. When I arrived there not a door was open, for it was not yet daylight. Therefore I went to the river, took a bath, and, returning to the town, entered the first opened shop, inquired for wire of different sizes, bought some, leaped on my steed, and was soon again at Mill Grove. The wife of my tenant, I really believe, thought that I was mad, as, on offering me breakfast, I told her I only wanted my gun. I was off to the creek, and shot the first Kingfisher I met. I picked the bird up, carried it home by the bill, sent for the miller, and bade him bring me a piece of board of soft wood. When he returned he found me filing sharp points to some pieces of wire, and I proceeded to show him what I meant to do. I pierced the body of the fishing bird, and fixed it on the board; another wire passed above his upper mandible held the head in a pretty fair attitude, smaller ones fixed the feet according to my notions, and even common pins came to my assistance. The last wire proved a delightful elevator to the bird's tail, and at last--there stood before me the _real_ Kingfisher. [Illustration: OLD MILL AND MILLER'S COTTAGE AT MILL GROVE ON THE PERKIOMEN CREEK. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM W. H. WETHERILL, ESQ.] Think not that my lack of breakfast was at all in my way. No, indeed! I outlined the bird, aided by compasses and my eyes, colored it, finished it, without a thought of hunger. My honest miller stood by the while, and was delighted to see me pleased. This was what I shall call my first drawing actually from nature, for even the eye of the Kingfisher was as if full of life whenever I pressed the lids aside with my finger. In those happy days of my youth I was extremely fond of reading what I still call the delightful fables of La Fontaine. I had frequently perused the one entitled "_L'hirondelle et les petits oiseaux_," and thought much of the meaning imparted in the first line, which, if I now recollect rightly, goes on to say that "_Quiconque a beaucoup vu, peut avoir beaucoup retenu_." To me this meant that to study Nature was to ramble through her domains late and early, and if I observed all as I should, that the memory of what I saw would at least be of service to me. "Early to bed, and early to rise," was another adage which I thought, and still think, of much value; 'tis a pity that instead of being merely an adage it has not become a general law; I have followed it ever since I was a child, and am ever grateful for the hint it conveyed. As I wandered, mostly bent on the study of birds, and with a wish to represent all those found in our woods, to the best of my powers, I gradually became acquainted with their forms and habits, and the use of my wires was improved by constant practice. Whenever I produced a better representation of any species the preceding one was destroyed, and after a time I laid down what I was pleased to call a constitution of my manner of drawing birds, formed upon natural principles, which I will try to put briefly before you. The gradual knowledge of the forms and habits of the birds of our country impressed me with the idea that each part of a family must possess a certain degree of affinity, distinguishable at sight in any one of them. The Pewees, which I knew by experience were positively Flycatchers, led me to the discovery that every bird truly of that genus, when standing, was usually in a passive attitude; that they sat uprightly, now and then glancing their eyes upwards or sideways, to watch the approach of their insect prey; that if in pursuit of this prey their movements through the air were, in each and all of that tribe, the same, etc., etc. Gallinaceous birds I saw were possessed of movements and positions peculiar to them. Amongst the water-birds also I found characteristic manners. I observed that the Herons walked with elegance and stateliness, that, in fact, every family had some mark by which it could be known; and, after having collected many ideas and much material of this kind, I fairly began, in greater earnest than ever, the very collection of Birds of America, which is now being published. The better I understood my subjects, the better I became able to represent them in what I hoped were natural positions. The bird once fixed with wires on squares, I studied as a lay figure before me, its nature, previously known to me as far as habits went, and its general form having been frequently observed. Now I could examine more thoroughly the bill, nostrils, eyes, legs, and claws, as well as the structure of the wings and tail; the very tongue was of importance to me, and I thought the more I understood all these particulars, the better representations I made of the originals. [Illustration: AUDUBON. FROM A PENCIL SKETCH AFTER DEATH, BY JOHN WOODHOUSE AUDUBON. January 28, 1851.] My drawings at first were made altogether in water-colors, but they wanted softness and a great deal of finish. For a long time I was much dispirited at this, particularly when vainly endeavoring to imitate birds of soft and downy plumage, such as that of most Owls, Pigeons, Hawks, and Herons. How this could be remedied required a new train of thought, or some so-called accident, and the latter came to my aid. One day, after having finished a miniature portrait of the one dearest to me in all the world, a portion of the face was injured by a drop of water, which dried where it fell; and although I labored a great deal to repair the damage, the blur still remained. Recollecting that, when a pupil of David, I had drawn heads and figures in different colored chalks, I resorted to a piece of that material of the tint required for the part, applied the pigment, rubbed the place with a cork stump, and at once produced the desired effect. My drawings of Owls and other birds of similar plumage were much improved by such applications; indeed, after a few years of patience, some of my attempts began almost to please me, and I have continued the same style ever since, and that now is for more than thirty years. Whilst travelling in Europe as well as America, many persons have evinced the desire to draw birds in my manner, and I have always felt much pleasure in showing it to any one by whom I hoped ornithological delineations or portraitures would be improved. [Illustration: BOWIE KNIFE. Presented by Henry Carleton.] FOOTNOTES: [47] This was in 1810 or 1811. [48] This was written in 1835. [49] Vincent Nolte, in "Fifty Years in Both Hemispheres," gives an account of his meeting on this occasion with Audubon, part of which is as follows: "About ten o'clock I arrived at a small inn, close by the falls of the Juniata River. The landlady showed me into a room and said I perhaps would not mind taking my meal with a strange gentleman, who was already there. This personage struck me as an odd fish. He was sitting at a table before the fire, with a Madras handkerchief wound around his head, exactly in the style of the French mariners of a seaport town.... He showed himself to be an original throughout, but admitted he was a Frenchman by birth, and a native of La Rochelle. However, he had come in his early youth to Louisiana, had grown up in the sea-service, and had gradually become a thorough American. This man, who afterwards won for himself so great a name in natural history, particularly in ornithology, was Audubon." It is needless to say that the personal history of Audubon as here given is entirely erroneous; but as the meeting was in 1811, and the book written _from memory_ in 1854, Mr. Nolte must be pardoned for his misstatements, which were doubtless unintentional. [50] This was on the journey made by Audubon and his partner, Ferdinand Rozier, from Louisville to St. Genevieve, then in Upper Louisiana. They left Louisville in the autumn of 1810, and Audubon returned in the spring of 1811. [51] This incident occurred during Audubon's return trip to St. Geneviève in the early spring of 1812. [52] _Sylvia parus_, Hemlock Warbler; Ornith. Biog. vol. ii. page 205. [53] Audubon and Mr. Irish met many times afterwards, the last being, I believe, in Philadelphia, on the eve of Audubon's departure for his Missouri River trip. [54] Then Philadelphia. [55] The name given by the wreckers and smugglers to the "Marion." [56] Plate cclxxxi., ed. 1827-1839; plate ccclxviii., ed. 1843. [57] The "Moose Hunt" was communicated to me by my young friend, Thomas Lincoln, of Dennysville in Maine. [58] The last Episode in vol. ii. of the "Ornithological Biographies." [59] "On the 16th [June, 1778], before sunrise, I departed in the most secret manner, and arrived at Boonesborough on the 20th, after a journey of 160 miles, during which I had but one meal." (Letter of Daniel Boone, who was then forty-three.) [60] This bird [the White Ibis], to procure the Cray-fish, walks with remarkable care to the mounds of mud which the latter throws up while forming its hole, and breaks up the upper part of the fabric, dropping the fragments into the deep cavity that has been made by the animal. Then the Ibis retires a single step, and patiently waits the result. The Cray-fish, incommoded by the load of earth, instantly sets to work anew, and at last reaches the entrance of its burrow; but the moment it comes in sight the Ibis seizes it with his bill. (The White Ibis, _Ibis Alba_, Plate CCXXII., Ornith. Biog., vol. iii., p. 176). [61] Audubon's drawings have been criticised for their _flatness_. Of this, Cuvier says: "It is difficult to give a true picture of a bird with the same effect of perspective as a landscape, and the lack of this is no defect in a work on Natural History. Naturalists prefer the real color of objects to those accidental tints which are the result of the varied reflections of light necessary to complete picturesque representations, but foreign and even injurious to scientific truth." [62] This was in 1838; they have since been destroyed by fire, or, at least, the greater number. INDEX Abert, Col. John, i. 70. Abingdon, ii. 218. Abyssinian, i. 199. Académie des Sciences, i. 308, 312, 317. Academy of Arts, Edinburgh, i. 177. Academy of Sciences, Philadelphia, i. 55, 56, 90, 525. Academy of Sciences, New York. _See_ New York Academy of Sciences. Acer saccharinum, ii. 508. Actitis macularia, i. 365. Adams, Bernard, ii. 97. Adams, John Quincy, i. 275. Adamson, John, i. 230, 233, 235, 262-264, 437. Ægialitis semipalmatus, i. 386. Africa, i. 217. Alabama, i. 329; ii. 445. Alauda alpestris, i. 384, 419, 420, 424. _See also_ Lark, Shore. ---- spragueii, ii. 41. Albagash River, ii. 392. Alca torda, i. 364-366, 369, 383, 384, 391, 428. Alexis, i. 529, 530, 536; ii. 4, 7, 9, 16, 20, 23, 25, 36, 38, 39, 41, 42, 71. Algiers, ii. 232. Allan, William, i. 171, 189. Alleghanies, Mountains, i. 62, 454, 459; ii. 437, 454. Alligator, i. 87, 187, 205; ii. 251, 255, 258, 267, 309, 337, 354, 355. Aln River, i. 228. Alnwick, i. 228, 263. Alnwick Castle, i. 262. America, i. 66, 69, 91, 94, 228, 232, 235, 237, 245, 253-255, 270, 276, 277, 281, 289, 295-297, 301, 310, 313, 315, 329, 330, 331, 333, 339, 342; ii. 210, 231, 527. American Fur Company, i. 72, 525; ii. 6, 47, 188. American Harbor, i. 365, 380, 383, 384. American Ornithological Union, i. 77. Amherst Island, i. 354, 355. Amiens, i. 305. Ammodramus bairdi, ii. 117. ---- [Colurniculus] lecontei, i. 510. Amsterdam, i. 301. Anas fusca, i. 418. ---- glacialis, i. 414. _See also_ Duck, Velvet. ---- obscura, i. 366. Anatomical School, Oxford, i. 292. Andes, i. 271. "Andromache, The" (brig), i. 88. Angel Inn, i. 275. Anhingas, ii. 337. Anser albifrons gambeli, i. 459. ---- canadensis, i. 370. _See also_ Goose, Wild. Antelope, i. 496, 499, 504, 505, 507-512, 525; ii. 9, 19, 36, 42-50, 56, 58, 60-65, 87, 90, 95, 102, 104-106, 108, 113, 114, 117, 118, 121, 122, 126, 128, 130-133, 138, 140, 154, 155, 166, 167, 169. Anthus pennsylvanicus, i. 384. ---- spinoletta, i. 384, 391, 399. _See also_ Lark, Brown. ---- [Neocorys] spraguei, ii. 41. Anticosti Island, i. 363. Antilocapra americana, ii. 42. Antiquarian Society, Edinburgh, i. 169, 181, 205, 211. Apple Creek, ii. 5, 158. Apple White, i. 505. Aquila chrysaëtus, i. 415. Archibald, George, i. 438. Arctomys [cynomys] ludovicianus, i. 458, 522. _See also_ Dog, Prairie. ---- monax, i. 461. Ardea herodias, i. 27, 354. ---- occidentalis, ii. 370. Arickaras, i. 532; ii. 3. Arkansas River, i. 161, 291; ii. 215, 437. Arkwright, Sir Thomas, i. 137, 138. Armadillo, ii. 36. Arrow Rock, ii. 174. Arthur's Seat, i. 213, 266. Artemisia, ii. 26, 39. Artois, i. 305. Arvicola pennsylvanica, i. 530; ii. 165. ---- riparius, i. 530. Ashley, General, ii. 3. Asia, i. 217. Assiniboin, ii. 23, 25, 26, 38, 48, 51, 77, 78, 97, 107-109, 112, 121, 124, 126, 127, 133, 140, 145, 154, 156. "Assiniboin" (steamer), ii. 7, 42. _Astoria_, Irving's, i. 456, 486. Athenæum, Liverpool, i. 270. Athenæum, London, i. 253. Athens, British, ii. 208. Atherton, Mr., i. 271. Atkinson, Mr., i. 243. Atlantic Ocean, i. 91, 354, 440. Auckland, Lord, i. 282. Audubon, Georgiana, ii. 175. ----, Admiral Jean, i. 5, 9, 42. ----, John Woodhouse, i. 6, 32, 38, 47, 51, 60, 62, 66, 67, 69, 70, 73-76, 81, 120, 230, 232, 259, 291; companion in Labrador, 345-445; 476; ii. 168, 176. ----, Mrs. Lucy, i. 18, 21, 26, 34, 35, 39-41, 48, 51, 52, 60, 63, 64, 66, 68, 70, 81, 449; ii. 158. ----, Lucy, infant, i. 37. ----, Rosa, i. 24, 35, 37. ----, Mrs. V. G. _See_ Audubon, Georgiana. ----, Victor Gifford, i. 10, 29, 30, 38, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 60, 62, 66-71, 73, 75, 76, 230, 291, 300, 302, 345, 453, 520; ii. 117, 168; 274, 277. Audubon and Bakewell, i. 29. Audubonian period, i. 64. Audubon Park, i. 71. Audubon's Bluff, ii. 107. Audubon's Isle, ii. 338. Auk, Great, ii. 131. ----, Razor-billed, i. 364. Aux Cayes, i. 7, 8. Avocet, i. 517. Ayowah River, ii. 169. Ayre River, i. 245, 246. Ayres, W. O., ii. 41. Baamchenunsgamook, Lake, ii. 392. Bachman, John, D.D., i. 40, 56, 66-68, 70, 72, 76, 426, 441, 449, 467, 476, 510, 529; ii. 29, 97, 173, 378. ----, Maria R., i. 70. Backhouse, John, i. 285. Bad River, i. 526. Badger, ii. 35, 36, 146, 147, 166, 168, 170, 173. Baird, Spencer F., ii. 12, 117; _Birds of North America_, ii. 117. Bakewell, i. 135, 138. ----, Benjamin, i. 22, 26, 28. ----, Lucy. _See_ Audubon, Mrs. Lucy. ----, Thomas W., i. 20, 29, 32, 33, 35, 46. ----, William, i. 17, 18, 24, 28, 39. ----, William Gifford, i. 174, 454, 526. Balacouda, i. 83; ii. 303, 305. Balize, i. 87; ii. 301. _Ball in Newfoundland_, i. 433. Baltimore, i. 310, 449, 453, 477; ii. 219, 221. Bamborough Castle, i. 225. Bangor, ii. 390, 392, 393. Bantams, i. 303. Baptiste. _See_ Moncrévier, Jean Baptiste. Barbier, Antoine Alexandre, i. 314. Barclay, Mr., i. 101, 102, 260, 261. Barro, ii. 218, 221. Barry's Hotel, i. 190, 194. Basil, ii. 93, 98-101. Basil River, i. 503; ii. 168. Bat, i. 482, 500, 502; ii. 162. Baton Rouge, ii. 251, 252. Bay Verte, i. 440. Bayfield, i. 376, 388, 392, 406, 407; ii. 415. Bayonne, i. 11. Bayou Lafourche, ii. 252. ---- Sara, i. 49, 52, 58, 62, 81, 130, 231, 259, 307; ii. 251, 274. Beal Family, ii. 200. Bear, i. 175, 365, 375, 408, 412, 458; ii. 136-138, 154-156, 158, 212, 222, 227, 228, 245, 261-263, 267, 269, 270, 272, 294, 319, 320, 324, 374, 382, 383, 390, 424, 439, 440, 441, 452, 457, 478-480, 482, 496. ----, Black, i. 378, 489, 490, 492; ii. 133, 173, 174, 481, 482, 484, 485. ----, Grizzly, i. 526; ii. 14, 25, 41, 51, 54, 60, 64-66, 72, 75, 86, 117, 121-123, 139, 146, 147. ---- story, ii. 136. ---- trap, i. 371. Beaumont, Mr., ii. 172. Beaver, i. 300, 378, 484, 501, 520, 531; ii. 4, 54, 70, 76, 93, 95, 99, 100, 102, 122, 136, 158, 160, 161, 176. ---- Creek, ii. 159. Bedford, ii. 221. "Bee" (steamer), ii. 50. ---- tree, ii. 481. Beech woods, i. 52, 53, 231. Beetle, Diamond, i. 129. _Beggar's Opera_, i. 184, 185. _Behind the Veil_, i. 29. Belford, i. 225. Belgrade, ii. 276. Bell, John G., i. 73; companion on Missouri River trip, i. 453-532; ii. 4-176, 352 Belle Isle, ii. 416. ---- Vue, i. 477, 517; ii. 172, 416. _Belles Fleurs_, Redouté's, i. 326. Bengal, i. 307. Bennett, Edward T., i. 294. Bentley, Robert, i. 139-141, 246-248, 250-254, 259, 264, 274, 279-282, 341. Berlin, i. 127. Berry, Duchesse de, i. 337. Berthoud, Nicholas Augustus, i. 34, 47, 54, 69, 88, 441, 454; ii. 29, 175, 200, 215, 221, 247, 250, 453. ---- family, i. 29. Bertrand, Dr., i. 324. Berwick, i. 225. Best, Robert, i. 36, 37, 48. Bewick, Robert, i. 231, 232. ----, Thomas, i. 108, 229-233, 237, 238, 260, 263, 303; ii. 198. Big Bend Creek, i. 513. ---- Sioux River, i. 489, 501; ii. 169, 170. Bighorns, ii. 24, 49, 56, 65, 68, 71, 72, 74, 75, 78, 88, 101, 111, 114, 121-123, 128, 131, 132, 139, 140, 142, 147-152, 154. Bijou's Hill, ii. 167. Billings, Capt., i. 365, 371, 372, 413. _Biography of Birds_, ii. 97. Bird of Washington, i. 266, 271. ---- Rocks, i. 359. _Birds of America_, i. 27, 28, 40, 59, 69, 70, 75, 91, 153, 160, 237, 277, 342, 345, 402, 427, 457, 459, 470; ii. 117, 198, 212, 526. _Birds of Colorado Valley_, ii. 117. _Birds of North America_, Baird's, ii. 117. _Birds of the North West_, Coues, i. 402. Birmingham, i. 119. Bismarck, ii. 5, 9. Bittern, American, i. 434. Black Bull Hotel, i. 144. ---- Cock, i. 144, 206, 209, 210, 299. ---- Harris, ii. 35, 173. ---- Heath, i. 304. ---- Hills, ii. 20, 136, 152. ---- Mts. ii. 5, 20. ---- Snake Hills, i. 471, 472, 475; ii. 173. ---- Warrior, i. 57. Blackbird, i. 106, 134, 226, 236, 278, 297, 338, 339, 340, 447, 477; Brewer's, i. 474. ---- (chief), i. 485. ---- Hill, i. 485. Blackfoot Fort, ii. 42, 50. Blackfoot Indians, i. 501; ii. 33, 47, 48, 53, 77, 78, 87, 89, 108, 112, 137, 144, 154, 178, 188, 189. ---- River, ii. 114. Black-poll Warbler, i. 178. Blackwall, i. 385. "Blackwood's Magazine," i. 160, 161, 172, 180, 200, 240, 266. Blair, Mr., i. 217. Blanc Sablons, i. 416. Blanchard, Mr., i. 437. Blind asylum, Liverpool, i. 106, 272. Blood Indians, ii. 180, 188. "Blow me down," Cape, i. 444. Blue Boar, i. 285. ---- Jay, i. 353. Blue-bird, i. 476, 477, 496; ii. 7, 55, 163. ----, Arctic, ii. 50, 55, 67, 79. Boar, Wild, ii. 482. Bobolink, ii. 86. Bodley, A. P., ii. 254. Bohn, Henry George, i. 127, 128, 135. Bolton, i. 142. ----, Fox, Livingston, and Co., i. 511. Bombarde, Alexis. _See_ Alexis. Bonaparte, Charles Lucien, i. 55, 56, 81, 118, 177, 185, 186, 194, 200, 244, 256, 257, 270, 292, 298, 301, 314, 324, 366, 368, 385, 403, 412, 416, 422. ----, Charles Lucien, _Ornithology_, i. 55. ----, Joseph, i. 169, 185. ----, Napoleon, i. 11, 15, 24, 40, 185, 186, 217, 238, 273, 317, 322, 324; ii. 35, 203. Bonasa umbellus, i. 401. Bonaventure, ii. 42, 51, 58-61, 64. Bonhomme Island, ii. 168. Bonita, ii. 302. Bonne Espérance, i. 413, 425. Bonnet Carré, ii. 253. Bonneville, Capt., ii. 4. Boobies, ii. 347. Booby, Island, ii. 347. Boone, Daniel, i. 459; ii. 241, 245, 455, 460, 461, 506. Boone family, ii. 207. Boone's Lick, i. 459. ----Salt works, i. 459. Boonesborough, ii. 506. Booneville, i. 559; ii. 174. Booth family, ii. 200. Boston, i. 67, 68, 73, 88, 345, 351, 411, 422, 441, 442, 445; ii. 382, 393, 401. Botanical gardens, i. 103. Boucherville, ii. 78, 86, 131-133, 138. Boulcar, Lady, i. 196, 197. Boulogne, i. 339. Bourgeat, Alexandre, i. 81, 162, 211. Bowie, Mr., i. 528; ii. 5. Bowen, Lieut., i. 391, 392, 407. ----, J. T., i. 453. Brackenridge, i. 486. Bradbury, i. 486. Brae House, i. 218. Bragdon, Samuel L., i. 94. Branard, Mr., i. 51. Brand family, i. 52. Brandywine, i. 280. Birmingham, i. 251. Branta canadensis, i. 457. ---- hutchinsi, ii. 174. Bras d'Or, i. 410-413, 421, 428; ii. 362, 416, 418. _Breaking of the ice_, i. 31. Brent, i. 357, 359, 378. Brewer, Thomas M., i. 73, 526; ii. 48. Brewster, Sir David, i. 164, 179-183, 189, 190, 209. Bridges, David, i. 157-159, 161, 169, 172, 174, 178, 183, 188, 202, 204. _British Birds_, MacGillivray's, i. 65. British Museum, i. 258, 284, 301, 342. Brookes, Joshua, i. 117, 118, 123, 124, 280-282. Brouillerie, Baron de, i. 315, 321, 334-336, 338. Brown, Andrew, i. 184. ----, George A., i. 287. ----, Dr. John, i. 172. Bruce, Thomas, i. 169. Brussels, i. 111, 127, 301. Bryon, Isle de, i. 362. Buckland, William, i. 293. Buffalo, i. 481, 490, 491, 493, 494, 496, 497, 500, 502-513, 517, 519, 522-524, 526-530, 532; ii. 4-16, 21-28, 31, 33-37, 43, 49, 52, 55-62, 66, 69, 71, 73, 75, 78, 85-94, 102, 104, 105, 107-114, 118-124, 127-132, 139-146, 150, 151, 154-161, 164-167, 169, 174, 175, 181, 206, 227, 245, 294, 456, 457. ---- berries, ii. 160. ---- Bluffs, ii. 154. ---- Lick, ii. 278. Buford County, ii. 27. Bulow, John, ii. 333, 352. Bunting, i. 357, 387; ii. 408. ----, Arctic Towhee, ii. 7, 8. ----, Baird's, ii. 116. ----, Bay-winged, ii. 21. ----, Black-breasted Lark, ii. 105, 107. ----, Clay-colored, i. 477, 518. ----, Cow, i. 216, 546. ----, Henslow's, i. 477, 496; ii. 4. ----, Indigo, i. 245. ----, Lark, i. 486. ----, Rice, ii. 306. ----, Shattuck's, i. 518. _See also_ Emberiza shattuckii. ----, Snow, i. 352. ----, Towhee, i. 372, 471. ----, White-crowned, i. 387, 391, 398, 399, 405. Burgwin, Capt. J. H. K., i. 478-480; ii. 172. Burnt Hills, ii. 167. Burton, i. 142. ----, Dr. and Mrs. Edward, i. 293. Bustard, Great, ii. 466. Butte Quarré, ii. 157. Buxton, i. 139. Buzzard, i. 509; ii. 106, 107. ----, Turkey, i. 176, 180, 183, 187, 458, 471, 483; ii. 7, 75, 168. _See also_ Cathartes aura. Cabané Bluff, ii. 171. Cabris, ii. 96, 113. ---- Creek, i. 525. Cainard, M., i. 320. Calais, i. 304, 305, 340. Calcarius ornatus, ii. 51. "Caledonia" (steamer), i. 351. California, i. 75. Calvert, Mr., i. 260. Calton, Thomas, i. 287. Cam River, i. 286. Cambridge, Eng., i. 216, 285, 286, 290, 292, 295. Camden, N.J., i. 61; ii. 310. Camel, ii. 400. Cameron, i. 159, 173. Campbell, Sir Archibald, ii. 387. ----, Ellen, i. 201. ---- (steamer), i. 70. Camptolæmus labradorius, i. 418. Canachites canadensis, i. 352. Canada, i. 71, 356, 492; ii. 416. Canadians, French, i. 375, 401, 408. Canfield, C. A., ii. 42. Canis latrans, i. 483. ---- lupus, i. 483. ---- nubilus, i. 483. Cannon Ball River, ii. 5, 158, 159. Canoe Creek, ii. 238. Canseau Cape, i. 351-353. ----, Strait of, i. 435. Canso. _See_ Canseau. Canterbury, i. 304. Cape Breton Island, i. 353, 354. ---- Florida Songster, i. 88. Caprimulgus, ii. 163. Cariacus macrotis, i. 484. Caribou, i. 378, 389, 403, 407-409, 432, 433; ii. 394, 399, 400, 412, 418. ---- flies, i. 411; ii. 404. Carleton, Lieut. James Henry, ii. 172, 173. Carlisle, Eng., i. 141-144. ----, Penn., ii. 117. Carolinas, ii. 445. Carré, Charles, i. 52; ii. 249, 251, 253. Carrier, Gen. Jean B., i. 10. Carrière, Michel, ii. 136, 137. Carroll Co., Mo., i. 462. Cash Creek, i. 31; ii. 274. Cat-bird, i. 219, 245, 470; ii. 7, 253. Catchfly, i. 399. Catfish, i. 282; ii. 213. Cathartes aura, i. 458. _See also_ Buzzard, Turkey. Catlin, George, i. 497, 498; ii. 10, 15, 24, 27, 49, 96, 108, 180. "Cavalier," ii. 305. Cavendish Square, i. 69. Cedar birds, i. 475. ---- Island, i. 505, 508; ii. 166, 167. Centrocircus urophasianus, ii. 126. Ceritronyx bairdii, ii. 117. Cerré, M., i. 493, 494, 498. Cervus macrotis, i. 484. ---- virginianus, ii. 473. Chaffinch, i. 226. Chamois, ii. 56, 153. Champ de Mars, i. 326. Chapel En-La-Frith, i. 136. Charadrius, i. 423. ---- semipalmatus, i. 386, 398, 412. Charbonneau River, ii. 93, 98, 101. Charbonnière River, ii. 175. Chardon, Mr., i. 524, 526, 528, 529; ii. 11-16, 22, 24, 38, 40-44, 47, 50, 71. Charing Cross, i. 303. Chariton River, i. 462; ii. 174. "Charity, Mr.," i. 510, 511. Charles I., i. 235, 236. Charleston, S.C., i. 66-72; ii. 97, 347. Charrette, F. A. de, i. 273. Charwell River, i. 292. Chastelleux, Marquis de, i. 270. Chat, Yellow-breasted, i. 470, 504; ii. 7. Chenopòduum album, ii. 14. Chester, Eng., i. 249. Chevalier, M., i. 410, 413. Cheyenne River, i. 529; ii. 133, 136. Chicha River, i. 527. Chickadee, i. 400. Chickasaw, ii. 260. Children, John George, i. 252, 254, 257, 258, 264, 276, 277, 294, 301, 342. Chillicothe, ii. 218. Chippeway Indian, ii. 126, 127. Chittenden, Capt. Hiram M., i. 479, 492. Choctaw Indians, ii. 260. Chorley, Henry, i. 269. ----, John, i. 248, 249, 264, 269, 273, 276. Chouans, i. 10. Chouteau, Auguste, ii. 33. ----, Pierre, i. 452, 454, 463, 468, 499; ii. 33, 35. ----, Madam Pierre, i. 468; ii. 173. Chouteau's River, i. 503. Chuckmill's Widow, i. 132. Cincinnati, i. 36, 37, 48-50, 454; ii. 175, 250, 454. Clancarty, Lord, i. 171, 183. Clapham, i. 254. Clarence, Duchess of, i. 259. Claridge, Mr., ii. 436. Clark, David, i. 46. ----, Jonathan, i. 31. ----, Lady Mary, i. 187. ----, William, i. 31. Clay, Henry, i. 126, 157, 272. Clayton, John, i. 263. Clementi, Muzio, i. 115. Clifton, Lord, i. 257. Clinton, De Witt, i. 120, 167, 192. Clyde River, i. 266. Cocks of the plain, ii. 126. Cod, i. 357; ii. 419, 422-425. Colaptes aurato-mexicanus, ii. 41. ---- ayresii, ii. 53. ---- cafer, ii. 53. _See also_ Woodpecker, Red-shafted. ---- hybridus, ii. 41. Cold Water River, ii. 260, 261. Colinus virginianus, i. 457. Collins, John, ii. 53, 57, 68, 70, 72, 76, 82, 86, 102, 124. Colmesnil, Louis, i. 19. "Columbia" (ship), i. 60, 342; ii. 56. ---- College, i. 77. ---- Fur Co., i. 499. ---- River, i. 302. Colymbus glacialis, i. 389, 392. ---- septentrionalis, i. 390. _See also_ Diver, Red-throated. Combe, Andrew, i. 191, 207. ----, George, i. 157, 160, 164, 166, 168, 188, 191, 204, 225. Condolleot, M., i. 309, 316. Connecticut, ii. 262. Constant, M., i. 327. Contopus richardsonii, i. 405, 406. ---- virens, i. 406. Coolidge, Capt., i. 350; ii. 432. ----, Joseph, i. 67, 68; companion in Labrador, 345-420, 428, 436, 439. Cooper, J. F., ii. 207. ---- Co., Mo., i. 459. Coot, i. 472, 532; ii. 7, 337. ----, White-winged, i. 418. Cormorant, i. 157, 370, 384-386, 393-395, 459; ii. 337, 353, 360, 361, 404, 433. ----, Double-crested, i. 398, 400. ----, Florida, i. 459. _Corn-shucking_, ii. 463. Cornwall, Eng., i. 142. Corpus Christi, i. 288. Couëron, i. 11. Coues, Dr. Elliott, i. 29, 64, 402. Cougar, i. 74; ii. 260-269, 374, 441, 478. Council Bluffs, i. 475, 477, 478, 482. Covent Garden Theatre, i. 253, 291, 315. Cowbirds, i. 477, 481. Craighlockhart, i. 164. Crane, Sand-hill, i. 475; ii. 9, 95, 171, 174. ----, Whooping, i. 87. Cree Indians, ii. 109, 123, 132. Creeper, Black-and-White, i. 471. ----, Chestnut-sided, i. 471. ----, Yellow-back, i. 471. Crisp, Major, i. 516. Croghan, Major, i. 30. ---- family, ii. 200, 207. Cross, Mr., i. 279-281. Crossbills, i. 396, 400, 416, 433. ----, White-winged, i. 385, 412, 415, 431, 434. Crow, i. 379, 385, 434, 471, 475, 476; ii. 36, 212, 323, 353, 503. ---- Blackbird, i. 477, 480, 481. ----, Carrion, i. 181, 183, 190, 352; ii. 249, 252. ----, Fish, ii. 170, 365. ---- Fort, ii. 50, 65, 178. ---- Indians, ii. 10, 33, 48, 54, 178, 180. "Crow-feather" (boat), i. 499. Cruden, Alexander, i. 212. Cruikshank, George, ii. 236. Cuba, i. 88; ii. 306, 309. Cuckoo, i. 180, 245. Cuckoo, Black-billed, ii. 8. Culbertson, Alexander, 1843, i. 528; ii. 29, 177; 182, 188. ----, Mrs. Alexander, ii. 81, 85, 88, 89, 111, 112, 121, 154, 157, 163. Cumberland, i. 454. ---- Isle, ii. 277. ---- River, ii. 277. Cummings, Capt. Samuel, i. 48, 49; ii. 175. Curlew, i. 96, 176, 419, 423, 427, 428; ii. 63, 310, 350, 426. ----, Esquimaux, i. 420, 422. _See also_ Numenius borealis. ----, Labrador, i. 425. ----, Long-billed, i. 489. ----, Rose-colored, ii. 364. Curlew-berry, i. 423. Currie, W. W., i. 269, 270. Cushat, i. 338. Cutting, Mr., i. 520, 521, 524; ii. 37, 168. Cuvier, Baron, i. 235, 294, 306-308, 312, 315-326, 331, 333, 334, 338, 339, 519, 522. ----, Baroness, i. 39, 319, 325. ----, Mlle., i. 309, 316-319, 324. Cymochorea leucorrhoa, i. 396. Da Costa, i. 19, 21-24, 26, 27, 39. Dakota River, i. 501. Dalmahoy Castle, i. 186, 192, 195. Damelaphus hemionus, i. 484. Darlington, i. 238. Dauphine St., New Orleans, i. 49. David, Jacques Louis, i. 24, 36, 39, 313, 324; ii. 524, 527. Davy, Messrs., i. 246. Day, Capt. Robert, ii. 346, 371. Dearman, Mr., i. 129. Decatur, i. 485. Deer, i. 182, 375, 378, 389, 407, 461, 473, 481, 482, 490, 493-496, 501, 502, 504, 507, 512, 516, 517, 527; ii. 8, 20, 23, 26, 35-42, 49-57, 65, 74, 75, 80, 92, 117, 126, 139, 154, 155, 158, 165-168, 174, 175, 205, 206, 222, 245, 261, 262, 266, 269, 270, 273, 300, 319, 324, 347, 350, 382, 383, 390, 396, 399, 400, 439, 441, 452, 457, 461, 468-472, 481, 482. ----, Black-tailed, i. 516; ii. 57, 72, 74, 147, 165, 484. ----, Long White-tailed, ii. 65, 74, 75, 127, 176. ----, Mule, i. 484; ii. 167. ----, Virginia, i. 485; ii. 473. Deer-hunting, ii. 466, 473. De Tabelay, Lord, i. 113. Delano, Captain, i. 342. "Delos" (ship), i. 81, 82, 85, 88; ii. 301, 306. Denig, Edwin F., ii. 56, 72, 73, 77, 81, 85, 89, 133, 136, 137, 178, 180-183. Dennysville, Me., i. 67, 345, 389, 401; ii. 384, 400. Derby, i. 111, 129. ----, Earl of, i. 103, 105, 108-110, 116, 282, 296. Derbyshire, i. 122, 139. Derwent River, i. 137, 138. D'Essling, Prince, i. 312, 313. Detaillé, François, ii. 147. Devonshire, Duke of, i. 137. Dexter's Lake, ii. 338. Dickie, Mrs., i. 63, 145, 156, 167, 174, 188, 201. Didelphis virginiana, ii. 501. D'Issy, i. 336. Diver, ii. 403. ----, Black-necked, i. 387. ----, Great Northern, i. 389. ----, Red-necked, i. 371, 387, 389, 398, 400, 432. ----, Red-throated, i. 390, 391, 393. Dockray, Mr., i. 135, 136, 138. Dodo, ii. 524. _Dog and Pheasants_, i. 341. Dog, Esquimaux, i. 408, 411; ii. 412. ----, Prairie, i. 531. _See also_ Arctomys ludovicianus. Dolphin, i. 82-85, 88, 90, 91, 94; ii. 302-307. Don, David, i. 277. Donkin, John, i. 236, 237, 262. Dood, Major, i. 191. D'Or, Cape, i. 444. D'Orbigny, Charles, i. 39, 333. Dorion. _See_ Durion. Douglass, Lady Isabella, i. 116, 171. Dove, i. 88, 148, 247, 297, 532; ii. 44, 64, 162, 163, 166, 253, 360. Dover, i. 303, 304. ---- Castle, i. 304. Drake, Dr., i. 36, 48. Dripps, Major Andrew, i. 499. Drury Lane Theatre, i. 315. Dublin, i. 216. Duck, i. 86, 89, 359, 367, 394, 396, 419, 452, 454, 462, 476, 487, 494, 497, 502, 504; ii. 21, 39, 86, 95, 154, 155, 159, 167, 170, 171, 174, 175, 252, 347, 353, 410, 434, 447. ----, Black, ii. 160. ----, Canvas-back, i. 452; ii. 505. ----, Dusky, i. 366. ----, Eider, i. 366, 371-373, 376, 379, 387, 393, 394, 406; ii. 431. ----, Gadwall, i. 531; ii. 7, 107, 155. ----, Golden-eyed, i. 431. ----, Harlequin, i. 414. ----, King, i. 418. ----, Labrador, i. 418. ----, Long-tailed, i. 414. ----, Mallard, i. 476, 485; ii. 7, 112, 155, 171. ----, Pied, i. 418. ----, Scoter, i. 366, 370, 371, 390. ----, Spoon-billed, ii. 4. ----, Summer, ii. 496. ----, Surf, i. 366. ----, Velvet, i. 359, 364, 414, 418. ----, Wild, i. 277; ii. 28, 350. ----, Wood, i. 472, 485; ii. 278. Duddingston, i. 213. Dumesnil, C., i. 315. Dunbar, i. 225. Duncan, Andrew, i. 146, 148, 151. Dupuy Gaudeau, Gabriel, i. 14, 24. Durack, John, i. 528. Durham, Eng., i. 328. Durion, i. 525. Eagle, i. 113, 169, 182, 271, 352, 388, 415, 436, 458; ii. 156, 181, 353, 391, 441. ----, Andean, i. 271. ----, Bald, i. 415, 458. ----, Golden, ii. 107, 157, 431. ----, White-headed, i. 281, 282, 295, 297, 471, 476; ii. 8, 10, 131, 166, 176, 203, 215, 247. _Eagle and Lamb_, i. 299, 341. Eastham, i. 250. Eastport, Me., i. 345, 349, 353, 355, 365, 366, 435, 444; ii. 401, 419, 432, 437. Ebbett's Island, ii. 165. École Militaire, i. 326. Edinburgh, i. 63, 69, 71, 111, 143-150, 152, 155, 160, 179-181, 195, 196, 200, 201, 210, 214, 216, 219, 221, 223, 225, 230-233, 243, 249, 253-256, 260, 264-266, 271, 287, 295. Edinburgh Academy of Arts. _See_ Academy of Arts, Edinburgh. Edinburgh Antiquarian Society. _See_ Antiquarian Society, Edinburgh. Edinburgh Review, i. 200, 201. Edward, Prince, i. 442. Edwardsville, i. 451, 454. Eel, i. 389. Eel River, ii. 389, 393. Egan, Pilot, ii. 312, 379. Eggers, i. 405, 410. Egleston, Thomas, i. 77. Egret, Peale's, ii. 361. Elgin, Earl of, i. 169, 170, 171. Elk, i. 481, 484, 485, 490, 492, 494, 504, 507, 522, 527, 532; ii. 8, 12, 19-27, 30, 36, 65, 123, 131, 132, 147, 154-157, 160-163, 206, 319. Elk-horns, i. 524, 526, 527, 529; ii. 170, 173. Elk Point, ii. 169. Elliot, Daniel G., i. 64, 77. Emanuel Creek, i. 503. Emberiza bairdii ii. 116. ---- Le Conteii, i. 510. ---- orizivora, ii. 86. ---- pallida, i. 496, 498, 517, 518; ii. 21. ---- shattuckii, i. 68, 517, 518. Emery, Capt., i. 67, 345. "Emily Christian" (steamboat), i. 457. Empetrum nigrum, i. 423. England, i. 58-60, 63, 67, 69, 70, 81, 91, 97, 113, 114, 128, 216, 228, 232, 240, 241, 245, 250, 251, 260, 261, 266, 270, 300, 304, 305, 309, 313, 317, 402, 430, 437; ii. 109, 301. Entrée Bay, i. 354. Epsom, i. 254. Ereunetes pusillus, i. 425. Esquimaux, ii. 402. Europe, i. 94, 338; ii. 207, 527. Evans, Roland, i. 41, 42. Ewart, Miss, i. 148. Exeter Exchange, i. 280. _Expedition of Lewis and Clark_, i. 457, 478, 482, 484, 488, 494; ii. 3, 10, 27, 47, 58. Falco, i. 302. ---- auduboni, i. 385. ---- columbarius, i. 385, 399, 401. _See also_ Hawk, Pigeon. ---- gyrfalco obsoletus, i. 427. ---- harlani, i. 57. ---- islandicus, i. 427. ---- labradoria, i. 427. ---- leucocephalus, i. 381. ---- temerarius, i. 385. Falcon, i. 297, 302. ----, Labrador, i. 427. ----, Peregrine, i. 390, 391, 398, 399, 410, 428, 458, 471; ii. 156, 176, 306. False River, ii. 260. "Fancy, The" (boat), ii. 435, 436. Fatland Ford, i. 17, 19, 20, 26, 28, 32, 42, 43, 226. _Fauna Americana_, i. 460; ii. 473. Featherstonehaugh, Mr., i. 257. Felton, i. 228. Fénelon, François, Abbé, ii. 249. Ferguson, Dr., ii. 200. Fetter Lane, i. 285. Fiesque, i. 308. _Fifty Years in Both Hemispheres_, Nolte's, ii. 220. Finch, i. 286, 357, 382, 420, 485; ii. 256, 306. ----, Arctic Ground, ii. 31. ----, Ground, i. 496; ii. 16. ----, Harris, i. 472, 475, 476, 481, 495, 496, 499, 500. ----, Lark, i. 509. ----, Lazuli, ii. 4, 31, 35, 37, 51, 56, 67, 79. ----, Lincoln's, i. 410, 470, 486, 498. _See also_ Fringilla lincolnii. ----, Mountain, i. 338. ----, Red-collared, ii. 51. ----, Savannah, i. 352, 353, 384, 385, 392, 414, 477. ----, White-crowned, i. 470, 499. ----, White-throated, i. 499. Fish River, ii. 5. Fisher, Miers, i. 16, 17. Fitzwilliam, Lord, i. 289. Flamingo, ii. 360, 366. Flat Lake, i. 162. Flicker, ii. 41. ----, Red-shafted, ii. 42. Flint, Mr., ii. 281, 282, 285, 286. Florida, i. 66, 88, 92, 370, 397, 425; ii. 176, 253, 305, 306, 309, 332, 333, 345, 358, 364, 370, 371, 378, 380, 418, 508. ----, Cape, ii. 374. ----, East, i. 423; ii. 321, 327, 329-332, 352. ----, Keys, i. 90; ii. 313, 349, 358, 365. ----, South, ii. 365. Florisson, i. 451. Floyd, Serg. Charles, i. 488. ---- Memorial Association, i. 488. Floyd's Bluff, i. 489. ---- Creek, i. 488. ---- Grave, ii. 170. Flycatcher, i. 90, 434; ii. 526. ----, Arkansas, i. 506, 510, 529; ii. 56, 70, 86, 156. ----, Bluegray, i. 471, 476. ----, Bonaparte's, i. 244. ----, Green blackcapped, i. 405, 421. ----, Hooded, i. 471. ----, Pewee, ii. 51, 248. ----, Red-eyed, i. 471. ----, Say's, i. 504, 510, 517; ii. 16, 51, 52, 67, 166. ----, Small-crested, ii. 7. ----, White-crested, i. 471. Flying fish, ii. 302-305. Fontenelle, Lucien, i. 499. Foote, Maria, i. 107, 203, 205. Fort Alexander, ii. 69, 113. ---- Berthold, i. 526. ---- Calhoun, i. 482. ---- Clark, ii. 10, 42, 57, 132, 146, 147. ---- Croghan, i. 478; ii. 171, 172. ---- George, i. 519-521; ii. 165, 169. ---- Leavenworth, i. 468, 500; ii. 172, 173. ---- Massacre, ii. 276, 506. ---- McKenzie, ii. 127, 133, 178, 188, 189, 194, 195. ---- Mortimer, ii. 31, 53-55, 65, 68, 70, 72, 78, 86-88, 101, 111, 112, 123-128, 131, 147, 148. ---- Pierre, i. 499, 500, 502, 510, 513, 519, 520, 524, 528; ii. 10, 11, 14, 96, 97, 147, 163, 167. ---- Recovery, i. 512. ---- Rice, ii. 5. ---- Union, ii. 19, 20, 23, 27, 29, 50, 54, 57, 93, 101, 106, 132, 137, 147, 154, 161, 165, 178, 180, 187, 191. ---- Vermilion, i. 510; ii. 168. ---- Yates, ii. 6. Four Bears (chief), ii. 157. Fox, i. 375, 378, 408; ii. 102, 105, 166, 173, 415, 497, 503. ----, Black, i. 356, 357, 408. ----, Cross, i. 411; ii. 12. ----, Gray, ii. 147. ----, Kit. _See_ Fox, Swift. ----, Prairie, ii. 12. ----, Red, i. 356, 357; ii. 76, 147. ----, Silver, i. 408. ----, Swift, ii. 11, 37, 58, 116, 130, 131, 521. ----, Dr. Charles, i. 155, 193. ---- Indians, i. 475. ---- River, ii. 102, 106. Fox-hunter, ii. 495. France, i. 23, 24, 27, 39, 40, 66, 111, 130, 239, 283, 305, 307, 309, 310, 315, 317, 325, 333; ii. 412, 415. Franconi, i. 319. Frankfort, Kentucky, ii. 274, 460. Frankland, Captain, ii. 432, 433. Frascati, i. 320. Fraser, James B., i. 217. Fratercula arctica, i. 383. Frederick, ii. 218. Fredericton, ii. 387, 389. French Creek, ii. 291. ---- Revolution, i. 308. Frigate-bird, ii. 309. Fringilla, i. 391. ---- acanthis linaria, i. 396. ---- harrisii, i. 470, 472, 499; ii. 172, 415. ---- linaria, i. 414. ---- lincolnii, i. 68, 382, 385, 388, 470. _See also_ Finch, Lincoln's. ---- leucophyrs, i. 398, 399. ---- nivalis, i. 352. ---- querula, i. 472. ---- savanna, i. 399. Frith of Forth, i. 145, 149, 223, 266. Fuligula americana, i. 366. _See also_ Duck, Scoter. ---- glaciales, i. 418. ---- histrionica, i. 414, 418. Fulmar, i. 352. Fundy, Bay of, i. 350, 438, 440, 433; ii. 431, 434-437. Fur and Fish Company, i. 373, 375, 380. Fur Company, American. _See_ American Fur Company. Gallatin, Albert, Mr. and Mrs., i. 253. Gallinule, ii. 337, 365. Galt, W. C., M.D., ii. 200. Galveston, i. 70. Gannet, i. 88, 157, 351, 352, 355, 358-363, 372, 377, 412, 413; ii. 419. ----, Brown, ii. 372. ---- Rocks, i. 359. Gar-fish, ii. 480. Garnier, Mr., ii. 247-254. Gasconade River, i. 457; ii. 175. Gaspé, Cape, i. 407. Gates, Major, ii. 358. Gauché (chief), ii. 133. Gavia imber, i. 379. ---- lumme, i. 379. Geomys, bursarius, i. 455, 463. George, Cape, i. 353. ---- Street, Edinburgh, i. 145, 155. Georgia, i. 32; ii. 445. Gérard, François, i. 324, 325, 330, 331. German Ocean, i. 149, 264. Gilpin's Mills, i. 280. Glasgow, Missouri, ii. 174. Glasgow, Scotland, i. 179, 195, 216, 266, 267, 324, 460. ---- Hotel, i. 451. "Gleaner, The" (ship), i. 86-88. Goat, ii. 154. Goat-pen Creek, ii. 24. Goddard, Rev. William, i. 102, 106, 341. Godwit, ii. 176, 364, 365. ----, Tell-tale, i. 365, 371, 431, 433, 475. Goldfinch, i. 475. Goose, i. 359, 366, 370-373, 378, 411, 414, 452, 455, 457, 472, 475, 477, 484, 485, 487, 489, 494, 502, 506, 531, 532; ii. 7, 8, 21, 24, 28, 125, 159, 168, 170-175, 447. ----, Canada, i. 418, 434. ----, Hutchins', ii. 174. ----, Snow, i. 418. ----, White-fronted, i. 459. ----, Wild, i. 282, 353. Gopher, i. 465, 470, 475; ii. 335. ----, Pocket, i. 455. ---- Hills, i. 471, 481. Gordon, Alexander, i. 98, 106, 249. Goshawk, i. 473. Grackle. _See_ Grakle. Graham, Robert, i. 162, 163. Grakle, i. 297. ----, Boat-tailed, ii. 252. ----, Rusty, ii. 49. Grand Banks, i. 92. ---- Falls, ii. 392. ---- Menan, i. 346, 350; ii. 431. ---- Prix, i. 332. ---- River, i. 462, 531; ii. 174. "Grand Town," i. 506. Grande Isle, ii. 190. Grant, Mrs. Anne, i. 219. Grasswrack, ii. 377. Gray, John E., i. 301. Great Bend, i. 468; ii. 165, 166. ---- Cedar Island, i. 512. ---- Egg Harbor, i. 61. _Great Egg Harbor_, ii. 310. Great Falls, ii. 189, 190. ---- Pine Swamp, i. 61, 453. _Great Pine Swamp_, ii. 314. Great Russell Street, London, i. 252, 275. Grebe, i. 472, 532. Green Bank, i. 107, 108, 111-116, 119, 120, 127-134, 160, 224-227, 238, 248, 269, 274, 293. ---- Lake, i. 440. ---- River, i. 53; ii. 242, 246, 277, 279, 461, 506, 507, 519. Greenough, Horatio, i. 10. Greenville, ii. 174. Greenwood, Rev. Henry, i. 286. Gregg, Helen, i. 135. ----, John, i. 158. ----, Robert H., i. 124. ----, Samuel, i. 118, 121, 123, 126, 140, 167, 169, 175, 188, 247, 264, 270. ----, Mrs. Samuel, i. 135, 283. Greville, Robert Kaye, i. 192. Griseo albus, i. 483. Grosbeak, ii. 166, 400, 434. ----, Black-headed, i. 523; ii. 50. ----, Blue, i. 510. ----, Cardinal, i. 471; ii. 253. ----, Evening, i. 523. ----, Rose-breasted, i. 477. ----, Pine, i. 421, 431, 433. Gros Ventres Indians, ii. 5, 16-18, 23-25, 48, 68, 132, 144, 156, 157, 164, 178, 188. Ground-hog, i. 461, 471. Grouse, i. 414, 451; ii. 66, 67, 88, 90, 95, 114, 125, 206, 320, 340, 375, 376, 379, 390-394, 398, 399, 403, 502. ----, Canada, i. 352, 405. ----, Rock, i. 405. ----, Ruffed, i. 401. ----, Sage, ii. 126. ----, Sharp-tailed, ii. 23, 26, 49, 54, 86, 87, 122, 163, 165, 166, 176. ----, Willow, i. 400, 405, 414, 433; ii. 408. ----, Wilson's, i. 376. "Growler," ii. 510, 512. Guillemot, i. 355, 361-363, 377, 384, 386, 393; ii. 404, 407-412, 431. ----, Black, i. 354, 355, 358. ----, Brindled, i. 372. ----, Foolish, i. 351, 354, 362-364, 383. Gulf Stream, i. 86. Gulf Weed, i. 89. Gull, i. 361, 363, 396, 399, 402-405, 414, 420, 421, 427, 472; ii. 166, 252, 364, 365, 403, 404, 410, 415, 427, 432, 433. ----, Black-headed, i. 477, 484, 493, 502, 504, 532. ----, Great Black-backed, i. 352, 393, 394. ----, Herring, i. 350, 368. _See also_ Larus argentatus. ----, Ring-billed, i. 398, 402. ----, Rose-breasted, ii. 309. ----, Silvery, i. 411. "Gulnare" (ship), i. 376, 377, 379, 380-384, 386, 391-395, 407, 421, 425. Gwathway's Hotel, i. 29. Gyrfalcon, i. 427. Haines, Reuben, i. 58. Haliaëtus leucocephalus, i. 415, 458. Halibut, ii. 419. Halifax, i. 373, 413, 435, 439-442. ---- Bay, i. 442. ----, Bishop of, i. 359. ---- River, ii. 335, 374. Hall, Basil, i. 175, 176, 179, 184, 187, 201-203, 206, 209, 212, 214, 221, 253, 300, 301. ----, Mrs. Basil, i. 187, 188, 207, 219. ----, Caroline, i. 73. ----, Ellen, i. 265. ----, James, Edinburgh, i. 146, 171, 173. ----, James, New York, i. 449, 526. Hamilton, Major, i. 519, 521. ----, Sir William, i. 225. Hampstead, i. 297. Hardwick, i. 138. Hardwicke, Lord, i. 282. Hare, i. 116, 135, 137, 268, 356, 386, 401, 408, 432, 474, 494; ii. 49, 51, 72, 76, 84, 111, 118, 121, 465, 502, 503. ----, Bachman's, i. 461. ----, Prairie, i. 474, 510. ----, Townsend's, i. 510, 529; ii. 22, 56, 60, 89, 118, 138. _See also_ Lepus townsendii. ----, White, i. 529. Harelda hiemalis, i. 414. Harlan, Richard, i. 57, 65, 124, 247, 300; ii. 473, 501. Harlem, ii. 175. Harper's Ferry, ii. 218. Harpy, i. 271. Harris, Edward, i. 56, 57, 70, 73, 346, 441, 444, 451, 453, 455, 458, 461; companion on Missouri trip, i. 470-531; ii. 7, 75. Harrisburg. _See_ Harrisonburg. Harrisonburg, ii. 218. Hartford, Eng., i. 304. Harvey, Primeau and Co., ii. 6. Hatch, Capt. Joseph, i. 81, 85, 86; ii. 301, 307. Havana, ii. 360. Havell, Robert, i. 61, 257-260, 265, 275, 276, 278, 291, 294, 295, 299, 300, 316, 340-345, 427. Haw Creek, ii. 334. Hawick, i. 143. Hawk, i. 96, 139, 156, 388, 399, 423, 427, 428; ii. 27, 44, 67, 117, 404, 527. ----, Cooper's, i. 517. ----, Fish, i. 431, 477; ii. 166, 247, 312, 337, 391. ----, Fork-tailed, i. 504. ----, Great-footed, i. 88. ----, Marsh, i. 444, 474, 496, 506. Hawk, Pigeon, i. 365, 385, 396, 399, 431, 475; ii. 162. _See also_ Falco columbarius. ----, Red-tailed, i. 394, 471; ii. 114. ----, Sparrow, i. 428; ii. 7, 24. ----, Swallow-tailed, i. 481. ----, White-rumped, ii. 86, 87. _Hawk and Partridges_, i. 269. Hawkins, Oriel College, i. 292, 293. Hays, Drummond, i. 197, 198, 203, 207, 211, 215, 219, 221, 222, 283. Head Harbor Bay, ii. 433. Healy, George P. A., i. 58. Heart River, ii. 9. Heath, Charles, i. 233. Heath, George, i. 287, 290. Heights of Abraham, i. 138. Hell Gate, i. 200. Henderson, Ky., i. 7, 21, 30-38, 44, 46, 47, 162, 480; ii. 203, 206-213, 215, 218-221, 238, 278, 462, 498. Henley Harbor, i. 402. Henry, Alexander, i. 497. ----, Andrew, ii. 4. ----, Charles, M.D., i. 146, 156. Henslow, John Stevens, i. 287, 290. Herbe Sainte, ii. 39. Hermandez, General, ii. 352. Hermann Bros., i. 253. Heron, i. 113, 157, 337; ii. 313, 323, 354, 360, 364-366, 370, 378, 384, 526, 527. ----, Blue, i. 344, 471, 477, 490, 493, 532; ii. 7. ----, Great Blue, i. 354. ----, Green, i. 87. ----, Night, ii. 364. ----, Yellow-crowned, i. 481. Herring, i. 357; ii. 305, 419. Hibbert, Dr., i. 181. Highland Creek, ii. 238. ---- Lick, ii. 278. ---- Lick Creek, ii. 278. Highwater Creek, i. 525. Hirundo bicolor, i. 472. Hobart, William, i. 94. Hodgson, Adam, i. 104-106, 108-111, 249. ----, Mary, i. 133. Holland, Dr. Henry, i. 135. Holyrood, i. 149-152. Honda, Bay of, ii. 349. Hondekoeter, Melchior, i. 204. Hopkinsville, ii. 53. Horsfield, i. 255. Hotel Robart, i. 304. Houlton, Me., ii. 389, 390. Howe, Gen. William, i. 43. Hudson River, i. 77, 322, 353. Hudson's Bay, i. 417. ---- Bay Co. i. 365, 378; ii. 109. Hull, i. 430. Hulme, Dr., i. 119, 123, 140. Humboldt, Alexander von, i. 108, 111. Humming-bird, i. 402, 436, 475; ii. 338. Hunt, W. H., i. 105. Hunter, Lady, i. 175, 179, 187, 195. Ibis, i. 113, 273, 337, 338, 360, 364-367, 515. ---- alba, ii. 514, 515. Ile à Vaches, i. 9. Illingsworth, Mr., i. 520-524; ii. 165. Illinois, i. 46, 451. ---- River, ii. 437. Independence, i. 467. ---- Landing, ii. 173. Indian affairs, ii. 188. ---- Isle, ii. 312, 369, 379. ---- Key, ii. 348, 358, 362. ---- River, ii. 374. Indians, i. 138, 148, 353, 373, 378, 379, 407, 411, 431-433, 456, 462, 467, 469, 477, 486, 488, 493, 496, 498, 507, 519, 520, 523, 528; ii. 7, 10, 12, 17-23, 43-45, 48, 54, 77, 80, 81, 108-110, 117, 121, 122, 125, 128, 132, 133, 135, 140, 143, 154-157, 164-168, 181-185, 189, 191, 193, 194, 206, 213, 224-229, 242-245, 296, 340, 349, 374-395, 398, 434, 449, 455-458. _See also_ names of tribes. Indigo-bird, i. 472, 476; ii. 37. Ingalls, William, i. 67, 345, 356, 388, 389, 406, 412, 436, 437, 439-441; ii. 403 Inglis, Bishop, i. 442. ----, Sir Robert, i. 254, 255. Innes, Gilbert, i. 170, 171. Institut Français, i. 313, 322, 332. Iowa, i. 462, 478, 489. ---- Indians, i. 474, 475. ---- River, ii. 169. Ipswich, i. 422, 423. Ireland, i. 96. Iridoprocne bicolor, i. 472. Irish Channel, i. 133. ----, Jediah, i. 453; ii. 315, 320. Iron Bear (chief), ii. 157. Irving, Washington, i. 456; ii. 3, 207. ----, Washington, _Astoria_, i. 456, 486. Irwell River, i. 121. Isbet Hill, i. 235. Isis River, i. 292. Islington Road, i. 275. Italian opera, i. 315. Italians, i. 457. Italy, i. 316. Jackdaw, i. 137, 138, 229, 240, 289. Jack-rabbit, i. 475. Jacks River. _See_ Jacques River. Jackson, Gen. Andrew, i. 411. ----, Miss, i. 53. Jacques River, i. 501; ii. 168. Jager, i. 365; ii. 396. _See also_ Lestris. ---- Pomarine, i. 420. _See also_ Lestris pomarinus. Jail, Liverpool, i. 133. James River, i. 501. Jameson, Robert, i. 141, 146, 149, 150-156, 165, 172, 176-180, 187, 205, 210, 213, 236. Jardin des Plantes, i. 306, 307, 332. ---- du Roi, i. 306, 312, 313, 320, 321, 332. ----, Royal, i. 308. Jardine Hall, i. 161, 189. ----, Sir William, i. 152, 154, 160, 179, 183, 189-194, 268. Jay, i. 385. ----, Blue, i. 436, 476. ----, Canada, i. 381, 433; ii. 391. Jefferson City, i. 458; ii. 175. Jeffrey, Francis, i. 151, 192, 200. Jersey, Island of, i. 421. Jestico Island, i. 353. Johnson, Edward, i. 230. ----, Garrett, i. 63. Jones. Mr., of Labrador, i. 414-418, 420. Judd, Capt. U.S.N., ii. 289. Juniata River, ii. 220. Juniperus virginianus, i. 508. Kalmia angustifolia, i. 433. ---- glauca, i. 377. Kansas, i. 459. Katota Tokah, i. 525. Kauman and Co., i. 22, 23. Kayac, ii. 154. Kelley, Dr., i. 392, 395. Kemble, Charles, i. 291. Kendal, i. 142. Kennebunk, i. 81, 94. Kensington Gardens, i. 296. Kentucky, i. 29, 32, 53, 46, 215, 280, 329, 419, 478; ii. 203, 208-215, 242-245, 277, 321, 331, 450-497, 506-509, 519. _Kentucky Barbecue_, ii. 486. Kentucky Barrens, ii. 234. Kentucky River, ii. 460. Kestrell, i. 137. Key Tavernier, ii. 351. ---- West, ii. 348-351, 360, 371, 377, 380. Kidd, John, M.D., i. 292, 293. ----, Joseph B., i. 65, 214, 215, 224, 254-256. Kiener, L. C., i. 313. Killdeer, i. 99, 125; ii. 7. King-bird, i. 471, 537; ii. 7, 70. Kingfisher, i. 139, 261, 433; ii. 391, 524, 525. Kinglet, i. 381. King's College, i. 290. Kinnoul, Earl of, i. 284. Kipp, Mr., ii. 9, 10, 19, 26, 36, 50, 52, 65, 69, 97, 113, 146. Kirkstall, Abbey, i. 157. Kite, Mississippi, i. 88; ii. 306. Kittiwake, i. 157, 362. Knife River, ii. 24, 154. Knox, John, M.D., i. 146, 152, 174, 175. Knoxville, ii. 218. La Barge, Joseph, i. 479, 492, 495. Labrador, i. 67, 68, 344-445; ii. 57, 79, 508. Labrus auritus, ii. 519. La Charette, ii. 8. "Lady of the Green Mantle" (boat), ii. 361, 371, 373. La Fayette, Marquis de, i. 8, 111, 478. La Fleur, ii. 105, 106, 108, 113, 115-119, 122, 126, 131-133, 137, 139, 140, 142, 146, 176. La Gerbetière, i. 6, 10, 15, 23. Lagopus albus, i. 405. _See also_ Ptarmigan. ---- rupestris, i. 405. ---- Willow. La Grande Rivière, i. 462. Laidlaw, William, i. 499, 500, 501; ii. 131, 132, 165, 173. La Main Gauche (chief), ii. 156. Lambert, Aylmer Bourke, ii. 277. Lancaster, ii. 218. Landsdowne, Marquis of, i. 297. Landseer, Sir Edwin, i. 210, 211. Lapwing, i. 227, 236. La Rivière Blanche, i. 512. Lark, i. 134, 226, 235; ii. 426. ----, Black-breasted Prairie, ii. 160. ----, Brown, i. 384, 391, 405. _See also_ Anthus spinoletta. ----, Chestnut-colored, i. 496. ----, Finch, i. 525. Lark, Meadow, i. 241, 506, 509, 510, 526; ii. 26, 53, 67, 80, 165, 312. ----, Missouri, ii. 41. ----, Prairie, ii. 56, 67. ----, Shore, i. 384, 394, 400, 410, 412, 415, 417, 419, 425; ii. 57, 86, 88. _See also_ Alauda alpestris. ----, Sprague's, ii. 42, 51, 53, 55, 88. ----, Wood, i. 284, 285, 291. La Rochelle, i. 6, 333; ii. 220. Larpenteur, Charles, ii. 41, 65, 68, 73, 77, 81, 124, 126, 138, 183. Larus argentatus, i. 350, 368, 369. ---- argentatus smithsonianus, i. 368. ---- canus, i. 402. ---- delawarensis, i. 398, 402. ---- marinus, i. 352, 365-370, 373, 375, 377, 379, 383, 385, 387, 389, 402, 427. _See also_ Gull, Great Black-backed. ---- tridactylus, i. 375. ---- zonorhynchus, _see_ Larus delawarensis. Lasterie, Comte de, i. 321. Latimer, Rev. James, i. 28. La Vendée, i. 10. Lawrence, Sir Thomas, i. 101, 252-256, 284, 291, 341. "Lawyer," ii. 313. L'Eau Bourbeux, ii. 27. ---- qui Court, i. 498, 503; ii. 168. "Lebanon" (boat), ii. 173, 174. Le Boulet River, ii. 5. Le Brun, Bernard, ii. 56, 57, 65, 132, 136, 137. L'école de musique, i. 325. Leeds, i. 243-246, 258, 259, 264. ---- Natural History Society. _See_ Natural History Society of Leeds. ---- Philosophical Hall, i. 260. ---- Public Library, i. 260. Lehigh River, ii. 212, 317-319, 508. Lehman, George, ii. 362. Leicester, i. 129. Leith, i. 149, 287. Le Mangeur d'Hommes (chief), ii. 121. Lepus artemisia, ii. 49. ---- campestris, i. 474, 510; ii. 19. ---- nuttalli, ii. 49. ---- sylvaticus, i. 461; ii. 49. ---- townsendii, i. 475; ii. 19. _See also_ Hare, Townsend's. ---- virginianus, i. 474. Leslie, John, i. 210. Lesson, René Primevère, i. 309, 333. Lestris, i. 352, 396, 414, 428. _See also_ Jager. ---- pomarinus, i. 420, 421, 434. Le Sueur, Charles Alexandre, i. 58, 320, 321. Levaillant, François, i. 289, 301. Levis, Duc de, i. 333. Lewis and Clarke. _See_ Expedition of Lewis and Clark. Lexington, Ky., ii. 174, 218. Liberty Landing, ii. 173. ---- St., New York, ii. 169. Lincoln, Thomas, ii. 384. ----, Thomas, Jr., i. 67; companion in Labrador, 345-439, 470. Linnæan Society, London, i. 252, 282, 283, 294, 309, 340. Linnæus, i. 322; ii. 519. Linnet, i. 246, 414. Lint, i. 426. Little Chayenne River, i. 531. ---- Knife River, ii. 24, 25. ---- Medicine Creek, i. 520. ---- Missouri River, ii. 20, 26, 155, 156. ---- River, i. 350. ---- Sioux River, i. 484; ii. 171. Live-Oakers, ii. 327. Liverpool, i. 69, 81, 86-98, 101, 102, 105, 108, 113, 114, 117, 118, 127, 132, 148, 161, 174, 177, 216, 221, 248, 250, 264, 268, 290, 295; ii. 301, 309, 505. ---- Athenæum, i. 270. ---- Blind Asylum, i. 106, 272. ---- Jail, i. 133. ---- Literary Society, i. 174. ---- Philosophical Society, _see_ Philosophical Society of Liverpool. ----, Royal Institute of, _see_ Royal Institute of Liverpool. Lizard, Red-throated, i. 88; ii. 306. Lizars, Daniel, i. 184, 185, 188, 265, 280. ----, William H., i. 153-160, 163-169, 170-179, 181-183, 186, 188, 191-194, 200, 204, 205, 211, 218, 225, 233, 255-257, 262-266, 292. ----, Mrs. William H., i. 154, 155, 165, 166, 188, 193. Lloyd, Charles, i. 118, 123, 124. Loch Lomond, i. 209. Loire River, i. 6, 8, 23, 39, 130. London, i. 61, 63, 66, 69, 110, 128, 129, 135, 216, 219, 236, 248-259, 262-265, 274-280, 284, 285, 294, 296-299, 309, 311, 314, 315, 325, 334, 340. ---- Athenæum, i. 253. ----, Linnæan Society. _See_ Linnæan Society, London. Londonderry, Marquis of, i. 262. Long, Major S. H., i. 37, 459. Longspur, Chestnut-collared, ii. 51. ----, McCown's, ii. 51. Loon, i. 366, 389, 392-394, 431, 471; ii 434. _Lost One, The_, ii. 331. Loudon, John Claudius, i. 294, 295, 297. Louis Philippe, i. 5. Louisiana, i. 7, 49, 60-63, 77, 117, 130, 134, 182, 185, 239, 241, 261, 273, 301, 387, 492; ii. 220, 222, 267, 273, 301, 306, 508, 519. Louisville, i. 28-33, 36, 38, 43, 47, 53, 54, 60-63, 66, 270, 450, 454, 486; ii. 199-203, 218, 219, 222, 274, 279, 450, 454, 462, 486, 511. L'Ours de Fer, ii. 164. ---- qui danse, ii. 156. Louvre, i. 308, 312, 325. Loxia leucoptera, i. 385. Lubec, i. 350. Luxemburg, i. 324. Lynx, i. 374, 378; ii. 441. Lyon, David, i. 291. Lyons, Richard, M.D., i. 99, 164. Macatine Island, i. 392. ----, Little, Island, i. 396, 406. McCullough, Dr., i. 436-438. MacGillivray, William, i. 64, 65, 68. ----, William, _British Birds_. _See British Birds._ McKenzie, Kenneth, ii. 138, 181, 189. ----, Owen, ii. 41, 49, 51, 56-64, 68, 72-76, 80-97, 103, 113, 115, 118-128, 131, 138-143, 146, 176. Mackerel, i. 357; ii. 419, 430. Mackinaw barge, i. 511; ii. 35, 37, 38, 65, 154. Macroura, i. 460. Madison, Thomas C., i. 481. Magdalene Islands, i. 354, 355, 359, 379, 431. Magpie, i. 114, 134, 139, 338, 480, 523, 532; ii. 58, 63, 131. Maha Indians, i. 498; ii. 47. Maine, i. 66, 67, 354, 444; ii. 51, 212, 295, 380, 381, 387, 389, 400, 401, 419, 508. Mallory, Daniel, i. 48. ----, Georgiana R. _See_ Audubon, Mrs. V. G. Mamelles, ii. 116-118, 124. Mammellaria vivipara, ii. 15. Manatees, ii. 360. Manchester, i. 111, 116, 117, 120, 121, 125, 129, 133-135, 138-146, 156, 159, 162, 230, 246, 259, 260, 264, 268, 274, 275, 317. Manchester Academy of Natural History, i. 123, 134. Manchester, Royal Institute. _See_ Royal Institute of Manchester. Mandan Indians, i. 497; ii. 14, 18, 23, 42-48, 144, 146, 156. ---- Village, ii. 8-10, 15. Mandeville, i. 5. Mankizitah River, i. 512. Manuel da Lisa, i. 503. ---- River, i. 503; ii. 168. _Maple-sugar Camp_, ii. 506. Maria River, ii. 134, 135, 189. Marignac, M. de, i. 332. Marigny, Marquis de Mandeville, i. 5, 6. "Marion" (boat), ii. 345-348, 358-361, 369, 372, 377. ----, Mo., ii. 175. Marmot, i. 458, 461, 469, 472. ----, Prairie, i. 531; ii. 4. Mars Hill, ii. 390. Marshall, John, i. 246. Marsh-hen, ii. 311, 313. Marten, i. 378, 401, 409; ii. 382. Martin, i. 241, 375, 477, 506, 536; ii. 7. ----, John, i. 104. ----, Pine, ii. 400. ----, Purple, i. 472. Mason, Major, i. 469. Massachusetts, ii. 419. Massena, Prince of, i. 313, 315. Matanemheag River, ii. 393. Matanzas, ii. 344. Matlock, i. 129, 136-138. Mauch Chunk, i. 62; ii. 314, 319-321. Maupin family, ii. 200. Maury, Mr., i. 101, 102, 139, 272. Mauvaises Terres, ii. 101, 113, 127, 137, 143, 148-151, 190. Maximilian, Prince of Wied, i. 471; ii. 7, 34. _Meadville_, i. 58; ii. 289-293. Medicine Horn, ii. 100. ---- Knoll, i. 520. ---- Lodge, ii. 12. Meduxmekeag Creek, ii. 392. Medway River, i. 304. Meetingford, i. 228. Melly, A., i. 102, 115, 121, 134, 249, 313, 317. Melospiza lincolni, i. 382, 470. Mephitis americana, ii. 463. Merganser, i. 89, 357. ----, Red-breasted, i. 354, 366, 370, 394, 406, 431. Mergus serrator, i. 370. _See also_ Merganser, Red-breasted. Mersey River, i. 98, 99, 112, 130, 132, 250. Merula migratoria, i. 379. _See also_ Robin. Mexico, Gulf of, i. 70, 88, 94, 95, 303-307, 339. Michaux, Jean Baptiste, i. 492-496, 507, 509, 511, 516; ii. 169, 170, 172, 174, 413. Mic-mac Indians, i. 430; ii. 428. Microtus riparius, i. 530. Mill Grove, i. 10, 16, 17, 19, 22, 28, 32, 41-43, 74, 75, 246; ii. 523, 524. Miller, Major, ii. 172. Mine River, i. 459. Minnetaree Indians, ii. 16, 18, 24. Minniesland, i. 71, 73, 453; ii. 15. Miramichi, i. 354. Mississippi, ii. 445. Mississippi River, i. 31, 44, 81, 219, 243, 282, 322, 329, 490, 492, 507; ii. 222-225, 232, 237, 238, 246-251, 260, 404, 437-454, 504, 509, 515. Missouri, ii. 172. ----, Falls of, i. 501. ---- Indians, i. 475. ---- River, i. 71, 72, 447, 453, 457, 459, 475, 476, 482, 487, 492, 498, 503, 507, 525, 526; ii. 3, 5, 7, 10, 14, 15, 20, 21, 24, 48, 53, 57, 72, 78, 89, 98, 104, 106, 109, 112, 176, 177, 180, 181, 189, 190, 219, 320, 322. ---- Trading Company, ii. 4. Missouriopolis, i. 458. Mitchell, Major, i. 479; ii. 47, 134. ----, David D., ii. 188. Mitford, i. 226. ----, Capt., i. 227, 228, 230, 263. ---- Castle, 227. ---- Hall, i. 229. Mocking-bird, i. 155, 193, 209, 245, 248, 252, 274, 330. Moncrévier, Jean Baptiste, ii. 105, 119, 122, 126, 127, 128, 138, 146, 157, 158, 160, 162, 185. Monongahela River, ii. 508. Monroe, Mr., i. 110, 116-118, 164, 171, 174, 176, 248, 273. Montagnais Indians, i. 376, 377, 411, 412. Montgomery, General, i. 187. Moorestown, i. 56. Moose, ii. 154, 382. _Moose Hunt_, ii. 393. Moreau River, i. 531, 160. Morgantown, ii. 240. Mormon arcticus, i. 383-386, 392, 426-428. _See also_ Puffin. Moroe River. _See_ Moreau River. Morpeth, i. 227, 229. Morristown, N.J., i. 16. Morton, Countess of, i. 186, 196-202, 219, 222, 289. ----, Earl of, i. 192, 195-199, 207, 219, 222. ----, Major, ii. 173. ----, Samuel George, i. 453. Mother Carey's Chickens, i. 85, 93. Mount Desert Island, i. 372. ---- Pleasant, ii. 175. ---- Vesuvius, ii. 325. Mouse, ii. 89, 465. ----, Field, i. 464. ---- River, ii. 121. Moynette, Anne, i. 6. Mud Island, i. 350. Muddy River, i. 45; ii. 27. Mule Keys, ii. 370, 371. Muloë, i. 464. Mulot, i. 464. Murray, George, i. 123, 203, 205. ----, Mrs. George, i. 164, 183. ----, Isabella, i. 168. ----, James, ii. 33, 38. ----, John, i. 213. Murre Rocks, i. 412. Mus leucopus, ii. 89. Muscicapa, i. 434. ---- Phoebe, i. 405. Musée, français, i. 306, 307. Musignano, Prince of, i. 186, 256; ii. 202, 385. Muskrat, i. 484; ii. 54, 158, 382. Musquash Lake, ii. 394. Nantes, i. 8, 10, 14, 23, 39, 75, 111, 140, 273. Napoleon. _See_ Bonaparte. Nashville, Mo., ii. 175. Nashville, Tenn., ii. 218. Natasquan River, i. 365, 369, 370, 374. ----, Little, River, i. 380; ii. 414. Natchez, i. 49, 52, 300; ii. 216, 441, 449, 450, 454. _Natchez in 1820_, ii. 246. Natchitochez, ii. 441. Natural Bridge, ii. 218. Natural History Society, Edinburgh, i. 212. Natural History Society, Leeds, i. 247. "Nautilus" (boat), ii. 175. Nebraska, i. 489. Neill, Patrick, i. 148, 153, 157, 170, 176, 187, 217, 221. Nelson, Lord, i. 148. Nemours, Marquis de, i. 246. Neotoma floridana, i. 511, 525. Neville, Miss, i. 212, 217, 218, 253. New Bedford, i. 23, 477. New Brunswick, i. 66, 407, 444; ii. 254, 387, 462. ----, Mo., ii. 174. New England, i. 427; ii. 262. New Jersey, i. 61; ii. 310. New Madrid, ii. 237. New Orleans, i. 6, 8, 29, 34, 37, 40, 46-51, 53, 59, 81, 86, 87, 96, 178, 284, 329; ii. 48, 202, 220, 232, 249-254, 301, 439, 447, 450-454, 505, 515. New York, i. 15, 22-26, 29, 40, 60, 63, 69, 71, 177, 200, 277, 427, 445, 453; ii. 175, 215, 508. New York Academy of Sciences, i. 77. Newbold, Rev. William, i. 215, 222. Newcastle, i. 216, 224, 229, 230-236, 238-241, 260, 262, 437. ----, Literary Society, i. 234. ----, Philosophical Society, i. 234. Newfoundland, i. 9, 384, 415, 421, 429, 431, 435; ii. 416, 426. Newgate, i. 254. _Niagara_, ii. 286. Nicholson, William, i. 175. Nighthawk, ii. 163, 170, 226, 372. Night-jar, i. 243. Niobrara River, i. 503; ii. 168. Nishnebottana River, ii. 172. Noddy, i. 90; ii. 309, 347. Nolte, Vincent, i. 99, 104; ii. 220, 221. ----, _Fifty Years in both Hemispheres_, ii. 220. Nonpareil, ii. 255. Norristown, ii. 524. North Carolina, i. 69; ii. 174. North, Christopher, i. 75. Northampton, i. 274. Northumberland, i. 225, 227. ----, Duke of, i. 228. Notre Dame, i. 332. Nova Scotia, i. 351, 353, 359, 414, 435, 439; ii. 431, 435. Numenius borealis, i. 420, 422, 424. ----, hudsonicus, i. 420. Nuthatch, i. 471. ----, Red-bellied, i. 384. Nuttall Ornithological Club, i. 29. ----, Thomas, i. 277, 416, 445, 472; ii. 56, 90, 163. Oakes, William, i. 423. Oedemia, i. 366. ---- deglaudi, i. 418. Ogden, Captain, ii. 453. Ohio, ii. 241. _Ohio, The_, ii. 208. Ohio, Falls of, i. 54; ii. 199, 453, 454. ----, Rapids of, ii. 215. ---- River, i. 28, 30, 34, 62, 112, 182, 231, 322, 329, 450, 490; ii. 203-206, 208, 232, 238, 250, 274-277, 354, 437, 456-458, 477, 478, 486, 497, 510, 512, 519. Old Bull's Backfat (chief), ii. 178. "Old Jostle," i. 426. Old Squaw, i. 414. Old Town, ii. 391, 392, 393. Omaha Indians, i. 169, 478, 485, 487, 498. ---- River, ii. 170. O'Meara, Barry Edward, M.D., i. 185. "Omega" (steamboat), i. 72, 455, 479, 492, 493, 499, 507, 511, 528; ii. 10, 29. Opelousas, ii. 301. Opossum, ii. 85, 222, 223, 506. _Opossum, The_, ii. 501. Opposition Fort, ii. 37, 53. ---- Fur Company, ii. 17, 28, 31, 36, 54, 82, 147, 157, 168, 520. Ord, George, i. 56, 189. Oriel College, i. 292. ----, Provost of, i. 293. Oriole, i. 245. ----, Baltimore, i. 329, 481. ----, Orchard, i. 476. Orléans, Duc d', i. 321, 327, 330, 336-338, 340. ----, Duchesse d' i. 332, 337, 338. _Ornithological Biography_, i. 31, 63-65, 69, 276, 405, 457, 459, 470; ii. 198, 201-203, 208, 246. _Ornithology_, Bonaparte's, i. 55. Ornithorynchus paradoxus, i. 270. Osage Indians, i. 44, 45, 48, 216, 291, 329. ---- River, ii. 175. Otocorys alpestris, i. 384. Otter, i. 114, 120, 165, 173, 175, 176, 207, 342, 378, 389, 409, 484; ii. 4, 12, 54, 93, 95, 122, 161. Ottoe Indians, i. 482. Ouse River, i. 240, 242, 243. Owl, i. 242, 243, 384, 392, 394; ii. 97, 167, 270, 323, 364, 388, 493, 503, 507, 527. ----, Barred, ii. 212, 404, 405. ----, Great Gray, i. 393, 394; ii. 390. ----, Great Horned, i. 132; ii. 97, 205. Oxford, i. 129, 216, 252, 291, 292, 294. Oyster Catcher, i. 391. Page, Benjamin, i. 34. ----, J. W. H., i. 477, 526. Painboeuf, i. 23. "Painter." _See_ Panther. Palais Royal, i. 307, 318, 324, 327, 338. Panthéon, i. 325. Panther, i. 262, 263, 267. Paris, i. 6, 66, 111, 127, 128, 295, 301, 303, 306-309, 312-316, 324-326, 331, 334, 336-339. Parker, Mr. (artist), i. 300, 303, 307-310, 316-322, 332, 335. Parkman, George, M.D., i. 441; ii. 401. Parocket Island, i. 425, 428. Parrakeet, i. 468-470, 476, 477, 481, 507; ii. 165, 173. Parroquet, i. 291. Parrot, i. 330. Parry, Captain W. E., i. 309. Partridge, i. 116, 122, 156, 243, 274, 401, 423, 457, 471, 475, 507; ii. 173, 253, 302. ---- Bay, i. 371, 373. Parus Hudsonicus, i. 400, 403, 433. Passamaquoddy Indians, ii. 394, 435. Passerculus bairdi, ii. 117. Pawling, David, i. 75. Peale, Rembrandt, i. 55; ii. 203. ----, Titian R. i. 37. Peale's Museum, ii. 321. Pears, Thomas, i. 33. Peel, Sir Robert, i. 222. Pelecanus americanus, i. 457. ---- erythrorhynchus, i. 457. ---- trathyrhynchus, i. 457. Pelican, ii. 168, 171-173, 252, 349, 353, 360, 361, 374. ---- Frigate, i. 87, 88, 304; ii. 364, 365, 372. ----, White, i. 168, 457, 473, 476, 477, 484, 522, 529; ii. 168, 174. Pennant, Thomas, ii. 501. Pennsylvania, i. 10, 61; ii. 203, 212, 241, 320, 438. Penobscot Indians, ii. 393. ---- River, ii. 391-393. Penrith, i. 142. Pentland Hills, i. 219. Perceval, Spencer, i. 203. Perch, White, ii. 214. Percy, Mrs. Charles, i. 49, 52, 81. ----, Marguerite, i. 52. Perkiomen Creek, i. 10, 19, 20, 41, 42, 241. Petit Caporal, i. 385. ---- Côté, i. 457. Petrel, i. 88-90, 93-94, 396. ---- Dusky, i. 89. ---- Stormy, i. 350. Peucæa lincolnii, i. 470. Pewee, i. 471, 476; ii. 67, 523, 526. ----, Crested, i. 471, 476. ----, Fly-catcher, i. 473. ----, Least, i. 500. ----, Short-legged, i. 405. ----, Western-wood, i. 405. ----, Wood, i. 373, 405, 406. Phalacrocorax carbo, i. 370, 385. ---- dilophus, i. 370, 398, 400. ---- dilophus floridanus, i. 459. ---- floridanus, i. 370. ---- mexicanus, i. 459. _See also_ Cormorant. Phalænoptilus nuttalli, ii. 163. Phalarope, i. 87. ----, Northern, i. 419. Phalaropus hyperboreus, i. 419. Pheasant, i. 122-124, 135, 202, 205, 206, 209, 268; ii. 320. Philadelphia, i. 16, 21, 26, 29, 32, 46, 55, 58, 63, 277, 453; ii. 202, 203, 218, 219, 310, 314, 318, 321, 473, 508. ---- Academy of Natural Sciences, i. 55, 56, 90, 523. Philosophical Society of Liverpool, i. 174. Phoebe, Say's, ii. 51. Pica pica hudsonica, i. 480. _See also_ Magpie. Picardy, i. 305. Piccadilly, i. 278, 303. Picotte, Mr., i. 524-529. Pictou, i. 435, 436. Picus ayresii, ii. 41. Piegan Indians, ii. 133-135, 188. Piercy, Lieut., ii. 352. Pigeon, Carrier, i. 301. ---- Creek, ii. 406. ----, Migratory, i. 423. ----, Passenger, i. 423; ii. 156. ---- Roost, ii. 461. ----, Stock, i. 134, 167, 338. ----, White-headed, i. 88. ----, Wild, i. 141, 186, 212, 419, 473, 475; ii. 160, 163, 309, 350, 527. ---- Wood, i. 129, 164. Pillet, Fabian, i. 134. Pilot Knob, ii. 70. Pinckney, ii. 175. Pine Forest, ii. 241. Pipilo arcticus, i. 502, 504. _Pirate, The_, ii. 340. Pitois, M., i. 339, 342. Pittsburg, i. 28, 58, 62, 329, 454; ii. 218, 219, 293, 438, 453. Platibus, Duck-billed, i. 270. Platte River, i. 469, 477; ii. 164, 172. Pleasant Bay, i. 355. Plectrophenax nivalis, i. 352. Plover, ii. 64. ----, American Ring, i. 386, 387, 389. _See also_ Charadrius semipalmatus. ----, Black-breasted, i. 425. ----, Golden, i. 434; ii. 166. ----, Piping, i. 357, 358. Plum Creek, i. 503. Plymouth, i. 10, 14. Pocano Mountains, ii. 508. Point-Lepreaux, ii. 435. ---- Harbor, ii. 434. Pokioke River, ii. 389. _Pole-cat_, ii. 462. Pomme blanche, i. 505. Pomotis vulgaris, ii. 519. Poncas Creek, i. 503. ---- Island, i. 504; ii. 168. ---- River, i. 489; ii. 168. Poncaras Indians, i. 438. Ponchartrain Lake, i. 5. Pont des Arts, i. 316, 321. ---- d' Austerlitz, i. 306. ---- de Jena, i. 326. ---- Neuf, i. 307. ---- Ste. Geneviève, i. 306. Poor-will, ii. 163. Pope, Dr., i. 81, 211. ----, John, i. 30. Porcher, Dr., ii. 352. Porcupine, i. 408, 522; ii. 81, 82, 84, 113, 131, 147, 393. ----, Canadian, ii. 83. ----, Cape, i. 353. Porpoise, i. 83, 84, 89, 96; ii. 308, 309. ----, Bottle-nosed, ii. 305. Port Eau, i. 419-421. Portage, Baie de, i. 413. Portland, i. 86. Portobello, i. 213, 215. Portsmouth, England, i. 60, 342. Potowatamies, i. 481. _Prairie, The_, i. 31. Presque Isle Harbor, ii. 289. Preston, England, i. 141. Primeau. _See_ Harvey, Primeau and Co. Primeau, Charles, ii. 6, 10, 15, 159. Primrose Hill, i. 275. Procellaria, i. 85, 372. _See also_ Mother Carey's Chickens. ----, Wilsonii, i. 350. Provan, Dr., i. 52. Provost (hunter), i. 477; ii. 16, 36-42, 49-52, 54-57, 64-68, 70-76, 80-85, 89-91, 93-95, 98-102, 108, 112, 113, 121, 122, 126, 128, 131-133, 137, 142, 146, 147, 156-163, 165, 169, 175. Psaracolius cyanocephalus, ii. 48. Pseudostoma bursarias, i. 455. _See also_ Rat, Pouched. Psoralea esculenta, i. 505. Ptarmigan, i. 366, 375, 389, 390, 392, 403, 428; ii. 415, 418. ----, Small, i. 431. ----, Willow, i. 405. Pueblo de Taos, i. 480. Puffin, i. 383, 404, 410, 427. _See also_ Mormon arcticus. Puncah. _See_ Poncas. Puncas. _See_ Poncas. Pusilla, i. 366. Pyke, James, i. 101, 104. _Quadrupeds of North America_, i. 70, 73, 75, 76, 449, 453, 455. Quaglas, Mr., i. 52. Quarry Bank, i. 121, 122, 126, 134, 140, 141, 158, 247, 283. Quebec, i. 71, 356, 376, 380, 408, 409, 411, 430; ii. 416. "Queen Bee," i. 113, 114, 160. _See also_ Rathbone, Mrs. William. Querquedula discors, i. 459. Qui Court River, i. 503. Quiscalus, brewerii, i. 474; ii. 48. Quoddy, Maine, i. 436. Rabbit, i. 258, 268, 386, 459, 461, 471, 472, 494, 507, 509; ii. 50, 72, 79, 80, 83, 86, 102, 114, 122, 124, 125, 138-140, 155. Rabin, i. 5. Raccoon, ii. 85, 133, 168, 222-227, 270, 382, 478, 506. _Raccoon Hunt, A_, ii. 492. Radcliffe Library, i. 292. Raffles, Lady, ii. 255. Rafinesque, Constantine S., i. 480, 484. Rail, Virginian, i. 492. Rainbow Tavern, i. 172. Ram Mountain, ii. 24, 26, 28, 40, 67, 86, 148, 152. Rampart River, i. 531. Randell, Maxon, ii. 291. Randolph, Judge John, i. 58, 127. Rankin, Dr., i. 30, 32, 163, 218. _Rapacious Birds of Great Britain_, MacGillivray, i. 165. Rapid River, i. 503. Rat, ii. 335, 356, 432, 465. ----, Norway, i. 40. ----, Pouched, i. 455, 463, 465. Rathbone, Basil, i. 101. ----, Benson, i. 269. ----, Hannah [Anna], i. 108, 114, 134-136, 138, 234, 248, 269, 272. ----, Richard, i. 99-102, 129, 270. ----, Mrs. Richard, i. 101-106, 168, 270. ----, William, Jr., i. 99, 104, 108, 109, 114, 122, 131, 132, 163, 248, 262, 268, 283. ----, Mrs. William, i. 113, 116, 131, 135, 136, 138, 141, 168, 186, 244, 248, 269, 274, 289, 293, 295. _See also_ "Queen Bee." ----, Mrs. William, Jr., i. 108, 109. ---- family, i. 75, 107, 111, 120, 121, 125, 127, 146, 175, 186, 248, 249, 264, 313; ii. 221, 505. Rathbone's Flycatcher, i. 244. Rattlesnake, i. 156, 211, 213, 297, 498. "Rattlesnake" (boat), i. 25. Raven, i. 353, 355, 379, 385, 396-399, 404, 420, 434, 476, 484, 493, 496, 509, 523, 532; ii. 7, 28, 30, 36, 59, 80, 106, 107, 122, 168, 404, 424, 431, 441, 503. Recurvirostra americana, i. 517. Redouté, Pierre Joseph, i. 320, 321, 326-330, 332, 334, 338. Redpolls, i. 298, 396, 414. ----, Lesser, i. 420. Red River, i. 498; ii. 437, 441. Red-fish, i. 499. Redstart, American, i. 353, 471. Redwing, i. 274. Rees, Colonel, ii. 335-338. Rees' Lake, ii. 336, 337. Regent's Park, i. 277-279, 281, 285, 298. Regulators, ii. 230, 231. _Regulators, The_, ii. 232, 233. Regulus calendula, i. 381. Reindeer, i. 375, 432; ii. 426, 428. Reuben's Creek, i. 520. Reynolds, William, M.D., i. 108. Riccaree Indians, ii. 3, 5, 14, 15, 23, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 156. Richardson, Major, i. 474. ----, John, i. 483; ii. 37. Riddell, Sir James, i. 219. Rikaras. _See_ Riccaree Indians. Rikarees. _See_ Riccaree Indians. "Ripley" (ship), i. 67, 345, 349, 352, 358, 364, 371, 397, 400, 417, 435, 439, 444; ii. 405, 410, 417, 426, 427, 430. Ritchie, Mr., i. 215, 468. Rivière aux Couteaux, ii. 24. Roanoke River, i. 322. Robertson, Samuel, i. 410, 411. Robin, i. 120, 245, 260, 269, 351, 353, 357, 379, 433, 496; ii. 275, 434. Rochambeau, Jean Baptiste, i. 8. Rochefort, i. 10, 13, 24, 216. Rocheport, Mo., ii. 174. Rochester, Eng., i. 304. ----, N.Y., i. 117. Rocky Mts., i. 74, 467, 488, 501, 523; ii. 20, 163, 192, 439. ---- Mts. fur trade, i. 499. Roloje Creek, ii. 169. Rook, i. 134, 137, 229, 240, 242, 286, 289, 338. Roscoe, Edward, i. 102, 103, 110-112, 150, 249. ----, William, i. 99, 107-110, 113, 134, 226, 249, 272. ----, Mrs. William, i. 127. ---- family, i. 109, 114, 115, 116, 120, 127, 128, 146. Rose, Mr., ii. 274-279. _Roses, Les_, Redouté's, i. 326. Roslyn Castle, i. 168, 219, 221. ---- Chapel, i. 220. Rotterdam, i. 301. Royal Academy, Edinburgh, i. 182, 183, 188. ---- Academy, London, i. 341. ---- Institute, Edinburgh, i. 162, 209. ---- Institute, Liverpool, i. 104-107, 112, 115, 130, 132, 156, 248, 249. ---- Institute of Manchester, i. 247. ---- Oak, i. 436, 437. ---- Society of Edinburgh, i. 203, 207, 216, 225. ---- Society of London, i. 252, 257. Rozier, Ferdinand, i. 24, 26, 28, 31, 40, 43, 44; ii. 222. Rubus chamæmorus, i. 432. Rudder-fish, i. 84; ii. 302, 307, 308. _Runaway, The_, ii. 270. Running-water River, i. 498, 503. Russell, Michael, i. 204, 206. Russellville, ii. 218. Rutland Arms, i. 136, 138. ---- Cave, i. 138. ----, Duke of, i. 314. Rutter, Dr., i. 144, 273. Ruy's Island, i. 435. Sabine, Sir Edward, i. 281. Sable, i. 375, 378, 401, 409; ii. 382. ----, Cape, i. 351; ii. 367, 374. ---- d'Olhonne; i. 9. Sac Indians, i. 474. St. Albans, i. 298. St. Andrew's Church, Edinburgh, i. 155. St. Andrew's Day, i. 169. St. Augustine, ii. 352, 353, 356, 358. St. Charles, Mo., i. 457; ii. 175. St. Clair, Mr., i. 185. St. Cloud, i. 309, 311. St. Croix River, i. 443. St. Francisville, i. 57, 62, 81. St. Geneviève, i. 30, 31, 44; ii. 222, 230, 450. St. George's Bay, i. 429; ii. 426. St. George's Channel, i. 97. St. Hilaire, Geoffroy de, i. 307, 312, 315, 317, 332. ----, Isidore de, i. 312, 313, 318, 320. St. John's College, Cambridge, i. 286. St. John's River, i. 429, 444; ii. 254, 330-332, 336-338, 389, 392, 393. St. _John's River in Florida_, ii. 353. St. Joseph, i. 471. St. Lawrence, Gulf of, i. 353, 428, 440. St. Louis, i. 72, 449, 450, 454, 458-461, 463, 467, 478, 479, 490, 492, 496, 499, 501, 513, 517, 525, 526; ii. 11, 29, 30, 37, 38, 64, 86, 132, 149, 169, 175, 181, 219, 225, 450. St. Mary's Abbey, York, i. 239. St. Mary's Church, Cambridge, i. 290. St. Nazaire, i. 24. St. Nicholas Church, Newcastle, i. 231, 233. St. Omer, i. 305. St. Paul's Cathedral, i. 252. St. Tammany Parish, i. 5. Salamander, ii. 335. Salmon, i. 375, 430. ---- River, i. 442. Sandford, Major, i. 467. Sandpiper, i. 366, 504; ii. 160. ----, Least, i. 425. ----, Purple, i. 424. ----, Rock. _See_ Sandpiper, Purple. ----, Spotted, i. 353, 365, 431; ii. 7, 162. ----, Wilson's, i. 366. Sandy Island, ii. 364-367. Santa Fé, i. 459, 467. Santee Indians, i. 507, 516. Santo Domingo, i. 5, 7-10. Sapinot, G. L., i. 81. Sarpy, Mr., i. 455-457, 463, 477, 529. Saskatchewan River, ii. 109. Saunders, Howard, i. 402. _Sauve qui peut_, i. 341. Savannah, i. 301. Say, Thomas, i. 37, 459, 461, 472, 483, 502. Sayornis phoebe, ii. 51. "Scapegrace." _See_ Diver, Red-necked. Schoodiac Lakes, ii. 393. Schuylkill River, i. 10, 17, 41, 43, 241, 271; ii. 519. _Scipio and the Bear_, ii. 481. Sciurus aberti, i. 70. ---- audubonii, i. 460, 476. ---- capistratus, i. 455. ---- carolinensis, i. 470. ---- ludovicianus, i. 459, 476. ---- macrourus, i. 455, 459, 461, 472, 475. ---- magnicaudatus, i. 460. ---- niger, i. 455. ---- occidentalis, i. 460. ---- rubicaudatus, i. 460. ---- rufiventer, i. 460. ---- sayii, i. 460. ---- subauratus, i. 459. Scolecophagus carolinus, ii. 48. ---- cyanocephalus, i. 474; ii. 48. Scoter, White-winged, i. 418. Scotland, i. 69, 143, 223, 224, 228, 238, 266, 267; ii. 33. Scott, Anne, i. 177, 207, 217. ---- House, i. 454. ----, Sir Walter, i. 97, 111, 143, 144, 146, 148, 151, 155, 167, 169, 170, 182, 183, 206-211, 216, 217, 237, 266. Scottish Society of Arts, i. 209, 214, 216. "Sea Parrot." _See_ Mormon. Sea-cow, ii. 360. Sea-eagle, ii. 312. Sea-gull, ii. 312. ----, White-breasted, ii. 313. Seal, i. 354, 404, 408, 410; ii. 414, 431, 481. Seal-catcher, i. 408. Seal-fishing, i. 357, 414. Seal Island, i. 350. Seal oil, i. 408. ----, Wild Turkey, i. 160. Seboois Lake, ii. 392. Sedgwick, Adam, i. 286-288. Seine River, i. 307, 309, 310, 336. Selby, Prideaux John, i. 18, 150-154, 179, 183, 189-193, 224, 227, 230, 262-264, 271, 283, 312. Selby family, i. 226, 227, 264. Selkirk, Lord, i. 116, 144. Seminole Indians, ii. 355, 356, 367. Sergeant, E. W., i. 121, 247, 248, 259, 264, 274, 291. Severn River, i. 250, 251. Shark, i. 85, 430; ii. 304, 307. ----, Basking, i. 366. Shattuck, George C., i. 67, 345, 377, 388, 392, 397, 420, 437, 439, 441, 517; ii. 403. Shawanee, i. 34, 44, 45; ii. 238. ---- Indians, i. 148. Sheeps-head, ii. 310, 313. Shewash River, ii. 5. Shippingport, i. 29, 38, 47, 53-55, 270; ii. 203, 206, 215, 221, 454. Shrewsbury, Eng., i. 249-251. Shrike, ii. 97. ----, Loggerhead, ii. 122. Sick-e-chi-choo, ii. 154. "Siffleurs." _See_ Marmots. Silver Hills, ii. 199. Siméon, Vicomte, i. 334, 336, 339. Simmons, Dr., ii. 352. Sioux City, i. 488. ---- Indians, i. 481, 489, 494, 498, 502, 508, 518, 525; ii. 25, 47, 68, 70, 133, 154, 164, 169. ---- Pictout River, i. 484. Sire, Joseph A., i. 452, 454, 479, 490, 520, 528; ii. 19, 27. Siskin, i. 357, 377, 414; ii. 417. Sismondi, Jean C. L., i. 107, 108. Six-trees (camp), i. 519; ii. 165. Skene, W. F., i. 170, 171, 175, 186. Skinner, John Stuart, ii. 221. Skunk, i. 476. Skylark, i. 215; ii. 51. Small-pox, ii. 48. Smet, Father P. J. de, i. 467, 468. Smith, Lieut. Constantine, ii. 352. ----, Gideon B., i. 453, 476; ii. 29, 173. ----, Sydney, i. 215-217, 233. Smyth, William, i. 126. Snipe, i. 57. ----, Solitary, i. 475. Snow-bird, i. 384. Snyders, Francis, i. 175. Society of Natural History, Boston, i. 58. Soldier River, ii. 171. Somerset House, i. 342. South Carolina, i. 69. South Dakota, i. 489. Spanish Fort, ii. 249. "Spark" (boat), ii. 352-355. Sparr Point, i. 410. Sparrow, Chipping, i. 481. ----, Field, i. 481. ----, Fox-colored, i. 372, 402. ----, Fox-tailed, i. 357, 410. ----, Lincolnii, i. 431. ----, Song, i. 353, 391. ----, Swamp, i. 382, 391, 420. ----, White-crowned, i. 379-381, 384, 391, 410, 414. ----, White-throated, i. 352, 379, 391, 399, 405. Sparrow-hawk, i. 506; ii. 50. Spence, Dr. William, i. 217. Spermophile, ii. 27, 51. ----, Federation, ii. 37. Spermophilus hoodii, ii. 37, 124, 138, 140. ---- tridecem-lineatus, ii. 37. ---- tridecem-pallidus, ii. 37. Spizella brewerii, i. 517, 518. "Split Cape," i. 444. Sprague, Isaac, i. 73; assistant on Missouri River trip, i. 453-531; ii. 4-173, 183. Spreading Water, i. 503. _Spring Garden_, ii. 333. Spring Garden Creek, ii. 336, 338. Square Hills, ii. 9. Squatters of Labrador, i. 415. _Squatters of Labrador_, ii. 443. Squires, Lewis, i. 73, 453; secretary on Missouri River trip, i. 461-528; ii. 9-173, 182. Squirrel, i. 468, 507; ii. 212, 323, 404, 459-463, 496, 502, 503. ----, Abert's, i. 70. ----, Black, i. 472, 475, 476. ----, Catesby's Black, i. 455. ----, Flying, i. 401. ----, Fox, i. 455. ----, Gray, i. 457-459, 469, 470, 473, 475; ii. 173, 175. ----, Ground, ii. 27, 51. ----, Long-tailed, ii. 170, 174. ----, Red, i. 433; ii. 433. ----, Western Fox, i. 459, 476. Stanford, Lord, i. 122, 123, 135. Stanley, Lord. _See_ Derby, Earl of. Starling, i. 229, 241, 246, 274, 278, 481. ----, Red-winged, i. 480; ii. 90. Stateford, i. 164. Steen (or Stein), Mr., i. 52. Stercorarius pomarinus, i. 420. Sterna fosteri, i. 368. ---- havelli, i. 61. ---- hirundo, i. 357, 368, 370, 380. ---- regia, i. 402. ---- shegrava, i. 402. Stewart, Dugald, i. 166. Stockport, i. 136. Stokoe, Baron, M.D., i. 185. Stow, i. 170. Strobel, Benjamin, M.D., ii. 348, 378. Stuart, Sir William, i. 468. Sturnella neglecta, i. 506, 510. Sublette, William, and Co., ii. 69, 132. Sula bassana, i. 359. Sullivan's Bridge, i. 43. Sully, Robert, i. 276, 285. ----, Thomas, i. 55, 57, 109, 192, 252, 271, 300. _Sun Perch, The_, ii. 515. Sussex, Duke of, i. 377. Swainson, William, i. 57, 64, 295-300, 303, 306-309, 312, 313, 316, 320, 325, 332, 341, 405, 477. ----, Mrs. William, i. 299, 300, 306, 312, 313. Swallow, i. 141; ii. 253. ----, Bank, i. 350, 358, 381, 431, 485. ----, Barn, i. 472, 508; ii. 7. ----, Chimney, i. 353. ----, Cliff, i. 487, 494; ii. 16, 66, 176. ----, Greenbacked, i. 472, 477, 484. ----, House, i. 358, 431; ii. 16, 167. ----, Martin, i. 433. ----, Republican, i. 431. ----, Rough-winged, i. 471, 477, 508; ii. 7. ----, White-bellied, i. 472. Swan, i. 141, 310, 471, 494; ii. 5, 19, 21, 140, 154, 157, 159, 171, 222, 223. Swift, i. 471. "Swiftsure" (boat), ii. 431, 432. Sword-fish, i. 88. Sylvia parus, ii. 316. ---- roscoe, i. 301. ---- striata, i. 399. Sylvicola [Dendroeca] maculosa, i. 498. Syme, John, i. 157, 165, 173, 176, 205. Tachycinata bicolor, i. 472. Tah-Tah, ii. 154. Talbot, Isham, i. 36. Tamias, ii. 27, 31. ---- quadrivittatus, ii. 154. Tanager, Red, i. 471. Tarascon family, i. 29, 47, 48, 54; ii. 200. Tarascon's Mills, ii. 215. Tawapatee Bottom, i. 31, 207; ii. 222, 224. Taylor, Mr., ii. 168. ----, James I., i. 120. ----, John, D.D., i. 139. Teal, Blue-winged, i. 459, 471, 472; ii. 167, 176, 206. ----, Green-winged, ii. 176. Temminck, C. T., i. 235, 275, 380. Tennessee, i. 32, 329. Tern, i. 368, 428, 432; ii. 313, 364, 372. ----, Arctic, i. 369, 372, 377, 380, 389. ----, Black, i. 493; ii. 39. ----, Caspian, i. 402. ----, Cayenne, i. 368, 402, 433. ----, Foster's, i. 368. ----, Great, i. 357, 368, 433, 434. ----, Havell's, i. 61. ----, Sooty, i. 87. Teton River, i. 525-527. Tetrao canadensis, i. 352, 414. ---- [Bonasa] umbellus, i. 461. ---- umbellus, i. 401. Texas, i. 70, 74, 75. Thalassidroma, i. 396. "Thalia" (boat), i. 90. Thames River, i. 304. Théâtre français, i. 308. Thomas, William, i. 16, 19. ----, Mrs. William, i. 27. Thompson's Creek, i. 162. Thomson, Anthony Todd, i. 146, 148, 155. ----, Thomas, i. 222. Thrasaëtos harpyia, i. 271. Thrush, i. 134, 226, 242, 272, 357; ii. 7. ----, Black, i. 269. ----, Ferruginous, i. 471. ----, Golden-crowned, i. 462, 471. ----, Hermit, i. 350, 357. ----, Red, i. 245, 516; ii. 7. ----, Tawny, i. 353, 357, 406. ----, Water, i. 470, 476. _See also_ Turdus aquaticus. ----, Wilson's Water, i. 301. ----, Wood, i. 193, 209, 242, 339, 471, 476, 496; ii. 316. Thruston, Mr., ii. 358, 363. "Tinkers." _See_ Alca torda. Titian, Vecellio, i. 196. Titlark, ii. 166. Titlark, Brown, i. 399. Titmouse, i. 477; ii. 117. ----, Black-headed, i. 400, 431. ----, Canada, i. 431, 433. ----, Hudson's Bay, i. 400. Tittenhanger Green, i. 298, 300, 301. Todd, John, i. 111. ----, Thomas, i. 111. Toledo, General, i. 32. Tomlinson, Mr., i. 115. Tongue River, i. 503. Tortugas, ii. 309, 346, 371-374. Totanus macularius, i. 353, 365. Townsend, J. K., i. 472; ii. 56. Trade Water River, ii. 278. Traill, Thomas S., i. 107, 111, 112, 115, 116, 120, 127-129, 146, 163, 175, 248, 249, 269, 295. "Trapper" (steamboat), i. 524-528; ii. 10, 124. Travers Lake, ii. 146. Trenton, i. 16. Tringa, i. 366, 423, 431. ---- [Acto-dromas] minutilla, i. 366. ---- arquatella maritima, i. 424. ---- maritima, i. 424. ---- minutilla, i. 366. ---- pusilla, i. 368, 425. Trinidad, i. 167, 168. Trinity, Illinois, i. 53, 149; ii. 274, 275. ---- Chapel, Cambridge, i. 290. ---- Church Cemetery, i. 77. ---- College, Cambridge, i. 286. Troglodytes bewickii, i. 302. ---- ludovicianus, i. 302. Trollope, Mrs. Frances, i. 440. Troupial, Yellow-headed, i. 478, 480, 481, 485, 495. Trudeau, Dr., i. 464. Truro, i. 438. Tuileries, Jardins de, i. 312, 314, 326, 334, 338. Turdus aquaticus, i. 301. _See also_ Thrush, Water. ---- migratorius, i. 373. Turkey, Wild, i. 100, 115, 131, 141, 156, 159, 161, 163, 173-176, 180, 191, 194, 203, 243, 451, 454, 458, 461, 468-471, 473, 475, 481, 482, 485, 487-490, 495; ii. 168-170, 174, 206, 214, 217, 220-224, 248, 276, 320, 329, 331, 355, 447, 452, 459, 487, 503, 507. Turner, Rev. William, i. 239, 240, 264. Turtle, ii. 360-363, 373-380. ----, Green, ii. 373-380. ----, Hawk-billed, ii. 347, 373, 374, 377. ----, Loggerhead, ii. 373-378. ----, Trunk, ii. 373, 374, 377. _Turtlers, The_, ii. 371. Tuskar Rock, i. 97. Twizel House, i. 225, 268, 293. Tyne River, i. 230, 231, 233-236. Tyrannula richardsonii, i. 405. Tyrolese Singers, i. 272. "Union" (boat), ii. 139, 146. United States, i. 329, 413, 422, 436; ii. 187, 188, 194, 225, 230, 508. United States Congress, i. 272, 275, 278. University of Cambridge, i. 288. University of Edinburgh, i. 146, 177. Upper Knife River, ii. 24. Uria grylle, i. 354, 389. ---- ringvia, i. 372. ---- troile, i. 351, 354, 366, 371, 372, 413, 428. Urinator imber, i. 389. ---- lumme, i. 389, 390. Vâcher, Baron, i. 334, 336. Valenciennes achille, i. 307, 325, 330. Valéry, M., i. 325, 326. Valley Forge, i. 10, 41, 43. Vanconnah Swamp, ii. 260. Van Praët, Joseph Basile, i. 314. Vaux, James, i. 43. Veras, Colonel, i. 468. Vermilion River, i. 489, 490, 494; ii. 168. Versailles, i. 316, 317. Vespertilio subulatus, i. 502. Vestris, Madam, i. 253. Viarme, Place de, Nantes, i. 273. Viellot, François, i. 301, 472. Vigors, Nicholas Aylward, i. 255-257, 281, 282, 294, 296, 303. Vincennes, ii. 498. Vireo, i. 473, 497. ---- bellii, i. 473. ----, Bell's, i. 473, 500. ---- Warbling, i. 475. ----, White-eyed, i. 475. Virginia, ii. 51, 218, 232, 244, 444, 455. Virginians, i. 40; ii. 242, 457, 478. Vivien, Admiral, i. 13. Voltaire, François, M.A., i. 322. Vulpes fulvus macrourus, ii. 76. ---- macrourus, ii. 12, 76. ----, Utah, ii. 12, 76. _See also_ Fox, Red. Vultur atratus, i. 181. Vulture, i. 113, 352, 394, 415, 458; ii. 210, 246-249, 252, 304, 418, 468. Wagtail, i. 248. Wales, i. 97, 105, 250. Walker, Sir Patrick, i. 159. Wallaghasquegantook Lake, ii. 392. Waller, Sir Walter, i. 258. Wananri River, i. 503. Wansbeck River, i. 229. Wapiti, i. 484. "War Eagle" (boat), i. 499. Warbler, i. 87, 88, 242, 357, 379, 382; ii. 310, 426, 355. ----, Black and Yellow, i. 498. ----, Blackburnian, i. 485. ----, Black-capped, i. 357, 397, 399, 410, 421. ----, Black-poll, i. 379, 381, 399. ----, Blue-eyed, i. 471. ----, Blue-winged, i. 471. ----, Blue Yellow-eyed, i. 431. ----, Cerulean, i. 462, 471. ----, Children's, i. 275. ----, Cuvier's, i. 275. ----, Hemlock, ii. 316. ----, Kentucky, i. 471, 473. ----, Mourning, i. 475. ----, Nashville, i. 471. ----, Pale, i. 481. ----, Red-breasted, i. 134. ----, Vigor's, i. 275. ----, Yellow, i. 481. ----, Yellow-rumped, i. 405, 470, 484. ----, Yellow-winged, i. 405. Ward, J. F., i. 284. Washinga Sabba. _See_ Blackbird (chief). Washington, D.C., i. 63, 69. ----, George, i. 10, 43, 478. ----, Miss., i. 52. ----, Mo., ii. 175. ----, Penn., i. 52. Wassataquoik River, ii. 392. Waterloo Hotel, i. 169. Waterloo Place, i. 253. Waterton, Charles, i. 56, 158, 169. Watson, i. 469. Weak-fish, ii. 312. Wear River, i. 238. Webster, J. W., i. 441. Weiss, Charles N., i. 166, 167, 172, 177. Wells, Maine, i. 94. Wernerian Society, Edinburgh, i. 146, 152, 174, 176, 180, 186, 202, 205, 211, 213, 217. West, Benjamin, i. 207. West Indies, i. 28. ---- Point, i. 480. Weterhoo River, i. 531. Wetherill, John Macomb, i. 43. ----, Samuel, i. 32, 41. ----, W. H., i. 41, 43. Whale, i. 94, 96. Whapatigan, ii. 404. Wheeling, Virginia, i. 450, 454; ii. 218. Whewell, William, i. 286-290. Whip-poor-will, i. 242, 245, 471, 473; ii. 163, 164, 170. "White Cloud" (boat), i. 499. White Cow (chief), ii. 72. ---- Earth River, i. 512; ii. 25, 133. ---- Head Island, ii. 431, 432. ---- Horse Inn, i. 285. ---- Paint Creek, i. 509. _White Perch, The_, ii. 509. White River, i. 512; ii. 25, 167. Whitestone River, i. 494. Wied, Prince of, i. 525; ii. 323. Wilberforce, William, i. 293. Wilcomb, Captain, i. 422, 428. Wild Cat, i. 494, 504; ii. 166, 400, 413. _Wild Horse, A_, ii. 215. Willet, i. 472. Williams, W. H., i. 265, 292. Wilson, Alexander, i. 29, 65, 108, 128, 261, 292, 298, 312, 385; ii. 200, 201, 203. ----, James, i. 64, 157, 179. ----, John, i. 160, 161, 176, 180, 200, 203, 217, 266. Wimpole Street, London, i. 69. Winchester, ii. 218. Windsor, Nova Scotia, i. 442, 443; ii. 435. ---- Castle, i. 291. ---- River, i. 443. Witham, Henry, i. 173, 174, 224. "Wizard" (boat), i. 422, 428. Wolf, i. 365, 378, 392, 403, 408, 409, 458, 483, 485, 491-495, 499, 504, 508-511, 517-521, 523, 525, 529-532; ii. 4, 7, 9, 19, 20, 22-28, 30-33, 36, 37, 40-42, 49, 52, 54, 57-61, 64, 70, 72, 74-76, 80-85, 87-89, 92, 93, 102, 104, 106, 110-117, 121, 124, 127, 130, 142, 148, 154, 156-159, 163, 166-169, 171, 176, 184, 223, 267, 278, 374, 405, 424, 461, 468-471, 492, 497-500. ----, American, i. 483. ----, Buffalo, i. 483. ----, Gray, ii. 35-38. ----, Prairie, i. 481, 483, 494; ii. 160, 171. ----, Timber, i. 483. ----, White, i. 501; ii. 40, 67. Wolf Island, ii. 323. ---- pit, ii. 499. Wood, George W., i. 119. Woodchuck, i. 458. Woodcock, i. 494, 495. Woodcroft, i. 129, 132, 168, 248, 270. Wood-duck, ii. 168, 174, 384. Woodpecker, i. 331, 339, 401, 462, 470, 506; ii. 496. ----, Downy, i. 418. ----, Golden-winged, i. 433, 471; ii. 41, 42. ----, Green, i. 310. ----, Hairy, i. 431. ----, Ivory-billed, ii. 379. ----, Pileated, ii. 170, 476. ----, Red-bellied, i. 471. ----, Red-cheeked, ii. 53, 138. ----, Red-headed, i. 471, 508; ii. 7. ----, Red-patched, ii. 51. ----, Red-shafted, i. 510, 532; ii. 7, 8, 24, 53, 65, 67, 72, 167. ----, Three-toed, i. 371, 418. ----, Variegated, i. 286. Woodruff's Lake, ii. 338. Wood's Bluffs, i. 485. ---- Hills, i. 486. Woodstock, i. 252; ii. 389, 392. Woodville, i. 58. Wreckers, ii. 246, 349, 351. _Wreckers of Florida_, ii. 345. Wren, i. 272. ----, Golden-crested, i. 434. ----, House, i. 471, 475, 477, 496, 504; ii. 7. ----, Marsh, i. 476. ----, Rock, ii. 97, 117, 122, 138, 159. ----, Ruby-crowned, i. 381, 385, 402. ----, Short-billed Marsh, ii. 90, 107. ----, Winter, i. 357, 410; ii. 433. Wrexham, i. 250. Yankton River, i. 501. Yazoo River, ii. 260. Yellow-bird, Summer, ii. 7. Yellow-legs, ii. 176. Yellow-shanks, i. 475. Yellow-throat, Maryland, i. 431, 471; ii. 7. Yellowstone River, i. 56, 451, 453, 529; ii. 4, 9, 16, 18, 28, 29, 37, 48, 53, 57, 65, 69, 89, 96, 98-101, 104, 114, 125, 126, 180. York, i. 238, 240, 242, 243, 260, 268, 284, 285. ---- Minster, i. 239, 242. ---- museum, i. 240. ---- Philosophical Society, i. 242. Yucca, ii. 165. Zanesville, ii. 218. Zonotrichia, i. 391. Zonotrichia querula, i. 472. Zoölogical gardens, i. 271, 281, 300, 302, 341. _Zoölogical Journal_, London, i. 303. Zoölogical Society of London, i. 257, 282, 284, 297; ii. 505. Zostera Marina, ii. 377. THE FACSIMILES OF THE DIPLOMAS WHICH FOLLOW ARE TAKEN FROM A FEW OF THE VERY MANY WHICH AUDUBON RECEIVED FROM THE SCIENTIFIC SOCIETIES OF EUROPE AND AMERICA. UNFORTUNATELY, AMONG THE MANY WHICH THE REPEATED FIRES HAVE DESTROYED WAS THAT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF ENGLAND. THE LETTER ANNOUNCING TO AUDUBON HIS ELECTION TO THAT CELEBRATED SOCIETY, THE HIGHEST HONOR HE RECEIVED, IS THEREFORE SUBSTITUTED, WITH THE SIGNATURE OF SIR (FORMERLY CAPTAIN) EDWARD SABINE, THE ARCTIC EXPLORER. THE DIPLOMAS GIVEN ARE: La Société Linnéenne de Paris. 6 Novembre, 1823. Lyceum of Natural History, New York. January 13, 1824. Société d'Histoire Naturelle de Paris. 5 Decembre, 1828. American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Massachusetts. November 10, 1830. Royal Society of Edinburgh. March 5. 1831. Royal Jennerian Society, London. July 15, 1836. Literary and Historical Society of Quebec. November 19, 1836. Western Academy of Natural Sciences, St. Louis, Mo. April 17, 1843. Natural History Society of Montreal. March 29, 1847. [Illustrations: Facsimiles of Diplomas] 
4136	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER & OCTOBER 1662 September 1st. Up betimes at my lodging and to my office and among my workmen, and then with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's, this being the first day of our meeting there by the Duke's order; but when we come, we found him going out by coach with his Duchess, and he told us he was to go abroad with the Queen to-day (to Durdans, it seems, to dine with my Lord Barkeley, where I have been very merry when I was a little boy); so we went and staid a little at Mr. Coventry's chamber, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, who is gone to wait upon the King and Queen today. And so Mr. Paget being there, Will Howe and I and he played over some things of Locke's that we used to play at sea, that pleased us three well, it being the first music I have heard a great while, so much has my business of late taken me off from all my former delights. By and by by water home, and there dined alone, and after dinner with my brother Tom's two men I removed all my goods out of Sir W. Pen's house into one room that I have with much ado got ready at my house, and so I am to be quit of any further obligation to him. So to my office, but missing my key, which I had in my hand just now, makes me very angry and out of order, it being a thing that I hate in others, and more in myself, to be careless of keys, I thinking another not fit to be trusted that leaves a key behind their hole. One thing more vexes me: my wife writes me from the country that her boy plays the rogue there, and she is weary of him, and complains also of her maid Sarah, of which I am also very sorry. Being thus out of temper, I could do little at my office, but went home and eat a bit, and so to my lodging to bed. 2nd. Up betimes and got myself ready alone, and so to my office, my mind much troubled for my key that I lost yesterday, and so to my workmen and put them in order, and so to my office, and we met all the morning, and then dined at Sir W. Batten's with Sir W. Pen, and so to my office again all the afternoon, and in the evening wrote a letter to Mr. Cooke, in the country, in behalf of my brother Tom, to his mistress, it being the first of my appearing in it, and if she be as Tom sets her out, it may be very well for him. So home and eat a bit, and so to my lodging to bed. 3rd. Up betimes, but now the days begin to shorten, and so whereas I used to rise by four o'clock, it is not broad daylight now till after five o'clock, so that it is after five before I do rise. To my office, and about 8 o'clock I went over to Redriffe, and walked to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen beginning the pay, it being my desire to be there to-day because it is the first pay that Mr. Coventry has been at, and I would be thought to be as much with Mr. Coventry as I can. Here we staid till noon, and by that time paid off the Breda, and then to dinner at the tavern, where I have obtained that our commons is not so large as they used to be, which I am glad to see. After dinner by water to the office, and there we met and sold the Weymouth, Successe, and Fellowship hulkes, where pleasant to see how backward men are at first to bid; and yet when the candle is going out, how they bawl and dispute afterwards who bid the most first. And here I observed one man cunninger than the rest that was sure to bid the last man, and to carry it; and inquiring the reason, he told me that just as the flame goes out the smoke descends, which is a thing I never observed before, and by that he do know the instant when to bid last, which is very pretty. In our discourse in the boat Mr. Coventry told us how the Fanatiques and the Presbyters, that did intend to rise about this time, did choose this day as the most auspicious to them in their endeavours against monarchy: it being fatal twice to the King, and the day of Oliver's death. [Cromwell had considered the 3rd of September as the most fortunate day of his life, on account of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester. It was also remarkable for the great storm that occurred at the time of his death; and as being the day on which the Fire of London, in 1666, burnt with the greatest fury.--B.] But, blessed be God! all is likely to be quiet, I hope. After the sale I walked to my brother's, in my way meeting with Dr. Fairbrother, of whom I enquired what news in Church matters. He tells me, what I heard confirmed since, that it was fully resolved by the King's new Council that an indulgence should be granted the Presbyters; but upon the Bishop of London's speech [Gilbert Sheldon, born July 19th, 1598; Fellow of All Souls, Oxford, 1622; Warden, 1635; Bishop of London, 1660-63; Archbishop of Canterbury, 1663. Died November 9th, 1677.] (who is now one of the most powerful men in England with the King), their minds were wholly turned. And it is said that my Lord Albemarle did oppose him most; but that I do believe is only in appearance. He told me also that most of the Presbyters now begin to wish they had complied, now they see that no Indulgence will be granted them, which they hoped for; and that the Bishop of London hath taken good care that places are supplied with very good and able men, which is the only thing that will keep all quiet. I took him in the tavern at Puddle dock, but neither he nor I drank any of the wine we called for, but left it, and so after discourse parted, and Mr. Townsend not being at home I went to my brother's, and there heard how his love matter proceeded, which do not displease me, and so by water to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, where he being to go to Hinchingbroke to-morrow morning, I staid and fiddled with Will. Howe some new tunes very pleasant, and then my Lord came in and had much kind talk with him, and then to bed with Mr. Moore there alone. So having taken my leave of my Lord before I went to bed, I resolved to rise early and be gone without more speaking to him-- 4th. Which I did, and by water betimes to the Tower and so home, where I shifted myself, being to dine abroad, and so being also trimmed, which is a thing I have very seldom done of late, I gat to my office and then met and sit all the morning, and at noon we all to the Trinity House, where we treated, very dearly, I believe, the officers of the Ordnance; where was Sir W. Compton and the rest and the Lieutenant of the Tower. We had much and good music, which was my best entertainment. Sir Wm. Compton I heard talk with great pleasure of the difference between the fleet now and in Queen Elisabeth's days; where, in 88, she had but 36 sail great and small, in the world; and ten rounds of powder was their allowance at that time against the Spaniard. After Sir W. Compton and Mr. Coventry, and some of the best of the rest were gone, I grew weary of staying with Sir Williams both, and the more for that my Lady Batten and her crew, at least half a score, come into the room, and I believe we shall pay size for it; but 'tis very pleasant to see her in her hair under her hood, and how by little and little she would fain be a gallant; but, Lord! the company she keeps about her are like herself, that she may be known by them what she is. Being quite weary I stole from them and to my office, where I did business till 9 at night, and so to my lodgings to bed. 5th. Up by break of day at 5 o'clock, and down by water to Woolwich: in my way saw the yacht lately built by our virtuosoes (my Lord Brunkard and others, with the help of Commissioner Pett also) set out from Greenwich with the little Dutch bezan, to try for mastery; and before they got to Woolwich the Dutch beat them half-a-mile (and I hear this afternoon, that, in coming home, it got above three miles); which all our people are glad of. Here I staid and mustered the yard and looked into the storehouses; and so walked all alone to Greenwich, and thence by water to Deptford, and there examined some stores, and did some of my own business in hastening my work there, and so walked to Redriffe, being by this time pretty weary and all in a sweat; took boat there for the Tower, which made me a little fearful, it being a cold, windy morning. So to my lodgings and there rubbed myself clean, and so to Mr. Bland's, the merchant, by invitation, I alone of all our company of this office; where I found all the officers of the Customs, very grave fine gentlemen, and I am very glad to know them; viz.--Sir Job Harvy, Sir John Wolstenholme, Sir John Jacob, Sir Nicholas Crisp, Sir John Harrison, and Sir John Shaw: very good company. And among other pretty discourse, some was of Sir Jerom Bowes, Embassador from Queene Elizabeth to the Emperor of Russia; [In 1583; the object of his mission being to persuade the Muscovite (Ivan IV. the Terrible) to a peace with John, King of Sweden. He was also employed to confirm the trade of the English with Russia, and having incurred some personal danger, was received with favour on his return by the Queen. He died in 1616.] who, because some of the noblemen there would go up the stairs to the Emperor before him, he would not go up till the Emperor had ordered those two men to be dragged down stairs, with their heads knocking upon every stair till they were killed. And when he was come up, they demanded his sword of him before he entered the room. He told them, if they would have his sword, they should have his boots too. And so caused his boots to be pulled off, and his night-gown and night-cap and slippers to be sent for; and made the Emperor stay till he could go in his night-dress, since he might not go as a soldier. And lastly, when the Emperor in contempt, to show his command of his subjects, did command one to leap from the window down and broke his neck in the sight of our Embassador, he replied that his mistress did set more by, and did make better use of the necks of her subjects but said that, to show what her subjects would do for her, he would, and did, fling down his gantlett before the Emperor; and challenged all the nobility there to take it up, in defence of the Emperor against his Queen: for which, at this very day, the name of Sir Jerom Bowes is famous and honoured there. After dinner I came home and found Sir John Minnes come this day, and I went to him to Sir W. Batten's, where it pleased me to see how jealous Sir Williams both are of my going down to Woolwich, &c., and doing my duty as I nowadays do, and of my dining with the Commission of the Customs. So to my office, and there till 9 at night, and so to my lodgings to bed. I this day heard that Mr. Martin Noell is knighted by the King, which I much wonder at; but yet he is certainly a very useful man. 6th. Lay long, that is, till 6 and past before I rose, in order to sweat a little away the cold which I was afraid I might have got yesterday, but I bless God I am well. So up and to my office, and then we met and sat till noon, very full of business. Then Sir John Minnes, both Sir Williams and I to the Trinity House, where we had at dinner a couple of venison pasties, of which I eat but little, being almost cloyed, having been at five pasties in three days, namely, two at our own feast, and one yesterday, and two to-day. So home and at the office all the afternoon, busy till nine at night, and so to my lodging and to bed. This afternoon I had my new key and the lock of my office door altered, having lost my key the other day, which vexed me. 7th (Lord's day). Up betimes and round about by the streets to my office, and walked in the garden and in my office till my man Will rose, and then sent to tell Sir J. Minnes that I would go with him to Whitehall, which anon we did, in his coach, and to the Chapell, where I heard a good sermon of the Dean of Ely's, upon returning to the old ways, and a most excellent anthem, with symphonys between, sung by Captain Cooke. Then home with Mr. Fox and his lady; and there dined with them, where much company come to them. Most of our discourse was what ministers are flung out that will not conform: and the care of the Bishop of London that we are here supplied with very good men. Thence to my Lord's, where nobody at home but a woman that let me in, and Sarah above, whither I went up to her and played and talked with her . . . After I had talked an hour or two with her I went and gave Mr. Hunt a short visit, he being at home alone, and thence walked homewards, and meeting Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, he took me into Somersett House; and there carried me into the Queen-Mother's presence-chamber, where she was with our own Queen sitting on her left hand (whom I did never see before); and though she be not very charming, yet she hath a good, modest, and innocent look, which is pleasing. Here I also saw Madam Castlemaine, and, which pleased me most, Mr. Crofts, the King's bastard, a most pretty spark of about 15 years old, who, I perceive, do hang much upon my Lady Castlemaine, and is always with her; and, I hear, the Queens both of them are mighty kind to him. [James, the son of Charles II. by Lucy Walter, daughter of William Walter, of Roch Castle, co. Pembroke. He was born April 9th, 1649, and landed in England with the Queen-Mother, July 28th, 1662, when he bore the name of Crofts, after Lord Crofts, his governor. He was created Duke of Monmouth, February 14th, 1663, and married Lady Anne Scott, daughter and heiress of Francis, second Earl of Buccleuch, on April 20th following. In 1673 he took the name of Scott, and was created Duke of Buccleuch.] By and by in comes the King, and anon the Duke and his Duchess; so that, they being all together, was such a sight as I never could almost have happened to see with so much ease and leisure. They staid till it was dark, and then went away; the King and his Queen, and my Lady Castlemaine and young Crofts, in one coach and the rest in other, coaches. Here were great store of great ladies, but very few handsome. The King and Queen were very merry; and he would have made the Queen-Mother believe that his Queen was with child, and said that she said so. And the young Queen answered, "You lye;" which was the first English word that I ever heard her say which made the King good sport; and he would have taught her to say in English, "Confess and be hanged." The company being gone I walked home with great content as I can be in for seeing the greatest rarity, and yet a little troubled that I should see them before my wife's coming home, I having made a promise that I would not, nor did I do it industriously and by design, but by chance only. To my office, to fit myself for waiting on the Duke to-morrow morning with the rest of our company, and so to my lodgings and to bed. 8th. Up betimes and to my office preparing an account to give the Duke this morning of what we have of late done at the office. About 7 o'clock I went forth thinking to go along with Sir John Minnes and the rest, and I found them gone, which did vex me, so I went directly to the old Swan and took boat before them to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings at Whitehall, and there staying till he was dressed talking with him, he and I to St. James's, where Sir Williams both and Sir John were come, and so up with Mr. Coventry to the Duke; who, after he was out of his bed, did send for us in; and, when he was quite ready, took us into his closet, and there told us that he do intend to renew the old custom for the Admirals to have their principal officers to meet them once a-week, to give them an account what they have done that week; which I am glad of: and so the rest did tell his Royal Highness that I could do it best for the time past. And so I produced my short notes, and did give him an account of all that we have of late done; and proposed to him several things for his commands, which he did give us, and so dismissed us. The rest to Deptford, I to the Exchequer to meet Mr. Townsend, where I hear he is gone to the Sun tavern, and there found him with some friends at breakfast, which I eat with him, and so we crossed the water together, and in walking I told him my brother Tom's intentions for a wife, which he would do me all favour in to Mr. Young, whose kinswoman he do look after. We took boat again at the Falcon, and there parted, and I to the old Swan, and so to the Change, and there meeting Sir W. Warren did step to a tavern, and there sat and talked about price of masts and other things, and so broke up and to my office to see what business, and so we took water again, and at the Tower I over to Redriffe, and there left him in the boat and walked to Deptford, and there up and down the yard speaking with people, and so Sir W. Pen coming out of the payhouse did single me out to tell me Sir J. Minnes' dislike of my blinding his lights over his stairs (which indeed is very bad) and blocking up the house of office on the leads. Which did trouble me. So I went into the payhouse and took an occasion of speaking with him alone, and did give him good satisfaction therein, so as that I am well pleased and do hope now to have my closet on the leads without any more trouble, for he do not object against my having a door upon the leads, but that all my family should not make it a thoroughfare, which I am contented with. So to the pay, and in the evening home in the barge, and so to my office, and after doing some business there to my lodgings, and so to bed. 9th. At my office betimes, and by and by we sat, and at noon Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Pett, and myself by water to Deptford, where we met Sir G. C., Sir W. B., and Sir W. P. At the pay of a ship, and we dined together on a haunch of good venison boiled, and after dinner returned again to the office, and there met several tradesmen by our appointment to know of them their lowest rates that they will take for their several provisions that they sell to us, for I do resolve to know that, and to buy no dearer, that so when we know the lowest rate, it shall be the Treasurer's fault, and not ours, that we pay dearer. This afternoon Sir John Minnes, Mr. Coventry, and I went into Sir John's lodgings, where he showed us how I have blinded all his lights, and stopped up his garden door, and other things he takes notice of that he resolves to abridge me of, which do vex me so much that for all this evening and all night in my bed, so great a fool I am, and little master of my passion, that I could not sleep for the thoughts of my losing the privilege of the leads, and other things which in themselves are small and not worth half the trouble. The more fool am I, and must labour against it for shame, especially I that used to preach up Epictetus's rule: ["Some things are in our power, others are not" Pepys means, "I ought not to vex myself about what I cannot control."] Late at my office, troubled in mind, and then to bed, but could hardly sleep at night. 10th. Up and to my house, and there contrived a way how Sir John Minnes shall come into the leads, and yet I save part of the closet I hoped for, which, if it will not please him, I am a madman to be troubled at it. To my office, and then at my house among my lazy workmen all day. In the afternoon to the Wardrobe to speak with Mr. Townsend, who tells me that he has spoke with Mr. Young about my brother Tom's business, and finds that he has made enquiry of him, and do hear him so well spoken of that he doubts not that the business will take with ordinary endeavours. So to my brother's, and there finding both door and hatch open, I went in and knocked 3 or 4 times, and nobody came to me, which troubled me mightily; at last came Margaret, who complained of Peter, who by and by came in, and I did rattle him soundly for it. I did afterwards take occasion to talk seriously alone with Margaret, who I find a very discreet, good woman, and tells me, upon my demand, that her master is a very good husband, and minds his business well, but his fault is that he has not command over his two men, but they do what they list, and care not for his commands, and especially on Sundays they go whither they please, and not to church, which vexes me mightily, and I am resolved to school [him] soundly for it, it being so much unlike my father, that I cannot endure it in myself or him. So walked home and in my way at the Exchange found my uncle Wight, and he and I to an alehouse to drink a cup of beer, and so away, and I home and at the office till 9 o'clock and past, and so to my lodgings. I forgot that last night Mr. Cooke came to me to make his peace for inviting my brother lately out of town without my leave, but he do give me such a character of the lady that he has found out for him that I do much rejoice at, and did this night write a letter to her, which he enclosed in one of his, and by the report that I hear of her I confess I am much pleased with the match. 11th. Up, but not so soon as I have of late practised, my little trouble of mind and the shortness of the days making me to lie a little longer than I used to do, but I must make it up by sitting up longer of nights. To my office, whither my brother Tom, whom I chide sufficiently for yesterday's work. So we sat at the office all the morning, some of us at Deptford paying the ordinary there; at noon Sir W. Pen took me to his lodgings to dinner, and after dinner I to my office again, and now and then to see how my work goes on, and so to my office late, and so to my lodgings, and after staying up till past 12 at night, at my musique upon my lute, to bed. This night Tom came to show me a civil letter sent him from his mistress. I am pleased well enough with the business. 12th. Up betimes and to my office, and up to my workmen, which goes on slowly and troubles me much. Besides, my mind is troubled till I see how Sir John Minnes will carry himself to me about my lodgings, for all my fear is that he will get my best chamber from me, for as for the leads I care not a farthing for them. At my office all the morning, Mr. Lewes teaching me to understand the method of making up Purser's accounts, which is very needful for me and very hard. Dined at home all in dirt, and my mind weary of being thus out of order, but I hope in God it will away, but for the present I am very melancholy, as I have been a great while. All the afternoon till 9 at night at my office, and then home and eat an egg or two, and so to my lodgings and to bed. This day, by letters from my father, I hear that Captain Ferrers, who is with my Lord in the country, was at Brampton (with Mr. Creed) to see him; and that a day or two ago, being provoked to strike one of my Lord's footmen, the footman drew his sword, and hath almost cut the fingers of one of his hands off; which I am sorry for: but this is the vanity of being apt to command and strike. 13th. Up betimes and to my office, and we sat all the morning, and then at noon dined alone at home, and so among my work folks studying how to get my way sure to me to go upon the leads, which I fear at last I must be contented to go without, but, however, my mind is troubled still about it. We met again in the afternoon to set accounts even between the King and the masters of ships hired to carry provisions to Lisbon, and in the evening Mr. Moore came to me and did lie with me at my lodgings. It is great pleasure to me his company and discourse, and did talk also about my law business, which I must now fall upon minding again, the term coming on apace. So to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Up very early, and Mr. Moore taking leave of me the barber came and trimmed me (I having him now to come to me again after I have used a pumice-stone a good while, not but what I like this where I cannot conveniently have a barber, but here I cannot keep my hair dry without one), and so by water to White Hall, by the way hearing that the Bishop of London had given a very strict order against boats going on Sundays, and as I come back again, we were examined by the masters of the company in another boat; but I told them who I was. But the door not being open to Westminster stairs there, called in at the Legg and drank a cup of ale and a toast, which I have not done many a month before, but it served me for my two glasses of wine to-day. Thence to St. James's to Mr. Coventry, and there staid talking privately with him an hour in his chamber of the business of our office, and found him to admiration good and industrious, and I think my most true friend in all things that are fair. He tells me freely his mind of every man and in every thing. Thence to White Hall chapel, where sermon almost done, and I heard Captain Cooke's new musique. This the first day of having vialls and other instruments to play a symphony between every verse of the anthem; but the musique more full than it was the last Sunday, and very fine it is. [Charles II. determined to form his own chapel on the model of that at Versailles. Twenty-four instrumentalists were engaged, and this was the first day upon which they were brought into requisition. Evelyn alludes to the change in his Diary, but he puts the date down as the 21st instead of the 14th. "Instead of the antient, grave and solemn wind musiq accompanying the organ, was introduc'd a concert of 24 violins between every pause after the French fantastical light way, better suiting a tavern or playhouse than a church. This was the first time of change, and now we no more heard the cornet which gave life to the organ, that instrument quite left off in which the English were so skilful." A list of the twenty-four fiddlers in 1674, taken from an Exchequer document, "The names of the Gents of his Majesties Private Musick paid out of the Exchequer," is printed in North's "Memoires of Musick," ed. Rimbault, 1846, p. 98 (note).] But yet I could discern Captain Cooke to overdo his part at singing, which I never did before. Thence up into the Queen's presence, and there saw the Queen again as I did last Sunday, and some fine ladies with her; but, my troth, not many. Thence to Sir G. Carteret's, and find him to have sprained his foot and is lame, but yet hath been at chappell, and my Lady much troubled for one of her daughters that is sick. I dined with them, and a very pretty lady, their kinswoman, with them. My joy is, that I do think I have good hold on Sir George and Mr. Coventry. Sir George told me of a chest of drawers that were given Sir W. B. by Hughes the rope-maker, whom he has since put out of his employment, and now the fellow do cry out upon Sir W. for his cabinet. So home again by water and to church, and from church Sir Williams both and Sir John Minnes into the garden, and anon Sir W. Pen and I did discourse about my lodgings and Sir J. Minnes, and I did open all my mind to him, and he told me what he had heard, and I do see that I shall hardly keep my best lodging chamber, which troubles me, but I did send for Goodenough the plasterer, who tells me that it did ever belong to my lodgings, but lent by Mr. Payles to Mr. Smith, and so I will strive hard for it before I lose it. So to supper with them at Sir W. Batten's, and do counterfeit myself well pleased, but my heart is troubled and offended at the whole company. So to my office to prepare notes to read to the Duke to-morrow morning, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind a little eased because I am resolved to know the worst concerning my lodgings tomorrow. Among other things Sir W. Pen did tell me of one of my servants looking into Sir J. Minnes' window when my Lady Batten lay there, which do much trouble them, and me also, and I fear will wholly occasion my loosing the leads. One thing more he told me of my Jane's cutting off a carpenter's long mustacho, and how the fellow cried, and his wife would not come near him a great while, believing that he had been among some of his wenches. At which I was merry, though I perceive they discourse of it as a crime of hers, which I understand not. 15th. Up betimes to meet with the plasterer and bricklayer that did first divide our lodgings, and they do both tell me that my chamber now in dispute did ever belong to my lodgings, which do put me into good quiet of mind. So by water with Sir Wm. Pen to White Hall; and, with much ado, was fain to walk over the piles through the bridge, while Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes were aground against the bridge, and could not in a great while get through. At White Hall we hear that the Duke of York is gone a-hunting to-day; and so we returned: they going to the Duke of Albemarle's, where I left them (after I had observed a very good picture or two there), and so home, and there did resolve to give up my endeavours for access to the leads, and to shut up my doors lest the being open might give them occasion of longing for my chamber, which I am in most fear about. So to Deptford, and took my Lady Batten and her daughter and Mrs. Turner along with me, they being going through the garden thither, they to Mr. Unthwayte's and I to the Pay, and then about 3 o'clock went to dinner (Sir W. Pen and I), and after dinner to the Pay again, and at night by barge home all together, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind full of trouble about my house. 16th. Up and to my workmen, and then to the office, and there we sat till noon; then to the Exchange, and in my way met with the housekeeper of this office, and he did give me so good an account of my chamber in my house about which I am so much troubled that I am well at ease in my mind. At my office all the afternoon alone. In the evening Sir J. M. and I walked together a good while in the garden, very pleasant, and takes no notice that he do design any further trouble to me about my house. At night eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind ill at ease for these particulars: my house in dirt, and like to lose my best chamber. My wife writes me from the country that she is not pleased there with my father nor mother, nor any of her servants, and that my boy is turned a very rogue. I have L30 to pay to the cavaliers: then a doubt about my being forced to leave all my business here, when I am called to the court at Brampton; and lastly, my law businesses, which vex me to my heart what I shall be able to do next term, which is near at hand. 17th. At my office all the morning, and at noon to the Exchange, where meeting Mr. Moore and Mr. Stucky, of the Wardrobe, we to an ordinary to dinner, and after dinner Mr. Moore and I about 3 o'clock to Paul's school, to wait upon Mr. Crumlum (Mr. Moore having a hopeful lad, a kinsman of his, there at school), who we take very luckily, and went up to his chamber with him, where there was also an old fellow student of Mr. Crumlum's, one Mr. Newell, come to see him, of whom he made so much, and of me, that the truth is he with kindness did drink more than I believe he used to do, and did begin to be a little impertinent, the more when after all he would in the evening go forth with us and give us a bottle of wine abroad, and at the tavern met with an acquaintance of his that did occasion impertinent discourse, that though I honour the man, and he do declare abundance of learning and worth, yet I confess my opinion is much lessened of him, and therefore let it be a caution to myself not to love drink, since it has such an effect upon others of greater worth in my own esteem. I could not avoid drinking of 5 glasses this afternoon with him, and after I had parted with him Mr. Moore and I to my house, and after we had eaten something to my lodgings, where the master of the house, a very ordinary fellow, was ready to entertain me and took me into his dining-room where his wife was, a pretty and notable lady, too fine surely for him, and too much wit too. Here I was forced to stay with them a good while and did drink again, there being friends of theirs with them. At last being weary of his idle company, I bid good-night and so to my chamber and Mr. [Moore] and I to bed, neither of us well pleased with our afternoon's work, merely from our being witnesses of Mr. Crumlum's weakness. This day my boy is come from Brampton, and my wife I think the next week. 18th. At the office all the morning, and at noon Sir G. Carteret, Mr. Coventry, and I by invitation to dinner to Sheriff Maynell's, the great money-man; he, Alderman Backwell, and much noble and brave company, with the privilege of their rare discourse, which is great content to me above all other things in the world. And after a great dinner and much discourse, we arose and took leave, and home to the business of my office, where I thank God I take delight, and in the evening to my lodging and to bed. Among other discourse, speaking concerning the great charity used in Catholic countrys, Mr. Ashburnham did tell us, that this last year, there being great want of corn in Paris, and so a collection made for the poor, there was two pearls brought in, nobody knew from whom (till the Queen, seeing them, knew whose they were, but did not discover it), which were sold for 200,000 crownes. 19th. Up betimes and to my office, and at 9 o'clock, none of the rest going, I went alone to Deptford, and there went on where they left last night to pay Woolwich yard, and so at noon dined well, being chief at the table, and do not see but every body begins to give me as much respect and honour as any of the rest. After dinner to Pay again, and so till 9 at night, my great trouble being that I was forced to begin an ill practice of bringing down the wages of servants, for which people did curse me, which I do not love. At night, after I had eaten a cold pullet, I walked by brave moonshine, with three or four armed men to guard me, to Redriffe, it being a joy to my heart to think of the condition that I am now in, that people should of themselves provide this for me, unspoke to. I hear this walk is dangerous to walk alone by night, and much robbery committed here. So from thence by water home, and so to my lodgings to bed. 20th. Up betimes and to my office, where I found my brother Tom, who tells me that his mistress's mother has wrote a letter to Mr. Lull of her full satisfaction about Tom, of which I was glad, and do think the business will take. All this morning we sat at the office, Sir J. Minnes and I. And so dined at home, and among my workmen all the afternoon, and in the evening Tom brought Mr. Lull to me, a friend of his mistress, a serious man, with whom I spoke, and he gives me a good account of her and of their satisfaction in Tom, all which pleases me well. We walked a good while in the garden together, and did give him a glass of wine at my office, and so parted. So to write letters by the post and news of this to my father concerning Tom, and so home to supper and to my lodgings and to bed. To-night my barber sent me his man to trim me, who did live in King Street in Westminster lately, and tells me that three or four that I knew in that street, tradesmen, are lately fallen mad, and some of them dead, and the others continue mad. They live all within a door or two one of another. 21st (Lord's day). Got up betimes and walked to St. James's, and there to Mr. Coventry, and sat an hour with him, talking of business of the office with great pleasure, and I do perceive he do speak his whole mind to me. Thence to the Park, where by appointment I met my brother Tom and Mr. Cooke, and there spoke about Tom's business, and to good satisfaction. The Queen coming by in her coach, going to her chappell at St. James's' (the first time it hath been ready for her), I crowded after her, and I got up to the room where her closet is; and there stood and saw the fine altar, ornaments, and the fryers in their habits, and the priests come in with their fine copes and many other very fine things. I heard their musique too; which may be good, but it did not appear so to me, neither as to their manner of singing, nor was it good concord to my ears, whatever the matter was. The Queene very devout: but what pleased me best was to see my dear Lady Castlemaine, who, tho' a Protestant, did wait upon the Queen to chappell. By and by, after mass was done, a fryer with his cowl did rise up and preach a sermon in Portuguese; which I not understanding, did go away, and to the King's chappell, but that was done; and so up to the Queen's presence-chamber, where she and the King was expected to dine: but she staying at St. James's, they were forced to remove the things to the King's presence [chamber]; and there he dined alone, and I with Mr. Fox very finely; but I see I must not make too much of that liberty for my honour sake only, not but that I am very well received. After dinner to Tom's, and so home, and after walking a good while in the garden I went to my uncle Wight's, where I found my aunt in mourning and making sad stories for the loss of her dear sister Nicholls, of which I should have been very weary but that pretty Mrs. Margaret Wight came in and I was much pleased with her company, and so all supper did vex my aunt talking in commendation of the mass which I had been at to-day, but excused it afterwards that it was only to make mirth. And so after supper broke up and home, and after putting my notes in order against to-morrow I went to bed. 22nd. Up betimes among my workmen, hastening to get things ready against my wife's coming, and so with Sir J. M., Sir W. B., and Sir W. P., by coach to St. James's, and there with the Duke. I did give him an account of all things past of late; but I stood in great pain, having a great fit of the colic, having catched cold yesterday by putting off my stockings to wipe my toes, but at last it lessened, and then I was pretty well again, but in pain all day more or less. Thence I parted from them and walked to Greatorex's, and there with him did overlook many pretty things, new inventions, and have bespoke a weather glass of him. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and dined with the servants, he having dined; and so, after dinner, up to him, and sat an hour talking with him of publique, and my Lord's private businesses, with much content. So to my brother Tom's, where Mr. Cooke expected me, and did go with me to see Mr. Young and Mr. Lull in Blackfryers, kindred of Tom's mistress, where I was very well used, and do find things to go in the business to my good content. Thence to Mr. Townsend, and did there talk with Mr. Young himself also, and then home and to my study, and so to my lodgings and to bed. 23rd. Up betimes and with my workmen, taking some pleasure to see my work come towards an end, though I am vexed every day enough with their delay. We met and sat all the morning, dined at home alone, and with my workmen all the afternoon, and in the evening by water and land to Deptford to give order for things about my house, and came back again by coach with Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten (who has been at a Pay to-day), and to my office and did some business, and so to supper and to my lodgings, and so to bed. In our coming home Sir G. Carteret told me how in most cabaretts in France they have writ upon the walls in fair letters to be read, "Dieu te regarde," as a good lesson to be in every man's mind, and have also, as in Holland, their poor's box; in both which places at the making all contracts and bargains they give so much, which they call God's penny. 24th. Up betimes and among my workmen, and among them all the morning till noon, and then to my Lord Crew's, and there dined alone with him, and among other things he do advise me by all means to keep my Lord Sandwich from proceeding too far in the business of Tangier. First, for that he is confident the King will not be able to find money for the building the Mole; and next, for that it is to be done as we propose it by the reducing of the garrison; and then either my Lord must oppose the Duke of York, who will have the Irish regiment under the command of Fitzgerald continued, or else my Lord Peterborough, who is concerned to have the English continued, and he, it seems, is gone back again merely upon my Lord Sandwich's encouragement. Thence to Mr. Wotton, the shoemaker's, and there bought a pair of boots, cost me 30s., and he told me how Bird hath lately broke his leg, while he was fencing in "Aglaura," upon the stage, and that the new theatre of all will be ready against term. So to my brother's, and there discoursed with him and Mr. Cooke about their journey to Tom's mistress again, and I did speak with Mr. Croxton about measuring of silk flags. So by water home and to my workmen, and so at night till late at my office, inditing a letter from Tom to his mistress upon his sending her a watch for a token, and so home and to supper, and to my lodgings and to bed. It is my content that by several hands to-day I hear that I have the name of good-natured man among the poor people that come to the office. 25th. Up betimes and to my workmen, and then to the office, where we sat all the morning. So home to dinner alone and then to my workmen till night, and so to my office till bedtime, and so after supper to my lodgings and to bed. This evening I sat awhile at Sir W. Batten's with Sir J. Minnes, &c., where he told us among many other things how in Portugal they scorn to make a seat for a house of office, but they do . . . . all in pots and so empty them in the river. I did also hear how the woman, formerly nurse to Mrs. Lemon (Sir W. Batten's daughter), her child was torn to pieces by two doggs at Walthamstow this week, and is dead, which is very strange. 26th. Up betimes and among my workmen. By and by to Sir W. Batten, who with Sir J. M. are going to Chatham this morning, and I was in great pain till they were gone that I might see whether Sir John do speak any thing of my chamber that I am afraid of losing or no. But he did not, and so my mind is a little at more ease. So all day long till night among my workmen, and in the afternoon did cause the partition between the entry and the boy's room to be pulled down to lay it all into one, which I hope will please me and make my coming in more pleasant. Late at my office at night writing a letter of excuse to Sir G. Carteret that I cannot wait upon him to-morrow morning to Chatham as I promised, which I am loth to do because of my workmen and my wife's coming to town to-morrow. So to my lodgings and to bed. 27th. Up betimes and among my workmen, and with great pleasure see the posts in the entry taken down beyond expectation, so that now the boy's room being laid into the entry do make my coming in very handsome, which was the only fault remaining almost in my house. We sat all the morning, and in the afternoon I got many jobbs done to my mind, and my wife's chamber put into a good readiness against her coming, which she did at night, for Will did, by my leave to go, meet her upon the road, and at night did bring me word she was come to my brother's, by my order. So I made myself ready and put things at home in order, and so went thither to her. Being come, I found her and her maid and dogg very well, and herself grown a little fatter than she was. I was very well pleased to see her, and after supper to bed, and had her company with great content and much mutual love, only I do perceive that there has been falling out between my mother and she, and a little between my father and she; but I hope all is well again, and I perceive she likes Brampton House and seat better than ever I did myself, and tells me how my Lord hath drawn a plot of some alteracions to be made there, and hath brought it up, which I saw and like well. I perceive my Lord and Lady have been very kind to her, and Captn. Ferrers so kind that I perceive I have some jealousy of him, but I know what is the Captain's manner of carriage, and therefore it is nothing to me. She tells me of a Court like to be in a little time, which troubles me, for I would not willingly go out of town. 28th (Lord's day). Waked early, and fell talking one with another with great pleasure of my house at Brampton and that here, and other matters. She tells me what a rogue my boy is, and strange things he has been found guilty of, not fit to name, which vexes [me], but most of all the unquiett life that my mother makes my father and herself lead through her want of reason. At last I rose, and with Tom to the French Church at the Savoy, where I never was before--a pretty place it is--and there they have the Common Prayer Book read in French, and, which I never saw before, the minister do preach with his hat off, I suppose in further conformity with our Church. So to Tom's to dinner with my wife, and there came Mr. Cooke, and Joyce Norton do also dine there, and after dinner Cooke and I did talk about his journey and Tom's within a day or two about his mistress. And I did tell him my mind and give him my opinion in it. So I walked home and found my house made a little clean, and pleases me better and better, and so to church in the afternoon, and after sermon to my study, and there did some things against to-morrow that I go to the Duke's, and so walked to Tom's again, and there supped and to bed with good content of mind. 29th (Michaelmas day). This day my oaths for drinking of wine and going to plays are out, and so I do resolve to take a liberty to-day, and then to fall to them again. Up and by coach to White Hall, in my way taking up Mr. Moore, and walked with him, talking a good while about business, in St. James's Park, and there left him, and to Mr. Coventry's, and so with him and Sir W. Pen up to the Duke, where the King came also and staid till the Duke was ready. It being Collarday, we had no time to talk with him about any business. They went out together. So we parted, and in the park Mr. Cooke by appointment met me, to whom I did give my thoughts concerning Tom's match and their journey tomorrow, and did carry him by water to Tom's, and there taking up my wife, maid, dog, and him, did carry them home, where my wife is much pleased with my house, and so am I fully. I sent for some dinner and there dined, Mrs. Margaret Pen being by, to whom I had spoke to go along with us to a play this afternoon, and then to the King's Theatre, where we saw "Midsummer's Night's Dream," which I had never seen before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life. I saw, I confess, some good dancing and some handsome women, which was all my pleasure. Thence set my wife down at Madam Turner's, and so by coach home, and having delivered Pegg Pen to her father safe, went home, where I find Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, hath sent me the modell he had promised me; but it so far exceeds my expectations, that I am sorry almost he should make such a present to no greater a person; but I am exceeding glad of it, and shall study to do him a courtesy for it. So to my office and wrote a letter to Tom's mistress's mother to send by Cooke to-morrow. Then came Mr. Moore thinking to have looked over the business of my Brampton papers against the Court, but my mind was so full of other matters (as it is my nature when I have been a good while from a business, that I have almost forgot it, I am loth to come to it again) that I could not set upon it, and so he and I past the evening away in discourse, and to my lodgings and to bed. 30th. We rose, and he about his business, and I to my house to look over my workmen; but good God! how I do find myself by yesterday's liberty hard to be brought to follow business again, but however, I must do it, considering the great sweet and pleasure and content of mind that I have had since I did leave drink and plays, and other pleasures, and followed my business. So to my office, where we sat till noon, and then I to dinner with Sir W. Pen, and while we were at it coming my wife to the office, and so I sent for her up, and after dinner we took coach and to the Duke's playhouse, where we saw "The Duchess of Malfy" well performed, but Betterton and Ianthe to admiration. That being done, home again, by coach, and my wife's chamber got ready for her to lie in to-night, but my business did call me to my office, so that staying late I did not lie with her at home, but at my lodgings. Strange to see how easily my mind do revert to its former practice of loving plays and wine, having given myself a liberty to them but these two days; but this night I have again bound myself to Christmas next, in which I desire God to bless me and preserve me, for under God I find it to be the best course that ever I could take to bring myself to mind my business. I have also made up this evening my monthly ballance, and find that, notwithstanding the loss of L30 to be paid to the loyall and necessitous cavaliers by act of Parliament, [Two acts were passed in 1662 for this purpose, viz., 13 and 14 Car. II. cap. 8: "An act for distribution of threescore thousand pounds amongst the truly loyal and indigent commission officers, and for assessing of offices and distributing the monies thereby raised for their further supply;" and cap. 9, "An act for the relief of poor and maimed officers and soldiers who have faithfully served his Majesty and his royal father in the late wars."] yet I am worth about L680, for which the Lord God be praised. My condition at present is this:--I have long been building, and my house to my great content is now almost done. But yet not so but that I shall have dirt, which troubles me too, for my wife has been in the country at Brampton these two months, and is now come home a week or two before the house is ready for her. My mind is somewhat troubled about my best chamber, which I question whether I shall be able to keep or no. I am also troubled for the journey which I must needs take suddenly to the Court at Brampton, but most of all for that I am not provided to understand my business, having not minded it a great while, and at the best shall be able but to make a bad matter of it, but God, I hope, will guide all to the best, and I am resolved to-morrow to fall hard to it. I pray God help me therein, for my father and mother and all our well-doings do depend upon my care therein. My Lord Sandwich has lately been in the country, and very civil to my wife, and hath himself spent some pains in drawing a plot of some alterations in our house there, which I shall follow as I get money. As for the office, my late industry hath been such, as I am become as high in reputation as any man there, and good hold I have of Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, which I am resolved, and it is necessary for me, to maintain by all fair means. Things are all quiett, but the King poor, and no hopes almost of his being otherwise, by which things will go to rack, especially in the Navy. The late outing of the Presbyterian clergy by their not renouncing the Covenant as the Act of Parliament commands, is the greatest piece of state now in discourse. But for ought I see they are gone out very peaceably, and the people not so much concerned therein as was expected. My brother Tom is gone out of town this day, to make a second journey to his mistress at Banbury, of which I have good expectations, and pray God to bless him therein. My mind, I hope, is settled to follow my business again, for I find that two days' neglect of business do give more discontent in mind than ten times the pleasure thereof can repair again, be it what it will. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1662 October 1st. Up with my mind pretty well at rest about my accounts and other business, and so to my house and there put my work to business, and then down to Deptford to do the same there, and so back and with my workmen all the afternoon, and my wife putting a chamber in order for us to lie in. At night to look over some Brampton papers against the Court which I expect every day to hear of, and that done home and with my wife to bed, the first time I have lain there these two months and more, which I am now glad to do again, and do so like the chamber as it is now ordered that all my fear is my not keeping it. But I hope the best, for it would vex me to the heart to lose it. 2nd. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon, and then to dinner, and Mr. Moore came and dined with me, and after dinner to look over my Brampton papers, which was a most necessary work, though it is not so much to my content as I could wish. I fear that it must be as it can, and not as I would. He being gone I to my workmen again, and at night by coach towards Whitehall took up Mr. Moore and set him at my Lord's, and myself, hearing that there was a play at the Cockpit (and my Lord Sandwich, who came to town last night, at it), I do go thither, and by very great fortune did follow four or five gentlemen who were carried to a little private door in a wall, and so crept through a narrow place and come into one of the boxes next the King's, but so as I could not see the King or Queene, but many of the fine ladies, who yet are really not so handsome generally as I used to take them to be, but that they are finely dressed. Here we saw "The Cardinall," a tragedy I had never seen before, nor is there any great matter in it. The company that came in with me into the box, were all Frenchmen that could speak no English, but Lord! what sport they made to ask a pretty lady that they got among them that understood both French and English to make her tell them what the actors said. Thence to my Lord's, and saw him, and staid with him half an hour in his chamber talking about some of mine and his own business, and so up to bed with Mr. Moore in the chamber over my Lord's. 3rd. Rose, and without taking leave or speaking to my Lord went out early and walked home, calling at my brother's and Paul's Churchyard, but bought nothing because of my oath, though I had a great mind to it. At my office, and with my workmen till noon, and then dined with my wife upon herrings, the first I have eat this year, and so to my workmen again. By and by comes a gentleman to speak with my wife, and I found him to be a gentleman that had used her very civilly in her coming up out of the country, on which score I showed him great respect, and found him a very ingenious gentleman, and sat and talked with him a great while. He gone, to my workmen again, and in the evening comes Captain Ferrers, and sat and talked a great while, and told me the story of his receiving his cut in the hand by falling out with one of my Lord's footmen. He told me also of the impertinence and mischief that Ned Pickering has made in the country between my Lord and all his servants almost by his finding of faults, which I am vexed to hear, it being a great disgrace to my Lord to have the fellow seen to be so great still with him. He brought me a letter from my father, that appoints the day for the Court at Brampton to be the 13th of this month; but I perceive he has kept the letter in his pocket these three days, so that if the day had been sooner, I might have been spilt. So that it is a great folly to send letters of business by any friend that require haste. He being gone I to my office all the evening, doing business there till bedtime, it being now my manner since my wife is come to spend too much of my daytime with her and the workmen and do my office business at night, which must not be after the work of the house is done. This night late I had notice that Dekins, the merchant, is dead this afternoon suddenly, for grief that his daughter, my Morena, who has long been ill, is given over by the Doctors. For both which I am very sorry. So home and to bed. 4th. To my office all the morning, after I was up (my wife beginning to make me lie long a mornings), where we sat till noon, and then dined at home, and after a little with my workmen to my office till 9 at night, among other things examining the particulars of the miscarriage of the Satisfaction, sunk the other day on the Dutch coast through the negligence of the pilott. 5th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and among other things fell out about my maid Sarah, whom my wife would fain put away, when I think her as good a servant as ever came into a house, but it seems my wife would have one that would dress a head well, but we were friends at last. I to church; and this day the parson has got one to read with a surplice on. I suppose himself will take it up hereafter, for a cunning fellow he is as any of his coat. Dined with my wife, and then to talk again above, chiefly about her learning to dance against her going next year into the country, which I am willing she shall do. Then to church to a tedious sermon, and thence walked to Tom's to see how things are in his absence in the country, and so home and in my wife's chamber till bedtime talking, and then to my office to put things in order to wait on the Duke to-morrow morning, and so home and to bed. 6th. Sir W. Pen and I early to St. James's by water, where Mr. Coventry, finding the Duke in bed, and not very well, we did not stay to speak with him, but to White Hall, and there took boat and down to Woolwich we went. In our way Mr. Coventry telling us how of late upon enquiry into the miscarriages of the Duke's family, Mr. Biggs, his steward, is found very faulty, and is turned out of his employment. Then we fell to reading of a book which I saw the other day at my Lord Sandwich's, intended for the late King, finely bound up, a treatise concerning the benefit the Hollanders make of our fishing, but whereas I expected great matters from it, I find it a very impertinent [book], and though some things good, yet so full of tautologies, that we were weary of it. At Woolwich we mustered the yard, and then to the Hart to dinner, and then to the Rope-yard, where I did vex Sir W. Pen I know to appear so well acquainted, I thought better than he, in the business of hemp; thence to Deptford, and there looked over several businesses, and wakened the officers there; so walked to Redriffe, and thence, landing Sir W. Pen at the Tower, I to White Hall with Mr. Coventry, and so to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but my Lord was not within, being at a ball this night with the King at my Lady Castlemaine's at next door. But here to my trouble I hear that Mr. Moore is gone very sick to the Wardrobe this afternoon, which troubles me much both for his own sake and for mine, because of my law business that he does for me and also for my Lord's matters. So hence by water, late as it was, to the Wardrobe, and there found him in a high fever, in bed, and much cast down by his being ill. So thought it not convenient to stay, but left him and walked home, and there weary went to supper, and then the barber came to me, and after he had done, to my office to set down my journall of this day, and so home and to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, dined at home with my wife. After dinner with her by coach to see Mr. Moore, who continues ill. I took his books of accounts, and did discourse with him about my Lord's and my own businesses, and there being Mr. Battersby by, did take notice of my having paid him the L100 borrowed of him, which they both did confess and promise to return me my bond. Thence by water with Will. Howe to Westminster, and there staying a little while in the Hall (my wife's father and mother being abroad, and so she returning presently) thence by coach to my Lord's, and there I left money for Captain Ferrers to buy me two bands. So towards the New Exchange, and there while my wife was buying things I walked up and down with Dr. Williams, talking about my law businesses, and thence took him to my brother's, and there gave him a glass of wine, and so parted, and then by coach with my wife home, and Sir J. M. and Sir W. B. being come from Chatham Pay I did go see them for complaisance, and so home and to bed. 8th. Up and by water to my Lord Sandwich's, and was with him a good while in his chamber, and among other things to my extraordinary joy, he did tell me how much I was beholding to the Duke of York, who did yesterday of his own accord tell him that he did thank him for one person brought into the Navy, naming myself, and much more to my commendation, which is the greatest comfort and encouragement that ever I had in my life, and do owe it all to Mr. Coventry's goodness and ingenuity. I was glad above measure of this. Thence to Mr. Moore, who, I hope, is better than he was, and so home and dined at home, and all the afternoon busy at my office, and at night by coach to my Lord's again, thinking to speak with him, but he is at White Hall with the King, before whom the puppet plays I saw this summer in Covent-garden are acted this night. Hither this night my scallop, [A lace band, the edges of which were indented with segments of circles, so as to resemble a scallop shell. The word "scallop" was used till recently for a part of a lady's dress embroidered and cut to resemble a scallop shell.] bought and got made by Captain Ferrers' lady, is sent, and I brought it home, a very neat one. It cost me about L3, and L3 more I have given him to buy me another. I do find myself much bound to go handsome, which I shall do in linen, and so the other things may be all the plainer. Here I staid playing some new tunes to parts with Wm. Howe, and, my Lord not coming home, I came home late on foot, my boy carrying a link, and so eat a bit and to bed, my head full of ordering of businesses against my journey to-morrow, that there may be nothing done to my wrong in my absence. This day Sir W. Pen did speak to me from Sir J. Minnes to desire my best chamber of me, and my great joy is that I perceive he do not stand upon his right, which I was much afraid of, and so I hope I shall do well enough with him for it, for I will not part with it by fair means, though I contrive to let him have another room for it. 9th. Up early about my business to get me ready for my journey. But first to the office; where we sat all the morning till noon, and then broke up; and I bid them adieu for a week, having the Duke's leave got me by Mr. Coventry. To whom I did give thanks for my newes yesterday of the Duke's words to my Lord Sandwich concerning me, which he took well; and do tell me so freely his love and value of me, that my mind is now in as great a state of quiett as to my interest in the office, as I could ever wish to be. I should this day have dined at Sir W. Pen's at a venison pasty with the rest of our fellows, but I could not get time, but sent for a bit home, and so between one and two o'clock got on horseback at our back gate, with my man Will with me, both well-mounted on two grey horses. We rode and got to Ware before night; and so resolved to ride on to Puckeridge, which we did, though the way was bad, and the evening dark before we got thither, by help of company riding before us; and among others, a gentleman that took up at the same inn, the Falcon, with me, his name Mr. Brian, with whom I supped, and was very good company, and a scholar. He tells me, that it is believed the Queen is with child, for that the coaches are ordered to ride very easily through the streets. After supper we paid the reckoning together, and so he to his chamber and I to bed, very well, but my feet being much cramped by my new hard boots that I bought the other day of Wotton were in much pain. Will lay in another bed in the chamber with me. 10th. Up, and between eight and nine mounted again; but my feet so swelled with yesterday's pain, that I could not get on my boots, which vexed me to the blood, but was forced to pay 4s. for a pair of old shoes of my landlord's, and so rid in shoes to Cambridge; but the way so good that but for a little rain I had got very well thither, and set up at the Beare: and there being spied in the street passing through the town my cozen Angier came to me, and I must needs to his house, which I did; and there found Dr. Fairbrother, with a good dinner, a barrel of good oysters, a couple of lobsters, and wine. But, above all, telling me that this day there is a Congregation for the choice of some officers in the University, he after dinner gets me a gown, cap, and hood, and carries me to the Schooles, where Mr. Pepper, my brother's tutor, and this day chosen Proctor, did appoint a M.A. to lead me into the Regent House, where I sat with them, and did [vote] by subscribing papers thus: "Ego Samuel Pepys eligo Magistrum Bernardum Skelton, (and which was more strange, my old schoolfellow and acquaintance, and who afterwards did take notice of me, and we spoke together), alterum e taxatoribus hujus Academiae in annum sequentem." The like I did for one Biggs, for the other Taxor, and for other officers, as the Vice-Proctor (Mr. Covell), for Mr. Pepper, and which was the gentleman that did carry me into the Regent House. This being done, and the Congregation dissolved by the Vice-Chancellor, I did with much content return to my Cozen Angier's, being much pleased of doing this jobb of work, which I had long wished for and could never have had such a time as now to do it with so much ease. Thence to Trinity Hall, and there staid a good while with Dr. John Pepys, who tells me that [his] brother Roger has gone out of town to keep a Court; and so I was forced to go to Impington, to take such advice as my old uncle and his son Claxton could give me. Which I did, and there supped and talked with them, but not of my business till by and by after supper comes in, unlooked for, my cozen Roger, with whom by and by I discoursed largely, and in short he gives me good counsel, but tells me plainly that it is my best way to study a composition with my uncle Thomas, for that law will not help us, and that it is but a folly to flatter ourselves, with which, though much to my trouble, yet I was well satisfied, because it told me what I am to trust to, and so to bed. 11th. Up betimes, and after a little breakfast, and a very poor one, like our supper, and such as I cannot feed on, because of my she-cozen Claxton's gouty hands; and after Roger had carried me up and down his house and orchards, to show me them, I mounted, and rode to Huntingdon, and so to Brampton; where I found my father and two brothers, and Mr. Cooke, my mother and sister. So we are now all together, God knows when we shall be so again. I walked up and down the house and garden, and find my father's alteracions very handsome. But not so but that there will be cause enough of doing more if ever I should come to live there, but it is, however, very well for a country being as any little thing in the country. So to dinner, where there being nothing but a poor breast of mutton, and that ill-dressed, I was much displeased, there being Mr. Cooke there, who I invited to come over with my brother thither, and for whom I was concerned to make much of. I told my father and mother of it, and so had it very well mended for the time after, as long as I staid, though I am very glad to see them live so frugally. But now to my business. I found my uncle Thomas come into the country, and do give out great words, and forwarns all our people of paying us rent, and gives out that he will invalidate the Will, it being but conditional, we paying debts and legacies, which we have not done, but I hope we shall yet go through well enough. I settled to look over papers, and discourse of business against the Court till the evening; and then rode to Hinchingbroke (Will with me), and there to my Lady's chamber and saw her, but, it being night, and my head full of business, staid not long, but drank a cup of ale below, and so home again, and to supper, and to bed, being not quiet in mind till I speak with Piggott, to see how his business goes, whose land lies mortgaged to my late uncle, but never taken up by him, and so I fear the heire at law will do it and that we cannot, but my design is to supplant him by pretending bonds as well as a mortgage for the same money, and so as executor have the benefit of the bonds. 12th (Lord's day). Made myself fine with Captain Ferrers's lace band, being lothe to wear my own new scallop, it is so fine; and, after the barber had done with us, to church, where I saw most of the gentry of the parish; among others, Mrs. Hanbury, a proper lady, and Mr. Bernard and his Lady, with her father, my late Lord St. John, who looks now like a very plain grave man. Mr. Wells preached a pretty good sermon, and they say he is pretty well in his witts again. So home to dinner, and so to walk in the garden, and then to Church again, and so home, there coming several people about business, and among others Mr. Piggott, who gives me good assurance of his truth to me and our business, in which I am very much pleased, and tells me what my uncle Thomas said to him and what he designs, which (in fine) is to be admitted to the estate as well as we, which I must endeavour to oppose as well as I can. So to supper, but my mind is so full of our business that I am no company at all, and then their drink do not please me, till I did send to Goody Stanks for some of her's which is very small and fresh, with a little taste of wormewood, which ever after did please me very well. So after supper to bed, thinking of business, but every night getting my brother John to go up with me for discourse sake, while I was making unready. [That is, "undressing." So of the French lords leaping over the walls in their shirts "Alenc. How now, my lords! what all unready so? Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well." Henry VI., act ii., sc. i.--M. B.] 13th. Up to Hinchingbroke, and there with Mr. Sheply did look all over the house, and I do, I confess, like well of the alteracions, and do like the staircase, but there being nothing to make the outside more regular and modern, I am not satisfied with it, but do think it to be too much to be laid out upon it. Thence with Sheply to Huntingdon to the Crown, and there did sit and talk, and eat a breakfast of cold roast beef, and so he to St. Ives Market, and I to Sir Robert Bernard's for council, having a letter from my Lord Sandwich to that end. He do give it me with much kindness in appearance, and upon my desire do promise to put off my uncle's admittance, if he can fairly, and upon the whole do make my case appear better to me than my cozen Roger did, but not so but that we are liable to much trouble, and that it will be best to come to an agreement if possible. With my mind here also pretty well to see things proceed so well I returned to Brampton, and spent the morning in looking over papers and getting my copies ready against to-morrow. So to dinner, and then to walk with my father and other business, when by and by comes in my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas to see us, and very calm they were and we to them. And after a short How do you, and drinking a cup of beer, they went away again, and so by and by my father and I to Mr. Phillips, and there discoursed with him in order to to-morrow's business of the Court and getting several papers ready, when presently comes in my uncle Thomas and his son thither also, but finding us there I believe they were disappointed and so went forth again, and went to the house that Prior has lately bought of us (which was Barton's) and there did make entry and forbade paying rent to us, as now I hear they have done everywhere else, and that that was their intent in coming to see us this day. I perceive most of the people that do deal with us begin to be afraid that their title to what they buy will not be good. Which troubled me also I confess a little, but I endeavoured to remove all as well as I could. Among other things they make me afraid that Barton was never admitted to that that my uncle bought of him, but I hope the contrary. Thence home, and with my father took a melancholy walk to Portholme, seeing the country-maids milking their cows there, they being there now at grass, and to see with what mirth they come all home together in pomp with their milk, and sometimes they have musique go before them. So back home again, and to supper, and in comes Piggott with a counterfeit bond which by agreement between us (though it be very just in itself) he has made, by which I shall lay claim to the interest of the mortgage money, and so waiting with much impatience and doubt the issue of to-morrow's Court, I to bed, but hardly slept half an hour the whole night, my mind did so run with fears of to-morrow. 14th. Up, and did digest into a method all I could say in our defence, in case there should be occasion, for I hear he will have counsel to plead for him in the Court, and so about nine o'clock to the court at the Lordshipp where the jury was called; and there being vacancies, they would have had my father, in respect to him, [to] have been one of the Homage, but he thought fit to refuse it, he not knowing enough the customs of the town. They being sworn and the charge given them, they fell to our business, finding the heir-at-law to be my uncle Thomas; but Sir Robert [Bernard] did tell them that he had seen how the estate was devised to my father by my uncle's will, according to the custom of the manour, which they would have denied, first, that it was not according to the custom of the manour, proposing some difficulty about the half-acre of land which is given the heir-at-law according to custom, which did put me into great fear lest it might not be in my uncle's possession at his death, but mortgaged with other to T. Trice (who was there, and was with my good will admitted to Taylor's house mortgaged to him if not being worth the money for which it was mortgaged, which I perceive he now, although he lately bragged the contrary, yet is now sensible of, and would have us to redeem it with money, and he would now resurrender it to us rather than the heir-at-law) or else that it was part of Goody Gorum's in which she has a life, and so might not be capable of being according to the custom given to the heir-at-law, but Will Stanks tells me we are sure enough against all that. Then they fell to talk of Piggott's land mortgaged to my uncle, but he never admitted to it, which they now as heir would have admitted to. But the steward, as he promised me, did find pretensions very kindly and readily to put off their admittance, by which I find they are much defeated, and if ever, I hope, will now listen to a treaty and agreement with us, at our meeting at London. So they took their leaves of the steward and Court, and went away, and by and by, after other business many brought in, they broke up to dinner. So my father and I home with great content to dinner; my mind now as full against the afternoon business, which we sat upon after dinner at the Court, and did sue out a recovery, and cut off the intayle; and my brothers there, to join therein. And my father and I admitted to all the lands; he for life, and I for myself and my heirs in reversion, and then did surrender according to bargain to Prior, Greene, and Shepheard the three cottages with their appurtenances that they have bought of us, and that being done and taken leave of the steward, I did with most compleat joy of mind go from the Court with my father home, and in a quarter of an hour did get on horseback, with my brother Tom, Cooke, and Will, all mounted, and without eating or drinking, take leave of father, mother, Pall, to whom I did give 10s., but have shown no kindness since I come, for I find her so very ill-natured that I cannot love her, and she so cruel a hypocrite that she can cry when she pleases, and John and I away, calling in at Hinchingbroke, and taking leave in three words of my Lady, and the young ladies; and so by moonlight most bravely all the way to Cambridge, with great pleasure, whither we come at about nine o'clock, and took up at the Bear, but the house being full of guests we had very ill lodging, which troubled me, but had a supper, and my mind at good ease, and so to bed. Will in another bed in my chamber. 15th. My mind, though out of trouble, yet intent upon my journey home, being desirous to know how all my matters go there, I could hardly sleep, but waked very early; and, when it was time, did call up Will, and we rose, and musique (with a bandore [A musical instrument with wire strings, and sounded with a plectrum; used as a bass to the cittern. The banjo is a modification of the bandore, as the name is a negro corruption of that word.] for the base) did give me a levett; [A blast of trumpets, intended as a 'reveillee', from French lever. "First he that led the Cavalcade Wore a Sow-gelder's Flagellet, On which he blew as strong a Levet As well-feed Lawyer on his breviate." Hudibras, II. ii. v. 609.] and so we got ready; and while breakfast was providing, I went forth (by the way finding Mr. George Mountagu and his Lady, whom I saluted, going to take their coach thus early to proceed on their journey, they having lodged in the chamber just under me all this night) and showed Mr. Cooke King's College Chapel, Trinity College, and St. John's College Library; and that being done, to our inn again: where I met Dr. Fairbrother brought thither by my brother Tom, and he did breakfast with us, a very good-natured man he is, and told us how the room we were in was the room where Cromwell and his associated officers did begin to plot and act their mischiefs in these counties. Having eat well, only our oysters proving bad, we mounted, having a pair of boots that I borrowed and carried with me from Impington, my own to be sent from Cambridge to London, and took leave of all, and begun our journey about nine o'clock. After we had rode about 10 miles we got out of our way into Royston road, which did vex me cruelly, and the worst for that my brother's horse, which was lame yesterday, grows worse to-day, that he could not keep pace with us. At last with much ado we got into the road again, having misguided also a gentleman's man who had lost his master and thought us to be going the same way did follow us, but coming into the road again we met with his master, by his coat a divine, but I perceiving Tom's horse not able to keep with us, I desired Mr. Cooke and him to take their own time, and Will and I we rode before them keeping a good pace, and came to Ware about three o'clock in the afternoon, the ways being every where but bad. Here I fell into acquaintance and eat and drank with the divine, but know not who he is, and after an hour's bait to myself and horses he, though resolved to have lodged there, yet for company would out again, and so we remounted at four o'clock, and he went with me as far almost as Tibbald's and there parted with us, taking up there for all night, but finding our horses in good case and the night being pretty light, though by reason of clouds the moon did not shine out, we even made shift from one place to another to reach London, though both of us very weary. And having left our horses at their masters, walked home, found all things well, and with full joy, though very weary, came home and went to bed, there happening nothing since our going to my discontent in the least degree; which do so please me, that I cannot but bless God for my journey, observing a whole course of success from the beginning to the end of it, and I do find it to be the reward of my diligence, which all along in this has been extraordinary, for I have not had the least kind of divertisement imaginable since my going forth, but merely carrying on my business which God has been pleased to bless. So to bed very hot and feverish by being weary, but early morning the fever was over. 16th. And so I rose in good temper, finding a good chimneypiece made in my upper dining-room chamber, and the diningroom wainscoat in a good forwardness, at which I am glad, and then to the office, where by T. Hater I found all things to my mind, and so we sat at the office till noon, and then at home to dinner with my wife. Then coming Mr. Creede in order to some business with Sir J. Minnes about his accounts, this afternoon I took him to the Treasury office, where Sir John and I did stay late paying some money to the men that are saved out of the Satisfaction that was lost the other day. The King gives them half-pay, which is more than is used in such cases, for they never used to have any thing, and yet the men were most outrageously discontented, and did rail and curse us till I was troubled to hear it, and wished myself unconcerned therein. Mr. Creede seeing us engaged took leave of us. Here late, and so home, and at the office set down my journey-journall to this hour, and so shut up my book, giving God thanks for my good success therein, and so home, and to supper, and to bed. I hear Mr. Moore is in a way of recovery. Sir H. Bennet made Secretary of State in Sir Edward Nicholas's stead; not known whether by consent or not. My brother Tom and Cooke are come to town I hear this morning, and he sends me word that his mistress's mother is also come to treat with us about her daughter's portion and her jointure, which I am willing should be out of Sturtlow lands. 17th. This morning Tom comes to me, and I advise him how to deal with his mistress's mother about his giving her a joynture, but I intend to speak with her shortly, and tell her my mind. Then to my Lord Sandwich by water, and told him how well things do go in the country with me, of which he was very glad, and seems to concern himself much for me. Thence with Mr. Creed to Westminster Hall, and by and by thither comes Captn. Ferrers, upon my sending for him, and we three to Creed's chamber, and there sat a good while and drank chocolate. Here I am told how things go at Court; that the young men get uppermost, and the old serious lords are out of favour; that Sir H. Bennet, being brought into Sir Edward Nicholas's place, Sir Charles Barkeley is made Privy Purse; a most vicious person, and one whom Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, to-day (at which I laugh to myself), did tell me that he offered his wife L300 per annum to be his mistress. He also told me that none in Court hath more the King's ear now than Sir Charles Barkeley, and Sir H. Bennet, and my Lady Castlemaine, whose interest is now as great as ever and that Mrs. Haslerigge, the great beauty, is got with child, and now brought to bed, and lays it to the King or the Duke of York. [The child was owned by neither of the royal brothers.--B.] He tells me too that my Lord St. Albans' is like to be Lord Treasurer: all which things do trouble me much. Here I staid talking a good while, and so by water to see Mr. Moore, who is out of bed and in a way to be well, and thence home, and with Commr. Pett by water to view Wood's masts that he proffers to sell, which we found bad, and so to Deptford to look over some businesses, and so home and I to my office, all our talk being upon Sir J. M. and Sir W. B.'s base carriage against him at their late being at Chatham, which I am sorry to hear, but I doubt not but we shall fling Sir W. B. upon his back ere long. At my office, I hearing Sir W. Pen was not well, I went to him to see, and sat with him, and so home and to bed. 18th. This morning, having resolved of my brother's entertaining his mistress's mother to-morrow, I sent my wife thither to-day to lie there to-night and to direct him in the business, and I all the morning at the office, and the afternoon intent upon my workmen, especially my joyners, who will make my dining room very pretty. At night to my office to dispatch business, and then to see Sir W. Pen, who continues in great pain, and so home and alone to bed, but my head being full of my own and my brother Tom's business I could hardly sleep, though not in much trouble, but only multitude of thoughts. 19th (Lord's day). Got me ready in the morning and put on my first new laceband; and so neat it is, that I am resolved my great expense shall be lacebands, and it will set off any thing else the more. So walked to my brother's, where I met Mr. Cooke, and discoursing with him do find that he and Tom have promised a joynture of L50 to his mistress, and say that I did give my consent that she should be joyntured in L30 per ann. for Sturtlow, and the rest to be made up out of her portion. At which I was stark mad, and very angry the business should be carried with so much folly and against my mind and all reason. But I was willing to forbear discovering of it, and did receive Mrs. Butler, her mother, Mr. Lull and his wife, very civil people, very kindly, and without the least discontent, and Tom had a good and neat dinner for us. We had little discourse of any business, but leave it to one Mr. Smith on her part and myself on ours. So we staid till sermon was done, and I took leave, and to see Mr. Moore, who recovers well; and his doctor coming to him, one Dr. Merrit, we had some of his very good discourse of anatomy, and other things, very pleasant. By and by, I with Mr. Townsend walked in the garden, talking and advising with him about Tom's business, and he tells me he will speak with Smith, and says I offer fair to give her L30 joynture and no more. Thence Tom waiting for me homewards towards my house, talking and scolding him for his folly, and telling him my mind plainly what he has to trust to if he goes this way to work, for he shall never have her upon the terms they demand of L50. He left me, and I to my uncle Wight, and there supped, and there was pretty Mistress Margt. Wight, whom I esteem very pretty, and love dearly to look upon her. We were very pleasant, I droning with my aunt and them, but I am sorry to hear that the news of the selling of Dunkirk [A treaty was signed on the 27th October by which Dunkirk was sold to France for five million livres, two of which were to be paid immediately, and the remaining three by eight bills at dates varying from three months to two years; during which time the King of England was to contribute the aid of a naval force, if necessary, for defence against Spain. Subsequently the remaining three millions were reduced to 2,500,000 to be paid at Paris, and 254,000 in London. It is not known that Clarendon suggested the sale of Dunkirk, but it is certain that he adopted the measure with zeal. There is also no doubt that he got as much as France could be induced to give.--Lister's Life of Clarendon, ii. 173-4.] is taken so generally ill, as I find it is among the merchants; and other things, as removal of officers at Court, good for worse; and all things else made much worse in their report among people than they are. And this night, I know not upon what ground, the gates of the City ordered to be kept shut, and double guards every where. So home, and after preparing things against to-morrow for the Duke, to bed. Indeed I do find every body's spirit very full of trouble; and the things of the Court and Council very ill taken; so as to be apt to appear in bad colours, if there should ever be a beginning of trouble, which God forbid! 20th. Up and in Sir J. Minnes's coach with him and Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where now the Duke is come again to lodge: and to Mr. Coventry's little new chamber there. And by and by up to the Duke, who was making himself ready; and there among other discourse young Killigrew did so commend "The Villaine," a new play made by Tom Porter; and acted only on Saturday at the Duke's house, as if there never had been any such play come upon the stage. The same yesterday was told me by Captain Ferrers; and this morning afterwards by Dr. Clerke, who saw it. Insomuch that after I had done with the Duke, and thence gone with Commissioner Pett to Mr. Lilly's, the great painter, who came forth to us; but believing that I come to bespeak a picture, he prevented us by telling us, that he should not be at leisure these three weeks; which methinks is a rare thing. And then to see in what pomp his table was laid for himself to go to dinner; and here, among other pictures, saw the so much desired by me picture of my Lady Castlemaine, which is a most blessed picture; and that that I must have a copy of. And having thence gone to my brother's, where my wife lodged last night, and eat something there, I took her by coach to the Duke's house, and there was the house full of company: but whether it was in over-expecting or what, I know not, but I was never less pleased with a play in my life. Though there was good singing and dancing, yet no fancy in the play, but something that made it less contenting was my conscience that I ought not to have gone by my vow, and, besides, my business commanded me elsewhere. But, however, as soon as I came home I did pay my crown to the poor's box, according to my vow, and so no harm as to that is done, but only business lost and money lost, and my old habit of pleasure wakened, which I will keep down the more hereafter, for I thank God these pleasures are not sweet to me now in the very enjoying of them. So by coach home, and after a little business at my office, and seeing Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, I went to bed. Dunkirk, I am confirmed, is absolutely sold; for which I am very sorry. 21st. Up, and while I was dressing myself, my brother Tom being there I did chide him for his folly in abusing himself about the match, for I perceive he do endeavour all he can to get her, and she and her friends to have more than her portion deserves, which now from 6 or L700 is come to L450. I did by several steps shew Tom how he would not be L100 the better for her according to the ways he took to joynture her. After having done with him to the office, and there all the morning, and in the middle of our sitting my workmen setting about the putting up of my rails upon my leads, Sir J. Minnes did spy them and fell a-swearing, which I took no notice of, but was vexed, and am still to the very heart for it, for fear it should put him upon taking the closett and my chamber from me, which I protest I am now afraid of. But it is my very great folly to be so much troubled at these trifles, more than at the loss of L100, or things of greater concernment; but I forget the lesson I use to preach to others. After dinner to my office with my head and heart full of troublesome business, and thence by water with Mr. Smith, to Mr. Lechmore, the Counsellor at the Temple, about Field's business; and he tells me plainly that, there being a verdict against me, there is no help for it, but it must proceed to judgment. It is L30 damage to me for my joining with others in committing Field to prison, we being not justices of the Peace in the City, though in Middlesex; this troubled me, but I hope the King will make it good to us. Thence to Mr. Smith, the scrivener, upon Ludgate Hill, to whom Mrs. Butler do committ her business concerning her daughter and my brother. He tells me her daughter's portion is but L400, at which I am more troubled than before; and they find fault that his house is too little. So after I had told him my full mind, I went away to meet again to-morrow, but I believe the business will be broke off, which for Tom's sake I am much grieved for, but it cannot be helped without his ruin. Thence to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well again, and we read over and discoursed about Mrs. Goldsborough's business, and her son coming by my appointment thither, I did tell him our resolution as to her having her estate reconveyed to her. Hither also came my brother, and before Mr. Moore I did advise and counsel him about his match, and how we had all been abused by Mr. Cooke's folly. So home and to my office, and there settled many businesses, and so home and to supper, and so to bed, Sir W. Pen being still in great pain. 22nd. Up, and carrying my wife and her brother to Covent Garden, near their father's new lodging, by coach, I to my Lord Sandwich's, who receives me now more and more kindly, now he sees that I am respected in the world; and is my most noble patron. Here I staid and talked about many things, with my Lord and Mr. Povy, being there about Tangier business, for which the Commission is a taking out. Hence (after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I met here about Mrs. Butler's portion, he do persist to say that it will be worth L600 certain, when he knows as well as I do now that it is but L400, and so I told him, but he is a fool, and has made fools of us). So I by water to my brother's, and thence to Mr. Smith's, where I was, last night, and there by appointment met Mrs. Butler, with whom I plainly discoursed and she with me. I find she will give but L400, and no more, and is not willing to do that without a joynture, which she expects and I will not grant for that portion, and upon the whole I find that Cooke has made great brags on both sides, and so has abused us both, but know not how to help it, for I perceive she had much greater expectations of Tom's house and being than she finds. But however we did break off the business wholly, but with great love and kindness between her and me, and would have been glad we had known one another's minds sooner, without being misguided by this fellow to both our shames and trouble. For I find her a very discreet, sober woman, and her daughter, I understand and believe, is a good lady; and if portions did agree, though she finds fault with Tom's house, and his bad imperfection in his speech, I believe we should well agree in other matters. After taking a kind farewell, I to Tom's, and there did give him a full account of this sad news, with which I find he is much troubled, but do appear to me to be willing to be guided herein, and apprehends that it is not for his good to do otherwise, and so I do persuade [him] to follow his business again, and I hope he will, but for Cooke's part and Dr. Pepys, I shall know them for two fools another time. Hence, it raining hard, by coach home, being first trimmed here by Benier, who being acquainted with all the players, do tell me that Betterton is not married to Ianthe, as they say; but also that he is a very sober, serious man, and studious and humble, following of his studies, and is rich already with what he gets and saves, and then to my office till late, doing great deal of business, and settling my mind in pretty good order as to my business, though at present they are very many. So home and to bed. This night was buried, as I hear by the bells at Barking Church, my poor Morena, [The burial of Elizabeth, daughter of John Dekins or Dickens, is recorded in the parish register of All Hallows, Barking, as having taken place on October 22nd. See ante, October 3rd] whose sickness being desperate, did kill her poor father; and he being dead for sorrow, she could not recover, nor desire to live, but from that time do languish more and more, and so is now dead and buried. 23rd. Up and among my workmen, and so to the office, and there sitting all the morning we stept all out to visit Sir W. Batten, who it seems has not been well all yesterday, but being let blood is now pretty well, and Sir W. Pen after office I went to see, but he continues in great pain of the gout and in bed, cannot stir hand nor foot but with great pain. So to my office all the evening putting things public and private in order, and so at night home and to supper and to bed, finding great content since I am come to follow my business again, which God preserve in me. 24th. After with great pleasure lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife (for we have been for some years now, and at present more and more, a very happy couple, blessed be God), I got up and to my office, and having done there some business, I by water, and then walked to Deptford to discourse with Mr. Lowly and Davis about my late conceptions about keeping books of the distinct works done in the yards, against which I find no objection but their ignorance and unwillingness to do anything of pains and what is out of their ordinary dull road, but I like it well, and will proceed in it. So home and dined there with my wife upon a most excellent dish of tripes of my own directing, covered with, mustard, as I have heretofore seen them done at my Lord Crew's, of which I made a very great meal, and sent for a glass of wine for myself, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who continues bed-rid in great pain, and hence to the Treasury to Sir J. Minnes paying off of tickets, and at night home, and in my study (after seeing Sir W. Batten, who also continues ill) I fell to draw out my conceptions about books for the clerk that cheques in the yard to keep according to the distinct works there, which pleases me very well, and I am confident it will be of great use. At 9 at night home, and to supper, and to bed. This noon came to see me and sat with me a little after dinner Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who tells me how ill things go at Court: that the King do show no countenance to any that belong to the Queen; nor, above all, to such English as she brought over with her, or hath here since, for fear they should tell her how he carries himself to Mrs. Palmer;--[Lady Castlemaine.]--insomuch that though he has a promise, and is sure of being made her chyrurgeon, he is at a loss what to do in it, whether to take it or no, since the King's mind is so altered in favour to all her dependants, whom she is fain to let go back into Portugall (though she brought them from their friends against their wills with promise of preferment), without doing any thing for them. But he tells me that her own physician did tell him within these three days that the Queen do know how the King orders things, and how he carries himself to my Lady Castlemaine and others, as well as any body; but though she hath spirit enough, yet seeing that she do no good by taking notice of it, for the present she forbears it in policy; of which I am very glad. But I pray God keep us in peace; for this, with other things, do give great discontent to all people. 25th. Up and to the office, and there with Mr. Coventry sat all the morning, only we two, the rest being absent or sick. Dined at home with my wife upon a good dish of neats' feet and mustard, of which I made a good meal. All the afternoon alone at my office and among my workmen, who (I mean the joyners) have even ended my dining room, and will be very handsome and to my full content. In the evening at my office about one business or another, and so home and to bed, with my mind every day more and more quiet since I come to follow my business, and shall be very happy indeed when the trouble of my house is over. 26th (Lord's day).Up and put on my new Scallop, and is very fine. To church, and there saw the first time Mr. Mills in a surplice; but it seemed absurd for him to pull it over his ears in the reading-pew, after he had done, before all the church, to go up to the pulpitt, to preach without it. Home and dined, and Mr. Sympson, my joyner that do my diningroom, and my brother Tom with me to a delicate fat pig. Tom takes his disappointment of his mistress to heart; but all will be well again in a little time. Then to church again, and heard a simple Scot preach most tediously. So home, and to see Sir W. Batten, who is pretty well again, and then to my uncle Wight's to show my fine band and to see Mrs. Margaret Wight, but she was not there. All this day soldiers going up and down the town, there being an alarm and many Quakers and others clapped up; but I believe without any reason: only they say in Dorsetshire there hath been some rising discovered. So after supper home, and then to my study, and making up my monthly account to myself. I find myself, by my expense in bands and clothes this month, abated a little of my last, and that I am worth L679 still; for which God be praised. So home and to bed with quiett mind, blessed be God, but afeard of my candle's going out, which makes me write thus slubberingly. 27th. Up, and after giving order to the plasterer now to set upon the finishing of my house, then by water to wait upon the Duke, and walking in the matted Gallery, by and by comes Mr. Coventry and Sir John Minnes, and then to the Duke, and after he was ready, to his closet, where I did give him my usual account of matters, and afterwards, upon Sir J. Minnes' desire to have one to assist him in his employment, Sir W. Pen is appointed to be his, and Mr. Pett to be the Surveyor's assistant. Mr. Coventry did desire to be excused, and so I hope (at least it is my present opinion) to have none joined with me, but only Mr. Coventry do desire that I would find work for one of his clerks, which I did not deny, but however I will think of it, whether without prejudice to mine I can do it. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who now-a-days calls me into his chamber, and alone did discourse with me about the jealousy that the Court have of people's rising; wherein he do much dislike my Lord Monk's being so eager against a company of poor wretches, dragging them up and down the street; but would have him rather to take some of the greatest ringleaders of them, and punish them; whereas this do but tell the world the King's fears and doubts. For Dunkirk; he wonders any wise people should be so troubled thereat, and scorns all their talk against it, for that he says it was not Dunkirk, but the other places, that did and would annoy us, though we had that, as much as if we had it not. He also took notice of the new Ministers of State, Sir H. Bennet and Sir Charles Barkeley, their bringing in, and the high game that my Lady Castlemaine plays at Court (which I took occasion to mention as that that the people do take great notice of), all which he confessed. Afterwards he told me of poor Mr. Spong, that being with other people examined before the King and Council (they being laid up as suspected persons; and it seems Spong is so far thought guilty as that they intend to pitch upon him to put to the wracke or some other torture), he do take knowledge of my Lord Sandwich, and said that he was well known to Mr. Pepys. But my Lord knows, and I told him, that it was only in matter of musique and pipes, but that I thought him to be a very innocent fellow; and indeed I am very sorry for him. After my Lord and I had done in private, we went out, and with Captain Cuttance and Bunn did look over their draught of a bridge for Tangier, which will be brought by my desire to our office by them to-morrow. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked long with Mr. Creed, and then to the great half-a-crown ordinary, at the King's Head, near Charing Cross, where we had a most excellent neat dinner and very high company, and in a noble manner. After dinner he and I into another room over a pot of ale and talked. He showed me our commission, wherein the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, Lord Peterborough, Lord Sandwich, Sir G. Carteret, Sir William Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir R. Ford, Sir William Rider, Mr. Cholmley, Mr. Povy, myself, and Captain Cuttance, in this order are joyned for the carrying on the service of Tangier, which I take for a great honour to me. He told me what great faction there is at Court; and above all, what is whispered, that young Crofts is lawful son to the King, the King being married to his mother. [There has been much confusion as to the name and parentage of Charles's mistress. Lucy Walter was the daughter of William Walter of Roch Castle, co. Pembroke, and Mr. S. Steinman, in his "Althorp Memoirs" (privately printed, 1869), sets out her pedigree, which is a good one. Roch Castle was taken and burnt by the Parliamentary forces in 1644, and Lucy was in London in 1648, where she made the acquaintance of Colonel Algernon Sidney. She then fell into the possession of his brother, Colonel Robert Sidney. In September of this same year she was taken up by Charles, Prince of Wales. Charles terminated his connection with her on October 30th, 1651, and she died in 1658, as appears by a document (administration entry in the Register of the Prerogative Court) met with by the late Colonel Chester. William Erskine, who had served Charles as cupbearer in his wanderings, and was appointed Master of the Charterhouse in December, 1677, had the care of Lucy Walter, and buried her in Paris. He declared that the king never had any intention of marrying her, and she did not deserve it. Thomas Ross, the tutor of her son, put the idea of this claim into his head, and asked Dr. Cosin to certify to a marriage. In consequence of this he was removed from his office, and Lord Crofts took his place (Steinman's "Althorp Memoirs"). Lucy Walter took the name of Barlow during her wanderings.] How true this is, God knows; but I believe the Duke of York will not be fooled in this of three crowns. Thence to White Hall, and walked long in the galleries till (as they are commanded to all strange persons), one come to tell us, we not being known, and being observed to walk there four or five hours (which was not true, unless they count my walking there in the morning), he was commanded to ask who we were; which being told, he excused his question, and was satisfied. These things speak great fear and jealousys. Here we staid some time, thinking to stay out the play before the King to-night, but it being "The Villaine," and my wife not being there, I had no mind. So walk to the Exchange, and there took many turns with him; among other things, observing one very pretty Exchange lass, with her face full of black patches, which was a strange sight. So bid him good-night and away by coach to Mr. Moore, with whom I staid an hour, and found him pretty well and intends to go abroad tomorrow, and so it raining hard by coach home, and having visited both Sir Williams, who are both sick, but like to be well again, I to my office, and there did some business, and so home and to bed. At Sir W. Batten's I met with Mr. Mills, who tells me that he could get nothing out of the maid hard by (that did poyson herself) before she died, but that she did it because she did not like herself, nor had not liked herself, nor anything she did a great while. It seems she was well-favoured enough, but crooked, and this was all she could be got to say, which is very strange. 28th. At the office sitting all the morning, and then home to dinner with my wife, and after dinner she and I passing an hour or two in ridiculous talk, and then to my office, doing business there till 9 at night, and so home and to supper and to bed. My house is now in its last dirt, I hope, the plasterer and painter now being upon winding up all my trouble, which I expect will now in a fortnight's time, or a little more, be quite over. 29th (Lord Mayor's day). Intended to have made me fine, and by invitation to have dined with the Lord Mayor to-day, but going to see Sir W. Batten this morning, I found Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes going with Sir W. Batten and myself to examine Sir G. Carteret's accounts for the last year, whereupon I settled to it with them all the day long, only dinner time (which Sir G. Carteret gave us), and by night did as good as finish them, and so parted, and thence to my office, and there set papers in order and business against to-morrow. I received a letter this day from my father, speaking more trouble about my uncle Thomas his business, and of proceeding to lay claim to Brampton and all my uncle left, because it is given conditional that we should pay legacys, which to him we have not yet done, but I hope that will do us no hurt; God help us if it should, but it disquiets my mind. I have also a letter from my Lord Sandwich desiring me upon matters of concernment to be with him early tomorrow morning, which I wonder what it should be. So my mind full of thoughts, and some trouble at night, home and to bed. Sir G. Carteret, who had been at the examining most of the late people that are clapped up, do say that he do not think that there hath been any great plotting among them, though they have a good will to it; but their condition is so poor, and silly, and low, that they do not fear them at all. 30th. Could sleep but little to-night for thoughts of my business. So up by candlelight and by water to Whitehall, and so to my Lord Sandwich, who was up in his chamber and all alone, did acquaint me with his business; which was, that our old acquaintance Mr. Wade (in Axe Yard) hath discovered to him L7,000 hid in the Tower, of which he was to have two for discovery; my Lord himself two, and the King the other three, when it was found; and that the King's warrant runs for me on my Lord's part, and one Mr. Lee for Sir Harry Bennet, to demand leave of the Lieutenant of the Tower for to make search. After he had told me the whole business, I took leave and hastened to my office, expecting to be called by a letter from my Lord to set upon the business, and so there I sat with the officers all the morning. At noon when we were up comes Mr. Wade with my Lord's letter, and tells me the whole business. So we consulted for me to go first to Sir H. Bennet, who is now with many of the Privy Counsellors at the Tower, examining of their late prisoners, to advise with him when to begin. So I went; and the guard at the Tower Gate, making me leave my sword at the gate, I was forced to stay so long in the ale-house hard by, till my boy run home for my cloak, that my Lord Mayor that now is, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, with all his company, was gone with their coaches to his house in Minchen Lane. So my cloak being come, I walked thither; and there, by Sir G. Carteret's means, did presently speak with Sir H. Bennet, who did show and give me the King's warrant to me and Mr. Leigh, and another to himself, for the paying of L2,000 to my Lord, and other two to the discoverers. After a little discourse, dinner come in; and I dined with them. There was my Lord Mayor, my Lord Lauderdale, Mr. Secretary Morris, to whom Sir H. Bennet would give the upper hand; Sir Wm. Compton, Sir G. Carteret, and myself, and some other company, and a brave dinner. After dinner, Sir H. Bennet did call aside the Lord Mayor and me, and did break the business to him, who did not, nor durst appear the least averse to it, but did promise all assistance forthwith to set upon it. So Mr. Lee and I to our office, and there walked till Mr. Wade and one Evett his guide did come, and W. Griffin, and a porter with his picke-axes, &c.; and so they walked along with us to the Tower, and Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Mayor did give us full power to fall to work. So our guide demands, a candle, and down into the cellars he goes, inquiring whether they were the same that Baxter [Intended for John Barkstead, Lieutenant of the Tower under Cromwell. Committed to the Tower (see March 17th, 1661-62).] always had. We went into several little cellars, and then went out a-doors to view, and to the Cole Harbour; but none did answer so well to the marks which was given him to find it by, as one arched vault. Where, after a great deal of council whether to set upon it now, or delay for better and more full advice, we set to it, to digging we went to almost eight o'clock at night, but could find nothing. But, however, our guides did not at all seem discouraged; for that they being confident that the money is there they look for, but having never been in the cellars, they could not be positive to the place, and therefore will inform themselves more fully now they have been there, of the party that do advise them. So locking the door after us, we left work to-night, and up to the Deputy Governor (my Lord Mayor, and Sir H. Bennet, with the rest of the company being gone an hour before); and he do undertake to keep the key of the cellars, that none shall go down without his privity. But, Lord! to see what a young simple fantastique coxcombe is made Deputy Governor, would make one mad; and how he called out for his night-gown of silk, only to make a show to us; and yet for half an hour I did not think he was the Deputy Governor, and so spoke not to him about the business, but waited for another man; at last I broke our business to him; and he promising his care, we parted. And Mr. Leigh and I by coach to White Hall, where I did give my Lord Sandwich an account of our proceedings, and some encouragement to hope for something hereafter, and so bade him good-night, and so by coach home again, where to my trouble I found that the painter had not been here to-day to do any thing, which vexes me mightily. So to my office to put down my journal, and so home and to bed. This morning, walking with Mr. Coventry in the garden, he did tell me how Sir G. Carteret had carried the business of the Victuallers' money to be paid by himself, contrary to old practice; at which he is angry I perceive, but I believe means no hurt, but that things maybe done as they ought. He expects Sir George should not bespatter him privately, in revenge, but openly. Against which he prepares to bedaub him, and swears he will do it from the beginning, from Jersey to this day. And as to his own taking of too large fees or rewards for places that he had sold, he will prove that he was directed to it by Sir George himself among others. And yet he did not deny Sir G. Carteret his due, in saying that he is a man that do take the most pains, and gives himself the most to do business of any man about the Court, without any desire of pleasure or divertisements; which is very true. But which pleased me mightily, he said in these words, that he was resolved, whatever it cost him, to make an experiment, and see whether it was possible for a man to keep himself up in Court by dealing plainly and walking uprightly, with any private game a playing: in the doing whereof, if his ground do slip from under him, he will be contented; but he is resolved to try, and never to baulke taking notice of any thing that is to the King's prejudice, let it fall where it will; which is a most brave resolucion. He was very free with me; and by my troth, I do see more reall worth in him than in most men that I do know. I would not forget two passages of Sir J. Minnes's at yesterday's dinner. The one, that to the question how it comes to pass that there are no boars seen in London, but many sows and pigs; it was answered, that the constable gets them a-nights. The other, Thos. Killigrew's way of getting to see plays when he was a boy. He would go to the Red Bull, and when the man cried to the boys, "Who will go and be a devil, and he shall see the play for nothing?" then would he go in, and be a devil upon the stage, and so get to see plays. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then up and among my workmen, the carpenters being this day laying of my floor of my dining room, with whom I staid a good while, and so to my office, and did a little business, and so home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon with my carpenters, making them lay all my boards but one in my dining room this day, which I am confident they would have made two good days work of if I had not been there, and it will be very pleasant. At night to my office, and there late doing of my office business, and so home to supper and bed. Thus ends this month, I and my family in good health, but weary heartily of dirt, but now in hopes within two or three weeks to be out of it. My head troubled with much business, but especially my fear of Sir J. Minnes claiming my bed-chamber of me, but I hope now that it is almost over, for I perceive he is fitting his house to go into it the next week. Then my law businesses for Brampton makes me mad almost, for that I want time to follow them, but I must by no means neglect them. I thank God I do save money, though it be but a little, but I hope to find out some job or other that I may get a sum by to set me up. I am now also busy in a discovery for my Lord Sandwich and Sir H. Bennett by Mr. Wade's means of some of Baxter's [Barkstead] money hid in one of his cellars in the Tower. If we get it it may be I may be 10 or L20 the better for it. I thank God I have no crosses, but only much business to trouble my mind with. In all other things as happy a man as any in the world, for the whole world seems to smile upon me, and if my house were done that I could diligently follow my business, I would not doubt to do God, and the King, and myself good service. And all I do impute almost wholly to my late temperance, since my making of my vowes against wine and plays, which keeps me most happily and contentfully to my business; which God continue! Public matters are full of discontent, what with the sale of Dunkirk, and my Lady Castlemaine, and her faction at Court; though I know not what they would have more than to debauch the king, whom God preserve from it! And then great plots are talked to be discovered, and all the prisons in town full of ordinary people, taken from their meeting-places last Sunday. But for certain some plots there hath been, though not brought to a head. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: All made much worse in their report among people than they are Care not for his commands, and especially on Sundays Catched cold yesterday by putting off my stockings Hate in others, and more in myself, to be careless of keys I fear that it must be as it can, and not as I would Lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife My Jane's cutting off a carpenter's long mustacho No good by taking notice of it, for the present she forbears Parson is a cunning fellow he is as any of his coat Pleasures are not sweet to me now in the very enjoying of them She so cruel a hypocrite that she can cry when she pleases Strange things he has been found guilty of, not fit to name Then to church to a tedious sermon When the candle is going out, how they bawl and dispute 
4137	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER & DECEMBER 1662 November 1st. Up and after a little while with my workmen I went to my office, and then to our sitting all the morning. At noon with Mr. Creede, whom I found at my house, to the Trinity House, to a great dinner there, by invitacion, and much company. It seems one Captain Evans makes his Elder Brother's dinner to-day. Among other discourses one Mr. Oudant, secretary to the late Princesse of Orange, did discourse of the convenience as to keeping the highways from being deep, by their horses, in Holland (and Flanders where the ground is as miry as ours is), going in their carts and, waggons as ours in coaches, wishing the same here as an expedient to make the ways better, and I think there is something in it, where there is breadth enough. Thence to my office, sent for to meet Mr. Leigh again; from Sir H. Bennet. And he and I, with Wade and his intelligencer and labourers, to the Tower cellars, to make one tryall more; where we staid two or three hours digging, and dug a great deal all under the arches, as it was now most confidently directed, and so seriously, and upon pretended good grounds, that I myself did truly expect to speed; but we missed of all: and so we went away the second time like fools. And to our office, whither, a coach being come, Mr. Leigh goes home to Whitehall; and I by appointment to the Dolphin Tavern, to meet Wade and the other, Captn. Evett, who now do tell me plainly, that he that do put him upon this is one that had it from Barkestead's own mouth, and was advised with by him, just before the King's coming in, how to get it out, and had all the signs told him how and where it lay, and had always been the great confident of Barkestead even to the trusting him with his life and all he had. So that he did much convince me that there is good ground for what we go about. But I fear it may be that he did find some conveyance of it away, without the help of this man, before he died. But he is resolved to go to the party once more, and then to determine what we shall do further. So we parted, and I to my office, where after sending away my letters to the post I do hear that Sir J. Minnes is resolved to turn part of our entry into a room and to divide the back yard between Sir W. Pen and him, which though I do not see how it will annoy me much particularly, yet it do trouble me a little for fear it should, but I do not see how it can well unless in his desiring my coming to my back stairs, but for that I shall do as well as himself or Sir W. Pen, who is most concerned to look after it. 2nd (Lord's day). Lay long with pleasure talking with my wife, in whom I never had greater content, blessed be God! than now, she continuing with the same care and thrift and innocence, so long as I keep her from occasions of being otherwise, as ever she was in her life, and keeps the house as well. To church, where Mr. Mills, after he had read the service, and shifted himself as he did the last day, preached a very ordinary sermon. So home to dinner with my wife. Then up into my new rooms which are, almost finished, and there walked with great content talking with my wife till church time, and then to church, and there being a lazy preacher I slept out the sermon, and so home, and after visiting the two Sir Williams, who are both of them mending apace, I to my office preparing things against to-morrow for the Duke, and so home and to bed, with some pain, . . . having taken cold this morning in sitting too long bare-legged to pare my corns. My wife and I spent a good deal of this evening in reading "Du Bartas' Imposture" and other parts which my wife of late has taken up to read, and is very fine as anything I meet with. 3d. Up and with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to White Hall, to the Duke's; but found him gone out a-hunting. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, from whom I receive every day more and more signs of his confidence and esteem of me. Here I met with Pierce the chyrurgeon, who tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is with child; but though it be the King's, yet her Lord being still in town, and sometimes seeing of her, though never to eat or lie together, it will be laid to him. He tells me also how the Duke of York is smitten in love with my Lady Chesterfield [Lady Elizabeth Butler, daughter of James Butler, first Duke of Ormond, second wife of Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield. She died July, 1665 (see "Memoires de Grammont," chap. viii.). Peter Cunningham thinks that this banishment was only temporary, for, according to the Grammont Memoirs, she was in town when the Russian ambassador was in London, December, 1662, and January, 1662- 63. "It appears from the books of the Lord Steward's office . . . that Lord Chesterfield set out for the country on the 12th May, 1663, and, from his 'Short Notes' referred to in the Memoirs before his Correspondence, that he remained at Bretby, in Derbyshire, with his wife, throughout the summer of that year" ("Story of Nell Gwyn," 1852, p. 189).] (a virtuous lady, daughter to my Lord of Ormond); and so much, that the duchess of York hath complained to the King and her father about it, and my Lady Chesterfield is gone into the country for it. At all which I am sorry; but it is the effect of idleness, and having nothing else to employ their great spirits upon. Thence with Mr. Creede and Mr. Moore (who is got upon his legs and come to see my Lord) to Wilkinson's, and there I did give them and Mr. Howe their dinner of roast beef, cost me 5s., and after dinner carried Mr. Moore as far as Paul's in a coach, giving him direction about my law business, and there set him down, and I home and among my workmen, who happened of all sorts to meet to their making an end of a great many jobbs, so that after to-morrow I shall have but a little plastering and all the painting almost to do, which was good content to me. At night to my office, and did business; and there came to me Mr. Wade and Evett, who have been again with their prime intelligencer, a woman, I perceive: and though we have missed twice, yet they bring such an account of the probability of the truth of the thing, though we are not certain of the place, that we shall set upon it once more; and I am willing and hopefull in it. So we resolved to set upon it again on Wednesday morning; and the woman herself will be there in a disguise, and confirm us in the place. So they took leave for the night, and I to my business, and then home to my wife and to supper and bed, my pain being going away. So by God's great blessing my mind is in good condition of quiet. 4th. Lay long talking pleasantly with my wife in bed, it having rained, and do still, very much all night long. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon. This morning we had news by letters that Sir Richard Stayner is dead at sea in the Mary, which is now come into Portsmouth from Lisbon; which we are sorry for, he being a very stout seaman. But there will be no great miss of him for all that. Dined at home with my wife, and all the afternoon among my workmen, and at night to my office to do business there, and then to see Sir W. Pen, who is still sick, but his pain less than it was. He took occasion to talk with me about Sir J. Minnes's intention to divide the entry and the yard, and so to keep him out of the yard, and forcing him to go through the garden to his house. Which he is vexed at, and I am glad to see that Sir J. Minnes do use him just as he do me, and so I perceive it is not anything extraordinary his carriage to me in the matter of our houses, for this is worse than anything he has done to me, that he should give order for the stopping up of his way to his house without so much as advising with him or letting of him know it, and I confess that it is very highly and basely done of him. So to my office again, and after doing business there, then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and with my painters painting my dining room all day long till night, not stirring out at all. Only in the morning my. Lady Batten did send to speak with me, and told me very civilly that she did not desire, nor hoped I did, that anything should pass between us but what was civill, though there was not the neighbourliness between her and my wife that was fit to be, and so complained of my maid's mocking of her; when she called "Nan" to her maid within her own house, my maid Jane in the garden overheard her, and mocked her, and some other such like things she told me, and of my wife's speaking unhandsomely of her; to all which I did give her a very respectfull answer, such as did please her, and am sorry indeed that this should be, though I do not desire there should be any acquaintance between my wife and her. But I promised to avoid such words and passages for the future. So home, and by and by Sir W. Pen did send for me to his bedside; and tell me how really Sir J. Minnes did resolve to have one of my rooms, and that he was very angry and hot, and said he would speak to the Duke. To which, knowing that all this was but to scare me, and to get him to put off his resolution of making up the entry, I did tell him plainly how I did not value his anger more, than he did mine, and that I should be willing to do what the Duke commanded, and I was sure to have justice of him, and that was all I did say to him about it, though I was much vexed, and after a little stay went home; and there telling my wife she did put me into heart, and resolve to offer him to change lodgings, and believe that that will one way or other bring us to some end in this dispute. At night I called up my maids, and schooled Jane, who did answer me so humbly and drolly about it, that though I seemed angry, I was much pleased with her and [my] wife also. So at night to bed. 6th. At the office forenoon and afternoon till late at night, very busy answering my Lord Treasurer's letter, and my mind troubled till we come to some end with Sir J. Minnes about our lodgings, and so home. And after some pleasant discourse and supper to bed, and in my dream much troubled by being with Will. Swan, a great fanatic, my old acquaintance, and, methought, taken and led up with him for a plotter, all our discourse being at present about the late plots. 7th. Up and being by appointment called upon by Mr. Lee, he and I to the Tower, to make our third attempt upon the cellar. And now privately the woman, Barkestead's great confident, is brought, who do positively say that this is the place which he did say the money was hid in, and where he and she did put up the L50,000 [Thus in the MS., although the amount was first stated as L7,000 (see October 30th, 1662)] in butter firkins; and the very day that he went out of England did say that neither he nor his would be the better for that money, and therefore wishing that she and hers might. And so left us, and we full of hope did resolve to dig all over the cellar, which by seven o'clock at night we performed. At noon we sent for a dinner, and upon the head of a barrel dined very merrily, and to work again. Between times, Mr. Lee, who had been much in Spain, did tell me pretty stories of the customs and other things, as I asked him, of the country, to my great content. But at last we saw we were mistaken; and after digging the cellar quite through, and removing the barrels from one side to the other, we were forced to pay our porters, and give over our expectations, though I do believe there must be money hid somewhere by him, or else he did delude this woman in hopes to oblige her to further serving him, which I am apt to believe. Thence by coach to White Hall, and at my Lord's lodgings did write a letter, he not being within, to tell him how things went, and so away again, only hearing that Mrs. Sarah is married, I did go up stairs again and joy her and kiss her, she owning of it; and it seems it is to a cook. I am glad she is disposed of, for she grows old, and is very painfull,--[painstaking]--and one I have reason to wish well for her old service to me. Then to my brother's, where my wife, by my order, is tonight to stay a night or two while my house is made clean, and thence home, where I am angry to see, instead of the house made in part clean, all the pewter goods and other things are brought up to scouring, which makes the house ten times worse, at which I was very much displeased, but cannot help it. So to my office to set down my journal, and so home and to bed. 8th. All the morning sitting at the office, and after that dined alone at home, and so to the office again till 9 o'clock, being loth to go home, the house is so dirty, and my wife at my brother's. So home and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Lay alone a good while, my mind busy about pleading to-morrow to the Duke if there shall be occasion for this chamber that I lie in against Sir J., Minnes. Then up, and after being ready walked to my brother's, where my wife is, calling at many churches, and then to the Temple, hearing a bit there too, and observing that in the streets and churches the Sunday is kept in appearance as well as I have known it at any time. Then to dinner to my brother's, only he and my wife, and after dinner to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well, and he and I to St. Gregory's, where I escaped a great fall down the staires of the gallery: so into a pew there and heard Dr. Ball make a very good sermon, though short of what I expected, as for the most part it do fall out. So home with Mr. Moore to his chamber, and after a little talk I walked home to my house and staid at Sir W. Batten's. Till late at night with him and Sir J. Minnes, with whom we did abundance of most excellent discourse of former passages of sea commanders and officers of the navy, and so home and to bed, with my mind well at ease but only as to my chamber, which I fear to lose. 10th. Up betimes and to set my workmen to work, and then a little to the office, and so with Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself by coach to White Hall, to the Duke, who, after he was ready, did take us into his closett. Thither come my Lord General Monk, and did privately talk with the Duke about having the life-guards pass through the City today only for show and to fright people, for I perceive there are great fears abroad; for all which I am troubled and full of doubt that things will not go well. He being gone, we fell to business of the Navy. Among other things, how to pay off this fleet that is now come from Portugall; the King of Portugall sending them home, he having no more use for them, which we wonder at, that his condition should be so soon altered. And our landmen also are coming back, being almost starved in that poor country. Having done here I went by my Lord Sandwich's, who was not at home, and so to Westminster Hall, where full of term, and here met with many about business, among others my cozen Roger Pepys, who is all for a composition with my uncle Thomas, which upon any fair terms I am for also and desire it. Thence by water, and so by land to my Lord Crew's, and dined with him and his brother, I know not his name; where very good discourse; among others, of France's intention to make a patriarch of his own, independent from the Pope, by which he will be able to cope with the Spaniard in all councils, which hitherto he has never done. My Lord Crew told us how he heard my Lord of Holland say that, being Embassador about the match with the Queene-Mother that now is, the King of France--[Louis XIII., in 1624.]--insisted upon a dispensation from the Pope, which my Lord Holland making a question of, and that he was commanded to yield to nothing to the prejudice of our religion, says the King of France, "You need not fear that, for if the Pope will not dispense with the match, my Bishopp of Paris shall." By and by come in great Mr. Swinfen, the Parliament-man, who, among other discourse of the rise and fall of familys, told us of Bishopp Bridgeman (brother of Sir Orlando) who lately hath bought a seat anciently of the Levers, and then the Ashtons; and so he hath in his great hall window (having repaired and beautified the house) caused four great places to be left for coates of armes. In one, he hath put the Levers, with this motto, "Olim." In another the Ashtons, with this, "Heri." In the next his own, with this, "Hodie." In the fourth nothing but this motto, "Cras nescio cujus." Thence towards my brother's; met with Jack Cole in Fleet Street, and he and I went into his cozen Mary Cole's (whom I never saw since she was married), and drank a pint of wine and much good discourse. I found him a little conceited, but he had good things in him, and a man may know the temper of the City by him, he being of a general conversation, and can tell how matters go; and upon that score I will encourage his acquaintance. Thence to my brother's, and taking my wife up, carried her to Charing Cross, and there showed her the Italian motion, much after the nature of what I showed her a while since in Covent Garden. Their puppets here are somewhat better, but their motions not at all. Thence by coach to my Lady's, and, hiding my wife with Sarah below, I went up and heard some musique with my Lord, and afterwards discoursed with him alone, and so good night to him and below, having sent for Mr. Creed, had thought to have shown my wife a play before the King, but it is so late that we could not, and so we took coach, and taking up Sarah at my brother's with their night geare we went home, and I to my office to settle matters, and so home and to bed. This morning in the Duke's chamber Sir J. Minnes did break to me his desire about my chamber, which I did put off to another time to discourse of, he speaking to me very kindly to make me the less trouble myself, hoping to save myself and to contrive something or other to pleasure him as well, though I know not well what. The town, I hear, is full of discontents, and all know of the King's new bastard by Mrs. Haslerigge, and as far as I can hear will never be contented with Episcopacy, they are so cruelly set for Presbytery, and the Bishopps carry themselves so high, that they are never likely to gain anything upon them. 11th. All the morning sitting at the office, and then to dinner with my wife, and so to the office again (where a good while Mr. Bland was with me, telling me very fine things in merchandize, which, but that the trouble of my office do so cruelly hinder me, I would take some pains in) till late at night. Towards the evening I, as I have done for three or four nights, studying something of Arithmetique, which do please me well to see myself come forward. So home, to supper, and to bed. 12th. At my office most of the morning, after I had done among my painters, and sent away Mr. Shaw and Hawly, who came to give me a visit this morning. Shaw it seems is newly re-married to a rich widow. At noon dined at home with my wife, and by and by, by my wife's appointment came two young ladies, sisters, acquaintances of my wife's brother's, who are desirous to wait upon some ladies, and proffer their service to my wife. The youngest, indeed, hath a good voice, and sings very well, besides other good qualitys; but I fear hath been bred up with too great liberty for my family, and I fear greater inconveniences of expenses, and my wife's liberty will follow, which I must study to avoid till I have a better purse; though, I confess, the gentlewoman, being pretty handsome, and singing, makes me have a good mind to her. Anon I took them by coach and carried them to a friend's of theirs, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there I left them and I to the Temple by appointment to my cousin Roger's chamber, where my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas met us, I having hoped that they would have agreed with me to have had [it] ended by my cozen Roger, but they will have two strangers to be for them against two others of mine, and so we parted without doing any thing till the two send me the names of their arbiters. Thence I walked home, calling a little in Paul's Churchyard, and, I thank God, can read and never buy a book, though I have a great mind to it. So to the Dolphin Tavern near home, by appointment, and there met with Wade and Evett, and have resolved to make a new attempt upon another discovery, in which God give us better fortune than in the other, but I have great confidence that there is no cheat in these people, but that they go upon good grounds, though they have been mistaken in the place of the first. From thence, without drinking a drop of wine, home to my office and there made an end, though late, of my collection of the prices of masts for these twelve years to this day, in order to the buying of some of Wood, and I bound it up in painted paper to lie by as a book for future use. So home and to supper and to bed, and a little before and after we were in bed we had much talk and difference between us about my wife's having a woman, which I seemed much angry at, that she should go so far in it without consideration and my being consulted with. So to bed. 13th. Up and began our discontent again and sorely angered my wife, who indeed do live very lonely, but I do perceive that it is want of work that do make her and all other people think of ways of spending their time worse, and this I owe to my building, that do not admit of her undertaking any thing of work, because the house has been and is still so dirty. I to my office, and there sat all the morning and dined with discontent with my wife at noon, and so to my office, and there this afternoon we had our first meeting upon our commission of inspecting the Chest, and there met Sir J. Minnes, Sir Francis Clerke, Mr. Heath, Atturney of the Dutchy, Mr. Prinn, Sir W. Rider, Captn. Cocke, and myself. Our first work to read over the Institution, which is a decree in Chancery in the year 1617, upon an inquisition made at Rochester about that time into the revenues of the Chest, which had then, from the year 1588 or 1590, by the advice of the Lord High Admiral and principal officers then being, by consent of the seamen, been settled, paying sixpence per month, according to their wages then, which was then but 10s. which is now 24s. We adjourned to a fortnight hence. So broke up, and I to see Sir W. Pen, who is now pretty well, but lies in bed still; he cannot rise to stand. Then to my office late, and this afternoon my wife in her discontent sent me a letter, which I am in a quandary what to do, whether to read it or not, but I purpose not, but to burn it before her face, that I may put a stop to more of this nature. But I must think of some way, either to find her some body to keep her company, or to set her to work, and by employment to take up her thoughts and time. After doing what I had to do I went home to supper, and there was very sullen to my wife, and so went to bed and to sleep (though with much ado, my mind being troubled) without speaking one word to her. 14th. She begun to talk in the morning and to be friends, believing all this while that. I had read her letter, which I perceive by her discourse was full of good counsel, and relating the reason of her desiring a woman, and how little charge she did intend it to be to me, so I begun and argued it as full and plain to her, and she to reason it highly to me, to put her away, and take one of the Bowyers if I did dislike her, that I did resolve when the house is ready she shall try her for a while; the truth is, I having a mind to have her come for her musique and dancing. So up and about my papers all the morning, and her brother coming I did tell him my mind plain, who did assure me that they were both of the sisters very humble and very poor, and that she that we are to have would carry herself so. So I was well contented and spent part of the morning at my office, and so home and to dinner, and after dinner, finding Sarah to be discontented at the news of this woman, I did begin in my wife's chamber to talk to her and tell her that it was not out of unkindness to her, but my wife came up, and I perceive she is not too reconciled to her whatever the matter is, that I perceive I shall not be able to keep her, though she is as good a servant (only a little pettish) that ever I desire to have, and a creditable servant. So she desired leave to go out to look [for] a service, and did, for which I am troubled, and fell out highly afterwards with my wife about it. So to my office, where we met this afternoon about answering a great letter of my Lord Treasurer's, and that done to my office drawing up a letter to him, and so home to supper. 15th. All the morning at the office sitting, dined with my wife pleasantly at home, then among my painters, and by and by went to my Civil Lawyers about my uncle's suit, and so home again and saw my painters make an end of my house this night, which is my great joy, and so to my office and did business till ten at night, and so home and to supper, and after reading part of Bussy d'Ambois, a good play I bought to-day, to bed. 16th (Lord's day). About 3 o'clock in the morning waked with a rude noise among Sir J. Minnes his servants (he not being yet come to his lodgings), who are the rudest people but they that lived before, one Mrs. Davis, that ever I knew in my life. To sleep again, and after long talking pleasantly with my wife, up and to church, where Mrs. Goodyer, now Mrs. Buckworth, was churched. I love the woman for her gravity above any in the parish. So home and to dinner with my wife with great content, and after dinner walked up and down my house, which is now almost finished, there being nothing to do but the glazier and furniture to put up. By and by comes Tom, and after a little talk I with him towards his end, but seeing many strangers and coaches coming to our church, and finding that it was a sermon to be preached by a probationer for the Turkey Company,--[The Turkey or Levant Company was established in 1581.]--to be sent to Smyrna, I returned thither. And several Turkey merchants filled all the best pews (and some in ours) in the Church, but a most pitiful sermon it was upon a text in Zachariah, and a great time he spent to show whose son Zachary was, and to prove Malachi to be the last prophet before John the Baptist. Home and to see Sir W. Pen, who gets strength, but still keeps his bed. Then home and to my office to do some business there, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. To the Duke's to-day, but he is gone a-hunting, and therefore I to my Lord Sandwich's, and having spoke a little with him about his businesses, I to Westminster Hall and there staid long doing many businesses, and so home by the Temple and other places doing the like, and at home I found my wife dressing by appointment by her woman--[Mrs. Gosnell.]--that I think is to be, and her other sister being here to-day with her and my wife's brother, I took Mr. Creed, that came to dine, to an ordinary behind the Change, and there dined together, and after dinner home and there spent an hour or two till almost dark, talking with my wife, and making Mrs. Gosnell sing; and then, there being no coach to be got, by water to White Hall; but Gosnell not being willing to go through bridge, we were forced to land and take water, again, and put her and her sister ashore at the Temple. I am mightily pleased with her humour and singing. At White Hall by appointment, Mr. Creed carried my wife and I to the Cockpitt, and we had excellent places, and saw the King, Queen, Duke of Monmouth, his son, and my Lady Castlemaine, and all the fine ladies; and "The Scornfull Lady," well performed. They had done by eleven o'clock, and it being fine moonshine, we took coach and home, but could wake nobody at my house, and so were fain to have my boy get through one of the windows, and so opened the door and called up the maids, and went to supper and to bed, my mind being troubled at what my wife tells me, that her woman will not come till she hears from her mother, for I am so fond of her that I am loth now not to have her, though I know it will be a great charge to me which I ought to avoid, and so will make it up in other things. So to bed. 18th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Phillip the lawyer came to me, but I put him off to the afternoon. At noon I dined at Sir W. Batten's, Sir John Minnes being here, and he and I very kind, but I every day expect to pull a crow with him about our lodgings. My mind troubled about Gosnell and my law businesses. So after dinner to Mr. Phillips his chamber, where he demands an abatement for Piggott's money, which vexes me also, but I will not give it him without my father's consent, which I will write to him to-night about, and have done it. Here meeting my uncle Thomas, he and I to my cozen Roger's chamber, and there I did give my uncle him and Mr. Philips to be my two arbiters against Mr. Cole and Punt, but I expect no great good of the matter. Thence walked home, and my wife came home, having been abroad to-day, laying out above L12 in linen, and a copper, and a pot, and bedstead, and other household stuff, which troubles me also, so that my mind to-night is very heavy and divided. Late at my office, drawing up a letter to my Lord Treasurer, which we have been long about, and so home, and, my mind troubled, to bed. 20th. All the morning sitting at the office, at noon with Mr. Coventry to the Temple to advise about Field's, but our lawyers not being in the way we went to St. James's, and there at his chamber dined, and I am still in love more and more with him for his real worth. I broke to him my desire for my wife's brother to send him to sea as a midshipman, which he is willing to agree to, and will do it when I desire it. After dinner to the Temple, to Mr. Thurland; and thence to my Lord Chief Baron, Sir Edward Hale's, and back with Mr. Thurland to his chamber, where he told us that Field will have the better of us; and that we must study to make up the business as well as we can, which do much vex and trouble us: but I am glad the Duke is concerned in it. Thence by coach homewards, calling at a tavern in the way (being guided by the messenger in whose custody Field lies), and spoke with Mr. Smith our messenger about the business, and so home, where I found that my wife had finished very neatly my study with the former hangings of the diningroom, which will upon occasion serve for a fine withdrawing room. So a little to my office and so home, and spent the evening upon my house, and so to supper and to bed. 21St. Within all day long, helping to put up my hangings in my house in my wife's chamber, to my great content. In the afternoon I went to speak to Sir J. Minnes at his lodgings, where I found many great ladies, and his lodgings made very fine indeed. At night to supper and to bed: this night having first put up a spitting sheet, which I find very convenient. This day come the King's pleasure-boats from Calais, with the Dunkirk money, being 400,000 pistolles. 22nd. This morning, from some difference between my wife and Sarah, her maid, my wife and I fell out cruelly, to my great discontent. But I do see her set so against the wench, whom I take to be a most extraordinary good servant, that I was forced for the wench's sake to bid her get her another place, which shall cost some trouble to my wife, however, before I suffer to be. Thence to the office, where I sat all the morning, then dined; Mr. Moore with me, at home, my wife busy putting her furniture in order. Then he and I out, and he home and I to my cozen Roger Pepys to advise about treating with my uncle Thomas, and thence called at the Wardrobe on Mr. Moore again, and so home, and after doing much business at my office I went home and caused a new fashion knocker to be put on my door, and did other things to the putting my house in order, and getting my outward door painted, and the arch. This day I bought the book of country dances against my wife's woman Gosnell comes, who dances finely; and there meeting Mr. Playford he did give me his Latin songs of Mr. Deering's, which he lately printed. This day Mr. Moore told me that for certain the Queen-Mother is married to my Lord St. Albans, and he is like to be made Lord Treasurer. Newes that Sir J. Lawson hath made up a peace now with Tunis and Tripoli, as well as Argiers, by which he will come home very highly honoured. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, after some talk with my wife, soberly, upon yesterday's difference, and made good friends, and to church to hear Mr. Mills, and so home, and Mr. Moore and my brother Tom dined with me. My wife not being well to-day did not rise. In the afternoon to church again, and heard drowsy Mr. Graves, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who continues ill in bed, but grows better and better every day. Thence to Sir W. Batten's, and there staid awhile and heard how Sir R. Ford's daughter is married to a fellow without friends' consent, and the match carried on and made up at Will Griffin's, our doorkeeper's. So to my office and did a little business, and so home and to bed. I talked to my brother to-day, who desires me to give him leave to look after his mistress still; and he will not have me put to any trouble or obligation in it, which I did give him leave to do. I hear to-day how old rich Audley is lately dead, and left a very great estate, and made a great many poor familys rich, not all to one. Among others, one Davis, my old schoolfellow at Paul's, and since a bookseller in Paul's Church Yard: and it seems do forgive one man L60,000 which he had wronged him of, but names not his name; but it is well known to be the scrivener in Fleet Street, at whose house he lodged. There is also this week dead a poulterer, in Gracious Street, which was thought rich, but not so rich, that hath left L800 per annum, taken in other men's names, and 40,000 Jacobs in gold. [A jacobus was a gold coin of the value of twenty-five shillings, called after James I, in whose reign it was first coined.] 24th. Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, going forth toward White Hall, we hear that the King and Duke are come this morning to the Tower to see the Dunkirk money! So we by coach to them, and there went up and down all the magazines with them; but methought it was but poor discourse and frothy that the King's companions (young Killigrew among the rest) about the codpieces of some of the men in armour there to be seen, had with him. We saw none of the money, but Mr. Slingsby did show the King, and I did see, the stamps of the new money that is now to be made by Blondeau's fashion, [Peter Blondeau was employed by the Commonwealth to coin their money. After the Restoration, November 3rd, 1662, he received letters of denization, and a grant for being engineer of the Mint in the Tower of London, and for using his new invention for coining gold and silver with the mill and press, with the fee of L100 per annum (Walpole's "Anecdotes of Painting").] which are very neat, and like the King. Thence the King to Woolwich, though a very cold day; and the Duke to White Hall, commanding us to come after him, which we did by coach; and in his closett, my Lord Sandwich being there, did discourse with us about getting some of this money to pay off the Fleets, and other matters; and then away hence, and, it being almost dinner time, I to my Lord Crew's, and dined with him, and had very good discourse, and he seemed to be much pleased with my visits. Thence to Mr. Phillips, and so to the Temple, where met my cozen Roger Pepys and his brother, Dr. John, as my arbitrators against Mr. Cole and Mr. John Bernard for my uncle Thomas, and we two with them by appointment. They began very high in their demands, and my friends, partly being not so well acquainted with the will, and partly, I doubt, not being so good wits as they, for which I blame my choosing of relations (who besides that are equally engaged to stand for them as me), I was much troubled thereat, and taking occasion to deny without my father's consent to bind myself in a bond of L2000 to stand to their award, I broke off the business for the present till I hear and consider further, and so thence by coach (my cozen, Thomas Pepys, being in another chamber busy all the while, going along with me) homeward, and I set him down by the way; but, Lord! how he did endeavour to find out a ninepence to clubb with me for the coach, and for want was forced to give me a shilling, and how he still cries "Gad!" and talks of Popery coming in, as all the Fanatiques do, of which I was ashamed. So home, finding my poor wife very busy putting things in order, and so to bed, my mind being very much troubled, and could hardly sleep all night, thinking how things are like to go with us about Brampton, and blaming myself for living so high as I do when for ought I know my father and mother may come to live upon my hands when all is done. 25th. Up and to the office all the morning, and at noon with the rest, by Mr. Holy, the ironmonger's invitation, to the Dolphin, to a venison pasty, very good, and rare at this time of the year, and thence by coach with Mr. Coventry as far as the Temple, and thence to Greatorex's, where I staid and talked with him, and got him to mend my pocket ruler for me, and so by coach to my Lord's lodging, where I sat with Mr. Moore by appointment, making up accounts for my Lord Sandwich, which done he and I and Capt. Ferrers and W. Howe very merry a good while in the great dining room, and so it being late and my Lord not coming in, I by coach to the Temple, and thence walked home, and so to my study to do some business, and then home and to bed. Great talk among people how some of the Fanatiques do say that the end of the world is at hand, and that next Tuesday is to be the day. Against which, whenever it shall be, good God fit us all. 26th. In the morning to the Temple to my cozen Roger, who now desires that I would excuse him from arbitrating, he not being able to stand for me as he would do, without appearing too high against my uncle Thomas, which will raise his clamour. With this I am very well pleased, for I did desire it, and so I shall choose other counsel. Thence home, he being busy that I could not speak more with him. All day long till twelve o'clock at night getting my house in order, my wife putting up the red hangings and bed in her woman's chamber, and I my books and all other matters in my chamber and study, which is now very pretty. So to bed. 27th. At my waking, I found the tops of the houses covered with snow, which is a rare sight, that I have not seen these three years. Up, and put my people to perfect the cleaning of my house, and so to the office, where we sat till noon; and then we all went to the next house upon Tower Hill, to see the coming by of the Russia Embassador; for whose reception all the City trained-bands do attend in the streets, and the King's life-guards, and most of the wealthy citizens in their black velvet coats, and gold chains (which remain of their gallantry at the King's coming in), but they staid so long that we went down again home to dinner. And after I had dined, I heard they were coming, and so I walked to the Conduit in the Quarrefowr, [In two ordinances of the reign of Edward III., printed in Riley's "Memorials of London" (pp. 300, 389), this is called the "Carfukes," which nearly approaches the name of the "Carfax," at Oxford, where four ways also met. Pepys's form of the word is nearer quatre voies, the French equivalent of quadrivium.] at the end of Gracious-street and Cornhill; and there (the spouts thereof running very near me upon all the people that were under it) I saw them pretty well go by. I could not see the Embassador in his coach; but his attendants in their habits and fur caps very handsome, comely men, and most of them with hawkes upon their fists to present to the King. But Lord! to see the absurd nature of Englishmen, that cannot forbear laughing and jeering at every thing that looks strange. So back and to the office, and there we met and sat till seven o'clock, making a bargain with Mr. Wood for his masts of New England; and then in Mr. Coventry's coach to the Temple, but my cozen Roger Pepys not being at leisure to speak to me about my business, I presently walked home, and to my office till very late doing business, and so home, where I found my house more and more clear and in order, and hope in a day or two now to be in very good condition there and to my full content. Which God grant! So to supper and to bed. 28th. A very hard frost; which is news to us after having none almost these three years. Up and to Ironmongers' Hall by ten o'clock to the funeral of Sir Richard Stayner. Here we were, all the officers of the Navy, and my Lord Sandwich, who did discourse with us about the fishery, telling us of his Majesty's resolution to give L200 to every man that will set out a Busse; [A small sea-vessel used in the Dutch herring-fishery.] and advising about the effects of this encouragement, which will be a very great matter certainly. Here we had good rings, and by and by were to take coach; and I being got in with Mr. Creed into a four-horse coach, which they come and told us were only for the mourners, I went out, and so took this occasion to go home. Where I staid all day expecting Gosnell's coming, but there came an excuse from her that she had not heard yet from her mother, but that she will come next week, which I wish she may, since I must keep one that I may have some pleasure therein. So to my office till late writing out a copy of my uncle's will, and so home and to bed. 29th. Before I went to the office my wife's brother did come to us, and we did instruct him to go to Gosnell's and to see what the true matter is of her not coming, and whether she do intend to come or no, and so I to the office; and this morning come Sir G. Carteret to us (being the first time we have seen him since his coming from France): he tells us, that the silver which he received for Dunkirk did weigh 120,000 weight. Here all the morning upon business, and at noon (not going home to dinner, though word was brought me that Will. Joyce was there, whom I had not seen at my house nor any where else these three or four months) with Mr. Coventry by his coach as far as Fleet Street, and there stepped into Madam Turner's, where was told I should find my cozen Roger Pepys, and with him to the Temple, but not having time to do anything I went towards my Lord Sandwich's. (In my way went into Captn. Cuttance's coach, and with him to my Lord's.) But the company not being ready I did slip down to Wilkinson's, and having not eat any thing to-day did eat a mutton pie and drank, and so to my Lord's, where my Lord and Mr. Coventry, Sir Wm. Darcy, one Mr. Parham (a very knowing and well-spoken man in this business), with several others, did meet about stating the business of the fishery, and the manner of the King's giving of this L200 to every man that shall set out a new-made English Busse by the middle of June next. In which business we had many fine pretty discourses; and I did here see the great pleasure to be had in discoursing of publique matters with men that are particularly acquainted with this or that business. Having come to some issue, wherein a motion of mine was well received, about sending these invitations from the King to all the fishing-ports in general, with limiting so many Busses to this, and that port, before we know the readiness of subscribers, we parted, and I walked home all the way, and having wrote a letter full of business to my father, in my way calling upon my cozen Turner and Mr. Calthrop at the Temple, for their consent to be my arbitrators, which they are willing to. My wife and I to bed pretty pleasant, for that her brother brings word that Gosnell, which my wife and I in discourse do pleasantly call our Marmotte, will certainly come next week without fail, which God grant may be for the best. 30th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and Mr. Mills made a pretty good sermon. It is a bitter cold frost to-day. Dined alone with my wife to-day with great content, my house being quite clean from top to bottom. In the afternoon I to the French church here [The French Protestant Church was founded by Edward VI. in the church of St. Anthony's Hospital in Threadneedle Street. This was destroyed in the Great Fire, and rebuilt, but demolished for the approaches of the new Royal Exchange. The church was then removed to St. Martin's-le-Grand, but this was also removed in 1888 to make room for the new Post Office buildings.] in the city, and stood in the aisle all the sermon, with great delight hearing a very admirable sermon, from a very young man, upon the article in our creed, in order of catechism, upon the Resurrection. Thence home, and to visit Sir W. Pen, who continues still bed-rid. Here was Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and Mrs. Turner, and I very merry, talking of the confidence of Sir R. Ford's new-married daughter, though she married so strangely lately, yet appears at church as brisk as can be, and takes place of her elder sister, a maid. Thence home and to supper, and then, cold as it is, to my office, to make up my monthly accounts, and I do find that, through the fitting of my house this month, I have spent in that and kitchen L50 this month; so that now I am worth but L660, or thereabouts. This being done and fitted myself for the Duke to-morrow, I went home, and to prayers and to bed. This day I first did wear a muffe, being my wife's last year's muffe, [The fashion of men wearing muffs appears to have been introduced from France in this reign.] and now I have bought her a new one, this serves me very well. Thus ends this month; in great frost; myself and family all well, but my mind much disordered about my uncle's law business, being now in an order of being arbitrated between us, which I wish to God it were done. I am also somewhat uncertain what to think of my going about to take a woman-servant into my house, in the quality of a woman for my wife. My wife promises it shall cost me nothing but her meat and wages, and that it shall not be attended with any other expenses, upon which termes I admit of it; for that it will, I hope, save me money in having my wife go abroad on visits and other delights; so that I hope the best, but am resolved to alter it, if matters prove otherwise than I would have them. Publique matters in an ill condition of discontent against the height and vanity of the Court, and their bad payments: but that which troubles most, is the Clergy, which will never content the City, which is not to be reconciled to Bishopps: the more the pity that differences must still be. Dunkirk newly sold, and the money brought over; of which we hope to get some to pay the Navy: which by Sir J. Lawson's having dispatched the business in the Straights, by making peace with Argier,--[The ancient name for Algiers.]--Tunis, and Tripoli (and so his fleet will also shortly come home), will now every day grow less, and so the King's charge be abated; which God send! DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1662 December 1st. Up and by coach with Sir John Minnes and Sir W. Batten to White Hall to the Duke's chamber, where, as is usual, my Lord Sandwich and all of us, after his being ready, to his closett, and there discoursed of matters of the Navy, and here Mr. Coventry did do me the great kindness to take notice to the Duke of my pains in making a collection of all contracts about masts, which have been of great use to us. Thence I to my Lord Sandwich's, to Mr. Moore, to talk a little about business; and then over the Parke (where I first in my life, it being a great frost, did see people sliding with their skeates, [Iron skates appear to have been introduced by the Dutch, as the name certainly was; but we learn from Fitzstephen that bone skates (although not so called) were used in London in the twelfth century.] which is a very pretty art), to Mr. Coventry's chamber to St. James's, where we all met to a venison pasty, and were very merry, Major Norwood being with us, whom they did play upon for his surrendering of Dunkirk. Here we staid till three or four o'clock; and so to the Council Chamber, where there met the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, my Lord Sandwich, Sir Win. Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Rider, myself, and Captain Cuttance, as Commissioners for Tangier. And after our Commission was read by Mr. Creed, who I perceive is to be our Secretary, we did fall to discourse of matters: as, first, the supplying them forthwith with victualls; then the reducing it to make way for the money, which upon their reduction is to go to the building of the Mole; and so to other matters, ordered as against next meeting. This done we broke up, and I to the Cockpitt, with much crowding and waiting, where I saw "The Valiant Cidd"--[Translated from the "Cid" of Corneille]--acted, a play I have read with great delight, but is a most dull thing acted, which I never understood before, there being no pleasure in it, though done by Betterton and by Ianthe, And another fine wench that is come in the room of Roxalana nor did the King or queen once smile all the whole play, nor any of the company seem to take any pleasure but what was in the greatness and gallantry of the company. Thence to my Lord's, and Mr. Moore being in bed I staid not, but with a link walked home and got thither by 12 o'clock, knocked up my boy, and put myself to bed. 2nd. Before I went to the office my wife and I had another falling out about Sarah, against whom she has a deadly hate, I know not for what, nor can I see but she is a very good servant. Then to my office, and there sat all the morning, and then to dinner with my wife at home, and after dinner did give Jane a very serious lesson, against we take her to be our chamber-maid, which I spoke so to her that the poor girl cried and did promise to be very dutifull and carefull. So to the office, where we sat as Commissioners for the Chest, and so examined most of the old accountants to the Chest about it, and so we broke up, and I to my office till late preparing business, and so home, being cold, and this night first put on a wastecoate. So to bed. 3rd. Called up by Commissioner Pett, and with him by water, much against my will, to Deptford, and after drinking a warm morning draft, with Mr. Wood and our officers measuring all the morning his New England masts, with which sight I was much pleased for my information, though I perceive great neglect and indifference in all the King's officers in what they do for the King. That done, to the Globe, and there dined with Mr. Wood, and so by water with Mr. Pett home again, all the way reading his Chest accounts, in which I did see things did not please me; as his allowing himself 1300 for one year's looking to the business of the Chest, and L150 per annum for the rest of the years. But I found no fault to him himself, but shall when they come to be read at the Board. We did also call at Limehouse to view two Busses that are building, that being a thing we are now very hot upon. Our call was to see what dimensions they are of, being 50 feet by the keel and about 60 tons. Home and did a little business, and so taking Mr. Pett by the way, we walked to the Temple, in our way seeing one of the Russia Embassador's coaches go along, with his footmen not in liverys, but their country habits; one of one colour and another of another, which was very strange. At the Temple spoke with Mr. Turner and Calthrop, and so walked home again, being in some pain through the cold which I have got to-day by water, which troubles me. At the office doing business a good while, and so home and had a posset, and so to bed. 4th. At the office all the morning setting about business, and after dinner to it again, and so till night, and then home looking over my Brampton papers against to-morrow that we are to meet with our counsel on both sides toward an arbitration, upon which I was very late, and so to bed. 5th. Up, it being a snow and hard frost, and being up I did call up Sarah, who do go away to-day or to-morrow. I paid her her wages, and gave her 10s. myself, and my wife 5s. to give her. For my part I think never servant and mistress parted upon such foolish terms in the world as they do, only for an opinion in my wife that she is ill-natured, in all other things being a good servant. The wench cried, and I was ready to cry too, but to keep peace I am content she should go, and the rather, though I say nothing of that, that Jane may come into her place. This being done, I walked towards Guildhall, thither being summoned by the Commissioners for the Lieutenancy; but they sat not this morning. So meeting in my way W. Swan, I took him to a house thereabouts, and gave him a morning draft of buttered ale; [Buttered ale must have been a horrible concoction, as it is described as ale boiled with lump sugar and spice.] he telling me still much of his Fanatique stories, as if he were a great zealot, when I know him to be a very rogue. But I do it for discourse, and to see how things stand with him and his party; who I perceive have great expectation that God will not bless the Court nor Church, as it is now settled, but they must be purified. The worst news he tells me, is that Mr. Chetwind is dead, my old and most ingenious acquaintance. He is dead, worth L3,000, which I did not expect, he living so high as he did always and neatly. He hath given W. Symons his wife L300, and made Will one of his executors. Thence to the Temple to my counsel, and thence to Gray's Inn to meet with Mr. Cole but could not, and so took a turn or two in the garden, being very pleasant with the snow and frost. Thence to my brother's, and there I eat something at dinner and transcribed a copy or two of the state of my uncle's estate, which I prepared last night, and so to the Temple Church, and there walked alone till 4 or 5 o'clock, and then to my cozen Turner's chamber and staid there, up and down from his to Calthrop's and Bernard's chambers, till so late, that Mr. Cole not coming, we broke up for meeting this night, and so taking my uncle Thomas homewards with me by coach, talking of our desire to have a peace, and set him down at Gracious-street end, and so home, and there I find Gosnell come, who, my wife tells me, is like to prove a pretty companion, of which I am glad. So to my office for a little business and then home, my mind having been all this day in most extraordinary trouble and care for my father, there being so great an appearance of my uncle's going away with the greatest part of the estate, but in the evening by Gosnell's coming I do put off these thoughts to entertain myself with my wife and her, who sings exceeding well, and I shall take great delight in her, and so merrily to bed. 6th. Up and to the office, and there sat all the morning, Mr. Coventry and I alone, the rest being paying off of ships. Dined at home with my wife and Gosnell, my mind much pleased with her, and after dinner sat with them a good while, till my wife seemed to take notice of my being at home now more than at other times. I went to the office, and there I sat till late, doing of business, and at 9 o'clock walked to Mr. Rawlinson's, thinking to meet my uncle Wight there, where he was, but a great deal of his wife's kindred-women and I knew not whom (which Mr. Rawlinson did seem to me to take much notice of his being led by the nose by his wife), I went away to my office again, and doing my business there, I went home, and after a song by Gosnell we to bed. 7th (Lord's day). A great snow, and so to church this morning with my wife, which is the first time she hath been at church since her going to Brampton, and Gosnell attending her, which was very gracefull. So home, and we dined above in our dining room, the first time since it was new done, and in the afternoon I thought to go to the French church; but finding the Dutch congregation there, and then finding the French congregation's sermon begun in the Dutch, I returned home, and up to our gallery, where I found my wife and Gosnell, and after a drowsy sermon, we all three to my aunt Wight's, where great store of her usuall company, and here we staid a pretty while talking, I differing from my aunt, as I commonly do, in our opinion of the handsomeness of the Queen, which I oppose mightily, saying that if my nose be handsome, then is her's, and such like. After much discourse, seeing the room full, and being unwilling to stay all three, I took leave, and so with my wife only to see Sir W. Pen, who is now got out of his bed, and sits by the fireside. And after some talk, home and to supper, and after prayers to bed. This night came in my wife's brother and talked to my wife and Gosnell about his wife, which they told me afterwards of, and I do smell that he I doubt is overreached in thinking that he has got a rich wife,' and I fear she will prove otherwise. So to bed. 8th. Up, and carrying Gosnell by coach, set her down at Temple Barr, she going about business of hers today. By the way she was telling me how Balty did tell her that my wife did go every day in the week to Court and plays, and that she should have liberty of going abroad as often as she pleased, and many other lies, which I am vexed at, and I doubt the wench did come in some expectation of, which troubles me. So to the Duke and Mr. Coventry, and alone, the rest being at a Pay and elsewhere, and alone with Mr. Coventry I did read over our letter to my Lord Treasurer, which I think now is done as well as it can be. Then to my Lord Sandwich's, and there spent the rest of the morning in making up my Lord's accounts with Mr. Moore, and then dined with Mr. Moore and Battersby his friend, very well and merry, and good discourse. Then into the Park, to see them slide with their skeates, which is very pretty. And so to the Duke's, where the Committee for Tangier met: and here we sat down all with him at a table, and had much good discourse about the business, and is to my great content. That done, I hearing what play it was that is to be acted before the King to-night, I would not stay, but home by coach, where I find my wife troubled about Gosnell, who brings word that her uncle, justice Jiggins, requires her to come three times a week to him, to follow some business that her mother intrusts her withall, and that, unless she may have that leisure given her, he will not have her take any place; for which we are both troubled, but there is no help for it, and believing it to be a good providence of God to prevent my running behindhand in the world, I am somewhat contented therewith, and shall make my wife so, who, poor wretch, I know will consider of things, though in good earnest the privacy of her life must needs be irksome to her. So I made Gosnell and we sit up looking over the book of Dances till 12 at night, not observing how the time went, and so to prayers and to bed. 9th. Lay long with my wife, contenting her about the business of Gosnell's going, and I perceive she will be contented as well as myself, and so to the office, and after sitting all the morning in hopes to have Mr. Coventry dine with me, he was forced to go to White Hall, and so I dined with my own company only, taking Mr. Hater home with me, but he, poor man, was not very well, and so could not eat any thing. After dinner staid within all the afternoon, being vexed in my mind about the going away of Sarah this afternoon, who cried mightily, and so was I ready to do, and Jane did also, and then anon went Gosnell away, which did trouble me too; though upon many considerations, it is better that I am rid of the charge. All together makes my house appear to me very lonely, which troubles me much, and in a melancholy humour I went to the office, and there about business sat till I was called to Sir G. Carteret at the Treasury office about my Lord Treasurer's letter, wherein he puts me to a new trouble to write it over again. So home and late with Sir John Minnes at the office looking over Mr. Creed's accounts, and then home and to supper, and my wife and I melancholy to bed. 10th. This morning rose, receiving a messenger from Sir G. Carteret and a letter from Mr. Coventry, one contrary to another, about our letter to my Lord Treasurer, at which I am troubled, but I went to Sir George, and being desirous to please both, I think I have found out a way to do it. So back to the office with Sir J. Minnes, in his coach, but so great a snow that we could hardly pass the streets. So we and Sir W. Batten to the office, and there did discourse of Mr. Creed's accounts, and I fear it will be a good while before we shall go through them, and many things we meet with, all of difficulty. Then to the Dolphin, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, did treat the Auditors of the Exchequer, Auditors Wood and Beale, and hither come Sir G. Carteret to us. We had a good dinner, cost us L5 and 6s., whereof my share 26s., and after dinner did discourse of our salarys and other matters, which I think now they will allow. Thence home, and there I found our new cook-mayde Susan come, who is recommended to us by my wife's brother, for which I like her never the better, but being a good well-looked lass, I am willing to try, and Jane begins to take upon her as a chamber-mayde. So to the office, where late putting papers and my books and businesses in order, it being very cold, and so home to supper. 11th. Up, it being a great frost upon the snow, and we sat all the morning upon Mr. Creed's accounts, wherein I did him some service and some disservice. At noon he dined with me, and we sat all the afternoon together, discoursing of ways to get money, which I am now giving myself wholly up to, and in the evening he went away and I to my office, concluding all matters concerning our great letter so long in doing to my Lord Treasurer, till almost one in the morning, and then home with my mind much eased, and so to bed. 12th. From a very hard frost, when I wake, I find a very great thaw, and my house overflown with it, which vexed me. At the office and home, doing business all the morning. Then dined with my wife and sat talking with her all the afternoon, and then to the office, and there examining my copy of Mr. Holland's book till 10 at night, and so home to supper and bed. 13th. Slept long to-day till Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten were set out towards Portsmouth before I rose, and Sir G. Carteret came to the office to speak with me before I was up. So I started up and down to him. By and by we sat, Mr. Coventry and I (Sir G. Carteret being gone), and among other things, Field and Stint did come, and received the L41 given him by the judgement against me and Harry Kem; [Fine for the imprisonment of Field (see February 4th, 1661-62, and October 21st, 1662).] and we did also sign bonds in L500 to stand to the award of Mr. Porter and Smith for the rest: which, however, I did not sign to till I got Mr. Coventry to go up with me to Sir W. Pen; and he did promise me before him to bear his share in what should be awarded, and both concluded that Sir W. Batten would do no less. At noon broke up and dined with my wife, and then to the office again, and there made an end of last night's examination, and got my study there made very clean and put in order, and then to write by the post, among other letters one to Sir W. Batten about this day's work with Field, desiring his promise also. The letter I have caused to be entered in our public book of letters. So home to supper and to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Lay with great content talking with my wife in bed, and so up and to church and then home, and had a neat dinner by ourselves, and after dinner walked to White Hall and my Lord's, and up and down till chappell time, and then to the King's chappell, where I heard the service, and so to my Lord's, and there Mr. Howe and Pagett, the counsellor, an old lover of musique. We sang some Psalms of Mr. Lawes, and played some symphonys between till night, that I was sent for to Mr. Creed's lodging, and there was Captain Ferrers and his lady and W. Howe and I; we supped very well and good sport in discourse. After supper I was sent for to my Lord, with whom I staid talking about his, and my owne, and the publique affairs, with great content, he advising me as to my owne choosing of Sir R. Bernard for umpire in the businesses between my uncle and us, that I would not trust to him upon his direction, for he did not think him a man to be trusted at all; and so bid him good night, and to Mr. Creed's again; Mr. Moore, with whom I intended to have lain, lying physically without sheets; and there, after some discourse, to bed, and lay ill, though the bed good, my stomach being sicke all night with my too heavy supper. 15th. Up and to my Lord's and thence to the Duke, and followed him into the Park, where, though the ice was broken and dangerous, yet he would go slide upon his scates, which I did not like, but he slides very well. So back and to his closett, whither my Lord Sandwich comes, and there Mr. Coventry and we three had long discourse together about the matters of the Navy; and, indeed, I find myself more and more obliged to Mr. Coventry, who studies to do me all the right he can in every thing to the Duke. Thence walked a good while up and down the gallerys; and among others, met with Dr. Clerke, who in discourse tells me, that Sir Charles Barkeley's greatness is only his being pimp to the King, and to my Lady Castlemaine. And yet for all this, that the King is very kind to the Queen; who, he says, is one of the best women in the world. Strange how the King is bewitched to this pretty Castlemaine. Thence to my Lord's, and there with Mr. Creed, Moore, and Howe to the Crown and dined, and thence to Whitehall, where I walked up and down the gallerys, spending my time upon the pictures, till the Duke and the Committee for Tangier met (the Duke not staying with us), where the only matter was to discourse with my Lord Rutherford, who is this day made Governor of Tangier, for I know not what reasons; and my Lord of Peterborough to be called home; which, though it is said it is done with kindness, yet all the world may see it is done otherwise, and I am sorry to see a Catholick Governor sent to command there, where all the rest of the officers almost are such already. But God knows what the reason is! and all may see how slippery places all courtiers stand in. Thence by coach home, in my way calling upon Sir John Berkenheade, to speak about my assessment of L42 to the Loyal Sufferers; which, I perceive, I cannot help; but he tells me I have been abused by Sir R. Ford, which I shall hereafter make use of when it shall be fit. Thence called at the Major-General's, Sir R. Browne, about my being assessed armes to the militia; but he was abroad; and so driving through the backside of the Shambles in Newgate Market, my coach plucked down two pieces of beef into the dirt, upon which the butchers stopped the horses, and a great rout of people in the street, crying that he had done him 40s and L5 worth of hurt; but going down, I saw that he had done little or none; and so I give them a shilling for it and they were well contented, and so home, and there to my Lady Batten's to see her, who tells me she hath just now a letter from Sir William, how that he and Sir J. Minnes did very narrowly escape drowning on the road, the waters are so high; but is well. But, Lord! what a hypocrite-like face she made to tell it me. Thence to Sir W. Pen and sat long with him in discourse, I making myself appear one of greater action and resolution as to publique business than I have hitherto done, at which he listens, but I know is a rogue in his heart and likes not, but I perceive I may hold up my head, and the more the better, I minding of my business as I have done, in which God do and will bless me. So home and with great content to bed, and talk and chat with my wife while I was at supper, to our great pleasure. 16th. Up and to the office, and thither came Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, and among other business was Strutt's the purser, against Captn. Browne, Sir W. Batten's brother-in-law, but, Lord! though I believe the Captain has played the knave, though I seem to have a good opinion of him and to mean him well, what a most troublesome fellow that Strutt is, such as I never did meet with his fellow in my life. His talking and ours to make him hold his peace set my head off akeing all the afternoon with great pain. So to dinner, thinking to have had Mr. Coventry, but he could not go with me; and so I took Captn. Murford. Of whom I do hear what the world says of me; that all do conclude Mr. Coventry, and Pett, and me, to be of a knot; and that we do now carry all things before us; and much more in particular of me, and my studiousnesse, &c., to my great content. After dinner came Mrs. Browne, the Captain's wife, to see me and my wife, and I showed her a good countenance, and indeed her husband has been civil to us, but though I speak them fair, yet I doubt I shall not be able to do her husband much favour in this business of Strutt's, whom without doubt he has abused. So to the office, and hence, having done some business, by coach to White Hall to Secretary Bennet's, and agreed with Mr. Lee to set upon our new adventure at the Tower to-morrow. Hence to Col. Lovelace in Cannon Row about seeing how Sir R. Ford did report all the officers of the navy to be rated for the Loyal Sufferers, but finding him at the Rhenish wine-house I could not have any answer, but must take another time. Thence to my Lord's, and having sat talking with Mr. Moore bewailing the vanity and disorders of the age, I went by coach to my brother's, where I met Sarah, my late mayde, who had a desire to speak with me, and I with her to know what it was, who told me out of good will to me, for she loves me dearly, that I would beware of my wife's brother, for he is begging or borrowing of her and often, and told me of her Scallop whisk, and her borrowing of 50s. for Will, which she believes was for him and her father. I do observe so much goodness and seriousness in the mayde, that I am again and again sorry that I have parted with her, though it was full against my will then, and if she had anything in the world I would commend her for a wife for my brother Tom. After much discourse and her professions of love to me and all my relations, I bade her good night and did kiss her, and indeed she seemed very well-favoured to me to-night, as she is always. So by coach home and to my office, did some business, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. This morning come Mr. Lee, Wade, and Evett, intending to have gone upon our new design to the Tower today; but it raining, and the work being to be done in the open garden, we put it off to Friday next. And so I to the office doing business, and then dined at home with my poor wife with great content, and so to the office again and made an end of examining the other of Mr. Holland's books about the Navy, with which I am much contented, and so to other businesses till night at my office, and so home to supper, and after much dear company and talk with my wife, to bed. 18th. Up and to the office, Mr. Coventry and I alone sat till two o'clock, and then he inviting himself to my house to dinner, of which I was proud; but my dinner being a legg of mutton and two capons, they were not done enough, which did vex me; but we made shift to please him, I think; but I was, when he was gone, very angry with my wife and people. This afternoon came my wife's brother and his wife, and Mrs. Lodum his landlady (my old friend Mr. Ashwell's sister), Balty's wife is a most little and yet, I believe, pretty old girl, not handsome, nor has anything in the world pleasing, but, they say, she plays mighty well on the Base Violl. They dined at her father's today, but for ought I hear he is a wise man, and will not give any thing to his daughter till he sees what her husband do put himself to, so that I doubt he has made but a bad matter of it, but I am resolved not to meddle with it. They gone I to the office, and to see Sir W. Pen, with my wife, and thence I to Mr. Cade the stationer, to direct him what to do with my two copies of Mr. Holland's books which he is to bind, and after supplying myself with several things of him, I returned to my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and by appointment with Mr. Lee, Wade, Evett, and workmen to the Tower, and with the Lieutenant's leave set them to work in the garden, in the corner against the mayne-guard, a most unlikely place. It being cold, Mr. Lee and I did sit all the day till three o'clock by the fire in the Governor's house; I reading a play of Fletcher's, being "A Wife for a Month," wherein no great wit or language. Having done we went to them at work, and having wrought below the bottom of the foundation of the wall, I bid them give over, and so all our hopes ended; and so went home, taking Mr. Leigh with me, and after drunk a cup of wine he went away, and I to my office, there reading in Sir W. Petty's book, and so home and to bed, a little displeased with my wife, who, poor wretch, is troubled with her lonely life, which I know not how without great charge to help as yet, but I will study how to do it. 20th. Up and had L100 brought me by Prior of Brampton in full of his purchase money for Barton's house and some land. So to the office, and thence with Mr. Coventry in his coach to St. James's, with great content and pride to see him treat me so friendly; and dined with him, and so to White Hall together; where we met upon the Tangier Commission, and discoursed many things thereon; but little will be done before my Lord Rutherford comes there, as to the fortification or Mole. That done, my Lord Sandwich and I walked together a good while in the Matted Gallery, he acquainting me with his late enquiries into the Wardrobe business to his content; and tells me how things stand. And that the first year was worth about L3000 to him, and the next about as much; so that at this day, if he were paid, it will be worth about L7000 to him. But it contents me above all things to see him trust me as his confidant: so I bid him good night, he being to go into the country, to keep his Christmas, on Monday next. So by coach home and to my office, being post night, and then home and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, so up to Church, and so home to dinner alone with my wife very pleasant. After dinner I walked to my brother's, where he told me some hopes he had of bringing his business to pass still of his mistress, but I do find they do stand upon terms that will not be either fit or in his power to grant, and therefore I did dislike his talk and advised him to give it quite over. Thence walked to White Hall, and there to chappell, and from thence up stairs, and up and down the house and gallerys on the King's and Queen's side, and so through the garden to my Lord's lodgings, where there was Mr. Gibbons, Madge, and Mallard, and Pagett; and by and by comes in my Lord Sandwich, and so we had great store of good musique. By and by comes in my simple Lord Chandois, who (my Lord Sandwich being gone out to Court) began to sing psalms, but so dully that I was weary of it. At last we broke up; and by and by comes in my Lord Sandwich again, and he and I to talk together about his businesses, and so he to bed and I and Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers fell to a cold goose pye of Mrs. Sarah's, heartily, and so spent our time till past twelve o'clock, and then with Creed to his lodgings, and so with him to bed, and slept till 22nd. Six or seven o'clock and so up, and by the fireside read a good part of "The Advice to a Daughter," which a simple coxcomb has wrote against Osborne, but in all my life I never did nor can expect to see so much nonsense in print Thence to my Lord's, who is getting himself ready for his journey to Hinchingbroke. And by and by, after eating something, and talking with me about many things, and telling me his mind, upon my asking about Sarah (who, it seems, only married of late, but is also said to be turned a great drunkard, which I am ashamed of), that he likes her service well, and do not love a strange face, but will not endure the fault, but hath bade me speak to her and advise her if she hath a mind to stay with him, which I will do. My Lord and his people being gone, I walked to Mr. Coventry's chamber, where I found him gone out into the Park with the Duke, so the boy being there ready with my things, I shifted myself into a riding-habitt, and followed him through White Hall, and in the Park Mr. Coventry's people having a horse ready for me (so fine a one that I was almost afeard to get upon him, but I did, and found myself more feared than hurt) and I got up and followed the Duke, who, with some of his people (among others Mr. Coventry) was riding out. And with them to Hide Park. Where Mr. Coventry asking leave of the Duke, he bid us go to Woolwich. So he and I to the waterside, and our horses coming by the ferry, we by oars over to Lambeth, and from thence, with brave discourse by the way, rode to Woolwich, where we eat and drank at Mr. Peat's, and discoursed of many businesses, and put in practice my new way of the Call-book, which will be of great use. Here, having staid a good while, we got up again and brought night home with us and foul weather. So over to Whitehall to his chamber, whither my boy came, who had staid in St. James's Park by my mistake all day, looking for me. Thence took my things that I put off to-day, and by coach, being very wet and cold, on my feet home, and presently shifted myself, and so had the barber come; and my wife and I to read "Ovid's Metamorphoses," which I brought her home from Paul's Churchyard to-night, having called for it by the way, and so to bed, 23rd. And slept hard till 8 o'clock this morning, and so up and to the office, where I found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten come unexpectedly home last night from Portsmouth, having done the Pay there before we could have, thought it. Sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my wife alone, and after dinner sat by the fire, and then up to make up my accounts with her, and find that my ordinary housekeeping comes to L7 a month, which is a great deal. By and by comes Dr. Pierce, who among other things tells me that my Lady Castlemaine's interest at Court increases, and is more and greater than the Queen's; that she hath brought in Sir H. Bennet, and Sir Charles Barkeley; but that the queen is a most good lady, and takes all with the greatest meekness that may be. He tells me too that Mr. Edward Montagu is quite broke at Court with his repute and purse; and that he lately was engaged in a quarrell against my Lord Chesterfield: but that the King did cause it to be taken up. He tells me, too, that the King is much concerned in the Chancellor's sickness, and that the Chancellor is as great, he thinks, as ever he was with the King. He also tells me what the world says of me, "that Mr. Coventry and I do all the business of the office almost:" at which I am highly proud. He being gone I fell to business, which was very great, but got it well over by nine at night, and so home, and after supper to bed. 24th. Lay pleasantly, talking to my wife, till 8 o'clock, then up and to Sir W. Batten's to see him and Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes take coach towards the Pay at Chatham, which they did and I home, and took money in my pocket to pay many reckonings to-day in the town, as my bookseller's, and paid at another shop L4 10s. for "Stephens's Thesaurus Graecae Linguae," given to Paul's School: So to my brother's and shoemaker, and so to my Lord Crew's, and dined alone with him, and after dinner much discourse about matters. Upon the whole, I understand there are great factions at Court, and something he said that did imply a difference like to be between the King and the Duke, in case the Queen should not be with child. I understand, about this bastard. [James Crofts, son of Charles II. by Lucy Walter, created Duke of Monmouth in 1663, Duke of Buccleuch in 1673, when he took the name of Scott.] He says, also, that some great man will be aimed at when Parliament comes to sit again; I understand, the Chancellor: and that there is a bill will be brought in, that none that have been in arms for the Parliament shall be capable of office. And that the Court are weary of my Lord Albemarle and Chamberlin. He wishes that my Lord Sandwich had some good occasion to be abroad this summer which is coming on, and that my Lord Hinchingbroke were well married, and Sydney had some place at Court. He pities the poor ministers that are put out, to whom, he says, the King is beholden for his coming in, and that if any such thing had been foreseen he had never come in. After this, and much other discourse of the sea, and breeding young gentlemen to the sea, I went away, and homeward, met Mr. Creed at my bookseller's in Paul's Church-yard, who takes it ill my letter last night to Mr. Povy, wherein I accuse him of the neglect of the Tangier boats, in which I must confess I did not do altogether like a friend; but however it was truth, and I must own it to be so, though I fall wholly out with him for it. Thence home and to my office alone to do business, and read over half of Mr. Bland's discourse concerning Trade, which (he being no scholler and so knows not the rules of writing orderly) is very good. So home to supper and to bed, my wife not being well . . . . This evening Mr. Gauden sent me, against Christmas, a great chine of beef and three dozen of tongues. I did give 5s. to the man that brought it, and half-a-crown to the porters. This day also the parish-clerk brought the general bill of mortality, which cost me half-a-crown more. [The Bills of Mortality for London were first compiled by order of Thomas Cromwell about 1538, and the keeping of them was commenced by the Company of Parish Clerks in the great plague year of 1593. The bills were issued weekly from 1603. The charter of the Parish Clerks' Company (1611) directs that "each parish clerk shall bring to the Clerks' Hall weekly a note of all christenings and burials." Charles I. in 1636 granted permission to the Parish Clerks to have a printing press and employ a printer in their hall for the purpose of printing their weekly bills.] 25th (Christmas Day). Up pretty early, leaving my wife not well in bed, and with my boy walked, it being a most brave cold and dry frosty morning, and had a pleasant walk to White Hall, where I intended to have received the Communion with the family, but I came a little too late. So I walked up into the house and spent my time looking over pictures, particularly the ships in King Henry the VIIIth's Voyage to Bullen; [Boulogne. These pictures were given by George III. to the Society of Antiquaries, who in return presented to the king a set of Thomas Hearne's works, on large paper. The pictures were reclaimed by George IV., and are now at Hampton Court. They were exhibited in the Tudor Exhibition, 1890.] marking the great difference between their build then and now. By and by down to the chappell again where Bishopp Morley preached upon the song of the Angels, "Glory to God on high, on earth peace, and good will towards men." Methought he made but a poor sermon, but long, and reprehending the mistaken jollity of the Court for the true joy that shall and ought to be on these days, he particularized concerning their excess in plays and gaming, saying that he whose office it is to keep the gamesters in order and within bounds, serves but for a second rather in a duell, meaning the groom-porter. Upon which it was worth observing how far they are come from taking the reprehensions of a bishopp seriously, that they all laugh in the chappell when he reflected on their ill actions and courses. He did much press us to joy in these publique days of joy, and to hospitality. But one that stood by whispered in my ear that the Bishopp himself do not spend one groat to the poor himself. The sermon done, a good anthem followed, with vialls, and then the King came down to receive the Sacrament. But I staid not, but calling my boy from my Lord's lodgings, and giving Sarah some good advice, by my Lord's order, to be sober and look after the house, I walked home again with great pleasure, and there dined by my wife's bed-side with great content, having a mess of brave plum-porridge [The national Christmas dish of plum pudding is a modern evolution from plum porridge, which was probably similar to the dish still produced at Windsor Castle.] and a roasted pullet for dinner, and I sent for a mince-pie abroad, my wife not being well to make any herself yet. After dinner sat talking a good while with her, her [pain] being become less, and then to see Sir W. Pen a little, and so to my office, practising arithmetique alone and making an end of last night's book with great content till eleven at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, my wife to the making of Christmas pies all day, being now pretty well again, and I abroad to several places about some businesses, among others bought a bake-pan in Newgate Market, and sent it home, it cost me 16s. So to Dr. Williams, but he is out of town, then to the Wardrobe. Hither come Mr. Battersby; and we falling into a discourse of a new book of drollery in verse called Hudebras, [The first edition of Butler's "Hudibras" is dated 1663, and it probably had only been published a few days when Pepys bought it and sold it at a loss. He subsequently endeavoured to appreciate the work, but was not successful. The edition in the Pepysian Library is dated 1689.] I would needs go find it out, and met with it at the Temple: cost me 2s. 6d. But when I came to read it, it is so silly an abuse of the Presbyter Knight going to the warrs, that I am ashamed of it; and by and by meeting at Mr. Townsend's at dinner, I sold it to him for 18d. Here we dined with many tradesmen that belong to the Wardrobe, but I was weary soon of their company, and broke up dinner as soon as I could, and away, with the greatest reluctancy and dispute (two or three times my reason stopping my sense and I would go back again) within myself, to the Duke's house and saw "The Villaine," which I ought not to do without my wife, but that my time is now out that I did undertake it for. But, Lord! to consider how my natural desire is to pleasure, which God be praised that he has given me the power by my late oaths to curb so well as I have done, and will do again after two or three plays more. Here I was better pleased with the play than I was at first, understanding the design better than I did. Here I saw Gosnell and her sister at a distance, and could have found it in my heart to have accosted them, but thought not prudent. But I watched their going out and found that they came, she, her sister and another woman, alone, without any man, and did go over the fields a foot. I find that I have an inclination to have her come again, though it is most against my interest either of profit or content of mind, other than for their singing. Home on foot, in my way calling at Mr. Rawlinson's and drinking only a cup of ale there. He tells me my uncle has ended his purchase, which cost him L4,500, and how my uncle do express his trouble that he has with his wife's relations, but I understand his great intentions are for the Wights that hang upon him and by whose advice this estate is bought. Thence home, and found my wife busy among her pies, but angry for some saucy words that her mayde Jane has given her, which I will not allow of, and therefore will give her warning to be gone. As also we are both displeased for some slight words that Sarah, now at Sir W. Pen's, hath spoke of us, but it is no matter. We shall endeavour to joyne the lion's skin to the fox's tail. So to my office alone a while, and then home to my study and supper and bed. Being also vexed at my boy for his staying playing abroad when he is sent of errands, so that I have sent him to-night to see whether their country carrier be in town or no, for I am resolved to keep him no more. 27th. Up, and while I am dressing I sent for my boy's brother, William, that lives in town here as a groom, to whom and their sister Jane I told my resolution to keep the boy no longer. So upon the whole they desire to have him stay a week longer, and then he shall go. So to the office, and there Mr. Coventry and I sat till noon, and then I stept to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to the Duke's Theatre, and saw the second part of "Rhodes," done with the new Roxalana; which do it rather better in all respects for person, voice, and judgment, then the first Roxalana. Home with great content with my wife, not so well pleased with the company at the house to-day, which was full of citizens, there hardly being a gentleman or woman in the house; a couple of pretty ladies by us that made sport in it, being jostled and crowded by prentices. So home, and I to my study making up my monthly accounts, which is now fallen again to L630 or thereabouts, which not long since was L680, at which I am sorry, but I trust in God I shall get it up again, and in the meantime will live sparingly. So home to supper and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up and, with my wife to church, and coming out, went out both before my Lady Batten, he not being there, which I believe will vex her. After dinner my wife to church again, and I to the French church, where I heard an old man make a tedious, long sermon, till they were fain to light candles to baptize the children by. So homewards, meeting my brother Tom, but spoke but little with him, and calling also at my uncle Wight's, but met him and her going forth, and so I went directly home, and there fell to the renewing my last year's oaths, whereby it has pleased God so much to better myself and practise, and so down to supper, and then prayers and bed. 29th. Up and walked to Whitehall, where the Duke and Mr. Coventry being gone forth I went to Westminster Hall, where I staid reading at Mrs. Mitchell's shop, and sent for half a pint of sack for her. Here she told me what I heard not of before, the strange burning of Mr. De Laun, a merchant's house in Loathbury, and his lady (Sir Thomas Allen's daughter) and her whole family; not one thing, dog nor cat, escaping; nor any of the neighbours almost hearing of it till the house was quite down and burnt. How this should come to pass, God knows, but a most strange thing it is! Hither came Jack Spicer to me, and I took him to the Swan, where Mr. Herbert did give me my breakfast of cold chine of pork; and here Spicer and I talked of Exchequer matters, and how the Lord Treasurer' hath now ordered all monies to be brought into the Exchequer, and hath settled the King's revenue, and given to every general expence proper assignments; to the Navy L200,000 and odd. He also told me of the great vast trade of the goldsmiths in supplying the King with money at dear rates. Thence to White Hall, and got up to the top gallerys in the Banquetting House, to see the audience of the Russia Embassadors; which [took place] after long waiting and fear of the falling of the gallery (it being so full, and part of it being parted from the rest, for nobody to come up merely from the weakness thereof): and very handsome it was. After they were come in, I went down and got through the croude almost as high as the King and the Embassadors, where I saw all the presents, being rich furs, hawks, carpets, cloths of tissue, and sea-horse teeth. The King took two or three hawks upon his fist, having a glove on, wrought with gold, given him for the purpose. The son of one of the Embassadors was in the richest suit for pearl and tissue, that ever I did see, or shall, I believe. After they and all the company had kissed the King's hand, then the three Embassadors and the son, and no more, did kiss the Queen's. One thing more I did observe, that the chief Embassador did carry up his master's letters in state before him on high; and as soon as he had delivered them, he did fall down to the ground and lay there a great while. After all was done, the company broke up; and I spent a little while walking up and down the gallery seeing the ladies, the two Queens, and the Duke of Monmouth with his little mistress, which is very little, and like my brother-in-law's wife. So with Mr. Creed to the Harp and Ball, and there meeting with Mr. How, Goodgroom, and young Coleman, did drink and talk with them, and I have almost found out a young gentlewoman for my turn, to wait on my wife, of good family and that can sing. Thence I went away, and getting a coach went home and sat late talking with my wife about our entertaining Dr. Clerke's lady and Mrs. Pierce shortly, being in great pain that my wife hath never a winter gown, being almost ashamed of it, that she should be seen in a taffeta one; when all the world wears moyre;--[By moyre is meant mohair.-B.]--so to prayers and to bed, but we could not come to any resolution what to do therein, other than to appear as she is. 30th. Up and to the office, whither Sir W. Pen came, the first time that he has come downstairs since his late great sickness of the gout. We with Mr. Coventry sat till noon, then I to the Change ward, to see what play was there, but I liked none of them, and so homeward, and calling in at Mr, Rawlinson's, where he stopped me to dine with him and two East India officers of ships and Howell our turner. With the officers I had good discourse, particularly of the people at the Cape of Good Hope, of whom they of their own knowledge do tell me these one or two things: viz . . . . that they never sleep lying, but always sitting upon the ground, that their speech is not so articulate as ours, but yet [they] understand one another well, that they paint themselves all over with the grease the Dutch sell them (who have a fort there) and soot. After dinner drinking five or six glasses of wine, which liberty I now take till I begin my oath again, I went home and took my wife into coach, and carried her to Westminster; there visited Mrs. Ferrer, and staid talking with her a good while, there being a little, proud, ugly, talking lady there, that was much crying up the Queen-Mother's Court at Somerset House above our own Queen's; there being before no allowance of laughing and the mirth that is at the other's; and indeed it is observed that the greatest Court now-a-days is there. Thence to White Hall, where I carried my wife to see the Queen in her presence-chamber; and the maydes of honour and the young Duke of Monmouth playing at cards. Some of them, and but a few, were very pretty; though all well dressed in velvet gowns. Thence to my Lord's lodgings, where Mrs. Sarah did make us my Lord's bed, and Mr. Creed I being sent for, sat playing at cards till it was late, and so good night, and with great pleasure to bed. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then I up and to Westminster Hall, and so to the Swan, sending for Mr. W. Bowyer, and there drank my morning draft, and had some of his simple discourse. Among other things he tells me how the difference comes between his fair cozen Butler and Collonell Dillon, upon his opening letters of her brother's from Ireland, complaining of his knavery, and forging others to the contrary; and so they are long ago quite broke off. Thence to a barber's and so to my wife, and at noon took her to Mrs. Pierces by invitacion to dinner, where there came Dr. Clerke and his wife and sister and Mr. Knight, chief chyrurgeon to the King and his wife. We were pretty merry, the two men being excellent company, but I confess I am wedded from the opinion either of Mrs. Pierces beauty upon discovery of her naked neck to-day, being undrest when we came in, or of Mrs. Clerke's genius, which I so much admired, I finding her to be so conceited and fantastique in her dress this day and carriage, though the truth is, witty enough. After dinner with much ado the doctor and I got away to follow our business for a while, he to his patients and I to the Tangier Committee, where the Duke of York was, and we staid at it a good while, and thence in order to the despatch of the boats and provisions for Tangier away, Mr. Povy, in his coach, carried Mr. Gauden and I into London to Mr. Bland's, the merchant, where we staid discoursing upon the reason of the delay of the going away of these things a great while. Then to eat a dish of anchovies, and drink wine and syder, and very merry, but above all things pleased to hear Mrs. Bland talk like a merchant in her husband's business very well, and it seems she do understand it and perform a great deal. Thence merry back, Mr. Povy and, I to White Hall; he carrying me thither on purpose to carry me into the ball this night before the King. All the way he talking very ingenuously, and I find him a fine gentleman, and one that loves to live nobly and neatly, as I perceive by his discourse of his house, pictures, and horses. He brought me first to the Duke's chamber, where I saw him and the Duchess at supper; and thence into the room where the ball was to be, crammed with fine ladies, the greatest of the Court. By and by comes the King and Queen, the Duke and Duchess, and all the great ones: and after seating themselves, the King takes out the Duchess of York; and the Duke, the Duchess of Buckingham; the Duke of Monmouth, my Lady Castlemaine; and so other lords other ladies: and they danced the Bransle. "Branle. Espece de danse de plusieurs personnes, qui se tiennent par la main, et qui se menent tour-a-tour. "Dictionnaire de l'Academie. A country dance mentioned by Shakespeare and other dramatists under the form of brawl, which word continued to be used in the eighteenth century. "My grave Lord Keeper led the brawls; The seals and maces danced before him." Gray, 'A Long Story.' After that, the King led a lady a single Coranto--[swift and lively]--and then the rest of the lords, one after another, other ladies very noble it was, and great pleasure to see. Then to country dances; the King leading the first, which he called for; which was, says he, "Cuckolds all awry," the old dance of England. Of the ladies that danced, the Duke of Monmouth's mistress, and my Lady Castlemaine, and a daughter of Sir Harry de Vicke's, were the best. The manner was, when the King dances, all the ladies in the room, and the Queen herself, stand up: and indeed he dances rarely, and much better that the Duke of York. Having staid here as long as I thought fit, to my infinite content, it being the greatest pleasure I could wish now to see at Court, I went out, leaving them dancing, and to Mrs. Pierces, where I found the company had staid very long for my coming, but all gone but my wife, and so I took her home by coach and so to my Lord's again, where after some supper to bed, very weary and in a little pain from my riding a little uneasily to-night in the coach. Thus ends this year with great mirth to me and my wife: Our condition being thus:--we are at present spending a night or two at my Lord's lodgings at White Hall. Our home at the Navy-office, which is and hath a pretty while been in good condition, finished and made very convenient. My purse is worth about L650, besides my goods of all sorts, which yet might have been more but for my late layings out upon my house and public assessment, and yet would not have been so much if I had not lived a very orderly life all this year by virtue of the oaths that God put into my heart to take against wine, plays, and other expenses, and to observe for these last twelve months, and which I am now going to renew, I under God owing my present content thereunto. My family is myself and wife, William, my clerk; Jane, my wife's upper mayde, but, I think, growing proud and negligent upon it: we must part, which troubles me; Susan, our cook-mayde, a pretty willing wench, but no good cook; and Wayneman, my boy, who I am now turning away for his naughty tricks. We have had from the beginning our healths to this day very well, blessed be God! Our late mayde Sarah going from us (though put away by us) to live with Sir W. Pen do trouble me, though I love the wench, so that we do make ourselves a little strange to him and his family for it, and resolve to do so. The same we are for other reasons to my Lady Batten and hers. We have lately had it in our thoughts, and I can hardly bring myself off of it, since Mrs. Gosnell cannot be with us, to find out another to be in the quality of a woman to my wife that can sing or dance, and yet finding it hard to save anything at the year's end as I now live, I think I shall not be such a fool till I am more warm in my purse, besides my oath of entering into no such expenses till I am worth L1000. By my last year's diligence in my office, blessed be God! I am come to a good degree of knowledge therein; and am acknowledged so by all--the world, even the Duke himself, to whom I have a good access and by that, and my being Commissioner with him for Tangier, he takes much notice of me; and I doubt not but, by the continuance of the same endeavours, I shall in a little time come to be a man much taken notice of in the world, specially being come to so great an esteem with Mr. Coventry. The only weight that lies heavy upon my mind is the ending the business with my uncle Thomas about my-dead uncle's estate, which is very ill on our side, and I fear when all is done I must be forced to maintain my father myself, or spare a good deal towards it out of my own purse, which will be a very great pull back to me in my fortune. But I must be contented and bring it to an issue one way or other. Publique matters stand thus: The King is bringing, as is said, his family, and Navy, and all other his charges, to a less expence. In the mean time, himself following his pleasures more than with good advice he would do; at least, to be seen to all the world to do so. His dalliance with my Lady Castlemaine being publique, every day, to his great reproach; and his favouring of none at Court so much as those that are the confidants of his pleasure, as Sir H. Bennet and Sir Charles Barkeley; which, good God! put it into his heart to mend, before he makes himself too much contemned by his people for it! The Duke of Monmouth is in so great splendour at Court, and so dandled by the King, that some doubt, if the King should have no child by the Queen (which there is yet no appearance of), whether he would not be acknowledged for a lawful son; and that there will be a difference follow upon it between the Duke of York and him; which God prevent! My Lord Chancellor is threatened by people to be questioned, the next sitting of the Parliament, by some spirits that do not love to see him so great: but certainly he is a good servant to the King. The Queen-Mother is said to keep too great a Court now; and her being married to my Lord St. Albans is commonly talked of; and that they had a daughter between them in France, how true, God knows. The Bishopps are high, and go on without any diffidence in pressing uniformity; and the Presbyters seem silent in it, and either conform or lay down, though without doubt they expect a turn, and would be glad these endeavours of the other Fanatiques would take effect; there having been a plot lately found, for which four have been publickly tried at the Old Bayley and hanged. My Lord Sandwich is still in good esteem, and now keeping his Christmas in the country; and I in good esteem, I think, as any man can be, with him. Mr. Moore is very sickly, and I doubt will hardly get over his late fit of sickness, that still hangs on him. In fine, for the good condition of myself, wife, family, and estate, in the great degree that it is, and for the public state of the nation, so quiett as it is, the Lord God be praised! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: All may see how slippery places all courtiers stand in Bewailing the vanity and disorders of the age Charles Barkeley's greatness is only his being pimp to the King Fanatiques do say that the end of the world is at hand Goldsmiths in supplying the King with money at dear rates He made but a poor sermon, but long Joyne the lion's skin to the fox's tail Lady Castlemaine's interest at Court increases Laughing and jeering at every thing that looks strange Lord! to see the absurd nature of Englishmen Short of what I expected, as for the most part it do fall out Will upon occasion serve for a fine withdrawing room 
4138	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1962 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1661-1662 January 1st. Waking this morning out of my sleep on a sudden, I did with my elbow hit my wife a great blow over her face and nose, which waked her with pain, at which I was sorry, and to sleep again. Up and went forth with Sir W. Pen by coach towards Westminster, and in my way seeing that the "Spanish Curate" was acted today, I light and let him go alone, and I home again and sent to young Mr. Pen and his sister to go anon with my wife and I to the Theatre. That done, Mr. W. Pen came to me and he and I walked out, and to the Stacioner's, and looked over some pictures and traps for my house, and so home again to dinner, and by and by came the two young Pens, and after we had eat a barrel of oysters we went by coach to the play, and there saw it well acted, and a good play it is, only Diego the Sexton did overdo his part too much. From thence home, and they sat with us till late at night at cards very merry, but the jest was Mr. W. Pen had left his sword in the coach, and so my boy and he run out after the coach, and by very great chance did at the Exchange meet with the coach and got his sword again. So to bed. 2nd. An invitation sent us before we were up from my Lady Sandwich's, to come and dine with her: so at the office all the morning, and at noon thither to dinner, where there was a good and great dinner, and the company, Mr. William Montagu and his Lady (but she seemed so far from the beauty that I expected her from my Lady's talk to be, that it put me into an ill humour all the day, to find my expectation so lost), Mr. Rurttball and Townsend and their wives. After dinner, borne by water, and so to the office till night, and then I went forth, by appointment, to meet with Mr. Grant, who promised to meet me at the Coffee-house to bring me acquainted with Cooper the great limner in little, but they deceived me, and so I went home, and there sat at my lute and singing till almost twelve at night, and so to bed. Sir Richd. Fanshaw is come suddenly from Portugall, but nobody knows what his business is. 3rd. Lay long in bed, and so up and abroad to several places about petty businesses. Among others to Tom's, who I find great hopes of that he will do well, which I am glad of, and am not now so hasty to get a wife for him as I was before. So to dinner to my Lord Crew's with him and his Lady, and after dinner to Faithorne's, and there bought some pictures of him; and while I was there, comes by the King's life-guard, he being gone to Lincoln's Inn this afternoon to see the Revells there; there being, according to an old custom, a prince and all his nobles, and other matters of sport and charge. So home, and up to my chamber to look over my papers and other things, my mind being much troubled for these four or five days because of my present great expense, and will be so till I cast up and see how my estate stands, and that I am loth to do for fear I have spent too much, and delay it the rather that I may pay for my pictures and my wife's, and the book that I am buying for Paul's School before I do cast up my accompts. 4th. At home most of the morning hanging up pictures, and seeing how my pewter sconces that I have bought will become my stayres and entry, and then with my wife by water to Westminster, whither she to her father's and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a turn or two with Mr. Chetwin (who had a dog challenged of him by another man that said it was his, but Mr. Chetwin called the dog, and the dog at last would follow him, and not his old master, and so Chetwin got the dog) and W. Symons, and thence to my wife, who met me at my Lord's lodgings, and she and I and old East to Wilkinson's to dinner, where we had some rost beef and a mutton pie, and a mince-pie, but none of them pleased me. After dinner by coach my wife and I home, and I to the office, and there till late, and then I and my wife to Sir W. Pen's to cards and supper, and were merry, and much correspondence there has been between our two families all this Christmas. So home and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Left my wife in bed not well... and I to church, and so home to dinner, and dined alone upon some marrow bones, and had a fine piece of rost beef, but being alone I eat none. So after dinner comes in my brother Tom, and he tells me how he hath seen the father and mother of the girl which my cozen Joyces would have him to have for a wife, and they are much for it, but we are in a great quandary what to do therein, L200 being but a little money; and I hope, if he continues as he begins, he may look out for one with more. To church, and before sermon there was a long psalm, and half another sung out while the Sexton gathered what the church would give him for this last year. I gave him 3s., and have the last week given the Clerk 2s., which I set down that I may know what to do the next year, if it please the Lord that I live so long; but the jest was, the Clerk begins the 25th psalm, which hath a proper tune to it, and then the 116th, which cannot be sung with that tune, which seemed very ridiculous. After church to Sir W. Batten's, where on purpose I have not been this fortnight, and I am resolved to keep myself more reserved to avoyd the contempt which otherwise I must fall into, and so home and six and talked and supped with my wife, and so up to prayers and to bed, having wrote a letter this night to Sir J. Mennes in the Downs for his opinion in the business of striking of flags. 6th (Twelfth day). This morning I sent my lute to the Paynter's, and there I staid with him all the morning to see him paint the neck of my lute in my picture, which I was not pleased with after it was done. Thence to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, it being a solemn feast day with him, his wedding day, and we had, besides a good chine of beef and other good cheer, eighteen mince pies in a dish, the number of the years that he hath been married, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and daughter was, and Colonel Treswell and Major Holmes, who I perceive would fain get to be free and friends with my wife, but I shall prevent it, and she herself hath also a defyance against him. After dinner they set in to drinking, so that I would stay no longer, but went away home, and Captain Cock, who was quite drunk, comes after me, and there sat awhile and so away, and anon I went again after the company was gone, and sat and played at cards with Sir W. Pen and his children, and so after supper home, and there I hear that my man Gull was gone to bed, and upon enquiry I hear that he did vomit before he went to bed, and complained his head ached, and thereupon though he was asleep I sent for him out of his bed, and he rose and came up to me, and I appeared very angry and did tax him with being drunk, and he told me that he had been with Mr. Southerne and Homewood at the Dolphin, and drank a quart of sack, but that his head did ache before he went out. But I do believe he has drunk too much, and so I did threaten him to bid his uncle dispose of him some other way, and sent him down to bed and do resolve to continue to be angry with him. So to bed to my wife, and told her what had passed. 7th. Long in bed, and then rose and went along with Sir W. Pen on foot to Stepny to Mrs. Chappell's (who has the pretty boy to her son), and there met my wife and Sir W. Pen's children all, and Mrs. Poole and her boy, and there dined and' were very merry, and home again by coach and so to the office. In the afternoon and at night to Sir W. Pen's, there supped and played at cards with them and were merry, the children being to go all away to school again to-morrow. Thence home and to bed. 8th. I rose and went to Westminster Hall, and there walked up and down upon several businesses, and among others I met with Sir W. Pen, who told me that he had this morning heard Sir G. Carteret extremely angry against my man Will that he is every other day with the Commissioners of Parliament at Westminster, and that his uncle was a rogue, and that he did tell his uncle every thing that passes at the office, and Sir William, though he loves the lad, did advise me to part with him, which did with this surprise mightily trouble me, though I was already angry with him, and so to the Wardrobe by water, and all the way did examine Will about the business, but did not tell him upon what score, but I find that the poor lad do suspect something. To dinner with my Lady, and after dinner talked long with her, and so home, and to Sir W. Batten's, and sat and talked with him, and so home troubled in mind, and so up to my study and read the two treaties before Mr. Selden's "Mare Clausum," and so to bed. This night come about L100 from Brampton by carrier to me, in holsters from my father, which made me laugh. 9th. At the office all the morning private with Sir G. Carteret (who I expected something from about yesterday's business, but he said nothing), Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen, about drawing; up an answer to several demands of my Lord Treasurer, and late at it till 2 o'clock. Then to dinner, and my wife to Sir W. Pen's, and so to the office again and sat till late; and so home, where I found Mr. Armiger below talking with my wife, but being offended with him for his leaving of my brother Tom I shewed him no countenance, but did take notice of it to him plainly, and I perceive he was troubled at it, but I am glad I told him of it. Then (when he was gone) up to write several letters by the post, and so to set my papers and things in order, and to bed. This morning we agreed upon some things to answer to the Duke about the practice of striking of the flags, which will now put me upon finishing my resolution of writing something upon the subject. 10th. To White Hall, and there spoke with Sir Paul Neale' about a mathematical request of my Lord's to him, which I did deliver to him, and he promised to employ somebody to answer it, something about observation of the moon and stars, but what I did not mind. Here I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me that an injuncon is granted in Chancery against T. Trice, at which I was very glad, being before in some trouble for it. With him to Westminster Hall, where I walked till noon talking with one or other, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, where tired with Mr. Pickering's company I returned to Westminster, by appointment, to meet my wife at Mrs. Hunt's to gossip with her, which we did alone, and were very merry, and did give her a cup and spoon for my wife's god-child, and so home by coach, and I late reading in my chamber and then to bed, my wife being angry that I keep the house so late up. 11th. My brother Tom came to me, and he and I to Mr. Turner the Draper's, and paid L15 to him for cloth owing to him by my father for his mourning for my uncle, and so to his house, and there invited all the Honiwood's to dinner on Monday next. So to the Exchange, and there all the news is of the French and Dutch joyning against us; but I do not think it yet true. So home to dinner, and in the afternoon to the office, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where in discourse I heard the custom of the election of the Dukes of Genoa, who for two years are every day attended in the greatest state; and four or five hundred men always waiting upon him as a king; and when the two years are out, and another is chose, a messenger is, sent to him, who stands at the bottom of the stairs, and he at the top, and says, "Va. Illustrissima Serenita sta finita, et puede andar en casa."--"Your serenity is now ended; and now you may be going home," and so claps on his hat. And the old Duke (having by custom sent his goods home before), walks away, it may be but with one man at his heels; and the new one brought immediately in his room, in the greatest state in the world. Another account was told us, how in the Dukedom of Ragusa, in the Adriatique (a State that is little, but more ancient, they say, than Venice, and is called the mother of Venice, and the Turks lie round about it), that they change all the officers of their guard, for fear of conspiracy, every twenty-four hours, so that nobody knows who shall be captain of the guard to-night; but two men come to a man, and lay hold of him as a prisoner, and carry him to the place; and there he hath the keys of the garrison given him, and he presently issues his orders for that night's watch: and so always from night to night. Sir Win. Rider told the first of his own knowledge; and both he and Sir W. Batten confirm the last. Hence home and to read, and so to bed, but very late again. 12th (Lord's day). To church, where a stranger made a very good sermon. At noon Sir W. Pen and my good friend Dean Fuller, by appointment, and my wife's brother by chance, dined with me very merry and handsomely. After dinner the Dean, my wife and I by Sir W. Pen's coach left us, he to Whitehall, and my wife and I to visit Mrs. Pierce and thence Mrs. Turner, who continues very ill still, and The. is also fallen sick, which do trouble me for the poor mother. So home and to read, I being troubled to hear my wife rate though not without cause at her mayd Nell, who is a lazy slut. So to prayers and to bed. 13th. All the morning at home, and Mr. Berkenshaw (whom I have not seen a great while, came to see me), who staid with me a great while talking of musique, and I am resolved to begin to learn of him to compose, and to begin to-morrow, he giving of me so great hopes that I shall soon do it. Before twelve o'clock comes, by appointment, Mr. Peter and the Dean, and Collonel Noniwood, brothers, to dine with me; but so soon that I was troubled at it. But, however, I entertained them with talk and oysters till one o'clock, and then we sat down to dinner, not staying for my uncle and aunt Wight, at which I was troubled, but they came by and by, and so we dined very merry, at least I seemed so, but the dinner does not please me, and less the Dean and Collonel, whom I found to be pitiful sorry gentlemen, though good-natured, but Mr. Peter above them both, who after dinner did show us the experiment (which I had heard talk of) of the chymicall glasses, which break all to dust by breaking off a little small end; which is a great mystery to me. They being gone, my aunt Wight and my wife and I to cards, she teaching of us how to play at gleeke, which is a pretty game; but I have not my head so free as to be troubled with it. By and by comes my uncle Wight back, and so to supper and talk, and then again to cards, when my wife and I beat them two games and they us one, and so good night and to bed. 14th. All the morning at home, Mr. Berkenshaw by appointment yesterday coming to me, and begun composition of musique, and he being gone I to settle my papers and things in my chamber, and so after dinner in the afternoon to the office, and thence to my chamber about several businesses of the office and my own, and then to supper and to bed. This day my brave vellum covers to keep pictures in, come in, which pleases me very much. 15th. This morning Mr. Berkenshaw came again, and after he had examined me and taught me something in my work, he and I went to breakfast in my chamber upon a collar of brawn, and after we had eaten, asked me whether we had not committed a fault in eating to-day; telling me that it is a fast day ordered by the Parliament, to pray for more seasonable weather; it having hitherto been summer weather, that it is, both as to warmth and every other thing, just as if it were the middle of May or June, which do threaten a plague (as all men think) to follow, for so it was almost the last winter; and the whole year after hath been a very sickly time to this day. I did not stir out of my house all day, but conned my musique, and at night after supper to bed. 16th. Towards Cheapside; and in Paul's Churchyard saw the funeral of my Lord Cornwallis, late Steward of the King's House, a bold profane talking man, go by, and thence I to the Paynter's, and there paid him L6 for the two pictures, and 36s. for the two frames. From thence home, and Mr. Holliard and my brother Tom dined with me, and he did give me good advice about my health. In the afternoon at the office, and at night to Sir W. Batten, and there saw him and Captain Cock and Stokes play at cards, and afterwards supped with them. Stokes told us, that notwithstanding the country of Gambo is so unhealthy, yet the people of the place live very long, so as the present king there is 150 years old, which they count by rains: because every year it rains continually four months together. He also told us, that the kings there have above 100 wives a-piece, and offered him the choice of any of his wives to lie with, and so he did Captain Holmes. So home and to bed. 17th. To Westminster with Mr. Moore, and there, after several walks up and down to hear news, I met with Lany, the Frenchman, who told me that he had a letter from France last night, that tells him that my Lord Hinchingbroke is dead,--[proved false]--and that he did die yesterday was se'nnight, which do surprise me exceedingly (though we know that he hath been sick these two months), so I hardly ever was in my life; but being fearfull that my Lady should come to hear it too suddenly, he and I went up to my Lord Crew's, and there I dined with him, and after dinner we told him, and the whole family is much disturbed by it: so we consulted what to do to tell my Lady of it; and at last we thought of my going first to Mr. George Montagu's to hear whether he had any news of it, which I did, and there found all his house in great heaviness for the death of his son, Mr. George Montagu, who did go with our young gentlemen into France, and that they hear nothing at all of our young Lord; so believing that thence comes the mistake, I returned to my Lord Crew (in my way in the Piazza seeing a house on fire, and all the streets full of people to quench it), and told them of it, which they are much glad of, and conclude, and so I hope, that my Lord is well; and so I went to my Lady Sandwich, and told her all, and after much talk I parted thence with my wife, who had been there all the day, and so home to my musique, and then to bed. 18th. This morning I went to Dr. Williams, and there he told me how T. Trice had spoke to him about getting me to meet that our difference might be made up between us by ourselves, which I am glad of, and have appointed Monday next to be the day. Thence to the Wardrobe, and there hearing it would be late before they went to dinner, I went and spent some time in Paul's Churchyard among some books, and then returned thither, and there dined with my Lady and Sir H. Wright and his lady, all glad of yesterday's mistake, and after dinner to the office, and then home and wrote letters by the post to my father, and by and by comes Mr. Moore to give me an account how Mr. Montagu was gone away of a sudden with the fleet, in such haste that he hath left behind some servants, and many things of consequence; and among others, my Lord's commission for Embassador. Whereupon he and I took coach, and to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, to have spoke with Mr. Ralph Montagu, his brother (and here we staid talking with Sarah and the old man); but by and by hearing that he was in Covent Garden, we went thither: and at my Lady Harvy's, his sister, I spoke with him, and he tells me that the commission is not left behind. And so I went thence by the same coach (setting down Mr. Moore) home, and after having wrote a letter to my Lord at 12 o'clock at night by post I went to bed. 19th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, where Mr. Mills preached upon Christ's being offered up for our sins, and there proving the equity with what justice God would lay our sins upon his Son, he did make such a sermon (among other things pleading, from God's universal sovereignty over all his creatures, the power he has of commanding what he would of his Son by the same rule as that he might have made us all, and the whole world from the beginning to have been in hell, arguing from the power the potter has over his clay), that I could have wished he had let it alone; and speaking again, the Father is now so satisfied by our security for our debt, that we might say at the last day as many of us as have interest in Christ's death: Lord, we owe thee nothing, our debt is paid. We are not beholden to, thee for anything, for thy debt is paid to thee to the full; which methinks were very bold words. Home to dinner, and then my wife and I on foot to see Mrs. Turner, who continues still sick, and thence into the Old Bayly by appointment to speak with Mrs. Norbury who lies at (it falls out) next door to my uncle Fenner's; but as God would have it, we having no desire to be seen by his people, he having lately married a midwife that is old and ugly, and that hath already brought home to him a daughter and three children, we were let in at a back door. And here she offered me the refusall of some lands of her's at Brampton, if I have a mind to buy, which I answered her I was not at present provided to do. She took occasion to talk of her sister Wight's making much of the Wights, who for namesake only my uncle do shew great kindness to, so I fear may do us that are nearer to him a great deal of wrong, if he should die without children, which I am sorry for. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and there we supped and were merry, though my uncle hath lately lost 200 or 300 at sea, and I am troubled to hear that the Turks do take more and more of our ships in the Straights, and that our merchants here in London do daily break, and are still likely to do so. So home, and I put in at Sir W. Batten's, where Major Holmes was, and in our discourse and drinking I did give Sir J. Mennes' health, which he swore he would not pledge, and called him knave and coward (upon the business of Holmes with the Swedish ship lately), which we all and I particularly did desire him to forbear, he being of our fraternity, which he took in great dudgeon, and I was vexed to hear him persist in calling him so, though I believe it to be true, but however he is to blame and I am troubled at it. So home and to prayers, and to bed. 20th. This morning Sir Win. Batten and Pen and I did begin the examining the Treasurer's accounts, the first time ever he had passed in the office, which is very long, and we were all at it till noon, and then to dinner, he providing a fine dinner for us, and we eat it at Sir W. Batten's, where we were very merry, there being at table the Treasurer and we three, Mr. Wayth, Ferrer, Smith, Turner, and Mr. Morrice, the wine cooper, who this day did divide the two butts, which we four did send for, of sherry from Cales, and mine was put into a hogshead, and the vessel filled up with four gallons of Malaga wine, but what it will stand us in I know not: but it is the first great quantity of wine that I ever bought. And after dinner to the office all the afternoon till late at night, and then home, where my aunt and uncle Wight and Mrs. Anne Wight came to play at cards (at gleek which she taught me and my wife last week) and so to supper, and then to cards and so good night. Then I to my practice of musique and then at 12 o'clock to bed. This day the workmen began to make me a sellar door out of the back yard, which will much please me. 21st. To the finishing of the Treasurer's accounts this morning, and then to dinner again, and were merry as yesterday, and so home, and then to the office till night, and then home to write letters, and to practise my composition of musique, and then to bed. We have heard nothing yet how far the fleet hath got toward Portugall, but the wind being changed again, we fear they are stopped, and may be beat back again to the coast of Ireland. 22d. After musique-practice, to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, in my way calling at Mr. George Montagu's, to condole him the loss of his son, who was a fine gentleman, and it is no doubt a great discomfort to our two young gentlemen, his companions in France. After this discourse he told me, among other news, the great jealousys that are now in the Parliament House. The Lord Chancellor, it seems, taking occasion from this late plot to raise fears in the people, did project the raising of an army forthwith, besides the constant militia, thinking to make the Duke of York General thereof. But the House did, in very open terms, say, they were grown too wise to be fooled again into another army; and said they had found how that man that hath the command of an army is not beholden to any body to make him King. There are factions (private ones at Court) about Madam Palmer; but what it is about I know not. But it is something about the King's favour to her now that the Queen is coming. He told me, too, what sport the King and Court do make at Mr. Edward Montagu's leaving his things behind him. But the Chancellor (taking it a little more seriously) did openly say to my Lord Chamberlain, that had it been such a gallant as my Lord Mandeville his son, it might have; been taken as a frolique; but for him that would be thought a grave coxcomb, it was very strange. Thence to the Hall, where I heard the House had ordered all the King's murderers, that remain, to be executed, but Fleetwood and Downes. So to the Wardrobe and there dined, meeting my wife there, who went after dinner with my Lady to see Mr. George Montagu's lady, and I to have a meeting by appointment with Tho. Trice and Dr. Williams in order to a treating about the difference between us, but I find there is no hopes of ending it but by law, and so after a pint or two of wine we parted. So to the Wardrobe for my wife again, and so home, and after writing and doing some things to bed. 23rd. All the morning with Mr. Berkenshaw, and after him Mr. Moore in discourse of business, and in the afternoon by coach by invitacon to my uncle Fenner's, where I found his new wife, a pitiful, old, ugly, illbred woman in a hatt, a midwife. Here were many of his, and as many of her relations, sorry, mean people; and after choosing our gloves, we all went over to the Three Crane Tavern,' and though the best room in the house, in such a narrow dogg-hole we were crammed, and I believe we were near forty, that it made me loathe my company and victuals; and a sorry poor dinner it was too. After dinner, I took aside the two Joyce's, and took occasion to thank them for their kind thoughts for a wife for Tom: but that considering the possibility there is of my having no child, and what then I shall be able to leave him, I do think he may expect in that respect a wife with more money, and so desired them to think no more of it. Now the jest was Anthony mistakes and thinks that I did all this while encourage him (from my thoughts of favour to Tom) to pursue the match till Will Joyce tells him that he was mistaken. But how he takes it I know not, but I endeavoured to tell it him in the most respectful way that I could. This done with my wife by coach to my aunt Wight's, where I left her, and I to the office, and that being done to her again, and sat playing at cards after supper till 12 at night, and so by moonshine home and to bed. 24th. This morning came my cozen Thos. Pepys the Executor, to speak with me, and I had much talk with him both about matters of money which my Lord Sandwich has of his and I am bond for, as also of my uncle Thomas, who I hear by him do stand upon very high terms. Thence to my painter's, and there I saw our pictures in the frames, which please me well. Thence to the Wardrobe, where very merry with my Lady, and after dinner I seat for the pictures thither, and mine is well liked; but she is much offended with my wife's, and I am of her opinion, that it do much wrong her; but I will have it altered. So home, in my way calling at Pope's Head alley, and there bought me a pair of scissars and a brass square. So home and to my study and to bed. 25th. At home and the office all the morning. Walking in the garden to give the gardener directions what to do this year (for I intend to have the garden handsome), Sir W. Pen came to me, and did break a business to me about removing his son from Oxford to Cambridge to some private college. I proposed Magdalene, but cannot name a tutor at present; but I shall think and write about it. Thence with him to the Trinity-house to dinner; where Sir Richard Brown (one of the clerks of the Council, and who is much concerned against Sir N. Crisp's project of making a great sasse [A kind of weir with flood-gate, or a navigable sluice. This project is mentioned by Evelyn, January 16th, 1661-62, and Lysons' "Environs" vol. iv., p. 392.--B.] in the King's lands about Deptford, to be a wett-dock to hold 200 sail of ships. But the ground, it seems, was long since given by the King to Sir Richard) was, and after the Trinity-house men had done their business, the master, Sir William Rider, came to bid us welcome; and so to dinner, where good cheer and discourse, but I eat a little too much beef, which made me sick, and so after dinner we went to the office, and there in a garden I went in the dark and vomited, whereby I did much ease my stomach. Thence to supper with my wife to Sir W. Pen's, his daughter being come home to-day, not being very well, and so while we were at supper comes Mr. Moore with letters from my Lord Sandwich, speaking of his lying still at Tangier, looking for the fleet; which, we hope, is now in a good way thither. So home to write letters by the post to-night, and then again to Sir W. Pen's to cards, where very merry, and so home and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and then home to dinner alone with my wife, and so both to church in the afternoon and home again, and so to read and talk with my wife, and to supper and to bed. It having been a very fine clear frosty day-God send us more of them!--for the warm weather all this winter makes us fear a sick summer. But thanks be to God, since my leaving drinking of wine, I do find myself much better and do mind my business better, and do spend less money, and less time lost in idle company. 27th. This morning, both Sir Williams and I by barge to Deptford-yard to give orders in businesses there; and called on several ships, also to give orders, and so to Woolwich, and there dined at Mr. Falconer's of victuals we carried ourselves, and one Mr. Dekins, the father of my Morena, of whom we have lately bought some hemp. That being done we went home again. This morning, going to take water upon Tower-hill, we met with three sleddes standing there to carry my Lord Monson and Sir H. Mildmay and another, to the gallows and back again, with ropes about their necks; which is to be repeated every year, this being the day of their sentencing the King. 28th. This morning (after my musique practice with Mr. Berkenshaw) with my wife to the Paynter's, where we staid very late to have her picture mended, which at last is come to be very like her, and I think well done; but the Paynter, though a very honest man, I found to be very silly as to matter of skill in shadows, for we were long in discourse, till I was almost angry to hear him talk so simply. So home to dinner and then to the office, and so home for all night. 29th. To Westminster, and at the Parliament door spoke with Mr. Coventry about business, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and thence to several places, and so home, where I found Mrs. Pen and Mrs. Rooth and Smith, who played at cards with my wife, and I did give them a barrel of oysters, and had a pullet to supper for them, and when it was ready to come to table, the foolish girl had not the manners to stay and sup with me, but went away, which did vex me cruelly. So I saw her home, and then to supper, and so to musique practice, and to bed. 30th. Fast-day for the murthering of the late King. I went to church, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon upon David's words, "Who can lay his hands upon the Lord's Anoynted and be guiltless?" So home and to dinner, and employed all the afternoon in my chamber, setting things and papers to rights, which pleased me very well, and I think I shall begin to take pleasure in being at home and minding my business. I pray God I may, for I find a great need thereof. At night to supper and to bed. 31st. All the morning, after musique practice, in my cellar, ordering some alteracons therein, being much pleased with my new door into the back yard. So to dinner, and all the afternoon thinking upon business. I did by night set many things in order, which pleased me well, and puts me upon a resolution of keeping within doors and minding my business and the business of the office, which I pray God I may put in practice. At night to bed. FEBRUARY 1661-1662 February 1st. This morning within till 11 o'clock, and then with Commissioner Pett to the office; and he staid there writing, while I and Sir W. Pen walked in the garden talking about his business of putting his son to Cambridge; and to that end I intend to write to-night to Dr. Fairebrother, to give me an account of Mr. Burton of Magdalene. Thence with Mr. Pett to the Paynter's; and he likes our pictures very well, and so do I. Thence he and I to the Countess of Sandwich, to lead him to her to kiss her hands: and dined with her, and told her the news (which Sir W. Pen told me to-day) that express is come from my Lord with letters, that by a great storm and tempest the mole of Argier is broken down, and many of their ships sunk into the mole. So that God Almighty hath now ended that unlucky business for us; which is very good news. After dinner to the office, where we staid late, and so I home, and late writing letters to my father and Dr. Fairebrother, and an angry letter to my brother John for not writing to me, and so to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and then home and dined with my wife, and so both of us to church again, where we had an Oxford man give us a most impertinent sermon upon "Cast your bread upon the waters, &c. So home to read, supper, and to prayers, and then to bed. 3rd. After musique practice I went to the office, and there with the two Sir Williams all the morning about business, and at noon I dined with Sir W. Batten with many friends more, it being his wedding-day, and among other froliques, it being their third year, they had three pyes, whereof the middlemost was made of an ovall form, in an ovall hole within the other two, which made much mirth, and was called the middle piece; and above all the rest, we had great striving to steal a spooneful out of it; and I remember Mrs. Mills, the minister's wife, did steal one for me and did give it me; and to end all, Mrs. Shippman did fill the pye full of white wine, it holding at least a pint and a half, and did drink it off for a health to Sir William and my Lady, it being the greatest draft that ever I did see a woman drink in my life. Before we had dined came Sir G. Carteret, and we went all three to the office and did business there till night, and then to Sir W. Batten again, and I went along with my lady and the rest of the gentlewomen to Major Holmes's, and there we had a fine supper, among others, excellent lobsters, which I never eat at this time of the year before. The Major bath good lodgings at the Trinity House. Here we staid, and at last home, and, being in my chamber, we do hear great noise of mirth at Sir William Batten's, tearing the ribbands from my Lady and him.--[As if they were a newly-married couple.]--So I to bed. 4th. To Westminster Hall, where it was full term. Here all the morning, and at noon to my Lord Crew's, where one Mr. Tempter (an ingenious man and a person of honour he seems to be) dined; and, discoursing of the nature of serpents, he told us some that in the waste places of Lancashire do grow to a great bigness, and that do feed upon larks, which they take thus: They observe when the lark is soared to the highest, and do crawl till they come to be just underneath them; and there they place themselves with their mouths uppermost, and there, as is conceived, they do eject poyson up to the bird; for the bird do suddenly come down again in its course of a circle, and falls directly into the mouth of the serpent; which is very strange. He is a great traveller; and, speaking of the tarantula, he says that all the harvest long (about which times they are most busy) there are fidlers go up and down the fields every where, in expectation of being hired by those that are stung. Thence to the office, where late, and so to my chamber and then to bed, my mind a little troubled how to put things in order to my advantage in the office in readiness to the Duke's orders lately sent to us, and of which we are to treat at the office to-morrow morning. This afternoon, going into the office, one met me and did serve a subpoena upon me for one Field, whom we did commit to prison the other day for some ill words he did give the office. The like he had for others, but we shall scour him for it. 5th. Early at the office. Sir G. Carteret, the two Sir Williams and myself all alone reading of the Duke's institutions for the settlement of our office, whereof we read as much as concerns our own duties, and left the other officers for another time. I did move several things for my purpose, and did ease my mind. At noon Sir W. Pen dined with me, and after dinner he and I and my wife to the Theatre, and went in, but being very early we went out again to the next door, and drank some Rhenish wine and sugar, and so to the House again, and there saw "Rule a Wife and have a Wife" very well done. And here also I did look long upon my Lady Castlemaine, who, notwithstanding her late sickness, continues a great beauty. Home and supped with Sir W. Pen and played at cards with him, and so home and to bed, putting some cataplasm to my.... which begins to swell again. 6th. At my musique practice, and so into my cellar to my workmen, and I am very much pleased with my alteracon there. About noon comes my uncle Thomas to me to ask for his annuity, and I did tell him my mind freely. We had some high words, but I was willing to end all in peace, and so I made him' dine with me, and I have hopes to work my end upon him. After dinner the barber trimmed me, and so to the office, where I do begin to be exact in my duty there and exacting my privileges, and shall continue to do so. None but Sir W. Batten and me here to-night, and so we broke up early, and I home and to my chamber to put things in order, and so to bed. My swelling I think do begin to go away again. 7th. Among my workmen this morning. By and by by water to Westminster with Commissioner Pett (landing my wife at Black Friars) where I hear the prisoners in the Tower that are to die are come to the Parliament-house this morning. To the Wardrobe to dinner with my Lady; where a civitt cat, parrot, apes, and many other things are come from my Lord by Captain Hill, who dined with my Lady with us to-day. Thence to the Paynter's, and am well pleased with our pictures. So by coach home, where I found the joyners putting up my chimney-piece in the dining-room, which pleases me well, only the frame for a picture they have made so massy and heavy that I cannot tell what to do with it. This evening came my she cozen Porter to see us (the first time that we had seen her since we came to this end of the town) and after her Mr. Hart, who both staid with us a pretty while and so went away. By and by, hearing that Mr. Turner was much troubled at what I do in the office, and do give ill words to Sir W. Pen and others of me, I am much troubled in my mind, and so went to bed; not that I fear him at all, but the natural aptness I have to be troubled at any thing that crosses me. 8th. All the morning in the cellar with the colliers, removing the coles out of the old cole hole into the new one, which cost me 8s. the doing; but now the cellar is done and made clean, it do please me exceedingly, as much as any thing that was ever yet done to my house. I pray God keep me from setting my mind too much upon it. About 3 o'clock the colliers having done I went up to dinner (my wife having often urged me to come, but my mind is so set upon these things that I cannot but be with the workmen to see things done to my mind, which if I am not there is seldom done), and so to the office, and thence to talk with Sir W. Pen, walking in the dark in the garden some turns, he telling me of the ill management of our office, and how Wood the timber merchant and others were very knaves, which I am apt to believe. Home and wrote letters to my father and my brother John, and so to bed. Being a little chillish, intending to take physique to-morrow morning. 9th (Lord's day). I took physique this day, and was all day in my chamber, talking with my wife about her laying out of L20, which I had long since promised her to lay out in clothes against Easter for herself, and composing some ayres, God forgive me! At night to prayers and to bed. 10th. Musique practice a good while, then to Paul's Churchyard, and there I met with Dr. Fuller's "England's Worthys," the first time that I ever saw it; and so I sat down reading in it, till it was two o'clock before I, thought of the time going, and so I rose and went home to dinner, being much troubled that (though he had some discourse with me about my family and arms) he says nothing at all, nor mentions us either in Cambridgeshire or Norfolk. But I believe, indeed, our family were never considerable. At home all the afternoon, and at night to bed. 11th. Musique, then my brother Tom came, and spoke to him about selling of Sturtlow, he consents to, and I think will be the best for him, considering that he needs money, and has no mind to marry. Dined at home, and at the office in the afternoon. So home to musique, my mind being full of our alteracons in the garden, and my getting of things in the office settled to the advantage of my clerks, which I found Mr. Turner much troubled at, and myself am not quiet in mind. But I hope by degrees to bring it to it. At night begun to compose songs, and begin with "Gaze not on Swans." So to bed. 12th. This morning, till four in the afternoon, I spent abroad, doing of many and considerable businesses at Mr. Phillips the lawyer, with Prior, Westminster, my Lord Crew's, Wardrobe, &c., and so home about the time of day to dinner with my mind very highly contented with my day's work, wishing I could do so every day. Then to my chamber drawing up writings, in expectation of my uncle Thomas corning. So to my musique and then to bed. This night I had half a 100 poor Jack--[The "poor john" is a hake salted and dried. It is frequently referred to in old authors as poor fare.]--sent me by Mr. Adis. 13th. After musique comes my cozen Tom Pepys the executor, and he did stay with me above two hours discoursing about the difference between my uncle Thomas and me, and what way there may be to make it up, and I have hopes we may do good of it for all this. Then to dinner, and then came Mr. Kennard, and he and I and Sir W. Pen went up and down his house to view what may be the contrivance and alterations there to the best advantage. So home, where Mr. Blackburne (whom I have not seen a long time) was come to speak with me, and among other discourse he do tell me plain of the corruption of all our Treasurer's officers, and that they hardly pay any money under ten per cent.; and that the other day, for a mere assignation of L200 to some counties, they took L15 which is very strange. So to the office till night, and then home and to write by the post about many businesses, and so to bed. Last night died the Queen of Bohemia. 14th (Valentine's day). I did this day purposely shun to be seen at Sir W. Batten's, because I would not have his daughter to be my Valentine, as she was the last year, there being no great friendship between us now, as formerly. This morning in comes W. Bowyer, who was my wife's Valentine, she having, at which I made good sport to myself, held her hands all the morning, that she might not see the paynters that were at work in gilding my chimney-piece and pictures in my diningroom. By and by she and I by coach with him to Westminster, by the way leaving at Tom's and my wife's father's lodgings each of them some poor Jack, and some she carried to my father Bowyer's, where she staid while I walked in the Hall, and there among others met with Serj'. Pierce, and I took him aside to drink a cup of ale, and he told me the basest thing of Mr. Montagu's and his man Eschar's going away in debt, that I am troubled and ashamed, but glad to be informed of. He thinks he has left L1000 for my Lord to pay, and that he has not laid out L3,000 Out of the L5,000 for my Lord's use, and is not able to make an account of any of the money. My wife and I to dinner to the Wardrobe, and then to talk with my Lady, and so by coach, it raining hard, home, and so to do business and to bed. 15th. With the two Sir Williams to the Trinity-house; and there in their society had the business debated of Sir Nicholas Crisp's sasse at Deptford. Then to dinner, and after dinner I was sworn a Younger Brother; Sir W. Rider being Deputy Master for my Lord of Sandwich; and after I was sworn, all the Elder Brothers shake me by the hand: it is their custom, it seems. Hence to the office, and so to Sir Wm. Batten's all three, and there we staid till late talking together in complaint of the Treasurer's instruments. Above all Mr. Waith, at whose child's christening our wives and we should have been to-day, but none of them went and I am glad of it, for he is a very rogue, So home, and drew up our report for Sir N. Crispe's sasse, and so to bed. No news yet of our fleet gone to Tangier, which we now begin to think long. 16th (Lord's day). To church this morning, and so home and to dinner. In the afternoon I walked to St. Bride's to church, to hear Dr. Jacomb preach upon the recovery, and at the request of Mrs. Turner, who came abroad this day, the first time since her long sickness. He preached upon David's words, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord," and made a pretty good sermon, though not extraordinary. After sermon I led her home, and sat with her, and there was the Dr. got before us; but strange what a command he hath got over Mrs. Turner, who was so carefull to get him what he would, after his preaching, to drink, and he, with a cunning gravity, knows how to command, and had it, and among other things told us that he heard more of the Common Prayer this afternoon (while he stood in the vestry, before he went up into the pulpitt) than he had heard this twenty years. Thence to my uncle Wight to meet my wife, and with other friends of hers and his met by chance we were very merry, and supped, and so home, not being very well through my usual pain got by cold. So to prayers and to bed, and there had a good draft of mulled ale brought me. 17th. This morning, both Sir Williams, myself, and Captain Cocke and Captain Tinker of the Convertine, which we are going to look upon (being intended to go with these ships fitting for the East Indys), down to Deptford; and thence, after being on shipboard, to Woolwich, and there eat something. The Sir Williams being unwilling to eat flesh, [In Lent, of which the observance, intermitted for nineteen years, was now reviving. We have seen that Pepys, as yet, had not cast off all show of Puritanism. "In this month the Fishmongers' Company petitioned the King that Lent might be kept, because they had provided abundance of fish for this season, and their prayer was granted."--Rugge.--B.] Captain Cocke and I had a breast of veal roasted. And here I drank wine upon necessity, being ill for want of it, and I find reason to fear that by my too sudden leaving off wine, I do contract many evils upon myself. Going and coming we played at gleeke, and I won 9s. 6d. clear, the most that ever I won in my life. I pray God it may not tempt me to play again. Being come home again we went to the Dolphin, where Mr. Alcock and my Lady and Mrs. Martha Batten came to us, and after them many others (as it always is where Sir W. Batten goes), and there we had some pullets to supper. I eat though I was not very well, and after that left them, and so home and to bed. 18th. Lay long in bed, then up to the office (we having changed our days to Tuesday and Saturday in the morning and Thursday at night), and by and by with Sir W. Pen, Mr. Kennard, and others to survey his house again, and to contrive for the alterations there, which will be handsome I think. After we had done at the office, I walked to the Wardrobe, where with Mr. Moore and Mr. Lewis Phillips after dinner we did agree upon the agreement between us and Prior and I did seal and sign it. Having agreed with Sir Wm. Pen and my wife to meet them at the Opera, and finding by my walking in the streets, which were every where full of brick-battes and tyles flung down by the extraordinary wind the last night (such as hath not been in memory before, unless at the death of the late Protector), that it was dangerous to go out of doors; and hearing how several persons had been killed to-day by the fall of things in the streets, and that the pageant in Fleetstreet is most of it blown down, and hath broke down part of several houses, among others Dick Brigden's; and that one Lady Sanderson, a person of quality in Covent Garden, was killed by the fall of the house, in her bed, last night; I sent my boy home to forbid them to go forth. But he bringing me word that they are gone, I went thither and there saw "The Law against Lovers," a good play and well performed, especially the little girl's (whom I never saw act before) dancing and singing; and were it not for her, the loss of Roxalana would spoil the house. So home and to musique, and so to bed. 19th. Musique practice: thence to the Trinity House to conclude upon our report of Sir N. Crisp's project, who came to us to answer objections, but we did give him no ear, but are resolved to stand to our report; though I could wish we had shewn him more justice and had heard him. Thence to the Wardrobe and dined with my Lady, and talked after dinner as I used to do, and so home and up to my chamber to put things in order to my good content, and so to musique practice. 20th. This morning came Mr. Child to see me, and set me something to my Theorbo, and by and by come letters from Tangier from my Lord, telling me how, upon a great defete given to the Portuguese there by the Moors, he had put in 300 men into the town, and so he is in possession, of which we are very glad, because now the Spaniard's designs of hindering our getting the place are frustrated. I went with the letter inclosed to my Lord Chancellor to the House of Lords, and did give it him in the House. And thence to the Wardrobe with my Lady's, and there could not stay dinner, but went by promise to Mr. Savill's, and there sat the first time for my picture in little, which pleaseth me well. So to the office till night and then home. ["Sunday, Jan. 12. This morning, the Portuguese, 140 horse in Tangier, made a salley into the country for booty, whereof they had possessed about 400 cattle, 30 camels, and some horses, and 35 women and girls, and being six miles distant from Tangier, were intercepted by 100 Moors with harquebusses, who in the first charge killed the Aidill with a shot in the head, whereupon the rest of the Portuguese ran, and in the pursuit 51 were slain, whereof were 11 of the knights, besides the Aidill. The horses of the 51 were also taken by the Moors, and all the booty relieved. "Tuesday, Jan. 14. This morning, Mr. Mules came to me from the Governor, for the assistance of some of our men into the castle. "Thursday, Jan. 16. About 80 men out of my own ship, and the Princess, went into Tangier, into the lower castle, about four of the clock in the afternoon. "Friday, Jan. 17. In the morning, by eight o'clock, the 'Martyr' came in from Cales (Cadiz) with provisions, and about ten a clock I sent Sir Richard Stayner, with 120 men, besides officers, to the assistance of the Governor, into Tangier."--Lord Sandwich's Journal, in Kennet's Register. On the 23rd, Lord Sandwich put one hundred more men into Tangier; on the 29th and 30th, Lord Peterborough and his garrison arrived from England, and received possession from the Portuguese; and, on the 31st, Sir Richard Stayner and the seamen re-embarked on board Lord Sandwich's fleet.--B.] 21st, All the morning putting things in my house in order, and packing up glass to send into the country to my father, and books to my brother John, and then to my Lord Crew's to dinner; and thence to Mr. Lewes Philip's chamber, and there at noon with him for business, and received L80 upon Jaspar Trice's account, and so home with it, and so to my chamber for all this evening, and then to bed. 22nd. At the office busy all the morning, and thence to dinner to my Lady Sandwich's, and thence with Mr. Moore to our Attorney, Wellpoole's, and there found that Godfry has basely taken out a judgment against us for the L40, for which I am vexed. And thence to buy a pair of stands and a hanging shelf for my wife's chamber, and so home, and thither came Mr. Savill with the pictures, and we hung them up in our dining-room. It comes now to appear very handsome with all my pictures. This evening I wrote letters to my father; among other things acquainting him with the unhappy accident which hath happened lately to my Lord of Dorset's two oldest sons, who, with two Belasses and one Squire Wentworth, were lately apprehended for killing and robbing of a tanner about Newington' on Wednesday last, and are all now in Newgate. I am much troubled for it, and for the grief and disgrace it brings to their familys and friends. After this, having got a very great cold, I got something warm to-night, and so to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). My cold being increased, I staid at home all day, pleasing myself with my dining-room, now graced with pictures, and reading of Dr. Fuller's "Worthys." So I spent the day, and at night comes Sir W. Pen and supped and talked with me. This day by God's mercy I am 29 years of age, and in very good health, and like to live and get an estate; and if I have a heart to be contented, I think I may reckon myself as happy a man as any is in the world, for which God be praised. So to prayers and to bed. 24th. Long with Mr. Berkenshaw in the morning at my musique practice; finishing my song of "Gaze not on Swans," in two parts, which pleases me well, and I did give him L5 for this month or five weeks that he hath taught me, which is a great deal of money and troubled me to part with it. Thence to the Paynter s, and set again for my picture in little, and thence over the water to Southwark to Mr. Berkenshaw's house, and there sat with him all the afternoon, he showing me his great card of the body of musique, which he cries up for a rare thing, and I do believe it cost much pains, but is not so useful as he would have it. Then we sat down and set "Nulla, nulla sit formido," and he has set it very finely. So home and to supper, and then called Will up, and chid him before my wife for refusing to go to church with the maids yesterday, and telling his mistress that he would not be made a slave of, which vexes me. So to bed. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon with Mr. Moore to the Coffee-house, where among other things the great talk was of the effects of this late great wind; and I heard one say that he had five great trees standing together blown down; and, beginning to lop them, one of them, as soon as the lops were cut off, did, by the weight of the root, rise again and fasten. We have letters from the forest of Deane, that above 1000 Oakes and as many beeches are blown down in one walk there. And letters from my father tell me of L20 hurt done to us at Brampton. This day in the news-book I find that my Lord Buckhurst and his fellows have printed their case as they did give it in upon examination to a justice of Peace, wherein they make themselves a very good tale that they were in pursuit of thieves, and that they took this man for one of them, and so killed him; and that he himself confessed it was the first time of his robbing; and that he did pay dearly for it, for he was a dead man. But I doubt things will be proved otherwise, as they say. Home to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Hunt and his wife to see us and staid a good, while with us. Then parted, and I to my study in the office. The first time since the alteracon that I have begun to do business myself there, and I think I shall be well pleased with it. At night home to supper and to bed. 26th. Mr. Berkenshaw with me all the morning composing of musique to "This cursed jealousy, what is it," a song of Sir W. Davenant's. After dinner I went to my Bookseller's, W. Joyce's, and several other places to pay my debts and do business, I being resolved to cast up my accounts within a day or two, for I fear I have run out too far. In coming home I met with a face I knew and challenged him, thinking it had been one of the Theatre musicians, and did enquire for a song of him, but finding it a mistake, and that it was a gentleman that comes sometimes to the office, I was much ashamed, but made a pretty good excuse that I took him for a gentleman of Gray's Inn who sings well, and so parted. Home for all night and set things in order and so to bed. 27th. This morning came Mr. Berkenshaw to me and in our discourse I, finding that he cries up his rules for most perfect (though I do grant them to be very good, and the best I believe that ever yet were made), and that I could not persuade him to grant wherein they were somewhat lame, we fell to angry words, so that in a pet he flung out of my chamber and I never stopped him, having intended to put him off today, whether this had happened or no, because I think I have all the rules that he hath to give. And so there remains not the practice now to do me good, and it is not for me to continue with him at; L5 per month. So I settled to put all his rules in fair order in a book, which was my work all the morning till dinner. After dinner to the office till late at night, and so home to write by the post, and so to bed. 28th. The boy failing to call us up as I commanded, I was angry, and resolved to whip him for that and many other faults, to-day. Early with Sir W. Pen by coach to Whitehall, to the Duke of York's chamber, and there I presented him from my Lord a fine map of Tangier, done by one Captain Beckman, a Swede, that is with my Lord. We staid looking it over a great while with the Duke after he was ready. Thence I by water to the Painter's, and there sat again for my face in little, and thence home to dinner, and so at home all the afternoon. Then came Mr. Moore and staid and talked with me, and then I to the office, there being all the Admiralty papers brought hither this afternoon from Mr. Blackburne's, where they have lain all this while ever since my coming into this office. This afternoon Mr. Hater received half a year's salary for me, so that now there is not owing me but this quarter, which will be out the next month. Home, and to be as good as my word, I bade Will get me a rod, and he and I called the boy up to one of the upper rooms of the Comptroller's house towards the garden, and there I reckoned all his faults, and whipped him soundly, but the rods were so small that I fear they did not much hurt to him, but only to my arm, which I am already, within a quarter of an hour, not able to stir almost. After supper to bed. MARCH 1661-1662 March 1st. This morning I paid Sir W. Batten L40, which I have owed him this half year, having borrowed it of him. Then to the office all the morning, so dined at home, and after dinner comes my uncle Thomas, with whom I had some high words of difference, but ended quietly, though I fear I shall do no good by fair means upon him. Thence my wife and I by coach, first to see my little picture that is a drawing, and thence to the Opera, and there saw "Romeo and Juliet," the first time it was ever acted; but it is a play of itself the worst that ever I heard in my life, and the worst acted that ever I saw these people do, and I am resolved to go no more to see the first time of acting, for they were all of them out more or less. Thence home, and after supper and wrote by the post, I settled to what I had long intended, to cast up my accounts with myself, and after much pains to do it and great fear, I do find that I am 1500 in money beforehand in the world, which I was afraid I was not, but I find that I had spent above L250 this last half year, which troubles me much, but by God's blessing I am resolved to take up, having furnished myself with all things for a great while, and to-morrow to think upon some rules and obligations upon myself to walk by. So with my mind eased of a great deal of trouble, though with no great content to find myself above L100 worse now than I was half a year ago, I went to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). With my mind much eased talking long in bed with my wife about our frugall life for the time to come, proposing to her what I could and would do if I were worth L2,000, that is, be a knight, and keep my coach, which pleased her, [Lord Braybrooke wrote, "This reminds me of a story of my father's, when he was of Merton College, and heard Bowen the porter wish that he had L100 a-year, to enable him to keep a couple of hunters and a pack of foxhounds."] and so I do hope we shall hereafter live to save something, for I am resolved to keep myself by rules from expenses. To church in the morning: none in the pew but myself. So home to dinner, and after dinner came Sir William and talked with me till church time, and then to church, where at our going out I was at a loss by Sir W. Pen's putting me upon it whether to take my wife or Mrs. Martha (who alone was there), and I began to take my wife, but he jogged me, and so I took Martha, and led her down before him and my wife. So set her at home, and Sir William and my wife and I to walk in the garden, and anon hearing that Sir G. Carteret had sent to see whether we were at home or no, Sir William and I went to his house, where we waited a good while, they being at prayers, and by and by we went up to him; there the business was about hastening the East India ships, about which we are to meet to-morrow in the afternoon. So home to my house, and Sir William supped with me, and so to bed. 3rd. All the morning at home about business with my brother Tom, and then with Mr. Moore, and then I set to make some strict rules for my future practice in my expenses, which I did bind myself in the presence of God by oath to observe upon penalty therein set down, and I do not doubt but hereafter to give a good account of my time and to grow rich, for I do find a great deal more of content in these few days, that I do spend well about my business, than in all the pleasure of a whole week, besides the trouble which I remember I always have after that for the expense of my money. Dined at home, and then up to my chamber again about business, and so to the office about despatching of the East India ships, where we staid till 8 at night, and then after I had been at Sir W. Pen's awhile discoursing with him and Mr. Kenard the joiner about the new building in his house, I went home, where I found a vessel of oysters sent me from Chatham, so I fell to eat some and then to supper, and so after the barber had done to bed. I am told that this day the Parliament hath voted 2s. per annum for every chimney in England, as a constant revenue for ever to the Crown. [Although fumage or smoke money was as old as the Conquest, the first parliamentary levy of hearth or chimney money was by statute 13 and 14 Car. II., c. 10, which gave the king an hereditary revenue of two shillings annually upon every hearth in all houses paying church or poor rate. This act was repealed by statute I William and Mary, c. 10, it being declared in the preamble as "not only a great oppression to the poorer sort, but a badge of slavery upon the whole people, exposing every man's house to be entered into and searched at pleasure by persons unknown to him."] 4th. At the office all the morning, dined at home at noon, and then to the office again in the afternoon to put things in order there, my mind being very busy in settling the office to ourselves, I having now got distinct offices for the other two. By and by Sir W. Pen and I and my wife in his coach to Moore Fields, where we walked a great while, though it was no fair weather and cold; and after our walk we went to the Pope's Head, and eat cakes and other fine things, and so home, and I up to my chamber to read and write, and so to bed. 5th. In the morning to the Painter's about my little picture. Thence to Tom's about business, and so to the pewterer's, to buy a poore's-box to put my forfeits in, upon breach of my late vows. So to the Wardrobe and dined, and thence home and to my office, and there sat looking over my papers of my voyage, when we fetched over the King, and tore so many of these that were worth nothing, as filled my closet as high as my knees. I staid doing this till 10 at night, and so home and to bed. 6th. Up early, my mind full of business, then to the office, where the two Sir Williams and I spent the morning passing the victualler's accounts, the first I have had to do withal. Then home, where my Uncle Thomas (by promise and his son Tom) were come to give me his answer whether he would have me go to law or arbitracon with him, but he is unprovided to answer me, and desires two days more. I left them to dine with my wife, and myself to Mr. Gauden and the two knights at dinner at the Dolphin, and thence after dinner to the office back again till night, we having been these four or five days very full of business, and I thank God I am well pleased with it, and hope I shall continue of that temper, which God grant. So after a little being at Sir W. Batten's with Sir G. Carteret talking, I went home, and so to my chamber, and then to bed, my mind somewhat troubled about Brampton affairs. This night my new camelott riding coat to my coloured cloth suit came home. More news to-day of our losses at Brampton by the late storm. 7th. Early to White Hall to the chappell, where by Mr. Blagrave's means I got into his pew, and heard Dr. Creeton, the great Scotchman, preach before the King, and Duke and Duchess, upon the words of Micah:--"Roule yourselves in dust." He made a most learned sermon upon the words; but, in his application, the most comical man that ever I heard in my life. Just such a man as Hugh Peters; saying that it had been better for the poor Cavalier never to have come with the King into England again; for he that hath the impudence to deny obedience to the lawful magistrate, and to swear to the oath of allegiance, &c., was better treated now-a-days in Newgate, than a poor Royalist, that hath suffered all his life for the King, is at White Hall among his friends. He discoursed much against a man's lying with his wife in Lent, saying that he might be as incontinent during that time with his own wife as at another time in another man's bed. Thence with Mr. Moore to Whitehall and walked a little, and so to the Wardrobe to dinner, and so home to the office about business till late at night by myself, and so home and to bed. 8th. By coach with both Sir Williams to Westminster; this being a great day there in the House to pass the business for chimney-money, which was done. In the Hall I met with Serjeant Pierce; and he and I to drink a cup of ale at the Swan, and there he told me how my Lady Monk hath disposed of all the places which Mr. Edwd. Montagu hoped to have had, as he was Master of the Horse to the Queen; which I am afraid will undo him, because he depended much upon the profit of what he should make by these places. He told me, also, many more scurvy stories of him and his brother Ralph, which troubles me to hear of persons of honour as they are. About one o'clock with both Sir Williams and another, one Sir Rich. Branes, to the Trinity House, but came after they had dined, so we had something got ready for us. Here Sir W. Batten was taken with a fit of coughing that lasted a great while and made him very ill, and so he went home sick upon it. Sir W. Pen. and I to the office, whither afterward came Sir G. Carteret; and we sent for Sir Thos. Allen, one of the Aldermen of the City, about the business of one Colonel Appesley, whom we had taken counterfeiting of bills with all our hands and the officers of the yards, so well counterfeited that I should never have mistrusted them. We staid about this business at the office till ten at night, and at last did send him with a constable to the Counter; and did give warrants for the seizing of a complice of his, one Blinkinsopp. So home and wrote to my father, and so to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Church in the morning: dined at home, then to Church again and heard Mr. Naylor, whom I knew formerly of Keye's College, make a most eloquent sermon. Thence to Sir W. Batten's to see how he did, then to walk an hour with Sir W. Pen in the garden: then he in to supper with me at my house, and so to prayers and to bed. 10th. At the office doing business all the morning, and my wife being gone to buy some things in the city I dined with Sir W. Batten, and in the afternoon met Sir W. Pen at the Treasury Office, and there paid off the Guift, where late at night, and so called in and eat a bit at Sir W. Batten's again, and so home and to bed, to-morrow being washing day. 11th. At the office all the morning, and all the afternoon rummaging of papers in my chamber, and tearing some and sorting others till late at night, and so to bed, my wife being not well all this day. This afternoon Mrs. Turner and The. came to see me, her mother not having been abroad many a day before, but now is pretty well again and has made me one of the first visits. 12th. At the office from morning till night putting of papers in order, that so I may have my office in an orderly condition. I took much pains in sorting and folding of papers. Dined at home, and there came Mrs. Goldsborough about her old business, but I did give her a short answer and sent away. This morning we had news from Mr. Coventry, that Sir G. Downing (like a perfidious rogue, though the action is good and of service to the King, [("And hail the treason though we hate the traitor.") On the 21st Charles returned his formal thanks to the States for their assistance in the matter.--B.] yet he cannot with any good conscience do it) hath taken Okey, Corbet, and Barkestead at Delfe, in Holland, and sent them home in the Blackmore. Sir W. Pen, talking to me this afternoon of what a strange thing it is for Downing to do this, he told me of a speech he made to the Lords States of Holland, telling them to their faces that he observed that he was not received with the respect and observance now, that he was when he came from the traitor and rebell Cromwell: by whom, I am sure, he hath got all he hath in the world,--and they know it too. [Charles, when residing at Brussels, went to the Hague at night to pay a secret visit to his sister, the Princess of Orange. After his arrival, "an old reverend-like man, with a long grey beard and ordinary grey clothes," entered the inn and begged for a private interview. He then fell on his knees, and pulling off his disguise, discovered himself to be Mr. Downing, then ambassador from Cromwell to the States-General. He informed Charles that the Dutch had guaranteed to the English Commonwealth to deliver him into their hands should he ever set foot in their territory. This warning probably saved Charles's liberty.--M. B.] 13th. All day, either at the office or at home, busy about business till late at night, I having lately followed my business much, I find great pleasure in it, and a growing content. 14th. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir W. Pen and I making a bargain with the workmen about his house, at which I did see things not so well contracted for as I would have, and I was vexed and made him so too to see me so critical in the agreement. Home to dinner. In the afternoon came the German Dr. Kuffler, [This is the secret of Cornelius van Drebbel (1572-1634), which is referred to again by Pepys on November 11th, 1663. Johannes Siberius Kuffler was originally a dyer at Leyden, who married Drebbel's daughter. In the "Calendar of State Papers, Domestic," 1661-62 (p. 327), is the following entry: "Request of Johannes Siberius Kuffler and Jacob Drebble for a trial of their father Cornelius Drebble's secret of sinking or destroying ships in a moment; and if it succeed, for a reward of L10,000. The secret was left them by will, to preserve for the English crown before any other state." Cornelius van Drebbel settled in London, where he died. James I. took some interest in him, and is said to have interfered when he was in prison in Austria and in danger of execution.] to discourse with us about his engine to blow up ships. We doubted not the matter of fact, it being tried in Cromwell's time, but the safety of carrying them in ships; but he do tell us, that when he comes to tell the King his secret (for none but the Kings, successively, and their heirs must know it), it will appear to be of no danger at all. We concluded nothing; but shall discourse with the Duke of York to-morrow about it. In the afternoon, after we had done with him, I went to speak with my uncle Wight and found my aunt to have been ill a good while of a miscarriage, I staid and talked with her a good while. Thence home, where I found that Sarah the maid had been very ill all day, and my wife fears that she will have an ague, which I am much troubled for. Thence to my lute, upon which I have not played a week or two, and trying over the two songs of "Nulla, nulla," &c., and "Gaze not on Swans," which Mr. Berkenshaw set for me a little while ago, I find them most incomparable songs as he has set them, of which I am not a little proud, because I am sure none in the world has them but myself, not so much as he himself that set them. So to bed. 15th. With Sir G. Carteret and both the Sir Williams at Whitehall to wait on the Duke in his chamber, which we did about getting money for the Navy and other things. So back again to the office all the morning. Thence to the Exchange to hire a ship for the Maderas, but could get none. Then home to dinner, and Sir G. Carteret and I all the afternoon by ourselves upon business in the office till late at night. So to write letters and home to bed. Troubled at my maid's being ill. 16th (Lord's day). This morning, till churches were done, I spent going from one church to another and hearing a bit here and a bit there. So to the Wardrobe to dinner with the young Ladies, and then into my Lady's chamber and talked with her a good while, and so walked to White Hall, an hour or two in the Park, which is now very pleasant. Here the King and Duke came to see their fowl play. The Duke took very civil notice of me. So walked home, calling at Tom's, giving him my resolution about my boy's livery. Here I spent an hour walking in the garden with Sir W. Pen, and then my wife and I thither to supper, where his son William is at home not well. But all things, I fear, do not go well with them; they look discontentedly, but I know not what ails them. Drinking of cold small beer here I fell ill, and was forced to go out and vomit, and so was well again and went home by and by to bed. Fearing that Sarah would continue ill, wife and I removed this night to our matted chamber and lay there. 17th. All the morning at the office by myself about setting things in order there, and so at noon to the Exchange to see and be seen, and so home to dinner and then to the office again till night, and then home and after supper and reading a while to bed. Last night the Blackmore pink [A "pink" was a form of vessel now obsolete, and had a very narrow stern. The "Blackmoor" was a sixth-rate of twelve guns, built at Chatham by Captain Tayler in 1656.] brought the three prisoners, Barkestead, Okey, and Corbet, to the Tower, being taken at Delfe in Holland; where, the Captain tells me, the Dutch were a good while before they could be persuaded to let them go, they being taken prisoners in their land. But Sir G. Downing would not be answered so: though all the world takes notice of him for a most ungrateful villain for his pains. 18th. All the morning at the office with Sir W. Pen. Dined at home, and Luellin and Blurton with me. After dinner to the office again, where Sir G. Carteret and we staid awhile, and then Sir W. Pen and I on board some of the ships now fitting for East Indys and Portugall, to see in what forwardness they are, and so back home again, and I write to my father by the post about Brampton Court, which is now coming on. But that which troubles me is that my Father has now got an ague that I fear may endanger his life. So to bed. 19th. All the morning and afternoon at my office putting things in order, and in the evening I do begin to digest my uncle the Captain's papers into one book, which I call my Brampton book, for the clearer understanding things how they are with us. So home and supper and to bed. This noon came a letter from T. Pepys, the turner, in answer to one of mine the other day to him, wherein I did cheque him for not coming to me, as he had promised, with his and his father's resolucion about the difference between us. But he writes to me in the very same slighting terms that I did to him, without the least respect at all, but word for word as I did him, which argues a high and noble spirit in him, though it troubles me a little that he should make no more of my anger, yet I cannot blame him for doing so, he being the elder brother's son, and not depending upon me at all. 20th. At my office all the morning, at noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and then all the afternoon at the office till late at night, and so home and to bed, my mind in good ease when I mind business, which methinks should be a good argument to me never to do otherwise. 21st. With Sir W. Batten by water to Whitehall, and he to Westminster. I went to see Sarah and my Lord's lodgings, which are now all in dirt, to be repaired against my Lord's coming from sea with the Queen. Thence to Westminster Hall; and there walked up and down and heard the great difference that hath been between my Lord Chancellor and my Lord of Bristol, about a proviso that my Lord Chancellor would have brought into the Bill for Conformity, that it shall be in the power of the King, when he sees fit, to dispense with the Act of Conformity; and though it be carried in the House of Lords, yet it is believed it will hardly pass in the Commons. Here I met with Chetwind, Parry, and several others, and went to a little house behind the Lords' house to drink some wormwood ale, which doubtless was a bawdy house, the mistress of the house having the look and dress: Here we staid till noon and then parted, I by water to the Wardrobe to meet my wife, but my Lady and they had dined, and so I dined with the servants, and then up to my Lady, and there staid and talked a good while, and then parted and walked into Cheapside, and there saw my little picture, for which I am to sit again the next week. So home, and staid late writing at my office, and so home and to bed, troubled that now my boy is also fallen sick of an ague we fear. 22nd. At the office all the morning. At noon Sir Williams both and I by water down to the Lewes, Captain Dekins, his ship, a merchantman, where we met the owners, Sir John Lewes and Alderman Lewes, and several other great merchants; among others one Jefferys, a merry man that is a fumbler, and he and I called brothers, and he made all the mirth in the company. We had a very fine dinner, and all our wives' healths, with seven or nine guns apiece; and exceeding merry we were, and so home by barge again, and I vexed to find Griffin leave the office door open, and had a design to have carried away the screw or the carpet in revenge to him, but at last I would not, but sent for him and chid him, and so to supper and to bed, having drank a great deal of wine. 23rd (Lord's day). This morning was brought me my boy's fine livery, which is very handsome, and I do think to keep to black and gold lace upon gray, being the colour of my arms, for ever. To church in the morning, and so home with Sir W. Batten, and there eat some boiled great oysters, and so home, and while I was at dinner with my wife I was sick, and was forced to vomit up my oysters again, and then I was well. By and by a coach came to call me by my appointment, and so my wife and I carried to Westminster to Mrs. Hunt's, and I to Whitehall, Worcester House, and to my Lord Treasurer's to have found Sir G. Carteret, but missed in all these places. So back to White Hall, and there met with Captn. Isham, this day come from Lisbon, with letters from the Queen to the King. And he did give me letters which speak that our fleet is all at Lisbon; [One of these letters was probably from John Creed. Mr. S. J. Davey, of 47, Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, in 1889 had in his possession nine long letters from Creed to Pepys. In the first of these, dated from Lisbon, March, 1662, Creed wrote: "My Lord Embassador doth all he can to hasten the Queen's Majestie's embarquement, there being reasons enough against suffering any unnecessary delay." There appear to have been considerable delays in the arrangements for the following declaration of Charles II. was dated June 22nd, 1661: "Charles R. Whereas his Maj. is resolved to declare, under his Royall hand and seale, the most illustrious Lady Infanta of Portugall to be his lawfull wife, before the Treaty shall be signed by the King of Portugall; which is to be done only for the better expediting the marriage, without sending to Rome for a dispensation, which the laws of Portugall would require if the said most Illustrious Infanta were to be betrothed in that Kingdome," &c.] and that the Queen do not intend to embarque sooner than tomorrow come fortnight. So having sent for my wife, she and I to my Lady Sandwich, and after a short visit away home. She home, and I to Sir G. Carteret's about business, and so home too, and Sarah having her fit we went to bed. 24th. Early Sir G. Carteret, both Sir Williams and I on board the Experiment, to dispatch her away, she being to carry things to the Madeiras with the East Indy fleet. Here (Sir W. Pen going to Deptford to send more hands) we staid till noon talking, and eating and drinking a good ham of English bacon, and having put things in very good order home, where I found Jane, my old maid, come out of the country, and I have a mind to have her again. By and by comes La Belle Pierce to see my wife, and to bring her a pair of peruques of hair, as the fashion now is for ladies to wear; which are pretty, and are of my wife's own hair, or else I should not endure them. After a good whiles stay, I went to see if any play was acted, and I found none upon the post, it being Passion week. So home again, and took water with them towards Westminster; but as we put off with the boat Griffin came after me to tell me that Sir G. Carteret and the rest were at the office, so I intended to see them through the bridge and come back again, but the tide being against us, when we were almost through we were carried back again with much danger, and Mrs. Pierce was much afeard and frightened. So I carried them to the other side and walked to the Beare, and sent them away, and so back again myself to the office, but finding nobody there I went again to the Old Swan, and thence by water to the New Exchange, and there found them, and thence by coach carried my wife to Bowes to buy something, and while they were there went to Westminster Hall, and there bought Mr. Grant's book of observations upon the weekly bills of mortality, which appear to me upon first sight to be very pretty. So back again and took my wife, calling at my brother Tom's, whom I found full of work, which I am glad of, and thence at the New Exchange and so home, and I to Sir W. Batten's, and supped there out of pure hunger and to save getting anything ready at home, which is a thing I do not nor shall not use to do. So home and to bed. 26th. Up early. This being, by God's great blessing, the fourth solemn day of my cutting for the stone this day four years, and am by God's mercy in very good health, and like to do well, the Lord's name be praised for it. To the office and Sir G. Carteret's all the morning about business. At noon come my good guests, Madame Turner, The., and Cozen Norton, and a gentleman, one Mr. Lewin of the King's Life-Guard; by the same token he told us of one of his fellows killed this morning in a duel. I had a pretty dinner for them, viz., a brace of stewed carps, six roasted chickens, and a jowl of salmon, hot, for the first course; a tanzy [Tansy (tanacetum), a herb from which puddings were made. Hence any pudding of the kind. Selden ("Table Talk") says: "Our tansies at Easter have reference to the bitter herbs." See in Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century" recipes for "an apple tansey," "a bean tansey," and "a gooseberry tansey."--M. B.] and two neats' tongues, and cheese the second; and were very merry all the afternoon, talking and singing and piping upon the flageolette. In the evening they went with great pleasure away, and I with great content and my wife walked half an hour in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. We had a man-cook to dress dinner to-day, and sent for Jane to help us, and my wife and she agreed at L3 a year (she would not serve under) till both could be better provided, and so she stays with us, and I hope we shall do well if poor Sarah were but rid of her ague. 27th. Early Sir G. Carteret, both Sir Williams and I by coach to Deptford, it being very windy and rainy weather, taking a codd and some prawnes in Fish Street with us. We settled to pay the Guernsey, a small ship, but come to a great deal of money, it having been unpaid ever since before the King came in, by which means not only the King pays wages while the ship has lain still, but the poor men have most of them been forced to borrow all the money due for their wages before they receive it, and that at a dear rate, God knows, so that many of them had very little to receive at the table, which grieved me to see it. To dinner, very merry. Then Sir George to London, and we again to the pay, and that done by coach home again and to the office, doing some business, and so home and to bed. 28th (Good Friday). At home all the morning, and dined with my wife, a good dinner. At my office all the afternoon. At night to my chamber to read and sing, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. At the office all the morning. Then to the Wardrobe, and there coming late dined with the people below. Then up to my Lady, and staid two hours talking with her about her family business with great content and confidence in me. So calling at several places I went home, where my people are getting the house clean against to-morrow. I to the office and wrote several letters by post, and so home and to bed. 30th (Easter day). Having my old black suit new furbished, I was pretty neat in clothes to-day, and my boy, his old suit new trimmed, very handsome. To church in the morning, and so home, leaving the two Sir Williams to take the Sacrament, which I blame myself that I have hitherto neglected all my life, but once or twice at Cambridge. [This does not accord with the certificate which Dr. Mines wrote in 1681, where he says that Pepys was a constant communicant. See Life of Pepys in vol. i.] Dined with my wife, a good shoulder of veal well dressed by Jane, and handsomely served to table, which pleased us much, and made us hope that she will serve our turn well enough. My wife and I to church in the afternoon, and seated ourselves, she below me, and by that means the precedence of the pew, which my Lady Batten and her daughter takes, is confounded; and after sermon she and I did stay behind them in the pew, and went out by ourselves a good while after them, which we judge a very fine project hereafter to avoyd contention. So my wife and I to walk an hour or two on the leads, which begins to be very pleasant, the garden being in good condition. So to supper, which is also well served in. We had a lobster to supper, with a crabb Pegg Pen sent my wife this afternoon, the reason of which we cannot think; but something there is of plot or design in it, for we have a little while carried ourselves pretty strange to them. After supper to bed. 31st. This morning Mr. Coventry and all our company met at the office about some business of the victualling, which being dispatched we parted. I to my Lord Crew's to dinner (in my way calling upon my brother Tom, with whom I staid a good while and talked, and find him a man like to do well, which contents me much), where used with much respect, and talking with him about my Lord's debts, and whether we should make use of an offer of Sir G. Carteret's to lend my Lady 4 or L500, he told me by no means, we must not oblige my Lord to him, and by the by he made a question whether it was not my Lord's interest a little to appear to the King in debt, and for people to clamor against him as well as others for their money, that by that means the King and the world may see that he do lay out for the King's honour upon his own main stock, which many he tells me do, that in fine if there be occasion he and I will be bound for it. Thence to Sir Thomas Crew's lodgings. He hath been ill, and continues so, under fits of apoplexy. Among other things, he and I did discourse much of Mr. Montagu's base doings, and the dishonour that he will do my Lord, as well as cheating him of 2 or L3,000, which is too true. Thence to the play, where coming late, and meeting with Sir W. Pen, who had got room for my wife and his daughter in the pit, he and I into one of the boxes, and there we sat and heard "The Little Thiefe," a pretty play and well done. Thence home, and walked in the garden with them, and then to the house to supper and sat late talking, and so to bed. APRIL 1662 April 1st. Within all the morning and at the office. At noon my wife and I (having paid our maid Nell her whole wages, who has been with me half a year, and now goes away for altogether) to the Wardrobe, where my Lady and company had almost dined. We sat down and dined. Here was Mr. Herbert, son to Sir Charles Herbert, that lately came with letters from my Lord Sandwich to the King. After some discourse we remembered one another to have been together at the tavern when Mr. Fanshaw took his leave of me at his going to Portugall with Sir Richard. After dinner he and I and the two young ladies and my wife to the playhouse, the Opera, and saw "The Mayde in the Mill," a pretty good play. In the middle of the play my Lady Paulina, who had taken physique this morning, had need to go forth, and so I took the poor lady out and carried her to the Grange, and there sent the maid of the house into a room to her, and she did what she had a mind to, and so back again to the play; and that being done, in their coach I took them to Islington, and then, after a walk in the fields, I took them to the great cheese-cake house and entertained them, and so home, and after an hour's stay with my Lady, their coach carried us home, and so weary to bed. 2nd. Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I walked to the Spittle an hour or two before my Lord Mayor and the blewcoat boys come, which at last they did, and a fine sight of charity it is indeed. We got places and staid to hear a sermon; but, it being a Presbyterian one, it was so long, that after above an hour of it we went away, and I home and dined; and then my wife and I by water to the Opera, and there saw "The Bondman" most excellently acted; and though we had seen it so often, yet I never liked it better than to-day, Ianthe acting Cleora's part very well now Roxalana is gone. We are resolved to see no more plays till Whitsuntide, we having been three days together. Met Mr. Sanchy, Smithes; Gale, and Edlin at the play, but having no great mind to spend money, I left them there. And so home and to supper, and then dispatch business, and so to bed. 3rd. At home and at the office all day. At night to bed. 4th. By barge Sir George, Sir Williams both and I to Deptford, and there fell to pay off the Drake and Hampshire, then to dinner, Sir George to his lady at his house, and Sir Wm. Pen to Woolwich, and Sir W. Batten and I to the tavern, where much company came to us and our dinner, and somewhat short by reason of their taking part away with them. Then to pay the rest of the Hampshire and the Paradox, and were at it till 9 at night, and so by night home by barge safe, and took Tom Hater with some that the clerks had to carry home along with us in the barge, the rest staying behind to pay tickets, but came home after us that night. So being come home, to bed. I was much troubled to-day to see a dead man lie floating upon the waters, and had done (they say) these four days, and nobody takes him up to bury him, which is very barbarous. 5th. At the office till almost noon, and then broke up. Then came Sir G. Carteret, and he and I walked together alone in the garden, taking notice of some faults in the office, particularly of Sir W. Batten's, and he seemed to be much pleased with me, and I hope will be the ground of a future interest of mine in him, which I shall be glad of. Then with my wife abroad, she to the Wardrobe and there dined, and I to the Exchange and so to the Wardrobe, but they had dined. After dinner my wife and the two ladies to see my aunt Wight, and thence met me at home. From thence (after Sir W. Batten and I had viewed our houses with a workman in order to the raising of our roofs higher to enlarge our houses) I went with them by coach first to Moorfields and there walked, and thence to Islington and had a fine walk in the fields there, and so, after eating and drinking, home with them, and so by water with my wife home, and after supper to bed. 6th (Lord's day). By water to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret, to give him an account of the backwardness of the ships we have hired to Portugall: at which he is much troubled. Thence to the Chappell, and there, though crowded, heard a very honest sermon before the King by a Canon of Christ Church, upon these words, "Having a form of godliness, but denying," &c. Among other things, did much insist upon the sin of adultery: which methought might touch the King, and the more because he forced it into his sermon, methinks, besides his text. So up and saw the King at dinner; and thence with Sir G. Carteret to his lodgings to dinner, with him and his lady, where I saluted her, and was well received as a stranger by her; she seems a good lady, and all their discourse, which was very much, was upon their sufferings and services for the King. Yet not without some trouble, to see that some that had been much bound to them, do now neglect them; and others again most civil that have received least from them: and I do believe that he hath been a good servant to the King. Thence to walk in the Park, where the King and Duke did walk round the Park. After I was tired I went and took boat to Milford stairs, and so to Graye's Inn walks, the first time I have been there this year, and it is very pleasant and full of good company. When tired I walked to the Wardrobe, and there staid a little with my Lady, and so by water from Paul's Wharf (where my boat staid for me), home and supped with my wife with Sir W. Pen, and so home and to bed. 7th. By water to Whitehall and thence to Westminster, and staid at the Parliament-door long to speak with Mr. Coventry, which vexed me. Thence to the Lords' House, and stood within the House, while the Bishops and Lords did stay till the Chancellor's coming, and then we were put out, and they to prayers. There comes a Bishop; and while he was rigging himself, he bid his man listen at the door, whereabout in the prayers they were but the man told him something, but could not tell whereabouts it was in the prayers, nor the Bishop neither, but laughed at the conceit; so went in: but, God forgive me! I did tell it by and by to people, and did say that the man said that they were about something of saving their souls, but could not tell whereabouts in the prayers that was. I sent in a note to my Lord Privy Seal, and he came out to me; and I desired he would make another deputy for me, because of my great business of the Navy this month; but he told me he could not do it without the King's consent, which vexed me. So to Dr. Castle's, and there did get a promise from his clerk that his master should officiate for me to-morrow. Thence by water to Tom's, and there with my wife took coach and to the old Exchange, where having bought six large Holland bands, I sent her home, and myself found out my uncle Wight and Mr. Rawlinson, and with them went to the tatter's house to dinner, and there had a good dinner of cold meat and good wine, but was troubled in my head after the little wine I drank, and so home to my office, and there did promise to drink no more wine but one glass a meal till Whitsuntide next upon any score. Mrs. Bowyer and her daughters being at my house I forbore to go to them, having business and my head disturbed, but staid at my office till night, and then to walk upon the leads with my wife, and so to my chamber and thence to bed. The great talk is, that the Spaniards and the Hollanders do intend to set upon the Portuguese by sea, at Lisbon, as soon as our fleet is come away; and by that means our fleet is not likely to come yet these two months or three; which I hope is not true. 8th. Up very early and to my office, and there continued till noon. So to dinner, and in comes uncle Fenner and the two Joyces. I sent for a barrel of oysters and a breast of veal roasted, and were very merry; but I cannot down with their dull company and impertinent. After dinner to the office again. So at night by coach to Whitehall, and Mr. Coventry not being there I brought my business of the office to him, it being almost dark, and so came away and took up my wife. By the way home and on Ludgate Hill there being a stop I bought two cakes, and they were our supper at home. 9th. Sir George Carteret, Sir Williams both and myself all the morning at the office passing the Victualler's accounts, and at noon to dinner at the Dolphin, where a good chine of beef and other good cheer. At dinner Sir George showed me an account in French of the great famine, which is to the greatest extremity in some part of France at this day, which is very strange. [On the 5th of June following, Louis, notwithstanding the scarcity, gave that splendid carousal in the court before the Tuileries, from which the place has ever since taken its name.--B.] So to the Exchange, Mrs. Turner (who I found sick in bed), and several other places about business, and so home. Supper and to bed. 10th. To Westminster with the two Sir Williams by water, and did several businesses, and so to the Wardrobe with Mr. Moore to dinner. Yesterday came Col. Talbot with letters from Portugall, that the Queen is resolved to embarque for England this week. Thence to the office all the afternoon. My Lord Windsor came to us to discourse of his affairs, and to take his leave of us; he being to go Governor of Jamaica with this fleet that is now going. Late at the office. Home with my mind full of business. So to bed. 11th. Up early to my lute and a song, then about six o'clock with Sir W. Pen by water to Deptford; and among the ships now going to Portugall with men and horse, to see them dispatched. So to Greenwich; and had a fine pleasant walk to Woolwich, having in our company Captn. Minnes, with whom I was much pleased to hear him talk in fine language, but pretty well for all that. Among other things, he and the other Captains that were with us tell me that negros drowned look white and lose their blackness, which I never heard before. At Woolwich, up and down to do the same business; and so back to Greenwich by water, and there while something is dressing for our dinner, Sir William and I walked into the Park, where the King hath planted trees and made steps in the hill up to the Castle, which is very magnificent. So up and down the house, which is now repayring in the Queen's lodgings. So to dinner at the Globe, and Captain Lambert of the Duke's pleasure boat came to us and dined with us, and were merry, and so home, and I in the evening to the Exchange, and spoke with uncle Wight, and so home and walked with my wife on the leads late, and so the barber came to me, and so to bed very weary, which I seldom am. 12th. At the office all the morning, where, among other things, being provoked by some impertinence of Sir W. Batten's, I called him unreasonable man, at which he was very angry and so was I, but I think we shall not much fall out about it. After dinner to several places about business, and so home and wrote letters at my office, and one to Mr. Coventry about business, and at the close did excuse my not waiting on him myself so often as others do for want of leisure. So home and to bed. 13th (Lord's day). In the morning to Paul's, where I heard a pretty good sermon, and thence to dinner with my Lady at the Wardrobe; and after much talk with her after dinner, I went to the Temple to Church, and there heard another: by the same token a boy, being asleep, fell down a high seat to the ground, ready to break his neck, but got no hurt. Thence to Graye's Inn walkes; and there met Mr. Pickering and walked with him two hours till 8 o'clock till I was quite weary. His discourse most about the pride of the Duchess of York; and how all the ladies envy my Lady Castlemaine. He intends to go to Portsmouth to meet the Queen this week; which is now the discourse and expectation of the town. So home, and no sooner come but Sir W. Warren comes to me to bring me a paper of Field's (with whom we have lately had a great deal of trouble at the office), being a bitter petition to the King against our office for not doing justice upon his complaint to us of embezzlement of the King's stores by one Turpin. I took Sir William to Sir W. Pen's (who was newly come from Walthamstow), and there we read it and discoursed, but we do not much fear it, the King referring it to the Duke of York. So we drank a glass or two of wine, and so home and I to bed, my wife being in bed already. 14th. Being weary last night I lay very long in bed to-day, talking with my wife, and persuaded her to go to Brampton, and take Sarah with her, next week, to cure her ague by change of ayre, and we agreed all things therein. We rose, and at noon dined, and then we to the Paynter's, and there sat the last time for my little picture, which I hope will please me. Then to Paternoster Row to buy things for my wife against her going. So home and walked upon the leads with my wife, and whether she suspected anything or no I know not, but she is quite off of her going to Brampton, which something troubles me, and yet all my design was that I might the freer go to Portsmouth when the rest go to pay off the yards there, which will be very shortly. But I will get off if I can. So to supper and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning. Dined at home. Again at the office in the afternoon to despatch letters and so home, and with my wife, by coach, to the New Exchange, to buy her some things; where we saw some new-fashion pettycoats of sarcenett, with a black broad lace printed round the bottom and before, very handsome, and my wife had a mind to one of them, but we did not then buy one. But thence to Mr. Bowyer's, thinking to have spoke to them for our Sarah to go to Huntsmore for a while to get away her ague, but we had not opportunity to do it, and so home and to bed. 16th. Up early and took my physique; it wrought all the morning well. At noon dined, and all the afternoon, Mr. Hater to that end coming to me, he and I did go about my abstracting all the contracts made in the office since we came into it. So at night to bed. 17th. To Mr. Holliard's in the morning, thinking to be let blood, but he was gone out. So to White Hall, thinking to have had a Seal at Privy Seal, but my Lord did not come, and so I walked back home and staid within all the afternoon, there being no office kept to-day, but in the evening Sir W. Batten sent for me to tell me that he had this day spoke to the Duke about raising our houses, and he hath given us leave to do it, at which, being glad, I went home merry, and after supper to bed. 18th. This morning sending the boy down into the cellar for some beer I followed him with a cane, and did there beat him for his staying of awards and other faults, and his sister came to me down and begged for him. So I forebore, and afterwards, in my wife's chamber, did there talk to Jane how much I did love the boy for her sake, and how much it do concern to correct the boy for his faults, or else he would be undone. So at last she was well pleased. This morning Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten and I met at the office, and did conclude of our going to Portsmouth next week, in which my mind is at a great loss what to do with my wife, for I cannot persuade her to go to Brampton, and I am loth to leave her at, home. All the afternoon in several places to put things in order for my going. At night home and to bed. 19th. This morning, before we sat, I went to Aldgate; and at the corner shop, a draper's, I stood, and did see Barkestead, Okey, and Corbet, drawn towards the gallows at Tiburne; and there they were hanged and quartered. They all looked very cheerful; but I hear they all die defending what they did to the King to be just; which is very strange. So to the office and then home to dinner, and Captain David Lambert came to take his leave of me, he being to go back to Tangier there to lie. Then abroad about business, and in the evening did get a bever, an old one, but a very good one, of Sir W. Batten, for which I must give him something; but I am very well pleased with it. So after writing by the post to bed. 20th (Lord's day). My intention being to go this morning to White Hall to hear South, my Lord Chancellor's chaplain, the famous preacher and oratour of Oxford, (who the last Lord's day did sink down in the pulpit before the King, and could not proceed,) it did rain, and the wind against me, that I could by no means get a boat or coach to carry me; and so I staid at Paul's, where the judges did all meet, and heard a sermon, it being the first Sunday of the term; but they had a very poor sermon. So to my Lady's and dined, and so to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, and so to the Chappell, where I challenged my pew as Clerk of the Privy Seal and had it, and then walked home with Mr. Blagrave to his old house in the Fishyard, and there he had a pretty kinswoman that sings, and we did sing some holy things, and afterwards others came in and so I left them, and by water through the bridge (which did trouble me) home, and so to bed. 21st: This morning I attempted to persuade my wife in bed to go to Brampton this week, but she would not, which troubles me, and seeing that I could keep it no longer from her, I told her that I was resolved to go to Portsmouth to-morrow. Sir W. Batten goes to Chatham to-day, and will be back again to come for Portsmouth after us on Thursday next. I went to Westminster and several places about business. Then at noon dined with my Lord Crew; and after dinner went up to Sir Thos. Crew's chamber, who is still ill. He tells me how my Lady Duchess of Richmond and Castlemaine had a falling out the other day; and she calls the latter Jane Shore, and did hope to see her come to the same end that she did. Coming down again to my Lord, he told me that news was come that the Queen is landed; at which I took leave, and by coach hurried to White Hall, the bells ringing in several places; but I found there no such matter, nor anything like it. So I went by appointment to Anthony Joyce's, where I sat with his wife and Matt. Joyce an hour or two, and so her husband not being at home, away I went and in Cheapside spied him and took him into the coach. Home, and there I found my Lady Jemimah, and Anne, and Madamoiselle come to see my wife, whom I left, and to talk with Joyce about a project I have of his and my joyning, to get some money for my brother Tom and his kinswoman to help forward with her portion if they should marry. I mean in buying of tallow of him at a low rate for the King, and Tom should have the profit; but he tells me the profit will be considerable, at which I was troubled, but I have agreed with him to serve some in my absence. He went away, and then came Mr. Moore and sat late with me talking about business, and so went away and I to bed. 22nd. After taking leave of my wife, which we could hardly do kindly, because of her mind to go along with me, Sir W. Pen and I took coach and so over the bridge to Lambeth, W. Bodham and Tom Hewet going as clerks to Sir W. Pen, and my Will for me. Here we got a dish of buttered eggs, and there staid till Sir G. Carteret came to us from White Hall, who brought Dr. Clerke with him, at which I was very glad, and so we set out, and I was very much pleased with his company, and were very merry all the way .... We came to Gilford and there passed our time in the garden, cutting of sparagus for supper, the best that ever I eat in my life but in the house last year. Supped well, and the Doctor and I to bed together, calling cozens from his name and my office. 23d. Up early, and to Petersfield, and there dined well; and thence got a countryman to guide us by Havant, to avoid going through the Forest; but he carried us much out of the way, and upon our coming we sent away an express to Sir W. Batten to stop his coming, which I did project to make good my oath, that my wife should come if any of our wives came, which my Lady Batten did intend to do with her husband. The Doctor and I lay together at Wiard's, the chyrurgeon's, in Portsmouth, his wife a very pretty woman. We lay very well and merrily; in the morning, concluding him to be of the eldest blood and house of the Clerkes, because that all the fleas came to him and not to me. 24th. Up and to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings at Mrs. Stephens's, where we keep our table all the time we are here. Thence all of us to the Pay-house; but the books not being ready, we went to church to the lecture, where there was my Lord Ormond and Manchester, and much London company, though not so much as I expected. Here we had a very good sermon upon this text: "In love serving one another;" which pleased me very well. No news of the Queen at all. So to dinner; and then to the Pay all the afternoon. Then W. Pen and I walked to the King's Yard, and there lay at Mr. Tippets's, where exceeding well treated. 25th. All the morning at Portsmouth, at the Pay, and then to dinner, and again to the Pay; and at night got the Doctor to go lie with me, and much pleased with his company; but I was much troubled in my eyes, by reason of the healths I have this day been forced to drink. 26th. Sir George' and I, and his clerk Mr. Stephens, and Mr. Holt our guide, over to Gosport; and so rode to Southampton. In our way, besides my Lord Southampton's' parks and lands, which in one view we could see L6,000 per annum, we observed a little church-yard, where the graves are accustomed to be all sowed with sage. [Gough says, "It is the custom at this day all over Wales to strew the graves, both within and without the church, with green herbs, branches of box, flowers, rushes, and flags, for one year, after which such as can afford it lay down a stone."--Brand's Popular Antiquities, edited W. C. Hazlitt, vol. ii., p. 218.] At Southampton we went to the Mayor's and there dined, and had sturgeon of their own catching the last week, which do not happen in twenty years, and it was well ordered. They brought us also some caveare, which I attempted to order, but all to no purpose, for they had neither given it salt enough, nor are the seedes of the roe broke, but are all in berryes. The towne is one most gallant street, and is walled round with stone, &c., and Bevis's picture upon one of the gates; many old walls of religious houses, and the key, well worth seeing. After dinner to horse again, being in nothing troubled but the badness of my hat, which I borrowed to save my beaver. Home by night and wrote letters to London, and so with Sir W. Pen to the Dock to bed. 27th (Sunday). Sir W. Pen got trimmed before me, and so took the coach to Portsmouth to wait on my Lord Steward to church, and sent the coach for me back again. So I rode to church, and met my Lord Chamberlain upon the walls of the garrison, who owned and spoke to me. I followed him in the crowd of gallants through the Queen's lodgings to chappell; the rooms being all rarely furnished, and escaped hardly being set on fire yesterday. At chappell we had a most excellent and eloquent sermon. And here I spoke and saluted Mrs. Pierce, but being in haste could not learn of her where her lodgings are, which vexes me. Thence took Ned Pickering to dinner with us, and the two Marshes, father and Son, dined with us, and very merry. After dinner Sir W. Batten and I, the Doctor, and Ned Pickering by coach to the Yard, and there on board the Swallow in the dock hear our navy chaplain preach a sad sermon, full of nonsense and false Latin; but prayed for the Right Honourable the principal officers. [Principal officers of the navy, of which body Pepys was one as Clerk of the Acts.] After sermon took him to Mr. Tippets's to drink a glass of wine, and so at 4 back again by coach to Portsmouth, and then visited the Mayor, Mr. Timbrell, our anchor-smith, who showed us the present they have for the Queen; which is a salt-sellar of silver, the walls christall, with four eagles and four greyhounds standing up at the top to bear up a dish; which indeed is one of the neatest pieces of plate that ever I saw, and the case is very pretty also. [A salt-cellar answering this description is preserved at the Tower.] This evening came a merchantman in the harbour, which we hired at London to carry horses to Portugall; but, Lord! what running there was to the seaside to hear what news, thinking it had come from the Queen. In the evening Sir George, Sir W. Pen and I walked round the walls, and thence we two with the Doctor to the yard, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. The Doctor and I begun philosophy discourse exceeding pleasant. He offers to bring me into the college of virtuosoes--[The Royal Society.]--and my Lord Brouncker's acquaintance, and to show me some anatomy, which makes me very glad; and I shall endeavour it when I come to London. Sir W. Pen much troubled upon letters came last night. Showed me one of Dr. Owen's [John Owen, D.D., a learned Nonconformist divine, and a voluminous theological writer, born 1616, made Dean of Christ Church in 1653 by the Parliament, and ejected in 1659-60. He died at Ealing in 1683.] to his son,--[William Penn, the celebrated Quaker.]--whereby it appears his son is much perverted in his opinion by him; which I now perceive is one thing that hath put Sir William so long off the hooks. By coach to the Pay-house, and so to work again, and then to dinner, and to it again, and so in the evening to the yard, and supper and bed. 29th. At the pay all the morning, and so to dinner; and then to it again in the afternoon, and after our work was done, Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen and I walked forth, and I spied Mrs. Pierce and another lady passing by. So I left them and went to the ladies, and walked with them up and down, and took them to Mrs. Stephens, and there gave them wine and sweetmeats, and were very merry; and then comes the Doctor, and we carried them by coach to their lodging, which was very poor, but the best they could get, and such as made much mirth among us. So I appointed one to watch when the gates of the town were ready to be shut, and to give us notice; and so the Doctor and I staid with them playing and laughing, and at last were forced to bid good night for fear of being locked into the town all night. So we walked to the yard, designing how to prevent our going to London tomorrow, that we might be merry with these ladies, which I did. So to supper and merrily to bed. 30th. This morning Sir G. Carteret came down to the yard, and there we mustered over all the men and determined of some regulations in the yard, and then to dinner, all the officers of the yard with us, and after dinner walk to Portsmouth, there to pay off the Success, which we did pretty early, and so I took leave of Sir W. Pen, he desiring to know whither I went, but I would not tell him. I went to the ladies, and there took them and walked to the Mayor's to show them the present, and then to the Dock, where Mr. Tippets made much of them, and thence back again, the Doctor being come to us to their lodgings, whither came our supper by my appointment, and we very merry, playing at cards and laughing very merry till 12 o'clock at night, and so having staid so long (which we had resolved to stay till they bade us be gone), which yet they did not do but by consent, we bade them good night, and so past the guards, and went to the Doctor's lodgings, and there lay with him, our discourse being much about the quality of the lady with Mrs. Pierce, she being somewhat old and handsome, and painted and fine, and had a very handsome maid with her, which we take to be the marks of a bawd. But Mrs. Pierce says she is a stranger to her and met by chance in the coach, and pretends to be a dresser. Her name is Eastwood. So to sleep in a bad bed about one o'clock in the morning. This afternoon after dinner comes Mr. Stephenson, one of the burgesses of the town, to tell me that the Mayor and burgesses did desire my acceptance of a burgess-ship, and were ready at the Mayor's to make me one. So I went, and there they were all ready, and did with much civility give me my oath, and after the oath, did by custom shake me all by the hand. So I took them to a tavern and made them drink, and paying the reckoning, went away. They having first in the tavern made Mr. Waith also a burgess, he coming in while we were drinking. It cost me a piece in gold to the Town Clerk, and 10s. to the Bayliffes, and spent 6s. MAY 1662 May 1st. Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Pen, and myself, with our clerks, set out this morning from Portsmouth very early, and got by noon to Petersfield; several officers of the Yard accompanying us so far. Here we dined and were merry. At dinner comes my Lord Carlingford from London, going to Portsmouth: tells us that the Duchess of York is brought to bed of a girl,--[Mary, afterwards Queen of England.]--at which I find nobody pleased; and that Prince Rupert and the Duke of Buckingham are sworn of the Privy Councell. He himself made a dish with eggs of the butter of the Sparagus, which is very fine meat, which I will practise hereafter. To horse again after dinner, and got to Gilford, where after supper I to bed, having this day been offended by Sir W. Pen's foolish talk, and I offending him with my answers. Among others he in discourse complaining of want of confidence, did ask me to lend him a grain or two, which I told him I thought he was better stored with than myself, before Sir George. So that I see I must keep a greater distance than I have done, and I hope I may do it because of the interest which I am making with Sir George. To bed all alone, and my Will in the truckle bed. [According to the original Statutes of Corpus Christi Coll. Oxon, a Scholar slept in a truckle bed below each Fellow. Called also "a trindle bed." Compare Hall's description of an obsequious tutor: "He lieth in a truckle bed While his young master lieth o'er his head." Satires, ii. 6, 5. The bed was drawn in the daytime under the high bed of the tutor. See Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century."--M. B.] 2nd. Early to coach again and to Kingston, where we baited a little, and presently to coach again and got early to London, and I found all well at home, and Mr. Hunt and his wife had dined with my wife to-day, and been very kind to my wife in my absence. After I had washed myself, it having been the hottest day that has been this year, I took them all by coach to Mrs. Hunt's, and I to Dr. Clerke's lady, and gave her her letter and token. She is a very fine woman, and what with her person and the number of fine ladies that were with her, I was much out of countenance, and could hardly carry myself like a man among them; but however, I staid till my courage was up again, and talked to them, and viewed her house, which is most pleasant, and so drank and good-night. And so to my Lord's lodgings, where by chance I spied my Lady's coach, and found her and my Lady Wright there, and so I spoke to them, and they being gone went to Mr. Hunt's for my wife, and so home and to bed. 3rd. Sir W. Pen and I by coach to St. James's, and there to the Duke's Chamber, who had been a-hunting this morning and is come back again. Thence to Westminster, where I met Mr. Moore, and hear that Mr. Watkins' is suddenly dead since my going. To dinner to my Lady Sandwich, and Sir Thomas Crew's children coming thither, I took them and all my Ladys to the Tower and showed them the lions [The Tower Menagerie was not abolished until the reign of William IV.] and all that was to be shown, and so took them to my house, and there made much of them, and so saw them back to my Lady's. Sir Thomas Crew's children being as pretty and the best behaved that ever I saw of their age. Thence, at the goldsmith's, took my picture in little,--[Miniature by Savill]--which is now done, home with me, and pleases me exceedingly and my wife. So to supper and to bed, it being exceeding hot. 4th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with my wife, then Mr. Holliard came to me and let me blood, about sixteen ounces, I being exceedingly full of blood and very good. I begun to be sick; but lying upon my back I was presently well again, and did give him 5s. for his pains, and so we parted, and I, to my chamber to write down my journall from the beginning of my late journey to this house. Dined well, and after dinner, my arm tied up with a black ribbon, I walked with my wife to my brother Tom's; our boy waiting on us with his sword, which this day he begins to wear, to outdo Sir W. Pen's boy, who this day, and Six W. Batten's too, begin to wear new livery; but I do take mine to be the neatest of them all. I led my wife to Mrs. Turner's pew, and the church being full, it being to hear a Doctor who is to preach a probacon sermon, I went out to the Temple and there walked, and so when church was done went to Mrs. Turner's, and after a stay there, my wife and I walked to Grays Inn, to observe fashions of the ladies, because of my wife's making some clothes. Thence homewards, and called in at Antony Joyce's, where we found his wife brought home sick from church, and was in a convulsion fit. So home and to Sir W. Pen's and there supped, and so to prayers at home and to bed. 5th. My arme not being well, I staid within all the morning, and dined alone at home, my wife being gone out to buy some things for herself, and a gown for me to dress myself in. And so all the afternoon looking over my papers, and at night walked upon the leads, and so to bed. 6th. This morning I got my seat set up on the leads, which pleases me well. So to the office, and thence to the Change, but could not meet with my uncle Wight. So home to dinner and then out again to several places to pay money and to understand my debts, and so home and walked with my wife on the leads, and so to supper and to bed. I find it a hard matter to settle to business after so much leisure and pleasure. 7th. Walked to Westminster; where I understand the news that Mr. Montagu is this last night come to the King with news, that he left the Queen and fleet in the Bay of Biscay, coming this wayward; and that he believes she is now at the Isle of Scilly. So at noon to my Lord Crew's and there dined, and after dinner Sir Thos. Crew and I talked together, and among other instances of the simple light discourse that sometimes is in the Parliament House, he told me how in the late business of Chymny money, when all occupiers were to pay, it was questioned whether women were under that name to pay, and somebody rose and said that they were not occupiers, but occupied. Thence to Paul's Church Yard; where seeing my Lady's Sandwich and Carteret, and my wife (who this day made a visit the first time to my Lady Carteret), come by coach, and going to Hide Park, I was resolved to follow them; and so went to Mrs. Turner's: and thence found her out at the Theatre, where I saw the last act of the "Knight of the Burning Pestle," which pleased me not at all. And so after the play done, she and The. Turner and Mrs. Lucin and I, in her coach to the Park; and there found them out, and spoke to them; and observed many fine ladies, and staid till all were gone almost. And so to Mrs. Turner's, and there supped, and so walked home, and by and by comes my wife home, brought by my Lady Carteret to the gate, and so to bed. 8th. At the office all the morning doing business alone, and then to the Wardrobe, where my Lady going out with the children to dinner I staid not, but returned home, and was overtaken in St. Paul's Churchyard by Sir G. Carteret in his coach, and so he carried me to the Exchange, where I staid awhile. He told me that the Queen and the fleet were in Mount's Bay on Monday last, and that the Queen endures her sickness pretty well. He also told me how Sir John Lawson hath done some execution upon the Turks in the Straight, of which I am glad, and told the news the first on the Exchange, and was much followed by merchants to tell it. So home and to dinner, and by and by to the office, and after the rest gone (my Lady Albemarle being this day at dinner at Sir W. Batten's) Sir G. Carteret comes, and he and I walked in the garden, and, among other discourse, tells me that it is Mr. Coventry that is to come to us as a Commissioner of the Navy; at which he is much vexed, and cries out upon Sir W. Pen, and threatens him highly. And looking upon his lodgings, which are now enlarging, he in passion cried, "Guarda mi spada; for, by God, I may chance to keep him in Ireland, when he is there:" for Sir W. Pen is going thither with my Lord Lieutenant. But it is my design to keep much in with Sir George; and I think I have begun very well towards it. So to the office, and was there late doing business, and so with my head full of business I to bed. 9th. Up and to my office, and so to dinner at home, and then to several places to pay my debts, and then to Westminster to Dr. Castle, who discoursed with me about Privy Seal business, which I do not much mind, it being little worth, but by Watkins's--[clerk of the Privy Seal]--late sudden death we are like to lose money. Thence to Mr. de Cretz, and there saw some good pieces that he hath copyed of the King's pieces, some of Raphael and Michael Angelo; and I have borrowed an Elizabeth of his copying to hang up in my house, and sent it home by Will. Thence with Mr. Salisbury, who I met there, into Covent Garden to an alehouse, to see a picture that hangs there, which is offered for 20s., and I offered fourteen--but it is worth much more money--but did not buy it, I having no mind to break my oath. Thence to see an Italian puppet play that is within the rayles there, which is very pretty, the best that ever I saw, and great resort of gallants. So to the Temple and by water home, and so walk upon the leads, and in the dark there played upon my flageolette, it being a fine still evening, and so to supper and to bed. This day I paid Godfrey's debt of 40 and odd pounds. The Duke of York went last night to Portsmouth; so that I believe the Queen is near. 10th. By myself at the office all the morning drawing up instructions for Portsmouth yard in those things wherein we at our late being there did think fit to reform, and got them signed this morning to send away to-night, the Duke being now there. At noon to the Wardrobe; there dined. My Lady told me how my Lady Castlemaine do speak of going to lie in at Hampton Court; which she and all our ladies are much troubled at, because of the King's being forced to show her countenance in the sight of the Queen when she comes. Back to the office and there all afternoon, and in the evening comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I did hire a ship for Tangier, and other things together; and I find that he do single me out to join with me apart from the rest, which I am much glad of. So home, and after being trimmed, to bed. 11th (Lord's day). To our church in the morning, where, our Minister being out of town, a dull, flat Presbiter preached. Dined at home, and my wife's brother with us, we having a good dish of stewed beef of Jane's own dressing, which was well done, and a piece of sturgeon of a barrel sent me by Captain Cocke. In the afternoon to White Hall; and there walked an hour or two in the Park, where I saw the King now out of mourning, in a suit laced with gold and silver, which it was said was out of fashion. Thence to the Wardrobe; and there consulted with the ladies about our going to Hampton Court to-morrow, and thence home, and after settled business there my wife and I to the Wardrobe, and there we lay all night in Captain Ferrers' chambers, but the bed so soft that I could not sleep that hot night. 12th. Mr. Townsend called us up by four o'clock; and by five the three ladies, my wife and I, and Mr. Townsend, his son and daughter, were got to the barge and set out. We walked from Mortlake to Richmond, and so to boat again. And from Teddington to Hampton Court Mr. Townsend and I walked again. And then met the ladies, and were showed the whole house by Mr. Marriott; which is indeed nobly furnished, particularly the Queen's bed, given her by the States of Holland; a looking-glass sent by the Queen-mother from France, hanging in the Queen's chamber, and many brave pictures. So to Mr. Marriott's, and there we rested ourselves and drank. And so to barge again, and there we had good victuals and wine, and were very merry; and got home about eight at night very well. So my wife and I took leave of my Ladies, and home by a hackney-coach, the easiest that ever I met with, and so to bed. 14th. All the morning at Westminster and elsewhere about business, and dined at the Wardrobe; and after dinner, sat talking an hour or two alone with my Lady. She is afeard that my Lady Castlemaine will keep still with the King, and I am afeard she will not, for I love her well. Thence to my brother's, and finding him in a lie about the lining of my new morning gown, saying that it was the same with the outside, I was very angry with him and parted so. So home after an hour stay at Paul's Churchyard, and there came Mr. Morelock of Chatham, and brought me a stately cake, and I perceive he has done the same to the rest, of which I was glad; so to bed. 15th. To Westminster; and at the Privy Seal I saw Mr. Coventry's seal for his being Commissioner with us, at which I know not yet whether to be glad or otherwise. So doing several things by the way, I walked home, and after dinner to the office all the afternoon. At night, all the bells of the town rung, and bonfires made for the joy of the Queen's arrival, who came and landed at Portsmouth last night. But I do not see much thorough joy, but only an indifferent one, in the hearts of people, who are much discontented at the pride and luxury of the Court, and running in debt. 16th. Up early, Mr. Hater and I to the office, and there I made an end of my book of contracts which I have been making an abstract of. Dined at home, and spent most of the day at the office. At night to supper and bed. 17th. Upon a letter this morning from Mr. Moore, I went to my cozen Turner's chamber, and there put him drawing a replication to Tom Trice's answer speedily. So to Whitehall and there met Mr. Moore, and I walked long in Westminster Hall, and thence with him to the Wardrobe to dinner, where dined Mrs. Sanderson, the mother of the maids, and after dinner my Lady and she and I on foot to Pater Noster Row to buy a petticoat against the Queen's coming for my Lady, of plain satin, and other things; and being come back again, we there met Mr. Nathaniel Crew [Nathaniel Crew, born 1633, fifth son of John, first Lord Crew; he himself became third Lord Crew in 1697. Sub-Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford, 1659. Took orders in 1664, and was Rector of Lincoln College in 1668; Dean of Chichester, 1669; Bishop of Oxford, 1671; Bishop of Durham, 1674; sworn of the Privy Council in 1676. He was very subservient to James II., and at the Revolution was excepted from the general pardon of May, 1690, but he was allowed to keep possession of the bishopric of Durham.] at the Wardrobe with a young gentleman, a friend and fellow student of his, and of a good family, Mr. Knightly, and known to the Crews, of whom my Lady privately told me she hath some thoughts of a match for my Lady Jemimah. I like the person very well, and he hath L2000 per annum. Thence to the office, and there we sat, and thence after writing letters to all my friends with my Lord at Portsmouth, I walked to my brother Tom's to see a velvet cloak, which I buy of Mr. Moore. It will cost me L8 10s.; he bought it for L6 10s., but it is worth my money. So home and find all things made clean against to-morrow, which pleases me well. So to bed. 18th (Whitsunday). By water to White Hall, and thereto chappell in my pew belonging to me as Clerk of the Privy Seal; and there I heard a most excellent sermon of Dr. Hacket, Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, upon these words: "He that drinketh this water shall never thirst." We had an excellent anthem, sung by Captain Cooke and another, and brave musique. And then the King came down and offered, and took the sacrament upon his knees; a sight very well worth seeing. Hence with Sir G. Carteret to his lodging to dinner with his Lady and one Mr. Brevin, a French Divine, we were very merry, and good discourse, and I had much talk with my Lady. After dinner, and so to chappell again; and there had another good anthem of Captain Cooke's. Thence to the Councell-chamber; where the King and Councell sat till almost eleven o'clock at night, and I forced to walk up and down the gallerys till that time of night. They were reading all the bills over that are to pass to-morrow at the House, before the King's going out of town and proroguing the House. At last the Councell risen, and Sir G. Carteret telling me what the Councell hath ordered about the ships designed to carry horse from Ireland to Portugall, which is now altered. I got a coach and so home, sending the boat away without me. At home I found my wife discontented at my being abroad, but I pleased her. She was in her new suit of black sarcenet and yellow petticoat very pretty. So to bed. 19th. Long in bed, sometimes scolding with my wife, and then pleased again, and at last up, and put on my riding cloth suit, and a camelott coat new, which pleases me well enough. To the Temple about my replication, and so to my brother Tom's, and there hear that my father will be in town this week. So home, the shops being but some shut and some open. I hear that the House of Commons do think much that they should be forced to huddle over business this morning against the afternoon, for the King to pass their Acts, that he may go out of town. [To ears accustomed to the official words of speeches from the throne at the present day, the familiar tone of the following extracts from Charles's speech to the Commons, on the 1st of March; will be amusing: "I will conclude with putting you in mind of the season of the year, and the convenience of your being in the country, in many respects, for the good and welfare of it; for you will find much tares have been sowed there in your absence. The arrival of my wife, who I expect some time this month, and the necessity of my own being out of town to meet her, and to stay some time before she comes hither, makes it very necessary that the Parliament be adjourned before Easter, to meet again in the winter. .... The mention of my wife's arrival puts me in mind to desire you to put that compliment upon her, that her entrance into the town may be with more decency than the ways will now suffer it to be; and, to that purpose, I pray you would quickly pass such laws as are before you, in order to the amending those ways, and that she may not find Whitehall surrounded with water." Such a bill passed the Commons on the 24th June. From Charles's Speech, March 1st, 1662.--B.] But he, I hear since, was forced to stay till almost nine o'clock at night before he could have done, and then he prorogued them; and so to Gilford, and lay there. Home, and Mr. Hunt dined with me, and were merry. After dinner Sir W. Pen and his daughter, and I and my wife by coach to the Theatre, and there in a box saw "The Little Thief" well done. Thence to Moorefields, and walked and eat some cheesecake and gammon of bacon, but when I was come home I was sick, forced to vomit it up again. So my wife walking and singing upon the leads till very late, it being pleasant and moonshine, and so to bed. 10th. Sir W. Pen and I did a little business at the office, and so home again. Then comes Dean Fuller after we had dined, but I got something for him, and very merry we were for an hour or two, and I am most pleased with his company and goodness. At last parted, and my wife and I by coach to the Opera, and there saw the 2nd part of "The Siege of Rhodes," but it is not so well done as when Roxalana was there, who, it is said, is now owned by my Lord of Oxford. [For note on Mrs. Davenport, who was deceived by a pretended marriage with the Earl of Oxford, see ante. Lord Oxford's first wife died in 1659. He married, in 1672, his second wife, Diana Kirke, of whom nothing more need be said than that she bore an inappropriate Christian name.] Thence to Tower-wharf, and there took boat, and we all walked to Halfeway House, and there eat and drank, and were pleasant, and so finally home again in the evening, end so good night, this being a very pleasant life that we now lead, and have long done; the Lord be blessed, and make us thankful. But, though I am much against too much spending, yet I do think it best to enjoy some degree of pleasure now that we have health, money, and opportunity, rather than to leave pleasures to old age or poverty, when we cannot have them so properly. 21st. My wife and I by water to Westminster, and after she had seen her father (of whom lately I have heard nothing at all what he does or her mother), she comes to me to my Lord's lodgings, where she and I staid walking in White Hall garden. And in the Privy-garden saw the finest smocks and linnen petticoats of my Lady Castlemaine's, laced with rich lace at the bottom, that ever I saw; and did me good to look upon them. So to Wilkinson's, she and I and Sarah to dinner, where I had a good quarter of lamb and a salat. Here Sarah told me how the King dined at my Lady Castlemaine's, and supped, every day and night the last week; and that the night that the bonfires were made for joy of the Queen's arrivall, the King was there; but there was no fire at her door, though at all the rest of the doors almost in the street; which was much observed: and that the King and she did send for a pair of scales and weighed one another; and she, being with child, was said to be heaviest. But she is now a most disconsolate creature, and comes not out of doors, since the King's going. But we went to the Theatre to "The French Dancing Master," and there with much pleasure gazed upon her (Lady Castlemaine); but it troubles us to see her look dejectedly and slighted by people already. The play pleased us very well; but Lacy's part, the Dancing Master, the best in the world. Thence to my brother Tom's, in expectation to have met my father to-night come out of the country, but he is not yet come, but here we found my uncle Fenner and his old wife, whom I had not seen since the wedding dinner, nor care to see her. They being gone, my wife and I went and saw Mrs. Turner, whom we found not well, and her two boys Charles and Will come out of the country, grown very plain boys after three years being under their father's care in Yorkshire. Thence to Tom's again, and there supped well, my she cozen Scott being there and my father being not come, we walked home and to bed. 22d. This morning comes an order from the Secretary of State, Nicholas, for me to let one Mr. Lee, a Councellor, to view what papers I have relating to passages of the late times, wherein Sir H. Vane's hand is employed, in order to the drawing up his charge; which I did, and at noon he, with Sir W. Pen and his daughter, dined with me, and he to his work again, and we by coach to the Theatre and saw "Love in a Maze." The play hath little in it but Lacy's part of a country fellow, which he did to admiration. So home, and supped with Sir W. Pen, where Sir W. Batten and Captn. Cocke came to us, to whom I have lately been a great stranger. This night we had each of us a letter from Captain Teddiman from the Streights, of a peace made upon good terms, by Sir J. Lawson, with the Argier men, which is most excellent news? He hath also sent each of us some anchovies, olives, and muscatt; but I know not yet what that is, and am ashamed to ask. After supper home, and to bed, resolving to make up this week in seeing plays and pleasure, and so fall to business next week again for a great while. 23rd. At the office good part of the morning, and then about noon with my wife on foot to the Wardrobe. My wife went up to the dining room to my Lady Paulina, and I staid below talking with Mr. Moore in the parley, reading of the King's and Chancellor's late speeches at the proroguing of the Houses of Parliament. And while I was reading, news was brought me that my Lord Sandwich is come and gone up to my Lady, which put me into great suspense of joy, so I went up waiting my Lord's coming out of my Lady's chamber, which by and by he did, and looks very well, and my soul is glad to see him. He very merry, and hath left the King and Queen at Portsmouth, and is come up to stay here till next Wednesday, and then to meet the King and Queen at Hampton Court. So to dinner, Mr. Browne, Clerk of the House of Lords, and his wife and brother there also; and my Lord mighty merry; among other things, saying that the Queen is a very agreeable lady, and paints still. After dinner I showed him my letter from Teddiman about the news from Argier, which pleases him exceedingly; and he writ one to the Duke of York about it, and sent it express. There coming much company after dinner to my Lord, my wife and I slunk away to the Opera, where we saw "Witt in a Constable," the first time that it is acted; but so silly a play I never saw I think in my life. After it was done, my wife and I to the puppet play in Covent Garden, which I saw the other day, and indeed it is very pleasant. Here among the fidlers I first saw a dulcimere [The dulcimer (or psaltery) consisted of a flat box, acting as a resonating chamber, over which strings of wire were stretched: These were struck by little hammers.] played on with sticks knocking of the strings, and is very pretty. So by water home, and supped with Sir William Pen very merry, and so to bed. 24th. To the Wardrobe, and there again spoke with my Lord, and saw W. Howe, who is grown a very pretty and is a sober fellow. Thence abroad with Mr. Creed, of whom I informed myself of all I had a mind to know. Among other things, the great difficulty my Lord hath been in all this summer for lack of good and full orders from the King; and I doubt our Lords of the Councell do not mind things as the late powers did, but their pleasures or profit more. That the Juego de Toros is a simple sport, yet the greatest in Spain. That the Queen hath given no rewards to any of the captains or officers, but only to my Lord Sandwich; and that was a bag of gold, which was no honourable present, of about L1400 sterling. How recluse the Queen hath ever been, and all the voyage never come upon the deck, nor put her head out of her cabin; but did love my Lord's musique, and would send for it down to the state-room, and she sit in her cabin within hearing of it. That my Lord was forced to have some clashing with the Council of Portugall about payment of the portion, before he could get it; which was, besides Tangier and a free trade in the Indys, two millions of crowns, half now, and the other half in twelve months. But they have brought but little money; but the rest in sugars and other commoditys, and bills of exchange. That the King of Portugall is a very fool almost, and his mother do all, and he is a very poor Prince. After a morning draft at the Star in Cheapside, I took him to the Exchange, thence home, but my wife having dined, I took him to Fish Street, and there we had a couple of lobsters, and dined upon them, and much discourse. And so I to the office, and that being done, Sir W. Pen and I to Deptford by water to Captain Rooth's to see him, he being very sick, and by land home, calling at Halfway house, where we eat and drank. So home and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). To trimming myself, which I have this week done every morning, with a pumice stone,--[Shaving with pumice stone.]--which I learnt of Mr. Marsh, when I was last at Portsmouth; and I find it very easy, speedy, and cleanly, and shall continue the practice of it. To church, and heard a good sermon of Mr. Woodcocke's at our church; only in his latter prayer for a woman in childbed, he prayed that God would deliver her from the hereditary curse of child-bearing, which seemed a pretty strange expression. Dined at home, and Mr. Creed with me. This day I had the first dish of pease I have had this year. After discourse he and I abroad, and walked up and down, and looked into many churches, among others Mr. Baxter's at Blackfryers. Then to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord takes physic, so I did not see him, but with Captn. Ferrers in Mr. George Montagu's coach to Charing Cross; and there at the Triumph tavern he showed me some Portugall ladys, which are come to town before the Queen. They are not handsome, and their farthingales a strange dress. [Farthingales had gone out of fashion in England during the reign of Charles I., and therefore their use by the Portuguese ladies astonished the English. Evelyn also remarks in his Diary on this ugly custom (May 30th, 1662).] Many ladies and persons of quality come to see them. I find nothing in them that is pleasing; and I see they have learnt to kiss and look freely up and down already, and I do believe will soon forget the recluse practice of their own country. They complain much for lack of good water to drink. So to the Wardrobe back on foot and supped with my Lady, and so home, and after a walk upon the leads with my wife, to prayers and bed. The King's guards and some City companies do walk up and down the town these five or six days; which makes me think, and they do say, there are some plots in laying. God keep us. 26th. Up by four o'clock in the morning, and fell to the preparing of some accounts for my Lord of Sandwich. By and by, by appointment comes Mr. Moore, and, by what appears to us at present, we found that my Lord is above L7,000 in debt, and that he hath money coming into him that will clear all, and so we think him clear, but very little money in his purse. So to my Lord's, and after he was ready, we spent an hour with him, giving him an account thereof; and he having some L6,000 in his hands, remaining of the King's, he is resolved to make use of that, and get off of it as well as he can, which I like well of, for else I fear he will scarce get beforehand again a great while. Thence home, and to the Trinity House; where the Brethren (who have been at Deptford choosing a new Maister; which is Sir J. Minnes, notwithstanding Sir W. Batten did contend highly for it: at which I am not a little pleased, because of his proud lady) about three o'clock came hither, and so to dinner. I seated myself close by Mr. Prin, who, in discourse with me, fell upon what records he hath of the lust and wicked lives of the nuns heretofore in England, and showed me out of his pocket one wherein thirty nuns for their lust were ejected of their house, being not fit to live there, and by the Pope's command to be put, however, into other nunnerys. I could not stay to end dinner with them, but rose, and privately went out, and by water to my brother's, and thence to take my wife to the Redd Bull, where we saw "Doctor Faustus," but so wretchedly and poorly done, that we were sick of it, and the worse because by a former resolution it is to be the last play we are to see till Michaelmas. Thence homewards by coach, through Moorefields, where we stood awhile, and saw the wrestling. At home, got my lute upon the leads, and there played, and so to bed. 27th. To my Lord this morning, and thence to my brother's, where I found my father, poor man, come, which I was glad to see. I staid with him till noon, and then he went to my cozen Scott's to dinner, who had invited him. He tells me his alterations of the house and garden at Brampton, which please me well. I could not go with him, and so we parted at Ludgate, and I home to dinner, and to the office all the afternoon, and musique in my chamber alone at night, and so to bed. 28th. Up early to put things in order in my chamber, and then to my Lord's, with whom I spoke about several things, and so up and down in several places about business with Mr. Creed, among others to Mr. Wotton's the shoemaker, and there drank our morning draft, and then home about noon, and by and by comes my father by appointment to dine with me, which we did very merrily, I desiring to make him as merry as I can, while the poor man is in town. After dinner comes my uncle Wight and sat awhile and talked with us, and thence we three to the Mum House at Leadenhall, and there sat awhile. Then I left them, and to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord gone to Hampton Court. Here I staid all the afternoon till late with Creed and Captain Ferrers, thinking whether we should go to-morrow together to Hampton Court, but Ferrers his wife coming in by and by to the house with the young ladies (with whom she had been abroad), she was unwilling to go, whereupon I was willing to put off our going, and so home, but still my mind was hankering after our going to-morrow. So to bed. 29th. At home all the morning. At noon to the Wardrobe, and dined with my Lady, and after dinner staid long talking with her; then homeward, and in Lumbard Street was called out of a window by Alderman Backwell, where I went, and saluted his lady, a very pretty woman. Here was Mr. Creed, and it seems they have been under some disorder in fear of a fire at the next door, and had been removing their goods, but the fire was over before I came. Thence home, and with my wife and the two maids, and the boy, took boat and to Foxhall, [Foxhall, Faukeshall, or Vauxhall, a manor in Surrey, properly Fulke's. Hall, and so called from Fulke de Breaute, the notorious mercenary follower of King John. The manor house was afterwards known as Copped or Copt Hall. Sir Samuel Morland obtained a lease of the place, and King Charles made him Master of Mechanics, and here "he (Morland), anno 1667, built a fine room," says Aubrey, "the inside all of looking-glass and fountains, very pleasant to behold." The gardens were formed about 1661, and originally called the "New Spring Gardens," to distinguish them from the "Old Spring Gardens" at Charing Cross, but according to the present description by Pepys there was both an Old and a New Spring Garden at Vauxhall. Balthazar Monconys, who visited England early in the reign of Charles II., describes the 'Jardins Printemps' at Lambeth as having lawns and gravel walks, dividing squares of twenty or thirty yards enclosed with hedges of gooseberry trees, within which were planted roses.] where I had not been a great while. To the Old Spring Garden, and there walked long, and the wenches gathered pinks. Here we staid, and seeing that we could not have anything to eat, but very dear, and with long stay, we went forth again without any notice taken of us, and so we might have done if we had had anything. Thence to the New one, where I never was before, which much exceeds the other; and here we also walked, and the boy crept through the hedge and gathered abundance of roses, and, after a long walk, passed out of doors as we did in the other place, and here we had cakes and powdered beef--[salt beef]--and ale, and so home again by water with much pleasure. This day, being the King's birth-day, was very solemnly observed; and the more, for that the Queen this day comes to Hampton Court. In the evening, bonfires were made, but nothing to the great number that was heretofore at the burning of the Rump. So to bed. 30th. This morning I made up my accounts, and find myself 'de claro' worth about L530, and no more, so little have I increased it since my last reckoning; but I confess I have laid out much money in clothes. Upon a suddaine motion I took my wife, and Sarah and Will by water, with some victuals with us, as low as Gravesend, intending to have gone into the Hope to the Royal James, to have seen the ship and Mr. Shepley, but meeting Mr. Shepley in a hoy, bringing up my Lord's things, she and I went on board, and sailed up with them as far as half-way tree, very glad to see Mr. Shepley. Here we saw a little Turk and a negroe, which are intended for pages to the two young ladies. Many birds and other pretty noveltys there was, but I was afeard of being louzy, and so took boat again, and got to London before them, all the way, coming and going, reading in the "Wallflower" with great pleasure. So home, and thence to the Wardrobe, where Mr. Shepley was come with the things. Here I staid talking with my Lady, who is preparing to go to-morrow to Hampton Court. So home, and at ten o'clock at night Mr. Shepley came to sup with me. So we had a dish of mackerell and pease, and so he bid us good night, going to lie on board the hoy, and I to bed. 31st. Lay long in bed, and so up to make up my Journall for these two or three days past. Then came Anthony Joyce, who duns me for money for the tallow which he served in lately by my desire, which vexes me, but I must get it him the next by my promise. By and by to White Hall, hearing that Sir G. Carteret was come to town, but I could not find him, and so back to Tom's, and thence I took my father to my house, and there he dined with me, discoursing of our businesses with uncle Thomas and T. Trice. After dinner he departed and I to the office where we met, and that being done I walked to my Brother's and the Wardrobe and other places about business, and so home, and had Sarah to comb my head clean, which I found so foul with powdering and other troubles, that I am resolved to try how I can keep my head dry without powder; and I did also in a suddaine fit cut off all my beard, which I had been a great while bringing up, only that I may with my pumice-stone do my whole face, as I now do my chin, and to save time, which I find a very easy way and gentile. So she also washed my feet in a bath of herbs, and so to bed. This month ends with very fair weather for a great while together. My health pretty well, but only wind do now and then torment me... extremely. The Queen is brought a few days since to Hampton Court; and all people say of her to be a very fine and handsome lady, and very discreet; and that the King is pleased enough with her which, I fear, will put Madam Castlemaine's nose out of joynt. The Court is wholly now at Hampton. A peace with Argier is lately made; which is also good news. My father is lately come to town to see us, and though it has cost and will cost more money, yet I am pleased with the alteraeons on my house at Brampton. My Lord Sandwich is lately come with the Queen from sea, very well and in good repute. Upon an audit of my estate I find myself worth about L530 'de claro'. The Act for Uniformity is lately printed, ["An Act for the Uniformity of public prayers and administration of sacraments and other rites and ceremonies, and for establishing the form of making, ordaining, and consecrating bishops, priests, and deacons in the Church of England."] which, it is thought, will make mad work among the Presbyterian ministers. People of all sides are very much discontented; some thinking themselves used, contrary to promise, too hardly; and the other, that they are not rewarded so much as they expected by the King. God keep us all. I have by a late oath obliged myself from wine and plays, of which I find good effect. JUNE 1662 June 1st (Lord's day). At church in the morning. A stranger made a very good sermon. Dined at home, and Mr. Spong came to see me; so he and I sat down a little to sing some French psalms, and then comes Mr. Shepley and Mr. Moore, and so we to dinner, and after dinner to church again, where a Presbyter made a sad and long sermon, which vexed me, and so home, and so to walk on the leads, and supper and to prayers and bed. 2nd. Up early about business and then to the Wardrobe with Mr. Moore, and spoke to my Lord about the exchange of the crusados [Cruzado, a Portuguese coin of 480 reis. It is named from a cross which it bears on one side, the arms of Portugal being on the other. It varied in value at different periods from 2s. 3d. to 4s.] into sterling money, and other matters. So to my father at Tom's, and after some talk with him away home, and by and by comes my father to dinner with me, and then by coach, setting him down in Cheapside, my wife and I to Mrs. Clarke's at Westminster, the first visit that ever we both made her yet. We found her in a dishabille, intending to go to Hampton Court to-morrow. We had much pretty discourse, and a very fine lady she is. Thence by water to Salisbury Court, and Mrs. Turner not being at home, home by coach, and so after walking on the leads and supper to bed. This day my wife put on her slasht wastecoate, which is very pretty. 3rd. Up by four o'clock and to my business in my chamber, to even accounts with my Lord and myself, and very fain I would become master of L1000, but I have not above L530 toward it yet. At the office all the morning, and Mr. Coventry brought his patent and took his place with us this morning. Upon our making a contract, I went, as I use to do, to draw the heads thereof, but Sir W. Pen most basely told me that the Comptroller is to do it, and so begun to employ Mr. Turner about it, at which I was much vexed, and begun to dispute; and what with the letter of the Duke's orders, and Mr. Barlow's letter, and the practice of our predecessors, which Sir G. Carteret knew best when he was Comptroller, it was ruled for me. What Sir J. Minnes will do when he comes I know not, but Sir W. Pen did it like a base raskall, and so I shall remember him while I live. After office done, I went down to the Towre Wharf, where Mr. Creed and Shepley was ready with three chests of the crusados, being about L6000, ready to bring to shore to my house, which they did, and put it in my further cellar, and Mr. Shepley took the key. I to my father and Dr. Williams and Tom Trice, by appointment, in the Old Bayly, to Short's, the alehouse, but could come to no terms with T. Trice. Thence to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady come from Hampton Court, where the Queen hath used her very civilly; and my Lady tells me is a most pretty woman, at which I am glad. Yesterday (Sir R. Ford told me) the Aldermen of the City did attend her in their habits, and did present her with a gold Cupp and L1000 in gold therein. But, he told me, that they are so poor in their Chamber, that they were fain to call two or three Aldermen to raise fines to make up this sum, among which was Sir W. Warren. Home and to the office, where about 8 at night comes Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, and so we did some business, and then home and to bed, my mind troubled about Sir W. Pen, his playing the rogue with me to-day, as also about the charge of money that is in my house, which I had forgot; but I made the maids to rise and light a candle, and set it in the dining-room, to scare away thieves, and so to sleep. 4th. Up early, and Mr. Moore comes to me and tells me that Mr. Barnwell is dead, which troubles me something, and the more for that I believe we shall lose Mr. Shepley's company. By and by Sir W. Batten and I by water to Woolwich; and there saw an experiment made of Sir R. Ford's Holland's yarn (about which we have lately had so much stir; and I have much concerned myself for our ropemaker, Mr. Hughes, who has represented it as bad), and we found it to be very bad, and broke sooner than, upon a fair triall, five threads of that against four of Riga yarn; and also that some of it had old stuff that had been tarred, covered over with new hemp, which is such a cheat as hath not been heard of. I was glad of this discovery, because I would not have the King's workmen discouraged (as Sir W. Batten do most basely do) from representing the faults of merchants' goods, where there is any. After eating some fish that we had bought upon the water at Falconer's, we went to Woolwich, and there viewed our frames of our houses, and so home, and I to my Lord's, who I find resolved to buy Brampton Manor of Sir Peter Ball, [Sir Peter Ball was the Queen's Attorney-General, and Evelyn mentions, in his Diary (January 11th, 1661-62), having received from him the draft of an act against the nuisance of the smoke of London.] at which I am glad. Thence to White Hall, and showed Sir G. Carteret the cheat, and so to the Wardrobe, and there staid and supped with my Lady. My Lord eating nothing, but writes letters to-night to several places, he being to go out of town to-morrow. So late home and to bed. 5th. To the Wardrobe, and there my Lord did enquire my opinion of Mr. Moore, which I did give to the best advantage I could, and by that means shall get him joined with Mr. Townsend in the Wardrobe business. He did also give me all Mr. Shepley's and Mr. Moore's accounts to view, which I am glad of, as being his great trust in me, and I would willingly keep up a good interest with him. So took leave of him (he being to go this day) and to the office, where they were just sat down, and I showed them yesterday's discovery, and have got Sir R. Ford to be my enemy by it; but I care not, for it is my duty, and so did get his bill stopped for the present. To dinner, and found Dr. Thos. Pepys at my house; but I was called from dinner by a note from Mr. Moore to Alderman Backwell's, to see some thousands of my Lord's crusados weighed, and we find that 3,000 come to about L530 or 40 generally. Home again and found my father there; we talked a good while and so parted. We met at the office in the afternoon to finish Mr. Gauden's accounts, but did not do them quite. In the evening with Mr. Moore to Backwell's with another 1,200 crusados and saw them weighed, and so home and to bed. 6th. At my office all alone all the morning, and the smith being with me about other things, did open a chest that hath stood ever since I came to the office, in my office, and there we found a modell of a fine ship, which I long to know whether it be the King's or Mr. Turner's. At noon to the Wardrobe by appointment to meet my father, who did come and was well treated by my Lady, who tells me she has some thoughts to send her two little boys to our house at Brampton, but I have got leave for them to go along with me and my wife to Hampton Court to-morrow or Sunday. Thence to my brother Tom's, where we found a letter from Pall that my mother is dangerously ill in fear of death, which troubles my father and me much, but I hope it is otherwise, the letter being four days old since it was writ. Home and at my office, and with Mr. Hater set things in order till evening, and so home and to bed by daylight. This day at my father's desire I lent my brother Tom L20, to be repaid out of the proceeds of Sturtlow when we can sell it. I sent the money all in new money by my boy from Alderman Backwell's. 7th. To the office, where all the morning, and I find Mr. Coventry is resolved to do much good, and to enquire into all the miscarriages of the office. At noon with him and Sir W. Batten to dinner at Trinity House; where, among others, Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, was, who says that yesterday Sir H. Vane had a full hearing at the King's Bench, and is found guilty; and that he did never hear any man argue more simply than he in all his life, and so others say. My mind in great trouble whether I should go as I intended to Hampton Court to-morrow or no. At last resolved the contrary, because of the charge thereof, and I am afraid now to bring in any accounts for journeys, and so will others I suppose be, because of Mr. Coventry's prying into them. Thence sent for to Sir G. Carteret's, and there talked with him a good while. I perceive, as he told me, were it not that Mr. Coventry had already feathered his nest in selling of places, he do like him very well, and hopes great good from him. But he complains so of lack of money, that my heart is very sad, under the apprehension of the fall of the office. At my office all the afternoon, and at night hear that my father is gone into the country, but whether to Richmond as he intended, and thence to meet us at Hampton Court on Monday, I know not, or to Brampton. At which I am much troubled. In the evening home and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Lay till church-time in bed, and so up and to church, and there I found Mr. Mills come home out of the country again, and preached but a lazy sermon. Home and dined with my wife, and so to church again with her. Thence walked to my Lady's, and there supped with her, and merry, among other things, with the parrott which my Lord hath brought from the sea, which speaks very well, and cries Pall so pleasantly, that made my Lord give it my Lady Paulina; but my Lady, her mother, do not like it. Home, and observe my man Will to walk with his cloak flung over his shoulder, like a Ruffian, which, whether it was that he might not be seen to walk along with the footboy, I know not, but I was vexed at it; and coming home, and after prayers, I did ask him where he learned that immodest garb, and he answered me that it was not immodest, or some such slight answer, at which I did give him two boxes on the ears, which I never did before, and so was after a little troubled at it. 9th. Early up and at the office with Mr. Hater, making my alphabet of contracts, upon the dispatch of which I am now very intent, for that I am resolved much to enquire into the price of commodities. Dined at home, and after dinner to Greatorex's, and with him and another stranger to the Tavern, but I drank no wine. He recommended Bond, of our end of the town, to teach me to measure timber, and some other things that I would learn, in order to my office. Thence back again to the office, and there T. Hater and I did make an end of my alphabet, which did much please me. So home to supper and to bed. 10th. At the office all the morning, much business; and great hopes of bringing things, by Mr. Coventry's means, to a good condition in the office. Dined at home, Mr. Hunt with us; to the office again in the afternoon, but not meeting, as was intended, I went to my brother's and bookseller's, and other places about business, and paid off all for books to this day, and do not intend to buy any more of any kind a good while, though I had a great mind to have bought the King's works, as they are new printed in folio, and present it to my Lord; but I think it will be best to save the money. So home and to bed. [There is a beautiful copy of "The Workes of King Charles the Martyr, and Collections of Declarations, Treaties, &c." (2 vols. folio, 1662), in the Pepysian Library, with a very interesting note in the first volume by Pepys (dated October 7th, 1700), to the effect that he had collated it with a copy in Lambeth Library, presented by Dr. Zachary Cradock, Provost of Eton. "This book being seized on board an English ship was delivered, by order of the Inquisition of Lisbon, to some of the English Priests to be perused and corrected according to the Rules of the 'Index Expurgatorius.' Thus corrected it was given to Barnaby Crafford, English merchant there, and by him it was given to me, the English preacher resident there A.D. 1670, and by me as I then received it to the Library at Lambeth to be there preserved. Nov. 2, 1678. 'Ita testor', Zach. Cradock.--From which (through the favour of the most Reverend Father in God and my most honoured Friend his Grace the present Archbishop of Canterbury) I have this 7th of October, 1700, had an opportunity given me there (assisted by my clerk, Thomas Henderson), leisurely to overlook, and with my uttermost attention to note the said Expurgations through each part of this my own Book." Whole sentences in the book are struck through, as well as such words as Martyr, Defender of the Faith, More than Conqueror, &c.] 11th. At the office all the morning, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and I about the Victualler's accounts. Then home to dinner and to the office again all the afternoon, Mr. Hater and I writing over my Alphabet fair, in which I took great pleasure to rule the lines and to have the capitall words wrote with red ink. So home and to supper. This evening Savill the Paynter came and did varnish over my wife's picture and mine, and I paid him for my little picture L3, and so am clear with him. So after supper to bed. This day I had a letter from my father that he is got down well, and found my mother pretty well again. So that I am vexed with all my heart at Pall for writing to him so much concerning my mother's illness (which I believe was not so great), so that he should be forced to hasten down on the sudden back into the country without taking leave, or having any pleasure here. 12th. This morning I tried on my riding cloth suit with close knees, the first that ever I had; and I think they will be very convenient, if not too hot to wear any other open knees after them. At the office all the morning, where we had a full Board, viz., Sir G. Carteret, Sir John Mennes, Sir W. Batten, Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen, Mr. Pett, and myself. Among many other businesses, I did get a vote signed by all, concerning my issuing of warrants, which they did not smell the use I intend to make of it; but it is to plead for my clerks to have their right of giving out all warrants, at which I am not a little pleased. But a great difference happened between Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry, about passing the Victualler's account, and whether Sir George is to pay the Victualler his money, or the Exchequer; Sir George claiming it to be his place to save his threepences. It ended in anger, and I believe will come to be a question before the King and Council. I did what I could to keep myself unconcerned in it, having some things of my own to do before I would appear high in anything. Thence to dinner, by Mr. Gauden's invitation, to the Dolphin, where a good dinner; but what is to myself a great wonder; that with ease I past the whole dinner without drinking a drop of wine. After dinner to the office, my head full of business, and so home, and it being the longest day in the year,--[That is, by the old style. The new style was not introduced until 1752]--I made all my people go to bed by daylight. But after I was a-bed and asleep, a note came from my brother Tom to tell me that my cozen Anne Pepys, of Worcestershire, her husband is dead, and she married again, and her second husband in town, and intends to come and see me to-morrow. 13th. Up by 4 o'clock in the morning, and read Cicero's Second Oration against Catiline, which pleased me exceedingly; and more I discern therein than ever I thought was to be found in him; but I perceive it was my ignorance, and that he is as good a writer as ever I read in my life. By and by to Sir G. Carteret's, to talk with him about yesterday's difference at the office; and offered my service to look into any old books or papers that I have, that may make for him. He was well pleased therewith, and did much inveigh against Mr. Coventry; telling me how he had done him service in the Parliament, when Prin had drawn up things against him for taking of money for places; that he did at his desire, and upon his, letters, keep him off from doing it. And many other things he told me, as how the King was beholden to him, and in what a miserable condition his family would be, if he should die before he hath cleared his accounts. Upon the whole, I do find that he do much esteem of me, and is my friend, and I may make good use of him. Thence to several places about business, among others to my brother's, and there Tom Beneere the barber trimmed me. Thence to my Lady's, and there dined with her, Mr. Laxton, Gibbons, and Goldgroove with us, and after dinner some musique, and so home to my business, and in the evening my wife and I, and Sarah and the boy, a most pleasant walk to Halfway house, and so home and to bed. 14th. Up by four o'clock in the morning and upon business at my office. Then we sat down to business, and about 11 o'clock, having a room got ready for us, we all went out to the Tower-hill; and there, over against the scaffold, made on purpose this day, saw Sir Henry Vane brought. [Sir Harry Vane the younger was born 1612. Charles signed on June 12th a warrant for the execution of Vane by hanging at Tyburn on the 14th, which sentence on the following day "upon humble suit made" to him, Charles was "graciously pleased to mitigate," as the warrant terms it, for the less ignominious punishment of beheading on Tower Hill, and with permission that the head and body should be given to the relations to be by them decently and privately interred.-- Lister's Life of Clarendon, ii, 123.] A very great press of people. He made a long speech, many times interrupted by the Sheriff and others there; and they would have taken his paper out of his hand, but he would not let it go. But they caused all the books of those that writ after him to be given the Sheriff; and the trumpets were brought under the scaffold that he might not be heard. Then he prayed, and so fitted himself, and received the blow; but the scaffold was so crowded that we could not see it done. But Boreman, who had been upon the scaffold, came to us and told us, that first he began to speak of the irregular proceeding against him; that he was, against Magna Charta, denied to have his exceptions against the indictment allowed; and that there he was stopped by the Sheriff. Then he drew out his, paper of notes, and begun to tell them first his life; that he was born a gentleman, that he was bred up and had the quality of a gentleman, and to make him in the opinion of the world more a gentleman, he had been, till he was seventeen years old, a good fellow, but then it pleased God to lay a foundation of grace in his heart, by which he was persuaded, against his worldly interest, to leave all preferment and go abroad, where he might serve God with more freedom. Then he was called home, and made a member of the Long Parliament; where he never did, to this day, any thing against his conscience, but all for the glory of God. Here he would have given them an account of the proceedings of the Long Parliament, but they so often interrupted him, that at last he was forced to give over: and so fell into prayer for England in generall, then for the churches in England, and then for the City of London: and so fitted himself for the block, and received the blow. He had a blister, or issue, upon his neck, which he desired them not hurt: he changed not his colour or speech to the last, but died justifying himself and the cause he had stood for; and spoke very confidently of his being presently at the right hand of Christ; and in all, things appeared the most resolved man that ever died in that manner, and showed more of heat than cowardize, but yet with all humility and gravity. One asked him why he did not pray for the King. He answered, "Nay," says he, "you shall see I can pray for the King: I pray God bless him!" The King had given his body to his friends; and, therefore, he told them that he hoped they would be civil to his body when dead; and desired they would let him die like a gentleman and a Christian, and not crowded and pressed as he was. So to the office a little, and so to the Trinity-house all of us to dinner; and then to the office again all the afternoon till night. So home and to bed. This day, I hear, my Lord Peterborough is come unexpected from Tangier, to give the King an account of the place, which, we fear, is in none of the best condition. We had also certain news to-day that the Spaniard is before Lisbon with thirteen sail; six Dutch, and the rest his own ships; which will, I fear, be ill for Portugall. I writ a letter of all this day's proceedings to my Lord, at Hinchingbroke, who, I hear, is very well pleased with the work there. 15th (Lord's day). To church in the morning and home to dinner, where come my brother Tom and Mr. Fisher, my cozen, Nan Pepys's second husband, who, I perceive, is a very good-humoured man, an old cavalier. I made as much of him as I could, and were merry, and am glad she hath light of so good a man. They gone, to church again; but my wife not being dressed as I would have her, I was angry, and she, when she was out of doors in her way to church, returned home again vexed. But I to church, Mr. Mills, an ordinary sermon. So home, and found my wife and Sarah gone to a neighbour church, at which I was not much displeased. By and by she comes again, and, after a word or two, good friends. And then her brother came to see her, and he being gone she told me that she believed he was married and had a wife worth L500 to him, and did inquire how he might dispose the money to the best advantage, but I forbore to advise her till she could certainly tell me how things are with him, being loth to meddle too soon with him. So to walk upon the leads, and to supper, and to bed. 16th. Up before four o'clock, and after some business took Will forth, and he and I walked over the Tower Hill, but the gate not being open we walked through St. Catharine's and Ratcliffe (I think it is) by the waterside above a mile before we could get a boat, and so over the water in a scull (which I have not done a great while), and walked finally to Deptford, where I saw in what forwardness the work is for Sir W. Batten's house and mine, and it is almost ready. I also, with Mr. Davis, did view my cozen Joyce's tallow, and compared it with the Irish tallow we bought lately, and found ours much more white, but as soft as it; now what is the fault, or whether it be or no a fault, I know not. So walked home again as far as over against the Towre, and so over and home, where I found Sir W. Pen and Sir John Minnes discoursing about Sir John Minnes's house and his coming to live with us, and I think he intends to have Mr. Turner's house and he to come to his lodgings, which I shall be very glad of. We three did go to Mr. Turner's to view his house, which I think was to the end that Sir John Minnes might see it. Then by water with my wife to the Wardrobe, and dined there; and in the afternoon with all the children by water to Greenwich, where I showed them the King's yacht, the house, and the park, all very pleasant; and so to the tavern, and had the musique of the house, and so merrily home again. Will and I walked home from the Wardrobe, having left my wife at the Tower Wharf coming by, whom I found gone to bed not very well.... So to bed. 17th. Up, and Mr. Mayland comes to me and borrowed 30s. of me to be paid again out of the money coming to him in the James and Charles for his late voyage. So to the office, where all the morning. So home to dinner, my wife not being well, but however dined with me. So to the office, and at Sir W. Batten's, where we all met by chance and talked, and they drank wine; but I forebore all their healths. Sir John Minnes, I perceive, is most excellent company. So home and to bed betimes by daylight. 18th. Up early; and after reading a little in Cicero, I made me ready and to my office, where all the morning very busy. At noon Mr. Creed came to me about business, and he and I walked as far as Lincoln's Inn Fields together. After a turn or two in the walks we parted, and I to my Lord Crew's and dined with him; where I hear the courage of Sir H. Vane at his death is talked on every where as a miracle. Thence to Somerset House to Sir J. Winter's chamber by appointment, and met Mr. Pett, where he and I read over his last contract with the King for the Forest of Dean, whereof I took notes because of this new one that he is now in making. That done he and I walked to Lilly's, the painter's, where we saw among other rare things, the Duchess of York, her whole body, sitting instate in a chair, in white sattin, and another of the King, that is not finished; most rare things. I did give the fellow something that showed them us, and promised to come some other time, and he would show me Lady Castlemaine's, which I could not then see, it being locked up! Thence to Wright's, the painter's: but, Lord! the difference that is between their two works. Thence to the Temple, and there spoke with my cozen Roger, who gives me little hopes in the business between my Uncle Tom and us. So Mr. Pett (who staid at his son's chamber) and I by coach to the old Exchange, and there parted, and I home and at the office till night. My windows at my office are made clean to-day and a casement in my closet. So home, and after some merry discourse in the kitchen with my wife and maids as I now-a-days often do, I being well pleased with both my maids, to bed. 19th. Up by five o'clock, and while my man Will was getting himself ready to come up to me I took and played upon my lute a little. So to dress myself, and to my office to prepare things against we meet this morning. We sat long to-day, and had a great private business before us about contracting with Sir W. Rider, Mr. Cutler, and Captain Cocke, for 500 ton of hemp, which we went through, and I am to draw up the conditions. Home to dinner, where I found Mr. Moore, and he and I cast up our accounts together and evened them, and then with the last chest of crusados to Alderman Backwell's, by the same token his lady going to take coach stood in the shop, and having a gilded glassfull of perfumed comfits given her by Don Duarte de Silva, the Portugall merchant, that is come over with the Queen, I did offer at a taste, and so she poured some out into my hand, and, though good, yet pleased me the better coming from a pretty lady. So home and at the office preparing papers and things, and indeed my head has not been so full of business a great while, and with so much pleasure, for I begin to see the pleasure it gives. God give me health. So to bed. 20th. Up by four or five o'clock, and to the office, and there drew up the agreement between the King and Sir John Winter about the Forrest of Deane; and having done it, he came himself (I did not know him to be the Queen's Secretary before, but observed him to be a man of fine parts); and we read it, and both liked it well. That done, I turned to the Forrest of Deane, in Speede's Mapps, and there he showed me how it lies; and the Lea-bayly, with the great charge of carrying it to Lydny, and many other things worth my knowing; and I do perceive that I am very short in my business by not knowing many times the geographical part of my business. At my office till Mr. Moore took me out and at my house looked over our papers again, and upon our evening accounts did give full discharges one to the other, and in his and many other accounts I perceive I shall be better able to give a true balance of my estate to myself within a day or two than I have been this twelve months. Then he and I to Alderman Backwell's and did the like there, and I gave one receipt for all the money I have received thence upon the receipt of my Lord's crusados. Then I went to the Exchange, and hear that the merchants have a great fear of a breach with the Spaniard; for they think he will not brook our having Tangier, Dunkirk, and Jamaica; and our merchants begin to draw home their estates as fast as they can. Then to Pope's Head Ally, and there bought me a pair of tweezers, cost me 14s., the first thing like a bawble I have bought a good while, but I do it with some trouble of mind, though my conscience tells me that I do it with an apprehension of service in my office to have a book to write memorandums in, and a pair of compasses in it; but I confess myself the willinger to do it because I perceive by my accounts that I shall be better by L30 than I expected to be. But by tomorrow night I intend to see to the bottom of all my accounts. Then home to dinner, where Mr. Moore met me. Then he went away, and I to the office and dispatch much business. So in the evening, my wife and I and Jane over the water to the Halfway-house, a pretty, pleasant walk, but the wind high. So home again and to bed. 21st. Up about four o'clock, and settled some private business of my own, then made me ready and to the office to prepare things for our meeting to-day. By and by we met, and at noon Sir W. Pen and I to the Trinity House; where was a feast made by the Wardens, when great good cheer, and much, but ordinary company. The Lieutenant of the Tower, upon my demanding how Sir H. Vane died, told me that he died in a passion; but all confess with so much courage as never man died. Thence to the office, where Sir W. Rider, Capt. Cocke, and Mr. Cutler came by appointment to meet me to confer about the contract between us and them for 500 tons of hemp. That being done, I did other business and so went home, and there found Mr. Creed, who staid talking with my wife and me an hour or two, and I put on my riding cloth suit, only for him to see how it is, and I think it will do very well. He being gone, and I hearing from my wife and the maids' complaints made of the boy, I called him up, and with my whip did whip him till I was not able to stir, and yet I could not make him confess any of the lies that they tax him with. At last, not willing to let him go away a conqueror, I took him in task again, and pulled off his frock to his shirt, and whipped him till he did confess that he did drink the whey, which he had denied, and pulled a pink, and above all did lay the candlestick upon the ground in his chamber, which he had denied this quarter of a year. I confess it is one of the greatest wonders that ever I met with that such a little boy as he could possibly be able to suffer half so much as he did to maintain a lie. I think I must be forced to put him away. So to bed, with my arm very weary. 22nd (Lord's day). This day I first put on my slasht doublet, which I like very well. Mr. Shepley came to me in the morning, telling me that he and my Lord came to town from Hinchinbroke last night. He and I spend an hour in looking over his account, and then walked to the Wardrobe, all the way discoursing of my Lord's business. He tells me to my great wonder that Mr. Barnwell is dead L500 in debt to my Lord. By and by my Lord came from church, and I dined, with some others, with him, he very merry, and after dinner took me aside and talked of state and other matters. By and by to my brother Tom's and took him out with me homewards (calling at the Wardrobe to talk a little with Mr. Moore), and so to my house, where I paid him all I owed him, and did make the L20 I lately lent him up to L40, for which he shall give bond to Mr. Shepley, for it is his money. So my wife and I to walk in the garden, where all our talk was against Sir W. Pen, against whom I have lately had cause to be much prejudiced. By and by he and his daughter came out to walk, so we took no notice of them a great while, at last in going home spoke a word or two, and so good night, and to bed. This day I am told of a Portugall lady, at Hampton Court, that hath dropped a child already since the Queen's coming, but the king would not have them searched whose it is; and so it is not commonly known yet. Coming home to-night, I met with Will. Swan, who do talk as high for the Fanatiques as ever he did in his life; and do pity my Lord Sandwich and me that we should be given up to the wickedness of the world; and that a fall is coming upon us all; for he finds that he and his company are the true spirit of the nation, and the greater part of the nation too, who will have liberty of conscience in spite of this "Act of Uniformity," or they will die; and if they may not preach abroad, they will preach in their own houses. He told me that certainly Sir H. Vane must be gone to Heaven, for he died as much a martyr and saint as ever man did; and that the King hath lost more by that man's death, than he will get again a good while. At all which I know not what to think; but, I confess, I do think that the Bishops will never be able to carry it so high as they do. 23rd. Up early, this morning, and my people are taking down the hangings and things in my house because of the great dust that is already made by the pulling down of Sir W. Batten's house, and will be by my own when I come to it. To my office, and there hard at work all the morning. At noon to the Exchange to meet Dr. Williams, who sent me this morning notice of his going into the country tomorrow, but could not find him, but meeting with Frank Moore, my Lord Lambeth's man formerly, we, and two or three friends of his did go to a tavern, and there they drank, but I nothing but small beer. In the next room one was playing very finely of the dulcimer, which well played I like well, but one of our own company, a talking fellow, did in discourse say much of this Act against Seamen, [In 1662 was passed "An Act for providing of carriage by land and by water for the use of His Majesty's Navy and Ordinance" (13-14 Gar. II., cap. 20), which gave power for impressing seamen, &c.] for their being brought to account; and that it was made on purpose for my Lord Sandwich, who was in debt L100,000, and hath been forced to have pardon oftentimes from Oliver for the same: at which I was vexed at him, but thought it not worth my trouble to oppose what he said, but took leave and went home, and after a little dinner to my office again, and in the evening Sir W. Warren came to me about business, and that being done, discoursing of deals, I did offer to go along with him among his deal ships, which we did to half a score, where he showed me the difference between Dram, Swinsound, Christiania, and others, and told me many pleasant notions concerning their manner of cutting and sawing them by watermills, and the reason how deals become dearer and cheaper, among others, when the snow is not so great as to fill up the values that they may pass from hill to hill over the snow, then it is dear carriage. From on board he took me to his yard, where vast and many places of deals, sparrs, and bulks, &c., the difference between which I never knew before, and indeed am very proud of this evening's work. He had me into his house, which is most pretty and neat and well furnished. After a glass, not of wine, for I would not be tempted to drink any, but a glass of mum, I well home by water, but it being late was forced to land at the Custom House, and so home and to bed, and after I was a-bed, letters came from the Duke for the fitting out of four ships forthwith from Portsmouth (I know not yet for what) so I was forced to make Will get them wrote, and signed them in bed and sent them away by express. And so to sleep. 24th (Midsummer day). Up early and to my office, putting things in order against we sit. There came to me my cozen Harry Alcocke, whom I much respect, to desire (by a letter from my father to me, where he had been some days) my help for him to some place. I proposed the sea to him, and I think he will take it, and I hope do well. Sat all the morning, and I bless God I find that by my diligence of late and still, I do get ground in the office every day. At noon to the Change, where I begin to be known also, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon dispatching business. At night news is brought me that Field the rogue hath this day cast me at Guildhall in L30 for his imprisonment, to which I signed his commitment with the rest of the officers; but they having been parliament-men, that he hath begun the law with me; and threatens more, but I hope the Duke of York will bear me out. At night home, and Mr. Spong came to me, and so he and I sat singing upon the leads till almost ten at night and so he went away (a pretty, harmless, and ingenious man), and I to bed, in a very great content of mind, which I hope by my care still in my business will continue to me. 25th. Up by four o'clock, and put my accounts with my Lord into a very good order, and so to my office, where having put many things in order I went to the Wardrobe, but found my Lord gone to Hampton Court. After discourse with Mr. Shepley we parted, and I into Thames Street, beyond the Bridge, and there enquired among the shops the price of tarre and oyle, and do find great content in it, and hope to save the King money by this practice. So home to dinner, and then to the Change, and so home again, and at the office preparing business against to-morrow all the afternoon. At night walked with my wife upon the leads, and so to supper and to bed. My wife having lately a great pain in her ear, for which this night she begins to take physique, and I have got cold and so have a great deal of my old pain. 26th. Up and took physique, but such as to go abroad with, only to loosen me, for I am bound. So to the office, and there all the morning sitting till noon, and then took Commissioner Pett home to dinner with me, where my stomach was turned when my sturgeon came to table, upon which I saw very many little worms creeping, which I suppose was through the staleness of the pickle. He being gone, comes Mr. Nicholson, my old fellow-student at Magdalene, and we played three or four things upon the violin and basse, and so parted, and I to my office till night, and there came Mr. Shepley and Creed in order to settling some accounts of my Lord to-night, and so to bed. 27th. Up early, not quite rid of my pain. I took more physique, and so made myself ready to go forth. So to my Lord, who rose as soon as he heard I was there; and in his nightgown and shirt stood talking with me alone two hours,. I believe, concerning his greatest matters of state and interest. Among other things, that his greatest design is, first, to get clear of all debts to the King for the Embassy money, and then a pardon. Then, to get his land settled; and then to, discourse and advise what is best for him, whether to keep his sea employment longer or no. For he do discern that the Duke would be willing to have him out, and that by Coventry's means. And here he told me, how the terms at Argier were wholly his; and that he did plainly tell Lawson and agree with him, that he would have the honour of them, if they should ever be agreed to; and that accordingly they did come over hither entitled, "Articles concluded on by Sir J. Lawson, according to instructions received from His Royal Highness James Duke of York, &c., and from His Excellency the Earle of Sandwich." (Which however was more than needed; but Lawson tells my Lord in his letter, that it was not he, but the Council of Warr that would have "His Royal Highness" put into the title, though he did not contribute one word to it.) But the Duke of York did yesterday propose them to the Council, to be printed with this title: "Concluded on, by Sir J. Lawson, Knt." and my Lord quite left out. Here I find my Lord very politique; for he tells me, that he discerns they design to set up Lawson as much as they can and that he do counterplot them by setting him up higher still; by which they will find themselves spoiled of their design, and at last grow jealous of Lawson. This he told me with much pleasure; and that several of the Duke's servants, by name my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton], Mr. Talbot, and others, had complained to my Lord, of Coventry, and would have him out. My Lord do acknowledge that his greatest obstacle is Coventry. He did seem to hint such a question as this: "Hitherto I have been supported by the King and Chancellor against the Duke; but what if it should come about, that it should be the Duke and Chancellor against the King?" which, though he said it in these plain words, yet I could not fully understand it; but may more here after. My Lord did also tell me, that the Duke himself at Portsmouth did thank my Lord for all his pains and care; and that he perceived it must be the old Captains that must do the business; and that the new ones would spoil all. And that my Lord did very discreetly tell the Duke (though quite against his judgement and inclination), that, however, the King's new captains ought to be borne with a little and encouraged. By which he will oblige that party, and prevent, as much as may be, their envy; but he says that certainly things will go to rack if ever the old captains should be wholly out, and the new ones only command. Then we fell to talk of Sir J. Minnes, of whom my Lord hath a very slight opinion, and that at first he did come to my Lord very displeased and sullen, and had studied and turned over all his books to see whether it had ever been that two flags should ride together in the main-top, but could not find it, nay, he did call his captains on board to consult them. So when he came by my Lord's side, he took down his flag, and all the day did not hoist it again, but next day my Lord did tell him that it was not so fit to ride without a flag, and therefore told him that he should wear it in the fore-top, for it seems my Lord saw his instructions, which were that he should not wear his flag in the maintop in the presence of the Duke or my Lord. But that after that my Lord did caress him, and he do believe him as much his friend as his interest will let him. I told my Lord of the late passage between Swan and me, and he told me another lately between Dr. Dell and himself when he was in the country. At last we concluded upon dispatching all his accounts as soon as possible, and so I parted, and to my office, where I met Sir W. Pen, and he desired a turn with me in the garden, where he told me the day now was fixed for his going into Ireland;--[Penn was Governor of Kinsale.-B.]--and that whereas I had mentioned some service he could do a friend of mine there, Saml. Pepys, [Mentioned elsewhere as "My cousin in Ireland." He was son of Lord Chief Justice Richard Pepys.] he told me he would most readily do what I would command him, and then told me we must needs eat a dish of meat together before he went, and so invited me and my wife on Sunday next. To all which I did give a cold consent, for my heart cannot love or have a good opinion of him since his last playing the knave with me, but he took no notice of our difference at all, nor I to him, and so parted, and I by water to Deptford, where I found Sir W. Batten alone paying off the yard three quarters pay. Thence to dinner, where too great a one was prepared, at which I was very much troubled, and wished I had not been there. After dinner comes Sir J. Minnes and some captains with him, who had been at a Councill of Warr to-day, who tell us they have acquitted Captain Hall, who was accused of cowardice in letting of old Winter, the Argier pyrate, go away from him with a prize or two; and also Captain Diamond of the murder laid to him of a man that he had struck, but he lived many months after, till being drunk, he fell into the hold, and there broke his jaw and died, but they say there are such bawdy articles against him as never were heard of .... To the pay again, where I left them, and walked to Redriffe, and so home, and there came Mr. Creed and Shepley to me, and staid till night about my Lord's accounts, our proceeding to set them in order, and so parted and I to bed. Mr. Holliard had been with my wife to-day, and cured her of her pain in her ear by taking out a most prodigious quantity of hard wax that had hardened itself in the bottom of the ear, of which I am very glad. 28th. Up to my Lord's and my own accounts, and so to the office, where all the forenoon sitting, and at noon by appointment to the Mitre, where Mr. Shepley gave me and Mr. Creed, and I had my uncle Wight with us, a dish of fish. Thence to the office again, and there all the afternoon till night, and so home, and after talking with my wife to bed. This day a genteel woman came to me, claiming kindred of me, as she had once done before, and borrowed 10s. of me, promising to repay it at night, but I hear nothing of her. I shall trust her no more. Great talk there is of a fear of a war with the Dutch; and we have order to pitch upon twenty ships to be forthwith set out; but I hope it is but a scarecrow to the world, to let them see that we can be ready for them; though, God knows! the King is not able to set out five ships at this present without great difficulty, we neither having money, credit, nor stores. My mind is now in a wonderful condition of quiet and content, more than ever in all my life, since my minding the business of my office, which I have done most constantly; and I find it to be the very effect of my late oaths against wine and plays, which, if God please, I will keep constant in, for now my business is a delight to me, and brings me great credit, and my purse encreases too. 29th (Lord's day). Up by four o'clock, and to the settling of my own accounts, and I do find upon my monthly ballance, which I have undertaken to keep from month to month, that I am worth L650, the greatest sum that ever I was yet master of. I pray God give me a thankfull, spirit, and care to improve and encrease it. To church with my wife, who this day put on her green petticoat of flowred satin, with fine white and gimp lace of her own putting on, which is very pretty. Home with Sir W. Pen to dinner by appointment, and to church again in the afternoon, and then home, Mr. Shepley coming to me about my Lord's accounts, and in the evening parted, and we to supper again to Sir W. Pen. Whatever the matter is, he do much fawn upon me, and I perceive would not fall out with me, and his daughter mighty officious to my wife, but I shall never be deceived again by him, but do hate him and his traitorous tricks with all my heart. It was an invitation in order to his taking leave of us to-day, he being to go for Ireland in a few days. So home and prayers, and to bed. 30th. Up betimes, and to my office, where I found Griffen's girl making it clean, but, God forgive me! what a mind I had to her, but did not meddle with her. She being gone, I fell upon boring holes for me to see from my closet into the great office, without going forth, wherein I please myself much. So settled to business, and at noon with my wife to the Wardrobe, and there dined, and staid talking all the afternoon with my Lord, and about four o'clock took coach with my wife and Lady, and went toward my house, calling at my Lady Carteret's, who was within by chance (she keeping altogether at Deptford for a month or two), and so we sat with her a little. Among other things told my Lady how my Lady Fanshaw is fallen out with her only for speaking in behalf of the French, which my Lady wonders at, they having been formerly like sisters, but we see there is no true lasting friendship in the world. Thence to my house, where I took great pride to lead her through the Court by the hand, she being very fine, and her page carrying up her train. She staid a little at my house, and then walked through the garden, and took water, and went first on board the King's pleasure boat, which pleased her much. Then to Greenwich Park; and with much ado she was able to walk up to the top of the hill, and so down again, and took boat, and so through bridge to Blackfryers, and home, she being much pleased with the ramble in every particular of it. So we supped with her, and then walked home, and to bed. OBSERVATIONS. This I take to be as bad a juncture as ever I observed. The King and his new Queen minding their pleasures at Hampton Court. All people discontented; some that the King do not gratify them enough; and the others, Fanatiques of all sorts, that the King do take away their liberty of conscience; and the height of the Bishops, who I fear will ruin all again. They do much cry up the manner of Sir H. Vane's death, and he deserves it. They clamour against the chimney-money, and say they will not pay it without force. And in the mean time, like to have war abroad; and Portugall to assist, when we have not money to pay for any ordinary layings-out at home. Myself all in dirt about building of my house and Sir W. Batten's a story higher. Into a good way, fallen on minding my business and saving money, which God encrease; and I do take great delight in it, and see the benefit of it. In a longing mind of going to see Brampton, but cannot get three days time, do what I can. In very good health, my wife and myself. JULY 1662 July 1st. To the office, and there we sat till past noon, and then Captain Cuttance and I by water to Deptford, where the Royal James (in which my Lord went out the last voyage, though [he] came back in the Charles) was paying off by Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen. So to dinner, where I had Mr. Sheply to dine with us, and from thence I sent to my Lord to know whether she should be a first rate, as the men would have her, or a second. He answered that we should forbear paying the officers and such whose pay differed upon the rate of the ship, till he could speak with his Royal Highness. To the Pay again after dinner, and seeing of Cooper, the mate of the ship, whom I knew in the Charles, I spoke to him about teaching the mathematiques, and do please myself in my thoughts of learning of him, and bade him come to me in a day or two. Towards evening I left them, and to Redriffe by land, Mr. Cowly, the Clerk of the Cheque, with me, discoursing concerning the abuses of the yard, in which he did give me much light. So by water home, and after half an hour sitting talking with my wife, who was afeard I did intend to go with my Lord to fetch the Queen mother over, in which I did clear her doubts, I went to bed by daylight, in order to my rising early to-morrow. 2nd. Up while the chimes went four, and to put down my journal, and so to my office, to read over such instructions as concern the officers of the Yard; for I am much upon seeing into the miscarriages there. By and by, by appointment, comes Commissioner Pett; and then a messenger from Mr. Coventry, who sits in his boat expecting us, and so we down to him at the Tower, and there took water all, and to Deptford (he in our passage taking notice how much difference there is between the old Captains for obedience and order, and the King's new Captains, which I am very glad to hear him confess); and there we went into the Store-house, and viewed first the provisions there, and then his books, but Mr. Davis himself was not there, he having a kinswoman in the house dead, for which, when by and by I saw him, he do trouble himself most ridiculously, as if there was never another woman in the world; in which so much laziness, as also in the Clerkes of the Cheque and Survey (which after one another we did examine), as that I do not perceive that there is one-third of their duties performed; but I perceive, to my great content, Mr. Coventry will have things reformed. So Mr. Coventry to London, and Pett and I to the Pay, where Sir Williams both were paying off the Royal James still, and so to dinner, and to the Pay again, where I did relieve several of my Lord Sandwich's people, but was sorry to see them so peremptory, and at every word would, complain to my Lord, as if they shall have such a command over my Lord. In the evening I went forth and took a walk with Mr. Davis, and told him what had passed at his office to-day, and did give him my advice, and so with the rest by barge home and to bed 3rd. Up by four o'clock and to my office till 8 o'clock, writing over two copies of our contract with Sir W. Rider, &c., for 500 ton of hempe, which, because it is a secret, I have the trouble of writing over as well as drawing. Then home to dress myself, and so to the office, where another fray between Sir R. Ford and myself about his yarn, wherein I find the board to yield on my side, and was glad thereof, though troubled that the office should fall upon me of disobliging Sir Richard. At noon we all by invitation dined at the Dolphin with the Officers of the Ordnance; where Sir W. Compton, Mr. O'Neale,'and other great persons, were, and a very great dinner, but I drank as I still do but my allowance of wine. After dinner, was brought to Sir W. Compton a gun to discharge seven times, the best of all devices that ever I saw, and very serviceable, and not a bawble; for it is much approved of, and many thereof made. Thence to my office all the afternoon as long as I could see, about setting many businesses in order. In the evening came Mr. Lewis to me, and very ingeniously did enquire whether I ever did look into the business of the Chest at Chatham; [Pepys gives some particulars about the Chest on November 13th, 1662. "The Chest at Chatham was originally planned by Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins in 1588, after the defeat of the Armada; the seamen voluntarily agreed to have 'defalked' out of their wages certain sums to form a fund for relief. The property became considerable, as well as the abuses, and in 1802 the Chest was removed to Greenwich. In 1817, the stock amounted to L300,000 Consols."--Hist. of Rochester, p. 346.--B.] and after my readiness to be informed did appear to him, he did produce a paper, wherein he stated the government of the Chest to me; and upon the whole did tell me how it hath ever been abused, and to this day is; and what a meritorious act it would be to look after it; which I am resolved to do, if God bless me; and do thank him very much for it. So home, and after a turn or two upon the leads with my wife, who has lately had but little of my company, since I begun to follow my business, but is contented therewith since she sees how I spend my time, and so to bed. 4th. Up by five o'clock, and after my journall put in order, to my office about my business, which I am resolved to follow, for every day I see what ground I get by it. By and by comes Mr. Cooper, mate of the Royall Charles, of whom I intend to learn mathematiques, and do begin with him to-day, he being a very able man, and no great matter, I suppose, will content him. After an hour's being with him at arithmetique (my first attempt being to learn the multiplication-table); then we parted till to-morrow. And so to my business at my office again till noon, about which time Sir W. Warren did come to me about business, and did begin to instruct me in the nature of fine timber and deals, telling me the nature of every sort; and from that we fell to discourse of Sir W. Batten's corruption and the people that he employs, and from one discourse to another of the kind. I was much pleased with his company, and so staid talking with him all alone at my office till 4 in the afternoon, without eating or drinking all day, and then parted, and I home to eat a bit, and so back again to my office; and toward the evening came Mr. Sheply, who is to go out of town to-morrow, and so he and I with much ado settled his accounts with my Lord, which, though they be true and honest, yet so obscure, that it vexes me to see in what manner they are kept. He being gone, and leave taken of him as of a man likely not to come to London again a great while, I eat a bit of bread and butter, and so to bed. This day I sent my brother Tom, at his request, my father's old Bass Viall which he and I have kept so long, but I fear Tom will do little good at it. 5th. To my office all the morning, to get things ready against our sitting, and by and by we sat and did business all the morning, and at noon had Sir W. Pen, who I hate with all my heart for his base treacherous tricks, but yet I think it not policy to declare it yet, and his son William, to my house to dinner, where was also Mr. Creed and my cozen Harry Alcocke. I having some venison given me a day or two ago, and so I had a shoulder roasted, another baked, and the umbles [The umbles are the liver, kidneys, and other portions of the inside of the deer. They were usually made into pies, and old cookery books contain directions for the making of 'umble pies.'] baked in a pie, and all very well done. We were merry as I could be in that company, and the more because I would not seem otherwise to Sir W. Pen, he being within a day or two to go for Ireland. After dinner he and his son went away, and Mr. Creed would, with all his rhetoric, have persuaded me to have gone to a play; and in good earnest I find my nature desirous to have gone, notwithstanding my promise and my business, to which I have lately kept myself so close, but I did refuse it, and I hope shall ever do so, and above all things it is considerable that my mind was never in my life in so good a condition of quiet as it has been since I have followed my business and seen myself to get greater and greater fitness in my employment, and honour every day more than other. So at my office all the afternoon, and then my mathematiques at night with Mr. Cooper, and so to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed to-day with my wife merry and pleasant, and then rose and settled my accounts with my wife for housekeeping, and do see that my kitchen, besides wine, fire, candle, sope, and many other things, comes to about 30s. a week, or a little over. To church, where Mr. Mills made a lazy sermon. So home to dinner, where my brother Tom dined with me, and so my wife and I to church again in the afternoon, and that done I walked to the Wardrobe and spent my time with Mr. Creed and Mr. Moore talking about business; so up to supper with my Lady [Sandwich], who tells me, with much trouble, that my Lady Castlemaine is still as great with the King, and that the King comes as often to her as ever he did, at which, God forgive me, I am well pleased. It began to rain, and so I borrowed a hat and cloak of Mr. Moore and walked home, where I found Captain Ferrer with my wife, and after speaking a matter of an hour with him he went home and we all to bed. Jack Cole, my old friend, found me out at the Wardrobe; and, among other things, he told me that certainly most of the chief ministers of London would fling up their livings; and that, soon or late, the issue thereof would be sad to the King and Court. 7th. Up and to my office early, and there all the morning alone till dinner, and after dinner to my office again, and about 3 o'clock with my wife by water to Westminster, where I staid in the Hall while my wife went to see her father and mother, and she returning we by water home again, and by and by comes Mr. Cooper, so he and I to our mathematiques, and so supper and to bed. My morning's work at the office was to put the new books of my office into order, and writing on the backsides what books they be, and transcribing out of some old books some things into them. 8th. At the office all the morning and dined at home, and after dinner in all haste to make up my accounts with my Lord, which I did with some trouble, because I had some hopes to have made a profit to myself in this account and above what was due to me (which God forgive me in), but I could not, but carried them to my Lord, with whom they passed well. So to the Wardrobe, where alone with my Lord above an hour; and he do seem still to have his old confidence in me; and tells me to boot, that Mr. Coventry hath spoke of me to him to great advantage; wherein I am much pleased. By and by comes in Mr. Coventry to visit my Lord; and so my Lord and he and I walked together in the great chamber a good while; and I found him a most ingenuous man and good company. He being gone I also went home by water, Mr. Moore with me for discourse sake, and then parted from me, Cooper being there ready to attend me, so he and I to work till it was dark, and then eat a bit and by daylight to bed. 9th. Up by four o'clock, and at my multiplicacion-table hard, which is all the trouble I meet withal in my arithmetique. So made me ready and to the office, where all the morning busy, and Sir W. Pen came to my office to take his leave of me, and desiring a turn in the garden, did commit the care of his building to me, and offered all his services to me in all matters of mine. I did, God forgive me! promise him all my service and love, though the rogue knows he deserves none from me, nor do I intend to show him any; but as he dissembles with me, so must I with him. Dined at home, and so to the office again, my wife with me, and while I was for an hour making a hole behind my seat in my closet to look into the office, she was talking to me about her going to Brampton, which I would willingly have her to do but for the cost of it, and to stay here will be very inconvenient because of the dirt that I must have when my house is pulled down. Then to my business till night, then Mr. Cooper and I to our business, and then came Mr. Mills, the minister, to see me, which he hath but rarely done to me, though every day almost to others of us; but he is a cunning fellow, and knows where the good victuals is, and the good drink, at Sir W. Batten's. However, I used him civilly, though I love him as I do the rest of his coat. So to supper and to bed. 10th. Up by four o'clock, and before I went to the office I practised my arithmetique, and then, when my wife was up, did call her and Sarah, and did make up a difference between them, for she is so good a servant as I am loth to part with her. So to the office all the morning, where very much business, but it vexes me to see so much disorder at our table, that, every man minding a several business, we dispatch nothing. Dined at home with my wife, then to the office again, and being called by Sir W. Batten, walked to the Victualler's office, there to view all the several offices and houses to see that they were employed in order to give the Council an account thereof. So after having taken an oath or two of Mr. Lewes and Captain Brown and others I returned to the office, and there sat despatching several businesses alone till night, and so home and by daylight to bed. 11th. Up by four o'clock, and hard at my multiplicacion-table, which I am now almost master of, and so made me ready and to my office, where by and by comes Mr. Pett, and then a messenger from Mr. Coventry, who stays in his boat at the Tower for us. So we to him, and down to Deptford first, and there viewed some deals lately served in at a low price, which our officers, like knaves, would untruly value in their worth, but we found them good. Then to Woolwich, and viewed well all the houses and stores there, which lie in very great confusion for want of storehouses, and then to Mr. Ackworth's and Sheldon's to view their books, which we found not to answer the King's service and security at all as to the stores. Then to the Ropeyard, and there viewed the hemp, wherein we found great corruption, and then saw a trial between Sir R. Ford's yarn and our own, and found great odds. So by water back again. About five in the afternoon to Whitehall, and so to St. James's; and at Mr. Coventry's chamber, which is very neat and fine, we had a pretty neat dinner, and after dinner fell to discourse of business and regulation, and do think of many things that will put matters into better order, and upon the whole my heart rejoices to see Mr. Coventry so ingenious, and able, and studious to do good, and with much frankness and respect to Mr. Pett and myself particularly. About 9 o'clock we broke up after much discourse and many things agreed on in order to our business of regulation, and so by water (landing Mr. Pett at the Temple) I went home and to bed. 12th. Up by five o'clock, and put things in my house in order to be laid up, against my workmen come on Monday to take down the top of my house, which trouble I must go through now, but it troubles me much to think of it. So to my office, where till noon we sat, and then I to dinner and to the office all the afternoon with much business. At night with Cooper at arithmetique, and then came Mr. Creed about my Lord's accounts to even them, and he gone I to supper and to bed. 13th (Lord's day).... I had my old pain all yesterday and this morning, and so kept my bed all this morning. So up and after dinner and some of my people to church, I set about taking down my books and papers and making my chamber fit against to-morrow to have the people come to work in pulling down the top of my house. In the evening I walked to the garden and sent for Mr. Turner (who yesterday did give me occasion of speaking to him about the difference between him and me), and I told him my whole mind, and how it was in my power to do him a discourtesy about his place of petty purveyance, and at last did make him see (I think) that it was his concernment to be friendly to me and what belongs to me. After speaking my mind to him and he to me, we walked down and took boat at the Tower and to Deptford, on purpose to sign and seal a couple of warrants, as justice of peace in Kent, against one Annis, who is to be tried next Tuesday, at Maidstone assizes, for stealing some lead out of Woolwich Yard. Going and coming I did discourse with Mr. Turner about the faults of our management of the business of our office, of which he is sensible, but I believe is a very knave. Come home I found a rabbit at the fire, and so supped well, and so to my journall and to bed. 14th. Up by 4 o'clock and to my arithmetique, and so to my office till 8, then to Thames Street along with old Mr. Green, among the tarr-men, and did instruct myself in the nature and prices of tarr, but could not get Stockholm for the use of the office under L10 15s. per last, which is a great price. So home, and at noon Dr. T. Pepys came to me, and he and I to the Exchequer, and so back to dinner, where by chance comes Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, and then Mr. Battersby, the minister, and then Mr. Dun, and it happened that I had a haunch of venison boiled, and so they were very wellcome and merry; but my simple Dr. do talk so like a fool that I am weary of him. They being gone, to my office again, and there all the afternoon, and at night home and took a few turns with my wife in the garden and so to bed. My house being this day almost quite untiled in order to its rising higher. This night I began to put on my waistcoat also. I found the pageant in Cornhill taken down, which was pretty strange. 15th. Up by 4 o'clock, and after doing some business as to settling my papers at home, I went to my office, and there busy till sitting time. So at the office all the morning, where J. Southern, Mr. Coventry's clerk, did offer me a warrant for an officer to sign which I desired, claiming it for my clerk's duty, which however did trouble me a little to be put upon it, but I did it. We broke up late, and I to dinner at home, where my brother Tom and Mr. Cooke came and dined with me, but I could not be merry for my business, but to my office again after dinner, and they two and my wife abroad. In the evening comes Mr. Cooper, and I took him by water on purpose to tell me things belonging to ships, which was time well spent, and so home again, and my wife came home and tells me she has been very merry and well pleased with her walk with them. About bedtime it fell a-raining, and the house being all open at top, it vexed me; but there was no help for it. 16th. In the morning I found all my ceilings, spoiled with rain last night, so that I fear they must be all new whited when the work is done. Made me ready and to my office, and by and by came Mr. Moore to me, and so I went home and consulted about drawing up a fair state of all my Lord's accounts, which being settled, he went away, and I fell to writing of it very neatly, and it was very handsome and concisely done. At noon to my Lord's with it, but found him at dinner, and some great company with him, Mr. Edward Montagu and his brother, and Mr. Coventry, and after dinner he went out with them, and so I lost my labour; but dined with Mr. Moore and the people below, who after dinner fell to talk of Portugall rings, and Captain Ferrers offered five or six to sell, and I seeming to like a ring made of a coco-nutt with a stone done in it, he did offer and would give it me. By and by we went to Mr. Creed's lodging, and there got a dish or two of sweetmeats, and I seeing a very neat leaden standish to carry papers, pen, and ink in when one travels I also got that of him, and that done I went home by water and to finish some of my Lord's business, and so early to bed. This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine (being quite fallen out with her husband) did yesterday go away from him, with all her plate, jewels, and other best things; and is gone to Richmond to a brother of her's; which, I am apt to think, was a design to get out of town, that the King might come at her the better. But strange it is how for her beauty I am willing to construe all this to the best and to pity her wherein it is to her hurt, though I know well enough she is a whore. 17th. To my office, and by and by to our sitting; where much business. Mr. Coventry took his leave, being to go with the Duke over for the Queen-Mother. I dined at home, and so to my Lord's, where I presented him with a true state of all his accounts to last Monday, being the 14th of July, which did please him, and to my great joy I continue in his great esteem and opinion. I this day took a general acquittance from my Lord to the same day. So that now I have but very few persons to deal withall for money in the world. Home and found much business to be upon my hands, and was late at the office writing letters by candle light, which is rare at this time of the year, but I do it with much content and joy, and then I do please me to see that I begin to have people direct themselves to me in all businesses. Very late I was forced to send for Mr. Turner, Smith, Young, about things to be sent down early to-morrow on board the King's pleasure boat, and so to bed with my head full of business, but well contented in mind as ever in my life. 18th. Up very early, and got a-top of my house, seeing the design of my work, and like it very well, and it comes into my head to have my dining-room wainscoated, which will be very pretty. By-and-by by water to Deptford, to put several things in order, being myself now only left in town, and so back again to the office, and there doing business all the morning and the afternoon also till night, and then comes Cooper for my mathematiques, but, in good earnest, my head is so full of business that I cannot understand it as otherwise I should do. At night to bed, being much troubled at the rain coming into my house, the top being open. 19th. Up early and to some business, and my wife coming to me I staid long with her discoursing about her going into the country, and as she is not very forward so am I at a great loss whether to have her go or no because of the charge, and yet in some considerations I would be glad she was there, because of the dirtiness of my house and the trouble of having of a family there. So to my office, and there all the morning, and then to dinner and my brother Tom dined with me only to see me. In the afternoon I went upon the river to look after some tarr I am sending down and some coles, and so home again; it raining hard upon the water, I put ashore and sheltered myself, while the King came by in his barge, going down towards the Downs to meet the Queen: the Duke being gone yesterday. But methought it lessened my esteem of a king, that he should not be able to command the rain. Home, and Cooper coming (after I had dispatched several letters) to my mathematiques, and so at night to bed to a chamber at Sir W. Pen's, my own house being so foul that I cannot lie there any longer, and there the chamber lies so as that I come into it over my leads without going about, but yet I am not fully content with it, for there will be much trouble to have servants running over the leads to and fro. 20th (Lord's day). My wife and I lay talking long in bed, and at last she is come to be willing to stay two months in the country, for it is her unwillingness to stay till the house is quite done that makes me at a loss how to have her go or stay. But that which troubles me most is that it has rained all this morning so furiously that I fear my house is all over water, and with that expectation I rose and went into my house and find that it is as wet as the open street, and that there is not one dry-footing above nor below in my house. So I fitted myself for dirt, and removed all my books to the office and all day putting up and restoring things, it raining all day long as hard within doors as without. At last to dinner, we had a calf's head and bacon at my chamber at Sir W. Pen's, and there I and my wife concluded to have her go and her two maids and the boy, and so there shall be none but Will and I left at home, and so the house will be freer, for it is impossible to have anybody come into my house while it is in this condition, and with this resolution all the afternoon we were putting up things in the further cellar against next week for them to be gone, and my wife and I into the office and there measured a soiled flag that I had found there, and hope to get it to myself, for it has not been demanded since I came to the office. But my wife is not hasty to have it, but rather to stay a while longer and see the event whether it will be missed or no. At night to my office, and there put down this day's passages in my journall, and read my oaths, as I am obliged every Lord's day. And so to Sir W. Pen's to my chamber again, being all in dirt and foul, and in fear of having catched cold today with dabbling in the water. But what has vexed me to-day was that by carrying the key to Sir W. Pen's last night, it could not in the midst of all my hurry to carry away my books and things, be found, and at last they found it in the fire that we made last night. So to bed. 21st. Up early, and though I found myself out of order and cold, and the weather cold and likely to rain, yet upon my promise and desire to do what I intended, I did take boat and down to Greenwich, to Captain Cocke's, who hath a most pleasant seat, and neat. Here I drank wine, and eat some fruit off the trees; and he showed a great rarity, which was two or three of a great number of silver dishes and plates, which he bought of an embassador that did lack money, in the edge or rim of which was placed silver and gold medalls, very ancient, and I believe wrought, by which, if they be, they are the greatest rarity that ever I saw in my life, and I will show Mr. Crumlum them. Thence to Woolwich to the Rope-yard; and there looked over several sorts of hemp, and did fall upon my great survey of seeing the working and experiments of the strength and the charge in the dressing of every sort; and I do think have brought it to so great a certainty, as I have done the King great service in it: and do purpose to get it ready against the Duke's coming to town to present to him. I breakfasted at Mr. Falconer's well, and much pleased with my inquiries. Thence to the dock, where we walked in Mr. Shelden's garden, eating more fruit, and drinking, and eating figs, which were very good, and talking while the Royal James was bringing towards the dock, and then we went out and saw the manner and trouble of docking such a ship, which yet they could not do, but only brought her head into the Dock, and so shored her up till next tide. But, good God! what a deal of company was there from both yards to help to do it, when half the company would have done it as well. But I see it is impossible for the King to have things done as cheap as other men. Thence by water, and by and by landing at the riverside somewhere among the reeds, we walked to Greenwich, where to Cocke's house again and walked in the garden, and then in to his lady, who I find is still pretty, but was now vexed and did speak very discontented and angry to the Captain for disappointing a gentleman that he had invited to dinner, which he took like a wise man and said little, but she was very angry, which put me clear out of countenance that I was sorry I went in. So after I had eat still some more fruit I took leave of her in the garden plucking apricots for preserving, and went away and so by water home, and there Mr. Moore coming and telling me that my Lady goes into the country to-morrow, I carried my wife by coach to take her leave of her father, I staying in Westminster Hall, she going away also this week, and thence to my Lady's, where we staid and supped with her, but found that my Lady was truly angry and discontented with us for our neglecting to see her as we used to do, but after a little she was pleased as she was used to be, at which we were glad. So after supper home to bed. 22d. Among my workmen early: then to the office, and there I had letters from the Downs from Mr. Coventry; who tells me of the foul weather they had last Sunday, that drove them back from near Boulogne, whither they were going for the Queen, back again to the Downs, with the loss of their cables, sayles, and masts; but are all safe, only my Lord Sandwich, who went before with the yachts; they know not what is become of him, which do trouble me much; but I hope he got ashore before the storm begun; which God grant! All day at the office, only at home at dinner, where I was highly angry with my wife for her keys being out of the way, but they were found at last, and so friends again. All the afternoon answering letters and writing letters, and at night to Mr. Coventry an ample letter in answer to all his and the Duke's business. Late at night at the office, where my business is great, being now all alone in town, but I shall go through it with pleasure. So home and to bed. 23rd. This morning angry a little in the morning, and my house being so much out of order makes me a little pettish. I went to the office, and there dispatched business by myself, and so again in the afternoon; being a little vexed that my brother Tom, by his neglect, do fail to get a coach for my wife and maid this week, by which she will not be at Brampton Feast, to meet my Lady at my father's. At night home, and late packing up things in order to their going to Brampton to-morrow, and so to bed, quite out of sorts in my mind by reason that the weather is so bad, and my house all full of wet, and the trouble of going from one house to another to Sir W. Pen's upon every occasion. Besides much disturbed by reason of the talk up and down the town, that my Lord Sandwich is lost; but I trust in God the contrary. 24th. Up early this morning sending the things to the carrier's, and my boy, who goes to-day, though his mistress do not till next Monday. All the morning at the office, Sir W. Batten being come to town last night. I hear, to my great content, that my Lord Sandwich is safe landed in France. Dined at our chamber, where W. Bowyer with us, and after much simple talk with him, I left him, and to my office, where all the afternoon busy till 9 at night, among other things improving my late experiment at Woolwich about hemp. So home and to bed. 25th. At the office all the morning, reading Mr. Holland's' discourse of the Navy, lent me by Mr. Turner, and am much pleased with them, they hitting the very diseases of the Navy, which we are troubled with now-a-days. I shall bestow writing of them over and much reading thereof. This morning Sir W. Batten came in to the office and desired to speak with me; he began by telling me that he observed a strangeness between him and me of late, and would know the reason of it, telling me he heard that I was offended with merchants coming to his house and making contracts there. I did tell him that as a friend I had spoke of it to Sir W. Pen and desired him to take a time to tell him of it, and not as a backbiter, with which he was satisfied, but I find that Sir W. Pen has played the knave with me, and not told it from me as a friend, but in a bad sense. He also told me that he heard that exceptions were taken at his carrying his wife down to Portsmouth, saying that the King should not pay for it, but I denied that I had spoke of it, nor did I. At last he desired the difference between our wives might not make a difference between us, which I was exceedingly glad to hear, and do see every day the fruit of looking after my business, which I pray God continue me in, for I do begin to be very happy. Dined at home, and so to the office all the afternoon again, and at night home and to bed. 26th. Sir W. Batten, Mr. Pett, and I at the office sitting all the morning. So dined at home, and then to my office again, causing the model hanging in my chamber to be taken down and hung up in my office, for fear of being spoilt by the workmen, and for my own convenience of studying it. This afternoon I had a letter from Mr. Creed, who hath escaped narrowly in the King's yacht, and got safe to the Downs after the late storm; and that there the King do tell him, that he is sure that my Lord is landed at Callis safe, of which being glad, I sent news thereof to my Lord Crew, and by the post to my Lady into the country. This afternoon I went to Westminster; and there hear that the King and Queen intend to come to White Hall from Hampton Court next week, for all winter. Thence to Mrs. Sarah, and there looked over my Lord's lodgings, which are very pretty; and White Hall garden and the Bowling-ally (where lords and ladies are now at bowles), in brave condition. Mrs. Sarah told me how the falling out between my Lady Castlemaine and her Lord was about christening of the child lately, [The boy was born in June at Lady Castlemaine's house in King Street. By the direction of Lord Castlemaine, who had become a Roman Catholic, the child was baptized by a priest, and this led to a final separation between husband and wife. Some days afterwards the child was again baptized by the rector of St. Margaret's, Westminster, in presence of the godparents, the King, Aubrey De Vere, Earl of Oxford, and Barbara, Countess of Suffolk, first Lady of the Bedchamber to the Queen and Lady Castlemaine's aunt. The entry in the register of St. Margaret's is as follows: "1662 June 18 Charles Palmer Ld Limbricke, s. to ye right honorble Roger Earl of Castlemaine by Barbara" (Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," 1871, p. 33). The child was afterwards called Charles Fitzroy, and was created Duke of Southampton in 1674. He succeeded his mother in the dukedom of Cleveland in 1709, and died 1730.] which he would have, and had done by a priest: and, some days after, she had it again christened by a minister; the King, and Lord of Oxford, and Duchesse of Suffolk, being witnesses: and christened with a proviso, that it had not already been christened. Since that she left her Lord, carrying away every thing in the house; so much as every dish, and cloth, and servant but the porter. He is gone discontented into France, they say, to enter a monastery; and now she is coming back again to her house in Kingstreet. But I hear that the Queen did prick her out of the list presented her by the King; ["By the King's command Lord Clarendon, much against his inclination, had twice visited his royal mistress with a view of inducing her, by persuasions which he could not justify, to give way to the King's determination to have Lady Castlemaine of her household.... Lord Clarendon has given a full account of all that transpired between himself, the King and the Queen, on this very unpleasant business ('Continuation of Life of Clarendon,' 1759, ff. 168-178)."--Steinman's Memoir of Duchess of Cleveland, p. 35. "The day at length arrived when Lady Castlemaine was to be formally admitted a Lady of the Bedchamber. The royal warrant, addressed to the Lord Chamberlain, bears date June 1, 1663, and includes with that of her ladyship, the names of the Duchess of Buckingham, the Countesses of Chesterfield and Bath, and the Countess Mareshall. A separate warrant of the same day directs his lordship to admit the Countess of Suffolk as Groom of the Stole and first Lady of the Bedchamber, to which undividable offices she had, with the additional ones of Mistress of the Robes and Keeper of the Privy Purse, been nominated by a warrant dated April 2, 1662, wherein the reception of her oath is expressly deferred until the Queen's household shall be established. We here are furnished with the evidence that Charles would not sign the warrants for the five until Catherine had withdrawn her objection to his favourite one."-- Addenda to Steinman's Memoir of Duchess of Cleveland (privately printed), 1874, p. i.] desiring that she might have that favour done her, or that he would send her from whence she come: and that the King was angry and the Queen discontented a whole day and night upon it; but that the King hath promised to have nothing to do with her hereafter. But I cannot believe that the King can fling her off so, he loving her too well: and so I writ this night to my Lady to be my opinion; she calling her my lady, and the lady I admire. Here I find that my Lord hath lost the garden to his lodgings, and that it is turning into a tennis-court. Hence by water to the Wardrobe to see how all do there, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). At church alone in the pew in the morning. In the afternoon by water I carried my wife to Westminster, where she went to take leave of her father, [Mrs. Pepys's father was Alexander Marchant, Sieur de St. Michel, a scion of a good family in Anjou. Having turned Huguenot at the age of twenty-one, his father disinherited him, and he was left penniless. He came over in the retinue of Henrietta Maria, on her marriage with Charles I., as one of her Majesty's gentlemen carvers, but the Queen dismissed him on finding out he was a Protestant and did not go to mass. He described himself as being captain and major of English troops in Italy and Flanders.--Wheatley's Pepys and the World he lived in, pp. 6, 250. He was full of schemes; see September 22nd, 1663, for account of his patent for curing smoky chimneys.] and I to walk in the Park, which is now every day more and more pleasant, by the new works upon it. Here meeting with Laud Crispe, I took him to the farther end, and sat under a tree in a corner, and there sung some songs, he singing well, but no skill, and so would sing false sometimes. Then took leave of him, and found my wife at my Lord's lodging, and so took her home by water, and to supper in Sir W. Pen's balcony, and Mrs. Keene with us, and then came my wife's brother, and then broke up, and to bed. 28th. Up early, and by six o'clock, after my wife was ready, I walked with her to the George, at Holborn Conduit, where the coach stood ready to carry her and her maid to Bugden, but that not being ready, my brother Tom staid with them to see them gone, and so I took a troubled though willing goodbye, because of the bad condition of my house to have a family in it. So I took leave of her and walked to the waterside, and there took boat for the Tower; hearing that the Queen-Mother is come this morning already as high as Woolwich: and that my Lord Sandwich was with her; at which my heart was glad, and I sent the waterman, though yet not very certain of it, to my wife to carry news thereof to my Lady. So to my office all the morning abstracting the Duke's instructions in the margin thereof. So home all alone to dinner, and then to the office again, and in the evening Cooper comes, and he being gone, to my chamber a little troubled and melancholy, to my lute late, and so to bed, Will lying there at my feet, and the wench in my house in Will's bed. 29th. Early up, and brought all my money, which is near L300, out of my house into this chamber; and so to the office, and there we sat all the morning, Sir George Carteret and Mr. Coventry being come from sea. This morning among other things I broached the business of our being abused about flags, which I know doth trouble Sir W. Batten, but I care not. At noon being invited I went with Sir George and Mr. Coventry to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, and there merry, and very friendly to Sir Wm. and he to me, and complies much with me, but I know he envies me, and I do not value him. To the office again, and in the evening walked to Deptford (Cooper with me talking of mathematiques), to send a fellow to prison for cutting of buoy ropes, and to see the difference between the flags sent in now-a-days, and I find the old ones, which were much cheaper, to be wholly as good. So I took one of a sort with me, and Mr. Wayth accompanying of me a good way, talking of the faults of the Navy, I walked to Redriffe back, and so home by water, and after having done, late, at the office, I went to my chamber and to bed. 30th. Up early, and to my office, where Cooper came to me and begun his lecture upon the body of a ship, which my having of a modell in the office is of great use to me, and very pleasant and useful it is. Then by water to White Hall, and there waited upon my Lord Sandwich; and joyed him, at his lodgings, of his safe coming home after all his danger, which he confesses to be very great. And his people do tell me how bravely my Lord did carry himself, while my Lord Crofts did cry; and I perceive it is all the town talk how poorly he carried himself. But the best was of one Mr. Rawlins, a courtier, that was with my Lord; and in the greatest danger cried, "God damn me, my Lord, I won't give you three-pence for your place now." But all ends in the honour of the pleasure-boats; which, had they not been very good boats, they could never have endured the sea as they did. Thence with Captain Fletcher, of the Gage, in his ship's boat with 8 oars (but every ordinary oars outrowed us) to Woolwich, expecting to find Sir W. Batten there upon his survey, but he is not come, and so we got a dish of steaks at the White Hart, while his clarkes and others were feasting of it in the best room of the house, and after dinner playing at shuffleboard, [The game of shovelboard was played by two players (each provided with five coins) on a smooth heavy table. On the table were marked with chalk a series of lines, and the play was to strike the coin on the edge of the table with the hand so that it rested between these lines. Shakespeare uses the expression "shove-groat shilling," as does Ben Jonson. These shillings were usually smooth and worn for the convenience of playing. Strutt says ("Sports and Pastimes"), "I have seen a shovel-board table at a low public house in Benjamin Street, near Clerkenwell Green, which is about three feet in breadth and thirty-nine feet two inches in length, and said to be the longest at this time in London."] and when at last they heard I was there, they went about their survey. But God help the King! what surveys, shall be taken after this manner! I after dinner about my business to the Rope-yard, and there staid till night, repeating several trialls of the strength, wayte, waste, and other things of hemp, by which I have furnished myself enough to finish my intended business of stating the goodness of all sorts of hemp. At night home by boat with Sir W. Warren, who I landed by the way, and so being come home to bed. 31st. Up early and among my workmen, I ordering my rooms above, which will please me very well. So to my office, and there we sat all the morning, where I begin more and more to grow considerable there. At noon Mr. Coventry and I by his coach to the Exchange together; and in Lumbard-street met Captain Browne of the Rosebush: at which he was cruel angry: and did threaten to go to-day to the Duke at Hampton Court, and get him turned out because he was not sailed. But at the Exchange we resolved of eating a bit together, which we did at the Ship behind the Exchange, and so took boat to Billingsgate, and went down on board the Rosebush at Woolwich, and found all things out of order, but after frightening the officers there, we left them to make more haste, and so on shore to the yard, and did the same to the officers of the yard, that the ship was not dispatched. Here we found Sir W. Batten going about his survey, but so poorly and unlike a survey of the Navy, that I am ashamed of it, and so is Mr. Coventry. We found fault with many things, and among others the measure of some timber now serving in which Mr. Day the assistant told us of, and so by water home again, all the way talking of the office business and other very pleasant discourse, and much proud I am of getting thus far into his books, which I think I am very much in. So home late, and it being the last day of the month, I did make up my accounts before I went to bed, and found myself worth about L650, for which the Lord God be praised, and so to bed. I drank but two glasses of wine this day, and yet it makes my head ake all night, and indisposed me all the next day, of which I am glad. I am now in town only with my man Will and Jane, and because my house is in building, I do lie at Sir W. Pen's house, he being gone to Ireland. My wife, her maid and boy gone to Brampton. I am very well entered into the business and esteem of the office, and do ply it close, and find benefit by it. AUGUST 1662 August 1st. Up, my head aching, and to my office, where Cooper read me another lecture upon my modell very pleasant. So to my business all the morning, which increases by people coming now to me to the office. At noon to the Exchange, where meeting Mr. Creed and Moore we three to a house hard by (which I was not pleased with) to dinner, and after dinner and some discourse ordinary by coach home, it raining hard, and so at the office all the afternoon till evening to my chamber, where, God forgive me, I was sorry to hear that Sir W. Pen's maid Betty was gone away yesterday, for I was in hopes to have had a bout with her before she had gone, she being very pretty. I had also a mind to my own wench, but I dare not for fear she should prove honest and refuse and then tell my wife. I staid up late, putting things in order for my going to Chatham to-morrow, and so to bed, being in pain... with the little riding in a coach to-day from the Exchange, which do trouble me. 2nd. Up early, and got me ready in my riding clothes, and so to the office, and there wrote letters to my father and wife against night, and then to the business of my office, which being done, I took boat with Will, and down to Greenwich, where Captain Cocke not being at home I was vexed, and went to walk in the Park till he come thither to me: and Will's forgetting to bring my boots in the boat did also vex me, for I was forced to send the boat back again for them. I to Captain Cocke's along with him to dinner, where I find his lady still pretty, but not so good a humour as I thought she was. We had a plain, good dinner, and I see they do live very frugally. I eat among other fruit much mulberrys, a thing I have not eat of these many years, since I used to be at Ashted, at my cozen Pepys's. After dinner we to boat, and had a pleasant passage down to Gravesend, but it was nine o'clock before we got thither, so that we were in great doubt what to do, whether to stay there or no; and the rather because I was afeard to ride, because of my pain...; but at the Swan, finding Mr. Hemson and Lieutenant Carteret of the Foresight come to meet me, I borrowed Mr. Hemson's horse, and he took another, and so we rode to Rochester in the dark, and there at the Crown Mr. Gregory, Barrow, and others staid to meet me. So after a glass of wine, we to our barge, that was ready for me, to the Hill-house, where we soon went to bed, before we slept I telling upon discourse Captain Cocke the manner of my being cut of the stone, which pleased him much. So to sleep. 3rd (Lord's day). Up early, and with Captain Cocke to the dock-yard, a fine walk, and fine weather. Where we walked till Commissioner Pett come to us, and took us to his house, and showed us his garden and fine things, and did give us a fine breakfast of bread and butter, and sweetmeats and other things with great choice, and strong drinks, with which I could not avoyde making my head ake, though I drank but little. Thither came Captain Allen of the Foresight, and the officers of the yard to see me. Thence by and by to church, by coach, with the Commissioner, and had a dull sermon. A full church, and some pretty women in it; among others, Beck Allen, who was a bride-maid to a new married couple that came to church to-day, and, which was pretty strange, sat in a pew hung with mourning for a mother of the bride's, which methinks should have been taken down. After dinner going out of the church saluted Mrs. Pett, who came after us in the coach to church, and other officers' wives. The Commissioner staid at dinner with me, and we had a good dinner, better than I would have had, but I saw there was no helping of it. After dinner the Commissioner and I left the company and walked in the garden at the Hill-house, which is very pleasant, and there talked of our businesses and matters of the navy. So to church again, where quite weary, and so after sermon walked with him to the yard up and down and the fields, and saw the place designed for the wet dock. And so to his house, and had a syllabub, and saw his closet, which come short of what I expected, but there was fine modells of ships in it indeed, whose worth I could not judge of. At night walked home to the Hill-house, Mr. Barrow with me, talking of the faults of the yard, walking in the fields an hour or two, and so home to supper, and so Captain Cocke and I to bed. This day among other stories he told me how despicable a thing it is to be a hangman in Poland, although it be a place of credit. And that, in his time, there was some repairs to be made of the gallows there, which was very fine of stone; but nobody could be got to mend it till the Burgomaster, or Mayor of the town, with all the companies of those trades which were necessary to be used about those repairs, did go in their habits with flags, in solemn procession to the place, and there the Burgomaster did give the first blow with the hammer upon the wooden work; and the rest of the Masters of the Companys upon the works belonging to their trades; that so workmen might not be ashamed to be employed upon doing of the gallows' works. 4th. Up by four o'clock in the morning and walked to the Dock, where Commissioner Pett and I took barge and went to the guardships and mustered them, finding them but badly manned; thence to the Sovereign, which we found kept in good order and very clean, which pleased us well, but few of the officers on board. Thence to the Charles, and were troubled to see her kept so neglectedly by the boatswain Clements, who I always took for a very good officer; it is a very brave ship. Thence to Upnor Castle, and there went up to the top, where there is a fine prospect, but of very small force; so to the yard, and there mustered the whole ordinary, where great disorder by multitude of servants and old decrepid men, which must be remedied. So to all the storehouses and viewed the stores of all sorts and the hemp, where we found Captain Cocke's (which he came down to see along with me) very bad, and some others, and with much content (God forgive me) I did hear by the Clerk of the Ropeyard how it was by Sir W. Batten's private letter that one parcel of Alderman Barker's' was received. At two o'clock to dinner to the Hill-house, and after dinner dispatched many people's business, and then to the yard again, and looked over Mr. Gregory's and Barrow's houses to see the matter of difference between them concerning an alteration that Barrow would make, which I shall report to the board, but both their houses very pretty, and deserve to be so, being well kept. Then to a trial of several sorts of hemp, but could not perform it here so well as at Woolwich, but we did do it pretty well. So took barge at the dock and to Rochester, and there Captain Cocke and I and our two men took coach about 8 at night and to Gravesend, where it was very dark before we got thither to the Swan; and there, meeting with Doncaster, an old waterman of mine above bridge, we eat a short supper, being very merry with the drolling, drunken coachman that brought us, and so took water. It being very dark, and the wind rising, and our waterman unacquainted with this part of the river, so that we presently cast upon the Essex shore, but got off again, and so, as well as we could, went on, but I in such fear that I could not sleep till we came to Erith, and there it begun to be calm, and the stars to shine, and so I began to take heart again, and the rest too, and so made shift to slumber a little. Above Woolwich we lost our way, and went back to Blackwall, and up and down, being guided by nothing but the barking of a dog, which we had observed in passing by Blackwall, and so, 5th. Got right again with much ado, after two or three circles and so on, and at Greenwich set in Captain Cocke, and I set forward, hailing to all the King's ships at Deptford, but could not wake any man: so that we could have done what we would with their ships. At last waked one man; but it was a merchant ship, the Royall Catharine: so to the Towerdock and home, where the girl sat up for me. It was about three o'clock, and putting Mr. Boddam out of my bed, went to bed, and lay till nine o'clock, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I did give some accounts of my service. Dined alone at home, and was glad my house is begun tiling. And to the office again all the afternoon, till it was so dark that I could not see hardly what it is that I now set down when I write this word, and so went to my chamber and to bed, being sleepy. 6th. Up early, and, going to my office, met Sir G. Carteret in coming through the yard, and so walked a good while talking with him about Sir W. Batten, and find that he is going down the wind in every body's esteem, and in that of his honesty by this letter that he wrote to Captn. Allen concerning Alderman Barker's hemp. Thence by water to White Hall; and so to St. James's; but there found Mr. Coventry gone to Hampton Court. So to my Lord's; and he is also gone: this being a great day at the Council about some business at the Council before the King. Here I met with Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu hath lately had a duell with Mr. Cholmely, that is first gentleman-usher to the Queen, and was a messenger from the King to her in Portugall, and is a fine gentleman; but had received many affronts from Mr. Montagu, and some unkindness from my Lord, upon his score (for which I am sorry). He proved too hard for Montagu, and drove him so far backward that he fell into a ditch, and dropt his sword, but with honour would take no advantage over him; but did give him his life: and the world says Mr. Montagu did carry himself very poorly in the business, and hath lost his honour for ever with all people in it, of which I am very glad, in hopes that it will humble him. I hear also that he hath sent to my Lord to borrow L400, giving his brother Harvey's' security for it, and that my Lord will lend it him, for which I am sorry. Thence home, and at my office all the morning, and dined at home, and can hardly keep myself from having a mind to my wench, but I hope I shall not fall to such a shame to myself. All the afternoon also at my office, and did business. In the evening came Mr. Bland the merchant to me, who has lived long in Spain, and is concerned in the business of Tangier, who did discourse with me largely of it, and after he was gone did send me three or four printed things that he hath wrote of trade in general and of Tangier particularly, but I do not find much in them. This afternoon Mr. Waith was with me, and did tell me much concerning the Chest, which I am resolved to look into; and I perceive he is sensible of Sir W. Batten's carriage; and is pleased to see any thing work against him. Who, poor man, is, I perceive, much troubled, and did yesterday morning walk in the garden with me, did tell me he did see there was a design of bringing another man in his room, and took notice of my sorting myself with others, and that we did business by ourselves without him. Part of which is true, but I denied, and truly, any design of doing him any such wrong as that. He told me he did not say it particularly of me, but he was confident there was somebody intended to be brought in, nay, that the trayne was laid before Sir W. Pen went, which I was glad to hear him say. Upon the whole I see he perceives himself tottering, and that he is suspected, and would be kind to me, but I do my business in the office and neglect him. At night writing in my study a mouse ran over my table, which I shut up fast under my shelf's upon my table till to-morrow, and so home and to bed. 7th. Up by four o'clock and to my office, and by and by Mr. Cooper comes and to our modell, which pleases me more and more. At this till 8 o'clock, and so we sat in the office and staid all the morning, my interest still growing, for which God be praised. This morning I got unexpectedly the Reserve for Mr. Cooper to be maister of, which was only by taking an opportune time to motion [it], which is one good effect of my being constant at the office, that nothing passes without me; and I have the choice of my own time to propose anything I would have. Dined at home, and to the office again at my business all the afternoon till night, and so to supper and to bed. It being become a pleasure to me now-a-days to follow my business, and the greatest part may be imputed to my drinking no wine, and going to no plays. 8th. Up by four o'clock in the morning, and at five by water to Woolwich, there to see the manner of tarring, and all the morning looking to see the several proceedings in making of cordage, and other things relating to that sort of works, much to my satisfaction. At noon came Mr. Coventry on purpose from Hampton Court to see the same, and dined with Mr. Falconer, and after dinner to several experiments of Hemp, and particularly some Milan hemp that is brought over ready dressed. Thence we walked talking, very good discourse all the way to Greenwich, and I do find most excellent discourse from him. Among other things, his rule of suspecting every man that proposes any thing to him to be a knave; or, at least, to have some ends of his own in it. Being led thereto by the story of Sir John Millicent, that would have had a patent from King James for every man to have had leave to have given him a shilling; and that he might take it of every man that had a mind to give it, and being answered that that was a fair thing, but what needed he a patent for it, and what he would do to them that would not give him. He answered, he would not force them; but that they should come to the Council of State, to give a reason why they would not. Another rule is a proverb that he hath been taught, which is that a man that cannot sit still in his chamber (the reason of which I did not understand him), and he that cannot say no (that is, that is of so good a nature that he cannot deny any thing, or cross another in doing any thing), is not fit for business. The last of which is a very great fault of mine, which I must amend in. Thence by boat; I being hot, he put the skirt of his cloak about me; and it being rough, he told me the passage of a Frenchman through London Bridge, where, when he saw the great fall, he begun to cross himself and say his prayers in the greatest fear in the world, and soon as he was over, he swore "Morbleu! c'est le plus grand plaisir du monde," being the most like a French humour in the world. [When the first editions of this Diary were printed no note was required here. Before the erection of the present London Bridge the fall of water at the ebb tide was great, and to pass at that time was called "Shooting the bridge". It was very hazardous for small boats. The ancient mode, even in Henry VIII.'s time, of going to the Tower and Greenwich, was to land at the Three Cranes, in Upper Thames Street, suffer the barges to shoot the bridge, and to enter them again at Billingsgate. See Cavendish's "Wolsey," p. 40, ed. 1852] To Deptford, and there surprised the Yard, and called them to a muster, and discovered many abuses, which we shall be able to understand hereafter and amend. Thence walked to Redriffe, and so to London Bridge, where I parted with him, and walked home and did a little business, and to supper and to bed. 9th. Up by four o'clock or a little after, and to my office, whither by and by comes Cooper, to whom I told my getting for him the Reserve, for which he was very thankful, and fell to work upon our modell, and did a good morning's work upon the rigging, and am very sorry that I must lose him so soon. By and by comes Mr. Coventry, and he and I alone sat at the office all the morning upon business. And so to dinner to Trinity House, and thence by his coach towards White Hall; but there being a stop at the Savoy, we 'light and took water, and my Lord Sandwich being out of town, we parted there, all the way having good discourse, and in short I find him the most ingenuous person I ever found in my life, and am happy in his acquaintance and my interest in him. Home by water, and did business at my office. Writing a letter to my brother John to dissuade him from being Moderator of his year, which I hear is proffered him, of which I am very glad. By and by comes Cooper, and he and I by candlelight at my modell, being willing to learn as much of him as is possible before he goes. So home and to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Being to dine at my brother's, I walked to St. Dunstan's, the church being now finished; and here I heard Dr. Bates,' who made a most eloquent sermon; and I am sorry I have hitherto had so low an opinion of the man, for I have not heard a neater sermon a great while, and more to my content. So to Tom's, where Dr. Fairebrother, newly come from Cambridge, met me, and Dr. Thomas Pepys. I framed myself as pleasant as I could, but my mind was another way. Hither came my uncle Fenner, hearing that I was here, and spoke to me about Pegg Kite's business of her portion, which her husband demands, but I will have nothing to do with it. I believe he has no mind to part with the money out of his hands, but let him do what he will with it. He told me the new service-book--[The Common Prayer Book of 1662, now in use.]--(which is now lately come forth) was laid upon their deske at St. Sepulchre's for Mr. Gouge to read; but he laid it aside, and would not meddle with it: and I perceive the Presbyters do all prepare to give over all against Bartholomew-tide. [Thomas Gouge (1609-1681), an eminent Presbyterian minister, son of William Gouge, D.D. (lecturer at and afterwards Rector of St. Anne's, Blackfriars). He was vicar of the parish of St. Sepulchre from 1638 until the Act of Uniformity, in 1662, forced him to resign his living.] Mr. Herring, being lately turned out at St. Bride's, did read the psalm to the people while they sung at Dr. Bates's, which methought is a strange turn. After dinner to St. Bride's, and there heard one Carpenter, an old man, who, they say, hath been a Jesuit priest, and is come over to us; but he preaches very well. So home with Mrs. Turner, and there hear that Mr. Calamy hath taken his farewell this day of his people, and that others will do so the next Sunday. Mr. Turner, the draper, I hear, is knighted, made Alderman, and pricked for Sheriffe, with Sir Thomas Bluddel, for the next year, by the King, and so are called with great honour the King's Sheriffes. Thence walked home, meeting Mr. Moore by the way, and he home with me and walked till it was dark in the garden, and so good night, and I to my closet in my office to perfect my Journall and to read my solemn vows, and so to bed. 11th. All the morning at the office. Dined at home all alone, and so to my office again, whither Dean Fuller came to see me, and having business about a ship to carry his goods to Dublin, whither he is shortly to return, I went with him to the Hermitage, and the ship happening to be Captn. Holland's I did give orders for them to be well looked after, and thence with him to the Custom House about getting a pass for them, and so to the Dolphin tavern, where I spent 6d. on him, but drank but one glass of wine, and so parted. He tells me that his niece, that sings so well, whom I have long longed to see, is married to one Mr. Boys, a wholesale man at the Three Crowns in Cheapside. I to the office again, whither Cooper came and read his last lecture to me upon my modell, and so bid me good bye, he being to go to-morrow to Chatham to take charge of the ship I have got him. So to my business till 9 at night, and so to supper and to bed, my mind a little at ease because my house is now quite tiled. 12th. Up early at my office, and I find all people beginning to come to me. Among others Mr. Deane, the Assistant of Woolwich, who I find will discover to me the whole abuse that his Majesty suffers in the measuring of timber, of which I shall be glad. He promises me also a modell of a ship, which will please me exceedingly, for I do want one of my own. By and by we sat, and among other things Sir W. Batten and I had a difference about his clerk's making a warrant for a Maister, which I would not suffer, but got another signed, which he desires may be referred to a full board, and I am willing to it. But though I did get another signed of my own clerk's, yet I will give it to his clerk, because I would not be judged unkind, and though I will stand upon my privilege. At noon home and to dinner alone, and so to the office again, where busy all the afternoon till to o'clock at night, and so to supper and to bed, my mind being a little disquieted about Sir W. Batten's dispute to-day, though this afternoon I did speak with his man Norman at last, and told him the reason of my claim. 13th. Up early, and to my office, where people come to me about business, and by and by we met on purpose to enquire into the business of the flag-makers, where I am the person that do chiefly manage the business against them on the King's part; and I do find it the greatest cheat that I have yet found; they having eightpence per yard allowed them by pretence of a contract, where no such thing appears; and it is threepence more than was formerly paid, and than I now offer the Board to have them done. We did not fully end it, but refer it to another time. At noon Commr. Pett and I by water to Greenwich, and on board the pleasure-boats to see what they wanted, they being ordered to sea, and very pretty things I still find them, and so on shore and at the Shipp had a bit of meat and dined, there waiting upon us a barber of Mr. Pett's acquaintance that plays very well upon the viollin. Thence to Lambeth; and there saw the little pleasure-boat in building by the King, my Lord Brunkard, and the virtuosoes of the town, according to new lines, which Mr. Pett cries up mightily, but how it will prove we shall soon see. So by water home, and busy at my study late, drawing a letter to the yards of reprehension and direction for the board to sign, in which I took great pains. So home and to bed. 14th. Up early and to look on my works, and find my house to go on apace. So to my office to prepare business, and then we met and sat till noon, and then Commissioner Pett and I being invited, went by Sir John Winter's coach sent for us, to the Mitre, in Fenchurch street, to a venison-pasty; where I found him a very worthy man; and good discourse. Most of which was concerning the Forest of Dean, and the timber there, and iron-workes with their great antiquity, and the vast heaps of cinders which they find, and are now of great value, being necessary for the making of iron at this day; and without which they cannot work: with the age of many trees there left at a great fall in Edward the Third's time, by the name of forbid-trees, which at this day are called vorbid trees. Thence to my office about business till late, and so home and to bed. 15th. Up very early, and up about seeing how my work proceeds, and am pretty well pleased therewith; especially my wife's closet will be very pretty. So to the office and there very busy, and many people coming to me. At noon to the Change, and there hear of some Quakers that are seized on, that would have blown up the prison in Southwark where they are put. So to the Swan, in Old Fish Street, where Mr. Brigden and his father-in-law, Blackbury, of whom we had bought timber in the office, but have not dealt well with us, did make me a fine dinner only to myself; and after dinner comes in a jugler, which shewed us very pretty tricks. I seemed very pleasant, but am no friend to the man's dealings with us in the office. After an hour or two sitting after dinner talking about office business, where I had not spent any time a great while, I went to Paul's Church Yard to my bookseller's; and there I hear that next Sunday will be the last of a great many Presbyterian ministers in town, who, I hear, will give up all. I pray God the issue may be good, for the discontent is great. Home and to my office till 9 at night doing business, and so to bed. My mind well pleased with a letter I found at home from Mr. Coventry, expressing his satisfaction in a letter I writ last night, and sent him this morning, to be corrected by him in order to its sending down to all the Yards as a charge to them. 17th (Lord's day). Up very early, this being the last Sunday that the Presbyterians are to preach, unless they read the new Common Prayer and renounce the Covenant, [On St. Bartholomew's day, August 24th, 1662, the Act of Uniformity took effect, and about two hundred Presbyterian and Independent ministers lost their preferments.] and so I had a mind to hear Dr. Bates's farewell sermon, and walked thither, calling first at my brother's, where I found that he is come home after being a week abroad with Dr. Pepys, nobody knows where, nor I but by chance, that he was gone, which troubles me. So I called only at the door, but did not ask for him, but went to Madam Turner's to know whether she went to church, and to tell her that I would dine with her; and so walked to St. Dunstan's, where, it not being seven o'clock yet, the doors were not open; and so I went and walked an hour in the Temple-garden, reading my vows, which it is a great content to me to see how I am a changed man in all respects for the better, since I took them, which the God of Heaven continue to me, and make me thankful for. At eight o'clock I went, and crowded in at a back door among others, the church being half-full almost before any doors were open publicly; which is the first time that I have done so these many years since I used to go with my father and mother, and so got into the gallery, beside the pulpit, and heard very well. His text was, "Now the God of Peace--;" the last Hebrews, and the 20th verse: he making a very good sermon, and very little reflections in it to any thing of the times. Besides the sermon, I was very well pleased with the sight of a fine lady that I have often seen walk in Graye's Inn Walks, and it was my chance to meet her again at the door going out, and very pretty and sprightly she is, and I believe the same that my wife and I some years since did meet at Temple Bar gate and have sometimes spoke of. So to Madam Turner's, and dined with her. She had heard Parson Herring take his leave; tho' he, by reading so much of the Common Prayer as he did, hath cast himself out of the good opinion of both sides. After dinner to St. Dunstan's again; and the church quite crowded before I came, which was just at one o'clock; but I got into the gallery again, but stood in a crowd and did exceedingly sweat all the time. He pursued his text again very well; and only at the conclusion told us, after this manner: "I do believe that many of you do expect that I should say something to you in reference to the time, this being the last time that possibly I may appear here. You know it is not my manner to speak any thing in the pulpit that is extraneous to my text and business; yet this I shall say, that it is not my opinion, fashion, or humour that keeps me from complying with what is required of us; but something which, after much prayer, discourse, and study yet remains unsatisfied, and commands me herein. Wherefore, if it is my unhappiness not to receive such an illumination as should direct me to do otherwise, I know no reason why men should not pardon me in this world, and am confident that God will pardon me for it in the next." And so he concluded. Parson Herring read a psalm and chapters before sermon; and one was the chapter in the Acts, where the story of Ananias and Sapphira is. And after he had done, says he, "This is just the case of England at present. God he bids us to preach, and men bid us not to preach; and if we do, we are to be imprisoned and further punished. All that I can say to it is, that I beg your prayers, and the prayers of all good Christians, for us." This was all the exposition he made of the chapter in these very words, and no more. I was much pleased with Dr. Bates's manner of bringing in the Lord's Prayer after his own; thus, "In whose comprehensive words we sum up all our imperfect desires; saying, 'Our Father,'" &c. Church being done and it raining I took a hackney coach and so home, being all in a sweat and fearful of getting cold. To my study at my office, and thither came Mr. Moore to me and walked till it was quite dark. Then I wrote a letter to my Lord Privy Seale as from my Lord for Mr.-------to be sworn directly by deputy to my Lord, he denying to swear him as deputy together with me. So that I am now clear of it, and the profit is now come to be so little that I am not displeased at my getting off so well. He being gone I to my study and read, and so to eat a bit of bread and cheese and so to bed. I hear most of the Presbyters took their leaves to-day, and that the City is much dissatisfied with it. I pray God keep peace among us, and make the Bishops careful of bringing in good men in their rooms, or else all will fly a-pieces; for bad ones will not [go] down with the City. 18th. Up very early, and up upon my house to see how work goes on, which do please me very well. So about seven o'clock took horse and rode to Bowe, and there staid at the King's Head, and eat a breakfast of eggs till Mr. Deane of Woolwich came to me, and he and I rid into Waltham Forest, and there we saw many trees of the King's a-hewing; and he showed me the whole mystery of off square, [Off-square is evidently a mistake, in the shorthand MS., for half square.] wherein the King is abused in the timber that he buys, which I shall with much pleasure be able to correct. After we had been a good while in the wood, we rode to Illford, and there, while dinner was getting ready, he and I practised measuring of the tables and other things till I did understand measuring of timber and board very well. So to dinner and by and by, being sent for, comes Mr. Cooper, our officer in the Forest, and did give me an account of things there, and how the country is backward to come in with their carts. By and by comes one Mr. Marshall, of whom the King has many carriages for his timber, and they staid and drank with me, and while I am here, Sir W. Batten passed by in his coach, homewards from Colchester, where he had been seeing his son-in-law, Lemon, that lies a-dying, but I would take no notice of him, but let him go. By and by I got a horseback again and rode to Barking, and there saw the place where they ship this timber for Woolwich; and so Deane and I home again, and parted at Bowe, and I home just before a great showre of rayne, as God would have it. I find Deane a pretty able man, and able to do the King service; but, I think, more out of envy to the rest of the officers of the yard, of whom he complains much, than true love, more than others, to the service. He would fain seem a modest man, and yet will commend his own work and skill, and vie with other persons, especially the Petts, but I let him alone to hear all he will say. Whiled away the evening at my office trying to repeat the rules of measuring learnt this day, and so to bed with my mind very well pleased with this day's work. 19th. Up betimes and to see how my work goes on. Then Mr. Creed came to me, and he and I walked an hour or two till 8 o'clock in the garden, speaking of our accounts one with another and then things public. Among other things he tells me that my Lord has put me into Commission with himself and many noblemen and others for Tangier, which, if it be, is not only great honour, but may be of profit too, and I am very glad of it. By and by to sit at the office; and Mr. Coventry did tell us of the duell between Mr. Jermyn, nephew to my Lord St. Albans, and Colonel Giles Rawlins, the latter of whom is killed, and the first mortally wounded, as it is thought. They fought against Captain Thomas Howard, my Lord Carlisle's brother, and another unknown; who, they say, had armour on that they could not be hurt, so that one of their swords went up to the hilt against it. They had horses ready, and are fled. But what is most strange, Howard sent one challenge, but they could not meet, and then another, and did meet yesterday at the old Pall Mall at St. James's, and would not to the last tell Jermyn what the quarrel was; nor do any body know. The Court is much concerned in this fray, and I am glad of it; hoping that it will cause some good laws against it. After sitting, Sir G. Carteret and I walked a good while in the garden, who told me that Sir W. Batten had made his complaint to him that some of us had a mind to do him a bad turn, but I do not see that Sir George is concerned for him at all, but rather against him. He professes all love to me, and did tell me how he had spoke of me to my Lord Chancellor, and that if my Lord Sandwich would ask my Lord Chancellor, he should know what he had said of me to him to my advantage, of which I am very glad, and do not doubt that all things will grow better and better every day for me. Dined at home alone, then to my office, and there till late at night doing business, and so home, eat a bit, and to bed. 20th. Up early, and to my office, and thence to my Lord Sandwich, whom I found in bed, and he sent for me in. Among other talk, he do tell me that he hath put me into commission with a great many great persons in the business of Tangier, which is a very great honour to me, and may be of good concernment to me. By and by comes in Mr. Coventry to us, whom my Lord tells that he is also put into the commission, and that I am there, of which he said he was glad; and did tell my Lord that I was indeed the life of this office, and much more to my commendation beyond measure. And that, whereas before he did bear me respect for his sake, he do do it now much more for my own; which is a great blessing to me. Sir G. Carteret having told me what he did yesterday concerning his speaking to my Lord Chancellor about me. So that on all hands, by God's blessing, I find myself a very rising man. By and by comes my Lord Peterborough in, with whom we talked a good while, and he is going tomorrow towards Tangier again. I perceive there is yet good hopes of peace with Guyland,--[A Moorish usurper, who had put himself at the head of an army for the purpose of attacking Tangier.--B.]--which is of great concernment to Tangier. And many other things I heard which yet I understand not, and so cannot remember. My Lord and Lord Peterborough going out to the Solicitor General about the drawing up of this Commission, I went to Westminster Hall with Mr. Moore, and there meeting Mr. Townsend, he would needs take me to Fleet Street, to one Mr. Barwell, squire sadler to the King, and there we and several other Wardrobe-men dined. We had a venison pasty, and other good plain and handsome dishes; the mistress of the house a pretty, well-carriaged woman, and a fine hand she hath; and her maid a pretty brown lass. But I do find my nature ready to run back to my old course of drinking wine and staying from my business, and yet, thank God, I was not fully contented with it, but did stay at little ease, and after dinner hastened home by water, and so to my office till late at night. In the evening Mr. Hayward came to me to advise with me about the business of the Chest, which I have now a mind to put in practice, though I know it will vex Sir W. Batten, which is one of the ends (God forgive me) that I have in it. So home, and eat a bit, and to bed. 21st. Up early, and to my office, and by and by we sat all the morning. At noon, though I was invited to my uncle Fenner's to dinner to a haunch of venison I sent him yesterday, yet I did not go, but chose to go to Mr. Rawlinson's, where my uncle Wight and my aunt, and some neighbour couples were at a very good venison pasty. Hither came, after we were set down, a most pretty young lady (only her hands were not white nor handsome), which pleased me well, and I found her to be sister to Mrs. Anne Wight that comes to my uncle Wight's. We were good company, and had a very pretty dinner. And after dinner some talk, I with my aunt and this young lady about their being [at] Epsom, from whence they came to-day, and so home and to my office, and there doing business till past 9 at night, and so home and to bed. But though I drank no wine to-day, yet how easily was I of my own accord stirred up to desire my aunt and this pretty lady (for it was for her that I did it) to carry them to Greenwich and see the pleasure boats. But my aunt would not go, of which since I am much glad. 22nd. About three o'clock this morning I waked with the noise of the rayne, having never in my life heard a more violent shower; and then the catt was lockt in the chamber, and kept a great mewing, and leapt upon the bed, which made me I could not sleep a great while. Then to sleep, and about five o'clock rose, and up to my office, and about 8 o'clock went down to Deptford, and there with Mr. Davis did look over most of his stores; by the same token in the great storehouse, while Captain Badily was talking to us, one from a trap-door above let fall unawares a coyle of cable, that it was 10,000 to one it had not broke Captain Badily's neck, it came so near him, but did him no hurt. I went on with looking and informing myself of the stores with great delight, and having done there, I took boat home again and dined, and after dinner sent for some of my workmen and did scold at them so as I hope my work will be hastened. Then by water to Westminster Hall, and there I hear that old Mr. Hales did lately die suddenly in an hour's time. Here I met with Will Bowyer, and had a promise from him of a place to stand to-morrow at his house to see the show. Thence to my Lord's, and thither sent for Mr. Creed, who came, and walked together talking about business, and then to his lodgings at Clerke's, the confectioner's, where he did give me a little banquet, and I had liked to have begged a parrot for my wife, but he hath put me in a way to get a better from Steventon; at Portsmouth. But I did get of him a draught of Tangier to take a copy by, which pleases me very well. So home by water and to my office, where late, and so home to bed. 23d. Up early, and about my works in my house, to see what is done and design more. Then to my office, and by and by we sat till noon at the office. After sitting, Mr. Coventry and I did walk together a great while in the Garden, where he did tell me his mind about Sir G. Carteret's having so much the command of the money, which must be removed. And indeed it is the bane of all our business. He observed to me also how Sir W. Batten begins to struggle and to look after his business, which he do indeed a little, but it will come to nothing. I also put him upon getting an order from the Duke for our inquiries into the Chest, which he will see done. So we parted, and Mr. Creed by appointment being come, he and I went out together, and at an ordinary in Lumbard Streete dined together, and so walked down to the Styllyard, and so all along Thames-street, but could not get a boat: I offered eight shillings for a boat to attend me this afternoon, and they would not, it being the day of the Queen's coming to town from Hampton Court. So we fairly walked it to White Hall, and through my Lord's lodgings we got into White Hall garden, and so to the Bowling-green, and up to the top of the new Banqueting House there, over the Thames, which was a most pleasant place as any I could have got; and all the show consisted chiefly in the number of boats and barges; and two pageants, one of a King, and another of a Queen, with her Maydes of Honour sitting at her feet very prettily; and they tell me the Queen is Sir. Richard Ford's daughter. Anon come the King and Queen in a barge under a canopy with 10,000 barges and boats, I think, for we could see no water for them, nor discern the King nor Queen. And so they landed at White Hall Bridge, and the great guns on the other side went off: But that which pleased me best was, that my Lady Castlemaine stood over against us upon a piece of White Hall, where I glutted myself with looking on her. But methought it was strange to see her Lord and her upon the same place walking up and down without taking notice one of another, only at first entry he put off his hat, and she made him a very civil salute, but afterwards took no notice one of another; but both of them now and then would take their child, which the nurse held in her armes, and dandle it. One thing more; there happened a scaffold below to fall, and we feared some hurt, but there was none, but she of all the great ladies only run down among the common rabble to see what hurt was done, and did take care of a child that received some little hurt, which methought was so noble. Anon there came one there booted and spurred that she talked long with. And by and by, she being in her hair, she put on his hat, which was but an ordinary one, to keep the wind off. But methinks it became her mightily, as every thing else do. The show being over, I went away, not weary with looking on her, and to my Lord's lodgings, where my brother Tom and Dr. Thomas Pepys were to speak with me. So I walked with them in the garden, and was very angry with them both for their going out of town without my knowledge; but they told me the business, which was to see a gentlewoman for a wife for Tom, of Mr. Cooke's providing, worth L500, of good education, her name Hobell, and lives near Banbury, demands L40 per annum joynter. Tom likes her, and, they say, had a very good reception, and that Cooke hath been very serviceable therein, and that she is committed to old Mr. Young, of the Wardrobe's, tuition. After I had told them my mind about their folly in going so unadvisedly, I then begun to inquire after the business, and so did give no answer as to my opinion till I have looked farther into it by Mr. Young. By and by, as we were walking in my Lord's walk, comes my Lord, and so we broke our discourse and went in with him, and after I had put them away I went in to my Lord, and he and I had half an hour's private discourse about the discontents of the times, which we concluded would not come to anything of difference, though the Presbyters would be glad enough of it; but we do not think religion will so soon cause another war. Then to his own business. He asked my advice there, whether he should go on to purchase more land and to borrow money to pay for it, which he is willing to do, because such a bargain as that of Mr. Buggins's, of Stukely, will not be every day to be had, and Brampton is now perfectly granted him by the King--I mean the reversion of it--after the Queen's death; and, in the meantime, he buys it of Sir Peter Ball his present right. Then we fell to talk of Navy business, and he concludes, as I do, that he needs not put himself upon any more voyages abroad to spend money, unless a war comes; and that by keeping his family awhile in the country, he shall be able to gather money. He is glad of a friendship with Mr. Coventry, and I put him upon increasing it, which he will do, but he (as Mr. Coventry do) do much cry against the course of our payments and the Treasurer to have the whole power in his own hands of doing what he will, but I think will not meddle in himself. He told me also that in the Commission for Tangier Mr. Coventry had advised him that Mr. Povy, who intended to be Treasurer, [Thomas Povy, who had held, under Cromwell, a high situation in the Office of Plantations, was appointed in July, 1660, Treasurer and Receiver-General of the Rents and Revenues of James, Duke of York; but his royal master's affairs falling into confusion, he surrendered his patent on the 27th July, 1668, for a consideration of L2,000. He was also First Treasurer for Tangier, which office he resigned to Pepys. Povy, had apartments at Whitehall, besides his lodgings in Lincoln's Inn, and a villa near Hounslow, called the Priory, which he had inherited from Justinian Povy, who purchased it in 1625. He was one of the sons of Justinian Povy, Auditor-General to Queen Anne of Denmark in 1614, whose father was John Povy, citizen and embroiderer of London.] and it is intended him, may not be of the Commission itself, and my Lord I think will endeavour to get him to be contented to be left out of the Commission, and it is a very good rule indeed that the Treasurer in no office ought to be of the Commission. Here we broke off, and I bid him good night, and so with much ado, the streets being at nine o'clock at night crammed with people going home to the city, for all the borders of the river had been full of people, as the King had come, to a miracle got to the Palace Yard, and there took boat, and so to the Old Swan, and so walked home, and to bed very weary. 24th (Lord's day). Slept till 7 o'clock, which I have not done a very great while, but it was my weariness last night that caused it. So rose and to my office till church time, writing down my yesterday's observations, and so to church, where I all alone, and found Will Griffin and Thomas Hewett got into the pew next to our backs, where our maids sit, but when I come, they went out; so forward some people are to outrun themselves. Here we had a lazy, dull sermon. So home to dinner, where my brother Tom came to me, and both before and after dinner he and I walked all alone in the garden, talking about his late journey and his mistress, and for what he tells me it is like to do well. He being gone, I to church again, where Mr. Mills, making a sermon upon confession, he did endeavour to pull down auricular confession, but did set it up by his bad arguments against it, and advising people to come to him to confess their sins when they had any weight upon their consciences, as much as is possible, which did vex me to hear. So home, and after an hour's being in my office alone, looking over the plates and globes, I walked to my uncle Wight's, the truth is, in hopes to have seen and been acquainted with the pretty lady that came along with them to dinner the other day to Mr. Rawlinson, but she is gone away. But here I staid supper, and much company there was; among others, Dr. Burnett, Mr. Cole the lawyer, Mr. Rawlinson, and Mr. Sutton, a brother of my aunt's, that I never saw before. Among other things they tell me that there hath been a disturbance in a church in Friday Street; a great many young people knotting together and crying out "Porridge" [A nickname given by the Dissenters to the Prayer-Book. In Mrs. Behn's "City Heiress" (1682), Sir Anthony says to Sir Timothy, "You come from Church, too." Sir Timothy replies, "Ay, needs must when the Devil drives--I go to save my bacon, as they say, once a month, and that too after the Porridge is served up." Scott quotes, in his notes to "Woodstock," a pamphlet entitled, "Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contumelious Slanders of the Fanatic party terming it Porridge."] often and seditiously in the church, and took the Common Prayer Book, they say, away; and, some say, did tear it; but it is a thing which appears to me very ominous. I pray God avert it. After supper home and to bed. 25th. Up early, and among my workmen when they came, and set them in good order at work on all hands, which, though it at first began angrily, yet I pleased myself afterwards in seeing it put into a good posture, and so I left them, and away by water to Woolwich (calling in my way in Hamcreek, where I have never been before, and there found two of the King's ships lie there without any living creature aboard, which troubled me, every thing being stole away that can be), where I staid seeing a cable of 14 inches laid, in which there was good variety. Then to Mr. Falconer's, and there eat a bit of roast meat off of the spit, and so away to the yard, and there among other things mustered the yard, and did things that I perceive people do begin to value me, and that I shall be able to be of command in all matters, which God be praised for. Then to Mr. Pett's, and there eat some fruit and drank, and so to boat again, and to Deptford, calling there about the business of my house only, and so home, where by appointment I found Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Batten, and Mr. Waith met at Sir W. Batten's, and thither I met, and so agreed upon a way of answering my Lord Treasurer's letter. Here I found Mr. Coventry had got a letter from the Duke, sent us for looking into the business of the Chest, of which I am glad. After we had done here I went home, and up among my workmen, and found they had done a good day's work, and so to my office till late ordering of several businesses, and so home and to bed, my mind, God be praised, full of business, but great quiet. 26th. Up betimes and among my works and workmen, and with great pleasure seeing them go on merrily, and a good many hands, which I perceive makes good riddance, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined alone with Sir W. Batten, which I have not done a great while, but his lady being out of the way I was the willinger to do it, and after dinner he and I by water to Deptford, and there found Sir G. Carteret and my Lady at dinner, and so we sat down and eat another dinner of venison with them, and so we went to the payhouse, and there staid till to o'clock at night paying off the Martin and Kinsale, being small but troublesome ships to pay, and so in the dark by water home to the Custom House, and so got a lanthorn to light us home, there being Mr. Morrice the wine cooper with us, he having been at Deptford to view some of the King's casks we have to sell. So to bed. 27th. Up and among my workmen, my work going on still very well. So to my office all the morning, and dined again with Sir W. Batten, his Lady being in the country. Among other stories, he told us of the Mayor of Bristoll's reading a pass with the bottom upwards; and a barber that could not read, that flung a letter in the kennel when one came to desire him to read the superscription, saying, "Do you think I stand here to read letters?" Among my workmen again, pleasing myself all the afternoon there, and so to the office doing business till past 9 at night, and so home and to bed. This afternoon Mrs. Hunt came to see me, and I did give her a Muske Millon. To-day my hogshead of sherry I have sold to Sir W. Batten, and am glad of my money instead of wine. After I had wrote this at my office (as I have of late altogether done since my wife has been in the country) I went into my house, and Will having been making up books at Deptford with other clerks all day, I did not think he was come home, but was in fear for him, it being very late, what was become of him. But when I came home I found him there at his ease in his study, which vexed me cruelly, that he should no more mind me, but to let me be all alone at the office waiting for him. Whereupon I struck him, and did stay up till 12 o'clock at night chiding him for it, and did in plain terms tell him that I would not be served so, and that I am resolved to look out some boy that I may have the bringing up of after my own mind, and which I do intend to do, for I do find that he has got a taste of liberty since he came to me that he will not leave. Having discharged my mind, I went to bed. 28th. I observe that Will, whom I used to call two or three times in a morning, would now wake of himself and rise without calling. Which though angry I was glad to see. So I rose and among my workmen, in my gown, without a doublet, an hour or two or more, till I was afraid of getting an ague, and so to the office, and there we sat all the morning, and at noon Mr. Coventry and I dined at Sir W. Batten's, where I have now dined three days together, and so in the afternoon again we sat, which we intend to do two afternoons in a week besides our other sitting. In the evening we rose, and I to see how my work goes on, and so to my office, writing by the post and doing other matters, and so home and to bed late. 29th. Up betimes and among my workmen, where I did stay with them the greatest part of the morning, only a little at the office, and so to dinner alone at home, and so to my workmen again, finding my presence to carry on the work both to my mind and with more haste, and I thank God I am pleased with it. At night, the workmen being gone, I went to my office, and among other businesses did begin to-night with Mr. Lewes to look into the nature of a purser's account, and the business of victualling, in which there is great variety; but I find I shall understand it, and be able to do service there also. So being weary and chill, being in some fear of an ague, I went home and to bed. 30th. Up betimes among my workmen, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon rose and had news that Sir W. Pen would be in town from Ireland, which I much wonder at, he giving so little notice of it, and it troubled me exceedingly what to do for a lodging, and more what to do with my goods, that are all in his house; but at last I resolved to let them lie there till Monday, and so got Griffin to get a lodging as near as he could, which is without a door of our back door upon Tower Hill, a chamber where John Pavis, one of our clerks, do lie in, but he do provide himself elsewhere, and I am to have his chamber. So at the office all the afternoon and the evening till past to at night expecting Sir W. Pen's coming, but he not coming to-night I went thither and there lay very well, and like my lodging well enough. My man Will after he had got me to bed did go home and lay there, and my maid Jane lay among my goods at Sir W. Pen's. 31st (Lord's day). Waked early, but being in a strange house, did not rise till 7 o'clock almost, and so rose and read over my oaths, and whiled away an hour thinking upon businesses till Will came to get me ready, and so got ready and to my office, and thence to church. After sermon home and dined alone. News is brought me that Sir W. Pen is come. But I would take no notice thereof till after dinner, and then sent him word that I would wait on him, but he is gone to bed. So to my office, and there made my monthly accounts, and find myself worth in money about L686 19s. 2 1/2d., for which God be praised; and indeed greatly I hope to thank Almighty God, who do most manifestly bless me in my endeavours to do the duties of my office, I now saving money, and my expenses being little. My wife is still in the country; my house all in dirt; but my work in a good forwardness, and will be much to my mind at last. In the afternoon to church, and there heard a simple sermon of a stranger upon David's words, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the way of the ungodly," &c., and the best of his sermon was the degrees of walking, standing, and sitting, showing how by steps and degrees sinners do grow in wickedness. After sermon to my brother Tom's, who I found has taken physic to-day, and I talked with him about his country mistress, and read Cook's letter, wherein I am well satisfied, and will appear in promoting it; so back and to Mr. Rawlinson's, and there supped with him, and in came my uncle Wight and my aunt. Our discourse of the discontents that are abroad, among, and by reason of the Presbyters. Some were clapped up to-day, and strict watch is kept in the City by the train-bands, and letters of a plot are taken. God preserve us! for all these things bode very ill. So home, and after going to welcome home Sir W. Pen, who was unready, going to bed, I staid with him a little while, and so to my lodging and to bed. SEPTEMBER 1662 September 1st. Up betimes at my lodging and to my office and among my workmen, and then with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's, this being the first day of our meeting there by the Duke's order; but when we come, we found him going out by coach with his Duchess, and he told us he was to go abroad with the Queen to-day (to Durdans, it seems, to dine with my Lord Barkeley, where I have been very merry when I was a little boy); so we went and staid a little at Mr. Coventry's chamber, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, who is gone to wait upon the King and Queen today. And so Mr. Paget being there, Will Howe and I and he played over some things of Locke's that we used to play at sea, that pleased us three well, it being the first music I have heard a great while, so much has my business of late taken me off from all my former delights. By and by by water home, and there dined alone, and after dinner with my brother Tom's two men I removed all my goods out of Sir W. Pen's house into one room that I have with much ado got ready at my house, and so I am to be quit of any further obligation to him. So to my office, but missing my key, which I had in my hand just now, makes me very angry and out of order, it being a thing that I hate in others, and more in myself, to be careless of keys, I thinking another not fit to be trusted that leaves a key behind their hole. One thing more vexes me: my wife writes me from the country that her boy plays the rogue there, and she is weary of him, and complains also of her maid Sarah, of which I am also very sorry. Being thus out of temper, I could do little at my office, but went home and eat a bit, and so to my lodging to bed. 2nd. Up betimes and got myself ready alone, and so to my office, my mind much troubled for my key that I lost yesterday, and so to my workmen and put them in order, and so to my office, and we met all the morning, and then dined at Sir W. Batten's with Sir W. Pen, and so to my office again all the afternoon, and in the evening wrote a letter to Mr. Cooke, in the country, in behalf of my brother Tom, to his mistress, it being the first of my appearing in it, and if she be as Tom sets her out, it may be very well for him. So home and eat a bit, and so to my lodging to bed. 3rd. Up betimes, but now the days begin to shorten, and so whereas I used to rise by four o'clock, it is not broad daylight now till after five o'clock, so that it is after five before I do rise. To my office, and about 8 o'clock I went over to Redriffe, and walked to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen beginning the pay, it being my desire to be there to-day because it is the first pay that Mr. Coventry has been at, and I would be thought to be as much with Mr. Coventry as I can. Here we staid till noon, and by that time paid off the Breda, and then to dinner at the tavern, where I have obtained that our commons is not so large as they used to be, which I am glad to see. After dinner by water to the office, and there we met and sold the Weymouth, Successe, and Fellowship hulkes, where pleasant to see how backward men are at first to bid; and yet when the candle is going out, how they bawl and dispute afterwards who bid the most first. And here I observed one man cunninger than the rest that was sure to bid the last man, and to carry it; and inquiring the reason, he told me that just as the flame goes out the smoke descends, which is a thing I never observed before, and by that he do know the instant when to bid last, which is very pretty. In our discourse in the boat Mr. Coventry told us how the Fanatiques and the Presbyters, that did intend to rise about this time, did choose this day as the most auspicious to them in their endeavours against monarchy: it being fatal twice to the King, and the day of Oliver's death. [Cromwell had considered the 3rd of September as the most fortunate day of his life, on account of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester. It was also remarkable for the great storm that occurred at the time of his death; and as being the day on which the Fire of London, in 1666, burnt with the greatest fury.--B.] But, blessed be God! all is likely to be quiet, I hope. After the sale I walked to my brother's, in my way meeting with Dr. Fairbrother, of whom I enquired what news in Church matters. He tells me, what I heard confirmed since, that it was fully resolved by the King's new Council that an indulgence should be granted the Presbyters; but upon the Bishop of London's speech [Gilbert Sheldon, born July 19th, 1598; Fellow of All Souls, Oxford, 1622; Warden, 1635; Bishop of London, 1660-63; Archbishop of Canterbury, 1663. Died November 9th, 1677.] (who is now one of the most powerful men in England with the King), their minds were wholly turned. And it is said that my Lord Albemarle did oppose him most; but that I do believe is only in appearance. He told me also that most of the Presbyters now begin to wish they had complied, now they see that no Indulgence will be granted them, which they hoped for; and that the Bishop of London hath taken good care that places are supplied with very good and able men, which is the only thing that will keep all quiet. I took him in the tavern at Puddle dock, but neither he nor I drank any of the wine we called for, but left it, and so after discourse parted, and Mr. Townsend not being at home I went to my brother's, and there heard how his love matter proceeded, which do not displease me, and so by water to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, where he being to go to Hinchingbroke to-morrow morning, I staid and fiddled with Will. Howe some new tunes very pleasant, and then my Lord came in and had much kind talk with him, and then to bed with Mr. Moore there alone. So having taken my leave of my Lord before I went to bed, I resolved to rise early and be gone without more speaking to him-- 4th. Which I did, and by water betimes to the Tower and so home, where I shifted myself, being to dine abroad, and so being also trimmed, which is a thing I have very seldom done of late, I gat to my office and then met and sit all the morning, and at noon we all to the Trinity House, where we treated, very dearly, I believe, the officers of the Ordnance; where was Sir W. Compton and the rest and the Lieutenant of the Tower. We had much and good music, which was my best entertainment. Sir Wm. Compton I heard talk with great pleasure of the difference between the fleet now and in Queen Elisabeth's days; where, in 88, she had but 36 sail great and small, in the world; and ten rounds of powder was their allowance at that time against the Spaniard. After Sir W. Compton and Mr. Coventry, and some of the best of the rest were gone, I grew weary of staying with Sir Williams both, and the more for that my Lady Batten and her crew, at least half a score, come into the room, and I believe we shall pay size for it; but 'tis very pleasant to see her in her hair under her hood, and how by little and little she would fain be a gallant; but, Lord! the company she keeps about her are like herself, that she may be known by them what she is. Being quite weary I stole from them and to my office, where I did business till 9 at night, and so to my lodgings to bed. 5th. Up by break of day at 5 o'clock, and down by water to Woolwich: in my way saw the yacht lately built by our virtuosoes (my Lord Brunkard and others, with the help of Commissioner Pett also) set out from Greenwich with the little Dutch bezan, to try for mastery; and before they got to Woolwich the Dutch beat them half-a-mile (and I hear this afternoon, that, in coming home, it got above three miles); which all our people are glad of. Here I staid and mustered the yard and looked into the storehouses; and so walked all alone to Greenwich, and thence by water to Deptford, and there examined some stores, and did some of my own business in hastening my work there, and so walked to Redriffe, being by this time pretty weary and all in a sweat; took boat there for the Tower, which made me a little fearful, it being a cold, windy morning. So to my lodgings and there rubbed myself clean, and so to Mr. Bland's, the merchant, by invitation, I alone of all our company of this office; where I found all the officers of the Customs, very grave fine gentlemen, and I am very glad to know them; viz.--Sir Job Harvy, Sir John Wolstenholme, Sir John Jacob, Sir Nicholas Crisp, Sir John Harrison, and Sir John Shaw: very good company. And among other pretty discourse, some was of Sir Jerom Bowes, Embassador from Queene Elizabeth to the Emperor of Russia; [In 1583; the object of his mission being to persuade the Muscovite (Ivan IV. the Terrible) to a peace with John, King of Sweden. He was also employed to confirm the trade of the English with Russia, and having incurred some personal danger, was received with favour on his return by the Queen. He died in 1616.] who, because some of the noblemen there would go up the stairs to the Emperor before him, he would not go up till the Emperor had ordered those two men to be dragged down stairs, with their heads knocking upon every stair till they were killed. And when he was come up, they demanded his sword of him before he entered the room. He told them, if they would have his sword, they should have his boots too. And so caused his boots to be pulled off, and his night-gown and night-cap and slippers to be sent for; and made the Emperor stay till he could go in his night-dress, since he might not go as a soldier. And lastly, when the Emperor in contempt, to show his command of his subjects, did command one to leap from the window down and broke his neck in the sight of our Embassador, he replied that his mistress did set more by, and did make better use of the necks of her subjects but said that, to show what her subjects would do for her, he would, and did, fling down his gantlett before the Emperor; and challenged all the nobility there to take it up, in defence of the Emperor against his Queen: for which, at this very day, the name of Sir Jerom Bowes is famous and honoured there. After dinner I came home and found Sir John Minnes come this day, and I went to him to Sir W. Batten's, where it pleased me to see how jealous Sir Williams both are of my going down to Woolwich, &c., and doing my duty as I nowadays do, and of my dining with the Commission of the Customs. So to my office, and there till 9 at night, and so to my lodgings to bed. I this day heard that Mr. Martin Noell is knighted by the King, which I much wonder at; but yet he is certainly a very useful man. 6th. Lay long, that is, till 6 and past before I rose, in order to sweat a little away the cold which I was afraid I might have got yesterday, but I bless God I am well. So up and to my office, and then we met and sat till noon, very full of business. Then Sir John Minnes, both Sir Williams and I to the Trinity House, where we had at dinner a couple of venison pasties, of which I eat but little, being almost cloyed, having been at five pasties in three days, namely, two at our own feast, and one yesterday, and two to-day. So home and at the office all the afternoon, busy till nine at night, and so to my lodging and to bed. This afternoon I had my new key and the lock of my office door altered, having lost my key the other day, which vexed me. 7th (Lord's day). Up betimes and round about by the streets to my office, and walked in the garden and in my office till my man Will rose, and then sent to tell Sir J. Minnes that I would go with him to Whitehall, which anon we did, in his coach, and to the Chapell, where I heard a good sermon of the Dean of Ely's, upon returning to the old ways, and a most excellent anthem, with symphonys between, sung by Captain Cooke. Then home with Mr. Fox and his lady; and there dined with them, where much company come to them. Most of our discourse was what ministers are flung out that will not conform: and the care of the Bishop of London that we are here supplied with very good men. Thence to my Lord's, where nobody at home but a woman that let me in, and Sarah above, whither I went up to her and played and talked with her... After I had talked an hour or two with her I went and gave Mr. Hunt a short visit, he being at home alone, and thence walked homewards, and meeting Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, he took me into Somersett House; and there carried me into the Queen-Mother's presence-chamber, where she was with our own Queen sitting on her left hand (whom I did never see before); and though she be not very charming, yet she hath a good, modest, and innocent look, which is pleasing. Here I also saw Madam Castlemaine, and, which pleased me most, Mr. Crofts, the King's bastard, a most pretty spark of about 15 years old, who, I perceive, do hang much upon my Lady Castlemaine, and is always with her; and, I hear, the Queens both of them are mighty kind to him. [James, the son of Charles II. by Lucy Walter, daughter of William Walter, of Roch Castle, co. Pembroke. He was born April 9th, 1649, and landed in England with the Queen-Mother, July 28th, 1662, when he bore the name of Crofts, after Lord Crofts, his governor. He was created Duke of Monmouth, February 14th, 1663, and married Lady Anne Scott, daughter and heiress of Francis, second Earl of Buccleuch, on April 20th following. In 1673 he took the name of Scott, and was created Duke of Buccleuch.] By and by in comes the King, and anon the Duke and his Duchess; so that, they being all together, was such a sight as I never could almost have happened to see with so much ease and leisure. They staid till it was dark, and then went away; the King and his Queen, and my Lady Castlemaine and young Crofts, in one coach and the rest in other, coaches. Here were great store of great ladies, but very few handsome. The King and Queen were very merry; and he would have made the Queen-Mother believe that his Queen was with child, and said that she said so. And the young Queen answered, "You lye;" which was the first English word that I ever heard her say which made the King good sport; and he would have taught her to say in English, "Confess and be hanged." The company being gone I walked home with great content as I can be in for seeing the greatest rarity, and yet a little troubled that I should see them before my wife's coming home, I having made a promise that I would not, nor did I do it industriously and by design, but by chance only. To my office, to fit myself for waiting on the Duke to-morrow morning with the rest of our company, and so to my lodgings and to bed. 8th. Up betimes and to my office preparing an account to give the Duke this morning of what we have of late done at the office. About 7 o'clock I went forth thinking to go along with Sir John Minnes and the rest, and I found them gone, which did vex me, so I went directly to the old Swan and took boat before them to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings at Whitehall, and there staying till he was dressed talking with him, he and I to St. James's, where Sir Williams both and Sir John were come, and so up with Mr. Coventry to the Duke; who, after he was out of his bed, did send for us in; and, when he was quite ready, took us into his closet, and there told us that he do intend to renew the old custom for the Admirals to have their principal officers to meet them once a-week, to give them an account what they have done that week; which I am glad of: and so the rest did tell his Royal Highness that I could do it best for the time past. And so I produced my short notes, and did give him an account of all that we have of late done; and proposed to him several things for his commands, which he did give us, and so dismissed us. The rest to Deptford, I to the Exchequer to meet Mr. Townsend, where I hear he is gone to the Sun tavern, and there found him with some friends at breakfast, which I eat with him, and so we crossed the water together, and in walking I told him my brother Tom's intentions for a wife, which he would do me all favour in to Mr. Young, whose kinswoman he do look after. We took boat again at the Falcon, and there parted, and I to the old Swan, and so to the Change, and there meeting Sir W. Warren did step to a tavern, and there sat and talked about price of masts and other things, and so broke up and to my office to see what business, and so we took water again, and at the Tower I over to Redriffe, and there left him in the boat and walked to Deptford, and there up and down the yard speaking with people, and so Sir W. Pen coming out of the payhouse did single me out to tell me Sir J. Minnes' dislike of my blinding his lights over his stairs (which indeed is very bad) and blocking up the house of office on the leads. Which did trouble me. So I went into the payhouse and took an occasion of speaking with him alone, and did give him good satisfaction therein, so as that I am well pleased and do hope now to have my closet on the leads without any more trouble, for he do not object against my having a door upon the leads, but that all my family should not make it a thoroughfare, which I am contented with. So to the pay, and in the evening home in the barge, and so to my office, and after doing some business there to my lodgings, and so to bed. 9th. At my office betimes, and by and by we sat, and at noon Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Pett, and myself by water to Deptford, where we met Sir G. C., Sir W. B., and Sir W. P. At the pay of a ship, and we dined together on a haunch of good venison boiled, and after dinner returned again to the office, and there met several tradesmen by our appointment to know of them their lowest rates that they will take for their several provisions that they sell to us, for I do resolve to know that, and to buy no dearer, that so when we know the lowest rate, it shall be the Treasurer's fault, and not ours, that we pay dearer. This afternoon Sir John Minnes, Mr. Coventry, and I went into Sir John's lodgings, where he showed us how I have blinded all his lights, and stopped up his garden door, and other things he takes notice of that he resolves to abridge me of, which do vex me so much that for all this evening and all night in my bed, so great a fool I am, and little master of my passion, that I could not sleep for the thoughts of my losing the privilege of the leads, and other things which in themselves are small and not worth half the trouble. The more fool am I, and must labour against it for shame, especially I that used to preach up Epictetus's rule: ["Some things are in our power, others are not" Pepys means, "I ought not to vex myself about what I cannot control."] Late at my office, troubled in mind, and then to bed, but could hardly sleep at night. 10th. Up and to my house, and there contrived a way how Sir John Minnes shall come into the leads, and yet I save part of the closet I hoped for, which, if it will not please him, I am a madman to be troubled at it. To my office, and then at my house among my lazy workmen all day. In the afternoon to the Wardrobe to speak with Mr. Townsend, who tells me that he has spoke with Mr. Young about my brother Tom's business, and finds that he has made enquiry of him, and do hear him so well spoken of that he doubts not that the business will take with ordinary endeavours. So to my brother's, and there finding both door and hatch open, I went in and knocked 3 or 4 times, and nobody came to me, which troubled me mightily; at last came Margaret, who complained of Peter, who by and by came in, and I did rattle him soundly for it. I did afterwards take occasion to talk seriously alone with Margaret, who I find a very discreet, good woman, and tells me, upon my demand, that her master is a very good husband, and minds his business well, but his fault is that he has not command over his two men, but they do what they list, and care not for his commands, and especially on Sundays they go whither they please, and not to church, which vexes me mightily, and I am resolved to school [him] soundly for it, it being so much unlike my father, that I cannot endure it in myself or him. So walked home and in my way at the Exchange found my uncle Wight, and he and I to an alehouse to drink a cup of beer, and so away, and I home and at the office till 9 o'clock and past, and so to my lodgings. I forgot that last night Mr. Cooke came to me to make his peace for inviting my brother lately out of town without my leave, but he do give me such a character of the lady that he has found out for him that I do much rejoice at, and did this night write a letter to her, which he enclosed in one of his, and by the report that I hear of her I confess I am much pleased with the match. 11th. Up, but not so soon as I have of late practised, my little trouble of mind and the shortness of the days making me to lie a little longer than I used to do, but I must make it up by sitting up longer of nights. To my office, whither my brother Tom, whom I chide sufficiently for yesterday's work. So we sat at the office all the morning, some of us at Deptford paying the ordinary there; at noon Sir W. Pen took me to his lodgings to dinner, and after dinner I to my office again, and now and then to see how my work goes on, and so to my office late, and so to my lodgings, and after staying up till past 12 at night, at my musique upon my lute, to bed. This night Tom came to show me a civil letter sent him from his mistress. I am pleased well enough with the business. 12th. Up betimes and to my office, and up to my workmen, which goes on slowly and troubles me much. Besides, my mind is troubled till I see how Sir John Minnes will carry himself to me about my lodgings, for all my fear is that he will get my best chamber from me, for as for the leads I care not a farthing for them. At my office all the morning, Mr. Lewes teaching me to understand the method of making up Purser's accounts, which is very needful for me and very hard. Dined at home all in dirt, and my mind weary of being thus out of order, but I hope in God it will away, but for the present I am very melancholy, as I have been a great while. All the afternoon till 9 at night at my office, and then home and eat an egg or two, and so to my lodgings and to bed. This day, by letters from my father, I hear that Captain Ferrers, who is with my Lord in the country, was at Brampton (with Mr. Creed) to see him; and that a day or two ago, being provoked to strike one of my Lord's footmen, the footman drew his sword, and hath almost cut the fingers of one of his hands off; which I am sorry for: but this is the vanity of being apt to command and strike. 13th. Up betimes and to my office, and we sat all the morning, and then at noon dined alone at home, and so among my work folks studying how to get my way sure to me to go upon the leads, which I fear at last I must be contented to go without, but, however, my mind is troubled still about it. We met again in the afternoon to set accounts even between the King and the masters of ships hired to carry provisions to Lisbon, and in the evening Mr. Moore came to me and did lie with me at my lodgings. It is great pleasure to me his company and discourse, and did talk also about my law business, which I must now fall upon minding again, the term coming on apace. So to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Up very early, and Mr. Moore taking leave of me the barber came and trimmed me (I having him now to come to me again after I have used a pumice-stone a good while, not but what I like this where I cannot conveniently have a barber, but here I cannot keep my hair dry without one), and so by water to White Hall, by the way hearing that the Bishop of London had given a very strict order against boats going on Sundays, and as I come back again, we were examined by the masters of the company in another boat; but I told them who I was. But the door not being open to Westminster stairs there, called in at the Legg and drank a cup of ale and a toast, which I have not done many a month before, but it served me for my two glasses of wine to-day. Thence to St. James's to Mr. Coventry, and there staid talking privately with him an hour in his chamber of the business of our office, and found him to admiration good and industrious, and I think my most true friend in all things that are fair. He tells me freely his mind of every man and in every thing. Thence to White Hall chapel, where sermon almost done, and I heard Captain Cooke's new musique. This the first day of having vialls and other instruments to play a symphony between every verse of the anthem; but the musique more full than it was the last Sunday, and very fine it is. [Charles II. determined to form his own chapel on the model of that at Versailles. Twenty-four instrumentalists were engaged, and this was the first day upon which they were brought into requisition. Evelyn alludes to the change in his Diary, but he puts the date down as the 21st instead of the 14th. "Instead of the antient, grave and solemn wind musiq accompanying the organ, was introduc'd a concert of 24 violins between every pause after the French fantastical light way, better suiting a tavern or playhouse than a church. This was the first time of change, and now we no more heard the cornet which gave life to the organ, that instrument quite left off in which the English were so skilful." A list of the twenty-four fiddlers in 1674, taken from an Exchequer document, "The names of the Gents of his Majesties Private Musick paid out of the Exchequer," is printed in North's "Memoires of Musick," ed. Rimbault, 1846, p. 98 (note).] But yet I could discern Captain Cooke to overdo his part at singing, which I never did before. Thence up into the Queen's presence, and there saw the Queen again as I did last Sunday, and some fine ladies with her; but, my troth, not many. Thence to Sir G. Carteret's, and find him to have sprained his foot and is lame, but yet hath been at chappell, and my Lady much troubled for one of her daughters that is sick. I dined with them, and a very pretty lady, their kinswoman, with them. My joy is, that I do think I have good hold on Sir George and Mr. Coventry. Sir George told me of a chest of drawers that were given Sir W. B. by Hughes the rope-maker, whom he has since put out of his employment, and now the fellow do cry out upon Sir W. for his cabinet. So home again by water and to church, and from church Sir Williams both and Sir John Minnes into the garden, and anon Sir W. Pen and I did discourse about my lodgings and Sir J. Minnes, and I did open all my mind to him, and he told me what he had heard, and I do see that I shall hardly keep my best lodging chamber, which troubles me, but I did send for Goodenough the plasterer, who tells me that it did ever belong to my lodgings, but lent by Mr. Payles to Mr. Smith, and so I will strive hard for it before I lose it. So to supper with them at Sir W. Batten's, and do counterfeit myself well pleased, but my heart is troubled and offended at the whole company. So to my office to prepare notes to read to the Duke to-morrow morning, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind a little eased because I am resolved to know the worst concerning my lodgings tomorrow. Among other things Sir W. Pen did tell me of one of my servants looking into Sir J. Minnes' window when my Lady Batten lay there, which do much trouble them, and me also, and I fear will wholly occasion my loosing the leads. One thing more he told me of my Jane's cutting off a carpenter's long mustacho, and how the fellow cried, and his wife would not come near him a great while, believing that he had been among some of his wenches. At which I was merry, though I perceive they discourse of it as a crime of hers, which I understand not. 15th. Up betimes to meet with the plasterer and bricklayer that did first divide our lodgings, and they do both tell me that my chamber now in dispute did ever belong to my lodgings, which do put me into good quiet of mind. So by water with Sir Wm. Pen to White Hall; and, with much ado, was fain to walk over the piles through the bridge, while Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes were aground against the bridge, and could not in a great while get through. At White Hall we hear that the Duke of York is gone a-hunting to-day; and so we returned: they going to the Duke of Albemarle's, where I left them (after I had observed a very good picture or two there), and so home, and there did resolve to give up my endeavours for access to the leads, and to shut up my doors lest the being open might give them occasion of longing for my chamber, which I am in most fear about. So to Deptford, and took my Lady Batten and her daughter and Mrs. Turner along with me, they being going through the garden thither, they to Mr. Unthwayte's and I to the Pay, and then about 3 o'clock went to dinner (Sir W. Pen and I), and after dinner to the Pay again, and at night by barge home all together, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind full of trouble about my house. 16th. Up and to my workmen, and then to the office, and there we sat till noon; then to the Exchange, and in my way met with the housekeeper of this office, and he did give me so good an account of my chamber in my house about which I am so much troubled that I am well at ease in my mind. At my office all the afternoon alone. In the evening Sir J. M. and I walked together a good while in the garden, very pleasant, and takes no notice that he do design any further trouble to me about my house. At night eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to my lodgings and to bed, my mind ill at ease for these particulars: my house in dirt, and like to lose my best chamber. My wife writes me from the country that she is not pleased there with my father nor mother, nor any of her servants, and that my boy is turned a very rogue. I have L30 to pay to the cavaliers: then a doubt about my being forced to leave all my business here, when I am called to the court at Brampton; and lastly, my law businesses, which vex me to my heart what I shall be able to do next term, which is near at hand. 17th. At my office all the morning, and at noon to the Exchange, where meeting Mr. Moore and Mr. Stucky, of the Wardrobe, we to an ordinary to dinner, and after dinner Mr. Moore and I about 3 o'clock to Paul's school, to wait upon Mr. Crumlum (Mr. Moore having a hopeful lad, a kinsman of his, there at school), who we take very luckily, and went up to his chamber with him, where there was also an old fellow student of Mr. Crumlum's, one Mr. Newell, come to see him, of whom he made so much, and of me, that the truth is he with kindness did drink more than I believe he used to do, and did begin to be a little impertinent, the more when after all he would in the evening go forth with us and give us a bottle of wine abroad, and at the tavern met with an acquaintance of his that did occasion impertinent discourse, that though I honour the man, and he do declare abundance of learning and worth, yet I confess my opinion is much lessened of him, and therefore let it be a caution to myself not to love drink, since it has such an effect upon others of greater worth in my own esteem. I could not avoid drinking of 5 glasses this afternoon with him, and after I had parted with him Mr. Moore and I to my house, and after we had eaten something to my lodgings, where the master of the house, a very ordinary fellow, was ready to entertain me and took me into his dining-room where his wife was, a pretty and notable lady, too fine surely for him, and too much wit too. Here I was forced to stay with them a good while and did drink again, there being friends of theirs with them. At last being weary of his idle company, I bid good-night and so to my chamber and Mr. [Moore] and I to bed, neither of us well pleased with our afternoon's work, merely from our being witnesses of Mr. Crumlum's weakness. This day my boy is come from Brampton, and my wife I think the next week. 18th. At the office all the morning, and at noon Sir G. Carteret, Mr. Coventry, and I by invitation to dinner to Sheriff Maynell's, the great money-man; he, Alderman Backwell, and much noble and brave company, with the privilege of their rare discourse, which is great content to me above all other things in the world. And after a great dinner and much discourse, we arose and took leave, and home to the business of my office, where I thank God I take delight, and in the evening to my lodging and to bed. Among other discourse, speaking concerning the great charity used in Catholic countrys, Mr. Ashburnham did tell us, that this last year, there being great want of corn in Paris, and so a collection made for the poor, there was two pearls brought in, nobody knew from whom (till the Queen, seeing them, knew whose they were, but did not discover it), which were sold for 200,000 crownes. 19th. Up betimes and to my office, and at 9 o'clock, none of the rest going, I went alone to Deptford, and there went on where they left last night to pay Woolwich yard, and so at noon dined well, being chief at the table, and do not see but every body begins to give me as much respect and honour as any of the rest. After dinner to Pay again, and so till 9 at night, my great trouble being that I was forced to begin an ill practice of bringing down the wages of servants, for which people did curse me, which I do not love. At night, after I had eaten a cold pullet, I walked by brave moonshine, with three or four armed men to guard me, to Redriffe, it being a joy to my heart to think of the condition that I am now in, that people should of themselves provide this for me, unspoke to. I hear this walk is dangerous to walk alone by night, and much robbery committed here. So from thence by water home, and so to my lodgings to bed. 20th. Up betimes and to my office, where I found my brother Tom, who tells me that his mistress's mother has wrote a letter to Mr. Lull of her full satisfaction about Tom, of which I was glad, and do think the business will take. All this morning we sat at the office, Sir J. Minnes and I. And so dined at home, and among my workmen all the afternoon, and in the evening Tom brought Mr. Lull to me, a friend of his mistress, a serious man, with whom I spoke, and he gives me a good account of her and of their satisfaction in Tom, all which pleases me well. We walked a good while in the garden together, and did give him a glass of wine at my office, and so parted. So to write letters by the post and news of this to my father concerning Tom, and so home to supper and to my lodgings and to bed. To-night my barber sent me his man to trim me, who did live in King Street in Westminster lately, and tells me that three or four that I knew in that street, tradesmen, are lately fallen mad, and some of them dead, and the others continue mad. They live all within a door or two one of another. 21st (Lord's day). Got up betimes and walked to St. James's, and there to Mr. Coventry, and sat an hour with him, talking of business of the office with great pleasure, and I do perceive he do speak his whole mind to me. Thence to the Park, where by appointment I met my brother Tom and Mr. Cooke, and there spoke about Tom's business, and to good satisfaction. The Queen coming by in her coach, going to her chappell at St. James's' (the first time it hath been ready for her), I crowded after her, and I got up to the room where her closet is; and there stood and saw the fine altar, ornaments, and the fryers in their habits, and the priests come in with their fine copes and many other very fine things. I heard their musique too; which may be good, but it did not appear so to me, neither as to their manner of singing, nor was it good concord to my ears, whatever the matter was. The Queene very devout: but what pleased me best was to see my dear Lady Castlemaine, who, tho' a Protestant, did wait upon the Queen to chappell. By and by, after mass was done, a fryer with his cowl did rise up and preach a sermon in Portuguese; which I not understanding, did go away, and to the King's chappell, but that was done; and so up to the Queen's presence-chamber, where she and the King was expected to dine: but she staying at St. James's, they were forced to remove the things to the King's presence [chamber]; and there he dined alone, and I with Mr. Fox very finely; but I see I must not make too much of that liberty for my honour sake only, not but that I am very well received. After dinner to Tom's, and so home, and after walking a good while in the garden I went to my uncle Wight's, where I found my aunt in mourning and making sad stories for the loss of her dear sister Nicholls, of which I should have been very weary but that pretty Mrs. Margaret Wight came in and I was much pleased with her company, and so all supper did vex my aunt talking in commendation of the mass which I had been at to-day, but excused it afterwards that it was only to make mirth. And so after supper broke up and home, and after putting my notes in order against to-morrow I went to bed. 22nd. Up betimes among my workmen, hastening to get things ready against my wife's coming, and so with Sir J. M., Sir W. B., and Sir W. P., by coach to St. James's, and there with the Duke. I did give him an account of all things past of late; but I stood in great pain, having a great fit of the colic, having catched cold yesterday by putting off my stockings to wipe my toes, but at last it lessened, and then I was pretty well again, but in pain all day more or less. Thence I parted from them and walked to Greatorex's, and there with him did overlook many pretty things, new inventions, and have bespoke a weather glass of him. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and dined with the servants, he having dined; and so, after dinner, up to him, and sat an hour talking with him of publique, and my Lord's private businesses, with much content. So to my brother Tom's, where Mr. Cooke expected me, and did go with me to see Mr. Young and Mr. Lull in Blackfryers, kindred of Tom's mistress, where I was very well used, and do find things to go in the business to my good content. Thence to Mr. Townsend, and did there talk with Mr. Young himself also, and then home and to my study, and so to my lodgings and to bed. 23rd. Up betimes and with my workmen, taking some pleasure to see my work come towards an end, though I am vexed every day enough with their delay. We met and sat all the morning, dined at home alone, and with my workmen all the afternoon, and in the evening by water and land to Deptford to give order for things about my house, and came back again by coach with Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten (who has been at a Pay to-day), and to my office and did some business, and so to supper and to my lodgings, and so to bed. In our coming home Sir G. Carteret told me how in most cabaretts in France they have writ upon the walls in fair letters to be read, "Dieu te regarde," as a good lesson to be in every man's mind, and have also, as in Holland, their poor's box; in both which places at the making all contracts and bargains they give so much, which they call God's penny. 24th. Up betimes and among my workmen, and among them all the morning till noon, and then to my Lord Crew's, and there dined alone with him, and among other things he do advise me by all means to keep my Lord Sandwich from proceeding too far in the business of Tangier. First, for that he is confident the King will not be able to find money for the building the Mole; and next, for that it is to be done as we propose it by the reducing of the garrison; and then either my Lord must oppose the Duke of York, who will have the Irish regiment under the command of Fitzgerald continued, or else my Lord Peterborough, who is concerned to have the English continued, and he, it seems, is gone back again merely upon my Lord Sandwich's encouragement. Thence to Mr. Wotton, the shoemaker's, and there bought a pair of boots, cost me 30s., and he told me how Bird hath lately broke his leg, while he was fencing in "Aglaura," upon the stage, and that the new theatre of all will be ready against term. So to my brother's, and there discoursed with him and Mr. Cooke about their journey to Tom's mistress again, and I did speak with Mr. Croxton about measuring of silk flags. So by water home and to my workmen, and so at night till late at my office, inditing a letter from Tom to his mistress upon his sending her a watch for a token, and so home and to supper, and to my lodgings and to bed. It is my content that by several hands to-day I hear that I have the name of good-natured man among the poor people that come to the office. 25th. Up betimes and to my workmen, and then to the office, where we sat all the morning. So home to dinner alone and then to my workmen till night, and so to my office till bedtime, and so after supper to my lodgings and to bed. This evening I sat awhile at Sir W. Batten's with Sir J. Minnes, &c., where he told us among many other things how in Portugal they scorn to make a seat for a house of office, but they do .... all in pots and so empty them in the river. I did also hear how the woman, formerly nurse to Mrs. Lemon (Sir W. Batten's daughter), her child was torn to pieces by two doggs at Walthamstow this week, and is dead, which is very strange. 26th. Up betimes and among my workmen. By and by to Sir W. Batten, who with Sir J. M. are going to Chatham this morning, and I was in great pain till they were gone that I might see whether Sir John do speak any thing of my chamber that I am afraid of losing or no. But he did not, and so my mind is a little at more ease. So all day long till night among my workmen, and in the afternoon did cause the partition between the entry and the boy's room to be pulled down to lay it all into one, which I hope will please me and make my coming in more pleasant. Late at my office at night writing a letter of excuse to Sir G. Carteret that I cannot wait upon him to-morrow morning to Chatham as I promised, which I am loth to do because of my workmen and my wife's coming to town to-morrow. So to my lodgings and to bed. 27th. Up betimes and among my workmen, and with great pleasure see the posts in the entry taken down beyond expectation, so that now the boy's room being laid into the entry do make my coming in very handsome, which was the only fault remaining almost in my house. We sat all the morning, and in the afternoon I got many jobbs done to my mind, and my wife's chamber put into a good readiness against her coming, which she did at night, for Will did, by my leave to go, meet her upon the road, and at night did bring me word she was come to my brother's, by my order. So I made myself ready and put things at home in order, and so went thither to her. Being come, I found her and her maid and dogg very well, and herself grown a little fatter than she was. I was very well pleased to see her, and after supper to bed, and had her company with great content and much mutual love, only I do perceive that there has been falling out between my mother and she, and a little between my father and she; but I hope all is well again, and I perceive she likes Brampton House and seat better than ever I did myself, and tells me how my Lord hath drawn a plot of some alteracions to be made there, and hath brought it up, which I saw and like well. I perceive my Lord and Lady have been very kind to her, and Captn. Ferrers so kind that I perceive I have some jealousy of him, but I know what is the Captain's manner of carriage, and therefore it is nothing to me. She tells me of a Court like to be in a little time, which troubles me, for I would not willingly go out of town. 28th (Lord's day). Waked early, and fell talking one with another with great pleasure of my house at Brampton and that here, and other matters. She tells me what a rogue my boy is, and strange things he has been found guilty of, not fit to name, which vexes [me], but most of all the unquiett life that my mother makes my father and herself lead through her want of reason. At last I rose, and with Tom to the French Church at the Savoy, where I never was before--a pretty place it is--and there they have the Common Prayer Book read in French, and, which I never saw before, the minister do preach with his hat off, I suppose in further conformity with our Church. So to Tom's to dinner with my wife, and there came Mr. Cooke, and Joyce Norton do also dine there, and after dinner Cooke and I did talk about his journey and Tom's within a day or two about his mistress. And I did tell him my mind and give him my opinion in it. So I walked home and found my house made a little clean, and pleases me better and better, and so to church in the afternoon, and after sermon to my study, and there did some things against to-morrow that I go to the Duke's, and so walked to Tom's again, and there supped and to bed with good content of mind. 29th (Michaelmas day). This day my oaths for drinking of wine and going to plays are out, and so I do resolve to take a liberty to-day, and then to fall to them again. Up and by coach to White Hall, in my way taking up Mr. Moore, and walked with him, talking a good while about business, in St. James's Park, and there left him, and to Mr. Coventry's, and so with him and Sir W. Pen up to the Duke, where the King came also and staid till the Duke was ready. It being Collarday, we had no time to talk with him about any business. They went out together. So we parted, and in the park Mr. Cooke by appointment met me, to whom I did give my thoughts concerning Tom's match and their journey tomorrow, and did carry him by water to Tom's, and there taking up my wife, maid, dog, and him, did carry them home, where my wife is much pleased with my house, and so am I fully. I sent for some dinner and there dined, Mrs. Margaret Pen being by, to whom I had spoke to go along with us to a play this afternoon, and then to the King's Theatre, where we saw "Midsummer's Night's Dream," which I had never seen before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life. I saw, I confess, some good dancing and some handsome women, which was all my pleasure. Thence set my wife down at Madam Turner's, and so by coach home, and having delivered Pegg Pen to her father safe, went home, where I find Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, hath sent me the modell he had promised me; but it so far exceeds my expectations, that I am sorry almost he should make such a present to no greater a person; but I am exceeding glad of it, and shall study to do him a courtesy for it. So to my office and wrote a letter to Tom's mistress's mother to send by Cooke to-morrow. Then came Mr. Moore thinking to have looked over the business of my Brampton papers against the Court, but my mind was so full of other matters (as it is my nature when I have been a good while from a business, that I have almost forgot it, I am loth to come to it again) that I could not set upon it, and so he and I past the evening away in discourse, and to my lodgings and to bed. 30th. We rose, and he about his business, and I to my house to look over my workmen; but good God! how I do find myself by yesterday's liberty hard to be brought to follow business again, but however, I must do it, considering the great sweet and pleasure and content of mind that I have had since I did leave drink and plays, and other pleasures, and followed my business. So to my office, where we sat till noon, and then I to dinner with Sir W. Pen, and while we were at it coming my wife to the office, and so I sent for her up, and after dinner we took coach and to the Duke's playhouse, where we saw "The Duchess of Malfy" well performed, but Betterton and Ianthe to admiration. That being done, home again, by coach, and my wife's chamber got ready for her to lie in to-night, but my business did call me to my office, so that staying late I did not lie with her at home, but at my lodgings. Strange to see how easily my mind do revert to its former practice of loving plays and wine, having given myself a liberty to them but these two days; but this night I have again bound myself to Christmas next, in which I desire God to bless me and preserve me, for under God I find it to be the best course that ever I could take to bring myself to mind my business. I have also made up this evening my monthly ballance, and find that, notwithstanding the loss of L30 to be paid to the loyall and necessitous cavaliers by act of Parliament, [Two acts were passed in 1662 for this purpose, viz., 13 and 14 Car. II. cap. 8: "An act for distribution of threescore thousand pounds amongst the truly loyal and indigent commission officers, and for assessing of offices and distributing the monies thereby raised for their further supply;" and cap. 9, "An act for the relief of poor and maimed officers and soldiers who have faithfully served his Majesty and his royal father in the late wars."] yet I am worth about L680, for which the Lord God be praised. My condition at present is this:--I have long been building, and my house to my great content is now almost done. But yet not so but that I shall have dirt, which troubles me too, for my wife has been in the country at Brampton these two months, and is now come home a week or two before the house is ready for her. My mind is somewhat troubled about my best chamber, which I question whether I shall be able to keep or no. I am also troubled for the journey which I must needs take suddenly to the Court at Brampton, but most of all for that I am not provided to understand my business, having not minded it a great while, and at the best shall be able but to make a bad matter of it, but God, I hope, will guide all to the best, and I am resolved to-morrow to fall hard to it. I pray God help me therein, for my father and mother and all our well-doings do depend upon my care therein. My Lord Sandwich has lately been in the country, and very civil to my wife, and hath himself spent some pains in drawing a plot of some alterations in our house there, which I shall follow as I get money. As for the office, my late industry hath been such, as I am become as high in reputation as any man there, and good hold I have of Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, which I am resolved, and it is necessary for me, to maintain by all fair means. Things are all quiett, but the King poor, and no hopes almost of his being otherwise, by which things will go to rack, especially in the Navy. The late outing of the Presbyterian clergy by their not renouncing the Covenant as the Act of Parliament commands, is the greatest piece of state now in discourse. But for ought I see they are gone out very peaceably, and the people not so much concerned therein as was expected. My brother Tom is gone out of town this day, to make a second journey to his mistress at Banbury, of which I have good expectations, and pray God to bless him therein. My mind, I hope, is settled to follow my business again, for I find that two days' neglect of business do give more discontent in mind than ten times the pleasure thereof can repair again, be it what it will. OCTOBER 1662 October 1st. Up with my mind pretty well at rest about my accounts and other business, and so to my house and there put my work to business, and then down to Deptford to do the same there, and so back and with my workmen all the afternoon, and my wife putting a chamber in order for us to lie in. At night to look over some Brampton papers against the Court which I expect every day to hear of, and that done home and with my wife to bed, the first time I have lain there these two months and more, which I am now glad to do again, and do so like the chamber as it is now ordered that all my fear is my not keeping it. But I hope the best, for it would vex me to the heart to lose it. 2nd. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon, and then to dinner, and Mr. Moore came and dined with me, and after dinner to look over my Brampton papers, which was a most necessary work, though it is not so much to my content as I could wish. I fear that it must be as it can, and not as I would. He being gone I to my workmen again, and at night by coach towards Whitehall took up Mr. Moore and set him at my Lord's, and myself, hearing that there was a play at the Cockpit (and my Lord Sandwich, who came to town last night, at it), I do go thither, and by very great fortune did follow four or five gentlemen who were carried to a little private door in a wall, and so crept through a narrow place and come into one of the boxes next the King's, but so as I could not see the King or Queene, but many of the fine ladies, who yet are really not so handsome generally as I used to take them to be, but that they are finely dressed. Here we saw "The Cardinall," a tragedy I had never seen before, nor is there any great matter in it. The company that came in with me into the box, were all Frenchmen that could speak no English, but Lord! what sport they made to ask a pretty lady that they got among them that understood both French and English to make her tell them what the actors said. Thence to my Lord's, and saw him, and staid with him half an hour in his chamber talking about some of mine and his own business, and so up to bed with Mr. Moore in the chamber over my Lord's. 3rd. Rose, and without taking leave or speaking to my Lord went out early and walked home, calling at my brother's and Paul's Churchyard, but bought nothing because of my oath, though I had a great mind to it. At my office, and with my workmen till noon, and then dined with my wife upon herrings, the first I have eat this year, and so to my workmen again. By and by comes a gentleman to speak with my wife, and I found him to be a gentleman that had used her very civilly in her coming up out of the country, on which score I showed him great respect, and found him a very ingenious gentleman, and sat and talked with him a great while. He gone, to my workmen again, and in the evening comes Captain Ferrers, and sat and talked a great while, and told me the story of his receiving his cut in the hand by falling out with one of my Lord's footmen. He told me also of the impertinence and mischief that Ned Pickering has made in the country between my Lord and all his servants almost by his finding of faults, which I am vexed to hear, it being a great disgrace to my Lord to have the fellow seen to be so great still with him. He brought me a letter from my father, that appoints the day for the Court at Brampton to be the 13th of this month; but I perceive he has kept the letter in his pocket these three days, so that if the day had been sooner, I might have been spilt. So that it is a great folly to send letters of business by any friend that require haste. He being gone I to my office all the evening, doing business there till bedtime, it being now my manner since my wife is come to spend too much of my daytime with her and the workmen and do my office business at night, which must not be after the work of the house is done. This night late I had notice that Dekins, the merchant, is dead this afternoon suddenly, for grief that his daughter, my Morena, who has long been ill, is given over by the Doctors. For both which I am very sorry. So home and to bed. 4th. To my office all the morning, after I was up (my wife beginning to make me lie long a mornings), where we sat till noon, and then dined at home, and after a little with my workmen to my office till 9 at night, among other things examining the particulars of the miscarriage of the Satisfaction, sunk the other day on the Dutch coast through the negligence of the pilott. 5th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and among other things fell out about my maid Sarah, whom my wife would fain put away, when I think her as good a servant as ever came into a house, but it seems my wife would have one that would dress a head well, but we were friends at last. I to church; and this day the parson has got one to read with a surplice on. I suppose himself will take it up hereafter, for a cunning fellow he is as any of his coat. Dined with my wife, and then to talk again above, chiefly about her learning to dance against her going next year into the country, which I am willing she shall do. Then to church to a tedious sermon, and thence walked to Tom's to see how things are in his absence in the country, and so home and in my wife's chamber till bedtime talking, and then to my office to put things in order to wait on the Duke to-morrow morning, and so home and to bed. 6th. Sir W. Pen and I early to St. James's by water, where Mr. Coventry, finding the Duke in bed, and not very well, we did not stay to speak with him, but to White Hall, and there took boat and down to Woolwich we went. In our way Mr. Coventry telling us how of late upon enquiry into the miscarriages of the Duke's family, Mr. Biggs, his steward, is found very faulty, and is turned out of his employment. Then we fell to reading of a book which I saw the other day at my Lord Sandwich's, intended for the late King, finely bound up, a treatise concerning the benefit the Hollanders make of our fishing, but whereas I expected great matters from it, I find it a very impertinent [book], and though some things good, yet so full of tautologies, that we were weary of it. At Woolwich we mustered the yard, and then to the Hart to dinner, and then to the Rope-yard, where I did vex Sir W. Pen I know to appear so well acquainted, I thought better than he, in the business of hemp; thence to Deptford, and there looked over several businesses, and wakened the officers there; so walked to Redriffe, and thence, landing Sir W. Pen at the Tower, I to White Hall with Mr. Coventry, and so to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but my Lord was not within, being at a ball this night with the King at my Lady Castlemaine's at next door. But here to my trouble I hear that Mr. Moore is gone very sick to the Wardrobe this afternoon, which troubles me much both for his own sake and for mine, because of my law business that he does for me and also for my Lord's matters. So hence by water, late as it was, to the Wardrobe, and there found him in a high fever, in bed, and much cast down by his being ill. So thought it not convenient to stay, but left him and walked home, and there weary went to supper, and then the barber came to me, and after he had done, to my office to set down my journall of this day, and so home and to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, dined at home with my wife. After dinner with her by coach to see Mr. Moore, who continues ill. I took his books of accounts, and did discourse with him about my Lord's and my own businesses, and there being Mr. Battersby by, did take notice of my having paid him the L100 borrowed of him, which they both did confess and promise to return me my bond. Thence by water with Will. Howe to Westminster, and there staying a little while in the Hall (my wife's father and mother being abroad, and so she returning presently) thence by coach to my Lord's, and there I left money for Captain Ferrers to buy me two bands. So towards the New Exchange, and there while my wife was buying things I walked up and down with Dr. Williams, talking about my law businesses, and thence took him to my brother's, and there gave him a glass of wine, and so parted, and then by coach with my wife home, and Sir J. M. and Sir W. B. being come from Chatham Pay I did go see them for complaisance, and so home and to bed. 8th. Up and by water to my Lord Sandwich's, and was with him a good while in his chamber, and among other things to my extraordinary joy, he did tell me how much I was beholding to the Duke of York, who did yesterday of his own accord tell him that he did thank him for one person brought into the Navy, naming myself, and much more to my commendation, which is the greatest comfort and encouragement that ever I had in my life, and do owe it all to Mr. Coventry's goodness and ingenuity. I was glad above measure of this. Thence to Mr. Moore, who, I hope, is better than he was, and so home and dined at home, and all the afternoon busy at my office, and at night by coach to my Lord's again, thinking to speak with him, but he is at White Hall with the King, before whom the puppet plays I saw this summer in Covent-garden are acted this night. Hither this night my scallop, [A lace band, the edges of which were indented with segments of circles, so as to resemble a scallop shell. The word "scallop" was used till recently for a part of a lady's dress embroidered and cut to resemble a scallop shell.] bought and got made by Captain Ferrers' lady, is sent, and I brought it home, a very neat one. It cost me about L3, and L3 more I have given him to buy me another. I do find myself much bound to go handsome, which I shall do in linen, and so the other things may be all the plainer. Here I staid playing some new tunes to parts with Wm. Howe, and, my Lord not coming home, I came home late on foot, my boy carrying a link, and so eat a bit and to bed, my head full of ordering of businesses against my journey to-morrow, that there may be nothing done to my wrong in my absence. This day Sir W. Pen did speak to me from Sir J. Minnes to desire my best chamber of me, and my great joy is that I perceive he do not stand upon his right, which I was much afraid of, and so I hope I shall do well enough with him for it, for I will not part with it by fair means, though I contrive to let him have another room for it. 9th. Up early about my business to get me ready for my journey. But first to the office; where we sat all the morning till noon, and then broke up; and I bid them adieu for a week, having the Duke's leave got me by Mr. Coventry. To whom I did give thanks for my newes yesterday of the Duke's words to my Lord Sandwich concerning me, which he took well; and do tell me so freely his love and value of me, that my mind is now in as great a state of quiett as to my interest in the office, as I could ever wish to be. I should this day have dined at Sir W. Pen's at a venison pasty with the rest of our fellows, but I could not get time, but sent for a bit home, and so between one and two o'clock got on horseback at our back gate, with my man Will with me, both well-mounted on two grey horses. We rode and got to Ware before night; and so resolved to ride on to Puckeridge, which we did, though the way was bad, and the evening dark before we got thither, by help of company riding before us; and among others, a gentleman that took up at the same inn, the Falcon, with me, his name Mr. Brian, with whom I supped, and was very good company, and a scholar. He tells me, that it is believed the Queen is with child, for that the coaches are ordered to ride very easily through the streets. After supper we paid the reckoning together, and so he to his chamber and I to bed, very well, but my feet being much cramped by my new hard boots that I bought the other day of Wotton were in much pain. Will lay in another bed in the chamber with me. 10th. Up, and between eight and nine mounted again; but my feet so swelled with yesterday's pain, that I could not get on my boots, which vexed me to the blood, but was forced to pay 4s. for a pair of old shoes of my landlord's, and so rid in shoes to Cambridge; but the way so good that but for a little rain I had got very well thither, and set up at the Beare: and there being spied in the street passing through the town my cozen Angier came to me, and I must needs to his house, which I did; and there found Dr. Fairbrother, with a good dinner, a barrel of good oysters, a couple of lobsters, and wine. But, above all, telling me that this day there is a Congregation for the choice of some officers in the University, he after dinner gets me a gown, cap, and hood, and carries me to the Schooles, where Mr. Pepper, my brother's tutor, and this day chosen Proctor, did appoint a M.A. to lead me into the Regent House, where I sat with them, and did [vote] by subscribing papers thus: "Ego Samuel Pepys eligo Magistrum Bernardum Skelton, (and which was more strange, my old schoolfellow and acquaintance, and who afterwards did take notice of me, and we spoke together), alterum e taxatoribus hujus Academiae in annum sequentem." The like I did for one Biggs, for the other Taxor, and for other officers, as the Vice-Proctor (Mr. Covell), for Mr. Pepper, and which was the gentleman that did carry me into the Regent House. This being done, and the Congregation dissolved by the Vice-Chancellor, I did with much content return to my Cozen Angier's, being much pleased of doing this jobb of work, which I had long wished for and could never have had such a time as now to do it with so much ease. Thence to Trinity Hall, and there staid a good while with Dr. John Pepys, who tells me that [his] brother Roger has gone out of town to keep a Court; and so I was forced to go to Impington, to take such advice as my old uncle and his son Claxton could give me. Which I did, and there supped and talked with them, but not of my business till by and by after supper comes in, unlooked for, my cozen Roger, with whom by and by I discoursed largely, and in short he gives me good counsel, but tells me plainly that it is my best way to study a composition with my uncle Thomas, for that law will not help us, and that it is but a folly to flatter ourselves, with which, though much to my trouble, yet I was well satisfied, because it told me what I am to trust to, and so to bed. 11th. Up betimes, and after a little breakfast, and a very poor one, like our supper, and such as I cannot feed on, because of my she-cozen Claxton's gouty hands; and after Roger had carried me up and down his house and orchards, to show me them, I mounted, and rode to Huntingdon, and so to Brampton; where I found my father and two brothers, and Mr. Cooke, my mother and sister. So we are now all together, God knows when we shall be so again. I walked up and down the house and garden, and find my father's alteracions very handsome. But not so but that there will be cause enough of doing more if ever I should come to live there, but it is, however, very well for a country being as any little thing in the country. So to dinner, where there being nothing but a poor breast of mutton, and that ill-dressed, I was much displeased, there being Mr. Cooke there, who I invited to come over with my brother thither, and for whom I was concerned to make much of. I told my father and mother of it, and so had it very well mended for the time after, as long as I staid, though I am very glad to see them live so frugally. But now to my business. I found my uncle Thomas come into the country, and do give out great words, and forwarns all our people of paying us rent, and gives out that he will invalidate the Will, it being but conditional, we paying debts and legacies, which we have not done, but I hope we shall yet go through well enough. I settled to look over papers, and discourse of business against the Court till the evening; and then rode to Hinchingbroke (Will with me), and there to my Lady's chamber and saw her, but, it being night, and my head full of business, staid not long, but drank a cup of ale below, and so home again, and to supper, and to bed, being not quiet in mind till I speak with Piggott, to see how his business goes, whose land lies mortgaged to my late uncle, but never taken up by him, and so I fear the heire at law will do it and that we cannot, but my design is to supplant him by pretending bonds as well as a mortgage for the same money, and so as executor have the benefit of the bonds. 12th (Lord's day). Made myself fine with Captain Ferrers's lace band, being lothe to wear my own new scallop, it is so fine; and, after the barber had done with us, to church, where I saw most of the gentry of the parish; among others, Mrs. Hanbury, a proper lady, and Mr. Bernard and his Lady, with her father, my late Lord St. John, who looks now like a very plain grave man. Mr. Wells preached a pretty good sermon, and they say he is pretty well in his witts again. So home to dinner, and so to walk in the garden, and then to Church again, and so home, there coming several people about business, and among others Mr. Piggott, who gives me good assurance of his truth to me and our business, in which I am very much pleased, and tells me what my uncle Thomas said to him and what he designs, which (in fine) is to be admitted to the estate as well as we, which I must endeavour to oppose as well as I can. So to supper, but my mind is so full of our business that I am no company at all, and then their drink do not please me, till I did send to Goody Stanks for some of her's which is very small and fresh, with a little taste of wormewood, which ever after did please me very well. So after supper to bed, thinking of business, but every night getting my brother John to go up with me for discourse sake, while I was making unready. [That is, "undressing." So of the French lords leaping over the walls in their shirts "Alenc. How now, my lords! what all unready so? Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well." Henry VI., act ii., sc. i.--M. B.] 13th. Up to Hinchingbroke, and there with Mr. Sheply did look all over the house, and I do, I confess, like well of the alteracions, and do like the staircase, but there being nothing to make the outside more regular and modern, I am not satisfied with it, but do think it to be too much to be laid out upon it. Thence with Sheply to Huntingdon to the Crown, and there did sit and talk, and eat a breakfast of cold roast beef, and so he to St. Ives Market, and I to Sir Robert Bernard's for council, having a letter from my Lord Sandwich to that end. He do give it me with much kindness in appearance, and upon my desire do promise to put off my uncle's admittance, if he can fairly, and upon the whole do make my case appear better to me than my cozen Roger did, but not so but that we are liable to much trouble, and that it will be best to come to an agreement if possible. With my mind here also pretty well to see things proceed so well I returned to Brampton, and spent the morning in looking over papers and getting my copies ready against to-morrow. So to dinner, and then to walk with my father and other business, when by and by comes in my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas to see us, and very calm they were and we to them. And after a short How do you, and drinking a cup of beer, they went away again, and so by and by my father and I to Mr. Phillips, and there discoursed with him in order to to-morrow's business of the Court and getting several papers ready, when presently comes in my uncle Thomas and his son thither also, but finding us there I believe they were disappointed and so went forth again, and went to the house that Prior has lately bought of us (which was Barton's) and there did make entry and forbade paying rent to us, as now I hear they have done everywhere else, and that that was their intent in coming to see us this day. I perceive most of the people that do deal with us begin to be afraid that their title to what they buy will not be good. Which troubled me also I confess a little, but I endeavoured to remove all as well as I could. Among other things they make me afraid that Barton was never admitted to that that my uncle bought of him, but I hope the contrary. Thence home, and with my father took a melancholy walk to Portholme, seeing the country-maids milking their cows there, they being there now at grass, and to see with what mirth they come all home together in pomp with their milk, and sometimes they have musique go before them. So back home again, and to supper, and in comes Piggott with a counterfeit bond which by agreement between us (though it be very just in itself) he has made, by which I shall lay claim to the interest of the mortgage money, and so waiting with much impatience and doubt the issue of to-morrow's Court, I to bed, but hardly slept half an hour the whole night, my mind did so run with fears of to-morrow. 14th. Up, and did digest into a method all I could say in our defence, in case there should be occasion, for I hear he will have counsel to plead for him in the Court, and so about nine o'clock to the court at the Lordshipp where the jury was called; and there being vacancies, they would have had my father, in respect to him, [to] have been one of the Homage, but he thought fit to refuse it, he not knowing enough the customs of the town. They being sworn and the charge given them, they fell to our business, finding the heir-at-law to be my uncle Thomas; but Sir Robert [Bernard] did tell them that he had seen how the estate was devised to my father by my uncle's will, according to the custom of the manour, which they would have denied, first, that it was not according to the custom of the manour, proposing some difficulty about the half-acre of land which is given the heir-at-law according to custom, which did put me into great fear lest it might not be in my uncle's possession at his death, but mortgaged with other to T. Trice (who was there, and was with my good will admitted to Taylor's house mortgaged to him if not being worth the money for which it was mortgaged, which I perceive he now, although he lately bragged the contrary, yet is now sensible of, and would have us to redeem it with money, and he would now resurrender it to us rather than the heir-at-law) or else that it was part of Goody Gorum's in which she has a life, and so might not be capable of being according to the custom given to the heir-at-law, but Will Stanks tells me we are sure enough against all that. Then they fell to talk of Piggott's land mortgaged to my uncle, but he never admitted to it, which they now as heir would have admitted to. But the steward, as he promised me, did find pretensions very kindly and readily to put off their admittance, by which I find they are much defeated, and if ever, I hope, will now listen to a treaty and agreement with us, at our meeting at London. So they took their leaves of the steward and Court, and went away, and by and by, after other business many brought in, they broke up to dinner. So my father and I home with great content to dinner; my mind now as full against the afternoon business, which we sat upon after dinner at the Court, and did sue out a recovery, and cut off the intayle; and my brothers there, to join therein. And my father and I admitted to all the lands; he for life, and I for myself and my heirs in reversion, and then did surrender according to bargain to Prior, Greene, and Shepheard the three cottages with their appurtenances that they have bought of us, and that being done and taken leave of the steward, I did with most compleat joy of mind go from the Court with my father home, and in a quarter of an hour did get on horseback, with my brother Tom, Cooke, and Will, all mounted, and without eating or drinking, take leave of father, mother, Pall, to whom I did give 10s., but have shown no kindness since I come, for I find her so very ill-natured that I cannot love her, and she so cruel a hypocrite that she can cry when she pleases, and John and I away, calling in at Hinchingbroke, and taking leave in three words of my Lady, and the young ladies; and so by moonlight most bravely all the way to Cambridge, with great pleasure, whither we come at about nine o'clock, and took up at the Bear, but the house being full of guests we had very ill lodging, which troubled me, but had a supper, and my mind at good ease, and so to bed. Will in another bed in my chamber. 15th. My mind, though out of trouble, yet intent upon my journey home, being desirous to know how all my matters go there, I could hardly sleep, but waked very early; and, when it was time, did call up Will, and we rose, and musique (with a bandore [A musical instrument with wire strings, and sounded with a plectrum; used as a bass to the cittern. The banjo is a modification of the bandore, as the name is a negro corruption of that word.] for the base) did give me a levett; [A blast of trumpets, intended as a 'reveillee', from French lever. "First he that led the Cavalcade Wore a Sow-gelder's Flagellet, On which he blew as strong a Levet As well-feed Lawyer on his breviate." Hudibras, II. ii. v. 609.] and so we got ready; and while breakfast was providing, I went forth (by the way finding Mr. George Mountagu and his Lady, whom I saluted, going to take their coach thus early to proceed on their journey, they having lodged in the chamber just under me all this night) and showed Mr. Cooke King's College Chapel, Trinity College, and St. John's College Library; and that being done, to our inn again: where I met Dr. Fairbrother brought thither by my brother Tom, and he did breakfast with us, a very good-natured man he is, and told us how the room we were in was the room where Cromwell and his associated officers did begin to plot and act their mischiefs in these counties. Having eat well, only our oysters proving bad, we mounted, having a pair of boots that I borrowed and carried with me from Impington, my own to be sent from Cambridge to London, and took leave of all, and begun our journey about nine o'clock. After we had rode about 10 miles we got out of our way into Royston road, which did vex me cruelly, and the worst for that my brother's horse, which was lame yesterday, grows worse to-day, that he could not keep pace with us. At last with much ado we got into the road again, having misguided also a gentleman's man who had lost his master and thought us to be going the same way did follow us, but coming into the road again we met with his master, by his coat a divine, but I perceiving Tom's horse not able to keep with us, I desired Mr. Cooke and him to take their own time, and Will and I we rode before them keeping a good pace, and came to Ware about three o'clock in the afternoon, the ways being every where but bad. Here I fell into acquaintance and eat and drank with the divine, but know not who he is, and after an hour's bait to myself and horses he, though resolved to have lodged there, yet for company would out again, and so we remounted at four o'clock, and he went with me as far almost as Tibbald's and there parted with us, taking up there for all night, but finding our horses in good case and the night being pretty light, though by reason of clouds the moon did not shine out, we even made shift from one place to another to reach London, though both of us very weary. And having left our horses at their masters, walked home, found all things well, and with full joy, though very weary, came home and went to bed, there happening nothing since our going to my discontent in the least degree; which do so please me, that I cannot but bless God for my journey, observing a whole course of success from the beginning to the end of it, and I do find it to be the reward of my diligence, which all along in this has been extraordinary, for I have not had the least kind of divertisement imaginable since my going forth, but merely carrying on my business which God has been pleased to bless. So to bed very hot and feverish by being weary, but early morning the fever was over. 16th. And so I rose in good temper, finding a good chimneypiece made in my upper dining-room chamber, and the diningroom wainscoat in a good forwardness, at which I am glad, and then to the office, where by T. Hater I found all things to my mind, and so we sat at the office till noon, and then at home to dinner with my wife. Then coming Mr. Creede in order to some business with Sir J. Minnes about his accounts, this afternoon I took him to the Treasury office, where Sir John and I did stay late paying some money to the men that are saved out of the Satisfaction that was lost the other day. The King gives them half-pay, which is more than is used in such cases, for they never used to have any thing, and yet the men were most outrageously discontented, and did rail and curse us till I was troubled to hear it, and wished myself unconcerned therein. Mr. Creede seeing us engaged took leave of us. Here late, and so home, and at the office set down my journey-journall to this hour, and so shut up my book, giving God thanks for my good success therein, and so home, and to supper, and to bed. I hear Mr. Moore is in a way of recovery. Sir H. Bennet made Secretary of State in Sir Edward Nicholas's stead; not known whether by consent or not. My brother Tom and Cooke are come to town I hear this morning, and he sends me word that his mistress's mother is also come to treat with us about her daughter's portion and her jointure, which I am willing should be out of Sturtlow lands. 17th. This morning Tom comes to me, and I advise him how to deal with his mistress's mother about his giving her a joynture, but I intend to speak with her shortly, and tell her my mind. Then to my Lord Sandwich by water, and told him how well things do go in the country with me, of which he was very glad, and seems to concern himself much for me. Thence with Mr. Creed to Westminster Hall, and by and by thither comes Captn. Ferrers, upon my sending for him, and we three to Creed's chamber, and there sat a good while and drank chocolate. Here I am told how things go at Court; that the young men get uppermost, and the old serious lords are out of favour; that Sir H. Bennet, being brought into Sir Edward Nicholas's place, Sir Charles Barkeley is made Privy Purse; a most vicious person, and one whom Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, to-day (at which I laugh to myself), did tell me that he offered his wife L300 per annum to be his mistress. He also told me that none in Court hath more the King's ear now than Sir Charles Barkeley, and Sir H. Bennet, and my Lady Castlemaine, whose interest is now as great as ever and that Mrs. Haslerigge, the great beauty, is got with child, and now brought to bed, and lays it to the King or the Duke of York. [The child was owned by neither of the royal brothers.--B.] He tells me too that my Lord St. Albans' is like to be Lord Treasurer: all which things do trouble me much. Here I staid talking a good while, and so by water to see Mr. Moore, who is out of bed and in a way to be well, and thence home, and with Commr. Pett by water to view Wood's masts that he proffers to sell, which we found bad, and so to Deptford to look over some businesses, and so home and I to my office, all our talk being upon Sir J. M. and Sir W. B.'s base carriage against him at their late being at Chatham, which I am sorry to hear, but I doubt not but we shall fling Sir W. B. upon his back ere long. At my office, I hearing Sir W. Pen was not well, I went to him to see, and sat with him, and so home and to bed. 18th. This morning, having resolved of my brother's entertaining his mistress's mother to-morrow, I sent my wife thither to-day to lie there to-night and to direct him in the business, and I all the morning at the office, and the afternoon intent upon my workmen, especially my joyners, who will make my dining room very pretty. At night to my office to dispatch business, and then to see Sir W. Pen, who continues in great pain, and so home and alone to bed, but my head being full of my own and my brother Tom's business I could hardly sleep, though not in much trouble, but only multitude of thoughts. 19th (Lord's day). Got me ready in the morning and put on my first new laceband; and so neat it is, that I am resolved my great expense shall be lacebands, and it will set off any thing else the more. So walked to my brother's, where I met Mr. Cooke, and discoursing with him do find that he and Tom have promised a joynture of L50 to his mistress, and say that I did give my consent that she should be joyntured in L30 per ann. for Sturtlow, and the rest to be made up out of her portion. At which I was stark mad, and very angry the business should be carried with so much folly and against my mind and all reason. But I was willing to forbear discovering of it, and did receive Mrs. Butler, her mother, Mr. Lull and his wife, very civil people, very kindly, and without the least discontent, and Tom had a good and neat dinner for us. We had little discourse of any business, but leave it to one Mr. Smith on her part and myself on ours. So we staid till sermon was done, and I took leave, and to see Mr. Moore, who recovers well; and his doctor coming to him, one Dr. Merrit, we had some of his very good discourse of anatomy, and other things, very pleasant. By and by, I with Mr. Townsend walked in the garden, talking and advising with him about Tom's business, and he tells me he will speak with Smith, and says I offer fair to give her L30 joynture and no more. Thence Tom waiting for me homewards towards my house, talking and scolding him for his folly, and telling him my mind plainly what he has to trust to if he goes this way to work, for he shall never have her upon the terms they demand of L50. He left me, and I to my uncle Wight, and there supped, and there was pretty Mistress Margt. Wight, whom I esteem very pretty, and love dearly to look upon her. We were very pleasant, I droning with my aunt and them, but I am sorry to hear that the news of the selling of Dunkirk [A treaty was signed on the 27th October by which Dunkirk was sold to France for five million livres, two of which were to be paid immediately, and the remaining three by eight bills at dates varying from three months to two years; during which time the King of England was to contribute the aid of a naval force, if necessary, for defence against Spain. Subsequently the remaining three millions were reduced to 2,500,000 to be paid at Paris, and 254,000 in London. It is not known that Clarendon suggested the sale of Dunkirk, but it is certain that he adopted the measure with zeal. There is also no doubt that he got as much as France could be induced to give.--Lister's Life of Clarendon, ii. 173-4.] is taken so generally ill, as I find it is among the merchants; and other things, as removal of officers at Court, good for worse; and all things else made much worse in their report among people than they are. And this night, I know not upon what ground, the gates of the City ordered to be kept shut, and double guards every where. So home, and after preparing things against to-morrow for the Duke, to bed. Indeed I do find every body's spirit very full of trouble; and the things of the Court and Council very ill taken; so as to be apt to appear in bad colours, if there should ever be a beginning of trouble, which God forbid! 20th. Up and in Sir J. Minnes's coach with him and Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where now the Duke is come again to lodge: and to Mr. Coventry's little new chamber there. And by and by up to the Duke, who was making himself ready; and there among other discourse young Killigrew did so commend "The Villaine," a new play made by Tom Porter; and acted only on Saturday at the Duke's house, as if there never had been any such play come upon the stage. The same yesterday was told me by Captain Ferrers; and this morning afterwards by Dr. Clerke, who saw it. Insomuch that after I had done with the Duke, and thence gone with Commissioner Pett to Mr. Lilly's, the great painter, who came forth to us; but believing that I come to bespeak a picture, he prevented us by telling us, that he should not be at leisure these three weeks; which methinks is a rare thing. And then to see in what pomp his table was laid for himself to go to dinner; and here, among other pictures, saw the so much desired by me picture of my Lady Castlemaine, which is a most blessed picture; and that that I must have a copy of. And having thence gone to my brother's, where my wife lodged last night, and eat something there, I took her by coach to the Duke's house, and there was the house full of company: but whether it was in over-expecting or what, I know not, but I was never less pleased with a play in my life. Though there was good singing and dancing, yet no fancy in the play, but something that made it less contenting was my conscience that I ought not to have gone by my vow, and, besides, my business commanded me elsewhere. But, however, as soon as I came home I did pay my crown to the poor's box, according to my vow, and so no harm as to that is done, but only business lost and money lost, and my old habit of pleasure wakened, which I will keep down the more hereafter, for I thank God these pleasures are not sweet to me now in the very enjoying of them. So by coach home, and after a little business at my office, and seeing Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, I went to bed. Dunkirk, I am confirmed, is absolutely sold; for which I am very sorry. 21st. Up, and while I was dressing myself, my brother Tom being there I did chide him for his folly in abusing himself about the match, for I perceive he do endeavour all he can to get her, and she and her friends to have more than her portion deserves, which now from 6 or L700 is come to L450. I did by several steps shew Tom how he would not be L100 the better for her according to the ways he took to joynture her. After having done with him to the office, and there all the morning, and in the middle of our sitting my workmen setting about the putting up of my rails upon my leads, Sir J. Minnes did spy them and fell a-swearing, which I took no notice of, but was vexed, and am still to the very heart for it, for fear it should put him upon taking the closett and my chamber from me, which I protest I am now afraid of. But it is my very great folly to be so much troubled at these trifles, more than at the loss of L100, or things of greater concernment; but I forget the lesson I use to preach to others. After dinner to my office with my head and heart full of troublesome business, and thence by water with Mr. Smith, to Mr. Lechmore, the Counsellor at the Temple, about Field's business; and he tells me plainly that, there being a verdict against me, there is no help for it, but it must proceed to judgment. It is L30 damage to me for my joining with others in committing Field to prison, we being not justices of the Peace in the City, though in Middlesex; this troubled me, but I hope the King will make it good to us. Thence to Mr. Smith, the scrivener, upon Ludgate Hill, to whom Mrs. Butler do committ her business concerning her daughter and my brother. He tells me her daughter's portion is but L400, at which I am more troubled than before; and they find fault that his house is too little. So after I had told him my full mind, I went away to meet again to-morrow, but I believe the business will be broke off, which for Tom's sake I am much grieved for, but it cannot be helped without his ruin. Thence to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well again, and we read over and discoursed about Mrs. Goldsborough's business, and her son coming by my appointment thither, I did tell him our resolution as to her having her estate reconveyed to her. Hither also came my brother, and before Mr. Moore I did advise and counsel him about his match, and how we had all been abused by Mr. Cooke's folly. So home and to my office, and there settled many businesses, and so home and to supper, and so to bed, Sir W. Pen being still in great pain. 22nd. Up, and carrying my wife and her brother to Covent Garden, near their father's new lodging, by coach, I to my Lord Sandwich's, who receives me now more and more kindly, now he sees that I am respected in the world; and is my most noble patron. Here I staid and talked about many things, with my Lord and Mr. Povy, being there about Tangier business, for which the Commission is a taking out. Hence (after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I met here about Mrs. Butler's portion, he do persist to say that it will be worth L600 certain, when he knows as well as I do now that it is but L400, and so I told him, but he is a fool, and has made fools of us). So I by water to my brother's, and thence to Mr. Smith's, where I was, last night, and there by appointment met Mrs. Butler, with whom I plainly discoursed and she with me. I find she will give but L400, and no more, and is not willing to do that without a joynture, which she expects and I will not grant for that portion, and upon the whole I find that Cooke has made great brags on both sides, and so has abused us both, but know not how to help it, for I perceive she had much greater expectations of Tom's house and being than she finds. But however we did break off the business wholly, but with great love and kindness between her and me, and would have been glad we had known one another's minds sooner, without being misguided by this fellow to both our shames and trouble. For I find her a very discreet, sober woman, and her daughter, I understand and believe, is a good lady; and if portions did agree, though she finds fault with Tom's house, and his bad imperfection in his speech, I believe we should well agree in other matters. After taking a kind farewell, I to Tom's, and there did give him a full account of this sad news, with which I find he is much troubled, but do appear to me to be willing to be guided herein, and apprehends that it is not for his good to do otherwise, and so I do persuade [him] to follow his business again, and I hope he will, but for Cooke's part and Dr. Pepys, I shall know them for two fools another time. Hence, it raining hard, by coach home, being first trimmed here by Benier, who being acquainted with all the players, do tell me that Betterton is not married to Ianthe, as they say; but also that he is a very sober, serious man, and studious and humble, following of his studies, and is rich already with what he gets and saves, and then to my office till late, doing great deal of business, and settling my mind in pretty good order as to my business, though at present they are very many. So home and to bed. This night was buried, as I hear by the bells at Barking Church, my poor Morena, [The burial of Elizabeth, daughter of John Dekins or Dickens, is recorded in the parish register of All Hallows, Barking, as having taken place on October 22nd. See ante, October 3rd] whose sickness being desperate, did kill her poor father; and he being dead for sorrow, she could not recover, nor desire to live, but from that time do languish more and more, and so is now dead and buried. 23rd. Up and among my workmen, and so to the office, and there sitting all the morning we stept all out to visit Sir W. Batten, who it seems has not been well all yesterday, but being let blood is now pretty well, and Sir W. Pen after office I went to see, but he continues in great pain of the gout and in bed, cannot stir hand nor foot but with great pain. So to my office all the evening putting things public and private in order, and so at night home and to supper and to bed, finding great content since I am come to follow my business again, which God preserve in me. 24th. After with great pleasure lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife (for we have been for some years now, and at present more and more, a very happy couple, blessed be God), I got up and to my office, and having done there some business, I by water, and then walked to Deptford to discourse with Mr. Lowly and Davis about my late conceptions about keeping books of the distinct works done in the yards, against which I find no objection but their ignorance and unwillingness to do anything of pains and what is out of their ordinary dull road, but I like it well, and will proceed in it. So home and dined there with my wife upon a most excellent dish of tripes of my own directing, covered with, mustard, as I have heretofore seen them done at my Lord Crew's, of which I made a very great meal, and sent for a glass of wine for myself, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who continues bed-rid in great pain, and hence to the Treasury to Sir J. Minnes paying off of tickets, and at night home, and in my study (after seeing Sir W. Batten, who also continues ill) I fell to draw out my conceptions about books for the clerk that cheques in the yard to keep according to the distinct works there, which pleases me very well, and I am confident it will be of great use. At 9 at night home, and to supper, and to bed. This noon came to see me and sat with me a little after dinner Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who tells me how ill things go at Court: that the King do show no countenance to any that belong to the Queen; nor, above all, to such English as she brought over with her, or hath here since, for fear they should tell her how he carries himself to Mrs. Palmer;--[Lady Castlemaine.]--insomuch that though he has a promise, and is sure of being made her chyrurgeon, he is at a loss what to do in it, whether to take it or no, since the King's mind is so altered in favour to all her dependants, whom she is fain to let go back into Portugall (though she brought them from their friends against their wills with promise of preferment), without doing any thing for them. But he tells me that her own physician did tell him within these three days that the Queen do know how the King orders things, and how he carries himself to my Lady Castlemaine and others, as well as any body; but though she hath spirit enough, yet seeing that she do no good by taking notice of it, for the present she forbears it in policy; of which I am very glad. But I pray God keep us in peace; for this, with other things, do give great discontent to all people. 25th. Up and to the office, and there with Mr. Coventry sat all the morning, only we two, the rest being absent or sick. Dined at home with my wife upon a good dish of neats' feet and mustard, of which I made a good meal. All the afternoon alone at my office and among my workmen, who (I mean the joyners) have even ended my dining room, and will be very handsome and to my full content. In the evening at my office about one business or another, and so home and to bed, with my mind every day more and more quiet since I come to follow my business, and shall be very happy indeed when the trouble of my house is over. 26th (Lord's day).Up and put on my new Scallop, and is very fine. To church, and there saw the first time Mr. Mills in a surplice; but it seemed absurd for him to pull it over his ears in the reading-pew, after he had done, before all the church, to go up to the pulpitt, to preach without it. Home and dined, and Mr. Sympson, my joyner that do my diningroom, and my brother Tom with me to a delicate fat pig. Tom takes his disappointment of his mistress to heart; but all will be well again in a little time. Then to church again, and heard a simple Scot preach most tediously. So home, and to see Sir W. Batten, who is pretty well again, and then to my uncle Wight's to show my fine band and to see Mrs. Margaret Wight, but she was not there. All this day soldiers going up and down the town, there being an alarm and many Quakers and others clapped up; but I believe without any reason: only they say in Dorsetshire there hath been some rising discovered. So after supper home, and then to my study, and making up my monthly account to myself. I find myself, by my expense in bands and clothes this month, abated a little of my last, and that I am worth L679 still; for which God be praised. So home and to bed with quiett mind, blessed be God, but afeard of my candle's going out, which makes me write thus slubberingly. 27th. Up, and after giving order to the plasterer now to set upon the finishing of my house, then by water to wait upon the Duke, and walking in the matted Gallery, by and by comes Mr. Coventry and Sir John Minnes, and then to the Duke, and after he was ready, to his closet, where I did give him my usual account of matters, and afterwards, upon Sir J. Minnes' desire to have one to assist him in his employment, Sir W. Pen is appointed to be his, and Mr. Pett to be the Surveyor's assistant. Mr. Coventry did desire to be excused, and so I hope (at least it is my present opinion) to have none joined with me, but only Mr. Coventry do desire that I would find work for one of his clerks, which I did not deny, but however I will think of it, whether without prejudice to mine I can do it. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who now-a-days calls me into his chamber, and alone did discourse with me about the jealousy that the Court have of people's rising; wherein he do much dislike my Lord Monk's being so eager against a company of poor wretches, dragging them up and down the street; but would have him rather to take some of the greatest ringleaders of them, and punish them; whereas this do but tell the world the King's fears and doubts. For Dunkirk; he wonders any wise people should be so troubled thereat, and scorns all their talk against it, for that he says it was not Dunkirk, but the other places, that did and would annoy us, though we had that, as much as if we had it not. He also took notice of the new Ministers of State, Sir H. Bennet and Sir Charles Barkeley, their bringing in, and the high game that my Lady Castlemaine plays at Court (which I took occasion to mention as that that the people do take great notice of), all which he confessed. Afterwards he told me of poor Mr. Spong, that being with other people examined before the King and Council (they being laid up as suspected persons; and it seems Spong is so far thought guilty as that they intend to pitch upon him to put to the wracke or some other torture), he do take knowledge of my Lord Sandwich, and said that he was well known to Mr. Pepys. But my Lord knows, and I told him, that it was only in matter of musique and pipes, but that I thought him to be a very innocent fellow; and indeed I am very sorry for him. After my Lord and I had done in private, we went out, and with Captain Cuttance and Bunn did look over their draught of a bridge for Tangier, which will be brought by my desire to our office by them to-morrow. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked long with Mr. Creed, and then to the great half-a-crown ordinary, at the King's Head, near Charing Cross, where we had a most excellent neat dinner and very high company, and in a noble manner. After dinner he and I into another room over a pot of ale and talked. He showed me our commission, wherein the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, Lord Peterborough, Lord Sandwich, Sir G. Carteret, Sir William Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir R. Ford, Sir William Rider, Mr. Cholmley, Mr. Povy, myself, and Captain Cuttance, in this order are joyned for the carrying on the service of Tangier, which I take for a great honour to me. He told me what great faction there is at Court; and above all, what is whispered, that young Crofts is lawful son to the King, the King being married to his mother. [There has been much confusion as to the name and parentage of Charles's mistress. Lucy Walter was the daughter of William Walter of Roch Castle, co. Pembroke, and Mr. S. Steinman, in his "Althorp Memoirs" (privately printed, 1869), sets out her pedigree, which is a good one. Roch Castle was taken and burnt by the Parliamentary forces in 1644, and Lucy was in London in 1648, where she made the acquaintance of Colonel Algernon Sidney. She then fell into the possession of his brother, Colonel Robert Sidney. In September of this same year she was taken up by Charles, Prince of Wales. Charles terminated his connection with her on October 30th, 1651, and she died in 1658, as appears by a document (administration entry in the Register of the Prerogative Court) met with by the late Colonel Chester. William Erskine, who had served Charles as cupbearer in his wanderings, and was appointed Master of the Charterhouse in December, 1677, had the care of Lucy Walter, and buried her in Paris. He declared that the king never had any intention of marrying her, and she did not deserve it. Thomas Ross, the tutor of her son, put the idea of this claim into his head, and asked Dr. Cosin to certify to a marriage. In consequence of this he was removed from his office, and Lord Crofts took his place (Steinman's "Althorp Memoirs"). Lucy Walter took the name of Barlow during her wanderings.] How true this is, God knows; but I believe the Duke of York will not be fooled in this of three crowns. Thence to White Hall, and walked long in the galleries till (as they are commanded to all strange persons), one come to tell us, we not being known, and being observed to walk there four or five hours (which was not true, unless they count my walking there in the morning), he was commanded to ask who we were; which being told, he excused his question, and was satisfied. These things speak great fear and jealousys. Here we staid some time, thinking to stay out the play before the King to-night, but it being "The Villaine," and my wife not being there, I had no mind. So walk to the Exchange, and there took many turns with him; among other things, observing one very pretty Exchange lass, with her face full of black patches, which was a strange sight. So bid him good-night and away by coach to Mr. Moore, with whom I staid an hour, and found him pretty well and intends to go abroad tomorrow, and so it raining hard by coach home, and having visited both Sir Williams, who are both sick, but like to be well again, I to my office, and there did some business, and so home and to bed. At Sir W. Batten's I met with Mr. Mills, who tells me that he could get nothing out of the maid hard by (that did poyson herself) before she died, but that she did it because she did not like herself, nor had not liked herself, nor anything she did a great while. It seems she was well-favoured enough, but crooked, and this was all she could be got to say, which is very strange. 28th. At the office sitting all the morning, and then home to dinner with my wife, and after dinner she and I passing an hour or two in ridiculous talk, and then to my office, doing business there till 9 at night, and so home and to supper and to bed. My house is now in its last dirt, I hope, the plasterer and painter now being upon winding up all my trouble, which I expect will now in a fortnight's time, or a little more, be quite over. 29th (Lord Mayor's day). Intended to have made me fine, and by invitation to have dined with the Lord Mayor to-day, but going to see Sir W. Batten this morning, I found Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes going with Sir W. Batten and myself to examine Sir G. Carteret's accounts for the last year, whereupon I settled to it with them all the day long, only dinner time (which Sir G. Carteret gave us), and by night did as good as finish them, and so parted, and thence to my office, and there set papers in order and business against to-morrow. I received a letter this day from my father, speaking more trouble about my uncle Thomas his business, and of proceeding to lay claim to Brampton and all my uncle left, because it is given conditional that we should pay legacys, which to him we have not yet done, but I hope that will do us no hurt; God help us if it should, but it disquiets my mind. I have also a letter from my Lord Sandwich desiring me upon matters of concernment to be with him early tomorrow morning, which I wonder what it should be. So my mind full of thoughts, and some trouble at night, home and to bed. Sir G. Carteret, who had been at the examining most of the late people that are clapped up, do say that he do not think that there hath been any great plotting among them, though they have a good will to it; but their condition is so poor, and silly, and low, that they do not fear them at all. 30th. Could sleep but little to-night for thoughts of my business. So up by candlelight and by water to Whitehall, and so to my Lord Sandwich, who was up in his chamber and all alone, did acquaint me with his business; which was, that our old acquaintance Mr. Wade (in Axe Yard) hath discovered to him L7,000 hid in the Tower, of which he was to have two for discovery; my Lord himself two, and the King the other three, when it was found; and that the King's warrant runs for me on my Lord's part, and one Mr. Lee for Sir Harry Bennet, to demand leave of the Lieutenant of the Tower for to make search. After he had told me the whole business, I took leave and hastened to my office, expecting to be called by a letter from my Lord to set upon the business, and so there I sat with the officers all the morning. At noon when we were up comes Mr. Wade with my Lord's letter, and tells me the whole business. So we consulted for me to go first to Sir H. Bennet, who is now with many of the Privy Counsellors at the Tower, examining of their late prisoners, to advise with him when to begin. So I went; and the guard at the Tower Gate, making me leave my sword at the gate, I was forced to stay so long in the ale-house hard by, till my boy run home for my cloak, that my Lord Mayor that now is, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, with all his company, was gone with their coaches to his house in Minchen Lane. So my cloak being come, I walked thither; and there, by Sir G. Carteret's means, did presently speak with Sir H. Bennet, who did show and give me the King's warrant to me and Mr. Leigh, and another to himself, for the paying of L2,000 to my Lord, and other two to the discoverers. After a little discourse, dinner come in; and I dined with them. There was my Lord Mayor, my Lord Lauderdale, Mr. Secretary Morris, to whom Sir H. Bennet would give the upper hand; Sir Wm. Compton, Sir G. Carteret, and myself, and some other company, and a brave dinner. After dinner, Sir H. Bennet did call aside the Lord Mayor and me, and did break the business to him, who did not, nor durst appear the least averse to it, but did promise all assistance forthwith to set upon it. So Mr. Lee and I to our office, and there walked till Mr. Wade and one Evett his guide did come, and W. Griffin, and a porter with his picke-axes, &c.; and so they walked along with us to the Tower, and Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Mayor did give us full power to fall to work. So our guide demands, a candle, and down into the cellars he goes, inquiring whether they were the same that Baxter [Intended for John Barkstead, Lieutenant of the Tower under Cromwell. Committed to the Tower (see March 17th, 1661-62).] always had. We went into several little cellars, and then went out a-doors to view, and to the Cole Harbour; but none did answer so well to the marks which was given him to find it by, as one arched vault. Where, after a great deal of council whether to set upon it now, or delay for better and more full advice, we set to it, to digging we went to almost eight o'clock at night, but could find nothing. But, however, our guides did not at all seem discouraged; for that they being confident that the money is there they look for, but having never been in the cellars, they could not be positive to the place, and therefore will inform themselves more fully now they have been there, of the party that do advise them. So locking the door after us, we left work to-night, and up to the Deputy Governor (my Lord Mayor, and Sir H. Bennet, with the rest of the company being gone an hour before); and he do undertake to keep the key of the cellars, that none shall go down without his privity. But, Lord! to see what a young simple fantastique coxcombe is made Deputy Governor, would make one mad; and how he called out for his night-gown of silk, only to make a show to us; and yet for half an hour I did not think he was the Deputy Governor, and so spoke not to him about the business, but waited for another man; at last I broke our business to him; and he promising his care, we parted. And Mr. Leigh and I by coach to White Hall, where I did give my Lord Sandwich an account of our proceedings, and some encouragement to hope for something hereafter, and so bade him good-night, and so by coach home again, where to my trouble I found that the painter had not been here to-day to do any thing, which vexes me mightily. So to my office to put down my journal, and so home and to bed. This morning, walking with Mr. Coventry in the garden, he did tell me how Sir G. Carteret had carried the business of the Victuallers' money to be paid by himself, contrary to old practice; at which he is angry I perceive, but I believe means no hurt, but that things maybe done as they ought. He expects Sir George should not bespatter him privately, in revenge, but openly. Against which he prepares to bedaub him, and swears he will do it from the beginning, from Jersey to this day. And as to his own taking of too large fees or rewards for places that he had sold, he will prove that he was directed to it by Sir George himself among others. And yet he did not deny Sir G. Carteret his due, in saying that he is a man that do take the most pains, and gives himself the most to do business of any man about the Court, without any desire of pleasure or divertisements; which is very true. But which pleased me mightily, he said in these words, that he was resolved, whatever it cost him, to make an experiment, and see whether it was possible for a man to keep himself up in Court by dealing plainly and walking uprightly, with any private game a playing: in the doing whereof, if his ground do slip from under him, he will be contented; but he is resolved to try, and never to baulke taking notice of any thing that is to the King's prejudice, let it fall where it will; which is a most brave resolucion. He was very free with me; and by my troth, I do see more reall worth in him than in most men that I do know. I would not forget two passages of Sir J. Minnes's at yesterday's dinner. The one, that to the question how it comes to pass that there are no boars seen in London, but many sows and pigs; it was answered, that the constable gets them a-nights. The other, Thos. Killigrew's way of getting to see plays when he was a boy. He would go to the Red Bull, and when the man cried to the boys, "Who will go and be a devil, and he shall see the play for nothing?" then would he go in, and be a devil upon the stage, and so get to see plays. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then up and among my workmen, the carpenters being this day laying of my floor of my dining room, with whom I staid a good while, and so to my office, and did a little business, and so home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon with my carpenters, making them lay all my boards but one in my dining room this day, which I am confident they would have made two good days work of if I had not been there, and it will be very pleasant. At night to my office, and there late doing of my office business, and so home to supper and bed. Thus ends this month, I and my family in good health, but weary heartily of dirt, but now in hopes within two or three weeks to be out of it. My head troubled with much business, but especially my fear of Sir J. Minnes claiming my bed-chamber of me, but I hope now that it is almost over, for I perceive he is fitting his house to go into it the next week. Then my law businesses for Brampton makes me mad almost, for that I want time to follow them, but I must by no means neglect them. I thank God I do save money, though it be but a little, but I hope to find out some job or other that I may get a sum by to set me up. I am now also busy in a discovery for my Lord Sandwich and Sir H. Bennett by Mr. Wade's means of some of Baxter's [Barkstead] money hid in one of his cellars in the Tower. If we get it it may be I may be 10 or L20 the better for it. I thank God I have no crosses, but only much business to trouble my mind with. In all other things as happy a man as any in the world, for the whole world seems to smile upon me, and if my house were done that I could diligently follow my business, I would not doubt to do God, and the King, and myself good service. And all I do impute almost wholly to my late temperance, since my making of my vowes against wine and plays, which keeps me most happily and contentfully to my business; which God continue! Public matters are full of discontent, what with the sale of Dunkirk, and my Lady Castlemaine, and her faction at Court; though I know not what they would have more than to debauch the king, whom God preserve from it! And then great plots are talked to be discovered, and all the prisons in town full of ordinary people, taken from their meeting-places last Sunday. But for certain some plots there hath been, though not brought to a head. NOVEMBER 1662 November 1st. Up and after a little while with my workmen I went to my office, and then to our sitting all the morning. At noon with Mr. Creede, whom I found at my house, to the Trinity House, to a great dinner there, by invitacion, and much company. It seems one Captain Evans makes his Elder Brother's dinner to-day. Among other discourses one Mr. Oudant, secretary to the late Princesse of Orange, did discourse of the convenience as to keeping the highways from being deep, by their horses, in Holland (and Flanders where the ground is as miry as ours is), going in their carts and, waggons as ours in coaches, wishing the same here as an expedient to make the ways better, and I think there is something in it, where there is breadth enough. Thence to my office, sent for to meet Mr. Leigh again; from Sir H. Bennet. And he and I, with Wade and his intelligencer and labourers, to the Tower cellars, to make one tryall more; where we staid two or three hours digging, and dug a great deal all under the arches, as it was now most confidently directed, and so seriously, and upon pretended good grounds, that I myself did truly expect to speed; but we missed of all: and so we went away the second time like fools. And to our office, whither, a coach being come, Mr. Leigh goes home to Whitehall; and I by appointment to the Dolphin Tavern, to meet Wade and the other, Captn. Evett, who now do tell me plainly, that he that do put him upon this is one that had it from Barkestead's own mouth, and was advised with by him, just before the King's coming in, how to get it out, and had all the signs told him how and where it lay, and had always been the great confident of Barkestead even to the trusting him with his life and all he had. So that he did much convince me that there is good ground for what we go about. But I fear it may be that he did find some conveyance of it away, without the help of this man, before he died. But he is resolved to go to the party once more, and then to determine what we shall do further. So we parted, and I to my office, where after sending away my letters to the post I do hear that Sir J. Minnes is resolved to turn part of our entry into a room and to divide the back yard between Sir W. Pen and him, which though I do not see how it will annoy me much particularly, yet it do trouble me a little for fear it should, but I do not see how it can well unless in his desiring my coming to my back stairs, but for that I shall do as well as himself or Sir W. Pen, who is most concerned to look after it. 2nd (Lord's day). Lay long with pleasure talking with my wife, in whom I never had greater content, blessed be God! than now, she continuing with the same care and thrift and innocence, so long as I keep her from occasions of being otherwise, as ever she was in her life, and keeps the house as well. To church, where Mr. Mills, after he had read the service, and shifted himself as he did the last day, preached a very ordinary sermon. So home to dinner with my wife. Then up into my new rooms which are, almost finished, and there walked with great content talking with my wife till church time, and then to church, and there being a lazy preacher I slept out the sermon, and so home, and after visiting the two Sir Williams, who are both of them mending apace, I to my office preparing things against to-morrow for the Duke, and so home and to bed, with some pain,... having taken cold this morning in sitting too long bare-legged to pare my corns. My wife and I spent a good deal of this evening in reading "Du Bartas' Imposture" and other parts which my wife of late has taken up to read, and is very fine as anything I meet with. 3d. Up and with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to White Hall, to the Duke's; but found him gone out a-hunting. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, from whom I receive every day more and more signs of his confidence and esteem of me. Here I met with Pierce the chyrurgeon, who tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is with child; but though it be the King's, yet her Lord being still in town, and sometimes seeing of her, though never to eat or lie together, it will be laid to him. He tells me also how the Duke of York is smitten in love with my Lady Chesterfield [Lady Elizabeth Butler, daughter of James Butler, first Duke of Ormond, second wife of Philip Stanhope, second Earl of Chesterfield. She died July, 1665 (see "Memoires de Grammont," chap. viii.). Peter Cunningham thinks that this banishment was only temporary, for, according to the Grammont Memoirs, she was in town when the Russian ambassador was in London, December, 1662, and January, 1662- 63. "It appears from the books of the Lord Steward's office... that Lord Chesterfield set out for the country on the 12th May, 1663, and, from his 'Short Notes' referred to in the Memoirs before his Correspondence, that he remained at Bretby, in Derbyshire, with his wife, throughout the summer of that year" ("Story of Nell Gwyn," 1852, p. 189).] (a virtuous lady, daughter to my Lord of Ormond); and so much, that the duchess of York hath complained to the King and her father about it, and my Lady Chesterfield is gone into the country for it. At all which I am sorry; but it is the effect of idleness, and having nothing else to employ their great spirits upon. Thence with Mr. Creede and Mr. Moore (who is got upon his legs and come to see my Lord) to Wilkinson's, and there I did give them and Mr. Howe their dinner of roast beef, cost me 5s., and after dinner carried Mr. Moore as far as Paul's in a coach, giving him direction about my law business, and there set him down, and I home and among my workmen, who happened of all sorts to meet to their making an end of a great many jobbs, so that after to-morrow I shall have but a little plastering and all the painting almost to do, which was good content to me. At night to my office, and did business; and there came to me Mr. Wade and Evett, who have been again with their prime intelligencer, a woman, I perceive: and though we have missed twice, yet they bring such an account of the probability of the truth of the thing, though we are not certain of the place, that we shall set upon it once more; and I am willing and hopefull in it. So we resolved to set upon it again on Wednesday morning; and the woman herself will be there in a disguise, and confirm us in the place. So they took leave for the night, and I to my business, and then home to my wife and to supper and bed, my pain being going away. So by God's great blessing my mind is in good condition of quiet. 4th. Lay long talking pleasantly with my wife in bed, it having rained, and do still, very much all night long. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon. This morning we had news by letters that Sir Richard Stayner is dead at sea in the Mary, which is now come into Portsmouth from Lisbon; which we are sorry for, he being a very stout seaman. But there will be no great miss of him for all that. Dined at home with my wife, and all the afternoon among my workmen, and at night to my office to do business there, and then to see Sir W. Pen, who is still sick, but his pain less than it was. He took occasion to talk with me about Sir J. Minnes's intention to divide the entry and the yard, and so to keep him out of the yard, and forcing him to go through the garden to his house. Which he is vexed at, and I am glad to see that Sir J. Minnes do use him just as he do me, and so I perceive it is not anything extraordinary his carriage to me in the matter of our houses, for this is worse than anything he has done to me, that he should give order for the stopping up of his way to his house without so much as advising with him or letting of him know it, and I confess that it is very highly and basely done of him. So to my office again, and after doing business there, then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and with my painters painting my dining room all day long till night, not stirring out at all. Only in the morning my Lady Batten did send to speak with me, and told me very civilly that she did not desire, nor hoped I did, that anything should pass between us but what was civill, though there was not the neighbourliness between her and my wife that was fit to be, and so complained of my maid's mocking of her; when she called "Nan" to her maid within her own house, my maid Jane in the garden overheard her, and mocked her, and some other such like things she told me, and of my wife's speaking unhandsomely of her; to all which I did give her a very respectfull answer, such as did please her, and am sorry indeed that this should be, though I do not desire there should be any acquaintance between my wife and her. But I promised to avoid such words and passages for the future. So home, and by and by Sir W. Pen did send for me to his bedside; and tell me how really Sir J. Minnes did resolve to have one of my rooms, and that he was very angry and hot, and said he would speak to the Duke. To which, knowing that all this was but to scare me, and to get him to put off his resolution of making up the entry, I did tell him plainly how I did not value his anger more, than he did mine, and that I should be willing to do what the Duke commanded, and I was sure to have justice of him, and that was all I did say to him about it, though I was much vexed, and after a little stay went home; and there telling my wife she did put me into heart, and resolve to offer him to change lodgings, and believe that that will one way or other bring us to some end in this dispute. At night I called up my maids, and schooled Jane, who did answer me so humbly and drolly about it, that though I seemed angry, I was much pleased with her and [my] wife also. So at night to bed. 6th. At the office forenoon and afternoon till late at night, very busy answering my Lord Treasurer's letter, and my mind troubled till we come to some end with Sir J. Minnes about our lodgings, and so home. And after some pleasant discourse and supper to bed, and in my dream much troubled by being with Will. Swan, a great fanatic, my old acquaintance, and, methought, taken and led up with him for a plotter, all our discourse being at present about the late plots. 7th. Up and being by appointment called upon by Mr. Lee, he and I to the Tower, to make our third attempt upon the cellar. And now privately the woman, Barkestead's great confident, is brought, who do positively say that this is the place which he did say the money was hid in, and where he and she did put up the L50,000 [Thus in the MS., although the amount was first stated as L7,000 (see October 30th, 1662)] in butter firkins; and the very day that he went out of England did say that neither he nor his would be the better for that money, and therefore wishing that she and hers might. And so left us, and we full of hope did resolve to dig all over the cellar, which by seven o'clock at night we performed. At noon we sent for a dinner, and upon the head of a barrel dined very merrily, and to work again. Between times, Mr. Lee, who had been much in Spain, did tell me pretty stories of the customs and other things, as I asked him, of the country, to my great content. But at last we saw we were mistaken; and after digging the cellar quite through, and removing the barrels from one side to the other, we were forced to pay our porters, and give over our expectations, though I do believe there must be money hid somewhere by him, or else he did delude this woman in hopes to oblige her to further serving him, which I am apt to believe. Thence by coach to White Hall, and at my Lord's lodgings did write a letter, he not being within, to tell him how things went, and so away again, only hearing that Mrs. Sarah is married, I did go up stairs again and joy her and kiss her, she owning of it; and it seems it is to a cook. I am glad she is disposed of, for she grows old, and is very painfull,--[painstaking]--and one I have reason to wish well for her old service to me. Then to my brother's, where my wife, by my order, is tonight to stay a night or two while my house is made clean, and thence home, where I am angry to see, instead of the house made in part clean, all the pewter goods and other things are brought up to scouring, which makes the house ten times worse, at which I was very much displeased, but cannot help it. So to my office to set down my journal, and so home and to bed. 8th. All the morning sitting at the office, and after that dined alone at home, and so to the office again till 9 o'clock, being loth to go home, the house is so dirty, and my wife at my brother's. So home and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Lay alone a good while, my mind busy about pleading to-morrow to the Duke if there shall be occasion for this chamber that I lie in against Sir J., Minnes. Then up, and after being ready walked to my brother's, where my wife is, calling at many churches, and then to the Temple, hearing a bit there too, and observing that in the streets and churches the Sunday is kept in appearance as well as I have known it at any time. Then to dinner to my brother's, only he and my wife, and after dinner to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well, and he and I to St. Gregory's, where I escaped a great fall down the staires of the gallery: so into a pew there and heard Dr. Ball make a very good sermon, though short of what I expected, as for the most part it do fall out. So home with Mr. Moore to his chamber, and after a little talk I walked home to my house and staid at Sir W. Batten's. Till late at night with him and Sir J. Minnes, with whom we did abundance of most excellent discourse of former passages of sea commanders and officers of the navy, and so home and to bed, with my mind well at ease but only as to my chamber, which I fear to lose. 10th. Up betimes and to set my workmen to work, and then a little to the office, and so with Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself by coach to White Hall, to the Duke, who, after he was ready, did take us into his closett. Thither come my Lord General Monk, and did privately talk with the Duke about having the life-guards pass through the City today only for show and to fright people, for I perceive there are great fears abroad; for all which I am troubled and full of doubt that things will not go well. He being gone, we fell to business of the Navy. Among other things, how to pay off this fleet that is now come from Portugall; the King of Portugall sending them home, he having no more use for them, which we wonder at, that his condition should be so soon altered. And our landmen also are coming back, being almost starved in that poor country. Having done here I went by my Lord Sandwich's, who was not at home, and so to Westminster Hall, where full of term, and here met with many about business, among others my cozen Roger Pepys, who is all for a composition with my uncle Thomas, which upon any fair terms I am for also and desire it. Thence by water, and so by land to my Lord Crew's, and dined with him and his brother, I know not his name; where very good discourse; among others, of France's intention to make a patriarch of his own, independent from the Pope, by which he will be able to cope with the Spaniard in all councils, which hitherto he has never done. My Lord Crew told us how he heard my Lord of Holland say that, being Embassador about the match with the Queene-Mother that now is, the King of France--[Louis XIII., in 1624.]--insisted upon a dispensation from the Pope, which my Lord Holland making a question of, and that he was commanded to yield to nothing to the prejudice of our religion, says the King of France, "You need not fear that, for if the Pope will not dispense with the match, my Bishopp of Paris shall." By and by come in great Mr. Swinfen, the Parliament-man, who, among other discourse of the rise and fall of familys, told us of Bishopp Bridgeman (brother of Sir Orlando) who lately hath bought a seat anciently of the Levers, and then the Ashtons; and so he hath in his great hall window (having repaired and beautified the house) caused four great places to be left for coates of armes. In one, he hath put the Levers, with this motto, "Olim." In another the Ashtons, with this, "Heri." In the next his own, with this, "Hodie." In the fourth nothing but this motto, "Cras nescio cujus." Thence towards my brother's; met with Jack Cole in Fleet Street, and he and I went into his cozen Mary Cole's (whom I never saw since she was married), and drank a pint of wine and much good discourse. I found him a little conceited, but he had good things in him, and a man may know the temper of the City by him, he being of a general conversation, and can tell how matters go; and upon that score I will encourage his acquaintance. Thence to my brother's, and taking my wife up, carried her to Charing Cross, and there showed her the Italian motion, much after the nature of what I showed her a while since in Covent Garden. Their puppets here are somewhat better, but their motions not at all. Thence by coach to my Lady's, and, hiding my wife with Sarah below, I went up and heard some musique with my Lord, and afterwards discoursed with him alone, and so good night to him and below, having sent for Mr. Creed, had thought to have shown my wife a play before the King, but it is so late that we could not, and so we took coach, and taking up Sarah at my brother's with their night geare we went home, and I to my office to settle matters, and so home and to bed. This morning in the Duke's chamber Sir J. Minnes did break to me his desire about my chamber, which I did put off to another time to discourse of, he speaking to me very kindly to make me the less trouble myself, hoping to save myself and to contrive something or other to pleasure him as well, though I know not well what. The town, I hear, is full of discontents, and all know of the King's new bastard by Mrs. Haslerigge, and as far as I can hear will never be contented with Episcopacy, they are so cruelly set for Presbytery, and the Bishopps carry themselves so high, that they are never likely to gain anything upon them. 11th. All the morning sitting at the office, and then to dinner with my wife, and so to the office again (where a good while Mr. Bland was with me, telling me very fine things in merchandize, which, but that the trouble of my office do so cruelly hinder me, I would take some pains in) till late at night. Towards the evening I, as I have done for three or four nights, studying something of Arithmetique, which do please me well to see myself come forward. So home, to supper, and to bed. 12th. At my office most of the morning, after I had done among my painters, and sent away Mr. Shaw and Hawly, who came to give me a visit this morning. Shaw it seems is newly re-married to a rich widow. At noon dined at home with my wife, and by and by, by my wife's appointment came two young ladies, sisters, acquaintances of my wife's brother's, who are desirous to wait upon some ladies, and proffer their service to my wife. The youngest, indeed, hath a good voice, and sings very well, besides other good qualitys; but I fear hath been bred up with too great liberty for my family, and I fear greater inconveniences of expenses, and my wife's liberty will follow, which I must study to avoid till I have a better purse; though, I confess, the gentlewoman, being pretty handsome, and singing, makes me have a good mind to her. Anon I took them by coach and carried them to a friend's of theirs, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there I left them and I to the Temple by appointment to my cousin Roger's chamber, where my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas met us, I having hoped that they would have agreed with me to have had [it] ended by my cozen Roger, but they will have two strangers to be for them against two others of mine, and so we parted without doing any thing till the two send me the names of their arbiters. Thence I walked home, calling a little in Paul's Churchyard, and, I thank God, can read and never buy a book, though I have a great mind to it. So to the Dolphin Tavern near home, by appointment, and there met with Wade and Evett, and have resolved to make a new attempt upon another discovery, in which God give us better fortune than in the other, but I have great confidence that there is no cheat in these people, but that they go upon good grounds, though they have been mistaken in the place of the first. From thence, without drinking a drop of wine, home to my office and there made an end, though late, of my collection of the prices of masts for these twelve years to this day, in order to the buying of some of Wood, and I bound it up in painted paper to lie by as a book for future use. So home and to supper and to bed, and a little before and after we were in bed we had much talk and difference between us about my wife's having a woman, which I seemed much angry at, that she should go so far in it without consideration and my being consulted with. So to bed. 13th. Up and began our discontent again and sorely angered my wife, who indeed do live very lonely, but I do perceive that it is want of work that do make her and all other people think of ways of spending their time worse, and this I owe to my building, that do not admit of her undertaking any thing of work, because the house has been and is still so dirty. I to my office, and there sat all the morning and dined with discontent with my wife at noon, and so to my office, and there this afternoon we had our first meeting upon our commission of inspecting the Chest, and there met Sir J. Minnes, Sir Francis Clerke, Mr. Heath, Atturney of the Dutchy, Mr. Prinn, Sir W. Rider, Captn. Cocke, and myself. Our first work to read over the Institution, which is a decree in Chancery in the year 1617, upon an inquisition made at Rochester about that time into the revenues of the Chest, which had then, from the year 1588 or 1590, by the advice of the Lord High Admiral and principal officers then being, by consent of the seamen, been settled, paying sixpence per month, according to their wages then, which was then but 10s. which is now 24s. We adjourned to a fortnight hence. So broke up, and I to see Sir W. Pen, who is now pretty well, but lies in bed still; he cannot rise to stand. Then to my office late, and this afternoon my wife in her discontent sent me a letter, which I am in a quandary what to do, whether to read it or not, but I purpose not, but to burn it before her face, that I may put a stop to more of this nature. But I must think of some way, either to find her some body to keep her company, or to set her to work, and by employment to take up her thoughts and time. After doing what I had to do I went home to supper, and there was very sullen to my wife, and so went to bed and to sleep (though with much ado, my mind being troubled) without speaking one word to her. 14th. She begun to talk in the morning and to be friends, believing all this while that. I had read her letter, which I perceive by her discourse was full of good counsel, and relating the reason of her desiring a woman, and how little charge she did intend it to be to me, so I begun and argued it as full and plain to her, and she to reason it highly to me, to put her away, and take one of the Bowyers if I did dislike her, that I did resolve when the house is ready she shall try her for a while; the truth is, I having a mind to have her come for her musique and dancing. So up and about my papers all the morning, and her brother coming I did tell him my mind plain, who did assure me that they were both of the sisters very humble and very poor, and that she that we are to have would carry herself so. So I was well contented and spent part of the morning at my office, and so home and to dinner, and after dinner, finding Sarah to be discontented at the news of this woman, I did begin in my wife's chamber to talk to her and tell her that it was not out of unkindness to her, but my wife came up, and I perceive she is not too reconciled to her whatever the matter is, that I perceive I shall not be able to keep her, though she is as good a servant (only a little pettish) that ever I desire to have, and a creditable servant. So she desired leave to go out to look [for] a service, and did, for which I am troubled, and fell out highly afterwards with my wife about it. So to my office, where we met this afternoon about answering a great letter of my Lord Treasurer's, and that done to my office drawing up a letter to him, and so home to supper. 15th. All the morning at the office sitting, dined with my wife pleasantly at home, then among my painters, and by and by went to my Civil Lawyers about my uncle's suit, and so home again and saw my painters make an end of my house this night, which is my great joy, and so to my office and did business till ten at night, and so home and to supper, and after reading part of Bussy d'Ambois, a good play I bought to-day, to bed. 16th (Lord's day). About 3 o'clock in the morning waked with a rude noise among Sir J. Minnes his servants (he not being yet come to his lodgings), who are the rudest people but they that lived before, one Mrs. Davis, that ever I knew in my life. To sleep again, and after long talking pleasantly with my wife, up and to church, where Mrs. Goodyer, now Mrs. Buckworth, was churched. I love the woman for her gravity above any in the parish. So home and to dinner with my wife with great content, and after dinner walked up and down my house, which is now almost finished, there being nothing to do but the glazier and furniture to put up. By and by comes Tom, and after a little talk I with him towards his end, but seeing many strangers and coaches coming to our church, and finding that it was a sermon to be preached by a probationer for the Turkey Company,--[The Turkey or Levant Company was established in 1581.]--to be sent to Smyrna, I returned thither. And several Turkey merchants filled all the best pews (and some in ours) in the Church, but a most pitiful sermon it was upon a text in Zachariah, and a great time he spent to show whose son Zachary was, and to prove Malachi to be the last prophet before John the Baptist. Home and to see Sir W. Pen, who gets strength, but still keeps his bed. Then home and to my office to do some business there, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. To the Duke's to-day, but he is gone a-hunting, and therefore I to my Lord Sandwich's, and having spoke a little with him about his businesses, I to Westminster Hall and there staid long doing many businesses, and so home by the Temple and other places doing the like, and at home I found my wife dressing by appointment by her woman--[Mrs. Gosnell.]--that I think is to be, and her other sister being here to-day with her and my wife's brother, I took Mr. Creed, that came to dine, to an ordinary behind the Change, and there dined together, and after dinner home and there spent an hour or two till almost dark, talking with my wife, and making Mrs. Gosnell sing; and then, there being no coach to be got, by water to White Hall; but Gosnell not being willing to go through bridge, we were forced to land and take water, again, and put her and her sister ashore at the Temple. I am mightily pleased with her humour and singing. At White Hall by appointment, Mr. Creed carried my wife and I to the Cockpitt, and we had excellent places, and saw the King, Queen, Duke of Monmouth, his son, and my Lady Castlemaine, and all the fine ladies; and "The Scornfull Lady," well performed. They had done by eleven o'clock, and it being fine moonshine, we took coach and home, but could wake nobody at my house, and so were fain to have my boy get through one of the windows, and so opened the door and called up the maids, and went to supper and to bed, my mind being troubled at what my wife tells me, that her woman will not come till she hears from her mother, for I am so fond of her that I am loth now not to have her, though I know it will be a great charge to me which I ought to avoid, and so will make it up in other things. So to bed. 18th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Phillip the lawyer came to me, but I put him off to the afternoon. At noon I dined at Sir W. Batten's, Sir John Minnes being here, and he and I very kind, but I every day expect to pull a crow with him about our lodgings. My mind troubled about Gosnell and my law businesses. So after dinner to Mr. Phillips his chamber, where he demands an abatement for Piggott's money, which vexes me also, but I will not give it him without my father's consent, which I will write to him to-night about, and have done it. Here meeting my uncle Thomas, he and I to my cozen Roger's chamber, and there I did give my uncle him and Mr. Philips to be my two arbiters against Mr. Cole and Punt, but I expect no great good of the matter. Thence walked home, and my wife came home, having been abroad to-day, laying out above L12 in linen, and a copper, and a pot, and bedstead, and other household stuff, which troubles me also, so that my mind to-night is very heavy and divided. Late at my office, drawing up a letter to my Lord Treasurer, which we have been long about, and so home, and, my mind troubled, to bed. 20th. All the morning sitting at the office, at noon with Mr. Coventry to the Temple to advise about Field's, but our lawyers not being in the way we went to St. James's, and there at his chamber dined, and I am still in love more and more with him for his real worth. I broke to him my desire for my wife's brother to send him to sea as a midshipman, which he is willing to agree to, and will do it when I desire it. After dinner to the Temple, to Mr. Thurland; and thence to my Lord Chief Baron, Sir Edward Hale's, and back with Mr. Thurland to his chamber, where he told us that Field will have the better of us; and that we must study to make up the business as well as we can, which do much vex and trouble us: but I am glad the Duke is concerned in it. Thence by coach homewards, calling at a tavern in the way (being guided by the messenger in whose custody Field lies), and spoke with Mr. Smith our messenger about the business, and so home, where I found that my wife had finished very neatly my study with the former hangings of the diningroom, which will upon occasion serve for a fine withdrawing room. So a little to my office and so home, and spent the evening upon my house, and so to supper and to bed. 21St. Within all day long, helping to put up my hangings in my house in my wife's chamber, to my great content. In the afternoon I went to speak to Sir J. Minnes at his lodgings, where I found many great ladies, and his lodgings made very fine indeed. At night to supper and to bed: this night having first put up a spitting sheet, which I find very convenient. This day come the King's pleasure-boats from Calais, with the Dunkirk money, being 400,000 pistolles. 22nd. This morning, from some difference between my wife and Sarah, her maid, my wife and I fell out cruelly, to my great discontent. But I do see her set so against the wench, whom I take to be a most extraordinary good servant, that I was forced for the wench's sake to bid her get her another place, which shall cost some trouble to my wife, however, before I suffer to be. Thence to the office, where I sat all the morning, then dined; Mr. Moore with me, at home, my wife busy putting her furniture in order. Then he and I out, and he home and I to my cozen Roger Pepys to advise about treating with my uncle Thomas, and thence called at the Wardrobe on Mr. Moore again, and so home, and after doing much business at my office I went home and caused a new fashion knocker to be put on my door, and did other things to the putting my house in order, and getting my outward door painted, and the arch. This day I bought the book of country dances against my wife's woman Gosnell comes, who dances finely; and there meeting Mr. Playford he did give me his Latin songs of Mr. Deering's, which he lately printed. This day Mr. Moore told me that for certain the Queen-Mother is married to my Lord St. Albans, and he is like to be made Lord Treasurer. Newes that Sir J. Lawson hath made up a peace now with Tunis and Tripoli, as well as Argiers, by which he will come home very highly honoured. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, after some talk with my wife, soberly, upon yesterday's difference, and made good friends, and to church to hear Mr. Mills, and so home, and Mr. Moore and my brother Tom dined with me. My wife not being well to-day did not rise. In the afternoon to church again, and heard drowsy Mr. Graves, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who continues ill in bed, but grows better and better every day. Thence to Sir W. Batten's, and there staid awhile and heard how Sir R. Ford's daughter is married to a fellow without friends' consent, and the match carried on and made up at Will Griffin's, our doorkeeper's. So to my office and did a little business, and so home and to bed. I talked to my brother to-day, who desires me to give him leave to look after his mistress still; and he will not have me put to any trouble or obligation in it, which I did give him leave to do. I hear to-day how old rich Audley is lately dead, and left a very great estate, and made a great many poor familys rich, not all to one. Among others, one Davis, my old schoolfellow at Paul's, and since a bookseller in Paul's Church Yard: and it seems do forgive one man L60,000 which he had wronged him of, but names not his name; but it is well known to be the scrivener in Fleet Street, at whose house he lodged. There is also this week dead a poulterer, in Gracious Street, which was thought rich, but not so rich, that hath left L800 per annum, taken in other men's names, and 40,000 Jacobs in gold. [A jacobus was a gold coin of the value of twenty-five shillings, called after James I, in whose reign it was first coined.] 24th. Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, going forth toward White Hall, we hear that the King and Duke are come this morning to the Tower to see the Dunkirk money! So we by coach to them, and there went up and down all the magazines with them; but methought it was but poor discourse and frothy that the King's companions (young Killigrew among the rest) about the codpieces of some of the men in armour there to be seen, had with him. We saw none of the money, but Mr. Slingsby did show the King, and I did see, the stamps of the new money that is now to be made by Blondeau's fashion, [Peter Blondeau was employed by the Commonwealth to coin their money. After the Restoration, November 3rd, 1662, he received letters of denization, and a grant for being engineer of the Mint in the Tower of London, and for using his new invention for coining gold and silver with the mill and press, with the fee of L100 per annum (Walpole's "Anecdotes of Painting").] which are very neat, and like the King. Thence the King to Woolwich, though a very cold day; and the Duke to White Hall, commanding us to come after him, which we did by coach; and in his closett, my Lord Sandwich being there, did discourse with us about getting some of this money to pay off the Fleets, and other matters; and then away hence, and, it being almost dinner time, I to my Lord Crew's, and dined with him, and had very good discourse, and he seemed to be much pleased with my visits. Thence to Mr. Phillips, and so to the Temple, where met my cozen Roger Pepys and his brother, Dr. John, as my arbitrators against Mr. Cole and Mr. John Bernard for my uncle Thomas, and we two with them by appointment. They began very high in their demands, and my friends, partly being not so well acquainted with the will, and partly, I doubt, not being so good wits as they, for which I blame my choosing of relations (who besides that are equally engaged to stand for them as me), I was much troubled thereat, and taking occasion to deny without my father's consent to bind myself in a bond of L2000 to stand to their award, I broke off the business for the present till I hear and consider further, and so thence by coach (my cozen, Thomas Pepys, being in another chamber busy all the while, going along with me) homeward, and I set him down by the way; but, Lord! how he did endeavour to find out a ninepence to clubb with me for the coach, and for want was forced to give me a shilling, and how he still cries "Gad!" and talks of Popery coming in, as all the Fanatiques do, of which I was ashamed. So home, finding my poor wife very busy putting things in order, and so to bed, my mind being very much troubled, and could hardly sleep all night, thinking how things are like to go with us about Brampton, and blaming myself for living so high as I do when for ought I know my father and mother may come to live upon my hands when all is done. 25th. Up and to the office all the morning, and at noon with the rest, by Mr. Holy, the ironmonger's invitation, to the Dolphin, to a venison pasty, very good, and rare at this time of the year, and thence by coach with Mr. Coventry as far as the Temple, and thence to Greatorex's, where I staid and talked with him, and got him to mend my pocket ruler for me, and so by coach to my Lord's lodging, where I sat with Mr. Moore by appointment, making up accounts for my Lord Sandwich, which done he and I and Capt. Ferrers and W. Howe very merry a good while in the great dining room, and so it being late and my Lord not coming in, I by coach to the Temple, and thence walked home, and so to my study to do some business, and then home and to bed. Great talk among people how some of the Fanatiques do say that the end of the world is at hand, and that next Tuesday is to be the day. Against which, whenever it shall be, good God fit us all. 26th. In the morning to the Temple to my cozen Roger, who now desires that I would excuse him from arbitrating, he not being able to stand for me as he would do, without appearing too high against my uncle Thomas, which will raise his clamour. With this I am very well pleased, for I did desire it, and so I shall choose other counsel. Thence home, he being busy that I could not speak more with him. All day long till twelve o'clock at night getting my house in order, my wife putting up the red hangings and bed in her woman's chamber, and I my books and all other matters in my chamber and study, which is now very pretty. So to bed. 27th. At my waking, I found the tops of the houses covered with snow, which is a rare sight, that I have not seen these three years. Up, and put my people to perfect the cleaning of my house, and so to the office, where we sat till noon; and then we all went to the next house upon Tower Hill, to see the coming by of the Russia Embassador; for whose reception all the City trained-bands do attend in the streets, and the King's life-guards, and most of the wealthy citizens in their black velvet coats, and gold chains (which remain of their gallantry at the King's coming in), but they staid so long that we went down again home to dinner. And after I had dined, I heard they were coming, and so I walked to the Conduit in the Quarrefowr, [In two ordinances of the reign of Edward III., printed in Riley's "Memorials of London" (pp. 300, 389), this is called the "Carfukes," which nearly approaches the name of the "Carfax," at Oxford, where four ways also met. Pepys's form of the word is nearer quatre voies, the French equivalent of quadrivium.] at the end of Gracious-street and Cornhill; and there (the spouts thereof running very near me upon all the people that were under it) I saw them pretty well go by. I could not see the Embassador in his coach; but his attendants in their habits and fur caps very handsome, comely men, and most of them with hawkes upon their fists to present to the King. But Lord! to see the absurd nature of Englishmen, that cannot forbear laughing and jeering at every thing that looks strange. So back and to the office, and there we met and sat till seven o'clock, making a bargain with Mr. Wood for his masts of New England; and then in Mr. Coventry's coach to the Temple, but my cozen Roger Pepys not being at leisure to speak to me about my business, I presently walked home, and to my office till very late doing business, and so home, where I found my house more and more clear and in order, and hope in a day or two now to be in very good condition there and to my full content. Which God grant! So to supper and to bed. 28th. A very hard frost; which is news to us after having none almost these three years. Up and to Ironmongers' Hall by ten o'clock to the funeral of Sir Richard Stayner. Here we were, all the officers of the Navy, and my Lord Sandwich, who did discourse with us about the fishery, telling us of his Majesty's resolution to give L200 to every man that will set out a Busse; [A small sea-vessel used in the Dutch herring-fishery.] and advising about the effects of this encouragement, which will be a very great matter certainly. Here we had good rings, and by and by were to take coach; and I being got in with Mr. Creed into a four-horse coach, which they come and told us were only for the mourners, I went out, and so took this occasion to go home. Where I staid all day expecting Gosnell's coming, but there came an excuse from her that she had not heard yet from her mother, but that she will come next week, which I wish she may, since I must keep one that I may have some pleasure therein. So to my office till late writing out a copy of my uncle's will, and so home and to bed. 29th. Before I went to the office my wife's brother did come to us, and we did instruct him to go to Gosnell's and to see what the true matter is of her not coming, and whether she do intend to come or no, and so I to the office; and this morning come Sir G. Carteret to us (being the first time we have seen him since his coming from France): he tells us, that the silver which he received for Dunkirk did weigh 120,000 weight. Here all the morning upon business, and at noon (not going home to dinner, though word was brought me that Will. Joyce was there, whom I had not seen at my house nor any where else these three or four months) with Mr. Coventry by his coach as far as Fleet Street, and there stepped into Madam Turner's, where was told I should find my cozen Roger Pepys, and with him to the Temple, but not having time to do anything I went towards my Lord Sandwich's. (In my way went into Captn. Cuttance's coach, and with him to my Lord's.) But the company not being ready I did slip down to Wilkinson's, and having not eat any thing to-day did eat a mutton pie and drank, and so to my Lord's, where my Lord and Mr. Coventry, Sir Wm. Darcy, one Mr. Parham (a very knowing and well-spoken man in this business), with several others, did meet about stating the business of the fishery, and the manner of the King's giving of this L200 to every man that shall set out a new-made English Busse by the middle of June next. In which business we had many fine pretty discourses; and I did here see the great pleasure to be had in discoursing of publique matters with men that are particularly acquainted with this or that business. Having come to some issue, wherein a motion of mine was well received, about sending these invitations from the King to all the fishing-ports in general, with limiting so many Busses to this, and that port, before we know the readiness of subscribers, we parted, and I walked home all the way, and having wrote a letter full of business to my father, in my way calling upon my cozen Turner and Mr. Calthrop at the Temple, for their consent to be my arbitrators, which they are willing to. My wife and I to bed pretty pleasant, for that her brother brings word that Gosnell, which my wife and I in discourse do pleasantly call our Marmotte, will certainly come next week without fail, which God grant may be for the best. 30th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, and Mr. Mills made a pretty good sermon. It is a bitter cold frost to-day. Dined alone with my wife to-day with great content, my house being quite clean from top to bottom. In the afternoon I to the French church here [The French Protestant Church was founded by Edward VI. in the church of St. Anthony's Hospital in Threadneedle Street. This was destroyed in the Great Fire, and rebuilt, but demolished for the approaches of the new Royal Exchange. The church was then removed to St. Martin's-le-Grand, but this was also removed in 1888 to make room for the new Post Office buildings.] in the city, and stood in the aisle all the sermon, with great delight hearing a very admirable sermon, from a very young man, upon the article in our creed, in order of catechism, upon the Resurrection. Thence home, and to visit Sir W. Pen, who continues still bed-rid. Here was Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and Mrs. Turner, and I very merry, talking of the confidence of Sir R. Ford's new-married daughter, though she married so strangely lately, yet appears at church as brisk as can be, and takes place of her elder sister, a maid. Thence home and to supper, and then, cold as it is, to my office, to make up my monthly accounts, and I do find that, through the fitting of my house this month, I have spent in that and kitchen L50 this month; so that now I am worth but L660, or thereabouts. This being done and fitted myself for the Duke to-morrow, I went home, and to prayers and to bed. This day I first did wear a muffe, being my wife's last year's muffe, [The fashion of men wearing muffs appears to have been introduced from France in this reign.] and now I have bought her a new one, this serves me very well. Thus ends this month; in great frost; myself and family all well, but my mind much disordered about my uncle's law business, being now in an order of being arbitrated between us, which I wish to God it were done. I am also somewhat uncertain what to think of my going about to take a woman-servant into my house, in the quality of a woman for my wife. My wife promises it shall cost me nothing but her meat and wages, and that it shall not be attended with any other expenses, upon which termes I admit of it; for that it will, I hope, save me money in having my wife go abroad on visits and other delights; so that I hope the best, but am resolved to alter it, if matters prove otherwise than I would have them. Publique matters in an ill condition of discontent against the height and vanity of the Court, and their bad payments: but that which troubles most, is the Clergy, which will never content the City, which is not to be reconciled to Bishopps: the more the pity that differences must still be. Dunkirk newly sold, and the money brought over; of which we hope to get some to pay the Navy: which by Sir J. Lawson's having dispatched the business in the Straights, by making peace with Argier,--[The ancient name for Algiers.]--Tunis, and Tripoli (and so his fleet will also shortly come home), will now every day grow less, and so the King's charge be abated; which God send! DECEMBER 1662 December 1st. Up and by coach with Sir John Minnes and Sir W. Batten to White Hall to the Duke's chamber, where, as is usual, my Lord Sandwich and all of us, after his being ready, to his closett, and there discoursed of matters of the Navy, and here Mr. Coventry did do me the great kindness to take notice to the Duke of my pains in making a collection of all contracts about masts, which have been of great use to us. Thence I to my Lord Sandwich's, to Mr. Moore, to talk a little about business; and then over the Parke (where I first in my life, it being a great frost, did see people sliding with their skeates, [Iron skates appear to have been introduced by the Dutch, as the name certainly was; but we learn from Fitzstephen that bone skates (although not so called) were used in London in the twelfth century.] which is a very pretty art), to Mr. Coventry's chamber to St. James's, where we all met to a venison pasty, and were very merry, Major Norwood being with us, whom they did play upon for his surrendering of Dunkirk. Here we staid till three or four o'clock; and so to the Council Chamber, where there met the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, my Lord Sandwich, Sir Win. Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Rider, myself, and Captain Cuttance, as Commissioners for Tangier. And after our Commission was read by Mr. Creed, who I perceive is to be our Secretary, we did fall to discourse of matters: as, first, the supplying them forthwith with victualls; then the reducing it to make way for the money, which upon their reduction is to go to the building of the Mole; and so to other matters, ordered as against next meeting. This done we broke up, and I to the Cockpitt, with much crowding and waiting, where I saw "The Valiant Cidd"--[Translated from the "Cid" of Corneille]--acted, a play I have read with great delight, but is a most dull thing acted, which I never understood before, there being no pleasure in it, though done by Betterton and by Ianthe, And another fine wench that is come in the room of Roxalana nor did the King or queen once smile all the whole play, nor any of the company seem to take any pleasure but what was in the greatness and gallantry of the company. Thence to my Lord's, and Mr. Moore being in bed I staid not, but with a link walked home and got thither by 12 o'clock, knocked up my boy, and put myself to bed. 2nd. Before I went to the office my wife and I had another falling out about Sarah, against whom she has a deadly hate, I know not for what, nor can I see but she is a very good servant. Then to my office, and there sat all the morning, and then to dinner with my wife at home, and after dinner did give Jane a very serious lesson, against we take her to be our chamber-maid, which I spoke so to her that the poor girl cried and did promise to be very dutifull and carefull. So to the office, where we sat as Commissioners for the Chest, and so examined most of the old accountants to the Chest about it, and so we broke up, and I to my office till late preparing business, and so home, being cold, and this night first put on a wastecoate. So to bed. 3rd. Called up by Commissioner Pett, and with him by water, much against my will, to Deptford, and after drinking a warm morning draft, with Mr. Wood and our officers measuring all the morning his New England masts, with which sight I was much pleased for my information, though I perceive great neglect and indifference in all the King's officers in what they do for the King. That done, to the Globe, and there dined with Mr. Wood, and so by water with Mr. Pett home again, all the way reading his Chest accounts, in which I did see things did not please me; as his allowing himself 1300 for one year's looking to the business of the Chest, and L150 per annum for the rest of the years. But I found no fault to him himself, but shall when they come to be read at the Board. We did also call at Limehouse to view two Busses that are building, that being a thing we are now very hot upon. Our call was to see what dimensions they are of, being 50 feet by the keel and about 60 tons. Home and did a little business, and so taking Mr. Pett by the way, we walked to the Temple, in our way seeing one of the Russia Embassador's coaches go along, with his footmen not in liverys, but their country habits; one of one colour and another of another, which was very strange. At the Temple spoke with Mr. Turner and Calthrop, and so walked home again, being in some pain through the cold which I have got to-day by water, which troubles me. At the office doing business a good while, and so home and had a posset, and so to bed. 4th. At the office all the morning setting about business, and after dinner to it again, and so till night, and then home looking over my Brampton papers against to-morrow that we are to meet with our counsel on both sides toward an arbitration, upon which I was very late, and so to bed. 5th. Up, it being a snow and hard frost, and being up I did call up Sarah, who do go away to-day or to-morrow. I paid her her wages, and gave her 10s. myself, and my wife 5s. to give her. For my part I think never servant and mistress parted upon such foolish terms in the world as they do, only for an opinion in my wife that she is ill-natured, in all other things being a good servant. The wench cried, and I was ready to cry too, but to keep peace I am content she should go, and the rather, though I say nothing of that, that Jane may come into her place. This being done, I walked towards Guildhall, thither being summoned by the Commissioners for the Lieutenancy; but they sat not this morning. So meeting in my way W. Swan, I took him to a house thereabouts, and gave him a morning draft of buttered ale; [Buttered ale must have been a horrible concoction, as it is described as ale boiled with lump sugar and spice.] he telling me still much of his Fanatique stories, as if he were a great zealot, when I know him to be a very rogue. But I do it for discourse, and to see how things stand with him and his party; who I perceive have great expectation that God will not bless the Court nor Church, as it is now settled, but they must be purified. The worst news he tells me, is that Mr. Chetwind is dead, my old and most ingenious acquaintance. He is dead, worth L3,000, which I did not expect, he living so high as he did always and neatly. He hath given W. Symons his wife L300, and made Will one of his executors. Thence to the Temple to my counsel, and thence to Gray's Inn to meet with Mr. Cole but could not, and so took a turn or two in the garden, being very pleasant with the snow and frost. Thence to my brother's, and there I eat something at dinner and transcribed a copy or two of the state of my uncle's estate, which I prepared last night, and so to the Temple Church, and there walked alone till 4 or 5 o'clock, and then to my cozen Turner's chamber and staid there, up and down from his to Calthrop's and Bernard's chambers, till so late, that Mr. Cole not coming, we broke up for meeting this night, and so taking my uncle Thomas homewards with me by coach, talking of our desire to have a peace, and set him down at Gracious-street end, and so home, and there I find Gosnell come, who, my wife tells me, is like to prove a pretty companion, of which I am glad. So to my office for a little business and then home, my mind having been all this day in most extraordinary trouble and care for my father, there being so great an appearance of my uncle's going away with the greatest part of the estate, but in the evening by Gosnell's coming I do put off these thoughts to entertain myself with my wife and her, who sings exceeding well, and I shall take great delight in her, and so merrily to bed. 6th. Up and to the office, and there sat all the morning, Mr. Coventry and I alone, the rest being paying off of ships. Dined at home with my wife and Gosnell, my mind much pleased with her, and after dinner sat with them a good while, till my wife seemed to take notice of my being at home now more than at other times. I went to the office, and there I sat till late, doing of business, and at 9 o'clock walked to Mr. Rawlinson's, thinking to meet my uncle Wight there, where he was, but a great deal of his wife's kindred-women and I knew not whom (which Mr. Rawlinson did seem to me to take much notice of his being led by the nose by his wife), I went away to my office again, and doing my business there, I went home, and after a song by Gosnell we to bed. 7th (Lord's day). A great snow, and so to church this morning with my wife, which is the first time she hath been at church since her going to Brampton, and Gosnell attending her, which was very gracefull. So home, and we dined above in our dining room, the first time since it was new done, and in the afternoon I thought to go to the French church; but finding the Dutch congregation there, and then finding the French congregation's sermon begun in the Dutch, I returned home, and up to our gallery, where I found my wife and Gosnell, and after a drowsy sermon, we all three to my aunt Wight's, where great store of her usuall company, and here we staid a pretty while talking, I differing from my aunt, as I commonly do, in our opinion of the handsomeness of the Queen, which I oppose mightily, saying that if my nose be handsome, then is her's, and such like. After much discourse, seeing the room full, and being unwilling to stay all three, I took leave, and so with my wife only to see Sir W. Pen, who is now got out of his bed, and sits by the fireside. And after some talk, home and to supper, and after prayers to bed. This night came in my wife's brother and talked to my wife and Gosnell about his wife, which they told me afterwards of, and I do smell that he I doubt is overreached in thinking that he has got a rich wife,' and I fear she will prove otherwise. So to bed. 8th. Up, and carrying Gosnell by coach, set her down at Temple Barr, she going about business of hers today. By the way she was telling me how Balty did tell her that my wife did go every day in the week to Court and plays, and that she should have liberty of going abroad as often as she pleased, and many other lies, which I am vexed at, and I doubt the wench did come in some expectation of, which troubles me. So to the Duke and Mr. Coventry, and alone, the rest being at a Pay and elsewhere, and alone with Mr. Coventry I did read over our letter to my Lord Treasurer, which I think now is done as well as it can be. Then to my Lord Sandwich's, and there spent the rest of the morning in making up my Lord's accounts with Mr. Moore, and then dined with Mr. Moore and Battersby his friend, very well and merry, and good discourse. Then into the Park, to see them slide with their skeates, which is very pretty. And so to the Duke's, where the Committee for Tangier met: and here we sat down all with him at a table, and had much good discourse about the business, and is to my great content. That done, I hearing what play it was that is to be acted before the King to-night, I would not stay, but home by coach, where I find my wife troubled about Gosnell, who brings word that her uncle, justice Jiggins, requires her to come three times a week to him, to follow some business that her mother intrusts her withall, and that, unless she may have that leisure given her, he will not have her take any place; for which we are both troubled, but there is no help for it, and believing it to be a good providence of God to prevent my running behindhand in the world, I am somewhat contented therewith, and shall make my wife so, who, poor wretch, I know will consider of things, though in good earnest the privacy of her life must needs be irksome to her. So I made Gosnell and we sit up looking over the book of Dances till 12 at night, not observing how the time went, and so to prayers and to bed. 9th. Lay long with my wife, contenting her about the business of Gosnell's going, and I perceive she will be contented as well as myself, and so to the office, and after sitting all the morning in hopes to have Mr. Coventry dine with me, he was forced to go to White Hall, and so I dined with my own company only, taking Mr. Hater home with me, but he, poor man, was not very well, and so could not eat any thing. After dinner staid within all the afternoon, being vexed in my mind about the going away of Sarah this afternoon, who cried mightily, and so was I ready to do, and Jane did also, and then anon went Gosnell away, which did trouble me too; though upon many considerations, it is better that I am rid of the charge. All together makes my house appear to me very lonely, which troubles me much, and in a melancholy humour I went to the office, and there about business sat till I was called to Sir G. Carteret at the Treasury office about my Lord Treasurer's letter, wherein he puts me to a new trouble to write it over again. So home and late with Sir John Minnes at the office looking over Mr. Creed's accounts, and then home and to supper, and my wife and I melancholy to bed. 10th. This morning rose, receiving a messenger from Sir G. Carteret and a letter from Mr. Coventry, one contrary to another, about our letter to my Lord Treasurer, at which I am troubled, but I went to Sir George, and being desirous to please both, I think I have found out a way to do it. So back to the office with Sir J. Minnes, in his coach, but so great a snow that we could hardly pass the streets. So we and Sir W. Batten to the office, and there did discourse of Mr. Creed's accounts, and I fear it will be a good while before we shall go through them, and many things we meet with, all of difficulty. Then to the Dolphin, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, did treat the Auditors of the Exchequer, Auditors Wood and Beale, and hither come Sir G. Carteret to us. We had a good dinner, cost us L5 and 6s., whereof my share 26s., and after dinner did discourse of our salarys and other matters, which I think now they will allow. Thence home, and there I found our new cook-mayde Susan come, who is recommended to us by my wife's brother, for which I like her never the better, but being a good well-looked lass, I am willing to try, and Jane begins to take upon her as a chamber-mayde. So to the office, where late putting papers and my books and businesses in order, it being very cold, and so home to supper. 11th. Up, it being a great frost upon the snow, and we sat all the morning upon Mr. Creed's accounts, wherein I did him some service and some disservice. At noon he dined with me, and we sat all the afternoon together, discoursing of ways to get money, which I am now giving myself wholly up to, and in the evening he went away and I to my office, concluding all matters concerning our great letter so long in doing to my Lord Treasurer, till almost one in the morning, and then home with my mind much eased, and so to bed. 12th. From a very hard frost, when I wake, I find a very great thaw, and my house overflown with it, which vexed me. At the office and home, doing business all the morning. Then dined with my wife and sat talking with her all the afternoon, and then to the office, and there examining my copy of Mr. Holland's book till 10 at night, and so home to supper and bed. 13th. Slept long to-day till Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten were set out towards Portsmouth before I rose, and Sir G. Carteret came to the office to speak with me before I was up. So I started up and down to him. By and by we sat, Mr. Coventry and I (Sir G. Carteret being gone), and among other things, Field and Stint did come, and received the L41 given him by the judgement against me and Harry Kem; [Fine for the imprisonment of Field (see February 4th, 1661-62, and October 21st, 1662).] and we did also sign bonds in L500 to stand to the award of Mr. Porter and Smith for the rest: which, however, I did not sign to till I got Mr. Coventry to go up with me to Sir W. Pen; and he did promise me before him to bear his share in what should be awarded, and both concluded that Sir W. Batten would do no less. At noon broke up and dined with my wife, and then to the office again, and there made an end of last night's examination, and got my study there made very clean and put in order, and then to write by the post, among other letters one to Sir W. Batten about this day's work with Field, desiring his promise also. The letter I have caused to be entered in our public book of letters. So home to supper and to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Lay with great content talking with my wife in bed, and so up and to church and then home, and had a neat dinner by ourselves, and after dinner walked to White Hall and my Lord's, and up and down till chappell time, and then to the King's chappell, where I heard the service, and so to my Lord's, and there Mr. Howe and Pagett, the counsellor, an old lover of musique. We sang some Psalms of Mr. Lawes, and played some symphonys between till night, that I was sent for to Mr. Creed's lodging, and there was Captain Ferrers and his lady and W. Howe and I; we supped very well and good sport in discourse. After supper I was sent for to my Lord, with whom I staid talking about his, and my owne, and the publique affairs, with great content, he advising me as to my owne choosing of Sir R. Bernard for umpire in the businesses between my uncle and us, that I would not trust to him upon his direction, for he did not think him a man to be trusted at all; and so bid him good night, and to Mr. Creed's again; Mr. Moore, with whom I intended to have lain, lying physically without sheets; and there, after some discourse, to bed, and lay ill, though the bed good, my stomach being sicke all night with my too heavy supper. 15th. Up and to my Lord's and thence to the Duke, and followed him into the Park, where, though the ice was broken and dangerous, yet he would go slide upon his scates, which I did not like, but he slides very well. So back and to his closett, whither my Lord Sandwich comes, and there Mr. Coventry and we three had long discourse together about the matters of the Navy; and, indeed, I find myself more and more obliged to Mr. Coventry, who studies to do me all the right he can in every thing to the Duke. Thence walked a good while up and down the gallerys; and among others, met with Dr. Clerke, who in discourse tells me, that Sir Charles Barkeley's greatness is only his being pimp to the King, and to my Lady Castlemaine. And yet for all this, that the King is very kind to the Queen; who, he says, is one of the best women in the world. Strange how the King is bewitched to this pretty Castlemaine. Thence to my Lord's, and there with Mr. Creed, Moore, and Howe to the Crown and dined, and thence to Whitehall, where I walked up and down the gallerys, spending my time upon the pictures, till the Duke and the Committee for Tangier met (the Duke not staying with us), where the only matter was to discourse with my Lord Rutherford, who is this day made Governor of Tangier, for I know not what reasons; and my Lord of Peterborough to be called home; which, though it is said it is done with kindness, yet all the world may see it is done otherwise, and I am sorry to see a Catholick Governor sent to command there, where all the rest of the officers almost are such already. But God knows what the reason is! and all may see how slippery places all courtiers stand in. Thence by coach home, in my way calling upon Sir John Berkenheade, to speak about my assessment of L42 to the Loyal Sufferers; which, I perceive, I cannot help; but he tells me I have been abused by Sir R. Ford, which I shall hereafter make use of when it shall be fit. Thence called at the Major-General's, Sir R. Browne, about my being assessed armes to the militia; but he was abroad; and so driving through the backside of the Shambles in Newgate Market, my coach plucked down two pieces of beef into the dirt, upon which the butchers stopped the horses, and a great rout of people in the street, crying that he had done him 40s and L5 worth of hurt; but going down, I saw that he had done little or none; and so I give them a shilling for it and they were well contented, and so home, and there to my Lady Batten's to see her, who tells me she hath just now a letter from Sir William, how that he and Sir J. Minnes did very narrowly escape drowning on the road, the waters are so high; but is well. But, Lord! what a hypocrite-like face she made to tell it me. Thence to Sir W. Pen and sat long with him in discourse, I making myself appear one of greater action and resolution as to publique business than I have hitherto done, at which he listens, but I know is a rogue in his heart and likes not, but I perceive I may hold up my head, and the more the better, I minding of my business as I have done, in which God do and will bless me. So home and with great content to bed, and talk and chat with my wife while I was at supper, to our great pleasure. 16th. Up and to the office, and thither came Mr. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret, and among other business was Strutt's the purser, against Captn. Browne, Sir W. Batten's brother-in-law, but, Lord! though I believe the Captain has played the knave, though I seem to have a good opinion of him and to mean him well, what a most troublesome fellow that Strutt is, such as I never did meet with his fellow in my life. His talking and ours to make him hold his peace set my head off akeing all the afternoon with great pain. So to dinner, thinking to have had Mr. Coventry, but he could not go with me; and so I took Captn. Murford. Of whom I do hear what the world says of me; that all do conclude Mr. Coventry, and Pett, and me, to be of a knot; and that we do now carry all things before us; and much more in particular of me, and my studiousnesse, &c., to my great content. After dinner came Mrs. Browne, the Captain's wife, to see me and my wife, and I showed her a good countenance, and indeed her husband has been civil to us, but though I speak them fair, yet I doubt I shall not be able to do her husband much favour in this business of Strutt's, whom without doubt he has abused. So to the office, and hence, having done some business, by coach to White Hall to Secretary Bennet's, and agreed with Mr. Lee to set upon our new adventure at the Tower to-morrow. Hence to Col. Lovelace in Cannon Row about seeing how Sir R. Ford did report all the officers of the navy to be rated for the Loyal Sufferers, but finding him at the Rhenish wine-house I could not have any answer, but must take another time. Thence to my Lord's, and having sat talking with Mr. Moore bewailing the vanity and disorders of the age, I went by coach to my brother's, where I met Sarah, my late mayde, who had a desire to speak with me, and I with her to know what it was, who told me out of good will to me, for she loves me dearly, that I would beware of my wife's brother, for he is begging or borrowing of her and often, and told me of her Scallop whisk, and her borrowing of 50s. for Will, which she believes was for him and her father. I do observe so much goodness and seriousness in the mayde, that I am again and again sorry that I have parted with her, though it was full against my will then, and if she had anything in the world I would commend her for a wife for my brother Tom. After much discourse and her professions of love to me and all my relations, I bade her good night and did kiss her, and indeed she seemed very well-favoured to me to-night, as she is always. So by coach home and to my office, did some business, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. This morning come Mr. Lee, Wade, and Evett, intending to have gone upon our new design to the Tower today; but it raining, and the work being to be done in the open garden, we put it off to Friday next. And so I to the office doing business, and then dined at home with my poor wife with great content, and so to the office again and made an end of examining the other of Mr. Holland's books about the Navy, with which I am much contented, and so to other businesses till night at my office, and so home to supper, and after much dear company and talk with my wife, to bed. 18th. Up and to the office, Mr. Coventry and I alone sat till two o'clock, and then he inviting himself to my house to dinner, of which I was proud; but my dinner being a legg of mutton and two capons, they were not done enough, which did vex me; but we made shift to please him, I think; but I was, when he was gone, very angry with my wife and people. This afternoon came my wife's brother and his wife, and Mrs. Lodum his landlady (my old friend Mr. Ashwell's sister), Balty's wife is a most little and yet, I believe, pretty old girl, not handsome, nor has anything in the world pleasing, but, they say, she plays mighty well on the Base Violl. They dined at her father's today, but for ought I hear he is a wise man, and will not give any thing to his daughter till he sees what her husband do put himself to, so that I doubt he has made but a bad matter of it, but I am resolved not to meddle with it. They gone I to the office, and to see Sir W. Pen, with my wife, and thence I to Mr. Cade the stationer, to direct him what to do with my two copies of Mr. Holland's books which he is to bind, and after supplying myself with several things of him, I returned to my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and by appointment with Mr. Lee, Wade, Evett, and workmen to the Tower, and with the Lieutenant's leave set them to work in the garden, in the corner against the mayne-guard, a most unlikely place. It being cold, Mr. Lee and I did sit all the day till three o'clock by the fire in the Governor's house; I reading a play of Fletcher's, being "A Wife for a Month," wherein no great wit or language. Having done we went to them at work, and having wrought below the bottom of the foundation of the wall, I bid them give over, and so all our hopes ended; and so went home, taking Mr. Leigh with me, and after drunk a cup of wine he went away, and I to my office, there reading in Sir W. Petty's book, and so home and to bed, a little displeased with my wife, who, poor wretch, is troubled with her lonely life, which I know not how without great charge to help as yet, but I will study how to do it. 20th. Up and had L100 brought me by Prior of Brampton in full of his purchase money for Barton's house and some land. So to the office, and thence with Mr. Coventry in his coach to St. James's, with great content and pride to see him treat me so friendly; and dined with him, and so to White Hall together; where we met upon the Tangier Commission, and discoursed many things thereon; but little will be done before my Lord Rutherford comes there, as to the fortification or Mole. That done, my Lord Sandwich and I walked together a good while in the Matted Gallery, he acquainting me with his late enquiries into the Wardrobe business to his content; and tells me how things stand. And that the first year was worth about L3000 to him, and the next about as much; so that at this day, if he were paid, it will be worth about L7000 to him. But it contents me above all things to see him trust me as his confidant: so I bid him good night, he being to go into the country, to keep his Christmas, on Monday next. So by coach home and to my office, being post night, and then home and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, so up to Church, and so home to dinner alone with my wife very pleasant. After dinner I walked to my brother's, where he told me some hopes he had of bringing his business to pass still of his mistress, but I do find they do stand upon terms that will not be either fit or in his power to grant, and therefore I did dislike his talk and advised him to give it quite over. Thence walked to White Hall, and there to chappell, and from thence up stairs, and up and down the house and gallerys on the King's and Queen's side, and so through the garden to my Lord's lodgings, where there was Mr. Gibbons, Madge, and Mallard, and Pagett; and by and by comes in my Lord Sandwich, and so we had great store of good musique. By and by comes in my simple Lord Chandois, who (my Lord Sandwich being gone out to Court) began to sing psalms, but so dully that I was weary of it. At last we broke up; and by and by comes in my Lord Sandwich again, and he and I to talk together about his businesses, and so he to bed and I and Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers fell to a cold goose pye of Mrs. Sarah's, heartily, and so spent our time till past twelve o'clock, and then with Creed to his lodgings, and so with him to bed, and slept till 22nd. Six or seven o'clock and so up, and by the fireside read a good part of "The Advice to a Daughter," which a simple coxcomb has wrote against Osborne, but in all my life I never did nor can expect to see so much nonsense in print Thence to my Lord's, who is getting himself ready for his journey to Hinchingbroke. And by and by, after eating something, and talking with me about many things, and telling me his mind, upon my asking about Sarah (who, it seems, only married of late, but is also said to be turned a great drunkard, which I am ashamed of), that he likes her service well, and do not love a strange face, but will not endure the fault, but hath bade me speak to her and advise her if she hath a mind to stay with him, which I will do. My Lord and his people being gone, I walked to Mr. Coventry's chamber, where I found him gone out into the Park with the Duke, so the boy being there ready with my things, I shifted myself into a riding-habitt, and followed him through White Hall, and in the Park Mr. Coventry's people having a horse ready for me (so fine a one that I was almost afeard to get upon him, but I did, and found myself more feared than hurt) and I got up and followed the Duke, who, with some of his people (among others Mr. Coventry) was riding out. And with them to Hide Park. Where Mr. Coventry asking leave of the Duke, he bid us go to Woolwich. So he and I to the waterside, and our horses coming by the ferry, we by oars over to Lambeth, and from thence, with brave discourse by the way, rode to Woolwich, where we eat and drank at Mr. Peat's, and discoursed of many businesses, and put in practice my new way of the Call-book, which will be of great use. Here, having staid a good while, we got up again and brought night home with us and foul weather. So over to Whitehall to his chamber, whither my boy came, who had staid in St. James's Park by my mistake all day, looking for me. Thence took my things that I put off to-day, and by coach, being very wet and cold, on my feet home, and presently shifted myself, and so had the barber come; and my wife and I to read "Ovid's Metamorphoses," which I brought her home from Paul's Churchyard to-night, having called for it by the way, and so to bed, 23rd. And slept hard till 8 o'clock this morning, and so up and to the office, where I found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten come unexpectedly home last night from Portsmouth, having done the Pay there before we could have, thought it. Sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my wife alone, and after dinner sat by the fire, and then up to make up my accounts with her, and find that my ordinary housekeeping comes to L7 a month, which is a great deal. By and by comes Dr. Pierce, who among other things tells me that my Lady Castlemaine's interest at Court increases, and is more and greater than the Queen's; that she hath brought in Sir H. Bennet, and Sir Charles Barkeley; but that the queen is a most good lady, and takes all with the greatest meekness that may be. He tells me too that Mr. Edward Montagu is quite broke at Court with his repute and purse; and that he lately was engaged in a quarrell against my Lord Chesterfield: but that the King did cause it to be taken up. He tells me, too, that the King is much concerned in the Chancellor's sickness, and that the Chancellor is as great, he thinks, as ever he was with the King. He also tells me what the world says of me, "that Mr. Coventry and I do all the business of the office almost:" at which I am highly proud. He being gone I fell to business, which was very great, but got it well over by nine at night, and so home, and after supper to bed. 24th. Lay pleasantly, talking to my wife, till 8 o'clock, then up and to Sir W. Batten's to see him and Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes take coach towards the Pay at Chatham, which they did and I home, and took money in my pocket to pay many reckonings to-day in the town, as my bookseller's, and paid at another shop L4 10s. for "Stephens's Thesaurus Graecae Linguae," given to Paul's School: So to my brother's and shoemaker, and so to my Lord Crew's, and dined alone with him, and after dinner much discourse about matters. Upon the whole, I understand there are great factions at Court, and something he said that did imply a difference like to be between the King and the Duke, in case the Queen should not be with child. I understand, about this bastard. [James Crofts, son of Charles II. by Lucy Walter, created Duke of Monmouth in 1663, Duke of Buccleuch in 1673, when he took the name of Scott.] He says, also, that some great man will be aimed at when Parliament comes to sit again; I understand, the Chancellor: and that there is a bill will be brought in, that none that have been in arms for the Parliament shall be capable of office. And that the Court are weary of my Lord Albemarle and Chamberlin. He wishes that my Lord Sandwich had some good occasion to be abroad this summer which is coming on, and that my Lord Hinchingbroke were well married, and Sydney had some place at Court. He pities the poor ministers that are put out, to whom, he says, the King is beholden for his coming in, and that if any such thing had been foreseen he had never come in. After this, and much other discourse of the sea, and breeding young gentlemen to the sea, I went away, and homeward, met Mr. Creed at my bookseller's in Paul's Church-yard, who takes it ill my letter last night to Mr. Povy, wherein I accuse him of the neglect of the Tangier boats, in which I must confess I did not do altogether like a friend; but however it was truth, and I must own it to be so, though I fall wholly out with him for it. Thence home and to my office alone to do business, and read over half of Mr. Bland's discourse concerning Trade, which (he being no scholler and so knows not the rules of writing orderly) is very good. So home to supper and to bed, my wife not being well.... This evening Mr. Gauden sent me, against Christmas, a great chine of beef and three dozen of tongues. I did give 5s. to the man that brought it, and half-a-crown to the porters. This day also the parish-clerk brought the general bill of mortality, which cost me half-a-crown more. [The Bills of Mortality for London were first compiled by order of Thomas Cromwell about 1538, and the keeping of them was commenced by the Company of Parish Clerks in the great plague year of 1593. The bills were issued weekly from 1603. The charter of the Parish Clerks' Company (1611) directs that "each parish clerk shall bring to the Clerks' Hall weekly a note of all christenings and burials." Charles I. in 1636 granted permission to the Parish Clerks to have a printing press and employ a printer in their hall for the purpose of printing their weekly bills.] 25th (Christmas Day). Up pretty early, leaving my wife not well in bed, and with my boy walked, it being a most brave cold and dry frosty morning, and had a pleasant walk to White Hall, where I intended to have received the Communion with the family, but I came a little too late. So I walked up into the house and spent my time looking over pictures, particularly the ships in King Henry the VIIIth's Voyage to Bullen; [Boulogne. These pictures were given by George III. to the Society of Antiquaries, who in return presented to the king a set of Thomas Hearne's works, on large paper. The pictures were reclaimed by George IV., and are now at Hampton Court. They were exhibited in the Tudor Exhibition, 1890.] marking the great difference between their build then and now. By and by down to the chappell again where Bishopp Morley preached upon the song of the Angels, "Glory to God on high, on earth peace, and good will towards men." Methought he made but a poor sermon, but long, and reprehending the mistaken jollity of the Court for the true joy that shall and ought to be on these days, he particularized concerning their excess in plays and gaming, saying that he whose office it is to keep the gamesters in order and within bounds, serves but for a second rather in a duell, meaning the groom-porter. Upon which it was worth observing how far they are come from taking the reprehensions of a bishopp seriously, that they all laugh in the chappell when he reflected on their ill actions and courses. He did much press us to joy in these publique days of joy, and to hospitality. But one that stood by whispered in my ear that the Bishopp himself do not spend one groat to the poor himself. The sermon done, a good anthem followed, with vialls, and then the King came down to receive the Sacrament. But I staid not, but calling my boy from my Lord's lodgings, and giving Sarah some good advice, by my Lord's order, to be sober and look after the house, I walked home again with great pleasure, and there dined by my wife's bed-side with great content, having a mess of brave plum-porridge [The national Christmas dish of plum pudding is a modern evolution from plum porridge, which was probably similar to the dish still produced at Windsor Castle.] and a roasted pullet for dinner, and I sent for a mince-pie abroad, my wife not being well to make any herself yet. After dinner sat talking a good while with her, her [pain] being become less, and then to see Sir W. Pen a little, and so to my office, practising arithmetique alone and making an end of last night's book with great content till eleven at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, my wife to the making of Christmas pies all day, being now pretty well again, and I abroad to several places about some businesses, among others bought a bake-pan in Newgate Market, and sent it home, it cost me 16s. So to Dr. Williams, but he is out of town, then to the Wardrobe. Hither come Mr. Battersby; and we falling into a discourse of a new book of drollery in verse called Hudebras, [The first edition of Butler's "Hudibras" is dated 1663, and it probably had only been published a few days when Pepys bought it and sold it at a loss. He subsequently endeavoured to appreciate the work, but was not successful. The edition in the Pepysian Library is dated 1689.] I would needs go find it out, and met with it at the Temple: cost me 2s. 6d. But when I came to read it, it is so silly an abuse of the Presbyter Knight going to the warrs, that I am ashamed of it; and by and by meeting at Mr. Townsend's at dinner, I sold it to him for 18d. Here we dined with many tradesmen that belong to the Wardrobe, but I was weary soon of their company, and broke up dinner as soon as I could, and away, with the greatest reluctancy and dispute (two or three times my reason stopping my sense and I would go back again) within myself, to the Duke's house and saw "The Villaine," which I ought not to do without my wife, but that my time is now out that I did undertake it for. But, Lord! to consider how my natural desire is to pleasure, which God be praised that he has given me the power by my late oaths to curb so well as I have done, and will do again after two or three plays more. Here I was better pleased with the play than I was at first, understanding the design better than I did. Here I saw Gosnell and her sister at a distance, and could have found it in my heart to have accosted them, but thought not prudent. But I watched their going out and found that they came, she, her sister and another woman, alone, without any man, and did go over the fields a foot. I find that I have an inclination to have her come again, though it is most against my interest either of profit or content of mind, other than for their singing. Home on foot, in my way calling at Mr. Rawlinson's and drinking only a cup of ale there. He tells me my uncle has ended his purchase, which cost him L4,500, and how my uncle do express his trouble that he has with his wife's relations, but I understand his great intentions are for the Wights that hang upon him and by whose advice this estate is bought. Thence home, and found my wife busy among her pies, but angry for some saucy words that her mayde Jane has given her, which I will not allow of, and therefore will give her warning to be gone. As also we are both displeased for some slight words that Sarah, now at Sir W. Pen's, hath spoke of us, but it is no matter. We shall endeavour to joyne the lion's skin to the fox's tail. So to my office alone a while, and then home to my study and supper and bed. Being also vexed at my boy for his staying playing abroad when he is sent of errands, so that I have sent him to-night to see whether their country carrier be in town or no, for I am resolved to keep him no more. 27th. Up, and while I am dressing I sent for my boy's brother, William, that lives in town here as a groom, to whom and their sister Jane I told my resolution to keep the boy no longer. So upon the whole they desire to have him stay a week longer, and then he shall go. So to the office, and there Mr. Coventry and I sat till noon, and then I stept to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to the Duke's Theatre, and saw the second part of "Rhodes," done with the new Roxalana; which do it rather better in all respects for person, voice, and judgment, then the first Roxalana. Home with great content with my wife, not so well pleased with the company at the house to-day, which was full of citizens, there hardly being a gentleman or woman in the house; a couple of pretty ladies by us that made sport in it, being jostled and crowded by prentices. So home, and I to my study making up my monthly accounts, which is now fallen again to L630 or thereabouts, which not long since was L680, at which I am sorry, but I trust in God I shall get it up again, and in the meantime will live sparingly. So home to supper and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up and, with my wife to church, and coming out, went out both before my Lady Batten, he not being there, which I believe will vex her. After dinner my wife to church again, and I to the French church, where I heard an old man make a tedious, long sermon, till they were fain to light candles to baptize the children by. So homewards, meeting my brother Tom, but spoke but little with him, and calling also at my uncle Wight's, but met him and her going forth, and so I went directly home, and there fell to the renewing my last year's oaths, whereby it has pleased God so much to better myself and practise, and so down to supper, and then prayers and bed. 29th. Up and walked to Whitehall, where the Duke and Mr. Coventry being gone forth I went to Westminster Hall, where I staid reading at Mrs. Mitchell's shop, and sent for half a pint of sack for her. Here she told me what I heard not of before, the strange burning of Mr. De Laun, a merchant's house in Loathbury, and his lady (Sir Thomas Allen's daughter) and her whole family; not one thing, dog nor cat, escaping; nor any of the neighbours almost hearing of it till the house was quite down and burnt. How this should come to pass, God knows, but a most strange thing it is! Hither came Jack Spicer to me, and I took him to the Swan, where Mr. Herbert did give me my breakfast of cold chine of pork; and here Spicer and I talked of Exchequer matters, and how the Lord Treasurer' hath now ordered all monies to be brought into the Exchequer, and hath settled the King's revenue, and given to every general expence proper assignments; to the Navy L200,000 and odd. He also told me of the great vast trade of the goldsmiths in supplying the King with money at dear rates. Thence to White Hall, and got up to the top gallerys in the Banquetting House, to see the audience of the Russia Embassadors; which [took place] after long waiting and fear of the falling of the gallery (it being so full, and part of it being parted from the rest, for nobody to come up merely from the weakness thereof): and very handsome it was. After they were come in, I went down and got through the croude almost as high as the King and the Embassadors, where I saw all the presents, being rich furs, hawks, carpets, cloths of tissue, and sea-horse teeth. The King took two or three hawks upon his fist, having a glove on, wrought with gold, given him for the purpose. The son of one of the Embassadors was in the richest suit for pearl and tissue, that ever I did see, or shall, I believe. After they and all the company had kissed the King's hand, then the three Embassadors and the son, and no more, did kiss the Queen's. One thing more I did observe, that the chief Embassador did carry up his master's letters in state before him on high; and as soon as he had delivered them, he did fall down to the ground and lay there a great while. After all was done, the company broke up; and I spent a little while walking up and down the gallery seeing the ladies, the two Queens, and the Duke of Monmouth with his little mistress, which is very little, and like my brother-in-law's wife. So with Mr. Creed to the Harp and Ball, and there meeting with Mr. How, Goodgroom, and young Coleman, did drink and talk with them, and I have almost found out a young gentlewoman for my turn, to wait on my wife, of good family and that can sing. Thence I went away, and getting a coach went home and sat late talking with my wife about our entertaining Dr. Clerke's lady and Mrs. Pierce shortly, being in great pain that my wife hath never a winter gown, being almost ashamed of it, that she should be seen in a taffeta one; when all the world wears moyre;--[By moyre is meant mohair.-B.]--so to prayers and to bed, but we could not come to any resolution what to do therein, other than to appear as she is. 30th. Up and to the office, whither Sir W. Pen came, the first time that he has come downstairs since his late great sickness of the gout. We with Mr. Coventry sat till noon, then I to the Change ward, to see what play was there, but I liked none of them, and so homeward, and calling in at Mr. Rawlinson's, where he stopped me to dine with him and two East India officers of ships and Howell our turner. With the officers I had good discourse, particularly of the people at the Cape of Good Hope, of whom they of their own knowledge do tell me these one or two things: viz .... that they never sleep lying, but always sitting upon the ground, that their speech is not so articulate as ours, but yet [they] understand one another well, that they paint themselves all over with the grease the Dutch sell them (who have a fort there) and soot. After dinner drinking five or six glasses of wine, which liberty I now take till I begin my oath again, I went home and took my wife into coach, and carried her to Westminster; there visited Mrs. Ferrer, and staid talking with her a good while, there being a little, proud, ugly, talking lady there, that was much crying up the Queen-Mother's Court at Somerset House above our own Queen's; there being before no allowance of laughing and the mirth that is at the other's; and indeed it is observed that the greatest Court now-a-days is there. Thence to White Hall, where I carried my wife to see the Queen in her presence-chamber; and the maydes of honour and the young Duke of Monmouth playing at cards. Some of them, and but a few, were very pretty; though all well dressed in velvet gowns. Thence to my Lord's lodgings, where Mrs. Sarah did make us my Lord's bed, and Mr. Creed I being sent for, sat playing at cards till it was late, and so good night, and with great pleasure to bed. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then I up and to Westminster Hall, and so to the Swan, sending for Mr. W. Bowyer, and there drank my morning draft, and had some of his simple discourse. Among other things he tells me how the difference comes between his fair cozen Butler and Collonell Dillon, upon his opening letters of her brother's from Ireland, complaining of his knavery, and forging others to the contrary; and so they are long ago quite broke off. Thence to a barber's and so to my wife, and at noon took her to Mrs. Pierces by invitacion to dinner, where there came Dr. Clerke and his wife and sister and Mr. Knight, chief chyrurgeon to the King and his wife. We were pretty merry, the two men being excellent company, but I confess I am wedded from the opinion either of Mrs. Pierces beauty upon discovery of her naked neck to-day, being undrest when we came in, or of Mrs. Clerke's genius, which I so much admired, I finding her to be so conceited and fantastique in her dress this day and carriage, though the truth is, witty enough. After dinner with much ado the doctor and I got away to follow our business for a while, he to his patients and I to the Tangier Committee, where the Duke of York was, and we staid at it a good while, and thence in order to the despatch of the boats and provisions for Tangier away, Mr. Povy, in his coach, carried Mr. Gauden and I into London to Mr. Bland's, the merchant, where we staid discoursing upon the reason of the delay of the going away of these things a great while. Then to eat a dish of anchovies, and drink wine and syder, and very merry, but above all things pleased to hear Mrs. Bland talk like a merchant in her husband's business very well, and it seems she do understand it and perform a great deal. Thence merry back, Mr. Povy and, I to White Hall; he carrying me thither on purpose to carry me into the ball this night before the King. All the way he talking very ingenuously, and I find him a fine gentleman, and one that loves to live nobly and neatly, as I perceive by his discourse of his house, pictures, and horses. He brought me first to the Duke's chamber, where I saw him and the Duchess at supper; and thence into the room where the ball was to be, crammed with fine ladies, the greatest of the Court. By and by comes the King and Queen, the Duke and Duchess, and all the great ones: and after seating themselves, the King takes out the Duchess of York; and the Duke, the Duchess of Buckingham; the Duke of Monmouth, my Lady Castlemaine; and so other lords other ladies: and they danced the Bransle. "Branle. Espece de danse de plusieurs personnes, qui se tiennent par la main, et qui se menent tour-a-tour. "Dictionnaire de l'Academie. A country dance mentioned by Shakespeare and other dramatists under the form of brawl, which word continued to be used in the eighteenth century. "My grave Lord Keeper led the brawls; The seals and maces danced before him." Gray, 'A Long Story.' After that, the King led a lady a single Coranto--[swift and lively]--and then the rest of the lords, one after another, other ladies very noble it was, and great pleasure to see. Then to country dances; the King leading the first, which he called for; which was, says he, "Cuckolds all awry," the old dance of England. Of the ladies that danced, the Duke of Monmouth's mistress, and my Lady Castlemaine, and a daughter of Sir Harry de Vicke's, were the best. The manner was, when the King dances, all the ladies in the room, and the Queen herself, stand up: and indeed he dances rarely, and much better that the Duke of York. Having staid here as long as I thought fit, to my infinite content, it being the greatest pleasure I could wish now to see at Court, I went out, leaving them dancing, and to Mrs. Pierces, where I found the company had staid very long for my coming, but all gone but my wife, and so I took her home by coach and so to my Lord's again, where after some supper to bed, very weary and in a little pain from my riding a little uneasily to-night in the coach. Thus ends this year with great mirth to me and my wife: Our condition being thus:--we are at present spending a night or two at my Lord's lodgings at White Hall. Our home at the Navy-office, which is and hath a pretty while been in good condition, finished and made very convenient. My purse is worth about L650, besides my goods of all sorts, which yet might have been more but for my late layings out upon my house and public assessment, and yet would not have been so much if I had not lived a very orderly life all this year by virtue of the oaths that God put into my heart to take against wine, plays, and other expenses, and to observe for these last twelve months, and which I am now going to renew, I under God owing my present content thereunto. My family is myself and wife, William, my clerk; Jane, my wife's upper mayde, but, I think, growing proud and negligent upon it: we must part, which troubles me; Susan, our cook-mayde, a pretty willing wench, but no good cook; and Wayneman, my boy, who I am now turning away for his naughty tricks. We have had from the beginning our healths to this day very well, blessed be God! Our late mayde Sarah going from us (though put away by us) to live with Sir W. Pen do trouble me, though I love the wench, so that we do make ourselves a little strange to him and his family for it, and resolve to do so. The same we are for other reasons to my Lady Batten and hers. We have lately had it in our thoughts, and I can hardly bring myself off of it, since Mrs. Gosnell cannot be with us, to find out another to be in the quality of a woman to my wife that can sing or dance, and yet finding it hard to save anything at the year's end as I now live, I think I shall not be such a fool till I am more warm in my purse, besides my oath of entering into no such expenses till I am worth L1000. By my last year's diligence in my office, blessed be God! I am come to a good degree of knowledge therein; and am acknowledged so by all--the world, even the Duke himself, to whom I have a good access and by that, and my being Commissioner with him for Tangier, he takes much notice of me; and I doubt not but, by the continuance of the same endeavours, I shall in a little time come to be a man much taken notice of in the world, specially being come to so great an esteem with Mr. Coventry. The only weight that lies heavy upon my mind is the ending the business with my uncle Thomas about my-dead uncle's estate, which is very ill on our side, and I fear when all is done I must be forced to maintain my father myself, or spare a good deal towards it out of my own purse, which will be a very great pull back to me in my fortune. But I must be contented and bring it to an issue one way or other. Publique matters stand thus: The King is bringing, as is said, his family, and Navy, and all other his charges, to a less expence. In the mean time, himself following his pleasures more than with good advice he would do; at least, to be seen to all the world to do so. His dalliance with my Lady Castlemaine being publique, every day, to his great reproach; and his favouring of none at Court so much as those that are the confidants of his pleasure, as Sir H. Bennet and Sir Charles Barkeley; which, good God! put it into his heart to mend, before he makes himself too much contemned by his people for it! The Duke of Monmouth is in so great splendour at Court, and so dandled by the King, that some doubt, if the King should have no child by the Queen (which there is yet no appearance of), whether he would not be acknowledged for a lawful son; and that there will be a difference follow upon it between the Duke of York and him; which God prevent! My Lord Chancellor is threatened by people to be questioned, the next sitting of the Parliament, by some spirits that do not love to see him so great: but certainly he is a good servant to the King. The Queen-Mother is said to keep too great a Court now; and her being married to my Lord St. Albans is commonly talked of; and that they had a daughter between them in France, how true, God knows. The Bishopps are high, and go on without any diffidence in pressing uniformity; and the Presbyters seem silent in it, and either conform or lay down, though without doubt they expect a turn, and would be glad these endeavours of the other Fanatiques would take effect; there having been a plot lately found, for which four have been publickly tried at the Old Bayley and hanged. My Lord Sandwich is still in good esteem, and now keeping his Christmas in the country; and I in good esteem, I think, as any man can be, with him. Mr. Moore is very sickly, and I doubt will hardly get over his late fit of sickness, that still hangs on him. In fine, for the good condition of myself, wife, family, and estate, in the great degree that it is, and for the public state of the nation, so quiett as it is, the Lord God be praised! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, 1962 N.S.: Afeard of being louzy Afeard that my Lady Castlemaine will keep still with the King Afraid now to bring in any accounts for journeys After taking leave of my wife, which we could hardly do kindly Agreed at L3 a year (she would not serve under) All may see how slippery places all courtiers stand in All made much worse in their report among people than they are All the fleas came to him and not to me Aptness I have to be troubled at any thing that crosses me As much his friend as his interest will let him Badge of slavery upon the whole people (taxes) Bewailing the vanity and disorders of the age Bowling-ally (where lords and ladies are now at bowles) Cannot but be with the workmen to see things done to my mind Care not for his commands, and especially on Sundays Catched cold yesterday by putting off my stockings Charles Barkeley's greatness is only his being pimp to the King Comb my head clean, which I found so foul with powdering Command of an army is not beholden to any body to make him King Deliver her from the hereditary curse of child-bearing Did much insist upon the sin of adultery Discontented at the pride and luxury of the Court Discoursed much against a man's lying with his wife in Lent Enjoy some degree of pleasure now that we have health, money Fanatiques do say that the end of the world is at hand Fear she should prove honest and refuse and then tell my wife Fearing that Sarah would continue ill, wife and I removed God forgive me! what a mind I had to her Goldsmiths in supplying the King with money at dear rates Hard matter to settle to business after so much leisure Hate in others, and more in myself, to be careless of keys He made but a poor sermon, but long Holes for me to see from my closet into the great office Hopes to have had a bout with her before she had gone I fear that it must be as it can, and not as I would I know not yet what that is, and am ashamed to ask Joyne the lion's skin to the fox's tail King dined at my Lady Castlemaine's, and supped, every day Lady Castlemaine do speak of going to lie in at Hampton Court Lady Castlemaine is still as great with the King Lady Castlemaine's interest at Court increases Last of a great many Presbyterian ministers Laughing and jeering at every thing that looks strange Let me blood, about sixteen ounces, I being exceedingly full Lord! to see the absurd nature of Englishmen Lust and wicked lives of the nuns heretofore in England Lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife Muske Millon My Jane's cutting off a carpenter's long mustacho My first attempt being to learn the multiplication-table No good by taking notice of it, for the present she forbears Only wind do now and then torment me... extremely Parliament hath voted 2s. per annum for every chimney in England Parson is a cunning fellow he is as any of his coat Peruques of hair, as the fashion now is for ladies to wear Pleasures are not sweet to me now in the very enjoying of them Raising of our roofs higher to enlarge our houses See her look dejectedly and slighted by people already See a dead man lie floating upon the waters Sermon; but, it being a Presbyterian one, it was so long She so cruel a hypocrite that she can cry when she pleases She also washed my feet in a bath of herbs, and so to bed Short of what I expected, as for the most part it do fall out Sir W. Pen did it like a base raskall, and so I shall remember Slight answer, at which I did give him two boxes on the ears So good a nature that he cannot deny any thing Sorry to hear that Sir W. Pen's maid Betty was gone away Strange things he has been found guilty of, not fit to name Then to church to a tedious sermon They were not occupiers, but occupied (women) To Mr. Holliard's in the morning, thinking to be let blood Trumpets were brought under the scaffold that he not be heard Up and took physique, but such as to go abroad with Up early and took my physique; it wrought all the morning well When the candle is going out, how they bawl and dispute Whether she suspected anything or no I know not Whether he would have me go to law or arbitracon with him Will upon occasion serve for a fine withdrawing room Will put Madam Castlemaine's nose out of joynt With my whip did whip him till I was not able to stir 
4139	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS 1663 N.S. COMPLETE JANUARY & FEBRUARY 1662-1663 January 1st, 1662-63. Lay with my wife at my Lord's lodgings, where I have been these two nights, till 10 o'clock with great pleasure talking, then I rose and to White Hall, where I spent a little time walking among the courtiers, which I perceive I shall be able to do with great confidence, being now beginning to be pretty well known among them. Then to my wife again, and found Mrs. Sarah with us in the chamber we lay in. Among other discourse, Mrs. Sarah tells us how the King sups at least four or [five] times every week with my Lady Castlemaine; and most often stays till the morning with her, and goes home through the garden all alone privately, and that so as the very centrys take notice of it and speak of it. She tells me, that about a month ago she [Lady Castlemaine] quickened at my Lord Gerard's at dinner, and cried out that she was undone; and all the lords and men were fain to quit the room, and women called to help her. In fine, I find that there is nothing almost but bawdry at Court from top to bottom, as, if it were fit, I could instance, but it is not necessary; only they say my Lord Chesterfield, groom of the stole to the Queen, is either gone or put away from the Court upon the score of his lady's having smitten the Duke of York, so as that he is watched by the Duchess of York, and his lady is retired into the country upon it. How much of this is true, God knows, but it is common talk. After dinner I did reckon with Mrs. Sarah for what we have eat and drank here, and gave her a crown, and so took coach, and to the Duke's House, where we saw "The Villaine" again; and the more I see it, the more I am offended at my first undervaluing the play, it being very good and pleasant, and yet a true and allowable tragedy. The house was full of citizens, and so the less pleasant, but that I was willing to make an end of my gaddings, and to set to my business for all the year again tomorrow. Here we saw the old Roxalana in the chief box, in a velvet gown, as the fashion is, and very handsome, at which I was glad. Hence by coach home, where I find all well, only Sir W. Pen they say ill again. So to my office to set down these two or three days' journall, and to close the last year therein, and so that being done, home to supper, and to bed, with great pleasure talking and discoursing with my wife of our late observations abroad. 2nd. Lay long in bed, and so up and to the office, where all the morning alone doing something or another. So dined at home with my wife, and in the afternoon to the Treasury office, where Sir W. Batten was paying off tickets, but so simply and arbitrarily, upon a dull pretence of doing right to the King, though to the wrong of poor people (when I know there is no man that means the King less right than he, or would trouble himself less about it, but only that he sees me stir, and so he would appear doing something, though to little purpose), that I was weary of it. At last we broke up, and walk home together, and I to see Sir W. Pen, who is fallen sick again. I staid a while talking with him, and so to my office, practising some arithmetique, and so home to supper and bed, having sat up late talking to my poor wife with great content. 3rd. Up and to the office all the morning, and dined alone with my wife at noon, and then to my office all the afternoon till night, putting business in order with great content in my mind. Having nothing now in my mind of trouble in the world, but quite the contrary, much joy, except only the ending of our difference with my uncle Thomas, and the getting of the bills well over for my building of my house here, which however are as small and less than any of the others. Sir W. Pen it seems is fallen very ill again. So to my arithmetique again to-night, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up and to church, where a lazy sermon, and so home to dinner to a good piece of powdered beef, but a little too salt. At dinner my wife did propound my having of my sister Pall at my house again to be her woman, since one we must have, hoping that in that quality possibly she may prove better than she did before, which I take very well of her, and will consider of it, it being a very great trouble to me that I should have a sister of so ill a nature, that I must be forced to spend money upon a stranger when it might better be upon her, if she were good for anything. After dinner I and she walked, though it was dirty, to White Hall (in the way calling at the Wardrobe to see how Mr. Moore do, who is pretty well, but not cured yet), being much afeard of being seen by anybody, and was, I think, of Mr. Coventry, which so troubled me that I made her go before, and I ever after loitered behind. She to Mr. Hunt's, and I to White Hall Chappell, and then up to walk up and down the house, which now I am well known there, I shall forbear to do, because I would not be thought a lazy body by Mr. Coventry and others by being seen, as I have lately been, to walk up and down doing nothing. So to Mr. Hunt's, and there was most prettily and kindly entertained by him and her, who are two as good people as I hardly know any, and so neat and kind one to another. Here we staid late, and so to my Lord's to bed. 5th. Up and to the Duke, who himself told me that Sir J. Lawson was come home to Portsmouth from the Streights, who is now come with great renown among all men, and, I perceive, mightily esteemed at Court by all. The Duke did not stay long in his chamber; but to the King's chamber, whither by and by the Russia Embassadors come; who, it seems, have a custom that they will not come to have any treaty with our or any King's Commissioners, but they will themselves see at the time the face of the King himself, be it forty days one after another; and so they did to-day only go in and see the King; and so out again to the Council-chamber. The Duke returned to his chamber, and so to his closett, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Mr. Coventry, and myself attended him about the business of the Navy; and after much discourse and pleasant talk he went away. And I took Sir W. Batten and Captain Allen into the wine cellar to my tenant (as I call him, Serjeant Dalton), and there drank a great deal of variety of wines, more than I have drunk at one time, or shall again a great while, when I come to return to my oaths, which I intend in a day or two. Thence to my Lord's lodging, where Mr. Hunt and Mr. Creed dined with us, and were very merry. And after dinner he and I to White Hall, where the Duke and the Commissioners for Tangier met, but did not do much: my Lord Sandwich not being in town, nobody making it their business. So up, and Creed and I to my wife again, and after a game or two at cards, to the Cockpitt, where we saw "Claracilla," a poor play, done by the King's house (but neither the King nor Queen were there, but only the Duke and Duchess, who did show some impertinent and, methought, unnatural dalliances there, before the whole world, such as kissing, and leaning upon one another); but to my very little content, they not acting in any degree like the Duke's people. So home (there being here this night Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Martha Batten of our office) to my Lord's lodgings again, and to a game at cards, we three and Sarah, and so to supper and some apples and ale, and to bed with great pleasure, blessed be God! 6th (Twelfth Day). Up and Mr. Creed brought a pot of chocolate ready made for our morning draft, and then he and I to the Duke's, but I was not very willing to be seen at this end of the town, and so returned to our lodgings, and took my wife by coach to my brother's, where I set her down, and Creed and I to St. Paul's Church-yard, to my bookseller's, and looked over several books with good discourse, and then into St. Paul's Church, and there finding Elborough, my old schoolfellow at Paul's, now a parson, whom I know to be a silly fellow, I took him out and walked with him, making Creed and myself sport with talking with him, and so sent him away, and we to my office and house to see all well, and thence to the Exchange, where we met with Major Thomson, formerly of our office, who do talk very highly of liberty of conscience, which now he hopes for by the King's declaration, and that he doubts not that if he will give him, he will find more and better friends than the Bishopps can be to him, and that if he do not, there will many thousands in a little time go out of England, where they may have it. But he says that they are well contented that if the King thinks it good, the Papists may have the same liberty with them. He tells me, and so do others, that Dr. Calamy is this day sent to Newgate for preaching, Sunday was se'nnight, without leave, though he did it only to supply the place; when otherwise the people must have gone away without ever a sermon, they being disappointed of a minister but the Bishop of London will not take that as an excuse. Thence into Wood Street, and there bought a fine table for my dining-room, cost me 50s.; and while we were buying it, there was a scare-fire [Scar-fire or scarefire. An alarm of fire. One of the little pieces in Herrick's "Hesperides" is entitled "The Scar-fire," but the word sometimes was used, as in the text, for the fire itself. Fuller, in his "Worthies," speaks of quenching scare-fires.] in an ally over against us, but they quenched it. So to my brother's, where Creed and I and my wife dined with Tom, and after dinner to the Duke's house, and there saw "Twelfth Night" [Pepys saw "Twelfth Night" for the first time on September 11th, 1661, when he supposed it was a new play, and "took no pleasure at all in it."] acted well, though it be but a silly play, and not related at all to the name or day. Thence Mr. Battersby the apothecary, his wife, and I and mine by coach together, and setting him down at his house, he paying his share, my wife and I home, and found all well, only myself somewhat vexed at my wife's neglect in leaving of her scarf, waistcoat, and night-dressings in the coach today that brought us from Westminster, though, I confess, she did give them to me to look after, yet it was her fault not to see that I did take them out of the coach. I believe it might be as good as 25s. loss or thereabouts. So to my office, however, to set down my last three days' journall, and writing to my Lord Sandwich to give him an account of Sir J. Lawson's being come home, and to my father about my sending him some wine and things this week, for his making an entertainment of some friends in the country, and so home. This night making an end wholly of Christmas, with a mind fully satisfied with the great pleasures we have had by being abroad from home, and I do find my mind so apt to run to its old want of pleasures, that it is high time to betake myself to my late vows, which I will to-morrow, God willing, perfect and bind myself to, that so I may, for a great while, do my duty, as I have well begun, and increase my good name and esteem in the world, and get money, which sweetens all things, and whereof I have much need. So home to supper and to bed, blessing God for his mercy to bring me home, after much pleasure, to my house and business with health and resolution to fall hard to work again. 7th. Up pretty early, that is by seven o'clock, it being not yet light before or then. So to my office all the morning, signing the Treasurer's ledger, part of it where I have not put my hand, and then eat a mouthful of pye at home to stay my stomach, and so with Mr. Waith by water to Deptford, and there among other things viewed old pay-books, and found that the Commanders did never heretofore receive any pay for the rigging time, but only for seatime, contrary to what Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten told the Duke the other day. I also searched all the ships in the Wett Dock for fire, and found all in good order, it being very dangerous for the King that so many of his ships lie together there. I was among the canvass in stores also, with Mr. Harris, the saylemaker, and learnt the difference between one sort and another, to my great content, and so by water home again, where my wife tells me stories how she hears that by Sarah's going to live at Sir W. Pen's, all our affairs of my family are made known and discoursed of there and theirs by my people, which do trouble me much, and I shall take a time to let Sir W. Pen know how he has dealt in taking her without our full consent. So to my office, and by and by home to supper, and so to prayers and bed. 8th. Up pretty early, and sent my boy to the carrier's with some wine for my father, for to make his feast among his Brampton friends this Christmas, and my muff to my mother, sent as from my wife. But before I sent my boy out with them, I beat him for a lie he told me, at which his sister, with whom we have of late been highly displeased, and warned her to be gone, was angry, which vexed me, to see the girl I loved so well, and my wife, should at last turn so much a fool and unthankful to us. So to the office, and there all the morning, and though without and a little against the advice of the officers did, to gratify him, send Thomas Hater to-day towards Portsmouth a day or two before the rest of the clerks, against the Pay next week. Dined at home; and there being the famous new play acted the first time to-day, which is called "The Adventures of Five Hours," at the Duke's house, being, they say, made or translated by Colonel Tuke, I did long to see it; and so made my wife to get her ready, though we were forced to send for a smith, to break open her trunk, her mayde Jane being gone forth with the keys, and so we went; and though early, were forced to sit almost out of sight, at the end of one of the lower forms, so full was the house. And the play, in one word, is the best, for the variety and the most excellent continuance of the plot to the very end, that ever I saw, or think ever shall, and all possible, not only to be done in the time, but in most other respects very admittable, and without one word of ribaldry; and the house, by its frequent plaudits, did show their sufficient approbation. So home; with much ado in an hour getting a coach home, and, after writing letters at my office, I went home to supper and to bed, now resolving to set up my rest as to plays till Easter, if not Whitsuntide next, excepting plays at Court. 9th. Waking in the morning, my wife I found also awake, and begun to speak to me with great trouble and tears, and by degrees from one discourse to another at last it appears that Sarah has told somebody that has told my wife of my meeting her at my brother's and making her sit down by me while she told me stories of my wife, about her giving her scallop to her brother, and other things, which I am much vexed at, for I am sure I never spoke any thing of it, nor could any body tell her but by Sarah's own words. I endeavoured to excuse my silence herein hitherto by not believing any thing she told me, only that of the scallop which she herself told me of. At last we pretty good friends, and my wife begun to speak again of the necessity of her keeping somebody to bear her company; for her familiarity with her other servants is it that spoils them all, and other company she hath none, which is too true, and called for Jane to reach her out of her trunk, giving her the keys to that purpose, a bundle of papers, and pulls out a paper, a copy of what, a pretty while since, she had wrote in a discontent to me, which I would not read, but burnt. She now read it, and it was so piquant, and wrote in English, and most of it true, of the retiredness of her life, and how unpleasant it was; that being wrote in English, and so in danger of being met with and read by others, I was vexed at it, and desired her and then commanded her to tear it. When she desired to be excused it, I forced it from her, and tore it, and withal took her other bundle of papers from her, and leapt out of the bed and in my shirt clapped them into the pocket of my breeches, that she might not get them from me, and having got on my stockings and breeches and gown, I pulled them out one by one and tore them all before her face, though it went against my heart to do it, she crying and desiring me not to do it, but such was my passion and trouble to see the letters of my love to her, and my Will wherein I had given her all I have in the world, when I went to sea with my Lord Sandwich, to be joyned with a paper of so much disgrace to me and dishonour, if it should have been found by any body. Having torn them all, saving a bond of my uncle Robert's, which she hath long had in her hands, and our marriage license, and the first letter that ever I sent her when I was her servant, [The usual word at this time for a lover. We have continued the correlative term "mistress," but rejected that of "servant."] I took up the pieces and carried them into my chamber, and there, after many disputes with myself whether I should burn them or no, and having picked up, the pieces of the paper she read to-day, and of my Will which I tore, I burnt all the rest, and so went out to my office troubled in mind. Hither comes Major Tolhurst, one of my old acquaintance in Cromwell's time, and sometimes of our clubb, to see me, and I could do no less than carry him to the Mitre, and having sent for Mr. Beane, a merchant, a neighbour of mine, we sat and talked, Tolhurst telling me the manner of their collierys in the north. We broke up, and I home to dinner. And to see my folly, as discontented as I am, when my wife came I could not forbear smiling all dinner till she began to speak bad words again, and then I began to be angry again, and so to my office. Mr. Bland came in the evening to me hither, and sat talking to me about many things of merchandise, and I should be very happy in his discourse, durst I confess my ignorance to him, which is not so fit for me to do. There coming a letter to me from Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, by my desire appointing his and Dr. Clerke's coming to dine with me next Monday, I went to my wife and agreed upon matters, and at last for my honour am forced to make her presently a new Moyre gown to be seen by Mrs. Clerke, which troubles me to part with so much money, but, however, it sets my wife and I to friends again, though I and she never were so heartily angry in our lives as to-day almost, and I doubt the heartburning will not [be] soon over, and the truth is I am sorry for the tearing of so many poor loving letters of mine from sea and elsewhere to her. So to my office again, and there the Scrivener brought me the end of the manuscript which I am going to get together of things of the Navy, which pleases me much. So home, and mighty friends with my wife again, and so to bed. 10th. Up and to the office. From thence, before we sat, Sir W. Pen sent for me to his bedside to talk (indeed to reproach me with my not owning to Sir J. Minnes that he had my advice in the blocking up of the garden door the other day, which is now by him out of fear to Sir J. Minnes opened again), to which I answered him so indifferently that I think he and I shall be at a distance, at least to one another, better than ever we did and love one another less, which for my part I think I need not care for. So to the office, and sat till noon, then rose and to dinner, and then to the office again, where Mr. Creed sat with me till late talking very good discourse, as he is full of it, though a cunning knave in his heart, at least not to be too much trusted, till Sir J. Minnes came in, which at last he did, and so beyond my expectation he was willing to sign his accounts, notwithstanding all his objections, which really were very material, and yet how like a doting coxcomb he signs the accounts without the least satisfaction, for which we both sufficiently laughed at him and Sir W. Batten after they had signed them and were gone, and so sat talking together till 11 o'clock at night, and so home and to bed. 11th (Lord's day). Lay long talking pleasant with my wife, then up and to church, the pew being quite full with strangers come along with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, so after a pitifull sermon of the young Scott, home to dinner. After dinner comes a footman of my Lord Sandwich's (my Lord being come to town last night) with a letter from my father, in which he presses me to carry on the business for Tom with his late mistress, which I am sorry to see my father do, it being so much out of our power or for his advantage, as it is clear to me it is, which I shall think of and answer in my next. So to my office all the afternoon writing orders myself to have ready against to-morrow, that I might not appear negligent to Mr. Coventry. In the evening to Sir W. Pen's, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and afterwards came Sir G. Carteret. There talked about business, and afterwards to Sir W. Batten's, where we staid talking and drinking Syder, and so I went away to my office a little, and so home and to bed. 12th. Up, and to Sir W. Batten's to bid him and Sir J. Minnes adieu, they going this day towards Portsmouth, and then to Sir W. Pen's to see Sir J. Lawson, who I heard was there, where I found him the same plain man that he was, after all his success in the Straights, with which he is come loaded home. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and with him in his coach to White Hall, and first I to see my Lord Sandwich (being come now from Hinchingbrooke), and after talking a little with him, he and I to the Duke's chamber, where Mr. Coventry and he and I into the Duke's closett and Sir J. Lawson discoursing upon business of the Navy, and particularly got his consent to the ending some difficulties in Mr. Creed's accounts. Thence to my Lord's lodgings, and with Mr. Creed to the King's Head ordinary, but people being set down, we went to two or three places; at last found some meat at a Welch cook's at Charing Cross, and here dined and our boys. After dinner to the 'Change to buy some linen for my wife, and going back met our two boys. Mine had struck down Creed's boy in the dirt, with his new suit on, and the boy taken by a gentlewoman into a house to make clean, but the poor boy was in a pitifull taking and pickle; but I basted my rogue soundly. Thence to my Lord's lodging, and Creed to his, for his papers against the Committee. I found my Lord within, and he and I went out through the garden towards the Duke's chamber, to sit upon the Tangier matters; but a lady called to my Lord out of my Lady Castlemaine's lodging, telling him that the King was there and would speak with him. My Lord could not tell what to bid me say at the Committee to excuse his absence, but that he was with the King; nor would suffer me to go into the Privy Garden (which is now a through-passage, and common), but bid me to go through some other way, which I did; so that I see he is a servant of the King's pleasures too, as well as business. So I went to the Committee, where we spent all this night attending to Sir J. Lawson's description of Tangier and the place for the Mole, [The construction of this Mole or breakwater turned out a very costly undertaking. In April, 1663, it was found that the charge for one year's work was L13,000. In March, 1665, L36,000 had been spent upon it. The wind and sea exerted a very destructive influence over this structure, although it was very strongly built, and Colonel Norwood reported in 1668 that a breach had been made in the Mole, which cost a considerable sum to repair.] of which he brought a very pretty draught. Concerning the making of the Mole, Mr. Cholmely did also discourse very well, having had some experience in it. Being broke up, I home by coach to Mr. Bland's, and there discoursed about sending away of the merchant ship which hangs so long on hand for Tangier. So to my Lady Batten's, and sat with her awhile, Sir W. Batten being gone out of town; but I did it out of design to get some oranges for my feast to-morrow of her, which I did. So home, and found my wife's new gown come home, and she mightily pleased with it. But I appeared very angry that there were no more things got ready against to-morrow's feast, and in that passion sat up long, and went discontented to bed. 13th. So my poor wife rose by five o'clock in the morning, before day, and went to market and bought fowls and many other things for dinner, with which I was highly pleased, and the chine of beef was down also before six o'clock, and my own jack, of which I was doubtfull, do carry it very well. Things being put in order, and the cook come, I went to the office, where we sat till noon and then broke up, and I home, whither by and by comes Dr. Clerke and his lady, his sister, and a she-cozen, and Mr. Pierce and his wife, which was all my guests. I had for them, after oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, and a rare chine of beef. Next a great dish of roasted fowl, cost me about 30s., and a tart, and then fruit and cheese. My dinner was noble and enough. I had my house mighty clean and neat; my room below with a good fire in it; my dining-room above, and my chamber being made a withdrawing-chamber; and my wife's a good fire also. I find my new table very proper, and will hold nine or ten people well, but eight with great room. After dinner the women to cards in my wife's chamber, and the Dr. and Mr. Pierce in mine, because the dining-room smokes unless I keep a good charcoal fire, which I was not then provided with. At night to supper, had a good sack posset and cold meat, and sent my guests away about ten o'clock at night, both them and myself highly pleased with our management of this day; and indeed their company was very fine, and Mrs. Clerke a very witty, fine lady, though a little conceited and proud. So weary, so to bed. I believe this day's feast will cost me near L5. 14th. Lay very long in bed, till with shame forced to rise, being called up by Mr. Bland about business. He being gone I went and staid upon business at the office and then home to dinner, and after dinner staid a little talking pleasant with my wife, who tells me of another woman offered by her brother that is pretty and can sing, to which I do listen but will not appear over forward, but I see I must keep somebody for company sake to my wife, for I am ashamed she should live as she do. So to the office till 10 at night upon business, and numbering and examining part of my sea-manuscript with great pleasure, my wife sitting working by me. So home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office preparing things, by and by we met and sat Mr. Coventry and I till noon, and then I took him to dine with me, I having a wild goose roasted, and a cold chine of beef and a barrel of oysters. We dined alone in my chamber, and then he and I to fit ourselves for horseback, he having brought me a horse; and so to Deptford, the ways being very dirty. There we walked up and down the Yard and Wett Dock, and did our main business, which was to examine the proof of our new way of the call-books, which we think will be of great use. And so to horse again, and I home with his horse, leaving him to go over the fields to Lambeth, his boy at my house taking home his horse. I vexed, having left my keys in my other pocket in my chamber, and my door is shut, so that I was forced to set my boy in at the window, which done I shifted myself, and so to my office till late, and then home to supper, my mind being troubled about Field's business and my uncle's, which the term coming on I must think to follow again. So to prayers and to bed, and much troubled in mind this night in my dreams about my uncle Thomas and his son going to law with us. 16th. Lay long talking in bed with my wife. Up, and Mr. Battersby, the apothecary, coming to see me, I called for the cold chine of beef and made him eat, and drink wine, and talked, there being with us Captain Brewer, the paynter, who tells me how highly the Presbyters do talk in the coffeehouses still, which I wonder at. They being gone I walked two or three hours with my brother Tom, telling him my mind how it is troubled about my father's concernments, and how things would be with them all if it should please God that I should die, and therefore desire him to be a good husband and follow his business, which I hope he do. At noon to dinner, and after dinner my wife began to talk of a woman again, which I have a mind to have, and would be glad Pall might please us, but she is quite against having her, nor have I any great mind to it, but only for her good and to save money flung away upon a stranger. So to my office till 9 o'clock about my navy manuscripts, and there troubled in my mind more and more about my uncle's business from a letter come this day from my father that tells me that all his tenants are sued by my uncle, which will cost me some new trouble, I went home to supper and so to bed. 17th. Waked early with my mind troubled about our law matters, but it came into my mind that [sayings] of Epictetus, which did put me to a great deal of ease, it being a saying of great reason. Up to the office, and there sat Mr. Coventry, Mr. Pett, new come to town, and I. I was sorry for signing a bill and guiding Mr. Coventry to sign a bill to Mr. Creed for his pay as Deputy Treasurer to this day, though the service ended 5 or 6 months ago, which he perceiving did blot out his name afterwards, but I will clear myself to him from design in it. Sat till two o'clock and then home to dinner, and Creed with me, and after dinner, to put off my mind's trouble, I took Creed by coach and to the Duke's playhouse, where we did see "The Five Hours" entertainment again, which indeed is a very fine play, though, through my being out of order, it did not seem so good as at first; but I could discern it was not any fault in the play. Thence with him to the China alehouse, and there drank a bottle or two, and so home, where I found my wife and her brother discoursing about Mr. Ashwell's daughter, whom we are like to have for my wife's woman, and I hope it may do very well, seeing there is a necessity of having one. So to the office to write letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and after the barber had done, and I had spoke with Mr. Smith (whom I sent for on purpose to speak of Field's business, who stands upon L250 before he will release us, which do trouble me highly), and also Major Allen of the Victualling Office about his ship to be hired for Tangier, I went to church, and thence home to dinner alone with my wife, very pleasant, and after dinner to church again, and heard a dull, drowsy sermon, and so home and to my office, perfecting my vows again for the next year, which I have now done, and sworn to in the presence of Almighty God to observe upon the respective penalties thereto annexed, and then to Sir W. Pen's (though much against my will, for I cannot bear him, but only to keep him from complaint to others that I do not see him) to see how he do, and find him pretty well, and ready to go abroad again. 19th. Up and to White Hall, and while the Duke is dressing himself I went to wait on my Lord Sandwich, whom I found not very well, and Dr. Clerke with him. He is feverish, and hath sent for Mr. Pierce to let him blood, but not being in the way he puts it off till night, but he stirs not abroad to-day. Then to the Duke, and in his closett discoursed as we use to do, and then broke up. That done, I singled out Mr. Coventry into the Matted Gallery, and there I told him the complaints I meet every day about our Treasurer's or his people's paying no money, but at the goldsmith's shops, where they are forced to pay fifteen or twenty sometimes per cent. for their money, which is a most horrid shame, and that which must not be suffered. Nor is it likely that the Treasurer (at least his people) will suffer Maynell the Goldsmith to go away with L10,000 per annum, as he do now get, by making people pay after this manner for their money. We were interrupted by the Duke, who called Mr. Coventry aside for half an hour, walking with him in the gallery, and then in the garden, and then going away I ended my discourse with Mr. Coventry. But by the way Mr. Coventry was saying that there remained nothing now in our office to be amended but what would do of itself every day better and better, for as much as he that was slowest, Sir W. Batten, do now begin to look about him and to mind business. At which, God forgive me! I was a little moved with envy, but yet I am glad, and ought to be, though it do lessen a little my care to see that the King's service is like to be better attended than it was heretofore. Thence by coach to Mr. Povy's, being invited thither by [him] came a messenger this morning from him, where really he made a most excellent and large dinner, of their variety, even to admiration, he bidding us, in a frolique, to call for what we had a mind, and he would undertake to give it us: and we did for prawns, swan, venison, after I had thought the dinner was quite done, and he did immediately produce it, which I thought great plenty, and he seems to set off his rest in this plenty and the neatness of his house, which he after dinner showed me, from room to room, so beset with delicate pictures, and above all, a piece of perspective in his closett in the low parler; his stable, where was some most delicate horses, and the very-racks painted, and mangers, with a neat leaden painted cistern, and the walls done with Dutch tiles, like my chimnies. But still, above all things, he bid me go down into his wine-cellar, where upon several shelves there stood bottles of all sorts of wine, new and old, with labells pasted upon each bottle, and in the order and plenty as I never saw books in a bookseller's shop; and herein, I observe, he puts his highest content, and will accordingly commend all that he hath, but still they deserve to be so. Here dined with me Dr. Whore and Mr. Scawen. Therewith him and Mr. Bland, whom we met by the way, to my Lord Chancellor's, where the King was to meet my Lord Treasurer, &c., many great men, to settle the revenue of Tangier. I staid talking awhile there, but the King not coming I walked to my brother's, where I met my cozen Scotts (Tom not being at home) and sent for a glass of wine for them, and having drunk we parted, and I to the Wardrobe talking with Mr. Moore about my law businesses, which I doubt will go ill for want of time for me to attend them. So home, where I found Mrs. Lodum speaking with my wife about her kinswoman which is offered my wife to come as a woman to her. So to the office and put things in order, and then home and to bed, it being my great comfort that every day I understand more and more the pleasure of following of business and the credit that a man gets by it, which I hope at last too will end in profit. This day, by Dr. Clerke, I was told the occasion of my Lord Chesterfield's going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond's daughter) from Court. It seems he not only hath been long jealous of the Duke of York, but did find them two talking together, though there were others in the room, and the lady by all opinions a most good, virtuous woman. He, the next day (of which the Duke was warned by somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chesterfield was in the night before), went and told the Duke how much he did apprehend himself wronged, in his picking out his lady of the whole Court to be the subject of his dishonour; which the Duke did answer with great calmness, not seeming to understand the reason of complaint, and that was all that passed but my Lord did presently pack his lady into the country in Derbyshire, near the Peake; which is become a proverb at Court, to send a man's wife to the Devil's arse a' Peake, when she vexes him. This noon I did find out Mr. Dixon at Whitehall, and discoursed with him about Mrs. Wheatly's daughter for a wife for my brother Tom, and have committed it to him to enquire the pleasure of her father and mother concerning it. I demanded L300. 20th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning. Dined at home, and Mr. Deane of Woolwich with me, talking about the abuses of the yard. Then to the office about business all the afternoon with great pleasure, seeing myself observed by every body to be the only man of business of us all, but Mr. Coventry. So till late at night, and then home to supper and bed. 21st. Up early leaving my wife very ill in bed . . . and to my office till eight o'clock, there coming Ch. Pepys [Charles Pepys was second son of Thomas Pepys, elder brother of Samuel's father. Samuel paid part of the legacy to Charles and his elder brother Thomas on May 25th, 1664.] to demand his legacy of me, which I denied him upon good reason of his father and brother's suing us, and so he went away. Then came Commissioner Pett, and he and I by agreement went to Deptford, and after a turn or two in the yard, to Greenwich, and thence walked to Woolwich. Here we did business, and I on board the Tangier-merchant, a ship freighted by us, that has long lain on hand in her despatch to Tangier, but is now ready for sailing. Back, and dined at Mr. Ackworth's, where a pretty dinner, and she a pretty, modest woman; but above all things we saw her Rocke, which is one of the finest things done by a woman that ever I saw. I must have my wife to see it. After dinner on board the Elias, and found the timber brought by her from the forest of Deane to be exceeding good. The Captain gave each of us two barrels of pickled oysters put up for the Queen mother. So to the Dock again, and took in Mrs. Ackworth and another gentlewoman, and carried them to London, and at the Globe tavern, in Eastcheap, did give them a glass of wine, and so parted. I home, where I found my wife ill in bed all day, and her face swelled with pain. My Will has received my last two quarters salary, of which I am glad. So to my office till late and then home, and after the barber had done, to bed. 22nd. To the office, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes are come from Portsmouth. We sat till dinner time. Then home, and Mr. Dixon by agreement came to dine, to give me an account of his success with Mr. Wheatly for his daughter for my brother; and in short it is, that his daughter cannot fancy my brother because of his imperfection in his speech, which I am sorry for, but there the business must die, and we must look out for another. There came in also Mrs. Lodum, with an answer from her brother Ashwell's daughter, who is likely to come to me, and with her my wife's brother, and I carried Commissioner Pett in with me, so I feared want of victuals, but I had a good dinner, and mirth, and so rose and broke up, and with the rest of the officers to Mr. Russell's buriall, where we had wine and rings, and a great and good company of aldermen and the livery of the Skinners' Company. We went to St. Dunstan's in the East church, where a sermon, but I staid not, but went home, and, after writing letters, I took coach to Mr. Povy's, but he not within I left a letter there of Tangier business, and so to my Lord's, and there find him not sick, but expecting his fit to-night of an ague. Here was Sir W. Compton, Mr. Povy, Mr. Bland, Mr. Gawden and myself; we were very busy about getting provisions sent forthwith to Tangier, fearing that by Mr. Gawden's neglect they might want bread. So among other ways thought of to supply them I was empowered by the Commissioners of Tangier that were present to write to Plymouth and direct Mr. Lanyon to take up vessels great or small to the quantity of 150 tons, and fill them with bread of Mr. Gawden's lying ready there for Tangier, which they undertake to bear me out in, and to see the freight paid. This I did. About 10 o'clock we broke up, and my Lord's fit was coming upon him, and so we parted, and I with Mr. Creed, Mr. Pierce, Win. Howe and Captn. Ferrers, who was got almost drunk this afternoon, and was mighty capricious and ready to fall out with any body, supped together in the little chamber that was mine heretofore upon some fowls sent by Mr. Shepley, so we were very merry till 12 at night, and so away, and I lay with Mr. Creed at his lodgings, and slept well. 23rd. Up and hastened him in despatching some business relating to Tangier, and I away homewards, hearing that my Lord had a bad fit to-night, called at my brother's, and found him sick in bed, of a pain in the sole of one of his feet, without swelling, knowing not how it came, but it will not suffer him to stand these two days. So to Mr. Moore, and Mr. Lovell, our proctor, being there, discoursed of my law business. Thence to Mr. Grant, to bid him come for money for Mr. Barlow, and he and I to a coffee-house, where Sir J. Cutler was; [Citizen and grocer of London; most severely handled by Pope. Two statues were erected to his memory--one in the College of Physicians, and the other in the Grocers' Hall. They were erected and one removed (that in the College of Physicians) before Pope stigmatized "sage Cutler." Pope says that Sir John Cutler had an only daughter; in fact, he had two: one married to Lord Radnor; the other, mentioned afterwards by Pepys, the wife of Sir William Portman.--B.] and in discourse, among other things, he did fully make it out that the trade of England is as great as ever it was, only in more hands; and that of all trades there is a greater number than ever there was, by reason of men taking more 'prentices, because of their having more money than heretofore. His discourse was well worth hearing. Coming by Temple Bar I bought "Audley's Way to be Rich," a serious pamphlett and some good things worth my minding. Thence homewards, and meeting Sir W. Batten, turned back again to a coffee-house, and there drunk more till I was almost sick, and here much discourse, but little to be learned, but of a design in the north of a rising, which is discovered, among some men of condition, and they sent for up. Thence to the 'Change, and so home with him by coach, and I to see how my wife do, who is pretty well again, and so to dinner to Sir W. Batten's to a cod's head, and so to my office, and after stopping to see Sir W. Pen, where was Sir J. Lawson and his lady and daughter, which is pretty enough, I came back to my office, and there set to business pretty late, finishing the margenting my Navy-Manuscript. So home and to bed. 24th. Lay pretty long, and by lying with my sheet upon my lip, as I have of old observed it, my upper lip was blistered in the morning. To the office all the morning, sat till noon, then to the Exchange to look out for a ship for Tangier, and delivered my manuscript to be bound at the stationer's. So to dinner at home, and then down to Redriffe, to see a ship hired for Tangier, what readiness she was in, and found her ready to sail. Then home, and so by coach to Mr. Povy's, where Sir W. Compton, Mr. Bland, Gawden, Sir J. Lawson and myself met to settle the victualling of Tangier for the time past, which with much ado we did, and for a six months' supply more. So home in Mr. Gawden's coach, and to my office till late about business, and find that it is business that must and do every day bring me to something.--[In earlier days Pepys noted for us each few pounds or shillings of graft which he annexed at each transaction in his office.]--So home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). Lay till 9 a-bed, then up, and being trimmed by the barber, I walked towards White Hall, calling upon Mr. Moore, whom I found still very ill of his ague. I discoursed with him about my Lord's estate against I speak with my Lord this day. Thence to the King's Head ordinary at Charing Cross, and sent for Mr. Creed, where we dined very finely and good company, good discourse. I understand the King of France is upon consulting his divines upon the old question, what the power of the Pope is? and do intend to make war against him, unless he do right him for the wrong his Embassador received; [On the 20th of August, the Duc de Crequi, then French ambassador at Rome, was insulted by the Corsican armed police, a force whose ignoble duty it was to assist the Sbirri; and the pope, Alexander VII., at first refused reparation for the affront offered to the French. Louis, as in the case of D'Estrades, took prompt measures. He ordered the papal nuncio forthwith to quit France; he seized upon Avignon, and his army prepared to enter Italy. Alexander found it necessary to submit. In fulfilment of a treaty signed at Pisa in 1664, Cardinal Chigi, the pope's nephew, came to Paris, to tender the pope's apology to Louis. The guilty individuals were punished; the Corsicans banished for ever from the Roman States; and in front of the guard-house which they had occupied a pyramid was erected, bearing an inscription which embodied the pope's apology. This pyramid Louis permitted Clement IX. to destroy on his accession.-B.] and banish the Cardinall Imperiall, [Lorenzo Imperiali, of Genoa. He had been appointed Governor of Rome by Innocent X., and he had acted in that capacity at the time of the tumult.--B.] which I understand this day is not meant the Cardinall belonging or chosen by the Emperor, but the name of his family is Imperiali. Thence to walk in the Park, which we did two hours, it being a pleasant sunshine day though cold. Our discourse upon the rise of most men that we know, and observing them to be the results of chance, not policy, in any of them, particularly Sir J. Lawson's, from his declaring against Charles Stuart in the river of Thames, and for the Rump. Thence to my Lord, who had his ague fit last night, but is now pretty well, and I staid talking with him an hour alone in his chamber, about sundry publique and private matters. Among others, he wonders what the project should be of the Duke's going down to Portsmouth just now with his Lady, at this time of the year: it being no way, we think, to increase his popularity, which is not great; nor yet safe to do it, for that reason, if it would have any such effect. By and by comes in my Lady Wright, and so I went away, end after talking with Captn. Ferrers, who tells me of my Lady Castlemaine's and Sir Charles Barkeley being the great favourites at Court, and growing every day more and more; and that upon a late dispute between my Lord Chesterfield, that is the Queen's Lord Chamberlain, and Mr. Edward Montagu, her Master of the Horse, who should have the precedence in taking the Queen's upperhand abroad out of the house, which Mr. Montagu challenges, it was given to my Lord Chesterfield. So that I perceive he goes down the wind in honour as well as every thing else, every day. So walk to my brother's and talked with him, who tells me that this day a messenger is come, that tells us how Collonel Honiwood, who was well yesterday at Canterbury, was flung by his horse in getting up, and broke his scull, and so is dead. So home and to the office, despatching some business, and so home to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. 26th. Up and by water with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, drinking a glass of wormewood wine at the Stillyard, and so up to the Duke, and with the rest of the officers did our common service; thence to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was in bed, and had a bad fit last night, and so I went to, Westminster Hall, it being Term time, it troubling me to think that I should have any business there to trouble myself and thoughts with. Here I met with Monsieur Raby, who is lately come from France. [He] tells me that my Lord Hinchingbroke and his brother do little improve there, and are much neglected in their habits and other things; but I do believe he hath a mind to go over as their tutour, and so I am not apt to believe what he says therein. But I had a great deal of very good discourse with him, concerning the difference between the French and the Pope, and the occasion, which he told me very particularly, and to my great content; and of most of the chief affairs of France, which I did enquire: and that the King is a most excellent Prince, doing all business himself; and that it is true he hath a mistress, Mademoiselle La Valiere, one of the Princess Henriette's women, that he courts for his pleasure every other day, but not so as to make him neglect his publique affairs. He tells me how the King do carry himself nobly to the relations of the dead Cardinall,--[Cardinal Mazarin died March 9th, 1661.]--and will not suffer one pasquill to come forth against him; and that he acts by what directions he received from him before his death. Having discoursed long with him, I took him by coach and set him down at my Lord Crew's, and myself went and dined at Mr. Povy's, where Orlando Massam, Mr. Wilks, a Wardrobe man, myself and Mr. Gawden, and had just such another dinner as I had the other day there. But above all things I do the most admire his piece of perspective especially, he opening me the closett door, and there I saw that there is nothing but only a plain picture hung upon the wall. After dinner Mr. Gauden and I to settle the business of the Tangier victualling, which I perceive none of them yet have hitherto understood but myself. Thence by coach to White Hall, and met upon the Tangier Commission, our greatest business the discoursing of getting things ready for my Lord Rutherford to go about the middle of March next, and a proposal of Sir J. Lawson's and Mr. Cholmely's concerning undertaking the Mole, which is referred to another time. So by coach home, being melancholy, overcharged with business, and methinks I fear that I have some ill offices done to Mr. Coventry, or else he observes that of late I have not despatched business so as I did use to do, which I confess I do acknowledge. But it may be it is but my fear only, he is not so fond as he used to be of me. But I do believe that Sir W. Batten has made him believe that I do too much crow upon having his kindness, and so he may on purpose to countenance him seem a little more strange to me, but I will study hard to bring him back again to the same degree of kindness. So home, and after a little talk with my wife, to the office, and did a great deal of business there till very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up and to the office, where sat till two o'clock, and then home to dinner, whither by and by comes Mr. Creed, and he and I talked of our Tangier business, and do find that there is nothing in the world done with true integrity, but there is design along with it, as in my Lord Rutherford, who designs to have the profit of victualling of the garrison himself, and others to have the benefit of making the Mole, so that I am almost discouraged from coming any more to the Committee, were it not that it will possibly hereafter bring me to some acquaintance of great men. Then to the office again, where very busy till past ten at night, and so home to supper and to bed. I have news this day from Cambridge that my brother hath had his bachelor's cap put on; but that which troubles me is, that he hath the pain of the stone, and makes bloody water with great pain, it beginning just as mine did. I pray God help him. 28th. Up and all the morning at my office doing business, and at home seeing my painters' work measured. So to dinner and abroad with my wife, carrying her to Unthank's, where she alights, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, whom I find missing his ague fit to-day, and is pretty well, playing at dice (and by this I see how time and example may alter a man; he being now acquainted with all sorts of pleasures and vanities, which heretofore he never thought of nor loved, nor, it may be, hath allowed) with Ned Pickering and his page Laud. Thence to the Temple to my cozen Roger Pepys, and thence to Serjt. Bernard to advise with him and retain him against my uncle, my heart and head being very heavy with the business. Thence to Wotton's, the shoemaker, and there bought another pair of new boots, for the other I bought my last would not fit me, and here I drank with him and his wife, a pretty woman, they broaching a vessel of syder a-purpose for me. So home, and there found my wife come home, and seeming to cry; for bringing home in a coach her new ferrandin [Ferrandin, which was sometimes spelt farendon, was a stuff made of silk mixed with some other material, like what is now called poplin. Both mohair and farendon are generally cheap materials; for in the case of Manby v. Scott, decided in the Exchequer Chamber in 1663, and reported in the first volume of "Modern Reports," the question being as to the liability of a husband to pay for goods supplied against his consent to his wife, who had separated from him, Mr. Justice Hyde (whose judgment is most amusing) observes, in putting various supposed cases, that "The wife will have a velvet gown and a satin petticoat, and the husband thinks a mohair or farendon for a gown, and watered tabby for a petticoat, is as fashionable, and fitter for her quality."--B.] waistecoate, in Cheapside, a man asked her whether that was the way to the Tower; and while she was answering him, another, on the other side, snatched away her bundle out of her lap, and could not be recovered, but ran away with it, which vexes me cruelly, but it cannot be helped. So to my office, and there till almost 12 at night with Mr. Lewes, learning to understand the manner of a purser's account, which is very hard and little understood by my fellow officers, and yet mighty necessary. So at last with great content broke up and home to supper and bed. 29th. Lay chiding, and then pleased with my wife in bed, and did consent to her having a new waistcoate made her for that which she lost yesterday. So to the office, and sat all the morning. At noon dined with Mr. Coventry at Sir J. Minnes his lodgings, the first time that ever I did yet, and am sorry for doing it now, because of obliging me to do the like to him again. Here dined old Captn. Marsh of the Tower with us. So to visit Sir W. Pen, and then to the office, and there late upon business by myself, my wife being sick to-day. So home and to supper and to bed. 30th. A solemn fast for the King's murther, and we were forced to keep it more than we would have done, having forgot to take any victuals into the house. I to church in the forenoon, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon upon David's heart smiting him for cutting off the garment of Saul. [Samuel, chap. xxiv. v. 5, "And it came to pass afterward, that David's heart smote him, because he bad cut off Saul's skirt."] Home, and whiled away some of the afternoon at home talking with my wife. So to my office, and all alone making up my month's accounts, which to my great trouble I find that I am got no further than L640. But I have had great expenses this month. I pray God the next may be a little better, as I hope it will. In the evening my manuscript is brought home handsomely bound, to my full content; and now I think I have a better collection in reference to the Navy, and shall have by the time I have filled it, than any of my predecessors. So home and eat something such as we have, bread and butter and milk, and so to bed. 31st. Up and to my office, and there we sat till noon. I home to dinner, and there found my plate of the Soverayne with the table to it come from Mr. Christopher Pett, of which I am very glad. So to dinner late, and not very good, only a rabbit not half roasted, which made me angry with my wife. So to the office, and there till late, busy all the while. In the evening examining my wife's letter intended to my Lady, and another to Mademoiselle; they were so false spelt that I was ashamed of them, and took occasion to fall out about them with my wife, and so she wrote none, at which, however, I was, sorry, because it was in answer to a letter of Madam about business. Late home to supper and to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1662-1663 February 1st (Lord's day). Up and to church, where Mr. Mills, a good sermon, and so home and had a good dinner with my wife, with which I was pleased to see it neatly done, and this troubled me to think of parting with Jane, that is come to be a very good cook. After dinner walked to my Lord Sandwich, and staid with him in the chamber talking almost all the afternoon, he being not yet got abroad since his sickness. Many discourses we had; but, among others, how Sir R. Bernard is turned out of his Recordership of Huntingdon by the Commissioners for Regulation, &c., at which I am troubled, because he, thinking it is done by my Lord Sandwich, will act some of his revenge, it is likely, upon me in my business, so that I must cast about me to get some other counsel to rely upon. In the evening came Mr. Povey and others to see my Lord, and they gone, my Lord and I and Povey fell to the business of Tangier, as to the victualling, and so broke up, and I, it being a fine frost, my boy lighting me I walked home, and after supper up to prayers, and then alone with my wife and Jane did fall to tell her what I did expect would become of her since, after so long being my servant, she had carried herself so as to make us be willing to put her away, and desired God to bless [her], but bid her never to let me hear what became of her, for that I could never pardon ingratitude. So I to bed, my mind much troubled for the poor girl that she leaves us, and yet she not submitting herself, for some words she spoke boldly and yet I believe innocently and out of familiarity to her mistress about us weeks ago, I could not recall my words that she should stay with me. This day Creed and I walking in White Hall garden did see the King coming privately from my Lady Castlemaine's; which is a poor thing for a Prince to do; and I expressed my sense of it to Creed in terms which I should not have done, but that I believe he is trusty in that point. 2nd. Up, and after paying Jane her wages, I went away, because I could hardly forbear weeping, and she cried, saying it was not her fault that she went away, and indeed it is hard to say what it is, but only her not desiring to stay that she do now go. By coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to the Duke; and after discourse as usual with him in his closett, I went to my Lord's: the King and Duke being gone to chappell, it being collar-day, it being Candlemas-day; where I staid with him a while until towards noon, there being Jonas Moore talking about some mathematical businesses, and thence I walked at noon to Mr. Povey's, where Mr. Gawden met me, and after a neat and plenteous dinner as is usual, we fell to our victualling business, till Mr. Gawden and I did almost fall out, he defending himself in the readiness of his provision, when I know that the ships everywhere stay for them. Thence Mr. Povey and I walked to White Hall, it being a great frost still, and after a turn in the Park seeing them slide, we met at the Committee for Tangier, a good full Committee, and agreed how to proceed in the dispatching of my Lord Rutherford, and treating about this business of Mr. Cholmely and Sir J. Lawson's proposal for the Mole. Thence with Mr. Coventry down to his chamber, where among other discourse he did tell me how he did make it not only his desire, but as his greatest pleasure, to make himself an interest by doing business truly and justly, though he thwarts others greater than himself, not striving to make himself friends by addresses; and by this he thinks and observes he do live as contentedly (now he finds himself secured from fear of want), and, take one time with another, as void of fear or cares, or more, than they that (as his own termes were) have quicker pleasures and sharper agonies than he. Thence walking with Mr. Creed homewards we turned into a house and drank a cup of Cock ale and so parted, and I to the Temple, where at my cozen Roger's chamber I met Madam Turner, and after a little stay led her home and there left her, she and her daughter having been at the play to-day at the Temple, it being a revelling time with them. [The revels were held in the Inner Temple Hall. The last revel in any of the Inns of Court was held in the Inner Temple in 1733.] Thence called at my brother's, who is at church, at the buriall of young Cumberland, a lusty young man. So home and there found Jane gone, for which my wife and I are very much troubled, and myself could hardly forbear shedding tears for fear the poor wench should come to any ill condition after her being so long with me. So to my office and setting papers to rights, and then home to supper and to bed. This day at my Lord's I sent for Mr. Ashwell, and his wife came to me, and by discourse I perceive their daughter is very fit for my turn if my family may be as much for hers, but I doubt it will be to her loss to come to me for so small wages, but that will be considered of. 3rd. To the office all the morning, at noon to dinner, where Mr. Creed dined with me, and Mr. Ashwell, with whom after dinner I discoursed concerning his daughter coming to live with us. I find that his daughter will be very fit, I think, as any for our turn, but the conditions I know not what they will be, he leaving it wholly to her, which will be agreed on a while hence when my wife sees her. After an hour's discourse after dinner with them, I to my office again, and there about business of the office till late, and then home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up early and to Mr. Moore, and thence to Mr. Lovell about my law business, and from him to Paul's School, it being Apposition-day there. I heard some of their speeches, and they were just as schoolboys' used to be, of the seven liberal sciences; but I think not so good as ours were in our time. Away thence and to Bow Church, to the Court of Arches, where a judge sits, and his proctors about him in their habits, and their pleadings all in Latin. Here I was sworn to give a true answer to my uncle's libells, and so paid my fee for swearing, and back again to Paul's School, and went up to see the head forms posed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but I think they did not answer in any so well as we did, only in geography they did pretty well: Dr. Wilkins and Outram were examiners. So down to the school, where Dr. Crumlum did me much honour by telling many what a present I had made to the school, shewing my Stephanus, in four volumes, cost me L4 10s. He also shewed us, upon my desire, an old edition of the grammar of Colett's, where his epistle to the children is very pretty; and in rehearsing the creed it is said "borne of the cleane Virgin Mary." Thence with Mr. Elborough (he being all of my old acquaintance that I could meet with here) to a cook's shop to dinner, but I found him a fool, as he ever was, or worse. Thence to my cozen Roger Pepys and Mr. Phillips about my law businesses, which stand very bad, and so home to the office, where after doing some business I went home, where I found our new mayde Mary, that is come in Jane's place. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, and found it so well done, above what I did expect from my mayde Susan, now Jane is gone, that I did call her in and give her sixpence. Thence walked to the Temple, and there at my cozen Roger Pepys's chamber met by appointment with my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas, and there I shewing them a true state of my uncle's estate as he has left it with the debts, &c., lying upon it, we did come to some quiett talk and fair offers against an agreement on both sides, though I do offer quite to the losing of the profit of the whole estate for 8 or 10 years together, yet if we can gain peace, and set my mind at a little liberty, I shall be glad of it. I did give them a copy of this state, and we are to meet tomorrow with their answer. So walked home, it being a very great frost still, and to my office, there late writing letters of office business, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up and to my office about business, examining people what they could swear against Field, and the whole is, that he has called us cheating rogues and cheating knaves, for which we hope to be even with him. Thence to Lincoln's Inn Fields; and it being too soon to go to dinner, I walked up and down, and looked upon the outside of the new theatre, now a-building in Covent Garden, which will be very fine. And so to a bookseller's in the Strand, and there bought Hudibras again, it being certainly some ill humour to be so against that which all the world cries up to be the example of wit; for which I am resolved once again to read him, and see whether I can find it or no. So to Mr. Povy's, and there found them at dinner, and dined there, there being, among others, Mr. Williamson, Latin Secretary, who, I perceive, is a pretty knowing man and a scholler, but, it may be, thinks himself to be too much so. Thence, after dinner, to the Temple, to my cozen Roger Pepys, where met us my uncle Thomas and his son; and, after many high demands, we at last came to a kind of agreement upon very hard terms, which are to be prepared in writing against Tuesday next. But by the way promising them to pay my cozen Mary's' legacys at the time of her marriage, they afterwards told me that she was already married, and married very well, so that I must be forced to pay it in some time. My cozen Roger was so sensible of our coming to agreement that he could not forbear weeping, and, indeed, though it is very hard, yet I am glad to my heart that we are like to end our trouble. So we parted for to-night, and I to my Lord Sandwich and there staid, there being a Committee to sit upon the contract for the Mole, which I dare say none of us that were there understood, but yet they agreed of things as Mr. Cholmely and Sir J. Lawson demanded, who are the undertakers, and so I left them to go on to agree, for I understood it not. So home, and being called by a coachman who had a fare in him, he carried me beyond the Old Exchange, and there set down his fare, who would not pay him what was his due, because he carried a stranger with him, and so after wrangling he was fain to be content with 6d., and being vexed the coachman would not carry me home a great while, but set me down there for the other 6d., but with fair words he was willing to it, and so I came home and to my office, setting business in order, and so to supper and to bed, my mind being in disorder as to the greatness of this day's business that I have done, but yet glad that my trouble therein is like to be over. 7th. Up and to my office, whither by agreement Mr. Coventry came before the time of sitting to confer about preparing an account of the extraordinary charge of the Navy since the King's coming, more than is properly to be applied and called the Navy charge. So by and by we sat, and so till noon. Then home to dinner, and in the afternoon some of us met again upon something relating to the victualling, and thence to my writing of letters late, and making my Alphabet to my new Navy book very pretty. And so after writing to my father by the post about the endeavour to come to a composition with my uncle, though a very bad one, desiring him to be contented therewith, I went home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and it being a very great frost, I walked to White Hall, and to my Lord Sandwich's by the fireside till chapel time, and so to chappell, where there preached little Dr. Duport, of Cambridge, upon Josiah's words,--"But I and my house, we will serve the Lord." But though a great scholler, he made the most flat dead sermon, both for matter and manner of delivery, that ever I heard, and very long beyond his hour, which made it worse. Thence with Mr. Creed to the King's Head ordinary, where we dined well, and after dinner Sir Thomas Willis and another stranger, and Creed and I, fell a-talking; they of the errours and corruption of the Navy, and great expence thereof, not knowing who I was, which at last I did undertake to confute, and disabuse them: and they took it very well, and I hope it was to good purpose, they being Parliament-men. By and by to my Lord's, and with him a good while talking upon his want of money, and ways of his borrowing some, &c., and then by other visitants, I withdrew and away, Creed and I and Captn. Ferrers to the Park, and there walked finely, seeing people slide, we talking all the while; and Captn. Ferrers telling me, among other Court passages, how about a month ago, at a ball at Court, a child was dropped by one of the ladies in dancing, but nobody knew who, it being taken up by somebody in their handkercher. The next morning all the Ladies of Honour appeared early at Court for their vindication, so that nobody could tell whose this mischance should be. But it seems Mrs. Wells [Winifred Wells, maid of honour to the Queen, who figures in the "Grammont Memoirs." The king is supposed to have been father of the child. A similar adventure is told of Mary Kirke (afterwards married to Sir Thomas Vernon), who figures in the "Grammont Memoirs" as Miss Warmestre.] fell sick that afternoon, and hath disappeared ever since, so that it is concluded that it was her. Another story was how my Lady Castlemaine, a few days since, had Mrs. Stuart to an entertainment, and at night began a frolique that they two must be married, and married they were, with ring and all other ceremonies of church service, and ribbands and a sack posset in bed, and flinging the stocking; but in the close, it is said that my Lady Castlemaine, who was the bridegroom, rose, and the King came and took her place with pretty Mrs. Stuart. This is said to be very true. Another story was how Captain Ferrers and W. Howe both have often, through my Lady Castlemaine's window, seen her go to bed and Sir Charles Barkeley in the chamber all the while with her. But the other day Captn. Ferrers going to Sir Charles to excuse his not being so timely at his arms the other day, Sir Charles swearing and cursing told him before a great many other gentlemen that he would not suffer any man of the King's Guards to be absent from his lodging a night without leave. Not but that, says he, once a week or so I know a gentleman must go . . ., and I am not for denying it to any man, but however he shall be bound to ask leave to lie abroad, and to give account of his absence, that we may know what guard the King has to depend upon. The little Duke of Monmouth, it seems, is ordered to take place of all Dukes, and so to follow Prince Rupert now, before the Duke of Buckingham, or any else. Whether the wind and the cold did cause it or no I know not, but having been this day or two mightily troubled with an itching all over my body' which I took to be a louse or two that might bite me, I found this afternoon that all my body is inflamed, and my face in a sad redness and swelling and pimpled, so that I was before we had done walking not only sick but ashamed of myself to see myself so changed in my countenance, so that after we had thus talked we parted and I walked home with much ado (Captn. Ferrers with me as far as Ludgate Hill towards Mr. Moore at the Wardrobe), the ways being so full of ice and water by peoples' trampling. At last got home and to bed presently, and had a very bad night of it, in great pain in my stomach, and in great fever. 9th. Could not rise and go to the Duke, as I should have done with the rest, but keep my bed and by the Apothecary's advice, Mr. Battersby, I am to sweat soundly, and that will carry all this matter away which nature would of itself eject, but they will assist nature, it being some disorder given the blood, but by what I know not, unless it be by my late quantitys of Dantzic-girkins that I have eaten. In the evening came Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to see me, and Sir J. Minnes advises me to the same thing, but would not have me take anything from the apothecary, but from him, his Venice treacle being better than the others, which I did consent to and did anon take and fell into a great sweat, and about 10 or 11 o'clock came out of it and shifted myself, and slept pretty well alone, my wife lying in the red chamber above. 10th. In the morning most of my disease, that is, itching and pimples, were gone. In the morning visited by Mr. Coventry and others, and very glad I am to see that I am so much inquired after and my sickness taken notice of as I did. I keep my bed all day and sweat again at night, by which I expect to be very well to-morrow. This evening Sir W. Warren came himself to the door and left a letter and box for me, and went his way. His letter mentions his giving me and my wife a pair of gloves; but, opening the box, we found a pair of plain white gloves for my hand, and a fair state dish of silver, and cup, with my arms, ready cut upon them, worth, I believe, about L18, which is a very noble present, and the best I ever had yet. So after some contentful talk with my wife, she to bed and I to rest. 11th. Took a clyster in the morning and rose in the afternoon. My wife and I dined on a pullet and I eat heartily, having eat nothing since Sunday but water gruel and posset drink, but must needs say that our new maid Mary has played her part very well in her readiness and discretion in attending me, of which I am very glad. In the afternoon several people came to see me, my uncle Thomas, Mr. Creed, Sir J. Minnes (who has been, God knows to what end, mighty kind to me and careful of me in my sickness). At night my wife read Sir H. Vane's tryall to me, which she began last night, and I find it a very excellent thing, worth reading, and him to have been a very wise man. So to supper and to bed. 12th. Up and find myself pretty well, and so to the office, and there all the morning. Rose at noon and home to dinner in my green chamber, having a good fire. Thither there came my wife's brother and brought Mary Ashwell with him, whom we find a very likely person to please us, both for person, discourse, and other qualitys. She dined with us, and after dinner went away again, being agreed to come to us about three weeks or a month hence. My wife and I well pleased with our choice, only I pray God I may be able to maintain it. Then came an old man from Mr. Povy, to give me some advice about his experience in the stone, which I [am] beholden to him for, and was well pleased with it, his chief remedy being Castle soap in a posset. Then in the evening to the office, late writing letters and my Journall since Saturday, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th. Lay very long with my wife in bed talking with great pleasure, and then rose. This morning Mr. Cole, our timber merchant, sent me five couple of ducks. Our maid Susan is very ill, and so the whole trouble of the house lies upon our maid Mary, who do it very contentedly and mighty well, but I am sorry she is forced to it. Dined upon one couple of ducks to-day, and after dinner my wife and I by coach to Tom's, and I to the Temple to discourse with my cozen Roger Pepys about my law business, and so back again, it being a monstrous thaw after the long great frost, so that there is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that. Took my wife home, and I to my office. Find myself pretty well but fearful of cold, and so to my office, where late upon business; Mr. Bland sitting with me, talking of my Lord Windsor's being come home from Jamaica, unlooked-for; which makes us think that these young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad, though it is said that he could not have his health there, but hath razed a fort of the King of Spain upon Cuba, which is considerable, or said to be so, for his honour. So home to supper and to bed. This day I bought the second part of Dr. Bates's Elenchus, which reaches to the fall of Richard, and no further, for which I am sorry. This evening my wife had a great mind to choose Valentines against to-morrow, I Mrs. Clerke, or Pierce, she Mr. Hunt or Captain Ferrers, but I would not because of getting charge both to me for mine and to them for her, which did not please her. 14th. Up and to my office, where we met and sate all the morning, only Mr. Coventry, which I think is the first or second time he has missed since he came to the office, was forced to be absent. So home to dinner, my wife and I upon a couple of ducks, and then by coach to the Temple, where my uncle Thomas, and his sons both, and I, did meet at my cozen Roger's and there sign and seal to an agreement. Wherein I was displeased at nothing but my cozen Roger's insisting upon my being obliged to settle upon them as the will do all my uncle's estate that he has left, without power of selling any for the payment of debts, but I would not yield to it without leave of selling, my Lord Sandwich himself and my cozen Thos. Pepys being judges of the necessity thereof, which was done. One thing more that troubles me was my being forced to promise to give half of what personal estate could be found more than L372, which I reported to them, which though I do not know it to be less than what we really have found, yet he would have been glad to have been at liberty for that, but at last I did agree to it under my own handwriting on the backside of the report I did make and did give them of the estate, and have taken a copy of it upon the backside of one that I have. All being done I took the father and his son Thos. home by coach, and did pay them L30, the arrears of the father's annuity, and with great seeming love parted, and I presently to bed, my head akeing mightily with the hot dispute I did hold with my cozen Roger and them in the business. 15th (Lord's day). This morning my wife did wake me being frighted with the noise I made in my sleep, being a dream that one of our sea maisters did desire to see the St. John's Isle of my drawing, which methought I showed him, but methought he did handle it so hard that it put me to very horrid pain . . . . Which what a strange extravagant dream it was. So to sleep again and lay long in bed, and then trimmed by the barber, and so sending Will to church, myself staid at home, hanging up in my green chamber my picture of the Soveraigne, and putting some things in order there. So to dinner, to three more ducks and two teals, my wife and I. Then to Church, where a dull sermon, and so home, and after walking about the house awhile discoursing with my wife, I to my office there to set down something and to prepare businesses for tomorrow, having in the morning read over my vows, which through sicknesse I could not do the last Lord's day, and not through forgetfulness or negligence, so that I hope it is no breach of my vow not to pay my forfeiture. So home, and after prayers to bed, talking long with my wife and teaching her things in astronomy. 16th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and, after we had done our usual business with the Duke, to my Lord Sandwich and by his desire to Sir W. Wheeler, who was brought down in a sedan chair from his chamber, being lame of the gout, to borrow L1000 of him for my Lord's occasions, but he gave me a very kind denial that he could not, but if any body else would, he would be bond with my Lord for it. So to Westminster Hall, and there find great expectation what the Parliament will do, when they come two days hence to sit again, in matters of religion. The great question is, whether the Presbyters will be contented to have the Papists have the same liberty of conscience with them, or no, or rather be denied it themselves: and the Papists, I hear, are very busy designing how to make the Presbyters consent to take their liberty, and to let them have the same with them, which some are apt to think they will. It seems a priest was taken in his vests officiating somewhere in Holborn the other day, and was committed by Secretary Morris, according to law; and they say the Bishop of London did give him thanks for it. Thence to my Lord Crew's and dined there, there being much company, and the above-said matter is now the present publique discourse. Thence about several businesses to Mr. Phillips my attorney, to stop all proceedings at law, and so to the Temple, where at the Solicitor General's I found Mr. Cholmely and Creed reading to him the agreement for him to put into form about the contract for the Mole at Tangier, which is done at 13s. the Cubical yard, though upon my conscience not one of the Committee, besides the parties concerned, do understand what they do therein, whether they give too much or too little. Thence with Mr. Creed to see Mr. Moore, who continues sick still, within doors, and here I staid a good while after him talking of all the things either business or no that came into my mind, and so home and to see Sir W. Pen, and sat and played at cards with him, his daughter, and Mrs. Rooth, and so to my office a while, and then home and to bed. 17th. Up and to my office, and there we sat all the morning, and at noon my wife being gone to Chelsey with her brother and sister and Mrs. Lodum, to see the wassell at the school, where Mary Ashwell is, I took home Mr. Pett and he dined with me all alone, and much discourse we had upon the business of the office, and so after dinner broke up and with much ado, it raining hard, which it has not done a great while now, but only frost a great while, I got a coach and so to the Temple, where discoursed with Mr. W. Montagu about borrowing some money for my Lord, and so by water (where I have not been a good while through cold) to Westminster to Sir W. Wheeler's, whom I found busy at his own house with the Commissioners of Sewers, but I spoke to him about my Lord's business of borrowing money, and so to my Lord of Sandwich, to give him an account of all, whom I found at cards with Pickering; but he made an end soon: and so all alone, he and I, after I had given him an account, he told me he had a great secret to tell me, such as no flesh knew but himself, nor ought; which was this: that yesterday morning Eschar, Mr. Edward Montagu's man, did come to him from his master with some of the Clerks of the Exchequer, for my Lord to sign to their books for the Embassy money; which my Lord very civilly desired not to do till he had spoke with his master himself. In the afternoon, my Lord and my Lady Wright being at cards in his chamber, in comes Mr. Montagu; and desiring to speak with my Lord at the window in his chamber, he begun to charge my Lord with the greatest ingratitude in the world: that he that had received his earldom, garter, L4000 per annum, and whatever he is in the world, from him, should now study him all the dishonour that he could; and so fell to tell my Lord, that if he should speak all that he knew of him, he could do so and so. In a word, he did rip up all that could be said that was unworthy, and in the basest terms they could be spoken in. To which my Lord answered with great temper, justifying himself, but endeavouring to lessen his heat, which was a strange temper in him, knowing that he did owe all he hath in the world to my Lord, and that he is now all that he is by his means and favour. But my Lord did forbear to increase the quarrel, knowing that it would be to no good purpose for the world to see a difference in the family; but did allay him so as that he fell to weeping. And after much talk (among other things Mr. Montagu telling him that there was a fellow in the town, naming me, that had done ill offices, and that if he knew it to be so, he would have him cudgelled) my Lord did promise him that, if upon account he saw that there was not many tradesmen unpaid, he would sign the books; but if there was, he could not bear with taking too great a debt upon him. So this day he sent him an account, and a letter assuring him there was not above L200 unpaid; and so my Lord did sign to the Exchequer books. Upon the whole, I understand fully what a rogue he is, and how my Lord do think and will think of him for the future; telling me that thus he has served his father my Lord Manchester, and his whole family, and now himself: and which is worst, that he hath abused, and in speeches every day do abuse, my Lord Chancellor, whose favour he hath lost; and hath no friend but Sir H. Bennet, and that (I knowing the rise of the friendship) only from the likeness of their pleasures, and acquaintance, and concernments, they have in the same matters of lust and baseness; for which, God forgive them! But he do flatter himself, from promises of Sir H. Bennet, that he shall have a pension of L2000 per annum, and be made an Earl. My Lord told me he expected a challenge from him, but told me there was no great fear of him, for there was no man lies under such an imputation as he do in the business of Mr. Cholmely, who, though a simple sorry fellow, do brave him and struts before him with the Queen, to the sport and observation of the whole Court. He did keep my Lord at the window, thus reviling and braving him above an hour, my Lady Wright being by; but my Lord tells me she could not hear every word, but did well know what their discourse was; she could hear enough to know that. So that he commands me to keep it as the greatest secret in the world, and bids me beware of speaking words against Mr. Montagu, for fear I should suffer by his passion thereby. After he had told me this I took coach and home, where I found my wife come home and in bed with her sister in law in the chamber with her, she not being able to stay to see the wassel, being so ill . . ., which I was sorry for. Hither we sent for her sister's viall, upon which she plays pretty well for a girl, but my expectation is much deceived in her, not only for that, but in her spirit, she being I perceive a very subtle witty jade, and one that will give her husband trouble enough as little as she is, whereas I took her heretofore for a very child and a simple fool. I played also, which I have not done this long time before upon any instrument, and at last broke up and I to my office a little while, being fearful of being too much taken with musique, for fear of returning to my old dotage thereon, and so neglect my business as I used to do. Then home and to bed. Coming home I brought Mr. Pickering as far as the Temple, who tells me the story is very true of a child being dropped at the ball at Court; and that the King had it in his closett a week after, and did dissect it; and making great sport of it, said that in his opinion it must have been a month and three hours old; and that, whatever others think, he hath the greatest loss (it being a boy, as he says), that hath lost a subject by the business. He tells me, too, that the other story, of my Lady Castlemaine's and Stuart's marriage, is certain, and that it was in order to the King's coming to Stuart, as is believed generally. He tells me that Sir H. Bennet is a Catholique, and how all the Court almost is changed to the worse since his coming in, they being afeard of him. And that the Queen-Mother's Court is now the greatest of all; and that our own Queen hath little or no company come to her, which I know also to be very true, and am sorry to see it. 18th. Up, leaving my wife sick as last night in bed. I to my office all the morning, casting up with Captain Cocke their accounts of 500 tons of hemp brought from Riga, and bought by him and partners upon account, wherein are many things worth my knowledge. So at noon to dinner, taking Mr. Hater with me because of losing them, and in the afternoon he and I alone at the office, finishing our account of the extra charge of the Navy, not properly belonging to the Navy, since the King's coming in to Christmas last; and all extra things being abated, I find that the true charge of the Navy to that time hath been after the rate of L374,743 a-year. I made an end by eleven o'clock at night, and so home to bed almost weary. This day the Parliament met again, after their long prorogation; but I know not any thing what they have done, being within doors all day. 19th. Up and to my office, where abundance of business all the morning. Dined by my wife's bedside, she not being yet well. We fell out almost upon my discourse of delaying the having of Ashwell, where my wife believing that I have a mind to have Pall, which I have not, though I could wish she did deserve to be had. So to my office, where by and by we sat, this afternoon being the first we have met upon a great while, our times being changed because of the parliament sitting. Being rose, I to my office till twelve at night, drawing out copies of the overcharge of the Navy, one to send to Mr. Coventry early to-morrow. So home and to bed, being weary, sleepy, and my eyes begin to fail me, looking so long by candlelight upon white paper. This day I read the King's speech to the Parliament yesterday; which is very short, and not very obliging; but only telling them his desire to have a power of indulging tender consciences, not that he will yield to have any mixture in the uniformity of the Church's discipline; and says the same for the Papists, but declares against their ever being admitted to have any offices or places of trust in the kingdom; but, God knows, too many have. 20th. Up and by water with Commissioner Pett to Deptford, and there looked over the yard, and had a call, wherein I am very highly pleased with our new manner of call-books, being my invention. Thence thinking to have gone down to Woolwich in the Charles pleasure boat, but she run aground, it being almost low water, and so by oars to the town, and there dined, and then to the yard at Mr. Ackworth's, discoursing with the officers of the yard about their stores of masts, which was our chief business, and having done something therein, took boat and to the pleasure boat, which was come down to fetch us back, and I could have been sick if I would in going, the wind being very fresh, but very pleasant it was, and the first time I have sailed in any one of them. It carried us to Cuckold's Point, and so by oars to the Temple, it raining hard, where missed speaking with my cosen Roger, and so walked home and to my office; there spent the night till bed time, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes (most of the rest being at the Parliament-house), all the morning answering petitions and other business. Towards noon there comes a man in as if upon ordinary business, and shows me a writ from the Exchequer, called a Commission of Rebellion, and tells me that I am his prisoner in Field's business; which methought did strike me to the heart, to think that we could not sit in the middle of the King's business. I told him how and where we were employed, and bid him have a care; and perceiving that we were busy, he said he would, and did withdraw for an hour: in which time Sir J. Minnes took coach and to Court, to see what he could do from thence; and our solicitor against Field came by chance and told me that he would go and satisfy the fees of the Court, and would end the business. So he went away about that, and I staid in my closett, till by and by the man and four more of his fellows came to know what I would do; I told them stay till I heard from the King or my Lord Chief Baron, to both whom I had now sent. With that they consulted, and told me that if I would promise to stay in the house they would go and refresh themselves, and come again, and know what answer I had: so they away, and I home to dinner, whither by chance comes Mr. Hawley and dined with me. Before I had dined, the bayleys come back again with the constable, and at the office knock for me, but found me not there; and I hearing in what manner they were come, did forbear letting them know where I was; so they stood knocking and enquiring for me. By and by at my parler-window comes Sir W. Batten's Mungo, to tell me that his master and lady would have me come to their house through Sir J. Minnes's lodgings, which I could not do; but, however, by ladders, did get over the pale between our yards, and so to their house, where I found them (as they have reason) to be much concerned for me, my lady especially. The fellows staid in the yard swearing with one or two constables, and some time we locked them into the yard, and by and by let them out again, and so kept them all the afternoon, not letting them see me, or know where I was. One time I went up to the top of Sir W. Batten's house, and out of one of their windows spoke to my wife out of one of ours; which methought, though I did it in mirth, yet I was sad to think what a sad thing it would be for me to be really in that condition. By and by comes Sir J. Minnes, who (like himself and all that he do) tells us that he can do no good, but that my Lord Chancellor wonders that we did not cause the seamen to fall about their ears: which we wished we could have done without our being seen in it; and Captain Grove being there, he did give them some affront, and would have got some seamen to have drubbed them, but he had not time, nor did we think it fit to have done it, they having executed their commission; but there was occasion given that he did draw upon one of them and he did complain that Grove had pricked him in the breast, but no hurt done; but I see that Grove would have done our business to them if we had bid him. By and by comes Mr. Clerke, our solicitor, who brings us a release from our adverse atturney, we paying the fees of the commission, which comes to five marks, and pay the charges of these fellows, which are called the commissioners, but are the most rake-shamed rogues that ever I saw in my life; so he showed them this release, and they seemed satisfied, and went away with him to their atturney to be paid by him. But before they went, Sir W. Batten and my lady did begin to taunt them, but the rogues answered them as high as themselves, and swore they would come again, and called me rogue and rebel, and they would bring the sheriff and untile his house, before he should harbour a rebel in his house, and that they would be here again shortly. Well, at last they went away, and I by advice took occasion to go abroad, and walked through the street to show myself among the neighbours, that they might not think worse than the business is. Being met by Captn. Taylor and Bowry, whose ship we have hired for Tangier, they walked along with me to Cornhill talking about their business, and after some difference about their prices we agreed, and so they would have me to a tavern, and there I drank one glass of wine and discoursed of something about freight of a ship that may bring me a little money, and so broke up, and I home to Sir W. Batten's again, where Sir J. Lawson, Captain Allen, Spragg, and several others, and all our discourse about the disgrace done to our office to be liable to this trouble, which we must get removed. Hither comes Mr. Clerke by and by, and tells me that he hath paid the fees of the Court for the commission; but the men are not contented with under; L5 for their charges, which he will not give them, and therefore advises me not to stir abroad till Monday that he comes or sends to me again, whereby I shall not be able to go to White Hall to the Duke of York, as I ought. Here I staid vexing, and yet pleased to see every body, man and woman, my Lady and Mr. Turner especially, for me, till 10 at night; and so home, where my people are mightily surprized to see this business, but it troubles me not very much, it being nothing touching my particular person or estate. Being in talk to-day with Sir W. Batten he tells me that little is done yet in the Parliament-house, but only this day it was moved and ordered that all the members of the House do subscribe to the renouncing of the Covenant, which is thought will try some of them. There is also a bill brought in for the wearing of nothing but cloth or stuffs of our own manufacture, and is likely to be passed. Among other talk this evening, my lady did speak concerning Commissioner Pett's calling the present King bastard, and other high words heretofore; and Sir W. Batten did tell us, that he did give the Duke or Mr. Coventry an account of that and other like matters in writing under oath, of which I was ashamed, and for which I was sorry, but I see there is an absolute hatred never to be altered there, and Sir J. Minnes, the old coxcomb, has got it by the end, which troubles me for the sake of the King's service, though I do truly hate the expressions laid to him. To my office and set down this day's journall, and so home with my mind out of order, though not very sad with it, but ashamed for myself something, and for the honour of the office much more. So home and to bed. 22d (Lord's day). Lay long in bed and went not out all day; but after dinner to Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's, where discoursing much of yesterday's trouble and scandal; but that which troubled me most was Sir J. Minnes coming from Court at night, and instead of bringing great comfort from thence (but I expected no better from him), he tells me that the Duke and Mr. Coventry make no great matter of it. So at night discontented to prayers, and to bed. 23d. Up by times; and not daring to go by land, did (Griffin going along with me for fear), slip to White Hall by water; where to Mr. Coventry, and, as we used to do, to the Duke; the other of my fellows being come. But we said nothing of our business, the Duke being sent for to the King, that he could not stay to speak with us. This morning came my Lord Windsor to kiss the Duke's hand, being returned from Jamaica. He tells the Duke, that from such a degree of latitude going thither he begun to be sick, and was never well till his coming so far back again, and then presently begun to be well. He told the Duke of their taking the fort of St. Jago, upon Cuba, by his men; but, upon the whole, I believe that he did matters like a young lord, and was weary of being upon service out of his own country, where he might have pleasure. For methought it was a shame to see him this very afternoon, being the first day of his coming to town, to be at a playhouse. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who though he has been abroad again two or three days is falling ill again, and is let blood this morning, though I hope it is only a great cold that he has got. It was a great trouble to me (and I had great apprehensions of it) that my Lord desired me to go to Westminster Hall, to the Parliament-house door, about business; and to Sir Wm. Wheeler, which I told him I would do, but durst not go for fear of being taken by these rogues; but was forced to go to White Hall and take boat, and so land below the Tower at the Iron-gate; and so the back way over Little Tower Hill; and with my cloak over my face, took one of the watermen along with me, and staid behind a wall in the New-buildings behind our garden, while he went to see whether any body stood within the Merchants' Gate, under which we pass to go into our garden, and there standing but a little dirty boy before the gate, did make me quake and sweat to think he might be a Trepan. But there was nobody, and so I got safe into the garden, and coming to open my office door, something behind it fell in the opening, which made me start. So that God knows in what a sad condition I should be in if I were truly in the condition that many a poor man is for debt: and therefore ought to bless God that I have no such reall reason, and to endeavour to keep myself, by my good deportment and good husbandry, out of any such condition. At home I found Mr. Creed with my wife, and so he dined with us, I finding by a note that Mr. Clerke in my absence hath left here, that I am free; and that he hath stopped all matters in Court; I was very glad of it, and immediately had a light thought of taking pleasure to rejoice my heart, and so resolved to take my wife to a play at Court to-night, and the rather because it is my birthday, being this day thirty years old, for which let me praise God. While my wife dressed herself, Creed and I walked out to see what play was acted to-day, and we find it "The Slighted Mayde." But, Lord! to see that though I did know myself to be out of danger, yet I durst not go through the street, but round by the garden into Tower Street. By and by took coach, and to the Duke's house, where we saw it well acted, though the play hath little good in it, being most pleased to see the little girl dance in boy's apparel, she having very fine legs, only bends in the hams, as I perceive all women do. The play being done, we took coach and to Court, and there got good places, and saw "The Wilde Gallant," performed by the King's house, but it was ill acted, and the play so poor a thing as I never saw in my life almost, and so little answering the name, that from beginning to end, I could not, nor can at this time, tell certainly which was the Wild Gallant. The King did not seem pleased at all, all the whole play, nor any body else, though Mr. Clerke whom we met here did commend it to us. My Lady Castlemaine was all worth seeing tonight, and little Steward.--[Mrs. Stuart]--Mrs. Wells do appear at Court again, and looks well; so that, it may be, the late report of laying the dropped child to her was not true. It being done, we got a coach and got well home about 12 at night. Now as my mind was but very ill satisfied with these two plays themselves, so was I in the midst of them sad to think of the spending so much money and venturing upon the breach of my vow, which I found myself sorry for, I bless God, though my nature would well be contented to follow the pleasure still. But I did make payment of my forfeiture presently, though I hope to save it back again by forbearing two plays at Court for this one at the Theatre, or else to forbear that to the Theatre which I am to have at Easter. But it being my birthday and my day of liberty regained to me, and lastly, the last play that is likely to be acted at Court before Easter, because of the Lent coming in, I was the easier content to fling away so much money. So to bed. This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine hath all the King's Christmas presents, made him by the peers, given to her, which is a most abominable thing; and that at the great ball she was much richer in jewells than the Queen and Duchess put both together. 24th. Slept hard till 8 o'clock, then waked by Mr. Clerke's being come to consult me about Field's business, which we did by calling him up to my bedside, and he says we shall trounce him. Then up, and to the office, and at 11 o'clock by water to Westminster, and to Sir W. Wheeler's about my Lord's borrowing of money that I was lately upon with him, and then to my Lord, who continues ill, but will do well I doubt not. Among other things, he tells me that he hears the Commons will not agree to the King's late declaration, nor will yield that the Papists have any ground given them to raise themselves up again in England, which I perceive by my Lord was expected at Court. Thence home again by water presently, and with a bad dinner, being not looked for, to the office, and there we sat, and then Captn. Cocke and I upon his hemp accounts till 9 at night, and then, I not very well, home to supper and to bed. My late distemper of heat and itching being come upon me again, so that I must think of sweating again as I did before. 25th. Up and to my office, where with Captain Cocke making an end of his last night's accounts till noon, and so home to dinner, my wife being come in from laying out about L4 in provision of several things against Lent. In the afternoon to the Temple, my brother's, the Wardrobe, to Mr. Moore, and other places, called at about small businesses, and so at night home to my office and then to supper and to bed. The Commons in Parliament, I hear, are very high to stand to the Act of Uniformity, and will not indulge the Papists (which is endeavoured by the Court Party) nor the Presbyters. 26th. Up and drinking a draft of wormewood wine with Sir W. Batten at the Steelyard, he and I by water to the Parliament-house: he went in, and I walked up and down the Hall. All the news is the great odds yesterday in the votes between them that are for the Indulgence to the Papists and Presbyters, and those that are against it, which did carry it by 200 against 30. And pretty it is to consider how the King would appear to be a stiff Protestant and son of the, Church; and yet would appear willing to give a liberty to these people, because of his promise at Breda. And yet all the world do believe that the King would not have this liberty given them at all. Thence to my Lord's, who, I hear, has his ague again, for which I am sorry, and Creed and I to the King's Head ordinary, where much good company. Among the rest a young gallant lately come from France, who was full of his French, but methought not very good, but he had enough to make him think himself a wise man a great while. Thence by water from the New Exchange home to the Tower, and so sat at the office, and then writing letters till 11 at night. Troubled this evening that my wife is not come home from Chelsey, whither she is gone to see the play at the school where Ashwell is, but she came at last, it seems, by water, and tells me she is much pleased with Ashwell's acting and carriage, which I am glad of. So home and to supper and bed. 27th. Up and to my office, whither several persons came to me about office business. About 11 o'clock, Commissioner Pett and I walked to Chyrurgeon's Hall (we being all invited thither, and promised to dine there); where we were led into the Theatre; and by and by comes the reader, Dr. Tearne, with the Master and Company, in a very handsome manner: and all being settled, he begun his lecture, this being the second upon the kidneys, ureters, &c., which was very fine; and his discourse being ended, we walked into the Hall, and there being great store of company, we had a fine dinner and good learned company, many Doctors of Phisique, and we used with extraordinary great respect. Among other observables we drank the King's health out of a gilt cup given by King Henry VIII. to this Company, with bells hanging at it, which every man is to ring by shaking after he hath drunk up the whole cup. There is also a very excellent piece of the King, done by Holbein, stands up in the Hall, with the officers of the Company kneeling to him to receive their Charter. After dinner Dr. Scarborough took some of his friends, and I went along with them, to see the body alone, which we did, which was a lusty fellow, a seaman, that was hanged for a robbery. I did touch the dead body with my bare hand: it felt cold, but methought it was a very unpleasant sight. It seems one Dillon, of a great family, was, after much endeavours to have saved him, hanged with a silken halter this Sessions (of his own preparing), not for honour only, but it seems, it being soft and sleek, it do slip close and kills, that is, strangles presently: whereas, a stiff one do not come so close together, and so the party may live the longer before killed. But all the Doctors at table conclude, that there is no pain at all in hanging, for that it do stop the circulation of the blood; and so stops all sense and motion in an instant. Thence we went into a private room, where I perceive they prepare the bodies, and there were the kidneys, ureters [&c.], upon which he read to-day, and Dr. Scarborough upon my desire and the company's did show very clearly the manner of the disease of the stone and the cutting and all other questions that I could think of . . . how the water [comes] into the bladder through the three skins or coats just as poor Dr. Jolly has heretofore told me. Thence with great satisfaction to me back to the Company, where I heard good discourse, and so to the afternoon Lecture upon the heart and lungs, &c., and that being done we broke up, took leave, and back to the office, we two, Sir W. Batten, who dined here also, being gone before. Here late, and to Sir W. Batten's to speak upon some business, where I found Sir J. Minnes pretty well fuddled I thought: he took me aside to tell me how being at my Lord Chancellor's to-day, my Lord told him that there was a Great Seal passing for Sir W. Pen, through the impossibility of the Comptroller's duty to be performed by one man; to be as it were joynt-comptroller with him, at which he is stark mad; and swears he will give up his place, and do rail at Sir W. Pen the cruellest; he I made shift to encourage as much as I could, but it pleased me heartily to hear him rail against him, so that I do see thoroughly that they are not like to be great friends, for he cries out against him for his house and yard and God knows what. For my part, I do hope, when all is done, that my following my business will keep me secure against all their envys. But to see how the old man do strut, and swear that he understands all his duty as easily as crack a nut, and easier, he told my Lord Chancellor, for his teeth are gone; and that he understands it as well as any man in England; and that he will never leave to record that he should be said to be unable to do his duty alone; though, God knows, he cannot do it more than a child. All this I am glad to see fall out between them and myself safe, and yet I hope the King's service well done for all this, for I would not that should be hindered by any of our private differences. So to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 28th. Waked with great pain in my right ear (which I find myself much subject to) having taken cold. Up and to my office, where we sat all the morning, and I dined with Sir W. Batten by chance, being in business together about a bargain of New England masts. Then to the Temple to meet my uncle Thomas, who I found there, but my cozen Roger not being come home I took boat and to Westminster, where I found him in Parliament this afternoon. The House have this noon been with the King to give him their reasons for refusing to grant any indulgence to Presbyters or Papists; which he, with great content and seeming pleasure, took, saying, that he doubted not but he and they should agree in all things, though there may seem a difference in judgement, he having writ and declared for an indulgence: and that he did believe never prince was happier in a House of Commons, than he was in them. Thence he and I to my Lord Sandwich, who continues troubled with his cold. Our discourse most upon the outing of Sir R. Bernard, and my Lord's being made Recorder of Huntingdon in his stead, which he seems well contented with, saying, that it may be for his convenience to have the chief officer of the town dependent upon him, which is very true. Thence he and I to the Temple, but my uncle being gone we parted, and I walked home, and to my office, and at nine o'clock had a good supper of an oxe's cheek, of my wife's dressing and baking, and so to my office again till past eleven at night, making up my month's account, and find that I am at a stay with what I was last, that is L640. So home and to bed. Coming by, I put in at White Hall, and at the Privy Seal I did see the docquet by which Sir W. Pen is made the Comptroller's assistant, as Sir J. Minnes told me last night, which I must endeavour to prevent. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: After oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb At last we pretty good friends Before I sent my boy out with them, I beat him for a lie Dr. Calamy is this day sent to Newgate for preaching Eat a mouthful of pye at home to stay my stomach Familiarity with her other servants is it that spoils them all Feverish, and hath sent for Mr. Pierce to let him blood Found him a fool, as he ever was, or worse Goes down the wind in honour as well as every thing else Had a good supper of an oxe's cheek Hanged with a silken halter How highly the Presbyters do talk in the coffeehouses still I and she never were so heartily angry in our lives as to-day Ill humour to be so against that which all the world cries up Lady Castlemaine hath all the King's Christmas presents Lay chiding, and then pleased with my wife in bed Lay very long with my wife in bed talking with great pleasure Liability of a husband to pay for goods supplied his wife Many thousands in a little time go out of England Money, which sweetens all things Most flat dead sermon, both for matter and manner of delivery Much discourse, but little to be learned Nor will yield that the Papists have any ground given them Nothing in the world done with true integrity Once a week or so I know a gentleman must go . . . . Pain of the stone, and makes bloody water with great pain Rabbit not half roasted, which made me angry with my wife Scholler, but, it may be, thinks himself to be too much so See how time and example may alter a man Servant of the King's pleasures too, as well as business So home, and mighty friends with my wife again So neat and kind one to another Sorry for doing it now, because of obliging me to do the like Talk very highly of liberty of conscience The house was full of citizens, and so the less pleasant There is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that These young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad They were so false spelt that I was ashamed of them Vexed at my wife's neglect in leaving of her scarf Wine, new and old, with labells pasted upon each bottle With much ado in an hour getting a coach home Yet it was her fault not to see that I did take them 
4140	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH & APRIL 1662-1663 March 1st (Lord's day). Up and walked to White Hall, to the Chappell, where preached one Dr. Lewes, said heretofore to have been a great witt; but he read his sermon every word, and that so brokenly and so low, that nobody could hear at any distance, nor I anything worth hearing that sat near. But, which was strange, he forgot to make any prayer before sermon, which all wonder at, but they impute it to his forgetfulness. After sermon a very fine anthem; so I up into the house among the courtiers, seeing the fine ladies, and, above all, my Lady Castlemaine, who is above all, that only she I can observe for true beauty. The King and Queen being set to dinner I went to Mr. Fox's, and there dined with him. Much genteel company, and, among other things, I hear for certain that peace is concluded between the King of France and the Pope; and also I heard the reasons given by our Parliament yesterday to the King why they dissent from him in matter of Indulgence, which are very good quite through, and which I was glad to hear. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who continues with a great cold, locked up; and, being alone, we fell into discourse of my uncle the Captain's death and estate, and I took the opportunity of telling my Lord how matters stand, and read his will, and told him all, what a poor estate he hath left, at all which he wonders strangely, which he may well do. Thence after singing some new tunes with W. Howe I walked home, whither came Will. Joyce, whom I have not seen here a great while, nor desire it a great while again, he is so impertinent a coxcomb, and yet good natured, and mightily concerned for my brother's late folly in his late wooing at the charge to no purpose, nor could in any probability a it. He gone, we all to bed, without prayers, it being washing day to-morrow. 2nd. Up early and by water with Commissioner Pett to Deptford, and there took the Jemmy yacht (that the King and the Lords virtuosos built the other day) down to Woolwich, where we discoursed of several matters both there and at the Ropeyard, and so to the yacht again, and went down four or five miles with extraordinary pleasure, it being a fine day, and a brave gale of wind, and had some oysters brought us aboard newly taken, which were excellent, and ate with great pleasure. There also coming into the river two Dutchmen, we sent a couple of men on board and bought three Hollands cheeses, cost 4d. a piece, excellent cheeses, whereof I had two and Commissioner Pett one. So back again to Woolwich, and going aboard the Hulke to see the manner of the iron bridles, which we are making of for to save cordage to put to the chain, I did fall from the shipside into the ship (Kent), and had like to have broke my left hand, but I only sprained some of my fingers, which, when I came ashore I sent to Mrs. Ackworth for some balsam, and put to my hand, and was pretty well within a little while after. We dined at the White Hart with several officers with us, and after dinner went and saw the Royal James brought down to the stern of the Docke (the main business we came for), and then to the Ropeyard, and saw a trial between Riga hemp and a sort of Indian grass, which is pretty strong, but no comparison between it and the other for strength, and it is doubtful whether it will take tarre or no. So to the yacht again, and carried us almost to London, so by our oars home to the office, and thence Mr. Pett and I to Mr. Grant's coffee-house, whither he and Sir J. Cutler came to us and had much discourse, mixed discourse, and so broke up, and so home where I found my poor wife all alone at work, and the house foul, it being washing day, which troubled me, because that tomorrow I must be forced to have friends at dinner. So to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Shrove Tuesday). Up and walked to the Temple, and by promise calling Commissioner Pett, he and I to White Hall to give Mr. Coventry an account of what we did yesterday. Thence I to the Privy Seal Office, and there got a copy of Sir W. Pen's grant to be assistant to Sir J. Minnes, Comptroller, which, though there be not much in it, yet I intend to stir up Sir J. Minnes to oppose, only to vex Sir W. Pen. Thence by water home, and at noon, by promise, Mrs. Turner and her daughter, and Mrs. Morrice, came along with Roger Pepys to dinner. We were as merry as I could be, having but a bad dinner for them; but so much the better, because of the dinner which I must have at the end of this month. And here Mrs. The. shewed me my name upon her breast as her Valentine, which will cost me 20s. After dinner I took them down into the wine-cellar, and broached my tierce of claret for them. Towards the evening we parted, and I to the office awhile, and then home to supper and to bed, the sooner having taken some cold yesterday upon the water, which brings me my usual pain. This afternoon Roger Pepys tells me, that for certain the King is for all this very highly incensed at the Parliament's late opposing the Indulgence; which I am sorry for, and fear it will breed great discontent. 4th. Lay long talking with my wife about ordering things in our family, and then rose and to my office, there collecting an alphabet for my Navy Manuscript, which, after a short dinner, I returned to and by night perfected to my great content. So to other business till 9 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Rose this morning early, only to try with intention to begin my last summer's course in rising betimes. So to my office a little, and then to Westminster by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, in our way talking of Sir W. Pen's business of his patent, which I think I have put a stop to wholly, for Sir J. Minnes swears he will never consent to it. Here to the Lobby, and spoke with my cozen Roger, who is going to Cambridge to-morrow. In the Hall I do hear that the Catholiques are in great hopes for all this, and do set hard upon the King to get Indulgence. Matters, I hear, are all naught in Ireland, and that the Parliament has voted, and the people, that is, the Papists, do cry out against the Commissioners sent by the King; so that they say the English interest will be lost there. Thence I went to see my Lord Sandwich, who I found very ill, and by his cold being several nights hindered from sleep, he is hardly able to open his eyes, and is very weak and sad upon it, which troubled me much. So after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I found there, about his folly for looking and troubling me and other friends in getting him a place (that is, storekeeper of the Navy at Tangier) before there is any such thing, I returned to the Hall, and thence back with the two knights home again by coach, where I found Mr. Moore got abroad, and dined with me, which I was glad to see, he having not been able to go abroad a great while. Then came in Mr. Hawley and dined with us, and after dinner I left them, and to the office, where we sat late, and I do find that I shall meet with nothing to oppose my growing great in the office but Sir W. Pen, who is now well again, and comes into the office very brisk, and, I think, to get up his time that he has been out of the way by being mighty diligent at the office, which, I pray God, he may be, but I hope by mine to weary him out, for I am resolved to fall to business as hard as I can drive, God giving me health. At my office late, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up betimes, and about eight o'clock by coach with four horses, with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, to Woolwich, a pleasant day. There at the yard we consulted and ordered several matters, and thence to the rope yard and did the like, and so into Mr. Falconer's, where we had some fish, which we brought with us, dressed; and there dined with us his new wife, which had been his mayde, but seems to be a genteel woman, well enough bred and discreet. Thence after dinner back to Deptford, where we did as before, and so home, good discourse in our way, Sir J. Minnes being good company, though a simple man enough as to the business of his office, but we did discourse at large again about Sir W. Pen's patent to be his assistant, and I perceive he is resolved never to let it pass. To my office, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, where Major Holmes was lately come from the Streights, but do tell me strange stories of the faults of Cooper his master, put in by me, which I do not believe, but am sorry to hear and must take some course to have him removed, though I believe that the Captain is proud, and the fellow is not supple enough to him. So to my office again to set down my Journall, and so home and to bed. This evening my boy Waynman's brother was with me, and I did tell him again that I must part with the boy, for I will not keep him. He desires my keeping him a little longer till he can provide for him, which I am willing for a while to do. This day it seems the House of Commons have been very high against the Papists, being incensed by the stir which they make for their having an Indulgence; which, without doubt, is a great folly in them to be so hot upon at this time, when they see how averse already the House have showed themselves from it. This evening Mr. Povy was with me at my office, and tells me that my Lord Sandwich is this day so ill that he is much afeard of him, which puts me to great pain, not more for my own sake than for his poor family's. 7th. Up betimes, and to the office, where some of us sat all the morning. At noon Sir W. Pen began to talk with me like a counterfeit rogue very kindly about his house and getting bills signed for all our works, but he is a cheating fellow, and so I let him talk and answered nothing. So we parted. I to dinner, and there met The. Turner, who is come on foot in a frolique to beg me to get a place at sea for John, their man, which is a rogue; but, however, it may be, the sea may do him good in reclaiming him, and therefore I will see what I can do. She dined with me; and after dinner I took coach, and carried her home; in our way, in Cheapside, lighting and giving her a dozen pair of white gloves as my Valentine. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who is gone to Sir W. Wheeler's for his more quiet being, where he slept well last night, and I took him very merry, playing at cards, and much company with him. So I left him, and Creed and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a good while. He told me how for some words of my Lady Gerard's [Jane, wife of Lord Gerard (see ante, January 1st, 1662-63). The king had previously put a slight upon Lady Gerard, probably at the instigation of Lady Castlemaine, as the two ladies were not friends. On the 4th of January of this same year Lady Gerard had given a supper to the king and queen, when the king withdrew from the party and proceeded to the house of Lady Castlemaine, and remained there throughout the evening (see Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," 1871, p. 47).] against my Lady Castlemaine to the Queen, the King did the other day affront her in going out to dance with her at a ball, when she desired it as the ladies do, and is since forbid attending the Queen by the King; which is much talked of, my Lord her husband being a great favourite. Thence by water home and to my office, wrote by the post and so home to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Being sent to by Sir J. Minnes to know whether I would go with him to White Hall to-day, I rose but could not get ready before he was gone, but however I walked thither and heard Dr. King, Bishop of Chichester, make a good and eloquent sermon upon these words, "They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy." Thence (the chappell in Lent being hung with black, and no anthem sung after sermon, as at other times), to my Lord Sandwich at Sir W. Wheeler's. I found him out of order, thinking himself to be in a fit of an ague, but in the afternoon he was very cheery. I dined with Sir William, where a good but short dinner, not better than one of mine commonly of a Sunday. After dinner up to my Lord, there being Mr. Kumball. My Lord, among other discourse, did tell us of his great difficultys passed in the business of the Sound, and of his receiving letters from the King there, but his sending them by Whetstone was a great folly; and the story how my Lord being at dinner with Sydney, one of his fellow plenipotentiarys and his mortal enemy, did see Whetstone, and put off his hat three times to him, but the fellow would not be known, which my Lord imputed to his coxcombly humour (of which he was full), and bid Sydney take notice of him too, when at the very time he had letters in his pocket from the King, as it proved afterwards. And Sydney afterwards did find it out at Copenhagen, the Dutch Commissioners telling him how my Lord Sandwich had hired one of their ships to carry back Whetstone to Lubeck, he being come from Flanders from the King. But I cannot but remember my Lord's aequanimity in all these affairs with admiration. Thence walked home, in my way meeting Mr. Moore, with whom I took a turn or two in the street among the drapers in Paul's Churchyard, talking of business, and so home to bed. 9th. Up betimes, to my office, where all the morning. About noon Sir J. Robinson, Lord Mayor, desiring way through the garden from the Tower, called in at the office and there invited me (and Sir W. Pen, who happened to be in the way) to dinner, which we did; and there had a great Lent dinner of fish, little flesh. And thence he and I in his coach, against my will (for I am resolved to shun too great fellowship with him) to White Hall, but came too late, the Duke having been with our fellow officers before we came, for which I was sorry. Thence he and I to walk one turn in the Park, and so home by coach, and I to my office, where late, and so home to supper and bed. There dined with us to-day Mr. Slingsby, of the Mint, who showed us all the new pieces both gold and silver (examples of them all), that are made for the King, by Blondeau's' way; and compared them with those made for Oliver. The pictures of the latter made by Symons, and of the King by one Rotyr, a German, I think, that dined with us also. He extolls those of Rotyr's above the others; and, indeed, I think they are the better, because the sweeter of the two; but, upon my word, those of the Protector are more like in my mind, than the King's, but both very well worth seeing. The crowns of Cromwell are now sold, it seems, for 25s. and 30s. apiece. 10th. Up and to my office all the morning, and great pleasure it is to be doing my business betimes. About noon Sir J. Minnes came to me and staid half an hour with me in my office talking about his business with Sir W. Pen, and (though with me an old doter) yet he told me freely how sensible he is of Sir W. Pen's treachery in this business, and what poor ways he has taken all along to ingratiate himself by making Mr. Turner write out things for him and then he gives them to the Duke, and how he directed him to give Mr. Coventry L100 for his place, but that Mr. Coventry did give him L20 back again. All this I am pleased to hear that his knavery is found out. Dined upon a poor Lenten dinner at home, my wife being vexed at a fray this morning with my Lady Batten about my boy's going thither to turn the watercock with their maydes' leave, but my Lady was mighty high upon it and she would teach his mistress better manners, which my wife answered aloud that she might hear, that she could learn little manners of her. After dinner to my office, and there we sat all the afternoon till 8 at night, and so wrote my letters by the post and so before 9 home, which is rare with me of late, I staying longer, but with multitude of business my head akes, and so I can stay no longer, but home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up betimes, and to my office, walked a little in the garden with Sir W. Batten, talking about the difference between his Lady and my wife yesterday, and I doubt my wife is to blame. About noon had news by Mr. Wood that Butler, our chief witness against Field, was sent by him to New England contrary to our desire, which made me mad almost; and so Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen, and I dined together at Trinity House, and thither sent for him to us and told him our minds, which he seemed not to value much, but went away. I wrote and sent an express to Walthamstow to Sir W. Pen, who is gone thither this morning, to tell him of it. However, in the afternoon Wood sends us word that he has appointed another to go, who shall overtake the ship in the Downes. So I was late at the office, among other things writing to the Downes, to the Commander-in-Chief, and putting things into the surest course I could to help the business. So home and to bed. 12th. Up betimes and to my office all the morning with Captain Cocke ending their account of their Riga contract for hemp. So home to dinner, my head full of business against the office. After dinner comes my uncle Thomas with a letter to my father, wherein, as we desire, he and his son do order their tenants to pay their rents to us, which pleases me well. In discourse he tells me my uncle Wight thinks much that I do never see them, and they have reason, but I do apprehend that they have been too far concerned with my uncle Thomas against us, so that I have had no mind hitherto, but now I shall go see them. He being gone, I to the office, where at the choice of maisters and chyrurgeons for the fleet now going out, I did my business as I could wish, both for the persons I had a mind to serve, and in getting the warrants signed drawn by my clerks, which I was afeard of. Sat late, and having done I went home, where I found Mary Ashwell come to live with us, of whom I hope well, and pray God she may please us, which, though it cost me something, yet will give me much content. So to supper and to bed, and find by her discourse and carriage to-night that she is not proud, but will do what she is bid, but for want of being abroad knows not how to give the respect to her mistress, as she will do when she is told it, she having been used only to little children, and there was a kind of a mistress over them. Troubled all night with my cold, I being quite hoarse with it that I could not speak to be heard at all almost. 13th. Up pretty early and to my office all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner expecting Ashwell's father, who was here in the morning and promised to come but he did not, but there came in Captain Grove, and I found him to be a very stout man, at least in his discourse he would be thought so, and I do think that he is, and one that bears me great respect and deserves to be encouraged for his care in all business. Abroad by water with my wife and Ashwell, and left them at Mr. Pierce's, and I to Whitehall and St. James's Park (there being no Commission for Tangier sitting to-day as I looked for) where I walked an hour or two with great pleasure, it being a most pleasant day. So to Mrs. Hunt's, and there found my wife, and so took them up by coach, and carried them to Hide Park, where store of coaches and good faces. Here till night, and so home and to my office to write by the post, and so to supper and to bed. 14th. Up betimes and to my office, where we sat all the morning, and a great rant I did give to Mr. Davis, of Deptford, and others about their usage of Michell, in his Bewpers,--[Bewpers is the old name for bunting.]--which he serves in for flaggs, which did trouble me, but yet it was in defence of what was truth. So home to dinner, where Creed dined with me, and walked a good while in the garden with me after dinner, talking, among other things, of the poor service which Sir J. Lawson did really do in the Streights, for which all this great fame and honour done him is risen. So to my office, where all the afternoon giving maisters their warrants for this voyage, for which I hope hereafter to get something at their coming home. In the evening my wife and I and Ashwell walked in the garden, and I find she is a pretty ingenuous [For ingenious. The distinction of the two words ingenious and ingenuous by which the former indicates mental, and the second moral qualities, was not made in Pepys's day.] girl at all sorts of fine work, which pleases me very well, and I hope will be very good entertainment for my wife without much cost. So to write by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife and her woman Ashwell the first time to church, where our pew was so full with Sir J. Minnes's sister and her daughter, that I perceive, when we come all together, some of us must be shut out, but I suppose we shall come to some order what to do therein. Dined at home, and to church again in the afternoon, and so home, and I to my office till the evening doing one thing or other and reading my vows as I am bound every Lord's day, and so home to supper and talk, and Ashwell is such good company that I think we shall be very lucky in her. So to prayers and to bed. This day the weather, which of late has been very hot and fair, turns very wet and cold, and all the church time this afternoon it thundered mightily, which I have not heard a great while. 16th. Up very betimes and to my office, where, with several Masters of the King's ships, Sir J. Minnes and I advising upon the business of Slopps, wherein the seaman is so much abused by the Pursers, and that being done, then I home to dinner, and so carried my wife to her mother's, set her down and Ashwell to my Lord's lodging, there left her, and I to the Duke, where we met of course, and talked of our Navy matters. Then to the Commission of Tangier, and there, among other things, had my Lord Peterborough's Commission read over; and Mr. Secretary Bennet did make his querys upon it, in order to the drawing one for my Lord Rutherford more regularly, that being a very extravagant thing. Here long discoursing upon my Lord Rutherford's despatch, and so broke up, and so going out of the Court I met with Mr. Coventry, and so he and I walked half an hour in the long Stone Gallery, where we discoursed of many things, among others how the Treasurer doth intend to come to pay in course, which is the thing of the world that will do the King the greatest service in the Navy, and which joys my heart to hear of. He tells me of the business of Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen, which I knew before, but took no notice or little that I did know it. But he told me it was chiefly to make Mr. Pett's being joyned with Sir W. Batten to go down the better, and do tell me how he well sees that neither one nor the other can do their duties without help. But however will let it fall at present without doing more in it to see whether they will do their duties themselves, which he will see, and saith they do not. We discoursed of many other things to my great content and so parted, and I to my wife at my Lord's lodgings, where I heard Ashwell play first upon the harpsicon, and I find she do play pretty well, which pleaseth me very well. Thence home by coach, buying at the Temple the printed virginal-book for her, and so home and to my office a while, and so home and to supper and to bed. 17th. Up betimes and to my office a while, and then home and to Sir W. Batten, with whom by coach to St. Margaret's Hill in Southwark, where the judge of the Admiralty came, and the rest of the Doctors of the Civill law, and some other Commissioners, whose Commission of Oyer and Terminer was read, and then the charge, given by Dr. Exton, which methought was somewhat dull, though he would seem to intend it to be very rhetoricall, saying that justice had two wings, one of which spread itself over the land, and the other over the water, which was this Admiralty Court. That being done, and the jury called, they broke up, and to dinner to a tavern hard by, where a great dinner, and I with them; but I perceive that this Court is yet but in its infancy (as to its rising again), and their design and consultation was, I could overhear them, how to proceed with the most solemnity, and spend time, there being only two businesses to do, which of themselves could not spend much time. In the afternoon to the court again, where, first, Abraham, the boatswain of the King's pleasure boat, was tried for drowning a man; and next, Turpin, accused by our wicked rogue Field, for stealing the King's timber; but after full examination, they were both acquitted, and as I was glad of the first, for the saving the man's life, so I did take the other as a very good fortune to us; for if Turpin had been found guilty, it would have sounded very ill in the ears of all the world, in the business between Field and us. So home with my mind at very great ease, over the water to the Tower, and thence, there being nobody at the office, we being absent, and so no office could be kept. Sir W. Batten and I to my Lord Mayor's, where we found my Lord with Colonel Strangways and Sir Richard Floyd, Parliament-men, in the cellar drinking, where we sat with them, and then up; and by and by comes in Sir Richard Ford. In our drinking, which was always going, we had many discourses, but from all of them I do find Sir R. Ford a very able man of his brains and tongue, and a scholler. But my Lord Mayor I find to be a talking, bragging Bufflehead, a fellow that would be thought to have led all the City in the great business of bringing in the King, and that nobody understood his plots, and the dark lanthorn he walked by; but led them and plowed with them as oxen and asses (his own words) to do what he had a mind when in every discourse I observe him to be as very a coxcomb as I could have thought had been in the City. But he is resolved to do great matters in pulling down the shops quite through the City, as he hath done in many places, and will make a thorough passage quite through the City, through Canning-street, which indeed will be very fine. And then his precept, which he, in vain-glory, said he had drawn up himself, and hath printed it, against coachmen and carrmen affronting of the gentry in the street; it is drawn so like a fool, and some faults were openly found in it, that I believe he will have so much wit as not to proceed upon it though it be printed. Here we staid talking till eleven at night, Sir R. Ford breaking to my Lord our business of our patent to be justices of the Peace in the City, which he stuck at mightily; but, however, Sir R. Ford knows him to be a fool, and so in his discourse he made him appear, and cajoled him into a consent to it: but so as I believe when he comes to his right mind tomorrow he will be of another opinion; and though Sir R. Ford moved it very weightily and neatly, yet I had rather it had been spared now. But to see how he do rant, and pretend to sway all the City in the Court of Aldermen, and says plainly that they cannot do, nor will he suffer them to do, any thing but what he pleases; nor is there any officer of the City but of his putting in; nor any man that could have kept the City for the King thus well and long but him. And if the country can be preserved, he will undertake that the City shall not dare to stir again. When I am confident there is no man almost in the City cares a turd for him, nor hath he brains to outwit any ordinary tradesman. So home and wrote a letter to Commissioner Pett to Chatham by all means to compose the business between Major Holmes and Cooper his master, and so to bed. 18th. Wake betimes and talk a while with my wife about a wench that she has hired yesterday, which I would have enquired of before she comes, she having lived in great families, and so up and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner. After dinner by water to Redriffe, my wife and Ashwell with me, and so walked and left them at Halfway house; I to Deptford, where up and down the store-houses, and on board two or three ships now getting ready to go to sea, and so back, and find my wife walking in the way. So home again, merry with our Ashwell, who is a merry jade, and so awhile to my office, and then home to supper, and to bed. This day my tryangle, which was put in tune yesterday, did please me very well, Ashwell playing upon it pretty well. 19th. Up betimes and to Woolwich all alone by water, where took the officers most abed. I walked and enquired how all matters and businesses go, and by and by to the Clerk of the Cheque's house, and there eat some of his good Jamaica brawne, and so walked to Greenwich. Part of the way Deane walking with me; talking of the pride and corruption of most of his fellow officers of the yard, and which I believe to be true. So to Deptford, where I did the same to great content, and see the people begin to value me as they do the rest. At noon Mr. Wayth took me to his house, where I dined, and saw his wife, a pretty woman, and had a good fish dinner, and after dinner he and I walked to Redriffe talking of several errors in the Navy, by which I learned a great deal, and was glad of his company. So by water home, and by and by to the office, where we sat till almost 9 at night. So after doing my own business in my office, writing letters, &c., home to supper, and to bed, being weary and vexed that I do not find other people so willing to do business as myself, when I have taken pains to find out what in the yards is wanting and fitting to be done. 20th. Up betimes and over the water, and walked to Deptford, where up and down the yarde, and met the two clerks of the Cheques to conclude by our method their callbooks, which we have done to great perfection, and so walked home again, where I found my wife in great pain abed . . . . I staid and dined by her, and after dinner walked forth, and by water to the Temple, and in Fleet Street bought me a little sword, with gilt handle, cost 23s., and silk stockings to the colour of my riding cloth suit, cost I 5s., and bought me a belt there too, cost 15s., and so calling at my brother's I find he has got a new maid, very likely girl, I wish he do not play the fool with her. Thence homewards, and meeting with Mr. Kirton's kinsman in Paul's Church Yard, he and I to a coffee-house; where I hear how there had like to have been a surprizall of Dublin by some discontented protestants, and other things of like nature; and it seems the Commissioners have carried themselves so high for the Papists that the others will not endure it. Hewlett and some others are taken and clapped up; and they say the King hath sent over to dissolve the Parliament there, who went very high against the Commissioners. Pray God send all well! Hence home and in comes Captain Ferrers and by and by Mr. Bland to see me and sat talking with me till 9 or 10 at night, and so good night. The Captain to bid my wife to his child's christening. So my wife being pretty well again and Ashwell there we spent the evening pleasantly, and so to bed. 21st. Up betimes and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon, after a very little dinner, to it again, and by and by, by appointment, our full board met, and Sir Philip Warwick and Sir Robert Long came from my Lord Treasurer to speak with us about the state of the debts of the Navy; and how to settle it, so as to begin upon the new foundation of L200,000 per annum, which the King is now resolved not to exceed. This discourse done, and things put in a way of doing, they went away, and Captain Holmes being called in he began his high complaint against his Master Cooper, and would have him forthwith discharged. Which I opposed, not in his defence but for the justice of proceeding not to condemn a man unheard, upon [which] we fell from one word to another that we came to very high terms, such as troubled me, though all and the worst that I ever said was that that was insolently or ill mannerdly spoken. When he told me that it was well it was here that I said it. But all the officers, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen cried shame of it. At last he parted and we resolved to bring the dispute between him and his Master to a trial next week, wherein I shall not at all concern myself in defence of any thing that is unhandsome on the Master's part nor willingly suffer him to have any wrong. So we rose and I to my office, troubled though sensible that all the officers are of opinion that he has carried himself very much unbecoming him. So wrote letters by the post, and home to supper and to bed. 22d (Lord's day). Up betimes and in my office wrote out our bill for the Parliament about our being made justices of Peace in the City. So home and to church, where a dull formall fellow that prayed for the Right Hon. John Lord Barkeley, Lord President of Connaught, &c. So home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I and her woman by coach to Westminster, where being come too soon for the Christening we took up Mr. Creed and went out to take some ayre, as far as Chelsey and further, I lighting there and letting them go on with the coach while I went to the church expecting to see the young ladies of the school, Ashwell desiring me, but I could not get in far enough, and so came out and at the coach's coming back went in again and so back to Westminster, and led my wife and her to Captain Ferrers, and I to my Lord Sandwich, and with him talking a good while; I find the Court would have this Indulgence go on, but the Parliament are against it. Matters in Ireland are full of discontent. Thence with Mr. Creed to Captain Ferrers, where many fine ladies; the house well and prettily furnished. She [Mrs. Ferrers] lies in, in great state, Mr. G. Montagu, Collonel Williams, Cromwell that was, [Colonel Williams--"Cromwell that was"--appears to have been Henry Cromwell, grandson of Sir Oliver Cromwell, and first cousin, once removed, to the Protector. He was seated at Bodsey House, in the parish of Ramsey, which had been his father's residence, and held the commission of a colonel. He served in several Parliaments for Huntingdonshire, voting, in 1660, for the restoration of the monarchy; and as he knew the name of Cromwell would not be grateful to the Court, he disused it, and assumed that of Williams, which had belonged to his ancestors; and he is so styled in a list of knights of the proposed Order of the Royal Oak. He died at Huntingdon, 3rd August, 1673. (Abridged from Noble's "Memoirs of the Cromwells," vol. i., p. 70.)--B.] and Mrs. Wright as proxy for my Lady Jemimah, were witnesses. Very pretty and plentiful entertainment, could not get away till nine at night, and so home. My coach cost me 7s. So to prayers, and to bed. This day though I was merry enough yet I could not get yesterday's quarrel out of my mind, and a natural fear of being challenged by Holmes for the words I did give him, though nothing but what did become me as a principal officer. 23rd. Up betimes and to my office, before noon my wife and I eat something, thinking to have gone abroad together, but in comes Mr. Hunt, who we were forced to stay to dinner, and so while that was got ready he and I abroad about 2 or 3 small businesses of mine, and so back to dinner, and after dinner he went away, and my wife and I and Ashwell by coach, set my wife down at her mother's and Ashwell at my Lord's, she going to see her father and mother, and I to Whitehall, being fearful almost, so poor a spirit I have, of meeting Major Holmes. By and by the Duke comes, and we with him about our usual business, and then the Committee for Tangier, where, after reading my Lord Rutherford's commission and consented to, Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Rider, and I were chosen to bring in some laws for the Civill government of it, which I am little able to do, but am glad to be joyned with them, for I shall learn something of them. Thence to see my Lord Sandwich, and who should I meet at the door but Major Holmes. He would have gone away, but I told him I would not spoil his visitt, and would have gone, but however we fell to discourse and he did as good as desire excuse for the high words that did pass in his heat the other day, which I was willing enough to close with, and after telling him my mind we parted, and I left him to speak with my Lord, and I by coach home, where I found Will. Howe come home to-day with my wife, and staid with us all night, staying late up singing songs, and then he and I to bed together in Ashwell's bed and she with my wife. This the first time that I ever lay in the room. This day Greatorex brought me a very pretty weather-glass for heat and cold. [The thermometer was invented in the sixteenth century, but it is disputed who the inventor was. The claims of Santorio are supported by Borelli and Malpighi, while the title of Cornelius Drebbel is considered undoubted by Boerhaave. Galileo's air thermometer, made before 1597, was the foundation of accurate thermometry. Galileo also invented the alcohol thermometer about 1611 or 1612. Spirit thermometers were made for the Accademia del Cimento, and described in the Memoirs of that academy. When the academy was dissolved by order of the Pope, some of these thermometers were packed away in a box, and were not discovered until early in the nineteenth century. Robert Hooke describes the manufacture and graduation of thermometers in his "Micrographia" (1665).] 24th. Lay pretty long, that is, till past six o'clock, and them up and W. Howe and I very merry together, till having eat our breakfast, he went away, and I to my office. By and by Sir J. Minnes and I to the Victualling Office by appointment to meet several persons upon stating the demands of some people of money from the King. Here we went into their Bakehouse, and saw all the ovens at work, and good bread too, as ever I would desire to eat. Thence Sir J. Minnes and I homewards calling at Browne's, the mathematician in the Minnerys, with a design of buying White's ruler to measure timber with, but could not agree on the price. So home, and to dinner, and so to my office, where we sat anon, and among other things had Cooper's business tried against Captain Holmes, but I find Cooper a fuddling, troublesome fellow, though a good artist, and so am contented to have him turned out of his place, nor did I see reason to say one word against it, though I know what they did against him was with great envy and pride. So anon broke up, and after writing letters, &c., home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lady-day). Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning, at noon dined and to the Exchange, and thence to the Sun Tavern, to my Lord Rutherford, and dined with him, and some others, his officers, and Scotch gentlemen, of fine discourse and education. My Lord used me with great respect, and discoursed upon his business as with one that he did esteem of, and indeed I do believe that this garrison is likely to come to something under him. By and by he went away, forgetting to take leave of me, my back being turned, looking upon the aviary, which is there very pretty, and the birds begin to sing well this spring. Thence home and to my office till night, reading over and consulting upon the book and Ruler that I bought this morning of Browne concerning the lyne of numbers, in which I find much pleasure. This evening came Captain Grove about hiring ships for Tangier. I did hint to him my desire that I could make some lawfull profit thereof, which he promises that he will tell me of all that he gets and that I shall have a share, which I did not demand, but did silently consent to it, and money I perceive something will be got thereby. At night Mr. Bland came and sat with me at my office till late, and so I home and to bed. This day being washing day and my maid Susan ill, or would be thought so, put my house so out of order that we had no pleasure almost in anything, my wife being troubled thereat for want of a good cook-maid, and moreover I cannot have my dinner as I ought in memory of my being cut for the stone, but I must have it a day or two hence. 26th. Up betimes and to my office, leaving my wife in bed to take her physique, myself also not being out of some pain to-day by some cold that I have got by the sudden change of the weather from hot to cold. This day is five years since it pleased God to preserve me at my being cut of the stone, of which I bless God I am in all respects well. Only now and then upon taking cold I have some pain, but otherwise in very good health always. But I could not get my feast to be kept to-day as it used to be, because of my wife's being ill and other disorders by my servants being out of order. This morning came a new cook-maid at L4 per annum, the first time I ever did give so much, but we hope it will be nothing lost by keeping a good cook. She did live last at my Lord Monk's house, and indeed at dinner did get what there was very prettily ready and neat for me, which did please me much. This morning my uncle Thomas was with me according to agreement, and I paid him the L50, which was against my heart to part with, and yet I must be contented; I used him very kindly, and I desire to continue so voyd of any discontent as to my estate, that I may follow my business the better. At the Change I met him again, with intent to have met with my uncle Wight to have made peace with him, with whom by my long absence I fear I shall have a difference, but he was not there, so we missed. All the afternoon sat at the office about business till 9 or 10 at night, and so dispatch business and home to supper and to bed. My maid Susan went away to-day, I giving her something for her lodging and diet somewhere else a while that I might have room for my new maid. 27th. Up betimes and at my office all the morning, at noon to the Exchange, and there by appointment met my uncles Thomas and Wight, and from thence with them to a tavern, and there paid my uncle Wight three pieces of gold for himself, my aunt, and their son that is dead, left by my uncle Robert, and read over our agreement with my uncle Thomas and the state of our debts and legacies, and so good friendship I think is made up between us all, only we have the worst of it in having so much money to pay. Thence I to the Exchequer again, and thence with Creed into Fleet Street, and calling at several places about business; in passing, at the Hercules pillars he and I dined though late, and thence with one that we found there, a friend of Captain Ferrers I used to meet at the playhouse, they would have gone to some gameing house, but I would not but parted, and staying a little in Paul's Churchyard, at the foreign Bookseller's looking over some Spanish books, and with much ado keeping myself from laying out money there, as also with them, being willing enough to have gone to some idle house with them, I got home, and after a while at my office, to supper, and to bed. 28th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me, and though a very cold day and high wind, yet I took him by land to Deptford, my common walk, where I did some little businesses, and so home again walking both forwards and backwards, as much along the street as we could to save going by water. So home, and after being a little while hearing Ashwell play on the tryangle, to my office, and there late, writing a chiding letter--to my poor father about his being so unwilling to come to an account with me, which I desire he might do, that I may know what he spends, and how to order the estate so as to pay debts and legacys as far as may be. So late home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Waked as I used to do betimes, but being Sunday and very cold I lay long, it raining and snowing very hard, which I did never think it would have done any more this year. Up and to church, home to dinner. After dinner in comes Mr. Moore, and sat and talked with us a good while; among other things telling me, that [neither] my Lord nor he are under apprehensions of the late discourse in the House of Commons, concerning resumption of Crowne lands, which I am very glad of. He being gone, up to my chamber, where my wife and Ashwell and I all the afternoon talking and laughing, and by and by I a while to my office, reading over some papers which I found in my man William's chest of drawers, among others some old precedents concerning the practice of this office heretofore, which I am glad to find and shall make use of, among others an oath, which the Principal Officers were bound to swear at their entrance into their offices, which I would be glad were in use still. So home and fell hard to make up my monthly accounts, letting my family go to bed after prayers. I staid up long, and find myself, as I think, fully worth L670. So with good comfort to bed, finding that though it be but little, yet I do get ground every month. I pray God it may continue so with me. 30th. Up betimes and found my weather-glass sunk again just to the same position which it was last night before I had any fire made in my chamber, which had made it rise in two hours time above half a degree. So to my office where all the morning and at the Glass-house, and after dinner by coach with Sir W. Pen I carried my wife and her woman to Westminster, they to visit Mrs. Ferrers and Clerke, we to the Duke, where we did our usual business, and afterwards to the Tangier Committee, where among other things we all of us sealed and signed the Contract for building the Mole with my Lord Tiviott, Sir J. Lawson, and Mr. Cholmeley. A thing I did with a very ill will, because a thing which I did not at all understand, nor any or few of the whole board. We did also read over the propositions for the Civill government and Law Merchant of the town, as they were agreed on this morning at the Glasshouse by Sir R. Ford and Sir W. Rider, who drew them, Mr. Povy and myself as a Committee appointed to prepare them, which were in substance but not in the manner of executing them independent wholly upon the Governor consenting to. Thence to see my Lord Sandwich, who I found very merry and every day better and better. So to my wife, who waited my coming at my Lord's lodgings, and took her up and by coach home, where no sooner come but to bed, finding myself just in the same condition I was lately by the extreme cold weather, my pores stopt and so my body all inflamed and itching. So keeping myself warm and provoking myself to a moderate sweat, and so somewhat better in the morning, 31st. And to that purpose I lay long talking with my wife about my father's coming, which I expect to-day, coming up with the horses brought up for my Lord. Up and to my office, where doing business all the morning, and at Sir W. Batten's, whither Mr. Gauden and many others came to us about business. Then home to dinner, where W. Joyce came, and he still a talking impertinent fellow. So to the office again, and hearing by and by that Madam Clerke, Pierce, and others were come to see my wife I stepped in and staid a little with them, and so to the office again, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1663 April 1st. Up betimes and abroad to my brother's, but he being gone out I went to the Temple to my Cozen Roger Pepys, to see and talk with him a little; who tells me that, with much ado, the Parliament do agree to throw down Popery; but he says it is with so much spite and passion, and an endeavour of bringing all Non-conformists into the same condition, that he is afeard matters will not yet go so well as he could wish. Thence back to my brother's, in my way meeting Mr. Moore and talking with him about getting me some money, and calling at my brother's they tell me that my brother is still abroad, and that my father is not yet up. At which I wondered, not thinking that he was come, though I expected him, because I looked for him at my house. So I up to his bedside and staid an hour or two talking with him. Among other things he tells me how unquiett my mother is grown, that he is not able to live almost with her, if it were not for Pall. All other matters are as well as upon so hard conditions with my uncle Thomas we can expect them. I left him in bed, being very weary, to come to my house to-night or tomorrow, when he pleases, and so I home, calling on the virginall maker, buying a rest for myself to tune my tryangle, and taking one of his people along with me to put it in tune once more, by which I learned how to go about it myself for the time to come. So to dinner, my wife being lazily in bed all this morning. Ashwell and I dined below together, and a pretty girl she is, and I hope will give my wife and myself good content, being very humble and active, my cook maid do also dress my meat very well and neatly. So to my office all the afternoon till night, and then home, calling at Sir W. Batten's, where was Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen, I telling them how by my letter this day from Commissioner Pett I hear that his Stempeese [Stemples, cross pieces which are put into a frame of woodwork to cure and strengthen a shaft.] he undertook for the new ship at Woolwich, which we have been so long, to our shame, in looking for, do prove knotty and not fit for service. Lord! how Sir J. Minnes, like a mad coxcomb, did swear and stamp, swearing that Commissioner Pett hath still the old heart against the King that ever he had, and that this was his envy against his brother that was to build the ship, and all the damnable reproaches in the world, at which I was ashamed, but said little; but, upon the whole, I find him still a fool, led by the nose with stories told by Sir W. Batten, whether with or without reason. So, vexed in my mind to see things ordered so unlike gentlemen, or men of reason, I went home and to bed. 2nd. Up by very betimes and to my office, where all the morning till towards noon, and then by coach to Westminster Hall with Sir W. Pen, and while he went up to the House I walked in the Hall with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, that I met there, talking about my business the other day with Holmes, whom I told my mind, and did freely tell how I do depend upon my care and diligence in my employment to bear me out against the pride of Holmes or any man else in things that are honest, and much to that purpose which I know he will make good use of. But he did advise me to take as few occasions as I can of disobliging Commanders, though this is one that every body is glad to hear that he do receive a check. By and by the House rises and I home again with Sir W. Pen, and all the way talking of the same business, to whom I did on purpose tell him my mind freely, and let him see that it must be a wiser man than Holmes (in these very words) that shall do me any hurt while I do my duty. I to remember him of Holmes's words against Sir J. Minnes, that he was a knave, rogue, coward, and that he will kick him and pull him by the ears, which he remembered all of them and may have occasion to do it hereafter to his owne shame to suffer them to be spoke in his presence without any reply but what I did give him, which, has caused all this feud. But I am glad of it, for I would now and then take occasion to let the world know that I will not be made a novice. Sir W. Pen took occasion to speak about my wife's strangeness to him and his daughter, and that believing at last that it was from his taking of Sarah to be his maid, he hath now put her away, at which I am glad. He told me, that this day the King hath sent to the House his concurrence wholly with them against the Popish priests, Jesuits, &c., which gives great content, and I am glad of it. So home, whither my father comes and dines with us, and being willing to be merry with him I made myself so as much as I could, and so to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and at night having done all my business I went home to my wife and father, and supped, and so to bed, my father lying with me in Ashwell's bed in the red chamber. 3rd. Waked betimes and talked half an hour with my father, and so I rose and to my office, and about 9 o'clock by water from the Old Swan to White Hall and to chappell, which being most monstrous full, I could not go into my pew, but sat among the quire. Dr. Creeton, the Scotchman, preached a most admirable, good, learned, honest and most severe sermon, yet comicall, upon the words of the woman concerning the Virgin, "Blessed is the womb that bare thee (meaning Christ) and the paps that gave thee suck; and he answered, Nay; rather is he blessed that heareth the word of God, and keepeth it." He railed bitterly ever and anon against John Calvin, and his brood, the Presbyterians, and against the present term, now in use, of "tender consciences." He ripped up Hugh Peters (calling him the execrable skellum--[A villain or scoundrel; the cant term for a thief.]--), his preaching and stirring up the maids of the city to bring in their bodkins and thimbles. Thence going out of White Hall, I met Captain Grove, who did give me a letter directed to myself from himself. I discerned money to be in it, and took it, knowing, as I found it to be, the proceed of the place I have got him to be, the taking up of vessels for Tangier. But I did not open it till I came home to my office, and there I broke it open, not looking into it till all the money was out, that I might say I saw no money in the paper, if ever I should be questioned about it. There was a piece in gold and L4 in silver. So home to dinner with my father and wife, and after dinner up to my tryangle, where I found that above my expectation Ashwell has very good principles of musique and can take out a lesson herself with very little pains, at which I am very glad. Thence away back again by water to Whitehall, and there to the Tangier Committee, where we find ourselves at a great stand; the establishment being but L70,000 per annum, and the forces to be kept in the town at the least estimate that my Lord Rutherford can be got to bring it is L53,000. The charge of this year's work of the Mole will be L13,000; besides L1000 a-year to my Lord Peterborough as a pension, and the fortifications and contingencys, which puts us to a great stand, and so unsettled what to do therein we rose, and I to see my Lord Sandwich, whom I found merry at cards, and so by coach home, and after supper a little to my office and so home and to bed. I find at Court that there is some bad news from Ireland of an insurrection of the Catholiques there, which puts them into an alarm. I hear also in the City that for certain there is an embargo upon all our ships in Spayne, upon this action of my Lord Windsor's at Cuba, which signifies little or nothing, but only he hath a mind to say that he hath done something before he comes back again. Late tonight I sent to invite my uncle Wight and aunt with Mrs. Turner to-morrow. 4th. Up betimes and to my office. By and by to Lombard street by appointment to meet Mr. Moore, but the business not being ready I returned to the office, where we sat a while, and, being sent for, I returned to him and there signed to some papers in the conveying of some lands mortgaged by Sir Rob. Parkhurst in my name to my Lord Sandwich, which I having done I returned home to dinner, whither by and by comes Roger Pepys, Mrs. Turner her daughter, Joyce Norton, and a young lady, a daughter of Coll. Cockes, my uncle Wight, his wife and Mrs. Anne Wight. This being my feast, in lieu of what I should have had a few days ago for my cutting of the stone, for which the Lord make me truly thankful. Very merry at, before, and after dinner, and the more for that my dinner was great, and most neatly dressed by our own only maid. We had a fricasee of rabbits and chickens, a leg of mutton boiled, three carps in a dish, a great dish of a side of lamb, a dish of roasted pigeons, a dish of four lobsters, three tarts, a lamprey pie (a most rare pie), a dish of anchovies, good wine of several sorts, and all things mighty noble and to my great content. After dinner to Hide Park; my aunt, Mrs. Wight and I in one coach, and all the rest of the women in Mrs. Turner's; Roger being gone in haste to the Parliament about the carrying this business of the Papists, in which it seems there is great contest on both sides, and my uncle and father staying together behind. At the Park was the King, and in another coach my Lady Castlemaine, they greeting one another at every tour. [The company drove round and round the Ring in Hyde Park. The following two extracts illustrate this, and the, second one shows how the circuit was called the Tour: "Here (1697) the people of fashion take the diversion of the Ring. In a pretty high place, which lies very open, they have surrounded a circumference of two or three hundred paces diameter with a sorry kind of balustrade, or rather with postes placed upon stakes but three feet from the ground; and the coaches drive round this. When they have turned for some time round one way they face about and turn t'other: so rowls the world!"--Wilson's Memoirs, 1719, p. 126.] ["It is in this Park where the Grand Tour or Ring is kept for the Ladies to take the air in their coaches, and in fine weather I have seen above three hundred at a time."--[Macky's] Journey through England, 1724, vol. i., p. 75.] Here about an hour, and so leaving all by the way we home and found the house as clean as if nothing had been done there to-day from top to bottom, which made us give the cook 12d. a piece, each of us. So to my office about writing letters by the post, one to my brother John at Brampton telling him (hoping to work a good effect by it upon my mother) how melancholy my father is, and bidding him use all means to get my mother to live peaceably and quietly, which I am sure she neither do nor I fear can ever do, but frightening her with his coming down no more, and the danger of her condition if he should die I trust may do good. So home and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up and spent the morning, till the Barber came, in reading in my chamber part of Osborne's Advice to his Son (which I shall not never enough admire for sense and language), and being by and by trimmed, to Church, myself, wife, Ashwell, &c. Home to dinner, it raining, while that was prepared to my office to read over my vows with great affection and to very good purpose. So to dinner, and very well pleased with it. Then to church again, where a simple bawling young Scot preached. So home to my office alone till dark, reading some papers of my old navy precedents, and so home to supper, and, after some pleasant talk, my wife, Ashwell, and I to bed. 6th. Up very betimes and to my office, and there made an end of reading my book that I have of Mr. Barlow's of the Journal of the Commissioners of the Navy, who begun to act in the year 1628 and continued six years, wherein is fine observations and precedents out of which I do purpose to make a good collection. By and by, much against my will, being twice sent for, to Sir G. Carteret's to pass his accounts there, upon which Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself all the morning, and again after dinner to it, being vexed at my heart to see a thing of that importance done so slightly and with that neglect for which God pardon us, and I would I could mend it. Thence leaving them I made an excuse and away home, and took my wife by coach and left her at Madam Clerk's, to make a visit there, and I to the Committee of Tangier, where I found, to my great joy, my Lord Sandwich, the first time I have seen him abroad these some months, and by and by he rose and took leave, being, it seems, this night to go to Kensington or Chelsey, where he hath taken a lodging for a while to take the ayre. We staid, and after business done I got Mr. Coventry into the Matted Gallery and told him my whole mind concerning matters of our office, all my discontent to see things of so great trust carried so neglectfully, and what pitiful service the Controller and Surveyor make of their duties, and I disburdened my mind wholly to him and he to me his own, many things, telling me that he is much discouraged by seeing things not to grow better and better as he did well hope they would have done. Upon the whole, after a full hour's private discourse, telling one another our minds, we with great content parted, and with very great satisfaction for my [having] thus cleared my conscience, went to Dr. Clerk's and thence fetched my wife, and by coach home. To my office a little to set things in order, and so home to supper and to bed. 7th. Up very betimes, and angry with Will that he made no more haste to rise after I called him. So to my office, and all the morning there. At noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife had been with Ashwell to La Roche's to have her tooth drawn, which it seems aches much, but my wife could not get her to be contented to have it drawn after the first twich, but would let it alone, and so they came home with it undone, which made my wife and me good sport. After dinner to the office, where Sir J. Minnes did make a great complaint to me alone, how my clerk Mr. Hater had entered in one of the Sea books a ticket to have been signed by him before it had been examined, which makes the old fool mad almost, though there was upon enquiry the greatest reason in the world for it. Which though it vexes me, yet it is most to see from day to day what a coxcomb he is, and that so great a trust should lie in the hands of such a fool. We sat all the afternoon, and I late at my office, it being post night, and so home to supper, my father being come again to my house, and after supper to bed, and after some talk to sleep. 8th. Up betimes and to my office, and by and by, about 8 o'clock, to the Temple to Commissioner Pett lately come to town and discoursed about the affairs of our office, how ill they go through the corruption and folly of Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes. Thence by water to White Hall, to chappell; where preached Dr. Pierce, the famous man that preached the sermon so much cried up, before the King against the Papists. His matter was the Devil tempting our Saviour, being carried into the Wilderness by the spirit. And he hath as much of natural eloquence as most men that ever I heard in my life, mixed with so much learning. After sermon I went up and saw the ceremony of the Bishop of Peterborough's paying homage upon the knee to the King, while Sir H. Bennet, Secretary, read the King's grant of the Bishopric of Lincoln, to which he is translated. His name is Dr. Lany. Here I also saw the Duke of Monmouth, with his Order of the Garter, the first time I ever saw it. I am told that the University of Cambridge did treat him a little while since with all the honour possible, with a comedy at Trinity College, and banquet; and made him Master of Arts there. All which, they say, the King took very well. Dr. Raynbow, Master of Magdalen, being now Vice-Chancellor. Home by water to dinner, and with my father, wife, and Ashwell, after dinner, by water towards Woolwich, and in our way I bethought myself that we had left our poor little dog that followed us out of doors at the waterside, and God knows whether he be not lost, which did not only strike my wife into a great passion but I must confess myself also; more than was becoming me. We immediately returned, I taking another boat and with my father went to Woolwich, while they went back to find the dog. I took my father on board the King's pleasure boat and down to Woolwich, and walked to Greenwich thence and turning into the park to show my father the steps up the hill, we found my wife, her woman, and dog attending us, which made us all merry again, and so took boats, they to Deptford and so by land to Half-way house, I into the King's yard and overlook them there, and eat and drank with them, and saw a company of seamen play drolly at our pence, and so home by water. I a little at the office, and so home to supper and to bed, after having Ashwell play my father and me a lesson upon her Tryangle. 9th. Up betimes and to my office, and anon we met upon finishing the Treasurer's accounts. At noon dined at home and am vexed to hear my wife tell me how our maid Mary do endeavour to corrupt our cook maid, which did please me very well, but I am resolved to rid the house of her as soon as I can. To the office and sat all the afternoon till 9 at night, and an hour after home to supper and bed. My father lying at Tom's to-night, he dining with my uncle Fenner and his sons and a great many more of the gang at his own cost to-day. To bed vexed also to think of Sir J. Minnes finding fault with Mr. Hater for what he had done the other day, though there be no hurt in the thing at all but only the old fool's jealousy, made worse by Sir W. Batten. 10th. Up very betimes and to my office, where most hard at business alone all the morning. At noon to the Exchange, where I hear that after great expectation from Ireland, and long stop of letters, there is good news come, that all is quiett after our great noise of troubles there, though some stir hath been as was reported. Off the Exchange with Sir J. Cutler and Mr. Grant to the Royall Oak Tavern, in Lumbard Street, where Alexander Broome the poet was, a merry and witty man, I believe, if he be not a little conceited, and here drank a sort of French wine, called Ho Bryan, [Haut Brion, a claret; one of the first growths of the red wines of Medoc.] that hath a good and most particular taste that I never met with. Home to dinner, and then by water abroad to Whitehall, my wife to see Mrs. Ferrers, I to Whitehall and the Park, doing no business. Then to my Lord's lodgings, met my wife, and walked to the New Exchange. There laid out 10s. upon pendents and painted leather gloves, very pretty and all the mode. So by coach home and to my office till late, and so to supper and to bed. 11th. Up betimes and to my office, where we sat also all the morning till noon, and then home to dinner, my father being there but not very well. After dinner in comes Captain Lambert of the Norwich, this day come from Tangier, whom I am glad to see. There came also with him Captain Wager, and afterwards in came Captain Allen to see me, of the Resolution. All staid a pretty while, and so away, and I a while to my office, then abroad into the street with my father, and left him to go to see my aunt Wight and uncle, intending to lie at Tom's to-night, or my cozen Scott's, where it seems he has hitherto lain and is most kindly used there. So I home and to my office very late making up my Lord's navy accounts, wherein I find him to stand debtor L1200. So home to supper and to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Lay till 8 o'clock, which I have not done a great while, then up and to church, where I found our pew altered by taking some of the hind pew to make ours bigger, because of the number of women, more by Sir J. Minnes company than we used to have. Home to dinner, and after dinner, intending to go to Chelsey to my Lord Sandwich, my wife would needs go with me, though she walked on foot to Whitehall. Which she did and staid at my Lord's lodgings while Creed and I took a turn at Whitehall, but no coach to be had, and so I returned to them and sat talking till evening, and then got a coach and to Gray's Inn walks, where some handsome faces, and so home and there to supper, and a little after 8 o'clock to bed, a thing I have not done God knows when. Coming home to-night, a drunken boy was carrying by our constable to our new pair of stocks to handsel them, being a new pair and very handsome. 13th. Up by five o'clock and to my office, where hard at work till towards noon, and home and eat a bit, and so going out met with Mr. Mount my old acquaintance, and took him in and drank a glass or two of wine to him and so parted, having not time to talk together, and I with Sir W. Batten to the Stillyard, and there eat a lobster together, and Wyse the King's fishmonger coming in we were very merry half an hour, and so by water to Whitehall, and by and by being all met we went in to the Duke and there did our business and so away, and anon to the Tangier Committee, where we had very fine discourse from Dr. Walker and Wiseman, civilians, against our erecting a court-merchant at Tangier, and well answered in many things by my Lord Sandwich (whose speaking I never till now observed so much to be very good) and Sir R. Ford. By and by the discourse being ended, we fell to my Lord Rutherford's dispatch, which do not please him, he being a Scott, and one resolved to scrape every penny that he can get by any way, which the Committee will not agree to. He took offence at something and rose away, without taking leave of the board, which all took ill, though nothing said but only by the Duke of Albemarle, who said that we ought to settle things as they ought to be, and if he will not go upon these terms another man will, no doubt. Here late, quite finishing things against his going, and so rose, and I walked home, being accompanied by Creed to Temple Bar, talking of this afternoon's passage, and so I called at the Wardrobe in my way home, and there spoke at the Horn tavern with Mr. Moore a word or two, but my business was with Mr. Townsend, who is gone this day to his country house, about sparing Charles Pepys some money of his bills due to him when he can, but missing him lost my labour. So walked home, finding my wife abroad, at my aunt, Wight's, who coming home by and by, I home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up betimes to my office, where busy till 8 o'clock that Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen and I down by barge to Woolwich, to see "The Royal James" launched, where she has been under repair a great while. We staid in the yard till almost noon, and then to Mr. Falconer's to a dinner of fish of our own sending, and when it was just ready to come upon the table, word is brought that the King and Duke are come, so they all went away to shew themselves, while I staid and had a little dish or two by myself, resolving to go home, and by the time I had dined they came again, having gone to little purpose, the King, I believe, taking little notice of them. So they to dinner, and I staid a little with them, and so good bye. I walked to Greenwich, studying the slide rule for measuring of timber, which is very fine. Thence to Deptford by water, and walked through the yard, and so walked to Redriffe, and so home pretty weary, to my office, where anon they all came home, the ship well launched, and so sat at the office till 9 at night, and I longer doing business at my office, and so home to supper, my father being come, and to bed. Sir G. Carteret tells me to-night that he perceives the Parliament is likely to make a great bustle before they will give the King any money; will call all things into question; and, above all, the expences of the Navy; and do enquire into the King's expences everywhere, and into the truth of the report of people being forced to sell their bills at 15 per cent. loss in the Navy; and, lastly, that they are in a very angry pettish mood at present, and not likely to be better. 15th. Up betimes, and after talking with my father awhile, I to my office, and there hard at it till almost noon, and then went down the river with Maynes, the purveyor, to show a ship's lading of Norway goods, and called at Sir W. Warren's yard, and so home to dinner. After dinner up with my wife and Ashwell a little to the Tryangle, and so I down to Deptford by land about looking out a couple of catches fitted to be speedily set forth in answer to a letter of Mr. Coventry's to me. Which done, I walked back again, all the way reading of my book of Timber measure, comparing it with my new Sliding Rule brought home this morning with great pleasure. Taking boat again I went to Shishe's yard, but he being newly gone out towards Deptford I followed him thither again, and there seeing him I went with him and pitched upon a couple, and so by water home, it being late, past 8 at night, the wind cold, and I a little weary. So home to my office, then to supper and bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, met to pass Mr. Pitt's (anon Sir J. Lawson's Secretary and Deputy Treasurer) accounts for the voyage last to the Streights, wherein the demands are strangely irregular, and I dare not oppose it alone for making an enemy and do no good, but only bring a review upon my Lord Sandwich, but God knows it troubles my heart to see it, and to see the Comptroller, whose duty it is, to make no more matter of it. At noon home for an hour to dinner, and so to the office public and private till late at night, so home to supper and bed with my father. 17th. Up by five o'clock as I have long done and to my office all the morning, at noon home to dinner with my father with us. Our dinner, it being Good Friday, was only sugarsopps and fish; the only time that we have had a Lenten dinner all this Lent. This morning Mr. Hunt, the instrument maker, brought me home a Basse Viall to see whether I like it, which I do not very well, besides I am under a doubt whether I had best buy one yet or no, because of spoiling my present mind and love to business. After dinner my father and I walked into the city a little, and parted and to Paul's Church Yard, to cause the title of my English "Mare Clausum" [Selden's work was highly esteemed, and Charles I. made an order in council that a copy should be kept in the Council chest, another in the Court of Exchequer, and a third in the Court of Admiralty. The book Pepys refers to is Nedham's translation, which was entitled, "Of the Dominion or Ownership of the Sea. Two Books . . . , written at first in Latin and entituled Mare Clausum, by John Selden. Translated into English by Marchamont Nedham. London, 1652." This has the Commonwealth arms on the title-page and a dedication "To the Supreme Autoritie of the Nation-The Parliament of the Commonwealth of England." The dedication to Charles I. in Selden's original work was left out. Apparently a new title-page and dedication was prepared in 1663, but the copy in the British Museum, which formerly belonged to Charles Killigrew, does not contain these additions.] to be changed, and the new title, dedicated to the King, to be put to it, because I am ashamed to have the other seen dedicated to the Commonwealth. So home and to my office till night, and so home to talk with my father, and supper and to bed, I have not had yet one quarter of an hour's leisure to sit down and talk with him since he came to town, nor do I know till the holidays when I shall. 18th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. At noon to dinner. With us Mr. Creed, who has been deeply engaged at the office this day about the ending of his accounts, wherein he is most unhappy to have to do with a company of fools who after they have signed his accounts and made bills upon them yet dare not boldly assert to the Treasurer that they are satisfied with his accounts. Hereupon all dinner, and walking in the garden the afternoon, he and I talking of the ill management of our office, which God knows is very ill for the King's advantage. I would I could make it better. In the evening to my office, and at night home to supper and bed. 19th (Easter day). Up and this day put on my close-kneed coloured suit, which, with new stockings of the colour, with belt, and new gilt-handled sword, is very handsome. To church alone, and so to dinner, where my father and brother Tom dined with us, and after dinner to church again, my father sitting below in the chancel. After church done, where the young Scotchman preaching I slept all the while, my father and I to see my uncle and aunt Wight, and after a stay of an hour there my father to my brother's and I home to supper, and after supper fell in discourse of dancing, and I find that Ashwell hath a very fine carriage, which makes my wife almost ashamed of herself to see herself so outdone, but to-morrow she begins to learn to dance for a month or two. So to prayers and to bed. Will being gone, with my leave, to his father's this day for a day or two, to take physique these holydays. 20th. Up betimes as I use to do, and in my chamber begun to look over my father's accounts, which he brought out of the country with him by my desire, whereby I may see what he has received and spent, and I find that he is not anything extravagant, and yet it do so far outdo his estate that he must either think of lessening his charge, or I must be forced to spare money out of my purse to help him through, which I would willing do as far as L20 goes. So to my office the remaining part of the morning till towards noon, and then to Mr. Grant's. There saw his prints, which he shewed me, and indeed are the best collection of any things almost that ever I saw, there being the prints of most of the greatest houses, churches, and antiquitys in Italy and France and brave cutts. I had not time to look them over as I ought, and which I will take time hereafter to do, and therefore left them and home to dinner. After dinner, it raining very hard, by coach to Whitehall, where, after Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Coventry and I had been with the Duke, we to the Committee of Tangier and did matters there dispatching wholly my Lord Teviott, and so broke up. With Sir G. Carteret and Sir John Minnes by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, thinking to have spoken about getting money for paying the Yards; but we found him with some ladies at cards: and so, it being a bad time to speak, we parted, and Sir J. Minnes and I home, and after walking with my wife in the garden late, to supper and to bed, being somewhat troubled at Ashwell's desiring and insisting over eagerly upon her going to a ball to meet some of her old companions at a dancing school here in town next Friday, but I am resolved she shall not go. So to bed. This day the little Duke of Monmouth was marryed at White Hall, in the King's chamber; and tonight is a great supper and dancing at his lodgings, near Charing-Cross. I observed his coat at the tail of his coach he gives the arms of England, Scotland, and France, quartered upon some other fields, but what it is that speaks his being a bastard I know not. 21st. Up betimes and to my office, where first I ruled with red ink my English "Mare Clausum," which, with the new orthodox title, makes it now very handsome. So to business, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to sit at the office in the afternoon, and thence to my study late, and so home to supper to play a game at cards with my wife, and so to bed. Ashwell plays well at cards, and will teach us to play; I wish it do not lose too much of my time, and put my wife too much upon it. 22nd. Up betimes and to my office very busy all the morning there, entering things into my Book Manuscript, which pleases me very much. So to the Change, and so to my uncle Wight's, by invitation, whither my father, wife, and Ashwell came, where we had but a poor dinner, and not well dressed; besides, the very sight of my aunt's hands and greasy manner of carving, did almost turn my stomach. After dinner by coach to the King's Playhouse, where we saw but part of "Witt without mony," which I do not like much, but coming late put me out of tune, and it costing me four half-crowns for myself and company. So, the play done, home, and I to my office a while and so home, where my father (who is so very melancholy) and we played at cards, and so to supper and to bed. 23rd. St. George's day and Coronacion, the King and Court being at Windsor, at the installing of the King of Denmark by proxy and the Duke of Monmouth. I up betimes, and with my father, having a fire made in my wife's new closet above, it being a wet and cold day, we sat there all the morning looking over his country accounts ever since his going into the country. I find his spending hitherto has been (without extraordinary charges) at full L100 per annum, which troubles me, and I did let him apprehend it, so as that the poor man wept, though he did make it well appear to me that he could not have saved a farthing of it. I did tell him how things stand with us, and did shew my distrust of Pall, both for her good nature and housewifery, which he was sorry for, telling me that indeed she carries herself very well and carefully, which I am glad to hear, though I doubt it was but his doting and not being able to find her miscarriages so well nowadays as he could heretofore have done. We resolve upon sending for Will Stankes up to town to give us a right understanding in all that we have in Brampton, and before my father goes to settle every thing so as to resolve how to find a living for my father and to pay debts and legacies, and also to understand truly how Tom's condition is in the world, that we may know what we are like to expect of his doing ill or well. So to dinner, and after dinner to the office, where some of us met and did a little business, and so to Sir W. Batten's to see a little picture drawing of his by a Dutchman which is very well done. So to my office and put a few things in order, and so home to spend the evening with my father. At cards till late, and being at supper, my boy being sent for some mustard to a neat's tongue, the rogue staid half an hour in the streets, it seems at a bonfire, at which I was very angry, and resolve to beat him to-morrow. 24th. Up betimes, and with my salt eel [A salt eel is a rope's end cut from the piece to be used on the back of a culprit. "Yeow shall have salt eel for supper" is an emphatic threat.] went down in the parler and there got my boy and did beat him till I was fain to take breath two or three times, yet for all I am afeard it will make the boy never the better, he is grown so hardened in his tricks, which I am sorry for, he being capable of making a brave man, and is a boy that I and my wife love very well. So made me ready, and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon home, whither came Captain Holland, who is lately come home from sea, and has been much harassed in law about the ship which he has bought, so that it seems in a despair he endeavoured to cut his own throat, but is recovered it; and it seems whether by that or any other persuasion (his wife's mother being a great zealot) he is turned almost a Quaker, his discourse being nothing but holy, and that impertinent, that I was weary of him. At last pretending to go to the Change we walked thither together, and there I left him and home to dinner, sending my boy by the way to enquire after two dancing masters at our end of the town for my wife to learn, of whose names the boy brought word. After dinner all the afternoon fiddling upon my viallin (which I have not done many a day) while Ashwell danced above in my upper best chamber, which is a rare room for musique, expecting this afternoon my wife to bring my cozen Scott and Stradwick, but they came not, and so in the evening we by ourselves to Half-way house to walk, but did not go in there, but only a walk and so home again and to supper, my father with us, and had a good lobster intended for part of our entertainment to these people to-day, and so to cards, and then to bed, being the first day that I have spent so much to my pleasure a great while. 25th. Up betimes and to my vyall and song book a pretty while, and so to my office, and there we sat all the morning. Among other things Sir W. Batten had a mind to cause Butler (our chief witness in the business of Field, whom we did force back from an employment going to sea to come back to attend our law sute) to be borne as a mate on the Rainbow in the Downes in compensation for his loss for our sakes. This he orders an order to be drawn by Mr. Turner for, and after Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen had signed it, it came to me and I was going to put it up into my book, thinking to consider of it and give them my opinion upon it before I parted with it, but Sir W. Pen told me I must sign it or give it him again, for it should not go without my hand. I told him what I meant to do, whereupon Sir W. Batten was very angry, and in a great heat (which will bring out any thing which he has in his mind, and I am glad of it, though it is base in him to have a thing so long in his mind without speaking of it, though I am glad this is the worst, for if he had worse it would out as well as this some time or other) told me that I should not think as I have heretofore done, make them sign orders and not sign them myself. Which what ignorance or worse it implies is easy to judge, when he shall sign to things (and the rest of the board too as appears in this business) for company and not out of their judgment for. After some discourse I did convince them that it was not fit to have it go, and Sir W. Batten first, and then the rest, did willingly cancel all their hands and tear the order, for I told them, Butler being such a rogue as I know him, and we have all signed him to be to the Duke, it will be in his power to publish this to our great reproach, that we should take such a course as this to serve ourselves in wronging the King by putting him into a place he is no wise capable of, and that in an Admiral ship. At noon we rose, Sir W. Batten ashamed and vexed, and so home to dinner, and after dinner walked to the old Exchange and so all along to Westminster Hall, White Hall, my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, and going by water back to the Temple did pay my debts in several places in order to my examining my accounts tomorrow to my great content. So in the evening home, and after supper (my father at my brother's) and merrily practising to dance, which my wife hath begun to learn this day of Mr. Pembleton, [Pembleton, the dancing-master, made Pepys very jealous, and there are many allusions to him in the following pages. His lessons ceased on May 27th.] but I fear will hardly do any great good at it, because she is conceited that she do well already, though I think no such thing. So to bed. At Westminster Hall, this day, I buy a book lately printed and licensed by Dr. Stradling, the Bishop of London's chaplin, being a book discovering the practices and designs of the papists, and the fears of some of our own fathers of the Protestant church heretofore of the return to Popery as it were prefacing it. The book is a very good book; but forasmuch as it touches one of the Queenmother's fathers confessors, the Bishop, which troubles many good men and members of Parliament, hath called it in, which I am sorry for. Another book I bought, being a collection of many expressions of the great Presbyterian Preachers upon publique occasions, in the late times, against the King and his party, as some of Mr. Marshall, Case, Calamy, Baxter, &c., which is good reading now, to see what they then did teach, and the people believe, and what they would seem to believe now. Lastly, I did hear that the Queen is much grieved of late at the King's neglecting her, he having not supped once with her this quarter of a year, and almost every night with my Lady Castlemaine; who hath been with him this St. George's feast at Windsor, and came home with him last night; and, which is more, they say is removed as to her bed from her own home to a chamber in White Hall, next to the King's own; which I am sorry to hear, though I love her much. 26th (Lord's-day). Lay pretty long in bed talking with my wife, and then up and set to the making up of my monthly accounts, but Tom coming, with whom I was angry for botching my camlott coat, to tell me that my father and he would dine with me, and that my father was at our church, I got me ready and had a very good sermon of a country minister upon "How blessed a thing it is for brethren to live together in unity!" So home and all to dinner, and then would have gone by coach to have seen my Lord Sandwich at Chelsey if the man would have taken us, but he denying it we staid at home, and I all the afternoon upon my accounts, and find myself worth full L700, for which I bless God, it being the most I was ever yet worth in money. In the evening (my father being gone to my brother's to lie to-night) my wife, Ashwell, and the boy and I, and the dogg, over the water and walked to Half-way house, and beyond into the fields, gathering of cowslipps, and so to Half-way house, with some cold lamb we carried with us, and there supped, and had a most pleasant walk back again, Ashwell all along telling us some parts of their mask at Chelsey School, which was very pretty, and I find she hath a most prodigious memory, remembering so much of things acted six or seven years ago. So home, and after reading my vows, being sleepy, without prayers to bed, for which God forgive me! 27th. Up betimes and to my office, where doing business alone a good while till people came about business to me. Will Griffin tells me this morning that Captain Browne, Sir W. Batten's brother-in-law, is dead of a blow given him two days ago by a seaman, a servant of his, being drunk, with a stone striking him on the forehead, for which I am sorry, he having a good woman and several small children. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home with my wife, merry, and after dinner by water to White Hall; but found the Duke of York gone to St. James's for this summer; and thence with Mr. Coventry, to whose chamber I went, and Sir W. Pen up to the Duke's closett. And a good while with him about our Navy business; and so I to White Hall, and there alone a while with my Lord Sandwich discoursing about his debt to the Navy, wherein he hath given me some things to resolve him in. Thence to my Lord's lodging, and thither came Creed to me, and he and I walked a great while in the garden, and thence to an alehouse in the market place to drink fine Lambeth ale, and so to Westminster Hall, and after walking there a great while, home by coach, where I found Mary gone from my wife, she being too high for her, though a very good servant, and my boy too will be going in a few days, for he is not for my family, he is grown so out of order and not to be ruled, and do himself, against his brother's counsel, desire to be gone, which I am sorry for, because I love the boy and would be glad to bring him to good. At home with my wife and Ashwell talking of her going into the country this year, wherein we had like to have fallen out, she thinking that I have a design to have her go, which I have not, and to let her stay here I perceive will not be convenient, for she expects more pleasure than I can give her here, and I fear I have done very ill in letting her begin to learn to dance. The Queen (which I did not know) it seems was at Windsor, at the late St. George's feast there; and the Duke of Monmouth dancing with her with his hat in his hand, the King came in and kissed him, and made him put on his hat, which every body took notice of. After being a while at my office home to supper and to bed, my Will being come home again after being at his father's all the last week taking physique. 28th. Up betimes and to my office, and there all the morning, only stepped up to see my wife and her dancing master at it, and I think after all she will do pretty well at it. So to dinner, Mr. Hunt dining with us, and so to the office, where we sat late, and then I to my office casting up my Lord's sea accounts over again, and putting them in order for payment, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and after having at my office settled some accounts for my Lord Sandwich, I went forth, and taking up my father at my brother's, took coach and towards Chelsey, 'lighting at an alehouse near the Gatehouse at Westminster to drink our morning draught, and so up again and to Chelsey, where we found my Lord all alone at a little table with one joynt of meat at dinner; we sat down and very merry talking, and mightily extolling the manner of his retirement, and the goodness of his diet, which indeed is so finely dressed: the mistress of the house, Mrs. Becke, having been a woman of good condition heretofore, a merchant's wife, and hath all things most excellently dressed; among others, her cakes admirable, and so good that my Lord's words were, they were fit to present to my Lady Castlemaine. From ordinary discourse my Lord fell to talk of other matters to me, of which chiefly the second part of the fray, which he told me a little while since of, between Mr. Edward Montagu and himself, which is that after that he had since been with him three times and no notice taken at all of any difference between them, and yet since that he hath forborn coming to him almost two months, and do speak not only slightly of my Lord every where, but hath complained to my Lord Chancellor of him, and arrogated all that ever my Lord hath done to be only by his direction and persuasion. Whether he hath done the like to the King or no, my Lord knows not; but my Lord hath been with the King since, and finds all things fair; and my Lord Chancellor hath told him of it, but with so much contempt of Mr. Montagu, as my Lord knows himself very secure against any thing the fool can do; and notwithstanding all this, so noble is his nature, that he professes himself ready to show kindness and pity to Mr. Montagu on any occasion. My Lord told me of his presenting Sir H. Bennet with a gold cupp of L100, which he refuses, with a compliment; but my Lord would have been glad he had taken it, that he might have had some obligations upon him which he thinks possible the other may refuse to prevent it; not that he hath any reason to doubt his kindness. But I perceive great differences there are at Court; and Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Bristol, and their faction, are likely to carry all things before them (which my Lord's judgment is, will not be for the best), and particularly against the Chancellor, who, he tells me, is irrecoverably lost: but, however, that he will not actually joyne in anything against the Chancellor, whom he do own to be his most sure friend, and to have been his greatest; and therefore will not openly act in either, but passively carry himself even. The Queen, my Lord tells me, he thinks he hath incurred some displeasure with, for his kindness to his neighbour, my Lady Castlemaine. My Lord tells me he hath no reason to fall for her sake, whose wit, management, nor interest, is not likely to hold up any man, and therefore he thinks it not his obligation to stand for her against his own interest. The Duke and Mr. Coventry my Lord says he is very well with, and fears not but they will show themselves his very good friends, specially at this time, he being able to serve them, and they needing him, which he did not tell me wherein. Talking of the business of Tangier, he tells me that my Lord Tiviott is gone away without the least respect paid to him, nor indeed to any man, but without his commission; and (if it be true what he says) having laid out seven or eight thousand pounds in commodities for the place; and besides having not only disobliged all the Commissioners for Tangier, but also Sir Charles Barkeley the other day, who, speaking in behalf of Colonel Fitz-Gerald, that having been deputy-governor there already, he ought to have expected and had the governorship upon the death or removal of the former governor. And whereas it is said that he and his men are Irish, which is indeed the main thing that hath moved the King and Council to put in Tiviott to prevent the Irish having too great and the whole command there under Fitz-Gerald; he further said that there was never an Englishman fit to command Tangier; my Lord Tiviott answered yes, that there were many more fit than himself or Fitz-Gerald either. So that Fitz-Gerald being so great with the Duke of York, and being already made deputy-governor, independent of my Lord Tiviott, and he being also left here behind him for a while, my Lord Sandwich do think that, putting all these things together, the few friends he hath left, and the ill posture of his affairs, my Lord Tiviott is not a man of the conduct and management that either people take him to be, or is fit for the command of the place. And here, speaking of the Duke of York and Sir Charles Barkeley, my Lord tells me that he do very much admire the good management, and discretion, and nobleness of the Duke, that whatever he may be led by him or Mr. Coventry singly in private, yet he did not observe that in publique matters, but he did give as ready hearing and as good acceptance to any reasons offered by any other man against the opinions of them, as he did to them, and would concur in the prosecution of it. Then we came to discourse upon his own sea accompts, and came to a resolution what and how to proceed in them; wherein he resolved, though I offered him a way of evading the greatest part of his debt honestly, by making himself debtor to the Parliament, before the King's time, which he might justly do, yet he resolved to go openly and nakedly in it, and put himself to the kindness of the King and Duke, which humour, I must confess, and so did tell him (with which he was not a little pleased) had thriven very well with him, being known to be a man of candid and open dealing, without any private tricks or hidden designs as other men commonly have in what they do. From that we had discourse of Sir G. Carteret, who he finds kind to him, but it may be a little envious, and most other men are, and of many others; and upon the whole do find that it is a troublesome thing for a man of any condition at Court to carry himself even, and without contracting enemys or envyers; and that much discretion and dissimulation is necessary to do it. My father staid a good while at the window and then sat down by himself while my Lord and I were thus an hour together or two after dinner discoursing, and by and by he took his leave, and told me he would stay below for me. Anon I took leave, and coming down found my father unexpectedly in great pain and desiring for God's sake to get him a bed to lie upon, which I did, and W. Howe and I staid by him, in so great pain as I never saw, poor wretch, and with that patience, crying only: Terrible, terrible pain, God help me, God help me, with the mournful voice, that made my heart ake. He desired to rest a little alone to see whether it would abate, and W. Howe and I went down and walked in the gardens, which are very fine, and a pretty fountayne, with which I was finely wetted, and up to a banquetting house, with a very fine prospect, and so back to my father, who I found in such pain that I could not bear the sight of it without weeping, never thinking that I should be able to get him from thence, but at last, finding it like to continue, I got him to go to the coach, with great pain, and driving hard, he all the while in a most unsufferable torment (meeting in the way with Captain Ferrers going to my Lord, to tell him that my Lady Jemimah is come to town, and that Will Stankes is come with my father's horses), not staying the coach to speak with any body, but once, in St. Paul's Churchyard, we were forced to stay, the jogging and pain making my father vomit, which it never had done before. At last we got home, and all helping him we got him to bed presently, and after half an hour's lying in his naked bed (it being a rupture [with] which he is troubled, and has been this 20 years, but never in half the pain and with so great swelling as now, and how this came but by drinking of cold small beer and sitting long upon a low stool and then standing long after it he cannot tell) . . . . After which he was at good ease, and so continued, and so fell to sleep, and we went down whither W. Stankes was come with his horses. But it is very pleasant to hear how he rails at the rumbling and ado that is in London over it is in the country, that he cannot endure it. He supped with us, and very merry, and then he to his lodgings at the Inne with the horses, and so we to bed, I to my father who is very well again, and both slept very well. 30th. Up, and after drinking my morning draft with my father and W. Stankes, I went forth to Sir W. Batten, who is going (to no purpose as he uses to do) to Chatham upon a survey. So to my office, where till towards noon, and then to the Exchange, and back home to dinner, where Mrs. Hunt, my father, and W. Stankes; but, Lord! what a stir Stankes makes with his being crowded in the streets and wearied in walking in London, and would not be wooed by my wife and Ashwell to go to a play, nor to White Hall, or to see the lyons, [The Tower menagerie, with its famous lions, which was one of the chief sights of London, and gave rise to a new English word, was not abolished until the early part of the present century.] though he was carried in a coach. I never could have thought there had been upon earth a man so little curious in the world as he is. At the office all the afternoon till 9 at night, so home to cards with my father, wife, and Ashwell, and so to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Academy was dissolved by order of the Pope After some pleasant talk, my wife, Ashwell, and I to bed And so to bed, my father lying with me in Ashwell's bed Dare not oppose it alone for making an enemy and do no good Dinner was great, and most neatly dressed Dog attending us, which made us all merry again Galileo's air thermometer, made before 1597 I do not find other people so willing to do business as myself I was very angry, and resolve to beat him to-morrow Insurrection of the Catholiques there Justice of proceeding not to condemn a man unheard Matters in Ireland are full of discontent My maid Susan ill, or would be thought so Parliament do agree to throw down Popery Railed bitterly ever and anon against John Calvin She is conceited that she do well already So home to supper and bed with my father That he is not able to live almost with her That I might say I saw no money in the paper There is no man almost in the City cares a turd for him Though it be but little, yet I do get ground every month 
4141	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY & JUNE 1663 May 1st. Up betimes and my father with me, and he and I all the morning and Will Stankes private, in my wife's closet above, settling our matters concerning our Brampton estate, &c., and I find that there will be, after all debts paid within L100, L50 per annum clear coming towards my father's maintenance, besides L25 per annum annuities to my Uncle Thomas and Aunt Perkins. Of which, though I was in my mind glad, yet thought it not fit to let my father know it thoroughly, but after he had gone out to visit my uncle Thomas and brought him to dinner with him, and after dinner I got my father, brother Tom, and myself together, I did make the business worse to them, and did promise L20 out of my own purse to make it L50 a year to my father, propounding that Stortlow may be sold to pay L200 for his satisfaction therein and the rest to go towards payment of debts and legacies. The truth is I am fearful lest my father should die before debts are paid, and then the land goes to Tom and the burden of paying all debts will fall upon the rest of the land. Not that I would do my brother any real hurt. I advised my father to good husbandry and to living within the compass of L50 a year, and all in such kind words, as not only made, them but myself to weep, and I hope it will have a good effect. That being done, and all things agreed on, we went down, and after a glass of wine we all took horse, and I, upon a horse hired of Mr. Game, saw him out of London, at the end of Bishopsgate Street, and so I turned and rode, with some trouble, through the fields, and then Holborn, &c., towards Hide Park, whither all the world, I think, are going, and in my going, almost thither, met W. Howe coming galloping upon a little crop black nag; it seems one that was taken in some ground of my Lord's, by some mischance being left by his master, a thief; this horse being found with black cloth ears on, and a false mayne, having none of his own; and I back again with him to the Chequer, at Charing Cross, and there put up my own dull jade, and by his advice saddled a delicate stone-horse of Captain Ferrers's, and with that rid in state to the Park, where none better mounted than I almost, but being in a throng of horses, seeing the King's riders showing tricks with their managed horses, which were very strange, my stone-horse was very troublesome, and begun to, fight with other horses, to the dangering him and myself, and with much ado I got out, and kept myself out of harm's way.. Here I saw nothing good, neither the King, nor my Lady Castlemaine, nor any great ladies or beauties being there, there being more pleasure a great deal at an ordinary day; or else those few good faces that there were choked up with the many bad ones, there being people of all sorts in coaches there, to some thousands, I think. Going thither in the highway, just by the Park gate, I met a boy in a sculler boat, carried by a dozen people at least, rowing as hard as he could drive, it seems upon some wager. By and by, about seven or eight o'clock, homeward; and changing my horse again, I rode home, coaches going in great crowds to the further end of the town almost. In my way, in Leadenhall Street, there was morris-dancing which I have not seen a great while. So set my horse up at Game's, paying 5s. for him. And so home to see Sir J. Minnes, who is well again, and after staying talking with him awhile, I took leave and went to hear Mrs. Turner's daughter, at whose house Sir J. Minnes lies, play on the harpsicon; but, Lord! it was enough to make any man sick to hear her; yet I was forced to commend her highly. So home to supper and to bed, Ashwell playing upon the tryangle very well before I went to bed. This day Captain Grove sent me a side of pork, which was the oddest present, sure, that was ever made any man; and the next, I remember I told my wife, I believe would be a pound of candles, or a shoulder of mutton; but the fellow do it in kindness, and is one I am beholden to. So to bed very weary, and a little galled for lack of riding, praying to God for a good journey to my father, of whom I am afeard, he being so lately ill of his pain. 2nd. Being weary last night, I slept till almost seven o'clock, a thing I have not done many a day. So up and to my office (being come to some angry words with my wife about neglecting the keeping of the house clean, I calling her beggar, and she me pricklouse, which vexed me) and there all the morning. So to the Exchange and then home to dinner, and very merry and well pleased with my wife, and so to the office again, where we met extraordinary upon drawing up the debts of the Navy to my Lord Treasurer. So rose and up to Sir W. Pen to drink a glass of bad syder in his new far low dining room, which is very noble, and so home, where Captain Ferrers and his lady are come to see my wife, he being to go the beginning of next week to France to sea and I think to fetch over my young Lord Hinchinbroke. They being gone I to my office to write letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up before 5 o'clock and alone at setting my Brampton papers to rights according to my father's and my computation and resolution the other day to my good content, I finding that there will be clear saved to us L50 per annum, only a debt of it may be L100. So made myself ready and to church, where Sir W. Pen showed me the young lady which young Dawes, that sits in the new corner-pew in the church, hath stole away from Sir Andrew Rickard, her guardian, worth L1000 per annum present, good land, and some money, and a very well-bred and handsome lady: he, I doubt, but a simple fellow. However, he got this good luck to get her, which methinks I could envy him with all my heart. Home to dinner with my wife, who not being very well did not dress herself but staid at home all day, and so I to church in the afternoon and so home again, and up to teach Ashwell the grounds of time and other things on the tryangle, and made her take out a Psalm very well, she having a good ear and hand. And so a while to my office, and then home to supper and prayers, to bed, my wife and I having a little falling out because I would not leave my discourse below with her and Ashwell to go up and talk with her alone upon something she has to say. She reproached me but I had rather talk with any body than her, by which I find I think she is jealous of my freedom with Ashwell, which I must avoid giving occasion of. 4th. Up betimes and to setting my Brampton papers in order and looking over my wardrobe against summer, and laying things in order to send to my brother to alter. By and by took boat intending to have gone down to Woolwich, but seeing I could not get back time enough to dinner, I returned and home. Whither by and by the dancing-master' came, whom standing by, seeing him instructing my wife, when he had done with her, he would needs have me try the steps of a coranto, and what with his desire and my wife's importunity, I did begin, and then was obliged to give him entry-money 10s., and am become his scholler. The truth is, I think it a thing very useful for a gentleman, and sometimes I may have occasion of using it, and though it cost me what I am heartily sorry it should, besides that I must by my oath give half as much more to the poor, yet I am resolved to get it up some other way, and then it will not be above a month or two in a year. So though it be against my stomach yet I will try it a little while; if I see it comes to any great inconvenience or charge I will fling it off. After I had begun with the steps of half a coranto, which I think I shall learn well enough, he went away, and we to dinner, and by and by out by coach, and set my wife down at my Lord Crew's, going to see my Lady Jem. Montagu, who is lately come to town, and I to St. James's; where Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen and I staid a good while for the Duke's coming in, but not coming, we walked to White Hall; and meeting the King, we followed him into the Park, where Mr. Coventry and he talked of building a new yacht, which the King is resolved to have built out of his privy purse, he having some contrivance of his own. The talk being done, we fell off to White Hall, leaving the King in the Park, and going back, met the Duke going towards St. James's to meet us. So he turned back again, and to his closett at White Hall; and there, my Lord Sandwich present, we did our weekly errand, and so broke up; and I down into the garden with my Lord Sandwich (after we had sat an hour at the Tangier Committee); and after talking largely of his own businesses, we begun to talk how matters are at Court: and though he did not flatly tell me any such thing, yet I do suspect that all is not kind between the King and the Duke, and that the King's fondness to the little Duke do occasion it; and it may be that there is some fear of his being made heir to the Crown. But this my Lord did not tell me, but is my guess only; and that my Lord Chancellor is without doubt falling past hopes. He being gone to Chelsey by coach I to his lodgings, where my wife staid for me, and she from thence to see Mrs. Pierce and called me at Whitehall stairs (where I went before by land to know whether there was any play at Court to-night) and there being none she and I to Mr. Creed to the Exchange, where she bought something, and from thence by water to White Fryars, and wife to see Mrs. Turner, and then came to me at my brother's, where I did give him order about my summer clothes, and so home by coach, and after supper to bed to my wife, with whom I have not lain since I used to lie with my father till to-night. 5th. Up betimes and to my office, and there busy all the morning, among other things walked a good while up and down with Sir J. Minnes, he telling many old stories of the Navy, and of the state of the Navy at the beginning of the late troubles, and I am troubled at my heart to think, and shall hereafter cease to wonder, at the bad success of the King's cause, when such a knave as he (if it be true what he says) had the whole management of the fleet, and the design of putting out of my Lord Warwick, and carrying the fleet to the King, wherein he failed most fatally to the King's ruin. Dined at home, and after dinner up to try my dance, and so to the office again, where we sat all the afternoon. In the evening Deane of Woolwich went home with me and showed me the use of a little sliding ruler, less than that I bought the other day, which is the same with that, but more portable; however I did not seem to understand or even to have seen anything of it before, but I find him an ingenious fellow, and a good servant in his place to the King. Thence to my office busy writing letters, and then came Sir W. Warren, staying for a letter in his business by the post, and while that was writing he and I talked about merchandise, trade, and getting of money. I made it my business to enquire what way there is for a man bred like me to come to understand anything of trade. He did most discretely answer me in all things, shewing me the danger for me to meddle either in ships or merchandise of any sort or common stocks, but what I have to keep at interest, which is a good, quiett, and easy profit, and once in a little while something offers that with ready money you may make use of money to good profit. Wherein I concur much with him, and parted late with great pleasure and content in his discourse, and so home to supper and to bed. It has been this afternoon very hot and this evening also, and about 11 at night going to bed it fell a-thundering and lightening, the greatest flashes enlightening the whole body of the yard, that ever I saw in my life. 6th. Up betimes and to my office a good while at my new rulers, then to business, and towards noon to the Exchange with Creed, where we met with Sir J. Minnes coming in his coach from Westminster, who tells us, in great heat, that, by God, the Parliament will make mad work; that they will render all men incapable of any military or civil employment that have borne arms in the late troubles against the King, excepting some persons; which, if it be so, as I hope it is not, will give great cause of discontent, and I doubt will have but bad effects. I left them at the Exchange and walked to Paul's Churchyard to look upon a book or two, and so back, and thence to the Trinity House, and there dined, where, among other discourse worth hearing among the old seamen, they tell us that they have catched often in Greenland in fishing whales with the iron grapnells that had formerly been struck into their bodies covered over with fat; that they have had eleven hogsheads of oyle out of the tongue of a whale. Thence after dinner home to my office, and there busy till the evening. Then home and to supper, and while at supper comes Mr. Pembleton, and after supper we up to our dancing room and there danced three or four country dances, and after that a practice of my coranto I began with him the other day, and I begin to think that I shall be able to do something at it in time. Late and merry at it, and so weary to bed. 7th. Up betimes and to my office awhile, and then by water with my wife, leaving her at the new Exchange, and I to see Dr. Williams, and spoke with him about my business with Tom Trice, and so to my brother's, who I find very careful now-a-days, more than ordinary in his business and like to do well. From thence to Westminster, and there up and down from the Hall to the Lobby, the Parliament sitting. Sir Thomas Crew this day tells me that the Queen, hearing that there was L40,000 per annum brought into her account among the other expences of the Crown to the Committee of Parliament, she took order to let them know that she hath yet for the payment of her whole family received but L4,000, which is a notable act of spirit, and I believe is true. So by coach to my Lord Crew's, and there dined with him. He tells me of the order the House of Commons have made for the drawing an Act for the rendering none capable of preferment or employment in the State, but who have been loyall and constant to the King and Church; which will be fatal to a great many, and makes me doubt lest I myself, with all my innocence during the late times, should be brought in, being employed in the Exchequer; but, I hope, God will provide for me. This day the new Theatre Royal begins to act with scenes the Humourous Lieutenant, but I have not time to see it, nor could stay to see my Lady Jemimah lately come to town, and who was here in the house, but dined above with her grandmother. But taking my wife at my brother's home by coach, and the officers being at Deptford at a Pay we had no office, but I took my wife by water and so spent the evening, and so home with great pleasure to supper, and then to bed. 8th. Up very early and to my office, there preparing letters to my father of great import in the settling of our affairs, and putting him upon a way [of] good husbandry, I promising to make out of my own purse him up to L50 per annum, till either by my uncle Thomas's death or the fall of the Wardrobe place he be otherwise provided. That done I by water to the Strand, and there viewed the Queen-Mother's works at Somersett House, and thence to the new playhouse, but could not get in to see it. So to visit my Lady Jemimah, who is grown much since I saw her; but lacks mightily to be brought into the fashion of the court to set her off: Thence to the Temple, and there sat till one o'clock reading at Playford's in Dr. Usher's 'Body of Divinity' his discourse of the Scripture, which is as much, I believe, as is anywhere said by any man, but yet there is room to cavill, if a man would use no faith to the tradition of the Church in which he is born, which I think to be as good an argument as most is brought for many things, and it may be for that among others. Thence to my brother's, and there took up my wife and Ashwell to the Theatre Royall, being the second day of its being opened. The house is made with extraordinary good contrivance, and yet hath some faults, as the narrowness of the passages in and out of the Pitt, and the distance from the stage to the boxes, which I am confident cannot hear; but for all other things it is well, only, above all, the musique being below, and most of it sounding under the very stage, there is no hearing of the bases at all, nor very well of the trebles, which sure must be mended. The play was "The Humerous Lieutenant," a play that hath little good in it, nor much in the very part which, by the King's command, Lacy now acts instead of Clun. In the dance, the tall devil's actions was very pretty. The play being done, we home by water, having been a little shamed that my wife and woman were in such a pickle, all the ladies being finer and better dressed in the pitt than they used, I think, to be. To my office to set down this day's passage, and, though my oath against going to plays do not oblige me against this house, because it was not then in being, yet believing that at the time my meaning was against all publique houses, I am resolved to deny myself the liberty of two plays at Court, which are in arreare to me for the months of March and April, which will more than countervail this excess, so that this month of May is the first that I must claim a liberty of going to a Court play according to my oath. So home to supper, and at supper comes Pembleton, and afterwards we all up to dancing till late, and so broke up and to bed, and they say that I am like to make a dancer. 9th. Up betimes and to my office, whither sooner than ordinary comes Mr. Hater desiring to speak a word to me alone, which I was from the disorder of his countenance amused at, and so the poor man began telling me that by Providence being the last Lord's day at a meeting of some Friends upon doing of their duties, they were surprised, and he carried to the Counter, but afterwards released; however, hearing that Sir W. Batten do hear of [it,] he thought it good to give me an account of it, lest it might tend to any prejudice to me. I was extraordinary surprised with it, and troubled for him, knowing that now it is out it is impossible for me to conceal it, or keep him in employment under me without danger to myself. I cast about all I could, and did give him the best advice I could, desiring to know if I should promise that he would not for the time to come commit the same, he told me he desired that I would rather forbear to promise that, for he durst not do it, whatever God in His providence shall do with him, and that for my part he did bless God and thank me for all the love and kindness I have shewed him hitherto. I could not without tears in my eyes discourse with him further, but at last did pitch upon telling the truth of the whole to Mr. Coventry as soon as I could, and to that end did use means to prevent Sir W. Batten (who came to town last night) from going to that end to-day, lest he might doe it to Sir G. Carteret or Mr. Coventry before me; which I did prevail and kept him at the office all the morning. At noon dined at home with a heavy heart for the poor man, and after dinner went out to my brother's, and thence to Westminster, where at Mr. Jervas's, my old barber, I did try two or three borders and perriwiggs, meaning to wear one; and yet I have no stomach [for it,] but that the pains of keeping my hair clean is so great. He trimmed me, and at last I parted, but my mind was almost altered from my first purpose, from the trouble that I foresee will be in wearing them also. Thence by water home and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and bed, with my mind much troubled about T. Hater. 10th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and put on a black cloth suit, with white lynings under all, as the fashion is to wear, to appear under the breeches. So being ready walked to St. James's, where I sat talking with Mr. Coventry, while he made himself ready, about several businesses of the Navy, and afterwards, the Duke being gone out, he and I walked to White Hall together over the Park, I telling him what had happened to Tom Hater, at which he seems very sorry, but tells me that if it is not made very publique, it will not be necessary to put him away at present, but give him good caution for the time to come. However, he will speak to the Duke about it and know his pleasure. Parted with him there, and I walked back to St. James's, and was there at mass, and was forced in the crowd to kneel down; and mass being done, to the King's Head ordinary, whither I sent for Mr. Creed and there we dined, where many Parliament-men; and most of their talk was about the news from Scotland, that the Bishop of Galloway was besieged in his house by some woman, and had like to have been outraged, but I know not how he was secured; which is bad news, and looks just as it did in the beginning of the late troubles. From thence they talked of rebellion; and I perceive they make it their great maxime to be sure to master the City of London, whatever comes of it or from it. After that to some other discourse, and, among other things, talking of the way of ordinaries, that it is very convenient, because a man knows what he hath to pay: one did wish that, among many bad, we could learn two good things of France, which were that we would not think it below the gentleman, or person of honour at a tavern, to bargain for his meat before he eats it; and next, to take no servant without certificate from some friend or gentleman of his good behaviour and abilities. Hence with Creed into St. James's Park, and there walked all the afternoon, and thence on foot home, and after a little while at my office walked in the garden with my wife, and so home to supper, and after prayers to bed. My brother Tom supped with me, and should have brought my aunt Ellen with him; she was not free to go abroad. 11th. Up betimes, and by water to Woolwich on board the Royall James, to see in what dispatch she is to be carried about to Chatham. So to the yard a little, and thence on foot to Greenwich, where going I was set upon by a great dogg, who got hold of my garters, and might have done me hurt; but, Lord, to see in what a maze I was, that, having a sword about me, I never thought of it, or had the heart to make use of it, but might, for want of that courage, have been worried. Took water there and home, and both coming and going did con my lesson on my Ruler to measure timber, which I think I can well undertake now to do. At home there being Pembleton I danced, and I think shall come on to do something in a little time, and after dinner by coach with Sir W. Pen (setting down his daughter at Clerkenwell), to St. James's, where we attended the Duke of York: and, among other things, Sir G. Carteret and I had a great dispute about the different value of the pieces of eight rated by Mr. Creed at 4s. and 5d., and by Pitts at 4s. and 9d., which was the greatest husbandry to the King? he persisting that the greatest sum was; which is as ridiculous a piece of ignorance as could be imagined. However, it is to be argued at the Board, and reported to the Duke next week; which I shall do with advantage, I hope. Thence to the Tangier Committee, where we should have concluded in sending Captain Cuttance and the rest to Tangier to deliberate upon the design of the Mole before they begin to work upon it, but there being not a committee (my Lord intending to be there but was taken up at my Lady Castlemayne's) I parted and went homeward, after a little discourse with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who tells me that my Lady Castlemaine hath now got lodgings near the King's chamber at Court; and that the other day Dr. Clerke and he did dissect two bodies, a man and a woman; before the King, with which the King was highly pleased. By water and called upon Tom Trice by appointment with Dr. Williams, but the Dr. did not come, it seems by T. Trice's desire, not thinking he should be at leisure. However, in general we talked of our business, and I do not find that he will come to any lower terms than L150, which I think I shall not give him but by law, and so we parted, and I called upon Mr. Crumlum, and did give him the 10s. remaining, not laid out of the L5 I promised him for the school, with which he will buy strings, and golden letters upon the books I did give them. I sat with him and his wife a great while talking, and she is [a] pretty woman, never yet with child, and methinks looks as if her mouth watered now and then upon some of her boys. Then upon Tom Pepys, the Turner, desiring his father and his letter to Piggott signifying his consent to the selling of his land for the paying of us his money, and so home, and finding Pembleton there we did dance till it was late, and so to supper and to bed. 12th. Up between four and five, and after dressing myself then to my office to prepare business against the afternoon, where all the morning, and dined at noon at home, where a little angry with my wife for minding nothing now but the dancing-master, having him come twice a day, which is a folly. Again, to my office. We sat till late, our chief business being the reconciling the business of the pieces of eight mentioned yesterday before the Duke of York, wherein I have got the day, and they are all brought over to what I said, of which I am proud. Late writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed. Here I found Creed staying for me, and so after supper I staid him all night and lay with me, our great discourse being the folly of our two doting knights, of which I am ashamed. 13th. Lay till 6 o'clock and then up, and after a little talk and mirth, he went away, and I to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner Pembleton came and I practised. But, Lord! to see how my wife will not be thought to need telling by me or Ashwell, and yet will plead that she has learnt but a month, which causes many short fallings out between us. So to my office, whither one-eyed Cooper came to see me, and I made him to show me the use of platts, and to understand the lines, and how to find how lands bear, &c., to my great content. Then came Mr. Barrow, storekeeper of Chatham, who tells me many things, how basely Sir W. Batten has carried himself to him, and in all things else like a passionate dotard, to the King's great wrong. God mend all, for I am sure we are but in an ill condition in the Navy, however the King is served in other places. Home to supper, to cards, and to bed. 14th. Up betimes and put up some things to send to Brampton. Then abroad to the Temple, and up and down about business, and met Mr. Moore; and with him to an alehouse in Holborn; where in discourse he told me that he fears the King will be tempted to endeavour the setting the Crown upon the little Duke, which may cause troubles; which God forbid, unless it be his due! He told me my Lord do begin to settle to business again, which I am glad of, for he must not sit out, now he has done his own business by getting his estate settled, and that the King did send for him the other day to my Lady Castlemaine's, to play at cards, where he lost L50; for which I am sorry, though he says my Lord was pleased at it, and said he would be glad at any time to lose L50 for the King to send for him to play, which I do not so well like. Thence home, and after dinner to the office, where we sat till night, and then made up my papers and letters by the post, and so home to dance with Pembleton. This day we received a baskett from my sister Pall, made by her of paper, which hath a great deal of labour in it for country innocent work. After supper to bed, and going to bed received a letter from Mr. Coventry desiring my coming to him to-morrow morning, which troubled me to think what the business should be, fearing it must be some bad news in Tom Hater's business. 15th. Up betimes and walked to St. James's, where Mr. Coventry being in bed I walked in the Park, discoursing with the keeper of the Pell Mell, who was sweeping of it; who told me of what the earth is mixed that do floor the Mall, and that over all there is cockle-shells powdered, and spread to keep it fast; which, however, in dry weather, turns to dust and deads the ball. Thence to Mr. Coventry; and sitting by his bedside, he did tell me that he sent for me to discourse upon my Lord Sandwich's allowances for his several pays, and what his thoughts are concerning his demands; which he could not take the freedom to do face to face, it being not so proper as by me: and did give me a most friendly and ingenuous account of all; telling me how unsafe, at this juncture, while every man's, and his actions particularly, are descanted upon, it is either for him to put the Duke upon doing, or my Lord himself to desire anything extraordinary, 'specially the King having been so bountifull already; which the world takes notice of even to some repinings. All which he did desire me to discourse with my Lord of; which I have undertook to do. We talked also of our office in general, with which he told me that he was now-a-days nothing so satisfied as he was wont to be. I confess I told him things are ordered in that way that we must of necessity break in a little time a pieces. After done with him about these things, he told me that for Mr. Hater the Duke's word was in short that he found he had a good servant, an Anabaptist, and unless he did carry himself more to the scandal of the office, he would bear with his opinion till he heard further, which do please me very much. Thence walked to Westminster, and there up and down in the Hall and the Parliament House all the morning; at noon by coach to my Lord Crew's, hearing that Lord Sandwich did dine there; where I told him what had passed between Mr. Coventry and myself; with which he was contented, though I could perceive not very well pleased. And I do believe that my Lord do find some other things go against his mind in the House; for in the motion made the other day in the House by my Lord Bruce, that none be capable of employment but such as have been loyal and constant to the King and Church, the General [Monk] and my Lord were mentioned to be excepted; and my Lord Bruce did come since to my Lord, to clear himself that he meant nothing to his prejudice, nor could it have any such effect if he did mean it. After discourse with my Lord; to dinner with him; there dining there my Lord Montagu of Boughton, Mr. William Montagu his brother, the Queen's Sollicitor, &c., and a fine dinner. Their talk about a ridiculous falling-out two days ago at my Lord of Oxford's house, at an entertainment of his, there being there my Lord of Albemarle, Lynsey, two of the Porters, my Lord Bellasses, and others, where there were high words and some blows, and pulling off of perriwiggs; till my Lord Monk took away some of their swords, and sent for some soldiers to guard the house till the fray was ended. To such a degree of madness the nobility of this age is come! After dinner I went up to Sir Thomas Crew, who lies there not very well in his head, being troubled with vapours and fits of dizziness: and there I sat talking with him all the afternoon from one discourse to another, the most was upon the unhappy posture of things at this time; that the King do mind nothing but pleasures, and hates the very sight or thoughts of business; that my Lady Castlemaine rules him, who, he says, hath all the tricks of Aretin [An allusion to Aretin's infamous letters and sonnets accompanying the as infamous "Postures" engraved by Marc Antonio from the designs of Julio Romano (Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," privately printed, 1871).] that are to be practised to give pleasure. In which he is too able . . . . but what is the unhappiness in that, as the Italian proverb says, "lazzo dritto non vuolt consiglio." If any of the sober counsellors give him good advice, and move him in anything that is to his good and honour, the other part, which are his counsellers of pleasure, take him when he is with my Lady Castlemaine, and in a humour of delight, and then persuade him that he ought not to hear nor listen to the advice of those old dotards or counsellors that were heretofore his enemies: when, God knows! it is they that now-a-days do most study his honour. It seems the present favourites now are my Lord Bristol, Duke of Buckingham, Sir H. Bennet, my Lord Ashley, and Sir Charles Barkeley; who, among them, have cast my Lord Chancellor upon his back, past ever getting up again; there being now little for him to do, and he waits at Court attending to speak to the King as others do: which I pray God may prove of good effects, for it is feared it will be the same with my Lord Treasurer shortly. But strange to hear how my Lord Ashley, by my Lord Bristol's means (he being brought over to the Catholique party against the Bishopps, whom he hates to the death, and publicly rails against them; not that he is become a Catholique, but merely opposes the Bishopps; and yet, for aught I hear, the Bishopp of London keeps as great with the King as ever) is got into favour, so much that, being a man of great business and yet of pleasure, and drolling too, he, it is thought, will be made Lord Treasurer upon the death or removal of the good old man. My Lord Albemarle, I hear, do bear through and bustle among them, and will not be removed from the King's good opinion and favour, though none of the Cabinett; but yet he is envied enough. It is made very doubtful whether the King do not intend the making of the Duke of Monmouth legitimate; [Thomas Ross, Monmouth's tutor, put the idea into his head that Charles II. had married his mother. The report was sedulously spread abroad, and obtained some kind of credence, until, in June, 1678, the king set the matter at rest by publishing a declaration, which was entered in the Council book and registered in Chancery. The words of the declaration are: "That to avoid any dispute which might happen in time to come concerning the succession of the Crown, he (Charles) did declare, in the presence of Almighty God, that he never gave, nor made any contract of marriage, nor was married to Mrs. Barlow, alias Waters, the Duke of Monmouth's mother, nor to any other woman whatsoever, but to his present wife, Queen Catherine, then living."] but surely the Commons of England will never do it, nor the Duke of York suffer it, whose lady, I am told, is very troublesome to him by her jealousy. But it is wonderful that Sir Charles Barkeley should be so great still, not [only] with the King, but Duke also; who did so stiffly swear that he had lain with her. [The conspiracy of Sir Charles Berkeley, Lord Arran, Jermyn, Talbot, and Killigrew to traduce Anne Hyde was peculiarly disgraceful, and the conduct of all the actors in the affair of the marriage, from Lord Clarendon downwards, was far from creditable (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," ii. 68-79)] And another one Armour that he rode before her on horseback in Holland I think . . . . No care is observed to be taken of the main chance, either for maintaining of trade or opposing of factions, which, God knows, are ready to break out, if any of them (which God forbid!) should dare to begin; the King and every man about him minding so much their pleasures or profits. My Lord Hinchingbroke, I am told, hath had a mischance to kill his boy by his birding-piece going off as he was a-fowling. The gun was charged with small shot, and hit the boy in the face and about the temples, and he lived four days. In Scotland, it seems, for all the newes-books tell us every week that they are all so quiett, and everything in the Church settled, the old woman had like to have killed, the other day, the Bishop of Galloway, and not half the Churches of the whole kingdom conform. Strange were the effects of the late thunder and lightning about a week since at Northampton, coming with great rain, which caused extraordinary floods in a few hours, bearing away bridges, drowning horses, men, and cattle. Two men passing over a bridge on horseback, the arches before and behind them were borne away, and that left which they were upon: but, however, one of the horses fell over, and was drowned. Stacks of faggots carried as high as a steeple, and other dreadful things; which Sir Thomas Crew showed me letters to him about from Mr. Freemantle and others, that it is very true. The Portugalls have choused us, [The word chouse appears to have been introduced into the language at the beginning of the seventeenth century. In 1609, a Chiaus sent by Sir Robert Shirley, from Constantinople to London, had chiaused (or choused) the Turkish and Persian merchants out of L4,000, before the arrival of his employer, and had decamped. The affair was quite recent in 1610, when Jonson's "Alchemist" appeared, in which it is alluded to .] it seems, in the Island of Bombay, in the East Indys; for after a great charge of our fleets being sent thither with full commission from the King of Portugall to receive it, the Governour by some pretence or other will not deliver it to Sir Abraham Shipman, sent from the King, nor to my Lord of Marlborough; which the King takes highly ill, and I fear our Queen will fare the worse for it. The Dutch decay there exceedingly, it being believed that their people will revolt from them there, and they forced to give over their trade. This is talked of among us, but how true I understand not. Sir Thomas showed me his picture and Sir Anthony Vandike's, in crayon in little, done exceedingly well. Having thus freely talked with him, and of many more things, I took leave, and by coach to St. James's, and there told Mr. Coventry what I had done with my Lord with great satisfaction, and so well pleased home, where I found it almost night, and my wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking. Now so deadly full of jealousy I am that my heart and head did so cast about and fret that I could not do any business possibly, but went out to my office, and anon late home again and ready to chide at every thing, and then suddenly to bed and could hardly sleep, yet durst not say any thing, but was forced to say that I had bad news from the Duke concerning Tom Hater as an excuse to my wife, who by my folly has too much opportunity given her with the man, who is a pretty neat black man, but married. But it is a deadly folly and plague that I bring upon myself to be so jealous and by giving myself such an occasion more than my wife desired of giving her another month's dancing. Which however shall be ended as soon as I can possibly. But I am ashamed to think what a course I did take by lying to see whether my wife did wear drawers to-day as she used to do, and other things to raise my suspicion of her, but I found no true cause of doing it. 16th. Up with my mind disturbed and with my last night's doubts upon me, for which I deserve to be beaten if not really served as I am fearful of being, especially since God knows that I do not find honesty enough in my own mind but that upon a small temptation I could be false to her, and therefore ought not to expect more justice from her, but God pardon both my sin and my folly herein. To my office and there sitting all the morning, and at noon dined at home. After dinner comes Pembleton, and I being out of humour would not see him, pretending business, but, Lord! with what jealousy did I walk up and down my chamber listening to hear whether they danced or no, which they did, notwithstanding I afterwards knew and did then believe that Ashwell was with them. So to my office awhile, and, my jealousy still reigning, I went in and, not out of any pleasure but from that only reason, did go up to them to practise, and did make an end of "La Duchesse," which I think I should, with a little pains, do very well. So broke up and saw him gone. Then Captain Cocke coming to me to speak about my seeming discourtesy to him in the business of his hemp, I went to the office with him, and there discoursed it largely and I think to his satisfaction. Then to my business, writing letters and other things till late at night, and so home to supper and bed. My mind in some better ease resolving to prevent matters for the time to come as much as I can, it being to no purpose to trouble myself for what is past, being occasioned too by my own folly. 17th (Lord's day). Up and in my chamber all the morning, preparing my great letters to my father, stating to him the perfect condition of our estate. My wife and Ashwell to church, and after dinner they to church again, and I all the afternoon making an end of my morning's work, which I did about the evening, and then to talk with my wife till after supper, and so to bed having another small falling out and myself vexed with my old fit of jealousy about her dancing-master. But I am a fool for doing it. So to bed by daylight, I having a very great cold, so as I doubt whether I shall be able to speak to-morrow at our attending the Duke, being now so hoarse. 18th. Up and after taking leave of Sir W. Batten, who is gone this day towards Portsmouth (to little purpose, God knows) upon his survey, I home and spent the morning at dancing; at noon Creed dined with us and Mr. Deane Woolwich, and so after dinner came Mr. Howe, who however had enough for his dinner, and so, having done, by coach to Westminster, she to Mrs. Clerke and I to St. James's, where the Duke being gone down by water to-day with the King I went thence to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, where Mr. Howe and I walked a while, and going towards Whitehall through the garden Dr. Clerk and Creed called me across the bowling green, and so I went thither and after a stay went up to Mrs. Clerke who was dressing herself to go abroad with my wife. But, Lord! in what a poor condition her best chamber is, and things about her, for all the outside and show that she makes, but I found her just such a one as Mrs. Pierce, contrary to my expectation, so much that I am sick and sorry to see it. Thence for an hour Creed and I walked to White Hall, and into the Park, seeing the Queen and Maids of Honour passing through the house going to the Park. But above all, Mrs. Stuart is a fine woman, and they say now a common mistress to the King, [The king said to 'la belle' Stuart, who resisted all his importunities, that he hoped he should live to see her "ugly and willing" (Lord Dartmouth's note to Burnet's "Own Time," vol. i., p. 436, ed. 1823).] as my Lady Castlemaine is; which is a great pity. Thence taking a coach to Mrs. Clerke's, took her, and my wife, and Ashwell, and a Frenchman, a kinsman of hers, to the Park, where we saw many fine faces, and one exceeding handsome, in a white dress over her head, with many others very beautiful. Staying there till past eight at night, I carried Mrs. Clerke and her Frenchman, who sings well, home, and thence home ourselves, talking much of what we had observed to-day of the poor household stuff of Mrs. Clerke and mere show and flutter that she makes in the world; and pleasing myself in my own house and manner of living more than ever I did by seeing how much better and more substantially I live than others do. So to supper and bed. 19th. Up pretty betimes, but yet I observe how my dancing and lying a morning or two longer than ordinary for my cold do make me hard to rise as I used to do, or look after my business as I am wont. To my chamber to make an end of my papers to my father to be sent by the post to-night, and taking copies of them, which was a great work, but I did it this morning, and so to my office, and thence with Sir John Minnes to the Tower; and by Mr. Slingsby, and Mr. Howard, Controller of the Mint, we were shown the method of making this new money, from the beginning to the end, which is so pretty that I did take a note of every part of it and set them down by themselves for my remembrance hereafter. That being done it was dinner time, and so the Controller would have us dine with him and his company, the King giving them a dinner every day. And very merry and good discourse about the business we have been upon, and after dinner went to the Assay Office and there saw the manner of assaying of gold and silver, and how silver melted down with gold do part, just being put into aqua-fortis, the silver turning into water, and the gold lying whole in the very form it was put in, mixed of gold and silver, which is a miracle; and to see no silver at all but turned into water, which they can bring again into itself out of the water. And here I was made thoroughly to understand the business of the fineness and coarseness of metals, and have put down my lessons with my other observations therein. At table among other discourse they told us of two cheats, the best I ever heard. One, of a labourer discovered to convey away the bits of silver cut out pence by swallowing them down into his belly, and so they could not find him out, though, of course, they searched all the labourers; but, having reason to doubt him, they did, by threats and promises, get him to confess, and did find L7 of it in his house at one time. The other of one that got a way of coyning money as good and passable and large as the true money is, and yet saved fifty per cent. to himself, which was by getting moulds made to stamp groats like old groats, which is done so well, and I did beg two of them which I keep for rarities, that there is not better in the world, and is as good, nay, better than those that commonly go, which was the only thing that they could find out to doubt them by, besides the number that the party do go to put off, and then coming to the Comptroller of the Mint, he could not, I say, find out any other thing to raise any doubt upon, but only their being so truly round or near it, though I should never have doubted the thing neither. He was neither hanged nor burned, the cheat was thought so ingenious, and being the first time they could ever trap him in it, and so little hurt to any man in it, the money being as good as commonly goes. Thence to the office till the evening, we sat, and then by water (taking Pembleton with us), over the water to the Halfway House, where we played at nine-pins, and there my damned jealousy took fire, he and my wife being of a side and I seeing of him take her by the hand in play, though I now believe he did [it] only in passing and sport. Thence home and being 10 o'clock was forced to land beyond the Custom House, and so walked home and to my office, and having dispatched my great letters by the post to my father, of which I keep copies to show by me and for my future understanding, I went home to supper and bed, being late. The most observables in the making of money which I observed to-day, is the steps of their doing it. 1. Before they do anything they assay the bullion, which is done, if it be gold, by taking an equal weight of that and of silver, of each a small weight, which they reckon to be six ounces or half a pound troy; this they wrap up in within lead. If it be silver, they put such a quantity of that alone and wrap it up in lead, and then putting them into little earthen cupps made of stuff like tobacco pipes, and put them into a burning hot furnace, where, after a while, the whole body is melted, and at last the lead in both is sunk into the body of the cupp, which carries away all the copper or dross with it, and left the pure gold and silver embodyed together, of that which hath both been put into the cupp together, and the silver alone in these where it was put alone in the leaden case. And to part the silver and the gold in the first experiment, they put the mixed body into a glass of aqua-fortis, which separates them by spitting out the silver into such small parts that you cannot tell what it becomes, but turns into the very water and leaves the gold at the bottom clear of itself, with the silver wholly spit out, and yet the gold in the form that it was doubled together in when it was a mixed body of gold and silver, which is a great mystery; and after all this is done to get the silver together out of the water is as strange. But the nature of the assay is thus: the piece of gold that goes into the furnace twelve ounces, if it comes out again eleven ounces, and the piece of silver which goes in twelve and comes out again eleven and two pennyweight, are just of the alloy of the standard of England. If it comes out, either of them, either the gold above eleven, as very fine will sometimes within very little of what it went in, or the silver above eleven and two pennyweight, as that also will sometimes come out eleven and ten penny weight or more, they are so much above the goodness of the standard, and so they know what proportion of worse gold and silver to put to such a quantity of the bullion to bring it to the exact standard. And on the contrary, [if] it comes out lighter, then such a weight is beneath the standard, and so requires such a proportion of fine metal to be put to the bullion to bring it to the standard, and this is the difference of good and bad, better and worse than the standard, and also the difference of standards, that of Seville being the best and that of Mexico worst, and I think they said none but Seville is better than ours. 2. They melt it into long plates, which, if the mould do take ayre, then the plate is not of an equal heaviness in every part of it, as it often falls out. 3. They draw these plates between rollers to bring them to an even thickness all along and every plate of the same thickness, and it is very strange how the drawing it twice easily between the rollers will make it as hot as fire, yet cannot touch it. 4. They bring it to another pair of rollers, which they call adjusting it, which bring it to a greater exactness in its thickness than the first could be. 5. They cut them into round pieces, which they do with the greatest ease, speed, and exactness in the world. 6. They weigh these, and where they find any to be too heavy they file them, which they call sizeing them; or light, they lay them by, which is very seldom, but they are of a most exact weight, but however, in the melting, all parts by some accident not being close alike, now and then a difference will be, and, this filing being done, there shall not be any imaginable difference almost between the weight of forty of these against another forty chosen by chance out of all their heaps. 7. These round pieces having been cut out of the plates, which in passing the rollers are bent, they are sometimes a little crooked or swelling out or sinking in, and therefore they have a way of clapping 100 or 2 together into an engine, which with a screw presses them so hard that they come out as flat as is possible. 8. They blanch them. 9. They mark the letters on the edges, which is kept as the great secret by Blondeau, who was not in the way, and so I did not speak with him to-day. [Professor W. C. Roberts-Austen, C.B., F.R.S., chemist to the Royal Mint, refers to Pepys's Diary and to Blondeau's machine in his Cantor Lectures on "Alloys used for Coinage," printed in the "journal of the Society of Arts" (vol. xxxii.). He writes, "The hammer was still retained for coining in the Mint in the Tower of London, but the question of the adoption of the screw-press by the Moneyers appears to have been revived in 1649, when the Council of State had it represented to them that the coins of the Government might be more perfectly and beautifully done, and made equal to any coins in Europe. It was proposed to send to France for Peter Blondeau, who had invented and improved a machine and method for making all coins 'with the most beautiful polish and equality on the edge, or with any proper inscription or graining.' He came on the 3rd of September, and although a Committee of the Mint reported in favour of his method of coining, the Company of Moneyers, who appear to have boasted of the success of their predecessors in opposing the introduction of the mill and screw-press in Queen Elizabeth's reign, prevented the introduction of the machinery, and consequently he did not produce pattern pieces until 1653 . . . . It is certain that Blondeau did not invent, but only improved the method of coining by the screw-press, and I believe his improvements related chiefly to a method for 'rounding the pieces before they are sized, and in making the edges of the moneys with letters and graining,' which he undertook to reveal to the king. Special stress is laid on the engines wherewith the rims were marked, 'which might be kept secret among few men.' I cannot find that there is any record in the Paris mint of Blondeau's employment there, and the only reference to his invention in the Mint records of this country refers to the 'collars,' or perforated discs of metal surrounding the 'blank' while it was struck into a coin. There is, however, in the British Museum a MS. believed to be in Blondeau's hand, in which he claims his process, 'as a new invention, to make a handsome coyne, than can be found in all the world besides, viz., that shall not only be stamped on both flat sides, but shall even be marked with letters on the thickness of the brim.' The letters were raised. The press Blondeau used was, I believe, the ordinary screw-press, and I suppose that the presses drawn in Akerman's well-known plate of the coining-room of the Mint in the Tower, published in 1803 ['Microcosm of London,' vol. ii., p. 202], if not actually the same machines, were similar to those erected in 1661-62 by Sir William Parkhurst and Sir Anthony St. Leger, wardens of the Mint, at a cost of L1400, Professor Roberts-Austen shows that Benvenuto Cellini used a similar press to that attributed to Blondeau, and he gives an illustration of this in his lecture (p. 810). In a letter to the editor the professor writes: "Pepys's account of the operations of coining, and especially of assaying gold and silver, is very interesting and singularly accurate considering that he could not have had technical knowledge of the subject."] 10. They mill them, that is, put on the marks on both sides at once with great exactness and speed, and then the money is perfect. The mill is after this manner: one of the dyes, which has one side of the piece cut, is fastened to a thing fixed below, and the other dye (and they tell me a payre of dyes will last the marking of L10,000 before it be worn out, they and all other their tools being made of hardened steel, and the Dutchman who makes them is an admirable artist, and has so much by the pound for every pound that is coyned to find a constant supply of dyes) to an engine above, which is moveable by a screw, which is pulled by men; and then a piece being clapped by one sitting below between the two dyes, when they meet the impression is set, and then the man with his finger strikes off the piece and claps another in, and then the other men they pull again and that is marked, and then another and another with great speed. They say that this way is more charge to the King than the old way, but it is neater, freer from clipping or counterfeiting, the putting of the words upon the edges being not to be done (though counterfeited) without an engine of the charge and noise that no counterfeit will be at or venture upon, and it employs as many men as the old and speedier. They now coyne between L16 and L24,000 in a week. At dinner they did discourse very finely to us of the probability that there is a vast deal of money hid in the land, from this:--that in King Charles's time there was near ten millions of money coyned, besides what was then in being of King James's and Queene Elizabeth's, of which there is a good deal at this day in being. Next, that there was but L750,000 coyned of the Harp and Crosse money, [The Commonwealth coins (stamped with the cross and harp, and the inscription, "The Commonwealth of England") were called in by proclamation, September, 1660, and when brought to the Mint an equal amount of lawful money was allowed for them, weight for weight, deducting only for the coinage (Ruding's "Annals of the Coinage," 18 19, vol. iii., p. 293). The harp was taken out of the naval flags in May, 1660.] and of this there was L500,000 brought in upon its being called in. And from very good arguments they find that there cannot be less of it in Ireland and Scotland than L100,000; so that there is but L150,000 missing; and of that, suppose that there should be not above 650,000 still remaining, either melted down, hid, or lost, or hoarded up in England, there will then be but L100,000 left to be thought to have been transported. Now, if L750,000 in twelve years' time lost but a L100,000 in danger of being transported, then within thirty-five years' time will have lost but L3,888,880 and odd pounds; and as there is L650,000 remaining after twelve years' time in England, so after thirty-five years' time, which was within this two years, there ought in proportion to have been resting L6,111,120 or thereabouts, beside King James's and Queen Elizabeth's money. Now that most of this must be hid is evident, as they reckon, because of the dearth of money immediately upon the calling-in of the State's money, which was L500,000 that came in; and yet there was not any money to be had in this City, which they say to their own observation and knowledge was so. And therefore, though I can say nothing in it myself, I do not dispute it. 20th. Up and to my office, and anon home and to see my wife dancing with Pembleton about noon, and I to the Trinity House to dinner and after dinner home, and there met Pembleton, who I perceive has dined with my wife, which she takes no notice of, but whether that proceeds out of design, or fear to displease me I know not, but it put me into a great disorder again, that I could mind nothing but vexing, but however I continued my resolution of going down by water to Woolwich, took my wife and Ashwell; and going out met Mr. Howe come to see me, whose horse we caused to be set up, and took him with us. The tide against us, so I went ashore at Greenwich before, and did my business at the yard about putting things in order as to their proceeding to build the new yacht ordered to be built by Christopher Pett, [In the minutes of the Royal Society is the following entry: "June 11, 1662. Dr. Pett's brother shewed a draught of the pleasure boat which he intended to make for the king" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. i., p. 85). Peter Pett had already built a yacht for the king at Deptford.] and so to Woolwich town, where at an alehouse I found them ready to attend my coming, and so took boat again, it being cold, and I sweating, with my walk, which was very pleasant along the green come and pease, and most of the way sang, he and I, and eat some cold meat we had, and with great pleasure home, and so he took horse again, and Pembleton coming, we danced a country dance or two and so broke up and to bed, my mind restless and like to be so while she learns to dance. God forgive my folly. 21st. Up, but cannot get up so early as I was wont, nor my mind to business as it should be and used to be before this dancing. However, to my office, where most of the morning talking of Captain Cox of Chatham about his and the whole yard's difference against Mr. Barrow the storekeeper, wherein I told him my mind clearly, that he would be upheld against the design of any to ruin him, he being we all believed, but Sir W. Batten his mortal enemy, as good a servant as any the King has in the yard. After much good advice and other talk I home and danced with Pembleton, and then the barber trimmed me, and so to dinner, my wife and I having high words about her dancing to that degree that I did enter and make a vow to myself not to oppose her or say anything to dispraise or correct her therein as long as her month lasts, in pain of 2s. 6d. for every time, which, if God pleases, I will observe, for this roguish business has brought us more disquiett than anything [that] has happened a great while. After dinner to my office, where late, and then home; and Pembleton being there again, we fell to dance a country dance or two, and so to supper and bed. But being at supper my wife did say something that caused me to oppose her in, she used the word devil, which vexed me, and among other things I said I would not have her to use that word, upon which she took me up most scornfully, which, before Ashwell and the rest of the world, I know not now-a-days how to check, as I would heretofore, for less than that would have made me strike her. So that I fear without great discretion I shall go near to lose too my command over her, and nothing do it more than giving her this occasion of dancing and other pleasures, whereby her mind is taken up from her business and finds other sweets besides pleasing of me, and so makes her that she begins not at all to take pleasure in me or study to please me as heretofore. But if this month of her dancing were but out (as my first was this night, and I paid off Pembleton for myself) I shall hope with a little pains to bring her to her old wont. This day Susan that lived with me lately being out of service, and I doubt a simple wench, my wife do take her for a little time to try her at least till she goes into the country, which I am yet doubtful whether it will be best for me to send her or no, for fear of her running off in her liberty before I have brought her to her right temper again. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, and shall, I hope, come to myself and business again, after a small playing the truant, for I find that my interest and profit do grow daily, for which God be praised and keep me to my duty. To my office, and anon one tells me that Rundall, the house-carpenter of Deptford, hath sent me a fine blackbird, which I went to see. He tells me he was offered 20s. for him as he came along, he do so whistle. So to my office, and busy all the morning, among other things, learning to understand the course of the tides, and I think I do now do it. At noon Mr. Creed comes to me, and he and I to the Exchange, where I had much discourse with several merchants, and so home with him to dinner, and then by water to Greenwich, and calling at the little alehouse at the end of the town to wrap a rag about my little left toe, being new sore with walking, we walked pleasantly to Woolwich, in our way hearing the nightingales sing. So to Woolwich yard, and after doing many things there, among others preparing myself for a dispute against Sir W. Pen in the business of Bowyer's, wherein he is guilty of some corruption to the King's wrong, we walked back again without drinking, which I never do because I would not make my coming troublesome to any, nor would become obliged too much to any. In our going back we were overtook by Mr. Steventon, a purser, and uncle to my clerk Will, who told me how he was abused in the passing of his accounts by Sir J. Minnes to the degree that I am ashamed to hear it, and resolve to retrieve the matter if I can though the poor man has given it over. And however am pleased enough to see that others do see his folly and dotage as well as myself, though I believe in my mind the man in general means well. Took boat at Greenwich and to Deptford, where I did the same thing, and found Davis, the storekeeper, a knave, and shuffling in the business of Bewpers, being of the party with Young and Whistler to abuse the King, but I hope I shall be even with them. So walked to Redriffe, drinking at the Half-way house, and so walked and by water to White Hall, all our way by water coming and going reading a little book said to be writ by a person of Quality concerning English gentry to be preferred before titular honours, but the most silly nonsense, no sense nor grammar, yet in as good words that ever I saw in all my life, but from beginning to end you met not with one entire and regular sentence. At White Hall Sir G. Carteret was out of the way, and so returned back presently, and home by water and to bed. 23rd. Waked this morning between four and five by my blackbird, which whistles as well as ever I heard any; only it is the beginning of many tunes very well, but there leaves them, and goes no further. So up and to my office, where we sat, and among other things I had a fray with Sir J. Minnes in defence of my Will in a business where the old coxcomb would have put a foot upon him, which was only in Jack Davis and in him a downright piece of knavery in procuring a double ticket and getting the wrong one paid as well as the second was to the true party. But it appeared clear enough to the board that Will was true in it. Home to dinner, and after dinner by water to the Temple, and there took my Lyra Viall book bound up with blank paper for new lessons. Thence to Greatorex's, and there seeing Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen go by coach I went in to them and to White Hall; where, in the Matted Gallery, Mr. Coventry was, who told us how the Parliament have required of Sir G. Carteret and him an account what money shall be necessary to be settled upon the Navy for the ordinary charge, which they intend to report L200,000 per annum. And how to allott this we met this afternoon, and took their papers for our perusal, and so we parted. Only there was walking in the gallery some of the Barbary company, and there we saw a draught of the arms of the company, which the King is of, and so is called the Royall Company, which is, in a field argent an elephant proper, with a canton on which England and France is quartered, supported by two Moors. The crest an anchor winged, I think it is, and the motto too tedious: "Regio floret, patrocinio commercium, commercioque Regnum." Thence back by water to Greatorex's, and there he showed me his varnish which he had invented, which appears every whit as good, upon a stick which he hath done, as the Indian, though it did not do very well upon my paper ruled with musique lines, for it sunk and did not shine. Thence home by water, and after a dance with Pembleton to my office and wrote by the post to Sir W. Batten at Portsmouth to send for him up against next Wednesday, being our triall day against Field at Guildhall, in which God give us good end. So home: to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Having taken one of Mr. Holliard's pills last night it brought a stool or two this morning, and so forebore going to church this morning, but staid at home looking over my papers about Tom Trice's business, and so at noon dined, and my wife telling me that there was a pretty lady come to church with Peg Pen to-day, I against my intention had a mind to go to church to see her, and did so, and she is pretty handsome. But over against our gallery I espied Pembleton, and saw him leer upon my wife all the sermon, I taking no notice of him, and my wife upon him, and I observed she made a curtsey to him at coming out without taking notice to me at all of it, which with the consideration of her being desirous these two last Lord's days to go to church both forenoon and afternoon do really make me suspect something more than ordinary, though I am loth to think the worst, but yet it put and do still keep me at a great loss in my mind, and makes me curse the time that I consented to her dancing, and more my continuing it a second month, which was more than she desired, even after I had seen too much of her carriage with him. But I must have patience and get her into the country, or at least to make an end of her learning to dance as soon as I can. After sermon to Sir W. Pen's, with Sir J. Minnes to do a little business to answer Mr. Coventry to-night. And so home and with my wife and Ashwell into the garden walking a great while, discoursing what this pretty wench should be by her garb and deportment; with respect to Mrs. Pen she may be her woman, but only that she sat in the pew with her, which I believe he would not let her do. So home, and read to my wife a fable or two in Ogleby's AEsop, and so to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. My wife this evening discoursing of making clothes for the country, which I seem against, pleading lack of money, but I am glad of it in some respects because of getting her out of the way from this fellow, and my own liberty to look after my business more than of late I have done. So to prayers and to bed. This morning it seems Susan, who I think is distracted, or however is since she went from me taught to drink, and so gets out of doors 2 or 3 times a day without leave to the alehouse, did go before 5 o'clock to-day, making Griffin rise in his shirt to let her out to the alehouse, she said to warm herself, but her mistress, falling out with her about it, turned her out of doors this morning, and so she is gone like an idle slut. I took a pill also this night. 25th. Up, and my pill working a little I staid within most of the morning, and by and by the barber came and Sarah Kite my cozen, poor woman, came to see me and borrow 40s. of me, telling me she will pay it at Michaelmas again to me. I was glad it was no more, being indifferent whether she pays it me or no, but it will be a good excuse to lend her nor give her any more. So I did freely at first word do it, and give her a crown more freely to buy her child something, she being a good-natured and painful wretch, and one that I would do good for as far as I can that I might not be burdened. My wife was not ready, and she coming early did not see her, and I was glad of it. She gone, I up and then hear that my wife and her maid Ashwell had between them spilled the pot . . . . upon the floor and stool and God knows what, and were mighty merry making of it clean. I took no great notice, but merrily. Ashwell did by and by come to me with an errand from her mistress to desire money to buy a country suit for her against she goes as we talked last night, and so I did give her L4, and believe it will cost me the best part of 4 more to fit her out, but with peace and honour I am willing to spare anything so as to be able to keep all ends together, and my power over her undisturbed. So to my office and by and by home, where my wife and her master were dancing, and so I staid in my chamber till they had done, and sat down myself to try a little upon the Lyra viall, my hand being almost out, but easily brought to again. So by and by to dinner, and then carried my wife and Ashwell to St. James's, and there they sat in the coach while I went in, and finding nobody there likely to meet with the Duke, but only Sir J. Minnes with my Lord Barkely (who speaks very kindly, and invites me with great compliments to come now and then and eat with him, which I am glad to hear, though I value not the thing, but it implies that my esteem do increase rather than fall), and so I staid not, but into the coach again, and taking up my wife's taylor, it raining hard, they set me down, and who should our coachman be but Carleton the Vintner, that should have had Mrs. Sarah, at Westminster, my Lord Chancellor's, and then to Paternoster Row. I staid there to speak with my Lord Sandwich, and in my staying, meeting Mr. Lewis Phillips of Brampton, he and afterwards others tell me that news came last night to Court, that the King of France is sick of the spotted fever, and that they are struck in again; and this afternoon my Lord Mandeville is gone from the King to make him a visit; which will be great news, and of great import through Europe. By and by, out comes my Lord Sandwich, and he and I talked a great while about his business, of his accounts for his pay, and among other things he told me that this day a vote hath passed that the King's grants of land to my Lord Monk and him should be made good; which pleases him very well. He also tells me that things don't go right in the House with Mr. Coventry; I suppose he means in the business of selling of places; but I am sorry for it. Thence by coach home, where I found Pembleton, and so I up to dance with them till the evening, when there came Mr. Alsopp, the King's brewer, and Lanyon of Plymouth to see me. Mr. Alsopp tells me of a horse of his that lately, after four days' pain, voided at his fundament four stones, bigger than that I was cut of, very heavy, and in the middle of each of them either a piece of iron or wood. The King has two of them in his closett, and a third the College of Physicians to keep for rarity, and by the King's command he causes the turd of the horse to be every day searched to find more. At night to see Sir W. Batten come home this day from Portsmouth. I met with some that say that the King of France is poisoned, but how true that is is not known. So home to supper and to bed pleasant. 26th. Lay long in bed talking and pleasing myself with my wife. So up and to my office a while and then home, where I found Pembleton, and by many circumstances I am led to conclude that there is something more than ordinary between my wife and him, which do so trouble me that I know not at this very minute that I now write this almost what either I write or am doing, nor how to carry myself to my wife in it, being unwilling to speak of it to her for making of any breach and other inconveniences, nor let it pass for fear of her continuing to offend me and the matter grow worse thereby. So that I am grieved at the very heart, but I am very unwise in being so. There dined with me Mr. Creed and Captain Grove, and before dinner I had much discourse in my chamber with Mr. Deane, the builder of Woolwich, about building of ships. But nothing could get the business out of my head, I fearing that this afternoon by my wife's sending every [one] abroad and knowing that I must be at the office she has appointed him to come. This is my devilish jealousy, which I pray God may be false, but it makes a very hell in my mind, which the God of heaven remove, or I shall be very unhappy. So to the office, where we sat awhile. By and by my mind being in great trouble I went home to see how things were, and there I found as I doubted Mr. Pembleton with my wife, and nobody else in the house, which made me almost mad, and going up to my chamber after a turn or two I went out again and called somebody on pretence of business and left him in my little room at the door (it was the Dutchman, commander of the King's pleasure boats, who having been beat by one of his men sadly, was come to the office to-day to complain) telling him I would come again to him to speak with him about his business. So in great trouble and doubt to the office, and Mr. Coventry nor Sir G. Carteret being there I made a quick end of our business and desired leave to be gone, pretending to go to the Temple, but it was home, and so up to my chamber, and as I think if they had any intention of hurt I did prevent doing anything at that time, but I continued in my chamber vexed and angry till he went away, pretending aloud, that I might hear, that he could not stay, and Mrs. Ashwell not being within they could not dance. And, Lord! to see how my jealousy wrought so far that I went softly up to see whether any of the beds were out of order or no, which I found not, but that did not content me, but I staid all the evening walking, and though anon my wife came up to me and would have spoke of business to me, yet I construed it to be but impudence, and though my heart full yet I did say nothing, being in a great doubt what to do. So at night, suffered them to go all to bed, and late put myself to bed in great discontent, and so to sleep. 27th. So I waked by 3 o'clock, my mind being troubled, and so took occasion by making water to wake my wife, and after having lain till past 4 o'clock seemed going to rise, though I did it only to see what she would do, and so going out of the bed she took hold of me and would know what ailed me, and after many kind and some cross words I began to tax her discretion in yesterday's business, but she quickly told me my own, knowing well enough that it was my old disease of jealousy, which I denied, but to no purpose. After an hour's discourse, sometimes high and sometimes kind, I found very good reason to think that her freedom with him is very great and more than was convenient, but with no evil intent, and so after awhile I caressed her and parted seeming friends, but she crying in a great discontent. So I up and by water to the Temple, and thence with Commissioner Pett to St. James's, where an hour with Mr. Coventry talking of Mr. Pett's proceedings lately in the forest of Sherwood, and thence with Pett to my Lord Ashley, Chancellor of the Exchequer; where we met the auditors about settling the business of the accounts of persons to whom money is due before the King's time in the Navy, and the clearing of their imprests for what little of their debts they have received. I find my Lord, as he is reported, a very ready, quick, and diligent person. Thence I to Westminster Hall, where Term and Parliament make the Hall full of people; no further news yet of the King of France, whether he be dead or not. Here I met with my cozen Roger Pepys, and walked a good while with him, and among other discourse as a secret he hath committed to nobody but myself, and he tells me that his sister Claxton now resolving to give over the keeping of his house at Impington, he thinks it fit to marry again, and would have me, by the help of my uncle Wight or others, to look him out a widow between thirty and forty years old, without children, and with a fortune, which he will answer in any degree with a joynture fit for her fortune. A woman sober, and no high-flyer, as he calls it. I demanded his estate. He tells me, which he says also he hath not done to any, that his estate is not full L800 per annum, but it is L780 per annum, of which L200 is by the death of his last wife, which he will allot for a joynture for a wife, but the rest, which lies in Cambridgeshire, he is resolved to leave entire for his eldest son. I undertook to do what I can in it, and so I shall. He tells me that the King hath sent to them to hasten to make an end by midsummer, because of his going into the country; so they have set upon four bills to dispatch: the first of which is, he says, too devilish a severe act against conventicles; so beyond all moderation, that he is afeard it will ruin all: telling me that it is matter of the greatest grief to him in the world, that he should be put upon this trust of being a Parliament-man, because he says nothing is done, that he can see, out of any truth and sincerity, but mere envy and design. Thence by water to Chelsey, all the way reading a little book I bought of "Improvement of Trade," a pretty book and many things useful in it. So walked to Little Chelsey, where I found my Lord Sandwich with Mr. Becke, the master of the house, and Mr. Creed at dinner, and I sat down with them, and very merry. After dinner (Mr. Gibbons being come in also before dinner done) to musique, they played a good Fancy, to which my Lord is fallen again, and says he cannot endure a merry tune, which is a strange turn of his humour, after he has for two or three years flung off the practice of Fancies and played only fidlers' tunes. Then into the Great Garden up to the Banqueting House; and there by his glass we drew in the species very pretty. Afterwards to ninepins, where I won a shilling, Creed and I playing against my Lord and Cooke. This day there was great thronging to Banstead Downs, upon a great horse-race and foot-race. I am sorry I could not go thither. So home back as I came, to London Bridge, and so home, where I find my wife in a musty humour, and tells me before Ashwell that Pembleton had been there, and she would not have him come in unless I was there, which I was ashamed of; but however, I had rather it should be so than the other way. So to my office, to put things in order there, and by and by comes Pembleton, and word is brought me from my wife thereof that I might come home. So I sent word that I would have her go dance, and I would come presently. So being at a great loss whether I should appear to Pembleton or no, and what would most proclaim my jealousy to him, I at last resolved to go home, and took Tom Hater with me, and staid a good while in my chamber, and there took occasion to tell him how I hear that Parliament is putting an act out against all sorts of conventicles, [16 Car. II., cap. 4, "An Act to prevent and suppresse seditious Conventicles." It was enacted that anyone of the age of sixteen or upwards present at an unlawful assembly or conventicle was to incur fine or imprisonment. A conventicle was defined as an assembly of more than five persons besides the members of a family met together for holding worship not according to the rites of the Church of England. The act was amended 22 Car. II., cap. i (1670), and practically repealed by the Toleration Act of 1689, but the act 22 Car. II., cap. i, was specially repealed 52 Geo. III., cap. 155, s. 1.] and did give him good counsel, not only in his own behalf, but my own, that if he did hear or know anything that could be said to my prejudice, that he would tell me, for in this wicked age (specially Sir W. Batten being so open to my reproaches, and Sir J. Minnes, for the neglect of their duty, and so will think themselves obliged to scandalize me all they can to right themselves if there shall be any inquiry into the matters of the Navy, as I doubt there will) a man ought to be prepared to answer for himself in all things that can be inquired concerning him. After much discourse of this nature to him I sent him away, and then went up, and there we danced country dances, and single, my wife and I; and my wife paid him off for this month also, and so he is cleared. After dancing we took him down to supper, and were very merry, and I made myself so, and kind to him as much as I could, to prevent his discourse, though I perceive to my trouble that he knows all, and may do me the disgrace to publish it as much as he can. Which I take very ill, and if too much provoked shall witness it to her. After supper and he gone we to bed. 28th. Up this morning, and my wife, I know not for what cause, being against going to Chelsey to-day, it being a holy day (Ascension Day) and I at leisure, it being the first holy day almost that we have observed ever since we came to the office, we did give Ashwell leave to go by herself, and I out to several places about business. Among others to Dr. Williams, to reckon with him for physique that my wife has had for a year or two, coming to almost L4. Then to the Exchange, where I hear that the King had letters yesterday from France that the King there is in a [way] of living again, which I am glad to hear. At the coffee-house in Exchange Alley I bought a little book, "Counsell to Builders," by Sir Balth. Gerbier. It is dedicated almost to all the men of any great condition in England, so that the Epistles are more than the book itself, and both it and them not worth a turd, that I am ashamed that I bought it. Home and there found Creed, who dined with us, and after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre; but that was so full they told us we could have no room. And so to the Duke's House; and there saw "Hamlett" done, giving us fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton. Who should we see come upon the stage but Gosnell, my wife's maid? but neither spoke, danced, nor sung; which I was sorry for. But she becomes the stage very well. Thence by water home, after we had walked to and fro, backwards and forwards, six or seven times in the Temple walks, disputing whether to go by land or water. By land home, and thence by water to Halfway House, and there eat some supper we carried with us, and so walked home again, it being late we were forced to land at the dock, my wife and they, but I in a humour not willing to daub my shoes went round by the Custom House. So home, and by and by to bed, Creed lying with me in the red chamber all night. 29th. This day is kept strictly as a holy-day, being the King's Coronation. We lay long in bed, and it rained very hard, rain and hail, almost all the morning. By and by Creed and I abroad, and called at several churches; and it is a wonder to see, and by that to guess the ill temper of the City at this time, either to religion in general, or to the King, that in some churches there was hardly ten people in the whole church, and those poor people. So to a coffee-house, and there in discourse hear the King of France is likely to be well again. So home to dinner, and out by water to the Royall Theatre, but they not acting to-day, then to the Duke's house, and there saw "The Slighted Mayde," wherein Gosnell acted Pyramena, a great part, and did it very well, and I believe will do it better and better, and prove a good actor. The play is not very excellent, but is well acted, and in general the actors, in all particulars, are better than at the other house. Thence to the Cocke alehouse, and there having drunk, sent them with Creed to see the German Princess, [Mary Moders, alias Stedman, a notorious impostor, who pretended to be a German princess. Her arrival as the German princess "at the Exchange Tavern, right against the Stocks betwixt the Poultry and Cornhill, at 5 in the morning . . . ., with her marriage to Carleton the taverner's wife's brother," are incidents fully narrated in Francis Kirkman's "Counterfeit Lady Unveiled," 1673 ("Boyne's Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., p. 703). Her adventures formed the plot of a tragi-comedy by T. P., entitled "A Witty Combat, or the Female Victor," 1663, which was acted with great applause by persons of quality in Whitsun week. Mary Carleton was tried at the Old Bailey for bigamy and acquitted, after which she appeared on the stage in her own character as the heroine of a play entitled "The German Princess." Pepys went to the Duke's House to see her on April 15th, 1664. The rest of her life was one continued course of robbery and fraud, and in 1678 she was executed at Tyburn for stealing a piece of plate in Chancery Lane.] at the Gatehouse, at Westminster, and I to my brother's, and thence to my uncle Fenner's to have seen my aunt James (who has been long in town and goes away to-morrow and I not seen her), but did find none of them within, which I was glad of, and so back to my brother's to speak with him, and so home, and in my way did take two turns forwards and backwards through the Fleete Ally to see a couple of pretty [strumpets] that stood off the doors there, and God forgive me I could scarce stay myself from going into their houses with them, so apt is my nature to evil after once, as I have these two days, set upon pleasure again. So home and to my office to put down these two days' journalls, then home again and to supper, and then Creed and I to bed with good discourse, only my mind troubled about my spending my time so badly for these seven or eight days; but I must impute it to the disquiet that my mind has been in of late about my wife, and for my going these two days to plays, for which I have paid the due forfeit by money and abating the times of going to plays at Court, which I am now to remember that I have cleared all my times that I am to go to Court plays to the end of this month, and so June is the first time that I am to begin to reckon. 30th. Up betimes, and Creed and I by water to Fleet Street, and my brother not being ready, he and I walked to the New Exchange, and there drank our morning draught of whay, the first I have done this year; but I perceive the lawyers come all in as they go to the Hall, and I believe it is very good. So to my brother's, and there I found my aunt James, a poor, religious, well-meaning, good soul, talking of nothing but God Almighty, and that with so much innocence that mightily pleased me. Here was a fellow that said grace so long like a prayer; I believe the fellow is a cunning fellow, and yet I by my brother's desire did give him a crown, he being in great want, and, it seems, a parson among the fanatiques, and a cozen of my poor aunt's, whose prayers she told me did do me good among the many good souls that did by my father's desires pray for me when I was cut of the stone, and which God did hear, which I also in complaisance did own; but, God forgive me, my mind was otherwise. I had a couple of lobsters and some wine for her, and so, she going out of town to-day, and being not willing to come home with me to dinner, I parted and home, where we sat at the office all the morning, and after dinner all the afternoon till night, there at my office getting up the time that I have of late lost by not following my business, but I hope now to settle my mind again very well to my business. So home, and after supper did wash my feet, and so to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and do plainly see that her distaste (which is beginning now in her again) against Ashwell arises from her jealousy of me and her, and my neglect of herself, which indeed is true, and I to blame; but for the time to come I will take care to remedy all. So up and to church, where I think I did see Pembleton, whatever the reason is I did not perceive him to look up towards my wife, nor she much towards him; however, I could hardly keep myself from being troubled that he was there, which is a madness not to be excused now that his coming to my house is past, and I hope all likelyhood of her having occasion to converse with him again. Home to dinner, and after dinner up and read part of the new play of "The Five Houres' Adventures," which though I have seen it twice; yet I never did admire or understand it enough, it being a play of the greatest plot that ever I expect to see, and of great vigour quite through the whole play, from beginning to the end. To church again after dinner (my wife finding herself ill . . . . did not go), and there the Scot preaching I slept most of the sermon. This day Sir W. Batten's son's child is christened in the country, whither Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W, Batten, and Sir W. Pen are all gone. I wonder, and take it highly ill that I am not invited by the father, though I know his father and mother, with whom I am never likely to have much kindness, but rather I study the contrary, are the cause of it, and in that respect I am glad of it. Being come from church, I to make up my month's accounts, and find myself clear worth L726, for which God be praised, but yet I might have been better by L20 almost had I forborne some layings out in dancing and other things upon my wife, and going to plays and other things merely to ease my mind as to the business of the dancing-master, which I bless God is now over and I falling to my quiet of mind and business again, which I have for a fortnight neglected too much. This month the greatest news is, the height and heat that the Parliament is in, in enquiring into the revenue, which displeases the Court, and their backwardness to give the King any money. Their enquiring into the selling of places do trouble a great many among the chief, my Lord Chancellor (against whom particularly it is carried), and Mr. Coventry; for which I am sorry. The King of France was given out to be poisoned and dead; but it proves to be the measles: and he is well, or likely to be soon well again. I find myself growing in the esteem and credit that I have in the office, and I hope falling to my business again will confirm me in it, and the saving of money which God grant! So to supper, prayers, and bed. My whole family lying longer this morning than was fit, and besides Will having neglected to brush my clothes, as he ought to do, till I was ready to go to church, and not then till I bade him, I was very angry, and seeing him make little matter of it, but seeming to make it a matter indifferent whether he did it or no, I did give him a box on the ear, and had it been another day should have done more. This is the second time I ever struck him. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE 1663 June 1st. Begun again to rise betimes by 4 o'clock, and made an end of "The Adventures of Five Houres," and it is a most excellent play. So to my office, where a while and then about several businesses, in my way to my brother's, where I dined (being invited) with Mr. Peter and Dean Honiwood, where Tom did give us a very pretty dinner, and we very pleasant, but not very merry, the Dean being but a weak man, though very good. I was forced to rise, being in haste to St. James's to attend the Duke, and left them to end their dinner; but the Duke having been a-hunting to-day, and so lately come home and gone to bed, we could not see him, and Mr. Coventry being out of the house too, we walked away to White Hall and there took coach, and I with Sir J. Minnes to the Strand May-pole; and there 'light out of his coach, and walked to the New Theatre, which, since the King's players are gone to the Royal one, is this day begun to be employed by the fencers to play prizes at. And here I came and saw the first prize I ever saw in my life: and it was between one Mathews, who did beat at all weapons, and one Westwicke, who was soundly cut several times both in the head and legs, that he was all over blood: and other deadly blows they did give and take in very good earnest, till Westwicke was in a most sad pickle. They fought at eight weapons, three bouts at each weapon. It was very well worth seeing, because I did till this day think that it has only been a cheat; but this being upon a private quarrel, they did it in good earnest; and I felt one of their swords, and found it to be very little, if at all blunter on the edge, than the common swords are. Strange to see what a deal of money is flung to them both upon the stage between every bout. But a woful rude rabble there was, and such noises, made my head ake all this evening. So, well pleased for once with this sight, I walked home, doing several businesses by the way. In my way calling to see Commissioner Pett, who lies sick at his daughter, a pretty woman, in Gracious Street, but is likely to be abroad again in a day or two. At home I found my wife in bed all this day . . . . I went to see Sir Wm. Pen, who has a little pain of his gout again, but will do well. So home to supper and to bed. This day I hear at Court of the great plot which was lately discovered in Ireland, made among the Presbyters and others, designing to cry up the Covenant, and to secure Dublin Castle and other places; and they have debauched a good part of the army there, promising them ready money. [This was known as "Blood's Plot," and was named after Colonel Thomas Blood, afterwards notorious for his desperate attack upon the Duke of Ormond in St. James's Street (1670) and for his robbery of the crown jewels in the Tower (1671). He died August 24th, 1680.] Some of the Parliament there, they say, are guilty, and some withdrawn upon it; several persons taken, and among others a son of Scott's, that was executed here for the King's murder. What reason the King hath, I know not; but it seems he is doubtfull of Scotland: and this afternoon, when I was there, the Council was called extraordinary; and they were opening the letters this last post's coming and going between Scotland and us and other places. Blessed be God, my head and hands are clear, and therefore my sleep safe. The King of France is well again. 2d. Up and by water to White Hall and so to St. James's, to Mr. Coventry; where I had an hour's private talk with him. Most of it was discourse concerning his own condition, at present being under the censure of the House, being concerned with others in the Bill for selling of offices. He tells me, that though he thinks himself to suffer much in his fame hereby, yet he values nothing more of evil to hang over him for that it is against no statute, as is pretended, nor more than what his predecessors time out of mind have taken; and that so soon as he found himself to be in an errour, he did desire to have his fees set, which was done; and since that he hath not taken a token more. He undertakes to prove, that he did never take a token of any captain to get him employed in his life beforehand, or demanded any thing: and for the other accusation, that the Cavaliers are not employed, he looked over the list of them now in the service, and of the twenty-seven that are employed, thirteen have been heretofore always under the King; two neutralls, and the other twelve men of great courage, and such as had either the King's particular commands, or great recommendation to put them in, and none by himself. Besides that, he says it is not the King's nor Duke's opinion that the whole party of the late officers should be rendered desperate. And lastly, he confesses that the more of the Cavaliers are put in, the less of discipline hath followed in the fleet; and that, whenever there comes occasion, it must be the old ones that must do any good, there being only, he says, but Captain Allen good for anything of them all. He tells me, that he cannot guess whom all this should come from; but he suspects Sir G. Carteret, as I also do, at least that he is pleased with it. But he tells me that he will bring Sir G. Carteret to be the first adviser and instructor of him what to make his place of benefit to him; telling him that Smith did make his place worth L5000 and he believed L7000 to him the first year; besides something else greater than all this, which he forbore to tell me. It seems one Sir Thomas Tomkins of the House, that makes many mad motions, did bring it into the House, saying that a letter was left at his lodgings, subscribed by one Benson (which is a feigned name, for there is no such man in the Navy), telling him how many places in the Navy have been sold. And by another letter, left in the same manner since, nobody appearing, he writes him that there is one Hughes and another Butler (both rogues, that have for their roguery been turned out of their places), that will swear that Mr. Coventry did sell their places and other things. I offered him my service, and will with all my heart serve him; but he tells me he do not think it convenient to meddle, or to any purpose, but is sensible of my love therein. So I bade him good morrow, he being out of order to speak anything of our office business, and so away to Westminster Hall, where I hear more of the plot from Ireland; which it seems hath been hatching, and known to the Lord Lieutenant a great while, and kept close till within three days that it should have taken effect. The term ended yesterday, and it seems the Courts rose sooner, for want of causes, than it is remembered to have done in the memory of man. Thence up and down about business in several places, as to speak with Mr. Phillips, but missed him, and so to Mr. Beacham, the goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow in Sir W. Batten's case against Field. I have been telling him our case, and I believe he will do us good service there. So home, and seeing my wife had dined I went, being invited, and dined with Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, and others, at Sir W. Batten's, Captain Allen giving them a Foy' dinner, he being to go down to lie Admiral in the Downs this summer. I cannot but think it a little strange that having been so civil to him as I have been he should not invite me to dinner, but I believe it was but a sudden motion, and so I heard not of it. After dinner to the office, where all the afternoon till late, and so to see Sir W. Pen, and so home to supper and to bed. To-night I took occasion with the vintner's man, who came by my direction to taste again my tierce of claret, to go down to the cellar with him to consult about the drawing of it; and there, to my great vexation, I find that the cellar door hath long been kept unlocked, and above half the wine drunk. I was deadly mad at it, and examined my people round, but nobody would confess it; but I did examine the boy, and afterwards Will, and told him of his sitting up after we were in bed with the maids, but as to that business he denies it, which I can [not] remedy, but I shall endeavour to know how it went. My wife did also this evening tell me a story of Ashwell stealing some new ribbon from her, a yard or two, which I am sorry to hear, and I fear my wife do take a displeasure against her, that they will hardly stay together, which I should be sorry for, because I know not where to pick such another out anywhere. 3rd. Up betimes, and studying of my double horizontal diall against Dean Honiwood comes to me, who dotes mightily upon it, and I think I must give it him. So after talking with Sir W. Batten, who is this morning gone to Guildhall to his trial with Field, I to my office, and there read all the morning in my statute-book, consulting among others the statute against selling of offices, wherein Mr. Coventry is so much concerned; and though he tells me that the statute do not reach him, yet I much fear that it will. At noon, hearing that the trial is done, and Sir W. Batten come to the Sun behind the Exchange I went thither, where he tells me that he had much ado to carry it on his side, but that at last he did, but the jury, by the judge's favour, did give us but; L10 damages and the charges of the suit, which troubles me; but it is well it went not against us, which would have been much worse. So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner, taking Deane of Woolwich along with me, and he dined alone with my wife being undressed, and he and I spent all the afternoon finely, learning of him the method of drawing the lines of a ship, to my great satisfaction, and which is well worth my spending some time in, as I shall do when my wife is gone into the country. In the evening to the office and did some business, then home, and, God forgive me, did from my wife's unwillingness to tell me whither she had sent the boy, presently suspect that he was gone to Pembleton's, and from that occasion grew so discontented that I could hardly speak or sleep all night. 4th. Up betimes, and my wife and Ashwell and I whiled away the morning up and down while they got themselves ready, and I did so watch to see my wife put on drawers, which poor soul she did, and yet I could not get off my suspicions, she having a mind to go into Fenchurch Street before she went out for good and all with me, which I must needs construe to be to meet Pembleton, when she afterwards told me it was to buy a fan that she had not a mind that I should know of, and I believe it is so. Specially I did by a wile get out of my boy that he did not yesterday go to Pembleton's or thereabouts, but only was sent all that time for some starch, and I did see him bringing home some, and yet all this cannot make my mind quiet. At last by coach I carried her to Westminster Hall, and they two to Mrs. Bowyer to go from thence to my wife's father's and Ashwell to hers, and by and by seeing my wife's father in the Hall, and being loth that my wife should put me to another trouble and charge by missing him to-day, I did employ a porter to go from a person unknown to tell him his daughter was come to his lodgings, and I at a distance did observe him, but, Lord! what a company of questions he did ask him, what kind of man I was, and God knows what. So he went home, and after I had staid in the Hall a good while, where I heard that this day the Archbishop of Canterbury, Juxon, a man well spoken of by all for a good man, is dead; and the Bishop of London is to have his seat. Home by water, where by and by comes Dean Honiwood, and I showed him my double horizontal diall, and promise to give him one, and that shall be it. So, without eating or drinking, he went away to Mr. Turner's, where Sir J. Minnes do treat my Lord Chancellor and a great deal of guests to-day with a great dinner, which I thank God I do not pay for; and besides, I doubt it is too late for any man to expect any great service from my Lord Chancellor, for which I am sorry, and pray God a worse do not come in his room. So I to dinner alone, and so to my chamber, and then to the office alone, my head aching and my mind in trouble for my wife, being jealous of her spending the day, though God knows I have no great reason. Yet my mind is troubled. By and by comes Will Howe to see us, and walked with me an hour in the garden, talking of my Lord's falling to business again, which I am glad of, and his coming to lie at his lodgings at White Hall again. The match between Sir J. Cutts and my Lady Jemimah, he says, is likely to go on; for which I am glad. In the Hall to-day Dr. Pierce tells me that the Queen begins to be brisk, and play like other ladies, and is quite another woman from what she was, of which I am glad. It may be, it may make the King like her the better, and forsake his two mistresses, my Lady Castlemaine and Stewart. He gone we sat at the office till night, and then home, where my wife is come, and has been with her father all the afternoon, and so home, and she and I to walk in the garden, giving ear to her discourse of her father's affairs, and I found all well, so after putting things in order at my office, home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to read a little, and by and by the carver coming, I directed him how to make me a neat head for my viall that is making. About 10 o'clock my wife and I, not without some discontent, abroad by coach, and I set her at her father's; but their condition is such that she will not let me see where they live, but goes by herself when I am out of sight. Thence to my brother's, taking care for a passage for my wife the next week in a coach to my father's, and thence to Paul's Churchyard, where I found several books ready bound for me; among others, the new Concordance of the Bible, which pleases me much, and is a book I hope to make good use of. Thence, taking the little History of England with me, I went by water to Deptford, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten attending the Pay; I dined with them, and there Dr. Britton, parson of the town, a fine man and good company, dined with us, and good discourse. After dinner I left them and walked to Redriffe, and thence to White Hall, and at my Lord's lodgings found my wife, and thence carried her to see my Lady Jemimah, but she was not within. So to Mr. Turner's, and there saw Mr. Edward Pepys's lady, who my wife concurs with me to be very pretty, as most women we ever saw. So home, and after a walk in the garden a little troubled to see my wife take no more pleasure with Ashwell, but neglect her and leave her at home. Home to supper and to bed. 6th. Lay in bed till 7 o'clock, yet rose with an opinion that it was not 5, and so continued though I heard the clock strike, till noon, and would not believe that it was so late as it truly was. I was hardly ever so mistaken in my life before. Up and to Sir G. Carteret at his house, and spoke to him about business, but he being in a bad humour I had no mind to stay with him, but walked, drinking my morning draft of whay, by the way, to York House, where the Russia Embassador do lie; and there I saw his people go up and down louseing themselves: they are all in a great hurry, being to be gone the beginning of next week. But that that pleased me best, was the remains of the noble soul of the late Duke of Buckingham appearing in his house, in every place, in the doorcases and the windows. By and by comes Sir John Hebden, the Russia Resident, to me, and he and I in his coach to White Hall, to Secretary Morrice's, to see the orders about the Russia hemp that is to be fetched from Archangel for our King, and that being done, to coach again, and he brought me into the City and so I home; and after dinner abroad by water, and met by appointment Mr. Deane in the Temple Church, and he and I over to Mr. Blackbury's yard, and thence to other places, and after that to a drinking house, in all which places I did so practise and improve my measuring of timber, that I can now do it with great ease and perfection, which do please me mightily. This fellow Deane is a conceited fellow, and one that means the King a great deal of service, more of disservice to other people that go away with the profits which he cannot make; but, however, I learn much of him, and he is, I perceive, of great use to the King in his place, and so I shall give him all the encouragement I can. Home by water, and having wrote a letter for my wife to my Lady Sandwich to copy out to send this night's post, I to the office, and wrote there myself several things, and so home to supper and bed. My mind being troubled to think into what a temper of neglect I have myself flung my wife into by my letting her learn to dance, that it will require time to cure her of, and I fear her going into the country will but make her worse; but only I do hope in the meantime to spend my time well in my office, with more leisure than while she is here. Hebden, to-day in the coach, did tell me how he is vexed to see things at Court ordered as they are by nobody that attends to business, but every man himself or his pleasures. He cries up my Lord Ashley to be almost the only man that he sees to look after business; and with that ease and mastery, that he wonders at him. He cries out against the King's dealing so much with goldsmiths, and suffering himself to have his purse kept and commanded by them. He tells me also with what exact care and order the States of Holland's stores are kept in their Yards, and every thing managed there by their builders with such husbandry as is not imaginable; which I will endeavour to understand further, if I can by any means learn. 7th (Lord's day). Whit Sunday. Lay long talking with my wife, sometimes angry and ended pleased and hope to bring our matters to a better posture in a little time, which God send. So up and to church, where Mr. Mills preached, but, I know not how, I slept most of the sermon. Thence home, and dined with my wife and Ashwell and after dinner discoursed very pleasantly, and so I to church again in the afternoon, and, the Scot preaching, again slept all the afternoon, and so home, and by and by to Sir W. Batten's, to talk about business, where my Lady Batten inveighed mightily against the German Princess, and I as high in the defence of her wit and spirit, and glad that she is cleared at the sessions. Thence to Sir W. Pen, who I found ill again of the gout, he tells me that now Mr. Castle and Mrs. Martha Batten do own themselves to be married, and have been this fortnight. Much good may it do him, for I do not envy him his wife. So home, and there my wife and I had an angry word or two upon discourse of our boy, compared with Sir W. Pen's boy that he has now, whom I say is much prettier than ours and she the contrary. It troubles me to see that every small thing is enough now-a-days to bring a difference between us. So to my office and there did a little business, and then home to supper and to bed. Mrs. Turner, who is often at Court, do tell me to-day that for certain the Queen hath much changed her humour, and is become very pleasant and sociable as any; and they say is with child, or believed to be so. 8th. Up and to my office a while, and thence by coach with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's to the Duke, where Mr. Coventry and us two did discourse with the Duke a little about our office business, which saved our coming in the afternoon, and so to rights home again and to dinner. After dinner my wife and I had a little jangling, in which she did give me the lie, which vexed me, so that finding my talking did but make her worse, and that her spirit is lately come to be other than it used to be, and now depends upon her having Ashwell by her, before whom she thinks I shall not say nor do anything of force to her, which vexes me and makes me wish that I had better considered all that I have of late done concerning my bringing my wife to this condition of heat, I went up vexed to my chamber and there fell examining my new concordance, that I have bought, with Newman's, the best that ever was out before, and I find mine altogether as copious as that and something larger, though the order in some respects not so good, that a man may think a place is missing, when it is only put in another place. Up by and by my wife comes and good friends again, and to walk in the garden and so anon to supper and to bed. My cozen John Angier the son, of Cambridge coming to me late to see me, and I find his business is that he would be sent to sea, but I dissuaded him from it, for I will not have to do with it without his friends' consent. 9th. Up and after ordering some things towards my wife's going into the country, to the office, where I spent the morning upon my measuring rules very pleasantly till noon, and then comes Creed and he and I talked about mathematiques, and he tells me of a way found out by Mr. Jonas Moore which he calls duodecimal arithmetique, which is properly applied to measuring, where all is ordered by inches, which are 12 in a foot, which I have a mind to learn. So he with me home to dinner and after dinner walk in the garden, and then we met at the office, where Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, and I, and so in the evening, business done, I went home and spent my time till night with my wife. Presently after my coming home comes Pembleton, whether by appointment or no I know not, or whether by a former promise that he would come once before my wife's going into the country, but I took no notice of, let them go up and Ashwell with them to dance, which they did, and I staid below in my chamber, but, Lord! how I listened and laid my ear to the door, and how I was troubled when I heard them stand still and not dance. Anon they made an end and had done, and so I suffered him to go away, and spoke not to him, though troubled in my mind, but showed no discontent to my wife, believing that this is the last time I shall be troubled with him. So my wife and I to walk in the garden, home and to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and all the morning helping my wife to put up her things towards her going into the country and drawing the wine out of my vessel to send. This morning came my cozen Thomas Pepys to desire me to furnish him with some money, which I could not do till his father has wrote to Piggott his consent to the sale of his lands, so by and by we parted and I to the Exchange a while and so home and to dinner, and thence to the Royal Theatre by water, and landing, met with Captain Ferrers his friend, the little man that used to be with him, and he with us, and sat by us while we saw "Love in a Maze." The play is pretty good, but the life of the play is Lacy's part, the clown, which is most admirable; but for the rest, which are counted such old and excellent actors, in my life I never heard both men and women so ill pronounce their parts, even to my making myself sick therewith. Thence, Creed happening to be with us, we four to the Half-Moon Tavern, I buying some sugar and carrying it with me, which we drank with wine and thence to the whay-house, and drank a great deal of whay, and so by water home, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is not in much pain, but his legs swell and so immoveable that he cannot stir them, but as they are lifted by other people and I doubt will have another fit of his late pain. Played a little at cards with him and his daughter, who is grown every day a finer and finer lady, and so home to supper and to bed. When my wife and I came first home we took Ashwell and all the rest below in the cellar with the vintner drawing out my wine, which I blamed Ashwell much for and told her my mind that I would not endure it, nor was it fit for her to make herself equal with the ordinary servants of the house. 11th. Up and spent most of the morning upon my measuring Ruler and with great pleasure I have found out some things myself of great dispatch, more than my book teaches me, which pleases me mightily. Sent my wife's things and the wine to-day by the carrier to my father's, but staid my boy from a letter of my father's, wherein he desires that he may not come to trouble his family as he did the last year. Dined at home and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and at night home and spent the evening with my wife, and she and I did jangle mightily about her cushions that she wrought with worsteds the last year, which are too little for any use, but were good friends by and by again. But one thing I must confess I do observe, which I did not before, which is, that I cannot blame my wife to be now in a worse humour than she used to be, for I am taken up in my talk with Ashwell, who is a very witty girl, that I am not so fond of her as I used and ought to be, which now I do perceive I will remedy, but I would to the Lord I had never taken any, though I cannot have a better than her. To supper and to bed. The consideration that this is the longest day in the year is very unpleasant to me.--[It is necessary to note that this was according to the old style.]--This afternoon my wife had a visit from my Lady Jeminah and Mr. Ferrers. 12th. Up and my office, there conning my measuring Ruler, which I shall grow a master of in a very little time. At noon to the Exchange and so home to dinner, and abroad with my wife by water to the Royall Theatre; and there saw "The Committee," a merry but indifferent play, only Lacey's part, an Irish footman, is beyond imagination. Here I saw my Lord Falconbridge, and his Lady, my Lady Mary Cromwell, who looks as well as I have known her, and well clad; but when the House began to fill she put on her vizard, [Masks were commonly used by ladies in the reign of Elizabeth, and when their use was revived at the Restoration for respectable women attending the theatre, they became general. They soon, however, became the mark of loose women, and their use was discontinued by women of repute. On June 1st, 1704, a song was sung at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields called "The Misses' Lamentation for want of their Vizard Masques at the Theatre." Mr. R. W. Lowe gives several references to the use of vizard masks at the theatre in his interesting biography, "Thomas Betterton."] and so kept it on all the play; which of late is become a great fashion among the ladies, which hides their whole face. So to the Exchange, to buy things with my wife; among others, a vizard for herself. And so by water home and to my office to do a little business, and so to see Sir W. Pen, but being going to bed and not well I could not see him. So home and to supper and bed, being mightily troubled all night and next morning with the palate of my mouth being down from some cold I took to-day sitting sweating in the playhouse, and the wind blowing through the windows upon my head. 13th. Up and betimes to Thames Street among the tarr men, to look the price of tarr and so by water to Whitehall thinking to speak with Sir G. Carteret, but he lying in the city all night, and meeting with Mr. Cutler the merchant, I with him in his coach into the city to Sir G. Carteret, but missing him there, he and I walked to find him at Sir Tho. Allen's in Bread Street, where not finding him he and I walked towards our office, he discoursing well of the business of the Navy, and particularly of the victualling, in which he was once I perceive concerned, and he and I parted and I to the office and there had a difference with Sir W. Batten about Mr. Bowyer's tarr, which I am resolved to cross, though he sent me last night, as a bribe, a barrel of sturgeon, which, it may be, I shall send back, for I will not have the King abused so abominably in the price of what we buy, by Sir W. Batten's corruption and underhand dealing. So from the office, Mr. Wayth with me, to the Parliament House, and there I spoke and told Sir G. Carteret all, with which he is well pleased, and do recall his willingness yesterday, it seems, to Sir W. Batten, that we should buy a great quantity of tarr, being abused by him. Thence with Mr. Wayth after drinking a cupp of ale at the Swan, talking of the corruption of the Navy, by water. I landed him at Whitefriars, and I to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife's brother, and thence after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre, where I resolved to bid farewell, as shall appear by my oaths tomorrow against all plays either at publique houses or Court till Christmas be over. Here we saw "The Faithfull Sheepheardesse," a most simple thing, and yet much thronged after, and often shown, but it is only for the scenes' sake, which is very fine indeed and worth seeing; but I am quite out of opinion with any of their actings, but Lacy's, compared with the other house. Thence to see Mrs. Hunt, which we did and were much made of; and in our way saw my Lady Castlemaine, who, I fear, is not so handsome as I have taken her for, and now she begins to decay something. This is my wife's opinion also, for which I am sorry. Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad, and down byeways, through Bucklersbury home, everybody through the street cursing him, being ready to run over them. So home, and after writing letters by the post, home to supper and bed. Yesterday, upon conference with the King in the Banqueting House, the Parliament did agree with much ado, it being carried but by forty-two voices, that they would supply him with a sum of money; but what and how is not yet known, but expected to be done with great disputes the next week. But if done at all, it is well. 14th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. So up and to church. Then to dinner, and Tom dined with me, who I think grows a very thriving man, as he himself tells me. He tells me that his man John has got a wife, and for that he intends to part with him, which I am sorry for, and then that Mr. Armiger comes to be a constant lodger at his house, and he says has money in his purse and will be a good paymaster, but I do much doubt it. He being gone, I up and sending my people to church, my wife and I did even our reckonings, and had a great deal of serious talk, wherein I took occasion to give her hints of the necessity of our saving all we can. I do see great cause every day to curse the time that ever I did give way to the taking of a woman for her, though I could never have had a better, and also the letting of her learn to dance, by both which her mind is so devilishly taken off her business and minding her occasions, and besides has got such an opinion in her of my being jealous, that it is never to be removed, I fear, nor hardly my trouble that attends it; but I must have patience. I did give her 40s. to carry into the country tomorrow with her, whereof 15s. is to go for the coach-hire for her and Ashwell, there being 20s. paid here already in earnest. In the evening our discourse turned to great content and love, and I hope that after a little forgetting our late differences, and being a while absent one from another, we shall come to agree as well as ever. So to Sir W. Pen's to visit him, and finding him alone, sent for my wife, who is in her riding-suit, to see him, which she hath not done these many months I think. By and by in comes Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and so we sat talking. Among other things, Sir J. Minnes brought many fine expressions of Chaucer, which he doats on mightily, and without doubt he is a very fine poet. [Pepys continued through life an admirer of Chaucer, and we have the authority of Dryden himself for saying that we owe his character of the Good Parson to Pepys's recommendation.] Sir W. Pen continues lame of the gout, that he cannot rise from his chair. So after staying an hour with him, we went home and to supper, and so to prayers and bed. 15th. Up betimes, and anon my wife rose and did give me her keys, and put other things in order and herself against going this morning into the country. I was forced to go to Thames Street and strike up a bargain for some tarr, to prevent being abused therein by Hill, who was with me this morning, and is mightily surprised that I should tell him what I can have the same tarr with his for. Thence home, but finding my wife gone, I took coach and after her to her inn, where I am troubled to see her forced to sit in the back of the coach, though pleased to see her company none but women and one parson; she I find is troubled at all, and I seemed to make a promise to get a horse and ride after them; and so, kissing her often, and Ashwell once, I bid them adieu. So home by coach, and thence by water to Deptford to the Trinity House, where I came a little late; but I found them reading their charter, which they did like fools, only reading here and there a bit, whereas they ought to do it all, every word, and then proceeded to the election of a maister, which was Sir W. Batten, without any control, who made a heavy, short speech to them, moving them to give thanks to the late Maister for his pains, which he said was very great, and giving them thanks for their choice of him, wherein he would serve them to the best of his power. Then to the choice of their assistants and wardens, and so rose. I might have received 2s. 6d. as a younger Brother, but I directed one of the servants of the House to receive it and keep it. Thence to church, where Dr. Britton preached a sermon full of words against the Nonconformists, but no great matter in it, nor proper for the day at all. His text was, "With one mind and one mouth give glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." That done, by water, I in the barge with the Maister, to the Trinity House at London; where, among others, I found my Lords Sandwich and Craven, and my cousin Roger Pepys, and Sir Wm. Wheeler. Anon we sat down to dinner, which was very great, as they always have. Great variety of talk. Mr. Prin, among many, had a pretty tale of one that brought in a bill in parliament for the empowering him to dispose his land to such children as he should have that should bear the name of his wife. It was in Queen Elizabeth's time. One replied that there are many species of creatures where the male gives the denomination to both sexes, as swan and woodcock, but not above one where the female do, and that is a goose. Both at and after dinner we had great discourses of the nature and power of spirits, and whether they can animate dead bodies; in all which, as of the general appearance of spirits, my Lord Sandwich is very scepticall. He says the greatest warrants that ever he had to believe any, is the present appearing of the Devil [In 1664, there being a generall report all over the kingdom of Mr. Monpesson his house being haunted, which hee himself affirming to the King and Queene to be true, the King sent the Lord Falmouth, and the Queene sent mee, to examine the truth of; but wee could neither see nor heare anything that was extraordinary; and about a year after, his Majesty told me that hee had discovered the cheat, and that Mr. Monpesson, upon his Majesty sending for him, confessed it to him. And yet Mr. Monpesson, in a printed letter, had afterwards the confidence to deny that hee had ever made any such confession" ("Letters of the Second Earl of Chesterfield," p. 24, 1829, 8vo.). Joseph Glanville published a relation of the famous disturbance at the house of Mr. Monpesson, at Tedworth, Wilts, occasioned by the beating of an invisible drum every night for a year. This story, which was believed at the time, furnished the plot for Addison's play of "The Drummer," or the "Haunted House." In the "Mercurius Publicus," April 16-23, 1663, there is a curious examination on this subject, by which it appears that one William Drury, of Uscut, Wilts, was the invisible drummer.--B.] in Wiltshire, much of late talked of, who beats a drum up and down. There are books of it, and, they say, very true; but my Lord observes, that though he do answer to any tune that you will play to him upon another drum, yet one tune he tried to play and could not; which makes him suspect the whole; and I think it is a good argument. Sometimes they talked of handsome women, and Sir J. Minnes saying that there was no beauty like what he sees in the country-markets, and specially at Bury, in which I will agree with him that there is a prettiest women I ever saw. My Lord replied thus: "Sir John, what do you think of your neighbour's wife?" looking upon me. "Do you not think that he hath a great beauty to his wife? Upon my word he hath." Which I was not a little proud of. Thence by barge with my Lord to Blackfriars, where we landed and I thence walked home, where vexed to find my boy (whom I boxed at his coming for it) and Will abroad, though he was but upon Tower Hill a very little while. My head akeing with the healths I was forced to drink to-day I sent for the barber, and he having done, I up to my wife's closett, and there played on my viallin a good while, and without supper anon to bed, sad for want of my wife, whom I love with all my heart, though of late she has given me some troubled thoughts. 16th. Up, but not so early as I intend now, and to my office, where doing business all the morning. At noon by desire I dined with Sir W. Batten, who tells me that the House have voted the supply, intended for the King, shall be by subsidy. After dinner with Sir J. Minnes to see some pictures at Brewer's, said to be of good hands, but I do not like them. So I to the office and thence to Stacy's, his Tar merchant, whose servant with whom I agreed yesterday for some tar do by combination with Bowyer and Hill fall from our agreement, which vexes us all at the office, even Sir W. Batten, who was so earnest for it. So to the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night, and then to Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, and so to bed about 10 o'clock. 17th. Up before 4 o'clock, which is the hour I intend now to rise at, and to my office a while, and with great pleasure I fell to my business again. Anon went with money to my tar merchant to pay for the tar, which he refuses to sell me; but now the master is come home, and so he speaks very civilly, and I believe we shall have it with peace. I brought back my money to my office, and thence to White Hall, and in the garden spoke to my Lord Sandwich, who is in his gold-buttoned suit, as the mode is, and looks nobly. Captain Ferrers, I see, is come home from France. I only spoke one word to him, my Lord being there. He tells me the young gentlemen are well there; so my Lord went to my Lord Albemarle's to dinner, and I by water home and dined alone, and at the office (after half an hour's viallin practice after dinner) till late at night, and so home and to bed. This day I sent my cozen Edward Pepys his Lady, at my cozen Turner's, a piece of venison given me yesterday, and Madam Turner I sent for a dozen bottles of her's, to fill with wine for her. This day I met with Pierce the surgeon, who tells me that the King has made peace between Mr. Edward Montagu and his father Lord Montagu, and that all is well again; at which; for the family's sake, I am very glad, but do not think it will hold long. 18th. Up by four o'clock and to my office, where all the morning writing out in my Navy collections the ordinary estimate of the Navy, and did it neatly. Then dined at home alone, my mind pleased with business, but sad for the absence of my wife. After dinner half an hour at my viallin, and then all the afternoon sitting at the office late, and so home and to bed. This morning Mr. Cutler came and sat in my closet half an hour with me, his discourse very excellent, being a wise man, and I do perceive by him as well as many others that my diligence is taken notice of in the world, for which I bless God and hope to continue doing so. Before I went into my house this night I called at Sir W. Batten's, where finding some great ladies at table at supper with him and his lady, I retreated and went home, though they called to me again and again, and afterwards sent for me. So I went, and who should it be but Sir Fr. Clerke and his lady and another proper lady at supper there, and great cheer, where I staid till 11 o'clock at night, and so home and to bed. 19th. Lay till 6 o'clock, and then up and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon to the Exchange, and coming home met Mr. Creed, and took him back, and he dined with me, and by and by came Mr. Moore, whom I supplied with L30, and then abroad with them by water to Lambeth, expecting to have seen the Archbishop lie in state; but it seems he is not laid out yet. And so over to White Hall, and at the Privy Seal Office examined the books, and found the grant of increase of salary to the principall officers in the year 1639, L300 among the Controller, Surveyor, and Clerk of the Shippes. Thence to Wilkinson's after a good walk in the Park, where we met on horseback Captain Ferrers; who tells us that the King of France is well again, and that he saw him train his Guards, all brave men, at Paris; and that when he goes to his mistress, Madame la Valiere, a pretty little woman, now with child by him, he goes with his guards with him publiquely, and his trumpets and kettle-drums with him, who stay before the house while he is with her; and yet he says that, for all this, the Queen do not know of it, for that nobody dares to tell her; but that I dare not believe. Thence I to Wilkinson's, where we had bespoke a dish of pease, where we eat them very merrily, and there being with us the little gentleman, a friend of Captain Ferrers, that was with my wife and I at a play a little while ago, we went thence to the Rhenish wine-house, where we called for a red Rhenish wine called Bleahard, a pretty wine, and not mixed, as they say. Here Mr. Moore showed us the French manner, when a health is drunk, to bow to him that drunk to you, and then apply yourself to him, whose lady's health is drunk, and then to the person that you drink to, which I never knew before; but it seems it is now the fashion. Thence by water home and to bed, having played out of my chamber window on my pipe before I went to bed, and making Will read a part of a Latin chapter, in which I perceive in a little while he will be pretty ready, if he spends but a little pains in it. 20th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and dined at home, Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, with me, and he and I all the afternoon down by water, and in a timber yard, measuring of timber, which I now understand thoroughly, and shall be able in a little time to do the King great service. Home in the evening, and after Will's reading a little in the Latin Testament, to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up betimes, and fell to reading my Latin grammar, which I perceive I have great need of, having lately found it by my calling Will to the reading of a chapter in Latin, and I am resolved to go through it. After being trimmed, I by water to White Hall, and so over the Park, it raining hard, to Mr. Coventry's chamber, where I spent two hours with him about business of the Navy, and how by his absence things are like to go with us, and with good content from my being with him he carried me by coach and set me down at Whitehall, and thence to right home by water. He shewed me a list, which he hath prepared for the Parliament's view, if the business of his selling of offices should be brought to further hearing, wherein he reckons up, as I remember, 236 offices of ships which have been disposed of without his taking one farthing. This, of his own accord, he opened his cabinet on purpose to shew me, meaning, I suppose, that I should discourse abroad of it, and vindicate him therein, which I shall with all my power do. At home, being wet, shifted my band and things, and then to dinner, and after dinner went up and tried a little upon my tryangle, which I understand fully, and with a little use I believe could bring myself to do something. So to church, and slept all the sermon, the Scot, to whose voice I am not to be reconciled, preaching. Thence with Sir J. Minnes (who poor man had forgot that he carried me the other day to the painter's to see some pictures which he has since bought and are brought home) to his Jodgings to see some base things he calls them of great masters of painting. So I said nothing that he had shown me them already, but commended them, and I think they are indeed good enough. Thence to see Sir W. Pen, who continues ill of the gout still. Here we staid a good while, and then I to my office, and read my vows seriously and with content, and so home to supper, to prayers, and to bed. 22nd. Up betimes and to my office, reading over all our letters of the office that we have wrote since I came into the Navy, whereby to bring the whole series of matters into my memory, and to enter in my manuscript some of them that are needful and of great influence. By and by with Sir W. Batten by coach to Westminster, where all along I find the shops evening with the sides of the houses, even in the broadest streets; which will make the City very much better than it was. I walked in the Hall from one man to another. Hear that the House is still divided about the manner of levying the subsidys which they intend to give the King, both as to the manner, the time, and the number. It seems the House do consent to send to the King to desire that he would be graciously pleased to let them know who it was that did inform him of what words Sir Richard Temple should say, which were to this purpose: "That if the King would side with him, or be guided by him and his party, that he should not lack money:" but without knowing who told it, they do not think fit to call him to any account for it. Thence with Creed and bought a lobster, and then to an alehouse, where the maid of the house is a confident merry lass, and if modest is very pleasant to the customers that come thither. Here we eat it, and thence to walk in the Park a good while. The Duke being gone a-hunting, and by and by came in and shifted himself; he having in his hunting, rather than go about, 'light and led his horse through a river up to his breast, and came so home: and when we were come, which was by and by, we went on to him, and being ready he retired with us, and we had a long discourse with him. But Mr. Creed's accounts stick still through the perverse ignorance of Sir G. Carteret, which I cannot safely control as I would. Thence to the Park again, and there walked up and down an hour or two till night with Creed, talking, who is so knowing, and a man of that reason, that I cannot but love his company, though I do not love the man, because he is too wise to be made a friend of, and acts all by interest and policy, but is a man fit to learn of. So to White Hall, and by water to the Temple, and calling at my brother's and several places, but to no purpose, I came home, and meeting Strutt, the purser, he tells me for a secret that he was told by Field that he had a judgment against me in the Exchequer for L400. So I went to Sir W. Batten, and taking Mr. Batten, his son the counsellor, with me, by coach, I went to Clerke, our Solicitor, who tells me there can be no such thing, and after conferring with them two together, who are resolved to look well after the business, I returned home and to my office, setting down this day's passages, and having a letter that all is well in the country I went home to supper, and then a Latin chapter of Will and to bed. 23rd. Up by four o'clock, and so to my office; but before I went out, calling, as I have of late done, for my boy's copybook, I found that he had not done his task; so I beat him, and then went up to fetch my rope's end, but before I got down the boy was gone. I searched the cellar with a candle, and from top to bottom could not find him high nor low. So to the office; and after an hour or two, by water to the Temple, to my cozen Roger; who, I perceive, is a deadly high man in the Parliament business, and against the Court, showing me how they have computed that the King hath spent, at least hath received, about four millions of money since he came in: and in Sir J. Winter's case, in which I spoke to him, he is so high that he says he deserves to be hanged, and all the high words he could give, which I was sorry to see, though I am confident he means well. Thence by water home, and to the 'Change; and by and by comes the King and the Queen by in great state, and the streets full of people. I stood in Mr.--------'s balcone. They dine all at my Lord Mayor's; but what he do for victuals, or room for them, I know not. So home to dinner alone, and there I found that my boy had got out of doors, and came in for his hat and band, and so is gone away to his brother; but I do resolve even to let him go away for good and all. So I by and by to the office, and there had a great fray with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, who, like an old dotard, is led by the nose by him. It was in Captain Cocke's business of hemp, wherein the King is absolutely abused; but I was for peace sake contented to be quiet and to sign to his bill, but in my manner so as to justify myself, and so all was well; but to see what a knave Sir W. Batten is makes my heart ake. So late at my office, and then home to supper and to bed, my man Will not being well. 24th. Up before 4 o'clock, and so to my lute an hour or more, and then by water, drinking my morning draft alone at an alehouse in Thames Street, to the Temple, and thence after a little discourse with my cozen Roger about some business, away by water to St. James's, and there an hour's private discourse with Mr. Coventry, where he told me one thing to my great joy, that in the business of Captain Cocke's hemp, disputed before him the other day, Mr. Coventry absent, the Duke did himself tell him since, that Mr. Pepys and he did stand up and carry it against the rest that were there, Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, which do please me much to see that the Duke do take notice of me. We did talk highly of Sir W. Batten's corruption, which Mr. Coventry did very kindly say that it might be only his heaviness and unaptness for business, that he do things without advice and rashly, and to gratify people that do eat and drink and play with him, and that now and then he observes that he signs bills only in anger and fury to be rid of men. Speaking of Sir G. Carteret, of whom I perceive he speaks but slightly, and diminishing of him in his services for the King in Jersey; that he was well rewarded, and had good lands and rents, and other profits from the King, all the time he was there; and that it was always his humour to have things done his way. He brought an example how he would not let the Castle there be victualled for more than a month, that so he might keep it at his beck, though the people of the town did offer to supply it more often themselves, which, when one did propose to the King, Sir George Carteret being by, says Sir George, "Let me know who they are that would do it, I would with all my heart pay them." "Ah, by God," says the Commander that spoke of it, "that is it that they are afeard of, that you would hug them," meaning that he would not endure them. Another thing he told me, how the Duke of York did give Sir G. Carteret and the Island his profits as Admirall, and other things, toward the building of a pier there. But it was never laid out, nor like to be. So it falling out that a lady being brought to bed, the Duke was to be desired to be one of the godfathers; and it being objected that that would not be proper, there being no peer of the land to be joyned with him, the lady replied, "Why, let him choose; and if he will not be a godfather without a peer, then let him even stay till he hath made a pier of his own." [In the same spirit, long after this, some question arising as to the best material to be used in building Westminster Bridge, Lord Chesterfield remarked, that there were too many wooden piers (peers) at Westminster already.--B.] He tells me, too, that he hath lately been observed to tack about at Court, and to endeavour to strike in with the persons that are against the Chancellor; but this he says of him, that he do not say nor do anything to the prejudice of the Chancellor. But he told me that the Chancellor was rising again, and that of late Sir G. Carteret's business and employment hath not been so full as it used to be while the Chancellor stood up. From that we discoursed of the evil of putting out men of experience in business as the Chancellor, and from that to speak of the condition of the King's party at present, who, as the Papists, though otherwise fine persons, yet being by law kept for these fourscore years out of employment, they are now wholly uncapable of business; and so the Cavaliers for twenty years, who, says he, for the most part have either given themselves over to look after country and family business, and those the best of them, and the rest to debauchery, &c.; and that was it that hath made him high against the late Bill brought into the House for the making all men incapable of employment that had served against the King. Why, says he, in the sea-service, it is impossible to do any thing without them, there being not more than three men of the whole King's side that are fit to command almost; and these were Captain Allen, Smith, and Beech; and it may be Holmes, and Utber, and Batts might do something. I desired him to tell me if he thought that I did speak anything that I do against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes out of ill will or design. He told me quite the contrary, and that there was reason enough. After a good deal of good and fine discourse, I took leave, and so to my Lord Sandwich's house, where I met my Lord, and there did discourse of our office businesses, and how the Duke do show me kindness, though I have endeavoured to displease more or less of my fellow officers, all but Mr. Coventry and Pett; but it matters not. Yes, says my Lord, Sir J. Minnes, who is great with the Chancellor; I told him the Chancellor I have thought was declining, and however that the esteem he has among them is nothing but for a jester or a ballad maker; at which my Lord laughs, and asks me whether I believe he ever could do that well. Thence with Mr. Creed up and down to an ordinary, and, the King's Head being full, went to the other over against it, a pretty man that keeps it, and good and much meat, better than the other, but the company and room so small that he must break, and there wants the pleasure that the other house has in its company. Here however dined an old courtier that is now so, who did bring many examples and arguments to prove that seldom any man that brings any thing to Court gets any thing, but rather the contrary; for knowing that they have wherewith to live, will not enslave themselves to the attendance, and flattery, and fawning condition of a courtier, whereas another that brings nothing, and will be contented to cog, and lie, and flatter every man and woman that has any interest with the persons that are great in favour, and can cheat the King, as nothing is to be got without offending God and the King, there he for the most part, and he alone, saves any thing. Thence to St. James Park, and there walked two or three hours talking of the difference between Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Creed about his accounts, and how to obviate him, but I find Creed a deadly cunning fellow and one that never do any thing openly, but has intrigues in all he do or says. Thence by water home to see all well, and thence down to Greenwich, and there walked into a pretty common garden and there played with him at nine pins for some drink, and to make the fellows drink that set up the pins, and so home again being very cold, and taking a very great cold, being to-day the first time in my tabby doublet this year. Home, and after a small supper Creed and I to bed. This day I observed the house, which I took to be the new tennis-court, newly built next my Lord's lodgings, to be fallen down by the badness of the foundation or slight working, which my cozen Roger and his discontented party cry out upon, as an example how the King's work is done, which I am sorry to see him and others so apt to think ill of things. It hath beaten down a good deal of my Lord's lodgings, and had like to have killed Mrs. Sarah, she having but newly gone out of it. 25th. Up both of us pretty early and to my chamber, where he and I did draw up a letter to Sir G. Carteret in excuse and preparation for Creed against we meet before the Duke upon his accounts, which I drew up and it proved very well, but I am pleased to see with what secret cunning and variety of artifice this Creed has carried on his business even unknown to me, which he is now forced by an accident to communicate to me. So that taking up all the papers of moment which lead to the clearing of his accounts unobserved out of the Controller's hand, which he now makes great use of; knowing that the Controller has not wherewith to betray him. About this all the morning, only Mr. Bland came to me about some business of his, and told me the news, which holds to be true, that the Portuguese did let in the Spaniard by a plot, and they being in the midst of the country and we believing that they would have taken the whole country, they did all rise and kill the whole body, near 8,000 men, and Don John of Austria having two horses killed under him, was forced with one man to flee away. Sir George Carteret at the office (after dinner, and Creed being gone, for both now and yesterday I was afraid to have him seen by Sir G. Carteret with me, for fear that he should increase his doubt that I am of a plot with Creed in the business of his accounts) did tell us that upon Tuesday last, being with my Lord Treasurer, he showed him a letter from Portugall speaking of the advance of the Spaniards into their country, and yet that the Portuguese were never more courageous than now; for by an old prophecy, from France, sent thither some years, though not many since, from the French King, it is foretold that the Spaniards should come into their country, and in such a valley they should be all killed, and then their country should be wholly delivered from the Spaniards. This was on Tuesday last, and yesterday came the very first news that in this very valley they had thus routed and killed the Spaniards, which is very strange but true. So late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. This noon I received a letter from the country from my wife, wherein she seems much pleased with the country; God continue that she may have pleasure while she is there. She, by my Lady's advice, desires a new petticoat of the new silk striped stuff, very pretty. So I went to Paternoster Row' presently, and bought her one, with Mr. Creed's help, a very fine rich one, the best I did see there, and much better than she desires or expects, and sent it by Creed to Unthanke to be made against tomorrow to send by the carrier, thinking it had been but Wednesday to-day, but I found myself mistaken, and also the taylor being out of the way, it could not be done, but the stuff was sent me back at night by Creed to dispose of some other way to make, but now I shall keep it to next week. 26th. Up betimes, and Mr. Moore coming to see me, he and [Paternoster Row, now famous as the headquarters of the publishing houses, was at this time chiefly inhabited by mercers. "This street, before the Fire of London, was taken up by eminent Mercers, Silkmen and Lacemen; and their shops were so resorted to by the nobility and gentry in their coaches, that oft times the street was so stop'd up that there was no passage for foot passengers" (Strype's "Stow," book iii., p. 195)]. I discoursed of going to Oxford this Commencement, Mr. Nathaniel Crew being Proctor and Mr. Childe commencing Doctor of Musique this year, which I have a great mind to do, and, if I can, will order my matters so that I may do it. By and by, he and I to the Temple, it raining hard, my cozen Roger being got out, he and I walked a good while among the Temple trees discoursing of my getting my Lord to let me have security upon his estate for L100 per ann. for two lives, my own and my wife, for my money. But upon second thoughts Mr. Moore tells me it is very likely my Lord will think that I beg something, and may take it ill, and so we resolved not to move it there, but to look for it somewhere else. Here it raining hard he and I walked into the King's Bench Court, where I never was before, and there staid an hour almost, till it had done raining, which is a sad season, that it is said there hath not been one fair day these three months, and I think it is true, and then by water to Westminster, and at the Parliament House I spoke with Roger Pepys. The House is upon the King's answer to their message about Temple, which is, that my Lord of Bristoll did tell him that Temple did say those words; so the House are resolved upon sending some of their members to him to know the truth, and to demand satisfaction if it be not true. So by water home, and after a little while getting me ready, Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, my Lady Batten, and I by coach to Bednall Green, to Sir W. Rider's to dinner, where a fine place, good lady mother, and their daughter, Mrs. Middleton, a fine woman. A noble dinner, and a fine merry walk with the ladies alone after dinner in the garden, which is very pleasant; the greatest quantity of strawberrys I ever saw, and good, and a collation of great mirth, Sir J. Minnes reading a book of scolding very prettily. This very house [Sir William Rider's house was known as Kirby Castle, and was supposed to have been built in 1570 by John Thorpe for John Kirby. It was associated in rhyme with other follies of the time in bricks and mortar, as recorded by Stow "Kirkebyes Castell, and Fisher's Follie, Spinila's pleasure, and Megse's glorie." The place was known in Strype's time as the "Blind Beggar's House," but he knew nothing of the ballad, "The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green," for he remarks, "perhaps Kirby beggared himself by it." Sr. William Rider died at this house in 1669.] was built by the Blind Beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in ballads; but they say it was only some of the outhouses of it. We drank great store of wine, and a beer glass at last which made me almost sick. At table, discoursing of thunder and lightning, they told many stories of their own knowledge at table of their masts being shivered from top to bottom, and sometimes only within and the outside whole, but among the rest Sir W. Rider did tell a story of his own knowledge, that a Genoese gaily in Leghorn Roads was struck by thunder, so as the mast was broke a-pieces, and the shackle upon one of the slaves was melted clear off of his leg without hurting his leg. Sir William went on board the vessel, and would have contributed towards the release of the slave whom Heaven had thus set free, but he could not compass it, and so he was brought to his fetters again. In the evening home, and a little to my Tryangle, and so to bed. 27th. Up by 4 o'clock and a little to my office. Then comes by agreement Sir W. Warren, and he and I from ship to ship to see deals of all sorts, whereby I have encreased my knowledge and with great pleasure. Then to his yard and house, where I staid two hours or more discoursing of the expense of the navy and the corruption of Sir W. Batten and his man Wood that he brings or would bring to sell all that is to be sold by the Navy. Then home to the office, where we sat a little, and at noon home to dinner, alone, and thence, it raining hard, by water to the Temple, and so to Lincoln's Inn, and there walked up and down to see the new garden which they are making, and will be very pretty, and so to walk under the Chappell by agreement, whither Mr. Clerke our Solicitor came to me, and he fetched Mr. Long, our Attorney in the Exchequer in the business against Field, and I directed him to come to the best and speediest composition he could, which he will do. So home on foot, calling upon my brother's and elsewhere upon business, and so home to my office, and there wrote letters to my father and wife, and so home to bed, taking three pills overnight. 28th (Lord's day). Early in the morning my last night's physic worked and did give me a good stool, and then I rose and had three or four stools, and walked up and down my chamber. Then up, my maid rose and made me a posset, and by and by comes Mr. Creed, and he and I spent all the morning discoursing against to-morrow before the Duke the business of his pieces of eight, in which the Treasurer makes so many queries. At noon, my physic having done working, I went down to dinner, and then he and I up again and spent most of the afternoon reading in Cicero and other books of good discourse, and then he went away, and then came my brother Tom to see me, telling me how the Joyces do make themselves fine clothes against Mary is brought to bed. He being gone I went to cast up my monthly accounts, and to my great trouble I find myself L7 worse than I was the last month, but I confess it is by my reckoning beforehand a great many things, yet however I am troubled to see that I can hardly promise myself to lay up much from month's end to month's end, about L4 or L5 at most, one month with another, without some extraordinary gettings, but I must and I hope I shall continue to have a care of my own expenses. So to the reading my vows seriously and then to supper. This evening there came my boy's brother to see for him, and tells me he knows not where he is, himself being out of town this week and is very sorry that he is gone, and so am I, but he shall come no more. So to prayers, and to bed. 29th. Up betimes and to my office, and by and by to the Temple, and there appointed to meet in the evening about my business, and thence I walked home, and up and down the streets is cried mightily the great victory got by the Portugalls against the Spaniards, where 10,000 slain, 3 or 4,000 taken prisoners, with all the artillery, baggage, money, &c., and Don John of Austria [He was natural son of Philip IV., King of Spain, who, after his father's death in 1665, exerted his whole influence to overthrow the Regency appointed during the young king's minority.--B.] forced to flee with a man or two with him, which is very great news. Thence home and at my office all the morning, and then by water to St. James's, but no meeting to-day being holy day, but met Mr. Creed in the Park, and after a walk or two, discoursing his business, took leave of him in Westminster Hall, whither we walked, and then came again to the Hall and fell to talk with Mrs. Lane, and after great talk that she never went abroad with any man as she used heretofore to do, I with one word got her to go with me and to meet me at the further Rhenish wine-house, where I did give her a Lobster and do so touse her and feel her all over, making her believe how fair and good a skin she has, and indeed she has a very white thigh and leg, but monstrous fat. When weary I did give over and somebody, having seen some of our dalliance, called aloud in the street, "Sir! why do you kiss the gentlewoman so?" and flung a stone at the window, which vexed me, but I believe they could not see my touzing her, and so we broke up and I went out the back way, without being observed I think, and so she towards the Hall and I to White Hall, where taking water I to the Temple with my cozen Roger and Mr. Goldsborough to Gray's Inn to his counsel, one Mr. Rawworth, a very fine man, where it being the question whether I as executor should give a warrant to Goldsborough in my reconveying her estate back again, the mortgage being performed against all acts of the testator, but only my own, my cozen said he never heard it asked before; and the other that it was always asked, and he never heard it denied, or scrupled before, so great a distance was there in their opinions, enough to make a man forswear ever having to do with the law; so they agreed to refer it to Serjeant Maynard. So we broke up, and I by water home from the Temple, and there to Sir W. Batten and eat with him, he and his lady and Sir J. Minnes having been below to-day upon the East India men that are come in, but never tell me so, but that they have been at Woolwich and Deptford, and done great deal of business. God help them. So home and up to my lute long, and then, after a little Latin chapter with Will, to bed. But I have used of late, since my wife went, to make a bad use of my fancy with whatever woman I have a mind to, which I am ashamed of, and shall endeavour to do so no more. So to sleep. 30th. Up betimes yesterday and to-day, the sun rising very bright and glorious; and yet yesterday, as it hath been these two months and more, was a foul day the most part of the day. By and by by water to White Hall, and there to my Lord's lodgings by appointment, whither Mr. Creed comes to me, having been at Chelsey this morning to fetch my Lord to St. James's. So he and I to the Park, where we understand that the King and Duke are gone out betimes this morning on board the East India ships lately come in, and so our meeting appointed is lost. But he and I walked at the further end of the Park, not to be observed, whither by and by comes my Lord Sandwich, and he and we walked two hours and more in the Park and then in White Hall Gallery, and lastly in White Hall garden, discoursing of Mr. Creed's accounts, and how to answer the Treasurer's objections. I find that the business is L500 deep, the advantage of Creed, and why my Lord and I should be concerned to promote his profit with so much dishonour and trouble to us I know not, but however we shall do what we can, though he deserves it not, for there is nothing even to his own advantage that can be got out of him, but by mere force. So full of policy he is in the smallest matters, that I perceive him to be made up of nothing but design. I left him here, being in my mind vexed at the trouble that this business gets me, and the distance that it makes between Sir G. Carteret and myself, which I ought to avoyd. Thence by water home and to dinner, and afterwards to the office, and there sat till evening, and then I by water to Deptford to see Sir W. Pen, who lies ill at Captain Rooth's, but in a way to be well again this weather, this day being the only fair day we have had these two or three months. Among other discourse I did tell him plainly some of my thoughts concerning Sir W. Batten. and the office in general, upon design for him to understand that I do mind things and will not balk to take notice of them, that when he comes to be well again he may know how to look upon me. Thence homeward walked, and in my way met Creed coming to meet me, and then turned back and walk a while, and so to boat and home by water, I being not very forward to talk of his business, and he by design the same, to see how I would speak of it, but I did not, but in general terms, and so after supper with general discourse to bed and sleep. Thus, by God's blessing, ends this book of two years; I being in all points in good health and a good way to thrive and do well. Some money I do and can lay up, but not much, being worth now above L700, besides goods of all sorts. My wife in the country with Ashwell, her woman, with my father; myself at home with W. Hewer and my cooke-maid Hannah, my boy Wayneman being lately run away from me. In my office, my repute and understanding good, especially with the Duke and Mr. Coventry; only the rest of the officers do rather envy than love me, I standing in most of their lights, specially Sir W. Batten, whose cheats I do daily oppose to his great trouble, though he appears mighty kind and willing to keep friendship with me, while Sir J. Minnes, like a dotard, is led by the nose by him. My wife and I, by my late jealousy, for which I am truly to be blamed, have not the kindness between us which we used and ought to have, and I fear will be lost hereafter if I do not take course to oblige her and yet preserve my authority. Publique matters are in an ill condition; Parliament sitting and raising four subsidys for the King, which is but a little, considering his wants; and yet that parted withal with great hardness. They being offended to see so much money go, and no debts of the publique's paid, but all swallowed by a luxurious Court: which the King it is believed and hoped will retrench in a little time, when he comes to see the utmost of the revenue which shall be settled on him: he expecting to have his L1,200,000 made good to him, which is not yet done by above L150,000, as he himself reports to the House. My differences with my uncle Thomas at a good quiett, blessed be God! and other matters. The town full of the great overthrow lately given to the Spaniards by the Portugalls, they being advanced into the very middle of Portugall. The weather wet for two or three months together beyond belief, almost not one fair day coming between till this day, which has been a very pleasant [day] and the first pleasant [day] this summer. The charge of the Navy intended to be limited to L200,000 per annum, the ordinary charge of it, and that to be settled upon the Customs. The King yet greatly taken up with Madam Castlemaine and Mrs. Stewart, which God of Heaven put an end to! Myself very studious to learn what I can of all things necessary for my place as an officer of the Navy, reading lately what concerns measuring of timber and knowledge of the tides. I have of late spent much time with Creed, being led to it by his business of his accounts, but I find him a fellow of those designs and tricks, that there is no degree of true friendship to be made with him, and therefore I must cast him off, though he be a very understanding man, and one that much may be learned of as to cunning and judging of other men. Besides, too, I do perceive more and more that my time of pleasure and idleness of any sort must be flung off to attend to getting of some money and the keeping of my family in order, which I fear by my wife's liberty may be otherwise lost. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A woman sober, and no high-flyer, as he calls it After awhile I caressed her and parted seeming friends Book itself, and both it and them not worth a turd But a woful rude rabble there was, and such noises Did find none of them within, which I was glad of Did so watch to see my wife put on drawers, which (she did) Duodecimal arithmetique Employed by the fencers to play prizes at Enquiring into the selling of places do trouble a great many Every small thing is enough now-a-days to bring a difference Give her a Lobster and do so touse her and feel her all over God knows that I do not find honesty enough in my own mind Goes with his guards with him publiquely, and his trumpets Great plot which was lately discovered in Ireland He hoped he should live to see her "ugly and willing" He is too wise to be made a friend of I calling her beggar, and she me pricklouse, which vexed me I slept most of the sermon In some churches there was hardly ten people in the whole church It must be the old ones that must do any good Jealous, though God knows I have no great reason John has got a wife, and for that he intends to part with him Keep at interest, which is a good, quiett, and easy profit Lay long in bed talking and pleasing myself with my wife My wife and her maid Ashwell had between them spilled the pot No sense nor grammar, yet in as good words that ever I saw Nor would become obliged too much to any Nothing is to be got without offending God and the King Nothing of any truth and sincerity, but mere envy and design Reading my Latin grammar, which I perceive I have great need Sad for want of my wife, whom I love with all my heart Saw his people go up and down louseing themselves See whether my wife did wear drawers to-day as she used to do Sent me last night, as a bribe, a barrel of sturgeon She begins not at all to take pleasure in me or study to please She used the word devil, which vexed me So home, and after supper did wash my feet, and so to bed Softly up to see whether any of the beds were out of order or no Statute against selling of offices The goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad Therefore ought not to expect more justice from her They say now a common mistress to the King Through the Fleete Ally to see a couple of pretty [strumpets] Upon a small temptation I could be false to her Waked this morning between four and five by my blackbird Whose voice I am not to be reconciled Wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking Would not make my coming troublesome to any 
4142	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY & AUGUST 1663 July 1st. This morning it rained so hard (though it was fair yesterday, and we thereupon in hopes of having some fair weather, which we have wanted these three months) that it wakened Creed, who lay with me last night, and me, and so we up and fell to discourse of the business of his accounts now under dispute, in which I have taken much trouble upon myself and raised a distance between Sir G. Carteret and myself, which troubles me, but I hope we have this morning light on an expedient that will right all, that will answer their queries, and yet save Creed the L500 which he did propose to make of the exchange abroad of the pieces of eight which he disbursed. Being ready, he and I by water to White Hall, where I left him before we came into the Court, for fear I should be seen by Sir G. Carteret with him, which of late I have been forced to avoid to remove suspicion. I to St. James's, and there discoursed a while with Mr. Coventry, between whom and myself there is very good understanding and friendship, and so to Westminster Hall, and being in the Parliament lobby, I there saw my Lord of Bristoll come to the Commons House to give his answer to their question, about some words he should tell the King that were spoke by Sir Richard Temple, a member of their House. A chair was set at the bar of the House for him, which he used but little, but made an harangue of half an hour bareheaded, the House covered. His speech being done, he came out and withdrew into a little room till the House had concluded of an answer to his speech; which they staying long upon, I went away. And by and by out comes Sir W. Batten; and he told me that his Lordship had made a long and a comedian-like speech, and delivered with such action as was not becoming his Lordship. He confesses he did tell the King such a thing of Sir Richard Temple, but that upon his honour they were not spoke by Sir Richard, he having taken a liberty of enlarging to the King upon the discourse which had been between Sir Richard and himself lately; and so took upon himself the whole blame, and desired their pardon, it being not to do any wrong to their fellow-member, but out of zeal to the King. He told them, among many other things, that as to his religion he was a Roman Catholique, but such a one as thought no man to have right to the Crown of England but the Prince that hath it; and such a one as, if the King should desire his counsel as to his own, he would not advise him to another religion than the old true reformed religion of this country, it being the properest of this kingdom as it now stands; and concluded with a submission to what the House shall do with him, saying, that whatever they shall do, says he, "thanks be to God, this head, this heart, and this sword (pointing to them all), will find me a being in any place in Europe." The House hath hereupon voted clearly Sir Richard Temple to be free from the imputation of saying those words; but when Sir William Batten came out, had not concluded what to say to my Lord, it being argued that to own any satisfaction as to my Lord from his speech, would be to lay some fault upon the King for the message he should upon no better accounts send to the impeaching of one of their members. Walking out, I hear that the House of Lords are offended that my Lord Digby should come to this House and make a speech there without leave first asked of the House of Lords. I hear also of another difficulty now upon him; that my Lord of Sunderland (whom I do not know) was so near to the marriage of his daughter as that the wedding-clothes were made, and portion and every thing agreed on and ready; and the other day he goes away nobody yet knows whither, sending her the next morning a release of his right or claim to her, and advice to his friends not to enquire into the reason of this doing, for he hath enough for it; but that he gives them liberty to say and think what they will of him, so they do not demand the reason of his leaving her, being resolved never to have her, but the reason desires and resolves not to give. Thence by water with Sir W. Batten to Trinity House, there to dine with him, which we did; and after dinner we fell talking, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Batten and I; Mr. Batten telling us of a late triall of Sir Charles Sydly the other day, before my Lord Chief Justice Foster and the whole bench, for his debauchery a little while since at Oxford Kate's, [The details in the original are very gross. Dr. Johnson relates the story in the "Lives of the Poets," in his life of Sackville, Lord Dorset "Sackville, who was then Lord Buckhurst, with Sir Charles Sedley and Sir Thomas Ogle, got drunk at the Cock, in Bow Street, by Covent Garden, and going into the balcony exposed themselves to the populace in very indecent postures. At last, as they grew warmer, Sedley stood forth naked, and harangued the populace in such profane language, that the publick indignation was awakened; the crowd attempted to force the door, and being repulsed, drove in the performers with stones, and broke the windows of the house. For this misdemeanour they were indicted, and Sedley was fined five hundred pounds; what was the sentence of the others is not known. Sedley employed [Henry] Killigrew and another to procure a remission from the King, but (mark the friendship of the dissolute!) they begged the fine for themselves, and exacted it to the last groat." The woman known as Oxford Kate appears to have kept the notorious Cock Tavern in Bow Street at this date.] coming in open day into the Balcone and showed his nakedness, . . . . and abusing of scripture and as it were from thence preaching a mountebank sermon from the pulpit, saying that there he had to sell such a powder as should make all the [women] in town run after him, 1000 people standing underneath to see and hear him, and that being done he took a glass of wine . . . . and then drank it off, and then took another and drank the King's health. It seems my Lord and the rest of the judges did all of them round give him a most high reproof; my Lord Chief justice saying, that it was for him, and such wicked wretches as he was, that God's anger and judgments hung over us, calling him sirrah many times. It's said they have bound him to his good behaviour (there being no law against him for it) in L5000. It being told that my Lord Buckhurst was there, my Lord asked whether it was that Buckhurst that was lately tried for robbery; and when answered Yes, he asked whether he had so soon forgot his deliverance at that time, and that it would have more become him to have been at his prayers begging God's forgiveness, than now running into such courses again . . . . Thence home, and my clerks being gone by my leave to see the East India ships that are lately come home, I staid all alone within my office all the afternoon. This day I hear at dinner that Don John of Austria, since his flight out of Portugall, is dead of his wounds:--[not true]--so there is a great man gone, and a great dispute like to be ended for the crown of Spayne, if the King should have died before him. I received this morning a letter from my wife, brought by John Gower to town, wherein I find a sad falling out between my wife and my father and sister and Ashwell upon my writing to my father to advise Pall not to keep Ashwell from her mistress, or making any difference between them. Which Pall telling to Ashwell, and she speaking some words that her mistress heard, caused great difference among them; all which I am sorry from my heart to hear of, and I fear will breed ill blood not to be laid again. So that I fear my wife and I may have some falling out about it, or at least my father and I, but I shall endeavour to salve up all as well as I can, or send for her out of the country before the time intended, which I would be loth to do. In the evening by water to my coz. Roger Pepys' chamber, where he was not come, but I found Dr. John newly come to town, and is well again after his sickness; but, Lord! what a simple man he is as to any public matter of state, and talks so sillily to his brother Dr. Tom. What the matter is I know not, but he has taken (as my father told me a good while since) such displeasure that he hardly would touch his hat to me, and I as little to him. By and by comes Roger, and he told us the whole passage of my Lord Digby to-day, much as I have said here above; only that he did say that he would draw his sword against the Pope himself, if he should offer any thing against his Majesty, and the good of these nations; and that he never was the man that did either look for a Cardinal's cap for himself, or any body else, meaning Abbot Montagu; and the House upon the whole did vote Sir Richard Temple innocent; and that my Lord Digby hath cleared the honour of his Majesty, and Sir Richard Temple's, and given perfect satisfaction of his own respects to the House. Thence to my brother's, and being vexed with his not minding my father's business here in getting his Landscape done, I went away in an anger, and walked home, and so up to my lute and then to bed. 2d. Up betimes to my office, and there all the morning doing business, at noon to the Change, and there met with several people, among others Captain Cox, and with him to a Coffee [House], and drank with him and some other merchants. Good discourse. Thence home and to dinner, and, after a little alone at my viol, to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and so rose at the evening, and then home to supper and to bed, after a little musique. My mind troubled me with the thoughts of the difference between my wife and my father in the country. Walking in the garden this evening with Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes, Sir G. Carteret told us with great contempt how like a stage-player my Lord Digby spoke yesterday, pointing to his head as my Lord did, and saying, "First, for his head," says Sir G. Carteret, "I know what a calf's head would have done better by half for his heart and his sword, I have nothing to say to them." He told us that for certain his head cost the late King his, for it was he that broke off the treaty at Uxbridge. He told us also how great a man he was raised from a private gentleman in France by Monsieur Grandmont, [Antoine, Duc de Gramont, marshal of France, who died July 12th, 1678, aged seventy-four. His memoirs have been published.] and afterwards by the Cardinall,--[Mazarin]--who raised him to be a Lieutenant-generall, and then higher; and entrusted by the Cardinall, when he was banished out of France, with great matters, and recommended by him to the Queen as a man to be trusted and ruled by: yet when he came to have some power over the Queen, he begun to dissuade her from her opinion of the Cardinal; which she said nothing to till the Cardinal was returned, and then she told him of it; who told my Lord Digby, "Eh bien, Monsieur, vous estes un fort bon amy donc:" but presently put him out of all; and then he was, from a certainty of coming in two or three years' time to be Mareschall of France (to which all strangers, even Protestants, and those as often as French themselves, are capable of coming, though it be one of the greatest places in France), he was driven to go out of France into Flanders; but there was not trusted, nor received any kindness from the Prince of Conde, as one to whom also he had been false, as he had been to the Cardinal and Grandmont. In fine, he told us how he is a man of excellent parts, but of no great faith nor judgment, and one very easy to get up to great height of preferment, but never able to hold it. So home and to my musique; and then comes Mr. Creed to me giving me an account of his accounts, how he has now settled them fit for perusal the most strict, at which I am glad. So he and I to bed together. 3d. Up and he home, and I with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten by coach to Westminster, to St. James's, thinking to meet Sir G. Carteret, and to attend the Duke, but he not coming we broke up, and so to Westminster Hall, and there meeting with Mr. Moore he tells me great news that my Lady Castlemaine is fallen from Court, and this morning retired. He gives me no account of the reason of it, but that it is so: for which I am sorry: and yet if the King do it to leave off not only her but all other mistresses, I should be heartily glad of it, that he may fall to look after business. I hear my Lord Digby is condemned at Court for his speech, and that my Lord Chancellor grows great again. Thence with Mr. Creed, whom I called at his chamber, over the water to Lambeth; but could not, it being morning, get to see the Archbishop's hearse: so he and I walked over the fields to Southwark, and there parted, and I spent half an hour in Mary Overy's Church, where are fine monuments of great antiquity, I believe, and has been a fine church. Thence to the Change, and meeting Sir J. Minnes there, he and I walked to look upon Backwell's design of making another alley from his shop through over against the Exchange door, which will be very noble and quite put down the other two. So home to dinner and then to the office, and entered in my manuscript book the Victualler's contract, and then over the water and walked to see Sir W. Pen, and sat with him a while, and so home late, and to my viall. So up comes Creed again to me and stays all night, to-morrow morning being a hearing before the Duke. So to bed full of discourse of his business. 4th. Up by 4 o'clock and sent him to get matters ready, and I to my office looking over papers and mending my manuscript by scraping out the blots and other things, which is now a very fine book. So to St. James's by water with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, I giving occasion to a wager about the tide, that it did flow through bridge, by which Sir W. Batten won 5s. of Sir J. Minnes. At St. James's we staid while the Duke made himself ready. Among other things Sir Allen Apsley showed the Duke the Lisbon Gazette in Spanish, where the late victory is set down particularly, and to the great honour of the English beyond measure. They have since taken back Evora, which was lost to the Spaniards, the English making the assault, and lost not more than three men. Here I learnt that the English foot are highly esteemed all over the world, but the horse not so much, which yet we count among ourselves the best; but they abroad have had no great knowledge of our horse, it seems. The Duke being ready, we retired with him, and there fell upon Mr. Creed's business, where the Treasurer did, like a mad coxcomb, without reason or method run over a great many things against the account, and so did Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, which the Duke himself and Mr. Coventry and my Lord Barkely and myself did remove, and Creed being called in did answer all with great method and excellently to the purpose (myself I am a little conscious did not speak so well as I purposed and do think I used to do, that is, not so intelligibly and persuasively, as I well hoped I should), not that what I said was not well taken, and did carry the business with what was urged and answered by Creed and Mr. Coventry, till the Duke himself did declare that he was satisfied, and my Lord Barkely offered to lay L100 that the King would receive no wrong in the account, and the two last knights held their tongues, or at least by not understanding it did say what made for Mr. Creed, and so Sir G. Carteret was left alone, but yet persisted to say that the account was not good, but full of corruption and foul dealing. And so we broke up to his shame, but I do fear to the loss of his friendship to me a good while, which I am heartily troubled for. Thence with Creed to the King's Head ordinary; but, coming late, dined at the second table very well for 12d.; and a pretty gentleman in our company, who confirms my Lady Castlemaine's being gone from Court, but knows not the reason; he told us of one wipe the Queen a little while ago did give her, when she came in and found the Queen under the dresser's hands, and had been so long: "I wonder your Majesty," says she, "can have the patience to sit so long a-dressing?"--"I have so much reason to use patience," says the Queen, "that I can very well bear with it." He thinks that it may be the Queen hath commanded her to retire, though that is not likely. Thence with Creed to hire a coach to carry us to Hide Park, to-day there being a general muster of the King's Guards, horse and foot: but they demand so high, that I, spying Mr. Cutler the merchant, did take notice of him, and he going into his coach, and telling me that he was going to shew a couple of Swedish strangers the muster, I asked and went along with him; where a goodly sight to see so many fine horses and officers, and the King, Duke, and others come by a-horseback, and the two Queens in the Queen-Mother's coach, my Lady Castlemaine not being there. And after long being there, I 'light, and walked to the place where the King, Duke, &c., did stand to see the horse and foot march by and discharge their guns, to show a French Marquisse (for whom this muster was caused) the goodness of our firemen; which indeed was very good, though not without a slip now and then; and one broadside close to our coach we had going out of the Park, even to the nearness as to be ready to burn our hairs. Yet methought all these gay men are not the soldiers that must do the King's business, it being such as these that lost the old King all he had, and were beat by the most ordinary fellows that could be. Thence with much ado out of the Park, and I 'lighted and through St. James's down the waterside over, to Lambeth, to see the Archbishop's corps (who is to be carried away to Oxford on Monday), but came too late, and so walked over the fields and bridge home (calling by the way at old George's), but find that he is dead, and there wrote several letters, and so home to supper and to bed. This day in the Duke's chamber there being a Roman story in the hangings, and upon the standards written these four letters--S. P. Q. R., Sir G. Carteret came to me to know what the meaning of those four letters were; which ignorance is not to be borne in a Privy Counsellor, methinks, that a schoolboy should be whipt for not knowing. 5th (Lord's day). Lady Batten had sent twice to invite me to go with them to Walthamstow to-day, Mrs. Martha' being married already this morning to Mr. Castle, at this parish church. I could not rise soon enough to go with them, but got myself ready, and so to Games's, where I got a horse and rode thither very pleasantly, only coming to make water I found a stopping, which makes me fearful of my old pain. Being come thither, I was well received, and had two pair of gloves, as the rest, and walked up and down with my Lady in the garden, she mighty kind to me, and I have the way to please her. A good dinner and merry, but methinks none of the kindness nor bridall respect between the bridegroom and bride, that was between my wife and I, but as persons that marry purely for convenience. After dinner to church by coach, and there my Lady, Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Lemon, and I only, we, in spite to one another, kept one another awake; and sometimes I read in my book of Latin plays, which I took in my pocket, thinking to have walked it. An old doting parson preached. So home again, and by and by up and homewards, calling in our way (Sir J. Minnes and I only) at Mr. Batten's (who with his lady and child went in another coach by us), which is a very pretty house, and himself in all things within and without very ingenious, and I find a very fine study and good books. So set out, Sir J. Minnes and I in his coach together, talking all the way of chymistry, wherein he do know something, at least, seems so to me, that cannot correct him, Mr. Batten's man riding my horse, and so home and to my office a while to read my vows, then home to prayers and to bed. 6th. Up pretty early and to my office all the morning, writing out a list of the King's ships in my Navy collections with great pleasure. At noon Creed comes to me, who tells me how well he has sped with Sir G. Carteret after all our trouble, that he had his tallys up and all the kind words possible from him, which I believe is out of an apprehension what a fool he has made of himself hitherto in making so great a stop therein. But I find, and so my Lord Sandwich may, that Sir G. Carteret had a design to do him a disgrace, if he could possibly, otherwise he would never have carried the business so far after that manner, but would first have consulted my Lord and given him advice what to do therein for his own honour, which he thought endangered. Creed dined with me and then walked a while, and so away, and I to my office at my morning's work till dark night, and so with good content home. To supper, a little musique, and then to bed. 7th. Up by 4 o'clock and to my office, and there continued all the morning upon my Navy book to my great content. At noon down by barge with Sir J. Minnes (who is going to Chatham) to Woolwich, in our way eating of some venison pasty in the barge, I having neither eat nor drank to-day, which fills me full of wind. Here also in Mr. Pett's garden I eat some and the first cherries I have eat this year, off the tree where the King himself had been gathering some this morning. Thence walked alone, only part of the way Deane walked with me, complaining of many abuses in the Yard, to Greenwich, and so by water to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry, and with him up and down all the stores, to the great trouble of the officers, and by his help I am resolved to fall hard to work again, as I used to do. So thence he and I by water talking of many things, and I see he puts his trust most upon me in the Navy, and talks, as there is reason, slightly of the two old knights, and I should be glad by any drudgery to see the King's stores and service looked to as they ought, but I fear I shall never understand half the miscarriages and tricks that the King suffers by. He tells me what Mr. Pett did to-day, that my Lord Bristoll told the King that he will impeach the Chancellor of High Treason: but I find that my Lord Bristoll hath undone himself already in every body's opinion, and now he endeavours to raise dust to put out other men's eyes, as well as his own; but I hope it will not take, in consideration merely that it is hard for a Prince to spare an experienced old officer, be he never so corrupt; though I hope this man is not so, as some report him to be. He tells me that Don John is yet alive, and not killed, as was said, in the great victory against the Spaniards in Portugall of late. So home, and late at my office. Thence home and to my musique. This night Mr. Turner's house being to be emptied out of my cellar, and therefore I think to sit up a little longer than ordinary. This afternoon, coming from the waterside with Mr. Coventry, I spied my boy upon Tower Hill playing with the rest of the boys; so I sent W. Griffin to take him, and he did bring him to me, and so I said nothing to him, but caused him to be stripped (for he was run away with his best suit), and so putting on his other, I sent him going, without saying one word hard to him, though I am troubled for the rogue, though he do not deserve it. Being come home I find my stomach not well for want of eating to-day my dinner as I should do, and so am become full of wind. I called late for some victuals, and so to bed, leaving the men below in the cellar emptying the vats up through Mr. Turner's own house, and so with more content to bed late. 8th. Being weary, and going to bed late last night, I slept till 7 o'clock, it raining mighty hard, and so did every minute of the day after sadly. But I know not what will become of the corn this year, we having had but two fair days these many months. Up and to my office, where all the morning busy, and then at noon home to dinner alone upon a good dish of eeles, given me by Michell, the Bewpers' man, and then to my viall a little, and then down into the cellar and up and down with Mr. Turner to see where his vault may be made bigger, or another made him, which I think may well be. And so to my office, where very busy all day setting things in order my contract books and preparing things against the next sitting. In the evening I received letters out of the country, among others from my wife, who methinks writes so coldly that I am much troubled at it, and I fear shall have much ado to bring her to her old good temper. So home to supper and musique, which is all the pleasure I have of late given myself, or is fit I should, others spending too much time and money. Going in I stepped to Sir W. Batten, and there staid and talked with him (my Lady being in the country), and sent for some lobsters, and Mrs. Turner came in, and did bring us an umble pie hot out of her oven, extraordinary good, and afterwards some spirits of her making, in which she has great judgment, very good, and so home, merry with this night's refreshment. 9th. Up. Making water this morning, which I do every morning as soon as I am awake, with greater plenty and freedom than I used to do, which I think I may impute to last night's drinking of elder spirits. Abroad, it raining, to Blackfriars, and there went into a little alehouse and staid while I sent to the Wardrobe, but Mr. Moore was gone out. Here I kissed three or four times the maid of the house, who is a pretty girl, but very modest, and, God forgive me, had a mind to something more. Thence to my lawyer's; up and down to the Six Clerks' Office, where I found my bill against Tom Trice dismissed, which troubles me, it being through my neglect, and will put me to charges. So to Mr. Phillips, and discoursed with him about finding me out somebody that will let me have for money an annuity of about L100 per annum for two lives. So home, and there put up my riding things against the evening, in case Mr. Moore should continue his mind to go to Oxford, which I have little mind to do, the weather continuing so bad and the waters high. Dined at home, and Mr. Moore in the afternoon comes to me and concluded not to go. Sir W. Batten and I sat a little this afternoon at the office, and thence I by water to Deptford, and there mustered the Yard, purposely, God forgive me, to find out Bagwell, a carpenter, whose wife is a pretty woman, that I might have some occasion of knowing him and forcing her to come to the office again, which I did so luckily that going thence he and his wife did of themselves meet me in the way to thank me for my old kindness, but I spoke little to her, but shall give occasion for her coming to me. Her husband went along with me to show me Sir W. Pen's lodging, which I knew before, but only to have a time of speaking to him and sounding him. So left and I went in to Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, and worse, I think, than before. He tells me my Lady Castlemaine was at Court, for all this talk this week, which I am glad to hear; but it seems the King is stranger than ordinary to her. Thence walked home as I used to do, and to bed presently, having taken great cold in my feet by walking in the dirt this day in thin shoes or some other way, so that I begun to be in pain, and with warm clothes made myself better by morning, but yet in pain. 10th. Up late and by water to Westminster Hall, where I met Pierce the chirurgeon, who tells me that for certain the King is grown colder to my Lady Castlemaine than ordinary, and that he believes he begins to love the Queen, and do make much of her, more than he used to do. Up to the Lobby, and there sent out for Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Batten, and told them if they thought convenient I would go to Chatham today, Sir John Minnes being already there at a Pay, and I would do such and such business there, which they thought well of, and so I went home and prepared myself to go after, dinner with Sir W. Batten. Sir W. Batten and Mr. Coventry tell me that my Lord Bristoll hath this day impeached my Lord Chancellor in the House of Lords of High Treason. The chief of the articles are these: 1st. That he should be the occasion of the peace made with Holland lately upon such disadvantageous terms, and that he was bribed to it. 2d. That Dunkirke was also sold by his advice chiefly, so much to the damage of England. 3d. That he had L6000 given him for the drawing-up or promoting of the Irish declaration lately, concerning the division of the lands there. 4th. He did carry on the design of the Portugall match, so much to the prejudice of the Crown of England, notwithstanding that he knew the Queen is not capable of bearing children. 5th. That the Duke's marrying of his daughter was a practice of his, thereby to raise his family; and that it was done by indirect courses. 6th. That the breaking-off of the match with Parma, in which he was employed at the very time when the match with Portugall was made up here, which he took as a great slur to him, and so it was; and that, indeed, is the chief occasion of all this fewde. 7th. That he hath endeavoured to bring in Popery, and wrote to the Pope for a cap for a subject of the King of England's (my Lord Aubigny ); and some say that he lays it to the Chancellor, that a good Protestant Secretary (Sir Edward Nicholas) was laid aside, and a Papist, Sir H. Bennet, put in his room: which is very strange, when the last of these two is his own creature, and such an enemy accounted to the Chancellor, that they never did nor do agree; and all the world did judge the Chancellor to be falling from the time that Sir H. Bennet was brought in. Besides my Lord Bristoll being a Catholique himself, all this is very strange. These are the main of the Articles. Upon which my Lord Chancellor desired that the noble Lord that brought in these Articles, would sign to them with his hand; which my Lord Bristoll did presently. Then the House did order that the judges should, against Monday next, bring in their opinion, Whether these articles are treason, or no? and next, they would know, Whether they were brought in regularly or no, without leave of the Lords' House? After dinner I took boat (H. Russell) and down to Gravesend in good time, and thence with a guide post to Chatham, where I found Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Wayth walking in the garden, whom I told all this day's news, which I left the town full of, and it is great news, and will certainly be in the consequence of it. By and by to supper, and after long discourse, Sir J. Minnes and I, he saw me to my chamber, which not pleasing me, I sent word so to Mrs. Bradford, that I should be crowded into such a hole, while the clerks and boarders of her own take up the best rooms. However I lay there and slept well. 11th. Up early and to the Dock, and with the Storekeeper and other officers all the morning from one office to another. At noon to the Hill-house in Commissioner Pett's coach, and after seeing the guard-ships, to dinner, and after dining done to the Dock by coach, it raining hard, to see "The Prince" launched, which hath lain in the Dock in repairing these three years. I went into her and was launched in her. Thence by boat ashore, it raining, and I went to Mr. Barrow's, where Sir J. Minnes and Commissioner Pett; we staid long eating sweetmeats and drinking, and looking over some antiquities of Mr. Barrow's, among others an old manuscript Almanac, that I believe was made for some monastery, in parchment, which I could spend much time upon to understand. Here was a pretty young lady, a niece of Barrow's, which I took much pleasure to look on. Thence by barge to St. Mary Creek; where Commissioner Pett (doubtful of the growing greatness of Portsmouth by the finding of those creeks there), do design a wett dock at no great charge, and yet no little one; he thinks towards L10,000. And the place, indeed, is likely to be a very fit place, when the King hath money to do it with. Thence, it raining as hard as it could pour down, home to the Hillhouse, and anon to supper, and after supper, Sir J. Minnes and I had great discourse with Captain Cox and Mr. Hempson about business of the yard, and particularly of pursers' accounts with Hempson, who is a cunning knave in that point. So late to bed and, Mr. Wayth being gone, I lay above in the Treasurer's bed and slept well. About one or two in the morning the curtains of my bed being drawn waked me, and I saw a man stand there by the inside of my bed calling me French dogg 20 times, one after another, and I starting, as if I would get out of the bed, he fell a-laughing as hard as he could drive, still calling me French dogg, and laid his hand on my shoulder. At last, whether I said anything or no I cannot tell, but I perceived the man, after he had looked wistly upon me, and found that I did not answer him to the names that he called me by, which was Salmon, Sir Carteret's clerk, and Robt. Maddox, another of the clerks, he put off his hat on a suddaine, and forebore laughing, and asked who I was, saying, "Are you Mr. Pepys?" I told him yes, and now being come a little better to myself, I found him to be Tom Willson, Sir W. Batten's clerk, and fearing he might be in some melancholy fit, I was at a loss what to do or say. At last I asked him what he meant. He desired my pardon for that he was mistaken, for he thought verily, not knowing of my coming to lie there, that it had been Salmon, the Frenchman, with whom he intended to have made some sport. So I made nothing of it, but bade him good night, and I, after a little pause, to sleep again, being well pleased that it ended no worse, and being a little the better pleased with it, because it was the Surveyor's clerk, which will make sport when I come to tell Sir W. Batten of it, it being a report that old Edgeborough, the former Surveyor, who died here, do now and then walk. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and meeting Tom Willson he asked my pardon again, which I easily did give him, telling him only that it was well I was not a woman with child, for it might have made me miscarry. With Sir J. Minnes to church, where an indifferent good sermon. Here I saw Mrs. Becky Allen, who hath been married, and is this day churched, after her bearing a child. She is grown tall, but looks very white and thin, and I can find no occasion while I am here to come to have her company, which I desire and expected in my coming, but only coming out of the church I kissed her and her sister and mother-in-law. So to dinner, Sir J. Minnes, Commissioner Pett, and I, &c., and after dinner walked in the garden, it being a very fine day, the best we have had this great while, if not this whole summer. To church again, and after that walked through the Rope-ground to the Dock, and there over and over the Dock and grounds about it, and storehouses, &c., with the officers of the Yard, and then to Commissioner Pett's and had a good sullybub and other good things, and merry. Commissioner Pett showed me alone his bodys as a secrett, which I found afterwards by discourse with Sir J. Minnes that he had shown them him, wherein he seems to suppose great mystery in the nature of Lynes to be hid, but I do not understand it at all. Thence walked to the Hill-house, being myself much dissatisfied, and more than I thought I should have been with Commissioner Pett, being, by what I saw since I came hither, convinced that he is not able to exercise the command in the Yard over the officers that he ought to do, or somebody else, if ever the service be well looked after there. Sat up and with Sir J. Minnes talking, and he speaking his mind in slighting of the Commissioner, for which I wish there was not so much reason. For I do see he is but a man of words, though indeed he is the ablest man that we have to do service if he would or durst. Sir J. Minnes being gone to bed, I took Mr. Whitfield, one of the clerks, and walked to the Dock about eleven at night, and there got a boat and a crew, and rowed down to the guard-ships, it being a most pleasant moonshine evening that ever I saw almost. The guard-ships were very ready to hail us, being no doubt commanded thereto by their Captain, who remembers how I surprised them the last time I was here. However, I found him ashore, but the ship in pretty good order, and the arms well fixed, charged, and primed. Thence to the Soveraign, where I found no officers aboard, no arms fixed, nor any powder to prime their few guns, which were charged, without bullet though. So to the London, where neither officers nor any body awake; I boarded her, and might have done what I would, and at last could find but three little boys; and so spent the whole night in visiting all the ships, in which I found, for the most part, neither an officer aboard, nor any men so much as awake, which I was grieved to find, specially so soon after a great Larum, as Commissioner Pett brought us word that he [had] provided against, and put all in a posture of defence but a week ago, all which I am resolved to represent to the Duke. 13th. So, it being high day, I put in to shore and to bed for two hours just, and so up again, and with the Storekeeper and Clerk of the Rope-yard up and down the Dock and Rope-house, and by and by mustered the Yard, and instructed the Clerks of the Cheque in my new way of Callbook, and that and other things done, to the Hill-house, and there we eat something, and so by barge to Rochester, and there took coach hired for our passage to London, and Mrs. Allen, the clerk of the Rope-yard's wife with us, desiring her passage, and it being a most pleasant and warm day, we got by four o'clock home. In our way she telling us in what condition Becky Allen is married against all expectation a fellow that proves to be a coxcomb and worth little if any thing at all, and yet are entered into a way of living above their condition that will ruin them presently, for which, for the lady's sake, I am much troubled. Home I found all well there, and after dressing myself, I walked to the Temple; and there, from my cozen Roger, hear that the judges have this day brought in their answer to the Lords, That the articles against my Lord Chancellor are not Treason; and to-morrow they are to bring in their arguments to the House for the same. This day also the King did send by my Lord Chamberlain to the Lords, to tell them from him, that the most of the articles against my Lord Chancellor he himself knows to be false. Thence by water to Whitehall, and so walked to St. James's, but missed Mr. Coventry. I met the Queen-Mother walking in the Pell Mell, led by my Lord St. Alban's. And finding many coaches at the Gate, I found upon enquiry that the Duchess is brought to bed of a boy; and hearing that the King and Queen are rode abroad with the Ladies of Honour to the Park, and seeing a great crowd of gallants staying here to see their return, I also staid walking up and down, and among others spying a man like Mr. Pembleton (though I have little reason to think it should be he, speaking and discoursing long with my Lord D'Aubigne), yet how my blood did rise in my face, and I fell into a sweat from my old jealousy and hate, which I pray God remove from me. By and by the King and Queen, who looked in this dress (a white laced waistcoat and a crimson short pettycoat, and her hair dressed ci la negligence) mighty pretty; and the King rode hand in hand with her. Here was also my Lady Castlemaine rode among the rest of the ladies; but the King took, methought, no notice of her; nor when they 'light did any body press (as she seemed to expect, and staid for it) to take her down, but was taken down by her own gentleman. She looked mighty out of humour, and had a yellow plume in her hat (which all took notice of), and yet is very handsome, but very melancholy: nor did any body speak to her, or she so much as smile or speak to any body. I followed them up into White Hall, and into the Queen's presence, where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling with their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by one another's heads, and laughing. But it was the finest sight to me, considering their great beautys and dress, that ever I did see in all my life. But, above all, Mrs. Stewart in this dress, with her hat cocked and a red plume, with her sweet eye, little Roman nose, and excellent taille, is now the greatest beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life; and, if ever woman can, do exceed my Lady Castlemaine, at least in this dress nor do I wonder if the King changes, which I verily believe is the reason of his coldness to my Lady Castlemaine. Here late, with much ado I left to look upon them, and went away, and by water, in a boat with other strange company, there being no other to be had, and out of him into a sculler half to the bridge, and so home and to Sir W. Batten, where I staid telling him and Sir J. Minnes and Mrs. Turner, with great mirth, my being frighted at Chatham by young Edgeborough, and so home to supper and to bed, before I sleep fancying myself to sport with Mrs. Stewart with great pleasure. 14th. Up a little late, last night recovering my sleepiness for the night before, which was lost, and so to my office to put papers and things to right, and making up my journal from Wednesday last to this day. All the morning at my office doing of business; at noon Mr. Hunt came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and a Coffee House, and drank there, and thence to my house to dinner, whither my uncle Thomas came, and he tells me that he is going down to Wisbech, there to try what he can recover of my uncle Day's estate, and seems to have good arguments for what he do go about, in which I wish him good speed. I made him almost foxed, the poor man having but a bad head, and not used I believe nowadays to drink much wine. So after dinner, they being gone, I to my office, and so home to bed. This day I hear the judges, according to order yesterday, did bring into the Lords' House their reasons of their judgment in the business between my Lord Bristoll and the Chancellor; and the Lords do concur with the Judges that the articles are not treason, nor regularly brought into the House, and so voted that a Committee should be chosen to examine them; but nothing to be done therein till the next sitting of this Parliament (which is like to be adjourned in a day or two), and in the mean time the two Lords to, remain without prejudice done to either of them. 15th. Up and all the morning at the office, among other things with Cooper the Purveyor, whose dullness in his proceeding in his work I was vexed at, and find that though he understands it may be as much as other men that profess skill in timber, yet I perceive that many things, they do by rote, and very dully. Thence home to dinner, whither Captain Grove came and dined with me, he going into the country to-day; among other discourse he told me of discourse very much to my honour, both as to my care and ability, happening at the Duke of Albemarle's table the other day, both from the Duke, and the Duchess themselves; and how I paid so much a year to him whose place it was of right, and that Mr. Coventry did report thus of me; which was greatly to my content, knowing how against their minds I was brought into the Navy. Thence by water to Westminster, and there spent a good deal of time walking in the Hall, which is going to be repaired, and, God forgive me, had a mind to have got Mrs. Lane abroad, or fallen in with any woman else (in that hot humour). But it so happened she could not go out, nor I meet with any body else, and so I walked homeward, and in my way did many and great businesses of my own at the Temple among my lawyers and others to my great content, thanking God that I did not fall into any company to occasion spending time and money. To supper, and then to a little viall and to bed, sporting in my fancy with the Queen. 16th. Up and dispatched things into the country and to my father's, and two keggs of Sturgeon and a dozen bottles of wine to Cambridge for my cozen Roger Pepys, which I give him. By and by down by water on several Deall ships, and stood upon a stage in one place seeing calkers sheathing of a ship. Then at Wapping to my carver's about my Viall head. So home, and thence to my Viall maker's in Bishops, gate Street; his name is Wise, who is a pretty fellow at it. Thence to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and then to my office, where a full board, and busy all the afternoon, and among other things made a great contract with Sir W. Warren for 40,000 deals Swinsound, at L3 17s. od. per hundred. In the morning before I went on the water I was at Thames Street about some pitch, and there meeting Anthony Joyce, I took him and Mr. Stacy, the Tarr merchant, to the tavern, where Stacy told me many old stories of my Lady Batten's former poor condition, and how her former husband broke, and how she came to her state. At night, after office done, I went to Sir W. Batten's, where my Lady and I [had] some high words about emptying our house of office, where I did tell her my mind, and at last agreed that it should be done through my office, and so all well. So home to bed. 17th. Up, and after doing some business at my office, Creed came to me, and I took him to my viall maker's, and there I heard the famous Mr. Stefkins play admirably well, and yet I found it as it is always, I over expected. I took him to the tavern and found him a temperate sober man, at least he seems so to me. I commit the direction of my viall to him. Thence to the Change, and so home, Creed and I to dinner, and after dinner Sir W. Warren came to me, and he and I in my closet about his last night's contract, and from thence to discourse of measuring of timber, wherein I made him see that I could understand the matter well, and did both learn of and teach him something. Creed being gone through my staying talking to him so long, I went alone by water down to Redriffe, and so to sit and talk with Sir W. Pen, where I did speak very plainly concerning my thoughts of Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes. So as it may cost me some trouble if he should tell them again, but he said as much or more to me concerning them both, which I may remember if ever it should come forth, and nothing but what is true and my real opinion of them, that they neither do understand to this day Creed's accounts, nor do deserve to be employed in their places without better care, but that the King had better give them greater salaries to stand still and do nothing. Thence coming home I was saluted by Bagwell and his wife (the woman I have a kindness for), and they would have me into their little house, which I was willing enough to, and did salute his wife. They had got wine for me, and I perceive live prettily, and I believe the woman a virtuous modest woman. Her husband walked through to Redriffe with me, telling me things that I asked of in the yard, and so by water home, it being likely to rain again to-night, which God forbid. To supper and to bed. 18th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and Sir J. Minnes and I did a little, and but a little business at the office. So I eat a bit of victuals at home, and so abroad to several places, as my bookseller's, and then to Thomson the instrument maker's to bespeak a ruler for my pocket for timber, &c., which I believe he will do to my mind. So to the Temple, Wardrobe, and lastly to Westminster Hall, where I expected some bands made me by Mrs. Lane, and while she went to the starchers for them, I staid at Mrs. Howlett's, who with her husband were abroad, and only their daughter (which I call my wife) was in the shop, and I took occasion to buy a pair of gloves to talk to her, and I find her a pretty spoken girl, and will prove a mighty handsome wench. I could love her very well. By and by Mrs. Lane comes, and my bands not being done she and I posted and met at the Crown in the Palace Yard, where we eat a chicken I sent for, and drank, and were mighty merry, and I had my full liberty of towzing her and doing what I would, but the last thing of all . . . . Of which I am heartily ashamed, but I do resolve never to do more so. But, Lord! to see what a mind she has to a husband, and how she showed me her hands to tell her her fortune, and every thing that she asked ended always whom and when she was to marry. And I pleased her so well, saying as. I know she would have me, and then she would say that she had been with all the artists in town, and they always told her the same things, as that she should live long, and rich, and have a good husband, but few children, and a great fit of sickness, and 20 other things, which she says she has always been told by others. Here I staid late before my bands were done, and then they came, and so I by water to the Temple, and thence walked home, all in a sweat with my tumbling of her and walking, and so a little supper and to bed, fearful of having taken cold. 19th (Lord's day). Lay very long in pleasant dreams till Church time, and so up, and it being foul weather so that I cannot walk as I intended to meet my Cozen Roger at Thomas Pepys's house (whither he rode last night), to Hatcham, I went to church, where a sober Doctor made a good sermon. So home to dinner alone, and then to read a little, and so to church again, where the Scot made an ordinary sermon, and so home to my office, and there read over my vows and increased them by a vow against all strong drink till November next of any sort or quantity, by which I shall try how I can forbear it. God send it may not prejudice my health, and then I care not. Then I fell to read over a silly play writ by a person of honour (which is, I find, as much as to say a coxcomb), called "Love a la Mode,"' and that being ended, home, and played on my lute and sung psalms till bedtime, then to prayers and to bed. 20th. Up and to my office, and then walked to Woolwich, reading Bacon's "Faber fortunae," [Pepys may here refer either to Essay XLI. (of Fortune) or to a chapter' in the "Advancement of Learning." The sentence, "Faber quisque fortunae propria," said to be by Appius Claudian, is quoted more than once in the "De Augmentis Scientiarum," lib. viii., cap. 2.] which the oftener I read the more I admire. There found Captain Cocke, and up and down to many places to look after matters, and so walked back again with him to his house, and there dined very finely. With much ado obtained an excuse from drinking of wine, and did only taste a drop of Sack which he had for his lady, who is, he fears, a little consumptive, and her beauty begins to want its colour. It was Malago Sack, which, he says, is certainly 30 years old, and I tasted a drop of it, and it was excellent wine, like a spirit rather than wine. Thence by water to the office, and taking some papers by water to White Hall and St. James's, but there being no meeting with the Duke to-day, I returned by water and down to Greenwich, to look after some blocks that I saw a load carried off by a cart from Woolwich, the King's Yard. But I could not find them, and so returned, and being heartily weary I made haste to bed, and being in bed made Will read and construe three or four Latin verses in the Bible, and chide him for forgetting his grammar. So to sleep, and sleep ill all the night, being so weary, and feverish with it. 21st. And so lay long in the morning, till I heard people knock at my door, and I took it to be about 8 o'clock (but afterwards found myself a little mistaken), and so I rose and ranted at Will and the maid, and swore I could find my heart to kick them down stairs, which the maid mumbled at mightily. It was my brother, who staid and talked with me, his chief business being about his going about to build his house new at the top, which will be a great charge for him, and above his judgment. By and by comes Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, with his draught of a ship, and the bend and main lines in the body of a ship very finely, and which do please me mightily, and so am resolved to study hard, and learn of him to understand a body, and I find him a very pretty fellow in it, and rational, but a little conceited, but that's no matter to me. At noon, by my Lady Batten's desire, I went over the water to Mr. Castle's, who brings his wife home to his own house to-day, where I found a great many good old women, and my Lady, Sir W. Batten, and Sir J. Minnes. A good, handsome, plain dinner, and then walked in the garden; which is pleasant enough, more than I expected there, and so Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I by water to the office, and there sat, and then I by water to the Temple about my law business, and back again home and wrote letters to my father and wife about my desire that they should observe the feast at Brampton, and have my Lady and the family, and so home to supper and bed, my head aching all the day from my last night's bad rest, and yesterday's distempering myself with over walking, and to-day knocking my head against a low door in Mr. Castle's house. This day the Parliament kept a fast for the present unseasonable weather. 22nd. Up, and by and by comes my uncle Thomas, to whom I paid L10 for his last half year's annuity, and did get his and his son's hand and seal for the confirming to us Piggott's mortgage, which was forgot to be expressed in our late agreement with him, though intended, and therefore they might have cavilled at it, if they would. Thence abroad calling at several places upon some errands, among others to my brother Tom's barber and had my hair cut, while his boy played on the viallin, a plain boy, but has a very good genius, and understands the book very well, but to see what a shift he made for a string of red silk was very pleasant. Thence to my Lord Crew's. My Lord not being come home, I met and staid below with Captain Ferrers, who was come to wait upon my Lady Jemimah to St. James's, she being one of the four ladies that hold up the mantle at the christening this afternoon of the Duke's child (a boy). In discourse of the ladies at Court, Captain Ferrers tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is now as great again as ever she was; and that her going away was only a fit of her own upon some slighting words of the King, so that she called for her coach at a quarter of an hour's warning, and went to Richmond; and the King the next morning, under pretence of going a-hunting, went to see her and make friends, and never was a-hunting at all. After which she came back to Court, and commands the King as much as ever, and hath and doth what she will. No longer ago than last night, there was a private entertainment made for the King and Queen at the Duke of Buckingham's, and she: was not invited: but being at my Lady Suffolk's, her aunt's (where my Lady Jemimah and Lord Sandwich dined) yesterday, she was heard to say, "Well; much good may it do them, and for all that I will be as merry as they:" and so she went home and caused a great supper to be prepared. And after the King had been with the Queen at Wallingford House, he came to my Lady Castlemaine's, and was there all night, and my Lord Sandwich with him, which was the reason my Lord lay in town all night, which he has not done a great while before. He tells me he believes that, as soon as the King can get a husband for Mrs. Stewart however, my Lady Castlemaine's nose will be out of joynt; for that she comes to be in great esteem, and is more handsome than she. I found by his words that my Lord Sandwich finds some pleasure in the country where he now is, whether he means one of the daughters of the house or no I know not, but hope the contrary, that he thinks he is very well pleased with staying there, but yet upon breaking up of the Parliament, which the King by a message to-day says shall be on Monday next, he resolves to go. Ned Pickering, the coxcomb, notwithstanding all his hopes of my Lord's assistance, wherein I am sorry to hear my Lord has much concerned himself, is defeated of the place he expected under the Queen. He came hither by and by and brought some jewells for my Lady Jem. to put on, with which and her other clothes she looks passing well. I staid and dined with my Lord Crew, who whether he was not so well pleased with me as he used to be, or that his head was full of business, as I believe it was, he hardly spoke one word to me all dinner time, we dining alone, only young Jack Crew, Sir Thomas's son, with us. After dinner I bade him farewell. Sir Thomas I hear has gone this morning ill to bed, so I had no mind to see him. Thence homewards, and in the way first called at Wotton's, the shoemaker's, who tells me the reason of Harris's' going from Sir Wm. Davenant's house, that he grew very proud and demanded L20 for himself extraordinary, more than Betterton or any body else, upon every new play, and L10 upon every revive; which with other things Sir W. Davenant would not give him, and so he swore he would never act there more, in expectation of being received in the other House; but the King will not suffer it, upon Sir W. Davenant's desire that he would not, for then he might shut up house, and that is true. He tells me that his going is at present a great loss to the House, and that he fears he hath a stipend from the other House privately. He tells the that the fellow grew very proud of late, the King and every body else crying him up so high, and that above Betterton, he being a more ayery man, as he is indeed. But yet Betterton, he says, they all say do act: some parts that none but himself can do. Thence to my bookseller's, and found my Waggoners done. The very binding cost me 14s., but they are well done, and so with a porter home with them, and so by water to Ratcliffe, and there went to speak with Cumberford the platt-maker, and there saw his manner of working, which is very fine and laborious. So down to Deptford, reading Ben Jonson's "Devil is an asse," and so to see Sir W. Pen, who I find walking out of doors a little, but could not stand long; but in doors and I with him, and staid a great while talking, I taking a liberty to tell him my thoughts in things of the office; that when he comes abroad again, he may know what to think of me, and to value me as he ought. Walked home as I used to do, and being weary, and after some discourse with Mr. Barrow, who came to see and take his leave of me, he being to-morrow to set out toward the Isle of Man, I went to bed. This day I hear that the Moores have made some attaques upon the outworks of Tangier; but my Lord Tiviott; with the loss of about 200 men, did beat them off, and killed many of them. To-morrow the King and Queen for certain go down to Tunbridge. But the King comes hack again against Monday to raise the Parliament. 23rd. Up and to my office, and thence by information from, Mr. Ackworth I went down to Woolwich, and mustered the three East India ships that lie there, believing that there is great-juggling between the Pursers and Clerks of the Cheque in cheating the King of the wages and victuals of men that do not give attendance, and I found very few on board. So to the yard, and there mustered the yard, and found many faults, and discharged several fellows that were absent from their business. I staid also at Mr. Ackworth's desire at dinner with him and his wife, and there was a simple fellow, a gentleman I believe of the Court, their kinsmen, that threatened me I could have little discourse or begin, acquaintance with Ackworth's wife, and so after dinner away, with all haste home, and there found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten at the office, and by Sir W. Batten's testimony and Sir G. Carteret's concurrence was forced to consent to a business of Captain Cocke's timber, as bad as anything we have lately disputed about, and all through Mr. Coventry's not being with us. So up and to supper with Sir W. Batten upon a soused mullett, very good meat, and so home and to bed. 24th. Up pretty early (though of late I have been faulty by an hour or two every morning of what I should do) and by water to the Temple, and there took leave of my cozen Roger Pepys, who goes out of town to-day. So to Westminster Hall, and there at Mrs. Michell's shop sent for beer and sugar and drink, and made great cheer with it among her and Mrs. Howlett, her neighbour, and their daughters, especially Mrs. Howlett's daughter, Betty, which is a pretty girl, and one I have long called wife, being, I formerly thought, like my own wife. After this good neighbourhood, which I do to give them occasion of speaking well and commending me in some company that now and then I know comes to their shop, I went to the Six clerks' office, and there had a writ for Tom Trice, and paid 20s. for it to Wilkinson, and so up and down to many places, among others to the viall maker's, and there saw the head, which now pleases me mightily, and so home, and being sent for presently to Mr. Bland's, where Mr. Povy and Gauden and I were invited to dinner, which we had very finely and great plenty, but for drink, though many and good, I drank nothing but small beer and water, which I drank so much that I wish it may not do me hurt. They had a kinswoman, they call daughter, in the house, a short, ugly, red-haired slut, that plays upon the virginalls, and sings, but after such a country manner I was weary of it, but yet could not but commend it. So by and by after dinner comes Monsr. Gotier, who is beginning to teach her, but, Lord! what a droll fellow it is to make her hold open her mouth, and telling this and that so drolly would make a man burst, but himself I perceive sings very well. Anon we sat dawn again to a collacon of cheesecakes, tarts, custards, and such like, very handsome, and so up and away home, where I at the office a while, till disturbed by, Mr. Hill, of Cambridge, with whom I walked in the garden a while, and thence home and then in my dining room walked, talking of several matters of state till 11 at night, giving him a glass of wine. I was not unwilling to hear him talk, though he is full of words, yet a man of large conversation, especially among the Presbyters and Independents; he tells me that certainly, let the Bishops alone, and they will ruin themselves, and he is confident that the King's declaration about two years since will be the foundation of the settlement of the Church some time or other, for the King will find it hard to banish all those that will appear Nonconformists upon this Act that is coming out against them. He being gone, I to bed. 25th. Up and to my office setting papers in order for these two or three days, in which I have been hindered a little, and then having intended this day to go to Banstead Downs to see a famous race, I sent Will to get himself ready to go with me, and I also by and by home and put on my riding suit, and being ready came to the office to Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and did a little of course at the office this morning, and so by boat to White Hall, where I hear that the race is put off, because the Lords do sit in Parliament to-day. However, having appointed Mr. Creed to come to me to Fox Hall, I went over thither, and after some debate, Creed and I resolved to go to Clapham, to Mr. Gauden's, who had sent his coach to their place for me because I was to have my horse of him to go to the race. So I went thither by coach and my Will by horse with me; Mr. Creed he went over back again to Westminster to fetch his horse. When I came to Mr. Gauden's one first thing was to show me his house, which is almost built, wherein he and his family live. I find it very regular and finely contrived, and the gardens and offices about it as convenient and as full of good variety as ever I saw in my life. It is true he hath been censured for laying out so much money; but he tells me that he built it for his brother, who is since dead (the Bishop), who when he should come to be Bishop of Winchester, which he was promised (to which bishoprick at present there is no house), he did intend to dwell here. Besides, with the good husbandry in making his bricks and other things I do not think it costs him so much money as people think and discourse. By and by to dinner, and in comes Mr. Creed. I saluted Mr. Gauden's lady, and the young ladies, he having many pretty children, and his sister, the Bishop's widow; who was, it seems, Sir W. Russel's daughter, the Treasurer of the Navy; who by her discourse at dinner I find to be very well-bred, and a woman of excellent discourse, even so much as to have my attention all dinner with much more pleasure than I did give to Mr. Creed, whose discourse was mighty merry in inveighing at Mr. Gauden's victuals that they had at sea the last voyage that he prosecuted, till methought the woman began to take it seriously. After dinner by Mr. Gauden's motion we got Mrs. Gauden and her sister to sing to a viall, on which Mr. Gauden's eldest son (a pretty man, but a simple one methinks) played but very poorly, and the musique bad, but yet I commended it. Only I do find that the ladies have been taught to sing and do sing well now, but that the viall puts them out. I took the viall and played some things from one of their books, Lyra lessons, which they seemed to like well. Thus we pass an hour or two after dinner and towards the evening we bade them Adieu! and took horse; being resolved that, instead of the race which fails us, we would go to Epsum. So we set out, and being gone a little way I sent home Will to look to the house, and Creed and I rode forward; the road being full of citizens going and coming toward Epsum, where, when we came, we could hear of no lodging, the town so full; but which was better, I went towards Ashted, my old place of pleasure; and there by direction of one goodman Arthur, whom we met on the way, we went to Farmer Page's, at which direction he and I made good sport, and there we got a lodging in a little hole we could not stand upright in, but rather than go further to look we staid there, and while supper was getting ready I took him to walk up and down behind my cozen Pepys's house that was, which I find comes little short of what I took it to be when I was a little boy, as things use commonly to appear greater than then when one comes to be a man and knows more, and so up and down in the closes, which I know so well methinks, and account it good fortune that I lie here that I may have opportunity to renew my old walks. It seems there is one Mr. Rouse, they call him the Queen's Tailor, that lives there now. So to our lodging to supper, and among other meats had a brave dish of cream, the best I ever eat in my life, and with which we pleased ourselves much, and by and by to bed, where, with much ado yet good sport, we made shift to lie, but with little ease, and a little spaniel by us, which has followed us all the way, a pretty dogg, and we believe that follows my horse, and do belong to Mrs. Gauden, which we, therefore, are very careful of. 26th (Lord's-day). Up and to the Wells, [Epsom medicinal wells were discovered about 1618, but they did not become fashionable until the Restoration. John Toland, in his "Description of Epsom," says that he often counted seventy coaches in the Ring (the present racecourse on the Downs) on a Sunday evening; but by the end of the eighteenth century Epsom had entirely lost its vogue.] where great store of citizens, which was the greatest part of the company, though there were some others of better quality. I met many that I knew, and we drank each of us two pots and so walked away, it being very pleasant to see how everybody turns up his tail, here one and there another, in a bush, and the women in their quarters the like. Thence I walked with Creed to Mr. Minnes's house, which has now a very good way made to it, and thence to Durdans and walked round it and within the Court Yard and to the Bowling-green, where I have seen so much mirth in my time; but now no family in it (my Lord Barkeley, whose it is, being with his family at London), and so up and down by Minnes's wood, with great pleasure viewing my old walks, and where Mrs. Hely and I did use to walk and talk, with whom I had the first sentiments of love and pleasure in woman's company, discourse, and taking her by the hand, she being a pretty woman. So I led him to Ashted Church (by the place where Peter, my cozen's man, went blindfold and found a certain place we chose for him upon a wager), where we had a dull Doctor, one Downe, worse than I think even parson King was, of whom we made so much scorn, and after sermon home, and staid while our dinner, a couple of large chickens, were dressed, and a good mess of cream, which anon we had with good content, and after dinner (we taking no notice of other lodgers in the house, though there was one that I knew, and knew and spoke to me, one Mr. Rider, a merchant), he and I to walk, and I led him to the pretty little wood behind my cozens house, into which we got at last by clambering, and our little dog with us, but when we were among the hazel trees and bushes, Lord! what a course did we run for an hour together, losing ourselves, and indeed I despaired I should ever come to any path, but still from thicket to thicket, a thing I could hardly have believed a man could have been lost so long in so small a room. At last I found out a delicate walk in the middle that goes quite through the wood, and then went out of the wood, and holloed Mr. Creed, and made him hunt me from place to place, and at last went in and called him into my fine walk, the little dog still hunting with us through the wood. In this walk being all bewildered and weary and sweating, Creed he lay down upon the ground, which I did a little, but I durst not long, but walked from him in the fine green walk, which is half a mile long, there reading my vows as I used to on Sundays. And after that was done, and going and lying by Creed an hour, he and I rose and went to our lodging and paid our reckoning, and so mounted, whether to go toward London home or to find a new lodging, and so rode through Epsum, the whole town over, seeing the various companys that were there walking; which was very pleasant to see how they are there without knowing almost what to do, but only in the morning to drink waters. But, Lord! to see how many I met there of citizens, that I could not have thought to have seen there, or that they had ever had it in their heads or purses to go down thither. We rode out of the town through Yowell beyond Nonesuch House a mile, and there our little dogg, as he used to do, fell a-running after a flock of sheep feeding on the common, till he was out of sight, and then endeavoured to come back again, and went to the last gate that he parted with us at, and there the poor thing mistakes our scent, instead of coming forward he hunts us backward, and runs as hard as he could drive back towards Nonesuch, Creed and I after him, and being by many told of his going that way and the haste he made, we rode still and passed him through Yowell, and there we lost any further information of him. However, we went as far as Epsum almost, hearing nothing of him, we went back to Yowell, and there was told that he did pass through the town. We rode back to Nonesuch to see whether he might be gone back again, but hearing nothing we with great trouble and discontent for the loss of our dogg came back once more to Yowell, and there set up our horses and selves for all night, employing people to look for the dogg in the town, but can hear nothing of him. However, we gave order for supper, and while that was dressing walked out through Nonesuch Park to the house, and there viewed as much as we could of the outside, and looked through the great gates, and found a noble court; and altogether believe it to have been a very noble house, and a delicate park about it, where just now there was a doe killed, for the King to carry up to Court. So walked back again, and by and by our supper being ready, a good leg of mutton boiled, we supped and to bed, upon two beds in the same room, wherein we slept most excellently all night. 27th. Up in the morning about 7 o'clock, and after a little study, resolved of riding to the Wells to look for our dogg, which we did, but could hear nothing; but it being much a warmer day than yesterday there was great store of gallant company, more than then, to my greater pleasure. There was at a distance, under one of the trees on the common, a company got together that sung. I, at the distance, and so all the rest being a quarter of a mile off, took them for the Waytes, so I rode up to them, and found them only voices, some citizens met by chance, that sung four or five parts excellently. I have not been more pleased with a snapp of musique, considering the circumstances of the time and place, in all my life anything so pleasant. We drank each of us, three cupps, and so, after riding up to the horsemen upon the hill, where they were making of matches to run, we went away and to Yowell, where we found our breakfast, the remains of our supper last night hashed, and by and by, after the smith had set on two new shoes to Creed's horse, we mounted, and with little discourse, I being intent upon getting home in time, we rode hard home, observing Mr. Gauden's house, but not calling there (it being too late for me to stay, and wanting their dog too). The house stands very finely, and has a graceful view to the highway. Set up our horses at Fox Hall, and I by water (observing the King's barge attending his going to the House this day) home, it being about one o'clock. So got myself ready and shifting myself, and so by water to Westminster, and there came most luckily to the Lords' House as the House of Commons were going into the Lord's House, and there I crowded in along with the Speaker, and got to stand close behind him, where he made his speech to the King (who sat with his crown on and robes, and so all the Lords in their robes, a fine sight); wherein he told his Majesty what they have done this Parliament, and now offered for his royall consent. The greatest matters were a bill for the Lord's day (which it seems the Lords have lost, and so cannot be passed, at which the Commons are displeased); the bills against Conventicles and Papists (but it seems the Lords have not passed them), and giving his Majesty four entire subsidys; which last, with about twenty smaller Acts, were passed with this form: The Clerk of the House reads the title of the bill, and then looks at the end and there finds (writ by the King I suppose) "Le Roy le veult," and that he reads. And to others he reads, "Soit fait comme vous desirez." And to the Subsidys, as well that for the Commons, I mean the layety, as for the Clergy, the King writes, "Le Roy remerciant les Seigneurs, &c., Prelats, &c., accepte leur benevolences." The Speaker's speech was far from any oratory, but was as plain (though good matter) as any thing could be, and void of elocution. After the bills passed, the King, sitting on his throne, with his speech writ in a paper which he held in his lap, and scarce looked off of it, I thought, all the time he made his speech to them, giving them thanks for their subsidys, of which, had he not need, he would not have asked or received them; and that need, not from any extravagancys of his, he was sure, in any thing, but the disorders of the times compelling him to be at greater charge than he hoped for the future, by their care in their country, he should be: and that for his family expenses and others, he would labour however to retrench in many things convenient, and would have all others to do so too. He desired that nothing of old faults should be remembered, or severity for the same used to any in the country, it being his desire to have all forgot as well as forgiven. But, however, to use all care in suppressing any tumults, &c.; assuring them that the restless spirits of his and their adversaries have great expectations of something to be done this summer. And promised that though the Acts about Conventicles and Papists were not ripe for passing this Session, yet he would take care himself that neither of them should in this intervall be encouraged to the endangering of the peace; and that at their next meeting he would himself prepare two bills for them concerning them. So he concluded, that for the better proceeding of justice he did think fit to make this a Session, and to prorogue them to the 16th of March next. His speech was very plain, nothing at all of spirit in it, nor spoke with any; but rather on the contrary imperfectly, repeating many times his words though he read all which I was sorry to see, it having not been hard for him to have got all the speech without book. So they all went away, the King out of the House at the upper end, he being by and by to go to Tunbridge to the Queen; and I in the Painted Chamber spoke with my Lord Sandwich while he was putting off his robes, who tells me he will now hasten down into the country, as soon as he can get some money settled on the Wardrobe. Here meeting Creed, he and I down to the Hall, and I having at Michell's shop wrote a little letter to Mr. Gauden, to go with his horse, and excusing my not taking leave or so much as asking after the old lady the widow when we came away the other day from them, he and I over the water to Fox Hall, and there sent away the horse with my letter, and then to the new Spring Garden, walking up and down, but things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away, leaving much brave company there, and so to a less house hard by, where we liked very well their Codlin tarts, having not time, as we intended, to stay the getting ready of a dish of pease. And there came to us an idle boy to show us some tumbling tricks, which he did very well, and the greatest bending of his body that ever I observed in my life. Thence by water to White Hall, and walked over the Park to St. James's; but missed Mr. Coventry, he not being within; and so out again, and there the Duke was coming along the Pell-Mell. It being a little darkish, I staid not to take notice of him, but we went directly back again. And in our walk over the Park, one of the Duke's footmen came running behind us, and came looking just in our faces to see who we were, and went back again. What his meaning is I know not, but was fearful that I might not go far enough with my hat off, though methinks that should not be it, besides, there were others covered nearer than myself was, but only it was my fear. So to White Hall and by water to the Bridge, and so home to bed, weary and well pleased with my journey in all respects. Only it cost me about 20s., but it was for my health, and I hope will prove so, only I do find by my riding a little swelling to rise just by my anus. I had the same the last time I rode, and then it fell again, and now it is up again about the bigness of the bag of a silkworm, makes me fearful of a rupture. But I will speak to Mr. Hollyard about it, and I am glad to find it now, that I may prevent it before it goes too far. 28th. Up after sleeping very well, and so to my office setting down the Journall of this last three days, and so settled to business again, I hope with greater cheerfulness and success by this refreshment. At the office all the morning, and at noon to Wise's about my viall that is a-doing, and so home to dinner and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night, and I late at it till after the office was risen. Late came my Jane and her brother Will: to entreat for my taking of the boy again, but I will not hear her, though I would yet be glad to do anything for her sake to the boy, but receive him again I will not, nor give him anything. She would have me send him to sea; which if I could I would do, but there is no ship going out. The poor girl cried all the time she was with me, and would not go from me, staying about two hours with me till 10 or 11 o'clock, expecting that she might obtain something of me, but receive him I will not. So the poor girl was fain to go away crying and saying little. So from thence home, where my house of office was emptying, and I find they will do, it with much more cleanness than I expected. I went up and down among them a good while, but knowing that Mr. Coventry was to call me in the morning, I went to bed and left them to look after the people. So to bed. 29th. Up about 6 o'clock, and found the people to have just done, and Hannah not gone to bed yet, but was making clean of the yard and kitchen. Will newly gone to bed. So I to my office, and having given some order to Tom Hater, to whom I gave leave for his recreation to go down to Portsmouth this Pay, I went down to Wapping to Sir W. Warren, and there staid an hour or two discoursing of some of his goods and then things in general relating to this office, &c., and so home, and there going to Sir William Batten (having no stomach to dine at home, it being yet hardly clean of last night's [mess])and there I dined with my Lady and her daughter and son Castle, and mighty kind she is and I kind to her, but, Lord! how freely and plainly she rails against Commissioner Pett, calling him rogue, and wondering that the King keeps such a fellow in the Navy. Thence by and by walked to see Sir W. Pen at Deptford, reading by the way a most ridiculous play, a new one, called "The Politician Cheated." After a little sitting with him I walked to the yard a little and so home again, my Will with me, whom I bade to stay in the yard for me, and so to bed. This morning my brother Tom was with me, and we had some discourse again concerning his country mistress, but I believe the most that is fit for us to condescend to, will not content her friends. 30th. Up and to the office to get business ready for our sitting, this being the first day of altering it from afternoon during the Parliament sitting to the fore-noon again. By and by Mr. Coventry only came (Sir John Minnes and Sir William Batten being gone this morning to Portsmouth to pay some ships and the yard there), and after doing a little business he and I down to Woolwich, and there up and down the yard, and by and by came Sir G. Carteret and we all looked into matters, and then by water back to Deptford, where we dined with him at his house, a very good dinner and mightily tempted with wines of all sorts and brave French Syder, but I drunk none. But that which is a great wonder I find his little daughter Betty, that was in hanging sleeves but a month or two ago, and is a very little young child; married, and to whom, but to young Scott, son to Madam Catharine Scott, that was so long in law, and at whose triall I was with her husband; he pleading that it was unlawfully got and would not own it, she, it seems, being brought to bed of it, if not got by somebody else at Oxford, but it seems a little before his death he did own the child, and hath left him his estate, not long since. So Sir G. Carteret hath struck up of a sudden a match with him for his little daughter. He hath about L2000 per annum; and it seems Sir G. Carteret hath by this means over-reached Sir H. Bennet, who did endeavour to get this gentleman for a sister of his, but Sir G. Carteret I say has over-reached him. By this means Sir G. Carteret hath married two daughters this year both very well. After dinner into Deptford yard, but our bellies being full we could do no great business, and so parted, and Mr. Coventry and I to White Hall by water, where we also parted, and I to several places about business, and so calling for my five books of the Variorum print bound according to my common binding instead of the other which is more gaudy I went home. The town talk this day is of nothing but the great foot-race run this day on Banstead Downes, between Lee, the Duke of Richmond's footman, and a tyler, a famous runner. And Lee hath beat him; though the King and Duke of York and all men almost did bet three or four to one upon the tyler's head. 31st. Up early to my accounts this month, and I find myself worth clear L730, the most I ever had yet, which contents me though I encrease but very little. Thence to my office doing business, and at noon to my viall maker's, who has begun it and has a good appearance, and so to the Exchange, where I met Dr. Pierce, who tells me of his good luck to get to be groom of the Privy-Chamber to the Queen, and without my Lord Sandwich's help; but only by his good fortune, meeting a man that hath let him have his right for a small matter, about L60, for which he can every day have L400. But he tells me my Lord hath lost much honour in standing so long and so much for that coxcomb Pickering, and at last not carrying it for him; but hath his name struck out by the King and Queen themselves after he had been in ever since the Queen's coming. But he tells me he believes that either Sir H. Bennet, my Lady Castlemaine, or Sir Charles Barkeley had received some money for the place, and so the King could not disappoint them, but was forced to put out this fool rather than a better man. And I am sorry to hear what he tells me that Sir Charles Barkeley hath still such power over the King, as to be able to fetch him from the Council-table to my Lady Castlemaine when he pleases. He tells me also, as a friend, the great injury that he thinks I do myself by being so severe in the Yards, and contracting the ill-will of the whole Navy for those offices, singly upon myself. Now I discharge a good conscience therein, and I tell him that no man can (nor do he say any say it) charge me with doing wrong; but rather do as many good offices as any man. They think, he says, that I have a mind to get a good name with the King and Duke, who he tells me do not consider any such thing; but I shall have as good thanks to let all alone, and do as the rest. But I believe the contrary; and yet I told him I never go to the Duke alone, as others do, to talk of my own services. However, I will make use of his council, and take some course to prevent having the single ill-will of the office. Before I went to the office I went to the Coffee House, where Sir J. Cutler and Mr. Grant were, and there Mr. Grant showed me letters of Sir William Petty's, wherein he says, that his vessel which he hath built upon two keeles (a modell whereof, built for the King, he showed me) hath this month won a wager of L50 in sailing between Dublin and Holyhead with the pacquett-boat, the best ship or vessel the King hath there; and he offers to lay with any vessel in the world. It is about thirty ton in burden, and carries thirty men, with good accommodation, (as much more as any ship of her burden,) and so any vessel of this figure shall carry more men, with better accommodation by half, than any other ship. This carries also ten guns, of about five tons weight. In their coming back from Holyhead they started together, and this vessel came to Dublin by five at night, and the pacquett-boat not before eight the next morning; and when they came they did believe that, this vessel had been drowned, or at least behind, not thinking she could have lived in that sea. Strange things are told of this vessel, and he concludes his letter with this position, "I only affirm that the perfection of sayling lies in my principle, finde it out who can." Thence home, in my way meeting Mr. Rawlinson, who tells me that my uncle Wight is off of his Hampshire purchase and likes less of the Wights, and would have me to be kind and study to please him, which I am resolved to do. Being at home he sent for me to dinner to meet Mr. Moore, so I went thither and dined well, but it was strange for me to refuse, and yet I did without any reluctancy to drink wine in a tavern, where nothing else almost was drunk, and that excellent good. Thence with Mr. Moore to the Wardrobe, and there sat while my Lord was private with Mr. Townsend about his accounts an hour or two, we reading of a merry book against the Presbyters called Cabbala, extraordinary witty. Thence walked home and to my office, setting papers of all sorts and writing letters and putting myself into a condition to go to Chatham with Mr. Coventry to-morrow. So, at almost 12 o'clock, and my eyes tired with seeing to write, I went home and to bed. Ending the month with pretty good content of mind, my wife in the country and myself in good esteem, and likely by pains to become considerable, I think, with God's blessing upon my diligence. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1663 Aug. 1st. Up betimes and got me ready, and so to the office and put things in order for my going. By and by comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I did some business, and then Mr. Coventry sending for me, he staying in the boat, I got myself presently ready and down to him, he and I by water to Gravesend (his man Lambert with us), and there eat a bit and so mounted, I upon one of his horses which met him there, a brave proud horse, all the way talking of businesses of the office and other matters to good purpose. Being come to Chatham, we put on our boots and so walked to the yard, where we met Commissioner Pett, and there walked up and down looking and inquiring into many businesses, and in the evening went to the Commissioner's and there in his upper Arbor sat and talked, and there pressed upon the Commissioner to take upon him a power to correct and suspend officers that do not their duty and other things, which he unwillingly answered he would if we would own him in it. Being gone thence Mr. Coventry and I did discourse about him, and conclude that he is not able to do the same in that yard that he might and can and it maybe will do in another, what with his old faults and the relations that he has to most people that act there. After an hour or two's discourse at the Hill-house before going to bed, I see him to his and he me to my chamber, he lying in the Treasurer's and I in the Controller's chambers. 2nd (Lord's day). Up and after the barber had done he and I walked to the Docke, and so on board the Mathias, where Commissioner Pett and he and I and a good many of the officers and others of the yard did hear an excellent sermon of Mr. Hudson's upon "All is yours and you are God's," a most ready, learned, and good sermon, such as I have not heard a good while, nor ever thought he could have preached. We took him with us to the Hill-house, and there we dined, and an officer or two with us. So after dinner the company withdrew, and we three to private discourse and laid the matters of the yard home again to the Commissioner, and discoursed largely of several matters. Then to the parish church, and there heard a poor sermon with a great deal of false Greek in it, upon these words, "Ye are my friends, if ye do these things which I command you." Thence to the Docke and by water to view St. Mary Creeke, but do not find it so proper for a wet docks as we would have it, it being uneven ground and hard in the bottom and no, great depth of water in many places. Returned and walked from the Docke home, Mr. Coventry and I very much troubled to see how backward Commissioner Pett is to tell any of the faults of the officers, and to see nothing in better condition here for his being here than they are in other yards where there is none. After some discourse to bed. But I sat up an hour after Mr. Coventry was gone to read my vows, it raining a wonderful hard showre about 11 at night for an hour together. So to bed. 3rd. Up both of us very betimes and to the Yard, and see the men called over and choose some to be discharged. Then to the Ropehouses and viewed them all and made an experiment which was the stronger, English or Riga hemp, the latter proved the stronger, but the other is very good, and much better we believe than any but Riga. We did many other things this morning, and I caused the Timber measurer to measure some timber, where I found much fault and with reason, which we took public notice of, and did give them admonition for the time to come. At noon Mr. Pett did give us a very great dinner, too big in all conscience, so that most of it was left untouched. Here was Collonell Newman and several other gentlemen of the country and officers of the yard. After dinner they withdrew and Commissioner Pett, Mr. Coventry and I sat close to our business all the noon in his parler, and there run through much business and answered several people. And then in the evening walked in the garden, where we conjured him to look after the yard, and for the time to come that he would take the whole faults and ill management of the yard upon himself, he having full power and our concurrence to suspend or do anything else that he thinks fit to keep people and officers to their duty. He having made good promises, though I fear his performance, we parted (though I spoke so freely that he could have been angry) good friends, and in some hopes that matters will be better for the time to come. So walked to the Hillhouse (which we did view and the yard about it, and do think to put it off as soon as we can conveniently) and there made ourselves ready and mounted and rode to Gravesend (my riding Coate not being to be found I fear it is stole) on our way being overtaken by Captain Browne that serves the office of the Ordnance at Chatham. All the way, though he was a rogue and served the late times all along, yet he kept us in discourse of the many services that he did for many of the King's party, lords and Dukes, and among others he recovered a dog that was stolne from Mr. Cary (head-keeper of the buck-hounds to the King) and preserved several horses of the Duke of Richmond's, and his best horse he was forst to put out his eyes and keep him for a stallion to preserve him from being carried away. But he gone at last upon my enquiry to tell us how (he having been here too for survey of the Ropeyard) the day's work of the Rope-makers become settled, which pleased me very well. Being come to our Inn Mr. Coventry and I sat, and talked till 9 or 10 a-clock and then to bed. 4th. We were called up about four a-clock, and being ready went and took a Gravesend boat, and to London by nine a-clock. By the way talking of several businesses of the navy. So to the office, where Sir Wm. Pen (the first time that he has been with us a great while, he having been long sick) met us, and there we sat all the morning. My brother John I find come to town to my house, as I sent for him, on Saturday last; so at noon home and dined with him, and after dinner and the barber been with me I walked out with him to my viall maker's and other places and then left him, and I by water to Blackbury's, and there talked with him about some masts (and by the way he tells me that Paul's is now going to be repaired in good earnest), and so with him to his garden close by his house, where I eat some peaches and apricots; a very pretty place. So over the water to Westminster hall, and not finding Mrs. Lane, with whom I purposed to be merry, I went to Jervas's and took him and his wife over the water to their mother Palmer's (the woman that speaks in the belly, and with whom I have two or three years ago made good sport with Mr. Mallard), thinking because I had heard that she is a woman of that sort that I might there have lit upon some lady of pleasure (for which God forgive me), but blest be God there was none, nor anything that pleased me, but a poor little house that she has set out as fine as she can, and for her singing which she pretends to is only some old body songs and those sung abominably, only she pretends to be able to sing both bass and treble, which she do something like, but not what I thought formerly and expected now; nor do her speaking in her belly take me now as it did then, but it may be that is because I know it and see her mouth when she speaks, which should not be. After I had spent a shilling there in wine I took boat with Jervas and his wife and set them at Westminster, and it being late forbore Mrs. Lane and went by water to the Old Swan by a boat, where I had good sport with one of the young men about his travells as far as Voxhall, in mockery, which yet the fellow answered me most prettily and traveller-like unto my very good mirth. So home, and with my brother eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to bed, he with me. This day I received a letter from my wife, which troubles me mightily, wherein she tells me how Ashwell did give her the lie to her teeth, and that thereupon my wife giving her a box on the eare, the other struck her again, and a deal of stir which troubles me, and that my Lady has been told by my father or mother something of my wife's carriage, which altogether vexes me, and I fear I shall find a trouble of my wife when she comes home to get down her head again, but if Ashwell goes I am resolved to have no more, but to live poorly and low again for a good while, and save money and keep my wife within bounds if I can, or else I shall bid Adieu to all content in the world. So to bed, my mind somewhat disturbed at this, but yet I shall take care, by prudence, to avoid the ill consequences which I fear, things not being gone too far yet, and this height that my wife is come to being occasioned from my own folly in giving her too much head heretofore for the year past. 5th. All the morning at the office, whither Deane of Woolwich came to me and discoursed of the body of ships, which I am now going about to understand, and then I took him to the coffee-house, where he was very earnest against Mr. Grant's report in favour of Sir W. Petty's vessel, even to some passion on both sides almost. So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner with my brother, and in the afternoon to Westminster hall, and there found Mrs. Lane, and by and by by agreement we met at the Parliament stairs (in my way down to the boat who should meet us but my lady Jemimah, who saw me lead her but said nothing to me of her, though I ought to speak to her to see whether she would take notice of it or no) and off to Stangate and so to the King's Head at Lambeth marsh, and had variety of meats and drinks, but I did so towse her and handled her, but could get nothing more from her though I was very near it; but as wanton and bucksome as she is she dares not adventure upon the business, in which I very much commend and like her. Staid pretty late, and so over with her by water, and being in a great sweat with my towsing of her durst not go home by water, but took coach, and at home my brother and I fell upon Des Cartes, and I perceive he has studied him well, and I cannot find but he has minded his book, and do love it. This evening came a letter about business from Mr. Coventry, and with it a silver pen he promised me to carry inke in, which is very necessary. So to prayers and to bed. 6th. Up and was angry with my maid Hannah for keeping the house no better, it being more dirty now-a-days than ever it was while my whole family was together. So to my office, whither Mr. Coventry came and Sir William Pen, and we sat all the morning. This day Mr. Coventry borrowed of me my manuscript of the Navy. At noon I to the 'Change, and meeting with Sir W. Warren, to a coffee-house, and there finished a contract with him for the office, and so parted, and I to my cozen Mary Joyce's at a gossiping, where much company and good cheer. There was the King's Falconer, that lives by Paul's, and his wife, an ugly pusse, but brought him money. He speaking of the strength of hawkes, which will strike a fowle to the ground with that force that shall make the fowle rebound a great way from ground, which no force of man or art can do, but it was very pleasant to hear what reasons he and another, one Ballard, a rich man of the same Company of Leathersellers of which the Joyces are, did give for this. Ballard's wife, a pretty and a very well-bred woman, I took occasion to kiss several times, and she to carve, drink, and show me great respect. After dinner to talk and laugh. I drank no wine, but sent for some water; the beer not being good. A fiddler was sent for, and there one Mrs. Lurkin, a neighbour, a good, and merry poor woman, but a very tall woman, did dance and show such tricks that made us all merry, but above all a daughter of Mr. Brumfield's, black, but well-shaped and modest, did dance very well, which pleased me mightily. I begun the Duchess with her, but could not do it; but, however, I came off well enough, and made mighty much of her, kissing and leading her home, with her cozen Anthony and Kate Joyce (Kate being very handsome and well, that is, handsomely dressed to-day, and I grew mighty kind and familiar with her, and kissed her soundly, which she takes very well) to their house, and there I left them, having in our way, though nine o'clock at night, carried them into a puppet play in Lincolnes Inn Fields, where there was the story of Holofernes, and other clockwork, well done. There was at this house today Mr. Lawrence, who did give the name, it seems, to my cozen Joyce's child, Samuel, who is a very civil gentleman, and his wife a pretty woman, who, with Kate Joyce, were stewards of the feast to-day, and a double share cost for a man and a woman came to 16s., which I also would pay, though they would not by any means have had me do so. I walked home very well contented with this afternoon's work, I thinking it convenient to keep in with the Joyces against a bad day, if I should have occasion to make use of them. So I walked home, and after a letter to my wife by the post and my father, I home to supper, and after a little talk with my brother to bed. 7th. Up and to my office a little, and then to Brown's for my measuring rule, which is made, and is certainly the best and the most commodious for carrying in one's pocket, and most useful that ever was made, and myself have the honour of being as it were the inventor of this form of it. Here I staid discoursing an hour with him and then home, and thither came Sir Fairbrother to me, and we walked a while together in the garden and then abroad into the cittie, and then we parted for a while and I to my Viall, which I find done and once varnished, and it will please me very well when it is quite varnished. Thence home and to study my new rule till my head aked cruelly. So by and by to dinner and the Doctor and Mr. Creed came to me. The Doctor's discourse, which (though he be a very good-natured man) is but simple, was some sport to me and Creed, though my head akeing I took no great pleasure in it. We parted after dinner, and I walked to Deptford and there found Sir W. Pen, and I fell to measuring of some planks that was serving into the yard, which the people took notice of, and the measurer himself was amused at, for I did it much more ready than he, and I believe Sir W. Pen would be glad I could have done less or he more. By and by he went away and I staid walking up and down, discoursing with the officers of the yard of several things, and so walked back again, and on my way young Bagwell and his wife waylayd me to desire my favour about getting him a better ship, which I shall pretend to be willing to do for them, but my mind is to know his wife a little better. They being parted I went with Cadbury the mast maker to view a parcel of good masts which I think it were good to buy, and resolve to speak to the board about it. So home, and my brother John and I up and I to my musique, and then to discourse with him, and I find him not so thorough a philosopher, at least in Aristotle, as I took him for, he not being able to tell me the definition of final nor which of the 4 Qualitys belonged to each of the 4 Elements. So to prayers, and to bed, among other things being much satisfied with my new rule. 8th. Up and to my office, whither I search for Brown the mathematical instrument maker, who now brought me a ruler for measuring timber and other things so well done and in all things to my mind that I do set up my trust upon it that I cannot have a better, nor any man else have so good for this purpose, this being of my own ordering. By and by we sat all the morning dispatching of business, and then at noon rose, and I with Mr. Coventry down to the water-side, talking, wherein I see so much goodness and endeavours of doing the King service, that I do more and more admire him. It being the greatest trouble to me, he says, in the world to see not only in the Navy, but in the greatest matters of State, where he can lay his finger upon the soare (meaning this man's faults, and this man's office the fault lies in), and yet dare or can not remedy matters. Thence to the Exchange about several businesses, and so home to dinner, and in the afternoon took my brother John and Will down to Woolwich by water, and after being there a good while, and eating of fruit in Sheldon's garden, we began our walk back again, I asking many things in physiques of my brother John, to which he gives me so bad or no answer at all, as in the regions of the ayre he told me that he knew of no such thing, for he never read Aristotle's philosophy and Des Cartes ownes no such thing, which vexed me to hear him say. But I shall call him to task, and see what it is that he has studied since his going to the University. It was late before we could get from Greenwich to London by water, the tide being against us and almost past, so that to save time and to be clear of anchors I landed at Wapping, and so walked home weary enough, walking over the stones. This night Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes returned [from] Portsmouth, but I did not go see them. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and leaving my brother John to go somewhere else, I to church, and heard Mr. Mills (who is lately returned out of the country, and it seems was fetched in by many of the parishioners, with great state,) preach upon the authority of the ministers, upon these words, "We are therefore embassadors of Christ." Wherein, among other high expressions, he said, that such a learned man used to say, that if a minister of the word and an angell should meet him together, he would salute the minister first; which methought was a little too high. This day I begun to make use of the silver pen (Mr. Coventry did give me) in writing of this sermon, taking only the heads of it in Latin, which I shall, I think, continue to do. So home and at my office reading my vowes, and so to Sir W. Batten to dinner, being invited and sent for, and being willing to hear how they left things at Portsmouth, which I found but ill enough, and are mightily for a Commissioner to be at seat there to keep the yard in order. Thence in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, leading her through the streets by the hand to St. Dunstan's Church, hard by us (where by Mrs. Russell's means we were set well), and heard an excellent sermon of one Mr. Gifford, the parson there, upon "Remember Lot's wife." So from thence walked back to Mrs. Russell's, and there drank and sat talking a great while. Among other things talked of young Dawes that married the great fortune, who it seems has a Baronet's patent given him, and is now Sir Thos. Dawes, and a very fine bred man they say he is. Thence home, and my brother being abroad I walked to my uncle Wight's and there staid, though with little pleasure, and supped, there being the husband of Mrs. Anne Wight, who it seems is lately married to one Mr. Bentley, a Norwich factor. Home, and staid up a good while examining Will in his Latin below, and my brother along with him in his Greeke, and so to prayers and to bed. This afternoon I was amused at the tune set to the Psalm by the Clerke of the parish, and thought at first that he was out, but I find him to be a good songster, and the parish could sing it very well, and was a good tune. But I wonder that there should be a tune in the Psalms that I never heard of. 10th. Up, though not so early this summer as I did all the last, for which I am sorry, and though late am resolved to get up betimes before the season of rising be quite past. To my office to fit myself to wait on the Duke this day. By and by by water to White Hall, and so to St. James's, and anon called into the Duke's chamber, and being dressed we were all as usual taken in with him and discoursed of our matters, and that being done, he walked, and I in the company with him, to White Hall, and there he took barge for Woolwich, and, I up to the Committee of Tangier, where my Lord Sandwich, pay Lord Peterborough, (whom I have not seen before since his coming back,) Sir W. Compton, and Mr. Povy. Our discourse about supplying my Lord Teviott with money, wherein I am sorry to see, though they do not care for him, yet they are willing to let him for civility and compliment only have money almost without expecting any account of it; but by this means, he being such a cunning fellow as he is, the King is like to pay dear for our courtiers' ceremony. Thence by coach with my Lords Peterborough and Sandwich to my Lord Peterborough's house; and there, after an hour's looking over some fine books of the Italian buildings, with fine cuts; and also my Lord Peterborough's bowes and arrows, of which he is a great lover, we sat down to dinner, my Lady coming down to dinner also, and there being Mr. Williamson, that belongs to Sir H. Bennet, whom I find a pretty understanding and accomplished man, but a little conceited. After dinner I took leave and went to Greatorex's, whom I found in his garden, and set him to work upon my ruler, to engrave an almanac and other things upon the brasses of it, which a little before night he did, but the latter part he slubbered over, that I must get him to do it over better, or else I shall not fancy my rule, which is such a folly that I am come to now, that whereas before my delight was in multitude of books, and spending money in that and buying alway of other things, now that I am become a better husband, and have left off buying, now my delight is in the neatness of everything, and so cannot be pleased with anything unless it be very neat, which is a strange folly. Hither came W. Howe about business, and he and I had a great deal of discourse about my Lord Sandwich, and I find by him that my Lord do dote upon one of the daughters of Mrs. [Becke] where he lies, so that he spends his time and money upon her. He tells me she is a woman of a very bad fame and very impudent, and has told my Lord so, yet for all that my Lord do spend all his evenings with her, though he be at court in the day time, and that the world do take notice of it, and that Pickering is only there as a blind, that the world may think that my Lord spends his time with him when he do worse, and that hence it is that my Lord has no more mind to go into the country than he has. In fine, I perceive my Lord is dabbling with this wench, for which I am sorry, though I do not wonder at it, being a man amorous enough, and now begins to allow himself the liberty that he says every body else at Court takes. Here I am told that my Lord Bristoll is either fled or concealed himself; having been sent for to the King, it is believed to be sent to the Tower, but he is gone out of the way. Yesterday, I am told also, that Sir J. Lenthall, in Southwarke, did apprehend about one hundred Quakers, and other such people, and hath sent some of them to the gaole at Kingston, it being now the time of the Assizes. Hence home and examined a piece of, Latin of Will's with my brother, and so to prayers and to bed. This evening I had a letter from my father that says that my wife will come to town this week, at which I wonder that she should come to town without my knowing more of it. But I find they have lived very ill together since she went, and I must use all the brains I have to bring her to any good when she do come home, which I fear will be hard to do, and do much disgust me the thoughts of it. 11th. Up and to my office, whither, by and by, my brother Tom came, and I did soundly rattle him for his neglecting to see and please the Joyces as he has of late done. I confess I do fear that he do not understand his business, nor will do any good in his trade, though he tells me that he do please every body and that he gets money, but I shall not believe it till I see a state of his accounts, which I have ordered him to bring me before he sees me any more. We met and sat at the office all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, where I met Dr. Pierce, who tells me that the King comes to towne this day, from Tunbridge, to stay a day or two, and then fetch the Queen from thence, who he says is grown a very debonnaire lady, and now hugs him, and meets him gallopping upon the road, and all the actions of a fond and pleasant lady that can be, that he believes has a chat now and then of Mrs. Stewart, but that there is no great danger of her, she being only an innocent, young, raw girl; but my Lady Castlemaine, who rules the King in matters of state, and do what she list with him, he believes is now falling quite out of favour. After the Queen is come back she goes to the Bath; and so to Oxford, where great entertainments are making for her. This day I am told that my Lord Bristoll hath warrants issued out against him, to have carried him to the Tower; but he is fled away, or hid himself. So much the Chancellor hath got the better of him. Upon the 'Change my brother, and Will bring me word that Madam Turner would come and dine with me to-day, so I hasted home and found her and Mrs. Morrice there (The. Joyce being gone into the country), which is the reason of the mother rambling. I got a dinner for them, and after dinner my uncle Thomas and aunt Bell came and saw me, and I made them almost foxed with wine till they were very kind (but I did not carry them up to my ladies). So they went away, and so my two ladies and I in Mrs. Turner's coach to Mr. Povy's, who being not within, we went in and there shewed Mrs. Turner his perspective and volary, [A large birdcage, in which the birds can fly about; French 'voliere'. Ben Jonson uses the word volary.] and the fine things that he is building of now, which is a most neat thing. Thence to the Temple and by water to Westminster; and there Morrice and I went to Sir R. Ling's to have fetched a niece of his, but she was not within, and so we went to boat again and then down to the bridge, and there tried to find a sister of Mrs. Morrice's, but she was not within neither, and so we went through bridge, and I carried them on board the King's pleasure-boat, all the way reading in a book of Receipts of making fine meats and sweetmeats, among others to make my own sweet water, which made us good sport. So I landed them at Greenwich, and there to a garden, and gave them fruit and wine, and so to boat again, and finally, in the cool of the evening, to Lyon Kee, [Lion Key, Lower Thames Street, where the famous Duchess of Suffolk in the time of Bishop Gardiner's persecution took boat for the continent. James, Duke of York, also left the country from this same place on the night of April 20th, 1648, when he escaped from St. James's Palace.] the tide against us, and so landed and walked to the Bridge, and there took a coach by chance passing by, and so I saw them home, and there eat some cold venison with them, and drunk and bade them good night, having been mighty merry with them, and I think it is not amiss to preserve, though it cost me a little, such a friend as Mrs. Turner. So home and to bed, my head running upon what to do to-morrow to fit things against my wife's coming, as to buy a bedstead, because my brother John is here, and I have now no more beds than are used. 12th. A little to my office, to put down my yesterday's journall, and so abroad to buy a bedstead and do other things. So home again, and having put up the bedstead and done other things in order to my wife's coming, I went out to several places and to Mrs. Turner's, she inviting me last night, and there dined; with her and Madam Morrice and a stranger we were very merry and had a fine dinner, and thence I took leave and to White Hall, where my Lords Sandwich, Peterborough, and others made a Tangier Committee; spent the afternoon in reading and ordering with a great deal of alteration, and yet methinks never a whit the better, of a letter drawn by Creed to my Lord Rutherford. The Lords being against anything that looked to be rough, though it was in matter of money and accounts, wherein their courtship may cost the King dear. Only I do see by them, that speaking in matters distasteful to him that we write to, it is best to do it in the plainest way and without ambages or reasoning, but only say matters of fact, and leave the party to collect your meaning. Thence by water to my brother's, and there I hear my wife is come and gone home, and my father is come to town also, at which I wondered. But I discern it is to give my brother advice about his business, and it may be to pacify me about the differences that have been between my wife and him and my mother at her late being with them. Though by and by he coming to Mr. Holden's (where I was buying a hat) he took no notice to me of anything. I talked to him a little while and left him to lie at the end of the town, and I home, where methought I found my wife strange, not knowing, I believe, in what temper she could expect me to be in, but I fell to kind words, and so we were very kind, only she could not forbear telling me how she had been used by them and her mayde, Ashwell, in the country, but I find it will be best not to examine it, for I doubt she's in fault too, and therefore I seek to put it off from my hearing, and so to bed and there entertained her with great content, and so to sleep. 13th. Lay long in bed with my wife talking of family matters, and so up and to the office, where we sat all the' morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I to talk again about getting of a couple of good mayds and to part with Ashwell, which troubles me for her father's sake, though I shall be glad to have the charge taken away of keeping a woman. Thence a little to the office, and so abroad with my wife by water to White Hall, and there at my Lord's lodgings met my Lady Jemimah, with whom we staid a good while. Thence to Mrs. Hunt's, where I left my wife, and I to walk a little in St. James's Park, while Mrs. Harper might come home, with whom we came to speak about her kinswoman Jane Gentleman to come and live with us as a chamber mayde, and there met with Mr. Hoole my old acquaintance of Magdalen, and walked with him an hour in the Parke, discoursing chiefly of Sir Samuel Morland, whose lady is gone into France. It seems he buys ground and a farm in the country, and lays out money upon building, and God knows what! so that most of the money he sold his pension of L500 per annum for, to Sir Arthur Slingsby, is believed is gone. It seems he hath very great promises from the King, and Hoole hath seen some of the King's letters, under his own hand, to Morland, promising him great things (and among others, the order of the Garter, as Sir Samuel says); but his lady thought it below her to ask any thing at the King's first coming, believing the King would do it of himself, when as Hoole do really think if he had asked to be Secretary of State at the King's first coming, he might have had it. And the other day at her going into France, she did speak largely to the King herself, how her husband hath failed of what his Majesty had promised, and she was sure intended him; and the King did promise still, as he is a King and a gentleman, to be as good as his word in a little time, to a tittle: but I never believe it. Here in the Park I met with Mr. Coventry, where he sent for a letter he had newly writ to me, wherein he had enclosed one from Commissioner Pett complaining of his being defeated in his attempt to suspend two pursers, wherein the manner of his doing it, and complaint of our seeing him (contrary to our promises the other day), deserted, did make us laugh mightily, and was good sport to think how awkwardly he goes about a thing that he has no courage of his own nor mind to do. Mr. Coventry answered it very handsomely, but I perceive Pett has left off his corresponding with me any more. Thence to fetch my wife from Mrs. Hunt's, where now he was come in, and we eat and drunk, and so away (their child being at home, a very lively, but not pretty at all), by water to Mrs. Turner's, and there made a short visit, and so home by coach, and after supper to prayers and to bed, and before going to bed Ashwell began to make her complaint, and by her I do perceive that she has received most base usage from my wife, which my wife sillily denies, but it is impossible the wench could invent words and matter so particularly, against which my wife has nothing to say but flatly to deny, which I am sorry to see, and blows to have past, and high words even at Hinchinbrooke House among my Lady's people, of which I am mightily ashamed. I said nothing to either of them, but let them talk till she was gone and left us abed, and then I told my wife my mind with great sobriety of grief, and so to sleep. 14th. Awake, and to chide my wife again, and I find that my wife has got too great head to be brought down soon, nor is it possible with any convenience to keep Ashwell longer, my wife is so set and convinced, as she was in Sarah, to make her appear a Lyer in every small thing that we shall have no peace while she stays. So I up and to my office doing several businesses in my study, and so home to dinner. The time having outslipt me and my stomach, it being past, two a-clock, and yet before we could sit down to dinner Mrs. Harper and her cousin Jane came, and we treated and discoursed long about her coming to my wife for a chamber mayd, and I think she will do well. So they went away expecting notice when she shall come, and so we sat down to dinner at four a-clock almost, and then I walked forth to my brother's, where I found my father very discontented, and has no mind to come to my house, and would have begun some of the differences between my wife and him, but I desired to hear none of them, and am sorry at my folly in forcing it and theirs in not telling me of it at the beginning, and therefore am resolved to make the best of a bad market, and to bring my wife to herself again as soon and as well as I can. So we parted very kindly, and he will dine with me to-morrow or next day. Thence walked home, doing several errands by the way, and at home took my wife to visit Sir W. Pen, who is still lame, and after an hour with him went home and supped, and with great content to bed. 15th. Lay pretty long in bed, being a little troubled with some pain got by wind and cold, and so up with good peace of mind, hoping that my wife will mind her house and servants, and so to the office, and being too soon to sit walked to my viail, which is well nigh done, and I believe I may have it home to my mind next week. So back to my office, and there we sat all the morning, I till 2 o'clock before I could go to dinner again. After dinner walked forth to my instrument maker, and there had my rule he made me lay now so perfected, that I think in all points I have never need or desire a better, or think that any man yet had one so good in all the several points of it for my use. So by water down to Deptford, taking into my boat with me Mr. Palmer, one whom I knew and his wife when I was first married, being an acquaintance of my wife's and her friends lodging at Charing Cross during our differences. He joyed me in my condition, and himself it seems is forced to follow the law in a common ordinary way, but seems to do well, and is a sober man, enough by his discourse. He landed with me at Deptford, where he saw by the officers' respect to me a piece of my command, and took notice of it, though God knows I hope I shall not be elated with that, but rather desire to be known for serving the King well, and doing my duty. He gone I walked up and down the yard a while discoursing with the officers, and so by water home meditating on my new Rule with great pleasure. So to my office, and there by candle light doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church, and finding her desirous to go to church, I did suspect her meeting of Pembleton, but he was not there, and so I thought my jealousy in vain, and treat the sermon with great quiet. And home to dinner very pleasant, only some angry, notwithstanding my wife could not forbear to give Ashwell, and after dinner to church again, and there, looking up and down, I found Pembleton to stand in the isle against us, he coming too late to get a pew. Which, Lord! into what a sweat did it put me! I do not think my wife did see him, which did a little satisfy me. But it makes me mad to see of what a jealous temper I am and cannot helpe it, though let him do what he can I do not see, as I am going to reduce my family, what hurt he can do me, there being no more occasion now for my wife to learn of him. Here preached a confident young coxcomb. So home, and I staid a while with Sir J. Minnes, at Mrs. Turner's, hearing his parrat talk, laugh, and crow, which it do to admiration. So home and with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, and thence to my uncle Wight, and took him at supper and sat down, where methinks my uncle is more kind than he used to be both to me now, and my father tell me to him also, which I am glad at. After supper home, it being extraordinary dark, and by chance a lanthorn came by, and so we hired it to light us home, otherwise were we no sooner within doors but a great showre fell that had doused us cruelly if we had not been within, it being as dark as pitch. So to prayers and to bed. 17th. Up, and then fell into discourse, my wife and I to Ashwell, and much against my will I am fain to express a willingness to Ashwell that she should go from us, and yet in my mind I am glad of it, to ease me of the charge. So she is to go to her father this day. And leaving my wife and her talking highly, I went away by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to St. James's, and there attended of course the Duke. And so to White Hall, where I met Mr. Moore, and he tells me with great sorrow of my lord's being debauched he fears by this woman at Chelsey, which I am troubled at, and resolve to speak to him of it if I can seasonably. Thence home, where I dined, and after dinner comes our old mayde Susan to look for a gorgett that she says she has lost by leaving it here, and by many circumstances it being clear to me that Hannah, our present cook-mayde, not only has it, but had it on upon her necke when Susan came in, and shifted it off presently upon her coming in, I did charge her so home with it (having a mind to have her gone from us), that in a huff she told us she would be gone to-night if I would pay her her wages, which I was glad and my wife of, and so fetched her her wages, and though I am doubtful that she may convey some things away with her clothes, my wife searching them, yet we are glad of her being so gone, and so she went away in a quarter of an hour's time. Being much amused at this to have never a maid but Ashwell, that we do not intend to keep, nor a boy, and my wife and I being left for an hour, till my brother came in, alone in the house, I grew very melancholy, and so my brother being come in I went forth to Mrs. Holden's, to whom I formerly spoke about a girle to come to me instead of a boy, and the like I did to Mrs. Standing and also to my brother Tom, whom I found at an alehouse in Popinjay ally drinking, and I standing with him at the gate of the ally, Ashwell came by, and so I left Tom and went almost home with her, talking of her going away. I find that she is willing to go, and told her (though behind my back my wife has told her that it was more my desire than hers that she should go, which was not well), that seeing my wife and she could not agree I did choose rather (was she my sister) have her gone, it would be better for us and for her too. To which she willing agreed, and will not tell me anything but that she do believe that my wife would have some body there that might not be so liable to give me information of things as she takes her to be. But, however, I must later to prevent all that. I parted with her near home, agreeing to take no notice of my coming along with her, and so by and by came home after her. Where I find a sad distracted house, which troubles me. However, to supper and prayers and to bed. And while we were getting to bed my wife began to discourse to her, and plainly asked whether she had got a place or no. And the other answered that she could go if we would to one of our own office, to which we agreed if she would. She thereupon said no; she would not go to any but where she might teach children, because of keeping herself in use of what things she had earnt, which she do not here nor will there, but only dressing. By which I perceive the wench is cunning, but one very fit for such a place, and accomplished to be woman to any lady in the land. So quietly to sleep, it being a cold night. But till my house is settled, I do not see that I can mind my business of the office, which grieves me to the heart. But I hope all will over in a little time, and I hope to the best. This day at Mrs. Holden's I found my new low crowned beaver according to the present fashion made, and will be sent home to-morrow. 18th. Up and to my office, where we sat all the morning. And at noon home, and my father came and dined with me, Susan being come and helped my wife to dress dinner. After dinner my father and I talked about our country-matters, and in fine I find that he thinks L50 per ann. will go near to keep them all, which I am glad of. He having taken his leave of me and my wife without any mention of the differences between them and my wife in the country, I went forth to several places about businesses, and so home again, and after prayers to bed. 19th. Up betimes, and my wife up and about the house, Susan beginning to have her drunken tricks, and put us in mind of her old faults and folly and distractednesse, which we had forgot, so that I became mightily troubled with her. This morning came my joyners to new lay the floors, and begun with the dining room. I out and see my viall again, and it is very well, and to Mr. Hollyard, and took some pills of him and a note under his hand to drink wine with my beere, without which I was obliged, by my private vowe, to drink none a good while, and have strictly observed it, and by my drinking of small beere and not eating, I am so mightily troubled with wind, that I know not what to do almost. Thence to White Hall, and there met Mr. Moore, and fell a-talking about my Lord's folly at Chelsey, and it was our discourse by water to London and to the great coffee house against the Exchange, where we sat a good while talking; and I find that my lord is wholly given up to this wench, who it seems has been reputed a common strumpett. I have little encouragement from Mr. Moore to meddle with it to tell my Lord, for fear it may do him no good, but me hurt. Thence homewards, taking leave of him, and met Tom Marsh, my old acquaintance at Westminster, who talks mightily of the honour of his place, being Clerke Assistant to the Clerke of the House of Commons, and I take him to be a coxcombe, and so did give him half a pint of wine, but drink none myself, and so got shut of him. So home, and there found my wife almost mad with Susan's tricks, so as she is forced to let her go and leave the house all in dirt and the clothes all wet, and gets Goody Taylour to do the business for her till another comes. Here came Will Howe, and he and I alone in my chamber talking of my Lord, who drives me out of love to my Lord to tell my Lord of the matter we discoursed of, which tend so much to the ruin of his state, and so I resolved to take a good heart and do whatever comes of it. He gone, we sat down and eat a bit of dinner fetched from the cooke's, and so up again and to my joyners, who will make my floors very handsome. By and by comes in Pembleton, which begun to make me sweat, but I did give him so little countenance, and declared at one word against dancing any more, and bid him a short (God be with you) myself, and so he took as short a leave of my wife and so went away, and I think without any time of receiving any great satisfaction from my wife or invitation to come again. To my office till it was dark doing business, and so home by candle light to make up my accounts for my Lord and Mr. Moore. By and by comes Mr. Moore to me, and staid a good while with me making up his accounts and mine, and we did not come to any end therein for want of his papers, and so put it off to another time. He supped with me in all my dirt and disorder, and so went away and we to bed. I discoursed with him a great while about my speaking to my Lord of his business, and I apprehend from him that it is likely to prove perhaps of bad effect to me and no good to him, and therefore I shall even let it alone and let God do his will, at least till my Lord is in the country, and then we shall see whether he resolves to come to Chelsey again or no, and so order the stopping of him therein if we can. 20th. Up betimes and to my office (having first been angry with my brother John, and in the heat of my sudden passion called him Asse and coxcomb, for which I am sorry, it being but for leaving the key of his chamber with a spring lock within side of his door), and there we sat all the morning, and at noon dined at home, and there found a little girl, which she told my wife her name was Jinny, by which name we shall call her. I think a good likely girl, and a parish child of St. Bride's, of honest parentage, and recommended by the churchwarden. After dinner among my joyners laying my floors, which please me well, and so to my office, and we sat this afternoon upon an extraordinary business of victualling. In the evening came Commissioner Pett, who fell foule on mee for my carriage to him at Chatham, wherein, after protestation of my love and good meaning to him, he was quiet; but I doubt he will not be able to do the service there that any other man of his ability would. Home in the evening my viall (and lute new strung being brought home too), and I would have paid Mr. Hunt for it, but he did not come along with it himself, which I expected and was angry for it, so much is it against my nature to owe anything to any body. This evening the girle that was brought to me to-day for so good a one, being cleansed of lice this day by my wife, and good, new clothes put on her back, she run away from Goody Taylour that was shewing her the way to the bakehouse, and we heard no more of her. So to supper and to bed. 21st. Up betimes and among my joyners, and to my office, where the joyners are also laying mouldings in the inside of my closet. Then abroad and by water to White Hall, and there got Sir G. Carteret to sign me my last quarter's bills for my wages, and meeting with Mr. Creed he told me how my Lord Teviott hath received another attaque from Guyland at Tangier with 10,000 men, and at last, as is said, is come, after a personal treaty with him, to a good understanding and peace with him. Thence to my brother's, and there told him how my girl has served us which he sent me, and directed him to get my clothes again, and get the girl whipped. So to other places by the way about small businesses, and so home, and after looking over all my workmen, I went by water and land to Deptford, and there found by appointment Sir W. Batten, but he was got to Mr. Waith's to dinner, where I dined with him, a good dinner and good discourse, and his wife, I believe, a good woman. We fell in discourse of Captain Cocke, and how his lady has lost all her fine linen almost, but besides that they say she gives out she had L3000 worth of linen, which we all laugh at, and Sir W. Batten (who I perceive is not so fond of the Captain as he used to be, and less of her, from her slight receiving of him and his lady it seems once) told me how he should say that he see he must spend L700 per ann. get it how he could, which was a high speech, and by all men's discover, his estate not good enough to spend so much. After dinner altered our design to go to Woolwich, and put it off to to-morrow morning, and so went all to Greenwich (Mrs. Waith excepted, who went thither, but not to the same house with us, but to her father's, that lives there), to the musique-house, where we had paltry musique, till the master organist came, whom by discourse I afterwards knew, having employed him for my Lord Sandwich, to prick out something (his name Arundell), and he did give me a fine voluntary or two, and so home by water, and at home I find my girl that run away brought by a bedel of St. Bride's Parish, and stripped her and sent her away, and a newe one come, of Griffin's helping to, which I think will prove a pretty girl. Her name, Susan, and so to supper after having this evening paid Mr. Hunt L3 for my viall (besides the carving which I paid this day 10s. for to the carver), and he tells me that I may, without flattery, say, I have as good a Theorbo viall and viallin as is in England. So to bed. 22nd. Up by four o'clock to go with Sir W. Batten to Woolwich and Sir J. Minnes, which we did, though not before 6 or 7 by their laying a-bed. Our business was to survey the new wharf building there, in order to the giving more to him that do it (Mr. Randall) than contracted for, but I see no reason for it, though it be well done, yet no better than contracted to be. Here we eat and drank at the Clerke of the Cheques, and in taking water at the Tower gate, we drank a cup of strong water, which I did out of pure conscience to my health, and I think is not excepted by my oaths, but it is a thing I shall not do again, hoping to have no such occasion. After breakfast Mr. Castle and I walked to Greenwich, and in our way met some gypsys, who would needs tell me my fortune, and I suffered one of them, who told me many things common as others do, but bade me beware of a John and a Thomas, for they did seek to do me hurt, and that somebody should be with me this day se'nnight to borrow money of me, but I should lend him none. She got ninepence of me. And so I left them and to Greenwich and so to Deptford, where the two knights were come, and thence home by water, where I find my closet done at my office to my mind and work gone well on at home; and Ashwell gone abroad to her father, my wife having spoken plainly to her. After dinner to my office, getting my closet made clean and setting some papers in order, and so in the evening home and to bed. This day Sir W. Batten tells me that Mr. Newburne (of whom the nickname came up among us forarse Tom Newburne) is dead of eating cowcumbers, of which, the other day, I heard another, I think Sir Nicholas Crisp's son. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and to church without my wife, she being all dirty, as my house is. God forgive me, I looked about to see if I could spy Pembleton, but I could not, which did please me not a little. Home to dinner, and then to walk up and down in my house with my wife, discoursing of our family matters, and I hope, after all my troubles of mind and jealousy, we shall live happily still. To church again, and so home to my wife; and with her read "Iter Boreale," a poem, made just at the King's coming home; but I never read it before, and now like it pretty well, but not so as it was cried up. So to supper. No pleasure or discourse with Ashwell, with whom for her neglect and unconcernment to do any thing in this time of dirt and trouble in the house, but gadding abroad as she has been all this afternoon, I know not whither. After supper to prayers and to bed, having been, by a sudden letter coming to me from Mr. Coventry, been with Sir W. Pen, to discourse with him about sending 500 soldiers into Ireland. I doubt matters do not go very right there. 24th. Up very early, and my joyners came to work. I to Mr. Moore; from him came back home again, and drew up an account to my Lord, and that being done met him at my Lord Sandwich's, where I was a good while alone with my Lord; and I perceive he confides in me and loves me as he uses to do, and tells me his condition, which is now very well all I fear is that he will not live within compass, for I am told this morning of strange dotages of his upon the slut at Chelsea, even in the presence of his daughter, my Lady Jem, and Mrs. Ferrets, who took notice of it. There come to him this morning his prints of the river Tagus and the City of Lisbon, which he measured with his own hand, and printed by command of the King. My Lord pleases himself with it, but methinks it ought to have been better done than by jobing. Besides I put him upon having some took off upon white sattin, which he ordered presently. I offered my Lord my accounts, and did give him up his old bond for L500 and took a new one of him for L700, which I am by lending him more money to make up: and I am glad of it. My Lord would have had me dine with him, but I had a mind to go home to my workmen, and so took a kind good bye of him, and so with Creed to St. James's, and, missing Mr. Coventry, walked to the New Exchange, and there drank some whey, and so I by water home, and found my closett at my office made very clean and neat to my mind mightily, and home to dinner, and then to my office to brush my books, and put them and my papers in order again, and all the afternoon till late at night doing business there, and so home to supper, and then to work in my chamber, making matters of this day's accounts clear in my books, they being a little extraordinary, and so being very late I put myself to bed, the rest being long ago gone. 25th. Up very early and removed the things out of my chamber into the dining room, it being to be new floored this day. So the workmen being come and falling to work there, I to the office, and thence down to Lymehouse to Phin. Pett's about masts, and so back to the office, where we sat; and being rose, and Mr. Coventry being gone, taking his leave, for that he is to go to the Bath with the Duke to-morrow, I to the 'Change and there spoke with several persons, and lastly with Sir W. Warren, and with him to a Coffee House, and there sat two hours talking of office business and Mr. Wood's knavery, which I verily believe, and lastly he tells me that he hears that Captain Cocke is like to become a principal officer, either a Controller or a Surveyor, at which I am not sorry so either of the other may be gone, and I think it probable enough that it may be so. So home at 2 o'clock, and there I found Ashwell gone, and her wages come to 50s., and my wife, by a mistake from me, did give her 20s. more; but I am glad that she is gone and the charge saved. After dinner among my joyners, and with them till dark night, and this night they made an end of all; and so having paid them 40s. for their six days' work, I am glad they have ended and are gone, for I am weary and my wife too of this dirt. My wife growing peevish at night, being weary, and I a little vexed to see that she do not retain things in her memory that belong to the house as she ought and I myself do, I went out in a little seeming discontent to the office, and after being there a while, home to supper and to bed. To-morrow they say the King and the Duke set out for the Bath. This noon going to the Exchange, I met a fine fellow with trumpets before him in Leadenhall-street, and upon enquiry I find that he is the clerk of the City Market; and three or four men carried each of them an arrow of a pound weight in their hands. It seems this Lord Mayor begins again an old custome, that upon the three first days of Bartholomew Fayre, the first, there is a match of wrestling, which was done, and the Lord Mayor there and Aldermen in Moorefields yesterday: to-day, shooting: and to-morrow, hunting. And this officer of course is to perform this ceremony of riding through the city, I think to proclaim or challenge any to shoot. It seems that the people of the fayre cry out upon it as a great hindrance to them. 26th. Up, and after doing something in order to the putting of my house in order now the joynery is done, I went by water to White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and horses, the King and Court going this day out towards the Bath, and I to St. James's, where I spent an hour or more talking of many things to my great content with Mr. Coventry in his chamber, he being ready to set forth too with the Duke to-day, and so left him, and I meeting Mr. Gauden, with him to our offices and in Sir W. Pen's chamber did discourse by a meeting on purpose with Mr. Waith about the victualling business and came to some issue in it. So home to dinner, and Mr. Moore came and dined with me, and after dinner I paid him some money which evened all reckonings between him and me to this day, and for my Lord also I paid him some money, so that now my Lord owes me, for which I have his bond, just L700. After long discourse with him of the fitness of his giving me a receipt for this money, which I for my security think necessary and he otherwise do not think so, at last, after being a little angry, and I resolving not to let go my money without it, he did give me one. Thence I took him, and he and I took a pleasant walk to Deptford and back again, I doing much business there. He went home and I home also, indoors to supper, being very glad to see my house begin to look like itself again, hoping after this is over not to be in any dirt a great while again, but it is very handsome, and will be more when the floors come to be of one colour. So weary to bed. Pleased this day to see Captain Hickes come to me with a list of all the officers of Deptford Yard, wherein he, being a high old Cavalier, do give me an account of every one of them to their reproach in all respects, and discovers many of their knaverys; and tells me, and so I thank God I hear every where, that my name is up for a good husband for the King, and a good man, for which I bless God; and that he did this by particular direction of Mr. Coventry. 27th. Up, after much pleasant talke with my wife and a little that vexes me, for I see that she is confirmed in it that all that I do is by design, and that my very keeping of the house in dirt, and the doing of this and any thing else in the house, is but to find her employment to keep her within and from minding of her pleasure, in which, though I am sorry to see she minds it, is true enough in a great degree. To my office, and there we sat and despatched much business. Home and dined with my wife well, and then up and made clean my closet of books, and had my chamber a third time made very clean, so that it is now in a very fine condition. Thence down to see some good plank in the river with Sir W. Batten and back again, it being a very cold day and a cold wind. Home again, and after seeing Sir W. Pen, to my office, and there till late doing of business, being mightily encouraged by every body that I meet withal upon the 'Change and every where else, that I am taken notice of for a man that do the King's business wholly and well. For which the Lord be praised, for I know no honour I desire more. Home to supper, where I find my house very clean from top to bottom again to my great content. I found a feacho (as he calls it) of fine sugar and a case of orange-flower water come from Mr. Cocke, of Lisbon, the fruits of my last year's service to him, which I did in great justice to the man, a perfect stranger. He sends it me desiring that I would not let Sir J. Minnes know it, from whom he expected to have found the service done that he had from me, from whom he could expect nothing, and the other failed him, and would have done I am sure to this day had not I brought it to some end. After supper to bed. 28th. At the office betimes (it being cold all night and this morning, and a very great frost they say abroad, which is much, having had no summer at all almost), where we sat, and in the afternoon also about settling the establishment of the number of men borne on ships, &c., till the evening, and after that in my closet till late, and quite tired with business, home to supper and to bed. 29th. Abroad with my wife by water to Westminster, and there left her at my Lord's lodgings, and I to Jervas the barber's, and there was trimmed, and did deliver back a periwigg, which he brought by my desire the other day to show me, having some thoughts, though no great desire or resolution yet to wear one, and so I put it off for a while. Thence to my wife, and calling at both the Exchanges, buying stockings for her and myself, and also at Leadenhall, where she and I, it being candlelight, bought meat for to-morrow, having never a mayde to do it, and I myself bought, while my wife was gone to another shop, a leg of beef, a good one, for six pense, and my wife says is worth my money. So walked home with a woman carrying our things. I am mightily displeased at a letter Tom sent me last night, to borrow L20 more of me, and yet gives me no account, as I have long desired, how matters stand with him in the world. I am troubled also to see how, contrary to my expectation, my brother John neither is the scholler nor minds his studies as I thought would have done, but loiters away his time, so that I must send him soon to Cambridge again. 31st. Up and to my office all the morning, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes did pay the short allowance money to the East India companies, and by the assistance of the City Marshall and his men, did lay hold of two or three of the chief of the companies that were in the mutiny the other day, and sent them to prison. This noon came Jane Gentleman to serve my wife as her chamber mayde. I wish she may prove well. So ends this month, with my mind pretty well in quiett, and in good disposition of health since my drinking at home of a little wine with my beer; but no where else do I drink any wine at all. The King and Queen and the Court at the Bath, my Lord Sandwich in the country newly gone. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And so to bed and there entertained her with great content Apprehend about one hundred Quakers Being cleansed of lice this day by my wife Conceited, but that's no matter to me Fear it may do him no good, but me hurt Fearful that I might not go far enough with my hat off He having made good promises, though I fear his performance My wife has got too great head to be brought down soon So much is it against my nature to owe anything to any body Sporting in my fancy with the Queen Things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away Towzing her and doing what I would, but the last thing of all. . . . 
4143	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER & OCTOBER 1663 Sept. 1st. Up pretty betimes, and after a little at my viall to my office, where we sat all the morning, and I got my bill among others for my carved work (which I expected to have paid for myself) signed at the table, and hope to get the money back again, though if the rest had not got it paid by the King, I never intended nor did desire to have him pay for my vanity. In the evening my brother John coming to me to complain that my wife seems to be discontented at his being here, and shows him great disrespect; so I took and walked with him in the garden, and discoursed long with him about my affairs, and how imprudent it is for my father and mother and him to take exceptions without great cause at my wife, considering how much it concerns them to keep her their friend and for my peace; not that I would ever be led by her to forget or desert them in the main, but yet she deserves to be pleased and complied with a little, considering the manner of life that I keep her to, and how convenient it were for me to have Brampton for her to be sent to when I have a mind or occasion to go abroad to Portsmouth or elsewhere. So directed him how to behave himself to her, and gave him other counsel; and so to my office, where late. 2nd. Up betimes and to my office, and thence with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, where met us Sir W. Batten, and there staid by the Council Chamber till the Lords called us in, being appointed four days ago to attend them with an account of the riott among the seamen the other day, when Sir J. Minnes did as like a coxcomb as ever I saw any man speak in my life, and so we were dismissed, they making nothing almost of the matter. We staid long without, till by and by my Lord Mayor comes, who also was commanded to be there, and he having, we not being within with him, an admonition from the Lords to take better care of preserving the peace, we joyned with him, and the Lords having commanded Sir J. Minnes to prosecute the fellows for the riott, we rode along with my Lord Mayor in his coach to the Sessions House in the Old Bayley, where the Sessions are now sitting. Here I heard two or three ordinary tryalls, among others one (which, they say, is very common now-a-days, and therefore in my now taking of mayds I resolve to look to have some body to answer for them) a woman that went and was indicted by four names for entering herself a cookemayde to a gentleman that prosecuted her there, and after 3 days run away with a silver tankard, a porringer of silver, and a couple of spoons, and being now found is found guilty, and likely will be hanged. By and by up to dinner with my Lord Mayor and the Aldermen, and a very great dinner and most excellent venison, but it almost made me sick by not daring to drink wine. After dinner into a withdrawing room; and there we talked, among other things, of the Lord Mayor's sword. They tell me this sword, they believe, is at least a hundred or two hundred years old; and another that he hath, which is called the Black Sword, which the Lord Mayor wears when he mournes, but properly is their Lenten sword to wear upon Good Friday and other Lent days, is older than that. Thence I, leaving Sir J. Minnes to look after his indictment drawing up, I home by water, and there found my wife mightily pleased with a present of shells, fine shells given her by Captain Hickes, and so she and I up and look them over, and indeed they are very pleasant ones. By and by in comes Mr. Lewellin, lately come from Ireland, to see me, and he tells me how the English interest falls mightily there, the Irish party being too great, so that most of the old rebells are found innocent, and their lands, which were forfeited and bought or given to the English, are restored to them; which gives great discontent there among the English. He being gone, I to my office, where late, putting things in order, and so home to supper and to bed. Going through the City, my Lord Mayor told me how the piller set up by Exeter House is only to show where the pipes of water run to the City; and observed that this City is as well watered as any city in the world, and that the bringing the water to the City hath cost it first and last above L300,000; but by the new building, and the building of St. James's by my Lord St. Albans, [It was at this time that the Earl of St. Albans planned St. James's Square, which was first styled "The Piazza." The "Warrant for a grant to Baptist May and Abraham Cowley on nomination of the Earl of St. Albans of several parcels of ground in Pall Mall described, on rental of L80, for building thereon a square of 13 or 14 great and good houses," was dated September 24th, 1664.] which is now about (and which the City stomach I perceive highly, but dare not oppose it), were it now to be done, it would not be done for a million of money. 3rd. Up betimes, and for an hour at my viall before my people rise. Then up and to the office a while, and then to Sir W. Batten, who is going this day for pleasure down to the Downes. I eat a breakfast with them, and at my Lady's desire with them by coach to Greenwich, where I went aboard with them on the Charlotte yacht. The wind very fresh, and I believe they will be all sicke enough, besides that she is mighty troublesome on the water. Methinks she makes over much of her husband's ward, young Mr. Griffin, as if she expected some service from him when he comes to it, being a pretty young boy. I left them under sayle, and I to Deptford, and, after a word or two with Sir J. Minnes, walked to Redriffe and so home. In my way, it coming into my head, overtaking of a beggar or two on the way that looked like Gypsys, what the Gypsys 8 or 9 days ago had foretold, that somebody that day se'nnight should be with me to borrow money, but I should lend none; and looking, when I came to my office, upon my journall, that my brother John had brought a letter that day from my brother Tom to borrow L20 more of me, which had vexed me so that I had sent the letter to my father into the country, to acquaint him of it, and how little he is beforehand that he is still forced to borrow. But it pleased me mightily to see how, contrary to my expectations, having so lately lent him L20, and belief that he had money by him to spare, and that after some days not thinking of it, I should look back and find what the Gypsy had told me to be so true. After dinner at home to my office, and there till late doing business, being very well pleased with Mr. Cutler's coming to me about some business, and among other things tells me that they value me as a man of business, which he accounts the best virtuoso, and I know his thinking me so, and speaking where he comes, may be of good use to me. Home to supper, and to bed. 4th. Up betimes, and an hour at my viall, and then abroad by water to White Hall and Westminster Hall, and there bought the first newes-books of L'Estrange's writing; [Roger L'Estrange, a voluminous writer of pamphlets and periodical papers, and translator of classics, &c. Born 1616. He was Licenser of the Press to Charles II. and James II.; and M.P. for Winchester in James II.'s parliament. L'Estrange was knighted in the reign of James II., and died 1704. In 1663 L'Estrange set up a paper called "The Public Intelligencer," which came out on August 31st, and continued to be published twice a week till January 19th, 1665, when it was superseded by the scheme of publishing the "London Gazette," the first number of which appeared on February 4th following.] he beginning this week; and makes, methinks, but a simple beginning. Then to speak to Mrs. Lane, who seems desirous to have me come to see her and to have her company as I had a little while ago, which methinks if she were very modest, considering how I tumbled her and tost her, she should not. Thence to Mrs. Harper, and sent for Creed, and there Mrs. Harper sent for a maid for me to come to live with my wife. I like the maid's looks well enough, and I believe may do well, she looking very modestly and speaking so too. I directed her to speak with my wife, and so Creed and I away to Mr. Povy's, and he not being at home, walked to Lincoln's Inn walks, which they are making very fine, and about one o'clock went back to Povy's; and by and by in comes he, and so we sat and down to dinner, and his lady, whom I never saw before (a handsome old woman that brought him money that makes him do as he does), and so we had plenty of meat and drink, though I drunk no wine, though mightily urged to it, and in the exact manner that I never saw in my life any where, and he the most full and satisfied in it that man can be in this world with any thing. After dinner done, to see his new cellars, which he has made so fine with so noble an arch and such contrivances for his barrels and bottles, and in a room next to it such a grotto and fountayne, which in summer will be so pleasant as nothing in the world can be almost. But to see how he himself do pride himself too much in it, and command and expect to have all admiration, though indeed everything do highly deserve it, is a little troublesome. Thence Creed and I away, and by his importunity away by coach to Bartholomew Fayre, where I have no mind to go without my wife, and therefore rode through the fayre without 'lighting, and away home, leaving him there; and at home made my wife get herself presently ready, and so carried her by coach to the fayre, and showed her the monkeys dancing on the ropes, which was strange, but such dirty sport that I was not pleased with it. There was also a horse with hoofs like rams hornes, a goose with four feet, and a cock with three. Thence to another place, and saw some German Clocke works, the Salutation of the Virgin Mary, and several Scriptural stories; but above all there was at last represented the sea, with Neptune, Venus, mermaids, and Ayrid on a dolphin, the sea rocking, so well done, that had it been in a gaudy manner and place, and at a little distance, it had been admirable. Thence home by coach with my wife, and I awhile to the office, and so to supper and to bed. This day I read a Proclamation for calling in and commanding every body to apprehend my Lord Bristoll. 5th. Up betimes and to my viall awhile, and so to the office, and there sat, and busy all the morning. So at noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I met Creed, who dined with me, and after dinner mightily importuned by Captain Hicks, who came to tell my wife the names and story of all the shells, which was a pretty present he made her the other day. He being gone, Creed, my wife, and I to Cornhill, and after many tryalls bought my wife a chintz, that is, a painted Indian callico, for to line her new study, which is very pretty. So home with her, and then I away (Creed being gone) to Captain Minors upon Tower Hill, and there, abating only some impertinence of his, I did inform myself well in things relating to the East Indys; both of the country and the disappointment the King met with the last voyage, by the knavery of the Portugall Viceroy, and the inconsiderablenesse of the place of Bombaim, [Bombay, which was transferred to the East India Company in 1669. The seat of the Western Presidency of India was removed from Surat to Bombay in 1685-87.] if we had had it. But, above all things, it seems strange to me that matters should not be understood before they went out; and also that such a thing as this, which was expected to be one of the best parts of the Queen's portion, should not be better understood; it being, if we had it, but a poor place, and not really so as was described to our King in the draught of it, but a poor little island; whereas they made the King and Lord Chancellor, and other learned men about the King, believe that that, and other islands which are near it, were all one piece; and so the draught was drawn and presented to the King, and believed by the King and expected to prove so when our men came thither; but it is quite otherwise. Thence to my office, and after several letters writ, home to supper and to bed, and took a pill. I hear this day that Sir W. Batten was fain to put ashore at Queenborough with my Lady, who has been so sick she swears never to go to sea again. But it happens well that Holmes is come home into the Downes, where he will meet my Lady, and it may be do her more good than she looked for. He brings news of the peace between Tangier and the Moors, but the particulars I know not. He is come but yesterday. 6th (Lord's day). My pill I took last night worked very well, and I lay long in bed and sweat to get away the itching all about my body from head to foot, which is beginning again as it did the last winter, and I find after I am up that it is abated. I staid at home all day and my wife also, whom, God forgive me, I staid along with me for fear of her seeing of Pembleton. But she and I entertained one another all day long with great pleasure, contriving about my wife's closet and the bedchamber, whither we intend to go up she and I to-day. We dined alone and supped also at night, my brother John with us, and so to prayers and to bed. 7th. Up pretty betimes, and awhile to my vyall, and then abroad to several places, to buy things for the furnishing my house and my wife's closet, and then met my uncle Thomas, by appointment, and he and I to the Prerogative Office in Paternoster Row, and there searched and found my uncle Day's will, end read it over and advised upon it, and his wife's after him, and though my aunt Perkins testimony is very good, yet I fear the estate being great, and the rest that are able to inform us in the matter are all possessed of more or less of the estate, it will be hard for us ever to do anything, nor will I adventure anything till I see what part will be given to us by my uncle Thomas of all that is gained. But I had another end of putting my uncle into some doubt, that so I might keep him: yet from going into the country that he may be there against the Court at his own charge, and so I left him and his son at a loss what to do till I see them again. And so I to my Lord Crew's, thinking to have dined there, but it was too late, and so back and called at my brother's and Mr. Holden's about several businesses, and went all alone to the Black Spread Eagle in Bride Lane, and there had a chopp of veale and some bread, cheese, and beer, cost me a shilling to my dinner, and so through Fleet Ally, God forgive me, out of an itch to look upon the sluts there, against which when I saw them my stomach turned, and so to Bartholomew Fayre, where I met with Mr. Pickering, and he and I to see the monkeys at the Dutch house, which is far beyond the other that my wife and I saw the other day; and thence to see the dancing on the ropes, which was very poor and tedious. But he and I fell in discourse about my Lord Sandwich. He tells me how he is sorry for my Lord at his being at Chelsey, and that his but seeming so to my Lord without speaking one word, had put him clear out of my Lord's favour, so as that he was fain to leave him before he went into the country, for that he was put to eat with his servants; but I could not fish from him, though I knew it, what was the matter; but am very sorry to see that my Lord hath thus much forgot his honour, but am resolved not to meddle with it. The play being done, I stole from him and hied home, buying several things at the ironmonger's--dogs, tongs, and shovels--for my wife's closett and the rest of my house, and so home, and thence to my office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. By my letters from Tangier today I hear that it grows very strong by land, and the Mole goes on. They have lately killed two hundred of the Moores, and lost about forty or fifty. I am mightily afeard of laying out too much money in goods upon my house, but it is not money flung away, though I reckon nothing money but when it is in the bank, till I have a good sum beforehand in the world. 8th. Up and to my viall a while, and then to my office on Phillips having brought me a draught of the Katherine yacht, prettily well done for the common way of doing it. At the office all the morning making up our last half year's account to my Lord Treasurer, which comes to L160,000 or there abouts, the proper expense of this half year, only with an addition of L13,000 for the third due of the last account to the Treasurer for his disbursements, and L1100 for this half year's; so that in three years and a half his thirds come to L14,100. Dined at home with my wife. It being washing day, we had a good pie baked of a leg of mutton; and then to my office, and then abroad, and among other places to Moxon's, and there bought a payre of globes cost me L3 10s., with which I am well pleased, I buying them principally for my wife, who has a mind to understand them, and I shall take pleasure to teach her. But here I saw his great window in his dining room, where there is the two Terrestrial Hemispheres, so painted as I never saw in my life, and nobly done and to good purpose, done by his own hand. Thence home to my office, and there at business late, and then to supper home and to bed, my people sitting up longer than ordinary before they had done their washing. 9th. Up by break of day, and then to my vials a while, and so to Sir W. Warren's by agreement, and after talking and eating something with him, he and I down by water to Woolwich, and there I did several businesses, and had good discourse, and thence walked to Greenwich; in my way a little boy overtook us with a fine cupp turned out of Lignum Vitae, which the poor child confessed was made in the King's yard by his father, a turner there, and that he do often do it, and that I might have one, and God knows what, which I shall examine. Thence to Sir W. Warren's again, and there drew up a contract for masts which he is to sell us, and so home to dinner, finding my poor wife busy. I, after dinner, to the office, and then to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret's, but did not speak with him, and so to Westminster Hall, God forgive me, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, but she was not there, but here I met with Ned Pickering, with whom I walked 3 or 4 hours till evening, he telling me the whole business of my Lord's folly with this Mrs. Becke, at Chelsey, of all which I am ashamed to see my Lord so grossly play the beast and fool, to the flinging off of all honour, friends, servants, and every thing and person that is good, and only will have his private lust undisturbed with this common . . . . his sitting up night after night alone, suffering nobody to come to them, and all the day too, casting off Pickering, basely reproaching him with his small estate, which yet is a good one, and other poor courses to obtain privacy beneath his honour, and with his carrying her abroad and playing on his lute under her window, and forty other poor sordid things, which I am grieved to hear; but believe it to no purpose for me to meddle with it, but let him go on till God Almighty and his own conscience and thoughts of his lady and family do it. So after long discourse, to my full satisfaction but great trouble, I home by water and at my office late, and so to supper to my poor wife, and so to bed, being troubled to think that I shall be forced to go to Brampton the next Court, next week. 10th. Up betimes and to my office, and there sat all the morning making a great contract with Sir W. Warren for L3,000 worth of masts; but, good God! to see what a man might do, were I a knave, the whole business from beginning to end being done by me out of the office, and signed to by them upon the once reading of it to them, without the least care or consultation either of quality, price, number, or need of them, only in general that it was good to have a store. But I hope my pains was such, as the King has the best bargain of masts has been bought these 27 years in this office. Dined at home and then to my office again, many people about business with me, and then stepped a little abroad about business to the Wardrobe, but missed Mr. Moore, and elswhere, and in my way met Mr. Moore, who tells me of the good peace that is made at Tangier with the Moores, but to continue but from six months to six months, and that the Mole is laid out, and likely to be done with great ease and successe, we to have a quantity of ground for our cattle about the town to our use. To my office late, and then home to supper, after writing letters, and to bed. This day our cook maid (we having no luck in maids now-adays), which was likely to prove a good servant, though none of the best cooks, fell sick and is gone to her friends, having been with us but 4 days. 11th. This morning, about two or three o'clock, knocked up in our back yard, and rising to the window, being moonshine, I found it was the constable and his watch, who had found our back yard door open, and so came in to see what the matter was. So I desired them to shut the door, and bid them good night, and so to bed again, and at 6 o'clock up and a while to my vyall, and then to the office, where all the morning upon the victualler's accounts, and then with him to dinner at the Dolphin, where I eat well but drank no wine neither; which keeps me in such good order that I am mightily pleased with myself for it. Hither Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I home and advised about business, and so after an hour's examining the state of the Navy debts lately cast up, I took coach to Sir Philip Warwick's, but finding Sir G. Carteret there I did not go in, but directly home, again, it raining hard, having first of all been with Creed and Mrs. Harper about a cook maid, and am like to have one from Creed's lodging. In my way home visited my Lord Crew and Sir Thomas, thinking they might have enquired by the by of me touching my Lord's matters at Chelsey, but they said nothing, and so after some slight common talk I bid them good night. At home to my office, and after a while doing business home to supper and bed. 12th. Up betimes, and by water to White Hall; and thence to Sir Philip Warwick, and there had half an hour's private discourse with him; and did give him some good satisfaction in our Navy matters, and he also me, as to the money paid and due to the Navy; so as he makes me assured by particulars, that Sir G. Carteret is paid within L80,000 every farthing that we to this day, nay to Michaelmas day next have demanded; and that, I am sure, is above L50,000 snore than truly our expenses have been, whatever is become of the money. Home with great content that I have thus begun an acquaintance with him, who is a great man, and a man of as much business as any man in England; which I will endeavour to deserve and keep. Thence by water to my office, in here all the morning, and so to the 'Change at noon, and there by appointment met and bring home my uncle Thomas, who resolves to go with me to Brampton on Monday next. I wish he may hold his mind. I do not tell him, and yet he believes that there is a Court to be that he is to do some business for us there. The truth is I do find him a much more cunning fellow than I ever took him for, nay in his very drink he has his wits about him. I took him home to dinner, and after dinner he began, after a glass of wine or two, to exclaim against Sir G. Carteret and his family in Jersey, bidding me to have a care of him, and how high, proud, false, and politique a fellow he is, and how low he has been under his command in the island. After dinner, and long discourse, he went away to meet on Monday morning, and I to my office, and thence by water to White Hall and Westminster Hall about several businesses, and so home, and to my office writing a laborious letter about our last account to my Lord Treasurer, which took me to one o'clock in the morning, 13th (Lord's day). So that Griffin was fain to carry it to Westminster to go by express, and my other letters of import to my father and elsewhere could not go at all. To bed between one and two and slept till 8, and lay talking till 9 with great pleasure with my wife. So up and put my clothes in order against tomorrow's journey, and then at noon at dinner, and all the afternoon almost playing and discoursing with my wife with great content, and then to my office there to put papers in order against my going. And by and by comes my uncle Wight to bid us to dinner to-morrow to a haunch of venison I sent them yesterday, given me by Mr. Povy, but I cannot go, but my wife will. Then into the garden to read my weekly vows, and then home, where at supper saying to my wife, in ordinary fondness, "Well! shall you and I never travel together again?" she took me up and offered and desired to go along with me. I thinking by that means to have her safe from harm's way at home here, was willing enough to feign, and after some difficulties made did send about for a horse and other things, and so I think she will go. So, in a hurry getting myself and her things ready, to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and my wife's mind and mine holding for her going, so she to get her ready, and I abroad to do the like for myself, and so home, and after setting every thing at my office and at home in order, by coach to Bishop's Gate, it being a very promising fair day. There at the Dolphin we met my uncle Thomas and his son-in-law, which seems a very sober man, and Mr. Moore. So Mr. Moore and my wife set out before, and my uncle and I staid for his son Thomas, who, by a sudden resolution, is preparing to go with us, which makes me fear something of mischief which they design to do us. He staying a great while, the old man and I before, and about eight miles off, his son comes after us, and about six miles further we overtake Mr. Moore and my wife, which makes me mightily consider what a great deal of ground is lost in a little time, when it is to be got up again by another, that is to go his own ground and the other's too; and so after a little bayte (I paying all the reckonings the whole journey) at Ware, to Buntingford, where my wife, by drinking some cold beer, being hot herself, presently after 'lighting, begins to be sick, and became so pale, and I alone with her in a great chamber there, that I thought she would have died, and so in great horror, and having a great tryall of my true love and passion for her, called the mayds and mistresse of the house, and so with some strong water, and after a little vomit, she came to be pretty well again; and so to bed, and I having put her to bed with great content, I called in my company, and supped in the chamber by her, and being very merry in talk, supped and then parted, and I to bed and lay very well. This day my cozen Thomas dropped his hanger, and it was lost. 15th. Up pretty betimes and rode as far as Godmanehester, Mr. Moore having two falls, once in water and another in dirt, and there 'light and eat and drunk, being all of us very weary, but especially my uncle and wife. Thence to Brampton to my father's, and there found all well, but not sensible how they ought to treat my uncle and his son, at least till the Court be over, which vexed me, but on my counsel they carried it fair to them; and so my father, cozen Thomas, and I up to Hinchingbroke, where I find my Lord and his company gone to Boughton, which vexed me; but there I find my Lady and the young ladies, and there I alone with my Lady two hours, she carrying me through every part of the house and gardens, which are, and will be, mighty noble indeed. Here I saw Mrs. Betty Pickering, who is a very well-bred and comely lady, but very fat. Thence, without so much as drinking, home with my father and cozen, who staid for me, and to a good supper; after I had had an hour's talk with my father abroad in the fields, wherein he begun to talk very highly of my promises to him of giving him the profits of Sturtlow, as if it were nothing that I give him out of my purse, and that he would have me to give this also from myself to my brothers and sister; I mean Brampton and all, I think: I confess I was angry to hear him talk in that manner, and took him up roundly in it, and advised him if he could not live upon L50 per ann., which was another part of his discourse, that he would think to come and live at Tom's again, where L50 per ann. will be a good addition to Tom's trade, and I think that must be done when all is done. But my father spoke nothing more of it all the time I was in the country, though at the time he seemed to like it well enough. I also spoke with Piggott too this evening before I went in to supper, and doubt that I shall meet with some knots in my business to-morrow before I can do it at the Court, but I shall do my best. After supper my uncle and his son to Stankes's to bed, which troubles me, all our father's beds being lent to Hinchingbroke, and so my wife and I to bed, she very weary. 16th. Up betimes, and with my wife to Hinchingbroke to see my Lady, she being to go to my Lord this morning, and there I left her, and so back to the Court, and heard Sir R. Bernard's charges to the Courts Baron and Leete, which took up till noon, and were worth hearing, and after putting my business into some way, went home to my father's to dinner, and after dinner to the Court, where Sir Robert and his son came again by and by, and then to our business, and my father and I having given bond to him for the L21 Piggott owed him, my uncle Thomas did quietly admit himself and surrender to us the lands first mortgaged for our whole debt, and Sir Robert added to it what makes it up L209, to be paid in six months. But when I came to give him an account of more lands to be surrendered to us, wherein Piggott's wife was concerned, and she there to give her consent, Sir Robert would not hear of it, but began to talk very high that we were very cruel, and we had caution enough for our money, and he could not in conscience let the woman do it, and reproached my uncle, both he and his son, with taking use upon use for this money. To all which I did give him such answers and spoke so well, and kept him so to it, that all the Court was silent to hear us, and by report since do confess they did never hear the like in the place. But he by a wile had got our bond, and I was content to have as much as I could though I could not get all, and so took Piggott's surrender of them without his wife, and by Sir Robert's own consent did tell the Court that if the money were not paid in the time, and the security prove not sufficient, I would conclude myself wronged by Sir Robert, which he granted I should do. This kept us till night, but am heartily glad it ended so well on my uncle's part, he doing that and Prior's little house very willingly. So the Court broke up, and my father and Mr. Shepley and I to Gorrum's to drink, and then I left them, and to the Bull, where my uncle was to .hear what he and the people said of our business, and here nothing but what liked me very well. So by and by home and to supper, and with my mind in pretty good quiett, to bed. 17th. Up, and my father being gone to bed ill last night and continuing so this morning, I was forced to come to a new consideration, whether it was fit for to let my uncle and his son go to Wisbeach about my uncle Day's estate alone or no, and concluded it unfit; and so resolved to go with them myself, leaving my wife there, I begun a journey with them, and with much ado, through the fens, along dikes, where sometimes we were ready to have our horses sink to the belly, we got by night, with great deal of stir and hard riding, to Parson's Drove, a heathen place, where I found my uncle and aunt Perkins, and their daughters, poor wretches! in a sad, poor thatched cottage, like a poor barn, or stable, peeling of hemp, in which I did give myself good content to see their manner of preparing of hemp; and in a poor condition of habitt took them to our miserable inn, and there, after long stay, and hearing of Frank, their son, the miller, play, upon his treble, as he calls it, with which he earns part of his living, and singing of a country bawdy song, we sat down to supper; the whole crew, and Frank's wife and child, a sad company, of which I was ashamed, supped with us. And after supper I, talking with my aunt about her report concerning my uncle Day's will and surrender, I found her in such different reports from what she writes and says to the people, and short of what I expected, that I fear little will be done of good in it. By and by newes is brought to us that one of our horses is stole out of the stable, which proves my uncle's, at which I am inwardly glad--I mean, that it was not mine; and at this we were at a great loss; and they doubting a person that lay at next door, a Londoner, some lawyer's clerk, we caused him to be secured in his bed, and other care to be taken to seize the horse; and so about twelve at night or more, to bed in a sad, cold, nasty chamber, only the mayde was indifferent handsome, and so I had a kiss or two of her, and I to bed, and a little after I was asleep they waked me to tell me that the horse was found, which was good newes, and so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly, and nobody else of our company, which I wonder at, by the gnatts. 18th. Up, and got our people together as soon as we could; and after eating a dish of cold cream, which was my supper last night too, we took leave of our beggarly company, though they seem good people, too; and over most sad Fenns, all the way observing the sad life which the people of the place which if they be born there, they do call the Breedlings' of the place, do live, sometimes rowing from one spot to another, and then wadeing, to Wisbeach, a pretty town, and a fine church and library, where sundry very old abbey manuscripts; and a fine house, built on the church ground by Secretary Thurlow, and a fine gallery built for him in the church, but now all in the Bishop of Ely's hands. After visiting the church, &c., we went out of the towne, by the help of a stranger, to find out one Blinkhorne, a miller, of whom we might inquire something of old Day's disposal of his estate, and in whose hands it now is; and by great chance we met him, and brought him to our inn to dinner; and instead of being informed in his estate by this fellow, we find that he is the next heir to the estate, which was matter, of great sport to my cozen Thomas and me, to see such a fellow prevent us in our hopes, he being Day's brother's, daughter's son, whereas we are but his sister's sons and grandsons; so that, after all, we were fain to propose our matter to him, and to get him to give us leave to look after the business, and so he to have one-third part, and we two to have the other two-third parts, of what should be recovered of the estate, which he consented to; and after some discourse and paying the reckoning, we mounted again, and rode, being very merry at our defeat, to Chatteris, my uncle very weary, and after supper, and my telling of three stories, to their good liking, of spirits, we all three in a chamber went to bed. 19th. Up pretty betimes, and after eating something, we set out and I (being willing thereto) went by a mistake with them to St. Ives, and there, it being known that it was their nearer way to London, I took leave of them there, they going straight to London and I to Brampton, where I find my father ill in bed still, and Madam Norbery (whom and her fair daughter and sister I was ashamed to kiss, but did, my lip being sore with riding in the wind and bit with the gnatts), lately come to town, come to see my father and mother, and they after a little stay being gone, I told my father my success. And after dinner my wife and I took horse, and rode with marvellous, and the first and only hour of, pleasure, that ever I had in this estate since I had to do with it, to Brampton woods; and through the wood rode, and gathered nuts in my way, and then at Graffam to an old woman's house to drink, where my wife used to go; and being in all circumstances highly pleased, and in my wife's riding and good company at this time, I rode, and she showed me the river behind my father's house, which is very pleasant, and so saw her home, and I straight to Huntingdon, and there met Mr. Shepley and to the Crown (having sent home my horse by Stankes), and there a barber came and trimmed me, and thence walked to Hinchingbroke, where my Lord and ladies all are just alighted. And so I in among them, and my Lord glad to see me, and the whole company. Here I staid and supped with them, and after a good stay talking, but yet observing my Lord not to be so mightily ingulphed in his pleasure in the country as I expected and hoped, I took leave of them, and after a walk in the courtyard in the dark with Mr. Howe, who tells me that my Lord do not enjoy himself and please himself as he used to do, but will hasten up to London, and that he is resolved to go to Chelsey again, which we are heartily grieved for and studious how to prevent if it be possible, I took horse, there being one appointed for me, and a groom to attend me, and so home, where my wife: staid up and sister for me, and so to bed, troubled for what I hear of my Lord. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and finding my father somewhat better, walked to Huntingdon church, where in my Lord's pew, with the young ladies, by my Lord's own showing me the place, I stayed the sermon, and so to Hinchingbroke, walking with Mr. Shepley and Dr. King, whom they account a witty man here, as well as a good physician, and there my Lord took me with the rest of the company, and singly demanded my opinion in the walks in his garden, about the bringing of the crooked wall on the mount to a shape; and so to dinner, there being Collonel Williams and much other company, and a noble dinner. But having before got my Lord's warrant for travelling to-day, there being a proclamation read yesterday against it at Huntingdon, at which I am very glad, I took leave, leaving them at dinner, and walked alone to my father's, and there, after a word or two to my father and mother, my wife and I mounted, and, with my father's boy, upon a horse I borrowed of Captain Ferrers, we rode to Bigglesworth by the help of a couple of countrymen, that led us through the very long and dangerous waters, because of the ditches on each side, though it begun to be very dark, and there we had a good breast of mutton roasted for us, and supped, and to bed. 21st. Up very betimes by break of day, and got my wife up, whom the thought of this day's long journey do discourage; and after eating something, and changing of a piece of gold to pay the reckoning, we mounted, and through Baldwicke, where a fayre is kept to-day, and a great one for cheese and other such commodities, and so to Hatfield, it being most curious weather from the time we set out to our getting home, and here we dined, and my wife being very weary, and believing that it would be hard to get her home to-night, and a great charge to keep her longer abroad, I took the opportunity of an empty coach that was to go to London, and left her to come in it to London, for half-a-crown, and so I and the boy home as fast as we could drive, and it was even night before we got home. So that I account it very good fortune that we took this course, being myself very weary, much more would my wife have been. At home found all very well and my house in good order. To see Sir W. Pen, who is pretty well, and Sir J. Minnes, who is a little lame on one foot, and the rest gone to Chatham, viz.: Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, who has in my absence inveighed against my contract the other day for Warren's masts, in which he is a knave, and I shall find matter of tryumph, but it vexes me a little. So home, and by and by comes my wife by coach well home, and having got a good fowl ready for supper against her coming, we eat heartily, and so with great content and ease to our own bed, there nothing appearing so to our content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile. 22nd. I up, well refreshed after my journey, and to my office and there set some things in order, and then Sir W. Pen and I met and held an office, and at noon to dinner, and so by water with my wife to Westminster, she to see her father and mother, and we met again at my Lord's lodgings, and thence by water home again, where at the door we met Sir W. Pen and his daughter coming to visit us, and after their visit I to my office, and after some discourse to my great satisfaction with Sir W. Warren about our bargain of masts, I wrote my letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. This day my wife showed me bills printed, wherein her father, with Sir John Collidon and Sir Edward Ford, have got a patent for curing of smoky chimneys. [The Patent numbered 138 is printed in the appendix to Wheatley's "Samuel Pepys and the World he lived in" (p. 241). It is drawn in favour of John Colladon, Doctor in Physicke, and of Alexander Marchant, of St. Michall, and describes "a way to prevent and cure the smoakeing of Chimneys, either by stopping the tunnell towards the top, and altering the former course of the smoake, or by setting tunnells with checke within the chimneyes." Sir Edward Ford's name does not appear in the patent.] I wish they may do good thereof, but fear it will prove but a poor project. This day the King and Queen are to come to Oxford. I hear my Lady Castlemaine is for certain gone to Oxford to meet him, having lain within here at home this week or two, supposed to have miscarried; but for certain is as great in favour as heretofore; [According to Collins, Henry Fitzroy, Lady Castlemaine's second son by Charles II., was born on September 20th, 1663. He was the first Duke of Grafton.--B.] at least Mrs. Sarah at my Lord's, who hears all from their own family, do say so. Every day brings newes of the Turke's advance into Germany, to the awakeing of all the Christian Princes thereabouts, and possessing himself of Hungary. My present care is fitting my wife's closett and my house, and making her a velvet coate, and me a new black cloth suit, and coate and cloake, and evening my reckoning as well as I can against Michaelmas Day, hoping for all that to have my balance as great or greater than ever I had yet. 23rd. Up betimes and to my office, where setting down my journall while I was in the country to this day, and at noon by water to my Lord Crew's, and there dined with him and Sir Thomas, thinking to have them inquire something about my Lord's lodgings at Chelsey, or any thing of that sort, but they did not, nor seem to take the least notice of it, which is their discretion, though it might be better for my Lord and them too if they did, that so we might advise together for the best, which cannot be while we seem ignorant one to another, and it is not fit for me to begin the discourse. Thence walked to several places about business and to Westminster Hall, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, which is my great vanity upon me at present, but I must correct it. She was not in the way. So by water home and to my office, whither by and by came my brother John, who is to go to Cambridge to-morrow, and I did give him a most severe reprimand for his bad account he gives me of his studies. This I did with great passion and sharp words, which I was sorry to be forced to say, but that I think it for his good, forswearing doing anything for him, and that which I have yet, and now do give him, is against my heart, and will also be hereafter, till I do see him give me a better account of his studies. I was sorry to see him give me no answer, but, for aught I see, to hear me without great resentment, and such as I should have had: in his condition. But I have done my duty, let him do his, for I am resolved to be as good as my word. After two hours walking in the garden, till after it was dark, I ended with him and to my office, and there set some papers in order, and so to supper, and my poor wife, who is mighty busy at home; fitting her closet. So to bed. 24th. Up betimes, and after taking leave of my brother, John, who went from me to my father's this day, I went forth by water to Sir Philip Warwick's, where I was with him a pretty while; and in discourse he tells me, and made it; appear to me, that the King cannot be in debt to the Navy at this time L5,000; and it is my opinion that Sir G. Carteret do owe the King money, and yet the whole Navy debt paid. Thence I parted, being doubtful of myself that I have not, spoke with the gravity and weight that I ought to do in so great a business. But I rather hope it is my doubtfulness of myself, and the haste which he was in, some very great personages waiting for him without, while he was with me, that made him willing to be gone. To the office by water, where we sat doing little, now Mr. Coventry is not here, but only vex myself to see what a sort of coxcombs we are when he is not here to undertake such a business as we do. In the afternoon telling my wife that I go to Deptford, I went, by water to Westminster Hall, and there finding Mrs. Lane, took her over to Lambeth, where we were lately, and there, did what I would with her, but only the main thing, which she; would not consent to, for which God be praised . . . . . But, trust in the Lord, I shall never do so again while I live. After being tired with her company I landed her at White; Hall, and so home and at my office writing letters till 12 at night almost, and then home to supper and bed, and there found my poor wife hard at work, which grieved my heart to see that I should abuse so good a wretch, and that is just with God to make her bad with me for my wrongin of her, but I do resolve never to do the like again. So to bed. 25th. Lay pretty long in bed, and so to my office all the morning till by and by called out by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, with them by water to Deptford, where it of a sudden did lighten, thunder, and rain so as we could do nothing but stay in Davis's house, and by and by Sir J. Minnes and I home again by water, and I home to dinner, and after dinner to the office, and there till night all alone, even of my clerks being there, doing of business, and so home and to bed. 26th. Up and to my office, and there we sat till noon, and then I to the Exchange, but did little there, but meeting Mr. Rawlinson he would needs have me home to dinner, and Mr. Deane of Woolwich being with me I took him with me, and there we dined very well at his own dinner, only no invitation, but here I sat with little pleasure, considering my wife at home alone, and so I made what haste home I could, and was forced to sit down again at dinner with her, being unwilling to neglect her by being known to dine abroad. My doing so being only to keep Deane from dining at home with me, being doubtful what I have to eat. So to the office, and there till late at night, and so home to supper and bed, being mightily pleased to find my wife so mindful of her house. 27th (Lord's day). Lay chatting with my wife a good while, then up and got me ready and to church, without my man William, whom I have not seen to-day, nor care, but would be glad to have him put himself far enough out of my favour that he may not wonder to have me put him away. So home to dinner, being a little troubled to see Pembleton out again, but I do not discern in my wife the least memory of him. Dined, and so to my office a little, and then to church again, where a drowsy sermon, and so home to spend the evening with my poor wife, consulting about her closett, clothes, and other things. At night to supper, though with little comfort, I finding myself both head and breast in great pain, and what troubles me most my right ear is almost deaf. It is a cold, which God Almighty in justice did give me while I sat lewdly sporting with Mrs. Lane the other day with the broken window in my neck. I went to bed with a posset, being very melancholy in consideration of the loss of my hearing. 28th. Up, though with pain in my head, stomach, and ear, and that deaf so as in my way by coach to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes I called at Mr. Holliard's, who did give me some pills, and tells me I shall have my hearing again and be well. So to White Hall, where Sir J. Minnes and I did spend an hour in the Gallery, looking upon the pictures, in which he hath some judgment. And by and by the Commissioners for Tangier met: and there my Lord Teviott, together with Captain Cuttance, Captain Evans, and Jonas Moore, sent to that purpose, did bring us a brave draught of the Mole to be built there; and report that it is likely to be the most considerable place the King of England hath in the world; and so I am apt to think it will. After discourse of this, and of supplying the garrison with some more horse, we rose; and Sir J. Minnes and I home again, finding the street about our house full, Sir R. Ford beginning his shrievalty to-day and, what with his and our houses being new painted, the street begins to look a great deal better than it did, and more gracefull. Home and eat one bit of meat, and then by water with him and Sir W. Batten to a sale of old provisions at Deptford, which we did at Captain Boddily's house, to the value of L600 or L700, but I am not satisfied with the method used in this thing. Then home again by water, and after a little at my office, and visit Sir W. Pen, who is not very well again, with his late pain, home to supper, being hungry, and my ear and cold not so bad I think as it was. So to bed, taking one of my pills. Newes that the King comes to town for certain on Thursday next from his progresse. 29th. Took two pills more in the morning and they worked all day, and I kept the house. About noon dined, and then to carry several heavy things with my wife up and down stairs, in order to our going to lie above, and Will to come down to the Wardrobe, and that put me into a violent sweat, so I had a fire made, and then, being dry again, she and I to put up some paper pictures in the red chamber, where we go to lie very pretty, and the map of Paris. Then in the evening, towards night, it fell to thunder, lighten, and rain so violently that my house was all afloat, and I in all the rain up to the gutters, and there dabbled in the rain and wet half an hour, enough to have killed a man. That done downstairs to dry myself again, and by and by come Mr. Sympson to set up my wife's chimney-piece in her closett, which pleases me, and so that being done, I to supper and to bed, shifting myself from top to toe, and doubtful of my doing myself hurt. 30th. Rose very well, and my hearing pretty well again, and so to my office, by and by Mr. Holliard come, and at my house he searched my ear, and I hope all will be well, though I do not yet hear so well as I used to do with my right ear. So to my office till noon, and then home to dinner, and in the afternoon by water to White Hall, to the Tangier Committee; where my Lord Tiviott about his accounts; which grieves me to see that his accounts being to be examined by us, there are none of the great men at the Board that in compliment will except against any thing in his accounts, and so none of the little persons dare do it: so the King is abused. Thence home again by water with Sir W. Rider, and so to my office, and there I sat late making up my month's accounts, and, blessed be God, do find myself L760 creditor, notwithstanding that for clothes for myself and wife, and layings out on her closett, I have spent this month L47. So home, where I found our new cooke-mayde Elizabeth, whom my wife never saw at all, nor I but once at a distance before, but recommended well by Mr. Creed, and I hope will prove well. So to supper, prayers, and bed. This evening Mr. Coventry is come to St. James's, but I did not go see him, and tomorrow the King, Queen, Duke and his Lady, and the whole Court comes to towne from their progresse. Myself and family well, only my father sicke in the country. All the common talke for newes is the Turke's advance in Hungary, &c. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1663 October 1st. Up and betimes to my office, and then to sit, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Coventry and myself, a fuller board than by the King's progresse and the late pays and my absence has been a great while. Sat late, and then home to dinner. After dinner I by water to Deptford about a little business, and so back again, buying a couple of good eeles by the way, and after writing by the post, home to see the painter at work, late, in my wife's closet, and so to supper and to bed, having been very merry with the painter, late, while he was doing his work. This day the King and Court returned from their progress. 2nd. Up betimes and by water to St. James's, and there visited Mr. Coventry as a compliment after his new coming to town, but had no great talk with him, he being full of business. So back by foot through London, doing several errands, and at the 'Change met with Mr. Cutler, and he and I to a coffee-house, and there discoursed, and he do assure me that there is great likelyhood of a war with Holland, but I hope we shall be in good condition before it comes to break out. I like his company, and will make much of his acquaintance. So home to dinner with my wife, who is over head and eares in getting her house up, and so to the office, and with Mr. Lewes, late, upon some of the old victuallers' accounts, and so home to supper and to bed, up to our red chamber, where we purpose always to lie. This day I received a letter from Mr. Barlow, with a Terella, [Professor Silvanus P. Thompson, F.R.S., has kindly supplied me with the following interesting note on the terrella (or terella): The name given by Dr. William Gilbert, author of the famous treatise, "De Magnete" (Lond. 1600), to a spherical loadstone, on account of its acting as a model, magnetically, of the earth; compass-needles pointing to its poles, as mariners' compasses do to the poles of the earth. The term was adopted by other writers who followed Gilbert, as the following passage from Wm. Barlowe's "Magneticall Advertisements" (Lond. 1616) shows: "Wherefore the round Loadstone is significantly termed by Doct. Gilbert Terrella, that is, a little, or rather a very little Earth: For it representeth in an exceeding small model (as it were) the admirable properties magneticall of the huge Globe of the earth" (op. cit, p. 55). Gilbert set great store by his invention of the terrella, since it led him to propound the true theory of the mariners' compass. In his portrait of himself which he had painted for the University of Oxford he was represented as holding in his hand a globe inscribed terella. In the Galileo Museum in Florence there is a terrella twenty-seven inches in diameter, of loadstone from Elba, constructed for Cosmo de' Medici. A smaller one contrived by Sir Christopher Wren was long preserved in the museum of the Royal Society (Grew's "Rarities belonging to the Royal Society," p. 364). Evelyn was shown "a pretty terrella described with all ye circles and skewing all y magnetic deviations" (Diary, July 3rd, 1655).] which I had hoped he had sent me, but to my trouble I find it is to present from him to my Lord Sandwich, but I will make a little use of it first, and then give it him. 3rd. Up, being well pleased with my new lodging and the convenience of having our mayds and none else about us, Will lying below. So to the office, and there we sat full of business all the morning. At noon I home to dinner, and then abroad to buy a bell to hang by our chamber door to call the mayds. Then to the office, and met Mr. Blackburne, who came to know the reason of his kinsman (my Will) his being observed by his friends of late to droop much. I told him my great displeasure against him and the reasons of it, to his great trouble yet satisfaction, for my care over him, and how every thing I said was for the good of the fellow, and he will take time to examine the fellow about all, and to desire my pleasure concerning him, which I told him was either that he should became a better servant or that we would not have him under my roof to be a trouble. He tells me in a few days he will come to me again and we shall agree what to do therein. I home and told my wife all, and am troubled to see that my servants and others should be the greatest trouble I have in the world, more than for myself. We then to set up our bell with a smith very well, and then I late at the office. So home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up and to church, my house being miserably overflooded with rayne last night, which makes me almost mad. At home to dinner with my wife, and so to talk, and to church again, and so home, and all the evening most pleasantly passed the time in good discourse of our fortune and family till supper, and so to bed, in some pain below, through cold got. 5th. Up with pain, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to the Temple, and then I to my brother's, and up and down on business, and so to the New Exchange, and there met Creed, and he and I walked two or three hours, talking of many businesses, especially about Tangier, and my Lord Tiviot's bringing in of high accounts, and yet if they were higher are like to pass without exception, and then of my Lord Sandwich sending a messenger to know whether the King intends to come to Newmarket, as is talked, that he may be ready to entertain him at Hinchingbroke. Thence home and dined, and my wife all day putting up her hangings in her closett, which she do very prettily herself with her own hand, to my great content. So I to the office till night, about several businesses, and then went and sat an hour or two with Sir W. Pen, talking very largely of Sir J. Minnes's simplicity and unsteadiness, and of Sir W. Batten's suspicious dealings, wherein I was open, and he sufficiently, so that I do not care for his telling of tales, for he said as much, but whether that were so or no I said nothing but what is my certain knowledge and belief concerning him. Thence home to bed in great pain. 6th. Slept pretty well, and my wife waked to ring the bell to call up our mayds to the washing about 4 o'clock, and I was and she angry that our bell did not wake them sooner, but I will get a bigger bell. So we to sleep again till 8 o'clock, and then I up in some ease to the office, where we had a full board, where we examined Cocke's second account, when Mr. Turner had drawn a bill directly to be paid the balance thereof, as Mr. Cocke demanded, and Sir J. Minnes did boldly assert the truth of it, and that he had examined it, when there is no such thing, but many vouchers, upon examination, missing, and we saw reason to strike off several of his demands, and to bring down his 5 per cent. commission to 3 per cent. So we shall save the King some money, which both the Comptroller and his clerke had absolutely given away. There was also two occasions more of difference at the table; the one being to make out a bill to Captain Smith for his salary abroad as commander-in-chief in the Streights. Sir J. Minnes did demand an increase of salary for his being Vice-Admiral in the Downes, he having received but 40s. without an increase, when Sir J. Lawson, in the same voyage, had L3, and others have also had increase, only he, because he was an officer of the board, was worse used than any body else, and particularly told Sir W. Batten that he was the opposer formerly of his having an increase, which I did wonder to hear him so boldly lay it to him. So we hushed up the dispute, and offered, if he would, to examine precedents, and report them, if there was any thing to his advantage to be found, to the Duke. The next was, Mr. Chr. Pett and Deane were summoned to give an account of some knees ["Naturally grown timber or bars of iron bent to a right angle or to fit the surfaces and to secure bodies firmly together as hanging knees secure the deck beams to the sides."--Smyth's Sailor's Word- Book. There are several kinds of knees.] which Pett reported bad, that were to be served in by Sir W. Warren, we having contracted that none should be served but such as were to be approved of by our officers. So that if they were bad they were to be blamed for receiving them. Thence we fell to talk of Warren's other goods, which Pett had said were generally bad, and falling to this contract again, I did say it was the most cautious and as good a contract as had been made here, and the only [one] that had been in such terms. Sir J. Minnes told me angrily that Winter's timber, bought for 33s. per load, was as good and in the same terms. I told him that it was not so, but that he and Sir W. Batten were both abused, and I would prove it was as dear a bargain as had been made this half year, which occasioned high words between them and me, but I am able to prove it and will. That also was so ended, and so to other business. At noon Lewellin coming to me I took him and Deane, and there met my uncle Thomas, and we dined together, but was vexed that, it being washing-day, we had no meat dressed, but sent to the Cook's, and my people had so little witt to send in our meat from abroad in that Cook's dishes, which were marked with the name of the Cook upon them, by which, if they observed anything, they might know it was not my own dinner. After dinner we broke up, and I by coach, setting down Luellin in Cheapside. So to White Hall, where at the Committee of Tangier, but, Lord! how I was troubled to see my Lord Tiviott's accounts of L10,000 paid in that manner, and wish 1000 times I had not been there. Thence rose with Sir G. Carteret and to his lodgings, and there discoursed of our frays at the table to-day, and particularly of that of the contract, and the contract of masts the other day, declaring my fair dealing, and so needing not any man's good report of it, or word for it, and that I would make it so appear to him, if he desired it, which he did, and I will do it. Thence home by water in great pain, and at my office a while, and thence a little to Sir W. Pen, and so home to bed, and finding myself beginning to be troubled with wind as I used to be, and in pain in making water, I took a couple of pills that I had by me of Mr. Hollyard's. 7th. They wrought in the morning, and I did keep my bed, and my pain continued on me mightily that I kept within all day in great pain, and could break no wind nor have any stool after my physic had done working. So in the evening I took coach and to Mr. Holliard's, but he was not at home, and so home again, and whether the coach did me good or no I know not . . . . So to bed and lay in good ease all night, and . . . . pretty well to the morning . . . . . [Pepys's prescription for the colic: "Balsom of Sulphur, 3 or 4 drops in a spoonfull of Syrrup of Colts foote, not eating or drinking two hours before or after. "The making of this Balsom: "2/3ds of fine Oyle, and 1/3d of fine Brimstone, sett 13 or 14 houres upon yt fire, simpring till a thicke Stufte lyes at ye Bottome, and ye Balsom at ye topp. Take this off &c. "Sir Rob. Parkhurst for ye Collique."--M. B.] 8th. So, keeping myself warm, to the office, and at noon home to dinner, my pain coming again by breaking no wind nor having any stool. So to Mr. Holliard, and by his direction, he assuring me that it is nothing of the stone, but only my constitution being costive, and that, and cold from without, breeding and keeping the wind, I took some powder that he did give me in white wine, and sat late up, till past eleven at night, with my wife in my chamber till it had done working, which was so weakly that I could hardly tell whether it did work or no. My mayds being at this time in great dirt towards getting of all my house clean, and weary and having a great deal of work to do therein to-morrow and next day, were gone to bed before my wife and I, who also do lie in our room more like beasts than Christians, but that is only in order to having of the house shortly in a cleaner, or rather very clean condition. Some ease I had so long as this did keep my body loose, and I slept well. 9th. And did keep my bed most of this morning, my body I find being still bound and little wind, and so my pain returned again, though not so bad, but keeping my body with warm clothes very hot I made shift to endure it, and at noon sent word to Mr. Hollyard of my condition, that I could neither have a natural stool nor break wind, and by that means still in pain and frequent offering to make water. So he sent me two bottles of drink and some syrup, one bottle to take now and the other to-morrow morning. So in the evening, after Commissioner Pett, who came to visit me, and was going to Chatham, but methinks do talk to me in quite another manner, doubtfully and shyly, and like a stranger, to what he did heretofore. After I saw he was gone I did drink one of them, but it was a most loathsome draught, and did keep myself warm after it, and had that afternoon still a stool or two, but in no plenty, nor any wind almost carried away, and so to bed. In no great pain, but do not think myself likely to be well till I have a freedom of stool and wind. Most of this day and afternoon my wife and I did spend together in setting things now up and in order in her closet, which indeed is, and will be, when I can get her some more things to put in it, a very pleasant place, and is at present very pretty, and such as she, I hope, will find great content in. So to bed. 10th. Up, and not in any good ease yet, but had pain in making water, and some course. I see I must take besides keeping myself warm to make myself break wind and go freely to stool before I can be well, neither of which I can do yet, though I have drank the other bottle of Mr. Hollyard's against my stomach this morning. I did, however, make shift to go to the office, where we sat, and there Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten did advise me to take some juniper water, and Sir W. Batten sent to his Lady for some for me, strong water made of juniper. Whether that or anything else of my draught this morning did it I cannot tell, but I had a couple of stools forced after it . . . . but whether I shall grow better upon it I cannot tell. Dined at home at noon, my wife and house in the dirtiest pickle that ever she and it was in almost, but in order, I hope, this night to be very clean. To the office all the afternoon upon victualling business, and late at it, so after I wrote by the post to my father, I home. This evening Mr. Hollyard sends me an electuary to take (a walnut quantity of it) going to bed, which I did. 'Tis true I slept well, and rose in a little ease in the morning. 11th (Lord's day). And was mightily pleased to see my house clean and in good condition, but something coming into my wife's head, and mine, to be done more about bringing the green bed into our chamber, which is handsomer than the red one, though not of the colour of our hangings, my wife forebore to make herself clean to-day, but continued in a sluttish condition till to-morrow. I after the old passe, all the day within doors, . . . . the effect of my electuary last night, and the greatest of my pain I find to come by my straining . . . . For all this I eat with a very good stomach, and as much as I use to do, and so I did this noon, and staid at home discoursing and doing things in my chamber, altering chairs in my chamber, and set them above in the red room, they being Turkey work, and so put their green covers upon those that were above, not so handsome. At night fell to reading in the Church History of Fuller's, and particularly Cranmer's letter to Queen Elizabeth, which pleases me mightily for his zeal, obedience, and boldness in a cause of religion. After supper to bed as I use to be, in pain . . . . . 12th. Up (though slept well) and made some water in the morning [as] I used to do, and a little pain returned to me, and some fears, but being forced to go to the Duke at St. James's, I took coach and in my way called upon Mr. Hollyard and had his advice to take a glyster. At St. James's we attended the Duke all of us. And there, after my discourse, Mr. Coventry of his own accord begun to tell the Duke how he found that discourse abroad did run to his prejudice about the fees that he took, and how he sold places and other things; wherein he desired to appeal to his Highness, whether he did any thing more than what his predecessors did, and appealed to us all. So Sir G. Carteret did answer that some fees were heretofore taken, but what he knows not; only that selling of places never was nor ought to be countenanced. So Mr. Coventry very hotly answered to Sir G. Carteret, and appealed to himself whether he was not one of the first that put him upon looking after this taking of fees, and that he told him that Mr. Smith should say that he made L5000 the first year, and he believed he made L7000. This Sir G. Carteret denied, and said, that if he did say so he told a lie, for he could not, nor did know, that ever he did make that profit of his place; but that he believes he might say L2500 the first year. Mr. Coventry instanced in another thing, particularly wherein Sir G. Carteret did advise with him about the selling of the Auditor's place of the stores, when in the beginning there was an intention of creating such an office. This he confessed, but with some lessening of the tale Mr. Coventry told, it being only for a respect to my Lord Fitz-Harding. In fine, Mr. Coventry did put into the Duke's hand a list of above 250 places that he did give without receiving one farthing, so much as his ordinary fees for them, upon his life and oath; and that since the Duke's establishment of fees he had never received one token more of any man; and that in his whole life he never conditioned or discoursed of any consideration from any commanders since he came to the Navy. And afterwards, my Lord Barkeley merrily discoursing that he wished his profit greater than it was, and that he did believe that he had got L50,000 since he came in, Mr. Coventry did openly declare that his Lordship, or any of us, should have not only all he had got, but all that he had in the world (and yet he did not come a beggar into the Navy, nor would yet be thought to speak in any contempt of his Royall Highness's bounty), and should have a year to consider of it too, for L25,000. The Duke's answer was, that he wished we all had made more profit than he had of our places, and that we had all of us got as much as one man below stayres in the Court, which he presently named, and it was Sir George Lane! This being ended, and the list left in the Duke's hand, we parted, and I with Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten by coach to the Exchange, and there a while, and so home, and whether it be the jogging, or by having my mind more employed (which I believe is a great matter) I know not, but . . . . I begin to be suddenly well, at least better than I was. So home and to dinner, and thence by coach to the Old Exchange, and there cheapened some laces for my wife, and then to Mr.-----the great laceman in Cheapside, and bought one cost me L4. more by 20s. than I intended, but when I came to see them I was resolved to buy one worth wearing with credit, and so to the New Exchange, and there put it to making, and so to my Lord's lodgings and left my wife, and so I to the Committee of Tangier, and then late home with my wife again by coach, beginning to be very well, and yet when I came home . . . . the little straining which I thought was no strain at all at the present did by and by bring me some pain for a good while. Anon, about 8 o'clock, my wife did give me a clyster which Mr. Hollyard directed, viz., a pint of strong ale, 4 oz. of sugar, and 2 oz. of butter. It lay while I lay upon the bed above an hour, if not two, and then thinking it quite lost I rose, and by and by it began with my walking to work, and gave me three or four most excellent stools and carried away wind, put me in excellent ease, and taking my usual walnut quantity of electuary at my going into bed I had about two stools in the night . . . . . 13th. And so rose in the morning in perfect good ease . . . . continued all the morning well, and in the afternoon had a natural easily and dry stoole, the first I have had these five days or six, for which God be praised, and so am likely to continue well, observing for the time to come when any of this pain comes again (1) To begin to keep myself as warm as I can. (2) Strain as little as ever I can backwards, remembering that my pain will come by and by, though in the very straining I do not feel it. (3) Either by physic forward or by clyster backward or both ways to get an easy and plentiful going to stool and breaking of wind. (4) To begin to suspect my health immediately when I begin to become costive and bound, and by all means to keep my body loose, and that to obtain presently after I find myself going the contrary. This morning at the office, and at noon with Creed to the Exchange, where much business, but, Lord! how my heart, though I know not reason for it, began to doubt myself, after I saw Stint, Field's one-eyed solicitor, though I know not any thing that they are doing, or that they endeavour any thing further against us in the business till the terme. Home, and Creed with me to dinner, and after dinner John Cole, my old friend, came to see and speak with me about a friend. I find him ingenious, but more and more discern his city pedantry; but however, I will endeavour to have his company now and then, for that he knows much of the temper of the City, and is able to acquaint therein as much as most young men, being of large acquaintance, and himself, I think, somewhat unsatisfied with the present state of things at Court and in the Church. Then to the office, and there busy till late, and so home to my wife, with some ease and pleasure that I hope to be able to follow my business again, which by God's leave I am resolved to return to with more and more eagerness. I find at Court, that either the King is doubtfull of some disturbance, or else would seem so (and I have reason to hope it is no worse), by his commanding all commanders of castles, &c., to repair to their charges; and mustering the Guards the other day himself, where he found reason to dislike their condition to my Lord Gerard, finding so many absent men, or dead pays. [This is probably an allusion to the practice of not reporting the deaths of soldiers, that the officers might continue to draw their pay.--B.] My Lady Castlemaine, I hear, is in as great favour as ever, and the King supped with her the very first night he came from Bath: and last night and the night before supped with her; when there being a chine of beef to roast, and the tide rising into their kitchen that it could not be roasted there, and the cook telling her of it, she answered, "Zounds! she must set the house on fire but it should be roasted!" So it was carried to Mrs. Sarah's husband's, and there it was roasted. So home to supper and to bed, being mightily pleased with all my house and my red chamber, where my wife and I intend constantly to lie, and the having of our dressing room and mayds close by us without any interfering or trouble. 14th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and part of it Sir J. Minnes spent, as he do every thing else, like a fool, reading the Anatomy of the body to me, but so sillily as to the making of me understand any thing that I was weary of him, and so I toward the 'Change and met with Mr. Grant, and he and I to the Coffee-house, where I understand by him that Sir W. Petty and his vessel are coming, and the King intends to go to Portsmouth to meet it. Thence home and after dinner my wife and I, by Mr. Rawlinson's conduct, to the Jewish Synagogue: where the men and boys in their vayles, and the women behind a lattice out of sight; and some things stand up, which I believe is their Law, in a press to which all coming in do bow; and at the putting on their vayles do say something, to which others that hear him do cry Amen, and the party do kiss his vayle. Their service all in a singing way, and in Hebrew. And anon their Laws that they take out of the press are carried by several men, four or five several burthens in all, and they do relieve one another; and whether it is that every one desires to have the carrying of it, I cannot tell, thus they carried it round about the room while such a service is singing. And in the end they had a prayer for the King, which they pronounced his name in Portugall; but the prayer, like the rest, in Hebrew. But, Lord! to see the disorder, laughing, sporting, and no attention, but confusion in all their service, more like brutes than people knowing the true God, would make a man forswear ever seeing them more and indeed I never did see so much, or could have imagined there had been any religion in the whole world so absurdly performed as this. Away thence with my mind strongly disturbed with them, by coach and set down my wife in Westminster Hall, and I to White Hall, and there the Tangier Committee met, but the Duke and the Africa Committee meeting in our room, Sir G. Carteret; Sir W. Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Rider, Cuttance and myself met in another room, with chairs set in form but no table, and there we had very fine discourses of the business of the fitness to keep Sally, and also of the terms of our King's paying the Portugees that deserted their house at Tangier, which did much please me, and so to fetch my wife, and so to the New Exchange about her things, and called at Thomas Pepys the turner's and bought something there, an so home to supper and to bed, after I had been a good while with Sir W. Pen, railing and speaking freely our minds against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, but no more than the folly of one and the knavery of the other do deserve. 15th. Up, I bless God being now in pretty good condition, but cannot come to make natural stools yet . . . . . So up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined at home, my head full of business, and after stepping abroad to buy a thing or two, compasses and snuffers for my wife, I returned to my office and there mighty busy till it was late, and so home well contented with the business that I had done this afternoon, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up and to my office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon home to dinner, and then up to remove my chest and clothes up stairs to my new wardrobe, that I may have all my things above where I lie, and so by coach abroad with my wife, leaving her at my Lord's till I went to the Tangier Committee, where very good discourse concerning the Articles of peace to be continued with Guyland, and thence took up my wife, and with her to her tailor's, and then to the Exchange and to several places, and so home and to my office, where doing some business, and then home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to my office, and there we sat a very full board all the morning upon some accounts of Mr. Gauden's. Here happened something concerning my Will which Sir W. Batten would fain charge upon him, and I heard him mutter something against him of complaint for his often receiving people's money to Sir G. Carteret, which displeased me much, but I will be even with him. Thence to the Dolphin Tavern, and there Mr. Gauden did give us a great dinner. Here we had some discourse of the Queen's being very sick, if not dead, the Duke and Duchess of York being sent for betimes this morning to come to White Hall to her. So to my office and there late doing business, and so home to supper, my house being got mighty clean to my great content from top to toe, and so to bed, myself beginning to be in good condition of health also, but only my laying out so much money upon clothes for myself and wife and her closet troubles me. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and troubled at a distaste my wife took at a small thing that Jane did, and to see that she should be so vexed that I took part with Jane, wherein I had reason; but by and by well again, and so my wife in her best gown and new poynt that I bought her the other day, to church with me, where she has not been these many weeks, and her mayde Jane with her. I was troubled to see Pembleton there, but I thought it prudence to take notice myself first of it and show my wife him, and so by little and little considering that it mattered not much his being there I grew less concerned and so mattered it not much, and the less when, anon, my wife showed me his wife, a pretty little woman, and well dressed, with a good jewel at her breast. The parson, Mr. Mills, I perceive, did not know whether to pray for the Queen or no, and so said nothing about her; which makes me fear she is dead. But enquiring of Sir J. Minnes, he told me that he heard she was better last night. So home to dinner, and Tom came and dined with me, and so, anon, to church again, and there a simple coxcomb preached worse than the Scot, and no Pembleton nor his wife there, which pleased me not a little, and then home and spent most of the evening at Sir W. Pen's in complaisance, seeing him though he deserves no respect from me. This evening came my uncle Wight to speak with me about my uncle Thomas's business, and Mr. Moore came, 4 or 5 days out of the country and not come to see me before, though I desired by two or three messengers that he would come to me as soon as he came to town. Which do trouble me to think he should so soon forget my kindness to him, which I am afraid he do. After walking a good while in the garden with these, I went up again to Sir W. Pen, and took my wife home, and after supper to prayers, and read very seriously my vowes, which I am fearful of forgetting by my late great expenses, but I hope in God I do not, and so to bed. 19th. Waked with a very high wind, and said to my wife, "I pray God I hear not of the death of any great person, this wind is so high!" fearing that the Queen might be dead. So up; and going by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, they tell me that Sir W. Compton, who it is true had been a little sickly for a week or fortnight, but was very well upon Friday at night last at the Tangier Committee with us, was dead--died yesterday: at which I was most exceedingly surprised, he being, and so all the world saying that he was, one of the worthyest men and best officers of State now in England; and so in my conscience he was: of the best temper, valour, abilities of mind, integrity, birth, fine person, and diligence of any one man he hath left behind him in the three kingdoms; and yet not forty years old, or if so, that is all. [Sir William Compton (1625-1663) was knighted at Oxford, December 12th, 1643. He was called by Cromwell "the sober young man and the godly cavalier." After the Restoration he was M.P. for Cambridge (1661), and appointed Master of the Ordnance. He died in Drury Lane, suddenly, as stated in the text, and was buried at Compton Wynyates, Warwickshire.] I find the sober men of the Court troubled for him; and yet not so as to hinder or lessen their mirth, talking, laughing, and eating, drinking, and doing every thing else, just as if there was no such thing, which is as good an instance for me hereafter to judge of death, both as to the unavoidableness, suddenness, and little effect of it upon the spirits of others, let a man be never so high, or rich, or good; but that all die alike, no more matter being made of the death of one than another, and that even to die well, the praise of it is not considerable in the world, compared to the many in the world that know not nor make anything of it, nor perhaps to them (unless to one that like this poor gentleman, who is one of a thousand, there nobody speaking ill of him) that will speak ill of a man. Coming to St. James's, I hear that the Queen did sleep five hours pretty well to-night, and that she waked and gargled her mouth, and to sleep again; but that her pulse beats fast, beating twenty to the King's or my Lady Suffolk's eleven; but not so strong as it was. It seems she was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her feet, and to have the extreme unction given her by the priests, who were so long about it that the doctors were angry. The King, they all say; is most fondly disconsolate for her, and weeps by her, which makes her weep; ["The queen was given over by her physicians, . . . , and the good nature of the king was much affected with the situation in which he saw! a princess whom, though he did not love her, yet he greatly esteemed. She loved him tenderly, and thinking that it was the last time she should ever speak to him, she told him 'That the concern he showed for her death was enough to make her quit life with regret; but that not possessing charms sufficient to merit his tenderness, she had at least the consolation in dying to give place to a consort who might be more worthy, of it and to whom heaven, perhaps, might grant a blessing that had been refused to her.' At these words she bathed his hands with some tears which he thought would be her last; he mingled his own with hers, and without supposing she would take him at his word, he conjured her to live for his sake."--Grammont Memoirs, chap. vii.] which one this day told me he reckons a good sign, for that it carries away some rheume from the head. This morning Captain Allen tells me how the famous Ned Mullins, by a slight fall, broke his leg at the ancle, which festered; and he had his leg cut off on Saturday, but so ill done, notwithstanding all the great chyrurgeons about the town at the doing of it, that they fear he will not live with it, which is very strange, besides the torment he was put to with it. After being a little with the Duke, and being invited to dinner to my Lord Barkeley's, and so, not knowing how to spend our time till noon, Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and to the Coffee-house in Cornhill; [This may be the Coffee House in Exchange Alley, which had for a sign, Morat the Great, or The Great Turk, where coffee was sold in berry, in powder, and pounded in a mortar. There is a token of the house, see "Boyne's Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., p. 592.] where much talk about the Turk's proceedings, and that the plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier; and it is also carried to Hambrough. The Duke says the King purposes to forbid any of their ships coming into the river. The Duke also told us of several Christian commanders (French) gone over to the Turks to serve them; and upon inquiry I find that the King of France do by this aspire to the Empire, and so to get the Crown of Spayne also upon the death of the King, which is very probable, it seems. Back to St. James's, and there dined with my Lord Barkeley and his lady, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten, and myself, with two gentlemen more; my Lady, and one of the ladies of honour to the Duchesse (no handsome woman, but a most excellent hand). A fine French dinner, and so we after dinner broke up and to Creed's new lodgings in Axe-yard, which I like very well and so with him to White Hall and walked up and down in the galleries with good discourse, and anon Mr. Coventry and Povy, sad for the loss of one of our number we sat down as a Committee for Tangier and did some business and so broke up, and I down with Mr. Coventry and in his chamber discoursing of business of the office and Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten's carriage, when he most ingeniously tells me how they have carried themselves to him in forbearing to speak the other day to the Duke what they know they have so largely at other times said to him, and I told him what I am put to about the bargain for masts. I perceive he thinks of it all and will remember it. Thence took up my wife at Mrs. Harper's where she and Jane were, and so called at the New Exchange for some things for her, and then at Tom's went up and saw his house now it is finished, and indeed it is very handsome, but he not within and so home and to my office; and then to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat; and at noon Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and I to dinner to my Lord Mayor's, being invited, where was the Farmers of the Customes, my Lord Chancellor's three sons, and other great and much company, and a very great noble dinner, as this Mayor--[Sir John Robinson.]--is good for nothing else. No extraordinary discourse of any thing, every man being intent upon his dinner, and myself willing to have drunk some wine to have warmed my belly, but I did for my oath's sake willingly refrain it, but am so well pleased and satisfied afterwards thereby, for it do keep me always in so good a frame of mind that I hope I shall not ever leave this practice. Thence home, and took my wife by coach to White Hall, and she set down at my Lord's lodgings, I to a Committee of Tangier, and thence with her homeward, calling at several places by the way. Among others at Paul's Churchyard, and while I was in Kirton's shop, a fellow came to offer kindness or force to my wife in the coach, but she refusing, he went away, after the coachman had struck him, and he the coachman. So I being called, went thither, and the fellow coming out again of a shop, I did give him a good cuff or two on the chops, and seeing him not oppose me, I did give him another; at last found him drunk, of which I was glad, and so left him, and home, and so to my office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. This evening, at my Lord's lodgings, Mrs. Sarah talking with my wife and I how the Queen do, and how the King tends her being so ill. She tells us that the Queen's sickness is the spotted fever; that she was as full of the spots as a leopard which is very strange that it should be no more known; but perhaps it is not so. And that the King do seem to take it much to heart, for that he hath wept before her; but, for all that; that he hath not missed one night since she was sick, of supping with my Lady Castlemaine; which I believe is true, for she [Sarah] says that her husband hath dressed the suppers every night; and I confess I saw him myself coming through the street dressing of a great supper to-night, which Sarah says is also for the King and her; which is a very strange thing. 21st. Up, and by and by comes my brother Tom to me, though late (which do vex me to the blood that I could never get him to come time enough to me, though I have spoke a hundred times; but he is very sluggish, and too negligent ever to do well at his trade I doubt), and having lately considered with my wife very much of the inconvenience of my going in no better plight, we did resolve of putting me into a better garb, and, among other things, to have a good velvet cloake; that is, of cloth lined with velvet and other things modish, and a perruque, and so I sent him and her out to buy me velvet, and I to the Exchange, and so to Trinity House, and there dined with Sir W. Batten, having some business to speak with him, and Sir W. Rider. Thence, having my belly full, away on foot to my brother's, all along Thames Streete, and my belly being full of small beer, I did all alone, for health's sake, drink half a pint of Rhenish wine at the Still-yard, mixed with beer. From my brother's with my wife to the Exchange, to buy things for her and myself, I being in a humour of laying out money, but not prodigally, but only in clothes, which I every day see that I suffer for want of, I so home, and after a little at my office, home to supper and to bed. Memorandum: This morning one Mr. Commander, a scrivener, came to me from Mr. Moore with a deed of which. Mr. Moore had told me, that my Lord had made use of my name, and that I was desired by my Lord to sign it. Remembering this very well, though understanding little of the particulars, I read it over, and found it concern Sir Robt. Bernard and Duckinford, their interest in the manor of Brampton. So I did sign it, declaring to Mr. Commander that I am only concerned in having my name at my Lord Sandwich's desire used therein, and so I sealed it up after I had signed and sealed the deed, and desired him to give it so sealed to Mr. Moore. I did also call at the Wardrobe this afternoon to have told Mr. Moore of it, but he was not within, but knowing Mr. Commander to have the esteem of a good and honest man with my Lord Crew, I did not doubt to intrust him with the deed after I had signed it. This evening after I came home I begun to enter my wife in arithmetique, in order to her studying of the globes, and she takes it very well, and, I hope, with great pleasure, I shall bring her to understand many fine things. 22nd. Up to the office, where we sat till noon and then I home to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to her study and there read some more arithmetique, which she takes with great ease and pleasure. This morning, hearing that the Queen grows worse again, I sent to stop the making of my velvet cloake, till I see whether she lives or dies. So a little abroad about several businesses, and then home and to my office till night, and then home to supper, teach my wife, and so to bed. 23rd. Up, and this morning comes Mr. Clerke, and tells me that the Injunction against Trice is dismissed again, which troubles me much. So I am to look after it in the afternoon. There comes also by appointment my uncle Thomas, to receive the first payment of his daughter's money. But showing of me the original of the deed by which his daughter gives her right to her legacy to him, and the copy of it attested by the Scrivener, for me to keep by me, I did find some difference, and thereupon did look more into it, and at last did find the whole thing a forgery; yet he maintained it again and again, upon oath, that it had been signed and sealed by my cozen Mary ever since before her marriage. So I told him to his teeth he did like a knave, and so he did, and went with him to the Scrivener at Bedlam, and there found how it came to pass, viz., that he had lost, or pretends to have lost, the true original, and that so he was forced to take this course; but a knave, at least a man that values not what he swears to, I perceive he is. But however I am now better able to see myself fully secured before I part with the money, for I find that his son Charles has right to this legacy till the first L100 of his daughter's portion be paid, he being bond for it. So I put him upon getting both his sons to be bound for my security, and so left him and so home, and then abroad to my brother's, but found him abroad at the young couple that was married yesterday, and he one of the Br[ide's] men, a kinswoman (Brumfield) of the Joyces married to an upholster. Thence walked to the King's Head at Charing Cross and there dined, and hear that the Queen slept pretty well last night, but her fever continues upon her still. It seems she hath never a Portuguese doctor here. Thence by appointment to the Six Clerks' office to meet Mr. Clerke, which I did and there waited all the afternoon for Wilkinson my attorney, but he came not, and so vexed and weary we parted, and I endeavoured but in vain to have found Dr. Williams, of whom I shall have use in Trice's business, but I could not find him. So weary walked home; in my way bought a large kitchen knife and half dozen oyster knives. Thence to Mr. Holliard, who tells me that Mullins is dead of his leg cut off the other day, but most basely done. He tells me that there is no doubt but that all my slyme do come away in my water, and therefore no fear of the stone; but that my water being so slymy is a good sign. He would have me now and then to take a clyster, the same I did the other day, though I feel no pain, only to keep me loose, and instead of butter, which he would have to be salt butter, he would have me sometimes use two or three ounces of honey, at other times two or three ounces of Linseed oil. Thence to Mr. Rawlinson's and saw some of my new bottles made, with my crest upon them, filled with wine, about five or six dozen. So home and to my office a little, and thence home to prepare myself against T. Trice, and also to draw a bond fit for my uncle and his sons to enter into before I pay them the money. That done to bed. 24th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning about Mr. Gauden's account, and at noon to dinner with him at the Dolphin, where mighty merry by pleasant stories of Mr. Coventry's and Sir J. Minnes's, which I have put down some of in my book of tales. Just as I was going out my uncle Thomas came to the with a draught of a bond for him and his sons to sign to me about the payment of the L20 legacy, which I agreed to, but he would fain have had from me the copy of the deed, which he had forged and did bring me yesterday, but I would not give him it. Says [he] I perceive then you will keep it to defame me with, and desired me not to speak of it, for he did it innocently. Now I confess I do not find any great hurt in the thing, but only to keep from me a sight of the true original deed, wherein perhaps there was something else that may touch this business of the legacy which he would keep from me, or it may be, it is really lost as he says it is. But then he need not have used such a slight, but confess it without danger. Thence by coach with Mr. Coventry to the Temple, and thence I to the Six Clerks' office, and discoursed with my Attorney and Solicitor, and he and I to Mr. Turner, who puts me in great fear that I shall not get retayned again against Tom Trice; which troubles me. Thence, it being night, homewards, and called at Wotton's and tried some shoes, but he had none to fit me. He tells me that by the Duke of York's persuasion Harris is come again to Sir W. Davenant upon his terms that he demanded, which will make him very high and proud. Thence to another shop, and there bought me a pair of shoes, and so walked home and to my office, and dispatch letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed, where to my trouble I find my wife begin to talk of her being alone all day, which is nothing but her lack of something to do, for while she was busy she never, or seldom, complained . . . . . The Queen is in a good way of recovery; and Sir Francis Pridgeon hath got great honour by it, it being all imputed to his cordiall, which in her dispaire did give her rest and brought her to some hopes of recovery. It seems that, after the much talk of troubles and a plot, something is found in the North that a party was to rise, and some persons that were to command it are found, as I find in a letter that Mr. Coventry read to-day about it from those parts. [This refers to a rising in the West Riding of Yorkshire, which took place on October 12th, and was known as the Farneley Wood Plot. The rising was easily put down, and several prisoners were taken. A special commission of oyer and terminer was sent down to York to try the prisoners in January, 1663-64, when twenty-one were convicted and executed. (See Whitaker's "Loidis and Elmete," 1816.)] 25th (Lord's day). Up, and my wife and I to church, where it is strange to see how the use and seeing Pembleton come with his wife thither to church, I begin now to make too great matter of it, which before was so terrible to me. Dined at home, my wife and I alone, a good dinner, and so in the afternoon to church again, where the Scot preached, and I slept most of the afternoon. So home, and my wife and I together all the evening discoursing, and then after reading my vowes to myself, and my wife with her mayds (who are mighty busy to get it dispatched because of their mistress's promise, that when it is done they shall have leave all to go see their friends at Westminster, whither my wife will carry them) preparing for their washing to-morrow, we hastened to supper and to bed. 26th. Waked about one o'clock in the morning . . . . My wife being waked rung her bell, and the mayds rose and went to washing, we to sleep again till 7 o'clock, and then up, and I abroad to look out Dr. Williams, but being gone out I went to Westminster, and there seeing my Lord Sandwich's footman knew he was come to town, and so I went in and saw him, and received a kind salute from him, but hear that my father is very ill still. Thence to Westminster Hall with Creed, and spent the morning walking there, where, it being Terme time, I met several persons, and talked with them, among others Dr. Pierce, who tells me that the Queen is in a way to be pretty well again, but that her delirium in her head continues still; that she talks idle, not by fits, but always, which in some lasts a week after so high a fever, in some more, and in some for ever; that this morning she talked mightily that she was brought to bed, and that she wondered that she should be delivered without pain and without spueing or being sicke, and that she was troubled that her boy was but an ugly boy. But the King being by, said, "No, it is a very pretty boy."--"Nay," says she, "if it be like you it is a fine boy indeed, and I would be very well pleased with it." The other day she talked mightily of Sir H. Wood's lady's great belly, and said if she should miscarry he would never get another, and that she never saw such a man as this Sir H. Wood in her life, and seeing of Dr. Pridgeon, she said, "Nay, Doctor, you need not scratch your head, there is hair little enough already in the place." But methinks it was not handsome for the weaknesses of Princes to be talked of thus. Thence Creed and I to the King's Head ordinary, where much and very good company, among others one very talking man, but a scholler, that would needs put in his discourse and philosophy upon every occasion, and though he did well enough, yet his readiness to speak spoilt all. Here they say that the Turkes go on apace, and that my Lord Castlehaven is going to raise 10,000 men here for to go against him; that the King of France do offer to assist the Empire upon condition that he may be their Generalissimo, and the Dolphin chosen King of the Romans: and it is said that the King of France do occasion this difference among the Christian Princes of the Empire, which gives the Turke such advantages. They say also that the King of Spayne is making all imaginable force against Portugall again. Thence Creed and I to one or two periwigg shops about the Temple, having been very much displeased with one that we saw, a head of greasy and old woman's haire, at Jervas's in the morning; and there I think I shall fit myself of one very handsomely made. Thence by coach, my mind being troubled for not meeting with Dr. Williams, to St. Catharine's to look at a Dutch ship or two for some good handsome maps, but met none, and so back to Cornhill to Moxon's, but it being dark we staid not to see any, then to coach again, and presently spying Sir W. Batten; I 'light and took him in and to the Globe in Fleete Streete, by appointment, where by and by he and I with our solicitor to Sir F. Turner about Field's business, and back to the Globe, and thither I sent for Dr. Williams, and he is willing to swear in my behalf against T. Trice, viz., that at T. Trice's desire we have met to treat about our business. Thence (I drinking no wine) after an hour's stay Sir W. Batten and another, and he drinking, we home by coach, and so to my office and set down my Journall, and then home to supper and to bed, my washing being in a good condition over. I did give Dr. Williams 20s. tonight, but it was after he had answered me well to what I had to ask him about this business, and it was only what I had long ago in my petty bag book allotted for him besides the bill of near L4 which I paid him a good while since by my brother Tom for physique for my wife, without any consideration to this business that he is to do for me, as God shall save me. Among the rest, talking of the Emperor at table to-day one young gentleman, a pretty man, and it seems a Parliament man, did say that he was a sot; [Leopold I, the Holy Roman Emperor, was born June 9th, 1640. He became King of Hungary in 1655, and King of Bohemia in 1658, in which year he received the imperial crown. The Princes of the German Empire watched for some time the progress of his struggle with the Turks with indifference, but in 1663 they were induced to grant aid to Leopold after he had made a personal appeal to them in the diet at Ratisbon.] for he minded nothing of the Government, but was led by the Jesuites. Several at table took him up, some for saying that he was a sot in being led by the Jesuites, [who] are the best counsel he can take. Another commander, a Scott[ish] Collonell, who I believe had several under him, that he was a man that had thus long kept out the Turke till now, and did many other great things, and lastly Mr. Progers, one of our courtiers, who told him that it was not a thing to be said of any Soveraigne Prince, be his weaknesses what they will, to be called a sot, which methinks was very prettily said. 27th. Up, and my uncle Thomas and his scrivener bringing me a bond and affidavit to my mind, I paid him his L20 for his daughter's legacy, and L5 more for a Quarter's annuity, in the manner expressed in each acquittance, to which I must be referred on any future occasion, and to the bond and affidavit. Thence to the office and there sat till noon, and then home to dinner, and after dinner (it being a foul house to-day among my maids, making up their clothes) abroad with my Will with me by coach to Dr, Williams, and with him to the Six Clerks's office, and there, by advice of his acquaintance, I find that my case, through my neglect and the neglect of my lawyers, is come to be very bad, so as that it will be very hard to get my bill retayned again. However, I got him to sign and swear an affidavit that there was treaties between T. Trice and me with as much advantage as I could for me, but I will say that for him he was most exact as ever I saw man in my life, word by word what it was that he swore to, and though, God forgive me, I could have been almost naturally willing to have let him ignorantly have sworn to something that was not of itself very certain, either or no, yet out of his own conscience and care he altered the words himself so as to make them very safe for him to swear. This I carrying to my clerk Wilkinson, and telling him how I heard matters to stand, he, like a conceited fellow, made nothing of it but advised me to offer Trice's clerks the cost of the dismission, viz., 46s. 8d., which I did, but they would not take it without his client. Immediately thereupon we parted, and met T. Trice coming into the room, and he came to me and served me with a subpoena for these very costs, so I paid it him, but Lord! to see his resolution, and indeed discretion, in the wording of his receipt, he would have it most express to my greatest disadvantage that could be, yet so as I could not deny to give it him. That being paid, my clerke, and then his began to ask why we could not think, being friends, of referring it, or stating it, first ourselves, and then put it to some good lawyer to judge in it. From one word to more we were resolved to try, and to that end to step to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there he and his Clerke and Attorney and I and my Clerke, and sent for Mr. Smallwood, and by and by comes Mr. Clerke, my Solicitor, and after I had privately discoursed with my men and seen how doubtfully they talked, and what future certain charge and trouble it would be, with a doubtful victory, I resolved to condescend very low, and after some talke all together Trice and I retired, and he came to L150 the lowest, and I bid him L80. So broke off and then went to our company, and they putting us to a second private discourse, at last I was contented to give him L100, he to spend 40s. of it among this good company that was with us. So we went to our company, both seeming well pleased that we were come to an end, and indeed I am in the respects above said, though it be a great sum for us to part with. I am to pay him by giving him leave to buy about L40 worth of Piggott's land and to strike off so much of Piggott's debt, and the other to give him bond to pay him in 12 months after without interest, only giving him a power to buy more land of Piggott and paying him that way as he did for the other, which I am well enough contented with, or at least to take the land at that price and give him the money. This last I did not tell him, but I shall order it so. Having agreed upon to-morrow come se'nnight for the spending of the 40s. at Mr. Rawlinson's, we parted, and I set T. Trice down in Paul's Churchyard and I by coach home and to my office, and there set down this day's passages, and so home to supper and to bed. Mr. Coventry tells me to-day that the Queen had a very good night last night; but yet it is strange that still she raves and talks of little more than of her having of children, and fancys now that she hath three children, and that the girle is very like the King. And this morning about five o'clock waked (the physician feeling her pulse, thinking to be better able to judge, she being still and asleep, waked her) and the first word she said was, "How do the children?" 28th. Up and at my office all the morning, and at noon Mr. Creed came to me and dined with me, and after dinner Murford came to me and he and I discoursed wholly upon his breach of contract with us. After that Mr. Creed and I abroad, I doing several errands, and with him at last to the great coffee-house, and there after some common discourse we parted and I home, paying what I owed at the Mitre in my way, and at home Sympson the joyner coming he set up my press for my cloaks and other small things, and so to my office a little, and to supper, and to bed. This morning Mr. Blackburne came to me, and telling me what complaints Will made of the usage he had from my wife and other discouragements, and, I seeing him, instead of advising, rather favouring his kinsman, I told him freely my mind, but friendlily, and so we have concluded to have him have a lodging elsewhere, and that I will spare him L15 of his salary, and if I do not need to keep another L20. 29th. Up, it being my Lord Mayor's day, Sir Anthony Bateman. This morning was brought home my new velvet cloake, that is, lined with velvet, a good cloth the outside, the first that ever I had in my life, and I pray God it may not be too soon now that I begin to wear it. I had it this day brought, thinking to have worn it to dinner, but I thought it would be better to go without it because of the crowde, and so I did not wear it. We met a little at the office, and then home again and got me ready to go forth, my wife being gone forth by my consent before to see her father and mother, and taken her cooke mayde and little girle to Westminster with her for them to see their friends. This morning in dressing myself and wanting a band, [The band succeeded the ruff as the ordinary civil costume. The lawyers, who now retain bands, and the clergy, who have only lately left them off, formerly wore ruffs.] I found all my bands that were newly made clean so ill smoothed that I crumpled them, and flung them all on the ground, and was angry with Jane, which made the poor girle mighty sad, so that I were troubled for it afterwards. At noon I went forth, and by coach to Guild Hall (by the way calling at Mr. Rawlinson's), and there was admitted, and meeting with Mr. Proby (Sir R. Ford's son), and Lieutenant-Colonel Baron, a City commander, we went up and down to see the tables; where under every salt there was a bill of fare, and at the end of the table the persons proper for the table. Many were the tables, but none in the Hall but the Mayor's and the Lords of the Privy Council that had napkins [As the practice of eating with forks gradually was introduced from Italy into England, napkins were not so generally used, but considered more as an ornament than a necessary. "The laudable use of forks, Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy, To the sparing of napkins." Ben Jonson, The Devil is an Ass, act v., sc. 3. The guests probably brought their own knife and fork with them in a case.--M.B.] or knives, which was very strange. We went into the Buttry, and there stayed and talked, and then into the Hall again: and there wine was offered and they drunk, I only drinking some hypocras, which do not break my vowe, it being, to the best of my present judgement, only a mixed compound drink, and not any wine. [A drink, composed usually of red wine, but sometimes of white, with the addition of sugar and spices. Sir Walter Scott ("Quarterly Review," vol. xxxiii.) says, after quoting this passage of Pepys, "Assuredly his pieces of bacchanalian casuistry can only be matched by that of Fielding's chaplain of Newgate, who preferred punch to wine, because the former was a liquor nowhere spoken against in Scripture."] If I am mistaken, God forgive me! but I hope and do think I am not. By and by met with Creed; and we, with the others, went within the several Courts, and there saw the tables prepared for the Ladies and Judges and Bishopps: all great sign of a great dinner to come. By and by about one o'clock, before the Lord Mayor came, come into the Hall, from the room where they were first led into, the Lord Chancellor (Archbishopp before him), with the Lords of the Council, and other Bishopps, and they to dinner. Anon comes the Lord Mayor, who went up to the lords, and then to the other tables to bid wellcome; and so all to dinner. I sat near Proby, Baron, and Creed at the Merchant Strangers' table; where ten good dishes to a messe, with plenty of wine of all sorts, of which I drunk none; but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins nor change of trenchers, and drunk out of earthen pitchers and wooden dishes.--[The City plate was probably melted during the Civil War.-M.B.]--It happened that after the lords had half dined, came the French Embassador, up to the lords' table, where he was to have sat; but finding the table set, he would not sit down nor dine with the Lord Mayor, who was not yet come, nor have a table to himself, which was offered; but in a discontent went away again. After I had dined, I and Creed rose and went up and down the house, and up to the lady's room, and there stayed gazing upon them. But though there were many and fine, both young and old, yet I could not discern one handsome face there; which was very strange, nor did I find the lady that young Dawes married so pretty as I took her for, I having here an opportunity of looking much upon her very near. I expected musique, but there was none but only trumpets and drums, which displeased me. The dinner, it seems, is made by the Mayor and two Sheriffs for the time being, the Lord Mayor paying one half, and they the other. And the whole, Proby says, is reckoned to come to about 7 or L800 at most. Being wearied with looking upon a company of ugly women, Creed and I went away, and took coach and through Cheapside, and there saw the pageants, which were very silly, and thence to the Temple, where meeting Greatorex, he and we to Hercules Pillars, there to show me the manner of his going about of draining of fenns, which I desired much to know, but it did not appear very satisfactory to me, as he discoursed it, and I doubt he will faile in it. Thence I by coach home, and there found my wife come home, and by and by came my brother Tom, with whom I was very angry for not sending me a bill with my things, so as that I think never to have more work done by him if ever he serves me so again, and so I told him. The consideration of laying out L32 12s. this very month in his very work troubles me also, and one thing more, that is to say, that Will having been at home all the day, I doubt is the occasion that Jane has spoken to her mistress tonight that she sees she cannot please us and will look out to provide herself elsewhere, which do trouble both of us, and we wonder also at her, but yet when the rogue is gone I do not fear but the wench will do well. To the office a little, to set down my Journall, and so home late to supper and to bed. The Queen mends apace, they say; but yet talks idle still. 30th. Lay long in bed with my wife, and then up and a while at my office, and so to the Change, and so [home] again, and there I found my wife in a great passion with her mayds. I upstairs to set some things in order in our chamber and wardrobe, and so to dinner upon a good dish of stewed beef, then up again about my business. Then by coach with my wife to the New Exchange, and there bought and paid for several things, and then back, calling at my periwigg-makers, and there showed my wife the periwigg made for me, and she likes it very well, and so to my brother's, and to buy a pair of boddice for her, and so home, and to my office late, and then home to my wife, purposing to go on to a new lesson in arithmetique with her. So to supper and to bed. The Queen mends apace, but her head still light. My mind very heavy thinking of my great layings out lately, and what they must still be for clothes, but I hope it is in order to getting of something the more by it, for I perceive how I have hitherto suffered for lack of going as becomes my place. After a little discourse with my wife upon arithmetique, to bed. 31st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Creed came and dined with me, and after dinner he and I upstairs, and I showed him my velvet cloake and other things of clothes, that I have lately bought, which he likes very well, and I took his opinion as to some things of clothes, which I purpose to wear, being resolved to go a little handsomer than I have hitherto. Thence to the office; where busy till night, and then to prepare my monthly account, about which I staid till 10 or 11 o'clock at night, and to my great sorrow find myself L43 worse than I was the last month, which was then L760, and now it is but L717. But it hath chiefly arisen from my layings-out in clothes for myself and wife; viz., for her about L12, and for myself L55, or thereabouts; having made myself a velvet cloake, two new cloth suits, black, plain both; a new shagg [Shag was a stuff similar to plush. In 1703 a youth who was missing is described in an advertisement as wearing "red shag breeches, striped with black stripes." (Planche's "Cyclopxdia of Costume ").] gowne, trimmed with gold buttons and twist, with a new hat, and, silk tops for my legs, and many other things, being resolved henceforward to go like myself. And also two perriwiggs, one whereof costs me L3, and the other 40s.--I have worn neither yet, but will begin next week, God willing. So that I hope I shall not need now to lay out more money a great while, I having laid out in clothes for myself and wife, and for her closett and other things without, these two months, this and the last, besides household expenses of victuals, &c., above L110. But I hope I shall with more comfort labour to get more, and with better successe than when, for want of clothes, I was forced to sneake like a beggar. Having done this I went home, and after supper to bed, my mind being eased in knowing my condition, though troubled to think that I have been forced to spend so much. Thus I end this month worth L717, or thereabouts, with a good deal of good goods more than I had, and a great deal of new and good clothes. My greatest trouble and my wife's is our family, mighty out of order by this fellow Will's corrupting the mayds by his idle talke and carriage, which we are going to remove by hastening him out of the house, which his uncle Blackburne is upon doing, and I am to give him L20 per annum toward his maintenance. The Queene continues lightheaded, but in hopes to recover. The plague is much in Amsterdam, and we in fears of it here, which God defend. [Defend is used in the sense of forbid. It is a Gallicism from the French "defendre."] The Turke goes on mightily in the Emperor's dominions, and the Princes cannot agree among themselves how to go against him. Myself in pretty good health now, after being ill this month for a week together, but cannot yet come to . . . . well, being so costive, but for this month almost I have not had a good natural stool, but to this hour am forced to take physic every night, which brings me neither but one stool, and that in the morning as soon as I am up, all the rest of the day very costive. My father has been very ill in the country, but I hope better again now. I am lately come to a conclusion with Tom Trice to pay him L100, which is a great deale of money, but I hope it will save a great deale more. But thus everything lessens, which I have and am like to have, and therefore I must look about me to get something more than just my salary, or else I may resolve to live well and die a beggar. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly And there, did what I would with her Content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile Found guilty, and likely will be hanged (for stealing spoons) Half a pint of Rhenish wine at the Still-yard, mixed with beer His readiness to speak spoilt all No more matter being made of the death of one than another Out of an itch to look upon the sluts there Plague is much in Amsterdam, and we in fears of it here Pride himself too much in it Reckon nothing money but when it is in the bank Resolve to live well and die a beggar Scholler, that would needs put in his discourse (every occasion) She was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her feet The plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier We having no luck in maids now-a-days Who is over head and eares in getting her house up 
4144	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER & DECEMBER 1663 November 1st (Lord's day). This morning my brother's man brought me a new black baize waistecoate, faced with silke, which I put on from this day, laying by half-shirts for this winter. He brought me also my new gowne of purple shagg, trimmed with gold, very handsome; he also brought me as a gift from my brother, a velvet hat, very fine to ride in, and the fashion, which pleases me very well, to which end, I believe, he sent it me, for he knows I had lately been angry with him. Up and to church with my wife, and at noon dined at home alone, a good calves head boiled and dumplings, an excellent dinner methought it was. Then to church again, whither Sir W. Pen came, the first time he has been at church these several months, he having been sicke all the while. Home and to my office, where I taught my wife some part of subtraction, and then fell myself to set some papers of my last night's accounts in order, and so to supper home, and after supper another bout at arithmetique with my wife, and then to my office again and made an end of my papers, and so home to prayers, and then to read my vowes, and to bed. 2d. Up, and by coach to White Hall, and there in the long Matted Gallery I find Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten--and by and by comes the King to walk there with three or four with him; and soon as he saw us, says he, "Here is the Navy Office," and there walked twenty turns the length of the gallery, talking, methought, but ordinary talke. By and by came the Duke, and he walked, and at last they went into the Duke's lodgings. The King staid so long that we could not discourse with the Duke, and so we parted. I heard the Duke say that he was going to wear a perriwigg; and they say the King also will. I never till this day observed that the King is mighty gray. Thence, meeting with Creed, walked with him to Westminster Hall, and thence by coach took up Mrs. Hunt, and carried her towards my house, and we light at the 'Change, and sent her to my house, Creed and I to the Coffeehouse, and then to the 'Change, and so home, and carried a barrel of oysters with us, and so to dinner, and after a good dinner left Mrs. Hunt and my wife making marmalett of quinces, and Creed and I to the perriwigg makers, but it being dark concluded of nothing, and so Creed went away, and I with Sir W. Pen, who spied me in the street, in his coach home. There found them busy still, and I up to my vyall. Anon, the comfiture being well done, my wife and I took Mrs. Hunt at almost 9 at night by coach and carried Mrs. Hunt home, and did give her a box of sugar and a haunch of venison given me by my Lady the other day. We did not 'light, but saw her within doors, and straight home, where after supper there happening some discourse where my wife thought she had taken Jane in a lie, she told me of it mighty triumphantly, but I, not seeing reason to conclude it a lie, was vexed, and my wife and I to very high words, wherein I up to my chamber, and she by and by followed me up, and to very bad words from her to me, calling me perfidious and man of no conscience, whatever I pretend to, and I know not what, which troubled me mightily, and though I would allow something to her passion, yet I see again and again that she spoke but somewhat of what she had in her heart. But I tempered myself very well, so as that though we went to bed with discontent she yielded to me and began to be fond, so that being willing myself to peace, we did before we sleep become very good friends, it being past 12 o'clock, and so with good hearts and joy to rest. 3rd. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and at noon to the Coffee-house, and there heard a long and most passionate discourse between two doctors of physique, of which one was Dr. Allen, whom I knew at Cambridge, and a couple of apothecarys; these maintaining chymistry against them Galenicall physique; and the truth is, one of the apothecarys whom they charged most, did speak very prettily, that is, his language and sense good, though perhaps he might not be so knowing a physician as to offer to contest with them. At last they came to some cooler terms, and broke up. I home, and there Mr. Moore coming by my appointment dined with me, and after dinner came Mr. Goldsborough, and we discoursed about the business of his mother, but could come to no agreement in it but parted dissatisfied. By and by comes Chapman, the periwigg-maker, and upon my liking it, without more ado I went up, and there he cut off my haire, which went a little to my heart at present to part with it; but, it being over, and my periwigg on, I paid him L3 for it; and away went he with my owne haire to make up another of, and I by and by, after I had caused all my mayds to look upon it; and they conclude it do become me; though Jane was mightily troubled for my parting of my own haire, and so was Besse, I went abroad to the Coffeehouse, and coming back went to Sir W. Pen and there sat with him and Captain Cocke till late at night, Cocke talking of some of the Roman history very well, he having a good memory. Sir W. Pen observed mightily, and discoursed much upon my cutting off my haire, as he do of every thing that concerns me, but it is over, and so I perceive after a day or two it will be no great matter. 4th. Up and to my office, shewing myself to Sir W. Batten, and Sir J. Minnes, and no great matter made of my periwigg, as I was afeard there would be. Among other things there came to me Shales of Portsmouth, by my order, and I began to discourse with him about the arrears of stores belonging to the Victualling Office there, and by his discourse I am in some hopes that if I can get a grant from the King of such a part of all I discover I may chance to find a way to get something by the by, which do greatly please me the very thoughts of. Home to dinner, and very pleasant with my wife, who is this day also herself making of marmalett of quince, which she now do very well herself. I left her at it and by coach I to the New Exchange and several places to buy and bring home things, among others a case I bought of the trunk maker's for my periwigg, and so home and to my office late, and among other things wrote a letter to Will's uncle to hasten his removal from me, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Captain Cocke did give me a good account of the Guinny trade. The Queene is in a great way to recovery. This noon came John Angier to me in a pickle, I was sad to see him, desiring my good word for him to go a trooper to Tangier, but I did schoole him and sent him away with good advice, but no present encouragement. Presently after I had a letter from his poor father at Cambridge, who is broke, it seems, and desires me to get him a protection, or a place of employment; but, poor man, I doubt I can helpe him, but will endeavour it. 5th. Lay long in bed, then up, called by Captain Cocke about business of a contract of his for some Tarre, and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen and there talked, and he being gone came Sir W. Warren and discoursed about our business with Field, and at noon by agreement to the Miter to dinner upon T. Trice's 40s., to be spent upon our late agreement. Here was a very poor dinner and great company. All our lawyers on both sides, and several friends of his and some of mine brought by him, viz., Mr. Moore, uncle Wight, Dr. Williams, and my cozen Angier, that lives here in town, who t Captain John Shales after dinner carried me aside and showed me a letter from his poor brother at Cambridge to me of the same contents with that yesterday to me desiring help from me. Here I was among a sorry company without any content or pleasure, and at the last the reckoning coming to above 40s. by 15s., he would have me pay the 10s. and he would pay the 5s., which was so poor that I was ashamed of it, and did it only to save contending with him. There, after agreeing a day for him and I to meet and seal our agreement, I parted and home, and at the office by agreement came Mr. Shales, and there he and I discourse till late the business of his helping me in the discovery of some arrears of provisions and stores due to the stores at Portsmouth, out of which I may chance to get some money, and save the King some too, and therefore I shall endeavour to do the fellow some right in other things here to his advantage between Mr. Gauden and him. He gone my wife and I to her arithmetique, in which she pleases me well, and so to the office, there set down my Journall, and so home to supper and to bed. A little troubled to see how my family is out of order by Will's being there, and also to hear that Jane do not please my wife as I expected and would have wished. 6th. This morning waking, my wife was mighty-earnest with me to persuade me that she should prove with child since last night, which, if it be, let it come, and welcome. Up to my office, whither Commissioner Pett came, newly come out of the country, and he and I walked together in the garden talking of business a great while, and I perceive that by our countenancing of him he do begin to pluck up his head, and will do good things I hope in the yard. Thence, he being gone, to my office and there dispatched many people, and at noon to the 'Change to the coffee-house, and among other things heard Sir John Cutler say, that of his owne experience in time of thunder, so many barrels of beer as have a piece of iron laid upon them will not be soured, and the others will. Thence to the 'Change, and there discoursed with many people, and I hope to settle again to my business and revive my report of following of business, which by my being taken off for a while by sickness and, laying out of money has slackened for a little while. Home, and there found Mrs. Hunt, who dined very merry, good woman; with us. After dinner came in Captain Grove, and he and I alone to talk of many things, and among many others of the Fishery, in which he gives the such hopes that being at this time full of projects how to get a little honestly, of which some of them I trust in God will take, I resolved this afternoon to go and consult my Lord Sandwich about it, and so, being to carry home Mrs. Hunt, I took her and my wife by coach and set them at Axe Yard, and I to my Lord's and thither sent for Creed and discoursed with him about it, and he and I to White Hall, where Sir G. Carteret and my Lord met me very fortunately, and wondered first to see me in my perruque, and I am glad it is over, and then, Sir G. Carteret being gone, I took my Lord aside, who do give me the best advice he can, and telling me how there are some projectors, by name Sir Edward Ford, who would have the making of farthings, [Sir Edward Ford, son of Sir William Ford of Harting, born at Up Park in 1605. "After the Restoration he invented a mode of coining farthings. Each piece was to differ minutely from another to prevent forgery. He failed in procuring a patent for these in England, but obtained one for Ireland. He died in Ireland before he could carry his design into execution, on September 3rd, 1670" ("Dictionary of National Biography ").] and out of that give so much to the King for the maintenance of the Fishery; but my Lord do not like that, but would have it go as they offered the last year, and so upon my desire he promises me when it is seasonable to bring me into the commission with others, if any of them take, and I perceive he and Mr. Coventry are resolved to follow it hard. Thence, after walking a good while in the Long gallery, home to my Lord's lodging, my Lord telling me how my father did desire him to speak to me about my giving of my sister something, which do vex me to see that he should trouble my Lord in it, but however it is a good occasion for me to tell my Lord my condition, and so I was glad of it. After that we begun to talk of the Court, and he tells me how Mr. Edward Montagu begins to show respect to him again after his endeavouring to bespatter him all was, possible; but he is resolved never to admit him into his friendship again. He tells me how he and Sir H. Bennet, the Duke of Buckingham and his Duchesse, was of a committee with somebody else for the getting of Mrs. Stewart for the King; but that she proves a cunning slut, and is advised at Somerset House by the Queene-Mother, and by her mother, and so all the plot is spoiled and the whole committee broke. Mr. Montagu and the Duke of Buckingham fallen a-pieces, the Duchesse going to a nunnery; and so Montagu begins to enter friendship with my Lord, and to attend the Chancellor whom he had deserted. My Lord tells me that Mr. Montagu, among other things, did endeavour to represent him to the Chancellor's sons as one that did desert their father in the business of my Lord of Bristoll; which is most false, being the only man that hath several times dined with him when no soul hath come to him, and went with him that very day home when the Earl impeached him in the Parliament House, and hath refused ever to pay a visit to my Lord of Bristoll, not so much as in return to a visit of his. So that the Chancellor and my Lord are well known and trusted one by another. But yet my Lord blames the Chancellor for desiring to have it put off to the next Session of Parliament, contrary to my Lord Treasurer's advice, to whom he swore he would not do it: and, perhaps, my Lord Chancellor, for aught I see by my Lord's discourse, may suffer by it when the Parliament comes to sit. My Lord tells me that he observes the Duke of York do follow and understand business very well, and is mightily improved thereby. Here Mr. Pagett coming in I left my Lord and him, and thence I called my wife and her maid Jane and by coach home and to my office, where late writing some things against tomorrow, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Mr. Blackburne came to me to let me know that he had got a lodging very commodious for his kinsman, and so he is ready at my pleasure to go when I would bid him, and so I told him that I would in a day or two send to speak with him and he and I would talk and advise Will what to do, of which I am very glad. 7th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and Sir W. Pen and I had a word or two, where by opposing him in not being willing to excuse a mulct put upon the purser of the James, absent from duty, he says, by his business and order, he was mighty angry, and went out of the office like an asse discontented: At which I am never a whit sorry; I would not have [him] think that I dare not oppose him, where I see reason and cause for it. Home to dinner, and then by coach abroad about several businesses to several places, among others to Westminster Hall, where, seeing Howlett's daughter going out of the other end of the Hall, I followed her if I would to have offered talk to her and dallied with her a little, but I could not overtake her. Then calling at Unthank's for something of my wife's not done, a pretty little gentlewoman, a lodger there, came out to tell me that it was not yet done, which though it vexed me yet I took opportunity of taking her by the hand with the boot, and so found matter to talk a little the longer to her, but I was ready to laugh at myself to see how my anger would not operate, my disappointment coming to me by such a messenger. Thence to Doctors' Commons and there consulted Dr. Turner about some differences we have with the officers of the East India ships about goods brought by them without paying freight, which we demand of them. So home to my office, and there late writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed, having got a scurvy cold by lying cold in my head the last night. This day Captain Taylor brought me a piece of plate, a little small state dish, he expecting that I should get him some allowance for demorage ["'Demurrage' is the compensation due to a shipowner from a freighter for unduly decaying his vessel in port beyond the time specified in the charter-party or bill of lading. It is in fact an extended freight. A ship, unjustly detained as a prize is entitled to 'demurrage.'"--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book, 1867.] of his ship "William," kept long at Tangier, which I shall and may justly do. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and it being late, to church without my wife, and there I saw Pembleton come into the church and bring his wife with him, a good comely plain woman, and by and by my wife came after me all alone, which I was a little vexed at. I found that my coming in a perriwigg did not prove so strange to the world as I was afear'd it would, for I thought that all the church would presently have cast their eyes all upon me, but I found no such thing. Here an ordinary lazy sermon of Mr. Mill's, and then home to dinner, and there Tom came and dined with us; and after dinner to talk about a new black cloth suit that I have a making, and so at church time to church again, where the Scott preached, and I slept most of the time. Thence home, and I spent most of the evening upon Fuller's "Church History" and Barckly's "Argeny," and so after supper to prayers and to bed, a little fearing my pain coming back again, myself continuing as costive as ever, and my physic ended, but I had sent a porter to-day for more and it was brought me before I went to bed, and so with pretty good content to bed. 9th. Up and found myself very well, and so by coach to White Hall and there met all my fellow officers, and so to the Duke, where, when we came into his closett, he told us that Mr. Pepys was so altered with his new perriwigg that he did not know him. So to our discourse, and among and above other things we were taken up in talking upon Sir J. Lawson's coming home, he being come to Portsmouth; and Captain Berkely is come to towne with a letter from the Duana of Algier to the King, wherein they do demand again the searching of our ships and taking out of strangers, and their goods; and that what English ships are taken without the Duke's pass they will detain (though it be flat contrary to the words of the peace) as prizes, till they do hear from our King, which they advise him may be speedy. And this they did the very next day after they had received with great joy the Grand Seignor's confirmation of the Peace from Constantinople by Captain Berkely; so that there is no command nor certainty to be had of these people. The King is resolved to send his will by a fleete of ships; and it is thought best and speediest to send these very ships that are now come home, five sail of good ships, back again after cleaning, victualling, and paying them. But it is a pleasant thing to think how their Basha, Shavan Aga, did tear his hair to see the soldiers order things thus; for (just like his late predecessor) when they see the evil of war with England, then for certain they complain to the Grand Seignor of him, and cut his head off: this he is sure of, and knows as certain. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I met with Mr. Pierce, chyrurgeon; and among other things he asked me seriously whether I knew anything of my Lord's being out of favour with the King; and told me, that for certain the King do take mighty notice of my Lord's living obscurely in a corner not like himself, and becoming the honour that he is come to. I was sorry to hear, and the truth is, from my Lord's discourse among his people (which I am told) of the uncertainty of princes' favours, and his melancholy keeping from Court, I am doubtful of some such thing; but I seemed wholly strange to him in it, but will make my use of it. He told me also how loose the Court is, nobody looking after business, but every man his lust and gain; and how the King is now become besotted upon Mrs. Stewart, that he gets into corners, and will be with her half an houre together kissing her to the observation of all the world; and she now stays by herself and expects it, as my Lady Castlemaine did use to do; to whom the King, he says, is still kind, so as now and then he goes to have a chat with her as he believes; but with no such fondness as he used to do. But yet it is thought that this new wench is so subtle, that she lets him not do any thing than is safe to her, but yet his doting is so great that, Pierce tells me, it is verily thought if the Queene had died, he would have married her. The Duke of Monmouth is to have part of the Cockpitt new built for lodgings for him, and they say to be made Captain of the Guards in the room of my Lord Gerard. Having thus talked with him, there comes into the Hall Creed and Ned Pickering, and after a turne or two with them, it being noon, I walked with them two to the King's Head ordinary, and there we dined; little discourse but what was common, only that the Duke of Yorke is a very, desperate huntsman, but I was ashamed of Pickering, who could not forbear having up my Lord Sandwich now and then in the most paltry matters abominable. Thence I took leave of them, and so having taken up something at my wife's tailor's, I home by coach and there to my office, whither Shales came and I had much discourse with him about the business of the victualling, and thence in the evening to the Coffee-house, and there sat till by and by, by appointment Will brought me word that his uncle Blackburne was ready to speak with me. So I went down to him, and he and I to a taverne hard by, and there I begun to speak to Will friendlily, advising him how to carry himself now he is going from under my roof, without any reflections upon the occasion from whence his removal arose. This his uncle seconded, and after laying down to him his duty to me, and what I expect of him, in a discourse of about a quarter of an houre or more, we agreed upon his going this week, towards the latter (end) of the week, and so dismissed him, and Mr. Blackburne and I fell to talk of many things, wherein I did speak so freely to him in many things agreeing with his sense that he was very open to me: first, in that of religion, he makes it great matter of prudence for the King and Council to suffer liberty of conscience; and imputes the losse of Hungary to the Turke from the Emperor's denying them this liberty of their religion. He says that many pious ministers of the word of God, some thousands of them, do now beg their bread: and told me how highly the present clergy carry themselves every where, so as that they are hated and laughed at by everybody; among other things, for their excommunications, which they send upon the least occasions almost that can be. And I am convinced in my judgement, not only from his discourse, but my thoughts in general, that the present clergy will never heartily go down with the generality of the commons of England; they have been so used to liberty and freedom, and they are so acquainted with the pride and debauchery of the present clergy. He did give me many stories of the affronts which the clergy receive in all places of England from the gentry and ordinary persons of the parish. He do tell me what the City thinks of General Monk, as of a most perfidious man that hath betrayed every body, and the King also; who, as he thinks, and his party, and so I have heard other good friends of the King say, it might have been better for the King to have had his hands a little bound for the present, than be forced to bring such a crew of poor people about him, and be liable to satisfy the demands of every one of them. He told me that to his knowledge (being present at every meeting at the Treaty at the Isle of Wight), that the old King did confess himself overruled and convinced in his judgement against the Bishopps, and would have suffered and did agree to exclude the service out of the churches, nay his own chappell; and that he did always say, that this he did not by force, for that he would never abate one inch by any vyolence; but what he did was out of his reason and judgement. He tells me that the King by name, with all his dignities, is prayed for by them that they call Fanatiques, as heartily and powerfully as in any of the other churches that are thought better: and that, let the King think what he will, it is them that must helpe him in the day of warr. For as they are the most, so generally they are the most substantial sort of people, and the soberest; and did desire me to observe it to my Lord Sandwich, among other things, that of all the old army now you cannot see a man begging about the street; but what? You shall have this captain turned a shoemaker; the lieutenant, a baker; this a brewer; that a haberdasher; this common soldier, a porter; and every man in his apron and frock, &c., as if they never had done anything else: whereas the others go with their belts and swords, swearing and cursing, and stealing; running into people's houses, by force oftentimes, to carry away something; and this is the difference between the temper of one and the other; and concludes (and I think with some reason,) that the spirits of the old parliament soldiers are so quiett and contented with God's providences, that the King is safer from any evil meant him by them one thousand times more than from his own discontented Cavalier. And then to the publique management of business: it is done, as he observes, so loosely and so carelessly, that the kingdom can never be happy with it, every man looking after himself, and his owne lust and luxury; among other things he instanced in the business of money, he do believe that half of what money the Parliament gives the King is not so much as gathered. And to the purpose he told me how the Bellamys (who had some of the Northern counties assigned them for their debt for the petty warrant victualling) have often complained to him that they cannot get it collected, for that nobody minds, or, if they do, they won't pay it in. Whereas (which is a very remarkable thing,) he hath been told by some of the Treasurers at Warr here of late, to whom the most of the L120,000 monthly was paid, that for most months the payments were gathered so duly, that they seldom had so much or more than 40s., or the like, short in the whole collection; whereas now the very Commissioners for Assessments and other publique payments are such persons, and those that they choose in the country so like themselves, that from top to bottom there is not a man carefull of any thing, or if he be, he is not solvent; that what between the beggar and the knave, the King is abused the best part of all his revenue. From thence we began to talk of the Navy, and particularly of Sir W. Pen, of whose rise to be a general I had a mind to be informed. He told me he was always a conceited man, and one that would put the best side outward, but that it was his pretence of sanctity that brought him into play. Lawson, and Portman, and the Fifth-monarchy men, among whom he was a great brother, importuned that he might be general; and it was pleasant to see how Blackburne himself did act it, how when the Commissioners of the Admiralty would enquire of the captains and admirals of such and such men, how they would with a sigh and casting up the eyes say, "Such a man fears the Lord," or, "I hope such a man hath the Spirit of God," and such things as that. But he tells me that there was a cruel articling against Pen after one fight, for cowardice, in putting himself within a coyle of cables, of which he had much ado to acquit himself: and by great friends did it, not without remains of guilt, but that his brethren had a mind to pass it by, and Sir H. Vane did advise him to search his heart, and see whether this fault or a greater sin was not the occasion of this so great tryall. And he tells me, that what Pen gives out about Cromwell's sending and entreating him to go to Jamaica, is very false; he knows the contrary: besides, the Protector never was a man that needed to send for any man, specially such a one as he, twice. He tells me that the business of Jamaica did miscarry absolutely by his pride, and that when he was in the Tower he would cry like a child. This he says of his own personal knowledge, and lastly tells me that just upon the turne, when Monk was come from the North to the City, and did begin to think of bringing in the King, Pen was then turned Quaker. This he is most certain of. He tells me that Lawson was never counted any thing but only a seaman, and a stout man, but a false man, and that now he appears the greatest hypocrite in the world. And Pen the same. He tells me that it is much talked of, that the King intends to legitimate the Duke of Monmouth; and that he has not, nor his friends of his persuasion, have any hopes of getting their consciences at liberty but by God Almighty's turning of the King's heart, which they expect, and are resolved to live and die in quiett hopes of it; but never to repine, or act any thing more than by prayers towards it. And that not only himself but all of them have, and are willing at any time to take the oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. Thus far, and upon many more things, we had discoursed when some persons in a room hard by began to sing in three parts very finely and to play upon a flagilette so pleasantly that my discourse afterwards was but troublesome, and I could not attend it, and so, anon, considering of a sudden the time of night, we found it 11 o'clock, which I thought it had not been by two hours, but we were close in talk, and so we rose, he having drunk some wine and I some beer and sugar, and so by a fair moonshine home and to bed, my wife troubled with tooth ache. Mr. Blackburne observed further to me, some certain notice that he had of the present plot so much talked of; that he was told by Mr. Rushworth, how one Captain Oates, a great discoverer, did employ several to bring and seduce others into a plot, and that one of his agents met with one that would not listen to him, nor conceal what he had offered him, but so detected the trapan. This, he says, is most true. He also, among other instances how the King is served, did much insist upon the cowardice and corruption of the King's guards and militia, which to be sure will fail the King, as they have done already, when there will be occasion for them. 10th. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon, and then to the Exchange, where spoke with several and had my head casting about how to get a penny and I hope I shall, and then hone, and there Mr. Moore by appointment dined with me, and after dinner all the afternoon till night drawing a bond and release against to-morrow for T. Trice, and I to come to a conclusion in which I proceed with great fear and jealousy, knowing him to be a rogue and one that I fear has at this time got too great a hank--[hold]--over me by the neglect of my lawyers. But among other things I am come to an end with Mr. Moore for a L32, a good while lying in my hand of my Lord Privy Seal's which he for the odd L7 do give me a bond to secure me against, and so I got L25 clear. Then, he being gone, to the office and there late setting down yesterday's remarkable discourses, and so home and to supper, late, and to bed. The Queene, I hear, is now very well again, and that she hath bespoke herself a new gowne. 11th. Up and to my office all the morning, and at noon to the Coffee-house, where with Dr. Allen some good discourse about physique and chymistry. And among other things, I telling him what Dribble the German Doctor do offer of an instrument to sink ships; he tells me that which is more strange, that something made of gold, which they call in chymistry Aurum fulminans, a grain, I think he said, of it put into a silver spoon and fired, will give a blow like a musquett, and strike a hole through the spoon downward, without the least force upward; and this he can make a cheaper experiment of, he says, with iron prepared. Thence to the 'Change, and being put off a meeting with T. Trice, he not coming, I home to dinner, and after dinner by coach with my wife to my periwigg maker's for my second periwigg, but it is not done, and so, calling at a place or two, home, and there to my office, and there taught my wife a new lesson in arithmetique and so sent her home, and I to several businesses; and so home to supper and to bed, being mightily troubled with a cold in my stomach and head, with a great pain by coughing. 12th. Lay long in bed, indeed too long, divers people and the officers staying for me. My cozen Thomas Pepys the executor being below, and I went to him and stated reckonings about our debt, for his payments of money to my uncle Thomas heretofore by the Captain's orders. I did not pay him but will soon do it if I can. To the office and there all the morning, where Sir W. Pen, like a coxcomb, was so ready to cross me in a motion I made unawares for the entering a man at Chatham into the works, wherein I was vexed to see his spleene, but glad to understand it, and that it was in no greater a matter, I being not at all concerned here. To the 'Change and did several businesses there and so home with Mr. Moore to dinner, my wife having dined, with Mr. Hollyard with her to-day, he being come to advise her about her hollow sore place. After dinner Mr. Moore and I discoursing of my Lord's negligence in attendance at Court, and the discourse the world makes of it, with the too great reason that I believe there is for it; I resolved and took coach to his lodgings, thinking to speak with my Lord about it without more ado. Here I met Mr. Howe, and he and I largely about it, and he very soberly acquainted me how things are with my Lord, that my Lord do not do anything like himself, but follows his folly, and spends his time either at cards at Court with the ladies, when he is there at all, or else at Chelsy with the slut to his great disgrace, and indeed I do see and believe that my Lord do apprehend that he do grow less too at Court. Anon my Lord do come in, and I begun to fall in discourse with him, but my heart did misgive me that my Lord would not take it well, and then found him not in a humour to talk, and so after a few ordinary words, my Lord not talking in the manner as he uses to do; I took leave, and spent some time with W. Howe again, and told him how I could not do what I had so great a mind and resolution to do, but that I thought it would be as well to do it in writing, which he approves of, and so I took leave of him, and by coach home, my mind being full of it, and in pain concerning it. So to my office busy very late, the nights running on faster than one thinks, and so to supper and to bed. 13th. Up and to my office, busy all the morning with Commissioner Pett; at noon I to the Exchange, and meeting Shales, he and I to the Coffee-house and there talked of our victualling matters, which I fear will come to little. However I will go on and carry it as far as I can. So home to dinner where I expected Commissioner Pett, and had a good dinner, but he came not. After dinner came my perriwigg-maker, and brings me a second periwigg, made of my own haire, which comes to 21s. 6d. more than the worth of my own haire, so that they both come to L4 1s. 6d., which he sayth will serve me two years, but I fear it. He being gone, I to my office, and put on my new shagg purple gowne, with gold buttons and loop lace, I being a little fearful of taking cold and of pain coming upon me. Here I staid making an end of a troublesome letter, but to my advantage, against Sir W. Batten, giving Sir G. Carteret an account of our late great contract with Sir W. Warren for masts, wherein I am sure I did the King L600 service. That done home to my wife to take a clyster, which I did, and it wrought very well and brought a great deal of wind, which I perceive is all that do trouble me. After that, about 9 or 10 o'clock, to supper in my wife's chamber, and then about 12 to bed. 14th. Up and to the office, where we sat, and after we had almost done, Sir W. Batten desired to have the room cleared, and there he did acquaint the board how he was obliged to answer to something lately said which did reflect upon the Comptroller and him, and to that purpose told how the bargain for Winter's timber did not prove so bad as I had reported to the board it would. After he had done I cleared the matter that I did not mention the business as a thing designed by me against them, but was led to it by Sir J. Minnes, and that I said nothing but what I was told by Mayers the surveyor as much as by Deane upon whom they laid all the fault, which I must confess did and do still trouble me, for they report him to be a fellow not fit to be employed, when in my conscience he deserves better than any officer in the yard. I thought it not convenient to vindicate him much now, but time will serve when I will do it, and I am bound to do it. I offered to proceed to examine and prove what I said if they please, but Mr. Coventry most discreetly advised not, it being to no purpose, and that he did believe that what I said did not by my manner of speaking it proceed from any design of reproaching them, and so it ended. But my great trouble is for poor Deane. At noon home and dined with my wife, and after dinner Will told me if I pleased he was ready to remove his things, and so before my wife I did give him good counsel, and that his going should not abate my kindnesse for him, if he carried himself well, and so bid "God bless him," and left him to remove his things, the poor lad weeping, but I am apt to think matters will be the better both for him and us. So to the office and there late busy. In the evening Mr. Moore came to tell me that he had no opportunity of speaking his mind to my Lord yesterday, and so I am resolved to write to him very suddenly. So after my business done I home, I having staid till 12 o'clock at night almost, making an end of a letter to Sir G. Carteret about the late contract for masts, wherein I have done myself right, and no wrong to Sir W. Batten. This night I think is the first that I have lain without ever a man in my house besides myself, since I came to keep any. Will being this night gone to his lodging, and by the way I hear to-day that my boy Waynman has behaved himself so with Mr. Davis that they have got him put into a Barbadoes ship to be sent away, and though he sends to me to get a release for him I will not out of love to the boy, for I doubt to keep him here were to bring him to the gallows. 15th (Lord's day). Lay very long in bed with my wife and then up and to my office there to copy fair my letter to Sir G. Carteret, which I did, and by and by most opportunely a footman of his came to me about other business, and so I sent it him by his own servant. I wish good luck with it. At noon home to dinner, my wife not being up, she lying to expect Mr. Holyard the surgeon. So I dined by myself, and in the afternoon to my office again, and there drew up a letter to my Lord, stating to him what the world talks concerning him, and leaving it to him and myself to be thought of by him as he pleases, but I have done but my duty in it. I wait Mr. Moore's coming for his advice about sending it. So home to supper to my wife, myself finding myself by cold got last night beginning to have some pain, which grieves me much in my mind to see to what a weakness I am come. This day being our Queene's birthday, the guns of the Tower went all off; and in the evening the Lord Mayor sent from church to church to order the constables to cause bonfires to be made in every streete, which methinks is a poor thing to be forced to be commanded. After a good supper with my wife, and hearing of the mayds read in the Bible, we to prayers, and to bed. 16th. Up, and being ready then abroad by coach to White Hall, and there with the Duke, where Mr. Coventry did a second time go to vindicate himself against reports and prove by many testimonies that he brought, that he did nothing but what had been done by the Lord Admiral's secretaries heretofore, though he do not approve of it, nor since he had any rule from the Duke hath he exceeded what he is there directed to take, and the thing I think is very clear that they always did take and that now he do take less than ever they did heretofore. Thence away, and Sir G. Carteret did call me to him and discourse with me about my letter yesterday, and did seem to take it unkindly that I should doubt of his satisfaction in the bargain of masts, and did promise me that hereafter whatever he do hear to my prejudice he would tell me before he would believe it, and that this was only Sir W. Batten's report in this business, which he says he did ever approve of, in which I know he lies. Thence to my Lord's lodgings thinking to find Mr. Moore, in order to the sending away my letter of reproof to my Lord, but I do not find him, but contrary do find my Lord come to Court, which I am glad to hear and should be more glad to hear that he do follow his business that I may not have occasion to venture upon his good nature by such a provocation as my letter will be to him. So by coach home, to the Exchange, where I talked about several businesses with several people, and so home to dinner with my wife, and then in the afternoon to my office, and there late, and in the evening Mr. Hollyard came, and he and I about our great work to look upon my wife's malady, which he did, and it seems her great conflux of humours, heretofore that did use to swell there, did in breaking leave a hollow which has since gone in further and further; till now it is near three inches deep, but as God will have it do not run into the bodyward, but keeps to the outside of the skin, and so he must be forced to cut it open all along, and which my heart I doubt will not serve for me to see done, and yet she will not have any body else to see it done, no, not her own mayds, and so I must do it, poor wretch, for her. To-morrow night he is to do it. He being gone, I to my office again a little while, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and while I am dressing myself, Mr. Deane of Woolwich came to me, and I did tell him what had happened to him last Saturday in the office, but did encourage him to make no matter of it, for that I did not fear but he would in a little time be master of his enemies as much as they think to master him, and so he did tell me many instances of the abominable dealings of Mr. Pett of Woolwich towards him. So we broke up, and I to the office, where we sat all the forenoon doing several businesses, and at noon I to the 'Change where Mr. Moore came to me, and by and by Tom Trice and my uncle Wight, and so we out to a taverne (the New Exchange taverne over against the 'Change where I never was before, and I found my old playfellow Ben Stanley master of it), and thence to a scrivener to draw up a bond, and to another tavern (the King's Head) we went, and calling on my cozen Angier at the India House there we eat a bit of pork from a cookes together, and after dinner did seal the bond, and I did take up the old bond of my uncle's to my aunt, and here T. Trice before them do own all matters in difference between us is clear as to this business, and that he will in six days give me it under the hand of his attorney that there is no judgment against the bond that may give me any future trouble, and also a copy of their letters of his Administration to Godfrey, as much of it as concerns me to have. All this being done towards night we broke up, and so I home and with Mr. Moore to my office, and there I read to him the letter I have wrote to send to my Lord to give him an account how the world, both city and court, do talk of him and his living as he do there in such a poor and bad house so much to his disgrace. Which Mr. Moore do conclude so well drawn: that he would not have me by any means to neglect sending it, assuring me in the best of his judgment that it cannot but endear me to my Lord instead of what I fear of getting his offence, and did offer to take the same words and send them as from, him with his hand to him, which I am not unwilling should come (if they are at all fit to go) from any body but myself, and so, he being gone, I did take a copy of it to keep by me in shorthand, and sealed them up to send to-morrow by my Will. So home, Mr. Hollyard being come to my wife, and there she being in bed, he and I alone to look again upon her . . . . and there he do find that, though it would not be much pain, yet she is so fearful, and the thing will be somewhat painful in the tending, which I shall not be able to look after, but must require a nurse and people about her; so that upon second thoughts he believes that a fomentation will do as well, and though it will be troublesome yet no pain, and what her mayd will be able to do without knowing directly what it is for, but only that it may be for the piles. For though it be nothing but what is fiery honest, yet my wife is loth to give occasion of discourse concerning it. By this my mind and my wife's is much eased, for I confess I should have been troubled to have had my wife cut before my face, I could not have borne to have seen it. I had great discourse with him about my disease. He tells me again that I must eat in a morning some loosening gruel, and at night roasted apples, that I must drink now and then ale with my wine, and eat bread and butter and honey, and rye bread if I can endure it, it being loosening. I must also take once a week a clyster of his last prescription, only honey now and then instead of butter, which things I am now resolved to apply myself to. He being gone I to my office again to a little business, and then home to supper and to bed, being in, a little pain by drinking of cold small beer to-day and being in a cold room at the Taverne I believe. 18th. Up, and after being ready, and done a little business at the office, I and Mr. Hater by water to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I have not been a very great, while, and there paid off the Milford in very good order, and all respect showed me in the office as much as there used to be to any of the rest or the whole board. That done at noon I took Captain Terne, and there coming in by chance Captain Berkeley, him also to dinner with me to the Globe. Captain Berkeley, who was lately come from Algier, did give us a good account of the place, and how the Basha there do live like a prisoner, being at the mercy of the soldiers and officers, so that there is nothing but a great confusion there. After dinner came Sir W. Batten, and I left him to pay off another ship, and I walked home again reading of a little book of new poems of Cowley's, given me by his brother. Abraham do lie, it seems, very sicke, still, but like to recover. At my office till late, and then came Mr. Hollyard so full of discourse and Latin that I think he hath got a cupp, but I do not know; but full of talke he is in defence of Calvin and Luther. He begun this night the fomentation to my wife, and I hope it will do well with her. He gone, I to the office again a little, and so to bed. This morning I sent Will with my great letter of reproof to my Lord Sandwich, who did give it into his owne hand. I pray God give a blessing to it, but confess I am afeard what the consequence may be to me of good or bad, which is according to the ingenuity that he do receive it with. However, I am satisfied that it will do him good, and that he needs it: MY LORD, I do verily hope that neither the manner nor matter of this advice will be condemned by your Lordship, when for my defence in the first I shall alledge my double attempt, since your return from Hinchinbroke, of doing it personally, in both of which your Lordship's occasions, no doubtfulnesse of mine, prevented me, and that being now fearful of a sudden summons to Portsmouth, for the discharge of some ships there, I judge it very unbecoming the duty which every bit of bread I eat tells me I owe to your Lordship to expose the safety of your honour to the uncertainty of my return. For the matter, my Lord, it is such as could I in any measure think safe to conceal from, or likely to be discovered to you by any other hand, I should not have dared so far to owne what from my heart I believe is false, as to make myself but the relater of other's discourse; but, sir, your Lordship's honour being such as I ought to value it to be, and finding both in city and court that discourses pass to your prejudice, too generally for mine or any man's controllings but your Lordship's, I shall, my Lord, without the least greatening or lessening the matter, do my duty in laying it shortly before you. People of all conditions, my Lord, raise matter of wonder from your Lordship's so little appearance at Court: some concluding thence their disfavour thereby, to which purpose I have had questions asked me, and endeavouring to put off such insinuations by asserting the contrary, they have replied, that your Lordship's living so beneath your quality, out of the way, and declining of Court attendance, hath been more than once discoursed about the King. Others, my Lord, when the chief ministers of State, and those most active of the Council have been reckoned up, wherein your Lordship never used to want an eminent place, have said, touching your Lordship, that now your turn was served, and the King had given you a good estate, you left him to stand or fall as he would, and, particularly in that of the Navy, have enlarged upon your letting fall all service there. Another sort, and those the most, insist upon the bad report of the house wherein your Lordship, now observed in perfect health again, continues to sojourne, and by name have charged one of the daughters for a common courtizan, alledging both places and persons where and with whom she hath been too well known, and how much her wantonnesse occasions, though unjustly, scandal to your Lordship, and that as well to gratifying of some enemies as to the wounding of more friends I am not able to tell. Lastly, my Lord, I find a general coldness in all persons towards your Lordship, such as, from my first dependance on you, I never yet knew, wherein I shall not offer to interpose any thoughts or advice of mine, well knowing your Lordship needs not any. But with a most faithful assurance that no person nor papers under Heaven is privy to what I here write, besides myself and this, which I shall be careful to have put into your owne hands, I rest confident of your Lordship's just construction of my dutifull intents herein, and in all humility take leave, may it please your Lordship, Your Lordship's most obedient Servant, S. P. The foregoing letter was sealed up, and enclosed in this that follows MY LORD, If this finds your Lordship either not alone, or not at leisure, I beg the suspending your opening of the enclosed till you shall have both, the matter very well bearing such a delay, and in all humility remain, may it please your Lordship, Your Lordship's most obedient Servant, S. P. November 17, 1663. My servant hath my directions to put this into your Lordship's owne hand, but not to stay for any answer. 19th. Up, and to the office, where (Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten being gone this morning to Portsmouth) the rest of us met, and rode at noon. So I to the 'Change, where little business, and so home to dinner, and being at dinner Mr. Creed in and dined with us, and after dinner Mr. Gentleman, my Jane's father, to see us and her. And after a little stay with them, I was sent for by Sir G. Carteret by agreement, and so left them, and to him and with him by coach to my Lord Treasurer, to discourse with him about Mr. Gauden's having of money, and to offer to him whether it would not be necessary, Mr. Gauden's credit being so low as it is, to take security of him if he demands any great sum, such as L20,000, which now ought to be paid him upon his next year's declaration. Which is a sad thing, that being reduced to this by us, we should be the first to doubt his credit; but so it is. However, it will be managed with great tenderness to him. My Lord Treasurer we found in his bed-chamber, being laid up of the goute. I find him a very ready man, and certainly a brave servant to the King: he spoke so quick and sensibly of the King's charge. Nothing displeased me in him but his long nails, which he lets grow upon a pretty thick white short hand, that it troubled me to see them. Thence with Sir G. Carteret by coach, and he set me down at the New Exchange. In our way he told me there is no such thing likely yet as a Dutch war, neither they nor we being in condition for it, though it will come certainly to that in some time, our interests lying the same way, that is to say, in trade. But not yet. Thence to the Temple, and there visited my cozen Roger Pepys and his brother Dr. John, a couple, methinks, of very ordinary men, and thence to speak [with] Mr. Moore, and met him by the way, who tells me, to my great content, that he believes my letter to my Lord Sandwich hath wrought well upon him, and that he will look after himself and his business upon it, for he begins already to do so. But I dare not conclude anything till I see him, which shall be to-morrow morning, that I may be out of my pain to know how he takes it of me. He and I to the Coffee-house, and there drank and talked a little, and so I home, and after a little at my office home to supper and to bed, not knowing how to avoid hopes from Mr. Moore's words to-night, and yet I am fearful of the worst. 20th. Up, and as soon as I could to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but he was gone out before, and so I am defeated of my expectation of being eased one way or other in the business of my Lord. But I went up to Mr. Howe, who I saw this day the first time in a periwigg, which becomes him very well, and discoursed with him. He tells me that my Lord is of a sudden much changed, and he do believe that he do take my letter well. However, we do both bless God that it hath so good an effect upon him. Thence I home again, calling at the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord, but so busy with Mr. Townsend making up accounts there that I was unwilling to trouble him, and so went away. By and by to the Exchange, and there met by agreement Mr. Howe, and took him with a barrel of oysters home to dinner, where we were very merry, and indeed I observe him to be a very hopeful young man, but only a little conceited. After dinner I took him and my wife, and setting her in Covent Garden at her mother's, he and I to my Lord's, and thence I with Mr. Moore to White Hall, there the King and Council being close, and I thinking it an improper place to meet my Lord first upon the business; I took coach, and calling my wife went home, setting Mr. Moore down by the way, and having been late at the office alone looking over some plates of the Northern seas, the White seas, and Archangell river, I went home, and, after supper, to bed. My wife tells me that she and her brother have had a great falling out to-night, he taking upon him to challenge great obligation upon her, and taxing her for not being so as she ought to be to her friends, and that she can do more with me than she pretends, and I know not what, but God be thanked she cannot. A great talke there is today of a crush between some of the Fanatiques up in arms, and the King's men in the North; but whether true I know not yet. 21st. At the office all the morning and at noon I receive a letter from Mr. Creed, with a token, viz., a very noble parti-coloured Indian gowne for my wife. The letter is oddly writ, over-prizing his present, and little owning any past service of mine, but that this was his genuine respects, and I know not what: I confess I had expectations of a better account from him of my service about his accounts, and so give his boy 12d., and sent it back again, and after having been at the pay of a ship this afternoon at the Treasury, I went by coach to Ludgate, and, by pricing several there, I guess this gowne may be worth about L12 or L15. But, however, I expect at least L50 of him. So in the evening I wrote him a letter telling him clearly my mind, a copy of which I keep and of his letter and so I resolve to have no more such correspondence as I used to have but will have satisfaction of him as I do expect. So to write my letters, and after all done I went home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well at ease from my letter to Creed, and more for my receipt this afternoon of L17 at the Treasury, for the L17 paid a year since to the carver for his work at my house, which I did intend to have paid myself, but, finding others to do it, I thought it not amisse to get it too, but I am afeard that we may hear of it to our greater prejudices hereafter. 22nd (Lord's day). Up pretty early, and having last night bespoke a coach, which failed me this morning, I walked as far as the Temple, and there took coach, and to my Lord's lodgings, whom I found ready to go to chappell; but I coming, he begun, with a very serious countenance, to tell me that he had received my late letter, wherein first he took notice of my care of him and his honour, and did give me thanks for that part of it where I say that from my heart I believe the contrary of what I do there relate to be the discourse of others; but since I intended it not a reproach, but matter of information, and for him to make a judgment of it for his practice, it was necessary for me to tell him the persons of whom I have gathered the several particulars which I there insist on. I would have made excuses in it; but, seeing him so earnest in it, I found myself forced to it, and so did tell him Mr. Pierce; the chyrurgeon, in that of his Lordship's living being discoursed of at Court; a mayd servant that-I kept, that lived at Chelsy school; and also Mr. Pickering, about the report touching the young woman; and also Mr. Hunt, in Axe Yard, near whom she lodged. I told him the whole city do discourse concerning his neglect of business; and so I many times asserting my dutifull intention in all this, and he owning his accepting of it as such. That that troubled me most in particular is, that he did there assert the civility of the people of the house, and the young gentlewoman, for whose reproach he was sorry. His saying that he was resolved how to live, and that though he was taking a house, meaning to live in another manner, yet it was not to please any people, or to stop report, but to please himself, though this I do believe he might say that he might not seem to me to be so much wrought upon by what I have writ; and lastly, and most of all, when I spoke of the tenderness that I have used in declaring this to him, there being nobody privy to it, he told me that I must give him leave to except one. I told him that possibly somebody might know of some thoughts of mine, I having borrowed some intelligence in this matter from them, but nobody could say they knew of the thing itself what I writ. This, I confess, however, do trouble me, for that he seemed to speak it as a quick retort, and it must sure be Will. Howe, who did not see anything of what I writ, though I told him indeed that I would write; but in this, I think, there is no great hurt. I find him, though he cannot but owne his opinion of my good intentions, and so, he did again and again profess it, that he is troubled in his mind at it; and I confess, I think I may have done myself an injury for his good, which, were it to do again, and that I believed he would take it no better, I think I should sit quietly without taking any notice of it, for I doubt there is no medium between his taking it very well or very ill. I could not forbear weeping before him at the latter end, which, since, I am ashamed of, though I cannot see what he can take it to proceed from but my tenderness and good will to him. After this discourse was ended, he began to talk very, cheerfully of other things, and I walked with him to White Hall, and we discoursed of the pictures in the gallery, which, it may be, he might do out of policy, that the boy might not see any, strangeness in him; but I rather think that his mind was somewhat eased, and hope that he will be to me as he was before. But, however, I doubt not when he sees that I follow my business, and become an honour to him, and not to be like to need him, or to be a burden to him, and rather able to serve him than to need him, and if he do continue to follow business, and so come to his right witts again, I do not doubt but he will then consider my faithfulnesse to him, and esteem me as he ought. At chappell I had room in the Privy Seale pew with other gentlemen, and there heard Dr. Killigrew, preach, but my mind was so, I know not whether troubled, or only full of thoughts of what had passed between my Lord and me that I could not mind it, nor can at this hour remember three words. The anthem was good after sermon, being the fifty-first psalme, made for five voices by one of Captain Cooke's boys, a pretty boy. And they say there are four or five of them that can do as much. And here I first perceived that the King is a little musicall, and kept good time with his hand all along the anthem. Up into the gallery after sermon and there I met Creed. We saluted one another and spoke but not one word of what had passed yesterday between us, but told me he was forced to such a place to dinner and so we parted. Here I met Mr. Povy, who tells me how Tangier had like to have been betrayed, and that one of the King's officers is come, to whom 8,000 pieces of eight were offered for his part. Hence I to the King's Head ordinary, and there dined, good and much company, and a good dinner: most of their discourse was about hunting, in a dialect I understand very little. Thence by coach to our own church, and there my mind being yet unsettled I could mind nothing, and after sermon home and there told my wife what had passed, and thence to my office, where doing business only to keep my mind employed till late; and so home to supper, to prayers, and to bed. 23rd: Up and to Alderman Backwell's, where Sir W. Rider, by appointment, met us to consult about the insuring of our hempe ship from Archangell, in which we are all much concerned, by my Lord Treasurer's command. That being put in a way I went to Mr. Beacham, one of our jury, to confer with him about our business with Field at our trial to-morrow, and thence to St. Paul's Churchyarde, and there bespoke "Rushworth's Collections," and "Scobell's Acts of the Long Parliament,"' &c., which I will make the King pay for as to the office; and so I do not break my vow at all. Back to the Coffee-house, and then to the 'Change, where Sir W. Rider and I did bid 15 per cent., and nobody will take it under 20 per cent., and the lowest was 15 per cent. premium, and 15 more to be abated in case of losse, which we did not think fit without order to give, and so we parted, and I home to a speedy, though too good a dinner to eat alone, viz., a good goose and a rare piece of roast beef. Thence to the Temple, but being there too soon and meeting Mr. Moore I took him up and to my Lord Treasurer's, and thence to Sir Ph. Warwick's, where I found him and did desire his advice, who left me to do what I thought fit in this business of the insurance, and so back again to the Temple all the way telling Mr. Moore what had passed between my Lord and me yesterday, and indeed my fears do grow that my Lord will not reform as I hoped he would nor have the ingenuity to take my advice as he ought kindly. But however I am satisfied that the one person whom he said he would take leave to except is not Mr. Moore, and so W. Howe I am sure could tell him nothing of my letter that ever he saw it. Here Mr. Moore and I parted, and I up to the Speaker's chamber, and there met Mr. Coventry by appointment to discourse about Field's business, and thence we parting I homewards and called at the Coffeehouse, and there by great accident hear that a letter is come that our ship is safe come to Newcastle. With this news I went like an asse presently to Alderman Backewell and, told him of it, and he and I went to the African House in Broad Street to have spoke with Sir W. Rider to tell him of it, but missed him. Now what an opportunity had I to have concealed this and seemed to have made an insurance and got L100 with the least trouble and danger in the whole world. This troubles me to think I should be so oversoon. So back again with Alderman Backewell talking of the new money, which he says will never be counterfeited, he believes; but it is deadly inconvenient for telling, it is so thick, and the edges are made to turn up. I found him as full of business, and, to speak the truth, he is a very painfull man, and ever was, and now-a-days is well paid for it. So home and to my office, doing business late in order to the getting a little money, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, where everybody joyed me in our hemp ship's coming safe, and it seems one man, Middleburgh, did give 20 per cent. in gold last night, three or four minutes before the newes came of her being safe. Thence with Mr. Deane home and dined, and after dinner and a good deal of discourse of the business of Woolwich Yard, we opened his draught of a ship which he has made for me, and indeed it is a most excellent one and that that I hope will be of good use to me as soon as I get a little time, and much indebted I am to the poor man. Toward night I by coach to Whitehall to the Tangier committee, and there spoke with my Lord and he seems mighty kind to me, but I will try him to-morrow by a visit to see whether he holds it or no. Then home by coach again and to my office, where late with Captain Miners about the East India business. So home to supper and to bed, being troubled to find myself so bound as I am, notwithstanding all the physic that I take. This day our tryall was with Field, and I hear that they have given him L29 damage more, which is a strange thing, but yet not so much as formerly, nor as I was afeard of. 25th. Up and to Sir G. Carteret's house, and with him by coach to Whitehall. He uses me mighty well to my great joy, and in our discourse took occasion to tell me that as I did desire of him the other day so he desires of me the same favour that we may tell one another at any time any thing that passes among us at the office or elsewhere wherein we are either dissatisfied one with another, and that I should find him in all things as kind and ready to serve me as my own brother. This methinks-was very sudden and extraordinary and do please me mightily, and I am resolved by no means ever to lose him again if I can. He told me that he did still observe my care for the King's service in my office. He set me down in Fleet Street and thence I by another coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I did present him Mr. Barlow's "Terella," with which he was very much pleased, and he did show me great kindnesse, and by other discourse I have reason to think that he is not at all, as I feared he would be, discontented against me more than the trouble of the thing will work upon him. I left him in good humour, and I to White Hall, to the Duke of York and Mr. Coventry, and there advised about insuring the hempe ship at 12 per cent., notwithstanding her being come to Newcastle, and I do hope that in all my three places which are now my hopes and supports I may not now fear any thing, but with care, which through the Lord's blessing I will never more neglect, I don't doubt but to keep myself up with them all. For in the Duke, and Mr. Coventry, my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret I place my greatest hopes, and it pleased me yesterday that Mr. Coventry in the coach (he carrying me to the Exchange at noon from the office) did, speaking of Sir W. Batten, say that though there was a difference between them, yet he would embrace any good motion of Sir W. Batten to the King's advantage as well as of Mr. Pepys' or any friend he had. And when I talked that I would go about doing something of the Controller's work when I had time, and that I thought the Controller would not take it ill, he wittily replied that there was nothing in the world so hateful as a dog in the manger. Back by coach to the Exchange, there spoke with Sir W. Rider about insuring, and spoke with several other persons about business, and shall become pretty well known quickly. Thence home to dinner with my poor wife, and with great joy to my office, and there all the afternoon about business, and among others Mr. Bland came to me and had good discourse, and he has chose me a referee for him in a business, and anon in the evening comes Sir W. Warren, and he and I had admirable discourse. He advised me in things I desired about, bummary,--[bottomry]--and other ways of putting out money as in parts of ships, how dangerous they are, and lastly fell to talk of the Dutch management of the Navy, and I think will helpe me to some accounts of things of the Dutch Admiralty, which I am mighty desirous to know. He seemed to have been mighty privy with my Lord Albemarle in things before this great turn, and to the King's dallying with him and others for some years before, but I doubt all was not very true. However, his discourse is very useful in general, though he would seem a little more than ordinary in this. Late at night home to supper and to bed, my mind in good ease all but my health, of which I am not a little doubtful. 26th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, and there met with Mr. Cutler the merchant, who would needs have me home to his house by the Dutch Church, and there in an old but good house, with his wife and mother, a couple of plain old women, I dined a good plain dinner, and his discourse after dinner with me upon matters of the navy victualling very good and worth my hearing, and so home to my office in the afternoon with my mind full of business, and there at it late, and so home to supper to my poor wife, and to bed, myself being in a little pain. . . . . by a stroke . . . . in pulling up my breeches yesterday over eagerly, but I will lay nothing to it till I see whether it will cease of itself or no. The plague, it seems, grows more and more at Amsterdam; and we are going upon making of all ships coming from thence and Hambrough, or any other infected places, to perform their Quarantine (for thirty days as Sir Rd. Browne expressed it in the order of the Council, contrary to the import of the word, though in the general acceptation it signifies now the thing, not the time spent in doing it) in Holehaven, a thing never done by us before. 27th. Up and to my office, where busy with great delight all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner with my poor wife, and with great content to my office again, and there hard at work upon stating the account of the freights due to the King from the East India Company till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife mightily pleased with my late discourse of getting a trip over to Calais, or some other port of France, the next summer, in one of the yachts, and I believe I shall do it, and it makes good sport that my mayde Jane dares not go, and Besse is wild to go, and is mad for joy, but yet will be willing to stay if Jane hath a mind, which is the best temper in this and all other things that ever I knew in my life. 28th. Up and at the office sat all the morning, and at noon by Mr. Coventry's coach to the 'Change, and after a little while there where I met with Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who tells me for good newes that my Lord Sandwich is resolved to go no more to Chelsy, and told me he believed that I had been giving my Lord some counsel, which I neither denied nor affirmed, but seemed glad with him that he went thither no more, and so I home to dinner, and thence abroad to Paul's Church Yard, and there looked upon the second part of Hudibras, which I buy not, but borrow to read, to see if it be as good as the first, which the world cry so mightily up, though it hath not a good liking in me, though I had tried by twice or three times reading to bring myself to think it witty. Back again home and to my office, and there late doing business and so home to supper and to bed. I have been told two or three times, but to-day for certain I am told how in Holland publickly they have pictured our King with reproach. One way is with his pockets turned the wrong side outward, hanging out empty; another with two courtiers picking of his pockets; and a third, leading of two ladies, while others abuse him; which amounts to great contempt. 29th (Lord's day). This morning I put on my best black cloth suit, trimmed with scarlett ribbon, very neat, with my cloake lined with velvett, and a new beaver, which altogether is very noble, with my black silk knit canons I bought a month ago. I to church alone, my wife not going, and there I found my Lady Batten in a velvet gown, which vexed me that she should be in it before my wife, or that I am able to put her into one, but what cannot be, cannot be. However, when I came home I told my wife of it, and to see my weaknesse, I could on the sudden have found my heart to have offered her one, but second thoughts put it by, and indeed it would undo me to think of doing as Sir W. Batten and his Lady do, who has a good estate besides his office. A good dinner we had of boeuf a la mode, but not roasted so well as my wife used to do it. So after dinner I to the French Church, but that being too far begun I came back to St. Dunstan's by six and heard a good sermon, and so home and to my office all, the evening making up my accounts of this month, and blessed be God I have got up my crumb again to L770, the most that ever I had yet, and good clothes a great many besides, which is a great mercy of God to me. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Was called up by a messenger from Sir W. Pen to go with him by coach to White Hall. So I got up and went with him, and by the way he began to observe to me some unkind dealing of mine to him a weeke or two since at the table, like a coxcomb, when I answered him pretty freely that I would not think myself to owe any man the service to do this or that because they would have it so (it was about taking of a mulct upon a purser for not keeping guard at Chatham when I was there), so he talked and I talked and let fall the discourse without giving or receiving any great satisfaction, and so to other discourse, but I shall know him still for a false knave. At White Hall we met the Duke in the Matted Gallery, and there he discoursed with us; and by and by my Lord Sandwich came and stood by, and talked; but it being St. Andrew's, and a collar-day, he went to the Chappell, and we parted. From him and Sir W. Pen and I back again and 'light at the 'Change, and to the Coffee-house, where I heard the best story of a cheate intended by a Master of a ship, who had borrowed twice his money upon the bottomary, and as much more insured upon his ship and goods as they were worth, and then would have cast her away upon the coast of France, and there left her, refusing any pilott which was offered him; and so the Governor of the place took her and sent her over hither to find an owner, and so the ship is come safe, and goods and all; they all worth L500, and he had one way or other taken L3000. The cause is to be tried to-morrow at Guildhall, where I intend to be. Thence home to dinner, and then with my wife to her arithmetique. In the evening came W. Howe to see me, who tells me that my Lord hath been angry three or four days with him, would not speak to him; at last did, and charged him with having spoken to me about what he had observed concerning his Lordship, which W. Howe denying stoutly, he was well at ease; and continues very quiett, and is removing from Chelsy as fast as he can, but, methinks, both by my Lord's looks upon me to-day, or it may be it is only my doubtfulness, and by W. Howe's discourse, my Lord is not very well pleased, nor, it may be, will be a good while, which vexes me; but I hope all will over in time, or else I am but ill rewarded for my good service. Anon he and I to the Temple and there parted, and I to my cozen Roger Pepys, whom I met going to his chamber; he was in haste, and to go out of town tomorrow. He tells me of a letter from my father which he will keep to read to me at his coming to town again. I perceive it is about my father's jealousys concerning my wife's doing ill offices with me against him only from the differences they had when she was there, which he very unwisely continues to have and troubles himself and friends about to speak to me in, as my Lord Sandwich, Mr. Moore, and my cozen Roger, which vexes me, but I must impute it to his age and care for my mother and Pall and so let it go. After little discourse with him I took coach and home, calling upon my bookseller's for two books, Rushworth's and Scobell's Collections. I shall make the King pay for them. The first I spent some time at the office to read and it is an excellent book. So home and spent the evening with my wife in arithmetique, and so to supper and to bed. I end this month with my mind in good condition for any thing else, but my unhappy adventuring to disoblige my Lord by doing him service in representing to him the discourse of the world concerning him and his affairs. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1663 December 1st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I home to dinner with my poor wife, with whom now-a-days I enjoy great pleasure in her company and learning of Arithmetique. After dinner I to Guild Hall to hear a tryall at King's Bench, before Lord Chief Justice Hide, about the insurance of a ship, the same I mention in my yesterday's journall, where everything was proved how money was so taken up upon bottomary and insurance, and the ship left by the master and seamen upon rocks, where, when the sea fell at the ebb, she must perish. The master was offered helpe, and he did give the pilotts 20 sols to drink to bid them go about their business, saying that the rocks were old, but his ship was new, and that she was repaired for L6 and less all the damage that she received, and is now brought by one, sent for on purpose by the insurers, into the Thames, with her cargo, vessels of tallow daubed over with butter, instead of all butter, the whole not worth above L500, ship and all, and they had took up, as appeared, above L2,400. He had given his men money to content them; and yet, for all this, he did bring some of them to swear that it was very stormy weather, and [they] did all they could to save her, and that she was seven feete deep water in hold, and were fain to cut her main and foremast, that the master was the last man that went out, and they were fain to force [him] out when she was ready to sink; and her rudder broke off, and she was drawn into the harbour after they were gone, as wrecke all broken, and goods lost: that she could not be carried out again without new building, and many other things so contrary as is not imaginable more. There was all the great counsel in the kingdom in the cause; but after one witnesse or two for the plaintiff, it was cried down as a most notorious cheate; and so the jury, without going out, found it for the plaintiff. But it was pleasant to see what mad sort of testimonys the seamen did give, and could not be got to speak in order: and then their terms such as the judge could not understand; and to hear how sillily the Counsel and judge would speak as to the terms necessary in the matter, would make one laugh: and above all, a Frenchman that was forced to speak in French, and took an English oathe he did not understand, and had an interpreter sworn to tell us what he said, which was the best testimony of all. So home well satisfied with this afternoon's work, purposing to spend an afternoon or two every term so, and so to my office a while and then home to supper, arithmetique with my wife, and to bed. I heard other causes, and saw the course of pleading by being at this trial, and heard and learnt two things: one is that every man has a right of passage in, but not a title to, any highway. The next, that the judge would not suffer Mr. Crow, who hath fined for Alderman, to be called so, but only Mister, and did eight or nine times fret at it, and stop every man that called him so. 2nd. My wife troubled all last night with the toothache and this morning. I up and to my office, where busy, and so home to dinner with my wife, who is better of her tooth than she was, and in the afternoon by agreement called on by Mr. Bland, and with him to the Ship a neighbour tavern and there met his antagonist Mr. Custos and his referee Mr. Clarke a merchant also, and begun the dispute about the freight of a ship hired by Mr. Bland to carry provisions to Tangier, and the freight is now demanded, whereas he says that the goods were some spoiled, some not delivered, and upon the whole demands L1300 of the other, and their minds are both so high, their demands so distant, and their words so many and hot against one another that I fear we shall bring it to nothing. But however I am glad to see myself so capable of understanding the business as I find I do, and shall endeavour to do Mr. Bland all the just service I can therein. Here we were in a bad room, which vexed me most, but we. meet at another house next. So at noon I home and to my office till 9 o'clock, and so home to my wife to keep her company, arithmetique, then to supper, and to bed, she being well of her tooth again. 3rd. Up and to the office, where all the forenoon, and then (by Mr. Coventry's coach) to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, very pleasant with my poor wife. Somebody from Portsmouth, I know not who, has this day sent me a Runlett of Tent. So to my office all the afternoon, where much business till late at night, and so home to my wife, and then to supper and to bed. This day Sir G. Carteret did tell us at the table, that the Navy (excepting what is due to the Yards upon the quarter now going on, and what few bills he hath not heard of) is quite out of debt; which is extraordinary good newes, and upon the 'Change to hear how our creditt goes as good as any merchant's upon the 'Change is a joyfull thing to consider, which God continue! I am sure the King will have the benefit of it, as well as we some peace and creditt. 4th. Up pretty betimes, that is about 7 o'clock, it being now dark then, and so got me ready, with my clothes, breeches and warm stockings, and by water with Henry Russell, cold and wet and windy to Woolwich, to a hempe ship there, and staid looking upon it and giving direction as to the getting it ashore, and so back again very cold, and at home without going on shore anywhere about 12 o'clock, being fearful of taking cold, and so dined at home and shifted myself, and so all the afternoon at my office till night, and then home to keep my poor wife company, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then with the whole board, viz., Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself along with Captain Allen home to dinner, where he lives hard by in Mark Lane, where we had a very good plain dinner and good welcome, in a pretty little house but so smoky that it was troublesome to us all till they put out the fire, and made one of charcoale. I was much pleased with this dinner for the many excellent stories told by Mr. Coventry, which I have put down in my book of tales and so shall not mention them here. We staid till night, and then Mr. Coventry away, and by and by I home to my office till 9 or 10 at night, and so home to supper and to bed after some talke and Arithmetique with my poor wife, with whom now-a-days I live with great content, out of all trouble of mind by jealousy (for which God forgive me), or any other distraction more than my fear of my Lord Sandwich's displeasure. 6th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and to church alone, which is the greatest trouble that I have by not having a man or, boy to wait on me, and so home to dinner, my wife, it being a cold day, and it begun to snow (the first snow we have seen this year) kept her bed till after dinner, and I below by myself looking over my arithmetique books and timber rule. So my wife rose anon, and she and I all the afternoon at arithmetique, and she is come to do Addition, Subtraction, and Multiplicacion very well, and so I purpose not to trouble her yet with Division, but to begin with the Globes to her now. At night came Captain Grove to discourse with me about Field's business and of other matters, and so, he being gone, I to my office, and spent an houre or two reading Rushworth, and so to supper home, and to prayers and bed, finding myself by cold to have some pain begin with me, which God defend should increase. 7th. Up betimes, and, it being a frosty morning, walked on foot to White Hall, but not without some fear of my pain coming. At White Hall I hear and find that there was the last night the greatest tide that ever was remembered in England to have been in this river: all White Hall having been drowned, of which there was great discourse. Anon we all met, and up with the Duke and did our business, and by and by my Lord of Sandwich came in, but whether it be my doubt or no I cannot tell, but I do not find that he made any sign of kindnesse or respect to me, which troubles me more than any thing in the world. After done there Sir W. Batten and Captain Allen and I by coach to the Temple, where I 'light, they going home, and indeed it being my trouble of mind to try whether I could meet with my Lord Sandwich and try him to see how he will receive me. I took coach and back again to Whitehall, but there could not find him. But here I met Dr. Clerke, and did tell him my story of my health; how my pain comes to me now-a-days. He did write something for me which I shall take when there is occasion. I then fell to other discourse of Dr. Knapp, who tells me he is the King's physician, and is become a solicitor for places for people, and I am mightily troubled with him. He tells me he is the most impudent fellow in the world, that gives himself out to be the King's physician, but it is not so, but is cast out of the Court. From thence I may learn what impudence there is in the world, and how a man may be deceived in persons: Anon the King and Duke and Duchesse came to dinner in the Vane-roome, where I never saw them before; but it seems since the tables are done, he dines there all together. The Queene is pretty well, and goes out of her chamber to her little chappell in the house. The King of France, they say, is hiring of sixty sail of ships of the Dutch, but it is not said for what design. By and by, not hoping to see my Lord, I went to the King's Head ordinary, where a good dinner but no discourse almost, and after dinner by coach, home, and found my wife this cold day not yet out of bed, and after a little good talk with her to my office, and there spent my time till late. Sir W. Warren two or three hours with me talking of trade, and other very good discourse, which did please me very, well, and so, after reading in Rushworth, home to supper and to bed. 8th. Lay long in bed, and then up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and among other things my Lord Barkely called in question his clerk Mr. Davy for something which Sir W. Batten and I did tell him yesterday, but I endeavoured to make the least of it, and so all was put up. At noon to the 'Change, and among other businesses did discourse with Captain Taylor, and I think I shall safely get L20 by his ship's freight at present, besides what it may be I may get hereafter. So home to dinner, and thence by coach to White Hall, where a great while walked with my Lord Tiviott, whom I find a most carefull, thoughtfull, and cunning man, as I also ever took him to be. He is this day bringing in an account where he makes the King debtor to him L10,000 already on the garrison of Tangier account; but yet demands not ready money to pay it, but offers such ways of paying it out of the sale of old decayed provisions as will enrich him finely. Anon came my Lord Sandwich, and then we fell to our business at the Committee about my Lord Tiviott's accounts, wherein I took occasion to speak now and then, so as my Lord Sandwich did well seem to like of it, and after we were up did bid me good night in a tone that, methinks, he is not so displeased with me as I did doubt he is; however, I will take a course to know whether he be or no. The Committee done, I took coach and home to my office, and there late, and so to supper at home, and to bed, being doubtful of my pain through the very cold weather which we have, but I will take all the care I can to prevent it. 9th. Lay very long in bed for fear of my pain, and then rose and went to stool (after my wife's way, who by all means would have me sit long and upright) very well, and being ready to the office. From thence I was called by and by to my wife, she not being well. So to her, and found her in great pain. . . . . . So by and by to my office again, and then abroad to look out a cradle to burn charcoal in at my office, and I found one to my mind in Newgate Market, and so meeting Hoby's man in the street, I spoke to him to serve it in to the office for the King. So home to dinner, and after talk with my wife, she in bed and pain all day, I to my office most of the evening, and then home to my wife. This day Mrs. Russell did give my wife a very fine St. George, in alabaster, which will set out my wife's closett mightily. This evening at the office, after I had wrote my day's passages, there came to me my cozen Angier of Cambridge, poor man, making his moan, and obtained of me that I would send his son to sea as a Reformado, which I will take care to do. But to see how apt every man is to forget friendship in time of adversity. How glad was I when he was gone, for fear he should ask me to be bond for him, or to borrow money of me. 10th. Up, pretty well, the weather being become pretty warm again, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I confess having received so lately a token from Mrs. Russell, I did find myself concerned for our not buying some tallow of her (which she bought on purpose yesterday most unadvisedly to her great losse upon confidence of putting it off to us). So hard it is for a man not to be warped against his duty and master's interest that receives any bribe or present, though not as a bribe, from any body else. But she must be contented, and I to do her a good turn when I can without wrong to the King's service. Then home to dinner (and did drink a glass of wine and beer, the more for joy that this is the shortest day in the year,--[Old Style]--which is a pleasant consideration) with my wife. She in bed but pretty well, and having a messenger from my brother, that he is not well nor stirs out of doors, I went forth to see him, and found him below, he has not been well, but is not ill. I found him taking order for the distribution of Mrs. Ramsey's coals, a thing my father for many years did, and now he after him, which I was glad to see, as also to hear that Mr. Wheatly begins to look after him. I hope it is about his daughter. Thence to St. Paul's Church Yard, to my bookseller's, and having gained this day in the office by my stationer's bill to the King about 40s. or L3, I did here sit two or three hours calling for twenty books to lay this money out upon, and found myself at a great losse where to choose, and do see how my nature would gladly return to laying out money in this trade. I could not tell whether to lay out my money for books of pleasure, as plays, which my nature was most earnest in; but at last, after seeing Chaucer, Dugdale's History of Paul's, Stows London, Gesner, History of Trent, besides Shakespeare, Jonson, and Beaumont's plays, I at last chose Dr. Fuller's Worthys, the Cabbala or Collections of Letters of State, and a little book, Delices de Hollande, with another little book or two, all of good use or serious pleasure: and Hudibras, both parts, the book now in greatest fashion for drollery, though I cannot, I confess, see enough where the wit lies. My mind being thus settled, I went by linke home, and so to my office, and to read in Rushworth; and so home to supper and to bed. Calling at Wotton's, my shoemaker's, today, he tells me that Sir H. Wright is dying; and that Harris is come to the Duke's house again; and of a rare play to be acted this week of Sir William Davenant's: the story of Henry the Eighth with all his wives. 11th. Up and abroad toward the Wardrobe, and going out Mr. Clerke met me to tell me that Field has a writ against me in this last business of L30 10s., and that he believes he will get an execution against me this morning, and though he told me it could not be well before noon, and that he would stop it at the Sheriff's, yet it is hard to believe with what fear I did walk and how I did doubt at every man I saw and do start at the hearing of one man cough behind my neck. I to, the Wardrobe and there missed Mr. Moore. So to Mr. Holden's and evened all reckonings there for hats, and then walked to Paul's Churchyard and after a little at my bookseller's and bought at a shop Cardinall Mazarin's Will in French. I to the Coffeehouse and there among others had good discourse with an Iron Merchant, who tells me the great evil of discouraging our natural manufacture of England in that commodity by suffering the Swede to bring in three times more than ever they did and our owne Ironworks be lost, as almost half of them, he says, are already. Then I went and sat by Mr. Harrington, and some East country merchants, and talking of the country about Quinsborough, and thereabouts, he told us himself that for fish, none there, the poorest body, will buy a dead fish, but must be alive, unless it be in winter; and then they told us the manner of putting their nets into the water. Through holes made in the thick ice, they will spread a net of half a mile long; and he hath known a hundred and thirty and a hundred and seventy barrels of fish taken at one draught. And then the people come with sledges upon the ice, with snow at the bottome, and lay the fish in and cover them with snow, and so carry them to market. And he hath seen when the said fish have been frozen in the sledge, so as that he hath taken a fish and broke a-pieces, so hard it hath been; and yet the same fishes taken out of the snow, and brought into a hot room, will be alive and leap up and down. Swallows are often brought up in their nets out of the mudd from under water, hanging together to some twigg or other, dead in ropes, and brought to the fire will come to life. Fowl killed in December. (Alderman Barker said) he did buy, and putting into the box under his sledge, did forget to take them out to eate till Aprill next, and they then were found there, and were through the frost as sweet and fresh and eat as well as at first killed. Young beares are there; their flesh sold in market as ordinarily as beef here, and is excellent sweet meat. They tell us that beares there do never hurt any body, but fly away from you, unless you pursue and set upon them; but wolves do much mischief. Mr. Harrington told us how they do to get so much honey as they send abroad. They make hollow a great fir-tree, leaving only a small slitt down straight in one place, and this they close up again, only leave a little hole, and there the bees go in and fill the bodys of those trees as full of wax and honey as they can hold; and the inhabitants at times go and open the slit, and take what they please without killing the bees, and so let them live there still and make more. Fir trees are always planted close together, because of keeping one another from the violence of the windes; and when a fell is made, they leave here and there a grown tree to preserve the young ones coming up. The great entertainment and sport of the Duke of Corland, and the princes thereabouts, is hunting; which is not with dogs as we, but he appoints such a day, and summons all the country-people as to a campagnia; and by several companies gives every one their circuit, and they agree upon a place where the toyle is to be set; and so making fires every company as they go, they drive all the wild beasts, whether bears, wolves, foxes, swine, and stags, and roes, into the toyle; and there the great men have their stands in such and such places, and shoot at what they have a mind to, and that is their hunting. They are not very populous there, by reason that people marry women seldom till they are towards or above thirty; and men thirty or forty years old, or more oftentimes. Against a publique hunting the Duke sends that no wolves be killed by the people; and whatever harm they do, the Duke makes it good to the person that suffers it: as Mr. Harrington instanced in a house where he lodged, where a wolfe broke into a hog-stye, and bit three or four great pieces off the back of the hog, before the house could come to helpe it (it calling, and that did give notice to the people of the house); and the man of the house told him that there were three or four wolves thereabouts that did them great hurt; but it was no matter, for the Duke was to make it good to him, otherwise he would kill them. Hence home and upstairs, my wife keeping her bed, and had a very good dinner, and after dinner to my office, and there till late busy. Among other things Captain Taylor came to me about his bill for freight, and besides that I found him contented that I have the L30 I got, he do offer me to give me L6 to take the getting of the bill paid upon me, which I am ready to do, but I am loath to have it said that I ever did it. However, I will do him the service to get it paid if I can and stand to his courtesy what he will give me. Late to supper home, and to my great joy I have by my wife's good advice almost brought myself by going often and leisurely to the stool that I am come almost to have my natural course of stool as well as ever, which I pray God continue to me. 12th. Up and to the office where all the morning, and among other things got Sir G. Carteret to put his letters to Captain Taylor's bill by which I am in hopes to get L5, which joys my heart. We had this morning a great dispute between Mr. Gauden, Victualler of the Navy, and Sir J. Lawson, and the rest of the Commanders going against Argier, about their fish and keeping of Lent; which Mr. Gauden so much insists upon to have it observed, as being the only thing that makes up the loss of his dear bargain all the rest of the year. At noon went home and there I found that one Abrahall, who strikes in for the serving of the King with Ship chandlery ware, has sent my wife a Japan gowne, which pleases her very well and me also, it coming very opportune, but I know not how to carry myself to him, I being already obliged so far to Mrs. Russell, so that I am in both their pays. To the Exchange, where I had sent Luellin word I would come to him, and thence brought him home to dinner with me. He tells me that W. Symon's wife is dead, for which I am sorry, she being a good woman, and tells me an odde story of her saying before her death, being in good sense, that there stood her uncle Scobell. Then he began to tell me that Mr. Deering had been with him to desire him to speak to me that if I would get him off with these goods upon his hands, he would give me 50 pieces, and further that if I would stand his friend to helpe him to the benefit of his patent as the King's merchant, he could spare me L200 per annum out of his profits. I was glad to hear both of these, but answered him no further than that as I would not by any thing be bribed to be unjust in my dealings, [Edward Dering was granted, August, 1660, "the office of King's merchant in the East, for buying and providing necessaries for apparelling the Navy" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1660-61, p. 212). There is evidence among the State Papers of some dissatisfaction with the timber, &c., which he supplied to the Navy, and at this time he appears to have had some stores left on his hands.] so I was not so squeamish as not to take people's acknowledgment where I had the good fortune by my pains to do them good and just offices, and so I would not come to be at any agreement with him, but I would labour to do him this service and to expect his consideration thereof afterwards as he thought fit. So I expect to hear more of it. I did make very much of Luellin in hopes to have some good by this business, and in the evening received some money from Mr. Moore, and so went and settled accounts in my books between him and me, and I do hope at Christmas not only to find myself as rich or more than ever I was yet, but also my accounts in less compass, fewer reckonings either of debts or moneys due to me, than ever I have been for some years, and indeed do so, the goodness of God bringing me from better to a better expectation and hopes of doing well. This day I heard my Lord Barkeley tell Sir G. Carteret that he hath letters from France that the King hath unduked twelve Dukes, only to show his power and to crush his nobility, who he said he did see had heretofore laboured to cross him. And this my Lord Barkeley did mightily magnify, as a sign of a brave and vigorous mind, that what he saw fit to be done he dares do. At night, after business done at my office, home to supper and to bed. I have forgot to set down a very remarkable passage that, Lewellen being gone, and I going into the office, and it begun to be dark, I found nobody there, my clerks being at the burial of a child of W. Griffin's, and so I spent a little time till they came, walking in the garden, and in the mean time, while I was walking Mrs. Pen's pretty maid came by my side, and went into the office, but finding nobody there I went in to her, being glad of the occasion. She told me as she was going out again that there was nobody there, and that she came for a sheet of paper. So I told her I would supply her, and left her in the office and went into my office and opened my garden door, thinking to have got her in, and there to have caressed her, and seeming looking for paper, I told her this way was as near a way for her, but she told me she had left the door open and so did not come to me. So I carried her some paper and kissed her, leading her by the hand to the garden door and there let her go. But, Lord! to see how much I was put out of order by this surprisal, and how much I could have subjected my mind to have treated and been found with this wench, and how afterwards I was troubled to think what if she should tell this and whether I had spoke or done any thing that might be unfit for her to tell. But I think there was nothing more passed than just what I here write. 13th (Lord's day). Up and made me ready for Church, but my wife and I had a difference about her old folly that she would fasten lies upon her mayds, and now upon Jane, which I did not see enough to confirm me in it, and so would not consent to her. To church, where after sermon home, and to my office, before dinner, reading my vowes, and so home to dinner, where Tom came to me and he and I dined together, my wife not rising all day, and after dinner I made even accounts with him, and spent all the afternoon in my chamber talking of many things with him, and about Wheately's daughter for a wife for him, and then about the Joyces and their father Fenner, how they are sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them. In the evening, he gone, I to my office to read Rushworth upon the charge and answer of the Duke of Buckingham, which is very fine, and then to do a little business against to-morrow, and so home to supper to my wife, and then to bed. 14th. Up by candlelight, which I do not use to do, though it be very late, that is to say almost 8 o'clock, and out by coach to White Hall, where we all met and to the Duke, where I heard a large discourse between one that goes over an agent from the King to Legorne and thereabouts, to remove the inconveniences his ships are put to by denial of pratique; which is a thing that is now-a-days made use of only as a cheat, for a man may buy a bill of health for a piece of eight, and my enemy may agree with the Intendent of the Sante for ten pieces of eight or so; that he shall not give me a bill of health, and so spoil me in my design, whatever it be. This the King will not endure, and so resolves either to have it removed, or to keep all ships from coming in, or going out there, so long as his ships are stayed for want hereof. Then, my Lord Sandwich being there, we all went into the Duke's closet and did our business. But among other things, Lord! what an account did Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten make of the pulling down and burning of the head of the Charles, where Cromwell was placed with people under his horse, and Peter, as the Duke called him, is praying to him; and Sir J. Minnes would needs infer the temper of the people from their joy at the doing of this and their building a gibbet for the hanging of his head up, when God knows, it is even the flinging away of L100 out of the King's purse, to the building of another, which it seems must be a Neptune. Thence I through White Hall only to see what was doing, but meeting none that I knew I went through the garden to my Lord Sandwich's lodging, where I found my Lord got before me (which I did not intend or expect) and was there trying some musique, which he intends for an anthem of three parts, I know not whether for the King's chapel or no, but he seems mighty intent upon it. But it did trouble me to hear him swear before God and other oathes, as he did now and then without any occasion, which methinks did so ill become him, and I hope will be a caution for me, it being so ill a thing in him. The musique being done, without showing me any good or ill countenance, he did give me his hat and so adieu, and went down to his coach without saying anything to me. He being gone I and Mr. Howe talked a good while. He tells me that my Lord, it is true, for a while after my letter, was displeased, and did shew many slightings of me when he had occasion of mentioning me to his Lordship, but that now my Lord is in good temper and he do believe will shew me as much respect as ever, and would have me not to refrain to come to him. This news I confess did much trouble me, but when I did hear how he is come to himself, and hath wholly left Chelsy, and the slut, and that I see he do follow his business, and becomes in better repute than before, I am rejoiced to see it, though it do cost me some disfavour for a time, for if not his good nature and ingenuity, yet I believe his memory will not bear it always in his mind. But it is my comfort that this is the thing that after so many years good service that has made him my enemy. Thence to the King's Head ordinary, and there dined among a company of fine gentlemen; some of them discoursed of the King of France's greatness, and how he is come to make the Princes of the Blood to take place of all foreign Embassadors, which it seems is granted by them of Venice and other States, and expected from my Lord. Hollis, our King's Embassador there; and that either upon that score or something else he hath not had his entry yet in Paris, but hath received several affronts, and among others his harnesse cut, and his gentlemen of his horse killed, which will breed bad blood if true. They say also that the King of France hath hired threescore ships of Holland, and forty of the Swede, but nobody knows what to do; but some great designs he hath on foot against the next year. Thence by coach home and to my office, where I spent all the evening till night with Captain Taylor discoursing about keeping of masts, and when he was gone, with Sir W. Warren, who did give me excellent discourse about the same thing, which I have committed to paper, and then fell to other talk of his being at Chatham lately and there discoursing of his masts. Commissioner Pett did let fall several scurvy words concerning my pretending to know masts as well as any body, which I know proceeds ever since I told him I could measure a piece of timber as well as anybody employed by the King. But, however, I shall remember him for a black sheep again a good while, with all his fair words to me, and perhaps may let him know that my ignorance does the King as much good as all his knowledge, which would do more it is true if it were well used. Then we fell to talk of Sir J. Minnes's and Sir W. Batten's burning of Oliver's head, while he was there; which was done with so much insulting and folly as I never heard of, and had the Trayned Band of Rochester to come to the solemnity, which when all comes to all, Commissioner Pett says it never was made for him; but it troubles me the King should suffer L100 losse in his purse, to make a new one after it was forgot whose it was, or any words spoke of it. He being gone I mightily pleased with his discourse, by which I always learn something, I to read a little in Rushworth, and so home to supper to my wife, it having been washing day, and so to bed, my mind I confess a little troubled for my Lord Sandwich's displeasure. But God will give me patience to bear since it rises from so good an occasion. 15th. Before I was up, my brother's man came to tell me that my cozen, Edward Pepys, was dead, died at Mrs. Turner's, for which my wife and I are very sorry, and the more for that his wife was the only handsome woman of our name. So up and to the office, where the greatest business was Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten against me for Sir W. Warren's contract for masts, to which I may go to my memorandum book to see what past, but came off with conquest, and my Lord Barkely and Mr. Coventry well convinced that we are well used. So home to dinner, and thither came to me Mr. Mount and Mr. Luellin, I think almost foxed, and there dined with me and very merry as I could be, my mind being troubled to see things so ordered at the Board, though with no disparagement to me at all. At dinner comes a messenger from the Counter with an execution against me for the L30 10s., given the last verdict to Field. The man's name is Thomas, of the Poultry Counter. I sent Griffin with him to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten was at dinner, and he being satisfied that I should pay the money, I did cause the money to be paid him, and Griffin to tell it out to him in the office. He offered to go along with me to Sir R. Ford, but I thought it not necessary, but let him go with it, he also telling me that there is never any receipt for it given, but I have good witness of the payment of it. They being gone, Luellin having again told me by myself that Deering is content to give me L50 if I can sell his deals for him to the King, not that I did ever offer to take it, or bid Luellin bargain for me with him, but did tacitly seem to be willing to do him what service I could in it, and expect his thanks, what he thought good. Thence to White Hall by coach, by the way overtaking Mr. Moore, and took him into the coach to me, and there he could tell me nothing of my Lord, how he stands as to his thoughts or respect to me, but concludes that though at present he may be angry yet he will come to be pleased again with me no doubt, and says that he do mind his business well, and keeps at Court. So to White Hall, and there by order found some of the Commissioners of Tangier met, and my Lord Sandwich among the rest, to whom I bowed, but he shewed me very little if any countenance at all, which troubles me mightily. Having soon done there, I took up Mr. Moore again and set him down at Pauls, by the way he proposed to me of a way of profit which perhaps may shortly be made by money by fines upon houses at the Wardrobe, but how I did not understand but left it to another discourse. So homeward, calling upon Mr. Fen, by Sir G. Carteret's desire, and did there shew him the bill of Captain Taylor's whereby I hope to get something justly. Home and to my office, and there very late with Sir W. Warren upon very serious discourse, telling him how matters passed to-day, and in the close he and I did fall to talk very openly of the business of this office, and (if I was not a little too open to tell him my interest, which is my fault) he did give me most admirable advice, and such as do speak him a most able and worthy man, and understanding seven times more than ever I thought to be in him. He did particularly run over every one of the officers and commanders, and shewed me how I had reason to mistrust every one of them, either for their falsenesse or their over-great power, being too high to fasten a real friendship in, and did give me a common but a most excellent saying to observe in all my life. He did give it in rhyme, but the sense was this, that a man should treat every friend in his discourse and opening his mind to him as of one that may hereafter be his foe. He did also advise me how I should take occasion to make known to the world my case, and the pains that I take in my business, and above all to be sure to get a thorough knowledge in my employment, and to that add all the interest at Court that I can, which I hope I shall do. He staid talking with me till almost 12 at night, and so good night, being sorry to part with him, and more sorry that he should have as far as Wapping to walk to-night. So I to my Journall and so home, to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and with my head and heart full of my business, I to my office, and there all the morning, where among other things to my great content Captain Taylor brought me L40, the greater part of which I shall gain to myself after much care and pains out of his bill of freight, as I have at large set down in my book of Memorandums. At noon to the 'Change and there met with Mr. Wood by design, and got out of him to my advantage a condition which I shall make good use of against Sir W. Batten (vide my book of Memorandums touching the contract of masts of Sir W. Warren about which I have had so much trouble). So home to dinner and then to the Star Tavern hard by to our arbitration of Mr. Bland's business, and at it a great while, but I found no order like to be kept in our inquiry, and Mr. Clerke, the other arbitrator, one so far from being fit (though able as to his trade of a merchant) to inquire and to take pains in searching out the truth on both sides, that we parted without doing anything, nor do I believe we shall at all ever attain to anything in it. Then home and till 12 at night making up my accounts with great account of this day's receipt of Captain Taylor's money and some money reimbursed me which I have laid out on Field's business. So home with my mind in pretty good quiet, and to Supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to my poor wife and dined, and then by coach abroad to Mrs. Turner's where I have not been for many a day, and there I found her and her sister Dike very sad for the death of their brother. After a little common expression of sorrow, Mrs. Turner told me that the trouble she would put me to was, to consult about getting an achievement prepared, scutcheons were done already, to set over the door. So I did go out to Mr. Smith's, where my brother tells me the scutcheons are made, but he not being within, I went to the Temple, and there spent my time in a Bookseller's shop, reading in a book of some Embassages into Moscovia, &c., where was very good reading, and then to Mrs. Turner's, and thither came Smith to me, with whom I did agree for L4 to make a handsome one, ell square within the frame. After he was gone I sat an houre talking of the suddennesse of his death within 7 days, and how by little and little death came upon him, neither he nor they thinking it would come to that. He died after a day's raveing, through lightness in his head for want of sleep. His lady did not know of his sickness, nor do they hear yet how she takes it. Hence home, taking some books by the way in Paul's Churchyard by coach to my office, where late doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and after being ready and done several businesses with people, I took water (taking a dram of the bottle at the waterside) with a gaily, the first that ever I had yet, and down to Woolwich, calling at Ham Creeke, where I met Mr. Deane, and had a great deal of talke with him about business, and so to the Ropeyarde and Docke, discoursing several things, and so back again and did the like at Deptford, and I find that it is absolutely necessary for me to do thus once a weeke at least all the yeare round, which will do me great good, and so home with great ease and content, especially out of the content which I met with in a book I bought yesterday, being a discourse of the state of Rome under the present Pope, Alexander the 7th, it being a very excellent piece. After eating something at home, then to my office, where till night about business to dispatch. Among other people came Mr. Primate, the leather seller, in Fleete Streete, to see me, he says, coming this way; and he tells me that he is upon a proposal to the King, whereby, by a law already in being, he will supply the King, without wrong to any man, or charge to the people in general, so much as it is now, above L200,000 per annum, and God knows what, and that the King do like the proposal, and hath directed that the Duke of Monmouth, with their consent, be made privy, and go along with him and his fellow proposer in the business, God knows what it is; for I neither can guess nor believe there is any such thing in his head. At night made an end of the discourse I read this morning, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I laboured hard at Deering's business of his deals more than I would if I did not think to get something, though I do really believe that I did what is to the King's advantage in it, and yet, God knows, the expectation of profit will have its force and make a man the more earnest. Dined at home, and then with Mr. Bland to another meeting upon his arbitration, and seeing we were likely to do no good I even put them upon it, and they chose Sir W. Rider alone to end the matter, and so I am rid of it. Thence by coach to my shoemaker's and paid all there, and gave something to the boys' box against Christmas. To Mrs. Turner's, whom I find busy with Sir W. Turner, about advising upon going down to Norfolke with the corps, and I find him in talke a sober, considering man. So home to my office late, and then home to supper and to bed. My head full of business, but pretty good content. 20th (Lord's day). Up and alone to church, where a common sermon of Mr. Mills, and so home to dinner in our parler, my wife being clean, and the first time we have dined here a great while together, and in the afternoon went to church with me also, and there begun to take her place above Mrs. Pen, which heretofore out of a humour she was wont to give her as an affront to my Lady Batten. After a dull sermon of the Scotchman, home, and there I found my brother Tom and my two cozens Scotts, he and she, the first time they were ever here. And by and by in comes my uncle. Wight and Mr. Norbury, and they sat with us a while drinking, of wine, of which I did give them plenty. But the two would not stay supper, but the other two did. And we were as merry as I could be with people that I do wish well to, but know not what discourse either to give them or find from them. We showed them our house from top to bottom, and had a good Turkey roasted for our supper, and store of wine, and after supper sent them home on foot, and so we to prayers and to bed. 21st. Up betimes, my wife having a mind to have gone abroad with me, but I had not because of troubling me, and so left her, though against my will, to go and see her father and mother by herself, and I straight to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I had a pretty kind salute from my Lord, and went on to the Duke's, where my fellow officers by and by came, and so in with him to his closet, and did our business, and so broke up, and I with Sir W. Batten by coach to Salisbury Court, and there spoke with Clerk our Solicitor about Field's business, and so parted, and I to Mrs. Turner's, and there saw the achievement pretty well set up, and it is well done. Thence I on foot to Charing Crosse to the ordinary, and there, dined, meeting Mr. Gauden and Creed. Here variety of talk but to no great purpose. After dinner won a wager of a payre of gloves of a crowne of Mr. Gauden upon some words in his contract for victualling. There parted in the street with them, and I to my Lord's, but he not being within, took coach, and, being directed by sight of bills upon the walls, I did go to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at a new pit there, a sport I was never at in my life; but, Lord! to see the strange variety of people, from Parliament-man (by name Wildes, that was Deputy Governor of the Tower when Robinson was Lord Mayor) to the poorest 'prentices, bakers, brewers, butchers, draymen, and what not; and all these fellows one with another in swearing, cursing, and betting. I soon had enough of it, and yet I would not but have seen it once, it being strange to observe the nature of these poor creatures, how they will fight till they drop down dead upon the table, and strike after they are ready to give up the ghost, not offering to run away when they are weary or wounded past doing further, whereas where a dunghill brood comes he will, after a sharp stroke that pricks him, run off the stage, and then they wring off his neck without more ado, whereas the other they preserve, though their eyes be both out, for breed only of a true cock of the game. Sometimes a cock that has had ten to one against him will by chance give an unlucky blow, will strike the other starke dead in a moment, that he never stirs more; but the common rule is, that though a cock neither runs nor dies, yet if any man will bet L10 to a crowne, and nobody take the bet, the game is given over, and not sooner. One thing more it is strange to see how people of this poor rank, that look as if they had not bread to put in their mouths, shall bet three or four pounds at one bet, and lose it, and yet bet as much the next battle (so they call every match of two cocks), so that one of them will lose L10 or L20 at a meeting. Thence, having enough of it, by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, where I find him within with Captain Cooke and his boys, Dr. Childe, Mr. Madge, and Mallard, playing and singing over my Lord's anthem which he hath made to sing in the King's Chappell: my Lord saluted me kindly and took me into the withdrawing-room, to hear it at a distance, and indeed it sounds very finely, and is a good thing, I believe, to be made by him, and they all commend it. And after that was done Captain Cooke and his two boys did sing some Italian songs, which I must in a word say I think was fully the best musique that I ever yet heard in all my life, and it was to me a very great pleasure to hear them. After all musique ended, my Lord going to White Hall, I went along with him, and made a desire for to have his coach to go along with my cozen Edward Pepys's hearse through the City on Wednesday next, which he granted me presently, though he cannot yet come to speak to me in the familiar stile that he did use to do, nor can I expect it. But I was the willinger of this occasion to see whether he would deny me or no, which he would I believe had he been at open defyance against me. Being not a little pleased with all this, though I yet see my Lord is not right yet, I thanked his Lordship and parted with him in White Hall. I back to my Lord's, and there took up W. Howe in a coach, and carried him as far as the Half Moone, and there set him down. By the way, talking of my Lord, who is come another and a better man than he was lately, and God be praised for it, and he says that I shall find my Lord as he used to be to me, of which I have good hopes, but I shall beware of him, I mean W. Howe, how I trust him, for I perceive he is not so discreet as I took him for, for he has told Captain Ferrers (as Mr. Moore tells me) of my letter to my Lord, which troubles me, for fear my Lord should think that I might have told him. So called with my coach at my wife's brother's lodging, but she was gone newly in a coach homewards, and so I drove hard and overtook her at Temple Bar, and there paid off mine, and went home with her in her coach. She tells me how there is a sad house among her friends. Her brother's wife proves very unquiet, and so her mother is, gone back to be with her husband and leave the young couple to themselves, and great trouble, and I fear great want, will be among them, I pray keep me from being troubled with them. At home to put on my gowne and to my office, and there set down this day's Journall, and by and by comes Mrs. Owen, Captain Allen's daughter, and causes me to stay while the papers relating to her husband's place, bought of his father, be copied out because of her going by this morning's tide home to Chatham. Which vexes me, but there is no help for it. I home to supper while a young [man] that she brought with her did copy out the things, and then I to the office again and dispatched her, and so home to bed. 22nd. Up and there comes my she cozen Angier, of Cambridge, to me to speak about her son. But though I love them, and have reason so to do, yet, Lord! to consider how cold I am to speak to her, for fear of giving her too much hopes of expecting either money or anything else from me besides my care of her son. I let her go without drinking, though that was against my will, being forced to hasten to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to Sir R. Ford's, where Sir R. Browne (a dull but it seems upon action a hot man), and he and I met upon setting a price upon the freight of a barge sent to France to the Duchess of Orleans. And here by discourse I find them greatly crying out against the choice of Sir J. Cutler to be Treasurer for Paul's upon condition that he give L1500 towards it, and it seems he did give it upon condition that he might be Treasurer for the work, which they say will be worth three times as much money, and talk as if his being chosen to the office will make people backward to give, but I think him as likely a man as either of them, or better. The business being done we parted, Sir R. Ford never inviting me to dine with him at all, and I was not sorry for it. Home and dined. I had a letter from W. Howe that my Lord hath ordered his coach and six horses for me to-morrow, which pleases me mightily to think that my Lord should do so much, hoping thereby that his anger is a little over. After dinner abroad with my wife by coach to Westminster, and set her at Mrs. Hunt's while I about my business, having in our way met with Captain Ferrers luckily to speak to him about my coach, who was going in all haste thither, and I perceive the King and Duke and all the Court was going to the Duke's playhouse to see "Henry VIII." acted, which is said to be an admirable play. But, Lord! to see how near I was to have broken my oathe, or run the hazard of 20s. losse, so much my nature was hot to have gone thither; but I did not go, but having spoke with W. Howe and known how my Lord did do this kindly as I would have it, I did go to Westminster Hall, and there met Hawley, and walked a great while with him. Among other discourse encouraging him to pursue his love to Mrs. Lane, while God knows I had a roguish meaning in it. Thence calling my wife home by coach, calling at several places, and to my office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I hear for certain that my Lady Castlemaine is turned Papist, which the Queene for all do not much like, thinking that she do it not for conscience sake. I heard to-day of a great fray lately between Sir H. Finch's coachman, who struck with his whip a coachman of the King's to the losse of one of his eyes; at which the people of the Exchange seeming to laugh and make sport with some words of contempt to him, my Lord Chamberlin did come from the King to shut up the 'Change, and by the help of a justice, did it; but upon petition to the King it was opened again. 23rd. Up betimes and my wife; and being in as mourning a dress as we could, at present, without cost, put ourselves into, we by Sir W. Pen's coach to Mrs. Turner's, at Salisbury Court, where I find my Lord's coach and six horses. We staid till almost eleven o'clock, and much company came, and anon, the corps being put into the hearse, and the scutcheons set upon it, we all took coach, and I and my wife and Auditor Beale in my Lord Sandwich's coach, and went next to Mrs. Turner's mourning coach, and so through all the City and Shoreditch, I believe about twenty coaches, and four or five with six and four horses. Being come thither, I made up to the mourners, and bidding them a good journey, I took leave and back again, and setting my wife into a hackney out of Bishopsgate Street, I sent her home, and I to the 'Change and Auditor Beale about his business. Did much business at the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to my office, and there late doing business also to my great content to see God bless me in my place and opening honest ways, I hope to get a little money to lay up and yet to live handsomely. So to supper and to bed. My wife having strange fits of the toothache, some times on this, and by and by on that side of her tooth, which is not common. 24th. Up betimes; and though it was a most foggy morning, and cold, yet with a gally down to Eriffe, several times being at a loss whither we went. There I mustered two ships of the King's, lent by him to the Guiny Company, which are manned better than ours at far less wages. Thence on board two of the King's, one of them the "Leopard," Captain Beech, who I find an able and serious man. He received me civilly, and his wife was there, a very well bred and knowing woman, born at Antwerp, but speaks as good English as myself, and an ingenious woman. Here was also Sir G. Carteret's son, who I find a pretty, but very talking man, but good humour. Thence back again, entertaining myself upon my sliding rule with great content, and called at Woolwich, where Mr. Chr. Pett having an opportunity of being alone did tell me his mind about several things he thought I was offended with him in, and told me of my kindness to his assistant. I did give him such an answer as I thought was fit and left him well satisfied, he offering to do me all the service, either by draughts or modells that I should desire. Thence straight home, being very cold, but yet well, I thank God, and at home found my wife making mince pies, and by and by comes in Captain Ferrers to see us, and, among other talke, tells us of the goodness of the new play of "Henry VIII.," which makes me think [it] long till my time is out; but I hope before I go I shall set myself such a stint as I may not forget myself as I have hitherto done till I was forced for these months last past wholly to forbid myself the seeing of one. He gone I to my office and there late writing and reading, and so home to bed. 25th (Christmas day). Lay long talking pleasantly with my wife, but among other things she begun, I know not whether by design or chance, to enquire what she should do if I should by any accident die, to which I did give her some slight answer; but shall make good use of it to bring myself to some settlement for her sake, by making a will as soon as I can. Up and to church, where Mr. Mills made an ordinary sermon, and so home and dined with great pleasure with my wife, and all the afternoon first looking out at window and seeing the boys playing at many several sports in our back yard by Sir W. Pen's, which reminded me of my own former times, and then I began to read to my wife upon the globes with great pleasure and to good purpose, for it will be pleasant to her and to me to have her understand these things. In the evening at the office, where I staid late reading Rushworth, which is a most excellent collection of the beginning of the late quarrels in this kingdom, and so home to supper and to bed, with good content of mind. 26th. Up and walked forth first to the Minerys to Brown's, and there with great pleasure saw and bespoke several instruments, and so to Cornhill to Mr. Cades, and there went up into his warehouse to look for a map or two, and there finding great plenty of good pictures, God forgive me! how my mind run upon them, and bought a little one for my wife's closett presently, and concluded presently of buying L10 worth, upon condition he would give me the buying of them. Now it is true I did still within me resolve to make the King one way or other pay for them, though I saved it to him another way, yet I find myself too forward to fix upon the expense, and came away with a resolution of buying them, but do hope that I shall not upon second thoughts do it without a way made out before I buy them to myself how to do [it] without charge to my main stock. Thence to the Coffee-house, and sat long in good discourse with some gentlemen concerning the Roman Empire. So home and found Mr. Hollyard there, and he stayed and dined with us, we having a pheasant to dinner. He gone, I all the afternoon with my wife to cards, and, God forgive me! to see how the very discourse of plays, which I shall be at liberty to see after New Year's Day next, do set my mind upon them, but I must be forced to stint myself very strictly before I begin, or else I fear I shall spoil all. In the evening came my aunt Wight's kinswoman to see how my wife do, with a compliment from my aunt, which I take kindly as it is unusual for her to do it, but I do perceive my uncle is very kind to me of late. So to my office writing letters, and then to read and make an end of Rushworth, which I did, and do say that it is a book the most worth reading for a man of my condition or any man that hopes to come to any publique condition in the world that I do know. So home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up and to church alone and so home to dinner with my wife very pleasant and pleased with one another's company, and in our general enjoyment one of another, better we think than most other couples do. So after dinner to the French church, but came too late, and so back to our owne church, where I slept all the sermon the Scott preaching, and so home, and in the evening Sir J. Minnes and I met at Sir W. Pen's about ordering some business of the Navy, and so I home to supper, discourse, prayers, and bed. 28th. Up and by coach to my Lord's lodgings, but he was gone abroad, so I lost my pains, but, however, walking through White Hall I heard the King was gone to play at Tennis, so I down to the new Tennis Court; and saw him and Sir Arthur Slingsby play against my Lord of Suffolke and my Lord Chesterfield. The King beat three, and lost two sets, they all, and he particularly playing well, I thought. Thence went and spoke with the Duke of Albemarle about his wound at Newhall, but I find him a heavy dull man, methinks, by his answers to me. Thence to the King's Head ordinary and there dined, and found Creed there, but we met and dined and parted without any thing more than "How do you?" After dinner straight on foot to Mr. Hollyard's, and there paid him L3 in full for his physic and work to my wife . . . . but whether it is cured for ever or no I cannot tell, but he says it will never come to anything, though it may be it may ooze now and then a little. So home and found my wife gone out with Will (whom she sent for as she do now a days upon occasion) to have a tooth drawn, she having it seems been in great pain all day, and at night came home with it drawn, and pretty well. This evening I had a stove brought me to the office to try, but it being an old one it smokes as much as if there was nothing but a hearth as I had before, but it may be great new ones do not, and therefore I must enquire further. So at night home to supper and to bed. The Duchesse of York is fallen sicke of the meazles. 29th. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting, at noon to the 'change, and there I found and brought home Mr. Pierse the surgeon to dinner. Where I found also Mr. Luellin and Mount, and merry at dinner, but their discourse so free . . . . that I was weary of them. But after dinner Luellin took me up to my chamber to give me L50 for the service I did him, though not so great as he expected and I intended. But I told him that I would not sell my liberty to any man. If he would give me any thing by another's hand I would endeavour to deserve it, but I will never give him himself thanks for it, not acknowledging the receiving of any, which he told me was reasonable. I did also tell him that neither this nor any thing should make me to do any thing that should not be for the King's service besides. So we parted and left them three at home with my wife going to cards, and I to my office and there staid late. Sir W. Pen came like a cunning rogue to sit and talk with me about office business and freely about the Comptroller's business of the office, to which I did give him free answers and let him make the best of them. But I know him to be a knave, and do say nothing that I fear to have said again. Anon came Sir W. Warren, and after talking of his business of the masts and helping me to understand some foul dealing in the business of Woods we fell to other talk, and particularly to speak of some means how to part this great familiarity between Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and it is easy to do by any good friend of Sir J. Minnes to whom it will be a good service, and he thinks that Sir J. Denham will be a proper man for it, and so do I. So after other discourse we parted, and I home and to bed. 30th. Up betimes and by coach to my Lord Sandwich, who I met going out, and he did aske me how his cozen, my wife; did, the first time he hath done so since his being offended, and, in my conscience, he would be glad to be free with me again, but he knows not how to begin. So he went out, and I through the garden to Mr. Coventry, where I saw Mr. Ch. Pett bringing him a modell, and indeed it is a pretty one, for a New Year's gift; but I think the work not better done than mine. With him by coach to London, with good and friendly discourse of business and against Sir W. Batten and his foul dealings. So leaving him at the Guiny House I to the Coffee House, whither came Mr. Grant and Sir W. Petty, with whom I talked, and so did many, almost all the house there, about his new vessel, wherein he did give me such satisfaction in every point that I am almost confident she will prove an admirable invention. So home to dinner, and after being upon the 'Change awhile I dined with my wife, who took physique to-day, and so to my office, and there all the afternoon till late at night about office business, and so to supper and to bed. 31st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and among other things Sir W. Warren came about some contract, and there did at the open table, Sir W. Batten not being there; openly defy him, and insisted how Sir W. Batten did endeavour to oppose him in everything that he offered. Sir W. Pen took him up for it, like a counterfeit rogue, though I know he was as much pleased to hear him talk so as any man there. But upon his speaking no more was said but to the business. At noon we broke up and I to the 'Change awhile, and so home again to dinner, my head aching mightily with being overcharged with business. We had to dinner, my wife and I, a fine turkey and a mince pie, and dined in state, poor wretch, she and I, and have thus kept our Christmas together all alone almost, having not once been out, but to-morrow my vowes are all out as to plays and wine, but I hope I shall not be long before I come to new ones, so much good, and God's blessing, I find to have attended them. Thence to the office and did several businesses and answered several people, but my head aching and it being my great night of accounts, I went forth, took coach, and to my brother's, but he was not within, and so I back again and sat an hour or two at the Coffee [house], hearing some simple discourse about Quakers being charmed by a string about their wrists, and so home, and after a little while at my office, I home and supped, and so had a good fire in my chamber and there sat till 4 o'clock in the morning making up my accounts and writing this last Journall of the year. And first I bless God I do, after a large expense, even this month, by reason of Christmas, and some payments to my father, and other things extraordinary, find that I am worth in money, besides all my household stuff, or any thing of Brampton, above L800, whereof in my Lord Sandwich's hand, L700, and the rest in my hand. So that there is not above L5 of all my estate in money at this minute out of my hands and my Lord's. For which the good God be pleased to give me a thankful heart and a mind careful to preserve this and increase it. I do live at my lodgings in the Navy Office, my family being, besides my wife and I, Jane Gentleman, Besse, our excellent, good-natured cookmayde, and Susan, a little girle, having neither man nor boy, nor like to have again a good while, living now in most perfect content and quiett, and very frugally also; my health pretty good, but only that I have been much troubled with a costiveness which I am labouring to get away, and have hopes of doing it. At the office I am well, though envied to the devil by Sir William Batten, who hates me to death, but cannot hurt me. The rest either love me, or at least do not show otherwise, though I know Sir W. Pen to be a false knave touching me, though he seems fair. My father and mother well in the country; and at this time the young ladies of Hinchingbroke with them, their house having the small-pox in it. The Queene after a long and sore sicknesse is become well again; and the King minds his mistresse a little too much, if it pleased God! but I hope all things will go well, and in the Navy particularly, wherein I shall do my duty whatever comes of it. The great talke is the designs of the King of France, whether against the Pope or King of Spayne nobody knows; but a great and a most promising Prince he is, and all the Princes of Europe have their eye upon him. My wife's brother come to great unhappiness by the ill-disposition, my wife says, of his wife, and her poverty, which she now professes, after all her husband's pretence of a great fortune, but I see none of them, at least they come not to trouble me. At present I am concerned for my cozen Angier, of Cambridge, lately broke in his trade, and this day am sending his son John, a very rogue, to sea. My brother Tom I know not what to think of, for I cannot hear whether he minds his business or not; and my brother John at Cambridge, with as little hopes of doing good there, for when he was here he did give me great cause of dissatisfaction with his manner of life. Pall with my father, and God knows what she do there, or what will become of her, for I have not anything yet to spare her, and she grows now old, and must be disposed of one way or other. The Duchesse of York, at this time, sicke of the meazles, but is growing well again. The Turke very far entered into Germany, and all that part of the world at a losse what to expect from his proceedings. Myself, blessed be God! in a good way, and design and resolution of sticking to my business to get a little money with doing the best service I can to the King also; which God continue! So ends the old year. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Again that she spoke but somewhat of what she had in her heart Better we think than most other couples do Compliment from my aunt, which I take kindly as it is unusual Did go to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at a new pit there Dined at home alone, a good calves head boiled and dumplings Every man looking after himself, and his owne lust and luxury Excommunications, which they send upon the least occasions Expectation of profit will have its force King was gone to play at Tennis Opening his mind to him as of one that may hereafter be his foe Pen was then turned Quaker Persuade me that she should prove with child since last night Pride and debauchery of the present clergy Quakers being charmed by a string about their wrists Taught my wife some part of subtraction To bed with discontent she yielded to me and began to be fond 
4146	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1664 N.S. January 1st, 1663-64. Went to bed between 4 and 5 in the morning with my mind in good temper of satisfaction and slept till about 8, that many people came to speak with me. Among others one came with the best New Year's gift that ever I had, namely from Mr. Deering, with a bill of exchange drawn upon himself for the payment of L50 to Mr. Luellin. It being for my use with a letter of compliment. I am not resolved what or how to do in this business, but I conclude it is an extraordinary good new year's gift, though I do not take the whole, or if I do then give some of it to Luellin. By and by comes Captain Allen and his son Jowles and his wife, who continues pretty still. They would have had me set my hand to a certificate for his loyalty, and I know not what his ability for any employment. But I did not think it fit, but did give them a pleasing denial, and after sitting with me an hour they went away. Several others came to me about business, and then being to dine at my uncle Wight's I went to the Coffee-house, sending my wife by Will, and there staid talking an hour with Coll. Middleton, and others, and among other things about a very rich widow, young and handsome, of one Sir Nicholas Gold's, a merchant, lately fallen, and of great courtiers that already look after her: her husband not dead a week yet. She is reckoned worth L80,000. Thence to my uncle Wight's, where Dr. of-----, among others, dined, and his wife, a seeming proud conceited woman, I know not what to make of her, but the Dr's. discourse did please me very well about the disease of the stone, above all things extolling Turpentine, which he told me how it may be taken in pills with great ease. There was brought to table a hot pie made of a swan I sent them yesterday, given me by Mr. Howe, but we did not eat any of it. But my wife and I rose from table, pretending business, and went to the Duke's house, the first play I have been at these six months, according to my last vowe, and here saw the so much cried-up play of "Henry the Eighth;" which, though I went with resolution to like it, is so simple a thing made up of a great many patches, that, besides the shows and processions in it, there is nothing in the world good or well done. Thence mightily dissatisfied back at night to my uncle Wight's, and supped with them, but against my stomach out of the offence the sight of my aunt's hands gives me, and ending supper with a mighty laugh, the greatest I have had these many months, at my uncle's being out in his grace after meat, we rose and broke up, and my wife and I home and to bed, being sleepy since last night. 2nd. Up and to the office, and there sitting all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, in my going met with Luellin and told him how I had received a letter and bill for L50 from Mr. Deering, and delivered it to him, which he told me he would receive for me. To which I consented, though professed not to desire it if he do not consider himself sufficiently able by the service I have done, and that it is rather my desire to have nothing till he be further sensible of my service. From the 'Change I brought him home and dined with us, and after dinner I took my wife out, for I do find that I am not able to conquer myself as to going to plays till I come to some new vowe concerning it, and that I am now come, that is to say, that I will not see above one in a month at any of the publique theatres till the sum of 50s. be spent, and then none before New Year's Day next, unless that I do become worth L1000 sooner than then, and then am free to come to some other terms, and so leaving him in Lombard Street I took her to the King's house, and there met Mr. Nicholson, my old colleague, and saw "The Usurper," which is no good play, though better than what I saw yesterday. However, we rose unsatisfied, and took coach and home, and I to the office late writing letters, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then rose and with a fire in my chamber staid within all day, looking over and settling my accounts in good order, by examining all my books, and the kitchen books, and I find that though the proper profit of my last year was but L305, yet I did by other gain make it up L444., which in every part of it was unforeseen of me, and therefore it was a strange oversight for lack of examining my expenses that I should spend L690 this year, but for the time to come I have so distinctly settled all my accounts in writing and the particulars of all my several layings out, that I do hope I shall hereafter make a better judgment of my spendings than ever. I dined with my wife in her chamber, she in bed, and then down again and till 11 at night, and broke up and to bed with great content, but could not make an end of writing over my vows as I purposed, but I am agreed in every thing how to order myself for the year to come, which I trust in God will be much for my good. So up to prayers and to bed. This evening Sir W. Pen came to invite me against next Wednesday, being Twelfth day, to his usual feast, his wedding day. 4th. Up betimes, and my wife being ready, and her mayd Besse and the girl, I carried them by coach and set them all down in Covent Garden and there left them, and I to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but he not being up, I to the Duke's chamber, and there by and by to his closett, where since his lady was ill, a little red bed of velvet is brought for him to lie alone, which is a very pretty one. After doing business here, I to my Lord's again, and there spoke with him, and he seems now almost friends again as he used to be. Here meeting Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, he told me among other Court newes, how the Queene is very well again, and the King lay with her on Saturday night last; and that she speaks now very pretty English, and makes her sense out now and then with pretty phrazes: as among others this is mightily cried up; that, meaning to say that she did not like such a horse so well as the rest, he being too prancing and full of tricks, she said he did make too much vanity. Thence to the Tennis Court, after I had spent a little time in Westminster Hall, thinking to have met with Mrs. Lane, but I could not and am glad of it, and there saw the King play at Tennis and others: but to see how the King's play was extolled without any cause at all, was a loathsome sight, though sometimes, indeed, he did play very well and deserved to be commended; but such open flattery is beastly. Afterwards to St. James's Parke, being unwilling to go to spend money at the ordinary, and there spent an hour or two, it being a pleasant day, seeing people play at Pell Mell; where it pleased me mightily to hear a gallant, lately come from France, swear at one of his companions for suffering his man (a spruce blade) to be so saucy as to strike a ball while his master was playing on the Mall. [When Egerton was Bishop of Durham, he often played at bowls with his guests on the public days. On an occasion of this sort, a visitor happening to cross the lawn, one of the chaplains exclaimed, "You must not shake the green, for the bishop is going to bowl."-B.] Thence took coach at White Hall and took up my wife, who is mighty sad to think of her father, who is going into Germany against the Turkes; but what will become of her brother I know not. He is so idle, and out of all capacity, I think, to earn his bread. Home and at my office till is at night making my solemn vowes for the next year, which I trust in the Lord I shall keep, but I fear I have a little too severely bound myself in some things and in too many, for I fear I may forget some. But however, I know the worst, and shall by the blessing of God observe to perform or pay my forfeits punctually. So home and to bed with my mind at rest. 5th. Up and to our office, where we sat all the morning, where my head being willing to take in all business whatever, I am afraid I shall over clogg myself with it. But however, it is my desire to do my duty and shall the willinger bear it. At noon home and to the 'Change, where I met with Luellin, who went off with me and parted to meet again at the Coffeehouse, but missed. So home and found him there, and Mr. Barrow came to speak with me, so they both dined with me alone, my wife not being ready, and after dinner I up in my chamber with Barrow to discourse about matters of the yard with him, and his design of leaving the place, which I am sorry for, and will prevent if I can. He being gone then Luellin did give me the L50 from Mr. Deering, which he do give me for my pains in his business and what I may hereafter take for him, though there is not the least word or deed I have yet been guilty of in his behalf but what I am sure has been to the King's advantage and the profit of the service, nor ever will. And for this money I never did condition with him or expected a farthing at the time when I did do him the service, nor have given any receipt for it, it being brought me by Luellin, nor do purpose to give him any thanks for it, but will wherein I can faithfully endeavour to see him have the privilege of his Patent as the King's merchant. I did give Luellin two pieces in gold for a pair of gloves for his kindness herein. Then he being gone, I to my office, where busy till late at night, that through my room being over confounded in business I could stay there no longer, but went home, and after a little supper to bed. 6th (Twelfth day). Up and to my office, where very busy all the morning, being indeed over loaded with it through my own desire of doing all I can. At noon to the 'Change, but did little, and so home to dinner with my poor wife, and after dinner read a lecture to her in Geography, which she takes very prettily and with great pleasure to her and me to teach her, and so to the office again, where as busy as ever in my life, one thing after another, and answering people's business, particularly drawing up things about Mr. Wood's masts, which I expect to have a quarrel about with Sir W. Batten before it be ended, but I care not. At night home to my wife, to supper, discourse, prayers, and to bed. This morning I began a practice which I find by the ease I do it with that I shall continue, it saving me money and time; that is, to trimme myself with a razer: which pleases me mightily. 7th. Up, putting on my best clothes and to the office, where all the morning we sat busy, among other things upon Mr. Wood's performance of his contract for masts, wherein I was mightily concerned, but I think was found all along in the right, and shall have my desire in it to the King's advantage. At noon, all of us to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, where a very handsome dinner, Sir J. Lawson among others, and his lady and his daughter, a very pretty lady and of good deportment, with looking upon whom I was greatly pleased, the rest of the company of the women were all of our own house, of no satisfaction or pleasure at all. My wife was not there, being not well enough, nor had any great mind. But to see how Sir W. Pen imitates me in everything, even in his having his chimney piece in his dining room the same with that in my wife's closett, and in every thing else I perceive wherein he can. But to see again how he was out in one compliment: he lets alone drinking any of the ladies' healths that were there, my Lady Batten and Lawson, till he had begun with my Lady Carteret, who was absent, and that was well enough, and then Mr. Coventry's mistresse, at which he was ashamed, and would not have had him have drunk it, at least before the ladies present, but his policy, as he thought, was such that he would do it. After dinner by coach with Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes by appointment to Auditor Beale's in Salisbury Court, and there we did with great content look over some old ledgers to see in what manner they were kept, and indeed it was in an extraordinary good method, and such as (at least out of design to keep them employed) I do persuade Sir J. Minnes to go upon, which will at least do as much good it may be to keep them for want of something to do from envying those that do something. Thence calling to see whether Mrs. Turner was returned, which she is, and I spoke one word only to her, and away again by coach home and to my office, where late, and then home to supper and bed. 8th. Up and all the morning at my office and with Sir J. Minnes, directing him and Mr. Turner about keeping of their books according to yesterday's work, wherein I shall make them work enough. At noon to the 'Change, and there long, and from thence by appointment took Luellin, Mount, and W. Symons, and Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, home to dinner with me and were merry. But, Lord! to hear how W. Symons do commend and look sadly and then talk bawdily and merrily, though his wife was dead but the other day, would make a dogg laugh. After dinner I did go in further part of kindness to Luellin for his kindness about Deering's L50 which he procured me the other day of him. We spent all the afternoon together and then they to cards with my wife, who this day put on her Indian blue gowne which is very pretty, where I left them for an hour, and to my office, and then to them again, and by and by they went away at night, and so I again to my office to perfect a letter to Mr. Coventry about Department Treasurers, wherein I please myself and hope to give him content and do the King service therein. So having done, I home and to teach my wife a new lesson in the globes, and to supper, and to bed. We had great pleasure this afternoon; among other things, to talk of our old passages together in Cromwell's time; and how W. Symons did make me laugh and wonder to-day when he told me how he had made shift to keep in, in good esteem and employment, through eight governments in one year (the dear 1659, which were indeed, and he did name them all), and then failed unhappy in the ninth, viz. that of the King's coming in. He made good to me the story which Luellin did tell me the other day, of his wife upon her death-bed; how she dreamt of her uncle Scobell, and did foretell, from some discourse she had with him, that she should die four days thence, and not sooner, and did all along say so, and did so. Upon the 'Change a great talke there was of one Mr. Tryan, an old man, a merchant in Lyme-Streete, robbed last night (his man and mayde being gone out after he was a-bed), and gagged and robbed of L1050 in money and about L4000 in jewells, which he had in his house as security for money. It is believed by many circumstances that his man is guilty of confederacy, by their ready going to his secret till in his desk, wherein the key of his cash-chest lay. 9th. Up (my underlip being mightily swelled, I know not how but by overrubbing it, it itching) and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I home to dinner, and by discourse with my wife thought upon inviting my Lord Sandwich to a dinner shortly. It will cost me at least ten or twelve pounds; but, however, some arguments of prudence I have, which however I shall think again upon before I proceed to that expence. After dinner by coach I carried my wife and Jane to Westminster, leaving her at Mr. Hunt's, and I to Westminster Hall, and there visited Mrs. Lane, and by appointment went out and met her at the Trumpet, Mrs. Hare's, but the room being damp we went to the Bell tavern, and there I had her company, but could not do as I used to do (yet nothing but what was honest) . . . . . So I to talk about her having Hawley, she told me flatly no, she could not love him. I took occasion to enquire of Howlett's daughter, with whom I have a mind to meet a little to see what mettle the young wench is made of, being very pretty, but she tells me she is already betrothed to Mrs. Michell's son, and she in discourse tells me more, that Mrs. Michell herself had a daughter before marriage, which is now near thirty years old, a thing I could not have believed. Thence leading her to the Hall, I took coach and called my wife and her mayd, and so to the New Exchange, where we bought several things of our pretty Mrs. Dorothy Stacy, a pretty woman, and has the modestest look that ever I saw in my life and manner of speech. Thence called at Tom's and saw him pretty well again, but has not been currant. So homeward, and called at Ludgate, at Ashwell's uncle's, but she was not within, to have spoke to her to have come to dress my wife at the time my Lord dines here. So straight home, calling for Walsingham's Manuals at my bookseller's to read but not to buy, recommended for a pretty book by Sir W. Warren, whose warrant however I do not much take till I do read it. So home to supper and to bed, my wife not being very well since she came home, being troubled with a fainting fit, which she never yet had before since she was my wife. 10th (Lord's day). Lay in bed with my wife till 10 or 11 o'clock, having been very sleepy all night. So up, and my brother Tom being come to see me, we to dinner, he telling me how Mrs. Turner found herself discontented with her late bad journey, and not well taken by them in the country, they not desiring her coming down, nor the burials of Mr. Edward Pepys's corps there. After dinner I to the office, where all the afternoon, and at night my wife and I to my uncle Wight's, and there eat some of their swan pie, which was good, and I invited them to my house to eat a roasted swan on Tuesday next, which after I was come home did make a quarrels between my wife and I, because she had appointed a wish to-morrow. But, however, we were friends again quickly. So to bed. All our discourse to-night was Mr. Tryan's late being robbed; and that Collonell Turner (a mad, swearing, confident fellow, well known by all, and by me), one much indebted to this man for his very livelihood, was the man that either did or plotted it; and the money and things are found in his hand, and he and his wife now in Newgate for it; of which we are all glad, so very a known rogue he was. 11th. Waked this morning by 4 o'clock by my wife to call the mayds to their wash, and what through my sleeping so long last night and vexation for the lazy sluts lying so long again and their great wash, neither my wife nor I could sleep one winke after that time till day, and then I rose and by coach (taking Captain Grove with me and three bottles of Tent, which I sent to Mrs. Lane by my promise on Saturday night last) to White Hall, and there with the rest of our company to the Duke and did our business, and thence to the Tennis Court till noon, and there saw several great matches played, and so by invitation to St. James's; where, at Mr. Coventry's chamber, I dined with my Lord Barkeley, Sir G. Carteret, Sir Edward Turner, Sir Ellis Layton, and one Mr. Seymour, a fine gentleman; were admirable good discourse of all sorts, pleasant and serious. Thence after dinner to White Hall, where the Duke being busy at the Guinny business, the Duke of Albemarle, Sir W. Rider, Povy, Sir J. Lawson and I to the Duke of Albemarle's lodgings, and there did some business, and so to the Court again, and I to the Duke of York's lodgings, where the Guinny company are choosing their assistants for the next year by ballotting. Thence by coach with Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, he set me down at Cornhill, but, Lord! the simple discourse that all the way we had, he magnifying his great undertakings and cares that have been upon him for these last two years, and how he commanded the city to the content of all parties, when the loggerhead knows nothing almost that is sense. Thence to the Coffee-house, whither comes Sir W. Petty and Captain Grant, and we fell in talke (besides a young gentleman, I suppose a merchant, his name Mr. Hill, that has travelled and I perceive is a master in most sorts of musique and other things) of musique; the universal character; art of memory; Granger's counterfeiting of hands and other most excellent discourses to my great content, having not been in so good company a great while, and had I time I should covet the acquaintance of that Mr. Hill. This morning I stood by the King arguing with a pretty Quaker woman, that delivered to him a desire of hers in writing. The King showed her Sir J. Minnes, as a man the fittest for her quaking religion, saying that his beard was the stiffest thing about him, and again merrily said, looking upon the length of her paper, that if all she desired was of that length she might lose her desires; she modestly saying nothing till he begun seriously to discourse with her, arguing the truth of his spirit against hers; she replying still with these words, "O King!" and thou'd him all along. The general talke of the towne still is of Collonell Turner, about the robbery; who, it is thought, will be hanged. I heard the Duke of York tell to-night, how letters are come that fifteen are condemned for the late plot by the judges at York; and, among others, Captain Oates, against whom it was proved that he drew his sword at his going out, and flinging away the scabbard, said that he would either return victor or be hanged. So home, where I found the house full of the washing and my wife mighty angry about Will's being here to-day talking with her mayds, which she overheard, idling of their time, and he telling what a good mayd my old Jane was, and that she would never have her like again. At which I was angry, and after directing her to beat at least the little girl, I went to the office and there reproved Will, who told me that he went thither by my wife's order, she having commanded him to come thither on Monday morning. Now God forgive me! how apt I am to be jealous of her as to this fellow, and that she must needs take this time, when she knows I must be gone out to the Duke, though methinks had she that mind she would never think it discretion to tell me this story of him, to let me know that he was there, much less to make me offended with him, to forbid him coming again. But this cursed humour I cannot cool in myself by all the reason I have, which God forgive me for, and convince me of the folly of it, and the disquiet it brings me. So home, where, God be thanked, when I came to speak to my wife my trouble of mind soon vanished, and to bed. The house foul with the washing and quite out of order against to-morrow's dinner. 12th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change awhile, and so home, getting things against dinner ready, and anon comes my uncle Wight and my aunt, with their cozens Mary and Robert, and by chance my uncle Thomas Pepys. We had a good dinner, the chief dish a swan roasted, and that excellent meate. At, dinner and all day very merry. After dinner to cards, where till evening, then to the office a little, and to cards again with them, and lost half-a-crowne. They being gone, my wife did tell me how my uncle did this day accost her alone, and spoke of his hoping she was with child, and kissing her earnestly told her he should be very glad of it, and from all circumstances methinks he do seem to have some intention of good to us, which I shall endeavour to continue more than ever I did yet. So to my office till late, and then home to bed, after being at prayers, which is the first time after my late vowe to say prayers in my family twice in every week. 13th. Up and to my office a little, and then abroad to many several places about business, among others to the geometrical instrument makers, and through Bedlam (calling by the way at an old bookseller's and there fell into looking over Spanish books and pitched upon some, till I thought of my oathe when I was going to agree for them, and so with much ado got myself out of the shop glad at my heart and so away) to the African House to look upon their book of contracts for several commodities for my information in the prices we give in the Navy. So to the Coffee [house] where extraordinary good discourse of Dr. Whistler's' upon my question concerning the keeping of masts, he arguing against keeping them dry, by showing the nature of corruption in bodies and the several ways thereof. So to the 'Change, and thence with Sir W. Rider to the Trinity House to dinner, and then home and to my office till night, and then with Mr. Bland to Sir T. Viner's about pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson, and so back to my office, and there late upon business, and so home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon all of us, viz., Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten at one end, and Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes and I (in the middle at the other end, being taught how to sit there all three by my sitting so much the backwarder) at the other end, to Sir G. Carteret's, and there dined well. Here I saw Mr. Scott, the bastard that married his youngest daughter. Much pleasant talk at table, and then up and to the office, where we sat long upon our design of dividing the Controller's work into some of the rest of our hands for the better doing of it, but he would not yield to it, though the simple man knows in his heart that he do not do one part of it. So he taking upon him to do it all we rose, I vexed at the heart to see the King's service run after this manner, but it cannot be helped. Thence to the Old James to the reference about Mr. Bland's business. Sir W. Rider being now added to us, and I believe we shall soon come to some determination in it. So home and to my office, did business, and then up to Sir W. Pen and did express my trouble about this day's business, he not being there, and plainly told him what I thought of it, and though I know him a false fellow yet I adventured, as I have done often, to tell him clearly my opinion of Sir W. Batten and his design in this business, which is very bad. Hence home, and after a lecture to my wife in her globes, to prayers and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and among other things Mr. Turner with me, and I did tell him my mind about the Controller his master and all the office, and my mind touching himself too, as he did carry himself either well or ill to me and my clerks, which I doubt not but it will operate well. Thence to the 'Change, and there met my uncle Wight, who was very kind to me, and would have had me home with him, and so kind that I begin to wonder and think something of it of good to me. Thence home to dinner, and after dinner with Mr. Hater by water, and walked thither and back again from Deptford, where I did do something checking the iron business, but my chief business was my discourse with Mr. Hater about what had passed last night and to-day about the office business, and my resolution to do him all the good I can therein. So home, and my wife tells me that my uncle Wight hath been with her, and played at cards with her, and is mighty inquisitive to know whether she is with child or no, which makes me wonder what his meaning is, and after all my thoughts, I cannot think, unless it be in order to the making his will, that he might know how to do by me, and I would to God my wife had told him that she was. 16th. Up, and having paid some money in the morning to my uncle Thomas on his yearly annuity, to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I to the 'Change about some pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson. There I hear that Collonell Turner is found guilty of felony at the Sessions in Mr. Tryan's business, which will save his life. So home and met there J. Hasper come to see his kinswoman our Jane. I made much of him and made him dine with us, he talking after the old simple manner that he used to do. He being gone, I by water to Westminster Hall, and there did see Mrs. Lane. . . . . So by coach home and to my office, where Browne of the Minerys brought me an Instrument made of a Spyral line very pretty for all questions in Arithmetique almost, but it must be some use that must make me perfect in it. So home to supper and to bed, with my mind 'un peu troubled pour ce que fait' to-day, but I hope it will be 'la dernier de toute ma vie.' 17th (Lord's day). Up, and I and my wife to church, where Pembleton appeared, which, God forgive me, did vex me, but I made nothing of it. So home to dinner, and betimes my wife and I to the French church and there heard a good sermon, the first time my wife and I were there ever together. We sat by three sisters, all pretty women. It was pleasant to hear the reader give notice to them, that the children to be catechized next Sunday were them of Hounsditch and Blanche Chapiton. Thence home, and there found Ashwell come to see my wife (we having called at her lodging the other, day to speak with her about dressing my wife when my Lord Sandwich dines here), and is as merry as ever, and speaks as disconcerned for any difference between us on her going away as ever. She being gone, my wife and I to see Sir W. Pen and there supped with him much against my stomach, for the dishes were so deadly foule that I could not endure to look upon them. So after supper home to prayers and to bed. 18th. Up, being troubled to find my wife so ready to have me go out of doors. God forgive me for my jealousy! but I cannot forbear, though God knows I have no reason to do so, or to expect her being so true to me as I would have her. I abroad to White Hall, where the Court all in mourning for the Duchesse of Savoy. We did our business with the Duke, and so I to W. Howe at my Lord's lodgings, not seeing my Lord, he being abroad, and there I advised with W. Howe about my having my Lord to dinner at my house, who likes it well, though it troubles me that I should come to need the advice of such a boy, but for the present it is necessary. Here I found Mr. Mallard, and had from him a common tune set by my desire to the Lyra Vyall, which goes most admirably. Thence home by coach to the 'Change, after having been at the Coffee-house, where I hear Turner is found guilty of felony and burglary; and strange stories of his confidence at the barr, but yet great indiscretion in his argueing. All desirous of his being hanged. So home and found that Will had been with my wife. But, Lord! why should I think any evil of that; and yet I cannot forbear it. But upon enquiry, though I found no reason of doubtfulness, yet I could not bring my nature to any quiet or content in my wife all day and night, nor though I went with her to divert myself at my uncle Wight's, and there we played at cards till 12 at night and went home in a great shower of rain, it having not rained a great while before. Here was one Mr. Benson, a Dutchman, played and supped with us, that pretends to sing well, and I expected great matters but found nothing to be pleased with at all. So home and to bed, yet troubled in my mind. 19th. Up, without any kindness to my wife, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Cutler's with Sir W. Rider to dinner, and after dinner with him to the Old James upon our reference of Mr. Bland's, and, having sat there upon the business half an hour, broke up, and I home and there found Madame Turner and her sister Dike come to see us, and staid chatting till night, and so away, and I to my office till very late, and my eyes began to fail me, and be in pain which I never felt to now-a-days, which I impute to sitting up late writing and reading by candle-light. So home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and after long staying till his coming down (he not sending for me up, but it may be he did not know I was there), he came down, and I walked with him to the Tennis Court, and there left him, seeing the King play. At his lodgings this morning there came to him Mr. W. Montague's fine lady, which occasioned my Lord's calling me to her about some business for a friend of hers preferred to be a midshipman at sea. My Lord recommended the whole matter to me. She is a fine confident lady, I think, but not so pretty as I once thought her. My Lord did also seal a lease for the house he is now taking in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which stands him in 250 per annum rent. Thence by water to my brother's, whom I find not well in bed, sicke, they think, of a consumption, and I fear he is not well, but do not complain, nor desire to take anything. From him I visited Mr. Honiwood, who is lame, and to thank him for his visit to me the other day, but we were both abroad. So to Mr. Commander's in Warwicke Lane, to speak to him about drawing up my will, which he will meet me about in a day or two. So to the 'Change and walked home, thence with Sir Richard Ford, who told me that Turner is to be hanged to-morrow, and with what impudence he hath carried out his trial; but that last night, when he brought him newes of his death, he began to be sober and shed some tears, and he hopes will die a penitent; he having already confessed all the thing, but says it was partly done for a joke, and partly to get an occasion of obliging the old man by his care in getting him his things again, he having some hopes of being the better by him in his estate at his death. Home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I by water, which we have not done together many a day, that is not since last summer, but the weather is now very warm, and left her at Axe Yard, and I to White Hall, and meeting Mr. Pierce walked with him an hour in the Matted Gallery; among other things he tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is not at all set by by the King, but that he do doat upon Mrs. Stewart only; and that to the leaving of all business in the world, and to the open slighting of the Queene; that he values not who sees him or stands by him while he dallies with her openly; and then privately in her chamber below, where the very sentrys observe his going in and out; and that so commonly, that the Duke or any of the nobles, when they would ask where the King is, they will ordinarily say, "Is the King above, or below?" meaning with Mrs. Stewart: that the King do not openly disown my Lady Castlemaine, but that she comes to Court; but that my Lord FitzHarding and the Hambletons, [The three brothers, George Hamilton, James Hamilton, and the Count Antoine Hamilton, author of the "Memoires de Grammont."] and sometimes my Lord Sandwich, they say, have their snaps at her. But he says my Lord Sandwich will lead her from her lodgings in the darkest and obscurest manner, and leave her at the entrance into the Queene's lodgings, that he might be the least observed; that the Duke of Monmouth the King do still doat on beyond measure, insomuch that the King only, the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, and the Duke of Monmouth, do now wear deep mourning, that is, long cloaks, for the Duchesse of Savoy; so that he mourns as a Prince of the Blood, while the Duke of York do no more, and all the nobles of the land not so much; which gives great offence, and he says the Duke of York do consider. But that the Duke of York do give himself up to business, and is like to prove a noble Prince; and so indeed I do from my heart think he will. He says that it is believed, as well as hoped, that care is taken to lay up a hidden treasure of money by the King against a bad day, pray God it be so! but I should be more glad that the King himself would look after business, which it seems he do not in the least. By and by came by Mr. Coventry, and so we broke off; and he and I took a turn or two and so parted, and then my Lord Sandwich came upon me, to speak with whom my business of coming again to-night to this ende of the town chiefly was, in order to the seeing in what manner he received me, in order to my inviting him to dinner to my house, but as well in the morning as now, though I did wait upon him home and there offered occasion of talk with him, yet he treated me, though with respect, yet as a stranger, without any of the intimacy or friendship which he used to do, and which I fear he will never, through his consciousness of his faults, ever do again. Which I must confess do trouble me above anything in the world almost, though I neither do need at present nor fear to need to be so troubled, nay, and more, though I do not think that he would deny me any friendship now if I did need it, but only that he has not the face to be free with me, but do look upon me as a remembrancer of his former vanity, and an espy upon his present practices, for I perceive that Pickering to-day is great with him again, and that he has done a great courtesy for Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, to a good value, though both these and none but these did I mention by name to my Lord in the business which has caused all this difference between my Lord and me. However, I am resolved to forbear my laying out my money upon a dinner till I see him in a better posture, and by grave and humble, though high deportment, to make him think I do not want him, and that will make him the readier to admit me to his friendship again, I believe the soonest of anything but downright impudence, and thrusting myself, as others do, upon him, which yet I cannot do, not [nor] will not endeavour. So home, calling with my wife to see my brother again, who was up, and walks up and down the house pretty well, but I do think he is in a consumption. Home, troubled in mind for these passages with my Lord, but am resolved to better my case in my business to make my stand upon my owne legs the better and to lay up as well as to get money, and among other ways I will have a good fleece out of Creed's coat ere it be long, or I will have a fall. So to my office and did some business, and then home to supper and to bed, after I had by candlelight shaved myself and cut off all my beard clear, which will make my worke a great deal the less in shaving. 21st. Up, and after sending my wife to my aunt Wight's to get a place to see Turner hanged, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon going to the 'Change; and seeing people flock in the City, I enquired, and found that Turner was not yet hanged. And so I went among them to Leadenhall Street, at the end of Lyme Street, near where the robbery was done; and to St. Mary Axe, where he lived. And there I got for a shilling to stand upon the wheel of a cart, in great pain, above an houre before the execution was done; he delaying the time by long discourses and prayers one after another, in hopes of a reprieve; but none came, and at last was flung off the ladder in his cloake. A comely-looked man he was, and kept his countenance to the end: I was sorry to see him. It was believed there were at least 12 or 14,000 people in the street. So I home all in a sweat, and dined by myself, and after dinner to the Old James, and there found Sir W. Rider and Mr. Cutler at dinner, and made a second dinner with them, and anon came Mr. Bland and Custos, and Clerke, and so we fell to the business of reference, and upon a letter from Mr. Povy to Sir W. Rider and I telling us that the King is concerned in it, we took occasion to fling off the business from off our shoulders and would have nothing to do with it, unless we had power from the King or Commissioners of Tangier, and I think it will be best for us to continue of that mind, and to have no hand, it being likely to go against the King. Thence to the Coffee-house, and heard the full of Turner's discourse on the cart, which was chiefly to clear himself of all things laid to his charge but this fault, for which he now suffers, which he confesses. He deplored the condition of his family, but his chief design was to lengthen time, believing still a reprieve would come, though the sheriff advised him to expect no such thing, for the King was resolved to grant none. After that I had good discourse with a pretty young merchant with mighty content. So to my office and did a little business, and then to my aunt Wight's to fetch my wife home, where Dr. Burnett did tell me how poorly the sheriffs did endeavour to get one jewell returned by Turner, after he was convicted, as a due to them, and not to give it to Mr. Tryan, the true owner, but ruled against them, to their great dishonour. Though they plead it might be another jewell for ought they know and not Tryan's. After supper home, and my wife tells me mighty stories of my uncle's fond and kind discourses to her to-day, which makes me confident that he has thoughts of kindness for us, he repeating his desire for her to be with child, for it cannot enter into my head that he should have any unworthy thoughts concerning her. After doing some business at my office, I home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 22nd. Up, and it being a brave morning, with a gaily to Woolwich, and there both at the Ropeyarde and the other yarde did much business, and thence to Greenwich to see Mr. Pett and others value the carved work of the "Henrietta" (God knows in an ill manner for the King), and so to Deptford, and there viewed Sir W. Petty's vessel; which hath an odd appearance, but not such as people do make of it, for I am of the opinion that he would never have discoursed so much of it, if it were not better than other vessels, and so I believe that he was abused the other day, as he is now, by tongues that I am sure speak before they know anything good or bad of her. I am sorry to find his ingenuity discouraged so. So home, reading all the way a good book, and so home to dinner, and after dinner a lesson on the globes to my wife, and so to my office till 10 or 11 o'clock at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Hawly came to see us and dined with us, and after we had dined came Mr. Mallard, and after he had eat something, I brought down my vyall which he played on, the first maister that ever touched her yet, and she proves very well and will be, I think, an admirable instrument. He played some very fine things of his owne, but I was afeard to enter too far in their commendation for fear he should offer to copy them for me out, and so I be forced to give or lend him something. So to the office in the evening, whither Mr. Commander came to me, and we discoursed about my will, which I am resolved to perfect the next week by the grace of God. He being gone, I to write letters and other business late, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up, and being desirous to perform my vowes that I lately made, among others, to be performed this month, I did go to my office, and there fell on entering, out of a bye-book, part of my second journall-book, which hath lain these two years and more unentered. Upon this work till dinner, and after dinner to it again till night, and then home to supper, and after supper to read a lecture to my wife upon the globes, and so to prayers and to bed. This evening also I drew up a rough draught of my last will to my mind. 25th. Up and by coach to Whitehall to my Lord's lodgings, and seeing that knowing that I was in the house, my Lord did not nevertheless send for me up, I did go to the Duke's lodgings, and there staid while he was making ready, in which time my Lord Sandwich came, and so all into his closet and did our common business, and so broke up, and I homeward by coach with Sir W. Batten, and staid at Warwicke Lane and there called upon Mr. Commander and did give him my last will and testament to write over in form, and so to the 'Change, where I did several businesses. So home to dinner, and after I had dined Luellin came and we set him something to eat, and I left him there with my wife, and to the office upon a particular meeting of the East India Company, where I think I did the King good service against the Company in the business of their sending our ships home empty from the Indies contrary to their contract, and yet, God forgive me! I found that I could be willing to receive a bribe if it were offered me to conceal my arguments that I found against them, in consideration that none of my fellow officers, whose duty it is more than mine, had ever studied the case, or at this hour do understand it, and myself alone must do it. That being done Mr. Povy and Bland came to speak with me about their business of the reference, wherein I shall have some more trouble, but cannot help it, besides I hope to make some good use of Mr. Povy to my advantage. So home after business done at my office, to supper, and then to the globes with my wife, and so to bed. Troubled a little in mind that my Lord Sandwich should continue this strangeness to me that methinks he shows me now a days more than while the thing was fresh. 26th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, after being at the Coffee-house, where I sat by Tom Killigrew, who told us of a fire last night in my Lady Castlemaine's lodging, where she bid L40 for one to adventure the fetching of a cabinet out, which at last was got to be done; and the fire at last quenched without doing much wrong. To 'Change and there did much business, so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon. And so at night my aunt Wight and Mrs. Buggin came to sit with my wife, and I in to them all the evening, my uncle coming afterward, and after him Mr. Benson the Dutchman, a frank, merry man. We were very merry and played at cards till late and so broke up and to bed in good hopes that this my friendship with my uncle and aunt will end well. 27th. Up and to the office, and at noon to the Coffeehouse, where I sat with Sir G. Ascue [Sir George Ayscue or Askew. After his return from his imprisonment he declined to go to sea again, although he was twice afterwards formally appointed. He sat on the court-martial on the loss of the "Defiance" in 1668.] and Sir William Petty, who in discourse is, methinks, one of the most rational men that ever I heard speak with a tongue, having all his notions the most distinct and clear, and, among other things (saying, that in all his life these three books were the most esteemed and generally cried up for wit in the world "Religio Medici," "Osborne's Advice to a Son," [Francis Osborne, an English writer of considerable abilities and popularity, was the author of "Advice to a Son," in two parts, Oxford, 1656-8, 8vo. He died in 1659. He is the same person mentioned as "My Father Osborne," October 19th, 1661.--B.] and "Hudibras "), did say that in these--in the two first principally--the wit lies, and confirming some pretty sayings, which are generally like paradoxes, by some argument smartly and pleasantly urged, which takes with people who do not trouble themselves to examine the force of an argument, which pleases them in the delivery, upon a subject which they like; whereas, as by many particular instances of mine, and others, out of Osborne, he did really find fault and weaken the strength of many of Osborne's arguments, so as that in downright disputation they would not bear weight; at least, so far, but that they might be weakened, and better found in their rooms to confirm what is there said. He shewed finely whence it happens that good writers are not admired by the present age; because there are but few in any age that do mind anything that is abstruse and curious; and so longer before any body do put the true praise, and set it on foot in the world, the generality of mankind pleasing themselves in the easy delights of the world, as eating, drinking, dancing, hunting, fencing, which we see the meanest men do the best, those that profess it. A gentleman never dances so well as the dancing master, and an ordinary fiddler makes better musique for a shilling than a gentleman will do after spending forty, and so in all the delights of the world almost. Thence to the 'Change, and after doing much business, home, taking Commissioner Pett with me, and all alone dined together. He told me many stories of the yard, but I do know him so well, and had his character given me this morning by Hempson, as well as my own too of him before, that I shall know how to value any thing he says either of friendship or other business. He was mighty serious with me in discourse about the consequence of Sir W. Petty's boat, as the most dangerous thing in the world, if it should be practised by endangering our losse of the command of the seas and our trade, while the Turkes and others shall get the use of them, which, without doubt, by bearing more sayle will go faster than any other ships, and, not being of burden, our merchants cannot have the use of them and so will be at the mercy of their enemies. So that I perceive he is afeard that the honour of his trade will down, though (which is a truth) he pretends this consideration to hinder the growth of this invention. He being gone my wife and I took coach and to Covent Garden, to buy a maske at the French House, Madame Charett's, for my wife; in the way observing the streete full of coaches at the new play, "The Indian Queene;" which for show, they say, exceeds "Henry the Eighth." Thence back to Mrs. Turner's and sat a while with them talking of plays and I know not what, and so called to see Tom, but not at home, though they say he is in a deep consumption, and Mrs. Turner and Dike and they say he will not live two months to an end. So home and to the office, and then to supper and to bed. 28th. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and at noon upon several things to the 'Change, and thence to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner of my own accord, and after dinner with Mr. Wayth down to Deptford doing several businesses, and by land back again, it being very cold, the boat meeting me after my staying a while for him at an alehouse by Redriffe stairs. So home, and took Will coming out of my doors, at which I was a little moved, and told my wife of her keeping him from the office (though God knows my base jealous head was the cause of it), which she seemed troubled at, and that it was only to discourse with her about finding a place for her brother. So I to my office late, Mr. Commander coming to read over my will in order to the engrossing it, and so he being gone I to other business, among others chiefly upon preparing matters against Creed for my profit, and so home to supper and bed, being mightily troubled with my left eye all this evening from some dirt that is got into it. 29th. Up, and after shaving myself (wherein twice now, one after another, I have cut myself much, but I think it is from the bluntness of the razor) there came Mr. Deane to me and staid with me a while talking about masts, wherein he prepared me in several things against Mr. Wood, and also about Sir W. Petty's boat, which he says must needs prove a folly, though I do not think so unless it be that the King will not have it encouraged. At noon, by appointment, comes Mr. Hartlibb and his wife, and a little before them Messrs. Langley and Bostocke (old acquaintances of mine at Westminster, clerks), and after shewing them my house and drinking they set out by water, my wife and I with them down to Wapping on board the "Crowne," a merchantman, Captain Floyd, a civil person. Here was Vice-Admiral Goodson, whom the more I know the more I value for a serious man and staunch. Here was Whistler the flagmaker, which vexed me, but it mattered not. Here was other sorry company and the discourse poor, so that we had no pleasure there at all, but only to see and bless God to find the difference that is now between our condition and that heretofore, when we were not only much below Hartlibb in all respects, but even these two fellows above named, of whom I am now quite ashamed that ever my education should lead me to such low company, but it is God's goodness only, for which let him be praised. After dinner I. broke up and with my wife home, and thence to the Fleece in Cornhill, by appointment, to meet my Lord Marlborough, a serious and worthy gentleman, who, after doing our business, about the company, he and they began to talk of the state of the Dutch in India, which is like to be in a little time without any controll; for we are lost there, and the Portuguese as bad. Thence to the Coffee-house, where good discourse, specially of Lt.-Coll. Baron touching the manners of the Turkes' Government, among whom he lived long. So to my uncle Wight's, where late playing at cards, and so home. 30th. Up, and a sorry sermon of a young fellow I knew at Cambridge; but the day kept solemnly for the King's murder, and all day within doors making up my Brampton papers, and in the evening Mr. Commander came and we made perfect and signed and sealed my last will and testament, which is so to my mind, and I hope to the liking of God Almighty, that I take great joy in myself that it is done, and by that means my mind in a good condition of quiett. At night to supper and to bed. This evening, being in a humour of making all things even and clear in the world, I tore some old papers; among others, a romance which (under the title of "Love a Cheate ") I begun ten years ago at Cambridge; and at this time reading it over to-night I liked it very well, and wondered a little at myself at my vein at that time when I wrote it, doubting that I cannot do so well now if I would try. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and in my chamber all day long (but a little at dinner) settling all my Brampton accounts to this day in very good order, I having obliged myself by oathe to do that and some other things within this month, and did also perfectly prepare a state of my estate and annexed it to my last will and testament, which now is perfect, and, lastly, I did make up my monthly accounts, and find that I have gained above L50 this month clear, and so am worth L858 clear, which is the greatest sum I ever yet was master of, and also read over my usual vowes, as I do every Lord's day, but with greater seriousness than ordinary, and I do hope that every day I shall see more and more the pleasure of looking after my business and laying up of money, and blessed be God for what I have already been enabled by his grace to do. So to supper and to bed with my mind in mighty great ease and content, but my head very full of thoughts and business to dispatch this next month also, and among others to provide for answering to the Exchequer for my uncle's being Generall-Receiver in the year 1647, which I am at present wholly unable to do, but I must find time to look over all his papers. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1663-1664 February 1st. Up (my maids rising early this morning to washing), and being ready I found Mr. Strutt the purser below with 12 bottles of sacke, and tells me (which from Sir W. Batten I had heard before) how young Jack Davis has railed against Sir W. Batten for his endeavouring to turn him out of his place, at which for the fellow's sake, because it will likely prove his ruin, I am sorry, though I do believe he is a very arch rogue. I took Strutt by coach with me to White Hall, where I set him down, and I to my Lord's, but found him gone out betimes to the Wardrobe, which I am glad to see that he so attends his business, though it troubles me that my counsel to my prejudice must be the cause of it. They tell me that he goes into the country next week, and that the young ladies come up this week before the old lady. Here I hear how two men last night, justling for the wall about the New Exchange, did kill one another, each thrusting the other through; one of them of the King's Chappell, one Cave, and the other a retayner of my Lord Generall Middleton's. Thence to White Hall; where, in the Duke's chamber, the King came and stayed an hour or two laughing at Sir W. Petty, who was there about his boat; and at Gresham College in general; at which poor Petty was, I perceive, at some loss; but did argue discreetly, and bear the unreasonable follies of the King's objections and other bystanders with great discretion; and offered to take oddes against the King's best boates; but the King would not lay, but cried him down with words only. Gresham College he mightily laughed at, for spending time only in weighing of ayre, and doing nothing else since they sat. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with diverse people, it being terme time. Among others I spoke with Mrs. Lane, of whom I doubted to hear something of the effects of our last meeting about a fortnight or three weeks ago, but to my content did not. Here I met with Mr. Pierce, who tells me of several passages at Court, among others how the King, coming the other day to his Theatre to see "The Indian Queene" (which he commends for a very fine thing), my Lady Castlemaine was in the next box before he came; and leaning over other ladies awhile to whisper to the King, she rose out of the box and went into the King's, and set herself on the King's right hand, between the King and the Duke of York; which, he swears, put the King himself, as well as every body else, out of countenance; and believes that she did it only to show the world that she is not out of favour yet, as was believed. Thence with Alderman Maynell by his coach to the 'Change, and there with several people busy, and so home to dinner, and took my wife out immediately to the King's Theatre, it being a new month, and once a month I may go, and there saw "The Indian Queene" acted; which indeed is a most pleasant show, and beyond my expectation; the play good, but spoiled with the ryme, which breaks the sense. But above my expectation most, the eldest Marshall did do her part most excellently well as I ever heard woman in my life; but her voice not so sweet as Ianthe's; but, however, we came home mightily contented. Here we met Mr. Pickering and his mistress, Mrs. Doll Wilde; he tells me that the business runs high between the Chancellor and my Lord Bristoll against the Parliament; and that my Lord Lauderdale and Cooper open high against the Chancellor; which I am sorry for. In my way home I 'light and to the Coffee-house, where I heard Lt. Coll. Baron tell very good stories of his travels over the high hills in Asia above the clouds, how clear the heaven is above them, how thicke like a mist the way is through the cloud that wets like a sponge one's clothes, the ground above the clouds all dry and parched, nothing in the world growing, it being only a dry earth, yet not so hot above as below the clouds. The stars at night most delicate bright and a fine clear blue sky, but cannot see the earth at any time through the clouds, but the clouds look like a world below you. Thence home and to supper, being hungry, and so to the office, did business, specially about Creed, for whom I am now pretty well fitted, and so home to bed. This day in Westminster Hall W. Bowyer told me that his father is dead lately, and died by being drowned in the river, coming over in the night; but he says he had not been drinking. He was taken with his stick in his hand and cloake over his shoulder, as ruddy as before he died. His horse was taken overnight in the water, hampered in the bridle, but they were so silly as not to look for his master till the next morning, that he was found drowned. 2nd. Up and to the office, where, though Candlemas day, Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I all the morning, the others being at a survey at Deptford. At noon by coach to the 'Change with Mr. Coventry, thence to the Coffee-house with Captain Coeke, who discoursed well of the good effects in some kind of a Dutch warr and conquest (which I did not consider before, but the contrary) that is, that the trade of the world is too little for us two, therefore one must down: 2ndly, that though our merchants will not be the better husbands by all this, yet our wool will bear a better price by vaunting of our cloths, and by that our tenants will be better able to pay rents, and our lands will be more worth, and all our owne manufactures, which now the Dutch outvie us in; that he thinks the Dutch are not in so good a condition as heretofore because of want of men always, and now from the warrs against the Turke more than ever. Then to the 'Change again, and thence off to the Sun Taverne with Sir W. Warren, and with him discoursed long, and had good advice, and hints from him, and among other things he did give me a payre of gloves for my wife wrapt up in paper, which I would not open, feeling it hard; but did tell him that my wife should thank him, and so went on in discourse. When I came home, Lord! in what pain I was to get my wife out of the room without bidding her go, that I might see what these gloves were; and, by and by, she being gone, it proves a payre of white gloves for her and forty pieces in good gold, which did so cheer my heart, that I could eat no victuals almost for dinner for joy to think how God do bless us every day more and more, and more yet I hope he will upon the increase of my duty and endeavours. I was at great losse what to do, whether tell my wife of it or no, which I could hardly forbear, but yet I did and will think of it first before I do, for fear of making her think me to be in a better condition, or in a better way of getting money, than yet I am. After dinner to the office, where doing infinite of business till past to at night to the comfort of my mind, and so home with joy to supper and to bed. This evening Mr. Hempson came and told me how Sir W, Batten his master will not hear of continuing him in his employment as Clerk of the Survey at Chatham, from whence of a sudden he has removed him without any new or extraordinary cause, and I believe (as he himself do in part write, and J. Norman do confess) for nothing but for that he was twice with me the other day and did not wait upon him. So much he fears me and all that have to do with me. Of this more in the Mem. Book of my office upon this day, there I shall find it. 3rd. Up, and after a long discourse with my cozen Thomas Pepys, the executor, I with my wife by coach to Holborn, where I 'light, and she to her father's, I to the Temple and several places, and so to the 'Change, where much business, and then home to dinner alone; and so to the Mitre Taverne by appointment (and there met by chance with W. Howe come to buy wine for my Lord against his going down to Hinchingbroke, and I private with him a great while discoursing of my Lord's strangeness to me; but he answers that I have no reason to think any such thing, but that my Lord is only in general a more reserved man than he was before) to meet Sir W. Rider and Mr. Clerke, and there after much ado made an end, giving Mr. Custos L202 against Mr. Bland, which I endeavoured to bring down but could not, and think it is well enough ended for Mr. Bland for all that. Thence by coach to fetch my wife from her brother's, and found her gone home. Called at Sir Robert Bernard's about surrendering my estate in reversion to the use of my life, which will be done, and at Roger Pepys, who was gone to bed in pain of a boyle that he could not sit or stand. So home, where my wife is full of sad stories of her good-natured father and roguish brother, who is going for Holland and his wife, to be a soldier. And so after a little at the office to bed. This night late coming in my coach, coming up Ludgate Hill, I saw two gallants and their footmen taking a pretty wench, which I have much eyed, lately set up shop upon the hill, a seller of riband and gloves. They seek to drag her by some force, but the wench went, and I believe had her turn served, but, God forgive me! what thoughts and wishes I had of being in their place. In Covent Garden to-night, going to fetch home my wife, I stopped at the great Coffee-house' there, where I never was before; where Dryden the poet (I knew at Cambridge), and all the wits of the town, and Harris the player, and Mr. Hoole of our College. And had I had time then, or could at ether times, it will be good coming thither, for there, I perceive, is very witty and pleasant discourse. But I could not tarry, and as it was late, they were all ready to go away. 4th. Up and to the office, where after a while sitting, I left the board upon pretence of serious business, and by coach to Paul's School, where I heard some good speeches of the boys that were to be elected this year. Thence by and by with Mr. Pullen and Barnes (a great Non-Conformist) with several others of my old acquaintance to the Nag's Head Taverne, and there did give them a bottle of sacke, and away again and I to the School, and up to hear the upper form examined; and there was kept by very many of the Mercers, Clutterbucke, a Barker, Harrington, and others; and with great respect used by them all, and had a noble dinner. Here they tell me, that in Dr. Colett's will he says that he would have a Master found for the School that hath good skill in Latin, and (if it could be) one that had some knowledge of the Greeke; so little was Greeke known here at that time. Dr. Wilkins and one Mr. Smallwood, Posers. After great pleasure there, and specially to Mr. Crumlum, so often to tell of my being a benefactor to the School, I to my bookseller's and there spent an hour looking over Theatrum Urbium and Flandria illustrata, with excellent cuts, with great content. So homeward, and called at my little milliner's, where I chatted with her, her husband out of the way, and a mad merry slut she is. So home to the office, and by and by comes my wife home from the burial of Captain Grove's wife at Wapping (she telling me a story how her mayd Jane going into the boat did fall down and show her arse in the boat), and alone comes my uncle Wight and Mr. Maes with the state of their case, which he told me very discreetly, and I believe is a very hard one, and so after drinking a bottle of ale or two they gone, and I a little more to the office, and so home to prayers and to bed. This evening I made an end of my letter to Creed about his pieces of eight, and sent it away to him. I pray God give good end to it to bring me some money, and that duly as from him. 5th. Up, and down by water, a brave morning, to Woolwich, and there spent an houre or two to good purpose, and so walked to Greenwich and thence to Deptford, where I found (with Sir W. Batten upon a survey) Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen, and my Lady Batten come down and going to dinner. I dined with them, and so after dinner by water home, all the way going and coming reading "Faber Fortunae," which I can never read too often. At home a while with my wife, and so to my office, where till 8 o'clock, and then home to look over some Brampton papers, and my uncle's accounts as Generall-Receiver of the County for 1647 of our monthly assessment, which, contrary to my expectation, I found in such good order and so, thoroughly that I did not expect, nor could have thought, and that being done, having seen discharges for every farthing of money he received, I went to bed late with great quiett. 6th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and so at noon to the 'Change, where I met Mr. Coventry, the first time I ever saw him there, and after a little talke with him and other merchants, I up and down about several businesses, and so home, whither came one Father Fogourdy, an Irish priest, of my wife's and her mother's acquaintance in France, a sober, discreet person, but one that I would not have converse with my wife for fear of meddling with her religion, but I like the man well. Thence with my wife abroad, and left her at Tom's, while I abroad about several businesses and so back to her, myself being vexed to find at my first coming Tom abroad, and all his books, papers, and bills loose upon the open table in the parlour, and he abroad, which I ranted at him for when he came in. Then by coach home, calling at my cozen Scott's, who (she) lies dying, they say, upon a miscarriage. My wife could not be admitted to see her, nor anybody. At home to the office late writing letters, and then home to supper and to bed. Father Fogourdy confirms to me the newes that for certain there is peace between the Pope and King of France. 7th (Lord's day). Up and to church, and thence home, my wife being ill . . . kept her bed all day, and I up and dined by her bedside, and then all the afternoon till late at night writing some letters of business to my father stating of matters to him in general of great import, and other letters to ease my mind in the week days that I have not time to think of, and so up to my wife, and with great mirth read Sir W. Davenant's two speeches in dispraise of London and Paris, by way of reproach one to another, and so to prayers and to bed. 8th. Up, and by coach called upon Mr. Phillips, and after a little talk with him away to my Lord Sandwich's, but he being gone abroad, I staid a little and talked with Mr. Howe, and so to Westminster in term time, and there met Mr. Pierce, who told me largely how the King still do doat upon his women, even beyond all shame; and that the good Queen will of herself stop before she goes sometimes into her dressing-room, till she knows whether the King be there, for fear he should be, as she hath sometimes taken him, with Mrs. Stewart; and that some of the best parts of the Queen's joynture are, contrary to faith, and against the opinion of my Lord Treasurer and his Council, bestowed or rented, I know not how, to my Lord Fitz-Harding and Mrs. Stewart, and others of that crew that the King do doat infinitely upon the Duke of Monmouth, apparently as one that he intends to have succeed him. God knows what will be the end of it! After he was gone I went and talked with Mrs. Lane about persuading her to Hawly, and think she will come on, which I wish were done, and so to Mr. Howlett and his wife, and talked about the same, and they are mightily for it, and I bid them promote it, for I think it will be for both their goods and my content. But I was much pleased to look upon their pretty daughter, which is grown a pretty mayd, and will make a fine modest woman. Thence to the 'Change by coach, and after some business done, home to dinner, and thence to Guildhall, thinking to have heard some pleading, but there were no Courts, and so to Cade's, the stationer, and there did look upon some pictures which he promised to give me the buying of, but I found he would have played the Jacke with me, but at last he did proffer me what I expected, and I have laid aside L10 or L12 worth, and will think of it, but I am loth to lay out so much money upon them. So home a little vexed in my mind to think how to-day I was forced to compliment W. Howe and admit myself to an equality with Mr. Moore, which is come to challenge in his discourse with me, but I will admit it no more, but let me stand or fall, I will show myself as strange to them as my Lord do himself to me. After at the office till 9 o'clock, I home in fear of some pain by taking cold, and so to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon by coach with Mr. Coventry to the 'Change, where busy with several people. Great talke of the Dutch proclaiming themselves in India, Lords of the Southern Seas, and deny traffick there to all ships but their owne, upon pain of confiscation; which makes our merchants mad. Great doubt of two ships of ours, the "Greyhound" and another, very rich, coming from the Streights, for fear of the Turkes. Matters are made up between the Pope and the King of France; so that now all the doubt is, what the French will do with their armies. Thence home, and there found Captain Grove in mourning for his wife, and Hawly, and they dined with me. After dinner, and Grove gone, Hawly and I talked of his mistress, Mrs. Lane, and I seriously advising him and inquiring his condition, and do believe that I shall bring them together. By and by comes Mr. Moore, with whom much good discourse of my Lord, and among other things told me that my Lord is mightily altered, that is, grown very high and stately, and do not admit of any to come into his chamber to him, as heretofore, and that I must not think much of his strangeness to me, for it was the same he do to every body, and that he would not have me be solicitous in the matter, but keep off and give him now and then a visit and no more, for he says he himself do not go to him now a days but when he sends for him, nor then do not stay for him if he be not there at the hour appointed, for, says he, I do find that I can stand upon my own legs and I will not by any over submission make myself cheap to any body and contemptible, which was the doctrine of the world that I lacked most, and shall follow it. I discoursed with him about my money that my Lord hath, and the L1000 that I stand bound with him in, to my cozen Thomas Pepys, in both which I will get myself at liberty as soon as I can; for I do not like his being angry and in debt both together to me; and besides, I do not perceive he looks after paying his debts, but runs farther and farther in. He being gone, my wife and I did walk an houre or two above in our chamber, seriously talking of businesses. I told her my Lord owed me L700, and shewed her the bond, and how I intended to carry myself to my Lord. She and I did cast about how to get Captain Grove for my sister, in which we are mighty earnest at present, and I think it would be a good match, and will endeavour it. So to my office a while, then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Sandwich, to his new house, a fine house, but deadly dear, in Lincoln's Inne Fields, where I found and spoke a little to him. He is high and strange still, but did ask me how my wife did, and at parting remembered him to his cozen, which I thought was pretty well, being willing to flatter myself that in time he will be well again. Thence home straight and busy all the forenoon, and at noon with Mr. Bland to Mr. Povy's, but he being at dinner and full of company we retreated and went into Fleet Street to a friend of his, and after a long stay, he telling me the long and most perplexed story of Coronell and Bushell's business of sugars, wherein Parke and Green and Mr. Bland and 40 more have been so concerned about the King of Portugal's duties, wherein every party has laboured to cheat another, a most pleasant and profitable story to hear, and in the close made me understand Mr. Maes' business better than I did before. By and by dinner came, and after dinner and good discourse that and such as I was willing for improvement sake to hear, I went away too to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where I took occasion to demand of Creed whether he had received my letter, and he told me yes, and that he would answer it, which makes me much wonder what he means to do with me, but I will be even with him before I have done, let him make as light of it as he will. Thence to the Temple, where my cozen Roger Pepys did show me a letter my Father wrote to him last Terme to shew me, proposing such things about Sturtlow and a portion for Pall, and I know not what, that vexes me to see him plotting how to put me to trouble and charge, and not thinking to pay our debts and legacys, but I will write him a letter will persuade him to be wiser. So home, and finding my wife abroad (after her coming home from being with my aunt Wight to-day to buy Lent provisions) gone with Will to my brother's, I followed them by coach, but found them not, for they were newly gone home from thence, which troubled me. I to Sir Robert Bernard's chamber, and there did surrender my reversion in Brampton lands to the use of my will, which I was glad to have done, my will being now good in all parts. Thence homewards, calling a little at the Coffee-house, where a little merry discourse, and so home, where I found my wife, who says she went to her father's to be satisfied about her brother, who I found at my house with her. He is going this next tide with his wife into Holland to seek his fortune. He had taken his leave of us this morning. I did give my wife 10s. to give him, and a coat that I had by me, a close-bodied light-coloured cloth coat, with a gold edgeing in each seam, that was the lace of my wife's best pettycoat that she had when I married her. I staid not there, but to my office, where Stanes the glazier was with me till to at night making up his contract, and, poor man, I made him almost mad through a mistake of mine, but did afterwards reconcile all, for I would not have the man that labours to serve the King so cheap above others suffer too much. He gone I did a little business more, and so home to supper and to bed, being now pretty well again, the weather being warm. My pain do leave me without coming to any great excesse, but my cold that I had got I suppose was not very great, it being only the leaving of my wastecoat unbuttoned one morning. 11th. Up, after much pleasant discourse with my wife, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and did much business, and some much to my content by prevailing against Sir W. Batten for the King's profit. At noon home to dinner, my wife and I hand to fist to a very fine pig. This noon Mr. Falconer came and visited my wife, and brought her a present, a silver state-cup and cover, value about L3 or L4, for the courtesy I did him the other day. He did not stay dinner with me. I am almost sorry for this present, because I would have reserved him for a place to go in summer a-visiting at Woolwich with my wife. 12th. Up, and ready, did find below Mr. Creed's boy with a letter from his master for me. So I fell to reading it, and it is by way of stating the case between S. Pepys and J. Creed most excellently writ, both showing his stoutness and yet willingness to peace, reproaching me yet flattering me again, and in a word in as good a manner as I think the world could have wrote, and indeed put me to a greater stand than ever I thought I could have been in this matter. All the morning thinking how to behave myself in the business, and at noon to the Coffee-house; thence by his appointment met him upon the 'Change, and with him back to the Coffee-house, where with great seriousness and strangeness on both sides he said his part and I mine, he sometimes owning my favour and assistance, yet endeavouring to lessen it, as that the success of his business was not wholly or very much to be imputed to that assistance: I to alledge the contrary, and plainly to tell him that from the beginning I never had it in my mind to do him all that kindnesse for nothing, but he gaining 5 or L600, I did expect a share of it, at least a real and not a complimentary acknowledgment of it. In fine I said nothing all the while that I need fear he can do me more hurt with them than before I spoke them. The most I told him was after we were come to a peace, which he asked me whether he should answer the Board's letter or no. I told him he might forbear it a while and no more. Then he asked how the letter could be signed by them without their much enquiry. I told him it was as I worded it and nothing at all else of any moment, whether my words be ever hereafter spoken of again or no. So that I have the same neither better nor worse force over him that I had before, if he should not do his part. And the peace between us was this: Says he after all, well, says he, I know you will expect, since there must be some condescension, that it do become me to begin it, and therefore, says he, I do propose (just like the interstice between the death of the old and the coming in of the present king, all the time is swallowed up as if it had never been) so our breach of friendship may be as if it had never been, that I should lay aside all misapprehensions of him or his first letter, and that he would reckon himself obliged to show the same ingenuous acknowledgment of my love and service to him as at the beginning he ought to have done, before by my first letter I did (as he well observed) put him out of a capacity of doing it, without seeming to do it servilely, and so it rests, and I shall expect how he will deal with me. After that I began to be free, and both of us to discourse of other things, and he went home with me and dined with me and my wife and very pleasant, having a good dinner and the opening of my lampry (cutting a notch on one side), which proved very good. After dinner he and I to Deptford, walking all the way, where we met Sir W. Petty and I took him back, and I got him to go with me to his vessel and discourse it over to me, which he did very well, and then walked back together to the waterside at Redriffe, with good discourse all the way. So Creed and I by boat to my house, and thence to coach with my wife and called at Alderman Backewell's and there changed Mr. Falconer's state-cup, that he did give us the other day, for a fair tankard. The cup weighed with the fashion L5 16s., and another little cup that Joyce Norton did give us 17s., both L6 13s.; for which we had the tankard, which came to L6 10s., at 5s. 7d. per oz., and 3s. in money, and with great content away thence to my brother's, Creed going away there, and my brother bringing me the old silk standard that I lodged there long ago, and then back again home, and thence, hearing that my uncle Wight had been at my house, I went to him to the Miter, and there with him and Maes, Norbury, and Mr. Rawlinson till late eating some pot venison (where the Crowne earthen pot pleased me mightily), and then homewards and met Mr. Barrow, so back with him to the Miter and sat talking about his business of his discontent in the yard, wherein sometimes he was very foolish and pettish, till 12 at night, and so went away, and I home and up to my wife a-bed, with my mind ill at ease whether I should think that I had by this made myself a bad end by missing the certainty of L100 which I proposed to myself so much, or a good one by easing myself of the uncertain good effect but the certain trouble and reflection which must have fallen on me if we had proceeded to a public dispute, ended besides embarking myself against my Lord, who (which I had forgot) had given him his hand for the value of the pieces of eight at his rates which were all false, which by the way I shall take heed to the giving of my Lord notice of it hereafter whenever he goes out again. 13th. Up, and after I had told my wife in the morning in bed the passages yesterday with Creed my head and heart was mightily lighter than they were before, and so up and to the office, and thence, after sitting, at 11 o'clock with Mr. Coventry to the African House, and there with Sir W. Ryder by agreement we looked over part of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, these being by Creed and Vernaty. Anon down to dinner to a table which Mr. Coventry keeps here, out of his L300 per annum as one of the Assistants to the Royall Company, a very pretty dinner, and good company, and excellent discourse, and so up again to our work for an hour till the Company came to having a meeting of their own, and so we broke up and Creed and I took coach and to Reeves, the perspective glass maker, and there did indeed see very excellent microscopes, which did discover a louse or mite or sand most perfectly and largely. Being sated with that we went away (yet with a good will were it not for my obligation to have bought one) and walked to the New Exchange, and after a turn or two and talked I took coach and home, and so to my office, after I had been with my wife and saw her day's work in ripping the silke standard, which we brought home last night, and it will serve to line a bed, or for twenty uses, to our great content. And there wrote fair my angry letter to my father upon that that he wrote to my cozen Roger Pepys, which I hope will make him the more carefull to trust to my advice for the time to come without so many needless complaints and jealousys, which are troublesome to me because without reason. 14th (Lord's day). Up and to church alone, where a lazy sermon of Mr. Mills, upon a text to introduce catechizing in his parish, which I perceive he intends to begin. So home and very pleasant with my wife at dinner. All the afternoon at my office alone doing business, and then in the evening after a walk with my wife in the garden, she and I to my uncle Wight's to supper, where Mr. Norbury, but my uncle out of tune, and after supper he seemed displeased mightily at my aunt's desiring [to] put off a copper kettle, which it seems with great study he had provided to boil meat in, and now she is put in the head that it is not wholesome, which vexed him, but we were very merry about it, and by and by home, and after prayers to bed. 15th. Up, and carrying my wife to my Lord's lodgings left her, and I to White Hall, to the Duke; where he first put on a periwigg to-day; but methought his hair cut short in order thereto did look very prettily of itself, before he put on his periwigg. [Charles II. followed his brother in the use of the periwig in the following April.] Thence to his closet and there did our business, and thence Mr. Coventry and I down to his chamber and spent a little time, and so parted, and I took my wife homeward, I stopping at the Coffee-house, and thence a while to the 'Change, where great newes of the arrivall of two rich ships, the Greyhound and another, which they were mightily afeard of, and great insurance given, and so home to dinner, and after an houre with my wife at her globes, I to the office, where very busy till 11 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon Sir Thomas Chamberlin came to the office to me, and showed me several letters from the East Indys, showing the height that the Dutch are come to there, showing scorn to all the English, even in our only Factory there of Surat, beating several men, and hanging the English Standard St. George under the Dutch flagg in scorn; saying, that whatever their masters do or say at home, they will do what they list, and will be masters of all the world there; and have so proclaimed themselves Soveraigne of all the South Seas; which certainly our King cannot endure, if the Parliament will give him money. But I doubt and yet do hope they will not yet, till we are more ready for it. 16th. Up and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and most with Mr. Wood, I vexing him about his masts. At noon to the 'Change a little and thence brought Mr. Barrow to dinner with me, where I had a haunch of venison roasted, given me yesterday, and so had a pretty dinner, full of discourse of his business, wherein the poor man is mightily troubled, and I pity him in it, but hope to get him some ease. He being gone I to the office, where very busy till night, that my uncle Wight and Mr. Maes came to me, and after discourse about Maes' business to supper very merry, but my mind upon my business, and so they being gone I to my Vyall a little, which I have not done some months, I think, before, and then a little to my office, at 11 at night, and so home and to bed. 17th. Up, and with my wife, setting her down by her father's in Long Acre, in so ill looked a place, among all the whore houses, that I was troubled at it, to see her go thither. Thence I to White Hall and there walked up and down talking with Mr. Pierce, who tells me of the King's giving of my Lord Fitz-Harding two leases which belong indeed to the Queene, worth L20,000 to him; and how people do talk of it, and other things of that nature which I am sorry to hear. He and I walked round the Park with great pleasure, and back again, and finding no time to speak with my Lord of Albemarle, I walked to the 'Change and there met my wife at our pretty Doll's, and so took her home, and Creed also whom I met there, and sent her hose, while Creed and I staid on the 'Change, and by and by home and dined, where I found an excellent mastiffe, his name Towser, sent me by a chyrurgeon. After dinner I took my wife again by coach (leaving Creed by the way going to Gresham College, of which he is now become one of the virtuosos) and to White Hall, where I delivered a paper about Tangier to my Lord Duke of Albemarle in the council chamber, and so to Mrs. Hunt's to call my wife, and so by coach straight home, and at my office till 3 o'clock in the morning, having spent much time this evening in discourse with Mr. Cutler, who tells me how the Dutch deal with us abroad and do not value us any where, and how he and Sir W. Rider have found reason to lay aside Captain Cocke in their company, he having played some indiscreet and unfair tricks with them, and has lost himself every where by his imposing upon all the world with the conceit he has of his own wit, and so has, he tells me, Sir R. Ford also, both of whom are very witty men. He being gone Sir W. Rider came and staid with me till about 12 at night, having found ourselves work till that time, about understanding the measuring of Mr. Wood's masts, which though I did so well before as to be thought to deal very hardly against Wood, yet I am ashamed I understand it no better, and do hope yet, whatever be thought of me, to save the King some more money, and out of an impatience to breake up with my head full of confused confounded notions, but nothing brought to a clear comprehension, I was resolved to sit up and did till now it is ready to strike 4 o'clock, all alone, cold, and my candle not enough left to light me to my owne house, and so, with my business however brought to some good understanding, and set it down pretty clear, I went home to bed with my mind at good quiet, and the girl sitting up for me (the rest all a-bed). I eat and drank a little, and to bed, weary, sleepy, cold, and my head akeing. 18th. Called up to the office and much against my will I rose, my head aching mightily, and to the office, where I did argue to good purpose for the King, which I have been fitting myself for the last night against Mr. Wood about his masts, but brought it to no issue. Very full of business till noon, and then with Mr. Coventry to the African House, and there fell to my Lord Peterborough's accounts, and by and by to dinner, where excellent discourse, Sir G. Carteret and others of the African Company with us, and then up to the accounts again, which were by and by done, and then I straight home, my head in great pain, and drowsy, so after doing a little business at the office I wrote to my father about sending him the mastiff was given me yesterday. I home and by daylight to bed about 6 o'clock and fell to sleep, wakened about 12 when my wife came to bed, and then to sleep again and so till morning, and then: 19th. Up in good order in my head again and shaved myself, and then to the office, whither Mr. Cutler came, and walked and talked with me a great while; and then to the 'Change together; and it being early, did tell me several excellent examples of men raised upon the 'Change by their great diligence and saving; as also his owne fortune, and how credit grew upon him; that when he was not really worth L1100, he had credit for L100,000 of Sir W. Rider how he rose; and others. By and by joyned with us Sir John Bankes; who told us several passages of the East India Company; and how in his very case, when there was due to him and Alderman Mico L64,000 from the Dutch for injury done to them in the East Indys, Oliver presently after the peace, they delaying to pay them the money, sent them word, that if they did not pay them by such a day, he would grant letters of mark to those merchants against them; by which they were so fearful of him, they did presently pay the money every farthing. By and by, the 'Change filling, I did many businesses, and about 2 o'clock went off with my uncle Wight to his house, thence by appointment we took our wives (they by coach with Mr. Mawes) and we on foot to Mr. Jaggard, a salter, in Thames Street, for whom I did a courtesy among the poor victuallers, his wife, whom long ago I had seen, being daughter to old Day, my uncle Wight's master, is a very plain woman, but pretty children they have. They live methought at first in but a plain way, but afterward I saw their dinner, all fish, brought in very neatly, but the company being but bad I had no great pleasure in it. After dinner I to the office, where we should have met upon business extraordinary, but business not coming we broke up, and I thither again and took my wife; and taking a coach, went to visit my Ladys Jemimah and Paulina Montagu, and Mrs. Elizabeth Dickering, whom we find at their father's new house [The Earl of Sandwich had just moved to a house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Elizabeth Dickering, who afterwards married John Creed, was niece to Lord Sandwich.] in Lincolne's Inn Fields; but the house all in dirt. They received us well enough; but I did not endeavour to carry myself over familiarly with them; and so after a little stay, there coming in presently after us my Lady Aberguenny and other ladies, we back again by coach, and visited, my wife did, my she cozen Scott, who is very ill still, and thence to Jaggard's again, where a very good supper and great store of plate; and above all after supper Mrs. Jaggard did at my entreaty play on the Vyall, but so well as I did not think any woman in England could and but few Maisters, I must confess it did mightily surprise me, though I knew heretofore that she could play, but little thought so well. After her I set Maes to singing, but he did it so like a coxcomb that I was sick of him. About 11 at night I carried my aunt home by coach, and then home myself, having set my wife down at home by the way. My aunt tells me they are counted very rich people, worth at least 10 or L12,000, and their country house all the yeare long and all things liveable, which mightily surprises me to think for how poore a man I took him when I did him the courtesy at our office. So after prayers to bed, pleased at nothing all the day but Mrs. Jaggard playing on the Vyall, and that was enough to make me bear with all the rest that did not content me. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change with Mr. Coventry and thence home to dinner, after dinner by a gaily down to Woolwich, where with Mr. Falconer, and then at the other yard doing some business to my content, and so walked to Greenwich, it being a very fine evening and brought right home with me by water, and so to my office, where late doing business, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. (Lord's day). Up, and having many businesses at the office to-day I spent all the morning there drawing up a letter to Mr. Coventry about preserving of masts, being collections of my own, and at noon home to dinner, whither my brother Tom comes, and after dinner I took him up and read my letter lately of discontent to my father, and he is seemingly pleased at it, and cries out of my sister's ill nature and lazy life there. He being gone I to my office again, and there made an end of my morning's work, and then, after reading my vows of course, home and back again with Mr. Maes and walked with him talking of his business in the garden, and he being gone my wife and I walked a turn or two also, and then my uncle Wight fetching of us, she and I to his house to supper, and by the way calling on Sir G. Carteret to desire his consent to my bringing Maes to him, which he agreed to. So I to my uncle's, but staid a great while vexed both of us for Maes not coming in, and soon he came, and I with him from supper to Sir G. Carteret, and there did largely discourse of the business, and I believe he may expect as much favour as he can do him, though I fear that will not be much. So back, and after sitting there a good while, we home, and going my wife told me how my uncle when he had her alone did tell her that he did love her as well as ever he did, though he did not find it convenient to show it publicly for reasons on both sides, seeming to mean as well to prevent my jealousy as his wife's, but I am apt to think that he do mean us well, and to give us something if he should die without children. So home to prayers and to bed. My wife called up the people to washing by four o'clock in the morning; and our little girl Susan is a most admirable Slut and pleases us mightily, doing more service than both the others and deserves wages better. 22nd. Up and shaved myself, and then my wife and I by coach out, and I set her down by her father's, being vexed in my mind and angry with her for the ill-favoured place, among or near the whore houses, that she is forced to come to him. So left her there, and I to Sir Th. Warwick's but did not speak with him. Thence to take a turn in St. James's Park, and meeting with Anth. Joyce walked with him a turn in the Pell Mell and so parted, he St. James's ward and I out to Whitehall ward, and so to a picture-sellers by the Half Moone in the street over against the Exchange, and there looked over the maps of several cities and did buy two books of cities stitched together cost me 9s. 6d., and when I came home thought of my vowe, and paid 5s. into my poor box for it, hoping in God that I shall forfeit no more in that kind. Thence, meeting Mr. Moore, and to the Exchange and there found my wife at pretty Doll's, and thence by coach set her at my uncle Wight's, to go with my aunt to market once more against Lent, and I to the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, my chief business being to enquire about the manner of other countries keeping of their masts wet or dry, and got good advice about it, and so home, and alone ate a bad, cold dinner, my people being at their washing all day, and so to the office and all the afternoon upon my letter to Mr. Coventry about keeping of masts, and ended it very well at night and wrote it fair over. This evening came Mr. Alsopp the King's brewer, with whom I spent an houre talking and bewailing the posture of things at present; the King led away by half-a-dozen men, that none of his serious servants and friends can come at him. These are Lauderdale, Buckingham, Hamilton, Fitz-Harding (to whom he hath, it seems, given L2,000 per annum in the best part of the King's estate); and that that the old Duke of Buckingham could never get of the King. Progers is another, and Sir H. Bennett. He loves not the Queen at all, but is rather sullen to her; and she, by all reports, incapable of children. He is so fond of the Duke of Monmouth, that every body admires it; and he says the Duke hath said, that he would be the death of any man that says the King was not married to his mother: though Alsopp says, it is well known that she was a common whore before the King lay with her. But it seems, he says, that the King is mighty kind to these his bastard children; and at this day will go at midnight to my Lady Castlemaine's nurses, and take the child and dance it in his arms: that he is not likely to have his tables up again in his house,--[The tables at which the king dined in public.-B.]--for the crew that are about him will not have him come to common view again, but keep him obscurely among themselves. He hath this night, it seems, ordered that the Hall (which there is a ball to be in to-night before the King) be guarded, as the Queen-Mother's is, by his Horse Guards; whereas heretofore they were by the Lord Chamberlain or Steward, and their people. But it is feared they will reduce all to the soldiery, and all other places taken away; and what is worst of all, that he will alter the present militia, and bring all to a flying army. That my Lord Lauderdale, being Middleton's enemy, and one that scorns the Chancellor even to open affronts before the King, hath got the whole power of Scotland into his hand; whereas the other day he was in a fair way to have had his whole estate, and honour, and life, voted away from him. That the King hath done himself all imaginable wrong in the business of my Lord Antrim, in Ireland; who, though he was the head of rebels, yet he by his letter owns to have acted by his father's and mother's, and his commissions; but it seems the truth is, he hath obliged himself, upon the clearing of his estate, to settle it upon a daughter of the Queene-Mother's (by my Lord Germin, I suppose,) in marriage, be it to whom the Queene pleases; which is a sad story. It seems a daughter of the Duke of Lenox's was, by force, going to be married the other day at Somerset House, to Harry Germin; but she got away and run to the King, and he says he will protect her. She is, it seems, very near akin to the King: Such mad doings there are every day among them! The rape upon a woman at Turnstile the other day, her husband being bound in his shirt, they both being in bed together, it being night, by two Frenchmen, who did not only lye with her but abused her with a linke, is hushed up for L300, being the Queen Mother's servants. There was a French book in verse, the other day, translated and presented to the Duke of Monmouth in such a high stile, that the Duke of York, he tells me, was mightily offended at it. The Duke of Monmouth's mother's brother hath a place at Court; and being a Welchman (I think he told me) will talk very broad of the King's being married to his sister. The King did the other day, at the Council, commit my Lord Digby's' chaplin, and steward, and another servant, who went upon the process begun there against their lord, to swear that they saw him at church, end receive the Sacrament as a Protestant, (which, the judges said, was sufficient to prove him such in the eye of the law); the King, I say, did commit them all to the Gate-house, notwithstanding their pleading their dependance upon him, and the faith they owed him as their lord, whose bread they eat. And that the King should say, that he would soon see whether he was King, or Digby. That the Queene-Mother hath outrun herself in her expences, and is now come to pay very ill, or run in debt; the money being spent that she received for leases. He believes there is not any money laid up in bank, as I told him some did hope; but he says, from the best informers he can assure me there is no such thing, nor any body that should look after such a thing; and that there is not now above L80,000 of the Dunkirke money left in stock. That Oliver in the year when he spent L1,400,000 in the Navy, did spend in the whole expence of the kingdom L2,600,000. That all the Court are mad for a Dutch war; but both he and I did concur, that it was a thing rather to be dreaded than hoped for; unless by the French King's falling upon Flanders, they and the Dutch should be divided. That our Embassador had, it is true, an audience; but in the most dishonourable way that could be; for the Princes of the Blood (though invited by our Embassador, which was the greatest absurdity that ever Embassador committed these 400 years) were not there; and so were not said to give place to our King's Embassador. And that our King did openly say, the other day in the Privy Chamber, that he would not be hectored out of his right and preeminencys by the King of France, as great as he was. That the Pope is glad to yield to a peace with the French (as the newes-book says), upon the basest terms that ever was. That the talke which these people about our King, that I named before, have, is to tell him how neither privilege of Parliament nor City is any thing; but his will is all, and ought to be so: and their discourse, it seems, when they are alone, is so base and sordid, that it makes the eares of the very gentlemen of the back-stairs (I think he called them) to tingle to hear it spoke in the King's hearing; and that must be very bad indeed. That my Lord Digby did send to Lisbon a couple of priests, to search out what they could against the Chancellor concerning the match, as to the point of his knowing before-hand that the Queene was not capable of bearing children; and that something was given her to make her so. But as private as they were, when they came thither they were clapped up prisoners. That my Lord Digby endeavours what he can to bring the business into the House of Commons, hoping there to master the Chancellor, there being many enemies of his there; but I hope the contrary. That whereas the late King did mortgage 'Clarendon' to somebody for L20,000, and this to have given it to the Duke of Albemarle, and he sold it to my Lord Chancellor, whose title of Earldome is fetched from thence; the King hath this day sent his order to the Privy Seale for the payment of this L20,000 to my Lord Chancellor, to clear the mortgage! Ireland in a very distracted condition about the hard usage which the Protestants meet with, and the too good which the Catholiques. And from altogether, God knows my heart, I expect nothing but ruine can follow, unless things are better ordered in a little time. He being gone my wife came and told me how kind my uncle Wight had been to her to-day, and that though she says that all his kindness comes from respect to her she discovers nothing but great civility from him, yet but what she says he otherwise will tell me, but to-day he told her plainly that had she a child it should be his heir, and that should I or she want he would be a good friend to us, and did give my wife instructions to consent to all his wife says at any time, she being a pettish woman, which argues a design I think he has of keeping us in with his wife in order to our good sure, and he declaring her jealous of him that so he dares not come to see my wife as otherwise he would do and will endeavour to do. It looks strange putting all together, but yet I am in hopes he means well. My aunt also is mighty open to my wife and tells her mighty plain how her husband did intend to double her portion to her at his death as a jointure. That he will give presently L100 to her niece Mary and a good legacy at his death, and it seems did as much to the other sister, which vexed [me] to think that he should bestow so much upon his wife's friends daily as he do, but it cannot be helped for the time past, and I will endeavour to remedy it for the time to come. After all this discourse with my wife at my office alone, she home to see how the wash goes on and I to make an end of my work, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, it being Shrove Tuesday, and at the office sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change and there met with Sir W. Rider, and of a sudden knowing what I had at home, brought him and Mr. Cutler and Mr. Cooke, clerk to Mr. Secretary Morrice, a sober and pleasant man, and one that I knew heretofore, when he was my Lord 's secretary at Dunkirke. I made much of them and had a pretty dinner for a sudden. We talked very pleasantly, and they many good discourses of their travels abroad. After dinner they gone, I to my office, where doing many businesses very late, but to my good content to see how I grow in estimation every day more and more, and have things given more oftener than I used to have formerly, as to have a case of very pretty knives with agate shafts by Mrs. Russell. So home and to bed. This day, by the blessing of God, I have lived thirty-one years in the world; and, by the grace of God, I find myself not only in good health in every thing, and particularly as to the stone, but only pain upon taking cold, and also in a fair way of coming to a better esteem and estate in the world, than ever I expected. But I pray God give me a heart to fear a fall, and to prepare for it! 24th (Ash-Wednesday). Up and by water, it being a very fine morning, to White Hall, and there to speak with Sir Ph. Warwicke, but he was gone out to chappell, so I spent much of the morning walking in the Park, and going to the Queene's chappell, where I staid and saw their masse, till a man came and bid me go out or kneel down: so I did go out. And thence to Somerset House; and there into the chappell, where Monsieur d'Espagne used to preach. But now it is made very fine, and was ten times more crouded than the Queene's chappell at St. James's; which I wonder at. Thence down to the garden of Somerset House, and up and down the new building, which in every respect will be mighty magnificent and costly. I staid a great while talking with a man in the garden that was sawing of a piece of marble, and did give him 6d. to drink. He told me much of the nature and labour of the worke, how he could not saw above 4 inches of the stone in a day, and of a greater not above one or two, and after it is sawed, then it is rubbed with coarse and then with finer and finer sand till they come to putty, and so polish it as smooth as glass. Their saws have no teeth, but it is the sand only which the saw rubs up and down that do the thing. Thence by water to the Coffee-house, and there sat with Alderman Barker talking of hempe and the trade, and thence to the 'Change a little, and so home and dined with my wife, and then to the office till the evening, and then walked a while merrily with my wife in the garden, and so she gone, I to work again till late, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up and to the office, where we sat, and thence with Mr. Coventry by coach to the glasshouse and there dined, and both before and after did my Lord Peterborough's accounts. Thence home to the office, and there did business till called by Creed, and with him by coach (setting my wife at my brother's) to my Lord's, and saw the young ladies, and talked a little with them, and thence to White Hall, a while talking but doing no business, but resolved of going to meet my Lord tomorrow, having got a horse of Mr. Coventry to-day. So home, taking up my wife, and after doing something at my office home, God forgive me, disturbed in my mind out of my jealousy of my wife tomorrow when I am out of town, which is a hell to my mind, and yet without all reason. God forgive me for it, and mend me. So home, and getting my things ready for me, weary to bed. 26th. Up, and after dressing myself handsomely for riding, I out, and by water to Westminster, to Mr. Creed's chamber, and after drinking some chocolate, and playing on the vyall, Mr. Mallard being there, upon Creed's new vyall, which proves, methinks, much worse than mine, and, looking upon his new contrivance of a desk and shelves for books, we set out from an inne hard by, whither Mr. Coventry's horse was carried, and round about the bush through bad ways to Highgate. Good discourse in the way had between us, and it being all day a most admirable pleasant day, we, upon consultation, had stopped at the Cocke, a mile on this side Barnett, being unwilling to put ourselves to the charge or doubtful acceptance of any provision against my Lord's coming by, and there got something and dined, setting a boy to look towards Barnett Hill, against their coming; and after two or three false alarms, they come, and we met the coach very gracefully, and I had a kind receipt from both Lord and Lady as I could wish, and some kind discourse, and then rode by the coach a good way, and so fell to discoursing with several of the people, there being a dozen attending the coach, and another for the mayds and parson. Among others talking with W. Howe, he told me how my Lord in his hearing the other day did largely tell my Lord Peterborough and Povy (who went with them down to Hinchinbrooke) how and when he discarded Creed, and took me to him, and that since the Duke of York has several times thanked him for me, which did not a little please me, and anon I desiring Mr. Howe to tell me upon [what] occasion this discourse happened, he desired me to say nothing of it now, for he would not have my Lord to take notice of our being together, but he would tell me another time, which put me into some trouble to think what he meant by it. But when we came to my Lord's house, I went in; and whether it was my Lord's neglect, or general indifference, I know not, but he made me no kind of compliment there; and, methinks, the young ladies look somewhat highly upon me. So I went away without bidding adieu to anybody, being desirous not to be thought too servile. But I do hope and believe that my Lord do yet value me as high as ever, though he dare not admit me to the freedom he once did, and that my Lady is still the same woman. So rode home and there found my uncle Wight. 'Tis an odd thing as my wife tells me his caressing her and coming on purpose to give her visits, but I do not trouble myself for him at all, but hope the best and very good effects of it. He being gone I eat something and my wife. I told all this day's passages, and she to give me very good and rational advice how to behave myself to my Lord and his family, by slighting every body but my Lord and Lady, and not to seem to have the least society or fellowship with them, which I am resolved to do, knowing that it is my high carriage that must do me good there, and to appear in good clothes and garbe. To the office, and being weary, early home to bed. 27th. Up, but weary, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. Before I went to the office there came Bagwell's wife to me to speak for her husband. I liked the woman very well and stroked her under the chin, but could not find in my heart to offer anything uncivil to her, she being, I believe, a very modest woman. At noon with Mr. Coventry to the African house, and to my Lord Peterborough's business again, and then to dinner, where, before dinner, we had the best oysters I have seen this year, and I think as good in all respects as ever I eat in my life. I eat a great many. Great, good company at dinner, among others Sir Martin Noell, who told us the dispute between him, as farmer of the Additional Duty, and the East India Company, whether callicos be linnen or no; which he says it is, having been ever esteemed so: they say it is made of cotton woole, and grows upon trees, not like flax or hempe. But it was carried against the Company, though they stand out against the verdict. Thence home and to the office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed, and had a very pleasing and condescending answer from my poor father to-day in answer to my angry discontentful letter to him the other day, which pleases me mightily. 28th (Lord's day). Up and walked to Paul's; and by chance it was an extraordinary day for the Readers of the Inns of Court and all the Students to come to church, it being an old ceremony not used these twenty-five years, upon the first Sunday in Lent. Abundance there was of Students, more than there was room to seat but upon forms, and the Church mighty full. One Hawkins preached, an Oxford man. A good sermon upon these words: "But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable." Both before and after sermon I was most impatiently troubled at the Quire, the worst that ever I heard. But what was extraordinary, the Bishop of London, who sat there in a pew, made a purpose for him by the pulpitt, do give the last blessing to the congregation; which was, he being a comely old man, a very decent thing, methought. The Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir J. Robinson, would needs have me by coach home with him, and sending word home to my house I did go and dine with him, his ordinary table being very good, and his lady a very high-carriaged but comely big woman; I was mightily pleased with her. His officers of his regiment dined with him. No discourse at table to any purpose, only after dinner my Lady would needs see a boy which was represented to her to be an innocent country boy brought up to towne a day or two ago, and left here to the wide world, and he losing his way fell into the Tower, which my Lady believes, and takes pity on him, and will keep him; but though a little boy and but young, yet he tells his tale so readily and answers all questions so wittily, that for certain he is an arch rogue, and bred in this towne; but my Lady will not believe it, but ordered victuals to be given him, and I think will keep him as a footboy for their eldest son. After dinner to chappell in the Tower with the Lieutenant, with the keyes carried before us, and the Warders and Gentleman-porter going before us. And I sat with the Lieutenant in his pew, in great state, but slept all the sermon. None, it seems, of the prisoners in the Tower that are there now, though they may, will come to prayers there. Church being done, I back to Sir John's house and there left him and home, and by and by to Sir W. Pen, and staid a while talking with him about Sir J. Minnes his folly in his office, of which I am sicke and weary to speak of it, and how the King is abused in it, though Pen, I know, offers the discourse only like a rogue to get it out of me, but I am very free to tell my mind to him, in that case being not unwilling he should tell him again if he will or any body else. Thence home, and walked in the garden by brave moonshine with my wife above two hours, till past 8 o'clock, then to supper, and after prayers to bed. 29th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Pen to Charing Cross, and there I 'light, and to Sir Phillip Warwick to visit him and discourse with him about navy business, which I did at large and he most largely with me, not only about the navy but about the general Revenue of England, above two hours, I think, many staying all the while without, but he seemed to take pains to let me either understand the affairs of the Revenue or else to be a witness of his pains and care in stating it. He showed me indeed many excellent collections of the State of the Revenue in former Kings and the late times, and the present. He showed me how the very Assessments between 1643 and 1659, which were taxes (besides Excise, Customes, Sequestrations, Decimations, King and Queene's and Church Lands, or any thing else but just the Assessments), come to above fifteen millions. He showed me a discourse of his concerning the Revenues of this and foreign States. How that of Spayne was great, but divided with his kingdoms, and so came to little. How that of France did, and do much exceed ours before for quantity; and that it is at the will of the Prince to tax what he will upon his people; which is not here. That the Hollanders have the best manner of tax, which is only upon the expence of provisions, by an excise; and do conclude that no other tax is proper for England but a pound-rate, or excise upon the expence of provisions. He showed me every particular sort of payment away of money, since the King's coming in, to this day; and told me, from one to one, how little he hath received of profit from most of them; and I believe him truly. That the L1,200,000 which the Parliament with so much ado did first vote to give the King, and since hath been reexamined by several committees of the present Parliament, is yet above L300,000 short of making up really to the King the L1,200,000, as by particulars he showed me. [A committee was appointed in September, 1660, to consider the subject of the King's revenue, and they "reported to the Commons that the average revenue of Charles I., from 1637 to 1641 inclusive, had been L895,819, and the average expenditure about L1,110,000. At that time prices were lower and the country less burthened with navy and garrisons, among which latter Dunkirk alone now cost more than L100,000 a year. It appeared, therefore, that the least sum to which the King could be expected to 'conform his expense' was L1,200,000." Burnet writes, "It was believed that if two millions had been asked he could have carried it. But he (Clarendon) had no mind to put the King out of the necessity of having recourse to his Parliament."--Lister's Life of Clarendon, vol. ii., pp. 22, 23.] And in my Lord Treasurer's excellent letter to the King upon this subject, he tells the King how it was the spending more than the revenue that did give the first occasion of his father's ruine, and did since to the rebels; who, he says, just like Henry the Eighth, had great and sudden increase of wealth, but yet, by overspending, both died poor; and further tells the King how much of this L1,200,000 depends upon the life of the Prince, and so must be renewed by Parliament again to his successor; which is seldom done without parting with some of the prerogatives of the Crowne; or if denied and he persists to take it of the people, it gives occasion to a civill war, which may, as it did in the late business of tonnage and poundage, prove fatal to the Crowne. He showed me how many ways the Lord Treasurer did take before he moved the King to farme the Customes in the manner he do, and the reasons that moved him to do it. He showed the a very excellent argument to prove, that our importing lesse than we export, do not impoverish the kingdom, according to the received opinion: which, though it be a paradox, and that I do not remember the argument, yet methought there was a great deale in what he said. And upon the whole I find him a most exact and methodicall man, and of great industry: and very glad that he thought fit to show me all this; though I cannot easily guess the reason why he should do it to me, unless from the plainness that he sees I use to him in telling him how much the King may suffer for our want of understanding the case of our Treasury. Thence to White Hall (where my Lord Sandwich was, and gave me a good countenance, I thought), and before the Duke did our usual business, and so I about several businesses in the house, and then out to the Mewes with Sir W. Pen. But in my way first did meet with W. Howe, who did of himself advise me to appear more free with my Lord and to come to him, for my own strangeness he tells me he thinks do make my Lord the worse. At the Mewes Sir W. Pen and Mr. Baxter did shew me several good horses, but Pen, which Sir W. Pen did give the Duke of York, was given away by the Duke the other day to a Frenchman, which Baxter is cruelly vexed at, saying that he was the best horse that he expects a great while to have to do with. Thence I to the 'Change, and thence to a Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, and did talk much about his and Wood's business, and thence homewards, and in my way did stay to look upon a fire in an Inneyard in Lumbard Streete. But, Lord! how the mercers and merchants who had warehouses there did carry away their cloths and silks. But at last it was quenched, and I home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife and set her and her two mayds in Fleete Streete to buy things, and I to White Hall to little purpose, and so to Westminster Hall, and there talked with Mrs. Lane and Howlett, but the match with Hawly I perceive will not take, and so I am resolved wholly to avoid occasion of further ill with her. Thence by water to Salsbury Court, and found my wife, by agreement, at Mrs. Turner's, and after a little stay and chat set her and young Armiger down in Cheapside, and so my wife and I home. Got home before our mayds, who by and by came with a great cry and fright that they had like to have been killed by a coach; but, Lord! to see how Jane did tell the story like a foole and a dissembling fanatique, like her grandmother, but so like a changeling, would make a man laugh to death almost, and yet be vexed to hear her. By and by to the office to make up my monthly accounts, which I make up to-night, and to my great content find myself worth eight hundred and ninety and odd pounds, the greatest sum I ever yet knew, and so with a heart at great case to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A mad merry slut she is A real and not a complimentary acknowledgment At least 12 or 14,000 people in the street (to see the hanging) Bearing more sayle will go faster than any other ships (multihull) But the wench went, and I believe had her turn served Chatted with her, her husband out of the way Could not saw above 4 inches of the stone in a day Do look upon me as a remembrancer of his former vanity Fear of making her think me to be in a better condition Few in any age that do mind anything that is abstruse God forgive me! what thoughts and wishes I had Good writers are not admired by the present Hear something of the effects of our last meeting (pregnancy?) I do not like his being angry and in debt both together to me I will not by any over submission make myself cheap Ireland in a very distracted condition Jane going into the boat did fall down and show her arse King is mighty kind to these his bastard children King still do doat upon his women, even beyond all shame Mankind pleasing themselves in the easy delights of the world Play good, but spoiled with the ryme, which breaks the sense Pleased to look upon their pretty daughter Pray God give me a heart to fear a fall, and to prepare for it! Pretty sayings, which are generally like paradoxes Ryme, which breaks the sense Sent my wife to get a place to see Turner hanged Sheriffs did endeavour to get one jewell So home to prayers and to bed Such open flattery is beastly Talked with Mrs. Lane about persuading her to Hawly Their saws have no teeth, but it is the sand only There did see Mrs. Lane. . . . . Travels over the high hills in Asia above the clouds Wherein every party has laboured to cheat another Willing to receive a bribe if it were offered me Would make a dogg laugh 
4147	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH 1663-1664 March 1st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and after much business and meeting my uncle Wight, who told me how Mr. Maes had like to have been trapanned yesterday, but was forced to run for it; so with Creed and Mr. Hunt home to dinner, and after a good and pleasant dinner, Mr. Hunt parted, and I took Mr. Creed and my wife and down to Deptford, it being most pleasant weather, and there till night discoursing with the officers there about several things, and so walked home by moonshine, it being mighty pleasant, and so home, and I to my office, where late about getting myself a thorough understanding in the business of masts, and so home to bed, my left eye being mightily troubled with rheum. 2nd. Up, my eye mightily out of order with the rheum that is fallen down into it, however, I by coach endeavoured to have waited on my Lord Sandwich, but meeting him in Chancery Lane going towards the City I stopped and so fairly walked home again, calling at St. Paul's Churchyarde, and there looked upon a pretty burlesque poem, called "Scarronides, or Virgile Travesty;" extraordinary good. At home to the office till dinner, and after dinner my wife cut my hair short, which is growne pretty long again, and then to the office, and there till 9 at night doing business. This afternoon we had a good present of tongues and bacon from Mr. Shales, of Portsmouth. So at night home to supper, and, being troubled with my eye, to bed. This morning Mr. Burgby, one of the writing clerks belonging to the Council, was with me about business, a knowing man, he complains how most of the Lords of the Council do look after themselves and their own ends, and none the publique, unless Sir Edward Nicholas. Sir G. Carteret is diligent, but all for his own ends and profit. My Lord Privy Scale, a destroyer of every body's business, and do no good at all to the publique. The Archbishop of Canterbury speaks very little, nor do much, being now come to the highest pitch that he can expect. He tells me, he believes that things will go very high against the Chancellor by Digby, and that bad things will be proved. Talks much of his neglecting the King; and making the King to trot every day to him, when he is well enough to go to visit his cozen Chief-Justice Hide, but not to the Council or King. He commends my Lord of Ormond mightily in Ireland; but cries out cruelly of Sir G. Lane for his corruption; and that he hath done my Lord great dishonour by selling of places here, which are now all taken away, and the poor wretches ready to starve. That nobody almost understands or judges of business better than the King, if he would not be guilty of his father's fault to be doubtfull of himself, and easily be removed from his own opinion. That my Lord Lauderdale is never from the King's care nor council, and that he is a most cunning fellow. Upon the whole, that he finds things go very bad every where; and even in the Council nobody minds the publique. 3rd. Up pretty early and so to the office, where we sat all the morning making a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for provisions for the yeare coming, and so home to dinner, and there was W. Howe come to dine with me, and before dinner he and I walked in the garden, and we did discourse together, he assuring me of what he told me the other day of my Lord's speaking so highly in my commendation to my Lord Peterborough and Povy, which speaks my Lord having yet a good opinion of me, and also how well my Lord and Lady both are pleased with their children's being at my father's, and when the bigger ladies were there a little while ago, at which I am very glad. After dinner he went away, I having discoursed with him about his own proceedings in his studies, and I observe him to be very considerate and to mind his book in order to preferring himself by my Lord's favour to something, and I hope to the outing of Creed in his Secretaryship. For he tells me that he is confident my Lord do not love him nor will trust him in any secret matter, he is so cunning and crafty in all he do. So my wife and I out of doors thinking to have gone to have seen a play, but when we came to take coach, they tell us there are none this week, being the first of Lent. But, Lord! to see how impatient I found myself within to see a play, I being at liberty once a month to see one, and I think it is the best method I could have taken. But to my office, did very much business with several people till night, and so home, being unwilling to stay late because of my eye which is not yet well of the rheum that is fallen down into it, but to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, my eye being pretty well, and then by coach to my Lord Sandwich, with whom I spoke, walking a good while with him in his garden, which and the house is very fine, talking of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, wherein he is concerned both for the foolery as also inconvenience which may happen upon my Lord Peterborough's ill-stating of his matters, so as to have his gaine discovered unnecessarily. We did talk long and freely that I hope the worst is past and all will be well. There were several people by trying a new-fashion gun [Many attempts to produce a satisfactory revolver were made in former centuries, but it was not till the present one that Colt's revolver was invented. On February 18th, 1661, Edward, Marquis of Worcester, obtained Letters Patent for "an invencon to make certeyne guns or pistolls which in the tenth parte of one minute of an houre may, with a flaske contrived to that purpose, be re-charged the fourth part of one turne of the barrell which remaines still fixt, fastening it as forceably and effectually as a dozen thrids of any scrue, which in the ordinary and usual way require as many turnes." On March 3rd, 1664, Abraham Hill obtained Letters Patent for a "gun or pistoll for small shott, carrying seaven or eight charges of the same in the stocke of the gun."] brought my Lord this morning, to shoot off often, one after another, without trouble or danger, very pretty. Thence to the Temple, and there taking White's boat down to Woolwich, taking Mr. Shish at Deptford in my way, with whom I had some good discourse of the Navy business. At Woolwich discoursed with him and Mr. Pett about iron worke and other businesses, and then walked home, and at Greenwich did observe the foundation laying of a very great house for the King, which will cost a great deale of money. [Building by John Webb; now a part of Greenwich Hospital. Evelyn wrote in his Diary, October 19th, 1661: "I went to London to visite my Lord of Bristoll, having been with Sir John Denham (his Mates surveyor) to consult with him about the placing of his palace at Greenwich, which I would have had built between the river and the Queene's house, so as a large cutt should have let in ye Thames like a bay; but Sir John was for setting it in piles at the very brink of the water, which I did not assent to and so came away, knowing Sir John to be a better poet than architect, tho' he had Mr. Webb (Inigo Jones's man) to assist him."] So home to dinner, and my uncle Wight coming in he along with my wife and I by coach, and setting him down by the way going to Mr. Maes we two to my Lord Sandwich's to visit my Lady, with whom I left my wife discoursing, and I to White Hall, and there being met by the Duke of Yorke, he called me to him and discoursed a pretty while with me about the new ship's dispatch building at Woolwich, and talking of the charge did say that he finds always the best the most cheape, instancing in French guns, which in France you may buy for 4 pistoles, as good to look to as others of 16, but not the service. I never had so much discourse with the Duke before, and till now did ever fear to meet him. He found me and Mr. Prin together talking of the Chest money, which we are to blame not to look after. Thence to my Lord's, and took up my wife, whom my Lady hath received with her old good nature and kindnesse, and so homewards, and she home, I 'lighting by the way, and upon the 'Change met my uncle Wight and told him my discourse this afternoon with Sir G. Carteret in Maes' business, but much to his discomfort, and after a dish of coffee home, and at my office a good while with Sir W. Warren talking with great pleasure of many businesses, and then home to supper, my wife and I had a good fowle to supper, and then I to the office again and so home, my mind in great ease to think of our coming to so good a respect with my Lord again, and my Lady, and that my Lady do so much cry up my father's usage of her children, and the goodness of the ayre there, found in the young ladies' faces at their return thence, as she says, as also my being put into the commission of the Fishery, [There had been recently established, under the Great Seal of England, a Corporation for the Royal Fishing, of which the Duke of York was Governor, Lord Craven Deputy-Governor, and the Lord Mayor and Chamberlain of London, for the time being, Treasurers, in which body was vested the sole power of licensing lotteries ("The Newes," October 6th, 1664). The original charter (dated April 8th, 1664), incorporating James, Duke of York, and thirty-six assistants as Governor and Company of the Royal Fishing of Great Britain and Ireland, is among the State Papers. The duke was to be Governor till February 26th, 1665] for which I must give my Lord thanks, and so home to bed, having a great cold in my head and throat tonight from my late cutting my hair so close to my head, but I hope it will be soon gone again. 5th. Up and to the office, where, though I had a great cold, I was forced to speak much upon a publique meeting of the East India Company, at our office; where our own company was full, and there was also my Lord George Barkeley, in behalfe of the company of merchants (I suppose he is on that company), who, hearing my name, took notice of me, and condoled my cozen Edward Pepys's death, not knowing whose son I was, nor did demand it of me. We broke up without coming to any conclusion, for want of my Lord Marlborough. We broke up and I to the 'Change, where with several people and my uncle Wight to drink a dish of coffee, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, my eye and my throat being very bad, and my cold increasing so as I could not speak almost at all at night. So at night home to supper, that is a posset, and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and my cold continuing in great extremity I could not go out to church, but sat all day (a little time at dinner excepted) in my closet at the office till night drawing up a second letter to Mr. Coventry about the measure of masts to my great satisfaction, and so in the evening home, and my uncle and aunt Wight came to us and supped with us, where pretty merry, but that my cold put me out of humour. At night with my cold, and my eye also sore still, to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and the Duke being gone abroad to-day, as we heard by a messenger, I spent the morning at my office writing fair my yesterday's work till almost 2 o'clock (only Sir G. Carteret coming I went down a little way by water towards Deptford, but having more mind to have my business done I pretended business at the 'Change, and so went into another boat), and then, eating a bit, my wife and I by coach to the Duke's house, where we saw "The Unfortunate Lovers;" but I know not whether I am grown more curious than I was or no, but I was not much pleased with it, though I know not where to lay the fault, unless it was that the house was very empty, by reason of a new play at the other house. Yet here was my Lady Castlemayne in a box, and it was pleasant to hear an ordinary lady hard by us, that it seems did not know her before, say, being told who she was, that "she was well enough." Thence home, and I ended and sent away my letter to Mr. Coventry (having first read it and had the opinion of Sir W. Warren in the case), and so home to supper and to bed, my cold being pretty well gone, but my eye remaining still snare and rhumey, which I wonder at, my right eye ayling nothing. 8th. Up with some little discontent with my wife upon her saying that she had got and used some puppy-dog water, being put upon it by a desire of my aunt Wight to get some for her, who hath a mind, unknown to her husband, to get some for her ugly face. I to the office, where we sat all the morning, doing not much business through the multitude of counsellors, one hindering another. It was Mr. Coventry's own saying to me in his coach going to the 'Change, but I wonder that he did give me no thanks for my letter last night, but I believe he did only forget it. Thence home, whither Luellin came and dined with me, but we made no long stay at dinner; for "Heraclius" being acted, which my wife and I have a mighty mind to see, we do resolve, though not exactly agreeing with the letter of my vowe, yet altogether with the sense, to see another this month, by going hither instead of that at Court, there having been none conveniently since I made my vowe for us to see there, nor like to be this Lent, and besides we did walk home on purpose to make this going as cheap as that would have been, to have seen one at Court, and my conscience knows that it is only the saving of money and the time also that I intend by my oaths, and this has cost no more of either, so that my conscience before God do after good consultation and resolution of paying my forfeit, did my conscience accuse me of breaking my vowe, I do not find myself in the least apprehensive that I have done any violence to my oaths. The play hath one very good passage well managed in it, about two persons pretending, and yet denying themselves, to be son to the tyrant Phocas, and yet heire of Mauritius to the crowne. The garments like Romans very well. The little girle is come to act very prettily, and spoke the epilogue most admirably. But at the beginning, at the drawing up of the curtaine, there was the finest scene of the Emperor and his people about him, standing in their fixed and different pastures in their Roman habitts, above all that ever I yet saw at any of the theatres. Walked home, calling to see my brother Tom, who is in bed, and I doubt very ill of a consumption. To the office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up pretty betimes to my office, where all day long, but a little at home at dinner, at my office finishing all things about Mr. Wood's contract for masts, wherein I am sure I shall save the King L400 before I have done. At night home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon to the 'Change and there very busy, and so home to dinner with my wife, to a good hog's harslet, [Harslet or haslet, the entrails of an animal, especially of a hog, as the heart, liver, &c.] a piece of meat I love, but have not eat of I think these seven years, and after dinner abroad by coach set her at Mrs. Hunt's and I to White Hall, and at the Privy Seale I enquired, and found the Bill come for the Corporation of the Royall Fishery; whereof the Duke of Yorke is made present Governor, and several other very great persons, to the number of thirty-two, made his assistants for their lives: whereof, by my Lord Sandwich's favour, I am one; and take it not only as a matter of honour, but that, that may come to be of profit to me, and so with great content went and called my wife, and so home and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, who not being up I staid talking with Mr. Moore till my Lord was ready and come down, and went directly out without calling for me or seeing any body. I know not whether he knew I was there, but I am apt to think not, because if he would have given me that slighting yet he would not have done it to others that were there. So I went back again doing nothing but discoursing with Mr. Moore, who I find by discourse to be grown rich, and indeed not to use me at all with the respect he used to do, but as his equal. He made me known to their Chaplin, who is a worthy, able man. Thence home, and by and by to the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and after a little chat with my wife to the office, where all the afternoon till very late at the office busy, and so home to supper and to bed, hoping in God that my diligence, as it is really very useful for the King, so it will end in profit to myself. In the meantime I have good content in mind to see myself improve every day in knowledge and being known. 12th. Lay long pleasantly entertaining myself with my wife, and then up and to the office, where busy till noon, vexed to see how Sir J. Minnes deserves rather to be pitied for his dotage and folly than employed at a great salary to ruin the King's business. At noon to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and then down to Deptford, where busy a while, and then walking home it fell hard a raining. So at Halfway house put in, and there meeting Mr. Stacy with some company of pretty women, I took him aside to a room by ourselves, and there talked with him about the several sorts of tarrs, and so by and by parted, and I walked home and there late at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and then up in great doubt whether I should not go see Mr. Coventry or no, who hath not been well these two or three days, but it being foul weather I staid within, and so to my office, and there all the morning reading some Common Law, to which I will allot a little time now and then, for I much want it. At noon home to dinner, and then after some discourse with my wife, to the office again, and by and by Sir W. Pen came to me after sermon and walked with me in the garden and then one comes to tell me that Anthony and Will Joyce were come to see me, so I in to them and made mighty much of them, and very pleasant we were, and most of their business I find to be to advise about getting some woman to attend my brother Tom, whom they say is very ill and seems much to want one. To which I agreed, and desired them to get their wives to enquire out one. By and by they bid me good night, but immediately as they were gone out of doors comes Mrs. Turner's boy with a note to me to tell me that my brother Tom was so ill as they feared he would not long live, and that it would be fit I should come and see him. So I sent for them back, and they came, and Will Joyce desiring to speak with me alone I took him up, and there he did plainly tell me to my great astonishment that my brother is deadly ill, and that their chief business of coming was to tell me so, and what is worst that his disease is the pox, which he hath heretofore got, and hath not been cured, but is come to this, and that this is certain, though a secret told his father Fenner by the Doctor which he helped my brother to. This troubled me mightily, but however I thought fit to go see him for speech of people's sake, and so walked along with them, and in our way called on my uncle Fenner (where I have not been these 12 months and more) and advised with him, and then to my brother, who lies in bed talking idle. He could only say that he knew me, and then fell to other discourse, and his face like a dying man, which Mrs. Turner, who was here, and others conclude he is. The company being gone, I took the mayde, which seems a very grave and serious woman, and in W. Joyce's company' did inquire how things are with her master. She told me many things very discreetly, and said she had all his papers and books, and key of his cutting house, and showed me a bag which I and Wm. Joyce told, coming to L5 14s. 0d., which we left with her again, after giving her good counsel, and the boys, and seeing a nurse there of Mrs. Holden's choosing, I left them, and so walked home greatly troubled to think of my brother's condition, and the trouble that would arise to me by his death or continuing sick. So at home, my mind troubled, to bed. 14th. Up, and walked to my brother's, where I find he hath continued talking idly all night, and now knows me not; which troubles me mightily. So I walked down and discoursed a great while alone with the mayde, who tells me many passages of her master's practices, and how she concludes that he has run behind hand a great while and owes money, and has been dunned by several people, among others by one Cave, both husband and wife, but whether it was for--[See April 6th]--money or something worse she knows not, but there is one Cranburne, I think she called him, in Fleete Lane with whom he hath many times been mighty private, but what their dealings have been she knows not, but believes these were naught, and then his sitting up two Saturday nights one after another when all were abed doing something to himself, which she now suspects what it was, but did not before, but tells me that he hath been a very bad husband as to spending his time, and hath often told him of it, so that upon the whole I do find he is, whether he lives or dies, a ruined man, and what trouble will befall me by it I know not. Thence to White Hall; and in the Duke's chamber, while he was dressing, two persons of quality that were there did tell his Royal Highness how the other night, in Holborne, about midnight, being at cards, a link-boy come by and run into the house, and told the people the house was a-falling. Upon this the whole family was frighted, concluding that the boy had said that the house was a-fire: so they deft their cards above, and one would have got out of the balcone, but it was not open; the other went up to fetch down his children, that were in bed; so all got clear out of the house. And no sooner so, but the house fell down indeed, from top to bottom. It seems my Lord Southampton's canaille--[sewer]--did come too near their foundation, and so weakened the house, and down it came; which, in every respect, is a most extraordinary passage. By and by into his closet and did our business with him. But I did not speed as I expected in a business about the manner of buying hemp for this year, which troubled me, but it proceeds only from my pride, that I must needs expect every thing to be ordered just as I apprehend, though it was not I think from my errour, but their not being willing to hear and consider all that I had to propose. Being broke up I followed my Lord Sandwich and thanked him for his putting me into the Fishery, which I perceive he expected, and cried "Oh!" says he, "in the Fishery you mean. I told you I would remember you in it," but offered no other discourse. But demanding whether he had any commands for me, methought he cried "No!" as if he had no more mind to discourse with me, which still troubles me and hath done all the day, though I think I am a fool for it, in not pursuing my resolution of going handsome in clothes and looking high, for that must do it when all is done with my Lord. Thence by coach with Sir W. Batten to the city, and his son Castle, who talks mighty highly against Captain Tayler, calling him knave, and I find that the old Boating father is led and talks just as the son do, or the son as the father would have him. 'Light and to Mr. Moxon's, and there saw our office globes in doing, which will be very handsome but cost money. So to the Coffee-house, and there very fine discourse with Mr. Hill the merchant, a pretty, gentile, young, and sober man. So to the 'Change, and thence home, where my wife and I fell out about my not being willing to have her have her gowne laced, but would lay out the same money and more on a plain new one. At this she flounced away in a manner I never saw her, nor which I could ever endure. So I away to the office, though she had dressed herself to go see my Lady Sandwich. She by and by in a rage follows me, and coming to me tells me in spitefull manner like a vixen and with a look full of rancour that she would go buy a new one and lace it and make me pay for it, and then let me burn it if I would after she had done it, and so went away in a fury. This vexed me cruelly, but being very busy I had, not hand to give myself up to consult what to do in it, but anon, I suppose after she saw that I did not follow her, she came again to the office, where I made her stay, being busy with another, half an houre, and her stomach coming down we were presently friends, and so after my business being over at the office we out and by coach to my Lady Sandwich's, with whom I left my wife, and I to White Hall, where I met Mr. Delsety, and after an hour's discourse with him met with nobody to do other business with, but back again to my Lady, and after half an hour's discourse with her to my brother's, who I find in the same or worse condition. The doctors give him over and so do all that see him. He talks no sense two, words together now; and I confess it made me weepe to see that he should not be able, when I asked him, to say who I was. I went to Mrs. Turner's, and by her discourse with my brother's Doctor, Mr. Powell, I find that she is full now of the disease which my brother is troubled with, and talks of it mightily, which I am sorry for, there being other company, but methinks it should be for her honour to forbear talking of it, the shame of this very thing I confess troubles me as much as anything. Back to my brother's and took my wife, and carried her to my uncle Fenner's and there had much private discourse with him. He tells me of the Doctor's thoughts of my brother's little hopes of recovery, and from that to tell me his thoughts long of my brother's bad husbandry, and from that to say that he believes he owes a great deal of money, as to my cozen Scott I know not how much, and Dr. Thos. Pepys L30, but that the Doctor confesses that he is paid L20 of it, and what with that and what he owes my father and me I doubt he is in a very sad condition, that if he lives he will not be able to show his head, which will be a very great shame to me. After this I went in to my aunt and my wife and Anthony Joyce and his wife, who were by chance there, and drank and so home, my mind and head troubled, but I hope it will [be] over in a little time one way or other. After doing a little at my office of business I home to supper and to bed. From notice that my uncle Fenner did give my father the last week of my brother's condition, my mother is coming up to towne, which also do trouble me. The business between my Lords Chancellor and Bristoll, they say, is hushed up; and the latter gone or going, by the King's licence, to France. 15th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon comes Madam Turner and her daughter The., her chief errand to tell me that she had got Dr. Wiverly, her Doctor, to search my brother's mouth, where Mr. Powell says there is an ulcer, from thence he concludes that he hath had the pox. But the Doctor swears that there is not, nor ever was any, and my brother being very sensible, which I was glad to hear, he did talk with him about it, and he did wholly disclaim that ever he had the disease, or that ever he said to Powell that he had it. All which did put me into great comfort as to the reproach which was spread against him. So I sent for a barrel of oysters, and they dined, and we were very merry, I being willing to be so upon this news. After dinner we took coach and to my brother's, where contrary to my expectation he continues as bad or worse, talking idle, and now not at all knowing any of us as before. Here we staid a great while, I going up and down the house looking after things. In the evening Dr. Wiverley came again, and I sent for Mr. Powell (the Doctor and I having first by ourselves searched my brother again at his privities, where he was as clear as ever he was born, and in the Doctor's opinion had been ever so), and we three alone discoursed the business, where the coxcomb did give us his simple reasons for what he had said, which the Doctor fully confuted, and left the fellow only saying that he should cease to report any such thing, and that what he had said was the best of his judgment from my brother's words and a ulcer, as he supposed, in his mouth. I threatened him that I would have satisfaction if I heard any more such discourse, and so good night to them two, giving the Doctor a piece for his fee, but the other nothing. I to my brother again, where Madam Turner and her company, and Mrs. Croxton, my wife, and Mrs. Holding. About 8 o'clock my brother began to fetch his spittle with more pain, and to speak as much but not so distinctly, till at last the phlegm getting the mastery of him, and he beginning as we thought to rattle, I had no mind to see him die, as we thought he presently would, and so withdrew and led Mrs. Turner home, but before I came back, which was in half a quarter of an hour, my brother was dead. I went up and found the nurse holding his eyes shut, and he poor wretch lying with his chops fallen, a most sad sight, and that which put me into a present very great transport of grief and cries, and indeed it was a most sad sight to see the poor wretch lie now still and dead, and pale like a stone. I staid till he was almost cold, while Mrs. Croxton, Holden, and the rest did strip and lay him out, they observing his corpse, as they told me afterwards, to be as clear as any they ever saw, and so this was the end of my poor brother, continuing talking idle and his lips working even to his last that his phlegm hindered his breathing, and at last his breath broke out bringing a flood of phlegm and stuff out with it, and so he died. This evening he talked among other talk a great deal of French very plain and good, as, among others: 'quand un homme boit quand il n'a poynt d'inclination a boire il ne luy fait jamais de bien.' I once begun to tell him something of his condition, and asked him whither he thought he should go. He in distracted manner answered me--"Why, whither should I go? there are but two ways: If I go, to the bad way I must give God thanks for it, and if I go the other way I must give God the more thanks for it; and I hope I have not been so undutifull and unthankfull in my life but I hope I shall go that way." This was all the sense, good or bad, that I could get of him this day. I left my wife to see him laid out, and I by coach home carrying my brother's papers, all I could find, with me, and having wrote a letter to, my father telling him what hath been said I returned by coach, it being very late, and dark, to my brother's, but all being gone, the corpse laid out, and my wife at Mrs. Turner's, I thither, and there after an hour's talk, we up to bed, my wife and I in the little blue chamber, and I lay close to my wife, being full of disorder and grief for my brother that I could not sleep nor wake with satisfaction, at last I slept till 5 or 6 o'clock. 16th. And then I rose and up, leaving my wife in bed, and to my brother's, where I set them on cleaning the house, and my wife coming anon to look after things, I up and down to my cozen Stradwicke's and uncle Fenner's about discoursing for the funeral, which I am resolved to put off till Friday next. Thence home and trimmed myself, and then to the 'Change, and told my uncle Wight of my brother's death, and so by coach to my cozen Turner's and there dined very well, but my wife . . . . in great pain we were forced to rise in some disorder, and in Mrs. Turner's coach carried her home and put her to bed. Then back again with my cozen Norton to Mrs. Turner's, and there staid a while talking with Dr. Pepys, the puppy, whom I had no patience to hear. So I left them and to my brother's to look after things, and saw the coffin brought; and by and by Mrs. Holden came and saw him nailed up. Then came W. Joyce to me half drunk, and much ado I had to tell him the story of my brother's being found clear of what was said, but he would interrupt me by some idle discourse or other, of his crying what a good man, and a good speaker my brother was, and God knows what. At last weary of him I got him away, and I to Mrs. Turner's, and there, though my heart is still heavy to think of my poor brother, yet I could give way to my fancy to hear Mrs. The. play upon the Harpsicon, though the musique did not please me neither. Thence to my brother's and found them with my mayd Elizabeth taking an inventory of the goods of the house, which I was well pleased at, and am much beholden to Mr. Honeywood's man in doing of it. His name is Herbert, one that says he knew me when he lived with Sir Samuel Morland, but I have forgot him. So I left them at it, and by coach home and to my office, there to do a little business, but God knows my heart and head is so full of my brother's death, and the consequences of it, that I can do very little or understand it. So home to supper, and after looking over some business in my chamber I to bed to my wife, who continues in bed in some pain still. This day I have a great barrel of oysters given me by Mr. Barrow, as big as 16 of others, and I took it in the coach with me to Mrs. Turner's, and give them to her. This day the Parliament met again, after a long prorogation, but what they have done I have not been in the way to hear. 17th. Up and to my brother's, where all the morning doing business against to-morrow, and so to my cozen Stradwicke's about the same business, and to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where my wife in bed sick still, but not so bad as yesterday. I dined by her, and so to the office, where we sat this afternoon, having changed this day our sittings from morning to afternoons, because of the Parliament which returned yesterday; but was adjourned till Monday next; upon pretence that many of the members were said to be upon the road; and also the King had other affairs, and so desired them to adjourn till then. But the truth is, the King is offended at my Lord of Bristol, as they say, whom he hath found to have been all this while (pretending a desire of leave to go into France, and to have all the difference between him and the Chancellor made up,) endeavouring to make factions in both Houses to the Chancellor. So the King did this to keep the Houses from meeting; and in the meanwhile sent a guard and a herald last night to have taken him at Wimbleton, where he was in the morning, but could not find him: at which the King was and is still mightily concerned, and runs up and down to and from the Chancellor's like a boy: and it seems would make Digby's articles against the Chancellor to be treasonable reflections against his Majesty. So that the King is very high, as they say; and God knows what will follow upon it! After office I to my brother's again, and thence to Madam Turner's, in both places preparing things against to-morrow; and this night I have altered my resolution of burying him in the church yarde among my young brothers and sisters, and bury him in the church, in the middle isle, as near as I can to my mother's pew. This costs me 20s. more. This being all, home by coach, bringing my brother's silver tankard for safety along with me, and so to supper, after writing to my father, and so to bed. 18th. Up betimes, and walked to my brother's, where a great while putting things in order against anon; then to Madam Turner's and eat a breakfast there, and so to Wotton, my shoemaker, and there got a pair of shoes blacked on the soles against anon for me; so to my brother's and to church, and with the grave-maker chose a place for my brother to lie in, just under my mother's pew. But to see how a man's tombes are at the mercy of such a fellow, that for sixpence he would, (as his owne words were,) "I will justle them together but I will make room for him;" speaking of the fulness of the middle isle, where he was to lie; and that he would, for my father's sake, do my brother that is dead all the civility he can; which was to disturb other corps that are not quite rotten, to make room for him; and methought his manner of speaking it was very remarkable; as of a thing that now was in his power to do a man a courtesy or not. At noon my wife, though in pain, comes, but I being forced to go home, she went back with me, where I dressed myself, and so did Besse; and so to my brother's again: whither, though invited, as the custom is, at one or two o'clock, they came not till four or five. But at last one after another they come, many more than I bid: and my reckoning that I bid was one hundred and twenty; but I believe there was nearer one hundred and fifty. Their service was six biscuits apiece, and what they pleased of burnt claret. My cosen Joyce Norton kept the wine and cakes above; and did give out to them that served, who had white gloves given them. But above all, I am beholden to Mrs. Holden, who was most kind, and did take mighty pains not only in getting the house and every thing else ready, but this day in going up and down to see, the house filled and served, in order to mine, and their great content, I think; the men sitting by themselves in some rooms, and women by themselves in others, very close, but yet room enough. Anon to church, walking out into the streete to the Conduit, and so across the streete, and had a very good company along with the corps. And being come to the grave as above, Dr. Pierson, the minister of the parish, did read the service for buriall: and so I saw my poor brother laid into the grave; and so all broke up; and I and my wife and Madam Turner and her family to my brother's, and by and by fell to a barrell of oysters, cake, and cheese, of Mr. Honiwood's, with him, in his chamber and below, being too merry for so late a sad work. But, Lord! to see how the world makes nothing of the memory of a man, an houre after he is dead! And, indeed, I must blame myself; for though at the sight of him dead and dying, I had real grief for a while, while he was in my sight, yet presently after, and ever since, I have had very little grief indeed for him. By and by, it beginning to be late, I put things in some order in the house, and so took my wife and Besse (who hath done me very good service in cleaning and getting ready every thing and serving the wine and things to-day, and is indeed a most excellent good-natured and faithful wench, and I love her mightily), by coach home, and so after being at the office to set down the day's work home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon my wife and I alone, having a good hen, with eggs, to dinner, with great content. Then by coach to my brother's, where I spent the afternoon in paying some of the charges of the buriall, and in looking over his papers, among which I find several letters of my brother John's to him speaking very foale words of me and my deportment to him here, and very crafty designs about Sturtlow land and God knows what, which I am very glad to know, and shall make him repent them. Anon my father and my brother John came to towne by coach. I sat till night with him, giving him an account of things. He, poor man, very sad and sickly. I in great pain by a simple compressing of my cods to-day by putting one leg over another as I have formerly done, which made me hasten home, and after a little at the office in great disorder home to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Kept my bed all the morning, having laid a poultice to my cods last night to take down the tumour there which I got yesterday, which it did do, being applied pretty warm, and soon after the beginning of the swelling, and the pain was gone also. We lay talking all the while, among other things of religion, wherein I am sorry so often to hear my wife talk of her being and resolving to die a Catholique, [Mrs. Pepys's leaning towards Roman Catholicism was a constant trouble to her husband; but, in spite of his fears, she died a Protestant (Dr. Milles's certificate.)] and indeed a small matter, I believe, would absolutely turn her, which I am sorry for. Up at noon to dinner, and then to my chamber with a fire till late at night looking over my brother Thomas's papers, sorting of them, among which I find many base letters of my brother John's to him against me, and carrying on plots against me to promote Tom's having of his Banbury' Mistress, in base slighting terms, and in worse of my sister Pall, such as I shall take a convenient time to make my father know, and him also to his sorrow. So after supper to bed, our people rising to wash to-morrow. 21st. Up, and it snowing this morning a little, which from the mildness of the winter and the weather beginning to be hot and the summer to come on apace, is a little strange to us. I did not go abroad for fear of my tumour, for fear it shall rise again, but staid within, and by and by my, father came, poor man, to me, and my brother John. After much talke and taking them up to my chamber, I did there after some discourse bring in any business of anger--with John, and did before my father read all his roguish letters, which troubled my father mightily, especially to hear me say what I did, against my allowing any thing for the time to come to him out of my owne purse, and other words very severe, while he, like a simple rogue, made very silly and churlish answers to me, not like a man of any goodness or witt, at which I was as much disturbed as the other, and will be as good as my word in making him to his cost know that I will remember his carriage to me in this particular the longest day I live. It troubled me to see my poor father so troubled, whose good nature did make him, poor wretch, to yield, I believe, to comply with my brother Tom and him in part of their designs, but without any ill intent to me, or doubt of me or my good intentions to him or them, though it do trouble me a little that he should in any manner do it. They dined with me, and after dinner abroad with my wife to buy some things for her, and I to the office, where we sat till night, and then, after doing some business at my closet, I home and to supper and to bed. This day the Houses of Parliament met; and the King met them, with the Queene with him. And he made a speech to them: [March 16th, 1663-64. This day both Houses met, and on the gist the king opened the session with a speech from the throne, in which occurs this Passage: "I pray, Mr. Speaker, and you, gentlemen of the House of Commons, give that Triennial Bill once a reading in your house, and then, in God's name, do what you think fit for me and yourselves and the whole kingdom. I need not tell you how much I love parliaments. Never king was so much beholden to parliaments as I have been, nor do I think the crown can ever be happy without frequent parliaments" (Cobbett's "Parliamentary History," vol. iv., cc. 290, 291).] among other things, discoursing largely of the plots abroad against him and the peace of the kingdom; and, among other things, that the dissatisfied party had great hopes upon the effect of the Act for a Triennial Parliament granted by his father, which he desired them to peruse, and, I think, repeal. So the Houses did retire to their own House, and did order the Act to be read to-morrow before them; and I suppose it will be repealed, though I believe much against the will of a good many that sit there. 22nd. Up, and spent the whole morning and afternoon at my office, only in the evening, my wife being at my aunt Wight's, I went thither, calling at my own house, going out found the parlour curtains drawn, and inquiring the reason of it, they told me that their mistress had got Mrs. Buggin's fine little dog and our little bitch, which is proud at this time, and I am apt to think that she was helping him to line her, for going afterwards to my uncle Wight's, and supping there with her, where very merry with Mr. Woolly's drollery, and going home I found the little dog so little that of himself he could not reach our bitch, which I am sorry for, for it is the finest dog that ever I saw in my life, as if he were painted the colours are so finely mixed and shaded. God forgive me, it went against me to have my wife and servants look upon them while they endeavoured to do something . . . . 23rd. Up, and going out saw Mrs. Buggin's dog, which proves as I thought last night so pretty that I took him and the bitch into my closet below, and by holding down the bitch helped him to line her, which he did very stoutly, so as I hope it will take, for it is the prettiest dog that ever I saw. So to the office, where very busy all the morning, and so to the 'Change, and off hence with Sir W. Rider to the Trinity House, and there dined very well: and good discourse among the old men of Islands now and then rising and falling again in the Sea, and that there is many dangers of grounds and rocks that come just up to the edge almost of the sea, that is never discovered and ships perish without the world's knowing the reason of it. Among other things, they observed, that there are but two seamen in the Parliament house, viz., Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen, and not above twenty or thirty merchants; which is a strange thing in an island, and no wonder that things of trade go no better nor are better understood. Thence home, and all the afternoon at the office, only for an hour in the evening my Lady Jemimah, Paulina, and Madam Pickering come to see us, but my wife would not be seen, being unready. Very merry with them; they mightily talking of their thrifty living for a fortnight before their mother came to town, and other such simple talk, and of their merry life at Brampton, at my father's, this winter. So they being gone, to the office again till late, and so home and to supper and to bed. 24th. Called up by my father, poor man, coming to advise with me about Tom's house and other matters, and he being gone I down by water to Greenwich, it being very-foggy, and I walked very finely to Woolwich, and there did very much business at both yards, and thence walked back, Captain Grove with me talking, and so to Deptford and did the like-there, and then walked to Redriffe (calling and eating a bit of collops and eggs at Half-way house), and so home to the office, where we sat late, and home weary to supper and to bed. 25th (Lady-day). Up and by water to White Hall, and there to chappell; where it was most infinite full to hear Dr. Critton. Being not knowne, some great persons in the pew I pretended to, and went in, did question my coming in. I told them my pretence; so they turned to the orders of the chappell, which hung behind upon the wall, and read it; and were satisfied; but they did not demand whether I was in waiting or no; and so I was in some fear lest he that was in waiting might come and betray me. The Doctor preached upon the thirty-first of Jeremy, and the twenty-first and twenty-second verses, about a woman compassing a man; meaning the Virgin conceiving and bearing our Saviour. It was the worst sermon I ever heard him make, I must confess; and yet it was good, and in two places very bitter, advising the King to do as the Emperor Severus did, to hang up a Presbyter John (a short coat and a long gowne interchangeably) in all the Courts of England. But the story of Severus was pretty, that he hanged up forty senators before the Senate house, and then made a speech presently to the Senate in praise of his owne lenity; and then decreed that never any senator after that time should suffer in the same manner without consent of the Senate: which he compared to the proceeding of the Long Parliament against my Lord Strafford. He said the greatest part of the lay magistrates in England were Puritans, and would not do justice; and the Bishopps, their powers were so taken away and lessened, that they could not exercise the power they ought. He told the King and the ladies plainly, speaking of death and of the skulls and bones of dead men and women, [The preacher appears to have had the grave scene in "Hamlet" in his mind, as he gives the same illustration of Alexander as Hamlet does.] how there is no difference; that nobody could tell that of the great Marius or Alexander from a pyoneer; nor, for all the pains the ladies take with their faces, he that should look in a charnels-house could not distinguish which was Cleopatra's, or fair Rosamond's, or Jane Shoare's. Thence by water home. After dinner to the office, thence with my wife to see my father and discourse how he finds Tom's matters, which he do very ill, and that he finds him to have been so negligent, that he used to trust his servants with cutting out of clothes, never hardly cutting out anything himself; and, by the abstract of his accounts, we find him to owe above L290, and to be coming to him under L200. Thence home with my wife, it being very dirty on foot, and bought some fowl in Gracious. Streets and some oysters against our feast to-morrow. So home, and after at the office a while, home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up very betimes and to my office, and there read over some papers against a meeting by and by at this office of Mr. Povy, Sir W. Rider, Creed, and Vernaty, and Mr. Gauden about my Lord Peterborough's accounts for Tangier, wherein we proceeded a good way; but, Lord! to see how ridiculous Mr. Povy is in all he says or do; like a man not more fit for to be in such employments as he is, and particularly that of Treasurer (paying many and very great sums without the least written order) as he is to be King of England, and seems but this day, after much discourse of mine, to be sensible of that part of his folly, besides a great deal more in other things. This morning in discourse Sir W. Rider [said], that he hath kept a journals of his life for almost these forty years, even to this day and still do, which pleases me mightily. That being done Sir J. Minnes and I sat all the morning, and then I to the 'Change, and there got away by pretence of business with my uncle Wight to put off Creed, whom I had invited to dinner, and so home, and there found Madam Turner, her daughter The., Joyce Norton, my father and Mr. Honywood, and by and by come my uncle Wight and aunt. This being my solemn feast for my cutting of the stone, it being now, blessed be God! this day six years since the time; and I bless God I do in all respects find myself free from that disease or any signs of it, more than that upon the least cold I continue to have pain in making water, by gathering of wind and growing costive, till which be removed I am at no ease, but without that I am very well. One evil more I have, which is that upon the least squeeze almost my cods begin to swell and come to great pain, which is very strange and troublesome to me, though upon the speedy applying of a poultice it goes down again, and in two days I am well again. Dinner not being presently ready I spent some time myself and shewed them a map of Tangier left this morning at my house by Creed, cut by our order, the Commissioners, and drawn by Jonas Moore, which is very pleasant, and I purpose to have it finely set out and hung up. Mrs. Hunt coming to see my wife by chance dined here with us. After dinner Sir W. Batten sent to speak with me, and told me that he had proffered our bill today in the House, and that it was read without any dissenters, and he fears not but will pass very well, which I shall be glad of. He told me also how Sir [Richard] Temple hath spoke very discontentfull words in the House about the Tryennial Bill; but it hath been read the second time to-day, and committed; and, he believes, will go on without more ado, though there are many in the House are displeased at it, though they dare not say much. But above all expectation, Mr. Prin is the man against it, comparing it to the idoll whose head was of gold, and his body and legs and feet of different metal. So this Bill had several degrees of calling of Parliaments, in case the King, and then the Council, and then the Lord Chancellor, and then the Sheriffes, should fail to do it. He tells me also, how, upon occasion of some 'prentices being put in the pillory to-day for beating of their masters, or some such like thing, in Cheapside, a company of 'prentices came and rescued them, and pulled down the pillory; and they being set up again, did the like again. So that the Lord Mayor and Major Generall Browne was fain to come and stay there, to keep the peace; and drums, all up and down the city, was beat to raise the trained bands, for to quiett the towne, and by and by, going out with my uncle and aunt Wight by coach with my wife through Cheapside (the rest of the company after much content and mirth being broke up), we saw a trained band stand in Cheapside upon their guard. We went, much against my uncle's will, as far almost as Hyde Park, he and my aunt falling out all the way about it, which vexed me, but by this I understand my uncle more than ever I did, for he was mighty soon angry, and wished a pox take her, which I was sorry to hear. The weather I confess turning on a sudden to rain did make it very unpleasant, but yet there was no occasion in the world for his being so angry, but she bore herself very discreetly, and I must confess she proves to me much another woman than I thought her, but all was peace again presently, and so it raining very fast, we met many brave coaches coming from the Parke and so we turned and set them down at home, and so we home ourselves, and ended the day with great content to think how it hath pleased the Lord in six years time to raise me from a condition of constant and dangerous and most painfull sicknesse and low condition and poverty to a state of constant health almost, great honour and plenty, for which the Lord God of heaven make me truly thankfull. My wife found her gowne come home laced, which is indeed very handsome, but will cost me a great deal of money, more than ever I intended, but it is but for once. So to the office and did business, and then home and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed wrangling with my wife about the charge she puts me to at this time for clothes more than I intended, and very angry we were, but quickly friends again. And so rising and ready I to my office, and there fell upon business, and then to dinner, and then to my office again to my business, and by and by in the afternoon walked forth towards my father's, but it being church time, walked to St. James's, to try if I could see the belle Butler, but could not; only saw her sister, who indeed is pretty, with a fine Roman nose. Thence walked through the ducking-pond fields; but they are so altered since my father used to carry us to Islington, to the old man's, at the King's Head, to eat cakes and ale (his name was Pitts) that I did not know which was the ducking-pond nor where I was. So through F[l]ee[t] lane to my father's, and there met Mr. Moore, and discoursed with him and my father about who should administer for my brother Tom, and I find we shall have trouble in it, but I will clear my hands of it, and what vexed me, my father seemed troubled that I should seem to rely so wholly upon the advice of Mr. Moore, and take nobody else, but I satisfied him, and so home; and in Cheapside, both coming and going, it was full of apprentices, who have been here all this day, and have done violence, I think, to the master of the boys that were put in the pillory yesterday. But, Lord! to see how the train-bands are raised upon this: the drums beating every where as if an enemy were upon them; so much is this city subject to be put into a disarray upon very small occasions. But it was pleasant to hear the boys, and particularly one little one, that I demanded the business. He told me that that had never been done in the city since it was a city, two prentices put in the pillory, and that it ought not to be so. So I walked home, and then it being fine moonshine with my wife an houre in the garden, talking of her clothes against Easter and about her mayds, Jane being to be gone, and the great dispute whether Besse, whom we both love, should be raised to be chamber-mayde or no. We have both a mind to it, but know not whether we should venture the making her proud and so make a bad chamber-mayde of a very good natured and sufficient cook-mayde. So to my office a little, and then to supper, prayers and to bed. 28th. This is the first morning that I have begun, and I hope shall continue to rise betimes in the morning, and so up and to my office, and thence about 7 o'clock to T. Trice, and advised with him about our administering to my brother Tom, and I went to my father and told him what to do; which was to administer and to let my cozen Scott have a letter of Atturny to follow the business here in his absence for him, who by that means will have the power of paying himself (which we cannot however hinder) and do us a kindness we think too. But, Lord! what a shame, methinks, to me, that, in this condition, and at this age, I should know no better the laws of my owne country! Thence to Westminster Hall, and spent till noon, it being Parliament time, and at noon walked with Creed into St. James's Parke, talking of many things, particularly of the poor parts and great unfitness for business of Mr. Povy, and yet what a show he makes in the world. Mr. Coventry not being come to his chamber, I walked through the house with him for an hour in St. James's fields' talking of the same subject, and then parted, and back and with great impatience, sometimes reading, sometimes walking, sometimes thinking that Mr. Coventry, though he invited us to dinner with him, was gone with the rest of the office without a dinner. At last, at past 4 o'clock I heard that the Parliament was not up yet, and so walked to Westminster Hall, and there found it so, and meeting with Sir J. Minnes, and being very hungry, went over with him to the Leg, and before we had cut a bit, the House rises, however we eat a bit and away to St. James's and there eat a second part of our dinner with Mr. Coventry and his brother Harry, Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen. The great matter today in the House hath been, that Mr. Vaughan, the great speaker, is this day come to towne, and hath declared himself in a speech of an houre and a half, with great reason and eloquence, against the repealing of the Bill for Triennial Parliaments; but with no successe: but the House have carried it that there shall be such Parliaments, but without any coercive power upon the King, if he will bring this Act. But, Lord! to see how the best things are not done without some design; for I perceive all these gentlemen that I was with to-day were against it (though there was reason enough on their side); yet purely, I could perceive, because it was the King's mind to have it; and should he demand any thing else, I believe they would give it him. But this the discontented Presbyters, and the faction of the House will be highly displeased with; but it was carried clearly against them in the House. We had excellent good table-talke, some of which I have entered in my book of stories. So with them by coach home, and there find (bye my wife), that Father Fogourdy hath been with her to-day, and she is mightily for our going to hear a famous Reule preach at the French Embassador's house: I pray God he do not tempt her in any matters of religion, which troubles me; and also, she had messages from her mother to-day, who sent for her old morning-gown, which was almost past wearing; and I used to call it her kingdom, from the ease and content she used to have in the wearing of it. I am glad I do not hear of her begging any thing of more value, but I do not like that these messages should now come all upon Monday morning, when my wife expects of course I should be abroad at the Duke's. To the office, where Mr. Norman came and showed me a design of his for the storekeeper's books, for the keeping of them regular in order to a balance, which I am mightily satisfied to see, and shall love the fellow the better, as he is in all things sober, so particularly for his endeavour to do something in this thing so much wanted. So late home to supper and to bed, weary-with walking so long to no purpose in the Park to-day. 29th. Was called up this morning by a messenger from Sir G. Carteret to come to him to Sir W. Batten's, and so I rose and thither to him, and with him and Sir J. Minnes to, Sir G. Carteret's to examine his accounts, and there we sat at it all the morning. About noon Sir W. Batten came from the House of Parliament and told us our Bill for our office was read the second time to-day, with great applause, and is committed. By and by to dinner, where good cheere, and Sir G. Carteret in his humour a very good man, and the most kind father and pleased father in his children that ever I saw. Here is now hung up a picture of my Lady Carteret, drawn by Lilly, a very fine picture, but yet not so good as I have seen of his doing. After dinner to the business again without any intermission till almost night, and then home, and took coach to my father to see and discourse with him, and so home again and to my office, where late, and then home to bed. 30th. Up very betimes to my office, and thence at 7 o'clock to Sir G. Carteret, and there with Sir J. Minnes made an end of his accounts, but staid not dinner, my Lady having made us drink our morning draft there of several wines, but I drank: nothing but some of her coffee, which was poorly made, with a little sugar in it. Thence to the 'Change a great while, and had good discourse with Captain Cocke at the Coffee-house about a Dutch warr, and it seems the King's design is by getting underhand the merchants to bring in their complaints to the Parliament, to make them in honour begin a warr, which he cannot in honour declare first, for fear they should not second him with money. Thence homewards, staying a pretty while with my little she milliner at the end of Birchin Lane, talking and buying gloves of her, and then home to dinner, and in the afternoon had a meeting upon the Chest business, but I fear unless I have time to look after it nothing will be done,, and that I fear I shall not. In the evening comes Sir W. Batten, who tells us that the Committee have approved of our bill with very few amendments in words, not in matter. So to my office, where late with Sir W. Warren, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up betimes, and to my office, where by and by comes Povy, Sir W. Rider, Mr. Bland, Creed, and Vernatty, about my Lord Peterborough's accounts, which we now went through, but with great difficulty, and many high words between Mr. Povy and I; for I could not endure to see so many things extraordinary put in, against truthe and reason. He was very angry, but I endeavoured all I could to profess my satisfaction in my Lord's part of the accounts, but not in those foolish idle things, they say I said, that others had put in. Anon we rose and parted, both of us angry, but I contented, because I knew all of them must know I was in the right. Then with Creed to Deptford, where I did a great deal of business enquiring into the business of canvas and other things with great content, and so walked back again, good discourse between Creed and I by the way, but most upon the folly of Povy, and at home found Luellin, and so we to dinner, and thence I to the office, where we sat all the afternoon late, and being up and my head mightily crowded with business, I took my wife by coach to see my father. I left her at his house and went to him to an alehouse hard by, where my cozen Scott was, and my father's new tenant, Langford, a tailor, to whom I have promised my custom, and he seems a very modest, carefull young man. Thence my wife coming with the coach to the alley end I home, and after supper to the making up my monthly accounts, and to my great content find myself worth above L900, the greatest sum I ever yet had. Having done my accounts, late to bed. My head of late mighty full of business, and with good content to myself in it, though sometimes it troubles me that nobody else but I should bend themselves to serve the King with that diligence, whereby much of my pains proves ineffectual. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Doubtfull of himself, and easily be removed from his own opinion Drink a dish of coffee Ill from my late cutting my hair so close to my head Nothing of the memory of a man, an houre after he is dead! She had got and used some puppy-dog water Subject to be put into a disarray upon very small occasions Very angry we were, but quickly friends again Went against me to have my wife and servants look upon them 
4148	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL & MAY 1664 April 1st. Up and to my office, where busy till noon, and then to the 'Change, where I found all the merchants concerned with the presenting their complaints to the Committee of Parliament appointed to receive them this afternoon against the Dutch. So home to dinner, and thence by coach, setting my wife down at the New Exchange, I to White Hall; and coming too soon for the Tangier Committee walked to Mr. Blagrave for a song. I left long ago there, and here I spoke with his kinswoman, he not being within, but did not hear her sing, being not enough acquainted with her, but would be glad to have her, to come and be at my house a week now and then. Back to White Hall, and in the Gallery met the Duke of Yorke (I also saw the Queene going to the Parke, and her Mayds of Honour: she herself looks ill, and methinks Mrs. Stewart is grown fatter, and not so fair as she was); and he called me to him, and discoursed a good while with me; and after he was gone, twice or thrice staid and called me again to him, the whole length of the house: and at last talked of the Dutch; and I perceive do much wish that the Parliament will find reason to fall out with them. He gone, I by and by found that the Committee of Tangier met at the Duke of Albemarle's, and so I have lost my labour. So with Creed to the 'Change, and there took up my wife and left him, and we two home, and I to walk in the garden with W. Howe, whom we took up, he having been to see us, he tells me how Creed has been questioned before the Council about a letter that has been met with, wherein he is mentioned by some fanatiques as a serviceable friend to them, but he says he acquitted himself well in it, but, however, something sticks against him, he says, with my Lord, at which I am not very sorry, for I believe he is a false fellow. I walked with him to Paul's, he telling me how my Lord is little at home, minds his carding and little else, takes little notice of any body; but that he do not think he is displeased, as I fear, with me, but is strange to all, which makes me the less troubled. So walked back home, and late at the office. So home and to bed. This day Mrs. Turner did lend me, as a rarity, a manuscript of one Mr. Wells, writ long ago, teaching the method of building a ship, which pleases me mightily. I was at it to-night, but durst not stay long at it, I being come to have a great pain and water in my eyes after candle-light. 2nd. Up and to my office, and afterwards sat, where great contest with Sir W. Batten and Mr. Wood, and that doating fool Sir J. Minnes, that says whatever Sir W. Batten says, though never minding whether to the King's profit or not. At noon to the Coffee-house, where excellent discourse with Sir W. Petty, who proposed it as a thing that is truly questionable, whether there really be any difference between waking and dreaming, that it is hard not only to tell how we know when we do a thing really or in a dream, but also to know what the difference [is] between one and the other. Thence to the 'Change, but having at this discourse long afterwards with Sir Thomas Chamberlin, who tells me what I heard from others, that the complaints of most Companies were yesterday presented to the Committee of Parliament against the Dutch, excepting that of the East India, which he tells me was because they would not be said to be the first and only cause of a warr with Holland, and that it is very probable, as well as most necessary, that we fall out with that people. I went to the 'Change, and there found most people gone, and so home to dinner, and thence to Sir W. Warren's, and with him past the whole afternoon, first looking over two ships' of Captain Taylor's and Phin. Pett's now in building, and am resolved to learn something of the art, for I find it is not hard and very usefull, and thence to Woolwich, and after seeing Mr. Falconer, who is very ill, I to the yard, and there heard Mr. Pett tell me several things of Sir W. Batten's ill managements, and so with Sir W. Warren walked to Greenwich, having good discourse, and thence by water, it being now moonshine and 9 or 10 o'clock at night, and landed at Wapping, and by him and his man safely brought to my door, and so he home, having spent the day with him very well. So home and eat something, and then to my office a while, and so home to prayers and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Being weary last night lay long, and called up by W. Joyce. So I rose, and his business was to ask advice of me, he being summonsed to the House of Lords to-morrow, for endeavouring to arrest my Lady Peters [Elizabeth, daughter of John Savage, second Earl Rivers, and first wife to William, fourth Lord Petre, who was, in 1678, impeached by the Commons of high treason, and died under confinement in the Tower, January 5th, 1683, s. p.--B.] for a debt. I did give him advice, and will assist him. He staid all the morning, but would not dine with me. So to my office and did business. At noon home to dinner, and being set with my wife in the kitchen my father comes and sat down there and dined with us. After dinner gives me an account of what he had done in his business of his house and goods, which is almost finished, and he the next week expects to be going down to Brampton again, which I am glad of because I fear the children of my Lord that are there for fear of any discontent. He being gone I to my office, and there very busy setting papers in order till late at night, only in the afternoon my wife sent for me home, to see her new laced gowne, that is her gown that is new laced; and indeed it becomes her very nobly, and is well made. I am much pleased with it. At night to supper, prayers, and to bed. 4th. Up, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's; and there spoke with him about W. Joyce, who told me he would do what was fit in so tender a point. I can yet discern a coldness in him to admit me to any discourse with him. Thence to Westminster, to the Painted Chamber, and there met the two Joyces. Will in a very melancholy taking. After a little discourse I to the Lords' House before they sat; and stood within it a good while, while the Duke of York came to me and spoke to me a good while about the new ship' at Woolwich. Afterwards I spoke with my Lord Barkeley and my Lord Peterborough about it. And so staid without a good while, and saw my Lady Peters, an impudent jade, soliciting all the Lords on her behalf. And at last W. Joyce was called in; and by the consequences, and what my Lord Peterborough told me, I find that he did speak all he said to his disadvantage, and so was committed to the Black Rod: which is very hard, he doing what he did by the advice of my Lord Peters' own steward. But the Sergeant of the Black Rod did direct one of his messengers to take him in custody, and so he was peaceably conducted to the Swan with two Necks, in Tuttle Street, to a handsome dining-room; and there was most civilly used, my uncle Fenner, and his brother Anthony, and some other friends being with him. But who would have thought that the fellow that I should have sworn could have spoken before all the world should in this be so daunted, as not to know what he said, and now to cry like a child. I protest, it is very strange to observe. I left them providing for his stay there to-night and getting a petition against tomorrow, and so away to Westminster Hall, and meeting Mr. Coventry, he took me to his chamber, with Sir William Hickeman, a member of their House, and a very civill gentleman. Here we dined very plentifully, and thence to White Hall to the Duke's, where we all met, and after some discourse of the condition of the Fleete, in order to a Dutch warr, for that, I perceive, the Duke hath a mind it should come to, we away to the office, where we sat, and I took care to rise betimes, and so by water to Halfway House, talking all the way good discourse with Mr. Wayth, and there found my wife, who was gone with her mayd Besse to have a walk. But, Lord! how my jealous mind did make me suspect that she might have some appointment to meet somebody. But I found the poor souls coming away thence, so I took them back, and eat and drank, and then home, and after at the office a while, I home to supper and to bed. It was a sad sight, me thought, to-day to see my Lord Peters coming out of the House fall out with his lady (from whom he is parted) about this business; saying that she disgraced him. But she hath been a handsome woman, and is, it seems, not only a lewd woman, but very high-spirited. 5th. Up very betimes, and walked to my cozen Anthony Joyce's, and thence with him to his brother Will, in Tuttle Street, where I find him pretty cheery over [what] he was yesterday (like a coxcomb), his wife being come to him, and having had his boy with him last night. Here I staid an hour or two and wrote over a fresh petition, that which was drawn by their solicitor not pleasing me, and thence to the Painted chamber, and by and by away by coach to my Lord Peterborough's, and there delivered the petition into his hand, which he promised most readily to deliver to the House today. Thence back, and there spoke to several Lords, and so did his solicitor (one that W. Joyce hath promised L5 to if he be released). Lord Peterborough presented a petition to the House from W. Joyce: and a great dispute, we hear, there was in the House for and against it. At last it was carried that he should be bayled till the House meets again after Easter, he giving bond for his appearance. This was not so good as we hoped, but as good as we could well expect. Anon comes the King and passed the Bill for repealing the Triennial Act, and another about Writs of Errour. I crowded in and heard the King's speech to them; but he speaks the worst that ever I heard man in my life worse than if he read it all, and he had it in writing in his hand. Thence, after the House was up, and I inquired what the order of the House was, I to W. Joyce,' with his brother, and told them all. Here was Kate come, and is a comely fat woman. I would not stay dinner, thinking to go home to dinner, and did go by water as far as the bridge, but thinking that they would take it kindly my being there, to be bayled for him if there was need, I returned, but finding them gone out to look after it, only Will and his wife and sister left and some friends that came to visit him, I to Westminster Hall, and by and by by agreement to Mrs. Lane's lodging, whither I sent for a lobster, and with Mr. Swayne and his wife eat it, and argued before them mightily for Hawly, but all would not do, although I made her angry by calling her old, and making her know what herself is. Her body was out of temper for any dalliance, and so after staying there 3 or 4 hours, but yet taking care to have my oath safe of not staying a quarter of an hour together with her, I went to W. Joyce, where I find the order come, and bayle (his father and brother) given; and he paying his fees, which come to above L2, besides L5 he is to give one man, and his charges of eating and drinking here, and 10s. a-day as many days as he stands under bayle: which, I hope, will teach him hereafter to hold his tongue better than he used to do. Thence with Anth. Joyce's wife alone home talking of Will's folly, and having set her down, home myself, where I find my wife dressed as if she had been abroad, but I think she was not, but she answering me some way that I did not like I pulled her by the nose, indeed to offend her, though afterwards to appease her I denied it, but only it was done in haste. The poor wretch took it mighty ill, and I believe besides wringing her nose she did feel pain, and so cried a great while, but by and by I made her friends, and so after supper to my office a while, and then home to bed. This day great numbers of merchants came to a Grand Committee of the House to bring in their claims against the Dutch. I pray God guide the issue to our good! 6th. Up and to my office, whither by and by came John Noble, my father's old servant, to speake with me. I smelling the business, took him home; and there, all alone, he told me how he had been serviceable to my brother Tom, in the business of his getting his servant, an ugly jade, Margaret, with child. She was brought to bed in St. Sepulchre's parish of two children; one is dead, the other is alive; her name Elizabeth, and goes by the name of Taylor, daughter to John Taylor. It seems Tom did a great while trust one Crawly with the business, who daily got money of him; and at last, finding himself abused, he broke the matter to J. Noble, upon a vowe of secresy. Tom's first plott was to go on the other side the water and give a beggar woman something to take the child. They did once go, but did nothing, J. Noble saying that seven years hence the mother might come to demand the child and force him to produce it, or to be suspected of murder. Then I think it was that they consulted, and got one Cave, a poor pensioner in St. Bride's parish to take it, giving him L5, he thereby promising to keepe it for ever without more charge to them. The parish hereupon indite the man Cave for bringing this child upon the parish, and by Sir Richard Browne he is sent to the Counter. Cave thence writes to Tom to get him out. Tom answers him in a letter of his owne hand, which J. Noble shewed me, but not signed by him, wherein he speaks of freeing him and getting security for him, but nothing as to the business of the child, or anything like it: so that forasmuch as I could guess, there is nothing therein to my brother's prejudice as to the main point, and therefore I did not labour to tear or take away the paper. Cave being released, demands L5 more to secure my brother for ever against the child; and he was forced to give it him and took bond of Cave in L100, made at a scrivener's, one Hudson, I think, in the Old Bayly, to secure John Taylor, and his assigns, &c. (in consideration of L10 paid him), from all trouble, or charge of meat, drink, clothes, and breeding of Elizabeth Taylor; and it seems, in the doing of it, J. Noble was looked upon as the assignee of this John Taylor. Noble says that he furnished Tom with this money, and is also bound by another bond to pay him 20s. more this next Easter Monday; but nothing for either sum appears under Tom's hand. I told him how I am like to lose a great sum by his death, and would not pay any more myself, but I would speake to my father about it against the afternoon. So away he went, and I all the morning in my office busy, and at noon home to dinner mightily oppressed with wind, and after dinner took coach and to Paternoster Row, and there bought a pretty silke for a petticoate for my wife, and thence set her down at the New Exchange, and I leaving the coat at Unthanke's, went to White Hall, but the Councell meeting at Worcester House I went thither, and there delivered to the Duke of Albemarle a paper touching some Tangier business, and thence to the 'Change for my wife, and walked to my father's, who was packing up some things for the country. I took him up and told him this business of Tom, at which the poor wretch was much troubled, and desired me that I would speak with J. Noble, and do what I could and thought fit in it without concerning him in it. So I went to Noble, and saw the bond that Cave did give and also Tom's letter that I mentioned above, and upon the whole I think some shame may come, but that it will be hard from any thing I see there to prove the child to be his. Thence to my father and told what I had done, and how I had quieted Noble by telling him that, though we are resolved to part with no more money out of our own purses, yet if he can make it appear a true debt that it may be justifiable for us to pay it, we will do our part to get it paid, and said that I would have it paid before my own debt. So my father and I both a little satisfied, though vexed to think what a rogue my brother was in all respects. I took my wife by coach home, and to my office, where late with Sir W. Warren, and so home to supper and to bed. I heard to-day that the Dutch have begun with us by granting letters of marke against us; but I believe it not. 7th. Up and to my office, where busy, and by and by comes Sir W. Warren and old Mr. Bond in order to the resolving me some questions about masts and their proportions, but he could say little to me to my satisfaction, and so I held him not long but parted. So to my office busy till noon and then to the 'Change, where high talke of the Dutch's protest against our Royall Company in Guinny, and their granting letters of marke against us there, and every body expects a warr, but I hope it will not yet be so, nor that this is true. Thence to dinner, where my wife got me a pleasant French fricassee of veal for dinner, and thence to the office, where vexed to see how Sir W. Batten ordered things this afternoon (vide my office book, for about this time I have begun, my notions and informations encreasing now greatly every day, to enter all occurrences extraordinary in my office in a book by themselves), and so in the evening after long discourse and eased my mind by discourse with Sir W. Warren, I to my business late, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up betimes and to the office, and anon, it begunn to be fair after a great shower this morning, Sir W. Batten and I by water (calling his son Castle by the way, between whom and I no notice at all of his letter the other day to me) to Deptford, and after a turn in the yard, I went with him to the Almes'-house to see the new building which he, with some ambition, is building of there, during his being Master of Trinity House; and a good worke it is, but to see how simply he answered somebody concerning setting up the arms of the corporation upon the door, that and any thing else he did not deny it, but said he would leave that to the master that comes after him. There I left him and to the King's yard again, and there made good inquiry into the business of the poop lanterns, wherein I found occasion to correct myself mightily for what I have done in the contract with the platerer, and am resolved, though I know not how, to make them to alter it, though they signed it last night, and so I took Stanes [Among the State Papers is a petition of Thomas Staine to the Navy Commissioners "for employment as plateworker in one or two dockyards. Has incurred ill-will by discovering abuses in the great rates given by the king for several things in the said trade. Begs the appointment, whereby it will be seen who does the work best and cheapest, otherwise he and all others will be discouraged from discovering abuses in future, with order thereon for a share of the work to be given to him" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 395)] home with me by boat and discoursed it, and he will come to reason when I can make him to understand it. No sooner landed but it fell a mighty storm of rain and hail, so I put into a cane shop and bought one to walk with, cost me 4s. 6d., all of one joint. So home to dinner, and had an excellent Good Friday dinner of peas porridge and apple pye. So to the office all the afternoon preparing a new book for my contracts, and this afternoon come home the office globes done to my great content. In the evening a little to visit Sir W. Pen, who hath a feeling this day or two of his old pain. Then to walk in the garden with my wife, and so to my office a while, and then home to the only Lenten supper I have had of wiggs--[Buns or teacakes.]--and ale, and so to bed. This morning betimes came to my office to me boatswain Smith of Woolwich, telling me a notable piece of knavery of the officers of the yard and Mr. Gold in behalf of a contract made for some old ropes by Mr. Wood, and I believe I shall find Sir W. Batten of the plot (vide my office daybook). [These note-books referred to in the Diary are not known to exist now.] 9th. The last night, whether it was from cold I got to-day upon the water I know not, or whether it was from my mind being over concerned with Stanes's business of the platery of the navy, for my minds was mighty troubled with the business all night long, I did wake about one o'clock in the morning, a thing I most rarely do, and pissed a little with great pain, continued sleepy, but in a high fever all night, fiery hot, and in some pain. Towards morning I slept a little and waking found myself better, but . . . . with some pain, and rose I confess with my clothes sweating, and it was somewhat cold too, which I believe might do me more hurt, for I continued cold and apt to shake all the morning, but that some trouble with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten kept me warm. At noon home to dinner upon tripes, and so though not well abroad with my wife by coach to her Tailor's and the New Exchange, and thence to my father's and spoke one word with him, and thence home, where I found myself sick in my stomach and vomited, which I do not use to do. Then I drank a glass or two of Hypocras, and to the office to dispatch some business, necessary, and so home and to bed, and by the help of Mithrydate slept very well. 10th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and my wife dressed herself, it being Easter day, but I not being so well as to go out, she, though much against her will, staid at home with me; for she had put on her new best gowns, which indeed is very fine now with the lace; and this morning her taylor brought home her other new laced silks gowns with a smaller lace, and new petticoats, I bought the other day both very pretty. We spent the day in pleasant talks and company one with another, reading in Dr. Fuller's book what he says of the family of the Cliffords and Kingsmills, and at night being myself better than I was by taking a glyster, which did carry away a great deal of wind, I after supper at night went to bed and slept well. 11th. Lay long talking with my wife, then up and to my chamber preparing papers against my father comes to lie here for discourse about country business. Dined well with my wife at home, being myself not yet thorough well, making water with some pain, but better than I was, and all my fear of an ague gone away. In the afternoon my father came to see us, and he gone I up to my morning's work again, and so in the evening a little to the office and to see Sir W. Batten, who is ill again, and so home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and after my wife had dressed herself very fine in her new laced gown, and very handsome indeed, W. Howe also coming to see us, I carried her by coach to my uncle Wight's and set her down there, and W. Howe and I to the Coffee-house, where we sat talking about getting of him some place under my Lord of advantage if he should go to sea, and I would be glad to get him secretary and to out Creed if I can, for he is a crafty and false rogue. Thence a little to the 'Change, and thence took him to my uncle Wight's, where dined my father, poor melancholy man, that used to be as full of life as anybody, and also my aunt's brother, Mr. Sutton, a merchant in Flanders, a very sober, fine man, and Mr. Cole and his lady; but, Lord! how I used to adore that man's talke, and now methinks he is but an ordinary man, his son a pretty boy indeed, but his nose unhappily awry. Other good company and an indifferent, and but indifferent dinner for so much company, and after dinner got a coach, very dear, it being Easter time and very foul weather, to my Lord's, and there visited my Lady, and leaving my wife there I and W. Howe to Mr. Pagett's, and there heard some musique not very good, but only one Dr. Walgrave, an Englishman bred at Rome, who plays the best upon the lute that I ever heard man. Here I also met Mr. Hill [Thomas Hill, a man whose taste for music caused him to be a very acceptable companion to Pepys. In January, 1664-65, he became assistant to the secretary of the Prize Office.] the little merchant, and after all was done we sung. I did well enough a Psalm or two of Lawes; he I perceive has good skill and sings well, and a friend of his sings a good base. Thence late walked with them two as far as my Lord's, thinking to take up my wife and carry them home, but there being no coach to be got away they went, and I staid a great while, it being very late, about 10 o'clock, before a coach could be got. I found my Lord and ladies and my wife at supper. My Lord seems very kind. But I am apt to think still the worst, and that it is only in show, my wife and Lady being there. So home, and find my father come to lie at our house; and so supped, and saw him, poor man, to bed, my heart never being fuller of love to him, nor admiration of his prudence and pains heretofore in the world than now, to see how Tom hath carried himself in his trade; and how the poor man hath his thoughts going to provide for his younger children and my mother. But I hope they shall never want. So myself and wife to bed. 13th. Though late, past 12, before we went to bed, yet I heard my poor father up, and so I rang up my people, and I rose and got something to eat and drink for him, and so abroad, it being a mighty foul day, by coach, setting my father down in Fleet Streete and I to St. James's, where I found Mr. Coventry (the Duke being now come thither for the summer) with a goldsmith, sorting out his old plate to change for new; but, Lord! what a deale he hath! I staid and had two or three hours discourse with him, talking about the disorders of our office, and I largely to tell him how things are carried by Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to my great grief. He seems much concerned also, and for all the King's matters that are done after the same rate every where else, and even the Duke's household matters too, generally with corruption, but most indeed with neglect and indifferency. I spoke very loud and clear to him my thoughts of Sir J. Minnes and the other, and trust him with the using of them. Then to talk of our business with the Dutch; he tells me fully that he believes it will not come to a warr; for first, he showed me a letter from Sir George Downing, his own hand, where he assures him that the Dutch themselves do not desire, but above all things fear it, and that they neither have given letters of marke against our shipps in Guinny, nor do De Ruyter [Michael De Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, was born 1607. He served under Tromp in the war against England in 1653, and was Lieutenant Admiral General of Holland in 1665. He died April 26th, 1676, of wounds received in a battle with the French off Syracuse. Among the State Papers is a news letter (dated July 14th, 1664) containing information as to the views of the Dutch respecting a war with England. "They are preparing many ships, and raising 6,000 men, and have no doubt of conquering by sea." "A wise man says the States know how to master England by sending moneys into Scotland for them to rebel, and also to the discontented in England, so as to place the King in the same straits as his father was, and bring him to agree with Holland" ("Calendar," 1663-64, p. 642).] stay at home with his fleet with an eye to any such thing, but for want of a wind, and is now come out and is going to the Streights. He tells me also that the most he expects is that upon the merchants' complaints, the Parliament will represent them to the King, desiring his securing of his subjects against them, and though perhaps they may not directly see fit, yet even this will be enough to let the Dutch know that the Parliament do not oppose the King, and by that means take away their hopes, which was that the King of England could not get money or do anything towards a warr with them, and so thought themselves free from making any restitution, which by this they will be deceived in. He tells me also that the Dutch states are in no good condition themselves, differing one with another, and that for certain none but the states of Holland and Zealand will contribute towards a warr, the others reckoning themselves, being inland, not concerned in the profits of warr or peace. But it is pretty to see what he says, that those here that are forward for a warr at Court, they are reported in the world to be only designers of getting money into the King's hands, they that elsewhere are for it have a design to trouble the kingdom and to give the Fanatiques an opportunity of doing hurt, and lastly those that are against it (as he himself for one is very cold therein) are said to be bribed by the Dutch. After all this discourse he carried me in his coach, it raining still, to, Charing Cross, and there put me into another, and I calling my father and brother carried them to my house to dinner, my wife keeping bed all day . . . . . All the afternoon at the office with W. Boddam looking over his particulars about the Chest of Chatham, which shows enough what a knave Commissioner Pett hath been all along, and how Sir W. Batten hath gone on in getting good allowance to himself and others out of the poors' money. Time will show all. So in the evening to see Sir W. Pen, and then home to my father to keep him company, he being to go out of town, and up late with him and my brother John till past 12 at night to make up papers of Tom's accounts fit to leave with my cozen Scott. At last we did make an end of them, and so after supper all to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and after my father's eating something, I walked out with him as far as Milk Streete, he turning down to Cripplegate to take coach; and at the end of the streete I took leave, being much afeard I shall not see him here any more, he do decay so much every day, and so I walked on, there being never a coach to be had till I came to Charing Cross, and there Col. Froud took me up and carried me to St. James's, where with Mr. Coventry and Povy, &c., about my Lord Peterborough's accounts, but, Lord! to see still what a puppy that Povy is with all his show is very strange. Thence to Whitehall and W. C[oventry] and I and Sir W. Rider resolved upon a day to meet and make an end of all the business. Thence walked with Creed to the Coffee-house in Covent Garden, where no company, but he told me many fine experiments at Gresham College; and some demonstration that the heat and cold of the weather do rarify and condense the very body of glasse, as in a bolt head' with cold water in it put into hot water, shall first by rarifying the glasse make the water sink, and then when the heat comes to the water makes that rise again, and then put into cold water makes the water by condensing the glass to rise, and then when the cold comes to the water makes it sink, which is very pretty and true, he saw it tried. Thence by coach home, and dined above with my wife by her bedside, she keeping her bed . . . . . So to the office, where a great conflict with Wood and Castle about their New England masts? So in the evening my mind a little vexed, but yet without reason, for I shall prevail, I hope, for the King's profit, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and all the morning with Captain Taylor at my house talking about things of the Navy, and among other things I showed him my letters to Mr. Coventry, wherein he acknowledges that nobody to this day did ever understand so much as I have done, and I believe him, for I perceive he did very much listen to every article as things new to him, and is contented to abide by my opinion therein in his great contest with us about his and Mr. Wood's masts. At noon to the 'Change, where I met with Mr. Hill, the little merchant, with whom, I perceive, I shall contract a musical acquaintance; but I will make it as little troublesome as I can. Home and dined, and then with my wife by coach to the Duke's house, and there saw "The German Princess" acted, by the woman herself; but never was any thing so well done in earnest, worse performed in jest upon the stage; and indeed the whole play, abating the drollery of him that acts her husband, is very simple, unless here and there a witty sprinkle or two. We met and sat by Dr. Clerke. Thence homewards, calling at Madam Turner's, and thence set my wife down at my aunt Wight's and I to my office till late, and then at to at night fetched her home, and so again to my office a little, and then to supper and to bed. 16th. Up and to the office, where all the morning upon the dispute of Mr. Wood's masts, and at noon with Mr. Coventry to the African House; and after a good and pleasant dinner, up with him, Sir W. Rider, the simple Povy, of all the most ridiculous foole that ever I knew to attend to business, and Creed and Vernatty, about my Lord Peterborough's accounts; but the more we look into them, the more we see of them that makes dispute, which made us break off, and so I home, and there found my wife and Besse gone over the water to Half-way house, and after them, thinking to have gone to Woolwich, but it was too late, so eat a cake and home, and thence by coach to have spoke with Tom Trice about a letter I met with this afternoon from my cozen Scott, wherein he seems to deny proceeding as my father's attorney in administering for him in my brother Tom's estate, but I find him gone out of town, and so returned vexed home and to the office, where late writing a letter to him, and so home and to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and I put on my best cloth black suit and my velvet cloake, and with my wife in her best laced suit to church, where we have not been these nine or ten weeks. The truth is, my jealousy hath hindered it, for fear she should see Pembleton. He was here to-day, but I think sat so as he could not see her, which did please me, God help me! mightily, though I know well enough that in reason this is nothing but my ridiculous folly. Home to dinner, and in the afternoon, after long consulting whether to go to Woolwich or no to see Mr. Falconer, but indeed to prevent my wife going to church, I did however go to church with her, where a young simple fellow did preach: I slept soundly all the sermon, and thence to Sir W. Pen's, my wife and I, there she talking with him and his daughter, and thence with my wife walked to my uncle Wight's and there supped, where very merry, but I vexed to see what charges the vanity of my aunt puts her husband to among her friends and nothing at all among ours. Home and to bed. Our parson, Mr. Mills, his owne mistake in reading of the service was very remarkable, that instead of saying, "We beseech thee to preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth," he cries, "Preserve to our use our gracious Queen Katherine." 18th. Up and by coach to Westminster, and there solicited W. Joyce's business again; and did speake to the Duke of Yorke about it, who did understand it very well. I afterwards did without the House fall in company with my Lady Peters, and endeavoured to mollify her; but she told me she would not, to redeem her from hell, do any thing to release him; but would be revenged while she lived, if she lived the age of Methusalem. I made many friends, and so did others. At last it was ordered by the Lords that it should be referred to the Committee of Privileges to consider. So I, after discoursing with the Joyces, away by coach to the 'Change; and there, among other things, do hear that a Jew hath put in a policy of four per cent. to any man, to insure him against a Dutch warr for four months; I could find in my heart to take him at this offer, but however will advise first, and to that end took coach to St. James's, but Mr. Coventry was gone forth, and I thence to Westminster Hall, where Mrs. Lane was gone forth, and so I missed of my intent to be with her this afternoon, and therefore meeting Mr. Blagrave, went home with him, and there he and his kinswoman sang, but I was not pleased with it, they singing methought very ill, or else I am grown worse to please than heretofore. Thence to the Hall again, and after meeting with several persons, and talking there, I to Mrs. Hunt's (where I knew my wife and my aunt Wight were about business), and they being gone to walk in the parke I went after them with Mrs. Hunt, who staid at home for me, and finding them did by coach, which I had agreed to wait for me, go with them all and Mrs. Hunt and a kinswoman of theirs, Mrs. Steward, to Hide Parke, where I have not been since last year; where I saw the King with his periwigg, but not altered at all; and my Lady Castlemayne in a coach by herself, in yellow satin and a pinner on; and many brave persons. And myself being in a hackney and full of people, was ashamed to be seen by the world, many of them knowing me. Thence in the evening home, setting my aunt at home, and thence we sent for a joynt of meat to supper, and thence to the office at 11 o'clock at night, and so home to bed. 19th. Up and to St. James's, where long with Mr. Coventry, Povy, &c., in their Tangier accounts, but such the folly of that coxcomb Povy that we could do little in it, and so parted for the time, and I to walk with Creed and Vernaty in the Physique Garden in St. James's Parke; where I first saw orange-trees, and other fine trees. So to Westminster Hall, and thence by water to the Temple, and so walked to the 'Change, and there find the 'Change full of news from Guinny, some say the Dutch have sunk our ships and taken our fort, and others say we have done the same to them. But I find by our merchants that something is done, but is yet a secret among them. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and at night with Captain Tayler consulting how to get a little money by letting him the Elias to fetch masts from New England. So home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and by coach to Westminster, and there solicited W. Joyce's business all the morning, and meeting in the Hall with Mr. Coventry, he told me how the Committee for Trade have received now all the complaints of the merchants against the Dutch, and were resolved to report very highly the wrongs they have done us (when, God knows! it is only our owne negligence and laziness that hath done us the wrong) and this to be made to the House to-morrow. I went also out of the Hall with Mrs. Lane to the Swan at Mrs. Herbert's in the Palace Yard to try a couple of bands, and did (though I had a mind to be playing the fool with her) purposely stay but a little while, and kept the door open, and called the master and mistress of the house one after another to drink and talk with me, and showed them both my old and new bands. So that as I did nothing so they are able to bear witness that I had no opportunity there to do anything. Thence by coach with Sir W. Pen home, calling at the Temple for Lawes's Psalms, which I did not so much (by being against my oath) buy as only lay down money till others be bound better for me, and by that time I hope to get money of the Treasurer of the Navy by bills, which, according to my oath, shall make me able to do it. At home dined, and all the afternoon at a Committee of the Chest, and at night comes my aunt and uncle Wight and Nan Ferrers and supped merrily with me, my uncle coming in an hour after them almost foxed. Great pleasure by discourse with them, and so, they gone, late to bed. 21st. Up pretty betimes and to my office, and thither came by and by Mr. Vernaty and staid two hours with me, but Mr. Gauden did not come, and so he went away to meet again anon. Then comes Mr. Creed, and, after some discourse, he and I and my wife by coach to Westminster (leaving her at Unthanke's, her tailor's) Hall, and there at the Lords' House heard that it is ordered, that, upon submission upon the knee both to the House and my Lady Peters, W. Joyce shall be released. I forthwith made him submit, and aske pardon upon his knees; which he did before several Lords. But my Lady would not hear it; but swore she would post the Lords, that the world might know what pitifull Lords the King hath; and that revenge was sweeter to her than milk; and that she would never be satisfied unless he stood in a pillory, and demand pardon there. But I perceive the Lords are ashamed of her, and so I away calling with my wife at a place or two to inquire after a couple of mayds recommended to us, but we found both of them bad. So set my wife at my uncle Wight's and I home, and presently to the 'Change, where I did some business, and thence to my uncle's and there dined very well, and so to the office, we sat all the afternoon, but no sooner sat but news comes my Lady Sandwich was come to see us, so I went out, and running up (her friend however before me) I perceive by my dear Lady blushing that in my dining-room she was doing something upon the pott, which I also was ashamed of, and so fell to some discourse, but without pleasure through very pity to my Lady. She tells me, and I find true since, that the House this day have voted that the King be desired to demand right for the wrong done us by the Dutch, and that they will stand by him with their lives fortunes: which is a very high vote, and more than I expected. What the issue will be, God knows! My Lady, my wife not being at home, did not stay, but, poor, good woman, went away, I being mightily taken with her dear visitt, and so to the office, where all the afternoon till late, and so to my office, and then to supper and to bed, thinking to rise betimes tomorrow. 22nd. Having directed it last night, I was called up this morning before four o'clock. It was full light enough to dress myself, and so by water against tide, it being a little coole, to Greenwich; and thence, only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingales. I did much business both at the Ropeyarde and the other, and on floate I discovered a plain cheat which in time I shall publish of Mr. Ackworth's. Thence, having visited Mr. Falconer also, who lies still sick, but hopes to be better, I walked to Greenwich, Mr. Deane with me. Much good discourse, and I think him a very just man, only a little conceited, but yet very able in his way, and so he by water also with me also to towne. I home, and immediately dressing myself, by coach with my wife to my Lord Sandwich's, but they having dined we would not 'light but went to Mrs. Turner's, and there got something to eat, and thence after reading part of a good play, Mrs. The., my wife and I, in their coach to Hide Parke, where great plenty of gallants, and pleasant it was, only for the dust. Here I saw Mrs. Bendy, my Lady Spillman's faire daughter that was, who continues yet very handsome. Many others I saw with great content, and so back again to Mrs. Turner's, and then took a coach and home. I did also carry them into St. James's Park and shewed them the garden. To my office awhile while supper was making ready, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Coronation day). Up, and after doing something at my office, and, it being a holiday, no sitting likely to be, I down by water to Sir W. Warren's, who hath been ill, and there talked long with him good discourse, especially about Sir W. Batten's knavery and his son Castle's ill language of me behind my back, saying that I favour my fellow traytours, but I shall be even with him. So home and to the 'Change, where I met with Mr. Coventry, who himself is now full of talke of a Dutch warr; for it seems the Lords have concurred in the Commons' vote about it; and so the next week it will be presented to the King, insomuch that he do desire we would look about to see what stores we lack, and buy what we can. Home to dinner, where I and my wife much troubled about my money that is in my Lord Sandwich's hand, for fear of his going to sea and be killed; but I will get what of it out I can. All the afternoon, not being well, at my office, and there doing much business, my thoughts still running upon a warr and my money. At night home to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning in my chamber setting some of my private papers in order, for I perceive that now publique business takes up so much of my time that I must get time a-Sundays or a-nights to look after my owne matters. Dined and spent all the afternoon talking with my wife, at night a little to the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's and there up to the Duke, and after he was ready to his closet, where most of our talke about a Dutch warr, and discoursing of things indeed now for it. The Duke, which gives me great good hopes, do talk of setting up a good discipline in the fleete. In the Duke's chamber there is a bird, given him by Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, comes from the East Indys, black the greatest part, with the finest collar of white about the neck; but talks many things and neyes like the horse, and other things, the best almost that ever I heard bird in my life. Thence down with Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Rider, who was there (going along with us from the East Indya house to-day) to discourse of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, and then walked over the Parke, and in Mr. Cutler's coach with him and Rider as far as the Strand, and thence I walked to my Lord Sandwich's, where by agreement I met my wife, and there dined with the young ladies; my Lady, being not well, kept her chamber. Much simple discourse at table among the young ladies. After dinner walked in the garden, talking, with Mr. Moore about my Lord's business. He told me my Lord runs in debt every day more and more, and takes little care how to come out of it. He counted to me how my Lord pays use now for above L9000, which is a sad thing, especially considering the probability of his going to sea, in great danger of his life, and his children, many of them, to provide for. Thence, the young ladies going out to visit, I took my wife by coach out through the city, discoursing how to spend the afternoon; and conquered, with much ado, a desire of going to a play; but took her out at White Chapel, and to Bednal Green; so to Hackney, where I have not been many a year, since a little child I boarded there. Thence to Kingsland, by my nurse's house, Goody Lawrence, where my brother Tom and I was kept when young. Then to Newington Green, and saw the outside of Mrs. Herbert's house, where she lived, and my Aunt Ellen with her; but, Lord! how in every point I find myself to over-value things when a child. Thence to Islington, and so to St. John's to the Red Bull, and there: saw the latter part of a rude prize fought, but with good pleasure enough; and thence back to Islington, and at the King's Head, where Pitts lived, we 'light and eat and drunk for remembrance of the old house sake, and so through Kingsland again, and so to Bishopsgate, and so home with great pleasure. The country mighty pleasant, and we with great content home, and after supper to bed, only a little troubled at the young ladies leaving my wife so to-day, and from some passages fearing my Lady might be offended. But I hope the best. 26th. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich's, and coming a little too early, I went and saw W. Joyce, and by and by comes in Anthony, they both owning a great deal of kindness received from me in their late business, and indeed I did what I could, and yet less I could not do. It has cost the poor man above L40; besides, he is likely to lose his debt. Thence to my Lord's, and by and by he comes down, and with him (Creed with us) I rode in his coach to St. James's, talking about W. Joyce's business mighty merry, and my Lady Peters, he says, is a drunken jade, he himself having seen her drunk in the lobby of their House. I went up with him to the Duke, where methought the Duke did not shew him any so great fondness as he was wont; and methought my Lord was not pleased that I should see the Duke made no more of him, not that I know any thing of any unkindnesse, but I think verily he is not as he was with him in his esteem. By and by the Duke went out and we with him through the Parke, and there I left him going into White Hall, and Creed and I walked round the Parke, a pleasant walk, observing the birds, which is very pleasant; and so walked to the New Exchange, and there had a most delicate dish of curds and creame, and discourse with the good woman of the house, a discreet well-bred woman, and a place with great delight I shall make it now and then to go thither. Thence up, and after a turn or two in the 'Change, home to the Old Exchange by coach, where great newes and true, I saw by written letters, of strange fires seen at Amsterdam in the ayre, and not only there, but in other places thereabout. The talke of a Dutch warr is not so hot, but yet I fear it will come to it at last. So home and to the office, where we sat late. My wife gone this afternoon to the buriall of my she-cozen Scott, a good woman; and it is a sad consideration how the Pepys's decay, and nobody almost that I know in a present way of encreasing them. At night late at my office, and so home to my wife to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and all the morning very busy with multitude of clients, till my head began to be overloaded. Towards noon I took coach and to the Parliament house door, and there staid the rising of the House, and with Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry discoursed of some tarr that I have been endeavouring to buy, for the market begins apace to rise upon us, and I would be glad first to serve the King well, and next if I could I find myself now begin to cast how to get a penny myself. Home by coach with Alderman Backewell in his coach, whose opinion is that the Dutch will not give over the business without putting us to some trouble to set out a fleete; and then, if they see we go on well, will seek to salve up the matter. Upon the 'Change busy. Thence home to dinner, and thence to the office till my head was ready to burst with business, and so with my wife by coach, I sent her to my Lady Sandwich and myself to my cozen Roger Pepys's chamber, and there he did advise me about our Exchequer business, and also about my brother John, he is put by my father upon interceding for him, but I will not yet seem the least to pardon him nor can I in my heart. However, he and I did talk how to get him a mandamus for a fellowship, which I will endeavour. Thence to my Lady's, and in my way met Mr. Sanchy, of Cambridge, whom I have not met a great while. He seems a simple fellow, and tells me their master, Dr. Rainbow, is newly made Bishop of Carlisle. To my Lady's, and she not being well did not see her, but straight home with my wife, and late to my office, concluding in the business of Wood's masts, which I have now done and I believe taken more pains in it than ever any Principall officer in this world ever did in any thing to no profit to this day. So, weary, sleepy, and hungry, home and to bed. This day the Houses attended the King, and delivered their votes to him: upon the business of the Dutch; and he thanks them, and promises an answer in writing. 28th. Up and close at my office all the morning. To the 'Change busy at noon, and so home to dinner, and then in the afternoon at the office till night, and so late home quite tired with business, and without joy in myself otherwise than that I am by God's grace enabled to go through it and one day, hope to have benefit by it. So home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Rider and Cutler to White Hall. Rider and I to St. James's, and there with Mr. Coventry did proceed strictly upon some fooleries of Mr. Povy's in my Lord Peterborough's accounts, which will touch him home, and I am glad of it, for he is the most troublesome impertinent man that ever I met with. Thence to the 'Change, and there, after some business, home to dinner, where Luellin and Mount came to me and dined, and after dinner my wife and I by coach to see my Lady Sandwich, where we find all the children and my Lord removed, and the house so melancholy that I thought my Lady had been dead, knowing that she was not well; but it seems she hath the meazles, and I fear the small pox, poor lady. It grieves me mightily; for it will be a sad houre to the family should she miscarry. Thence straight home and to the office, and in the evening comes Mr. Hill the merchant and another with him that sings well, and we sung some things, and good musique it seemed to me, only my mind too full of business to have much pleasure in it. But I will have more of it. They gone, and I having paid Mr. Moxon for the work he has done for the office upon the King's globes, I to my office, where very late busy upon Captain Tayler's bills for his masts, which I think will never off my hand. Home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, where, after business done, Sir W. Rider and Cutler took me to the Old James and there did give me a good dish of mackerell, the first I have seen this year, very good, and good discourse. After dinner we fell to business about their contract for tarr, in which and in another business of Sir W. Rider's, canvas, wherein I got him to contract with me, I held them to some terms against their wills, to the King's advantage, which I believe they will take notice of to my credit. Thence home, and by water by a gally down to Woolwich, and there a good while with Mr. Pett upon the new ship discoursing and learning of him. Thence with Mr. Deane to see Mr: Falconer, and there find him in a way to be well. So to the water (after much discourse with great content with Mr. Deane) and home late, and so to the office, wrote to, my father among other things my continued displeasure against my brother John, so that I will give him nothing more out of my own purse, which will trouble the poor man, but however it is fit that I should take notice of my brother's ill carriage to me. Then home and till 12 at night about my month's accounts, wherein I have just kept within compass, this having been a spending month. So my people being all abed I put myself to bed very sleepy. All the newes now is what will become of the Dutch business, whether warr or peace. We all seem to desire it, as thinking ourselves to have advantages at present over them; for my part I dread it. The Parliament promises to assist the King with lives and fortunes, and he receives it with thanks and promises to demand satisfaction of the Dutch. My poor Lady Sandwich is fallen sick three days since of the meazles. My Lord Digby's business is hushed up, and nothing made of it; he is gone, and the discourse quite ended. Never more quiet in my family all the days of my life than now, there being only my wife and I and Besse and the little girl Susan, the best wenches to our content that we can ever expect. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1664 May 1st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. Went not to church, but staid at home to examine my last night's accounts, which I find right, and that I am L908 creditor in the world, the same I was last month. Dined, and after dinner down by water with my wife and Besse with great pleasure as low as Greenwich and so back, playing as it were leisurely upon the water to Deptford, where I landed and sent my wife up higher to land below Half-way house. I to the King's yard and there spoke about several businesses with the officers, and so with Mr. Wayth consulting about canvas, to Half-way house where my wife was, and after eating there we broke and walked home before quite dark. So to supper, prayers, and to bed. 2nd. Lay pretty long in bed. So up and by water to St. James's, and there attended the Duke with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and having done our work with him walked to Westminster Hall, and after walking there and talking of business met Mr. Rawlinson and by coach to the 'Change, where I did some business, and home to dinner, and presently by coach to the King's Play-house to see "The Labyrinth," but, coming too soon, walked to my Lord's to hear how my Lady do, who is pretty well; at least past all fear. There by Captain Ferrers meeting with an opportunity of my Lord's coach, to carry us to the Parke anon, we directed it to come to the play-house door; and so we walked, my wife and I and Madamoiselle. I paid for her going in, and there saw "The Labyrinth," the poorest play, methinks, that ever I saw, there being nothing in it but the odd accidents that fell out, by a lady's being bred up in man's apparel, and a man in a woman's. Here was Mrs. Stewart, who is indeed very pretty, but not like my Lady Castlemayne, for all that. Thence in the coach to the Parke, where no pleasure; there being much dust, little company, and one of our horses almost spoiled by falling down, and getting his leg over the pole; but all mended presently, and after riding up and down, home. Set Madamoiselle at home; and we home, and to my office, whither comes Mr. Bland, and pays me the debt he acknowledged he owed me for my service in his business of the Tangier Merchant, twenty pieces of new gold, a pleasant sight. It cheered my heart; and he being gone, I home to supper, and shewed them my wife; and she, poor wretch, would fain have kept them to look on, without any other design but a simple love to them; but I thought it not convenient, and so took them into my own hand. So, after supper, to bed. 3rd. Up, and being ready, went by agreement to Mr. Bland's and there drank my morning draft in good chocollatte, and slabbering my band sent home for another, and so he and I by water to White Hall, and walked to St. James's, where met Creed and Vernatty, and by and by Sir W. Rider, and so to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and there upon my Lord Peterborough's accounts, where I endeavoured to shew the folly and punish it as much as I could of Mr. Povy; for, of all the men in the world, I never knew any man of his degree so great a coxcomb in such imployments. I see I have lost him forever, but I value it not; for he is a coxcomb, and, I doubt, not over honest, by some things which I see; and yet, for all his folly, he hath the good lucke, now and then, to speak his follies in as good words, and with as good a show, as if it were reason, and to the purpose, which is really one of the wonders of my life. Thence walked to Westminster Hall; and there, in the Lords' House, did in a great crowd, from ten o'clock till almost three, hear the cause of Mr. Roberts, my Lord Privy Seal's son, against Win, who by false ways did get the father of Mr. Roberts's wife (Mr. Bodvill) to give him the estate and disinherit his daughter. The cause was managed for my Lord Privy Seal by Finch the Solicitor [General]; but I do really think that he is truly a man of as great eloquence as ever I heard, or ever hope to hear in all my life. Thence, after long staying to speak with my Lord Sandwich, at last he coming out to me and speaking with me about business of my Lord Peterborough, I by coach home to the office, where all the afternoon, only stept home to eat one bit and to the office again, having eaten nothing before to-day. My wife abroad with my aunt Wight and Norbury. I in the evening to my uncle Wight's, and not finding them come home, they being gone to the Parke and the Mulberry garden, I went to the 'Change, and there meeting with Mr. Hempson, whom Sir W. Batten has lately turned out of his place, merely because of his coming to me when he came to town before he went to him, and there he told me many rogueries of Sir W. Batten, how he knows and is able to prove that Captain Cox of Chatham did give him L10 in gold to get him to certify for him at the King's coming in, and that Tom Newborne did make [the] poor men give him L3 to get Sir W. Batten to cause them to be entered in the yard, and that Sir W. Batten had oftentimes said: "by God, Tom, you shall get something and I will have some on't." His present clerk that is come in Norman's' room has given him something for his place; that they live high and (as Sir Francis Clerk's lady told his wife) do lack money as well as other people, and have bribes of a piece of sattin and cabinetts and other things from people that deal with him, and that hardly any body goes to see or hath anything done by Sir W. Batten but it comes with a bribe, and that this is publickly true that his wife was a whore, and that he had libells flung within his doors for a cuckold as soon as he was married; that he received L100 in money and in other things to the value of L50 more of Hempson, and that he intends to give him back but L50; that he hath abused the Chest and hath now some L1000 by him of it. I met also upon the 'Change with Mr. Cutler, and he told me how for certain Lawson hath proclaimed warr again with Argier, though they had at his first coming given back the ships which they had taken, and all their men; though they refused afterwards to make him restitution for the goods which they had taken out of them. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and he not being at home I went with Mr. Norbury near hand to the Fleece, a mum house in Leadenhall, and there drunk mum and by and by broke up, it being about 11 o'clock at night, and so leaving them also at home, went home myself and to bed. 4th. Up, and my new Taylor, Langford, comes and takes measure of me for a new black cloth suit and cloake, and I think he will prove a very carefull fellow and will please me well. Thence to attend my Lord Peterborough in bed and give him an account of yesterday's proceeding with Povy. I perceive I labour in a business will bring me little pleasure; but no matter, I shall do the King some service. To my Lord's lodgings, where during my Lady's sickness he is, there spoke with him about the same business. Back and by water to my cozen Scott's. There condoled with him the loss of my cozen, his wife, and talked about his matters, as atturney to my father, in his administering to my brother Tom. He tells me we are like to receive some shame about the business of his bastarde with Jack Noble; but no matter, so it cost us no money. Thence to the Coffee-house and to the 'Change a while. News uncertain how the Dutch proceed. Some say for, some against a war. The plague increases at Amsterdam. So home to dinner, and after dinner to my office, where very late, till my eyes (which begin to fail me nowadays by candlelight) begin to trouble me. Only in the afternoon comes Mr. Peter Honiwood to see me and gives me 20s., his and his friends' pence for my brother John, which, God forgive my pride, methinks I think myself too high to take of him; but it is an ungratefull pitch of pride in me, which God forgive. Home at night to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes to my office, busy, and so abroad to change some plate for my father to send to-day by the carrier to Brampton, but I observe and do fear it may be to my wrong that I change spoons of my uncle Robert's into new and set a P upon them that thereby I cannot claim them hereafter, as it was my brother Tom's practice. However, the matter of this is not great, and so I did it. So to the 'Change, and meeting Sir W. Warren, with him to a taverne, and there talked, as we used to do, of the evils the King suffers in our ordering of business in the Navy, as Sir W. Batten now forces us by his knavery. So home to dinner, and to the office, where all the afternoon, and thence betimes home, my eyes beginning every day to grow less and less able to bear with long reading or writing, though it be by daylight; which I never observed till now. So home to my wife, and after supper to bed. 6th. This morning up and to my office, where Sympson my joyner came to work upon altering my closet, which I alter by setting the door in another place, and several other things to my great content. Busy at it all day, only in the afternoon home, and there, my books at the office being out of order, wrote letters and other businesses. So at night with my head full of the business of my closet home to bed, and strange it is to think how building do fill my mind and put out all other things out of my thoughts. 7th. Betimes at my office with the joyners, and giving order for other things about it. By and by we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and after dinner comes Deane of Woolwich, and I spent, as I had appointed, all the afternoon with him about instructions which he gives me to understand the building of a ship, and I think I shall soon understand it. In the evening a little to my office to see how the work goes forward there, and then home and spent the evening also with Mr. Deane, and had a good supper, and then to bed, he lying at my house. 8th (Lord's day). This day my new tailor, Mr. Langford, brought me home a new black cloth suit and cloake lined with silk moyre, and he being gone, who pleases me very well with his work and I hope will use me pretty well, then Deane and I to my chamber, and there we repeated my yesterday's lesson about ships all the morning, and I hope I shall soon understand it. At noon to dinner, and strange how in discourse he cries up chymistry from some talk he has had with an acquaintance of his, a chymist, when, poor man, he understands not one word of it. But I discern very well that it is only his good nature, but in this of building ships he hath taken great pains, more than most builders I believe have. After dinner he went away, and my wife and I to church, and after church to Sir W. Pen, and there sat and talked with him, and the perfidious rogue seems, as he do always, mightily civil to us, though I know he hates and envies us. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 9th. Up and to my office all the morning, and there saw several things done in my work to my great content, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner in Sir W. Pen's coach he set my wife and I down at the New Exchange, and after buying some things we walked to my Lady Sandwich's, who, good lady, is now, thanks be to God! so well as to sit up, and sent to us, if we were not afeard, to come up to her. So we did; but she was mightily against my wife's coming so near her; though, poor wretch! she is as well as ever she was, as to the meazles, and nothing can I see upon her face. There we sat talking with her above three hours, till six o'clock, of several things with great pleasure and so away, and home by coach, buying several things for my wife in our way, and so after looking what had been done in my office to-day, with good content home to supper and to bed. But, strange, how I cannot get any thing to take place in my mind while my work lasts at my office. This day my wife and I in our way to Paternoster Row to buy things called upon Mr. Hollyard to advise upon her drying up her issue in her leg, which inclines of itself to dry up, and he admits of it that it should be dried up. 10th. Up and at my office looking after my workmen all the morning, and after the office was done did the same at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and all day, both forenoon and afternoon, at my office to see it finished by the joyners and washed and every thing in order, and indeed now my closet is very convenient and pleasant for me. My uncle Wight came to me to my office this afternoon to speak with me about Mr. Maes's business again, and from me went to my house to see my wife, and strange to think that my wife should by and by send for me after he was gone to tell me that he should begin discourse of her want of children and his also, and how he thought it would be best for him and her to have one between them, and he would give her L500 either in money or jewells beforehand, and make the child his heir. He commended her body, and discoursed that for all he knew the thing was lawful. She says she did give him a very warm answer, such as he did not excuse himself by saying that he said this in jest, but told her that since he saw what her mind was he would say no more to her of it, and desired her to make no words of it. It seemed he did say all this in a kind of counterfeit laugh, but by all words that passed, which I cannot now so well set down, it is plain to me that he was in good earnest, and that I fear all his kindness is but only his lust to her. What to think of it of a sudden I know not, but I think not to take notice yet of it to him till I have thought better of it. So with my mind and head a little troubled I received a letter from Mr. Coventry about a mast for the Duke's yacht, which with other business makes me resolve to go betimes to Woolwich to-morrow. So to supper and to bed. 12th. Up by 4 o'clock and by water to Woolwich, where did some business and walked to Greenwich, good discourse with Mr. Deane best part of the way; there met by appointment Commissioner Pett, and with him to Deptford, where did also some business, and so home to my office, and at noon Mrs. Hunt and her cozens child and mayd came and dined with me. My wife sick . . . in bed. I was troubled with it, but, however, could not help it, but attended them till after dinner, and then to the office and there sat all the afternoon, and by a letter to me this afternoon from Mr. Coventry I saw the first appearance of a warr with Holland. So home; and betimes to bed because of rising to-morrow. 13th. Up before three o'clock, and a little after upon the water, it being very light as at noon, and a bright sunrising; but by and by a rainbow appeared, the first that ever in a morning I saw, and then it fell a-raining a little, but held up again, and I to Woolwich, where before all the men came to work I with Mr. Deane spent two hours upon the new ship, informing myself in the names and natures of many parts of her to my great content, and so back again, without doing any thing else, and after shifting myself away to Westminster, looking after Mr. Maes's business and others. In the Painted Chamber I heard a fine conference between some of the two Houses upon the Bill for Conventicles. The Lords would be freed from having their houses searched by any but the Lord Lieutenant of the County; and upon being found guilty, to be tried only by their peers; and thirdly, would have it added, that whereas the Bill says, "That that, among other things, shall be a conventicle wherein any such meeting is found doing any thing contrary to the Liturgy of the Church of England," they would have it added, "or practice." The Commons to the Lords said, that they knew not what might hereafter be found out which might be called the practice of the Church of England; for there are many things may be said to be the practice of the Church, which were never established by any law, either common, statute, or canon; as singing of psalms, binding up prayers at the end of the Bible, and praying extempore before and after sermon: and though these are things indifferent, yet things for aught they at present know may be started, which may be said to be the practice of the Church which would not be fit to allow. For the Lords' priviledges, Mr. Walter told them how tender their predecessors had been of the priviledges of the Lords; but, however, where the peace of the kingdom stands in competition with them, they apprehend those priviledges must give place. He told them that he thought, if they should owne all to be the priviledges of the Lords which might be demanded, they should be led like the man (who granted leave to his neighbour to pull off his horse's tail, meaning that he could not do it at once) that hair by hair had his horse's tail pulled off indeed: so the Commons, by granting one thing after another, might be so served by the Lords. Mr. Vaughan, whom I could not to my grief perfectly hear, did say, if that they should be obliged in this manner to, exempt the Lords from every thing, it would in time come to pass that whatever (be [it] never so great) should be voted by the Commons as a thing penall for a commoner, the contrary should be thought a priviledge to the Lords: that also in this business, the work of a conventicle being but the work of an hour, the cause of a search would be over before a Lord Lieutenant, who may be many miles off, can be sent for; and that all this dispute is but about L100; for it is said in the Act, that it shall be banishment or payment of L100. I thereupon heard the Duke of Lenox say, that there might be Lords who could not always be ready to lose L100, or some such thing: They broke up without coming to any end in it. There was also in the Commons' House a great quarrel about Mr. Prin, and it was believed that he should have been sent to the Towre, for adding something to a Bill (after it was ordered to be engrossed) of his own head--a Bill for measures for wine and other things of that sort, and a Bill of his owne bringing in; but it appeared he could not mean any hurt in it. But, however, the King was fain to write in his behalf, and all was passed over. But it is worth my remembrance, that I saw old Ryly the Herald, and his son; and spoke to his son, who told me in very bad words concerning Mr. Prin, that the King had given him an office of keeping the Records; but that he never comes thither, nor had been there these six months: so that I perceive they expect to get his imployment from him. Thus every body is liable to be envied and supplanted. At noon over to the Leg, where Sir G. Ascue, Sir Robt. Parkhurst and Sir W. Pen dined. A good dinner and merry. Thence to White Hall walking up and down a great while, but the Council not meeting soon enough I went homeward, calling upon my cozen Roger Pepys, with whom I talked and heard so much from him of his desire that I would see my brother's debts paid, and things still of that nature tending to my parting with what I get with pain to serve others' expenses that I was cruelly vexed. Thence to Sir R. Bernard, and there heard something of Pigott's delay of paying our money, that that also vexed me mightily. So home and there met with a letter from my cozen Scott, which tells me that he is resolved to meddle no more with our business, of administering for my father, which altogether makes me almost distracted to think of the trouble that I am like to meet with by other folks' business more than ever I hope to have by my owne. So with great trouble of mind to bed. 14th. Up, full of pain, I believe by cold got yesterday. So to the office, where we sat, and after office home to dinner, being in extraordinary pain. After dinner my pain increasing I was forced to go to bed, and by and by my pain rose to be as great for an hour or two as ever I remember it was in any fit of the stone, both in the lower part of my belly and in my back also. No wind could I break. I took a glyster, but it brought away but a little, and my height of pain followed it. At last after two hours lying thus in most extraordinary anguish, crying and roaring, I know not what, whether it was my great sweating that may do it, but upon getting by chance, among my other tumblings, upon my knees, in bed, my pain began to grow less and less, till in an hour after I was in very little pain, but could break no wind, nor make any water, and so continued, and slept well all night. 15th (Lord's day). Rose, and as I had intended without reference to this pain, took physique, and it wrought well with me, my wife lying from me to-night, the first time she did in the same house ever since we were married, I think (unless while my father was in town, that he lay with me). She took physique also to-day, and both of our physiques wrought well, so we passed our time to-day, our physique having done working, with some pleasure talking, but I was not well, for I could make no water yet, but a drop or two with great pain, nor break any wind. In the evening came Mr. Vernatty to see me and discourse about my Lord Peterborough's business, and also my uncle Wight and Norbury, but I took no notice nor showed any different countenance to my uncle Wight, or he to me, for all that he carried himself so basely to my wife the last week, but will take time to make my use of it. So, being exceeding hot, to bed, and slept well. 16th. Forced to rise because of going to the Duke to St. James's, where we did our usual business, and thence by invitation to Mr. Pierces the chyrurgeon, where I saw his wife, whom I had not seen in many months before. She holds her complexion still, but in everything else, even in this her new house and the best rooms in it, and her closet which her husband with some vainglory took me to show me, she continues the eeriest slattern that ever I knew in my life. By and by we to see an experiment of killing a dogg by letting opium into his hind leg. He and Dr. Clerke did fail mightily in hitting the vein, and in effect did not do the business after many trials; but with the little they got in, the dogg did presently fall asleep, and so lay till we cut him up, and a little dogg also, which they put it down his throate; he also staggered first, and then fell asleep, and so continued. Whether he recovered or no, after I was gone, I know not, but it is a strange and sudden effect. Thence walked to Westminster Hall, where the King was expected to come to prorogue the House, but it seems, afterwards I hear, he did not come. I promised to go again to Mr. Pierce's, but my pain grew so great, besides a bruise I got to-day in my right testicle, which now vexes me as much as the other, that I was mighty melancholy, and so by coach home and there took another glyster, but find little good by it, but by sitting still my pain of my bruise went away, and so after supper to bed, my wife and I having talked and concluded upon sending my father an offer of having Pall come to us to be with us for her preferment, if by any means I can get her a husband here, which, though it be some trouble to us, yet it will be better than to have her stay there till nobody will have her and then be flung upon my hands. 17th. Slept well all night and lay long, then rose and wrote my letter to my father about Pall, as we had resolved last night. So to dinner and then to the office, finding myself better than I was, and making a little water, but not yet breaking any great store of wind, which I wonder at, for I cannot be well till I do do it. After office home and to supper and with good ease to bed, and endeavoured to tie my hands that I might not lay them out of bed, by which I believe I have got cold, but I could not endure it. 18th. Up and within all the morning, being willing to keep as much as I could within doors, but receiving a very wakening letter from Mr. Coventry about fitting of ships, which speaks something like to be done, I went forth to the office, there to take order in things, and after dinner to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, but did little. So home again and to Sir W. Pen, who, among other things of haste in this new order for ships, is ordered to be gone presently to Portsmouth to look after the work there. I staid to discourse with him, and so home to supper, where upon a fine couple of pigeons, a good supper; and here I met a pretty cabinet sent me by Mr. Shales, which I give my wife, the first of that sort of goods I ever had yet, and very conveniently it comes for her closett. I staid up late finding out the private boxes, but could not do some of them, and so to bed, afraid that I have been too bold to-day in venturing in the cold. This day I begun to drink butter-milke and whey, and I hope to find great good by it. 19th. Up, and it being very rayny weather, which makes it cooler than it was, by coach to Charing Cross with Sir W. Pen, who is going to Portsmouth this day, and left him going to St. James's to take leave of the Duke, and I to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier; where God forgive how our Report of my Lord Peterborough's accounts was read over and agreed to by the Lords, without one of them understanding it! And had it been what it would, it had gone: and, besides, not one thing touching the King's profit in it minded or hit upon. Thence by coach home again, and all the morning at the office, sat, and all the afternoon till 9 at night, being fallen again to business, and I hope my health will give me leave to follow it. So home to supper and to bed, finding myself pretty well. A pretty good stool, which I impute to my whey to-day, and broke wind also. 20th. Up and to my office, whither by and by comes Mr. Cholmely, and staying till the rest of the company come he told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is turned out of the Court, not [to] return again. His fault, I perceive, was his pride, and most of all his affecting to seem great with the Queene and it seems indeed had more of her eare than any body else, and would be with her talking alone two or three hours together; insomuch that the Lords about the King, when he would be jesting with them about their wives, would tell the King that he must have a care of his wife too, for she hath now the gallant: and they say the King himself did once ask Montagu how his mistress (meaning the Queene) did. He grew so proud, and despised every body, besides suffering nobody, he or she, to get or do any thing about the Queene, that they all laboured to do him a good turn. They also say that he did give some affront to the Duke of Monmouth, which the King himself did speak to him of. But strange it is that this man should, from the greatest negligence in the world, come to be the miracle of attendance, so as to take all offices from everybody, either men or women, about the Queene. Insomuch that he was observed as a miracle, but that which is the worst, that which in a wise manner performed [would] turn to his greatest advantage, was by being so observed employed to his greatest wrong, the world concluding that there must be something more than ordinary to cause him to do this. So he is gone, nobody pitying but laughing at him; and he pretends only that he is gone to his father, that is sick in the country. By and by comes Povy, Creed, and Vernatty, and so to their accounts, wherein more trouble and vexation with Povy. That being done, I sent them going and myself fell to business till dinner. So home to dinner very pleasant. In the afternoon to my office, where busy again, and by and by came a letter from my father so full of trouble for discontents there between my mother and servants, and such troubles to my father from hence from Cave that hath my brother's bastard that I know not what in the world to do, but with great trouble, it growing night, spent some time walking, and putting care as much as I could out of my head, with my wife in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, called by Mr. Cholmely, and walked with him in the garden till others came to another Committee of Tangier, as we did meet as we did use to do, to see more of Povy's folly, and so broke up, and at the office sat all the morning, Mr. Coventry with us, and very hot we are getting out some ships. At noon to the 'Change, and there did some business, and thence home to dinner, and so abroad with my wife by coach to the New Exchange, and there laid out almost 40s. upon her, and so called to see my Lady Sandwich, whom we found in her dining-room, which joyed us mightily; but she looks very thin, poor woman, being mightily broke. She told us that Mr. Montagu is to return to Court, as she hears, which I wonder at, and do hardly believe. So home and to my office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up and by water to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, and with him walked to White Hall without any great discourse, nor do I find that he do mind business at all. Here the Duke of Yorke called me to him, to ask me whether I did intend to go with him to Chatham or no. I told him if he commanded, but I did believe there would be business here for me, and so he told me then it would be better to stay, which I suppose he will take better than if I had been forward to go. Thence, after staying and seeing the throng of people to attend the King to Chappell (but, Lord! what a company of sad, idle people they are) I walked to St. James's with Colonell Remes, where staid a good while and then walked to White Hall with Mr. Coventry, talking about business. So meeting Creed, took him with me home and to dinner, a good dinner, and thence by water to Woolwich, where mighty kindly received by Mrs. Falconer and her husband, who is now pretty well again, this being the first time I ever carried my wife thither. I walked to the Docke, where I met Mrs. Ackworth alone at home, and God forgive me! what thoughts I had, but I had not the courage to stay, but went to Mr. Pett's and walked up and down the yard with him and Deane talking about the dispatch of the ships now in haste, and by and by Creed and my wife and a friend of Mr. Falconer's came with the boat and called me, and so by water to Deptford, where I landed, and after talking with others walked to Half-way house with Mr. Wayth talking about the business of his supplying us with canvas, and he told me in discourse several instances of Sir W. Batten's cheats. So to Half-way house, whither my wife and them were gone before, and after drinking there we walked, and by water home, sending Creed and the other with the boat home. Then wrote a letter to Mr. Coventry, and so a good supper of pease, the first I eat this year, and so to bed. 23rd. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself met and did business, we being in a mighty hurry. The King is gone down with the Duke and a great crew this morning by break of day to Chatham. Towards noon I and my wife by water to Woolwich, leaving my wife at Mr. Falconer's, and Mr. Hater and I with some officers of the yard on board to see several ships how ready they are. Then to Mr. Falconer's to a good dinner, having myself carried them a vessel of sturgeon and a Lamprey pie, and then to the Yarde again, and among other things did at Mr. Ackworth's obtain a demonstration of his being a knave; but I did not discover it, till it be a little more seasonable. So back to the Ropeyard and took my wife and Mr. Hater back, it raining mighty hard of a sudden, but we with the tilt [Tilt (A.S. teld) represents a tent or awning. It was used for a cloth covering for a cart or waggon, or for a canopy or awning over a portion of a boat.] kept ourselves dry. So to Deptford, did some business there; but, Lord! to see how in both places the King's business, if ever it should come to a warr, is likely to be done, there not being a man that looks or speaks like a man that will take pains, or use any forecast to serve the King, at which I am heartily troubled. So home, it raining terribly, but we still dry, and at the office late discoursing with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, who like a couple of sots receive all I say but to little purpose. So late home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes and I sat all the morning, and after dinner thither again, and all the afternoon hard at the office till night, and so tired home to supper and to bed. This day I heard that my uncle Fenner is dead, which makes me a little sad, to see with what speed a great many of my friends are gone, and more, I fear, for my father's sake, are going. 25th. Took physique betimes and to sleep, then up, it working all the morning. At noon dined, and in the afternoon in my chamber spending two or three hours to look over some unpleasant letters and things of trouble to answer my father in, about Tom's business and others, that vexed me, but I did go through it and by that means eased my mind very much. This afternoon also came Tom and Charles Pepys by my sending for, and received of me L40 in part towards their L70 legacy of my uncle's. Spent the evening talking with my wife, and so to bed. 26th. Up to the office, where we sat, and I had some high words with Sir W. Batten about canvas, wherein I opposed him and all his experience, about seams in the middle, and the profit of having many breadths and narrow, which I opposed to good purpose, to the rejecting of the whole business. At noon home to dinner, and thence took my wife by coach, and she to my Lady Sandwich to see her. I to Tom Trice, to discourse about my father's giving over his administration to my brother, and thence to Sir R. Bernard, and there received L19 in money, and took up my father's bond of L21, that is L40, in part of Piggot's L209 due to us, which L40 he pays for 7 roods of meadow in Portholme. Thence to my wife, and carried her to the Old Bayly, and there we were led to the Quest House, by the church, where all the kindred were by themselves at the buriall of my uncle Fenner; but, Lord! what a pitiful rout of people there was of them, but very good service and great company the whole was. And so anon to church, and a good sermon, and so home, having for ease put my L19 into W. Joyce's hand, where I left it. So to supper and to bed, being in a little pain from some cold got last night lying without anything upon my feet. 27th. Up, not without some pain by cold, which makes me mighty melancholy, to think of the ill state of my health. To the office, where busy till my brains ready to drop with variety of business, and vexed for all that to see the service like to suffer by other people's neglect. Vexed also at a letter from my father with two troublesome ones enclosed from Cave and Noble, so that I know not what to do therein. At home to dinner at noon. But to comfort my heart, Captain Taylor this day brought me L20 he promised me for my assistance to him about his masts. After dinner to the office again, and thence with Mr. Wayth to St. Catherine's to see some variety of canvas's, which indeed was worth my seeing, but only I was in some pain, and so took not the delight I should otherwise have done. So home to the office, and there busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning my taylor brought me a very tall mayde to be my cook-mayde; she asked L5, but my wife offered her but L3 10s.--whether she will take it or no I know not till to-morrow, but I am afeard she will be over high for us, she having last been a chamber mayde, and holds up her head, as my little girle Su observed. 28th. Up pretty well as to pain and wind, and to the office, where we sat close and did much business. At noon I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Cutler's, where I heard Sir W. Rider was, where I found them at dinner and dined with them, he having yesterday and to-day a fit of a pain like the gout, the first time he ever had it. A good dinner. Good discourse, Sir W. Rider especially much fearing the issue of a Dutch warr, wherein I very highly commend him. Thence home, and at the office a while, and then with Mr. Deane to a second lesson upon my Shipwrightry, wherein I go on with great pleasure. He being gone I to the office late, and so home to supper and to bed. But, Lord! to see how my very going to the 'Change, and being without my gowne, presently brought me wind and pain, till I came home and was well again; but I am come to such a pass that I shall not know what to do with myself, but I am apt to think that it is only my legs that I take cold in from my having so long worn a gowne constantly. 29th (Whitsunday. King's Birth and Restauration day). Up, and having received a letter last night desiring it from Mr. Coventry, I walked to St. James's, and there he and I did long discourse together of the business of the office, and the warr with the Dutch; and he seemed to argue mightily with the little reason that there is for all this. For first, as to the wrong we pretend they have done us: that of the East Indys, for their not delivering of Poleron, it is not yet known whether they have failed or no; that of their hindering the Leopard cannot amount to above L3,000 if true; that of the Guinny Company, all they had done us did not amount to above L200 or L300 he told me truly; and that now, from what Holmes, without any commission, hath done in taking an island and two forts, hath set us much in debt to them; and he believes that Holmes will have been so puffed up with this, that he by this time hath been enforced with more strength than he had then, hath, I say, done a great deale more wrong to them. He do, as to the effect of the warr, tell me clearly that it is not any skill of the Dutch that can hinder our trade if we will, we having so many advantages over them, of winds, good ports, and men; but it is our pride, and the laziness of the merchant. He seems to think that there may be some negotiation which may hinder a warr this year, but that he speaks doubtfully as unwilling I perceive to be thought to discourse any such thing. The main thing he desired to speake with me about was, to know whether I do understand my Lord Sandwich's intentions as to going to sea with this fleete; saying, that the Duke, if he desires it, is most willing to it; but thinking that twelve ships is not a fleete fit for my Lord to be troubled to go out with, he is not willing to offer it to him till he hath some intimations of his mind to go, or not. He spoke this with very great respect as to my Lord, though methinks it is strange they should not understand one another better at this time than to need another's mediation. Thence walked over the Parke to White Hall, Mr. Povy with me, and was taken in a very great showre in the middle of the Parke that we were very wet. So up into, the house and with him to the King's closett, whither by and by the King came, my Lord Sandwich carrying the sword. A Bishopp preached, but he speaking too low for me to hear behind the King's closett, I went forth and walked and discoursed with Colonell Reames, who seems a very willing man to be informed in his business of canvas, which he is undertaking to strike in with us to serve the Navy. By and by my Lord Sandwich came forth, and called me to him: and we fell into discourse a great while about his business, wherein he seems to be very open with me, and to receive my opinion as he used to do; and I hope I shall become necessary to him again. He desired me to think of the fitness, or not, for him to offer himself to go to sea; and to give him my thoughts in a day or two. Thence after sermon among the ladies on the Queene's side; where I saw Mrs. Stewart, very fine and pretty, but far beneath my Lady Castlemayne. Thence with Mr. Povy home to dinner; where extraordinary cheer. And after dinner up and down to see his house. And in a word, methinks, for his perspective upon his wall in his garden, and the springs rising up with the perspective in the little closett; his room floored above with woods of several colours, like but above the best cabinet-work I ever saw; his grotto and vault, with his bottles of wine, and a well therein to keep them cool; his furniture of all sorts; his bath at the top of his house, good pictures, and his manner of eating and drinking; do surpass all that ever I did see of one man in all my life. Thence walked home and found my uncle Wight and Mr. Rawlinson, who supped with me. They being gone, I to bed, being in some pain from my being so much abroad to-day, which is a most strange thing that in such warm weather the least ayre should get cold and wind in me. I confess it makes me mighty sad and out of all content in the world. 30th. Lay long, the bells ringing, it being holiday, and then up and all the day long in my study at home studying of shipmaking with great content till the evening, and then came Mr. Howe and sat and then supped with me. He is a little conceited, but will make a discreet man. He being gone, a little to my office, and then home to bed, being in much pain from yesterday's being abroad, which is a consideration of mighty sorrow to me. 31st. Up, and called upon Mr. Hollyard, with whom I advised and shall fall upon some course of doing something for my disease of the wind, which grows upon me every day more and more. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, and while he was dressing I below discoursed with Captain Cooke, and I think if I do find it fit to keep a boy at all I had as good be supplied from him with one as any body. By and by up to my Lord, and to discourse about his going to sea, and the message I had from Mr. Coventry to him. He wonders, as he well may, that this course should be taken, and he every day with the Duke, who, nevertheless, seems most friendly to him, who hath not yet spoke one word to my Lord of his desire to have him go to sea. My Lord do tell me clearly that were it not that he, as all other men that were of the Parliament side, are obnoxious to reproach, and so is forced to bear what otherwise he would not, he would never suffer every thing to be done in the Navy, and he never be consulted; and it seems, in the naming of all these commanders for this fleete, he hath never been asked one question. But we concluded it wholly inconsistent with his honour not to go with this fleete, nor with the reputation which the world hath of his interest at Court; and so he did give me commission to tell Mr. Coventry that he is most willing to receive any commands from the Duke in this fleete, were it less than it is, and that particularly in this service. With this message I parted, and by coach to the office, where I found Mr. Coventry, and told him this. Methinks, I confess, he did not seem so pleased with it as I expected, or at least could have wished, and asked me whether I had told my Lord that the Duke do not expect his going, which I told him I had. But now whether he means really that the Duke, as he told me the other day, do think the Fleete too small for him to take or that he would not have him go, I swear I cannot tell. But methinks other ways might have been used to put him by without going in this manner about it, and so I hope it is out of kindness indeed. Dined at home, and so to the office, where a great while alone in my office, nobody near, with Bagwell's wife of Deptford, but the woman seems so modest that I durst not offer any courtship to her, though I had it in my mind when I brought her in to me. But I am resolved to do her husband a courtesy, for I think he is a man that deserves very well. So abroad with my wife by coach to St. James's, to one Lady Poultny's, where I found my Lord, I doubt, at some vain pleasure or other. I did give him a short account of what I had done with Mr. Coventry, and so left him, and to my wife again in the coach, and with her to the Parke, but the Queene being gone by the Parke to Kensington, we staid not but straight home and to supper (the first time I have done so this summer), and so to my office doing business, and then to my monthly accounts, where to my great comfort I find myself better than I was still the last month, and now come to L930. I was told to-day, that upon Sunday night last, being the King's birth-day, the King was at my Lady Castlemayne's lodgings (over the hither-gates at Lambert's lodgings) dancing with fiddlers all night almost; and all the world coming by taking notice of it, which I am sorry to hear. The discourse of the town is only whether a warr with Holland or no, and we are preparing for it all we can, which is but little. Myself subject more than ordinary to pain by winde, which makes me very sad, together with the trouble which at present lies upon me in my father's behalf, rising from the death of my brother, which are many and great. Would to God they were over! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Bath at the top of his house Fear all his kindness is but only his lust to her Fetch masts from New England Find myself to over-value things when a child Generally with corruption, but most indeed with neglect I slept soundly all the sermon In a hackney and full of people, was ashamed to be seen In my dining-room she was doing something upon the pott Methought very ill, or else I am grown worse to please Mrs. Lane was gone forth, and so I missed of my intent Saw "The German Princess" acted, by the woman herself Slabbering my band sent home for another That hair by hair had his horse's tail pulled off indeed 
4149	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE & JULY 1664 June 1st. Up, having lain long, going to bed very late after the ending of my accounts. Being up Mr. Hollyard came to me, and to my great sorrow, after his great assuring me that I could not possibly have the stone again, he tells me that he do verily fear that I have it again, and has brought me something to dissolve it, which do make me very much troubled, and pray to God to ease me. He gone, I down by water to Woolwich and Deptford to look after the dispatch of the ships, all the way reading Mr. Spencer's Book of Prodigys, which is most ingeniously writ, both for matter and style. Home at noon, and my little girl got me my dinner, and I presently out by water and landed at Somerset stairs, and thence through Covent Garden, where I met with Mr. Southwell (Sir W. Pen's friend), who tells me the very sad newes of my Lord Tiviott's and nineteen more commission officers being killed at Tangier by the Moores, by an ambush of the enemy upon them, while they were surveying their lines; which is very sad, and, he says, afflicts the King much. Thence to W. Joyce's, where by appointment I met my wife (but neither of them at home), and she and I to the King's house, and saw "The Silent Woman;" but methought not so well done or so good a play as I formerly thought it to be, or else I am nowadays out of humour. Before the play was done, it fell such a storm of hayle, that we in the middle of the pit were fain to rise; [The stage was covered in by a tiled roof, but the pit was open to the sky. "The pit lay open to the weather for sake of light, but was subsequently covered in with a glazed cupola, which, however, only imperfectly protected the audience, so that in stormy weather the house was thrown into disorder, and the people in the pit were fain to rise" (Cunningham's "Story of Nell Gwyn," ed. 1893, p. 33).] and all the house in a disorder, and so my wife and I out and got into a little alehouse, and staid there an hour after the play was done before we could get a coach, which at last we did (and by chance took up Joyce Norton and Mrs. Bowles. and set them at home), and so home ourselves, and I, after a little to my office, so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then to the 'Change, where after some stay by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Coventry to St. James's, and there dined with Mr. Coventry very finely, and so over the Parke to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier about providing provisions, money, and men for Tangier. At it all the afternoon, but it is strange to see how poorly and brokenly things are done of the greatest consequence, and how soon the memory of this great man is gone, or, at least, out of mind by the thoughts of who goes next, which is not yet knowne. My Lord of Oxford, Muskerry, and several others are discoursed of. It seems my Lord Tiviott's design was to go a mile and half out of the towne, to cut down a wood in which the enemy did use to lie in ambush. He had sent several spyes; but all brought word that the way was clear, and so might be for any body's discovery of an enemy before you are upon them. There they were all snapt, he and all his officers, and about 200 men, as they say; there being left now in the garrison but four captains. This happened the 3d of May last, being not before that day twelvemonth of his entering into his government there: but at his going out in the morning he said to some of his officers, "Gentlemen, let us look to ourselves, for it was this day three years that so many brave Englishmen were knocked on the head by the Moores, when Fines made his sally out." Here till almost night, and then home with Sir J. Minnes by coach, and so to my office a while, and home to supper and bed, being now in constant pain in my back, but whether it be only wind or what it is the Lord knows, but I fear the worst. 3rd. Up, still in a constant pain in my back, which much afflicts me with fear of the consequence of it. All the morning at the office, we sat at the office extraordinary upon the business of our stores, but, Lord! what a pitiful account the Surveyor makes of it grieves my heart. This morning before I came out I made a bargain with Captain Taylor for a ship for the Commissioners for Tangier, wherein I hope to get L40 or L50. To the 'Change, and thence home and dined, and then by coach to White Hall, sending my wife to Mrs. Hunt's. At the Committee for Tangier all the afternoon, where a sad consideration to see things of so great weight managed in so confused a manner as it is, so as I would not have the buying of an acre of land bought by the Duke of York and Mr. Coventry, for ought I see, being the only two that do anything like men; Prince Rupert do nothing but swear and laugh a little, with an oathe or two, and that's all he do. Thence called my wife and home, and I late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed, pleased at my hopes of gains by to-day's work, but very sad to think of the state of my health. 4th. Up and to St. James's by coach, after a good deal of talk before I went forth with J. Noble, who tells me that he will secure us against Cave, that though he knows, and can prove it, yet nobody else can prove it, to be Tom's child; that the bond was made by one Hudson, a scrivener, next to the Fountaine taverne, in the Old Bayly; that the children were born, and christened, and entered in the parish-book of St. Sepulchre's, by the name of Anne and Elizabeth Taylor and he will give us security against Cave if we pay him the money. And then up to the Duke, and was with him giving him an account how matters go, and of the necessity there is of a power to presse seamen, without which we cannot really raise men for this fleete of twelve sayle, besides that it will assert the King's power of pressing, which at present is somewhat doubted, and will make the Dutch believe that we are in earnest. Thence by water to the office, where we sat till almost two o'clock. This morning Captain Ferrer came to the office to tell me that my Lord hath given him a promise of Young's place in the Wardrobe, and hearing that I pretend a promise to it he comes to ask my consent, which I denied him, and told him my Lord may do what he pleases with his promise to me, but my father's condition is not so as that I should let it go if my Lord will stand to his word, and so I sent him going, myself being troubled a little at it. After office I with Mr. Coventry by water to St. James's and dined with him, and had excellent discourse from him. So to the Committee for Tangier all afternoon, where still the same confused doings, and my Lord Fitz-Harding now added to the Committee; which will signify much. It grieves me to see how brokenly things are ordered. So by coach home, and at my office late, and so to supper and to bed, my body by plenty of breaking of wind being just now pretty well again, having had a constant akeing in my back these 5 or 6 days. Mr. Coventry discoursing this noon about Sir W. Batten (what a sad fellow he is!) told me how the King told him the other day how Sir W. Batten, being in the ship with him and Prince Rupert when they expected to fight with Warwick, did walk up and down sweating with a napkin under his throat to dry up his sweat; and that Prince Rupert being a most jealous man, and particularly of Batten, do walk up and down swearing bloodily to the King, that Batten had a mind to betray them to-day, and that the napkin was a signal; "but, by God," says he, "if things go ill, the first thing I will do is to shoot him." He discoursed largely and bravely to me concerning the different sort of valours, the active and passive valour. For the latter, he brought as an instance General Blake; who, in the defending of Taunton and Lime for the Parliament, did through his stubborn sort of valour defend it the most 'opiniastrement' that ever any man did any thing; and yet never was the man that ever made any attaque by land or sea, but rather avoyded it on all, even fair occasions. On the other side, Prince Rupert, the boldest attaquer in the world for personal courage; and yet, in the defending of Bristol, no man ever did anything worse, he wanting the patience and seasoned head to consult and advise for defence, and to bear with the evils of a siege. The like he says is said of my Lord Tiviott, who was the boldest adventurer of his person in the world, and from a mean man in few years was come to this greatness of command and repute only by the death of all his officers, he many times having the luck of being the only survivor of them all, by venturing upon services for the King of France that nobody else would; and yet no man upon a defence, he being all fury and no judgment in a fight. He tells me above all of the Duke of Yorke, that he is more himself and more of judgement is at hand in him in the middle of a desperate service, than at other times, as appeared in the business of Dunkirke, wherein no man ever did braver things, or was in hotter service in the close of that day, being surrounded with enemies; and then, contrary to the advice of all about him, his counsel carried himself and the rest through them safe, by advising that he might make his passage with but a dozen with him; "For," says he, "the enemy cannot move after me so fast with a great body, and with a small one we shall be enough to deal with them;" and though he is a man naturally martiall to the highest degree, yet a man that never in his life talks one word of himself or service of his owne, but only that he saw such or such a thing, and lays it down for a maxime that a Hector can have no courage. He told me also, as a great instance of some men, that the Prince of Condo's excellence is, that there not being a more furious man in the world, danger in fight never disturbs him more than just to make him civill, and to command in words of great obligation to his officers and men; but without any the least disturbance in his judgment or spirit. 5th (Lord's day). About one in the morning I was knocked up by my mayds to come to my wife who is very ill. I rose, and from some cold she got to-day, or from something else, she is taken with great gripings, a looseness, and vomiting. I lay a while by her upon the bed, she being in great pain, poor wretch, but that being a little over I to bed again, and lay, and then up and to my office all the morning, setting matters to rights in some accounts and papers, and then to dinner, whither Mr. Shepley, late come to town, came to me, and after dinner and some pleasant discourse he went his way, being to go out of town to Huntington again to-morrow. So all the afternoon with my wife discoursing and talking, and in the evening to my office doing business, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up and found my wife very ill again, which troubles me, but I was forced to go forth. So by water with Mr. Gauden and others to see a ship hired by me for the Commissioners of Tangier, and to give order therein. So back to the office, and by coach with Mr. Gauden to White Hall, and there to my Lord Sandwich, and here I met Mr. Townsend very opportunely and Captain Ferrer, and after some discourse we did accommodate the business of the Wardrobe place, that he shall have the reversion if he will take it out by giving a covenant that if Mr. Young' dyes before my father my father shall have the benefit of it for his life. So home, and thence by water to Deptford, and there found our Trinity Brethren come from their election to church, where Dr. Britton made, methought, an indifferent sermon touching the decency that we ought to observe in God's house, the church, but yet to see how ridiculously some men will carry themselves. Sir W. Batten did at open table anon in the name of the whole Society desire him to print his sermon, as if the Doctor could think that they were fit judges of a good sermon. Then by barge with Sir W. Batten to Trinity House. It seems they have with much ado carried it for Sir G. Carteret against Captain Harrison, poor man, who by succession ought to have been it, and most hands were for him, but only they were forced to fright the younger Brethren by requiring them to set their hands (which is an ill course) and then Sir G. Carteret carryed it. Here was at dinner my Lord Sandwich, Mr. Coventry, my Lord Craven, and others. A great dinner, and good company. Mr. Prin also, who would not drink any health, no, not the King's, but sat down with his hat on all the while; [William Prynne had published in 1628 a small book against the drinking of healths, entitled, "Healthes, Sicknesse; or a compendious and briefe Discourse, prouing, the Drinking and Pledging of Healthes to be sinfull and utterly unlawfull unto Christians . . . wherein all those ordinary objections, excuses or pretences, which are made to justifie, extenuate, or excuse the drinking or pledging of Healthes are likewise cleared and answered." The pamphlet was dedicated to Charles I. as "more interessed in the theame and subject of this compendious discourse then any other that I know," and "because your Majestie of all other persons within your owne dominions, are most dishonoured, prejudiced, and abused by these Healthes."] but nobody took notice of it to him at all; but in discourse with the Doctor he did declare himself that he ever was, and has expressed himself in all his books for mixt communion against the Presbyterian examination. Thence after dinner by water, my Lord Sandwich and all us Tangier men, where at the Committee busy till night with great confusion, and then by coach home, with this content, however, that I find myself every day become more and more known, and shall one day hope to have benefit by it. I found my wife a little better. A little to my office, then home to supper and to bed. 7th. Up and to the office (having by my going by water without any thing upon my legs yesterday got some pain upon me again), where all the morning. At noon a little to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, my wife being ill still in bed. Thence to the office, where busy all the afternoon till 9 at night, and so home to my wife, to supper, and to bed. 8th. All day before dinner with Creed, talking of many things, among others, of my Lord's going so often to Chelsy, and he, without my speaking much, do tell me that his daughters do perceive all, and do hate the place, and the young woman there, Mrs. Betty Becke; for my Lord, who sent them thither only for a disguise for his going thither, will come under pretence to see them, and pack them out of doors to the Parke, and stay behind with her; but now the young ladies are gone to their mother to Kensington. To dinner, and after dinner till 10 at night in my study writing of my old broken office notes in shorthand all in one book, till my eyes did ake ready to drop out. So home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and at my office all the morning. At noon dined at home, Mr. Hunt and his kinswoman (wife in the country), after dinner I to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. Then at night by coach to attend the Duke of Albemarle about the Tangier ship. Coming back my wife spied me going home by coach from Mr. Hunt's, with whom she hath gained much in discourse to-day concerning W. Howe's discourse of me to him. That he was the man that got me to be secretary to my Lord; and all that I have thereby, and that for all this I never did give him 6d. in my life. Which makes me wonder that this rogue dare talk after this manner, and I think all the world is grown false. But I hope I shall make good use of it. So home to supper and to bed, my eyes aching mightily since last night. 10th. Up and by water to White Hall, and there to a Committee of Tangier, and had occasion to see how my Lord Ashworth--[Lord Ashworth is probably a miswriting for Lord Ashley (afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury).]--deports himself, which is very fine indeed, and it joys my heart to see that there is any body looks so near into the King's business as I perceive he do in this business of my Lord Peterborough's accounts. Thence into the Parke, and met and walked with Captain Sylas Taylor, my old acquaintance while I was of the Exchequer, and Dr. Whore, talking of musique, and particularly of Mr. Berckenshaw's way, which Taylor magnifies mightily, and perhaps but what it deserves, but not so easily to be understood as he and others make of it. Thence home by water, and after dinner abroad to buy several things, as a map, and powder, and other small things, and so home to my office, and in the evening with Captain Taylor by water to our Tangier ship, and so home, well pleased, having received L26 profit to-day of my bargain for this ship, which comforts me mightily, though I confess my heart, what with my being out of order as to my health, and the fear I have of the money my Lord oweth me and I stand indebted to him in, is much cast down of late. In the evening home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, where some discourse arose from Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry, which gives me occasion to think that something like a war is expected now indeed, though upon the 'Change afterwards I hear too that an Embassador is landed from Holland, and one from their East India Company, to treat with ours about the wrongs we pretend to. Mr. Creed dined with me, and thence after dinner by coach with my wife only to take the ayre, it being very warm and pleasant, to Bowe and Old Ford; and thence to Hackney. There 'light, and played at shuffle-board, eat cream and good churies; and so with good refreshment home. Then to my office vexed with Captain Taylor about the delay of carrying down the ship hired by me for Tangier, and late about that and other things at the office. So home to supper and to bed. 12th (Lord's day). All the morning in my chamber consulting my lesson of ship building, and at noon Mr. Creed by appointment came and dined with us, and sat talking all the afternoon till, about church time, my wife and I began our great dispute about going to Griffin's child's christening, where I was to have been godfather, but Sir J. Minnes refusing, he wanted an equal for me and my Lady Batten, and so sought for other. Then the question was whether my wife should go, and she having dressed herself on purpose, was very angry, and began to talk openly of my keeping her within doors before Creed, which vexed me to the guts, but I had the discretion to keep myself without passion, and so resolved at last not to go, but to go down by water, which we did by H. Russell--[a waterman]--to the Half-way house, and there eat and drank, and upon a very small occasion had a difference again broke out, where without any the least cause she had the cunning to cry a great while, and talk and blubber, which made me mighty angry in mind, but said nothing to provoke her because Creed was there, but walked home, being troubled in my mind also about the knavery and neglect of Captain Fudge and Taylor, who were to have had their ship for Tangier ready by Thursday last, and now the men by a mistake are come on board, and not any master or man or boy of the ship's company on board with them when we came by her side this afternoon, and also received a letter from Mr. Coventry this day in complaint of it. We came home, and after supper Creed went home, and I to bed. My wife made great means to be friends, coming to my bedside and doing all things to please me, and at last I could not hold out, but seemed pleased, and so parted, and I with much ado to sleep, but was easily wakened by extraordinary great rain, and my mind troubled the more to think what the soldiers would do on board tonight in all this weather. 13th. So up at 5 o'clock, and with Captain Taylor on board her at Deptford, and found all out of order, only the soldiers civil, and Sir Arthur Bassett a civil person. I rated at Captain Taylor, whom, contrary to my expectation, I found a lying and a very stupid blundering fellow, good for nothing, and yet we talk of him in the Navy as if he had been an excellent officer, but I find him a lying knave, and of no judgment or dispatch at all. After finding the condition of the ship, no master, not above four men, and many ship's provisions, sayls, and other things wanting, I went back and called upon Fudge, whom I found like a lying rogue unready to go on board, but I did so jeer him that I made him get every thing ready, and left Taylor and H. Russell to quicken him, and so away and I by water on to White Hall, where I met his Royal Highnesse at a Tangier Committee about this very thing, and did there satisfy him how things are, at which all was pacified without any trouble, and I hope may end well, but I confess I am at a real trouble for fear the rogue should not do his work, and I come to shame and losse of the money I did hope justly to have got by it. Thence walked with Mr. Coventry to St. James's, and there spent by his desire the whole morning reading of some old Navy books given him of old Sir John Cooke's by the Archbishop of Canterbury that now is; wherein the order that was observed in the Navy then, above what it is now, is very observable, and fine things we did observe in our reading. Anon to dinner, after dinner to discourse of the business of the Dutch warr, wherein he tells me the Dutch do in every particular, which are but few and small things that we can demand of them, whatever cry we unjustly make, do seem to offer at an accommodation, for they do owne that it is not for their profit to have warr with England. We did also talk of a History of the Navy of England, how fit it were to be writ; and he did say that it hath been in his mind to propose to me the writing of the History of the late Dutch warr, which I am glad to hear, it being a thing I much desire, and sorts mightily with my genius; and, if well done, may recommend me much. So he says he will get me an order for making of searches to all records, &c., in order thereto, and I shall take great delight in doing of it. Thence by water down to the Tower, and thither sent for Mr. Creed to my house, where he promised to be, and he and I down to the ship, and find all things in pretty good order, and I hope will end to my mind. Thence having a gaily down to Greenwich, and there saw the King's works, which are great, a-doing there, and so to the Cherry Garden, and so carried some cherries home, and after supper to bed, my wife lying with me, which from my not being thoroughly well, nor she, we have not done above once these two or three weeks. 14th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and had great conflict about the flags again, and am vexed methought to see my Lord Berkely not satisfied with what I said, but however I stop the King's being abused by the flag makers for the present. I do not know how it may end, but I will do my best to preserve it. So home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Kensington. In the way overtaking Mr. Laxton, the apothecary, with his wife and daughters, very fine young lasses, in a coach; and so both of us to my Lady Sandwich, who hath lain this fortnight here at Deane Hodges's. Much company came hither to-day, my Lady Carteret, &c., Sir William Wheeler and his lady, and, above all, Mr. Becke, of Chelsy, and wife and daughter, my Lord's mistress, and one that hath not one good feature in her face, and yet is a fine lady, of a fine taille, and very well carriaged, and mighty discreet. I took all the occasion I could to discourse with the young ladies in her company to give occasion to her to talk, which now and then she did, and that mighty finely, and is, I perceive, a woman of such an ayre, as I wonder the less at my Lord's favour to her, and I dare warrant him she hath brains enough to entangle him. Two or three houres we were in her company, going into Sir H. Finche's garden, and seeing the fountayne, and singing there with the ladies, and a mighty fine cool place it is, with a great laver of water in the middle and the bravest place for musique I ever heard. After much mirthe, discoursing to the ladies in defence of the city against the country or court, and giving them occasion to invite themselves to-morrow to me to dinner, to my venison pasty, I got their mother's leave, and so good night, very well pleased with my day's work, and, above all, that I have seen my Lord's mistresse. So home to supper, and a little at my office, and to bed. 15th. Up and by appointment with Captain Witham (the Captain that brought the newes of the disaster at Tangier, where my Lord Tiviott was slain) and Mr. Tooker to Beares Quay, and there saw and more afterward at the several grannarys several parcels of oates, and strange it is to hear how it will heat itself if laid up green and not often turned. We came not to any agreement, but did cheapen several parcels, and thence away, promising to send again to them. So to the Victualling office, and then home. And in our garden I got Captain Witham to tell me the whole story of my Lord Tiviott's misfortune; for he was upon the guard with his horse neare the towne, when at a distance he saw the enemy appear upon a hill, a mile and a half off, and made up to them, and with much ado escaped himself; but what became of my Lord he neither knows nor thinks that any body but the enemy can tell. Our losse was about four hundred. But he tells me that the greater wonder is that my Lord Tiviott met no sooner with such a disaster; for every day he did commit himself to more probable danger than this, for now he had the assurance of all his scouts that there was no enemy thereabouts; whereas he used every day to go out with two or three with him, to make his discoveries, in greater danger, and yet the man that could not endure to have anybody else to go a step out of order to endanger himself. He concludes him to be the man of the hardest fate to lose so much honour at one blow that ever was. His relation being done he parted; and so I home to look after things for dinner. And anon at noon comes Mr. Creed by chance, and by and by the three young ladies:--[Lord Sandwich's daughters.]--and very merry we were with our pasty, very well baked; and a good dish of roasted chickens; pease, lobsters, strawberries. And after dinner to cards: and about five o'clock, by water down to Greenwich; and up to the top of the hill, and there played upon the ground at cards. And so to the Cherry Garden, and then by water singing finely to the Bridge, and there landed; and so took boat again, and to Somersett House. And by this time, the tide being against us, it was past ten of the clock; and such a troublesome passage, in regard of my Lady Paulina's fearfullness, that in all my life I never did see any poor wretch in that condition. Being come hither, there waited for them their coach; but it being so late, I doubted what to do how to get them home. After half an hour's stay in the street, I sent my wife home by coach with Mr. Creed's boy; and myself and Creed in the coach home with them. But, Lord! the fear that my Lady Paulina was in every step of the way; and indeed at this time of the night it was no safe thing to go that road; so that I was even afeard myself, though I appeared otherwise.--We came safe, however, to their house, where all were abed; we knocked them up, my Lady and all the family being in bed. So put them into doors; and leaving them with the mayds, bade them good night, and then into the towne, Creed and I, it being about twelve o'clock and past; and to several houses, inns, but could get no lodging, all being in bed. At the last house, at last, we found some people drinking and roaring; and there got in, and after drinking, got an ill bed, where 16th. I lay in my drawers and stockings and wastecoate till five of the clock, and so up; and being well pleased with our frolique, walked to Knightsbridge, and there eat a messe of creame, and so to St. James's, and there walked a little, and so I to White Hall, and took coach, and found my wife well got home last night, and now in bed. So I to the office, where all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, so home and to my office, where Mr. Ackworth came to me (though he knows himself and I know him to be a very knave), yet he came to me to discover the knavery of other people like the most honest man in the world. However, good use I shall make of his discourse, for in this he is much in the right. He being gone I to the 'Change, Mr. Creed with me, after we had been by water to see a vessell we have hired to carry more soldiers to Tangier, and also visited a rope ground, wherein I learnt several useful things. The talk upon the 'Change is, that De Ruyter is dead, with fifty men of his own ship, of the plague, at Cales: that the Holland Embassador here do endeavour to sweeten us with fair words; and things likely to be peaceable. Home after I had spoke with my cozen Richard Pepys upon the 'Change, about supplying us with bewpers from Norwich, which I should be glad of, if cheap. So home to supper and bed. 17th. Up, and to my office, where I dispatched much business, and then down by water to Woolwich to make a discovery of a cheate providing for us in the working of some of our own ground Tows into new cordage, to be sold to us for Riga cordage. Thence to Mr. Falconer's, where I met Sir W. Batten and Lady, and Captain Tinker, and there dined with them, and so to the Dockyarde and to Deptford by water, and there very long informing myself in the business of flags and bewpers and other things, and so home late, being weary, and full of good information to-day, but I perceive the corruptions of the Navy are of so many kinds that it is endless to look after them, especially while such a one as Sir W. Batten discourages every man that is honest. So home to my office, there very late, and then to supper and to bed mightily troubled in my mind to hear how Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes do labour all they can to abuse or enable others to abuse the King. 18th. From morning till 11 at night (only a little at dinner at home) at my office very busy, setting many businesses in order to my great trouble, but great content in the end. So home to supper and to bed. Strange to see how pert Sir W. Pen is to-day newly come from Portsmouth with his head full of great reports of his service and the state of the ships there. When that is over he will be just as another man again or worse. But I wonder whence Mr. Coventry should take all this care for him, to send for him up only to look after his Irish business with my Lord Ormond and to get the Duke's leave for him to come with so much officiousness, when I am sure he knows him as well as I do as to his little service he do. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning and afternoon (only at dinner at home) at my office doing many businesses for want of time on the week days. In the afternoon the greatest shower of rain of a sudden and the greatest and most continued thunder that ever I heard I think in my life. In the evening home to my wife, and there talked seriously of several of our family concernments, and among others of bringing Pall out of the country to us here to try to put her off, which I am very desirous, and my wife also of. So to supper, prayers, which I have of late too much omitted. So to bed. 20th. It having been a very cold night last night I had got some cold, and so in pain by wind, and a sure precursor of pain is sudden letting off farts, and when that stops, then my passages stop and my pain begins. Up and did several businesses, and so with my wife by water to White Hall, she to her father's, I to the Duke, where we did our usual business. And among other discourse of the Dutch, he was merrily saying how they print that Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, and my Lord Sandwich, are to be Generalls; and soon after is to follow them "Vieux Pen;" and so the Duke called him in mirth Old Pen. They have, it seems, lately wrote to the King, to assure him that their setting-out ships were only to defend their fishing-trade, and to stay near home, not to annoy the King's subjects; and to desire that he would do the like with his ships: which the King laughs at, but yet is troubled they should think him such a child, to suffer them to bring home their fish and East India Company's ships, and then they will not care a fart for us. Thence to Westminster Hall, it being term time, meeting Mr. Dickering, he tells me how my Lady last week went to see Mrs. Becke, the mother; and by and by the daughter came in, but that my Lady do say herself, as he says, that she knew not for what reason, for she never knew they had a daughter, which I do not believe. She was troubled, and her heart did rise as soon as she appeared, and seems the most ugly woman that ever she saw. This if true were strange, but I believe it is not. Thence to my Lord's lodgings; and were merry with the young ladies, who make a great story of their appearing before their mother the morning after we carried them, the last week, home so late; and that their mother took it very well, at least without any anger. Here I heard how the rich widow, my Lady Gold, is married to one Neale, after he had received a box on the eare by her brother (who was there a sentinel, in behalf of some courtier) at the door; but made him draw, and wounded him. She called Neale up to her, and sent for a priest, married presently, and went to bed. The brother sent to the Court, and had a serjeant sent for Neale; but Neale sent for him up to be seen in bed, and she owned him for her husband: and so all is past. It seems Sir H. Bennet did look after her. My Lady very pleasant. After dinner came in Sir Thomas Crew and Mr. Sidney, lately come from France, who is growne a little, and a pretty youth he is; but not so improved as they did give him out to be, but like a child still. But yet I can perceive he hath good parts and good inclinations. Thence with Creed, who dined here, to Westminster to find out Mr. Hawly, and did, but he did not accept of my offer of his being steward to my Lord at sea. Thence alone to several places about my law businesses, and with good success; at last I to Mr. Townsend at the Wardrobe, and received kind words from him to be true to me against Captain Ferrers his endeavours to get the place from my father as my Lord hath promised him. Here met Will. Howe, and he went forth with me; and by water back to White Hall to wait on my Lord, who is come back from Hinchinbroke; where he has been about 4 or 5 days. But I was never more vexed to see how an over-officious visitt is received, for he received me with as little concernment as in the middle of his discontent, and a fool I am to be of so servile a humour, and vexed with that consideration I took coach home, and could not get it off my mind all night. To supper and to bed, my wife finding fault with Besse for her calling upon Jane that lived with us, and there heard Mrs. Harper and her talk ill of us and not told us of it. With which I was also vexed, and told her soundly of it till she cried, poor wench, and I hope without dissimulation, and yet I cannot tell; however, I was glad to see in what manner she received it, and so to sleep. 21st. Being weary yesterday with walking I sleep long, and at last up and to the office, where all the morning. At home to dinner, Mr. Deane with me. After dinner I to White Hall (setting down my wife by the way) to a Committee of Tangier, where the Duke of Yorke, I perceive, do attend the business very well, much better than any man there or most of them, and my [mind] eased of some trouble I lay under for fear of his thinking ill of me from the bad successe in the setting forth of these crew men to Tangier. Thence with Mr. Creed, and walked in the Parke, and so to the New Exchange, meeting Mr. Moore, and he with us. I shewed him no friendly look, but he took no notice to me of the Wardrobe business, which vexes me. I perceive by him my Lord's business of his family and estate goes very ill, and runs in debt mightily. I would to God I were clear of it, both as to my owne money and the bond of L1000, which I stand debtor for him in, to my cozen Thomas Pepys. Thence by coach home and to my office a little, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and I found Mr. Creed below, who staid with me a while, and then I to business all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and Coffee-house, where great talke of the Dutch preparing of sixty sayle of ships. The plague grows mightily among them, both at sea and land. From the 'Change to dinner to Trinity House with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, where a very good dinner. Here Sir G. Ascue dined also, who I perceive desires to make himself known among the seamen. Thence home, there coming to me my Lord Peterborough's Sollicitor with a letter from him to desire present dispatch in his business of freight, and promises me L50, which is good newes, and I hope to do his business readily for him. This much rejoiced me. All the afternoon at his business, and late at night comes the Sollicitor again, and I with him at 9 o'clock to Mr. Povy's, and there acquainted him with the business. The money he won't pay without warrant, but that will be got done in a few days. So home by coach and to bed. 23rd. Up, and to the office, and there we sat all the morning. So to the 'Change, and then home to dinner and to my office, where till 10 at night very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. My cozen, Thomas Pepys, was with me yesterday and I took occasion to speak to him about the bond I stand bound for my Lord Sandwich to him in L1000. I did very plainly, obliging him to secrecy, tell him how the matter stands, yet with all duty to my Lord my resolution to be bound for whatever he desires me for him, yet that I would be glad he had any other security. I perceive by Mr. Moore today that he hath been with my Lord, and my Lord how he takes it I know not, but he is looking after other security and I am mighty glad of it. W. Howe was with me this afternoon, to desire some things to be got ready for my Lord against his going down to his ship, which will be soon; for it seems the King and both the Queenes intend to visit him. The Lord knows how my Lord will get out of this charge; for Mr. Moore tells me to-day that he is L10,000 in debt and this will, with many other things that daily will grow upon him (while he minds his pleasure as he do), set him further backward. But it was pretty this afternoon to hear W. Howe mince the matter, and say that he do believe that my Lord is in debt L2000 or L3000, and then corrected himself and said, No, not so, but I am afraid he is in debt L1000. I pray God gets me well rid of his Lordship as to his debt, and I care not. 24th. Up and out with Captain Witham in several places again to look for oats for Tangier, and among other places to the City granarys, where it seems every company have their granary and obliged to keep such a quantity of corne always there or at a time of scarcity to issue so much at so much a bushell: and a fine thing it is to see their stores of all sorts, for piles for the bridge, and for pipes, a thing I never saw before. [From the commencement of the reign of Henry VIII., or perhaps earlier, it was the custom of the City of London to provide against scarcity, by requiring each of the chartered Companies to keep in store a certain quantity of corn, which was to be renewed from time to time, and when required for that purpose, produced in the market for sale, at such times and prices, and in such quantities, as the Lord Mayor or Common Council should direct. See the report of a case in the Court of Chancery, "Attorney-General v. Haberdashers' Company" (Mylne and Keens "Reports," vol. i., p. 420).--B.] Thence to the office, and there busy all the morning. At noon to my uncle Wight's, and there dined, my wife being there all the morning. After dinner to White Hall; and there met with Mr. Pierce, and he showed me the Queene's bed-chamber, and her closett, where she had nothing but some pretty pious pictures, and books of devotion; and her holy water at her head as she sleeps, with her clock by her bed-side, wherein a lamp burns that tells her the time of the night at any time. Thence with him to the Parke, and there met the Queene coming from Chappell, with her Mayds of Honour, all in silver-lace gowns again: which is new to me, and that which I did not think would have been brought up again. Thence he carried me to the King's closett: where such variety of pictures, and other things of value and rarity, that I was properly confounded and enjoyed no pleasure in the sight of them; which is the only time in my life that ever I was so at a loss for pleasure, in the greatest plenty of objects to give it me. Thence home, calling in many places and doing abundance of errands to my great content, and at night weary home, where Mr. Creed waited for me, and he and I walked in the garden, where he told me he is now in a hurry fitting himself for sea, and that it remains that he deals as an ingenuous man with me in the business I wot of, which he will do before he goes. But I perceive he will have me do many good turns for him first, both as to his bills coming to him in this office, and also in his absence at the Committee of Tangier, which I promise, and as he acquits himself to me I will willingly do. I would I knew the worst of it, what it is he intends, that so I may either quit my hands of him or continue my kindness still to him. 25th. We staid late, and he lay with me all night and rose very merry talking, and excellent company he is, that is the truth of it, and a most cunning man. He being gone I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and then to my office busy, and by and by home with Mr. Deane to a lesson upon raising a Bend of Timbers, [This seems to refer to knee timber, of which there was not a sufficient supply. A proposal was made to produce this bent wood artificially: "June 22, 1664. Sir William Petty intimated that it seemed by the scarcity and greater rate of knee timber that nature did not furnish crooked wood enough for building: wherefore he thought it would be fit to raise by art, so much of it in proportion, as to reduce it to an equal rate with strait timber" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society,")] and he being gone I to the office, and there came Captain Taylor, and he and I home, and I have done all very well with him as to the business of the last trouble, so that come what will come my name will be clear of any false dealing with him. So to my office again late, and then to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and Sir J. Minnes set me down at my Lord Sandwich's, where I waited till his coming down, when he came, too, could find little to say to me but only a general question or two, and so good-bye. Here his little daughter, my Lady Katharine was brought, who is lately come from my father's at Brampton, to have her cheek looked after, which is and hath long been sore. But my Lord will rather have it be as it is, with a scarr in her face, than endanger it being worse by tampering. He being gone, I went home, a little troubled to see he minds me no more, and with Creed called at several churches, which, God knows, are supplied with very young men, and the churches very empty; so home and at our owne church looked in, and there heard one preach whom Sir W. Pen brought, which he desired us yesterday to hear, that had been his chaplin in Ireland, a very silly fellow. So home and to dinner, and after dinner a frolique took us, we would go this afternoon to the Hope; so my wife dressed herself, and, with good victuals and drink, we took boat presently and the tide with us got down, but it was night, and the tide spent by the time we got to Gravesend; so there we stopped, but went not on shore, only Creed, to get some cherries, [Pliny tells us that cherries were introduced into Britain by the Romans, and Lydgate alludes to them as sold in the London streets. Richard Haines, fruiterer to Henry VI IL, imported a number of cherry trees from Flanders, and planted them at Tenham, in Kent. Hence the fame of the Kentish cherries.] and send a letter to the Hope, where the Fleete lies. And so, it being rainy, and thundering mightily, and lightning, we returned. By and by the evening turned mighty clear and moonshine; we got with great pleasure home, about twelve o'clock, which did much please us, Creed telling pretty stories in the boat. He lay with me all night. 27th. Up, and he and I walked to Paul's Church yard, and there saw Sir Harry Spillman's book, and I bespoke it and others, and thence we took coach, and he to my Lord's and I to St. James's, where we did our usual business, and thence I home and dined, and then by water to Woolwich, and there spent the afternoon till night under pretence of buying Captain Blackman's house and grounds, and viewing the ground took notice of Clothiers' cordage with which he, I believe, thinks to cheat the King. That being done I by water home, it being night first, and there I find our new mayd Jane come, a cook mayd. So to bed. 28th. Up, and this day put on a half shirt first this summer, it being very hot; and yet so ill-tempered I am grown, that I am afeard I shall catch cold, while all the world is ready to melt away. To the office all the morning, at noon to dinner at home, then to my office till the evening, then out about several businesses and then by appointment to the 'Change, and thence with my uncle Wight to the Mum house, and there drinking, he do complain of his wife most cruel as the most troublesome woman in the world, and how she will have her will, saying she brought him a portion and God knows what. By which, with many instances more, I perceive they do live a sad life together. Thence to the Mitre and there comes Dr. Burnett to us and Mr. Maes, but the meeting was chiefly to bring the Doctor and me together, and there I began to have his advice about my disease, and then invited him to my house: and I am resolved to put myself into his hands. Here very late, but I drank nothing, nor will, though he do advise me to take care of cold drinks. So home and to bed. 29th. Up, and Mr. Shepley came to me, who is lately come to town; among other things I hear by him how the children are sent for away from my father's, but he says without any great discontent. I am troubled there should be this occasion of difference, and yet I am glad they are gone, lest it should have come to worse. He tells me how my brave dogg I did give him, going out betimes one morning to Huntington, was set upon by five other doggs, and worried to pieces, of which I am a little, and he the most sorry I ever saw man for such a thing. Forth with him and walked a good way talking, then parted and I to the Temple, and to my cozen Roger Pepys, and thence by water to Westminster to see Dean Honiwood, whom I had not visited a great while. He is a good-natured, but a very weak man, yet a Dean, and a man in great esteem. Thence walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and there dined, my Lord there. He was pleasant enough at table with me, but yet without any discourse of business, or any regard to me when dinner was over, but fell to cards, and my Lady and I sat two hours alone, talking of the condition of her family's being greatly in debt, and many children now coming up to provide for. I did give her my sense very plain of it, which she took well and carried further than myself, to the bemoaning their condition, and remembering how finely things were ordered about six years ago, when I lived there and my Lord at sea every year. Thence home, doing several errands by the way. So to my office, and there till late at night, Mr. Comander coming to me for me to sign and seal the new draft of my will, which I did do, I having altered something upon the death of my brother Tom. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, Mr. Wayth with me, and by and by comes in Mr. Falconer and his wife and dined with us, the first time she was ever here. We had a pretty good dinner, very merry in discourse, sat after dinner an hour or two, then down by water to Deptford and Woolwich about getting of some business done which I was bound to by my oath this month, and though in some things I have not come to the height of my vow of doing all my business in paying all my petty debts and receipt of all my petty monies due to me, yet I bless God I am not conscious of any neglect in me that they are not done, having not minded my pleasure at all, and so being resolved to take no manner of pleasure till it be done, I doubt not God will forgive me for not forfeiting the L10 promised. Walked back from Woolwich to Greenwich all alone, save a man that had a cudgell in his hand, and, though he told me he laboured in the King's yarde, and many other good arguments that he is an honest man, yet, God forgive me! I did doubt he might knock me on the head behind with his club. But I got safe home. Then to the making up my month's accounts, and find myself still a gainer and rose to L951, for which God be blessed. I end the month with my mind full of business and some sorrow that I have not exactly performed all my vowes, though my not doing is not my fault, and shall be made good out of my first leisure. Great doubts yet whether the Dutch wary go on or no. The Fleet ready in the Hope, of twelve sayle. The King and Queenes go on board, they say, on Saturday next. Young children of my Lord Sandwich gone with their mayds from my mother's, which troubles me, it being, I hear from Mr. Shepley, with great discontent, saying, that though they buy good meate, yet can never have it before it stinks, which I am ashamed of. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1664 July 1st. Up and within all the morning, first bringing down my Tryangle to my chamber below, having a new frame made proper for it to stand on. By and by comes Dr. Burnett, who assures me that I have an ulcer either in the kidneys or bladder, for my water, which he saw yesterday, he is sure the sediment is not slime gathered by heat, but is a direct pusse. He did write me down some direction what to do for it, but not with the satisfaction I expected. Dr. Burnett's advice to mee. The Originall is fyled among my letters. Take of ye Rootes of Marsh-Mallows foure ounces, of Cumfry, of Liquorish, of each two ounces, of ye Mowers of St. John's Wort two Handsfull, of ye Leaves of Plantan, of Alehoofe, of each three handfulls, of Selfeheale, of Red Roses, of each one Handfull, of Cynament, of Nutmegg, of each halfe an ounce. Beate them well, then powre upon them one Quart of old Rhenish wine, and about Six houres after strayne it and clarify it with ye white of an Egge, and with a sufficient quantity of sugar, boyle it to ye consistence of a Syrrup and reserve it for use. Dissolve one spoonefull of this Syrrup in every draught of Ale or beere you drink. Morning and evening swallow ye quantity of an hazle-nutt of Cyprus Terebintine. If you are bound or have a fit of ye Stone eate an ounce of Cassia new drawne, from ye poynt of a knife. Old Canary or Malaga wine you may drinke to three or 4 glasses, but noe new wine, and what wine you drinke, lett it bee at meales.-[From a slip of paper inserted in the Diary at this place.] I did give him a piece, with good hopes, however, that his advice will be of use to me, though it is strange that Mr. Hollyard should never say one word of this ulcer in all his life to me. He being gone, I to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so to my office, busy till the evening, and then by agreement came Mr. Hill and Andrews and one Cheswicke, a maister who plays very well upon the Spinette, and we sat singing Psalms till 9 at night, and so broke up with great pleasure, and very good company it is, and I hope I shall now and then have their company. They being gone, I to my office till towards twelve o'clock, and then home and to bed. Upon the 'Change, this day, I saw how uncertain the temper of the people is, that, from our discharging of about 200 that lay idle, having nothing to do, upon some of our ships, which were ordered to be fitted for service, and their works are now done, the towne do talk that the King discharges all his men, 200 yesterday and 800 to-day, and that now he hath got L100,000 in his hand, he values not a Dutch warr. But I undeceived a great many, telling them how it is. 2nd. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and there, which is strange, I could meet with nobody that I could invite home to my venison pasty, but only Mr. Alsopp and Mr. Lanyon, whom I invited last night, and a friend they brought along with them. So home and with our venison pasty we had other good meat and good discourse. After dinner sat close to discourse about our business of the victualling of the garrison of Tangier, taking their prices of all provisions, and I do hope to order it so that they and I also may get something by it, which do much please me, for I hope I may get nobly and honestly with profit to the King. They being gone came Sir W. Warren, and he and I discoursed long about the business of masts, and then in the evening to my office, where late writing letters, and then home to look over some Brampton papers, which I am under an oathe to dispatch before I spend one half houre in any pleasure or go to bed before 12 o'clock, to which, by the grace of God, I will be true. Then to bed. When I came home I found that to-morrow being Sunday I should gain nothing by doing it to-night, and to-morrow I can do it very well and better than to-night. I went to bed before my time, but with a resolution of doing the thing to better purpose to-morrow. 3rd (Lord's day). Up and ready, and all the morning in my chamber looking over and settling some Brampton businesses. At noon to dinner, where the remains of yesterday's venison and a couple of brave green geese, which we are fain to eat alone, because they will not keepe, which troubled us. After dinner I close to my business, and before the evening did end it with great content, and my mind eased by it. Then up and spent the evening walking with my wife talking, and it thundering and lightning all the evening, and this yeare have had the most of thunder and lightning they say of any in man's memory, and so it is, it seems, in France and everywhere else. So to prayers and to bed. 4th. Up, and many people with me about business, and then out to several places, and so at noon to my Lord Crew's, and there dined and very much made of there by him. He offered me the selling of some land of his in Cambridgeshire, a purchase of about L1000, and if I can compass it I will. After dinner I walked homeward, still doing business by the way, and at home find my wife this day of her owne accord to have lain out 25s. upon a pair of pendantes for her eares, which did vex me and brought both me and her to very high and very foule words from her to me, such as trouble me to think she should have in her mouth, and reflecting upon our old differences, which I hate to have remembered. I vowed to breake them, or that she should go and get what she could for them again. I went with that resolution out of doors; the poor wretch afterwards in a little while did send out to change them for her money again. I followed Besse her messenger at the 'Change, and there did consult and sent her back; I would not have them changed, being satisfied that she yielded. So went home, and friends again as to that business; but the words I could not get out of my mind, and so went to bed at night discontented, and she came to bed to me, but all would not make me friends, but sleep and rise in the morning angry. This day the King and the Queene went to visit my Lord Sandwich and the fleete, going forth in the Hope. ["Their Majesties were treated at Tilbury Hope by the Earl of Sandwich, returning the same day, abundantly satisfied both with the dutiful respects of that honourable person and with the excellent condition of all matters committed to his charge" ("The Newes," July 7th, 1664).--B.] 5th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change a little, then with W. Howe home and dined. So after dinner to my office, and there busy till late at night, having had among other things much discourse with young Gregory about the Chest business, wherein Sir W. Batten is so great a knave, and also with Alsop and Lanyon about the Tangier victualling, wherein I hope to get something for myself. Late home to supper and to bed, being full of thoughts of a sudden resolution this day taken upon the 'Change of going down to-morrow to the Hope. 6th. Up very betimes, and my wife also, and got us ready; and about eight o'clock, having got some bottles of wine and beer and neat's tongues, we went to our barge at the Towre, where Mr. Pierce and his wife, and a kinswoman and his sister, and Mrs. Clerke and her sister and cozen were to expect us; and so set out for the Hope, all the way down playing at cards and other sports, spending our time pretty merry. Come to the Hope about one and there showed them all the ships, and had a collacion of anchovies, gammon, &c., and after an houre's stay or more, embarked again for home; and so to cards and other sports till we came to Greenwich, and there Mrs. Clerke and my wife and I on shore to an alehouse, for them to do their business, and so to the barge again, having shown them the King's pleasure boat; and so home to the Bridge, bringing night home with us; and it rained hard, but we got them on foot to the Beare, and there put them into a boat, and I back to my wife in the barge, and so to the Tower Wharf and home, being very well pleased today with the company, especially Mrs. Pierce, who continues her complexion as well as ever, and hath, at this day, I think, the best complexion that ever I saw on any woman, young or old, or child either, all days of my life. Also Mrs. Clerke's kinswoman sings very prettily, but is very confident in it; Mrs. Clerke herself witty, but spoils all in being so conceited and making so great a flutter with a few fine clothes and some bad tawdry things worne with them. But the charge of the barge lies heavy upon me, which troubles me, but it is but once, and I may make Pierce do me some courtesy as great. Being come home, I weary to bed with sitting. The reason of Dr. Clerke's not being here was the King's being sicke last night and let blood, and so he durst not come away to-day. 7th. Up, and this day begun, the first day this year, to put off my linnen waistcoat, but it happening to be a cool day I was afraid of taking cold, which troubles me, and is the greatest pain I have in the world to think of my bad temper of my health. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, to my office to prepare some things against a Committee of Tangier this afternoon. So to White Hall, and there found the Duke and twenty more reading their commission (of which I am, and was also sent to, to come) for the Royall Fishery, which is very large, and a very serious charter it is; but the company generally so ill fitted for so serious a worke that I do much fear it will come to little. That being done, and not being able to do any thing for lacke of an oathe for the Governor and Assistants to take, we rose. Then our Committee for the Tangier victualling met and did a little, and so up, and I and Mr. Coventry walked in the garden half an hour, talking of the business of our masts, and thence away and with Creed walked half an hour or more in the Park, and thence to the New Exchange to drink some creame, but missed it and so parted, and I home, calling by the way for my new bookes, viz., Sir H. Spillman's "Whole Glossary," "Scapula's Lexicon," and Shakespeare's plays, which I have got money out of my stationer's bills to pay for. So home and to my office a while, and then home and to bed, finding myself pretty well for all my waistecoate being put off to-day. The king is pretty well to-day, though let blood the night before yesterday. 8th. Up and called out by my Lord Peterborough's gentleman to Mr. Povy's to discourse about getting of his money, wherein I am concerned in hopes of the L50 my Lord hath promised me, but I dare not reckon myself sure of it till I have it in my main,--[hand.]--for these Lords are hard to be trusted. Though I well deserve it. I staid at Povy's for his coming in, and there looked over his stables and every thing, but notwithstanding all the times I have been there I do yet find many fine things to look on. Thence to White Hall a little, to hear how the King do, he not having been well these three days. I find that he is pretty well again. So to Paul's Churchyarde about my books, and to the binder's and directed the doing of my Chaucer, [This was Speght's edition of 1602, which is still in the Pepysian Library. The book is bound in calf, with brass clasps and bosses. It is not lettered.] though they were not full neate enough for me, but pretty well it is; and thence to the clasp-maker's to have it clasped and bossed. So to the 'Change and home to dinner, and so to my office till 5 o'clock, and then came Mr. Hill and Andrews, and we sung an houre or two. Then broke up and Mr. Alsop and his company came and consulted about our Tangier victualling and brought it to a good head. So they parted, and I to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and at the office all the morning. In the afternoon by coach with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there to a Committee for Fishing; but the first thing was swearing to be true to the Company, and we were all sworne; but a great dispute we had, which, methought, is very ominous to the Company; some, that we should swear to be true to the best of our power, and others to the best of our understanding; and carried in the last, though in that we are the least able to serve the Company, because we would not be obliged to attend the business when we can, but when we list. This consideration did displease me, but it was voted and so went. We did nothing else, but broke up till a Committee of Guinny was set and ended, and then met again for Tangier, and there I did my business about my Lord Peterborough's order and my own for my expenses for the garrison lately. So home, by the way calling for my Chaucer and other books, and that is well done to my mind, which pleased me well. So to my office till late writing letters, and so home to my wife to supper and bed, where we have not lain together because of the heat of the weather a good while, but now against her going into the country. 10th (Lord's day). Up and by water, towards noon, to Somersett House, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and there dined with my Lady and the children. And after some ordinary discourse with my Lady, after dinner took our leaves and my wife hers, in order to her going to the country to-morrow. But my Lord took not occasion to speak one word of my father or mother about the children at all, which I wonder at, and begin I will not. Here my Lady showed us my Lady Castlemayne's picture, finely done; given my Lord; and a most beautiful picture it is. Thence with my Lady Jemimah and Mr. Sidney to St. Gyles's Church, and there heard a long, poore sermon. Thence set them down and in their coach to Kate Joyce's christening, where much company, good service of sweetmeates; and after an houre's stay, left them, and in my Lord's coach--his noble, rich coach--home, and there my wife fell to putting things in order against her going to-morrow, and I to read, and so to bed, where I not well, and so had no pleasure at all with my poor wife. 11th. But betimes up this morning, and, getting ready, we by coach to Holborne, where, at nine o'clock, they set out, and I and my man Will on horseback, by my wife, to Barnett; a very pleasant day; and there dined with her company, which was very good; a pretty gentlewoman with her, that goes but to Huntington, and a neighbour to us in towne. Here we staid two hours and then parted for all together, and my poor wife I shall soon want I am sure. Thence I and Will to see the Wells, half a mile off, [The mineral springs at Barnet Common, nearly a mile to the west of High Barnet. The discovery of the wells was announced in the "Perfect Diurnall" of June 5th, 1652, and Fuller, writing in 1662, says that there are hopes that the waters may "save as many lives as were lost in the fatal battle at Barnet" ("Worthies," Herts). A pamphlet on "The Barnet Well Water" was published by the Rev. W. M. Trinder, M.D., as late as the year 1800, but in 1840 the old well- house was pulled down.] and there I drank three glasses, and went and walked and came back and drunk two more; the woman would have had me drink three more; but I could not, my belly being full, but this wrought very well, and so we rode home, round by Kingsland, Hackney, and Mile End till we were quite weary, and my water working at least 7 or 8 times upon the road, which pleased me well, and so home weary, and not being very well, I betimes to bed, and there fell into a most mighty sweat in the night, about eleven o'clock, and there, knowing what money I have in the house and hearing a noyse, I begun to sweat worse and worse, till I melted almost to water. I rung, and could not in half an houre make either of the wenches hear me, and this made me fear the more, lest they might be gaga; and then I begun to think that there was some design in a stone being flung at the window over our stayres this evening, by which the thiefes meant to try what looking there would be after them and know our company. These thoughts and fears I had, and do hence apprehend the fears of all rich men that are covetous and have much money by them. At last Jane rose, and then I understand it was only the dogg wants a lodging and so made a noyse. So to bed, but hardly slept, at last did, and so till morning, 12th. And so rose, called up by my Lord Peterborough's gentleman about getting his Lord's money to-day of Mr. Povy, wherein I took such order, that it was paid, and I had my L50 brought me, which comforts my heart. We sat at the office all the morning, then at home. Dined alone; sad for want of company and not being very well, and know not how to eat alone. After dinner down with Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten to view, and did like a place by Deptford yard to lay masts in. By and by comes Mr. Coventry, and after a little stay he and I down to Blackwall, he having a mind to see the yarde, which we did, and fine storehouses there are and good docks, but of no great profit to him that oweth them for ought we see. [For "owneth." This sense is very common in Shakespeare. In the original edition of the authorized version of the Bible we read: "So shall the Jews at Jerusalem bind the man that oweth this girdle" (Acts xxi. I i) Nares's Glossary.] So home by water with him, having good discourse by the way, and so I to the office a while, and late home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up and to my office, at noon (after having at an alehouse hard by discoursed with one Mr. Tyler, a neighbour, and one Captain Sanders about the discovery of some pursers that have sold their provisions) I to my Lord Sandwich, thinking to have dined there, but they not dining at home, I with Captain Ferrers to Mr. Barwell the King's Squire Sadler, where about this time twelvemonths I dined before at a good venison pasty. The like we had now, and very good company, Mr. Tresham and others. Thence to White Hall to the Fishery, and there did little. So by water home, and there met Lanyon, &c., about Tangier matters, and so late to my office, and thence home and to bed. Mr. Moore was with me late to desire me to come to my Lord Sandwich tomorrow morning, which I shall, but I wonder what my business is. 14th. My mind being doubtful what the business should be, I rose a little after four o'clock, and abroad. Walked to my Lord's, and nobody up, but the porter rose out of bed to me so I back again to Fleete Streete, and there bought a little book of law; and thence, hearing a psalm sung, I went into St. Dunstan's, and there heard prayers read, which, it seems, is done there every morning at six o'clock; a thing I never did do at a chappell, but the College Chappell, in all my life. Thence to my Lord's again, and my Lord being up, was sent for up, and he and I alone. He did begin with a most solemn profession of the same confidence in and love for me that he ever had, and then told me what a misfortune was fallen upon me and him: in me, by a displeasure which my Lord Chancellor did show to him last night against me, in the highest and most passionate manner that ever any man did speak, even to the not hearing of any thing to be said to him: but he told me, that he did say all that could be said for a man as to my faithfullnesse and duty to his Lordship, and did me the greatest right imaginable. And what should the business be, but that I should be forward to have the trees in Clarendon Park marked and cut down, which he, it seems, hath bought of my Lord Albemarle; when, God knows! I am the most innocent man in the world in it, and did nothing of myself, nor knew of his concernment therein, but barely obeyed my Lord Treasurer's warrant for the doing thereof. And said that I did most ungentlemanlike with him, and had justified the rogues in cutting down a tree of his; and that I had sent the veriest Fanatique [Deane] that is in England to mark them, on purpose to nose--[provoke]--him. All which, I did assure my Lord, was most properly false, and nothing like it true; and told my Lord the whole passage. My Lord do seem most nearly affected; he is partly, I believe, for me, and partly for himself. So he advised me to wait presently upon my Lord, and clear myself in the most perfect manner I could, with all submission and assurance that I am his creature both in this and all other things; and that I do owne that all I have, is derived through my Lord Sandwich from his Lordship. So, full of horror, I went, and found him busy in tryals of law in his great room; and it being Sitting-day, durst not stay, but went to my Lord and told him so: whereupon he directed me to take him after dinner; and so away I home, leaving my Lord mightily concerned for me. I to the office, and there sat busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and from the 'Change over with Alsopp and the others to the Pope's Head tavern, and there staid a quarter of an hour, and concluded upon this, that in case I got them no more than 3s. per week per man I should have of them but L150 per ann., but to have it without any adventure or charge, but if I got them 3s. 2d., then they would give me L300 in the like manner. So I directed them to draw up their tender in a line or two against the afternoon, and to meet me at White Hall. So I left them, and I to my Lord Chancellor's; and there coming out after dinner I accosted him, telling him that I was the unhappy Pepys that had fallen into his high displeasure, and come to desire him to give me leave to make myself better understood to his Lordship, assuring him of my duty and service. He answered me very pleasingly, that he was confident upon the score of my Lord Sandwich's character of me, but that he had reason to think what he did, and desired me to call upon him some evening: I named to-night, and he accepted of it. So with my heart light I to White Hall, and there after understanding by a stratagem, and yet appearing wholly desirous not to understand Mr. Gauden's price when he desired to show it me, I went down and ordered matters in our tender so well that at the meeting by and by I was ready with Mr. Gauden's and his, both directed him a letter to me to give the board their two tenders, but there being none but the Generall Monk and Mr. Coventry and Povy and I, I did not think fit to expose them to view now, but put it off till Saturday, and so with good content rose. Thence I to the Half Moone, against the 'Change, to acquaint Lanyon and his friends of our proceedings, and thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there heard several tryals, wherein I perceive my Lord is a most able and ready man. After all done, he himself called, "Come, Mr. Pepys, you and I will take a turn in the garden." So he was led down stairs, having the goute, and there walked with me, I think, above an houre, talking most friendly, yet cunningly. I told him clearly how things were; how ignorant I was of his Lordship's concernment in it; how I did not do nor say one word singly, but what was done was the act of the whole Board. He told me by name that he was more angry with Sir G. Carteret than with me, and also with the whole body of the Board. But thinking who it was of the Board that knew him least, he did place his fear upon me; but he finds that he is indebted to none of his friends there. I think I did thoroughly appease him, till he thanked me for my desire and pains to satisfy him; and upon my desiring to be directed who I should of his servants advise with about this business, he told me nobody, but would be glad to hear from me himself. He told me he would not direct me in any thing, that it might not be said that the Lord Chancellor did labour to abuse the King; or (as I offered) direct the suspending the Report of the Purveyors but I see what he means, and I will make it my worke to do him service in it. But, Lord! to see how he is incensed against poor Deane, as a fanatique rogue, and I know not what: and what he did was done in spite to his Lordship, among all his friends and tenants. He did plainly say that he would not direct me in any thing, for he would not put himself into the power of any man to say that he did so and so; but plainly told me as if he would be glad I did something. Lord! to see how we poor wretches dare not do the King good service for fear of the greatness of these men. He named Sir G. Carteret, and Sir J. Minnes, and the rest; and that he was as angry with them all as me. But it was pleasant to think that, while he was talking to me, comes into the garden Sir G. Carteret; and my Lord avoided speaking with him, and made him and many others stay expecting him, while I walked up and down above an houre, I think; and would have me walk with my hat on. And yet, after all this, there has been so little ground for this his jealousy of me, that I am sometimes afeard that he do this only in policy to bring me to his side by scaring me; or else, which is worse, to try how faithfull I would be to the King; but I rather think the former of the two. I parted with great assurance how I acknowledged all I had to come from his Lordship; which he did not seem to refuse, but with great kindness and respect parted. So I by coach home, calling at my Lord's, but he not within. At my office late, and so home to eat something, being almost starved for want of eating my dinner to-day, and so to bed, my head being full of great and many businesses of import to me. 15th. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich's; where he sent for me up, and I did give my Lord an account of what had passed with my Lord Chancellor yesterday; with which he was well pleased, and advised me by all means to study in the best manner I could to serve him in this business. After this discourse ended, he begun to tell me that he had now pitched upon his day of going to sea upon Monday next, and that he would now give me an account how matters are with him. He told me that his work now in the world is only to keep up his interest at Court, having little hopes to get more considerably, he saying that he hath now about L8,000 per annum. It is true, he says, he oweth about L10,000; but he hath been at great charges in getting things to this pass in his estate; besides his building and good goods that he hath bought. He says he hath now evened his reckonings at the Wardrobe till Michaelmas last, and hopes to finish it to Ladyday before he goes. He says now there is due, too, L7,000 to him there, if he knew how to get it paid, besides L2000 that Mr. Montagu do owe him. As to his interest, he says that he hath had all the injury done him that ever man could have by another bosom friend that knows all his secrets, by Mr. Montagu; but he says that the worst of it all is past, and he gone out and hated, his very person by the King, and he believes the more upon the score of his carriage to him; nay, that the Duke of Yorke did say a little while since in his closett, that he did hate him because of his ungratefull carriage to my Lord of Sandwich. He says that he is as great with the Chancellor, or greater, than ever in his life. That with the King he is the like; and told me an instance, that whereas he formerly was of the private council to the King before he was last sicke, and that by the sickness an interruption was made in his attendance upon him; the King did not constantly call him, as he used to do, to his private council, only in businesses of the sea and the like; but of late the King did send a message to him by Sir Harry Bennet, to excuse the King to my Lord that he had not of late sent for him as he used to do to his private council, for it was not out of any distaste, but to avoid giving offence to some others whom he did not name; but my Lord supposes it might be Prince Rupert, or it may be only that the King would rather pass it by an excuse, than be thought unkind: but that now he did desire him to attend him constantly, which of late he hath done, and the King never more kind to him in his life than now. The Duke of Yorke, as much as is possible; and in the business of late, when I was to speak to my Lord about his going to sea, he says that he finds the Duke did it with the greatest ingenuity and love in the world; "and whereas," says my Lord, "here is a wise man hard by that thinks himself so, and would be thought so, and it may be is in a degree so (naming by and by my Lord Crew), would have had me condition with him that neither Prince Rupert nor any body should come over his head, and I know not what." The Duke himself hath caused in his commission, that he be made Admirall of this and what other ships or fleets shall hereafter be put out after these; which is very noble. He tells me in these cases, and that of Mr. Montagu's, and all others, he finds that bearing of them patiently is his best way, without noise or trouble, and things wear out of themselves and come fair again. But, says he, take it from me, never to trust too much to any man in the world, for you put yourself into his power; and the best seeming friend and real friend as to the present may have or take occasion to fall out with you, and then out comes all. Then he told me of Sir Harry Bennet, though they were always kind, yet now it is become to an acquaintance and familiarity above ordinary, that for these months he hath done no business but with my Lord's advice in his chamber, and promises all faithfull love to him and service upon all occasions. My Lord says, that he hath the advantage of being able by his experience to helpe and advise him; and he believes that that chiefly do invite Sir Harry to this manner of treating him. "Now," says my Lord, "the only and the greatest embarras that I have in the world is, how to behave myself to Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Chancellor, in case that there do lie any thing under the embers about my Lord Bristoll, which nobody can tell; for then," says he, "I must appear for one or other, and I will lose all I have in the world rather than desert my Lord Chancellor: so that," says he, "I know not for my life what to do in that case." For Sir H. Bennet's love is come to the height, and his confidence, that he hath given my Lord a character, and will oblige my Lord to correspond with him. "This," says he, "is the whole condition of my estate and interest; which I tell you, because I know not whether I shall see you again or no." Then as to the voyage, he thinks it will be of charge to him, and no profit; but that he must not now look after nor think to encrease, but study to make good what he hath, that what is due to him from the Wardrobe or elsewhere may be paid, which otherwise would fail, and all a man hath be but small content to him. So we seemed to take leave one of another; my Lord of me, desiring me that I would write to him and give him information upon all occasions in matters that concern him; which, put together with what he preambled with yesterday, makes me think that my Lord do truly esteem me still, and desires to preserve my service to him; which I do bless God for. In the middle of our discourse my Lady Crew came in to bring my Lord word that he hath another son, my Lady being brought to bed just now, I did not think her time had been so nigh, but she's well brought to bed, for which God be praised! and send my Lord to study the laying up of something the more! Then with Creed to St. James's, and missing Mr. Coventry, to White Hall; where, staying for him in one of the galleries, there comes out of the chayre-room Mrs. Stewart, in a most lovely form, with her hair all about her eares, having her picture taking there. There was the King and twenty more, I think, standing by all the while, and a lovely creature she in this dress seemed to be. Thence to the 'Change by coach, and so home to dinner and then to my office. In the evening Mr. Hill, Andrews and I to my chamber to sing, which we did very pleasantly, and then to my office again, where very late and so home, with my mind I bless God in good state of ease and body of health, only my head at this juncture very full of business, how to get something. Among others what this rogue Creed will do before he goes to sea, for I would fain be rid of him and see what he means to do, for I will then declare myself his firm friend or enemy. 16th. Up in the morning, my head mightily confounded with the great deale of business I have upon me to do. But to the office, and there dispatched Mr. Creed's business pretty well about his bill; but then there comes W. Howe for my Lord's bill of Imprest for L500 to carry with him this voyage, and so I was at a loss how to carry myself in it, Creed being there, but there being no help I delivered it to them both, and let them contend, when I perceive they did both endeavour to have it, but W. Howe took it, and the other had the discretion to suffer it. But I think I cleared myself to Creed that it past not from any practice of mine. At noon rose and did some necessary business at the 'Change. Thence to Trinity House to a dinner which Sir G. Carteret makes there as Maister this year. Thence to White Hall to the Tangier Committee, and there, above my expectation, got the business of our contract for the victualling carried for my people, viz., Alsopp, Lanyon, and Yeabsly; and by their promise I do thereby get L300 per annum to myself, which do overjoy me; and the matter is left to me to draw up. Mr. Lewes was in the gallery and is mightily amazed at it, and I believe Mr. Gauden will make some stir about it, for he wrote to Mr. Coventry to-day about it to argue why he should for the King's convenience have it, but Mr. Coventry most justly did argue freely for them that served cheapest. Thence walked a while with Mr. Coventry in the gallery, and first find that he is mighty cold in his present opinion of Mr. Peter Pett for his flagging and doing things so lazily there, and he did also surprise me with a question why Deane did not bring in their report of the timber of Clarendon. What he means thereby I know not, but at present put him off; nor do I know how to steer myself: but I must think of it, and advise with my Lord Sandwich. Thence with Creed by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I got Mr. Moore to give me my Lord's hand for my receipt of L109 more of my money of Sir G. Carteret, so that then his debt to me will be under L500, I think. This do ease my mind also. Thence carried him and W. Howe into London, and set them down at Sir G. Carteret's to receive some money, and I home and there busy very late, and so home to supper and to bed, with my mind in pretty good ease, my business being in a pretty good condition every where. 17th (Lord's day). All the morning at my office doing business there, it raining hard. So dined at home alone. After dinner walked to my Lord's, and there found him and much other guests at table at dinner, and it seems they have christened his young son to-day-called him James. I got a piece of cake. I got my Lord to signe and seale my business about my selling of Brampton land, which though not so full as I would, yet is as full as I can at present. Walked home again, and there fell to read, and by and by comes my uncle Wight, Dr. Burnett, and another gentleman, and talked and drank, and the Doctor showed me the manner of eating, turpentine, which pleases me well, for it is with great ease. So they being gone, I to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and walked to my Lord's, and there took my leave of him, he seeming very friendly to me in as serious a manner as ever in his life, and I believe he is very confident of me. He sets out this morning for Deale. Thence to St. James's to the Duke, and there did our usual business. He discourses very freely of a warr with Holland, to begin about winter, so that I believe we shall come to it. Before we went up to the Duke, Sir G. Carteret and I did talk together in the Parke about my Lord Chancellor's business of the timber; he telling me freely that my Lord Chancellor was never so angry with him in all his life, as he was for this business, in great passion; and that when he saw me there, he knew what it was about. And plots now with me how we may serve my Lord, which I am mightily glad of; and I hope together we may do it. Thence to Westminster to my barber's, to have my Periwigg he lately made me cleansed of its nits, which vexed me cruelly that he should put such a thing into my hands. Here meeting his mayd Jane, that has lived with them so long, I talked with her, and sending her of an errand to Dr. Clerk's, did meet her, and took her into a little alehouse in Brewers Yard, and there did sport with her, without any knowledge of her though, and a very pretty innocent girl she is. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, but he being busy I went away to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. By and by comes Creed, and I out with him to Fleet Street, and he to Mr. Povy's, I to my Lord Chancellor's, and missing him again walked to Povy's, and there saw his new perspective in his closet. Povy, to my great surprise and wonder, did here attacque me in his own and Mr. Bland's behalf that I should do for them both for the new contractors for the victualling of the garrison. Which I am ashamed that he should ask of me, nor did I believe that he was a man that did seek benefit in such poor things. Besides that he professed that he did not believe that I would have any hand myself in the contract, and yet here declares that he himself would have profit by it, and himself did move me that Sir W. Rider might join, and Ford with Gauden. I told him I had no interest in them, but I fear they must do something to him, for he told me that those of the Mole did promise to consider him. Thence home and Creed with me, and there he took occasion to owne his obligations to me, and did lay down twenty pieces in gold upon my shelf in my closett, which I did not refuse, but wish and expected should have been more. But, however, this is better than nothing, and now I am out of expectation, and shall henceforward know how to deal with him. After discourse of settling his matters here, we went out by coach, and he 'light at the Temple, and there took final leave of me, in order to his following my Lord to-morrow. I to my Lord Chancellor, and discoursed his business with him. I perceive, and he says plainly, that he will not have any man to have it in his power to say that my Lord Chancellor did contrive the wronging the King of his timber; but yet I perceive, he would be glad to have service done him therein; and told me Sir G. Carteret hath told him that he and I would look after his business to see it done in the best manner for him. Of this I was glad, and so away. Thence home, and late with my Tangier men about drawing up their agreement with us, wherein I find much trouble, and after doing as much as we could to-night, broke up and I to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined alone at home. After dinner Sir W. Batten and I down by water to Woolwich, where coming to the ropeyarde we are told that Mr. Falconer, who hath been ill of a relapse these two days, is just now dead. We went up to his widow, who is sicke in bed also. The poor woman in great sorrow, and entreats our friendship, which we shall, I think, in every thing do for her. I am sure I will. Thence to the Docke, and there in Sheldon's garden eat some fruit; so to Deptford a little, and thence home, it raining mightily, and being cold I doubted my health after it. At the office till 9 o'clock about Sir W. Warren's contract for masts, and then at home with Lanyon and Yeabsly till 12 and past about their contract for Tangier, wherein they and I differed, for I would have it drawn to the King's advantage, as much as might be, which they did not like, but parted good friends; however, when they were gone, I wished that I had forborne any disagreement till I had had their promise to me in writing. They being gone, I to bed. 20th. Up, and a while to my office, and then home with Mr. Deane till dinner, discoursing upon the business of my Lord Chancellor's timber in Clarendon Parke, and how to make a report therein without offending him; which at last I drew up, and hope it will please him. But I would to God neither I nor he ever had had any thing to have done with it! Dined together with a good pig, and then out by coach to White Hall, to the Committee for Fishing; but nothing done, it being a great day to-day there upon drawing at the Lottery of Sir Arthur Slingsby. I got in and stood by the two Queenes and the Duchesse of Yorke, and just behind my Lady Castlemayne, whom I do heartily adore; and good sport it was to see how most that did give their ten pounds did go away with a pair of globes only for their lot, and one gentlewoman, one Mrs. Fish, with the only blanke. And one I staid to see drew a suit of hangings valued at L430, and they say are well worth the money, or near it. One other suit there is better than that; but very many lots of three and fourscore pounds. I observed the King and Queenes did get but as poor lots as any else. But the wisest man I met with was Mr. Cholmley, who insured as many as would, from drawing of the one blank for 12d.; in which case there was the whole number of persons to one, which I think was three or four hundred. And so he insured about 200 for 200 shillings, so that he could not have lost if one of them had drawn it, for there was enough to pay the L10; but it happened another drew it, and so he got all the money he took. I left the lottery, and went to a play, only a piece of it, which was the Duke's house, "Worse and Worse;" just the same manner of play, and writ, I believe, by the same man as "The Adventures of Five Hours;" very pleasant it was, and I begin to admire Harris more than ever. Thence to Westminster to see Creed, and he and I took a walk in the Parke. He is ill, and not able yet to set out after my Lord, but will do to-morrow. So home, and late at my office, and so home to bed. This evening being moonshine I played a little late upon my flageolette in the garden. But being at Westminster Hall I met with great news that Mrs. Lane is married to one Martin, one that serves Captain Marsh. She is gone abroad with him to-day, very fine. I must have a bout with her very shortly to see how she finds marriage. 21st. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, among other things making a contract with Sir W. Warren for almost 1000 Gottenburg masts, the biggest that ever was made in the Navy, and wholly of my compassing and a good one I hope it is for the King. Dined at Sir W. Batten's, where I have not eat these many months. Sir G. Carteret, Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, and myself there only, and my Lady. A good venison pasty, and very merry, and pleasant I made myself with my Lady, and she as much to me. This morning to the office comes Nicholas Osborne, Mr. Gauden's clerke, to desire of me what piece of plate I would choose to have a L100, or thereabouts, bestowed upon me in, he having order to lay out so much; and, out of his freedom with me, do of himself come to make this question. I a great while urged my unwillingnesse to take any, not knowing how I could serve Mr. Gauden, but left it wholly to himself; so at noon I find brought home in fine leather cases, a pair of the noblest flaggons that ever I saw all the days of my life; whether I shall keepe them or no I cannot tell; for it is to oblige me to him in the business of the Tangier victualling, wherein I doubt I shall not; but glad I am to see that I shall be sure to get something on one side or other, have it which will: so, with a merry heart, I looked upon them, and locked them up. After dinner to [give] my Lord Chancellor a good account of his business, and he is very well pleased therewith, and carries himself with great discretion to me, without seeming over glad or beholding to me; and yet I know that he do think himself very well served by me. Thence to Westminster and to Mrs. Lane's lodgings, to give her joy, and there suffered me to deal with her as I hoped to do, and by and by her husband comes, a sorry, simple fellow, and his letter to her which she proudly showed me a simple, nonsensical thing. A man of no discourse, and I fear married her to make a prize of, which he is mistaken in, and a sad wife I believe she will prove to him, for she urged me to appoint a time as soon as he is gone out of town to give her a meeting next week. So by water with a couple of cozens of Mrs. Lane's, and set them down at Queenhive, and I through Bridge home, and there late at business, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then down by water to Deptford, where coming too soon, I spent an houre in looking round the yarde, and putting Mr. Shish [Jonas Shish, master-shipwright at Deptford. There are several papers of his among the State Papers. "I was at the funeral of old Mr. Shish, Master Shipwright of His Majesty's Yard here, an honest and remarkable man, and his death a public loss, for his excellent success in building ships (though altogether illiterate) and for bringing up so many of his children to be able artists. I held up the pall with three knights who did him that honour, and he was worthy of it. It was the custom of this good man to rise in the night and pray, kneeling in his own coffin, which he had lying by him for many years. He was born that famous year, the Gunpowder- plot, 1605" (Evelyn's "Diary," May 13th, 1680).] to measure a piece or two of timber, which he did most cruelly wrong, and to the King's losse 12 or 13s. in a piece of 28 feet in contents. Thence to the Clerke of the Cheques, from whose house Mr. Falconer was buried to-day; Sir J. Minnes and I the only principal officers that were there. We walked to church with him, and then I left them without staying the sermon and straight home by water, and there find, as I expected, Mr. Hill, and Andrews, and one slovenly and ugly fellow, Seignor Pedro, who sings Italian songs to the theorbo most neatly, and they spent the whole evening in singing the best piece of musique counted of all hands in the world, made by Seignor Charissimi, the famous master in Rome. Fine it was, indeed, and too fine for me to judge of. They have spoke to Pedro to meet us every weeke, and I fear it will grow a trouble to me if we once come to bid judges to meet us, especially idle Masters, which do a little displease me to consider. They gone comes Mr. Lanyon, who tells me Mr. Alsopp is now become dangerously ill, and fears his recovery, covery, which shakes my expectation of L630 per annum by the business; and, therefore, bless God for what Mr. Gauden hath sent me, which, from some discourse to-day with Mr. Osborne, swearing that he knows not any thing of this business of the victualling; but, the contrary, that it is not that moves Mr. Gauden to send it me, for he hath had order for it any time these two months. Whether this be true or no, I know not; but I shall hence with the more confidence keepe it. To supper and to the office a little, and to walk in the garden, the moon shining bright, and fine warm fair weather, and so home to bed. 23rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, where I took occasion to break the business of my Lord Chancellor's timber to Mr. Coventry in the best manner I could. He professed to me, that, till, Sir G. Carteret did speake of it at the table, after our officers were gone to survey it, he did not know that my Lord Chancellor had any thing to do with it; but now he says that he had been told by the Duke that Sir G. Carteret had spoke to him about it, and that he had told the Duke that, were he in my Lord Chancellor's case, if he were his father, he would rather fling away the gains of two or L3,000, than have it said that the timber, which should have been the King's, if it had continued the Duke of Albemarle's, was concealed by us in favour of my Lord Chancellor; for, says he, he is a great man, and all such as he, and he himself particularly, have a great many enemies that would be glad of such an advantage against him. When I told him it was strange that Sir J. Minnes and Sir G. Carteret, that knew my Lord Chancellor's concernment therein, should not at first inform us, he answered me that for Sir J. Minnes, he is looked upon to be an old good companion, but by nobody at the other end of the towne as any man of business, and that my Lord Chancellor, he dares say, never did tell him of it, only Sir G. Carteret, he do believe, must needs know it, for he and Sir J. Shaw are the greatest confidants he hath in the world. So for himself, he said, he would not mince the matter, but was resolved to do what was fit, and stand upon his owne legs therein, and that he would speak to the Duke, that he and Sir G. Carteret might be appointed to attend my Lord Chancellor in it. All this disturbs me mightily. I know not what to say to it, nor how to carry myself therein; for a compliance will discommend me to Mr. Coventry, and a discompliance to my Lord Chancellor. But I think to let it alone, or at least meddle in it as little more as I can. From thence walked toward Westminster, and being in an idle and wanton humour, walked through Fleet Alley, and there stood a most pretty wench at one of the doors, so I took a turn or two, but what by sense of honour and conscience I would not go in, but much against my will took coach and away, and away to Westminster Hall, and there 'light of Mrs. Lane, and plotted with her to go over the water. So met at White's stairs in Chanel Row, and over to the old house at Lambeth Marsh, and there eat and drank, and had my pleasure of her twice, she being the strangest woman in talk of love to her husband sometimes, and sometimes again she do not care for him, and yet willing enough to allow me a liberty of doing what I would with her. So spending 5s. or 6s. upon her, I could do what I would, and after an hour's stay and more back again and set her ashore there again, and I forward to Fleet Street, and called at Fleet Alley, not knowing how to command myself, and went in and there saw what formerly I have been acquainted with, the wickedness of these houses, and the forcing a man to present expense. The woman indeed is a most lovely woman, but I had no courage to meddle with her for fear of her not being wholesome, and so counterfeiting that I had not money enough, it was pretty to see how cunning she was, would not suffer me to have to do in any manner with her after she saw I had no money, but told me then I would not come again, but she now was sure I would come again, but I hope in God I shall not, for though she be one of the prettiest women I ever saw, yet I fear her abusing me. So desiring God to forgive me for this vanity, I went home, taking some books from my bookseller, and taking his lad home with me, to whom I paid L10 for books I have laid up money for, and laid out within these three weeks, and shall do no more a great while I hope. So to my office writing letters, and then home and to bed, weary of the pleasure I have had to-day, and ashamed to think of it. 24th (Lord's day). Up, in some pain all day from yesterday's passages, having taken cold, I suppose. So staid within all day reading of two or three good plays. At night to my office a little, and so home, after supper to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten by coach to St. James's, but there the Duke being gone out we to my Lord Berkeley's chamber, Mr. Coventry being there, and among other things there met with a printed copy of the King's commission for the repair of Paul's, which is very large, and large power for collecting money, and recovering of all people that had bought or sold formerly any thing belonging to the Church. And here I find my Lord Mayor of the City set in order before the Archbishopp or any nobleman, though all the greatest officers of state are there. But yet I do not hear by my Lord Berkeley, who is one of them, that any thing is like to come of it. Thence back again homewards, and Sir W. Batten and I to the Coffee-house, but no newes, only the plague is very hot still, and encreases among the Dutch. Home to dinner, and after dinner walked forth, and do what I could I could not keep myself from going through Fleet Lane, but had the sense of safety and honour not to go in, and the rather being a holiday I feared I might meet with some people that might know me. Thence to Charing Cross, and there called at Unthanke's to see what I owed, but found nothing, and here being a couple of pretty ladies, lodgers in the kitchen, I staid a little there. Thence to my barber Gervas, who this day buries his child, which it seems was born without a passage behind, so that it never voided any thing in the week or fortnight that it has been born. Thence to Mr. Reeves, it coming just now in my head to buy a microscope, but he was not within, so I walked all round that end of the town among the loathsome people and houses, but, God be thanked! had no desire to visit any of them. So home, where I met Mr. Lanyon, who tells me Mr. Alsop is past hopes, which will mightily disappoint me in my hopes there, and yet it may be not. I shall think whether it will be safe for me to venture myself or no, and come in as an adventurer. He gone, Mr. Cole (my old Jack Cole) comes to see and speak with me, and his errand in short to tell me that he is giving over his trade; he can do no good in it, and will turn what he has into money and go to sea, his father being dead and leaving him little, if any thing. This I was sorry to hear, he being a man of good parts, but, I fear, debauched. I promised him all the friendship I can do him, which will end in little, though I truly mean it, and so I made him stay with me till 11 at night, talking of old school stories, and very pleasing ones, and truly I find that we did spend our time and thoughts then otherwise than I think boys do now, and I think as well as methinks that the best are now. He supped with me, and so away, and I to bed. And strange to see how we are all divided that were bred so long at school together, and what various fortunes we have run, some good, some bad. 26th. All the morning at the office, at noon to Anthony Joyce's, to our gossip's dinner. I had sent a dozen and a half of bottles of wine thither, and paid my double share besides, which is 18s. Very merry we were, and when the women were merry and rose from table, I above with them, ne'er a man but I, I began discourse of my not getting of children, and prayed them to give me their opinions and advice, and they freely and merrily did give me these ten, among them (1) Do not hug my wife too hard nor too much; (2) eat no late suppers; (3) drink juyce of sage; (4) tent and toast; (5) wear cool holland drawers; (6) keep stomach warm and back cool; (7) upon query whether it was best to do at night or morn, they answered me neither one nor other, but when we had most mind to it; (8) wife not to go too straight laced; (9) myself to drink mum and sugar; (10) Mrs. Ward did give me, to change my place. The 3rd, 4th, 6th, 7th, and 10th they all did seriously declare, and lay much stress upon them as rules fit to be observed indeed, and especially the last, to lie with our heads where our heels do, or at least to make the bed high at feet and low at head. Very merry all, as much as I could be in such sorry company. Great discourse of the fray yesterday in Moorefields, how the butchers at first did beat the weavers (between whom there hath been ever an old competition for mastery), but at last the weavers rallied and beat them. At first the butchers knocked down all for weavers that had green or blue aprons, till they were fain to pull them off and put them in their breeches. At last the butchers were fain to pull off their sleeves, that they might not be known, and were soundly beaten out of the field, and some deeply wounded and bruised; till at last the weavers went out tryumphing, calling L100 for a butcher. I to Mr. Reeves to see a microscope, he having been with me to-day morning, and there chose one which I will have. Thence back and took up young Mrs. Harman, a pretty bred and pretty humoured woman whom I could love well, though not handsome, yet for her person and carriage, and black. By the way met her husband going for her, and set them both down at home, and so home to my office a while, and so to supper and bed. 27th. Up, and after some discourse with Mr. Duke, who is to be Secretary to the Fishery, and is now Secretary to the Committee for Trade, who I find a very ingenious man, I went to Mr. Povy's, and there heard a little of his empty discourse, and fain he would have Mr. Gauden been the victualler for Tangier, which none but a fool would say to me when he knows he hath made it his request to me to get him something of these men that now do it. Thence to St. James's, but Mr. Coventry being ill and in bed I did not stay, but to White Hall a little, walked up and down, and so home to fit papers against this afternoon, and after dinner to the 'Change a little, and then to White Hall, where anon the Duke of Yorke came, and a Committee we had of Tangier, where I read over my rough draught of the contract for Tangier victualling, and acquainted them with the death of Mr. Alsopp, which Mr. Lanyon had told me this morning, which is a sad consideration to see how uncertain a thing our lives are, and how little to be presumed of in our greatest undertakings. The words of the contract approved of, and I home and there came Mr. Lanyon to me and brought my neighbour, Mr. Andrews, to me, whom he proposes for his partner in the room of Mr. Alsopp, and I like well enough of it. We read over the contract together, and discoursed it well over and so parted, and I am glad to see it once over in this condition again, for Mr. Lanyon and I had some discourse to-day about my share in it, and I hope if it goes on to have my first hopes of L300 per ann. They gone, I to supper and to bed. This afternoon came my great store of Coles in, being to Chaldron, so that I may see how long they will last me. 28th. At the office all the morning, dined, after 'Change, at home, and then abroad, and seeing "The Bondman" upon the posts, I consulted my oaths and find I may go safely this time without breaking it; I went thither, notwithstanding my great desire to have gone to Fleet Alley, God forgive me, again. There I saw it acted. It is true, for want of practice, they had many of them forgot their parts a little; but Betterton and my poor Ianthe outdo all the world. There is nothing more taking in the world with me than that play. Thence to Westminster to my barber's, and strange to think how when I find that Jervas himself did intend to bring home my periwigg, and not Jane his maid, I did desire not to have it at all, for I had a mind to have her bring it home. I also went to Mr. Blagrave's about speaking to him for his kinswoman to come live with my wife, but they are not come to town, and so I home by coach and to my office, and then to supper and to bed. My present posture is thus: my wife in the country and my mayde Besse with her and all quiett there. I am endeavouring to find a woman for her to my mind, and above all one that understands musique, especially singing. I am the willinger to keepe one because I am in good hopes to get 2 or L300 per annum extraordinary by the business of the victualling of Tangier, and yet Mr. Alsopp, my chief hopes, is dead since my looking after it, and now Mr. Lanyon, I fear, is, falling sicke too. I am pretty well in health, only subject to wind upon any cold, and then immediate and great pains. All our discourse is of a Dutch warr and I find it is likely to come to it, for they are very high and desire not to compliment us at all, as far as I hear, but to send a good fleete to Guinny to oppose us there. My Lord Sandwich newly gone to sea, and I, I think, fallen into his very good opinion again, at least he did before his going, and by his letter since, show me all manner of respect and confidence. I am over-joyed in hopes that upon this month's account I shall find myself worth L1000, besides the rich present of two silver and gilt flaggons which Mr. Gauden did give me the other day. I do now live very prettily at home, being most seriously, quietly, and neatly served by my two mayds Jane and the girle Su, with both of whom I am mightily well pleased. My greatest trouble is the settling of Brampton Estate, that I may know what to expect, and how to be able to leave it when I die, so as to be just to my promise to my uncle Thomas and his son. The next thing is this cursed trouble my brother Tom is likely to put us to by his death, forcing us to law with his creditors, among others Dr. Tom Pepys, and that with some shame as trouble, and the last how to know in what manner as to saving or spending my father lives, lest they should run me in debt as one of my uncle's executors, and I never the wiser nor better for it. But in all this I hope shortly to be at leisure to consider and inform myself well. 29th. At the office all the morning dispatching of business, at noon to the 'Change after dinner, and thence to Tom Trice about Dr. Pepys's business, and thence it raining turned into Fleet Alley, and there was with Cocke an hour or so. The jade, whether I would not give her money or not enough; she would not offer to invite to do anything, but on the contrary saying she had no time, which I was glad of, for I had no mind to meddle with her, but had my end to see what a cunning jade she was, to see her impudent tricks and ways of getting money and raising the reckoning by still calling for things, that it come to 6 or 7 shillings presently. So away home, glad I escaped without any inconvenience, and there came Mr. Hill, Andrews and Seignor Pedro, and great store of musique we had, but I begin to be weary of having a master with us, for it spoils, methinks, the ingenuity of our practice. After they were gone comes Mr. Bland to me, sat till 11 at night with me, talking of the garrison of Tangier and serving them with pieces of eight. A mind he hath to be employed there, but dares not desire any courtesy of me, and yet would fain engage me to be for him, for I perceive they do all find that I am the busy man to see the King have right done him by inquiring out other bidders. Being quite tired with him, I got him gone, and so to bed. 30th. All the morning at the office; at noon to the 'Change, where great talke of a rich present brought by an East India ship from some of the Princes of India, worth to the King L70,000 in two precious stones. After dinner to the office, and there all the afternoon making an end of several things against the end of the month, that I may clear all my reckonings tomorrow; also this afternoon, with great content, I finished the contracts for victualling of Tangier with Mr. Lanyon and the rest, and to my comfort got him and Andrews to sign to the giving me L300 per annum, by which, at least, I hope to be a L100 or two the better. Wrote many letters by the post to ease my mind of business and to clear my paper of minutes, as I did lately oblige myself to clear every thing against the end of the month. So at night with my mind quiet and contented to bed. This day I sent a side of venison and six bottles of wine to Kate Joyce. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I have not been these many weeks. So home, and thither, inviting him yesterday, comes Mr. Hill, at which I was a little troubled, but made up all very well, carrying him with me to Sir J. Minnes, where I was invited and all our families to a venison pasty. Here good cheer and good discourse. After dinner Mr. Hill and I to my house, and there to musique all the afternoon. He being gone, in the evening I to my accounts, and to my great joy and with great thanks to Almighty God, I do find myself most clearly worth L1014, the first time that ever I was worth L1000 before, which is the height of all that ever I have for a long time pretended to. But by the blessing of God upon my care I hope to lay up something more in a little time, if this business of the victualling of Tangier goes on as I hope it will. So with praise to God for this state of fortune that I am brought to as to wealth, and my condition being as I have at large set it down two days ago in this book, I home to supper and to bed, desiring God to give me the grace to make good use of what I have and continue my care and diligence to gain more. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: All divided that were bred so long at school together Began discourse of my not getting of children Came to bed to me, but all would not make me friends Feared I might meet with some people that might know me Had no mind to meddle with her Her impudent tricks and ways of getting money How little to be presumed of in our greatest undertakings Mind to have her bring it home My wife made great means to be friends, coming to my bedside Never to trust too much to any man in the world Not well, and so had no pleasure at all with my poor wife Not when we can, but when we list Now against her going into the country (lay together) Periwigg he lately made me cleansed of its nits Presse seamen, without which we cannot really raise men Shakespeare's plays She had the cunning to cry a great while, and talk and blubber There eat and drank, and had my pleasure of her twice These Lords are hard to be trusted Things wear out of themselves and come fair again To my Lord Sandwich, thinking to have dined there Upon a very small occasion had a difference again broke out Very high and very foule words from her to me What wine you drinke, lett it bee at meales 
4150	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST & SEPTEMBER 1664 August 1st. Up, my mind very light from my last night's accounts, and so up and with Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, where among other things having prepared with some industry every man a part this morning and no sooner (for fear they should either consider of it or discourse of it one to another) Mr. Coventry did move the Duke and obtain it that one of the clerkes of the Clerke of the Acts should have an addition of L30 a year, as Mr. Turner hath, which I am glad of, that I may give T. Hater L20 and keep L10 towards a boy's keeping. Thence Mr. Coventry and I to the Attorney's chamber at the Temple, but not being there we parted, and I home, and there with great joy told T. Hater what I had done, with which the poor wretch was very glad, though his modesty would not suffer him to say much. So to the Coffee-house, and there all the house full of the victory Generall Soushe [General Soushe was Louis Ratuit, Comte de Souches. The battle was fought at Lewenz (or Leva), in Hungary.--B.] (who is a Frenchman, a soldier of fortune, commanding part of the German army) hath had against the Turke; killing 4,000 men, and taking most extraordinary spoil. Thence taking up Harman and his wife, carried them to Anthony Joyce's, where we had my venison in a pasty well done; but, Lord! to see how much they made of, it, as if they had never eat any before, and very merry we were, but Will most troublesomely so, and I find he and his wife have a most wretched life one with another, but we took no notice, but were very merry as I could be in such company. But Mrs. Harman is a very pretty-humoured wretch, whom I could love with all my heart, being so good and innocent company. Thence to Westminster to Mr. Blagrave's, and there, after singing a thing or two over, I spoke to him about a woman for my wife, and he offered me his kinswoman, which I was glad of, but she is not at present well, but however I hope to have her. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and thence with Mr. Coventry, who appointed to meet me there, and with him to the Attorney General, and there with Sir Ph. Warwicke consulted of a new commission to be had through the Broad Seale to enable us to make this contract for Tangier victualling. So home, and there talked long with Will about the young woman of his family which he spoke of for to live with my wife, but though she hath very many good qualitys, yet being a neighbour's child and young and not very staid, I dare not venture of having her, because of her being able to spread any report of our family upon any discontent among the heart of our neighbours. So that my dependance is upon Mr. Blagrave, and so home to supper and to bed. Last night, at 12 o'clock, I was waked with knocking at Sir W. Pen's door; and what was it but people's running up and down to bring him word that his brother, [George Penn, the elder brother of Sir W. Penn, was a wealthy merchant at San Lucar, the port of Seville. He was seized as a heretic by the Holy Office, and cast into a dungeon eight feet square and dark as the grave. There he remained three years, every month being scourged to make him confess his crimes. At last, after being twice put to the rack, he offered to confess whatever they would suggest. His property, L12,000, was then confiscated, his wife, a Catholic, taken from him, and he was banished from Spain for ever.--M. B.] who hath been a good while, it seems, sicke, is dead. 2nd. At the office all the morning. At noon dined, and then to, the 'Change, and there walked two hours or more with Sir W. Warren, who after much discourse in general of Sir W. Batten's dealings, he fell to talk how every body must live by their places, and that he was willing, if I desired it, that I should go shares with him in anything that he deals in. He told me again and again, too, that he confesses himself my debtor too for my service and friendship to him in his present great contract of masts, and that between this and Christmas he shall be in stocke and will pay it me. This I like well, but do not desire to become a merchant, and, therefore, put it off, but desired time to think of it. Thence to the King's play-house, and there saw "Bartholomew Fayre," which do still please me; and is, as it is acted, the best comedy in the world, I believe. I chanced to sit by Tom Killigrew, who tells me that he is setting up a Nursery; that is, is going to build a house in Moorefields, wherein he will have common plays acted. But four operas it shall have in the year, to act six weeks at a time; where we shall have the best scenes and machines, the best musique, and every thing as magnificent as is in Christendome; and to that end hath sent for voices and painters and other persons from Italy. Thence homeward called upon my Lord Marlborough, and so home and to my office, and then to Sir W. Pen, and with him and our fellow officers and servants of the house and none else to Church to lay his brother in the ground, wherein nothing handsome at all, but that he lays him under the Communion table in the chancel, about nine at night? So home and to bed. 3rd. Up betimes and set some joyners on work to new lay my floor in our wardrobe, which I intend to make a room for musique. Thence abroad to Westminster, among other things to Mr. Blagrave's, and there had his consent for his kinswoman to come to be with my wife for her woman, at which I am well pleased and hope she may do well. Thence to White Hall to meet with Sir G. Carteret about hiring some ground to make our mast docke at Deptford, but being Council morning failed, but met with Mr. Coventry, and he and I discoursed of the likeliness of a Dutch warr, which I think is very likely now, for the Dutch do prepare a fleet to oppose us at Guinny, and he do think we shall, though neither of us have a mind to it, fall into it of a sudden, and yet the plague do increase among them, and is got into their fleet, and Opdam's own ship, which makes it strange they should be so high. Thence to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and down by water to Woolwich to the rope yard, and there visited Mrs. Falconer, who tells me odd stories of how Sir W. Pen was rewarded by her husband with a gold watch (but seems not certain of what Sir W. Batten told me, of his daughter having a life given her in L80 per ann.) for his helping him to his place, and yet cost him L150 to Mr. Coventry besides. He did much advise it seems Mr. Falconer not to marry again, expressing that he would have him make his daughter his heire, or words to that purpose, and that that makes him, she thinks, so cold in giving her any satisfaction, and that W. Boddam hath publickly said, since he came down thither to be clerke of the ropeyard, that it hath this week cost him L100, and would be glad that it would cost him but half as much more for the place, and that he was better before than now, and that if he had been to have bought it, he would not have given so much for it. Now I am sure that Mr. Coventry hath again and again said that he would take nothing, but would give all his part in it freely to him, that so the widow might have something. What the meaning of this is I know not, but that Sir W. Pen do get something by it. Thence to the Dockeyard, and there saw the new ship in great forwardness. So home and to supper, and then to the office, where late, Mr. Bland and I talking about Tangier business, and so home to bed. 4th. Up betimes and to the office, fitting myself against a great dispute about the East India Company, which spent afterwards with us all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Pen, a piece of beef only, and I counterfeited a friendship and mirth which I cannot have with him, yet out with him by his coach, and he did carry me to a play and pay for me at the King's house, which is "The Rivall Ladys," a very innocent and most pretty witty play. I was much pleased with it, and it being given me, I look upon it as no breach to my oathe. Here we hear that Clun, one of their best actors, was, the last night, going out of towne (after he had acted the Alchymist, wherein was one of his best parts that he acts) to his country-house, set upon and murdered; one of the rogues taken, an Irish fellow. It seems most cruelly butchered and bound. The house will have a great miss of him. Thence visited my Lady Sandwich, who tells me my Lord FitzHarding is to be made a Marquis. Thence home to my office late, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up very betimes and set my plaisterer to work about whiting and colouring my musique roome, which having with great pleasure seen done, about ten o'clock I dressed myself, and so mounted upon a very pretty mare, sent me by Sir W. Warren, according to his promise yesterday. And so through the City, not a little proud, God knows, to be seen upon so pretty a beast, and to my cozen W. Joyce's, who presently mounted too, and he and I out of towne toward Highgate; in the way, at Kentish-towne, showing me the place and manner of Clun's being killed and laid in a ditch, and yet was not killed by any wounds, having only one in his arm, but bled to death through his struggling. He told me, also, the manner of it, of his going home so late [from] drinking with his whore, and manner of having it found out. Thence forward to Barnett, and there drank, and so by night to Stevenage, it raining a little, but not much, and there to my great trouble, find that my wife was not come, nor any Stamford coach gone down this week, so that she cannot come. So vexed and weary, and not thoroughly out of pain neither in my old parts, I after supper to bed, and after a little sleep, W. Joyce comes in his shirt into my chamber, with a note and a messenger from my wife, that she was come by Yorke coach to Bigglesworth, and would be with us to-morrow morning. So, mightily pleased at her discreete action in this business, I with peace to sleep again till next morning. So up, and 6th. Here lay Deane Honiwood last night. I met and talked with him this morning, and a simple priest he is, though a good, well-meaning man. W. Joyce and I to a game at bowles on the green there till eight o'clock, and then comes my wife in the coach, and a coach full of women, only one man riding by, gone down last night to meet a sister of his coming to town. So very joyful drank there, not 'lighting, and we mounted and away with them to Welling, and there 'light, and dined very well and merry and glad to see my poor-wife. Here very merry as being weary I could be, and after dinner, out again, and to London. In our way all the way the mightiest merry, at a couple of young gentlemen, come down to meet the same gentlewoman, that ever I was in my life, and so W. Joyce too, to see how one of them was horsed upon a hard-trotting sorrell horse, and both of them soundly weary and galled. But it is not to be set down how merry we were all the way. We 'light in Holborne, and by another coach my wife and mayde home, and I by horseback, and found all things well and most mighty neate and clean. So, after welcoming my wife a little, to the office, and so home to supper, and then weary and not very well to bed. 7th (Lord's day). Lay long caressing my wife and talking, she telling me sad stories of the ill, improvident, disquiett, and sluttish manner that my father and mother and Pall live in the country, which troubles me mightily, and I must seek to remedy it. So up and ready, and my wife also, and then down and I showed my wife, to her great admiration and joy, Mr. Gauden's present of plate, the two flaggons, which indeed are so noble that I hardly can think that they are yet mine. So blessing God for it, we down to dinner mighty pleasant, and so up after dinner for a while, and I then to White Hall, walked thither, having at home met with a letter of Captain Cooke's, with which he had sent a boy for me to see, whom he did intend to recommend to me. I therefore went and there met and spoke with him. He gives me great hopes of the boy, which pleases me, and at Chappell I there met Mr. Blagrave, who gives a report of the boy, and he showed me him, and I spoke to him, and the boy seems a good willing boy to come to me, and I hope will do well. I am to speak to Mr. Townsend to hasten his clothes for him, and then he is to come. So I walked homeward and met with Mr. Spong, and he with me as far as the Old Exchange talking of many ingenuous things, musique, and at last of glasses, and I find him still the same ingenuous man that ever he was, and do among other fine things tell me that by his microscope of his owne making he do discover that the wings of a moth is made just as the feathers of the wing of a bird, and that most plainly and certainly. While we were talking came by several poor creatures carried by, by constables, for being at a conventicle. They go like lambs, without any resistance. I would to God they would either conform, or be more wise, and not be catched! Thence parted with him, mightily pleased with his company, and away homeward, calling at Dan Rawlinson, and supped there with my uncle Wight, and then home and eat again for form sake with her, and then to prayers and to bed. 8th. Up and abroad with Sir W. Batten, by coach to St. James's, where by the way he did tell me how Sir J. Minnes would many times arrogate to himself the doing of that that all the Board have equal share in, and more that to himself which he hath had nothing to do in, and particularly the late paper given in by him to the Duke, the translation of a Dutch print concerning the quarrel between us and them, which he did give as his own when it was Sir Richard Ford's wholly. Also he told me how Sir W. Pen (it falling in our discourse touching Mrs. Falconer) was at first very great for Mr. Coventry to bring him in guests, and that at high rates for places, and very open was he to me therein. After business done with the Duke, I home to the Coffee-house, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to hang up my fine pictures in my dining room, which makes it very pretty, and so my wife and I abroad to the King's play-house, she giving me her time of the last month, she having not seen any then; so my vowe is not broke at all, it costing me no more money than it would have done upon her, had she gone both her times that were due to her. Here we saw "Flora's Figarys." I never saw it before, and by the most ingenuous performance of the young jade Flora, it seemed as pretty a pleasant play as ever I saw in my life. So home to supper, and then to my office late, Mr. Andrews and I to talk about our victualling commission, and then he being gone I to set down my four days past journalls and expenses, and so home to bed. 9th. Up, and to my office, and there we sat all the morning, at noon home, and there by appointment Mr. Blagrave came and dined with me, and brought a friend of his of the Chappell with him. Very merry at dinner, and then up to my chamber and there we sung a Psalm or two of Lawes's, then he and I a little talke by ourselves of his kinswoman that is to come to live with my wife, who is to come about ten days hence, and I hope will do well. They gone I to my office, and there my head being a little troubled with the little wine I drank, though mixed with beer, but it may be a little more than I used to do, and yet I cannot say so, I went home and spent the afternoon with my wife talking, and then in the evening a little to my office, and so home to supper and to bed. This day comes the newes that the Emperour hath beat the Turke; [This was the battle of St. Gothard, in which the Turks were defeated with great slaughter by the imperial forces under Montecuculli, assisted by the confederates from the Rhine, and by forty troops of French cavalry under Coligni. St. Gothard is in Hungary, on the river Raab, near the frontier of Styria; it is about one hundred and twenty miles south of Vienna, and thirty east of Gratz. The battle took place on the 9th Moharrem, A.H. 1075, or 23rd July, A.D. 1664 (old style), which is that used by Pepys.--B.] killed the Grand Vizier and several great Bassas, with an army of 80,000 men killed and routed; with some considerable loss of his own side, having lost three generals, and the French forces all cut off almost. Which is thought as good a service to the Emperour as beating the Turke almost, for had they conquered they would have been as troublesome to him. [The fact is, the Germans were beaten by the Turks, and the French won the battle for them.--B.] 10th. Up, and, being ready, abroad to do several small businesses, among others to find out one to engrave my tables upon my new sliding rule with silver plates, it being so small that Browne that made it cannot get one to do it. So I find out Cocker, the famous writing-master, and get him to do it, and I set an hour by him to see him design it all; and strange it is to see him with his natural eyes to cut so small at his first designing it, and read it all over, without any missing, when for my life I could not, with my best skill, read one word or letter of it; but it is use. But he says that the best light for his life to do a very small thing by (contrary to Chaucer's words to the Sun, "that he should lend his light to them that small seals grave"), it should be by an artificial light of a candle, set to advantage, as he could do it. I find the fellow, by his discourse, very ingenuous; and among other things, a great admirer and well read in all our English poets, and undertakes to judge of them all, and that not impertinently. Well pleased with his company and better with his judgement upon my Rule, I left him and home, whither Mr. Deane by agreement came to me and dined with me, and by chance Gunner Batters's wife. After dinner Deane and I [had] great discourse again about my Lord Chancellor's timber, out of which I wish I may get well. Thence I to Cocker's again, and sat by him with good discourse again for an hour or two, and then left him, and by agreement with Captain Silas Taylor (my old acquaintance at the Exchequer) to the Post Officer to hear some instrument musique of Mr. Berchenshaw's before my Lord Brunkard and Sir Robert Murray. I must confess, whether it be that I hear it but seldom, or that really voice is better, but so it is that I found no pleasure at all in it, and methought two voyces were worth twenty of it. So home to my office a while, and then to supper and to bed. 11th. Up, and through pain, to my great grief forced to wear my gowne to keep my legs warm. At the office all the morning, and there a high dispute against Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen about the breadth of canvas again, they being for the making of it narrower, I and Mr. Coventry and Sir J. Minnes for the keeping it broader. So home to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Creed, lately come from the Downes, and dined with me. I show him a good countenance, but love him not for his base ingratitude to me. However, abroad, carried my wife to buy things at the New Exchange, and so to my Lady Sandwich's, and there merry, talking with her a great while, and so home, whither comes Cocker with my rule, which he hath engraved to admiration, for goodness and smallness of work: it cost me 14s. the doing, and mightily pleased I am with it. By and by, he gone, comes Mr. Moore and staid talking with me a great while about my Lord's businesses, which I fear will be in a bad condition for his family if my Lord should miscarry at sea. He gone, I late to my office, and cannot forbear admiring and consulting my new rule, and so home to supper and to bed. This day, for a wager before the King, my Lords of Castlehaven and Arran (a son of my Lord of Ormond's), they two alone did run down and kill a stoute bucke in St. James's parke. 12th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office with Sir W. Warren about a great contract for New England masts, where I was very hard with him, even to the making him angry, but I thought it fit to do it as well as just for my owne [and] the King's behalf. At noon to the 'Change a little, and so to dinner and then out by coach, setting my wife and mayde down, going to Stevens the silversmith to change some old silver lace and to go buy new silke lace for a petticoat; I to White Hall and did much business at a Tangier Committee; where, among other things, speaking about propriety of the houses there, and how we ought to let the Portugeses I have right done them, as many of them as continue, or did sell the houses while they were in possession, and something further in their favour, the Duke in an anger I never observed in him before, did cry, says he, "All the world rides us, and I think we shall never ride anybody." Thence home, and, though late, yet Pedro being there, he sang a song and parted. I did give him 5s., but find it burdensome and so will break up the meeting. At night is brought home our poor Fancy, which to my great grief continues lame still, so that I wish she had not been brought ever home again, for it troubles me to see her. 13th. Up, and before I went to the office comes my Taylor with a coate I have made to wear within doors, purposely to come no lower than my knees, for by my wearing a gowne within doors comes all my tenderness about my legs. There comes also Mr. Reeve, with a microscope and scotoscope. [An optical instrument used to enable objects to be seen in the dark. The name is derived from the Greek.] For the first I did give him L5 10s., a great price, but a most curious bauble it is, and he says, as good, nay, the best he knows in England, and he makes the best in the world. The other he gives me, and is of value; and a curious curiosity it is to look objects in a darke room with. Mightly pleased with this I to the office, where all the morning. There offered by Sir W. Pen his coach to go to Epsum and carry my wife, I stept out and bade my wife make her ready, but being not very well and other things advising me to the contrary, I did forbear going, and so Mr. Creed dining with me I got him to give my wife and me a play this afternoon, lending him money to do it, which is a fallacy that I have found now once, to avoyde my vowe with, but never to be more practised I swear, and to the new play, at the Duke's house, of "Henry the Fifth;" a most noble play, writ by my Lord Orrery; wherein Betterton, Harris, and Ianthe's parts are most incomparably wrote and done, and the whole play the most full of height and raptures of wit and sense, that ever I heard; having but one incongruity, or what did, not please me in it, that is, that King Harry promises to plead for Tudor to their Mistresse, Princesse Katherine of France, more than when it comes to it he seems to do; and Tudor refused by her with some kind of indignity, not with a difficulty and honour that it ought to have been done in to him. Thence home and to my office, wrote by the post, and then to read a little in Dr. Power's book of discovery by the Microscope to enable me a little how to use and what to expect from my glasse. So to supper and to bed. 14th (Lord's day). After long lying discoursing with my wife, I up, and comes Mr. Holliard to see me, who concurs with me that my pain is nothing but cold in my legs breeding wind, and got only by my using to wear a gowne, and that I am not at all troubled with any ulcer, but my thickness of water comes from my overheat in my back. He gone, comes Mr. Herbert, Mr. Honiwood's man, and dined with me, a very honest, plain, well-meaning man, I think him to be; and by his discourse and manner of life, the true embleme of an old ordinary serving-man. After dinner up to my chamber and made an end of Dr. Power's booke of the Microscope, very fine and to my content, and then my wife and I with great pleasure, but with great difficulty before we could come to find the manner of seeing any thing by my microscope. At last did with good content, though not so much as I expect when I come to understand it better. By and by comes W. Joyce, in his silke suit, and cloake lined with velvett: staid talking with me, and I very merry at it. He supped with me; but a cunning, crafty fellow he is, and dangerous to displease, for his tongue spares nobody. After supper I up to read a little, and then to bed. 15th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke, who tells us more and more signs of a Dutch warr, and how we must presently set out a fleete for Guinny, for the Dutch are doing so, and there I believe the warr will begin. Thence home with him again, in our way he talking of his cures abroad, while he was with the King as a doctor, and above all men the pox. And among others, Sir J. Denham he told me he had cured, after it was come to an ulcer all over his face, to a miracle. To the Coffee-house I, and so to the 'Change a little, and then home to dinner with Creed, whom I met at the Coffee-house, and after dinner by coach set him down at the Temple, and I and my wife to Mr. Blagrave's. They being none of them at home; I to the Hall, leaving her there, and thence to the Trumpett, whither came Mrs. Lane, and there begins a sad story how her husband, as I feared, proves not worth a farthing, and that she is with child and undone, if I do not get him a place. I had my pleasure here of her, and she, like an impudent jade, depends upon my kindness to her husband, but I will have no more to do with her, let her brew as she has baked, seeing she would not take my counsel about Hawly. After drinking we parted, and I to Blagrave's, and there discoursed with Mrs. Blagrave about her kinswoman, who it seems is sickly even to frantiqueness sometimes, and among other things chiefly from love and melancholy upon the death of her servant,--[Servant = lover.]--insomuch that she telling us all most simply and innocently I fear she will not be able to come to us with any pleasure, which I am sorry for, for I think she would have pleased us very well. In comes he, and so to sing a song and his niece with us, but she sings very meanly. So through the Hall and thence by coach home, calling by the way at Charing Crosse, and there saw the great Dutchman that is come over, under whose arm I went with my hat on, and could not reach higher than his eye-browes with the tip of my fingers, reaching as high as I could. He is a comely and well-made man, and his wife a very little, but pretty comely Dutch woman. It is true, he wears pretty high-heeled shoes, but not very high, and do generally wear a turbant, which makes him show yet taller than really he is, though he is very tall, as I have said before. Home to my office, and then to supper, and then to my office again late, and so home to bed, my wife and I troubled that we do not speed better in this business of her woman. 16th. Wakened about two o'clock this morning with the noise of thunder, which lasted for an houre, with such continued lightnings, not flashes, but flames, that all the sky and ayre was light; and that for a great while, not a minute's space between new flames all the time; such a thing as I never did see, nor could have believed had ever been in nature. And being put into a great sweat with it, could not sleep till all was over. And that accompanied with such a storm of rain as I never heard in my life. I expected to find my house in the morning overflowed with the rain breaking in, and that much hurt must needs have been done in the city with this lightning; but I find not one drop of rain in my house, nor any newes of hurt done. But it seems it has been here and all up and down the countrie hereabouts the like tempest, Sir W. Batten saying much of the greatness thereof at Epsum. Up and all the morning at the office. At noon busy at the 'Change about one business or other, and thence home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon very busy, and so to supper anon, and then to my office again a while, collecting observations out of Dr. Power's booke of Microscopes, and so home to bed, very stormy weather to-night for winde. This day we had newes that my Lady Pen is landed and coming hither, so that I hope the family will be in better order and more neate than it hath been. 17th. Up, and going to Sir W. Batten to speak to him about business, he did give me three, bottles of his Epsum water, which I drank and it wrought well with me, and did give me many good stools, and I found myself mightily cooled with them and refreshed. Thence I to Mr. Honiwood and my father's old house, but he was gone out, and there I staid talking with his man Herbert, who tells me how Langford and his wife are very foul-mouthed people, and will speak very ill of my father, calling him old rogue in reference to the hard penniworths he sold him of his goods when the rogue need not have bought any of them. So that I am resolved he shall get no more money by me, but it vexes me to think that my father should be said to go away in debt himself, but that I will cause to be remedied whatever comes of it. Thence to my Lord Crew, and there with him a little while. Before dinner talked of the Dutch war, and find that he do much doubt that we shall fall into it without the money or consent of Parliament, that is expected or the reason of it that is fit to have for every warr. Dined with him, and after dinner talked with Sir Thomas Crew, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is for ever blown up, and now quite out with his father again; to whom he pretended that his going down was, not that he was cast out of the Court, but that he had leave to be absent a month; but now he finds the truth. Thence to my Lady Sandwich, where by agreement my wife dined, and after talking with her I carried my wife to Mr. Pierce's and left her there, and so to Captain Cooke's, but he was not at home, but I there spoke with my boy Tom Edwards, and directed him to go to Mr. Townsend (with whom I was in the morning) to have measure taken of his clothes to be made him there out of the Wardrobe, which will be so done, and then I think he will come to me. Thence to White Hall, and after long staying there was no Committee of the Fishery as was expected. Here I walked long with Mr. Pierce, who tells me the King do still sup every night with my Lady Castlemayne, who he believes has lately slunk a great belly away, for from very big she is come to be down again. Thence to Mrs. Pierce's, and with her and my wife to see Mrs. Clarke, where with him and her very merry discoursing of the late play of Henry the 5th, which they conclude the best that ever was made, but confess with me that Tudor's being dismissed in the manner he is is a great blemish to the play. I am mightily pleased with the Doctor, for he is the only man I know that I could learn to pronounce by, which he do the best that ever I heard any man. Thence home and to the office late, and so to supper and to bed. My Lady Pen came hither first to-night to Sir W. Pen's lodgings. 18th. Lay too long in bed, till 8 o'clock, then up and Mr. Reeve came and brought an anchor and a very fair loadstone. He would have had me bought it, and a good stone it is, but when he saw that I would not buy it he said he [would] leave it for me to sell for him. By and by he comes to tell me that he had present occasion for L6 to make up a sum, and that he would pay me in a day or two, but I had the unusual wit to deny him, and so by and by we parted, and I to the office, where busy all the morning sitting. Dined alone at home, my wife going to-day to dine with Mrs. Pierce, and thence with her and. Mrs. Clerke to see a new play, "The Court Secret." I busy all the afternoon, toward evening to Westminster, and there in the Hall a while, and then to my barber, willing to have any opportunity to speak to Jane, but wanted it. So to Mrs. Pierces, who was come home, and she and Mrs. Clerke busy at cards, so my wife being gone home, I home, calling by the way at the Wardrobe and met Mr. Townsend, Mr. Moore and others at the Taverne thereby, and thither I to them and spoke with Mr. Townsend about my boy's clothes, which he says shall be soon done, and then I hope I shall be settled when I have one in the house that is musicall. So home and to supper, and then a little to my office, and then home to bed. My wife says the play she saw is the worst that ever she saw in her life. 19th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I sat all the morning hiring of ships to go to Guinny, where we believe the warr with Holland will first break out. At noon dined at home, and after dinner my wife and I to Sir W. Pen's, to see his Lady, the first time, who is a well-looked, fat, short, old Dutchwoman, but one that hath been heretofore pretty handsome, and is now very discreet, and, I believe, hath more wit than her husband. Here we staid talking a good while, and very well pleased I was with the old woman at first visit. So away home, and I to my office, my wife to go see my aunt Wight, newly come to town. Creed came to me, and he and I out, among other things, to look out a man to make a case, for to keep my stone, that I was cut of, in, and he to buy Daniel's history, which he did, but I missed of my end. So parted upon Ludgate Hill, and I home and to the office, where busy till supper, and home to supper to a good dish of fritters, which I bespoke, and were done much to my mind. Then to the office a while again, and so home to bed. The newes of the Emperour's victory over the Turkes is by some doubted, but by most confessed to be very small (though great) of what was talked, which was 80,000 men to be killed and taken of the Turke's side. 20th. Up and to the office a while, but this day the Parliament meeting only to be adjourned to November (which was done, accordingly), we did not meet, and so I forth to bespeak a case to be made to keep my stone in, which will cost me 25s. Thence I walked to Cheapside, there to see the effect of a fire there this morning, since four o'clock; which I find in the house of Mr. Bois, that married Dr. Fuller's niece, who are both out of towne, leaving only a mayde and man in towne. It begun in their house, and hath burned much and many houses backward, though none forward; and that in the great uniform pile of buildings in the middle of Cheapside. I am very sorry for them, for the Doctor's sake. Thence to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. And thence to Sir W. Batten's, whither Sir Richard Ford came, the Sheriffe, who hath been at this fire all the while; and he tells me, upon my question, that he and the Mayor were there, as it is their dutys to be, not only to keep the peace, but they have power of commanding the pulling down of any house or houses, to defend the whole City. By and by comes in the Common Cryer of the City to speak with him; and when he was gone, says he, "You may see by this man the constitution of the Magistracy of this City; that this fellow's place, I dare give him (if he will be true to me) L1000 for his profits every year, and expect to get L500 more to myself thereby. When," says he, "I in myself am forced to spend many times as much." By and by came Mr. Coventry, and so we met at the office, to hire ships for Guinny, and that done broke up. I to Sir W. Batten's, there to discourse with Mrs. Falconer, who hath been with Sir W. Pen this evening, after Mr. Coventry had promised her half what W. Bodham had given him for his place, but Sir W. Pen, though he knows that, and that Mr. Bodham hath said that his place hath cost him L100 and would L100 more, yet is he so high against the poor woman that he will not hear to give her a farthing, but it seems do listen after a lease where he expects Mr. Falconer hath put in his daughter's life, and he is afraid that that is not done, and did tell Mrs. Falconer that he would see it and know what is done therein in spite of her, when, poor wretch, she neither do nor can hinder him the knowing it. Mr. Coventry knows of this business of the lease, and I believe do think of it as well as I. But the poor woman is gone home without any hope, but only Mr. Coventry's own nobleness. So I to my office and wrote many letters, and so to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Waked about 4 o'clock with my wife, having a looseness, and peoples coming in the yard to the pump to draw water several times, so that fear of this day's fire made me fearful, and called Besse and sent her down to see, and it was Griffin's maid for water to wash her house. So to sleep again, and then lay talking till 9 o'clock. So up and drunk three bottles of Epsum water, which wrought well with me. I all the morning and most of the afternoon after dinner putting papers to rights in my chamber, and the like in the evening till night at my office, and renewing and writing fair over my vowes. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. Mr. Coventry told us the Duke was gone ill of a fit of an ague to bed; so we sent this morning to see how he do. [Elizabeth Falkener, wife of John Falkener, announced to Pepys the death of "her dear and loving husband" in a letter dated July 19th, 1664 "begs interest that she may be in something considered by the person succeeding her husband in his employment, which has occasioned great expenses." ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 646)] 22nd. Up and abroad, doing very many errands to my great content which lay as burdens upon my mind and memory. Home to dinner, and so to White Hall, setting down my wife at her father's, and I to the Tangier Committee, where several businesses I did to my mind, and with hopes thereby to get something. So to Westminster Hall, where by appointment I had made I met with Dr. Tom Pepys, but avoided all discourse of difference with him, though much against my will, and he like a doating coxcomb as he is, said he could not but demand his money, and that he would have his right, and that let all anger be forgot, and such sorry stuff, nothing to my mind, but only I obtained this satisfaction, that he told me about Sturbridge last was 12 months or 2 years he was at Brampton, and there my father did tell him that what he had done for my brother in giving him his goods and setting him up as he had done was upon condition that he should give my brother John L20 per ann., which he charged upon my father, he tells me in answer, as a great deal of hard measure that he should expect that with him that had a brother so able as I am to do that for him. This is all that he says he can say as to my father's acknowledging that he had given Tom his goods. He says his brother Roger will take his oath that my father hath given him thanks for his counsel for his giving of Tom his goods and setting him up in the manner that he hath done, but the former part of this he did not speak fully so bad nor as certain what he could say. So we walked together to my cozen Joyce's, where my wife staid for me, and then I home and her by coach, and so to my office, then to supper and to bed. 23rd. Lay long talking with my wife, and angry awhile about her desiring to have a French mayde all of a sudden, which I took to arise from yesterday's being with her mother. But that went over and friends again, and so she be well qualitied, I care not much whether she be French or no, so a Protestant. Thence to the office, and at noon to the 'Change, where very busy getting ships for Guinny and for Tangier. So home to dinner, and then abroad all the afternoon doing several errands, to comply with my oath of ending many businesses before Bartholomew's day, which is two days hence. Among others I went into New Bridewell, in my way to Mr. Cole, and there I saw the new model, and it is very handsome. Several at work, among others, one pretty whore brought in last night, which works very lazily. I did give them 6d. to drink, and so away. To Graye's Inn, but missed Mr. Cole, and so homeward called at Harman's, and there bespoke some chairs for a room, and so home, and busy late, and then to supper and to bed. The Dutch East India Fleete are now come home safe, which we are sorry for. Our Fleets on both sides are hastening out to Guinny. 24th. Up by six o'clock, and to my office with Tom Hater dispatching business in haste. At nine o'clock to White Hall about Mr. Maes's business at the Council, which stands in an ill condition still. Thence to Graye's Inn, but missed of Mr. Cole the lawyer, and so walked home, calling among the joyners in Wood Streete to buy a table and bade in many places, but did not buy it till I come home to see the place where it is to stand, to judge how big it must be. So after 'Change home and a good dinner, and then to White Hall to a Committee of the Fishery, where my Lord Craven and Mr. Gray mightily against Mr. Creed's being joined in the warrant for Secretary with Mr. Duke. However I did get it put off till the Duke of Yorke was there, and so broke up doing nothing. So walked home, first to the Wardrobe, and there saw one suit of clothes made for my boy and linen set out, and I think to have him the latter end of this week, and so home, Mr. Creed walking the greatest part of the way with me advising what to do in his case about his being Secretary to us in conjunction with Duke, which I did give him the best I could, and so home and to my office, where very much business, and then home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up and to the office after I had spoke to my taylor, Langford (who came to me about some work), desiring to know whether he knew of any debts that my father did owe of his own in the City. He tells me, "No, not any." I did on purpose try him because of what words he and his wife have said of him (as Herbert told me the other day), and further did desire him, that if he knew of any or could hear of any that he should bid them come to me, and I would pay them, for I would not that because he do not pay my brother's debts that therefore he should be thought to deny the payment of his owne. All the morning at the office busy. At noon to the 'Change, among other things busy to get a little by the hire of a ship for Tangier. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Cooke to see me; it is true he was kind to me at sea in carrying messages to and fro to my wife from sea, but I did do him kindnesses too, and therefore I matter not much to compliment or make any regard of his thinking me to slight him as I do for his folly about my brother Tom's mistress. After dinner and some talk with him, I to my office; there busy, till by and by Jacke Noble came to me to tell me that he had Cave in prison, and that he would give me and my father good security that neither we nor any of our family should be troubled with the child; for he could prove that he was fully satisfied for him; and that if the worst came to the worst, the parish must keep it; that Cave did bring the child to his house, but they got it carried back again, and that thereupon he put him in prison. When he saw that I would not pay him the money, nor made anything of being secured against the child, he then said that then he must go to law, not himself, but come in as a witness for Cave against us. I could have told him that he could bear witness that Cave is satisfied, or else there is no money due to himself; but I let alone any such discourse, only getting as much out of him as I could. I perceive he is a rogue, and hath inquired into everything and consulted with Dr. Pepys, and that he thinks as Dr. Pepys told him that my father if he could would not pay a farthing of the debts, and yet I made him confess that in all his lifetime he never knew my father to be asked for money twice, nay, not once, all the time he lived with him, and that for his own debts he believed he would do so still, but he meant only for those of Tom. He said now that Randall and his wife and the midwife could prove from my brother's own mouth that the child was his, and that Tom had told them the circumstances of time, upon November 5th at night, that he got it on her. I offered him if he would secure my father against being forced to pay the money again I would pay him, which at first he would do, give his own security, and when I asked more than his own he told me yes he would, and those able men, subsidy men, but when we came by and by to discourse of it again he would not then do it, but said he would take his course, and joyne with Cave and release him, and so we parted. However, this vexed me so as I could not be quiet, but took coach to go speak with Mr. Cole, but met him not within, so back, buying a table by the way, and at my office late, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind disordered about this roguish business--in every thing else, I thank God, well at ease. 26th. Up by 5 o'clock, which I have not been many a day, and down by water to Deptford, and there took in Mr. Pumpfield the rope-maker, and down with him to Woolwich to view Clothier's cordage, which I found bad and stopped the receipt of it. Thence to the ropeyard, and there among other things discoursed with Mrs. Falconer, who tells me that she has found the writing, and Sir W. Pen's daughter is not put into the lease for her life as he expected, and I am glad of it. Thence to the Dockyarde, and there saw the new ship in very great forwardness, and so by water to Deptford a little, and so home and shifting myself, to the 'Change, and there did business, and thence down by water to White Hall, by the way, at the Three Cranes, putting into an alehouse and eat a bit of bread and cheese. There I could not get into the Parke, and so was fain to stay in the gallery over the gate to look to the passage into the Parke, into which the King hath forbid of late anybody's coming, to watch his coming that had appointed me to come, which he did by and by with his lady and went to Guardener's Lane, and there instead of meeting with one that was handsome and could play well, as they told me, she is the ugliest beast and plays so basely as I never heard anybody, so that I should loathe her being in my house. However, she took us by and by and showed us indeed some pictures at one Hiseman's, a picture drawer, a Dutchman, which is said to exceed Lilly, and indeed there is both of the Queenes and Mayds of Honour (particularly Mrs. Stewart's in a buff doublet like a soldier) as good pictures, I think, as ever I saw. The Queene is drawn in one like a shepherdess, in the other like St. Katharin, most like and most admirably. I was mightily pleased with this sight indeed, and so back again to their lodgings, where I left them, but before I went this mare that carried me, whose name I know not but that they call him Sir John, a pitiful fellow, whose face I have long known but upon what score I know not, but he could have the confidence to ask me to lay down money for him to renew the lease of his house, which I did give eare to there because I was there receiving a civility from him, but shall not part with my money. There I left them, and I by water home, where at my office busy late, then home to supper, and so to bed. This day my wife tells me Mr. Pen, [William Penn, afterwards the famous Quaker. P. Gibson, writing to him in March, 1711-12, says: "I remember your honour very well, when you newly came out of France and wore pantaloon breeches"] Sir William's son, is come back from France, and come to visit her. A most modish person, grown, she says, a fine gentleman. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and there almost made my bargain about a ship for Tangier, which will bring me in a little profit with Captain Taylor. Off the 'Change with Mr. Cutler and Sir W. Rider to Cutler's house, and there had a very good dinner, and two or three pretty young ladies of their relations there. Thence to my case-maker for my stone case, and had it to my mind, and cost me 24s., which is a great deale of money, but it is well done and pleases me. So doing some other small errands I home, and there find my boy, Tom Edwards, come, sent me by Captain Cooke, having been bred in the King's Chappell these four years. I propose to make a clerke of him, and if he deserves well, to do well by him. Spent much of the afternoon to set his chamber in order, and then to the office leaving him at home, and late at night after all business was done I called Will and told him my reason of taking a boy, and that it is of necessity, not out of any unkindness to him, nor should be to his injury, and then talked about his landlord's daughter to come to my wife, and I think it will be. So home and find my boy a very schoole boy, that talks innocently and impertinently, but at present it is a sport to us, and in a little time he will leave it. So sent him to bed, he saying that he used to go to bed at eight o'clock, and then all of us to bed, myself pretty well pleased with my choice of a boy. All the newes this day is, that the Dutch are, with twenty-two sayle of ships of warr, crewsing up and down about Ostend; at which we are alarmed. My Lord Sandwich is come back into the Downes with only eight sayle, which is or may be a prey to the Dutch, if they knew our weakness and inability to set out any more speedily. 28th (Lord's day). Up the first time I have had great while. Home to dined, and with my boy alone to church anybody to attend me to church a dinner, and there met Creed, who, and we merry together, as his learning is such and judgment that I cannot but be pleased with it. After dinner I took him to church, into our gallery, with me, but slept the best part of the sermon, which was a most silly one. So he and I to walk to the 'Change a while, talking from one pleasant discourse to another, and so home, and thither came my uncle Wight and aunt, and supped with us mighty merry. And Creed lay with us all night, and so to bed, very merry to think how Mr. Holliard (who came in this evening to see me) makes nothing, but proving as a most clear thing that Rome is Antichrist. 29th. Up betimes, intending to do business at my office, by 5 o'clock, but going out met at my door Mr. Hughes come to speak with me about office business, and told me that as he came this morning from Deptford he left the King's yarde a-fire. So I presently took a boat and down, and there found, by God's providence, the fire out; but if there had been any wind it must have burned all our stores, which is a most dreadfull consideration. But leaving all things well I home, and out abroad doing many errands, Mr. Creed also out, and my wife to her mother's, and Creed and I met at my Lady Sandwich's and there dined; but my Lady is become as handsome, I think, as ever she was; and so good and discreet a woman I know not in the world. After dinner I to Westminster to Jervas's a while, and so doing many errands by the way, and necessary ones, I home, and thither came the woman with her mother which our Will recommends to my wife. I like her well, and I think will please us. My wife and they agreed, and she is to come the next week. At which I am very well contented, for then I hope we shall be settled, but I must remember that, never since I was housekeeper, I ever lived so quietly, without any noise or one angry word almost, as I have done since my present mayds Besse, Jane, and Susan came and were together. Now I have taken a boy and am taking a woman, I pray God we may not be worse, but I will observe it. After being at my office a while, home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and to the office, where sat long, and at noon to dinner at home; after dinner comes Mr. Pen to visit me, and staid an houre talking with me. I perceive something of learning he hath got, but a great deale, if not too much, of the vanity of the French garbe and affected manner of speech and gait. I fear all real profit he hath made of his travel will signify little. So, he gone, I to my office and there very busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up by five o'clock and to my office, where T. Hater and Will met me, and so we dispatched a great deal of my business as to the ordering my papers and books which were behindhand. All the morning very busy at my office. At noon home to dinner, and there my wife hath got me some pretty good oysters, which is very soon and the soonest, I think, I ever eat any. After dinner I up to hear my boy play upon a lute, which I have this day borrowed of Mr. Hunt; and indeed the boy would, with little practice, play very well upon the lute, which pleases me well. So by coach to the Tangier Committee, and there have another small business by which I may get a little small matter of money. Staid but little there, and so home and to my office, where late casting up my monthly accounts, and, blessed be God! find myself worth L1020, which is still the most I ever was worth. So home and to bed. Prince Rupert I hear this day is to go to command this fleete going to Guinny against the Dutch. I doubt few will be pleased with his going, being accounted an unhappy' man. My mind at good rest, only my father's troubles with Dr. Pepys and my brother Tom's creditors in general do trouble me. I have got a new boy that understands musique well, as coming to me from the King's Chappell, and I hope will prove a good boy, and my wife and I are upon having a woman, which for her content I am contented to venture upon the charge of again, and she is one that our' Will finds out for us, and understands a little musique, and I think will please us well, only her friends live too near us. Pretty well in health, since I left off wearing of a gowne within doors all day, and then go out with my legs into the cold, which brought me daily pain. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER 1664 Sept. 1st. A sad rainy night, up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and thence brought Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon, and Creed, and dined very merry and handsomely; but my wife not being well of those she not with us; and we cut up the great cake Moorcocke lately sent us, which is very good. They gone I to my office, and there very busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up very betimes and walked (my boy with me) to Mr. Cole's, and after long waiting below, he being under the barber's hands, I spoke with him, and he did give me much hopes of getting my debt that my brother owed me, and also that things would go well with my father. But going to his attorney's, that he directed me to, they tell me both that though I could bring my father to a confession of a judgment, yet he knowing that there are specialties out against him he is bound to plead his knowledge of them to me before he pays me, or else he must do it in his own wrong. I took a great deal of pains this morning in the thorough understanding hereof, and hope that I know the truth of our case, though it be but bad, yet better than to run spending money and all to no purpose. However, I will inquire a little more. Walked home, doing very many errands by the way to my great content, and at the 'Change met and spoke with several persons about serving us with pieces of eight at Tangier. So home to dinner above stairs, my wife not being well of those in bed. I dined by her bedside, but I got her to rise and abroad with me by coach to Bartholomew Fayre, and our boy with us, and there shewed them and myself the dancing on the ropes, and several other the best shows; but pretty it is to see how our boy carries himself so innocently clownish as would make one laugh. Here till late and dark, then up and down, to buy combes for my wife to give her mayds, and then by coach home, and there at the office set down my day's work, and then home to bed. 3rd. I have had a bad night's rest to-night, not sleeping well, as my wife observed, and once or twice she did wake me, and I thought myself to be mightily bit with fleas, and in the morning she chid her mayds for not looking the fleas a-days. But, when I rose, I found that it is only the change of the weather from hot to cold, which, as I was two winters ago, do stop my pores, and so my blood tingles and itches all day all over my body, and so continued to-day all the day long just as I was then, and if it continues to be so cold I fear I must come to the same pass, but sweating cured me then, and I hope, and am told, will this also. At the office sat all the morning, dined at home, and after dinner to White Hall, to the Fishing Committee, but not above four of us met, which could do nothing, and a sad thing it is to see so great a work so ill followed, for at this pace it can come to any thing at first sight. Mr. Hill came to tell me that he had got a gentlewoman for my wife, one Mrs. Ferrabosco, that sings most admirably. I seemed glad of it; but I hear she is too gallant for me, and I am not sorry that I misse her. Thence to the office, setting some papers right, and so home to supper and to bed, after prayers. 5th. Up and to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke; where all our discourse of warr in the highest measure. Prince Rupert was with us; who is fitting himself to go to sea in the Heneretta. And afterwards in White Hall I met him and Mr. Gray, and he spoke to me, and in other discourse, says he, "God damn me, I can answer but for one ship, and in that I will do my part; for it is not in that as in an army, where a man can command every thing." By and by to a Committee for the Fishery, the Duke of Yorke there, where, after Duke was made Secretary, we fell to name a Committee, whereof I was willing to be one, because I would have my hand in the business, to understand it and be known in doing something in it; and so, after cutting out work for the Committee, we rose, and I to my wife to Unthanke's, and with her from shop to shop, laying out near L10 this morning in clothes for her. And so I to the 'Change, where a while, and so home and to dinner, and thither came W. Bowyer and dined with us; but strange to see how he could not endure onyons in sauce to lamb, but was overcome with the sight of it, and so-was forced to make his dinner of an egg or two. He tells us how Mrs. Lane is undone, by her marrying so bad, and desires to speak with me, which I know is wholly to get me to do something for her to get her husband a place, which he is in no wise fit for. After dinner down to Woolwich with a gaily, and then to Deptford, and so home, all the way reading Sir J. Suck[l]ing's "Aglaura," which, methinks, is but a mean play; nothing of design in it. Coming home it is strange to see how I was troubled to find my wife, but in a necessary compliment, expecting Mr. Pen to see her, who had been there and was by her people denied, which, he having been three times, she thought not fit he should be any more. But yet even this did raise my jealousy presently and much vex me. However, he did not come, which pleased me, and I to supper, and to the office till 9 o'clock or thereabouts, and so home to bed. My aunt James had been here to-day with Kate Joyce twice to see us. The second time my wife was at home, and they it seems are going down to Brampton, which I am sorry for, for the charge that my father will be put to. But it must be borne with, and my mother has a mind to see them, but I do condemn myself mightily for my pride and contempt of my aunt and kindred that are not so high as myself, that I have not seen her all this while, nor invited her all this while. 6th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, then to my office and there waited, thinking to have had Bagwell's wife come to me about business, that I might have talked with her, but she came not. So I to White Hall by coach with Mr. Andrews, and there I got his contract for the victualling of Tangier signed and sealed by us there, so that all the business is well over, and I hope to have made a good business of it and to receive L100 by it the next weeke, for which God be praised! Thence to W. Joyce's and Anthony's, to invite them to dinner to meet my aunt James at my house, and the rather because they are all to go down to my father the next weeke, and so I would be a little kind to them before they go. So home, having called upon Doll, our pretty 'Change woman, for a pair of gloves trimmed with yellow ribbon, to [match the] petticoate my wife bought yesterday, which cost me 20s.; but she is so pretty, that, God forgive me! I could not think it too much--which is a strange slavery that I stand in to beauty, that I value nothing near it. So going home, and my coach stopping in Newgate Market over against a poulterer's shop, I took occasion to buy a rabbit, but it proved a deadly old one when I came to eat it, as I did do after an hour being at my office, and after supper again there till past 11 at night. So home,, and to bed. This day Mr. Coventry did tell us how the Duke did receive the Dutch Embassador the other day; by telling him that, whereas they think us in jest, he believes that the Prince (Rupert) which goes in this fleete to Guinny will soon tell them that we are in earnest, and that he himself will do the like here, in the head of the fleete here at home, and that for the meschants, which he told the Duke there were in England, which did hope to do themselves good by the King's being at warr, says he, the English have ever united all this private difference to attend foraigne, and that Cromwell, notwithstanding the meschants in his time, which were the Cavaliers, did never find them interrupt him in his foraigne businesses, and that he did not doubt but to live to see the Dutch as fearfull of provoking the English, under the government of a King, as he remembers them to have been under that of a Coquin. I writ all this story to my Lord Sandwich tonight into the Downes, it being very good and true, word for word from Mr. Coventry to-day. 7th. Lay long to-day, pleasantly discoursing with my wife about the dinner we are to have for the Joyces, a day or two hence. Then up and with Mr. Margetts to Limehouse to see his ground and ropeyarde there, which is very fine, and I believe we shall employ it for the Navy, for the King's grounds are not sufficient to supply our defence if a warr comes. Thence back to the 'Change, where great talke of the forwardnesse of the Dutch, which puts us all to a stand, and particularly myself for my Lord Sandwich, to think him to lie where he is for a sacrifice, if they should begin with us. So home and Creed with me, and to dinner, and after dinner I out to my office, taking in Bagwell's wife, who I knew waited for me, but company came to me so soon that I could have no discourse with her, as I intended, of pleasure. So anon abroad with Creed walked to Bartholomew Fayre, this being the last day, and there saw the best dancing on the ropes that I think I ever saw in my life, and so all say, and so by coach home, where I find my wife hath had her head dressed by her woman, Mercer, which is to come to her to-morrow, but my wife being to go to a christening tomorrow, she came to do her head up to-night. So a while to my office, and then to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and I by water down to Woolwich by a galley, and back again in the evening. All haste made in setting out this Guinny fleete, but yet not such as will ever do the King's business if we come to a warr. My wife this afternoon being very well dressed by her new woman, Mary Mercer, a decayed merchant's daughter that our Will helps us to, did go to the christening of Mrs. Mills, the parson's wife's child, where she never was before. After I was come home Mr. Povey came to me and took me out to supper to Mr. Bland's, who is making now all haste to be gone for Tangier. Here pretty merry, and good discourse, fain to admire the knowledge and experience of Mrs. Bland, who I think as good a merchant as her husband. I went home and there find Mercer, whose person I like well, and I think will do well, at least I hope so. So to my office a while and then to bed. 9th. Up, and to put things in order against dinner. I out and bought several things, among others, a dozen of silver salts; home, and to the office, where some of us met a little, and then home, and at noon comes my company, namely, Anthony and Will Joyce and their wives, my aunt James newly come out of Wales, and my cozen Sarah Gyles. Her husband did not come, and by her I did understand afterwards, that it was because he was not yet able to pay me the 40s. she had borrowed a year ago of me. [Pepys would have been more proud of his cousin had he anticipated her husband's becoming a knight, for she was probably the same person whose burial is recorded in the register of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, September 4th, 1704: "Dame Sarah Gyles, widow, relict of Sir John Gyles."--B.] I was as merry as I could, giving them a good dinner; but W. Joyce did so talk, that he made every body else dumb, but only laugh at him. I forgot there was Mr. Harman and his wife, my aunt, a very good harmlesse woman. All their talke is of her and my two she-cozen Joyces and Will's little boy Will (who was also here to-day), down to Brampton to my father's next week, which will be trouble and charge to them, but however my father and mother desire to see them, and so let them. They eyed mightily my great cupboard of plate, I this day putting my two flaggons upon my table; and indeed it is a fine sight, and better than ever I did hope to see of my owne. Mercer dined with us at table, this being her first dinner in my house. After dinner left them and to White Hall, where a small Tangier Committee, and so back again home, and there my wife and Mercer and Tom and I sat till eleven at night, singing and fiddling, and a great joy it is to see me master of so much pleasure in my house, that it is and will be still, I hope, a constant pleasure to me to be at home. The girle plays pretty well upon the harpsicon, but only ordinary tunes, but hath a good hand; sings a little, but hath a good voyce and eare. My boy, a brave boy, sings finely, and is the most pleasant boy at present, while his ignorant boy's tricks last, that ever I saw. So to supper, and with great pleasure to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where we sate all the morning, and I much troubled to think what the end of our great sluggishness will be, for we do nothing in this office like people able to carry on a warr. We must be put out, or other people put in. Dined at home, and then my wife and I and Mercer to the Duke's house, and there saw "The Rivalls," which is no excellent play, but good acting in it; especially Gosnell comes and sings and dances finely, but, for all that, fell out of the key, so that the musique could not play to her afterwards, and so did Harris also go out of the tune to agree with her. Thence home and late writing letters, and this night I received, by Will, L105, the first-fruits of my endeavours in the late contract for victualling of Tangier, for which God be praised! for I can with a safe conscience say that I have therein saved the King L5000 per annum, and yet got myself a hope of L300 per annum without the least wrong to the King. So to supper and to bed. 11th (Lord's day). Up and to church in the best manner I have gone a good while, that is to say, with my wife, and her woman, Mercer, along with us, and Tom, my boy, waiting on us. A dull sermon. Home, dined, left my wife to go to church alone, and I walked in haste being late to the Abbey at Westminster, according to promise to meet Jane Welsh, and there wearily walked, expecting her till 6 o'clock from three, but no Jane came, which vexed me, only part of it I spent with Mr. Blagrave walking in the Abbey, he telling me the whole government and discipline of White Hall Chappell, and the caution now used against admitting any debauched persons, which I was glad to hear, though he tells me there are persons bad enough. Thence going home went by Jarvis's, and there stood Jane at the door, and so I took her in and drank with her, her master and mistress being out of doors. She told me how she could not come to me this afternoon, but promised another time. So I walked home contented with my speaking with her, and walked to my uncle Wight's, where they were all at supper, and among others comes fair Mrs. Margarett Wight, who indeed is very pretty. So after supper home to prayers and to bed. This afternoon, it seems, Sir J. Minnes fell sicke at church, and going down the gallery stairs fell down dead, but came to himself again and is pretty well. 12th. Up, and to my cozen Anthony Joyce's, and there took leave of my aunt James, and both cozens, their wives, who are this day going down to my father's by coach. I did give my Aunt 20s., to carry as a token to my mother, and 10s. to Pall. Thence by coach to St. James's, and there did our business as usual with the Duke; and saw him with great pleasure play with his little girle,--[Afterwards Queen Mary II.]--like an ordinary private father of a child. Thence walked to Jervas's, where I took Jane in the shop alone, and there heard of her, her master and mistress were going out. So I went away and came again half an hour after. In the meantime went to the Abbey, and there went in to see the tombs with great pleasure. Back again to Jane, and there upstairs and drank with her, and staid two hours with her kissing her, but nothing more. Anon took boat and by water to the Neat Houses over against Fox Hall to have seen Greatorex dive, which Jervas and his wife were gone to see, and there I found them (and did it the rather for a pretence for my having been so long at their house), but being disappointed of some necessaries to do it I staid not, but back to Jane, but she would not go out with me. So I to Mr. Creed's lodgings, and with him walked up and down in the New Exchange, talking mightily of the convenience and necessity of a man's wearing good clothes, and so after eating a messe of creame I took leave of him, he walking with me as far as Fleete Conduit, he offering me upon my request to put out some money for me into Backewell's hands at 6 per cent. interest, which he seldom gives, which I will consider of, being doubtful of trusting any of these great dealers because of their mortality, but then the convenience of having one's money, at an houre's call is very great. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and there supped with my wife, having given them a brave barrel of oysters of Povy's giving me. So home and to bed. 13th. Up and, to the office, where sat busy all morning, dined at home and after dinner to Fishmonger's Hall, where we met the first time upon the Fishery Committee, and many good things discoursed of concerning making of farthings, which was proposed as a way of raising money for this business, and then that of lotterys, [Among the State Papers is a "Statement of Articles in the Covenant proposed by the Commissioners for the Royal Fishing to, Sir Ant. Desmarces & Co. in reference to the regulation of lotteries; which are very unreasonable, and of the objections thereto" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 576.)] but with great confusion; but I hope we shall fall into greater order. So home again and to my office, where after doing business home and to a little musique, after supper, and so to bed. 14th. Up, and wanting some things that should be laid ready for my dressing myself I was angry, and one thing after another made my wife give Besse warning to be gone, which the jade, whether out of fear or ill-nature or simplicity I know not, but she took it and asked leave to go forth to look a place, and did, which vexed me to the heart, she being as good a natured wench as ever we shall have, but only forgetful. At the office all the morning and at noon to the 'Change, and there went off with Sir W. Warren and took occasion to desire him to lend me L100, which he said he would let the have with all his heart presently, as he had promised me a little while ago to give me for my pains in his two great contracts for masts L100, and that this should be it. To which end I did move it to him, and by this means I hope to be, possessed of the L100 presently within 2 or 3 days. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and down to Blackwall by water to view a place found out for laying of masts, and I think it will be most proper. So home and there find Mr. Pen come to visit my wife, and staid with them till sent for to Mr. Bland's, whither by appointment I was to go to supper, and against my will left them together, but, God knows, without any reason of fear in my conscience of any evil between them, but such is my natural folly. Being thither come they would needs have my wife, and so Mr. Bland and his wife (the first time she was ever at my house or my wife at hers) very civilly went forth and brought her and W. Pen, and there Mr. Povy and we supped nobly and very merry, it being to take leave of Mr. Bland, who is upon going soon to Tangier. So late home and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning, then to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, where Luellin dined with us, and after dinner many people came in and kept me all the afternoon, among other the Master and Wardens of Chyrurgeon's Hall, who staid arguing their cause with me; I did give them the best answer I could, and after their being two hours with me parted, and I to my office to do business, which is much on my hands, and so late home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning very busy putting papers to rights. And among other things Mr. Gauden coming to me, I had a good opportunity to speak to him about his present, which hitherto hath been a burden: to me, that I could not do it, because I was doubtfull that he meant it as a temptation to me to stand by him in the business of Tangier victualling; but he clears me it was not, and that he values me and my proceedings therein very highly, being but what became me, and that what he did was for my old kindnesses to him in dispatching of his business, which I was glad to hear, and with my heart in good rest and great joy parted, and to my business again. At noon to the 'Change, where by appointment I met Sir W. Warren, and afterwards to the Sun taverne, where he brought to me, being all alone; L100 in a bag, which I offered him to give him my receipt for, but he told me, no, it was my owne, which he had a little while since promised me and was glad that (as I had told him two days since) it would now do me courtesy; and so most kindly he did give it me, and I as joyfully, even out of myself, carried it home in a coach, he himself expressly taking care that nobody might see this business done, though I was willing enough to have carried a servant with me to have received it, but he advised me to do it myself. So home with it and to dinner; after dinner I forth with my boy to buy severall things, stools and andirons and candlesticks, &c., household stuff, and walked to the mathematical instrument maker in Moorefields and bought a large pair of compasses, and there met Mr. Pargiter, and he would needs have me drink a cup of horse-radish ale, which he and a friend of his troubled with the stone have been drinking of, which we did and then walked into the fields as far almost as Sir G. Whitmore's, all the way talking of Russia, which, he says, is a sad place; and, though Moscow is a very great city, yet it is from the distance between house and house, and few people compared with this, and poor, sorry houses, the Emperor himself living in a wooden house, his exercise only flying a hawk at pigeons and carrying pigeons ten or twelve miles off and then laying wagers which pigeon shall come soonest home to her house. All the winter within doors, some few playing at chesse, but most drinking their time away. Women live very slavishly there, and it seems in the Emperor's court no room hath above two or three windows, and those the greatest not a yard wide or high, for warmth in winter time; and that the general cure for all diseases there is their sweating houses, or people that are poor they get into their ovens, being heated, and there lie. Little learning among things of any sort. Not a man that speaks Latin, unless the Secretary of State by chance. Mr. Pargiter and I walked to the 'Change together and there parted, and so I to buy more things and then home, and after a little at my office, home to supper and to bed. This day old Hardwicke came and redeemed a watch he had left with me in pawne for 40s. seven years ago, and I let him gave it. Great talk that the Dutch will certainly be out this week, and will sail directly to Guinny, being convoyed out of the Channel with 42 sail of ships. 17th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry very angry to see things go so coldly as they do, and I must needs say it makes me fearful every day of having some change of the office, and the truth is, I am of late a little guilty of being remiss myself of what I used to be, but I hope I shall come to my old pass again, my family being now settled again. Dined at home, and to the office, where late busy in setting all my businesses in order, and I did a very great and a very contenting afternoon's work. This day my aunt Wight sent my wife a new scarfe, with a compliment for the many favours she had received of her, which is the several things we have sent her. I am glad enough of it, for I see my uncle is so given up to the Wights that I hope for little more of them. So home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up and to church all of us. At noon comes Anthony and W. Joyce (their wives being in the country with my father) and dined with me very merry as I can be in such company. After dinner walked to Westminster (tiring them by the way, and so left them, Anthony in Cheapside and the other in the Strand), and there spent all the afternoon in the Cloysters as I had agreed with Jane Welsh, but she came not, which vexed me, staying till 5 o'clock, and then walked homeward, and by coach to the old Exchange, and thence to my aunt Wight's, and invited her and my uncle to supper, and so home, and by and by they came, and we eat a brave barrel of oysters Mr. Povy sent me this morning, and very merry at supper, and so to prayers and to bed. Last night it seems my aunt Wight did send my wife a new scarfe, laced, as a token for her many givings to her. It is true now and then we give them some toys, as oranges, &c., but my aime is to get myself something more from my uncle's favour than this. 19th. Up, my wife and I having a little anger about her woman already, she thinking that I take too much care of her at table to mind her (my wife) of cutting for her, but it soon over, and so up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke, and thence homeward straight, calling at the Coffee-house, and there had very good discourse with Sir----Blunt and Dr. Whistler about Egypt and other things. So home to dinner, my wife having put on to-day her winter new suit of moyre, which is handsome, and so after dinner I did give her L15 to lay out in linen and necessaries for the house and to buy a suit for Pall, and I myself to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, where Colonell Reames hath brought us so full and methodical an account of all matters there, that I never have nor hope to see the like of any publique business while I live again. The Committee up, I to Westminster to Jervas's, and spoke with Jane; who I find cold and not so desirous of a meeting as before, and it is no matter, I shall be the freer from the inconvenience that might follow thereof, besides offending God Almighty and neglecting my business. So by coach home and to my office, where late, and so to supper and to bed. I met with Dr. Pierce to-day, who, speaking of Dr. Frazier's being so earnest to have such a one (one Collins) go chyrurgeon to the Prince's person will have him go in his terms and with so much money put into his hands, he tells me (when I was wondering that Frazier should order things with the Prince in that confident manner) that Frazier is so great with my Lady Castlemayne, and Stewart, and all the ladies at Court, in helping to slip their calfes when there is occasion, and with the great men in curing of their claps that he can do what he please with the King, in spite of any man, and upon the same score with the Prince; they all having more or less occasion to make use of him. Sir G. Carteret tells me this afternoon that the Dutch are not yet ready to set out; and by that means do lose a good wind which would carry them out and keep us in, and moreover he says that they begin to boggle in the business, and he thinks may offer terms of peace for all this, and seems to argue that it will be well for the King too, and I pray God send it. Colonell Reames did, among other things, this day tell me how it is clear that, if my Lord Tiviott had lived, he would have quite undone Tangier, or designed himself to be master of it. He did put the King upon most great, chargeable, and unnecessary works there, and took the course industriously to deter, all other merchants but himself to deal there, and to make both King and all others pay what he pleased for all that was brought thither. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and there met by appointment with Captain Poyntz, who hath some place, or title to a place, belonging to gameing, and so I discoursed with him about the business of our improving of the Lotterys, to the King's benefit, and that of the Fishery, and had some light from him in the business, and shall, he says, have more in writing from him. So home to dinner and then abroad to the Fishing Committee at Fishmongers' Hall, and there sat and did some business considerable, and so up and home, and there late at my office doing much business, and I find with great delight that I am come to my good temper of business again. God continue me in it. So home to supper, it being washing day, and to bed. 21st. Up, and by coach to Mr. Povy's, and there got him to signe the payment of Captain Tayler's bills for the remainder of freight for the Eagle, wherein I shall be gainer about L30, thence with him to Westminster by coach to Houseman's [Huysman] the great picture drawer, and saw again very fine pictures, and have his promise, for Mr. Povy's sake, to take pains in what picture I shall set him about, and I think to have my wife's. But it is a strange thing to observe and fit for me to remember that I am at no time so unwilling to part with money as when I am concerned in the getting of it most, as I thank God of late I have got more in this month, viz. near 0250, than ever I did in half a year before in my life, I think. Thence to White Hall with him, and so walked to the old Exchange and back to Povy's to dinner, where great and good company; among others Sir John Skeffington, whom I knew at Magdalen College, a fellow-commoner, my fellow-pupil, but one with whom I had no great acquaintance, he being then, God knows, much above me. Here I was afresh delighted with Mr. Povy's house and pictures of perspective, being strange things to think how they do delude one's eye, that methinks it would make a man doubtful of swearing that ever he saw any thing. Thence with him to St. James's, and so to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, and hope I have light of another opportunity of getting a little money if Sir W. Warren will use me kindly for deales to Tangier, and with the hopes went joyfully home, and there received Captain Tayler's money, received by Will to-day, out of which (as I said above) I shall get above L30. So with great comfort to bed, after supper. By discourse this day I have great hopes from Mr. Coventry that the Dutch and we shall not fall out. 22nd. Up and at the office all the morning. To the 'Change at noon, and among other things discoursed with Sir William Warren what I might do to get a little money by carrying of deales to Tangier, and told him the opportunity I have there of doing it, and he did give me some advice, though not so good as he would have done at any other time of the year, but such as I hope to make good use of, and get a little money by. So to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, and he and I and Captain Cocke all alone, and good discourse, and thence to a Committee of Tangier at White Hall, and so home, where I found my wife not well, and she tells me she thinks she is with child, but I neither believe nor desire it. But God's will be done! So to my office late, and home to supper and to bed; having got a strange cold in my head, by flinging off my hat at dinner, and sitting with the wind in my neck. [In Lord Clarendon's Essay, "On the decay of respect paid to Age," he says that in his younger days he never kept his hat on before those older than himself, except at dinner.--B.] 23rd. My cold and pain in my head increasing, and the palate of my mouth falling, I was in great pain all night. My wife also was not well, so that a mayd was fain to sit up by her all night. Lay long in the morning, at last up, and amongst others comes Mr. Fuller, that was the wit of Cambridge, and Praevaricator [At the Commencement (Comitia Majora) in July, the Praevaricator, or Varier, held a similar position to the Tripos at the Comitia Minora. He was so named from varying the question which he proposed, either by a play upon the words or by the transposition of the terms in which it was expressed. Under the pretence of maintaining some philosophical question, he poured out a medley of absurd jokes and 'personal ridicule, which gradually led to the abolition of the office. In Thoresby's "Diary" we read, "Tuesday, July 6th. The Praevaricator's speech was smart and ingenious, attended with vollies of hurras" (see Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century ").--M. B.] in my time, and staid all the morning with me discoursing, and his business to get a man discharged, which I did do for him. Dined with little heart at noon, in the afternoon against my will to the office, where Sir G. Carteret and we met about an order of the Council for the hiring him a house, giving him L1000 fine, and L70 per annum for it. Here Sir J. Minnes took occasion, in the most childish and most unbeseeming manner, to reproach us all, but most himself, that he was not valued as Comptroller among us, nor did anything but only set his hand to paper, which is but too true; and every body had a palace, and he no house to lie in, and wished he had but as much to build him a house with, as we have laid out in carved worke. It was to no end to oppose, but all bore it, and after laughed at him for it. So home, and late reading "The Siege of Rhodes" to my wife, and then to bed, my head being in great pain and my palate still down. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy, then home to dinner, and so after dinner comes one Phillips, who is concerned in the Lottery, and from him I collected much concerning that business. I carried him in my way to White Hall and set him down at Somersett House. Among other things he told me that Monsieur Du Puy, that is so great a man at the Duke of Yorke's, and this man's great opponent, is a knave and by quality but a tailor. To the Tangier Committee, and there I opposed Colonell Legg's estimate of supplies of provisions to be sent to Tangier till all were ashamed of it, and he fain after all his good husbandry and seeming ignorance and joy to have the King's money saved, yet afterwards he discovered all his design to be to keep the furnishing of these things to the officers of the Ordnance, but Mr. Coventry seconded me, and between us we shall save the King some money in the year. In one business of deales in L520, I offer to save L172, and yet purpose getting money, to myself by it. So home and to my office, and business being done home to supper and so to bed, my head and throat being still out of order mightily. This night Prior of Brampton came and paid me L40, and I find this poor painful man is the only thriving and purchasing man in the town almost. We were told to-day of a Dutch ship of 3 or 400 tons, where all the men were dead of the plague, and the ship cast ashore at Gottenburgh. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and my throat being yet very sore, and, my head out of order, we went not to church, but I spent all the morning reading of "The Madd Lovers," a very good play, and at noon comes Harman and his wife, whom I sent for to meet the Joyces, but they came not. It seems Will has got a fall off his horse and broke his face. However, we were as merry as I could in their company, and we had a good chine of beef, but I had no taste nor stomach through my cold, and therefore little pleased with my dinner. It raining, they sat talking with us all the afternoon. So anon they went away; and then I to read another play, "The Custome of the Country," which is a very poor one, methinks. Then to supper, prayers, and bed. 26th. Up pretty well again, but my mouth very scabby, my cold being going away, so that I was forced to wear a great black patch, but that would not do much good, but it happens we did not go to the Duke to-day, and so I staid at home busy all the morning. At noon, after dinner, to the 'Change, and thence home to my office again, where busy, well employed till 10 at night, and so home to supper and to bed, my mind a little troubled that I have not of late kept up myself so briske in business; but mind my ease a little too much and my family upon the coming of Mercer and Tom. So that I have not kept company, nor appeared very active with Mr. Coventry, but now I resolve to settle to it again, not that I have idled all my time, but as to my ease something. So I have looked a little too much after Tangier and the Fishery, and that in the sight of Mr. Coventry, but I have good reason to love myself for serving Tangier, for it is one of the best flowers in my garden. 27th. Lay long, sleeping, it raining and blowing very hard. Then up and to the office, my mouth still being scabby and a patch on it. At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, and so after dinner (Lewellin dining with me and in my way talking about Deering) to the Fishing Committee, and had there very many fine things argued, and I hope some good will cone of it. So home, where my wife having (after all her merry discourse of being with child) her months upon her is gone to bed. I to my office very late doing business, then home to supper and to bed. To-night Mr. T. Trice and Piggot came to see me, and desire my going down to Brampton Court, where for Piggot's sake, for whom it is necessary, I should go, I would be glad to go, and will, contrary to my purpose, endeavour it, but having now almost L1000, if not above, in my house, I know not what to do with it, and that will trouble my mind to leave in the house, and I not at home. 28th. Up and by water with Mr. Tucker down to Woolwich, first to do several businesses of the King's, then on board Captain Fisher's ship, which we hire to carry goods to Tangier. All the way going and coming I reading and discoursing over some papers of his which he, poor man, having some experience, but greater conceit of it than is fit, did at the King's first coming over make proposals of, ordering in a new manner the whole revenue of the kingdom, but, God knows, a most weak thing; however, one paper I keep wherein he do state the main branches of the publick revenue fit to consider and remember. So home, very cold, and fearfull of having got some pain, but, thanks be to God! I was well after it. So to dinner, and after dinner by coach to White Hall, thinking to have met at a Committee of Tangier, but nobody being there but my Lord Rutherford, he would needs carry me and another Scotch Lord to a play, and so we saw, coming late, part of "The Generall," my Lord Orrery's (Broghill) second play; but, Lord! to see how no more either in words, sense, or design, it is to his "Harry the 5th" is not imaginable, and so poorly acted, though in finer clothes, is strange. And here I must confess breach of a vowe in appearance, but I not desiring it, but against my will, and my oathe being to go neither at my own charge nor at another's, as I had done by becoming liable to give them another, as I am to Sir W. Pen and Mr. Creed; but here I neither know which of them paid for me, nor, if I did, am I obliged ever to return the like, or did it by desire or with any willingness. So that with a safe conscience I do think my oathe is not broke and judge God Almighty will not think it other wise. Thence to W. Joyce's, and there found my aunt and cozen Mary come home from my father's with great pleasure and content, and thence to Kate's and found her also mighty pleased with her journey and their good usage of them, and so home, troubled in my conscience at my being at a play. But at home I found Mercer playing on her Vyall, which is a pretty instrument, and so I to the Vyall and singing till late, and so to bed. My mind at a great losse how to go down to Brampton this weeke, to satisfy Piggott; but what with the fears of my house, my money, my wife, and my office, I know not how in the world to think of it, Tom Hater being out of towne, and I having near L1000 in my house. 29th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, dined at home and Creed with me; after dinner I to Sir G. Carteret, and with him to his new house he is taking in Broad Streete, and there surveyed all the rooms and bounds, in order to the drawing up a lease thereof; and that done, Mr. Cutler, his landlord, took me up and down, and showed me all his ground and house, which is extraordinary great, he having bought all the Augustine Fryers, and many, many a L1000 he hath and will bury there. So home to my business, clearing my papers and preparing my accounts against tomorrow for a monthly and a great auditt. So to supper and to bed. Fresh newes come of our beating the Dutch at Guinny quite out of all their castles almost, which will make them quite mad here at home sure. And Sir G. Carteret did tell me, that the King do joy mightily at it; but asked him laughing, "But," says he, "how shall I do to answer this to the Embassador when he comes?" Nay they say that we have beat them out of the New Netherlands too; [Captain (afterwards Sir Robert) Holmes' expedition to attack the Dutch settlements in Africa eventuated in an important exploit. Holmes suddenly left the coast of Africa, sailed across the Atlantic, and reduced the Dutch settlement of New Netherlands to English rule, under the title of New York. "The short and true state of the matter is this: the country mentioned was part of the province of Virginia, and, as there is no settling an extensive country at once, a few Swedes crept in there, who surrendered the plantations they could not defend to the Dutch, who, having bought the charts and papers of one Hudson, a seaman, who, by the commission from the crown of England, discovered a river, to which he gave his name, conceited they had purchased a province. Sometimes, when we had strength in those parts, they were English subjects; at others, when that strength declined, they were subjects of the United Provinces. However, upon King Charles's claim the States disowned the title, but resumed it during our confusions. On March 12th, 1663-64, Charles II. granted it to the Duke of York . . . The King sent Holmes, when he returned, to the Tower, and did not discharge him; till he made it evidently appear that he had not infringed the law of nations ". (Campbell's "Naval History," vol. ii, p., 89). How little did the King or Holmes himself foresee the effects of the capture,--B.] so that we have been doing them mischief for a great while in several parts of the world; without publique knowledge or reason. Their fleete for Guinny is now, they say, ready, and abroad, and will be going this week. Coming home to-night, I did go to examine my wife's house accounts, and finding things that seemed somewhat doubtful, I was angry though she did make it pretty plain, but confessed that when she do misse a sum, she do add something to other things to make it, and, upon my being very angry, she do protest she will here lay up something for herself to buy her a necklace with, which madded me and do still trouble me, for I fear she will forget by degrees the way of living cheap and under a sense of want. 30th. Up, and all day, both morning and afternoon, at my accounts, it being a great month, both for profit and layings out, the last being L89 for kitchen and clothes for myself and wife, and a few extraordinaries for the house; and my profits, besides salary, L239; so that I have this weeke, notwithstanding great layings out, and preparations for laying out, which I make as paid this month, my balance to come to L1203, for which the Lord's name be praised! Dined at home at noon, staying long looking for Kate Joyce and my aunt James and Mary, but they came not. So my wife abroad to see them, and took Mary Joyce to a play. Then in the evening came and sat working by me at the office, and late home to supper and to bed, with my heart in good rest for this day's work, though troubled to think that my last month's negligence besides the making me neglect business and spend money, and lessen myself both as to business and the world and myself, I am fain to preserve my vowe by paying 20s. dry--[ Dry = hard, as "hard cash." ]--money into the poor's box, because I had not fulfilled all my memorandums and paid all my petty debts and received all my petty credits, of the last month, but I trust in God I shall do so no more. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: All the men were dead of the plague, and the ship cast ashore And with the great men in curing of their claps Expressly taking care that nobody might see this business done Having some experience, but greater conceit of it than is fit Helping to slip their calfes when there is occasion Her months upon her is gone to bed I had agreed with Jane Welsh, but she came not, which vexed me Lay long caressing my wife and talking Let her brew as she has baked New Netherlands to English rule, under the title of New York Reduced the Dutch settlement of New Netherlands to English rule Staid two hours with her kissing her, but nothing more Strange slavery that I stand in to beauty Thinks she is with child, but I neither believe nor desire it Up, my mind very light from my last night's accounts We do nothing in this office like people able to carry on a warr Would either conform, or be more wise, and not be catched! 
4151	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER & NOVEMBER 1664 October 1st. Up and at the office both forenoon and afternoon very busy, and with great pleasure in being so. This morning Mrs. Lane (now Martin) like a foolish woman, came to the Horseshoe hard by, and sent for me while I was: at the office; to come to speak with her by a note sealed up, I know to get me to do something for her husband, but I sent her an answer that I would see her at Westminster, and so I did not go, and she went away, poor soul. At night home to supper, weary, and my eyes sore with writing and reading, and to bed. We go now on with great vigour in preparing against the Dutch, who, they say, will now fall upon us without doubt upon this high newes come of our beating them so, wholly in Guinny. 2nd (Lord's day). My wife not being well to go to church I walked with my boy through the City, putting in at several churches, among others at Bishopsgate, and there saw the picture usually put before the King's book, put up in the church, but very ill painted, though it were a pretty piece to set up in a church. I intended to have seen the Quakers, who, they say, do meet every Lord's day at the Mouth at Bishopsgate; but I could see none stirring, nor was it fit to aske for the place, so I walked over Moorefields, and thence to Clerkenwell church, and there, as I wished, sat next pew to the fair Butler, who indeed is a most perfect beauty still; and one I do very much admire myself for my choice of her for a beauty, she having the best lower part of her face that ever I saw all days of my life. After church I walked to my Lady Sandwich's, through my Lord Southampton's new buildings in the fields behind Gray's Inn; and, indeed, they are a very great and a noble work. So I dined with my Lady, and the same innocent discourse that we used to have, only after dinner, being alone, she asked me my opinion about Creed, whether he would have a wife or no, and what he was worth, and proposed Mrs. Wright for him, which, she says, she heard he was once inquiring after. She desired I would take a good time and manner of proposing it, and I said I would, though I believed he would love nothing but money, and much was not to be expected there, she said. So away back to Clerkenwell Church, thinking to have got sight of la belle Boteler again, but failed, and so after church walked all over the fields home, and there my wife was angry with me for not coming home, and for gadding abroad to look after beauties, she told me plainly, so I made all peace, and to supper. This evening came Mrs. Lane (now Martin) with her husband to desire my helpe about a place for him. It seems poor Mr. Daniel is dead of the Victualling Office, a place too good for this puppy to follow him in. But I did give him the best words I could, and so after drinking a glasse of wine sent them going, but with great kindnesse. Go to supper, prayers, and to bed. 3rd. Up with Sir J. Minnes, by coach, to St. James's; and there all the newes now of very hot preparations for the Dutch: and being with the Duke, he told us he was resolved to make a tripp himself, and that Sir W. Pen should go in the same ship with him. Which honour, God forgive me! I could grudge him, for his knavery and dissimulation, though I do not envy much the having the same place myself. Talke also of great haste in the getting out another fleete, and building some ships; and now it is likely we have put one another by each other's dalliance past a retreate. Thence with our heads full of business we broke up, and I to my barber's, and there only saw Jane and stroked her under the chin, and away to the Exchange, and there long about several businesses, hoping to get money by them, and thence home to dinner and there found Hawly. But meeting Bagwell's wife at the office before I went home I took her into the office and there kissed her only. She rebuked me for doing it, saying that did I do so much to many bodies else it would be a stain to me. But I do not see but she takes it well enough, though in the main I believe she is very honest. So after some kind discourse we parted, and I home to dinner, and after dinner down to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry, and there we made, an experiment of Holland's and our cordage, and ours outdid it a great deale, as my book of observations tells particularly. Here we were late, and so home together by water, and I to my office, where late, putting things in order. Mr. Bland came this night to me to take his leave of me, he going to Tangier, wherein I wish him good successe. So home to supper and to bed, my mind troubled at the businesses I have to do, that I cannot mind them as I ought to do and get money, and more that I have neglected my frequenting and seeming more busy publicly than I have done of late in this hurry of business, but there is time left to recover it, and I trust in God I shall. 4th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and this morning Sir W. Pen went to Chatham to look: after the ships now going out thence, and particularly that wherein the Duke and himself go. He took Sir G. Ascue with: him, whom, I believe, he hath brought into play. At noon to the 'Change and thence home, where I found my aunt James and the two she joyces. They dined and were merry with us. Thence after dinner to a play, to see "The Generall;" which is so dull and so ill-acted, that I think it is the worst. I ever saw or heard in all my days. I happened to sit near; to Sir Charles Sidly; who I find a very witty man, and he did at every line take notice of the dullness of the poet and badness of the action, that most pertinently; which I was mightily taken with; and among others where by Altemire's command Clarimont, the Generall, is commanded to rescue his Rivall, whom she loved, Lucidor, he, after a great deal of demurre, broke out; "Well, I'le save my Rivall and make her confess, that I deserve, while he do but possesse." "Why, what, pox," says Sir Charles Sydly, "would he have him have more, or what is there more to be had of a woman than the possessing her?" Thence-setting all them at home, I home with my wife and Mercer, vexed at my losing my time and above 20s. in money, and neglecting my business to see so bad a play. To-morrow they told us should be acted, or the day after, a new play, called "The Parson's Dreame," acted all by women. So to my office, and there did business; and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes and to my office, and thence by coach to New Bridewell to meet with Mr. Poyntz to discourse with him (being Master of the Workhouse there) about making of Bewpers for us. But he was not within; however his clerke did lead me up and down through all the house, and there I did with great pleasure see the many pretty works, and the little children employed, every one to do something, which was a very fine sight, and worthy encouragement. I cast away a crowne among them, and so to the 'Change and among the Linnen Wholesale Drapers to enquire about Callicos, to see what can be done with them for the supplying our want of Bewpers for flaggs, and I think I shall do something therein to good purpose for the King. So to the Coffeehouse, and there fell in discourse with the Secretary of the Virtuosi of Gresham College, and had very fine discourse with him. He tells me of a new invented instrument to be tried before the College anon, and I intend to see it. So to Trinity House, and there I dined among the old dull fellows, and so home and to my office a while, and then comes Mr. Cocker to see me, and I discoursed with him about his writing and ability of sight, and how I shall do to get some glasse or other to helpe my eyes by candlelight; and he tells me he will bring me the helps he hath within a day or two, and shew me what he do. Thence to the Musique-meeting at the Postoffice, where I was once before. And thither anon come all the Gresham College, and a great deal of noble company: and the new instrument was brought called the Arched Viall, ["There seems to be a curious fate reigning over the instruments which have the word 'arch' prefixed to their name. They have no vitality, and somehow or other come to grief. Even the famous archlute, which was still a living thing in the time of Handel, has now disappeared from the concert room and joined Mr. Pepys's 'Arched Viall' in the limbo of things forgotten . . . . Mr. Pepys's verdict that it would never do . . . has been fully confirmed by the event, as his predictions usually were, being indeed always founded on calm judgment and close observation."--B. (Hueffer's Italian and other Studies, 1883, p. 263).] where being tuned with lute-strings, and played on with kees like an organ, a piece of parchment is always kept moving; and the strings, which by the kees are pressed down upon it, are grated in imitation of a bow, by the parchment; and so it is intended to resemble several vyalls played on with one bow, but so basely and harshly, that it will never do. But after three hours' stay it could not be fixed in tune; and so they were fain to go to some other musique of instruments, which I am grown quite out of love with, and so I, after some good discourse with Mr. Spong, Hill, Grant, and Dr. Whistler, and others by turns, I home to my office and there late, and so home, where I understand my wife has spoke to Jane and ended matters of difference between her and her, and she stays with us, which I am glad of; for her fault is nothing but sleepiness and forgetfulness, otherwise a good-natured, quiet, well-meaning, honest servant, and one that will do as she is bid, so one called upon her and will see her do it. This morning, by three o'clock, the Prince--[Rupert]--and King, and Duke with him, went down the River, and the Prince under sail the next tide after, and so is gone from the Hope. God give him better successe than he used to have! This day Mr. Bland went away hence towards his voyage to Tangier. This day also I had a letter from an unknown hand that tells me that Jacke Angier, he believes, is dead at Lisbon, for he left him there ill. 6th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, among other things about this of the flags and my bringing in of callicos to oppose Young and Whistler. At noon by promise Mr. Pierce and his wife and Madam Clerke and her niece came and dined with me to a rare chine of beefe and spent the afternoon very pleasantly all the afternoon, and then to my office in the evening, they being gone, and late at business, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind coming to itself in following of my business. 7th. Lay pretty while with some discontent abed, even to the having bad words with my wife, and blows too, about the ill-serving up of our victuals yesterday; but all ended in love, and so I rose and to my office busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to my office again, and then abroad to look after callicos for flags, and hope to get a small matter by my pains therein and yet save the King a great deal of money, and so home to my office, and there came Mr. Cocker, and brought me a globe of glasse, and a frame of oyled paper, as I desired, to show me the manner of his gaining light to grave by, and to lessen the glaringnesse of it at pleasure by an oyled paper. This I bought of him, giving him a crowne for it; and so, well satisfied, he went away, and I to my business again, and so home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 8th. All the morning at the office, and after dinner abroad, and among other things contracted with one Mr. Bridges, at the White Bear on Cornhill, for 100 pieces of Callico to make flaggs; and as I know I shall save the King money, so I hope to get a little for my pains and venture of my own money myself. Late in the evening doing business, and then comes Captain Tayler, and he and I till 12 o'clock at night arguing about the freight of his ship Eagle, hired formerly by me to Tangier, and at last we made an end, and I hope to get a little money, some small matter by it. So home to bed, being weary and cold, but contented that I have made an end of that business. 9th (Lord's day). Lay pretty long, but however up time enough with my wife to go to church. Then home to dinner, and Mr. Fuller, my Cambridge acquaintance, coming to me about what he was with me lately, to release a waterman, he told me he was to preach at Barking Church; and so I to heare him, and he preached well and neatly. Thence, it being time enough, to our owne church, and there staid wholly privately at the great doore to gaze upon a pretty lady, and from church dogged her home, whither she went to a house near Tower hill, and I think her to be one of the prettiest women I ever saw. So home, and at my office a while busy, then to my uncle Wight's, whither it seems my wife went after sermon and there supped, but my aunt and uncle in a very ill humour one with another, but I made shift with much ado to keep them from scolding, and so after supper home and to bed without prayers, it being cold, and to-morrow washing day. 10th. Up and, it being rainy, in Sir W. Pen's coach to St. James's, and there did our usual business with the Duke, and more and more preparations every day appear against the Dutch, and (which I must confess do a little move my envy) Sir W. Pen do grow every day more and more regarded by the Duke, ["The duke had decided that the English fleet should consist of three squadrons to be commanded by himself, Prince Rupert, and Lord Sandwich, from which arrangement the two last, who were land admirals; had concluded that Penn would have no concern in this fleet. Neither the duke, Rupert, nor Sandwich had ever been engaged in an encounter of fleets . . . . Penn alone of the four was familiar with all these things. By the duke's unexpected announcement that he should take Penn with him into his own ship, Rupert and Sandwich at once discovered that they would be really and practically under Penn's command in everything."] because of his service heretofore in the Dutch warr which I am confident is by some strong obligations he hath laid upon Mr. Coventry; for Mr. Coventry must needs know that he is a man of very mean parts, but only a bred seaman: Going home in coach with Sir W. Batten he told me how Sir J. Minnes by the means of Sir R. Ford was the last night brought to his house and did discover the reason of his so long discontent with him, and now they are friends again, which I am sorry for, but he told it me so plainly that I see there is no thorough understanding between them, nor love, and so I hope there will be no great combination in any thing, nor do I see Sir J. Minnes very fond as he used to be. But: Sir W. Batten do raffle still against Mr. Turner and his wife, telling me he is a false fellow, and his wife a false woman, and has rotten teeth and false, set in with wire, and as I know they are so, so I am glad he finds it so. To the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, and therewith Sir W. Warren to the Coffee-house behind the 'Change, and sat alone with him till 4 o'clock talking of his businesses first and then of business in general, and discourse how I might get money and how to carry myself to advantage to contract no envy and yet make the world see my pains; which was with great content to me, and a good friend and helpe I am like to find him, for which God be thanked! So home to dinner at 4 o'clock, and then to the office, and there late, and so home to supper and to bed, having sat up till past twelve at night to look over the account of the collections for the Fishery, and the loose and base manner that monies so collected are disposed of in, would make a man never part with a penny in that manner, and, above all, the inconvenience of having a great man, though never so seeming pious as my Lord Pembroke is. He is too great to be called to an account, and is abused by his servants, and yet obliged to defend them for his owne sake. This day, by the blessing of God, my wife and I have been married nine years: but my head being full of business, I did not think of it to keep it in any extraordinary manner. But bless God for our long lives and loves and health together, which the same God long continue, I wish, from my very heart! 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. My wife this morning went, being invited, to my Lady Sandwich, and I alone at home at dinner, till by and by Luellin comes and dines with me. He tells me what a bawdy loose play this "Parson's Wedding" is, that is acted by nothing but women at the King's house, and I am glad of it. Thence to the Fishery in Thames Street, and there several good discourses about the letting of the Lotterys, and, among others, one Sir Thomas Clifford, whom yet I knew not, do speak very well and neatly. Thence I to my cozen Will Joyce to get him to go to Brampton with me this week, but I think he will not, and I am not a whit sorry for it, for his company both chargeable and troublesome. So home and to my office, and then to supper and then to my office again till late, and so home, with my head and heart full of business, and so to bed. My wife tells me the sad news of my Lady Castlemayne's being now become so decayed, that one would not know her; at least far from a beauty, which I am sorry for. This day with great joy Captain Titus told us the particulars of the French's expedition against Gigery upon the Barbary Coast, in the Straights, with 6,000 chosen men. They have taken the Fort of Gigery, wherein were five men and three guns, which makes the whole story of the King of France's policy and power to be laughed at. 12th. This morning all the morning at my office ordering things against my journey to-morrow. At noon to the Coffeehouse, where very good discourse. For newes, all say De Ruyter is gone to Guinny before us. Sir J. Lawson is come to Portsmouth; and our fleete is hastening all speed: I mean this new fleete. Prince Rupert with his is got into the Downes. At home dined with me W. Joyce and a friend of his. W. Joyce will go with me to Brampton. After dinner I out to Mr. Bridges, the linnen draper, and evened with (him) for 100 pieces of callico, and did give him L208 18s., which I now trust the King for, but hope both to save the King money and to get a little by it to boot. Thence by water up and down all the timber yards to look out some Dram timber, but can find none for our turne at the price I would have; and so I home, and there at my office late doing business against my journey to clear my hands of every thing for two days. So home and to supper and bed. 13th. After being at the office all the morning, I home and dined, and taking leave of my wife with my mind not a little troubled how she would look after herself or house in my absence, especially, too, leaving a considerable sum of money in the office, I by coach to the Red Lyon in Aldersgate Street, and there, by agreement, met W. Joyce and Tom Trice, and mounted, I upon a very fine mare that Sir W. Warren helps me to, and so very merrily rode till it was very darke, I leading the way through the darke to Welling, and there, not being very weary, to supper and to bed. But very bad accommodation at the Swan. In this day's journey I met with Mr. White, Cromwell's chaplin that was, and had a great deale of discourse with him. Among others, he tells me that Richard is, and hath long been, in France, and is now going into Italy. He owns publiquely that he do correspond, and return him all his money. That Richard hath been in some straits at the beginning; but relieved by his friends. That he goes by another name, but do not disguise himself, nor deny himself to any man that challenges him. He tells me, for certain, that offers had been made to the old man, of marriage between the King and his daughter, to have obliged him, but he would not. [The Protector wished the Duke of Buckingham to marry his daughter Frances. She married, 1. Robert Rich, grandson and heir to Robert, Earl of Warwick, on November 11th, 1657, who died in the following February; 2. Sir John Russell, Bart. She died January 27th, 1721-22, aged eighty-four. In T. Morrice's life of Roger, Earl of Orrery, prefixed to Orrery's "State Letters" (Dublin, 1743, vol. i., p. 40), there is a circumstantial account of an interview between Orrery (then Lord Broghill) and Cromwell, in which the former suggested to the latter that Charles II. should marry Frances Cromwell. Cromwell gave great attention to the reasons urged, "but walking two or three turns, and pondering with himself, he told Lord Broghill the king would never forgive him the death of his father. His lordship desired him to employ somebody to sound the king in this matter, to see how he would take it, and offered himself to mediate in it for him. But Cromwell would not consent, but again repeated, 'The king cannot and will not forgive the death of his father;' and so he left his lordship, who durst not tell him he had already dealt with his majesty in that affair. Upon this my lord withdrew, and meeting Cromwell's wife and daughter, they inquired how he had succeeded; of which having given them an account, he added they must try their interest in him, but none could prevail."] He thinks (with me) that it never was in his power to bring in the King with the consent of any of his officers about him; and that he scorned to bring him in as Monk did, to secure himself and deliver every body else. When I told him of what I found writ in a French book of one Monsieur Sorbiere, that gives an account of his observations herein England; among other things he says, that it is reported that Cromwell did, in his life-time, transpose many of the bodies of the Kings of England from one grave to another, and that by that means it is not known certainly whether the head that is now set up upon a post be that of Cromwell, or of one of the Kings; Mr. White tells me that he believes he never had so poor a low thought in him to trouble himself about it. He says the hand of God is much to be seen; that all his children are in good condition enough as to estate, and that their relations that betrayed their family are all now either hanged or very miserable. 14th. Up by break of day, and got to Brampton by three o'clock, where my father and mother overjoyed to see me, my mother, ready to weepe every time she looked upon me. After dinner my father and I to the Court, and there did all our business to my mind, as I have set down in a paper particularly expressing our proceedings at this court. So home, where W. Joyce full of talk and pleased with his journey, and after supper I to bed and left my father, mother, and him laughing. 15th. My father and I up and walked alone to Hinchingbroke; and among the other late chargeable works that my Lord hath done there, we saw his water-works and the Oral which is very fine; and so is the house all over, but I am sorry to think of the money at this time spent therein. Back to my father's (Mr. Sheply being out of town) and there breakfasted, after making an end with Barton about his businesses, and then my mother called me into the garden, and there but all to no purpose desiring me to be friends with John, but I told her I cannot, nor indeed easily shall, which afflicted the poor woman, but I cannot help it. Then taking leave, W. Joyce and I set out, calling T. Trice at Bugden, and thence got by night to Stevenage, and there mighty merry, though I in bed more weary than the other two days, which, I think, proceeded from our galloping so much, my other weariness being almost all over; but I find that a coney skin in my breeches preserves me perfectly from galling, and that eating after I come to my Inne, without drinking, do keep me from being stomach sick, which drink do presently make me. We lay all in several beds in the same room, and W. Joyce full of his impertinent tricks and talk, which then made us merry, as any other fool would have done. So to sleep. 16th (Lord's day). It raining, we set out, and about nine o'clock got to Hatfield in church-time; and I 'light and saw my simple Lord Salsbury sit there in his gallery. Staid not in the Church, but thence mounted again and to Barnett by the end of sermon, and there dined at the Red Lyon very weary again, but all my weariness yesterday night and to-day in my thighs only, the rest of my weariness in my shoulders and arms being quite gone. Thence home, parting company at my cozen Anth. Joyce's, by four o'clock, weary, but very well, to bed at home, where I find all well. Anon my wife came to bed, but for my ease rose again and lay with her woman. 17th. Rose very well and not weary, and with Sir W. Batten to St. James's; there did our business. I saw Sir J. Lawson since his return from sea first this morning, and hear that my Lord Sandwich is come from Portsmouth to town. Thence I to him, and finding him at my Lord Crew's, I went with him home to his house and much kind discourse. Thence my Lord to Court, and I with Creed to the 'Change, and thence with Sir W. Warren to a cook's shop and dined, discoursing and advising him about his great contract he is to make tomorrow, and do every day receive great satisfaction in his company, and a prospect of a just advantage by his friendship. Thence to my office doing some business, but it being very cold, I, for fear of getting cold, went early home to bed, my wife not being come home from my Lady Jemimah, with whom she hath been at a play and at Court to-day. 18th. Up and to the office, where among other things we made a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for 3,000 loade of timber. At noon dined at home. In the afternoon to the Fishery, where, very confused and very ridiculous, my Lord Craven's proceedings, especially his finding fault with Sir J. Collaton and Colonell Griffin's' report in the accounts of the lottery-men. Thence I with Mr. Gray in his coach to White Hall, but the King and Duke being abroad, we returned to Somersett House. In discourse I find him a very worthy and studious gentleman in the business of trade, and among-other things he observed well to me, how it is not the greatest wits, but the steady man, that is a good merchant: he instanced in Ford and Cocke, the last of whom he values above all men as his oracle, as Mr. Coventry do Mr. Jolliffe. He says that it is concluded among merchants, that where a trade hath once been and do decay, it never recovers again, and therefore that the manufacture of cloath of England will never come to esteem again; that, among other faults, Sir Richard Ford cannot keepe a secret, and that it is so much the part of a merchant to be guilty of that fault that the Duke of Yoke is resolved to commit no more secrets to the merchants of the Royall Company; that Sir Ellis Layton is, for a speech of forty words, the wittiest man that ever he knew in his life, but longer he is nothing, his judgment being nothing at all, but his wit most absolute. At Somersett House he carried me in, and there I saw the Queene's new rooms, which are most stately and nobly furnished; and there I saw her, and the Duke of Yorke and Duchesse were there. The Duke espied me, and came to me, and talked with me a very great while about our contract this day with Sir W. Warren, and among other things did with some contempt ask whether we did except Polliards, which Sir W. Batten did yesterday (in spite, as the Duke I believe by my Lord Barkely do well enough know) among other things in writing propose. Thence home by coach, it raining hard, and to my office, where late, then home to supper and to bed. This night the Dutch Embassador desired and had an audience of the King. What the issue of it was I know not. Both sides I believe desire peace, but neither will begin, and so I believe a warr will follow. The Prince is with his fleet at Portsmouth, and the Dutch are making all preparations for warr. 19th. Up and to my office all the morning. At noon dined at home; then abroad by coach to buy for the office "Herne upon the Statute of Charitable Uses," in order to the doing something better in the Chest than we have done, for I am ashamed to see Sir W. Batten possess himself so long of so much money as he hath done. Coming home, weighed, my two silver flaggons at Stevens's. They weigh 212 oz. 27 dwt., which is about L50, at 5s. per oz., and then they judge the fashion to be worth above 5s. per oz. more--nay, some say 10s. an ounce the fashion. But I do not believe, but yet am sorry to see that the fashion is worth so much, and the silver come to no more. So home and to my office, where very busy late. My wife at Mercer's mother's, I believe, W. Hewer with them, which I do not like, that he should ask my leave to go about business, and then to go and spend his time in sport, and leave me here busy. To supper and to bed, my wife coming in by and by, which though I know there was no hurt in it; I do not like. 20th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon my uncle Thomas came, dined with me, and received some money of me. Then I to my office, where I took in with me Bagwell's wife, and there I caressed her, and find her every day more and more coming with good words and promises of getting her husband a place, which I will do. So we parted, and I to my Lord Sandwich at his lodgings, and after a little stay away with Mr. Cholmely to Fleete Streete; in the way he telling me that Tangier is like to be in a bad condition with this same Fitzgerald, he being a man of no honour, nor presence, nor little honesty, and endeavours: to raise the Irish and suppress the English interest there; and offend every body, and do nothing that I hear of well, which I am sorry for. Thence home, by the way taking two silver tumblers home, which I have bought, and so home, and there late busy at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up and by coach to Mr. Cole's, and there conferred with him about some law business, and so to Sir W. Turner's, and there bought my cloth, coloured, for a suit and cloake, to line with plush the cloak, which will cost me money, but I find that I must go handsomely, whatever it costs me, and the charge will be made up in the fruit it brings. Thence to the Coffee-house and 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, whither comes W. Howe to see me, being come from, and going presently back to sea with my Lord. Among other things he tells me Mr. Creed is much out of favour with my Lord from his freedom of talke and bold carriage, and other things with which my Lord is not pleased, but most I doubt his not lending my Lord money, and Mr. Moore's reporting what his answer was I doubt in the worst manner. But, however, a very unworthy rogue he is, and, therefore, let him go for one good for nothing, though wise to the height above most men I converse with. In the evening (W. Howe being gone) comes Mr. Martin, to trouble me again to get him a Lieutenant's place for which he is as fit as a foole can be. But I put him off like an arse, as he is, and so setting my papers and books in order: I home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon comes my uncle Thomas and his daughter Mary about getting me to pay them the L30 due now, but payable in law to her husband. I did give them the best answer I could, and so parted, they not desiring to stay to dinner. After dinner I down to Deptford, and there did business, and so back to my office, where very late busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and to church. At noon comes unexpected Mr. Fuller, the minister, and dines with me, and also I had invited Mr. Cooper with one I judge come from sea, and he and I spent the whole afternoon together, he teaching me some things in understanding of plates. At night to the office, doing business, and then home to supper. Then a psalm, to prayers, and to bed. 24th. Up and in Sir J. Minnes' coach (alone with Mrs. Turner as far as Paternoster Row, where I set her down) to St. James's, and there did our business, and I had the good lucke to speak what pleased the Duke about our great contract in hand with Sir W. Warren against Sir W. Batten, wherein the Duke is very earnest for our contracting. Thence home to the office till noon, and then dined and to the 'Change and off with Sir W. Warren for a while, consulting about managing his contract. Thence to a Committee at White Hall of Tangier, where I had the good lucke to speak something to very good purpose about the Mole at Tangier, which was well received even by Sir J. Lawson and Mr. Cholmely, the undertakers, against whose interest I spoke; that I believe I shall be valued for it. Thence into the galleries to talk with my Lord Sandwich; among other things, about the Prince's writing up to tell us of the danger he and his fleete lie in at Portsmouth, of receiving affronts from the Dutch; which, my Lord said, he would never have done, had he lain there with one ship alone: nor is there any great reason for it, because of the sands. However, the fleete will be ordered to go and lay themselves up at the Cowes. Much beneath the prowesse of the Prince, I think, and the honour of the nation, at the first to be found to secure themselves. My Lord is well pleased to think, that, if the Duke and the Prince go, all the blame of any miscarriage will not light on him; and that if any thing goes well, he hopes he shall have the share of the glory, for the Prince is by no means well esteemed of by any body. Thence home, and though not very well yet up late about the Fishery business, wherein I hope to give an account how I find the Collections to have been managed, which I did finish to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. This day the great O'Neale died; I believe, to the content of all the Protestant pretenders in Ireland. 25th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and finished Sir W. Warren's great contract for timber, with great content to me, because just in the terms I wrote last night to Sir W. Warren and against the terms proposed by Sir W. Batten. At noon home to dinner, and there found Creed and Hawley. After dinner comes in Mrs. Ingram, the first time to make a visit to my wife. After a little stay I left them and to the Committee of the Fishery, and there did make my report of the late public collections for the Fishery, much to the satisfaction of the Committee, and I think much to my reputation, for good notice was taken of it and much it was commended. So home, in my way taking care of a piece of plate for Mr. Christopher Pett, against the launching of his new great ship tomorrow at Woolwich, which I singly did move to His Royall Highness, and did obtain it for him, to the value of twenty pieces. And he, under his hand, do acknowledge to me that he did never receive so great a kindness from any man in the world as from me herein. So to my office, and then to supper, and then to my office again, where busy late, being very full now a days of business to my great content, I thank God, and so home to bed, my house being full of a design, to go to-morrow, my wife and all her servants, to see the new ship launched. 26th. Up, my people rising mighty betimes, to fit themselves to go by water; and my boy, he could not sleep, but wakes about four o'clock, and in bed lay playing on his lute till daylight, and, it seems, did the like last night till twelve o'clock. About eight o'clock, my wife, she and her woman, and Besse and Jane, and W. Hewer and the boy, to the water-side, and there took boat, and by and by I out of doors, to look after the flaggon, to get it ready to carry to Woolwich. That being not ready, I stepped aside and found out Nellson, he that Whistler buys his bewpers of, and did there buy 5 pieces at their price, and am in hopes thereby to bring them down or buy ourselves all we spend of Nellson at the first hand. This jobb was greatly to my content, and by and by the flaggon being finished at the burnisher's, I home, and there fitted myself, and took a hackney-coach I hired, it being a very cold and foule day, to Woolwich, all the way reading in a good book touching the fishery, and that being done, in the book upon the statute of charitable uses, mightily to my satisfaction. At Woolwich; I there up to the King and Duke, and they liked the plate well. Here I staid above with them while the ship was launched, which was done with great success, and the King did very much like the ship, saying, she had the best bow that ever he saw. But, Lord! the sorry talke and discourse among the great courtiers round about him, without any reverence in the world, but with so much disorder. By and by the Queene comes and her Mayds of Honour; one whereof, Mrs. Boynton, and the Duchesse of Buckingham, had been very siclee coming by water in the barge (the water being very rough); but what silly sport they made with them in very common terms, methought, was very poor, and below what people think these great people say and do. The launching being done, the King and company went down to take barge; and I sent for Mr. Pett, and put the flaggon into the Duke's hand, and he, in the presence of the King, did give it, Mr. Pett taking it upon his knee. This Mr. Pett is wholly beholding to me for, and he do know and I believe will acknowledge it. Thence I to Mr. Ackworth, and there eat and drank with Commissioner Pett and his wife, and thence to Shelden's, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady were. By and by I took coach after I had enquired for my wife or her boat, but found none. Going out of the gate, an ordinary woman prayed me to give her room to London, which I did, but spoke not to her all the way, but read, as long as I could see, my book again. Dark when we came to London, and a stop of coaches in Southwarke. I staid above half an houre and then 'light, and finding Sir W. Batten's coach, heard they were gone into the Beare at the Bridge foot, and thither I to them. Presently the stop is removed, and then going out to find my coach, I could not find it, for it was gone with the rest; so I fair to go through the darke and dirt over the bridge, and my leg fell in a hole broke on the bridge, but, the constable standing there to keep people from it, I was catched up, otherwise I had broke my leg; for which mercy the Lord be praised! So at Fanchurch I found my coach staying for me, and so home, where the little girle hath looked to the house well, but no wife come home, which made me begin to fear [for] her, the water being very rough, and cold and darke. But by and by she and her company come in all well, at which I was glad, though angry. Thence I to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat late with him, Sir R. Ford, and Sir John Robinson; the last of whom continues still the same foole he was, crying up what power he has in the City, in knowing their temper, and being able to do what he will with them. It seems the City did last night very freely lend the King L100,000 without any security but the King's word, which was very noble. But this loggerhead and Sir R. Ford would make us believe that they did it. Now Sir R. Ford is a cunning man, and makes a foole of the other, and the other believes whatever the other tells him. But, Lord! to think that such a man should be Lieutenant of the Tower, and so great a man as he is, is a strange thing to me. With them late and then home and with my wife to bed, after supper. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself, were treated at the Dolphin by Mr. Foly, the ironmonger, where a good plain dinner, but I expected musique, the missing of which spoiled my dinner, only very good merry discourse at dinner. Thence with Sir G. Carteret by coach to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, and thence back to London, and 'light in Cheapside and I to Nellson's, and there met with a rub at first, but took him out to drink, and there discoursed to my great content so far with him that I think I shall agree with him for Bewpers to serve the Navy with. So with great content home and to my office, where late, and having got a great cold in my head yesterday home to supper and to bed. 28th. Slept ill all night, having got a very great cold the other day at Woolwich in [my] head, which makes me full of snot. Up in the morning, and my tailor brings me home my fine, new, coloured cloth suit, my cloake lined with plush, as good a suit as ever I wore in my life, and mighty neat, to my great content. To my office, and there all the morning. At noon to Nellson's, and there bought 20 pieces more of Bewpers, and hope to go on with him to a contract. Thence to the 'Change a little, and thence home with Luellin to dinner, where Mr. Deane met me by appointment, and after dinner he and I up to my chamber, and there hard at discourse, and advising him what to do in his business at Harwich, and then to discourse of our old business of ships and taking new rules of him to my great pleasure, and he being gone I to my office a little, and then to see Sir W. Batten, who is sick of a greater cold than I, and thither comes to me Mr. Holliard, and into the chamber to me, and, poor man (beyond all I ever saw of him), was a little drunk, and there sat talking and finding acquaintance with Sir W. Batten and my Lady by relations on both sides, that there we staid very long. At last broke up, and he home much overcome with drink, but well enough to get well home. So I home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and it being my Lord Mayor's show, my boy and three mayds went out; but it being a very foule, rainy day, from morning till night, I was sorry my wife let them go out. All the morning at the office. At dinner at home. In the afternoon to the office again, and about 9 o'clock by appointment to the King's Head tavern upon Fish Street Hill, whither Mr. Wolfe (and Parham by his means) met me to discourse about the Fishery, and great light I had by Parham, who is a little conceited, but a very knowing man in his way, and in the general fishing trade of England. Here I staid three hours, and eat a barrel of very fine oysters of Wolfe's giving me, and so, it raining hard, home and to my office, and then home to bed. All the talke is that De Ruyter is come over-land home with six or eight of his captaines to command here at home, and their ships kept abroad in the Straights; which sounds as if they had a mind to do something with us. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and this morning put on my new, fine, coloured cloth suit, with my cloake lined with plush, which is a dear and noble suit, costing me about L17. To church, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to a little musique with my boy, and so to church with my wife, and so home, and with her all the evening reading and at musique with my boy with great pleasure, and so to supper, prayers, and to bed. 31st. Very busy all the morning, at noon Creed to me and dined with me, and then he and I to White Hall, there to a Committee of Tangier, where it is worth remembering when Mr. Coventry proposed the retrenching some of the charge of the horse, the first word asked by the Duke of Albemarle was, "Let us see who commands them," there being three troops. One of them he calls to mind was by Sir Toby Bridges. "Oh!" says he, "there is a very good man. If you must reform [Reform, i.e. disband. See "Memoirs of Sir John Reresby," September 2nd, 1651. "A great many younger brothers and reformed officers of the King's army depended upon him for their meat and drink." So reformado, a discharged or disbanded officer.--M. B.] two of them, be sure let him command the troop that is left." Thence home, and there came presently to me Mr. Young and Whistler, who find that I have quite overcome them in their business of flags, and now they come to intreat my favour, but I will be even with them. So late to my office and there till past one in the morning making up my month's accounts, and find that my expense this month in clothes has kept me from laying up anything; but I am no worse, but a little better than I was, which is L1205, a great sum, the Lord be praised for it! So home to bed, with my mind full of content therein, and vexed for my being so angry in bad words to my wife to-night, she not giving me a good account of her layings out to my mind to-night. This day I hear young Mr. Stanly, a brave young [gentleman], that went out with young Jermin, with Prince Rupert, is already dead of the small-pox, at Portsmouth. All preparations against the Dutch; and the Duke of Yorke fitting himself with all speed, to go to the fleete which is hastening for him; being now resolved to go in the Charles. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER 1664 November 1st. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, at noon (my wife being invited to my Lady Sandwich's) all alone dined at home upon a good goose with Mr. Wayth, discussing of business. Thence I to the Committee of the Fishery, and there we sat with several good discourses and some bad and simple ones, and with great disorder, and yet by the men of businesse of the towne. But my report in the business of the collections is mightily commended and will get me some reputation, and indeed is the only thing looks like a thing well done since we sat. Then with Mr. Parham to the tavern, but I drank no wine, only he did give me another barrel of oysters, and he brought one Major Greene, an able fishmonger, and good discourse to my information. So home and late at business at my office. Then to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and down with Mr. Castle to Redriffe, and there walked to Deptford to view a parcel of brave knees--[Knees of timber]--of his, which indeed are very good, and so back again home, I seeming very friendly to him, though I know him to be a rogue, and one that hates me with his heart. Home and to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon, where in some pain in my backe, which troubled me, but I think it comes only with stooping, and from no other matter. At night to Nellson's, and up and down about business, and so home to my office, then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up and to the office, where strange to see how Sir W. Pen is flocked to by people of all sorts against his going to sea. At the office did much business, among other an end of that that has troubled me long, the business of the bewpers and flags. At noon to the 'Change, and thence by appointment was met with Bagwell's wife, and she followed me into Moorfields, and there into a drinking house, and all alone eat and drank together. I did there caress her, but though I did make some offer did not receive any compliance from her in what was bad, but very modestly she denied me, which I was glad to see and shall value her the better for it, and I hope never tempt her to any evil more. Thence back to the town, and we parted and I home, and then at the office late, where Sir W. Pen came to take his leave of me, being to-morrow, which is very sudden to us, to go on board to lie on board, but I think will come ashore again before the ship, the Charles, ["The Royal Charles" was the Duke of York's ship, and Sir William Penn, who hoisted his flag in the "Royal James" on November 8th, shifted to the "Royal Charles" on November 30th. The duke gave Penn the command of the fleet immediately under himself. On Penn's monument he is styled "Great Captain Commander under His Royal Highness" (Penn's "Memorials of Sir William Penn," vol. ii., p. 296).] can go away. So home to supper and to bed. This night Sir W. Batten did, among other things, tell me strange newes, which troubles me, that my Lord Sandwich will be sent Governor to Tangier, which, in some respects, indeed, I should be glad of, for the good of the place and the safety of his person; but I think his honour will suffer, and, it may be, his interest fail by his distance. 4th. Waked very betimes and lay long awake, my mind being so full of business. Then up and to St. James's, where I find Mr. Coventry full of business, packing up for his going to sea with the Duke. Walked with him, talking, to White Hall, where to the Duke's lodgings, who is gone thither to lodge lately. I appeared to the Duke, and thence Mr. Coventry and I an hour in the Long Gallery, talking about the management of our office, he tells me the weight of dispatch will lie chiefly on me, and told me freely his mind touching Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, the latter of whom, he most aptly said, was like a lapwing; that all he did was to keepe a flutter, to keepe others from the nest that they would find. He told me an old story of the former about the light-houses, how just before he had certified to the Duke against the use of them, and what a burden they are to trade, and presently after, at his being at Harwich, comes to desire that he might have the setting one up there, and gets the usefulness of it certified also by the Trinity House. After long discoursing and considering all our stores and other things, as how the King hath resolved upon Captain Taylor [Coventry, writing to Secretary Bennet (November 14th, 1664), refers to the objections made to Taylor, and adds: "Thinks the King will not easily consent to his rejection, as he is a man of great abilities and dispatch, and was formerly laid aside at Chatham on the Duchess of Albemarle's earnest interposition for another. He is a fanatic, it is true, but all hands will be needed for the work cut out; there is less danger of them in harbour than at sea, and profit will convert most of them" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 68).] and Colonell Middleton, the first to be Commissioner for Harwich and the latter for Portsmouth, I away to the 'Change, and there did very much business, so home to dinner, and Mr. Duke, our Secretary for the Fishery, dined with me. After dinner to discourse of our business, much to my content, and then he away, and I by water among the smiths on the other side, and to the alehouse with one and was near buying 4 or 5 anchors, and learned something worth my knowing of them, and so home and to my office, where late, with my head very full of business, and so away home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so with my wife to the Duke's house to a play, "Macbeth," a pretty good play, but admirably acted. Thence home; the coach being forced to go round by London Wall home, because of the bonefires; the day being mightily observed in the City. To my office late at business, and then home to supper, and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church. Dined at home. And I all the afternoon close at my office drawing up some proposals to present to the Committee for the Fishery to-morrow, having a great good intention to be serviceable in the business if I can. At night, to supper with my uncle Wight, where very merry, and so home. To prayers and to bed. 7th. Up and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where mighty thrusting about the Duke now upon his going. We were with him long. He advised us to follow our business close, and to be directed in his absence by the Committee of the Councell for the Navy. By and by a meeting of the Fishery, where the Duke was, but in such haste, and things looked so superficially over, that I had not a fit opportunity to propose my paper that I wrote yesterday, but I had chewed it to Mr. Gray and Wren before, who did like it most highly, as they said, and I think they would not dissemble in that manner in a business of this nature, but I see the greatest businesses are done so superficially that I wonder anything succeeds at all among us, that is publique. Thence somewhat vexed to see myself frustrated in the good I hoped to have done and a little reputation to have gained, and thence to my barber's, but Jane not being in the way I to my Lady Sandwich's, and there met my wife and dined, but I find that I dine as well myself, that is, as neatly, and my meat as good and well-dressed, as my good Lady do, in the absence of my Lord. Thence by water I to my barber's again, and did meet in the street my Jane, but could not talk with her, but only a word or two, and so by coach called my wife, and home, where at my office late, and then, it being washing day, to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where by and by Mr. Coventry come, and after doing a little business, took his leave of us, being to go to sea with the Duke to-morrow. At noon, I and Sir J. Minnes and Lord Barkeley (who with Sir J. Duncum, and Mr. Chichly, are made Masters of the Ordnance), to the office of the Ordnance, to discourse about wadding for guns. Thence to dinner, all of us to the Lieutenant's of the Tower; where a good dinner, but disturbed in the middle of it by the King's coming into the Tower: and so we broke up, and to him, and went up and down the store-houses and magazines; which are, with the addition of the new great store-house, a noble sight. He gone, I to my office, where Bagwell's wife staid for me, and together with her a good while, to meet again shortly. So all the afternoon at my office till late, and then to bed, joyed in my love and ability to follow my business. This day, Mr. Lever sent my wife a pair of silver candlesticks, very pretty ones. The first man that ever presented me, to whom I have not only done little service, but apparently did him the greatest disservice in his business of accounts, as Purser-Generall, of any man at the board. 9th. Called up, as I had appointed, by H. Russell, between two and three o'clock, and I and my boy Tom by water with a gally down to the Hope, it being a fine starry night. Got thither by eight o'clock, and there, as expected, found the Charles, her mainmast setting. Commissioner Pett aboard. I up and down to see the ship I was so well acquainted with, and a great worke it is, the setting so great a mast. Thence the Commissioner and I on board Sir G. Ascue, in the Henery, who lacks men mightily, which makes me think that there is more believed to be in a man that hath heretofore been employed than truly there is; for one would never have thought, a month ago, that he would have wanted 1000 men at his heels. Nor do I think he hath much of a seaman in him: for he told me, says he, "Heretofore, we used to find our ships clear and ready, everything to our hands in the Downes. Now I come, and must look to see things done like a slave, things that I never minded, nor cannot look after." And by his discourse I find that he hath not minded anything in her at all. Thence not staying, the wind blowing hard, I made use of the Jemmy yacht and returned to the Tower in her, my boy being a very droll boy and good company. Home and eat something, and then shifted myself, and to White Hall, and there the King being in his Cabinet Council (I desiring to speak with Sir G. Carteret), I was called in, and demanded by the King himself many questions, to which I did give him full answers. There were at this Council my Lord Chancellor, Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Treasurer, the two Secretarys, and Sir G. Carteret. Not a little contented at this chance of being made known to these persons, and called often by my name by the King, I to Mr. Pierces to take leave of him, but he not within, but saw her and made very little stay, but straight home to my office, where I did business, and then to supper and to bed. The Duke of York is this day gone away to Portsmouth. 10th. Up, and not finding my things ready, I was so angry with Besse as to bid my wife for good and all to bid her provide herself a place, for though she be very good-natured, she hath no care nor memory of her business at all. So to the office, where vexed at the malice of Sir W. Batten and folly of Sir J. Minnes against Sir W. Warren, but I prevented, and shall do, though to my own disquiet and trouble. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten and the Auditors of the Exchequer at the Dolphin by Mr. Wayth's desire, and after dinner fell to business relating to Sir G. Carteret's account, and so home to the office, where Sir W. Batten begins, too fast, to shew his knavish tricks in giving what price he pleases for commodities. So abroad, intending to have spoke with my Lord Chancellor about the old business of his wood at Clarendon, but could not, and so home again, and late at my office, and then home to supper and bed. My little girle Susan is fallen sicke of the meazles, we fear, or, at least, of a scarlett feavour. 11th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to the Council Chamber at White Hall, to the Committee of the Lords for the Navy, where we were made to wait an houre or two before called in. In that time looking upon some books of heraldry of Sir Edward Walker's making, which are very fine, there I observed the Duke of Monmouth's armes are neatly done, and his title, "The most noble and high-born Prince, James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, &c.;" nor could Sir J. Minnes, nor any body there, tell whence he should take the name of Scott? And then I found my Lord Sandwich, his title under his armes is, "The most noble and mighty Lord, Edward, Earl of Sandwich, &c." Sir Edward Walker afterwards coming in, in discourse did say that there was none of the families of princes in Christendom that do derive themselves so high as Julius Caesar, nor so far by 1000 years, that can directly prove their rise; only some in Germany do derive themselves from the patrician familys of Rome, but that uncertainly; and, among other things, did much inveigh against the writing of romances, that 500 years hence being wrote of matters in general, true as the romance of Cleopatra, the world will not know which is the true and which the false. Here was a gentleman attending here that told us he saw the other day (and did bring the draught of it to Sir Francis Prigeon) of a monster born of an hostler's wife at Salisbury, two women children perfectly made, joyned at the lower part of their bellies, and every part perfect as two bodies, and only one payre of legs coming forth on one side from the middle where they were joined. It was alive 24 hours, and cried and did as all hopefull children do; but, being showed too much to people, was killed. By and by we were called in, where a great many lords: Annesly in the chair. But, Lord! to see what work they will make us, and what trouble we shall have to inform men in a business they are to begin to know, when the greatest of our hurry is, is a thing to be lamented; and I fear the consequence will be bad to us. Thence I by coach to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, my head akeing mightily with much business. Our little girl better than she was yesterday. After dinner out again by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, but could not speak with him, then up and down to seek Sir Ph. Warwicke, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord Berkely, but failed in all, and so home and there late at business. Among other things Mr. Turner making his complaint to me how my clerks do all the worke and get all the profit, and he hath no comfort, nor cannot subsist, I did make him apprehend how he is beholding to me more than to any body for my suffering him to act as Pourveyour of petty provisions, and told him so largely my little value of any body's favour, that I believe he will make no complaints again a good while. So home to supper and to bed, after prayers, and having my boy and Mercer give me some, each of them some, musique. 12th. Up, being frighted that Mr. Coventry was come to towne and now at the office, so I run down without eating or drinking or washing to the office and it proved my Lord Berkeley. There all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, Mr. Wayth with me, and then to the office, where mighty busy till very late, but I bless God I go through with it very well and hope I shall. 13th (Lord's day). This morning to church, where mighty sport, to hear our clerke sing out of tune, though his master sits by him that begins and keeps the tune aloud for the parish. Dined at home very well, and spent all the afternoon with my wife within doors, and getting a speech out of Hamlett, "To bee or not to bee,"' without book. In the evening to sing psalms, and in come Mr. Hill to see me, and then he and I and the boy finely to sing, and so anon broke up after much pleasure, he gone I to supper, and so prayers and to bed. 14th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, to the Lords of the Admiralty, and there did our business betimes. Thence to Sir Philip Warwicke about Navy business: and my Lord Ashly; and afterwards to my Lord Chancellor, who is very well pleased with me, and my carrying of his business. And so to the 'Change, where mighty busy; and so home to dinner, where Mr. Creed and Moore: and after dinner I to my Lord Treasurer's, to Sir Philip Warwicke there, and then to White Hall, to the Duke of Albemarle, about Tangier; and then homeward to the Coffee-house to hear newes. And it seems the Dutch, as I afterwards found by Mr. Coventry's letters, have stopped a ship of masts of Sir W. Warren's, coming for us in a Swede's ship, which they will not release upon Sir G. Downing's claiming her: which appears as the first act of hostility; and is looked upon as so by Mr. Coventry. The Elias,' coming from New England (Captain Hill, commander), is sunk; only the captain and a few men saved. She foundered in the sea. So home, where infinite busy till 12 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. That I might not be too fine for the business I intend this day, I did leave off my fine new cloth suit lined with plush and put on my poor black suit, and after office done (where much business, but little done), I to the 'Change, and thence Bagwell's wife with much ado followed me through Moorfields to a blind alehouse, and there I did caress her and eat and drink, and many hard looks and sooth the poor wretch did give me, and I think verily was troubled at what I did, but at last after many protestings by degrees I did arrive at what I would, with great pleasure, and then in the evening, it raining, walked into town to where she knew where she was, and then I took coach and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, and every where else, I thank God, I find myself growing in repute; and so home, and late, very late, at business, nobody minding it but myself, and so home to bed, weary and full of thoughts. Businesses grow high between the Dutch and us on every side. 16th. My wife not being well, waked in the night, and strange to see how dead sleep our people sleep that she was fain to ring an hour before any body would wake. At last one rose and helped my wife, and so to sleep again. Up and to my business, and then to White Hall, there to attend the Lords Commissioners, and so directly home and dined with Sir W. Batten and my Lady, and after dinner had much discourse tending to profit with Sir W. Batten, how to get ourselves into the prize office [The Calendars of State Papers are full of references to applications for Commissionerships of the Prize Office. In December, 1664, the Navy Committee appointed themselves the Commissioners for Prize Goods, Sir Henry Bennet being appointed comptroller, and Lord Ashley treasurer.] or some other fair way of obliging the King to consider us in our extraordinary pains. Then to the office, and there all the afternoon very busy, and so till past 12 at night, and so home to bed. This day my wife went to the burial of a little boy of W. Joyce's. 17th. Up and to my office, and there all the morning mighty busy, and taking upon me to tell the Comptroller how ill his matters were done, and I think indeed if I continue thus all the business of the office will come upon me whether I will or no. At noon to the 'Change, and then home with Creed to dinner, and thence I to the office, where close at it all the afternoon till 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I received from Mr. Foley, but for me to pay for it, if I like it, an iron chest, having now received back some money I had laid out for the King, and I hope to have a good sum of money by me, thereby, in a few days, I think above L800. But when I come home at night, I could not find the way to open it; but, which is a strange thing, my little girle Susan could carry it alone from one table clear from the ground and set upon another, when neither I nor anyone in my house but Jane the cook-mayde could do it. 18th. Up and to the office, and thence to the Committee of the Fishery at White Hall, where so poor simple doings about the business of the Lottery, that I was ashamed to see it, that a thing so low and base should have any thing to do with so noble an undertaking. But I had the advantage this day to hear Mr. Williamson discourse, who come to be a contractor with others for the Lotterys, and indeed I find he is a very logicall man and a good speaker. But it was so pleasant to see my Lord Craven, the chaireman, before many persons of worth and grave, use this comparison in saying that certainly these that would contract for all the lotteries would not suffer us to set up the Virginia lottery for plate before them, "For," says he, "if I occupy a wench first, you may occupy her again your heart out you can never have her maidenhead after I have once had it," which he did more loosely, and yet as if he had fetched a most grave and worthy instance. They made mirth, but I and others were ashamed of it. Thence to the 'Change and thence home to dinner, and thence to the office a good while, and thence to the Council chamber at White Hall to speake with Sir G. Carteret, and here by accident heard a great and famous cause between Sir G. Lane and one Mr. Phill. Whore, an Irish business about Sir G. Lane's endeavouring to reverse a decree of the late Commissioners of Ireland in a Rebells case for his land, which the King had given as forfeited to Sir G. Lane, for whom the Sollicitor did argue most angell like, and one of the Commissioners, Baron, did argue for the other and for himself and his brethren who had decreed it. But the Sollicitor do so pay the Commissioners, how four all along did act for the Papists, and three only for the Protestants, by which they were overvoted, but at last one word (which was omitted in the Sollicitor's repeating of an Act of Parliament in the case) being insisted on by the other part, the Sollicitor was put to a great stop, and I could discern he could not tell what to say, but was quite out. Thence home well pleased with this accident, and so home to my office, where late, and then to supper and to bed. This day I had a letter from Mr. Coventry, that tells me that my Lord Brunkard is to be one of our Commissioners, of which I am very glad, if any more must be. 19th. All the morning at the office, and without dinner down by galley up and down the river to visit the yards and ships now ordered forth with great delight, and so home to supper, and then to office late to write letters, then home to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, where Pegg Pen very fine in her new coloured silk suit laced with silver lace. Dined at home, and Mr. Sheply, lately come to town, with me. A great deal of ordinary discourse with him. Among other things praying him to speak to Stankes to look after our business. With him and in private with Mr. Bodham talking of our ropeyarde stores at Woolwich, which are mighty low, even to admiration. They gone, in the evening comes Mr. Andrews and sings with us, and he gone, I to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir J. Minnes and he and I to talk about our letter to my Lord Treasurer, where his folly and simple confidence so great in a report so ridiculous that he hath drawn up to present to my Lord, nothing of it being true, that I was ashamed, and did roundly and in many words for an houre together talk boldly to him, which pleased Sir W. Batten and my Lady, but I was in the right, and was the willinger to do so before them, that they might see that I am somebody, and shall serve him so in his way another time. So home vexed at this night's passage, for I had been very hot with him, so to supper and to bed, out of order with this night's vexation. 21st. Up, and with them to the Lords at White Hall, where they do single me out to speake to and to hear, much to my content, and received their commands, particularly in several businesses. Thence by their order to the Attorney General's about a new warrant for Captain Taylor which I shall carry for him to be Commissioner in spite of Sir W. Batten, and yet indeed it is not I, but the ability of the man, that makes the Duke and Mr. Coventry stand by their choice. I to the 'Change and there staid long doing business, and this day for certain newes is come that Teddiman hath brought in eighteen or twenty Dutchmen, merchants, their Bourdeaux fleete, and two men of wary to Portsmouth. [Captain Sir Thomas Teddiman (or Tyddiman) had been appointed Rear-Admiral of Lord Sandwich's squadron of the English fleet. In a letter from Sir William Coventry to Secretary Bennet, dated November 13th, 1664, we read, "Rear Admiral Teddeman with four or five ships has gone to course in the Channel, and if he meet any refractory Dutchmen will teach them their duty" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664.-65, p. 66).] And I had letters this afternoon, that three are brought into the Downes and Dover; so that the warr is begun: God give a good end to it! After dinner at home all the afternoon busy, and at night with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes looking over the business of stating the accounts of the navy charge to my Lord Treasurer, where Sir J. Minnes's paper served us in no stead almost, but was all false, and after I had done it with great pains, he being by, I am confident he understands not one word in it. At it till 10 at night almost. Thence by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's, by his desire to have conferred with him, but he being in bed, I to White Hall to the Secretaries, and there wrote to Mr. Coventry, and so home by coach again, a fine clear moonshine night, but very cold. Home to my office awhile, it being past 12 at night; and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning. Sir G. Carteret, upon a motion of Sir W. Batten's, did promise, if we would write a letter to him, to shew it to the King on our behalf touching our desire of being Commissioners of the Prize office. I wrote a letter to my mind and, after eating a bit at home (Mr. Sheply dining and taking his leave of me), abroad and to Sir G. Carteret with the letter and thence to my Lord Treasurer's; wherewith Sir Philip Warwicke long studying all we could to make the last year swell as high as we could. And it is much to see how he do study for the King, to do it to get all the money from the Parliament all he can: and I shall be serviceable to him therein, to help him to heads upon which to enlarge the report of the expense. He did observe to me how obedient this Parliament was for awhile, and the last sitting how they begun to differ, and to carp at the King's officers; and what they will do now, he says, is to make agreement for the money, for there is no guess to be made of it. He told me he was prepared to convince the Parliament that the Subsidys are a most ridiculous tax (the four last not rising to L40,000), and unequall. He talks of a tax of Assessment of L70,000 for five years; the people to be secured that it shall continue no longer than there is really a warr; and the charges thereof to be paid. He told me, that one year of the late Dutch warr cost L1,623,000. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there staid long with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, to speak with my lord about our Prize Office business; but, being sicke and full of visitants, we could not speak with him, and so away home. Where Sir Richard Ford did meet us with letters from Holland this day, that it is likely the Dutch fleete will not come out this year; they have not victuals to keep them out, and it is likely they will be frozen before they can get back. Captain Cocke is made Steward for sick and wounded seamen. So home to supper, where troubled to hear my poor boy Tom has a fit of the stone, or some other pain like it. I must consult Mr. Holliard for him. So at one in the morning home to bed. 23rd. Up and to my office, where close all the morning about my Lord Treasurer's accounts, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon very busy till very late at night, and then to supper and to bed. This evening Mr. Hollyard came to me and told me that he hath searched my boy, and he finds he hath a stone in his bladder, which grieves me to the heart, he being a good-natured and well-disposed boy, and more that it should be my misfortune to have him come to my house. Sir G. Carteret was here this afternoon; and strange to see how we plot to make the charge of this warr to appear greater than it is, because of getting money. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy answering of people. About noon out with Commissioner Pett, and he and I to a Coffee-house, to drink jocolatte, very good; and so by coach to Westminster, being the first day of the Parliament's meeting. After the House had received the King's speech, and what more he had to say, delivered in writing, the Chancellor being sicke, it rose, and I with Sir Philip Warwicke home and conferred our matters about the charge of the Navy, and have more to give him in the excessive charge of this year's expense. I dined with him, and Mr. Povy with us and Sir Edmund Pooly, a fine gentleman, and Mr. Chichly, and fine discourse we had and fine talke, being proud to see myself accepted in such company and thought better than I am. After dinner Sir Philip and I to talk again, and then away home to the office, where sat late; beginning our sittings now in the afternoon, because of the Parliament; and they being rose, I to my office, where late till almost one o'clock, and then home to bed. 25th. Up and at my office all the morning, to prepare an account of the charge we have been put to extraordinary by the Dutch already; and I have brought it to appear L852,700; but God knows this is only a scare to the Parliament, to make them give the more money. Thence to the Parliament House, and there did give it to Sir Philip Warwicke; the House being hot upon giving the King a supply of money, and I by coach to the 'Change and took up Mr. Jenings along with me (my old acquaintance), he telling me the mean manner that Sir Samuel Morland lives near him, in a house he hath bought and laid out money upon, in all to the value of L1200, but is believed to be a beggar; and so I ever thought he would be. From the 'Change with Mr. Deering and Luellin to the White Horse tavern in Lombard Street, and there dined with them, he giving me a dish of meat to discourse in order to my serving Deering, which I am already obliged to do, and shall do it, and would be glad he were a man trusty that I might venture something along with him. Thence home, and by and by in the evening took my wife out by coach, leaving her at Unthanke's while I to White Hall and to Westminster Hall, where I have not been to talk a great while, and there hear that Mrs. Lane and her husband live a sad life together, and he is gone to be a paymaster to a company to Portsmouth to serve at sea. She big with child. Thence I home, calling my wife, and at Sir W. Batten's hear that the House have given the King L2,500,000 to be paid for this warr, only for the Navy, in three years' time; which is a joyfull thing to all the King's party I see, but was much opposed by Mr. Vaughan and others, that it should be so much. So home and to supper and to bed. 26th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. Home a while to dinner and then to the office, where very late busy till quite weary, but contented well with my dispatch of business, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, then dined at home, and to my office, and there all the afternoon setting right my business of flaggs, and after all my pains find reason not to be sorry, because I think it will bring me considerable profit. In the evening come Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we sung, with my boy, Ravenscroft's 4-part psalms, most admirable musique. Then (Andrews not staying) we to supper, and after supper fell into the rarest discourse with Mr. Hill about Rome and Italy; but most pleasant that I ever had in my life. At it very late and then to bed. 28th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and W. Batten to White Hall, but no Committee of Lords (which is like to do the King's business well). So to Westminster, and there to Jervas's and was a little while with Jane, and so to London by coach and to the Coffee-house, where certain news of our peace made by Captain Allen with Argier, which is good news; and that the Dutch have sent part of their fleete round by Scotland; and resolve to pay off the rest half-pay, promising the rest in the Spring, hereby keeping their men. But how true this, I know not. Home to dinner, then come Dr. Clerke to speak with me about sick and wounded men, wherein he is like to be concerned. After him Mr. Cutler, and much talk with him, and with him to White Hall, to have waited on the Lords by order, but no meeting, neither to-night, which will spoil all. I think I shall get something by my discourse with Cutler. So home, and after being at my office an hour with Mr. Povy talking about his business of Tangier, getting him some money allowed him for freight of ships, wherein I hope to get something too. He gone, home hungry and almost sick for want of eating, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to the Committee of Lords at the Council Chamber, where Sir G. Carteret told us what he had said to the King, and how the King inclines to our request of making us Commissioners of the Prize office, but meeting him anon in the gallery, he tells me that my Lord Barkely is angry we should not acquaint him with it, so I found out my Lord and pacified him, but I know not whether he was so in earnest or no, for he looked very frowardly. Thence to the Parliament House, and with Sir W. Batten home and dined with him, my wife being gone to my Lady Sandwich's, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and I at my office till past 12 at night, and so home to bed. This day I hear that the King should say that the Dutch do begin to comply with him. Sir John Robinson told Sir W. Batten that he heard the King say so. I pray God it may be so. 30th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to the Committee of the Lords, and there did our business; but, Lord! what a sorry dispatch these great persons give to business. Thence to the 'Change, and there hear the certainty and circumstances of the Dutch having called in their fleete and paid their men half-pay, the other to be paid them upon their being ready upon beat of drum to come to serve them again, and in the meantime to have half-pay. This is said. Thence home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon. In the evening my wife and Sir W. Warren with me to White Hall, sending her with the coach to see her father and mother. He and I up to Sir G. Carteret, and first I alone and then both had discourse with him about things of the Navy, and so I and he calling my wife at Unthanke's, home again, and long together talking how to order things in a new contract for Norway goods, as well to the King's as to his advantage. He gone, I to my monthly accounts, and, bless God! I find I have increased my last balance, though but little; but I hope ere long to get more. In the meantime praise God for what I have, which is L1209. So, with my heart glad to see my accounts fall so right in this time of mixing of monies and confusion, I home to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: About several businesses, hoping to get money by them After many protestings by degrees I did arrive at what I would All ended in love Below what people think these great people say and do Even to the having bad words with my wife, and blows too Expected musique, the missing of which spoiled my dinner Gadding abroad to look after beauties Greatest businesses are done so superficially Little children employed, every one to do something Meazles, we fear, or, at least, of a scarlett feavour My leg fell in a hole broke on the bridge My wife was angry with me for not coming home, and for gadding Not the greatest wits, but the steady man Rotten teeth and false, set in with wire Till 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed What a sorry dispatch these great persons give to business What is there more to be had of a woman than the possessing her Where a trade hath once been and do decay, it never recovers 
4152	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1664 December 1st. Up betimes and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, and so straight home and hard to my business at my office till noon, then to dinner, and so to my office, and by and by we sat all the afternoon, then to my office again till past one in the morning, and so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Lay long in bed. Then up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At home dined. After dinner with my wife and Mercer to the Duke's House, and there saw "The Rivalls," which I had seen before; but the play not good, nor anything but the good actings of Betterton and his wife and Harris. Thence homeward, and the coach broke with us in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and so walked to Fleete Streete, and there took coach and home, and to my office, whither by and by comes Captain Cocke, and then Sir W. Batten, and we all to Sir J. Minnes, and I did give them a barrel of oysters I had given to me, and so there sat and talked, where good discourse of the late troubles, they knowing things, all of them, very well; and Cocke, from the King's own mouth, being then entrusted himself much, do know particularly that the King's credulity to Cromwell's promises, private to him, against the advice of his friends and the certain discovery of the practices and discourses of Cromwell in council (by Major Huntington) [According to Clarendon the officer here alluded to was a major in Cromwell's own regiment of horse, and employed by him to treat with Charles I. whilst at Hampton Court; but being convinced of the insincerity of the proceeding, communicated his suspicions to that monarch, and immediately gave up his commission. We hear no more of Huntington till the Restoration, when his name occurs with those of many other officers, who tendered their services to the king. His reasons for laying down his commission are printed in Thurloe's "State Papers" and Maseres's "Tracts."--B.] did take away his life and nothing else. Then to some loose atheisticall discourse of Cocke's, when he was almost drunk, and then about 11 o'clock broke up, and I to my office, to fit up an account for Povy, wherein I hope to get something. At it till almost two o'clock, then to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and at the office all the morning, and at noon to Mr. Cutler's, and there dined with Sir W. Rider and him, and thence Sir W. Rider and I by coach to White Hall to a Committee of the Fishery; there only to hear Sir Edward Ford's proposal about farthings, wherein, O God! to see almost every body interested for him; only my Lord Annesly, who is a grave, serious man. My Lord Barkeley was there, but is the most hot, fiery man in discourse, without any cause, that ever I saw, even to breach of civility to my Lord Anglesey, in his discourse opposing to my Lord's. At last, though without much satisfaction to me, it was voted that it should be requested of the King, and that Sir Edward Ford's proposal is the best yet made. Thence by coach home. The Duke of Yorke being expected to-night with great joy from Portsmouth, after his having been abroad at sea three or four days with the fleete; and the Dutch are all drawn into their harbours. But it seems like a victory: and a matter of some reputation to us it is, and blemish to them; but in no degree like what it is esteemed at, the weather requiring them to do so. Home and at my office late, and then to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and to my office, there to dispatch a business in order to the getting something out of the Tangier business, wherein I have an opportunity to get myself paid upon the score of freight. I hope a good sum. At noon home to dinner, and then in the afternoon to church. So home, and by and by comes Mr. Hill and Andrews, and sung together long and with great content. Then to supper and broke up. Pretty discourse, very pleasant and ingenious, and so to my office a little, and then home (after prayers) to bed. This day I hear the Duke of Yorke is come to towne, though expected last night, as I observed, but by what hindrance stopped I can't tell. 5th. Up, and to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes; and there, among an infinite crowd of great persons, did kiss the Duke's hand; but had no time to discourse. Thence up and down the gallery, and got my Lord of Albemarle's hand to my bill for Povy, but afterwards was asked some scurvy questions by Povy about my demands, which troubled [me], but will do no great hurt I think. Thence vexed home, and there by appointment comes my cozen Roger Pepys and Mrs. Turner, and dined with me, and very merry we were. They staid all the afternoon till night, and then after I had discoursed an hour with Sir W. Warren plainly declaring my resolution to desert him if he goes on to join with Castle, who and his family I, for great provocation, love not, which he takes with some trouble, but will concur in everything with me, he says. Now I am loth, I confess, to lose him, he having been the best friend I have had ever in this office. So he being gone, we all, it being night, in Madam Turner's coach to her house, there to see, as she tells us, how fat Mrs. The. is grown, and so I find her, but not as I expected, but mightily pleased I am to hear the mother commend her daughter Betty that she is like to be a great beauty, and she sets much by her. Thence I to White Hall, and there saw Mr. Coventry come to towne, and, with all my heart, am glad to see him, but could have no talke with him, he being but just come. Thence back and took up my wife, and home, where a while, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and in Sir W. Batten's coach to White Hall, but the Duke being gone forth, I to Westminster Hall, and there spent much time till towards noon to and fro with people. So by and by Mrs. Lane comes and plucks me by the cloak to speak to me, and I was fain to go to her shop, and pretending to buy some bands made her go home, and by and by followed her, and there did what I would with her, and so after many discourses and her intreating me to do something for her husband, which I promised to do, and buying a little band of her, which I intend to keep to, I took leave, there coming a couple of footboys to her with a coach to fetch her abroad I know not to whom. She is great with child, and she says I must be godfather, but I do not intend it. Thence by coach to the Old Exchange, and there hear that the Dutch are fitting their ships out again, which puts us to new discourse, and to alter our thoughts of the Dutch, as to their want of courage or force. Thence by appointment to the White Horse Taverne in Lumbard Streete, and there dined with my Lord Rutherford, Povy, Mr. Gauden, Creed, and others, and very merry, and after dinner among other things Povy and I withdrew, and I plainly told him that I was concerned in profit, but very justly, in this business of the Bill that I have been these two or three days about, and he consents to it, and it shall be paid. He tells me how he believes, and in part knows, Creed to be worth L10,000; nay, that now and then he [Povy] hath three or L4,000 in his hands, for which he gives the interest that the King gives, which is ten per cent., and that Creed do come and demand it every three months the interest to be paid him, which Povy looks upon as a cunning and mean tricke of him; but for all that, he will do and is very rich. Thence to the office, where we sat and where Mr. Coventry came the first time after his return from sea, which I was glad of. So after office to my office, and then home to supper, and to my office again, and then late home to bed. 7th. Lay long, then up, and among others Bagwell's wife coming to speak with me put new thoughts of folly into me which I am troubled at. Thence after doing business at my office, I by coach to my Lady Sandwich's, and there dined with her, and found all well and merry. Thence to White Hall, and we waited on the Duke, who looks better than he did, methinks, before his voyage; and, I think, a little more stern than he used to do. Thence to the Temple to my cozen Roger Pepys, thinking to have met the Doctor to have discoursed our business, but he came not, so I home, and there by agreement came my Lord Rutherford, Povy, Gauden, Creed, Alderman Backewell, about Tangier business of accounts between Rutherford and Gauden. Here they were with me an hour or more, then after drinking away, and Povy and Creed staid and eat with me; but I was sorry I had no better cheer for Povy; for the foole may be useful, and is a cunning fellow in his way, which is a strange one, and that, that I meet not in any other man, nor can describe in him. They late with me, and when gone my boy and I to musique, and then to bed. 8th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. In the evening comes my aunt and uncle Wight, Mrs. Norbury, and her daughter, and after them Mr. Norbury, where no great pleasure, my aunt being out of humour in her fine clothes, and it raining hard. Besides, I was a little too bold with her about her doating on Dr. Venner. Anon they went away, and I till past 12 at night at my office, and then home to bed. 9th. Up betimes and walked to Mr. Povy's, and there, not without some few troublesome questions of his, I got a note, and went and received L117 5s. of Alderman Viner upon my pretended freight of the "William" for Tangier, which overbears me on one side with joy and on the other to think of my condition if I shall be called into examination about it, and (though in strictness it is due) not be able to give a good account of it. Home with it, and there comes Captain Taylor to me, and he and I did set even the business of the ship Union lately gone for Tangier, wherein I hope to get L50 more, for all which the Lord be praised. At noon home to dinner, Mr. Hunt and his wife with us, and very pleasant. Then in the afternoon I carried them home by coach, and I to Westminster Hall, and thence to Gervas's, and there find I cannot prevail with Jane to go forth with me, but though I took a good occasion of going to the Trumpet she declined coming, which vexed me. 'Je avait grande envie envers elle, avec vrai amour et passion'. Thence home and to my office till one in the morning, setting to rights in writing this day's two accounts of Povy and Taylor, and then quietly to bed. This day I had several letters from several places, of our bringing in great numbers of Dutch ships. 10th. Lay long, at which I am ashamed, because of so many people observing it that know not how late I sit up, and for fear of Sir W. Batten's speaking of it to others, he having staid for me a good while. At the office all the morning, where comes my Lord Brunkard with his patent in his hand, and delivered it to Sir J. Minnes and myself, we alone being there all the day, and at noon I in his coach with him to the 'Change, where he set me down; a modest civil person he seems to be, but wholly ignorant in the business of the Navy as possible, but I hope to make a friend of him, being a worthy man. Thence after hearing the great newes of so many Dutchmen being brought in to Portsmouth and elsewhere, which it is expected will either put them upon present revenge or despair, I with Sir W. Rider and Cutler to dinner all alone to the Great James, where good discourse, and, I hope, occasion of getting something hereafter. After dinner to White Hall to the Fishery, where the Duke was with us. So home, and late at my office, writing many letters, then home to supper and to bed. Yesterday come home, and this night I visited Sir W. Pen, who dissembles great respect and love to me, but I understand him very well. Major Holmes is come from Guinny, and is now at Plymouth with great wealth, they say. 11th (Lord's day). Up and to church alone in the morning. Dined at home, mighty pleasantly. In the afternoon I to the French church, where much pleased with the three sisters of the parson, very handsome, especially in their noses, and sing prettily. I heard a good sermon of the old man, touching duty to parents. Here was Sir Samuel Morland and his lady very fine, with two footmen in new liverys (the church taking much notice of them), and going into their coach after sermon with great gazeing. So I home, and my cozen, Mary Pepys's husband, comes after me, and told me that out of the money he received some months since he did receive 18d. too much, and did now come and give it me, which was very pretty. So home, and there found Mr. Andrews and his lady, a well-bred and a tolerable pretty woman, and by and by Mr. Hill and to singing, and then to supper, then to sing again, and so good night. To prayers and tonight [bed]. It is a little strange how these Psalms of Ravenscroft after 2 or 3 times singing prove but the same again, though good. No diversity appearing at all almost. 12th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten by coach to White Hall, where all of us with the Duke; Mr. Coventry privately did tell me the reason of his advice against our pretences to the Prize Office (in his letter from Portsmouth), because he knew that the King and the Duke had resolved to put in some Parliament men that have deserved well, and that would needs be obliged, by putting them in. Thence homeward, called at my bookseller's and bespoke some books against the year's out, and then to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to the office, where my Lord Brunkard comes and reads over part of our Instructions in the Navy--and I expounded it to him, so he is become my disciple. He gone, comes Cutler to tell us that the King of France hath forbid any canvass to be carried out of his kingdom, and I to examine went with him to the East India house to see a letter, but came too late. So home again, and there late till 12 at night at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. This day (to see how things are ordered in the world), I had a command from the Earle of Sandwich, at Portsmouth, not to be forward with Mr. Cholmly and Sir J. Lawson about the Mole at Tangier, because that what I do therein will (because of his friendship to me known) redound against him, as if I had done it upon his score. So I wrote to my Lord my mistake, and am contented to promise never to pursue it more, which goes against my mind with all my heart. 13th. Lay long in bed, then up, and many people to speak with me. Then to my office, and dined at noon at home, then to the office again, where we sat all the afternoon, and then home at night to a little supper, and so after my office again at 12 at night home to bed. 14th. Up, and after a while at the office, I abroad in several places, among others to my bookseller's, and there spoke for several books against New Year's day, I resolving to lay out about L7 or L8, God having given me some profit extraordinary of late; and bespoke also some plate, spoons, and forks. I pray God keep me from too great expenses, though these will still be pretty good money. Then to the 'Change, and I home to dinner, where Creed and Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute master, who plays indeed mighty finely, and after dinner I abroad, parting from Creed, and away to and fro, laying out or preparing for laying out more money, but I hope and resolve not to exceed therein, and to-night spoke for some fruit for the country for my father against Christmas, and where should I do it, but at the pretty woman's, that used to stand at the doore in Fanchurch Streete, I having a mind to know her. So home, and late at my office, evening reckonings with Shergoll, hoping to get money by the business, and so away home to supper and to bed, not being very well through my taking cold of late, and so troubled with some wind. 15th. Called up very betimes by Mr. Cholmly, and with him a good while about some of his Tangier accounts; and, discoursing of the condition of Tangier, he did give me the whole account of the differences between Fitzgerald and Norwood, which were very high on both sides, but most imperious and base on Fitzgerald's, and yet through my Lord FitzHarding's means, the Duke of York is led rather to blame Norwood and to speake that he should be called home, than be sensible of the other. He is a creature of FitzHarding's, as a fellow that may be done with what he will, and, himself certainly pretending to be Generall of the King's armies, when Monk dyeth, desires to have as few great or wise men in employment as he can now, but such as he can put in and keep under, which he do this coxcomb Fitzgerald. It seems, of all mankind there is no man so led by another as the Duke is by Lord Muskerry and this FitzHarding. insomuch, as when the King would have him to be Privy-Purse, the Duke wept, and said, "But, Sir, I must have your promise, if you will have my dear Charles from me, that if ever you have occasion for an army again, I may have him with me; believing him to be the best commander of an army in the world." But Mr. Cholmly thinks, as all other men I meet with do, that he is a very ordinary fellow. It is strange how the Duke also do love naturally, and affect the Irish above the English. He, of the company he carried with him to sea, took above two-thirds Irish and French. He tells me the King do hate my Lord Chancellor; and that they, that is the King and my Lord FitzHarding, do laugh at him for a dull fellow; and in all this business of the Dutch war do nothing by his advice, hardly consulting him. Only he is a good minister in other respects, and the King cannot be without him; but, above all, being the Duke's father-in-law, he is kept in; otherwise FitzHarding were able to fling down two of him. This, all the wise and grave lords see, and cannot help it; but yield to it. But he bemoans what the end of it may be, the King being ruled by these men, as he hath been all along since his coming; to the razing all the strong-holds in Scotland, and giving liberty to the Irish in Ireland, whom Cromwell had settled all in one corner; who are now able, and it is feared everyday a massacre again among them. He being gone I abroad to the carrier's, to see some things sent away to my father against Christmas, and thence to Moorfields, and there up and down to several houses to drink to look for a place 'pour rencontrer la femme de je sais quoi' against next Monday, but could meet none. So to the Coffeehouse, where great talke of the Comet seen in several places; and among our men at sea, and by my Lord Sandwich, to whom I intend to write about it to-night. Thence home to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon, and in the evening home to supper, and then to the office late, and so to bed. This night I begun to burn wax candles in my closett at the office, to try the charge, and to see whether the smoke offends like that of tallow candles. 16th. Up, and by water to Deptford, thinking to have met 'la femme de' Bagwell, but failed, and having done some business at the yard, I back again, it being a fine fresh morning to walk. Back again, Mr. Wayth walking with me to Half-Way House talking about Mr. Castle's fine knees lately delivered in. In which I am well informed that they are not as they should be to make them knees, and I hope shall make good use of it to the King's service. Thence home, and having dressed myself, to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so abroad by coach with my wife, and bought a looking glasse by the Old Exchange, which costs me L5 5s. and 6s. for the hooks. A very fair glasse. So toward my cozen Scott's, but meeting my Lady Sandwich's coach, my wife turned back to follow them, thinking they might, as they did, go to visit her, and I 'light and to Mrs. Harman, and there staid and talked in her shop with her, and much pleased I am with her. We talked about Anthony Joyce's giving over trade and that he intends to live in lodgings, which is a very mad, foolish thing. She tells me she hears and believes it is because he, being now begun to be called on offices, resolves not to take the new oathe, he having formerly taken the Covenant or Engagement, but I think he do very simply and will endeavour for his wife's sake to advise him therein. Thence to my cozen Scott's, and there met my cozen Roger Pepys, and Mrs. Turner, and The. and Joyce, and prated all the while, and so with the "corps" to church and heard a very fine sermon of the Parson of the parish, and so homeward with them in their coach, but finding it too late to go home with me, I took another coach and so home, and after a while at my office, home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I to the 'Change, and there, among others, had my first meeting with Mr. L'Estrange, who hath endeavoured several times to speak with me. It is to get, now and then, some newes of me, which I shall, as I see cause, give him. He is a man of fine conversation, I think, but I am sure most courtly and full of compliments. Thence home to dinner, and then come the looking-glass man to set up the looking-glass I bought yesterday, in my dining-room, and very handsome it is. So abroad by coach to White Hall, and there to the Committee of Tangier, and then the Fishing. Mr. Povy did in discourse give me a rub about my late bill for money that I did get of him, which vexed me and stuck in my mind all this evening, though I know very well how to cleare myself at the worst. So home and to my office, where late, and then home to bed. Mighty talke there is of this Comet that is seen a'nights; and the King and Queene did sit up last night to see it, and did, it seems. And to-night I thought to have done so too; but it is cloudy, and so no stars appear. But I will endeavour it. Mr. Gray did tell me to-night, for certain, that the Dutch, as high as they seem, do begin to buckle; and that one man in this Kingdom did tell the King that he is offered L40,000 to make a peace, and others have been offered money also. It seems the taking of their Bourdeaux fleete thus, arose from a printed Gazette of the Dutch's boasting of fighting, and having beaten the English: in confidence whereof (it coming to Bourdeaux), all the fleete comes out, and so falls into our hands. 18th (Lord's day). To church, where, God forgive me! I spent most of my time in looking [on] my new Morena--[a brunette]--at the other side of the church, an acquaintance of Pegg Pen's. So home to dinner, and then to my chamber to read Ben Johnson's Cataline, a very excellent piece, and so to church again, and thence we met at the office to hire ships, being in great haste and having sent for several masters of ships to come to us. Then home, and there Mr. Andrews and Hill come and we sung finely, and by and by Mr. Fuller, the Parson, and supped with me, he and a friend of his, but my musique friends would not stay supper. At and after supper Mr. Fuller and I told many storys of apparitions and delusions thereby, and I out with my storys of Tom Mallard. He gone, I a little to my office, and then to prayers and to bed. 19th. Going to bed betimes last night we waked betimes, and from our people's being forced to take the key to go out to light a candle, I was very angry and begun to find fault with my wife for not commanding her servants as she ought. Thereupon she giving me some cross answer I did strike her over her left eye such a blow as the poor wretch did cry out and was in great pain, but yet her spirit was such as to endeavour to bite and scratch me. But I coying--[stroking or caressing]--with her made her leave crying, and sent for butter and parsley, and friends presently one with another, and I up, vexed at my heart to think what I had done, for she was forced to lay a poultice or something to her eye all day, and is black, and the people of the house observed it. But I was forced to rise, and up and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there we waited on the Duke. And among other things Mr. Coventry took occasion to vindicate himself before the Duke and us, being all there, about the choosing of Taylor for Harwich. Upon which the Duke did clear him, and did tell us that he did expect, that, after he had named a man, none of us shall then oppose or find fault with the man; but if we had anything to say, we ought to say it before he had chose him. Sir G. Carteret thought himself concerned, and endeavoured to clear himself: and by and by Sir W. Batten did speak, knowing himself guilty, and did confess, that being pressed by the Council he did say what he did, that he was accounted a fanatique; but did not know that at that time he had been appointed by his Royal Highness. To which the Duke [replied] that it was impossible but he must know that he had appointed him; and so it did appear that the Duke did mean all this while Sir W. Batten. So by and by we parted, and Mr. Coventry did privately tell me that he did this day take this occasion to mention the business to give the Duke an opportunity of speaking his mind to Sir W. Batten in this business, of which I was heartily glad. Thence home, and not finding Bagwell's wife as I expected, I to the 'Change and there walked up and down, and then home, and she being come I bid her go and stay at Mooregate for me, and after going up to my wife (whose eye is very bad, but she is in very good temper to me), and after dinner I to the place and walked round the fields again and again, but not finding her I to the 'Change, and there found her waiting for me and took her away, and to an alehouse, and there I made much of her, and then away thence and to another and endeavoured to caress her, but 'elle ne voulait pas', which did vex me, but I think it was chiefly not having a good easy place to do it upon. So we broke up and parted and I to the office, where we sat hiring of ships an hour or two, and then to my office, and thence (with Captain Taylor home to my house) to give him instructions and some notice of what to his great satisfaction had happened to-day. Which I do because I hope his coming into this office will a little cross Sir W. Batten and may do me good. He gone, I to supper with my wife, very pleasant, and then a little to my office and to bed. My mind, God forgive me, too much running upon what I can 'ferais avec la femme de Bagwell demain', having promised to go to Deptford and 'a aller a sa maison avec son mari' when I come thither. 20th. Up and walked to Deptford, where after doing something at the yard I walked, without being observed, with Bagwell home to his house, and there was very kindly used, and the poor people did get a dinner for me in their fashion, of which I also eat very well. After dinner I found occasion of sending him abroad, and then alone 'avec elle je tentais a faire ce que je voudrais et contre sa force je le faisais biens que passe a mon contentment'. By and by he coming back again I took leave and walked home, and then there to dinner, where Dr. Fayrebrother come to see me and Luellin. We dined, and I to the office, leaving them, where we sat all the afternoon, and I late at the office. To supper and to the office again very late, then home to bed. 21st. Up, and after evening reckonings to this day with Mr. Bridges, the linnen draper, for callicos, I out to Doctors' Commons, where by agreement my cozen Roger and I did meet my cozen Dr. Tom Pepys, and there a great many and some high words on both sides, but I must confess I was troubled; first, to find my cozen Roger such a simple but well-meaning man as he is; next to think that my father, out of folly and vain glory, should now and then (as by their words I gather) be speaking how he had set up his son Tom with his goods and house, and now these words are brought against him--I fear to the depriving him of all the profit the poor man intended to make of the lease of his house and sale of his owne goods. I intend to make a quiet end if I can with the Doctor, being a very foul-tounged fool and of great inconvenience to be at difference with such a one that will make the base noise about it that he will. Thence, very much vexed to find myself so much troubled about other men's matters, I to Mrs. Turner's, in Salsbury Court, and with her a little, and carried her, the porter staying for me, our eagle, which she desired the other day, and we were glad to be rid of her, she fouling our house of office mightily. They are much pleased with her. And thence I home and after dinner to the office, where Sir W. Rider and Cutler come, and in dispute I very high with them against their demands, I hope to no hurt to myself, for I was very plain with them to the best of my reason. So they gone I home to supper, then to the office again and so home to bed. My Lord Sandwich this day writes me word that he hath seen (at Portsmouth) the Comet, and says it is the most extraordinary thing that ever he saw. 22nd. Up and betimes to my office, and then out to several places, among others to Holborne to have spoke with one Mr. Underwood about some English hemp, he lies against Gray's Inn. Thereabouts I to a barber's shop to have my hair cut, and there met with a copy of verses, mightily commended by some gentlemen there, of my Lord Mordaunt's, in excuse of his going to sea this late expedition, with the Duke of Yorke. But, Lord! they are but sorry things; only a Lord made them. Thence to the 'Change; and there, among the merchants, I hear fully the news of our being beaten to dirt at Guinny, by De Ruyter with his fleete. The particulars, as much as by Sir G. Carteret afterwards I heard, I have said in a letter to my Lord Sandwich this day at Portsmouth; it being most wholly to the utter ruine of our Royall Company, and reproach and shame to the whole nation, as well as justification to them in their doing wrong to no man as to his private [property], only takeing whatever is found to belong to the Company, and nothing else. Dined at the Dolphin, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, with Sir W. Boreman and Sir Theophilus Biddulph and others, Commissioners of the Sewers, about our place below to lay masts in. But coming a little too soon, I out again, and tooke boat down to Redriffe; and just in time within two minutes, and saw the new vessel of Sir William Petty's launched, the King and Duke being there. [Pepys was wrong as to the name of Sir William Petty's new doublekeeled boat. On February 13th, 1664-65, he gives the correct title, which was "The Experiment."] It swims and looks finely, and I believe will do well. The name I think is Twilight, but I do not know certainly. Coming away back immediately to dinner, where a great deal of good discourse, and Sir G. Carteret's discourse of this Guinny business, with great displeasure at the losse of our honour there, and do now confess that the trade brought all these troubles upon us between the Dutch and us. Thence to the office and there sat late, then I to my office and there till 12 at night, and so home to bed weary. 23rd. Up and to my office, then come by appointment cozen Tom Trice to me, and I paid him the L20 remaining due to him upon the bond of L100 given him by agreement November, 1663, to end the difference between us about my aunt's, his mother's, money. And here, being willing to know the worst, I told him, "I hope now there is nothing remaining between you and I of future dispute." "No," says he, "nothing at all that I know of, but only a small matter of about 20 or 30s. that my father Pepys received for me of rent due to me in the country, which I will in a day or two bring you an account of," and so we parted. Dined at home upon a good turkey which Mr. Sheply sent us, then to the office all the afternoon, Mr. Cutler and others coming to me about business. I hear that the Dutch have prepared a fleete to go the backway to the Streights, where without doubt they will master our fleete. This put to that of Guinny makes me fear them mightily, and certainly they are a most wise people, and careful of their business. The King of France, they say, do declare himself obliged to defend them, and lays claim by his Embassador to the wines we have taken from the Dutch Bourdeaux men, and more, it is doubted whether the Swede will be our friend or no. Pray God deliver us out of these troubles! This day Sir W. Batten sent and afterwards spoke to me, to have me and my wife come and dine with them on Monday next: which is a mighty condescension in them, and for some great reason I am sure, or else it pleases God by my late care of business to make me more considerable even with them than I am sure they would willingly owne me to be. God make me thankfull and carefull to preserve myself so, for I am sure they hate me and it is hope or fear that makes them flatter me. It being a bright night, which it has not been a great while, I purpose to endeavour to be called in the morning to see the Comet, though I fear we shall not see it, because it rises in the east but 16 degrees, and then the houses will hinder us. 24th. Having sat up all night to past two o'clock this morning, our porter, being appointed, comes and tells us that the bellman tells him that the star is seen upon Tower Hill; so I, that had been all night setting in order all my old papers in my chamber, did leave off all, and my boy and I to Tower Hill, it being a most fine, bright moonshine night, and a great frost; but no Comet to be seen. So after running once round the Hill, I and Tom, we home and then to bed. Rose about 9 o'clock and then to the office, where sitting all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, to the Coffee-house; and there heard Sir Richard Ford tell the whole story of our defeat at Guinny. Wherein our men are guilty of the most horrid cowardice and perfidiousness, as he says and tells it, that ever Englishmen were. Captain Raynolds, that was the only commander of any of the King's ships there, was shot at by De Ruyter, with a bloody flag flying. He, instead of opposing (which, indeed, had been to no purpose, but only to maintain honour), did poorly go on board himself, to ask what De Ruyter would have; and so yielded to whatever Ruyter would desire. The King and Duke are highly vexed at it, it seems, and the business deserves it. Thence home to dinner, and then abroad to buy some things, and among others to my bookseller's, and there saw several books I spoke for, which are finely bound and good books to my great content. So home and to my office, where late. This evening I being informed did look and saw the Comet, which is now, whether worn away or no I know not, but appears not with a tail, but only is larger and duller than any other star, and is come to rise betimes, and to make a great arch, and is gone quite to a new place in the heavens than it was before: but I hope in a clearer night something more will be seen. So home to bed. 25th (Lord's day and Christmas day). Up (my wife's eye being ill still of the blow I did in a passion give her on Monday last) to church alone, where Mr. Mills, a good sermon. To dinner at home, where very pleasant with my wife and family. After dinner I to Sir W. Batten's, and there received so much good usage (as I have of late done) from him and my Lady, obliging me and my wife, according to promise, to come and dine with them to-morrow with our neighbours, that I was in pain all the day, and night too after, to know how to order the business of my wife's not going, and by discourse receive fresh instances of Sir J. Minnes's folly in complaining to Sir G. Carteret of Sir W. Batten and me for some family offences, such as my having of a stopcock to keepe the water from them, which vexes me, but it would more but that Sir G. Carteret knows him very well. Thence to the French church, but coming too late I returned and to Mr. Rawlinson's church, where I heard a good sermon of one that I remember was at Paul's with me, his name Maggett; and very great store of fine women there is in this church, more than I know anywhere else about us. So home and to my chamber, looking over and setting in order my papers and books, and so to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. 26th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there with the rest did our usual business before the Duke, and then with Sir W. Batten back and to his house, where I by sicknesse excused my wife's coming to them to-day. Thence I to the Coffeehouse, where much good discourse, and all the opinion now is that the Dutch will avoid fighting with us at home, but do all the hurte they can to us abroad; which it may be they may for a while, but that, I think, cannot support them long. Thence to Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Coventry and all our families here, women and all, and Sir R. Ford and his, and a great feast and good discourse and merry, there all the afternoon and evening till late, only stepped in to see my wife, then to my office to enter my day's work, and so home to bed, where my people and wife innocently at cards very merry, and I to bed, leaving them to their sport and blindman's buff. 27th. My people came to bed, after their sporting, at four o'clock in the morning; I up at seven, and to Deptford and Woolwich in a gally; the Duke calling to me out of the barge in which the King was with him going down the river, to know whither I was going. I told him to Woolwich, but was troubled afterward I should say no farther, being in a gally, lest he think me too profuse in my journeys. Did several businesses, and then back again by two o'clock to Sir J. Minnes's to dinner by appointment, where all yesterday's company but Mr. Coventry, who could not come. Here merry, and after an hour's chat I down to the office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed. The Comet appeared again to-night, but duskishly. I went to bed, leaving my wife and all her folks, and Will also, too, come to make Christmas gambolls to-night. 28th. I waked in the morning about 6 o'clock and my wife not come to bed; I lacked a pot, but there was none, and bitter cold, so was forced to rise and piss in the chimney, and to bed again. Slept a little longer, and then hear my people coming up, and so I rose, and my wife to bed at eight o'clock in the morning, which vexed me a little, but I believe there was no hurt in it all, but only mirthe, therefore took no notice. I abroad with Sir W. Batten to the Council Chamber, where all of us to discourse about the way of measuring ships and the freight fit to give for them by the tun, where it was strange methought to hear so poor discourses among the Lords themselves, and most of all to see how a little empty matter delivered gravely by Sir W. Pen was taken mighty well, though nothing in the earth to the purpose. But clothes, I perceive more and more every day, is a great matter. Thence home with Sir W. Batten by coach, and I home to dinner, finding my wife still in bed. After dinner abroad, and among other things visited my Lady Sandwich, and was there, with her and the young ladies, playing at cards till night. Then home and to my office late, then home to bed, leaving my wife and people up to more sports, but without any great satisfaction to myself therein. 29th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. Then whereas I should have gone and dined with Sir W. Pen (and the rest of the officers at his house), I pretended to dine with my Lady Sandwich and so home, where I dined well, and began to wipe and clean my books in my chamber in order to the settling of my papers and things there thoroughly, and then to the office, where all the afternoon sitting, and in the evening home to supper, and then to my work again. 30th. Lay very long in bed with my wife, it being very cold, and my wife very full of a resolution to keepe within doors, not so much as to go to church or see my Lady Sandwich before Easter next, which I am willing enough to, though I seem the contrary. This and other talke kept me a-bed till almost 10 a'clock. Then up and made an end of looking over all my papers and books and taking everything out of my chamber to have all made clean. At noon dined, and after dinner forth to several places to pay away money, to clear myself in all the world, and, among others, paid my bookseller L6 for books I had from him this day, and the silversmith L22 18s. for spoons, forks, and sugar box, and being well pleased with seeing my business done to my mind as to my meeting with people and having my books ready for me, I home and to my office, and there did business late, and then home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 31st. At the office all the morning, and after dinner there again, dispatched first my letters, and then to my accounts, not of the month but of the whole yeare also, and was at it till past twelve at night, it being bitter cold; but yet I was well satisfied with my worke, and, above all, to find myself, by the great blessing of God, worth L1349, by which, as I have spent very largely, so I have laid up above L500 this yeare above what I was worth this day twelvemonth. The Lord make me for ever thankful to his holy name for it! Thence home to eat a little and so to bed. Soon as ever the clock struck one, I kissed my wife in the kitchen by the fireside, wishing her a merry new yeare, observing that I believe I was the first proper wisher of it this year, for I did it as soon as ever the clock struck one. So ends the old yeare, I bless God, with great joy to me, not only from my having made so good a yeare of profit, as having spent L420 and laid up L540 and upwards; but I bless God I never have been in so good plight as to my health in so very cold weather as this is, nor indeed in any hot weather, these ten years, as I am at this day, and have been these four or five months. But I am at a great losse to know whether it be my hare's foote, or taking every morning of a pill of turpentine, or my having left off the wearing of a gowne. My family is, my wife, in good health, and happy with her; her woman Mercer, a pretty, modest, quiett mayde; her chambermayde Besse, her cook mayde Jane, the little girl Susan, and my boy, which I have had about half a yeare, Tom Edwards, which I took from the King's chappell, and a pretty and loving quiett family I have as any man in England. My credit in the world and my office grows daily, and I am in good esteeme with everybody, I think. My troubles of my uncle's estate pretty well over; but it comes to be but of little profit to us, my father being much supported by my purse. But great vexations remain upon my father and me from my brother Tom's death and ill condition, both to our disgrace and discontent, though no great reason for either. Publique matters are all in a hurry about a Dutch warr. Our preparations great; our provocations against them great; and, after all our presumption, we are now afeard as much of them, as we lately contemned them. Every thing else in the State quiett, blessed be God! My Lord Sandwich at sea with the fleete at Portsmouth; sending some about to cruise for taking of ships, which we have done to a great number. This Christmas I judged it fit to look over all my papers and books; and to tear all that I found either boyish or not to be worth keeping, or fit to be seen, if it should please God to take me away suddenly. Among others, I found these two or three notes, which I thought fit to keep. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Irish in Ireland, whom Cromwell had settled all in one corner Tear all that I found either boyish or not to be worth keeping 
31087	----	A REBEL WAR CLERK'S DIARY AT THE CONFEDERATE STATES CAPITAL. BY J. B. JONES, CLERK IN THE WAR DEPARTMENT OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES GOVERNMENT; AUTHOR OF "WILD WESTERN SCENES," ETC. ETC. VOLS. I and II. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1866. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. PREFACE. This Diary was written with the knowledge of the President and the Secretary of War. I informed them of it by note. They did not deprecate criticism on their official conduct; for they allowed me still to execute the functions of a very important position in the Government until the end of its career. My discriminating friends will understand why I accepted the poor title of a clerkship, after having declined the _Chargéship_ to Naples, tendered by Mr. Calhoun during the administration of President Polk. J. B. J. ONANCOCK, Accomac Co., Va., _March_, 1866. CONTENTS. VOLUME I. CHAPTER I. My flight from the North and escape into Virginia.-- Revolutionary scene at Richmond.--The Union Convention passes the Ordinance of Secession.--Great excitement prevails in the South. 13 CHAPTER II. Depart for Montgomery.--Interview with President Davis.-- My position in the Government.--Government removed to Richmond.--My family. 30 CHAPTER III. Troops pour into Richmond.--Beginning of hostilities.-- Gen. Lee made a full general.--Major-Gen. Polk.--A battle expected at Manassas. 47 CHAPTER IV. My family in North Carolina.--Volunteers daily rejected.-- Gen. Winder appears upon the stage.--Toombs commissioned.-- Hunter Secretary of State.--Duel prevented.--Col. B. Secretary for a few hours.--Gen. Garnett killed.--Battle of Manassas.--Great excitement.--Col. Bartow. 57 CHAPTER V. My son Custis appointed clerk in the War Department.--N. Y. Herald contains a pretty correct army list of the C. S.-- Appearance of the "Plug Uglies."--President's rupture with Beauregard.--President sick.--Alien enemies ordered away.-- Brief interview with the President.--"Immediate."--Large numbers of cavalry offering.--Great preparations in the North. 69 CHAPTER VI. Four hundred thousand troops to be raised.--Want of arms.-- Yankees offer to sell them to us.--Walker resigns.-- Benjamin succeeds.--Col. J. A. Washington killed.--Assigned, temporarily, to the head of the passport office. 77 CHAPTER VII. An order for the publication of the names of alien enemies.--Some excitement.--Efforts to secure property.-- G. A. Myers, lawyer, actively engaged.--Gen. Price gains a victory in Missouri.--Billy Wilson's cut-throats cut to pieces at Fort Pickens.--A female spy arrives from Washington.--Great success at Leesburg or Ball's Bluff. 82 CHAPTER VIII. Quarrel between Gen. Beauregard and Mr. Benjamin.--Great naval preparations in the North.--The loss of Port Royal, S. C., takes some prestige.--The affair at Belmont does not compensate for it.--The enemy kills an old hare.--Missouri secedes.--Mason and Slidell captured.--French Consul and the actresses.--The lieutenant in disguise.--Eastern Shore of Virginia invaded.--Messrs. Breckinridge and Marshall in Richmond. 89 CHAPTER IX. Gen. Lee ordered South.--Gen. Stuart ambuscaded at Drainsville.--W. H. B. Custis returns to the Eastern Shore.--Winder's detectives.--Kentucky secedes.--Judge Perkins's resolution.--Dibble goes North.--Waiting for Great Britain to do something.--Mr. Ely, the Yankee M. C. 96 CHAPTER X. Seward gives up Mason and Slidell.--Great preparations of the enemy.--Gen. Jackson betrayed.--Mr. Memminger's blunders.--Exaggerated reports of our troops in Kentucky and Tennessee. 103 CHAPTER XI. Fall of Fort Henry.--Of Fort Donelson.--Lugubrious Inauguration of the President in the Permanent Government.--Loss of Roanoke Island. 108 CHAPTER XII. Nashville evacuated.--Martial law.--Passports.--Com. Buchanan's naval engagement.--Gen. Winder's blunders.--Mr. Benjamin Secretary of State.--Lee commander-in-chief.--Mr. G. W. Randolph Secretary of War. 112 CHAPTER XIII. Gen. Beauregard succeeds Gen. Sydney Johnston.--Dibble, the traitor.--Enemy at Fredericksburg.--They say we will be subdued by the 15th of June.--Lee rapidly concentrating at Richmond.--Webster, the spy, hung. 118 CHAPTER XIV. Disloyalists entrapped.--Norfolk abandoned.--Merrimac blown up.--Army falling back.--Mrs. Davis leaves Richmond.-- Preparing to burn the tobacco.--Secretary of War trembles for Richmond.--Richmond to be defended.--The tobacco.-- Winking and blinking.--Johnston's great battle.--Wounded himself.--The wounded.--The hospitals. 122 CHAPTER XV. Huger fails again.--A wounded boy.--The killed and wounded.--Lee assumes command.--Lee prepares to attack McClellan.--Beauregard watches the gold.--Our generals scattered.--Hasty letter from Gen. Lee.--Opening of grand battle.--First day, 26th June.--Second, etc.--Lee's consummate skill.--Every day for a week it rages.--Streets crowded with Blue Jackets.--McClellan retires. 131 CHAPTER XVI. Terrific fighting.--Anxiety to visit the battle-field.-- Lee prepares for other battles.--Hope for the Union extinct.--Gen. Lee brings forward conscripts.--Gen. Cobb appointed to arrange exchange of prisoners.--Mr. Ould as agent.--Pope, the braggart, comes upon the stage.--Meets a braggart's fate.--The war transferred to Northern Virginia. 140 CHAPTER XVII. Vicksburg shelled.--Lee looks toward Washington.--Much manoeuvring in Orange County.--A brigade of the enemy annihilated.--McClellan flies to Washington.--Cretans.--Lee has a mighty army.--Missouri risings.--Pope's coat and papers captured.--Cut up at Manassas.--Clothing captured of the enemy. 147 CHAPTER XVIII. Lee announces a victory.--Crosses the Potomac.--Battle of Sharpsburg.--McClellan pauses at the Potomac.--Lee moves mysteriously.--The campaign a doubtful one in its material results.--Horrible scene near Washington.--Conscription enlarged.--Heavy loss at Sharpsburg.--10,000 in the hospitals here. 151 CHAPTER XIX. McClellan has crossed the Potomac.--Another battle anticipated.--I am assured here that Lee had but 40,000 men engaged at Sharpsburg.--He has more now, as he is defending Virginia.--Radicals of the North want McClellan removed.-- Our President has never taken the field.--Lee makes demonstrations against McClellan.--A Jew store robbed last night.--We have 40,000 prisoners excess over the enemy.-- My family arrived from Raleigh.--My wife's substitute for coffee.--Foul passports.--My friend Brooks dines and wines with members of Congress.--The Herald and Tribune tempt us to return to the Union.--Lee writes, no immediate advance of McClellan.--Still a rumor of Bragg's victory in Kentucky.--Enemy getting large reinforcements.--Diabolical order of Governor Baylor.--Secretary's estimate of conscripts and all others, 500,000.--Bragg retreating from Kentucky.--Bickering between Bragg and Beauregard.--Lee wants Confederate notes made a legal tender.--There will be no second Washington. 160 CHAPTER XX. Gen. Lee in Richmond: beard white.--First proposition to trade cotton to the enemy.--Secretary in favor of it.--All the letters come through my hands again.--Lee falling back.--5000 negroes at work on the fortifications.--Active operations looked for.--Beauregard advises non-combatants to leave the city.--Semmes's operations.--Making a nation.-- Salt works lost in Virginia.---Barefooted soldiers.-- Intrigues of Butler in New Orleans.--Northern army advancing everywhere.--Breach between the President and Secretary of War.--President's servant arrested for robbing the Treasury.--Gen. J. E. Johnston in town.--Secretary has resigned.--Hon. J. A. Seddon appointed Secretary of War.-- The enemy marching on Fredericksburg.--Lee writes that he will be ready for them.--Kentuckians will not be hog drivers.--Women and children flying from the vicinity of Fredericksburg.--Fears for Wilmington.--No beggars.--Quiet on the Rappahannock.--M. Paul, French Consul, saved the French tobacco.--Gen. Johnston goes West.--President gives Gov. Pettit full authority to trade cotton to France. 179 CHAPTER XXI. The great crisis at hand.--The rage for speculation raises its head.--Great battle of Fredericksburg.--The States called on for supplies.--Randolph resigns as brigadier-general.--South Carolina honor.--Loss at Fredericksburg.--Great contracts.--Lee's ammunition bad.--Small-pox here. 199 CHAPTER XXII. Lee in winter quarters.--Bragg's victory in the Southwest.--The President at Mobile.--Enemy withdraw from Vicksburg.--Bragg retreats as usual.--Bureau of Conscription.--High rents.--Flour contracts in Congress.-- Efforts to escape conscription.--Ships coming in freely.-- Sneers at negro troops.--Hopes of French intervention.-- Gen. Rains blows himself up.--Davis would be the last to give up.--Gov. Vance protests against Col. August's appointment as commandant of conscripts.--Financial difficulties in the United States. 228 CHAPTER XXIII. Proposed fixture of prices.--Depreciation in the North.-- Gen. Hooker in command of the U. S. forces.--Lee thinks Charleston will be attacked.--Congress does nothing.-- Some fears for Vicksburg.--Pemberton commands.--Wise dashes into Williamsburg.--Rats take food from my daughter's hand.--Lee wants the meat sent from Georgia to Virginia, where the fighting will be.--Gen. Winder uneasy about my Diary.--Gen. Johnston asks to be relieved in the West. 252 CHAPTER XXIV. Removed into Clay Street.--Gen. Toombs resigned.--Lincoln dictator.--He can call 3,000,000 of men.--President is sick.--His office is not a bed of roses.--Col. Gorgas sends in his oath of allegiance.--Confederate gold $5 for $1.-- Explosion of a laboratory.--Bad weather everywhere.-- Fighting on the Mississippi River.--Conflict of views in the Conscription Bureau.--Confederate States currency $10 for $1.--Snow a foot deep, but melting.--We have no negro regiments in our service.--Only 6000 conscripts from East Tennessee.--How seven were paroled by one.--This is to be the crisis campaign.--Lee announces the campaign open. 265 CHAPTER XXV. Symptoms of bread riots.--Lee forming depots of provisions near the Rappahannock.--Beauregard ready to defend Charleston.--He has rebuffed the enemy severely.--French and British advancing money on cotton.--The Yankees can beat us in bargaining.--Gen. Lee anxious for new supplies.--The President appeals to the people to raise food for man and beast.--Federal and Confederate troops serenading each other on the Rappahannock.--Cobbler's wages $3000 per annum.-- Wrangling in the Indian country.--Only 700 conscripts per month from Virginia.--Longstreet at Suffolk.--The President's well eye said to be failing.--A "reconnoissance!"--We are planting much grain.--Picking up pins.--Beautiful season.--Gen. Johnston in Tennessee.-- Longstreet's successes in that State.--Lee complains that his army is not fed.--We fear for Vicksburg now.--Enemy giving up plunder in Mississippi.--Beauregard is busy at Charleston.--Gen. Marshall, of Kentucky, fails to get stock and hogs.--Gen. Lee calls for Longstreet's corps.-- The enemy demonstrating on the Rappahannock. 284 CHAPTER XXVI. Lee snuffs a battle in the breeze.--Hooker's army supposed to be 100,000 men.--Lee's perhaps 55,000 efficient.--I am planting potatoes.--Part of Longstreet's army gone up.-- Enemy makes a raid.--Great victory at Chancellorville.-- Hot weather.--Our poor wounded coming in streams, in ambulances and on foot.--Hooker has lost the game.-- Message from the enemy.--They ask of Lee permission to bury their dead.--Granted, of course.--Hooker fortifying.--Food getting scarce again.--Gen. Lee's thanks to the army.-- Crowds of prisoners coming in.--Lieut.-Gen. Jackson dead.-- Hooker's raiders "hooked" a great many horses.--Enemy demand 500,000 more men.--Beauregard complains that so many of his troops are taken to Mississippi.--Enemy at Jackson, Miss.--Strawberries.--R. Tyler.--My cherries are coming on finely.--Ewell and Hill appointed lieutenant-generals.-- President seems to doubt Beauregard's veracity.--Hon. D. M. Lewis cuts his wheat to-morrow, May 28th.--Johnston says our troops are in fine spirits around Vicksburg.-- Grant thunders on.--Plan of servile insurrection. 303 CHAPTER XXVII. Vicksburg refuses to surrender to Grant.--Spiritualism at the White House.--Lee is pushing a little northward.--It is said Grant has lost 40,000 men.--He is still pounding Vicksburg.--Petty military organizations.--Mr. Randolph busy.--Foolish passport rules.--Great battle imminent, but speculation may defeat both sides.--Early's victory.--We have only supplies of corn from day to day.--Chambersburg struck.--Col. Whiting complains of blockade-running at Wilmington.--False alarm.--Grant still before Vicksburg. 338 CHAPTER XXVIII. Enemy threatening Richmond.--The city is safe.--Battle of Gettysburg.--Great excitement.--Yankees in great trouble.-- Alas! Vicksburg has fallen.--President is sick.--Grant marching against Johnston at Jackson.--Fighting at that place.--Yankees repulsed at Charleston.--Lee and Meade facing each other.--Pemberton surrenders his whole army.-- Fall of Port Hudson.--Second class conscripts called for.-- Lee has got back across the Potomac.--Lincoln getting fresh troops.--Lee writes that he cannot be responsible if the soldiers fail for want of food.--Rumors of Grant coming East.--Pemberton in bad odor.--Hon. W. L. Yancey is dead. 366 VOLUME II. CHAPTER XXIX. Some desertion.--Lee falling back.--Men still foolishly look for foreign aid.--Speculators swarming.--God helps me to-day.--Conscripts.--Memminger shipping gold to Europe.-- Our women and children making straw bonnets.--Attack on Charleston.--Robert Tyler as a financier.--Enemy throw large shells into Charleston, five and a half miles.--Diabolical scheme.--Gen. Lee has returned to the army. 3 CHAPTER XXX. Situation at Wilmington.--Situation at Charleston.--Lincoln thinks there is hope of our submission.--Market prices.-- Ammunition turned over to the enemy at Vicksburg.--Attack on Sumter.--Stringent conscription order.--Disaffection in North Carolina.--Victory announced by Gen. Bragg.--Peril of Gen. Rosecrans.--Surrender of Cumberland Gap.--Rosecrans fortifying Chattanooga.--Mr. Seward on flag of truce boat.-- Burnside evacuating East Tennessee.--The trans-Mississippi army.--Meade sending troops to Rosecrans.--Pemberton in Richmond.--A suggestion concerning perishable tithes. 30 CHAPTER XXXI. Suffering of our wounded at Gettysburg.--Prisoners from the battle of Chickamauga.--Charleston.--Policy in the Southwest.--From Gen. Bragg.--Letter from President Davis.-- Religious revival.--Departure of the President for the Southwest.--About General Bragg.--Movement of mechanics and non-producers.--About "French" tobacco.--The markets.-- Outrage in Missouri.--Speculations of government agents.-- From Gen. Lee.--Judge Hastings's scheme.--Visit to our prisons.--Letter from Gen. Kirby Smith.--President Davis at Selma.--Gen. Winder's passports.--The markets.-- Campbellites and Methodists.--From Gen. Lee.--From the Southwest. 57 CHAPTER XXXII. Letters from various sections.--The President and Gen. Bragg.--State of the markets.--Causes of the President's tour.--Gen. Duff Green.--Return of the President.--Loss of Hoke's and Haye's brigades.--Letter from Gen. Howell Cobb.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--State of the markets.-- Letter from A. Moseley.--Mrs. Todd in Richmond.-- Vice-President Stephens on furloughs.--About Gen. Bragg and the battle of Lookout Mountain. 85 CHAPTER XXXIII. Assembling of Congress.--President's message.--The markets.--No hope for the Confederate currency.--Averill's raid.--Letter from Gov. Vance.--Christmas.--Persons having furnished substitutes still liable to military duty. 110 CHAPTER XXXIV. Hospitalities of the city to Gen. Morgan.--Call for a Dictator.--Letter from Gen. Lee.--Letters from Gov. Vance.--Accusation against Gen. Winder.--Treatment of Confederate prisoners (from the _Chicago Times_).-- Change of Federal policy.--Efforts to remove Col. Northrop.--Breach between the President and Congress.-- Destitution of our prisoners.--Appeal of Gen. Lee to the army.--New Conscription Act.--Letter from Gen. Cobb. 122 CHAPTER XXXV. Gen. Lovell applies for a command.--Auspicious opening of 1864.--Mr. Wright's resolutions.--Rumored approach of Gen. Butler.--Letter from Gov. Brown.--Letter from Gen. Lee.-- Dispatches from Gen. Beauregard.--President Davis's negroes.--Controversy between Gen. Winder and Mr. Ould.-- Robbery of Mr. Lewis Hayman.--Promotion of Gen. Bragg, and the _Examiner_ thereon.--Scarcity of provisions in the army.--Congress and the President. 140 CHAPTER XXXVI. Attempt to capture Richmond.--Governor Vance and Judge Pearson.--Preparations to blow up the "Libby" prisoners.-- Letter from General Lee.--Proposal to execute Dahlgren's raiders.--General Butler on the Eastern Shore.--Colonel Dahlgren's body.--Destitution of the army.--Strength of the Southwestern army.--Destitution of my family.--Protest from South Carolina.--Difficulty with P. Milmo & Co.--Hon. J. W. Wall. 162 CHAPTER XXXVII. Return of Mr. Ould and Capt. Hatch from Fortress Monroe.-- Quarrel between Mr. Memminger and Mr. Seddon.--Famine.--A victory in Louisiana.--Vice-President Stephens's speech.-- Victory of Gen. Forrest.--Capture of Plymouth, N. C.--Gen. Lee's bill of fare. 179 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Dispatch from Gen. J. E. Johnston.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--Mr. Saulsbury's resolution in the U. S. Senate.-- Progress of the enemy.--Rumored preparations for the flight of the President.--Wrangling of high officials.-- Position of the armies. 196 CHAPTER XXXIX. Beauregard's plan.--The battle.--Defeat near Staunton.-- Fight at Petersburg.--Decision about Marylanders.-- Beauregard in disgrace.--Dispatch from Gen. J. E. Johnston. 223 CHAPTER XL. Gen. Lee's dispatch announcing Gen. Hampton's victory.--Cost of a cup of coffee.--From Gens. Johnston and S. D. Lee.-- Gen. Early in Maryland.--Rumored capture of Baltimore.-- Letter from Gen. Lee.--Dispatch from Gen. Hood.--Status of the local troops. 241 CHAPTER XLI. From the Northern papers.--Letter from J. Thompson, Canada.--From Mr. McRae, our foreign agent.--Dispatch from Major-Gen. Maury.--"General Order No. 65."--Battle of Reams's Station. 258 CHAPTER XLII. The Federal Presidency.--The Chicago Convention.--Fall of Atlanta.--Bureau of Conscription.--From Gen. Hood.-- Vice-President Stephens on the situation.--Letter from Mrs. Mendenhall.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--Defeat of Gen. Early.--From Gov. Vance.--From Gov. Brown, of Georgia.-- Gen. Lee's indorsement of Col. Moseby.--Hon. Mr. Foote.-- Attack on Fort Gilmer.--Indiscriminate arrest of civilians. 275 CHAPTER XLIII. Attempt to retake Fort Harrison.--A false alarm.--Dispatches from Gen. Lee.--Impressments.--Gen. Butler's generosity.-- Matters in and about the city.--Beverly Tucker's contract with a New York firm for supplies. 297 CHAPTER XLIV. Proclamation for a day of public worship.--Gov. Allen, of Louisiana.--Letter from Gen. Beauregard.--Departure for Europe.--Congress assembles.--Quarrel between Gens. Kemper and Preston.--Gen. Forrest doing wonders.--Tennessee.--Gen. Johnston on his Georgia campaign.--John Mitchel and Senator Foote.--Progress of Sherman.--From Gov. Brown, of Georgia.--Capture of Gen. Pryor. 320 CHAPTER XLV. Desertions.--Bragg and Kilpatrick.--Rents.--Gen. Winder's management of prisoners.--Rumored disasters in Tennessee.--Prices.--Progress of Sherman.--Around Richmond.--Capture of Fort McAlister.--Rumored death of the President.--Yankee line of spies.--From Wilmington and Charleston.--Evacuation of Savannah. 343 CHAPTER XLVI. Waning confidence in the President.--Blockade-running.--From the South.--Beauregard on Sherman.--The expeditions against Wilmington.--Return of Mr. Pollard.--The Blairs in Richmond.--Arrest of Hon. H. S. Foote.--Fall of Fort Fisher.--Views of Gen. Cobb.--Dismal.--Casualties of the war.--Peace commissioners for Washington. 371 CHAPTER XLVII. Gen. Lee appointed General-in-Chief.--Progress of Sherman.--The markets.--Letter from Gen. Butler.--Return of the peace commissioners.--The situation.--From Gen. Lee.-- Use of negroes as soldiers.--Patriotism of the women.-- Pardon of deserters.--The passport system.--Oh for peace!-- Gen. Lee on negro soldiers.--Conventions in Georgia and Mississippi. 405 CHAPTER XLVIII. From the North.--Rumored defeat of Gen. Early.--Panic among officials.--Moving the archives.--Lincoln's inaugural.-- Victory in North Carolina.--Rumored treaty with France.-- Sheridan's movements.--Letter from Lord John Russell.-- Sherman's progress.--Desperate condition of the government.--Disagreement between the President and Congress.--Development of Grant's combination.--Assault at Hare's Hill.--Departure of Mrs. President Davis. 436 CHAPTER XLIX. Rumors of battles.--Excitement in the churches.--The South Side Road captured by the enemy.--Evacuation of Richmond.--Surrender of Gen. Lee.--Occupation of Richmond by Federal forces.--Address to the people of Virginia by J. A. Campbell and others.--Assassination of President Lincoln. 464 A REBEL WAR CLERK'S DIARY. CHAPTER I. My flight from the North and escape into Virginia.--Revolutionary scene at Richmond.--The Union Convention passes the Ordinance of Secession.-- Great excitement prevails in the South. APRIL 8TH, 1861. BURLINGTON, NEW JERSEY.--The expedition sails to-day from New York. Its purpose is to reduce Fort Moultrie, Charleston harbor, and relieve Fort Sumter, invested by the Confederate forces. Southern born, and editor of the _Southern Monitor_, there seems to be no alternative but to depart immediately. For years the _Southern Monitor_, Philadelphia, whose motto was "The Union as it was, the Constitution as it is," has foreseen and foretold the resistance of the Southern States, in the event of the success of a sectional party inimical to the institution of African slavery, upon which the welfare and existence of the Southern people seem to depend. And I must depart immediately; for I well know that the first gun fired at Fort Sumter will be the signal for an outburst of ungovernable fury, and I should be seized and thrown into prison. I must leave my family--my property--everything. My family cannot go with me--but they may follow. The storm will not break in its fury for a month or so. Only the most obnoxious persons, deemed dangerous, will be molested immediately. 8 O'CLOCK P.M.--My wife and children have been busy packing my trunk, and making other preparations for my departure. They are cheerful. They deem the rupture of the States a _fait accompli_, but reck not of the horrors of war. They have contrived to pack up, with other things, my fine old portrait of Calhoun, by Jarvis. But I must leave my papers, the accumulation of twenty-five years, comprising thousands of letters from predestined rebels. My wife opposes my suggestion that they be burned. Among them are some of the veto messages of President Tyler, and many letters from him, Governor Wise, etc. With the latter I had a correspondence in 1856, showing that this blow would probably have been struck then, if Fremont had been elected. APRIL 9TH.--My adieus over, I set out in the broad light of day. When the cars arrived at Camden, I proceeded, with the rest of the _through_ passengers, in the boat to the navy yard, without going ashore in the city. The passengers were strangers to me. Many could be easily recognized as Southern men; but quite as many were going only as far as Washington, for their reward. They were bold denouncers of the rebellion; the others were silent, thoughtful, but in earnest. The first thing which attracted my attention, as the cars left the Delaware depot, was a sign-board on my left, inscribed in large letters, "UNION CEMETERY." My gaze attracted the notice of others. A mocking _bon-mot_ was uttered by a Yankee wit, which was followed by laughter. For many hours I was plunged in the deepest abstraction, and spoke not a word until we were entering the depot at Washington, just as the veil of night was falling over the scene. Then I was aroused by the announcement of a conductor that, failing to have my trunk rechecked at Baltimore, it had been left in that city! Determined not to lose it, I took the return train to Baltimore, and put up at Barnum's Hotel. Here I met with Mr. Abell, publisher of the Baltimore _Sun_, an old acquaintance. Somewhat contrary to my expectations, knowing him to be a native of the North, I found him an ardent secessionist. So enthusiastic was he in the cause, that he denounced both Maryland and Virginia for their hesitancy in following the example of the Cotton States; and he invited me to furnish his paper with correspondence from Montgomery, or any places in the South where I might be a sojourner. APRIL 10TH.--Making an early start this morning, I once more arrived at Washington City. I saw no evidences of a military force in the city, and supposed the little army to be encamped at the west end of the Avenue, guarding the Executive Mansion. We took an omnibus without delay and proceeded to the steamer. As soon as we left the shore, I fancied I saw many of the passengers breathing easier and more deeply. Certainly there was more vivacity, since we were relieved of the presence of Republicans. And at the breakfast table there was a freer flow of speech, and a very decided manifestation of secession proclivities. Among the passengers was Major Holmes, who had just resigned his commission in the U. S. army. He had been ordered to proceed with the expedition against Charleston; but declined the honor of fighting against his native land. The major is a little deaf, but has an intellectual face, the predominant expression indicating the discretion and prudence so necessary for success in a large field of operations. In reply to a question concerning the military qualities of Beauregard and Bragg, he said they were the flower of the young officers of the U. S. army. The first had great genius, and was perhaps the most dashing and brilliant officer in the country; the other, more sedate, nevertheless possessed military capacities of a very high order. President Davis, in his opinion, had made most excellent selections in the appointment of his first generals. The major, however, was very sad at the prospect before us; and regarded the tenders of pecuniary aid to the U. S. by the Wall Street capitalists as ominous of a desperate, if not a prolonged struggle. At this time the major's own State, North Carolina, like Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, and Missouri, yet remains in the Union. We were delayed several hours at Aquia Creek, awaiting the arrival of the cars, which were detained in consequence of a great storm and flood that had occurred the night before. APRIL 10TH AND 11TH.--These two days were mainly lost by delays, the floods having swept away many bridges, which had not yet been repaired. As we approached Richmond, it was observed that the people were more and more excited, and seemed to be pretty nearly unanimous for the immediate secession of the State. Everywhere the Convention then in session was denounced with bitterness, for its adherence to the Union; and Gov. Letcher was almost universally execrated for the chocks he had thrown under the car of secession and Southern independence. I heard very many who had voted for him, regret that they had ever supported the clique of politicians who managed to secure his nomination. And now I learned that a People's Spontaneous Convention would assemble in Richmond on the 16th of the month, when, if the other body persisted in its opposition to the popular will, the most startling revolutionary measures would be adopted, involving, perhaps, arrests and executions. Several of the members of this body with whom I conversed bore arms upon their persons. APRIL 12TH.--To-day I beheld the first secession flag that had met my vision. It was at Polecat Station, Caroline County, and it was greeted with enthusiasm by all but the two or three Yankees in the train. One of these, named Tupps, had been questioned so closely, and his presence and nativity had become so well known, that he became alarmed for his safety, although no one menaced him. He could not sit still a moment, nor keep silence. He had been speculating in North Carolina the year before, and left some property there, which, of course, he must save, if needs be, at the risk of his life. But _he_ cared nothing for slavery, and would never bear arms against the South, if she saw fit to "set up Government business for herself." He rather guessed war was a speculation that wouldn't pay. His volubility increased with his perturbation, and then he drank excessively and sang Dixie. When we reached Richmond, he was beastly drunk. Arrived at the Exchange Hotel, Richmond. A storm rages above, and below in the minds of men; but the commotion of the elements above attracts less attention than the tempest of excitement agitating the human breast. The news-boys are rushing in all directions with extras announcing the bombardment of Fort Sumter! This is the irrevocable blow! Every reflecting mind here should know that the only alternatives now are successful revolution or abject subjugation. But they do not lack for the want of information of the state of public sentiment in the North. It is in vain that the laggards are assured by persons just from the North, that the Republican leaders now composing the cabinet at Washington were prepared to hail the event at Charleston as the most auspicious that could have happened for the accomplishment of their designs; and that their purpose is the extinction of slavery, at least in the border States; the confiscation of the estates of rebels to reimburse the Federal Government for the expenses of the war which had been deliberately resolved on; and to gratify the cupidity of the "Wide-Awakes," and to give employment to foreign mercenaries. But it is not doubtful which course the current of feeling is rapidly taking. Even in this hitherto Union city, secession demonstrations are prevalent; and the very men who two days ago upheld Gov. Letcher in his _conservatism_, are now stricken dumb amid the popular clamor for immediate action. I am now resolved to remain in Richmond for a season. After tea I called upon Gov. Wise, who occupied lodgings at the same hotel. He was worn out, and prostrated by a distressing cough which threatened pneumonia. But ever and anon his eagle eye assumed its wonted brilliancy. He was surrounded by a number of his devoted friends, who listened with rapt attention to his surpassing eloquence. A test question, indicative of the purpose of the Convention to adjourn without action, had that day been carried by a decided majority. The governor once rose from his recumbent position on the sofa and said, whatever the majority of Union men in the Convention might do, or leave undone, Virginia must array herself on one side or the other. She must fight either Lincoln or Davis. If the latter, he would renounce her, and tender his sword and his life to the Southern Confederacy. And although it was apparent that his _physique_ was reduced, as he said, to a mere "bag of bones," yet it was evident that his spirit yet struggled with all its native fire and animation. Soon after President Tyler came in. I had not seen him for several years, and was surprised to find him, under the weight of so many years, unchanged in activity and energy of body and mind. He was quite as ardent in his advocacy of prompt State action as Wise. Having recently abandoned the presidency of the Peace Congress at Washington, in despair of obtaining concessions or guarantees of safety from the rampant powers then in the ascendency, he nevertheless believed, as did a majority of the statesmen of the South, that, even then, in the event of the secession of all the Southern States, presenting thus a united front, no war of great magnitude would ensue. I know better, from my residence in the North, and from the confessions of the Republicans with whom I have been thrown in contact; but I will not dissent voluntarily from the opinions of such statesmen. I can only, when my opinion is desired, intimate my conviction that a great war of the sections might have been averted, if the South had made an adequate _coup d'état_ before the inauguration of Lincoln, and while the Democratic party everywhere was yet writhing under the sting and mortification of defeat. _Then_ the arm of the Republican party would have been paralyzed, for the attitude of the Democratic party would at least have been a menacing one; but _now_, the Government has been suffered to fall into the possession of the enemy, the sword and the purse have been seized, and it is _too late_ to dream of peace--in or out of the Union. Submission will be dishonor. Secession can only be death, which is preferable. Gov. Wise, smiling, rose again and walked to a corner of the room where I had noticed a bright musket with a sword-bayonet attached. He took it up and criticised the sword as inferior to the _knife_. Our men would require long drilling to become expert with the former, like the French Zouaves; but they instinctively knew how to wield the bowie-knife. The conversation turning upon the probable deficiency of a supply of improved arms in the South, if a great war should ensue, the governor said, with one of his inevitable expressions of feeling, that it was not the improved _arm_, but the improved _man_, which would win the day. Let brave men advance with flint locks and old-fashioned bayonets, on the popinjays of the Northern cities--advance on, and on, under the fire, reckless of the slain, and he would answer for it with his life, that the Yankees would break and run. But, in the event of the Convention adjourning without decisive action, he apprehended the first conflict would be with _Virginians_--the Union men of Virginia. He evidently despaired, under repeated defeats, of seeing an ordinance of secession passed immediately, and would have preferred "resistance" to "secession." APRIL 13TH.--After breakfast I accompanied Gov. Wise to his room. He advised me to remain a few days before proceeding elsewhere. He still doubted, however, whether Virginia would move before autumn. He said there was a majority of 500 Union men then in the city. But the _other_ Convention, to meet on the 16th, might do something. He recommended me to a friend of his who distributed the tickets, who gave me a card of admission. APRIL 14TH.--Wrote all day for several journals. APRIL 15TH.--Great demonstrations made throughout the day, and hundreds of secession flags are flying in all parts of the city. At night, while sitting with Captain O. Jennings Wise in the editorial room of the _Enquirer_, I learned from the Northern exchange papers, which still came to hand, that my office in Philadelphia, "_The Southern Monitor_," had been sacked by the mob. It was said ten thousand had visited my office, displaying a rope with which to hang me. Finding their victim had escaped, they vented their fury in sacking the place. I have not ascertained the extent of the injury done; but if they injured the building, it belonged to H. B., a rich Republican. They tore down the signs (it was a corner house east of the Exchange), and split them up, putting the splinters in their hats, and wearing them as trophies. They next visited the mansion of Gen. P., who had made his fortune dealing in cotton, and had been a bold Northern champion of Southern rights. But the general flinched on this trying occasion. He displayed the stars and stripes, and pledged "the boys" to lead them in battle against the secessionists. During the evening, a procession with banners and torch-lights came up the street and paused before the _Enquirer_ office. They called for Captain Wise, and I accompanied him to the iron balcony, where he made them a soul-stirring speech. At its conclusion, he seized me by the arm and introduced me to the crowd. He informed them of the recent proceedings in Philadelphia, etc., and then ceased speaking, leaving me to tell my own story to the listening multitude. That was not my fault; I had never attempted to make a public speech in my life; and I felt that I was in a predicament. Wise knew it, and enjoyed my embarrassment. I contrived, however, to say to the people that the time for speaking had gone by, and there was no time left for listening. They proceeded up the street, growing like a snow-ball as they rolled onward. At every corner there were cheers uttered for Davis, and groans for Lincoln. Upon returning to my boarding-house (the hotel being found too expensive), kept by Mrs. Samuels, and her sister, Miss Long, I found the ladies making secession flags. Indeed, the ladies everywhere seem imbued with the spirit of patriotism, and never fail to exert their influence in behalf of Southern independence. APRIL 15TH.--To-day the secession fires assumed a whiter heat. In the Convention the Union men no longer utter denunciations against the disunionists. They merely resort to pretexts and quibbles to stave off the inevitable ordinance. They had sent a deputation to Washington to make a final appeal to Seward and Lincoln to vouchsafe them such guarantees as would enable them to keep Virginia to her moorings. But in vain. They could not obtain even a promise of concession. And now the Union members as they walk the streets, and even Gov. Letcher himself, hear the indignant mutterings of the impassioned storm which threatens every hour to sweep them from existence. Business is generally suspended, and men run together in great crowds to listen to the news from the North, where it is said many outrages are committed on Southern men and those who sympathize with them. Many arrests are made, and the victims thrown into Fort Lafayette. These crowds are addressed by the most inflamed members of the Convention, and never did I hear more hearty responses from the people. APRIL 16TH.--This day the Spontaneous People's Convention met and organized in Metropolitan Hall. The door-keeper stood with a drawn sword in his hand. But the scene was orderly. The assembly was full, nearly every county being represented, and the members were the representatives of the most ancient and respectable families in the State. David Chalmers, of Halifax County, I believe, was the President, and Willoughby Newton, a life-long Whig, among the Vice-Presidents. P. H. Aylett, a grandson of Patrick Henry, was the first speaker. And his eloquence indicated that the spirit of his ancestor survived in him. But he was for moderation and delay, still hoping that the other Convention would yield to the pressure of public sentiment, and place the State in the attitude now manifestly desired by an overwhelming majority of the people. He was answered by the gallant Capt. Wise, who thrilled every breast with his intrepid bearing and electric bursts of oratory. He advocated action, without reference to the other Convention, as the best means of bringing the Unionists to their senses. And the so-called Demosthenean Seddon, and G. W. Randolph (grandson of Thomas Jefferson), Lieut.-Gov. Montague, James Lyons, Judge Robertson, etc., were there. Never, never did I hear more exalted and effective bursts of oratory. And it was apparent that messages were constantly received from the other Convention. What they were, I did not learn at the moment; but it was evident that the Unionists were shaking in their shoes, and they certainly begged one--just one--day's delay, which was accorded them. The People's Convention agreed to adjourn till 10 o'clock A.M. the next day. But before we separated a commotion was observed on the stage, and the next moment a Mr. P., from Gov. Wise's old district, rushed forward and announced that he had just arrived from Norfolk, where, under instructions, and _with the acquiescence of Gov. Letcher_, he had succeeded in blocking the channel of the river; and this would either secure to us, or render useless to the United States, certain ships of the navy, stores, armament, etc., of the value of millions of dollars. This announcement was received with the wildest shouts of joy. Young men threw up their hats, and old men buttoned their coats and clapped their hands most vigorously. It was next hinted by some one who seemed to know something of the matter, that before another day elapsed, Harper's Ferry would fall into the hands of the secessionists. At night the enthusiasm increases in intensity, and no further opposition is to be apprehended from the influence of Tim Rives, Baldwin, Clemens, etc. etc. It was quite apparent, indeed, that if an ordinance of secession were passed by the new Convention, its validity would be recognized and acted upon by the majority of the people. But this would be a complication of the civil war, now the decree of fate. Perhaps the occurrence which has attracted most attention is the raising of the Southern flag on the capitol. It was hailed with the most deafening shouts of applause. But at a quiet hour of the night, the governor had it taken down, for the Convention had not yet passed the ordinance of secession. Yet the stars and stripes did not float in its stead; it was replaced by the flag of Virginia. APRIL 17TH.--This was a memorable day. When we assembled at Metropolitan Hall, it could be easily perceived that we were on the threshold of momentous events. All other subjects, except that of a new political organization of the State, seemed to be momentarily delayed, as if awaiting action elsewhere. And this plan of political organization filled me with alarm, for I apprehended it would result in a new conflict between the old parties--Whig and Democrat. The ingenious discussion of this subject was probably a device of the Unionists, two or three of them having obtained seats in the Revolutionary Convention. I knew the ineradicable instincts of Virginia politicians, and their inveterate habit of public speaking, and knew there were well-grounded fears that we should be launched and lost in an illimitable sea of argument, when the business was Revolution, and death to the coming invader. Besides, I saw no hope of unanimity if the old party distinctions and designations were not submerged forever. These fears, however, were groundless. The Union had received its _blessure mortelle_, and no power this side of the Potomac could save it. During a pause in the proceedings, one of the leading members arose and announced that he had information that the vote was about being taken in the other Convention on the ordinance of secession. "Very well!" cried another member, "we will give them another chance to save themselves. But it is the last!" This was concurred in by a vast majority. Not long after, Lieut.-Gov. Montague came in and announced the passage of the ordinance by the other Convention! This was succeeded by a moment too thrilling for utterance, but was followed by tears of gladness and rapturous applause. Soon after, President Tyler and Gov. Wise were conducted arm-in-arm, and bare-headed, down the center aisle amid a din of cheers, while every member rose to his feet. They were led to the platform, and called upon to address the Convention. The venerable ex-President of the United States first rose responsive to the call, but remarked that the exhaustion incident to his recent incessant labors, and the nature of his emotions at such a momentous crisis, superadded to the feebleness of age, rendered him physically unable to utter what he felt and thought on such an occasion. Nevertheless, he seemed to acquire supernatural strength as he proceeded, and he spoke most effectively for the space of fifteen minutes. He gave a brief history of all the struggles of our race for freedom, from _Magna Charta_ to the present day; and he concluded with a solemn declaration that at no period of our history were we engaged in a more just and holy effort for the maintenance of liberty and independence than at the present moment. The career of the dominant party at the North was but a series of aggressions, which fully warranted the steps we were taking for resistance and eternal separation; and if we performed our whole duty as Christians and patriots, the same benign Providence which favored the cause of our forefathers in the Revolution of 1776, would again crown our efforts with similar success. He said he might not survive to witness the consummation of the work begun that day; but generations yet unborn would bless those who had the high privilege of being participators in it. He was succeeded by Gov. Wise, who, for a quarter of an hour, electrified the assembly by a burst of eloquence, perhaps never surpassed by mortal orator. During his pauses a silence reigned, pending which the slightest breathing could be distinctly heard, while every eye was bathed in tears. At times the vast assembly rose involuntarily to their feet, and every emotion and expression of feature seemed responsive to his own. During his speech he alluded to the reports of the press that the oppressors of the North had probably seized one of his children sojourning in their midst. "But," said he, "if they suppose hostages of my own heart's blood will stay my hand in a contest for the maintenance of sacred rights, they are mistaken. Affection for kindred, property, and life itself sink into insignificance in comparison with the overwhelming importance of public duty in such a crisis as this." He lamented the blindness which had prevented Virginia from seizing Washington before the Republican hordes got possession of it--but, said he, we must do our best under the circumstances. It was now Independence or Death--although he had preferred fighting in the Union--and when the mind was made up to die rather than fail, success was certain. For himself, he was eager to meet the ordeal, and he doubted not every Southern heart pulsated in unison with his own. Hon. J. M. Mason, and many other of Virginia's distinguished sons were called upon, and delivered patriotic speeches. And finally, _Gov. Letcher_ appeared upon the stage. He was loudly cheered by the very men who, two days before, would gladly have witnessed his execution. The governor spoke very briefly, merely declaring his concurrence in the important step that had been taken, and his honest purpose, under the circumstances, to discharge his whole duty as Executive of the State, in conformity to the will of the people and the provisions of the Constitution. Before the _sine die_ adjournment, it was suggested that inasmuch as the ordinance had been passed in secret session, and it was desirable that the enemy should not know it before certain preparations could be made to avert sudden injury on the border, etc., that the fact should not be divulged at present. APRIL 18TH.--In spite of every precaution, it is currently whispered in the streets to-day that Virginia has seceded from the Union; and that the act is to be submitted to the people for ratification a month hence. This is perhaps a blunder. If the Southern States are to adhere to the old distinct sovereignty doctrine, God help them one and all to achieve their independence of the United States. Many are inclined to think the safest plan would be to obliterate State lines, and merge them all into an indivisible nation or empire, else there may be incessant conflicts between the different sovereignties themselves, and between them and the General Government. I doubt our ability to maintain the old cumbrous, complicated, and expensive form of government. A national executive and Congress will be sufficiently burdensome to the people without the additional expense of governors, lieutenant-governors, a dozen secretaries of State, as many legislatures, etc. etc. It is true, State rights gave the States the right to secede. But what is in a name? Secession by any other name would smell as sweet. For my part, I like the name of Revolution, or even Rebellion, better, for they are sanctified by the example of Washington and his compeers. And separations of communities are like the separations of bees when they cannot live in peace in the same hive. The time had come apparently for us to set up for ourselves, and we should have done it if there had been no such thing as State sovereignty. It is true, the Constitution adopted at Montgomery virtually acknowledges the right of any State to secede from the Confederacy; but that was necessary in vindication of the action of its fathers. That Constitution, and the _permanent_ one to succeed it, will, perhaps, never do. They too much resemble the governmental organization of the Yankees, to whom we have bid adieu forever in disgust. APRIL 19TH.--Dispatches from Montgomery indicate that President Davis is as firm a States right man as any other, perfectly content to bear the burdens of government six years, and hence I apprehend he will not budge in the business of guarding Virginia until after the ratification of the secession ordinance. Thus a month's precious time will be lost; and the scene of conflict, instead of being in Pennsylvania, near Philadelphia, will be in Virginia. From the ardor of the volunteers already beginning to pour into the city, I believe 25,000 men could be collected and armed in a week, and in another they might sweep the whole Abolition concern beyond the Susquehanna, and afterward easily keep them there. But this will not be attempted, nor permitted, by the Convention, so recently composed mostly of Union men. To-night we have rumors of a collision in Baltimore. A regiment of Northern troops has been assailed by the mob. No good can come of mob assaults in a great revolution. Wrote my wife to make preparations with all expedition to escape into Virginia. Women and children will not be molested for some weeks yet; but I see they have begun to ransack their baggage. Mrs. Semple, daughter of President Tyler, I am informed, had her plate taken from her in an attempt to get it away from New York. APRIL 20TH.--The news has been confirmed. It was a brickbat "Plug Ugly" fight--the result of animal, and not intellectual or patriotic instincts. Baltimore has better men for the strife than bar-room champions. The absence of dignity in this assault will be productive of evil rather than good. Maryland is probably lost--for her fetters will be riveted before the secession of Virginia will be communicated by the senseless form of ratification a month hence. Woe, woe to the politicians of Virginia who have wrought this delay! It is now understood that the very day before the ordinance was passed, the members were gravely splitting hairs over proposed amendments to the Federal Constitution! Guns are being fired on Capitol Hill in commemoration of secession, and the Confederate flag now floats unmolested from the summit of the capitol. I think they had better save the powder, etc. At night. We have a gay illumination. This too is wrong. We had better save the candles. APRIL 21ST.--Received several letters to-day which had been delayed in their transmission, and were doubtless opened on the way. One was from my wife, informing me of the illness of Custis, my eldest son, and of the equivocal conduct of some of the neighbors. The Rev. Mr. D., son of the late B----p, raised the flag of the Union on his church. The telegraphic wires are still in operation. APRIL 22D.--Early a few mornings since, I called on Gov. Wise, and informed him that Lincoln had called out 70,000 men. He opened his eyes very widely and said, emphatically, "I don't believe it." The greatest statesmen of the South have no conception of the real purposes of the men now in power in the United States. They cannot be made to believe that the Government at Washington are going to wage war immediately. But when I placed the President's proclamation in his hand, he read it with deep emotion, and uttered a fierce "Hah!" Nevertheless, when I told him that these 70,000 were designed to be merely the videttes and outposts of an army of 700,000, he was quite incredulous. He had not witnessed the Wide-Awake gatherings the preceding fall, as I had done, and listened to the pledges they made to subjugate the South, free the negroes, and hang Gov. Wise. I next told him they would blockade our ports, and endeavor to cut off our supplies. To this he uttered a most positive negative. He said it would be contrary to the laws of nations, as had been decided often in the Courts of Admiralty, and would be moreover a violation of the Constitution. Of course I admitted all this; but maintained that such was the intention of the Washington Cabinet. Laws and Courts and Constitutions would not be impediments in the way of Yankees resolved upon our subjugation. Presuming upon their superior numbers, and under the pretext of saving the Union and annihilating slavery, they would invade us like the army-worm, which enters the green fields in countless numbers. The real object was to enjoy our soil and climate by means of confiscation. He poohed me into silence with an indignant frown. He had no idea that the Yankees would _dare_ to enter upon such enterprises in the face of an enlightened world. But I know them better. And it will be found that they will learn how to fight, and will not be afraid to fight. APRIL 23D.--Several prominent citizens telegraphed President Davis to-day to hasten to Virginia with as many troops as he can catch up, assuring him that his army will grow like a snow-ball as it progresses. I have no doubt it would. I think it would swell to 50,000 before reaching Washington, and that the people on the route would supply the quartermaster's stores, and improvise an adequate commissariat. I believe he could drive the Abolitionists out of Washington even yet, if he would make a bold dash, and that there would be a universal uprising in all the border States this side of the Susquehanna. But he does not respond. Virginia was too late moving, and North Carolina, Tennessee, Arkansas, Kentucky, and Missouri have not seceded yet--though all of them will soon follow Virginia. Besides, the vote on the ratification in this State is to take place a month hence. It would be an infringement of State rights, and would be construed as an _invasion of Virginia_! Could the Union men in the Convention, after being forced to pass the ordinance, have dealt a more fatal blow to their country? But that is not all. The governor is appointing his Union partisans to military positions. Nevertheless, as time rolls on, and eternal separation is pronounced by the events that must be developed, they may prove true to the best interests of their native land. Every hour there are fresh arrivals of organized companies from the country, tendering their services to the governor; and nearly all the young men in the city are drilling. The cadets of the Military Institute are rendering good service now, and Professor Jackson is truly a benefactor. I hope he will take the field himself; and if he does, I predict for him a successful career. APRIL 24TH.--Martial music is heard everywhere, day and night, and all the trappings and paraphernalia of war's decorations are in great demand. The ladies are sewing everywhere, even in the churches. But the gay uniforms we see to-day will change their hue before the advent of another year. All history shows that fighting is not only the most perilous pursuit in the world, but the _hardest_ and the roughest work one can engage in. And many a young man bred in luxury, will be killed by exposure in the night air, lying on the damp ground, before meeting the enemy. But the same thing may be said of the Northmen. And the arbitrament of war, and war's desolation, is a foregone conclusion. How much better it would have been if the North had permitted the South to depart in peace! With political separation, there might still have remained commercial union. But they would not. APRIL 25TH.--Ex-President Tyler and Vice-President Stephens are negotiating a treaty which is to ally Virginia to the Confederate States. APRIL 26TH.--To-day I recognize Northern merchants and Jews in the streets, busy in collecting the debts due them. The Convention has thrown some impediments in the way; but I hear on every hand that Southern merchants, in the absence of legal obligations, recognize the demands of honor, and are sending money North, even if it be used against us. This will not last long. APRIL 27TH.--We have had a terrible alarm. The tocsin was sounded in the public square, and thousands have been running hither and thither to know its meaning. Dispatches have been posted about the city, purporting to have been received by the governor, with the startling information that the U. S. war steamer Pawnee is coming up the James River for the purpose of shelling the city! All the soldiery, numbering some thousands, are marching down to Rocketts, and forming in line of battle on the heights commanding the approaches. The howitzers are there, frowning defiance; and two long French bronze guns are slowly passing through Main Street in the same direction. One of them has just broken down, and lies abandoned in front of the Post-Office. Even civilians, by hundreds, are hurrying with shot-guns and pistols to the scene of action, and field officers are galloping through the streets. Although much apprehension is apparent on many faces, it is but just to say that the population generally are resolved to make a determined defense. There is no fear of personal danger; it is only the destruction of property that is dreaded. But, in my opinion, the Pawnee is about as likely to attempt the navigation of the River Styx, as to run up this river within shelling distance of the city. I walked down to the lower bridge, without even taking a pocket-pistol, and saw the troops drawn up in line of battle awaiting the enemy. Toward evening the howitzers engaged in some unprofitable practice, shelling the trees on the opposite side. It was a false alarm, if not something worse. I fear it is an invention of the enemy to divert us from the generally conceived policy of attacking Washington, and rousing up Maryland in the rear of Lincoln. Met with, and was introduced to, Gov. Letcher, in the evening, at the _Enquirer_ office. He was revising one of his many proclamations; and is now undoubtedly as zealous an advocate of secession as any man. He said he would be ready to fight in _three or four days_; and that he would soon have arrangements completed to blockade the Potomac by means of formidable batteries. APRIL 28TH.--Saw Judge Scarburg, who has resigned his seat in the Court of Claims at Washington. I believe he brought his family, and abandoned his furniture, etc. Also Dr. Garnett, who left most of his effects in the hands of the enemy. He was a marked man, being the son-in-law of Gov. Wise. Many clerks are passing through the city on their way to Montgomery, where they are sure to find employment. Lucky men, some of them! They have eaten Lincoln bread for more than a month, and most of them would have been turned out of office if there had been no secession. And I observe among them some who have left their wives behind _to take care of their homes_. APRIL 29TH.--I wrote to my agent on the Eastern Shore to send me the last year's rent due on the farm. But I learn that the cruisers in the bay are intercepting the communications, and I fear remittances will be impracticable. I hope my family are ready by this to leave Burlington. Women and children have not yet been interfered with. What if they should be compelled to abandon our property there? Mrs. Semple had her plate seized at New York. At fifty-one, I can hardly follow the pursuit of arms; but I will write and preserve a DIARY of the revolution. I never held or sought office in my life; but now President Tyler and Gov. Wise say I will find employment at Montgomery. The latter will prepare a letter to President Davis, and the former says he will draw up a paper in my behalf, and take it through the Convention himself for signatures. I shall be sufficiently credentialed, at all events--provided old partisan considerations are banished from the new confederacy. To make my DIARY full and complete as possible, is now my business. And, "When the hurly-burly's done, When the battle's lost and won," if the South wins it, I shall be content to retire to my farm, provided it falls on the Southern side of the line, and enjoy sweet repose "under my own vine and fig-tree." APRIL 30TH.--Gen. Kearney has been brought here, having been taken on his way to Washington from Missouri. He manifested surprise at his captivity, and says that he is no enemy; being, I believe, Southern born. I learn it is the purpose of the governor to release him. And this may be a blunder. I fear about as much from ill-timed Southern magnanimity as from Northern malignity. The Pawnee "scare" turned out just as I thought it would. She merely turned her nose up the river, and then put about and steamed away again. It may do good, however, if it stimulates the authorities to due preparation against future assaults from that quarter. CHAPTER II. Depart for Montgomery.--Interview with President Davis.--My position in the Government.--Government removed to Richmond.--My family. MAY 1ST.--Troops are coming in from all directions, cavalry and infantry; but I learn that none scarcely are accepted by the State. This is great political economy, with a vengeance! How is Gov. Letcher to be ready to fight in a few days? Oh, perhaps he thinks the army will spontaneously spring into existence, march without transportation, and fight without rations or pay! But the Convention has passed an act authorizing the enlistment of a regular army of 12,000 men. If I am not mistaken, Virginia will have to put in the field ten times that number, and the confederacy will have to maintain 500,000 in Virginia, or lose the border States. And if the border States be subjugated, Mr. Seward probably would grant a respite to the rest _for a season_. But by the terms of the (Tyler and Stephens) treaty, the Confederate States will reimburse Virginia for all her expenses; and therefore I see no good reason why this State, of all others, being the most exposed, should not muster into service every well-armed company that presents itself. There are arms enough for 25,000 men now, and that number, if it be too late to take Washington, might at all events hold this side of the Potomac, and keep the Yankees off the soil of Virginia. MAY 2D.--There are vague rumors of lawless outrages committed on Southern men in Philadelphia and New York; but they are not well authenticated, and I do not believe them. The Yankees are not yet ready for retaliation. They know that game wouldn't pay. No--they desire time to get their money out of the South; and they would be perfectly willing that trade should go on, even during the war, for they would be the greatest gainers by the information derived from spies and emissaries. I see, too, their papers have extravagant accounts of imprisonments and summary executions here. Not a man has yet been molested. It is true, we have taken Norfolk, without a battle; but the enemy did all the burning and sinking. MAY 3D.--No letters from my wife. Probably she has taken the children to the Eastern Shore. Her farm is there, and she has many friends in the county. On that narrow peninsula it is hardly to be supposed the Yankees will send any troops. With the broad Atlantic on one side and the Chesapeake Bay on the other, it is to be presumed there will be no military demonstration by the inhabitants, for they could neither escape nor receive reinforcements from the mainland. In the war of the first Revolution, and the subsequent one with Great Britain, this peninsula escaped the ravages of the enemy, although the people were as loyal to the government of the United States as any; but the Yankees are more enterprising than the British, and may have an eye to "truck farms" in that fruitful region. MAY 4TH.--Met Wm. H. B. Custis, Esq., to-day in the square, and had a long conversation with him. He has made up his mind to sign the ordinance. He thinks secession might have been averted with honor, if our politicians at Washington had not been ambitious to figure as leaders in a new revolution. Custis was always a Democrat, and supported Douglas on the ground that he was the regular nominee. He said his negro property a month before was worth, perhaps, fifty thousand dollars; now his slaves would not bring probably more than five thousand; and that would be the fate of many slaveowners in Virginia. MAY 5TH.--President Tyler has placed in my hands a memorial to President Davis, signed by himself and many of the members of the Convention, asking appropriate civil employment for me in the new government. I shall be content to obtain the necessary position to make a full and authentic Diary of the transactions of the government. I could not hope for any commission as a civil officer, since the leaders who have secured possession of the government know very well that, as editor, I never advocated the pretensions of any of them for the Presidency of the United States. Some of them I fear are unfit for the positions they occupy. But the cause in which we are embarked will require, to be successful, the efforts of every man. Those capable of performing military duty, must perform it; and those physically incapable of wielding the bayonet and the sword, must wield the pen. It is no time to stand on ceremony or antecedents. The post of duty is the post of honor. In the mighty winnowing we must go through, the wheat will be separated from the chaff. And many a true man who this day stands forth as a private, will end as a general. And the efficient subordinate in the departments may be likewise exalted if he deserves it, provided the people have rule in the new confederacy. If we are to have a monarchy for the sake of economy and stability, I shall submit to it in preference to the domination of the Northern radicals. MAY 6TH.--To-day a Yankee was caught in the street questioning some negroes as to which side they would fight on, slavery or freedom. He was merely rebuked and ordered out of the country. Another instance of Southern magnanimity! It will only embolden the insidious enemy. MAY 7TH.--Col. R. E. Lee, lately of the United States army, has been appointed major-general, and commander-in-chief of the army in Virginia. He is the son of "Light Horse Harry" of the Revolution. The North can boast no such historic names as we, in its army. Gov. Wise is sick at home, in Princess Ann County, but has sent me a strong letter to President Davis. I fear the governor will not survive many months. MAY 8TH.--The Convention has appointed five members of Congress to go to Montgomery: Messrs. Hunter, Rives, Brockenborough, Staples, and ----. I have not yet seen Mr. Hunter; he has made no speeches, but no doubt he has done all in his power to secure the passage of the ordinance, in his quiet but effective way. To-day President Tyler remarked that the politicians in the Convention had appointed a majority of the members from the old opposition party. The President would certainly have been appointed, if it had not been understood he did not desire it. Debilitated from a protracted participation in the exciting scenes of the Convention, he could not bear the fatigue of so long a journey at this season of the year. MAY 9TH.--The _Examiner_ still fires shot and shell at Gov. Letcher and the dominant majority in the Convention, on account of recent appointments. It is furious over the selection of Mr. Baldwin, recently a leading Union man, for inspector-general; and seems to apprehend bad results from thrusting Union men forward in the coming struggle. The _Enquirer_ is moderate, and kind to Gov. Letcher, whose nomination and subsequent course were so long the theme of bitter denunciation. It is politic. The _Whig_ now goes into the secession movement with all its might. Mr. Mosely has resumed the helm; and he was, I believe, a secessionist many years ago. The _Dispatch_, not long since neutral and conservative, throws all its powers, with its large circulation, into the cause. So we have perfect unanimity in the press. _Per contra_, the New York _Herald_ has turned about and leap-frogged over the head of the _Tribune_ into the front ranks of the Republicans. No doubt, when we win the day, the _Herald_ will leap back again. MAY 10TH.--The ladies are postponing all engagements until their lovers have fought the Yankees. Their influence is great. Day after day they go in crowds to the Fair ground where the 1st S. C. Vols. are encamped, showering upon them their smiles, and all the delicacies the city affords. They wine them and cake them--and they deserve it. They are just from taking Fort Sumter, and have won historic distinction. I was introduced to several of the privates by their captain, who told me they were worth from $100,000 to half a million dollars each. The _Tribune_ thought all these men would want to be captains! But that is not the only hallucination the North labors under, judging from present appearances; by closing our ports it is thought we can be subdued by the want of accustomed luxuries. These rich young men were dressed in coarse gray homespun! We have the best horsemen and the best marksmen in the world, and these are the qualities that will tell before the end of the war. We fight for existence--the enemy for Union and the freedom of the slave. Well, let the Yankees see if this "new thing" will pay. MAY 11TH.--Robert Tyler has arrived, after wonderful risks and difficulties. When I left Mr. Tyler in the North, the people were talking about electing him their representative in Congress. They tempted him every way, by threats and by promises, to make them a speech under the folds of the "star spangled banner" erected near his house. But in vain. No doubt they would have elected him to Congress, and perhaps have made him a general, if he had fallen down and worshiped their Republican idol, and fought against his father. MAY 12TH.--To-day I set out for Montgomery. The weather was bright and pleasant. It is Sunday. In the cars are many passengers going to tender their services, and all imbued with the same inflexible purpose. The corn in the fields of Virginia is just becoming visible; and the trees are beginning to disclose their foliage. MAY 13TH.--We traveled all night, and reached Wilmington, N. C., early in the morning. There I saw a Northern steamer which had been seized in retaliation for some of the seizures of the New Yorkers. And there was a considerable amount of ordnance and shot and shell on the bank of the river. The people everywhere on the road are for irremediable, eternal separation. Never were men more unanimous. And North Carolina has passed the ordinance, I understand, without a dissenting voice. Better still, it is not to be left to a useless vote of the people. The work is finished, and the State is out of the Union without contingency or qualification. I saw one man, though, at Goldsborough, who looked very much like a Yankee, and his enthusiasm seemed more simulated than real; and some of his words were equivocal. His name was Dibble. To-day I saw rice and cotton growing, the latter only an inch or so high. The pine woods in some places have a desolate appearance; and whole forests are dead. I thought it was caused by the scarifications for turpentine; but was told by an intelligent traveler that the devastation was produced by an insect or worm that cut the inner bark. The first part of South Carolina we touched was not inviting. Swamps, with cane, and cypress knees, and occasionally a plunging aligator met the vision. Here, I thought the Yankees, if they should carry the war into the far south, would fare worse than Napoleon's army of invasion in Russia. But railroads seldom run through the fairest and richest portions of the country. They must take the route where there is the least grading. We soon emerged, however, from the marshy district, and then beheld the vast cotton-fields, now mostly planted in corn. A good idea. And the grain crops look well. The corn, in one day, seems to have grown ten inches. In the afternoon we were whisked into Georgia, and the face of the country, as well as the color of the soil, reminded me of some parts of France between Dieppe and Rouen. No doubt the grape could be profitably cultivated here. The corn seems to have grown a _foot_ since morning. MAY 14TH.--The weather is very warm. Day before yesterday the wheat was only six or eight inches high. To-day it is two or three feet in height, headed, and almost ripe for the scythe. At every station [where I can write a little] we see crowds of men, and women, and boys; and during our pauses some of the passengers, often clergymen, and not unfrequently Northern born, address them in soul-stirring strains of patriotic eloquence. If Uncle Abe don't find subjugation of this country, and of such a people as this, is truly a "big job" on his hands, I am much mistaken. Passed the Stone Mountain at 11 o'clock A.M. It appears at a distance like a vast artificial formation, resembling the pictures of the pyramids. Arrived at Montgomery 10 o'clock P.M., and put up at the Montgomery House. The mosquitoes bled me all night. Mosquitoes in the middle of May! And as they never cease to bite till killed by the frost, the pest here is perennial. MAY 15TH.--From my window at the top of the house, I see corn in silk and tassel. Three days ago the corn I saw was not three inches high. And blackberries are in season. Strawberries and peas are gone. This city is mostly situated in a bottom on the Alabama River. Being fatigued I did not visit the departments to-day, but employed myself in securing lodgings at a boarding-house. Here I met, the first time, with my friend Dr. W. T. Sawyer, of Hollow Square, Alabama. A skillful surgeon and Christian gentleman, his mission on earth seems to be one of pure beneficence. He had known me before we met, it appears; and I must say he did me many kind offices. In the afternoon I walked to the capitol, a fine structure with massive columns, on a beautiful elevation, where I delivered several letters to the Virginia delegation in Congress. They were exceedingly kind to me, and proffered their services very freely. MAY 16TH.--Met John Tyler, Jr., to-day, who, with his native cordiality, proffered his services with zeal and earnestness. He introduced me at once to Hon. L. P. Walker, Secretary of War, and insisted upon presenting me to the President the next day. Major Tyler had recently been commissioned in the army, but is now detailed to assist the Secretary of War in his correspondence. The major is favorably known in the South as the author of several Southern essays of much power that have been published in a Review, signed "Python." The principal hotel is the Exchange, as in Richmond; the entrance to the bar, reading-room, etc. is by a flight of stairs from the street to the second story, with stores underneath. Here there is an incessant influx of strangers coming from all directions on business with the new government. But the prevalent belief is that the government itself will soon travel to Richmond. The buildings here will be insufficient in magnitude for the transaction of the rapidly increasing business. MAY 17TH.--Was introduced to the President to-day. He was overwhelmed with papers, and retained a number in his left hand, probably of more importance than the rest. He received me with urbanity, and while he read the papers I had given him, as I had never seen him before, I endeavored to scrutinize his features, as one would naturally do, for the purpose of forming a vague estimate of the character and capabilities of the man destined to perform the leading part in a revolution which must occupy a large space in the world's history. His stature is tall, nearly six feet; his frame is very slight and seemingly frail; but when he throws back his shoulders he is as straight as an Indian chief. The features of his face are distinctly marked with character; and no one gazing at his profile would doubt for a moment that he beheld more than an ordinary man. His face is handsome, and his thin lip often basks a pleasant smile. There is nothing sinister or repulsive in his manners or appearance; and if there are no special indications of great grasp of intellectual power on his forehead and on his sharply defined nose and chin, neither is there any evidence of weakness, or that he could be easily moved from any settled purpose. I think he has a clear perception of matters demanding his cognizance, and a nice discrimination of details. As a politician he attaches the utmost importance to _consistency_--and here I differ with him. I think that to be consistent as a politician, is to change with the circumstances of the case. When Calhoun and Webster first met in Congress, the first advocated a protective tariff and the last opposed it. This was told me by Mr. Webster himself, in 1842, when he was Secretary of State; and it was confirmed by Mr. Calhoun in 1844, then Secretary of State himself. Statesmen are the physicians of the public weal; and what doctor hesitates to vary his remedies with the new phases of disease? When the President had completed the reading of my papers, and during the perusal I observed him make several emphatic nods, he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted employment with my pen, perhaps only temporary employment. I thought the correspondence of the Secretary of War would increase in volume, and another assistant besides Major Tyler would be required in his office. He smiled and shook his head, saying that such work would be only temporary indeed; which I construed to mean that even _he_ did not then suppose the war was to assume colossal proportions. MAY 18TH.--To-day I had another interview with the President. He advised me to see the Secretary of the Treasury without delay; but the Treasury would not answer so well for my Diary. MAY 19TH.--The Secretary of War sent for me this morning, and said he required more assistance in his correspondence, then increasing daily; but the act of Congress limiting salaries would prevent him from offering me an adequate compensation. He could only name some ten or twelve hundred dollars. I told him my great desire was employment, and facilities to preserve interesting facts for future publication. I was installed at once, with Major Tyler, in the Secretary's own office. It was my duty to open and read the letters, noting briefly their contents on the back. The Secretary would then indicate in pencil marks the answers to be written, which the major and I prepared. These were signed by the Secretary, copied in another room, and mailed. I was happy in the discharge of these duties, and worked assiduously day and night. MAY 20TH.--Mr. Walker, the Secretary of War, is some forty-seven or eight years of age, tall, thin, and a little bent; not by age, but by study and bad health. He was a successful lawyer, and having never been in governmental employment, is fast working himself down. He has not yet learned how to avoid unnecessary labor; being a man of the finest sensibilities, and exacting with the utmost nicety all due deference to the dignity of his official position. He stands somewhat on ceremony with his brother officials, and accords and exacts the etiquette natural to a sensitive gentleman who has never been broken on the wheel of office. I predict for him a short career. The only hope for his continuance in office is unconditional submission to the President, who, being once Secretary of War of the United States, is familiar with all the wheels of the department. But soon, if I err not, the President will be too much absorbed in the fluctuations of momentous campaigns, to give much of his attention to any one of the departments. Nevertheless Mr. Walker, if he be an apt scholar, may learn much before that day; and Congress may simplify his duties by enacting a uniform mode of filling the offices in the field. The applications now give the greatest trouble; and the disappointed class give rise to many vexations. MAY 21ST.--Being in the same room with the Secretary, and seen by all his visitors, I am necessarily making many new acquaintances; and quite a number recognize me by my books which they have read. Among this class is Mr. Benjamin, the Minister of Justice, who, to-day, informed me that he and Senator Bayard had been interested, at Washington, in my "Story of Disunion." Mr. Benjamin is of course a Jew, of French lineage, born I believe in Louisiana, a lawyer and politician. His age may be sixty, and yet one might suppose him to be less than forty. His hair and eyes are black, his forehead capacious, his face round and as intellectual as one of that shape can be; and Mr. B. is certainly a man of intellect, education, and extensive reading, combined with natural abilities of a tolerably high order. Upon his lip there seems to bask an eternal smile; but if it be studied, it is not a smile--yet it bears no unpleasing aspect. MAY 22D.--To-day I had, in our office, a specimen of Mr. Memminger's oratory. He was pleading for an installment of the claims of South Carolina on the Confederacy; and Mr. Walker, always hesitating, argued the other side, merely for delay. Both are fine speakers, with most distinct enunciation and musical voices. The demand was audited and paid, amounting, I believe, to several hundred thousand dollars. And I heard and saw Mr. Toombs to-day, the Secretary of State. He is a portly gentleman, but with the pale face of the student and the marks of a deep thinker. To gaze at him in repose, the casual spectator would suppose, from his neglect of dress, that he was a planter in moderate circumstances, and of course not gifted with extraordinary powers of intellect; but let him open his mouth, and the delusion vanishes. At the time alluded to he was surrounded by the rest of the cabinet, in our office, and the topic was the policy of the war. He was for taking the initiative, and carrying the war into the enemy's country. And as he warmed with the subject, the _man_ seemed to vanish, and the _genius_ alone was visible. He was most emphatic in the advocacy of his policy, and bold almost to rashness in his denunciations of the merely defensive idea. He was opposed to all delays, as fraught with danger; the enemy were in the field, and their purposes were pronounced. Why wait to see what they meant to do? If we did that, they would not only invade us, but get a permanent foothold on our soil. We must invade or be invaded; and he was for making the war as terrible as possible from the beginning. It was to be no child's play; and nothing could be gained by reliance upon the blunders and forbearance of the Yankees. News had been received of the occupation of Alexandria and Arlington Heights, in Virginia; and if we permitted them to build fortifications there, we should not be able to expel them. He denounced with bitterness the neglect of the authorities in Virginia. The enemy should not have been permitted to cross the Potomac. During the month which had elapsed since the passage of the ordinance in Virginia, nothing had been done, nothing attempted. It was true, the vote on ratification had not been taken; and although that fact might shield the provisional government from responsibility, yet the delay to act was fraught with danger and perhaps irreparable injury. Virginia alone could have raised and thrown across the Potomac 25,000 men, and driven the Yankees beyond the Susquehanna. But she, to avoid responsibility, had been telegraphing Davis to come to the rescue; and if he (Toombs) had been in Davis's place, he would have taken the responsibility. The Secretary of War well knew how to parry these thrusts; he was not responsible. He was as ultra a man as any; and all he could do was to organize and arm the troops authorized by Congress. Some thirty odd thousand were mustered in already; and at least five thousand volunteers were offering daily. Mr. Toombs said five hundred thousand volunteers ought to be accepted and for the war. We wanted no six or twelve months' men. To this the Secretary replied that the Executive could not transcend the limits prescribed by Congress. These little discussions were of frequent occurrence; and it soon became apparent that the Secretary of War was destined to be the most important man among the cabinet ministers. His position afforded the best prospect of future distinction--always provided he should be equal to the position, and his administration attended with success. I felt convinced that Toombs would not be long chafing in the cabinet, but that he would seize the first opportunity to repair to the field. MAY 23D.--To-day the President took the cars for Pensacola, where it had been said everything was in readiness for an assault on Fort Pickens. Military men said it could be taken, and Toombs, I think, said it ought to be taken. It would cost, perhaps, a thousand lives; but is it not the business of war to consume human life? Napoleon counted men as so much powder to be consumed; and he consumed millions in his career of conquest. But still he conquered, which he could not have done without the consumption of life. And is it not better to consume life rapidly, and attain results quickly, than to await events, when all history shows that a protracted war, of immobile armies, always engulfs more men in the grave from camp fevers than usually fall in battle during the most active operations in the field? To-day I saw Col. Bartow, who has the bearing and eye of a gallant officer. He was attended by a young man named Lamar, of fine open countenance, whom he desired to have as his aid; but the regulations forbid any one acting in that capacity who was not a lieutenant; and Lamar not being old enough to have a commission, he said he would attend the colonel as a volunteer aid till he attained the prescribed age. I saw Ben McCulloch, also--an unassuming but elastic and brave man. He will make his mark. Also Capt. McIntosh, who goes to the West. I think I saw him in 1846, in Paris, at the table of Mr. King, our Minister; but I had no opportunity to ask him. He is all enthusiasm, and will rise with honor or fall with glory. And here I beheld for the first time Wade Hampton, resolved to abandon all the comforts of his great wealth, and encounter the privations of the tented field in behalf of his menaced country. Arkansas and Tennessee, as I predicted, have followed the example of Virginia and North Carolina; and I see evidence daily in the mass of correspondence, that Missouri and Kentucky will follow in good time. MAY 24TH.--Congress passed, in secret session, a resolution to remove the seat of government to Richmond; but I learn it has been vetoed by the President. There is a strong feeling against going thither among some of the secessionists in the Cotton States. Those who do not think there will be a great deal of fighting, have apprehensions that the border States, so tardy in the secession movement, will strive to monopolize the best positions and patronage of the new government. Indeed, if it were quite certain that there is to be no war for existence--as if a nation could be free without itself striking the blow for freedom--I think there would be a party--among the politicians, not the people--opposed to confederating with the border slave States. Some of his fellow-members tell many jokes on Mr. Hunter. They say every time he passes the marble-yards going up to the capitol, and surveys the tomb-stones, he groans in agony, and predicts that he will get sick and die here. If this be true, I predict that he will get the seat of government moved to Richmond, a more congenial climate. He has a way of moving large bodies, which has rarely failed him; and some of his friends at the hotels, already begin to hint that he is the proper man to be the first President of the _permanent_ government. I think he will be President some day. He would be a safe one. But this whisper at the hotel has produced no little commotion. Some propose making him Secretary of War, as a sure means of killing him off. I know a better way than that, but I wouldn't suggest it for the world. I like him very much. To-day the Secretary placed in my hands for examination and report, a very long document, written by a deposed or resigned Roman priest. He urged a plan to avert the horrors of war. He had been to see Lincoln, Gov. Letcher, etc., and finally obtained an interview on "important business" with President Davis. The President, not having leisure even to listen to his exordium, requested him to make his communication briefly in writing. And this was _it_--about twenty pages of foolscap. It consisted chiefly of evidences of the exceeding wickedness of war, and suggestions that if both belligerents would _only forbear to take up arms_, the peace might be preserved, and God would mediate between them. Of course I could only indorse on the back "demented." But the old man hung round the department for a week afterward, and then departed, I know not whither. I forget his name, but his paper is in the archives of the government. I have always differed with the preachers in politics and war, except the Southern preachers who are now in arms against the invader. I think war is one of the providences of God, and certainly no book chronicles so much fighting as the Bible. It may be to the human race what pruning is to vegetation, a necessary process for the general benefit. MAY 25TH.--There is to be no fight--no assault on Pickens. But we are beginning to send troops forward in the right direction--to Virginia. Virginia herself ought to have kept the invader from her soil. Was she reluctant to break the peace? And is it nothing to have her soil polluted by the martial tramp of the Yankees at Alexandria and Arlington Heights? But the wrath of the Southern chivalry will some day burst forth on the ensanguined plain, and then let the presumptuous foemen of the North beware of the fiery ordeal they have invoked. The men I see daily keeping time to the music of revolution are fighting men, men who will conquer or die, and who prefer death to subjugation. But the Yankee has no such motive to fight for, no thought of serious wounds and death. He can go back to his own country; our men have no other country to go to. MAY 26TH.--Was called on by the Episcopal minister to-day, Dr. Sawyer having informed him that I was a member of the church--the doctor being one also. He is an enthusiastic young man, and though a native of the North, seems to sympathize with us very heartily. He prays for the President of the Confederate States. The President himself attends very regularly, and some intimate that he intends to become a candidate for membership. I have not learned whether he has been baptized. Gen. Cooper, the first on our list of generals in the regular army, is a member of the church. The general was, I think, adjutant-general at Washington. He is Northern born. Major Gorgas is likewise a native of the North. He is Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance. The Quartermaster-General, Major Myers, is said to be a Jew; while the Commissary-General is almost a Jesuit, so zealous is he in the advocacy of the Pope. Mr. Mallory, the Secretary of the Navy, I have seen but once; but I have heard him soundly abused for not accepting some propositions and plans from Mobile and elsewhere, to build iron-clad steam rams to sink the enemy's navy. Some say Mr. M. is an Irishman born. He was in the United States Senate, and embraced secession with the rest of the "conspirators" at Washington. I saw the Vice-President to-day. I first saw Mr. Stephens at Washington in 1843. I was behind him as he sat in the House of Representatives, and thought him a boy, for he was sitting beside large members. But when I got in front of him, it was apparent he was a man--every inch a man. There is some excitement in official circles here against Mr. Browne, the Assistant Secretary of State, on the ground that he interfered in behalf of a Mr. Hurlbut, a Northern man (probably arrested), a writer in the English Reviews against slavery in the South, and a correspondent for the New York Tribune. Mr. B. is an Englishman, who came from Washington on the invitation of Mr. Toombs, and through his influence was appointed Assistant Secretary of State, and the Southern gorge rises at it. I doubt whether he will be molested. I saw Major Tochman to-day, also a foreigner. He is authorized to enlist a regiment or two of Polanders in New Orleans, where I am told there are none. And there are several Northern men here wanting to be generals. This does not look much like Southern homogeneity. God save us, if we are not to save ourselves! How hot it is! But I like hot weather better than cold, and would soon become accustomed to this climate. This morning Mr. Hunter really seemed distressed; but he has four inches on his ribs, and I not the eighth of an inch. Since writing the foregoing, I have seen Mr. Hunter again, and although there is no diminution of heat, he is quite cheerful: Congress has again passed the resolution to remove the seat of government to Richmond, and it is said the President will not veto it this time. The President himself came into our office to-day and sat some time conversing with Secretary Walker. He did not appear vexed at the determination of Congress, which he must have been apprised of. MAY 26TH.--The President is sick to-day--having a chill, I believe. Adjutant-General Cooper was in, comparing notes with the Secretary as to the number of regiments in the field. The Secretary has a most astonishing memory, and could easily number the forces without referring to his notes. The amount is not large, it is true; but, from the eagerness to volunteer, I believe if we had the arms there might soon be organized an army of three or four hundred thousand men. And yet it would seem that no one dreams of armies of such magnitude. Wait till we sleep a little longer! A great many separate companies are accepted; all indeed that offer for three years or the war, provided they have arms--even double-barreled shot-guns and hunting rifles. What a deal of annoyance and labor it will be to organize these into battalions, regiments, brigades, and divisions! And then comes the appointment of staff and field officers. This will be labor for the President. But he works incessantly, sick or well. We have an agent in Europe purchasing arms. This was well thought on. And Capt. Huse is thought to be a good selection. It will be impossible for Lincoln to keep all our ports hermetically sealed. Hitherto improvident, it is to be hoped the South will now go to work upon her own resources. We have plunged into the sea of revolution, and must, unaided, sink or swim. The Yankees say they are going to subdue us in six months. What fools! I tasted green corn to-day, and, although very fond of it, I touched it lightly, because it seemed so much out of season. The country around is beautiful, and the birds are singing as merrily as if we were about to enter upon a perennial Sabbath-day, instead of a desolating war. But the gunpowder will be used to destroy the destroyer, man, and why should not the birds sing? The china-trees are beautiful, and abundant about the dwellings. MAY 27TH.--We leave Montgomery day after to-morrow. The President goes to-day--but quietly--no one, not connected with the Government, to have information of the fact until his arrival in Richmond. It is understood that the Minister of Justice (Attorney-General) accompanies him. There are a great number of spies and emissaries in the country--sufficient, if it were known when the train would pass, to throw it off the track. This precaution is taken by the friends of the President. The day is pretty much occupied in the packing of boxes. It is astonishing how vast a volume of papers accumulates in a short space of time--but when we consider the number of applications for office, the wonder ceases. MAY 28TH.--Little or no business was done this day. The Secretary announced that no more communications would be considered by him in Montgomery. He placed in my charge a great many unopened letters, and a special list of candidates for office, with annotations. These I packed in my trunk. As I was to precede the Secretary, and having some knowledge of the capacity of the public buildings in Richmond, I was charged with the duty of securing, if possible, suitable offices for the Department of War. I made hasty preparations for departure. Before starting, something prompted me to call once more at the post-office, where, to my surprise and delight, I found a letter from my wife. She was in Richmond, with all the children, _Tabby_ and the parrot. She had left Burlington about the same time I had left Richmond. At Havre-de-Grace, on the Susquehanna, which they crossed in the night, my youngest daughter was compelled with difficulty to stride over the sleeping bodies of Yankee soldiers. She writes that she deposited, very carefully, our plate in the bank! The idea that all might have been brought off if she had only known it, is the source of her wretchedness. She writes that she had been materially assisted by Mr. Grubb and his lady, prompted by personal friendship, by humanity, and by those generous instincts of the true nobility of heart imparted by the Creator. Mr. G. is true to the Constitution and the Government under which he lives--and would doubtless never consent to a rupture of the Union under any circumstances. He has a son in the army against us. And Col. Wall, another personal friend, boldly shook hands with my family at parting, while the Wide-Awake file leaders stood scowling by. I hope he may not suffer for his temerity. These things occupied my thoughts during a sleepless night in the cars. My abode in New Jersey had been a pleasant one. I had a fine yard and garden, and many agreeable neighbors. I loved my garden, and cultivated my own grapes, pears, peaches, apples, raspberries, currants, and strawberries. I had fruits and vegetables in the greatest profusion. And the thrushes and other migratory birds had come to know me well, and sang me to sleep at night, and awakened me with their strains in the morning. They built their nests near the windows, for the house was embowered in trees, and half covered with ivy. Even my cats, for every living thing was a pet to some one of the family,--when I think of them now, wandering about unprotected, give rise to painful emotions. But even my youngest child was willing to make any sacrifice for the sake of her country. The South is our only home--we have been only temporary sojourners elsewhere. MAY 29TH AND 30TH.--The remainder of the journey was without interest, until we arrived at Wythville, Va., where it was discovered Gen. Floyd was in the cars. He was called out and made a speech in vindication of his conduct at Washington, as Secretary of War, wherein he had caused the transfer of arms, etc., from the North to the South. He was then organizing a brigade for the field, having been commissioned a brigadier-general by the President. MAY 31ST.--I arrived in Richmond about 1 o'clock P.M. The meeting with my family was a joyful scene. All were well. I lost no time in securing rooms for the department in the new custom-house. Mr. Giles had been employed in this business by the Congressional Committee, and I found him every way accommodating. I succeeded without difficulty in convincing him that the War Department was the most important one, and hence entitled to the first choice of rooms. I therefore selected the entire suites on both sides of the hall on the lower floor. The Treasury, the Executive office, Cabinet chamber, and Departments of Justice and the Navy were located on the floor above. This arrangement, however, was understood to be but a temporary one; Mechanics Hall was leased for future purposes; and I was consulted on the plan of converting it into suites of offices. CHAPTER III. Troops pour into Richmond.--Beginning of hostilities.--Gen. Lee made a full general.--Major-Gen. Polk.--A battle expected at Manassas. JUNE 1ST.--In the absence of the Secretary, I arranged the furniture as well as I could, and took possession of the five offices I had selected. But no business, of course, could be done before his arrival. Yet an immense mass of business was accumulating--letters by the hundreds were demanding attention. And I soon found, as the other Secretaries came in, that some dissatisfaction was likely to grow out of the appropriation by the Secretary of War of the best offices. Mr. Toombs said the "war office" might do in any ordinary building; but that the Treasury should appropriately occupy the custom-house, which was fireproof. For his own department, he said he should be satisfied with a room or two anywhere. But my arrangement was not countermanded by the President, to whom I referred all objectors. His decision was to be final--and he did not decide against it. I had given him excellent quarters; and I knew he was in the habit of having frequent interviews both with the Secretary of War and the Adjutant-General, and this would be inconvenient if they were in different buildings. JUNE 2D.--My wife had a little gold among her straightened finances; and having occasion to purchase some article of dress, she obtained seven and a half per cent. premium. The goods began to go up in price, as paper money fell in value. At Montgomery I bought a pair of fine French boots for $10 in gold--but packed my old ones in the top of my trunk. I was under the necessity, likewise, of buying a linen coat, which cost only $3.50. What will be the price of such commodities a year hence if the blockade continues? It is fearful to contemplate! And yet it ought to be considered. Boarding is rising rapidly, and so are the blood-thirsty insects at the Carleton House. JUNE 3D.--The Secretary arrived to-day, sick; and was accompanied by Major Tyler, himself unwell. And troops are beginning to arrive in considerable numbers. The precincts of the city will soon be a series of encampments. The regiments are drilled here, and these mostly forwarded to Manassas, where a battle must soon occur, if the enemy, now in overwhelming numbers, should advance. The Northern papers say the Yankee army will celebrate the 4th of July in Richmond. _Nous verrons._ But no doubt hostilities have commenced. We have accounts of frightful massacres in Missouri, by German mercenaries. Hampton has been occupied by the enemy, a detachment having been sent from Fortress Monroe for that purpose. They also hold Newport News on the Peninsula. There are rumors of a fight at Philippi. One Col. Potterfield was _surprised_. If this be so, there is no excuse for him. I think the President will make short work of incompetent commanders. Now a blunder is worse than a crime. JUNE 4TH.--The Secretary is still sick. Having nothing better to do, and seeing that eight-tenths of the letters received are merely applications for commissions in the regular army--an organization without men--and none being granted from civil life, I employed myself writing certain articles for the press, hoping by this means to relieve the Secretary of the useless and painful labor of dictating negative replies to numberless communications. This had the sanction of both the President and the Secretary, and produced, in some measure, the desired relief. JUNE 5TH.--There are rumors of a fight down at Pig's Point to-day; and it is said our battery has torn the farthingale of the Harriet Lane pretty extensively. The cannon was heard by persons not many miles east of the city. These are the mutterings of the storm. It will burst some of these days. JUNE 6TH.--We have hard work at the War Department, and some confusion owing to the loss of a box of papers in transitu from Montgomery. I am not a betting man, but I would wager a trifle that the contents of the box are in the hands of some correspondent of the New York _Herald_ or _Tribune_. Our careless people think that valor alone will win the day. The Yankees desire, above all things, _information_ of our condition and movements, of which they will take advantage. We must learn by dear-bought experience. JUNE 7TH.--We have a Chief of the Bureau of War, a special favorite, it is said, of Mr. Davis. I went into the Secretary's room (I now occupy one adjoining), and found a portly gentleman in a white vest sitting alone. The Secretary was out, and had not instructed the new officer what to do. He introduced himself to me, and admitted that the Secretary had not assigned him to duty. I saw at a glance how the land lay. It was Col. A. T. Bledsoe, lately of the University of Virginia; and he had been appointed by the President, _not_ upon the recommendation of the Secretary. Here was a muss not larger than a mustard-seed; but it might _grow_, for I knew well how sensitive was the nature of the Secretary; and he had not been consulted. And so I took it upon myself to be cicerone to the stranger. He was very grateful,--for a long time. Col. B. had graduated at West Point in the same class with the President and Bishop Polk, and subsequently, after following various pursuits, being once, I believe, a preacher, became settled as a teacher of mathematics at the University of Virginia. The colonel stayed near me, aiding in the work of answering letters; but after sitting an hour, and groaning repeatedly when gazing at the mass of papers constantly accumulating before us, he said he believed he would take a number of them to his lodging and answer them there. I saw nothing more of him during the day. And once or twice, when the Secretary came in, he looked around for him, but said nothing. Finally I informed him what I had done; and, without signifying an assent, he merely remarked that there was no room in his office for him. JUNE 8TH.--This morning Col. Bledsoe came in with his letters, some fifty in number, looking haggard and worn. It was, indeed, a vast number. But with one of his humorous smiles, he said they were short. He asked me to look over them, and I found them mainly appropriate responses to the letters marked for answer, and pretty closely in accordance with the Secretary's dictation. In one or two instances, however, he had been unable to decipher the Secretary's most difficult chirography--for he had no idea of punctuation. In these instances he had wholly misconceived the meaning, and the replies were exactly the reverse of what they were intended to be. These he tore up, and wrote others before submitting any to the Secretary. I had only written some thirty letters; but mine were longer--longer than there was any necessity for. I told the colonel that the Secretary had a partiality for "full" letters, especially when addressing any of his friends; and that Major Tyler, who had returned, and was then sitting with the Secretary, rarely dismissed one from his pen under less than three pages. The colonel smiled, and said when there was nothing further to say, it was economy to say nothing. He then carried his letters into the Secretary's office, clearing his throat according to custom on passing a door. I trembled for him; for I knew Mr. Walker had an aversion to signing his name to letters of merely two or three lines. He returned again immediately, saying the Secretary was busy. He left the letters, however. Presently Major Tyler came out of the Secretary's room with several voluminous letters in his own handwriting, duly signed. The major greeted the colonel most cordially; and in truth his manners of a gentleman are so innate that I believe it would be utterly impossible for him to be clownish or rude in his address, if he were to make a serious effort to be so. The major soon left us and re-entered the Secretary's office; but returned immediately bearing the colonel's fifty letters, which he placed before him and then retired. The very first one the colonel's eye rested upon, brought the color to his face. Every line in it had been effaced, and quite a different answer substituted in pencil marks between the lines! "I wrote that," said the colonel, "according to his own dictation." And as every letter carried in its fold the one to which it was a reply, he exhibited the Secretary's words in pencil marks. The colonel was right. The Secretary had omitted the little word "not"; and hence the colonel had written to the Georgian: "Your company of cavalry is accepted." The Secretary refused almost uniformly to accept cavalry, and particularly Georgia cavalry. I took blame to myself for not discovering this blunder previously. But the colonel, with his rapid pen, soon wrote another answer. About one-half the letters had to be written over again; and the colonel, smiling, and groaning, and perspiring so extravagantly that he threw off his coat, and occupied himself several hours in preparing the answers in accordance with the Secretary's corrections. And when they were done, Mr. S. S. Scott, who was to copy them in the letter-book, complimented the colonel on their brevity. In response to this, the colonel said, unfortunately, he wished he, Scott, were the secretary. Scott abused every one who wrote a long letter. JUNE 9TH.--To-day the Secretary refused to sign the colonel's letters, telling him to sign them himself--"by order of the Secretary of War." JUNE 10TH.--Yesterday the colonel did not take so many letters to answer; and to-day he looked about him for other duties more congenial to his nature. JUNE 11TH.--It is coming in earnest! The supposed thunder, heard down the river yesterday, turns out to have been artillery. A fight has occurred at Bethel, and blood--Yankee blood--has flowed pretty freely. Magruder was assailed by some five thousand Yankees at Bethel, on the Peninsula. His force was about nine hundred; but he was behind intrenchments. We lost but one man killed and five wounded. The enemy's loss is several hundred. That road to Richmond is a hard one to travel! But I learn there is a panic about Williamsburg. Several young men from that vicinity have shouldered their _pens_ and are applying for clerkships in the departments. But most of the men of proper age in the literary institutions are volunteering in defense of their native land. JUNE 12TH.--Gen. Lee has been or is to be created a full general in the Confederate army, and will be assigned to duty here. He is third on the list, Sydney Johnston being second. From all I can see and infer, we shall make no attempt this year to invade the enemy's country. Our policy is to be defensive, and it will be severely criticised, for a vast majority of our people are for "carrying the war into Africa" without a moment's delay. The sequel will show which is right, the government or the people. At all events, the government will rule. JUNE 13TH.--Only one of the Williamsburg volunteers came into the department proper; and he will make his way, for he is a flatterer. He told me he had read my "Wild Western Scenes" twice, and never was so much entertained by any other book. He went to work with hearty good-will. JUNE 14TH.--Col. Bledsoe has given up writing almost entirely, but he groans as much as ever. He is like a fish out of water, and unfit for office. JUNE 15TH.--Another clerk has been appointed; a sedate one, by the name of Shepherd, and a former pupil of the colonel's. I received several hints that the Chief of the Bureau was not at all a favorite with the Secretary, who considered him utterly unfit for the position; and that it could hardly be _good policy_ for me to be on terms of such intimacy with him. Policy! A word I never appreciated, a thing I never knew. All I know is that Col. Bledsoe has been appointed by the President to fill an important position; and the same power appoints the secretaries, and can unmake them. Under these circumstances I find him permitted to sit for hours and days in the department with no one to inform him of the condition of the business or to facilitate him in the performance of his official duties. Not for any partiality in his behalf, or prejudice against the Secretary, I step forward and endeavor to discharge my own duty. I strive to serve the cause, whatsoever may be the consequences to my personal interests. JUNE 16TH.--To-day, receiving dispatches from General Floyd, in Western Virginia, that ten thousand Yankees were advancing through Fayette County, and might intercept railroad communication between Richmond and Chattanooga--the Secretary got me to send a telegraphic dispatch to his family to repair hither without delay, for _military_ reasons. About this time the Secretary's health gave way again, and Major Tyler had another fit of indisposition totally disqualifying him for business. Hence I have nearly all the correspondence of the department on my hands, since Col. Bledsoe has ceased to write. JUNE 17TH.--To-day there was a rumor in the streets that Harper's Ferry had been evacuated by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, and, for the first time, I heard murmurs against the government. So far, perhaps, no Executive had ever such cordial and unanimous support of the people as President Davis. I knew the motive of the evacuation, and prepared a short editorial for one of the papers, suggesting good reasons for the retrograde movement; and instancing the fact that when Napoleon's capital was surrounded and taken, he had nearly 200,000 men in garrison in the countries he had conquered, which would have been ample for the defense of France. This I carried to the Secretary at his lodgings, and he was so well pleased with it he wanted me to accompany him to the lodgings of the President, in the same hotel, and show it to him. This I declined, alleging it might be too late for the press. He laughed at my diffidence, and disinclination on such occasions to approach the President. I told him my desire was to serve the _cause_, and not myself. I suppose he was incredulous. JUNE 18TH.--The city is content at the evacuation. The people have unbounded confidence in the wisdom of the administration, and the ability of our generals. Beauregard is the especial favorite. The soldiers, now arming daily, are eager for the fray; and it is understood a great battle must come off before many weeks; as it is the determination of the enemy to advance from the vicinity of Washington, where they are rapidly concentrating. But our people must curb their impatience. And yet we dare not make known the condition of the army,--the awful fact which may be stated here--and will not be known until after-years,--that we have not enough ammunition at Manassas to fight a battle. _There are not percussion caps enough in our army for a serious skirmish._ It will be obviated in a few weeks; and until then I pray there may be no battle. But if the enemy advance, our brave men will give them the cold steel. We _must_ win the first battle at all hazards, and at any cost; and, after that,--how long after?--we must win the last! JUNE 19TH.--Yesterday I saw Colonel Bartow, still accompanied by young Lamar, his aid. I wish all our officers were inspired by the same zeal and determination that they are. And are they not? JUNE 20TH.--Gov. Wise has been appointed brigadier-general, of a subsequent date to General Floyd's commission. He goes to the West, where laurels grow; but I think it will be difficult to win them by any one acting in a subordinate capacity, and especially by generals appointed from civil life. They are the aversion of the West Pointers at the heads of bureaus. JUNE 21ST.--A large, well-proportioned gentleman with florid complexion and intellectual face, who has been whispering with Col. Bledsoe several times during the last week, attracted my attention to-day. And when he retired, Colonel B. informed me it was Bishop Polk, a classmate of his and the President's at West Point. He had just been appointed a _major_-general, and assigned to duty in the West, where he would rank Gen. Pillow, who was exceedingly unpopular in Adjutant-Gen. Cooper's office. I presume this arose solely from mistrust of his military abilities; for he had certainly manifested much enthusiasm in the cause, and was constantly urging the propriety of aggressive movements with his command. All his purposed advances were countermanded. The policy of the government is to be economical of the men. We have but a limited, the enemy an inexhaustible number. JUNE 22D.--The Convention has appointed ten additional members to the Provisional Congress--President Tyler among them. It will be observed that my Diary goes on, including every day. Fighting for our homes and holy altars, there is no intermission on Sunday. It is true, Mr. Memminger came in the other day with a proposition to cease from labor on Sunday, but our Secretary made war on it. The President, however, goes to church very regularly--St. Paul's. On last Sunday the President surprised me. It was before church time, and I was working alone. No one else was in the large room, and the Secretary himself had gone home, quite ill. I thought I heard some one approaching lightly from behind, but wrote on without looking up; even when he had been standing some time at the back of my chair. At length I turned my head, and beheld the President not three feet from me. He smiled, and said he was looking for a certain letter referred by him to the Secretary. I asked the name of the writer, which he told me. I said I had a distinct recollection of it, and had taken it into the Secretary with other papers that morning. But the Secretary was gone. We then proceeded into the Secretary's office in search of it. The Secretary's habit was to take the papers from his table, and after marking on them with his pencil the disposition he wished made of them, he threw them helter-skelter into a large arm-chair. This chair now contained half a bushel; and the President and I set to work in quest of the letter. We removed them one by one; and as we progressed, he said with an impatient smile, "it is always sure to be the last one." And so it was. Having found it, he departed immediately; and soon after I saw him on his way to church. JUNE 23D.--Every day as soon as the first press of business is over, the Secretary comes out of his office and taps me on the shoulder, and invites me to ride with him in quest of a house. We go to those offered for rent; but he cannot be suited. JUNE 24TH.--To-day I was startled by the announcement from Col. Bledsoe that he would resign soon, and that it was his purpose to ask the President to appoint _me_ chief of the bureau in his place. I said I preferred a less conspicuous position--and less labor--but thanked him. He said he had no influence with the Secretary--an incontrovertible fact; and that he thought he should return to the University. While we were speaking, the President's messenger came in with a note to the colonel; I did not learn the purport of it, but it put the colonel in a good humor. He showed me the two first words: "Dear Bledsoe." He said nothing more about resigning. I must get more lucrative employment, or find something for my son to do. The boarding of my family, alone, comes to more than my salary; and the cost of everything is increasing. JUNE 25TH.--More accounts of battles and massacres in Missouri and Kansas. I never thought the Yankees would be permitted to ascend the Missouri River. What has become of the marksmen and deer hunters of Missouri? There has been also a fight at Leesburg, and one near Romney, Va. Blood has been shed in all of them. These are the pattering drops that must inevitably be succeeded by a torrent of blood! JUNE 26TH.--The President revised one of my articles for the press to-day, suggesting some slight modifications, which, perhaps, improved it. It was not a political article; but designed exclusively to advance the cause by inciting the people of Virginia and elsewhere to volunteer _for the war_. Such volunteers are accepted, and ordered into active service at once; whereas six and twelve months' men, unless they furnish their own arms, are not accepted. It is certain the United States intend to raise a grand army, to serve for three years or the war. Short enlistments constituted the bane of Washington's army; and this fact is reiterated a thousand times in his extant letters. There are a great many applications for clerkships in the departments by teachers who have not _followed_ their _pupils_ to the army. Army and naval officers, coming over at this late day, are commissioned in our service. In regard to this matter, the President is supposed to know best. JUNE 27TH.--We have, I think, some 40,000 pretty well armed men in Virginia, sent hither from other States. Virginia has--I know not how many; but she should have at least 40,000 in the field. This will enable us to cope with the Federal army of 70,000 volunteers, and the regular forces they may hurl against us. But so far as this department is aware, Virginia has not yet _two_ regiments in the service for three years, or the war. And here the war will be sure to rage till the end! JUNE 28TH.--We have a flaming comet in the sky. It comes unannounced, and takes a northwestern course. I dreamed last night that I saw a great black ball moving in the heavens, and it obscured the moon. The stars were in motion, visibly, and for a time afforded the only light. Then a brilliant halo illuminated the zenith like the quick-shooting irradiations of the aurora borealis. And men ran in different directions, uttering cries of agony. These cries, I remember distinctly, came from _men_. As I gazed upon the fading and dissolving moon, I thought of the war brought upon us, and the end of the United States Government. My family were near, all of them, and none seemed alarmed or distressed. I experienced no perturbation; but I awoke. I felt curious to prolong the vision, but sleep had fled. I was gratified, however, to be conscious of the fact that in this illusory view of the end of all things sublunary, I endured no pangs of remorse or misgivings of the new existence it seemed we were about to enter upon. JUNE 29TH.--I cannot support my family here, on the salary I receive from the government; and so they leave me in a few days to accept the tendered hospitality of Dr. Custis, of Newbern, N. C., my wife's cousin. JUNE 30TH.--My family engaged packing trunks. They leave immediately. CHAPTER IV. My family in North Carolina.--Volunteers daily rejected.--Gen. Winder appears upon the stage.--Toombs commissioned.--Hunter Secretary of State.--Duel prevented.--Col B. Secretary for a few hours.--Gen. Garnett killed.--Battle of Manassas.--Great excitement.--Col. Bartow. JULY 1ST.--My family are gone. We have moved the department to Mechanics' Hall, which will be known hereafter as the War Department. In an evil hour, I selected a room to write my letters in, quite remote from the Secretary's office. I thought Mr. Walker resented this. He had likewise been piqued at the effect produced by an article I had written on the subject of the difficulty of getting arms from Georgia with the volunteers from that State. One of the spunky Governor's organs had replied with acerbity, not only defending the Governor, but striking at the Secretary himself, to whom the authorship was ascribed. My article had been read and approved by the Secretary before its insertion; nevertheless he now regretted it had been written--not that there was anything improper in it, but that it should have been couched in words that suggested the idea to the Southern editor that the Secretary might be its author. I resolved to meddle with edged tools no more; for I remembered that Gil Blas had done the same thing for the Duke of Lerma. Hereafter I shall study Gil Blas for the express purpose of being his antithesis. But I shall never rise until the day of doom brings us all to our feet again. JULY 2D.--There has been some brilliant fighting by several brothers named Ashby, who led a mounted company near Romney. One of the brothers, Richard, was slain. Turner Ashby put half a dozen Yankees _hors du combat_ with his own arm. He will make a name. We have accounts of an extraordinary exploit of Col. Thomas, of Maryland. Disguised as a French lady, he took passage on the steamer St. Nicholas at Baltimore en route for Washington. During the voyage he threw off his disguise, and in company with his accomplices, seized the steamer. Coming down the Bay, he captured three prizes, and took the whole fleet into Fredericksburg in triumph. Lieut. Minor, C. S. N., participated in this achievement. Gen. Patterson, who conciliated the mob in Philadelphia, which had intended to hang me, seems to be true to his pledge to fight the Southern people. He is now advancing into Virginia at the head of a brigade. JULY 3D.--The Secretary said to me to-day that he desired my young friend, the classical teacher, to assist me in writing letters. I told him I needed assistance, and Mr. Jacques was qualified. Major Tyler's ill health keeps him absent half the time. There was abundance of work for both of us. Mr. J. is an agreeable companion, and omitted no opportunity to oblige me. But he trenches on the major's manor, and can write as long letters as any one. I would never write them, unless the subject-matter demanded it; and so, all the answers marked "full" by the Secretary, when the sum and substance is to be merely an affirmative or a negative, will fall to my co-laborer's share. JULY 4TH.--These simple things provoked some remarks from the young gentlemen in the department, and gave rise to predictions that he would soon supplant us all in the affections of the Secretary. And he is nimble of foot too, and enters the Secretary's room twice to Col. B.'s or Major T.'s once. I go not thither unless sent for; for in a cause like this, personal advancement, when it involves catering to the caprices of functionaries dressed in a little brief authority, should be spurned with contempt. But Col. Bledsoe is shocked, and renews his threats of resignation. Major Tyler is eager to abandon the pen for the sword; but Congress has not acted on his nomination; and the West Pointers, many of them indebted to his father for their present positions, are inimical to his confirmation. JULY 5TH.--We have news of a fight at Gainesville between Gen. Patterson and Col. Jackson; the latter, being opposed by overwhelming numbers, fell back after punishing the Philadelphia general so severely that he will not be likely to have any more stomach for fighting during the remainder of the campaign. JULY 6TH.--Col. Bledsoe complains that the Secretary still has quite as little intercourse with him, personal and official, as possible. The consequence is that the Chief of the Bureau is drawing a fine salary and performing no service. Still, it is not without the sweat of his brow, and many groans. JULY 7TH.--Major Tyler's health has improved, but I do not perceive a resumption of his old intimate relations with the Secretary. Yet he is doing the heavy epistolary work, being a lawyer; and the correspondence sometimes embracing diverse legal points. My intimacy with the colonel continues. It seems he would do anything in the world for me. He has put Mr. Shepherd to issuing passports to the camps, etc.--the form being dictated by the Secretary. These are the first passports issued by the government. I suggested that they should be granted by and in the name of the Chief of the Bureau of War--and a few were so issued--but the Secretary arrested the proceeding. The Secretary was right, probably, in this matter. The President is appointing generals enough, one would suppose. I hope we shall have men for them. From five to ten thousand volunteers are daily offered--but not two thousand are accepted. Some have no arms; and others propose to serve only for six or twelve months. Infantry will not fight with hunting rifles or shot-guns; and the department will not accept mounted men, on account of the expense of transportation, etc. Oh, that I had power but for a week! There should then be accepted fifty regiments of cavalry. These are the troops for quick marches, surprises, and captures. And our people, even down to the little boys, are expert riders. If it were to be a short war--or if it were to be a war of invasion on our part--it might be good policy, economically, to discourage cavalry organizations. But we shall want all our men; and many a man would fight in the saddle who could not or would not march in the infantry. And mounted men are content to use the double-barreled shot-gun--one barrel for ball, the other for buck-shot and close quarters. JULY 8TH.--There is a stout gray-haired old man here from Maryland applying to be made a general. It is Major J. H. Winder, a graduate of West Point, I believe; and I think he will be successful. He is the son, I believe, of the Gen. Winder whose command in the last war with England unfortunately permitted the City of Washington to fall into the hands of the enemy. I have almost a superstitious faith in _lucky_ generals, and a corresponding prejudice against unlucky ones, and their progeny. But I cannot suppose the President will order this general into the field. He may take the prisoners into his custody--and do other jobs as a sort of head of military police; and this is what I learn he proposes. And the French Prince, Polignac, has been made a colonel; and a great nephew of Kosciusko has been commissioned a lieutenant in the regular army. Well, Washington had his Lafayette--and I like the nativity of these officers better than that of the Northern men, still applying for commissions. JULY 9TH.--Mr. Toombs is to be a brigadier-general. That is what I looked for. The two brothers Cobb are to be colonels; and Orr is to have a regiment. Mr. Hunter succeeds Toombs in the State Department--and that disposes of him, if he will stay there. It is to be an obscure place; and if he were indolent, without ambition, it would be the very place for him. Wise is done for. He has had several fights, always drawing blood; but when he gets ready to make a great fight, he is ordered back for fear of his "rashness." Exacting obedience in his own subordinates, of course he will obey the orders of Adjt.-Gen. Cooper. In this manner I apprehend that the three giants of Virginia, Wise, Hunter, and Floyd, will be neutralized and dwarfed at the behest of West Point. Napoleon's marshals were privates once--ours--but perhaps West Point may be killed off in the end, since they rush in so eagerly at the beginning of the war. JULY 10TH.--There are indications of military operations on a large scale on the Potomac. We have intelligence that McDowell is making preparations to advance against our forces at Manassas. Gen. Johnston is expected to be there in time; and for that purpose is manoeuvring Gen. Patterson out of the way. Our men have _caps_ now--and will be found in readiness. They have short-commons under the Commissary Department; but even with empty stomachs, they can beat the Yankees at the ordeal of dying. Fighting is a sport our men always have an appetite for. JULY 11TH.--The colonel tried his hand to-day at dictating answers to certain letters. Together we pitched upon the proper replies, which, after being marked with his pencil, I elaborated with the pen. These were first approved by the Secretary, then signed by the Chief of the Bureau, and copied by Mr. Scott. To-day the colonel essayed a flight with his own plumage. I followed his dictation substantially in the answers. But the moment the Secretary's eyes rested upon them, they were promptly _reversed_. The Secretary himself, suspecting how it was, indeed he saw the colonel's pencil marks, brought them to me, while a humorous smile played upon his usually not very expressive lip. When the colonel came in, and beheld what had been done, he groaned, and requested me to write the proper answers. From that day he ceased to have anything more to do with the correspondence than to sign his name to the letters I prepared for him. He remarked to-day that if he was to have nothing to do, he would do nothing. JULY 12TH.--The colonel's temper is as variable as an April day--now all smiles and sunshine, but by-and-by a cloud takes all away. He becomes impatient with a long-winded story, told by some business applicant--and _storms_ whenever any one asks him if the Secretary is in. To-day, for the first time, I detected a smile on the lip of Col. Myers, the Quartermaster-General, as he passed through the office. A moment after, Gen. Walker, of Georgia, came in, and addressed the colonel thus: "Is the Secretary in?" _Col._ (_with a stare_). I don't know. _Gen. W._ (returning the stare). Could you not ascertain for me? I have important business with him; and am here by appointment. _Col. B._ You can ascertain for yourself. I am not his door-keeper. There is his door. _Gen. W._ (after a moment's reflection). I asked you a civil question in a courteous manner, and have not deserved this harshness, and will not submit to it. _Col. B._ It is not courteous to presume I am acting in the capacity of a messenger or door-keeper. Just then the Secretary appeared at the door, having heard the loud language, and Gen. W. immediately entered his office. Afterward the colonel fumed and fretted like an angry volcano. He disliked Col. Myers, and believed he had sent the general in under prompting to annoy him about the Secretary, whom he (Myers) really hated. JULY 13TH.--The Secretary made peace yesterday between the general and the colonel, or a duel might have transpired. To-day the colonel carried into the Secretary a number of applications for commissions as surgeons. Among the applicants were some of the colonel's friends. He returned soon after in a rage, slamming the door after him, and then throwing down the papers violently on the floor. He picked them up the next moment, however, and sitting down beside me, became instantaneously as gentle as a dove. He said the men of science were thrust aside to give way to quacks; but, laughing, he remarked that the quacks would do well enough for the wounded ----. _Our_ men would have too much sense to submit to their malpractice. JULY 14TH.--The Secretary is sick again. He has been recommended by his physician to spend some days in the country; and to-morrow he will leave with his family. What will be the consequence? JULY 15TH.--Early this morning, Major Tyler was seated in the Secretary's chair, prepared to receive the visitors. This, I suppose, was of course in pursuance of the Secretary's request; and accordingly the door-keeper ushered in the people. But not long after Col. Bledsoe arrived, and exhibited to me an order from the President for him to act as Secretary of War _pro tem_. The colonel was in high spirits, and full dress; and seemed in no measure piqued at Major Tyler for occupying the Secretary's chair. The Secretary must have been aware that the colonel was to _act_ during his absence--but, probably, supposed it proper that the major, from his suavity of manners, was best qualified for the reception of the visitors. He had been longer in the department, and was more familiar with the routine of business. Yet the colonel was not satisfied; and accordingly requested me to intimate the fact to Major Tyler, of which, it seemed, he had no previous information, that the President had appointed Col. Bledsoe to act as Secretary of War during the absence of Mr. Walker. The major retired from the office immediately, relinquishing his post with grace. JULY 16TH.--The Secretary was back again this evening. He could not procure comfortable quarters in the country. He seemed vexed, but from what cause, I did not learn. The colonel, however, had _rushed the appointments_. He was determined to be _quick_, because Mr. W. was known to be slow and hesitating. JULY 17TH.--The news is not so good to-day. Gen. Garnett's small command has been defeated by the superior numbers of Gen. McClellan. But the general himself was killed, fighting in the rear of his retreating men. His example will not be without its effect. Our generals will resolve never to survive a defeat. This will embolden the enemy to attack us at Manassas, where their suddenly acquired confidence will be snuffed out, or I am mistaken. JULY 18TH.--The major is sick again, and Jacques is away; therefore I have too much work, and the colonel groans for me. He is proud of the appointments he made with such rapidity, and has been complimented. And in truth there is no reason why the thousands of applications should not be acted on promptly; and there are many against delay. A large army must be organized immediately, and it will be necessary to appoint thousands of field and staff officers--unless all the governors are permitted to do as Gov. Brown desires to do. The Secretary is in better health, and quite condescending. My work pleases him; and I shouldn't be astonished if he resented the sudden absence of Mr. Jacques. But he should consider that Mr. J. is only an amateur clerk getting no pay, rich, and independent of the government. JULY 19TH.--We had fighting yesterday in earnest, at Bull Run! Several brigades were engaged, and the enemy were repulsed with the loss of several hundred left dead and wounded on the field. That _was_ fighting, and we shall soon have more of it. Brig.-Gen. Holmes, my friend and fellow-fugitive, now stationed near Fredericksburg, has been ordered by Gen. Beauregard to be ready to march at an hour's notice. And Col. Northrop's chin and nose have become suddenly sharper. He is to send up fighting rations for three days, and discerns the approach of sanguinary events. Mr. Hunter calls every evening, just as the dusky shades of eve descend, to inquire if we have any news. JULY 20TH.--The Secretary works too much--or rather does not economize his labor. He procrastinates final action; and hence his work, never being disposed of, is always increasing in volume. _Why_ does he procrastinate? Can it be that his hesitation is caused by the advice of the President, in his great solicitude to make the best appointments? We have talent enough in the South to officer millions of men. Mr. Walker is a man of capacity, and has a most extraordinary recollection of details. But I fear his nerves are too finely strung for the official treadmill. I heard him say yesterday, with a sigh, that no _gentleman_ can be fit for office. Well, Mr. Walker _is_ a gentleman by education and instincts; and is fastidiously tenacious of what is due a gentleman. Will his official life be a long one? I know one thing--there are several aspiring dignitaries waiting impatiently for his shoes. But those who expect to reach the Presidency by a successful administration of any of the departments, or by the bestowal of patronage, are laboring under an egregious error. None but generals will get the Imperial purple for the next twenty years--if indeed the prematurely made "_permanent_" government should be permanent. JULY 21ST.--The President left the city this morning for Manassas, and we look for a battle immediately. I have always thought he would avail himself of his prerogative as commander-in-chief, and direct in person the most important operations in the field; and, indeed, I have always supposed he was selected to be the Chief of the Confederacy, mainly with a view to this object, as it was generally believed he possessed military genius of a high order. In revolutions like the present, the chief executive occupies a most perilous and precarious position, if he be not a military chieftain, and present on every battle-field of great magnitude. I have faith in President Davis, and believe he will gain great glory in this first mighty conflict. Early in the evening Secretary Walker returned from tea in great excitement. He strode to and fro in the room where we were sitting, d----g his office. He said a great battle was then going on, and he wished himself present participating in its perils. Again he denounced the office he filled--and seemed, for a time, almost frantic with anxiety. He said all young men ought to be in the field, and this was understood by those present, who had merely shouldered their pens. Before long the hall of the department was filled with people eager to hear the news; and as successive dispatches were received, the excitement increased. All the cabinet were in our office; and Hon. Howell Cobb, President of Congress, making deductions from the dispatches, announced his belief that it was a drawn battle. This moved the wrath of Col. Bledsoe, and he denounced Cobb. Mr. Hunter did nothing but listen. It was night, now. Finally, Mr. Benjamin, who had gone to the Spottswood Hotel, where Mrs. Davis resided, returned with news that stopped every detracting tongue. Mrs. D. had just got a dispatch from the President announcing a dearly-bought but glorious victory. Some of the editors of the papers being present, and applying to me for a copy of the dispatch, Mr. Benjamin said he could repeat it from memory, which he did, and I wrote it down for the press. Then joy ruled the hour! The city seemed lifted up, and every one appeared to walk on air. Mr. Hunter's face grew shorter; Mr. Reagan's eyes subsided into their natural size; and Mr. Benjamin's glowed something like Daniel Webster's after taking a pint of brandy. The men in place felt that now they held their offices for life, as the _permanent_ government would soon be ratified by the people, and that the Rubicon had been passed in earnest. We had gained a great victory; and no doubt existed that it would be followed up the next day. If so, the Federal city would inevitably fall into our hands; and this would soon be followed by the expulsion of the enemy from Southern soil. All men seemed to think that the tide of war would roll from that day northward into the enemy's country, until we should win a glorious peace. JULY 22D.--Both Col. B. and I were in a passion this morning upon finding that the papers had published a dispatch from their own agent at Manassas, stating that the President did not arrive upon the field until the victory was won; and therefore did not participate in the battle at all. From the President's own dispatch, and other circumstances, we had conceived the idea that he was not only present, but had directed the principal operations in the field. The colonel intimated that another paper ought to be established in Richmond, that would do justice to the President; and it was conjectured by some that a scheme was on foot to elect some other man to the Presidency of the permanent government in the autumn. Nevertheless, we learned soon after that the abused correspondent had been pretty nearly correct in his statement. The battle had been won, and the enemy were flying from the field before the President appeared upon it. It had been won by Beauregard, who, however, was materially assisted by his superior in command, Gen. Joseph E. Johnston. Gen. J. remained in the rear, and brought up the reinforcements which gained the day. Beauregard is, to-day, the most popular general in the service. Besides some 500 prisoners, the enemy, it is said, had 4500 killed and wounded. The casualties would have been much greater, if the enemy had not broken and fled. We lost some 2000 men, killed and wounded. The President returned to-day and made a speech at the Spottswood Hotel, wherein he uttered the famous words: "Never be haughty to the humble, or humble to the haughty." And he said that no doubt the Confederate flag then floated over Fairfax C. H., and would soon be raised at Alexandria, etc. etc. Never heard I more hearty cheering. Every one believed our banners would wave in the streets of Washington in a few days; that the enemy would be expelled from the District and from Maryland, and that a peace would be consummated on the banks of the Susquehanna or the Schuylkill. The President had pledged himself, on one occasion, to carry the war into the enemy's country, if they would not let us go in peace. Now, in that belief, the people were well pleased with their President. JULY 23D.--Jacques is back and as busy as a bee; and, in truth, there is work enough for all. JULY 24TH.--Yesterday we received a letter from Col. Bartow, written just before the battle (in which he fell, his letter being received after the announcement of his death), urging the appointment of his gallant young friend Lamar to a lieutenancy. I noted these facts on the back of his letter, with the Secretary's approbation, and also that the request had been granted, and placed the letter, perhaps the last he ever wrote, in the archives for preservation. JULY 25TH.--Bartow's body has arrived, and lies in state at the Capitol. Among the chief mourners was his young friend Barton, who loved him as a son loves his father. From Lamar I learned some interesting particulars of the battle. He said when Bartow's horse was killed, he, Lamar, was sent to another part of the field for another, and also to order up certain regiments, Bartow then being in command of a brigade. Lamar galloped through a hot cross-fire to the regiments and delivered the order, but got no horse. He galloped back, however, through the terrible fire, with the intention of giving his own horse to Bartow, if none other could be had. On his return he encountered Col. Jones, of the 4th Alabama, wounded, his arms being around the necks of two friends, who were endeavoring to support him in a standing attitude. One of these called to Lamar, and asked for his horse, hoping that Col. Jones might be able to ride (his thigh-bone was terribly shattered), and thus get off the field. Lamar paused, and promised as soon as he could report to Bartow he would return with that or another horse. Col. Jones thanked him kindly, but cautioned him against any neglect of Bartow's orders, saying he probably could not ride. Lamar promised to return immediately; and putting spurs to his noble steed, started off in a gallop. He had not gone fifty yards before his horse fell, throwing him over his head. He saw that the noble animal had been pierced by as many as eight balls, from a single volley. He paused a moment and turned away, when the poor horse endeavored to rise and follow, but could not. He returned and patted the groaning and tearful steed on his neck; and, while doing this, _five more_ balls struck him, and he died instantly. Lamar then proceeded on foot through a storm of bullets, and, untouched, rejoined Bartow in time to witness his fall. Our prisons are filled with Yankees, and Brig.-Gen. Winder has employment. There is a great pressure for passports to visit the battle-field. At my suggestion, all physicians taking amputating instruments, and relatives of the wounded and slain, have been permitted by the Secretary to go thither. JULY 26TH.--Many amusing scenes occur daily between the Chief of the Bureau and applicants for passports. Those not included specially in the Secretary's instructions, are referred to the Chief of the Bureau; and Col. Bledsoe cannot bear importunity. Sometimes he becomes so very boisterous that the poor applicants are frightened out of the office. JULY 27TH.--A large number of new arrivals are announced from the North. Clerks resigned at Washington, and embryo heroes having military educations, are presenting themselves daily, and applying for positions here. They represent the panic in the North as awful, and ours is decidedly the winning side. These gentry somehow succeed in getting appointments. Our army _does not advance_. It is said both Beauregard and Johnston are anxious to cross the Potomac; but what is _said_ is not always true. The capabilities of our army to cross the Potomac are not known; and the policy of doing so if it were practicable, is to be determined by the responsible authority. Of one thing I am convinced: the North, so far from desisting from the execution of its settled purpose, even under this disagreeable reverse, will be stimulated to renewed preparations on a scale of greater magnitude than ever. JULY 28TH.--We have taken two prisoners in civilian's dress, Harris and ----, on the field, who came over from Washington in quest of the remains of Col. Cameron, brother of the Yankee Secretary of War. They claim a release on the ground that they are non-combatants, but admit they were sent to the field by the Yankee Secretary. Mr. Benjamin came to the department last night with a message for Secretary Walker, on the subject. The Secretary being absent, he left it with me to deliver. It was that the prisoners were not to be liberated without the concurrence of the President. There was no danger of Secretary Walker releasing them; for I had heard him say the authorities might have obtained the remains, if they had sent a flag of truce. Disdaining to condescend thus far toward a recognition of us as belligerents, they abandoned their dead and wounded; and he, Walker, would see the prisoners, thus surreptitiously sent on the field, in a very hot place before he would sign an order for their release. I was gratified to see Mr. Benjamin so zealous in the matter. JULY 29TH.--To-day quite a number of our wounded men on crutches, and with arms in splints, made their appearance in the streets, and created a sensation. A year hence, and we shall be accustomed to such spectacles. JULY 30TH.--Nothing of importance to-day. JULY 31ST.--Nothing worthy of note. CHAPTER V. My son Custis appointed clerk in the War Department.--N. Y. Herald contains a pretty correct army list of the C. S.--Appearance of "Plug Uglies."--President's rupture with Beauregard.--President sick.-- Alien enemies ordered away.--Brief interview with the President.-- "Immediate."--Large numbers of cavalry offering.--Great preparations in the North. AUGUST 1ST.--Col. Bledsoe again threatens to resign, and again declares he will get the President to appoint me to his place. It would not suit me. AUGUST 2D.--After some brilliant and successful fights, we have a dispatch to-day stating that Gen. Wise has fallen back in Western Virginia, obeying peremptory orders. AUGUST 3D.--Conversed with some Yankees to-day who are to be released to-morrow. It appears that when young Lamar lost his horse on the plains of Manassas, the 4th Alabama Regiment had to fall back a few hundred yards, and it was impossible to bear Col. Jones, wounded, from the field, as he was large and unwieldy. When the enemy came up, some half dozen of their men volunteered to convey him to a house in the vicinity. They were permitted to do this, and to remain with him as a guard. Soon after our line advanced, and with such impetuosity as to sweep everything before it. Col. Jones was rescued, and his guard made prisoners. But, for their attention to him, he asked their release, which was granted. They say their curiosity to see a battle-field has been gratified, and they shall be contented to remain at home in safety hereafter. They regarded us as rebels, and believed us divided among ourselves. If this should be true, the rebellion would yet be crushed; but if we were unanimous and continued to fight as we did at Manassas, it would be revolution, and our independence must some day be acknowledged by the United States. But, they say, a great many Northern men remain to be gratified as they had been; and the war will be a terrible one before they can be convinced that a reduction of the rebellion is not a practicable thing. AUGUST 4TH.--To-day Mr. Walker inquired where my son Custis was. I told him he was with his mother at Newbern, N. C. He authorized me to telegraph him to return, and he should be appointed to a clerkship. AUGUST 5TH.--Col. Bledsoe has a job directly from the President: which is to adapt the volume of U. S. Army Regulations to the service of the Confederate States. It is only to strike out U. S. and insert C. S., and yet the colonel groans over it. AUGUST 6TH.--Custis arrived and entered upon the discharge of his duties. AUGUST 7TH.--Saw Col. Pendleton to-day, but it was not the first time. I have seen him in the pulpit, and heard him preach good sermons. He is an Episcopal minister. He it was that plowed such destruction through the ranks of the invaders at Manassas. At first the battery did no execution; perceiving this, he sighted the guns himself and fixed the range. Then exclaiming, "Fire, boys! and may God have mercy on their guilty souls!" he beheld the lanes made through the regiments of the enemy. Since then he has been made a colonel, and will some day be a general; for he was a fellow-cadet at West Point with the President and Bishop Polk. A tremendous excitement! The New York _Herald_ has been received, containing a pretty accurate list of our military forces in the different camps of the Confederate States, with names and grades of the general officers. The Secretary told me that if he had required such a list, a more correct one could not have been furnished him. Who is the traitor? Is he in the Adjutant-General's office? Many suppose so; and some accuse Gen. Cooper, simply because he is a Northern man by birth. But the same information might be supplied by the Quartermaster's or Commissary-General's office; and perhaps by the Ordnance Bureau; for all these must necessarily be in communication with the different organizations in the field. Congress was about to order an investigation; but it is understood the department suggested that the matter could be best searched into by the Executive. For my part, I have no doubt there are many Federal spies in the departments. Too many clerks were imported from Washington. And yet I doubt if any one in a subordinate position, without assistance from higher authority, could have prepared the list published in the _Herald_. AUGUST 8TH.--For some time past (but since the battle at Manassas) quite a number of Northern and Baltimore policemen have made their appearance in Richmond. Some of these, if not indeed all of them, have been employed by Gen. Winder. These men, by their own confessions, have been heretofore in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, merely petty larceny detectives, dwelling in bar-rooms, ten-pin alleys, and such places. How can they detect political offenders, when they are too ignorant to comprehend what constitutes a political offense? They are illiterate men, of low instincts and desperate characters. But their low cunning will serve them here among unsuspecting men. They will, if necessary, give information to the enemy themselves, for the purpose of convincing the authorities that a detective police is indispensable; and it is probable a number of them will be, all the time, on the pay-rolls of Lincoln. AUGUST 9TH.--Gen. Magruder commands on the Peninsula. President Tyler had a villa near Hampton, which the Yankees despoiled in a barbarous manner. They cut his carpets, defaced the pictures, broke the statues, and made kindling wood of the piano, sofas, etc. AUGUST 10TH.--Mr. Benjamin is a frequent visitor at the department, and is very sociable: some intimations have been thrown out that he aspires to become, some day, Secretary of War. Mr. Benjamin, unquestionably, will have great influence with the President, for he has studied his character most carefully. He will be familiar not only with his "likes," but especially with his "dislikes." It is said the means used by Mr. Blair to hold Gen. Jackson, consisted not so much in a facility of attaching strong men to him as his friends, but in aiming fatal blows at the great leaders who had incurred the enmity of the President. Thus Calhoun was incessantly pursued. AUGUST 11TH.--There is a whisper that something like a rupture has occurred between the President and Gen. Beauregard; and I am amazed to learn that Mr. Benjamin is inimical to Gen. B. I know nothing of the foundation for the report; but it is said that Beauregard was eager to pass with his army into Maryland, immediately after the battle, and was prevented. It is now quite apparent, from developments, that a small force would have sufficed to take Washington, a few days or weeks after the battle. But was Beauregard aware of the fact, before the opportunity ceased to exist? It is too late now! AUGUST 12TH.--There is trouble with Mr. Tochman, who was authorized to raise a regiment or so of foreigners in Louisiana. These troops were called (by whom?) the Polish Brigade, though, perhaps, not one hundred Polanders were on the muster-rolls; Major Tochman being styled _General_ Tochman by "everybody," he has intimated to the President his expectation of being commissioned a brigadier. The President, on his part, has promptly and emphatically, as is sometimes _his_ wont, declared his purpose to give him no such commission. He never, for a moment, thought of making him more than a colonel. To this the major demurs, and furnishes a voluminous correspondence to prove that his claims for the position of brigadier-general had been recognized by the Secretary of War. AUGUST 13TH.--The President sent to the department an interesting letter from Mr. Zollicoffer, in Tennessee, relating to the exposed condition of the country, and its capacities for defense. AUGUST 14TH.--Zollicoffer has been appointed a brigadier-general; and although not a military man by education, I think he will make a good officer. AUGUST 15TH.--No clew yet to the spies in office who furnish the Northern press with information. The matter will pass uninvestigated. Such is our indifference to everything but desperate fighting. The enemy will make good use of this species of information. AUGUST 16TH.--The President is sick, and goes to the country. I did not know until to-day that he is blind of an eye. I think an operation was performed once in Washington. AUGUST 17TH.--Some apprehension is felt concerning the President's health. If he were to die, what would be the consequences? I should stand by the Vice-President, of course, because "it is so nominated in the bond," and because I think he would make as efficient an Executive as any other man in the Confederacy. But others think differently; and there might be trouble. The President has issued a proclamation, in pursuance of the act of Congress passed on the 8th instant, commanding all alien enemies to leave in forty days; and the Secretary of War has indicated Nashville as the place of exit. This produces but little excitement, except among the Jews, some of whom are converting their effects into gold and departing. Col. Bledsoe's ankles are much too weak for his weighty body, but he can shuffle along quite briskly when in pursuit of a refractory clerk; and when he catches him, if he resists, the colonel is sure to leave him. AUGUST 18TH.--Nothing worthy of note. AUGUST 19TH.--The Secretary has gone to Orange C. H., to see Col. Jones, of the 4th Alabama, wounded at Manassas, and now in a dying condition. Meeting with Mr. Benjamin this morning, near the Secretary's door, I asked him if he did not think some one should act as Secretary during Mr. Walker's absence. He replied quickly, and with interest, in the affirmative. There was much pressing business every hour; and it was uncertain when the Secretary would return. I asked him if he would not speak to the President on the subject. He assented; but, hesitating a moment, said he thought it would be better for me to see him. I reminded him of my uniform reluctance to approach the Chief Executive, and he smiled. He then urged me to go to the presidential mansion, and in his, Mr. B.'s name, request the President to appoint a Secretary _ad interim_. I did so, for the President was in the city that day, and fast recovering from his recent attack of ague. Arrived at the mansion in Clay Street, I asked the servant if I could see the President. He did not know me, and asked my name, saying the President had not yet left his chamber. I wrote my business on a card with a pencil, not omitting to use the name of Mr. Benjamin, and sent it up. A moment after the President came down, shook hands with me, and, in his quick and rather pettish manner, said "send me the order." I retired immediately, and finding Mr. Benjamin still in the hall of the department, informed him of my success. Then, in conformity with his suggestion, I repaired to Adjutant-General Cooper, who wrote the order that A. T. Bledsoe discharge the duties of Secretary of War during the absence of Mr. Walker. This I sent by a messenger to the President, who signed it. Then I informed Col. Bledsoe of what had been done, and he proceeded without delay to the Secretary's office. It was not long before I perceived the part Mr. Benjamin and I had acted was likely to breed a storm; for several of the employees, supposed to be in the confidence of Mr. Walker, designated the proceeding as an "outrage;" and some went so far as to intimate that Mr. Benjamin's motive was to have some of his partisans appointed to lucrative places in the army during the absence of the Secretary. I know not how that was; but I am sure I had no thought but for the public service. The Secretary _ad in._ made but few appointments this time, and performed the functions quietly and with all the dignity of which he was capable. AUGUST 20TH.--Secretary Walker returned last night, having heard of the death of Col. Jones before reaching his destination. I doubt whether the Secretary would have thought a second time of what had been done in his absence, if some of his friends had not fixed his attention upon it. He shut himself up pretty closely, and none of us could see or hear whether he was angry. But calling me into his room in the afternoon to write a dispatch which he dictated, I saw, lying on his table, an envelope directed in his own hand to the President. Hints had been circulated by some that it was his purpose to resign. Could this communication be his resignation? It was placed so conspicuously before me where I sat that it was impossible not to see it. It was marked, too, "_immediate_." AUGUST 21ST.--Called in again by the Secretary to-day, I find the ominous communication to the President still there, although marked "_immediate_." And there are no indications of Mr. Walker's quitting office that I can see. AUGUST 22D.--"_Immediate_" is still there; but the Secretary has not yet been to the council board, though yesterday was cabinet day. Yet the President sends Capt. Josselyn regularly with the papers referred to the Secretary. These are always given to me, and after they are "briefed," delivered to the Secretary. Among these I see some pretty _sharp_ pencil marks. Among the rest, the whole batch of Tochman papers being returned unread, with the injunction that "when papers of such volume are sent to him for perusal, it is the business of the Secretary to see that a brief abstract of their contents accompany them." AUGUST 23D.--No arms yet of any amount from Europe; though our agent writes that he has a number of manufactories at work. The U. S. agent has engaged the rest. All the world seems to be in the market buying arms. Mr. Dayton, U. S. Minister in Paris, has bought 30,000 flint-locks in France; and our agent wants authority to buy some too. He says the French statisticians allege that no greater mortality in battle occurs from the use of the percussion and the rifled musket than from the old smooth-bore flint-lock musket. This may be owing to the fact that a shorter range is sought with the latter. AUGUST 24TH.--We are resting on our oars after the victory at Manassas, while the enemy is drilling and equipping 500,000 or 600,000 men. I hope we may not soon be floating down stream! We know the enemy is, besides, building iron-clad steamers--and yet we are not even erecting casemate batteries! We are losing precious time, and, perhaps, the government is saving money! AUGUST 25TH.---I believe the Secretary will resign; but "_immediate_" still lies on his table. News of a battle near Springfield, Mo. McCulloch and Price defeat the Federals, killing and wounding thousands. Gen. Lyon killed. AUGUST 26TH.--What a number of cavalry companies are daily tendered in the letters received at this department. Almost invariably they are refused; and really it is painful to me to write these letters. This government must be aware, from the statistics of the census, that the South has quite as many horses as the North, and twice as many good riders. But for infantry, the North can put three men in the field to our one. Ten thousand mounted men, on the border of the enemy's country, would be equal to 30,000 of the enemy's infantry; not in combat; but that number would be required to watch and guard against the inroads of 10,000 cavalry. It seems to me that we are declining the only proper means of equalizing the war. But it is my duty to obey, and not to deliberate. AUGUST 27TH.--We have news of a fight at Hawk's Nest, Western Virginia. Wise whipped the Yankees there quite handsomely. AUGUST 28TH.--Beauregard offers battle again on the plains of Manassas; but it is declined by the enemy, who retire behind their fortifications. Our banners are advanced to Munson's Hill, in sight of Washington. The Northern President and his cabinet may see our army, with good glasses, from the roof of the White House. It is said they sleep in their boots; and that some of them leave the city every night, for fear of being captured before morning. Generals Johnston, Wise, and Floyd are sending here, daily, the Union traitors they discover to be in communication with the enemy. We have a Yankee member of Congress, Ely, taken at Manassas; he rode out to witness the sport of killing rebels as terriers kill rats, but was caught in the trap himself. He says his people were badly whipped; and he hopes they will give up the job of subjugation as a speculation that won't pay. Most of the prisoners speak thus while in confinement. AUGUST 29TH.--We have intelligence from the North that immense preparations are being made for our destruction; and some of our people begin to say, that inasmuch as we did not follow up the victory at Manassas, it was worse than a barren one, having only _exasperated_ the enemy, and stimulated the Abolitionists to renewed efforts. I suppose these critics would have us forbear to injure the invader, for fear of maddening him. _They_ are making this war; _we_ must make it _terrible_. With them war is a _new thing_, and they will not cease from it till the novelty wears off, and all their fighting men are sated with blood and bullets. It must run its course, like the measles. We must both bleed them and deplete their pockets. AUGUST 30TH.--Gen. Floyd has had a fight in the West, and defeated an Ohio regiment. I trust they were of the Puritan stock, and not the descendants of Virginians. AUGUST 31ST.--We have bad news to-day. My wife and children are the bearers of it. They returned to the city with the tidings that all the women and children were ordered to leave Newbern. The enemy have attacked and taken Fort Hatteras, making many prisoners, and threaten Newbern next. This is the second time my family have been compelled to fly. But they are well. CHAPTER VI. Four hundred thousand troops to be raised.--Want of arms.--Yankees offer to sell them to us.--Walker resigns.--Benjamin succeeds.--Col. J. A. Washington killed.--Assigned, temporarily, to the head of the passport office. SEPTEMBER 1ST.--The press and congressional critics are opening their batteries on the Secretary of War, for _incompetency_. He is not to blame. A month ago, Capt. Lee, son of the general, and a good engineer, was sent to the coast of North Carolina to inspect the defenses. His report was well executed; and the recommendations therein attended to with all possible expedition. It is now asserted that the garrison was deficient in ammunition. This was not the case. The position was simply not tenable under the fire of the U. S. ships of war. SEPTEMBER 2D.--I voluntarily hunted up Capt. Lee's report, and prepared an article for the press based on its statements. SEPTEMBER 3D.--My article on the defenses of North Carolina seems to have silenced the censures of the cavilers. SEPTEMBER 4TH.--J. R. Anderson, proprietor of the iron-works here, has been appointed brigadier-general by the President. He, too, was a West Pointer; but does not look like a military genius. He is assigned to duty on the coast of North Carolina. SEPTEMBER 5TH.--Our Congress has authorized the raising and organizing of four hundred regiments. The Yankee Congress, 500,000 men. The enemy will get theirs first; and it is said that between 600,000 and 700,000, for three years or the war, have already been accepted by the U. S. Government. Their papers boast that nearly a million volunteers were tendered. This means mischief. How many will rush forward a year hence to volunteer their services on the plains of the South? Full many ensanguined plains will greet the horrific vision before this time next year; and many a venal wretch coming to possess our land, will occupy till the day of final doom a tract of six feet by two in some desolate and unfrequented swamp. The toad will croak his requiem, and the viper will coil beneath the thistle growing over his head. SEPTEMBER 6TH.--We are not increasing our forces as rapidly as might be desired, for the want of arms. We had some 150,000 stand of small arms, at the beginning of the war, taken from the arsenals; and the States owned probably 100,000 more. Half of these were flint-locks, which are being altered. None have been imported yet. Occasionally a letter reaches the department from Nashville, offering improved arms at a high price, _for gold_. These are Yankees. I am instructed by the Secretary to say they will be paid for in gold on delivery to an agent in Nashville. The number likely to be obtained in this manner, however, must be small; for the Yankee Government is exercising much vigilance. Is not this a fair specimen of Yankee cupidity and character? The New England manufacturers are furnishing us, with whom they are at war, with arms to fight with, provided we agree to pay them a higher price than is offered by their own Government! The philosophical conclusion is, that this war will end when it ceases to be a pecuniary speculation. SEPTEMBER 7TH.--The Jews are at work. Having no nationality, all wars are harvests for them. It has been so from the day of their dispersion. Now they are scouring the country in all directions, buying all the goods they can find in the distant cities, and even from the country stores. These they will _keep_, until the process of consumption shall raise a greedy demand for all descriptions of merchandise. Col. Bledsoe _has resigned_, but says nothing now about getting me appointed in his place. That matter rests with the President, and I shall not be an applicant. SEPTEMBER 8TH.--Major Tyler has been appointed _acting_ Chief of the Bureau of War. SEPTEMBER 9TH.--Matters in _statu quo_, and Major Tyler still acting chief of the bureau. SEPTEMBER 10TH.--Col. Bledsoe is back again! He says the President refuses to accept his resignation; and tells me in confidence, not to be revealed for a few days, that Mr. Walker has tendered his resignation, _and that it will be accepted_. SEPTEMBER 11TH.--The colonel enjoys a joke. He whispered me to-day, as he beheld Major Tyler doing the honors of his office, that I might just hint at the possibility of his resumption soon of the functions of chief of the bureau. But he said he wanted a few days holiday. SEPTEMBER 12TH.--Gen. Pillow has advanced, and occupied Columbus, Ky. He was ordered, by telegraph, to abandon the town and return to his former position. Then the order was countermanded, and he remains. The authorities have learned that the enemy occupies Paducah. SEPTEMBER 13TH.--The Secretary, after writing and tendering his resignation, appointed my young friend Jaques a special clerk with $2000 salary. This was allowed by a recent act. SEPTEMBER 14TH.--Some of Mr. Walker's clerks must know that he intends giving up the seals of office soon, for they are engaged day and night, and all night, _copying_ the entire letter-book, which is itself but a copy of the letters I and others have written, with Mr. Walker's name appended to them. Long may they be a monument of his epistolary administrative ability, and profound statesmanship! SEPTEMBER 15TH.--And, just as I expected, Mr. Benjamin is to be Mr. Walker's successor. Col. Bledsoe is back again; and it devolved on me to inform Major Tyler that the _old_ chief of the bureau was now the _new_ chief. Of course he resigned the seals of office with the grace and courtesy of which he is so capable. And then he informed me (in confidence) that the Secretary had resigned, and would be appointed a brigadier-general in the army of the Southwest; and that he would accompany him as his adjutant-general. SEPTEMBER 16TH.--Mr. Benjamin's hitherto perennial smile faded almost away as he realized the fact that he was now the most important member of the cabinet. He well knew how arduous the duties were; but then he was robust in health, and capable of any amount of labor. It seems, after all, that Mr. Benjamin is only _acting_ Secretary of War, until the President can fix upon another. Can that be the reason his smile has faded almost away? But the President will appoint him. Mr. Benjamin will please him; he knows how to do it. SEPTEMBER 17TH.--A man from Washington came into my office to-day, saying he had important information from Washington. I went into the Secretary's room, and found Mr. Benjamin surrounded by a large circle of visitors, all standing hat in hand, and quite silent. I asked him if he would see the gentleman from Washington. He said he "_didn't know who to see_." This produced a smile. He seemed to be standing there waiting for someone to speak, and they seemed to be waiting an invitation from him to speak. I withdrew from the embarrassing scene, remarking that my gentleman would call some other time. Meanwhile I wrote down the information, and sent it to the President. SEPTEMBER 18TH.--Gen. Floyd has been attacked at Gauley, by greatly superior numbers. But he was intrenched, and slew hundreds of the enemy before he retreated, which was effected without loss. SEPTEMBER 19TH.--We hear of several splendid dashes of cavalry near Manassas, under Col. Stuart; and Wise's cavalry in the West are doing good service. SEPTEMBER 20TH.--Col. J. A. Washington has been killed in a skirmish. He inherited Mount Vernon. This reminds me that Edward Everett is urging on the war against us. The universal education, so much boasted of in New England, like their religion, is merely a humbug, or worse than a humbug, the fruitful source of crime. I shall doubt hereafter whether superior intelligence is promotive of superior virtue. The serpent is wiser than the dove, but never so harmless. Ignorance is bliss in comparison with Yankee wisdom. SEPTEMBER 21ST.--The Secretary has authorized me to sign passports "for the Secretary of War." My son attends to his letters. I have now an opportunity of _seeing_ more. I have authority to order transportation for the parents of soldiers, and for goods and provisions taken to the camps. SEPTEMBER 22D.--Harris and Magraw, who were taken on the field of Manassas, looking for the remains of Col. Cameron, have been liberated by Gen. Winder, on the order of the acting Secretary of War. This is startling; for Mr. Benjamin was the most decided man, at the time of their capture, against their liberation. _Per contra_, a Mr. G., a rich New York merchant, and Mr. R., a wealthy railroad contractor, whom I feared would break through the meshes of the law, with the large sums realized by them here, have been arrested by the Secretary's order, on the ground that they have no right to transfer the sinews of war to the North, to be used against us. SEPTEMBER 23D.--Thousands of dollars worth of clothing and provisions, voluntary and patriotic contributions to the army, are arriving daily. SEPTEMBER 24TH.--The time is up for the departure of alien enemies. This is the last day, according to the President's proclamation. We have had no success lately, and never can have success, while the enemy know all our plans and dispositions. Keep them in total ignorance of our condition and movements, and they will no more invade us than they would explore a vast cave, in which thousands of rattlesnakes can be heard, without lights. Their spies and emissaries here are so many torch-bearers for them. SEPTEMBER 25TH.--Mr. Benjamin and Gen. Winder, after granting a special interview to Messrs. G. and R., have concluded to let them depart for Pennsylvania and New York! Nor is this all. _I have an order from Mr. Benjamin to give passports_, until further orders, _to leave the country to all persons who avow themselves alien enemies, whether in person or by letter_, provided they take no wealth with them. This may be a fatal policy, or it may be a _trap_. SEPTEMBER 26TH.--Had a conversation with the Secretary to-day, on the policy of sending Union men out of the Confederacy. I told him we had 15,000 sick in the hospitals at Manassas, and this intelligence might embolden the enemy to advance, capture the hospitals, and make our sick men prisoners. He said such prisoners would be a burden to them, and a relief to us. I remarked that they would count as prisoners in making exchanges; and to abandon them in that manner, would have a discouraging effect on our troops. He said that sending unfriendly persons out of the country was in conformity with the spirit of the act of Congress, and recommended me to reperuse it and make explanations to the people, who were becoming clamorous for some restriction on the egress of spies. SEPTEMBER 27TH.--To-day I prepared a leading editorial article for the _Enquirer_, taking ground directly opposite to that advocated by Mr. Benjamin. It was written with the law before me, which gave no warrant, as I could perceive, for the assumption of the Secretary. SEPTEMBER 28TH.--I sent the paper containing my article to J. R. Davis, Esq., nephew of the President, avowing its authorship, and requesting him to ask the President's attention to the subject. SEPTEMBER 29TH.--To-day Mr. Benjamin issued several passports himself, and sent several others to me with peremptory orders for granting them. SEPTEMBER 30TH.--A pretty general jail delivery is now taking place. Gen. Winder, acting I suppose, of course, under the instructions of the Secretary of War--and Mr. Benjamin is now Secretary indeed--is discharging from the prisons the disloyal prisoners sent hither during the last month by Gens. Johnston, Floyd, and Wise. Not only liberating them, but giving them transportation to their homes, mostly within the enemy's lines. Surely if the enemy reciprocates such magnanimous courtesy, the war will be merely child's play, and we shall be spared the usual horrors of civil war. We shall see how the Yankees will appreciate this kindness. CHAPTER VII. An order for the publication of the names of alien enemies.--Some excitement.--Efforts to secure property.--G. A. Myers, lawyer, actively engaged.--Gen. Price gains a victory in Missouri.--Billy Wilson's cut-throats cut to pieces at Fort Pickens.--A female spy arrives from Washington.--Great success at Leesburg or Ball's Bluff. OCTOBER 1ST.--I find that only a few hundred alien enemies departed from the country under the President's proclamation, allowing them forty days, from the 16th of August, to make their arrangements; but under the recent order of Mr. Benjamin, if I may judge from the daily applications, there will be a large emigration. The persons now going belong to a different class of people: half of them avowing themselves friendly to our cause, and desiring egress through our lines on the Potomac, or in the West, to avoid being published as alien enemies going under flag of truce _via_ Norfolk and Fortress Monroe. Many of them declare a purpose to return. OCTOBER 2D.--A day or two ago Col. Bledsoe, who visits me now very seldom, sent an order by Mr. Brooks for me to furnish a list of the names of alien enemies for publication. This was complied with cheerfully; and these publications have produced some excitement in the community. OCTOBER 3D.--The President not having taken any steps in the matter, I have no alternative but to execute the order of the Secretary. OCTOBER 4TH.--Sundry applications were made to-day to leave the country under flag of truce, _provided I would not permit the names to be published_. The reason for this request is that these persons have connections here who might be _compromised_. I refused compliance. In one or two instances they intimated that they would not have their names published for _thousands of dollars_. My response to this was such as to cause them to withdraw their applications. OCTOBER 5TH.--To-day several Southern-born gentlemen, who have lived long in the North, and have their fortunes and families there, applied for passports. They came hither to save the investments of their parents in Northern securities, by having them transferred to their children. This seems legitimate, and some of the parties are old and valued friends of mine. I know their sympathies are with their native land. Yet why are they so late in coming? I know not. It is for me to send them out of the country, for such is the order of the Secretary of War. The loyalty of the connections of these gentlemen is vouched for in a note (on file) written by Mr. Hunter, Secretary of State. Their names must be published as alien enemies. They will take no part in the war. OCTOBER 6TH.--Nothing of importance. OCTOBER 7TH.--Nothing of note. OCTOBER 8TH.--Mr. Gustavus Myers, a lawyer of this city, seems to take an active interest in behalf of parties largely engaged in business at Baltimore. And he has influence with the Secretary, for he generally carries his points over my head. The parties he engineers beyond our lines may possibly do us no harm; but I learn they certainly do themselves much _good_ by their successful speculations. And do they not take gold and other property to the North, and thereby defeat the object of the sequestration act? The means thus abstracted from the South will certainly be taxed by the North to make war on us. OCTOBER 9TH.--Contributions of clothing, provisions, etc. are coming in large quantities; sometimes to the amount of $20,000 in a single day. Never was there such a patriotic _people_ as ours! Their blood and their wealth are laid upon the altar of their country with enthusiasm. I must say here that the South Carolinians are the _gentlest_ people I ever met with. They accede to every requisition with cheerfulness; and never have I known an instance where any one of them has used subterfuge to evade a rule, however hard it might bear upon them. They are the soul of honor, truth, and patriotism. OCTOBER 10TH.--A victory--but not in the East. I expect none here while there is such a stream of travel flowing Northward. It was in Missouri, at Lexington. Gen. Price has captured the town and made several thousand prisoners, whom he dismissed on parole. OCTOBER 11TH.--And Wise has had bloody fighting with Rosecrans in Western Virginia. He can beat the enemy at fighting; but they beat him at manoeuvring, with the use of the guides Gen. Winder has sent them from our prisons here. OCTOBER 12TH.--Col. Wright has had a race with the Yankees on the North Carolina coast. They fled to their works before his single regiment with such precipitation as to leave many of their arms and men behind. We lost but one man: and he was fat, broke his wind, and died in the pursuit. OCTOBER 13TH.--Another little success, but not in this vicinity. Gen. Anderson, of South Carolina, in the night crossed to Santa Rosa Island and cut up Billy Wilson's regiment of New York cut-throats and thieves; under the very guns of Fort Pickens. OCTOBER 14TH.--Kissing goes by favor! Col. M----r, of Maryland, whose published letter of objuration of the United States Government attracted much attention some time since, is under the ban. He came hither and tendered his services to this government, but failed to get the employment applied for, though his application was urged by Mr. Hunter, the Secretary of State, who is his relative. After remaining here for a long time, vainly hoping our army would cross the Potomac and deliver his native State, and finding his finances diminishing, he sought permission of the Secretary to return temporarily to his family in Maryland, expecting to get them away and to save some portion of his effects. His fidelity was vouched for in strong language by Mr. Hunter, and yet the application has been refused! I infer from this that Mr. Benjamin is omnipotent in the cabinet, and that Mr. Hunter cannot remain long in it. OCTOBER 15TH.--I have been requested by Gen. Winder to-day to refuse a passport to Col. M----r to leave the city in any direction. So the colonel is within bounds! I learn that he differed with Gen. Winder (both from Maryland) in politics. But if he was a Whig, so was Mr. Benjamin. Again, I hear that Col. M. had some difficulty with Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, and challenged him. This is a horse of another color. Col. N. is one of the special favorites of the President. OCTOBER 16TH.--Col. M. applied to me to-day for a passport to Maryland, bringing a strong letter from Mr. Hunter, and also a note from Col. Bledsoe, Chief of the Bureau of War. He seemed thunderstruck when I informed him that Gen. Winder had obtained an order from the Secretary of War to detain him. A few moments after Gen. Winder came with a couple of his detectives (all from Baltimore) and arrested him. Subsequently he was released on parole of honor, not to leave the city without Gen. Winder's permission. I apprehend bad consequences from this proceeding. It may prevent other high-toned Marylanders from espousing our side of this contest. OCTOBER 17TH.--Hurlbut has been released from prison. Mr. Hunter has a letter (intercepted) from Raymond, editor of the New York _Times_, addressed to him since the battle of Manassas. OCTOBER 18TH.--I cannot perceive that our army increases much in strength, particularly in Virginia. The enemy have now over 660,000 in the field in various places, and seem to be preparing for a simultaneous advance. It is said _millions_ of securities, the property of the enemy, are transferred to the United States. It is even intimated that the men engaged in this business have the protection of men in high positions _on both sides_. Can it be possible that _we_ have men in power who are capable of taking bribes from the enemy? If so, God help the country! OCTOBER 19TH.--Col. Ashby with 600 men routed a force of 1000 Yankees, the other day, near Harper's Ferry. That is the cavalry again! The spies here cannot inform the enemy of the movements of our mounted men, which are always made with celerity. OCTOBER 20TH.--A lady, just from Washington, after striving in vain to procure an interview with the Secretary of War, left with me the programme of the enemy's contemplated movements. She was present with the family of Gen. Dix at a party, and heard their purposes disclosed. They meditate an advance immediately, with 200,000 men. The head of Banks's column is to cross near Leesburg; and when over, a movement upon our flank is intended from the vicinity of Arlington Heights. This is truly a formidable enterprise, if true. We have not 70,000 effective men in Northern Virginia. The lady is in earnest--and remains here. I wrote down the above information and sent it to the President; and understood that dispatches were transmitted immediately to Gen. Johnston, by telegraph. The lady likewise spoke of a contemplated movement by sea with gun-boats, to be commanded by Burnside, Butler, etc. In the evening I met Mr. Hunter, and told him the substance of the information brought by the lady. He seemed much interested, for he knows the calm we have been enjoying bodes no good; and he apprehends that evil will grow out of the order of the Secretary of War, permitting all who choose to call themselves alien enemies to leave the Confederacy. While we were speaking (in the street) Mr. Benjamin came up, and told me he had seen the letter I sent to the President. He said, moreover, that he did not doubt the enemy intended to advance as set forth in the programme. OCTOBER 21ST.--The enemy's papers represent that we have some 80,000 men in Kentucky, and this lulls us from vigilance and effort in Virginia. The Secretary of War knows very well that we have not 30,000 there, and that we are not likely to have more. We supposed Kentucky would rise. The enemy knows this fact as well as we do; nevertheless, it has been his practice from the beginning to exaggerate our numbers. It lulls us into fancied security. OCTOBER 22D.--We have news of a victory at Leesburg. It appears that the head of one of the enemy's columns, 8000 strong, attempted a passage of the Potomac yesterday, at that point pursuant to the programme furnished by the lady from Washington. That point had been selected by the enemy because the spies had reported that there were only three Confederate regiments there. But crossing a river in boats in the face of a few Southern regiments, is no easy matter. And this being the _People's War_, although Gen. Evans, in command, had received orders to fall back if the enemy came in force, our troops decided for themselves to fight before retreating. Therefore, when seven or eight regiments of Yankees landed on this side of the river, two or three of our regiments advanced and fired into them with terrible effect. Then they charged; and ere long such a panic was produced, that the enemy rushed in disorder into the river, crowding their boats so much that several went to the bottom, carrying down hundreds. The result was that the head of the serpent received a tremendous bruising, and the whole body recoiled from the scene of disaster. We had only some 1500 men engaged, and yet captured 1600 muskets; and the enemy's loss, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, amounted to 2000 men. This battle was fought, in some respects, by the privates alone--much of the time without orders, and often without officers. OCTOBER 23D.--The President is highly delighted at the result of the battle of Leesburg; and yet some of the red-tape West Point gentry are indignant at Gen. Evans for not obeying orders, and falling back. There is some talk of a court-martial; for it is maintained that no commander, according to strict military rules, should have offered battle against such superior numbers. They may disgrace Gen. Evans; but I trust our _soldiers_ will repeat the experiment on every similar occasion. OCTOBER 24TH.--We made a narrow escape; at least, we have a respite. If the Yankee army had advanced with its 200,000 men, they would not have encountered more than 70,000 fighting Confederate soldiers between the Potomac and Richmond. It was our soldiers (neither the officers nor the government) that saved us; and they fought contrary to rule, and even in opposition to orders. Of course our officers at Leesburg did their duty manfully; nevertheless, the soldiers had determined to fight, officers or no officers. But as the man in the play said, "it will suffice." The Yankees are a calculating people: and if 1500 Mississippians and Virginians at Leesburg were too many for 8000 Yankees, what could 200,000 Yankees do against 70,000 Southern soldiers? It made them pause, and give up the idea of taking Richmond this year. But the enemy will fight better every successive year; and this should not be lost sight of. They, too, are Anglo-Saxons. OCTOBER 25TH.--Gen. Price, of Missouri, is too popular, and there is a determination on the part of the West Pointers to "kill him off." I fear he will gain no more victories. OCTOBER 26TH.--Immense amounts of patriotic contributions, in clothing and provisions, are daily registered. OCTOBER 27TH.--Still the Jews are going out of the country and returning at pleasure. They deplete the Confederacy of coin, and sell their goods at 500 per cent. profit. They pay no duty; and Mr. Memminger has lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in this way. The press everywhere is thundering against the insane policy of permitting all who avow themselves enemies to return to the North; and I think Mr. B. is beginning to wince under it. I tremble when I reflect that those who made the present government, and the one to succeed it, did not represent one-third of the people composing the inhabitants of the Confederate States. OCTOBER 28TH.--The most gigantic naval preparations have been made by the enemy; and they must strike many blows on the coast this fall and winter. They are building great numbers of gun-boats, some of them iron-clad, both for the coast and for the Western rivers. If they get possession of the Mississippi River, it will be a sad day for the Confederacy. And what are we doing? We have many difficulties to contend against; and there is a deficiency in artisans and material. Nevertheless, the government is constructing a monster at Norfolk, and several similar floating batteries in the West. But we neglect to construct casemated batteries! Our fortifications, without them, must fall before the iron ships of the enemy. The battle of Manassas has given us a long exemption from the fatigues and horrors of war; but this calm will be succeeded by a storm. OCTOBER 29TH.--The election to take place during the ensuing month creates no excitement. There will be less than a moiety of the whole vote cast; and Davis and Stephens will be elected without opposition. No disasters have occurred yet to affect the popularity of any of the great politicians; and it seems no risks will be run. The battle of Manassas made everybody popular--and especially Gen. Beauregard. If he were a candidate, I am pretty certain he would be elected. OCTOBER 30TH.--I understand a dreadful quarrel is brewing between Mr. Benjamin and Gen. Beauregard. Gen. B. being the only individual ever hinted at as an opponent of Mr. Davis for the Presidency, the Secretary of War fights him on vantage-ground, and likewise commends himself to the President. Van Buren was a good politician in his day, and so is Mr. Benjamin in _his_ way. I hope these dissensions may expend themselves without injury to the country. OCTOBER 31ST.--Mr. Benjamin, it is understood, will be a candidate for a seat in the C. S. Senate. And I have learned from several members of the Louisiana legislature that he will be defeated. They charge him with hob-nobbing too much with Northern friends; and say that he still retains membership in several clubs in New York and Boston. CHAPTER VIII. Quarrel between Gen. Beauregard and Mr. Benjamin.--Great Naval preparations in the North.--The loss of Port Royal, S. C., takes some prestige.--The affair at Belmont does not compensate for it.--The enemy kills an old hare.--Missouri secedes.--Mason and Slidell captured.--French Consul and the actresses.--The lieutenant in disguise.--Eastern Shore of Virginia invaded.--Messrs. Breckinridge and Marshall in Richmond. NOVEMBER 1ST.--There is an outcry against the appointment of two major-generals, recommended, perhaps, by Mr. Benjamin, Gustavus W. Smith and Gen. Lovell, both recently from New York. They came over since the battle of Manassas. Mr. Benjamin is perfectly indifferent to the criticisms and censures of the people and the press. He knows his own ground; and since he is sustained by the President, we must suppose he knows his own footing in the government. If defeated in the legislature, he may have a six years' tenure in the cabinet. NOVEMBER 2D.--It has culminated. Mr. Benjamin's quarrel with Beauregard is openly avowed. Mr. Benjamin spoke to me about it to-day, and convinced me at the time that Gen. B. was really in the wrong. He said the general had sent in his report of the battle of Manassas, in which he stated that he had submitted a plan to the department for the invasion of Maryland; and no such plan having been received, as Mr. B. says, and the matter being foreign to the business in hand, the department had seen proper to withhold the report from publication. But this did not concern him, Mr. B., because he was not the Secretary of War when the alleged plan had been sent to Richmond. But his difference with the general grew out of an attempt of the latter to organize troops and confer commands without the sanction of the department. He had rebuked the general, he said; and then the general had appealed to the President, who sustained the Secretary. Mr. B. said that Gen. B. had ascertained who was _strongest_ with the President. NOVEMBER 3D.--From this day forth, I hope Mr. Benjamin and I will be of better accord. I have an official order, directed by him and written by Col. Bledsoe, to the effect that no more alien enemies are to have passports. On the contrary, when any one avows himself an alien enemy, and applies for permission to leave the country, Gen. Winder is to take him in charge. NOVEMBER 4TH.--Several were arrested yesterday. Still I doubt whether we are dealing fairly, even with enemies. They have been _encouraged_ to come into and go out of the country by the facilities afforded them; and now, without any sort of notification whatever, they are to be arrested when they present themselves. I hate all traps and stratagems for the purpose of stimulating one to commit a wrong; and hence this business, although it seems to afford employment, if not delight, to Gen. Winder and his Baltimore detectives, is rather distasteful to me. And when I reflect upon it, I cannot imagine how Mr. Benjamin may adjust the matter with his conscience. It will soon cure itself, however; a few arrests will alarm them all. NOVEMBER 5TH.--To my amazement, a man came to me to-day for a passport to Norfolk, saying he had one from the Secretary to pass by flag of truce to Fortress Monroe, etc. He wished me to give him one to show at the cars, not desiring to exhibit the other, as it might subject him to annoying looks and remarks. NOVEMBER 6TH.--All accounts from the North indicate that great preparations are being made to crush us on the coast this winter. I see no corresponding preparations on our side. NOVEMBER 7TH.--We hear of the resignation of Gen. Scott, as Commander-in-Chief of the U. S. forces. NOVEMBER 8TH.--There are many applications for passports to leave the country. I have declared my purpose to sign no more for the Secretary without his official order. But he is signing them himself, as I find out by the parties desiring the usual passports from me to leave the city. They, like guilty men, dislike to exhibit their permits to leave the country at the depots. And the Northern press bears testimony of the fact that the spies in our midst are still at work, and from this I apprehend the worst consequences. Why did Mr. Benjamin send the order for every man to be arrested who applied for permission to leave the country? Was it merely to deceive _me_, knowing that I had some influence with certain leading journals? I am told he says, "no one leaves the country now." NOVEMBER 9TH.--Gen. Winder and all his police and Plug Ugly gang have their friends or agents, whom they continually desire to send to Maryland. And often there comes a request from Gen. Huger, at Norfolk, for passports to be granted certain parties to go out under flag of truce. I suppose he can send whom he pleases. We have news of a bloody battle in the West, at Belmont. Gen. Pillow and Bishop Polk defeated the enemy, it is said, killing and wounding 1000. Our loss, some 500. Port Royal, on the coast of South Carolina, has been taken by the enemy's fleet. We had no casemated batteries. Here the Yankees will intrench themselves, and cannot be dislodged. They will take negroes and cotton, and menace both Savannah and Charleston. NOVEMBER 10TH.--A gentleman from Urbana, on the Rappahannock, informs me that he witnessed the shelling of that village a few days ago. There are so few houses that the enemy did not strike any of them. The only blood shed was that of an old _hare_, that had taken refuge in a hollow stump. NOVEMBER 11TH.--Bad news. The Unionists in East Tennessee have burnt several of the railroad bridges between this and Chattanooga. This is one of the effects of the discharge of spies captured in Western Virginia and East Tennessee. A military police, if properly directed, composed of honest men, true Southern men, might do much good, or prevent much evil; but I must not criticise Gen. Winder's inefficiency, for he acts under the instructions of Mr. Benjamin. The burning of these bridges not only prevents the arrival of an immense amount of clothing and provisions for the army, contributed by the patriotic people, but it will embarrass the government in the transmission of men and muniments of war, which an emergency may demand at any moment. Until the avenues by which the enemy derives information from our country are closed, I shall look for a series of disasters. NOVEMBER 12TH.--We have news of the enemy's gun-boats penetrating the rivers of South Carolina. It is said they got some cotton. Why was it not burnt? NOVEMBER 13TH.--Dry goods have risen more than a hundred per cent. since spring, and rents and boarding are advancing in the same ratio. NOVEMBER 14TH.--The enemy, knowing our destitution of gun-boats, and well apprised of the paucity of our garrisons, are sending expeditions southward to devastate the coast. They say New Orleans will be taken before spring, and communication be opened with Cairo, at the mouth of the Ohio. They will not succeed so soon; but success is certain ultimately, if Mr. Benjamin, Gen. Winder, and Gen. Huger do not cease to pass Federal spies out of the country. NOVEMBER 15TH.--We have intelligence that Missouri has joined the Confederacy. She will be scourged by the vengeful enemy; but will rise some day and put her foot on the neck of the oppressor. Missouri is a giant. NOVEMBER 16TH.--It is sickening to behold the corruption of the commercial men, which so much wounds our afflicted country. There are large merchants here who come over from Baltimore breathing vengeance against the Northern "despots," and to make a show of patriotism they subscribed liberally to equip some volunteer companies in the city; but now they are sending their agents North and importing large amounts of merchandise, which they sell to the government and the people at most fabulous prices. I am informed that some of them realize $50,000 per month profit! And this after paying officials on both sides bonuses to wink at their operations. After the order of Mr. Benjamin for applicants for passports to leave the country to be arrested, some of these men applied to me, and I reported the facts to Gen. Winder; but they were not molested. Indeed, they came to me subsequently and exhibited passports they had obtained from the Secretary himself. NOVEMBER 17TH.--There are also quite a number of _letter-carriers_ obtaining special passports to leave the Confederacy. They charge $1.50 postage to Washington and Maryland, and as much coming hither. They take on the average three hundred letters, and bring as many, besides diverse articles they sell at enormously high prices. Thus they realize $1000 per trip, and make two each month. They furnish the press with Northern journals; but they give no valuable information: at least I have not conversed with any who could furnish it. They seem particularly ignorant of the plans and forces of the enemy. It is my belief that they render as much service to the enemy as to us; and they certainly do obtain passports on the other side. Gen. Winder and his _alien_ detectives seem to be on peculiar terms of intimacy with some of these men; for they tell me they convey letters for them to Maryland, and deliver them to their families. This is an equivocal business. Why did they not bring their families away before the storm burst upon them? NOVEMBER 18TH.--To-day the Secretary told me, in reply to my question, that he had authentic information of the seizure of Messrs. Slidell and Mason, our commissioners to Europe, by Capt. Wilkes, of the U. S. Navy, and while on board the steamer Trent, a British vessel, at sea. _I said I was glad of it._ He asked why, in surprise. I remarked that it would bring the Eagle cowering to the feet of the Lion. He smiled, and said it was, perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. And he cautions me against giving passports to _French_ subjects even to visit Norfolk or any of our fortified cities, for it was understood that foreigners at Norfolk were contriving somehow to get on board the ships of their respective nations. NOVEMBER 19TH.--To-day Monsieur Paul, French Consul, applied in person for passports on behalf, I believe, of some French players (Zouaves) to Norfolk. Of course I declined granting them. He grew enthusiastic, and alleged that British subjects had enjoyed the privilege. He said he cared nothing for the parties applying in this instance; but he argued vehemently against British subjects being favored over French subjects. I sent a note concerning our interview to the Secretary; and while Monsieur Paul still sat in the office, the following reply came in from the Secretary: "All you need do is to say to the French Consul, when he calls, that you obey your instructions, and have no authority to discuss with him the rights of French subjects. J. P. B." Monsieur Paul departed with "a flea in his ear." But he received an invitation to dine with the Secretary to-day. NOVEMBER 20TH.--I had a protracted and interesting interview to-day with a gaudily dressed and rather diminutive lieutenant, who applied for a passport to the Mississippi River, _via_ Chattanooga, and insisted upon my giving him transportation also. This demand led to interrogatories, and it appeared that he was not going under special orders of the adjutant-general. It was unusual for officers, on leave, to apply for transportation, and my curiosity was excited. I asked to see his furlough. This was refused; but he told me to what company he belonged, and I knew there was such a company in Bishop or Gen. Polk's command. Finally he escaped further interrogatories by snatching up the passport I had signed and departing hastily. But instead of the usual military salute at parting, he _courtesied_. This, when I reflected on the fineness of his speech, the fullness of his breast, his attitudes and his short steps, led me to believe the person was a woman instead of a lieutenant. Gen. Winder coming in shortly after, upon hearing my description of the stranger, said he would ascertain all about the sex. NOVEMBER 21ST.--My mysterious lieutenant was arrested this morning, on the western route, and proved, as I suspected, to be a woman. But Gen. Winder was ordered by the Secretary to have her released. NOVEMBER 22D.--We have information that the enemy have invaded and taken possession of the Eastern Shore of Virginia, Accomac and Northampton Counties. They invaded the two counties with a force of 8000 men, and we had only 800 to oppose them. Of course there could be no contest against such odds. They carried my tenant to Drummondtown, the county seat, and made him (I suppose) assist in raising the United States flag over the court-house. NOVEMBER 23D.--J. C. Breckinridge and Humphrey Marshall, of Kentucky, have been here; and both have been made brigadier-generals, and assigned to duty in the West. Although the former retained his seat in the Senate of the United States for many months after the war began, no one doubts that he is now with us, and will do good service. NOVEMBER 24TH.--Gen. Floyd has retreated from Cotton Hill, and the enemy threatens our western communications. Gen. Lee has been sent to Western Virginia, but it is not an adequate field for him. He should have command of the largest army in the service, for his is one of the most capacious minds we have. NOVEMBER 25TH.--Yesterday Fort Pickens opened fire on our batteries at Pensacola, but without effect. One of their ships was badly crippled. NOVEMBER 26TH.--The enemy occupy Tybee Island, and threaten Savannah. Vice-President Stephens was in my office to-day, and he too deprecates the passage of so many people to the North, who, from the admission of the journals there, give them information of the condition of our defenses. He thinks our affairs are not now in a prosperous condition, and has serious apprehensions for the fate of Savannah. NOVEMBER 27TH.--Saw President Tyler to-day. He augurs the worst effects from the policy of permitting almost unrestricted intercourse with the enemy's country in time of war. NOVEMBER 28TH.--Nothing of importance to-day. There will be no such quiet time after this year. NOVEMBER 29TH.--Gen. Sydney Johnston has command of the army in Tennessee and Kentucky. I wish it were only as strong as the wily enemy is in the habit of representing it! NOVEMBER 30TH.--Mr. Benjamin has been defeated for the C. S. Senate. Mr. Hunter has been named as a candidate for the C. S. Senate from Virginia. I thought he would not remain in the cabinet, after his relative was arrested (with no reason assigned) by order of Mr. Benjamin. Besides, the office is a sinecure, and may remain so for a long time, if the powers at Washington should "stint, and say aye" to the demands of England. CHAPTER IX. Gen. Lee ordered South.--Gen. Stuart ambuscaded at Drainsville.--W. H. B. Custis returns to the Eastern Shore.--Winder's detectives.--Kentucky secedes.--Judge Perkins's resolution.--Dibble goes North.--Waiting for Great Britain to do something.--Mr. Ely, the Yankee M. C. DECEMBER 1ST.--The people here begin to murmur at the idea that they are questioned about their loyalty, and often arrested, by Baltimore petty larceny detectives, who, if they were patriotic themselves (as they are all able-bodied men), would be in the army, fighting for the redemption of Maryland. DECEMBER 2D.--Gen. Lee has now been ordered South for the defense of Charleston and Savannah, and those cities are safe! Give a great man a field worthy of his powers, and he can demonstrate the extent of his abilities; but dwarf him in an insignificant position, and the veriest fool will look upon him with contempt. Gen. Lee in the streets here bore the aspect of a discontented man, for he saw that everything was going wrong; but now his eye flashes with zeal and hope. Give him time and opportunity, and he will hurl back the invader from his native land; yes, and he will commend the chalice of invasion to the lips of the North; but not this year--it is too late for that. DECEMBER 3D.--Several members of Congress came into my office and denounced the policy which the government seemed to have adopted of permitting Yankees, and those who sympathize with them, to be continually running over to the enemy with information of our condition, and thus inviting attacks and raids at points where we are utterly defenseless. They seemed surprised when I told them that I not only agreed with them entirely, but that I had really written most of the articles they had read in the press denunciatory of the policy they condemned. I informed them, moreover, that I had long since refused to sign any such passports as they alluded to, at the risk of being removed. They said they believed the President, in his multiplicity of employments, was not aware of the extent of the practice, and the evil effects it was certain to entail on the country; and it was their purpose to wait upon him and remonstrate against the pernicious practice of Mr. Benjamin. DECEMBER 4TH.--We are now tasting the bitter fruits of a too indulgent treatment of our enemies. Yesterday Gen. Stuart's cavalry and the 6th Regiment S. C. volunteers met with a bloody disaster at Drainsville. It appears that several of the traitors arrested and sent hither by Gen. Johnston were subsequently discharged by Gen. Winder, under the instructions of Mr. Benjamin, and sent to their homes, in the vicinity of Drainsville, at the expense of the government. These men, with revenge rankling in their breasts, reported to Gen. Stuart that a large amount of forage might be obtained in the vicinity of Drainsville, and that but a few companies of the enemy were in the neighborhood. The general believing these men to be loyal, since they seemed to have the confidence of the War Department, resolved to get the forage; and for that purpose started some 80 wagons early the next morning, escorted by several regiments of infantry and 1000 cavalry, hoping to capture any forces of the enemy in the vicinity. Meantime the Drainsville traitors had returned to their homes the preceding evening, and sent off intelligence to the headquarters of the enemy of the purpose of Gen. Stuart to send out in that direction, early the next day, a foraging party consisting of so many wagons, and small forces of infantry, artillery, and cavalry. The enemy hastened away to Drainsville an overwhelming force, and ambuscaded the road, where it entered the woods, with artillery and men of all arms. Their line was the shape of a horseshoe, and completely concealed from view. Gen. Stuart had not entered far into the jaws of this trap, before some of his trusty scouts reported the presence of the enemy. Believing it to be only the pickets of the few companies previously reported, the general advanced still farther; but at the same time ordering the wagons to retire. He was soon undeceived by a simultaneous and concentric fire of artillery and musketry, which brought down many of his men. Nevertheless, he charged through the lines in one or two places, and brought his guns to bear with effect on such portions of the enemy's line as were not wholly protected by the inequalities of the ground and the dense growth of woods. He quickly ascertained, however, that he was contending against vastly superior numbers, and drew off his forces in good order, protecting his wagons. The enemy did not pursue, for Stuart had rather more men than the informers reported to the enemy. But we lost 200 men, while the enemy sustained but little injury; their killed and wounded not exceeding 30. This is the first serious wound inflicted on the country by Mr. Benjamin's policy. DECEMBER 5TH.--The account of the Drainsville massacre was furnished me by an officer of the 6th S. C. Regiment, which suffered severely. The newspaper accounts of the occurrence, upon which, perhaps, the history of this war will be founded, give a different version of the matter. And hence, although not so designed at first, this Diary will furnish more authentic data of many of the events of the war than the grave histories that will be written. Still, I do not aspire to be the Froissart of these interesting times: but intend merely to furnish my children, and such others as may read them, with reliable chronicles of the events passing under my own observation. DECEMBER 6TH.--It is rumored to-day, I know not on what authority, that the President mentioned the matter of the Drainsville disaster to the Secretary of War, and intimated that it was attributed to the machinations of the Union men discharged from prison here. It is said Mr. Benjamin denied it--denied that any such men had been discharged by Gen. Winder, or had been concerned in the affair at all. Of course the President had no alternative but to credit the solemn assertions of his confidential adviser. But my books, and the register of the prisons, would show that the Drainsville prisoners sent hither by Gen. Joseph E. Johnston were discharged by Gen. Winder, and that their expenses home were paid by the government; and officers of unimpeachable veracity are ready to testify that Gen. Stuart was misled by these very men. DECEMBER 7TH.--Quite a commotion has been experienced in official circles by the departure of Mr. W. H. B. Custis, late Union member of the Virginia Convention, without obtaining a passport to leave the city. Some of his secession constituents being in the city, reported that they knew it was his purpose to return to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, and avow his adherence to the United States authorities, alleging that he had signed the ordinance of secession under some species of duress, or instruction. Under these representations, it seems Gen. Winder telegraphed to Norfolk, whither it was understood Custis had gone, to have him arrested. This was done; and it is said he had passports from Gen. Huger to cross the Chesapeake Bay. I must doubt this. What right has a military commander to grant such passports? DECEMBER 8TH.--I saw Mr. Benjamin to-day, and asked him what disposition he intended to make of Mr. Custis. He was excited, and said with emphasis that he was investigating the case. He seemed offended at the action of Gen. Winder, and thought it was a dangerous exercise of military power to arrest persons of such high standing, without the clearest evidence of guilt. Mr. Custis had signed the ordinance of secession, and that ought to be sufficient evidence of his loyalty. DECEMBER 9TH.--Gen. Winder informed me to-day that he had been ordered to release Mr. Custis; and I learned that the Secretary of War had transmitted orders to Gen. Huger to permit him to pass over the bay. DECEMBER 10TH.--Nothing new. DECEMBER 11TH.--Several of Gen. Winder's detectives came to me with a man named Webster, who, it appears, has been going between Richmond and Baltimore, conveying letters, money, etc. I refused him a passport. He said he could get it from the Secretary himself, but that it was sometimes difficult in gaining access to him. I told him to get it, then; I would give him none. DECEMBER 12TH.--More of Gen. Winder's men came with a Mr. Stone, whom they knew and vouched for, and who wanted a passport merely to Norfolk. I asked if it was not his design to go farther. They said yes, but that Gen. Winder would write to Gen. Huger to let him pass by way of Fortress Monroe. I refused, and great indignation was manifested. DECEMBER 13TH.--One of the papers has a short account of the application of Stone in its columns this morning. One of the reporters was present at the interview. The article bore pretty severely upon the assumption of power by the military commander of the department. Gen. Winder came in during the day, and denied having promised to procure a passport for Stone from Gen. Huger. DECEMBER 14TH.--Nothing. DECEMBER 15TH.--The President's private secretary, Capt. Josselyn, was in to-day. He had no news. DECEMBER 16TH.--We hear to-day that the loyal men of Kentucky have met in convention and adopted an ordinance of secession and union with our Confederacy. DECEMBER 17TH.--Bravo, Col. Edward Johnson! He was attacked by 5000 Yankees on the Alleghany Mountains, and he has beaten them with 1200 men. They say Johnson is an energetic man, and swears like a trooper; and instead of a sword, he goes into battle with a stout cane in his hand, with which he belabors any skulking miscreant found dodging in the hour of danger. DECEMBER 18TH.--Men escaped from the Eastern Shore of Virginia report that Mr. Custis had landed there, and remains quiet. DECEMBER 19TH.--Judge Perkins came in to-day and denounced in bitter terms the insane policy of granting passports to spies and others to leave the country, when every Northern paper bore testimony that we were betrayed by these people. He asked me how many had been permitted to go North by Mr. Benjamin since the expiration of the time named in the President's proclamation. This I could not answer: but suggested that a resolution of inquiry might elicit the information. He desired me to write such a resolution. I did so, and he departed with it. An hour afterward, I learned it had been passed unanimously. DECEMBER 20TH.--A man by the name of _Dibble_, the identical one I passed on my way to Montgomery last spring, and whom I then thought acted and spoke like a Yankee, is here seeking permission to go North; he _says_ to Halifax. He confesses that he is a Yankee born; but has lived in North Carolina for many years, and has amassed a fortune. He declares the South does not contain a truer Southern man than himself; and he says he is going to the British Provinces to purchase supplies for the Confederacy. He brought me an order from Mr. Benjamin, indorsed on the back of a letter, for a passport. I declined to give it; and he departed in anger, saying the Secretary would grant it. He knew this, for he said the Secretary had promised him one. DECEMBER 21ST.--Col. Bledsoe was in to-day. I had not seen him for a long time. He had not been sitting in the office two minutes before he uttered one of his familiar groans. Instantly we were on the old footing again. He said Secretary Benjamin had never treated him as Chief of the Bureau, any more than Walker. DECEMBER 22D.--Dibble has succeeded in obtaining a passport from the Secretary himself. DECEMBER 23D.--Gen. T. J. Jackson has destroyed a principal dam on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. That will give the enemy abundance of trouble. This Gen. Jackson is always doing something to vex the enemy; and I think he is destined to annoy them more. It is with much apprehension that I see something like a general relaxation of preparation to hurl back the invader. It seems as if the government were waiting for England to do it; and after all, the capture of Slidell and Mason may be the very worst thing that could have happened. Mr. Benjamin, I learn, feels very confident that a rupture between the United States and Great Britain is inevitable. War with England is not to be thought of by Mr. Seward at this juncture, and he will not have it. And we should not rely upon the happening of any such contingency. Some of our officials go so far as to hint that in the event of a war between the United States and Great Britain, and our recognition by the former, it might be good policy for us to stand neutral. The war would certainly be waged on our account, and it would not be consistent with Southern honor and chivalry to retire from the field and leave the friend who interfered in our behalf to fight it out alone. The principal members of our government should possess the highest stamp of character, for never did there exist a purer people. DECEMBER 24TH.--I am at work on the resolution passed by Congress. The Secretary sent it to me, with an order to prepare the list of names, and saying that he would explain the _grounds_ upon which they were permitted to depart. I can only give the number registered in this office. DECEMBER 25TH.--Mr. Ely, the Yankee member of Congress, who has been in confinement here since the battle of Manassas, has been exchanged for Mr. Faulkner, late Minister to France, who was captured on his return from Europe. Mr. Ely smiled at the brown paper on which I had written his passport. I told him it was Southern manufacture, and although at present in a crude condition, it was in the process of improvement, and that "necessity was the mother of invention." The necessity imposed on us by the blockade would ultimately redound to our advantage, and might injure the country inflicting it by diminishing its own products. He smiled again, and said he had no doubt we should rise to the dignity of _white paper_. DECEMBER 26TH.--I have been requested by several members of Congress to prepare a bill, establishing a passport office by law. I will attempt it; but it cannot pass, unless it be done in spite of the opposition of the Secretary, who knows how to use his patronage so as to bind members to his interest. He learned that at Washington. DECEMBER 27TH.--Notwithstanding the severe strictures, and the resolution of Congress, there is an increase rather than a diminution of the number of persons going North. Some of our officials seem to think the war is over, or that England will do the balance of our fighting! DECEMBER 28TH.--The fathers and mothers and sisters of our brave soldiers continue to send their clothing and provisions. _They_ do not relax in the work of independence. DECEMBER 29TH.--Persons are coming here from that portion of Western Virginia held by the enemy, with passports from Gen. Cox, the Yankee commander. They applied to me to-day for passports to return to Kanawha, which I refused. They obtained them from the Assistant Secretary of War, Mr. Ould. DECEMBER 30TH.--Some of our officers on furlough complain of the dullness of the war. The second year will be different. DECEMBER 31ST.--Northern papers, received in this city, show very conclusively that the enemy are pretty accurately informed of the condition of our defenses and the paucity of the numbers in our regiments. CHAPTER X. Seward gives up Mason and Slidell.--Great preparations of the enemy.-- Gen. Jackson betrayed.--Mr. Memminger's blunders.--Exaggerated reports of our troops in Kentucky and Tennessee. JANUARY 1ST, 1862.--Seward has cowered beneath the roar of the British Lion, and surrendered Mason and Slidell, who have been permitted to go on their errand to England. Now we must depend upon our own strong arms and stout hearts for defense. JANUARY 2D.--The enemy are making preparations to assail us everywhere. Roanoke Island, Norfolk, Beaufort, and Newbern; Charleston, Savannah, Mobile, Pensacola, and New Orleans are all menaced by numerous fleets on the sea-board, and in the West great numbers of iron-clad floating batteries threaten to force a passage down the Mississippi, while monster armies are concentrating for the invasion of Tennessee and the Cotton States. Will Virginia escape the scourge? Not she; here is the bull's-eye of the mark they aim at. JANUARY 3D.--The enemy have in the field, according to their official reports, some three-quarters of a million of men; we, about 250,000, or one-quarter of a million. This might answer for defense if we could only know where their blows will fall; but then they have a strong navy and thousands of transports, and we have next to nothing afloat to oppose to them. And there is no _entente cordiale_ between Mr. Benjamin and any of our best generals. JANUARY 4TH.--It is just as I feared. Gen. T. J. Jackson, supposing his project to be a profound secret, marched on the 1st instant from Winchester, intending to surprise a force of the enemy at Romney. But he had not proceeded half the distance before he found a printed account of his intended expedition in a Baltimore paper at an inn on the roadside. This was treason of the blackest dye, and will cost us a thousand men. The enemy, of course, escaped, and our poor soldiers, frost-bitten and famished, must painfully retrace all steps of this fruitless march. JANUARY 5TH.--There are rumors of a court-martial, and I fear the enterprising Jackson will be made to suffer for the crime of others. That men sympathizing with the Union cause were daily leaving Richmond for Baltimore was known to all, but how they gained intelligence of the contemplated movement of Jackson is the mystery. JANUARY 6TH.--No news. JANUARY 7TH.--Brig-Gen. Wise is to command on Roanoke Island. It is not far from Princess Ann County, where his place of residence is. If they give him men enough, say half as many as the enemy, he _will_ defend it. JANUARY 8TH.--Dearth of news. JANUARY 9TH.--Butter is 50 cts. per pound, bacon 25 cts., beef has risen from 13 cts. to 30 cts., wood is selling for $8 per cord, but flour is abundant, and cheap enough to keep us from starving. JANUARY 10TH.--The President is rarely seen in the streets now, and it is complained that he is not so accessible as formerly in his office. I do not know what foundation there is for these reports, and see no reason to credit them. I know he rides out in the afternoon, if the weather be fair, after the labors of the day, and he is a regular attendant at St. Paul's Church. I am rather inclined to credit the rumor that he intends to join the church. All his messages and proclamations indicate that he is looking to a mightier power than England for assistance. There is a general desire to have the cabinet modified and Christianized upon the inauguration of the permanent government. JANUARY 11TH.--We have three candidates in the field in this district for Congress: President Tyler, James Lyons, and Wm. H. McFarland. The first will, of course, walk over the track. JANUARY 12TH.--Gen. Wise, whose headquarters are to be fixed at Nag's Head on the beach near Roanoke Island, reports that the force he commands is altogether inadequate to defend the position. Burnside is said to have 20,000 men, besides a numerous fleet of gun-boats; and Gen. Wise has but 3000 effective men. JANUARY 13TH.--The department leaves Gen. Wise to his superior officer, Gen. Huger, at Norfolk, who has 15,000 men. But I understand that Huger says Wise has ample means for the defense of the island, and refuses to let him have more men. This looks like a man-trap of the "Red-tapers" to get rid of a popular leader. I hope the President will interfere. JANUARY 14TH.--All calm and quiet to-day. JANUARY 15TH.--I forgot to mention the fact that some weeks ago I received a work in manuscript from London, sent thither before the war, and brought by a bearer of dispatches from our Commissioner, Hon. Ambrose Dudley Mann, to whom I had written on the subject. I owe him a debt of gratitude for this kindness. When peace is restored, I shall have in readiness some contributions to the literature of the South, and my family, if I should not survive, may derive pecuniary benefit from them. I look for a long war, unless a Napoleon springs up among us, a thing not at all probable, for I believe there are those who are constantly on the watch for such dangerous characters, and they may possess the power to nip all embryo emperors in the bud. Some of our functionaries are not justly entitled to the great positions they occupy. They attained them by a species of _snap-judgement_, from which there may be an appeal hereafter. It is very certain that many of our _best_ men have no adequate positions, and revolutions are mutable things. JANUARY 16TH.--To-day, Mr. Benjamin, whom I met in the hall of the department, said, "I don't grant any passports to leave the country, except to a few men on business for the government. I have ceased to grant any for some time past." I merely remarked that I was glad to hear it. Immediately on returning to my office I referred to my book, and counted the names of fifty persons to whom the Secretary had granted passports within thirty days; and these were not all agents of the government. Mr. Benjamin reminded me of Daniel Webster, when he used to make solemn declarations that his friends in office were likewise the partisans of President Tyler. JANUARY 17TH.--A Mr. O. Hendricks, very lately of the U. S. Coast Survey, has returned from a tour of the coast of North Carolina, and has been commissioned a lieutenant by the Secretary of War. He says Burnside will take Roanoke Island, and that Wise and all his men will be captured. It is a _man-trap_. JANUARY 18TH.--Gen. L. P. Walker, the first Secretary of War, is assigned to duty in the Southwest under Gen. Bragg. How can he obey the orders of one who was so recently under his command? I think it probable he will resign again before the end of the campaign. JANUARY 19TH.--There has been a storm on the coast, sinking some of the enemy's ships. Col. Allen, of New Jersey, was lost. He was once at my house in Burlington, and professed to be friendly to the Southern cause. I think he said he owned land and slaves in Texas. JANUARY 20TH.--Mr. Memminger advertises to pay interest on certain government bonds in _specie_. That won't last long. He is paying 50 per cent. premium in treasury notes for the specie, and the bonds are given for treasury notes. What sort of financiering is this? JANUARY 21ST.--A great number of Germans and others are going to Norfolk, thinking, as one remarked, if they can't go to the United States the United States will soon come to them. Many believe that Burnside will get Norfolk. I think differently, but I may be mistaken. JANUARY 22D.--Some of the letter-carriers' passports from Mr. Benjamin, which have the countenance of Gen. Winder, are now going into Tennessee. What is this for? We shall see. JANUARY 23D.--Again the Northern papers give the most extravagant numbers to our army in Kentucky. Some estimates are as high as 150,000. I know, and Mr. Benjamin knows, that Gen. Johnston has not exceeding 29,000 effective men. And the Secretary knows that Gen. J. has given him timely notice of the inadequacy of his force to hold the position at Bowling Green. The Yankees are well aware of our weakness, but they intend to claim the astounding feat of routing 150,000 men with 100,000! And they suppose that by giving us credit for such a vast army, we shall not deem it necessary to send reinforcements. Well, _reinforcements are not sent_. JANUARY 24TH.--Beauregard has been ordered to the West. I knew the doom was upon him! But he will make his mark even at Columbus, though the place seems to me to be altogether untenable and of no practicable importance, since the enemy may attack both in front and rear. It would seem that some of the jealous functionaries would submit to any misfortune which would destroy Beauregard's popularity. But these are exceptions: they are few and far between, thank Heaven! JANUARY 25TH.--The French players have been permitted by the Secretary to leave the country. But _British_ subjects are now refused passports. JANUARY 26TH.--President Tyler has been elected to Congress by an overwhelming majority. JANUARY 27TH.--The Secretary of War has issued such a peremptory order to Gen. Wise, that the latter has no alternative but to attempt the defense of Roanoke Island with 3000 men against 15,000 and a fleet of gun-boats. The general is quite sick, but he will fight. His son, Capt. O. Jennings Wise, who has been under fire many times already, commands a company on the island. He will _deserve_ promotion. The government seems to have proscribed the great men of the past and their families, as if _this government was the property of the few men who happen to wield power at the present moment_. Arrogance and presumption in the South must, sooner or later, have a fall. The great men who were the leaders of this revolution may be ignored, but they cannot be kept down by the smaller fry who aspire to wield the destinies of a great and patriotic people. Smith and Lovell, New York politicians and Street Commissioners, have been made _major_-generals, while Wise and Breckinridge are brigadiers. JANUARY 28TH.--There must soon be collisions in the West on a large scale; but the system of lying, in vogue among the Yankees, most effectually defeats all attempts at reliable computation of numbers. They say we have 150,000 men in Tennessee and Kentucky, whereas we have not 60,000. Their own numbers they represent to be not exceeding 50,000, but I suspect they have three times that number. The shadows of events are crowding thickly upon us, and the events will speak for themselves--and that speedily. JANUARY 29TH.--What we want is a military man capable of directing operations in the field everywhere. I think Lee is such a man. But can he, a modest man and a Christian, aspire to such a position? Would not Mr. Benjamin throw his influence against such a suggestion? I trust the President will see through the mist generated around him. JANUARY 30TH.--Some of the mysterious letter-carriers, who have just returned from their jaunt into Tennessee, are applying again for passports to Baltimore, Washington, etc. I refuse them, though they are recommended by Gen. Winder's men; but they will obtain what they want from the Secretary himself, or his Assistant Secretary. JANUARY 31ST.--What if these men (they have passports) should be going to Washington to report the result of their reconnoissances in Tennessee? The Tennessee River is high, and we have no casemated batteries, or batteries of any sort, on it above Fort Henry. CHAPTER XI. Fall of Fort Henry.--Of Fort Donelson.--Lugubrious Inauguration of the President in the Permanent Government.--Loss of Roanoke Island. FEBRUARY 1ST.--We had a startling rumor yesterday that New Orleans had been taken by the enemy, without firing a gun. I hastened to the Secretary and asked him if it could be true. He had not heard of it, and turned pale. But a moment after, recollecting the day on which it was said the city had fallen, he seized a New Orleans paper of a subsequent date, and said the news could not be true, since the paper made no mention of it. FEBRUARY 2D.--The rumor of yesterday originated in the assertion of a Yankee paper that New Orleans _would_ be taken without firing a gun. Some of our people fear it may be so, since Mr. Benjamin's friend, Gen. Lovell, who came from New York since the battle of Manassas, is charged with the defense of the city. He delivered lectures, it is said, last summer on the defenses of New York--_in that city_. Have we not Southern men of sufficient genius to make generals of, for the defense of the South, without sending to New York for military commanders? FEBRUARY 3D.--We have intelligence of the sailing of an expedition from Cairo for the reduction of Fort Henry on the Tennessee River. FEBRUARY 4TH.--Burnside has entered the Sound at Hatteras with his fleet of gun-boats and transports. The work will soon begin. FEBRUARY 5TH.--I am sorry to hear that Gen. Wise is quite ill. But, on his back, as on his feet, he will direct operations, and the enemy will be punished whenever he comes in reach of him. FEBRUARY 6TH.--The President is preparing his Inaugural Message for the 22d, when he is to begin his new administration of six years. He is to read it from the Washington Monument in Capitol Square. FEBRUARY 7TH.--We have vague rumors of fighting at Roanoke. Nothing reliable. FEBRUARY 8-20TH.--Such astounding events have occurred since the 8th instant, such an excitement has prevailed, and so incessant have been my duties, that I have not kept a regular journal. I give a running account of them. Roanoke has fallen before superior numbers, although we had 15,000 idle troops at Norfolk within hearing of the battle. The government would not interfere, and Gen. Huger refused to allow the use of a few thousand of his troops. But Gen. Wise is safe; Providence willed that he should escape the "man-trap." When the enemy were about to open fire on his headquarters at Nag's Head, knowing him to be prostrated with illness (for the island had then been surrendered after a heroic defense), Lieutenants Bagly and Wise bore the general away in a blanket to a distance of ten or fifteen miles. The Yankees would have gladly exchanged all their prisoners for Gen. Wise, who is ever a terror to the North. Capt. O. Jennings Wise fell, while gallantly cheering his men, in the heat of the battle. A thousand of the enemy fell before a few hundred of our brave soldiers. We lost some 2500 men, for there was no alternative but to surrender. Capt. Wise told the Yankee officers, who persisted in forcing themselves in his presence during his dying moments, that the South could never be subjugated. They might exterminate us, but every man, woman, and child would prefer death to abject subjugation. And he died with a sweet smile on his lip, eliciting the profound respect of his most embittered enemies. The enemy paroled our men taken on the island; and we recovered the remains of the heroic Capt. Wise. His funeral here was most impressive, and saddened the countenances of thousands who witnessed the pageant. None of the members of the government were present; but the ladies threw flowers and evergreens upon his bier. He is dead--but history will do him justice; and his example will inspire others with the spirit of true heroism. And President Tyler is no more on earth. He died after a very brief illness. There was a grand funeral, Mr. Hunter and others delivering orations. They came to me, supposing I had written one of the several biographies of the deceased which have appeared during the last twenty years. But I had written none--and none published were worthy of the subject. I could only refer them to the bound volumes of the MADISONIAN in the State library for his messages and other State papers. The originals are among my papers in the hands of the enemy. His history is yet to be written--and it will be read centuries hence. Fort Henry has fallen. Would that were all! The catalogue of disasters I feared and foretold, under the policy adopted by the War Department, may be a long and a terrible one. The mission of the spies to East Tennessee is now apparent. Three of the enemy's gun-boats have ascended the Tennessee River to the very head of navigation, while the women and children on its banks could do nothing more than gaze in mute despair. No batteries, no men were there. The absence of these is what the traitors, running from here to Washington, have been reporting to the enemy. Their boats would no more have ventured up that river without the previous exploration of spies, than Mr. Lincoln would dare to penetrate a cavern without torch-bearers, in which the rattle of venomous snakes could be heard. They have ascended to Florence, and may get footing in Alabama and Mississippi! And Fort Donelson has been attacked by an immensely superior force. We have 15,000 men there to resist, perhaps, 75,000! Was ever such management known before? Who is responsible for it? If Donelson falls, what becomes of the ten or twelve thousand men at Bowling Green? FEBRUARY 21ST.--All our garrison in Fort Henry, with Gen. Tilghman, surrendered. I think we had only 1500 men there. Guns, ammunition, and stores, all gone. No news from Donelson--and that is _bad_ news. Benjamin says he has no definite information. But prisoners taken say the enemy have been reinforced, and are hurling 80,000 against our 15,000. FEBRUARY 22D.--Such a day! The heavens weep incessantly. Capitol Square is black with umbrellas; and a shelter has been erected for the President to stand under. I walked up to the monument and heard the Inaugural read by the President. He read it well, and seemed self-poised in the midst of disasters, which he acknowledged had befallen us. And he admitted that there had been errors in our war policy. We had attempted operations on too extensive a scale, thus diffusing our powers which should have been concentrated. I like these candid confessions. They augur a different policy hereafter, and we may hope for better results in the future. We must all stand up for our country. Mr. Hunter has resigned, and taken his place in the Senate. FEBRUARY 23D.--At last we have the astounding tidings that Donelson has fallen, and Buckner, and 9000 men, arms, stores, everything are in possession of the enemy! Did the President know it yesterday? Or did the Secretary keep it back till the new government (permanent) was launched into existence? Wherefore? The Southern _people_ cannot be daunted by calamity! Last night it was still raining--and it rained all night. It was a lugubrious reception at the President's mansion. But the President himself was calm, and Mrs. Davis seemed in spirits. For a long time I feared the bad weather would keep the people away; and the thought struck me when I entered, that if there were a Lincoln spy present, we should have more ridicule in the Yankee presses on the paucity of numbers attending the reception. But the crowd came at last, and filled the ample rooms. The permanent government had its birth in storm, but it may yet flourish in sunshine. For my own part, however, I think a provisional government of few men, should have been adopted "for the war." FEBRUARY 24TH.--Gen. Sydney Johnston has evacuated Bowling Green with his _ten or twelve_ thousand men! Where is his mighty army now? It never did exist! FEBRUARY 25TH.--And Nashville must fall--although no one seems to anticipate such calamity. We must run the career of disasters allotted us, and await the turning of the tide. FEBRUARY 26TH.--Congress, in secret session, has authorized the declaration of martial law in this city, and at some few other places. This might be well under other circumstances; but it will not be well if the old general in command should be clothed with powers which he has no qualifications to wield advantageously. The facile old man will do _anything_ the Secretary advises. Our army is to fall back from Manassas! The Rappahannock is not to be our line of _defense_. Of course the enemy will soon strike at Richmond from some direction. I have given great offense to some of our people by saying the policy of permitting men to go North at will, will bring the enemy to the gates of the city in ninety days. Several have told me that the prediction has been marked in the Secretary's tablets, and that I am marked for destruction if it be not verified. I reply that I would rather be destroyed than that it should be fulfilled. FEBRUARY 27TH.--Columbus is to be evacuated. Beauregard sees that it is untenable with Forts Henry and Donelson in possession of the enemy. He will not be caught in such a trap as that. But he is erecting a battery at Island No. 10 that will give the Yankees trouble. I hope it may stay the catalogue of disasters. FEBRUARY 28TH.--These calamities may be a wholesome chastening for us. We shall now go to work and raise troops enough to defend the country. Congress will certainly pass the Conscription Act recommended by the President. CHAPTER XII. Nashville evacuated.--Martial law.--Passports.--Com. Buchanan's naval engagement.--Gen. Winder's blunders.--Mr. Benjamin Secretary of State.--Lee commander-in chief.--Mr. G. W. Randolph Secretary of War. MARCH 1ST.--It is certain that the City of Nashville has been evacuated, and will, of course, be occupied by the enemy. Gen. Johnston, with the remnant of his army, has fallen down to Murfreesborough, and as that is not a point of military importance, will in turn be abandoned, and the enemy will drop out of the State into Alabama or Mississippi. MARCH 2D.--Gen. Jos. E. Johnston has certainly made a skillful retrograde movement in the face of the enemy at Manassas. He has been keeping McClellan and his 210,000 men at bay for a long time with about 40,000. After the abandonment of his works it was a long time before the enemy knew he had retrograded. They approached very cautiously, and found that they had been awed by a few _Quaker guns--logs of wood_ in position, and so painted as to resemble cannon. Lord, how the Yankee press will quiz McClellan! MARCH 3D.--But McClellan would not advance. He could not drag his artillery at this season of the year; and so he is embarking his army, or the greater portion of it, for the Peninsula. MARCH 4TH.--We shall have stirring times here. Our troops are to be marched through Richmond immediately, for the defense of Yorktown--the same town surrendered by Lord Cornwallis to Washington. But its fall or its successful defense now will signify nothing. MARCH 5TH.--Martial law has been proclaimed. MARCH 6TH.--Some consternation among the citizens--they dislike martial law. MARCH 7TH.--Gen. Winder has established a guard with fixed bayonets at the door of the passport office. They let in only a few at a time, and these, when they get their passports, pass out by the rear door, it being impossible for them to return through the crowd. MARCH 8TH.--Gen. Winder has appointed Capt. Godwin Provost Marshal. MARCH 9TH.--Gen. Winder has appointed Col. Porter Provost Marshal,--Godwin not being high enough in rank, I suppose. MARCH 10TH.--One of the friends of the Secretary of War came to me to-day, and proposed to have some new passports printed, with the likeness of Mr. Benjamin engraved on them. He said, I think, the engraving had already been made. I denounced the project as absurd, and said there were some five or ten thousand printed passports on hand. MARCH 11TH.--I have summed up the amounts of patriotic contributions received by the army in Virginia, and registered on my book, and they amount to $1,515,898.[1] The people of the respective States contributed as follows: North Carolina $325,417 Alabama 317,600 Mississippi 272,670 Georgia 244,885 South Carolina 137,206 Texas 87,800 Louisiana 61,950 Virginia[1] 48,070 Tennessee 17,000 Florida 2,350 Arkansas 950 MARCH 12TH.--Gen. Winder moved the passport office up to the corner of Ninth and Broad Streets. The office at the corner of Ninth and Broad Streets was a filthy one; it was inhabited--for they slept there---by his rowdy clerks. And when I stepped to the hydrant for a glass of water, the tumbler repulsed me by the smell of whisky. There was no towel to wipe my hands with, and in the long basement room underneath, were a thousand garments of dead soldiers, taken from the hospitals and the battle-field, and exhaling a most disagreeable, if not deleterious, odor. MARCH 13TH.--Nevertheless, I am (temporarily) signing my name to the passports, yet issued by the authority of the Secretary of War. They are filled up and issued by three or four of the Provost Marshal's clerks, who are governed mainly by my directions, as neither Col. Porter nor the clerks, nor Gen. Winder himself, have the slightest idea of the geography of the country occupied by the enemy. The clerks are all Marylanders, as well as the detectives, and the latter intend to remain here to my great chagrin. MARCH 14TH.--The Provost Marshal, Col. Porter, has had new passports printed, to which his own name is to be appended. I am requested to sign it for him, and to instruct the clerks generally. MARCH 15TH.--For several days troops have been pouring through the city, marching down the Peninsula. The enemy are making demonstrations against Yorktown. MARCH 16TH.--I omitted to note in its place the gallant feat of Commodore Buchanan with the iron monster Merrimac in Hampton Roads. He destroyed two of the enemy's best ships of war. My friends, Lieutenants Parker and Minor, partook of the glory, and were severely wounded. MARCH 17TH.--Col. Porter has resigned his provost marshalship, and is again succeeded by Capt. Godwin, a _Virginian_, and I like him very well, for he is truly Southern in his instincts. MARCH 18TH.--A Mr. MacCubbin, of Maryland, has been appointed by Gen. Winder the Chief of Police. He is wholly illiterate, like the rest of the policemen under his command. MARCH 19TH.--Mr. MacCubbin, whom I take to be a sort of Scotch-Irishman, though reared in the mobs of Baltimore, I am informed has given some passports, already signed, to some of his friends. This interference will produce a rupture between Capt. Godwin and Capt. MacCubbin; but as the former is a Virginian, he may have the worst of it in the bear fight. MARCH 20TH.--There is skirmishing everyday on the Peninsula. We have not exceeding 60,000 men there, while the enemy have 158,000. It is fearful odds. And they have a fleet of gun-boats. MARCH 21ST.--Gen. Winder's detectives are very busy. They have been forging prescriptions to _catch_ the poor Richmond apothecaries. When the brandy is thus obtained it is confiscated, and the money withheld. They drink the brandy, and imprison the apothecaries. MARCH 22D.--Capt. Godwin, the Provost Marshal, was swearing furiously this morning at the policemen about their iniquitous _forgeries_. MARCH 23D.--Gen. Winder was in this morning listening to something MacCubbin was telling him about the Richmond _Whig_. It appears that, in the course of a leading article, enthusiastic for the cause, the editor remarked, "we have arms and ammunition now." The policemen, one and all, interpreted this as a violation of the order to the press to abstain from speaking of the arrivals of arms, etc. from abroad. Gen. Winder, without looking at the paper, said in a loud voice, "Go and arrest the editor--and close his office!" Two or three of the policemen started off on this errand. But I interposed, and asked them to wait a moment, until I could examine the paper. I found no infraction of the order in the truly patriotic article, and said so to Gen. Winder. "Well," said he, "if he has not violated the order, he must not be arrested." He took the paper, and read for himself; and then, without saying anything more, departed. When he was gone, I asked MacCubbin what was the phraseology of the order that "had been served on the editors." He drew it from his pocket, saying it had been shown to them, _and not left with them_. It was in the handwriting of Mr. Benjamin, and signed by Gen. Winder. And I learned that all the orders, sumptuary and others, had been similarly written and signed. Mr. Benjamin used the pencil and not the pen in writing these orders, supposing, of course, they would be copied by Gen. W.'s clerks. But they were not copied. The policemen threaten to stop the _Examiner_ soon, for that paper has been somewhat offensive to the _aliens_ who now have rule here. MARCH 24TH.--Gen. Walker, of Georgia--the same who had the scene with Col. Bledsoe--has resigned. I am sorry that the Confederate States must lose his services, for he is a brave man, covered with honorable scars. He has displeased the Secretary of War. MARCH 25TH.--Gen. Bonham, of South Carolina, has also resigned, for being overslaughed. His were the _first_ troops that entered Virginia to meet the enemy; and because some of his three months' men were reorganized into fresh regiments, his brigade was dissolved, and his commission canceled. Price, Beauregard, Walker, Bonham, Toombs, Wise, Floyd, and others of the brightest lights of the South have been somehow successively obscured. And Joseph E. Johnston is a doomed fly, sooner or later, for he said, not long since, that there could be no hope of success as long as Mr. Benjamin was Secretary of War. These words were spoken at a dinner-table, and will reach the ears of the Secretary. MARCH 26TH.--The apothecaries arrested and imprisoned some days ago have been tried and acquitted by a court-martial. Gen. Winder indorsed on the order for their discharge: _"Not approved, and you may congratulate yourselves upon escaping a merited punishment."_ MARCH 27TH.--It is said Mr. Benjamin has been dismissed, or resigned. MARCH 28TH.--Mr. Benjamin has been promoted. He is now Secretary of State. His successor in the War Department is G. W. Randolph, a lawyer of modest pretensions, who, although he has lived for several years in this city, does not seem to have a dozen acquaintances. But he inherits a name, being descended from Thomas Jefferson, and, I believe, likewise from the Mr. Randolph in Washington's cabinet. Mr. Randolph was a captain at Bethel under Magruder; and subsequently promoted to a colonelcy. Announcing his determination to quit the military service more than a month ago, he entered the field as a competitor for the seat in Congress left vacant by the death of President Tyler. Hon. James Lyons was elected, and Col. Randolph got no votes at all. MARCH 30TH.--Gen. Lee is to have command of all the armies--but will not be in the field himself. He will reside here. Congress passed an act to create a commanding general; but this was vetoed, for trenching on the executive prerogative--or failed in some way. The proceedings were in secret session. MARCH 31ST.--Gen. Joseph E. Johnston is to command on the Peninsula. The President took an affectionate leave of him the other day; and Gen. Lee held his hand a long time, and admonished him to take care of his life. There was no necessity for him to endanger it--as had just been done by the brave Sydney Johnston at Shiloh, whose fall is now universally lamented. This Gen. Johnston (Joseph E.) I believe has the misfortune to be wounded in most of his battles. CHAPTER XIII. Gen. Beauregard succeeds Gen. Sydney Johnston.--Dibble, the traitor.-- Enemy at Fredericksburg.--They say we will be subdued by the 15th of June.--Lee rapidly concentrating at Richmond.--Webster, the spy, hung. APRIL 1ST.--Gen. Sydney Johnston having fallen in battle, the command in the West devolved on Gen. Beauregard, whose recent defense at Island No. 10 on the Mississippi, has revived his popularity. But, I repeat, he is a doomed man. APRIL 2D.--Gen. Wise is here with his report of the Roanoke disaster. APRIL 3D.--Congress is investigating the Roanoke affair. Mr. Benjamin has been denounced in Congress by Mr. Foote and others as the sole cause of the calamities which have befallen the country. I wrote a letter to the President, offering to show that I had given no passport to Mr. Dibble, the traitor, and also the evidences, in his own handwriting, that Mr. Benjamin granted it. APRIL 4TH.--The enemy are shelling our camp at Yorktown. I can hear the reports of the guns, of a damp evening. We are sending back defiance with our guns. The President has not taken any notice of my communication. Mr. Benjamin is too powerful to be affected by such proofs of such small matters. APRIL 5TH.--Newbern, N. C., has fallen into the hands of the enemy! Our men, though opposed by greatly superior numbers, made a brave resistance, and killed and wounded 1000 of the invaders. The enemy were piloted up the river to Newbern by the same _Mr. Dibble_ to whom I refused a passport, but to whom the Secretary of War granted one. The press everywhere is commenting on the case of Dibble--_but Mordecai still sits at the gate_. APRIL 6TH.--Two spies (Lincoln's detective police) have been arrested here, tried by court-martial, and condemned to be hung. There is an awful silence among the Baltimore detectives, which bodes no harm to the condemned. They will not be executed, though guilty. APRIL 7TH.--R. G. H. Kean, a young man, and a connection of Mr. Randolph, has been appointed Chief of the Bureau of War in place of Col. Bledsoe, resigned at last. Mr. Kean was, I believe, a lieutenant when Mr. Randolph was colonel, and acted as his adjutant. APRIL 8TH.--Col. Bledsoe has been appointed Assistant Secretary of War by the President. Now he is in his glory, and has forgotten me. APRIL 9TH.--There are several young officers who have sheathed the sword, and propose to draw the pen in the civil service. To-day I asked of the department a month's respite from labor, and obtained it. But I remained in the city, and watched closely, still hoping I might serve the cause, or at least prevent more injury to it, from the wicked facility hitherto enjoyed by spies to leave the country. APRIL 10TH.--The condemned spies have implicated _Webster_, the letter-carrier, who has had so many passports. He will hang, probably. Gen. Winder himself, and his policemen, wrote home by him. I don't believe him any more guilty than many who used to write by him; and I mean to tell the Judge Advocate so, if they give me an opportunity. APRIL 11TH.--The enemy are at Fredericksburg, and the Yankee papers say it will be all over with us by the 15th of June. I doubt that. APRIL 12TH.--The committee (Congressional) which have been investigating the Roanoke Island disaster have come to the conclusion, unanimously, and the House has voted accordingly, and with unanimity, that the blame and guilt of that great calamity rest solely upon "Gen. Huger and Judah P. Benjamin." APRIL 13TH.--Gen. Wise now resolved to ask for another command, to make another effort in defense of his country. But, when he waited upon the Secretary of War, he ascertained that there was no brigade for him. Returning from thence, some of his officers, who had escaped the trap at Roanoke, crowded round him to learn the issue of his application. "There is no Secretary of War!" said he. "What is Randolph?" asked one. "He is not Secretary of War!" said he; "he is merely a _clerk_, an underling, and cannot hold up his head in his humiliating position. He never will be able to hold up his head, sir." APRIL 14TH.--There will soon be hard fighting on the Peninsula. APRIL 15TH.--Gen. Beauregard has written to Gen. Wise, offering him a command in his army, if the government will consent to it. It will not be consented to. APRIL 16TH.--Troops are being concentrated rapidly in Virginia by Gen. Lee. APRIL 17TH.--To-day Congress passed an act providing for the termination of martial law within thirty days after the meeting of the next session. This was as far as they could _venture_; for, indeed, a majority seem to be intimidated at the glitter of bayonets in the streets, wielded by the authority of martial law. The press, too, has taken the alarm, and several of the publishers have confessed a fear of having their offices closed, if they dare to speak the sentiments struggling for utterance. It is, indeed, a reign of terror! Every Virginian, and other loyal citizens of the South--members of Congress and all--must now, before obtaining Gen. Winder's permission to leave the city for their homes, bow down before the _aliens_ in the Provost Marshal's office, and subscribe to an oath of allegiance, while a file of bayonets are pointed at his back! APRIL 18TH.--The President is thin and haggard; and it has been whispered on the street that he will immediately be baptized and confirmed. I hope so, because it may place a great gulf between him and the descendant of those who crucified the Saviour. Nevertheless, some of his enemies allege that professions of Christianity have sometimes been the premeditated accompaniments of usurpations. It was so with Cromwell and with Richard III. Who does not remember the scene in Shakspeare, where Richard appears on the balcony, with prayer book in hand and a priest on either side? APRIL 19TH.--All believe we are near a crisis, involving the possession of the capital. APRIL 21ST.--A calm before the storm. APRIL 22D.--Dibble, the traitor, has been captured by our soldiers in North Carolina. APRIL 23D.--The North Carolinians have refused to give up Dibble to Gen. Winder. And, moreover, the governor has demanded the rendition of a citizen of his State, who was arrested there by one of Gen. Winder's detectives, and brought hither. The governor says, if he be not delivered up, he will institute measures of retaliation, and arrest every alien policeman from Richmond caught within the limits of his jurisdiction. Is it not shameful that martial law should be playing such fantastic tricks before high heaven, when the enemy's guns are booming within hearing of the capital? APRIL 24TH.--Webster has been tried, condemned, and _hung_. APRIL 25TH.--Gen. Wise, through the influence of Gen. Lee, who is a Christian gentleman as well as a consummate general, has been ordered into the field. He will have a brigade, but not with Beauregard. The President has unbounded confidence in Lee's capacity, modest as he is. Another change! Provost Marshal Godwin, for rebuking the Baltimore chief of police, is to leave us, and to be succeeded by a Marylander, Major Griswold, whose family is now in the enemy's country. APRIL 26TH.--Gen. Lee is doing good service in bringing forward reinforcements from the South against the day of trial--and an awful day awaits us. It is understood that he made fully known to the President his appreciation of the desperate condition of affairs, and demanded _carté blanche_ as a condition of his acceptance of the position of commanding general. The President wisely agreed to the terms. APRIL 27TH.--Gen. Lee is calm--but the work of preparation goes on night and day. APRIL 28TH.--We have rumors of an important cabinet meeting, wherein it was resolved to advise or command Gen. Johnston to evacuate Yorktown and retire toward Richmond! Also that Norfolk is to be given up! I don't believe it; Lee's name is not mentioned. APRIL 29TH.--Major Griswold is here, and so is a new batch of Marylanders. APRIL 30TH.--Troops from the South are coming in and marching down the Peninsula. CHAPTER XIV. Disloyalists entrapped.--Norfolk abandoned.--Merrimac blown up.--Army falling back.--Mrs. Davis leaves Richmond.--Preparing to burn the tobacco.--Secretary of War trembles for Richmond.--Richmond to be defended.--The tobacco.--Winking and blinking.--Johnston's great battle.--Wounded himself.--The wounded.--The hospitals. MAY 1ST.--The ladies shower loaves of bread and slices of ham on the passing troops. MAY 2D.--An iniquitous-looking prisoner was brought in to-day from Orange C. H., by the name of Robert Stewart. The evidence against him is as follows: He is a Pennsylvanian, though a resident of Virginia for a number of years, and owns a farm in Orange County. Since the series of disasters, and the seeming downward progress of our affairs, Stewart has cooled his ardor for independence. He has slunk from enrollment in the militia, and under the Conscription Act. And since the occupation of Fredericksburg by the enemy he has made use of such equivocal language as to convince his neighbors that his sympathies are wholly with the Northern invader. A day or two since, near nightfall, three troopers, weary and worn, halted at Stewart's house and craved food and rest for themselves and horses. Stewart, supposing them to be Confederate soldiers, declared he had nothing they wanted, and that he was destitute of every description of refreshments. They said they were sorry for it, as it was a long ride to Fredericksburg. "Are you _Union_ soldiers?" asked Stewart, quickly. "Yes," said they, "and we are on scouting duty." "Come in! Come in! I have everything you want!" cried Stewart, and when they entered he embraced them. A sumptuous repast was soon on the table, but the soldiers refused to eat! Surprised at this, Stewart demanded the reason; the troopers rose, and said they were Confederate soldiers, and it was their duty to arrest a traitor. They brought him hither. Will he, too, escape merited punishment? MAY 3D.--I fear there is something in the rumor that Norfolk and Portsmouth and Yorktown and the Peninsula will be _given_ up. The Secretaries of War and Navy are going down to Norfolk. MAY 4TH.--The Yankees on the Peninsula mean to fight. Well, that is what our brave army pants for. MAY 5TH.--The prospect of battle produces a joyous smile on every soldier's face to-day. MAY 6TH, 7TH.--We have not yet reached the lowest round of the ladder. The Secretary is at Norfolk, and the place is to be evacuated. I would resign first. MAY 8TH.--Norfolk and Portsmouth are evacuated! Our army falling back! The Merrimac is to be, or has been, blown up! MAY 9TH.--My family, excepting my son Custis, started to-day for Raleigh, N. C., where our youngest daughter is at school. But it is in reality another flight from the enemy. No one, scarcely, supposes that Richmond will be defended. But it must be! MAY 10TH.--The President's family have departed for Raleigh, and the families of most of the cabinet to their respective homes, or other places of refuge. The President has been baptized (at home) and privately confirmed in St. Paul's Church. MAY 11TH.--The Baltimore detectives are the lords of the ascendant. They crook a finger, and the best carriages in the street pause, turn round, and are subject to their will. They loll and roll in glory. And they ride on horseback, too--government horses, or horses _pressed_ from gentlemen's stables. One word of remonstrance, and the poor victim is sent to Castle Godwin. MAY 12TH.--I suggested to the Provost Marshal several days ago that there was an act of Congress _requiring_ the destruction of tobacco, whenever it might be in danger of falling into the hands of the enemy. He ran to Gen. Winder, and he to some one else, and then a hundred or more negroes, and as many wagons, were "pressed" by the detectives. They are now gathering the weed from all quarters, and piling it in "pressed" warehouses, mixed with "combustibles," ready for the conflagration. And now the consuls from the different nations are claiming that all bought on foreign account ought to be spared the torch. Mr. Myers, the little old lawyer, has been employed to aid them. He told me to-day that none ought to be burnt, that the Yankees having already the tobacco of Missouri, Kentucky, and Maryland, if we burn ours it will redound to their benefit, as it will enhance the price of that in their hands. That is a Benjamite argument. He hastened away to see the Secretary of State, and returned, saying, in high glee (supposing I concurred with him, of course), Mr. B. agreed with him. I told him, very gravely, that it mattered not who agreed with him; so soon as the enemy came to Richmond all the tobacco would be burned, as the retiring army would attend to it; several high officers were so resolved. He looked astounded, and departed. MAY 13TH.--This morning I learned that the consuls had carried the day, and were permitted to collect the tobacco _alleged_ to be bought on foreign account in separate warehouses, and to place the flags of their respective nations over them. This was saving the property claimed by foreigners whose governments refused to recognize us (these consuls are accredited to the United States), and destroying that belonging to our own citizens. I told the Provost Marshal that the act of Congress included _all_ tobacco and cotton, and he was required by _law_ to see it all destroyed. He, however, acknowledged only martial law, and was, he said, acting under the instructions of the Secretary of State. What has the Secretary of State to do with _martial law_? Is there really no Secretary of War? Near the door of the Provost Marshal's office, guarded by bayoneted sentinels, there is a desk presided over by Sergeant Crow, who orders _transportation_ on the cars to such soldiers as are permitted to rejoin their regiments. This Crow, a Marylander, keeps a little black-board hung up and notes with chalk all the regiments that go down the Peninsula. To-day, I saw a man whom I suspected to be a Yankee spy, copy with his pencil the list of regiments; and when I demanded his purpose, he seemed confused. This is the kind of information Gen. McClellan can afford to pay for very liberally. I drew the Provost Marshal's attention to this matter, and he ordered a discontinuance of the practice. MAY 14TH.--Our army has fallen back to within four miles of Richmond. Much anxiety is felt for the fate of the city. Is there no turning point in this long lane of downward progress? Truly it may be said, our affairs at this moment are in a critical condition. I trust in God, and the chivalry and patriotism of the South _in the field_. The enemy's fleet of gun-boats are ascending James River, and the obstructions are not completed. We have but one or two casemated guns in battery, but we have brave men there. MAY 15TH.--The enemy's gun-boats, Monitor, Galena, etc. are at Drewry's Bluff, eight miles below the city, shelling our batteries, and our batteries are bravely shelling them. The President rode down to the vicinity this morning, and observed the firing. The guns are heard distinctly in the city, and yet there is no consternation manifested by the people. If the enemy pass the obstructions, the city will be, it is true, very much at their mercy. They may shell us out of it, and this may occur any hour. South of the city the enemy have no forces, and we can find refuge there. I suppose the government would go to Lynchburg. I shall remain with the army, _and see that the tobacco be burnt, at all hazards, according to law_. I have seen some of our generals, and am convinced that the Baltimore rabble, and those that direct them, will be suppressed, or exterminated, if they attempt to throw impediments in the way of our soldiers in the work of destroying the tobacco, as enjoined by Congress. Our marksmen will keep up an incessant fire into the port-holes of the gun-boats; and if it be at all practicable, we will board them. So hope is by no means extinct. But it is apprehended, if the enemy get within shelling distance of the city, there will be an attack along our lines by McClellan. We must beat him there, as we could never save our guns, stores, etc. retreating across the river. And we _will_ beat him, for we have 80,000 men, and more are coming. Joyful tidings! the gun-boats have been repulsed! A heavy shot from one of our batteries ranged through the Galena from stem to stern, making frightful slaughter, and disabling the ship; and the whole fleet turned about and steamed down the river! We have not lost a dozen men. We breathe freely; and the government will lose no time in completing the obstructions and strengthening the batteries. MAY 16TH.--McClellan is intrenching--that is, at least, significant of a respite, and of apprehension of attack. MAY 17TH.--Gen. Lee has admonished Major Griswold on the too free granting of passports. Will it do any good? MAY 18TH.--All quiet to-day except the huzzas as fresh troops arrive. MAY 19TH.--We await the issue before Richmond. It is still believed by many that it is the intention of the government and the generals to evacuate the city. If the enemy were to appear in force on the south side, and another force were to march on us from Fredericksburg, we should be inevitably taken, in the event of the loss of a battle--an event I don't anticipate. Army, government, and all, might, it is true, be involved in a common ruin. Wrote as strong a letter as I could to the President, stating what I have every reason to believe would be the consequences of the abandonment of Richmond. There would be demoralization and even insubordination in the army. Better die here! With the exception of the business portion of the city, the enemy could not destroy a great many houses by bombardment. But if defeated and driven back, our troops would make a heroic defense in the streets, in the walled grave-yards, and from the windows. Better electrify the world by such scenes of heroism, than surrender the capital and endanger the cause. I besought him by every consideration not to abandon Richmond to the enemy short of the last extremity. The legislature has also passed resolutions calling upon the C. S. Government to defend Richmond at all hazards, relieving the Confederate authorities, in advance, of all responsibility for any damage sustained. This will have its effect. It would be pusillanimous to retire now. But every preparation had been made to abandon it. The archives had been sent to Columbia, S. C. and to Lynchburg. The tracks over the bridges had been covered with plank, to facilitate the passage of artillery. Mr. Randolph had told his page, and cousin, "you must go with my wife into the country, for to-morrow the enemy will be here." Trunks were packed in readiness--for what? Not one would have been taken on the cars! The Secretary of the Treasury had a special locomotive and cars, constantly with steam up, in readiness to fly with the treasure. Nevertheless, many of the _old_ secessionists have resolved not to leave their homes, for there were no other homes for them to fly to. They say they will never take the oath of allegiance to the despised government of the North, but suffer whatever penalties may be imposed on them. There is a sullen, but generally a calm expression of inflexible determination on the countenances of the people, men, women, and children. But there is no consternation; we have learned to contemplate death with composure. It would be at least an effectual escape from dishonor; and Northern domination is dishonor. MAY 20TH.--The President, in response to the Legislative Committee, announced that Richmond would be defended. A thrill of joy electrifies every heart, a smile of triumph is on every lip. The inhabitants seem to know that their brave defenders in the field will prove invincible; and it is understood that Gen. Lee considers the city susceptible of successful defense. The ladies are in ecstasies. MAY 21ST.--There are skirmishes every day, and we can hear both the artillery and musketry from the hills on the outskirts of the city, whither some of us repair every afternoon. But the Provost Marshal's administration is abominable. Mr. Garnett, M. C., told me that in an interview with the President, the latter informed him that he had just received a letter from Gen. Johnston, stating that the enemy not only knew everything going on within our lines, but seemed absolutely to know what we intended doing in the future, as if the most secret counsels of the cabinet were divulged. Count Mercier, the French Minister residing at Washington, has been here on a mysterious errand. They said it referred to our recognition. He had prolonged interviews with Mr. Benjamin. I think it was concerning tobacco. There are $60,000,000 worth in Richmond, at French prices. For $1,000,000, Mr. Seward might afford to wink very hard; and, after distributing several other millions, there would be a grand total profit both to the owners and the French Emperor. I smile at their golden expectations, for I know they will not be realized. If one man can prevent it, the South shall never be betrayed for a crop of tobacco. This is a holy cause we are embarked in, worthy to die for. The British Minister, Lord Lyons, has embarked for England, to report to his government that "the rebellion is on its last legs," and must speedily succumb. He is no prophet, or the son of a prophet. MAY 22D.--There is lightning in the Northwest, and the deep thunder of avenging guns is heard at Washington! Gen. Jackson, sent thither by Gen. Lee, is sweeping everything before him, defeating Shields, Banks, Fremont, and one or two other Yankee major-generals, with his little _corps d'armée_! And his coadjutor, Ewell, is worthy of his companionship. He has swept them out of the valley, scattering their hosts like quails before the fowler! They fly in every direction; and the powers at Washington are trembling for the safety of their own capital. Glorious Jackson! and he gives, as is justly due, the glory to God. MAY 23D.--Oh, the extortioners! Meats of all kinds are selling at 50 cts. per pound; butter, 75 cts.; coffee, $1.50; tea, $10; boots, $30 per pair; shoes, $18; ladies' shoes, $15; shirts, $6 each. Houses that rented for $500 last year, are $1000 now. Boarding, from $30 to $40 per month. Gen. Winder has issued an order fixing the maximum prices of certain articles of marketing, which has only the effect of keeping a great many things out of market. The farmers have to pay the merchants and Jews their extortionate prices, and complain very justly of the partiality of the general. It does more harm than good. MAY 24TH.--Every day the two armies are shelling each other, more or less; and every gun can be heard from the Hospital Hill, north of the city, whither many repair to listen. MAY 25TH.--The enemy send up several balloons every day. Sometimes three can be seen at once. They are stationary, being fastened by ropes to trees; and give us an idea of the extent of his lines. But with glasses they can not only see our camps around the city, but they can view every part of the city itself. MAY 26TH.--Gen. Lee is still strengthening the army. Every day additional regiments are coming. We are now so strong that no one fears the result when the great battle takes place. McClellan has delayed too long, and he is doomed to defeat. The tobacco savers know it well, and their faces exhibit chagrin and disappointment. Their fortunes will not be made this year, and so their reputations may be saved. MAY 27TH.--More troops came in last night, and were marched to the camp at once, so that the Yankees will know nothing of it. MAY 28TH.--Prisoners and deserters from the enemy say the Yankees get the Richmond papers, every day, almost as soon as we do. This is a great advantage they possess; and it demonstrates the fact that the Provost Marshal has interposed no effectual barriers between us and the enemy. MAY 29TH.--More troops are marching into the city, and Gen. Lee has them sent out in such manner and at such times as to elude the observations of even the spies. MAY 30TH.--It is said some of the enemy's mounted pickets rode through the city last night! Northern papers manifest much confidence in the near approach of the downfall of Richmond, and the end of the "rebellion." The 15th of June is the utmost limit allowed us for existence. A terrific storm arose yesterday; and as our scouts report the left wing of the enemy on this side of the Chickahominy, Gen. Johnston has determined to attack it to-morrow. Thank God, we are strong enough to make the attack! MAY 31ST.--Everybody is upon the tip-toe of expectation. It has been announced (in the streets!) that a battle would take place this day, and hundreds of men, women, and children repaired to the hills to listen, and possibly to see, the firing. The great storm day before yesterday, it is supposed, has so swollen the Chickahominy as to prevent McClellan's left wing from retreating, and reinforcements from being sent to its relief. The time is well chosen by Gen. Johnston for the attack, but it was bad policy to let it be known where and when it would be made; for, no doubt, McClellan was advised of our plans an hour or so after they were promulged in the streets. Whose fault is this? Johnston could hardly be responsible for it, because he is very reticent, and appreciates the importance of keeping his purposes concealed from the enemy. Surely none of his subordinates divulged the secret, for none but generals of division knew it. It must have been found out and proclaimed by some one in the _tobacco_ interest. It is true, Mr. Randolph told Mr. Jacques a great battle would begin at 8 A.M., to-day; but he would not propagate such news as that! But the battle did not occur at the time specified. Gen. Huger's division was not at the allotted place of attack at the time fixed upon. His excuse is that there was a stream to cross, and understanding Gen. Longstreet was his senior in command (which is not the fact, however), he permitted his division to have _precedence_. All the divisions were on the ground in time but Huger's, but still no battle. Thousands of impatient spectators are venting their criticisms and anathemas, like an audience at a theater when some accident or disarrangement behind the scenes prevents the curtain from rising. At last, toward noon, a few guns are heard; but it was not till 4 P.M. that Huger's division came upon the field. Nevertheless, the battle began in earnest before that hour; and we could hear distinctly not only the cannon but the musketry. The hearts of our soldiers have been inspired with heroic resolution, and their arms nerved with invincible power to overcome the difficulties known to be in the way. Every one is aware that the camp of the enemy, on this side of the Chickahominy, is almost impregnably intrenched; and in front of the works trees have been cut down and the limbs sharpened, so as to interpose every obstacle to our advance. Ever and anon after rapid firing of cannon, and a tremendous rattle of musketry, a pause would ensue; and we knew what this meant! A battery had been taken at the point of the bayonet, and we cheered accordingly. One after another, we could in this manner perceive the strongholds of the enemy fall into our hands. Toward sundown it was apparent that the intrenched camp had been taken; and as the deep booming of cannon became more distant, and the rattle of musketry less distinct, we felt certain that the foe was flying, and that our men were pursuing them. But we _knew_ that our men would take everything they were ordered to take. _They_ care not for wounds and death. This is their only country. But the enemy have a country to run to, and they hope to live, even if defeated here. If they kill all our young men, the old men and women, and even our children, will seize their arms and continue the conflict. At night. The ambulances are coming in with our wounded. They report that all the enemy's strong defenses were stormed, just as we could perceive from the sounds. They say that our brave men suffered much in advancing against the intrenchments, exposed to the fire of cannon and small arms, without being able to see the foe under their shelter; but when they leaped over the breastworks and turned the enemy's guns on them, our loss was more than compensated. Our men were shot in front; the enemy in the back--and terrible was the slaughter. We got their tents, all standing, and a sumptuous repast that had just been served up when the battle began. Gen. Casey's headquarters were taken, and his _plate_ and smoking viands were found on his table. His papers fell into our hands. We got a large amount of stores and refreshments, so much needed by our poor braves! There were boxes of lemons, oranges, brandies and wines, and all the luxuries of distant lands which enter the unrestricted ports of the United States. These things were narrated by the pale and bleeding soldiers, who smiled in triumph at their achievement. Not one in the long procession of ambulances uttered a complaint. Did they really suffer pain from their wounds? This question was asked by thousands, and the reply was, "not much." Women and children and slaves are wending to the hospitals, with baskets of refreshments, lint, and bandages. Every house is offered for a hospital, and every matron and gentle daughter, a tender nurse. But how fares it with the invader? Unable to recross the swollen Chickahominy, the Yankees were driven into an almost impenetrable swamp, where they must pass the night in water up to their knees. The wounded borne off by them will have no ministrations from their sisters and mothers, and their dead are abandoned on the field. If Huger had come up at the time appointed, the enemy would have been ruined. CHAPTER XV. Huger fails again.--A wounded boy.--The killed and wounded.--Lee assumes command.--Lee prepares to attack McClellan--Beauregard watches the gold.--Our generals scattered.--Hasty letter from Gen. Lee.--Opening of grand battle.--First day, 26th June.--Second, etc.--Lee's consummate skill.--Every day for a week it rages.--Streets crowded with Blue Jackets.--McClellan retires. JUNE 1ST.--The ambulances are now bringing in the enemy's wounded as well as our own. It is the prompting of humanity. They seem truly grateful for this magnanimity, as they call it; a sentiment hitherto unknown to them. The battle was renewed to-day, but not seriously. The failure of Gen. Huger to lead his division into action at the time appointed, is alleged as the only reason why the left wing of the enemy was not completely destroyed. But large masses of the enemy did cross the river, on bridges constructed for the purpose, and they had 50,000 men engaged against a much less number on our part; and their batteries played upon us from the north bank of the Chickahominy. The flying foe kept under shelter of this fire--and these guns could not be taken, as the pontoon bridge was defended by heavy artillery. All day the wounded were borne past our boarding-house in Third Street, to the general hospital; and hundreds, with shattered arms and slight flesh wounds, came in on foot. I saw a boy, not more than fifteen years old (from South Carolina), with his hand in a sling. He showed me his wound. A ball had entered between the fingers of his left hand and lodged near the wrist, where the flesh was much swollen. He said, smiling, "I'm going to the hospital just to have the ball cut out, and will then return to the battle-field. I can fight with my right hand." The detectives are jubilant to-day. They say one of their number, ----, did heroic feats of arms on the field, killing a Yankee colonel, and a private who came to the rescue. At all events, they brought in a colonel's sword, pistols, and coat, as trophies. This story is to be in the papers to-morrow! JUNE 2D.--Great indignation is expressed by the generals in the field at the tales told of the heroism of the amateur fighters. They say ---- stripped a dead colonel, and was never in reach of the enemy's guns. Moreover, the civilians in arms kept at such a distance from danger that their balls fell among our own men, and wounded some of them! An order has been issued by one of the major-generals, that hereafter any stragglers on the field of battle shall be shot. No civilians are to be permitted to be there at all, unless they go into the ranks. Gen. Johnston is wounded--badly wounded, but not mortally. It is his misfortune to be wounded in almost every battle he fights. Nevertheless, he has gained a glorious victory. Our loss in killed and wounded will not exceed 5000; while the enemy's killed, wounded, and prisoners will not fall short of 13,000. They lost, besides, many guns, tents, and stores--all wrung from them at the point of the bayonet, and in spite of their formidable abattis. Prisoners taken on the field say: "The Southern soldiers would charge into hell if there was a battery before them--and they would take it from a legion of devils!" The moral effect of this victory must be great. The enemy have been taught that none of the engines of destruction that can be wielded against us, will prevent us from taking their batteries; and so, hereafter, when we charge upon them, they might as well run away from their own guns. JUNE 3D.--Gen. Lee henceforth assumes command of the army in person. This may be hailed as the harbinger of bright fortune. JUNE 4TH.--Col. Bledsoe sent word to me to-day by my son that he wished to see me. When I met him he groaned as usual, and said the department would have to open another passport office, as the major-generals in the field refused to permit the relatives of the sick and wounded in the camps to pass with orders from Brig.-Gen. Winder or his Provost Marshal. JUNE 5TH.--I reopened my office in the department. JUNE 6TH.--Gen. Winder getting wind of what was going on, had an interview, first with Mr. Benjamin, who instructed him what to say; and then bringing forward the Provost Marshal, they had a rather stormy interview with Mr. Randolph, who, as usual, yielded to their protestations against having _two_ passport offices, while martial law existed. And so Col. Bledsoe came in and told me to "shut up shop." The Secretary had revoked his order. JUNE 7TH.--But business is in a great measure suspended, and so I have another holiday. JUNE 8TH.--I learn that Col. Bledsoe has to grant passports to the army, as the pickets have been instructed to let no one pass upon the order of Gen. Winder or his Provost Marshal. JUNE 9TH.--It is now apparent that matters were miserably managed on the battle-field, until Gen. Lee assumed command in person. Most of the trophies of the victory, and thousands of arms, stores, etc. were pillaged by the promiscuous crowds of aliens and Jews who purchased passports thither from the Provost Marshal's detectives. JUNE 10TH.--Col. Bledsoe sent for me again. This time he wanted me to take charge of the letter room, and superintend the young gentlemen who briefed the letters. This I did very cheerfully; I opened all the letters, and sent to the Secretary the important ones immediately. These, for want of discrimination, had sometimes been suffered to remain unnoticed two or three days, when they required instant action. JUNE 11TH, 12TH.--Gen. Smith, the New York street commissioner, had been urged as commander-in-chief. JUNE 13TH.--Gen. Lee is satisfied with the present posture of affairs--and McClellan has no idea of attacking us now. He don't say what he means to do himself. JUNE 14TH.--The wounded soldiers bless the ladies, who nurse them unceasingly. JUNE 15TH.--What a change! No one now dreams of the loss of the capital. JUNE 17TH.--It is not yet ascertained what amount of ordnance stores we gained from the battle. JUNE 18TH.--Lee is quietly preparing to attack McClellan. The President, who was on the battle-field, is very cheerful. JUNE 19TH.--To-day so many applications were made to the Secretary himself for passports to the armies, and beyond the lines of the Confederate States, that, forgetting the revocation of his former order, he sent a note into the Assistant Secretary, saying he thought a passport agent had been appointed to attend to such cases; and he now directed that it be done. Bledsoe came to me immediately, and said: "Jones, you'll have to open a passport office again--I shall sign no more." JUNE 20TH.--Moved once more into the old office. JUNE 21ST.--Gen. Beauregard is doubly doomed. A few weeks ago, when the blackness of midnight brooded over our cause, there were some intimations, I know not whether they were well founded, that certain high functionaries were making arrangements for a flight to France; and Gen. Beauregard getting intimation of an order to move certain sums in bullion in the custody of an Assistant Treasurer in his military department, forbid its departure until he could be certain that it was not destined to leave the Confederacy. I have not learned its ultimate destination; but the victory of the Seven Pines intervening, Gen. Beauregard has been relieved of his command, "on sick leave." But I know his army is to be commanded permanently by Gen. Bragg. There are charges against Beauregard. It is said the Yankee army might have been annihilated at Shiloh, if Beauregard had fought a little longer. JUNE 23D.--And Gen. Johnston, I learn, has had his day. And Magruder is on "sick leave." He is too open in his censures of the late Secretary of War. But Gen. Huger comes off scotfree; he has always had the confidence of Mr. Benjamin, and used to send the flag of truce to Fortress Monroe as often as could be desired. JUNE 24TH.--Gen. Lee's plan works like a charm! Although I have daily orders from Mr. Randolph to send persons beyond our lines, yet the precautions of Lee most effectually prevent any spies from knowing anything about his army. Even the Adjutant-General, S. Cooper, don't know how many regiments are ordered into Virginia, or where they are stationed. Officers returning from furlough, cannot ascertain in the Adjutant-General's office where their regiments are! They are referred to me for passports to Gen. Lee's headquarters. No man with a passport from Gen. Winder, or from his Provost Marshal, can pass the pickets of Gen. Lee's army. This is the harbinger of success, and I predict a career of glory for Lee, and for our country! There are some vague rumors about the approach of Stonewall Jackson's army; but no one knows anything about it, and but few believe it. Recent Northern papers say he is approaching Winchester, and I see they are intrenching in the valley to guard against his terrible blows. This is capital! And our people are beginning to _fear_ there will be no more fighting around Richmond until McClellan _digs_ his way to it. The moment fighting ceases, our people have fits of gloom and despondency; but when they snuff battle in the breeze, they are animated with confidence. They regard victory as a matter of course; and are only indignant at our long series of recent reverses, when they reflect that our armies have so seldom been led against the embattled hosts of the enemy. JUNE 25TH.--The people of Louisiana are protesting strongly against permitting Gen. Lovell to remain in command in that State, since the fall of New Orleans (which I omitted to note in regular order in these chronicles), and they attribute that disgraceful event, some to his incompetency, and others to treason. These remonstrances come from such influential parties, I think the President must listen to them. Yes, a Massachusetts man (they say Gen. L. came from Boston) was in command of the troops of New Orleans when that great city surrendered without firing a gun. And this is one of the Northern generals who came over to our side _after_ the battle of Manassas. JUNE 26TH.--To-day a letter, hastily written by Gen. Lee to the Secretary of War, stated that his headquarters would be at ----, or _beyond_ that point, whence couriers could find him if there should be anything of importance--the Secretary might desire to communicate during the day. _This is the day of battle!_ Jackson is in the rear of McClellan's right wing! I sent this note to the Secretary at once. I _suppose_ Mr. Randolph had been previously advised of Gen. Lee's intention to fight to-day; but I do not _know_ it. I know some of the brigadier-generals in the army do not know it; although they have all been ordered to their commands. This is no uncommon order; but it is characteristic of Lee's secretiveness to keep _all_ of his officers in profound ignorance of his intentions, except those he means to be engaged. The _enemy_ cannot possibly have any intimation of his purpose, because the spies here have no intelligence; and none are permitted to pass the rear pickets in sight of the city without my passport. What a change since the last battle! To-day, in compliance with an intimation of the President, all in the departments, who felt so disposed, formed a military organization for the defense of the city, and especially of the archives, which had been brought back since the assumption of command by Gen. Lee. Col. Bledsoe denounced the organization as a humbug! Defending the government, or readiness to defend it, in such times as these, is no humbug! In the fluctuations of a great battle, almost in the suburbs of the city, a squadron of the enemy's horse might penetrate even to the office of the Chief Executive, when a few hundred muskets, in the hands of old men and boys, might preserve the papers. After dinner I repaired, with Custis and a few friends, to my old stand on the hill north of the Jews' Cemetery, and sat down in the shade to listen. Many persons were there as usual--for every day some firing could be heard--who said, in response to my inquiries, that distant guns had been heard in the direction of the Pamunky River. "That is _Jackson_!" I exclaimed, as the sounds were distinctly discerned by myself; "and he is in their rear, behind their right wing!" All were incredulous, and some doubted whether he was within a hundred miles of us. But the sounds grew more distinct, and more frequent, and I knew he was advancing. But how long could he advance in that direction without being overwhelmed? Everywhere else along the line a deathlike silence reigned, that even the dropping fire of the pickets, usually so incessant, could be heard. This suspense continued only a few minutes. Two guns were then heard northeast of us, and in such proximity as to startle some of the anxious listeners. These were followed by three or four more, and then the fire continued with increasing rapidity. This was Gen. A. P. Hill's division in _front_ of the enemy's right wing, and Lee's plan of battle was developed. Hill was so near us as to be almost in sight. The drums and fifes of his regiments, as they marched up to the point of attack, could be easily heard; how distinctly, then, sounded his cannon in our ears! And the enemy's guns, pointed in the direction of the city, were as plainly discerned. I think McClellan is taken by surprise. One gentleman, who had been incredulous on the subject of a battle to-day, held his watch in his hand ten minutes, during which time one hundred and ninety guns were heard. Saying he believed a battle was in progress, he replaced the watch in his pocket, and sat down on the ground to listen. Another hour, and the reports come with the rapidity of seconds, or 3600 per hour! And now, for the first time, we hear the rattle of small arms. And lo! two guns farther to the right,--from Longstreet's division, I suppose. And they were followed by others. This is Lee's grand plan of battle: Jackson first, then Hill, then Longstreet--time and distance computed with mathematical precision! The enemy's balloons are not up now. They _know_ what is going on, without further investigations up in the air. The business is upon earth, where many a Yankee will breathe his last this night! McClellan must be thunderstruck at this unexpected opening of a decisive battle. Our own people, and even our own general officers, except those who were to participate in the attack, were uninformed of Lee's grand purpose, until the booming of Jackson's guns were heard far on our left. As the shades of evening fall, the fire seems to increase in rapidity, and a gentle breeze rising as the stars come out, billows of smoke are wafted from the battle-field. And now, occasionally, we can distinctly see the bursting of shells in the air, aimed too high by the enemy, and exploding far this side of our line of battle. Darkness is upon us, save the glimmer of the stars, as the sulphurous clouds sink into the humid valleys. But the flashes of the guns are visible on the horizon, followed by the deep intonations of the mighty engines of destruction, echoing and reverberating from hill to hill, and through the vast valley of the James in the rear. Hundreds of men, women, and children were attracted to the heights around the city to behold the spectacle. From the Capitol and from the President's mansion, the vivid flashes of artillery could be seen; but no one doubted the result. It is only silence and inaction we dread. The firing ceased at nine o'clock P.M. The President was on the field, but did not interfere with Lee. JUNE 27TH.--At the first dawn of day, the battle recommenced, farther round to the east. This was enough. The enemy had drawn in his right wing. And courier after courier announced the taking of his batteries by our brave defenders! But the battle rages loud and long, and the troops of Jackson's corps, like the march of Fate, still upon McClellan's right flank and rear. Jackson's horse, and the gallant Stuart, with his irresistible cavalry, have cut the enemy's communications with their base on the Pamunky. It is said they are burning their stores! What genius! what audacity in Lee! He has absolutely taken the greater portion of his army to the north side of the Chickahominy, leaving McClellan's center and left wing on the south side, with apparently easy access to the city. This is (to the invaders) impenetrable strategy. The enemy believes Lee's main forces are _here_, and will never think of advancing. We have so completely closed the avenues of intelligence that the enemy has not been able to get the slightest intimation of our strength or the dispositions of our forces. JUNE 28TH.--The President publishes a dispatch from Lee, announcing a victory! The enemy has been driven from all his intrenchments, losing many batteries. Yesterday the President's life was saved by Lee. Every day he rides out near the battle-field, in citizen's dress, marking the fluctuations of the conflict, but assuming no direction of affairs in the field. Gen. Lee, however, is ever apprised of his position; and once, when the enemy were about to point one of their most powerful batteries in the direction of a certain farm-house occupied by the President, Lee sent a courier in haste to inform him of it. No sooner had the President escaped than a storm of shot and shell riddled the house. Some of the people still think that their military President is on the field directing every important movement in person. A gentleman told me to-day, that he met the President yesterday, and the day before, alone, in the lanes and orchards, near the battle-field. He issued no orders; but awaited results like the rest of us, praying fervently for abundant success. To-day some of our streets are crammed with thousands of bluejackets--Yankee prisoners. There are many field officers, and among them several generals. General Reynolds, who surrendered with his brigade, was thus accosted by one of our functionaries, who knew him before the war began: "General, this is in accordance with McClellan's prediction; you are in Richmond." "Yes, sir," responded the general, in bitterness; "and d--n me, if it is not precisely in the manner I anticipated." "Where is McClellan, general?" "I know not exactly; his movements have been so frequent of late. But I think it probable he too may be here before night!" "I doubt that," said his fellow-prisoner, Gen. McCall; "beware of your left wing! Who commands there?" "Gen. Jackson." "Stonewall Jackson? Is he in this fight? Was it really Jackson making mince-meat of our right? Then your left wing is safe!" Four or five thousand prisoners have arrived. JUNE 29TH.--The battle still rages. But the scene has shifted farther to the east. The enemy's army is now entirely on _this_ side of the Chickahominy. McClellan is doggedly retiring toward the James River. JUNE 30TH.--Once more all men are execrating Gen. Huger. It is alleged that he _again_ failed to obey an order, and kept his division away from the position assigned it, which would have prevented the escape of McClellan. If this be so, who is responsible, after his alleged misconduct at the battle of the Seven Pines? CHAPTER XVI. Terrific fighting.--Anxiety to visit the battle-field.--Lee prepares for other battles.--Hope for the Union extinct.--Gen. Lee brings forward conscripts.--Gen. Cobb appointed to arrange exchange of prisoners.-- Mr. Ould as agent.--Pope, the braggart, comes upon the stage.--Meets a braggart's fate.--The war transferred to Northern Virginia. JULY 1ST.--To-day Gen. Magruder led his division into action at Malvern Hill, it is said, contrary to the judgment of other commanders. The enemy's batteries commanded all the approaches in most advantageous position, and fearful was the slaughter. A wounded soldier, fresh from the field to-night, informs me that our loss in killed in this engagement will amount to as many as have fallen in all the others combined. JULY 2D.--More fighting to-day. The enemy, although their batteries were successfully defended last night at Malvern Hill; abandoned many guns after the charges ceased, and retreated hastily. The grand army of invasion is now some twenty-five miles from the city, and yet the Northern papers claim the victory. They say it was a masterly strategic movement of McClellan, and a premeditated change of base from the Pamunky to the James; and that he will certainly take Richmond in a week and end the rebellion. JULY 3D.--Our wounded are now coming in fast, under the direction of the Ambulance Committee. I give passports to no one not having legitimate business on the field to pass the pickets of the army. There is no pilfering on this field of battle; no "Plug Ugly" detectives stripping dead colonels, and, Falstaff like, claiming to be made "either Earl or Duke" for killing them. So great is the demand for vehicles that the brother of a North Carolina major, reported mortally wounded, paid $100 for a hack to bring his brother into the city. He returned with him a few hours after, and, fortunately, found him to be not even dangerously wounded. I suffer no physicians not belonging to the army to go upon the battle-field without taking amputating instruments with them, and no private vehicle without binding the drivers to bring in two or more of the wounded. There are fifty hospitals in the city, fast filling with the sick and wounded. I have seen men in my office and walking in the streets, whose arms have been amputated within the last three days. The realization of a great victory seems to give them strength. JULY 4TH.--Lee does not follow up his blows on the whipped enemy, and some sage critics censure him for it. But he knows that the fatal blow has been dealt this "grand army" of the North. The serpent has been killed, though its tail still exhibits some spasmodic motions. It will die, so far as the Peninsula is concerned, after sunset, or when it thunders. The commanding general neither sleeps nor slumbers. Already the process of reorganizing Jackson's corps has been commenced for a blow at or near the enemy's capital. Let Lincoln beware the hour of retribution. The enemy's losses in the seven days' battles around Richmond, in killed, wounded, sick, and desertions, are estimated at 50,000 men, and their losses in cannon, stores, etc., at some $50,000,000. Their own papers say the work is to be begun anew, and subjugation is put off six months, which is equivalent to a loss of $500,000,000 inflicted by Lee's victory. By their emancipation and confiscation measures, the Yankees have made this a war of extermination, and added new zeal and resolution to our brave defenders. All hope of a reconstruction of the Union is relinquished by the few, comparatively, in the South, who still clung to the delusion. It is well. If the enemy had pursued a different course we should never have had the same unanimity. If they had made war only on men in arms, and spared private property, according to the usages of civilized nations, there would, at least, have been a _neutral_ party in the South, and never the same energy and determination to contest the last inch of soil with the cruel invader. Now they will find that 3,000,000 of troops cannot subjugate us, and if subjugated, that a standing army of half a million would be required to keep us in subjection. JULY 5TH.--Gen. Lee is bringing forward the conscript regiments with rapidity; and so large are his powers that the Secretary of War has but little to do. He is, truly, but a mere clerk. The correspondence is mostly referred to the different bureaus for action, whose experienced heads know what should be done much better than Mr. Randolph could tell them. JULY 6TH.--Thousands of fathers, brothers, mothers, and sisters of the wounded are arriving in the city to attend their suffering relations, and to recover the remains of those who were slain. JULY 7TH.--Gen. Huger has been relieved of his command. He retains his rank and pay as major-general "of ordnance." Gen. Pope, Yankee, has been assigned to the command of the army of invasion in Northern Virginia, and Gen. Halleck has been made commanding general, to reside in Washington. Good! The Yankees are disgracing McClellan, the best general they have. JULY 8TH.--Glorious Col. Morgan has dashed into Kentucky, whipped everything before him, and got off unharmed. He had but little over a thousand men, and captured that number of prisoners. Kentucky will rise in a few weeks. JULY 9TH.--Lee has turned the tide, and I shall not be surprised if we have a long career of successes. Bragg, and Kirby Smith, and Loring are in motion at last, and Tennessee and Kentucky, and perhaps Missouri, will rise again in "Rebellion." JULY 10TH.--I forgot to note in its place a feat of Gen. Stuart and his cavalry, before the recent battles. He made a complete girdle around the enemy, destroying millions of their property, and returned without loss. He was reconnoitering for Jackson, who followed in his track. This made Stuart major-general. I likewise omitted to note the death of the brave Gen. Ashby, who fell in one of Jackson's brilliant battles in the Valley. But history will do him justice. [My chronicles are designed to assist history, and to supply the smaller incidents and details which the grand historian would be likely to omit.] JULY 11TH.--Gen. Howell Cobb has been sent down the river under flag of truce to negotiate a cartel with Gen. Dix for the exchange of prisoners. It was decided that the exchange should be conducted on the basis agreed to between the United States and the British Government during the war of 1812, and all men taken hereafter will be released on parole within ten days after their capture. We have some 8000 prisoners in this city, and altogether, I dare say, a larger number than the enemy have of our men. JULY 12TH.--Mr. Ould has been appointed agent to effect exchanges of paroled men. He is also acting as judge advocate. JULY 13TH.--We have some of Gen. Pope's proclamations and orders. He is simply a braggart, and will meet a braggart's fate. He announces his purpose to subsist his army in our country, and moreover, he intends to shoot or hang our non-combating citizens that may fall into his hands, in retaliation for the killing of any of his thieving and murdering soldiers by our avenging guerrillas. He says his headquarters will be on his horse, and that he will make no provision for retreat. That he has been accustomed to see the _backs_ of his enemies! Well, we shall see how he will face a Stonewall! JULY 14TH.--Jackson and Ewell and Stuart are after Pope, but I learn they are not allowed to attempt any enterprise for some weeks yet. Fatal error, I fear. For we have advices at the department that Pope has not now exceeding 20,000 men, but that all the rolling stock of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad is ordered West to bring reinforcements. Besides, the United States Government is calling for 600,000 additional men. Then again, McClellan and Burnside will form a junction with Pope, and we will be outnumbered. But the President and Gen. Lee know best what is to be done. We have lost many of the flower of Southern chivalry in the late conflicts. JULY 15TH.--Gen. Pendleton has given McClellan a scare, and might have hurt him if he had fired lower. He planted a number of batteries (concealed) on the south side of the river, just opposite the enemy's camp. The river was filled with gun-boats and transports. At a signal, all the guns were fired, at short range, too, for some minutes with great rapidity, and then the batteries were withdrawn. I happened to be awake, and could not conjecture what the rumpus meant. But we fired too high in the dark, and did but little execution. Our shells fell beyond the enemy's camp on the opposite side of the river. We lost a few men, by accident, mostly. But hereafter in "each bush they fear an officer." JULY 16TH.--Gen. Lee is hurrying up reinforcements from the South, old regiments and conscripts, and pays very little attention to McClellan on the Peninsula, knowing no further enterprises will be attempted by the enemy in that quarter for some time to come. JULY 17TH.--The people are too jubilant, I fear, over our recent successes near the city. A great many _skulkers_ from the army are seen daily in the streets, and it is said there are 3000 men here subject to conscript duty, who have not been enrolled. The business of purchasing substitutes is prevailing alarmingly. JULY 18TH.--To-day several ladies applied in person to the Secretary of War for passports to Norfolk and Baltimore, and he sent me written orders to grant them. They next applied to Gen. Winder to go with the flag of truce, exhibiting their passports. He repudiated them, however, and sent the ladies back to me, saying he wanted something with the Secretary's signature, showing me to be authorized to sign them. I wrote such a note as I supposed he wanted, and the Secretary signed it as follows: "RICHMOND, July 18th, 1862. "BRIG.-GEN. J. H. WINDER. "SIR:--The passports issued by J. B. Jones from this Department to pass the lines of the Confederate armies, and the lines of the Confederate States, are granted by my direction, evidences of which are on file in the Passport Office. "Respectfully, "G. W. RANDOLPH, "_Secretary of War_." This, one of the ladies delivered to him. I hope I am now done with Gen. Winder and his "Plug Ugly" dynasty. JULY 19TH.--This morning early, while congratulating myself on the evidence of some firmness and independence in the new Secretary, I received the following note: "RICHMOND, July 19th, 1862. "Mr. J. B. JONES. "SIR:--I have just been directed by the Secretary of War that he has turned over the whole business of passports to Gen. Winder, and that applications for passports will not be received at this office at all. "Very respectfully, "A. G. BLEDSOE, "_Asst. Sec. War_." Of course I ceased operations immediately. So large a concourse of persons now accumulated in the hall, that it was soon necessary to put up a notice that Gen. Winder would grant them passports. But the current set back again. Gen. Winder _refused_ to issue passports to the relatives of the sick and wounded in the camps, well knowing the generals, his superiors in rank, would not recognize his authority. He even came into the department, and tore down the notice with his own hands. JULY 20TH.--I am back again, signing passports to the army. But yesterday, during the _interregnum_, the Beaverdam Depot was burnt by the enemy, information of its defenseless condition having been given by a Jew peddler, who obtained no passport from me. JULY 21ST.--A Marylander, a lieutenant employed by Gen. Winder to guard the prisoners (the generals and other high Yankee officers), came to me to-day, with a friend who had just arrived from Baltimore, and demanded passports to visit Drewry's Bluff, for the purpose of inspecting the defenses. I refused, fearing he might (I did not like his face) have been corrupted by his prisoners. He said very significantly that he would go in spite of me. This I reported to the Assistant Adjutant-General, and also wrote a note to Gen. Wise, to examine him closely if he came within his lines. JULY 22D.--To-day Gen. Winder came into my office in a passion with a passport in his hand which I had given, a week before, to Mr. Collier, of Petersburg, on the order of the Assistant Secretary of War--threatening me with vengeance and the terrors of Castle Godwin, his Bastile! if I granted any more passports to Petersburg where he was military commander, that city being likewise under martial law. I simply uttered a defiance, and he departed, boiling over with rage. JULY 23D.--To-day I received the following note from the Secretary: "JULY 23D, 1862. "J. B. JONES, ESQ. "SIR:--You will not issue passports except to persons going to the camps near Richmond. "Passports elsewhere will be granted by Brig.-Gen. Winder. "Respectfully, "GEO. W. RANDOLPH, "_Secretary of War_." JULY 24TH.--Already the flood-gates of treasonable intelligence flowing North seem to be thrown wide open. The Baltimore papers contain a vast amount of information concerning our condition, movements in progress, and projected enterprises. And to crown all, these rascals publish in the same papers _the passports given them by Gen. Winder_. I doubt not they are sold by the detectives, Winder being ignorant. JULY 25TH.--More Northern papers received to-day, containing news from the South. Most fortunately, they can know nothing reliable of what is passing within Gen. Lee's lines. The responsibility of keeping his gates closed against spies rests in a great measure on myself, and I endeavor to keep even our own people in profound ignorance of what transpires there. JULY 26TH.--There is a pause in the depreciation of C. S. securities. JULY 27TH.--Gen. Lovell, it is said, will be tried by a court-martial. The same has been said of Generals Magruder and Huger. But I doubt it. JULY 28TH.--The Examining Board of Surgeons, established by the Secretary of War, has been abolished by order of Gen. Lee. It was the only idea of the Secretary yet developed, excepting the "handing over" of the "whole business of passports to Gen. Winder." JULY 29TH.--Pope's army, greatly reinforced, are committing shocking devastations in Culpepper and Orange Counties. His brutal orders, and his bragging proclamations, have wrought our men to such a pitch of exasperation that, when the day of battle comes, there will be, must be terrible slaughter. JULY 30TH.--Both Gen. Jackson and Gen. Stuart were in the department to-day. Their commands have preceded them, and must be near Orange C. H. by this time. These war-worn heroes (neither of them over forty years of age) attracted much attention. Everybody wished to see them; and if they had lingered a few minutes longer in the hall, a crowd would have collected, cheering to the echo. This they avoided, transacting their business in the shortest possible space of time, and then escaping observation. They have yet much work to do. JULY 31ST.--Gen. Breckinridge has beaten the Yankees at Baton Rouge, but without result, as we have no co-operating fleet. CHAPTER XVII. Vicksburg shelled.--Lee looks toward Washington.--Much manoeuvring in Orange County.--A brigade of the enemy annihilated.--McClellan flies to Washington.--Cretans.--Leo has a mighty army.--Missouri risings.-- Pope's coat and papers captured.--Cut up at Manassas.--Clothing captured of the enemy. AUGUST 1ST.--Vicksburg has triumphantly withstood the shelling of the enemy's fleet of gun-boats. This proves that New Orleans might have been successfully defended, and could have been held to this day by Gen. Lovell. So, West Point is not always the best criterion of one's fitness to command. AUGUST 2D.--The Adjutant-General, "by order" (I suppose of the President), is annulling, one after another, all Gen. Winder's despotic orders. AUGUST 3D.--There is a rumor that McClellan is "stealing away" from his new base! and Burnside has gone up the Rappahannock to co-operate with Pope in his "march to Richmond." AUGUST 4TH.--Lee is making herculean efforts for an "on to Washington," while the enemy think he merely designs a defense of Richmond. Troops are on the move, all the way from Florida to Gordonsville. AUGUST 5TH.--The enemy have postponed drafting, that compulsory mode of getting men being unpopular, _until after the October elections_. I hope Lee will make the most of his time, and annihilate their drilled and seasoned troops. He can put more _fighting_ men in Virginia than the enemy, during the next two months. "Now's the day, and now's the hour!" AUGUST 6TH.--Jackson is making preparations to fight. I know the symptoms. He has made Pope believe he's afraid of him. AUGUST 7TH.--Much incomprehensible manoeuvring is going on in Orange County. AUGUST 8TH.--We hear of skirmishing in Orange County, and the enemy seem as familiar with the paths and fords as our own people; hence some surprises, attempted by our cavalry, have failed. AUGUST 9TH.--Jackson and Ewell are waiting and watching. Pope will expose himself soon. AUGUST 10TH.--Jackson struck Pope yesterday! It was a terrible blow, for the numbers engaged. Several thousand of the enemy were killed, wounded, and taken prisoners. Among the latter is Gen. Prince, who arrived in this city this morning. He affected to be ignorant of Pope's brutal orders, and of the President's retaliatory order concerning the commissioned officers of Pope's army taken in battle. When Prince was informed that he and the fifty or sixty others taken with him were not to be treated as prisoners of war, but as _felons_, he vented his execrations upon Pope. They were sent into close confinement. AUGUST 11TH.--Our killed, wounded, and captured did not amount to more than 600. We might have captured a whole brigade at one time during the battle, but _did not_. They charged our batteries, not perceiving a brigade of our own lying concealed just in the rear of the guns: so, when they advanced, shouting, to within _thirty yards_ of our troops, they rose and "let them have it." Nine-tenths of the enemy fell, and the rest were soon dispatched, before they could get away. One of their dying officers said they would have surrendered to us, if we had demanded it. He was reminded of Pope's beastly orders, and died with a horrible groan. AUGUST 12TH.--Pope claims a victory! So did McClellan. But truth will rise, in spite of everything. I will not quote Bryant literally, because he is an enemy in this war, and falsifies his own precepts. AUGUST 13TH.--McClellan is gone, bag and baggage, abandoning his "_base_;" to attain which, he said he had instituted his magnificent strategic movements, resulting in an unmolested retreat from the Peninsula and flight to Washington, for the defense of his own capital. So the truth they crushed to earth on the Chickahominy has risen again, and the Yankees, like the Cretans, are to be known henceforth as a nation of liars. AUGUST 14TH.--Lee has gone up the country to command in person. Now let Lincoln beware, for there _is_ danger. A mighty army, such as Napoleon himself would have been proud to command, is approaching his capital. This is the triumph Lee has been providing for, while the nations of the earth are hesitating whether or not to recognize our independence. AUGUST 15TH.--Moved my office to an upper story of the Bank of Virginia, where the army intelligence office is located--an office that keeps a list of the sick and wounded. AUGUST 16TH.--We have intelligence from the West of a simultaneous advance of several of our columns. This is the work of Lee. May God grant that our blows be speedy and effectual in hurling back the invader from our soil! AUGUST 17TH.--We have also news from Missouri of indications of an uprising which will certainly clear the State of the few Federal troops remaining there. The _draft_ will accelerate the movement. And then if we get Kentucky, as I think we must, we shall add a hundred thousand to our army! AUGUST 18TH.--From Texas, West Louisiana, and Arkansas, we shall soon have tidings. The clans are gathering, and 20,000 more, half mounted on hardy horses, will soon be marching for the _prairie_ country of the enemy. Glorious Lee! and glorious Jackson! They are destined to roll the dark clouds away from the horizon. AUGUST 19TH.--Day and _night_ our troops are marching; they are now _beyond_ the right wing of Pope, and will soon be accumulated there in such numbers as to defy the combined forces of Pope, Burnside, and McClellan! AUGUST 20TH.--We have now a solution of the secret of Pope's familiarity with the country. _His guide and pilot is the identical Robt. Stewart who was sent here to the Provost Marshal--a prisoner._ How did he get out? They say money did it. AUGUST 21ST.--Some apprehensions are felt by a few for the safety of this city, as it is supposed that _all_ the troops have been withdrawn. This is not so, however. From ten to fifteen _thousand_ men could be concentrated here in twenty-four hours. Richmond is not in half the danger that Washington is. AUGUST 22D.--Saw Vice-President Stephens to day, as cordial and enthusiastic as ever. AUGUST 23D.--Members of Congress are coming to my office every day, getting passports for their constituents. Those I have seen (Senator Brown, of Mississippi, among the rest) express a purpose not to renew the act, to expire on the 18th September, authorizing martial law. AUGUST 24TH.--In both Houses of Congress they are thundering away at Gen. Winder's Provost Marshal and his Plug Ugly alien policemen. Senator Brown has been very bitter against them. AUGUST 25TH.--Mr. Russell has reported a bill which would give us martial law in such a modified form as to extract its venom. AUGUST 26TH.--Mr. Russell's bill will not pass. The machinery of legislation works too slowly. Fredericksburg has been evacuated by the enemy! It is said the Jews rushed in and bought boots for $7.00, which they now demand $25.00 for, and so with various other articles of merchandise. They are now investing money in real estate for the first time, which is evidence that they have no faith in the ultimate redemption of Confederate money. AUGUST 27TH.--Huzza for Gen. Stuart! He has made another _circumvention_ of the enemy, getting completely in Pope's rear, and destroying many millions worth of stores, etc. AUGUST 28TH.--Pope's coat was captured, and all his papers. The braggart is near his end. AUGUST 29TH.--Bloody fighting is going on at Manassas. All the news is good for us. It appears that Pope, in his consummate egotism, refused to believe that he had been outwitted, and "pitched into" our corps and divisions, believing them to be merely brigades and regiments. He has been terribly cut up. AUGUST 30TH.--Banks, by the order of Pope, has burnt 400 Yankee cars loaded with quartermaster's and commissary stores. But our soldiers have fared sumptuously on the enemy's provisions, and captured clothing enough for half the army. AUGUST 31ST.--Fighting every day at Manassas. CHAPTER XVIII. Lee announces a victory.--Crosses the Potomac.--Battle of Sharpsburg.-- McClellan pauses at the Potomac.--Lee moves mysteriously.--The campaign a doubtful one in its material results.--Horrible scene near Washington.--Conscription enlarged.--Heavy loss at Sharpsburg.-- 10,000 in the hospitals here. SEPTEMBER 1ST.--Official dispatches from Lee, announcing a "signal victory," by the blessing of God, "over the combined forces of the enemy." That is glory enough for a week. When _Lee_ says "signal victory," we know exactly what it means, and we breathe freely. _Our_ generals _never_ modify their reports of victories. They see and know the extent of what has been done before they speak of it, and they never mislead by exaggerated accounts of successes. SEPTEMBER 2D.--Winchester is evacuated! The enemy fled, and left enough ordnance stores for a campaign! It was one of their principal depots. SEPTEMBER 3D.--We lament the fall of _Ewell_--not killed, but his leg has been amputated. The enemy themselves report the loss, in killed and wounded, of _eight generals_! And Lee says, up to the time of writing, he had paroled 7000 prisoners, taken 10,000 stand of small arms, 50 odd cannon, and immense stores! SEPTEMBER 4TH.--The enemy's loss in the series of battles, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, is estimated at 30,000. Where is the braggart Pope now? Disgraced eternally, deprived of his command by his own government, and sent to Minnesota to fight the Indians! Savage in his nature, he is only fit to fight with savages! SEPTEMBER 5TH.--Our army knows no rest. But I fear this incessant marching and fighting may prove too much for many of the tender boys. SEPTEMBER 6TH.--We have authentic accounts of our army crossing the Potomac without opposition. SEPTEMBER 7TH.--We see by the Northern papers that Pope claimed a great victory over Lee and Jackson! It was too much even for the lying editors themselves! The Federal army being hurled back on the Potomac, and then compelled to cross it, it was too transparently ridiculous for the press to contend for the victory. And now they confess to a series of defeats from the 26th June to the culminating calamity of the 30th August. They acknowledge they have been beaten--badly beaten--_but they will not admit that our army has crossed into Maryland_. Well, Lee's dispatch to the President is dated "Headquarters, Frederick City." We believe him. SEPTEMBER 8TH.--But the Marylanders have not risen _yet_. Some of our divisions have touched the soil of _Pennsylvania_. And I believe the whole Yankee host would leave Washington, escaping by the Potomac, if it were not for the traitors here, who go to Norfolk and Baltimore by flag of truce, and inform the Lincoln Government (for pay) that we have no troops here--none between this and Manassas, none all the way to Lee, while thousands in the army are prostrated with physical exhaustion. SEPTEMBER 9TH.--Lord, what a scare they are having in the North! They are calling everybody to arms for the defense of _Philadelphia_, and they are removing specie, arms, etc., from Harrisburg and all the intervening towns. This is the chalice so long held by them to our lips. SEPTEMBER 10TH.--On the very day that Lee gained the signal victory at Manassas, Kirby Smith gained one at Richmond, Kentucky, capturing thousands of prisoners. This is not chance--it is God, to whom all the glory is due. SEPTEMBER 11TH.--And Cincinnati is trembling to its center. That abolition city, half foreign and half American, is listening for the thunder of our avenging guns. SEPTEMBER 12TH.--The ranks of the enemy are broken everywhere in the West. Buell is flying to Nashville as a city of refuge, but we have invincible columns interposed between him and his country. SEPTEMBER 13TH.--Buell has impressed 10,000 slaves, and is fortifying Nashville. SEPTEMBER 14TH.--Our army has entered the City of Lexington, and the population hail our brave soldiers as deliverers. Three regiments were organized there in twenty-four hours, and thirty thousand recruits, it is thought, will flock to our standard in Kentucky. SEPTEMBER 15TH.--Our flag floats over the Capitol at Frankfort! And Gen. Marshall, lately the exile and fugitive, is encamped with his men on his own farm, near Paris. SEPTEMBER 16TH.--Intelligence from Missouri states that the Union militia have rallied on the side of the South. SEPTEMBER 17TH.--Everything seems to indicate the "breaking up" of the armies of our enemies, as if our prayers had been answered, and the hosts of Lincoln were really to be "brought to confusion." SEPTEMBER 18TH.--To-day, in response to the President's proclamation, we give thanks to Almighty God for the victories HE has blessed us with. SEPTEMBER 19TH.--And God has blessed us even more abundantly than we supposed. The rumor that our invincible Stonewall Jackson had been sent by Lee to Harper's Ferry, and had taken it, is TRUE. Nearly 12,000 men surrendered there on the 15th inst., after the loss of two or three hundred on their side, and only _three_ killed and a few wounded on ours. We got 90 guns, 15,000 stand of small arms, 18,000 fine horses, 200 wagons, and stores of various kinds, worth millions. SEPTEMBER 20TH.--While Jackson was doing his work, McClellan, who has been restored to command, marched at the head of 100,000 men to the rescue of Harper's Ferry, but D. P. Hill, with his single division, kept him at bay for many hours, until Longstreet came to his assistance, and night fell upon the scene. But Lee soon concentrated his weary columns at Sharpsburg, near Shepherdstown, and on the 17th inst. gave battle. We got the first news of this battle from a Northern paper--the _Philadelphia Inquirer_--which claimed a great victory, having killed and taken 40,000 of our men, made Jackson prisoner, and wounded Longstreet! But the truth is, we lost 5000 and the enemy 20,000. At the next dawn Lee opened fire again--but, lo! the enemy had fled! SEPTEMBER 21ST.--We have one day of gloom. It is said that our army has retreated back into Virginia. SEPTEMBER 22D.--There are rumors that only Jackson's corps recrossed the Potomac to look after a column of the enemy sent to recapture Harper's Ferry and take Winchester, our grand depot. SEPTEMBER 23D.--Jackson, the ubiquitous and invincible, fell upon Burnside's division and annihilated it. This intelligence has been received by the President. We have, also, news from Kentucky. It comes this time in the _New York Herald_, and is true, as far as it goes. A portion of Buell's army, escaping from Nashville, marched to Mumfordsville, where Bragg cut them to pieces, taking 5000 prisoners! It cannot be possible that this is more than half the truth. The newsboys are selling extras in the streets containing these glorious accounts. SEPTEMBER 24TH.--The papers this morning are still in doubt whether Lee has returned to the Virginia side of the Potomac, or remains in Maryland. My theory is that he is _perdue_ for the present, hoping all the enemy's forces will enter Virginia, from Washington--when he will pounce upon that city and cut off their retreat. The Northern papers contain intimations of the existence of a conspiracy to _dethrone_ Lincoln, and put a military Dictator at the head of the government. Gen. Fremont is named as the man. It is alleged that this movement is to be made by the Abolitionists, as if Lincoln were not sufficiently radical for them! A call has been made by Congress for explanations of the arrest of a citizen of Virginia, by Gen. Winder, for procuring a substitute for a relative. Gen. W., supposing his powers ample, under martial law, had forbidden agents to procure substitutes. This was in contravention of an act of Congress, legalizing substitutes. If Winder be sustained, it is said we shall have inaugurated a military despotism. I have just seen persons from the Eastern Shore of Virginia. They say my farm there has not been disturbed[2] by the enemy. I think it probable they knew nothing about its ownership, or it would have been devastated. My agent sent me a little money, part of the rent of year before last. My tenant is getting rich. After peace I shall reside there myself. How I long for the independent life of a farmer! Wood is selling at $16 per cord, and coal at $9 per load. How can we live here, unless our salaries are increased? The matter is under consideration by Congress, and we _hope_ for favorable action. Col. Bledsoe has resigned and gone back to his school at Charlottesville. SEPTEMBER 25TH.--Blankets, that used to sell for $6, are now $25 per pair; and sheets are selling for $15 per pair, which might have been had a year ago for $4. Common 4.4 bleached cotton shirting is selling at $1 a yard. Gen. Lee's locality and operations, since the battle of Sharpsburg or Shepherdstown, are still enveloped in mystery. About one hundred of the commissioned officers of Pope's army, taken prisoners by Jackson, and confined as felons in our prisons, in conformity to the President's retaliatory order, were yesterday released on parole, in consequence of satisfactory communications from the United States Government, disavowing Pope's orders, I presume, and stating officially the fact that Pope himself has been relieved from command. We have taken, and paroled, within the last twelve or fifteen weeks, no less than _forty odd thousand prisoners_! The United States must _owe_ us some thirty thousand men. This does not look like progress in the work of subjugation. Horrible! I have seen men just from Manassas, and the battle-field of the 30th August, where, they assure me, hundreds of dead Yankees still lie unburied! They are swollen "as large as cows," say they, "and are as black as crows." No one can now undertake to bury them. When the wind blows from that direction, it is said the scent of carrion is distinctly perceptible at the _White House in Washington_. It is said the enemy are evacuating Alexandria. I do not believe this. A gentleman (Georgian) to whom I gave a passport to visit the army, taking two substitutes, over forty-five years of age, in place of two sick young men in the hospitals, informs me that he got upon the ground just before the great battle at Sharpsburg commenced. The substitutes were mustered in, and in less than an hour after their arrival, one of them was shot through the hat and hair, but his head was untouched. He says they fought as well as veterans. SEPTEMBER 26TH.--The press here have no knowledge of the present locality of Gen. Lee and his army. But a letter was received from Gen. L. at the department yesterday, dated on this side of the Potomac, about eighteen miles above Harper's Ferry. It is stated that several hundred prisoners, taken at Sharpsburg, are paroled prisoners captured at Harper's Ferry. If this be so (and it is said they will be here to-night), I think it probable an example will be made of them. This unpleasant duty may not be avoided by our government. After losing in killed and wounded, in the battle of Sharpsburg, ten generals, and perhaps twenty thousand men, we hear no more of the advance of the enemy; and Lee seems to be lying _perdue_, giving them an opportunity to ruminate on the difficulties and dangers of "subjugation." I pray we may soon conquer a peace with the North; but then I fear we shall have trouble among ourselves. Certainly there is danger, after the war, that Virginia, and, perhaps, a sufficient number of the States to form a new constitution, will meet in convention and form a new government. Gen. Stark, of Mississippi, who fell at Sharpsburg, was an acquaintance of mine. His daughters were educated with mine at St. Mary's Hall, Burlington, N. J.--and were, indeed, under my care. Orphans now! SEPTEMBER 27TH.--The papers this morning contain accounts of the landing of Yankees at White House, York River; and of reinforcements at Williamsburg and Suffolk. They might attempt to take Richmond, while Lee's army is away; for they know we have no large body of troops here. A battery passed through the city this morning early, at _double-quick_, going eastward. Yesterday Congress passed an act, supplemental and amendatory to the Conscription Act of last April, authorizing the President to call into the military service all residents between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five. The first act included only those between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five. By the 1st of January there will be $300,000,000 Treasury notes in circulation. It is proposed in Congress to make a forced loan of one-fifth of the incomes of the people. It is said Lincoln has issued a proclamation declaring the slaves of Rebels free, on and after the 1st of January, 1863. This will only intensify the war, and add largely to our numbers in the field. A letter was received from General Lee to-day, dated at Martinsburg, giving a sad account of the army. It seems that without some additional power given the President by Congress to enforce discipline, he fears the army will melt away. He suggests that incompetent officers be reduced to the ranks, and that more stringent regulations be adopted. He is in no condition to advance now, since so many thousands of his men are permitted to wander away. We shall be afflicted with fresh invasions--and that, if nothing else, may cause the stragglers to return. The substance of Lee's letter has been communicated to Congress, and that body, I understand, has postponed the day of adjournment until the 6th October. In future times, I wonder if it will be said that we had great men in this Congress? Whatever may be _said_, the truth is, there are not a dozen with any pretensions to statesmanship. SEPTEMBER 29TH.--We have Lincoln's proclamation, freeing all the slaves from and after the 1st January next. And another, declaring martial law throughout the United States! Let the Yankees ruminate on that! Now for a _fresh_ gathering of our clans for another harvest of blood. On Saturday the following resolutions were reported by Mr. Semmes, from the Committee of the Judiciary, in the Senate: "1st. That no officer of the Confederate Government is by law empowered to vest Provost Marshals with any authority whatever over citizens of the Confederate States not belonging to the land and naval forces thereof, or with general police powers and duties for the preservation of the peace and good order of any city, town, or municipal district in any State of this Confederacy, and any such exercise of authority is illegal and void. "2d. That no officer of the Confederate Government has constitutional or other lawful authority to limit or restrict, or in any manner to control, the exercise of the jurisdiction of the civil judicial tribunals of the States of this Confederacy, vested in them by the Constitution and laws of the States respectively; and all orders of any such officer tending to restrict or control or interfere with the full and normal exercise of the jurisdiction of such civil judicial tribunals are illegal and void." We shall see what further action will follow. This is in marked contrast to the despotic rule in the Yankee nation. Nevertheless, the Provost Marshal here keeps his establishment in full blast. He was appointed by Gen. Winder, of Maryland, who has been temporarily subordinated by Major-Gen. Smith, of New York. Since Gen. Smith has been in command, the enemy has made raids to Leesburg, Manassas, and even Warrenton, capturing and paroling our sick and wounded men. Who is responsible? Accounts from Nashville state that our cavalry is beleaguering that city, and that both the United States forces there, and the inhabitants of the town, are reduced nearly to starvation. Buell, it is said, has reached Louisville. We hope to hear soon of active operations in Kentucky. Bragg, and Smith, and Price, and Marshall are there with abundant forces to be striking heavy blows. Beauregard is assigned to the defense of South Carolina and Georgia. Harper's Ferry is again occupied by the enemy--but we have removed everything captured there. The Northern papers now admit that the sanguinary battle of Sharpsburg was without result. I sent my wife money to-day, and urged her to return to Richmond as soon as possible, as the enemy may cut the communications--being within forty miles of the railroad. How I should like to think they were cut to pieces! Then they would let us alone. Hitherto 100,000 sick and wounded patients have been admitted into the army hospitals of this city. Of these, about 10,000 have been furloughed, 3000 discharged from the service, and only 7600 have died. At present there are 10,000 in the hospitals. There is not so much sickness this year as there was last, nor is it near so fatal. Many of the Northern papers seem to dissent from the policy of Lincoln's proclamation, and _hope_ that evil consequences may not grow out of it. But how can it be possible for the people of the North to submit to martial law? The government which directs and enforces so obnoxious a tyranny cannot be sure of its stability. And when the next army of invasion marches southward, it will be likely to have enemies in its rear as well as in its front. The _Tribune_ exclaims "God bless Abraham Lincoln." Others, even in the North, will pray for "God to ---- him!" SEPTEMBER 30TH.--Lincoln's proclamation was the subject of discussion in the Senate yesterday. Some of the gravest of our senators favor the raising of the _black flag_, asking and giving no quarter hereafter. The yellow fever is raging at Wilmington, North Carolina. The President, in response to a resolution of inquiry concerning Hyde, the agent who procured a substitute and was arrested for it, sent Congress a letter from the Secretary of War, stating that the action of Gen. Winder had not been approved, and that Mr. Hyde had been discharged. The Secretary closes his letter with a _sarcasm_, which, I think, is not his own composition. He asks, as martial law is still existing, though the writ of _habeas corpus_ is not suspended, for instructions as to the power of the military commander, Winder, to _suppress tippling shops_! Several members declared that martial law existed in this city without any constitutional warrant. There is much bad feeling between many members and the Executive. No fighting has occurred on the Peninsula, and I believe Gen. Wise has returned with his forces to Chaffin's Bluff. CHAPTER XIX. McClellan has crossed the Potomac.--Another battle anticipated.--I am assured here that Lee had but 40,000 men engaged at Sharpsburg.--He has more now, as he is defending Virginia.--Radicals of the North want McClellan removed.--Our President has never taken the field.-- Lee makes demonstrations against McClellan.--A Jew store robbed last night.--We have 40,000 prisoners excess over the enemy.--My family arrived from Raleigh.--My wife's substitute for coffee.--Foul passports.--My friend Brooks dines and wines with members of Congress.--The Herald and Tribune tempt us to return to the Union.-- Lee writes, no immediate advance of McClellan.--Still a rumor of Bragg's victory in Kentucky.--Enemy getting large reinforcements.-- Diabolical order of Governor Baylor.--Secretary's estimate of conscripts and all others, 500,000.--Bragg retreating from Kentucky.--Bickering between Bragg and Beauregard.--Lee wants Confederate notes made a legal tender.--There will be no second Washington. OCTOBER 1ST.--They are still striking at martial law in the Senate, as administered by Gen. Winder. A communication from the Secretary of War admits that Gen. W. was authorized to suppress substitute agencies--"but this did not justify impressment and confiscation." It appears that Gen Winder ordered the agents to be impressed into the service, and the money paid for substitutes to be confiscated! Notwithstanding his blundering ignorance is disavowed, he is still retained in command. The enemy are at Warrenton; and McClellan's army has crossed the Upper Potomac. Another battle is imminent--and fearful will be the slaughter this time. Lee had but little if any more than 40,000 in the battle of Sharpsburg; the Northern papers said McClellan had 200,000! a fearful odds. But Lee now has 70,000--and, besides, he will be defending Virginia. McClellan, with his immense army, _must_ advance, or else relinquish command. The Abolitionists of the North have never liked him, and they wield the power at present. A defeat of Lee near Winchester would produce consternation here. There are, as usual, thousands of able-bodied men still in our streets. It is probable every man, able to march, will be required on the field of battle. If we can get out _all_, we shall certainly gain the day, and establish our independence. How shall we subsist this winter? There is not a supply of wood or coal in the city--and it is said there are not adequate means of transporting it hither. Flour at $16 per barrel, and bacon at 75 cts. per pound, threaten a famine. And yet there are no beggars in the streets. We must get a million of men in arms and drive the invader from our soil. We are capable of it, and we must do it. Better die in battle than die of starvation produced by the enemy. The newspapers are printed on half sheets--and I think the publishers make money; the extras (published almost every day) are sold to the newsboys for ten cents, and often sold by them for twenty-five cents. These are mere slips of paper, seldom containing more than a column--which is reproduced in the next issue. The _matter_ of the extras is mostly made up from the Northern papers, brought hither by persons running the blockade. The supply is pretty regular, and dates are rarely more than three or four days behind the time of reception. We often get the first accounts of battles at a distance in this way, as our generals and our government are famed for a prudential reticence. When the Northern papers simply say they have gained a victory, we rejoice, knowing their Cretan habits. The other day they announced, for European credulity, the capture and killing of 40,000 of our men: this staggered us; but it turned out that they did capture 700 of our stragglers and 2000 wounded men in field hospitals. _Now_ they are under the necessity of admitting the truth. Truth, like honesty, is always the best policy. OCTOBER 2D.--News from the North indicate that in Europe all expectation of a restoration of the Union is at an end; and the probability is that we shall soon be recognized, to be followed, possibly, by intervention. Nevertheless, we must rely upon our own strong arms, and the favor of God. It is said, however, an iron steamer is being openly constructed in the Mersey (Liverpool), for the avowed purpose of opening the blockade of Charleston harbor. Yesterday in both Houses of Congress resolutions were introduced for the purpose of retaliating upon the North the barbarities contemplated in Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation. The Abolitionists of the North want McClellan removed--I hope they may have their will. The reason assigned by his friends for his not advancing farther into Virginia, is that he has not troops enough, and the Secretary of War has them not to send him. I hope this may be so. Still, I think he must fight soon if he remains near Martinsburg. The yellow fever is worse at Wilmington. I trust it will not make its appearance here. A resolution was adopted yesterday in the Senate, to the effect that martial law does not apply to civilians. But it _has_ been applied to them here, and both Gen. Winder and his Provost Marshal threatened to apply it to me. Among the few measures that may be attributed to the present Secretary of War, is the introduction of the telegraph wires into his office. It may possibly be the idea of another; but it is not exactly original; and it has not been productive of good. It has now been in operation several weeks, all the way to Warrenton; and yet a few days ago the enemy's cavalry found that section of country undefended, and took Warrenton itself, capturing in that vicinity some 2000 wounded Confederates, in spite of the Secretary's expensive vigilance. Could a Yankee have been the inventor of the Secretary's plaything? One amused himself telegraphing the Secretary from Warrenton, that all was quiet there; _and that the Yankees had not made their appearance in that neighborhood, as had been rumored_! If we had imbeciles in the field, our subjugation would be only pastime for the enemy. It is well, perhaps, that Gen. Lee has razeed the department down to a second-class bureau, of which the President himself is the chief. I see by a correspondence of the British diplomatic agents, that their government have decided no reclamation can be made on us for burning cotton and tobacco belonging to British subjects, where there is danger that they may fall into the hands of the enemy. Thus the British government do not even claim to have their subjects in the South favored above the Southern people. But Mr. Benjamin is more liberal, and he directed the Provost Marshal to save the tobacco bought on foreign account. So far, however, _the grand speculation has failed_. OCTOBER 3D.--Gen. Wise was countermanded in his march against Williamsburg, by Major-Gen. Gustavus W. Smith. He had 2700 men, the enemy 1500, and he would have captured and slain them all. Gen. Wise was the trusted and revered Governor of Virginia, while Smith was the Street Commissioner in New York. A strong letter from Vice-President Stephens is published to-day, in which it is successfully maintained that no power exists, derived either from the Constitution or acts of Congress, for the declaration of martial law. He says all punishments inflicted by military governors on civilians are clearly illegal. There is a rumor that we have Louisville, but it does not seem to be authentic. We have nothing from Lee, and know not exactly where McClellan is. Many people thought the President himself would take the field. I doubt not he would have done so if the Provisional Government had continued in existence until independence was achieved. OCTOBER 4TH.--A splendid aurora borealis last night. Yesterday, most of the delegation in Congress from Kentucky and Tennessee petitioned the President to order Gen. Breckinridge, at Knoxville, to march to the relief of Nashville, and expel the enemy, without waiting for orders from Gen. Bragg, now in Kentucky. The President considers this an extraordinary request, and will not, I suppose, grant it. It is said Gen. Lee is advancing against Gen. McClellan at Martinsburg. If Lee attacks him, and beats him, he will probably be ruined, for the Potomac will be in his rear. The enemy's paper, printed at Nashville, thinks Bragg has taken Louisville. I hope so. I think we shall get Nashville soon. Gen. Butler, the Yankee commander in New Orleans, has issued an order to all the inhabitants of that city, sympathizing with the Southern Confederacy, to present themselves immediately, and take the oath of allegiance, when they will be recommended for _pardon_. If they do not comply with the order, they will be arrested by his police, cast into prison, and their property confiscated. These are the orders which rally our men and make them fight like heroes. How many Yankees will bleed and die in consequence of this order? And Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation will seal the doom of one hundred thousand of his own people! A letter from Gen. Lee, dated October 1st, says that McClellan has not crossed the Potomac. Some of his scouts have been at Martinsburg, or in its vicinity. It is not to be supposed that Lee can be _amused_ by McClellan, while a force of any magnitude is sent against Richmond. Some fear this, but I don't. OCTOBER 6TH, MONDAY.--A Jew store, in Main Street, was robbed of $8000 worth of goods on Saturday night. They were carted away. This is significant. The prejudice is very strong against the extortionists, and I apprehend there will be many scenes of violence this winter. And our own people, who ask four prices for wood and coal, may contribute to produce a new Reign of Terror. The supplies necessary for existence should not be withheld from a suffering people. It is dangerous. There is great diversity of opinion yet as to the locality of McClellan's army and Lee's intentions. A dispatch from Gen. Van Dorn, in West Tennessee, indicates that we are _gaining_ a victory over Rosecrans. The battle was in _progress_, not completed. OCTOBER 7TH.--Nothing further has been heard from Corinth. A great battle is looked for in Kentucky. All is quiet in Northern Virginia. Some 2500 Confederate prisoners arrived from the North last evening. They are on parole, and will doubtless be exchanged soon, as we have taken at least 40,000 more of the enemy's men than they have captured of ours. Yesterday, Congress, which has prolonged the session until the 13th instant, passed a bill increasing the pay of soldiers four dollars per mouth. I hope they will increase _our_ pay before they adjourn. Congress also, yesterday, voted down the proposition of a _forced loan_ of one-fifth of all incomes. But the Committee of Ways and Means are instructed to bring forward another bill. This evening Custis and I expect the arrival of my family from Raleigh, N. C. We have procured for them one pound of sugar, 80 cents; one quart of milk, 25 cents; one pound of sausage-meat, 37-1/2 cents; four loaves of bread, as large as my fist, 20 cents each; and we have a little coffee, which is selling at $2.50 per pound. In the morning, some one must go to market, else there will be short-commons. Washing is $2.50 per dozen pieces. Common soap is worth 75 cents per pound. OCTOBER 8TH.--At last we have definite accounts of the battle of Corinth, on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday last. We have been defeated, and fearful has been the slaughter on both sides. The enemy had overwhelming numbers. We have no particulars, further than that our army retreated. This is bad for Van Dorn and Price. My family arrived last night, well, and pleased with the cottage, which they call Robin's Nest. But we were saddened by the loss of a trunk--the most valuable one--containing some heavy spoons, forks, and other plate, saved from the wreck at Burlington; my wife's velvet cloak, satin dress (bought in Paris), my daughter's gold watch, and many other things of value. Twelve trunks, the right number, were delivered; but one did not belong to us. OCTOBER 9TH.--Early this morning I was at the depot. The superintendent suggested that I should send some one to Weldon in search of the trunk. He proffered to pass him free. This was kind; but I desired first to look among the baggage at the depot, and the baggage-master was called in. Only two were unclaimed last night; but he said a gentleman had been there early in the morning looking for his trunk, who stated that by some mistake he had got the _wrong_ one last night. He said he stopped at the Exchange, and I repaired thither without delay, where I found my trunk, to the mutual joy of the traveler and myself. It was sent to the cottage, and the stranger's taken to the hotel. Had it not been for my lucky discovery, we should have had no spoons, forks, etc. My wife has obviated one of the difficulties of the blockade, by a substitute for coffee, which I like very well. It is simply _corn meal, toasted like coffee_, and served in the same manner. It costs five or six cents per pound--coffee, $2.50. I heard a foolish North Carolinian abusing the administration to-day. He said, among other things, that the President himself, and his family, had Northern proclivities. That the President's family, when they fled from Richmond, in May, took refuge at St. Mary's Hall, Raleigh, the establishment of the Rev. Dr. Smedes, a Northern man of open and avowed partiality for the Union; and that the Rev. Dr. Mason of the same place, with whom they were in intimate association, was a Northern man, and an open Unionist. That the President's aid, and late Assistant Secretary of State, was an Englishman, imported from the North; Gen. Cooper, the highest in rank of any military officer, was a Northern man; Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, was also a Northern man; Gen. Lovell, who was in the defeat at Corinth, and who had surrendered New Orleans, was from Pennsylvania; Gen. Smith, in command of Virginia and North Carolina, from New York; and Gen. Winder, commanding this metropolis, a Marylander, and his detectives strangers and aliens, who sold passports to Lincoln's spies for $100 each. He was furious, and swore all the distresses of the people were owing to a Nero-like despotism, originating in the brain of Benjamin, the Jew, whose wife lived in Paris. The Senate, yesterday, passed the following resolutions, almost unanimously: _1st. Resolved by the Congress of the Confederate States of America_, That no officer of the Confederate Government is _by law_ empowered to vest Provost Marshals with any authority whatever over citizens of the Confederate States not belonging to the land or naval forces thereof or with general police powers and duties for the preservation of the peace and good order of any city, town, or municipal district in any State of this Confederacy, and any such exercise of authority _is illegal and void_. _2d. Resolved_, That no officer of the Confederate Government has constitutional or other lawful authority to limit or restrict, or in any manner to control the exercise of the jurisdiction of the civil judicial tribunals of the States of this Confederacy, vested in them by the constitutions and laws of the States respectively, and all orders of any such officer, tending to restrict or control or interfere with the full and normal exercise of the jurisdiction of such civil judicial tribunals _are illegal and void_. _3d. Resolved_, That the military law of the Confederate States is, by the courts and the enactments of Congress, limited to the land and naval forces and the militia when in actual service, and to such other persons as are within the lines of any army, navy, corps, division or brigade of the army of the Confederate States. Yesterday, the _Dispatch_ contained an article, copied from the _Philadelphia Inquirer_, stating that a certain person who had been in prison here, arrested by order of Gen. Winder, for disloyalty, and for attempting to convey information to the enemy, had succeeded in obtaining his release; and, for a _bribe_ of $100, a passport to leave the Confederacy had been procured from Gen. Winder's alien detectives. The passport is printed in the Philadelphia paper, and the bearer, the narrative says, has entered the United States service. This must have been brought to the attention of the President; for a lady, seeking a passport to go to her son, sick and in prison in the North, told me that when she applied to Gen. Winder to-day, he said _the President had ordered him to issue no more passports_. And subsequently several parties, government agents and others, came to me with orders from the Secretary (which I retain on file), to issue passports for them. I hope this may be the end of Winder's reign. A letter from Gen. Lee states that, in view of certain movements, he had, without waiting for instructions, delivered the sword, horse, etc. of Gen. Kearney, lately killed, to his wife, who had made application for them. The _movements_ referred to we shall know more about in a few days. Gen. Van Dorn dispatches the department that his army is safe; that he took thirteen guns and 700 prisoners. So it was not so disastrous a defeat. But the idea of charging five times his number! OCTOBER 10TH.--Mr. Brooks called this morning to get me to draft a passport bill, which he said he would get Congress to pass. I doubt it. I wrote the bill, however. He says fifteen or twenty members of Congress visit his house daily. They dine with him, and drink his old whisky. Mr. B. has a superb mansion on Clay Street, which he bought at a sacrifice. He made his money at trade. In one of the rooms Aaron Burr once dined with Chief Justice Marshall, and Marshall was assailed for it afterward by Mr. Jefferson. It was during Burr's trial, and Marshall was his judge. Mr. Wickham, who was Burr's counsel, then occupied the house, and gave a dinner party. Marshall did not know Burr was to be one of the guests. I got these facts from Mr. Foote, whom I met there the other evening. A letter from Gen. Bragg to the President, indicates but too clearly that the people of Kentucky hesitate to risk the loss of property by joining us. Only one brigade has been recruited so far. The general says 50,000 more men are requisite. Can he have them? None! OCTOBER 11TH.--There are rumors of Abolition gun-boats in the York and James Rivers. A battery of long range guns was sent down yesterday. It is said that an army of raw Abolitionists, under Sigel, has marched from Alexandria toward Culpepper County. If this be so, we shall soon have more fighting, and more running, I hope. Lee keeps his own counsel--_wisely_. OCTOBER 13TH.--Northern papers, received last night, speak of a battle at Perryville, Kentucky, on the 9th instant, in which the Abolitionists lost, by their own confession, 2000 killed and wounded, which means 10,000. They say Bragg's forces held a _portion_ of the field after the battle. If this prove not a glorious victory for our arms, I don't know how to read Abolition journals. I see that our Congress, late on Saturday night (they adjourn to-day), passed an act increasing the salaries of officers and employees in the departments residing at Richmond. This will make the joint compensation of my son and myself $3000; this is not equal to $2000 a year ago. But Congress failed to make the necessary appropriation. The Secretary might use the contingent fund. Another act authorizes the President to appoint twenty additional brigadier-generals, and a number of lieutenant-generals. The _New York Herald_, and even the _Tribune_, are _tempting_ us to return to the Union, by promises of _protecting slavery_, and an offer of a convention to alter the Constitution, giving us such guarantees of safety as we may demand. _This is significant._ We understand the sign. Letters from Gen. Lee do not indicate an immediate purpose to retire from the Potomac; on the contrary, he has ordered Gen. Loring, if practicable, to menace Wheeling and Pennsylvania, and form a junction with him _via_ the Monongahela and Upper Potomac. But Loring does not deem it safe to move all his forces (not more than 6000) by that route; he will, however, probably send his cavalry into Pennsylvania. And Gen. Lee does not want any more raw conscripts. They get sick immediately, and prove a burden instead of a benefit. He desires them to be kept in camps of instruction, until better _seasoned_ (a term invented by Gen. Wise) for the field. Senator Brown, of Mississippi, opposed the bill increasing our salaries, on the ground that letters from himself, indorsed by the President, applying for clerkships for his friends, _remained unanswered_. He did not seem to know that this was exclusively the fault of the head clerk, Mr. Randolph, who has the title of Secretary of War. And the _Examiner_ denounces the bill, because it seems to sanction a depreciation of our currency! What statesmanship! What logic! OCTOBER 14TH.--Congress adjourned yesterday at five o'clock P.M. I have heard nothing of Mr. Brooks and the Passport Bill I drafted. The truth is that, with few exceptions, the members of this Congress are very weak, and very subservient to the heads of departments. Congress has given him (the President) power to suspend the writ of _habeas corpus_ anywhere, until thirty days after the reassembling of Congress--and they have failed to pass the joint resolution declaring no power exists under the Constitution to institute martial law. They voted it separately, but _flinched_ when put to the test to act conjointly; and martial law still exists in this city. We have Northern accounts of a dash into Pennsylvania by Gen. Stuart and 1500 of his cavalry. He went as far as Chambersburg, which surrendered; and he was gathering horses, etc., for the use of the army, paying for them in Confederate notes. They say he did not disturb any other description of private property without paying for it. I hope he is safely back again by this time. The Northern papers claim a victory in Kentucky--but I shall wait until we hear from Bragg. Gen. Magruder has been assigned to duty in Texas. What Gen. Johnston is to do, does not yet appear. A great many new assistant adjutants and inspector-generals are to be appointed for the generals, lieutenant-generals, majors, and brigadier-generals, having rank and pay of colonels, majors, captains, and lieutenants of cavalry. Like the Russian, perhaps, we shall have a purely military government; and it may be as good as any other. Gold, in the North, is selling at 28 per cent. premium; and Exchange on England at $1.40. This is an indication that the Abolitionists are bringing distress upon their own country. The financial bill did not pass--so there is to be no forced loan. Neither did a bill, making Confederate notes a legal tender--so there will be a still greater depreciation. Gen. Hardee is a lieutenant-general. OCTOBER 15TH.--A young man showed me a passport to-day to return to Washington. It appears that Secretary Randolph has adopted another plan, which must be a rare stroke of genius. The printed passport is "by order of the Secretary of War," and is signed by "J. H. Winder, Brig.-Gen." But this is not all: on the back it is "_approved_--by order of Major-Gen. Gustavus W. Smith," and signed by one of Smith's "adjutants." So the command of the Secretary of War is approved by the New Yorker, Smith, after being first manipulated by Winder. It is an improvement, at all events, on the late mode of sending out spies--they cannot get passports for bribes now, without Smith's adjutant knowing something about it. Heretofore the "Plug Uglies" might take the bribe, and by their influence with Gen. Winder, obtain his signature to a blank passport. The following was received yesterday: "WINCHESTER, VA., Oct. 14, 1862. "HON. G. W. RANDOLPH. "The cavalry expedition to Pennsylvania has returned safe. They passed through Mercersburg, Chambersburg, Emmetsburg, Liberty, New Market, Syattstown, and Burnesville. The expedition crossed the Potomac above Williamsport, and recrossed at White's Ford, making the entire circuit, cutting the enemy's communications, destroying arms, etc., and obtaining many recruits. "R. E. LEE, General." Thus, Gen. Stuart has made another circle round the enemy's army; and hitherto, every time he has done so, a grand battle followed. Let McClellan beware! A letter, just received from Gen. Lee, says there is no apprehension of an immediate advance of McClellan's army. This he has ascertained from his scouts sent out to obtain information. He says the enemy is in no condition to advance. Will they go into winter quarters? Or will Lee beat them up in their quarters? But the government has desired Lee to fall back from the Potomac; and Lee, knowing best what he should do at present, declines the _honor_. He says he is now subsisting his army on what, if he retreated, would subsist the enemy, as he has but limited means of transportation. He says, moreover, that our cavalry about Culpepper and Manassas (belonging to the command of Gen. Gustavus W. Smith), should be more _active_ and _daring_ in dashing at the enemy; and then, a few weeks hence, McClellan would go into winter quarters. That would insure the safety of Richmond until spring. There is a rumor, generally credited, that Bragg has led the enemy, in Kentucky, into an ambuscade, and slaughtered 25,000. A traveler from the West reports having read an account to this effect in the Louisville _Journal_. If the _Journal_ really says so--that number won't cover the loss. The Abolitionist journals are incorrigible liars. And, indeed, so are many of those who bring us news from the West. OCTOBER 16TH.--There is no confirmation of the reported victory in Kentucky. An Englishman, who has been permitted to go North, publishes there a minute and pretty accurate description of our river defenses. I have written a leading article for the _Whig_ to-morrow, on "Martial Law and Passports." My plan is to organize committees in all the border counties to examine the passports of strangers seeking egress from the country; and to permit loyal citizens, not desiring to pass our borders, or the lines of the armies, to travel without passports. An officer and a squad of soldiers at the depots can decide what soldiers are entitled to pass on the roads. OCTOBER 17TH.--The article in the _Whig_ is backed by one of a similar character in the _Examiner_. We shall see what effect they will have on the policy adopted by the Secretary of War. Although still unofficial, we have confirmatory accounts of Bragg's victory in Kentucky. The enemy lost, they say, 25,000 men. Western accounts are generally exaggerated. The President has appointed the following lieutenant-generals: Jackson, Longstreet, (Bishop) Polk, Hardee, Pemberton, Holmes, and Smith (Kirby). The raid of Stuart into Pennsylvania was a most brilliant affair. He captured and destroyed much public property--respecting that of individuals. The Abolitionists are much mortified, and were greatly frightened. The plan of this expedition was received at the department to-day--just as conceived and prepared by Lee, and it was executed by Stuart in a masterly manner. Advices from Winchester inform the government that McClellan is receiving large reinforcements. He may be determined to cross the Potomac and offer battle--as nothing less will satisfy the rabid Abolitionists. Gen. Lee is tearing up the rails on the road from Harper's Ferry. Our improvident soldiers lose a great many muskets. We should not have arms enough on the Potomac, were it not for those captured at Harper's Ferry. An order will be issued, making every man responsible for the safe-keeping of his gun. OCTOBER 18TH.--Major-Gen. Jones telegraphs from Knoxville, Tenn., that a wounded officer arrived from Kentucky, reports a victory for Bragg, and that he has taken over 10,000 prisoners. We shall soon have positive news. A letter from Admiral Buchanan states that he has inspected the defenses of Mobile, and finds them satisfactory. I traversed the markets this morning, and was gratified to find the greatest profusion of all kinds of meats, vegetables, fruits, poultry, butter, eggs, etc. But the prices are enormously high. If the army be kept away, it seems the supply must soon be greater than the demand. Potatoes at $5 per bushel, and a large crop! Half-grown chickens at $1 each! Butter at $1.25 per pound! And other things in the same proportion. Here is a most startling matter. Gov. Baylor, appointed Governor of Arizona, sent an order some time since to a military commander to assemble the Apaches, under pretense of a treaty--_and when they came, to kill every man of them, and sell their children to pay for the whisky_. This order was sent to the Secretary, who referred it to Gen. Sibley, of that Territory, to ascertain if it were genuine. To-day it came back from Gen. S. indorsed a _true bill_. Now it will go to the President--and we shall see what will follow. He cannot sanction such a perfidious crime. I predict he will make Capt. Josselyn, his former private Secretary, and the present Secretary of the Territory, Governor in place of Baylor. OCTOBER 20TH.--The news from Kentucky is very vague. It seems there has been a battle, which resulted favorably for us, so far as the casualties are concerned. But then Bragg has fallen back forty miles, and is probably retiring toward Cumberland Gap, that he may not be taken in the rear by the enemy's forces lately at Corinth. The President intends suspending the Conscription Act in Western Virginia, for the purpose, no doubt, of organizing an army of Partisan Rangers in that direction. It seems, from recent Northern papers received in this city, that the elections in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana have gone against the Abolitionists. What then? If the war should be waged by the Democrats for the restoration of the Union, and waged according to the rules of civilized nations, respecting non-combatants, and exempting private property from pillage, it would be a still more formidable war than that now waged against us. I have just received the following note from the Secretary: "OCTOBER 17th, 1862. "MR. J. B. JONES will hereafter refer all applicants for passports to Gen. Smith's Adjutant-General, and grant none from the department. "GEORGE W. RANDOLPH, "_Sec. of War_." Neither the acting Assistant Secretary, nor Mr. Kean, with his whole alphabet of initials, could be certain whether the order referred merely to applicants to go out of the Confederacy, or all applicants of whatever kind. If the latter, I am _functus officio_, so far as passports are concerned. But Capt. Kean says there is plenty of work for me to do; and I presume I will not be entirely out of employment. I took a good look at Mr. Randolph to-day. He is thin, frail. His face is pale, and will soon be a mass of wrinkles, although he is not over forty. His eyes are extremely small, blue, and glisten very much. OCTOBER 21ST.--Still nothing definite from Kentucky, more than the retreat of Bragg. Gen. Loring is here--he would not act upon the suggestions of Lee, and so he is recalled. The government is uneasy about Richmond. They want a portion of Lee's army sent hither. But Lee responds, that although he is not advised of the condition of things on the south side of James River, yet, if he detaches a portion of his army, he may be too weak to encounter McClellan, if he should advance. I saw the Secretary again this morning; he wished me to turn over all the passport business to the military. I said I was glad to be rid of that business, and would never touch it again. OCTOBER 22D.--Back at the department at work, but not much to do yet. The mails are not heavy. We have Bragg's report of the battle of Perryville. He beat the enemy from his positions, driving him back two miles, when night set in. But finding overwhelming masses accumulating around him, he withdrew in good order to Bryattsville. Thus Kentucky is given up for the present! McClellan has retired back into Maryland, hoping, I suppose, Lee will follow and fall into his ambuscade. The President will call out, under the Conscription Act, all between the ages of eighteen and forty. This will furnish, according to the Secretary's estimate, 500,000, after deducting the exempts. A great mistake. A letter from Gen. Lee indicates that he is in favor of making Treasury notes a legal tender. It was so with Washington concerning Continental money--but Congress pays no attention to the subject. Why does not the President recommend it? It would then pass--for, at present, he is master. The paper from the Provost Marshal, referred by the latter to the President, came back to-day. The Secretary, in referring it, seems to incline to the opinion that the writ of _habeas corpus_ not being suspended, there was no remedy for the many evils the Provost Marshal portrayed. The President, however, did not wholly coincide in that opinion. He says: "The introduction and sale of liquors must be prevented. Call upon the city authorities to withhold licenses, and to abate the evil in the courts, _or else an order will be issued, such as the necessity requires_." Judge Campbell, late of the United States Supreme Court, has been appointed Assistant Secretary of War. OCTOBER 23D.--The Gov. of Florida calls for aid, or he thinks his State will fall. Albert Pike, writing from Texas, says if the Indian Territory be not attended to "_instantly_," it will be lost. Per contra, we have a rumor that Lee is recrossing the Potomac into Maryland. OCTOBER 24TH.--Bragg is in full retreat, leaving Kentucky, and racing for Chattanooga--the point of interest now. But Beauregard, from whom was taken the command of the Western army, day before yesterday repulsed with slaughter a large detachment of the Yankees that had penetrated to the Charleston and Savannah Railroad. Thus, in spite of the fantastic tricks of small men here, the _popular_ general is destined to rise again. OCTOBER 25TH.--Many severe things are alleged against the President for depriving Beauregard of the command of the Western army. It is alleged that Bragg reported that the enemy would have been annihilated at Shiloh, if Beauregard had fought an hour longer. Now, it appears, that Bragg would have annihilated the enemy at Perryville, if he had fought an hour longer! And just at the moment of his flying out of Kentucky, news comes of Beauregard's victory over the enemy in the South. Nor is this all. The enemy some time since intercepted a letter from Beauregard to Bragg (a copy of which was safely sent to the government here), detailing his plan of the campaign in the West, if he had not been unjustly deprived of the command. But Bragg chose to make a plan of his own, or was directed to disregard Beauregard's advice. No one doubts that Beauregard's plan would have been successful, and would have given us Cincinnati and Louisville; but that of Bragg, as the one sent him by the government, has resulted in the loss of Kentucky, and, perhaps, Tennessee! Brig.-Gen. Edward Johnson is recommended by Gen. Lee for promotion to major-general, and to be placed in command of the army in Western Virginia. OCTOBER 27TH.--From information (pretty direct from Washington), I believe it is the purpose of the enemy to make the most strenuous efforts to capture Richmond and Wilmington this fall and winter. It has been communicated to the President that if it takes their last man, and all their means, these cities must fall. Gen. Smith is getting negroes to work on the defenses, and the subsistence officers are ordered to accumulate a vast amount of provisions here. Letters from Beauregard show that the Commissary-General, because _he_ thinks Charleston cannot be defended, opposes the provisioning the forts as the general would have it done! The general demands of the government to know whether he is to be overruled, and if so, he must not be held responsible for the consequences. We shall see some of these days which side the President will espouse. Beauregard is _too popular_, I fear, to meet with favor here. But it is life or death to the Confederacy, and danger lurks in the path of public men who endanger the liberties of the people. OCTOBER 28TH.--Gen. Bragg is here, but will not probably be deprived of his command. He was opposed by vastly superior numbers, and succeeded in getting away with the largest amount of provisions, clothing, etc., ever obtained by an army. He brought out 15,000 horses and mules, 8000 beeves, 50,000 barrels of pork, a great number of hogs, 1,000,000 yards of Kentucky cloth, etc. The army is now at Knoxville, Tennessee, in good condition. But before leaving Kentucky, Morgan made still another capture of Lexington, taking a whole cavalry regiment prisoners, destroying several wagon trains, etc. It is said Bragg's train of wagons was forty miles long! A Western _tale_, I fear. Letters from Lee urge the immediate completion of the railroad from Danville to Greenville, North Carolina, as of _vital importance_. He thinks the enemy will cut the road between this and Weldon. He wants Confederate notes made a legal tender; and the President says that, as the courts cannot enforce payment in anything else, they are substantially a legal tender already. And he suggests the withholding of pay from officers during their absence from their regiments. A good idea. Everything indicates that Richmond will be assailed this fall, and that operations in the field are not to be suspended in the winter. Polk, Bragg, Cheatham, etc. are urging the President to make Col. Preston Smith a brigadier-general. Unfortunately, Bragg's letter mentioned the fact that Beauregard had given Smith command of a brigade at Shiloh; and this attracting the eye of the President, he made a sharp note of it with his pencil. "What authority had he for this?" he asked; and Col. Smith will not be appointed. OCTOBER 29TH.--There was a rumor yesterday that the enemy were marching on Weldon; but we have no confirmation of it to-day. Loring, after all, did not send his cavalry into Pennsylvania, I presume, since nothing has been heard of it. The _Charleston Mercury_ has some strictures on the President for not having Breckinridge in Kentucky, and Price in Missouri, this fall. They would doubtless have done good service to the cause. The President is much absorbed in the matter of appointments. Gen. Wise was again ordered down the Peninsula last Saturday; and again ordered back when he got under way. They will not let him fight. OCTOBER 30TH.--The Commissary-General is in hot water on account of some of his contracts, and a board of inquiry is to sit on him. The President has delayed the appointment of Gen. E. Johnson, and Gen. Echols writes that several hundred of his men have deserted; that the enemy, 10,000 or 15,000 strong, is pressing him, and he must fall back, losing Charleston, Virginia, the salt works, and possibly the railroad. He has less than 4000 men! But we have good news from England--if it be true. The New York _Express_ says Lord Lyons is instructed by England, and perhaps on the part of France and other powers, to demand of the United States an armistice; and in the event of its not being acceded to, the governments will recognize our independence. One of the President's personal attendants told me this news was regarded as authentic by our government. I don't regard it so. Yesterday the whole batch of "Plug Ugly" policemen, in the Provost Marshal's "department," were summarily dismissed by Gen. Winder, for "malfeasance, corruption, bribery, and incompetence." These are the branches: the roots should be plucked up, and Gen. Winder and his Provost Marshal ought to resign. I believe the President ordered the removal. OCTOBER 31ST.--If it be not a Yankee electioneering trick to operate at the election in New York, on the fourth of November, the Northern correspondence with Europe looks very much like speedy intervention in our behalf. Winder has really dismissed all his detectives excepting Cashmeyer, about the worst of them. If we gain our independence by the valor of our people, or assisted by European intervention, I wonder whether President Davis will be regarded by the world as a second Washington? What will his own country say of him? I know not, of course; but I know what quite a number here say of him now. They say he is a small specimen of a statesman, and no military chieftain at all. And worse still, that he is a capricious tyrant, for lifting up Yankees and keeping down great Southern men. Wise, Floyd, etc. are kept in obscurity; while Pemberton, who commanded the Massachusetts troops, under Lincoln, in April, 1861, is made a lieutenant-general; G. W. Smith and Lovell, who were office-holders in New York, when the battle of Manassas was fought, are made major-generals, and the former put in command over Wise in Virginia, and all the generals in North Carolina. Ripley, another Northern general, was sent to South Carolina, and Winder, from Maryland, has been allowed to play the despot in Richmond and Petersburg. Washington was maligned. CHAPTER XX. General Lee in Richmond: beard white.--First proposition to trade cotton to the enemy.--Secretary in favor of it.--All the letters come through my hands again.--Lee falling back.--5000 negroes at work on the fortifications.--Active operations looked for--Beauregard advises non-combatants to leave the city.--Semmes's operations.--Making a nation.--Salt works lost in Virginia.--Barefooted soldiers.-- Intrigues of Butler in New Orleans.--Northern army advancing everywhere.--Breach between the President and Secretary of War.-- President's servant arrested for robbing the Treasury.--Gen. J. E. Johnston in town.--Secretary has resigned.--Hon. J. A. Seddon appointed Secretary of War.--The enemy marching on Fredericksburg.-- Lee writes that he will be ready for them.--Kentuckians will not be hog drivers.--Women and children flying from the vicinity of Fredericksburg.--Fears for Wilmington.--No beggars.--Quiet on the Rappahannock.--M. Paul, French Consul, saved the French tobacco.-- Gen. Johnston goes West.--President gives Gov. Pettit full authority to trade cotton to France. NOVEMBER 1ST.--Gen. Winder's late policemen have fled the city. Their monstrous crimes are the theme of universal execration. But I reported them many months ago, and Gen. Winder was cognizant of their forgeries, correspondence with the enemy, etc. The Secretary of War, and the President himself, were informed of them, but it was thought to be a "small matter." Gen. Lee made his appearance at the department to-day, and was hardly recognizable, for his beard, now quite white, has been suffered to grow all over his face. But he is quite robust from his exercises in the field. His appearance here, coupled with the belief that we are to have the armistice, or recognition and intervention, is interpreted by many as an end of the war. But I apprehend it is a symptom of the falling back of our army. I have been startled to-day by certain papers that came under my observation. The first was written by J. Foulkes, to L. B. Northrop, Commissary-General, proposing to aid the government in procuring meat and bread for the army _from ports in the enemy's possession_. _They were to be paid for in cotton._ The next was a letter from the Commissary-General to G. W. Randolph, Secretary of War, urging the acceptance of the proposition, and saying without it, it would be impossible to subsist the army. He says the cotton proposed to be used, in the Southwest will either be burned or fall into the hands of the enemy; and that more than two-thirds is never destroyed when the enemy approaches. But to effect his object, it will be necessary for the Secretary to sanction it, and to give orders for the cotton to pass the lines of the army. The next was from the Secretary to the President, dated October thirtieth, which not only sanctioned Colonel Northrop's scheme, but went further, and embraced shoes and blankets for the Quartermaster-General. This letter inclosed both Foulkes's and Northrop's. They were all sent back to-day by the President, with his remarks. He hesitates, and does not concur. But says the Secretary will readily see the propriety of _postponing_ such a resort until January--and he hopes it may not be necessary then to depart from the settled policy of the government--to forbear trading cotton to the Yankees, etc. etc. Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, has given Mr. Dunnock permission to sell cotton to the Yankees and the rest of the world on the Atlantic and Gulf coast. Can it be that the President knows nothing of this? It is obvious that the cotton sold by Mr. Dunnock (who was always licensed by Mr. Benjamin to trade with people in the enemy's country beyond the Potomac) will be very _comfortable_ to the enemy. And it may aid Mr. Dunnock and others in accumulating a fortune. The Constitution defines _treason_ to be giving aid and comfort to the enemy. I never supposed Mr. Randolph would suggest, nay _urge_, opening an illicit trade with "Butler, the Beast." This is the first really dark period of our struggle for independence. We have acres enough, and laborers enough, to subsist 30,000,000 of people; and yet we have the spectacle of high functionaries, under Mr. Davis, urging the necessity of bartering cotton to the enemy for stores essential to the maintenance of the army! I cannot believe it is a necessity, but a destitution of that virtue necessary to achieve independence. If they had any knowledge of these things in Europe, they would cease their commendations of President Davis. Mr. Randolph says, in his letter to the President, that trading with ports in possession of the enemy is forbidden to citizens, and not to the government! The archives of the department show that this is not the first instance of the kind entertained by the Secretary. He has granted a license to _citizens_ in Mobile to trade cotton in New Orleans for certain supplies in exchange, in exact compliance with Gen. Butler's proclamation. Did Pitt ever practice such things during his contest with Napoleon? Did the Continental Government ever resort to such equivocal expedients? A member of Washington's cabinet (and he, too, was a Randolph) once violated the "settled policy of the government," but he was instantly deprived of the seals of office. He acted under the advice of Jefferson, who sought to destroy Washington; and the present Secretary Randolph is a grandson of Jefferson. Washington, the inflexible patriot, frowned indignantly upon every departure from the path of rectitude. I can do nothing more than record these things, and WATCH! NOVEMBER 2D, SUNDAY.--I watch the daily orders of Adjutant and Inspector-Gen. Cooper. These, when "by command of the Secretary of War," are intelligible to any one, but not many are by his command. When simply "by order," they are promulgated by order of the President, without even consulting the Secretary; and they often annul the Secretary's orders. They are _edicts_, and sometimes thought very arbitrary ones. One of these orders says liquor shall not be introduced into the city; and a poor fellow, the other day, was sentenced to the ball-and-chain for trying to bring hither his whisky from Petersburg. On the same day Gov. Brown, of Georgia, seized liquor in his State, in transitu over the railroad, belonging to the government! Since the turning over of the passports to Generals Smith and Winder, I have resumed the position where all the letters to the department come through my hands. I read them, make brief statements of their contents, and send them to the Secretary. Thus all sent by the President to the department go through my hands, being epitomized in the same manner. The new Assistant Secretary, Judge Campbell, has been ordering the Adjutant-General too peremptorily; and so Gen. Cooper has issued an order making Lieut.-Col. Deas an Acting Assistant Secretary of War, thus creating an office in defiance of Congress. NOVEMBER 3D.--The right wing of Lee's army has fallen back as far as Culpepper County, and the enemy advances. Active movements are speedily looked for; many suppose a desperate attempt to take Richmond. Our government has decided that _no one_ shall be permitted to go North for thirty days. A requisition for heavy guns to defend Cumberland Gap, elicited from the Inspector of Ordnance a statement of the fact that we are "short" of guns for the defense of Richmond. There was a rumor yesterday that the enemy was marching in force on Petersburg. This, at all events, was premature. A letter from Hon. C. C. Clay, Senator, says there is much defection in North Alabama, and that many people are withdrawing themselves to avoid conscription. Just at this time, if it were not for Lincoln's proclamation, if the war were conducted according to the rules of civilized nations, I verily believe a very formidable party in favor of RECONSTRUCTION might spring up in the South. With a united South, two million of Abolitionists could not subjugate us. NOVEMBER 4TH.--An exposé of funds in the hands of disbursing agents shows there are nearly seventy millions of dollars not accounted for! The members of the legislature are fearful of an attack on the Southern Railroad, and asks that Gen. Mahone be sent to Petersburg. The government is impressing flour at $12 per barrel, when it is selling at $24; and as the railroads are not allowed to transport any for private use, _it may be hoped we shall have our bread cheaper some of these days_. But will the government make itself popular with the people? The _Examiner_ says a clerk in the War Department is making money in the substitute business. If this be true, it is rank corruption! But, then, what is the cotton business? The Chief of Ordnance Bureau, Col. J. Gorgas (Northern by birth), recommends the Secretary of War to remove the lighter guns, some sixty in number, from the lower tiers of Forts Sumter, Moultrie, and Morgan, for the defense of the rivers likely to be ascended by the enemy's gun-boats. I saw, to-day, the President's order to revoke the authority heretofore given Gov. Baylor to raise a brigade, and in regard to his conduct as governor (ordering the massacre of the Indians after collecting them under pretense of forming a treaty of peace). The President suggests that nothing be done until the Governor _be heard in his own defense_. It was diabolical! If it had been consummated, it would have affixed the stigma of infamy to the government in all future time, and might have doomed us to merited subjugation. NOVEMBER 5TH.--Major Ruffin, in the Commissary Department, says the army must go on half rations after the 1st of January next. It is alleged that certain favorites of the government have a monopoly of transportation over the railroads, for purposes of speculation and extortion! NOVEMBER 6TH.--I believe the commissaries and quartermasters are cheating the government. The Quartermaster-General sent in a paper, to-day, saying he did not need the contributions of clothes tendered by the people of Petersburg, but still would pay for them. They were offered for nothing. The Commissary-General to-day says there is not wheat enough in Virginia (when a good crop was raised) for Gen. Lee's army, and unless he has millions in money and cotton, the army must disband for want of food. I don't believe it. There are 5000 negroes working on the fortifications near the city, and 2500 are to work on the Piedmont Railroad. We are all hoping that New York and other States declared against the Republicans, at the elections in the United States, on Tuesday last. Such a communication would be regarded as the harbinger of peace. We are all weary of the war, but _must_ and _will_ fight on, for no other alternative remains. Everything, however, indicates that we are upon the eve of most interesting events. This is the time for England or France to come to the rescue, and enjoy a commercial monopoly for many years. I think the Secretary of War has abandoned the idea of trading cotton to the enemy. It might cost him his head. NOVEMBER 7TH.--Yesterday I received from the agent of the City Councils fourteen pounds of salt, having seven persons in my family, including the servant. One pound to each member, per month, is allowed at 5 cts. per pound. The extortionists sell it at 70 cts. per pound. One of _them_ was drawing for his family. He confessed it; but said he paid 50 cts. for the salt he sold at 70 cts. Profit $10 per bushel! I sent an article to-day to the _Enquirer_, suggesting that fuel, bread, meat, etc. be furnished in the same manner. We shall soon be in a state of siege. Last night there was a heavy fall of _snow_. The authorities of Charleston, with the concurrence of Beauregard, advise all the non-combating population to leave the city, and remove their personal property. The city will be defended to the last extremity. What a change in the Executive Department! Before the election, the President was accessible to all; and even a member of Congress had no preference over the common citizen. But now there are _six_ aids, cavalry colonels in rank and pay, and one of them an Englishman, who see the people, and permit only certain ones to have access to the President. This looks like the beginning of an imperial court. But what may not its ending be? I see that Mr. Hurlbut, incarcerated once as a spy, or as a writer for an Abolition paper in New York, and a Northern man himself, after being protected by Mr. Browne (the English A.D.C. of the President) and released by Mr. Benjamin from prison, has escaped to the North, and is out in a long article in the _Times_! He says he got a passport from Gen. Winder's Provost Marshal. Mr. James Lyons thought he had made H. a Southern man; what does he think now? The "290" or Alabama, the ship bought in Europe, and commanded by Capt. Semmes, C. S. N., is playing havoc with the commerce of the United States. If we had a dozen of them, our foes would suffer incalculably, for they have an immense amount of shipping. I see Semmes had captured the Tonawanda, that used to lie at the foot of Walnut Street, Philadelphia; but he released her, first putting the master under bond to pay President Davis $80,000 after the war. I hope he will pay it, for I think the President will want the money. NOVEMBER 8TH.--The European statesmen, declining intervention in our behalf, have, nevertheless, complimented our President by saying he has, at all events, "made a nation." He is pleased with this, I understand. But it is one of the errors which the wise men over the water are ever liable to fall into. The "nation" was made before the President existed: indeed, the nation made the President. We have rumors of fighting near the mouth of the Shenandoah, and that our arms were successful. It is time both armies were in winter quarters. Snow still lies on the ground here. We have tidings from the North of the triumph of the Democrats in New York, New Jersey, etc. etc. This news produces great rejoicing, for it is hailed as the downfall of Republican despotism. Some think it will be followed by a speedy peace, or else that the European powers will recognize us without further delay. I should not be surprised if Seward were now to attempt to get the start of England and France, and cause our recognition by the United States. I am sure the Abolitionists cannot now get their million men. The drafting must be a failure. The Governor of Mississippi (Pettus) informs the President that a Frenchman, perhaps a Jew, proposes to trade salt for cotton--ten sacks of the first for one of the latter. The Governor says he don't _know_ that he has received the consent of "Butler, the Beast" (but he knows the trade is impossible without it), but that is no business of his. He urges the traffic. And the President has consented to it, and given him power to conduct the exchange in spite of the military authorities. The President says, however, that twenty sacks of salt ought to be given for one of cotton. Salt is worth in New Orleans about one dollar a sack, cotton $160 per bale. The President informed the Secretary of what had been _done_, and sends him a copy of his dispatch to Gov. Pettus. He don't even ask Mr. Randolph's _opinion_. NOVEMBER 9TH.--It is too true that Charleston, Va., and the great Kanawha salt works have been abandoned by Gen. Echols for the want of an adequate force to hold them. If the President had only taken Gen. Lee's advice a month ago, and ordered a few thousand more men there, under the command of Gen. Ed. Johnson, we should have kept possession of the works. The President may seem to be a good nation-maker in the eyes of distant statesmen, but he does not seem to be a good salt-maker for the nation. The works he has just relinquished to the enemy manufacture 7000 bushels of salt per day--two million and a half a year--an ample supply for the entire population of the Confederacy, and an object adequate to the maintenance of an army of 50,000 in that valley. Besides, the troops necessary for its occupation will soon be in winter quarters, and quite as expensive to the government as if in the valley. A Cæsar, a Napoleon, a Pitt, and a Washington, all great nation-makers, would have deemed this work worthy their attention. Only three days ago the President wrote to the Secretary that the idea of trading cotton to the enemy must be postponed until the first of January, and perhaps indefinitely, but now he informs Mr. Randolph that he has sent the requisite authority to his friend, Gov. Pettus, to launch out in that trade. No, the people have made the nation. It is a people's war, and it is the momentum of a united, patriotic people, which carries everything with it. Our brave men win victories under adverse circumstances, and often under incompetent officers, and the people feed and clothe the armies in spite of the shortcomings of dishonest commissaries and quartermasters. They are now sending ten thousand pairs of shoes to Lee's army in opposition to the will of the Jew Myers, Quartermaster-General, who says everything must be contracted and paid for by his agents, according to red-tape rule and regulation. The weather continues cold, 38°, and snow still lies on the ground. This _must_ produce a cessation of hostilities, and afford Lincoln's drafted recruits opportunity for meditation. If it be true that the Democrats have carried the day in the North, I think the war is approaching a termination. NOVEMBER 10TH.--A day or two ago some soldiers marched through the city without shoes, _in the snow_. A committee of citizens to-day obtained an order from the War Department, for the impressment of all the boots, shoes, blankets, and overcoats in the shops. What a commotion among the Jews! It is _certain_ that the enemy are advancing upon Culpepper, on the way to Richmond, in great force. This we have in letters from Gen. Lee, dated 7th inst., near Culpepper C. H. He says the enemy's cavalry is very numerous, while our horses have the "sore tongue," and tender hoofs. Lee has ordered the stores, etc. from Gordonsville to Lynchburg. He says Jackson may possibly march through one of the gaps and fall upon the enemy's flank, and intimates that an opportunity may be offered to strike the invaders "a blow." Yesterday, Sunday, a cavalry company dashed into Fredericksburg, and after robbing the stores, and reporting that the Democrats had swept the North, that England and France had recognized us, etc., they dashed out again. The President sent to the department to-day, _without comment_, a defense by Col. Baylor of his atrocious order for the massacre of the Indians. It was in a Texas paper. Baylor acknowledges its genuineness, and says the Apaches murdered our people invited to make a treaty with them, and he says it is his intention to retaliate by extermination of them. Another proposition was received by the government to-day from a French firm of _New Orleans_ merchants, to furnish us salt, meat, shoes, blankets, etc., in unlimited quantities, _and guarantee their delivery_, if we will allow them, with the proceeds of salt, the privilege of buying cotton on the Mississippi River, and they will, moreover, freight French ships above New Orleans, and guarantee that not a bale shall be landed in any U. S. port. Is it not _certain_ that "Butler, the Beast," is a party to the speculation? This is a strong temptation, and we shall see what response our government will make to this proposition to violate an act of Congress. NOVEMBER 11TH.--More projects from the Southwest. Mr. Jno. A. S. has _just_ arrived from _New Orleans_, where, he states in his communication to the government, he had interviews and correspondence with the U. S. authorities, Butler, etc., and they had given him positive assurances that he will be permitted to take any supplies to the planters (excepting arms and ammunition) in exchange for cotton, which may be shipped to any part of the world. S. says that Butler will let us have _anything_ for a bribe. No doubt! And Mr. L., President of the L. Bank, writes that he will afford facilities to Mr. S. It remains to be seen what our government will do in these matters. They smack of treason. It is said heavy firing was heard yesterday in the direction of Culpepper C. H., and it is supposed a battle is in progress to-day. No danger of it. NOVEMBER 12TH.--The heavy firing heard did no execution. Letters from Gen. Lee indicate no battle, unless the enemy should make an egregious blunder. He says he has _not half men enough_ to resist McClellan's advance with his mighty army, and prefers manoeuvring to risking his army. He says three-fourths of our cavalry horses are sick with sore-tongue, and their hoofs are falling off, and the soldiers are not fed and clad as they should be. He urges the sending of supplies to Gordonsville. And we have news of a simultaneous advance of Northern armies everywhere; and everywhere we have the same story of deficiency of men and provisions. North and south, east and west of us, the enemy is reported advancing. Soon we shall have every one blaming the Secretary of War for the deficiency of men, and of quartermaster and commissary stores. The Commissary-General, backed by the Secretary of War, made another effort to-day to obtain the President's permission to trade cotton with "Butler, the Beast." But the President and Gov. Pettus will manage that _little_ matter without their assistance. Major Ruffin's (Commissary's Bureau) statement of the alarming prospects ahead, unless provisions be obtained outside of the Confederacy (for cotton), was induced by reports from New Orleans. A man was in the office to-day exhibiting Butler's passport, and making assurances that all the Yankee generals are for sale--for cotton. Butler will make a fortune--and so will some of our great men. Butler says the reason he don't send troops into the interior is that he is afraid we will burn the cotton. It is reported that a fleet of the enemy's gun-boats are in the James River. NOVEMBER 13TH.--The President has rebuked the Secretary of War in round terms for ordering Gen. Holmes to assume the command on _this_ side the Mississippi. Perhaps Mr. Randolph has resolved to be really Secretary. This is the first thing I have ever known him to do without previously obtaining the President's sanction--and it must be confessed, it was a matter of some gravity and importance. Of course it will be countermanded. I have not been in the Secretary's office yet, to see if there is an envelope on his table directed to the President marked "_Immediate_." But he has not been to see the President--and that may be significant, as this is the usual day. A gentleman, arrived to-day from Maryland, reports that Gen. McClellan has been removed, and the command given to Burnside! He says, moreover, that this change has given umbrage to the army. This may be our deliverance; for if McClellan had been let alone two weeks longer (provided he ascertained our present condition), he might have captured Richmond, which would be holding all Eastern and much of Central Virginia. This blunder seems providential. We learn, also, that the Democracy have carried Illinois, Mr. Lincoln's own State, by a very large majority. This is hailed with gladness by our people; and if there should be a "rebellion in the North," as the _Tribune_ predicts, this intervention of the Democrats will be regarded altogether in our favor. Let them put down the radical Abolitionists, and then, no doubt, they will recover some of our trade. It will mortify the Republicans, hereafter, when the smoke clears away, to learn that Gen. Butler was trading supplies for our army during this November, 1862--and it will surprise our secessionists to learn that our government is trading him cotton! NOVEMBER 14TH.--An order has gone forth to-day from the Secretary of War, that no more flour or wheat shall leave the States. This order was given some time ago--then relaxed, and now reissued. How soon will he revoke it again? Never before did such little men rule such a great people. Our rulers are like children or drunken men riding docile horses, that absolutely keep the riders from falling off by swaying to the right and left, and preserving an equilibrium. There is no rule for anything, and no stability in any policy. To-day more propositions from Frenchmen (in New Orleans) have been received. Butler is preparing to do a great business--and no objection to the illicit traffic is filed by the Secretaries of State or Treasury. Yesterday one of the President's servants was arrested for stealing Treasury notes. The Treasury Department is just under the Executive Department; and this negro (slave) has been used by the President to take important papers to the departments. The amount abstracted was $5000--unsigned--but some one, perhaps the negro, for he is educated, forged the Register's and Treasurer's names. I saw Gen. J. E. Johnston standing idle in the street to-day. NOVEMBER 15TH.--"Now, by St. George, the work goes bravely on!" Another letter on my desk from the President to the Secretary. Well, being in an official envelope, it was my duty to open it, note its contents, and send it to the Secretary. The Secretary has been responding to the short espistle he received yesterday. It appears he could not clearly understand its purport. But the President has used such plain language in this, that it must be impossible to misunderstand him. He says that the transferring of generals commanding important military districts, without conference with him and his concurrence; and of high disbursing officers; and, above all, the making of appointments without his knowledge and consent, are prerogatives that do not pertain to the Secretary of War in the first instance; and can only be exercised by him under the direction of the Chief Executive. In regard to _appointments_, especially, the President has no constitutional authority nor any disposition to transfer the power. He discussed their relative duties,--for the benefit of all future Secretaries, I suppose. But it looks like a rupture. It seems, then, after acting some eight months merely in the humble capacity of clerk, Mr. Randolph has all at once essayed to act the PRESIDENT. The Secretary of War did not go to the President's closet to-day. This is the third day he has absented himself. Such incidents as these preceded the resignation of Mr. Walker. It is a critical time, and the Secretary of War ought to confer freely with the President. NOVEMBER 16TH, SUNDAY.--Yesterday the Secretary of War resigned his office, and his resignation was promptly accepted by the President. NOVEMBER 17TH.--A profound sensation has been produced in the outside world by the resignation of Mr. Randolph; and most of the people and the press seem inclined to denounce the President, for they know not what. In this matter the President is not to blame; but the Secretary has acted either a very foolish or a very desperate part. It appears that he wrote a note in reply to the last letter of the President, stating that as no discretion was allowed him in such matters as were referred to by the President, he begged respectfully to tender his resignation. The President responded, briefly, that inasmuch as the Secretary declined acting any longer as one of his constitutional advisers, and also declined a personal conference, no alternative remained but to accept his resignation. Randolph's friends would make it appear that he resigned in consequence of being restricted in his action; but he knows very well that the latitude allowed him became less and less circumscribed; and that, hitherto, he was well content to operate within the prescribed limits. Therefore, if it was not a silly caprice, it was a deliberate purpose, to escape a cloud of odium he knew must sooner or later burst around him. A letter from Gen. Magruder, dated 10th inst., at Jackson, Mississippi, intimates that we shall lose Holly Springs. He has also been in Mobile, and doubts whether that city can be successfully defended by Gen. Forney, whose liver is diseased, and memory impaired. He recommends that Brig.-Gen. Whiting be promoted, and assigned to the command in place of Forney, relieved. A letter from Gen. Whiting, near Wilmington, dated 13th. inst., expresses serious apprehensions whether that place can be held against a determined attack, unless a supporting force of 10,000 men be sent there immediately. It is in the command of Major-Gen. G. A. Smith. More propositions to ship cotton in exchange for the supplies needed by the country. The President has no objection to accepting them all, provided the cotton don't go to any of the enemy's ports. How _can_ it be possible to avoid this liability, if the cotton be shipped from the Mississippi River? NOVEMBER 18TH.--Well, the President is a bold man! He has put in Randolph's place, temporarily at least, Major-Gen. Gustavus W. Smith--who was Street Commissioner in the City of New York, on the day that Capt. G. W. Randolph was fighting the New Yorkers at Bethel! Gen. Wise is out in a card, stating that in response to a requisition for shoes for his suffering troops, Quartermaster-Gen. A. C. Myers said, "Let them suffer." The enemy attacked Fredericksburg yesterday, and there was some skirmishing, the result of which we have not heard. It is rumored they are fighting there to-day. We have but few regiments between here and Fredericksburg. NOVEMBER 19TH.--Hon. James A. Seddon (Va.) has been appointed Secretary of War. He is an able man (purely a civilian), and was member of our Revolutionary Convention, at Metropolitan Hall, 16th April, 1861. But some thought him then rather inclined to restrain than to urge decisive action. He is an orator, rich, and frail in health. He will not remain long in office if he attempts to perform all the duties. Two letters were received from Gen. Lee to-day. Both came unsealed and open, an omission of his adjutant-general, Mason. The first inclines to the belief that Burnside intends to embark his army for the south side of James River, to operate probably in Eastern North Carolina. The second, dated 17th inst. 6-1/2 P.M., says the scouts report large masses advancing on Fredericksburg, and it may be Burnside's purpose to make that town his base of operations. (Perhaps for a pleasant excursion to Richmond.) Three brigades of the enemy had certainly marched to Fredericksburg. A division of Longstreet's corps were marched thither yesterday, 18th, at early dawn. Lee says if the reports of the scouts be confirmed, the entire corps will follow immediately. And he adds: "Before the enemy's trains can leave Fredericksburg (for Richmond) this whole army will be in position." These letters were sent immediately to the President. A letter from Gen. Holmes calls for an immediate supply of funds ($24,000,000) for the trans-Mississippi Department. A letter from Gen. Pike says if Gen. Hindman (Ark.) is to control there, the Indian Country will be lost. We shall soon have a solution of Burnside's intentions. Lee is in spirits. He knows Burnside can be easily beaten with greatly inferior numbers. We hear of sanguinary acts in Missouri--ten men (civilians) being shot in retaliation for one killed by our rangers. These acts exasperate our people, and will stimulate them to a heroic defense. The cars this afternoon from the vicinity of Fredericksburg were crowded with negroes, having bundles of clothing, etc., their owners sending them hither to escape the enemy. A frightened Jew, who came in the train, said there was an army of 100,000 near Fredericksburg, and we should hear more in a few days. I doubt it not. Salt sold yesterday at auction for $1.10 per pound. Boots are now bringing $50 per pair; candles (tallow) 75 cts. per pound; butter $2.00 per pound. Clothing is almost unattainable. We are all looking shabby enough. Mr. K., the young Chief of the Bureau, who came in with Mr. Randolph, declines the honor of going out with him, to the great chagrin of several anxious applicants. It is an office "for life." I shall despair of success unless the President puts a stop to Gen. Winder's passport operations, for, if the enemy be kept advised of our destitute condition, there will be no relaxation of efforts to subjugate us. And Europe, too, will refuse to recognize us. I believe there are traitors in high places here who encourage the belief in the North and in Europe that we must soon succumb. And some few of our influential great men might be disposed to favor reconstruction of the Union on the basis of the Democratic party which has just carried the elections in the North. Everything depends upon the result of approaching military operations. If the enemy be defeated, and the Democrats of the North should call for a National Convention--but why anticipate? NOVEMBER 20TH.--A letter from Brig. H. Marshall, Abingdon, Ky., in reply to one from the Secretary, says his Kentuckians are not willing to be made Confederate _hog-drivers_, but they will protect the commissary's men in collecting and removing the hogs. Gen. M. criticises Gen. Bragg's campaign very severely. He says the people of Kentucky looked upon their fleeting presence as a _horse-show_, or military pageantry, and not as indicating the stern reality of war. Hence they did not rise in arms, and hence their diffidence in following the fortunes of the new Confederacy. Gen. M. asks if it is the purpose of the government to _abandon_ Kentucky, and if so, is he not _functus officio_, being a Kentucky general, commanding Kentucky troops? Col. Myers has placed on file in the department a denial of having said to Gen. Wise's quartermaster, "Let them suffer." Several ladies, near relatives of Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, came over yesterday under flag of truce. They lived, I believe, in Alexandria. Another requisition has been made by the engineer for 5000 negroes to work on the fortifications of Richmond. No letters were received from Gen. Lee to-day, and he may be busy in the field. Accounts say the enemy is planting batteries on the heights opposite Fredericksburg. It has been raining occasionally the last day or two. I hope the ground is _soft_, and the mud deep; if so, Burnside cannot move on Richmond, and we shall have time to prepare for "contingencies." Yesterday salt sold at auction for $1.30 per pound. We are getting into a pretty extreme condition. NOVEMBER 21ST.--It rained all night, which may extinguish Burnside's ardent fire. He cannot drag his wagons and artillery through the melting snow, and when it dries we may look for another rain. The new Secretary is not yet in his seat. It is generally supposed he will accept. President Davis hesitates to retaliate life for life in regard to the Missouri military executions. Common shirting cotton, and Yankee calico, that used to sell at 12-1/2 cts. per yard, is now $1.75! What a temptation for the Northern manufacturers! What a _rush_ of trade there would be if peace should occur suddenly! And what a party there would be in the South for peace (and unity with Northern Democrats) if the war were waged somewhat differently. The excesses of the Republicans _compel_ our people to be almost a unit. This is all the better for us. Still, we are in quite a bad way now, God knows! The passengers by the cars from Fredericksburg this morning report that Gen. Patrick (Federal) came over under a flag of truce, demanding the surrender of the town, which was refused by Gen. Lee, in compliance with the unanimous sentiments of the people. Gen. Patrick, it is stated, said if it were not surrendered by 9 A.M. to-day, it would be shelled. Mr. Dargan, M. C., writes to the President from Mobile that the inhabitants of that city are in an awful condition. Meal is selling for $3.50 per bushel, and wood at $15 per cord, and that the people are afraid to bring supplies, apprehending that the government agents will seize them. The President (thanks to him!) has ordered that interference with domestic trade must not be permitted. Mr. Seddon has taken his seat. He has, at least, a manly appearance--his predecessor was said to look like a m----y. The President has ordered our generals in Missouri, if the Yankee accounts of the executions of our people be true, to execute the next ten Federal officers taken in that State. The _Enquirer_, to-day, publishes Col. Baylor's order to execute the Indians in Arizona, coupled with Mr. Randolph's condemnation of the act. Who furnished this for publication? It is rumored that Fredericksburg is in flames, shelled by the enemy. We will know how true this is before night. NOVEMBER 23D.--The cars which came in from the North last night brought a great many women, children, and negroes from Fredericksburg and its vicinity. The benevolent and patriotic citizens here had, I believe, made some provision for their accommodation. But the enemy had not yet shelled the town. There is a rumor that Jackson was to appear somewhere in the rear of the enemy, and that the Federal stores which could not be moved with the army had been burnt at Manassas. Yesterday the President remitted the sentence of a poor lad, sentenced to ball-and-chain for six months, for cowardice, etc. He had endured the penalty three months. I like this act, for the boy had enlisted without the consent of his parents, and was only sixteen years of age. J. R. Anderson & Co. (having drawn $500,000 recently on the contract) have failed to furnish armor for the gun-boats--the excuse being that iron could not be had for their rolling-mills. The President has ordered the Secretaries of the Navy and War to consult on the propriety of taking railroad iron, on certain tracks, for that purpose. NOVEMBER 24TH.--Fredericksburg not shelled yet; but the women and children are flying hither. The enemy fired on a train of women and children yesterday, supposing the cars (baggage) were conveying military stores. The Northern press says Burnside is determined to force his way, directly from the Rappahannock to Richmond, by virtue of superior numbers. The thing Lee desires him to attempt. The enemy are landing troops at Newport News, and we shall soon hear of gun-boats and transports in the James River. But no one is dismayed. We have supped on horrors so long, that danger now is an accustomed condiment. Blood will flow in torrents, and God will award the victory. Another letter from Gen. Whiting says there is every reason to suppose that Wilmington will be attacked immediately, and if reinforcements (10,000) be not sent him, the place cannot be defended against a land assault. Nor is this all: for if the city falls, with the present force only to defend it, none of our men can escape. There is no repose for us! NOVEMBER 25TH.--Fredericksburg is not shelled yet; and, moreover, the enemy have apologized for the firing at the train containing women and children. Affairs remain in _statu quo_--the mayor and military authorities agreeing that the town shall furnish neither aid nor comfort to the Confederate army, and the Federals agreeing not to shell it--for the present. Gen. Corcoran, last year a prisoner in this city, has landed his Irish brigade at Newport News. It is probable we shall be assailed from several directions simultaneously. _No beggars can be found in the streets of this city._ No cry of distress is heard, although it prevails extensively. High officers of the government have no fuel in their houses, and give nearly $20 per cord for wood for cooking purposes. And yet there are millions of tons of coal almost _under_ the very city! NOVEMBER 26TH.--No fighting on the Rappahannock yet, that I hear of; and it is said the enemy are moving farther down the river. Can they mean to cross? Nothing more is heard of Gen. Corcoran, with his Irish bogtrotters, on the Peninsula. The government has realized 50,000 pounds of leather from two counties in Eastern North Carolina, in danger of falling into the hands of the enemy. This convinces me that there is abundance of leather in the South, if it were properly distributed. It is held, like everything else, by speculators, for extortioners' profits. The government might remedy the evils, and remove the distresses of the people; but instead of doing so, the bureaus aggravate them by capricious seizures, and tyrannical restrictions on transportation. Letters are coming in from every quarter complaining of the despotic acts of government agents. Mr. J. Foulkes writes another letter to the department on his cotton scheme. He says it must be embraced now or never, as the enemy will soon make such dispositions as would prevent his getting supplies _through their lines_. The Commissary-General approves, and the late Secretary approved; but what will the new one do? The President is non-committal. What a blunder France and England made in hesitating to espouse our cause! They might have had any commercial advantages. NOVEMBER 27TH.--Some of the late Secretary's friends are hinting that affairs will go amiss now, as if he would have prevented any disaster! Who gave up Norfolk? That was a calamitous blunder! Letters from North Carolina are distressing enough. They say, but for the influence of Gov. Vance, the _legislature_ would favor reconstruction! Gen. Marshall writes lugubriously. He says his men are all barefoot. Gen. Magruder writes that Pemberton has only 20,000 men, and should have 50,000 more at once--else the Mississippi Valley will be lost, and the cause ruined. He thinks there should be a concentration of troops there immediately, no matter how much other places might suffer; the enemy beaten, and the Mississippi secured at all hazards. If not, Mobile is lost, and perhaps Montgomery, as well as Vicksburg, Holly Springs, etc. One of our paroled men from Washington writes the President that, on the 6th instant, Burnside had but seventy regiments; and the President seemed to credit it! The idea of Burnside advancing with seventy regiments is absurd. But how many absurd ideas have been entertained by the government, and have influenced it! _Nous verrons._ NOVEMBER 28TH.--All is quiet on the Rappahannock; the enemy reported to be extending his line up the river some twenty miles, intending to find a passage. He _might_ have come over last week but for a _ruse_ of Gen. Lee, who appeared near Fredericksburg twenty-four hours in advance of the army. His presence deceived Burnside, who took it for granted that our general was at the head of his army! M. Paul carried the day yesterday, in the Confederate Court, in the matter of $2,000,000 worth of tobacco, which, under pretense of its belonging to French citizens (though bought by Belmont, of New York, an alien enemy), is rescued from sequestration. In other words, the recognition of M. Paul as Consul, and the validity of his demands, deprives the Confederate Government of two millions; and really acknowledges the _exequatur_ of the United States, as M. Paul is not Consul to the Confederate States but to the United States. This looks like submission; and a great fee has been realized by somebody. If the enemy were to take Richmond, this tobacco would be destroyed by the _military_. Gen. Joseph E. Johnston is assigned to the command of the army of the West. To-day we have a dispatch from Gov. Pettus, saying authority to pass cotton through the lines of the army, and for salt to have ingress, must be given immediately. The President directs the Secretary to transmit orders to the generals to that effect. He says the cotton is to go to France without touching any port in the possession of the enemy. NOVEMBER 29TH.--The Quartermaster-General publishes a notice that _he_ will receive and distribute contributions of clothing, etc. to the army, and even _pay_ for the shirts $1 each! Shirts are selling at $12. The people will not trust him to convey the clothing to their sons and brothers, and so the army must suffer on. But he is getting in bad odor. A gentleman in Alabama writes that his agents are speculating in food: the President tells the Secretary to demand explanations, and the Secretary does so. Col. Myers fails, I think, to make the exhibit required, and it may be the worse for him. I see by the papers that another of Gen. Winder's police has escaped to Washington City, and is now acting as a _Federal_ detective. And yet many similar traitors are retained in service here! The Governor of North Carolina writes the President that his State intends to organize an army of 10,000 men for its own defense, besides her sixty regiments in the Confederate States service; and asks if the Confederate States Government can furnish any arms, etc. The President sends this to the Secretary of War, for his _advice_. He wants to know Mr. Seddon's views on the subject--a delicate and embarrassing predicament for the new Secretary, truly! He must know that the President frowns on all military organizations not under his own control, and that he counteracted all Gen. Floyd's efforts to raise a division under State authority. Beware, Mr. Seddon! The President is a little particular concerning his prerogatives; and by the advice you now give, you stand or fall. What is North Carolina to the Empire? You tread on dangerous ground. Forget your old State-Rights doctrine, or off goes your head. NOVEMBER 30TH.--It is said there is more concern manifested in the government here on the indications that the States mean to organize armies of non-conscripts for their own defense, than for any demonstration of the enemy. The election of Graham Confederate States Senator in North Carolina, and of H. V. Johnson in Georgia, causes some uneasiness. These men were not original secessionists, and have been the objects of aversion, if not of proscription, by the men who secured position in the Confederate States Government. Nevertheless, they are able men, and as true to Southern independence as any. But they are opposed to despotic usurpation--and their election seems like a rebuke and condemnation of military usurpation. From all sections of the Confederacy complaints are coming in that the military agents of the bureaus are oppressing the people; and the belief is expressed by many, that a sentiment is prevailing inimical to the government itself. CHAPTER XXI. The great crisis at hand.--The rage for speculation raises its head.-- Great battle of Fredericksburg.--The States called on for supplies.-- Randolph resigns as Brigadier-General.--South Carolina honor.--Loss at Fredericksburg.--Great contracts.--Lee's ammunition bad.-- Small-pox here. DECEMBER 1ST, MONDAY.--There is a rumor to-day that we are upon the eve of a great battle on the Rappahannock. I doubt it not. I am sorry to see that Col. McRae, a gallant officer, has resigned his commission, charging the President with partiality in appointing junior officers, and even his subordinates, brigadiers over his head. Nevertheless, he tenders his services to the Governor of his State, and will be made a general. But where will this end? I fear in an issue between the State and Confederate authorities. The news from Europe is not encouraging. France is willing to interfere, and Russia is ready to participate in friendly mediation to stay the effusion of blood--but England seems afraid of giving offense to the United States. They refer to the then approaching elections in the North, and lay some stress on the anticipated change in public opinion. Popular opinion! What is it worth in the eyes of European powers? If it be of any value, and if the voice of the people should be allowed to determine such contests, why not leave it to a vote of the Southern people to decide under which government they will live? But why make such an appeal to monarchies, while the Republican or Democratic government of the North refuses to permit 8,000,000 of people to have the government they unanimously prefer? Can it be possible that the United States are ignorant of popular sentiment here? I fear so; I fear a few traitors in our midst contrive to deceive even the Government at Washington. Else why a prolongation of the war? They ought to know that, under almost any conceivable adverse circumstances, we can maintain the war twenty years. And if our lines should be everywhere broken, and our country overrun--it would require a half million soldiers to _hold us down_, and this would cost the United States $500,000,000 per annum. God speed the day of peace! Our patriotism is mainly in the army and among the ladies of the South. The avarice and cupidity of the men at home, could only be excelled by ravenous wolves; and most of our sufferings are fully deserved. Where a people will not have mercy on one another, how can they expect mercy? They depreciate the Confederate notes by charging from $20 to $40 per bbl. for flour; $3.50 per bushel for meal; $2 per lb. for butter; $20 per cord for wood, etc. When we shall have peace, let the extortionists be remembered! let an indelible stigma be branded upon them. A portion of the people look like vagabonds. We see men and women and children in the streets in dingy and dilapidated clothes; and some seem gaunt and pale with hunger--the speculators, and thieving quartermasters and commissaries only, looking sleek and comfortable. If this state of things continue a year or so longer, they will have their reward. There will be governmental bankruptcy, and all their gains will turn to dust and ashes, dust and ashes! And I learn they are without shirts in the North--cotton being unattainable. A universal madness rules the hour! Why not throw aside the instruments of death, and exchange commodities with each other? Subjugation is an impossibility. Then why not strive for the possible and the good in the paths of peace? The Quakers are the wisest people, after all. I shall turn Quaker after this war, in one sense, and strive to convince the world that war is the worst remedy for evils ever invented--and man the most dangerous animal ever created. DECEMBER 2D.--There was skirmishing this morning on the line of the Rappahannock. The Chief of Ordnance is ordering arms and ammunition to Gen. Pemberton, in Mississippi. This indicates a battle in the Southwest. A writer in the London _Times_, who is from Nashville, Tenn., says the South is willing to go into Convention with the North, and be bound by its decisions. I doubt that. But the _Enquirer_ to-day contains a communication from T. E. Chambliss, not the Virginia member of Congress, proposing the election of Commissioners from North and South, to put an end to the war. What can this mean but reconstruction on the old Democratic basis? It will not meet with favor, unless we meet great reverses this winter. Still, but few have faith in foreign intervention, to terminate the war; and there is a growing party both in the North and the South opposed to its indefinite prolongation. If we beat Burnside, _I_ think it will be the last battle of magnitude. If he beats us, no one can see the end of the struggle. But from every State complaints are made against the military agents of the Confederate Government, for their high-handed oppressions. We may split up into separate States, and then continue the war--but it will be a sad day for us! The President ought to change his cabinet immediately, and then change his policy. He should cultivate the friendship and support of the people, and be strong in their affections, if he would rule with a strong hand. If he offends and exasperates them, they will break his power to pieces. And he should not attempt to destroy, nor permit others to destroy, the popular leaders. That way lies his own destruction. DECEMBER 3D.--One of the President's Aids, Mr. Johnston, has asked the Secretary's permission for Mrs. E. B. Hoge, Mrs. M. Anderson, Miss Judith Venable, and Mrs. R. J. Breckinridge, with children and servants, to leave Richmond by flag of truce, and proceed to their homes in Kentucky. Of course it will be granted--the President sanctions it, but does not commit himself by ordering it. There was no fighting on the Rappahannock yesterday, and no rumors to-day. Letters were received from Gen. Lee to-day. He says several thousand of his men are barefoot! He suggests that shoes be _taken_ from the extortioners at a _fair price_. That is right. He also recommends a rule of the department putting cavalry on foot when they cannot furnish good horses, and mounting infantry that can and will procure them. This would cause better care to be taken of horses. Gen. Lee also writes for more arms--which may indicate a battle. But the weather is getting bad again, and the roads will not admit of marching. Mr. Gastrell, M. C., writes to the Secretary of War for permission for Messrs. Frank and Gernot, a Jew firm of Augusta, Ga., to bring through the lines a stock of goods they have just purchased of the Yankees in Memphis. Being a member of Congress, I think his request will be granted. And if all such applications be granted, I think money-making will soon _absorb_ the war, and bring down the prices of goods. We are a confident people. There are no symptoms of trepidation, although a hostile army of 150,000 men is now within two day's march of our capital. A few of guilty consciences, the extortioners, may feel alarm--but not the women and children. They reflect that over one hundred thousand of the enemy were within four miles of the city last spring and summer--and were repulsed. The negroes are the best-clad people in the South. They have their Sunday clothing, and the half-worn garments of their masters and mistresses; and having worn these but once a week, they have a decidedly fresher aspect than the dresses of their owners. They are well fed, too, at any cost, and present a happy appearance. And they are happy. It is a great mistake of the Abolitionists, in supposing the slaves hail their coming with delight; on the contrary, nearly all the negroes regard their approach with horror. It might be well for the South if 500,000 of the slaves were suddenly emancipated. The loss would not be felt--and the North would soon be conscious of having gained nothing! My friend, Dr. Powell, near the city, abandoned his farm last summer, when it was partly in possession of the enemy, leaving fifty negroes on it--which he could have sold for $50,000. They promised not to leave him, and they kept their word. Judge Donnell, in North Carolina, has left his plantation with several hundred thousand dollars worth on it--rather risking their loss than to sell them. DECEMBER 4TH.--All is quiet (before the storm) on the Rappahannock, Gen. Jackson's corps being some twenty miles lower down the river than Longstreet's. It is said Burnside has been removed already and Hooker given the command. Gen. S. Cooper takes sides with Col. Myers against Gen. Wise. Gen. W.'s letter of complaint of the words, "Let them suffer," was referred to Gen. C., who insisted upon sending the letter to the Quartermaster-General before either the Secretary or the President saw it,--and it was done. Why do the Northern men _here_ hate Wise? Gen. Lee dispatches to-day that there is a very large amount of corn in the Rappahannock Valley, which can be procured, if wagons be sent from Richmond. What does this mean? That the enemy will come over and get it if we do not take it away? A letter from the President of the Graniteville Cotton Mills, complains that only 75 per ct. profit is allowed by Act of Congress, whose operatives are exempted from military duty, if the law be interpreted to include sales to individuals as well as to the government, and suggesting certain modifications. He says he makes 14,000 yards per day, which is some 4,000,000 per annum. It costs him 20 cts. per yard to manufacture cotton cloth, including, of course, the cotton, and 75 per ct. will yield, I believe, $500,000 profits, which would be equivalent to 32 cts. per yard. But the market price, he says, is 68 cts. per yard, or some $2,000,000 profits! This war is a great encourager of domestic manufacturers, truly! The Governor sends out a proclamation to-day, saying the President has called on him and other governors for assistance, in returning absent officers and men to their camps; in procuring supplies of food and clothing for the army; in drafting slaves to work on fortifications; and, finally, to put down the extortioners. The Governor invokes the people to respond promptly and fully. But how does this speak for the government, or rather the efficiency of the men who by "many indirect ways" came into power? Alas! it is a sad commentary. The President sent a hundred papers to the department to-day, which he has been diligently poring over, as his pencil marks bear ample evidence. They were nearly all applications for office, and _this_ business constitutes much of his labor. DECEMBER 5TH.--Yesterday there was some little skirmishing below Fredericksburg. But it rained last night, and still rains. Lee has only 30,000 or 40,000 effective men. We have the Federal President's Message to-day. It is moderate in tone, and is surprising for its argument on a _new proposition_ that Congress pass resolutions proposing amendments to the Constitution, allowing compensation for all slaves emancipated between this and the year 1900! He argues that slaves are property, and that the South is no more responsible for the existence of slavery than the North! The very argument I have been using for twenty years. He thinks if his proposition be adopted that "several of the border States will embrace its terms, and that the Union will be reconstructed." He says the money expended in this way will not amount to so much as the cost of a war of subjugation. He is getting sick of the war, and therein I see the "beginning of the end" of it. It is a good sign for us, perhaps. I should not be surprised if his proposition had advocates in the South. Lt.-Col. T. C. Johnson sent in a communication, to-day. He alludes to an interview with the Secretary, in which the latter informed him that the government intended to exchange cotton for supplies for the army, and Lt.-Col. J. suggests that it be extended to embrace all kinds of merchandise for the people, and informs him that New York merchants are willing to send merchandise to our ports if we will permit their ships to return laden with cotton, at 50 cts. per pound, and pledging themselves to furnish goods at 50 per cent. advance on cost. He advocates a trade of this nature to the extent of $100,000,000, our government (and not individuals) to sell the cotton. The goods to be sold by the government to the merchants here. I know not what answer the Secretary will make. But I know our people are greedy for the merchandise. The enemy have shelled Port Royal, below Fredericksburg, in retaliation for some damage done their gun-boats in the river by one of our land batteries. And we have news of the evacuation of Winchester by the enemy. The Northern papers say Burnside (who is not yet removed) will beat Lee on the Rappahannock, and that their army on the James River will occupy Richmond. When Lee is beaten, perhaps Richmond will fall. A large number of our troops, recruited in Kentucky, have returned to their homes. It is said, however, that they will fight the enemy there as guerrillas. The President has appointed his nephew, J. R. Davis, a brigadier-general. I suppose no president could escape denunciation, nevertheless, it is to be regretted that men of mind, men who wrought up the Southern people, with their pens, to the point of striking for national independence, are hurled into the background by the men who arranged the programme of our government. De Bow was offered a lower clerkship by Mr. Secretary Memminger, which he spurned; Fitzhugh accepted the lower class clerkship Mr. M. offered him after a prolonged hesitation; and others, who did more to produce the revolution than any one of the high functionaries now enjoying its emoluments, are to be found in the lowest subordinate positions; while Tom, Dick, and Harry, never heard of before, young, and capable of performing military service, rich, and able to live without office, are heads of bureaus, chief clerks of departments, and staff-officers flourishing their stars! Even this is known in the North, and they exult over it as a just retribution on those who were chiefly instrumental in fomenting revolution. But they forget that it was ever thus, and that our true patriots and bold thinkers who furnish our lesser men, in greater positions, with ideas, are still true and steadfast in the cause they have advocated so long. DECEMBER 7TH.--Last night was bitter cold, and this morning there was ice on my wash-stand, within five feet of the fire. Is this the "sunny South" the North is fighting to possess? How much suffering must be in the armies now encamped in Virginia! I suppose there are not less than 250,000 men in arms on the plains of Virginia, and many of them who survive the war will have cause to remember last night. Some must have perished, and thousands, no doubt, had frozen limbs. It is terrible, and few are aware that the greatest destruction of life, in such a war as this, is not produced by wounds received in battle, but by disease, contracted from exposure, etc., in inclement seasons. But the deadly bullet claims its victims. A friend just returned from the battle-field of June, near the city, whither he repaired to recover the remains of a relative, says the scene is still one of horror. So great was the slaughter (27th June) that we were unable to bury our own dead for several days, for the battle raged a whole week, and when the work was completed, the weather having been extremely hot, it was too late to inter the enemy effectually, so the earth was merely thrown over them, forming mounds, which the rains and the wind have since leveled. And now the ground is thickly strewn with the bleaching bones of the invaders. The flesh is gone, but their garments remain. He says he passed through a wood, not a tree of which escaped the missiles of the contending hosts. Most of the trees left standing are dead, being often perforated by scores of Minié-balls, but thousands were prostrated by cannon-balls and shells. It will long remain a scene of desolation, a monument of the folly and wickedness of man. And what are we fighting for? What does the Northern Government propose to accomplish by the invasion? Is it supposed that six or eight million of free people can be exterminated? How many butchers would be required to accomplish the beneficent feat? More, many more, than can be sent hither. The Southern people, in such a cause, would fight to the last, and when the men all fell, the women and children would snatch their arms and slay the oppressors. Without complete annihilation, it is the merest nonsense to suppose our property can be confiscated. But if a forced reconstruction of the Union were consummated, does the North suppose any advantage would result to that section? In the Union we could not be compelled to trade with them again. Nor would intercourse of any kind be re-established. Their ships would be destroyed, and their people could never come among us but at the risk of ill treatment. They could not maintain a standing army of half a million, and they could not disarm us in such an extensive territory. The best plan, the only plan, to redeem the past and enjoy blessings in the future, is to cease this bootless warfare and be the first to recognize our independence. We are exasperated with Europe, and like the old colonel in Bulwer's play, we can like a brave foe after fighting him. Let the North do this, and we will trade with its people, I have no doubt, and a mutual respect will grow up in time, resulting, probably, in combinations against European powers in their enterprises against governments on this continent. DECEMBER 8TH.--A letter from Gen. Lee, received to-day, states that, in the recent campaigns, he has experienced the effects of having inferior artillery and fixed ammunition. But this discrepancy is rapidly disappearing, from captures of the enemy's batteries, etc. He recommends that our 12-pounder howitzers and 6-pounder smooth bores be recast into 12-pounder Napoleons, 10-pounder Parrott guns, and 3-inch rifle cannon. He wants four 12-pounder Napoleons sent him immediately, for a _special purpose_. _His next battle will be principally with artillery._ Gov. Vance sends a letter, referring to an order of the government that all cotton not removed west of the Weldon and Williamsburg Railroad, by the 16th instant, is to be destroyed. He says his State is purchasing 15,000 to 20,000 bales, to establish a credit in Europe, and asks that the Confederate Government authorities will respect the cotton designed for this purpose. He says he will destroy it himself, when the enemy approaches. He says, moreover, that the order will have an unhappy effect; that many of the people have already lost their slaves, grain, etc. from the inroads of the enemy, and have nothing to live on but their cotton. If it remains where it is, how can they subsist on it without selling it to the enemy? And that would be treason, pretty nearly. But why does the government issue such an order in North Carolina, when the government itself is selling, not destroying, the cotton of Mississippi? The President of the Central Railroad says that Messrs. Haxhall, Crenshaw & Co., who have the gigantic contract with the government to furnish flour, and who have a preference of transportation by the contract, are blocking up their depots, and fail to remove the grain. They keep whole trains waiting for days to be unladen; and thus hundreds of thousands of bushels, intended for other mills and the people are delayed, and the price kept up to the detriment of the community. Thus it is that the government contractors are aiding and abetting the extortioners. And for this reason large amounts of grain may fall into the hands of the enemy. DECEMBER 9TH.--W----l, another of Provost Marshal Griswold's policemen, has arrived in Washington. I never doubted he was secretly in the Yankee service here, where many of his fellows still remain, betraying the hand that feeds them. Gen. Winder and the late Secretaries of War must be responsible for all the injury they may inflict upon the country. Yesterday, the President received a letter from a gentleman well known to him, asserting that if Mississippi and Alabama be overrun by the enemy, a large proportion of the people of those States will certainly submit to the Government of the United States. The President sent this letter to the Secretary of War "for his information." A letter from W. P. Harris, Jackson, Mississippi, urges the government to abandon the cities and eastern seaboard, and concentrate all the forces in the West, for the defense of the Mississippi Valley and River, else the latter must be lost, which will be fatal to the cause, etc. Hon. J. H. Reagan has written a savage letter to the Secretary of War, withdrawing certain papers relating to an application for the discharge from service of his brother-in-law, on account of feeble health. He says he will not await the motions (uncertain) of the circumlocution office, and is unwilling to produce evidence of his statements of the disability of his relative. Mr. Seddon will doubtless make a spirited response to this imputation on his office. We have a rumor that Morgan has made another brilliant raid into Kentucky, capturing 1800 of the enemy. The small-pox is spreading in this city to an alarming extent. This is the feast to which Burnside is invited. They are vaccinating the clerks in the departments. Gen. Floyd writes the government that, as the enemy cannot advance from the West before spring, Echol's and Marshall's forces (10,000) might be used on the seaboard. I wish they were here. The United States forces in the field, by their own estimates, amount to 800,000. We have not exceeding 250,000; but they are not aware of that. DECEMBER 10TH.--Not a word from the Rappahannock. But there soon will be. Official dispatches from Gen. Bragg confirm the achievement of Col. Morgan, _acting_ as brigadier-general. There was a fight, several hundred being killed and wounded on both sides; but Morgan's victory was complete, his captures amounting to 1800 men, a battery, wagon train, etc. We have also a dispatch that _Major-Gen. Lovell_, the Yankee, had a battle with the enemy, killing, wounding, and capturing 34! A characteristic letter was received to-day from Mr. Sanford, Alabama, recommending Col. Dowdell for a brigadiership. I hope he may get it, as he is a gallant _Southerner_. Mr. S. has some hard hits at the government; calling it a government of chief clerks and subordinate clerks. He hopes Mr. Seddon will not be merely a clerk. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston has written from the West a gloomy letter to Mr. Wigfall, Texan Senator. He says he is ordered to reinforce Lieut.-Gen. Pemberton (another Northern general) from Bragg's army. Pemberton is retreating on Grenada, Mississippi, followed by 40,000 of the enemy. How is he, Gen. J., to get from Tennessee to Grenada with reinforcements, preceded by one army of the enemy, and followed by another? Mr. Wigfall recommends the Secretary (as if _he_ could do it!) to concentrate all the armies of the West, and beat the enemy out of the Mississippi Valley. Gen. Johnston says Lieut.-Gen. Holmes _has_ been ordered to reinforce Pemberton. Why, this is the very thing Mr. Randolph did, and lost his _clerkship_ for it! The President must have changed his mind. Gen. Randolph sent in his resignation as brigadier-general to-day. The younger brigadiers, Davis (the President's nephew) and Pryor, have been recently assigned to brigades, and this may have operated on Randolph as an emetic. There are two war steamers at Charleston from abroad; one a Frenchman, the other an Englishman. Gen. Beauregard entertained the officers of the first the other day. Gen. Banks has sailed down the coast on an expedition, the nature of which, no doubt, will be developed soon. DECEMBER 11TH.--Gen. Lee dispatched this morning early that the enemy were constructing three pontoon bridges, and that firing had commenced on both sides. At nine o'clock A.M. the firing increased, and Gen. Lee dispatched for ammunition, looking to the contingency of a prolonged battle. At three P.M., Gen. Lee says, the enemy had been repulsed in two of their attempts to throw bridges over the river; but the third attempt _would probably succeed_, as it was under cover of batteries which commanded the river, and where his sharpshooters could not reach the workmen. But, he says, _his batteries command the plain_ where the enemy must debouch. We may speedily hear of a most sanguinary conflict. Burnside must have greatly superior numbers, or else he is a great fool to precipitate his men into a plain, where every Southern soldier is prepared to die, in the event of failure to conquer! There is no trepidation here; on the contrary, a settled calm on the faces of the people, which might be mistaken for indifference. They are confident of the success of Lee, and really seem apprehensive that Burnside will not come over and fight him in a decisive battle. We shall soon see, now, of what stuff Burnside and his army are made. I feel some anxiety; because the destruction of our little army on the Rappahannock might be the fall of Richmond. It is rumored that the President started two days ago for the West--Tennessee and Mississippi. No papers have been sent in by him since Tuesday, and it may be true. If so, he means to return speedily. I think we shall soon have news from the lower James River. A letter from the Governor of Alabama calls urgently for heavy guns, and a reserve force, for the defense of Mobile. Major Hause, the government's agent in Europe, has purchased, up to this time, 157,000 stand of arms, besides many cannon, much ammunition, quartermaster's stores, etc. A portion was lost in transitu, however, but not a large amount. Besides the large sums he has expended, he has obtained credit to the extent of $6,000,000! They are calling for a guard at Petersburg against incendiaries. A factory was burned the other night. This is bad. Scully and Lewis, condemned to die as spies, have been pardoned by the President, and are to be sent North. Another dispatch from Gen. Lee, dated 3-1/2 P.M., says the enemy has nearly completed his bridge, and will probably commence crossing this evening or in the morning. The bulletin boards in the city purport to give intelligence of the passage having been effected in part; but I do not see how the editors could have obtained their information. At 6 P.M., passengers by the Fredericksburg train (which left at 1 P.M.) report the shelling of the town, and a great battle in progress on this side of the river. I doubt both; and I saw but one excited man (a Jew) who said he was in Fredericksburg when the shelling began. I do not believe it. The cars were not within four miles of the town, and perhaps merely _conjectured_ the cannonading they heard to be directed at the town. There were no ladies or children in the cars. But doubtless the enemy _will_ cross the river, and there will be a battle, which must result in a great mortality. DECEMBER 12TH.--The enemy have possession of Fredericksburg, and succeeded in crossing a large portion of their force three miles below, on their pontoon bridge. Up to 3 P.M. to-day, we have no other intelligence but that "they are fighting." We shall know more, probably, before night. The President has passed through East Tennessee on his way to Mississippi. Lieut.-Col. Nat Tyler, publisher of the _Enquirer_, the organ of the government, was in my office this morning, denouncing Mr. Memminger, Secretary of the Treasury. He says Mr. M.'s head is as worthless as a pin's-head. He also denounced the rules of admission to our Secretary, adopted by Mr. R. G. H. Kean, Chief of the Bureau, and asked for a copy of them, that he might denounce them in his paper. It appears that Mr. Jacques is to say _who_ can see the Secretary; and to do this, he must catechize each applicant as to the nature of his business. This is deemed insulting by some of the hot bloods, and will make friend Mr. J.'s position rather a disagreeable and derogatory one. DECEMBER 13TH.--After all, Fredericksburg was severely shelled--whether designedly or incidentally in the fight, does not yet appear. Our army has fallen back a little--for a purpose. Lee knows every inch of the ground. Again we have rumors of a hostile fleet being in the river; and Major-Gen. G. W. Smith has gone to Petersburg to see after the means of defense, if an attack should be made in that quarter. Some little gloom and despondency are manifested, for the first time, in this community. Major-Gen. S. Jones writes that although the Federal Gen. Cox has left the valley of the Kanawha, 5000 of his men remain; and he deems it inexpedient, in response to Gen. Lee's suggestion, to detach any portion of his troops for operations elsewhere. He says Jenkins's cavalry is in a bad condition. Here is an instance of South Carolina honor. During the battle of Williamsburg, last spring, W. R. Erwin, a private in Col. Jenkins's Palmetto sharpshooters, was detailed to take care of the wounded, and was himself taken prisoner. The enemy supposing him to be a surgeon, he was paroled. He now returns to the service; and although the mistake could never be detected, he insists on our government exchanging a private of the enemy's for himself. With the assurance that this will be done, he goes again to battle. Yesterday flour and tobacco had a fall at auction. Some suppose the bidders had in view the contingency of the capture of the city by the enemy. In the market-house this morning, I heard a man speaking loudly, denounce a farmer for asking about $6 a bushel for his potatoes, and hoping that the Yankees would take them from him for nothing! DECEMBER 14TH, SUNDAY.--Yesterday was a bloody day. Gen. Lee telegraphs that the enemy attacked him at 9 A.M., and as the fog lifted, the fire ran along the whole line, and the conflict raged until darkness (6 P.M.) put an end to the battle. The enemy was repulsed at all points, he continued, thanks be to God! But we have to mourn, as usual, a heavy loss. Lee expects another blow at Burnside to-day. It is understood that Gens. Hood, Texas, was wounded; T. R. R. Cobb, Georgia, and a brigadier from South Carolina were killed. A dispatch says that where our generals fell, the colonels could no longer restrain their regiments; and the men ran into the ranks of the enemy, and, animated with a spirit of desperation, slaughtered the foe in great numbers with their bayonets, pistols, and knives. Preparations are being made here for the reception of the wounded. The request was to provide for a large number. Last night, at nine o'clock, a number of regiments which had been encamped among the fortifications northwest of the city, were marched down to Drewry's Bluff. It is probable Gen. Smith has heard of the enemy's approach from that quarter. I hope he may prove the right man in the right place. It is rumored that we were repulsed yesterday, this side of Suffolk. At this critical moment the President is away. A dispatch from Gen. Lee says Gen. Wade Hampton dashed _into Dumfries_, the other side of the Rappahannock, and in the _rear of the enemy_, capturing some wagons, and taking a few men. This seems most extraordinary. If he be not taken himself, the diversion must have a good effect; but if he be taken, it will be considered a wild and desperate sally, boding no good to the cause. But Lee knows what he is about. From the dispositions of our troops (few in number) in the vicinity of Richmond, at this moment, it seems to me that Gen. Smith is putting the city to great hazard. There are not a thousand men to guard the approach from the head of York River; and if a dozen of the enemy's swift transports were to dash up that river, the city could be surprised by 5000 men! Ten o'clock A.M. No dispatches from Lee have come over the wires to-day. He may have interdicted others. We got no intelligence whatever. From this I infer the battle was resumed at early dawn, and the general deems it best to have no announcements but _results_. If this be so, it is a day big with events--and upon its issue may depend the fate of governments. And yet our people exhibited no trepidation. The foreign portion of the population may be seen grouped on the pavements indulging in speculation, and occasionally giving vent to loud laughter, when a Jew is asked what will be the price of his shoes, etc. to-morrow. They care not which side gains the day, so they gain the profits. But our women and children are going to church as usual, to pray for the success of the cause, and not doubting but that our army will triumph as usual on the field of combat. It is a bright and lovely Sabbath morning, and as warm as May. DECEMBER 15TH.--Yesterday evening several trains laden with wounded arrived in the city. The remains of Brig.-Gen. T. R. R. Cobb, of Georgia, were brought down. Brig.-Gen. Gregg, of South Carolina, is said to be mortally wounded. It is now believed that Major-Gen. Hood, of Texas, did not fall. The number of our killed and wounded is estimated, by a surgeon who came with the wounded, to be not over a thousand. To-day, stragglers from the battle-field say that our loss in killed and wounded is 3000. It is all conjecture. There was heavy skirmishing all day yesterday, and until to-day at noon, when the telegraph operator reports that the firing had ceased. We know not (yet) what this means. We are still sending artillery ammunition to Gen. Lee. Gen. Evans dispatches from Kinston, N. C., that on the 14th, yesterday, he repulsed the enemy, 15,000 strong, and drove them back to their boats in Neuse River. A portion of Gen. R. A. Pryor's command, in Isle of Wight County, was engaged with the enemy's advance the same day. They have also landed at Gloucester Point. This is pronounced a simultaneous attack on our harbors and cities in Virginia and North Carolina. Perhaps we shall have more before night. Our people seem prepared for any event. Another long train of negroes have just passed through the city, singing, to work on the fortifications. DECEMBER 16TH.--To-day the city is exalted to the skies! Gen. Lee telegraphed that the enemy had disappeared from his front, _probably meditating a design to cross at some other place_. Such were his words, which approach nearer to a practical joke, and an inkling of exultation, than anything I have seen from his pen. He has saved the capital. Before the enemy could approach Richmond from "some other place;" Lee would be between him and the city, and if he could beat him on the Rappahannock he can beat him anywhere. Doubtless Burnside has abandoned his heavy stores, siege guns, etc., and at this moment our army must occupy the town. Lee _allowed_ the invaders to cross the river, and, in exact accordance with his promise, made a month ago, before they could advance from Fredericksburg, his "whole army _was_ in position." They could not debouch without passing through our crescent line, the extreme ends of which touched the river above and below them. They attempted this on Saturday, and met with a bloody defeat, and until last night, when they retraced their steps, were confined to an exceedingly narrow and uncomfortable strip of land along the south bank of the river. Our loss in the battle will not exceed, perhaps, 2000 men, not more than 500 being slain. It is estimated that the enemy's loss is over 10,000, and it may greatly exceed that number, as our positions were strong and our batteries numerous. The enemy fought well, charging repeatedly over the plain swept completely by our guns, and leaving the earth strewn with their dead. We have many prisoners, but I have heard no estimate of the number. The enemy have taken Kinston, N. C., having overwhelming numbers, and a letter from Gen. Bragg, dated at Raleigh, yesterday, says it is probable Goldsborough will fall into their hands. This will cut our railroad communication with Wilmington, which may likewise fall--but not without its price in blood. Why not let the war cease now? It is worse than criminal to prolong it, when it is apparent that subjugation is an impossibility. There were no stragglers from Lee's army, and never were men in better spirits and condition. They are well clad and fed, and exceedingly anxious for Burnside to resume his "On to Richmond" after the _skirmish_ of Saturday. They call it but a skirmish, for not a brigade was blown, not a regiment fatigued. Although men shake hands over this result, they all say they never looked for any other termination of Burnside. The ladies say he is now charred all over. Well, he _may_ come again by some other route, but I have doubts. The rigors of winter are sufficient punishment for his troops. It is said Burnside intended to resume the battle on Sunday morning, but his generals reported that their men could not be relied upon to approach our batteries again. I shall look with interest for the next Northern papers. DECEMBER 17TH.--A dispatch from Gen. G. W. Smith, last night, says we have repulsed the enemy from Kinston, N. C., but a dispatch this morning says a cavalry force has cut the railroad near Goldsborough, broken down the wires, and burnt the bridge. We had no letters from beyond that point this morning. Last night large quantities of ammunition and some more regiments were sent to North Carolina. This is done because Richmond is relieved by the defeat and retreat of Burnside. But suppose it should _not_ be relieved, and a force should be sent suddenly up the James and York Rivers? We have not a word from Fredericksburg, and it is probable Burnside's batteries still command the town. Lee is content and has no idea of crossing the river. There are two notable rumors in the streets: first, that we have gained a great battle in Tennessee; and, second, that the government at Washington has arrested John Van Buren and many other Democratic leaders in the North, which has resulted in a riot, wherein 1000 have fallen, making the gutters in New York run with blood! Gen. Lee's official report says our loss in the battle of the 13th in killed and wounded did not exceed 1200, whereas our _papers_ said 2050 wounded have already been brought to this city. Well, our government must have spies at Washington as an offset to Federal spies here among Gen. Winder's policemen; for we knew _exactly_ when the enemy would begin operations in North Carolina, and ordered the cotton east of the Weldon Railroad to be burnt on the 16th inst., yesterday, and yesterday the road was cut by the enemy. I have not heard of the cotton being burnt--_and I don't believe it was destroyed_. Nor do I believe Gen. Smith knew that Burnside would be defeated in time to send troops from here to North Carolina. Elwood Fisher died recently in Georgia, and his pen, so highly prized by the South for its able vindication of her rights, was forgotten by the politicians who have power in the Confederate Government. All Mr. Memminger would offer him was a lowest class clerkship. He died of a broken heart. He was more deserving, but less fortunate, than Mr. M. It was Mr. _Memminger_, it seems, who refused to contribute anything to supply the soldiers with shoes, and the press is indignant. They say he is not only not a native South Carolinian, but Hessian born. DECEMBER 18TH.--We have more accounts of the battle of Fredericksburg now in our possession. Our loss in killed and wounded will probably be more than the estimate in the official report, while Federal prisoners report theirs at 20,000. This may be over the mark, but the _Examiner's_ correspondent at Fredericksburg puts down their loss at 19,000. The Northern papers of the 14th inst. (while they supposed the battle still undecided) express the hope that Burnside will fight his last man and fire his last cartridge on that field, rather than not succeed in destroying Lee's army! Lee's army, after our victory, is mostly uninjured. The loss it sustained was not a "flea-bite." The enemy, in their ignominous flight on Saturday night, left their dead propped up as sentinels and pickets, besides 3000 on the plain. Accounts from North Carolina indicate the repulse of the enemy, though they have burnt some of the railroad bridges. We shall hear more anon. Reinforcements are flying to the scene of action. DECEMBER 19TH.--Gen. Burnside acknowledges a loss of upwards of 5000, which is good evidence here that his loss was not less than 15,000. The Washington papers congratulate themselves on the _escape_ of their army, and say it might have been easily captured by Lee. They propose, now, going into winter quarters. We have nothing further from North Carolina or Mississippi. Gen. Banks's expedition had passed Hilton Head. A Mr. Bunch, British Consul, has written an impudent letter to the department, alleging that an Irishman, unnaturalized, is forcibly detained in one of our camps. He says his letters have not been answered, which was great discourtesy, and he means to inform Lord John Russell of it. This letter _was_ replied to in rather scathing terms, as the Irishman had enlisted and then deserted. Besides, we are out of humor with England now, and court a French alliance. The President was at Chattanooga on the 15th instant; and writes the Secretary that he has made some eight appointments of brigadiers, and promotions to major-generals. Major-Gen. Buckner is assigned to command at Mobile. We are straightened for envelopes, and have taken to turning those we receive. This is economy; something new in the South. My family dines four or five times a week on _liver_ and rice. We cannot afford anything better; others do not live so well. Custis and I were vaccinated to-day, with the rest of the officers of the department. The Northern papers now want the Federal army to go into winter quarters. This was, confessedly, to be the final effort to take Richmond. It failed. Many of the people regard the disaster of Burnside as the harbinger of peace. An officer from the field informs me that all our generals were sadly disappointed, when it was discovered that Burnside had fled. They wanted one more blow at him, and he would have been completely destroyed. DECEMBER 20TH.--Last accounts from Fredericksburg state that the enemy are retiring toward the Potomac and Washington. We have got some of their pontoon bridges, and other things left behind. It is now very cold, with a fair prospect of the Potomac freezing over. Let them beware! But we were in a bad way: our army, instead of numbering 200,000 as the Federal journals report, did not exceed 50,000 men; and not half that number went into action. The Secretary of War had ordered several regiments from Gen. S. Jones, in Western Virginia; now sent to North Carolina. There is no mail yet from beyond Goldsborough, and the news from North Carolina seems vague and unsatisfactory. They say we beat the enemy at Kinston; yet they have destroyed a portion of the railroad between Goldsborough and Wilmington. They say the Federals are retreating on Newbern; yet we know they made 500 of our men prisoners after they crossed the Neuse. It is reported that our loss is small, and the enemy's large; and that our 3000 men fought successfully their 18,000. However, we have sent some 15,000 reinforcements. It is reported that the Federals are evacuating Nashville; but reports from the West are not always reliable. A communication has been received by Secretary Seddon from S. B. M., of Vicksburg, proposing to purchase shoes, blankets, etc. in the United States, and sell them to the government for cotton or for Confederate notes. This was referred to the Quartermaster-General, who favors it. Now what will Mr. Secretary do? Better wait till the President returns! The late Secretary of War, Mr. Randolph, has formed a partnership with Mr. G. A. Myers. To-day a paper was sent in by them to the new Secretary, containing the names of ten clients, all Jews and extortioners, who, it appears, at the beginning of the war, and before Virginia had fully seceded, joined several Virginia companies of artillery, but did not drill with them. They hired substitutes for a small sum, all, as the memorial sets forth, being foreigners of the class subsequently exempted by act of Congress. And these counselors demand the exemption of the Jew extortioners on the ground that they once furnished substitutes, now out of the service! And it is probable they will carry their point, and gain large fees. Substitutes now are worth $2000--then, $100. A dispatch from Charleston to-day says: "Iron steamer Columbia, formerly the Giraffe, of Liverpool, with cargo of shoes, blankets, Whitworth guns, and ammunition, arrived yesterday." I suppose cargoes of this nature have been arriving once a week ever since the war broke out. This cargo, and the ship, belong to the government. 9 O'CLOCK P.M.--After a very cold day, it has become intensely frigid. I have two fires in our little Robin's Nest (frame) on the same floor, and yet ice forms rapidly in both rooms, and we have been compelled to empty the pitchers! This night I doubt not the Potomac will be closed to Burnside and his transports! During the first Revolution, the Chesapeake was frozen over. If we have a winter like that, we shall certainly have an armistice in Virginia without the intervention of any other than the Great Power above. But we shall suffer for the want of fuel: wood is $18 per cord, and coal $14 per cart load. Gen. Bonham, who somehow incurred the dislike of the authorities here, and was dropped out of the list of brigadiers, has been made Governor of South Carolina. And Gen. Wise, who is possessed of perhaps the greatest mind in the Confederacy, is still fettered. They will not let him fight a battle, because he is "ambitious!" When Norfolk was (wickedly) given up, his home and all his possessions fell into the hands of the enemy. He is now without a shelter for his head, bivouacing with his devoted brigade at Chaffin's farm, below the city. He is the senior brigadier in the army, and will never be a major-general. DECEMBER 21ST, SUNDAY.--Nothing, yet, has been done by the immense Federal fleet of iron-clad gun-boats which were to devastate our coast this winter. But the winter is not over yet, and I apprehend something will be attempted. However, we shall make a heroic defense of every point assailed. I omitted to state, in connection with the partnership formed between Mr. Myers and Mr. Randolph, that the former had already succeeded, when the latter was Secretary of War, in getting the substitutes of the Jew extortioners out of the army, on the ground that they were not domiciled in this country; and now both are intent on procuring the exemption of the principals. This may be good practice, but it is not good service. Every man protected and enriched by the government, owes service to the country in its hour of peril. I am glad to hear that W. H. B. Custis, of the Eastern Shore of Virginia, takes no part in the war. This is the proper course for him under the circumstances. It is said he declined a high position tendered by the Federal Government. No doubt he has been much misrepresented: his principles are founded on the Constitution, which is violated daily at Washington, and therefore he can have no sympathy with that government. DECEMBER 22D.--We shall never arrive at the correct amount of casualties at the battle of Fredericksburg. The _Enquirer_ to-day indicates that our loss in killed, wounded, and missing (prisoners), amounted to nearly 4000. On the other hand, some of the Federal journals hint that their loss was 25,000. Gen. Armstrong (Confederate), it is said, counted 3500 of their dead on the field; and this was after many were buried. There are five wounded to one killed. But where Burnside is now, or what he will attempt next, no doubt Lee knows; but the rest of our people are profoundly ignorant in relation thereto. The New York _Herald_ says: "The finest and best appointed army the world ever saw, has been beaten by a batch of Southern ragamuffins!" And it advises that the shattered remains of the army be put into winter quarters. The weather has greatly moderated. I hope, now, it will continue moderate! Mr. Crenshaw, who has the gigantic flour contract with the War Department, effected with Mr. Randolph, has just (in the President's absence) made another contract with Mr. Seddon. The department becomes a partner with him, and another party in England, in a huge commercial transaction, the object of which is to run goods in, and cotton out. We shall have our Girards, as well as the United States. Mr. Crenshaw proceeds to England immediately, bearing letters of credit to Mr. Mason, our Minister, etc. An immense sum is to be sent West to pay for stores, etc., and Mr. Benjamin recommends the financial agent to the department. The illicit trade with the United States has depleted the country of gold, and placed us at the feet of the Jew extortioners. It still goes on. Mr. Seddon has granted passports to two agents of a Mr. Baumgartien--and how many others I know not. These Jews have the adroitness to carry their points. They have injured the cause more than the armies of Lincoln. Well, if we gain our independence, instead of being the vassals of the Yankees, we shall find all our wealth in the hands of the Jews. The accounts from North Carolina are still conflicting. It is said the enemy have retired to Newbern; but still we have no letters beyond Goldsborough. From Raleigh we learn that the legislature have postponed the array bill until the 20th of January. DECEMBER 23D.--The battle of Fredericksburg is still the topic, or the wonder, and it transpired more than nine days ago. It will have its page in history, and be read by school-boys a thousand years hence. The New York _Times_ exclaims, "God help us--for man cannot." This is another war sheet. The _Tribune_ is bewildered, and knows not what to say. The _Herald_ says "everything by turns, and nothing long." Its sympathies are ever with the winning party. But it is positively asserted that both Seward and his son have resigned, to be followed by the rest of the cabinet. That example might be followed here without detriment to our cause. And it is said Burnside has resigned. I doubt that--but no doubt he will be removed. It is said Fremont has been appointed his successor. That would be good news. I think Halleck will be removed, and McClellan will be recalled. No matter. It is said our President will command in Mississippi himself--the army having no confidence in Pemberton, because he is a Yankee. We have a letter to-day from Gen. Pike (another Yankee), saying the Indian country is lost--lost, because Gens. Holmes and Hindman--Southern men--won't let him have his own way! The news from North Carolina is still cloudy. Gen. G. W. Smith is there (another Northern man). Gen. Elzey has been appointed to command this department during Gen. L.'s absence. Gen. E. is a Marylander. In the President's absence, it is said this appointment was made by Gen. S. Cooper (another Yankee) to insult Virginia by preventing the capital from being in the hands of a Virginian. The Richmond papers occasionally allude to the fact that the general highest in rank in the Confederacy is a Yankee--Gen. S. Cooper. Gen. Lee says his ammunition is bad in quality, and that his new guns burst in the late battle--all under charge of the chief of the Bureau of Ordnance--another Yankee. Gen. D. H. Hill writes a scathing letter to the department in response to a rebuke from the new Secretary, occasioned by some complaints of Major Palfrey in Gen. Cooper's (A. and I. General) office. I do not know where Major P. came from; but the fact that he was not in the field, gave the general occasion to rasp him severely. It must have been caused by an order transferring, furloughing, or discharging some soldier in Gen. H.'s division--and his patience vanished at the idea of having his men taken out of the ranks without consulting him, by carpet knights and civilian lawyers. He says 8000 are now absent from his command--and that Gen. Johnston's army, last spring, was reduced from the same cause to 40,000 men, where he had to oppose 138,000 of the "rascally Yankees." He concludes, however, by saying it is the duty of subordinate generals in the field to submit in all humility to the behests of their superiors comfortably quartered in Richmond. But if justice were done, and the opinions of the generals in the field were regarded in the matter of discharges, etc., the lawyers, who have grown fat on fees by thinning our ranks, would be compelled to resort to some more laudable means of making a living. A letter from Gov. Shorter, of Alabama, introduces Judge Rice, agent for P. S. Gerald and J. R. Powell, who propose to bring goods into the Confederate States through Mexico, to be paid for in cotton, etc. This was referred by the Secretary to the Quartermaster-General--who protests against it on the ground that it might interfere with _his agents already engaged in the business_. The President publishes a retaliatory proclamation to-day against Gen. Butler, for hanging Mr. Munford, of New Orleans, who took down the United States flag before the city had surrendered. He declares Butler to be out of the pale of civilization; and orders any commander who may capture him, to hang him as an outlaw. And all commissioned officers serving under Butler, and in arms with negroes, to be reserved for execution. There is a rumor that an agent of the Federal Government has arrived in the city, to propose an armistice. No armistice, unless on the basis of _uli possidetis ante bellum_! Bethel, Leesburg, and Fredericksburg are victories memorable for our great success when fighting in advantageous positions. They teach a lesson to generals; and it will be apparent that no necessity exists for so great an expenditure of life in the prosecution of this war. The disparity of numbers should be considered by our generals. I fear the flower of our chivalry mostly perished in storming batteries. It is true a _prestige_ was gained. DECEMBER 24TH.--The _Louisville Journal_ says the defeat of Burnside is "sickening," and that this sad condition of affairs cannot be borne long. It is said that Confederate bonds are bringing quite as much in New York as in Richmond; and that the bonds of Southern men are freely discounted in the North. These, if true, are _indications_ of approaching peace. Cotton at 50 cents per pound, and our capacity to produce five million bales per annum, must dazzle the calculating Yankees. A single crop worth $1,000,000,000! What interest or department of industry in the United States can promise such results? Letters were received to-day from Nassau, dated 12th December. Mr. L. Heyliger, our agent, reports a number of steamers sailing, and about to sail, with large amounts of stores and goods of all kinds, besides _plates for our navy_. A Mr. Wiggs has several steamers engaged in this business. Our government own some, and private individuals (foreign speculators) are largely engaged in the trade. Most of these steamers run sixteen miles an hour. A Mr. Hart, agent for S. Isaac Campbell & Co., London, proposes to clothe and equip 100,000 men for us, and to receive certificates for specific amounts of cotton. This same house has, on this, it is said, advanced as much as $2,000,000 on our account. This looks cheering. We have credit abroad. But they are Jews. Mr. Heyliger says he has seen letters from the United States, conveying information that Charleston is to be attacked about the holidays--the ensuing week--by four iron-clad gun-boats. Well, I believe _we_ have three there; so let them come! Every day we have propositions to supply the army and the country with goods, for cotton; and they succeed in delivering stores, etc., in spite of the vigilance of the Federal blockading squadrons. There is a prospect that we shall have abundance of everything some of these days. But there is some wrangling. The Quartermaster-General complains to-day that Lieut.-Gen. Pemberton has interfered with his agents, trading cotton for stores. Myers is a Jew, and Pemberton a Yankee--so let them fight it out. DECEMBER 25TH, CHRISTMAS DAY.--Northern papers show that there is much distraction in the North; that both Seward and Chase, who had resigned their positions, were with difficulty persuaded to resume them. This news, coupled with the recent victory, and some reported successes in the West (Van Dorn's capture of Holly Springs), produces some effect on the spirits of the people here; and we have a merrier Christmas than the last one. It is said the Federal Congress is about to provide for the organization of 100 regiments of negroes. This does not occasion anxiety here. The slaves, once armed, would cut their way back to their masters. The only possible way to restore the Union--if indeed it be possible--is to withdraw all the Federal troops, and maintain an _effective_ blockade. There might possibly ensue dissensions among our politicians and States, detrimental to any required unity of purpose. But the Yankees, with all their smartness, cannot perceive this. They can never appal us with horrors, for we have fed upon nothing else for so long a period, that we have become accustomed to them. And they have not men enough to subjugate us and hold us in subjugation. Two millions would not suffice! The boys are firing Chinese crackers everywhere, and no little gunpowder is consumed in commemoration of the day. But turkeys are selling at $11 each! Shoes for $25 per pair. Salt, however, has fallen from $1.50 to 33 cents per pound. Fresh meats sell at from 35 to 50 cents per pound. A silver (lever) watch, which had been lying in my trunk for two years, and which cost me $25, sold at auction yesterday for $75. This sufficed for fuel for a month, and a Christmas dinner. At the end of another month, my poor family must be scattered again, as this house will be occupied by its owner. I have advertised for boarding in the country, but get no response. It would require $300 per month to board my family here, and that is more than my income. What shall we do? Trust in God! DECEMBER 26TH.--We have no news to-day--not even a rumor. We are ready for anything that may come. No doubt the assailants of Mobile, Wilmington, or Charleston, will meet with determined resistance. The President will be in Richmond about the first day of January. I saw a man who traveled with him in Alabama. Vicksburg, I understand, cannot be taken by water. And Grant, the Federal general, is said to be retreating out of Mississippi. DECEMBER 27TH.--The successes in the West have been confirmed. Morgan captured 2000 and Van Dorn 1500 prisoners at Holly Springs. They likewise destroyed a large amount of stores. We have intelligence of a great armament, under Gen. Sherman, sailing from Memphis against Vicksburg. At the last accounts the President was at Vicksburg; and he may be witness of this decisive struggle for the possession of the Mississippi River, the result of which involves immense interests. We await with much anxiety the issue of the naval operations during the ensuing month. We are content with the land achievements of this year; and if we should be equally successful in resisting the enemy's fleets, we shall deem ourselves fortunate indeed. The agents of the Commissary and Quartermaster-General make grievous complaints against Lieut.-Gen. Pemberton, at Grenada, Mississippi; they say he interferes with their arrangements to procure supplies--for cotton; and it is intimated that he has some little arrangements of his own of that nature. This illicit trade is very demoralizing in its nature. Oh, that peace would return! But with INDEPENDENCE! DECEMBER 28TH.--We have no news to-day from the West. If the great battle has been fought at Vicksburg, we ought to know it to-day or to-morrow; and if the enemy be beaten, it should be decisive of the war. It would be worse than madness to continue the contest for the Union. Several fine brass batteries were brought down from Fredericksburg last night, an indication that the campaign is over for the winter in that direction. If we should have disasters in the West, and on the Southern seaboard, the next session of Congress, to begin a fortnight hence, will be a stormy one. DECEMBER 29TH.--We have a dispatch from Vicksburg at last. The enemy, 25,000 strong, were repulsed three times yesterday, and finally driven back seven miles, to their gun-boats. It was no battle, for our loss was only 30, and that of the enemy 400. It will be fought to-day, probably. It is said an attempt will be made this week on Weldon, as well as Charleston. Our Morgan has been in Kentucky again, and captured 1200 men. Glorious Morgan! The accounts from the United States are rather cheering. The _Herald_ proposes a convention of all the "loyal States," that reconstruction may be tried in that way. A dispatch from Tennessee says, even the New York _Tribune_ expresses the opinion that our independence must be recognized. The Philadelphia _Press_ proposes another route to Richmond _via_ the rivers, and thinks Richmond may be taken yet, and the rebellion crushed. The surgeon in charge of the Howard Hospital reports that the small-pox is greatly on the increase, and terminating fatally in almost every case. He says men die of it without eruptions on the surface, the disease striking inward. It is proposed to _drive_ away the strangers (thousands in number), if they will not leave voluntarily. There are too many people here for the houses, and the danger of malignant diseases very great. My vaccination was not a success; very little inflammation and a small scab being the only evidences. But I have a cough, and much lassitude. DECEMBER 30TH.--We have another crisis. Dispatches from Murfreesborough state the hostile armies are facing each other, and not a mile apart; the skirmishing increases, and a decisive battle may occur at any moment. From Vicksburg we have no further intelligence; but from the Rappahannock we learn that both artillery and infantry were distinctly heard yesterday in the direction of Dumfries. Is Stuart there? DECEMBER 31ST.--There were more skirmishes near Vicksburg yesterday; and although several of the Louisiana regiments are said to have immortalized themselves (having lost only two or three men each), I suppose nothing decisive was accomplished. I have not implicit faith in Western dispatches; they are too often exaggerations. And we have nothing further from Murfreesborough. But there is reliable intelligence from Albemarle Sound, where a large fleet of the enemy's transports appeared yesterday. We must look now for naval operations. Perhaps Weldon is aimed at. Gen. Wise writes a remarkable letter to the department. His son, just seventeen years old, a lieutenant in 10th Virginia Cavalry, was detailed as ordnance officer of the general's brigade, when that regiment was taken from his father. Now Gen. Cooper, the Northern head of the Southern army, orders him to the 10th Cavalry. The general desires his son to remain with him, or that the lieutenant may be permitted to resign. He says he asks no favors of the administration, and has never received any. His best blood (Capt. O. J. W.) has been given to the country, and his home and property lost by the surrender of Norfolk, etc. To-day, Gen. Winder's account for disbursement of "secret service" money was sent in. Among the persons who were the recipients of this money, I noticed _Dr. Rossvally_, a notorious spy, and S----w, one of his policemen, who, with W----ll, very recently fled to the enemy, and is now in the service of the United States, at Washington! Gen. Lee has given the command in Northwestern Virginia to Gen. W. E. Jones; and he asks the Secretary to hold a major he has captured as a hostage for the good conduct of the Federal Gen. Milroy, who is imitating Gen. Pope in his cruelties to civilians. CHAPTER XXII. Lee in winter quarters.--Bragg's victory in the Southwest.--The President at Mobile.--Enemy withdraw from Vicksburg.--Bragg retreats as usual.--Bureau of Conscription.--High rents.--Flour contracts in Congress.--Efforts to escape conscription.--Ships coming in freely.-- Sneers at negro troops.--Hopes of French intervention.--Gen. Rains blows himself up.--Davis would be the last to give up.--Gov. Vance protests against Col. August's appointment as commandant of conscripts.--Financial difficulties in the United States. JANUARY 1ST, 1863.--This first day of the year dawned in gloom, but the sun, like the sun of Austerlitz, soon beamed forth in great splendor upon a people radiant with smiles and exalted to the empyrean. A letter from Gen. H. Marshall informed the government that Gen. Floyd had seized slaves in Kentucky and refused to restore them to their owners, and that if the government did not promptly redress the wrong, the Kentuckians would at once "take the law into their own hands." We had a rumor (not yet contradicted) that the enemy, or traitors, had burned the railroad bridge between Bristol and Knoxville, cutting our communication with the West. Then it was said (and it was true) that Gen. Lee had sent his artillery back some 30 miles this side of the Rappahannock, preparatory to going into winter quarters. But this was no occasion for gloom. Lee always knows what is best to be done. Next there was a rumor (not yet confirmed, but credited) that Stuart had made another of his wonderful reconnoissances, capturing prisoners and destroying much of the enemy's stores beyond the Rappahannock. Then came a dispatch from Bragg which put us almost "beside" ourselves with joy, and caused even enemies to pause and shake hands in the street. Yesterday he attacked Rosecrans's army near Murfreesborough, and gained a great victory. He says he drove him from all his positions, except on the extreme left, and after ten hours' fighting, occupied the whole of the field except (those exceptions!) the point named. We had, as trophies, thirty-one guns, two generals, 4000 prisoners, and 200 wagons. This is a _Western_ dispatch, it is true, but it has Bragg's name to it, and he does not willingly exaggerate. Although I, for one, shall await the next dispatches with anxiety, there can be no question about the victory on the last day of the bloody year 1862. Bragg says the loss was heavy on both sides. I noticed that one of the brass pieces sent down by Lee to go to North Carolina had been struck by a ball just over the muzzle, and left a glancing mark toward the touch-hole. That ball, probably, killed one of our gunners. JANUARY 2D.--A dispatch from Gov. Harris gives some additional particulars of the battle near Murfreesborough, Tenn. He says the enemy was driven back six miles, losing four generals killed and three captured, and that we destroyed $2,000,000 commissary and other stores. But still we have no account of what was done yesterday on the "extreme left." Gen. Stuart has been near Alexandria, and his prisoners are coming in by every train. He captured and destroyed many stores, and, up to the last intelligence, without loss on his side. He is believed, now, _to be in Maryland_, having crossed the Potomac near Leesburg. The mayor of our city, Jos. Mayo, meeting two friends last night, whom he recognized but who did not recognize him, playfully seized one of them, a judge, and, garroter fashion, demanded his money or his life. The judge's friend fell upon the mayor with a stick and beat him dreadfully before the joke was discovered. The President was at Mobile on the 30th December, having visited both Murfreesborough and Vicksburg, but not witnessing either of the battles. We are in great exaltation again! Dispatches from Gen. Bragg, received last night, relieve us with the information that the stronghold of the enemy, which he failed to carry on the day of battle, was abandoned the next day; that Forrest and Morgan were operating successfully far in the rear of the invader, and that Gen. Wheeler had made a circuit of the hostile army after the battle, burning several hundred of their wagons, capturing an ordnance train, and making more prisoners. Bragg says the enemy's telegraphic and railroad communications with his rear have been demolished, and that he will follow up the defeated foe. I think we will get Nashville now. JANUARY 3D.--To-day we have a dispatch from Vicksburg stating that the enemy had re-embarked, leaving their intrenching instruments, etc., apparently abandoning the purpose of assaulting the city. This is certainly good news. Gen. Stuart did not cross the Potomac, as reported in the Northern press, but, doubtless, the report produced a prodigious panic among the Yankees. But when Stuart was within eight miles of Alexandria, he telegraphed the government at Washington that if they did not send forward larger supplies of stores to Burnside's army, he (Stuart) would not find it worth while to intercept them. Capt. Semmes, of the Alabama, has taken another prize--the steamer Ariel--but no gold being on board, and having 800 passengers, he released it, under bonds to pay us a quarter million dollars at the end of the war. A large meeting has been held in New York, passing resolutions in favor of peace. They propose that New Jersey send a delegation hither to induce us to meet the United States in convention at Louisville, to adopt definitive terms of peace, on the basis of the old Union, or, that being impracticable, separation. Too late! JANUARY 4TH.--We have nothing additional from Murfreesborough, but it is ascertained that the bridges burned by the enemy on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad cannot be repaired in a month. It really does seem that some potent and malign influence, resident at the capital, some high functionary, by some species of occultation, controlling the action of the government, a Talleyrand in the pay of both governments, and balancing or equalizing disasters between them to magnify his importance and increase his reward, has been controlling many events since the beginning of this war, and is still engaged in the diabolical work. It now appears that several regiments were withdrawn from the vicinity of Bristol, whose presence there was necessary for the protection of the railroad and the bridges. They were brought hither _after Lee's defeat of Burnside_, for the protection of the capital! The President was away, and Mr. Seddon was now in the War Office. But Gen. Cooper is _old_ in office, and should have known better; and Gen. G. W. Smith certainly must have known better. Just suppose we had been beaten at Murfreesborough, and our communications cut, west and east and south! There would have been no escape. It had even been proposed to take a large portion of Lee's men from him, so that he must be inevitably defeated on the Rappahannock, but Lee's resignation would have shocked the people unbearably. Great injury was done him by abstracting some 20,000 of his men by discharges, transfers, and details. Nothing but his generalship and the heroism of his men saved us from ruin. The disasters of Donelson, Newbern, Nashville, Memphis, Roanoke, New Orleans, Norfolk, etc. may be traced to the same source. But all new governments have been afflicted by a few evil-disposed leaders. Our people in arms have upheld the State; they have successfully resisted the open assaults of the invader, and frustrated the occult machinations of the traitors in our midst. We have great generals, but what were they without great men to obey them? Generals have fallen, and divisions and brigades have fought on without them. Regiments have lost their field officers and continued the fight, and companies have maintained their position after all their commissioned officers were stricken down. The history which shall give the credit of their achievements to others will be a vile calumny. Our cause would have been ruined if it had not been for the bravery and heroism of the people--_the privates in our armies_. There is a rumor this morning that the enemy are advancing toward Petersburg from Suffolk. If this be so, some spy, under the protection of martial law, has informed the Yankees of our defenseless condition at that place, being alarmed at the success of our brave and patriotic men in the West. JANUARY 5TH.--We learn from Gen. Bragg that the enemy did not retire far on the 2d inst., but remain still in the vicinity of Murfreesborough. He says, however, that our cavalry are still circling the Yankees, taking prisoners and destroying stores. During the day an absurd rumor was invented, to the effect that Bragg had been beaten. We are anxious to learn the precise particulars of the battle. It is to be feared that too many of Bragg's men were ordered to reinforce Pemberton. If that blunder should prove disastrous, the authorities here will have a hornet's nest about their ears. The President arrived yesterday, and his patriotic and cheering speech at Jackson, Miss., appeared in all the papers this morning. We hear of no fighting at Suffolk. But we have dispatches from North Carolina, stating that a storm assailed the enemy's fleet off Hatteras, _sinking the Monitor with all on board_, and so crippling the Galena that her guns were thrown overboard! This is good news--if it be confirmed. A letter from Major Boyle, in command at Gordonsville, gives information that the smugglers and extortioners are trading tobacco (contraband) with the enemy at Alexandria. He arrested B. Nussbaum, E. Wheeler, and S. Backrack, and sent them with their wagons and goods to Gen. Winder, Richmond. But instead of being dealt with according to law, he learns that Backrack is back again, and on his way to this city _with another wagon load of goods from Yankee-land_, and will be here to-day or to-morrow. I sent the letter to the Secretary, and hope it will not be intercepted on its way to him from the front office. The Secretary never sees half the letters addressed him, or knows of one-half the attempts of persons to obtain interviews. The Assistant Secretary's duty is to dispose of the less important communications, but to exhibit his decisions. JANUARY 6TH.--To-day we are all _down_ again. Bragg has _retreated_ from Murfreesborough. It is said he saved his prisoners, captured cannon, etc., but it is _not_ said what became of his own wounded. The Northern papers say they captured 500 prisoners in the battle, which they claim as a victory. I do not know how to reconcile Bragg's first dispatches, and particularly the one saying he had the whole field, and would _follow_ the enemy, with this last one announcing his withdrawal and retirement from the field. Eight thousand men were taken from Bragg a few days before the battle. It was not done at the suggestion of Gen. Johnston; for I have seen an extract of a letter from Gen. J. to a Senator (Wigfall), deprecating the detachment of troops from Bragg, and expressing grave apprehensions of the probable consequences. A letter was received from R. R. Collier, Petersburg, to-day, in favor of civil liberty, and against the despotism of martial law. Senator Clark, of Missouri, informed me to-day that my nephew, R. H. Musser, has been made a colonel (under Hindman or Holmes), and has a fine regiment in the trans-Mississippi Department. Lewis E. Harvie, president of the railroad, sends a communication to the Secretary (I hope it will reach him) inclosing a request from Gen. Winder to permit liquors to be transported on his road to Clover Hill. Mr. Harvie objects to it, and asks instructions from the Secretary. He says Clover Hill is the point from which the smuggling is done, and that to place it there, is equivalent to bringing it into the city. JANUARY 7TH.--To-day I was requested to aid, temporarily, in putting in operation a new bureau, created by the military authorities, not by law, entitled the Bureau of Conscription. From conscription all future recruits must be derived. I found Gen. Rains, the chief, a most affable officer; and Lieut.-Col. Lay, his next officer, was an acquaintance. I shall not now, perhaps, see so much of the _interior_ of this moving picture of Revolution; my son, however, will note important letters. It is said that Sumner's corps (of Burnside's army) has landed in North Carolina, to take Wilmington. We shall have news soon. We are sending troops rapidly from Virginia to North Carolina. The Northern papers say the following dispatch was sent to Washington by our raiding Stuart: "Gen. Meigs will in future please furnish better mules; those you have furnished recently are very inferior." He signed his own name. A large body of slaves passed through the city to-day, singing happily. They had been working on the fortifications north of the city, and go to work on them south of it. They have no faith in the efficacy of Lincoln's Emancipation. But it is different in Norfolk; 4000 enfranchised slaves marched in procession through the town the other day in a sort of frantic jubilee. They will bewail their error; and so will the Abolitionists. They will consume the enemy's commissary stores; and if they be armed, we shall get their arms. Lee and Beauregard were telegraphed to-day in relation to the movement on Wilmington; and the President had the cabinet with him many hours. Gen. Rains is quite certain that the fall of New Orleans was the result of treachery. By the emancipation, Gen. Wise's county, Princess Ann, is excepted--and so are Accomac and Northampton Counties; but I have no slaves. All I ask of the invaders is to spare my timber, and I will take care of the land--and I ask it, knowing the request will never be known by them until the war is over. JANUARY 8TH.--Gen. French writes that the enemy at Suffolk and Newbern amounted to 45,000; and this force now threatens Weldon and Wilmington, and we have not more than 14,000 to oppose them. With generalship that should suffice. All the Virginia conscripts are ordered to Gen. Wise, under Major-Gen. Elzey. The conscripts from other States are to be taken to Gen. Lee. If the winter should allow a continuance of active operations, and the enemy should continue to press us, we might be driven nearly to the wall. We must help ourselves all we can, and, besides, invoke the aid of Almighty God! We have nothing fresh from Bragg--nothing from Vicksburg--and that is _bad news_. I like Gen. Rains. He comes in and sits with me every day. Col. Lay is the active business man of the bureau. The general is engaged in some experiments to increase the efficiency of small arms. He is very affable and communicative. He says he never witnessed more sanguinary fighting than at the battle of the Seven Pines, where his brigade retrieved the fortunes of the day; for at one time it was lost. He was also at Yorktown and Williamsburg; and he cannot yet cease condemning the giving up of the Peninsula, Norfolk, etc. Gen. Johnston did that, backed by Randolph and Mallory. We have all been mistaken in the number of troops sent to the rescue of North Carolina; but four or five regiments, perhaps 3000 men, have gone thither from Virginia. A letter from Gen. Lee, dated the 5th inst., says he has not half as many men as Burnside, and cannot spare any. He thinks North Carolina, herself, will be able to expel the Federals, who probably meditate only a marauding expedition. And he supposes Bragg's splendid victory (what did he suppose the next day?) may arrest the inroads of the enemy everywhere for a season. At this moment I do not believe we have 200,000 men in the field against 800,000! But what of that, after seeing Lee beat 150,000 with only 20,000 in action! True, it was an ambuscade. JANUARY 9TH.--The Northern papers say the Federals have taken Vicksburg; but we are incredulous. Yet we have no reliable intelligence from thence; and it may be so. It would be a terrible blow, involving, for a time, perhaps, the loss of the Mississippi River. But we have cheering news from Galveston, Texas. Several of our improvised gun-boats attacked the enemy's war vessels in the harbor, and after a sanguinary contest, hand to hand, our men captured the Harriet Lane, a fine United States ship of war, iron clad. She was boarded and taken. Another of the enemy's ships, it is said, was blown up by its officers, rather than surrender, and many perished. If this be Magruder's work, it will make him famous. Our public offices are crowded with applicants for clerkships, mostly wounded men, or otherwise unfit for field duty. How can we live here? Boarding is $60 per month, and I have six to support! They ask $1800 rent for a dwelling--and I have no furniture to put in one. Gen. Rains and I looked at one to-day, thinking to take it jointly. But neither of us is able to furnish it. Perhaps we shall take it, nevertheless. JANUARY 10TH.--We have news from the West, which is believed to be reliable, stating that Bragg captured 6000 prisoners altogether in his late battles; took 30 cannon, 800 stand of arms, and destroyed 1500 wagons and many stores. The estimated loss of the enemy in killed and wounded is put down at 12,000. Our loss in killed and wounded not more than half that number. To-day we have official intelligence confirming the brilliant achievement at Galveston; and it was Magruder's work. He has men under him fitted for desperate enterprises; and he has always had a penchant for desperate work. So we shall expect to hear of more gallant exploits in that section. He took 600 prisoners. We have news also from Vicksburg, and the city was not taken; on the contrary, the enemy had sailed away. I trust this is reliable; but the Northern papers persist in saying that Vicksburg has fallen, and that the event took place on the 3d inst. Six hundred women and children--refugees--arrived at Petersburg yesterday from the North. They permit them to come now, when famine and pestilence are likely to be added to the other horrors of war! We are doomed to suffer this winter! JANUARY 11TH.--The message of Gov. Seymour, of New York, if I am not mistaken in its import and purposes, will have a distracting effect on the subjugation programme of the government at Washington. I shall look for riots, and perhaps rebellions and civil wars in the North. Mr. Stanley, ycleped Governor of North Carolina, has written a letter (dated 31st December) to Gen. French, complaining that our soldiery have been guilty of taking slaves from their humane and _loyal_ masters in Washington County, against their will; and demanding a restoration of them to their kind and beneficent owners, to whom they are anxious to return. Gen. French replies that he will do so very cheerfully, provided the United States authorities will return the slaves they have taken from masters loyal to the Confederate States. These may amount to 100,000. And he might have added that on the next day all--4,000,000--were to be emancipated, so far as the authority of the United States could accomplish it. The enemy's gun-boats (two) came up the York River last week, and destroyed an oyster boat. Beyond the deprivation of oysters, pigs, and poultry, we care little for these incursions. JANUARY 12TH.--The news of the successful defense of Vicksburg is confirmed by an official dispatch, to the effect that the enemy had departed up the Mississippi River. By the late Northern papers, we find they confess to a loss of 4000 men in the several attacks upon the town! Our estimate of their loss did not exceed that many hundred. They lost two generals, Morgan and another. We did not lose a hundred men, according to our accounts. The _Herald_ (N. Y.) calls it "another Fredericksburg affair." The estimate of the enemy's loss, at Murfreesborough, from 12,000 to 20,000, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, and ours at from four to nine thousand. Bragg says he will fight again near the same place, and his men are in high spirits. Our men fight to _kill_ now, since the emancipation doom has been pronounced. But we have had a hard rain and nightly frosts, which will put an end to campaigning during the remainder of the winter. The fighting will be on the water, or near it. The legislature is in session, and resolutions inimical to the passport system have already been introduced. But where are State Rights now? Congress meets to-morrow. JANUARY 13TH.--The generals in North Carolina are importunate for reinforcements. They represent the enemy as in great force, and that Weldon, Goldsborough, Raleigh, and Wilmington are in extreme peril. Lee cannot send any, or, if he does, Richmond will be threatened again, and possibly taken. How shall we live? Boarding ranges from $60 to $100 per month. Our landlord says he will try to get boarding in the country, and if he succeeds, probably we may keep the house we now occupy, furnished, at a rent of $1200, for a mere robin's nest of four rooms! But I hope to get the house at the corner of First and Casey, in conjunction with Gen. Rains, for $1800. It has a dozen rooms. JANUARY 14TH.--Gen. Beauregard, some of whose forces have been taken from him and sent to the defense of Wilmington, is apprehensive that they may be lost, in the event of the enemy making a combined naval and land attack, and then Charleston and Savannah would be in great peril. Gens. Smith and Whiting call lustily for aid, and say they have not adequate means of defense. Some 4000 more negroes have been called for to work on the fortifications near Richmond. I believe 10,000 are at work now. A letter "by order" of the Secretary of War to Col. Godwin, in King and Queen County, written by Judge Campbell, says that blockaders are allowed to run through, provided they be not suspicious parties. The government takes what it wants at seventy-five per cent. and releases the rest. The parties are liable to have their goods confiscated by the Secretary of the Treasury, who, however, the letter proceeds to say, has never molested any one in the illicit trade--smuggling. In Congress, yesterday, Mr. Foote called for a committee to investigate the commissary's contract with Haxhall, Crenshaw & Co., and was particularly severe on Major Ruffin, in the commissary's office, whom he understood was a partner in the flour concern. Mr. Foote introduced a series of resolutions to-day, tempting the Northern States to make peace with us separately, excluding the New England States, and promising commercial advantages, etc. But we must treat as independent States, pledging a league with those that abandon the United States Government--offensive and defensive--and guaranteeing the navigation of the Mississippi River to the Northwestern States. They were referred to the Committee on Foreign Relations, of which he is the chairman. This is nothing. But neither yesterday nor the day before was there a quorum of both houses; a sad spectacle in such a season of gloom. It was enlivened, however, by a communication from the Surgeon-General, proposing to send surgeons to vaccinate all the members. They declined the honor, though the small-pox is raging frightfully. To-day a quorum was found in each house, and the President's message was sent in. I have not read it yet. JANUARY 15TH.--The President's message is highly applauded. It is well written; but I do not perceive much substance in it, besides some eloquent reproaches of England and France for the maintenance of their neutrality, which in effect is greatly more beneficial to the United States than to us. The President essays to encourage the people to continued effort and endurance--and such encouragement is highly judicious at this dark epoch of the struggle. He says truly we have larger armies, and a better supply of arms, etc., now, than we have had at any time previously. The President says he will, unless Congress directs differently, have all Federal officers that we may capture, handed over to the States to be dealt with as John Brown was dealt with. The Emancipation Proclamation, if not revoked, may convert the war into a most barbarous conflict. Mr. Foote, yesterday, introduced a resolution requesting the recall of our diplomatic agents; and, after a certain time, to notify the foreign consuls to leave the country, no longer recognizing them in an official capacity. A bill was introduced making Marylanders subject to conscription. JANUARY 16TH.--Gen. Lee is in the city, doubtless to see about the pressure upon him for reinforcements in North Carolina. Gen. Smith still writes from Goldsborough for more men, with doleful forebodings if they be refused. From Eastern Tennessee, we have bad accounts of outrages by the disloyal inhabitants, who have fled, to escape conscription, to the mountains and caves, many of them taking their families. At night they emerge from their hiding-places, and commit depredations on the secessionists. It has been blowing a gale for two days, and there are rumors of more losses of the enemy's ships on the coast of North Carolina. A letter was received by the government to-day from Arizona, justifying Col. Baylor for his policy of dealing with the Indians. I do not hear of any steps yet on the part of the President. A report of the commandant at Camp Holmes, Raleigh, N. C., states that 12,000 conscripts have been received there altogether; 8000 have been sent off to regiments, 2000 detailed on government work, 500 deserted, etc. The _Enquirer_ to-day publishes the fact that a ship, with stores, merchandise, etc., has just arrived at Charleston; that six more are on the way thither, and that a steamer has successfully run the blockade from Wilmington with cotton. This notification may increase the vigilance of the blockading fleet. The _Enquirer_ is also perpetually tilting with the Raleigh _Standard_. I doubt the policy of charging the leading journals in North Carolina with predilections for the Union. I believe the _Enquirer_ has no settled editor now. Mr. Foote favors the conscription of Marylanders. If such an act should be likely to pass, Gen. Winder will be beset with applications to leave the Confederacy. JANUARY 17TH.--Gen. Lee has left the city. His troops, encamped thirty miles north of Richmond, marched northward last night. So it is his determination to cross the Rappahannock? Or is it a demonstration of the enemy to prevent him from sending reinforcements to North Carolina? We shall know speedily. North Carolina, one would think, is soon to be the scene of carnage; and it is asked what can 16,000 men do against 60,000? The enemy began the attack on Fort Caswell yesterday; no result. But one of his blockaders went ashore in the storm, and we captured the officers and crew. All the conscripts in the West have been ordered to Gen. Bragg. Shall we starve? Yesterday beef was sold for 40 cts. per pound; to-day it is 60 cts. Lard is $1.00. Butter $2.00. They say the sudden rise is caused by the prisoners of Gen. Bragg, several thousand of whom have arrived here, and they are subsisted from the market. Thus they injure us every way. But, _n'importe_, say some; if Lincoln's Emancipation be not revoked, _but few more prisoners will be taken on either side_. That would be a barbarous war, without quarter. I see that Col. J. W. Wall, of New Jersey, has been nominated, and I suppose will be elected, U. S. Senator. He was confined for months in prison at Fort Lafayette. I imagine the colonel is a bold, able man. JANUARY 18TH.--It was bitter cold last night, and everything is frozen this morning; there will be abundance of ice next summer, if we keep our ice-houses. In these times of privation and destitution, I see many men, who were never prominent secessionists, enjoying comfortable positions, and seeking investments for their surplus funds. Surely there must be some compensation in this world or the next for the true patriots who have sacrificed everything, and still labor in subordinate positions, with faith and patient suffering. These men and their families go in rags, and upon half-rations, while the others fare most sumptuously. We are now, in effect, in a state of siege, and none but the opulent, often those who have defrauded the government, can obtain a sufficiency of food and raiment. Calico, which could once be bought for 12-1/2 cts. per yard, is now selling at $2.25, and a lady's dress of calico costs her about $30.00. Bonnets are not to be had. Common bleached cotton shirting brings $1.50 per yard. All other dry goods are held in the same proportion. Common tallow candles are $1.25 per pound; soap, $1.00; hams, $1.00; oppossum $3.00; turkeys $4 to $11.00; sugar, brown, $1.00; molasses $8.00 per gallon; potatoes $6.00 per bushel, etc. These evils might be remedied by the government, for there is no great scarcity of any of the substantials and necessities of life in the country, if they were only equally distributed. The difficulty is in procuring transportation, and the government monopolizes the railroads and canals. Our military men apprehend no serious consequences from the army of negroes in process of organization by the Abolitionists at Washington. Gen. Rains says the negro cannot fight, and will always run away. He told me an anecdote yesterday which happened under his own observation. An officer, when going into battle, charged his servant to stay at his tent and take care of his property. In the fluctuations of the battle, some of the enemy's shot fell in the vicinity of the tent, and the negro, with great white eyes, fled away with all his might. After the fight, and when the officer returned to his tent, he was vexed to learn that his slave had run away, but the boy soon returned, confronting his indignant master, who threatened to chastise him for disobedience of orders. Cæsar said: "Massa, you told me to take care of your property, and dis property" (placing his hand on his breast) "is worf fifteen hundred dollars." He escaped punishment. Some 200,000 of the Abolition army will be disbanded in May by the expiration of their terms of enlistment, and we have every reason to believe that their places cannot be filled by new recruits. If we hold out until then, we shall be able to resist at all vital points. JANUARY 19TH.--We have rumors of fighting this morning on the Rappahannock; perhaps the enemy is making another advance upon Richmond. There was a grand funeral to-day,--Gen. D. R. Jones's; he died of heart disease. Gen. Bragg dispatches that Brig.-Gen. Wheeler, with his cavalry, got in the rear of Rosecrans a few days ago, and burned a railroad bridge. He then penetrated to the Cumberland River, and destroyed three large transports and bonded a fourth, which took off his paroled prisoners. After this he captured and destroyed a _gun-boat_ and its armament sent in quest of him. We have taken Springfield, Missouri. Rosecrans sends our officers, taken at Murfreesborough, to Alton, Ill., to retaliate on us for the doom pronounced in our President's proclamation, and one of his generals has given notice that if we burn a railroad bridge (in our own country) all private property within a mile of it shall be destroyed. The black flag next. We have no news from North Carolina. Mr. Caperton was elected C. S. Senator by the Virginia Legislature on Saturday, in place of Mr. Preston, deceased. An intercepted letter from a Mr. Sloane, Charlotte, N. C., to A. T. Stewart & Co., New York, was laid before the Secretary of War yesterday. He urged the New York merchant, who has contributed funds for our subjugation, to send merchandise to the South, now destitute, and he would act as salesman. The Secretary indorsed "conscript him," and yet the Assistant Secretary has given instructions to Col. Godwin, in the border counties, to wink at the smugglers. This is consistency! And the Assistant Secretary writes "by order of the Secretary of War!" JANUARY 20TH.--The rumor of fighting on the Rappahannock is not confirmed. But Gen. Lee writes that his beeves are so poor the soldiers won't eat the meat. He asks the government to send him salt meat. From Northern sources we learn that Arkansas Post has fallen, and that we have lost from 5000 to 7000 men there. If this be true, our men must have been placed in a man-trap, as at Roanoke Island. Mr. Perkins, in Congress, has informed the country that Mr. Memminger, the Secretary of the Treasury, has hitherto opposed and defeated the proposition that the government buy all the cotton. Mr. M. should never have been appointed. He is headstrong, haughty, and tyrannical when he imagines he is dealing with inferiors, and he deems himself superior to the rest of mankind. But he is no Carolinian by birth or descent. We see accounts of public meetings in New Jersey, wherein the government at Washington is fiercely denounced, and peace demanded, regardless of consequences. Some of the speakers openly predicted that the war would spread into the North, if not terminated at once, and in that event, the emancipationists would have foes to fight elsewhere than in the South. Among the participants I recognize the names of men whom I met in convention at Trenton in 1860. They clamor for the "Union as it was, the Constitution as it is," adopting the motto of my paper, the "_Southern Monitor_," the office of which was sacked in Philadelphia in April, 1861. Our government will never agree to anything short of independence. President Davis will be found inflexible on that point. There was a rumor yesterday that France had recognized us. The news of the disaster of Burnside at Fredericksburg having certainly been deemed very important in Europe. But France has not yet acted in our behalf. We all pray for the Emperor's intervention. We suffer much, and but little progress is made in conscription. Nearly all our resources are in the field. Another year of war, and ----! JANUARY 21ST.--Last night the rain fell in torrents, and to-day there is a violent storm of wind from the N. W. This may put an end, for a season, to campaigning on land, and the enemy's fleet at sea may be dispersed. Providence may thus intervene in our behalf. It is feared that we have met with a serious blow in Arkansas, but it is not generally believed that so many (5000 to 7000 men) surrendered, as is stated in the Northern papers. Gen. Holmes is responsible for the mishap. Conscription drags its slow length along. It is not yet adding many to the army. The Assistant Secretary of War, and several others, "by order of the Secretary of War," are granting a fearful number of exemptions daily. Congress, I hope, will modify the exemption bill immediately. It is believed enrolling officers, surgeons, and others are permitting thousands to remain at home "for a price." Even clerks in the War Department, it is said, are driving a lucrative business in "getting men off," who should be on duty, in this war of independence. _Young_ men in the departments, except in particular cases, will not stand in good repute "when the hurly burly's done, when the battle's lost and won." Congress is at work projecting the organization of a Supreme Court. JANUARY 22D.--We have reliable intelligence of the sinking of the U. S. gun-boat Hatteras, in the Gulf, by the Alabama. She was iron-clad, and all the officers and crew, with the exception of five, went down. Gen. Whiting telegraphs to-day for the use of conscripts near Wilmington, in the event of an _emergency_. Several ships have just come in safely from abroad, and it is said a large number are on the way. Mr. Miles yesterday reported, from the Military Committee, a bill repealing the existing exemption law, and embracing all male residents between the ages of 18 and 45 years. The President, or Secretary of War, to have authority to grant exemptions in certain cases, if deemed expedient. This _ought_ to give us 200,000 more men. And they will be required. A resolution was passed demanding of the Commissary and Quartermaster-General the number of their employees capable of performing military duty. It would be well to extend the inquiry to the War Department itself. A letter from Norfolk states that at a grand ball, in celebration of the emancipation of the negroes, Gen. Vieille opened the dance with a mulatto woman of bad character as his partner; and Mrs. V. had for her partner a negro barber. JANUARY 23D.--The Northern papers are filled with what purports to be the intercepted correspondence of Mr. Benjamin with Messrs. Mason and Slidell. Lord John Russell is berated. The Emperor of France is charged with a design to seize Mexico as a colony, and to recognize Texas separately, making that State in effect a dependency, from which cotton may be procured as an offset to British India. He says the French Consuls in Texas are endeavoring to detach Texas from the Confederacy. If this be a genuine correspondence, it will injure the South; if it be false (if the allegations be false), it will still injure us. I have no doubt of its genuineness; and that Mr. Sanders, once the correspondent of the New York _Tribune_, was the bearer. If Texas leaves us, so may Louisiana--and the gigantic Houmas speculation may turn out well at last. Mr. Curry has brought forward a copyright bill; Mr. Foster, of Alabama, has introduced a bill to abolish the passport system--leaving the matter to railroad conductors. A dispatch from Gen. Bragg assures us that our cavalry are still capturing and destroying large amounts of Rosecrans's stores on the Cumberland River. Col. Wall has been elected Senator from New Jersey. They say he is still pale and ill from his imprisonment, for opinion sake. I hope he will speak as boldly in the Senate as out of it. I met Gen. Davis to-day (the President's nephew), just _from_ Goldsborough, where his brigade is stationed. He is in fine _plumage_--and I hope he will prove a game-cock. Major-Gen. French, in command at Petersburg, is a Northern man. Our _native_ generals are brigadiers. It is amazing that all the superior officers in command near the capital should be Northern men. Can this be the influence of Gen. Cooper? It may prove disastrous! JANUARY 24TH.--Gen. Smith writes that he deems Wilmington in a condition to resist any attacks. The exposition of Mr. Benjamin's dispatches has created profound mortification in the community. Another transport has been taken from the enemy in the Cumberland River. No further news from Arkansas. There is a white flag (small-pox) within seventy yards of our house. But it is probable we must give up the house soon, as the owner is desirous to return to it--being unable to get board in the country. Gen. Rains, who has been making a certain sort of primer, met with an accident this morning; one of them exploded in his hand, injuring his thumb and finger. He was scarcely able to sign his name to official documents to-day. Mr. Hunter has brought forward a measure for the funding of Treasury notes, the redundant circulation having contributed to produce the present fabulous prices in the market. In the New Jersey Legislature petitions are flowing in denunciatory of Lincoln's Emancipation scheme, which would cast into the free States a large excess of profitless population. JANUARY 25TH.--Gen. Lee mentions, in his recent correspondence, an instance of the barbarity of some of the Yankee soldiers in the Abolition Army of the Potomac. They thrust into the Rappahannock River a poor old negro man, whom they had taken from his master, because he had the small-pox; and he would have been drowned had he not been rescued by our pickets. It is surmised that this dreadful disease prevails to an alarming extent in the Yankee army, and probably embarrasses their operations. Our men have all been vaccinated; and their recklessness of disease and death is perhaps a guarantee of exemption from affliction. Their health, generally, is better than it has ever been before. The government at Washington has interdicted the usual exchange of newspapers, for the present. This gives rise to conjecture that Lincoln experiences grave difficulties from the adverse sentiment of his people and his armies regarding his Emancipation Proclamation. And it is likely he has met with grave losses at sea, for the invading army in North Carolina has retired back on Newbern. But the season for naval enterprises is not over, and we are prepared to expect some heavy blows before April. The revelations in the intercepted dispatches captured with Mr. Sanders, whose father is a notorious political adventurer, may be most unfortunate. They not only show that we even were negotiating for six war steamers, but give the names of the firms in Europe that were to furnish them. The project must now be abandoned. And Louis Napoleon will be enraged at the suspicions and imputations of our Secretary of State regarding his occult policy. Gen. Rains has invented a new primer for shell, which will explode from the slightest pressure. The shell is buried just beneath the surface of the earth, and explodes when a horse or a man treads upon it. He says he would not use such a weapon in ordinary warfare; but has no scruples in resorting to any means of defense against an army of Abolitionists, invading our country for the purpose, avowed, of extermination. He tried a few shell on the Peninsula last spring, and the explosion of only four sufficed to arrest the army of invaders, and compelled them to change their line of march. JANUARY 26TH.--The _Northern_ papers say Hooker's grand division crossed the Rappahannock, ten miles above Falmouth, several days ago. Burnside has issued an address to his army, promising them another battle immediately. Gen. Lee advises the government to buy all the grain in the counties through which the canal runs. He says many farmers are hoarding their provisions, for extortionate prices. I have no house yet. Dr. Wortham had one; and although I applied first, he let Mr. Reagan, the Postmaster-General, have it. He is a member of President Davis's cabinet--and receives $6000 salary. There is much indignation expressed by the street talkers against Mr. Benjamin and Mr. Sanders, in the matter of the intercepted dispatches: against Mr. Benjamin for casting such imputations on Napoleon and his consular agents, and for sending his dispatches by such a messenger, in the absence of the President; against Sanders for not destroying the dispatches. Many think the information was _sold_ to the United States Government. Col. Wall has made a speech in Philadelphia. He said he should take his seat in the United States Senate as an advocate of peace; and he boldly denounced the Lincoln administration. Our official report shows that our military authorities, up to this time, have burnt 100,000 bales of cotton in Arkansas. I have not learned the amount destroyed in other States--but it is large. Gen. Lee thinks the object of the expeditions of the enemy on the Southern coast is to procure cotton, etc. The slaves can do them no good, and the torch will disappoint the marauders. Strong and belligerent resolutions have been introduced in the United States Congress against France, for her alleged purpose to obtain dominion in Mexico. It is violative of the Monroe doctrine. And Mr. Benjamin's accusation against the consuls (embracing a French design on Texas) might seem like a covert purpose to unite both the Confederate and the United States against France--and that might resemble premeditated reconstruction. But diplomatists _must_ be busy--always at their webs. President Davis would be the last man to abandon the ship Independence. JANUARY 27TH.--It is too true that several thousand of our men were captured at Arkansas Post, and that Little Rock is now in danger. There seems to be no probability, after all, of an immediate advance of the enemy across the Rappahannock. But there are eight iron-clad gun-boats and ninety sail at Beaufort, North Carolina, and, it is reported, 52,000 men. Wilmington will probably be assailed. Mr. Foote said, yesterday, if Indiana and Illinois would recede from the war, he should be in favor of aiding them with an army against Lincoln. And all the indications from the North seem to exhibit a strong sentiment among the people favoring peace. But the people are not the government, and they sink peace and reconstruction together. Yesterday Mr. Crockett, of Kentucky, said, in the House of Representatives, that there was a party in favor of forming a Central Confederacy (of free and slave States) between the Northern and Southern extremes. Impracticable. To-day we have news of the bombardment of Fort McAlister, near Savannah. No result known. Now we shall have tidings every few days of naval operations. Can Savannah, and Charleston, and Wilmington be successfully defended? They may, if they will emulate the example of Vicksburg. If they fall, it will _stagger_ this government--before the peace party in the North can operate on the Government of the United States. But it would not "crush the rebellion." JANUARY 28TH.--The bombardment of Fort McAlister continued five hours yesterday, when the enemy's boats drew off. The injury to the fort can be repaired in a day. Not a man was killed or a gun dismounted. The injury done the fleet is not known. But the opinion prevails here that if the bombardment was continued to-day, the elongated shot of the enemy probably demolished the fort. Last night and all this day it snowed incessantly--melting rapidly, however. This must retard operations by land in Virginia and probably in North Carolina. JANUARY 29TH.--It appears from the Northern press that the enemy _did_ make three attempts last week to cross the Rappahannock; but as they advanced toward the stream, the _elements_ successfully opposed them. It rained, it snowed, and it froze. The gun carriages and wagons sank up to the hubs, the horses to their bodies, and the men to their knees; and so all stuck fast in the mud. I saw an officer to-day from the army in North Carolina. He says the prospect for a battle is good, as soon as the roads admit of marching. We have nothing further from the bombardment near Savannah. The wires may not be working--or the fort may be taken. Gov. Vance has sent to the department a strong protest against the appointment of Col. August as commandant of conscripts in Northern Tennessee. Col. A. is a Virginian--that is the only reason. Well, Gen. Rains, who commands all the conscripts in the Confederate States, is a North Carolinian. But the War Department has erred in putting so many strangers in command of localities, where natives might have been selected. Richmond, for instance, has never yet been in the command of a Southern general. There are indications of a speedy peace, although we are environed by sea and by land as menacingly as ever. The _Tribune_ (New York) has an article which betrays much desperation. It says the only way for the United States Government to raise $300,000,000, indispensably necessary for a further prosecution of the war, is to guarantee (to the capitalists) that it will be the _last_ call for a loan, and that subjugation will be accomplished in ninety days, or never. It says the war must then be urged on _furiously_, and negro soldiers sent among the slaves to produce an insurrection! If this will not suffice, then let peace be made on the best possible terms. The New York _World_ denounces the article, and is for peace at once. It says if the project (diabolical) of the _Tribune_ fails, it may not be possible to make peace on any terms. In this I see indications of a foregone conclusion. All over the North, and especially in the Northwest, the people are clamoring for peace, and denouncing the Lincoln Emancipation Proclamation. I have no doubt, if the war continues throughout the year, we shall have the spectacle of more Northern men fighting against the United States Government than slaves fighting against the South. Almost every day, now, ships from Europe arrive safely with merchandise: and this is a sore vexation to the Northern merchants. We are likewise getting, daily, many supplies from the North, from blockade-runners. No doubt this is winked at by the United States military authorities, and perhaps by some of the civil ones, too. If we are not utterly crushed before May (an impracticable thing), we shall win our independence. JANUARY 30TH.--There is a rumor that Kentucky has voted to raise an army of 60,000 men to resist the execution of Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation. Fort Caswell, below Wilmington, has been casemated with iron; but can it withstand elongated balls weighing 480 pounds? I fear not. There are, however, submarine batteries; yet these may be avoided, for Gen. Whiting writes that the best pilot (one sent thither some time ago by the enemy) escaped to the hostile fleet since Gen. Smith visited North Carolina, which is embraced within his command. This pilot, no doubt, knows the location of all our torpedoes. Nothing further from Savannah. Mr. Adams, the United States Minister at London, writes to Mr. Seward, Secretary of State, dated 17th of October, 1862, that if the Federal army shall not achieve decisive successes by the month of February ensuing, it is probable the British Parliament will recognize the Confederate States. To-morrow is the last day of January. I cut the following from yesterday's _Dispatch_: "_The Results of Extortion and Speculation._--The state of affairs brought about by the speculating and extortion practiced upon the public cannot be better illustrated than by the following grocery bill for one week for a small family, in which the prices before the war and those of the present are compared: 1860. 1863. Bacon, 10 lbs. at 12-1/2c $1 25 Bacon, 10 lbs. at $1 $10 00 Flour, 30 lbs. at 5c 1 50 Flour, 30 lbs. at 12-1/2c 3 75 Sugar, 5 lbs. at 8c 40 Sugar, 5 lbs. at $1 15 5 75 Coffee, 4 lbs. at 12-1/2c 50 Coffee, 4 lbs. at $5 20 00 Tea (green), 1/2 lb. at $1 50 Tea (green), 1/2 lb. at $16 8 00 Lard, 4 lbs. at 12-1/2c 50 Lard, 4 lbs. at $1 4 00 Butter, 3 lbs. at 25c 75 Butter, 3 lbs. at $1 75 5 25 Meal, 1 pk. at 25c 25 Meal, 1 pk. at $1 1 00 Candles, 2 lbs. at 15c 30 Candles, 2 lbs. at $1 25 2 50 Soap, 5 lbs. at 10c 50 Soap, 5 lbs. at $1 10 5 50 Pepper and salt (about) 10 Pepper and salt (about) 2 50 ---- ---- Total $6 55 Total $68 25 "So much we owe the speculators, who have stayed at home to prey upon the necessities of their fellow-citizens." We have just learned that a British steamer, with cannon and other valuable cargo, was captured by the enemy, two days ago, while trying to get in the harbor. Another, similarly laden, got safely in yesterday. We can afford to lose one ship out of three--that is, the owners can, and then make money. Cotton sells at _seventy-five cents_ per pound in the United States. So the blockade must be felt by the enemy as well as ourselves. War is a two-edged sword. JANUARY 31ST.--We have dispatches from Charleston, to-day, which reconcile us to the loss of the cargo captured by the blockading squadron early in the week. An artillery company captured a fine gun-boat in Stone River (near Charleston) yesterday evening. She had eleven guns and 200 men. But this morning we did better still. Our little fleet of two iron-clads steamed out of Charleston harbor, and boldly attacked the blockading fleet. We crippled two of their ships, and sunk one, completely raising the blockade, for the time being. This will frustrate some of their plans, and may relieve Wilmington. The attack on Fort McAlister was a failure. The monitor which assaulted the fort sustained so much injury, that it had to retire for repairs. Several blockade-runners between this and Williamsburg were arrested and sent to Gen. Winder to-day by Lieut. G. D. Wise. Gen. W. sent them to Gen. Rains. Mr. Petit and Mr. James Custis (from Williamsburg) came with them to endeavor to procure their liberation. Gen. Rains sent them back to Gen. W., with a note that he had no time to attend to such matters. Such business does not pertain to his bureau. I suppose they will be released. Major Lear, of Texas, who was at the capture of the Harriet Lane, met on the captured steamer his mortally-wounded son, the lieutenant. A few days ago, Lieut. Buchanan was killed on a United States gun-boat by our sharpshooters. He was the son of Admiral Buchanan, in the Confederate service, now at Mobile. Thus we are reminded of the wars of the roses--father against son, and brother against brother. God speed the growth of the Peace Party, North and South; but we must have independence. Mr. Hunter was in our office to-day, getting the release of a son of the Hon. Jackson Morton, who escaped from Washington, where he had resided, and was arrested here as a conscript. The Assistant Secretary of War ruled him entitled to exemption, although yesterday others, in the same predicament, were ruled into the service. CHAPTER XXIII. Proposed fixture of prices.--Depreciation in the North.--Gen. Hooker in command of the U. S. forces.--Lee thinks Charleston will be attacked.--Congress does nothing.--Some fears for Vicksburg.-- Pemberton commands.--Wise dashes into Williamsburg.--Rats take food from my daughter's hand.--Lee wants the meat sent from Georgia to Virginia, where the fighting will be.--Gen. Winder uneasy about my Diary.--Gen. Johnston asks to be relieved in the West. FEBRUARY 1ST.--The Virginia Legislature, now in session, has a bill under discussion for the suppression of extortion. One of the members, Mr. Anderson, read the following table of the prices of AGRICULTURAL PRODUCE. _Before the war._ _Now._ White wheat, per bushel $1 50 White wheat, per bushel $4 50 Flour, per barrel 7 50 Flour, per barrel 22 00 Corn, per bushel 70 Corn, per bushel 3 50 Hay, per hundred 1 00 Hay, per hundred 3 50 Hides, per pound 7 Hides, per pound 40 Beef, per pound 8 Beef, per pound 50 Bacon, per pound 13 Bacon, per pound 60 Lard, per pound 15 Lard, per pound 1 00 Butter, per pound 30 Butter, per pound 1 50 Irish potatoes 1 00 Irish potatoes 5 00 Sweet potatoes 1 00 Sweet potatoes 6 00 Apple brandy 1 00 Apple brandy 15 00 Wool, per pound 30 Wool, per pound 2 00 MANUFACTURES. Bar iron, per pound 4 Bar iron, per pound 20 Nails, per pound 4 Nails, per pound 60 Leather, sole, per pound 25 Leather, sole, per pound 2 50 " upper, per pound 33 " upper, per pound 3 50 COTTON GOODS. Osnaburgs, per yard 10 Osnaburgs, per yard 75 Brown cotton, per yard 10 Brown cotton, per yard 75 Sheeting, per yard 15 Sheeting, per yard 1 25 WOOLEN GOODS. Coarse jeanes 45 Coarse jeanes 4 00 Crenshaw's gray 2 00 Crenshaw's gray 28 00 MISCELLANEOUS. Coarse shoes $1 50 Coarse shoes $15 00 High-quartered shoes 3 50 High-quartered shoes 25 00 Boots 7 50 Boots 60 00 Wool hats, per dozen 7 00 Wool hats, per dozen 50 00 STOCKS. Dividends on stocks in cotton companies, worth in May, 1861, $25 to $50 per share, now from $112 to $140. It is doubtful whether the bill will pass, as most of the members are agriculturists. It is said and believed that several citizens from Illinois and Indiana, now in this city, have been sent hither by influential parties, to consult our government on the best means of terminating the war; or, that failing, to propose some mode of adjustment between the Northwestern States and the Confederacy, and new combination against the Yankee States and the Federal administration. Burnside has at last been removed; and Franklin and Sumner have resigned. Gen. Hooker now commands the Federal Army of the Potomac--if it may be still called an army. Gen. R----, who knows Hooker well, says he is deficient in talent and character; and many years ago gentlemen refused to associate with him. He resigned from the army, in California, and worked a potatoe patch, Yankee like, on speculation--and failed. FEBRUARY 2D.--After the feat at Charleston, Gen. Beauregard and Commodore Ingraham invited the consuls resident to inspect the harbor, and they pronounced the blockade raised, no United States ship being seen off the coast. Then the general and the commodore issued a proclamation to the world that the port was open. If this be recognized, then the United States will have to give sixty days' notice before the port can be closed again to neutral powers; and by that time we can get supplies enough to suffice us for a year. Before night, however, some twenty blockaders were in sight of the bar. It is not a question of right, or of might, with France and England--but of inclination. Whenever they, or either of them, shall be disposed to relieve us, it can be done. There was a fight near Suffolk yesterday, and it is reported that our troops repulsed the enemy. The enemy's gun-boats returned to the bombardment of Fort McAlister, and met no success. They were driven off. But still, I fear the fort must succumb. Senator Saulsbury, of Delaware, has been arrested by the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate, for his denunciation of Lincoln as an "imbecile." And a Philadelphia editor has been imprisoned for alleged "sympathy with secessionists." These arrests signify more battles--more blood. FEBRUARY 3D.--It appears that Gen. Pryor's force, 1500 strong, was attacked by the enemy, said to be 5000 in number, on the Blackwater. After some shelling and infantry firing, Gen. P. retired some eight miles, and was not pursued. Our loss was only fifty; _it is said_ the enemy had 500 killed and wounded; but I know not how this was ascertained. Gold in the North now brings 58-1/2 cents premium. Exchange sells at $1.75. Cotton at 96 cents per pound! They are getting up a fine rumpus in the North over the imprisonment of an editor. To-day, when conversing with Judge Perkins in relation to having a passport system established by law, he admitted the necessity, but despaired of its accomplishment. "For," said he, "nothing can be done in Congress which has not the sanction of the Executive." He meant, I thought, from his manner and tone, that the Executive branch of the government was omnipotent, having swallowed up the functions of the other co-ordinate branches. I cannot understand this, for the Executive has but little appointing patronage, the army being completely organized, having supplementary generals, and all officers, under the grade of brigadiers, being promoted as vacancies occur. FEBRUARY 4TH.--One of the enemy's iron-clad gun-boats has got past our batteries at Vicksburg. Gen. Pemberton says it was struck "three times." But it is through. The enemy's presses reiterate the assertion that Gen. Longstreet is in Tennessee with his corps; and that the detachments from Gen. Lee's army amount to 75,000 men. This is evidently for the purpose to encourage Hooker's army to cross the Rappahannock. These presses must know that Gen. Lee's whole army was less than 75,000 men; that Longstreet is still with him, and that only one small brigade has been sent away to North Carolina. Well, let them come! They will be annihilated. But is it not diabolical in the New York _Post_, _Times_, etc. to urge their own people on to certain destruction? If Hooker had 300,000, he could not now come to Richmond! We have extremely cold weather now; and, probably, the rivers in Virginia will be frozen over to-night. FEBRUARY 5TH.--It snowed again last night. Tuesday night the mercury was 8° below zero. A dispatch from Gen. Beauregard says sixty sail of the enemy have left Beaufort, N. C., for Charleston. A British frigate (Cadmus) has arrived at Charleston with intelligence that the Federal fleet of gun-boats will attack the city immediately; and that the British consul is ordered away by the Minister at Washington. The attack will be by sea and land. God help Beauregard in this fearful ordeal! FEBRUARY 6TH.--Gen. Lee thinks Charleston will be assailed, and suggests that all the troops in North Carolina be concentrated near Wilmington, and he will undertake the defense of the rest of the State. Nevertheless, if the government deems it more important to have his troops sent to North Carolina, than to retain them for the defense of Richmond, he must acquiesce. But he thinks Hooker will attempt the passage of the Rappahannock, at an early day, if the weather will admit of it. In regard to the last attempt of Burnside to cross his army (when he stuck in the mud), Gen. Lee says it was fortunate for the Federals that they failed to get over. No doubt he was prepared for their reception. Congress is doing nothing but voting money for themselves. The President (some of the members say) is their master, and they await his nod. These are his enemies. FEBRUARY 7TH.--We have a dispatch from Texas, of another success of Gen. Magruder at Sabine Pass, wherein he destroyed a large amount of the enemy's stores. But we are calmly awaiting the blow at Charleston, or at Savannah, or wherever it may fall. We have confidence in Beauregard. We are more anxious regarding the fate of Vicksburg. Northern man as he is, if Pemberton suffers disaster by any default, he will certainly incur the President's eternal displeasure. Mississippi must be defended, else the President himself may feel the pangs of a refugee. "That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me!" FEBRUARY 8TH.--From intelligence received yesterday evening, it is probable the Alabama, Harriet Lane, and Florida have met off the West Indies, and turned upon the U. S. steamer Brooklyn. The account says a large steamer was seen on fire, and three others were delivering broadsides into her. The United States press thought the burning steamer was the Florida. From Charleston or Savannah we shall soon have stirring news. They may overpower our forces, but our power there will be completely exhausted before resistance ceases. There will be no more "giving up," as with New Orleans, Norfolk, etc. Yet there is a feverish anxiety regarding Vicksburg. Pemberton permitted one iron-clad gun-boat to pass, and all our boats below are now at its mercy. The House of Representatives, at Washington, has passed the "negro soldier bill." This will prove a "Pandora's Box," and the Federals may rue the day that such a measure was adopted. FEBRUARY 9TH.--Gen. Lee requests that all dispatches passing between his headquarters and the War Department be in cipher. He says everything of importance communicated, he has observed, soon becomes the topic of public conversation; and thence is soon made known to the enemy. The iron-clad gun-boat, which got past Vicksburg, has been up the Red River spreading devastation. It has taken three of our steamers, forty officers on one, and captured large amounts of stores and cotton. Gen. Wise made a dash into Williamsburg last night, and captured the place, taking some prisoners. Custis (my son) received a letter to-day from Miss G., Newbern, _via_ underground railroad, inclosing another for her sweet-heart in the army. She says they are getting on tolerably well in the hands of the enemy, though the slaves have been emancipated. She says a Yankee preacher (whom she calls a white-washed negro) made a _speculation_. He read the Lincoln Proclamation to the negroes: and then announced that none of them had been legally married, and might be liable to prosecution. To obviate this, he proposed to marry them over, charging _only_ a dollar for each couple. He realized several thousand dollars, and then returned to the North. This was a legitimate Yankee speculation; and no doubt the preacher will continue to be an enthusiastic advocate of a war of subjugation. As long as the Yankees can make money by it, and escape killing, the war will continue. FEBRUARY 10TH.--No stirring news yet. The enemy's fleet is at Port Royal, S. C. Everywhere we are menaced with overwhelming odds. Upon God, and our own right arms, we must rely, and we do rely. To-day, in cabinet council, it is believed it was decided to call out all conscripts under forty-five years of age. The President might have done it without consulting the cabinet. Yesterday Mrs. Goddin, the owner or wife of the owner of the house I occupy, failing to get board in the country, and we having failed to get another house, took possession of one room of the little cottage. We have temporarily the rest: parlor, dining-room, and two chambers--one of them 8 by 11--at the rate of $800 per annum. This is low, now; for ordinary dwellings, without furniture, rent for $1800. Mr. G. has an hereditary (I believe) infirmity of the mind, and is confined by his father in an asylum. Mrs. G. has four little children, the youngest only a few weeks old. She has a white nurse, who lost her only child (died of scarlet fever) six days ago; her husband being in the army. It is a sad spectacle. To-day beef was selling in market at _one dollar_ per pound. And yet one might walk for hours in vain, in quest of a _beggar_. Did such a people ever exist before? FEBRUARY 11TH.--There is a rumor that Major-Gen. Gustavus W. Smith has tendered his resignation. Some idea may be formed of the scarcity of food in this city from the fact that, while my youngest daughter was in the kitchen to-day, a young rat came out of its hole and seemed to beg for something to eat; she held out some bread, which it ate from her hand, and seemed grateful. Several others soon appeared, and were as tame as kittens. Perhaps we shall have to eat them! FEBRUARY 12TH.--Congress has not yet restricted the class of exempts, and the work of conscription drags heavily along. All under forty-five must be called, else the maximum of the four hundred regiments cannot be kept up. It reminds me of Jack Falstaff's mode of exemption. The numerous employees of the Southern Express Co. have been let off, after transporting hither, for the use of certain functionaries, sugars, etc. from Alabama. And so in the various States, enrolling and other officers are letting thousands of conscripts slip through their hands. FEBRUARY 13TH.--There is a rumor in the papers that something like a revolution is occurring, or has occurred, in the West; and it is stated that the Federal troops demand the recall of the Emancipation Proclamation. They also object to serving with negro troops. But we ought to look for news of terrific fighting at Savannah or Charleston. No doubt all the troops in the field (Federal) or on the water will be hurled against us before long, so as to effect as much injury as possible before defection can spread extensively, and before the expiration of the enlistments of some 200,000 men in May. And what are we doing? But little. The acceptance of substitutes who desert, and the exemption of thousands who should be fighting for the country, employ hundreds of pens daily in this city. Alas, that so many dishonest men have obtained easy places! The President has been grossly imposed upon. FEBRUARY 14TH.--A beautiful day. Yet Gen. Lee is giving furloughs, two to each company. If the weather should be dry, perhaps Hooker will advance: a thing desired by our people, being confident of his destruction. The papers issued extras to-day with news from the Northwest, based upon the account of a "reliable gentleman," who has just run the blockade. He says Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, and Illinois have resolved to meet in convention, at Frankfort, Ky., for the purpose of _seceding from the United States, and setting up a confederacy for themselves, or joining the Southern Confederacy_. I fear the "reliable gentleman" is not to be relied upon. Yet it would be well for the Western States, a just retribution to New England, _and a very great relief to us_. Gen. Lee is urging the department to have the meat at Atlanta brought to his army without delay. It is _here_ the army will be wanted. I saw pigs to-day, not six weeks old, selling in market at $10 a piece. I met Col. Bledsoe to-day, on a visit to the city, who told me Fenelon never tasted meat, and lived to be ninety years old. I am no Fenelon, but I shall probably have to adopt his regimen. I would barter, however, some of his years for a good supply of food. We must have peace soon, or a famine. FEBRUARY 15TH.--Already, as if quite certain that the great Northwest would speedily withdraw from the Eastern United States, our people are discussing the eventualities of such a momentous occurrence. The most vehement opposition to the admission of any of the non-slaveholding States, whose people have invaded our country and shed the blood of our people, into this Confederacy, is quite manifest in this city. But Virginia, "the Old Mother," would, I think, after due hesitation, take back her erring children, Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, and perhaps one or two more, if they earnestly desired to return to her parental protection. Some of the Cotton States might revolt at such a project, and even the cabinet might oppose the scheme of adding several powerful free States to the Confederacy; but it would not all suffice to prevent it, if they desire to join us. It is true, the constitution would have to be modified, for it is not to be supposed that slaves would be held in any of the States referred to; but then slavery would be recognized by its proper term, and ample guarantees would be agreed upon by the great free States which abandon the United States on the issue of emancipation. Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, added to the thirteen Confederate States, would speedily constitute us a people of sufficient military power to defy the menaces of the arms of the greatest powers of the earth; and the commercial and agricultural prosperity of the country would amaze the world. I am of the opinion that Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, North Carolina, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Missouri would form a league of union with Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana, even if the rest of the Southern States were to reject the alliance. But who can foresee the future through the smoke of war, and amid the clash of bayonets? Nevertheless, division and subdivision, would _relieve all of the burden of debt, for they would repudiate the greater part, if not the whole, of the indebtedness of both the present governments, which has been incurred in ravaging the country and cutting each other's throats_. The cry will be: "We will not pay the price of blood--for the slaughter of our brothers!" FEBRUARY 16TH.--Another gun-boat has got past Vicksburg. But three British steamers have run into Charleston with valuable cargoes. Gen. Lee is now sending troops to Charleston, and this strengthens the report that Hooker's army is leaving the Rappahannock. They are probably crumbling to pieces, under the influence of the peace party growing up in the North. Some of them, however, it is said, are sent to Fortress Monroe. Our Bureau of Conscription ought to be called the Bureau of Exemption. It is turning out a vast number of exempts. The Southern Express Company bring sugar, partridges, turkeys, etc. to the potential functionaries, and their employees are exempted during the time they may remain in the employment of the company. It is too bad! I have just been reperusing Frederick's great campaigns, and find much encouragement. Prussia was not so strong as the Confederate States, and yet was environed and assailed by France, Austria, Russia, and several smaller powers simultaneously. And yet Frederick maintained the contest for seven years, and finally triumphed over his enemies. The preponderance of numbers against him in the field was greater than that of the United States against us; and Lee is as able a general as Frederick. Hence we should never despair. FEBRUARY 17TH.--Gen. Lee is _not_ sending troops to Charleston. He is sending them _here_ for the defense of Richmond, which is now supposed to be the point of attack, by land and by water, and on both sides of the James River. Well, they have striven to capture this city from every point of the compass but one--the south side. Perhaps they will make an attempt from that direction; and I must confess that I have always apprehended the most danger from that quarter. But we shall beat them, come whence they may! FEBRUARY 18TH.--Mr. H----s, another of Gen. Winder's detectives, has gone over to the enemy. He went on a privateering cruise from Wilmington; the vessel he sailed in captured a brig, and H----s was put in command of the prize, to sail into a Confederate port. Instead of this, however, H----s sailed away for one of the West India islands, and gave up his prize to Com. Wilkes, of the United States Navy. One or two of the regiments of Gen. Lee's army were in the city last night. The men were pale and haggard. They have but a quarter of a pound of meat per day. But meat has been ordered from Atlanta. I hope it is abundant there. All the necessaries of life in the city are still going up higher in price. Butter, $3 per pound; beef, $1; bacon, $1.25; sausage-meat, $1; and even liver is selling at 50 cents per pound. By degrees, quite perceptible, we are approaching the condition of famine. What effect this will produce on the community is to be seen. The army must be fed or disbanded, or else the city must be abandoned. How we, "the people," are to live is a thought of serious concern. Gen. Lee has recommended that an appeal be made to the people to bring food to the army, to feed their sons and brothers; but the Commissary-General opposes it; probably it will not be done. No doubt the army could be half fed in this way for months. But the "red tape" men are inflexible and inscrutable. Nevertheless, the commissaries and quartermasters are getting rich. FEBRUARY 19TH.--The resignation of Gen. Gustavus W. Smith has been accepted by the President. It was well done--the acceptance, I mean. Who will Gen. Winder report to now? Gen. Winder has learned that I am keeping a diary, and that some space in it may be devoted to the history of martial law. He said to Capt. Warner, his commissary of prisons, that he would patronize it. The captain asked me if Gen. Winder's rule was not dwelt upon in it. I said doubtless it was; but that I had not yet revised it, and was never in the habit of perusing my own works until they were completed. Then I carefully corrected them for the press. Major-Gen. Pickett's division marched through the city to-day for Drewry's Bluff. Gen. Lee writes that this division can beat the army corps of Hooker, supposed to be sent to the Peninsula. It has 12,000 men--an army corps 40,000. Brig.-Gen. Hood's division is near the city, on the Chickahominy. Gen. Lee warns the government to see that Gens. French and Pryor be vigilant, and to have their scouts closely watching the enemy at Suffolk. He thinks, however, the main object of the enemy is to take Charleston; and he suggests that every available man be sent thither. The rest of his army he will keep on the Rappahannock, to watch the enemy still remaining north of that river. I sent a communication to the President to-day, proposing to reopen my register of "patriotic contributions" to the army, for they are suffering for meat. I doubt whether he will agree to it. If the war be prolonged, the appeal must be to the people to feed the army, or else it will dissolve. FEBRUARY 20TH.--We have exciting news from the West. The iron-shod gun-boat, Queen of the West, which run past Pemberton's batteries some time since, captured, it appears, one of our steamers in Red River, and then compelled our pilot to steer the Queen of the West farther up the river. The heroic pilot ran the boat under our masked batteries, and then succeeded in escaping by swimming. The Queen of the West was forced to surrender. This adventure has an exhilarating effect upon our spirits. Hon. James Lyons sent to the President to-day a petition, signed by a majority of the members of Congress, to have me appointed major in the conscription service. FEBRUARY 21ST.--Major-Gen. Hood's division passed through the city to-day, and crossed over the river. I hope an attack will be made at Suffolk. It is too menacing a position to allow the invader to occupy it longer. No attack on Charleston yet, and there is a rumor that the command of the expedition is disputed by Foster and Hunter. If it hangs fire, it will be sure to miss the mark. FEBRUARY 22D.--This is the anniversary of the birth of Washington, and of the inauguration of President Davis, upon the installation of the permanent government of the Confederate States. It is the ugliest day I ever saw. Snow fell all night, and was falling fast all day, with a northwest wind howling furiously. The snow is now nearly a foot deep, and the weather very cold. My communication to the President, proposing an appeal to the people to furnish the army with meat and clothing (voluntary contributions), was transmitted to the Secretary of War yesterday, without remark, other than the simple reference. The plan will not be adopted, in all probability, for the Secretary will consult the Commissary and Quartermaster-General, and they will oppose any interference with the business of their departments. Red tape will win the day, even if our cause be lost. Our soldiers must be fed and clothed according to the "rules and regulations," or suffer and perish for the want of food and clothing! I have some curiosity to learn what the President has indorsed, or may indorse, on the paper sent him by Mr. Lyons, signed by half the members of Congress. Will he simply refer it to the Secretary? Then what will the Secretary do? My friends in Congress will likewise be curious to learn the result. FEBRUARY 23D.--I saw a letter from Gen. Lee to-day, suggesting to the government on appeal to the Governors of the States to aid more directly in recruiting the armies. He says the people habitually expect too much from the troops now in the field; that because we have gained many victories, it does not follow that we shall always gain them; that the legitimate fruits of victory have hitherto been lost, for the want of numbers on our side; and, finally, that all those who fail to go to the field at such a momentous period as this, are guilty of the blood of the brave soldiers who perish in the effort to achieve independence. This would be contrary to the "rules and regulations" as understood by the Adjutant and Inspector-General (a Northern man), and no doubt the Secretary of War and the President will reject the plan. The petition of forty members of Congress in my behalf came from Mr. Seddon, the Secretary, to our bureau to-day. He asks the superintendent if there is a necessity for such an officer, one whose rank is equal to that of a commandant of a camp of instruction. He says important services only should require the appointment of such an officer. Well, Gen. Rains recommended it. I know not whether he can say more. I shall not get it, for Congress has but little influence, just now. FEBRUARY 24TH.--Gen. Longstreet is now in command of Gen. Smith's late department, besides his own corps. Richmond is safe. Our papers contain a most astonishing speech purporting to have been delivered by Mr. Conway, in the United States Congress. Mr. C. is from Kansas, that hot-bed of Abolitionism. He is an avowed Abolitionist; and yet he advocates an immediate suspension of hostilities, or at least that the Federal armies and fleets be ordered to act on the defensive; that the independence of the Confederate States be recognized, upon the basis of a similar tariff; free-trade between the North and South; free navigation of the Mississippi, and co-operation in the maintenance of the Monroe doctrine. I like the indications apparent in this speech. Let us have a suspension of hostilities, and then we can have leisure to think of the rest. No doubt the peace party is growing rapidly in the United States; and it may be possible that the Republicans mean to beat the Democrats in the race, by going beyond them on the Southern question. The Democrats are for peace and Union; the Republicans may resolve to advocate not only peace, _but secession_. FEBRUARY 25TH.--On the 18th inst. the enemy's battery on the opposite side of the Mississippi River opened on Vicksburg. The damage was not great; but the front of the town is considered untenable. The Conscription bill has passed the United States Senate, which will empower the President to call for 3,000,000 men. "Will they come, when he does call for them?" That is to be seen. It may be aimed at France; and a war with the Emperor might rouse the Northern people again. Some of them, however, have had enough of war. To-day I heard of my paper addressed to the President on the subject of an appeal to the people to send food to the army. He referred it to the Commissary-General, Col. Northrop, who sent it to the War Department, with an indorsement that as he had no acquaintance with that means of maintaining an army (the patriotic contributions of the people), he could not recommend the adoption of the plan. Red tape is mightier than patriotism still. There may be a change, however, for Gen. Lee approves the plan. FEBRUARY 26TH.--We have good news from Vicksburg to-day. The Queen of the West, lately captured by us, and another gun-boat, attacked the Indianola, the iron-clad Federal gun-boat which got past our batteries the other day, and, after an engagement, sunk her. We captured all the officers and men. FEBRUARY 27TH.--No news from any quarter to-day. Gen. Joseph E. Johnston is discontented with his command in the West. The armies are too far asunder for co-operative action; and, when separated, too weak for decisive operations. There is no field there for him, and he desires to be relieved, and assigned to some other command. I was surprised to receive, to-day, the following very official letter from the Secretary of War: "RICHMOND, VA., Feb. 27th, 1863. "J. B. JONES, ESQ. "SIR:--The President has referred your letter of the 19th inst. to this department. "In reply, you are respectfully informed that it is not deemed judicious, unless in the last extremity, to resort to the means of supply suggested. The patriotic motives that dictated the suggestion are, however, appreciated and acknowledged. "Your obedient servant, "JAMES A. SEDDON, "_Secretary of War_." CHAPTER XXIV. Removed into Clay Street.--Gen. Toombs resigned.--Lincoln dictator.--He can call 3,000,000 of men.--President is sick.--His office is not a bed of roses.--Col. Gorgas sends in his oath of allegiance.-- Confederate gold $5 for $1.--Explosion of a laboratory.--Bad weather everywhere.--Fighting on the Mississippi River.--Conflict of views in the Conscription Bureau.--Confederate States currency $10 for $1.-- Snow a foot deep, but melting.--We have no negro regiments in our service.--Only 6000 conscripts from East Tennessee.--How seven were paroled by one.--This is to be the crisis campaign.--Lee announces the campaign open. MARCH 1ST.--To-morrow we remove to new quarters. The lady's husband, owning cottage, and who was confined for seven months among lunatics, has returned, and there is not room for two families. Besides, Mrs. G. thinks she can do better taking boarders, than by letting the house. What a mistake! Beef sold yesterday for $1.25 per pound; turkeys, $15. Corn-meal $6 per bushel, and all other articles at the same rates. No salaries can board families now; and soon the expense of boarding will exceed the incomes of unmarried men. Owners and tenants, unless engaged in lucrative business, must soon vacate their houses and leave the city. But we have found a house occupied by three widows in Clay Street. They have no children. They mean to board soon among their relatives or friends, and then we get the house; in the mean time, they have fitted up two rooms for us. We should have gone yesterday, but the weather was too bad. The terms will not exceed the rent we are now paying, and the house is larger. I espied several fruit trees in the back yard, and a space beyond, large enough for a smart vegetable garden. How delighted I shall be to cultivate it myself! Always I have visions of peas, beans, radishes, potatoes, corn, and tomatoes of my own raising! God bless the widows sent for our relief in this dire necessity! Met Judge Reagan yesterday, just from the Council Board. I thought he seemed dejected. He said if the enemy succeeded in getting command of the Mississippi River, the Confederacy would be "cut in two;" and he intimated his preference of giving up Richmond, if it would save Texas, etc. for the Confederacy. Texas is his adopted State. MARCH 2D.--The enemy burnt the steamship Nashville on Saturday near Savannah. She was employed taking provisions to Fort McAlister. I think it was destroyed by an incendiary shell. There is a rumor to-day of the burning of railroad bridges between this and Fredericksburg. I signed an agreement to-day with Mr. Malsby to publish my new "Wild Western Scenes." He is to print 10,000 copies, which are to retail at $2; on this he pays me 12-1/2 per cent. or 25 cents for every copy sold; $2500 if the whole are sold. He will not be able to get it out before May. We moved into the west end of Clay Street to-day, and like the change. There are no children here except our own. The house is a brick one, and more comfortable than the frame shell we abandoned. MARCH 3D.--We like our new quarters--and the three Samaritan widows, without children. They lend us many articles indispensable for our comfort. It is probable they will leave us soon in the sole occupancy of the house. There is ground enough for a good many vegetables--and meat is likely to be scarce enough. Bacon is now $1.37-1/2 cts. per pound, and flour $30 per barrel. The shadow of the gaunt form of famine is upon us! But the pestilence of small-pox is abating. We have now fine March weather; but the floods of late have damaged the railroad bridges between this and Fredericksburg. The Secretary of War requested the editors, yesterday, to say nothing of this. We have no news from the West or from the Southeast--but we shall soon have enough. The United States Congress has passed the Conscription Act. We shall see the effect of it in the North; I predict civil war there; and that will be our "aid and comfort." Gen. Toombs has resigned; and it is said Pryor has been made a major-general. Thus we go up and down. The President has issued a proclamation for prayer, fasting, etc., on the twenty-seventh of this month. There will certainly be fasting--and prayer also. And God _has_ helped us, or we should have been destroyed ere this. MARCH 4TH.--The enemy bombarded Fort McAlister again yesterday, several gun-boats opening fire on it. It lasted all day; during which one of the iron-clads retired, perhaps injured. We had only two men wounded and one gun (8 in. columbiad) dismounted. The fort was but little injured. Recent Northern papers assert that their gun-boats have all passed through the canal opposite Vicksburg. This is not true--yet. Lincoln is now Dictator, his Congress having given him power to call out all the male population between the ages of twenty and thirty-five years, and authority to declare martial law whenever he pleases. The _Herald_ shouts for Lincoln--of course. We must fight and pray, and hope for revolution and civil war in the North, which may occur any day. Our cavalry, under Gen. Jones, has done some brilliant skirmishing recently in the vicinity of Winchester; and as soon as the March winds dry the earth a little, I suppose Hooker will recommence the "On to Richmond." We shall be weaker the next campaign, but our men are brave. MARCH 5TH.--Yesterday the government seized the flour in the mills and warehouses; and now the price has risen from $30 to $40 per barrel. I wrote to the Commissary, in view of the dissatisfaction of the people, and to prevent disturbances, advising him to seize the 5000 barrels in the hands of the small speculators, and to allow so many pounds per month to each inhabitant, at the rate paid by government. This would be beneficent and popular, confining the grumblers to the extortioners. But he will not do it, as the Constitution only provides for impressments for the public use. Our dinner to-day (for seven, for the servant has an equal share) consisted of twelve eggs, $1.25; a little corn bread, some rice and potatoes. How long shall we have even this variety and amount? Bad beef in market, this morning, sold at $1.25 per pound. After bombarding Fort McAlister on the 3d inst. and all night, the enemy's fire ceased. The fort was not much injured, says the dispatch. There is a rumor to-day that the fort has been reduced--but no one believes it. Gen. Van Dorn has had a fight in Tennessee, killing and wounding 1000 and capturing 2600 prisoners. Our loss is said to have been heavy. Gen. Lee writes that now, since Lincoln may call out 3,000,000 men, and has $900,000,000 voted him, we must put out all our strength, if we expect to keep the field. We shall certainly have an exciting time. But there may be use for some of the Federal troops in the North! If not, I apprehend that Richmond must withstand another siege and assault. It is said they have dropped the "Constitution and the Union" in the United States, and raised the cry of the "NATION" and the "FLAG." This alarms me. If they get up a new sensation, they will raise new armies. Gold is selling at a premium of $4.25 in Confederate notes. We bought a barrel of flour to-day (that is, my wife paid for one not yet delivered), from a dealer who was not an extortioner, for the moderate sum of $28.00. This, with what we have on hand, ought to suffice until the growing wheat matures. For _tea_ we had meal coffee, and corn cakes without butter. But we had a _half-pint_ of molasses (for seven) which cost 75 cts. The gaunt specter is approaching nearer every day! Every morning there is a large crowd of Irish and Germans besieging Gen. Winder's office for passports to go North. Is it famine they dread, or a desire to keep out of the war? Will they not be conscripted in the North? They say they can get consular protection there. MARCH 6TH.--I have meditated on this day, as the anniversary of my birth, and the shortening lapse of time between me and eternity. I am now fifty-three years of age. Hitherto I have dismissed from my mind, if not with actual indifference, yet with far more unconcern than at present, the recurring birthdays which plunged me farther in the vale of years. But now I cannot conceal from myself, if so disposed, that I am getting to be an old man. My hair is gray--but nevertheless my form is still erect, and my step is brisk enough. My fancies, tastes, and enjoyments have not changed perceptibly; and I can and often do write without glasses. I desire to live after this war is over, if it be the will of God--if not, I hope to exist in a better world. We have no news of interest to-day. A letter says the non-combatants, even the women and children, heedless of danger, were voluntary spectators of the bombardment of Vicksburg the other day. The shells often exploded near them, and behind them, but the fascination was so great that they remained on the ground; even one had an arm carried away by a ball! Can such a people be subjugated? Houses (furnished) are beginning to be offered more plentifully than ever before; their occupants and owners finding their ordinary incomes insufficient for subsistence. I suppose they mean to find in the country an escape from famine prices prevailing in the city. There is a rumor this evening of the fall of Vicksburg; but that rumor has been whispered here several times during the last few months. No one believes it. When Vicksburg falls, many an invader will perish in its ruins. MARCH 7TH.--The President is sick, and has not been in the Executive Office for three days. Gen. Toombs, resigned, has published a farewell address to his brigade. He does not specify of what his grievance consists; but he says he cannot longer hold his commission with honor. The President must be aware of his perilous condition. When in adversity, some of those he has trusted, discuss the bases of reconstruction; and when we are prosperous, others, in similar positions, agitate the question of reorganization--the motive of both being his ruin. But I suppose he has calculated these contingencies, and never anticipated paving a bed of roses to recline upon during the terrible, and sometimes doubtful struggle for independence. The rumor that Vicksburg had fallen is not confirmed; on the contrary, the story that the Indianola, captured from the enemy, and reported to have been blown up, was unfounded. We have Gen. Pemberton's official assurance of this. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, a Pennsylvanian, sent into the department to-day, with a request that it be filed, his oath of allegiance to this government, and renunciation of that of the United States, and of his native State. This would indicate that the location of his nativity has been the subject of remark. What significance is to be attributed to this step at this late day, I know not, and care not. An error was committed in placing Northern men in high positions to the exclusion of Southern men, quite as capable of filling them. MARCH 8TH.--Judge Meredith's opinion, that foreigners, Marylanders, and others, who have served in the army, have become domiciled, and are liable to conscription, has produced a prodigious commotion. Gen. Winder's door is beset with crowds of eager seekers of passports to leave the Confederacy; and as these people are converting their Confederate money into gold, the premium on specie has advanced. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, has decided that Judge Meredith's opinion is not authority; and hence his son-in-law, Lieut.-Col. Lay, who at present wields the Conscription Bureau, acts accordingly. But Gen. Rains has a contrary opinion; and he intended to see the President yesterday, who is understood to coincide with Judge Meredith. It is also alleged that Secretary Seddon concurs in this opinion; and if this be the case, an explosion is imminent--for Judge Campbell must have given instructions "by order of the Secretary," without the Secretary's knowledge or consent. I advised the general to see the President and Secretary once a week, and not rely upon verbal instructions received through a subordinate; he said the advice was good, and he should follow it. But he is much absorbed in his subterrene batteries. MARCH 9TH.--We have no news to-day. But the next act of this terrible drama is near at hand. The Northern papers have reports of the fall of Vicksburg and Charleston. Unfounded. They also say 22,000 men have deserted from the Army of the Potomac. This is probably true. There is much denunciation of the recent seizure of flour; but this is counteracted by an appalling intimation in one of the papers that unless the army be subsisted, it will be withdrawn from the State, and Virginia must fall into the hands of the enemy. The loss of Virginia might be the loss of the Confederacy. MARCH 10TH.--No war news of importance. Just at this time there is a large number of persons passing to and from the North. They are ostensibly blockade-runners, and they do succeed in bringing from the enemy's country a large amount of goods, on which an enormous profit is realized. The Assistant Secretary of War, his son-in-law, Lt.-Col. Lay, the controlling man in the Bureau of Conscription, and, indeed, many heads of bureaus, have received commodities from Maryland, from friends running the blockade. Gen. Winder himself, and his Provost Marshal Griswold (how much that looks like a Yankee name!), and their police detectives, have reaped benefit from the same source. But this intercourse with the enemy is fraught with other matters. Communications are made by the disloyal to the enemy, and our condition--bad enough, heaven knows!--is made known, and hence the renewed efforts to subjugate us. This illicit intercourse, inaugurated under the auspices of Mr. Benjamin, and continued by subsequent Ministers of War, may be our ruin, if we are destined to destruction. Already it has unquestionably cost us thousands of lives and millions of dollars. I feel it a duty to make this record. To-day we have a violent snow-storm--a providential armistice. It has been ascertained that Hooker's army is still near the Rappahannock, only some 20,000 or 30,000 having been sent to the Peninsula and to Suffolk. No doubt he will advance as soon as the roads become practicable. If Hooker has 150,000 men, and advances soon, Gen. Lee cannot oppose his march; and in all probability we shall again hear the din of war, from this city, in April and May. The fortifications are strong, however, and 25,000 men may defend the city against 100,000--provided we have subsistence. The great fear is famine. But hungry men will fight desperately. Let the besiegers beware of them! We hope to have nearly 400,000 men in the field in May, and I doubt whether the enemy will have over 500,000 veterans at the end of that month. Their new men will not be in fighting condition before July. We may cross the Potomac again. MARCH 11TH.--Gen. Fitzhugh Lee has made a dash into Fairfax (near Washington) a day or two ago, and captured the Federal Gen. Slaughter and other officers, in their beds. Last night one of the government warehouses in this city was burnt. It is supposed to have been the work of an incendiary traitor; perhaps in retaliation for the recent impressment of flour. Yesterday the lower house of Congress passed a resolution restricting impressments. This has a bad aspect. The Bureau of Conscription, to-day, under the direction of Col. Lay, decided that all clerks in the departments, appointed subsequent to the eleventh of October last, are liable to be enrolled for service. Yet the colonel himself has a clerk appointed in January last. Gold sells at $5 in Confederate States notes for one; U. S. Treasury notes are at a premium here of $2.50. Even the notes of our State banks are at 60 per cent. premium over Confederate notes. This is bad for Mr. Memminger. An abler financier would have worked out a different result. All the patriotism is in the army; out of it the demon avarice rages supreme. Every one seems mad with speculation; and the extortioners prey upon every victim that falls within their power. Nearly all who sell are extortioners. We have at the same time, and in the same community, spectacles of the most exalted virtue and of the most degrading vice. Col. Mattel, the former commandant of conscripts for North Carolina, who was wounded at Kinston, and yet was superseded by Col. Lay's friend, Col. August, is now to be restored, and Col. A. relieved. Upon this Col. L. has fallen sick. Mr. Duffield, whom Col. Lay and Mr. Jacques had appointed A. A. G. over me, has not yet, for some cause, got his commission. The Secretary or some one else may have "intervened." MARCH 12TH.--To-day we have no army news. Mr. Richard Smith issued the first number of _The Sentinel_ yesterday morning. Thus we have five daily morning papers, all on half sheets. _The Sentinel_ has a biography of the President, and may aspire to be the "organ." John Mitchel, the Irishman, who was sentenced to a penal colony for disturbances in Ireland, some years ago, is now the leading editor of the _Enquirer_. He came hither from the North recently. His "compatriot," Meagher, once lived in the South and advocated our "institutions." He now commands a Federal brigade. What Mitchel will do finally, who knows? My friend R. Tyler, probably, had something to do with bringing him here. As a politician, however, he must know there is no Irish element in the Confederate States. I am sorry this Irish editor has been imported. The resignation of Gen. Toombs is making some sensation in certain circles. He was among the foremost leaders of the rebellion. He was Secretary of State, and voluntarily resigned to enter the army. I know not precisely what his grievance is, unless it be the failure of the President to promote him to a higher position, which he may have deemed himself entitled to, from his genius, antecedents, wealth, etc. But it is probable he will cause some disturbance. Duff Green, who is everywhere in stormy times, told me to-day that Gen. Toombs would be elected Governor of Georgia this fall, and said there were intimations that Georgia might make peace with the United States! This would be death to the government--and destruction to Toombs. It must be a mistake. He cannot have any such design. If he had, it would be defeated by the people of Georgia, though they sighed for peace. Peace is what all most desire--but not without independence. Some there are, in all the States, who would go back into the Union, for the sake of repose and security. But a majority would not have peace on such terms. Still, it behooves the President to be on his guard. He has enemies in the South, who hate him much. MARCH 13TH.--To-day a great calamity occurred in this city. In a large room of one of the government laboratories an explosion took place, killing instantly five or six persons, and wounding, it is feared fatally, some thirty others. Most of them were little indigent girls! MARCH 14TH.--Gen. Pemberton writes that he has 3000 hogs-heads of sugar at Vicksburg, which he retains for his soldiers to subsist on when the meat fails. Meat is scarce there as well as here. Bacon now sells for $1.50 per pound in Richmond. Butter $3. I design to cultivate a little garden 20 by 50 feet; but fear I cannot get seeds. I have sought in vain for peas, beans, corn, and tomatoes seeds. Potatoes are $12 per bushel. Ordinary chickens are worth $3 a piece. My youngest daughter put her earrings on sale to-day--price $25; and I think they will bring it, for which she can purchase a pair of shoes. The area of subsistence is contracting around us; but my children are more enthusiastic for independence than ever. Daily I hear them say they would gladly embrace death rather than the rule of the Yankee. If all our people were of the same mind, our final success would be certain. This day the leading article in the _Examiner_ had a striking, if not an ominous conclusion. Inveighing against the despotism of the North, the editor takes occasion likewise to denounce the measure of impressment here. He says if our Congress should follow the example of the Northern Congress, and invest our President with dictatorial powers, a reconstruction of the Union might be a practicable thing; for our people would choose to belong to a strong despotism rather than a weak one--the strong one being of course the United States with 20,000,000, rather than the Confederate States with 8,000,000. There may be something in this, but we shall be injured by it; for the crowd going North will take it thither, where it will be reproduced, and stimulate the invader to renewed exertions. It is a dark hour. But God disposes. If we deserve it, we shall triumph; if not, why should we? But we cannot fail without more great battles; and who knows what results may be evolved by them? Gen. Lee is hopeful; and so long as we keep the field, and he commands, the foe must bleed for every acre of soil they gain. MARCH 15TH.--Another cold, disagreeable day. March so far has been as cold and terrible as a winter month. MARCH 16TH.--Gen. Hill is moving toward Newbern, N. C., and may attack the enemy there. The weather continues dreadful--sleeting; and movements of armies must perforce be stayed. But the season of slaughter is approaching. There was an ominous scantiness of supply in the market this morning, and the prices beyond most persons--mine among the rest. Col. Lay got turkeys to-day from Raleigh; on Saturday partridges, by the Express Company. Fortunate man! MARCH 17TH.--On Saturday, the enemy's lower Mississippi fleet attacked our batteries at Port Hudson. The result reported is that only one of their gun-boats got past, and that in a damaged condition. The frigate Mississippi, one of the best war steamers of the United States, was burned, and the rest retired down the river, badly repulsed. We sustained no loss. To-day, the Secretary of War sent in a paper indorsing Judge Meredith's opinion in regard to foreigners who have accepted service in our country, viz., that they are liable to conscription. This is in the teeth of the decision of the Assistant Secretary, Judge Campbell, Col. Lay's father-in-law, and upon which the bureau has been acting, although Gen. Rains, the Superintendent, permitted it with reluctance, upon the assurance of Col. L. that such was the will of the department. This business may produce an explosion. I walked with Gen. Rains this afternoon in Capitol Square. He is annoyed at the action of Col. Lay in following the instructions of the Assistant Secretary of War in regard to foreigners. The decision had not the sanction of the Secretary of War, Mr. Seddon. He thinks _several thousand_ men may have been permitted to escape military service by it. He intended to lay Judge Campbell's decision before the President, but it disappeared very mysteriously from his desk. And to-day it reappeared just as mysteriously. And, simultaneously, and quite as mysteriously, a paper appeared, signed by Mr. Seddon, Secretary of War, suggesting that the bureau act in conformity with Judge Meredith's opinion, directly in the teeth of Mr. Assistant Secretary Campbell's decision! And it was dated March 13th, full four days before. What delayed it, and who brought it, no one seemed to know. Col. Lay suggested that it be sent back, with an indorsement that the bureau had been already acting under the decision of Judge Campbell (just the reverse of the opinion), Assistant Secretary of War, "by order of the Secretary of War." To this Gen. R. demurred, and said the bureau would conform its action to Mr. Seddon's suggestions; and he charged a clerk to preserve _that_ paper. Col. L. grumbled awfully at Mr. Seddon's off-hand decision, without mature reflection. Gen. Stewart (of Maryland) was at the office a short time before, and advocated Mr. Seddon's views; for he knew how many Marylanders would be embraced in the decision, as well as other foreigners. Lieut.-Col. A. C. Jones, Assistant Adjutant-General, had, in the name of the bureau, notified Gen. Winder, this morning, that Marylanders, etc. were not liable to bear arms for the South after being in the service two years! The general says he will have all the commandants of conscripts written to immediately; and that he will have an interview with the Secretary of War in relation to the matter. Every man we can put in the field is demanded; and many fear we shall not have a sufficient number to oppose the overwhelming tide soon to be surging over the land. At such a crisis, and in consideration of all the circumstances attending this matter, involving the loss of so many men, one is naturally startled at Judge Campbell's conduct. MARCH 18TH.--I sent an extract from my Diary of yesterday to the Hon. T. H. Watts, Minister of Justice. I know not whether he will appreciate its importance; but he has professed friendship for me. The city is in some excitement to-day, for early this morning we had intelligence of the crossing of the Rappahannock by a portion of the Federal army. During the day the division of Hood defiled through the streets, at a quick pace, marching back to Lee's army. But the march of troops and the rumbling of artillery have ceased to be novel spectacles to our community. Some aged ladies ran out as they passed, calling the bronzed Texans their "children," and distributed loaves of bread and other food among them. I never saw a merrier set than these brave soldiers, who have been through the "fire and the flood" numberless times. Some of them had three or four loaves on their bayonets. Gen. Lee himself left early this morning, on an extra train, having been "caught napping" here, the first time. The enemy crossed the river yesterday. But during the day a dispatch was received from Gen. J. E. B. Stuart (cavalry), stating that he had attacked the enemy on this side of the river, and beaten him back, forcing him to recross with loss. The particulars of the fight were not stated; but it is believed we lost a brigadier-general, killed. MARCH 19TH.--Snowing. It is estimated that we lost 250 men, killed, wounded, and taken, in the fight on the Rappahannock; the enemy's loss is not known, but certainly was heavy, since they were defeated, and fled back, hotly pursued. Confederate money still depreciates, in spite of the funding act. Some of the brokers are demanding ten dollars Confederate notes for one in gold! That is bad, and it may be worse. The enemy are advancing from Corinth, and there are not sufficient troops to resist them. Gen. Johnston says if men are taken from Bragg, his army may be destroyed; and none can be ordered from Mobile, where there are only 2500 for land defense. MARCH 20TH.--The snow is eight inches deep this morning, and it is still falling fast. Not a beggar is yet to be seen in this city of 100,000 inhabitants! Hood's division, mostly Texans, whose march to the Rappahannock was countermanded when it was ascertained that the enemy had been beaten back across the river, were all the morning defiling through Main Street, in high spirits, and merrily snowballing each other. And these men slept last night out in the snow without tents! Can such soldiers be vanquished? Yesterday Floyd's division of State troops were turned over to the Confederacy--only about 200! We have no further particulars of the fight on the Rappahannock; we know, however, that the enemy were beaten, and that this snow-storm must prevent further operations for many days. Several Eastern Shore families, I learn, are about to return to their homes. This is no place for women and children, who have homes elsewhere. We are all on quarter-rations of meat, and but few can afford to buy clothing at the present prices. MARCH 21ST.--The snow is nearly a foot deep this morning, as it continued to fall all night, and is falling still. It grows warmer, however. But we now learn that the Indianola _was_ destroyed in the Mississippi by the officers, upon the appearance of a simulated gun-boat sent down, without a crew! This was disgraceful, and some one should answer for it. Col. Godwin writes from King and Queen County, that many of the people there are deserting to the enemy, leaving their stock, provisions, grain, etc., and he asks permission to seize their abandoned property for the use of the government. Mr. Secretary Seddon demands more specific information before that step be taken. He intimates that they may have withdrawn to avoid conscription. MARCH 22D.--It was thawing all night, and there is a heavy fog this morning. The snow will disappear in a few days. A very large number of slaves, said to be nearly 40,000, have been collected by the enemy on the Peninsula and at adjacent points, for the purpose, it is supposed, of co-operating with Hooker's army in the next attempt to capture Richmond. The snow has laid an embargo on the usual slight supplies brought to market, and all who had made no provision for such a contingency are subsisting on very short-commons. Corn-meal is selling at from $6 to $8 per bushel. Chickens $5 each. Turkeys $20. Turnip greens $8 per bushel. Bad bacon $1.50 per pound. Bread 20 cts. per loaf. Flour $38 per barrel,--and other things in proportion. There are some pale faces seen in the streets from deficiency of food; but no beggars, no complaints. We are all in rags, especially our underclothes. This for liberty! The Northern journals say we have negro regiments on the Rappahannock and in the West. This is utterly untrue. We have no armed slaves to fight for us, nor do we fear a servile insurrection. We are at no loss, however, to interpret the meaning of such demoniac misrepresentations. It is to be seen of what value the negro regiments employed against us will be to the invader. MARCH 23D.--The snow has nearly disappeared, and the roads are very bad. No food is brought to the market, and such as may be found in the city is held at famine prices. I saw a letter to-day from Bishop Lay, in Arkansas. He says affairs in that State wear a dark and gloomy aspect. He thinks the State is lost. Gen. Beauregard writes the Hon. Mr. Miles that he has not men enough, nor heavy guns enough, for the defense of Charleston. If this were generally known, thousands would despair, being convinced that those charged with the reins of power are incompetent, unequal to the crisis, and destined to conduct them to destruction rather than independence. MARCH 24TH.--Judge Lyons has granted an injunction, arresting the impressment of flour by the Secretary of War, and Congress is debating a bill which, if passed, will be a marked rebuke to the government. Notwithstanding the wishes of the Secretary of War, the President, and Gen. Rains, Lt.-Col. Lay is _still_ exempting Marylanders, and even foreigners who have bought real estate, and resided for years in this country, if they have "not taken the oath of domicile." In Eastern Tennessee, 25,500 conscripts were enrolled, and yet only 6000 were added to the army. The rest were exempted, detailed, or deserted. Such is the working of the Conscription Act, fettered as it is by the Exemption Law, and still executed under Judge Campbell's decision. Gen. Rains has the title, but does not execute the functions of Superintendent of the Bureau of Conscription. The President has been informed of everything. MARCH 25TH.--We have no news to-day, excepting the falling back of Rosecrans from Murfreesborough, and a raid of Morgan and capture of a train of cars. Rosecrans means, perhaps, to aid in the occupation of the Mississippi River. It will be expensive in human life. Although our conscription is odious, yet we are collecting a thousand per week. The enemy say they will crush the rebellion in ninety days. In sixty days half their men will return to their homes, and then we may take Washington. God knows, but man does not, what will happen. MARCH 26TH.--We have dispatches (unofficial) from the West, stating that one of the enemy's gun-boats has been sunk in attempting to pass Vicksburg, and another badly injured. Also that an engagement has occurred on the Yazoo, the enemy having several gun-boats sunk, the rest being driven back. It snowed a little this morning, and is now clear and cold. Mr. Seddon is vexed at the unpopularity of the recent impressments by his order. It was an odious measure, because it did not go far enough and take all, distributing enough among the people to crush the extortioners. MARCH 27TH.--This is the day appointed by the President for fasting and prayers. Fasting in the midst of famine! May God save this people! The day will be observed throughout the Confederacy. The news from the West, destruction of more of the enemy's gun-boats, seems authentic. So far we have sustained no disasters this spring, the usual season of success of the enemy by water. Mr. G. W. Randolph was the counsel of the speculators whose flour was impressed, and yet this _man_, when Secretary of War, ordered similar impressments repeatedly. "Oh, man! dressed in a little brief authority," etc. Mr. Foote has brought forward a bill to prevent trading with the enemy. Col. Lay even gets his pipes from the enemy's country. Let Mr. Foote smoke that! A gentleman said, to-day, if the Yankees only knew it, they might derive all the benefits they seek by the impracticable scheme of subjugation, without the expenditure of human life, by simply redoubling the blockade of our ports, withdrawing their armies to the borders, and facilitating trade between the sections. We would not attack them in their own country, and in a month millions of their products would be pouring into the South, and cotton, tobacco, etc. would go to the North in vast quantities. I wonder the smart Yankee never thinks of this! Let both sides give passports freely, and an unlimited intercourse would be immediately established. MARCH 28TH.--We have nothing additional or confirmatory from the West. A letter from Gen. Beauregard states that he has but 17,000 men in South Carolina, and 10,000 in Georgia, 27,000 in all. He asks more, as he will be assailed, probably, by 100,000 Federals. The President refers this important letter to the Secretary of War, simply with the indorsement, "this is an exact statement of affairs in South Carolina and Georgia." Col. Lay predicts that we shall be beaten in thirty days, or else we shall then be in the way of beating the enemy. A safe prediction--but what is his belief? This deponent saith not. There will be fearful odds against us, and yet our men in the field fear nothing. We are sending Napoleons up to Lee. But the weather, which has been fine for the last two days, is wet again. If Hooker makes a premature advance, he will be sure to "march back again." An amusing letter was received from an officer in Tennessee to-day. He was taken prisoner by seven Federals when straying some distance from camp, and subsequently hearing the men express some anxiety to be at home again with their families, gave them some brandy which he happened to possess. He then suggested a plan by which they might return to their homes, viz., to become his prisoners, and being paroled by him. After consultation, they agreed to it, and released him. He then paroled them, giving them the usual certificates to exhibit to their officer, and so, taking another drink, they pursued their different ways. If this disposition prevails extensively among the Western Federals, we may look for speedy results in that quarter. Rosecrans may lose his laurels in a most unexpected manner. MARCH 29TH.--No news. Yet a universal expectation. What is expected is not clearly defined. Those who are making money rapidly no doubt desire a prolongation of the war, irrespective of political consequences. But the people, the majority in the United States, seem to have lost their power. And their representatives in Congress are completely subordinated by the Executive, and rendered subservient to his will. President Lincoln can have any measure adopted or any measure defeated, at pleasure. Such is the irresistible power of enormous executive patronage. He may extend the sessions or terminate them, and so, all power, for the time being, reposes in the hands of the President. A day of reckoning will come, for the people of the United States will resume the powers of which the war has temporarily dispossessed them, or else there will be disruptions, and civil war will submerge the earth in blood. The time has not arrived, or else the right men have not arisen, for the establishment of despotisms. Everything depends upon the issues of the present campaign, and upon them it may be bootless to speculate. No one may foretell the fortunes of war--I mean where victory will ultimately perch in this frightful struggle. We are environed and invaded by not less than 600,000 men in arms, and we have not in the field more than 250,000 to oppose them. But we have the advantage of occupying the interior position, always affording superior facilities for concentration. Besides, our men _must_ prevail in combat, or lose their property, country, freedom, everything,--at least this is their conviction. On the other hand, the enemy, in yielding the contest, may retire into their own country, and possess everything they enjoyed before the war began. Hence it may be confidently believed that in all the battles of this spring, when the numbers are nearly equal, the Confederates will be the victors, and even when the enemy have superior numbers, the armies of the South will fight with Roman desperation. The conflict will be appalling and sanguinary beyond example, provided the invader stand up to it. That much is certain. And if our armies are overthrown, we may be no nearer peace than before. The paper money would be valueless, and the large fortunes accumulated by the speculators, turning to dust and ashes on their lips, might engender a new exasperation, resulting in a regenerated patriotism and a universal determination to achieve independence or die in the attempt. MARCH 30TH.--Gen. Bragg dispatches the government that Gen. Forrest has captured 800 prisoners in Tennessee, and several thousand of our men are making a successful raid in Kentucky. Gen. Whiting makes urgent calls for reinforcements at Wilmington, and cannot be supplied with many. Gen. Lee announces to the War Department that the spring campaign is now open, and his army may be in motion any day. Col. Godwin (of King and Queen County) is here trying to prevail on the Secretary of War to put a stop to the blockade-runners, Jews, and spies, daily passing through his lines with passports from Gens. Elzey and Winder. He says the persons engaged in this illicit traffic are all extortioners and spies, and $50,000 worth of goods from the enemy's country pass daily. Col. Lay still repudiates Judge Meredith's decision in his instructions to the Commandants of Camps of Instruction. Well, if we have a superabundance of fighting men in the field, the foreign-born denizens and Marylanders can remain at home and make money while the country that protects them is harried by the invader. The gaunt form of wretched famine still approaches with rapid strides. Meal is now selling at $12 per bushel, and potatoes at $16. Meats have almost disappeared from the market, and none but the opulent can afford to pay $3.50 per pound for butter. _Greens_, however, of various kinds, are coming in; and as the season advances, we may expect a diminution of prices. It is strange that on the 30th of March, even in the "sunny South," the fruit-trees are as bare of blossoms and foliage as at mid-winter. We shall have fire until the middle of May,--six months of winter! I am spading up my little garden, and hope to raise a few vegetables to eke out a miserable subsistence for my family. My daughter Ann reads Shakspeare to me o' nights, which saves my eyes. MARCH 31ST.--Another stride of the grim specter, and corn-meal is selling for $17 per bushel. Coal at $20.50 per ton, and wood at $30 per cord. And at these prices one has to wait several days to get either. Common tallow candles are selling at $1 per pound. I see that some furnished houses are now advertised for rent; and I hope that all the population that can get away, and subsist elsewhere, will leave the city. The lower house of Congress has passed a most enormous tax bill, which I apprehend cannot be enforced, if it becomes a law. It will close half the shops--but that may be beneficial, as thousands have rushed into trade and become extortioners. I see some batteries of light artillery going toward Petersburg. This is to be used against the enemy when he advances in that direction from Suffolk. No doubt another attempt will be made to capture Richmond. But Lee knows the programme, I doubt not. CHAPTER XXV. Symptoms of bread riots.--Lee forming depots of provisions near the Rappahannock.--Beauregard ready to defend Charleston.--He has rebuffed the enemy severely.--French and British advancing money on cotton.--The Yankees can beat us in bargaining.--Gen. Lee anxious for new supplies.--The President appeals to the people to raise food for man and beast.--Federal and Confederate troops serenading each other on the Rappahannock.--Cobbler's wages $3000 per annum.--Wrangling in the Indian country.--Only 700 conscripts per month from Virginia.-- Longstreet at Suffolk.--The President's well eye said to be failing.--A "reconnoissance!"--We are planting much grain.--Picking up pins.--Beautiful season.--Gen. Johnston in Tennessee.-- Longstreet's successes in that State.--Lee complains that his army is not fed.--We fear for Vicksburg now.--Enemy giving up plunder in Mississippi.--Beauregard is busy at Charleston.--Gen. Marshall, of Kentucky, fails to get stock and hogs.--Gen. Lee calls for Longstreet's corps.--The enemy demonstrating on the Rappahannock. APRIL 1ST.--It is said we have taken Washington, a village in North Carolina. And it is represented that large supplies of meat, etc. can be taken from thence and the adjacent counties. Every day we look for important intelligence from Charleston, and from the West. Mr. Seddon, the Secretary of War, has receded from his position in regard to resident aliens. APRIL 2D.--This morning early a few hundred women and boys met as by concert in the Capitol Square, saying they were hungry, and must have food. The number continued to swell until there were more than a thousand. But few men were among them, and these were mostly foreign residents, with exemptions in their pockets. About nine A.M. the mob emerged from the western gates of the square, and proceeded down Ninth Street, passing the War Department, and crossing Main Street, increasing in magnitude at every step, but preserving silence and (so far) good order. Not knowing the meaning of such a procession, I asked a pale boy where they were going. A young woman, seemingly emaciated, but yet with a smile, answered that they were going to find something to eat. I could not, for the life of me, refrain from expressing the hope that they might be successful; and I remarked they were going in the right direction to find plenty in the hands of the extortioners. I did not follow, to see what they did; but I learned an hour after that they marched through Cary Street, and entered diverse stores of the speculators, which they proceeded to empty of their contents. They impressed all the carts and drays in the street, which were speedily laden with meal, flour, shoes, etc. I did not learn whither these were driven; but probably they were rescued from those in charge of them. Nevertheless, an immense amount of provisions, and other articles, were borne by the mob, which continued to increase in numbers. An eye-witness says he saw a boy come out of a store with a hat full of money (notes); and I learned that when the mob turned up into Main Street, when all the shops were by this time closed, they broke in the plate-glass windows, demanding silks, jewelry, etc. Here they were incited to pillage valuables, not necessary for subsistence, by the class of residents (aliens) exempted from military duty by Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, in contravention of Judge Meredith's decision. Thus the work of spoliation went on, until the military appeared upon the scene, summoned by Gov. Letcher, whose term of service is near its close. He had the Riot Act read (by the mayor), and then threatened to fire on the mob. He gave them five minutes' time to disperse in, threatening to use military force (the city battalion being present) if they did not comply with the demand. The timid women fell back, and a pause was put to the devastation, though but few believed he would venture to put his threat in execution. If he had done so, he would have been hung, no doubt. About this time the President appeared, and ascending a dray, spoke to the people. He urged them to return to their homes, so that the bayonets there menacing them might be sent against the common enemy. He told them that such acts would bring _famine_ upon them in the only form which could not be provided against, as it would deter people from bringing food to the city. He said he was willing to share his last loaf with the suffering people (his best horse had been stolen the night before), and he trusted we would all bear our privations with fortitude, and continue united against the Northern invaders, who were the authors of all our sufferings. He seemed deeply moved; and indeed it was a frightful spectacle, and perhaps an ominous one, if the government does not remove some of the quartermasters who have contributed very much to bring about the evil of scarcity. I mean those who have allowed transportation to forestallers and extortioners. Gen. Elzey and Gen. Winder waited upon the Secretary of War in the morning, asking permission to call the troops from the camps near the city, to suppress the women and children by a summary process. But Mr. Seddon hesitated, and then declined authorizing any such absurdity. He said it was a municipal or State duty, and therefore he would not take the responsibility of interfering in the matter. Even in the moment of aspen consternation, he was still the politician. I have not heard of any injuries sustained by the women and children. Nor have I heard how many stores the mob visited; and it must have been many. All is quiet now (three P.M.); and I understand the government is issuing rice to the people. APRIL 3D.--Gen. D. H. Hill writes from North Carolina that the business of conscription is miserably mismanaged in that State. The whole business, it seems, has resolved itself into a machine for making money and putting pets in office. No account of yesterday's riot appeared in the papers to-day, for obvious reasons. The mob visited most of the shops, and the pillage was pretty extensive. Crowds of women, Marylanders and foreigners, were standing at the street corners to-day, still demanding food; which, it is said, the government issued to them. About midday the City Battalion was marched down Main Street to disperse the crowd. Congress has resolved to adjourn on the 20th April. The tax bill has not passed both Houses yet. Gen. Blanchard has been relieved of his command in Louisiana. He was another general from Massachusetts. APRIL 4TH.--It is the belief of some that the riot was a premeditated affair, stimulated from the North, and executed through the instrumentality of emissaries. Some of the women, and others, have been arrested. We have news of the capture of another of the enemy's gun-boats, in Berwick Bay, Louisiana, with five guns. It is said to have been done by _cavalry_. A dispatch just received from Charleston states that the enemy's monitors were approaching the forts, seven in number, and that the attack was commencing. This is _joyful_ news to our people, so confident are they that Gen. Beauregard will beat them. APRIL 5TH.--Snow fell all night, and a depth of several inches covers the earth this morning. It will soon melt, however, as it is now raining. The Northern invaders who anticipate a pleasant sojourn during the winter and spring in this climate, have been very disagreeably disappointed in these expectations. A surgeon was arrested yesterday for saying there was "a power behind the throne greater than the throne." Upon being asked by the mayor what power he alluded to, he answered "the people." He was released. APRIL 6TH.--It seems that it was a mistake about the enemy's monitors approaching the forts in Charleston harbor; but the government has dispatches to the effect that important movements are going on, not very distant from Charleston, the precise nature of which is not yet permitted to transpire. Generals Johnston and Bragg write that Gen. Pillow has secured ten times as many conscripts, under their orders, as the bureau in Richmond would have done. Judge Campbell, as Assistant Secretary of War, having arrested Gen. P.'s operations, Generals J. and B. predict that our army in Tennessee will begin, immediately, to diminish in numbers. The rails of the York River Railroad are being removed to-day toward Danville, in view of securing a connection with the N. C. Central Road. It seems that the government thinks the enemy will again possess the York River Railroad, but it cannot be possible a retreat _out of Virginia_ is meditated. APRIL 7TH.--Nothing definite has transpired at Charleston, or if so, we have not received information of it yet. From the West, we have accounts, from Northern papers, of the failure of the Yankee Yazoo expedition. That must have its effect. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, has decided in one instance (page 125, E. B. Conscript Bureau), that a paroled political prisoner, returning to the South, is not subject to conscription. This is in violation of an act of Congress, and general orders. It appears that grave judges are not all inflexibly just, and immaculately legal in their decisions. Col. Lay ordered the commandant of conscripts (Col. Shields) to give the man a protection, without any reason therefor. It is now said large depots of provisions are being formed on the Rappahannock. This does not look like an indication of a retrograde movement on the part of Gen. Lee. Perhaps he will _advance_. This afternoon dispatches were received from Charleston. Notwithstanding all the rumors relative to the hostile fleet being elsewhere, it is now certain that all the monitors, iron-clads, and transports have succeeded in passing the bar, and at the last accounts were in readiness to begin the attack. And Beauregard was prepared to receive it. To-morrow we shall have exciting intelligence. If we are to believe what we hear from South Carolinians, recently from Charleston (I do believe it), _Charleston_ will not be taken. If the ground be taken, it will not be Charleston. If the forts fall, and our two rams be taken or destroyed, the defenders will still resist. Rifle-pits have been dug in the streets; and if driven from these, there are batteries beyond to sweep the streets, thus involving the enemy and the city in one common ruin. APRIL 8TH.--We learn to-day that the enemy bombarded our forts at Charleston, yesterday, two hours and a half. But few of our men were injured, and the forts sustained no damage of consequence. On the other hand, several of the iron-clads and monitors of the enemy were badly crippled; one of the latter, supposed to be the Keokuk, was sunk. Since then the bombardment has not been renewed. But no doubt the enemy will make other efforts to reduce a city which is the particular object of their vengeance. Every one is on the _qui vive_ for further news from Charleston. Success there will make Beauregard the most popular man in the Confederacy, Lee excepted. Speculation is running wild in this city; and the highest civil and military officers are said to be engaged, directly or indirectly, in the disgraceful business of smuggling. Mr. Memminger cannot be ignorant of this; and yet these men are allowed to retain their places. APRIL 9TH.--Nothing additional has occurred at Charleston, the enemy not having renewed the attack. At Vicksburg all was quiet, and the enemy abandoning their canal. Such news must have a depressing effect upon the North. They will see that their monitors and iron-clads have lost their terrors. They have lost some twenty war steamers within the last few months; and how many of their merchantmen have been destroyed on the ocean, we have no means of knowing. British and French capitalists have taken a cotton loan of $15,000,000, which is now selling at a premium of four per cent. in those countries. Our government can, if it will, soon have a navy of Alabamas and Floridas. But we are in danger of being sold to the enemy by the blockade-runners in this city. High officers, civil and military, are said, perhaps maliciously, to be engaged in the unlawful trade hitherto carried on by the Jews. It is said that the flag of truce boats serve as a medium of negotiations between official dignitaries here and those at Washington; and I have no doubt many of the Federal officers at Washington, for the sake of lucre, make no scruple to participate in the profits of this treasonable traffic. They can beat us at this game: cheat us in bargaining, and excel us in obtaining information as to the number and position of troops, fortifications, etc. APRIL 10TH.--We are not informed of a renewal of the attack on Charleston. It is said our shot penetrated the turret of the Keokuk, sunk. In New York they have been exulting over the capture of Charleston, and gold declined heavily. This report was circulated by some of the government officials, at Washington, for purposes of speculation. Col. Lay announced, to-day, that he had authority (oral) from Gen. Cooper, A. and I. G., to accept Marylanders as substitutes. Soon after he ordered in two, in place of Louisianian sutlers, whom he accompanied subsequently--I know not whither. But this verbal authority is in the teeth of published orders. APRIL 11TH.--Gen. Beauregard telegraphs that Gen. Walker has destroyed another Federal gun-boat in Coosa River. They are looking for a renewal of the attack on Charleston, and are ready for it. Gen. Lee writes that he is about sending a cavalry brigade into Loudon County to bring off commissary's and quartermaster's stores. This will frighten the people in Washington City! He also writes that, unless the railroads be repaired, so as to admit of speedier transportation of supplies, he cannot maintain his present position much longer. The President has published a proclamation, to-day, appealing to the patriotism of the people, and urging upon them to abstain from the growth of cotton and tobacco, and raise food for man and beast. Appended to this is a plan, "suggested by the Secretary of War," to obtain from the people an immediate supply of meat, etc. in the various counties and parishes. This is _my_ plan, so politely declined by the Secretary! Well, if it will benefit the government, the government is welcome to it; and Mr. Seddon to the credit of it. APRIL 12TH.--Gen. Van Dorn, it is reported, has captured or destroyed another gun-boat in the West. Night before last another riot was looked for in this city by the mayor, and two battalions of Gen. Elzey's troops were ordered into the city. If the President could only see the necessity of placing this city under the command of a native Southern general, he might avoid much obloquy. The Smiths, Winders, and Elzeys, who are really foreigners, since the men from their States are not liable to conscription (vide Judge Campbell's decision), are very obnoxious to the people. Virginians can never be reconciled to the presence of a mercenary Swiss guard, and will not submit to imported masters. Notwithstanding the _Enquirer_ urges it, and Mr. Barksdale, of Mississippi, persistently advocates it, Congress still refuses to confer additional powers on the President. Twice, within the last week, Congress has voted down the proposition to clothe the President with power to suspend the writ of _habeas corpus_. Congress has likewise refused to reconsider the vote postponing the consideration of the bill to create a Court of Claims. Judge S----was here, working for it; but was doomed to disappointment. A few nights since a full Federal band came within a hundred yards of our men, the Rappahannock only separating them, and played "Dixie." Our men cheered them lustily. Then they played "Yankee Doodle," when the Yankees cheered. After this they played "Home, sweet Home!" and all parties cheered them. There may be something significant in this. The pickets have orders not to fire on each other, when no demonstration is in progress. Our members of Congress get salaries of $2750. A cobbler (free negro), who mends shoes for my family, told me yesterday that he earned $10 per day, or $3000 per annum. A pair of pantaloons now costs $40; boots, $60; and so on. We have warm weather at last, and dry. Armies will soon be in motion. Our government and people seem now to despair of European intervention. But the President says our armies are more numerous, and better armed and disciplined than at any period during the war. Hence the contest will be maintained indefinitely for independence. With these feelings the third year of the war opens. May God have mercy on the guilty men who determine more blood shall be shed. The South would willingly cease the sanguinary strife, if the invader would retire from our territory; but just as willingly will she fight hereafter as heretofore, so long as a foeman sets foot upon her soil. It must soon be seen with what alacrity our people will rush to the battle-field! APRIL 13TH.--The Federal monitors, gun-boats, and transports no more menace the City of Charleston! The fleet has sailed away, several of the iron-clads towed out of the harbor being badly damaged. But before leaving that part of the coast, the Yankees succeeded in intercepting and sinking the merchant steamer Leopard, having 40,000 pairs of shoes, etc. on board for our soldiers. It is supposed they will reappear before Wilmington; our batteries there are ready for them. Gen. Wise assailed the enemy on Saturday, at Williamsburg, captured the town, and drove the Federals into their fort--Magruder. The President was ill and nervous on Saturday. His wife, who lost her parent at Montgomery, Ala., a month ago, and who repaired thither, is still absent. Congress still refuses to clothe the President with dictatorial powers. Senator Oldham, of Texas, made a furious assault on the Secretary of War, last Saturday. He says Senators, on the most urgent public business, are subjected to the necessity of writing their names on a slate, and then awaiting the pleasure of some lackey for permission to enter the Secretary's office. He was quite severe in his remarks, and moved a call on the President for certain information he desired. The _Sentinel_ abuses Congress for differing with the President in regard to the retention of diplomatic agents in London, etc. And the _Enquirer_, edited by John Mitchel, the fugitive Irishman, opens its batteries on the _Sentinel_. So we go. APRIL 14TH.--We have nothing additional from Gen. Wise's expedition against Williamsburg; but it was deprecated by our people here, whose families and negroes have been left in that vicinity. They argue that we cannot hold the town, or any portion of the Peninsula in the neighborhood; and when the troops retire, the enemy will subject the women and children to more rigorous treatment, and take all the slaves. We have news from Tennessee, which seems to indicate that Gen. Van Dorn has been beaten, losing a battery, after a sanguinary battle of several hours. Van Dorn had only cavalry--7000. This has a depressing effect. It seems that we lose all the battles of any magnitude in the West. This news may have been received by the President in advance of the public, and hence his indisposition. We shall have news now every day or so. Albert Pike is out in a pamphlet against Gens. Holmes and Hindman. He says their operations in Arkansas have resulted in reducing our forces, in that State, from forty odd thousand to less than 17,000. It was imprudent to publish such a statement. Albert Pike is a native Yankee, but he has lived a long time in the South. Gov. Vance is furious at the idea of conscribing magistrates, constables, etc. in North Carolina. He says it would be an annihilation of State Rights--nevertheless, being subject to militia duty by the laws of the State, they are liable under the Act of Conscription. Well, we are getting only some 700 conscripts per month in Virginia--the largest State! At this rate, how are we to replenish the ranks as they become thinned in battle? It is to be hoped the enemy will find the same difficulty in filling up their regiments, else we have rather a gloomy prospect before us. But God can and will save us if it be His pleasure. APRIL 15TH.--There is a dispatch, unofficial, from the West, contradicting the news of the defeat of Van Dorn. On the Cumberland River, another dispatch says, we have met with new successes, capturing or destroying several more gun-boats. And Wheeler has certainly captured a railroad train in the rear of the enemy, containing a large sum of Federal money, and a number of officers. We have nothing from the South, except a letter from Gen. Whiting, in regard to some demonstration at Bull Bay, S. C. Major Griswold, Provost Marshal, is now himself on trial before a court-martial, for allowing 200 barrels of spirits to come into the city. He says he had an order from the Surgeon-General; but what right had he to give such orders? It is understood he will resign, irrespective of the decision of the court. Congress, yesterday (the House of Representatives), passed a series of resolutions, denying the authority of the government to declare martial law, such as existed in this city under the administration of Gen. Winder. It was a great blunder, and alienated thousands. We have a seasonable rain to-day. APRIL 16TH.--The Federal papers have heard of the failure to take Charleston, and the sinking of the Keokuk; and yet they strive to mollify the disaster, and represent that but little damage was sustained by the rest of the fleet. Those that escaped, they say, have proved themselves invulnerable. The Keokuk had ninety shots on the water line. No wonder it sunk! Gen. Longstreet has invested Suffolk, this side of Norfolk, after destroying one gun-boat and crippling another in the Nansemond River. Unless the enemy get reinforcements, the garrison at Suffolk may be forced to surrender. Perhaps our general may storm their works! I learn, to-day, that the remaining eye of the President is failing. Total blindness would incapacitate him for the executive office. A fearful thing to contemplate! APRIL 17TH.--From the Northern papers we learn that the defeat at Charleston is called by the enemy a RECONNOISSANCE. This causes us much merriment here; McClellan's defeat was called a "strategical movement," and "change of base." We have some rumors to-day, to the effect that Gen. Hill is likely to take Washington and Newbern, N. C.; Gen. Longstreet, Suffolk; and Gen. Wise, Fort Magruder, and the Peninsula--he has not troops enough. Gold advanced 7 per cent. in New York when the news of the "reconnoissance" reached that city. We are planting almost every acre in grain, to the exclusion of cotton and tobacco--resolved never to be _starved_, nor even feel a scarcity of provisions in future. We shall be cutting wheat in another month in Alabama and other States. Among the other rumors, it is said Hooker is falling back toward Washington, but these are merely rumors. The President is in a very feeble and nervous condition, and is really threatened with the loss of sight altogether. But he works on; and few or no visitors are admitted. He remains at his dwelling, and has not been in the executive office these ten days. Col. Lay was merry again to-day. He ordered in another foreign substitute (in North Carolina). Pins are so scarce and costly, that it is now a pretty general practice to stoop down and pick up any found in the street. The boarding-houses are breaking up, and rooms, furnished and unfurnished, are rented out to messes. One dollar and fifty cents for beef, leaves no margin for profit, even at $100 per month, which is charged for board, and most of the boarders cannot afford to pay that price. Therefore they take rooms, and buy their own scanty food. I am inclined to think provisions would not be deficient, to an alarming extent, if they were equally distributed. Wood is no scarcer than before the war, and yet $30 per load (less than a cord) is demanded for it, and obtained. The other day Wilmington _might_ have been taken, for the troops were sent to Beauregard. Their places have since been filled by a brigade from Longstreet. It is a monstrous undertaking to attempt to subjugate so vast a country as this, even with its disparity of population. We have superior facilities for concentration, while the invader must occupy, or penetrate the outer lines of the circumference. Our danger is from within, not from without. We are distressed more by the extortioners than by the enemy. Eternal infamy on the heads of speculators in articles of prime necessity! After the war, let them be known by the fortunes they have amassed from the sufferings of the patriots and heroes!--the widows and orphans! This day is the anniversary of the secession of Virginia. The government at Washington did not believe the separation would last two years! Nor do they believe now, perhaps, that it will continue two years longer. APRIL 18TH.--We have nothing more from the Peninsula, Suffolk, N. C., or South Carolina; but it is rumored that the enemy's gun-boats (seven or eight) have passed down the Mississippi in spite of our batteries at Vicksburg, which sunk one of them. If this be true, it is bad news. We have lovely weather now, and vegetation shows signs of the return of the vernal season. We shall soon have blossoms and roses in abundance, and table vegetables too, to dispel the fears of famine. But we shall also have the horrid sounds of devastating war; and many a cheerful dame and damsel to-day, must soon put on the weeds of mourning. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston has assumed the command of the army of Tennessee. Gen. Howell Cobb is preparing for the defense of Florida. We do not hear a word from Lee or Jackson--but this is the ominous silence preceding their decisive action. Bacon fell to-day from $2 to $1.50 per pound, and butter from $3.50 to $3.25; potatoes are $16 per bushel. And yet they say there is no scarcity in the country. Such supplies are hoarded and hidden to extort high prices from the destitute. An intelligent gentleman from North Carolina told me, to-day, that food was never more abundant in his State; nevertheless, the extortioners are demanding there very high prices. This evening we have dispatches (unofficial) confirmatory of the passing of Vicksburg by the enemy's gun-boats. One of them was destroyed, and two disabled, while five got by uninjured. This is not cheering. No doubt an attack by land will be made, by superior numbers, and blood will gush in streams! It is now said that Longstreet has captured two gun-boats in the Nansemond, and taken 600 prisoners; and that the Yankees in Norfolk have been thrown into great commotion. The general in command there, Veillé, has adopted very stringent measures to keep the people sympathizing with our cause in subjection. Perhaps he fears an outbreak. The weather continues fine, and we must soon have important operations in the field. APRIL 19TH, SUNDAY.--It is now said Longstreet captured two transports, instead of gun-boats, and 600 prisoners. _Mr. Benjamin_ reports that the enemy's gun-boats, which passed Vicksburg, have recaptured the Queen of the West! It must be so, since he says so. Mr. Baldwin, the other day, in Congress, asserted a fact, on his own knowledge, that an innocent man had been confined in prison nearly two years, in consequence of a mistake of one of Gen. Winder's subordinates in writing his name, which was Simons; he wrote it Simmons! APRIL 20TH.--We have nothing definite from Suffolk, or from Washington, N. C. But we have Northern accounts of their great disaster at Charleston. It appears that during the brief engagement on the 7th inst., all their monitors were so badly damaged that they were unable to prolong or to renew the contest. They will have to be taken to New York for repairs; and will not go into service again before autumn. Thus, after nearly a year's preparation, and the expenditure of $100,000,000, all their hopes, so far as Charleston is concerned, have been frustrated in a few brief hours, under the fire of Beauregard's batteries. They complain that England furnished us with the steel-pointed balls that penetrated their iron turrets. To this there can be no objection; indeed it may be productive of good, by involving the Abolitionists in a new quarrel: but it is due to candor to state that the balls complained of were manufactured in this city. It was a Federal account of the retaking the Queen of the West, reported by Mr. Benjamin; and hence, it is not generally believed. It is thought by many that Hooker will change his base from the Rappahannock to the Pamunky, embarking his army in transports. If this be so, we shall again have the pleasure of hearing the thunders of battle, this summer, in Richmond. Gen. Lee has been quite ill, but is now recovering. APRIL 21ST.--Gen. Longstreet lost, it is said, two 32-pounder guns yesterday, with which he was firing on the enemy's gun-boats. A force was landed and captured the battery. Gen. Lee writes that his men have each, daily, but a quarter pound of meat and 16 ounces of flour. They have, besides, 1 pound of rice to every ten men, two or three times a week. He says this may keep them _alive_; but that at this season they should have more generous food. The scurvy and the typhoid fever are appearing among them. Longstreet and Hill, however, it is hoped will succeed in bringing off supplies of provision, etc.--such being the object of their demonstrations. Gen. Wise has fallen back, being ordered by Gen. Elzey not to attempt the capture of Fort Magruder--a feat he could have accomplished. APRIL 22D.--The President is reported to be very ill to-day--dangerously ill--with inflammation of the throat, etc. While this is a source of grief to nearly all, it is the subject of secret joy to others. I am sure I have seen some officers of rank to-day, not _fighting_ officers, who sincerely hope the President will not recover. He has his faults, but upon the whole is no doubt well qualified for the position he occupies. I trust he will recover. The destruction of the Queen of the West, and of another of our steamers, is confirmed. Is not Pemberton and Blanchard responsible? The loss of two guns and forty men the other day, on the Nansemond, is laid at the door of Major-Gen. French, a Northern man! Can it be Gen. Cooper (Northern) who procures the appointment of so many Northern generals in our army? I cut the following from the _Dispatch_ of yesterday: _Produce, etc._--Bacon has further declined, and we now quote $1.25 to $1.30 for hog-round; butter, $2.25 to $3 per pound; beans in demand at $20 per bushel. Corn is lower--we quote at $6 to $6.50 per bushel; corn meal, $7 to $9 per bushel--the latter figure for a limited quantity; candles, $3.50 to $3.75 per pound; fruit--dried apples, $10 to $12; dried peaches, $15 to $18 per bushel; flour--superfine, $31 to $32; extra, $34; family, $36; hay is in very small supply--sales at $15 per cwt.; lard, $1.65 to $1.70 per pound; potatoes--Irish, $3 to $10; sweet, $10 to $11 per bushel; rice, 25 to 33 cents per pound; wheat, $6.50 to $7 per bushel. _Groceries._--Sugars have a declining tendency: we quote brown at $1.15 to $1.25; molasses, $9 to $10 per gallon; coffee, $4 to $4.50; salt, 45 cents per pound; whisky, $28 to $35; apple brandy, $24 to $25; French brandy, $65 per gallon. APRIL 23D.--The President's health is improving. His eye is better; and he would have been in his office to-day (the first time for three weeks) if the weather (raining) had been fine. The expenses of the war amount now to $60,000,000 per month, or $720,000,000 per annum. This enormous expenditure is owing to the absurd prices charged for supplies by the farmers, to save whose slaves and farms the war is waged, in great part. They are charging the government $20 per hundred weight, or $400 per ton for hay! Well, we shall soon see if they be reluctant to pay the taxes soon to be required of them--one-tenth of all their crops, etc. If they refuse to pay, then what will they deserve? APRIL 24TH.--We lost five fine guns and over a hundred men on the Nansemond; and we learn that more of the enemy's gun-boats and transports have passed Vicksburg! These are untoward tidings. Gens. Pemberton and French are severely criticised. We had a tragedy in the street to-day, near the President's office. It appears that Mr. Dixon, Clerk of the House of Representatives, recently dismissed one of his under clerks, named Ford, for reasons which I have not heard; whereupon the latter notified the former of an intention to assault him whenever they should meet. About two P.M. they met in Bank Street; Ford asked Dixon if he was ready; and upon an affirmative response being given, they both drew their revolvers and commenced firing. Dixon missed Ford, and was wounded by his antagonist, but did not fall. He attempted to fire again, but the pistol missed fire. Ford's next shot missed D. and wounded a man in Main Street, some seventy paces beyond; but his next fire took effect in Dixon's breast, who fell and expired in a few moments. Many of our people think that because the terms of enlistment of so many in the Federal army will expire next month, we shall not have an active spring campaign. It may be so; but I doubt it. Blood must flow as freely as ever! APRIL 25TH.--We have bad news from the West. The enemy (cavalry, I suppose) have penetrated Mississippi some 200 miles, down to the railroad between Vicksburg and Meridian. This is in the rear and east of Vicksburg, and intercepts supplies. They destroyed two trains. This dispatch was sent to the Secretary of War by the President without remark. The _Enquirer_ this morning contained a paragraph stating that Gen. Pemberton was exchanging civilities with Gen. Sherman, and had sent him a beautiful bouquet! Did he have any conception of the surprise the enemy was executing at the moment? Well, Mississippi is the President's State, and if he is satisfied with Northern generals to defend it, he is as likely to be benefited as any one else. Gen. Beauregard is urging the government to send more heavy guns to Savannah. I saw an officer to-day just from Charleston. He says none of the enemy's vessels came nearer than 900 yards of our batteries, and that the Northern statements about the monitors becoming entangled with obstructions are utterly false, for there were no obstructions in the water to impede them. But he says one of the monitors was directly over a torpedo, containing 4000 pounds of powder, which we essayed in vain to ignite. APRIL 26TH.--This being Sunday I shall hear no news, for I will not be in any of the departments. There is a vague understanding that notwithstanding the repulse of the enemy at Charleston, still the Federal Government collects the duties on merchandise brought into that port, and, indeed, into all other ports. These importations, although purporting to be conducted by British adventurers, it is said are really contrived by Northern merchants, who send hither (with the sanction of the Federal Government, by paying the duty in advance) British and French goods, and in return ship our cotton to Liverpool, etc., whence it is sometimes reshipped to New York. The duties paid the United States are of course paid by the consumers in the Confederate States, in the form of an additional per centum on the prices of merchandise. Some suppose this arrangement has the sanction of certain members of our government. The plausibility of this scheme (if it really exists) is the fact that steamers having munitions of war rarely get through the blockading fleet without trouble, while those having only merchandise arrive in safety almost daily. Gen. D. Green intimates that Mr. Memminger, and Frazer & Co., Charleston, are personally interested in the profits of heavy importations. APRIL 27TH.--A dispatch from Montgomery, Ala., states that the enemy have penetrated as far as Enterprise, Miss., where we had a small body of troops, conscripts. If this be merely a raid, it is an extraordinary one, and I feel some anxiety to learn the conclusion of it. It is hard to suppose a small force of the enemy would evince such temerity. But if it be supported by an army, and the position maintained, Vicksburg is doomed. We shall get no more sugar from Louisiana. APRIL 28TH.--The enemy's raid in Mississippi seems to have terminated at Enterprise, where we collected a force and offered battle, but the invaders retreated. It is said they had 1600 cavalry and 5 guns, and the impression prevails that but few of them will ever return. It is said they sent back a detachment of 200 men some days ago with their booty, watches, spoons, jewelry, etc. rifled from the habitations of the non-combating people. I saw Brig.-Gen. Chilton to-day, Chief of Gen. Lee's Staff. He says, when the time comes, Gen. Lee will do us all justice. I asked him if Richmond were safe, and he responded in the affirmative. I am glad the Secretary of War has stopped the blockade-running operations of Gen. Winder and Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War. Until to-day, Gen. W. issued many passports which were invariably approved by Judge Campbell, but for some cause, and Heaven knows there is cause enough, Mr. Secretary has ordered that no more passports be granted Marylanders or foreigners to depart from the Confederacy. I hope Mr. S. will not "back down" from this position. To-day I returned to the department from the Bureau of Conscription, being required at my old post by Mr. Kean, Chief of the Bureau of War, my friend, Jacques, being out of town with a strangury. Thus it is; when Congress meets I am detailed on service out of the department, and when Congress adjourns they send for me back again. Do they object to my acquaintance with the members? A few weeks ago I addressed the President a letter suggesting that an alphabetical analysis be made of letter and indorsement books, embracing principles of decisions, and not names. This I did for the Bureau of Conscription, which was found very useful. Precedents could thus be readily referred to when, as was often the case, the names of parties could not be recollected. It happened, singularly enough, that this paper came into my hands with forty-nine others to-day, at the department, where I shall wholly remain hereafter. The President seemed struck with the idea, and indorsed a reference on it to the "State, Treasury, War, and Navy Departments," and also to the Attorney General. I shall be curious to know what the Secretary thinks of this plan. No matter what the Secretary of War thinks of it; he declined my plan of deriving supplies directly from the people, and then adopted it. APRIL 29TH.--Gen. Beauregard is eager to have completed the "Torpedo Ram," building at Charleston, and wants a "great gun" for it. But the Secretary of the Navy wants all the iron for _mailing_ his gun-boats. Mr. Miles, of South Carolina, says the ram will be worth two gun-boats. The President of the Manassas Gap Railroad says his company is bringing all its old iron to the city. Wherefore? The merchants of Mobile are protesting against the impressment by government agents of the sugar and molasses in the city. They say this conduct will double the prices. So Congress did not and cannot restrain the military authorities. Gen. Humphrey Marshall met with no success in Kentucky. He writes that none joined him, when he was led to expect large accessions, and that he could get neither stock nor hogs. Alas, poor Kentucky! The brave hunters of former days have disappeared from the scene. The Secretary of War was not _permitted_ to see my letter which the President referred to him, in relation to an alphabetical analysis of the decisions of the departments. The _Assistant_ Secretary, Judge Campbell, and the young Chief of the Bureau of War, sent it to the Secretary of the Navy, who, of course, they knew had no decisions to be preserved. Mr. Kean, I learn, indorsed a hearty approval of the plan, and said he would put it in operation in the War Office. But he said (with his concurrence, no doubt) that _Judge Campbell_ had suggested it some time before. Well, that may be; but I first suggested it a year ago, and before either Mr. K. or Judge Campbell were in office. Office makes curious changes in men! Still, I think Mr. Seddon badly used in not being permitted to see the communications the President sends him. I have the privilege, and will use it, of sending papers directly to the Secretary. Gen. Lee telegraphs the President to-day to send troops to Gordonsville, and to hasten forward supplies. He says Lt.-Gen. Longstreet's corps might now be sent from Suffolk to him. Something of magnitude is on the tapis, whether offensive or defensive, I could not judge from the dispatch. We had hail this evening as large as pullets' eggs. The Federal papers have accounts of brilliant successes in Louisiana and Missouri, having taken 1600 prisoners in the former State and defeated Price at Cape Girardeau in the latter. Whether these accounts are authentic or not we have no means of knowing yet. We have nothing further from Mississippi. It is said there is some despondency in Washington. Our people will die in the last ditch rather than be subjugated and see the confiscation of their property. APRIL 30TH.--The enemy are advancing across the Rappahannock, and the heavy skirmishing which precedes a battle has begun. We are sending up troops and supplies with all possible expedition. Decisive events are looked for in a few days. But if all of Longstreet's corps be sent up, we leave the southern approach to the city but weakly defended. Hooker must have overwhelming numbers, else he would not venture to advance in the face of Lee's army! Can he believe the silly tale about our troops being sent from Virginia to the Carolinas? If so, he will repent his error. We hear of fighting in Northwestern Virginia and in Louisiana, but know not the result. The enemy have in possession all of Louisiana west of the Mississippi River. This is bad for us,--sugar and salt will be scarcer still. At Grand Gulf our batteries have repulsed their gun-boats, but the battle is to be renewed. The railroad presidents have met in this city, and ascertained that to keep the tracks in order for military purposes, 49,500 tons of rails must be manufactured per annum, and that the Tredegar Works here, and the works at Atlanta, cannot produce more than 20,000 tons per annum, even if engaged exclusively in that work! They say that neither individual nor incorporated companies will suffice. The government must manufacture iron or the roads must fail! A cheering letter was received from Gov. Vance to-day, stating that, upon examination, the State (North Carolina) contains a much larger supply of meat and grain than was supposed. The State Government will, in a week or so, turn over to the Confederate Government 250,000 pounds of bacon, and a quantity of corn; and as speculators are driven out of the market, the Confederate States agents will be able to purchase large supplies from the people, who really have a considerable surplus of provisions. He attributes this auspicious state of things to the cessation of arbitrary impressments. CHAPTER XXVI. Lee snuffs a battle in the breeze.--Hooker's army supposed to be 100,000 men.--Lee's perhaps 55,000 efficient.--I am planting potatoes.--Part of Longstreet's army gone up.--Enemy makes a raid.--Great victory at Chancellorville.--Hot weather.--Our poor wounded coming in streams, in ambulances and on foot.--Hooker has lost the game.--Message from the enemy.--They ask of Lee permission to bury their dead.--Granted, of course.--Hooker fortifying.--Food getting scarce again.--Gen. Lee's thanks to the army.--Crowds of prisoners coming in.-- Lieut.-Gen. Jackson dead.--Hooker's raiders "hooked" a great many horses.--Enemy demand 500,000 more men.--Beauregard complains that so many of his troops are taken to Mississippi.--Enemy at Jackson, Miss.--Strawberries.--R. Tyler.--My cherries are coming on finely.-- Ewell and Hill appointed lieutenant-generals.--President seems to doubt Beauregard's veracity.--Hon. D. M. Lewis cuts his wheat to-morrow, May 28th.--Johnston says our troops are in fine spirits around Vicksburg.--Grant thunders on.--Plan of servile insurrection. MAY 1ST.--Gov. Vance writes that Gen. Hill desires him to call out the militia, believing the enemy, balked in the attempt on Charleston, will concentrate their forces against North Carolina. But the Governor is reluctant to call the non-conscripts from the plow in the planting season. He thinks the defense of North Carolina has not been adequately provided for by the government, and that his State has been neglected for the benefit of others. He asks heavy guns; and says half the armament hurled against Charleston would suffice for the capture of Wilmington. A protest, signed by the thousands of men taken at Arkansas Post, now exchanged, against being kept on this side of the Mississippi, has been received. The protest was also signed by the members of Congress from Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Missouri. Capt. Causey, of the Signal Corps, writes that there are only a few battalions of the enemy on the Peninsula; but that rations for 40,000 men are sent to Suffolk. Gen. Lee announces the crossing of the Rappahannock at Port Royal (which the Yankees pillaged) and at places above Fredericksburg. Gen. Stuart is hovering on their flank. A great battle may happen any moment. L. E. Harvey, president of Richmond and Danville Railroad, asks for details to repair locomotives, else daily trains (freight) must be reduced to tri-weekly trains--and then the army cannot be sustained in Virginia. Hon. Mr. Garnett asked (and obtained) permission for a Mr. Hurst (Jew?) to pass our lines, and bring Northern merchandise to Richmond for sale. He vouches for his loyalty to Virginia. Congress has before it a bill rendering this traffic criminal. MAY 2D.--The awful hour, when thousands of human lives are to be sacrificed in the attempt to wrest this city from the Confederate States, has come again. Now parents, wives, sisters, brothers, and little children, both in the North and in the South, hold their breath in painful expectation. At the last accounts the two armies, yesterday, were drawn up in battle array, facing each other. No water flowed between them, the Northern army being on this side of the Rappahannock. We have no means of knowing their relative numbers; but I suspect Gen. Hooker commands more than 100,000 men, while Gen. Lee's army, perhaps, does not exceed 55,000 efficients. Accounts by passengers, and reports from the telegraph operators at the northern end of the line, some ten or twelve miles this side of the armies, indicate that the battle was joined early this morning. Certainly heavy cannonading was heard. Yet nothing important transpired up to 3 P.M., when I left the department, else I should have known it. Still, the battle may be raging, without, as yet, decisive result, and the general may not have leisure to be dictating dispatches. Yet the heavy artillery may be only the preliminary overture to the desperate engagement; and it seems to me that several days might be spent in manoeuvring into position before the shock of arms occurs, which will lay so many heads low in the dust. But a great battle seems inevitable. All the world knows the fighting qualifications of Gen. Lee, and the brave army he commands; and Gen. Hooker will, of course, make every effort to sustain his reputation as "fighting Joe." Besides, he commands, for the first time, an army: and knows well that failure to fight, or failure to win, will consign him to the same disgrace of all his predecessors who have hitherto commanded the "Army of the Potomac." It is certain that a column of Federal cavalry, yesterday, cut the Central Railroad at Trevillian's depot, which prevents communication with Gordonsville, if we should desire to send heavy stores thither. And some suppose Lee is manoeuvring to get in the rear of Hooker, which would place the enemy between him and Richmond! He could then cut off his supplies, now being drawn by wagons some twenty or thirty miles, and spread alarm even to Washington. But, then, how would it be with Richmond, if Hooker should accept the position, and if the force at Suffolk should advance on the south side of the river, and gun-boats and transports were to come, simultaneously, up the York and James? Has Hooker the genius to conceive such a plan? Suppose it were so, and that he has shipped his supplies from the Potomac--the supplies which Stuart expects to capture--with the desperate resolution, abandoning his base on the Rappahannock, to force a junction with the heavy detachments south and east of this city? A Napoleon would get Richmond--_but then Lee might get Washington_! Longstreet's corps is somewhere in transitu between Petersburg and Gordonsville, and would no doubt be ordered here, and it might arrive in time. Our defenses are strong; but at this moment we have only Gen. Wise's brigade, and a few battalions at the batteries, to defend the capital--some 5000 in all. This is mere speculation, to be succeeded speedily by awful facts. The inhabitants here do not doubt the result, although there is a feverish anxiety to get intelligence. There is no such thing as fear, in this community, of personal danger, even among the women and children; but there is some alarm by the opulent inhabitants, some of whom, for the sake of their property, would submit to the invader. One thing is pretty certain, Richmond will not fall by assault without costing the lives of 50,000 men, which is about equal to its population in ordinary times. Well, I am planting potatoes in my little garden, and hope to reap the benefit of them. I pay 50 cts. per quart for seed potatoes, and should be chagrined to find my expenditure of money and labor had been for the benefit of the invader! Yet it may be so; and if it should be, still there are other little gardens to cultivate where we might fly to. We have too broad and too long a territory in the revolted States to be overrun and possessed by the troops of the United States. MAY 3D.--We have no further news from the army, except the usual skirmishing. A number of our wounded arrived last evening. An officer reports that, from what he could see of the enemy's conduct, the soldiers do not come to the point with alacrity. He thinks they fight with reluctance, and are liable to be routed any hour by inferior numbers. Troops were sent up in special trains last night, and also this morning. These are some of the regiments which Gen. D. P. Hill had in North Carolina; and hence the complaints of Gov. Vance, that his State did not have its just proportion of the protection of the government. Of Longstreet's movements, I am not advised. But there will be news enough in a few days. The President's health is still precarious, and he is still threatened with the loss of his remaining eye. The Vice-President was in my office yesterday, and told me his health is quite as good as usual. One would suppose him to be afflicted with all manner of diseases, and doomed to speedy dissolution; but, then, he has worn this appearance during the last twenty years. His eyes are magnificent, and his mind is in the meridian of intellectual vigor. There has been some commotion in the city this afternoon and evening, but no painful alarm, produced by intelligence that the enemy's cavalry, that cut the road at Trevillian's depot, had reached Ashland and destroyed the depot. Subsequent rumors brought them within eight miles of the city; and we have no force of any consequence here. The account was brought from Ashland by a Mr. Davis, who killed his horse in riding eighteen miles in one hour and a half. Later in the day a young man, sixteen years old (Shelton), reached the city from Hanover on a United States horse, the enemy having foraged on his father's farm and taken his blooded steed. He says, when he escaped from them (having been taken prisoner this morning) 1500 were at his father's place, and three times as many more, being 6000 in all, were resting a short distance apart on another farm; but such ideas of numbers are generally erroneous. They told him they had been in the saddle five days, and had burnt all the bridges behind them to prevent pursuit. It was after this that they cut the road at Ashland. They professed to have fresh horses taken from our people, leaving their own. I think they will disappear down the Pamunky, and of course will cut the Central and York River Roads, and the wires. Thus communication with Lee's army is interrupted! The Fredericksburg train, of course, failed to arrive to-day at 6 P.M.; and it is rumored there were 700 of our wounded in it, and that a great battle was fought yesterday by Lee. These are rumors. MAY 4TH.--This morning early the _tocsin_ sounded, and the din, kept up for several hours, intensified the alarm. The presence of the enemy would not have produced a greater effect. But, in truth, the enemy were almost in sight of the city. Hon. James Lyons told me they were within a mile and a half of his house, which is about that distance from the city. Thousands of men, mostly old men and employees of the government, were instantly organized and marched to the batteries. But the alarm subsided about 10 A.M. upon information being received that the enemy were flying before Gen. Wise down the Peninsula. After this the following dispatch was received from Gen. Lee: "MILFORD, May 3d, 1863. "PRESIDENT DAVIS. "Yesterday Gen. Jackson, with three of his divisions, penetrated to the rear of the enemy, and drove him from all his positions, from the Wilderness to within one mile of Chancellorville. He was engaged at the same time, in front, by two of Longstreet's divisions. This morning the battle was renewed. He was dislodged from all his positions around Chancellorville, and driven back toward the Rappahannock, over which he is now retreating. "Many prisoners were taken, and the enemy's loss, in killed and wounded, large. "We have again to thank Almighty God for a great victory. "I regret to state that Gen. Paxton was killed. Gen. Jackson severely, and Generals Heth and A. P. Hill slightly, wounded. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_." Enough is known to raise the spirits of all. Gen. Lee gives thanks to God "for a great victory;" and he never misleads, never exaggerates. My son Custis got a musket and marched in one of the companies--I have not learned which--for the defense of the city. It is a sultry day, and he will suffer. The President was driven out in a light open carriage after the reception of Gen. Lee's dispatch, and exhibited the finest spirits. He was even diverted at the zeal of the old men and boys marching out with heavy muskets to the batteries. Brig.-Gen. Pryor, who has been under arrest (I know not for what offense), volunteered in a company of horse, and galloped away with the rest in pursuit of the enemy. MAY 5TH.--To-day the excitement was quite as great as ever, for bodies of the enemy are still in the vicinity. They are like frightened quails when the hawks are after them, skurrying about the country in battalions and regiments. Fitzhugh Lee defeated one of their parties, and reports that the entire cavalry force of Hooker, in anticipation of certain victory, had been detached in the rear of Lee's army. This force comprises twenty-eight regiments, or 15,000 mounted men! Now that Hooker is defeated--our operator at Guiney's station dispatches to-day that it is reported there, and believed, that Hooker and his staff are prisoners--it may be reasonably doubted whether one-half of this wild cavalry will escape. It was the mad pranks of a desperate commander. Hooker cast all upon the hazard of the die--and lost. Among the mad pranks of the enemy, they sent a message over the wires to-day from Louisa County, I believe, to this purport: "For Heaven's sake, come and take us. We are broken down, and will surrender." They captured an engine sent out yesterday to repair the road. The white men escaped, leaving two free negroes. The Yankees made the negroes put on a full head of steam, and run the locomotive into the river. One of the enemy was taken sleeping at one of our city batteries near the river. My friend, Dr. Powell, on the Brooke Turnpike, sent his little son, mounted on his finest horse, on an errand to a neighbor. The lad fell in with, as he called, them, "some Yankee Dutchmen," who presented their pistols and made him dismount. They took his horse and allowed him to return. At the hour we were dining yesterday, the enemy were within two and a half miles of us on the Brooke road, and might have thrown shell into this part of the city. Col. D. J. Godwin writes a long letter to the Secretary of War, from King and Queen Counties, concerning the great number of suspicious persons continually passing our lines into those of the enemy, with passports from this city; and the great injury done by the information they give. Unquestionably they have not only given information, but have furnished guides to the many regiments of cavalry now skurrying through the country. But the Baltimore Plug Uglies, under the protection of Gen. Winder, are the masters, now Mr. Secretary Seddon has yielded again. A letter was received from Gen. J. E. Johnston to-day. He is too unwell to take the field, and suggests, if it be desirable to be in regular communication with Gen. Bragg, that the President send out a _confidential_ officer. He says the army is suffering for meat, and if it retires into East Tennessee, supplies must be obtained from its flanks instead of from its rear, which would be dangerous. The letter was dated a week ago, and gives no indications of a battle. The general says he is exchanging sugar for bacon; but condemns the practice of allowing our people to sell cotton to the enemy for supplies. In my opinion none but government cotton should be exchanged for subsistence. He says the people are subjugated by trade. He suggests that our men when paroled, and not exchanged, may do duty otherwise than in arms--as is practiced by the enemy. H. D. Bird, general superintendent of the railroad, writes from Petersburg that the movements of cars with ammunition, etc. are thrown into confusion by the neglect of telegraph agents in giving timely notice. _This_ is an unfortunate time for confusion. I sent the letter to the Secretary, and know that it was not "filed" on the way to him. A communication came in to-day from the Committee of Safety at Mobile, Ala., charging that J. S. Clark, Wm. G. Ford, and ---- Hurt, have been shipping cotton to New Orleans, after pretending to clear it for Nassau. It says Mr. Clarke was an intimate crony of Gen. Butler's speculating brother. It also intimates that the people believe the government here winks at these violations of the act of Congress of April, 1862. Very curiously, a letter came from the Assistant Secretary's room to-day for "file," which was written April 22d, 1861, by R. H. Smith to Judge Campbell--a private letter--warning him not to come to Mobile, as nothing was thought of but secession, and it was believed Judge C. had used his influence with Mr. Seward to prevent secession. The writer deprecates civil war. And quite as curiously, the _Examiner_ to-day contains what purports to be Admiral Buchanan's correspondence with the Lincoln government, two letters, the first in April, 1861, tendering his resignation, and the last on May 4th, begging, if it had not been done already, that the government would not accept his resignation. MAY 6TH.--The excitement has subsided, as troops come pouring in, and many improvised cavalry companies go out in quest of the fox--who has vanished we know not exactly whither. It is believed we have taken 15,000 or 20,000 prisoners, and that the enemy's killed, wounded, and prisoners must reach the appalling number of 40,000. On Sunday, the enemy opposite Fredericksburg sent over a flag, asking permission to bury their dead. This was granted. But when they came--two corps under Gen. Sedgwick came over and fell upon our few regiments in the vicinity. So goes the story. Then, it is said, when Gen. Lee ordered two of our divisions to drive Sedgwick back, the men, learning the enemy with the flag of truce had given no quarter to their comrades, refused to fight unless permitted to retaliate in _kind_. This was promised them; and then their charge was irresistible, never pausing until the Yankees were hurled back across the river. No prisoners were taken. However this may be, Gen. Lee sends the following to the President: "[Received by telegraph from Guiney's Depot.] "HEADQUARTERS, 10 o'clock A.M., "May 5, 1863. "TO HIS EXCELLENCY, PRESIDENT DAVIS. "At the close of the battle of Chancellorville, on Sunday, the enemy was reported advancing from Fredericksburg in our rear. "Gen. McLaws was sent back to arrest his progress, and repulsed him handsomely that afternoon. Learning that this force consisted of two corps, under Gen. Sedgwick, I determined to attack it, and marched back yesterday with Gen. Anderson, and uniting with Gens. McLaws and Early in the afternoon, succeeded by the blessing of Heaven in driving Gen. Sedgwick over the river. We have reoccupied Fredericksburg, and no enemy remains south of the Rappahannock in its vicinity. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_." Another dispatch from Gen. Lee says Hooker is still on this side of the river, at United States Ford, _fortifying_. Gen. Longstreet is now closeted with the Secretary of War. No doubt his entire corps will immediately rejoin Lee. Jackson was wounded (his arm has been amputated) before the great battle was fought, by our own men, in the gloom of the evening, supposing him a Federal officer. He was reconnoitering in front of the line. S. S. H---- writes to the department, proposing to send an emissary to the North, to organize secret societies to destroy the enemy's stores, ships, railroad bridges, etc. by an unexplained process. Tillman, Griffin & Co. write to Judge Campbell to obtain them permission to trade with Mexico. Does this mean trading cotton with the enemy? I know not whether the request was granted. Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, writes to the Secretary to-day for permission for some of his Louisiana friends to leave the country in a government steamer. It is said that the government at Washington is ordering their troops from North Carolina and other places on the Southern seaboard towards Washington, and to reinforce Hooker--or Hooker's army. I think Hooker himself will go the way of all general flesh that fails. The President sent to the War Department fifty-five letters to-day, written to him on various subjects, but mostly asking appointments. He had read them, and several had indorsed on them, in his own hand, what he wished done in the premises. So he has not lost his sight. He still attends to business at his dwelling, and has not been in his office for more than a month. Secretary Seddon is gaunt and emaciated, with long straggling hair, mingled gray and black. He looks like a dead man galvanized into muscular animation. His eyes are sunken, and his features have the hue of a man who had been in his grave a full month. But he is an orator, and a man of fine education--but in bad health, being much afflicted with neuralgia. His administrative capacity will be taxed by the results. MAY 7TH.--A scout came in to-day with the vexatious intelligence that a body of hostile cavalry is still in Louisa County. And later in the day we have information that the Mattapony bridge was burned last night! Thus again is communication interrupted between Gen. Lee and the city! Our wounded cannot be brought to the hospitals here, nor supplies sent to them! It really does seem as if an organization of Union men here were co-operating with the enemy, else they never could disappear and reappear so often with impunity. Every one is asking what Gens. Elzey and Winder are doing--and echo answers, WHAT? There is a great pressure for passports to leave the country. Mr. Benjamin writes an indignant letter to the Secretary against Gen. Whiting, at Wilmington, for detaining a Mr. Flanner's steamer, laden with cotton for some of the nationalities--Mr. B. intimates a foreign or neutral power. But when once away from our shore, many of these vessels steer for New York, depositing large sums "for those whom it may concern." Mr. J. B. Campbell, attorney for J. E. Hertz (Jew), writes a long letter to "J. A. Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War," urging the payment of the slight sum of $25,200 for ninety kegs of bicarbonate of soda seized by the agent of the department! The true value is about $250! At two o'clock this afternoon a note was received by the Secretary of War from Lieut.-Gen. Longstreet (still in the city), stating that the President last night desired him to go to Gen. Lee immediately; but the general, during the day, has become convinced that he should not leave the city until communications are re-established with Gen. Lee, and the city in a condition of defense against the sudden dash of one or two columns of the enemy--an event, he thinks, meditated by the Yankees! And the persistency of the Federal cavalry in hanging round the city in spite of all the generals here, and the many companies, battalions, and regiments vainly sent out in quest of them, would seem to indicate such purpose. But the raids in the West don't seem to flourish so well. We have an official dispatch from Gen. Bragg, stating that Gen. Forrest has captured 1600 of the enemy's cavalry in a body, near Rome, Georgia. There are amusing scenes among the horrors of war, as the following, taken from a paper to-day, shows: "_Taking the Oath under Protest._--A few weeks ago a laughable incident occurred in the neighborhood of Nashville, which is worthy of record. A saucy, dashing young girl, of the Southern persuasion, was, with a number of other ladies, brought into the presence of Gen. Rosecrans, in order that their Southern ardor might be checked by the administration of the oath of loyalty. The bold, bright-eyed Juno in question, objected to take the oath, saying that her mother had taught her that it was unlady-like to swear; her sense of morality forbid her to swear, and swear she could and would not. The officer insisted that the lady _must_ take an oath before she left his presence. "'Well, general,' said bright eyes, 'if I must swear, I will; but all sins of the oath must rest on your shoulders, for I swear on your compulsion: "G--d d--m every Yankee to h--l!'" "And the defiant beauty tossed her dark curls and swept out of the presence unmolested."--_Nashville Union._ 7 O'CLOCK P.M. The report that the bridge over the Mattapony had been burned by the enemy was false--invented probably by a spy or emissary, who has enjoyed the freedom of the city under the Dogberrys and Vergises imported hither to preserve the government. A number of trains containing our wounded men, guarded by a detachment of troops, have arrived at the Fredericksburg depot. An officer just arrived from the army says we have taken 15,000 prisoners. If this be so, the loss of the enemy during the week in Virginia will not be less than 40,000. Our loss in killed and wounded is estimated at from 8 to 10,000--we lost a few hundred prisoners. We have taken, it is said, 53 guns, and lost 14. I think the reports to-day of squadrons of the enemy's cavalry seen in the surrounding counties are not reliable--they were probably our own men in quest of the enemy. MAY 8TH.--To-day the city is in fine spirits. Hooker had merely thrown up defenses to protect his flight across the river. The following dispatch was received last night from Gen. Lee: "CHANCELLORVILLE, May 7th, 1863. "TO HIS EXCELLENCY, PRESIDENT DAVIS. "After driving Gen. Sedgwick across the Rappahannock, on the night of the 4th inst., I returned on the 5th to Chancellorville. The march was delayed by a storm, which continued all night and the following day. In placing the troops in position on the morning of the 6th, to attack Gen. Hooker, it was ascertained he had abandoned his fortified position. The line of skirmishers was pressed forward until they came within range of the enemy's batteries, planted north of the Rappahannock, which, from the configuration of the ground, completely commanded this side. His army, therefore, escaped with the loss of a few additional prisoners. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_." Thus ends the career of Gen. Hooker, who, a week ago, was at the head of an army of 150,000 men, perfect in drill, discipline, and all the muniments of war. He came a confident invader against Gen. Lee at the head of 65,000 "butternuts," as our honest poor-clad defenders were called, and we see the result! An active campaign of less than a week, and Hooker is hurled back in disgrace and irreparable disaster! Tens of thousands of his men will never live to "fight another day"--and although the survivors did "run away," it is doubtful whether they can be put in fighting trim again for many a month. And the raiding cavalry have not been heard from to-day. If they be not back on the north side of the Rappahannock by this time, it is probable they will reach Richmond in a few days without arms, and on foot. Gens. Hood's and Pickett's divisions (Longstreet's corps) are now passing through the city--perhaps 15,000 of the best fighting men in the South. Oh, what wisdom and foresight were evinced by Gen. Lee, when, some ten days ago, he telegraphed the President to send him Longstreet's corps, via Gordonsville! It was referred to the Secretary of War, who consulted with Gen. Cooper--and of course it was not done. This corps was not in the battle. If it had been on the field, Hooker's destruction would have been speedy and complete; and his routed regiments would have been followed to the very gates of the Federal capital. As it was, Lee lost a day in driving Sedgwick back--and then Hooker "escaped," as Lee expresses it. I do not understand the Assistant Secretary of War's official correspondence. He sent in the other day a letter addressed to him two years ago to be filed--and to-day an envelope addressed to him as Assistant Secretary by Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, merely covering a letter (sealed) for R. S. Bunkee, Mobile, Alabama. Well, it is filed. The pressure for permits to leave the Confederacy is not renewed to-day. Judge Campbell will not have so many passports to "approve," and I trust confidence in the permanency of the Confederacy will be unshaken. How must they feel who, in anticipation of Lee's defeat, had received, in advance, a pardon from the powers at Washington! Col. Lay was in to-day; he thinks the North will be cheered a little by their capture of Grand Gulf, in the West. But that is not Vicksburg, or Charleston, or Richmond. We have had short allowance of food yesterday and to-day; the country people being afraid to come to market, lest their horses should be seized to go in quest of the enemy's cavalry. My family dined to-day on eight fresh herrings, which cost two dollars. The trains from Fredericksburg brought down several hundred Federal officers; among them was a general, a large number of colonels, lieutenant-colonels, majors, captains, etc. These, when exchanged, as I suppose they will be--for victory makes our government magnanimous--may, if they choose, deny the report that the raiding cavalry destroyed the railroad. Now what will the _Tribune_ say? It did say, a few months ago, that if the effort to crush the rebellion failed this spring, it would be useless to prolong the war--and that peace should be made on the best practicable terms. Since the beginning of the war, I doubt not 500,000 men have been precipitated upon Virginia. Where are they now? In the third year of the war, we see "the finest army the world ever saw," overthrown by about half its numbers, and in full retreat toward its own frontier. Perhaps 100,000 invaders have found bloody graves in Virginia--and an equal number have died of their wounds, or from disease contracted in this State. The number of maimed and disabled must also be 100,000--and yet Richmond is not taken, or likely to be. To invade and subjugate a vast territory, inhabited by millions of warlike people, the assailants must always have four times as many men as the assailed; therefore we stand on an equal footing with the United States in this war, and they may, if they be insane enough, protract it indefinitely, and in the end reap no substantial benefit. On the contrary, the fortune of war may shift the scene of devastation to their own homes. Perhaps Lee may follow up this blow until he enters Pennsylvania. MAY 9TH.--The papers contain the following order from Gen. Lee: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "May 7th, 1863. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 59. "With heartfelt gratification, the General Commanding expresses to the army his sense of the heroic conduct displayed by officers and men, during the arduous operations in which they have just been engaged. "Under trying vicissitudes of heat and storm, you attacked the enemy, strongly intrenched in the depths of a tangled wilderness, and again on the hills of Fredericksburg, fifteen miles distant, and by the valor that has triumphed on so many fields, forced him once more to seek safety beyond the Rappahannock. While this glorious victory entitles you to the praise and gratitude of the nation, we are especially called upon to return our grateful thanks to the only Giver of victory for the signal deliverance He has wrought. "It is, therefore, earnestly recommended that the troops unite on Sunday next in ascribing to the Lord of hosts the glory due unto His name. "Let us not forget in our rejoicing the brave soldiers who have fallen in defense of their country; and while we mourn their loss, let us resolve to emulate their noble example. "The army and the country alike lament the absence for a time of one to whose bravery, energy, and skill they are so much indebted for success. "The following letter from the President of the Confederate States is communicated to the army as an expression of his appreciation of its success: "'I have received your dispatch, and reverently unite with you in giving praise to God for the success with which He has crowned our arms. "'In the name of the people, I offer my cordial thanks to yourself and the troops under your command for this addition to the unprecedented series of great victories which your army has achieved. "'The universal rejoicing produced by this happy result will be mingled with a general regret for the good and the brave who are numbered among the killed and wounded.' "R. E. LEE, _General_." The losses on either side are not yet relatively ascertained. Ours, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, will probably reach 10,000. We have taken about 10,000 prisoners; the enemy's killed and wounded is thought to be 15,000 to 20,000. We have taken about fifty guns--and it is said 40,000 small arms, in good order. They did not have leisure to destroy them as on former occasions. It was a complete and stunning defeat. Gen. Jackson remains near Fredericksburg, and is doing well since the amputation of his (left) arm. The wound was received, during the battle by moonlight, from his own men, who did not recognize their beloved general. A letter was received to-day from Gen. Whiting at Wilmington, who refuses to permit the "Lizzie" to leave the port, unless ordered to do so. He intimates that she trades with the enemy. And yet Mr. Benjamin urges the Secretary to allow her to depart! Commodore Lynch also writes that the detention of the "Lizzie" is a prudential measure, as it is the only steamer in port that could conduct our unfinished gun-boat to a place of safety, should the enemy's fleet make a sudden attack on the city. The President (who still absents himself from the Executive Office, his health being precarious) writes the Secretary to consult Gen. Lee before detaching Gen. Jenkins's cavalry brigade from the West. It would have been better if Gen. Lee's advice had been taken in regard to Gen. Longstreet. The men from the garrison at Drewry's Bluff, and the crew from the steamer Richmond, were taken away to man the batteries around the city. The President requests the Secretary to order them back at the earliest moment practicable. It would be an ugly picture if our defenses at Drewry's Bluff were surprised and taken by a sudden dash of the enemy up James River. The raid of the enemy's cavalry, after all, did little or no permanent injury to the roads or canal. They are all in operation again. It is said Lincoln has called for 500,000 more men. Numbers have now no terror for the Southern people. They are willing to wage the war against quadruple their number. MAY 10TH.--Detachments of Federal troops are now marching into the city every few hours, guarded by (mostly) South Carolinians, dressed in home-spun, died yellow with the bark of the butternut-tree. Yesterday evening, at 7 o'clock, a body of 2000 arrived, being marched in by way of the Brooke Pike, near to my residence. Only 200 Butternuts had them in charge, and a less number would have sufficed, for they were extremely weary. Some of them, however, attempted to be humorous. A young officer asked one of the spectators if the "Libby" (the prison) was the best house in the city to put up at. He was answered that it was the best _he_ would find. Another passed some compliment on a mulatto wench, who replied: "Go long, you nasty Abolition Yankee." One of our soldiers taken at Arkansas Post, just exchanged, walked along with the column, and kept repeating these words: "Now you know how _we_ felt when you marched us through your cities." But generally a deep silence was maintained, and neither insult nor indignity offered the fallen foe. Other columns are on the way--and how they are to be subsisted is a vexatious question. The Washington papers of the day preceding the first battle contain Hooker's address to his army--how different from Lee's! It is short, though: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, "Camp near Falmouth, April 30th. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 47. "It is with heartfelt satisfaction that the Commanding General announces to the army that the operations of the last three days have determined that our enemy must either ingloriously fly or come out from behind his defenses and give us battle on our own ground, where certain destruction awaits him. The operations of the 15th, 11th, and 12th corps have been a succession of splendid achievements. "By command of MAJ.-GEN. HOOKER. "S. WILLIAMS, _Ass't. Adj't.-Gen._" Another column of between twelve and fifteen hundred prisoners marched in this afternoon. It is said a copy of the New York _Herald_ is in town, which acknowledges Hooker's loss to be fully 40,000. There are rumors, also, that our army in Tennessee has gained a great victory. Rumors from the West have hitherto been so very unreliable, that I shall wait patiently for the confirmation of any reports from that quarter. MAY 11TH.--Lieut.-Gen. J. T. Jackson died at 3 P.M. yesterday. His remains will arrive in the city at 5 P.M. this afternoon. The flags are at half-mast, and all the government offices and even places of business are closed. A multitude of people, mostly women and children, are standing silently in the streets, awaiting the arrival of the hero, destined never again to defend their homes and honor. A letter from Gen. Lee says, emphatically, that if cavalry be not brought from North Carolina and the South, the enemy's cavalry will be enabled to make raids almost anywhere without molestation. I recollect distinctly how he urged the Secretary of War (Randolph), months ago, to send to Texas for horses, but it was not attended to--and now we see the consequences. The exchanged prisoners here, taken at Arkansas Post, are ordered to the Mississippi. Gen. Longstreet urged the Secretary to send them off, if that were their destination, without a moment's delay, several days ago--else they would be too late to participate in the campaign. Northern papers set down Hooker's loss at 20,000, a modest figure, subject to revision. The Federal Secretary of War has issued a statement to mollify the panic. He is bound to acknowledge that, whereas Hooker advanced upon Lee across the river, he is now, after the battle, back again, where he started from. But he says not more than a third of the army was engaged; and as 30,000 reinforcements have been sent from Washington, and as many from Suffolk, the army will soon be as strong as ever, and in condition for another advance--and defeat. But what credit can we attach to such statements, since McClellan, under oath, said that he had ninety odd thousand men at the battle of Sharpsburg, 75,000 of whom only were actually engaged, while Lee had 100,000? We _know_ that he did not have 40,000 engaged! Gen. Van Dorn is dead--being killed by a man whose peace he had ruined. More applications for passports to leave the country are coming in--and they are "allowed" by the Assistant Secretary of War. How could he refuse, since his own family (at least a portion of it) have enjoyed the benefits of sojourning in the North since the war began? A letter was received to-day from Mr. Ranney, president of the N. C., Jackson, and Great Northern Railroad Co., asking the protection of government from harm for violations of the Act of Congress of April 19th, 1862, prohibiting the transportation of cotton within the enemy's lines. He incloses a number of peremptory orders from Lieut.-Gen. Pemberton, dated January 19th, February 16th and 19th, to take large amounts of cotton into the enemy's lines for S. J. Josephs (Jew?), and for Messrs. Clarke, Ford, and Hust, etc. etc. He says Gen. P. threatened to seize the road if he did not comply, and asserted that he had authority from the Secretary of War to issue the orders. One of these orders was from Gov. Pettus, for a small lot not more than fifty bales, to be exchanged for salt. This was authorized by the President, who most positively forbid the others. The letter from Gen. Johnston the other day said this traffic was subjugating the people. Was that "allowed" to reach the Secretary and the President? I know not; it has not yet passed through my hands from the President back to the department. MAY 12TH.--The departments and all places of business are still closed in honor of Gen. Jackson, whose funeral will take place to-day. The remains will be placed in state at the Capitol, where the people will be permitted to see him. The grief is universal, and the victory involving such a loss is regarded as a calamity. The day is bright and excessively hot; and so was yesterday. Many letters are coming in from the counties in which the enemy's cavalry replenished their horses. It appears that the government has sent out agents to collect the worn-down horses left by the enemy; and this is bitterly objected to by the farmers. It is the corn-planting season, and without horses, they say, they can raise no crops. Some of these writers are almost menacing in their remarks, and intimate that they are about as harshly used, in this war, by one side as the other. To-day I observed the clerks coming out of the departments with chagrin and mortification. Seventy-five per cent. of them ought to be in the army, for they are young able-bodied men. This applies also to the chiefs of bureaus. The funeral was very solemn and imposing, because the mourning was sincere and heartfelt. There was no vain ostentation. The pall bearers were generals. The President followed near the hearse in a carriage, looking thin and frail in health. The heads of departments, two and two, followed on foot--Benjamin and Seddon first--at the head of the column of young clerks (who ought to be in the field), the State authorities, municipal authorities, and thousands of soldiers and citizens. The war-horse was led by the general's servant, and flags and black feathers abounded. Arrived at the Capitol, the whole multitude passed the bier, and gazed upon the hero's face, seen through a glass in the coffin. Just previous to the melancholy ceremony, a very large body of prisoners (I think 3500) arrived, and were marched through Main Street, to the grated buildings allotted them. But these attracted slight attention,--Jackson, the great hero, was the absorbing thought. Yet there are other Jacksons in the army, who will win victories,--no one doubts it. The following is Gen. Lee's order to the army after the intelligence of Gen. Jackson's death: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VA., "May 11th, 1863. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 61. "With deep grief the Commanding General announces to the army the death of Lieut.-Gen. T. J. Jackson, who expired on the 10th inst., at 3-1/2 P.M. The daring, skill, and energy of this great and good soldier, by the decree of an all-wise Providence, are now lost to us. But while we mourn his death, we feel that his spirit still lives, and will inspire the whole army with his indomitable courage and unshaken confidence in God as our hope and our strength. Let his name be a watchword to his corps, who have followed him to victory on so many fields. Let officers and soldiers emulate his invincible determination to do everything in the defense of our beloved country. "R. E. LEE, _General_." _The Letter of Gen. Lee to Gen. Jackson._ The letter written by Gen. Lee to Gen. Jackson before the death of the latter is as follows: "CHANCELLORVILLE, May 4th. "GENERAL:-- "I have just received your note informing me that you were wounded. I cannot express my regret at the occurrence. Could I have dictated events, I should have chosen for the good of the country to have been disabled in your stead. "I congratulate you upon the victory which is due to your skill and energy. "Most truly yours, "R. E. LEE. "_To Gen. T. J. Jackson_." "The nation's agony," as it is termed in a Washington paper, in an appeal for 500,000 more men, now demands a prompt response from the people. And yet that paper, under the eye and in the interest of the Federal Government, would make it appear that "the Army of the Potomac" has sustained no considerable disaster. What, then, constitutes the "nation's agony"? Is it the imminency of war with England? It may be, judging from the debates in Parliament, relating to the liberties the United States have been taking with British commerce. But what do they mean by the "_nation_?" They have nothing resembling a homogeneous race in the North, and nearly a moiety of the people are Germans and Irish. How ridiculous it would have been even for a Galba to call his people the Roman _nation_! An idiot may produce a conflagration, but he can never rise to the dignity of a high-minded man. Yet that word "Nation" may raise a million Yankee troops. It is a "new thing." The Northern papers say Charleston is to be assailed again immediately; that large reinforcements are going to Hooker, and that they captured _six or eight thousand prisoners_ in their flight on the Rappahannock. All these fictions are understood and appreciated here; but they may answer a purpose in the North, by deceiving the people again into the belief that Richmond will certainly fall the next time an advance is made. And really, where we see such extravagant statements in the Federal journals, after a great battle, we are much rejoiced, because we know them to be unfounded, and we are led to believe our victory was even greater than we supposed it to be. MAY 13TH.--Col. Gorgas, Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance, sent in to-day a report of the arms captured in the recent battle. It appears from his statement that, so far, only eight guns have been found, taken from the enemy, while we lost ten. Thus, it would appear, our papers have been "lying," in regard to that item, as well as the Northern papers about the number of prisoners lost and taken. But, so far, we have collected 12,000 of the enemy's small arms left upon the field, and 8000 of our own, indicating the number of our killed and wounded. But the New York journals say we captured only 1700 prisoners; whereas, up to this time, more than 6000 have arrived in Richmond; 5000 of whom leave to-day, paroled until exchanged. I doubt whether we lost 2000 prisoners in the battle. The Philadelphia _Press_, just received, charges the government at Washington with circulating false reports, and is now convinced Hooker met with a most crushing defeat. It is rumored the enemy are disembarking troops at the White House, York River. If this be so, it is to prevent reinforcements being sent to Lee. The Governor of Alabama declares that Mobile is neglected, and says he will continue to protest against the failure of the government to make adequate preparations for the defense of the city. I saw Gen. Wise to-day. He seems weather-beaten, but hardy. MAY 14TH.--We have been beaten in an engagement near Jackson, Miss., 4000 retiring before 10,000. This is a dark cloud over the hopes of patriots, for Vicksburg is seriously endangered. Its fall would be the worst blow we have yet received. Papers from New York and Philadelphia assert most positively, and with circumstantiality, that Hooker recrossed the Rappahannock since the battle, and is driving Lee toward Richmond, with which his communications have been interrupted. But this is not all: they say Gen. Keyes marched a column up the Peninsula, and took Richmond itself, over the Capitol of which the Union flag "is now flying." These groundless statements will go out to Europe, and may possibly delay our recognition. If so, what may be the consequences when the falsehood is exposed? I doubt the policy of any species of dishonesty. Gov. Shorter, of Alabama, demands the officers of Forrest's captives for State trial, as they incited the slaves to insurrection. Mr. S. D. Allen writes from Alexandria, La., that the people despair of defending the Mississippi Valley with such men as Pemberton and other hybrid Yankees in command. He denounces the action also of quartermasters and commissaries in the Southwest. A letter from Hon. W. Porcher Miles to the Secretary of War gives an extract from a communication written him by Gen. Beauregard, to the effect that Charleston must at last fall into the hands of the enemy, if an order which has been sent there, for nearly all his troops to proceed to Vicksburg, be not revoked. There are to be left for the defense of Charleston only 1500 exclusive of the garrisons! MAY 15TH.--The Tredegar Iron Works and Crenshou's woolen factory were mostly destroyed by fire last night! This is a calamity. We have also intelligence of the occupation of Jackson, Miss., by the enemy. Thus they cut off communication with Vicksburg, and that city may be doomed to fall at last. The President is at work again at the Executive Office, but is not fully himself yet. The Secretary of War dispatched Gen. Lee a day or two ago, desiring that a portion of his army, Pickett's division, might be sent to Mississippi. Gen. Lee responds that it is a dangerous and doubtful expedient; _it is a question between Virginia and Mississippi; he will send the division off without delay, if still deemed necessary_. The President, in sending this response to the Secretary, says it is just such an answer as he expected from Lee, and he approves it. Virginia will not be abandoned. Gens. Lee, Stuart, and French were all at the War Department to-day. Lee looked thinner, and a little pale. Subsequently he and the Secretary of War were long closeted with the President. Gen. Schenck (Federal) has notified Gen. W. E. Jones, that our men taken dressed in Federal uniform will not be treated as prisoners of war, but will be tried and punished as spies, etc. The President directed the Secretary of War to-day to require Gen. Lee to send an order to the commander of the Federal army, that accouterments and clothing will be deemed subjects of capture, and if our men are treated differently than prisoners of war, when taken, we will retaliate on the prisoners in our possession. Gen. Longstreet censured Gen. French for his conduct before Suffolk, and the Secretary of War proposed that French be relieved, and sent before a court of inquiry. The President vetoed this, saying such courts were nuisances, and would not have him molested at this critical moment. Gen. D. H. Hill writes that desertions in North Carolina are alarmingly frequent; that deserters will soon be in arms; that papers and factions exist there in favor of reconstruction, laboring to convince the people that the State has been neglected by the Confederate States Government, and he suggests summary punishments. The President directs the Secretary to correspond with Gov. Vance on the subject. Mr. Benjamin has had some pretty passports printed. He sends one to Assistant Secretary Campbell for a Mr. Bloodgood and son to leave the Confederate States. I hope there is no _bad_ blood in this incessant intercourse with persons in the enemy's country. Just at this crisis, if so disposed, any one going thither might inflict incalculable injury on the cause of Southern independence. MAY 16TH.--It appears, after the consultation of the generals and the President yesterday, it was resolved not to send Pickett's division to Mississippi, and this morning early the long column march through the city northward. Gen. Lee is now stronger than he was before the battle. Gen. Pickett himself, with his long, black ringlets, accompanied his division, his troops looking like fighting veterans, as they are. And two fine regiments of cavalry, the 2d and 59th North Carolina Regiments, passed through the city this morning likewise. A letter was received from Gen. Beauregard to-day, again protesting against the movement of so many of his troops to Mississippi; 5000 on the 5th, and more than 5000 on the 10th instant. He makes an exhibit of the forces remaining in South Carolina and Georgia--about 4000 infantry, 5000 cavalry, and 6000 artillery, some 15,000 in all. He says the enemy is still on the coast, in the rivers, and on the islands, and may easily cut his communications with Savannah; and they have sufficient numbers to take Charleston, in all probability, without passing the forts. He says information of his weakness is sure to be communicated to the enemy--and I think so too, judging from the number of passports "allowed" by Judge Campbell and Mr. Benjamin! There is some purpose on the part of Gen. Lee to have a raid in the enemy's country, surpassing all other raids. If he can organize two columns of cavalry, 5000 each, to move in parallel lines, they may penetrate to the Hudson River; and then the North will discover that it has more to lose by such expeditions than the South. Philadelphia, even, may be taken. To-day, the regular train on the Fredericksburg road came back to the city, the conductor being in a terrible fright, and reporting that the enemy were again at Ashland. But it turned out that the troops there were our men! It is not probable the enemy's cavalry will soon approach Richmond again. MAY 17TH.--The last few days have been cool and dry; fine weather for campaigning. And yet we hear of no demonstrations apparently, though I believe Lee's army is moving. Mr. Lamar, of Savannah (formerly president of the Bank of the Republic, New York), writes that he and others are organizing an Exporting and Importing Company, and desires the government to take an interest in it. So far the heads of bureaus decline, and of course the Secretary will do nothing. But the Secretary has already engaged with Mr. Crenshaw in a similar enterprise, and so informed Mr. Mason, at London. About 10 A.M., some 2500 men of all arms arrived at "double quick," having left Ashland, eighteen miles distant, at 5 o'clock this morning. That was brisk marching. The guns were sent down on the railroad. The government has information that Gen. Keyes, with a full division of infantry and a brigade of cavalry, had marched up to West Point, to threaten Richmond. The troops, however, which arrived from Ashland, had been taken from the batteries here, and did not belong to Gen. Lee's army. Messrs. Davenport & Co., Mobile, charge Gen. Buckner with permitting 1000 bales of cotton to be shipped to New Orleans. The president of the Fredericksburg Road states, in a letter to the Secretary, that, after the battle, by military authority, the cars were appropriated by the Federal officers (prisoners), while our wounded soldiers had to remain and await the return of the trains. Hon. Mr. Dargin, of Alabama, writes to the Secretary, to procure from the President a disavowal of the "organship" of the _Enquirer_, as that paper, under the belief that it speaks for the government, is likely to inflict much mischief on the country. He alluded to the bitter articles against the Democrats and peace men of the North, who would soon have been able to embarrass, if not to check the operations of the Republican war party. He says now, that they will write against us, and deal destruction wherever they penetrate the land. MAY 19TH.--A dispatch from Gen. Johnston says a battle has been fought between Pemberton and Grant, between Jackson and Vicksburg, Mississippi, which lasted nine hours. Pemberton was _forced back_. This is all we know yet. Another letter, from Hon. W. Porcher Miles, remonstrating against the withdrawal of Beauregard's troops, was received to-day. He apprehends the worst consequences. The government is buying 5000 bales of cotton for the Crenshaw scheme. Jas. R. Crenshaw, of this city, is at Charleston on this business. Why not arrange with Lamar? Gov. Shorter forwards another strongly written memorial from Mobile, against the traffic of cotton with the enemy, and, indeed, against all blockade-running. Gov. Jno. Milton, of Florida, also writes a powerful denunciation of the illicit traffic, which it seems the policy of the government has been to encourage. They all say this traffic is doing the work of subjugation more effectually than the arms of the enemy. The President is too ill again to come to the Executive Office. His messenger, who brought me some papers this morning, says he is in a "decline." I think he has been ill every day for several years, but this has been his most serious attack. No doubt he is also worried at the dark aspects in his own State--Mississippi. If Vicksburg falls, and the Valley be held by the enemy, then the Confederacy will be curtailed of half its dimensions. Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Arkansas, Missouri, Arizona, New Mexico, all the Indian country, Kentucky, half of Tennessee, one-third of Virginia, Eastern North Carolina, and sundry islands, etc. of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, will be wrested from us. What will remain of the Confederacy? Two-thirds of Virginia, half of Tennessee, the greater part of North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and the whole of Alabama,--less than six States! But still the war will go on, as long as we have brave armies and great generals, whether the President lives or dies. MAY 20TH.--Reports from the West say we lost 3000 and the enemy 6000 men in the battle of the 15th inst., when Pemberton fell back over the Black River. Our forces numbered only 12,000, Grant's three times that number. Something decisive must occur before Vicksburg in a few days. Mr. J. W. Henry writes from New's Ferry, that parties of cavalry, going about the country, professing to belong to our Gen. Stuart's corps, are probably Yankee spies making observations preparatory for another raid. The city councils are organizing the citizens for local defense, thinking it probable another dash may be made. Gen. Dix threatens to hang the citizens of Williamsburg if they co-operate with Gen. Wise in his frequent attacks on the Federals. Gen. Wise replies, threatening to hang Gen. Dix if he carries his threat into execution, and should fall into his hands, in a more summary manner than John Brown was hung for making his raid in Virginia. Butter is worth $4 per pound. A sheep is worth $50. A cow $500. MAY 21ST.--There was a rumor on the street last night that Gen. Johnston had telegraphed the President that it would be necessary to evacuate Vicksburg. This has not been confirmed to-day, and I do not believe it. It would be irremediably disastrous. Mr. N. S. Walker writes from Bermuda, May 11th, 1863, that seventeen additional British regiments have been ordered to Canada. A large amount of ordnance and ordnance stores, as well as several war steamers, have likewise been sent thither. He states, moreover, that United States vessels are having their registers changed. Does this really mean war? Strawberries were selling in market this morning at $4 for less than a pint. Coal $25 per load, and wood $30 per cord. MAY 22D.--A letter from Gen. Howell Cobb, declining the offer of the Secretary of War, of the position of Quartermaster-General, was received to-day. His wife is ill, and he prefers to remain with her; besides, he doubts his qualifications--he, who was Secretary of the Treasury of the United States! He says, moreover, referring to the imperfect ordnance stores of his brigade, that there can be no remedy for this so long as Col. G. is the Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance. So Col. Myers is to be disposed of at last, and Col. G. has but an uncertain tenure. We have sad rumors from Vicksburg. Pemberton, it is said, was flanked by Grant, and lost 30 guns, which he abandoned in his retreat. Where Johnston is, is not stated. But, it is said, Vicksburg is closely invested, and that the invaders are closing in on all sides. There is much gloom and despondency in the city among those who credit these unofficial reports. It would be a terrible blow, but not necessarily a fatal one, for the war could be prolonged indefinitely. I met with Robt. Tyler to-day, who offers to wager something that Gen. Stuart will be in Philadelphia in a fortnight, and he said there was a proposition to stop the publication of newspapers, if the President would agree to it, as they gave information to the enemy, and at such a time as this did no good whatever. He thinks they are on the eve of revolution in the North, and referred to Gov. Seymour's letter, read at a public meeting in New York. MAY 23D.--The reports from Mississippi have not been confirmed by official dispatches, and it is understood that the President remarked yesterday, at dinner, that he was satisfied with the condition of affairs in that State. If this be so, Vicksburg must not only be still in our possession, but likely to be held by us at the end of this campaign. The President, I know, feels a peculiar interest in that State, and I learn by a letter from Tennessee, that on the 9th inst. troops left McMinnville for the rescue of Vicksburg--a Texas brigade. Cavalry continue to pass through this city from the south, while infantry are passing to the south. These movements will puzzle the spies, who are daily, and without difficulty, obtaining passports to leave the Confederate States. We have Northern papers to-day, containing Gen. Hooker's grandiloquent address to his army, a few days after his flight. I preserve it here for the inspection of the future generation, and to deter other generals from the bad policy of publishing false statements. "[Copy.] "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, "May 6th, 1863. "GENERAL ORDERS NO 49. "The Major-General commanding tenders to this army his congratulations on its achievements of the last seven days. If it has not accomplished all that was expected, the reasons are well known to the army. It is sufficient to say they were of a character not to be foreseen or prevented by human sagacity or resources. In withdrawing from the south bank of the Rappahannock, before delivering a general battle to our adversaries, the army has given renewed evidence of its confidence in itself, and its fidelity to the principles it represents. "In fighting at a disadvantage we would have been recreant to our trust, to ourselves, our cause, and our country. Profoundly loyal and conscious of its strength, the Army of the Potomac will give or decline battle whenever its interest or honor may demand. It will also be the guardian of its own history and its own honor. By our celerity and secrecy of movement our advance and passage of the rivers were undisputed, and on our withdrawal not a rebel returned to follow. The events of the last week may swell with pride the hearts of every officer and soldier of this army. We have added new laurels to its former renown. We have made long marches, crossed rivers, surprised the enemy in his intrenchments, and whenever we have fought we have inflicted heavier blows than we have received. "We have taken from the enemy five thousand prisoners and fifteen colors, captured and brought off seven pieces of artillery, and placed _hors du combat_ eighteen thousand of his chosen troops. We have destroyed his depots filled with vast amounts of stores, damaged his communications, captured prisoners within the fortifications of his capital, and filled his country with fear and consternation. We have no other regret than that caused by the death of our brave companions; and in this we are consoled by the conviction that they have fallen in the holiest cause ever submitted to the arbitrament of battle. "By command of "(Signed) MAJOR-GENERAL HOOKER. "S. WILLIAMS, A.A.G." To-day we have another official report from the Chief of Ordnance of the fruits of our victory, as far as they have been gathered, though the whole field has not been carefully gleaned, which I append as a commentary on the statements of Hooker. Five twelve-pounder Napoleons; 7 three-inch rifled guns; 1 Parrott gun, ten-pounder; 9 caissons; 4 rear parts of caissons; 3 battery wagons; 2 forges; 1500 rounds artillery ammunition; large lot of artillery harness; large lot of wheels, axles, ammunition chests, etc.; 16,500 muskets and rifles; 4000 cap pouches; 11,500 haversacks, and 300,000 rounds infantry ammunition. The report says thousand of our soldiers helped themselves on the field to better arms, etc., which cannot be computed. Now for the prisoners. To-day the last lot taken by Hooker arrived by flag of truce boat, making in all just 2700. We have already sent off 7000 prisoners taken from him, and 1000 are yet to go. Our killed, wounded, and missing amount to but little over 8000. Hooker's killed and wounded are admitted by the Northern papers to be 20,000, and some say his entire loss was fully 40,000. So much for his march over the Rappahannock and his flight back again. If he is not satisfied, Lee will try him again. MAY 24TH, SUNDAY.--We have had a fortnight of calm, dry, and warm weather. There is a hazy atmosphere, and the sun rises and sets wearing a blood-red aspect. At night the moon, dimly and indistinctly seen (now a crescent), has a somber and baleful appearance. This is strange at this season of the year; it is like Indian summer in May. The ground is dry and crusted, and apprehensions are felt for the crops, unless we have rain in a few days. My poor little garden has suffered for moisture, but the area is so small I am enabled to throw water over it in the evening. My beets, tomatoes, early potatoes, and lettuce look pretty well, though not so far advanced, in consequence of the late spring, as I have seen them in Burlington. But they are a great comfort to me. I work them, water them, and look at them, and this is what the French would call a _distraction_. I have abundance of roses,--this is the city of roses. And my cherries are coming on finely,--I know not yet what kind they are; but it relieves the eye to gaze on them. And then my neighbor has a pigeon-house, and the birds come into my yard and are fed by my daughters, being pretty and tame. I sit for hours watching them. Alas! this cruel war! But independence will be ample compensation. Our posterity will thank us for our sacrifices and sufferings. Yet all do not suffer. The Gil Blases, by their servility and cringing to their patrons, the _great_ men in power, and only great because they have patronage to bestow, which is power, are getting rich. Even adroit clerks are becoming wealthy. They procure exemptions, discharges, and contracts for the speculators for heavy bribes, and invest the money immediately in real estate, having some doubts as to its ultimate redemption, and possibly indifferent as to the fate of the country, so that their own prosperity be secure. After the war the rascals and traitors will be rich, and ought to be marked and exposed. MAY 25TH.--Dispatches from the West inform us that three attempts to carry the city of Vicksburg by assault have been repulsed with heavy loss. Johnston is on the enemy's flank and rear, engendering a new army with rapidity, and if the garrison can hold out a little while, the city may be safe. Gens. Ewell and A. P. Hill have been made lieutenant-generals, and will command Jackson's corps. It appears that the Senate has not yet confirmed Hardee, Holmes, and Pemberton. The Washington correspondent of the New York _Commercial Advertiser_ says Hooker's loss in killed and wounded amounted to "over 23,000 men, and he left 24 guns on the other side of the Rappahannock." We got 8000 prisoners, which will make the loss 31,000 men, and it is said the stragglers, not yet collected, amount to 10,000 men! Only 13 guns fell into our hands, the rest fell--into the river! MAY 26TH.--Reliable information of hard fighting at Vicksburg; but still, so far as we know, the garrison of the invested city has repulsed every assault made upon it. The enemy's losses are said to be very heavy. Something decisive must occur there soon, and I hope something calamitous to the enemy. The President and the cabinet have been in council nearly all day. Can they have intelligence from the West, not yet communicated to the public? We learn from Newbern, N. C., that gray-haired old men, women, and children, who refused to take the oath of allegiance, have been driven from their homes, on foot, despoiled of their property. Among these I see the names of the Misses Custis, cousins of my wife. Gen. Daniels, commanding our forces at Kinston, sent out wagons and ambulances to convey them within our lines. They were on foot. MAY 27TH.--Gen. Beauregard's statement of the number of his troops, after 10,000 had been ordered to Mississippi, with urgent appeals for the order to be countermanded, came back from the President to-day, to whom it had been referred by Mr. Secretary Seddon. The President indorsed, characteristically, that the statement did not agree in numbers with a previous one, and asked the Secretary to note the discrepancy! This was all. The president of the Seaboard Railroad requests the Secretary to forbid the common use of the bridge over the Roanoke at Weldon, the tracks being planked, to be used in case of a hasty retreat; the loss might be great, if it were rendered useless. It is 1760 feet long, and 60 feet high. Mr. John Minor Botts is here in difficulty, a negro being detected bearing a letter from him to the enemy's camp. The letter asked if no order had come from Washington, concerning the restoration of his slaves taken away (he lives on the Rappahannock) by Hooker's men; and stating that it was hard for him to be insulted and imprisoned by the Confederate States--and deprived of his property by the United States--he a _neutral_. Gen. F. Lee thought he ought not to be permitted to remain in proximity to the enemy, and so sent him on to Richmond. He was to see the Secretary to-day. Hon. D. M. Lewis, Sparta, Ga., writes that he will cut his wheat on the 28th (to-morrow), and both for quality and quantity he never saw it equaled. They have new flour in Alabama; and everywhere South the crops are unprecedented in amount. To-morrow is election day. For Congress, Col. Wickham, who voted against secession, opposes Mr. Lyons. But he has _fought_ since! We have a letter from Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, dated at Calhoun, Miss., 16th inst. He says the enemy on the railroad at Clinton numbered 25,000. We got our baggage out of Jackson before it was abandoned. Pemberton marched to Edward's Station with 17,000 men. Gen. Johnston himself had 7500, and some 15,000 more were on the way to him. We had 3000 at Port Hudson--being over 40,000 which he meant to concentrate immediately. I think Vicksburg ought to be safe. Our government has been notified that, if we execute the two officers (selected by lot) in retaliation for the execution of two of our officers in Kentucky, two men will be shot or hung by the enemy. Thus the war will be still more terrible! Vallandigham has been sent to Shellbyville, within our lines. I think our people ought to give him a friendly greeting. MAY 28TH.--There is some animation at the polls, this being election day. It is said Mr. Wickham, who for a long time, in the Convention, voted against the secession of Virginia, is leading Mr. Lyons, an original secessionist, and will probably beat him. And Flournoy, an old Whig politician, will probably be elected governor. A dispatch from Gen. Johnston, dated yesterday, says in every fight, so far, around Vicksburg, our forces have been successful, and that our soldiers are in fine spirits. Papers from the North have, in great headings, the word VICTORY, and announce that the Stars and Stripes are floating over the City of Vicksburg! They likewise said their flag was floating over the Capitol in this city. If Vicksburg falls, it will be a sad day for us; if it does not fall, it will be a sad day for the war party of the United States. It may be decisive, one way or the other. If we beat them, we may have peace. If they beat us--although the war will not and cannot terminate--it may degenerate into a guerrilla warfare, relentless and terrible! MAY 29TH.--A dispatch from Gen. Johnston, dated 27th inst., says fighting at Vicksburg had been in progress ever since the 19th instant, and that our troops have been invariably successful in repulsing the assaults. Other dispatches say the unburied dead of the enemy, lying in heaps near our fortifications, have produced such an intolerable stench that our men are burning barrels of tar without their works. But still all is indefinite. Yet, from the persistent assaults of the enemy it may be inferred that Grant is inspired with the conviction that it is necessary for him to capture Vicksburg immediately, and before Johnston collects an army in his rear. A few days may produce a decisive result. Hon. E. S. Dargan, Mobile, Ala., writes that it is indispensable for our government to stipulate for aid from Europe at the earliest moment practicable, even if we must agree to the gradual emancipation of the slaves. He says the enemy will soon overrun the Southwestern States and prevent communication with the East, and then these States (Eastern) cannot long resist the superior numbers of the invaders. Better (he thinks, I suppose) yield slavery, and even be under the protection of a foreign government, than succumb to the United States. The enemy, wherever they have possession in the South, have adopted the policy of sending away (into the Confederate States) all the inhabitants who refuse to take the oath of allegiance. This enables them to appropriate their property, and, being destitute, the wanderers will aid in the consumption of the stores of the Confederates. A Mr. W. E. Benthuisen, merchant, sent from New Orleans, telegraphs the President for passports for himself and family to proceed to Richmond. The President intimates to the Secretary of War that many similar cases may be looked for, and he thinks it would be better for the families to be dispersed in the country than congregated in the city. The following are the _wholesale_ prices to-day: "PRODUCE, PROVISIONS, ETC.--The quotations given are wholesale. Wheat--nothing doing--we quote it nominal at $6.50 to $7; corn, very scarce, may be quoted at $9 to $10; oats, $6 to $6.50 per bushel; flour--superfine, $32, extra, $34, family, $37 per barrel; corn-meal, $11 per bushel; bacon, hoground, $1.45 to $1.50--a strictly prime article a shade higher; butter, $2.50 to $3 per pound; lard, $1.50 to $1.60; candles, $2.75 to $3 for tallow, $5 for adamantine; dried fruit--apples, $10 to $12, peaches, $15 to $18 per bushel; eggs, $1.40 to $1.50 per dozen; beans, $18 to $20; peas, $15 to $18 per bushel; potatoes, $8 to $10 per bushel; hay and sheaf-oats, $10 to $12 per cwt.; rice, 18 to 20 cents per pound; salt, 45 to 50 cents per pound; soap, 50 to 60 cents per pound for hard country. "LEATHER.--Market unsettled. We quote as follows: Sole, $3.50 to $4 per pound; harness, $4 to $4.25; russett and wax upper, $5 to $5.50; wax kip skins, $6 per pound; calf skins, $300 to $325 per dozen. "LIQUORS.--We continue to quote apple brandy at $23 to $25; whisky, $28 to $32; French brandy--common, $45, genuine, $80 per gallon. "GROCERIES.--Brown sugar, $1.40 to $1.55 per pound--no clarified or crushed offering; molasses, $10.50 to $11 per gallon; coffee, $3.75 to $4 per pound; tea, $8.50 to $10 per pound." MAY 30TH.--The newspapers have a dispatch, to-day, from Jackson, Miss., which says the enemy have fallen back from the position lately occupied by them in front of Vicksburg. It adds, that they will be forced to retire to the Big Black River, for want of water. Gen. G. A. Smith, who is here, and who resigned because he was not made lieutenant-general instead of Pemberton, says he "don't know how to read this dispatch." Nevertheless, it is generally believed, and affords much relief to those who appreciate the importance of Vicksburg. Mr. Botts was offered $500 in Confederate States notes, the other day, for a horse. He said he would sell him for $250 in gold, but would not receive Confederate notes, as the South would certainly be conquered, and it was merely a question of time. This information was communicated to the Secretary of War to-day, but he will attach no importance to it. Among the papers sent in by the President, to-day, was a communication from Gov. Vance, of North Carolina, inclosing a letter from Augustus S. Montgomery, of Washington City, to Major-Gen. Foster, Newbern, N. C., found in a steamer, captured the other day by our forces, in Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. It informed Gen. F. that a plan of servile insurrection had been adopted, and urged his co-operation. All the Yankee generals in the South would co-operate: they were to send smart negroes from the camps among the slaves, with instructions to rise simultaneously at night on the 1st August. They were to seize and destroy all railroad bridges, cut the telegraph wires, etc., and then retire into the swamps, concealing themselves until relieved by Federal troops. It is said they were to be ordered to shed no blood, except in self-defense, and they were not to destroy more private property than should be unavoidable. The writer said the corn would be in the roasting-ear, and the hogs would be running at large, so that the slaves could easily find subsistence. The President thanked Gov. Vance for this information, and said our generals would be made acquainted with this scheme; and he commended the matter to the special attention of the Secretary of War, who sent it to Gen. Lee. MAY 31ST.--The commissioners, appointed for the purpose, have agreed upon the following schedule of prices for the State of Virginia, under the recent impressment act of Congress; and if a large amount of supplies be furnished at these prices--which are fifty, sometimes one hundred per cent. lower than the rates private individuals are paying--it will be good proof that all patriotism is not yet extinct: "Wheat, white, per bushel of 60 pounds, $4.50; flour, superfine, per barrel of 196 pounds, $22.50; corn, white, per bushel of 56 pounds, $4; unshelled corn, white, per bushel of 56 pounds, $3.95; corn-meal, per bushel of 50 pounds, $4.20; rye, per bushel of 56 pounds, $3.20; cleaned oats, per bushel of 32 pounds, $2; wheat-bran, per bushel of 17 pounds, 50 cents; shorts, per bushel of 22 pounds, 70 cents; brown stuff, per bushel of 28 pounds, 90 cents; ship stuff, per bushel of 37 pounds, $1.40; bacon, hoground, per pound, $1; salt pork, per pound, $1; lard, per pound, $1; horses, first class, artillery, etc., average price per head, $350; wool, per pound, $3; peas, per bushel of 60 pounds, $4; beans, per bushel of 69 pounds, $4; potatoes, Irish, per bushel of 69 pounds, $4; potatoes, sweet, per bushel of 69 pounds, $5; onions, per bushel of 60 pounds, $5; dried peaches, peeled, per bushel of 38 pounds, $8; dried peaches, unpeeled, per bushel of 38 pounds, $4.50; dried apples, peeled, per bushel of 28 pounds, $3." CHAPTER XXVII. Vicksburg refuses to surrender to Grant.--Spiritualism at the White House.--Lee is pushing a little northward.--It, is said Grant has lost 40,000 men.--He is still pounding Vicksburg.--Petty military organizations.--Mr. Randolph busy.--Foolish passport rules.--Great battle imminent, but speculation may defeat both sides.--Early's victory.--We have only supplies of corn from day to day.-- Chambersburg struck.--Col. Whiting complains of blockade running at Wilmington.--False alarm.--Grant still before Vicksburg. JUNE 1ST.--Nothing decisive from Vicksburg. It is said Northern papers have been received, of the 29th May, stating that their Gen. Grant had been killed, and Vicksburg (though at first prematurely announced) captured. We are not ready to believe the latter announcement. Mr. Lyons has been beaten for Congress by Mr. Wickham. It is said the brigade commanded by Gen. Barton, in the battle near Vicksburg, broke and ran twice. If that be so, and their conduct be imitated by other brigades, good-by to the Mississippi Valley! Our people everywhere are alive to the expected raid of the enemy's cavalry, and are organizing the men of non-conscript age for defense. One of our pickets whistled a horse, drinking in the Rappahannock, and belonging to Hooker's army, over to our side of the river. It was a very fine horse, and the Federal Gen. Patrick sent a flag demanding him, as he was not captured in battle. Our officer sent back word he would do so with pleasure, if the Yankees would send back the slaves and other property of the South not taken in battle. There it ended--but we shall probably soon have stirring news from that quarter. The Baltimore _American_ contains the proceedings of the City Council, justifying the arrest of Vallandigham. JUNE 2D.--We have a dispatch from Mississippi, stating that on Thursday last Grant demanded the surrender of Vicksburg in three days. He was answered that fifteen minutes were not asked; that the men were ready to die--but would never surrender. This was followed by another assault, in which the enemy lost great numbers, and were repulsed--as they have been in every subsequent attempt to take the town. A letter from our agent in London says H. O. Brewer, of Mobile, advanced £10,000 in March last, to buy a steamer for the use of the Confederate States. Gen. Whiting writes from Wilmington, that a captured mail furnishes the intelligence that the enemy have thirty-one regiments at Newbern, and he apprehends they will cut the railroad at Goldsborough, as we have but two small brigades to resist them. Then they may march against Wilmington, where he has not now sufficient forces to man his batteries. The general says he is quite sure that individual blockade-runners inform the enemy of our defenseless points, and inflict incalculable injury. He desires the Secretary to lay his letter before the President. A circular from the Bureau of Conscription to the commandants of conscripts says, the Assistant Secretary of War (Judge Campbell) suggests that overseers and managers on farms be disturbed as little as possible just at this time, for the benefit of the crops. But what good will the crops do, if we be subjugated in the mean time? I thought every man was needed, _just at this time_, on the field of battle. The President rides out (on horse) every afternoon, and sits as straight as an English king could do four centuries ago. JUNE 3D.--Gen. Lee communicates to the department to-day his views of the Montgomery letter to Gen. Forrest, a copy of which was sent him by Governor Vance. He terms it "diabolical." It seems to have been an official letter, superscribed by "C. Marshall, Major and A. A. G." Gen. Lee suggests that it be not published, but that copies be sent to all our generals. Hon. R. M. T. Hunter urges the Secretary, in a lengthy letter, to send a cavalry brigade into Essex and the adjacent counties, to protect the inhabitants from the incursions of the "Yankees." He says a government agent has established a commissary department within six miles of his house, and it will be sure to be destroyed if no force be sent there adequate to its defense. He says, moreover, if our troops are to operate only in the great armies facing the enemy, a few hostile regiments of horse may easily devastate the country without molestation. Gov. Vance writes a most indignant reply to a letter which, it seems, had been addressed to him by the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, in which there was an intimation that the judicial department of the State government "lent itself" to the work of protecting deserters, etc. This the Governor repels as untrue, and says the judges shall have his protection. That North Carolina has been wronged by calumnious imputations, and many in the army and elsewhere made to believe she was not putting forth all her energies in the work of independence. He declares that North Carolina furnished more than half the killed and wounded in the two great battles on the Rappahannock, in December and May last. By the Northern papers we see the President of the United States, his wife, and his cabinet are amusing themselves at the White House with Spiritualism. JUNE 4TH.--To-day we have characteristic unintelligible dispatches from Mississippi. They say, up to third instant, yesterday, everything is encouraging; but the Memphis papers say Grant's losses have not been so large as was supposed. Then it is reported that Grant has retired to Grand Gulf. Yet it is expected the town will be stormed in twenty-four hours! When Grant leaves Vicksburg, our generals will pursue, and assume the aggressive in more directions than one. Lee has some occult object in view, which must soon be manifest. Major-Gen. D. H. Hill writes that if the enemy penetrates to the railroad, a great many men in North Carolina will welcome them, and return to their allegiance to the United States. The general wants Ranseur's brigade sent him. He says Mr. Warren, one of the governor's council, in a recent speech remarked, if the enemy got the railroad, it would be a question whether they should adhere to the Confederate States or to the United States. Does the general mean to alarm the authorities here? After a month of dry weather, we have just had a fine rain, most refreshing to the poor kitchen vegetables in my little garden, which I am cultivating with careful assiduity in hopes of saving some dollars in the items of potatoes, tomatoes, beets, etc. The crops of wheat, etc. south of Virginia, mature and maturing, are _perfect_ in quality and unprecedented in quantity. JUNE 5TH.--More unofficial dispatches from the Mississippi. It is said Kirby Smith has defeated the enemy at Port Hudson; but how could his army get over the river? It is also stated that Grant's losses have been 40,000, and ours 5000. Who could have computed them? But they go on to say nothing has been heard from Vicksburg since Sunday, four days previously; and that heavy firing was heard still on Thursday. Lee's army is in motion--that means something; and it is generally believed that Stuart is out on a raid into the enemy's country. Mr. M. A. Malsby, a Georgian, disabled by a wound in the first battle of Manassas, has published _one-half_ of my new "Wild Western Scenes;" the balance to appear when he can get paper. He publishes 5000 copies of about 130 pages. The paper costs nearly one dollar per pound, over $40 per ream. The printing costs $2 per 1000 ems. But then he retails the pamphlet at $1.25, and pays me 12-1/2 cents copyright on each number sold. JUNE 6TH.--We have not even a rumor to-day from Mississippi. The _Examiner_ has made a pretty severe attack on Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, for the great number of persons he has "allowed" to pass into the enemy's country. It does not attribute the best motives to the Judge, who was late coming over to the Confederacy. The British consul here, it seems, has been meddling with matters in Mississippi, the President states, and has had his exequatur revoked. Gen. D. H. Hill recommends the abandonment of the line of the Blackwater, for Gen. Martin informs him that the enemy are preparing their expeditions to cut our railroads in North Carolina. Gen. Hill fears if the present line be held we are in danger of a great disaster, from the inability to transport troops from so remote a point, in the event of a sudden emergency. Gen. Lee refuses to let him have Ranseur's brigade. There are rumors of picket fighting near Fredericksburg, and Davis's (the President's nephew) brigade, just from North Carolina, proceeded through the city to-day in that direction. Shall we have _another_ great battle on the Rappahannock? I think it a ruse. JUNE 7TH.--I saw yesterday a specimen of the President's elaborate attention to the matter of appointments. Lieut.-Gen. A. P. Hill having asked for a military court to his corps, and having recommended the officers, the President, with his own hand, laid down the rule of selection for the guidance of the Secretary, viz.: the State which had the greatest number of regiments would be entitled to the choice of positions, to be taken from the candidates of its citizens according to qualifications, recommendations, etc. It appeared that North Carolina stood first on the list, Virginia next, Georgia next, and so on. Oh that we could get something decisive from Vicksburg! If Grant's and Banks's armies should be destroyed, I think there would be some prospect of peace at an early day. For, if Lincoln should persist in a prolongation of the war, the probabilities would be the expulsion of the enemy from the Mississippi Valley and the recovery of New Orleans. After the fifteenth of this month, operations must cease on the Carolina and Georgia coasts--Charleston and Wilmington being still in our possession. But we should not be idle. Lee, in disdaining the sheltered army of the invaders, would be likely to invade in turn; and the public demand of retaliation for the cruelties and destruction of private property perpetrated by the enemy could not be resisted. His men would probably apply the torch to the towns and cities of the Yankees, destroying their crops, farming utensils, etc., as the invaders have done in Virginia and elsewhere. To avoid these calamities, it is possible Lincoln would make peace. Therefore we are so anxious to hear from Vicksburg, the turning-point of the war. Besides, we shall not please England by our treatment of her consuls; and this may stimulate the United States to concentrate its wrath upon its ancient foe. JUNE 8TH.--Well, the enemy have thrown another column over the Rappahannock, below Fredericksburg. This is probably a manoeuvre to arrest Lee's advance in Culpepper County. But it won't do--Lee's plans cannot be changed--and this demonstration was in his calculations. If they think Richmond can be taken now, without Lee's army to defend it, they may find their mistake. The clerks and employees in the departments are organizing to man the fortifications, should their aid be needed. Hon. M. R. H. Garnett writes from Essex County that the enemy have had Lawrence Washington, arrested in Westmoreland County, confined in a prison-ship in the Potomac, until his health gave way. He is now in Washington, on parole not to escape. About 140,000 bushels of corn have been sent to Lee's army in May, which, allowing ten pounds per day to each horse, shows that there are over 20,000 horses in this army. But the report says not more than 120,000 bushels can be forwarded this month. The press everywhere is opening its batteries on the blockade-runners, who bring in nothing essential to the people, and nothing necessary for the war. The arrivals and departures of steamers amount to one per day, and most of the goods imported are of Yankee manufacture. Many cargoes (unsold) are now held in Charleston--and yet the prices do not give way. JUNE 9TH.--There is rumor that the President has received bad news from the West. This may be without foundation; but it is a little strange that we are not in receipt of authentic accounts of transactions there. Time, however, will reveal all things. Lee is "marching on," Northward, utterly regardless of the demonstrations of Hooker on the Lower Rappahannock. This is a good omen; for no doubt the demonstrations are designed merely to arrest his advance. Lee has, perhaps, 70,000 fighting men with him--leaving some 15,000 behind to defend Richmond. The people in the "Northern Neck" have been much harassed by the incursions of the invaders. I clip the following account from the _Whig_ of this date: "Nearly every house was visited, and by deceptive artifices, such as disguising themselves in Confederate gray clothes, stolen, or otherwise surreptitiously obtained, they imposed themselves upon our credulous and unsuspecting people; excited their sympathies by pretending to be wounded Confederate soldiers--won their confidence, and offered to hide their horses and take care of them for them, to prevent the Yankees from taking them, who, they said, were coming on. They thus succeeded in making many of our people an easy prey to their rapacity and cunning. In this foray, they abducted about 1000 negroes, captured from 500 to 700 horses and mules, a large number of oxen, carriages, buggies and wagons--stole meat, destroyed grain, and robbed gentlemen, in the public road, of gold watches and other property. There are some instances related of personal indignity and violence. They returned with their spoils to camp, after a week devoted by them in the Northern Neck, among our unhappy people, to the highly civilized, brave, and chivalrous exploits of theft, robbery, and almost every species of felony committed upon a defenseless, unarmed, and helpless population--chiefly consisting of women and children! It was an easy achievement--a proud conquest--the more glorious to the noble and heroic Yankee, because stained with crime and won without danger to his beastly carcass." This is but a fair specimen of their conduct whenever they have been permitted to devastate the country with impunity. A few days ago I addressed a letter to the Secretary of War, suggesting that the department encourage voluntary organizations of non-conscripts for local defense, and that they be armed with every superfluous musket that the government may possess. If this be done, the army will not be so much embarrassed by vehement calls to protect the people from raids everywhere; and in the event of serious disaster, the people would still make resistance. But an unarmed people would have no alternative but submission. This plan would also effectually prevent servile insurrections, etc. To-day I received the reply, saying it would be done. But will the _arms_ be distributed among them? JUNE 10TH.--We have news of a fight on the Rappahannock yesterday, above Fredericksburg, the enemy having crossed again. They were driven back. There are also reports from Vicksburg, which still holds out. Accounts say that Grant has lost 40,000 men so far. Where Johnston is, we have no knowledge; but in one of his recent letters he intimated that the fall of Vicksburg was a matter of time. JUNE 11TH.--It appears that the enemy design to attack us. The following is Lee's dispatch: "CULPEPPER, June 9th, 1863. "TO GENERAL S. COOPER. "The enemy crossed the Rappahannock this morning at five o'clock A.M., at the various fords from Beverly to Kelly's, with a large force of cavalry, accompanied by infantry and artillery. After a severe contest till five P.M., Gen. Stuart drove them across the river. R. E. LEE." We have not received the details of this combat, further than that it was a surprise, not creditable to our officers in command, by which a portion of ten regiments and 600 horses were taken by the enemy. We lost, killed, also a number of cavalry colonels. We, too, captured several hundred prisoners, which have arrived in the city. Of the killed and wounded, I have yet obtained no information--but it is supposed several hundred fell on both sides. Still I do not think it probable this affair, coupled with the fact that the enemy have effected a lodgment on this side of the Rappahannock below Fredericksburg, and are still crossing, will frustrate any plan conceived by Lee to invade their country. If, however, Lincoln concentrates all his forces in the East for another attempt to capture Richmond, and should bring 300,000 men against us--we shall have near 200,000 to oppose them. The Northern Democratic papers are filled with the proceedings of indignation meetings, denouncing the Republican Administration and advocating peace. JUNE 12TH.--A beautiful, bright warm summer day--and yet a little somber. The surprise of Stuart, on the Rappahannock, has chilled every heart, notwithstanding it does not appear that we lost more than the enemy in the encounter. The question is on every tongue--have our generals relaxed in vigilance? If so, sad is the prospect! But Vicksburg is the point of intensest interest and anxieties. Gen. Johnston writes from Canton, Mississippi, on the 5th inst., in reply to the Secretary, that he regrets such confidence is reposed in his ability to save Vicksburg, and fears that such expectations will be disappointed. Grant is receiving reinforcements daily--while he (Johnston) is not to have more troops. He does not state the number he has, but he says it seems to him that the relief of Vicksburg is _impossible_. Pemberton will hold out as long as he can; but if Grant's line be not broken, the fall of Vicksburg is only a question of time. Grant's force (he continues) is more than treble his; and Grant has constructed lines of circumvallation, and blocked up all the roads leading to his position. To force his lines would be difficult with an army twice as numerous as the one he (Johnston) commands. He will try to do something in aid of the besieged--but it seems a _desperate case_. He has not wagons and provisions enough to leave the railroads more than four days. The track to Vicksburg is destroyed. It was his intention at first to unite all the troops in his command--but it was impracticable. So much for these lugubrious tidings. Nothing but a miracle can save Vicksburg! The Governors of Alabama and Mississippi unite in urging the government to suppress both the foreign and border traffic. I fear it is too late! There is a street rumor that the enemy have appeared on the Chickahominy, and on the James River. If this be so, it may be to embarrass Lee; or it may be a determined and desperate assault on this city. We shall know very soon. But never before were we in such doubt as to the designs of the enemy; and never before have they evinced such apparent vigor and intrepidity. Yet, they know not what Lee is doing to call them _home_. JUNE 13TH.--Col. Baylor, of Arizona, has been heard from again. He confesses that he issued the order to slaughter the Apaches in cold blood, and says it is the only mode of dealing with such savages. The President indorses on it that it is "a confession of an infamous crime." Yesterday the enemy appeared on the Peninsula, in what numbers we know not yet; but just when Gen. Wise was about to attack, with every prospect of success, an order was received from Gen. Arnold Elzey to fall back toward the city, pickets and all. A letter from Gen. Holmes, containing an account from one of his scouts, shows that the enemy's militia in Arkansas and Missouri are putting to death all the men, young or old, having favored the Confederate cause, who fall into their hands. These acts are perpetrated by order of Gen. Prentiss. The President suggests that they be published, both at home and abroad. Mr. L. Heyliger, our agent at Nassau, sends an account of the firing into and disabling the British steamer Margaret and Jessee by the United States steamer Rhode Island, within a half mile of shore. Several British subjects were wounded. This may make trouble. Mr. J. S. Lemmon applied by letter to-day for permission to leave a Confederate port for Europe. Major-Gen. Arnold Elzey indorsed on it: "This young man, being a native of Maryland, is not liable to military service in the Confederate States." Well, Arnold Elzey is also a native of Maryland. JUNE 14TH.--W----ll, one of the Winder _detectives_ that fled to Washington last year, is back again. But the Mayor has arrested him as a spy, and it is said a lady in the city can prove his guilt. Gen. Winder wanted to bail him; but the Mayor was inexorable, and so W----ll is in the jail, awaiting his trial. Two others, of Winder's police, have likewise been arrested by the city authorities for some harsh treatment of a citizen supposed to have a barrel of whisky in his house. The justification offered is the jurisdiction of martial law, which Gen. Winder still thinks exists, although annulled by Congress. The company (of 104) organized in the War Department as independent volunteers for local defense, being objected to by Gen. Elzey, because they would not be subject to his command, was rejected by the President, who insisted that the officers of the departments (civil) should be mustered into the service under the act of August 21st, 1861, and are subject to _his_ control, and liable to be attached to battalions, regiments, etc., he appointing the field and staff officers. This was communicated to the lieutenant of the company by the Secretary of War, who stated also that the President required the names of all refusing to reorganize on that basis _to be reported to him_. There is an indefinable dread of conspiracy, and the President is right, perhaps, to frown upon all military organizations not subject to his orders. Mr. Randolph, late Secretary of War, has been very busy organizing the second class militia of the city for "local defense," under the supposition that he would command them; but the President has made a requisition for 8000 of this class of men, for the same purpose, which will put them under Confederate orders, perhaps. A jealousy, I fear, is growing up between Confederate and State authority. This when the common enemy is thundering at all our gates! JUNE 15TH.--The enemy have abandoned the vicinity of Fredericksburg, falling back across the river, and probably retiring toward Alexandria, or else they have taken to their transports, and intend making another effort to capture Richmond. It is rumored that Gen. Ewell has taken Winchester; but this, I think, is at least premature. Certainly the government is taking steps to guard against a blow at Richmond. All the civil officers (subordinates, only, of course) are being mustered into the service for "local defense or special duty;" but Gen. Elzey, the Marylander, it is reported, has said the "d----d clerks have given me so much trouble, that I intend to keep them on duty in such a way that they cannot perform their functions in the departments, and so others must be appointed in their places." This would be in violation both of the Constitution and several acts of Congress. Yet they are to be mustered in this evening "for three years, or the war." And the Secretary of the Treasury has announced that all who refuse to volunteer are to be reported, by the President's command, and will be removed. The President has intimated no such thing. Of course they will _volunteer_. There is much censure of the President for "bad faith"--most of the clerks being refugees, with families to support. Mayor Mayo has refused to admit Gen. Winder's three policemen (all imported) to bail, and they remain in prison; and Judge Meredith has refused to discharge them on a writ of _habeas corpus_--resolving first to test the validity of the martial law set up for them in their defense. I believe the government is acting on my suggestion to Col. Johnston, A. D. C., in regard to searching blockade-runners, caught in the lines, bearing sealed letters to the North. To-day the Attorney-General sent to the department, for Mr. Seddon's approval, instructions to Confederate Attorneys and Marshals to aid and co-operate with _M. Greenwood_, a detective agent of the government. I think about the first men he detects in treasonable practices will be Gen. Elzey and Gen. Winder's detectives. Mr. Vallandigham has been nominated for Governor of Ohio. The following are the conditions upon which women and children can come to the South, or go to the North, published in Washington and Baltimore: "_First._--All applications for passes to go South must be made in writing and verified by oath, addressed to Major L. C. Turner, Judge Advocate, Washington, D. C., as follows: "I, A---- B----, applicant for a pass to go to City Point, Virginia, and now residing at ----, do solemnly swear that, if said pass be granted, I will not take any property excepting my wearing apparel, and that all the articles to be taken with me are contained in the trunk or package delivered or to be delivered to the quartermaster on the transport steamer on which I am to go to City Point. That I have not been in any insurgent State, nor beyond the military lines of the United States, within thirty days last past. That I will not return within the military lines of the United States during the present war, and that I have not in my trunk nor on my person any papers or writings whatsoever, nor any contraband articles. "No person will be allowed to take more than one trunk or package of female wearing apparel, weighing not over one hundred pounds, and subject to inspection; and if anything contraband be found in the trunk or on the person, the property will be forfeited and the pass revoked. "_Second._--A passenger boat will leave Annapolis, Md., on the first day of July next, to deliver those permitted to go South at City Point, and the baggage of each applicant must be delivered to the quartermaster on said boat, at least twenty-four hours previous to the day of departure for inspection. "_Third._--Children will be allowed to accompany their mothers and relatives, and take their usual wearing apparel; but the name and age of each child must be given in the application. "_Fourth._--Ladies and children desiring to come North will be received on the boat at City Point and taken to Annapolis, and every adult person coming North will be required to take and subscribe to the oath of allegiance to the Government of the United States before the boat leaves Fortress Monroe. "L. C. TURNER, _Judge Advocate_." JUNE 16TH.--We have nothing from the West to-day. But it is believed that Hooker is retiring toward Manassas--that fatal field--where another (and the third) battle may be fought. Lee's army is certainly on the march, and a collision of arms cannot be averted many days. It is believed Gen. Ewell, successor of Jackson, has beaten Milroy at Winchester. But, while terrible events are daily anticipated in the field, all the civilians seem to have gone wild with speculation, and official corruption runs riot throughout the land. J. M. Seixas, agent of the War Department, writes from Wilmington that while the government steamers can get no cotton to exchange abroad for ordnance stores, the steamers of individuals are laden, and depart almost daily. This is said to be partly the work of the "Southern Express Company," believed to be Yankees (a portion of them), which contracts to deliver freight, and bribes the railroads and monopolizes transportation. _This_ is the company on whose application Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, granted so many exemptions and details! It takes a great number of able-bodied men from the army, and then, by a peculiar process, absolutely embarrasses, as Gen. Whiting says, the conduct of the war. Judge Dargan, of Alabama, writes that private blockade-runners are ruining the country--supplying the enemy with cotton, and bringing in liquors and useless gew-gaws. JUNE 17TH.--The city has been gladdened by the reception of this dispatch from Gen. Lee: "JUNE 15th, 1863. "HIS EXCELLENCY, JEFFERSON DAVIS. "God has again crowned the valor of our troops with success. Early's division stormed the enemy's intrenchments at Winchester, capturing their artillery, etc. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_." Subsequent reports to the press state that we captured some 6000 prisoners, Gen. Milroy among them, 50 guns, and a large amount of stores. If we caught Milroy, the impression prevails that he was hung immediately, in accordance with the President's order some time since, as a just punishment for the outrages inflicted by him on our helpless old men, women, and children. A sealed envelope came in to-day, addressed by the President to the Secretary of War, marked "Highly important and confidential," which, of course, I sent to the Secretary immediately without breaking the seal, as it is my duty to do to all letters not private or confidential. I can as yet only conjecture what it referred to. It may be of good, and it may be of bad import. It may relate to affairs in the West; or it may be a communication from abroad, several steamers having just arrived. _Can_ it be from the Government at Washington? I care not what it is, if we hold Vicksburg. The Commissary-General reports that he has some 8,000,000 pounds of bacon, and quite as much salt and fresh beef at the various depots, besides some 11,000 head of cattle. This is not a large amount for such armies as we have in the field; but in the fall we shall have 10 per cent. of all the products in the Confederate States as tax in kind. The Commissary-General, however, recommends the following reduction of rations: for men in garrison or batteries, a quarter pound of bacon per day; in camp, one-third of a pound; and marching, half a pound. Mr. James Spence, our financial agent in England, gives a somewhat cheering account of money matters. He recommends the shipping of $1,000,000 worth of cotton per week, which appears to be practicable. He also advises the shipment of the few millions of gold the government holds in this country to England; and Mr. Memminger approves it--in boxes weekly, containing $75,000. If this were known, it could hardly be accomplished, for such is the distrust of several members of the cabinet that the people would revolt. They would believe the cabinet meant soon to follow the gold. And some of our military commanders have no better opinion of them than the people. Beauregard once stopped some bullion ordered away by Mr. Memminger. There is a rumor that Gen. Wise had a combat yesterday on the Peninsula. But the operations beyond the Rappahannock, and approaching the capital of the United States, must relieve Richmond of all immediate danger. Mr. Lincoln says he is "making history;" forgetful of the execrable figure he is likely to be in it. Our papers to-day contain the following: "_Yankee Cruelty; Forty-three Negroes Drowned._--One of the most atrocious incidents of the whole war was yesterday related to us by a gentleman of this city, who obtained the facts from Capt. Jas. G. White, of King William County, who vouches for the accuracy of the statement. Some days ago, when the Yankees made their raid to Aylett's, they visited the place of Dr. Gregg, living in the neighborhood, and took from their comfortable homes forty-three negroes, who were hurried off to York River and placed on board a vessel bound Northward. Along with these negroes, as a prisoner, was a gentleman named Lee, a resident and highly respectable citizen of King William, who has since been released and allowed to return to his home. He states that when the vessel arrived in Chesapeake Bay, the small-pox made its appearance among the negroes, that disease having existed to some extent among the same family before they were dragged from their homes in King William. The captain of the Yankee vessel and his crew were greatly alarmed at the appearance of the disease on board, and very soon determined to rid the vessel of the presence of the negroes. Without attempting to make the shore, and not considering for an instant the inhumanity of the cruel deed, the whole negro cargo was thrown into the bay, and every one left to perish by drowning. Not one, perhaps, escaped the cruel fate visited upon them by those who profess to be their earnest friends and warmest sympathizers." JUNE 18TH.--From Winchester we have many accounts, in the absence of official reports (Gen. Lee being too busy in the saddle to write), which have exalted our spirits most wonderfully. The number of prisoners taken, by the lowest estimate is 5000,--the others say 9000,--besides 50 guns, and an immense amount of stores. Our own loss in storming the fortifications was only 100 killed and wounded! Milroy, they say, escaped by flight--but may not have gotten off very far, as it seems certain that our one-legged Lieut.-Gen. Ewell (fit successor of Jackson) pushed on to the Potomac and surrounded, if he has not taken, Harper's Ferry, where there is another large depot of supplies. The whole valley is doubtless in our possession--the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad--and the way is open into Maryland and Pennsylvania. It is believed Hooker's army is utterly demoralized, and that Lee is _going on_. This time, perhaps, no Sharpsburg will embarrass his progress, and the long longed-for day of retributive invasion may come at last. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance (Northern born), recommends that the habit of issuing twenty cartridges extra to each of our men be discontinued, and suggests that they be given three cartridges per month, and all over that to be issued upon requisition of the commanding general, on the eve of battle. But might they not, if this were adopted, be liable to be caught sometimes without enough ammunition? He says there is a deficiency of lead. There is a rumor that the Secretary of the Navy sent an iron-clad out yesterday, at Savannah, to fight two of the enemy's blockading squadron, and that after an engagement of thirty minutes, our ship struck her colors. If this be so, the people will wish that the Secretary had been on the boat that surrendered. A man by the name of Jackson a short time since obtained a passport through our lines from Judge Campbell, and when a negro was rowing him across the Potomac, drew a pistol and made him take him to a Federal gun-boat in sight. He was heartily received, and gave such information to the enemy as induced them to engage in a raid on the Northern Neck, resulting in the devastation of several counties. These facts I got from the President's special detective, Craddock. Craddock also informs me that my communication to Col. Johnston was laid before the President, who called in the Secretary of State and the Secretary of War, to consult on some means of regulating the passport business, etc. He says prompt measures will be adopted immediately. Craddock also informs me that a Jew named Cohen, in this city, has been co-operating with his brother living in the North, obtaining passports both ways for bribes--and bribing the officials that granted them, much to our detriment. This, perhaps, has alarmed the President; but if the business of selling passports be lucrative, I despair of his being able to put an end to it. I see the enemy have destroyed the President's house, furniture, etc., in Mississippi. I have good reason to suppose that the package marked "important," etc., sent from the President's office yesterday to the Secretary of War, was the substance of a conversation which took place between Mr. Ould and Mr. Vallandigham. What Mr. V. revealed to Mr. O., perhaps supposing the latter, although employed here, friendly to ultimate reconstruction, there is no means of conjecturing. But it was deemed "highly important." JUNE 19TH.--Gen. Lee telegraphs from _Culpepper Court House_ yesterday, that Gen. Rhodes captured Martinsburg, Sunday, 14th inst., taking several guns, over 200 prisoners, and a supply of ammunition and grain. Our loss was only one killed and two wounded. The Secretary of the Navy is in bad odor for ordering out the Atlanta at Savannah to fight _two_ Federal steamers, to whom she surrendered. There is nothing more definite or authentic from Winchester, except that we certainly captured Milroy's army of not less than 5000 men. To-day the government issued musket and ball-cartridges (forty to each) to the volunteer companies raised in the departments for home defense. If this does not signify apprehension of an immediate attack, it proves at all events that Lee's army is not to be around the city as it was a year ago--and that signifies his purpose to advance. JUNE 20TH.--It has got out that the President intends to dispense with the services of Mr. Myers, the Jew Quartermaster-General, and Mr. Miles, member of Congress from South Carolina, who happens to be his friend, is characteristically doing the part of a friend for his retention. But he gives the President some severe raps for alleged contempt of the wishes of Congress, that body having passed a bill (vetoed by the President) conferring on Col. M. the rank and pay of brigadier-general. The operations of Gen. Lee have relieved the depot here, which was nearly empty. Since the capture of Winchester and Martinsburg, only about 1500 bushels of corn are sent to the army daily, whereas 5000 were sent before, and there were rarely more than a day's supply on hand. To-day, about one o'clock, the city was thrown into a state of joyful excitement, by the reception of news from the North. From this source it was ascertained, what had hitherto been only a matter of conjecture, that a portion of our forces, the same that captured Winchester and Martinsburg, were in Pennsylvania! Gen. Jenkins, with his cavalry, had taken Chambersburg on the 16th inst.--and the North, from the line of Pennsylvania to the lakes, and from the seaboard to the western prairies, was stricken with consternation. These are some of the dispatches, as copied from Northern papers: "The Governor of Ohio calls for 30,000 troops. The Governor of Pennsylvania calls for 50,000, to prevent the invasion of each State. "WASHINGTON, June 15th.--Lincoln has issued a proclamation for 100,000 men, to repel the invasion of Maryland, Northern Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. "HARRISBURG, June 15th.--Dispatches from Chambersburg and Hagerstown state that the rebel cavalry are at Berryville and Martinsburg. A dispatch dated 14th, says that hard fighting is going on. The rebels had driven Reynolds from Berryville, and were advancing on the capital. The towns and cities throughout Pennsylvania are in danger. "LATER.--Private dispatches state that on the 16th the rebels were at Chambersburg in force. The Federals were removing the railroad machinery, stock, and stores. Great excitement and alarm pervaded the entire country." In the "hard fighting," Gen. Lee reports our loss as "one killed and two wounded." Here's the second dispatch: "SHELBYVILLE, TENN., June 18th.--Nashville papers of the 17th inst. have been received here. They contain Lincoln's proclamation, calling for 100,000 militia, for six months' service, and the following highly interesting telegrams: "LOUDON, PA., June 16th.--The rebels are in heavy force in the Cumberland Valley. "BEDFORD, PA., June 16th.--Scouts report 6000 rebels at Cumberland, Maryland. The inhabitants are flying for safety from Harper's Ferry. "HARRISBURG, June 16th.--Business is suspended here. All the important documents have been removed from the capital. "Milroy telegraphs officially his repulse from the fortifications at Winchester by 15,000 rebels, with the loss of 2900 men. "Governor Curtin calls upon the people of Pennsylvania to defend the State, saying that Philadelphia has not responded, while the enemy are in Chambersburg. He reproaches Pennsylvania for sniffling about the length of service when the exigency exists. "Dispatches state that everything looks gloomy, and there is no saving the country south of the Susquehanna. "BALTIMORE, June 16th.--Governor Bradford calls on the people to rally to the defense of Maryland. "PROVIDENCE, R. I., June 16th.--Governor Smith convenes the Legislature on Thursday for the purpose of raising troops. "PHILADELPHIA, June 16th.--The Mayor has issued a proclamation closing the stores in order that the occupants may join military organizations to defend the city. "NEW YORK, June 16th.--All the regiments are getting ready under arms. The Brooklyn bells were rung at midnight, summoning the men to the regiments, which were to leave immediately for Philadelphia. "Governor Andrews, of Massachusetts, tenders Lincoln all the available force of militia from that State." Milroy's statement in relation to the number of prisoners taken by us is pretty fair, when compared with Hooker's official statements on similar occasions. Some of the prisoners will probably arrive in Richmond to-day--and the Agent of Exchange has been notified that 7000 would be sent on. So Gen. Milroy told nearly _half_ the truth. Again: THIRD DISPATCH. "SHELBYVILLE, June 19th.--Other dispatches in the Nashville papers say that the rebels advanced six miles beyond Chambersburg. On the 16th Gen. Taylor telegraphs officially his retreat, and the capture of the Federal forces at Winchester." Later in the day the New York _Herald_ of the 17th inst. was received by the flag of truce boat. I now quote from it: "Fortifications are being rapidly erected all along the north bank of the Susquehanna, and Gen. McClellan or Gen. Franklin has been called for to head the State troops. REPORTS FROM HARRISBURG. "HARRISBURG, PA., June 16th.--Midnight.--Rebel cavalry to-day occupied Littletown, eleven miles from Gettysburg, but at last accounts had not advanced beyond that point. "The rebel officers at Chambersburg stated that they were only waiting for infantry to move forward. The authorities are inclined to believe, however, that they will not move farther North. "The farmers in the valley are sending their horses and cattle into the mountains. "The rebels are gathering up all the negroes that can be found. "Private property has been respected. "They burned the railroad bridge across Scotland Creek, six miles this side of Chambersburg. HARPER'S FERRY INVESTED. "BALTIMORE, June 16th.--Fugitives from Hagerstown report the rebels picketing all the roads and not permitting any one to pass. "The force that passed through were all cavalry, under Jenkins and Imboden, and did not exceed 2500. "All was quiet at Frederick up to five o'clock this evening, though the people were greatly excited and hundreds were leaving. "HARRISBURG, June 17th.--The aspect of affairs, so far as can be judged by the reports from the border, seems to be this: "The rebel force occupy Hagerstown and such other points as leave them free to operate either against Harrisburg or Baltimore. "Apprehensions are entertained by the people of Altoona and other points on the line of the Pennsylvania Railroad, that the rebels will strike for the West, and then go back to their own soil by way of Pittsburg and Wheeling. "The fortifications constructed on the hills opposite Harrisburg are considered sufficient protection for the city, and an offensive movement on our part is not unlikely." JUNE 21ST.--To-day we have an account of the burning of Darien, Ga. The temptation is strong for our army to retaliate on the soil of Pennsylvania. JUNE 22D.--To-day I saw the memorandum of Mr. Ould, of the conversation held with Mr. Vallandigham, for file in the archives. He says if we _can only hold out_ this year that the peace party of the North would sweep the Lincoln dynasty out of political existence. He seems to have thought that our cause was sinking, and feared we would submit, which would, of course, be ruinous to his party! But he advises strongly against any invasion of Pennsylvania, for that would unite all parties at the North, and so strengthen Lincoln's hands that he would be able to crush all opposition, and trample upon the constitutional rights of the people. Mr. V. said nothing to indicate that either he or the party had any other idea than that the Union would be reconstructed under Democratic rule. The President indorsed, with his own pen, on this document, that, in regard to invasion of the North, experience proved the contrary of what Mr. V. asserted. But Mr. V. is for restoring the Union, amicably, of course, and if it cannot be so done, then possibly he is in favor of recognizing our independence. He says any reconstruction which is not voluntary on our part, would soon be followed by another separation, and a worse war than the present one. The President received a dispatch to-day from Gen. Johnston, stating that Lt.-Gen. Kirby Smith had taken Milliken's Bend. This is important, for it interferes with Grant's communications. Gov. Shorter writes that a company near Montgomery, Ala., have invented a mode of manufacturing cotton and woolen handcards, themselves making the steel and wire, and in a few weeks will be turning out from 800 to 1000 pairs of cards per week. This will be a great convenience to the people. Gen. Whiting writes that the river at Wilmington is so filled with the ships of private blockade-runners that the defense of the harbor is interfered with. These steamers are mostly filled with Yankee goods, for which they take them cotton, in the teeth of the law. He pronounces this business most execrable, as well as injurious to the cause. He desires the President to see his letter, and hopes he may be instructed to seize the steamers and cargoes arriving belonging to Yankees and freighted with Yankee goods. It is a difficult matter to subsist in this city now. Beef is $1 and bacon $1.65 per pound, and just at this time there are but few vegetables. Old potatoes are gone, and the new have not yet come. A single cabbage, merely the leaves, no head, sells for a dollar, and this suffices not for a dinner for my family. My little garden has produced nothing yet, in consequence of the protracted dry weather. But we have, at last, abundant rains. To-day I found several long pieces of rusty wire, and these I have affixed horizontally to the wood-house and to the fence, intending to lead the lima beans up to them by strings, which I will fasten to switches stuck between the plants. My beets will soon be fit to eat, and so will the squashes. But the potatoes do not yet afford a cheering prospect. The tomatoes, however, are coming on finely, and the cherries are nearly ripe. A lady has sent me 50 cabbage plants to set out, and two dozen red peppers. Every foot of my ground is occupied, and there is enough to afford me some exercise every afternoon. JUNE 23D.--From the army on the Potomac we have a dispatch from Lee, saying there have been several cavalry engagements during the last week, wherein our arms were successful. Lee will soon electrify us with another movement of his grand army,--such is the general belief. From the West we learn that on Saturday last, Grant, no doubt driven to desperation by our occupation of Milliken's Bend cutting off his supplies and reinforcements, made a more furious attempt than ever to take Vicksburg by assault, and was repulsed disastrously. His loss is estimated at between 7000 and 10,000 men. Pemberton is now greatly praised by many people, while some of our officers shake their heads and say he is fighting with the halter around his neck, and that if he were _not_ to fight and hold out to the last, his own men would hang him. Notwithstanding the immense amount of goods brought in daily, the prices keep high. JUNE 24TH.--We have nothing additional from Vicksburg or from the Potomac, but there is a rumor of fighting near Leesburg. The first installment of Winchester prisoners reached the city yesterday, 1600 in number, and there are over 4000 more on the way. So much for Milroy's 2000 or 3000! To-day the President desired the Secretary of War to send him all the correspondence with Gen. Johnston, as he intends to write him a confidential letter touching reinforcements, and he wishes to inform him of the military situation of affairs everywhere. This afternoon some excitement prevails in the city, caused by a notification of the Governor placarded at the corner of the streets, calling on the citizens to assemble at the Capitol Square at 7 o'clock P.M., and announcing that reliable information has been received of the landing of the enemy (how many is not stated) at Brandon, on the James River, and at the White House, on the York, some thirty-five miles below. There was also a meeting of the clerks of the departments, and it was agreed that at the sounding of the tocsin they should assemble (day or night) with arms at their respective offices. This may be another Pawnee alarm of the government, and it may be the wolf. If some 30,000 of the enemy's troops make a dash at Richmond now, they may take it. But it will, of course, be defended with what means we have, to the last extremity. Still, I think it nothing more than a strategical movement to save Washington or to embarrass Lee's operations, and it will fail to retard his movement. We shall soon see what it is. JUNE 25TH.--The excitement has subsided. No doubt small detachments of the enemy were seen at the places indicated, and Gen. Elzey (who some say had been drinking) alarmed the Governor with a tale of horror. The reports came through Gen. Winder's detectives, one-half of whom would rather see the enemy here than not, and will serve the side that pays most. Yet, we should be prepared. I saw an indorsement by the President to-day, that foreigners should give guarantees of neutrality or be sent out of the city. Nothing from Lee. JUNE 27TH.--An officer of the Signal Corps reported, yesterday, the force of Gen. Keyes, on the Peninsula, at 6000. To-day we learn that the enemy is in possession of Hanover Junction, cutting off communication with both Fredericksburg and Gordonsville. A train was coming down the Central Road with another installment of the Winchester prisoners (some 4000 having already arrived, now confined on Belle Island, opposite the city), but was stopped in time, and sent back. Gen. Elzey had just ordered away a brigade from Hanover Junction to Gordonsville, upon which it was alleged another raid was projected. What admirable manoeuvring for the benefit of the enemy! Gen. D. H. Hill wrote, yesterday, that we had no troops on the Blackwater except cavalry. I hope he will come here and take command. Gen. Whiting has arrested the Yankee crew of the Arabian, at Wilmington. It appears that she is owned by New Yorkers, sailed from New York, and has a Yankee cargo! Capt. Maury writes from London that R. J. Walker, once a fire-and-fury Mississippi Senator (but Yankee-born), is in Europe trying to borrow £50,000,000 for the United States. Capt. Maury says the British Government will not willingly let us have another "Alabama;" but that it is also offended at the United States for the atrocities of Wilkes, and this may lead to war. The war, however, would not be intended as a diversion in our behalf. Nothing is heard to-day from Lee, except what appears in Northern papers several days old, when our troops were occupying Hagerstown, Cumberland, etc., in Maryland, and foraging pretty extensively in Pennsylvania. Nothing from Vicksburg. Just as I apprehended! The brigade ordered away from Hanover to Gordonsville, upon a wild-goose chase, had not been gone many hours before some 1200 of the enemy's cavalry appeared there, and burnt the bridges which the brigade had been guarding! This is sottishness, rather than generalship, in our local commanders. A regiment was sent up when firing was heard (the annihilation of our weak guard left at the bridges) and arrived just two hours too late. The enemy rode back, with a hundred mules they had captured, getting under cover of their gun-boats. To-day, it is said, Gen. Elzey is relieved, and Gen. Ransom, of North Carolina, put in command; also, that Custis Lee (son of Gen. R. E. Lee) has superseded Gen. Winder. I hope this has been done. Young Lee has certainly been commissioned a brigadier-general. His brother, Brig.-Gen. W. H. F. Lee, wounded in a late cavalry fight, was taken yesterday by the enemy at Hanover Court House. Gen. Whiting's letter about the "Arabian" came back from the President, to-day, indorsed that, as Congress did not prohibit private blockade-running, he wouldn't interfere. So, this is to be the settled policy of the government. This morning the President sent a letter to the Secretary of War, requesting him to direct all mounted officers--some fifty A. A. G.'s and A. D.'s--to report to him for duty around the city. Good! These gentlemen ought to be in the saddle instead of being sheltered from danger in the bureaus. 3 O'CLOCK P.M.--Three proclamations have just been issued! One (a joint one) from the President and the Governor, calling upon everybody to organize themselves into companies, battalions, and regiments, when they will be armed. They say "no time is to be lost, the danger is great." The Mayor, in his document, warns the people in time to avoid the fate of New Orleans. He says the enemy is advancing on the city, and may assail it before Monday morning. This is Saturday. The third proclamation is by E. B. Robinson, one of my printers, twenty years ago, at Washington. He calls upon all natives of Maryland and the District of Columbia to report to him, and he will lead them against the enemy, and redeem them from the imputation of skulking or disloyalty cast upon poor refugees by the flint-hearted Shylocks of Richmond, who have extorted all their money from them. Besides these inflammatory documents, the militia colonels have out notices for all men under forty-five years of age to meet in Broad Street to-morrow, Sunday. I learn, however, that there are some 25,000 or 30,000 of the enemy at Yorktown; but if we can get together 12,000 fighting men, in the next twenty-four hours, to man the fortifications, there will not be much use for the militia and the clerks of the departments, more than as an internal police force. But I am not quite sure we can get that number. JUNE 28TH.--By order of Brig.-Gen. G. W. Custis Lee, the department companies were paraded to-day, armed and equipped. These, with the militia in the streets (armed by the government to-day), amounted to several thousand efficient men for the batteries and for guard duty. They are to rendezvous, with blankets, provisions, etc., upon the sounding of the tocsin. I learn that 8000 men in the hospitals within convenient reach of the city, including those in the city, can be available for defense in an emergency. They cannot march, but they can fight. These, with Hill's division, will make over 20,000 men; an ample force to cope with the enemy on the Peninsula. It has been a cool, cloudy day (we have had copious rains recently), else the civilians could not have stood several hours exercise so well. A little practice will habituate them by degrees to the harness of war. No one doubts that they will fight, when the time for blows arrives. Gen. Jenkins has just arrived, with his brigade, from the south side of the James River. I was in the arsenal to-day, and found an almost unlimited amount of arms. We get not a word from Gen. Lee. This, I think, augurs well, for bad news flies fast. No doubt we shall soon hear something from the Northern papers. They are already beginning to magnify the ravages of our army on _their_ soil: but our men are incapable of retaliating, to the full extent, such atrocities as the following, on the Blackwater, near Suffolk, which I find in the Petersburg _Express_: "Mr. Smith resided about one mile from the town, a well-to-do farmer, having around him an interesting family, the eldest one a gallant young man in the 16th Virginia Regiment. When Gen. Longstreet invested Suffolk a sharp artillery and infantry skirmish took place near Mr. Smith's residence, and many balls passed through his house. The Yankees finally advanced and fired the houses, forcing the family to leave. Mrs. Smith, with her seven children, the youngest only ten months old, attempted to escape to the woods and into the Confederate lines, when she was fired upon by the Yankee soldiers, and a Minié-ball entering her limb just below the hip, she died in thirty minutes from the loss of blood. The children, frightened, hid themselves in the bushes, while Mr. Smith sat down upon the ground by his wife, to see her breathe her last. After she had been dead for some time, the Yankee commander permitted him to take a cart, and, with no assistance except one of his children, he put the dead body in the cart and carried it into the town. On his arrival in town, he was not permitted to take the remains of his wife to her brother's residence until he had first gone through the town to the Provost Marshal's office and obtained permission. On his arrival at the Provost Marshal's office, he was gruffly told to take his wife to the graveyard and bury her. He carried her to her brother's, John R. Kilby, Esq., and a few friends prepared her for burial; Mr. Kilby not being allowed to leave the house, or to attend the remains of his sister to the graveyard. "Nor did the cruelty of the fiends stop here. Mr. Smith was denied the privilege of going in search of his little children, and for four days and nights they wandered in the woods and among the soldiers without anything to eat or any place to sleep. The baby was taken up by a colored woman and nursed until some private in the Yankee army, with a little better heart than his associates, took it on his horse and carried it to town. Mr. Smith is still in the lines of the enemy, his house and everything else he had destroyed, and his little children cared for by his friends. "Will not the Confederate soldiers now in Pennsylvania remember such acts of cruelty and barbarism? Will not the Nansemond companies remember it? And will not that gallant boy in the 16th Regiment remember his mother's fate, and take vengeance on the enemy? Will not such a cruel race of people eventually reap the fruit of their doings? God grant that they may." SUNDAY AFTERNOON.--There are two reports of important events current in the streets: first, that Lee's army has taken and destroyed Harrisburg, Pennsylvania; and second, that Vicksburg has fallen. I am not prepared to credit either, although the first is said to be true by no less a person than Gov. Letcher. And yet one or both may be confirmed to-morrow; and if so, that is, if Vicksburg has fallen, and Lee should retire, as he must sooner or later, there will be a dark and desponding season in the Confederacy. But the war will go on. JUNE 29TH.--There is no confirmation of the report of the fall of Vicksburg, but it may be so; nor is it certain that we have advanced to Harrisburg, but it is probable. Gen. D. H. Hill writes (on Saturday) from Petersburg that 40,000 of the enemy could not take Richmond; but this may be fishing for the command. He says if Gen. Dix comes this way, he would make him a subject of the cartel of exchange which he (Dix) had a hand in negotiating. J. M. Botts writes, from his farm in Culpepper, that our men are quartered on his premises, and do as much injury as _a_ hostile army could. _He_ is neutral. They pay him ten cents per day for the grazing of each horse. The Commissary-General is again recommending the procuring of bacon from within the enemy's lines, in exchange for cotton. Why not get meat from the enemy's country for nothing? Hon. R. M. T. Hunter writes to the Secretary of War to let the Quartermaster-General alone, that he is popular with Congress, and that his friends are active. It might be dangerous to remove him; the President had better commission him a brigadier-general. He says Judge Campbell wants the President to go to Mississippi; this, Mr. H. is opposed to. Mr. H. is willing to trust Johnston, has not lost confidence in him, etc. And he tells the Secretary to inform the President how much he (H.) esteems him (the President). The New York _Times_ publishes an account of one of their raids on the Peninsula, below this city, as follows: "Within the past three days a most daring raid has been made into one of the richest portions of the enemy's country, and the success was equal to the boldness of the undertaking. "The expedition, which was conducted by both land and water, was commanded by Col. Kilpatrick. It started from the headquarters of Gen. Keyes on Wednesday, and returned yesterday. In the interim the Counties of Matthews and Gloucester were scoured. All the warehouses containing grain were sacked, the mills burned, and everything that could in any way aid the rebels were destroyed or captured. Three hundred horses, two hundred and fifty head of cattle, two hundred sheep, and one hundred mules, together with a large number of contrabands, were brought back by the raiders. "The rebel farmers were all taken by surprise. They had not expected a demonstration of the kind. Not only were they made to surrender everything that could be of the least use to us, but they were compelled to be silent spectators to the destruction of their agricultural implements." No doubt we shall soon have some account in the Northern papers of _our_ operations in this line, in their country. JUNE 30TH.--Dispatches from the West show that we still held Vicksburg at the last dates; and, moreover, Gen. Taylor (son of Zachary Taylor) had stormed and taken the enemy's fortifications at Berwick's Bay, with the bayonet. We took 1000 prisoners, 10 large cannon, and many stores. Also that we had taken Thibbodauxville, and have thus cut off Banks from New Orleans. 5 O'CLOCK P.M.--The city is now in good humor, but not wild with exultation. We have what seems pretty authentic intelligence of the taking of HARRISBURG, the capital of Pennsylvania, the City of YORK, etc. etc. This comes on the flag of truce boat, and is derived from the enemy themselves. Lee will not descend to the retaliation instigated by petty malice; but proclaim to the inhabitants that all we desire is PEACE, not conquest. From Vicksburg we have further information that, in springing his mine, Grant destroyed hundreds of his own men, and did us no injury. Also that a battery we have above Vicksburg had fired into some passing transports, doing great damage to life and boats. The troops landed, and failed to take the battery by assault, losing hundreds in addition. CHAPTER XXVIII. Enemy threatening Richmond.--The city is safe.--Battle of Gettysburg.-- Great excitement.--Yankees in great trouble.--Alas! Vicksburg has fallen.--President is sick.--Grant marching against Johnston at Jackson.--Fighting at that place.--Yankees repulsed at Charleston.-- Lee and Meade facing each other.--Pemberton surrenders his whole army.--Fall of Port Hudson.--Second class conscripts called for.-- Lee has got back across the Potomac.--Lincoln getting fresh troops.-- Lee writes that he cannot be responsible if the soldiers fail for want of food.--Rumors of Grant coming East.--Pemberton in bad odor.-- Hon. W. L. Yancey is dead. JULY 1ST.--The intelligence of the capture of Harrisburg and York, Pa., is so far confirmed as to be admitted by the officers of the Federal flag of truce boat that came up to City Point yesterday. Of the movements of Hooker's army, we have the following information: "HEADQUARTERS, CAVALRY DIVISION, "June 27th, 1863. "GENERAL:--I took possession of Fairfax C. H. this morning at nine o'clock, together with a large quantity of stores. The main body of Hooker's army has gone toward Leesburg, except the garrison of Alexandria and Washington, which has retreated within the fortifications. "Very respectfully, "Your obedient servant, "J. E. B. STUART, _Major-General_." The Northern papers say that our cruiser Tacony, taken from them, has destroyed twenty-two of their vessels since the 12th inst.; but that our men burnt her at last. Her crew then entered Portland, Maine, and cut out the steam cutter Caleb Cushing, which they subsequently blew up, and then were themselves taken prisoner. The President has decided that the obstructions below the city shall not be opened for the steam iron-clad Richmond to go out, until another iron-clad be in readiness to accompany her. Capt. Maury, at Mobile, writes that the two iron-clads, Trent and Nashville, now ready for sea, might take New Orleans and _keep it_. The President directs the Secretary of War to consult the Secretary of the Navy, and if they agreed, the attempt should be made without loss of time. So, probably, we shall have news from that quarter soon. The militia and Department Guard (soon to be called the National Guard, probably) were notified to-day to be in readiness at a minute's warning. It is said positively that Dix is advancing toward the city. Well, let him come. JULY 2D.--The President is unwell again; to what extent I have not learned. But the Vice-President is ready, no doubt, to take his place in the event of a fatal result; and some would rejoice at it. Such is the mutability of political affairs! The Attorney-General Watts, being referred to, sends in a written opinion that foreigners sojourning here, under the protection of the Confederate States, are liable to military duty, in defense of their homes, against any government but the one to which they claim to owe allegiance. This I sent in to the Secretary of War, and I hope he will act on it; but the Assistant Secretary and Mr. Benjamin were busy to-day--perhaps combating the Attorney-General's opinion. Will Mr. Seddon have the nerve to act? It is a trying time, and every man is needed for defense. The enemy were drawn up in line of battle this morning below the fortifications. The Department Guard (my son Custis among them) were ordered out, and marched away; and so with the second class militia. A battle is looked for to-morrow; and there has been skirmishing to-day. A dispatch from Hanover Court House says the enemy is approaching likewise from the north in large force--and 15 guns. This is his great blunder. He cannot take Richmond, nor draw back Lee, and the detachment of so many of his men may endanger Baltimore and Washington, and perhaps Philadelphia. JULY 3D.--My son Custis stayed out all night, sleeping on his arms in the farthest intrenchments. A little beyond, there was a skirmish with the enemy. We lost eight in killed and wounded. What the enemy suffered is not known, but he fell back, and ran toward the White House. This morning, Mr. Ould, agent for exchange of prisoners, reported that "not a Yankee could be found on the face of the earth." And this induced a general belief that the enemy had retired, finally, being perhaps ordered to Washington, where they may be much needed. The Secretary of War, believing the same thing, intimated to Gen. Elzey (who for some cause is unable to ride, and therefore remains in the city) a desire to send several regiments away to some menaced point at a distance. In response, Elzey writes that none can be spared with safety; that the enemy had apparently divided his force into two bodies, one for Hanover, and the other for the Chickahominy, and both _strong_; and he advised against weakening the forces here. He said he had not yet completed the manning of the batteries, the delay being in arming the men--and he hoped "Hill could hold out." We have 3400 convalescents at Camp Lee, and as many more may be relied on for the defense of the city; so we shall have not less than 22,000 men for the defense of Richmond. The enemy have perhaps 35,000; but it would require 75,000 to storm our batteries. Let this be remembered hereafter, if the 35,000 sent here on a fool's errand might have saved Washington or Baltimore, or have served to protect Pennsylvania--and then let the press of the North bag the administration at Washington! Gen. Lee's course is "right onward," and cannot be affected by events here. My friend Jacques (clerk) marched out yesterday with the Department Guard; but he had the diarrhoea, and was excused from marching as far as the company. He also got permission to come to town this morning, having slept pretty well, he said, apart from the company. No doubt he did good service in the city to-day, having his rifle fixed (the ball, I believe, had got down before the powder), and procuring a basket of edibles and a canteen of strong tea, which he promised to share with the mess. He said he saw Custis this morning, looking well, after sleeping on the ground the first time in his life, and without a blanket. We have nothing further from the North or the West. JULY 4TH.--The Department Guard (my son with them) were marched last night back to the city, and out to Meadow Bridge, on the Chickahominy, some sixteen miles! The clerks, I understand, complain of bad meat (two or three ounces each) and mouldy bread; and some of them curse the authorities for fraudulent deception, as it was understood they would never be marched beyond the city defenses. But they had no alternative--the Secretaries would report the names of all who did not _volunteer_. Most of the poor fellows have families dependent on their salaries for bread--being refugees from their comfortable homes, for the cause of _independence_. If removed, their wives and little children, or brothers and sisters, must perish. They would be conscribed, and receive only $12 per month. My friend Jacques did not return to the company yesterday, after all, although I saw him get into an ambulance with a basket of food. He got out again, sending the basket to Mr. K., the young chief of the bureau, and Judge Campbell allowed him to remain. Mr. Myers the lawyer is much with Judge Campbell, working for his Jew clients, who sometimes, I am told, pay $1000 each to be got out of the army, and as high as $500 for a two months' detail, when battles are to be fought. Mr. M. thinks he has law for all he does. A letter from Gen. D. H. Hill shows that it was his intention to bring on a battle on the 2d inst., but the enemy fled. It was only a feint below; but we may soon hear news from Hanover County. Col. Gorgas (ordnance) writes that as his men are marched out to defend the city, he can't send much ammunition to Gen. Lee! A letter from Lieut.-Gen. E. Kirby Smith, dated June 15th, shows he was at Shreveport, La., at that date. The poor militia were allowed to return to their homes to-day; but an hour after the tocsin sounded, and they were compelled to assemble and march again. This is the work of the Governor, and the Secretary of War says there was no necessity for it, as Confederate troops here now can defend the city, if attacked. JULY 5TH.--This morning the wires refused to work, being cut, no doubt, in Hanover County. The presence of the enemy in this vicinity, I think, since they refuse to fight, is designed to prevent us from sending more troops into Pennsylvania. I trust the President will think of this matter, if he is well enough; some of his generals here are incapable of thinking at all. _We have just received intelligence of a great battle at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania._ I have not heard the day; but the news was brought by flag of truce boat to City Point last night. The Yankee papers, I am told, claim a victory, but acknowledge a loss of five or six generals, among them Meade, commander-in-chief (vice Hooker), mortally wounded. _But we still held the town_, and "_actions speak louder than words_." More troops are marching up into Hanover County. JULY 6TH.--Yesterday evening we received Baltimore and New York papers with accounts (and loose ones) of the battle of Gettysburg. The Governor of Pennsylvania says it was "_indecisive_," which means, as we read it, that Meade's army was defeated. The forces (Federal) are withdrawing from the neighborhood of this city, another indication that Lee has gained a victory. Dix has done but little damage. In retreating from Hanover County, he burnt the bridges to retard pursuit. The "War Department Guard" have returned, my son among them, sun-burnt and covered with dust. They were out five days and four nights, sleeping on the ground, without tents or blankets, and with little or nothing to eat, although the Commissary-General had abundance. The President, however, is better to-day, and able to get out of bed; but his health is apparently gone, and it may be doubtful whether he will ever be quite well again. The Vice-President went down to the flag of truce boat on Saturday, some say to Fortress Monroe, and others to Washington. It is surmised that he is authorized by the President to have a definitive understanding with the Federal authorities, whether or not private property is to be respected hereafter in the future progress of the war. If not, Gen. Lee will have orders to desolate the Northern States, where he has the power. Some, however, think he goes to Washington, to propose terms of peace, etc. There is a rumor in the city, generally credited, that another battle was fought in Pennsylvania on Friday, and that the enemy was annihilated; these rumors sometimes assume form and substance, and this one, as if by some sort of magnetism, is credited by many. It is certain that Mr. Morris, superintendent of the telegraph office, has called upon his friends for the largest Confederate flag in the city to hang out of his window. He says nothing more; but he may have sent dispatches to the President, which he is not at liberty to divulge. There may be later news from Lee; or Vicksburg may be relieved; or New Orleans taken; or an armistice; or nothing. I am glad my son's company were ordered in to-day; for, after a week of fine fair weather, it is now raining furiously. This would have prostrated the _tender_ boys with illness. JULY 7TH.--It appears that the fighting near Gettysburg began on Wednesday, July 1st, continued until Sunday, the 5th, and perhaps longer. Up to Friday the Northern papers claim the advantage. This morning at 1 P.M. another dispatch was received from the same (unofficial) source, stating that on Sunday the enemy made a stand, and A. P. Hill's corps fell back, followed by the enemy, when Longstreet's and Ewell's corps closed in their rear and captured 40,000 prisoners--who are now guarded by Pickett's division. It states that the prisoners refused to be paroled. This might possibly be true. This account is credited. Col. Custis Lee, from the President's office, was in my office at half-past two P.M. to-day, and said nothing had been received from his father yet--but he did not deny that such accounts might be substantially true. The President still keeps his eye on Gen. Beauregard. A paper from the general to Gen. Cooper, and, of course, referred to the President, in relation to the means of defense in his department, and a call for more guns, was sent back to-day, indorsed by the President, that by an examination of the report of Gen. Huger, he thought some discrepancies would appear in the statements of Gen. B. Thus, it would seem, from a repetition of similar imputations, the President has strong doubts of Gen. B.'s accuracy of statements. He is quick to detect discrepancies. Gen. D. H. Hill sends in a characteristic letter. He says the rivers are all swollen, and he can make no movement to-day in pursuit of Dix's army of the Pamunky--or rather "the monkey army." He says that the Brooke Pike outer defenses are so defective in design, that a force there could be driven off in five minutes by the enemy's sharpshooters. He wants them amended, and a certain grove cut down--and recommends that engineers be put to work, with orders to leave their "kid gloves behind." He thinks more is to be apprehended from an attack on Petersburg than Richmond; and requests that Gen. Wise be ordered to march thither from Chaffin's Bluff, on the first alarm. He had not heard of the reported victory of Lee. JULY 8TH.--I am glad to copy the following order of Gen. Lee: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "CHAMBERSBURG, PA., June 27th, 1863. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 73. "The commanding general has observed with marked satisfaction the conduct of the troops on the march, and confidently anticipates results commensurate with the high spirit they have manifested. No troops could have displayed greater fortitude, or better performed the arduous marches of the past ten days. Their conduct in other respects has, with few exceptions, been in keeping with their character as soldiers, and entitles them to approbation and praise. "There have, however, been instances of forgetfulness on the part of some, that they have in keeping the yet unsullied reputation of the army, and that the duties exacted of us by civilization and Christianity are not less obligatory in the country of the enemy than in our own. "The commanding general considers that no greater disgrace could befall the army, and through it, our whole people, than the perpetration of the barbarous outrages upon the innocent and defenseless, and the wanton destruction of private property, that have marked the course of the enemy in our own country. Such proceedings not only disgrace the perpetrators and all connected with them, but are subversive of the discipline and efficiency of the army and destructive of the ends of our present movements. It must be remembered that we make war only upon armed men, and that we cannot take vengeance for the wrongs our people have suffered without lowering ourselves in the eyes of all whose abhorrence has been excited by the atrocities of our enemy, and offending against Him to whom vengeance belongeth, without whose favor and support our efforts must all prove in vain. "The commanding general, therefore, earnestly exhorts the troops to abstain with most scrupulous care from unnecessary or wanton injury to private property; and he enjoins upon all officers to arrest and bring to summary punishment all who shall in any way offend against the orders on this subject. "R. E. LEE, _General_." We have no additional news from the battle-field, except the following dispatch from Winchester: "Our loss is estimated at 10,000. Between 3000 and 4000 of our wounded are arriving here to-night. Every preparation is being made to receive them. "Gens. Scales and Pender have arrived here wounded, this evening. Gens. Armistead, Barksdale, Garnett, and Kemper are reported killed. Gens. Jones, Heth, Anderson, Pettigrew, Jenkins, Hampton, and Hood are reported wounded. "The Yankees say they had only two corps in the fight on Wednesday, which was open field fighting. The whole of the Yankee force was engaged in the last three days' fighting. The number is estimated at 175,000. "The hills around Gettysburg are said to be covered with the dead and wounded of the Yankee Army of the Potomac. "The fighting of these four days is regarded as the severest of the war, and the slaughter unprecedented; especially is this so of the enemy. "The New York and Pennsylvania papers are reported to have declared for peace." But the absence of dispatches from Gen. Lee himself is beginning to create distrust, and doubts of decisive success at Gettysburg. His couriers may have been captured, or he may be delaying to announce something else he has in contemplation. The enemy's flag of truce boat of yesterday refused to let us have a single paper in exchange for ours. This signifies something--I know not what. One of our exchanged officers says he heard a Northern officer say, at Fortress Monroe, that Meade's loss was, altogether, 60,000 men; but this is not, of course, reliable. Another officer said Lee was retiring, which is simply impossible, now, for the flood. But, alas! we have sad tidings from the West. Gen. Johnston telegraphs from Jackson, Miss., that Vicksburg capitulated on the 4th inst. This is a terrible blow, and has produced much despondency. The President, sick as he is, has directed the Secretary of War to send him copies of all the correspondence with Johnston and Bragg, etc., on the subject of the relief of Pemberton. The Secretary of War has caught the prevailing alarm at the silence of Lee, and posted off to the President for a solution--but got none. If Lee falls back again, it will be the darkest day for the Confederacy we have yet seen. JULY 9TH.--The sad tidings from Vicksburg have been confirmed by subsequent accounts. The number of men fit for duty on the day of capitulation was only a little upwards of 7000. Flour was selling at $400 per barrel! This betrays the extremity to which they had been reduced. A dispatch to-day states that Grant, with 100,000 men (supposed), is marching on Jackson, to give Johnston battle. But Johnston will retire--he has not men enough to withstand him, until he leads him farther into the interior. If beaten, Mobile might fall. We have no particulars yet--no comments of the Southern generals under Pemberton. But the fall of the place has cast a gloom over everything. The fall of Vicksburg, alone, does not make this the darkest day of the war, as it is undoubtedly. The news from Lee's army is appalling. After the battle of Friday, the accounts from Martinsburg now state, he fell back toward Hagerstown, followed by the enemy, fighting but little on the way. Instead of 40,000 we have only 4000 prisoners. How many we have lost, we know not. The Potomac is, perhaps, too high for him to pass it--and there are probably 15,000 of the enemy immediately in his rear! Such are the gloomy accounts from Martinsburg. Our telegraph operators are great liars, or else they have been made the dupes of spies and traitors. That the cause has suffered much, and may be ruined by the toleration of disloyal persons within our lines, who have kept the enemy informed of all our movements, there can be no doubt. The following is Gen. Johnston's dispatch announcing the fall of Vicksburg: "JACKSON, July 7th, 1863. "HON. J. A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "Vicksburg capitulated on the 4th inst. The garrison was paroled, and are to be returned to our lines, the officers retaining their side-arms and personal baggage. "This intelligence was brought by an officer who left the place on Sunday, the 5th. "J. E. JOHNSTON, _General_." We get nothing from Lee himself. Gen. Cooper, the Secretary of War, and Gen. Hill went to the President's office about one o'clock. They seemed in haste, and excited. The President, too, is sick, and ought not to attend to business. It will kill him, perhaps. There is serious anxiety now for the fate of Richmond. Will Meade be here in a few weeks? Perhaps so--but, then, Lee may not have quite completed his raid beyond the Potomac. The _Baltimore American_, no doubt in some trepidation for the quiescence of that city, gets up a most glowing account of "Meade's victory"--if it should, indeed, in the sequel, prove to have been one. That Lee fell back, is true; but how many men were lost on each side in killed, wounded, and prisoners--how many guns were taken, and what may be the result of the operations in Pennsylvania and Maryland--of which we have as yet such imperfect accounts--will soon be known. JULY 10TH.--This is the day of fate--and, without a cloud in the sky, the red sun, dimly seen through the mist (at noonday), casts a baleful light on the earth. It has been so for several days. Early this morning a dispatch was received from Gen. Beauregard that the enemy attacked the forts in Charleston harbor, and, subsequently, that they were landing troops on Morris Island. Up to 3 o'clock we have no tidings of the result. But if Charleston falls, the government will be blamed for it--since, notwithstanding the remonstrances of Gen. B., the government, members of Congress, and prominent citizens, some 10,000 of his troops were away to save Vicksburg. About one o'clock to-day the President sent over to the Secretary of War a dispatch from an officer at Martinsburg, stating that Gen. Lee was still at Hagerstown awaiting his ammunition--(has not Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, been sufficiently vigilant?)--which, however, had arrived at the Potomac. That all the prisoners (number not stated), except those paroled, were at the river. That _nothing was known of the enemy_--but that cavalry fighting occurred every day. He concluded by saying he did not know whether Lee would advance _or recross the river_. If he does the latter, in my opinion there will be a great revulsion of feeling in the Confederate States and in the United States. Another dispatch, from Gen. J. E. Johnston, dated yesterday, at Jackson, Miss., stated that Grant's army was then within _four_ miles of him, with numbers double his own. But that he would hold the city as long as possible, for its fall would be the loss of the State. I learn a subsequent dispatch announced that fighting had begun. I believe Johnston is intrenched. To-day Mr. Secretary Seddon requested Attorney-General Watts, if he could do so consistent with duty, to order a _nolle prosequi_ in the District Court of Alabama in the case of Ford, Hurd & Co. for trading with the enemy. Gen. Pemberton had made a contract with them, allowing them to ship cotton to New Orleans, and to bring back certain supplies for the army. But Mr. Attorney-General Watts replied that it was not consistent with his duty to comply, and therefore he demurred to it, as the act they were charged with was in violation of the act of Congress of April 19th, 1862. We lost twelve general officers in the fall of Vicksburg--one lieutenant-general, four major-generals, and seven brigadiers. Dispatches from Jackson, Miss., say the battle began yesterday, but up to the time of the latest accounts it had not become general. Johnston had destroyed the wells and cisterns, and as there are no running streams in the vicinity, no doubt Grant's army will suffer for water, if the defense be protracted. From Charleston we learn that we lost in yesterday's combat some 300 men, killed and wounded--the enemy quite as many. This morning the Yankees assaulted the battery on Morris Island, and were repulsed in two minutes, with a loss of 95 killed and 130 wounded, besides prisoners. Our loss was five, killed and wounded. Nothing further was heard up to 7 o'clock P.M. From Lee we have no news whatever. A letter from Governor Vance, of North Carolina, complains of an insult offered by Col. Thorburn (of Virginia), and asking that he be removed from the State, and if retained in service, not to be permitted to command North Carolinians. The Governor, by permission of Gen. Whiting, proceeded down the river to a steamer which had just got in (and was aground) from Europe, laden with supplies for the State; but when attempting to return was stopped by Col. T., who said it was against the rules for any one to pass from the steamer to the city until the expiration of the time prescribed for quarantine. The Governor informed him of his special permission from Gen. Whiting and the Board of Navigation--and yet the colonel said he should not pass for fifteen days, "if he _was_ Governor Vance or Governor Jesus Christ." The President indorsed on this letter, as one requiring the Secretary's attention, "if the case be as stated." Again the blockade-runners are at their dirty work, and Judge Campbell is "allowing" them. To-day Col. J. Gorgas, who is daily in receipt of immense amounts of ordnance stores from Europe by government steamers, recommends that passports be given N. H. Rogers and L. S. White to proceed _North_ for supplies. This is a small business. It is no time to apply for passports, and no time to grant them. We now know all about the mission of Vice-President Stephens under flag of truce. It was ill-timed for success. At Washington news had been received of the defeat of Gen. Lee--which may yet prove not to have been "all a defeat." JULY 12TH.--There is nothing additional this morning from Charleston, Mississippi, or Maryland. Telegraphic communication is still open to Jackson, where all was quiet again at the last accounts; but battle, then, must occur immediately. From Charleston we learn that Beauregard had repulsed every assault of the enemy. It is rumored that Lee's account of the battle of Gettysburg will be published to-morrow, showing that it was the "most brilliant and successful battle of the war." I hope he may say so--for then it will be so. Our papers are publishing Milroy's papers captured at Winchester. JULY 13TH.--The _Enquirer_ says the President has got a letter from Gen. Lee (why not give it to the people?) stating that his operations in Pennsylvania and Maryland have been successful and satisfactory, and that we have now some 15,000 to 18,000 prisoners, besides the 4000 or 5000 paroled. Nonsense! Lee and Meade have been facing each other two or three days, drawn up in battle array, and a decisive battle may have occurred ere this. The wires have been cut between Martinsburg and Hagerstown. Not another word have we from either Charleston or Jackson; but we learn that monitors, gun-boats, and transports are coming up the James River. Altogether, this is another dark day in our history. It has been officially ascertained that Pemberton surrendered, with Vicksburg, 22,000 men! He has lost, during the year, not less than 40,000! And Lovell (another Northern general) lost Fort Jackson and New Orleans. When _will_ the government put "none but Southerners on guard?" Letters to-day from the Governors of South Carolina, Alabama, and North Carolina show that all are offended at the Confederate government. Judge Campbell's judicial profundity (and he is the department's correspondent) is unfortunate at this crisis, when, not great principles, but quick and successful fighting, alone can serve. It appears that President Lincoln has made a speech in Washington in exultation over the fall of Vicksburg, and the defeat of an army contending against the principle that all men were created equal. He means the negro--we mean that white men were created equal--that we are equal to Northern white people, and have a right, which we do not deny to them, of living under a government of our own choice. JULY 14TH.--To-day we have tidings of the fall of Port Hudson, on the Mississippi River, our last stronghold there. I suppose some 10,000 or 12,000 of our men had to surrender, unconditionally. Thus the army of Gen. Pemberton, first and last, some 50,000 strong, has been completely destroyed. There is sadness and gloom throughout the land! The enemy are established on Morris Island, and the fate of Charleston is in doubt. We have nothing authentic from Gen. Lee; but long trains of the slightly wounded arrived yesterday and to-day. It has been raining, almost every day, for nearly two weeks. The President is quite amiable now. The newspaper editors can find easy access, and he welcomes them with smiles. A letter was received to-day from a Major Jones, saying he was authorized to state that the Messrs. ------, engine-makers in Philadelphia, were willing to remove their machinery to the South, being Southern men. The President indorsed that authority might be given for them to come, etc. Gen. Beauregard writes for a certain person here skilled in the management of torpedoes--but Secretary Mallory says the enemy's gun-boats are in the James River, and he cannot be sent away. I hope both cities may not fall! A heavy thunder-storm, accompanied with a deluging rain, prevails this afternoon at 5-1/2 o'clock P.M. JULY 15TH.--There was a rumor of another battle beyond the Potomac, this morning, but it has not been confirmed. From Charleston we have no news; but from Jackson there has been considerable fighting, without a general engagement. The _Enquirer_ and _Sentinel_ to-day squint at a military dictatorship; but President Davis would hardly attempt such a feat at such a time. Gen. Samuel Jones, Western Virginia, has delayed 2000 men ordered to Lee, assigning as an excuse the demonstrations of the enemy in the Kanawha Valley. "Off with his head--so much for Buckingham!" There is some gloom in the community; but the spirits of the people will rebound. A large crowd of Irish, Dutch, and Jews are daily seen at Gen. Winder's door, asking permission to go North on the flag of truce boat. They fear being forced into the army; they will be compelled to aid in the defense of the city, or be imprisoned. They intend to leave their families behind, to save the property they have accumulated under the protection of the government. Files of papers from Europe show that Mr. Roebuck and other members of Parliament, as well as the papers, are again agitating the question of recognition. We shall soon ascertain the real intentions of France and England. If they truly desire our success, and apprehend danger from the United States in the event of a reconstruction of the Union, they will manifest their purposes when the news of our recent calamities shall be transported across the ocean. And if such a thing as reconstruction were possible, and were accomplished (in such a manner and on such terms as would not appear degrading to the Southern people), then, indeed, well might both France and England tremble. The United States would have _millions_ of soldiers, and the Southern people would not owe either of them a debt of gratitude. JULY 16TH.--This is another blue day in the calendar. Nothing from Lee, or Johnston, or Bragg; and no news is generally bad news. But from Charleston we learn that the enemy are established on Morris Island, having taken a dozen of our guns and howitzers in the sand hills at the lower end; and that the monitors had passed the bar, and doubtless an engagement by land and by water is imminent, if indeed it has not already taken place. Many regard Charleston as lost. I do not. Again the _Enquirer_, edited by Mitchel, the Irishman, is urging the President to seize arbitrary power; but the _Examiner_ combats the project defiantly. Mr. Secretary Seddon, who usually wears a sallow and cadaverous look, which, coupled with his emaciation, makes him resemble an exhumed corpse after a month's interment, looks to-day like a galvanized corpse which had been buried two months. The circles round his eyes are absolutely black! And yet he was pacing briskly backward and forward between the President's office and the War Department. He seems much affected by disasters. The United States agent of exchange has sent a notice to our agent that the negroes we capture from them in battle must be exchanged as other soldiers are, according to the cartel, which said nothing about color; and if the act of Congress in relation to such soldiers be executed, the United States would retaliate to the utmost extremity. Captains H. W. Sawyer and John Flinn, having been designated by lot for execution in retaliation for two of our captains executed by Gen. Burnside for recruiting in Kentucky, write somewhat lugubriously, in bad grammar and execrable chirography, that, as they never served under Burnside, they should not be made to suffer for his deed. They say we have two of Burnside's captains at Atlanta (and they give their names) who would be the proper victims. I saw a paper to-day, sent to the department, with a list of the United States officers at Memphis who are said to have taken bribes; among them is Col. H----r, of Illinois, Provost Marshal General (Grant's staff); Col. A----, Illinois, ex-Provost Marshal; Capt. W----, Illinois, Assistant Provost Marshal; Capt. C---- (Gen. Herbert's staff), and "Dan Ross," citizen of Illinois, _procurer_. On the 9th instant Gen. D. H. Hill (now lieutenant-general, and assigned to Mississippi) asks if troops are to be sent to cover Lee's _retreat_; and fears, if the enemy establish themselves at Winchester, they will starve Lee to death. Speaking of the raid of the enemy to the North Carolina Railroad, he said they would do the State infinite service by dashing into Raleigh and capturing all the members of the legislature. He also hits at the local newspapers here. Their mention of his name, and the names of other officers in the campaign round Richmond, informed the enemy that we had no troops at Goldsborough and Weldon, and hence the raid. And, after all, he says the enemy were not more numerous than our forces in the recent dash at Richmond. He says it was no feint, but a faint. To-day an order was issued for the local troops to deliver up their ammunition. What does that mean? And to-day the President calls for the second class of conscripts, all between eighteen and forty-five years of age. _So our reserves must take the field!_ JULY 17TH.--At last we have the authentic announcement that Gen. Lee has recrossed the Potomac! Thus the armies of the Confederate States are recoiling at all points, and a settled gloom is apparent on many weak faces. The fall of Charleston is anticipated. Subjugation is not apprehended by the government; for, if driven to an interior line of defense, the war may be prolonged indefinitely, or at least until the United States becomes embroiled with some European power. Meantime we are in a half starving condition. I have lost twenty pounds, and my wife and children are emaciated to some extent. Still, I hear no murmuring. To-day, for the second time, ten dollars in Confederate notes are given for one in gold; and no doubt, under our recent disasters, the depreciation will increase. Had it not been for the stupidity of our Dutch Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Memminger, there would have been no financial difficulties. If he had recommended (as he was urged to do) the purchase by the government of all the cotton, it could have been bought at 7 cents per pound; and the _profits_ alone would have defrayed the greater portion of the expenses of the war, besides affording immense _diplomatic_ facilities and advantages. But red-tape etiquette, never violated by the government, may prove our financial ruin beyond redemption. It costs this government five times as much to support an army as it does the United States; and the call for conscripts is a farce, since the speculators (and who is not one now?) will buy exemptions from the party who, strangely, have the authority to grant them. The last accounts from Jackson state that Burnside is reinforcing Grant, and that heavy skirmishing is going on daily. But all suppose that Johnston must retreat. And Bragg is in no condition to face Rosecrans. Whether Lee will come hither or not, no one knows; but some tremble for the fate of Richmond. Lee possibly may cross the Potomac again, however, if Meade detaches a heavy force to capture Richmond. What our fate would be if we fall into the hands of the invader, may be surmised from the sufferings of the people in New Orleans. JULY 18TH.--Lee has got over the Potomac with a loss, in crossing, of 1500; and Johnston has abandoned Jackson, Miss. But we have _awful_ good news from New York: an INSURRECTION, the loss of many lives, extensive pillage and burning, with a suspension of the conscription! Gen. Morgan is in the enemy's country. JULY 19TH.--We have no news this morning. But a rumor prevails, which cannot be traced to any authentic source, that Texas has put herself under the protection of France. It is significant, because public sentiment seems to acquiesce in such a measure; and I have not met with any who do not express a wish that it may be so. Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas are now isolated, and no protection or aid can be given them by the government here; and it is natural, after the fall of New Orleans and Vicksburg, for the people to hope that the invaders may be deprived of their prey just at the moment when they anticipated a realization of its enjoyment. Hon. Wm. Porcher Miles writes that, after consultation, the officers have decided that it would be impracticable to hold Morris Island, even if the enemy were driven from it at the point of the bayonet. Therefore they call loudly for Brooke guns of long range, and guns of large calibre for Sumter, so that the fort may prevent the enemy from erecting batteries in breaching distance. They say, in their appeal, that since the fall of Vicksburg there is no other place (but one) to send them. They are now idle in Richmond. I understand the Secretary of War, etc. are in consultation on the subject, and I hope the President will, at last, yield to Gen. Beauregard's demands. Gen. Maury also writes for guns and ordnance stores for the defense of Mobile, which may be attacked next. He will get them. If the insurrection in New York lives, and resistance to conscription should be general in the North, our people will take fresh hope, and make renewed efforts to beat back the mighty armies of the foe--suffering, and more than decimated, as we are. But if not--if Charleston and Richmond and Mobile should fall, a peace (submission) party will spring up. Nevertheless, the _fighting_ population would still resist, retiring into the interior and darting out occasionally, from positions of concentration, at the exposed camps of the enemy. JULY 20TH.--Nothing from Lee or from Johnston, except that the latter has abandoned Jackson. From Bragg's army, I learn that a certain number of regiments were moving from Chattanooga toward Knoxville--and I suspect their destination is Lee's army. But we have a dispatch from Beauregard, stating that he has again repulsed an attack of the enemy on the battery on Morris Island with heavy loss--perhaps 1500--while his is trifling. A thousand of the enemy's forces were in Wytheville yesterday, and were severely handled by 130 of the home guards. They did but little injury to the railroad, and burned a few buildings. An indignant letter has been received from the Hon. W. Porcher Miles, who had applied for a sub-lieutenancy for Charles Porcher, who had served with merit in the 1st South Carolina Artillery, and was his relative. It seems that the President directed the Secretary to state that the appointment could not be given him because he was not 21 years of age. To this Mr. M. replies that several minors in the same regiment have been appointed. I think not. Governor Brown writes a long letter, protesting against the decision of the Confederate States Government, that the President shall appoint the colonel for the 51st Georgia Regiment, which the Governor says is contrary to the Confederate States Constitution. He will resist it. A Mrs. Allen, a lady of wealth here, has been arrested for giving information to the enemy. Her letters were intercepted. She is confined at the asylum _St. Francis de Sales_. The surgeon who attends there reports to-day that her mental excitement will probably drive her to madness. Her great fear seems to be that she will be soon sent to a common prison. There is much indignation that she should be assigned to such comfortable quarters--and I believe the Bishop (McGill) protests against having criminals imprisoned in his religious edifices. It is said she has long been sending treasonable letters to Baltimore--but the authorities do not have the names of her letter-carriers published. No doubt they had passports. A letter from Lee's army says we lost 10,000 in the recent battle, killed, wounded, and prisoners. We took 11,000 prisoners and 11 guns. Thank Heaven! we have fine weather after nearly a month's rain. It may be that we shall have better fortune in the field now. Some of the bankers had an interview with the government to-day. Unless we can achieve some brilliant success, they cannot longer keep our government notes from depreciating, down to five cents on the dollar. They are selling for only ten cents now, in gold. In vain will be the sale of a million of government gold in the effort to keep it up. Gen. Morgan, like a comet, has shot out of the beaten track of the army, and after dashing deeply into Indiana, the last heard of him he was in Ohio, _near Cincinnati_. He was playing havoc with steam-boats, and capturing fine horses. He has some 3000 men we cannot afford to lose--but I fear they will be lost. JULY 21ST.--We have intelligence to-day, derived from a New York paper of the 18th inst., that the "insurrection" in New York had subsided, under the menacing attitude of the military authority, and that Lincoln had ordered the conscription law to be enforced. This gives promise of a long war. Mr. Mallory sent a note to the Secretary of War to-day (which of course the Secretary did not see, and will never hear of) by a young man named Juan Boyle, asking permission for B. to pass into Maryland as an agent of the Navy Department. Judge Campbell indorsed on the back of it (to Brig.-Gen. Winder) that permission was "allowed" by "order." But what is this "agent" to procure in the United States which could not be had by our steamers plying regularly between Wilmington and Europe? JULY 22D.--Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, sends in a paper to-day saying that only a quarter of a pound of meat per day can be given the soldiers, except when marching, and then only half a pound. He says no more can be derived from the trans-Mississippi country, nor from the State of Mississippi, or Tennessee, and parts of Georgia and Alabama; and if more than the amount he receives be given the soldiers, the negroes will have to go without any. He adds, however, that the peasants of Europe rarely have any meat, and in Hindostan, never. Col. Bradley T. Johnson, who commanded a brigade at Gettysburg, writes that on the first day we carried everything before us, capturing 8000 prisoners and losing but few men; the error was in not following up the attack with all our forces immediately, and in not having sufficient ammunition on the field. The newspapers to-day contain pretty accurate accounts of the battle. JULY 23D.--We have the following dispatch from Gen. Beauregard, which is really refreshing in this season of disasters: "CHARLESTON, July 22d, 1863. "The enemy recommenced shelling again yesterday, with but few casualties on our part. We had, in the battle of the 18th inst., about 150 killed and wounded. The enemy's loss, including prisoners, was about 2000. Nearly 800 were buried under a flag of truce. "Col. Putnam, acting brigadier-general, and Col. Shaw, commanding the negro regiment, were killed. "(Signed) G. T. BEAUREGARD, _General_." It is said the _raiders_ that dashed into Wytheville have been taken; but not so with the raiders that have been playing havoc with the railroad in North Carolina. Another letter from J. M. Botts, Culpepper County, complains of the pasturing of army horses in his fields before the Gettysburg campaign, and asks if his fields are to be again subject to the use of the commander of the army, _now returning to his vicinity_. If _he_ knows that Gen. Lee is fallen back thither, it is more than any one here seems to know. We shall see how accurate Mr. B. is in his conjecture. A letter from Mr. Goodman, president of Mobile and Charleston Railroad, says military orders have been issued to destroy, by fire, railroad equipments to the value of $5,000,000; and one-third of this amount of destruction would defeat the purpose of the enemy for a long time. The President orders efforts to be made to bring away the equipments by sending them down the road. Col. Preston, commandant of conscripts for South Carolina, has been appointed Chief of the Bureau of Conscription; he has accepted the appointment, and will be here August 1st. The law will now be honestly executed--if he be not too indolent, sick, etc. Archbishop Hughes has made a speech in New York to keep down the Irish. JULY 24TH.--Nothing from Lee, or Johnston, or Beauregard, or Bragg--but ill luck is fated for them all. Our ladies, at least, would not despair. But a day may change the aspect; a brilliant success would have a marvelous effect upon a people who have so long suffered and bled for freedom. They are getting on more comfortably, I learn, on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. Only about 25 of the enemy's troops are said to be there, merely to guard the wires. In the Revolutionary war, and in the war of 1812, that peninsula escaped the horrors of war, being deemed then, as now, too insignificant to attract the cupidity of the invaders. The Secretary of the Treasury sent an agent a few weeks ago with some $12,000,000 for disbursement in the trans-Mississippi country, but he has returned to this city, being unable to get through. He will now go to Havana, and thence to Texas; and hereafter money (if money it can be called) will be manufactured at Houston, where a paper treasury will be established. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston has recently drawn for $20,000 in gold. A letter from the Commissary-General to Gen. Lee states that we have but 1,800,000 pounds of bacon at Atlanta, and 500,000 pounds in this city, which is less than 30 days' rations for Bragg's and Lee's armies. He says all attempts to get bacon from Europe have failed, and he fears they will fail, and hence, if the ration be not reduced to 1/4 pound we shall soon have no meat on hand. Gen. Lee says he cannot be responsible if the soldiers fail for want of food. JULY 25TH.--Gen. Beauregard telegraphs that preparations should be made to withstand a bombardment at Savannah, and authority is asked, at the instance of Gov. Brown, to impress a sufficient number of slaves for the purpose. Gen. Jos. B. Johnston telegraphs the President that Grant has fallen back to Vicksburg, and, from information in his possession, will not stay there a day, _but will proceed up the river_. Gen. Johnston asks if this eccentric movement does not indicate a purpose to concentrate the enemy's forces for the reduction of Richmond. Grant's men, no doubt, objected to longer service at this season in the Southwest; perhaps Lincoln thinks Grant is the only general who can take Richmond, or it may be necessary for the presence of the army in the North to enforce the draft, to overawe conspirators against the administration, etc. We shall soon know more about it. Misfortunes come in clusters. We have a report to-day that Gen. Morgan's command has been mostly captured in Ohio. The recent rains made the river unfordable. It appears that Gen. Pemberton had but 15 days' rations to last 48 days, that the people offered him a year's supply for nothing if he would have it, and this he would not take, red tape requiring it to be delivered and paid for, so it fell into the hands of the enemy. He had a six months' supply of ammunition when he surrendered, and often during the siege would not let his men reply to the enemy's guns. Advertisers in the papers offer $4000 for substitutes. One offers a farm in Hanover County, on the Central Railroad, of 230 acres, for a substitute. There is something significant in this. It was so in France when Napoleon had greatly exhausted the male population. JULY 26TH.--Letters were received to-day from Gens. Beauregard, Mercer, Whitney, and S. Jones. It appears that Beauregard has some 6000 men of all arms, and that the enemy's force is estimated to be, or to have been (before losing some 3000), about 10,000. It is true the enemy has the benefit of his floating batteries, but we have our stationary ones. I think Charleston safe. Gen. Mercer _squeaks_ for the fate of Savannah, unless the government impresses slaves to work on the fortifications. All our generals _squeak_ when an attack is apprehended, for the purpose of alarming the government, and procuring more men and material, so as to make success doubly sure. And Gen. Whiting is squeaking loudly for the impressment of a thousand slaves, to complete his preparations for defense; and if he does not get them, he thinks the fall of Wilmington a pretty sure thing. And Gen. Jones squeaks from the West, asking that the 3000 infantry he was at last compelled to send to Gen. Lee, near Winchester, be returned to him to oppose the enemy's raids. But what were they sent to Lee for, unless he meant to give battle? Such may be his intention, and a victory now is demanded of him to place him _rectus in curio_. Beauregard says Fort Wagner, which has made such a successful defense on Morris Island, was located by Gen. Pemberton, and this is evidence of some military skill. But all the waters of Lethe will not obliterate the conviction of the people that he gave his army in the West to the enemy. If he had not been Northern born, they would have deemed him merely incompetent. Hence the impolicy of the government elevating Northern over Southern generals. All generals are judged by the degree of success they achieve, for success alone is considered the proof of merit, and one disaster may obliterate the memory of a dozen victories. Even Lee's great name is dimmed somewhat in the estimation of fools. He must beat Meade before Grant comes up, or suffer in reputation. Gov. Bonham has demanded the free negroes taken on Morris Island, to be punished (death) according to the State law. JULY 27TH.--Nothing but disasters to chronicle now. Natchez and Yazoo City, all gone the way of Vicksburg, involving a heavy loss of boats, guns, and ordnance stores; besides, the enemy have got some twenty locomotives in Mississippi. Lee has retreated as far as Culpepper Court House. The President publishes another proclamation, fixing a day for the people to unite in prayer. The weather is bad. With the exception of one or two bright days, it has been raining nearly a month. Superadded to the calamities crowding upon us, we have a rumor to-day that Gen. Lee has tendered his resignation. This is false. But it is said he is opposed to the retaliatory executions ordered by the President, which, if persisted in, must involve the life of his son, now in the hands of the enemy. Our officers executed by Burnside were certainly recruiting in Kentucky within the lines of the enemy, and Gen. Lee may differ with the President in the equity of executing officers taken by us in battle in retaliation. JULY 28TH.--The rumor that Gen. Lee had resigned was simply a fabrication. His headquarters, a few days ago, were at Culpepper C. H., and may be soon this side of the Rappahannock. A battle and a victory may take place there. Col. J. Gorgas, I presume, is no friend of Pemberton; it is not often that Northern men in our service are exempt from jealousies and envyings. He sends to the Secretary of War to-day a remarkable statement of Eugene Hill, an ordnance messenger, for whom he vouches, in relation to the siege and surrender of Vicksburg. It appears that Hill had been sent here by Lieut.-Gen. Holmes for ammunition, and on his way back to the trans-Mississippi country, was caught at Vicksburg, where he was detained until after the capitulation. He declares that the enemy's mines did our works no more injury than our mines did theirs; that when the surrender took place, there were an abundance of caps, and of all kinds of ordnance stores; that there were 90,000 pounds of bacon or salt meat unconsumed, besides a number of cows, and 400 mules, grazing within the fortifications; and that but few of the men even thought of such a contingency as a surrender, and did not know it had taken place until the next day (5th of July), when they were ordered to march out and lay down their arms. He adds that Gen. Pemberton kept himself very close, and was rarely seen by the troops, and was never known to go out to the works until he went out to surrender. Major-Gen. D. Maury writes from Mobile, to the President, that he apprehends an attack from Banks, and asks instructions relative to the removal of 15,000 non-combatants from the city. He says Forts Gaines and Morgan are provisioned for six months, and that the land fortifications are numerous and formidable. He asks for 20,000 men to garrison them. The President instructs the Secretary, that when the purpose of the enemy is positively known, it will be time enough to remove the women, children, etc.; but that the defenses should be completed, and everything in readiness. But where the 20,000 men are to come from is not stated--perhaps from Johnston. JULY 29TH.--Still raining! The great fear is that the crops will be ruined, and famine, which we have long been verging upon, will be complete. Is Providence frowning upon us for our sins, or upon our cause? Another battle between Lee and Meade is looked for on the Upper Rappahannock. Gov. Harris, in response to the President's call for 6000 men, says Western and Middle Tennessee are in the hands of the enemy, and that about half the people in East Tennessee sympathize with the North! Some two or three hundred of Morgan's men have reached Lynchburg, and they believe Morgan himself will get off, with many more of his men. The New York _Herald's_ correspondent, writing from Washington on the 24th inst., says the United States ministers in England and France have informed the government of the intention of those powers to intervene immediately in our behalf; and that they will send iron-clad fleets to this country without delay. Whereupon the _Herald_ says Mr. Seward is in favor of making peace with us, and reconstructing the Union--pardoning us--but keeping the slaves captured, etc. It is a cock-and-bull story, perhaps, without foundation. JULY 30TH.--Raining still! Lee's and Meade's armies are manoeuvring and facing each other still; but probably there will be no battle until the weather becomes fair, and the gushing waters in the vales of Culpepper subside. From Charleston we learn that a furious bombardment is going on, the enemy not having yet abandoned the purpose of reducing the forts and capturing the city. Mr. Miles calls loudly for reinforcements and heavy cannon, and says the enemy was reinforced a few days since. An indignant letter was received from Gov. Vance to-day, in response to the refusal of the government and Gen. Lee to permit him to send with the army a newspaper correspondent to see that justice was done the North Carolina troops. He withdraws the application, and appeals to history for the justice which (he says) will never be done North Carolina troops in Virginia by their associates. He asserts also that Gen. Lee refused furloughs to the wounded North Carolinians at the battle of Chancellorville (one-half the dead and wounded being from North Carolina), for fear they would not return to their colors when fit for duty! Hon. Wm. L. Yancey is dead--of disease of the kidney. The _Examiner_, to-day, in praising him, made a bitter assault on the President, saying he was unfortunately and hastily _inflicted_ on the Confederacy at Montgomery, and when fixed in position, banished from his presence the heart and brain of the South--denying all participation in the affairs of government to the great men who were the authors of secession, etc. JULY 31ST.--Hon. E. S. Dargan, member of Congress, writes from Mobile that Mississippi is nearly subdued, and Alabama is almost exhausted. He says our recent disasters, and Lee's failure in Pennsylvania, have nearly ruined us, and the destruction must be complete unless France and England can be induced to interfere in our behalf. He never believed they would intervene unless we agreed to abolish slavery; and he would embrace even that alternative to obtain their aid. He says the people are fast losing all hope of achieving their independence; and a slight change of policy on the part of Lincoln (pretermitting confiscation, I suppose) would put an end to the revolution and the Confederate States Government. Mr. D. has an unhappy disposition. Mr. L. Q. Washington recommends Gen. Winder to permit Mr. Wm. Matthews, just from California, to leave the country. Gen. W. sends the letter to the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, who "allows" it; and the passport is given, without the knowledge of the President or the Secretary of War. The news from Mexico (by the Northern papers) is refreshing to our people. The "notables" of the new government, under the auspices of the French General, Forey, have proclaimed the States an Empire, and offered the throne to Maximilian of Austria; and if he will not accept, they "implore" the Emperor of France to designate the one who shall be their Emperor. Our people, very many of them, just at this time, would not object to being included in the same Empire. The President is still scrutinizing Beauregard. The paper read from the general a few days since giving a statement of his forces, and the number of the enemy, being sent to the President by the Secretary of War, was returned to-day with the indorsement, that he hoped "a clearer comprehension of the cause," in the promised further report of the general, would be given "why the enemy approached Morris Island before being observed." So, omitting all notice of the defense (so far) of the batteries, etc., the attention of the President seems fixed on what the general omitted to do; or what he might, could, or should have done. END OF VOL. I. A REBEL WAR CLERK'S DIARY. VOL. II. CHAPTER XXIX. Some desertion.--Lee falling back.--Men still foolishly look for foreign aid.--Speculators swarming.--God helps me to-day.--Conscripts.-- Memminger shipping gold to Europe.--Our women and children making straw bonnets.--Attack on Charleston.--Robert Tyler as a financier.-- Enemy throw large shells into Charleston, five and a half miles.-- Diabolical scheme.--Gen. Lee has returned to the army. AUGUST 1ST.--The President learns, by a dispatch from Gen. Hardee, of Mississippi, that information has reached him, which he considers authentic, that Gen. Taylor has beaten Banks in Louisiana, taking 6000 prisoners; but then it is said that Taylor has _fallen back_. I see by Mr. Memminger's correspondence that he has been sending $1,000,000 in sterling exchange, with the concurrence of the President and the Secretary of War, to Gen. Johnston and Gov. Pettus. What can this mean? Perhaps he is buying stores, etc. Gen. Pemberton, it is said, has proclaimed a thirty days' furlough to all his paroled army--a virtue of necessity, as they had all gone to their homes without leave. Gen. Lee writes that fifty men deserted from Scale's Regiment, North Carolina (a small regiment), night before last, being incited thereto by the newspapers. He wants pickets placed at certain places to catch them, so that some examples may be made. Gov. Vance urges the War Department to interdict speculation on the part of officers of the government and army, as it tempts them to embezzle the public funds, enhances prices, and enrages the community. Peter V. Daniel, Jr., President of the Central Railroad, is anxious for the defense of the four bridges near Hanover Junction, which, if destroyed by the enemy, could not be replaced for months, and Lee would have to fall back to Richmond, if not farther, as all his supplies must be transported by the road. He indicates the places where troops should be stationed, and says from those places, if needed in battle, 10,000 men could be transported in twenty-four hours to either Fredericksburg or Richmond. Gen. Bragg is hurt, because one of his captains has been given an independent Command, without consulting him, to defend Atlanta, in his department. He says the captain has no merit, and Atlanta and Augusta are in great danger--the newspapers having informed the enemy of the practicability of taking them. He intimates an inclination to be relieved. Mr. Plant, President of the Southern Express Company, was "allowed" to leave the Confederate States to-day by the Assistant Secretary of War, subject to the discretion of Gen. Whiting at Wilmington. I suppose his fortune is made. AUGUST 2D.--We have warm, fair weather now; but the momentary gloom, hanging like the pall of death over our affairs, cannot be dispelled without a decisive victory somewhere, or news of speedy foreign intervention. The letters which I read at the department this morning, contain no news whatever. I have suggested to the government to prohibit the exchange of newspapers in the flag of truce boat; but I doubt if they will act upon it. It is a manifest injury to us. The exchange of prisoners is practically resumed; the Federal boat delivering yesterday 750 of _our sick and wounded_; and we returned 600 of their sick and wounded. AUGUST 3D.--The President issued a proclamation to-day, calling upon all absentees to return to the ranks without delay, etc. Hon. D. M. Barringer writes from Raleigh, N. C, that the State is in a ferment of rage against the administration for appointing Marylanders and Virginians, if not Pennsylvanians, quartermasters, to collect the war tax within its limits, instead of native citizens. Mr. W. H. Locke, living on the James River, at the Cement and Lime Works, writes that more than a thousand deserters from Lee's army have crossed at that place within the last fortnight. This is awful; and they are mainly North Carolinians. AUGUST 4TH.--The partial gloom continues. It is now ascertained that Gen. Morgan is a prisoner; only some 250 of his men, out of 3000, having escaped. Lee is falling back on this side of the Rappahannock. His army has been diminished by desertions; but he has been reinforced pretty considerably since leaving Pennsylvania. The President's address may reinforce him still more; and then it may be possible a portion of Bragg's and Johnston's armies may be ordered hither. If this should be done, the next battle may be fatal to Meade. Our people are thirsting for another victory; and may expect too much. Confederate notes are now given for gold at the rate of $12 or $15 for $1. Flour is $40 per barrel; bacon, $1.75 per pound; coal, $25 per cart-load; and good wood, $30 per cord. Butter is selling at $3 per pound, etc. etc. Nevertheless, most men look for relief in the foreign complications the United States are falling into. England _will not_ prohibit the selling of steamers to the Confederate States, and the United States say it shall not be done; and France has taken possession of Mexico, erecting it into an Empire, upon the throne of which will be seated some European ruler. We think recognition of our government is not far behind these events; when we shall have powerful navies to open the blockade. We are used to wounds and death; but can hardly bear starvation and nakedness. AUGUST 5TH.--A letter from Hon. W. Porcher Miles to the Secretary of War, received the 15th July, urging the government to send some long-range Brooke guns for the salvation of Charleston, and saying that the President had once promised him that they should be sent thither, being sent by the Secretary to the President, was, to-day, August 5th, returned by the President, with a paper from the Secretary of the Navy, showing that, at the time Mr. Miles says he was promised the Brooke guns, there _were really none on hand_. Thus Mr. Miles has been _caught_ by the President, after the lapse of twenty days! It is not denied, even by the Secretary of the Navy, that long-range guns were on hand at the time--but there were no Brooke guns, simply. Thus, while Charleston's fate hangs trembling in the balance, and the guns are idle here, twenty days are fruitlessly spent. Mr. Miles appears to be a friend of Beauregard. Every letter that general sends to the department is sure to put twenty clerks at work in the effort to pick flaws in his accuracy of statement. A report of the ordnance officers of Bragg's army shows that in the late retreat (without a battle) from Shelbyville to Chattanooga, the army lost some 6000 arms and between 200,000 and 300,000 cartridges! Our naval commanders are writing that they cannot get seamen--and at Mobile half are on the sick list. Lee writes that his men are in good fighting condition--if he only had enough of them. Of the three corps, one is near Fredericksburg (this side the river), one at Orange C. H., and one at Gordonsville. I doubt if there will be another battle for a month. Meantime the Treasury notes continue to depreciate, and all the necessaries of life advance in price--but they do not rise in _proportion_. The _Examiner_ had a famous attack on the President to-day (from the pen, I think, of a military man, on Gen. Scott's staff, when Mr. Davis was Secretary of War), for alleged stubbornness and disregard of the popular voice; for appointing Pemberton, Holmes, Mallory, etc., with a side fling at Memminger. AUGUST 6TH.--A dispatch from Gen. Lee shows that he is still falling back (this side the Rapidan), but gradually concentrating his forces. There _may_ be another battle speedily--and if our army does not gain a _great_ victory, there will be great disappointment. There are some gun-boats in the James as high up as Aiken's Landing. Two torpedoes, badly ignited, failed to injure either of them. Capt. Kay, of Mobile, in conjunction with several other parties, has a scheme for the destruction of the enemy in the Mississippi Valley. What it is, I know not--but I know large sums of money are asked for. After all, it appears that twenty-two transports of Grant's troops have descended the Mississippi River--Mobile, no doubt, being their destination. It is now believed that only a portion of Grant's army has been ordered here; also that Rosecrans's army will operate with Meade; the object being to besiege Richmond. Well, we shall, in that event, have Johnston and Bragg--altogether 200,000 men around the city, which _ought_ to suffice for its safety. A grand battle may take place this fall, in which half a million of men may be engaged. That ought to be followed by a decisive result. Let it come! The speculators have put up the price of flour to $50 per barrel. To the honor of Messrs. Warwick, they are selling it at their mills for $35--not permitting any family to have more than one barrel. This looks, however, like an approaching siege. My good friend Dr. Powell, almost every week, brings my family cucumbers, or corn, or butter, or something edible from his farm. He is one in ten thousand! His son has been in sixteen battles--and yet the government refuses him a lieutenancy, because he is not quite twenty-one years of age. He is manly, well educated, brave, and every way qualified. AUGUST 7TH.--Nothing new from Lee's army--only that his troops are eager for another battle, when they are resolved to gain the day. There will probably not be so many prisoners taken as usual, since the alleged cruel treatment of our men now taken at Gettysburg, and the sending of Gen. Morgan to the Ohio Penitentiary, and shaving his head, by order of Gen. Burnside. A dispatch from Beauregard, to-day, states that the enemy are getting large reinforcements, and are at work on their island batteries. There was a slow firing--and but one man killed. It is believed that Governor Letcher will, reluctantly, call the Legislature together; but he says the members will exhibit only the _bad spirit of the people they represent_. What that means, I know not. The Governor elect--commonly called "Extra-Billy Smith"--has resigned his brigadiership. But he is a candidate for a major-generalship, until inauguration day, 1st January. He has had an interview with the President, and proposes to take command of the troops defending the city--that Gen. Elzey may take the field. Smith would undoubtedly have a strong motive in defending the capital--but then he knows nothing of military affairs, yet I think he will be appointed. Gen. Wise's batteries crippled and drove off the enemy's monitor and gun-boats day before yesterday. The monitor was towed down the James River in a disabled condition. To-day, for the third time since the war began, I derived some money from our farm. It was another interposition of Providence. Once before, on the very days that money was indispensable, a Mr. Evans, a blockade-runner to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, came unexpectedly with $100 obtained from my agent, who has had the management of the farm for many years, and who is reported to be a Union man. To-day, just when my income is wholly insufficient to pay rent on the house--$500 per annum and $500 rent for the furniture, besides subsisting the family--at the very moment when my wife was about to part with the last of her little store of gold, to buy a few articles of furniture at auction, and save a heavy expense ($40 per month), the same Evans came to me, saying that although he had no money from my agent, if I would give him an order on the agent for $300, he would advance that amount in Treasury notes. I accepted the sum on his conditions. This is the work of a beneficent Providence, thus manifested on three different occasions,--and to doubt it would be to deserve damnation! AUGUST 8TH.--There is nothing new from any of the armies, except that my old friend, Gen. Rains, sent to Mississippi, stopped and stampeded Grant's army, after Johnston retreated from Jackson, with his "subterra batteries." It appears that hundreds of the enemy and their horses were killed and wounded by the shells planted by him beneath the surface of the earth, and which ignited under the pressure of their weight. They knew not where to go to avoid them, and so they retreated to Vicksburg. This invention may become a terror to all invading. A letter received some days ago from a Mr. Bible, in Georgia, proposing to contribute one-quarter of his slaves as teamsters, cooks, etc. for the army, came back from the President, to-day, approved, with directions to quartermasters to employ in such capacities all that could be procured. Col. Myers, the Quartermaster-General, who is charged with saying "Let them suffer," when the soldiers wanted blankets last winter, is to go out of office at last--to be succeeded by Brig.-Gen. Lawton. Oak-wood is selling to-day for $35 per cord; coal, $25 per cart-load; and flour, $45 per barrel. Mr. Warwick, however, sells any family one barrel for $34. I got one from him, and the promise of another for $33--from Commissary Warner; and I hope to get two loads of coal, under the navy contract, at $20 each. There is much excitement against the speculators in food and fuel--and some harsh proceeding may ensue. The _Tribune_ (New York) now says no terms will be listened to so long as we are in arms. We will not yield our arms but with life--and this insures independence. AUGUST 9TH.--No news from the armies. Mrs. ex-President Tyler, who has already been permitted to visit her native State, New York, once or twice during the war--and indeed her plantation has been within the enemy's lines--has applied for passage in a government steamer (the Lee) to Nassau, and to take with her "a few bales of cotton." I suppose it will be "allowed." We have fine hot August weather now, and I hope my tomatoes will mature, and thus save me two dollars per day. My potatoes have, so far, failed; but as they are still green, perhaps they may produce a crop later in the season. The lima beans, trailed on the fence, promise an abundant crop; and the cabbages and peppers look well. Every inch of the ground is in cultivation--even the ash-heap, covered all over with tomato-vines. AUGUST 10TH.--No army news of immediate importance. South Carolina has set an example in the prices of supplies for the army, under the Impressment Act, fixed by the Commissioners. By this schedule (for August, and it will be less in succeeding months) bacon is to be from 65 to 75 cents per pound; beef, 25 cents; corn, $2 per bushel; flour $20; pork, 35 cents; hay, $1.50 per 100 pounds; oats, $2 per bushel; potatoes, $3; rice, 10 cents; sugar, 80 cents; soap, 40 cents; and wheat, $3.50 per bushel. Gen. Lee writes that the railroad brings him but 1000 bushels of corn per day; not enough to bring up his exhausted cavalry and artillery horses; and he suggests that passenger cars be occasionally left behind for the purpose of supplying the army--an indispensable measure. Gen. Lee also writes that he has 1700 unarmed men in his army; in two weeks there will be 5000, and in a month 10,000. He suggests that the troops for local defense here, and even the militia, be disarmed, to supply his men. This indicates that Lee is to have an _immense_ army, and that Richmond is to be defended. But the Central and Fredericksburg Railroads must be repaired immediately, and at any expense to the government, or else all will fail! AUGUST 11TH.--After all the applications of the railroad companies when Gen. Lee was in Pennsylvania, and the enemy had withdrawn from this side of the Potomac, it appears that the fine iron on the road from Fredericksburg to Aquia Creek was not removed! Mr. Seddon's subordinates must answer for this. The iron was wanted more than anything else but men. The want of men cannot be alleged for not securing it, because the railroad companies would have procured negroes enough for its removal. Well, the first of August has passed, and the grand scheme of the War Office at Washington of a general servile insurrection did not take place. On the contrary, a large army of slaves might be organized to fight for their masters. To-day, it must be confessed, I saw some of the booty (if, indeed, it was not fairly bought) of the recent invasion of the North. A number of boxes of fine stationery, brought from Carlisle, Chambersburg, etc., were opened at the War Department. There is a controversy between the Secretary of War, Assistant Secretary, and Attorney-General on one side, and the Commissary-General, Col. L. B. Northrop, on the other. It appears that one of the assistant commissaries exchanged sugar for flour and rice in Alabama with a merchant or speculator, and then, after the lapse of a month or so, _impressed the sugar_. The party got the Attorney-General's opinion in his behalf, which was approved by the Assistant Secretary of War, and the Secretary issued an order for the release of the sugar. In response to this, Col. N. rebuts the arguments of the whole three (lawyers) by saying it is not _good sense_ to exempt anything, under any circumstances, from impressment, when needed to carry on the war; and that the way to success is to do justice to the whole country--and not to please the people. A palpable hit at the politicians. He says if the Secretary insists on the sugar being released, it will be done against his (N.'s) judgment. AUGUST 12TH.--Letters from Georgia to-day assure the government that the grain crops of that State will afford a surplus sufficient for the army, cavalry and all, for 12 months. Also one from P. Clayton, late Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, censuring the commissary agents in Georgia, who are sent thither from other States, who insult the farmers and encourage speculation. Mr. Memminger is shipping gold from Wilmington, $20,000 by each steamer, to Bermuda and Nassau. Why is this? Cotton is quite as good as gold, and there are thousands of millions worth of that in the country, which Mr. Memminger might buy, certainly might have bought for Confederate notes, but, in his peculiar wisdom, he would not. And now, the _great financier_ is shipping gold out of the country, thinking, perhaps, it may arrest the depreciation of paper money! Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, is still urging a diminution of rations, and as our soldiers taken by the enemy fare badly in the North, and as the enemy make a point of destroying all the crops they can when they invade us, and even destroy our agricultural implements and teams, he proposes, in retaliation, to stop meat rations altogether to prisoners in our hands, and give them instead oat gruel, corn-meal gruel, and pea soup, soft hominy, and bread. This the Secretary will not agree to, because the law says they shall have the same as our troops. I read to-day Gen. Lee's report of his operations (an outline) in June and July, embracing his campaign in Maryland and Pennsylvania. The enemy could not be attacked advantageously opposite Fredericksburg, and hence he determined to draw him out of his position by relieving the lower valley of the Shenandoah, and, if practicable, transfer the scene of hostilities north of the Potomac. The movement began on the 3d of June. The divisions of McLaws and Hood (Longstreet's) marched for Culpepper C. H. They were followed on the 4th and 5th by Ewell's corps, A. P. Hill's still occupying our lines at Fredericksburg. When the enemy discovered the movement (on the 5th), he sent an army corps across the Rappahannock, but this did not arrest Longstreet and Ewell, who reached Culpepper C. H. on the 8th, where they found Gen. Stuart and his cavalry. On the 9th the enemy's cavalry and a strong force of infantry crossed the Rappahannock and attacked Gen. Stuart, but they were beaten back, after fighting all day, with heavy loss, including 400 prisoners, 3 pieces artillery, and several colors. Gens. Jenkins and Imboden had been sent in advance, the latter against Romney, to cover the former's movement against Winchester, and both were in position when Ewell left Culpepper C. H. on the 16th. Gen. Early stormed the enemy's works at Winchester on the 14th, and the whole army of Milroy was captured or dispersed. Gen. Rhodes, on the same day, took Martinsburg, Va., capturing 700 prisoners, 5 pieces artillery, and a large supply of stores. More than 4000 prisoners were taken at Winchester; 29 pieces artillery; 270 wagons and ambulances; 400 horses, besides a large amount of military stores. Precisely at this time the enemy disappeared from Fredericksburg, seemingly designing to take a position to cover Washington. Gen. Stuart, in several engagements, took 400 more prisoners, etc. Meantime, Gen. Ewell, with Gen. Jenkins's cavalry, etc., penetrated Maryland, and Pennsylvania as far as Chambersburg. On the 24th, Lt.-Gens. Longstreet and Hill marched to the Potomac, the former crossing at Williamsport and the latter at Shepherdstown, uniting at Hagerstown, Md., advancing into Pennsylvania, and encamping near Chambersburg on the 27th. Ewell's corps advanced as far as York and Carlisle, to keep the enemy out of the mountains, and to keep our communications open. Gen. Imboden destroyed all the important bridges of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad from Martinsburg to Cumberland, damaging the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. Preparations were made to march upon Harrisburg, when information was received of the approach of the army of the enemy, menacing communications with the Potomac, necessitating a concentration of our army at Gettysburg. Hill became engaged with a superior force of the enemy on the 1st July, but Ewell, coming up by the Harrisburg road, participated in the engagement, and the enemy were driven through Gettysburg with heavy loss, including about 5000 prisoners and several pieces of artillery. The enemy retired to a high range of hills, south and east of the town. On the 2d, Gen. Ewell occupied the left, Gen. Hill the Center, and Gen. Longstreet the right. Longstreet got possession of the enemy's position in front of his corps after a severe struggle; Ewell also carried some strong positions. The battle ceased at dark. The next day, 3d July, our batteries were moved forward to the positions we had gained, and it was determined to renew the attack. Meantime the enemy had strengthened his line. The battle raged with great violence in the afternoon, until sunset. We got possession of some of the enemy's batteries, but our ammunition failing, our troops were compelled to relinquish them, and fall back to their original position with severe loss. Our troops (the general says) behaved well in the protracted and sanguinary conflict, accomplishing all that was practicable. The strong position of the enemy, and reduction of his ammunition, rendered it inexpedient for Gen. Lee to continue longer where he was. Such of the wounded as could be moved, and part of the arms collected on the field, were ordered to Williamsport. His army remained at Gettysburg during the 4th, and began to retire at night, taking with it about 4000 prisoners, nearly 2000 having been previously paroled. The enemy's wounded that fell into his hands were left behind. He reached Williamsport without molestation, losing but few wagons, etc., and arrived at Hagerstown 7th July. The Potomac was much swollen by recent rains, that had fallen incessantly ever since he had crossed it, and was unfordable. The enemy had not yet appeared, until the 12th, when, instead of attacking, Meade fortified his lines. On the 13th Gen. Lee crossed at Falling Waters, the river subsiding, by fords and a bridge, without loss, the enemy making no interruption. Only some stragglers, sleeping, fell into the hands of the enemy. AUGUST 13TH.--No news. It turns out that Gen. Taylor got only 500 prisoners at Donaldsonville, La., instead of 4000. A writer in the New York _Tribune_ says the Northern troops burnt Jackson, Miss. Lincoln has marked for close confinement and hostages three of our men for three free negroes taken on Morris Island. The government here has, at last, indicated blockade-goods (U. S.) which are to be seized; also sent circular letters to the generals at Wilmington, Charleston, and Mobile to impose restrictions on blockade running steamers belonging to private parties. The government must first have such articles as its necessities require, at fair prices, before the merchandise can be offered to the public, and the vessels must be freighted out partly with government cotton. This is a good arrangement, even if it is "locking the stable after the horse is stolen." AUGUST 14TH.--The enemy is not idle. He knows the importance of following up his recent advantages, and making the utmost use of his veteran troops now in the field, because his new levies, if indeed the draft be submitted to, will not be fit for use this year, probably, if ever, for they will consist of the riff-raff of the Northern population. On the other hand, he suspects we will soon have larger armies in the field than ever before, and our accessions will consist of our bravest men, who will make efficient soldiers in a month. If our armies be not broken before October, no doubt the tide of success will turn again fully in our favor. Major Wm. Norris, Signal Corps, reports that many transports and troops have been going down from Washington and Annapolis to Fortress Monroe during the whole week, and that 5000 men embarked at Fortress Monroe, on Monday, for (as they said themselves) Charleston. Among these was a negro regiment of 1300. T. C. Reynolds, confidential agent of the government in the trans-Mississippi States, sends copy of a circular letter from Lieut.-Gen. Kirby Smith to the "representative men" of Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas, to meet him in convention, 15th August, at Marshall, Texas. Mr Reynolds says he and others will exert themselves to prevent the meeting from taking a dangerous political direction. Gen. Smith is popular, and opposed to the States named setting up for themselves, although he plainly says in the circular that they must now adopt self-sustaining measures, as they cannot look for aid from the East. Mr. Reynolds says something, not clearly understood by me, about an equipoise among the _political_ generals. Has he been instructed on that point in reference to Gen. Price? Letters from Mr. Crenshaw, in England, and the correspondence forwarded by him, might seem to implicate Major Caleb Huse, Col. J. Gorgas's ordnance agent, in some very ugly operations. It appears that Major H. has contracted for 50,000 muskets at $4 above the current price, leaving $200,000 commission for whom? And that he really seems to be throwing obstacles in the way of Mr. C., who is endeavoring to procure commissary stores in England. Mr. C. has purchased £40,000 worth of bacon, but Major Huse, he apprehends, is endeavoring to prevent its shipment. Can this be so? The _Charleston Mercury_ that came to-day contains an editorial broadside against the President, Mr. Benjamin, Mr. Mallory, and Commissary-General Northrop. Mr. Gilmer, lawyer, remarked to me to-day that some grave men (!) really believed Davis and Lincoln had an understanding, and were playing into each other's hands to prolong the war, knowing that peace would be the destruction of both! I think there is more danger to both in war. The blood of a brave people could not be trifled with without the utmost danger. Let peace come, even if the politicians be shorn of all their power. AUGUST 15TH.--I learn an order has been issued to conscribe all commissary and quartermasters' clerks liable to military service. There will be, and ought to be, some special cases of exemption, where men have lost everything in the war and have women and children depending on their salaries for subsistence; but if this order be extended to the ordnance and other bureaus, as it must be, or incur the odium of injustice, and the thousand and one A. A. G.'s, there will soon be a very important accession to the army. Major Joseph B----, who was lately confined with over 1000 of our officers, prisoners, on Johnson Island, Lake Erie, proposes a plan to the Secretary of War whereby he is certain the island can be taken, and the prisoners liberated and conveyed to Canada. He proposes that a dozen men shall seize one of the enemy's steamers at Sandusky, and then overpower the guards, etc. It is wild, but not impracticable. We hear nothing to-day from the enemy on the Rappahannock or at Fortress Monroe. Our army in Western Louisiana captured some forty Yankee cotton-planters, who had taken possession of the plantations after driving their owners away. The account states that they were "sent to Texas." Were they not sent into eternity? AUGUST 16TH.--The President rides out with some of the female members of his family every afternoon, his aids no longer accompanying him. In this he evinces but little prudence, for it is incredible that he should be ignorant of the fact that he has some few deadly enemies in the city. Everywhere the ladies and children may be seen plaiting straw and making bonnets and hats. Mrs. Davis and the ladies of her household are frequently seen sitting on the front porch engaged in this employment. Ostentation cannot be attributed to them, for only a few years ago the Howells were in humble condition and accustomed to work. My wife borrowed $200 of Mr. Waterhouse, depositing $20 in gold as security--worth $260--which, with the $300 from Evans on account of rent, have been carefully applied to the purchase of sundry housekeeping articles. After the 1st September we shall cease to pay $40 per month rent on furniture, but that amount for house-rent, so that in the item of rent my expenses will be less than they were the preceding year. So far, with the exception of crockery-ware and chairs, the purchases (at auction) have been at low prices, and we have been fortunate in the time selected to provide indispensable articles. I often wonder if, in the first struggle for independence, there was as much suffering and despondency among certain classes of the people as we now behold. Our rich men are the first to grow weary of the contest. Yesterday a letter was received by the Secretary of War from a Mr. Reanes, Jackson, Mississippi, advising the government to lose no time in making the best terms possible with the United States authorities, else all would be lost. He says but a short time ago he was worth $1,250,000, and now nothing is left him but a shelter, and that would have been destroyed if he had not made a pledge to remain. He says he is an old man, and was a zealous secessionist, and even now would give his life for the independence of his country. But that is impracticable--numbers must prevail--and he would preserve his wife and children from the horrors threatened, and inevitable if the war be prolonged. He says the soldiers that were under Pemberton and Lovell will never serve under them again, for they denounce them as traitors and tyrants, while, as they allege, they were well treated by the enemy when they fell into their hands. Yet it seems to me that, like the Israelites that passed through the Red Sea, and Shadrach and his brethren who escaped unscorched from the fiery furnace, my family have been miraculously sustained. We have purchased no clothing for nearly three years, and had no superabundance to begin with, but still we have decent clothes, as if time made no appreciable change in them. I wear a hat bought four years ago, and shoes that cost me (government price then) $7.50 more than a year ago, and I suppose they would sell now for $10; new ones are bringing $50. My tomatoes are maturing slowly, but there will be abundance, saving me $10 per week for ten weeks. My lima beans are very full, and some of them will be fit to pull in a few days. My potatoes are as green as grass, and I fear will produce nothing but vines; but I shall have cabbages and parsnips, and red peppers. No doubt the little garden, 25 by 50, will be worth $150 to me. Thank Providence, we still have health! But the scarcity--or rather high prices, for there is really no scarcity of anything but meat--is felt by the cats, rats, etc., as well as by the people. I have not seen a rat or mouse for months, and lean cats are wandering past every day in quest of new homes. What shall we do for sugar, now selling at $2 per pound? When the little supply this side of the Mississippi is still more reduced it will probably be $5! It has been more than a year since we had coffee or tea. Was it not thus in the trying times of the Revolution? If so, why can we not bear privation as well as our forefathers did? We must! AUGUST 17TH.--No news, except that the bombardment at Charleston is getting hotter--but the casualties are few. The chief ordnance officer of Gen. Lee's army writes that the ammunition from Richmond has always to be tested before they can venture to use it. The shells for the Parrott guns are often too large--and of course would be useless in the hour of battle! The _Examiner_ to-day has an attack on the President for removing A. C. Myers, the Quartermaster-General. AUGUST 18TH.--There is heavy firing, day and night, on Wagner's battery and Fort Sumter. The enemy use 15-inch guns; but Sumter is 4000 yards distant, and it may be hoped will not be reduced. After all, the enemy did not, durst not, shave the head of Gen. Morgan, and otherwise maltreat him, as was reported. The Secretary of War is, I believe, really in earnest in his determination to prevent future blockade-running on private account; and is resolved to send out cotton, tobacco, etc. by every steamer, so that funds and credit may be always available in Europe. The steamers go and come every week, in spite of the cruisers, and they bring munitions of war, equipments, provisions, iron, etc. etc. So long as this continues, the war can be maintained; and of late very few captures have been made by the enemy. There are rumors of some manoeuvres of Gen. Lee, which may indicate an approaching battle. AUGUST 19TH.--A _scout_, from Washington, has reported to Major Norris, signal corps, that 10,000 New York troops have recently left Meade's army, their term of service having expired; and that 30,000 men have been sent from his army against Charleston. This accounts for the falling back of Meade--and the detachment never would have been made without. This intelligence has been in the possession of the government four days; and if Charleston should fall now for want of men or material, there will be great culpability somewhere. All the non-combatants have been requested to leave Charleston--and none are allowed to enter the city. We have just got information from Charleston of a furious assault. So far the casualties are not very great, nor the Island batteries materially injured; but Sumter, it is feared, is badly shattered, yet is in no great danger. Much apprehension for the result is felt and manifested here. Six or eight large columbiads have been lying idle at the Petersburg depot for a month, although the prayers of the people of Charleston for heavy guns have been incessant! Col. Preston, Chief of the Bureau of Conscription, sent in a long communication to-day, asking for enlarged powers and exclusive jurisdiction in the conscription business, and then, he says, he will have all the conscripts (not exempted) in the army in six months. But more are exempted than conscribed! Robert Tyler publishes a long and hopeful letter on our finances. If Mr. Memminger read and approved the manuscript, it is well; but if not, _good-by_, my friend! It is well done, however, even though _aspiring_. But it is incredible there should be no more Treasury notes in circulation--and no more indebtedness. AUGUST 20TH.--A few weeks ago Gen. Cooper wrote to Bragg, suggesting that he advance into Middle Tennessee, reinforced by Gen. Johnston, and attack Rosecrans; Gen. Bragg replied (8th inst.) that with all the reinforcements he could get from Johnston, he would not have more than 40,000 effective men, while Rosecrans has 60,000, and will be reinforced by Burnside with 30,000 more--making 90,000 against 40,000--and as a true patriot he was opposed to throwing away our armies in enterprises sure to terminate disastrously. He said, moreover, that the enemy could starve him out, if he were to advance to the place designated, and thus destroy his army without a battle. Gen. Cooper sent this response to the President, asking if Bragg should not be _ordered_ to fight under such circumstances. But the President paused, in following the guidance of this Northern man at the head of all our Southern generals--and to-day sent back the paper indorsed that "only a suggestion could be given to a commanding general to fight a battle; but to order him to fight when he predicted a failure in advance, would be unwise." A paper from Beauregard intimates that even if batteries Wagner and Gregg should be taken by the enemy, he has constructed another which will render that part of Morris Island untenable. But he relied upon holding Sumter; and there is a vague rumor to-day that Sumter must surrender--if indeed it has not already been reduced. Hon Wm. Porcher Miles writes another most urgent letter, demanding reinforcements of seasoned troops. He says Charleston was stripped of troops against the remonstrances of Beauregard to send to Mississippi--to no avail--which invited this attack; and now he asks that Jenkins's brigade of South Carolinians be sent to the defense; that South Carolinians are fighting in Virginia, but are not permitted to defend their native soil in the hour of extremity; and that if the enemy, with overwhelming numbers, should take James's Island, they would, from thence, be able to destroy the city. We are looking with anxiety for further news from Charleston. Gen. Maury writes from Mobile that he has seized, in the hands of Steever (who is he?), receipts for 4000 bales of cotton--orders for 150 bonds, each £225 sterling, and two bags of coin, $10,000. The President indorses on the paper that the money had better be turned over to the Secretary of the Treasury. What is all this? The Secretary sent a paper to the President relating to some novel action performed or proposed, asking his "instructions." The President returned it to-day indorsed, "The Secretary's advice invited." How in the mischief can such non-committalists ever arrive at a conclusion? Hon. E. S. Dargan writes that if Pemberton be restored to command (as he understands this to be the government's purpose), our cause is ruined beyond redemption. I say so too. When he made up his mind to surrender, it is unpardonable that he did not destroy the 50,000 stand of arms before he made any overture. I shall never forgive him! The signal officers report that three large ocean steamers passed down the Potomac day before yesterday, having on board 1000 men each; and that many large steamers are constantly going up--perhaps for more. Brig.-Gen. Roger A. Pryor, after dancing attendance in the ante-rooms for six months, waiting assignment to a command, has resigned, and his resignation has been accepted. He says he can at least serve in the ranks as a private. The government don't like aspiring political generals. Yet Pryor was first a colonel, and member of Congress--resigned his seat--resigned his brigadier-generalship, and is now a private. Our cause is dim in Europe, if it be true, as the Northern papers report, that the Confederate loan has sunken from par to 35 per cent. discount since the fall of Vicksburg. AUGUST 21ST, FRIDAY.--This is a day appointed by the President for humiliation, fasting, and prayer. Yet the Marylanders in possession of the passport office report the following in the _Dispatch_ of this date: "_Passports._--The passport office was besieged yesterday and last night by large crowds of persons soliciting permission to leave the city, in order that some relaxation might be had from its busy scenes. Among those who obtained them were His Excellency Jefferson Davis and his Honor Joseph Mayo, both designing to pay a short visit to the neighboring County of Chesterfield." We fast, certainly--and feel greatly humiliated at the loss of New Orleans and Vicksburg--and we pray, daily. Yesterday Fort Sumter suffered much from the enemy's batteries, and much apprehension is felt for its fate. Gen. Lee, it is said, is not permitted to follow Meade, who is retrograding, being weakened by detachments. A few weeks hence the fall campaign will open in Virginia, when the very earth may tremble again with the thunders of war, and the rivulets may again spout human blood. There were no letters to-day, for the reason that last night the clerks in the post-office resigned, their salaries not being sufficient to support them. I hope a force will be detailed, to-morrow, to distribute the letters. I met Prof. A. T. Bledsoe to-day as he was ambling toward the passport office. He said he was just about to start for London, where he intended publishing his book--on slavery, I believe. He has a free passage on one of the government steamers, to sail from Wilmington. He asked me if I fasted to-day; I answered yes, as _usual_! He then bid me good-by, and at parting I told him I hoped he would not find us all hanged when he returned. I think it probable he has a mission from the President, as well as his book to publish. AUGUST 22D.--All the guns of Fort Sumter on the south face have been silenced by the land batteries of the enemy on Morris Island; and this account is two days old. What has taken place since, none here but Gen. Cooper and the President know. But our battery, Wagner, dismounted one of the enemy's Parrott guns and blew up two magazines. It is rumored to-day that Sumter has been abandoned and blown up; also that 20,000 of _Grant's_ men have been ordered to New York to quell a new _émeute_. Neither of these rumors are credited, however, by reflecting men. But they may be true, nevertheless. Passengers from Bermuda say two monster guns were on the steamer, and were landed at Wilmington a few days ago, weighing each twenty-two tons; carriages, _sixty tons_; the balls, 15 inches in diameter, length not stated, weighing 700 pounds; the shells, not filled, weigh 480 pounds; and 40 pounds of powder are used at each discharge. They say these guns can be fired with accuracy and with immense effect seven miles. I wonder if the President will send them to Charleston? They might save the city. The balls fired by the enemy are eight inches in diameter, and two feet in length; 2000 of these, solid and filled, have struck the southern face of Sumter. It is now positively asserted that Morgan's head was shaved, when they put him in the penitentiary. Night before last all the clerks in the city post-office resigned, because the government did not give them salaries sufficient to subsist them. As yet their places have not been filled, and the government gets no letters--some of which lying in the office may be of such importance as to involve the safety or ruin of the government. To-morrow is Sunday, and of course the mails will not be attended to before Monday--the letters lying here four days unopened! This really looks as if we had no Postmaster-General. AUGUST 23D.--Dispatches from Charleston, yesterday, brought the melancholy intelligence that Fort Sumter is but little more than a pile of rubbish. The fall of this fort caused my wife a hearty cry--and she cried when Beauregard reduced it in 1861; not because he did it, but because it was the initiation of a terrible war. She hoped that the separation would be permitted to pass without bloodshed. To-day we have a dispatch from Beauregard, stating the _extraordinary fact that the enemy's batteries, since the demolition of Sumter, have thrown shell, from their Parrott guns, into the city--a distance of five and a half miles_! This decides the fate of Charleston; for they are making regular approaches to batteries Wagner and Gregg, which, of course, will fall. The other batteries Beauregard provided to render the upper end of the island untenable, cannot withstand, I fear, the enginery of the enemy. If the government had sent the long-range guns of large caliber when so urgently called for by Beauregard, and if it had _not_ sent away the best troops against the remonstrances of Beauregard, the people are saying, no lodgment could have been made on Morris Island by the enemy, and Sumter and Charleston would have been saved for at least another year. At all events, it is quite probable, now, that all the forts and cities on the seaboard (Mobile, Savannah, Wilmington, Richmond) must succumb to the mighty engines of the enemy; and our gun-boats, built and in process of completion, will be lost. Richmond, it is apprehended, must fall when the enemy again approaches within four or five miles of it; and Wilmington can be taken from the rear, as well as by water, for no forts can withstand the Parrott guns. Then there will be an end of blockade-running; and we must flee to the mountains, and such interior fastnesses as will be impracticable for the use of these long-range guns. Man must confront man in the deadly conflict, and the war can be protracted until the government of the North passes out of the hands of the Abolitionists. We shall suffer immensely; but in the end we shall be free. AUGUST 24TH.--We have nothing further from Charleston, except that Beauregard threatened retaliation (how?) if Gilmore repeated the offense, against humanity and the rules of civilized war, of shelling the city before notice should be given the women and children to leave it. To-day, at 11 A.M., it is supposed the shelling was renewed. This day week, I learn by a letter from Gen. Whiting, two 700-pounder Blakely guns arrived in the Gladiator. If these could only be transported to Charleston, what a _sensation_ they would make among the turreted monitors! But I fear the railroad cannot transport them. The Secretary of the Treasury asks transportation for 1000 bales of cotton to Wilmington. What for? To-day I saw a copy of a dispatch from Gen. Johnston to the President, dated at Morton, Miss., 22d August, stating that he would send forward, the next day, two divisions to reinforce Gen. Bragg in Tennessee. This signifies battle. The Secretary of the Treasury notified the Secretary of War, to-day, that the appropriation of fifty millions per month, for the expenditure of the War Department, was greatly exceeded; that already this month (August) the requisitions on hand amounted to over $70,000,000, and they could not be met--some must lie over; and large sums for contracts, pay of troops, etc. will not be paid, immediately. Exchange on London, I learn by a letter written by Mr. Endus to his agent in London, detained by Gen. Whiting and sent to the Secretary of War, is selling in Richmond at a premium of fifteen hundred per cent. The post-office clerks have returned to duty, the Postmaster-General promising to recommend to Congress increased compensation. AUGUST 25TH.--Hon. A. R. Boteler, after consultation with Gen. Stuart and Capt. Moseby, suggests that the Secretary of War send up some of Gen. Rains's subterra torpedoes, to place under the track of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, in possession of the enemy. Gen. Stuart suggested that a man familiar with their use be sent along with them, as they are dangerous weapons. We have a report, to-day, that our expedition from this city has succeeded in boarding and capturing two of the enemy's gun-boats in the Rappahannock. AUGUST 26TH.--H. C. ----, a mad private, and Northern man, in a Georgia Regiment, writes to the President, proposing to take some 300 to 500 men of resolution and assassinate the leading public men of the United States--the war Abolitionists, I suppose. The President referred the paper, without notice, to the Secretary of War. Gen. Whiting writes that Wilmington is in imminent danger from a _coup de main_, as he has but one regiment available in the vicinity. He says he gives the government fair warning, and full information of his condition; asking a small brigade, which would enable him to keep the enemy at bay until adequate reinforcements could arrive. He also wants two Whitworth guns to keep the blockaders at a more respectful distance, since they captured one steamer from us, recently, nine miles below the city, and blew up a ship which was aground. He says it is _tempting Providence_ to suffer that (now) most important city in the Confederate States to remain a day liable to sudden capture, which would effectually cut us off from the rest of the world. Gen. Beauregard telegraphs for a detail of 50 seamen for his iron-clads, which he intends shall support Sumter, if, as he anticipates, the enemy should make a sudden attempt to seize it--or rather its debris--where he still has some guns, _still under our flag_. None of his vessels have full crews. This paper was referred to the Secretary of the Navy, and he returned it with an emphatic _negative_, saying that the War Department had failed to make details from the army to the navy, in accordance with an act of Congress, and hence none of our war steamers had full crews. AUGUST 27TH.--There is trouble in the Conscription Bureau. Col. Preston, the new superintendent, finds it no bed of roses, made for him by Lieut.-Col. Lay--the lieutenant-colonel being absent in North Carolina, sent thither to _compose_ the discontents; which may complicate matters further, for they don't want Virginians to meddle with North Carolina matters. However, the people he is sent to are supposed to be _disloyal_. Gen. Pillow has applied to have Georgia in the jurisdiction of his Bureau of Conscription, and the Governors of Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee unite in the request; also Generals Johnston and Bragg. Gen. Pillow already has Mississippi, Tennessee, Alabama, etc.--a much larger jurisdiction than the bureau here. Col. Preston, of course, protests against all this, and I believe the Secretary sympathizes with him. Prof. G. M. Richardson, of the Georgia Military Institute, sends some interesting statistics. That State has furnished the army 80,000, between the ages of eighteen and forty-five years. Still, the average number of men in each county between sixteen and eighteen and forty-five and sixty is 462, and there are 132 counties: total, 60,984. He deducts 30 per cent, for the infirm, etc. (18,689), leaving 42,689 men able to bear arms still at home. Thus, after putting some 500,000 in the field (if we could put them there), there would yet remain a reserve for home defense against raids, etc. in the Confederate States, of not less than 250,000 men. Gen. Winder sent to the Secretary of War to-day for authority to appoint a clerk to attend exclusively to the mails to and from the United States--under Gen. Winder's sole direction. Major Quantrel, a Missouri guerrilla chief, has dashed into Lawrence, Kansas, and burnt the city--killing and wounding 180. He had Gen. Jim Lane, but he escaped. Gen. Floyd is dead; some attribute his decease to ill treatment by the government. I saw Mr. Hunter yesterday, bronzed, but bright. He is a little thinner, which improves his appearance. Gen. Lee is in town--looking well. When he returns, I think the fall campaign will open briskly. A dispatch received to-day says that on Tuesday evening another assault on Battery Wagner was in progress--but as yet we have no result. Lieut. Wood captured a third gun-boat in the Rappahannock, having eight guns. The prisoners here selected to die, in retaliation for Burnside's execution of our officers taken while recruiting in Kentucky, will not be executed. Nor will the officers taken on Morris Island, serving with the negroes, suffer death in accordance with the act of Congress and the President's proclamation. The Secretary referred the matter to the President for instruction, and the President invited the advice of the Secretary. The Secretary advised that they be held indefinitely, without being brought to trial, and in this the President acquiesces. AUGUST 28TH.--Another letter, from Gen. Whiting, calls vehemently for reinforcements, artillery, cavalry, and infantry--or else the city and harbor are soon to be at the mercy of the enemy. He is importunate. After all, Morgan's head was _not_ shaved--but his beard, and that of his officers, was cut, and their hair made _short_. This I learn from a letter at the department from Morgan's Assistant Adjutant-General. The tocsin was ringing in my ears when I awoke this morning. Custis packed his haversack, and, taking blanket, etc. etc., joined his department comrades, and they were all marched out the Brooke turnpike. Yesterday the enemy in considerable force came up the Peninsula and attacked the guard (70 men) at Bottom's Bridge, killing, so report says, Lieut. Jetu, of South Carolina, and some twelve or fifteen others. But I believe the attacking party have recrossed the Chickahominy. We shall know in a few hours. Gen. Lee is still here. Gen. Wise's brigade, with the militia, the department companies, and the convalescents from the hospitals, must number some 8000 men in this vicinity. If the enemy be in formidable numbers, we shall soon be reinforced. We have nothing from Charleston since Tuesday evening, when, it is said, the "_first_ assault" was repulsed. It is strange we get nothing later. AUGUST 29TH.--After all, it appears that only a few hundred of the enemy's cavalry came up the Peninsula as far as Bottom's Bridge, from whence they quickly fell back again. And this alarm caused Gen. Elzey, or the government, to put in movement nearly 20,000 men! But something else may be behind this demonstration; it may be the purpose of the enemy to strike in another direction, perhaps at Hanover Junction--where, fortunately, we have nearly a division awaiting them. The Hon. Mr. Dargan's letter, received at the department a few days ago, saying that the reinstatement of Gen. Pemberton in command would be the ruin of the cause, was referred by the Secretary to the President, with some strong remarks, to the effect that popular opinion was almost universal against Pemberton. It came back to-day, with the following indorsement of the President: "_The justice or injustice of the opinion will be tested by the investigation ordered_.--J. D." If the President desires it, of course Pemberton will be exonerated. But even if he be honorably and fairly acquitted, the President ought not to forget that he is not a ruler by Divine right to administer justice merely, but the servant of the people to aid in the achievement of their independence; and that their opinions and wishes, right or wrong, must be respected, or they can deprive him of honor, and select another leader. AUGUST 30TH.--The department companies and militia returned yesterday, through a heavy shower, from the wild-goose chase they were rushed into by Gen. Elzey's order. Mr. Reagan, the Postmaster-General, informed me to-day (the government will not allow bad news to transpire) that at the _second_ assault on Battery Wagner, Morris Island, the enemy captured and held the rifle-pits. This, perhaps, involves the loss of the battery itself--and indeed there is a report, generally believed, that it fell subsequently. I fear that the port of Charleston is closed finally--if indeed, as I hope, the city will be still held by Beauregard. Letters from Wilmington, dated 21st instant, urgently ask the Secretary of War to have one of the Great Blakely guns for the defense of that city--and protesting against both being sent to Charleston. From this, I infer that one or both have been ordered to Beauregard. Gen. Samuel Jones has had a small combat with the enemy in Western Virginia, achieving some success. His loss was about 200, that of the enemy much greater. This is a grain of victory to a pound of disaster. The owners of several fast blockade-running steamers, in anticipation of the closing of all the ports, are already applying for letters of marque to operate against the commerce of the United States as privateers, or in the "volunteer navy"--still with an eye to gain. Gen. Lee has returned to the Army of Northern Virginia--and we shall probably soon hear of interesting operations in the field. Governor Vance writes for a brigade of North Carolinians to collect deserters in the western counties of that State. There must be two armies in Virginia this fall--one for defense, and one (under Lee) for the aggressive--150,000 men in all--or else the losses of the past will not be retrieved during the ensuing _terrible_ campaign. Some good may be anticipated from the furious and universal outcry in the Confederate States against the extortioners and speculators in food and fuel. Already some of the millers here are selling new flour at $27 to families; the speculators paid $35 for large amounts, which they expected to get $50 for! But meat is still too high for families of limited means. My tomatoes are now maturing--and my butter-beans are filling rapidly, and have already given us a dinner. What we shall do for clothing, the Lord knows--but we trust in Him. AUGUST 31ST.--Governor Vance writes that large bodies of deserters in the western counties of North Carolina are organized, with arms, and threaten to raise the Union flag at the court-house of Wilkes County on next court-day. The Governor demands a brigade from Virginia to quell them. Lieut.-Col. Lay has been sent thither, by the new good-natured chief of the Bureau of Conscription, to cure the evil. We shall see what good this mission will effect. Col. Preston writes to the Secretary to-day that disorders among the conscripts and deserters are now occurring in South Carolina for the first time--and proposes shortly to visit them himself. The best thing that can be done is to abolish the Bureau of Conscription, and have the law enforced by the military commanders in the field. I saw to-day a letter to the Secretary of War, written by Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, on the 18th inst., referring to a Mr. Jno. Robertson, an artist, whom the Secretary of War promised a free passage in a government steamer to Europe. Mr. B. says the promise was made in the President's room, and he asks if Mr. Seddon could not spare an hour in his office, for Mr. R. to take his portrait. He says Mr. R. has the heads of the President, all the heads of departments (except Mr. Seddon, I suppose), and the principal generals. It does not appear what was done by Mr. Seddon, but I presume everything asked for by Mr. Benjamin was granted. But this matter has not exalted the President and his "heads of departments" in my estimation. If it be not "fiddling while Rome is burning," it is certainly _egotizing_ while the Confederacy is crumbling. On that day Sumter was falling to pieces, and some 40 locomotives and hundreds of cars were burning in Mississippi, and everywhere our territory passing into the hands of the invader! Mr. Robertson, I believe, is a stranger and an Englishman, and a _free passage_ in a government ship is equivalent to some $2000, Confederate States currency. Almost every day passages are denied to refugees, natives of the South, who have lost fortunes in the cause, and who were desirous to place their children and non-combatants in a place of security, while they fight for liberty and independence. The privileged passage is refused them, even when they are able and willing to pay for the passage, and this refusal is recommended by Col. Gorgas, a Northern man. They do not propose to immortalize "the President, the heads of departments, and the principal generals." But Mr. Benjamin has nothing else to do. Washington would accept no meed of praise until his great work was accomplished. CHAPTER XXX. Situation at Wilmington.--Situation at Charleston.--Lincoln thinks there is hope of our submission.--Market prices.--Ammunition turned over to the enemy at Vicksburg.--Attack on Sumter.--Stringent conscription order.--Disaffection in North Carolina.--Victory announced by Gen. Bragg.--Peril of Gen. Rosecrans.--Surrender of Cumberland Gap.-- Rosecrans fortifying Chattanooga.--Mr. Seward on flag-of-truce boat.--Burnside evacuating East Tennessee.--The trans-Mississippi army.--Meade sending troops to Rosecrans.--Pemberton in Richmond.-- A suggestion concerning perishable tithes. SEPTEMBER 1ST.--Another letter from Gen. Whiting, urging the government by every consideration, and with all the ingenuity and eloquence of language at his command, to save Wilmington by sending reinforcements thither, else it must be inevitably lost. He says it will not do to rely upon what now seems the merest stupidity of the enemy, for they already have sufficient forces and means at their command and within reach to capture the fort and city. He has but one regiment for its defense! I saw to-day a telegraphic correspondence between the Secretary of War and Gen. Buckner in regard to the invasion of Kentucky, the general agreeing to it, being sure that with 10,000 men he could compel Rosecrans to fall back, etc. But I suppose the fall of Vicksburg, and the retreat from Pennsylvania, caused its abandonment. Hon. Wm. Capeton, C. S. Senate, writes the Secretary on the subject of compelling those who have hired substitutes now to serve themselves, and he advocates it. He says the idea is expanding that the rich, for whose benefit the war is waged, have procured substitutes to fight for them, while the poor, who have no slaves to lose, have not been able to procure substitutes. All will be required to fight, else all will be engulfed in one common destruction. He will endeavor to get an expression of opinion from the Legislature, about to assemble, and after that he will advocate the measure in Congress, intimating that Congress should be convened at an early day. SEPTEMBER 2D.--We have no news of any importance from any of the armies. Gen. Bragg, however, telegraphs, August 31st, that he is concentrating his forces to receive the enemy, reported to be on the eve of assailing his position. He says he has sent our paroled men to Atlanta (those taken at Vicksburg), and asks that arms be sent them by the _eastern road_. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, says this is the first intimation he has had as to the disposition of the paroled prisoners. Does he understand that they are to fight before being exchanged? Brig.-Gen. G. J. Rains writes from Charleston that the grenades reported by the enemy to have been so destructive in their repulse at Battery Wagner, were his subterra shells, there being no hand-grenades used. The other night Beauregard sent a steamer out with a torpedo to destroy the _Ironsides_, the most formidable of the enemy's iron-clads. It ran within forty yards of the Ironsides, which, however, was saved by swinging round. The torpedo steamer's engine was so imperfect that it could not be worked when stopped, for several minutes, to readjust the arrangements for striking the enemy in his altered position. When hailed, "What steamer is that?" the reply was, "The Live Yankee," and our adventurers got off and back to the city without injury--and without inflicting any. There has been much shelling the last few days, but Sumter and Battery Wagner are still under the Confederate flag. How long this will continue no one knows. But it is hoped the great Blakely guns are there by this time, and that Gen. Rains's torpedoes may avail something for the salvation of the city. SEPTEMBER 3D.--Night before last the heavens were illuminated, it is said, by the terrific bombardment of the batteries and forts in the vicinity of Charleston, and earth and sea trembled with the mighty vibrations. Yet no material injury was done our works, and there were not more than a dozen casualties. On the side of the enemy there is no means of ascertaining the effect. N. S. Walker, Confederate States agent, Bermuda, writes that the steamer R. E. Lee was chased, on her last trip out, twelve hours, and was compelled to throw 150 bales government cotton overboard. He says the British crown officers have decided that British bottoms, with British owners of cargo, running out of blockaded ports, are liable to seizure anywhere on the high seas. Some of the papers say Knoxville is in the hands of the enemy, and others deny it. Hon. F. S. Lyon writes from Demopolis, Ala., that the Vicksburg army have not reported upon the expiration of the thirty days' leave, in large numbers, and that the men never can be reorganized to serve again under Pemberton. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston writes from Morton, Miss., that he is disposing his force to oppose any raids of the enemy, and that he shall keep the Vicksburg troops (when exchanged) in Eastern Mississippi. Gov. Jos. E. Brown telegraphs that the men (militia) in Georgia cannot be _compelled_ to leave the State; but if the government will send them 5000 arms, he thinks he can _persuade_ them to march out of it, provided he may name a commander. The President indorses on this: "If they are militia, I have no power to appoint; if C. S. troops, I have no power to delegate the authority to appoint." Gen. Lee is still here (I thought he had departed), no doubt arranging the programme of the fall campaign, if, indeed, there be one. He rode out with the President yesterday evening, but neither were greeted with cheers. I suppose Gen. Lee has lost some popularity among idle street walkers by his retreat from Pennsylvania. The President seeks seclusion. A gentleman who breakfasted with him this morning, tells me the President complained of fatigue from his long ride with Gen. Lee. SEPTEMBER 4TH.--There is a rumor that Gen. Lee (who is still here) is to take the most of his army out of Virginia, to recapture the Southern territory lost by Loring, Pemberton, and Bragg. I doubt this; for it might involve the loss of Richmond, and indeed of the whole State of Virginia. It would be a sad blow to the extortionate farmers, it is true; but we cannot afford to lose the whole country, and sacrifice the cause, to punish the speculators. It may be, however, that this is a _ruse_, and if so, Lee is preparing for another northern campaign. The project of the Hon. Mr. Boteler to place Rains's subterra shells under the Orange and Alexandria Railroad used by the enemy, was referred by the Secretary to Col. J. Gorgas, the Northern Chief of Ordnance, who says he can furnish the shells, but advises _against the use of them_, as they will "only irritate the enemy, and not intimidate them." For this presumptuous advice, which was entirely gratuitous, I do not learn that the Secretary has rebuked him. Letters from Western North Carolina show that the defection is spreading. In Wilkes County, Gideon Smoot is the commander of the insurgents, and has raised the United States flag. I have not learned, yet, whether Lieut.-Col. Lay, of the Bureau of Conscription, reached that far; and I was amazed when the good nature of Col. Preston yielded to his solicitations to go thither. What possible good could he, a Virginian, and formerly an aid of Gen. Scott, effect in that quarter? SEPTEMBER 5TH.--It is believed that Lee, with a large portion of his army, will proceed immediately to Tennessee against Rosecrans; and it is ascertained that Meade is sending reinforcements thither. But I fear for Virginia when Lee is away! Meade must have a large army left behind, else he would not send reinforcements to Rosecrans. This move will excite the fear of the extortionate farmers, at all events, and make them willing to sell their surplus produce. But if Richmond should fall, and the State be overrun, it is possible it would secede from the Confederacy, which would be a virtual dissolution of it. She would then form alliances with other Southern States on a new basis, and create a new provisional government, and postpone the formation of a permanent one until independence be achieved. However, I am incredulous about the abandonment of Virginia. Meantime, I hope France will intervene, and that Mexico will recognize the independence of the Southern Government. Another letter from Hon. Mr. Miles, of Charleston, in reply, as it seems, to a pretty severe rebuke by the Secretary of War, for asking Jenkins's brigade of South Carolinians for the defense of South Carolina, was received to-day. Knowing the honorable gentleman's intimate relations with Beauregard, the Secretary criticises the conduct of the general in permitting the enemy to establish himself on the lower end of Morris Island--allowing a grove to remain, concealing the erection of batteries, etc. etc. Mr. Miles in reply asserts the fact that Gen. B. did the utmost that could be accomplished with the force and means left at his disposal by the government; and that the grove would have been felled, if he had been authorized to impress labor, etc. It is sad to read these criminations and recriminations at such a time as this; but every Secretary of War is apt to come in conflict with Beauregard. Gen. Whiting asks, as second in command, Brig.-Gen. Herbert, and reiterates his demand for troops, else Wilmington will be lost. This letter came open--having been broken on the way. If a spy did it, which is probable, the army will soon learn what an easy conquest awaits them. Mr. C. C. Thayer, clerk in the Treasury Department, leaves on the 9th, with $15,000,000 for the trans-Mississippi Department; another clerk has already gone with $10,000,000. After all, I am inclined to think our papers have been lying about the barbarous conduct of the enemy. A letter was received to-day from C. N. Hubbard, a respectable farmer of James City County, stating that when Gen. Keyes came up the Peninsula about the 1st of July, he sent guards for the protection of the property of the people living along the line of march; and they remained, faithfully performing that duty, until the army retired. Mr. H. complains that these guards were made prisoners by our troops, and, if exchanges be demanded for them, he fears the next time the hostile army approaches Richmond, their request for a guard will be refused. What answer the Secretary will make to this, I have no means of conjecturing; but Mr. Hubbard recommends him to come to some understanding with the enemy for the mutual protection of the persons and property of non-combating civilians; and he desires an answer directed to the care of Col. Shingler, who, indeed, captured the guard. The Secretary consented to the exchange. SEPTEMBER 6TH.--Northern papers received yesterday evening contain a letter from Mr. Lincoln to the Illinois Convention of Republicans, in which I am told (I have not seen it yet) he says if the Southern people will first lay down their arms, he will then listen to what they may have to say. Evidently he has been reading of the submission of Jack Cade's followers, who were required to signify their submission with ropes about their necks. This morning I saw dispatches from Atlanta, Ga., stating that in one of the northern counties the deserters and tories had defeated the Home Guard which attempted to arrest them. In Tennessee, North Carolina, Mississippi, and Georgia, we have accounts of much and growing defection, and the embodying of large numbers of deserters. Indeed, all our armies seem to be melting away by desertion faster than they are enlarged by conscription. They will return when there is fighting to do! A letter from Col. Lay, dated North Carolina, to the Chief of the Bureau of Conscription, recommends the promotion of a lieutenant to a captaincy. The colonel is _great_ in operations of this nature; and Col. Preston is sufficiently good natured to recommend the recommendation to the Secretary of War, who, good easy man, will not inquire into his age, etc. Gold is worth from 1000 to 1500 per cent. premium; and yet one who has gold can buy supplies of anything, by first converting it into Confederate notes at low prices. For instance, coal at $30 is really bought for $3 per load. A fine horse at $1000 for $100. Bacon, at $2 per pound is only 20 cents; boots at $100 is only $10, and so on. Thank Heaven! the little furniture, etc. we now have is our own--costing less to buy it than the rent we paid for that belonging to others up to the beginning of the month. A history of the household goods we possess would, no doubt, if it could be written, be interesting to haberdashers. I think we have articles belonging in their time to twenty families. The following list of prices is cut from yesterday's paper: "_Produce, provisions, etc._--Apples, $30 to $35 per barrel; bacon is firm at $2 to $2.10 for hoground. Butter is advancing; we quote at $2.50 to $3 by the package. Cheese has advanced, and now sells at $1.50 to $2 per pound; corn, $8 to $9 per bushel; corn-meal, $9 per bushel, in better supply. Flour, at the Gallego Mills, new superfine, uninspected, is sold at $25 per barrel; at commission houses and in second hands, the price of new superfine is from $35 to $40; onions, $40 to $50 per barrel; Irish potatoes, $5 to $6 per bushel, according to quality; oats firm at $6 per bushel. Wheat--the supply coming in is quite limited. The millers refuse to compete with the government, and are consequently paying $5 per bushel. It is intimated, however, that outside parties are buying on speculation at $6 to $6.50, taking the risk of impressment. Lard, $1.70 to $1.75 per pound; eggs, $1.25 to $1.50 per dozen; seeds, timothy, $8 to $10; clover, $40 to $45 per bushel. "_Groceries._--Sugars: the market is active; we hear of sales of prime brown at $2 to $2.15; coffee, $4.25 to $4.75 per pound; molasses, $15 per gallon; rice, 25 cents per pound; salt, 45 cents per pound; soap, 50 cents to 80 cents, as to quality; candles, $2.75 to $3 per pound. "_Liquors._--We quote corn whisky at $20 to $25 per gallon; rye whisky, $38 to $40, according to quality; apple brandy, $25 to $30; rum, $28 per gallon." SEPTEMBER 7TH.--Batteries Wagner and Gregg and Fort Sumter have been evacuated! But this is not _yet_ the capture of Charleston. Gen. Beauregard telegraphed yesterday that he was preparing (after thirty-six hours' incessant bombardment) to evacuate Morris Island; which was done, I suppose, last night. He feared the loss of the garrisons, if he delayed longer; and he said Sumter was silenced. Well, it is understood the great Blakely is in position on Charleston wharf. If the enemy have no knowledge of its presence, perhaps we shall soon have reports from it. Gen. Lee, it is said, takes _two corps d'armée_ to Tennessee, leaving _one_ in Virginia. But this can be swelled to 50,000 men by the militia, conscripts, etc., which ought to enable us to stand a protracted _siege_, provided we can get subsistence. Fortune is against us now. Lieut.-Col. Lay reports great defection in North Carolina, and even says half of _Raleigh_ is against "the Davis Government." The Secretary of War has called upon the Governor _for all the available slave labor in the State, to work on the defenses, etc._ The United States flag of truce boat came up to City Point last night, _bringing no prisoners_, and nothing else except some dispatches, the nature of which has not yet transpired. SEPTEMBER 8TH.--We have nothing further from Charleston, to-day, except that the enemy is not yet in possession of Sumter. Mr. Seddon, Secretary of War, said to Mr. Lyons, M. C., yesterday, that he had heard nothing of Gen. Lee's orders to march a portion of his army to Tennessee. That may be very true; but, nevertheless, 18,000 of Lee's troops (a corps) is already marching thitherward. A report on the condition of the military prisons, sent in to-day, shows that there is no typhoid fever, or many cases of other diseases, among the prisoners of war. Everything is kept in cleanliness about them, and they have abundance of food, wholesome and palatable. The prisoners themselves admit these facts, and denounce their own government for the treatment alleged to be inflicted on our men confined at Fort Delaware and other places. An extra session of the legislature is now sitting. The Governor's message is defiant, as no terms are offered; but he denounces as unjust the apportionment of slaves, in several of the counties, to be impressed to work on the defenses, etc. SEPTEMBER 9TH.--Troops were arriving all night and to-day (Hood's division), and are proceeding Southward, per railroad, it is said for Tennessee, via Georgia Road. It may be deemed impracticable to send troops by the western route, as the enemy possesses the Knoxville Road. The weather is excessively dry and dusty again. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston, Morton, Miss., writes that such is the facility of giving information to the enemy, that it is impossible to keep up a ferry at any point on the Mississippi; but he will be able to keep up communications, by trusty messengers with small parcels, with Lieut.-Gen. E. Kirby Smith's trans-Mississippi Department. He says if he had another cavalry brigade, he could make the navigation too dangerous for merchant steamers between Grand Gulf and Natchez. Two letters were received to-day from privates in North Carolina regiments, demanding to be transferred to artillery companies in the forts of North Carolina, or else they would _serve no more_. This is very reckless! Ordnance officer J. Brice transmitted to the Secretary to-day, through the Ordnance Bureau, an OFFICIAL account of the ammunition, etc. at Vicksburg during the siege and at the evacuation. He says all the ordnance stores at Jackson were hastily removed to Vicksburg, and of which he was unable, in the confusion, to get an accurate account, although he accompanied it. He detained and held 9000 arms destined for the trans-Mississippi Department, and issued 120 rounds to each man in the army, before the battle of Baker's Creek. Much _ammunition_ was destroyed on the battle-field, by order of Gen. Pemberton, to keep it, as he alleged, from falling into the hands of the enemy. During the siege, he got 250,000 percussion caps from Gen. Johnston's scouts, and 150,000 _from the enemy's pickets_, for a _consideration_. There was abundance of powder. The ammunition and small arms turned over to the enemy, on the surrender, consisted as follows: 36,000 cartridges for Belgian rifles; 3600 Brunswick cartridges; 75,000 rounds British rifled muskets; 9000 shot-gun cartridges; 1300 Maynard cartridges; 5000 Hall's carbine cartridges; 1200 holster pistol cartridges; 35,000 percussion caps; 19,000 pounds of cannon powder. All this was in the ordnance depots, and exclusive of that in the hands of the troops and in the ordnance wagons, doubtless a large amount. He says 8000 defective arms were destroyed by fires during the bombardment. The troops delivered to the enemy, on marching out, 27,000 arms. The Governor demanded the State magazine to-day of the War Department, in whose custody it has been for a long time. What does this mean? The Governor says the State has urgent use for it. Gen. Cooper visited the President _twice_ to-day, the Secretary not _once_. The _Enquirer_, yesterday, attacked and ridiculed the Secretary of War on his passport system in Richmond. The Northern papers contain the following letter from President Lincoln to Gen. Grant: "EXECUTIVE MANSION, "WASHINGTON, July 13th, 1863. "MAJOR-GENERAL GRANT. "MY DEAR GENERAL:--I do not remember that you and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. I wish to say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg I thought you should do what you finally did--march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like could succeed. When you got below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join Gen. Banks; and when you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong. A. LINCOLN." If Pemberton had acted differently, if the movement northward had been followed by disaster, then what would Mr. Lincoln have written to Grant? Success is the only standard of merit in a general. SEPTEMBER 10TH.--A Mr. J. C. Jones has addressed a letter to the President asking permission to run the blockade to confer with Mr. Bates, of President Lincoln's cabinet, on terms of peace, with, I believe, authority to assure him that none of the Northwestern States, or any other free States, will be admitted into the Confederacy. Mr. J. says he has been on intimate terms with Mr. B., and has conceived the idea that the United States would cease the war, and acknowledge the independence of the South, if it were not for the apprehension of the Northwestern States seceding from the Union. If his request be not granted, he intends to enter the army immediately. He is a refugee from Missouri. He assures the President he is his friend, and that a "concentration of power" in his hands is essential, etc. The President refers this paper, with a gracious indorsement, to the Secretary of War, recommending him either to see Mr. Jones, or else to institute inquiries, etc. S. Wyatt, Augusta, Ga., writes in favor of appeals to the patriotism of the people to counteract what Mr. Toombs has done. What has he done? But he advises the President, to whom he professes to be very friendly, to order a discontinuance of seizures, etc. A. Cohen (Jew name), purser of the blockade-running steamer "Arabia" at Wilmington, has submitted a notable scheme to Gen. Winder, who submits it to the Secretary of War, establishing a police agency at _Nassau_. Gen. W. to send some of his detectives thither to examine persons coming into the Confederate States, and if found "all right," to give them passports. It was only yesterday that a letter was received from Gen. Whiting, asking authority to send out a secret agent on the "Arabia," to see what disposition would be made of her cargo, having strong suspicions of the loyalty of the owners and officers of that vessel. Gov. Z. B. Vance complains indignantly of Marylanders and Virginians appointed to office in that State, to the exclusion of natives; he says they have not yet been recalled, as he had a right to expect, after his recent interview with the President. He says he is disgusted with such treatment, both of his State and of himself. Alas! what is behind? Night before last some thirty of the enemy's barges, filled with men, attempted to take the ruins of Sumter by assault. This had been anticipated by Beauregard, and every preparation had been made accordingly. So the batteries at Forts Moultrie, Bee, etc. opened terrifically with shell and grape; the amount of execution by them is not ascertained: but a number of the barges reached the debris of Sumter, where a battalion of infantry awaited them, and where 115 of the Yankees, including more than a dozen officers, begged for quarters and were taken prisoners. No doubt the casualties on the side of the assailants must have been many, while the garrison sustained no loss. This is substantially the purport of a dispatch from Beauregard to Gen. Cooper, which, however, was published very awkwardly--without any of the niceties of punctuation a fastidious general would have desired. Nevertheless, Beauregard's name is on every tongue. The clerks in the departments were startled to-day by having read to them an order from Brig.-Gen. Custis Lee (son of Gen. R. E. Lee), an order to the captains of companies to imprison or otherwise punish all who failed to be present at the drills. These young gentlemen, not being removable, according to the Constitution, and exempted from conscription by an act of Congress, volunteered some months ago for "local defense and special service," never supposing that regular drilling would be obligatory except when called into actual service by the direction of the President, in the terms of an act of Congress, which provided that such organizations were not to receive pay for military service, unless summoned to the field by the President in an emergency. They receive no pay now--but yet the impression prevails that this order has the approbation of the President, as Gen. G. W. Custis Lee is one of his special aids, with the rank and pay of a colonel of cavalry. As an aid of the President, he signs himself colonel; as commander of the city brigade, he signs himself brigadier-general, and has been so commissioned by the President. How it can be compatible to hold both positions and commissions, I do not understand--but perhaps the President does, as he is well versed in the rules and regulations of the service. Some of the clerks, it is said, regard the threat as unauthorized by law, and will resist what they deem a usurpation, at the hazard of suffering its penalties. I know not what the result will be, but I fear "no good will come of it." They are all willing to fight, when the enemy comes (a probable thing); but they dislike being _forced_ out to drill, under threats of "punishment." This measure will not add to the popularity of Col. (or Gen.) Lee. SEPTEMBER 11TH.--A dispatch from Raleigh informs us of a mob yesterday in that city. Some soldiers broke into and partially destroyed the office of the _Standard_, alleged to be a disloyal paper; after that, and when the soldiers had been dispersed by a speech from Governor Vance, the citizens broke into and partially destroyed the _Journal_, an ultra-secession paper. These were likewise dispersed by a speech from the Governor. Gen. Whiting writes that the enemy is making demonstrations against Lockwood's Folly, 23 miles from Wilmington. He says if 3000 were to pass it, the forts and harbor would be lost, as he has but one regiment--and it is employed on picket service. He says in ten nights the enemy can come from Charleston--and that Wilmington was never so destitute of troops since the beginning of the war, and yet it was never in such great peril. It is the only port remaining--and to lose it after such repeated warning would be the grossest culpability. The officers of the signal corps report that Gen. Meade has been ordered to advance, for it is already known in Washington that a large number of troops are marching out of Virginia. Lee, however, it is now believed, will not go to Tennessee. They also report that a Federal army of 6400--perhaps they mean 64,000--is to march from Arkansas to the Rio Grande, Texas. If they do, they will be lost. The engineer corps are to fortify Lynchburg immediately. The clerks of the Post-office Department have petitioned the Secretary of War to allow them (such as have families) commissary stores at government prices, else they will soon be almost in a state of starvation. Their salaries are utterly inadequate for their support. The clerks in all the departments are in precisely the same predicament. The Postmaster-General approves this measure of relief--as relief must come before Congress meets--and he fears the loss of his subordinates. It is said by western men that the enemy is organizing a force of 25,000 mounted men at Memphis, destined to penetrate Georgia and South Carolina, as far as Charleston! If this be so--and it may be so--they will probably fall in with Longstreet's corps of 20,000 now passing through this city. SEPTEMBER 12TH.--Lieut.-Col. Lay, "Inspector," reports from North Carolina that some twenty counties in that State are "disaffected;" that the deserters and "recusants" are organized and brigaded; armed, and have raised the flag of the United States. This is bad enough to cause the President some loss of sleep, if any one would show it to him. Gen. Wise, it is said, is ordered away from the defense of Richmond with his brigade. I saw him to-day (looking remarkably well), and he said he did not know where he was going--waiting orders, I suppose. C. J. McRae, agent of the loan in Europe, writes July 24th, 1863, that the bad news of Lee's failure in Pennsylvania and retreat across the Potomac, caused the loan to recede 3-1/2 per cent., and unless better news soon reaches him, he can do nothing whatever with Confederate credits. He says Capt. Bullock has contracted for the building of two "iron-clads" in France, and that disbursements on account of the navy, hereafter, will be mostly in France. I fear the reports about a whole fleet of Confederate gun-boats having been built or bought in England are not well founded. Major Ferguson has also (several have done so before him) made charges against Major Huse, the agent of Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance. Mr. McRae thinks the charges cannot be substantiated. We have tidings of the bursting of the Blakely gun at Charleston. I fear this involves the fall of Charleston. Still Beauregard is there. Gen. Pickett's division (decimated at Gettysburg) is to remain in this vicinity--and Jenkins's and Wise's brigades will leave. The hour now seems a dark one. But we must conquer or die. It is said a deserter has already gone over from our lines and given information to the enemy of the large number of troops detached from the Army of Virginia. No doubt Gen. Meade will take advantage of their absence, and advance on Richmond again. Yet I am told the very _name_ of Richmond is a terror to the foe. SEPTEMBER 13TH.--A letter from Gen. J. E. Johnston, Atlanta--whither he had repaired to attend a Court of Inquiry relating to Pemberton's operations, but which has been postponed under the present peril--repels indignantly the charge which seems to have been made in a letter from the Secretary of War, that in executing the law of conscription in his command, he had acted hastily, without sufficient attention to the rights of exemption under the provisions of the act. He says the law was a dead letter when he charged Gen. Pillow with its execution; that Gen. Pillow has now just got his preparations made for its enforcement; and, of course, no appeals have as yet come before him. He hopes that the Secretary will re-examine the grounds of his charge, etc. He is amazed, evidently, with the subject, and no doubt the "Bureau" here will strain every nerve to monopolize the business--providing as usual for its favorites, and having appointed to snug places a new batch of A. A. G.'s--men who ought to be conscribed themselves. Col. Preston, under the manipulations of Lieut.-Col. Lay, is getting on swimmingly, and to-day makes a requisition for arms and equipments of 2500 cavalry to _force_ out conscripts, arrest deserters, etc. I think they had better popularize the army, and strive to reinspire the enthusiasm that characterized it at the beginning; and the only way to do this is to restore to its ranks the wealthy and educated class, which has abandoned the field for easier employments. I doubt the policy of shooting deserters in this war--better shoot the traitors in high positions. The indigent men of the South will fight, shoulder to shoulder with the wealthy, for Southern independence; but when the attempt is made to debase them to a servile condition, they will hesitate. Gen. Pickett's division, just marching through the city, wears a different aspect from that exhibited last winter. Then it had 12,000 men--now 6000; and they are dirty, tattered and torn. The great Blakely gun has failed. We have reports of the evacuation of Cumberland Gap. This was to be looked for, when the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad was suffered to fall into the enemy's hands. When will this year's calamities end? Gen. Lee is at Orange Court House, and probably will not leave Virginia. He will still have an army of 50,000 men to oppose Meade; and Richmond may possibly be held another winter. Congress will not be called, I think; and the Legislature, now in session, I am told, will accomplish no good. It will not be likely to interfere with the supreme power which resolves to "rule or ruin,"--at least this seems to be the case in the eyes of men who merely watch the current of events. SEPTEMBER 14TH.--The report from Lt.-Col. Lay of the condition of affairs in North Carolina, received some days ago, was indorsed by Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, and father-in-law of Col. Lay, that the destruction of the government was imminently menaced, does not seem to have alarmed the President; on the contrary, he sends the paper back to the Secretary, Mr. Seddon, suggesting that he had better correspond with Gov. Vance on the subject, and if military force should be required, he might call in the aid of Brig.-Gen. Hoke, thus ending hopes of a conscription officer here obtaining a command. And so with rumors from Eastern Tennessee; the President takes matters coolly, saying the "locals," meaning home guards, or companies for local defense, should be on the alert against raiders. If large bodies of the enemy come in, Jenkins's brigade, and one from Pickett's division, might be temporarily detached to punish them. Bragg is falling back toward Atlanta, and Burnside says, officially, that he has taken Cumberland Gap, 1200 prisoners, with 14 guns, without a fight. All of Tennessee is now held by the enemy. There has been another fight (cavalry) at Brandy Station, and our men, for want of numbers, "fell back." When will these things cease? SEPTEMBER 15TH.--Gov. Vance writes that he has reliable information that the 30,000 troops in New York, ostensibly to enforce the draft, are intended for a descent on North Carolina, and Gen. Whiting has said repeatedly that 3000 could take Wilmington. The Governor says if North Carolina be occupied by the enemy, Virginia and the whole Confederacy will be lost, for all communication now, by rail, is through that State. Gen. Sam. Jones writes from Abingdon, Va., that from his information he does not doubt Cumberland Gap and its garrison capitulated on the 9th inst. He calls lustily for reinforcements, and fears the loss of everything, including the salt works, if he be not reinforced. Well, he _will_ be reinforced! Gov. (just elected) R. L. Caruthers (of Tennessee) begs that 20,000 men from Lee's army be sent out on Rosecrans's left flank to save Tennessee, which alone can save the Confederacy. Well, they _have_ been sent! There must be a "fight or a foot-race" soon in Northern Georgia, and also in Virginia, on the Rappahannock. May God defend the right! If we deserve independence, I think we shall achieve it. If God be not for us, we must submit to His will. Major Huse is buying and shipping 2000 tons saltpetre, besides millions of dollars worth of arms and stores. If we can keep Wilmington, we can send out cotton and bring in supplies without limit. SEPTEMBER 16TH.--The enemy advanced yesterday, and, our forces being unequal in numbers, captured Culpepper C. H. Our cavalry fell back several miles, and a battle is looked for immediately, near Orange C. H., where Gen. Lee awaits the foe in an advantageous position. From the Southwest also a battle is momentarily looked for. If the enemy be beaten in these battles, they will suffer more by defeat than we would. Gov. Vance has written a pointed letter to the President in regard to the mob violence in Raleigh. He says, when the office of the _Standard_ was sacked, the evil was partially counterbalanced by the sacking of the _Journal_,--the first, moderate Union, the last, ultra-secessionist. He demands the punishment of the officers present and consenting to the assault on the _Standard_ office, part of a Georgia brigade, and avers that another such outrage will bring back the North Carolina troops from the army for the defense of their State. From Morton, Miss., Gen. Hardee says, after sending reinforcements to Bragg, only three brigades of infantry remain in his department. Upon this the President made the following indorsement and sent it to the Secretary of War: "The danger to Atlanta has probably passed." While the army of Gen. Taylor threatens the southwestern part of Louisiana, troops will not probably leave New Orleans. The movement to White River is more serious at this time than the preparations against Mobile. "Efforts should be made to prevent the navigation of the Mississippi by commercial steamers, and especially to sink transports." The letter of Gov. Vance in relation to the 30,000 men destined for North Carolina being referred to the President, he sent it back indorsed as follows: "Gov. V.'s vigilance will discover the fact if this supposition be true, and in the mean time it serves to increase the demand for active exertions, as well to fill up the ranks of the army as to organize 'local defense' troops." The letter of Lt.-Col. Lay, Inspector of Conscripts, etc., was likewise referred to the President, who suggests that a general officer be located with a brigade near where the States of North Carolina, South Carolina, etc. meet. And the President indorses on Gen. Whiting's earnest calls for aid at Wilmington, that Gen. Martin be sent him, with the "locals," as he calls them, and a brigade from Pickett's division, _when filled up_. But suppose that should be too late? He says Ransom's troops should also be in position, for it is important to hold Wilmington. Calico is selling now for $10 per yard; and a small, dirty, dingy, dilapidated house, not near as large as the one I occupy, rents for $800. This one would bring $1200 now; I pay $500, which must be considered low. Where are we drifting? I know not; unless we have a crop of victories immediately. SEPTEMBER 17TH.--Lee and Meade have their armies daily drawn up in battle array, and an engagement may be expected. It is said the enemy is evacuating East Tennessee; concentrating, I suspect, for battle with Bragg. It is now said that Brigadier and Col. Lee, A. D. C. to the President, etc. etc., is going to call out the civil officers of the government who volunteered to fight in defense of the city, and encamp them in the country. This will make trouble. A Mr. Mendenhall, New Garden, N. C., Quaker, complains of the treatment two of his young Friends are receiving at Kinston from the troops. They won't fight, because they believe it wrong, and they won't pay the tax (war) of $500, because they cannot do it conscientiously. And Gov. Vance says the treatment referred to will not be tolerated. SEPTEMBER 18TH.--Nothing new from the Rappahannock, but a battle is looked for soon. Rosecrans, who had advanced into Georgia, has fallen back on Chattanooga, which he is fortifying. If he be not driven from thence, we shall lose our mines, and the best country for commissary supplies. But Bragg had from 60,000 to 70,000 men on the 5th inst., when he had not fallen back far from Chattanooga; since then he has received more reinforcements from Mississippi, and Longstreet's corps, arrived by this time, will swell his army to 90,000 men, perhaps. Johnston will probably take command, for Bragg is becoming unpopular. But Bragg will fight! The equinoctial storm has commenced, and the monitors are not in view of Charleston, having sought quiet waters. The _Enquirer_ has again assailed Mr. Benjamin, particularly on account of the retention of Mr. Spence, financial agent in England (appointed by Mr. Memminger), an anti-slavery author, whose books advocate Southern independence. To-day a letter was sent to the Secretary of War, from Mr. Benjamin, stating the fact that the President had changed the whole financial programme for Europe. Frazer, Trenholm, & Co., Liverpool, are to be the custodians of the treasure in England, and Mr. McRae, in France, etc., and they would keep all the accounts of disbursements by the agents of departments, thus superseding Mr. Spence. I think this arrangement will somewhat affect the operations of Major Huse (who is a little censured in the letter, purporting to be dictated by the President, but really written by the President) and Col. Gorges. If Wilmington continues in our possession, the transactions in Europe will be large, and the government will derive more of its supplies from thence. SEPTEMBER 19TH.--The reports from Western North Carolina indicate that much bad feeling prevails there still; and it is really something more than a military trick to obtain a command. But I think the government had better keep out of the field its assistant adjutant-generals, and especially those in the Bureau of Conscription, unless they are put in subordinate positions. Some of them have sought their present positions to keep aloof from the fatigues and dangers of the field; and they have contributed no little to the disaffection in North Carolina. Gen. Whiting suggests that one of Gen. Pickett's brigades be sent to Weldon; and then, with Ransom's brigade, he will soon put down the deserters and tories. The Governor approves this plan, and I hope it will be adopted. The Northern papers say President Lincoln, by proclamation, has suspended the writ of _habeas corpus_ throughout the United States. This is good news for the South; for the people there will strike back through the secret ballot-box. They also say an expedition is about to sail up the Rio Grande, where it will come in collision with the French, now occupying Matamoras. And it appears that Lord John Russell will _not_ prevent the sailing of our monitor-rams from British ports without evidence of an intention to use them against the United States. He will do nothing on suspicion; but must have affidavits, etc. A young lady, Miss Heiskell, applied yesterday, through the Hon. A. H. H. Stuart, for a passport to Philadelphia, to be married to a young merchant of that city. Her father was a merchant of that city, though a native of Virginia. I believe it was granted. The country is indignant at the surrender of Cumberland Gap by Brig.-Gen. Frazier, without firing a gun, when his force was nearly as strong as Burnside's. It was too bad! There must be some examples of generals as well as of deserting poor men, whose families, during their absence, are preyed upon by the extortioners, who contrive to purchase exemption from military service. The country did not know there was such a general until his name became famous by this ignominious surrender. Where did Gen. Cooper find him? SEPTEMBER 20TH.--We have nothing to-day from any of the seats of war; but I saw several hundred head of cattle driven through the city this morning, marked "C. S.," which I learned had come from Essex and King and Queen Counties, which may indicate either a raid from the Lower Rappahannock, or another advance on Richmond. There was a meeting called for mechanics, etc. last night, to consider the grievance of the times. I have not learned what was done, or rather said; but I hear citizens on the street to-day talking about subverting the government. I believe they have no _plan_; and as yet it amounts to nothing. SEPTEMBER 21ST.--The President was called out of church yesterday, and was for three hours closeted with the Secretary of War and Gen. Cooper. It appears that the enemy were occupying Bristol, on the line between Virginia and Tennessee, with seven regiments, and Carse's brigade was ordered (by telegraph) to reinforce Gen. S. Jones. But to-day a dispatch from Gen. Jones states that the enemy had been driven back at Zollicoffer, which is beyond Bristol. This dispatch was dated yesterday. It is unintelligible. But to-day we have a dispatch from Gen. Bragg, announcing a great battle on the 19th and 20th insts. He says, "after two days' engagement, we have driven the enemy, after a desperate resistance, from several positions; we hold the field, but the enemy still confronts us. The losses on both sides are heavy, and especially so among our officers. We have taken more than twenty guns, and 2500 prisoners." We await the sequel--with fear and trembling, after the sad experience of Western victories. The Secretary of War thinks Longstreet's corps had not yet reached Bragg; then why should he have commenced the attack before the reinforcements arrived? We must await further dispatches. If Bragg beats Rosecrans utterly, the consequences will be momentous. If beaten by him, he sinks to rise no more. Both generals are aware of the consequences of failure, and no doubt it is a sanguinary field. Whether it is in Georgia or over the line in Tennessee is not yet ascertained. SEPTEMBER 22D.--Another dispatch from Bragg, received at a late hour last night, says the _victory_ is _complete_. This announcement has lifted a heavy load from the spirits of our people; and as successive dispatches come from Gov. Harris and others on the battle-field to-day, there is a great change in the recent elongated faces of many we meet in the streets. So far we learn that the enemy has been beaten back and pursued some eleven miles; that we have from 5000 to 6000 prisoners, some 40 guns, besides small arms and stores in vast quantities. But Gen. Hood, whom I saw at the department but a fortnight ago, is said to be dead! and some half dozen of our brigadier-generals have been killed and wounded. The loss of the enemy, however, has been still greater than ours. At last accounts (this morning) the battle was still raging--the enemy having made a stand (temporarily, I presume) on a ridge, to protect their retreat. They burnt many commissary stores, which they may need soon. Yet, this is from the West. The effects of this great victory will be electrical. The whole South will be filled again with patriotic fervor, and in the North there will be a corresponding depression. Rosecrans's position is now one of great peril; for his army, being away from the protection of gun-boats, may be utterly destroyed, and then Tennessee and Southern Kentucky may fall into our hands again. To-morrow the papers will be filled with accounts from the field of battle, and we shall have a more distinct knowledge of the magnitude of it. There must have been at least 150,000 men engaged; and no doubt the killed and wounded on both sides amounted to tens of thousands! Surely the Government of the United States must now see the impossibility of subjugating the Southern people, spread over such a vast extent of territory; and the European governments ought now to interpose to put an end to this cruel waste of blood and treasure. My little garden has been a great comfort to me, and has afforded vegetables every day for a month past. My potatoes, however, which occupied about half the ground, did not turn out well. There were not more than a dozen quarts--worth $10, though--in consequence of the drought in June and July; but I have abundance of tomatoes, and every week several quarts of the speckled lima bean, which I trailed up the plank fence and on the side of the wood-house--just seven hills in all. I do not think I planted more than a gill of beans; and yet I must have already pulled some ten quarts, and will get nearly as many more, which will make a yield of more than 300-fold! I shall save some of the seed. The cabbages do not head, but we use them freely when we get a little bacon. The okra flourishes finely, and gives a flavor to the soup, when we succeed in getting a shin-bone. The red peppers are flourishing luxuriantly, and the bright red pods are really beautiful. The parsnips look well, but I have not yet pulled any. I shall sow turnip seed, where the potatoes failed, for spring salad. On the whole, the little garden has compensated me for my labor in substantial returns, as well as in distraction from painful meditations during a season of calamity. SEPTEMBER 23D.--We have nothing additional up to three P.M. to-day; but there is an untraceable rumor on the street of some undefinable disaster somewhere, and perhaps it is the invention of the enemy. We still pause for the sequel of the battle; for Rosecrans has fallen back to a strong position; and at this distance we know not whether it be practicable to flank him or to cut his communications. It is said Gen. Breckinridge commanded only 1600 men, losing 1300 of them! Gen. Cooper and the Secretary of War have not been permitted to fill up his division; the first probably having no desire to replenish the dilapidated command of an aspiring "political general." A Mr. G. Preston Williams, of Eden, Chatham County, Ga., writes to the President, Sept. 7th, 1863, saying he has lost three sons in the war, freely given for independence. His fourth son is at home on furlough, but he shall not return unless the President gives up his _obstinacy_, and his favorites--_Bragg_, Pemberton, Lovell, etc. He charges the President with incapacity, if not wickedness, and says our independence would have been won ere this, but for the obstacles thrown by him in the way. He threatens revolution within a revolution, when Congress meets, unless the President reforms, which will cause him to lose his office, and perhaps his _head_. To which the President replies thus, in an indorsement on the envelope: "SECRETARY OF WAR.--This is referred to you without any knowledge of the writer. If it be a genuine signature, you have revealed to you a deserter, and a man who harbors him, as well as _incites_ to desertion, and opposition to the efforts of the government for public defense. Sept. 19th, 1863.--J. D." The indorsement was written to-day, since hearing of Bragg's victory. SEPTEMBER 24TH.--A dispatch from Gen. Bragg, received to-day, three miles from Chattanooga, and dated yesterday, says the enemy occupies a strong position, and confronts him in great force, but he is sending troops round his flanks. No doubt he will cross the river as soon as possible. Only a small portion of Longstreet's corps has been engaged, so Bragg will have a fresh force to hurl against the invader. We learn to-day that Gen. Hood is not dead, and will recover. The President sent over to the Secretary of War to-day some extracts from a letter he has just received from Mobile, stating that a large trade is going on with the enemy at New Orleans. A number of vessels, laden with cotton, had sailed from Pascagoula Bay, for that destination. Some one or two had been stopped by the people, as the traffic is expressly prohibited by an act of Congress. But upon inquiry it was ascertained that the trade was authorized by authority from Richmond--the War Department. I doubt whether Mr. Seddon authorized it. Who then? Perhaps it will be ascertained upon investigation. Mr. Kean, the young Chief of the Bureau, is a most fastidious civil officer, for he rebukes older men than himself for mistaking an illegible K for an R, and puts _his_ warning on record in pencil marks. Mr. K. came in with Mr. Randolph, but declined to follow his patron any further. SEPTEMBER 25TH.--The latest dispatch from Gen. Bragg states that he has 7000 prisoners (2000 of them wounded), 36 cannon, 15,000 of the enemy's small arms, and 25 colors. After the victory, he issued the following address to his army: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF TENNESSEE, "FIELD OF CHICKAMAUGA, Sept. 22, 1863. "It has pleased Almighty God to reward the valor and endurance of our troops by giving our arms a complete victory over the enemy's superior numbers. Thanks are due and are rendered unto Him who giveth not the battle to the strong. "Soldiers! after days of severe battle, preceded by heavy and important outpost affairs, you have stormed the barricades and breastworks of the enemy and driven him before you in confusion, and destroyed an army largely superior in numbers, and whose constant theme was your demoralization and whose constant boast was your defeat. Your patient endurance under privations, your fortitude, and your valor, displayed at all times and under all trials, have been meetly rewarded. Your commander acknowledges his obligations, and promises to you in advance the country's gratitude. "But our task is not ended. We must drop a soldier's tear upon the graves of the noble men who have fallen by our sides, and move forward. Much has been accomplished--more remains to be done, before we can enjoy the blessings of peace and freedom. "(Signed) BRAXTON BRAGG." The President has received an official report of Gen. Frazer's surrender of Cumberland Gap, from Major McDowell, who escaped. It comprised 2100 men, 8 guns, 160 beef cattle, 12,000 pounds of bacon, 1800 bushels of wheat, and 15 days' rations. The President indorsed his opinion on it as follows: "This report presents a shameful abandonment of duty, and is so extraordinary as to suggest that more than was known to the major must have existed to cause such a result.--J. D. Sept. 24." The quartermasters in Texas are suggesting the impressment of the cotton in that State. The President indorses as follows on the paper which he returned to the Secretary of War: "I have never been willing to employ such means except as a last resort.--J. D." The Secretary of War is falling into the old United States fashion. He has brought into the department two broad-shouldered young relatives, one of whom might serve the country in the field, and I believe they are both possessed of sufficient wealth to subsist upon without $1500 clerkships. SEPTEMBER 26TH.--Nothing additional has been received from Gen. Bragg, but there is reason to believe Rosecrans is fortifying Chattanooga, preparatory to crossing the river and retreating northward with all possible expedition. From the Upper Rappahannock there is much skirmishing, the usual preliminary to a battle; and Kemper's brigade, of Pickett's division, went up thither last night, and it may be probable that a battle is imminent. Lee is apt to fight when the enemy is present facing him. The victory of Bragg has lifted a mountain from the spirits of the people, and another victory would cast the North into the "slough of despond." Gen. C. J. McRae, and another gentleman, have been directed to investigate the accounts of Major Caleb Huse, the friend and agent of Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance. Gen. McR. writes from Folkestone, England, to Col. G. that the other gentleman not having appeared, he is undertaking the work himself, and, so far, the accounts are all right. Messrs Isaac, Campbell & Co. (Jews), with whom the Ordnance Bureau has had large transactions, have afforded (so far) every facility, etc. SEPTEMBER 27TH.--Nothing additional has been heard from either Bragg's or Lee's army. But the positions of both seem quite satisfactory to our government and people. How Rosecrans can get off without the loss of half his army, stores, etc., military authorities are unable to perceive; and if Meade advances, there is a universal conviction that he will be beaten. But there _is_ an excitement in the city. It is reported that the United States flag of truce steamer is down the river, having on board no less a personage than Mr. Seward, United States Secretary of State, and that Mr. Benjamin, and other dignitaries of the Confederate States, are going off this morning to meet him. Of course it is conjectured that terms of peace will be discussed, and an infinite variety of opinions are expressed in relation to them. Some suppose the mission grows out of foreign complications, of which, as yet, we can have no knowledge, and that, to maintain the vantage ground of France or England, or both, Mr. Seward may have a scheme of recognition and alliance, etc., looking to the control of affairs on this continent by the United States and Confederate States in conjunction, with commercial arrangements, etc. Both Seward and Benjamin are regarded by their uncharitable enemies as alike destitute of principle, and of moral or physical courage, and hence that they would have no hesitation in agreeing to any terms likely to be mutually advantageous--to themselves. They are certainly men of great intellectual power, and if they are not strictly honest, as much may be said of the greatest diplomats who have played conspicuous parts in the field of diplomacy during the last century. They may sacrifice men, and castles, etc., as skillful players do chessmen, with no particle of feeling for the pieces lost, for equivalents, etc. Nevertheless, nothing can be finally consummated without the concurrence of all the co-ordinate branches of both governments, and the acquiescence of the people. But these gentlemen are fully aware of the anxiety of both peoples (if so they may be called) for peace, and they may, if they choose, strike a bargain which will put an end to the manslaughter which is deluging the land with blood. Then both governments can go into bankruptcy. It may be a humbug. SEPTEMBER 28TH.--All is reported quiet on the Rappahannock, the enemy seeming to be staggered, if not stupefied, by the stunning blows dealt Rosecrans in the West. Burnside's detachment is evacuating East Tennessee; we have Jonesborough, and are pursuing the enemy, at last accounts, toward Knoxville. Between that and Chattanooga he may be intercepted by the right wing of Bragg. The President had his cabinet with him nearly all day. It is not yet ascertained, precisely, whether Mr. Seward was really on the flag of truce steamer yesterday, but it is pretty certain that Mr. Benjamin went down the river. Of course the public is not likely to know what transpired there--if anything. The trans-Mississippi army is getting large amounts of stores, etc., on the Rio Grande River. Major Hart, Quartermaster, writes from San Antonio, Texas, on the 13th of July, that three large English steamers, "Sea Queen," "Sir Wm. Peel," and the "Gladiator," had arrived, were discharging, etc. Also that two large schooners were hourly expected with 20,000 Enfield rifles on board. He says Gen. Magruder is impressing cotton to freight these vessels. So far, 260 Quakers, non-combatants, have been reported, mostly in North Carolina. A few cannot pay the $500--conscientiously. The papers begin to give the details of the great battle of Chickamauga--the "_river of death_." SEPTEMBER 29TH.--We have nothing additional from Bragg, except confirmation of his victory from Northern journals; and it is reported that Meade is sending two more army corps to the Southwest, for the purpose of extricating Rosecrans from his perilous predicament. It is believed our cavalry is in his rear, and that we have the road below Chattanooga, cutting him off from his supplies. The President sent for the Secretary of War and Gen. Cooper just before 3 P.M. to-day, having, it is supposed, some recent intelligence of the movements of the enemy. It is possible we shall send troops, etc., with all possible expedition, to reinforce Bragg, for the purpose of insuring the destruction of Rosecrans's army, and thus to Tennessee may be transferred the principal military operations of the fall campaign. Young Mr. Kean has taken friend Jacques's place at the door of the Secretary, and put him to abstracting the recorded letters containing decisions, the plan I suggested to the President, but which was claimed as the invention of the Assistant Secretary of War. Some one has written a flaming article on the injurious manner in which impressments have been conducted in Mississippi--the President's State--and sent it to him. This being referred to Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, the latter splutters over it in his angular chirography at a furious rate, saying he did not authorize it, he doubted if it were done, and lastly, if done, he was sure it was done by agents of the Quartermaster-General. SEPTEMBER 30TH.--Still nothing additional from Lee's or Bragg's army; but from abroad we learn that the British Government has prevented the rams built for us from leaving the Mersey. Gen. Pemberton is here, and was closeted for several hours to-day with the Secretary of War. Capt. J. H. Wright, 56th Georgia, gives another version of the surrender of Cumberland Gap. He is the friend of Gen. Frazer, and says he was induced to that step by the fear that the North Carolina regiments (62d and 63d) could not be relied on. Did he try them? A Mr. Blair, Columbus, Miss., applies for permission to bring drugs from _Memphis_, and refers, for respectability, to President Davis and Gov. Letcher. His letter gives a list of prices of medicines in the Confederate States. I select the following: Quinine, per oz., $100; calomel, $20; blue mass, $20; Opium, $100; S. N. bismuth, $100; soda, $5; borax, $14; oil of bergamot, per lb., $100; indigo, $35; blue-stone, $10. Boots are selling in this city at $100 per pair, and common shoes for $60. Shuck mattresses, $40. Blankets, $40 each; and sheets, cotton, $25 each. Wood is $40 per cord. I submitted a proposition to the Secretary (of a quartermaster) to use some idle government wagons and some negro prisoners, to get in wood for the civil officers of the government, which could be done for $8 per cord; but the quartermasters opposed it. But to-day I sent a letter to the President, suggesting that the perishable tithes (potatoes, meal, etc.) be sold at reasonable rates to the civil officers and the people, when in excess of the demand of the army, and that transportation be allowed, and that a government store be opened in Richmond. I told him plainly, that without some speedy measure of relief there would be much discontent, for half the families here are neither half-fed nor half-clad. The measure, if adopted in all the cities, would be a beneficent one, and would give popular strength to the government, while it would be a death-blow to the speculators and extortioners. It will be seen what heed the government will give it. Gen. Wise has his brigade in South Carolina. "_The markets._--The quantity of produce in our markets continues large, and of good quality, but the prices remain as high as ever, as the following quotations will show: butter, $4; bacon, $2.75 to $3 per pound; lard, $2.25 per pound; beef, $1 to $1.25; lamb, $1 to $1.25; veal, $1 to $1.50; shote, $1.25 to $1.75; sausage, $1; chickens, $2.50 to $7 per pair; ducks, $5 per pair; salt herrings, $4 per dozen; cabbage, $1 to $1.50; green corn, $1.50 to $2 per dozen; sweet potatoes, $21 to $26 per bushel; Irish potatoes, 50 to 75 cts. per quart; snaps, $1 per quart; peas, 75 cts. to $1.25 per quart; butter-beans, $1 to $1.50 per quart; onions, $1.25 per quart; egg-plant, $1 to $2 a piece; tomatoes, 50 cts. to $1 per quart; country soap, $1 to $1.50 per pound." CHAPTER XXXI. Suffering of our wounded at Gettysburg.--Prisoners from the battle of Chickamauga.--Charleston.--Policy in the Southwest.--From Gen. Bragg.--Letter from President Davis.--Religious revival.--Departure of the President for the Southwest.--About General Bragg.--Movement of mechanics and non-producers.--About "French" tobacco.--The markets.--Outrage in Missouri.---Speculations of government agents.-- From Gen. Lee.--Judge Hastings's scheme.--Visit to our prisons.-- Letter from Gen. Kirby Smith.--President Davis at Selma.--Gen. Winder's passports.--The markets.--Campbellites and Methodists.--From Gen. Lee.--From the Southwest. OCTOBER 1ST.--We have a rumor to-day that Meade is sending heavy masses of troops to the West to extricate Rosecrans, and that Gen. Hooker is to menace Richmond from the Peninsula, with 25,000 men, to keep Lee from crossing the Potomac. We have absolutely nothing from Bragg; but a dispatch from Gen. S. Jones, East Tennessee, of this date, says he has sent Gen. Ranseur after the rear guard of the enemy, near Knoxville. A letter from W. G. M. Davis, describes St. Andrew's Bay, Florida, as practicable for exporting and importing purposes. It may be required, if Charleston and Wilmington fall--which is not improbable. Nevertheless, Bragg's victory has given us a respite in the East, and soon the bad roads will put an end to the marching of armies until next year. I doubt whether the Yankees will desire another winter campaign in Virginia. The papers contain the following account of sufferings at Gettysburg, and in the Federal prisons: "A lady from the vicinity of Gettysburg writes: 'July 18th--We have been visiting the battle-field, and have done all we can for the wounded there. Since then we have sent another party, who came upon a camp of wounded Confederates in a wood between the hills. Through this wood quite a large creek runs. This camp contained between 200 and 300 wounded men, in every stage of suffering; two well men among them as nurses. Most of them had frightful wounds. A few evenings ago the rain, sudden and violent, swelled the creek, and 35 of the unfortunates were swept away; 35 died of starvation. No one had been to visit them since they were carried off the battle-field; they had no food of any kind; they were crying all the time "bread, bread! water, water!" One boy without beard was stretched out dead, quite naked, a piece of blanket thrown over his emaciated form, a rag over his face, and his small, thin hands laid over his breast. Of the dead none knew their names, and it breaks my heart to think of the mothers waiting and watching for the sons laid in the lonely grave on that fearful battle-field. All of those men in the woods were nearly naked, and when ladies approached they tried to cover themselves with the filthy rags they had cast aside. The wounds themselves, unwashed and untouched, were full of worms. God only knows what they suffered. "'Not one word of complaint passed their lips, not a murmur; their only words were "Bread, bread! water, water!" Except when they saw some of our ladies much affected, they said, "Oh, ladies, don't cry; we are used to this." We are doing all we can; we served all day yesterday, though it was Sunday.' This lady adds: 'There were two brothers--one a colonel, the other a captain--lying side by side, and both wounded. They had a Bible between them.' Another letter from Philadelphia says: 'There are over 8000 on the island (Fort Delaware), the hospitals crowded, and between 300 and 400 men on the bare floor of the barracks; not even a straw mattress under them. The surgeon says the hundred pillows and other things sent from here were a God-send. Everything except gray clothing will be thankfully received, and can be fully disposed of. It is very difficult to get money here. I write to you in the hope that you may be able to send some comforts for these suffering men. Some two or three thousand have been sent to an island in the East River, most of them South Carolinians, and all in great destitution. Your hearts would ache as mine does if you knew all I hear and know is true of the sufferings of our poor people.' "Another writes: Philadelphia, July 20th, 1863. 'I mentioned in my last the large number of Southern prisoners now in the hands of the Federal Government in Fort Delaware, near this city. There are 8000, a large portion of whom are sick and wounded; all are suffering most seriously for the want of a thousand things. Those in the city who are by birth or association connected with Southern people, and who feel a sympathy for the sufferings of these prisoners, are but few in number, and upon these have been increasing calls for aid. Their powers of contribution are now exhausted. I thought it my duty to acquaint you and others in Europe of this state of things, that you might raise something to relieve the sufferings of these prisoners. I believe the government has decided that any contributions for them may be delivered to them. There is scarcely a man among them, officers or privates, who has any money or any clothes beyond those in which they stood when they were captured on the battle-field. You can, therefore, imagine their situation. In the hospitals the government gives them nothing beyond medicines and soldier's rations. Sick men require much more, or they perish; and these people are dying by scores. I think it a matter in which their friends on the other side should take prompt and ample action.'" OCTOBER 2D.--Our 5000 prisoners taken at the battle of Chickamauga have arrived in this city, and it is ascertained that more are on the way hither. Gen. Bragg said he had 5000 besides the wounded, and as none of the wounded have arrived, more must have been taken since his dispatch. Every effort is being made on our part to capture the army of Rosecrans--and everything possible is done by the enemy to extricate him, and to reinforce him to such an extent that he may resume offensive operations. Without this be done, the campaign must close disastrously in the West, and then the peace party of the North will have a new inspiration of vitality. It is now said that Gen. Lee, despairing of being attacked in his chosen position, has resolved to attack Meade, or at least to advance somewhere. It is possible (if Meade has really sent two corps of his army to the West) that he will cross the Potomac again--at least on a foraging expedition. If he meets with only conscripts and militia he may penetrate as far as Harrisburg, and then let Europe perpend! The Union will be as difficult of reconstruction, as would have been the celebrated Campo Formio vase shivered by Napoleon. It is much easier to destroy than to construct. The emancipation and confiscation measures rendered reconstruction impracticable--unless, indeed, at a future day, the Abolitionists of the United States should be annihilated and Abolitionism abolished. To-day I got an excellent pair of winter shoes from a quartermaster here for $13--the retail price for as good an article, in the stores, is $75; fine boots have risen to $200! The enemy's batteries on Morris Island are firing away again at Sumter's ruins, and at Moultrie--but they have not yet opened on the city. The newspapers continue to give accounts of the Chickamauga battle. OCTOBER 3D.--Nothing from the armies; but from Charleston it is ascertained that the enemy's batteries on Morris Island have some of the guns pointing _seaward_. This indicates a provision against attack from that quarter, and suggests a purpose to withdraw the monitors, perhaps to use them against Wilmington. I suppose the opposite guns in the batteries will soon open on Charleston. Thomas Jackson, Augusta, Ga., writes that he can prove the president of the Southern Express Company, who recently obtained a passport to visit Europe, really embarked for the United States, taking a large sum in gold; that another of the same company (which is nothing more than a branch of Adams's Express Company of New York) will leave soon with more gold. He says this company has enough men detailed from the army, and conscripts exempted, to make two regiments. J. M. Williams writes from Morton, Miss., that his negroes have been permitted to return to his plantation, near Baton Rouge, and place themselves under his overseer. During their absence some ten or twelve died. This is really wonderful policy on the part of the enemy--a policy which, if persisted in, might ruin us. _Mr. Williams asks permission to sell some fifty bales of cotton to the enemy for the support of his slaves._ He says the enemy is getting all the cotton in that section of country--and it may be inferred that all the planters are getting back their slaves. The moment any relaxation occurs in the rigorous measures of the enemy, that moment our planters cease to be united in resistance. OCTOBER 4TH.--The major-quartermasters and the acting quartermaster-generals (during the illness or absence of Gen. Lawton) are buffeting the project some of us set on foot to obtain wood at cost, $8, instead of paying the extortioners $40 per cord. All the wagons and teams of Longstreet's corps are here idle, while the corps itself is with Bragg--and the horses are fed by the government of course. These wagons and teams might bring into the city thousands of cords of wood. The quartermasters at first said there were no drivers; but I pointed out the free Yankee negroes in the prisons, who beg employment. Now Col. Cole, the quartermaster in charge of transportation, says there is a prospect of getting teamsters--but that hauling should be done exclusively for the army--and the quartermaster-general (acting) indorses on the paper that if the Secretary will _designate the class of clerks_ to be benefited, some little wood might be delivered them. This concession was obtained, because the Secretary himself sent my _second_ paper to the quartermaster-general--the _first_ never having been seen by him, having passed from the hands of the Assistant Secretary to the file-tomb. Another paper I addressed to the President, suggesting the opening of government stores for the sale of perishable tithes,--being a blow at the extortioners, and a measure of relief to the non-producers, and calculated to prevent a riot in the city,--was referred by him yesterday to the Secretary of War, for his special notice, and for _conference_, which may result in good, if they adopt the plan submitted. That paper the Assistant Secretary _cannot_ withhold, having the President's mark on it. OCTOBER 5TH.--It is now said that Meade's army has not retired, and that two corps of it have not been sent to Rosecrans. Well, we shall know more soon, for Lee is preparing for a movement. It may occur this week. In the West it is said Gen. Johnston is working his way, with a few brigades, from Meridian towards _Nashville._ Lieut.-Gen. E. Kirby Smith writes for authority to make appointments and promotions in the trans-Mississippi Army, as its "communications with Richmond are permanently interrupted." The President indorses that he has no authority to delegate the power of appointing, as that is fixed by the constitution; but he will do anything in his power to facilitate the wishes of the general. The general writes that such delegation is a "military necessity." The _Enquirer_ and the _Dispatch_ have come out in opposition to the fixing of maximum prices for articles of necessity, by either the Legislature of the State or by Congress. It is charged against these papers, with what justice I know not, that the proprietors of both are realizing profits from speculation. To-day I got a fine shin-bone (for soup) for $1. I obtained it at the government shop; in the market I was asked $5.50 for one. We had a good dinner, and something left over for to-morrow. OCTOBER 6TH.--Gen. Bragg and others recommend Gen. Hood for promotion to a lieutenant-generalcy; but the President says it is impossible, as the number authorized by Congress is full. And Gen. Bragg also gives timely notice to the Commissary-General that the supplies at Atlanta will suffice for but a few weeks longer. This, Commissary-General Northrop took in high dudgeon, indorsing on the paper that there was no necessity for such a message to him; that Bragg knew very well that every effort had been and would be made to subsist the army; and that when he evacuated Tennessee, the great source of supplies was abandoned. In short, the only hope of obtaining ample supplies was for Gen. Bragg to recover Tennessee, and drive Rosecrans out of the country. The President has at last consented to send troops for the protection of Wilmington--Martin's brigade; and also Clingman's, from Charleston, if the enemy should appear before Wilmington. I read to-day an interesting report from one of our secret agents--Mr. A. Superviele--of his diplomatic operations in Mexico, which convinces me that the French authorities there favor the Confederate States cause, and anticipate closer relations before long. When he parted with Almonte, the latter assured him that his sympathies were with the South, and that if he held any position in the new government (which he does now) he might say to President Davis that his influence would be exerted for the recognition of our independence. Mr. Jeptha Fowlkes, of Aberdeen, Miss., sends a proposition to supply our army with 200,000 suits of clothing, 50,000 pairs of shoes, etc. etc. from the United States, provided he be allowed to give cotton in return. Mr. Randolph made a contract with him last year, of this nature, which our government revoked afterward. We shall see what will be done now. It is positively asserted that Gen. Bragg has arrested Lieut.-Gen. (Bishop) Polk and Brig.-Gen. Hindman, for disobedience of orders in the battle of Chickamauga. LETTER FROM PRESIDENT DAVIS--The Mobile papers publish the following letter from President Davis to the "Confederate Society," of Enterprise, Miss.: "RICHMOND, VA., Sept. 17th, 1863. "J. W. HARMON, ESQ., SECRETARY OF THE CONFEDERATE SOCIETY, ENTERPRISE, MISS. "SIR:--I have received your letter of the 22d ult., inclosing a copy of an address to the people of the Confederate States, calling upon them to unite in an effort to restore and maintain the par value of the currency with gold by forming societies of citizens who will engage to sell and buy only at reduced prices. The object of the address is most laudable, and I sincerely hope for it great success in arousing the people to concerted action upon a subject of the deepest importance. The passion for speculation has become a gigantic evil. It has seemed to take possession of the whole country, and has seduced citizens of all classes from a determined prosecution of the war to a sordid effort to amass money. It destroys enthusiasm and weakens public confidence. It injures the efficiency of every measure which demands the zealous co-operation of the people in repelling the public enemy, and threatens to bring upon us every calamity which can befall freemen struggling for independence. "The united exertions of societies like those you propose should accomplish much toward abating this evil, and infusing a new spirit into the community. "I trust, therefore, that you will continue your labors until their good effect becomes apparent everywhere. "Please accept my thanks for the comforting tone of your patriotic letter. It is a relief to receive such a communication at this time, when earnest effort is demanded, and when I am burdened by the complaining and despondent letters of many who have stood all the day idle, and now blame anybody but themselves for reverses which have come and dangers which threaten. "Very respectfully, "Your fellow-citizen, "JEFFERSON DAVIS." There is a revival in the city among the Methodists; and that suggests a recent expiring. In my young days I saw much of these sensational excitements, and partook of them; for how can the young resist them? But it is the Cæsarean method of being born again, violating reason, and perhaps outraging nature. There was one gratifying deduction derived from my observation to-night, at the Clay Street meeting-house--the absence of allusion to the war. I had supposed the attempt would be made by the exhorters to appeal to the fears of the soldiery, composing more than half the congregation, and the terrors of death be held up before them. But they knew better; they knew that every one of them had made up his mind to die, and that most of them expected either death or wounds in this mortal struggle for independence. The fact is they are familiar with death in all its phases, and there is not a coward among them. They look upon danger with the most perfect indifference, and fear not to die. Hence there was no allusion to the battle-field, which has become a scene divested of novelty. But the appeals were made to their sympathies, and reliance was placed on the force of example, and the contagion of ungovernable emotions. OCTOBER 7TH.--We have not a particle of news from the army to-day. It may be an ominous calm. A Mr. Livingstone, from Georgia I believe, has been extensively engaged in financial transactions during the last week. He drew upon the house of North & Co., Savannah, and purchased some $35,000 in gold. After obtaining some $350,000 from the brokers here, he obtained a passport (of course!) and fled into the enemy's lines. OCTOBER 8TH.--The President, accompanied by two of his aids, set off quietly day before yesterday for the Southwest--to Bragg's army, no doubt, where it is understood dissensions have arisen among the chieftains. By telegraph we learn that one of Bragg's batteries, on Lookout Mountain, opened fire on the Federals in Chattanooga on the 5th inst., which was replied to briskly. Night before last an attempt was made to destroy the enemy's steamer Ironsides at Charleston, but failed. The torpedo, however, may have done it some injury. From Lee and Meade we have nothing. A rather startling letter was read by the Secretary of War to-day from ----, Lieut.-Gen. Bragg's ----d in command. It was dated the 26th of September, and stated that Chickamauga was one of the most complete victories of the war, but has not been "followed up." On the 21st (day after the battle), Gen. Bragg asked Gen. ----'s advice, which was promptly given: "that he should immediately strike Burnside a blow; or if Burnside escaped, then to march on Rosecrans's communications in the rear of Nashville." Gen. Bragg seemed to adopt the plan, and gave orders accordingly. But the right wing had not marched more than eight or ten miles the next day, before it was halted, and ordered to march toward Chattanooga, after giving the enemy two and a half days to strengthen the fortifications. Bragg's army remains in front of the enemy's defenses, with orders not to assault him. The only thing Bragg has done well (says Gen. ----) was to order the attack on the 19th of September; everything else has been wrong: and now only God can save us or help us--while Bragg commands. He begs that Gen. Lee be sent there, while the Army of Virginia remains on the defensive, to prosecute offensive measures against Rosecrans. He says Bragg's army has neither organization nor mobility; and B. cannot remedy the evil. He cannot adopt or adhere to any course, and he invokes the government to interpose speedily. This letter is on file in the archives. The question now is, who is right? If it be ----, Bragg ought certainly to be relieved without delay; and the President cannot arrive in the field a moment too soon. As it is, while others are exulting in the conviction that Rosecrans will be speedily destroyed, _I_ am filled with alarm for the fate of Bragg's army, and for the cause! I am reluctant to attribute the weakness of personal pique or professional jealousy to ----; yet I still hope that events will speedily prove that Bragg's plan was the best, and that he had really adopted and advised to the wisest course. OCTOBER 9TH.--From the West we have only unreliable reports of movements, etc.; but something definite and decisive must occur shortly. Gen. Lee's army crossed the Rapidan yesterday, and a battle may be looked for in that direction any day. It is said Meade has only 40,000 or 50,000 men; and, if this be so, Lee is strong enough to assume the offensive. To-morrow the departments will be closed for a review of the clerks, etc., a piece of nonsense, as civil officers are under no obligation to march except to fight, when the city is menaced. The mechanics and non-producers have made a unanimous call (in placards) for a mass meeting at the City Hall to-morrow evening. The ostensible object is to instruct Mr. Randolph and other members of the Legislature (now in session) to vote for the bill, fixing maximum prices of commodities essential to life, or else to resign. Mr. Randolph has said he would not vote for it, unless so instructed to do. It is apprehended that these men, or the authors of the movement, have ulterior objects in view; and as some ten or twelve hundred of them belong to the militia, and have muskets in their possession, mischief may grow out of it. Mr. Secretary Seddon ought to act at once on the plan suggested for the sale of the perishable tithes, since the government is blamed very much, and perhaps very justly, for preventing transportation of meat and bread to the city, or for impressing it in transitu. Capt. Warner, who feeds the prisoners of war, and who is my good "friend in need," sent me yesterday 20 odd pounds of bacon sides at the government price. This is not exactly according to law and order, but the government loses nothing, and my family have a substitute for butter. OCTOBER 10TH.--The enemy is undoubtedly falling back on the Rappahannock, and our army is pursuing. We have about 40,000 in Lee's army, and it is reported that Meade has 50,000, of whom many are conscripts, altogether unreliable. We may look for stirring news soon. About 2500 of the "local" troops were reviewed to-day. The companies were not more than half filled; so, in an emergency, we could raise 5000 fighting men, at a moment's warning, for the defense of the capital. In the absence of Custis Lee, Col. Brown, the English aid of the President, commanded the brigade, much to the disgust of many of the men, and the whole were reviewed by Gen. Elzey, still more to the chagrin of the ultra Southern men. The Secretary seems unable to avert the storm brewing against the extortioners; but permits impressments of provisions coming to the city. It is said the President and cabinet have a large special fund in Europe. If they should fall into the hands of Lincoln, they might suffer death; so in the event of subjugation, it is surmised they have provided for their subsistence in foreign lands. But there is no necessity for such provision, provided they perform their duty here. I cut the following from the papers: "The Vicomte de St. Romain has been sent by the French Government to ours to negotiate for the exportation of the tobacco bought for France by French agents. "The Confederate States Government has at last consented to allow the tobacco to leave the country, provided the French Government will send its own vessels for it. "The latter _will_ send French ships, accompanied by armed convoys. "To this the United States Government objects _in toto_. "Vicomte de St. Romain is now making his way to New York to send the result of his mission, through the French Consul, to the Emperor. "The French frigates in New York are there on this errand." OCTOBER 11TH.--I attended a meeting of "mechanics" and citizens at the City Hall last night. The prime mover of this organization is E. B. Robinson, some twenty years ago one of my printers in the _Madisonian_ office. It was fully attended, and although not so boisterous as might have been expected, was, nevertheless, earnest and determined in its spirit. Resolutions instructing Mr. Randolph (State Senator, and late Secretary of War) to vote for a bill before the General Assembly reducing and fixing the prices of the necessities of life, were passed unanimously; also one demanding his resignation, in the event of his hesitating to obey. He was bitterly denounced by the speakers. I understood yesterday, from the butchers, that they have been buying beef cattle, not from the producers, but from a Mr. Moffitt (they say a commissary agent), at from 45 to 55 cents gross; and hence they are compelled to retail it (net) at from 75 cents to $1.25 per pound to the people. If this be so, and the commissary buys at government prices, 18 to 22 cents, a great profit is realized by the government or its agent at the expense of a suffering people. How long will the people suffer thus? This community is even now in an inflammable condition, and may be ignited by a single spark. The flames of insurrection may at any moment wrap this slumbering government in its destructive folds; and yet the cabinet cannot be awakened to a sense of the danger. Mr. Seddon (who may be better informed than others), deeply sunken in his easy chair, seems perfectly composed; but he cannot know that his agents are permitted to prey upon the people: and the complaints and charges sent to him are acted upon by his subordinates, who have orders not to permit business of secondary importance to engage his attention; and his door-keepers have instructions to refuse admittance to persons below a certain rank. Nothing but the generous and brave men in the army could have saved us from destruction long ago, and nothing else can save us hereafter. If our independence shall be achieved, it will be done in _spite_ of the obstructions with which the cause has been burdened by the stupidity or mismanagement of incompetent or dishonest men. "THE SUFFERINGS OF THE BORDER MISSOURIANS.--The people of Missouri, on the Kansas border, are being slaughtered without mercy under the authority of the Yankee commander of that department, Schofield. A letter to the St. Louis _Republican_ (Yankee) says: "On Sunday last the desire for blood manifested itself in the southeastern part of Jackson County, not far from the village of Lone Jack. Although it was Sunday, the people of that region, alarmed and terror-stricken by threats from Kansas, and cruel edicts from headquarters of the district, were hard at work straining every nerve to get ready to leave their homes before this memorable 9th day of September, 1863. "One party of these unfortunate victims of a cruel order had almost completed their preparations, and within half an hour's time would have commenced their weary wanderings in search of a home. It consisted of Benjamin Potter, aged seventy-five; John S. Cave, aged fifty; William Hunter, aged forty-seven; David Hunter, aged thirty-five; William C. Tate, aged thirty; Andrew Owsley, aged seventeen; and Martin Rice and his son. While thus engaged in loading their wagons with such effects as they supposed would be most useful to them, a detachment of Kansas troops (said to be part of the Kansas 9th, though this may be a mistake), under command of Lieut.-Col. Clark and Capt. Coleman, came up and took them all prisoners. "After a little parleying, Mr. Rice and his son were released and ordered to leave; which they did, of course. They had not gone much over three-fourths of a mile before they heard firing at the point at which they had left the soldiers with the remaining prisoners. In a short time the command moved on, and the wives and other relatives of the prisoners rushed up to ascertain their fate. It was a horrid spectacle. "There lay six lifeless forms--mangled corpses--so shockingly mangled that it was difficult, my informant stated, to identify some of them. They were buried where they were murdered, without coffins, by a few friends who had expected to join them on that day, with their families, and journey in search of a home. "These are the unvarnished facts with reference to an isolated transaction. There are many, very many others of a similar character that I might mention, but I will not. The unwritten and secret history of our border would amaze the civilized world, and would stagger the faith of the most credulous. In the case just mentioned, we find an old man who had passed his threescore and ten, and a youth who had not yet reached his score, falling victims to this thirsty cry for blood. "The world will doubtless be told that six more bushwhackers have been cut off, etc. But believe it not, sir; it is not true. These six men never were in arms, neither in the bush or elsewhere, I have been told by one who has known them for years past. The widows and orphans of some of them passed through this city yesterday, heart-broken, homeless wanderers." OCTOBER 12TH.--Hon. G. A. Henry, Senator from Tennessee, writes to the Secretary that it is rumored that Gen. Pemberton is to command Gen. Polk's corps in Tennessee. He says if this be true, it will be disastrous; that the Tennessee troops will not serve under him, but will mutiny and desert. It is reported to-day by Gen. Elzey (on what information I know not) that Meade's army has been reduced to 30,000 or 40,000 men, by the heavy reinforcements sent to extricate Rosecrans. Be this as it may, there is no longer any doubt that Lee is advancing toward the Potomac, and the enemy is retreating. This must soon culminate in something of interest. I saw Commissary-General Northrop to-day, and he acknowledges that Mr. Moffitt, who sells beef (gross) to the butchers at from 45 to 55 cents, is one of his agents, employed by Major Ruffin, to purchase beef for the army! The schedule price is from 16 to 20 cents, and he pays no more, for the government--and if he buys for himself, it is not likely he pays more--and so we have a government agent a speculator in meat, and co-operating with speculators! Will Mr. Secretary Seddon permit this? OCTOBER 13TH.--Gen. Lee's cavalry are picking up some prisoners, several hundreds having already been sent to Richmond. It is said the advance of his army has been delayed several weeks for want of commissary stores, while Commissary-General Northrop's or Major Ruffin's agent Moffitt, it is alleged, has been selling beef (gross) to the butchers at 50 cents per pound, after buying or impressing at from 16 to 20 cents. Gen. Lee writes that a scout (from Washington?) informs him that Gen. Gilmore has been ordered to take Charleston at all hazards, and, failing in the attempt, to make a flank movement and seize upon Branchville; which he (Gen. Lee) deems an unlikely feat. What a change! The young professors and tutors who shouldered their pens and became clerks in the departments are now resigning, and seeking employment in country schools remote from the horrid sounds of war so prevalent in the vicinity of the Capitol, and since they were ordered to volunteer in the local companies, which will probably have some sharp practice in the field. They are intent, however, on "teaching the young _idea_ how to shoot." The young chiefs of bureaus, being fixed "for life," did not _volunteer_. OCTOBER 14TH.--A letter from Gen. Lee to the Secretary of War, dated 11th inst. at Madison C. H., complains of the injury done by the newspapers of Richmond, which contain early accounts of his movements, and are taken quickly (by flag of truce? or Gen. Winder's corps of rogues and cut-throats?) to the enemy. He says he is endeavoring to strike at Meade, and has already captured, this week, some 600 of the enemy (cavalry), including that number of horses. The Secretary sent the requisite notice to the editors. Gen. Gilmer, at Charleston, suggests the removal of the guns on the boats in that harbor to land batteries, to be commanded by officers of the navy. An order has been sent to Gen. S. Jones, West Virginia, for the 8th and 14th Regiments Virginia Cavalry. OCTOBER 15TH.--To-day, at 12 M., I saw a common leatherwing bat flying over the War Department. What this portends I do not pretend to say, perhaps nothing. It may have been dislodged by the workmen building chimneys to the offices of the department. The order of the government conscribing all foreign residents who have acquired homes in this country, and the expulsion of the British consuls, will immediately be followed by another exodus of that class of residents. Already passports are daily applied for, and invariably granted by Mr. Assistant Secretary Campbell. The enemy, of course, will reap great benefit from the information conveyed by these people, and the innumerable brood of blockade-runners. Gen. Lee has sent down between 600 and 700 prisoners captured in recent cavalry engagements. He took their horses and equipments also. And there is an account of an engagement in the West, near Memphis, in which the Confederate troops inflicted injury on the enemy, besides destroying the railroad in several places. OCTOBER 16TH.--No battle had occurred in Northern Virginia up to 10 o'clock yesterday morning, although there is a constant stream of prisoners being sent to this city daily, taken by our cavalry. At last accounts Meade's army was retreating toward Washington City, hotly pursued by Lee. They were near Manassas, the first battle-field of the war. There is nothing new from the West, except some skirmishing of cavalry in Central and Western Tennessee, wherein our men have had the advantage, though sometimes falling back before superior numbers. At Charleston a brisk cannonading is kept up between the batteries; and it is said more hostile transports are arriving, which may indicate active operations on land. Our 700-pounder Blakely No. 2 is there. Judge Campbell is giving passports rapidly, sometimes binding the Jews not to engage in private operations, but to confine themselves, while in the United States, to the purchase of supplies for the Confederate States service! Some, however, are willing to go on these terms to avoid conscription, but will realize profit by selling information to the enemy. Judge Hastings, of California, proposes to return thither and publish a pamphlet describing newly discovered gold mines, and organizing companies to work them, which shall be secessionists; and when organized, he will fall upon and destroy the United States troops, march into Arizona, and from thence pour reinforcements into Texas. The Secretary, in the absence of the President, sends a copy of this scheme to Lieut.-Gen. E. K. Smith, trans-Mississippi Department, and gives some encouragement to the judge; abstaining, however, for the present, from devoting any money to the project. OCTOBER 17TH.--We hear to-day that a battle has taken place near Manassas, and that Lee has taken some 9000 prisoners and many wagons. At 3 P.M. there was no official intelligence of this event, and it was not generally credited. Gen. Wise writes from Charleston, that it is understood by the French and Spanish Consuls there that the city will not be bombarded. In Eastern North Carolina the people have taken the oath of allegiance to the United States, to be binding only so long as they are within the military jurisdiction of the enemy; and they ask to be exempt from the Confederate States tithe tax, for if they pay it, the enemy will despoil them of all that remains. OCTOBER 18TH.--No authentic information of a battle near Manassas has been received at the War Department, although it is certain there has been some heavy skirmishing on the Rappahannock. We have several brigadier-generals wounded, and lost five guns; but, being reinforced, continued the pursuit of the enemy, picking up many prisoners--they say 1500. The pursuit was retarded by the swelling of the streams. A letter from Major-Gen. Jones, at Dublin Depot, Va., Oct. 14th, leads me to think danger is apprehended in that quarter, the objective point being the Salt Works; and it may be inferred, from the fact that Burnside is still there, that Rosecrans is considered safe, by reason of the heavy reinforcements sent from other quarters. While I write, the government is having the tocsin sounded for volunteers from the militia to go to the rescue of the Salt Works, which is absurd, as the enemy will either have them before aid can be received from Richmond, or else he will have been driven off by the local troops near that vicinity. Captain Warner took me in his buggy this morning to the military prisons. He did not lead me into the crowded rooms above, where he said I would be in danger of vermin, but exhibited his cooking apparatus, etc.--which was ample and cleanly. Everywhere I saw the captives peeping through the bars; they occupy quite a number of large buildings--warehouses--and some exhibited vengeful countenances. They have half a pound of beef per day, and plenty of good bread and water--besides vegetables and other matters furnished by themselves. Several new furnaces are in process of erection, and most of the laborers are Federal prisoners, who agree to work (for their own convenience) and are paid for it the usual wages. There are baths to the prisons; and the conduits for venting, etc. have cost some $10,000. To-day the weather is as warm as summer, and no doubt the prisoners sigh for the open air (although all the buildings are well ventilated), and their distant homes in the West--most of them being from the field of Chickamauga. OCTOBER 19TH.--After all the rumors from Northern Virginia, I have seen nothing official. I incline to the belief that we have achieved no success further than an advance toward Washington, and a corresponding retreat of the enemy. It is to be yet seen whether Lee captured more prisoners than Meade captured. It is said we lost _seven_ guns. But how can Lee achieve anything when the enemy is ever kept informed not only of his movements in progress, but of his probable intentions? I observe that just about the time Lee purposes a movement, several Jews and others of conscript age are seen to apply for passports through the lines, for ordnance and medical stores, and Judge Campbell is certain to "allow" them. The letter-book, for they are now recorded, shows this. These men bring supplies from Maryland, if they ever return, in saddle-bags, while the same kind are landed every week at Wilmington by the cargo! A recent letter from Lieut.-Gen. E. Kirby Smith, trans-Mississippi, fills me with alarm. He says the property-holders in Arkansas and Louisiana--which States we are evacuating--are willing to return to their allegiance to the United States if that government should modify its policy. He says we have but 32,500 in Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas--all told--and the enemy twice that number. Gen. D. H. Hill has been relieved in the West, and ordered to report in this city to Gen. Cooper. It was necessary perhaps to have a scape-goat. Bragg will _probably_ be sustained by the President--but then what will become of ------, who is so inimical to Bragg? The President has published, in the West, an eloquent address to the soldiers. It appears from Gen. K. Smith's letter that the French captured a vessel having on board, for the Confederate States, 12,000 stand of arms, which were taken to Vera Cruz. It is presumed that the French commander supposed these arms were sent over for the use of the Mexicans, probably by the United States. If this be so, it is reasonable to suppose they will be restored us, and so far I do not learn that this government has taken umbrage at the capture. It may be that they were taken to keep them from falling into the possession of the United States cruisers. There are one or two French war steamers now at Charleston, interchanging courtesies with the Confederate States authorities there. It also appears by Gen. Smith's letter that a large amount of arms for the trans-Mississippi Department were deposited at Vicksburg, and fell into the hands of the enemy. The President indorsed on the back of the letter that this was a blunder, and asks by whose order the deposit was made. Col. Gorgas must answer. OCTOBER 20TH.--Nothing definite from Lee. I fear his little campaign from the Rapidan to Bull Run was not a glorious one, although Meade did run to the fortifications at Centreville. He may possibly have had a counter-plot, which is not yet developed. Our papers are rejoicing over thousands of prisoners "picked up;" but Captain Warner, who furnishes the prisoners their rations, assures me that they have not yet arrived; while our papers acknowledge we lost 1000 men, killed and wounded, besides several guns. The Secretary of War received a dispatch to-day from Gen. Barton, Kinston, N. C., stating that a number of Federal regiments were embarking for (he thinks) South Carolina. This, the Secretary, of course, sends to Gen. Beauregard, but doubts, however, the destination of the troops. He thinks they are to menace Richmond again, and says there are indications of this purpose on the York River. Is Hooker really there? The public knows nothing, as yet, of what is going on down that river. What if Meade retreated to entice Lee away from Richmond, having in preparation an expedition against this city? I should not wonder at anything, since so many equivocal characters are obtaining passports to the United States. Gen. Winder and Judge Campbell are busy signing passports--one granted by the latter yesterday (recorded) also allows the bearer to take with him 2000 pounds tobacco! A letter was received to-day from the President, ordering certain concessions to Governor Brown, relating to exemptions and details. Letters have been received justifying the belief (notwithstanding the forebodings of Lieut.-Gen. E. K. Smith) that we have taken Little Rock, Ark., again. This is Price's work; also that Quantrell and other bold raiders in Missouri have collected some thousands of desperate men, and _killed_ several regiments of the enemy. They have burned a number of towns (Union), and taken the large town of Boonville. These are the men against whom Kansas Abolitionists have sworn vengeance--no quarter is to be granted them. I suspect they are granting no quarter! Yesterday I saw a Captain Commissary on Broad Street give his dog a piece of beef for which I would have given a dollar. Many little children of soldiers stood by with empty baskets. He would not sell a shank! Dispatch from Alabama: "SELMA, October 18th, 1863. "President Davis arrived here this evening, and was welcomed by the citizens _en masse_. An immense crowd gathered in front of the hotel. The President congratulated the people on meeting them under such favorable circumstances, and spoke in glowing terms of the gallantry of Alabamians on every battle-field. He said if the non-conscripts of Alabama would gather their guns and go to the rescue, by guarding Courtland and other points, thereby relieving regular soldiers who are now, from necessity, discharging that sort of duty, such blows would be dealt the enemy as he would find it difficult to recover from. In this way most effective aid could be given the gallant men and officers who are carrying out the plans of the noble Longstreet, under the supervision of the heroic Bragg. "In this way the President was confident that Rosecrans could be crushed to dust. It was only by force of arms that the Yankees could be brought to reason and their plans for our subjugation defeated. Self-reliance and energy were now our only duty. We should not look to Europe for aid, for such is not to be expected now. Our only alternative was to sustain ourselves with renewed energy and determination, and a little more sacrifice upon the part of the people, and the President firmly believed that next spring would see the invader driven from our borders. Then farmers, who are now refugees, could return to their families and pursue their business undisturbed as heretofore. In fact, he believed that the defeat of Rosecrans would practically end the war." Mr. Randolph has signified his purpose to vote for the bill reducing prices, rather than resign; but Mr. Wyndham Robertson, the delegate, has resigned. Nearly all the papers have taken ground against the "Maximum Bill." To-night a mass meeting is called, to urge the passage of the bill. The "mass meeting" to-night was a small affair. Mr. Robinson, my old compositor, made a speech, abusing the editors; but the editors have succeeded in putting down for the present the cry for bread. I fear, however, it is but the work of Sisyphus, and it may destroy them; for, if the measure fails before the Legislature, the prices will be sure to advance, and then the people will attribute their woes to those who were instrumental in the defeat of the plan of relief. It is a dangerous thing to array one's self against a famishing people, even when the remedy they demand is not calculated to alleviate their distresses. I saw flour sell at auction to-day for $61 per barrel. This, too, when there is an abundant crop of new grain but recently harvested. It is the result of the depreciation of a redundant currency, and not of an ascertained scarcity. Timber and coal are as abundant as ever they were; and the one sells at $32 per cord, and the other at $30 per load of 25 bushels. And cotton is abundant, while brown domestic is bringing $3.00 per yard. Many are becoming very shabby in appearance; and I can get no clothes for myself or my family, unless the government shall very materially increase our salaries. OCTOBER 21ST.--Gen. Lee telegraphed last night that our cavalry had routed the enemy's horse on Monday, capturing some 200, etc. etc. The Legislature passed a series of resolutions yesterday, requesting the Secretary of War to impress free negroes for the public works; to detail the 2d class militia (over 45); and to order into the ranks the thousands of detailed soldiers and conscripts seen everywhere. The report of a committee states that conscripts and soldiers pay bonuses to contractors to have them detailed, and then they furnish negroes as substitutes to perform the work, engaging themselves in speculation. Also that one-third of the conscripts of one county have been detailed to get wood for certain iron works which have a year's supply on hand! Surely the Secretary will attend to this. There is a row about passports. It appears that Judge Campbell and Gen. Winder are competitors in the business. Judge C. yesterday remarked that, at Gen. Winder's office, he understood a passport could be bought for $100; and this was repeated by Mr. Kean, the young Chief of the Bureau, and it somehow reached the ears of Gen. Winder. Perhaps Judge C. reported the fact of his belief to Mr. Secretary Seddon, who had ceased to grant any himself (to the United States), and of course was not aware of the great number his assistant, much less Gen. W., issued; and if so, it is probable he called Gen. W. to an account. The general, in a rage, charged Mr. Kean with the propagation of a damaging report. Mr. K. said he heard Mr. Chapman (a clerk) say so--and so off they started in pursuit of Chapman, who could not be found up to 3 P.M. By to-morrow Gen. W. may hear of Judge Campbell's remarks and agency, and a pretty kettle of fish they will have, if Judge C.'s record be brought to the notice of the Secretary! It is all wrong, and if the business be not better regulated or terminated, it will terminate the government. Gen. Lee's reputation as a great captain will be ruined, if the blockade-runners be allowed to continue to give information to the enemy of all his movements. OCTOBER 22D.--Gen. Wheeler has taken 700 of the enemy's cavalry in East Tennessee, 6 cannon, 50 wagons, commissary stores, etc. _Per contra_, the steamer Venus, with bacon, from Nassau, got aground trying to enter the port of Wilmington, and ship and cargo were lost. There is a rumor that Gen. Taylor, trans-Mississippi, has captured Gen. Banks, his staff, and sixteen regiments. This, I fear, is not well authenticated. A poor woman yesterday applied to a merchant in Carey Street to purchase a barrel of flour. The price he demanded was $70. "My God!" exclaimed she, "how can I pay such prices? I have seven children; what shall I do?" "I don't know, madam," said he, coolly, "unless you eat your children." Such is the power of cupidity--it transforms men into demons. And if this spirit prevails throughout the country, a just God will bring calamities upon the land, which will reach these cormorants, but which, it may be feared, will involve all classes in a common ruin. Beef, to-day, sold in market at $1.50 per pound. There is no bacon for sale, or corn-meal. But we shall not starve, if we have faith in a beneficent Providence. Our daughter Anne, teaching in Appomattox County, writes that she will send us a barrel of potatoes, some persimmons, etc. next Wednesday. And we had a good dinner to-day: a piece of fat shoulder Capt. Warner let me have at $1 per pound--it is selling for $2.50--and cabbage from my garden, which my neighbor's cow overlooked when she broke through the gate last Sunday. Although we scarcely know what we shall have to-morrow, we are merry and patriotic to-day. Last night I went to hear Rev. Dr. Hobson, Reformed Baptist, or Campbellite, preach. He is certainly an orator (from Kentucky) and a man of great energy and fertility of mind. There is a revival in his congregation too, as well as among the Methodists, but he was very severe in his condemnation of the emotional or sensational practices of the latter. He said, what was never before known by me, that the word pardon is not in the New Testament, but remission was. His point against the Methodists was their fallacy of believing that conversion was sudden and miraculous, and accompanied by a happy feeling. Happy feeling, he said, would naturally _follow_ a consciousness of remission of sins, but was no evidence of conversion, for it might be produced by other things. It was the efficacy of the Word, of the promise of God, which obliterated the sins of all who believed, repented, and were baptized. He had no spasmodic extravagances over his converts; but, simply taking them by the hand, asked if they believed, repented, and would be baptized. If the answers were in the affirmative, they resumed their seats, and were soon after _immersed_ in a pool made for the purpose in the church. I pray sincerely that this general revival in the churches will soften the hearts of the extortioners, for this class is specifically denounced in the Scriptures. There is abundance in the land, but "man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." I hope the extortioners may all go to heaven, first ceasing to be extortioners. The Legislature has broken up the gambling establishments, for the time being, and the furniture of their gorgeous saloons is being sold at auction. Some idea of the number of these establishments may be formed from an estimate (in the _Examiner_) of the cost of the entertainment prepared for visitors being not less than $10,000 daily. Their agents bought the best articles offered for sale in the markets, and never hesitated to pay the most exorbitant prices. I hope now the absence of such customers may have a good effect. But I fear the currency, so redundant, is past remedy. OCTOBER 23D.--Gen. Lee has retired to the south side of the Rappahannock again, while Meade remains in the intrenchments at Centreville. Gen. Imboden occupies Winchester. From the West we have only newspaper reports, which may not be true. OCTOBER 24TH.--To-day we have a cold northwest storm of wind and rain, and we have our first fire in the parlor. The elections in Ohio and Pennsylvania have gone for the Republican (War) candidates. We rely on ourselves, under God, for independence. It is said Gen. Lee learned that 15,000 Republican voters were sent from Meade's army into Pennsylvania to vote, and hence he advanced and drove back the Federal army. Yet he says that Meade's army is more numerous than his. It is not known what our losses have been, but the following dispatch from Lee gives an accurate account of the enemy's loss in prisoners. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "October 23d, 1863. "GEN. S. COOPER, A. and I. General. "Gen. Imboden, on the 18th, attacked the garrison at Charlestown, Shenandoah Valley, captured 434 prisoners, with their arms, transportation, and stores. To these, add prisoners already forwarded, makes 2462. "(Signed) R. E. LEE. "Official: JOHN WITHERS, A. A. General." And Capt. Warner says he is now feeding them. Gen. Lee writes on the 19th inst., that it is doubtful whether Gen. Meade will remain where he is, behind his fortifications along Bull Run, or make another movement on Richmond. A few days will decide this matter. He says Meade has superior numbers. If he remains, Gen. Lee will advance again, provided he can get quartermaster supplies for his army. But at present, thousands of his men are barefooted, without overcoats, blankets, etc. He says it was the sublimest spectacle of the war to see men in such condition move forward with such cheerfulness and alacrity, in the recent pursuit of the enemy. He deprecates sending any of his regiments to West Virginia and East Tennessee, and thinks Gen. Sam Jones has not evinced sufficient energy and judgment in that quarter. He says it would be better to send reinforcements to Chattanooga, where it is practicable to conduct a winter campaign. He could drive the enemy from the Peninsula, Gloucester Point, Williamsburg, and Yorktown, but to keep them away Lee would have to station an army there. If North Carolina be menaced, he advises that the troops at Richmond and Petersburg be sent thither, and he will replace them with troops from his army. He thinks it the best policy not to disperse troops in Virginia. From this letter it is easy to perceive that the Secretary of War, in the absence of the President, has been making suggestions to Gen. Lee, none of which does he deem it good policy to adopt, the Secretary not being versed in military matters. A private note from Gen. Lee, dated the 13th inst., which I saw to-day, informs the Secretary of War that much of the benefits he anticipated from his movement, then in progress, must be lost, from the fact that the enemy had been informed of his purposes. This it was the duty of the government to prevent, but Mr. Seddon, like his predecessors, cannot be convinced that the rogues and cut-throats employed by Gen. Winder as detectives, have it in their power to inflict injury on the cause and the country. The cleaning of the Augean stables here is the work which should engage the attention of the Secretary of War, rather than directing the movements of armies in the field, of which matter he knows nothing whatever. The Secretary of War wrote a long and rather rebuking letter to-day to Mr. Sheffey, chairman of the Committee on Confederate Relations, of the General Assembly, who communicated a report and resolutions of the House of Delegates, in relation to details of conscripts, and the employment in civil offices of robust young men capable of military service, and urging the department to appoint men over forty-five years of age to perform such services, and to impress free negroes to do the labor that soldiers are detailed for. The Secretary thinks the Confederate Government knows its duties, and ought not to be meddled with by State Governments. It touched Mr. Seddon nearly. By the last Northern papers I see President Lincoln has issued a proclamation calling for 300,000 more volunteers, and if they "do not come when he calls for them," that number will be _drafted_ in January. This is very significant; either the draft has already failed, or else about a million of men per annum are concerned in the work of suppressing this "rebellion." We find, just at the time fixed for the subjugation of the South, Rosecrans is defeated, and Meade is driven back upon Washington! OCTOBER 25TH.--We have nothing new this morning; but letters to the department from North and South Carolina indicate that while the troops in Virginia are almost perishing for food, the farmers are anxious to deliver the tithes, but the quartermaster and commissary agents are negligent or designedly remiss in their duty. The consequence will be the loss of the greater portion of these supplies, and the enhancement of the price of the remainder in the hands of the monopolists and speculators. The _Southern_ Express Co. has monopolized the railroads, delivering cotton for speculators, who send it to the United States, while the Confederate States cannot place enough money in Europe to pay for the supplies needed for the army. OCTOBER 26TH.--No news from our armies. The President was in Mobile two days ago. Gen. Rosecrans has been removed from his command, and Grant put in his place. Meade, it is said in Northern papers, will also be decapitated, for letting Lee get back without loss. Also Dalgren, at Charleston, has been relieved. And yet the Northern papers announce that Richmond will soon and suddenly be taken, and an unexpected joy be spread throughout the North, and a corresponding despondency throughout the South. The weather is cloudy and cold. The papers announce that all clerks appointed since October 11th, 1862, by order of the Secretary of War, are liable to conscription. This cannot be true; for I know a Secretary who has just appointed two of his cousins to the best clerkships in the department--both of conscript age. But Secretaries know how to evade the law, and "whip the devil round the stump." How long will it be after peace before the sectional hatred intensified by this war can abate? A lady near by, the other night, while surveying her dilapidated shoes, and the tattered sleeping-gowns of her children, burst forth as follows: "I pray that I may live to see the United States involved in a war with some foreign power, which will make refugees of her people, and lay her cities in ashes! I want the people ruined who would ruin the South. It will be a just retribution!" OCTOBER 27TH.--Nothing from the North or West to-day. But Beauregard telegraphs that the enemy's batteries and monitors opened this morning heavily on his forts and batteries, but, as yet, there were no casualties. The Commissary-General to-day, in a communication to the department, relating to the necessity of impressment to subsist our armies, says "the armies in Virginia muster 150,000 men." If this be so, then let Meade come! It may be possible that instead of exaggerating, a policy may have been adopted calculated to conceal the actual strength of armies. Nevertheless, it is understood that one of the cabinet is offering his estates, lands, and negroes for sale. Will he convert the money into European funds? If so, he should not let it be known, else it will engender the terrible idea that our affairs are in a desperate condition. The operations of the next thirty days may be decisive of our fate. Hundreds of thousands of Southern men have yet to die before subjugation can be effected; and quite that number of invaders must fall to accomplish it! OCTOBER 28TH.--No news from the army. We have some 13,000 prisoners here, hungry; for there is not sufficient meat for them. Mr. Memminger, Secretary of the Treasury, is said to be transporting his private fortune (very large) to Europe. OCTOBER 29TH.--Gen. Lee writes (a few days since), from Brandy Station, that Meade seems determined to advance again; that troops are going up the Potomac to Washington, and that volunteers from New York have been ordered thither. He asks the Secretary to ascertain if there be really any Federal force in the York River; for if the report be correct of hostile troops being there, it may be the enemy's intention to make another raid on the railroad. The general says we have troops enough in Southwestern Virginia; but they are not skillfully commanded. After all, I fear we shall not get the iron from the Aquia Creek Railroad. In the summer the government was too slow, and now it is probably too slow again, as the enemy are said to be landing there. It might have been removed long ago, if we had had a faster Secretary. Major S. Hart, San Antonio, Texas, writes that the 10,000 (the number altered again) superior rifles captured by the French off the Rio Grande last summer, were about to fall into the hands of United States cruisers; and he has sent for them, hoping the French will turn them over to us. Gen. Winder writes the Secretary that the Commissary-General will let him have no meat for the 13,000 prisoners; and he will not be answerable for their safe keeping without it. The Quartermaster-General writes that the duty of providing for them is in dispute between the two bureaus, and he wants the Secretary to decide between them. If the Secretary should be very _slow_, the prisoners will suffer. Yesterday a set (six) of cups and saucers, white, and not china, sold at auction for $50. Mr. Henry, Senator from Tennessee, writes the Secretary that if Ewell were sent into East Tennessee with a corps, and Gen. Johnston were to penetrate into Middle Tennessee, forming a junction north of Chattanooga, it would end the war in three months. OCTOBER 30TH.--We have nothing new to-day, except the continued bombardment of Charleston. That city has been besieged over one hundred days. OCTOBER 31ST.--Letters came to-day from the President (or rather _copies_ in his own handwriting), relieving Lieut.-Gen. Hardee, in Mississippi, and assigning him to a command under Gen. Bragg. He also writes a friendly letter (from Meridian, Miss.) to Gen. Bragg, informing him that Gen. Hardee had been ordered to report to him without delay, and that two brigades might go with him, if needed. This indicates that the President means to sustain Bragg, notwithstanding the clamor against him; and that Bragg must have an immense army. Lieut.-Gen. Polk (whom the President will always sustain) is assigned to the Mississippi Department. The latest accounts from Chattanooga show that the enemy are stirring a little, and trying to flank Bragg's left wing. The bombardment at Charleston is still without decisive result. CHAPTER XXXII. Letters from various sections.--The President and Gen. Bragg.--State of the markets.--Causes of the President's tour.--Gen. Duff Green-- Return of the President.--Loss of Hoke's and Haye's brigades.--Letter from Gen. Howell Cobb.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--State of the markets.--Letter from A. Moseley.--Mrs. Todd in Richmond.-- Vice-President Stephens on furloughs.--About Gen. Bragg and the battle of Lookout Mountain. NOVEMBER 1ST.--No news from any of the armies this morning. But Gen. Whiting writes that he is deficient in ordnance to protect our steamers and to defend the port. If Wilmington should fall by the neglect of the government, it will be another stunning blow. However, our armies are augmenting, from conscription, and if we had honest officers to conduct this important business, some four or five hundred thousand men could be kept in the field, and subjugation would be an impossibility. But exemptions and details afford a tempting opportunity to make money, as substitutes are selling for $6000 each; and the rage for speculation is universal. The President is looked for to-morrow, and it is to be hoped that he has learned something of importance during his tour. He will at once set about his message, which will no doubt be an interesting one this year. How we sigh for peace, on this beautiful Sabbath day! But the suffering we have endured for nearly three years is no more than was experienced by our forefathers of the Revolution. We must bear it to the end, for it is the price of liberty. Yet we sigh for peace--God knows I do--while at the same time we will endure the ordeal for years to come, rather than succumb to the rule of an oppressor. We must be free, be the cost what it may. Oh, if the spirit of fanaticism had been kept down by the good sense of the people of the United States, the Union would have been preserved, and we should have taken the highest position among the great powers of the earth. It is too late now. Neither government may, for a long series of years, aspire to lead the civilized nations of the earth. Ambition, hatred, caprice and folly have combined to snap the silken cord, and break the golden bowl. These are the consequences of a persistency in sectional strife and domination, foreseen and foretold by me in the "_Southern Monitor_," published in Philadelphia; no one regarded the warning. Now hundreds of thousands are weeping in sackcloth and ashes over the untimely end of hundreds of thousands slain in battle! And thousands yet must fall, before the strife be ended. NOVEMBER 2D.--A refugee from Portsmouth reports the arrival of 6000 Federal troops at Newport News, and that Richmond is to be menaced again. Brig.-Gen. H. W. Allen, Alexandria, La., reports 8000 deserters and skulking conscripts in that vicinity, and a bad state of things generally. Gen. Lee has written three letters to the department, dated 30th and 31st October. 1st, complaining of the tardiness of the Bureau of Examination, and the want of efficient officers; 2d, complaining of the furloughs given Georgia officers as members of the legislature, causing a brigade to be commanded by a lieutenant-colonel, etc.; 3d, relating to an order from the Secretary to respite certain deserters, condemned to execution. He says executions are necessary to keep the army together, but he _feels_ the painfulness of the sad necessity. Mr. H. D. Whitcomb, Superintendent Central Railroad, applied for and obtained passports for his mother and sister to return to the United States. He is a Northern man. Brig.-Gen. S. A. Meredith (United States) writes from Fortress Monroe, proposing that prisoners west of the Mississippi be exchanged at Galveston. Mr. Ould, our agent of exchange, indorses on it that there is no necessity for immediate action, for the United States are not exchanging any prisoners at all at this time. Mr. Memminger writes for troops to be sent to Ashville, West North Carolina, which is menaced by the traitors, tories, and Federals. His family is there, having fled from South Carolina. Hon. Jas. Farron also writes that a bad state of things exists in that section, and communication is kept open with the enemy in East Tennessee. From St. Helena Parish, Ark., we have letters stating that all restraint is thrown off, and everybody almost is trading with the enemy. Some 1500 bales of cotton per week is taken to the Yankees from that region. They say most of the parties have permits from the government or from commanding generals to trade with the enemy. Gen. Whiting writes that his men are suffering for shoes, and as 15,000 pairs are in that town, asks if he shall not impress them. The Secretary is reluctant to do this, and asks the Quartermaster-General what he shall do. The Quartermaster-General advises that the shoes be bought at a fair price, and paid for in cotton. He says blankets may be had in the same way. NOVEMBER 3D.--Gen. Lee writes that he will endeavor to protect the workmen while removing the iron at Aquia Creek, but he fears the work has been too long delayed. The government has been too slow. Gen. Sam Jones writes from Abingdon that his cavalry was at Jonesborough on the 30th ult., although the enemy's raiding parties were on this side. He says if he had a little more infantry, he could soon clear East Tennessee of the foe; and asks that an order from Gen. Cooper (A. and I. G.), calling for two of his best regiments of cavalry, be revoked. In Gen. Lee's recent campaign beyond the Rappahannock, our losses in killed, wounded, and missing amounted to 1740; the enemy's losses must have been three times that number. The President made a speech in Charleston on the 1st instant. We have copies from him to-day of his correspondence with Gen. Bragg since he left Chickamauga field. Gen. B. says he will immediately call for Hardee's brigades, promised him, and without delay commence operations on the enemy's left (it is too wet on the right), and drive Burnside out of East Tennessee. But he complains of Gen. Buckner, who assumes to have an independent command in East Tennessee and West Virginia. The President replies that neither Bragg nor Buckner has jurisdiction over Gen. Jones in West Virginia, but that he gets his orders from Richmond. He does not promise to remove Buckner, whom he deems only _impatient_, but says he must be subject to Bragg's orders, etc. Gen. Bragg has applied for Gen. Forrest (who went some time since to Mobile and tendered his resignation, in a pet with Gen. Bragg) to command a cavalry force in North Mississippi and West Tennessee. In short, the President is resolved to sustain Gen. Bragg at the head of the army in Tennessee in spite of the tremendous prejudice against him in and out of the army. And unless Gen. Bragg does something more for the cause before Congress meets a month hence, we shall have more clamor against the government than ever. But he has quashed the charges (of Bragg) against Gen. Polk, and assigned him, without an investigation, to an important command. NOVEMBER 4TH.--Mr. M------, Major Ruffin's commissary agent, denies selling _government_ beef to the butchers; of course it was his own. But he has been ordered not to sell any more, while buying for the government. Mr. Rouss, of Winchester, merchant, has succeeded in getting some brown cotton from the manufacturer, in Georgia, at cost, which he sells for cost and carriage to refugees. My wife got 20 yards to-day for $20. It is brown seven-eighth cotton, and brings in other stores $3 per yard. This is a saving of $40. And I bought 24 pounds of bacon of Capt. Warner, Commissary, at $1 per pound. The retail price is $2.50--and this is a saving of $36. Without such "short cuts" as these, occasionally, it would be impossible to maintain my family on the salaries my son Custis and myself get from the government, $3000. How often have I and thousands in our youth expressed the wish to have lived during the first Revolution, or rather to have partaken of the excitements of war! Such is the romance or "enchantment" which "distance lends" "to the view." Now we see and feel the horrors of war, and we are unanimous in the wish, if we survive to behold again the balmy sunshine of peace, that neither we nor our posterity may ever more be spectators of or participants in another war. And yet we know not how soon we might plunge into it, if an adequate necessity should arise. Henceforth, in all probability, we shall be a military people. But I shall seek the peaceful haunts of quiet seclusion, for which I sigh with great earnestness. O for a garden, a vine and fig-tree, and my library! Among the strange events of this war, not the least is the position on slavery (approving it) maintained by the Bishop of Vermont. NOVEMBER 5TH.--The President has not yet returned, but was inspecting the defenses of Charleston. The Legislature has adjourned without fixing a maximum of prices. _Every night troops from Lee's army are passing through the city._ Probably they have been ordered to Bragg. Yesterday flour sold at auction at $100 per barrel; to-day it sells for $120! There are 40,000 bushels of sweet potatoes, taken by the government as tithes, rotting at the depots between Richmond and Wilmington. If the government would wake up, and have them brought hither and sold, the people would be relieved, and flour and meal would decline in price. But a lethargy has seized upon the government, and no one may foretell the consequences of official supineness. The enemy at Chattanooga have got an advantageous position on Bragg's left, and there is much apprehension that our army will lose the ground gained by the late victory. The Commissary-General (Northrop) has sent in his estimate for the ensuing year, $210,000,000, of which $50,000,000 is for sugar, exclusively for the hospitals. It no longer forms part of the rations. He estimates for 400,000 men, and takes no account of the tithes, or tax in kind, nor is it apparent that he estimates for the army beyond the Mississippi. A communication was received to-day from Gen. Meredith, the Federal Commissioner of Exchange, inclosing a letter from Gov. Todd and Gen. Mason, as well as copies of letters from some of Morgan's officers, stating that the heads of Morgan and his men are not shaved, and that they are well fed and comfortable. NOVEMBER 6TH.--The President was to have returned to-day, but did not. Various conjectures are made as to the object of his month's tour of speech-making. Some deem the cause very desperate, others that the President's condition is desperate. If the first, they say his purpose was to reanimate the people by his presence, and to cultivate a renewal of lost friendships, and hence he lingered longest at Charleston, in social intercourse with Gens. Beauregard and Wise, who had become estranged. The latter is the oldest brigadier-general in the service, and still they have failed to promote him. The President's power is felt in the army, and his patronage being almost unlimited, it was natural, they say, that he should be received with cheers. From a lieutenant up to a general, all are dependent on his favor for promotion. At all events, his austerity and inflexibility have been relaxed, and he has made popular speeches wherever he has gone. I hope good fruits will ensue. But he returns to find the people here almost in a state of starvation in the midst of plenty, brought on by the knavery or incompetency of government agents. What is remarkable is the estimate of $50,000,000 by the Commissary-General for the purchase of sugar, exclusively for the sick and wounded in hospitals, the soldiers in the field being refused any more. One-fourth of the whole estimates ($210,000,000) for sugar, and not an ounce to go to the army! And this, too, when it is understood nearly all the sugar in the Confederacy has been impressed by his agents at from 50 cts. to $1 per pound. It is worth $2.50 now, and it is apprehended that a large proportion of the _fifty millions_ asked for will go into the pockets of commissaries. No account whatever is taken of the _tithe_ in the Commissary-General's estimates. Flour sold at $125 per barrel to-day. There must be an explosion of some sort soon. Certainly Confederate notes have fallen very low indeed. Another solution of the President's tour, by the uncharitable or suspicious, is a preparatory or a preliminary move to assuming all power in his own hands. They say the people are reduced by distress to such an extremity that, if he will only order rations to be served them, they will not quarrel with him if he assumes dictatorial powers. Legislation has failed to furnish remedies for the evils afflicting the community; and, really, if the evils themselves were not imputed to the government, and the President were ambitious--and is he not?--he might now, perhaps, play a successful Cromwellian rôle. But can he control the State governments? The government of _this_ State seems like potter's clay in his hands, the Legislature being as subservient as the Congresses have hitherto been. It is observed--independence _first_--then let Cromwells or Washingtons come. My wife, to-day, presented me with an excellent under-shirt, made of one of her dilapidated petticoats. A new shirt would cost $30. Common brown cotton (and in a cotton country!) sells for $3 per yard. I saw common cotton shirts sell at auction to-day for $40 per pair. Beef is $1.50 per pound, and pork $2. But these prices are paid in Confederate Treasury notes, and they mark the rapid depreciation of paper money. The enemy, however, in spreading over the Southern territory, are not completing the work of subjugation. It would require a million of bayonets to keep this people in subjection, and the indications are that the United States will have difficulty in keeping their great armies up. It is a question of endurance. NOVEMBER 7TH.--No news from any quarter, except the continued bombardment of the debris of Fort Sumter, and the killing and wounding of some 10 or 12 men there--but that is not news. There is a pause,--a sort of holding of the breath of the people, as if some event of note was expected. The prices of food and fuel are far above the purses of all except speculators, and an explosion must happen soon, of some sort. People will not perish for food in the midst of plenty. The press, a portion rather, praises the President for his carefulness in making a tour of the armies and ports south of us; but as he retained Gen. Bragg in command, how soon the tune would change if Bragg should meet with disaster! Night before last some of the prisoners on Belle Isle (we have some 13,000 altogether in and near the city) were overheard by the guard to say they must escape immediately, or else it would be too late, as cannon were to be planted around them. Our authorities took the alarm, and increasing the guard, did plant cannon so as to rake them in every direction in the event of their breaking out of their prison bounds. It is suspected that this was a preconcerted affair, as a full division of the enemy has been sent to Newport News, probably to co-operate with the prisoners. Any attempt now must fail, unless, indeed, there should be a large number of Union sympathizers in the city to assist them. Several weeks ago it was predicted in the Northern papers that Richmond would be taken in some mysterious manner, and that there was a plan for the prisoners of war to seize it by a _coup de main_, may be probable. But the scheme was impracticable. What may be the condition of the city, and the action of the people a few weeks hence, if relief be not afforded by the government, I am afraid to conjecture. The croakers say five millions of "greenbacks," and cargoes of provisions, might be more effectual in expelling the Confederate Government and restoring that of the United States than all of Meade's army. And this, too, they allege, when there is abundance in the country. Many seem to place no value on the only money we have in circulation. The grasping farmers refuse to get out their grain, saying they have as much Confederate money as they want, and the government seems determined to permit the perishable tithes to perish rather than allow the famishing people to consume them. Surely, say the croakers, such a policy cannot achieve independence. No, it must be speedily changed, or else worse calamities await us than any we have experienced. Old Gen. Duff Green, after making many fortunes and losing them, it seems, is to die poor at last, and he is now nearly eighty years old. Last year he made a large contract to furnish the government with iron, his works being in Tennessee, whence he has been driven by the enemy. And now he says the depreciation of the money will make the cost of producing the iron twice as much as he will get for it. And worse, he has bought a large lot of sugar which would have realized a large profit, but the commissary agent has impressed it, and will not pay him cost for it. All he can do is to get a small portion of it back for the consumption of his employees, provided he returns to Tennessee and fulfills his iron contract. NOVEMBER 8TH.--At this late day the Secretary of War is informed by Col. Gorgas that, in consequence of the enemy's possessing the coal mines in Tennessee, he shall not be able to supply orders for heavy shot, etc., for the defense of Charleston harbor, if the fleet of monitors were to pass the forts. Why, this has been daily looked for any time during the last three months! And information from the Western army indicates that only about one shell in twenty, furnished by Col. Gorgas, will explode. This reminds me of the doubts expressed by Gen. Cobb of the fitness of Col. G. for his position. This is a bleak November day, after some days of pleasant autumnal sunshine. I still gather a few tomatoes from the little garden; a bushel of green ones on the vines will never mature. The young turnips look well, and I hope there may be abundance of salad in the spring. Yesterday two tons of Northern anthracite coal in this city sold for $500 per ton, to a church! We hope for relief when Congress meets, a month hence; but what can Congress do? The money is hopelessly depreciated. Even victories and peace could not restore it to par. NOVEMBER 9TH.--The President returned Saturday evening, looking pretty well. Yesterday, Sunday, he was under the necessity of reading a dispatch from Gen. Lee, _announcing the surprise and capture of two brigades on the Rappahannock_! This is a dark and gloomy day, spitting snow; while not a few are despondent from the recent disasters to our arms. It is supposed that we lost 3000 or 4000 men on Saturday. A day or two before, Gen. Echols had his brigade cut up at Lewisburg! _Per contra_, Brig.-Gen. W. E. Jones captured, on Saturday, at Rogerville, 850 prisoners, 4 pieces of artillery, 2 stands of colors, 60 wagons, and 1000 animals. Our loss, 2 killed and 8 wounded. So reads a dispatch from "R. Ransom, Major-Gen." There is some excitement in the city now, perhaps more than at any former period. The disaster to the "Old Guard" has put in the mouths of the croakers the famous words of Napoleon at Waterloo: "_Sauve qui peut._" We have out our last reserves, and the enemy still advances. They are advancing on North Carolina, and there was some danger of the President being intercepted at Weldon. Thousands believe that Gen. Bragg is about to retire from before Grant's army at Chattanooga. And to-day bread is selling at 50 cents per loaf--small loaf! And now the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, is "allowing" men to pass to Maryland, through our lines. First, is a Rev. Mr. A. S. Sloat, a chaplain in the army. He was degraded for some offense by his own church, and his wife and children having preceded him (all being Northern born), as stated in his letter on file, he is allowed a passport to follow them. Recommended by Mr. S. R. Tucker. Second, Mr. J. L. White and Mr. Forrester are "allowed" passports to go to Maryland for ordnance stores. Recommended by Col. Gorgas. Third and lastly, "Tom Wash. Smith" is "allowed," by the Assistant Secretary, to take fifteen boxes of tobacco to Maryland, and promises to bring back "medical stores." Recommended by B. G. Williams, one of Gen. Winder's detectives, and by Capt. Winder, one of the general's sons. They bring in stores, when they return, in saddle-bags, while whole cargoes are landed at Wilmington! NOVEMBER 10TH.--It is supposed our loss in the surprise on Saturday did not exceed 1500, killed, wounded, and taken. It is thought that a battle will occur immediately, if it be not already in progress. There is no news of moment from any quarter, except the loss of our steamer Cornubia, taken by the blockaders at Wilmington. She was laden with government stores. For months nearly all ships with arms or ammunition have been taken, while those having _merchandise on board get in safely_. _These bribe their way through!_ Col. Gorgas gave notice to-day that our supply of saltpeter will be exhausted in January, unless we can import a large quantity. Another blue day! NOVEMBER 11TH.--No news. I saw, to-day, Gen. Lee's letter of the 7th instant, simply announcing the capture of Hoke's and Haye's brigades. They were on the north side of the river, guarding the _pont de tete_. There is no excuse, no palliation. He said it was likely Meade's entire army would cross. This had been sent by the Secretary to the President, who indorsed upon it as follows: "If it be possible to reinforce, it should be done promptly. Can any militia or local defense men be made available?--J. D." Gen. Whiting writes that he has refused to permit Mr. Crenshaw's correspondence with Collie & Co. to pass uninspected, from a knowledge of the nature of previous correspondence seen by him. The Northern papers state that Mr. Seward has authorized them to publish the fact that the French Government has seized the Confederate rams building in the ports of France. I have written Custis Lee, the President's aid, that but one alternative now remains: for the President, or some _one_ else, to assume all power, temporarily, and crush the speculators. This I think is the only chance of independence. I may be mistaken--but we shall see. Capt. Warner, who feeds the 13,000 prisoners here, when he has the means of doing so, says Col. Northrop, the Commissary, does not respond to his requisitions for meat. He fears the prisoners will take or destroy the city, and talks of sending his family out of it. I condemned the reign of martial law in this city, in 1862, as it was not then necessary, and because its execution was intrusted to improper and obnoxious men. But now I am inclined to think it necessary not only here, but everywhere in the Confederacy. Many farmers refuse to get out their grain, or to sell their meat, because they say they have enough Confederate money! money for the redemption of which their last negro and last acre are responsible. So, if they be permitted to maintain this position, neither the army nor the non-producing class of the population can be subsisted; and, of course, all classes must be involved in a common ruin. A Dictator might prevent the people from destroying themselves, and it seems that nothing short of extreme measures can prevent it. But, again, suppose the Federal Government were to propose a sweeping amnesty, and exemption from confiscation to all who should subscribe to a reconstruction of the Union--and this, too, at a time of suffering and despondency--and so large a body were to embrace the terms as to render a prolongation of the war impracticable? What would the money the farmers now possess be worth? And what would become of the slaves, especially in Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri? NOVEMBER 12TH.--No accounts of any fighting, but plenty of battles looked for. A. A. Little writes to the Secretary of War from Fredericksburg, that the attempt to remove the iron from the Aquia Railroad by the government having failed, now is the time for private enterprise to effect it. If the Secretary "will say the word," it can be done. He says the iron is worth "millions, its weight in gold!" Will Mr. Seddon let it be saved? Yes, indeed. Mr. Heyliger, agent at Nassau, writes on the 3d instant (just a week ago), that he is shipping bacon by every steamer (three or four per week), leather, percussion caps, and a large amount of quartermaster's stores. But the supply of lead and saltpeter is exhausted, and he hopes the agents in Europe will soon send more. About one in every four steamers is captured by the enemy. We can afford that. The President sent over to-day, for the perusal of the Secretary of War, a long letter from Gen. Howell Cobb, dated at Atlanta, on the 7th instant. He had just returned from a visit to Bragg's army, and reports that there is a better feeling among the officers for Gen. Bragg, who is regaining their confidence. However, he says it is to be wished that more cordiality subsisted between Generals Bragg and ------, his ---- in command. He thinks Generals B------ and C------ might be relieved without detriment to the service, if they cannot be reconciled to Bragg. He hints at some important movement, and suggests co-operation from Virginia by a demonstration in East Tennessee. It is generally believed that France has followed the example of England, by seizing our rams. Thus the whole world seems combined against us. And Mr. Seward has made a speech, breathing fire and destruction unless we submit to Lincoln as our President. He says he was fairly elected President for four years of the whole United States, and there can be no peace until he is President of all the States, to which he is justly entitled. A war for the President! NOVEMBER 13TH.--No news of battles yet. But we have a rumor of the burning of the fine government steamer R. E. Lee, chased by the blockaders. That makes two this week. Gen. Lee dispatched the President, yesterday, as follows: "Orange C. H., Nov. 12th.--For the last five days we have only received three pounds of corn per horse, from Richmond, per day. We depend on Richmond for corn. At this rate, the horses will die, and cannot do hard work. The enemy is very active, and we must be prepared for hard work any day.--R. E. LEE." On the back of which the President indorsed: "Have the forage sent up in preference to anything else. The necessity is so absolute as to call for every possible exertion.--JEFFERSON DAVIS." Perhaps this may rouse the department. Horses starving in the midst of corn-fields ready for gathering! Alas, what mismanagement! I cut the following from the _Dispatch_: "FLOUR.--We heard yesterday of sales of flour at $110 per barrel. We do not, however, give this as the standard price; for, if the article was in market, we believe that even a higher figure would be reached. A few days since a load of flour was sent to an auction-house on Cary Street to be sold at auction. The proprietors of the house very properly declined to receive it, refusing to dispose of breadstuffs under the hammer, where men of money, and destitute of souls, would have an opportunity of buying it up and withdrawing it from market. "CORN-MEAL.--This article is bringing from $18 to $20 per bushel, and scarce at that. "COUNTRY PRODUCE AND VEGETABLES.--We give the following as the wholesale rates: Bacon, hoground, $2.75 to $3; lard, $2.25 to $2.30; butter, $3.75 to $4; eggs, $2 to $2.25; Irish potatoes, $7.50 to $8; sweet potatoes, $10.50 to $12; tallow candles, $4 per pound; salt, 45 cents per pound. "GROCERIES.--Coffee--wholesale, $9 per pound, retail, $10; sugar, $2.85 to $3.25; sorghum molasses, wholesale, $10, and $14 to $15 at retail; rice, 30 to 35 cents. "LIQUORS.--Whisky, $55 to $70 per gallon, according to quality, apple brandy, $50; high proof rum, $50; French brandy, $80 to $100. "In the city markets fresh meats are worth $1.25 to $1.50 for beef and mutton, and $2 for pork; chickens, $6 to $8 per pair; ducks, $7 to $8 per pair; butter, $4.50 to $5 per pound; sweet potatoes, $2.50 per half peck; Irish potatoes, $2 per half peck. "LEATHER.--Sole leather, $6.50 to $7.50 per pound; upper leather, $7.50 to $8; harness leather, $5.50 to $6; hides are quoted at $2.50 to $2.75 for dry, and $1.50 for salted green; tanners' oil, $4 to $5 per gallon. "TOBACCO.--Common article, not sound, $1 to $1.25; medium, pounds, dark, $1.30 to $2; good medium bright, $2 to $2.75; fine bright, $2 to $4; sweet 5's and 10's scarce and in demand, with an advance." My friend Capt. Jackson Warner sent me, to-day, two bushels of meal at government price, $5 per bushel. The price in market is $20. Also nine pounds of good beef, and a shank--for which he charged nothing, it being part of a present to him from a butcher. NOVEMBER 14TH.--Some skirmishing between Chattanooga and Knoxville. From prisoners we learn that the enemy at both those places are on half rations, and that Grant intends to attack Bragg soon at Lookout Mountain. Either Grant or Bragg must retire, as the present relative positions cannot long be held. Mr. A. Moseley, formerly editor of the _Whig_, writes, in response to a letter from the Secretary of War, that he deems our affairs in a rather critical condition. He is perfectly willing to resume his labor, but can see no good to be effected by him. He thinks, however, that the best solution for the financial question would be to cancel the indebtedness of the government to all except foreigners, and call it ($800,000,000) a contribution to the wars--and the sacrifices would be pretty equally distributed. He suggests the formation of an army, quietly, this winter, to invade Pennsylvania next spring, leaving Lee still with his army on this side of the Potomac. Nevertheless, he advises that no time should be lost in securing foreign aid, while we are still able to offer some equivalents, and before the enemy gets us more in his power. Rather submit to terms with France and England, or with either, than submission to the United States. Such are the opinions of a sagacious and experienced editor. Another letter from Brig.-Gen. Meredith, Fortress Monroe, was received to-day, with a report of an agent on the condition of the prisoners at Fort Delaware. By this report it appears our men get meat three times a day--coffee, tea, molasses, chicken soup, fried mush, etc. But it is not stated _how much_ they get. The agent says they confess themselves satisfied. Clothing, it would appear, is also issued them, and they have comfortable sleeping beds, etc. He says several of our surgeons propose taking the oath of allegiance, first resigning, provided they are permitted to visit their families. Gen. M. asks for a similar report of the rations, etc. served the Federal prisoners here, with an avowed purpose of retaliation, provided the accounts of their condition be true. I know not what response will be made; but our surgeon-general recommends an inspection and report. They are getting sweet potatoes now, and, generally they get bread and beef daily, when our Commissary-General Northrop has them. But sometimes they have little or no meat for a day or so at a time--and occasionally they have bread only once a day. It is difficult to feed them, and I hope they will be exchanged soon. But Northrop says our own soldiers must soon learn to do without meat; and but few of us have little prospect of getting enough to eat this winter. My family had a fine dinner to-day--the only one for months. As for clothes, we are as shabby as Italian lazzaronis--with no prospect whatever of replenished wardrobe, unless some European power will come and take us, as the French have done Mexico. NOVEMBER 15TH.--After a fine rain all night, it cleared away beautifully this morning, cool, but not unseasonable. There is no news of importance. The Governor of Georgia recommends, in his message, that the Legislature instruct their representatives in Congress to vote for a repeal of the law allowing substitutes, and also to put the enrolling officers in the ranks, leaving the States to send conscripts to the army. The Georgia Legislature have passed a resolution, unanimously, asking the Secretary of War to revoke the appointments of all impressing agents in that State, and appoint none but civilians and citizens. I hope the Secretary will act upon this hint. But will he? The papers contain the following: "_Arrived in Richmond._--Mrs. Todd, of Kentucky, the mother of Mrs. Lincoln, arrived in this city on the steamer Schultz, Thursday night, having come to City Point on a flag of truce boat. She goes South to visit her daughter, Mrs. Helm, widow of Surgeon-General Helm, who fell at Chickamauga. Mrs. Todd is about to take up her residence in the South, all her daughters being here, except the wife of Lincoln, who is in Washington, and Mrs. Kellogg, who is at present in Paris." "TO THE POOR.--C. Baumhard, 259 Main Street, between Seventh and Eighth, has received a large quantity of freshly-ground corn-meal, which he will sell to poor families at the following rates: one bushel, $16; half bushel, $8; one peck, $4; half peck, $2." NOVEMBER 16TH.--Governor Brown, Georgia, writes the Secretary that he is opposed to impressments, and that the government should pay the market price--whatever that is. And the Rhett politicians of South Carolina are opposed to raising funds to pay with, by taxing land and negroes. So indicates the _Mercury_. We have news to-day of the crossing of the Rapidan River by Meade's army. A battle, immediately, seems inevitable. NOVEMBER 17TH.--A cold, dark day. No news. It was a mistake about the enemy crossing the Rapidan--only one brigade (cavalry) came over, and it was beaten back without delay. Vice-President Stephens writes a long letter to the Secretary, opposing the routine policy of furloughs, and extension of furloughs; suggesting that in each district some one should have authority to grant them. He says many thousands have died by being hastened back to the army uncured of their wounds, etc.--preferring death to being advertised as deserters. Captain Warner sent me a bag of sweet potatoes to-day, received from North Carolina. We had an excellent dinner. NOVEMBER 18TH.--We have no news whatever, except some damage reported at Charleston, done to two monitors yesterday. The bombardment has assumed no new phase. A letter from Gen. J. E. Johnston, Meridian, Miss., indicates that the Secretary has been writing him and saying that he was responsible for the outrages of the impressing agents in his department. Gen. J. disclaims the responsibility, inasmuch as the agents referred to act under orders from the Commissary-General or Secretary of War. NOVEMBER 19TH.--Miss Harriet H. Fort, of Baltimore, has arrived via Accomac and Northampton Counties, with a complete drawing of all the defenses of Baltimore. The Medical Purveyor's Guards have petitioned the Secretary for higher pay. They get now $1500 per annum, and say the city watchmen get $2300. Gens. Banks and Taylor in the West are corresponding and wrangling about the exchange of prisoners--and the cartel is to be abrogated, probably. The Governor of Mississippi (Clark) telegraphs the President that the Legislature (in session) is indignant at the military authorities for impressing slaves. The President telegraphs back that the order was to prevent them falling into the lines of the enemy, and none others were to be disturbed. NOVEMBER 20TH.--We have reports of some successes to-day. Gen. Hampton, it appears, surprised and captured several companies of the enemy's cavalry, a day or two since, near Culpepper Court House. And Gen. Wheeler has captured several hundred of the enemy in East Tennessee, driving the rest into the fortifications of Knoxville. Gen. Longstreet, at last accounts, was near Knoxville with the infantry. We shall not be long kept in suspense--as Longstreet will not delay his action; and Burnside may find himself in a "predicament." A private soldier writes the Secretary to-day that his mother is in danger of starving--as she failed to get flour in Richmond, at $100 per barrel. He says if the government has no remedy for this, he and his comrades will throw down their arms and fly to some other country with their families, where a subsistence may be obtained. Every night robberies of poultry, salt meats, and even of cows and hogs are occurring. Many are desperate. NOVEMBER 21ST.--We have further reports from the West, confirming the success of Longstreet. It is said he has taken 2200 prisoners, and is probably at Knoxville. The President left the city this morning for Orange Court House, on a visit to Gen. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia. We are a shabby-looking people now--gaunt, and many in rags. But there is food enough, and cloth enough, if we had a Roman Dictator to order an equitable distribution. The Secretary of War is destined to have an uncomfortable time. After assuring the Legislature and the people that provisions in _transitu_ would not be impressed, it is ascertained that the agents of the Commissary-General are impressing such supplies, and the Secretary is reluctant to interfere, the Commissary-General being understood to have the support of the President. A committee of the Grand Jury yesterday submitted a paper to the President, on the subject of provisions--indicating the proximity of famine, and deprecating impressments. The President sent it to the Secretary, saying Mr. Seddon would no doubt take measures to keep the people of Richmond from starving; and directing the Secretary to "confer" with him. But to-day he is off to the army, and perhaps some may starve before any relief can be afforded. A genteel suit of clothes cannot be had now for less than $700. A pair of boots, $200--if good. I saw to-day, suspended from a window, an opossum dressed for cooking, with a card in its mouth, marked "price, $10." It weighed about four pounds. I luxuriated on parsnips to-day, from my own little garden. A dollar in gold sold for $18 Confederate money, to-day. Our paper is constantly depreciating; and I think it is past redemption, unless we adopt Mr. Moseley's plan, and cause some six or eight hundred millions to be canceled, and fix a maximum price for all commodities necessary for the support of life. Congress will never agree upon any measure of relief. But if the paper money be repudiated, nevertheless we shall have our independence, unless the Southern people should become mad, divided among themselves. Subjugation of a united people, such as ours, occupying such a vast extent of territory, is impossible. The tenure of its occupation by an invading army would always be uncertain, and a million would be required to hold it. A hard rain commenced falling this evening, and continued in the night. This, I suppose, will put an end to operations in Virginia, and we shall have another respite, and hold Richmond at least another winter. But such weather must cause severe suffering among the prisoners on Belle Isle, where there are not tents enough for so large a body of men. Their government may, however, now consent to an exchange. Day before yesterday some 40,000 rations were sent them by the United States flag-boat--which will suffice for three days, by which time I hope many will be taken away. Our Commissary-General Northrop has but little meat and bread for them, or for our own soldiers in the field. It must be confessed they have but small fare, and, indeed, all of us who have not been "picking and stealing," fare badly. Yet we have quite as good health, and much better appetites than when we had sumptuous living. NOVEMBER 22D.--We have nothing additional to-day, except another attempt to take Fort Sumter by assault, which was discovered before the crews of the boats landed, and of course it was defeated. Since then some shells have been thrown into the city of Charleston, doing little damage. This morning was bright and warm, the clouds having passed away in the night. NOVEMBER 23D.--Nothing of moment from the armies, although great events are anticipated soon. On Saturday, Gen. Winder's or Major Griswold's head of the passport office, Lieut. Kirk, was arrested on the charge of selling passports at $100 per man to a Mr. Wolf and a Mr. Head, who transported passengers to the Potomac. W. and H. were in prison, and made the charge or confession. This passport business has been our bane ever since Gen. Winder got control of it under Mr. Benjamin. Lieut. K. is from Louisiana, but originally from New York. Mr. Benjamin sent over to-day extracts from dispatches from Mr. Slidell and a Mr. Hotze, agent, showing how the government is swindled in Europe by the purchasing agents of the bureaus here. One, named Chiles, in the purchase of $650,000, Mr. Slidell says, was to realize $300,000 profit! And Mr. Hotze (who is he?) says the character and credit of the government are ruined abroad by its own agents! Mr. Secretary Seddon will soon see into this matter. Capt. Warner says the Federal prisoners here have had no meat for three days, Commissary-General Northrop having none, probably, to issue. One hundred tons rations, however, came up for them yesterday on the flag boat. Exchange on London sells at $1 for $18.50, and gold brings about the same. Our paper money, I fear, has sunk beyond _redemption_. We have lost _five_ steamers lately; and it is likely the port of Wilmington (our last one) will be hermetically sealed. Then we shall soon be destitute of ammunition, unless we retake the mineral country from the enemy. Mr. Memminger has sent a press to the trans-Mississippi country, to issue paper money there. Mr. Slidell writes that all our shipments to and from Matamoras ought to be under the French flag. There may be something in this. The President was expected back to-day; and perhaps came in the evening. He is about to write his message to Congress, which assembles early in December, and perhaps he desired to consult Gen. Lee. Everywhere the people are clamorous against the sweeping impressments of crops, horses, etc. And at the same time we have accounts of corn, and hay, and potatoes rotting at various depots! Such is the management of the bureaus. The clerks are in great excitement, having learned that a proposition will be brought forward to put all men under forty-five years of age in the army. It will be hard to carry it; for the heads of departments generally have nephews, cousins, and pets in office, young and rich, who care not so much for the salaries (though they get the best) as for exemption from service in the field. And the editors will oppose it, as they are mostly of conscript age. And the youthful members of Congress could not escape odium if they exempted themselves, unless disabled by wounds. NOVEMBER 24TH.--The President is expected back to-day. A letter from Gen. Lee indicates that the Commissary-General has been suggesting that he (the general) should impress supplies for his army. This the general deprecates, and suggests that if supplies cannot be purchased, they should be impressed by the agents of the Commissary Department; and that the burden should be laid on the farmers equally, in all the States. Gen. Lee does not covet the odium. But it is plain, now, that the extortionate farmers, who were willing to see us non-producing people starve, unless we paid them ten prices for their surplus products, will be likely to get only the comparatively low schedule price fixed by the government. Instead of $20 per bushel for potatoes, they will receive only $2 or $3. This will be a good enough maximum law. But the government _must_ sell to us at cost, or I know not what may be the consequences. NOVEMBER 25TH.--We have an unintelligible dispatch from Gen. Bragg, saying he had, yesterday, a prolonged contest with the enemy for the possession of Lookout Mountain, during which one of his divisions suffered severely, and that the manoeuvring of the hostile army was for position. This was the purport, and the language, as well as I remember. There is no indication of the probable result--no intimation whether the position was gained. But the belief is general that Bragg will retreat, and that the enemy may, if he will, penetrate the heart of the South! To us it _seems_ as if Bragg has been in a fog ever since the battle of the 20th of September. He refused to permit ---- to move on the enemy's left for nearly two months, and finally consented to it when the enemy had been reinforced by 30,000 from Meade, and by Sherman's army from Memphis, of 20,000, just when he could not spare a large detachment! In other words, lying inert before a defeated army, when concentrated; and dispersing his forces when the enemy was reinforced and concentrated! If disaster ensues, the government will suffer the terrible consequences, for it assumed the responsibility of retaining him in command when the whole country (as the press says) demanded his removal. From letters received the last few days at the department, I perceive that the agents of the government are impressing everywhere--horses, wagons, hogs, cattle, grain, potatoes, etc. etc.--leaving the farmers only enough for their own subsistence. This will insure subsistence for the army, and I hope it will be a death-blow to speculation, as government pays less than one-fourth the prices demanded in market. Let the government next sell to non-producers; and every man of fighting age will repair to the field, and perhaps the invader may be driven back. We have the speech of the French Emperor, which gives _us_ no encouragement, but foreshadows war with Russia, and perhaps a general war in Europe. We have rain again. This may drive the armies in Virginia into winter quarters, as the roads will be impracticable for artillery. The next battle will be terrific; not many men on either side will be easily taken prisoners, _as exchanges have ceased_. Dr. Powell brought us a bushel of meal to-day, and some persimmons. NOVEMBER 26TH.--The weather is clear and bright again; but, oh, how dark and somber the faces of the croakers! The following dispatches have been received: [BATTLE AT LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN.] (OFFICIAL DISPATCH.) "MISSION RIDGE, Nov. 24th, 1863. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "We have had a prolonged struggle for Lookout Mountain to-day, and sustained considerable loss in one division. Elsewhere the enemy has only manoeuvred for position. "[Signed] BRAXTON BRAGG, _General_." _The Latest--Official._ "CHICKAMAUGA, Nov. 25th, 1863. "GEN. S. COOPER, A. AND I. GENERAL. "After several unsuccessful assaults on our lines to-day, the enemy carried the left center about four o'clock. The whole left soon gave way in considerable disorder. The right maintained its ground, repelling every assault. I am withdrawing all to this point. "[Signed] BRAXTON BRAGG. "Official--JOHN WITHERS, A. A. G." All agree in the conviction that the enemy has been defeated--perhaps badly beaten. Hon. H. S. Foote, just arrived from the vicinity of the field, says Bragg has only some 20,000 or 30,000 men, while Grant has 90,000, and he infers that incalculable disaster will ensue. And Meade is steadily advancing. Gen. Pickett, at Petersburg, has been ordered to send some of his troops north of Richmond, for the defense of the railroad in Hanover County. Miss Stevenson, sister of Major-Gen. Stevenson, has written the President for employment in one of the departments. He referred it to Mr. Memminger, who indorsed on it, coldly, as usual, there were no vacancies, and a hundred applications. The President sent it to the Secretary of War. He will be more polite. Another letter to-day from Mr. Memminger, requesting that a company, commanded by a son of his friend, Trenholm, of Charleston, be stationed at Ashville, where his family is staying. Lieut.-Gen. D. H. Hill has applied for a copy of Gen. Bragg's letter asking his removal from his army. The President sends a copy to the Secretary, who will probably comply, and there may be a personal affair, for Bragg's strictures on Hill as a general were pretty severe. There are rumors of a break in the cabinet, a majority, it is said, having been in favor of Bragg's removal. Bragg's disaster so shocked my son Custis that, at dinner, when asked for rice, he poured water into his sister's plate, the pitcher being near. NOVEMBER 27TH.--Dark and gloomy. At 10 o'clock Gov. Vance, of North Carolina, telegraphed the Secretary of War, asking if anything additional had been heard from Bragg. The Secretary straightened in his chair, and answered that he knew nothing but what was published in the papers. At 1 o'clock P.M. a dispatch was received from Bragg, dated at _Ringgold, Ga._, some thirty miles from the battle-field of the day before. Here, however, it is thought he will make a stand. But if he could not hold his mountain position, what can he do in the plain? We know not yet what proportion of his army, guns, and stores he got away--but he must have retreated rapidly. Meade is advancing, and another battle seems imminent. To-day a countryman brought a game-cock into the department. Upon being asked what he intended to do with it, he said it was his purpose to send its left wing to Bragg! NOVEMBER 28TH.--It rained last night. To-day there is an expectation of a battle near Chancellorville, the battle-ground of June last. Meade is certainly advancing, and Pickett's division, on the south side of the James River, at Chaffin's Farm, is ordered to march toward Lee, guarding the railroad, and the local defense men are ordered out. My son Custis goes with his battalion to Chaffin's Farm in the morning. There are rumors of six or eight thousand of the enemy marching up the line of the James River against Petersburg, etc. We have also a rumor of Gen. Rosser having captured the wagon train of two divisions of the enemy in Culpepper County. From Bragg not a word since his dispatch from Ringgold, Ga., and nothing from Longstreet. Gen. Whiting writes that a large number of Jews and others with gold, having put in substitutes, and made their fortunes, are applying for passage out of the country. They fear their substitutes will no longer keep them out of the army. Gen. W. says they have passports from Richmond, and that the spy who published in the North an account of the defenses of Wilmington, had a passport from Richmond. The government will never realize the injury of the loose passport system until it is ruined. Never have I known such confusion. On the 26th inst. the Secretary ordered Gen. Pickett, whose headquarters were at Petersburg, to send a portion of his division to Hanover Junction, it being apprehended that a raid might be made in Lee's rear. Gen. P. telegraphs that the French steam frigate was coming up the river (what for?), and that two Federal regiments and three companies of cavalry menaced our lines on the south side of the river. The Secretary sent this to Gen. Elzey, on this side of the river, asking if his pickets and scouts could not get information of the movements of the enemy. To-day Gen. E. sends back the paper, saying his scouts could not cross the river and get within the enemy's lines. So the government is in a fog--and if the enemy knew it, and it may, the whole government might be taken before any dispositions for defense could be made. Incompetency in Richmond will some day lose it. Three o'clock P.M. The weather is clear, and Lee and Meade may fight, and it may be a decisive battle. I met Mr. Foote, of Tennessee, to-day. He asked me if I did not think our affairs were in a desperate condition. I replied that I did not know that they were not, and that when one in my position did not know, they must be bad enough. NOVEMBER 29TH.--The clerks were marched out into the muddy street this morning in a cold rain, and stood there for hours, while the officers were making up their minds when to start for the boat to convey them to Drewry's Bluff, whence they are to march to Chaffin's Farm, provided the officers don't change their minds. There are reports of a repulse of the enemy by Lee yesterday, and also of a victory by Bragg, but they are not traceable to authentic sources. At 3 o'clock P.M. it is cold, but has ceased to rain. The want of men is our greatest want, and I think it probable Congress will repeal the Substitute Law, and perhaps the Exemption Act. Something must be done to put more men in the ranks, or all will be lost. The rich have contrived to get out, or to keep out, and there are not poor men enough to win our independence. All, with very few exceptions, between the ages of 18 and 45, must fight for freedom, else we may not win it. NOVEMBER 30TH.--It is clear and cold. The boat in which my son and the battalion of clerks went down the river yesterday, sunk, from being overloaded, just as it got to the landing. It is said some of the boys had to wade ashore; but none were lost--thank God! This morning early, Lee and Meade confronted each other in battle array, and no one doubts a battle is in progress to-day this side of the Rapidan. Lee is outnumbered some two to one, but Meade has a swollen river in his rear. It is an awful moment. I took my remaining son to the office this morning, to aid me in Custis's absence. At night. Nothing has yet been heard from the battle, if indeed it occurred to-day. It is said that Meade is _ordered_ to fight. They know at Washington it is too late in the season, in the event of Meade's defeat, for Lee to menace that city, or to invade Pennsylvania. It is a desperate effort to crush the "rebellion," as they suppose, by advancing all their armies. And indeed it seems that Meade is quite as near to Richmond as Lee; for he seems to be below the latter on the Rappahannock, with his back to Fredericksburg, and Lee's face toward it. If Meade should gain the victory, he might possibly cut off Lee from this city. Nevertheless, these positions are the result of Lee's manoeuvres, and it is to be supposed he understands his business. He has no fear of Meade's advance in this direction with his communications cut behind him. Captain Warner has sold me two pieces of bacon again, out of his own smoke-house, at $1 per pound, while it is selling in the market at $3.50 per pound--and he has given us another bushel of sweet potatoes. Had it not been for this kind friend, my little revenue would not have sufficed for subsistence. While the soldiers are famishing for food, what is called "red tapeism" prevents the consummation of contracts to supply them. Captains Montgomery and Leathers, old steamboat captains, with ample capital, and owning the only steamboats in certain waters of Florida, have just proposed to furnish the government with a million pounds salt beef, on the main line of railroad in Florida, at a reduced price. The cattle are exposed to incursions of the enemy, and have to be transported by steamboats. They endeavored to make a proposal directly to the Secretary, which was so expressed in the communication I prepared for them--as they were unwilling to treat with Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, who has become extremely obnoxious. But it was intercepted, and referred to the Commissary-General. Learning this, the captains abandoned their purpose and left the city--the Secretary never having seen their proposal. Our soldiers will not get the beef, and probably the enemy will. CHAPTER XXXIII. Assembling of Congress.--President's message.--The markets.--No hope for the Confederate currency.--Averill's raid.--Letter from Gov. Vance.-- Christmas.--Persons having furnished substitutes still liable to military duty. DECEMBER 1ST.--This morning the ground is frozen hard. There was no battle yesterday, only heavy skirmishing. Both armies were drawn up in line of battle, and the front lines slept on their arms. Some froze to death. This morning the enemy opened with artillery--but no battle ensued that we are aware of. At the last accounts from Bragg he was still retiring, near Dalton. His army must be nearly broken up. Bragg, it is rumored to-day, has been relieved. DECEMBER 2D.--No battle yet, though still hourly expected on the old field near the Rappahannock. And we have nothing definite from the West. The appointment of Beauregard to succeed Bragg is not officially announced; and the programme may be changed. DECEMBER 3D.--Meade recrossed the Rapidan last night! This is a greater relief to us than the enemy has any idea of. I hope the campaign is over for the winter. And we have authentic advices of a terrible check given the enemy at Ringgold, Ga.; their killed and wounded being estimated at 2000, which caused Grant to recoil, and retire to Chickamauga, where he is intrenching. After all, it is doubted whether Beauregard is to succeed Bragg. Lieut.-Gen. Hardee is in command, temporarily, and it may be permanently. Bragg was relieved at his own request. I know he requested the same thing many months ago. A full general should command there. DECEMBER 4TH.--The only thing new to-day is a dispatch from Gen. Longstreet, before Knoxville, stating that he had been repulsed in an assault upon the place, and calling for reinforcements, which, alas! cannot be sent him. Hon. Mr. Henry, from Tennessee, estimates our loss in prisoners in Bragg's defeat at but little over 1000, and 30 guns. We captured 800 prisoners. We have intelligence to-day of the escape of Brig.-Gen. Jno. H. Morgan from the penitentiary in Ohio, where the enemy had confined him. DECEMBER 5TH.--It has begun to rain again; and yet the clerks are kept at Chaffin's Bluff, although the roads are impracticable, and no approach of the enemy reported. There is not a word of news from the armies on the Rapidan or in Georgia. A collision between the Confederate and State authorities in Georgia is imminent, on the question of "just compensation" for sugar seized by the agents of the Commissary-General--whose estimates for the ensuing year embrace an item of $50,000,000 to be paid for sugar. The Supreme Court of Georgia has decided that if taken, it must be paid for at a fair valuation, and not at a price to suit the Commissary-General. It is the belief of many, that these seizures involve many frauds, to enrich the Commissaries. DECEMBER 6TH.--It is clear and cold again. Custis came home last evening, after a week's sojourn at Chaffin's Bluff, where, however, there were tents. Some 1500 local troops, or "National Guards," had been sent there to relieve Pickett's division, recalled by Lee; but when Meade recrossed the Rapidan, there was no longer any necessity for the "Guards" to remain on duty. A brigade of regulars goes down to-day. Custis says it was the third day before ammunition was issued! Yesterday he heard shelling down the river, by the enemy's gun-boats. I had a conversation with Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, to-day. He anticipates a collision between the Confederate and State authorities on the impressment question. He says the law was intended to secure subsistence for both the people and the army; but there is not sufficient grain in the States. Therefore the army must have what there is, and the people must go without. I differed with him, and maintained if a proper distribution were made there would be enough for all. To-morrow Congress assembles. It is to be apprehended that a conflict with the Executive will ensue--instead of unanimity against the common enemy--and no one living can foretell the issue, because no one knows the extent of capacity and courage on either side. The President has made his cabinet a unit. DECEMBER 7TH.--Cold and clear. Gen. Longstreet telegraphs to-day from Rutledge, Tenn., some fifty miles northeast of Knoxville, and says he will soon need railroad facilities. He is flying from superior numbers, and may be gathering up supplies. Governor Vance writes distressfully concerning the scarcity of provisions in certain counties of North Carolina, and the rudeness of impressing agents. Lieut.-Gen. Hardee telegraphs from Dalton that 5000 cavalry, besides two brigades of Buckner's command, are with Longstreet, and that other troops ought to be sent him (H.) to compensate for these detachments. Mr. L. S. White obtained another passport yesterday to go to Maryland, on the recommendation of Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance. There was a quorum in Congress to-day; but the message was not sent in. A five-dollar gold piece sold at auction on Saturday for $140--$28 in Confederate notes for one of gold. DECEMBER 8TH.--The President's message was sent to Congress to-day. I was not present, but my son Custis, who heard it read, says the President dwells largely on the conduct of foreign powers. To diminish the currency, he recommends compulsory funding and large taxation, and some process of diminishing the volume of Treasury notes. In other words, a _suspension_ of such clauses of the Constitution as stand in the way of a successful prosecution of the war. He suggests the repeal of the Substitute law, and a modification of the Exemption act, etc. To-morrow I shall read it myself. DECEMBER 9TH.--The President's message is not regarded with much favor by the croakers. The long complaint against foreign powers for not recognizing us is thought in bad taste, since all the points nearly had been made in a previous message. They say it is like abusing a society for not admitting one within its circle as well as another. The President specifies no plan to cure the redundancy of the currency. He is opposed to increasing the pay of the soldiers, and absolutely reproaches the soldiers of the left wing of Bragg's army with not performing their whole duty in the late battle. Mr. Foote denounced the President to-day. He said he had striven to keep silent, but could not restrain himself while his State was bleeding--our disasters being all attributable by him to the President, who retained incompetent or unworthy men in command, etc. DECEMBER 10TH.--No news from any of the armies, except that Longstreet has reached Bristol, Va. Yesterday, in Congress, Mr. Foote denounced the President as the author of all the calamities; and he arraigned Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, as a monster, incompetent, etc.--and cited * * * * I saw Gen. Bragg's dispatch to-day, dated 29th ult., asking to be relieved, and acknowledging his defeat. He says he must still fall back, if the enemy presses vigorously. It is well the enemy did not know it, for at that moment Grant was falling back on Chattanooga! Mr. Memminger has sent to Congress an impracticable plan of remedying the currency difficulty. To-day I saw copies of orders given a year ago by Gen. Pemberton to Col. Mariquy and others, to barter cotton with the enemy for certain army and other stores. It is the opinion of many that the currency must go the way of the old Continental paper, the French assignats, etc., and that speedily. Passports are again being issued in profusion to persons going to the United States. Judge Campbell, who has been absent some weeks, returned yesterday. The following prices are quoted in to-day's papers: "The specie market has still an upward tendency. The brokers are now paying $18 for gold and selling it at $21; silver is bought at $14 and sold at $18. "GRAIN.--Wheat may be quoted at $15 to $18 per bushel, according to quality. Corn is bringing from $14 to $15 per bushel. "FLOUR.--Superfine, $100 to $105; Extra, $105 to $110. "CORN-MEAL.--From $15 to $16 per bushel. "COUNTRY PRODUCE AND VEGETABLES.--Bacon, hoground, $3 to $3.25 per pound; lard, $3.25 to $3.50; beef, 80 cents to $1; venison, $2 to $2.25; poultry, $1.25 to $1.50; butter, $4 to $4.50; apples, $65, to $80 per barrel; onions, $30 to $35 per bushel; Irish potatoes, $8 to $10 per bushel; sweet potatoes, $12 to $15, and scarce; turnips, $5 to $6 per bushel. These are the wholesale rates. "GROCERIES.--Brown sugars firm at $3 to $3.25; clarified, $4.50; English crushed, $4.60 to $5; sorghum molasses, $13 to $14 per gallon; rice, 30 to 32 cents per pound; salt, 35 to 40 cents; black pepper, $8 to $10. "LIQUORS.--Whisky, $55 to $75 per gallon; apple brandy, $45 to $50; rum, proof, $55; gin, $60; French brandy, $80 to $125; old Hennessy, $180; Scotch whisky, $90; champagne (extra), $350 per dozen; claret (quarts), $90 to $100; gin, $150 per case; Alsop's ale (quarts), $110; pints, $60." DECEMBER 12TH.--There was a rumor that Chattanooga had been evacuated; but it turns out that the enemy are fortifying it, and mean to keep it, while operating in East Tennessee. It is said Gen. Grant is to bring 30,000 men to Virginia, and assume command of the Army of the Potomac, superseding Meade. He may be ordered to take Richmond next--if he can. Hardee is yet commanding Bragg's army. I saw to-day a project, in Mr. Benjamin's handwriting, for a Bureau of Export and Import. Mr. G. A. Myers got a passport to-day for a Mr. Pappenheimer, a rich Jew; it was "allowed" by the Assistant Secretary of War. And a Mr. Kerchner (another Jew, I suppose) got one on the recommendation of Col. J. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, to bring back stores in his saddle-bags. Orders to-day were given that no more supplies from the United States should be received by the Federal prisoners here. It seems that our men in their hands are not even allowed the visits of their friends. DECEMBER 13TH.--Rained last night--and this morning we have warm April weather and bright sunshine. It is getting to be the general belief among men capable of reflection, that no jugglery can save the Confederate States currency. As well might one lift himself from the earth by seizing his feet, as to legislate a remedy. Whatever scheme may be devised to increase the value of the Confederate States paper money, the obligor is the same. For the redemption of the currency (now worth about five cents in specie to the dollar), every citizen, and every description of property, has been pledged; and as the same citizens and the same property must be pledged for the redemption of any newly created currency, there is no reason to suppose it would not likewise run the same career of depreciation. Nor can bonds be worth more than notes. Success in the field, only, can appreciate either; for none will or can be paid, if we fail to achieve independence. The weather, this afternoon, is warm, calm, and clear; but the roads are too soft for military operations. I am reading the Memoirs of Bishop Doane, by his son, Rev. William Croswell Doane. He was the great bishop truly; and his son proves an admirable biographer. I knew the bishop personally, and much of his personal history; and hence this work is to me, and must be to many others, very interesting. The coming year is to be an eventful one. We shall be able (I hope) to put 400,000 effective men in the field; and these, well handled, might resist a million of assailants from without. We have the center, they the circumference; let them beware of 1864--when the United States shall find herself in the throes of an embittered Presidential contest! DECEMBER 14TH.--We have President Lincoln's message to-day, and his proclamation of amnesty to all who take an oath of allegiance, etc., and advocate emancipation. There are some whom he exempts, of course. It is regarded here as an electioneering document, to procure a renomination for the Presidency in the radical Abolition Convention to assemble in a few months. But it will add 100,000 men to our armies; and next year will be the bloody year. Congress spent much of the day in secret session. A Baltimorean, last week, seeing a steamer there loading with goods of various kinds for the Federal prisoners here, bought a box of merchandise for $300, and put it on board, marked as if it contained stores for the prisoners. He ran the blockade so as to meet the steamer here; and obtained his box, worth, perhaps, $15,000. But all this is forbidden hereafter. DECEMBER 15TH.--Bright, beautiful day--but, alas! the news continues dark. Two companies of cavalry were surprised and taken on the Peninsula day before yesterday; and there are rumors of disaster in Western Virginia. Foote still keeps up a fire on the President in the House; but he is not well seconded by the rest of the members, and it is probable the President will regain his control. It is thought, however, the cabinet will go by the board. DECEMBER 16TH.--The _Examiner_ to-day discovers that if the President's project of enrolling all men, and detailing for civil pursuits such as the Executive may designate, be adopted, that he will then be constituted a DICTATOR--the best thing, possibly, that could happen in the opinion of many; though the _Examiner_ don't think so. It is probable the President will have what he wants. _Per contra_, the proposition of Senator Johnson, of Arkansas, requiring members of the cabinet to be renominated at the expiration of every two years, if passed, would be a virtual seizure of Executive powers by that body. But it won't pass. DECEMBER 17TH.--Averill (Federal) made a raid a day or two since to Salem (Roanoke County, Va.), cutting the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad, destroying the depot, bridges, court-house, etc. Gen. J. E. Johnston has been ordered to take command of Bragg's army. I saw a communication from Lieut.-Col. Ruffin (Commissary Bureau), suggesting the trade of cotton to the enemy in New Orleans for supplies, meat, etc., a Mr. Pollard, of St. Louis, having proposed to barter meat for cotton, which Col. Ruffin seems to discourage. Gen. Halleck has proposed a plan of exchange of prisoners, so far as those we hold go. We have 15,000; they, 40,000. A letter from Mr. Underwood, of Rome, Ga., says our people fly from our own cavalry, as they devastate the country as much as the enemy. We have a cold rain to-day. The bill prohibiting the employment of substitutes has passed both Houses of Congress. When the Conscription act is enlarged, all substitutes now in the army will have to serve for themselves, and their employers will also be liable. DECEMBER 18TH.--Yesterday evening the battalion of clerks was to leave for Western Virginia to meet the _raiders_. After keeping them in waiting till midnight, the order was countermanded. It is said now that Gen. Lee has sent three brigades after Averill and his 3000 men, and hopes are entertained that the enemy may be captured. It is bright and cold to-day. DECEMBER 19TH.--Bright and cold. A resolution passed Congress, calling on the President to report the number of men of conscript age removed from the Quartermaster's and Commissary's Departments, in compliance with the act of last session. The Commissary-General, in response, refers only to _clerks_--none of whom, however, it seems have been removed. Capt. Alexander, an officer under Gen. Winder, in charge of Castle Thunder (prison), has been relieved and arrested for malfeasance, etc. Gen. C. J. McRae, charged with the investigation of the accounts of Isaacs, Campbell & Co., London, with Major Huse, the purchasing agent of Col. J. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, reports irregularities, overcharges, etc., and recommends retention of gold and cotton in this country belonging to I., C. & Co. Mr. ---- informed me to-day that he signed a contract with the Commissary-General last night to furnish meat on the Mississippi in Tennessee, in exchange for cotton. He told me that the proposition was made by the Federal officers, and will have their connivance, if not the connivance of Federal functionaries in Washington, interested in the speculation. Lieut.-Col. Ruffin prefers trading with the enemy at New Orleans. It is rumored that Mr. Seddon will resign, and be succeeded by Gov. Letcher; notwithstanding Hon. James Lyons asserted in public (and it appears in the _Examiner_ to-day) that Gov. L. told Gen. J. R. Anderson last year, subsequent to the fall of Donelson, "he was still in favor of the Union." DECEMBER 20TH.--We have nothing new yet from Averill's raiders; but it is said Gen. Lee has set a trap for them. From East Tennessee there is a report that a battle has taken place somewhere in that region, but with what result is not yet known. There is much consternation among the Jews and other speculators here, who have put in substitutes and made money. They fear that their substitutes will be made liable by legislative action, and then the principals will be called for. Some have contributed money to prevent the passage of such a law, and others have spent money to get permission to leave the country. Messrs. Gilmer and Myers, lawyers, have their hands full. The Confederate States Tax act of last session of Congress is a failure, in a great measure, in Virginia. It is said only 30,000 bushels of wheat have been received! But the Governor of Alabama writes that over 5,000,000 pounds of bacon will be paid by that State. DECEMBER 21ST.--We have dispatches to-day from Western Virginia, giving hope of the capture of Averill and his raiders. Such is the scarcity of provisions, that rats and mice have mostly disappeared, and the cats can hardly be kept off the table. DECEMBER 22D.--Averill has escaped, it is feared. But it is said one of his regiments and all his wagons will be lost. Gen. Longstreet writes (16th instant) that he must suspend active operations for the want of shoes and clothing. The Quarter-master-General says he sent him 3500 blankets a few days since. There are fifty-one quartermasters and assistant quartermasters stationed in this city! Pound cakes, size of a small Dutch oven, sell at $100. Turkeys, from $10 to $40. DECEMBER 23D.--Nothing further from the West. But we have reliable information of the burning (accidentally, I suppose) of the enemy's magazine at Yorktown, destroying all the houses, etc. I learn to-day that the Secretary of War revoked the order confiscating blockade goods brought from the enemy's country. DECEMBER 24TH.--Another interposition of Providence in behalf of my family. The bookseller who purchased the edition of the first volume of my "Wild Western Scenes--new series," since Mr. Malsby's departure from the country, paid me $300 to-day, copyright, and promises more very soon. I immediately bought a load of coal, $31.50, and a half cord of wood for $19. I must now secure some food for next month. Among the papers sent in by the President, to-day, was one from Gen. Whiting, who, from information received by him, believes there will be an attack on Wilmington before long, and asks reinforcements. One from Gen. Beauregard, intimating that he cannot spare any of his troops for the West, or for North Carolina. The President notes on this, however, that the troops may be sent where they may seem to be actually needed. Also an application to permit one of Gen. Sterling Price's sons to visit the Confederate States, which the President is not disposed to grant. The lower house of Congress yesterday passed a bill putting into the army all who have hitherto kept out of it by employing substitutes. I think the Senate will also pass it. There is great consternation among the speculators. DECEMBER 25TH.--No war news to-day. But a letter, an impassioned one, from Gov. Vance, complains of outrages perpetrated by detached bodies of Confederate States cavalry, in certain counties, as being worse than any of the plagues of Egypt: and says that if any such scourge had been sent upon the land, the children of Israel would not have been followed to the Red Sea. In short, he informs the Secretary of War, if no other remedy be applied, he will collect his militia and levy war against the Confederate States troops! I placed that letter on the Secretary's table, for his Christmas dinner. As I came out, I met Mr. Hunter, President of the Senate, to whom I mentioned the subject. He said, phlegmatically, that many in North Carolina were "prone to act in opposition to the Confederate States Government." Yesterday the President sent over a newspaper, from Alabama, containing an article marked by him, in which he was very severely castigated for hesitating to appoint Gen. J. E Johnston to the command of the western army. _Why_ he sent this I can hardly conjecture, for I believe Johnston has been assigned to that command; but I placed the paper in the hands of the Secretary. My son Custis, yesterday, distributed proposals for a night-school (classical), and has some applications already. He is resolved to do all he can to aid in the support of the family in these cruel times. It is a sad Christmas; cold, and threatening snow. My two youngest children, however, have decked the parlor with evergreens, crosses, stars, etc. They have a cedar Christmas-tree, but it is not burdened. Candy is held at $8 per pound. My two sons rose at 5 A.M. and repaired to the canal to meet their sister Anne, who has been teaching Latin and French in the country; but she was not among the passengers, and this has cast a shade of disappointment over the family. A few pistols and crackers are fired by the boys in the streets--and only a few. I am alone; all the rest being at church. It would not be safe to leave the house unoccupied. Robberies and murders are daily perpetrated. I shall have no turkey to-day, and do not covet one. It is no time for feasting. DECEMBER 26TH.--No army news. No papers. No merriment this Christmas. Occasionally an _exempt_, who has speculated, may be seen drunk; but a somber heaviness is in the countenances of men, as well as in the sky above. Congress has adjourned over to Monday. DECEMBER 27TH.--From Charleston we learn that on Christmas night the enemy's shells destroyed a number of buildings. It is raining to-day: better than snow. To-day, Sunday, Mr. Hunter is locked up with Mr. Seddon, at the war office. No doubt he is endeavoring to persuade the Secretary not to relinquish office. Mr. S. is the only Secretary of War over whom Mr. Hunter could ever exercise a wholesome influence. Mr. Stephens, the Vice-President, is still absent; and Mr. H. is president of the Senate. Mr. Hunter is also a member of the Committee on Finance, and the protracted consultations may refer mainly to that subject--and a difficult one it is. Besides, if this revolution be doomed by Providence to failure, Mr. Hunter would be the most potent negotiator in the business of reconstruction. He has great interests at stake, and would save his property--and of course his life. Another letter from Gov. Vance demands the return of some 300 bales of cotton loaned the Confederate States. He likewise applies for the extension of a detail of a North Carolina soldier, "for satisfactory reasons." DECEMBER 28TH.--Averill has escaped, losing a few hundred men, and his wagons, etc. The Chesapeake, that sailed out of New York, and was subsequently taken by the passengers (Confederates), was hotly followed to Canada, where it was surrendered to the British authorities by the United States officers, after being abandoned. DECEMBER 29TH.--A letter from the President, for the Secretary of War, marked "private," came in to-day at 2 P.M. Can it be an acceptance of his resignation? A resolution has been introduced in the House of Representatives to inquire into the fact of commissioned officers doing clerical duties in Richmond receiving "allowances," which, with their pay, make their compensation enormous. A colonel, here, gets more compensation monthly than Gen. Lee, or even a member of the cabinet! Mr. Ould, agent of exchange, has sent down some 500 prisoners, in exchange for a like number sent up by the enemy. But he has been instructed by the President not to hold correspondence with Gen. Butler, called "the Beast," who is in command at Fortress Monroe. My daughters have plaited and sold several hats, etc., and to-day they had a large cake (costing $10) from their savings. And a neighbor sent in some egg-nog to my daughter Anne, just arrived from the country. Gen. Winder reported to the Secretary, to-day, that there were no guards at the bridges, the militia refusing to act longer under his orders. DECEMBER 30TH.--A memorial from the army has been presented in both houses of Congress. The speech of Mr. Foote, relative to a Dictator, has produced some sensation in the city, and may produce more. A great many Jews and speculators are still endeavoring to get out of the country with their gains. To-day Mr. Davies paid me $350 more, the whole amount of copyright on the 5000 copies of the first volume of new "Wild Western Scenes," published by Malsby. He proposes to publish the second volume as soon as he can procure the necessary paper. DECEMBER 31ST.--Yesterday the Senate passed the following bill, it having previously passed the House: "_A Bill to be entitled An Act to put an end to the exemption from military service of those who have heretofore furnished substitutes._ "Whereas, in the present circumstances of the country, it requires the aid of all who are able to bear arms, the Congress of the Confederate States of America do enact, That no person shall be exempted from military service by reason of his having furnished a substitute; but this act shall not be so construed as to affect persons who, though not liable to render military service, have, nevertheless, put in substitutes." It was preceded by discussion, yet only two votes were cast in the negative. Mr. Wigfall, it is said, was strangely indisposed; however that might be, his speech is represented as being one of the best ever delivered by him. To-morrow the President throws open his house for a public reception: his enemies allege that this is with a view to recovering popularity! It rained during the whole of this day. Nevertheless, the Jews have been fleeing to the woods with their gold, resolved to take up their abode in the United States rather than fight for the Confederate States, where they leave in the ranks the substitutes hired by them. CHAPTER XXXIV. Hospitalities of the city to Gen. Morgan.--Call for a Dictator.--Letter from Gen. Lee.--Letters from Gov. Vance.--Accusation against Gen. Winder.--Treatment of Confederate prisoners (from the _Chicago Times_).--Change of Federal policy.--Efforts to remove Col. Northrop.--Breach between the President and Congress.--Destitution of our prisoners.--Appeal of Gen. Lee to the army.--New Conscription Act.--Letter from Gen. Cobb. JANUARY 1ST, 1864.--A bright windy day, and not cold. The President has a reception to-day, and the City Councils have voted the hospitalities of the city to Brig.-Gen. J. H. Morgan, whose arrival is expected. If he comes, he will be the hero, and will have a larger crowd of admirers around him than the President. The Councils have also voted a _sword_ to ex-Gov. Letcher, whose term of service ended yesterday. Gov. Wm. Smith--nicknamed Extra-Billy--is to be inaugurated to-day. Flour is now held at $150 per barrel. Capt. Warner has just sold me two bushels of meal at $5 per bushel; the price in market is $16 per bushel. I did not go to any of the receptions to-day; but remained at home, transplanting lettuce-plants, which have so far withstood the frost, and a couple of fig-bushes I bought yesterday. I am also breaking up some warm beds, for early vegetables, and spreading manure over my little garden: preparing for the siege and famine looked for in May and June, when the enemy encompasses the city. I bought some tripe and liver in the market at the low price of $1 per pound. Engaged to pay $250 hire for our servant this year. JANUARY 2D.--Gen. Longstreet writes that it will be well to winter in East Tennessee (Rogersville), unless there should be a pressing necessity for him elsewhere. But his corps ought to be at least 20,000. He says provisions may be got in that section; and if they be collected, the enemy may be forced to leave. The Secretary of the Navy has requested the Secretary of War to open the obstructions at Drewry's Bluff, so that the iron-clads, Richmond and Fredericksburg, may pass out. This he deems necessary for the defense of Richmond, as our iron-clads may prevent the enemy from coming up the river and landing near the city. The _Lynchburg Virginian_ has come out for a dictator, and names Gen. Lee. The Raleigh (N. C.) _Progress_ says we must have peace on any terms, or starvation. I think we can put some 200,000 additional men in the field next year, and they can be fed also. JANUARY 3D.--Yesterday was the coldest day of the winter, and last night was a bitter one. This morning it is bright and clear, and moderating. We have had no snow yet. There is much talk everywhere on the subject of a dictator, and many think a strong government is required to abate the evils we suffer. The President has temporarily lost some popularity. The speculators and extortioners who hired substitutes are in consternation--some flying the country since the passage of the bill putting them in the army, and the army is delighted with the measure. The petition from so many generals in the field intimidated Congress, and it was believed that the Western army would have melted away in thirty days, if no response had been accorded to its demands by government. Herculean preparations will now be made for the next campaign, which is, as usual, looked forward to as the final one. JANUARY 4TH.--On Saturday, resolutions were unanimously adopted by the Senate complimenting Gen. Lee. This is his opportunity, if he be ambitious,--and who can see his heart? What man ever neglected such an opportunity? The weather is dark and threatening. Again the rumor is circulated that ex-Gov. Letcher is to be Secretary of War. I don't believe that. Major Tachman claims $5000 in gold and $1600 paper, because after raising two regiments in 1861 he was not made a brigadier-general. He says he expended that much money. I thought this Polish adventurer would give the government trouble. Custis commenced his school to-night, with three scholars,--small beginnings, etc. JANUARY 5TH.--Bright, pleasant day. I saw a letter from Gen. Elzey to-day, stating that his command will probably soon be called out from the city on important service. What can this mean? And our iron-clads are to go below the obstructions if they can get out. Yesterday Mr. Good offered a resolution declaring the unalterable purpose of Congress to prosecute the war until independence is attained. What significance is in this? Why declare such a purpose at this day? Mr. Benjamin, Gen. Myers, Col. Preston, and Mr. Seddon are to partake of a feast on Thursday. A feast in time of famine! JANUARY 6TH.--Yesterday Mr. Moffitt, Lieut.-Col. Ruffin's agent (commissary), was in the market buying beef for Gen. Lee's army! And this same Moffitt was in September selling beef to the same butchers (as they say) at from 40 to 50 cts. gross, the impressing price in the country being 20 cts. On the 2d inst. Gen. Lee wrote the President that he had just heard of two droves of cattle from the West, destined for his army, being ordered to Richmond. [He does not say by whom, or for what purpose. He knew not.] He says he has but one day's meat rations, and he fears he will not be able to retain the army in the field. The President sent a copy of this to the Commissary-General, with a few mild remarks, suggesting that he shall get such orders from the Secretary of War as are necessary in such an emergency. In response to this the Commissary-General makes a chronological list of his letters to Gen. Lee and others, pretending that if certain things were not done, the army, some day, would come to want, and taking great credit for his foresight, etc. This table of contents he ran first to the department with, but not finding the Secretary, he carried it to the President, who returned it without comment to Col. N. yesterday, and to-day the Secretary got it, not having seen it before. Well, if Col. N. had contracted with Capt. Montgomery for the 1,000,000 pounds of salt beef, it would have been delivered ere this. But the Secretary never saw Capt. M.'s offer at all! JANUARY 7TH.--Gen. J. E. Johnston dispatches from the West that the meat is so indifferent, the soldiers must have an additional quantity of rice. Beef sells to-day at $1.25 per pound by the quarter. And yet an Englishman at the best hotel yesterday remarked that he never lived so cheaply in any country, his board being only three shillings (in specie) per diem, or about $20 Confederate States notes. A dozen china cups and saucers sold at auction to-day for $160. Col. Preston, Conscription Bureau, several members of the cabinet, etc. feasted at a cost of $2000! It is said that the Jack was turned up and _Jeff_ turned down in a witticism, and smiled at _nem. con._ But I don't believe that. We have a light snow, the first time the earth has been white this winter. I am reminded daily of the privations I used to read of in the Revolutionary War. Then thorns were used, now we use pins, for buttons. My waistbands of pantaloons and drawers are pinned instead of buttoned. Gen. Jno. H. Morgan arrived this evening, and enjoyed a fine reception, as a multitude of admirers were at the depot. About the same hour the President rode past my house alone, to indulge his thoughts in solitude in the suburbs of the city. JANUARY 8TH.--Dispatches from both Beauregard and Whiting indicate a belief of an intention on the part of the enemy to attempt the capture of Charleston and Wilmington this winter. The President directs the Secretary to keep another brigade near Petersburg, that it may be available in an emergency. It snowed again last night, but cleared off to-day, and is bitter cold. A memorial was received to-day from the officers of Gen. Longstreet's army, asking that all men capable of performing military service, including those who have hired substitutes, be placed in the army. To-day I bought a barrel of good potatoes (Irish) for $25, and one of superior quality and size for $30. This is providing for an anticipated season of famine. Gen. Morgan received the congratulations of a vast multitude to-day. One woman kissed his hand. Gov. Smith advertises a reception to-night. Yesterday a committee was appointed to investigate the report that a certain member of Congress obtained passports for several absconding Jews, for a bribe. JANUARY 9TH.--Cold and clear. Gen. Longstreet has preferred charges against Major-Gen. McLaws and another general of his command, and also asks to be relieved, unless he has an independent command, as Gen. Johnston's headquarters are too far off, etc. The Secretary is willing to relieve him, but the President intimates that a successor ought to be designated first. Beef was held at $2.50 per pound in market to-day--and I got none; but I bought 25 pounds of rice at 40 cts., which, with the meal and potatoes, will keep us alive a month at least. The rich rogues and rascals, however, in the city, are living sumptuously, and spending Confederate States notes as if they supposed they would soon be valueless. JANUARY 10TH.--Letters from Governor Vance received to-day show that he has been making extensive arrangements to clothe and subsist North Carolina troops. His agents have purchased abroad some 40,000 blankets, as many shoes, bacon, etc., most of which is now at Bermuda and Nassau. He has also purchased an interest in several steamers; but, it appears, a recent regulation of the Confederate States Government forbids the import and export of goods except, almost exclusively, for the government itself. The governor desires to know if his State is to be put on the same footing with private speculators. He also demands some thousands of bales of cotton, loaned the government--and which the government cannot now replace at Wilmington--and his complaints against the government are bitter. Is it his intention to assume an independent attitude, and call the North Carolina troops to the rescue? A few weeks will develop his intentions. Mr. Hunter is in the Secretary's room every Sunday morning. Is there some grand political egg to be hatched? If the government had excluded private speculators from the ports at an early date, we might have had clothes and meat for the army in abundance--as well as other stores. But a great duty was neglected! Sunday as it is, trains of government wagons are going incessantly past my door laden with ice--for the hospitals next summer, if we keep Richmond. JANUARY 11TH.--The snow has nearly vanished--the weather bright and pleasant, for midwinter; but the basin is still frozen over. Gen. E. S. Jones has captured several hundred of the enemy in Southwest Virginia, and Moseby's men are picking them up by scores in Northern Virginia. Congress recommitted the new Conscript bill on Saturday, intimidated by the menaces of the press, the editors being in danger of falling within reach of conscription. A dwelling-house near us rented to-day for $6000. JANUARY 12TH.--Hundreds were skating on the ice in the basin this morning; but it thawed all day, and now looks like rain. Yesterday the President vetoed a bill appropriating a million dollars to clothe the Kentucky troops. The vote in the Senate, in an effort to pass it nevertheless, was 12 to 10, not two-thirds. The President is unyielding. If the new Conscription act before the House should become a law, the President will have nearly all power in his hands. The act suspending the writ of _habeas corpus_, before the Senate, if passed, will sufficiently complete the Dictatorship. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston writes in opposition to the organization of more cavalry. Mr. J. E. Murral, Mobile, Ala., writes Judge Campbell that a party there has authority from the United States authorities to trade anything but arms and ammunition for cotton. Gen. Winder being directed to send Mr. Hirsh, a rich Jew, to the conscript camp, says he gave him a passport to leave the Confederate States some days ago, on the order of Judge Campbell, A. S. W. Col. Northrop says supplies of meat have failed. JANUARY 13TH.--There was firing yesterday near Georgetown, S. C., the nature and result of which is not yet known. Yesterday the Senate passed a bill allowing increased pay to civil officers in the departments; but Senator Brown, of Miss., proposed a _proviso_, which was adopted, allowing the increased compensation only to those who are not liable to perform military duty, and unable to bear arms. The auctions are crowded--the people seeming anxious to get rid of their money by paying the most extravagant prices for all articles exposed for sale. An old pair of boots, with large holes in them, sold to-day for $7.00--it costs $125 to foot a pair of boots. JANUARY 14TH.--Mr. A. ----, editor of the ----, recommends the Secretary of War to get Congress to pass, in secret session, a resolution looking to a reconstruction of the Union on the old basis, and send Commissioners to the Northern Governors. Meantime, let the government organize an army of invasion, and march into Pennsylvania. The object being to sow dissension among the parties of the North. A letter from a Mr. Stephens, Columbia, S. C., to the President, says it is in his power to remove one of the evils which is bringing the administration into disrepute, and causing universal indignation--Gen. Winder. The writer says Winder drinks excessively, is brutish to all but Marylanders, and habitually receives bribes, etc. The President indorsed on it that he did not know the writer, and the absence of specifications usually rendered action unnecessary. But perhaps the Secretary may find Mr. S.'s character such as to deserve attention. Captain Warner says it is believed there will be a riot, perhaps, when Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, may be immolated by the mob. Flour sold to-day at $200 per barrel; butter, $8 per pound; and meat from $2 to $4. This cannot continue long without a remedy. The President has another reception to-night. "A YANKEE ACCOUNT OF THE TREATMENT OF CONFEDERATE PRISONERS.--_The Chicago Times_ gives the account which follows of the treatment of our soldiers at Camp Douglas. "It is said that about four weeks ago one of the prisoners was kindling his fire, which act he had a right to perform, when one of the guard accosted him with, 'Here, what are you doing there?' The prisoner replied, 'That is not your business,' when the guard instantly drew his musket and shot the fellow dead. It is said also that a mulatto boy, a servant of one of the Confederate captains, and, of course, a prisoner of war, who was well known to have a pass to go anywhere within the lines, was walking inside the guard limits about a day after the above occurrence, when the guard commanded him to halt. He did not stop, and was instantly killed by a bullet. "It is also charged that, at the time the discovery was made of an attempt on the part of some of the prisoners to escape, a party of three or four hundred was huddled together and surrounded by a guard; that one of them was pushed by a comrade and fell to the ground, and that instantly the unfortunate man was shot, and that three or four others were wounded. It is further stated that it is no uncommon thing for a soldier to fire on the barracks without any provocation whatever, and that two men were thus shot while sleeping in their bunks a week or two ago, no inquiry being made into the matter. No court-martial has been held, no arrest has been made, though within the past month ten or twelve of the prisoners have been thus put out of the way. Another instance need only be given: one of the prisoners asked the guard for a chew of tobacco, and he received the bayonet in his breast without a word." JANUARY 15TH.--We have no news. But there is a feverish anxiety in the city on the question of subsistence, and there is fear of an outbreak. Congress is in secret session on the subject of the currency, and the new Conscription bill. The press generally is opposed to calling out all men of fighting age, which they say would interfere with the freedom of the press, and would be unconstitutional. JANUARY 16TH.--General good spirits prevail since Northern arrivals show that the House of Representatives at Washington has passed a resolution that 1,000,000 men, including members of Congress under 50, volunteer to deliver the prisoners of war out of our hands. This produces a general smile, as indicative of the exhaustion of the available military force of the United States--and all believe it to be the merest bravado and unmitigated humbug. Every preparation will be made by the Confederate States Government for the most stupendous campaign of the war. There are indications of disorganization (political) in North Carolina--but it is too late. The Confederate States Executive is too strong, so long as Congress remains obedient, for any formidable demonstration of that character to occur in any of the States. We shall probably have martial law everywhere. I bought some garden seeds to-day, fresh from New York! This people are too improvident, even to sow their own seeds. JANUARY 17TH.--There is nothing new to-day. The weather is pleasant for the season, the snow being all gone. Custis has succeeded in getting ten pupils for his night-school, and this will add $100 per month to our income--if they pay him. But with flour at $200 per barrel; meal, $20 per bushel, and meat from $2 to $5 per pound, what income would suffice? Captain Warner (I suppose in return for some writing which Custis did for him) sent us yesterday two bushels of potatoes, and, afterwards, a turkey! This is the first turkey we have had during our housekeeping in Richmond. I rarely see Robert Tyler nowadays. He used to visit me at my office. His brother John I believe is in the trans-Mississippi Department. My friend Jacques is about town occasionally. JANUARY 18TH.--A flag of truce boat came up, but no one on board was authorized to negotiate for an exchange of prisoners but Gen. Butler, outlawed. It returns without anything being effected. Congress has passed a bill for the reduction of the currency, in secret session. We know not yet what are its main features. The Senate bill increasing the compensation of civil officers has not yet been acted on in the House, and many families are suffering for food. Anne writes us that Lieut. Minor has returned from his Canada expedition, which failed, in consequence of the gratuitous action of Lord Lyons, the British Minister at Washington, who has been secured in the interest of the Federal Government, it is said, by bribes. Lieut. M. brought his family a dozen cups and saucers, dresses, shoes, etc., almost unattainable here. The President receives company every Tuesday evening. Among the letters referred by the Commissary-General to the Secretary of War to-day for instructions, was one from our honest commissary in North Carolina, stating that there were several million pounds of bacon and pork in Chowan and one or two other counties, liable to the incursions of the enemy, which the people were anxious to sell the government, but were afraid to bring out themselves, lest the enemy should ravage their farms, etc., and suggesting that a military force be sent thither with wagons. The Commissary-General stated none of these facts in his indorsement; but I did, so that the Secretary must be cognizant of the nature of the paper. The enemy made a brief raid in Westmoreland and Richmond counties a few days ago, and destroyed 60,000 pounds of meat in one of the Commissary-General's depots! A gentleman writing from that section, says it is a pity the President's heart is not in his head; for then he would not ruin the country by retaining his friend, Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, in office. It appears that Gen. Meade has changed the Federal policy in the Northern Neck, by securing our people within his lines from molestation; and even by allowing them to buy food, clothing, etc. from Northern traders, on a pledge of strict neutrality. The object is to prevent the people from conveying intelligence to Moseby, who has harassed his flanks and exposed detachments very much. It is a more dangerous policy for us than the old habit of scourging the non-combatants that fall in their power. JANUARY 19TH.--A furious storm of wind and rain occurred last night, and it is rapidly turning cold to-day. The prisoners here have had no meat during the last four days, and fears are felt that they will break out of confinement. Yesterday Senator Orr waited upon the President, to induce him to remove Col. Northrop, the obnoxious Commissary-General. The President, it is said, told him that Col. N. was one of the greatest geniuses in the South, and that, if he had the physical capacity he would put him at the head of an army. A letter from Mrs. Polk, widow of President Polk, dated at Nashville, expresses regret that a portion of her cotton in Mississippi was burnt by the military authorities (according to law), and demanding remuneration. She also asks permission to have the remainder sent to Memphis, now held by the enemy. The Secretary will not refuse. I bought a pretty good pair of second-hand shoes at auction to-day for $17.50; but they were too large. I will have them sold again, without fear of loss. A majority of the Judiciary Committee, to whom the subject was referred, have reported a bill in the Senate vacating the offices of all the members of the cabinet at the expiration of every two years, or of every Congress. This is a blow at Mr. Benjamin, Mr. Memminger, etc., and, as the President conceives, at himself. It will not pass, probably; but it looks like war between the Senate and the Executive. Some of the Secretaries _may_ resign on the 18th of February, when this Congress expires. _Nous verrons._ JANUARY 20TH.--The Senate bill to give increased compensation to the civil officers of the government in Richmond was _tabled_ in the House yesterday, on the motion of Mr. Smith, of North Carolina, who spoke against it. Major-Gen. Gilmer, Chief of the Engineer Bureau, writes that the time has arrived when no more iron should be used by the Navy Department; that no iron-clads have effected any good, or are likely to effect any; and that all the iron should be used to repair the roads, else we shall soon be fatally deficient in the means of transportation. And Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, says he has been trying to concentrate a reserve supply of grain in Richmond, for eight months; and such has been the deficiency in means of transportation, that the effort has failed. Gov. Milton, of Florida, writes that the fact of quartermasters and commissaries, and their agents, being of conscript age, and being speculators all, produces great demoralization. If the rich will not fight for their property, the poor will not fight for them. Col. Northrop recommends that each commissary and quartermaster be allowed a confidential clerk of conscript age. That would deprive the army of several regiments of men. The weather is bright again, but cool. JANUARY 21ST.--Gen. Longstreet reports some small captures of the enemy's detached foraging parties. The prisoners here have now been six days without meat; and Capt. Warner has been ordered by the Quartermaster-General to purchase supplies for them, relying no longer on the Commissary-General. Last night an attempt was made (by his servants, it is supposed) to burn the President's mansion. It was discovered that fire had been kindled in the wood-pile in the basement. The smoke led to the discovery, else the family might have been consumed with the house. One or two of the servants have absconded. At the sale of a Jew to-day an _etegere_ brought $6000; a barrel of flour, $220; and meal, $25 per bushel. All else in proportion. He is a jeweler, and intends leaving the country. He will succeed, because he is rich. Yesterday the House passed the Senate bill, adjourning Congress on the 18th of February, to meet again in April. Mr. Barksdale, the President's organ in the House, moved a reconsideration, and it will probably be reconsidered and defeated, although it passed by two to one. Major Griswold being required by resolution of the Legislature to give the origin of the passport office, came to me to-day to write it for him. I did so. There was no law for it. JANUARY 22D.--Troops, a few regiments, have been passing down from Lee's army, and going toward North Carolina. A dispatch, in cipher, from Petersburg, was received to-day at 3 P.M. It is probable the enemy threaten the Weldon and Wilmington Railroad. We shall hear soon. It is thought the negroes that attempted to burn the President's house (they had heaped combustibles under it) were instigated by Yankees who have been released upon taking the oath of allegiance. But I think it quite as probable his enemies here (citizens) instigated it. They have one of the servants of the War Department under arrest, as participating in it. The weather is delightful, and I seek distraction by spading in my garden. Judge Campbell is still "allowing" men to pass out of the Confederate States; and they will invite the enemy in! JANUARY 23D.--The Secretary of War has authorized Mr. Boute, President of the Chatham Railroad, to exchange tobacco through the enemy's lines for bacon. And in the West he has given authority to exchange cotton with the enemy for meat. It is supposed certain men in high position in Washington, as well as the military authorities, wink at this traffic, and share its profits. I hope we may get bacon, without strychnine. Congress has passed a bill prohibiting, under severe penalties, the traffic in Federal money. But neither the currency bill, the tax bill, nor the repeal of the exemption act has been effected yet, and the existence of the present Congress shortly expires. A _permanent_ government is a cumbersome one. The weather is fine, and I am spading up my little garden. JANUARY 24TH.--For some cause, we had no mail to-day. Fine, bright, and pleasant weather. Yesterday Mr. Lyons called up the bill for increased compensation to civil officers, and made an eloquent speech in favor of the measure. I believe it was referred to a special committee, and hope it may pass soon. It is said the tax bill under consideration in Congress will produce $500,000,000 revenue! If this be so, and compulsory funding be adopted, there will soon be no redundancy of paper money, and a magical change of values will take place. We who live on salaries may have better times than even the extortioners--who cannot inherit the kingdom of Heaven. And relief cannot come too soon: for we who have families are shabby enough in our raiment, and lean and lank in our persons. Nevertheless, we have health and never-failing appetites. Roasted potatoes and salt are eaten with a keen relish. JANUARY 25TH.--The breach seems to widen between the President and Congress, especially the Senate. A majority of the Committee on Military Affairs have reported that Col. A. C. Myers (relieved last August) is still the Quartermaster-General of the armies, and that Gen. Lawton, who has been acting as Quartermaster-General since then, is not the duly authorized Quartermaster-General: not having given bond, and his appointment not having been consented to by the Senate. They say all the hundreds of millions disbursed by his direction have been expended in violation of law. For the last few nights Col. Browne, one of the President's A. D. C.'s, and an unnaturalized Englishman, has ordered a guard (department clerks) to protect the President. Capt. Manico (an Englishman) ordered my son Custis to go on guard to-night; but I obtained from the Secretary a countermand of the order, and also an exemption from drills, etc. It will not do for him to neglect his night-school, else we shall starve. I noticed, to-day, eight slaughtered deer in one shop; and they are seen hanging at the doors in every street. The price is $3 per pound. Wild turkies, geese, ducks, partridges, etc. are also exposed for sale, at enormous prices, and may mitigate the famine now upon us. The war has caused an enormous increase of wild game. But ammunition is difficult to be obtained. I see some perch, chubb, and other fish, but all are selling at famine prices. The weather is charming, which is something in the item of fuel. I sowed a bed of early York cabbage, to-day, in a sheltered part of the garden, and I planted twenty-four grains of early-sweet corn, some cabbage seed, tomatoes, beets, and egg-plants in my little hot-bed--a flour barrel sawed in two, which I can bring into the house when the weather is cold. I pray God the season may continue mild, else there must be much suffering. _And yet no beggars are seen in the streets._ What another month will develop, I know not; the fortitude of the people, so far, is wonderful. Major-Gen. Sam. Jones, Dublin, Va., is at loggerheads with Lieut.-Gen. Longstreet about some regiments the latter keeps in East Tennessee. Gen. J. says Averill is preparing to make another raid on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad, the salt-works, the mines, etc.; and if he is charged with the defense, he must have at least all his regiments. He gets his orders from Gen. Cooper, A. and I. G., who will probably give him what he wants. JANUARY 26TH.--Gen. Lee recommends the formation of several more brigades of cavalry, mostly from regiments and companies in South Carolina, and to this he anticipates objections on the part of the generals and governors along the Southern seaboard; but he deems it necessary, as the enemy facing him has a vastly superior cavalry force. The prisoners on Belle Isle (8000) have had no meat for eleven days. The Secretary says the Commissary-General informs him that they fare as well as our armies, and so he refused the commissary (Capt. Warner) of the prisoners a permit to buy and bring to the city cattle he might be able to find. An outbreak of the prisoners is apprehended: and if they were to rise, it is feared some of the inhabitants of the city would join them, for they, too, have no meat--many of them--or bread either. They believe the famine is owing to the imbecility, or worse, of the government. A riot would be a dangerous occurrence, now: the city battalion would not fire on the people--and if they did, the army might break up, and avenge their slaughtered kindred. It is a perilous time. My wife paid $12, to-day, for a half bushel of meal; meantime I got an order for two bushels, from Capt. Warner, at $10 per bushel. The President receives visitors to-night; and, for the first time, I think I will go. Mr. Foote, yesterday, offered a resolution that the Commissary-General ought to be removed; which was defeated by a decided vote, twenty in the affirmative. Twenty he relied on failed him. Letters from all quarters denounce the Commissary-General and his agents. JANUARY 27TH.--Last night, the weather being very pleasant, the President's house was pretty well filled with gentlemen and ladies. I cannot imagine how they continue to dress so magnificently, unless it be their old finery, which looks well amid the general aspect of shabby mendicity. But the statures of the men, and the beauty and grace of the ladies, surpass any I have seen elsewhere, in America or Europe. There is high character in almost every face, and fixed resolve in every eye. The President was very courteous, saying to each, "I am glad to meet you here to-night." He questioned me so much in regard to my health, that I told him I was not very well; and if his lady (to whom he introduced us all) had not been so close (at his elbow), I might have assigned the cause. When we parted, he said, "_We_ have met before." Mrs. Davis was in black--for her father. And many of the ladies were in mourning for those slain in battle. Gen. Lee has published the following to his army: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "January 22d, 1864. "GENERAL ORDERS NO 7. "The Commanding General considers it due to the army to state that the temporary reduction of rations has been caused by circumstances beyond the control of those charged with its support. Its welfare and comfort are the objects of his constant and earnest solicitude; and no effort has been spared to provide for its wants. It is hoped that the exertions now being made will render the necessity but of short duration: but the history of the army has shown that the country can require no sacrifice too great for its patriotic devotion. "Soldiers! you tread, with no unequal steps, the road by which your fathers marched through suffering, privation, and blood to independence! "Continue to emulate in the future, as you have in the past, their valor in arms, their patient endurance of hardships, their high resolve to be free, which no trial could shake, no bribe seduce, no danger appal: and be assured that the just God, who crowned their efforts with success, will, in His own good time, send down His blessings upon yours. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_." An eloquent and stirring appeal! It is rumored that the writ of _habeas corpus_ has been suspended--as the President has been allowed to suspend it--by Congress, in secret session. But Congress passed a resolution, yesterday, that after it adjourns on the 18th February, it will assemble again on the first Monday in May. Mr. Lyons, chairman of the Committee on Increased Compensation to the civil officers, had an interview with the Secretary of War yesterday. The Secretary told him, it is said, that unless Congress voted the increase, he would take the responsibility of ordering them rations, etc. etc. And Mr. Smith, of North Carolina, told me, to-day, that something would be done. He it was who moved to lay the bill on the table. He said it would have been defeated, if the vote had been taken on the bill. Gov. Smith sent to the Legislature a message, yesterday, rebuking the members for doing so little, and urging the passage of a bill putting into the State service all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen and over forty-five. The Legislature considered his lecture an insult, and the House of Delegates contemptuously laid it on the table by an almost unanimous vote. So he has war with the Legislature, while the President is in conflict with the Confederate States Senate. JANUARY 28TH.--The beautiful, pleasant weather continues. It is said Congress passed, last night, in secret session, the bill allowing increased compensation to civil officers and employees. Mr. Davidson, of fifty years of age, resigned, to-day, his clerkship in the War Department, having been offered $5000 by one of the incorporated companies to travel and buy supplies for it. Mr. Hubbard, of Alabama, suggests to the Secretary to buy 500,000 slaves, and give one to every soldier enlisting from beyond our present lines, at the end of the war. He thinks many from the border free States would enlist on our side. The Secretary does not favor the project. Gen. Whiting writes for an order for two locomotive boilers, at Montgomery, Ala., for his torpedo-boats, now nearly completed. He says he intends to attack the blockading squadron off Wilmington. The weather is still warm and beautiful. The buds are swelling. JANUARY 30TH.--The Senate has passed a new Conscription Act, putting all residents between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five in the military service for the war. Those over forty-five to be detailed by the President as commissary quartermasters, Nitre Bureau agents, provost guards, clerks, etc. This would make up the enormous number of 1,500,000 men! The express companies are to have no detail of men fit for the field, but the President may exempt a certain class for agricultural purposes, which, of course, can be revoked whenever a farmer refuses to sell at schedule prices, or engages in speculation or extortion. Thus the President becomes almost absolute, and the Confederacy a military nation. The House will pass it with some modifications. Already the _Examiner_ denounces it, for it allows only one owner or editor to a paper, and just sufficient printers,--no assistant editors, no reporters, no clerks, etc. This will save us, and hasten a peace. Mr. G. A. Myers, the little old lawyer, always potential with the successive Secretaries of War, proposes, in a long letter, that the Department allows 30 to 40 foreigners (Jews) to leave the Confederate States, _via_ Maryland, every week! Mr. Goodman, President of the Mississippi Railroad, proposes to send cotton to the Yankees in exchange for implements, etc., to repair the road, and Lieut.-Gen. (Bishop) Polk favors the scheme. Commissary-General Northrop likewise sent in a proposal from an agent of his in Mississippi, to barter cotton with the Yankees for subsistence, and he indorses an approval on it. I trust we shall be independent this summer. To-day it is cool and cloudy, but Custis has had no use for fire in his school-room of nights for a week--and that in January. The warm weather saved us a dollar per day in coal. Custis's scholars are paying him $95 the first month. I shall hope for better times now. We shall have men enough, if the Secretary and conscription officers do not strain the meshes of the seine too much, and the currency will be reduced. The speculators and extortioners, in great measure, will be circumvented, for the new conscription will take them from their occupations, and they will not find transportation for their wares. The 2000 barrels of corn destroyed by the enemy on the Peninsula, a few days ago, belonged to a relative of Col. Ruffin, Assistant Commissary-General! He would not impress that--and lo! it is gone! Many here are glad of it. JANUARY 31ST.--It rained moderately last night, and is cooler this morning. But the worst portion of the winter is over. The pigeons of my neighbor are busy hunting straws in my yard for their nests. They do no injury to the garden, as they never scratch. The shower causes my turnips to present a fresher appearance, for they were suffering for moisture. The buds of the cherry trees have perceptibly swollen during the warm weather. A letter from Gen. Cobb (Georgia) indicates that the Secretary of War has refused to allow men having employed substitutes to form new organizations, and he combats the decision. He says they will now appeal to the courts, contending that the law putting them in the service is unconstitutional, and some will escape from the country, or otherwise evade the law. They cannot go into old companies and be sneered at by the veterans, and commanded by their inferiors in fortune, standing, etc. He says the decision will lose the service 2000 men in Georgia. The Jews are fleeing from Richmond with the money they have made. CHAPTER XXXV. Gen. Lovell applies for a command.--Auspicious opening of 1864.--Mr. Wright's resolutions.--Rumored approach of Gen. Butler.--Letter from Gov. Brown.--Letter from Gen. Lee.--Dispatches from Gen. Beauregard.--President Davis's negroes.--Controversy between Gen. Winder and Mr. Ould.--Robbery of Mr. Lewis Hayman.--Promotion of Gen. Bragg, and the _Examiner_ thereon.--Scarcity of provisions in the army.--Congress and the President. FEBRUARY 1ST.--Hazy, misty weather. Gen. Lovell (who lost New Orleans) has applied for a command in the West, and Gen. Johnston approves it strongly. He designs dividing his army into three corps, giving one (3d division) to Gen. Hardee; one (2d division) to Gen. Hindman; and one (1st division) to Lovell. But the Secretary of War (wide awake) indorses a disapproval, saying, in his opinion, it would be injudicious to place a corps under the command of Gen. Lovell, and it would not give confidence to the army. This being sent to the President, came back indorsed, "opinion concurred in.--J. D." Gen. Pillow has applied for the command of two brigades for operations between Gen. Johnston's and Gen. Polk's armies, protecting the flanks of both, and guarding the coal mines, iron works, etc. in Middle Alabama. This is strongly approved by Generals Johnston, Polk, Gov. Watts & Co. But the President has not yet decided the matter. The Commissary-General is appointing many ladies to clerkships. Old men, disabled soldiers, and ladies are to be relied on for clerical duty, nearly all others to take the field. But every ingenuity is resorted to by those having in substitutes to evade military service. There is a great pressure of foreigners (mostly Irish) for passes to leave the country. FEBRUARY 2D.--So lax has become Gen. Winder's rule, or deficient, or worse, the vigilance of his detectives,--the rogues and cut-throats,--one of them keeps a mistress in a house the rent of which is more than his salary, that five Jews, the other day, cleared out in a schooner laden with tobacco, professedly for Petersburg, but sailed directly to the enemy. They had with them some $10,000 in gold; and as they absconded to avoid military service in the Confederate States, no doubt they imparted all the information they could to the enemy. Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State, asked the Secretary of War to-day to make such arrangements as would supply the State Department with regular files of Northern papers. They sometimes have in them important diplomatic correspondence, and the perusal of this is about all the Secretary of State has to do. It is rumored that the Hon. Robert Toombs has been arrested in Georgia for treason. I cannot believe it, but I know he is inimical to the President. The British papers again seem to sympathise with us. Senator Orr writes to the Secretary that a resolution of the Senate, asking for copies of Gen. Beauregard's orders in 1862 for the fortification of Vicksburg (he was the first to plan the works which made such a glorious defense), and also a resolution calling for a copy of Gen. B.'s charges against Col. ----, had not been responded to by the President. He asks that these matters may be brought to the President's attention. The weather is beautiful and spring-like again, and we may soon have some news both from Tennessee and North Carolina. From the latter I hope we shall get some of the meat endangered by the proximity of the enemy. FEBRUARY 3D.--The following dispatch indicates the prestige of success for the year 1864, and it is probable it will be followed by a succession of successes, for the administration at Washington will find, this year, constant antagonisms everywhere, in the North as well as in the South, and in the army there will be opposing parties--Republicans and Democrats. On the part of the South, we have experienced the great agony of 1863, and have become so familiar with horrors that we shall fight with a fearful desperation. But the dispatch: "Glorious news! The whole Yankee force, about 150, are our prisoners, and their gun-boat 'Smith Briggs,' destroyed. "No one hurt on our side. Four Yankees killed and two or three wounded. "The prisoners are now at Broad Water. Send down a train for them to-morrow." We learn that this Yankee force was commissioned to destroy a large factory at Smithfield, in Isle of Wight County. We do not know the size or composition of our command which achieved the results noticed above, but understand that it contained two companies of the Thirty-first North Carolina Regiment. Congress has not yet finally acted on the Tax bill, nor on the new Conscription bill. The Secretary of War said to-day that he would not allow the increased pay to any of his civil officers who were young and able to bear arms--and this after urging Congress to increase their compensation. It will be very hard on some who are refugees, having families dependent on them. Others, who board, must be forced into the army (the design), for their expenses per month will be some fifty per cent, more than their income. The weather is clear but colder. FEBRUARY 4TH.--Clear and pretty cold. We have news of another brilliant affair at Kinston, N. C., where Gen. Pickett has beaten the enemy, killing and wounding and taking some 500 men, besides capturing another gun-boat! Thus the campaign of 1864 opens auspiciously. And Gen. Early has beaten the foe in Hardy County, Northwest Virginia, capturing, it is said, some 800. It is supposed that Gen. Pickett will push on to Newbern, and probably capture the town. At all events we shall get large supplies from the tide-water counties of North Carolina. General Lee planned the enterprise, sending some 15,000 men on the expedition. Yesterday the Senate Committee reported _against_ the House bill modifying the act making all men liable to conscription who have hired substitutes. But they are debating a new exemption bill in the House. It is true Mr. Toombs was arrested at Savannah, or was ejected from the cars because he would not procure a passport. To-day Mr. Kean, the young Chief of the Bureau of War, has registered all the clerks, the dates of their appointments, their age, and the number of children they have. He will make such remarks as suits him in each case, and submit the list to the Secretary for his action regarding the increased compensation. Will he intimate that his own services are so indispensable that he had better remain out of the field? The following "political card" for the Northern Democrats was played yesterday. I think it a good one, if nothing more be said about it here. It will give the Abolitionists trouble in the rear while we assail them in the front. The following extraordinary resolutions were, yesterday, introduced in the House of Representatives by Mr. Wright of Georgia. The House went into secret session before taking any action upon them. "WHEREAS: The President of the United States, in a late public communication, did declare that no propositions for peace had been made to that government by the Confederate States, when, in truth, such propositions were prevented from being made by the President of the United States, in that he refused to hear, or even to receive, two commissioners, appointed to treat expressly of the preservation of amicable relations between the two governments. "Nevertheless, that the Confederate States may stand justified in the sight of the conservative men of the North of all parties, and that the world may know which of the two governments it is that urges on a war unparalleled for the fierceness of the conflict, and intensifying into a sectional hatred unsurpassed in the annals of mankind. Therefore, "_Resolved_, That the Confederate States invite the United States, through their government at Washington, to meet them by representatives equal to their representatives and senators in their respective Congress at ----, on the ---- day of ---- next, to consider, "_First_: Whether they cannot agree upon the recognition of the Confederate States of America. "_Second_: In the event of such recognition, whether they cannot agree upon the formation of a new government, founded upon the equality and sovereignty of the States; but if this cannot be done, to consider "_Third_: Whether they cannot agree upon treaties, offensive, defensive, and commercial. "_Resolved_, In the event of the passage of these resolutions, the President be requested to communicate the same to the Government at Washington, in such manner as he shall deem most in accordance with the usages of nations; and, in the event of their acceptance by that government, he do issue his proclamation of election of delegates, under such regulations as he may deem expedient." Eighteen car loads of coffee went up to the army to-day. I have not tasted coffee or tea for more than a year. FEBRUARY 5TH.--Bright frosty morning, but warmer and hazy later in the day. From dispatches from North Carolina, it would seem that our generals are taking advantage of the fine roads, and improving the opportunity, while the enemy are considering the plan of the next campaign at Washington. FEBRUARY 6TH.--Major-Gen. Breckinridge, it is said, is to command in Southwestern Virginia near the Kentucky line, relieving Major-Gen. Sam Jones. Yesterday the cabinet decided to divide the clerks into three classes. Those under eighteen and over forty-five, to have the increased compensation; those between those ages, who shall be pronounced unable for field service, also to have it; and all others the Secretaries may certify to be necessary, etc. This will cover all their cousins, nephews, and pets, and exclude many young men whose refugee mothers and sisters are dependent on their salaries for subsistence. Such is the unvarying history of public functionaries. Gen. Pickett, finding Newbern impregnable, has fallen back, getting off his prisoners, etc. But more troops are going to North Carolina. FEBRUARY 7TH, SUNDAY.-- _The tocsin is sounding at_ 9 A.M. It appears that Gen. Butler is marching up the Peninsula (I have not heard the estimated number of his army) toward Richmond. But, being in the Secretary's room for a moment, I heard him say to Gen. Elzey that the "local defense men" must be relied on to defend Richmond. These men are mainly clerks and employees of the departments, who have just been _insulted_ by the government, being informed that no increased compensation will be allowed them because they are able to bear arms. In other words, they must famish for subsistence, and their families with them, because they happen to be of fighting age, and have been patriotic enough to volunteer for the defense of the government, and have drilled, and paraded, and marched, until they are pronounced good soldiers. Under these circumstances, the Secretary of War says they must be relied upon to defend the government. In my opinion, many of them are _not_ reliable. Why were they appointed contrary to law? Who is to blame but the Secretaries themselves? Ah! but the Secretaries had pets and relatives of fighting age they must provide for; and _these_, although not dependent on their salaries, will get the increased compensation, and will also be exempted from aiding in the defense of the city--at least such has been the practice heretofore. These things being known to the proscribed local troops (clerks, etc.), I repeat my doubts of their reliability at any critical moment. We have good news from the Rappahannock. It is said Gen. Rosser yesterday captured several hundred prisoners, 1200 beeves, 350 mules, wagons of stores, etc. etc. Nevertheless, there is some uneasiness felt in the city, there being nearly 12,000 prisoners here, and all the veteran troops of Gen. Elzey's division are being sent to North Carolina. FEBRUARY 8TH.--The air is filled with rumors--none reliable. It is said Gen. Lee is much provoked at the alarm and excitement in the city, which thwarted a plan of his to capture the enemy on the Peninsula; and the militia and the Department Battalions were kept yesterday and to-day under arms standing in the cold, the officers blowing their nails, and "waiting orders," which came not. Perhaps they were looking for the "conspirators;" a new hoax to get "martial law." A Union meeting has been held in Greensborough, N. C. An intelligent writer to the department says the burden of the speakers, mostly lawyers, was the terrorism of Gen. Winder and his corps of rogues and cut-throats, Marylanders, whose operations, it seems, have spread into most of the States. Mr. Sloan, the writer, says, however, a vast majority of the people are loyal. It is said Congress is finally about to authorize martial law. My cabbages are coming up in my little hot-bed--half barrel. Gen. Maury writes from Mobile that he cannot be able to obtain any information leading to the belief of an intention on the part of the enemy to attack Mobile. He says it would require 40,000 men, after three months' preparation, to take it. Gov. Brown, of Georgia, says the Confederate States Government has kept bad faith with the Georgia six months' men; and hence they cannot be relied on to relieve Gen. Beauregard, etc. (It is said the enemy are about to raise the siege of Charleston.) Gov. B. says the State Guard are already disbanded. He says, moreover, that the government here, if it understood its duty, would not seize and put producers in the field, but would stop details, and order the many thousand young officers everywhere swelling in the cars and hotels, and basking idly in every village, to the ranks. He is disgusted with the policy here. What are we coming to? Everywhere our troops in the field, whose terms of three years will expire this spring, are re-enlisting for the war. This is an effect produced by President Lincoln's proclamation; that to be _permitted_ to return to the Union, all men must first take an oath to abolish slavery! FEBRUARY 9TH.--A letter from Gen. Johnston says he received the "confidential instructions" of the President, from the Secretary of War, and succeeded in getting Gen. Cleburn to lay aside his "memorial," the nature of which is not stated; but I suspect the President was getting alarmed at the disposition of the armies to dictate measures to the government. Hon. Mr. Johnson, Senator, and Hon. Mr. Bell, Representative from Missouri, called on me to-day, with a voluminous correspondence, and "charges and specifications" against Lieut.-Gen. Holmes, by my nephew, Lieut.-Col. R. H. Musser. They desired me to read the papers and submit my views. I have read them, and shall advise them not to proceed in the matter. Gen. Holmes is rendered unfit, by broken health, for the command of a Western Department, and his conviction at this time would neither benefit the cause nor aid Lieut.-Col. Musser in his aspirations. It is true he had my nephew tried for disobedience of orders; but he was honorably acquitted. Missouri will some day rise like a giant, and deal death and destruction on her oppressors. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, says the enemy have taken more guns from us than we from them--exclusive of siege artillery--but I don't think so. Our people are becoming more hopeful since we have achieved some successes. The enemy cannot get men again except by dragging them out, unless they should go to war with France--a not improbable event. FEBRUARY 10TH.--Gen. Lee wrote to the Secretary of War, on the 22d of January, that his army was not fed well enough to fit them for the exertions of the spring campaign; and recommended the discontinuance of the rule of the Commissary-General allowing officers at Richmond, Petersburg, and many other towns, to purchase government meat, etc. etc. for the subsistence of their families, at schedule prices. He says the salaries of these officers ought to be sufficient compensation for their services; that such allowances deprived the officers and soldiers _in the field_ of necessary subsistence, and encouraged able-bodied men to seek such easy positions; it offended the people who paid tithes, to see them consumed by these non-combating colonels, majors, etc., instead of going to feed the army; and it demoralized the officers and soldiers in the field. This letter was referred to the Commissary-General, who, after the usual delay, returned it with a long argument to show that Gen. Lee was in "_error_," and that the practice was necessary, etc. To this the Secretary responded by a peremptory _order_, restricting the city officers in the item of meat. Again the Commissary-General sends it back, recommending the _suspension_ of the order until it be seen what Congress will do! Here are twenty days gone, and the Commissary-General has his own way still. He don't hesitate to bully the Secretary and the highest generals in the field. Meantime the Commissary-General's pet officers and clerks are living sumptuously while the soldiers are on hard fare. But, fortunately, Gen. Lee has captured 1200 beeves from the enemy since his letter was written. And Gen. Cobb writes an encouraging letter from Georgia. He says there is more meat in that State than any one supposed; and men too. Many thousands of recruits can be sent forward, and meat enough to feed them. The President has issued a stirring address to the army. The weather is still clear, and the roads are not only good, but dusty--yet it is cold. They say Gen. Butler, on the Peninsula, has given orders to his troops to respect private property--and not to molest non-combatants. FEBRUARY 11TH.--Night before last 109 Federal prisoners, all commissioned officers, made their escape from prison--and only three or four have been retaken! The letter of Mr. Sloan, of North Carolina, only produced a reply from the Secretary that there was not the slightest suspicion against Gen. W., and that the people of North Carolina would not be satisfied with anybody. Eight thousand men of Johnston's army are without bayonets, and yet Col. Gorgas has abundance. Governor Milton, of Florida, calls lustily for 5000 men--else he fears all is lost in his State. To-day bacon is selling for $6 per pound, and all other things in proportion. A negro (for his master) asked me, to-day, $40 for an old, tough turkey gobbler. I passed on very briskly. We shall soon have martial law, it is thought, which, judiciously administered, might remedy some of the grievous evils we labor under. I shall have no meat for dinner to-morrow. FEBRUARY 12TH.--It is warm to-day, and cloudy; but there was ice early in the morning. We have recaptured twenty-odd of the escaped prisoners. A bill has passed Congress placing an embargo on many imported articles; and these articles are rising rapidly in price. Sugar sold to-day at auction in large quantity for $8.00 per pound; rice, 85 cents, etc. There is a rumor that Gen. Finnegan has captured the enemy in Florida. Gen. Lee says his army is rapidly re-enlisting for the war. FEBRUARY 13TH.--Bright, beautiful weather, with frosty nights. The dispatches I cut from the papers to-day are interesting. Gen. Wise, it appears, has met the enemy at last, and gained a brilliant success--and so has Gen. Finnegan. But the correspondence between the President and Gen. Johnston, last spring and summer, indicates constant dissensions between the Executive and the generals. And the President is under the necessity of defending _Northern_ born generals, while Southern born ones are without trusts, etc. INTERESTING FROM FLORIDA. OFFICIAL DISPATCH. "CHARLESTON, February 11th, 1864. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "Gen Finnegan has repulsed the enemy's force at Lake City--details not known. "(Signed) G. T. BEAUREGARD." SECOND DISPATCH. "CHARLESTSON, February 11th--11 A.M. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "Gen. Finnegan's success yesterday was very creditable--the enemy's force being much superior to his own. His reinforcements had not reached here, owing to delays on the road. Losses not yet reported. "(Signed) G. T. BEAUREGARD." REPULSE OF THE ENEMY NEAR CHARLESTON. OFFICIAL DISPATCH. "CHARLESTON, February 12th, 1864. "Gen. Wise gallantly repulsed the enemy last evening on John's Island. He is, to-day, in pursuit. Our loss very trifling. The force of the enemy is about 2000; ours about one-half. "(Signed) G. T. BEAUREGARD." Every day we recapture some of the escaped Federal officers. So far we have 34 of the 109. The President sent over a "confidential" sealed letter to the Secretary to-day. I handed it to the Secretary, who was looking pensive. Dr. McClure, of this city, who has been embalming the dead, and going about the country with his coffins, has been detected taking Jews and others through the lines. Several _live men_ have been found in his coffins. Again it is reported that the enemy are advancing up the Peninsula in force, and, to-morrow being Sunday, the local troops may be called out. But Gen. Rhodes is near with his division, so no serious danger will be felt, unless more than 20,000 attack us. Even that number would not accomplish much--for the city is fortified strongly. It is rumored by blockade-runners that gold in the North is selling at from 200 to 500 per cent. premium. If this be _true_, our day of deliverance is not distant. FEBRUARY 14TH.--Clear and windy. There is nothing new that I have heard of; but great apprehensions are felt for the fate of Mississippi--said to be penetrated to its center by an overwhelming force of the enemy. It is defended, however, or it is to be, by Gen. (Bishop) Polk. I hear of more of the escaped Federal officers being brought in to-day. The correspondence between the President and Gen. Johnston is causing some remark. The whole is not given. Letters were received from Gen. J. to which no allusion is made, which passed through my hands, and I think the fact is noted in this diary. He intimated, I think, that the position assigned him was equivocal and unpleasant in Tennessee. He did not feel inclined to push Bragg out of the field, and the President, it seems, would not relieve Bragg. Mr. Secretary Seddon, it is now said, is resolved to remain in office. FEBRUARY 15TH.--We have over forty of the escaped Federal officers. Nothing more from Gens. Wise and Finnegan. The enemy have retreated again on the Peninsula. It is said Meade's army is falling back on Washington. We have a snow storm to-day. The President is unfortunate with his servants, as the following from the _Dispatch_ would seem: "_Another of President Davis's Negroes run away._--On Saturday night last the police were informed of the fact that Cornelius, a negro man in the employ of President Davis, had run away. Having received some clew of his whereabouts, they succeeded in finding him in a few hours after receiving the information of his escape, and lodged him in the upper station house. When caught, there was found on his person snack enough, consisting of cold chicken, ham, preserves, bread, etc., to last him for a long journey, and a large sum of money he had stolen from his master. Some time after being locked up, he called to the keeper of the prison to give him some water, and as that gentleman incautiously opened the door of his cell to wait on him, Cornelius knocked him down and again made his escape. Mr. Peter Everett, the only watchman present, put off after him; but before running many steps stumbled and fell, injuring himself severely." FEBRUARY 16TH.--A plan of invasion. Gen. Longstreet telegraphs that he has no corn, and cannot stay where he is, unless supplied by the Quartermaster-General. This, the President says, is impossible, for want of transportation. The railroads can do no more than supply grain for the horses of Lee's army--all being brought from Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, etc. But the President says Longstreet might extricate himself from the exigency by marching into Middle Tennessee or Kentucky, or both. Soon after this document came in, another followed from the Tennessee and Kentucky members of Congress, inclosing an elaborate plan from Col. Dibrell, of the Army of Tennessee, of taking Nashville, and getting forage, etc. in certain counties not yet devastated, in Tennessee and Kentucky. Only 10,000 additional men will be requisite. They are to set out with eight days' rations; and if Grant leaves Chattanooga to interfere with the plan, Gen. Johnston is to follow and fall upon his rear, etc. Gen. Longstreet approves the plan--is eager for it, I infer from his dispatch about corn; and the members of Congress are in favor of it. If practicable, it ought to be begun immediately; and I think it will be. A bright windy day--snow gone. The Federal General Sherman, with 30,000 men, was, at the last dates, still marching southeast of Jackson, Miss. It is predicted that he is rushing on his destruction. Gen. Polk is retreating before him, while our cavalry is in his rear. He cannot keep open his communications. FEBRUARY 17TH.--Bright and very cold--freezing all day. Col. Myers has written a letter to the Secretary, in reply to our ordering him to report to the Quartermaster-General, stating that he considers himself the Quartermaster-General--as the Senate has so declared. This being referred to the President, he indorses on it that Col. Myers served long enough in the United States army to know his status and duty, without any such discussion with the Secretary as he seems to invite. Yesterday Congress consummated several measures of such magnitude as will attract universal attention, and which must have, perhaps, a decisive influence in our struggle for independence. Gen. Sherman, with 30,000 or 40,000 men, is still advancing deeper into Mississippi, and the Governor of Alabama has ordered the non-combatants to leave Mobile, announcing that it is to be attacked. If Sherman _should go on_, and succeed, it would be the most brilliant operation of the war. If he goes on and fails, it will be the most disastrous--and his surrender would be, probably, like the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. He ought certainly to be annihilated. I have advised Senator Johnson to let my nephew's purpose to bring Gen. Holmes before a court-martial lie over, and I have the papers in my drawer. The President will probably promote Col. Clark to a brigadiership, and then my nephew will succeed to the colonelcy; which will be a sufficient rebuke to Gen. H., and a cataplasm for my nephew's wounded honor. The _Examiner_ has whipped Congress into a modification of the clause putting assistant editors and other employees of newspaper proprietors into the army. They want the press to give them the meed of praise for their bold measures, and to reconcile the people to the tax, militia, and currency acts. This is the year of crises, and I think we'll win. We are now sending 400 Federal prisoners to Georgia daily; and I hope we shall have more food in the city when they are all gone. FEBRUARY 18TH.--This was the coldest morning of the winter. There was ice in the wash-basins in our bed chambers, the first we have seen there. I fear my cabbage, beets, etc. now coming up, in my half barrel hot-bed, although in the house, are killed. The topic of discussion everywhere, now, is the effect likely to be produced by the Currency bill. Mr. Lyons denounces it, and says the people will be starved. I have heard (not seen) that some holders of Treasury notes have burnt them to spite the government! I hope for the best, even if the worst is to come. Some future Shakspeare will depict the times we live in in striking colors. The wars of "The Roses" bore no comparison to these campaigns between the rival sections. Everywhere our troops are re-enlisting for the war; one regiment re-enlisted, the other day, for forty years! The President has discontinued his Tuesday evening receptions. The Legislature has a bill before it to suppress theatrical amusements during the war. What would Shakspeare think of that? Sugar has risen to $10 and $12 per pound. FEBRUARY 19TH.--Cold and clear. Congress adjourned yesterday, having passed the bill suspending the writ of _habeas corpus_ for six months at least. Now the President is clothed with DICTATORIAL POWERS, to all intents and purposes, so far as the war is concerned. The first effect of the Currency bill is to inflate prices yet more. But as the volume of Treasury notes flows into the Treasury, we shall see prices fall. And soon there will be a great rush to fund the notes, for fear the holders may be _too late_, and have to submit to a discount of 33-1/2 per cent. Dispatches from Gen. Polk state that Sherman has paused at Meridian. FEBRUARY 20TH.--Bright, calm, but still cold--slightly moderating. Roads firm and dusty. Trains of army wagons still go by our house laden with ice. Brig.-Gen. Wm. Preston has been sent to Mexico, with authority to recognize and treat with the new Emperor Maximilian. I see, by a letter from Mr. Benjamin, that he is intrusted by the President with the custody of the "secret service" money. Late papers from the United States show that they have a money panic, and that gold is rising in price. In Lowell not a spindle is turning, and 30,000 operatives are thrown out of employment! From England we learn that the mass of the population are memorializing government to put an end to the war! I saw a _ham_ sell to-day for $350; it weighed fifty pounds, at $7 per pound. FEBRUARY 21ST.--Cold, clear, and calm, but moderating. Mr. Benjamin sent over, this morning, extracts from dispatches received from his commercial agent in London, dated December 26th and January 16th, recommending, what had already been suggested by Mr. McRae, in Paris, a government monopoly in the export of cotton, and in the importation of necessaries, etc. This measure has already been adopted by Congress, which clearly shows that the President can have any measure passed he pleases; and this is a good one. So complete is the Executive master of the "situation", that, in advance of the action of Congress on the Currency bill, the Secretary of the Treasury had prepared plates, etc. for the new issue of notes before the bill passed calling in the old. Some forty of the members of the Congress just ended failed to be re-elected, and of these a large proportion are already seeking office or exemption. The fear is now, that, from a plethora of paper money, we shall soon be without a sufficiency for a circulating medium. There are $750,000,000 in circulation; and the tax bills, etc. will call in, it is estimated, $800,000,000! Well, I am willing to abide the result. Speculators have had their day; and it will be hoped we shall have a season of low prices, if scarcity of money always reduces prices. There are grave lessons for our edification daily arising in such times as these. I know my ribs stick out, being covered by skin only, for the want of sufficient food; and this is the case with many thousands of non-producers, while there is enough for all, if it were equally distributed. The Secretary of War has nothing new from Gen. Polk; and Sherman is supposed to be still at Meridian. There is war between Gen. Winder and Mr. Ould, agent for exchange of prisoners, about the custody and distribution to prisoners, Federal and Confederate. It appears that parents, etc. writing to our prisoners in the enemy's country, for want of three cent stamps, are in the habit of inclosing five or ten cent pieces, and the perquisites of the office amounts to several hundred dollars per month--and the struggle is really between the clerks in the two offices. A. Mr. Higgens, from Maryland, is in Winder's office, and has got the general to propose to the Secretary that he shall have the exclusive handling of the letters; but Mr. Ould, it appears, detected a letter, of an alleged treasonable character, on its way to the enemy's country, written by this Higgens, and reported it to the Secretary. But as the Secretary was much absorbed, and as Winder will indorse Higgens, it is doubtful how the contest for the perquisites will terminate. The Secretary was aroused yesterday. The cold weather burst the water-pipe in his office, or over it, and drove him off to the Spottswood Hotel. FEBRUARY 22D.--The offices are closed, to-day, in honor of Washington's birth-day. But it is a _fast_ day; meal selling for $40 per bushel. Money will not be so abundant a month hence! All my turnip-greens were killed by the frost. The mercury was, on Friday, 5° above zero; to-day it is 40°. Sowed a small bed of curled Savoy cabbage; and saved the early York in my half barrel hot-bed by bringing it into the parlor, where there was fire. A letter from Lieut.-Col. R. A. Alston, Decatur, Ga., says Capt. ---- ----, one of Gen. Morgan's secret agents, has just arrived there, after spending several months in the North, and reports that Lincoln cannot recruit his armies by draft, or any other mode, unless they achieve some signal success in the spring campaign. He says, moreover, that there is a perfect organization, all over the North, for the purpose of revolution and the expulsion or death of the Abolitionists and free negroes; and of this organization Generals ------, ------, and ---- ---- ---- are the military leaders. Col. A. asks permission of the Secretary of War to go into Southern Illinois, where, he is confident, if he cannot contribute to precipitate civil war, he can, at least, bring out thousands of men who will fight for the Southern cause. Dispatches from Gen. Lee show that nearly every regiment in his army has re-enlisted for the war. The body guard of the President has been dispersed. Here is the sequel to the history of the Jew whose goods brought such fabulous prices at auction a few weeks ago: "_A Heavy Robbery--A former citizen of Richmond stripped of all his goods and chattels._--A few weeks ago, Mr. Lewis Hyman, who had for some years carried on a successful and profitable trade in jewelry in the City of Richmond, disposed of his effects with a view of quitting the Confederacy and finding a home in some land where his services were less likely to be required in the tented field. Having settled up his business affairs to his own satisfaction, he applied for and obtained a passport from the Assistant Secretary of War, to enable him to pass our lines. He first took the Southern route, hoping to run out from Wilmington to Nassau; but delays occurring, he returned to Richmond. From this point he went to Staunton, determined to make his exit from the country by the Valley route. All went on smoothly enough until he had passed Woodstock, in Shenandoah County. Between that point and Strasburg he was attacked by a band of robbers and stripped of everything he possessed of value, embracing a heavy amount of money and a large and valuable assortment of jewelry. We have heard his loss estimated at from $175,000 to $200,000. His passport was not taken from him, and after the robbery he was allowed to proceed on his journey--minus the essential means of traveling. It is stated that some of the jewelry taken from him has already made its appearance in the Richmond market. "P.S.--Since writing the above, we have had an interview with Mr. Jacob Ezekiel, who states that the party of Mr. Hyman consisted of Lewis Hyman, wife and child, Madam Son and husband, and H. C. Ezekiel; and the presumption is that if one was robbed, all shared the same fate. Mr. E. thinks that the amount in possession of the whole party would not exceed $100,000. On Friday last two men called upon Mr. Ezekiel, at his place of business in this city, and exhibited a parchment, in Hebrew characters, which they represented was captured on a train on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. This story, Mr. Ezekiel thinks, is incorrect, from the fact that he received a letter from his son, then at Woodstock, dated subsequent to the capture of the train on that road; and he is satisfied that the articles shown him belonged to some of the parties above mentioned." FEBRUARY 23D.--Bright and pleasant. A letter from Gen. Maury indicates now that Mobile is surely to be attacked. He says they may force a passage at Grant's Pass, which is thirty miles distant; and the fleet may pass the forts and reach the lower bay. Gen. M. has 10,000 effective men, and subsistence for 20,000 for six months. He asks 6000 or 7000 more men. He has also food for 4000 horses for six months. But he has only 200 rounds for his cannon, and 250 for his siege guns, and 200 for each musket. Meal is the only food now attainable, except by the rich. We look for a healthy year, everything being so cleanly consumed that no garbage or filth can accumulate. We are all good scavengers now, and there is no need of buzzards in the streets. Even the pigeons can scarcely find a grain to eat. Gold brought $30 for $1, Saturday. Nevertheless, we have only good news from the armies, and we have had a victory in Florida. FEBRUARY 24TH.--Bright and pleasant. Intelligence from the West is of an interesting character. The column of Federal cavalry from Memphis, destined to co-operate with Gen. Sherman, has been intercepted and a junction prevented. And both Sherman and the cavalry are now in full retreat--running out of the country faster than they advanced into it. The desert they made as they traversed the interior of Mississippi they have now to repass, if they can, in the weary retreat, with no supplies but those they brought with them. Many will never get back. And a dispatch from Beauregard confirms Finnegan's victory in Florida. He captured all the enemy's artillery, stores, etc., and for three miles his dead and wounded were found strewn on the ground. Thus the military operations of 1864 are, so far, decidedly favorable. And we shall probably soon have news from Longstreet. If Meade advances, Lee will meet him--and let him beware! Gold is still mounting up--and so with everything exposed for sale. When, when will prices come down? But we shall probably end the war this year--and independence will compensate for all. The whole male population, pretty much, will be in the field this year, and our armies will be strong. So far we have the prestige of success, and our men are resolved to keep it, if the dissensions of the leaders do not interfere with the general purpose. FEBRUARY 25TH.--The President has certainly conferred on Bragg the position once (1862) occupied by Lee, as the following official announcement, in all the papers to-day, demonstrates: "WAR DEPARTMENT, "ADJUTANT AND INSPECTOR GENERAL'S OFFICE, "RICHMOND, February 24th, 1864. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 23. "Gen. Braxton Bragg is assigned to duty at the seat of government, and, under direction of the President, is charged with the conduct of military operations in the armies of the Confederacy. "By order of the Secretary of War. "S. COOPER, "_Adjutant and Inspector General._" No doubt Bragg can give the President valuable counsel--nor can there be any doubt that he enjoys a secret satisfaction in triumphing thus over popular sentiment, which just at this time is much averse to Gen. Bragg. The President is naturally a little oppugnant. He has just appointed a clerk, in the Department of War, a military judge, with rank and pay of colonel of cavalry--one whom he never saw; but the clerk once had a street fight with Mr. Pollard, who has published a pamphlet against the President. Mr. Pollard sees his enemy with three golden stars on each side of his collar. The retreat of Sherman seems to be confirmed. Gen. Beauregard sends the following dispatch: "CHARLESTON, February 23d--2 15 P.M. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "The latest reports from Gen. Finnegan give no particulars of the victory at Occum Pond, except that he has taken all of the enemy's artillery, some 500 or 600 stand of small arms already collected, and that the roads for three miles are strewn with the enemy's dead and wounded. "(Signed) G. T. BEAUREGARD." The _Examiner_ has the following remarks on the appointment of Bragg: "The judicious and opportune appointment of Gen. Bragg to the post of Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Armies, will be appreciated as an illustration of that strong common sense which forms the basis of the President's character, that regard for the opinions and feelings of the country, that respect for the Senate, which are the keys to all that is mysterious in the conduct of our public affairs. The Confederate armies cannot fail to be well pleased. Every soldier's heart feels that merit is the true title to promotion, and that glorious service should insure a splendid reward. From Lookout Mountain, a step to the highest military honor and power is natural and inevitable. Johnston, Lee, and Beauregard learn with grateful emotions that the conqueror of Kentucky and Tennessee has been elevated to a position which his superiority deserves. Finally this happy announcement should enliven the fires of confidence and enthusiasm, reviving among the people like a bucket of water on a newly kindled grate." The day before his appointment, the _Enquirer_ had a long editorial article denouncing in advance his assignment to any prominent position, and severely criticised his conduct in the West. To-day _it hails his appointment as Commander-in-Chief with joy and enthusiasm_! This reminds one of the _Moniteur_ when Napoleon was returning from Elba. The _Enquirer's_ notion is to prevent discord--and hence it is patriotic. The weather is still bright, pleasant, but dusty. We have had only one rain since the 18th of December, and one light snow. My garden is too dry for planting. We have not only the negroes arrayed against as, but it appears that recruiting for the Federal army from Ireland has been carried on to a large extent. FEBRUARY 26TH.--Cool, bright, but windy and dusty. Dispatches announce heavy skirmishing in the vicinity of Dalton--and Gen. Johnston's army was in line of battle. It may be merely a feint of the enemy to aid in the extrication of Sherman. Gen. Lee is here in consultation with the President. They decided that over 1000 men be transferred from the army to the navy--so that something may be soon heard from our iron-clads. Pork is selling at $3 per pound to-day. Writings upon the walls of the houses at the corners of the streets were observed this morning, indicating a riot, if there be no amelioration of the famine. FEBRUARY 27TH.--Bright and pleasant--dusty. But one rain during the winter! The "associated press" publishes an unofficial dispatch, giving almost incredible accounts of Gen. Forrest's defeat of Grierson's cavalry, 10,000 strong, with only 2000. It is said the enemy were cut up and routed, losing all his guns, etc. Sugar is $20 per pound; new bacon, $8; and chickens, $12 per pair. Soon we look for a money panic, when a few hundred millions of the paper money is funded, and as many more collected by the tax collectors. Congress struck the speculators a hard blow. One man, eager to invest his money, gave $100,000 for a house and lot, and he now pays $5000 tax on it; the interest is $6000 more--$11,000 total. His next door neighbor, who bought his house in 1860 for $10,000, similar in every respect, pays $500 tax (valued at date of sale), interest $600; total, $1100 per annum. The speculator pays $10,000 per annum more than his patriotic neighbor, who refused to sell his house for $100,000. FEBRUARY 28TH.--Bright, cool, and dusty. No war news; nor denial or confirmation of the wonderful victory of Forrest in Mississippi. That he captured the enemy's artillery and drove them back, is official. Longstreet has retired from before Knoxville; perhaps to assault Nashville, or to penetrate Kentucky. Yesterday the Secretary ordered Col. Northrop to allow full rations of meal to the engineer corps; to-day he returns the order, saying: "There is not sufficient transportation for full rations to the troops in the field." Last night the Secretary sent for Mr. Ould, exchange agent, and it is thought an exchange of prisoners will be effected, and with Butler. A confidential communication _may_ have been received from Butler, who is a politician, and it may be that he has offered _secret_ inducements, etc. He would like to establish a _trade_ with us for tobacco, as he did for cotton and sugar when he was in New Orleans. No doubt some of the high officials at Washington would _wink_ at it for a share of the profits. The Southern Express Company (Yankee) has made an arrangement with the Quartermaster-General to transport private contributions of supplies to the army--anything to monopolize the railroads, and make private fortunes. Well, "all's well that ends well,"--and our armies may be _forced_ to forage on the enemy. I copy this advertisement from a morning paper: "NOTICE.--Owing to the heavy advance of feed, we are compelled to charge the following rates for boarding horses on and after the 1st of March: Board per month $300.00 " " day 15.00 Single feed 5.00 "_Virginia Stables._ JAMES C. JOHNSON, W. H. SUTHERLAND, B. W. GREEN." Congress and the President parted at the adjournment in bad temper. It is true everything was passed by Congress asked for by the Executive as necessary in the present exigency--a new military bill, putting into the service several hundred thousand more men, comprising the entire male population between the ages of 17 and 50; the tax and currency bills, calculated to realize $600,000,000 or $800,000,000; and the suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_. These were conceded, say the members, for the sake of the country, and not as concessions to the Executive. But the Commissary-General's nomination, and hundreds of others, were not sent into the Senate, in derogation of the Constitution; and hundreds that were sent in, have not been acted on by the Senate, and such officers now act in violation of the Constitution. Dill's Government Bakery, Clay Street, is now in flames--supposed to be the work of an incendiary. Loss not likely to be heavy. FEBRUARY 29TH.--Raining moderately. There is a rumor that Frederick's Hall, between this city and Fredericksburg, was taken to-day by a detachment of the enemy's cavalry, an hour after Gen. Lee passed on his way to the army. This is only rumor, however. A dispatch from Gen. Lee's Chief Commissary, received to-day, says the army has only bread enough to last till the 1st of March, to-morrow! and that meat is getting scarce again. Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, indorses on this, that he _foresaw_ and frequently _foretold_ that such a crisis would come. He says transportation sufficient cannot be had, and that he has just heard of an accident to the Wilmington Railroad, which will diminish the transportation of corn one-half; and he says a similar accident to the Charlotte Road would be fatal. Comfortable! And when I saw him afterward, his face was lit up with triumph, as if he had gained a victory! He _predicted_ it, because they would not let him impress all the food in the country. And now he has no remedy for the pressing need. But the soldiers won't starve, in spite of him. CHAPTER XXXVI Attempt to capture Richmond.--Governor Vance and Judge Pearson-- Preparations to blow up the "Libby" prisoners.--Letter from General Lee.--Proposal to execute Dahlgren's raiders.--General Butler on the Eastern Shore.--Colonel Dahlgren's body.--Destitution of the army.-- Strength of the Southwestern army.--Destitution of my family.-- Protest from South Carolina.--Difficulty with P. Milmo & Co.--Hon. J. W. Wall. MARCH 1ST.--Dark and raining. As the morning progressed, the city was a little startled by the sound of artillery in a northern direction, and not very distant. Couriers and horsemen from the country announced the approach of the enemy _within_ the outer fortifications; a column of 5000 cavalry. Then Hon. James Lyons came in, reporting that the enemy were shelling his house, one and a half miles from the city. And Gen. Elzey (in command) said, at the department, that a fight was in progress; and that Brig.-Gen. Custis Lee was directing it in person. But an hour or so after the report of artillery ceased, and the excitement died away. Yet the local troops and militia are marching out as I write; and a caisson that came in an hour ago has just passed our door, returning to the field. Of course the city is full of rumors, and no one yet knows what has occurred. I presume it was only distant shelling, as no wounded men have been brought in. It is reported that the enemy captured Mr. Seddon's family twenty-five miles distant,--also Gen. Wise's. To-morrow we shall know more; but no _uneasiness_ is felt as to the result. In a few hours we can muster men enough to defend the city against 25,000. A letter from Gen. Whiting suggests that martial law be proclaimed in North Carolina, as a Judge Pearson--a traitor, he thinks--is discharging men who have in conscripts as substitutes, on the ground that the act of Congress is unconstitutional. The President suggest a General Order, etc., complying with Gen. W.'s request. Col. A. C. Myers, late Quartermaster-General, writes again, indignantly resenting the President's indorsement, etc. as unfounded and injurious, etc. The President indorses this letter as follows: "Unless this letter is designed to ask whether Col. M. is still in the army, or discharged by the appointment of a successor, I find nothing which changes the case since my indorsement referred to, as causing resentment and calling for vindication. Your orders were certainly official communications. Not having seen them, I can express no opinion upon their terms.--JEFFERSON DAVIS." MARCH 2D.--A slight snow on the ground this morning--but bright and cool. Last night, after I had retired to bed, we heard a brisk cannonading, and volleys of musketry, a few miles distant. This morning an excitement, but no alarm, pervaded the city. It was certainly a formidable attempt to take the city by surprise. From the number of disgraceful failures heretofore, the last very recently, the enemy must have come to the desperate resolution to storm the city this time at all hazards. And indeed the coming upon it was sudden, and if there had been a column of 15,000 bold men in the assault, they might have penetrated it. But now, twenty-four hours subsequently, 30,000 would fail in the attempt. The Department Clerks were in action in the evening in five minutes after they were formed in line. Capt. Ellery, Chief Clerk of 2d Auditor, was killed, and several were wounded. It rained fast all the time, and it was very dark. The enemy's cavalry charged upon them, firing as they came; they were ordered to lie flat on the ground. This they did, until the enemy came within fifteen yards of them, when they rose and fired, sending the assailants to the right and left, helter-skelter. How many fell is not yet known. To-day Gen. Hampton sent in 77 prisoners, taken six miles above town--one lieutenant-colonel among them; and Yankee horses, etc. are coming in every hour. Gov. Vance writes that inasmuch as Judge Pearson still grants the writ of _habeas corpus_, and discharges all who have put substitutes in the army, on the ground of the unconstitutionality of the act of Congress, he is bound by his oath to sustain the judge, even to the summoning the military force of the State to resist the Confederate States authorities. But to avoid such a fatal collision, he is willing to abide the decision of the Supreme Court, to assemble in June; the substitute men, meantime, to be left unmolested. We shall soon see the President's decision, which will probably be martial law. Last night, when it was supposed probable that the prisoners of war at the Libby might attempt to break out, Gen. Winder ordered that a large amount of powder be placed under the building, with instructions to blow them up, if the attempt were made. He was persuaded, however, to consult the Secretary of War first, and get his approbation. The Secretary would give no such order, but said the prisoners must not be permitted to escape under any circumstances, which was considered sanction enough. Capt. ---- obtained an order for, and procured several hundred pounds of gunpowder, which were placed in readiness. Whether the prisoners were advised of this I know not; but I told Capt. ---- it could not be justifiable to spring such a mine in the absence of their knowledge of the fate awaiting them, in the event of their attempt to break out,--because such prisoners are not to be condemned for striving to regain their liberty. Indeed, it is the _duty_ of a prisoner of war to escape if he can. Gen. Winder addressed me in a friendly manner to-day, the first time in two years. The President was in a bad humor yesterday, when the enemy's guns were heard even in his office. The last dispatch from Gen. Lee informs us that Meade, who had advanced, had fallen back again. But communications are cut between us and Lee; and we have no intelligence since Monday. Gen. Wilcox is organizing an impromptu brigade here, formed of the furloughed officers and men found everywhere in the streets and at the hotels. This looks as if the danger were not yet regarded as over. The Secretary of War was locked up with the Quartermaster and Commissary-Generals and other bureau officers, supposed to be discussing the damage done by the enemy to the railroads, etc. etc. I hope it was not a consultation upon any presumed necessity of the abandonment of the city! We were paid to-day in $5 bills. I gave $20 for half a cord of wood, and $60 for a bushel of common white cornfield beans. Bacon is yet $8 per pound; but more is coming to the city than usual, and a decline may be looked for, I hope. The farmers above the city, who have been hoarding grain, meat, etc., will lose much by the raiders. MARCH 3D.--Bright and frosty. Confused accounts of the raid in the morning papers. During the day it was reported that Col. Johnson's forces had been cut up this morning by superior numbers, and that Butler was advancing up the Peninsula with 15,000 men. The tocsin was sounded in the afternoon, and the militia called out; every available man being summoned to the field for the defense of the city. The opinion prevails that the plan to liberate the prisoners and capture Richmond is not fully developed yet, nor abandoned. My only apprehension is that while our troops may be engaged in one direction, a detachment of the enemy may rush in from the opposite quarter. But the attempt must fail. There is much excitement, but no alarm. It is rather eagerness to meet the foe, and a desire that he may come. The Department Battalion returned at 2 P.M. to attend the funeral of Capt. Ellery, and expect to be marched out again this evening toward Bottom's Bridge, where the enemy is said to be in considerable force. Custis, though detailed to duty in the department, threw down his pen to-day, and said he _would_ go out and be in the next fight. And so he left me suddenly. The Secretary, to whom I communicated this, said it was right and proper for him to go--even without orders. He goes without a blanket, preferring not to sleep, to carrying one. At night he will sit by a fire in the field. Some of the clerks would shoot Mr. Memminger cheerfully. He will not pay them their salaries, on some trivial informality in the certificates; and while they are fighting and bleeding in his defense, their wives and children are threatened to be turned out of doors by the boarding-house keepers. MARCH 4TH.--Bright and frosty in the morning; warm and cloudy in the afternoon. The enemy have disappeared. On the 17th inst., Gen. Lee wrote the Secretary of War that he had received a letter from Gen. Longstreet, asking that Pickett's Division be in readiness to join him; also that a brigade of Gen. Buckner's Division, at Dalton, be sent him at once. He says the force immediately in front of him consists of the 4th, 11th, 9th, and 23d corps, besides a large body of cavalry from Middle Tennessee. Gen. Lee says the railroad from Chattanooga to Knoxville, being about completed, will enable the enemy to combine on either Johnston or Longstreet. He (Gen. Lee) says, however, that the 4th and 11th corps are small, and may have been consolidated; the 23d also is small; but he does not know the strength of the enemy. He thinks Pickett's Division should be sent as desired, and its place filled with troops from South Carolina, etc., where operations will probably soon cease. The Secretary sent this to the President. The President sent it back to-day, indorsed, "How can Pickett's Division be replaced?--J. D." Henley's Battalion returned this evening; and Custis can resume his school, unless he should be among the list doomed to the rank in the field, for which he is physically incapable, as Surgeon Garnett, the President's physician, has certified. MARCH 5TH.--Clear and pleasant, after a slight shower in the morning. The raid is considered at an end, and it has ended disastrously for the invaders. Some extraordinary memoranda were captured from the raiders, showing a diabolical purpose, and creating a profound sensation here. The cabinet have been in consultation many hours in regard to it, and I have reason to believe it is the present purpose to deal summarily with the captives taken with Dahlgren, but the "sober second thought" will prevail, and they will not be executed, notwithstanding the thunders of the press. Retaliation for such outrages committed on others having been declined, the President and cabinet can hardly be expected to begin with such sanguinary punishments when _their own_ lives are threatened. It would be an act liable to grave criticism. Nevertheless, Mr. Secretary Seddon has written a letter to-day to Gen. Lee, asking his views on a matter of such importance as the execution of some _ninety_ men of Dahlgren's immediate followers, not, as he says, to divide the responsibility, nor to effect a purpose, which has the sanction of the President, the cabinet, and _Gen. Bragg_, but to have his _views_, and information as to what would probably be its effect on the army under his command. We shall soon know, I hope, what Gen. Lee will have to say on the subject, and I am mistaken if he does not oppose it. If these men had been put to death in the heat of passion, on the field, it would have been justified, but it is too late now. Besides, _Gen. Lee's son_ is a captive in the hands of the enemy, designated for retaliation whenever we shall execute any of their prisoners in our hands. It is cruelty to Gen. Lee! It is already rumored that Gen. Butler has been removed, and a flag of truce boat is certainly at City Point, laden with prisoners sent up for exchange. The Commissary-General has sent in a paper saying that unless the passenger cars on the Southern Road be discontinued, he cannot supply half enough meal for Lee's army. He has abundance in Georgia and South Carolina, but cannot get transportation. He says the last barrel of flour from Lynchburg has gone to the army. We have news from the West that Morgan and his men will be in the saddle in a few days. After all, Mr. Lyon's house was not touched by any of the enemy's shells. But one shell struck within 300 yards of one house in Clay Street, and not even the women and children were alarmed. The price of a turkey to-day is $60. MARCH 6TH.--My birthday--55. Bright and frosty; subsequently warm and pleasant. No news. But some indignation in the streets at the Adjutant-General's (Cooper) order, removing the clerks and putting them in the army, just when they had, by their valor, saved the capital from flames and the throats of the President and his cabinet from the knives of the enemy. If the order be executed, the heads of the government will receive and merit execration. It won't be done. MARCH 7TH.--Bright and frosty morning; cloudy and warm in the evening. Cannon and musketry were heard this morning some miles northwest of the city. Probably Gen. Hampton fell in with one of the lost detachments of the raiders, seeking a way of escape. This attempt to surprise Richmond was a disgraceful failure. The Secretary of War has gone up to his farm for a few days to see the extent of injury done him by the enemy. Mr. Benjamin and Assistant Secretary Campbell are _already_ "allowing" men to pass to the United States, and even directly to _Washington_. Surely the injury done us by information thus conveyed to the enemy hitherto, ought to be a sufficient warning. Gen. Bragg has resolved to keep a body of 1500 cavalry permanently within the city and its vicinity. MARCH 8TH.--An application of Capt. C. B. Duffield, for a lieutenant-colonelcy, recommended by Col. Preston, came back from the President to-day. It was favorably indorsed by the Secretary, but Gen. Cooper marked it adversely, saying the Assistant Adjutant-General should not execute the Conscription act, and finally, the President simply said, "The whole organization requires revision--J. D." I hope it _will_ be revised, and nine-tenths of its officers put in the army as conscripts. Raining this morning, and alternate clouds and sunshine during the day. One of the clerks who was in the engagement, Tuesday night, March 1st, informed me that the enemy's cavalry approached slowly up the hill, on the crest of which the battalion was lying. At the word, the boys rose and fired on their knees. He says the enemy delivered a volley before they retreated, killing two of our men and wounding several. Reports from the Eastern Shore of Virginia indicate that Gen. Butler's rule there has been even worse than Lockwood's. It is said that the subordinate officers on that quiet peninsula are merely _his_ agents, to tax and fine and plunder the unoffending people,--never in arms, and who have, with few exceptions, "taken the oath" repeatedly. One family, however (four sisters, the Misses P.), relatives of my wife, have not yielded. They allege that their father and oldest sister were persecuted to death by the orders of the general, and they _could not_ swear allegiance to any government sanctioning such outrages in its agents. They were repeatedly arrested, and torn from their paternal roof at all hours of the day and night, but only uttered defiance. They are ladies of the first standing, highly accomplished, and of ample fortune, but are ready to suffer death rather than submit to the behests of a petty tyrant. Butler abandoned the attempt, but the soldiery never lose an opportunity of annoying the family. MARCH 9TH.--A frosty morning, with dense fog; subsequently a pretty day. This is the famine month. Prices of every commodity in the market--up, up, up. Bacon, $10 to $15 per pound; meal, $50 per bushel. But the market-houses are deserted, the meat stalls all closed, only here and there a cart, offering turnips, cabbages, parsnips, carrots, etc., at outrageous prices. However, the super-abundant paper money is beginning to flow into the Treasury, and that reflex of the financial tide may produce salutary results a few weeks hence. MARCH 10TH.--Raining fast all day. There was a rumor to-day that the enemy were approaching again, but the Secretary knew nothing of it. Major Griswold is at variance with Gen. Winder, who has relieved him as Provost Marshal, and ordered him to Americus, Ga., to be second in command of the prisons, and assigned Major Carrington to duty as Provost Marshal here. Major Griswold makes a pathetic appeal to the President to be allowed to stay here in his old office. The following, from the _Dispatch_, differs from the _Examiner's_ account of the disposal of Col. Dahlgren's body: "_Col. Dahlgren's Body._--On Sunday afternoon last, the body of Col. Ulric Dahlgren, one of the leaders of the late Yankee raid on this city, and on whose body the paper revealing their designs, if successful, were found, was brought to this city on the York River Railroad train, and remained in the car (baggage) in which it was till yesterday afternoon, when it was transferred to some retired burial place. The object in bringing Dahlgren's body here was for identification, and was visited, among others, by Captain Dement and Mr. Mountcastle, of this city, who were recently captured and taken around by the raiders. These gentlemen readily recognized it as that of the leader of the band sent to assassinate the President and burn the city. The appearance of the corpse yesterday was decidedly more genteel than could be expected, considering the length of time he has been dead. He was laid in a plain white pine coffin, with flat top, and was dressed in a clean, coarse white cotton shirt, dark blue pants, and enveloped in a dark military blanket. In stature he was about five feet ten inches high, with a long, cadaverous face, light hair, slight beard, closely shaven, and had a small goatee, very light in color. In age we suppose he was about thirty years, and the expression of his countenance indicated that of pain." MARCH 11TH.--Rained all night--a calm, warm rain. Calm and warm to-day, with light fog, but no rain. It is now supposed the clerks (who saved the city) will be kept here to defend it. MARCH 12TH.--It cleared away yesterday evening, and this morning, after the dispersion of a fog, the sun shone out in great glory, and the day was bright, calm, and pleasant. The trees begin to exhibit buds, and the grass is quite green. My wife received a letter to-day from Mrs. Marling, Raleigh, N. C., containing some collard seed, which was immediately sown in a bed already prepared. And a friend sent us some fresh pork spare ribs and chine, and four heads of cabbage--so that we shall have subsistence for several days. My income, including Custis's, is not less, now, than $600 per month, or $7200 per annum; but we are still poor, with flour at $300 per barrel; meal, $50 per bushel; and even fresh fish at $5 per pound. A market-woman asked $5 to-day for a half pint of snap beans, to plant! MARCH 13TH.--A lovely spring day--bright, warm, and calm. There is nothing new, only the burning of houses, mills, etc. on the York River by the Yankees, and that is nothing new. Subsequently the day became very windy, but not cold. The roads will be dry again, and military operations will be resumed. The campaign will be an early one in Virginia, probably. Our people are impatient to meet the foe, for they are weary of the war. Blood will flow in torrents, unless the invaders avoid great battles; and in that event our armies may assume the offensive. It is now thought that the Department Battalion will be kept here for the defense of the city; the clerks, or most of them, retaining their offices. Those having families may possibly live on their salaries; but those who live at boarding-houses cannot, for board is now from $200 to $300 per month. Relief _must_ soon come from some quarter, else many in this community will famish. But they prefer death to submission to the terms offered by the Abolitionists at Washington. The government must provide for the destitute, and array every one capable of bearing arms in the field. MARCH 14TH.--Bright, pleasant day. The city is full of generals--Lee and his son (the one just returned from captivity), Longstreet, Whiting, Wise, Hoke, Morgan (he was ordered by Gen. Cooper to desist from his enterprise in the West), Evans, and many others. Some fourteen attended St. Paul's (Episcopal) Church yesterday, where the President worships. Doubtless they are in consultation on the pressing needs of the country. About noon to-day a dispatch came from Lieut. Col. Cole, Gen. Lee's principal commissary, at Orange Court House, dated 12th inst., saying _the army was out of meat, and had but one day's rations of bread_. This I placed in the hands of the Secretary myself, and he seemed roused by it. Half an hour after, I saw Col. Northrop coming out of the department with a pale face, and triumphant, compressed lips. He had indorsed on the dispatch, before it came--it was addressed to him--that the state of things had come which he had long and often _predicted_, and to avert which he had repeatedly suggested the remedy; but the Secretary would not! No wonder the generals are in consultation, for all the armies are in the same lamentable predicament--to the great triumph of Col. N., whose prescience is triumphantly vindicated! But Gen. Wise, when I mentioned these things to him, said _we would starve in the midst of plenty_, meaning that Col. N was incompetent to hold the position of Commissary-General. At 2 P.M. a dispatch (which I likewise placed in the hands of the Secretary) came from Gen. Pickett, with information that thirteen of the enemy's transports passed Yorktown yesterday with troops from Norfolk, the Eastern Shore of Virginia, Washington City, etc.--such was the report of the signal corps. They also reported that Gen. Meade would order a general advance, to _check Gen. Lee_. What all this means I know not, unless it be meant to aid Gen. Kilpatrick to get back the way he came with his raiding cavalry--or else Gen. Lee's army is in motion, even while he is here. It must do something, or starve. L. P. Walker, the first Secretary of War, is here, applying for an appointment as judge advocate of one of the military courts. Gen. Bragg is at work. I saw by the President's papers to-day, that the Secretary's recommendation to remit the sentence to drop an officer was referred to him. He indorsed on it that the sentence was just, and ought to be executed. The President then indorsed: "Drop him.--J. D." MARCH 15TH.--A clear, cool morning; but rained in the evening. By the correspondence of the department, I saw to-day that 35,000 bushels of corn left North Carolina nearly a week ago for Lee's army, and about the same time 400,000 pounds of bacon was in readiness to be shipped from Augusta, Ga. At short rations, that would furnish bread and meat for the army several weeks. We hear nothing additional from the enemy on the Peninsula. I doubt whether they mean fight. We are buoyed again with rumors of an intention on the part of France to recognize us. So mote it be! We are preparing, however, to strike hard blows single-banded and unaided, if it must be. MARCH 16TH.--There was ice last night. Cold all day. Gen. Maury writes that no immediate attack on Mobile need be apprehended now. He goes next to Savannah to look after the defenses of that city. The _Examiner_ to-day publishes Gen. Jos. E. Johnston's report of his operations in Mississippi last summer. He says the disaster at Vicksburg was owing to Gen. Pemberton's disobedience of orders. He was ordered to concentrate his army and give battle before the place was invested, and under no circumstances to allow himself to be besieged, which must of course result in disaster. He says, also, that he was about to manoeuvre in such manner as would have probably resulted in the saving a large proportion of his men, when, to his astonishment, he learned that Gen. P. had capitulated. Willoughby Newton reports that the enemy are building a number of light boats, to be worked with muffled oars, at Point Lookout, Md., and suggests that they may be designed to pass the obstructions in the James River, in another attempt to capture Richmond. It is said Lieut.-Gen. E. Kirby Smith, trans-Mississippi, has been made a full general, and that Major-Gen. Sterling Price relieves Lieut.-Gen. Holmes, who is to report at Richmond. If this be so, it is very good policy. Gen. Lee is still here, but will leave very soon. Gen. Bragg has taken measures to insure the transportation of meat and grain from the South. Much food for Lee's army has arrived during the last two days. MARCH 17TH.--Bright, clear, and pleasant; frosty in the morning. Letters from Lieut.-Gen. Hood to the President, Gen Bragg, and the Secretary of War, give a cheering account of Gen. Johnston's army at Dalton. The men are well fed and well clothed. They are in high spirits, "and eager for the fray." The number is 40,000. Gen. H. urges, most eloquently, the junction of Polk's and Loring's troops with these, making some 60,000,--Grant having 50,000,--and then uniting with Longstreet's army, perhaps 30,000 more, and getting in the rear of the enemy. He says this would be _certain_ to drive Grant out of Tennessee and Kentucky, and probably end the war. But if we lie still, Grant will eventually accumulate overwhelming numbers, and penetrate farther: and if he beats us, it would be difficult to rally again for another stand, so despondent would become the people. Gen. Hood deprecates another invasion of Pennsylvania, which would be sure to result in defeat. He is decided in his conviction that the best policy is to take the initiative, and drive the enemy out of Tennessee and Kentucky, which could be accomplished to a _certainty_. MARCH 18TH.--Bright and warmer, but windy. Letters received at the department to-day, from Georgia, show than only one-eighth of the capacity of the railroads have been used for the subsistence of the army. The rogues among the multitude of quartermasters have made fortunes themselves, and almost ruined the country. It appears that there is abundance of grain and meat in the country, if it were only equally distributed among the consumers. It is to be hoped the rogues will now be excluded from the railroads. The belief prevails that Gen. Lee's army is in motion. It may be a feint, to prevent reinforcements from being sent to Grant. My daughter's cat is staggering to-day, for want of animal food. Sometimes I fancy I stagger myself. We do not average two ounces of meat daily; and some do not get any for several days together. Meal is $50 per bushel. I saw adamantine candles sell at auction to-day (box) at $10 per pound; tallow, $6.50. Bacon brought $7.75 per pound by the 100 pounds. My good friend Dr. Powell and his family were absent from the farm near the city during the late raid. The enemy carried off several of his finest horses and mules, and consumed much of his supplies of food, etc., but utterly failed to induce any of his negroes to leave the place--and he has many. One of the female servants, when the enemy approached, ran into the house and secured all the silver, concealing it in her own house, and keeping it safely for her mistress. MARCH 19TH.--Warmer, calm and cloudy. I saw a large turkey to-day in market (wild), for which $100 was demanded. I saw Dr. Powell to-day. He says the Federals asked his servants where the master and mistress had gone? and they were told that they had been called to Petersburg to see a sick daughter. They then asked where the spoons were, and were told none were in the house. They asked if there was not a watch, and the servant said her master wore it. They then demanded where the money was kept, and were told it was always kept in bank. They made the servants open drawers, press, etc.; and when they discovered some pans of milk, they took them up and drank out of them with eagerness. They took nothing from the house, destroyed nothing, and the doctor deems himself fortunate. They left him two horses and eight mules. MARCH 20TH.--Bright and beautiful weather. There are fires occurring now every night; and several buildings have been burned in the immediate vicinity of the War Department. These are attributed to incendiary Yankees, and the guard at the public offices has been doubled. Mrs. Seddon, wife of the Secretary of War, resolved not to lose more wine by the visits of the Federal raiders, sent to auction last week twelve demijohns, which brought her $6000--$500 a demijohn. MARCH 21ST.--Although cloudy, there was ice this morning, and cold all day. Yesterday another thousand prisoners were brought up by the flag of truce boat. A large company of both sexes welcomed them in the Capitol Square, whither some baskets of food were sent by those who had some patriotism with their abundance. The President made them a comforting speech, alluding to their toils, bravery, and sufferings in captivity; and promised them, after a brief respite, that they should be in the field again. The following conversation took place yesterday between the President and some young ladies of his acquaintance, with whom he promenaded: _Miss._--Do you think they will like to return to the field? _President._--It may seem hard; but even those boys (pointing to some youths around the monument twelve or fourteen years old) will have their trial. _Miss._--But how shall the army be fed? _President._--I don't see why rats, if fat, are not as good as squirrels. Our men _did_ eat mule meat at Vicksburg; but it would be an expensive luxury now. After this, the President fell into a grave mood, and some remark about recognition caused him to say twice--"We have no friends abroad!" MARCH 22D.--Cloudy morning, with ice; subsequently a snow-storm all day long. No war news. But meat and grain are coming freely from the South. This gives rise to a rumor that Lee will fall back, and that the capital will be besieged; all without any foundation. A Mrs. ---- from Maryland, whose only son is in a Federal prison, writes the President (she is in this city) that she desires to go to Canada on some secret enterprise. The President favors her purpose in an indorsement. On this the Secretary indorses a purpose to facilitate her design, and suggests that she be paid $1000 in gold from the secret service fund. She is a Roman Catholic, and intimates that the bishops, priests, and nuns will aid her. MARCH 23D.--Snow fell all night, and was eight or ten inches deep this morning; but it was a bright morning, and glorious sunshine all day,--the anniversary of the birth of Shakspeare, 300 years ago,--and the snow is melting rapidly. The Secretary of War had a large amount of plate taken from the department to-day to his lodgings at the Spottswood Hotel. It was captured from the enemy with Dahlgren, who had pillaged it from our opulent families in the country. MARCH 24TH.--A bright pleasant day--snow nearly gone. Next week the clerks in the departments, between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, are to be enrolled, and perhaps the greater number will be detailed to their present employments. Gov. Vance is here, and the President is about to appoint some of his friends brigadiers, which is conciliatory. Gen. Longstreet has written a letter to the President, which I have not seen. The President sent it to the Secretary to-day, marked "confidential." It must relate either to subsistence or to important movements in meditation. If the latter, we shall soon know it. MARCH 25TH.--Raining moderately. Yesterday Mr. Miles, member of Congress from South Carolina, received a dispatch from Charleston, signed by many of the leading citizens, protesting against the removal of 52 companies of cavalry from that department to Virginia. They say so few will be left that the railroads, plantations, and even the City of Charleston will be exposed to the easy capture of the enemy; and this is "approved" and signed by T. Jordan, Chief of Staff. It was given to the Secretary of War, who sent it to Gen. Bragg, assuring him that the citizens signing it were the most _influential_ in the State, etc. Gen. Bragg sent it back with an indignant note. He says the President gave the order, and it was a proper one. These companies of cavalry have not shared the hardships of the war, and have done no fighting; more cavalry has been held by Gen. Beauregard, in proportion to the number of his army, than by any other general; that skeleton regiments, which have gone through fire and blood, ought to be allowed to relieve them; and when recruited, would be ample for the defense of the coast, etc. Gen. Bragg concluded by saying that the offense of having the military orders of the commander-in-chief, etc. exposed to civilians, to be criticised and protested against--and "approved" by the Chief of Staff--at such a time as this, and in a matter of such grave importance--ought not to be suffered to pass without a merited rebuke. And I am sure poor Beauregard will get the rebuke; for all the military and civil functionaries near the government partake of something of a dislike of him. And yet Beauregard was wrong to make any stir about it; and the President himself only acted in accordance with Gen. Lee's suggestions, noted at the time in this Diary. Gen. Polk writes from Dunapolis that he will have communications with Jackson restored in a few days, and that the injury to the railroads was not so great as the enemy represented. Mr. Memminger, the Secretary of the Treasury, is in a black Dutch fury. It appears that his agent, C. C. Thayer, with $15,000,000 Treasury notes for disbursement in Texas, arrived at the mouth of the Rio Grande in December, when the enemy had possession of Brownsville, and when Matamoras was in revolution. He then conferred with Mr. Benjamin's friend (and Confederate States secret agent) Mr. Quintero, and Quartermaster Russell, who advised him to deposit the treasure with P. Milmo & Co.--a house with which our agents have had large transactions, and Mr. M. being son-in-law to Gov. Vidurri--to be shipped to Eagle Pass _via_ Monterey to San Antonio, etc. But alas! and alas! P. Milmo & Co., upon being informed that fifteen millions were in their custody, notified our agents that they would seize it all, and hold it all, until certain alleged claims they held against the Confederate States Government were paid. Mr. Quintero, who sends this precious intelligence, says he thinks the money will soon be released--and so do I, when it is ascertained that it will be of no value to any of the parties there. Mr. Memminger, however, wants Quartermaster Russell cashiered, and court-martialed, and, moreover, decapitated! MARCH 26TH.--Bright morning, but a cold, cloudy, windy day. A great crowd of people have been at the Treasury building; all day, funding Treasury notes. It is to be hoped that as money gets scarcer, food and raiment will get cheaper. Mr. Benton, the dentist, escaped being conscribed last year by the ingenuity of his attorney, G. W. Randolph, formerly Secretary of War, who, after keeping his case in suspense (alleging that dentists were physicians or experts) as long as possible, finally contrived to have him appointed _hospital steward_--the present Secretary consenting. But now the enrolling officer is after him again, and it will be seen what he is to do next. The act says dentists shall serve as conscripts. And Mr. Randolph himself was put in the category of conscripts by the late military act, but Gov. Smith has decreed his exemption as a member of the Common Council! Oh, patriotism, where are thy votaries? Some go so far as to say Gov. Smith is too free with exemptions! MARCH 27TH.--Bright morning, but windy; subsequently warmer, and wind lulled. Collards coming up. Potatoes all rotted in the ground during the recent cold weather. I shall rely on other vegetables, which I am now beginning to sow freely. We have no war news to-day. MARCH 28TH.--April-like day, but no rain; clouds, and sunshine, and warm. About 2 P.M. the Secretary received a dispatch stating that the enemy had appeared in force opposite Fredericksburg, and attempted, without success, to cross. A copy of this was immediately sent to Gen. Lee. It is said that Gen. Longstreet is marching with expedition down the Valley of the Shenandoah, to flank Meade or Grant. I doubt it. But the campaign will commence as soon as the weather will permit. A letter from G. B. Lamar, Savannah, Ga., informs the Secretary that he (L.) has command of five steamers, and that he can easily make arrangements with the (Federal) commandant of Fort Pulaski to permit them to pass and repass. His proposition to the government is to bring in munitions of war, etc., and take out cotton, charging one-half for freight. Mr. Memminger having seen this, advises the Secretary to require the delivery of a cargo before supplying any cotton. Mr. M. has a sort of _jealousy_ of Mr. Lamar. MARCH 29TH.--A furious gale, eastern, and rain. No news, except the appearance of a few gun-boats down the river; which no one regards as an important matter. Great crowds are funding their Treasury notes to-day; but prices of provisions are not diminished. White beans, such as I paid $60 a bushel for early in this month, are now held at $75. What _shall_ we do to subsist until the next harvest? MARCH 30TH.--It rained all night, the wind blowing a gale from the east. This morning the wind was from the west, blowing moderately; and although cloudy, no rain. The enemy's gun-boats down the river shelled the shore where it was suspected we had troops in ambush; and when some of their barges approached the shore, it was ascertained they were not mistaken, for a volley from our men (signal corps) killed and wounded half the crew. The remainder put back to the gun-boats. There is great tribulation among the departmental clerks, who are to be enrolled as conscripts, and probably sent to the army. The young relatives of some of the Secretaries are being appointed commissaries, quartermasters, surgeons, etc. They keep out of danger. Many ladies have been appointed clerks. There is a roomful of them just over the Secretary's office, and he says they distract him with their noise of moving of chairs and running about, etc. The papers publish an account of a battle of snow-balls in our army, which indicates the spirit of the troops, when, perhaps, they are upon the eve of passing through such awful scenes of carnage as will make the world tremble at the appalling spectacle. MARCH 31ST.--Cloudy and cold. No war news, though it is generally believed that Longstreet is really in the valley. A speech delivered by the Hon. J. W. Wall, in New Jersey, is copied in all the Southern papers, and read with interest by our people. CHAPTER XXXVII. Return of Mr. Ould and Capt. Hatch from Fortress Monroe.--Quarrel between Mr. Memminger and Mr. Seddon.--Famine.--A victory in Louisiana.-- Vice-President Stephens's speech.--Victory of Gen. Forrest.--Capture of Plymouth, N. C.--Gen. Lee's bill of fare. APRIL 1ST.--Cloudy all day, with occasional light showers. No war news; but the papers have an account of the shooting of an infant by some Yankees on account of its _name_. This shows that the war is degenerating more and more into savage barbarism. APRIL 2D.--It rained furiously all night; wind northwest, and snowed to-day until 12 M. to a depth of several inches. It is still blowing a gale from the northwest. To-day the clerks were paid in the new currency; but I see no abatement of prices from the scarcity of money, caused by funding. Shad are selling at $10 each, paper; or 50 cents, silver. Gold and silver are circulating--a little. A letter from Liberty, Va., states that government bacon (tithe) is spoiling, in bulk, for want of attention. From Washington County there are complaints that Gen. Longstreet's impressing officers are taking all, except five bushels of grain and fifty pounds of bacon for each adult--a plenty, one would think, under the circumstances. Senator Hunter has asked and obtained a detail for Mr. Daudridge (under eighteen) as quartermaster's clerk. And Mr. Secretary Seddon has ordered the commissary to let Mrs. Michie have sugar and flour for her family, white and black. Mr. Secretary Benjamin sent over, to-day, for passports to the Mississippi River for two "secret agents." What for? Gen. Lee has made regulations to prevent cotton, tobacco, etc. passing his lines into the enemy's country, unless allowed by the government. But, then, several in authority _will_ "allow" it without limit. I set out sixty-eight early cabbage-plants yesterday. They are now under the snow! APRIL 3D.--The snow has disappeared; but it is cloudy, with a cold northwest wind. The James River is very high, and all the streams are so much swollen that no military operations in the field are looked for immediately. It is generally believed that Grant, the Federal lieutenant-general, will concentrate an immense army for the capture of Richmond, and our authorities are invoked to make the necessary dispositions to resist the attempt. The papers contain a supplemental proclamation of President Lincoln, and understand it to be merely an electioneering card to secure the Abolition vote in the convention to nominate a candidate for the Presidency. If it does not mean that, its object must be to induce us to send an army North to burn and pillage, so that the Federal authorities may have a pretext to raise new armies, and prosecute the war, not for the Union, but for conquest and power. Custis and I received yesterday $500 in the _new_ Treasury notes, but we had to pay $16 for two pounds of bacon. So no diminution of prices is yet experienced. _It is now a famine_, although I believe we are starving in the midst of plenty, if it were only equally distributed. But the government will not, it seems, require the railroads to bring provisions to the exclusion of freight for the speculators. Certain non-combating officers of the government have abundance brought them by the _Southern_ Express Co., and the merchants have abundance of goods brought hither by the same company for the purposes of speculation. Well, we shall see the result! One is almost ready to believe that the government declines to fill the depots here, harboring the purpose of abandoning the city. That would be abandonment of the cause. Nearly all who own no slaves would remain citizens of the United States, if permitted, without further molestation on the part of the Federal authorities, and many Virginians in the field might abandon the Confederate States army. The State would be lost, and North Carolina and Tennessee would have an inevitable avalanche of invasion precipitated upon them. The only hope would be civil war in the North, a not improbable event. What could they do with four millions of negroes arrogating equality with the whites? APRIL 4TH.--A cold rain all day; wind from northwest. Mr. Ould and Capt. Hatch, agents of exchange (of prisoners), have returned from a conference with Gen. Butler, at Fortress Monroe, and it is announced that arrangements have been made for an immediate resumption of the exchange of prisoners on the old footing. Thus has the government abandoned the ground so proudly assumed--of non-intercourse with Butler, and the press is firing away at it for negotiating with the "Beast" and outlaw. But our men in captivity are in favor of a speedy exchange, no matter with whom the agreement is made. Forrest has destroyed Paducah, Ky. There is a little quarrel in progress between the Secretaries of War and the Treasury. Some days ago the Postmaster-General got from the President an order that his clerks should be detailed for the use of the department until further orders. The Secretary of the Treasury made an application to the Secretary of War for a similar detail, but it was refused. Mr. Memminger appealed, with some acerbity, to the President, and the President indorsed on the paper that the proper rule would be for the Secretary of War to detail as desired by heads of departments. Nevertheless, the clerks were detailed but for thirty days, to report at the Camp of Instruction, if the detail were not renewed. To-day Mr. Memminger addresses a note to Mr. Seddon, inquiring if it was his purpose to hold his clerks liable to perform military duty after the expiration of the thirty days, and declaring that the incertitude and inconvenience of constantly applying for renewal of details, deranged and obstructed the business of his department. I know not yet what answer Mr. S. made, but doubtless a breach exists through which one or both may pass out of the cabinet. The truth is, that all clerks constitutionally appointed are legally exempt, and it is the boldest tyranny to enroll them as conscripts. But Mr. Memminger has no scruples on that head. All of them desire to retain in "soft places" their own relatives and friends, feeling but little sympathy for others whose refugee families are dependent on their salaries. On Saturday, the cavalry battalion for local defense, accepted last summer by the President, were notified on parade that 20 days would be allowed them to choose their companies in the army, and if the choice were not made, they would be assigned to companies. They protested against this as despotic, but there is no remedy. APRIL 5TH.--Cold rain all night and all day; wind northwest. The Quartermaster-General _now_ recommends that no furloughs be given, so as to devote the railroads to the transportation of grain to Virginia. The Commissary-General again informs the Secretary of War, to-day, that unless the passenger trains were discontinued, the army could not be subsisted, and Richmond and all Virginia might have to be abandoned, and the country might be pillaged by our own soldiers. Not a word against the Southern (Yankee) Express Company. Our prospects are brighter than they have been for many a day, and the enemy are doomed, I think, to a speedy humiliation. I saw a note to-day from Mr. Memminger stating his fears that the amount of Treasury notes funded will not exceed $200,000,000, leaving $600,000,000 still in circulation! It is true, some $300,000,000 might be collected in taxes, if due vigilance were observed,--but _will_ it be observed? He says he can make between $2,000,000 and $3,000,000 of the new currency per day. If this be done, the redundancy will soon be as great as ever. Nothing but success in the field will prevent an explosion and repudiation of the currency, sooner or later. APRIL 6TH.--At mid-day it cleared off; wind still northwest, and cool. Beans (white) were held to-day at $5 per quart! and other articles of food in proportion. How we are to live is the anxious question. At auction old sheets brought $25 a piece, and there seemed to be an advance on everything, instead of a decline as was expected. The speculators and extortioners seem to act in concert, and the government appears to be no match for them. It is not the scarcity of food which causes the high prices, for wood and coal sell as high as other things, and they are no scarcer than at any former period. But it is an insatiable thirst for gain, which I fear the Almighty Justicer will rebuke in some signal manner, perhaps in the emancipation of the slaves, and then the loss will be greater than all the gains reaped from the heart's blood of our brave soldiers and the tears of the widow and orphan! And government still neglects the wives and children of the soldiers,--a fearful risk! But, alas! how are our brave men faring in the hands of the demon fanatics in the United States? It is said _they_ are dying like sheep. APRIL 7TH.--A bright spring day. We look for startling news from the Rappahannock in a few days. Longstreet will be there. Gen. Lee writes that the fortifications around Richmond ought to be pushed to completion: 2000 negroes are still at work on them. APRIL 8TH.--Bright and warm--really a fine spring day. It is the day of _fasting_, humiliation, and prayer, and all the offices are closed. May God put it into the hearts of the extortioners to relent, and abolish, for a season, the insatiable greed for gain! I paid $25 for a half cord of wood to-day, new currency. I fear a nation of extortioners are unworthy of independence, and that we must be chastened and purified before success will be vouchsafed us. What enormous appetites we have now, and how little illness, since food has become so high in price! I cannot afford to have more than an ounce of meat daily for each member of my family of six; and to-day Custis's parrot, which has accompanied the family in all their flights, and, it seems, will _never_ die, stole the cook's ounce of fat meat and gobbled it up before it could be taken from him. He is permitted to set at one corner of the table, and has lately acquired a fondness for meat. The old cat goes staggering about from debility, although Fannie often gives him her share. We see neither rats nor mice about the premises now. This is famine. Even the pigeons watch the crusts in the hands of the children, and follow them in the yard. _And, still, there are no beggars._ The plum-tree in my neighbor's garden is in blossom to-day, and I see a few blossoms on our cherry-trees. I have set out some 130 early York cabbage-plants--very small; and to-day planted lima and snap beans. I hope we shall have no more cold weather, for garden seed, if those planted failed to come up, would cost more than the crops in ordinary times. APRIL 9TH.--Rained all day. Lieut. Tyler, grandson of President Tyler, is here on furlough, which expires to-morrow. His father (the major), whom he has not seen for two years, he learns, will be in the city day after to-morrow; and to-day he sought admittance to Mr. Secretary Seddon to obtain a prolongation of his furlough, so as to enable him to remain two days and see his parent. But Mr. Kean refused him admittance, and referred him to the Adjutant-General, who was sick and absent; and thus "red tape" exhibits its insensibility to the dictates of humanity, even when no advantage is gained by it. Robert Tyler subsequently addressed a note to Mr. K., the purport of which I did not inquire. We have no war news--indeed, no newspapers to-day. The wet weather, however, may be in our favor, as it will give us time to concentrate in Virginia. Better give up all the cities South, than lose Richmond. As long as we hold Richmond and Virginia, the "head and heart" of the "rebellion," we shall not only be between the enemy (south of us) and their own country, but within reach of it. APRIL 10TH.--Rained all night. Cloudy to-day; wind southwest. The Secretary of War must feel his subordination to Gen. Bragg. Gen. Fitz Lee recommended strongly a Prussian officer for appointment in the cavalry, and Mr. Seddon referred it to Gen. B., suggesting that he might be appointed in the cavalry corps to be stationed near this city. Gen. B. returns the paper, saying the President intends to have an organized brigade of cavalry from the Army of Northern Virginia on duty here, and there will be no vacancy in it. From this it seems that the Secretary is not only not to be gratified by the appointment, but is really kept in ignorance of army movements in contemplation! Major Griswold has resigned, at last. He did not find his position a bed of roses. I believe he abandons the Confederate States service altogether, and will attend to the collection of claims, and the defense of prisoners, probably arrested by Major Carrington, his successor in office. To-day I saw two conscripts from Western Virginia conducted to the cars (going to Lee's army) _in chains_. It made a chill shoot through my breast. I doubt its policy, though they may be peculiar offenders. The benevolent Capt. Warner, being persecuted by the Commissary-General for telling the _truth_ in regard to the rations, etc., is settling his accounts as rapidly as possible, and will resign his office. He says he will resume his old business, publishing books, etc. APRIL 11TH.--Rained all night, but clear most of the day. There are rumors of Burnside landing troops on the Peninsula; also of preparations for movements on the Rappahannock--by which side is uncertain. It is said troops are coming from Mississippi, Lieut.-Gen. (Bishop) Polk's command. The FAMINE is still advancing, and his gaunt proportions loom up daily, as he approaches with gigantic strides. The rich speculators, however, and the officers of influence stationed here, who have secured the favor of the Express Company, get enough to eat. Potatoes sell at $1 per quart; chickens, $35 per pair; turnip greens, $4 per peck! An ounce of meat, daily, is the allowance to each member of my family, the cat and parrot included. The pigeons of my neighbor have disappeared. Every day we have accounts of robberies, the preceding night, of cows, pigs, bacon, flour--and even the setting hens are taken from their nests! APRIL 12TH.--Cloudy--rained in the afternoon. This is the anniversary of the first gun of the war, fired at Fort Sumter. It is still said and believed that Gen. Lee will take the initiative, and attack Grant. The following shows that we have had another success: "MOBILE, April 11th, 1864. "TO GEN. S. COOPER, A. & I. GENERAL. "The following report was received at Baton Rouge, on the 3d inst., from the Surgeon-General of Banks's army: We met the enemy near Shreveport. Union force repulsed with great loss. How many can you accommodate in hospitals at Baton Rouge? Steamer Essex, or Benton, destroyed by torpedoes in Red River, and a transport captured by Confederates. "Farragut reported preparing to attack Mobile. Six monitors coming to him. The garrisons of New Orleans and Baton Rouge were very much reduced for the purpose of increasing Banks's forces. "D. H. MAURY, _Major-General Commanding_." APRIL 13TH.--A clear, but cool day. Again planted corn, the other having rotted. There is an unofficial report that one of our torpedo boats struck the Federal war steamer Minnesota yesterday, near Newport News, and damaged her badly. I learn (from an official source) to-day that Gen. Longstreet's corps is at Charlottesville, to co-operate with Lee's army, which will soon move, no doubt. Gen. Bragg received a dispatch yesterday, requesting that commissary stores for Longstreet be sent to Charlottesville, and he ordered his military secretary to direct the Commissary-General accordingly. To this Col. Northrop, C. G. S., took exceptions, and returned the paper, calling the attention of Gen. B.'s secretary to the Rules and Regulations, involving a matter of red tape etiquette. The C. G. S. can only be _ordered_ or _directed_ by the Secretary of War. Gen. B. sent the paper to the Secretary, with the remark that if he is to be restricted, etc., his usefulness must be necessarily diminished. The Secretary sent for Col. N., and I suppose pacified him. APRIL 14TH.--Bright morning--cloudy and cold the rest of the day. No reliable war news to-day; but we are on the tip-toe of expectation of exciting news from the Rapidan. Longstreet is certainly in communication with Lee; and if the enemy be not present with overwhelming numbers, which there is no reason to anticipate, a great battle may be imminent. Read Vice-President Stephens's speech against the suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_ to-day. He said independence without liberty was of no value to him, and if he must have a master, he cared not whether he was Northern or Southern. If we gain our independence, this speech will _ruin_ Mr. S.; if we do not, it may save him and his friends. APRIL 15TH.--Cloudy--slight showers. I published an article yesterday in the _Enquirer_, addressed to the President, on the subject of supplies for the army and the people (the government to take all the supplies in the country), the annihilation of speculation, and the necessary suppression of the Southern (Yankee) Express Company. This elicited the approval of Col. Northrop, the Commissary-General, who spoke to me on the subject. He told me the Express Company had attempted to _bribe_ him, by offering to bring his family supplies gratis, etc. He said he had carried his point, in causing Gen. Bragg to address him according to military etiquette. He showed me another order from Bragg (through the Adjutant-General), to take possession of the toll meal at Crenshaw's mills. This he says is contrary to contract, and he was going to the Secretary to have it withdrawn. "Besides," said he, "and truly, it would do no good. The people must eat, whether they get meal from Crenshaw or not. If not, they will get it elsewhere, and what they do get will be so much diverted from the commissariat." There are rumors of the enemy accumulating a heavy force at Suffolk. The guard at Camp Lee are going in the morning to Lee's army; their places here to be filled by the reserve forces of boys and old men. This indicates a battle on the Rapidan. APRIL 16TH.--Rained all night, and in fitful showers all day. We have more accounts (unofficial) of a victory near Shreveport, La. One of the enemy's gun-boats has been blown up and sunk in Florida. By late Northern arrivals we see that a Mr. Long, member of Congress, has spoken in favor of our recognition. A resolution of expulsion was soon after introduced. Gen. Lee has suggested, and the Secretary of War has approved, a project for removing a portion of the population from Richmond into the country. Its object is to accumulate supplies for the army. If some 20,000 could be moved away, it would relieve the rest to some extent. Troops are passing northward every night. The carnage and carnival of death will soon begin! APRIL 17TH.--Rained until bedtime--then cleared off quite cold. This morning it is cold, with occasional sunshine. Gen. Beauregard's instructions to Major-Gen. Anderson in Florida, who has but 8000 men, opposed by 15,000, were referred by the Secretary of War to Gen. Bragg, who returned them with the following snappish indorsement: "The enemy's strength seems greatly exaggerated, and the instructions too much on the defensive." APRIL 18TH.--Cleared away in the night--frost. To-day it clouded up again! We have an account from the West, to the effect that Forrest _stormed_ Fort Pillow, putting all the garrison, but one hundred, to the sword; there being 700 in the fort--400 negroes. APRIL 19TH.--Cloudy and cold. We have no authentic war news, but are on the tip-toe of expectation. The city is in some commotion on a rumor that the non combating population will be required to leave, to avoid transportation of food to the city. Corn is selling at $1.25 per bushel in Georgia and Alabama; here, at $40--such is the deplorable condition of the railroads, or rather of the management of them. Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, said to-day that Gen. Lee and the Secretary of War were responsible for the precarious state of affairs, in not taking all the means of transportation for the use of the army; and that our fate was suspended by a hair. The President returned the paper to-day, relating to the matter of etiquette between Col. Northrop and Gen. Bragg's military secretary. The President says that Gen. B. certainly has the right to give orders--being assigned to duty here, and, I presume, representing the President himself; but that any one of his staff, unless directing those of inferior rank, ought to give commands "by order" of Gen. Bragg. Col. N. says that don't satisfy him; and that no general has a right to issue orders to him! The famine is becoming more terrible daily; and soon no salary will suffice to support one's family. The 1st and 2d Auditors and their clerks (several hundred, male and female) have been ordered to proceed to Montgomery, Ala. Perhaps the government will soon remove thither entirely. This is ill-timed, as the enemy will accept it as an indication of an abandonment of the capital; and many of our people will regard it as a preliminary to the evacuation of Richmond. It is more the effect of extortion and high prices, than apprehension of the city being taken by the enemy. APRIL 20TH.--A clear morning, but a cold, cloudy day. The following dispatch from Gen. Forrest shows that the bloody work has commenced in earnest: "DEMOPOLIS, ALA., April 19th. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "The following dispatch has just been received from Gen. Forrest, dated Jackson, Tenn., April 15th. "L. POLK, _Lieut.-General_. "I attacked Fort Pillow on the morning of the 12th inst., with a part of Bell's and McCulloch's brigades, numbering ----, under Brig.-Gen. J. R. Chalmers. After a short fight we drove the enemy, seven hundred strong, into the fort, under cover of their gun-boats, and demanded a surrender, which was declined by Major L. W. Booth, commanding United States forces. I stormed the fort, and after a contest of thirty minutes captured the entire garrison, killing 500 and taking 100 prisoners, and a large amount of quartermaster stores. The officers in the fort were killed, including Major Booth. I sustained a loss of 20 killed and 60 wounded. The Confederate flag now floats over the fort. "(Signed) N. B. FORREST, _Major-General_." There is a rumor that Grant's army is falling back toward Centreville. It is supposed by many that all the departments will follow the Auditor to Montgomery soon. APRIL 21ST.--Bright sunshine all day, but cool. Gen. Bragg received a dispatch to-day from Gen. Hoke, of Plymouth, N. C., stating that he had (yesterday) _stormed_ Plymouth, taking 1600 prisoners, 25 cannon, stores, etc. etc. This put the city in as good spirits as possible. But the excitement from Hoke's victory was supplanted by an excitement of another kind. A report was circulated and believed that the President resolved yesterday to remove the government to South Carolina or Alabama; and the commotion was very great. The President's salary is insufficient to meet his housekeeping expenditures; and Mrs. D. has become, very naturally, somewhat indignant at the conduct of the extortioners, and, of course, the President himself partook of the indignation. At 2 P.M. to-day the President's papers came in. Among them was one from the Commissary-General, stating that the present management of railroad transportation would not suffice to subsist the army. This had been referred to Gen. Bragg yesterday (who seems to _rank_ the Secretary of War), and he made an elaborate indorsement thereon. He recommended that all passenger trains be discontinued, except one daily, and on this that government agents, soldiers, etc. have preference; that arrangements be made at once to hasten on the freight trains (taking military possession of the roads) without breaking bulk; and finally to reduce consumers here as much as possible by a reduction of civil officers, etc. etc. in the departments--that is, sending to other places such as can perform their duties at distant points. On this the President indorsed a reference to the Secretary of War, requiring his opinion in writing, etc. Since then, the President and cabinet have been in consultation, and we shall probably know the result to-morrow. If the departments are sent South, it will cause a prodigious outburst from the press here, and may have a bad, blundering effect on the army in Virginia, composed mostly of Virginians; and Gen. Bragg will have to bear the brunt of it, although the government will be solely responsible. Gov. Vance recommended the suspension of conscription in the eastern counties of North Carolina the other day. This paper was referred by the Secretary to the President, by the President to Gen. B. (who is a native of North Carolina), and, seeing what was desired, Gen. B. recommended that the conscription be proceeded with. This may cause Gov. V. to be defeated at the election, and Gen. B. will be roundly abused. He will be unpopular still. APRIL 22D.--A bright day and warmer. Cherry-trees in blossom. We have the following war news: "PLYMOUTH, N. C., April 20th. "TO GEN. BRAGG. "I have stormed and captured this place, capturing 1 brigadier, 1600 men, stores, and 25 pieces of artillery. "R. F. HOKE, _Brig.-General_." The President has changed his mind since the reception of the news from North Carolina, and has determined that _all_ the government shall not leave Richmond until further orders. All that can be spared will go, however, at once. The War and Navy Departments will remain for the present. The news is said to have had a wonderful effect on the President's mind; and he hopes we may derive considerable supplies from Eastern North Carolina. So do I. Gov. Watts writes to the Secretary that commissary agents, who ought to be in the ranks, are making unnecessary impressments, leaving to each negro only four ounces of bacon per day. He says the government has already some 10,000,000 pounds of bacon in Alabama; and that if the other States, east of the Mississippi, furnish a proportional amount, there will be 60,000,000 pounds--enough to feed our armies twelve months. The Commissary-General's estimates for the next six months are for 400,000 men. APRIL 23D.--A bright day, with southern breezes. It is rumored and believed that Gen. Lee's army is in motion. If this be so, we shall soon hear of a "fight, or a foot race." And how can Grant run away, when Mr. Chase, the Federal Secretary of the Treasury, openly proclaims ruin to the finances unless they speedily achieve success in the field? I think he must fight; and I am sure he will be beaten, for Lee's strength is probably underestimated. We are also looking to hear more news from North Carolina; and Newbern will probably be stormed next, since storming is now the order of the day. APRIL 24TH.--Cloudy and windy, but warm. We have none of the details yet of the storming of Plymouth, except the brief dispatches in the newspapers; nor any reliable accounts of subsequent movements. But a letter from Gen. Whiting indicates that all his troops had been taken northward, and we may expect something further of interest. It is still believed that Lee's and Grant's armies are in motion on the Rappahannock; but whether going North or coming South, no one seems to know. Our people unanimously look for a victory. I bought a black coat at auction yesterday (short swallow-tailed) for $12. It is fine cloth, not much worn--its owner going into the army, probably--but out of _fashion_. If it had been a frock-coat, it would have brought $100. It is no time for _fashion_ now. Gen. Johnston's Chief Commissary offers to send some bacon to Lee's army. A short time since, it was said, Johnston was prevented from _advancing_ for want of rations. APRIL 25TH.--A bright and beautiful day; southern breezes. No reliable war news; but there are rumors that our victory at Shreveport was a great one. Nothing additional from North Carolina, though something further must soon occur there. It is said the enemy's killed and wounded at Plymouth amounted to only 100: ours 300; but we got 2500 prisoners. President Lincoln has made a speech at Baltimore, threatening retaliation for the slaughter at Fort Pillow--which was _stormed_. Lieut.-Gen. Polk telegraphs that our forces have captured and burnt one of the enemy's gun-boats at Yazoo City--first taking out her guns, eight rifled 24-pounders. To-day Mr. Memminger, in behalf of the ladies in his department, presented a battle-flag to the Department Battalion for its gallant conduct in the repulse of Dahlgren's raid. But the ladies leave early in the morning for South Carolina. The President still says that many of the government officers and employees must be sent away, if transportation cannot be had to feed them here as well as the armies. APRIL 26TH.--Another truly fine spring day. The ominous silence on the Rapidan and Rappahannock continues still. The two armies seem to be measuring each other's strength before the awful conflict begins. It is said the enemy are landing large bodies of troops at Yorktown. Major-Gen. Ransom has been assigned to the command of this department; and Gen. Winder's expectations of promotion are blasted. Will he resign? I think not. The enemy's accounts of the battle on the Red River do not agree with the reports we have. Neither do the Federal accounts of the storming of Fort Pillow agree with ours. APRIL 27TH.--Another bright and beautiful day; and vegetation is springing with great rapidity. But nearly all my potatoes, corn, egg-plants, and tomatoes seem to have been killed by the frosts of March. I am replanting corn, lima beans, etc. The other vegetables are growing well. One of my fig-bushes was killed--that is, nearly all the branches. The roots live. It is rumored that the armies on the Rapidan were drawn up in line. The enemy have again evacuated Suffolk. Gen. Beauregard is at Weldon. Perhaps Burnside may hurl his blows against North Carolina. Food is still advancing in price; and unless relief comes from some quarter soon, this city will be in a deplorable condition. A good many fish, however, are coming in, and shad have fallen in price to $12 per pair. The government ordered the toll of meal here (which the miller, Crenshaw, sold to the people) to be taken for the army; but Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, opposes this; and it is to be hoped, as usual, he may have his way, in spite of even the President. These papers pass through the hands of the Secretary of War. The French ships have gone down the river, without taking much tobacco; said to have been ordered away by the United States Government. Col. W. M. Browne (the President's English A.D.C.), it is said, goes to Georgia as commandant of conscripts for that State. It is probable he offended some one of the President's family, domestic or military. The _people_ had long been offended by his presence and arrogance. The _Enquirer_, to-day, has a communication assaulting Messrs. Toombs and Stephens, and impeaching their loyalty. The writer denounced the Vice-President severely for his opposition to the suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_. During the day the article was sent to Mr. Secretary Seddon, with the compliments of Mr. Parker--the author, I suppose. APRIL 28TH.--After a slight shower last night, a cool, clear morning. The ominous silence or pause between the armies continues. Lieut.-Gen. Longstreet, it is said, is "hidden." I suppose he is working his way around the enemy's right flank. If so, we shall soon hear thunder. It is also supposed that Lee meditates an incursion into Pennsylvania, and that Gen. Beauregard will protect his rear and cover this city. All is merely conjecture. We are amused at the enemy's accounts of the storming of Plymouth. Their papers pretend to have not heard the result, and would lead their readers to believe that Gen. Hoke was repulsed, and that the place is "impregnable." The following appears in the morning papers: "GEN. LEE'S BILL OF FARE.--The Richmond correspondent of the Mobile _Advertiser_ gives the following about Gen. Lee's mode of living: "In Gen. Lee's tent meat is eaten but twice a week, the general not allowing it oftener, because he believes indulgence in meat to be criminal in the present straitened condition of the country. His ordinary dinner consists of a head of cabbage, boiled in salt water, and a pone of corn bread. In this connection rather a comic story is told. Having invited a number of gentlemen to dine with him, Gen. Lee, in a fit of extravagance, ordered a sumptuous repast of cabbage and middling. The dinner was served: and, behold, a great pile of cabbage and a bit of middling about four inches long and two inches across! The guests, with commendable politeness, unanimously declined middling, and it remained in the dish untouched. Next day Gen. Lee, remembering the delicate tit-bit which had been so providentially preserved, ordered his servant to bring 'that middling.' The man hesitated, scratched his head, and finally owned up: 'De fac is, Masse Robert, dat ar middlin' was borrid middlin'; we all did'n had nar spec; and I done paid it back to de man whar I got it from.' Gen. Lee heaved a sigh of deepest disappointment, and pitched into his cabbage." By a correspondence between the Secretaries of the Treasury and War, I saw that Mr. Memminger has about _a million and a quarter in coin_ at Macon, Ga., seized as the property of the New Orleans banks--perhaps belonging to Northern men. I believe it was taken when there was an attempt made to smuggle it North. What it is proposed to do with it _I know not_, but I think neither the President nor the Secretaries will hesitate to use it--if there be a "military necessity." Who knows but that one or more members of Mr. Lincoln's cabinet, or his generals, might be purchased with gold? Fortress Monroe would be cheap at that price! APRIL 29TH.--A letter from Major-Gen. Hoke, dated Plymouth, April 25th, and asking the appointment of Lieut.-Col. Dearing to a brigadiership, says his promotion is desired to lead a brigade in the expedition against Newbern. The President directs the Secretary to appoint him temporarily "for the expedition." Soon we shall know the result. By flag of truce boat, it is understood Northern papers admit a Federal defeat on the Red River, the storming of Plymouth, etc., and charge the Federal authorities at Washington with having published falsehoods to deceive the people. Gold was $1.83. Troops are passing through Richmond now, day and night, concentrating under Lee. The _great_ battle cannot be much longer postponed. Last night was clear and cold, and we have fire to-day. The President has decided not to call into service the reserve class unless on extraordinary occasions, but to let them remain at home and cultivate the soil. It is now probable the Piedmont Railroad will be completed by the 1st June, as extreme necessity drives the government to some degree of energy. If it had taken up, or allowed to be taken up, the rails on the Aquia Creek Road a year ago, the Piedmont connection would have been made ere this; and then this famine would not have been upon us, and there would have been abundance of grain in the army depots of Virginia. APRIL 30TH.--Federal papers now admit that Gen. Banks has been disastrously beaten in Louisiana. They also admit their calamity at Plymouth, N. C. Thus in Louisiana, Florida, West Tennessee, and North Carolina the enemy have sustained severe defeats: their losses amounting to some 20,000 men, 100 guns, half a dozen war steamers, etc. etc. Gen. Burnside has left Annapolis and gone to Grant--whatever the plan was originally; and the work of concentration goes on for a _decisive_ clash of arms in Virginia. And troops are coming hither from all quarters, like streamlets flowing into the ocean. Our men are confident, and eager for the fray. The railroad companies say they can transport 10,000 bushels corn, daily, into Virginia. That will subsist 200,000 men and 25,000 horses. And in June the Piedmont connection will be completed. The _great_ battle may not occur for weeks yet. It will probably end the war. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Dispatch from Gen. J. E. Johnston.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--Mr. Saulsbury's resolution in the U. S. Senate.--Progress of the enemy.-- Rumored preparations for the flight of the President.--Wrangling of high officials.--Position of the armies. MAY 1ST.--Cloudy and showery, but warm, and fine for vegetation. My lettuce, cabbage, beans, etc. are growing finely. But the Yankee corn and lima beans, imported by Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, have rotted in the ground. No war news. Yesterday a paper was sent to the President by Gen. Pickett, recommending Gen. Roger A. Pryor for a cavalry command in North Carolina. But the President sent it to the Secretary of War with the curt remark that the command had already been disposed of to Col. Dearing, on Gen. Hoke's recommendation. Thus Gen. P. is again whistled down the wind, in spite of the efforts of even Mr. Hunter, and many other leading politicians. It is possible Gen. P. may have on some occasion criticised Lee. MAY 2D.--A cool day, sunshine and showers. To-day Congress assembled, and the President's message was delivered, although he buried his youngest son yesterday, who lost his life by an accidental fall from the porch on Saturday. We have abundance of good news to-day. First, the Florida has captured one, and destroyed another of the enemy's vessels of war in the West Indies. Second, we have authentic intelligence of the evacuation of Washington, N. C. by the enemy, pursued by our forces toward Newbern. Third, four steamers have arrived at Wilmington laden with quartermaster and ordnance stores. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, says we now have arms and ammunition enough. A letter from Gen. Lee indicates the propriety of Gen. Imboden retaining his recruits (which the Secretary wanted to take from him, because they were liable to conscription) in the Shenandoah Valley. This does not look like a purpose of an advance on Lee's part. He will probably await the attack. The President, in an indorsement, intimates to the Secretary of War that Gen. Pryor might be assigned to a brigade of the Reserve class. About 5 o'clock this afternoon we had a tornado from the southwest which I fear has done mischief in the country. It blew off half a dozen planks from my garden fence, and I had difficulty in nailing them on again with such rusty nails as I could find. Nails are worth almost their weight in silver. The gardeners sell tomato-plants for $10 per dozen, and cabbage-plants for 50 cts. each! But I am independent, having my own little hot-beds. MAY 3D.--A cold, windy day, with sunshine and clouds. It is rumored that Grant's army is in motion, and the great battle is eagerly looked for. The collision of mighty armies, upon the issue of which the fate of empire depends, is now imminent. The following dispatch was received to-day from Gen. Johnston: "DALTON, May 2d, 1864. "Two scouts, who went by Outawah and Cleveland, report the enemy sending all Southern people and heavy baggage to the rear, stopping rations to the inhabitants, collecting a large supply of trains at Graysville, and bringing their cavalry from Middle Tennessee. An officer just from Columbia reports 13,000 had been collected there. All scouts report Hooker's troops in position here. J. E. JOHNSTON, _General_." MAY 4TH.--Bright, beautiful, and warmer; but fire in the morning. The following dispatch from Gen. Lee was received by Gen. Bragg to-day and sent to the Secretary. "ORANGE C. H., May 4th, 1864. "Reports from our lookouts seem to indicate that the enemy is in motion. The present direction of his column is to our right. "Gen. Imboden reports the enemy advancing from Winchester, up the Valley, with wagons, beef cattle, etc. R. E. LEE." There is a rumor of fighting at Chancellorville, and this is the anniversary, I believe, of the battle there. May we be as successful this time! But the report is not authentic. Firing is heard now in the direction of York River. MAY 5TH.--We have many rumors to-day, and nothing authentic, except that some of the enemy's transports are in the James River, and landing some troops, a puerile demonstration, perhaps. The number landed at West Point, it seems, was insignificant. It may be the armies of the United States are demoralized, and if so, if Grant be beaten, I shall look for a speedy end of the invasion. It is said some of the advanced forces of Grant were at Spottsylvania C. H. last night, and the great battle may occur any hour. Gov. Smith is calling for more exemptions (firemen, etc.) than all the governors together. Col. Preston asks authority to organize a company of conscripts, Reserve classes, in each congressional district, the President having assigned a general officer to each State to command these classes. The colonel wants to command something. The Commissary-General, Col. Northrop, being called on, reports that he can feed the army until fall with the means on hand and attainable. So, troops didn't starve in thirty days several months ago! A Mr. Pond has made a proposition which Mr. Memminger is in favor of accepting, viz.: the government to give him a bill of sale of 10,000 bales of cotton lying in the most exposed places in the West, he to take it away and to take all risks, except destruction by our troops, to ship it from New Orleans to Antwerp, and he will pay, upon receiving said bill of sale, 10 pence sterling per pound. The whole operation will be consummated by the Belgian Consul in New Orleans, and the Danish Vice-Consul in Mobile. It is probable the United States Government, or some members of it, are interested in the speculation. But it will be advantageous to us. "A PERTINENT RESOLUTION.--The following was offered recently in the United States Senate, by Mr. Saulsbury, of Delaware: "'_Resolved_, That the Chaplain of the Senate be respectfully requested hereafter to pray and supplicate Almighty God in our behalf, and not to lecture Him, informing Him, under pretense of prayer, his, said chaplain's, opinion in reference to His duty as the Almighty; and that the said Chaplain be further requested, as aforesaid, not, under the form of prayer, to lecture the Senate in relation to questions before the body.'" MAY 6TH.--Bright, warm, beautiful. We have a sensation to-day, but really no excitement. A dispatch from Gen. Lee (dated last night) says the _enemy_ opened the battle yesterday, and the conflict continued until night put an end to the carnage. He says we have many prisoners, captured four guns, etc., losing two generals killed, one, Gen. J. M. Jones. But our position was maintained, and the enemy repulsed. Doubtless the battle was renewed this morning. Some _fifty-nine_ transports and several iron-clad gun-boats, monitors, etc., came up the James River yesterday and last night. A heavy force was landed at Bermuda Hundred, within a few miles of the railroad between Richmond and Petersburg. And the enemy likewise came up the Peninsula, and there was fighting this morning on the Chickahominy. Thus the plan of the enemy is distinctly pronounced, and the assaults were designed to be made simultaneously. Yet there is no undue excitement. A dispatch from Gen. Pickett at Petersburg, this morning, to Gen. Bragg, asked if he (Bragg) intended to defend the railroad between Richmond and Petersburg. He said, "the enemy will attack the road to-day, marching from Bermuda Hundred, I think." At 3 P.M. we are waiting with anxiety for news from all quarters. Both my sons marched out in the Department Battalion. Two Tennessee regiments marched down to Drewry's Bluff yesterday, and Hunton's brigade, that left there yesterday, were ordered back again last night. It is said troops were passing south through the city all night. And I know heavy forces are on the way from North Carolina. Gen. Pickett likewise has the greater part of his division in supporting distance. So, if the enemy have not cut the road by this time, it is probably safe, and the expedition will be a failure. If Lee defeats Grant, the city will certainly be saved. All the local troops are out. Gen. Beauregard is expected to-day, but it is reported he is sick at Weldon. On the 3d inst. the following dispatch was received from him: "KINSTON, N. C. "GEN. COOPER. "Orders should be given for the immediate re-establishment of fisheries at Plymouth and Washington, also to get large supplies of pork in Hyde County and vicinity. "G. T. BEAUREGARD, _General_." On this the Commissary-General indorsed that the matter had been attended to--had, indeed, been anticipated. The best indication of the day (to me) was the smiling face of Mr. Hunter as he came from the Secretary's office. He said to me, "The ball is opening well." The President and his aids rode over the river to-day: what direction they took I know not; but this I know, he has no idea of being taken by the enemy. And he cannot think the city will be taken, for in that event it would be difficult for him to escape. MAY 7TH.--Bright and warm. The following is Gen. Lee's dispatch, received yesterday morning--the _italics_ not his. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "May 5th, 1864. "HON. SECRETARY OF WAR. "The enemy crossed the Rapidan at Ely's and Germania fords. Two corps of this army moved to oppose him--Ewell by the old turnpike, and Hill by the plank-road. "They arrived this morning in close proximity to the enemy's line of march. "A strong attack was made upon Ewell, who repulsed it, _capturing many prisoners and four pieces of artillery_. "The enemy subsequently concentrated upon Gen. Hill, who, with Heth's and Wilcox's divisions, _successfully resisted repeated and desperate assaults_. "A large force of cavalry and artillery on our right was _driven back_ by Rosser's brigade. "By the blessing of God, we maintained our position _against every effort_ until night, when the contest closed. "We have to mourn the loss of many brave officers and men. The gallant Brig.-Gen. J. M. Jones was killed, and Brig.-Gen. Stafford, I fear, mortally wounded, while leading his command with conspicuous valor. "(Signed) R. E. LEE." A dispatch from Gen. Lee this morning says Hill's corps was thrown into confusion yesterday by an attack of the enemy when some of the divisions were being relieved. But afterward we recovered the ground, strewn with the dead and wounded of the enemy. Then we attacked their whole line, driving them behind their breastworks. He concludes by thanks for our ability still to withstand all assaults. No doubt Grant has overwhelming numbers, and Lee is under the necessity of sparing his men as much as possible, while his adversary leads into action a succession of fresh troops. Gen. Longstreet is wounded. Gen. Beauregard is at Petersburg, charged with the defense of this city and the railroad. Troops have been marching toward Drewry's Bluff during the day. If the attack be delayed 24 hours more, we shall be strong enough to repel even the then greatly superior numbers of the invader. But there is more anxiety manifested to-day. Senator Hunter and Mr. Ould, the agent of exchange, have been in the office next to mine once or twice, to drink some of the good whisky kept by Mr. Chapman, the disbursing clerk of the department. Mr. H.'s face is quite red. 5 P.M. The tocsin is sounding, for the militia, I suppose, all others being in the field. It is reported that the attack on Drewry's Bluff, or rather on our forces posted there for its defense, has begun. Barton's brigade marched thither to-day. It is said the enemy have 40,000 men on the south side of James River--we, 20,000. There is now some excitement and trepidation among the shopkeepers and extortioners, who are compelled by State law to shoulder the musket for the defense of the city, and there is some running to and fro preliminary to the _rendezvous_ in front of the City Hall. The alarm, however, I learnt at the department, is caused by reports brought in by countrymen, that the enemy is approaching the city from the _northeast_, as if from Gloucester Point. It _may_ be so--a small body; but Gen. Ransom, Gen. Elzey's successor here, doubts it, for his scouts give no intelligence of the enemy in that quarter. But the 19th Militia Regiment and the Foreign Battalion will have the pleasure of sleeping in the open air to-night, and of dreaming of their past gains, etc. MAY 8TH.--Bright and hot. The tocsin sounded again this morning. I learned upon inquiry that it was merely for the militia again (they were dismissed yesterday after being called together), perhaps to relieve the local battalions near the city. The Secretary of War received a dispatch to-day from Gen. Lee, stating that there was no fighting yesterday, only slight skirmishing. Grant remained where he had been driven, in the "Wilderness," behind his breastworks, completely checked in his "On to Richmond." He may be badly hurt, and perhaps his men object to being led to the slaughter again. There has been no fighting below, between this and Petersburg, and we breathe freer, for Beauregard, we know, has made the best use of time. It is said another of the enemy's gun-boats has been destroyed by boarding and burning. We have three iron-clads and rams here _above_ the obstructions, which will probably be of no use at this trying time. A few days more will tell the story of this combined and most formidable attempt to take Richmond; and if it be the old song of failure, we may look for a speedy termination of the war. So mote it be! Meantime my vegetables are growing finely, except the corn and lima beans (Yankee), Col. Gorgas's importation, which have not come up. A cow and calf now sells for $2500. My friend, Dr. Powell, has just sold one for a great price, he would not tell me what. But I told him that the greed for gain was the worst feature in our people, and made me sometimes tremble for the cause. I fear a just retribution may entail ruin on the farmers, who seem to think more of their cattle than of their sons in the field. MAY 9TH.--Bright and sultry. A dispatch from Gen. Lee says the enemy is moving down toward Fredericksburg, and yesterday the advance of our army encountered his right wing at Spottsylvania Court House, and repulsed it "with great slaughter." Strong language for Lee. A dispatch received this morning said the enemy was advancing on the railroad. Subsequently cannon could be heard in the direction of Drewry's Bluff. The tocsin has been sounding all day, for the militia, which come slowly, after being summoned and dismissed so often. I fear, when they are sent over the river, if all the men at the defenses on the north side are sent over also, that a cavalry raid from the north may dash into the city and burn the bridges on, the James; then our army would be in a "fix." I have expressed this apprehension to the Secretary, and asked him to arm the old men, for the defense of the bridges, public buildings, etc. He awaits _events_. Mr. Hunter and other public characters are looking very grave. The following dispatch was received to-day from Weldon, via Raleigh and Greensborough, N. C: "May 8th. "The enemy destroyed the wire from Stony Creek to within three miles of Belfield, a distance of about fifteen miles. Our men and employees are repairing it, and we hope to have communication reopened to-morrow. W. S. HARRIS." Col. Preston, Superintendent of Bureau of Conscription, has written another letter to the Secretary, urging the promotion of Captain C. B. Duffield, who threatens to leave him for a position with Gen. Kumper, at Lynchburg, where he can live cheaper. He says he has urged the President, to no avail. The Secretary has roused himself. Since 3 P.M. he has issued a call "TO ARMS!" All men capable of bearing arms are requested to report to Gen. Kemper, Franklin Street, to be armed and organized "temporarily" for the defense of the city. Gen. Ransom had previously issued a placard, calling on officers and men on furlough to meet in Capitol Square for temporary organization. This may involve some etiquette, or question of jurisdiction between the generals. Gen. Winder is utterly ignored. I have just heard that the Departmental Battalion has been marched across Mayo's Bridge to the fortifications of Manchester, on the south side of the river. The militia regiment will go to the place on the north side heretofore occupied by them. Another dispatch from Gen. Lee, received since 3 P.M. to-day, says Grant attacked him again yesterday, after the slaughter by our Gen. Anderson, and was handsomely repulsed. Grant's tactics seem to be to receive his stripes by installments. MAY 10TH.--Bright, but windy and dusty. There is an excitement at last; but it is sullen rather than despairing. No one seems to doubt our final success, although the enemy have now some 200,000 in Virginia, and we but little over half that number. We have nothing from Lee to-day, but it is believed he is busy in battle. A portion of Grant's right wing, cut off at Spottsylvania Court House, endeavored to march across the country to the Peninsula. They cut the railroad at Beaver Dam, and destroyed some of our commissary stores. But it is likely they will be captured. The enemy beat us yesterday at Dublin Depot, wounding Gen. Jenkins. On the other hand, Gen. McNeal (C. S.) has cut the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, destroying millions of property. Thus the work goes on! There was no general engagement down the river. At 12 o'clock last night a column of infantry passed our house, going down Clay Street. Many thought it was the enemy. I saw a letter to-day from Gen. Beauregard to Gen. Bragg, dated Weldon, April 29th, giving the names of the Federal generals commanding forces on the Southern coast, so that the arrival of any of these officers in Virginia would indicate the transfer of their troops thither. He concluded by saying that if it were desired he should operate on the north side of James River, maps ought to be prepared for him, and timbers, etc. for bridges; and that he would serve with pleasure under the immediate command of Gen. Lee, "aiding him to crush our enemies, and to achieve the independence of our country." Gen. Bragg, May 2d, sent this to Gen. Cooper, who referred it to the Secretary of War. Gen. Bragg indorsed on it that several of the Federal generals named had arrived at Fortress Monroe. The Secretary sent it to the President on the 7th of May. To-day the President sent it back indorsed as follows: "Maps of the country, with such additions as may from time to time be made, should be kept on hand in the Engineer Bureau, and furnished to officers in the field. Preparations of material for bridges, etc. will continue to be made as heretofore, and with such additional effort as circumstances require. "I did not doubt the readiness of Gen. Beauregard to serve under any general who ranks him. The right of Gen. Lee to command would be derived from his superior rank. "JEFFERSON DAVIS. "9th May, 1864." MAY 11TH.--Bright and pleasant--breezy. This has been a day of excitement. At midnight the Departmental Battalion were marched from the south side of the river back to the city, and rested the remainder of the night at Camp Lee. But at 9 A.M. they were marched hurriedly to Meadow Bridge. They came past our house. Custis and his brother Thomas ran in--remaining but a moment. Custis exclaimed: "Let me have some money, mother (I had to go to the office), or we will starve. The government don't feed us, and we are almost famished. Cook something, and get Captain Warner to bring it in his buggy--do, if possible." He got $20. They looked worn, and were black with dust, etc. My daughter said "they looked like negroes." The Secretary issued this morning a new edition of his handbills, calling the people "to arms." Mr. Mallory's usual red face turned purple. He has not yet got out the iron-clad Richmond, etc., which might have sunk Gen. Butler's transports. Lieut.-Col. Lay was exhibiting a map of our defenses, and predicting something,--whether good or evil, I did not stay to learn. But I thought such maps ought not to be shown in the public hall of the department. The armory was open to-day, and all who desired them were furnished with arms. The Governor, I hear, issued a notification that the enemy would be here to-day, etc. I did not see it. All classes not in the army were gathered up and marched to the defenses. 2 P.M. Respectable men just from the vicinity report a great victory for Lee, yesterday, though we have nothing from him. The Secretary believes these concurring reports, which state that the battle, beginning near Spottsylvania Court House, ended at Fredericksburg, indicating a WATERLOO. And a dispatch from Gen. Ransom from the south side of the river, states that Butler's army is _retreating to the transports_. This is regarded as confirmation of Lee's victory. Several dispatches from Gen. Stuart state that the raiders have been severely beaten in several combats this morning, and are flying toward Dover Mills. They may come back, for _they_ have not heard of Grant's defeat. Mr. Memminger is said to have been frightened terribly, and arrangements were made for flight. MAY 12TH.--Thunder, lightning, and rain all day. The report of Gen. Lee's victory was premature, and Butler has not gone, nor the raiders vanished. On the contrary, the latter were engaged in battle with Stuart's division late in the afternoon, and recommenced it this morning at 3 o'clock, the enemy remaining on the ground, and still remain, some five miles from where I write. Major-Gen. J. E. B. Stuart was wounded last evening, through the kidney, and now lies in the city, in a dying condition! Our best generals thus fall around us. The battle raged furiously; every gun distinctly heard at our house until 1 P.M.--the enemy being intrenched between our middle and outer line of works. Meantime our ambulances are arriving every hour with the wounded, coming in by the Brooke Turnpike. The battalion my sons are in lost none of its men, though shelled by the enemy early in the morning; nor do we know that our battery did any execution. Capt. Warner delivered the provisions their mother cooked for them yesterday. He saw only Custis, who gladly received the bread, and meat, and eggs; but he and Tom were both drenched with rain, as they had no shelter yesterday. But a comrade, and one of Custis's Latin pupils, whom I saw, returned on sick leave, says Thomas stands the fatigue and exposure better than Custis, who was complaining. About 11 A.M. to-day there was very heavy reports of cannon heard in the direction of Drewry's Bluff, supposed to be our battery shelling the country below, for some purpose. I understand one or more of our iron-clads will certainly go out this evening, or to-night; we shall know it when it occurs, for the firing will soon follow. Worked in my garden; set out corn and (yellow) tomatoes; the former given me by my neighbor, to whom I had given lettuce and beet plants. My wife spent a miserable day, some one having reported that the Departmental Battalion was cut to pieces in the battle. When I came in, she asked me if Custis and Thomas were alive, and was exceedingly glad to know not a man in the company had been even wounded. I shall never forget the conformation of the clouds this morning as the storm arose. There were different strata running in various directions. They came in heaviest volume from the southeast in parallel lines, like lines of battle swooping over the city. There were at the same time shorter and fuller lines from the southwest, and others from the north. The meeting of these was followed by tremendous clashes of lightning and thunder; and between the pauses of the artillery of the elements above, the thunder of artillery on earth could be distinctly heard. Oh that the strife were ended! But Richmond is to be defended at all hazards. It is said, however, that preparations have been made for the flight of the President, cabinet, etc. up the Danville Road, in the event of the fall of the city. Yet no one fears that the present forces environing it could take it. If Lee withstands Grant another week, all will be safe. My greatest fear is the want of provisions. My wife bought a half bushel of meal; so we have a week's supply on hand, as we were not quite out. I hope Beauregard will soon restore communication with the South. MAY 13TH.--Cloudy and showery all day. Last night my youngest son Thomas came in, furloughed (unsolicited) by his officers, who perceived his exhaustion. The enemy disappeared in the night. We suffered most in the several engagements with him near the city. I suppose some sympathizer had furnished him with a copy of our photograph map of the fortifications and country in the vicinity. But the joy of many, and chagrin of some at his escape so easily, was soon followed by the startling intelligence that a raid from Gen. Butler's army had cut the _Danville_ Road! All communication with the country from which provisions are derived is now completely at an end! And if supplies are withheld that long, this community, as well as the army, must be without food in ten, days! Col. Northrop told me to-day that unless the railroads were retaken and repaired, he could not feed the troops ten days longer. And he blamed Gen. Lee for the loss of over 200,000 pounds of bacon at Beaver Dam. He says Gen. Lee ordered it there, instead of keeping it at Charlottesville or Gordonsville. Could Lee make such a blunder? Most of the members of Congress, when not in session, hang about the door and hall of the War Department, eager for news, Mr. Hunter being the most prominent, if not the most anxious among them. But the wires are cut in all directions, and we must rely on couriers. The wildest rumors float through the air. Every successive hour gives birth to some new tidings, and one must be near the Secretary's table indeed to escape being misled by false reports. For two days no dispatch has been received from Gen. Lee, although one hears of a dispatch just received from him at every corner of the streets. A courier arrived to-day from the _vicinity_ of our army. He saw a _gentleman_ who saw Gen. Lee's son _Robert_ yesterday, and was informed by him that our army was five miles nearer Fredericksburg, having driven the enemy farther down the river. Our iron-clads--Virginia, Richmond, and Fredericksburg--I understood from Lieut. Minor, this morning, will not go out until in readiness to cope successfully with the enemy's fleet of gun-boats and monitors. How long that will be he did not say. It may be _to-day_. And while I write (4-1/2 P.M.) I can distinctly hear the roar of artillery down the river. It may be an engagement by land or by water, or by both; and it may be only the customary shelling of the woods by the enemy's gun-boats. But it is very rapid sometimes. A courier reports the raid on the Danville Road as not formidable. They are said, however, to have blown up the coal-pits. They cannot _blow_ coal _higher_ than our own extortionate people have done. I directed my wife to lay out all the money about the house in provisions. She got a bushel of meal and five pounds of bacon for about $100. If we must endure another turn of the screw of famine, it is well to provide for it as well as possible. We cannot starve now, in a month; and by that time, Gens. Lee and Beauregard may come to our relief. Few others are looked to hopefully. The functionaries here might have had a six-months' supply, by wise and energetic measures. The President has had the Secretary of War closeted with him nearly all day. It is too late now for the evacuation of Richmond, and a _desperate_ defense will be made. If the city falls, the consequences will be ruinous to the present government. And how could any of its members escape? Only in disguise. This is the time to try the nerves of the President and his counselors! Gen. Bragg is very distasteful to many officers of the army; and the croakers and politicians would almost be willing to see the government go to pieces, to get rid of the President and his cabinet. Some of the members of Congress are anxious to get _away_, and the _Examiner_ twits them for their cowardice. They will stay, probably. MAY 14TH.--Warm, with alternate sunshine and showers. With the dawn recommenced the heavy boom of cannon down the river. It was rumored this morning that our right wing at Drewry's Bluff had been flanked, but no official information has been received of the progress of the fight. I saw a long line of ambulances going in that direction. To-day it is understood that the battle of Petersburg will be fought by Beauregard, if he be not withheld from attacking the enemy by orders from Richmond. We have been beaten, or rather badly foiled here, by orders from high authority; and it is said Gen. Ransom finds himself merely an instrument in the hands of those who do not know how to use him skillfully. The enemy is said to have made a bridge across the James River, either to come on the north side, or to enable the raiders to reach them. They are also planting torpedoes, for our iron rams. They are not yet ready. Gen. Lee is prosecuting the defensive policy effectively. Couriers to the press, considered quite reliable, give some details of a most terrific battle in Spottsylvania County day before yesterday, 12th inst. Our men (with extra muskets) fought behind their breastworks. The host of assailants came on, stimulated by whisky rations, ten deep, and fearful was the slaughter. Their loss is estimated at 20,000; ours, 2000. The enemy were still in front. Grant says he will not recross the Rappahannock as long as he has a man left. Lee seems determined to kill his last man. A great deal of time is said to have been consumed in cabinet council, making selections for appointments. It is a harvest for hunters after brigadier and major-generalships. The President is very busy in this business, and Secretary Seddon is sick--neuralgia. Last night Custis came home on a furlough of twelve hours. He got a clean shirt, and washed himself--not having had his shoes or clothes off for more than a week. He has not taken cold, though sleeping in the water, and not having dry clothes on him for several days. And his appetite is excellent. He departed again for camp, four miles off, at 5-1/2 A.M., bringing and taking out his gun, his heavy cartridge-box, and well-filled haversack (on his return). Half-past four o'clock P.M. A tremendous cannonade is now distinctly heard down the river, the intonations resembling thunder. No doubt the monitors are engaged with the battery at Drewry's Bluff. It may be a combined attack. Gen. Pemberton has resigned his commission; but the President has conferred on him a lieutenant-colonelcy of artillery. Thus the feelings of all the armies and most of the people are outraged; for, whether justly or not, both Pemberton and Bragg, to whom the President clings with tenacity, are especially obnoxious both to the people and the army. May Heaven shield us! Yet the President _may_ be right. MAY 15TH.--Clouds, sunshine, and showers. The tremendous cannonading all day yesterday at Drewry's Bluff was merely an artillery duel--brought on by the heavy skirmishing of pickets. The batteries filled the air with discordant sounds, and shook the earth with grating vibration. Perhaps 100 on each side were killed and wounded--"not worth the ammunition," as a member of the government said. Gen. Lee's dispatches to the President have been withheld from publication during the last four days. The loss of two trains of commissary stores affords the opportunity to censure Lee; but some think his popularity and power both with the people and the army have inspired the motive. I saw to-day some of our slightly wounded men from Lee's army, who were in the fight of Thursday (12th inst.), and they confirm the reports of the heavy loss of the enemy. They say there is no suffering yet for food, and the men are still in good spirits. Both the Central and the Fredericksburg Roads are repaired, and trains of provisions are now daily sent to Gen. Lee. The Danville Road was not materially injured; the raiders being repulsed before they could destroy the important bridges. Supplies can come to Petersburg, and may be forwarded by wagons to the Danville Road, and thence to Lynchburg, etc. Fresh troops are arriving from the South for Beauregard; but he is still withheld from decisive operations. The Departmental Battalion is still out; the enemy still menacing us from the Chickahominy. During the last four days correspondence has ceased almost entirely, and the heads of bureaus, captains, majors, lieutenant-colonels, adjutants, quartermasters, and commissaries, have nothing to do. They wander about with hanging heads, ashamed to be safely out of the field--I mean all under 50 years of age--and look like sheep-stealing dogs. Many sought their positions, and still retain them, to keep out of danger. Such cravens are found in all countries, and are perhaps fewer in this than any other. However, most of the population of the city between 17 and 50 are absent from the streets; some few shopkeeping Jews and Italians are imprisoned for refusing to aid in the defense, and some no doubt are hidden. Most of the able-bodied negro men, both free and slave, have been taken away--in the field as teamsters, or digging on the fortifications. Yet those that remain may sometimes be seen at the street corners looking, some wistfully, some in dread, in the direction of the enemy. There is but little fear of an insurrection, though no doubt the enemy would be welcomed by many of the negroes, both free and slave. At 1 P.M. to-day a train arrived from Guinea's Station with 800 of our wounded, in Sunday's and Thursday's battles. The following prices are now paid in this city: boots, $200; coats, $350; pants, $100; shoes, $125; flour, $275 per barrel; meal, $60 to $80 per bushel; bacon, $9 per pound; no beef in market; chickens, $30 per pair; shad, $20; potatoes, $25 per bushel; turnip greens, $4 per peck; white beans, $4 per quart, or $120 per bushel; butter, $15 per pound; lard, same; wood, $50 per cord. What a change a decisive victory--or defeat--would make! MAY 16TH.--Warm--sunshine and light showers. Memorable day--not yet decided at 2 P.M. Early this morning Gen. Beauregard attacked the enemy on the south side of the river, and by 9 A.M. he had sent over to the city Gen. Heckman and 840 prisoners, the entire 27th Massachusetts Regiment. Subsequently it is said 400 were sent over. By 12 M. the firing had receded out of hearing from the city, and messengers report that the enemy were being driven back rapidly. Hon. Geo. Davis, Attorney-General (from North Carolina), told me that Gen. Whiting was coming up from Petersburg, in the enemy's _rear_, with 13,000 men. So, at this hour, the prospects are glorious. Gen. Pickett has been relieved--_indisposition_. Brig.-Gen. Barton has also been relieved, for some cause arising out of the failure to capture the raiders on this side the river. Gens. Bragg and Pemberton made an inspection of the position of the enemy, down the river, yesterday, and made rather a cheerless report to the President. They are both supposed to be inimical to Gen. Beauregard, who seems to be achieving such brilliant success. The President rode over to Beauregard's headquarters this morning. Some fear he will embarrass the general; others say he is near the field, prepared to fly, if it be lost. In truth, if we were defeated, it might be difficult for him to return to the city. Gen. Breckenridge has defeated Sigel in the Shenandoah Valley. Gen. Lee dispatches that he had no fighting Saturday and Sunday. To-day Grant is retiring his right wing, but advancing his left east of Spottsylvania Court House, where Lee's headquarters are still established. MAY 17TH.--Sunshine and showers. The battle yesterday decided nothing, that I am aware of. We captured 1000 prisoners, stormed some of their intrenchments; losing altogether probably as many as the enemy. But we drove them back to Bermuda Hundred, behind their fortifications, and near their ships. Gen. Johnston was attacked at Dalton by 80,000 men last week; accounts, some five days old, say he repulsed the assaults of the enemy. The Departmental Battalion is out yet; the city being still in danger. The government is almost suspended in its functions. The Secretary of the Treasury cannot get money from Columbia, S. C., whither he foolishly sent the girls that sign the notes. Some of the idle military officers, always found about the departments, look grave, and do not hesitate to express some apprehension of the success of Grant in forcing Lee back, and spreading over all Northern and Northwestern Virginia. The Secretary of War is much secluded, and I see by a correspondence between him and the Secretary of the Treasury, relating to the _million and three-quarters_ in coin, belonging to the New Orleans banks, that the Secretary of the Treasury can make no "valid objection to the proposition of the Secretary of War." I do not understand what disposition they propose to make of it. A list is being prepared at the War Department (by Mr. Assistant Secretary Campbell) for Congress to pass, authorizing the seizure of all the railroads in the Confederacy. Also one establishing and reorganizing the Bureau of Conscription. If Butler remains between Richmond and Petersburg, and is reinforced, and Grant is strong enough (two to Lee's one) to push on toward Richmond, our perils and trials will be greater than ever. Vice-President Stephens has not yet arrived. I do not understand that he is ill. MAY 18TH.--Showers and sunshine, the first preponderating. Our killed and wounded in Beauregard's battle amount to some 1500. The enemy lost 1000 prisoners, and perhaps 1500 killed and wounded. Railroad men report heavy firing this morning near Fredericksburg, and it is believed another battle is in progress. From the West we have a report, derived from the enemy at Natchez, that Gen. Banks has surrendered to Lieut-Gen. Smith. It is rumored likewise that President Lincoln has called for 60,000 militia, _to defend Washington_. A fortnight ago, Mr. Benjamin procured passports for one or two of his agents "to pass the lines at will." They may have procured information, but it did not prevent the enemy from coming. Attended a funeral (next door to us) ceremony this afternoon at 5 P.M. over the body of Abner Stanfield, a nephew of Mrs. Smith, our next door neighbor, who fell in battle day before yesterday, near Drewry's Bluff. By the merest accident his relatives here learned of his fall (by the paper we loaned them), and Mr. S. had his body brought to his house, and decently prepared for the grave. His bloody garments were replaced by a fine suit of clothes he had kept with Mr. S.; his mother, etc. live in Northern Virginia, and his cousins, the Misses S., decorated the coffin beautifully with laurels, flowers, etc. He was a handsome young hero, six feet tall, and died bravely in his country's defense. He was slain by a shell. The ceremony was impressive, and caused many tears to flow. But his glorious death and funeral honor will inspire others with greater resolution to do and to dare, and to die, if necessary, for their country. The minister did him justice, for the hallowed cause in which he fell. MAY 19TH.--Sunshine and showers, the former predominating. Gen. Lee sends a dispatch saying the enemy's attack yesterday was repulsed easily--our loss very light. It is said, however, that the enemy have Guinea's Station, 12 miles this side of Fredericksburg. Gen. Beauregard intends shelling Butler in his fortifications to-morrow. From the West, in Georgia, and beyond the Mississippi, all seem bright enough. Congress has passed a resolution to adjourn on the 31st inst., in obedience to the wish of the President. He has a majority in both Houses, it seems; and even the bills they pass are generally dictated by the Executive, and written in the departments. Judge Campbell is much used for this purpose. Gen. Bragg sent in a manuscript, derived from a deserter, stating that of Gen. Butler's two corps, one, the 10th, is from the Southern coast, no negroes in it, leaving only negroes in the Southern garrisons. We learned Butler was in command, and dismissed all apprehensions--and one day we had but 5000 opposed to his 40,000! MAY 20TH.--Fog; then sunshine all day, but cool. Troops have been marching through the city all day from the south side. I presume others take their places arriving from the South. Barton's brigade had but 700 out of 2000 that went into battle last Monday. Our wounded amount to 2000; perhaps the enemy's loss was not so large. Col. Northrop is vehement in his condemnation of Beauregard; says his blunders are ruining us; that he is a charlatan, and that he never has been of any value to the Confederate States; and he censures Gen. Lee, whom he considers a general, and the only one we have, and the Secretary of War, for not providing transportation for supplies, now so fearfully scarce. I read an indorsement to-day, in the President's writing, as follows: "Gen. Longstreet has seriously offended against good order and military discipline in rearresting an officer (Gen. Law) who had been released by the War Department, without any new offense having been alleged.--J. D." Mr. Mallory, Secretary of the Navy, wrote a pungent letter to the Secretary of War to-day, on the failure of the latter to have the obstructions removed from the river, so that the iron-clads might go out and fight. He says the enemy has captured our lower battery of torpedoes, etc., and declares the failure to remove the obstructions "prejudicial to the interests of the country, and especially to the naval service, which has thus been prevented from rendering important service." Gen. Bragg writes a pretty tart letter to the Secretary of War to-day, desiring that his reports of the Army of Tennessee, called for by Congress, be furnished for publication, or else that the reasons be given for withholding them. We have no war news to-day. Mrs. Minor, of Cumberland County, with whom my daughter Anne resides, is here, in great affliction. Her brother, Col. Rudolph, was killed in the battle with Sheridan, near Richmond; shot through the head, and buried on the field. Now she learns that another brother, a cadet, just 18 years old, was killed in the battle of Gen. Breckinridge, in the valley, shot through the head; and she resolves to set out for Staunton at once, to recover his body. Her father and sister died a few months ago, and she has just heard of her aunt's death. A lady living next door to us had two brothers wounded on Monday, and they are both here, and will recover. Gen. Breckinridge is now marching to reinforce Lee. It is said Butler will set sail to join Grant. If so, we can send Lee 20,000 more men, and Beauregard's victory will yield substantial fruits. MAY 21ST.--Sun all day, but a little hazy; perhaps a battle. There was quite a battle yesterday on the south side. The accounts in the morning's paper fall short of the whole of our success. The enemy, it is said to-day, did not regain the works from which they were driven, but are now cooped up at Bermuda Hundred. Nothing is feared from Butler. Nothing from Lee, but troops are constantly going to him. I saw some 10,000 rusty rifles, brought down yesterday from Lee's battle-field. Many bore marks of balls, deeply indenting or perforating the barrels. The ordnance officer says in his report that he has collected many thousands more than were dropped by our killed and wounded. This does not look like a _Federal_ victory! MAY 22D.--Clear and warm, but the atmosphere is charged with the smoke and dust of contending armies. The sun shines but dimly. Custis was with us last night, and returned to camp at 5 A.M. to-day. He gets from government only a small loaf of corn bread and a herring a day. We send him something, however, every other morning. His appetite is voracious, and he has not taken cold. He loathes the camp life, and some of the associates he meets in his mess, but is sustained by the vicissitudes and excitements of the hour, and the conviction that the crisis must be over soon. Last night there was furious shelling down the river, supposed to be a night attack by Butler, which, no doubt, Beauregard anticipated. Result not heard. The enemy's cavalry were at Milford yesterday, but did no mischief, as our stores had been moved back to Chesterfield depot, and a raid on Hanover C. H. was repulsed. Lee was also attacked yesterday evening, and repulsed the enemy. It is said Ewell is now engaged in a flank movement, and the GREAT FINAL battle may be looked for immediately. Breckinridge is at Hanover Junction, with other troops. So the war rolls on toward this capital, and yet Lee's headquarters remain in Spottsylvania. A few days more must tell the story. If he cuts Grant's communications, I should not be surprised if that desperate general attempted a bold dash on toward Richmond. I don't think he could take the city--and he would be between two fires. I saw some of the enemy's wounded this morning, brought down in the cars, dreadfully mutilated. Some had lost a leg and arm--besides sustaining other injuries. But they were cheerful, and uttered not a groan in the removal to the hospital. Flour is selling as high as $400 per barrel, and meal at $125 per bushel. The roads have been cut in so many places, and so frequently, that no provisions have come in, except for the army. But the hoarding speculators have abundance hidden. The Piedmont Road, from Danville, Va., to Greensborough, is completed, and now that we have two lines of communication with the South, it may be hoped that this famine will be of only short duration. They are cutting wheat in Georgia and Alabama, and new flour will be ground from the growing grain in Virginia in little more than a month. God help us, if relief come not speedily! A great victory would be the speediest way. My garden looks well, but affords nothing yet except salad. MAY 23D.--Fair and warm, with pleasant breezes. Gen. Johnston, without a defeat, has fallen back to Calhoun, Ga. Gen. Lee, without a defeat, has fallen back to Hanover Junction, his headquarters at Ashland. Grant is said to be worming his way eastward to the Peninsula, the field occupied by McClellan in 1862. Why, he might have attained that position without the loss of a man at the outset! On Saturday night Gen. Butler made the following exploit: "On Saturday night the enemy renewed his assault, assailing that portion of our line held principally by Wise's brigade. In some manner our men had become apprised of the intention of the enemy to make a night attack, and were fully prepared for it. The enemy were allowed to advance, our men deliberately reserving their fire until they were within 20 or 30 yards of them, when they poured into their ranks a most terrific volley, driving them back with great slaughter. The repulse is said to have been a most decided success; the enemy were thrown into great confusion and retreated rapidly. "The enemy's loss is said to have been very severe, and is estimated at hardly less than four or five hundred _in killed alone_, while we are said to have lost none in killed, and some thirty or forty wounded." There was an immense mail to-day, and yet with my sore eyes I had no aid from my son, still at the intrenchments. I hinted my desire to have him, but young Mr. Kean opposed it. MAY 24TH.--Clear and warm. No fighting yesterday besides small collisions near Hanover Junction. It is said to-day that Grant threatens the Central Railroad, on Lee's left. This is regarded as a serious matter. We want _men_. An armed guard is now a fixture before the President's house. Peas were in market on the 18th inst.; price $10 a half peck. Strawberries are $10 per quart. There has been no meat in market for a long time, most of the butchers' stalls being closed during the last three months. Unless government feeds the people here, some of us may starve. MAY 25TH.--Sunshine and showers. Custis is back again, the battalion of clerks being relieved, after three weeks' service in the field. Yesterday there was skirmishing between the armies, near Hanover Junction--25 miles distant from the city. Nothing of importance from the south side. But our iron-clads are certainly going down the river--they _say_. To-day it is thought a battle commenced between Lee and Grant. It will be, perhaps, a decisive engagement, whenever it does take place. And yet there is no trepidation in the community; no apparent fear of defeat. Still, there is some degree of feverish anxiety, as Lee retires nearer to the capital followed by the enemy. A little delay would make us stronger, as reinforcements, especially of cavalry, are daily arriving. The trains run from the city to Lee's headquarters in one hour and a half. A letter from Senator Henry, of Tennessee, to the Secretary, suggests that Forrest's cavalry be now sent to the rear of Sherman's army in Georgia, to cut off his supplies, etc., resulting in his destruction. Perhaps this is the purpose. And Lee may have some such design. A few days will develop important events. May they put an end to this desolating war. MAY 26TH.--Sunshine and showers. Senator Henry's letter was referred to Gen. Bragg, who returned it to-day with the indorsement that the suggested movement had not escaped attention, and a good result might soon be looked for. And sure enough, a dispatch was received from Atlanta to-day, announcing the capture of some 250 of the enemy's wagons laden with stores! It is to be hoped that Gen. Lee has some scheme of a similar character, to relieve Grant of his supply trains. Troops are daily coming hither, infantry and cavalry, whence in one hour and a half the former reach Lee's army. The great battle still hangs fire, but to be of greater magnitude when it does occur. Gen. Bragg did a good thing yesterday, even while Senator Orr was denouncing him. He relieved Gen. Winder from duty here, and assigned him to Goldsborough, N. C. Now if the rogues and cut-throats he persisted in having about him be likewise dismissed, the Republic is safe! Gen. Ransom has now full charge of this department. Mr. Secretary Seddon is sick, and Mr. Assistant Secretary Campbell is crabbed--Congress not having passed his Supreme Court bill. And if it were passed, the President would hardly appoint him judge. It is said one of our iron-clads is out--the rest to follow immediately. Let Butler beware! MAY 27TH.--Clouds and sunshine; cooler. Nothing additional from the West. Several thousand Georgia mounted troops have arrived during the last 24 hours, in readiness to march to Lee. One Georgia regiment has 1200, and a South Carolina regiment that went up this morning 1000 men. Lee's army is at Ashland--17 miles distant. The enemy are marching down the Pamunky, north side. They will doubtless cross it, and march through New Kent and Charles City Counties to the James River, opposite Butler's army. Grant probably intends crossing his army to the south side, which, if effected, might lose us Richmond, for the city cannot subsist a week with its southern communications cut. We should starve. But Beauregard means to make another effort to dislodge Butler, immediately. It will probably be a combined movement, the iron clads co-operating. It is a necessity, and it must be done without delay, no matter what the cost may be. If Butler remains, the railroads will be cut. If the city be taken, not only will the iron-clads be lost, but a large proportion of the army may be cut off from escape. Immense munitions would certainly fall into the hands of the enemy. The _Whig_ and _Enquirer_ both denounced Gen. Bragg to-day. Senator Orr's assault in the Senate on Gen. Bragg was followed by another from Wigfall, who declared there was a want of confidence in the President. Mr. Orr said his appointment was discourtesy to the Secretary of War, whereupon the Secretary fell ill yesterday, but to-day he is well again. Nevertheless, the Senate voted Gen. B. the salary, etc. allowed a general in the field. And Gen. Winder has been treated as cavalierly as he treated me. Retribution is sure. The city is excited with rumors. One is that Beauregard, when about to engage the enemy last week, was ordered by Bragg to evacuate Petersburg--certainly an insane measure. Gen. Beauregard (so the story runs) telegraphed the President (who was with him, as I heard) to know if such an order had his sanction. The President replied that Gen. Bragg's orders were authorized by him. Beauregard _disregarded_ the order and fought the battle, saving Petersburg. Then Beauregard tendered his resignation, which was not accepted. It is also said that the order was directed to the commandant of the garrison; but the courier was stopped by Generals Wise and Martin, who gave the paper to Beauregard. There is another rumor that Bragg's orders caused Lee to fall back; and, of course, the credulous people here are despondent; some in despair. There may be some design against the President in all this. MAY 28TH.--Showers and sunshine. Grant has crossed the Pamunky, and Lee is at the Yellow Tavern--not more than _six miles_ from the city. The hostile armies are only a few miles apart, and the GREAT BATTLE may occur at any time, at any hour; and we shall hear both the artillery and musketry from my dwelling. All is quiet on the south side of the river. Nothing from Georgia, except a short address from Gen. Johnston to the army, stating that, having the enemy now where he wants him, he will lead the soldiers to battle. War and famine develop some of the worst instincts of our nature. For five days the government has been selling meal, by the peck, for $12: and yet those who have been purchasing have endeavored to keep it a secret! And the government turns extortioner, making $45 profit per bushel out of the necessities of the people! I saw a dispatch, to-day, from Gen. Johnston to his Chief Commissary, at Atlanta, ordering him, after reserving ten days' rations, to send the rest of the stores to Augusta! It is said Mr. Memminger and certain members of Congress have in readiness the means of sudden flight, in the event of Grant's forcing his way into the city. It is thought, to-day, that Bragg will resign. If he does, then the President will be humiliated; for the attacks on Bragg are meant principally for Mr. Davis. But I doubt the story; I don't think the President will permit Bragg to retire before his enemies, unless affairs become desperate by the defeat of our army in this vicinity. MAY 29TH.--Bright and quite cold. There was skirmishing yesterday evening on the Chickahominy. The armies are confronting each other, but Grant is moving gradually to the right of us, as if with an intention to reach the James River; but probably it is with the view of enveloping us with his superior numbers, and the GREAT BATTLE may occur at any hour. The train of cars, laden, in Broad Street, destined a few days ago to transport provisions, etc. to Gen. Lee's army, are visited hourly by wagons from the army, now in the immediate vicinity. This morning the Secretary's time is occupied in giving audience to citizens who have fled from the vicinity of the enemy, but whose exaggerated accounts really furnish no reliable information. Of what benefit, in such a crisis as this, is the tale of desolation in the track of Grant's army, the destruction of crops, the robbery of children of their silver cups and spoons, etc.? And yet these are the things which occupy much time. MAY 30TH.--Fair and cool; hot at noon. It is rumored that Mr. Memminger will resign. If he does, it will cause much rejoicing. Mr. Foote censured him severely in Congress; and moved a resolution of censure, which was _not_ laid on the table--though moved, and voted on--but postponed. Gen. Lee has been a little ill from fatigue, exposure, and change of water; but was better yesterday, and is confident. Messrs. Cardoza and Martin, who sell a peck of meal per day to each applicant for $12, or $48 per bushel, flour at $1.60 per pound, and beans $3 per quart, are daily beset with a great crowd, white and black. I do not think they sell for the government, but they probably have facilities from it. The prices are only about half charged in the shops. But Messrs. Dunlop and Moucine are selling meal (on their own account, I believe) at $25 per bushel, or 50 cts. per pound, allowing each white member of the family about five ounces per day; and selling them twice per month, or nine pounds per month to each. The rule is to sell to only the indigent, refugees, etc. My friend James G. Brooks, Clay Street, informed me this morning that he got half a bushel there. He is rich! MAY 31ST.--Clear, with hot sun. Last evening there was some fighting on Lee's right, and 125 prisoners were sent in. This morning cannon and musketry could be distinctly heard east of my dwelling; but at 3 P.M. I have not been able to learn the extent of it or the result. But the GREAT BATTLE is imminent. Troops have been coming over from the south side (Beauregard's) for twenty hours, and marching down Main Street toward the Williamsburg road. It is doubtless a flank movement of Beauregard, and an attack on Grant may be expected any hour; and must occur, I think, to-morrow at furthest. I have not learned that Butler has retired from his position--and if not, our communications must be in peril. But no matter, so Grant be beaten. All the local troops are ordered to be in readiness to march at a moment's warning, this evening or night. CHAPTER XXXIX. Beauregard's plan.--The battle.--Defeat near Staunton.--Fight at Petersburg.--Decision about Marylanders--Beauregard in disgrace.-- Dispatch from Gen. J. E. Johnston. JUNE 1ST.--Bright and warm. At 7-1/2 A.M. cannon and musketry heard northeast of the city, which either ceased or receded out of hearing at 12 M.; or else the hum of the city drowned the sounds of battle. Up to 3 P.M. we have no particulars. Beauregard is on the right of our line; Lee's headquarters was at Yellow Tavern. He is sufficiently recovered to direct the battle. Butler has mostly if not entirely evacuated Bermuda Hundred; doubtless gone to Grant. The President rode out this morning toward the battle-field. Every one is confident of success, since Beauregard and Lee command. The Secretary of War granted a passport to Mr. Pollard, who wrote a castigating history of the first years of the war, to visit Europe. Pollard, however, was taken, and is now in the hands of the enemy, at New York. Another row with the Bureau of Conscription. Brig.-Gen. Chilton, Inspector-General, has been investigating operations in Mississippi, at the instance of Gen. Polk; and Col. Preston, Superintendent of the Bureau, disdains to answer their communications. My landlord, Mr. King, _has not_ raised my rent! JUNE 2D.--Very warm and cloudy. There was no general engagement yesterday, but heavy skirmishing, and several assaults at different points; and a dispatch from Gen. Lee says they resulted favorably to our arms. A dispatch from Gen. Johnston says his men are in good plight, after combats enough to make a battle, in all of which the enemy suffered most. The local troops (Custis's battalion, etc.) were ordered out to-day. I have not understood to what point they were ordered; but it indicates the imminency of a battle. Lee has not less than 80,000 men--veterans. I saw, to-day, Gen. Beauregard's plan, dated May 14th. It was addressed to Gen. Bragg, "Commanding Confederate States Armies." He suggested the falling back on the defenses of Richmond, and detaching 15,000 to the south side to crush or drive away Butler. He would then not only return the 15,000 to the north side, but bring over 25,000 additional to crush Grant. This scheme was rejected by Bragg on the 19th, after consultation with the President and the Secretary: the latter indorsing _his_ concurrence in the rejection, the President not _committing himself in writing_. But Beauregard was ordered to attack Butler without delay, which was done, and successfully; but he was not crushed, and still threatens our railroads with a portion of his army, while the rest has been sent to reinforce Grant. Nevertheless, Beauregard is here with some 20,000, and Lee _did_ fall back to the defenses of Richmond. Congress has passed a bill increasing the compensation of themselves 100 per cent. Perhaps they will not adjourn now, but remain and await events. Senator Hunter and the Secretary of War promenaded the Square yesterday afternoon in a long "confabulation," supposed by some to relate to political matters. 5 O'CLOCK P.M.--Heavy and quick cannonading heard some eight or ten miles east of the city. It continued until night, when it was raining and cold; and Custis had no blanket, not anticipating such a change. JUNE 3D.--Raining gently, and cool. As early as 4 A.M. there was an incessant roar of artillery, the vibrations of which could be felt in the houses. It could be heard distinctly in all parts of the city. And ever and anon could be distinguished great crashes of musketry, as if whole divisions of infantry were firing at the word of command. It continued until 11 o'clock A.M., when it ceased. A dispatch from Lee stated that his line (behind breastworks, center and left) had been repeatedly assaulted, and every time the enemy was repulsed. The attack, it was supposed, was made to check a flanking movement made yesterday afternoon, by Gen. Ewell, on the enemy's left, to cut his communications with the White House, his base of supplies. No doubt the slaughter has been great! The dispatch from Beauregard indicates that he may be still on the other side of the river. It may be a _ruse de guerre_, or it may be that the general's enemies here (in the government) are risking everything to keep him from participation in the great battles. Mr. Hunter, being short and fat, rolls about like a pumpkin. He is everywhere, seeking tidings from the field. It is said the enemy, at last, has visited his great estates in Essex County; but he'll escape loss "by hook or by crook." He has made enormously by his crops and his mills: nevertheless, he would sacrifice all for the Presidency--and independence. The President, yesterday, forbade details from the Department Battalion to remain in the city. The _Southern_ Express Company has bribed the quartermasters, and is at its work again, using fine horses and stout details that should be in the army. Its wagon was at the department to-day with a box of bacon for Judge Campbell. About 800 prisoners were marched into the city this afternoon, and it is believed many more are on the way. Cannonading was heard again in a northeast direction this evening from 6 till 8-1/2 o'clock, when it ceased--perhaps the prelude to another scene of carnage to-morrow! JUNE 4TH.--Showers and sunshine. It is believed Grant has lost 40,000 within the last week! To-day there has been more or less cannonading along the line; but it is not known if any infantry were engaged. The battalion to which Custis (my son) belongs is at Bottom's Bridge, some sixteen miles distant on the Chickahominy; and I learn that the enemy shelled it yesterday and last night, without injury, shells falling short. It is suspected that Sherman will be ordered from Georgia to reinforce Grant! It seems Lincoln would give up his hopes of heaven, and plunge into hell, for the PRESIDENCY. The Commissary General says Lee must beat Grant before the latter is reinforced, "or we are gone;" for their destruction of the railroads, north and northwest, will ruin us--the southern roads being insufficient to transport stores for the army. My nephew, Col. R. H. Musser, trans-Mississippi, I am told by Senator Clark, was complimented on the field of victory by Gen. Taylor. His brigadier-general having fallen, Col. M. commanded the brigade. Last evening, about 6 P.M., a cloud nearly overhead assumed the shape of a section of our fortifications, the segment of a circle, with the triangle penetrating through from the north. These shapes were distinctly defined. Could the operations beneath have produced this phenomenon? was it accidental? or a portent of the future? God knows! JUNE 5TH.--Raining. The sudden booming of artillery, shelling our department boys, intrenching at Bottom's Bridge, was heard until bedtime. I have heard no results of yesterday's operations. All is quiet to-day, up to 9 A.M. Received a letter from Custis. I have not heard whether he received the food and blanket sent him yesterday; the latter, he says, was wanted badly the night before. He charges Fanny, as usual, to be regular in feeding and watering Polly, his parrot; and never to leave the door of his cage open, for fear he may fly away. JUNE 6TH.--Clear and hot, but with a fine breeze--southwest. All is quiet around the city. Saturday night the enemy _again_ penetrated Gen. Breckinridge's line, and _again_ were repulsed by the Floridians. Some of his regiments (as Mr. Mallory, Secretary of the Navy, who stopped in front of my house yesterday, told me) did not behave well. Yesterday, I learn, both sides buried the dead, with the exception of some Federals piled up in front of Lee's breastworks. A deserter says Grant intends _to stink_ Lee out of his position, if nothing else will suffice. What a war, and for what? The _Presidency_ (United States), perhaps! I learn that the Departmental Battalion, near Bottom's Bridge, has been moved back a mile, out of range of the enemy's shells and sharpshooters. We have met with a defeat in the Valley, near Staunton, which place has probably fallen. A letter from Gen. Bragg, this morning, in reply to Mr. Secretary Seddon's inquiries, says it is too true, and he indorses copies of dispatches from Gen. Vaughn and Col. Lee to Gen. R. E. Lee, who sent them to the President, and the President to Gen. B., who sends them now to the Secretary. Gen. V. calls loudly for reinforcements to save Staunton, and says Gen. W. E. Jones, who commanded, was killed. Col. Lee says, "We have been pretty badly whipped." Gen. Bragg knows of no reinforcements that can be sent, and says Gen. R. E. Lee has command there as well as here, and was never interfered with. Gen. B. says he had tendered Gen. Lee his services, but they had not been accepted. Small heads of early York cabbage sold in market to-day at $3, or $5 for two. At that rate, I got about $10 worth out of my garden. Mine are excellent, and so far abundant, as well as the lettuce, which we have every day. My snap beans and beets will soon come on. The little garden is a little treasure. JUNE 7TH.--Rained in the night, clear and cool in the morning. Gen. Breckinridge's division started toward the Valley early this morning. All is quiet near the city; but firing has been heard in the direction of Bottom's Bridge. A man from New Kent County, coming through the lines, reports that Gen. Grant was quite drunk yesterday, and said he would try Lee once more, and if he failed to defeat him, "the Confederacy might go to hell." It must have been some other general. JUNE 8TH.--Clouds and sunshine--cool. No war news except what appears in the papers. There was a rumor yesterday that several of the companies of the Departmental Battalion were captured on Monday, but it was not confirmed by later accounts. Our battery of 49 guns was unmasked, and opened on the enemy, who had been firing over the heads of our young men (clerks). This was replied to by as many guns from the enemy. Thus both fires were over the heads of the infantry in the low ground between, and none were hurt, although the shell sometimes burst just over them. A pontoon train passed down the river to-day, on this side, one captured from the United States, and brought from Gordonsville. If Grant crosses, Lee will cross, still holding the "inside track." Received a letter from Custis. He is at Gen. Custis Lee's headquarters on ordnance duty. A pretty position, if a shell were to explode among the ammunition! He says he has plenty of bread and meat, and so we need not send any more. But he considers it a horrible life, and would rather be without his rations than his daily reading, etc. So I sent him reading enough for a week--all the newspapers I had; a pamphlet on the Bible Society in the South; Report of the Judiciary Committee on the Suspension of the _habeas corpus_; and, finally, the last number of the _Surgical Magazine_, in which he will find every variety of _gunshot wounds_, _operations_, etc. etc. I had nothing else to send him. JUNE 9TH.--Sunshine and clouds--warm. No fighting yesterday. It is reported that the enemy's cavalry and a corps of infantry recrossed the Pamunky this morning, either after Breckinridge, or to guard communications with the Rappahannock. There is a pause also in Georgia. Yesterday the President vetoed a bill exempting the publishers of periodicals, etc. He said the time had arrived when "every man capable of bearing arms should be found in the ranks." But this does not affect the young and stalwart _Chefs du Bureaux_, or acting assistant generals, quartermasters, commissaries, etc. etc., who have safe and soft places. My little garden now serves me well, furnishing daily in cabbage, lettuce, beets, etc. what would cost $10. JUNE 10TH.--Clear and cool. All quiet round the city; but Petersburg was assaulted yesterday and successfully defended. The battalion of clerks still remains at Bottom's Bridge, on the Chickahominy. The pickets hold familiar conversation every day with the pickets of the enemy, the stream being narrow, and crossed by a log. For tobacco and the city papers our boys get sugar, coffee, etc. This intercourse is wrong. Some of the clerks were _compelled_ to volunteer to retain their offices, and may desert, giving important information to the enemy. I had snap beans to-day from my garden. I have seen none in market. JUNE 11TH.--Sunshine and cloudy--warmer. There is a calm in military matters, but a storm is gathering in the Valley of Virginia. Both sides are concentrating for a battle. If we should be defeated (not likely), then our communications may be cut, and Grant be under no necessity of fighting again to get possession of Richmond. Meantime it is possible Grant will retire, and come again on the south side of the James River. Congress is debating a measure increasing the President's compensation--he cannot subsist on his present salary. Nor can any of us. Mr. Seddon has a large private income, and could well afford to set the patriotic example of working "for nothing." We have heard to-day that Lincoln was nominated for re-election at Baltimore on the 7th inst., and gold rose to $1 96. Fremont is now pledged to run also, thus dividing the Republican party, and giving an opportunity for the Democrats to elect a President. If we can only _subsist_ till then, we may have peace, and must have independence at all events. But there is discontent, in the Army of the West, with Gen. Johnston, and in the East with Bragg, and among the croakers with the President. New potatoes sold to-day for $5 per quart, $160 per bushel! Mr. Rhodes, Commissioner of Patents, told me to-day that Gen. Forrest, at last accounts, was at Tupelo, Miss., doing nothing,--Gen. Wheeler, his junior in years, superior in rank, to whom he is again subordinated by the potency of Gen. Cooper's red tape, having most of his men. Robert Tyler has been with the Departmental Battalion at Bottom's Bridge, doing service as a private, though the head of a bureau. This evening at 7 o'clock we heard artillery in the direction of Lee's army. JUNE 12TH.--Cold and cloudy. Some firing again this morning, supposed to be merely an artillery duel. Heard from Custis, in pencil mark on the back of envelope; and he has applied for and obtained a transfer from ordnance duty in the rear, back to his company in the front. It is rumored that Sheridan has cut the road between Gordonsville and Charlottesville, and between that place and Lynchburg. If this be true, he will probably strike south for the Danville Road. Then we shall have _confusion here, and the famine intensified_. There seems to be no concert among the military commanders, and no unity of purpose among civil functionaries. They mistrust one another, and the people begin to mistrust them all. Meantime the President remains inflexible. All has been quiet to-day. I suppose the enemy is fortifying, with an intention to move half his army to the south side of the river--distracting us by menacing the city and threatening our communications at the same time. It is believed here by the croakers that Gen. Lee has lost much of his influence, from the moment Mr. Foote named him as Dictator in the event of one being declared. Now, it would seem, if the plan of Beauregard, rejected by Bragg, had been adopted, our condition would have been better. It is the curse of Republics to be torn by the dissensions of rival chieftains in moments of public danger! JUNE 13TH.--Clear and cool. Gen. Bragg sent to the Secretary of War to-day a copy of a letter from him to the President, yesterday, proposing to send 6000 more troops to Western Virginia, as Breckinridge has only 9000 and the enemy 18,000. Lieut.-Gen Holmes sends from Raleigh, N. C., a letter from Hon. T. Bragg, revealing the existence of a secret organization in communication with the enemy, styled the "H. O. A.;" and asking authority to arrest certain men supposed to be implicated. A letter was received from G. W. Lay, his son-in-law, by the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, dated near Petersburg, stating that the Southern Express Company would bring articles from Charleston for him. That company seems to be more potential than ever. Cannonading was heard far down the Chickahominy this morning. And yet Lieut.-Gen. Ewell marched his corps to-day out the Brooke Road, just in the opposite direction! It is rumored that he is marching away for Washington! If he had transportation, and could march in that direction, no doubt it would be the speediest way of relieving Richmond. Gen. Lee, however, knows best. At the conclave of dignitaries, Hunter, Wigfall, and Secretary Seddon, yesterday, it is reported that when Mr. Seddon explained Grant's zigzag fortifications, Senator Hunter exclaimed he was afraid we could never beat him; when Senator Wigfall said nothing was easier--the President would put the old folks and children to _praying_ at 6 o'clock A.M. Now if any one were to tell these things to the President, he would not believe him. JUNE 14TH.--Clear and cool. Gen. Grant has changed his base--disappearing from the front of Lee in the night. He is supposed to be endeavoring to get his army below the city, and in communication with Butler on the south side. A dispatch from Gen. Lee says Gen. Hampton has defeated Sheridan. Forrest has gained a victory in the West. Lincoln has been nominated--Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, for Vice-President. Gen. Whiting writes that supplies from abroad are coming in abundantly at Wilmington, N. C. If we can only preserve our communications with the South, I regard the campaign, if not the war, pretty nearly at an end, and Richmond safe! Grant has failed, after doing his utmost to take Richmond. He has shattered a great army to no purpose; while Lee's army is as strong as ever. This is true generalship in Lee. But Grant can get more men. JUNE 15TH.--Clear and cool; warm late in the day. It is rumored now that the enemy got to Westtown yesterday, some ten miles below the point on this side occupied by Butler; and to-day he is leaving, either crossing to the south side (probably to cut the railroad), or embarking in his transports for no one knows whither. So, this attempt to take Richmond is as bad a failure as any. Grant has _used up_ nearly a hundred thousand men--to what purpose? We are not injured, after withstanding this blow of the concentrated power of the enemy. It is true some bridges are burned, some railroads have been cut, and the crops in the line of the enemy's march have been ruined; but our army is intact: Lee's losses altogether, in killed and wounded, not exceeding a few thousand. A report of an officer states that the James River is not fordable anywhere above for forty miles. There is a rumor on the street that the head of Ewell's corps (commanded by Gen. Early) crossed the Rappahannock, yesterday, at United States Ford. If this be so, there must be consternation in Washington; and the government there will issue embarrassing orders to Grant. The spirits of the people here are buoyant with the Western news, as well as with the result of Lee's campaign. The death of Gen. Polk, however, is lamented by a good many. The operations of Forrest and Morgan are inspiring. JUNE 16TH.--Clear and pleasant weather, but dusty. The Departmental Battalion marched away, last night, from the Chickahominy (guarding a ford when no enemy was on the other side!) for Chaffin's Farm, on the James River. They were halted after marching an hour or so, and permitted to rest (sleep) while the rest of the brigade passed on. When Custis awoke he was alone, the battalion having left him; and he was ill, and knew not the road. So he set out for the city, with the intention of going down the river road this morning. But he grew worse after reaching home. Still, he resolved to go; and at 8 A.M., having marched all night nearly, he set out again, and met his sergeant--who had likewise diverged as far as the city--who said if he was really too ill to march, he would deliver the captain a surgeon's certificate to that effect, which would be a sufficient explanation of his absence. So, Surgeon C. Bell Gibson, upon an examination, pronounced him _sick_, and certified to the captain that he could not be fit for service for a week or ten days. At 3 P.M. he is in bed with a raging fever. There was a fight at Malvern Hill yesterday, the enemy being repulsed. There was also another assault on Petersburg, repulsed three times; but the fourth time our forces, _two regiments_, were forced back by overwhelming numbers from the outer line of defenses. To-day it is reported that they are fighting again at Petersburg, and great masses of troops are in motion. The war will be determined, perhaps, by the operations of a day or two; and much anxiety is felt by all. A letter from Hon. G. A. Henry, on the Danville Railroad, saying only 1000 men were there to defend it, with but two cannon without appropriate ammunition! Soon after a dispatch came from Col. Withers, at Danville, stating it was reported 10,000 of the enemy were approaching the road, and only thirty-two miles distant. He called for reinforcements, but stated his belief that the number of the enemy was exaggerated. I delivered these to the Secretary myself, finding him engaged writing a long letter to Gen. Kirby Smith, beyond the Mississippi! In this moment of _doubt_ and _apprehension_, I saw Mr. Randolph, formerly Secretary of War, and Mr. G. A. Myers, his law colleague, at the telegraph office eagerly in quest of news. To-day the President decided that Marylanders here are "residents," or "alien enemies;" if the former, they must fight--if the latter, be expelled. A righteous judgment. Last night, as Custis staggered (with debility) upon the pickets at the fortifications of the city, not having a passport, he was refused permission to proceed. He then lay down to rest, when one of the pickets remarked to him that he was not "smart, or he would flank them." Custis sprang up and thanked him for the _hint_, and proceeded to put it in practice. The _Examiner_ to-day says that Col. Dahlgren, a month before his death, was in Richmond, under an assumed name, with a passport signed by Gen. Winder, to go whithersoever he would. I think this probable. At 3 P.M. the wires cease to work between here and Petersburg, and there are many rumors. But from the direction of the wind, we cannot hear any firing. JUNE 17TH.--Clear and pleasant. A dispatch from Beauregard states that two assaults of the enemy yesterday, at Petersburg, were repulsed with loss; and it is reported that he recovered all lost ground to-day. Yet Beauregard has an enemy in his rear as well as in his front. When the battles were fought on the south side of the river in May, it appears that one of Gen. B.'s brigadiers (Colston) stopped some battalions on the way to Richmond, in an emergency, and this has certainly given umbrage to the President, as the following indorsement, which I found on a paper to-day, will show: "No officer has a right to stop troops moving under the orders of superior authority. If he assumes such power, he does it at his hazard, and must be justified by subsequent events rather than by good intentions. "Gen. Beauregard has, in this case, by approving and continuing the order (Gen. Colston's) assumed the responsibility of the act.--J. D. June 16th, 1864." JUNE 18TH.--Clear and cool. To-day, heavy firing is heard on the south side of the river. It is believed a general engagement is in progress. It is the anniversary of the battle of WATERLOO. If we gain the day, it will end the war. It is now said Gen. Early (with Ewell's corps) has reached Lynchburg, where a battle must occur. Gen. Ewell has been assigned to the command of this department, Gen. Ransom going West. We have advices (4 P.M.) of a terrific battle at Petersburg last evening, which raged until 11 o'clock at night. The slaughter of the enemy is reported as unprecedented. Our troops repulsed the assailants at all points but one, and that, which was carried by the enemy, was soon recovered. At 11 P.M. Lee's reinforcements came up, and it is supposed, from the sounds of cannon, that the battle was recommenced at dawn to-day, and continued all day. The result has not transpired. This tremendous conflict _must_ be followed by decisive results. If Lee and Beauregard gain the day, peace must follow speedily, I think. If they are beaten, Richmond's fall can hardly be averted. Our shattered army could hardly get back across the Appomattox, with Butler's army interposed between--if he still has his army at Bermuda Hundred. JUNE 19TH, SUNDAY.--Hazy and cool. We have no details this morning of the fighting yesterday, and some doubt if a battle was fought. I presume assaults were made on our intrenchments in diverse places, and repulsed. Beauregard's battle, Friday night, is still in smoke, but it is rumored the enemy lost 9000 killed and wounded. Firing is heard to-day. There may be good policy in keeping back accounts from the field, until it is all over and something decisive accomplished. We have not met with serious disaster at all events, else there would be consternation in the city, for bad news flies fast, and cannot be kept back. There was fighting yesterday at Lynchburg,--no result known yet. Every Sunday I see how shabby my clothes have become, as every one else, almost, has a good suit in reserve. During the week all are shabby, and hence it is not noticeable. The wonder is that we are not naked, after wearing the same garments three or four years. But we have been in houses, engaged in light employments. The rascals who make money by the war fare sumptuously, and "have their good things in this world." The weather is dry and dusty; the hazy atmosphere produced perhaps by the smoke of battle and the movements of mighty armies. Eight P.M. The city is still in utter ignorance of the details and result of the battle yesterday--if there was one. If the government is in possession of information, it is, for some purpose, studiously kept from the public, and why, I cannot imagine, unless there has been a disaster, or Beauregard has done something not approved. I do not think the people here appreciate the importance of the contest on the south side of the river. If Lee's army were broken, I doubt whether it would even attempt to regain the fortifications of Richmond, for then it might share the fate of Pemberton's army at Vicksburg. And the fall of Richmond would involve the fall of the State, and Virginia would immediately become a free State. JUNE 20TH.--A fog; subsequently dry and dusty, but the sun in a haze, like Indian summer. As I feared; there is trouble with Beauregard. He drew off his troops from in front of Bermuda Hundred to reinforce the fewer regiments at Petersburg, and _saved_ that city, and Gen. Lee had to drive the enemy off again from the abandoned line. It is said Beauregard acted contrary to orders, and has been suspended from command by order of the President. At all events, Lee is at Petersburg. Sheridan's raiders are near the city again, followed and preceded by Wade Hampton and Fitz Lee. Their cannon has been heard all the morning. Mr. Secretary Memminger has resigned. JUNE 21ST.--Clear and warmer. Gen. Beauregard has not been removed from his command,--it would be too great a shock to popular sentiment. The iron-clads went out this morning and proceeded down the river, supported by Custis Lee's brigade of local troops, including the Departmental Battalion, marching a dozen miles in the sun and dust. More will be on the sick list. JUNE 22D.--Dry and pleasant. The city full of idle rumors--that the whole brigade of local troops were captured yesterday--that Gen. Fitz Lee has again been made prisoner, and that another raiding party is threatening the Danville Road, the canal, etc. There is no foundation for any of them, so far as I can learn. JUNE 23D.--Clear and warm. The news of the capture of 1600 Federals, 4 guns, etc., yesterday at Petersburg, has put the people here in better humor, which has been bad enough, made so by reported rapes perpetrated by negro soldiers on young ladies in Westmoreland County. There has been talk of vengeance, and no doubt such atrocities cause many more to perish than otherwise would die. A Mr. Sale, in the West, sends on an extract from a letter from Col. ----, proposing to the government to sell cotton on the Mississippi River for sterling exchange in London, and indicating that in this manner he has large sums to his own credit there, besides $100,000 worth of cotton in this country. Col. ---- is a commissary, against whom grave charges have been made frequently, of speculation, etc., but was defended by the Commissary-General. Mr. Harvey, president Danville Railroad, telegraphs to Gen. Bragg to send troops without delay, or the road will be ruined by the raiders. Bragg sends the paper to the Secretary of War, saying there are no troops but those in the army of Gen. Lee, and the reserves, the latter now being called out. Ten days ago, Mr. Secretary Seddon had fair warning about this road. JUNE 24TH.--Hot and hazy; dry. The news (in the papers) of the cutting of our railroad communications with the South creates fresh apprehension among the croakers. But at 12 M. we had news of the recovery of the Weldon Road last evening, and the capture of 500 more prisoners. We have nothing from the south side raiders since their work of destruction at Burkesville, cutting the Danville Road. Mr. Hunter sheds tears over his losses in Essex, the burning of his mill, etc. But he had been a large gainer by the war. There is a rumor of fighting at Petersburg to-day. JUNE 25TH.--Hot and dry. Twelve hundred Federal prisoners passed our door to-day, taken at Petersburg--about half the number captured there during the last two days. The news of the cutting of the Danville Railroad still produces despondency with many. But the people are now harvesting a fair crop of wheat, and the authorities do not apprehend any serious consequences from the interruption of communication with the South--which is, indeed, deemed but temporary, as sufficient precaution is taken by the government to defend the roads and bridges, and there seems to be discussions between the generals as to authority and responsibility. There are _too many_ authorities. Gen. Lee will remedy all this. The clerks are still kept out, on the north side of the James River, while the enemy is on the south side--the government, meantime, being almost in a state of paralysis. Such injustice, and such obtuseness, would seem to be inexcusable. The Secretary has sanctioned the organization of a force in the Northern Neck, to capture and slay without mercy such of the enemy as may be found lurking there, committing outrages, etc. The President still devotes much time to the merits of applicants for appointments on military courts, brigadier-generals, etc. It is reported that Grant has announced to his army that the fighting is over, and that the siege of Richmond now begins. A fallacy! Even if we were unable to repair the railroads, the fine crop of wheat just matured would suffice for the subsistence of the army--an army which has just withstood the military power of the North. It is believed that nearly 300,000 men have invaded Virginia this year, and yet, so far from striking down the army of Lee with superior numbers, we see, at this moment, the enemy intrenching himself at every new position occupied by him. This manifests an apprehension of sudden destruction himself! But the country north and east and west of Richmond is now free of Yankees, and the railroads will be repaired in a few weeks at furthest. Gen. Hunter, we learn to-day, has escaped with loss out of the State to the Ohio River, blowing up his own ordnance train, and abandoning his cannon and stores. So we shall have ammunition and salt, even if the communication with Wilmington should be interrupted. No, the war must end, and is now near its end; and the Confederacy will achieve its independence. This of itself would suffice, but there may be a diversion in our favor in the North--a revolution there--a thing highly probable during the excitement of an embittered Presidential campaign. Besides, there may at any moment be foreign intervention. The United States can hardly escape a quarrel with France or England. It may occur with both. JUNE 26TH.--Hot and dry, but breezy. A dispatch from Gen. Lee, 9 P.M. last evening, says nothing of moment occurred along the lines yesterday. Our loss in the unsuccessful attempt of Gen. Haygood to storm a portion of the enemy's works, on Friday, was 97 killed and wounded, and 200 missing. Gen. Hampton dispatches Gen. Lee that he attacked the enemy's cavalry in Charles City County, Friday, and drove them out of their intrenchments, pursuing them eight miles, nearly to Charles City Court House. The enemy left their killed and wounded on the ground, and strewn along the route. Gen. Lee says Gen. H. deserves much credit. The enemy (a portion of Sheridan's force) are still prevented from forming a junction with Grant. Flour fell yesterday from $500 to $300 per barrel. An official report shows that we lost no arms or ordnance stores of consequence at Staunton. Communications will be restored in that direction soon. The Valley and Western Virginia, being clear of the enemy, the fine crop of wheat can be gathered. Beauregard _is_ in disgrace, I am informed on pretty good authority; but while his humiliation is so qualified as not to be generally known, for fear of the resentment of his numerous friends, at the same time he is reticent, from patriotic motives, fearing to injure the cause. It is stigmatized as an act of perfidy, that the Federal Government have brought here and caused to be slaughtered, some 1600 out of 1900 volunteers from the District of Columbia, who were to serve only 30 days in defense of the Federal city. At the same time our government is keeping in the service, at hard labor on the fortifications, Custis Lee's brigade of clerks, who were assured, when volunteering, that they never would be called out except to defend the fortifications of the city, built by negroes! JUNE 27TH.--Bright and hot--afterward light showers. By the papers we learn that President Lincoln has been on a visit to Grant's army. If Grant does not accomplish some great wonder in a few days, his campaign will be noted a failure, even in the North. We learn to-day that gold is now at $2.15 in the North. The raiders are beginning to pay the penalty of their temerity; besides Hampton's fight with them, on this side the James River, we learn that W. H. F. Lee has struck them a blow on the south side. JUNE 28TH.--Bright and cool--a little rain last night. The Departmental Battalion is still kept out. They have built a line of fortifications four miles long--to Deep Bottom from near Chaffin's Farm. The Secretary of War intimates that these clerks are kept out by Gen. R. B. Lee. The superintendent of the Central Railroad informed the Secretary of War to-day that the road would be reopened to Staunton on Thursday (day after to-morrow), such is the slight damage done by the enemy. He asks that the bridge near Hanover Junction be defended, that being the only part of the road that can be much injured by a small raiding party. And he don't want the papers to say anything about the reopening of the road. The news from the North, that Congress has refused to repeal the $300 clause in their military bill--allowing drafted men to buy out at $300 each--and the rise of gold to $2.30 for $1--together with the apparent or real _inertia_ of Grant, seem to inspire great confidence in our people to-day. They think the worst is really over, and so do I. My little garden, during the month of June, has saved me $150. A single cabbage head to-day in market was sold for $10. Although the joint salaries of Custis and myself amount now to $8000 per annum, we have the greatest difficulty to subsist. I hope we shall speedily have better times, and I think, unless some terrible misfortune happens to our arms, the invader will surely be soon hurled from our soil. What President Lincoln came to Grant for is merely conjecture--unquestionably _he_ could not suggest any military enterprise more to our detriment than would occur to his generals. JUNE 29TH.--Clear and cool--afterward hazy. "MARIETTA, June 27th. "GENERAL BRAXTON BRAGG. "The enemy advanced on our whole line to-day. They assaulted French, Cheatham, Cleburn, Stevenson, and Quarles, by whom they were repulsed. "On the rest of the line the skirmishing was severe. "Their loss is supposed to be great. Ours is known to be small. J. E. JOHNSTON, _General_." The dispatch from Gen. Johnston gives an encouraging account of the fight in Georgia. But a dispatch from the West states that reinforcements (20,000) for Sherman's army are marching from La Grange. It is reported and believed that Gen. Early, at the head of 25,000 men, marched out of Staunton on Monday _toward the North_. I hope it may not prove a recruiting measure for Lincoln! A good deal of firing (cannon) was heard down the river this morning. Judge Campbell is again "allowing" many persons to pass into the United States. JUNE 30TH.--Clear and cool--afterward warm and cloudy. Our people are made wild with joy to-day, upon hearing of the capture of a whole brigade of the raiders on the south side, the same that have been tearing up the Danville Road. The details, with Gen. Lee's dispatch, will be in the paper to-morrow. It is said we have the general commanding the raid, etc. Judge Reagan said to me to-day, when I told him the news, his dark eye flashing, that sooner or later, but inevitably, these raiders must be _killed_, and not captured. And Mr. Seddon says he was always in favor of fighting under the black flag; but, I believe, he never proposed it. CHAPTER XL. Gen. Lee's dispatch announcing Gen. Hampton's victory.--Cost of a cup of coffee.--From Gens. Johnston and S. D. Lee.--Gen. Early in Maryland. Rumored capture of Baltimore.--Letter from Gen. Lee.--Dispatch from Gen. Hood.--Status of the local troops. JULY 1ST.--Clear, hot, and dry; my snap beans, corn, etc. burning up. The papers this morning fail to confirm the capture of as many prisoners, near Petersburg, as were reported yesterday. But the dispatch (subjoined) of Gen. Lee renders it certain that the enemy was routed. There is a suspicion that our exasperated men _refused quarter_ to some hundreds of the raiders, on the plea that they ravish, murder, burn, pillage, etc. It may be so. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "June 29th, 1864--8.30 P.M. "HON. SECRETARY OF WAR. "SIR:--Gen. Hampton reports that he attacked the enemy's cavalry yesterday afternoon, on their return from Staunton River bridge, this side of Sappony Church, and drove them beyond that point. "The fight continued during the night, and at daylight this morning he turned their left and routed them. "When they reached Ream's Station, they were confronted by a portion of Mahone's division, who attacked them in front, while their left flank was turned by Gen. Fitz Lee's cavalry. "The enemy was completely routed, and several pieces of artillery, with a number of prisoners, wagons, ambulances, etc., captured. The cavalry are in pursuit. "R. E. LEE, _General_." Gen. Early, with perhaps 10,000 men, is believed to be in Winchester to-day. He will probably be soon playing havoc with the enemy's railroads, stores, etc., and perhaps may threaten Washington or Harrisburg, or both; and so have Grant called off from his "siege of Richmond." We were paid our salaries yesterday, and Custis, after his campaign and his sickness, resolved on a little indulgence. So he had a couple of small saucers of ice-cream--one for his mother, costing $6; quarter pound of coffee and two pounds of sugar, $25; and to-day a rice pudding, two pounds of rice, $5; one pound of sugar, $10; two quarts of milk, $5; total, $51! Col. Shields, Commandant of Conscripts, etc., informed me to-day that he received only yesterday the order to proceed to the enrollment of Maryland and foreign residents. Thus the express orders of the President are delayed in the execution, and in such an exigency as this! I know Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, more than a year ago, attempted to interpose grave constitutional obstacles; but surely he can hardly have had the temerity to thwart the President's wishes, so plainly expressed. Nevertheless, the delay has been caused by some one; and Col. S. has apprehensions that some wheel within a wheel will even now embarrass or defeat the effective execution of the order. Brig.-Gen. Gardner, successor of Brig.-Gen. Winder, has not yet assumed supervision of the passport business, and it remains in the hands of Judge Campbell and Provost Marshal Carrington. Very many persons are going to the United States via the Potomac. JULY 2D.--Hot and dry. A dispatch from Gen. Lee (will be published on Monday) says Gen. Beauregard reports the number of prisoners taken from Wilson's south side raiding party about 1000, besides the killed and wounded, and several hundred negroes recaptured, 13 guns, many small arms, wagons, etc. It is said the killed and wounded amount to 1500, of whom there are not exceeding 300 of the latter, _leaving_ 1200 _killed_. Gen. Morgan has got back to Western Virginia with 1800 men, having lost but 200. He did not fight a battle with Gen. Burbridge at all; hence the Federal account of Morgan's defeat was without foundation. Morgan will probably soon be in Maryland and Pennsylvania, attending to the enemy's railroads, bridges, mills, etc. The President said (so reported) to Dr. Garnett, yesterday, he hoped to hear of no more raids, since the last fared so badly. I drank two cups of coffee this morning, which seem to have had an extraordinary effect upon my strength, activity, and spirits; and indeed the belief that the discontinuance of the use of this beverage, about two years ago, may have caused the diminution of all. I am; and have long been, as poor as a church mouse. But the coffee (having in it sugar and cream) cost about a dollar each cup, and cannot be indulged in hereafter more than once a week. We had also boiled beans to-day, followed by fritters, the cherries from our garden, with sugar-sauce. This the family consider a sumptuous dinner--with no meat! JULY 3D.--Clear and dry; pleasant temperature. I learn that Petersburg has not been much injured by the enemy's batteries, and that Gen. Lee has ordered the casting of mortars for use immediately. To-morrow being the anniversary of the surrender of Vicksburg to Grant, I should not be surprised if that general let off some fire-works, not only in commemoration of that event, but in pursuance of some desperate enterprise against Richmond. I don't see how he can feel any veneration for the day of Independence for the "rebels" of 1776, without sympathy for the "rebels" of 1864, struggling also for independence. After the failure of the enemy's next move, I think the tempest of war will rapidly abate. Nearly every movement in this (I think final) effort to capture Richmond has failed. Sheridan failed to destroy the Central, Hunter the South Side, and Wilson the Danville Railroad--each losing about half his men and horses. Grant himself, so far, has but "swung round" a wall of steel, losing 100,000 men, and only gaining a position on the James River which he might have occupied without any loss. On the other hand, Lee wields a larger army than he began with, and better armed, clothed, and fed. This _ought_ to end the vain attempt at subjugation. But if not, the Confederate States, under the new policy (defensive), might maintain the contest against a half million of invaders. Our crop of wheat is abundant, and the harvest _over_; our communications will be all re-established in a few days, and the people being armed and drilled everywhere, the enemy's raiders will soon be checked in _any_ locality they may select as the scene of operations. All the bridges will be defended with fortifications. Besides, Lee is gathering rapidly an army on the Potomac, and may not only menace the enemy's capital, but _take_ it. Early and Breckinridge, Imboden and Morgan, may be at this moment inflicting more serious injury on the enemy's railroads and canals than we have sustained in Virginia. And it is certain the stores of the Federal army in Georgia have been captured or destroyed to a very serious extent. Still, in this hour of destitution and suffering among certain classes of the people, we see _no beggars_ in the streets. Likewise, notwithstanding the raiding parties penetrate far in the rear of our armies, there has been no instance of an attempt on the part of the slaves to rise in insurrection. JULY 4TH.--Cloudy, but still hot and dry. From the clouds of dust seen rising between Petersburg and the James River, it is conjectured that Grant's army is in motion. The Federal Congress has authorized the drafting of 200,000 more men, after 60 days' fruitless attempt to raise volunteers. So it will be September before the draft, and January before the men will be soldiers. JULY 5TH.--Cool and dry, everything suffering for rain. All quiet about Petersburg, but later in the day a rumor sprung up that fighting had recommenced there. I doubt it, because by _Northern_ accounts I see Gen. Early is destroying railroads beyond the Potomac, and will undoubtedly threaten Washington itself. If Grant fails to send troops there, Early may even throw shell into the Federal city. Peter V. Daniel sends the Secretary of War a letter from Mr. Westmoreland, Wilmington, complaining that he is not allowed by government agents to transport cotton to that port, where his steamers are, _in redemption of Confederate States bonds_, while private persons, for speculative purposes, are, through the favor (probably for a consideration) of government officials, enabled to ship thousands of bales, and he submits a copy of a correspondence with Col. Sims, Assistant Quartermaster-General, and Lieut. Col. Bayne, who is charged with the control of the exporting and importing business. Mr. Daniel thinks there is some "bribery and corruption" even in the South. But Mr. Seddon is incredulous sometimes. The express company has an arrangement with Col. Sims, the Assistant Quartermaster-General, by which much freight is transported. New potatoes are selling at $4 per quart in the market. JULY 6TH.--Hot and dry. We have no news to-day, but there are rumors that Grant is preparing to abandon his position. He cannot remain where he is, inactive. There is a scarcity of water, and the location is unhealthy. We had corn bread and gravy for dinner, with a tremendous dessert, the suggestion of Custis, consisting of whortleberry flitters, with butter and sugar sauce, costing about $16. JULY 7TH.--Hot and dry, but a light shower at 2 P.M., laying the dust. A letter from Gen. Gilmer states that the Danville Railroad will not be fully repaired before the last of this month. But there is a good wagon road, and the army can be supplied by wagons when the cars cannot run, some 25 miles. There is an idle rumor that Wilmington has been taken by the enemy. This, indeed, would hurt us. But we get neither letters nor dispatches from beyond Petersburg. Last week, when the local forces were recalled, one of the clerks in the Treasury Department, upon being dismissed, fell upon his lieutenant, who had insulted him while in the military service, and as a civilian, gave him a beating. To-day the officer, after consulting his lieutenant-colonel commanding, and, it is said, the Secretary of War, sent a subaltern to the department to arrest the clerk, who resisted. The subaltern said he acted by authority of the lieutenant-colonel and the Secretary of War, and would arrest him and throw him in prison, if he had to come with force enough to pull down the building. To all this the Secretary of the Treasury demurred, and made a formal complaint to the President, who most indignantly indorsed on the paper that the conduct of the officer was "very reprehensible," that if when the offense was committed, the battalion had been dismissed, the military authority of the officers ceased, and as civil officers, all were on the same footing. He ordered the Secretary to make this known to the officers, etc. None believe now that the President ever threatened to turn the clerks out of office, as represented, nor wished them put in the army, as hinted. JULY 8TH.--Clear; hot and dusty. The news of the falling back of Gen. Johnston on Atlanta, Ga., causes no uneasiness, for the destruction of Sherman's army is deemed the more certain the farther he penetrates. There is nothing of interest from Petersburg, but there are rumors of demoralization and disaffection in Grant's army. His men suffer for water. Still we get no letters from the South, beyond the point on the Danville Railroad reached by the raiders, who tore up 18 miles of the track. We have nothing definite from Early's column yet, but no doubt there is alarm enough in Pennsylvania and in Washington City by this time. JULY 9TH.--Dry and pleasant. We have a rumor to-day of the success of a desperate expedition from Wilmington, N. C, to Point Lookout, Md., to liberate the prisoners of war (20,000) confined there and to arm them. If this be confirmed, the prisoners will probably march upon Washington City, and co-operate with Gen. Early, who has taken Martinsburg (with a large supply of stores), and at last accounts had driven Sigel back to Washington, and on the 6th inst. was (by Northern accounts) at Hagerstown, Md. Much excitement prevails there. Lincoln has called for the militia of the surrounding States, etc. We have British accounts of the sinking of the ALABAMA, near Cherbourg, by the United States steamer Kearsarge, but Semmes was not taken, and his treasure, etc. had been deposited in France. JULY 10TH.--The drought continues; vegetation wilting and drying up. There is no war news, save some shelling by the enemy at Petersburg. The raiders have caused many who were hiding and hoarding their meat and grain to bring them to market, for fear of losing them. This has mitigated the famine, and even produced a slight reduction of prices. But the gardens are nearly ruined, and are only kept alive by watering freely. Mine has repaid me. The tomatoes are growing apace, and seem to endure the drought pretty well; also the lima beans. We are now eating the last of the cherries. We began to pull them about one month ago. Some of the members of the Tredegar Battalion have been detected endeavoring to pass over to the enemy. It is said (maliciously) Jos. R. Anderson's works (the Tredegar) would not be destroyed if the enemy were to capture the city, nor Crenshaw's nor Haxall's mills, all having an understanding that the party in _power_ shall enjoy the benefits of them. The fall of Richmond would exhibit strange developments among men of wealth. The poor could not get away, and would have no alternative but submission. But Richmond will not be _taken_. JULY 11TH.--Hot and dry, and the famine continues. The Secretary of War intimated on Saturday that if the clerks of the bureaus would raise a fund and send an agent South to buy provisions, he would insure them transportation, etc. To-day he denies that he made the promise, and refuses to aid them. The government now proposes to increase its schedule of prices from 300 to 500 per cent., thus depreciating its own credit. _Before_ harvest the impressing agents allowed about $40 per barrel for flour; now, that we have a good harvest, about $130 will be paid, thus raising the price everywhere. The transportation is the expensive item. A dispatch from Gen. Johnston, at Atlanta, says the enemy having flanked him with his cavalry, he has fallen back across the Chattahoochee. Dispatches from Gen. S. D. Lee, Tupelo, state that a column of the enemy, 20,000 strong, is about marching from New Orleans against Mobile, and he fears he cannot spare men to resist them. _The reserve class is not ready._ Also that 15,000 of the enemy are matching from Lagrange, and he will have to dismount some of Forrest's cavalry. Gen. E. K. Smith will not cross the Mississippi to assist in repelling the foe without orders. Orders have been sent from the Secretary of War--I fear too late! Northern papers of the 8th inst. indicate a state of high excitement. Some there believe we have an army of 60,000 pouring into Pennsylvania. Gold was $2.65 for one. There is some commotion in Grant's army, and it is believed by some that he is about to retire down the river. It is rumored that the prisoners heretofore confined at Point Lookout have been removed by the Federal Government. At 7 P.M. we had a gentle shower, lasting more than an hour. JULY 12TH.--Clear and warm--the earth refreshed. Gen. Johnston telegraphs to Gen. Bragg to have the United States prisoners at Andersonville "distributed immediately." He does not allege a reason for the necessity. It may be danger of an outbreak--or that the yellow fever has broken out among them. I think Grant is about to have a race with Lee for Washington. The news from the Northern frontier is interesting. A slight shower in the evening--heavy a few miles distant. JULY 13TH.--Bright and pleasant. The city is in great excitement and joy. Gen. Early has gained a victory in Maryland, near Frederick, defeating Gen. Wallace, capturing Gen. Tyler and Col. Seward (son of the Secretary), besides many prisoners. The slaughter was great, and the pursuit of the routed army was toward BALTIMORE. Grant is certainly sending away troops. Gen. Lee writes a particular letter to the Secretary (dated 9th inst.), desiring most specially that the papers be requested to say nothing of his movements for some time to come, and that the department will not publish any communication from him, which might indicate from its date his _distance_ from Richmond. This is mysterious. He may be going to Maryland. Gen. Johnston telegraphs from near Atlanta that the enemy holds several fords above, and a portion of his forces have crossed, and are intrenched. Some cannonading is going on--ineffective--aimed at the railroad depot. Some think Lee is going thither. Others that he is going to flank what remains of the Federal army in front of Petersburg. JULY 14TH.--The drought continues here; but at some other places there has fallen heavy rain. The excitement on the news of our successes in Maryland is intense, and a belief prevails that great results will grow out of this invasion of the country held by the enemy. Twice before but little if any benefit resulted from crossing the Potomac. It is rumored to-day that Longstreet's corps has marched to Maryland, and that Lee is with it. JULY 15TH.--Clear and cool; subsequently cloudy. The _Washington Chronicle_ of the 12th, received yesterday, indicates that Washington or Baltimore, or both, were in danger of falling into our possession. Lieut-Col. G. W. Lay said, this morning, in my office, that Grant would not leave--that he held a most important position--that he would not fail in his campaign; that our operations beyond the Potomac were not of sufficient magnitude to produce important results; and, finally, that Germany and Ireland would replenish the armies of the United States, while our last reserves were now in the field. The colonel had come into my office more than a month ago and said Grant had outgeneraled Pemberton, and would capture Vicksburg. I reminded him of this to-day, and asked his opinion on the present aspect of affairs. He has been recently on Gen. Beauregard's staff, and is irritated at the supposed hard treatment which that general receives from the President. He is a little bitter against the President, and is no special admirer of Lee, who, he thinks, committed a blunder in not fighting Grant at Hanover Junction. And he thinks, if Gen. Johnston forbears to fight Sherman, in pursuance of orders from Richmond, disaster will ensue. But neither he nor any one is capable of sounding the profound plans of Lee. Grant's forces are now far away from Washington. 2-1/2 o'clock P.M. An officer just from Petersburg, arrived at the War Department with the intelligence that a Washington paper of the 13th inst. had been received at headquarters, announcing the capture of BALTIMORE by our troops! The inhabitants within, or a large proportion of them, co-operated with our army! Our people are in ecstasies! This is the realization of the grand conception of a great general, and Lee is immortalized--if it only be true. JUNE 16TH.--Bright and cool--the canopy assuming a _brassy_ aspect from the drought. Alack! all the rejoicings are checked, and the public seems to have been hoaxed by the officer who reported that a Washington paper of the 13th inst. contained an account of the surrender of Baltimore to the Confederate States forces! The paper of that date, it appears, contains nothing of the kind, or else the account has been suppressed, to subserve some military purpose. But our people bear the disappointment well, not doubting but success will ultimately come. There is a rumor that we sank two of the enemy's transports to-day in James River. An immense mass of letters, etc.--175 bags--has just come in; the first mail matter that has arrived from beyond the breaks in the Danville Railroad, perpetrated by Wilson's raiders. JULY 17TH.--Dry--the sky bright and brassy--the gardens almost ruined. Last evening definite news came in the _Washington Chronicle_ of the 14th. Gen. Early was recrossing the Potomac with an immense amount of stores levied in the enemy's country, including thousands of horses, etc. This, the _Chronicle_ thinks, will be beneficial to the United States, as recruiting will be stimulated, to punish us for making prize of provisions, etc. in the enemy's country, after the enemy had despoiled us of everything in their power! Troops are still going up toward Washington from our army, as well as from the enemy's before Petersburg; and Early, after bestowing his prizes in a place of safety, may return to Maryland and Pennsylvania for another supply. That may be the best policy to get the enemy off our soil. His cutting off communications with the South will not signify much, if we can derive supplies from the North. JULY 18TH.--Clear and dry. It is believed that a battery sent down opposite to Harrison's Bar in the James River sank two of the enemy's transports, Saturday, and drove back five others to Grant. It is rumored that Gen. Johnston has been relieved at Atlanta, and Lieut.-Gen. Hood placed in command. I doubt. It is said Mr. Trenholm, firm of Fraser, Trenholm & Co., bankers, Charleston, has been appointed Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Seddon holds on to the office he occupies. A letter from Gen. Lee ("Headquarters Army Northern Virginia") says Gen. Early has recrossed the Potomac, and is at Leesburg, safe,--I hope with his captured supplies. The following is a synopsis of Gen. Kirby Smith's brilliant campaign of 1864; official report. Enemy's losses. In Louisiana, 5000 killed and wounded, 4000 prisoners, 21 pieces artillery, 200 wagons, 1 gun-boat, 3 transports. In Arkansas, 1400 killed, 2000 wounded, 1500 prisoners, 13 pieces of artillery, 900 wagons. Confederate losses, 3000 killed, wounded, and missing. Enemy's losses, 14,000. Confederate strength, 15,000. Enemy's strength, 47,000. In Georgia, 35,000. In Arkansas, 12,000. JULY 19TH.--A steady, gentle rain from 8 A.M. till 4 P.M. A dispatch from Gen. Hood, who relieves Gen. Johnston, was received to-day. It was in cipher, and I did not learn the contents. I strove in vain to-day to buy a few cabbage seed! The following is a copy of a letter received from Gen. Lee, his _locality_ not indicated, but from the date, he must be near the city: "HEADQUARTERS, ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "17th July, 1864. "HON. SECRETARY OF WAR, RICHMOND. "SIR:--I have received a dispatch from Gen. Early, dated at Leesburg on the 15th inst. On the 8th he crossed South Mountain, leaving Sigel at Maryland Heights. On the 9th he reached Frederick, and in the afternoon attacked and routed the enemy, ten thousand strong, under Wallace, at Monocacy Junction. The next day he moved on Washington, and arrived in front of the fortifications around that city on the 11th. The defenses were found very strong, and were not attacked. After a reconnoissance on the night of the 12th, he withdrew, and crossed the Potomac at White's Ford on the 14th, bringing off everything safely and in good order. He reports the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad to have been cut in several places, and severely damaged. The bridges over Gunpowder River, Northern Central and Philadelphia Railroads were burned, and the connection between Washington and Baltimore cut by Johnson's cavalry. The 6th corps (Federal) had arrived at Washington, and it was reported that other parts of Grant's army had reached there, but of the latter he was not certain. Hunter had passed Williamsport, and was moving toward Frederick. Gen. Early states that his loss was light. "I am, with great respect, "Your obed't servant." (Not signed.) Custis walked with Lieut. Bell last evening a mile from Hanover Junction to the battle-field of last month (just a month ago), and beheld some of the enemy still unburied! They fell very near our breastworks. JULY 20TH.--Cloudy and warm, but no rain up to 5 P.M. There is no news of importance; but a battle is momentarily expected in Georgia. The _Examiner_ says the President bears malice against Johnston, and embraces an occasion to ruin him at the risk of destroying the country. That he was not allowed the aid of detachments necessary to success, and hence he could not fight; but all aids will he give his successor, Hood, who will be successful. And that this game was played on Johnston in 1862 in Virginia, and when Lee took command, every facility was afforded by the government. In short, Gen. Johnston cannot be vindicated unless our army be destroyed; and if Hood wins a victory, he is ruined. This is an unpleasant predicament for a general. Planted some cabbage-seeds given me; no plants are for sale. JULY 21ST.--Clear and warm. Bought fifty cabbage-plants and set them out before breakfast. Gen. Early met Gen. Hunter at Snicker's Gap, and whipped him. All quiet at Petersburg. Grant must be dead, sure enough. Gen. Bragg left the city some days ago. The following is a verbatim dispatch received from him yesterday: "MONTGOMERY, ALA., July 19th, 1864. "COL. J. B. SALE:--The enemy still hold West Point Railroad. Forces are moving forward to dislodge them. Gen. S. D. Lee informs me 5000 (13th Army Corps) passed Vicksburg on the 16th, supposed to be going to White River. Reported Memphis, 19th Army Corps, Franklin left New Orleans on the 4th for Fort Monroe, 13,000 strong. Ought not Taylor's forces to cross the Mississippi? "I hear nothing from Johnston. "Telegraph me to Columbus, Ga. "B. BRAGG, _General_." JULY 22D.--Bright and dry again. Gen. Johnston has been relieved. It would seem that Gen. Hood has made a successful debut as a fighting general in command of the army, since Gen. Johnston's removal. A dispatch from Gen. Bragg, dated yesterday, states that the enemy is withdrawing from Arkansas, either to operate in Mississippi, or to reinforce Sherman. Gen. Lee is opposed to retaliating on innocent prisoners the cruelties committed by the guilty in executing our men falling into their hands. JULY 23D.--Clear, but a smoky atmosphere, like Indian summer. A dispatch was received to-day at M. from Gen. Hood, dated last night at 10 o'clock, stating that Gen. Hardee had made a night march, driving the enemy from his works, and capturing 16 guns and several colors, while Gen. Cheatham captured 6 guns. We took 2000 prisoners. Also that Gen. Wheeler had routed the enemy's cavalry at Decatur, capturing his camp. Our Major-Gen. Walker was killed and three brigadiers were wounded. Whether the battle was resumed to-day is not yet ascertained. All are now anxious to get further news from Atlanta. And the local forces here are ordered to be in readiness; perhaps Lee meditates, likewise, a night march, and an attack on Grant. The Danville and the Weldon Railroads are now in active operation, and I hope supplies will soon come in abundance. Our government blundered in sanctioning the schedule of prices fixed by the commissioners on impressments for the next two months. The prices are five times those hitherto paid. The whole country cries shame, and a revision is demanded, else the country will be ruined. JULY 24TH.--Cloudy and cool, but dry. Yesterday and last night both Grant and Lee, or Beauregard, were moving pretty heavy forces from the south side to the north side of the river. I am not advised which initiated this manoeuvre, but it indicates renewed activity of the armies in this vicinity. I hope the roads will not be cut again, or we shall starve! JULY 25TH.--It rained all night! Cloudy and windy to-day. Gen. Hood corrects his dispatch of Saturday; we captured only 13 guns; but we captured some 18 stand of colors. "HEADQUARTERS, ATLANTA, "July 23d, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "The enemy shifted his position on Peach Tree Creek last night, and Gen. Stewart's and Cheatham's corps formed line of battle around the city. "Gen. Hardee's corps made a night march, and attacked the enemy's extreme left to-day. About 1 o'clock he drove him from his works, capturing artillery and colors. Gen. Cheatham attacked the enemy, capturing six pieces of artillery. "During the engagement we captured about 2000 prisoners. "Gen. Wheeler's Cavalry routed the enemy in the neighborhood of Decatur, to-day, capturing his camp. "Our loss is not yet fully ascertained. "Major-Gen. Walker was killed. Brig.-Gens. Smith, Gist, and Mercer were wounded. "Prisoners report that Gen. McPherson was killed. "Our troops fought with great gallantry. "J. B. HOOD, _General_." It is certain that a considerable force of the enemy has crossed to the north side of James River; for what purpose is not yet clear. A detachment of our forces has been defeated near Winchester, by superior numbers, losing 4 guns. The _Dispatch_ of this morning says: "All accounts received of the engagement at Snicker's represent that the Yankees were badly whipped on that occasion. It is stated that some fifteen hundred of the enemy fell to rise no more, and only six were made prisoners. It is probable that a considerable number were drowned in their attempt to recross the Shenandoah." Gen. Beauregard wrote to the department a few days ago that the country in the rear of the enemy was filled with their deserters, and suggested that by proclamation or otherwise, desertion should be encouraged. They ought to be welcomed and subsisted, and transported to any point near their own country designated by them. On this the Secretary of War indorsed rather a cold negative. But he went too far--the country _must_ be saved--and the President, while agreeing that no proclamation should be issued, indorsed an emphatic approval of any other means to encourage desertion from the enemy. My cabbages and turnips (fall) are coming up already. We had but 13,500 men and 44 pieces artillery in the recent march into Maryland. The enemy say we had 40,000! Letters are pouring in, denouncing the new schedule of prices, sanctioned by the Secretary, and demanding a prompt modification. The President wrote the Secretary to-day that immediate action is necessary. JULY 26TH.--Clear and pleasant; later cloudy. Yesterday, Mr. Peck, our agent, started South to buy provisions for the civil officers of the department. He had $100 from each, and it is to be hoped he will be back soon with supplies at comparatively low prices. He obtained transportation from the Quartermaster-General, with the sanction of the Secretary, although that ---- ---- had refused to order it himself. Gen. Lee advises that all government stores be taken from Wilmington, as a London newspaper correspondent has given a glowing account (republished in the _New York Herald_) of the commerce of that place, and the vast amount of government property there. Gen. Lee advises that the stores be deposited along the line of railroad between Columbia and Danville, and be in readiness to move either way, as the roads are "liable to be cut at any moment." Will the government act in time to save them? Gen. Cooper went to the President to-day in high dudgeon, because papers were referred to him from the Quartermaster-General's and Ordnance offices signed by subordinates, instead of the heads of the bureaus. The President wrote an elaborate decision in favor of the general, and ordered the Secretary to "make a note of it." Thus, important affairs wait upon "red tape." I saw Secretaries Benjamin and Mallory, and some lesser lights, riding down the river in an ambulance-wagon, supposed to be going a fishing. They were both excessively fat and red. JULY 27TH.--Cloudy and warm; light shower at 3 P.M. Gen. Lee's dispatch, giving an account of a victory last Sunday, near Winchester, has diffused hope and satisfaction anew in the city. The following dispatch was received from Gen. Bragg: "ATLANTA, July 26th, 1864. "Leave to-morrow to confer with Major-Gen. Maury at Montgomery, and urge matters beyond. Lieut.-Gen. Lee arrived. Tone of the army fine, and strength increasing daily, etc. All is quiet to-day. "B. BRAGG, _General_. "COL. J. B. SALE, _Mil. Sec._" Nevertheless, the clerks are ordered out this afternoon at five, to march to Chaffin's Farm. I met Mr. Benjamin as I was passing to the office of the Secretary of War with Gen. Bragg's dispatch, and showed it him. After reading it carefully, he said, "That's very good." Gen. Lee may be on the eve of attacking Grant, or Grant him, or we may be reinforcing Early, as the solution of the marching of the clerks. No doubt one of Grant's corps is on this side of the river, but I think that is to guard the river against our batteries. During my conversation with Mr. Benjamin, I hoped that in two months the Federal armies would be called to Washington for the defense of the capital. He did not express any such belief. He was at the department procuring passports from Judge Campbell, for a young Jew to pass the lines into the United States. JULY 28TH.--Cloudy, but no rain. Nothing new from Georgia or Petersburg. But a dispatch from Gen. Ewell, received to-day at half past two P.M., orders the local troops (they did not march yesterday) or other disposable forces to occupy the Darby Town, New Bridge, and Williamsburg roads, for the enemy's cavalry were working round to our left. This was dated "27" when, no doubt, it should be 28th. The Secretary was over at the President's office, whither I sent the dispatch. I suppose the troops were ordered out, provided there was a mistake in the _date_. All dispatches should have the _day_ written out in full as well as the day of the month, for the salvation of a city might depend on it. JULY 29TH.--Clear and warm. The local troops did not march until this morning, and no one supposes Richmond is seriously menaced by Grant. I believe the object of the demonstration on the part of the enemy is to draw our forces away from the vicinity of Washington. The Chief of the Signal Corps reports, on information supposed by him to be reliable, that Gen. Early's captures in Maryland were worth $12,000,000--consisting of some 10,000 horses, 10,000 cattle, 7000 hogs, 4000 sheep, 200,000 barrels of flour, and a large amount of bacon, etc. Also, that he got between 2000 and 3000 recruits. All this doubtful. Mr. G. W. Lamar, Augusta, Ga., writes the Secretary of War that he knows, personally, over one hundred men who have _bought_ exemptions, and that they are bought and sold every day at a certain price. Now will the Secretary order an investigation? Mr. L. has, or had, nine sons in the army, and he says he could have bought exemptions for all, as he is rich. And yet a poor ensigncy is refused one of his sons. JULY 30TH.--Clear and hot. Dispatches from Bragg, at Montgomery, of yesterday, give no accounts of more fighting, although the press dispatches, etc. did mention four of our generals who have been wounded. There is a revival of murmurs against the President. He will _persist_ in keeping Bragg in command, that is "of the armies in the field," though he does not lead any of them, and Gen. _Pemberton_ really has command of all the batteries defending Richmond. The raiders are cutting the Georgia and Alabama Road since Bragg went South, and we have lost four pieces of artillery near this city a few days ago. ILL LUCK is indefensible! To-day the enemy sprung a mine at Petersburg, but were repulsed in the attempt to rush in. This is all we know of it yet. Again it is rumored that the major parts of both armies are on _this_ side of the river. This I believe, and I think that unless there be a battle immediately, Grant's intention is to abandon the "siege" of Richmond at the earliest practicable moment. The local troops are back again. The President _directed_ the Secretary of War to inform Gen. Ewell that he misapprehended the character of these troops. They were only for special and temporary service, having also civil duties to perform, and desired them to be sent back in twenty-four, or at most, forty-eight hours. Gen. E. writes that he will employ them exclusively hereafter in the city fortifications, and only in times of extreme peril. And he says there _was_ peril on Thursday, the enemy's cavalry being _between our infantry and the city_, and it will not do to rely always on his want of enterprise. JULY 31ST.--Clear, dry, and _hot_. A dispatch from Gen. Lee (I have not seen it yet) says, in the repulse of the enemy's assault on the breach made by their mine, we captured over 800 prisoners--a general and his staff among them--some 12 stands of colors, and killed some 500. Our loss very light. The enemy has mostly countermarched from this side of the river, followed, of course, by our army at double-quick, and rumor says there are little or no forces of either party on the north side of the James this morning. This was probably Grant's grand stratagem for our destruction, and it has failed disastrously for him. What will he do next? No matter what, Lee is the master of the situation. My daughter's large pet cat died last night under the cherry-tree, and was buried this morning under a rose-bush. I sympathize with Fannie in the grief natural on such an occasion; but really, the death of the cat in such times as these is a great relief to me, as he was maintained at the cost of not less than $200 per annum. His death was probably occasioned by a surfeit of meat which his mistress obtained unexpectedly, seeing it fall in the street, and sending a servant for it. This morning a large fat chicken was found in my yard, picked and prepared for cooking, brought hither by a cat which had stolen it from some kitchen. A portion of the breast only had been eaten, and our cook seized upon the remains for her own benefit. To such straits are we reduced by this cruel war! CHAPTER XLI. From the Northern papers.--Letter from J. Thompson, Canada.--From Mr. McRae, our foreign agent.--Dispatch from Major-Gen. Maury.--"General Order No. 65."--Battle of Reams's Station. AUGUST 1ST.--Hot and clear; but it rained yesterday three-quarters of an hour in the afternoon. Our loss in the affair at Petersburg is about 800, the enemy's 3500. We captured 2000 small arms. We have nothing yet from Atlanta, but no doubt there has been another battle. I hope no disaster has befallen us there. No doubt the wires have been cut by the raiders, and roads also. It is a critical time in Georgia. But if Virginia triumphs over the assaults of Grant, all will go well. AUGUST 2D.--Bright and hot. At 4 P.M. a cloud rising. Fear my wife, and daughter Fannie, and Custis (who has a days' furlough), who went this morning per Fredericksburg Railroad into Hanover County to gather blackberries, will be caught in a rain. Nevertheless, the rain is wanted. Assistant Secretary Campbell is again "allowing" doubtful characters to pass out of the Confederate States to the United States; among these is Dr. McClure, "the embalmer," who, too, carried others out for bribes. The Signal Bureau gives information to-day of Grant's purpose to spring the mine already sprung, also of a raid, that was abandoned, north and west of Richmond. They say Grant has now but 70,000 men, there being only a few men left at Washington. Can the agents paid by the Signal Bureau be relied on? Gen. Bragg telegraphs from Columbus, Ga., that Gen. Roddy has been ordered to reassemble his forces in North Alabama, to cut Sherman's communications. The news from Georgia is more cheering. The commissioners (of prices) have reduced the schedule: it was denounced universally. It is said by the _Examiner_ that the extravagant rates, $30 per bushel for wheat, and $50 for bacon, were suggested by a farmer in office. Gen. Lee writes that he had directed Morgan to co-operate with Early, but he was sick. The enemy's account of our loss in the battle before Atlanta is exaggerated greatly. Sherman's army is _doomed_, I think. Seven P.M. No rain here, but my family were drenched in a hard shower at Hanover Junction, and what was worse, they got no blackberries, the hot sun having dried the sap in the bushes. AUGUST 3D.--Cloudy, but no rain. The press dispatches last night assert that still another raiding party, besides Stoneman's, was dispersed or captured. It is rumored to-day that Beauregard has sprung a mine under Grant's fortifications. This may be so. _Later._ It was _not_ so. AUGUST 4TH.--Clear and hot. All quiet at Petersburg. President Lincoln was at Fortress Monroe on Sunday last, after the explosion and its failure. The Northern papers acknowledge that Grant sustained a terrible disaster at Petersburg, losing in killed, wounded, and missing 5000. They say the negro troops caused the failure, by running back and breaking the lines of the whites. The blacks were pushed forward in front, and suffered most. From the same source we learn that our troops have penetrated Pennsylvania, and laid the city of Chambersburg in ashes. This may be so, as they have burned some half dozen of our towns, and are now daily throwing shell into Charleston, Atlanta, and Petersburg. A letter to the Secretary from J. Thompson, in Canada (per Capt. Hines), was received to-day. He says the _work_ will not probably begin before the middle of August. I know not what sort of work. But he says _much caution is necessary_. I suppose it to be the destruction of the Federal army depots, etc. in the United States. Public meetings and the public press continue to denounce in unmeasured terms the high schedule of prices recently sanctioned by the Commissary and Quartermaster's bureaus. And, although the schedule has been modified, much odium will attach to all concerned in it. A large farmer, at the rates fixed for his products, would realize, perhaps, $200,000 per annum. AUGUST 5TH.--Hot and dry. I hope there will be a rain-cloud this evening. No war news, except a letter from Gen. Lee, indicating that Gen. Morgan is probably on a raid in Northwest Virginia and in Pennsylvania. Morgan proposed going into Georgia (rear of Sherman), but the Secretary indorsed that perhaps the matter had as well be left to Gen. Lee. The President quietly indorsed that he "concurred in the conclusion that all the movements of troops in Virginia had best be left to the discretion of Gen Lee." Gen. Hood telegraphs that no important change has occurred in front of Atlanta. There was some skirmishing yesterday, and shell thrown into Atlanta. My daughter Anne, after ten months' residence in the country, returned to-day (with Miss Randolph, of Loudon Co.) in perfect health. She brought apples, eggs, a watermelon, cucumbers, etc. Mr. Davies sold my reel (German silver) to-day for $75, or about $3.20 in gold--enough to buy a cord of wood. I parted with it reluctantly, as I hope to catch fish yet. AUGUST 6TH.--Hot and dry. The booming of cannon heard yesterday evening was from one of our batteries below Drewry's Bluff. The enemy answered from their batteries, the existence of which we had no knowledge of before. No one was hurt. About the same time Gen. Beauregard sprung a mine _under_ the enemy's mine, and blew it up, no doubt destroying many lives. This was succeeded by heavy, but, perhaps, harmless shelling along the lines. Another raiding party has been defeated and dispersed at Madison, Ga. But we have been unfortunate in a naval engagement in the lower bay, at Mobile. We have lost Admiral Buchanan's ram "Tennessee," and several other steamers. One of the enemy's monitors was sunk. They had five vessels to our one. Battles are momentarily expected at Atlanta and Winchester. We have nothing additional from the North. AUGUST 7TH.--Hot and dry; but heavy rains in other parts of the State. The 1st Army Corps moved through the city last night, via the Central and Fredericksburg Railroads, and this morning Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry corps is passing in the same direction--9 A.M. All this indicates a transferrence of the scene of operations nearer the enemy's country--the relief of Richmond--the failure of Grant's MAD BULL campaign, prompted by President Lincoln, who is no general. Honor to Lee!--the savior of his country! and the noble band of heroes whom he has led to victory!--but first to God. AUGUST 8TH.--Hot and dry. There are rumors of battles near Winchester and in Georgia. Mr. Benjamin writes the Secretary of War for a passport for ----, who is going to New York, "for our service." In the assault on the fortifications near Petersburg last week, it is said Hancock's (enemy's) corps lost half its men. Watermelons have sold at $20 each; corn, $10 per dozen ears; and everything else in the markets in proportion. My yellow tomatoes are just maturing. The dry weather has ruined nearly everything else in the garden. AUGUST 9TH.--Very hot; very dry; very dusty. The President has directed the late Gen. (now Lieut.-Col.) Pemberton to organize a mortar and cavalry force to dislodge the enemy from Deep Bottom, on this side of the river, and to select three or four batteries to render the navigation of the James River difficult and dangerous. Col. P. says he must have some 1500 cavalry, etc. Letters from Mr. McRae, our agent abroad, show that our finances and credit are improving wonderfully, and that the government will soon have a great many fine steamers running the blockade. Mr. McR. has contracted for eight _steel_-clad, steamers with a single firm, Frazer, Trenholm & Co.--_the latter now our Secretary of the Treasury_. The President indorsed a cutting rebuke to both the Secretary of War and a Mr. (now Lieut.-Col.) Melton, A. A. General's office, to-day. It was on an order for a quartermaster at Atlanta to report here and settle his accounts. Mr. M. had written on the order that it was issued "by order of the President." The President said he was responsible for all orders issued by the War Department, but it was a great presumption of any officer in that department to assume to indorse on any paper that it was by his special order, and that, too, "by command of the Secretary of War," the usual form. AUGUST 10TH.--Hot and dry until 4 P.M. Gust, and 15 minutes' rain. Good for turnips. Forts Gaines and Powell are lost--the latter blown up. Gen. Maury telegraphs for infantry, has some 4000 men for the defense of Mobile, etc. Our raiders, under McCausland and Bradley Johnson, it is said were surprised and defeated last Sunday, with loss of 400 men, 500 horses, and 4 pieces of artillery. A rumor prevails that Early has gained another victory near Winchester. No news yet from our agent sent to North Carolina to purchase supplies, but we learn flour and bacon are not held one quarter as high there as here. I do sincerely hope Grant's raiders will keep quiet until _I_ can get something to eat! AUGUST 11TH.--Hot and dry. Dispatches from secret agents at Washington state that Grant and his staff have arrived, that half his army preceded him, and the remainder will soon follow. The campaign is considered a disastrous failure, and it is anticipated that henceforth the scene of operations is to be transferred from Richmond to Washington. They say President Lincoln's face expresses "great terror," and affairs there are in a critical condition. A dispatch from Gen. Lee states that Gen. Bradley Johnson's brigade of cavalry was surprised and routed on the 7th inst. by Averill. He has directed that Gen. J. be relieved. A dispatch from Gen. Hood (Atlanta, Ga.) says no important change in affair has occurred since yesterday, except that Major-Gen. Bates is wounded. There are 5000 militia in the trenches. AUGUST 12TH.--Hot and dry. At 3 P.M. rained about three minutes. We are burning up. There is no war news. A rumor in the street says Atlanta has fallen. I don't believe it. Yesterday Gen. Hood said no important change had occurred, etc. I saw a soldier to-day from Gen. Early's army near Martinsburg, and the indications were that it was on the eve of crossing the Potomac. He left it day before yesterday, 10th inst. He says Kershaw's division was at Culpepper C. H., 50 miles from Early. Detachments of troops are daily passing through the city, northward. All is quiet below on the James River. Grant's campaign against Richmond is confessedly a failure. AUGUST 13TH.--Hot and dry. Large green worms have attacked my tomatoes, and from the leaves are proceeding to the fruit. But not many of them will escape! I am warring on them. No war news, except the continuation of the movement of troops _northward_. Hampton's division of cavalry, at least three brigades, passed this morning. From Mobile and Atlanta we have nothing of interest. Flour is falling: it is now $200 per barrel--$500 a few weeks ago; and bacon is falling in price also, from $11 to $6 per pound. A commission merchant said to me, yesterday, that there was at least eighteen months' supply (for the people) of breadstuffs and meats in the city; and pointing to the upper windows at the corner of Thirteenth and Cary Streets, he revealed the ends of many barrels piled above the windows. He said that flour had been there two years, held for "still higher prices." Such is the avarice of man. Such is war. And such the greed of extortioners, even in the midst of famine--and famine in the midst of plenty! AUGUST 14TH.--Hot and dry. Rumors of a fight down the river yesterday, driving the enemy from Deep Bottom, and grounding of the Richmond. Guns were heard, and I suppose we made a demonstration both by land and water. Cavalry (Hampton's) still pass northward. They ride as if they grew to the horses. As they trot past, they can be seen cutting and dividing large round watermelons, and none are permitted to fall. Occasionally a staring negro in the street is astonished by the crushing of a rind on his head. I never saw melons and other fruit so abundant; but they are held so high I cannot indulge. Mr. Seddon draws 75 pounds rice per month, his family being fifty; and gets 12 pads cotton yarn from the State distribution. I shall get 10-1/2 pounds rice, at 50 cents--retail price, $2; and perhaps 1 pad--5 pounds--yarn for $45; my family being seven. AUGUST 15TH.--Cloudy, damp, and pleasant. A rain fell last night, wetting the earth to a considerable depth; and the wind being southeast, we look for copious showers--a fine season for turnips, etc. Cannon was distinctly heard from my garden yesterday evening, and considerable fighting has been going on down the river for several days; the result (if the end is yet) has not been officially stated. It is rumored that Pemberton lost more batteries; but it is only rumor, so far. Nor have we anything definite from Early or Hood. Bacon has fallen to $5 and $6 per pound, flour to $175 per barrel. I hope we shall get some provisions from the South this week. Sowed turnip-seed in every available spot of my garden to-day. My tomatoes are beginning to mature--better late than never. The following official dispatch was received on Saturday: "MOBILE, August 11th.--Nothing later from Fort Morgan. The wires are broken. Gen. Forrest drove the enemy's advance out of Oxford last night. "All the particulars of the Fort Gaines surrender known, are that the commanding officer communicated with the enemy, and made terms, without authority. His fort was in good condition, the garrison having suffered little. "He made no reply to repeated orders and signals from Gen. Page to hold his fort, and surrendered upon conditions not known here. D. H. MAURY, _Major-General_." Gen. Taylor will cross the Mississippi with 4000 on the 18th of this month. Sherman must get Atlanta quickly, or not at all. AUGUST 16TH.--Warm and cloudy. There are movements of interest of the armies below, from the fact that we have as yet no authentic account of the fighting during the last few days. I fear we have not been so successful as usual. The enemy is reported to be in force on this side (north) of the river, and marching toward this city. The local (clerks) troops have been called out to man the fortifications. But the blow (if one really be meditated) may fall on the other (south) side of the river. Col. Moseby has taken 200 of the enemy near Berryville, burning 75 wagons, and capturing 600 horses and mules. His loss trifling. AUGUST 17TH.--Cloudy, and slight showers. In the afternoon dark clouds going round. We have nothing from below but vague rumors, except that we repulsed the enemy yesterday, slaughtering the negro troops thrust in front. From Atlanta, it is said the enemy have measurably ceased artillery firing, and it is inferred that their ammunition is low, and perhaps their communications cut. The President and Secretary of War were in council all the morning, it is said, on _appointments_ and _promotions_ in the army. The President rode out toward the battle-field at 2-1/2 P.M. There have been no guns heard to-day. AUGUST 18TH.--Cloudy and pleasant. Still we have no authentic account of the details of the fights on the north side of the James River. We know we lost two brigadier-generals, and that we captured some 600 prisoners. Of the number killed and wounded on either side is all conjecture, although a semi-official statement makes our loss but "light." Nevertheless, I happen to know that the President rode out yesterday, and remained until late in the night: for Mr. Craddock, his special detective (and formerly his messenger), whom he sent for to accompany him, assures me while on the field there was a flag of truce to bury the dead, and that the slaughter had been large. Our cavalry had suffered; but he thinks the enemy's infantry lost many more men than all our slain together. He says, moreover, that only one negro prisoner reached the city. The rest, thrust forward, being killed on the field in action, I suppose. At 2 P.M. a rumor began to be expanded that a terrific and probably a decisive battle was going on at Petersburg. One report says the enemy assaulted our lines, the operations on this side of the river having been more a feint to draw our forces away; another that Gen. Beauregard attacked the enemy, finding their troops in large force had crossed over to this side, and this in the absence of Gen. Lee, he taking the responsibility. Be this as it may, some stir was in the cabinet: and the Secretary of War was with the President from 11 A.M. till 3 P.M. This might be on "appointments and promotions," and it might be on Beauregard. About 5 P.M. brisk artillery firing was heard in a southeast direction, which increased in rapidity, and apparently became nearer the city, until musketry could be distinctly heard from all parts of the city. My daughter Anne and her younger brother, Thomas, had walked out to Hollywood Cemetery, where they could not only hear the firing, but could see the lines of smoke below the city, on the left or north bank. Between 6 and 7 P.M. the sound seemed to recede, indicating that the assault had been repulsed; and finally all was silent again. It is probable the battle raged likewise on the south side of the river, and it may be hoped the assault on Petersburg was similarly repulsed. We shall know to-morrow. AUGUST 19TH.--Damp and cloudy. There was no serious battle. The wind was in a quarter which brought the sounds to us, even from the skirmishers, ten miles distant. But our gun-boats shelled the enemy out of their position on Signal Hill, and there was heavy cannonading along the line on the south side of the river. And, as appears by the papers, there was severe fighting at different points of the line. We have now some further details of the battle of Tuesday. Our loss was 1000; the enemy's, it is said, 5000 to 8000. It is now, 5 P.M., raining gently, thank Heaven! To-day we had a distribution of meats, etc. brought from North Carolina by our agent. Custis and I invested $200: we have received 26 pounds bacon and 24 smoked herrings--worth here about $200. Half the money remains in the agent's hands, for which we expect to get 300 pounds of flour--if the enemy will let the railroads alone. It is believed another raid has crossed the Weldon Road, and is sweeping in the direction of the Lynchburg and Danville Road. The speculators are on the _qui vive_ already, and no flour can be had. I fear _our_ flour will be intercepted, delayed, and perhaps lost! The meat we got to-day will supply but two ounces for each member of my family daily for two months. This is war, terrible war! But if Grant is not rapidly reinforced, at the present rate of his losses his army will be consumed in two months. There is some consolation in that prospect! AUGUST 20TH.--Rained hard all night, and a good deal to-day. Between 10 and 11 P.M. last evening, as we were retiring, a musket was fired somewhere in the rear of the building, and fragments of lime and brick were heard rattling against the window-shutters. This morning I perceived where the ball struck, a few inches below the window-sill of the chamber on the second floor, where Custis and Tom were lying. Some one, I suppose, had heedlessly fired his gun, after returning from the fortifications. Well, the papers to-day fall below the official announcement of the work of yesterday afternoon. Gen. Lee's dispatch says we captured 2700 prisoners near Petersburg on the Weldon Road. No other particulars are given, and the affair is still in mystery, for some purpose, perhaps. It is rumored that Gen. Hampton captured 4000 men last night or this morning; but I doubt. Without that, the week's work is good--Grant losing from 10,000 to 15,000 men. A few more weeks, at that rate, will consume his army, and then--peace? Gen. Bragg complains, in a letter to the Secretary of War, that the orders of the department, and of the Adjutant-General, are not furnished him, which must diminish, if persisted in, his usefulness in the important position to which the President has called him. They, are all inimical to Bragg--all but the President, who is bound in honor to sustain him. The price of flour has fallen again; Lee's victory frightening the dealers. Robert Hill, commission merchant, Bank Street, gave me two pounds of coffee to-day when I told him of Lee's dispatch. It was accepted, of course, and is worth some $20 per pound. Guns are heard down the river again this evening, and all are wondering what Lee is doing now. AUGUST 21ST.--Cloudy and pleasant; no rain last night, but the earth is saturated. No additional news from the army. It is said Gen. Bragg prevents news, good or bad, from expanding--believing that any intelligence whatever in the newspapers affords information to the enemy; and he is right. All the mysteries will be solved in a few days, and we shall have all the news, good, bad, and indifferent. I heard cannon last evening; also this morning. Our casualties could not have been large, else the ambulance train would have been in motion. That is certain. It may be that Grant's army is _crumbling_,--I hope so; and it may possibly be that _negotiations_ are in progress. There _must_ be an end of this; for the people of both sections are tired of it. So far Grant has unquestionably failed in his enterprises against Richmond, and his present reduced strength certainly renders it unlikely that he can prevail against us hereafter. His new levies, if he gets any, will not be fit for the field this year; and all his veterans will soon be gone,--killed, or home,--never to return. Thank God, the prospect of peace is "bright and brightening," and a dark cloud is above the horizon in the North. Lincoln and his party are now environed with dangers rushing upon them from every direction. No doubt Lee's army is weakened by detachments sent to Early; but then the local troops have been sent home, which is at least a favorable augury. The following order is published: "GENERAL ORDER NO. 65. "It having been represented to the War Department that there are numbers of foreigners entrapped by artifice and fraud into the military and naval service of the United States, who would gladly withdraw from further participation in the inhuman warfare waged against a people who have never given them a pretext for hostility; and that there are many inhabitants of the United States now retained in that service against their will, who are averse to aiding in the unjust war now being prosecuted against the Confederate States; and it being also known that these men are prevented from abandoning such compulsory service by the difficulty they experience in escaping therefrom, it is ordered that all such persons coming within the lines of the Confederate armies shall be received, protected, and supplied with means of subsistence, until such of them as desire it can be forwarded to the most convenient points on the border, where all facilities will be afforded them to return to their homes. "By order, "(Signed) S. COOPER, "_A. and I. General_." My turnips have not come up yet, and I fear the hot sun has destroyed the vitality of the seed. It is said the enemy still hold the Weldon Road; if so, then I fear our flour will be delayed, if not lost. What if Grant now had the 140,000 more--lost in this campaign? Or if Lincoln should succeed in getting into the field the 500,000 men now called for? The next two months will be the most interesting period of the war; everything depends upon the result of the Presidential election in the United States. We rely some little upon the success of the peace party. The order from the Adjutant-General's office was first suggested by Gen. Beauregard, discountenanced by Mr. Secretary Seddon, approved by the President, and slightly modified by Gen. Lee. It remains to be seen what will be its effect. Deserters are certainly coming over in large numbers; so much so, that it is proposed to establish a depot for them in Georgia. Gen. Winder writes that it is not his province to be charged with them as well as with the prisoners. He is miserable; his rogues and cut-throats have mostly remained behind, preferring a city residence; and the Bureau of Conscription _will not_, it seems, conscribe Marylanders, most of whom have grown rich here. Will the President and the Secretary of War yield to Assistant Secretary Campbell, and the "Bureau," and Judge Halliburton,--or will they execute the act of Congress, enrolling all "residents" for the common defense! _Nous verrons._ One meets no beggars yet, although we have been suffering a famine for more than a year. The State Government is now selling a little rice--one and a half pounds per month to each member of a family--at 50 cents per pound, the ordinary price being about $2. And the City Council has employed a butcher to sell fresh meat at about $3.50 per pound. The State will also distribute cotton cloth and yarn, at something less than the usual prices. There would be quite enough of everything necessary, if it were equally distributed. AUGUST 22D.--Sunshine and clouds, cool and pleasant. There was heavy fighting on the Weldon Road yesterday evening, still held by the enemy; but no official account of the result--if it has yet reached a result--has been received. The city is full of extravagant rumors, and I incline to the belief that we gained no advantage yesterday. We took some 300 prisoners, certainly; but I fear Haygood's Brigade of South Carolinians ventured too far, when they were enveloped by greatly superior numbers--and--we shall know all to-morrow. The news from Hood, Wheeler, Forrest, etc. in the Southwest promises well. AUGUST 23D.--Clear and pleasant. The enemy still occupy the Weldon Road, beyond Petersburg, in great force. Our loss in killed, wounded, and captured is estimated (in Sunday's fight) at 1000; under the mark, perhaps. I hear of no raid yet against the Danville Road; but the flour speculators have put up the price again. Gen. Kemper told me this morning that he had 3000 of the reserves defending the Danville Road, the number Gen. Lee asked for. Gen. Hood is so strong at Atlanta, that he has promised to send, in an emergency, a brigade to Mobile. Interesting events will crowd each other rapidly, now. AUGUST 24TH.--Clear and pleasant. Operations now must be initiated by the enemy. Gen. Lee writes that he is too weak to attempt to dislodge the Yankees from the Weldon Railroad. He cannot afford the loss of men necessary to accomplish it. He says the enemy, however, was "worsted" in the two conflicts, that of Friday and Sunday. And if he were to drive him away, the road would still be subject to interruption. He thinks we can still get supplies, by wagons, round the enemy's position, as well as by the Danville Road. He also suggests that corn be imported at Wilmington, and that every effort be made to accumulate supplies here; and he thinks we can hold out until corn matures some six weeks hence, so that the moral effect will be good, when it is apparent the efforts of the enemy to cut off our supplies are thwarted. He thinks the enemy has relinquished the idea of forcing our fortifications. But he says that Grant intended to force his way into Richmond last week. I wrote a letter to the President to-day, urging the necessity of preventing the transportation of any supplies on the railroads except for distribution at cost, and thus exterminating the speculators. The poor must be fed and protected, if they be relied upon to defend the country. The rich bribe the conscription officers, and keep out of the ranks, invest their Confederate money and bonds in real estate, and would be the first to submit to the United States Government; and the poor, whom they oppress, are in danger of demoralization from suffering and disgust, and might also embrace reunion rather than a prolongation of such miseries as they have so long experienced. The patriotism of 1861 must be revived, or independence cannot be achieved. If a Peace Democrat be elected, no doubt terms of peace will be tendered, on the basis of _reunion_; and if they be rejected, perhaps the war may be continued. Or Lincoln may modify his conditions of peace; and the rich, always seeking repose and security, may embrace them. The surest plan is to break up speculation, and put the rich as well as the poor in the army. We must _deserve_ independence, else we shall not get it. There must be no partiality, and especially in favor of the rich. I wrote plainly, intimating the danger of Reconstruction, without the greatest care, and a scrupulous performance of duty. AUGUST 25TH.--Clear and warm. No war news, except reports that Gen. Wheeler has destroyed much of the railroad in Sherman's rear, and that Early has forced Sheridan back across the Potomac. Gen. Lee writes that he already notices the good effect of the order published by our government, encouraging desertions from the enemy's armies. He suggests that it be translated into the German, and circulated extensively in the enemy's country. My turnips seem to be coming up at last; have sown them everywhere, so that when other crops come off, the ground will still be producing something. Bought a bushel of red peas to-day for $30--the last for sale--the rest being taken for _horses_. Such is the food that my family is forced to subsist on. Mr. Haxall, a millionaire, of conscript age, has just been appointed assessor of tax-in-kind. The salary is a pitiful sum, but the rich man is kept out of the army while the poor man is forced to fight in defense of his property. The President is indefatigable in his labors. Every day the papers he sends to the department bear evidence of his attention to the minutest subject, even to the small appointments; he frequently rejects the Secretary's recommendations. Gen. Bragg recommends that publication be made here, in the United States, and in Europe, encouraging enlistments of foreigners in our army. AUGUST 26TH.--Clear; but rained copiously last night. A letter from Gen. Lee indicates that the "Bureau of Conscription" fails to replenish the army. The rich men and slaveowners are but too successful in getting out, and in keeping out of the service. The Governor, who commissions magistrates, is exempting some fifty daily, and these, in many instances, are not only young men, but speculators. And nearly every landed proprietor has given bonds to furnish meal, etc. to obtain exemption. Thus _corruption_ is eating to the heart of the cause, and I fear the result of the contest between speculation and patriotism. Mr. Seddon says he has striven to make the conscription officers do their duty, and was not aware that so many farmers had gotten exemption. He promises to do all in his power to obtain recruits, and will so use the strictly _local_ troops as to render the Reserves more active. What that means we shall soon see. A dispatch from Mobile says Fort Morgan is in the possession of the enemy! _Per contra_, a dispatch from the same place says Memphis is in the possession of Forrest. AUGUST 27TH.--Bright morning, and fine shower last night. The people are smiling to-day from our success of Thursday, announced in the following dispatch from Gen. Lee: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "August 26th, 1864. "HON. J. A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "General A. P. Hill attacked the enemy in his intrenchments at Reams's Station yesterday evening, and at the second assault carried his entire line. "Cook's and McRae's North Carolina brigades, under Gen. Heth, and Lane's North Carolina brigade, of Wilcox's division, under Gen. Connor, with Pegram's artillery, composed the assaulting party. "One line of breastworks was carried by the cavalry under Gen. Hampton with great gallantry, who contributed largely to the success of the day. "Seven stands of colors, two thousand prisoners, and nine pieces of artillery are in our possession. "The loss of the enemy in killed and wounded is reported to be heavy--ours relatively small. "Our profound gratitude is due to the Giver of all victory, and our thanks to the brave men and officers engaged. "R. E. LEE." It is said to-day that our captures will amount to 2500, and a brigadier-general is among the prisoners. The President intimated to-day to the Secretary that when he respites a prisoner condemned to death, he does not desire the case brought to him again to approve the execution. AUGUST 28TH.--A bright, pleasant day. No news. Walked, as usual, to the department to see if any important letters had come, and then hastened back that the family might go to church in time. Oh what a lovely day in such an unlovely time! The recent rains have washed the dust from the still dark-green leaves of the trees and vegetation in my little yard and garden, and they rustle in a genial sunlight that startles a memory of a similar scene, forty or more years ago! It is a holy Sabbath day upon the earth,--but how unholy the men who inhabit the earth! Even the tall garish sun-flowers, cherished for very memories of childhood's days by my wife, and for amusement by my little daughter, have a gladdening influence on my spirits, until some object of scanty food or tattered garment forces upon the mind a realization of the reign of discord and destruction without. God grant there may be a speedy end of the war! And the words Armistice and Peace are found in the Northern papers and upon every one's tongue here. My tomato vines are looking well and are bearing well, now. My turnips are coming up everywhere. The egg-plants I nurtured so carefully have borne no fruit yet, but are going to blossom. The okras have recovered under the influence of recent showers, and have new blossoms. Our agent in North Carolina has been delayed by illness, and has bought us no flour yet, but we still have hope. We trust that the enemy will not cut our communications with the South, since he has met with so many heavy mishaps in attempting it. Grant has attempted everything in his power to get Richmond, and was foiled in all. I hope he will withdraw soon. Why stay, with no prospect of success? A few days more may solve his purposes and plans, or Lee may have more enterprises against him. It is a cloudless, silent, solemn Sabbath day, and I thank God for it! AUGUST 29TH.--Bright and pleasant morning; another fine shower last night. No important intelligence from the armies. AUGUST 30TH.--Bright and pleasant. Gen. Hood telegraphs Gen Bragg that the enemy has shifted his line somewhat, drawing back his left and extending his right wing. Also that dispatches from Wheeler (August 19th) informs him that Dalton was captured, as stated, with 200 prisoners, 200 mules, a large amount of stores; several train supplies destroyed, as well as twenty-five miles of railroad in Sherman's rear. If that don't disturb the equanimity of Sherman, he must be an extraordinary general indeed. Gen. Lee says the Bureau of Conscription has ceased to send forward recruits, and suggests that the conscript officers and their tens of thousands of details be now ordered into the ranks themselves. The Secretary does not agree to this, and the Assistant Secretary's son-in-law is one of "the Bureau." Nine-tenths of the President's time and labor consist of discriminating between applicants for office and for promotion. They are all politicians still! And the Secretaries of State, Navy, and the Postmaster-General are getting to be as fat as bears, while some of the subordinates I wot of are becoming mere shadows from scarcity of food. AUGUST 31ST.--Bright and pleasant. The only news to-day was a dispatch from Gen. Hood, stating that the enemy had left Holly Springs, Miss., for the Mississippi River, supposed to reinforce Sherman, whose communications are certainly cut. It seems to me that Sherman must be doomed. Forces are gathering from every quarter around him, and it is over 200 miles to Mobile, if he has any idea to force his way thitherward. Attended an auction to-day. Prices of furniture, clothing, etc. still mounting higher. Common salt herrings are at $16 per dozen; salt shad, $8 a piece. Our agent was heard from to-day. He has no flour yet, but we still have hopes of getting some. CHAPTER XLII. The Federal Presidency.--The Chicago Convention.--Fall of Atlanta.-- Bureau of Conscription.--From Gen. Hood.--Vice-President Stephens on the situation.--Letter from Mrs. Mendenhall.--Dispatch from Gen. Lee.--Defeat of Gen. Early.--From Gov. Vance.--From Gov. Brown, of Georgia.--Gen. Lee's indorsement of Col. Moseby.--Hon. Mr. Foote.-- Attack on Fort Gilmer.--Indiscriminate arrest of civilians. SEPTEMBER 1ST.--Clear, bright, and cool. The intelligence from the North indicates that Gen. McClellan will be nominated for the Presidency. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, shakes his head, and says he is not the right man. Our people take a lively interest in the proceedings of the Chicago Convention, hoping for a speedy termination of the war. Senator Johnson, of Missouri, has a project of taxation for the extinguishment of the public debt--a sweeping taxation, amounting to one-half the value of the real and personal estate of the Confederate States. He got me to commit his ideas to writing, which I did, and they will be published. Gen. Kemper told me to-day that there were 40,000 able-bodied men in Virginia now detailed. There is a project on the tapis of introducing lady clerks into this bureau--all of them otherwise able to subsist themselves--while the poor refugees, who have suffered most, are denied places. Even the President named one to-day, Mrs. Ford, who, of course, will be appointed. SEPTEMBER 2D.--Bright, and cool, and dry. It is reported that a battle has occurred at Atlanta; but I have seen no official confirmation of it. It is rumored that Gen. McClellan has been nominated by the Chicago Convention for President, and Fernando Wood for Vice-President. There is some interest felt by our people in the proceedings of this convention, and there is a hope that peace candidates may be nominated and elected. Senator Johnson (Missouri) told me to-day that he had seen Mrs. Vaughan (wife of our Gen. V.), just from the United States, where she had been two months; and she declares it as her belief that Gen. McClellan will be elected, if nominated, and that he is decidedly for peace. She says the peace party would take up arms to put an end to Lincoln's sanguinary career, but that it is thought peace can be soonest restored by the ballot-box. The President to-day arrested the rush of staff appointments. To-day an old gentleman, after an interview with Mr. Secretary ----, said he might be a good man, an honest man; but he certainly had a "most villainous face." SEPTEMBER 3D.--Slight rain in the morning. There is an ugly rumor on the streets to-day--disaster to Gen. Hood, and the fall of Atlanta. I cannot trace it to an authentic source; and, if true, the telegraph operatives must have divulged it. A dispatch from Petersburg states that there is much cheering in Grant's army for McClellan, the nominee of the Chicago Convention for the Presidency. I think the resolutions of the convention amount to a defiance of President Lincoln, and that their ratification meetings will inaugurate civil war. The President has called upon the Governor of Alabama for the entire militia of the State, to be mustered into the service for the defense of the States. It is dated September 1st, and will include all exempted by the Conscription Bureau as _farmers_. Every farm has its exempted or detailed man under bonds to supply meat, etc. I incline to the belief that Hood has met with disaster at Atlanta. If so, every able-bodied man in that State will be hunted up for its defense, unless, indeed, the Union party should be revived there. There will be a new clamor against the President, for removing Johnston, and for _not_ putting Beauregard in his place. But we may get aid from the North, from their civil dissensions. If Lincoln could precipitate 500,000 additional men upon us now, we should be compelled to give back at all points. But this he cannot do. And the convention at Chicago did not adjourn _sine die_, and may be called again at any time to exercise _other_ functions than the mere nomination of candidates, etc. SEPTEMBER 4TH.--Showery. Atlanta has fallen, and our army has retreated some thirty miles; such is Hood's dispatch, received last night. The cheering in Grant's camp yesterday was over that event. We have not had sufficient generalship and enterprise to destroy Sherman's communications. Some 40,000 landowners, and the owners of slaves, are at their comfortable homes, or in comfortable offices, while the poor and ignorant are relied upon to achieve independence! and these, very naturally, disappoint the President's expectations on momentous occasions. SEPTEMBER 5TH.--Clear and warm. Gen. Lee has called for 2000 negroes (to be impressed) to work on the Petersburg fortifications. Gen. Lee has been here two days, giving his advice, which I hope may be taken. He addresses Gen. Bragg as "commanding armies C. S." This _ought_ to be an example for others to follow. The loss of Atlanta is a stunning blow. I am sick to-day--having been swollen by beans, or rather cow-peas. SEPTEMBER 6TH.--Raining moderately, and cool. Gen. Bragg has taken the Bureau of Conscription in hand, since Col. August, "acting superintendent," wrote him a "disrespectful and insubordinate" note. He required a report of the officers in the bureau, from Lieut.-Col. Lay, "Acting Superintendent,"--there have been three "acting superintendents" during the last three days,--and Col. Lay furnished it. On this Gen. B. remarks that one young and able-bodied colonel (August) was here while his regiment was in the field, and recommended that he be permitted to have an opportunity to see some "service" before the war is ended, and military experience, which will teach him to be more respectful to seniors, etc.; and that the able-bodied lieutenant-colonel (Lay), from whom he can get no report of inspections, and who remains here idle most of his time, could render more efficient service in the field. And he thought Lieut. Goldthwait, relative of the Assistant Secretary of War, in the bureau, was performing functions that would better pertain to an older and more experienced man. In short, the whole organization required modification. These papers, with this indorsement, being sent to the President, that functionary sends them to the Secretary of War, with an indorsement intimating that such remarks from Gen. Bragg required _action_. Here's a row! Perhaps the Secretary himself may _flare up_, and charge Gen. B. with interference, etc.;--but no, he must see that Gen. B. is acting with the concurrence of the President. But the Assistant Secretary, Col. August, Lieut.-Col. Lay, etc. will be like so many hornets stirred up with a pole, and no doubt they are rich enough to defy the emoluments of office. SEPTEMBER 7TH.--Clear and cool; rained in the night. Gen. J. H. Morgan is dead,--surprised and killed in Tennessee,--and his staff captured. Gen. Hood telegraphs that the enemy is still _retreating_--toward Atlanta, I suppose. The cruiser Tallahassee having run into Wilmington, that port is now pretty effectually closed by an accumulation of blockaders. It is said Gen. Forrest has blown up Tunnel Hill; if so, Sherman must be embarrassed in getting supplies of ordnance stores. Sir Wm. Armstrong has sent from England one or two splendid guns (a present) to our government, with equipments, etc. And the manufacturers have presented us with a battery of Whitworth guns, six in number, but they have not arrived yet. SEPTEMBER 8TH.--Bright and cool; subsequently cloudy and warm. Dispatches from Gen. Hood (Sept. 7th) state--1st dispatch: that Sherman still holds his works one and a half miles from Jonesborough. 2d dispatch, same date: "Sherman continues his retreat!" He says, in a 3d dispatch, that Sherman visited the hospitals, and said he would rest awhile at Atlanta, and then march away to Andersonville, where we keep the Federal prisoners. Although Hood attaches no importance to declarations from such a source, yet he deems it a matter of first importance to remove the prisoners, which suggestion Gen. Bragg refers to the Secretary of War without remark. Gen. Hood also urges the reinforcing of his army from the trans-Mississippi Department. He is sending a brigade to Opelika, to await a raid. Gen. Forrest has been ordered, the President approving, to Middle Tennessee; but, contrary to his desire, he is not allowed to proclaim amnesty to the thousands of deserters expected to join him, so firmly do the President and Gen. Bragg adhere to Gen. Lee's advice never to proclaim pardon in advance to deserters, even at this critical epoch in our affairs. All of us have been made sick by eating red peas, or rather _over_eating. Our cause is in danger of being lost for want of horses and mules, and yet I discovered to-day that the government has been _lending_ horses to men who have but recently suffered some of the calamities of war! I discovered it in a letter from the Hon. _R. M. T. Hunter_, of Essex County, asking in behalf of himself and neighbors to be permitted to retain the borrowed horses beyond the time specified--Oct. 1st. Mr. Hunter borrowed two horses and four mules. He is worth millions, and only suffered (having a mill burned) his first loss by the enemy a few weeks ago! Better, far better, would it be for the Secretary to borrow or impress one hundred thousand horses, and mount our infantry to cut the communications of the enemy, and hover on his flanks like the Cossacks in Russia. SEPTEMBER 9TH.--Rained last night; clear to-day. We hear of great rejoicing in the United States over the fall of Atlanta, and this may be premature. President Lincoln has issued a proclamation for thanksgiving in the churches, etc. Mr. Benjamin informs the Secretary of War that the President has agreed to facilitate the emigration of Polish exiles and a few hundred Scotchmen, to come through Mexico, etc. The former will enter our service. The "Hope" has arrived at Wilmington with Sir Wm. Armstrong's present of a fine 12-pounder, all its equipments, ammunition, etc. Also (for sale) two 150-pounder rifled guns, with equipments, etc. SEPTEMBER 10TH.--Slight showers, and warm. Gen. J. H. Morgan was betrayed by a woman, a Mrs. Williamson, who was entertaining him. Custis made an estimate of the white male population in seven States this side of the Mississippi, leaving out Tennessee, between the ages of fifteen and fifty, for Gen. Kemper, for Gen. Lee, which is 800,000, subject to deduction of those between fifteen and seventeen, disabled, 250,000, leaving 550,000--enough for defense for several years yet, if the Bureau of Conscription were abolished and a better system adopted. It is said the draft is postponed or abandoned in the United States. I hope so. Two 32-pounder guns passed down the river to-day on this side. We shall probably hear from them soon, and then, perhaps--lose them. SEPTEMBER 11TH.--Showery. No war news, though important events are looked for speedily. It is time. If our coat-tails were off, we should, in nine cases out of ten, be voted a nation of _sans cullottes_. We are already meager and emaciated. Yet I believe there is abundance of clothing and food, held by the extortioners. The government should wage war upon the speculators--enemies as mischievous as the Yankees. SEPTEMBER 12TH.--Clear, and quite cold. Gen. Hood has agreed to a short armistice with Sherman, ten days, proposed by the latter. Our people don't know what to think of this, and the government is acquiescent. But there is a mournful gloom upon the brows of many, since Gen. Grant holds the Weldon Road, and is daily receiving reinforcements, while we get but few under the Conscription system and the present organization of the bureau. There is a rumor of an intention to abandon Petersburg, and that 20,000 old men and boys, etc. must be put in the trenches on our side immediately to save Richmond and the cause. Over 100,000 landed proprietors, and most of the slaveowners, are now out of the ranks, and soon, I fear, we shall have an army that will not fight, having nothing to fight for. And this is the result of the pernicious policy of partiality and exclusiveness, disintegrating society in such a crisis, and recognizing distinction of ranks,--the _higher_ class staying home and making money, the _lower_ class thrust into the trenches. And then the infamous schedule, to make the fortunes of the farmers of certain counties. I bought 30 yards of brown cotton to-day, at $2.50 per yard, from a man who had just returned from North Carolina. The price here is $5. I sold my dear old silver reel some time ago (angling) for $75, the sum paid for this cotton. Already the _Dispatch_ is publishing paragraphs in praise of the "Bureau of Conscription," never dreaming that it strikes both Gen. Bragg and the President. These articles are written probably by Lieut.-Col. Lay or Col. August. And the _Examiner_ is opening all its batteries again on the President and Gen. Bragg. The conscription men seem to have the odds; but the President, with a single eye, can discern his enemies, and when fully aroused is apt to pounce upon them like a relentless lion. The times are critical, however, and the Secretary of War is very reserved, even when under positive orders to act. SEPTEMBER 13TH.--A bright, cool morning. Dispatches from Lieut.-Gen. R. Taylor indicate that Federal troops are passing up the Mississippi River, and that the attack on Mobile has been delayed or abandoned. Gen. Lee writes urgently for _more men_, and asks the Secretary to direct an inquiry into alleged charges that the bureaus are getting able-bodied details that should be in the army. And he complains that rich young men are elected magistrates, etc., just to avoid service in the field. Gen. McClellan's letter accepting the nomination pledges a restoration of the Union "at all hazards." This casts a deeper gloom over our croakers. "Everybody" is now abusing the President for removing Gen. Johnston, and demand his restoration, etc. Our agent has returned, without wheat or flour. He says he has bought some wheat, and some molasses, and they will be on soon. I hope Gen. Grant will remain quiet, and not cut our only remaining railroad (south), until we get a month's supply of provisions! I hear of speculators getting everything they want, to oppress us with extortionate prices, while _we_ can get nothing through on the railroads for our famishing families, even when we have an order of the government for transportation. The companies are bribed by speculators, while the government pays more moderate rates. And the quartermasters on the roads are bribed, and, although the Quartermaster-General is apprised of these corruptions, nothing is done to correct them. And Mr. Seward has promised, for President Lincoln, that slavery will not be disturbed in any State that returns to the Union; and McClellan pledges States rights, and all the constitutional guarantees, when the Union is re-established. A few more disasters, and many of our croakers would listen to these promises. The rich are looking for security, and their victims, the poor and oppressed, murmur at the Confederate States Government for its failure to protect them. In this hour of dullness, many are reflecting on the repose and abundance they enjoyed once in the Union. But there are more acts in this drama! And the bell may ring any moment for the curtain to rise again. Dr. Powell brought us some apples to-day, which were fried for dinner--a scanty repast. SEPTEMBER 14TH.--Bright and cold. Gen. Lee is in the city, looking after recruits, details, etc. Mr. Secretary Seddon appears to be in very high spirits to-day, and says our affairs are by no means so desperate as they seem on the surface. I hope the good coming will come soon. Gen. Beauregard has been sent to North Carolina on a tour of inspection. No news of our wheat and molasses yet; and we have hardly money enough to live until the next pay-day. We have no coal yet. Four o'clock P.M. A brisk cannonade down the river is distinctly heard. It is not supposed to be a serious matter,--perhaps we are shelling Gen. Butler's observatory, erected within his lines to overlook ours. SEPTEMBER 15TH.--Bright and pleasant. The firing was from our gun-boats and two batteries, on Gen. Butler's canal to turn the channel of the river. Our fondly-cherished visions of peace have vanished like a mirage of the desert; and there is general despondency among the croakers. Mr. Burt, of South Carolina (late member of Congress), writes from Abbeville that Vice-President A. H Stephens crossed the Savannah River, when Sherman's raiders were galloping through the country, in great alarm. To the people near him he spoke freely on public affairs, and criticised the President's policy severely, and the conduct of the war generally. He said the enemy might now go where he pleased, our strength and resources were exhausted, and that we ought to make _peace_. That we could elect any one we might choose President of the United States, and intimated that this would enable us to secure terms, etc., which was understood to mean reconstruction of the Union. A dispatch from Gen. Hood, dated yesterday, says Wheeler has been forced, by superior numbers, south of the Tennessee River; and he now proposes that he (W.) shall retreat south along the railroad, which he is to destroy. This is the very route and the very work I and others have been hoping would engage Wheeler's attention, for weeks. For one, I am rejoiced that the enemy "forced" him there, else, it seems, Sherman's communications never would have been seriously interrupted. And he proposes sending Forrest to operate with Wheeler. Forrest is in Mobile! Gen. Morgan's remains are looked for this evening, and will have a great funeral. And yet I saw a communication to the President to-day, from a friend of his in high position, a Kentuckian, saying Morgan did not die too soon; and his reputation and character were saved by his timely death! The charges, of course, will be dropped. His command is reduced to 280 men; he was required to raise all his recruits in Kentucky. SEPTEMBER 16TH.--Bright and pleasant--the weather. Gen. Hood telegraphs that his army is so much mortified at the feeble resistance it made to Sherman, that he is certain it will fight better the next time. Mr. Benjamin asks a passport and transportation for Mrs. Jane L. Brant, who goes to Europe in the employment of the government. Gen. Morgan's funeral took place to-day. None were allowed to see him; for the coffin was not opened. On the way to Hollywood Cemetery, Gen. Ewell received a dispatch that our pickets were driven in at Chaffin's Farm. This demonstration of the enemy compelled him to withdraw the military portion of the procession, and they were hurried off to the battle-field. The local troops (clerks, etc.) are ordered to assemble at 5 P.M. to-day. What does Grant mean? He chooses a good time, if he means anything serious; for our people, and many of the troops, are a little despondent. They are censuring the President again, whose popularity ebbs and flows. SEPTEMBER 17TH.--Bright and dry. The demonstration of the enemy yesterday, on both sides of the river, was merely reconnoissances. Our pickets were driven in, but were soon re-established in their former positions. The Secretary of War is now reaping plaudits from his friends, who are permitted to bring flour enough from the Valley to subsist their families twelve months. The poor men in the army (the rich are not in it) can get nothing for their families, and there is a prospect of their starving. Gen. Hood is a prophet. I saw a letter from him, to-day, to the President, opposing Gen. Morgan's last raid into Kentucky: predicting that if he returned at all, it would be with a demoralized handful of men--which turned out to be the case. He said if Morgan had been with Gen. Jones in the Valley, we might not have been compelled to confess a defeat, and lament the loss of a fine officer. They do not take Confederate notes in the Valley, but sell flour for $8 per barrel in gold, which is equal to $200 in paper; and it costs nearly $100 to bring it here. Chickens are selling in market for $7 each, paper, or 37-1/2 cents, specie. SEPTEMBER 18TH.--Cool and cloudy; symptoms of the equinoctial gale. We have intelligence of another brilliant feat of Gen. Wade Hampton. Day before yesterday he got in the rear of the enemy, and drove off 2500 beeves and 400 prisoners. This will furnish fresh meat rations for Lee's army during a portion of the fall campaign. I shall get some shanks, perhaps; and the prisoners of war will have meat rations. Our people generally regard McClellan's letter of acceptance as a war speech, and they are indifferent which succeeds, he or Lincoln, at the coming election; but they incline to the belief that McClellan will be beaten, because he did not announce himself in favor of peace, unconditionally, and our independence. My own opinion is that McClellan did what was best for him to do to secure his election, and that he will be elected. Then, if we maintain a strong front in the field, we shall have peace and independence. Yet his letter convinces me the peace party in the United States is not so strong as we supposed. If it shall appear that subjugation is not practicable, by future success on our part, the peace party will grow to commanding proportions. Our currency was, yesterday, selling $25 for $1 in gold; and all of us who live on salaries live very badly: for food and everything else is governed by the specie value. Our $8000 per annum really is no more than $320 in gold. The rent of our house is the only item of expense not proportionably enlarged. It is $500, or $20 in gold. Gas is put up to $30 per 1000 feet. Four P.M. We hear the deep booming of cannon again down the river. I hope the enemy will not get back the beeves we captured, and that my barrel of flour from North Carolina will not be intercepted! J. J. Pollard's contract to bring supplies through the lines, on the Mississippi, receiving cotton therefor, has been revoked, it being alleged by many in that region that the benefits reaped are by no means mutual. And Mr. De Bow's office of Cotton Loan Agent has been taken away from him for alleged irregularities, the nature of which is not clearly stated by the new Secretary of the Treasury, who announces his removal to the Secretary of War. The President has had the porch of his house, from which his son fell, pulled down. A "private" letter from Vice-President Stephens was received by Mr. Secretary Seddon to-day. The cannonading ceased at sundown. The papers, to-morrow, will inform us what it was all about. Sunday is not respected in war, and I know not what is. Such terrible wars as this will probably make those who survive appreciate the blessings of peace. SEPTEMBER 19TH.--Clear and pleasant. We have nothing yet explanatory of the shelling yesterday. To-day we have news of an expedition of the enemy crossing Rapidan Bridge on the way toward Gordonsville, Charlottesville, etc. Gen. Anderson's division, from Early's army, is said to be marching after them. We shall learn more of this business very soon. Mrs. D. E. Mendenhall, Quaker, Jamestown, N. C., has written a "strictly confidential" letter to Mr. J. B. Crenshaw, of this city (which has gone on the files of the department), begging him to use his influence with Mr. Secretary Seddon (which is great) to get permission for her to send fourteen negroes, emancipated by her late husband's will, to Ohio. She says there is but one able to bear arms, and he is crazy; that since the enemy uses negro soldiers, she will withhold the able-bodied ones; that she has fed our soldiers, absolutely starving some of her stock to death, that she might have food for our poor men and their families, etc. etc. No news from our flour. I saw Nat Tyler to-day, and told him to call upon the farmers, in the _Enquirer_, to send their provisions to the city immediately, or they may lose their crops, and their horses too. He said he would. The only news of interest is contained in the following official dispatch from Gen. Lee: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "September 17th, 1864. "HON. J. A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "At daylight yesterday the enemy's skirmish line west of the Jerusalem Plank Road was driven back upon his intrenchments along their whole extent. Ninety prisoners were taken by us in the operation. "At the same hour Gen. Hampton attacked the enemy's position north of the Norfolk Railroad, near Sycamore Church, and captured about three hundred prisoners, some arms and wagons, a large number of horses, and twenty-five hundred cattle. "Gen. Gregg attacked Gen. Hampton, on his return in the afternoon, at Belchess' mill, on the Jerusalem Plank Road, but was repulsed and driven back. Everything was brought off safely. "Our entire loss does not exceed fifty men. R. E. LEE." Gen. Preston, Superintendent Bureau of Conscription, has made a labored defense (written by Colonels Lay and August) of the bureau against the allegations of Gen. Bragg. This was sent to the President by the Secretary of War, "for his information." The President sent it back, to-day, indorsed, "the subject is under general consideration." The "Bureau," by advertisement, to-day, calls upon everybody between the ages of sixteen and fifty to report at certain places named, and be registered, and state the reasons why they are not now in the army and in the field. What nonsense! How many do they expect to come forward, voluntarily, candidates for gunpowder and exposure in the trenches? SEPTEMBER 20TH.--Bright and pleasant. An order has been given to impress _all_ the supplies (wheat and meat) in the State, and Gen. Kemper has been instructed to lend military aid if necessary. This is right, so that speculation may be suppressed. But, then, Commissary-General Northrop says it is _all_ for the army, and the _people_--non-producers--may starve, for what he cares. If this unfeeling and despotic policy be adopted by the government, it will strangle the Confederacy--strangle it with red-tape. I learned, to-day, that Gen. Preston, Superintendent of the Bureau of Conscription, resigned upon seeing Gen. Bragg's and the President's indorsements on the bureau papers; but the Secretary and the President persuaded him to recall the resignation. He is very rich. A practical railroad man has sent to the Secretary a simple plan, by which twenty-five men with crowbars can keep Sherman's communications cut. There is a rumor that Sherman has invited Vice-President Stephens, Senator H. V. Johnson, and Gov. Brown to a meeting with him, to confer on terms of peace--_i.e._ the return of Georgia to the Union. The government has called for a list of all the Georgians who have sailed from our ports this summer. A letter from Hon. R. W. Barnwell shows that he is opposed to any conference with the enemy on terms of peace, except unconditional independence. He thinks Hood hardly competent to command the army, but approves the removal of Johnston. He thinks Sherman will go on to Augusta, etc. The raid toward Gordonsville is now represented as a small affair, and to have returned as it came, after burning some mills, bridges, etc. I saw a letter, to-day, written to the President by L. P. Walker, first Secretary of War, full of praise. It was dated in August, before the fall of Atlanta, and warmly congratulated him upon the removal of Gen. Johnston. Gov. Bonham sent a telegram to the Secretary of War, to-day, from Columbia, asking if the President would not soon pass through that city; if such were his intentions, he would remain there, being very anxious to see him. Beauregard is at Wilmington, while the whole country is calling for his appointment to the command of the army in Georgia. Unless some great success crowns our arms before Congress reassembles, the President will be assailed with great bitterness, and the consequences may be fatal. SEPTEMBER 21ST.--Cloudy and somber. We have authentic intelligence of the defeat of our forces under Gen. Early, near Winchester. Two generals, Rhodes and Godwin, were killed. We lost some guns, and heavily in killed and wounded. The enemy have Winchester, and Early has retreated, bringing off his trains, however. This has caused the croakers to raise a new howl against the President, for they know not what. Mr. Clapman, our disbursing clerk (appointed under Secretary Randolph), proposed, to-day, to several in his office--jestingly, they supposed--revolution, and installing Gen. Lee as Dictator. It may be a jest to some, but others mean it in earnest. I look for other and more disastrous defeats, unless the speculators are demolished, and the wealthy class put in the ranks. Many of the privates in our armies are fast becoming what is termed machine soldiers, and will ere long cease to fight well--having nothing to fight for. Alas, the chivalry have fallen! The lagging land proprietors and slaveowners (as the Yankees shrewdly predicted) want to be captains, etc. or speculators. The poor will not long fight for their oppressors, the money-changers, extortioners, etc., whose bribes keep them out of the service. Mr. Foote openly advocates a convention; and says the other States will have one certainly: and if Virginia declines to unite in it, she will be "left out in the cold." This is said of him; I have not heard him say it. But I believe a convention in any State or States, if our disasters continue, will lead to reconstruction, if McClellan be elected. If emancipation, confiscation, etc. be insisted on, the war will never terminate but in final separation. SEPTEMBER 22D.--Cloudy; rained much last night. The following is all we know yet of Early's defeat: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "September 20th, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON. "Gen. Early reports that, on the morning of the 19th, the enemy advanced on Winchester, near which place he met his attack, which was resisted from early in the day till near night, when he was compelled to retire. After night he fell back to Newtown, and this morning to Fisher's Hill. "Our loss reported to be severe. "Major-Gen. Rhodes and Brig.-Gen. Godwin were killed, nobly doing their duty. "Three pieces of artillery of King's battalion were lost. "The trains and supplies were brought off safely. "(Signed) R. E. LEE." The profound chagrin produced by this event is fast becoming a sort of reckless unconcern. Many would fight and die in the last ditch, rather than give up Richmond; and many others are somewhat indifferent as to the result, disgusted with the management of affairs. The President left the city on Monday, ignorant of the defeat of Early, for Georgia. It is said Beauregard is with him; but this is not certain. His private secretary, Mr. Burton Harrison, says he will be absent at least a month, perhaps until Christmas. Congress meets early in November; and before that day we may have terrible events--events determining the fate of the war. We have heard heavy firing down the river all day; but it may not be a serious matter, though a general battle is looked for soon on the south side. Gen. Lee will soon be reinforced materially. The President has adopted a suggestion I made to Gen. Bragg, and a general order is published to-day virtually abolishing the Bureau of Conscription. The business is mostly turned over to the commanders of the Reserves; and conscription is to be executed by Reserve men unfit for duty in the field. All the former conscript officers, guards, details, clerks, etc. fit to bear arms, are to go into the ranks. "When the cat's away, the mice will play," is an old saying, and a true one. I saw a note of invitation to-day from Secretary Mallory to Secretary Seddon, inviting him to his house at 5 P.M. to partake of "pea-soup" with Secretary Trenholm. His "pea-soup" will be oysters and champagne, and every other delicacy relished by epicures. Mr. Mallory's red face, and his plethoric body, indicate the highest living; and his party will enjoy the dinner while so many of our brave men are languishing with wounds, or pining in a cruel captivity. Nay, they may feast, possibly, while the very pillars of the government are crumbling under the blows of the enemy. It is said the President has gone to Georgia to prevent Governor Brown, Stephens, H. V. Johnson, Toombs, etc. from making peace (for Georgia) with Sherman. A splenetic letter from Gov. Vance indicates trouble in that quarter. He says the Confederate States Government threw every possible impediment in his way when he bought a steamer and imported machinery to manufacture clothing for the North Carolina troops, and now the Confederate States Quartermaster-General is interfering with these factories, because, he says, he, the Governor, is supplying the troops at less expense than the Quartermaster-General would do. He demands details for the factories, and says if the Confederate States Government is determined to come in collision with him, he will meet it. He says he will not submit to any interference. Gov. Vance was splenetic once before, but became amiable enough about the time of the election. Since his election for another term, he shows his teeth again. SEPTEMBER 23D.--Raining. Our loss, killed, wounded, and taken in the battle near Winchester, is estimated by our people at 2500. The enemy say they got 2500 prisoners. The enemy's loss in killed and wounded amounted probably to as much as ours. Gen. Lee writes that, in his opinion, the time has come for the army to have the benefit of a certain per cent of the negroes, free and slave, as teamsters, laborers, etc.; and he suggests that there should be a corps of them permanently attached to the army. He says if we do not make use of them in the war, the enemy will use them against us. He contemplates staying where he is during the winter, and proposes building a railroad from his rear to the oak woods, as the pines do not answer a good purpose. Gen. Hood telegraphs (dated yesterday) his intention to get in the enemy's rear, and intercept supplies from Dalton. Sherman must either attempt to drive him from that position (north bank of the Chattahoochee), or advance farther south with his supplies cut off and our army assaulting his rear. Mr. Roy (clerk), cousin of Mr. Seddon, said to-day that he regarded the Confederacy near its end, and that the Union would be reconstructed. Our good friend Dr. Powell brought us a gallon of sorghum molasses to-day. SEPTEMBER 24TH.--Raining alternate hours and warm. Had a chill this morning, and afterward several spells of blindness, from rushes of blood to the head. Came home and bathed my feet and recovered. Another disaster! but no great loss of men. Gen. Early was compelled to retreat again on Thursday, 22d inst., the enemy flanking him, and getting in his rear. He lost 12 more guns. This intensifies the chagrin and doubts prevalent in a certain class of the community. However, Lee commands in Virginia, and there may be better luck next time, which will cause everybody's spirits to rise. Gen. Lee writes a long letter to the Secretary of War, deprecating the usage of the port of Wilmington by the Tallahassee and other cruisers, that go out and ravage the enemy's commerce, such as the destruction of fishing smacks, etc. Already the presence of the Tallahassee and the Edith at Wilmington has caused the loss of one of our blockade-runners, worth more than all the vessels destroyed by the Tallahassee, and the port is now guarded by such an additional number of blockaders that it is with difficulty our steamers can get in with supplies, Gen. L. suggests that Charleston or some other port be used by our cruisers; and that Wilmington be used exclusively for the importation of supplies--quartermaster's, commissary's ordnance, etc. Gen. L. advises that supplies enough for two or three years be brought in, so that we shall not be under apprehension of being destitute hereafter. Such were his ideas. Lieut. Wood, who commands the Tallahassee, is the President's nephew, and gains eclat by his chivalric deeds on the ocean; but we cannot afford to lose our chances of independence to glorify the President's nephew. Gen. Lee but reiterates what has been written on the same subject by Gen. Whiting at Wilmington. SEPTEMBER 25TH.--Clear and cool. Pains in my head, etc. Hon. Mr. Foote told G. Fitzhugh early this morning that he had learned Gen. Early's army was scattered to the winds; that the enemy had the Central Railroad (where?) and would soon have all the roads. This is not credited, though it may be so. There is a mysterious fascination in scenes of death and carnage. As I crossed Franklin Street, going down to the department this morning, I heard on my right the cry of "halt!" and saw a large man in citizen's clothes running toward me pursued by a soldier--coming from the direction of Gen. Ewell's headquarters. The man (perhaps a deserter) ran on, and the soldier took deliberate aim with his rifle, and burst a cap. I stood and watched the man, being riveted to the spot by a strange fascination, although I was nearly in a line with the pursuit. An irresistible curiosity seized me to see the immediate effects of the shot. The man turned up Ninth Street, the soldier fixing another cap as he ran, and, taking deliberate aim, the cap failed to explode the charge again. I saw several persons crossing the street beyond the flying man, who would have been greatly endangered if the rifle had been discharged. In war the destruction of human life excites no more pity than the slaughter of beeves in peace! SEPTEMBER 26TH.--Bright and cool. Gen. Early is still falling back; on Saturday he was at Port Republic, but he will soon be reinforced, and may turn the tide on Sheridan. A long letter was received at the department to-day from Gov. Brown, absolutely _refusing_ to respond to the President's call for the militia of that State. He says he will _not_ encourage the President's ambitious projects by placing in his hands, and under his unconditional control, all that remains to preserve the reserved rights of his State. He bitterly and offensively criticises the President's management of military affairs--sending Morgan into Kentucky, Wheeler into East, and Forrest into West Tennessee, instead of combining all upon Sherman's rear and cutting his communications. He says Georgia has fifty regiments in Virginia, and if the President won't send reinforcements, then he _demands_ the return of Georgia troops, and he will endeavor to defend the State without his aid, etc. SEPTEMBER 27TH.--Bright and pleasant. We have rumors of heavy fighting yesterday near Staunton, but no authentic accounts. A dispatch from Gen. R. Taylor says Gen. Forrest had gained a victory at Athens, Ala., capturing some 1500 prisoners, 500 horses, etc. etc. We still hear the thunder of artillery down the river--the two armies shelling each other, I suppose, as yet at a safe distance. A few more days and the curtain will rise again--Lee and Grant the principal actors in the tragedy! The President is making patriotic speeches in Alabama and Georgia. Mr. Hudson, of Alabama, proposes to deliver to the government 5,000,000 pounds of bacon for the same number of pounds cotton, delivered at the same place. Our cotton agent in Mississippi is authorized by the government here to sell cotton in exposed situations to the enemy's agents for _specie_, and to buy for Confederate notes. The funeral expenses of Gen. Morgan the other day amounted to $1500; the Quartermaster-General objects to paying it, and sends the bill to the Secretary for instructions. The following is a copy of Gen. Lee's indorsement on Lieut.-Col. Moseby's report of his operations from the 1st of March to the 11th of September, 1864: "HEADQUARTERS, ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "September 19th, 1864. "Respectfully forwarded to the Adjutant and Inspector-General for the information of the department. Attention is invited to the activity and skill of Col. Moseby, and the intelligence and courage of the officers and men of his command, as displayed in this report. "With the loss of little more than 20 men, he has killed, wounded, and captured, during the period embraced in this report, about 1200 of the enemy, and taken more than 1600 horses and mules, 230 beef cattle, and 85 wagons and ambulances, without counting many smaller operations. The services rendered by Col. Moseby and his command in watching and reporting the enemy's movements have also been of great value. His operations have been highly creditable to himself and his command. "(Signed) R. E. LEE, _General_. "Official: JOHN BLAIR HOGE, "_Major and Assistant Adjutant-General._" SEPTEMBER 28TH.--Bright; subsequently cloudy and warm rain. Staunton was entered by the enemy's cavalry on Monday afternoon. We have no news whatever to-day from any quarter. But the deep booming of cannon is still heard down the river, foreboding an awful conflict soon. I saw three 10-inch Columbiads at the Petersburg depot to-day; they are going to move them toward Petersburg, I believe. Gold is thirty for one to-day, and still rising, Forrest's exploit having done nothing to revive confidence in Treasury notes here. SEPTEMBER 29TH.--Bright and beautiful. As I walked down to the department, heavy and brisk cannonading below assailed the ear. It was different from the ordinary daily shelling, and to my familiar senses, it could only be a BATTLE. The sounds continued, and even at my desk in the department the vibrations were very perceptible. About 10 o'clock, when walking down Main Street (the cannon still heard), I met Robert Tyler and Mr. Foote, member of Congress, the latter in some excitement, denouncing the management of affairs by the Executive. He said if Richmond were lost, he should move that the people take matters in their own hands, and proclaim a DICTATOR. Mr. Tyler, commanding his temper, banteringly told him that he ran some risk of being arrested, tried by drum-head court-martial, and shot--before night. Mr. Foote whirled away, repeating his desperate purpose; and Tyler repeating, more gravely, that he might be arrested for treasonable language--and ought to be. Mr. Tyler then invited me to join him at breakfast at a neighboring restaurant, where we had each a loaf of bread, a cup of coffee with milk (but brown sugar), and three eggs. The bill was sixteen dollars! When I returned to the department, information came that the enemy had captured Fort Harrison (Signal Hill), near Chaffin's Bluff, and were advancing toward the city. From that moment much excitement sprung up (the greatest I have ever known here), and all the local organizations were immediately ordered out. Not only this, but squads of guards were sent into the streets everywhere with orders to arrest every able-bodied man they met, regardless of papers; and this produced a consternation among the civilians. The offices and government shops were closed, and the tocsin sounded for hours, by order of the Governor, frightening some of the women. At 2 P.M. the fight was nearer, and it was reported that the enemy were at the intermediate fortifications--three miles distant. From the observatory on the War Department we could see the puffs of white smoke from our guns; but these were at the intermediate line, several miles distant, and the enemy were, of course, beyond. We could see our cannon firing from right to left at least a mile in length; and the enemy had evidently made much progress toward the city. The firing then ceased, however, at 3 P.M., indicating that the enemy had withdrawn from that point; but the booming of artillery was still heard farther to the right on or near the river. And this continued until the present writing, 5 P.M. We have no particulars; but it is reported that the enemy were handsomely repulsed. Clouds of dust can be seen with the telescope in that direction, which appears to the naked eye to be smoke. It arises no doubt from the march of troops, sent by Gen. Lee. We must soon have something definite from the scene of action. Half-past five P.M. Gen. Ewell dispatches that the enemy's attack on Fort Gilmer (five miles below the same we saw) was handsomely repulsed. A dispatch from Gen. Pemberton, on Williamsburg Road, says there is no immediate danger there. Another dispatch from Georgia says Forrest has captured 800 more men somewhere in Alabama, on the railroad. At night, distant cannon heard. Gen. Ewell said in his last dispatch that as soon as certain reinforcements came up he would take the offensive, attacking the enemy. The conflict recedes, and I presume he is driving the enemy back. Mr. Foote intimates that the President will not return to Richmond, and did not intend to return. SEPTEMBER 30TH.--Cloudy, and occasional showers. None of the papers except the _Whig_ were published this morning, the printers, etc. being called out to defend the city. Every device of the military authorities has been employed to put the people here in the ranks. Guards everywhere, on horseback and on foot, in the city and at the suburbs, are arresting pedestrians, who, if they have not passes from Gen. Kemper, are hurried to some of the depots or to the City Square (iron palings), and confined until marched to the field or released. Two of the clerks of the War Department, who went down to the Spottswood Hotel to hear the news, although having the Secretary's own details, were hustled off to a prison on Gary Street to report to Lieut. Bates, who alone could release them. But when they arrived, no Lieut. Bates was there, and they found themselves incarcerated with some five hundred others of all classes and conditions. Here they remained cooped up for an hour, when they espied an officer who knew them, and who had them released. To-day the guards arrested Judges Reagan and Davis, Postmaster-General and Attorney-General, both members of the cabinet, because neither of them were over fifty years old. Judge Reagan grew angry and stormed a little; but both were released immediately. Gen. Lee dispatched Gen. Bragg, at 9 P.M. last night, that all the assaults of the enemy on Fort Gilmer had been repulsed, the enemy losing many in killed, and wounded, and prisoners, while our loss was small. And we have driven the Yankees from Staunton, and have them in full retreat again as far as Harrisonburg. To-day at 2 P.M. another battle occurred at or near Fort Harrison or Signal Hill, supposed to be an attempt on our part to retake the post. I never heard more furious shelling, and fear our loss was frightful, provided it was our assault on the enemy's lines. We could see the white smoke, from the observatory, floating along the horizon over the woods and down the river. The melee of sounds was terrific: heavy siege guns (from our steam-rams, probably) mingled with the incessant roar of field artillery. At 3 P.M. all was comparatively quiet, and we await intelligence of the result. CHAPTER XLIII. Attempt to retake Fort Harrison.--A false alarm.--Dispatches from Gen. Lee.--Impressments.--Gen. Butler's generosity.--Matters in and about the city.--Beverly Tucker's contract with a New York firm for supplies. OCTOBER 1ST.--Raining and cold. Horrible for the troops in the trenches! The battle, yesterday (on this side of the river), was an attempt of Gen. Lee to retake Fort Harrison, near Chaffin's Bluff, which _failed_, after two essays. Gen. Lee deemed its recapture important, and exposed himself very much in the assault: so much so as to cause a thrill of alarm throughout the field. But it all would not do; the enterprise of the enemy had in a few hours rendered the place almost impregnable. Judge Lyons, who came in to-day (from a visit to the field), estimates our killed and wounded at from 700 to 1000. But we have better news from other quarters. Generals Hampton and Heath attacked the enemy on the south side of the river, yesterday, and captured 900 men. Gen. Early sends word that the whole force of the enemy (Sheridan's army) is in full retreat, and he is in pursuit. Gen. Echols, West Virginia and East Tennessee, reports several successes to our arms in that region. This has been a terrible day; a storm of wind and driving rain. Heavy guns are heard at intervals down the river. At 4 P.M., while writing the last line, a furious cannonade has sprung up on the southeast of the city, and seemingly very near to it. It may be a raid. The firing increases in rapidity, mingled, I think, with the roar of small arms. We can hear distinctly the whistle of shot and shell, and the detonations shake the windows. It may be that the atmosphere (dampness) and the wind from the east cause some deception as to the distance; but really it would seem that from the apparent proximity of the enemy's guns, some of the shells must reach the eastern parts of the city. After thirty minutes' quick firing, it ceases in a great measure. At 5 P.M. it was resumed, and continued until dark. Some think it but a raid, others report 40,000 men engaged. If this be so, to-morrow will probably be fought the great battle for Richmond. Doubtless, Grant is eager to hold some position from which he can shell the city. OCTOBER 2D.--Cloudy and calm. All quiet. It was a false alarm yesterday evening. Nothing but some of the enemy's cavalry scouts were seen from the intermediate batteries, and it was merely a waste of ammunition on our part, and destruction of timber where the enemy were partially sheltered. Not a gun, so far as I can learn, was fired against our fortifications. Gen. Pemberton must have known that none of the enemy's infantry and artillery had marched in this direction through the storm, and in the mud, or else our scouts are worthless. But we have news of the capture of 500 more prisoners near Petersburg, yesterday. The particulars of the fight have not yet been received. Every male between seventeen and fifty-five is now required to have a pass, from Gen. Kemper or Gen. Barton, to walk the streets, even to church. The militia are all out, except those hidden in the back rooms of their shops--extortioners; and the city is very quiet. No wonder the women and children were thrown into a panic yesterday. The shelling did some good in the Saturday evening market, as most of the people were eager to get home. A boy sold me apples at 75 cents per quart, instead of $1. The physicians have had a meeting, and agree to charge $30 per visit. The bombardment is still in progress at Charleston, and there has never been any intermission. The enemy's batteries now reach over two-thirds of that devoted city. I see by a Northern paper that Gen. Grant is having his children educated at Burlington, N. J.; perhaps at the same institutions where mine were educated; and I perceive that our next door neighbor, Mrs. Kinsey, has been waving the "glorious Stars and Stripes" over Gen. G.'s head, from her ample porch. Well, I would not injure that flag; and I think it would never be assailed by the Southern people, if it were only kept at home, away from our soil. We have a flag of our own we prefer. OCTOBER 3D.--Misty and damp, but warm. Guns heard down the river. On Friday, it seems, the enemy penetrated and held a portion of our works below Petersburg; and although we captured many prisoners, it does not appear that we regained the works or retook the cannon. So far, although the enemy's loss in men may have been greater in the operations of the last few days, it would seem that we have _lost ground_; that our forts, etc. have been captured and _held_, up to this moment; and that both the right and left wings of Grant have been _advanced_, and established in the positions taken. All this, too, under the eye of Gen. Lee. It is enough to make one tremble for Richmond. They do not heed his calls for _men_. In the North, the Presidential campaign is growing _warm_. McClellan's friends have been denounced as "traitors" in Ohio, and one of their meetings broken up by the soldiers. This fire may spread, and relieve us. It is now said a corps of the enemy's infantry was really peeping from the groves and lanes west of the city, on Saturday, when the furious shelling took place. Rumors--we have nothing but rumors--of fighting, said to be in progress on the south side of the river. It is said the enemy, that were a few days ago menacing Richmond, are recrossing to the Petersburg side. OCTOBER 4TH.--Foggy; then bright; then very warm. Gen. Lee is at Chaffin's Bluff. A dispatch from him this morning states that the enemy's infantry are near Harrisonburg, in the Valley, and that his cavalry is retiring. 9 A.M. Another dispatch from Gen. Lee. The raiders' cavalry, only 250 strong, are at Brandy Station, a body of their infantry at Bealton Central Railroad. 9-1/2 A.M. Gen. Lee says Gen. Breckinridge repulsed the enemy's attack on Saltville, on Sunday, 2d inst.; it was a "bloody" repulse, and Gen. B. is _pursuing_. Gen. Beauregard has been appointed to the supervisory command of the army in Georgia, etc.; in response to the universal calls of the people. The enemy threw up earthworks yesterday, toward the city, from Fort Harrison, one mile in length. He is now within five miles of the city, and if his progress is not checked, he will soon be throwing shells at us. But Lee is there, digging also. Flour rose yesterday to $425 per barrel, meal to $72 per bushel, and bacon $10 per pound. Fortunately, I got 100 pounds of flour from North Carolina a few days ago at $1.20 per pound. And Thomas, my son, detailed as clerk for Gen. Kemper, will draw 30 pounds of flour and 10 pounds bacon per month. OCTOBER 5TH.--Bright, and very warm. There is a report that Gen. Hood's army is at Marietta, in Sherman's rear, and it may be so. One of the clerks (Mr. Bechtel) was killed yesterday by one of the enemy's sharpshooters at Chaffin's Farm. He was standing on the parapet, looking in the direction of the enemy's pickets. He had been warned to no purpose. He leaves a wife and nine children. A subscription is handed round, and several thousand dollars will be raised. Gen. R. E. Lee was standing near when he fell. All is quiet to-day. But they are impressing the negro men found in the streets to-day to work on the fortifications. It is again rumored that Petersburg is to be given up. I don't believe it. OCTOBER 6TH.--Bright, and very warm. The President returned this morning, hastened hither by the perils environing the capital. An order is published this morning revoking all details for the army of persons between the ages of eighteen and forty-five years of age. If this be rigidly enforced, it will add many thousands to the army. It is said there are 8000 details in the military bureaus of this State. A dispatch from Gen. Hood, near Lost Mountain (in Georgia, Sherman's rear), dated yesterday, says Sherman is marching out of Atlanta to attack him. He says Gen. Stewart's corps struck the railroad at Big Shanty, capturing 350 prisoner and destroying ten miles of the road. Gen. Forrest is marching against Altoona. We shall soon have stirring news. All is quiet near Petersburg and Richmond to-day. Eight of the local companies (clerks) have been ordered to guard the prisoners to Salisbury, N. C. I saw a New York _Tribune_ to-day, of the 17th inst., and find the Peterson's are advertising new editions of several of my books. OCTOBER 7TH.--Bright and beautiful. The government, after giving the news from Georgia, position of Hood, to the press, suppressed it. It is well, perhaps, not to permit Grant, who sees our papers daily, to know what we are doing there. There are rumors of fighting to-day near Chaffin's Bluff, but we hear no cannon, except an occasional shell at long intervals. Gen. Bragg is now in hot water with the Quartermaster-General, for ordering the trial of Lieut.-Col. Cone and Major Maynard, Quartermasters, in the city, for alleged violation of law and orders. Gen. Preston is away again or sick, and Col. August and Lieut.-Col. Lay are again signing papers at "the Bureau," as "acting superintendents." Bragg may aim another bomb at the refractory concern. OCTOBER 8TH.--Cloudy, windy, and cold. The fighting yesterday was more serious than I supposed. It was supposed the conflict would be resumed to-day, but we have no information of any fighting up to this hour--5 P.M. From Gen. Hood we have a dispatch, saying Major-Gen. French attacked Altoona day before yesterday. He carried all the outworks, but failed at the inner one, and learning a body of the enemy were approaching his rear, Gen. F. withdrew to the main body of the army. He says nothing of the loss, etc. on either side. At the Tredegar Works, and in the government workshops, the detailed soldier, if a _mechanic_, is paid in money and in rations (at the current prices) about $16 per day, or nearly $6000 per annum. A member of Congress receives $5500, a clerk $4000. OCTOBER 9TH, SUNDAY.--Cloudy, windy, and very cold. I hear of no operations yesterday, although, as usual, some cannonnading was audible yesterday evening. It is said Gen. Pemberton was in great perturbation during the several advances of the enemy last week. Like Boabdil, the Unlucky of Grenada, he lost some of his cannon, and every one anticipated disaster under his command. This will furnish fresh material for assaults in Congress on the President, if that body should meet again next month, for placing this officer in so responsible a command, whatever may be his skill, when the soldiers and the people have no faith in him. It is characteristic of the President to adhere to what he deems just and proper, regardless of anticipated consequences. This was the habit of Cæsar--but he fell. An effort is again being made to replenish Lee's army with able-bodied details employed in the various departments, but I fear it will only result, as heretofore, in sending to the ranks the weak and diseased who are poor and friendless. OCTOBER 10TH.--_A white frost_; first frost of the season. All quiet below. Gen. W. M. Gardner (in Gen. Winder's place) reports that of the exempts and citizens taken from the streets to the front, last week, _a majority have deserted_. This proves that even a despotic military act cannot be committed with impunity. Gen. Beauregard telegraphs from Opelika, Ala., that he has arranged matters satisfactorily between Gov. Brown of Georgia and Gen. Cobb, regarding exempts and State militia. The President directs the Secretary to ascertain if this has been done in accordance with law and the interests of the service. Gen. R. Taylor telegraphs that Gen. E. K. Smith has proclaimed pardon to deserters, from trans-Mississippi Department, after he had arrested most of them and sent them to their regiments, and now he recommends that no more troops be brought over the river or they will be sure to desert. The President directs the Secretary to correspond with Gen. Smith on the subject. Gen. Taylor is the President's kinsman--by his first marriage. Gen. Beauregard left Opelika on the 7th inst. for Hood's army, so in a few days we may expect a battle. OCTOBER 11TH.--Bright and pleasant. All is quiet below. From Georgia we have many rumors. It is reported that a battle has been fought (second time) at Altoona, which we captured, with 4000 prisoners; that Rome has been taken, with 3000 negro prisoners; and, finally, that we have Atlanta again. I have seen no such dispatches. But the gentleman who assured me it was all true, has a son a clerk at the President's office, and a relative in the telegraph office. Dispatches may have come to the President; and, if so, it may be our policy to forbid their publication for the present, as the enemy would derive the first intelligence of their disaster from our newspapers. Well, Gen. Gardner reports, officially, that of the number of exempts, and of the mixed class of citizens arrested in the streets, and summarily marched to the "front," "a majority have deserted!" Men, with exemptions in their pockets, going to or returning from market, have been seized by the Adjutant-General's orders, and despotically hurried off without being permitted even to send a message to their families. Thousands were entrapped, by being directed to call at Gen. Barton's headquarters, an immense warehouse, and receive passes; but no Gen. Barton was there--or if there, not visible; and all the anxious seekers found themselves in prison, only to be liberated as they were incorporated into companies, and marched "to the front." From the age of fifteen to fifty-five, all were seized by that order--no matter what papers they bore, or what the condition of their families--and hurried to the field, where there was no battle. No wonder there are many deserters--no wonder men become indifferent as to which side shall prevail, nor that the administration is falling into disrepute at the capital. OCTOBER 12TH.--Bright and beautiful. All quiet below, save an occasional booming from the fleet. Nothing from Georgia in the papers, save the conjectures of the Northern press. No doubt we have gained advantages there, which it is good policy to conceal as long as possible from the enemy. Squads of able-bodied _detailed_ men are arriving _at last_, from the interior. Lee's army, in this way, will get efficient reinforcements. The Secretary of the Treasury sends a note over to the Secretary of War to-day, saying the Commissary-General, in his estimates, allows but $31,000,000 for tax in kind--whereas the tax collectors show an actual amount, credited to farmers and planters, of $145,000,000. He says this will no doubt attract the notice of Congress. Mr. Peck, our agent to purchase supplies in North Carolina, has delivered no wheat yet. He bought supplies for his family; 400 bushels of wheat for 200 clerks, and 100 for Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, and Mr. Kean, the young Chief of the Bureau. This he says he bought with private funds; but he brought it at the government's expense. The clerks are resolved not to submit to his action. I hear of more desertions. Mr. Seddon and Mr. Stanton at Washington are engaged in a singular game of chance. The harsh orders of both cause mutual abandonments, and now we have the spectacle of men deserting our regiments, and quite as many coming over from the enemy's regiments near the city. Meantime Gen. Bragg is striving to get the able-bodied men out of the bureaus and to place them in the field. The despotic order, arresting every man in the streets, and hurrying them to "the front," without delay, and regardless of the condition of their families--some were taken off when getting medicine for their sick wives--is still the theme of execration, even among men who have been the most ultra and uncompromising secessionists. The terror caused many to hide themselves, and doubtless turned them against the government. They say now such a despotism is quite as bad as a Stanton despotism, and there is not a toss-up between the rule of the United States and the Confederate States. Such are some of the effects of bad measures in such critical times as these. Mr. Seddon has no physique to sustain him. He has intellect, and has read much; but, nevertheless, such great men are sometimes more likely to imitate some predecessor at a critical moment, or to adopt some bold yet inefficient suggestion from another, than to originate an adequate one themselves. He is a scholar, an invalid, refined and philosophical--but effeminate. OCTOBER 13TH.--Rained all night; clear and cool this morning. The government publishes nothing from Georgia yet; but it is supposed there is intelligence of an important character in the city, which it would be impolitic to communicate to the enemy. All still remains quiet below the city. But the curtain is expected to rise on the next act of the tragedy every moment. Gen. Grant probably furloughed many of his men to vote in Pennsylvania and Ohio, on Tuesday last--elections preliminary to the Presidential election--and they have had time to return to their regiments. If this pause should continue a week or two longer, Gen. Lee would be much strengthened. Every day the farmers, whose details have been revoked, are coming in from the counties; and many of these were in the war in '61 and '62--being experienced veterans. Whereas Grant's recruits, though greater in number, are raw and unskilled. The Medical Boards have been instructed to put in all men that come before them, capable of bearing arms _ten days_. One died in the trenches, on the eleventh day, of consumption! There is a rumor of a fight on our extreme left. It is said Field's division (C. S.) repulsed three assaults of the enemy. If the battle be still continued (4 P.M.--the wind from the west prevents us from hearing guns), no doubt it is the beginning of a general engagement--decisive, perhaps, of the fate of Richmond. We have many accounts of evasions of military service, occasioned by the alleged bad faith of the government, and the despotic orders from the Adjutant-General's office. And yet Gov. Smith's certificates for exemption of rich young Justices of the Peace, Commissioners of the (county) Revenue, Deputy Sheriffs, clerks, constables, officers and clerks of banks, still come in daily; and they are "allowed" by the Assistant Secretary of War. Will the poor and friendless fight their battles, and win their independence for them? It may be so; but let not rulers in future wars follow the example! Nothing but the conviction that they are fighting for their families, their sacred altars, and their little property induces thousands of brave Southerners to remain in arms against such fearful odds as are now arrayed against them. Mr. Kean, the young Chief of the Bureau of War, has come in from "the front," with a boil on his thigh. He missed the sport of the battle to-day. Mr. Peck, the agent to purchase supplies for his starving fellow-clerks, confesses that he bought 10 barrels of flour and 400 pounds of bacon for himself; 4 barrels of flour for Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War; 4 barrels for Mr. Kean, 1 for Mr. Cohen, and 1 for Mr. Shepherd. This has produced great indignation among the 200 clerks who sent him, and who got but 73-1/2 pounds each, and they got 13 pounds of bacon each; while Mr. P. bought for himself 400 pounds. OCTOBER 14TH.--The following dispatch from Gen. Lee cheered the city this morning. None of the particulars of the battle have yet transpired, and all are looking hourly for a renewal of the contest. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "October 13th, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "At seven o'clock this morning the enemy endeavored to advance between the Darbytown and Charles City Roads, but was repulsed in every attempt. The most strenuous effort was made about four P.M., after which he withdrew, leaving many dead. Our loss very slight. "Gen. Breckinridge reports that a force of the enemy came to Greenville on the 12th, and was defeated by Gen. Vaughan. Some prisoners, two stands of colors, many horses and arms were captured. The enemy lost many killed and wounded. Our loss slight. "R. E. LEE, _General_." It is now 2 P.M., and yet we hear no cannon. If Grant does not renew the strife immediately, it will be natural to suppose he failed in his purpose yesterday, or that some unforeseen occurrence within his lines has happened. Be it either, it is a grateful respite to us. On the 8th inst., Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, wrote the President a letter in vindication of P. Hamilton's loyalty. Mr. H. is commissioner under suspension of the writ of _habeas corpus_ to look into the loyalty of others, and was appointed on Judge C.'s recommendation. Some private individual in Mobile wrote the President, impeaching the patriotism of Mr. H., and also hinted something in relation to the loyalty of Judge C. This matter was shown to Mr. Seddon by the President, and Mr. S. spoke to Judge C. about it in his own manner, which produced the letter of Judge C. to the President. The President sends back the letter to-day, to the "Secretary of War," indorsed in substance as follows: "He was surprised to receive such a letter, when he had intimated no purpose to have the matter investigated." Judge C. had procured indorsements of Mr. H. from Alabama, which _let the matter out_; and it would have been _appropriate_--the President uses this word rather than _improper_, as he cannot dispense with either the Secretary or his assistant just now--to have consulted him before taking any steps whatever in the business. He seems vexed, even at Mr. S. OCTOBER 15TH.--A bright and glorious day--above. All was quiet yesterday below, indicating that the enemy suffered severely in the last assault on our lines. But we have nothing from Georgia. From the Valley, our cavalry had the misfortune to lose eleven guns by indiscreetly venturing too far in pursuit. And the news from the United States indicates that Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana have gone for the Republican candidates. This foreshadows Lincoln's re-election, and admonishes us to prepare for other campaigns, though languishing for peace. The farmers are now pouring in to replenish the armies, under the recent order revoking the details of agriculturists; and these are fine-looking men, and there will soon be successes in the field. Lately the indulgence of details to an immoderate extent, and corruption in the business of conscription, had depleted the armies extensively of men of substance and standing, and this may account for our disasters. Men, to fight well, must have something to fight for. Gen. Price, at the head of 20,000 men, is in Missouri. To expel him, many troops will be required; and this may relieve us a little in the East. My wife lost her purse in market this morning, before making any purchases; it contained $22 and her eye-glasses. I don't think there are any pickpockets except the extortioners. OCTOBER 16TH, SUNDAY.--A pleasant sunny Sabbath morn. The quiet below continues. Not a gun has been heard for three days; the longest intermission we have had for many months. What can it mean? Sheridan has spread desolation in the Shenandoah Valley, perhaps to prevent Early from penetrating Pennsylvania, etc., intending to come with all expedition to Grant. Troops, or rather detailed men, and late exempts, are beginning to arrive from North Carolina. I saw 250 this morning. Some of them were farmers who had complied with the terms prescribed, and a week ago thought themselves safe from the toils and dangers of war. They murmur, but there is no escape. They say the Governor has called out the militia officers, and magistrates also. Desertion is the order of the day, on both sides. Would that the _men_ would take matters in their own hands, and end the war, establishing our independence. Let every man in both armies desert and go home! Some one has sent a "Circular" of the "Bureau of Conscription" to the President, dated some few weeks ago, and authorizing enrolling officers everywhere to furlough farmers and others for sixty days, to make out their claims for exemption. This the President says in his indorsement defeats his efforts to put the whole able-bodied male population in the field; and no doubt has been the source of the many abuses charged against the "bureau." The Secretary sends the paper to the "bureau" for report, stating that he felt great surprise at the terms of the "Circular," and had no recollection of having seen or sanctioned such a document. The Superintendent reports that it was issued by the authority of the Secretary of War, and was warranted by law--looking to the interests of agriculture, etc. The truth is that the Circular was prepared by a subordinate in the Bureau of Conscription, and signed by Col. August, "Acting Superintendent." It was approved by Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, "by order of the Secretary of War" who never saw it. Mr. Seddon has left all the business of conscription in the hands of Judge Campbell; and poor Gen. Preston--indolent and ill--has been compelled to sign, sanction, and defend documents he knew nothing about; and Mr. Seddon is in a similar predicament. The Secretary of War has written a long letter to Gen. Lee, suggesting that he assemble a council of officers to decide what measure shall be adopted in regard to the treatment of prisoners in the hands of the enemy. It appears that Gen. Butler has notified Gen. Lee that he is now retaliating fearfully--making them work in his canal--on certain Confederates for some alleged harsh treatment of _negro_ prisoners in our hands--sending slaves back to their masters. Mr. Seddon, without assuming any responsibility himself, yet intimates the idea that this government is prepared to sanction the most sanguinary remedy; and I understand several members of the cabinet to have always been in favor of fighting--that is, having others fight--under the black flag. If the government had only listened to Gen. Lee's suggestions, we should have had abundance of men in the field to beat the enemy out of Virginia. I hope the present recruiting excitement comes not too late. And I trust he will interpose so far in behalf of the country as to wrest the railroads from the hands of the speculators and the dishonest quartermasters. Not a gun has been heard by me to-day, and the mysterious silence defies my powers of penetration. I only hope it may continue _sine die_. OCTOBER 17TH.--Bright and beautiful. Still all quiet below, and reinforcements (details revoked) are now arriving--1000 per day. The Northern news makes some doubt as to the result of the election in Pennsylvania. From the Valley we have rumors of victory, etc. A thrill of horror has been produced by a report that Gen. Butler has, for some time past, kept a number of his prisoners (Confederates) at work in his canal down the river, and supposing they were Federals, our batteries and gun-boats have been shelling our own men! OCTOBER 18TH.--Cloudy and cool. Quiet below, but it is rumored that the enemy has erected one or two sand batteries, mounted with 400-pounders, bearing on our fleet of gun-boats. The following dispatch was received from Gen. Hood to-day: "9 MILES SOUTH OF LAFAYETTE, GA., "Oct. 15th, via SELMA, Oct. 17th, 1864. "GEN. BRAGG. "This army struck the communications of the enemy about a mile above Resaca on the 12th inst, completely destroying the railroad, including block-houses, from that point to within a short distance of Tunnel Hill, and about four miles of the Cleaveland Railroad, capturing Dalton and all intermediate garrisons, with their stores, arms, and equipments, and about 1000 prisoners. "The main body of Sherman's army seems to be moving toward Dalton. J. B. HOOD, _General_." The following was received from Gen. Lee yesterday: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "Oct. 16th, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "On the 14th instant, Col. Moseby struck the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad at Duffield, and destroyed a United States mail train, consisting of a locomotive and ten cars, and securing twenty prisoners and fifteen horses. "Among the prisoners are two paymasters, with one hundred and sixty-eight thousand dollars in government funds. "R. E. LEE." It is reported also that Gen. Early has gained some advantage in a battle; not authentic. Gen. Bragg is going away, probably to Wilmington. The combination against him was too strong. But "the Bureau of Conscription" is pretty nearly demolished under his blows. Order 81 directs the generals of Reserves to appoint inspecting officers for all the Congressional Districts, to revise all exemptions, details, etc., with plenary powers, without reference to "the Bureau." The passport checks on travel Northward are now the merest farce, and valuable information is daily conveyed to the enemy. OCTOBER 19TH.--Bright and beautiful. Still all quiet below, the occasional bombarding near Petersburg being beyond our hearing. Yesterday, Gen. Preston, a millionaire, who can stalk stiffly anywhere, had an interview with the President, who admitted that he had dictated the General Orders--"76," "77," "78,"--rushing almost everybody into the army, but that it was not his meaning to take the whole business of conscription from "the Bureau." Yet Gen. P., the superintendent, thinks the _reading_ of the orders will admit of that construction, and he has written to the President asking another order, defining his position, etc., else his occupation is gone. The President cannot afford to lose Gen. P. From Gen. Early's army we learn that the detailed men and reserves are joining in great numbers, and the general asks 1000 muskets. Col. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, says he has but 300 available, his shops being closed, the workmen in the trenches, etc. All the ordnance, quartermaster, and commissary stores of Hood's army were ordered to Columbus, Ga. We expect stirring news from Georgia daily, and the opinion prevails that Sherman will "come to grief." The militia, furloughed by Gov. Brown so inopportunely, are returning to the front, the time having expired. A Mr. B. is making Lincoln speeches in New York. It seems to me he had a passport from Mr. Benjamin, Secretary of State. Gen. Lee writes to-day that negroes taken from the enemy, penitentiary convicts, and recaptured deserters ought not to be sent by the Secretary to work on the fortifications. OCTOBER 20TH.--Cloudy. There is a street rumor of a battle below, and on the Petersburg line. The wind is from the west, and yet we hear no guns. The Secretary of the Treasury sent to the Secretary of War to-day an argument showing that, without a violation of the Constitution, clerks appointed to places created by Congress cannot be removed. We shall see what the Secretary says to that. OCTOBER 21ST.--Bright. Fort Harrison (Federal) opened its batteries on our lines at Chaffin's Farm yesterday evening, without effect. An officer tells me that heavy and quick firing was also heard on the Petersburg lines, indicating, he thought, a battle. We have nothing of this in the papers, or in any dispatch I have seen. Assistant Secretary Campbell is writing a portion of Mr. Secretary Seddon's report for him. Mr. C.'s son was promoted to a majority yesterday. At 2 P.M. we have a rumor that Gen. Early has been defeated, losing all his guns but one. A letter from the Secretary of the Treasury recommends the detail or exemption of the bank officers of South Carolina. The poor country clod-hoppers have no friends, and must do the fighting. The following order, dictated by the President, has been published: "ADJUTANT AND INSPECTOR-GENERAL'S OFFICE, "RICHMOND, October 20th, 1864. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 82. "I. The Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance will, without delay, take measures to place in the field one-fifth of all the men employed in his department (including contractors and their employees) of the classes specified in General Order No. 77, A. and I. G. Office (current series). To this end he will direct the several officers in charge of arsenals, workshops, depots, etc. to turn over to the nearest enrolling officers, by lists showing their ages, occupations, and residences, such proportion of their employees (including contractors and employees under them) of the classes above referred to as will constitute in the aggregate one-fifth of the whole number in the said classes, according to returns in his office of Sept. 30th, 1864. Duplicates of such lists will be sent to the Generals of Reserves of the States, and triplicates to the Chief of Ordnance. Three days are allowed for the execution of this Order after its reception at any post or station of the Ordnance Department. "II. The Chief of the Niter and Mining Bureau will, in like manner, turn over, on similar lists, one-fifth of all men of the classes specified in General Order No. 77, employed in iron, lead, copper, and coal mines, and all service appertaining thereto, whether directly under officers of his Bureau or by contractors. Duplicate and triplicate lists to be furnished as above directed in the Ordnance Bureau, and will in the same manner turn over one-fifth of all such men now employed in the Niter service. "The period of three days, under the same conditions as above mentioned, is allowed for the execution of this order. "III. The list of persons directed in the foregoing sections to be turned over to the enrolling officers will be prepared at once on the reception of this Order, and will be furnished to the said officers within three days, as above prescribed, by the various officers of each of the above Bureaus, having men under their charge, and every assistance will be rendered by the latter to the enrolling officer to carry out the intention of this order. "IV. So much of General Order No. 77 as relates to men employed in the two Bureaus named above is hereby suspended, and the foregoing Orders will stand in lieu of all requirements under the former. "By order. S. COOPER, "_A. and I. General_." OCTOBER 22D.--Cloudy; rained last night. 2 P.M.--Cold, and prospects of snow. The news of Early's disaster, and loss of artillery at Strasburg, is confirmed, and casts a new vexation over the country. Mr. M. Byrd, Selma, Ala., is addressing some bold letters to the President on the blunders of the administration. Gen. Longstreet has resumed command of the first army corps. G. W. Custis Lee (son of the general) has been made a major-general. There was no fighting below yesterday, that I have heard of. Gold, which was $1 for $30 in Confederate States notes, commands $35 for $1 to-day, under the news from the Valley. Yet our sagacious statesmen regard the re-election of Lincoln (likely to follow our reverses) as favorable to independence, though it may prolong the war. It is thought there will certainly be revolution or civil war in the North, if the Democrats be beaten; and that will relieve us of the vast armies precipitated on our soil. Many of the faint-hearted croakers are anxious for peace and reconstruction. Gen. Butler, called "the Beast" by the press, has certainly performed a generous action. Messrs. McRae and Henley, two government clerks in the local battalion, wandered into the enemy's lines, and were put to work in the canal by Gen. Butler, who had been informed that we made some prisoners taken from him work on the fortifications. This was done but a short time, when they were relieved; and Mr. McRae was permitted to return to the city, to learn whether the Federal prisoners were really required to perform the labor named. No restrictions were imposed on him, no parole required. He came with Gen. B.'s passport, but felt in honor bound to communicate no intelligence, and voluntarily returned to captivity. We _had_ Federal prisoners at work, but they were remanded to prison. SUNDAY, OCTOBER 23D.--Bright and frosty. From the United States papers we learn that a great victory is claimed over Gen. Early, with the capture of forty-three guns! It is also stated that a party of "Copperheads" (Democrats), who had taken refuge in Canada, have made a raid into Vermont, and robbed some of the banks of their specie. The fact that Mr. McRae, who, with Mr. Henley (local forces), fell into the hands of the enemy a few miles below the city, was permitted to return within our own lines with a passport (without restrictions, etc.) from Gen. Butler, has not been mentioned by any of the newspapers, gives rise to many conjectures. Some say that "somebody" prohibited the publication; others, that the press has long been misrepresenting the conduct of the enemy; there being policy in keeping alive the animosities of the army and the people. The poor clerks in the trenches are in a demoralized condition. It is announced that the Secretary of War has resolved to send them all to Camp Lee, for medical examination: those that have proved their ability to bear arms (in defense of the city) _are to be removed from office_, and put in the army. One-half of them will desert to the enemy, and injure the cause. About one hundred of them were appointed before the enactment of the act of Conscription, under the express guarantee of the Constitution that they should not be molested during life. If the President removes these, mostly refugees with families dependent upon their salaries, it will be a plain violation of the Constitution; and the victims cannot be relied on for their loyalty to the government. If the government wastes precious time in such small matters, while events of magnitude demand attention, the cause is fast reaching a hopeless condition. The able-bodied money-changer, speculator, and extortioner is still seen in the street; and their number is legion. The generals in the field are sending back the poor, sickly recruits ordered out by the Medical Board: the able-bodied rich men escape by bribery and corruption; and the hearty _officers_--acting adjutant-generals, quartermasters, and commissaries--ride their sleek horses through the city every afternoon. This, while the cause is perishing for want of men and horses! OCTOBER 24TH.--Clouds and sunshine. Nothing new of importance from the army. Gov. Smith has been writing letters to Gen. Lee, asking that Gen. Early be superseded in the Valley. Pity it had not been done! Gen. Lee replied, expressing confidence in Early; and the President (since the disaster!) coincides with Lee. The President administers a sharp rebuke to Gen. Whiting, for irregularly corresponding with Generals Lee and Beauregard on the subject of Lieut. Taylor Wood's naval expedition, fitting out at Wilmington. The President and cabinet are still at work on the one hundred clerks in the departments whom they wish to displace. I append the result of my gardening this year. The dry weather in May and June injured the crop, or the amount would have been much larger. Total valuation, at market prices, $347. OCTOBER 25TH.--Bright and beautiful morning. All quiet below. Mr. McRae has been permitted by Gen. Butler to return again to the city to await his exchange, pledged not to bear arms, etc. Many more of the government employees, forced into the trenches, would be happy to be in the same predicament. A great many are deserting under a deliberate conviction that their rights have been despotically invaded by the government; and that this government is, and is likely to be, as tyrannous as Lincoln's. No doubt many give valuable information to the enemy. The Superintendent of the Bureau of Conscription is at open war with the General of Reserves in Virginia, and confusion is likely to be worse confounded. Gen. Cooper, A. and I. General (Pennsylvanian), suggests to the President the appointment of Gen. Lovell to the command of all the prisons containing Federal captives. Gen. Lovell, too, is a Northern man. OCTOBER 26TH.--Clear and frosty. Quiet below. Gen. W. M. Gardner (in Gen. Winder's place here) has just got from Judge Campbell passports for his cousin, Mary E. Gardner, and for his brother-in-law F. M. White, to go to Memphis, Tenn., where they mean to reside. Mr. Benjamin publishes a copy of a dispatch to Mr. Mason, in London, for publication there, showing that if the United States continue the war, she will be unable to pay her debts abroad, and therefore foreigners ought not to lend her any more money, or they may be ruined. This from a Secretary of State! It may be an electioneering card in the United States, and it may reconcile some of our members of Congress to the incumbency of Mr. B. in a sinecure position. A friend of Mr. Seddon, near Vicksburg, writes for permission to sell thirty bales of cotton--$20,000 worth--to the enemy. He says Mr. Seddon's estate, on the Sunflower, has not been destroyed by the enemy. That's fortunate, for other places have been utterly ruined. Investigations going on in the courts show that during Gen. Winder's "Reign of Terror," passports sold for $2000. Some outside party negotiated the business and procured the passport. Gen. Early has issued an address to his army, reproaching it for having victory wrested out of its hands by a criminal indulgence in the plunder found in the camps captured from the enemy. He hopes they will retrieve everything in the next battle. Governor Smith's exemptions of magistrates, deputy sheriffs, clerks, and constables, to-day, 56. OCTOBER 27TH.--Slightly hazy and sunshine. Quiet, save aimless and bootless shelling and picket firing along the lines on the south side of the river. Hon. Geo. Davis, Attorney-General, to whom was referred the question of the constitutionality of the purposed removal from office of clerks appointed to fill places specifically created by act of Congress previous to the enactment of the Conscript law, without there being alleged against them any misconduct, inefficiency, dishonesty, etc., has reported that as several subsequent acts of Congress already indicate an intention to put all capable of bearing arms in the army, it is the duty of the President and the Secretary of War _to carry out the intentions of Congress_, leaving the constitutional question to the decision of the courts! The Constitution they swore upon the holy, etc. to support! Thus, a refugee must either starve his wife and children by relinquishing office, or be disgraced by appealing to the courts! It is reported that 30,000 of the enemy crossed to this side of the river last night, and that fighting has began at 10 A.M.; but I hear nothing save an occasional report of cannon. It is said brisk skirmishing is now (12 M.) going on along the lines. Gen. Cooper and Mr. Secretary Seddon wants Brig.-Gen. R. (Charleston) relieved, for insulting a lady in one of his fits of drunkenness. The President is reluctant to consent. We have intelligence to-day of gun-boats and transports ascending the Rappahannock River. Another squall from that quarter! Three P.M. The cannonading has grown quick and terrific along the lines, below the city (north side), with occasional discharges nearer, and farther to the left (north), as if the enemy were attempting to flank our army. The sounds are very distinctly heard, the weather being damp and the wind from the southeast. We can distinguish the bursting of the shell quickly after the discharge of the cannon. The firing ceased at dark. It rains hard and steadily, now. What a life! what suffering, in mud and water, without tents (in the trenches), burdened with wet blankets, and perhaps without food! To-morrow, in all probability, a battle will be fought. Gen. Lee, for several weeks, as if aware of the impending operations in this vicinity, has been on this side of the river, superintending in person the fortifications multiplied everywhere for the defense of the city, while reinforcements have been pouring in by thousands. It must be a fearful struggle, if Gen. Grant really intends to make another effort to capture Richmond by assault! Our works, mostly made by the negroes, under the direction of skillful engineers, must be nearly impregnable, and the attempt to take them will involve a prodigious expenditure of blood. OCTOBER 28TH.--Rained all night, but bright this morning. We have no clear account yet of the fighting yesterday; but we know the enemy was repulsed on this side of the river. It is thought that the operations on the south side were of greater magnitude, where we lost a brigadier-general (Dearing) of cavalry. We shall know all in a few days. The fighting was not resumed this morning. It is rumored that Mr. Seddon will resign, and be succeeded by Gen. Kemper. I am incredulous. The "dog-catchers," as the guards are called, are out again, arresting able-bodied men (and sometimes others) in the streets, and locking them up until they can be sent to the front. There must be extraordinary danger anticipated by the authorities to induce a resort to so extreme a measure. Two P.M. No news from the field---no cannon heard to-day. Large amounts of cloth from Europe for the army have recently arrived at Wilmington, N. C.; but the speculators occupy so much space in the cars, that transportation cannot be had for it. The poor soldiers are likely to suffer in consequence of this neglect of duty on the part of the government. OCTOBER 29TH.--Clear and pleasant. We are beginning to get authentic accounts of the operations on Thursday; and yet, from the newspaper publications, we see that the government has withheld one of Gen. Lee's dispatches from publication. Altogether, it must be regarded as a decisive failure on the part of the enemy to obtain any lodgment nearer to the objective point; while his loss was perhaps two to our one. A letter from Gen. Howell Cobb, Macon, Ga., in reply to one from the Secretary by the President's direction, states that Gen. Beauregard, in arranging difficulties with Gov. Brown, did not compromise the dignity or interests of the Confederate States Government, or violate any law. It is now said Sheridan is retreating toward the Potomac, followed by Early. Some 500 more recruits for Early left Richmond yesterday. This would indicate that Gen. Lee has men enough here. The President suggests that confidential inspectors be sent to ascertain whether Gen. Early's army has lost confidence in him. Both Gen. Lee and the President are satisfied that the charges of drunkenness against Gen. E. merit no attention. The Secretary had indorsed on a paper (referred by him to the President) that he shared the belief in the "want of confidence," etc.--and no doubt would have him removed. SUNDAY, OCTOBER 30TH.--Bright and beautiful. Some firing was heard early this morning on the Darbytown road, or in that direction; but it soon ceased, and no fighting of moment is anticipated to-day, for Gen. Longstreet is in the city. My son Thomas drew a month's rations yesterday, being detailed for clerical service with Gen. Kemper. He got 35 pounds of flour (market value $70), 31 pounds of beef ($100.75), 3 pounds of rice ($6), one sixth of a cord of wood ($13.33), salt ($2), tobacco ($5), vinegar ($3)--making $200 per month; clothing furnished by government,$500 per annum; cash, $18 per month; $4 per day extra, and $40 per month for quarters; or $5000 per annum. Custis and I get $4000 each--making in all $13,000! Yet we cannot subsist and clothe the family; for, alas, the paper money is $30 for one in specie! The steamers have brought into Wilmington immense amounts of quartermaster stores, and perhaps our armies are the best clad in the world. If the spirit of speculation be laid, and all the men and resources of the country be devoted to defense (as seems now to be the intention), the United States could never find men and material sufficient for our subjugation. We could maintain the war for an indefinite period, unless, indeed, fatal dissensions should spring up among ourselves. OCTOBER 31ST.--Bright. Tom's rations came in--worth $200--for a month. Gen. Lee writes that it is necessary for the gun-boats to guard the river as far below Chaffin's Bluffs as possible, to prevent the enemy from throwing a force to the south bank in the rear of Gen. Pickett's lines; for then Gen. P. must withdraw his forces, and the abandonment of Petersburg will follow, "with its railroad connections, throwing the whole army back to the defense of Richmond. I should regard this as a great disaster, and as seriously endangering the safety of the city. We should not only lose a large section of country from which our position enables us to draw supplies, but the enemy would be brought nearer to the only remaining railway communication between Richmond and the South. It would make the tenure of the city depend upon our ability to hold this long line of communication against the largely superior force of the enemy, and I think would greatly diminish the prospects of successful defense." He suggests that more men and small boats be put in the river to prevent the enemy from placing torpedoes in the rear of the iron-clads, when on duty down the river at night. J. H. Reagan, Postmaster-General, has written a furious letter to the Secretary, complaining of incivility on the part of Mr. Wilson, Commissary Agent to issue beef in Richmond. Judge R. went there to draw the beef ration for Col. Lubbock, one of the President's aid-de-camps (late Governor of Texas). He says he is able-bodied and ought to be in the army. Mr. Wilson sends in certificates of two men who were present, contradicting the judge's statement of the language used by Mr. W. The Secretary has not yet acted in the case. Beverly Tucker is in Canada, and has made a contract for the Confederate States Government with ------ & Co., of New York, to deliver bacon for cotton, pound for pound. It was made by authority of the Secretary of War, certified to by Hon. C. C. Clay and J. Thompson, both in Canada. The Secretary of the Treasury don't like it. It is reported that after the success reported by Gen. Lee, Early was _again_ defeated. CHAPTER XLIV. Proclamation for a day of public worship.--Gov. Allen, of Louisiana.-- Letter from Gen. Beauregard.--Departure for Europe.--Congress assembles.--Quarrel between Gens. Kemper and Preston.--Gen. Forrest doing wonders.--Tennessee.--Gen. Johnston on his Georgia campaign.-- John Mitchel and Senator Foote.--Progress of Sherman.--From Gov. Brown, of Georgia.--Capture of Gen. Pryor. NOVEMBER 1ST.--Bright and frosty morning. All quiet. No confirmation of Early's defeat; and the night-feat of Mahone puts the people in better hope. One-third of all our lead comes from the mines near Wytheville, Virginia. I got 128 pounds of flour from the investment in supplies in North Carolina, and one-fourth of that amount is still behind. We got 26 pounds of bacon, worth $260; the flour received, and to be received, 160 pounds, $320; and we expect to get 6 gallons molasses, $30 per gallon, $180: total, $760; and only $200 invested. This shows the profits of the speculators! Gov. Yates, of Illinois, has declared Richmond will be in the hands of the Federals before the 8th of November. This is the 1st. It may be so; but I doubt it. It cannot be so without the effusion of an ocean of blood! I learned to-day that every tree on Gov. Wise's farm of any size has been felled by the enemy. What harm have the poor trees done the enemy? I love trees, anywhere. The President attends to many little matters, such as solicitations for passports to leave the country, details or exemptions of husbands and sons; and generally the ladies who address him, knowing his religious bias, frame their phraseology accordingly, and often with effect. The following is his last proclamation: _Proclamation appointing a Day for Public Worship._ "It is meet that the people of the Confederate States should, from time to time, assemble to acknowledge their dependence on Almighty God, to render devout thanks for his manifold blessings, to worship his holy name, to bend in prayer at his footstool, and to accept, with reverent submission, the chastening of his all-wise and all-merciful Providence. "Let us, then, in temples and in fields, unite our voices in recognizing, with adoring gratitude, the manifestations of his protecting care in the many signal victories with which our arms have been crowned; in the fruitfulness with which our land has been blessed, and in the unimpaired energy and fortitude with which he has inspired our hearts and strengthened our arms in resistance to the iniquitous designs of our enemies. "And let us not forget that, while graciously vouchsafing to us his protection, our sins have merited and received grievous chastisement; that many of our best and bravest have fallen in battle; that many others are still held in foreign prisons; that large districts of our country have been devastated with savage ferocity, the peaceful homes destroyed, and helpless women and children driven away in destitution; and that with fiendish malignity the passions of a servile race have been excited by our foes into the commission of atrocities from which death is a welcome escape. "Now, therefore, I, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederate States of America, do issue this my proclamation, setting apart Wednesday, the sixteenth day of November next, as a day to be specially devoted to the worship of Almighty God; and I do invite and invoke all the people of these Confederate States to assemble on the day aforesaid, in their respective places of public worship, there to unite in prayer to our heavenly Father, that he bestow his favor upon us; that he extend over us the protection of his Almighty arm; that he sanctify his chastisement to our improvement, so that we may turn away from evil paths and walk righteously in his sight; that he restore peace to our beloved country, healing its bleeding wounds, and securing to us the continued enjoyment of our right of self-government and independence; and that he graciously hearken to us, while we ascribe to him the power and glory of our deliverance. "Given under my hand and the seal of the Confederate States, at Richmond, this 26th day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-four. "JEFFERSON DAVIS. "By the President: "J. P. BENJAMIN, _Secretary of State_." The President gets but few letters from members of Congress. NOVEMBER 2D.--Dark and dismal. The Governor continues his exemptions, now amounting to thousands. S. Basset French (State agent to buy and sell supplies to the people), with one or more clerks, and such laborers, etc. as may be necessary, I find among his last exemptions. A smart and corrupt agent could make a fortune out of these exemptions. Of course, the _Governor's_ A. D. C. will do no such thing. No news from below. Rev. John Clark writes from Stafford County that the conscripts there have hid themselves in White Oak Swamp, because the Secretary of War has exempted an able-bodied man to work for Mrs. ----, his ---- widow. Gen. Winder, with the prisoners in the South, is in hot water again. He wants to make Cashmyer suttler (like ancient Pistol), and Major ----, the Secretary's agent, opposes it, on the ground that he is a "Plug Ugly rogue and cut-throat." Mr. George Davis, Attorney-General Confederate States, has given it as his opinion that although certain civil officers of the government were exempted from military service by the Constitution, yet a recent act of Congress, decreeing that all residents between the ages of 17 and 50 are in the military service, must be executed. In other words, the cabinet ministers must "see that the laws be faithfully executed," even should they be clearly and expressly unconstitutional. Is not the Constitution the law? Have they not sworn to support it, etc.? It seems to me that this is a weak opinion. It makes the President ABSOLUTE. I fear this government in future times will be denounced as a Cabal of bandits and outlaws, making and executing the most despotic decrees. This decision will look bad in history, and will do no good at present. How _could_ the President "approve" such a law? The desertions from the Tredegar Battalion and other workshops--local defense--amount to between one and two hundred since the 1st of September. NOVEMBER 3D.--Cold rain; rained all night. Gen. Lee, urging that his regiments from Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, etc. etc. be recruited from their respective States, concludes a recent letter thus: "I hope immediate action will be taken upon this subject, as I think our success depends much upon a speedy increase of our armies in every possible way." This dismal weather casts a deeper gloom upon the spirits of the croakers. They fear Richmond cannot be long defended. Plymouth, N. C., has been retaken by the enemy. During this damp weather the deep and sullen sounds of cannon can be heard at all hours, day and night. The firing is mostly from our iron-clads. The market was well supplied this morning with abundance of good meat, vegetables, fruit, etc.; and I was glad to see but few making purchases. The reason may have been that the extortionate prices repelled the people; or it may have been the rain. I passed on. NOVEMBER 4TH.--Rained all night; glimpses of the sun between the running clouds this morning. Windy, and likely to be cold. Our iron-clad "Albemarle" was blown up by a handful of the enemy at Plymouth--surprising the water pickets (all asleep). The _manner_ of the loss of the town, and of the counties east of it, is not known yet; but everything was foretold by Mr. Burgyson to the cabinet then devoting their attention to the problem how to violate the Constitution, and put into the trenches some fifty delicate clerks, that their places might be filled by some of their own special favorites. Mr. George Davis, Attorney-General, the instrument selected to rend the Constitution, or rather to remove the obstacles out of the way, is from North Carolina; and this blow has fallen upon his own State! We learn that gold is rising rapidly in the North, which may be significant of President Lincoln's re-election next week. We get no news from our armies except through the Northern papers--not reliable just now. Gov. Allen, of Louisiana, writes a furious letter to the Secretary of War, who ordered the disbandment of the State Battalion. He says the order is a personal offense to him and an insult to his State (he is a native Virginian), and he will resent it and resist it to the last extremity. He gives notice that the 3d battalion has been ordered back from the east side of the Mississippi River. The battalion disbanded numbered but 150 men! A little business--like losing one-fourth of North Carolina, to put out of office fifty clerks, whose tenure, by the Constitution, is for life! NOVEMBER 5TH.--Clear and cold. Grant has attempted nothing this week, and it is probably too late for any demonstration to affect the election. I infer that the government is convinced President Lincoln will be re-elected, else some desperate effort would have been made in his behalf by his generals. Will he float on a sea of blood another four years? I doubt it. One side or the other must, I think, give up the contest. _He_ can afford to break with the Abolitionists now. We _cannot_ submit without the loss of everything. It is thought Grant will continue to "swing to the left," making a winter campaign on the coasts of North and South Carolina--mean time leaving Butler's army here, always menacing Richmond. Gen. Beauregard writes from Gadsden, Ala., October 24th, that his headquarters will be at Tuscumbia, Ala.; will get supplies from Corinth to Tuscumbia. Forrest has been ordered to report to Gen. Hood, in Middle Tennessee. The railroad iron between Corinth and Memphis will be taken to supply wants elsewhere. Gen. Dick Taylor is to guard communications, etc., has directed Gen. Cheatham to issue an address to the people of Tennessee, saying his and Gen. Forrest's command have entered the State for its redemption, etc., and calling upon the people to aid in destroying the _enemy's communications_, while the main army is between Atlanta and Chattanooga, when the purpose is to precipitate the _whole army_ upon it, etc. Gen. B. doubts not he will soon be able to announce good tidings, etc. etc. This letter to Gen. Cooper is "submitted to the Secretary of War," by whom it is "submitted for the information of the President," and sent back by him--"Read and returned, 4th Nov. '64.--J. D." Gen. B. was to leave that day to join Gen. Hood, in vicinity of Guntersville, on Tennessee River. Sherman's army was between Dalton and Gadsden, 15 miles from Gadsden. SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6TH.--Bright and frosty. All quiet below. Another day, and if it remains quiet, we may know that Lincoln will be re-elected. It is said news came from the North last night, that gold sold for $2 60, and that Governor Seymour had ordered the militia of New York to be in readiness for the protection of the polls on Tuesday next. G. W. Randolph, late Secretary of War, has sailed for Europe, taking his family with him. Other quondam Confederate States functionaries have gone, or are going. Many have realized fortunes, who were poor, and this country has ceased to be the one to _enjoy_ them in. A parting letter was written by Mr. Randolph to his friend, R. G. H. Kean, Chief of the Bureau of War--appointed by Mr. R., and from whom I derived the information of the sailing of his patron. Such departures, at a crisis like this, spread additional doubts in the community. Mr. R. was not liable to conscription, if averse to fighting more in our cause, being exempted by Governor Smith as a member of the Common Council. To-morrow is the day fixed for the reassembling of our Congress, but doubts are entertained whether there will be a quorum. We shall soon have lively news from Beauregard. If I understand his letter of the 24th ult., he is determined to march the army without delay into Middle Tennessee, leaving Sherman on his right flank and rear. It is a desperate conception, and will probably be a brilliant success--or a sad disaster. Napoleon liked such games. If Beauregard really has great genius, he has now the field on which to display it. If the Tennesseeans and Kentuckians rise, momentous events may follow; if not, it is probably the last opportunity they will have. They have their choice--_but blood is the price of independence_. NOVEMBER 7TH.--Dark and raining. Cannon heard down the river. To-day our Congress assembles. Senator Johnson, of Missouri (who relinquished six years in United States Senate and $200,000 for the cause), called to see me. He is hopeful of success in the West. By the Northern papers we see that Mr. Seward has discovered a "conspiracy" to burn all the Northern cities on election day. It may be so--by Northern incendiaries. Our citizens are still asking permits to bring flour and meal to the city (free from liability to impressment) for "family use." The speculators divide and subdivide their lots, and get them in, to sell at extortionate prices. Rumors of fighting toward Petersburg--nothing reliable. Gen. Lee writes that he sent in the Tredegar Battalion to the foundry a few days ago (desertions being frequent from it); and now he learns it is ordered out to report to Lieut.-Col. Pemberton. He requests that it be ordered back to the foundry, where it is absolutely necessary for the supply of munitions, etc. NOVEMBER 8TH.--Wet and warm; all quiet below, and much mud there. Congress assembled yesterday, and the President's message was read. He recommends the employment of 40,000 slaves in the army, not as soldiers, unless in the last extremity; and _after_ the war he proposes their _emancipation_. This is supposed to be the idea of Mr. Benjamin, for foreign effect. It is denounced by the _Examiner_. The message also recommends the abolition of all class exemptions, such as editors, etc. The _Examiner_ denounces this as a blow at the freedom of the press. The message is cheerful and full of hope, showing that the operations of the year, in the field, have resulted in no disadvantage to us. By the Northern papers we find that a fleet of four or five cruisers is devastating their commerce. They sailed recently from Wilmington, in spite of Gen. Whiting. No attack was made on Richmond during the last few days. I have no doubt it was deemed unnecessary by the enemy to secure Mr. Lincoln's re-election. To-day, no doubt, the election in the United States will result in a new lease of presidential life for Mr. Lincoln. If this result should really have been his _motive_ in the conduct of the war, perhaps there may soon be some relaxation of its rigors--and possibly peace, for it is obvious that subjugation is not possible. President Lincoln may afford to break with the Abolition party now, and, as has been often done before, kick down the ladder by which he ascended to power. This is merely speculation, however; he may resolve to wield the whole military strength and resources of the United States with more fury than ever. But there will henceforth be a dangerous party against him in the rear. The defeated Democrats will throw every obstruction in his path--and they may _chock_ his wheels--or even give him employment for the bayonet at home. Dispatches from Beauregard and Hood, November 4th, at Tuscumbia, say that Sherman is concentrating at Huntsville and Decatur. Part of our army is at Florence. Gen. B. says his advance has been retarded by bad weather and want of supplies, but that he will march into Tennessee immediately. Gen. Forrest is throwing difficulties in the way of Sherman. The armies are equidistant from Nashville, and if Sherman's supplies fail, his condition becomes desperate. Captain Manico (acting lieutenant-colonel Departmental Regiment) informs me that the enemy will certainly open batteries in a day or two on our troops at Chaffin's Bluff, and will be replied to vigorously, which he thinks will bring on a battle. We shall hear more thunder, as the distance is only seven or eight miles. It seems to be clearing up, and there may be news before night. When election news arrives per telegraph from the North--if favorable--it is supposed the enemy will celebrate it by _shotted_ salutes, and thus recommence the slaughter. NOVEMBER 9TH.--Rained last night; clear this morning, and warm. All quiet below, except the occasional bombs thrown at the canal by our iron-clads. The press is mostly opposed to the President's _project_ of employing 40,000 slaves in the army, under promise of emancipation. Some indicate the belief that the President thinks the alternatives are subjugation or abolition, and is preparing the way for the latter. The _Enquirer_ is averse to conscribing editors between the ages of eighteen and forty-five. The editor says it would be a violation of the Constitution, etc. We all believe Lincoln has been easily re-elected. It is supposed Grant will soon receive large accessions from Sheridan's army, and make another attempt to take Richmond. It will be the most formidable attempt, and will be the most formidably resisted. A row between Gen. Kemper and Gen. Preston: latter refers papers directly to Col. Shields, Gen. K.'s subordinate. Gen. K. asks to be relieved: Secretary Seddon agrees to it, taking sides with the Bureau of Conscription. But the President does not (yet) agree to it, asks investigation of Gen. K.'s complaints, etc.; and so it rests at the present. The Assistant Secretary of War, his son-in-law Lieut.-Col. Lay, etc. etc. are all on the side of the Bureau of Conscription; but I suspect the President is on the _other_ side. My opinion is that unless the Bureau of Conscription be abolished or renovated, our cause will fare badly. The President states his suspicions of "malpractice" in his indorsement. Much cheering has been heard this morning in the enemy's lines--over election news, probably: whether McClellan's or Lincoln's success, no one here knows; but no doubt the latter. NOVEMBER 10TH.--Warm; rain and wind (south) all night. Quiet below. One of the enemy's pickets said to one of ours, last night, that Warren's corps had voted unanimously for McClellan, and that New York City has given a majority of 40,000 for him. This is hardly reliable. Mr. Foote offered a resolution, yesterday, condemning the President's suggestion that _editors_ be put in the ranks as well as other classes. Now I think the President's suggestion will be adopted, as Mr. Foote is unfortunate in his resolutions. Mr. Barksdale (President's friend) had it easily referred to the Committee on Military Affairs. Hon. J. A. Gilmer, North Carolina, is applying for many passports through the lines for people in his district. He applies to Judge Campbell. Coal is selling at $90 per load, twenty-five bushels. The vote referring Foote's resolution (on the exemption of editors) was passed unanimously, which is regarded as favoring the President's recommendation. Mr. Foote had denounced the President as a despot. Bought two excellent knit undershirts, to-day, of a woman who gets her supplies from passing soldiers. Being washed, etc., they bore no evidences of having been worn, _except two small round holes in the body_. Such are the straits to which we are reduced. I paid $15 each; the price for new ones, of inferior quality, is $50 a piece. NOVEMBER 11TH.--Clear and pleasant. All quiet. No doubt, from the indications, Lincoln has been re-elected. Now preparations must be made for the further "conflict of opposing forces." All our physical power must be exerted, else all is lost. Mr. Sparrow, Louisiana, chairman of the Committee on Military Affairs, introduced a measure, yesterday, in the Senate, which, if consummated, might put all our able-bodied men in the field. It would equalize prices of the necessaries of life, and produce a panic among the speculators. I append it. But, probably, the press will have to be suppressed, "as a war measure," too, to pass it: _"A bill to extend the assessment of prices for the army to all citizens of the Confederate States:_ "_Whereas_, the depreciation of our currency is, in a great measure, produced by the extortion of those who sell the necessaries of life; and whereas, such depreciation is ruinous to our Confederacy and to the means of prosecuting the war; therefore "_The Congress of the Confederate States of America do enact, as a necessary war measure_, That the prices assessed for the army by the commissioners of assessment shall be the prices established for all citizens of the Confederate States; and that any person who shall charge any price beyond such assessment shall be deemed guilty of a criminal offense, and be subject to a fine not exceeding five thousand dollars and to imprisonment not exceeding one year." We are now tending rapidly, under fearful exigencies, to the absolutism which, in a republic, alone can summon the full forces into the field. Power must be concentrated, and wielded with promptitude and precision, else we shall fail to achieve our independence. All obstructions in the way of necessary war measures must be speedily removed, or the finances, and the war itself, will speedily come to an ignominious end. The Secretary recommends, and the President orders, that Gen. Bragg be assigned to the command of North Carolina. The President yields; Bragg is "given up." The Richmond _Enquirer_ is out, to-day, in an article advocating the employment of 250,000 negroes in our army. NOVEMBER 12TH.--Bright and pleasant. The rumor is revived that Mr. Seddon will resign. If he really does resign, I shall regard it as a _bad_ sign. He must despair of the Republic; but, then, his successor may be a man of greater energy and knowledge of war. We are destitute of news, with an awful silence between the armies. We believe this cannot last long, and we know Grant has a great superiority of numbers. And he knows our weakness; for the government will persist in keeping "at the front" local defense troops, smarting under a sense of wrong, some of whom are continually deserting. The money-changers and speculators, who have lavished their bribes, are all in their places, preying upon the helpless women and children; while the clerks--the permanence of whose tenure of office was guaranteed by the Constitution--are still kept in the trenches, and their families, many of them refugees, are suffering in destitution. But Mr. Seddon says they _volunteered_. This is not candid. They were told by Mr. Memminger and others that, unless they _volunteered_, the President had decided their dismissal--when conscription into the army followed, of course! NOVEMBER 13TH.--Bright and cold; ice on the porch. All quiet below, save the booming of bombs every night from our iron-clads, thrown at the workmen in the canal. There is a dispatch from the West, relating to Gen. Forrest's operations in Tennessee, understood to be good news. I did not wait to see, knowing the papers will have it to-morrow. Mr. Hunter was with Mr. Secretary Seddon, as usual, this Sunday morning, begging him not to resign. This is flattery to Mr. Seddon. NOVEMBER 14TH.--Clear and cold. Lincoln is re-elected, and has called for a _million_ of men! This makes many of our croaking people despondent; others think it only a game of brag. I saw the President to-day in earnest conversation with several members of Congress, standing in the street. It is not often he descends from his office to this mode of conference. Some one of the family intimating that stains of blood were on my undershirts (second hand), I was amused to see Mrs. J. lifting them with the _tongs_. They have been thoroughly washed, and prove to be a first-rate article. I am proud of them, for they are truly comfortable garments. Gen. Forrest is doing wonders in Tennessee, as the appended dispatch from Gen. Beauregard shows: "TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Nov. 8th, 1864. "GEN. S. COOPER, A. AND I. GENERAL. "Gen. Forrest reports on the 5th instant that he was then engaged fighting the enemy at Johnsonville, having already destroyed four gun-boats, of eight guns each, fourteen steamers, and twenty barges, with a large quantity of quartermaster and commissary stores, on the landing and in warehouses, estimated at between seventy-five and one hundred thousand tons. Six gun-boats were then approaching, which he hoped to capture or destroy. "G. T. BEAUREGARD." NOVEMBER 15TH.--Fair and cold; ice. Quiet below; rumors of further successes in the Southwest, but not official. Congress did nothing of interest yesterday in open session, but spent most of its time in secret session. There will probably be stringent martial law, for the strong hand of unlimited power will be required to correct abuses, repress discontent, and bring into the field the whole military strength of the Confederacy. The large majorities for Lincoln in the United States clearly indicate a purpose to make renewed efforts to accomplish our destruction. It is now contradicted that Lincoln has called for 1,000,000 men. Three P.M. Cloudy, and threatening snow. An attack upon the city seems to be apprehended. All men must now have passes from Mr. Carrington, Provost Marshal, or be liable to arrest in the street. Such are the changes, indicating _panic_ on the part of official dignitaries. NOVEMBER 16TH.--Bright and frosty. This is the day designated by the President for worship, etc., and the offices and places of business are all closed. It is like Sunday, with an occasional report of cannon down the river. I doubt whether the clerks in the trenches will pray for the President. Compelled to _volunteer_ under a threat of removal, they were assured that they would only be called out in times of great urgency, and then be returned to their offices in a few days. They have now been in the front trenches several months; while the different secretaries are quietly having their kinsmen and favorites detailed back to their civil positions, the poor and friendless are still "left out in the cold." Many of these have refugee families dependent on them, while those brought in are mostly rich, having sought office merely to avoid service in the field. The battalion, numbering 700, has less than 200 now in the trenches. Hundreds of the local forces, under a sense of wrong, have deserted to the enemy. Gen. Breckinridge has beaten the enemy at Bull's Gap, Tenn., taking several hundred prisoners, 6 guns, etc. Mr. Hunter was at the department early this morning in quest of news. Gave $75 for a load of coal. Messrs. Evans & Cogswell, Columbia, S. C., have sent me some of their recent publications: "A Manual of Military Surgery, by I. Julian Chisolm, M.D., 3d edition;" "Digest of the Military and Naval Laws," by Lester & Bromwell; "Duties of a Judge Advocate, etc." by Capt R. C. Gilchrist; and "A Map of East Virginia and North Carolina;" all beautifully printed and bound. NOVEMBER 17TH.--Dark and dismal--threatening rain or snow. Quiet below; but we have no papers to-day, yesterday being holiday. It is rumored that Gen. Sheridan (Federal) is sailing from Washington to reinforce Grant, and that Gen. Early is marching hitherward from the Valley. There may be renewed operations against Richmond, or Grant may penetrate North Carolina. No one knows what will happen a month or a week hence. Mr. Hunter was again with Mr. Seddon this morning. Governor Smith's exemption mill is yet grinding out exemptions, sometimes fifty per day. Constables, department clerks, and sheriffs, commonwealth's attorneys, commissioners of the revenue, etc. etc., who win his favor, get his certificate of exemption, as necessary for the State administration. A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, Jonesborough, November 14th, says Sherman has three corps at _Atlanta_, and is destroying railroads between him and Marietta, probably intending to move forward--farther South. Another dispatch from Gen. W., dated 14th inst., Lovejoy's, Georgia, says scouts from enemy's rear report that Sherman left Atlanta yesterday morning, with 15th, 17th, and 21st corps, in two columns, one on the Jonesborough, and one on the McDonough Roads--cavalry on his flanks. Many houses have been burned in Rome, Marietta, and Atlanta, and the railroad bridge over Chattanooga River (in his rear)! Enemy advancing this morning. To Gen. Bragg. Twelve M. Still another dispatch from Gen. Wheeler to Gen. Bragg, dated Jonesborough, 3 P.M., 15th inst. "Enemy advanced early this morning with infantry, cavalry, artillery, and wagons--have driven our cavalry back upon this place--strength not yet ascertained, etc." Still another dispatch: "GRIFFIN, GA., November 16th, 1864. "TO GEN. BRAGG. "Enemy checked this evening near Bear Creek--enemy evidently marching to Macon. "JOS. WHEELER, _Major-General_." The dispatches from Gen. Wheeler have produced no little commotion in the War Office. Gen. J. E. Johnston's report of his Georgia campaign concludes by asserting that he _did_ intend to defend Atlanta; that he retreated before overwhelming numbers; that the President did not favor him with any directions; that Lee retreated before Grant, and everybody praised him for it; that Gen. Hood professed to be his friend, when seeking his removal, or cognizant of the purpose to remove him; and that the vituperation heaped upon him in certain papers seemed to have Executive authorization at Richmond. The President indorses this growlingly; that it all differs with his understanding of the facts at the time, etc. NOVEMBER 18TH.--Bright, calm, and pleasant. All quiet below, save our bombardment of Dutch Gap Canal. The Senate passed a resolution yesterday, calling on the President for a statement of the number of exemptions granted by the Governors. This will, perhaps, startle Governor Smith, of Virginia, who has already kept out of the army at least a thousand. Perhaps it will hit Governor Brown, of Georgia, also; but Sherman will hit him hardest. He must call out all his fighting people now, or see his State ravaged with impunity. Both Houses of Congress sit most of the time in secret session, no doubt concocting strong measures under the influence of the existing crisis. Good news only can throw open the doors, and restore the hilarity of the members. When not in session, they usually denounce the President; in session, they are wholly subservient to him. Hon. R. L. Montague has written to the Secretary of War, on behalf of the entire Virginia delegation, requesting a suspension of the impressment of slaves until further legislation by Congress; what that legislation will be, the President might tell, if he would. A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, dated to-day, 12 miles from Forsyth, states that Sherman advances by the most direct route toward Macon, Ga. My wife presented me to-day an excellent pocket-handkerchief, my old ones being honey-combed and unfit for another washing. Upon inquiry (since the cost of a single handkerchief is now $20), I ascertained it to be a portion of one of my linen shirts bought in London in 1846. We have now 200 pounds of flour in the house; 1 bushel meal; 1 bushel sweet potatoes; 1 bushel Irish potatoes; 3 half pecks white beans; 4 pumpkins; 10 pounds beef; 2 pounds butter, and 3 pounds sugar, with salt, etc. This seems like moderate stores for a family of seven, but it is a larger supply than we ever had before, and will suffice for a month. At the market price, they would cost $620. Add to this 1-1/2 loads coal and a quarter cord of wood--the first at $75, the last at $80--the total is $762.50. This sum in ordinary times, and in specie, would subsist my family twelve months. NOVEMBER 19TH.--Rained all night, and still rains. All quiet below, save the occasional bomb thrown by our iron-clads. Gen. and Hon. R. K. Wright, of Georgia, is said to have gone to Washington to negotiate a peace for Georgia. A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, dated yesterday, 12 miles from Forsyth, says: "I think definite orders should be sent to officers in command here, as to the line of policy to be pursued--particularly as to defending Macon, Augusta, or Columbus. If not to be defended, government stores should be removed, on enemy's approach, if possible. An officer should be sent to command everything, who knows the views, wishes, and plans of the government." I think so too! The papers think that Grant is about to try again to force his way into Richmond, as soon as the weather will permit. We had a delicious treat of persimmons to-night--a quart bought for a dollar. They were delicious, and we enjoyed them hugely. Also a quart of apples, for which we paid a dollar. NOVEMBER 20TH, SUNDAY.--Rained all night--raining this morning. A dispatch from Gen. Wheeler, 18th, at Forsyth, Ga., says: "The enemy rapidly advancing." It is said Gov. Brown has called out the men _en masse_. I think Sherman is in danger. Mr. Foote made what is called "a compromise speech" in Congress yesterday. But although there is vacillation in the government, no compromise measures will be tolerated yet--if ever. Everything still depends upon events in the field. I think the government at Washington and the people of the United States are very weary of the war, and that peace of some sort must ensue. We shall be recognized by European powers upon the first symptoms of exhaustion in the United States; and there soon will be such symptoms, if we can only keep up a determined resistance. Besides, the seizure of our cruiser Florida in a neutral port (Brazil) will furnish a pretext for a quarrel with the United States by the maritime powers. I am amused by our fireside conversations at night. They relate mostly to the savory dishes we once enjoyed, and hope to enjoy again. Gen. Butler's speech in New York, suggesting that the rebels be allowed a last chance for submission, and failing to embrace it, that their lands be divided among the Northern soldiers, has a maddening effect upon our people. NOVEMBER 21ST.--Wet, dark, and dismal. Quiet below. In Congress, Mr. Staples, of Virginia, unfortunately exhibited a statement obtained from the Bureau of Conscription, to the effect that while 1400 State officers, etc were exempted in Virginia, there were 14,000 in North Carolina. This produced acrimonious debate, which is not the end of it, I fear. I don't believe the statement. Gov. Smith, of Virginia, is exempting a full share of constables, etc. etc. The Bureau of Conscription strikes, perhaps, at Gen. Bragg, a North Carolinian. It is not the end. An anonymous letter to Gov. Bonham states that Capt. Hugener and all his officers at Fort Sumter are drunkards or gamblers, and that the place is in great danger. Gov. B. sends the letter to the President, who directs the Secretary of War to make inquiry, etc. Perhaps it will be done in time--since the fall of Plymouth. Gold, to-day, brings $40 for $1. Oak wood sells to-day at $100 per cord. A large amount of apple-brandy has been made this year. A lady, whose husband is a prisoner in the North, writes to the Secretary, asking the release of her apple-brandy (in Virginia) from the clutches of the impressing officer. She and her daughters had distilled 500 gallons, upon which they depended to procure other supplies, etc. Brandy is selling at $75 per gallon--$37,500. Pretty well for the old woman and her three daughters! Apples are worth $100 per barrel; but the currency (Confederate) is nearly worthless. NOVEMBER 22D.--Rained in torrents last night; cold this morning and cloudy. All quiet below. But there was an alarm, night before last, growing out of a stampede of some 50 of the enemy's beeves. They charged upon our line, regardless of the fire of cannon and musketry, and were all captured after penetrating our works. Brave cattle! Gov. Vance writes that if Wilmington be attacked by a large force in the rear of Fort Fisher, its fall is inevitable, unless two brigades of veteran troops be sent from Gen. Lee's army. He says the defense of Wilmington is as important as that of Richmond. The President directs the Secretary of War to communicate with Gen. Lee on the subject. We learn that Gen. Grant is on a visit to his family at Burlington, N. J.; and yet the departmental troops (clerks) are still kept in the trenches. It is said the _President's family_ keep them there by the most imploring appeals to Gen. Lee, and that the President himself does not feel altogether safe while the Federal army is so near him. His house is on the side of the city most exposed, if a sudden attack were made, of which, however, there seems to be no danger at present. Several brigades of Gen. Early's troops have arrived from the Valley. Gold sells to-day at $42 for $1. And it rises in the United States. This produces trepidation in the cabinet. Snowed a few minutes to-day, 4 P.M. The clouds are breaking--cold. What appetites we have! Shin-soup and bean-soup alternately are relished with shark-like appetites. NOVEMBER 23D.--Snowed last night three inches. Clear and cold this morning; ground frozen. Had a dream last night--that meeting a few men in my _wood and coal-house_, I nominated R. Tyler for the Presidency, and it was well received. I must tell this to Mr. T. I narrated my dream to Mr. T. Before I left, he said a clerkship _was at the disposal of my son Thomas_; but Thomas is clerk in the conscription service, getting rations, etc. etc., better than the $4000 per annum. But still that dream may be realized. He is the son of President Tyler, deceased. John Mitchel is now editor of the _Examiner_, and challenged _Mr. Foote yesterday_--the note was borne by Mr. Swan, of Tennessee, Mr. Foote's colleague. Mr. Foote would not receive it; and Mr. S. took offense and assaulted Mr. F. in his own house, when Mrs. F. interposed and beat Mr. S. away. Gen. Winder has been appointed, by _Gen. Cooper_, commander of all prisons east of the Mississippi. Gen. Winder has been made Commissary-General of all prisons and prisoners of war. The Bureau of Conscription is yet sustained in power. All this is done by Gen. Cooper,--unwise, probably _fatal_ measures! NOVEMBER 24TH.--Clear and frosty. Ice half an inch thick this morning. All quiet below. Col. St. John, Niter and Mining Bureau, required 13,000 men to furnish ammunition, etc. Col. Northrop, Commissary-General, reports only 15 days' bread rations in Richmond for 100,000 men, and that we must rely upon supplies hereafter from the Carolinas and Virginia alone. The difficulty is want of adequate transportation, of course. The speculators and railroad companies being in partnership, very naturally exclude the government from the track. The only remedy, the only salvation, in my opinion, is for the government to take exclusive control of the railroads, abate speculation, and change most of the quartermasters and commissaries. Hon. J. B. Clarke proposed a resolution of inquiry in the House of Representatives, which was adopted, calling for the number and name of employees in the departments, and the State they were appointed from. Virginia has more than half of them. Gen. Cooper, the Adjutant-General, Northern by birth, turned out twenty of his eighty clerks yesterday, to replace them with ladies. It is said and believed that Sherman's cavalry has reached Milledgeville, and destroyed the public buildings, etc. We have nothing from Wheeler since the 18th inst. NOVEMBER 25TH.--Bright and frosty. A report from the Bureau of Conscription shows after all that only some 3000 men have been sent to the army during the last two months, under General Order 77, revoking details, etc. I don't wonder, for there has been the natural confusion consequent upon a conflict of authority between Gen. Kemper and the Bureau of Conscription. About as many details have been made by the one authority as have been enrolled by the other. NOVEMBER 26TH.--Clear and frosty. The following dispatch was received to-day from Gen. Bragg: "AUGUSTA, Nov. 25th, 1864. "Arrived late last night, and take command this morning. We learn from Gen. Wagner, who holds the Oconee Railroad bridge, that the enemy has not crossed the river in any force. He has concentrated in Milledgeville, and seems to be tending South. Our cavalry, under Wheeler, is in his front, and has been ordered to destroy every vestige of subsistence and forage as it retires; to hang upon his flanks, and retard his progress by every possible means. I am informed the brigades from Southwest Virginia have joined Wheeler. President's dispatch of 23d just received. "BRAXTON BRAGG, _General_." When I carried this dispatch to the Secretary I found him sitting in close conference with Mr. Hunter, both with rather lugubrious faces. Another dispatch from Bragg: "AUGUSTA, Nov. 25th, 8 P.M. "The enemy has crossed the Oconee; was met this morning, in force, at Buffalo Creek, near Sandersville. His movements from that point will determine whether he designs attacking here or on Savannah." Hon. I. T. Leach from North Carolina, yesterday introduced _submission_ resolutions in the House of Representatives, which were voted down, of course,--Messrs. Logan and Turner, of North Carolina, however, voting _for_ them. A party of that sort is forming, and may necessitate harsh measures. The President orders detail of fifty men for _express company_. _I feared so!_ NOVEMBER 27TH.--Cloudy and warmer; slight rain. Nothing from Bragg this morning. Nothing from below the city. When I entered the Secretary's room this morning, I found him as grave as usual. L. Q. Washington, son of Peter Washington, once a clerk under President Tyler (and he still remains in the United States), and grandson of Lund Washington, who, we learn by one of the published letters of Gen. Washington, was his overseer, with no traceable relationship to his family, was seated with him. He is chief clerk to Mr. Benjamin, a sinecure position in the State Department. He was placed there by Mr. Hunter, after writing a series of communications for the _Examiner_, as Mr. Pollard informed me, denunciatory of Mr. Stephens, Vice-President Confederate States. Mr. Kean and Mr. Shepherd, the clean chief clerk, were also present, enjoying the Hon. Secretary's confidence. They are all comparatively _young men_, whom the Secretary has not assigned to positions in the field, although _men_ are alone wanted to achieve independence. They were discussing a resolution of Congress, calling for the names, ages, etc. of the civil and military officers employed by the Secretary in Richmond, or it might have been the subject of the removal of the government, or the chances of success, etc., or the President's appointment of Gen. Bragg to command the army in Georgia, or Mr. Hunter's prospects for the Presidency. No matter what. It is a dismal day, and a settled vexation is on the faces of many of the officials. But if the time should come for flight, etc., I predict many will have abundance of funds in Europe. The quartermasters, commissaries, etc. will take care of themselves by submission. The railroad companies have already taken care of themselves by their partnership with the speculators. The express company bribes all branches of the government, and I fear it has _obliged_ some of the members of the President's military or domestic family. By a report from the Niter and Mining Bureau, it appears that thirteen furnaces of the thirty odd in Virginia have ceased operations. Several have been destroyed by the enemy; the ore and fuel of others have become exhausted; and those in blast threaten to cease work for want of hands, the men being put in the army. NOVEMBER 28TH.--Calm and warm; clouds and sunshine, without wind. All quiet below. It is reported that one of our picket boats in the James River deserted last night. It is said the crew overpowered the officers and put them ashore, and then the boat rowed down to the enemy. I am informed by Capt. Warner that there are 12,000 graves of Federal prisoners at Andersonville, Ga. That climate is fatal to them; but the government cannot feed them here, and the enemy won't exchange. A dispatch from Gen. Bragg: "AUGUSTA, November 27th, 1864.--We have lost communication with the front. A small cavalry raid cut the Savannah Railroad and telegraph, this morning, at Brier Creek, twenty-six miles from here. Gen. Wheeler was, yesterday, confronting the enemy's infantry at Sandersville. An officer, who left Macon on the 23d, states that one corps of the enemy was still confronting us there; our force not exceeding 5000, nearly all militia. The force here, including all available reserves, does not exceed 6000 effectives: only one battery. I am not yet advised from Charleston and Savannah, but know the means are small. Neither point could long resist the enemy's whole force; hence my remarks about concentration. Gen. Hardee has gone to Savannah. Wheeler will continue to confront and harass the enemy. I have not learned the strength of his command. He estimates the enemy's force at about 30,000." Gen. Beauregard has published a short proclamation, saying he will soon arrive to the rescue in Georgia. Here, then, will be war between the two B's--Bragg and Beauregard; and the President will be as busy as a bee. Meantime, Sherman may possess the land at pleasure. A long letter (twenty-five pages) from Gov. Brown, Georgia, came to hand to-day, combating, in replication, one from the Secretary relating to calling out all the militia of Georgia, etc. _State rights_ and the Constitution are discussed _in extenso_, and many a hard blow is aimed at the President. The Governor regards the Secretary as merely the instrument or head clerk of the President, whom he sneers at occasionally. But he denounces as _vile_ the President himself, _and refuses to obey the call_. What he will do with the militia must soon be known, for Sherman is _there_. A great stir among the _officers_ on bureau and department duty in Richmond! Congress has called on the President for a list of all commissioned officers here, their ages, etc., and how many of them are fit for duty in the field. This will be dodged, of course, if possible. NOVEMBER 29TH.--Clear, and warm as summer almost. Another dispatch from Bragg: "AUGUSTA, November 28th, 1864--On the 26th instant, the enemy started a heavy cavalry force in this direction, from his main body near Sandersville; Gen. Wheeler promptly following, leaving a portion of his force to confront Sherman. Kilpatrick reached vicinity of Waynesborough yesterday, where Wheeler overtook and attacked him. A running fight has continued to this time; the advantage with us. We are driving them toward Millen. Young's command has just arrived, and will go forward to Wheeler, who will, I hope, be able to mount most of them from his captures. Devastation marks the enemy's route. Hear nothing from the movements of the enemy's infantry, since Wheeler left their front. I fear they may cross the Savannah, and make for Beaufort. It is perfectly practicable." The number of deserters, under General Order 65, received here and sent to Abingdon, Va., is 1224 men. Senator Waldo P. Johnson, Missouri, told me he would move, to-day, to allow the civil officers, etc. to buy rations and clothes of government, at schedule prices. This would be better than an increase of salary. No movements below, to-day, that I hear of. Gen. Jos. E. Johnston was at the department to-day, and was warmly greeted by his friends. If Sherman's campaign should be a success, Johnston will be a hero; if the reverse, he will sink to rise no more. A sad condition, for one's greatness to depend upon calamity to his country! NOVEMBER 30TH.--Clear, and warm as summer. No fires. It is reported that Gen. Hood is still marching North, and is near Nashville. The following telegrams were received this morning: "AUGUSTA, November 29th, 1864.--It is reported, _via_ Savannah, the enemy, with infantry and artillery, entered Millen yesterday. Wheeler is rapidly pursuing Kilpatrick, who retreats in that direction from Waynesborough.--B. B." "AUGUSTA, November 29th, 1864.--6-1/2 P.M.--Gen. Jones telegraphs from Charleston: 'Ten (10) gun-boats with transports landing troops at Boykins on Broad River. Four gun-boats with transports and barges are, by this time, at Mackay's Point, junction of Pocotaligo with Broad River. I am sending all assistance from here, and think we must make the struggle near the coast.' As this movement relieves Wilmington, might not some of the North Carolina reserves be sent to Gen. Jones?--B. BRAGG." The following items were in the papers this morning: "NEGRO PICKETS.--Monday morning negro pickets were placed in front of Gen. Pickett's division. Our men, taking it as an insult, yesterday fired upon them, causing a stampede among them. Their places have been supplied with white Yankees, and the lines have resumed the usual quiet. "Two negroes, captured by Gen. Hunter in the Valley last summer, and forced into the Yankee army, deserted yesterday and came into Gen. Pickett's lines, and were brought over to this city." "CAPTURE OF GEN. PRYOR.--The _Express_ gives the following account of the capture of the Hon. Roger A. Pryor, on Monday morning: "While riding along the lines on our right, he stopped at one of our vidette posts, and left his horse and private arms with one or two other articles in charge of the pickets, stated that he intended, as was often his custom, to go forward and exchange papers with the enemy's videttes. He advanced in the direction of the Yankee lines, flourishing a paper in his hand, in token of his object, and after proceeding some distance was met by a Yankee officer. An exchange of papers was effected, and Gen. Pryor had turned to retrace his steps, when he was suddenly seized by two or three armed men, who were lying in ambush, and hurried away. The whole transaction, we understand, was witnessed by some of our men, but at too great a distance to render any assistance. Gen. Pryor had frequently exchanged papers with the enemy, and his name and character had, no doubt, been reported to them. They resolved to have him, by fair means or foul, and descended to the basest treachery to accomplish their purpose. "We trust that some notice may be taken of the matter by our military authorities, and every effort used to secure his early return. During the last few months the general has been acting as an independent scout, in which capacity he has rendered valuable service." CHAPTER XLV. Desertions.--Bragg and Kilpatrick.--Rents.--Gen. Winder's management of prisoners.--Rumored disasters in Tennessee.--Prices.--Progress of Sherman.--Around Richmond.--Capture of Fort McAlister.--Rumored death of the President.--Yankee line of spies.--From Wilmington and Charleston.--Evacuation of Savannah. DECEMBER 1ST.--Bright and warm. It is said there is a movement of the enemy menacing our works on the north side of the river. There was shelling down the river yesterday and day before, officially announced by Gen. Lee--two of the enemy's monitors retired. Gen. Longstreet says "over 100 of Gen. Pickett's men are in the guard-house for desertion, and that the cause of it may be attributed to the numerous reprieves, no one being executed for two months." Gen. Lee indorses on the paper: "Desertion is increasing in the army, notwithstanding all my efforts to stop it. I think a rigid execution of the law is mercy in the end. The great want in our army is firm discipline." The Secretary of War sent it to the President "for his information." The President sent it back with the following biting indorsement: "When deserters are arrested they should be tried, and if the sentences are reviewed and remitted, that is not a proper subject for the criticism of a military commander.--JEFF. DAVIS. November 29th, 1864." Another dispatch from Gen. Bragg: "AUGUSTA, November 30th, 1864.--Following just received from Major-Gen. Wheeler: _'Four Miles West Buckhead Church_, November 29th, 9 P.M.--We fought Gen. Kilpatrick all night and all day, charging him at every opportunity. Enemy fought stubbornly, and left a considerable number of their killed. He stampeded, and came near capturing Kilpatrick twice; but having a fleet horse, he escaped, bareheaded, leaving his hat in our hands. Our own loss about 70, including the gallant Gen. Robertson, severely wounded. Our troops all acted handsomely.' "Gen. Robertson has arrived here. His left arm is badly broken at the elbow, but he is doing well.--B. B." Another dispatch of the same date: "To establish our communications west, I have ordered the immediate repair of the Georgia Railroad to Atlanta. With the exception of bridges, the damage is reported as slight. We should also have a line of telegraph on that route.--B. B." I succeeded to-day in buying of Government Quartermaster (Major Ferguson) four yards of dark-gray cloth, at $12 per yard, for a full suit. The merchants ask $125 per yard--a saving of $450. I hope to have it cut and made by one of the government tailors, for about $50, trimmings included. A citizen tailor asks $350! The Senate passed a bill, yesterday, increasing my salary and Custis's $500, which we don't thank them for unless we can buy rations, etc. at schedule prices. The money is worthless when we go into the open market. My landlord, Mr. King, has gone into the grocery business; and, although he did not raise the rent for the present year, still asked more upon my offer to pay the amount of the first quarter to-day--$500, six months ago, were really worth more than $1000 to-day. At that time I acknowledged the house would bring more than $500. To-day it would rent for more than $1000. He left it to me to do what was right. I think it right to pay $800 or $1000, and will do so. This evening our servant stepped into the yard just in time to save some clothes drying on the line. A thief was in the act of stealing them, and made his escape, springing over the fence into the alley. DECEMBER 2D.--Warm, and raining moderately. My landlord gets $400 of the $500 increase of my salary. Dispatches from Gen. Bragg: "AUGUSTA, December 1st, 1864.--Following received from Lieut.-Gen. R. Taylor, Savannah, Ga.: 'Gen. Hardee is at Grahamville. No fighting there since yesterday evening, when the enemy was driven five miles, leaving their dead upon the field.--B. B.'" Another: "AUGUSTA, December 1st, 1864, 12M.--The (enemy's) cavalry having been driven in, the enemy's main force was yesterday found near Louisville, with strong outposts in this direction. They have secured large supplies in the country; but our cavalry is now all up, and it is hoped they will be prevented to a great extent in the future. The report from Savannah, of the enemy's entrance into Millen, on the 27th, was premature. Telegraphic communication was reopened to Savannah by that route yesterday. The enemy is just now reported as at Station 9, on Central Railroad, advancing.--B. B." During the last month, 100 passports were given to leave the Confederate States by Provost Marshal Carrington and War Department. Mr. G. B. Lamar, Savannah, Ga., tenders his services to go to New York and purchase supplies for our prisoners in the hands of the enemy, and to negotiate the sale of 1000 bales of cotton, etc. Twelve M. Heavy and pretty rapid shelling is heard down the river. Col. Chandler, Inspecting Officer, makes an ugly report of Gen. Winder's management of the prisons in Georgia. Brig.-Gen. Chilton appends a rebuking indorsement on Gen. W.'s conduct. The inspector characterizes Gen. W.'s treatment of the prisoners as barbarous, and their condition as a "hell on earth." And Gen. W. says his statements are "false." DECEMBER 3D.--Very warm--clouds and sunshine, like April. Roger A. Pryor, who resigned his brigadiership, and has been acting as a _scout_ (private), fell into the hands of the enemy the other day while exchanging newspapers with their pickets. They have him at Washington, and the United States newspapers say he makes revelations of a sad state of affairs in Georgia, etc. This is doubtless erroneous. A "peace resolution" has been introduced in the North Carolina Legislature. Hon. Mr. Foote yesterday introduced a resolution in Congress, calling for a convention of the States--or appointment of commissioners from the States. Voted down by a large majority. Gen. Rosser (two brigades) made a descent, a few days ago, on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, capturing some nine guns altogether, including four siege, which he spiked. The others he brought off, with 800 prisoners. He destroyed 200 wagons and a large amount of quartermaster and ordnance stores. Per contra. Grant has pounced upon one of our depots at Stony Creek, Weldon Railroad, getting some 80 prisoners, and destroying a few stores. It is said he still holds the position--of some importance. Gen. Ewell still thinks the aspect here is "threatening." Brig.-Gen. Chilton, Inspector-General, has ordered investigations of the fortunes of bonded officers, who have become rich during the war. A strong effort has been made to have Gen. Ripley removed from Charleston. He is a Northern man, and said to be dissipated. Senator Orr opposes the change; the Secretary recommends his retention, and the President indorses: "I prefer that Gen. Ripley should remain.--J. D." SUNDAY, DECEMBER 4TH.--Bright, clear, and warm. A dispatch from Gen. Bragg. "AUGUSTA, December 3d, 6 P.M.--A strong force of the enemy's cavalry and infantry advanced from Louisville and encamped last night six miles from Waynesborough. They turned off this morning toward Savannah. Our cavalry is pressing in the rear, and all available means is being thrown to their front by rail. There is time yet for any assistance which can be spared, to be sent by way of Charleston.--B. B." The Northern papers say our army under Hood in Tennessee has met with a great disaster. We are still incredulous--although it may be true. If so, the President will suffer, and Johnston and Beauregard will escape censure--both being supplanted in the command by a subordinate. Brig.-Gen. Preston is still directing orders to Col. Shields, who is under the command of Major-Gen. Kemper, and the conflict of conscription authorities goes on, while the country perishes. Preston is a South Carolina politician--Kemper a Virginian. Mr. Secretary Seddon leans to the former. The law allowing exemptions to owners of a certain number of slaves is creating an antislavery party. The non-slaveholders will not long fight for the benefit of such a "privileged class." There is madness in our counsels! We are still favored by Providence in our family. We have, at the market prices, some $800 worth of provisions, fuel, etc., at the beginning of winter, and my son Thomas is well clad and has his order for a month's rations of beef, etc., which we get as we want it at the government shop near at hand in Broad Street. His pay and allowances are worth some $4500 per annum. Major Ferguson having got permission of the Quartermaster-General to sell me a suit of cloth--there being a piece too dark for the army, I got four yards, enough for coat, pants, and vest, at $12 per yard--the price in the stores is $125; and I have the promise of the government tailor to make it up for some $30 or $40, the ordinary price being $350; the trimmings my family will furnish--if bought, they would cost $100. Tom has bought a new black coat, made before the war, for $175, the peace price $15, in specie, equivalent to $600. And my daughter Anne has made three fine bonnets (for her mother, sister, and herself), from the debris of old ones; the price of these would be $700. So I fear not but we shall be fed and clad by the providence of God. DECEMBER 5TH.--Bright and beautiful. Anne Samuels and many other ladies, Harrisonburg, Virginia, have petitioned the government for authority to organize themselves into a regiment for local defense. Great excitement was produced in the House of Representatives (Congress) this morning by the entrance of a lady who proceeded vigorously to cowhide the Hon. Mr. V----, from Missouri. Congress has passed a resolution declaring that it was not meant, in calling for the ages of the clerks in the departments, to include the ladies. Vice-President Stephens has arrived in the city. Our people think, in the Federal accounts of a victory over Gen. Hood, at Franklin, Tenn., they perceive a Confederate victory. It is understood that the enemy fell back upon Nashville after the battle, pursued by Hood. We are also hopeful of the defeat of Sherman--a little delay on his part will render it pretty certain. If it should occur, will it give us peace? The _Tribune_ says President Lincoln is more determined than ever to restore the Union. But disaster will surely dishearten either side--that is, the people. The following dispatch has been received from Gen. Bragg: "AUGUSTA, December 4th, 1864.--The column is moving on what is known as Eastern Road, to Savannah. There are several ferries from the mouth of ---- Creek to Charleston and Savannah Railroad bridge--none below that. Gen. Hardee reports he is patrolling the river with a gun-boat. I have had all ferry boats destroyed, and ordered all roads to and from the river to be broken up and blockaded by felling heavy timber. The roads are all passed by causeways to the river on both sides over dense swamps. None of enemy's forces remain near Macon; and from best information I can obtain, it is thought all of ours have left there for Savannah. The Georgia militia, who were on Central Railroad, moved back toward Savannah, and at last accounts were at Station 4-1/2; our cavalry, however, far in advance of them.--B. B." At night--mended broken china and glassware again with white lead, very successfully. Such ware can hardly be bought at all--except by the rich. DECEMBER 6TH.--Bright and beautiful. Indian summer apparently. All quiet below--but it is anticipated by some that a battle will occur to-day, or in a day or so. The enemy's negro troops have been brought to this side of the river, and are in full view on picket duty. The Signal Bureau reports a large number of transports descending the Potomac a few days ago; probably Sheridan's army, to reinforce Grant. And yet our conscription superintendents, under orders, are busily engaged furloughing and detailing the rich slaveowners! It is developing a rapidly growing _Emancipation party_, for it is the establishment of a privileged class, and may speedily prove fatal to our cause. Our leaders are _mad_, and will be destroyed, if they persist in this policy. DECEMBER 7TH.--Raining, and warm. It is said several hundred of the prisoners taken by Rosser in the Valley escaped, on the way to Richmond. A relaxation of vigilance always follows success. How long can this war last? Hon. Mr. Staples procured four and two months' details yesterday for two rich farmers, Messrs. McGehee and Heard, both rosy-faced, robust men, and yet found for "light duty" by a medical board. Thus we go. The poor and weakly are kept in the trenches, to desert the first opportunity. It is said a dispatch came from Bragg yesterday (I saw it not) stating that Wheeler and some infantry had a sharp battle with Sherman's advance, near Millen, in which the latter suffered greatly. But reinforcements coming up, our forces fell back in order, disputing the way. Tea is held at $100 per pound! Wood still $100 per cord. I saw Gen. Rains to-day. He says he has over 2000 shell torpedoes planted along our lines around Richmond and Petersburg. Col. Bayne reports the importation of 6400 packages salted meats, fish, coffee, preserved vegetables, from Nassau, Bermuda, and Halifax, _since October 1st, 1864_, in fourteen different steamers. DECEMBER 8TH.--Rained hard in the night; clear and pleasant in the morning. A letter from John T. Bourne, St. Georges, Bermuda, says he has some 1800 barrels government gunpowder under his care, of which he desires to be relieved. Gen. Lee sent to the Secretary the following dispatch this morning: "2d and 5th corps, Gregg's division of [enemy's] cavalry, are moving South, on Jerusalem Plank Road. Cavalry reached Sussex Court House at 7 P.M. yesterday. Hill and Hampton [Confederate States generals] are following. Appearances indicate they are moving against Weldon, where I am concentrating all the depot guards I can. "R. E. LEE, _General_. "PETERSBURG, Dec. 8th, 1864." There are rumors of the enemy having effected a lodgment on the south side of the river, between Howell and Drewry's Bluff. This may be serious. I do not learn (yet) that the Dutch Gap Canal is finished; but the enemy landed from barges in the fog. Gen. Lee, some weeks ago, designated such a movement and lodgment as important and embarrassing, probably involving the holding of Petersburg. Nothing from Bragg. One of Gen. Early's divisions is passing through the city toward Petersburg. DECEMBER 9TH.--Cold and cloudy; surface of the ground frozen. Cannon heard below. More of Gen. Early's corps arriving. The papers contradict the report that Howlett's Battery has been taken. The opinion prevails that a battle will occur to-day. It appears that but few of the enemy's forces were engaged in the demonstration on the south side, below Drewry's Bluff, and no uneasiness is felt on account of it. We have nothing so far to-day from the enemy's column marching toward Weldon. Gov. Smith, in his message to the Legislature now in session, recommends the employment of negro troops, even if it results in their emancipation. He also suggests an act, putting into the army civil officers of the State under forty-five years of age. At the same time he is exempting officers (State) _under forty-five_, and there is no compulsion on him. A dispatch from Gen. Lee last night states that from the great number of wagons taken by the enemy on the Weldon Road, the movement is formidable, and indicates a purpose of prolonged operations. At night--and snowing--a terrible night for the poor soldiers in the field! DECEMBER 10TH.--Snowed two inches last night. Cloudy and damp this morning. Guns were heard down the river last night at a late hour. Perhaps it was nothing more than shelling the enemy's canal. We have nothing yet authentic from Georgia; but many rumors of much fighting. It is said Gen. Hampton has got in front of the enemy's column at the Weldon Railroad, and is driving them back. Gen. Hill, it is presumed, is _this_ side of them. It is also reported that Gen. Longstreet is now (12 M.) attacking the enemy on _this_ side of the river, and driving them. Distant guns can be heard southeast of us, and it may be true. Major Cummings, Confederate States, Georgia, dispatches that the railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga should be repaired immediately, to bring off supplies from Middle Tennessee. Gen. Bragg concurs. The following was received from Gen. Bragg to-day, 11 A.M.: "AUGUSTA, December 10th, 1864.--The following dispatch is just received from Gen. Wheeler, twenty-seven miles from Savannah, 10 P.M., 8th December. Enemy are still moving toward Savannah, obstructing the road in the rear, and resisting warmly this morning. I cannot learn that any have crossed the Savannah River. I hear artillery firing, far in my front; do not know what it means: 14th corps and Kilpatrick's cavalry on the river road; 15th on middle ground road; and 17th, and probably 20th, on Central Railroad. "I think the force on the right bank of Ogeechee must be small." DECEMBER 11TH, SUNDAY.--Cloudy and melting--snow vanishing rapidly. The thousand and one rumors of great achievements of Gen. Longstreet on the north side of the river seem to have been premature. Nothing official of any advantage gained over the enemy near the city has been received so far as I can learn. Gen. Lee, no doubt, directed Longstreet to make demonstrations on the enemy's lines near the city, to ascertain their strength, and to prevent more reinforcements being sent on the south side, where the struggle will occur, if it has not already occurred. There is no doubt that the enemy's column sent toward Weldon has been checked, and great things are reported of Gen. Hampton's cavalry. A battle must certainly occur near Savannah, Ga. Sherman _must_ assail our lines, or perish between two fires. President Lincoln's message to the Congress of the United States, republished in our papers, produces no marked effect. His adherence to a purpose of emancipation of the slaves, and his employment of them in his armies, will suffice for an indefinite prolongation of the war, and perhaps result in the employment of hundreds of thousands of slaves in our armies. The intimation, however, that all applications for "pardon," etc. have been and are still favorably entertained, will certainly cause many of our croakers who fall into the lines of the United States forces to submit. Others, though so disposed, have not an opportunity to signify their submission. But everything depends upon events in the field. DECEMBER 12TH.--Clear and cold. Ice half an inch thick. Gen. Longstreet is again in the old lines on this side of the river. The reconnoissance, however, is said to have been successful. Only a few were killed and wounded on either side. And Grant's column was turned back from Meherrin bridge. Results of the movement unimportant, and the supposition is that both armies will now go into winter quarters, after a taste of this rigorous weather. It is rumored and believed (though I have seen no dispatch to that effect) that Sherman has beaten and out-manoeuvred our generals, and got into communication with the Federal fleet. I read President Lincoln's message carefully last night. By its commissions and omissions on Mexican affairs, I think he means to menace Louis Napoleon, who may _speak out_ January 1st, 1865. Lincoln says: "Mexico continues to be a theater of civil war. While our political relations with that country have undergone no change, we have at the same time strictly maintained neutrality between the belligerents." And his reference to England is so equivocal, and his grouping of the Central and South American _Republics_ so prominent, and the boastful allusion to the "inexhaustible" resources of the United States, may be considered as a premeditated threat to Great Britain. A "confidential" letter came in to-day from Mr. Benjamin to the Secretary of War. Dr. Powell has sent us a dozen ruta baga turnips, and a couple of quarts of excellent persimmons, which the family enjoys most thankfully. Dispatches from Lee: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "December 10th, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "Gen. Hampton, after driving the enemy's cavalry upon his infantry, on the afternoon of the 8th, recrossed the Nottoway and reached Bellfield at daylight yesterday. "In the afternoon the enemy attacked the position, but were successfully resisted. This morning the enemy is reported retiring and Hampton following. "The bridge over the Meherrin was saved. Our loss, as far as known, was small. The garrison, under Garnett, and the reserves, behaved well. R. E. LEE." "HEADQUARTERS ARMY NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "December 10th, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "About noon yesterday the first division of the Second Corps of the enemy, supporting their cavalry, forced back our cavalry pickets on the Vaughan Road, south of the Appomattox, and advanced toward Dinwiddie Court House. "To-day our cavalry, reinforced by infantry, drove them back across Hatcher's Run, capturing a few prisoners and re-establishing our lines. R. E. LEE." DECEMBER 13TH.--Cloudy and cold, but wind southeast. The sullen sound of cannon heard this morning as usual down the river. I hear of no active operations there, although the ground is sufficiently frozen to bear horses and artillery. Rumors of successes on the part of Sherman near Savannah are still in circulation. The rich men are generally indignant at the President and Gov. Smith for proposing to bring a portion of the negroes into the army. They have not yet awakened to a consciousness that there is danger of losing _all_, and of their being made to fight against us. They do not even remove them beyond the reach of the enemy, and hundreds are daily lost, but still they slumber on. They abuse the government for its impressments, and yet repose in fancied security, holding the President responsible for the defense of the country, without sufficient men and adequate means. The following dispatch from Gen. Bragg was received to-day at 10 P.M.: "AUGUSTA, Dec. 12th. "The telegraph having been cut, we get nothing from Savannah. A dispatch from Wheeler gives a copy of enemy's order for the line of investment around Savannah. It is about eight miles from the city, and was to have been reached on the 9th. "B. BRAGG." I have at length succeeded in getting a suit of clothes; it was made at the government shop for $50, the trimmings having been found (in the house) by my wife. The suit, if bought of a merchant and made by the city tailors, would cost some $1000. A Yankee prisoner (deserter) made the coat at a low price. The government means to employ them, if they desire it, in this manner. I am very thankful for my good fortune. DECEMBER 14TH.--Cloudy, and thawing rapidly. All quiet below. The bill to employ 40,000 negroes, as recommended by the President, for army purposes, though not _avowedly_ to fight, has passed one House of Congress. So the President is _master_ yet. There ought to be 100,000 now in the field. An effort will be made by the government to put into the field the able-bodied staff and other officers on duty in the bureaus here. It will fail, probably, since all efforts have failed to put in their able-bodied clerks. If Bragg were here, and allowed his way, he would move them to the front. The following dispatch was received from Gen. Bragg to-day: "AUGUSTA, GA., Dec. 13th, 1864.--I go to Charleston to-morrow to see Gen. Beauregard, at his request. He has assigned me to duty.--B. B." I got to-day from Major Cross, A. Q. M. Gen., an order to buy a pair of government shoes (British) for $10. They are most excellent in quality, heavy, with iron heels, etc., and would cost, if made here, $150. This good fortune is worthy of being thankful for. The military officers in the bureaus, responsive to a resolution of the House of Representatives, are reporting their ages, and most of them admit they are able-bodied and fit for service in the field. They have no fear of being transferred to the front, supposing themselves indispensable as bureau officers. DECEMBER 15TH.--Cloudy and cool. A dispatch from the West states that the enemy have made a heavy raid from Bean's Station, Ky., cutting the railroad between Abingdon and Bristol, destroying government stores, engines, etc. Breckinridge and Vaughan, I suppose, have been ordered away. Dr. Morris, Telegraph Superintendent, wants to know of the Secretary if this news shall be allowed to go to the press. The President is ill, some say very ill, but I saw indorsements with his own hand on the 13th (day before yesterday). Our affairs seem in a bad train. But many have unlimited confidence in Gen. Beauregard, who commands in South Carolina and Georgia, and all repose implicit trust in Lee. A writer in the _Sentinel_ suggests that if we should be hard pressed, the States ought to repeal the old Declaration of Independence, and voluntarily revert to their original proprietors--England, France, and Spain, and by them be protected from the North, etc. Ill-timed and injurious publication! A letter from G. N. Sanders, Montreal, Canada E., asks copies of orders (to be certified by Secretary of War) commanding the raid into Vermont, the burning, pillaging, etc., _to save Lieut. Young's life_. I doubt if such written orders are in existence--but no matter. It is said the enemy have captured Fort McAlister, Savannah Harbor. Mr. Hunter is very solicitous about the President's health--said to be an affection of the head; but the Vice-President has taken his seat in the Senate. It was rumored yesterday that the President would surely die,--an idle rumor, perhaps. I hope it is not a disease of the brain, and incurable. DECEMBER 16TH.--Clear and pleasant; subsequently cloudy and chilly. All quiet below, save the occasional booming of our guns from the iron-clads. The capture of Fort McAlister, Savannah, has caused a painful sensation. It is believed we have as many men on the Georgia coast as the enemy; but they are not the men of _property_--men of 1861-62; and those _without_ property (many of them) are reluctant to fight for the benefit of the wealthy class, remaining at home. The following dispatch from Gen. Bragg was received this morning: "CHARLESTON, December 15th, 1864.--My services not being longer needed in this department, I shall leave this evening for Wilmington, and resume my command. "Sherman has opened communication with his new base, by the Ogeechee. The means to meet him do not exceed one-half the estimate in yours of the 7th instant. BRAXTON BRAGG." So ends Gen. Bragg's campaign against Sherman! I have not heard about the President's health to-day. But no papers have come in from his office. Lieut.-Col. Ruffin, Commissary Department, certifies (or Col. Northrop for him) that he is "not fit for duty in the field." DECEMBER 17TH.--Warm and cloudy. Quiet below. The President was reported better, yesterday, to my wife, who called. It is said Gen. Cooper, R. Ould, etc. etc. have never taken their compensation in Confederate States Treasury notes, hoping at a future day (which may not come) to draw specie or its equivalent! It was reported on the streets, to-day, that the President was dead. He is much better; and will probably be at his office to-day. The following telegram was sent over by the President this morning: "SAVANNAH, GA., December 16th, 1864.--Sherman has secured a water base, and Foster, who is already nearly on my communications, can be safely and expeditiously reinforced. Unless assured that force sufficient to keep open my communications can be sent me, I shall be compelled to evacuate Savannah.--W. J. HARDEE, Lieut.-Gen." Alas for President Davis's government! It is now in a painful strait. If reinforcements be sent from here, both Savannah and Richmond may fall. Gen. Bragg will be crucified by the enemies of the President, for staying at Augusta while Sherman made his triumphant march through Georgia; and the President's party will make Beauregard the scape-goat, for staying at Charleston--for sending Hood North--which I am inclined to think he did not do, but the government itself. Capt. Weiniger (government clothing warehouse) employs about 4000 females on soldiers' clothes. Some people still believe the President is dead, and that it is attempted to conceal his death by saying he is better, etc. I saw his indorsements on papers, to-day, dated the 15th, day before yesterday, and it was a bold hand. I am inclined almost to believe he has not been sick at all! His death would excite sympathy: and now his enemies are assailing him bitterly, attributing all our misfortunes to his incompetence, etc. etc. SUNDAY, DECEMBER 18TH.--Raining. The old dull sound of bombs down the river. Nothing further from Savannah. It is now believed that the raiders in Western Virginia did not attack Saltville, and that the works are safe. For two days the speculators have been buying salt, and have put up the price to $1.50 per pound. I hope they will be losers. The State distributes salt to-morrow: ten pounds to each member of a family, at 20 cents per pound. The President's malady is said to be neuralgia in the head--an evanescent affliction, and by no means considered dangerous. At least such is the experience in my family. It was amusing, however, to observe the change of manner of the Secretaries and of heads of bureaus toward Vice-President Stephens, when it was feared the President was in _extremis_. Mr. Hunter, fat as he is, flew about right briskly. If Savannah falls, our currency will experience another depreciation, and the croaking reconstructionists will be bolder. The members of the Virginia Assembly propose paying themselves $50 per day! Congress has not yet passed the act increasing the compensation of members. DECEMBER 19TH.--The darkest and most dismal day that ever dawned upon the earth, except one. There was no light when the usual hour came round, and later the sun refused to shine. There was fog, and afterward rain. Northern papers say Hood has been utterly routed, losing all his guns! A letter from Mr. ------ to ------, dated Richmond, December 17th, 1864, says: "I have the honor to report my success as most remarkable and satisfactory. I have ascertained the _whole Yankee mail line, from the gun-boats to your city, with all the agents_ save one. You will be _surprised_ when informed, from the lowest to the highest class. The agent in your city, and most likely in your department, has yet to be discovered. This is as certain as what we have learned (his arrest, I mean), for the party in whose hands the mail is put coming from your city is known to us; and we have only to learn who gives him the mail, which can be done upon arrest, if _not sooner_, to know everything. What shall be done with the parties (spies, of course) when we are ready to act? If you ever intimate that _trials are tedious_, etc., the enemy seize citizens from some neighborhood as hostages, when their emissaries are disturbed. _I will dispatch_, if it be authorized, and that will end the matter. The lady I spoke to you of is the fountain-head. What to do with females troubles me, for I dislike to be identified with their arrest. "I request that a good boat, with three torpedoes, and a man who understands working them, be sent to Milford to report to me at Edge Hill. Let the man be _mum_ on all questions. I would meet him at Milford, if I knew the day (distance is twenty-five miles), with a wagon, to take him, torpedoes, and boat to the point required. I must be sure of the day. "Have the following advertisement published in Monday's papers: "'YANKEES ESCAPED! $1000 REWARD!--A Yankee officer and three privates escaped from prison on Thursday night, with important matter upon their persons. The above reward will be given for their detection.' "Let me hear from you through Cawood's Line, upon receipt of this. Respectfully, etc. ------." We have the spectacle now of three full generals--Johnston, Beauregard, and Bragg--without armies to command; and the armies in the field apparently melting away under the lead of subordinate, if not incompetent leaders. So much for the administration of the Adjutant-General's office. Governor Smith is still exempting deputy sheriffs, constables, etc.--all able-bodied. It is rumored on the street that we intend evacuating Savannah. How did that get out--if, indeed, such is the determination? There _are_ traitors in high places--or near them. It is also rumored that the Danville Railroad has been cut. I don't believe it--yet. There is deep vexation in the city--a general apprehension that our affairs are rapidly approaching a crisis such as has not been experienced before. There is also much denunciation of the President for the removal of Gen. Johnston from the command of the Army of Tennessee. Hon. Mr. Foote declared, Saturday, that he would resign his seat if the bill to suspend the writ of _habeas corpus_, now pending, became a law. There is much consternation--but it is of a sullen character, without excitement. The United States Congress has ordered that notice be given Great Britain of an intention on the part of the Federal Government to increase the naval force on the lakes; also a proposition has been introduced to terminate the Reciprocity Treaty. And Gen. Dix orders his military subordinates to pursue any rebel raiders even _into_ Canada and bring them over. So, light may come from _that_ quarter. A war with England would be our peace. At 2 P.M. it was rumored that Charleston is taken and Beauregard a prisoner. Also that Gen. Jos. E. Johnston (in the city) says Richmond will be evacuated in ten days. I do not learn what gold sells at to-day! I suspect some _coup d'état_ is meditated. DECEMBER 20TH.--A brighter morning, cool and clear. The _President_ was at work yesterday. He and the Secretary and Gen. Cooper put their heads together to make up a _regiment_ for Col. Miller in Mississippi, and designate the two field officers to be under him--from two battalions and two unattached companies. If the Northern (purporting to be official) accounts be true, Gen. Hood has sustained an irretrievable disaster, which may involve the loss of Tennessee, Georgia, etc. Hon. Mr. Foote declared last night his purpose to leave the city in a few days, never to resume his seat in Congress, if martial law should be allowed. He said he had information that when Charleston _fell_, South Carolina would conclude a treaty of peace (submission?) with the United States; and that North Carolina was prepared to follow the example! I have observed that these two States do not often incline to go together. The _great_ disaster would be the loss of Richmond and retreat of Lee's army southward. This would probably be followed by the downfall of slavery in Virginia. The Secretary of War has sent an agent to the Governor of North Carolina, to ask for special aid in supplying Lee's army with meat--which is deficient here--or else it cannot be maintained in the field in Virginia! Very bad, and perhaps worse coming. There is a rumor that Gen. Breckinridge has beaten Gen. Burbridge in Tennessee or Western Virginia. Gen. R. E. Lee is in town, looking robust, though weather-worn. He complains that the department is depleting his army by details, often for private and speculative purposes, to the benefit of private individuals--speculators. I drew my (State) salt to-day, 70 pounds, for 7 in family--20 cents per pound. It retails at a $1 per pound! Mr. Secretary ---- has sent (per Lieut.-Col. Bayne) some gold to Wilmington, to buy (in Nassau) loaf sugar for his family, to be brought in government steamers. My son Thomas could get no beef ration to-day--too scarce. DECEMBER 21ST.--Raining; rained all night. The following dispatch was received this morning: "WILMINGTON, December 20th, 1864,10 A.M.--The head of the enemy's fleet arrived off this port during last night. Over thirty steamers are now assembling, and more are following.--BRAXTON BRAGG." It may be hoped that Gen. Bragg will do something more than chronicle the successes of the enemy this time. He is nearer to him than when he remained at Augusta; and yet the press could be made reticent on arrivals, etc. Lieut.-Col. Sims, Assistant Quartermaster General, has contracted with the _Southern Express Company_ to transport all the funds of the Quartermaster's Department--hundreds of millions! Mr. Hunter was with the Secretary this morning, when I laid before the latter Bragg's dispatch. I doubt not it failed to contribute to a mollification of their painful forebodings. By Northern papers I see President Lincoln disapproves Gen. Dix's order to troops to cross the Canada line in pursuit of raiders. Gold is $45 for one to-day. The army has no meat this day, the commissaries, etc. have it all, and are speculating with it--it is said. So many high officials are _interested_, there is no remedy. We are at the mercy of the quartermasters, commissaries, railroad companies, and the _Southern_ Express Company. The President and Secretary either cannot or will not break our shackles. An official account states the number of houses burnt by the enemy in Atlanta to be 5000! There is a rumor of another and a formidable raid on Gordonsville. The railroad is now exclusively occupied with the transportation of troops--perhaps for Wilmington. The raid may be a ruse to prevent reinforcements being sent thither. The Andersonville Report belongs to the Adjutant-General's Office, and therefore has not come back to me. DECEMBER 22D.--Clear and cold. We have nothing from below. From Wilmington, we learn there is much commotion to resist the armada launched against that port. Gen. Lee is sending troops _via_ the Danville Road in that direction. The wire has been cut between this and Gordonsville, by the scouts of the raiders launched in that direction. We breakfast, dine, and sup on horrors now, and digest them all quite sullenly. I am invited to a turkey dinner to-day (at Mr. Waterhouse's), and have some hesitation in accepting it at a time like this. Ought I to go? He is a skilled artisan and has made money, and no doubt the turkey is destined to be eaten by somebody. At an auction this morning, a Jew bid off an old set of tablespoons, weighing twelve ounces and much worn, at $575. He will next _buy_ his way out of the Confederacy. Mr. Benjamin and Judge Campbell have much to answer for in allowing such men to deplete the South of its specie, plate, etc. There were some commissaries and quartermasters present, who are supposed to have stolen much from the government, and desire to exchange the currency they have ruined for imperishable wealth. They, too, will run away the first opportunity. The sun shines brightly this beautiful cold day; but all is dark in Congress. The Tennessee members say Hood's army is destroyed, that he will not get 1000 men out of the State, for the Tennesseeans, Kentuckians, etc. refuse to retire farther south, but straggle and scatter to their homes, where they will remain. I am told we have but a thin curtain of pickets on the north side of the James River, between us and 15,000 negro troops. The President is at work at his residence, not having yet come down to his office; and I learn it is difficult to get his attention to any business just now but _appointments_; had to get him to sign a bill passed by Congress to pay the civil officers of the government. No doubt he is anxious and very unhappy. Hon. Mr. Foote's wife has just got a passport to return home to Nashville, Tennessee! DECEMBER 23D.--Bright and very cold. A storm has driven off a portion of the enemy's fleet before Wilmington. The raid toward Gordonsville and Charlottesville is not progressing rapidly. We shall have a force to meet it. Besides the demonstration against Savannah (from which place we have no recent tidings), it appears that an attempt on Mobile is in progress. Too many attempts--some of them must fail, I hope. From the last accounts, I doubted whether Hood's army has been so badly shattered as was apprehended yesterday. Gen. Price (trans-Mississippi) has brought out a large number of recruits from Missouri. I dined out yesterday, and sumptuously; the first time for two years. Congress has done but little, so far. They are at work on the Currency bill! Mr. Enders, broker, and exempted as one of the Ambulance Committee, I am informed paid some $8000 yesterday to Mitchell & Tyler for a few articles of jewelry for his daughter. And R. Hill, who has a provision shop near the President's office, I understand expended some $30,000 on the wedding of his daughter. He was poor, I believe, before the war. I got an order from Lieut. Parker, Confederate States Navy, for a load of coal to-day. Good! I hope it will be received before the last on hand is gone. The enemy's raiders camped within seven miles of Gordonsville, last night; and it will be ten o'clock to-day before our reinforcements can reach there. I hope our stores (commissary) will not be lost--as usual. Mr. S. Norris, Signal Bureau, has just (1 P.M.) sent the following: "I am just informed that Mr. Smithers, telegraph operator at Gordonsville, is again in his office. He says fighting is going on in sight--that troops from Richmond have arrived, and arriving--and it is expected that Gen. Lomax will be able to drive the enemy back." Just before 3 P.M. to-day a dispatch came from Mr. Smithers, telegraph operator at Gordonsville, dated 1 o'clock, saying the enemy have been repulsed and severely punished, and are retreating the way they came, toward Sperryville. He adds that many of the enemy's dead now lie in sight of the town. So much for this gleam of good fortune, for I believe the military authorities here were meditating an evacuation of the city. Gen. Custis Lee was at the department to-day, after the clerks detailed from his command. All, all are to be dragged out in this bitter cold weather for defense, except the speculators, the extortioners, the land and slave owners, who really have something tangible to defend, and these have exemptions or "soft places." DECEMBER 24TH.--Christmas eve! Clear and cold. A dispatch from Hon. J. L. Orr and H. V. Johnson (on their way home) informs the Secretary that from the delay in the transportation of troops over the Piedmont Railroad, there must be either criminal neglect or treachery concerned in it. Again it is rumored that Savannah has been evacuated. There is something in the air that causes agitation in official circles. Mr. Secretary Seddon's room was locked nearly all day yesterday. If troops cannot be transported expeditiously over the Piedmont Road, fears may be entertained for Wilmington, when, the gale subsiding, the enemy's fleet has reappeared. There is a rumor on the street that the government is to be removed to Lynchburg. Gen. Lee has induced the President and Secretary of War to call for the clerks (detailed ones) to repair to the trenches again--this weather. The emergency must be great, as these soldiers get, as clerks, $4000 per annum, and rations, etc. A dispatch from Gen. Bragg. "WILMINGTON, N. C., December 23d, 1864.--The fleet, which drew off in the rough weather, is again assembled; seventy vessels now in sight on the coast. The advance of the troops (C. S.) only reached here to-night.--B. B." The clerks are drawing lots; one-half being ordered to the trenches. Of two drawn in this bureau (out of five) one is peremptorily ordered by the Secretary to remain, being sickly, and the other has an order to go before a medical board "to determine whether he is fit for service in the trenches for a few days." Great commotion naturally prevails in the departments, and it is whispered that Gen. Lee was governed in the matter by the family of the President, fearing a Christmas visit from the negro troops on this side the river. The following note was received to-day from the Vice-President: "RICHMOND, VA., December 23d, 1864.--Hon. Jas. A. Seddon, Secretary of War: Will you please send me, through the post-office, a passport to leave the city? I wish to depart in a few days. Yours respectfully, "ALEX. H. STEPHENS." The President is hard at work making majors, etc. SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25TH. CHRISTMAS!--Clear and pleasant--white frost. All quiet below. But it is believed on the street that Savannah has been evacuated, some days ago. I have not yet seen any official admission of the fact. We have quite a merry Christmas in the family; and a compact that no unpleasant word shall be uttered, and no _scramble_ for anything. The family were baking cakes and pies until late last night, and to-day we shall have _full_ rations. I have found enough celery in the little garden for dinner. Last night and this morning the boys have been firing Christmas guns incessantly--no doubt pilfering from their fathers' cartridge-boxes. There is much jollity and some drunkenness in the streets, notwithstanding the enemy's pickets are within an hour's march of the city. A large number of the croaking inhabitants censure the President for our many misfortunes, and openly declare in favor of Lee as Dictator. Another month, and he may be unfortunate or unpopular. His son, Gen. Custis Lee, has mortally offended the clerks by putting them in the trenches yesterday, and some of them may desert. Many members of Congress have gone home. But it is still said they invested the President with extraordinary powers, in secret session. I am not quite sure this is so. I append the following dispatches: "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "December 23d, 1864. "HON. JAMES A. SEDDON, SECRETARY OF WAR. "On the 20th, Gen. Early reported one division of the enemy's cavalry, under Gen. Custer, coming up the valley, and two divisions, under Gen. Torbert, moving through Chester Gap, with four pieces of artillery and thirty wagons. "On the 22d, Rosser attacked Custer's division, nine miles from Harrisonburg, and drove it back, capturing forty prisoners. "This morning, Torbert attacked Lomax near Gordonsville, and was repulsed and severely punished. He is retreating, and Lomax preparing to follow. R. E. LEE." "DUBLIN, December 20th, 1864. "A dispatch from Gen. Breckinridge to-day, dated at Mount Airy, sixteen miles west of Wytheville, says he had fought the enemy for two days, successfully, near Marion. The enemy had retired from his front; but whether they were retreating to East Tennessee or not, he had not ascertained." "CHARLESTON, December 22d, 1864. "TO GEN. S. COOPER. "On the 16th inst., the enemy, 800 strong, occupied Pollard. After burning the government and railroad buildings, they retired in the direction they came. "They were pursued thirty miles, losing a portion of their transportation, baggage, and supplies, and leaving many dead negro troops on the road. "Our force, commanded by Gen. Liddell, acted with spirit and gallantry. G. T. BEAUREGARD, _General_." "OUR INDIAN TROOPS.--Gen. Stand Watie, commanding our Indian troops in the trans-Mississippi Department, has fully clothed and armed all his men, and is in the vicinity of Fort Smith, attacking and destroying Yankee wagon trains." DECEMBER 26TH.--Raining--rained all night. The dark and dismal weather, together with our sad reverses, have made the countenances of croakers in the streets and in the offices more gloomy and somber than ever, foreboding evil in the future. No one doubts the evacuation of Savannah, and I suppose it must be so. Hardee had but 8000 reliable men. The Georgians in Lee's army are more or less demoralized, and a reward of a sixty days' furlough is given for shooting any deserter from our ranks. An old black chest, containing mostly scraps and odds and ends of housekeeping, yet brought on by my family from Burlington, has remained four years unopened, the key being lost. We have felt an irrepressible anxiety to see its contents, for even rubbish is now valuable. I got a locksmith to send a man to pick the lock, last week, but he failed to find the house, and subsequently was sent to the trenches. I borrowed twenty-five keys, and none of them would fit. I got wire, and tried to pick the lock, but failed. Yesterday, however, when all were at church, I made another effort, prizing at the same time with the poker, when the screws of the hasp came out and the top flew up, revealing only "odds and ends" so far as I could see. I closed it, replaced the striped cover, and put the cage with the parrot on it, where it usually remains. The day, and the expressed objection of my wife to have the lock broken or injured, have, until to-day, restrained me from revealing to the family what I had done. But now I shall assemble them, and by a sort of Christmas story, endeavor to mollify my wife's anticipated displeasure. The examination of the contents will be a delightful diversion for the children, old and young. My impromptu Christmas tale of the old Black Chest interested the family, and my wife was not angry. Immediately after its conclusion, the old chest was surrounded and opened, and among an infinite variety of rubbish were some articles of value, viz., of chemises (greatly needed), several pairs of stockings, 1 Marseilles petticoat, lace collars, several pretty baskets, 4 pair ladies' slippers (nearly new), and several books--one from my library, an octavo volume on Midwifery, 500 pages, placed there to prevent the children from seeing the illustrations, given me by the publisher for a notice in my paper, _The Madisonian_, more than twenty years ago. There were also many toys and keepsakes presented Mrs. J. when she was an infant, forty years ago, and many given our children when they were infants, besides various articles of infants' clothing, etc. etc., both of intrinsic value, and prized as reminiscences. The available articles, though once considered rubbish, would sell, and could not be bought here for less than $500. This examination occupied the family the remainder of the day and night--all content with this Christmas diversion--and oblivious of the calamities which have befallen the country. It was a providential distraction. DECEMBER 27TH.--A night of rain--morning of fog and gloom. At last we have an account of the evacuation of Savannah. Also of the beginning of the assault on Port Fisher and Caswell below Wilmington, with painful apprehensions of the result; for the enemy have landed troops above the former fort, and found no adequate force to meet them, thanks to the _policy_ of the government in allowing the _property holders_ to escape the toils and dangers of the field, while the poor, who have nothing tangible to fight for, are thrust to the front, where many desert. Our condition is also largely attributable to the management of the Bureau of Conscription--really the Bureau of _Exemption_. I saw to-day a letter from Gen. Beauregard to Gen. Cooper, wherein it was indicated that Gen. Hood's plan of penetrating Tennessee was adopted before he (Gen. B.) was ordered to that section. The enemy _did_ occupy Saltville last week, and damaged the works. No doubt salt will "go up" now. The enemy, however, have retired from the place, and the works can be repaired. Luckily I drew 70 pounds last week, and have six months' supply. I have two months' supply of coal and wood--long enough, perhaps, for our residence in Richmond, unless the property owners be required to defend their property. I almost despair of a change of policy. It is reported that Sherman is marching south of Savannah, on some new enterprise; probably a detachment merely to destroy the railroad. An expedition is attacking, or about to attack, Mobile. All our possessions on the coast seem to be the special objects of attack this winter. If Wilmington falls, "Richmond next," is the prevalent supposition. The brokers are offering $50 Confederate States notes for $1 of gold. Men are silent, and some dejected. It is unquestionably the darkest period we have yet experienced. Intervention on the part of European powers is the only hope of many. Failing that, no doubt a negro army will be organized--and it might be too late! And yet, with such a preponderance of numbers and material against us, the wonder is that we have not lost all the sea-board before this. I long since supposed the country would be penetrated and overrun in most of its ports, during the second or third year of the war. If the government would foster a spirit of patriotism, the country would always rise again, after these invasions, like the water of the sea plowed by ships of war. But the government must not crush the spirit of the people relied upon for defense, and the rich must fight side by side with the poor, or the poor will abandon the rich, and that will be an abandonment of the cause. It is said Gen. Lee is to be invested with dictatorial powers, so far as our armies are concerned. This will inspire new confidence. He is represented as being in favor of employing negro troops. A dispatch from Lieut.-Gen. Hardee (to the President), December 24th, 1864, at Charleston, S. C., says he may have to take the field any moment (against Sherman), and asks a chief quartermaster and chief commissary. The President invokes the special scrupulosity of the Secretary in the names of these staff officers. DECEMBER 28TH.--Rained all night; warm. A large stable burned down within sixty yards of our dwelling, last night, and not one of the family heard the uproar attending it. Gen. Bragg telegraphs the President that the enemy failed to reduce Fort Fisher, and that the troops landed above the fort have re-embarked. But he says the enemy's designs are not yet developed; and he is such an unlucky general. We found a caricature in the old black chest, of 1844, in which I am engaged in fight with the elder Blair. Calhoun, Buchanan, etc. are in the picture. It is still believed that Gen. Lee is to be generalissimo, and most people rejoice at it. It is said the President and Gen. Jos. E. Johnston have become friends again. DECEMBER 29TH.--Rained all night; spitting snow this morning. Although Gen. Bragg announces that the enemy's fleet has disappeared off Wilmington, still the despondency which has seized the croakers remains. It has probably sailed against Charleston, to co-operate with Sherman. Sherman says officially that he got, with Savannah, about 1000 prisoners, 150 heavy guns, nearly 200 cars and several locomotives, 35,000 bales of cotton, etc. etc. And Gen. Foster says the inhabitants (20,000) were "quiet, and well disposed." Most people believe Charleston will fall next, to be followed by a sweep of the entire sea-board; and grave men fear that the impetus thus given the invader cannot be checked or resisted. The great want is _fighting men_, and they are mostly exempted or detailed under that portion of the "War Department" which is quietly worked by Judge Campbell, who is, of course, governed by his own great legal judgment. Well, the President has been informed of this, and yet waits for Mr. Secretary Seddon to suggest a remedy. I have often thought, and still think, that either the Bureau of Conscription must be abolished or the government must fail. The best generals will not avail without sufficient men to fight. Gen. Beauregard telegraphs from Charleston, December 26th, that there is a conflict of authority at Mobile as to which branch of the service, navy or army, shall command the torpedo boat. The two Secretaries are referring it to commanders, and I fear that, by the time the question is settled, some calamity will befall the boat, and the city, and the country. Grant is said to be moving troops to the north side of the river again, fearing an attack from us, or intending one himself. DECEMBER 30TH.--A clear night and frosty morning. We have no news except that gleaned from Northern papers. Gen. Hood is unable to cross the Tennessee River (now swollen), and would soon be attacked again by superior numbers. Congress was in secret session yesterday, probably perfecting the bill for the suspension of the privilege of _habeas corpus_. Gen. Bragg is credited with the repulse of the enemy at Wilmington. During the late raid a close-fisted farmer lost heavily: several hundred barrels of flour and corn, one hundred barrels of apples, a large amount of bacon and sorghum, which he was hoarding, and thus contributing to produce famine in the midst of plenty. His neighbors (those few not following his example) express no sympathy for him. The enemy did not burn Liberty Mills--once in their possession, in which is stored a large amount of grain--for some unexplained reason. The enemy's papers show that they have regular and expeditious intercourse with parties here, and are kept correctly advised of everything that transpires. This is a continuance of Mr. Benjamin's policy by Mr. Seddon. It may be lucrative to those immediately interested; but if not abated, will be the death of the Confederate States Government--as I have told them all repeatedly. And the "Bureau of Conscription" still exists, and seems destined to "be in at the death." I paid Lieut. Parker just $30.75 for a load of coal; selling at $75. I saw selling at auction, to-day, second-hand shirts at $40 each, and blankets at $75. A bedstead, such as I have bought for $10, brought $700. But $50 in Confederate States paper are really worth only $1 in specie. Jos. R. Anderson & Co. writes that unless their hands are sent in from the trenches, they cannot fill orders for ordnance stores; and Gen. Gorgas (he has been promoted) approves it, saying it is known that a number of these hands intend to desert the first opportunity. The last call for the clerks to return to the trenches was responded to by not a man of Capt. Manico's company, War Department proper. DECEMBER 31ST.--The last day of the year. Snowing and wet. Gen. H. Cobb writes that the existing Conscription Bureau is a failure so far as Georgia, Alabama, etc. are concerned, and can never put the men in the field. Wm. Johnston, president of the Charlotte (N. C.) and South Carolina Railroad, suggests the construction, immediately, of a railroad from Columbia, S. C, to Augusta, Ga., which might be easily accomplished by April or May. It would take that length of time for the government to "consider of it." It will lose two railroads before it will order the building of one. There is supposed to be a conspiracy on foot to transfer some of the powers of the Executive to Gen. Lee. It can only be done by revolution, and the overthrow of the Constitution. Nevertheless, it is believed many executive officers, some high in position, favor the scheme. To-morrow Gen. Lee's army is to be feasted with turkeys, etc. contributed by the country, if the enemy will permit them to dine without molestation. The enemy are kept fully informed of everything transpiring here, thanks to the vigilance of the Provost Marshal, detectives, etc. etc. Gen. Cobb writes that he is arresting the men who remained in Atlanta during its occupation by Sherman, and subjecting themselves to suspicion, etc. Better march the men we have against Sherman now, who is still in Georgia! Gen. Lee writes that Grant is concentrating (probably for an attack on Richmond), bringing another corps from the Valley; and if the local troops are brought in, he does not know how to replace them. His army diminishes, rather than increases, under the manipulations of the Bureau of Conscription. It is a dark and dreary hour, when Lee is so despondent! Senator Henry writes that any delay in impressing the railroad from Danville to Greensborough will be fatal. CHAPTER XLVI. Waning confidence in the President.--Blockade running.--From the South.-- Beauregard on Sherman.--The expeditions against Wilmington.--Return of Mr. Pollard.--The Blairs in Richmond.--Arrest of Hon. H. S. Foote.--Fall of Fort Fisher.--Views of Gen. Cobb.--Dismal.-- Casualties of the War.--Peace commissioners for Washington. SUNDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 1865.--Snowed a few inches in depth during the night--clear and cool morning. The new year begins with the new rumor that Gen. Hood has turned upon Gen. Thomas and beaten him. This is believed by many. Hood's army was _not_ destroyed, and he retreated from before Nashville with some 20,000 men. Doubtless he lost many cannon; but the Federal accounts of his disaster were probably much exaggerated. The cabinet still remains. The President is considered really a man of ability, and eminently qualified to preside over the Confederate States, if independence were attained and we had peace. But he is probably not equal to the role he is now called upon to play. He has not the broad intellect requisite for the gigantic measures needed in such a crisis, nor the health and physique for the labors devolving on him. Besides he is too much of a politician still to discard his old prejudices, and persists in keeping aloof from him, and from commanding positions, all the great statesmen and patriots who contributed most in the work of preparing the minds of the people for resistance to Northern domination. And the consequence is that many of these influential men are laboring to break down his administration, or else preparing the people for a return to the old Union. The disaffection is intense and wide-spread among the politicians of 1860, and consternation and despair are expanding among the people. Nearly all desire to see Gen. Lee at the head of affairs; and the President is resolved to yield the position to no man during his term of service. Nor would Gen. Lee take it. The proposition to organize an army of negroes gains friends; because the owners of the slaves are no longer willing to fight themselves, at least they are not as "eager for the fray" as they were in 1861; and the armies _must_ be replenished, or else the slaves will certainly be lost. Thus we begin the new year--Heaven only knows how we shall end it! I trust we may be in a better condition then. Of one thing I am certain, the PEOPLE are capable of achieving independence, if they only had capable men in all departments of the government. The President was at St. Paul's to-day, with a knit woolen cap on his head. Dr. Minnegerode preached a sermon against the croakers. His son has been appointed a midshipman by the President. JANUARY 2D.--Cold, and indications of snow. Offered the owner of our servant $400 per annum. He wants $150 and clothing for her. Clothing would cost perhaps $1000. It remains in abeyance. Saw Gen. Wise dancing attendance in the Secretary's room. He looks seasoned and well, and may be destined to play a leading part "in human affairs" yet, notwithstanding his hands have been so long bound by those who contrive "to get possession." It is this very thing of keeping our great men in the "background" which is often the cause of calamities, and if persisted in, may bring irretrievable ruin upon the cause. The government has forbidden the transportation of freight, etc. (private) from Georgia to Virginia, and perhaps from the intermediate States. On Saturday the government entered the market to sell gold, and brought down the price some 33 per cent. A spasmodic effort, the currency is gone beyond redemption. It is said Gen. Hood has collected a large amount of supplies of meat, etc. He is in North Alabama, and probably Gen. Thomas will march toward Virginia. The Secretary had his head between his knees before the fire when I first went in this morning. Affairs are gloomy enough--and the question is how Richmond and Virginia shall be saved. Gen. Lee is despondent. From the Northern papers we learn that Gen. Butler's expedition against Wilmington, N. C, was a failure. Gen. Bragg is applauded here for this successful defense. The salaries of the clergymen have been raised by their congregations to $10,000 and $12,000. I hear that Dr. Woodbridge received a Christmas gift from his people of upwards of $4000, besides seven barrels of flour, etc. _He owns his own house, his own servants_, stocks, etc. Most of these fortunate ministers are natives of the North, but true to the Southern cause, so far as we know. God knows I am glad to hear of any one, and especially a minister, being made comfortable. JANUARY 3D.--Calm and quiet; indications of snow. By a communication sent to Congress, by the President, it is ascertained that 500,000 pairs shoes, 8,000,000 pounds bacon, 2,000,000 pounds saltpeter, 50 cannon, etc. etc., have been imported since October 1st, 1864. When the enemy's fleet threatened Wilmington, the brokers here (who have bribed the conscript officers) bought up all the coffee and sugar in the city. They raised the price of the former from $15 to $45 per pound, and the latter to $15, from $10. An application has been made to Mr. Secretary Seddon to order the impressment of it all, at schedule prices, which he will be sure not to do. Congress paid their respects to the President yesterday, by waiting upon him in a body. There is a rumor of some fighting (12 M.) below, but I have not learned on which side of the river. It arises from brisk cannonading, heard in the city, I suppose. I bought an ax (of Starke) for $15, mine having been stolen. I was asked from $25 to $35 for no better. Mr. Starke has no garden seeds yet. The following article in the _Dispatch_ to-day, seemingly well authenticated, would seem to indicate that our armies are in no danger of immediately becoming destitute of supplies; but, alas! the publication itself may cause the immediate fall of Wilmington. "BLOCKADE-RUNNING.--Notwithstanding the alleged ceaseless vigilance of the Yankee navy in watching blockade-runners on the Atlantic and Gulf Coast of the Confederate States, their close attention has amounted to comparatively little. Setting aside all that has been imported on State and individual account, the proceeds of the blockade have been very great. The restrictions imposed upon foreign commerce by the act of Congress of last session prohibiting, absolutely, during the pending war, the importation of any articles not necessary for the defense of the country--namely: wines, spirits, jewelry, cigars, and all the finer fabrics of cotton, flax, wool, or silk, as well as all other merchandise serving only for the indulgence of luxurious habits,--has not had the effect to reduce the number of vessels engaged in blockade-running; but, on the contrary, the number has steadily increased within the last year, and many are understood to be now on the way to engage in the business. "The President, in a communication to Congress on the subject, says that the number of vessels arriving at two ports only from the 1st of November to the 6th of December was _forty-three_, and but a very small proportion of those outward bound were captured. Out of 11,796 bales of cotton shipped since the 1st of July last, but 1272 were lost--not quite 11 per cent. "The special report of the Secretary of the Treasury in relation to the matter shows that there have been imported into the Confederacy at the ports of Wilmington and Charleston since October 26th, 1864, 8,632,000 pounds of meat, 1,507,000 pounds of lead, 1,933,000 pounds of saltpeter, 546,000 pairs of shoes, 316,000 pairs of blankets, 520,000 pounds of coffee, 69,000 rifles, 97 packages of revolvers, 2639 packages of medicine, 43 cannon, with a large quantity of other articles of which we need make no mention. Besides these, many valuable stores and supplies are brought, by way of the Northern lines, into Florida; by the port of Galveston and through Mexico, across the Rio Grande. "The shipments of cotton made on government account since March 1st, 1864, amount to $5,296,000 in specie. Of this, cotton, to the value of $1,500,000, has been shipped since the 1st of July and up to the 1st of December. "It is a matter of absolute impossibility for the Federals to stop our blockade-running at the port of Wilmington. If the wind blows off the coast, the blockading fleet is driven off. If the wind blows landward, they are compelled to haul off to a great distance to escape the terrible sea which dashes on a rocky coast without a harbor within three days' sail. The shoals on the North Carolina Coast are from five to twenty miles wide; and they are, moreover, composed of the most treacherous and bottomless quicksands. The whole coast is scarcely equaled in the world for danger and fearful appearance, particularly when a strong easterly wind meets the ebb tide. "It is an easy matter for a good pilot to run a vessel directly out to sea or into port; but in the stormy months, from October to April, no blockading vessel can lie at anchor in safety off the Carolina Coast. Therefore supplies will be brought in despite the keenest vigilance." JANUARY 4TH.--Bright, but several inches of snow fell last night. The President wrote a long letter to the Secretary yesterday concerning the _assignment of conscripts in Western North Carolina_, at most only a few hundred, and the appointment of officers, etc. A small subject. Congress has passed a resolution calling on the Secretary of War for information concerning certain youths, alleged to have received passports to Europe, etc. Also one relating to the Commissary-General's traffic in Eastern North Carolina, within the enemy's lines. Also one relating to instructions to Gen. Smith, trans-Mississippi Department, who assumes control of matters pertaining to the Treasury Department. General J. S. Preston, Superintendent Bureau of Conscription, writes a long letter from South Carolina indorsing an act of the Legislature authorizing the impressment of one-fifth of the slaves between eighteen and fifty, for work on the fortifications within the State, but also providing for impressment of an additional number by the Confederate States Government. This, Gen. P. considers a treasonable move, indicating that South Carolina, North Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, etc. have a purpose to disintegrate Confederate authority, and that they will not contribute another man, black or white, to the Confederate service, to be commanded by Confederate States authority. And he has several thrusts at Gen. Bragg and Gen. Kemper, and, indirectly, at the President, for interfering with _his_ bureau. I see nothing in the act to warrant his interpretations, and I have no faith in his predictions. W. F. D. Saussure and others, Columbia, S. C., petition the government to send a corps of Lee's army to save their State and Georgia from devastation, as there are no adequate forces in them for defense. They confess that Richmond is important to hold, but insist that Georgia and South Carolina must be defended to hold it, etc. They are frightened evidently. Gen. Withers, Alabama, denounces the inefficiency of the conscript system. Lieut. Beverly Kermon writes from the Rappahannock that "thus far (to Jan. 1st) our movements (in connection with Capt. T. N. Conrad) are perfectly secret." The next day he was to go to the Potomac. What has the Secretary sent him _there_ for? J. R. Bledsoe presents a design for a "_new flag_," red, white, and blue cross, which Gen. Lee thinks both original and beautiful. Judge Campbell has a box of clothing, sent from London by J. B. Bloodgood. JANUARY 5TH.--Clear and cold. It is understood now that Gen. Hood has crossed to the south side of the Tennessee River with the debris of his army. Gen. Butler has returned to Virginia from his fruitless North Carolina expedition. It is supposed we shall have active operations again before this city as soon as the weather and roads will permit. But it really does seem that the States respectively mean to take control of all their men not now in the Confederate States armies, and I apprehend we shall soon have "confusion worse confounded." The President sends, "for his information," to the Secretary of War, a letter from Gen. Beauregard, dated at Augusta, Ga., Dec. 6th, 1864, in relation to Gen. Sherman's movement eastward, and Gen. Hood's Middle Tennessee campaign. It appears from Gen. B.'s letter to the President that he (Gen. B.) had control of everything. He says he did not countermand Gen. Hood's campaign, because Sherman had 275 miles the start, and the roads were impracticable in Northern Georgia and Alabama. But he telegraphed the Governors of Alabama, Georgia, etc., to concentrate troops rapidly in Sherman's front, ordered a brigade of cavalry from Hood to Wheeler, etc., and supposed some 30,000 men could be collected to oppose Sherman's march, and destroy him. He computed Sherman's strength at 36,000 of all arms. The result shows how much he was mistaken. He will be held accountable for all the disasters. Alas for Beauregard! Bragg only played the part of chronicler of the sad events from Augusta. Yet the President cannot publish this letter of Beauregard's, and the country will still fix upon him the responsibility and the odium. Gen. Beauregard is still in front of Sherman, with inadequate forces, and may again be responsible for additional calamities. Old Mr. F. P. Blair and his son Montgomery Blair are on their way here, with authority to confer on peace and submission, etc. Mr. Lewis, Disbursing Clerk of the Post-Office Department, on behalf of lady clerks has laid a complaint before the President that Mr. Peck, a clerk in the department, to whom was intrusted money to buy supplies in North Carolina, has failed to make return of provisions or money, retaining the latter for several months, while some of his friends have received returns, besides 10 barrels flour bought for himself, and transported at government expense. Some of the clerks think the money has been retained for speculative purposes. It remains to be seen whether the President will do anything in the premises. The grand New Year's dinner to the soldiers, as I supposed, has produced discontent in the army, from unequal distribution, etc. No doubt the speculators got control of it, and made money, at least provided for their families, etc. Hon. J. R. Baylor proposes recruiting in New Mexico and Lower California. The Secretary of War opposes it, saying we shall probably require all the trans-Mississippi troops on this side the river. The President differs with the Secretary, and writes a long indorsement, showing the importance of Baylor's project, etc. Of course the Secretary will "stint and say ay." The President thinks Col. B. can enlist the Indian tribes on our side also. There is a rumor that Mr. Foote, M. C., has gone into the enemy's lines. He considered the difference between Davis and Lincoln as "between tweedledum and tweedledee." The prisoners of war (foreigners) that took the oath of allegiance and enlisted in the Confederate States service, are deserting _back_ to the Federal service, under Gen. Sherman's promise of amnesty. JANUARY 6TH.--Cloudy and thawing. No war news,--but it is known Sherman's army is not quiet, and must soon be heard from in spite of the interdict of the government. It is said Mr. Trenholm, Secretary of the Treasury, is in the market buying gold, and that the fall has already been from $50 to $30 for one. Corn-meal has risen from $50 up to $75 per bushel. Flour to $500 per barrel. Vice-President Stephens has not left the city, but presides in the Senate. Messrs. B. Woolley, Hart & Co., Nassau, N. P., write most pressing letters for the liquidation of their claims against the Confederate States Government. Perhaps they are becoming alarmed after making prodigious profits, etc. Conner's brigade and other troops are en route for South Carolina from Lee's army. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, was _smoked_ out of his room to-day, and came into mine. The judge, however, does but little more just now than grant passports into the enemy's lines; permission to speculators to bring into the city supplies for sale, often under pretense of being intended for their own use; exemptions, details, etc. If he were disposed, he could realize a million of dollars. It is said the Hon. A. R. Wright went North to get his son paroled, who is in prison there. Judge Campbell talks of resigning. JANUARY 7TH.--Rained yesterday and last night. Clear and windy to-day. It is said the Blairs (who have been looked for on some sort of mission) turned back after arriving in the camp of Gen. Grant. Of course they could not treat with this government, under existing circumstances. The President and his cabinet could not be expected to listen to such proposals as they might be authorized to tender. Butler's canal is said to be completed, and probably operations will soon be recommenced in this vicinity. Congress seems to be doing little or nothing; but before it adjourns it is supposed it will, as usual, pass the measures dictated by the President. How insignificant a legislative body becomes when it is not independent. The Confederate States Congress will not live in history, for it never really existed at all, but has always been merely a body of subservient men, registering the decrees of the Executive. Even Mr. Miles, of South Carolina, before introducing a bill, sends it to this department for approval or rejection. Detailed soldiers here are restricted in their rations this month to 31 pounds of meal, 21 pounds of salt beef, etc. The commissary agent, Mr. Wilson, thinks no more "beef shanks" can be sold. I have been living on them! An order has been issued that all detailed men in the bureaus (able-bodied) must go into Gen. Lee's army; and the local defense troops will not be called out again except in the last necessity, and then only during the emergency. I have not seen it, but believe Gen. Lee has some such understanding with the President. Mayor Arnold, and other rich citizens of Savannah, have held a meeting (Union), and called upon Gov. Brown to assemble a State Convention, etc. Mr. Hunter followed Judge Campbell into his office this morning (a second visit), as if there were "any more news." The judge gravely beckoned him into the office. I was out; so there must be news, when Mr. H. (so fat) is on the _qui vive_. Gen. Beauregard has been ordered to the West to take command of Hood's army. The Secretary of War has ordered Col. Bayne to have as much cotton as possible _east_ of Branchville, S. C. The farmers down the river report that Grant is sending off large bodies of troops--so the Secretary says in a letter to _Gen. Lee_. JANUARY 8TH.--Bright and cold. Snowed yesterday, and windy. Gen. Whiting writes that he had only 400 men in Fort Fisher, and it was a miracle that it was not taken. He looked for it, and a determined effort would have carried it. He says there is no reason to suppose the attempt has been abandoned, and it must fall if a sufficient force be not sent thither. If the enemy are apprised of the weak condition of the fort, it is probable Grant has been sending another and a stronger expedition there, and it may be apprehended that before many days Wilmington will cease to be of value to us as a blockade-running port of entry. I saw the Hon. Mr. Montague to-day, who told me there was a strong party in Congress (which he opposed) in favor of making Gen. Lee generalissimo without the previous concurrence of the President. He says some of the Georgia members declare that their State will re-enter the Union unless Lee be speedily put at the head of military affairs in the field--he being the only man possessing the unlimited confidence of the people. I agreed with him that the President ought to be approached in a proper manner, and freely consulted, before any action such as he indicated; and I told him that a letter from Gen. Beauregard, dated 6th of December, to the President, if ever published, would exculpate the latter from all blame for the march (unopposed) of Sherman through Georgia. Col. Baylor, whom the President designated the other day as the proper man to raise troops in New Mexico, Arizona, Lower California and in Mexico, is the same man who invited the Indians to a council in 1861, to receive presents, whisky, etc., and then ordered them, men, women, and children, to be _slaughtered_. Even Mr. Randolph revolted at such conduct. But now the government must employ him. The rotund Mr. Hunter is rolling about actively to-day, hunting for more news. His cheeks, though fat, are flat and emaciated--for he sees affairs in a desperate condition, and he has much to lose. JANUARY 9TH.--Bright, clear, and cold. It is said the government depot at Charlotte, N. C., has been burned (accidentally), consuming a large amount of corn. We have nothing further of the movement of Grant's troops. We have Hood's acknowledgment of defeat, and loss of 50 guns before Nashville. The papers contain the proceedings of a meeting in Savannah, over which the Mayor presided, embracing the terms of submission offered in President Lincoln's message. They have sent North for provisions--indicating that the city was in a famishing condition. Our government is to blame for this! The proceedings will be used as a "form," probably, by other cities--thanks to the press! The _Examiner_ is out this morning for a convention of all the (Confederate) States, and denouncing the President. I presume the object is to put Lee at the head of military affairs. The rumor of the death of Gen. Price is not confirmed. Gen. Pemberton has been relieved _here_ and sent _elsewhere_. The Piedmont Railroad has been impressed. A _secret_ act of Congress authorizes it. Miers W. Fisher writes that if the cabinet indorses the newspaper suggestions of giving up slavery and going under true monarchies, it is an invitation to refugees like himself to return to their homes, and probably some of the States will elect to return to the Union for the sake of being under a republican government, etc. He says it is understood that the Assistant Secretary often answers letters unseen by the Secretary; and if so, he can expect no answer from Mr. S., but will put the proper construction on his silence, etc. Flour is $700 per barrel to-day; meal, $80 per bushel; coal and wood, $100 per load. Does the government (alone to blame) mean to allow the rich speculators, the quartermasters, etc. to starve honest men into the Union? JANUARY 10TH.--Rained hard all night. House leaking badly! We have nothing new in the papers this morning. It is said with more confidence, however, that Butler's canal is not yet a success. Daily and nightly our cannon play upon the works, and the deep sounds in this moist weather are distinctly heard in the city. The amount of requisition for the War Department for 1865 is $670,000,000, and a deficiency of $400,000,000! Mr. Hunter had his accustomed interview with Judge Campbell this morning in quest of news, and relating to his horoscope. His face is not plump and round yet. A Mr. Lehman, a burly Jew, about thirty-five years old, got a passport to-day on the recommendation of the Secretary of the Treasury, to arrange (as agent, no doubt) for the shipment of several thousand bales of cotton, for which sterling funds are to be paid. No doubt it is important to keep the government cotton out of the hands of the enemy; and this operation seems to indicate that some fear of its loss exists. Some 40,000 bushels of corn, etc. were consumed at Charlotte, N. C., the other day. A heavy loss! Both the army and the people will feel it. There seems already to exist the preliminary symptoms of panic and anarchy in the government. All the dignitaries wear gloomy faces; and this is a gloomy day--raining incessantly. A blue day--a miserable day! The city council put up the price of gas yesterday to $50 per 1000 feet. JANUARY 11TH.--Clear and pleasant. Cannon heard down the river. Mr. E. A. Pollard, taken by the Federals in an attempt to run the blockade last spring, has returned, and reports that Gen. Butler has been relieved of his command--probably for his failure to capture Wilmington. Mr. Pollard says that during his captivity he was permitted, on parole, to visit the Northern cities, and he thinks the Northern conscription will ruin the war party. But, alas! the lax policy inaugurated by Mr. Benjamin, and continued by every succeeding Secretary of War, enables the enemy to obtain information of all our troubles and all our vulnerable points. The United States can get recruits under the conviction that there will be little or no more fighting. Some $40,000 worth of provisions, belonging to speculators, but marked for a naval bureau and the Mining and Niter Bureau, have been seized at Danville. This is well--if it be not too late. A letter from Mr. Trenholm, Secretary of the Treasury, to Mr. Wagner, Charleston, S. C. (sent over for approval), appoints him agent to proceed to Augusta, etc., with authority to buy all the cotton for the government, at $1 to $1.25 per pound; and then sell it for sterling bills of exchange to certain parties, giving them permission _to remove it within the enemy's lines_; or "better still," to have it shipped abroad on government account by _reliable_ parties. This indicates a purpose to die "full-handed," if the government _must_ die, and to defeat the plans of the enemy to get the cotton. Is the Federal _Government_ a party to this arrangement? Gold was $60 for one yesterday. I suppose there is no change to-day. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary, returned to his room to-day, mine not suiting him. Col. Sale, Gen. Bragg's military secretary, told me to-day that the general would probably return from Wilmington soon. His plan for filling the ranks by renovating the whole conscription system, will, he fears, slumber until it is too late, when ruin will overtake us! If the President would only put Bragg at the head of the conscription business--_and in time_--we might be saved. JANUARY 12TH.--Bright and frosty. Gold at $66 for one yesterday, at auction. Major R. J. Echols, Quartermaster, Charlotte, N. C., says the fire there destroyed 70,000 bushels of grain, a large amount of sugar, molasses, clothing, blankets, etc. He knows not whether it was the result of design or accident. All his papers were consumed. A part of Conner's brigade on the way to South Carolina, 500 men, under Lieut.-Col. Wallace, refused to aid in saving property, but plundered it! This proves that the soldiers were all poor men, the rich having bought exemptions or details! Gen. Lee writes on the 8th instant, that the troops sailing out of James River are, he thinks, destined for another attack on Wilmington. But none have left the lines in front of him, etc. Gen. Lee also writes on the 9th instant, that the commissary agents have established "a large traffic through our lines, in North Carolina, for supplies;" and he desires the press to say nothing on the subject. Mr. Ould, to whom it appears the Secretary has written for his opinion (he was editor once, and fought a duel with Jennings Wise, Mr. Seddon being his second), gives a very bad one on the condition of affairs. He says the people have confidence in Mr. _Seddon_, but not in President _Davis_, and a strong reconstruction party will spring up in Virginia rather than adopt the President's ideas about the slaves, etc. The Chief of the Treasury Note Bureau, at Columbia, S. C., asks where he shall fly to if the enemy approaches. It is understood one of our generals, when appealed to by the Secretary, exclaimed: "To the devil!" Mr. Miles introduced a resolution yesterday (in Congress) affirming that for any State to negotiate peace is _revolutionary_. _Ill timed, because self-evident._ Gen. Bradley T. Johnson writes from Salisbury, N. C., that because the travel hither has been suspended by the government, the Central Railroad Company of that State _refuse_ to send the full amount of trains for the transportation of soldiers. It must be impressed too. I am assured by one of the President's special detectives that Francis P. Blair, Sr. is truly in this city. What for? A rumor spreads that Richmond is to be evacuated. Gen. Lee writes for the Secretary's sanction to send officers everywhere in Virginia and North Carolina, to collect provisions and to control railroads, etc. The Secretary is sending orders to different commanders, and says _he_ would rather have the odium than that it should fall on Lee! The Commissary General approves Lee's measure. Gen. Lee's dispatch was dated last night. He says he has not _two days'_ rations for his army! Commissary-General Northrop writes to the Secretary that the hour of emergency is upon us, and that Gen. Lee's name may "save the cause," if he proclaims the necessity of indiscriminate impressment, etc. JANUARY 13TH.--Clear and pleasant--but little frost. Beef (what little there is in market) sells to-day at $6 per pound; meal, $80 per bushel; white beans, $5 per quart, or $160 per bushel. And yet Congress is fiddling over stupid abstractions! The government will awake speedily, however; and after Congress hurries through its business (when roused), the adjournment of that body will speedily ensue. But will the President dismiss his cabinet in time to save Richmond, Virginia, and the cause? That is the question. He can easily manage Congress, by a few letters from Gen. Lee. But will the potency of his cabinet feed Lee's army? A great panic still prevails in the city, arising from rumors of contemplated evacuation. If it should be evacuated, the greater portion of the inhabitants will remain, besides many of the employees of government and others liable to military service, unless they be forced away. But how can they be fed? The government cannot feed, sufficiently, the men already in the field. Everybody is conjecturing what Mr. Blair has proposed; but no one expects relief from his mission, if indeed he be clothed with diplomatic powers--which I doubt. The President, I believe, is calm, relying upon the loyalty of his cabinet. But he is aware of the crisis; and I think his great reliance is on Gen. Lee, and herein he agrees with the people. What will be the issue of the present exigency, God only knows! I believe there is a project on foot to borrow flour, etc. from citizens for Gen. Lee's army. Many officers and men from the army are in the city to-day, confirming the reports of suffering for food in the field. There is a rumor that Goldsborough has been taken. Mr. Secretary Seddon is appointing men in the various districts of the city to hunt up speculators and flour; appointing such men as W. H. McFarland and others, who aspire to office by the suffrages of the people. _They_ will not offend the speculators and hoarders by taking much flour from them. No--domiciliary visits with _bayonets_ alone will suffice. Of thirty Federal deserters sent to work on the fortifications of Lynchburg, all but four ran away. It is understood that the President announced to Congress to-day the arrest of the Hon. H. S. Foote, member of that body, near Fredericksburg, while attempting to pass into the enemy's lines. This, then, may have been Capt. Norton's secret mission; and I believe the government had traps set for him at other places of egress. Meantime the enemy _came in_ at Savannah. This is considered the President's foible--a triumph over a political or personal enemy will occupy his attention and afford more delight than an ordinary victory over the common enemy. Most men will say Mr. Foote should have been permitted to go--if he desired it. JANUARY 14TH.--Cloudy and cool. The news that Goldsborough, N. C., had been taken is not confirmed. Nor have we intelligence of the renewal of the assault on Fort Fisher--but no one doubts it. The government sent pork, butchered and salted a few weeks ago, to the army. An order has been issued to borrow, buy, or impress flour, wherever found; but our _political_ functionaries will see that it be not executed. The rich hoarders may control votes hereafter, when they may be candidates, etc. If domiciliary visits were made, many thousands of barrels of flour would be found. The speculators have not only escaped hitherto, but they have been exempted besides. The Assembly of Virginia passed a resolution yesterday, calling upon the President to have revoked any orders placing restrictions upon the transportation of provisions to Richmond and Petersburg. The President sends this to the Secretary, asking a copy of any orders _preventing carts from coming to market_. Flour is $1000 per barrel to-day! F. P. Blair, Sr., has been here several days, the guest of Mr. Ould, agent of exchange. He left this morning for Grant's lines below the city. I saw him in an open carriage with Mr. Ould, going down Main Street. He looks no _older_ than he did twenty years ago. Many consider Ould a fortunate man, though he is represented as a loser in the war. Blair seemed struck by the great number of able-bodied men in the streets. Major Maynard, Quartermaster, says he will be able next week to bring 120 cords of wood to the city daily. If Richmond be relinquished, it ought to be by convention and capitulation, getting the best possible terms for the citizens; and not by evacuation, leaving them at the mercy of the invaders. Will our authorities think of this? Doubtful. One of the President's pages told me to-day that Mr. Blair had several interviews with the President at the latter's residence. Nothing relating to _propositions_ has transpired. The clerks are again sending out agents to purchase supplies. The President has decided that such agents have no right to expend any money but that contributed. This hits the Assistant Secretary of War, and Mr. Kean, Chief of Bureau, and our agent, Mr. Peck, for whom so many barrels of flour were purchased by the latter as agent, leaving the greater part of the contribution unexpended; nay, more, the money has not _yet_ been refunded, although contributed five months ago! Some 700 barrels of flour were realized yesterday for the army. JANUARY 15TH.--Clear and frosty. Guns heard down the river. Dispatches came last night for ammunition--to Wilmington, I believe. We have nothing yet decisive from Fort Fisher, but I fear it will fall. Mr. Hunter was in the Secretary's office this morning before the Secretary came. I could give him no news from Wilmington. He is much distressed; but if the enemy prevails, I have no doubt he will stipulate saving terms for Virginia. He cannot contemplate the ruin of his fortune; political ruin is quite as much as he can bear. Always at the elbow of the Secretary, he will have timely notice of any fatal disaster. He is too fat to run, too heavy to swim, and therefore must provide some other means of escape. Last night and early this morning the Jews and others were busy, with hand-carts and wheelbarrows, removing barrels of flour from the center to the outskirts of the city, fearful of impressment. They need not fear. I have enough flour, meal, and beans (black) to subsist my family two weeks. After that, I look to the kind Providence which has hitherto always fed us. It is now rumored that Mr. Blair came to negotiate terms for the capitulation of Richmond, and that none were listened to. Better that, if it must fall, than be given up to pillage and the flames. If burning our cities had been the order in 1862, it might have been well; it is too late now! JANUARY 16TH.--Clear and frosty. We learn vaguely that the attack on the defenses of Wilmington has been progressing since Friday, and that the enemy's land forces have effected a lodgment between Fort Fisher and the town. Another "peace" visitor has arrived--Hon. Mr. Singleton, of the United States Congress. It is _said_ that the President (Confederate States) has pledged himself to appoint commissioners to fix terms of peace. This is but a forlorn-hope. No terms of peace are contemplated by any of these visitors but on the basis of reconstruction; and their utmost liberality could reach no further than a permission for the Southern States to decide, in convention, the question of emancipation. The President having suggested, however, the propriety of putting the negroes into the service, and emancipating them afterward, has aroused the fears and suspicions of many of the people; and but few have confidence in the integrity of the Secretary of State. Hence the universal gloom and despondency of the croakers. There may be difficulty in replenishing the Federal armies, and they may be depleted by spring; and if so, Gen. Lee may be able to make another grand campaign with the men and material now at his command. The issue of the next campaign may inaugurate _real_ negotiations. Wilmington may be taken, blockade-running may cease; but we have ammunition and other stores for another campaign. At last we have a dispatch from Gen. Lee, announcing the fall of Fort Fisher. Most of the garrison, supposed to be 1500, were taken. Gold was $70 for $1 on Saturday: what will it be to-day or to-morrow? A voluminous correspondence is going on between Mr. Conrad (secret agent to arrest disloyal men endeavoring to cross the Potomac) and Mr. Secretary Seddon. Mr. Foote, arrested by their great skill, has applied, indignantly, for a writ of _habeas corpus_. Thus the time of our _great_ dignitaries is consumed removing molehills, while mountains are looming up everywhere. The following dispatch was received here at 11 A.M. to-day from Gen. Bragg's A. D. C.: "January 15th, 1865.--Official information from Gen. Whiting, at Fort Fisher, up to 8 o'clock this evening, reports enemy's attack on fort unsuccessful. Fresh troops are being sent to him." This does not agree with the dispatch from Gen. Lee. It must have been taken _last_ night, and after the hour indicated. Gen. Lee certainly says it has fallen. It is gone, and I fear the "reinforcements" also--with Gen. Whiting "to boot." Alas for Bragg the unfortunate! He seems to be another BOABDIL the Unlucky. Dr. Woodbridge announced in the Monumental Church, yesterday, that only five ladies had responded to the call to knit socks for the soldiers! A _rich_ congregation, too. My daughters (poor) were among the five, and handed him several pairs. They sent one pair to their cousin S. Custis, Clingman's brigade, Hoke's North Carolina division. Mr. Lewis, disbursing clerk of Post-Office Department, has sent in a communication asking an investigation of the conduct of Mr. Peck, agent to buy supplies for clerks. What will Mr. Seddon do now? The Commissary-General says 100,000 bushels corn for Lee's army may be got in Southwest Virginia. JANUARY 17TH.--Cloudy, and spitting snow. Mr. Foote's release from custody has been ordered by Congress. The news of the fall of Wilmington, and the cessation of importations at that port, falls upon the ears of the community with stunning effect. Again we have a rumor of the retirement of Mr. Seddon. There are more rumors of revolution, and even of displacement of the President by Congress, and investiture of Gen. Lee. It is said the President has done something, recently, which Congress will not tolerate. Idle talk! Mr. Foote, when arrested, was accompanied by his wife, who had a passport to Tennessee. He said to the Provost Marshal, Doggett, Fredericksburg, that he intended to accompany his family, passing through Washington, and to endeavor to negotiate a peace. He deposited a resignation of his seat in Congress with a friend, which he withdrew upon being arrested. He was arrested and detained "until further orders," by command of the Secretary of War. Lieut.-Gen. Hood has been relieved, and ordered to report here. The rumor gains belief that Gen. Breckinridge has been offered the portfolio of the War Department by the President. This may be the act alluded to which Congress will not agree to, perhaps, on the ground that Gen. B. remained in the United States Senate long after secession. The general is understood to be staying at G. A. Myers's house, which adds strength to the rumor, for Myers has a keen scent for the sources of power and patronage. The Surgeon-General states that, during the years 1862 and 1863, there were 1,600,000 cases of disease in hospitals and in the field, with only 74,000 deaths. There have been 23,000 discharges from the armies since the war began. The Provost Marshal at Fredericksburg telegraphs that his scouts report the enemy have arrested Mrs. Foote, and threaten to rescue Mr. Foote. The Secretary and the President concur in ordering his discharge. The President says that will not be permission for him to pass our lines. He will come here, I suppose. Mentioning to R. Tyler the fact that many of the clerks, etc. of the War Department favored revolution and the overthrow of the President, he replied that it was a known fact, and that some of them would be hung soon. He feared Mr. Hunter was a submissionist. The Northern papers say Mr. _G. B. Lamar_ has applied to take the oath of allegiance, to save his cotton and other property. The _Examiner_ to-day has another article calling for a convention to abolish the Constitution and remove President Davis. Mr. Seward, United States Secretary of State, escorted Mrs. Foote to her hotel, upon her arrival in Washington. The following official telegram was received at the War Department last night: "HEADQUARTERS, January 15th, 1865. "HON. J. A. SEDDON. "Gen. Early reports that Gen. Rosser, at the head of three hundred men, surprised and captured the garrison at Beverly, Randolph County, on the 11th instant, killing and wounding a considerable number and taking five hundred and eighty prisoners. His loss slight. R. E. LEE." JANUARY 18TH.--Cloudy and cool. Cannon heard down the river. No war news. But blockade-running at Wilmington has ceased; and common calico, now at $25 per yard, will soon be $50. The stupor in official circles continues, and seems likely to continue. A secret detective told the Assistant Secretary, yesterday, that a certain member of Congress was uttering treasonable language; and, for his pains, was told that matters of that sort (pertaining to members of Congress) did not fall within his (detective's) jurisdiction. It is the policy now not to _agitate_ the matter of disloyalty, but rather to wink at it, and let it die out--if it will; if it _won't_, I suppose the government must take its chances, whatever they may be. Breckinridge, it is now said, will not be Secretary of War: the position which Mr. Seddon is willing to abandon, cannot be desirable. And Northrop, Commissary-General, is still held by the President, contrary to the wishes of the whole Confederacy. Flour is $1250 per barrel, to-day. A detective reports that one of the committee (Mr. Mc------?) selected by Mr. Secretary Seddon to hunt up flour for Gen. Lee's army, has a large number of barrels secreted in his own dwelling! But they must not be touched. Gen. Lee writes that he thinks the crisis (starvation in the army) past. Good. In South Carolina we hear of public meetings of submission, etc. JANUARY 19TH.--Clear and frosty. Among the rumors, it would appear that the Senate in secret session has passed a resolution making Lee generalissimo. It is again said Mr. Seddon will resign, and be followed by Messrs. Benjamin and Mallory, etc. The following dispatch was received by the President yesterday: "TUPELO, MISS., January 17th, 1865.--Roddy's brigade (cav.) is useless as at present located by the War Department. I desire authority to dispose of it to the best advantage, according to circumstances.--G. T. BEAUREGARD, _General_." The President sends it to the Secretary of War with this indorsement: "On each occasion, when this officer has been sent with his command to distant service, serious calamity to Alabama has followed. It is desirable to know what disposition Gen. Beauregard proposes to make of this force.--J. D." We have nothing further from Wilmington. Bad enough. Sherman is said to be marching on Charleston. Bad enough, too! Our papers have glowing accounts of the good treatment the citizens of Savannah received from the enemy. Mr. Foote has arrived in the city--and it is said he will take his seat in Congress to-day. Gen. Whiting and Col. Lamb were taken at Fort Fisher--both wounded, it is said--and 1000 of the garrison. Mr. Peck paid back to the clerks to-day the unexpended balance of their contributions for supplies, etc. The money is not worth half its value some months ago. But Mr. P. secured ten barrels of flour for himself and as many more for the Assistant Secretary, Mr. Kean, etc. etc. One o'clock P.M. The day has grown dark and cold, indicating snow, and a dismal gloom rests upon the faces of the increasing party of croakers. We have famine, owing to the incapacity of the government, and the rapacity of speculators. Wood, however, is coming in, but it is only for _military_ officers, etc. No one can live on wood. Gold is $70 for $1, and meal about $100 per bushel. The House of Representatives (in secret session) has passed the Senate joint resolution creating the office of commander-in-chief (for Gen. Lee), and recommending that Gen. Johnston be reinstated, etc. It passed by a vote of 62 to 14. What will result from this? Is it not a condemnation of the President and the administration that displaced Gen. J., etc.? Who will resign? _Nous verrons!_ JANUARY 20TH.--Clear and cold. No news--that is bad news. Nothing has transpired officially of the events and details near Wilmington, but there is a rumor, exaggerated perhaps, of the fall of Wilmington itself. No doubt Sherman is marching on Charleston, and if there be no battle soon, it is feared he will take the city without one. Mr. Foote made a speech in Congress yesterday--a savage one, I am told. Going home yesterday at 3 o'clock, I met Mr. Foote, and told him what I had heard. He said he could have wished me to hear every word of it. I asked if it would not be printed. He held up a roll of manuscript, saying he had written it in full, and that it would certainly be published. The papers say in their brief reports, that he disavowed all ideas of reconstruction. After he left the House, one of the Missouri members offered a resolution for his expulsion, on the ground that he had, unlawfully, attempted to pass into the enemy's lines, for the purpose of negotiating a peace, etc. It was referred to the Committee on Elections. After this a resolution was introduced, that a joint committee be appointed to prepare an address, etc., solemnly declaring that the war shall be waged until independence be achieved, etc. Such addresses have been repeatedly made, and at last seem to have a demoralizing effect. People remember how many test votes were taken in the Virginia Convention, showing that the State never would secede--and at length the Convention passed an ordinance of secession! Nothing can save this government long but military successes, and these depend upon having the slave and other property owners in the field. This can never be done without a renovation of the machinery used to fill up the ranks. The President is calm. Some think him subdued. A few days or weeks will determine. Gen. Howell Cobb writes his views, etc. Utterly opposed to arming the slaves--better emancipate them at once, conceding to the "_demands of England and France_," and then enlist them. But he thinks a return to the system of volunteering would answer to fill the ranks with white men; also suggests that the President concede something to popular sentiment--restore Gen. J. E. Johnston, etc. He says gloom and despair are fast settling on the people. J. P. McLean, Greensborough, N. C., in response to the request of Mr. Secretary Seddon, gives information of the existence of many Union men in that section, and suggests sudden death to ---- etc. The Secretary _is diligent_ in getting such information; but lately it seems he never applies the remedy. Mr. Secretary Seddon thinks Mr. Peck's explanation of his purchasing satisfactory; the Assistant Secretary, Chief of Bureau of War, and Mr. Seddon's private clerk got an abundance of flour, etc. Major Harman, Staunton, says provisions cannot be had in that section to feed Early's army, unless one-fourth of all produce be bought at market prices, and the people go on half rations. The _slaves_ everywhere are on _full_ rations. JANUARY 21ST.--A dark, cold, sleety day, with rain. Troopers and scouts from the army have icicles hanging from their hats and caps, and their clothes covered with frost, and dripping. The _Examiner_ this morning says very positively that Mr. Secretary Seddon has resigned. Not a word about Messrs. Benjamin and Mallory--yet. The recent action of Congress is certainly a vote of censure, with great unanimity. It is said Congress, in secret session, has decreed the purchase of all the cotton and tobacco! The stable locked after the horse is gone! If it had been done in 1861---- Mr. Secretary Trenholm is making spasmodic efforts to mend the currency--selling cotton and tobacco to foreign (Yankee) agents for gold and sterling bills, and buying Treasury notes at the market depreciation. For a moment he has reduced the price of gold from $80 to $50 for $1; but the flood will soon overwhelm all opposition, sweeping every obstruction away. The Federal papers say they got 2500 prisoners at Fort Fisher. It is said the President refuses to accept Mr. Seddon's resignation. A rumor has sprung up to the effect that Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, has also resigned. If this be so, it will soon produce a great commotion among detailed and exempted men all over the country. Rumors fly thick these dark days. It is a good time, however, for some to resign. The President has need even of incompetent men, and may beg them to remain, etc., and thus they are flattered. But if they really feel that the ship is sinking, they will endeavor to jump ashore, notwithstanding the efforts made to retain them. And then, if the ship should _not_ sink, manned by different men! I hear nothing more about Gen. Breckinridge as Mr. Seddon's successor, but he is the guest of the old lawyer, G. A. Myers; and it is not probable he is bestowing his bread and meat, in such times as these, _for nothing_. He has made a fortune, and knows how to increase it--and even Gen. B. would never be the wiser. We have at last a letter from Gen. Hood, narrating the battle of Franklin, Tenn. He says he lost about 4500 men--enemy's loss not stated. Failure of Gen. Cheatham to execute an order the day before, prevented him from routing the enemy. His account of the battle of Nashville I have not yet seen--but know enough about it. Both the Secretary and his Assistant have been pretty constantly engaged, for some time past, in granting passports beyond our lines, and generally into those of the enemy. Congress has passed an act allowing reserve forces to be ordered anywhere. Upon the heels of this, Governor Smith notifies the Secretary of War that the two regiments of second class militia here, acting with the reserves, shall no longer be under the orders of Gen. Kemper. He means to run a tilt against the President, whereby Richmond may be lost! Now "Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, bark at him." JANUARY 22D.--Another day of sleet and gloom. The pavements are almost impassable from the enamel of ice; large icicles hang from the houses, and the trees are bent down with the weight of frost. The mails have failed, and there is no telegraphic intelligence, the wires being down probably. It rained very fast all day yesterday, and I apprehend the railroad bridges have been destroyed in many places. The young men (able-bodied) near the Secretary of War and the Assistant Secretary, at the War Department, say, this morning, that both have resigned. It is said the Kentucky Congressmen oppose the acceptance of the portfolio of war by Gen. Breckinridge. Whoever accepts it must reform the conscription business and the passport business, else the cause will speedily be lost. Most of our calamities may be traced to these two sources. JANUARY 23D.--Foggy, and raining. F. P. Blair is here again. If enemies are permitted to exist in the political edifice, there is danger of a crash. This weather, bad news, etc. etc. predispose both the people and the army for _peace_--while the papers are filled with accounts of the _leniency_ of Sherman at Savannah, and his forbearance to interfere with the slaves. The enemy cannot take care of the negroes--and to feed them in idleness would produce a famine North and South. Emancipation now is physically impossible. Where is the surplus food to come from to feed 4,000,000 idle non-producers? It is said by the press that Mr. Seddon resigned because the Virginia Congressmen expressed in some way a want of confidence in the cabinet. But Mr. Hunter was in the Secretary's office early this morning, and may prevail on him to withdraw his resignation again, or to hold on until ---- all is accomplished. Gen. Breckinridge, it is said, requires the removal of Northrop, before his acceptance. Gen. Bragg is also named. Congress, in creating the office of a commander-in-chief, also aimed a blow at Bragg's staff; and this may decide the President to appoint him Secretary of War. A long letter came to-day from Governor Brown, dated Macon, Ga., Jan. 6th, 1865, in reply to a long one from the Secretary of War, filled with criminations and recriminations, and a flat refusal to yield the old men and boys in State service, in obedience to the call of the "usurping" and "despotic" demand of the Confederate States Executive. Georgia trembles, and may topple over any day! Mr. Blair's return has excited many vague hopes--among the rest, even of recognition by the United States Government! Yet many, very many croakers, weary of the war, would acquiesce in reconstruction, if they might save their property. Vain hopes. It is rumored that a commissioner (a Louisianian) sailed to-day for England, to make overtures to that government. The government has ordered the military authorities at Augusta, Ga. (Jan. 21), to remove or burn _all_ the cotton in that town if it is likely to be occupied by the enemy. Senator Hunter sends a letter to Mr. Seddon which he has just received from Randolph Dickinson, Camp 57th Virginia, stating that it is needful to inaugurate negotiations for the best possible terms without delay, as the army, demoralized and crumbling, cannot be relied upon to do more fighting, etc. Mr. Hunter indorses: "My dear sir, will you read the inclosed? I fear there is too much truth in it. Can't the troops be paid? "Yours most truly, R. M. T. HUNTER." JANUARY 24TH.--Clear and cool. It is now said Mr. Seddon's resignation has not yet been accepted, and that his friends are urging the President to persuade him to remain. Another rumor says ex-Gov. Letcher is to be his successor, and that Mr. Benjamin has sent in his resignation. Nothing seems to be definitely settled. I wrote the President yesterday that, in my opinion, there was no ground for hope unless communication with the enemy's country were checked, and an entire change in the conscription business speedily ordered. I was sincere, and wrote plain truths, however they might be relished. It is my _birth-right_. It is said (I doubt it) that Mr. Blair left the city early yesterday. To add to the confusion and despair of the country, the Secretary of the Treasury is experimenting on the currency, ceasing to issue Treasury notes, with unsettled claims demanding liquidation to the amount of hundreds of millions. Even the clerks, almost in a starving condition, it is said will not be paid at the end of the month; and the troops have not been paid for many months; but they are fed and clothed. Mr. Trenholm will fail to raise our credit in this way; and he may be instrumental in precipitating a _crash_ of the government itself. No doubt large amounts of gold have been shipped every month to Europe from Wilmington; and the government may be now selling the money intended to go out from that port. But it will be only a drop to the ocean. The Northern papers say Mr. Blair is authorized to offer an amnesty, including all persons, with the "Union as it was, the Constitution as it is" (my old motto on the "Southern Monitor," in 1857); but gradual emancipation. No doubt some of the people here would be glad to accept this; but the President will fight more, and desperately yet, still hoping for foreign assistance. What I fear is _starvation_; and I sincerely wish my family were on the old farm on the Eastern Shore of Virginia until the next campaign is over. It is believed Gen. Grant meditates an early movement on our left--north side of the river; and many believe we are in no condition to resist him. Still, we have faith in Lee, and the President remains here. If he and the principal members of the government were captured by a sudden surprise, no doubt there would be a clamor in the North for their trial and execution! Guns have been heard to-day, and there are rumors of fighting below; that Longstreet has marched to this side of the river; that one of our gun-boats has been sunk; that Fort Harrison has been retaken; and, finally, that an armistice of ninety days has been agreed to by both governments. JANUARY 25TH.--Clear, and very cold. We lost gun-boat Drewry yesterday in an unsuccessful attempt to destroy the enemy's pontoon bridge down the river. Fort Harrison was not taken as reported, nor is it likely to be. The rumor of an armistice remains, nevertheless, and Mr. Blair dined with the President on _Sunday_, and has had frequent interviews with him. This is published in the papers, and will cause the President to be severely censured. Congress failed to expel Mr. Foote yesterday (he is off again), not having a two-thirds vote, but censured him by a decided majority. What will it end in? No successors yet announced to Seddon and Campbell--Secretary and Assistant Secretary of War. Perhaps they can be persuaded to remain. After all, it appears that our fleet did not return, but remains down the river; and as the enemy's gun-boats have been mostly sent to North Carolina, Gen. Lee may give Grant some trouble. If he destroys the bridges, the Federal troops on this side the river will be cut off from their main army. It is said the President has signed the bill creating a commander-in-chief. Rev. W. Spottswood Fontaine writes from Greensborough, N. C., that ---- reports that Senator Hunter is in favor of Virginia negotiating a separate peace with the United States, as the other States will probably abandon her to her fate, etc. I saw Mr. Lyons to-day, who told me Mr. Hunter dined with him yesterday, and that Gen. Lee took tea with him last evening, and seemed in good spirits, hope, etc. Mr. Lyons thinks Gen. Lee was always a thorough emancipationist. He owns no slaves. He (Mr. Lyons) thinks that using the negroes in the war will be equivalent to universal emancipation, that not a slave will remain after the President's idea (which he don't seem to condemn) is expanded and reduced to practice. He favors sending out a commissioner to Europe for aid, on the basis of emancipation, etc., as a dernier ressort. He thinks our cause has received most injury from Congress, of which he is no longer a member. If it be really so, and if it were generally known, that Gen. Lee is, and always has been opposed to slavery, how soon would his great popularity vanish like the mist of the morning! Can it be possible that _he_ has influenced the President's mind on this subject? Did he influence the mind of his father-in-law, G. W. Park Custis, to emancipate his hundreds of slaves? Gen. Lee would have been heir to all, as his wife was an only child. There's some mistake about it. The Secretary of State (still there!) informs the Secretary of War (still here!) that the gold he wrote about to the President on the 18th inst. for Gen. Hardee and for Mr. Conrad, is ready and subject to his order. _Four_ steamers have run into Charleston with a large amount of commissary stores. This is providential. JANUARY 26TH.--Clear and cold. No further news from the iron-clad fleet that went down the river. Beef is selling at $8 per pound this morning; wood at $150 per cord. Major Maynard, instead of bringing 120, gets in but 30 or 40 cords per day. I am out of wood, and must do my little cooking in the parlor with the coal in the grate. This is famine! Congress passed a bill a few days ago increasing the number of midshipmen, and allowing _themselves_ to appoint a large proportion of them. Yesterday the President vetoed the bill, he alone, by the Constitution, being authorized to make all appointments. But the Senate immediately repassed it over the veto--only three votes in the negative. Thus the war progresses! And Mr. Hunter was one of the three. The President, in reply to a committee of the State Legislature, says Gen. Lee has always refused to accept the command of all the armies unless he could relinquish the immediate command of the Army of Northern Virginia defending the capital; and that he is and ever has been willing to bestow larger powers on Gen. Lee; but he would not accept them. This makes me doubt whether the President has signed the bill creating a commander-in-chief. It is _said again_, that Commissary-General Northrop has resigned. Doubtful. Still, there are no beggars in the streets, except a few women of foreign or Northern birth. What a people! If our affairs were managed properly, subjugation would be utterly impossible. But all the statesmen of the years preceding the war have been, somehow, "ruled out" of positions, and wield no influence, unless it be a vengeful one in private. Where are the patriots of the decade between 1850 and 1860? "Echo answers where?" Who is responsible for their absence? A fearful responsibility! Gold is _quoted_ at $35 for $1--illusory! Perhaps worse. The statistics furnished by my son Custis of the military strength of the Confederate States, and ordered by the President to be preserved on file in the department, seems to have attracted the attention of Mr. Assistant Secretary Campbell, and elicited a long indorsement, saying a calculation of the number of casualties of war was not made--all this _after_ the paper was sent in by the President. But the estimate _was_ made, and included in the reduction from the 800,000, leaving 600,000. Judge C thinks 200,000 have been killed, 50,000 permanently disabled, and 55,000 are prisoners; still 500,000 availables would be left. Custis has drafted, and will send to the President, a bill establishing a Corps of Honor, with a view to excite emulation and to popularize the service, now sadly needed. JANUARY 27TH.--Clear, and coldest morning of the winter. None but the rich speculators and quartermaster and commissary peculators have a supply of food and fuel. Much suffering exists in the city; and prices are indeed fabulous, notwithstanding the efforts of the Secretary of the Treasury and the press to bring down the premium on gold. Many fear the high members of the government have turned brokers and speculators, and are robbing the country--making friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, against the day of wrath which they see approaching. The idea that Confederate States notes are improving in value, when every commodity, even wood and coal, daily increases in price, is very absurd! The iron-clad fleet returned, without accomplishing anything--losing one gun-boat and having some fifteen killed and wounded. The lower house of Congress failed yesterday to pass the Midshipman bill over the President's veto--though a majority was against the President. It is said, and published in the papers, that Mrs. Davis threw her arms around Mr. Blair and embraced him. This, too, is injurious to the President. My wood-house was broken into last night, and two (of the nine) sticks of wood taken. Wood is selling at $5 a stick this cold morning; mercury at zero. A broker told me that he had an order (from government) to sell gold at $35 for $1. But that is not the market price. It is believed (by some credulous people) that Gen. J. E. Johnston will command the army in Virginia, and that Lee will reside here and be commander-in-chief. I doubt. The clamor for Gen. J. seems to be the result of a _political_ combination. Mr. Hunter came to the department to-day almost in a run. He is excited. Lieut.-Gen. Hardee, of Charleston, 26th (yesterday), dispatches to the Secretary that he has received an order from Gen. Cooper (Adjutant-General) for the return of the 15th Regiment and 10th Battalion North Carolina troops to North Carolina. He says these are nearly the only regular troops he has to defend the line of the Combahee--the rest being reserves, disaffected at being detained out of their States. The withdrawal may cause the loss of the State line, and great disaster, etc. etc. Official statement of Gen. Hood's losses shows 66 guns, 13,000 small arms, etc. The report says the army was saved by sacrificing transportation; and but for this the losses would have been nothing. JANUARY 28TH.--Clear and very cold; can't find a thermometer in the city. The President _did_ sign the bill creating a general-in-chief, and depriving Gen. Bragg of his staff. Major-Gen. Jno. C. Breckinridge _has_ been appointed Secretary of War. May our success be greater hereafter! Gen. Lee has sent a letter from Gen. Imboden, exposing the wretched management of the Piedmont Railroad, and showing that salt and corn, in "immense quantity," have been daily left piled in the mud and water, and exposed to rain, etc., while the army has been starving. Complaints and representations of this state of things have been made repeatedly. Gold sold at $47 for one at auction yesterday. Mr. Hunter was seen early this morning running (almost) toward the President's office, to pick up news. He and Breckinridge were old rivals in the United States. The _Enquirer_ seems in favor of listening to Blair's propositions. Judge Campbell thinks Gen. Breckinridge will not make a good Secretary of War, as he is not a man of small _details_. I hope he is not going to indulge in so many of them as the judge and Mr. Seddon have done, else all is lost! The judge's successor will be recommended soon to the new Secretary. There will be applicants enough, even if the ship of State were visibly going down. Although it is understood that Gen. Breckinridge has been confirmed by the Senate, he has not yet taken his seat in the department. The President has issued a proclamation for the observance of Friday, March 10th, as a day of "fasting, humiliation, and prayer, with thanksgiving," in pursuance of a resolution of Congress. It seems that Virginia, Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee will not be represented in the cabinet; this may breed trouble, and we have trouble enough, in all conscience. It is said Mr. Blair has returned again to Richmond--third visit. Can there be war brewing between the United States and England or France? We shall know all soon. Or have propositions been made _on our part_ for reconstruction? There are many smiling faces in the streets, betokening a profound desire for peace. JANUARY 29TH.--Clear, and moderating. To-day at 10 A.M. three commissioners start for Washington on a mission of peace, which may be possibly attained. They are Vice-President Stephens, Senator R. M. T. Hunter, and James A. Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, and formerly a judge on the bench of the Supreme Court of the United States, all of them heartily sick of war, and languishing for peace. If _they_ cannot devise a mode of putting an end to the war, none can. Of course they have the instructions of the President, with his ultimata, etc., but they will strive earnestly for peace. What terms may be expected? Not independence, unless the United States may be on the eve of embarking in a foreign war, and in that event that government will require all the resources it can command, and they would not be ample if the war should continue to be prosecuted against us. Hence it would be policy to hasten a peace with us, stipulating for valuable commercial advantages, being the first to recognize us over all other powers, hoping to restore the old trade, and _ultimately_ to reconstruct the Union. Or it may proceed from intimations of a purpose on the part of France and England to recognize us, which, of itself, would lead inevitably to war. The refusal of the United States to recognize the Empire of Mexico is an offense to France, and the augmentation of the armament of the lakes, etc. is an offense to England. Besides, if it were possible to subjugate us, it would be only killing the goose that lays the golden egg, for the Southern trade would be destroyed, and the Northern people are a race of manufacturers and merchants. If the war goes on, 300,000 men must be immediately detailed in the United States, and their heavy losses heretofore are now sorely felt. We have no alternative but to fight on, they have the option of ceasing hostilities. And we have suffered so much that almost any treaty, granting us independence, will be accepted by the people. All the commissioners must guard against is any appearance of a PROTECTORATE on the part of the United States. If the _honor_ of the Southern people be saved, they will not haggle about material losses. If negotiations fail, our people will receive a new impulse for the war, and great will be the slaughter. Every one will feel and know that these commissioners sincerely desired an end of hostilities. Two, perhaps all of them, even look upon eventual reconstruction without much repugnance, so that slavery be preserved. JANUARY 30TH.--Bright and beautiful, but quite cold; skating in the basin, etc. The departure of the commissioners has produced much speculation. The enemy's fleet has gone, it is supposed to Sherman at Charleston. No doubt the Government of the United States imagines the "rebellion" _in articulo mortis_, and supposes the reconstruction of the Union a very practicable thing, and the men selected as our commissioners may confirm the belief. They can do nothing, of course, if independence is the ultimatum given them. Among the rumors now current, it is stated that the French Minister at Washington has demanded his passports. Mr. Lincoln's message, in December, certainly gave Napoleon grounds for a quarrel by ignoring his empire erected in Mexico. Mr. Seddon still awaits his successor. He has removed Col. and Lieut.-Col. Ruffin from office. Mr. Bruce, M. C. from Kentucky, and brother-in-law to Mr. Seddon, is named as Commissary-General. The President has vetoed another bill, granting the privilege to soldiers to receive papers free of postage, and the Senate has passed it again by a two-thirds vote. Thus the breach widens. Some of our sensible men have strong hopes of peace immediately, on terms of alliance against European powers, and commercial advantages to the United States. I hope for even this for the sake of repose and independence, if we come off with honor. We owe nothing to any of the European governments. What has Blair been running backward and forward so often for between the two Presidents? Has it not been clearly stated that independence alone will content us? Blair _must_ have understood this, and made it known to _his_ President. Then what else but independence, on some terms, could be the basis for _further_ conference? I believe our people would, for the sake of independence, agree to an alliance offensive and defensive with the United States, and agree to furnish an army of volunteers in the event of a war with France or England. The President has stigmatized the affected neutrality of those powers in one of his annual messages. Still, such a treaty would be unpopular after a term of peace with the United States. If the United States be upon the eve of war with France and England, or either of them, our commissioners abroad will soon have proposals from those governments, which would be accepted, if the United States did not act speedily. JANUARY 31ST.--Bright and frosty. The "peace commissioners" remained Sunday night at Petersburg, and proceeded on their way yesterday morning. As they passed our lines, our troops cheered them very heartily, and when they reached the enemy's lines, they were cheered more vociferously than ever. Is not this an evidence of a mutual desire for peace? Yesterday, Mr. De Jarnette, of Virginia, introduced in Congress a resolution intimating a disposition on the part of our government to unite with the United States in vindication of the "Monroe doctrine," _i.e._ expulsion of monarchies established on this continent by European powers. This aims at France, and to aid our commissioners in their endeavors to divert the blows of the United States from us to France. The resolution was referred to the Committee on Foreign Relations. If there be complication with France, the United States may accept our overtures of alliance, and our people and government will acquiesce, but it would soon grow an _unpopular_ treaty. At this moment we are hard pressed, pushed to the wall, and prepared to catch at anything affording relief. We pant for a "breathing spell." Sherman is advancing, but the conquest of territory and liberation of slaves, while they injure us, only embarrass the enemy, and add to their burdens. Now is the time for the United States to avert another year of slaughter and expense. Mr. Foote has been denouncing Mr. Secretary Seddon for selling his wheat at $40 per bushel. It is rumored that a column of the enemy's cavalry is on a raid somewhere, I suppose sent out from Grant's army. This does not look like peace and independence. An extract from the New York _Tribune_ states that peace must come soon, because it has _reliable information_ of the exhaustion of our resources. This means that we must submit unconditionally, which may be a fatal mistake. The raiders are said to be on the Brooke Turnpike and Westhaven Road, northeast of the city, and menacing us in a weak place. Perhaps they are from the Valley. The militia regiments are ordered out, and the locals will follow of course, as when Dahlgren came. Hon. Mr. Haynes of the Senate gives information of a raid organizing in East Tennessee on Salisbury, N. C., to liberate the prisoners, cut the Piedmont Road, etc. Half-past two P.M. Nothing definite of the reported raid near the city. False, perhaps. No papers from the President to-day; he is disabled again by neuralgia, in his _hand_, they say. CHAPTER XLVII. Gen. Lee appointed General-in-Chief.--Progress of Sherman.--The markets.-- Letter from Gen. Butler.--Return of the Peace Commissioners.--The situation.--From Gen. Lee.--Use of negroes as soldiers.--Patriotism of the women.--Pardon of deserters.--The passport system.--Oh for peace!--Gen. Lee on negro soldiers.--Conventions in Georgia and Mississippi. FEBRUARY 1ST.--Clear and pleasant; subsequently thawing and foggy. Gen. R. E. Lee has been appointed General-in-Chief by the President, in response to the recent action of Congress and the clamorous demands of the people. It is to be hoped he will, nevertheless, remain in person at the head of the Army of Virginia, else the change may be fraught with disaster, and then his popularity will vanish! He has not been fortunate when not present with the troops under his command, as evidenced by Early's defeat and Jones's disaster in the Valley last year. A general must continue to reap successes if he retains his popularity. Gen. Lee has called upon the people everywhere to send in any cavalry arms and equipments in their possession--the importation being stopped. The report of a raid yesterday, grew out of the return to the city of a small body of our own cavalry that had been on detached service. Quite an alarm was raised! The President was better yesterday; it is neuralgia in the right shoulder, disabling his arm. Our "commissioners" were delayed until yesterday morning at Petersburg; during which there was a sort of truce, and the troops of the opposing fortifications ventured out, both sides cheering vociferously. Gen. Lee writes that his army is suffering for want of soap. The Secretary sends the letter to Commissary-General Northrop (neither of their successors being inducted yet) for "prompt attention." The Commissary-General sends it back, saying 800 barrels of soap are now, and have been for _months_, lying at Charlotte, N. C., awaiting transportation! The speculators get from Charlotte that much freight every week. The Commissary-General says 800 barrels of soap ought to last Gen. Lee's army one month. It must be a large army to consume that amount of soap in a month. Yesterday Congress passed another bill over the President's veto, to allow soldiers to receive letters, etc. free. Thus the war progresses between the executive and the legislative branches of the government. In future revolutions, never let a "permanent government" be established until independence is achieved! FEBRUARY 2D.--Bright and beautiful, and pleasantly frosty. Gen. Sherman is advancing as usual in such dubiety as to distract Gen. Hardee, who knows not whether Branchville or Augusta is his objective point. I suppose Sherman will be successful in cutting our communications with the South--and in depreciating Confederate States Treasury notes still more, in spite of Mr. Trenholm's spasmodic efforts to _depreciate_ gold. Yesterday the Senate passed a bill _dropping_ all commissaries and quartermasters not in the field, and not in the bureaus in Richmond, and appointing _agents_ instead, over 45 years of age. This will make a great fluttering, but the Richmond rascals will probably escape. Military men here consider Augusta in danger; of course it is! How could it be otherwise? Information from the United States shows that an effort to obtain "peace" will certainly be made. President Lincoln has appointed ex-Presidents Fillmore and Pierce and Hon. S. P. Chase, commissioners, to treat with ours. The two first are avowed "peace men;" and may God grant that their endeavors may prove successful! Such is the newspaper information. A kind Providence watches over my family. The disbursing clerk is paying us "half salaries" to-day, as suggested in a note I wrote the Secretary yesterday. And Mr. Price informs me that the flour (Capt. Warner's) so long held at Greensborough has arrived! I shall get my barrel. It cost originally $150; but subsequent expenses may make it cost me, perhaps, $300. The market price is from $800 to $1000. I bought also of Mr. Price one-half bushel of red or "cow-peas" for $30; the market price being $80 per bushel. And Major Maynard says I shall have a load of government wood in a few days! FEBRUARY 3D.--The report that the United States Government had appointed commissioners to meet ours is contradicted. On the contrary, it is believed that Gen. Grant has been reinforced by 30,000 men from Tennessee; and that we shall soon hear thunder in Richmond. Gen. Lee writes urgently in behalf of Major Tannahill's traffic for supplies, in Northeastern North Carolina and Southeastern Virginia, for the army. Large amounts of commissary stores are obtained in exchange for cotton, tobacco, etc; but the traffic is in danger of being broken up by the efforts of bureau officials and civilian speculators to participate in it--among them he mentions Major Brower (Commissary-General's office, and formerly a clerk)--and asks such orders as will be likely to avert the danger. The traffic is with the _enemy_; but if conducted under the exclusive control of Gen. Lee, it would be of vast benefit to the army. The House of Representatives yesterday passed a singular compensation bill, benefiting two disbursing clerks and others already rich enough. I have written a note to Senator Johnson, of Missouri, hoping to head it off there, or to so amend it as to make it equable and just. All the paths of error lead to destruction; and every one seems inclined to be pressing therein. The freezing of the canal has put up the price of wood to about $500 per cord--judging from the little one-horse loads for which they ask $50. One o'clock P.M. Dark and dismal; more rain or snow looked for. Certainly we are in a dark period of the war--encompassed by augmenting armies, almost starving in the midst of plenty (hoarded by the speculators), our men deserting--and others skulking duty, while Congress and the Executive seem paralyzed or incapable of thought or action. The President was better yesterday; but not out. They say it is neuralgia in the shoulder, disabling his right arm. Yet he orders appointments, etc., or forbids others. Major Noland, Commissary-General, has refused to impress the coffee in the hands of speculators; saying there is no law authorizing it. The speculators rule the hour--for all, nearly, are speculators! God save us! we seem incapable of saving ourselves. No news to-day from Georgia and South Carolina--which means there is no good news. If it be true that Gen. Thomas has reinforced Grant with 30,000 men, we shall soon _hear_ news without seeking it! The enemy will not rest content with their recent series of successes; for system of _easy communication_ will enable them to learn all they want to know about our weak points, and our childish dependence on the speculators for subsistence. After leaving thirty days' supplies in Charleston for 20,000 men--all the rest have been ordered to Richmond. FEBRUARY 4TH.--Clear, but rained last night. From the South we learn that Sherman is marching on Branchville, and that Beauregard is at Augusta. The _great struggle_ will be in Virginia, south of Richmond, and both sides will gather up their forces for that event. We can probably get men enough, if we can feed them. The City Council is having green "old field pine" wood brought in on the Fredericksburg railroad, to sell to citizens at $80 per cord--a speculation. The Quartermaster's Department is also bringing in large quantities of wood, costing the government about $40 per cord. Prior to the 1st inst., the Quartermaster's Department _commuted_ officer's (themselves) allowance of wood at $130 per cord! The President still suffers, but is said to be "better." Yesterday much of the day was consumed by Congress in displaying a _new flag_ for the Confederacy--before the old one is worn out! Idiots! I have just seen on file a characteristic letter from Major-Gen. Butler, of which this is a literal copy: "HEADQUARTERS DEPT. VA. AND N. C., "ARMY OF THE JAMES IN THE FIELD, "FORTRESS MONROE, Oct. 9th, 1864. "HON. ROBT. OULD--SIR: "An attempt was made this morning by private Roucher, Co. B, 5th Penna. cavalry, to commit a rape upon the persons of Mrs. Minzer and Mrs. Anderson, living on the Darbytown Road. "On the outrage being discovered, he broke through the picket line, and fled for your lines. Our soldiers chased him, but were unable to overtake him. "I have therefore the honor to request that you will return him, that I may inflict the punishment which his dastardly offense merits. I cannot be responsible for the good conduct of my soldiers, _if they are to find protection from punishment by entering your lines_. "I have the honor to be, your obt. servt., "(Signed) B. F. BUTLER, "_Major-Gen. Comd'g and Com. for Exchange_." The ladies were Virginians. I got my barrel (2 bags) flour to-day; 1 bushel meal, 1/2 bushel peas, 1/2 bushel potatoes ($50 per bushel); and feel pretty well. Major Maynard, Quartermaster, has promised a load of wood. _Will these last until_----? I believe I would make a good commissary. FEBRUARY 5TH.--Clear and cold. Our commissioners are back again! It is said Lincoln and Seward met them at Fortress Monroe, and they proceeded no further. No basis of negotiation but reconstruction could be listened to by the Federal authorities. How could it be otherwise, when their armies are marching without resistance from one triumph to another--while the government "allows" as many emissaries as choose to pass into the enemy's country, with the most solemn assurances that the Union cause is spreading throughout the South with great rapidity--while the President is incapacitated both mentally and physically by disease, disaster, and an inflexible defiance of his opponents--and while Congress wastes its time in discussions on the adoption of a _flag_ for future generations! This fruitless mission, I apprehend, will be fraught with evil, unless the career of Sherman be checked; and in that event the BATTLE for RICHMOND, and Virginia, and the Confederacy, will occur within a few months--perhaps weeks. The sooner the better for us, as delay will only serve to organize the UNION PARTY sure to spring up; for many of the people are not only weary of the war, but they have no longer any faith in the President, his cabinet, Congress, the commissaries, quartermasters, enrolling officers, and most of the generals. Judge Campbell was closeted for hours last night with Mr. Secretary Seddon at the department. I have not recently seen Mr. Hunter. We have news from the Eastern Shore of Virginia. My wife's aunt, Miss Sally Parsons, is dead--over 90 years of age. The slaves are free, but remain with their owners--on wages. The people are prosperous, getting fine prices for abundant crops. Only a few hundred Federal troops are in the two counties; but these, under the despotic orders of Butler, levy heavy "war contributions" from the unoffending farmers. FEBRUARY 6TH.--Bright and frosty. As I supposed, the peace commissioners have returned from their fruitless errand. President Lincoln and Mr. Seward, it appears, had nothing to propose, and would listen to nothing but unconditional submission. The Congress of the United States has just passed, by a two-thirds vote, an amendment to the Constitution _abolishing slavery_. Now the South will soon be fired up again, perhaps with a new impulse--and WAR will rage with greater fury than ever. Mr. Stephens will go into Georgia, and reanimate his people. Gen. Wise spoke at length for independence at the Capitol on Saturday night amidst applauding listeners, and Governor Smith speaks to-night. Gen. Breckinridge is here and will take his seat to-morrow. Every effort will be made to popularize the cause again. Hon. Mr. Foote is at Washington, in _prison_. Gen. Wise's brigade has sent up resolutions consenting to gradual _emancipation_--but never to reunion with the North. There is a more cheerful aspect on the countenances of the people in the streets. All hope of peace with independence is extinct--and valor alone is relied upon now for our salvation. Every one thinks the Confederacy will at once gather up its military strength and strike such blows as will astonish the world. There will be desperate conflicts! Vice-President Stephens is in his seat to-day, and seems determined. Mr. Hunter is rolling about industriously. Gen. Lee writes that desertions are caused by the bad management of the Commissary Department, and that there are supplies enough in the country, if the proper means were used to procure them. Gen. Taylor sends a telegram from Meridian, Miss., stating that he had ordered Stewart's corps to Augusta, Ga., as Sherman's movement rendered a _victory necessary at once_. The dispatch was to the President, and seems to be in response to one from him. So we may expect a battle immediately near Augusta, Ga. Beauregard should have some 20,000 men, besides Hardee's 15,000--which ought to be enough for victory; and then good-by to Sherman! FEBRUARY 7TH.--A snow four inches in depth on the ground, and snowing. Last night Governor Smith, President Davis, Senator Oldham (Texas), Rev. Mr. Duncan, Methodist preacher, and a Yankee Baptist preacher, named Doggell, or Burroughs, I believe, addressed a large meeting in the African Church, on the subject of the Peace Mission, and the ultimatum of the United States authorities. The speakers were very patriotic and much applauded. President Davis (whose health is so feeble he should have remained away) denounced President Lincoln as "His Majesty Abraham the First"--in the language of the press--and said before the campaign was over he and Seward might find "they had been speaking to their masters," when demanding unconditional submission. He promised the people great successes, after our destined reverses had run out, provided they kept from despondency and speculation, and filled the ranks of the army. He denounced the speculators, and intimated that they might yet be called upon to "disgorge their earnings." A grand assemblage is called for next Thursday, to meet in the Capitol Square. Congress will soon be likely to vote a negro army, and their emancipation after the war--as Lee favors it. There was some fighting near Petersburg yesterday and the day before; but the press is reticent--a bad sign. There is a rumor that Charleston has been evacuated! Gen. Lee again writes that desertions occur to an alarming extent, for want of sufficient food. And he says there is enough subsistence in the country, but that the Commissary Department is inefficiently administered. Gen. Breckinridge is in his office to-day. A scramble is going on by the young politicians for the position of Assistant Secretary of War, and Mr. Kean is supposed to be ahead in the race. When a ship is thought to be sinking, even the cook may be appointed captain! Anything, now, to keep out of the _field_--such is the word among the mere politicians. It is rumored that Gen. Pegram (since confirmed) was killed in the enemy's attack on our right near Petersburg, and that seven brigades were engaged and repulsed the enemy. Still, there is no official confirmation--and the silence of Gen. Lee is interpreted adversely. Senator Haynes, of Tennessee, and Senator Wigfall, of Texas, denounced the President yesterday as mediocre and malicious--and that his blunders had caused all our disasters. Our commissioners were not permitted to land at Fortress Monroe, but Lincoln and Seward came on board. Judge Campbell is still acting as Assistant Secretary; but he looks very despondent. If Beauregard gains a victory ----. FEBRUARY 8TH.--Rained all day yesterday--slush--bright this morning and cool--ground still covered with snow. It is reported by Gen. Lee that the losses on both sides on Monday were light, but the enemy have established themselves on Hatcher's Run, and intrenched; still menacing the South Side Railroad. It is also said fighting was going on yesterday afternoon, when the dreadful snow and sleet were enough to subdue an army! We have nothing from Charleston or Branchville, but the wires are said to be working to Augusta. A deficiency of between $300,000,000 and $400,000,000 has been discovered in the amount of our indebtedness! the present Secretary being led into the error by the estimates of his predecessor, Memminger. Congress is elaborating a bill, increasing taxation 100 per cent! An acquaintance, who has 16 acres near the city, says he will sell, to escape a tax of $5000. Senator Brown, of Mississippi, has introduced a resolution for the employment of 200,000 negroes, giving them their freedom. Gen. Kemper is strongly recommended as Assistant Secretary of War. The wounded are still coming in from the fight beyond Petersburg. Horrible weather, yesterday, for fighting--and yet it is said much of it was done. Vice-President Stephens was in the department to-day. He has a ghostly appearance. He is announced to speak in Richmond to-morrow; but I believe he starts for Georgia _to-day_. He may publish a letter. He had a long interview with Judge Campbell--with locked doors. Twelve M. The sun is melting the snow rapidly. The Legislature of Virginia has passed resolutions in favor of the restoration of Gen. J. E. Johnston to a command. What will the President _do_, after _saying_ he should never have another command? Intelligence was received to-day of the sudden death of Brig.-Gen. Winder, in Georgia; from apoplexy, it is supposed. He was in command of the prisons, with his staff of "Plug Uglies" around him, and Cashmeyer, their sutler. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, "February 6th, 1865. "GENERAL S. COOPER. "The enemy moved in strong force yesterday to Hatcher's Run. Part of his infantry, with Gregg's cavalry, crossed and proceeded on the Vaughan Road--the infantry to Cattail Creek, the cavalry to Dinwiddie Court House, when its advance encountered a portion of our cavalry, and retreated. "In the afternoon, parts of Hill's and Gordon's troops demonstrated against the enemy on the left of Hatcher's Run, near Armstrong's Mill. Finding him intrenched, they were withdrawn after dark. During the night, the force that had advanced beyond the creek retired to it, and were reported to be recrossing. "This morning, Pegram's division moved down the right bank of the creek to reconnoiter, when it was vigorously attacked. The battle was obstinately contested several hours, but Gen. Pegram being killed while bravely encouraging his men, and Col. Hoffman wounded, some confusion occurred, and the division was pressed back to its original position. Evans's division, ordered by Gen. Gordon to support Pegram's, charged the enemy and forced him back, but was, in turn, compelled to retire. Mahone's division arriving, the enemy was driven rapidly to his defenses on Hatcher's Run. "Our loss is reported to be small; that of the enemy not supposed great. R. E. LEE." FEBRUARY 9TH.--Bright, frosty, beautiful, after a cold night. We have nothing more specific from the fight of Tuesday, when we learn another general was killed. It seems that most of Grant's army was in the movement, and they have a lodgment several miles nearer the South Side Railroad--the objective point. Their superior numbers must ultimately prevail in maintaining the _longest line_. There is to be public speaking in the African Church to-day, or in the Square, to reanimate the people for another carnival of blood. Mr. Hunter, it is said, has been chosen to preside, and no man living has a greater abhorrence of blood! But, perhaps, he cannot decline. Papers from the United States indicate that the peace epidemic prevails in that country also to an _alarming_ extent: for the day (15th instant) of drafting is near at hand; and even the Republican papers hope and pray for peace, and reconstruction without slavery. Senator Brown's resolution to put 200,000 slaves in the army was voted down in secret session. Now the slave_owners_ must go in themselves, or all is lost. One of the President's pages says the President will make a speech at the meeting to-day. He is a good political speaker, and will leave no stone unturned to disconcert his political enemies in Congress and elsewhere--and their name is legion. The President has ordered the nomination of ex-Gov. Bonham as brigadier-general of a brigade of South Carolina cavalry, in opposition to _Gen. Cooper's_ opinion: a rare occurrence, showing that Mr. Davis can be flexible when necessity urges. Gen. Hampton recommended Bonham. The day is bright, but the snow is not quite all gone: else the meeting would be very large, and in the Capitol Square. There will be much cheering; but the rich men will be still resolved to keep out of the army themselves. We have nothing from Charleston for several days. No doubt preparations are being made for its evacuation. The stores will be brought here for Lee's army. What will be the price of gold then? Mr. Seddon has published a correspondence with the President, showing why he resigned: which was a declaration on the part of Congress of a want of confidence in the cabinet. The President says such a declaration on the part of Congress is extra-official, and subversive of the constitutional jurisdiction of the Executive; and, in short, he would not accept the resignation, if Mr. S. would agree to withdraw it. So, I suppose the other members will hold on, in spite of Congress. FEBRUARY 10TH.--Bright and cold. It is estimated that the enemy lost 1500 men in the fight near Petersburg, and we 500. Sherman has got to the railroad near Branchville, and cut communications with Augusta. At the meeting, yesterday, Mr. Hunter presided, sure enough; and made a carefully prepared patriotic speech. There was no other alternative. And Mr. Benjamin, being a member of the cabinet, made a significant and most extraordinary speech. He said the white fighting men were exhausted, and that black men must recruit the army--and it must be done at once; that Gen. Lee had informed him he must abandon Richmond, if not soon reinforced, and that negroes would answer. The _States_ must send them, Congress having no authority. Virginia must lead, and send 20,000 to the trenches in twenty days. Let the negroes volunteer, and be emancipated. It was the only way to save the slaves--the women and children. He also said all who had cotton, tobacco, corn, meat, etc. must _give_ them to the government, not sell them. These remarks were not literally reported in the _Dispatch_, but they were uttered. He read resolutions, adopted in certain regiments, indorsing the President and his cabinet--of which Mr. B. said, playfully, he was one. Yesterday, in the House, upon the passage of a bill revising the Commissary Department, Mr. Miles said the object was to remove Col. Northrop. [His removal _has_ been determined.] Mr. Baldwin said the department had been well conducted. Mr. Miles said in these times the test of merit must be success. The bill passed. Senator Hunter is at the department this morning, calling for the statistics, prepared by my son Custis, of the fighting men in the Southern States. Doubtless Mr. Hunter is averse to using the slaves. The new Secretary of War is calling for reports of "means and resources" from all the bureaus. This has been done by no other Secretary. The government allowed Lee's army to suffer for months with the _itch_, without knowing there were eight hundred barrels of soap within a few hours' run of it. From the ordnance report, I see we shall have plenty of powder--making 7000 pounds per day; and 55,000 rifles per annum, besides importations. So, if there must be another carnival of blood, the defense can be maintained at least another year, provided the _right men_ have the management. A violent opposition is likely to spring up against Mr. Benjamin's suggestions. No doubt he is for a desperate stroke for independence, being out of the pale of mercy; but his moral integrity is impugned by the representatives from Louisiana, who believe he has taken bribes for passports, etc., to the injury of the cause. He feels strong, however, in the strength of the President, who still adheres to him. There is much excitement among the slaveowners, caused by Mr. Benjamin's speech. They must either fight themselves or let the slaves fight. Many would prefer submission to Lincoln; but that would not save their slaves! The Proclamation of Emancipation in the United States may yet free the South of Northern domination. FEBRUARY 11TH.--Cloudy and cold; froze hard last night. Yesterday a bill was introduced into both houses of Congress authorizing the enlistment of 200,000 slaves, _with consent of their owners_, which will probably be amended. Mr. Miles, as a test vote, moved the rejection of the bill; and the vote _not_ to reject it was more than two to one, an indication that it will pass. The failure of the peace conference seems to have been made the occasion of inspiring renewed zeal and enthusiasm for the war in the United States, as well as here. So the carnival of blood will be a "success." The enemy claim an advantage in the late battle on the south side of the James River. Sherman's movements are still shrouded in mystery, and our generals seem to be _waiting_ for a development of his intentions. Meantime he is getting nearer to Charleston, and cutting railroad communications between that city and the interior. The city is doomed, unless Hardee or Beauregard, or both, successfully take the initiative. Here the price of slaves, men, is about $5000 Confederate States notes, or $100 in specie. A great depreciation. Before the war, they commanded ten times that price. It is rumored that _hundreds_ of the enemy's transports have come into the James River. If it be Thomas's army reinforcing Grant, Richmond is in immediate peril! Information of our numbers, condition, etc. has been, doubtless, communicated to the enemy--and our slumbering government could not be awakened! Wigfall, of Texas, Graham, of North Carolina, Orr and Miles, of South Carolina, oppose the employment of negro troops, and Gen. Wickham, of this department, openly proclaims such a measure as the end of the Confederacy! We are upon stirring times! Senator Wigfall demands a new cabinet, etc. Two P.M. The sun has come out; warmer. But it does not disperse the prevailing gloom. It is feared Richmond must be abandoned, and our forces concentrated farther South, where supplies may be more easily had, and where it will be a greater labor and expense for the enemy to subsist his armies. Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, is still furloughing, detailing, and discharging men from the army; and yet he thinks the country is pretty nearly exhausted of its fighting population! His successor is not yet appointed; the sooner the better, perhaps. FEBRUARY 12TH.--Bright, windy, cold, and disagreeable. There was nothing new at the department this morning. Nothing from below; nothing from South Carolina. Perhaps communications are cut between this and Charleston. All are anxious to hear the result of the anticipated battle with Sherman, for somehow all know that the order to fight him was sent from Richmond more than a week ago. People's thoughts very naturally now dwell upon the proximate future, and the alternatives likely to be presented in the event of the abandonment of Richmond, and consequently Virginia, by Lee's army. Most of the _male_ population would probably (if permitted) elect to remain at their homes, braving the fate that might await them. But the women are more patriotic, and would brave all in following the fortunes of the Confederate States Government. Is this because they do not participate in the hardships and dangers of the field? But many of our men are weary and worn, and languish for repose. These would probably remain quiescent on parole, submitting to the rule of the conqueror; but hoping still for foreign intervention or Confederate victories, and ultimate independence. Doubtless Lee could protract the war, and, by concentrating farther South, embarrass the enemy by compelling him to maintain a longer line of communication by land and by sea, and at the same time be enabled to fall upon him, as occasion might offer, in heavier force. No doubt many would fall out of the ranks, if Virginia were abandoned; but Lee could have an army of 100,000 effective men for years. Still, these dire necessities may not come. The slaveowners, speculators, etc., hitherto contriving to evade the service, may take the alarm at the present aspect of affairs, and both recruit and subsist the army sufficiently for victory over both Grant and Sherman; and then Richmond will be held by us, and Virginia and the Cotton States remain in our possession; and we shall have peace, for exhaustion will manifest itself in the United States. We have dangerous discussions among our leaders, it is true; and there may be convulsions, and possibly expulsion of the men at the head of civil affairs: but the war will not be affected. Such things occurred in France at a time when the armies achieved their greatest triumphs. One of the greatest blunders of the war was the abandonment of Norfolk; and the then Secretary of War (Randolph) is now safely in Europe. That blunder brought the enemy to the gates of the capital, and relinquished a fertile source of supplies; however, at this moment Lee is deriving some subsistence from that source by connivance with the enemy, who get our cotton and tobacco. Another blunder was Hood's campaign into Tennessee, allowing Sherman to raid through Georgia. FEBRUARY 13TH.--Coldest morning of the winter. My exposure to the cold wind yesterday, when returning from the department, caused an attack of indigestion, and I have suffered much this morning from disordered stomach and bowels. From Northern papers we learn that Gen. Grant's demonstration last week was a very formidable effort to reach the South Side Railroad, and was, as yet, a decided failure. It seems that his spies informed him that Gen. Lee was evacuating Richmond, and under the supposition of Lee's great weakness, and of great consequent demoralization in the army, the Federal general was induced to make an attempt to intercept what he supposed might be a retreat of the Confederate army. There will be more fighting yet before Richmond is abandoned, probably such a carnival of blood as will make the world start in horror. The New York _Tribune_ still affects to believe that good results may come from the recent peace conference, on the basis of reunion, other basis being out of the question. The new amnesty which it was said President Lincoln intended to proclaim has not appeared, at least our papers make no mention of it. Gen. Lee has proclaimed a pardon for all soldiers, now absent without leave, who report for duty within 20 days, and he appeals to their patriotism. I copy it. "HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES, "February 11th, 1865. "GENERAL ORDERS NO. 2. "In entering upon the campaign about to open, the general-in-chief feels assured that the soldiers who have so long and so nobly borne the hardships and dangers of the war require no exhortation to respond to the calls of honor and duty. "With the liberty transmitted by their forefathers they have inherited the spirit to defend it. "The choice between war and abject submission is before them. "To such a proposal brave men, with arms in their hands, can have but one answer. "They cannot barter manhood for peace, nor the right of self-government for life or property. "But justice to them requires a sterner admonition to those who have abandoned their comrades in the hour of peril. "A last opportunity is offered them to wipe out the disgrace and escape the punishment of their crimes. "By authority of the President of the Confederate States, a pardon is announced to such deserters and men improperly absent as shall return to the commands to which they belong within the shortest possible time, not exceeding twenty days from the publication of this order, at the headquarters of the department in which they may be. "Those who may be prevented by interruption of communications, may report within the time specified to the nearest enrolling officer, or other officer on duty, to be forwarded as soon as practicable; and upon presenting a certificate from such officer, showing compliance with this requirement, will receive the pardon hereby offered. "Those who have deserted to the service of the enemy, or who have deserted after having been once pardoned for the same offense, and those who shall desert, or absent themselves without authority, after the publication of this order, are excluded from its benefits. Nor does the offer of pardon extend to other offenses than desertion and absence without permission. "By the same authority, it is also declared that no general amnesty will again be granted, and those who refuse to accept the pardon now offered, or who shall hereafter desert or absent themselves without leave, shall suffer such punishment as the courts may impose, and no application for clemency will be entertained. "Taking new resolution from the fate which our enemies intend for us, let every man devote all his energies to the common defense. "Our resources, wisely and vigorously employed, are ample, and with a brave army, sustained by a determined and united people, success, with God's assistance, cannot be doubtful. "The advantages of the enemy will have but little value if we do not permit them to impair our resolution. Let us, then, oppose constancy to adversity, fortitude to suffering, and courage to danger, with the firm assurance that He who gave freedom to our fathers will bless the efforts of their children to preserve it. "R. E. LEE, _General_." The Senate did nothing on Saturday but discuss the policy of abolishing the Bureau of Conscription, the office of provost marshal outside of our military lines. Gov. Smith's salary is to be increased to $20,000, and he is still exempting young justices, deputy sheriffs, deputy clerks, constables, etc. FEBRUARY 14TH.--Bright and cold. Very cold, and fuel unattainable. The papers speak of heavy raids in process of organization: one from Newbern, N. C., against Raleigh, and one from East Tennessee against Salisbury and our communications. The news from South Carolina is vague, only that the armies are in active motion. So long as Sherman keeps the initiative, of course he will succeed, but if Beauregard should attack, it may be different. Yesterday some progress was made with the measure of 200,000 negroes for the army. Something must be done--and _soon_. Gen. Wise sent me a letter of introduction to Gen. Breckinridge yesterday. I sent it in to-day. I want the system of passports changed, and speculation annihilated, else the cause is lost. I expect no action, for impediments will be interposed by others. But my duty is done. I have as little to lose as any of them. The generals all say the system of passports in use has inflicted great detriment to the service, a fact none can deny, and if it be continued, it will be indeed "idiotic suicide," as Gen. Preston says. The weather is moderating, but it is the most wintry 14th of February I remember to have seen. Yet, as soon as the weather will admit of it, the carnival of blood must begin. At Washington they demand unconditional submission or extermination, the language once applied to the Florida Indians, a few hundred of whom maintained a war of seven years. Our cities may fall into the hands of the enemy, but then the populations will cease to subsist on the Confederacy. There is no prospect of peace on terms of "unconditional submission," and most of the veteran troops of the enemy will return to their homes upon the expiration of their terms of enlistment, leaving mostly raw recruits to prosecute the work of "extermination." Meantime the war of the factions proceeds with activity, the cabinet and the majority in both Houses of Congress. The President remains immovable in his determination not to yield to the demand for new men in the government, and the country seems to have lost confidence in the old. God help us, or we are lost! The feeble health of the President is supposed to have enfeebled his intellect, and if this be so, of course _he_ would not be likely to discover and admit it. Mr. Speaker Bocock signs a communication in behalf of the Virginia delegation in Congress asking the dismissal of the cabinet. The Northern papers mention a gigantic raid in motion from Tennessee to Selma, Montgomery, and Mobile, Ala., consisting of 40,000 cavalry and mounted infantry, _a la Sherman_. They are resolved to give us no rest, while we are distracted among ourselves, and the President refuses to change his cabinet, etc. Gen. Grant telegraphed the Secretary of War at Washington, when our commissioners were in his camp, that he understood both Messrs. Stephens and Hunter to say that peace might be restored on the basis of REUNION. FEBRUARY 15TH.--Moderated last night; this morning sleety and dangerous. Gen. Lee was in the city yesterday, walking about briskly, as if some great event was imminent. His gray locks and beard have become white, but his countenance is cheerful, and his health vigorous. The papers say Wheeler has beaten Kilpatrick (Federal cavalry general) back five miles, somewhere between Branchville and Augusta. So he did once or twice when Sherman was marching on Savannah, and he took it while Bragg remained at Augusta. The news of a victory by Beauregard over Sherman would change the face of affairs in that quarter, and nothing less will suffice. It is surprising that the Federal authorities do not seem to perceive that in the event of a forced reconstruction of the Union, and a war with any European power, the South would rise again and join the latter. Better recognize a separate nationality, secure commercial advantages, and have guarantees of neutrality, etc. Scouts report Gen. Thomas (Federal), with 30,000 men, encamped in the vicinity of Alexandria, Va., awaiting fair weather to march upon Richmond from that direction. The number is exaggerated no doubt, but that Richmond is to be subjected to renewed perils, while Congress is wasting its time in idle debate, is pretty certain. The Senate passed a bill yesterday abolishing the Bureau of Conscription, and I think it will pass the House. The President ought to have abolished it months ago--years ago. It may be too late. Col. St. John, Chief Mining and Niter Bureau, has been nominated as the new Commissary-General. FEBRUARY 16TH.--Cloudy; rained yesterday and last night. We have no important news from South Carolina, except the falling back toward Columbia of our troops; I suppose before superior numbers. Branchville is evacuated. The roads will not admit of much movement in the field for some days. But pretty heavy cannonading is heard down the river. Congress did nothing yesterday; it is supposed, however, that the bill recruiting negro troops will pass--I fear when it is too late. Meantime the President is as busy as a bee making appointments and promotions, and many meritorious men are offended, supposing themselves to be overslaughed or neglected. The published letter taking leave of Mr. Secretary Seddon rasps Congress severely, and is full of professions of esteem, etc. for the retiring Secretary. The members of Congress reply with acrimony. The quartermaster at Charlotte, N. C., dispatches the Secretary of War that he has there some millions in specie, government funds, besides specie of the banks for safe keeping. He also desires the removal of the "Foreign Legion" there, paroled prisoners taken from the enemy and enlisting in our service. They are committing robberies, etc. I saw Gen. Lee at the department again this morning. He seems vigorous, his face quite red, and very cheerful. He was in gray uniform, with a blue cloth cape over his shoulders. Exchange of prisoners has been resumed, and many of our men are returning from captivity. Gen. Grant has the matter under his control. Gen. Pillow has been appointed commander of prisons in place of Gen. Winder, deceased. Only 4-5/8 pounds bacon were issued as meat ration to detailed men this month. I learn that some 2000 of our men, confined at Point Lookout, Md., as prisoners of war, during the last two months, offered to take the oath of allegiance, which was refused, because it would reduce the number to exchange. By the last flag of truce boat a negro slave returned. His master took the oath, the slave _refused_. He says "Massa had no principles." FEBRUARY 17TH.--Frosty morning, after a rain last night. We have no authentic war news this morning, from any quarter. Congress is at work in both Houses on the Negro bill. It will pass, of course, without some unforeseen obstacle is interposed. A letter from Gen. Lee to Gen. Wise is published, thanking the latter's brigade for resolutions recently adopted, declaring that they would consent to gradual emancipation for the sake of independence and peace. This is a strong indication (confirmatory) that Gen. Lee is an emancipationist. From all the signs slavery is doomed! But if 200,000 negro recruits can be made to fight, and can be enlisted, Gen. Lee may maintain the war very easily and successfully; and the powers at Washington may soon become disposed to abate the hard terms of peace now exacted. How our fancies paint the scenes of peace now which were never appreciated before! Sitting by our cheerless fires, we summon up countless blessings that we could enjoy, if this war were only over. We plan and imagine many things that would be bliss to us in comparison with the privations we suffer. Oh, what fine _eating_ and comfortable _clothes_ we shall have when we enjoy another season of repose! We will hunt, we will "go fishing," we will cultivate nice gardens, etc. Oh for peace once more! Will this generation, with their eyes open, and their memories fresh, ever, ever go to war again? There is a _dark_ rumor that Columbia, S. C., has been taken possession of by the enemy; but I hardly believe it, for Gen. Beauregard would fight for it. Gen. Beauregard telegraphs from Columbia, S. C., _yesterday_, that Gen. Pillow proposes to gather troops west of that point, and Gen. B. approves it. The President hesitates, and refers to _Gen. Cooper_, etc. Eleven o'clock A.M. Raining again; wind east. Mr. Hunter looks rather cadaverous to-day; he does not call on the new Secretary often. Gen. B. is a formidable rival for the _succession_--if there should be such a thing. To-day my son Thomas drew his rations. I have also had another load of coal from Lieut. Parker, C. S. N., out of his contract, at $30, a saving of nearly $100! that will take us through the winter and spring. We also bought another bushel of black beans at $65. Alas! we have news now of the capture of Columbia, S. C., the capital of the State. A dark day, truly! And only this morning--not three short hours ago--the President hesitated to second Beauregard's desire that Gen. Pillow--although not a "red tapist"--should rouse the people to the rescue; but _Gen. Cooper_ must be consulted to throw obstacles in the way! This will be a terrible blow; and its consequences maybe calamitous beyond calculation. Poor South Carolina! her day of agony has come! FEBRUARY 18TH.--Rained last night; but this is as lovely a morning as ever dawned on earth. A gentle southern breeze, a cloudless sky, and a glorious morning sun, whose genial warmth dispels the moisture of the late showers in smoky vapors. But how dark and dismal the aspect of our military affairs! Columbia fallen and Charleston (of course) evacuated. My wife wept, my daughter prayed, upon hearing the news. South Carolina was superior to all the States in the estimation of my wife, and she regarded it as the last stronghold. Now she despairs, and seems reckless of whatever else may happen in Sherman's career of conquest. A dispatch to Gen. Bragg states that Thomas's army (the ubiquitous) is landing at Newbern, N. C.! This is to cut Lee's communications and strike at Raleigh perhaps. The people are stunned and sullen; sometimes execrating the President for retaining a cabinet in which the country has no confidence, etc. One hundred for one is asked for gold. The President was at work very early this morning making appointments in the army. But that does no good to the cause, I fear. A sufficient number of men must _be_ placed in the ranks, or there will be no military success. The Senate has passed a bill abolishing the "Bureau of Conscription," and it is now before the House. That is one step in the right direction. Hon. J. Goode yesterday made a speech in favor of its abolition, in which he said 150,000 men had been "handled" by the bureau during the last twelve months, and only 13,000 had been sent to the army! But it did not pass--no vote was taken; it is to be hoped it will pass to-day. It is rumored that the "money-printing machine" was lost at Columbia, including a large amount of "treasure"--if Confederate Treasury notes be worthy that appellation. FEBRUARY 19TH.--Another bright and glorious morning. I hear of no news whatever from the South--although I know that important events are transpiring--and the reticence of the government is construed very unfavorably. Hence if Beauregard has fought a battle, it is to be apprehended that he did not gain the day; and if this be so, South Carolina lies at the conqueror's feet. I thought I heard brisk cannonading in the distance (down the river) this morning, but am not certain. I saw Mr. Hunter going briskly toward the Executive department. He does not come often now to the War Office. The new Secretary has a large audience of members of Congress every morning. The President and three of his aids rode out this afternoon (past our house), seemingly as cheerful as if each day did not have its calamity! No one who beheld them would have seen anything to suppose that the capital itself was in almost immediate danger of falling into the hands of the enemy; much less that the President himself meditated its abandonment at an early day, and the concentration of all the armies in the Cotton States! FEBRUARY 20TH.--Another morning of blue skies and glorious sunshine. Sherman is reported to be marching northward, and to have progressed one-third of the way between Columbia and Charlotte, N. C.; where we had "millions of specie" a few days ago. Some of the lady employees, sent by Mr. Memminger to Columbia last year, have returned to this city, having left and lost their beds, etc. Grant's campaign seems developed at last. Sherman and Thomas will concentrate on his left, massing 200,000 men between Lee and his supplies, effectually cutting his communications by flanking with superior numbers. It is probable Charleston, Wilmington, and Richmond will fall without a battle; for how can they be held when the enemy stops supplies? and how could the garrisons escape when once cut off from the interior? And yet Congress has done nothing, and does nothing, but waste the precious time. I fear it is too late now! It is certainly too late to raise recruits for service in the campaign now in _active operation_, a fact which our politician leaders seem to be unconscious of. Even our furloughed troops cannot now rejoin their regiments from their distant homes. Then, if Lee must evacuate Richmond, where can he go? No one knows! My belief is that the only chance for Lee--and a desperate one--is to beat Grant _immediately_, before the grand junction can be formed. Letters are beginning to come in from the South, advocating the abandonment of Richmond, and the march of Lee's army into East Tennessee and Northern Georgia, and so on down to Montgomery, Ala., etc. etc.; concentrating in the Cotton States. What an ugly programme! How many would then follow the fortunes of this government? How many heads of bureaus, etc. would abandon it? How would it be possible for those with families on their hands to get transportation? A great many other questions might be asked, that few could answer at this time. Charleston was evacuated on Tuesday last--nearly a week ago--so says the _Examiner_, and no one doubts it. Mr. Hunter seems more depressed to-day than I have ever seen him. He walks with his head down, looking neither to the right nor the left. I shall expect soon to hear of a battle. Beauregard must have nearly 50,000 men--such as they are, poor fellows! The rich have generally bribed themselves out of the service through the complicated machinery of the "Bureau of Conscription." Senator Brown, of Mississippi, I am sorry to see, often retards legislation by motions to postpone; and the Senate listens to him, not knowing what to do. Hours now are worth weeks hereafter. The President has made Wm. M. Browne--one of his aids, an Englishman and a Northern newspaper reporter--a brigadier-general. This does not help the cause. Mr. B. knows no more about war than a cat; while many a scarred colonel, native-born, and participants in a hundred fights, sue in vain for promotion. Governor Clarke (Mississippi) telegraphs the President that nothing keeps the negroes from going to the enemy but the fear of being put in the Federal army; and that if it be attempted to put them in ours, all will run away, etc. FEBRUARY 21ST.--Another bright and glorious morning. Charleston fell on Thursday night last. A large number of heavy guns fell into the hands of the enemy. The _confidential_ telegraph operators remained with the enemy. They were Northern men; but it is the policy of those in possession of this government to trust their enemies and neglect their friends. Congress passed yesterday a bill abolishing the "Bureau of Conscription" in name--nothing more, if I understand it. The bill was manipulated by Judge Campbell, who has really directed the operations of the bureau from the beginning. The negro bill also passed one House, and will pass the other to-day. Also a bill (in one House) abolishing provost marshals, except in camps of the army. These measures may come too late. The enemy is inclosing us on all sides with great vigor and rapidity. A victory by Beauregard would lift up the hearts of the people, now prone in the dust. Mr. D. H. London (on the street) is smiling this morning. He says there is no doubt but that we shall be speedily recognized by France, and that Gen. Lee has gone South to checkmate Sherman. I fear some one has been deceiving Mr. London, knowing how eager he is for a few grains of comfort. He is a rich man. A dispatch was sent from the department to Gen. Lee this morning, at his headquarters, supposed to be near Petersburg. Gold was selling at $60 for $1 yesterday. This may be a "dodge" of the brokers, who want to purchase; or it may be the government selling specie. A gentleman from South Carolina reports that the Georgians (militia and reserves, I suppose) refused to enter South. Carolina in obedience to Gen. Beauregard's orders, and that Gen. B. has not exceeding 10,000 reliable men. If this be so, Sherman may march whither he chooses! This is very bad, if it be true, and more and more endangers the capital. Surgeon-General S. P. Moore's estimates for the year's expenses of his bureau are $46,000,000. FEBRUARY 22D.--Bright and frosty. A fine February for fruit. Yesterday the Senate postponed action on the Negro bill. What this means I cannot conjecture, unless there are dispatches from abroad, with assurances of recognition based upon stipulations of emancipation, which cannot be carried into effect without the consent of the States, and a majority of these seem in a fair way of falling into the hands of the Federal generals. The House passed the bill to abolish quartermasters and commissaries in a modified form, excepting those collecting tax in kind; and this morning those officers in this city under forty-five years of age advertise the location of their places of business as collectors of tax in kind, Capt. Wellford, a kinsman of Mr. Seddon, among the rest, the very men the bill was intended to remove! Alas for Breckinridge and independence! The following dispatch has just been received from Gen. R. E. Lee: "HEADQUARTERS, February 22d, 1865. "From dispatches of Gen. Bragg of 21st, I conclude he has abandoned Cape Fear River. He says he is embarrassed by prisoners. Enemy refuses to receive or entertain propositions. I expect no change will be made by Gen. Grant. It is his policy to delay. Have directed prisoners to be sent to Richmond by rail or highway, as may be most practicable; if wrong, correct it. "R. E. LEE." This looks like the speedy fall of Wilmington, but not of Richmond. To-day is the anniversary of the birth of Washington, and of the inauguration of Davis; but I hear of no holiday. Not much is doing, however, in the departments; simply a waiting for calamities, which come with stunning rapidity. The next news, I suppose, will be the evacuation of Wilmington! Then Raleigh may tremble. Unless there is a speedy turn in the tide of affairs, confusion will reign supreme and universally. We have here now some 4000 or 5000 paroled prisoners returned by the Federal authorities, without sufficient food for them, and soon there may be 10,000 Federal prisoners from Wilmington, which it seems cannot be exchanged there. Is it the policy of their own government to starve them? Mr. Burgwyn, of North Carolina, writes to the President (11th inst.) that some 15,000 bales of cotton are locked up in Wilmington, belonging to speculators, awaiting the coming of the enemy, when the city will certainly fall into their hands. He says Gen. Bragg's orders regarding its removal are wholly disregarded; and he implores the President to prevent its falling into the enemy's hands, and disgracing his State as Georgia was disgraced by the cotton taken at Savannah. He says these speculators have an understanding with the enemy. The President indorses, simply, "For attention--J. D." I bought quarter ounce early York cabbage-seed to-day at $10 per ounce. FEBRUARY 23D.--Raining; the most inclement February for years. It is stated that Gen. J. E. Johnston has been replaced in command of the army in front of Sherman; a blunder, for Beauregard's friends will raise a clamor. Grant's men fired salutes yesterday in honor of the DAY--22d--and had the Richmond papers read to them by order of Gen. Grant--accounts of the fall of Charleston. Our government will continue this fatal policy of allowing easy communication between Richmond and the enemy, begun by Mr. Benjamin, and continued by his successors! It will ruin us, and would destroy any cause. Next, our papers will announce the fall of Wilmington. Three preachers--Hoge, Burroughs, and Edwards--have sent in a proposition to the President, to take the stump and obtain subscriptions of rations for the troops. The President marks it "special," and refers it to the Secretary "for attention and advice." Humbugged to the end! These men might fight, but they won't. They will speak two words for the soldiers, and one for themselves. I believe two of them are _Northern_ men. What idiocy! If they meddle at all in the carnival of blood, I would put them in the ranks. Gen. Bragg says he is greatly outnumbered by the enemy's two corps near Wilmington. Of course he will evacuate. There is no money (paper) in the Treasury. Mr. Trenholm, seeing Mr. Memminger abused for issuing too much paper money, seems likely to fall into the opposite error of printing too little, leaving hundreds of millions of indebtedness unpaid. This will soon rouse a hornet's nest about his ears! Gold is arriving from Charlotte, N. C., and I suppose from other places. Its accumulation here, when known to the enemy, as it certainly will be, only endangers the city more and more. Mr. Harman, of Staunton, suggests that every house in Virginia be visited, and one third the subsistence for man and beast be bought at market price. He says that would subsist the army. FEBRUARY 24TH.--Rained all day yesterday; cloudy and cool this morning. We have no news--only rumors that Wilmington has been abandoned, that A. P. Hill's corps (Lee's army) has marched into North Carolina, etc. Yesterday the Senate voted down the bill to put 200,000 negroes in the army. The papers to-day contain a letter from Gen. Lee, advocating the measure as a _necessity_. Mr. Hunter's vote defeated it. He has many negroes, and will probably lose them; but the loss of popularity, and fear of forfeiting all chance of the succession, may have operated on him as a politician. What madness! "Under which King, Benzonian?" The President and Gen. Breckinridge rode out to Camp Lee yesterday, and mingled with the returned prisoners, not yet exchanged. They made speeches to them. The President, being chilled, went into a hut and sat down before a fire, looking ill and wan. The Bureau of Conscription being abolished, the business is to be turned over to the generals of reserves, who will employ the reserves mainly in returning deserters and absentees to the army. The deserters and absentees will be too many for them perhaps, at this late day. The mischief already effected may prove irremediable. A dispatch from Gen. Lee, this morning, states that Lieut. McNeill, with 30 men, entered Cumberland, Maryland, on the 21st inst., and brought off Gens. Crook and Kelly, etc. This is a little affair, but will make a great noise. We want 300,000 men in the field instead of 30. However, this may be the beginning of a new species of warfare, by detached parties. Our men, of course, have the best knowledge of the country, and small bands may subsist where armies would starve. The war can be prolonged indefinitely, if necessary, and probably will be, unless there should be some relaxation of the stringency of measures on the part of the United States Government. The markets are now almost abandoned, both by sellers and purchasers. Beef and pork are sold at $7 to $9 per pound, and everything else in proportion. Butter, from $15 to $20. The President walked down to his office after 11 o'clock this morning, very erect, having heard of Lieut. McNeill's exploit. Another dispatch from Gen. Lee says detachments of Gen. Vaughan's cavalry a few days ago captured two of the enemy's posts in Tennessee beyond Knoxville, with 60 prisoners, horses, etc. The following letter from Gen. Lee, on the subject of putting negroes into the army, clearly defines his views on that important subject: "HEADQUARTERS CONFEDERATE STATES ARMIES, "February 18th, 1865. "HON. E. BARKSDALE, HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES, RICHMOND. "SIR:--I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 12th inst., with reference to the employment of negroes as soldiers. I think the measure not only expedient, but necessary. The enemy will certainly use them against us if he can get possession of them; and as his present numerical superiority will enable him to penetrate many parts of the country, I cannot see the wisdom of the policy of holding them to await his arrival, when we may, by timely action and judicious management, use them to arrest his progress. I do not think that our white population can supply the necessities of a long war without overtaxing its capacity and imposing great suffering upon our people; and I believe we should provide resources for a protracted struggle--not merely for a battle or a campaign. "In answer to your second question, I can only say that, in my opinion, the negroes, under proper circumstances, will make efficient soldiers. I think we could at least do as well with them as the enemy, and he attaches great importance to their assistance. Under good officers, and good instructions, I do not see why they should not become soldiers. They possess all the physical qualifications, and their habits of obedience constitute a good foundation for discipline. They furnish a more promising material than many armies of which we read in history, which owed their efficiency to discipline alone. I think those who are employed should be freed. It would be neither just nor wise, in my opinion, to require them to serve as slaves. The best course to pursue, it seems to me, would be to call for such as are willing to come with the consent of their owners. An impressment or draft would not be likely to bring out the best class, and the use of coercion would make the measure distasteful to them and to their owners. "I have no doubt that if Congress would authorize their reception into service, and empower the President to call upon individuals or States for such as they are willing to contribute, with the condition of emancipation to all enrolled, a sufficient number would be forthcoming to enable us to try the experiment. If it proved successful, most of the objections to the measure would disappear, and if individuals still remained unwilling to send their negroes to the army, the force of public opinion in the States would soon bring about such legislation as would remove all obstacles. I think the matter should be left, as far as possible, to the people and to the States, which alone can legislate as the necessities of this particular service may require. As to the mode of organizing them, it should be left as free from restraint as possible. Experience will suggest the best course, and it would be inexpedient to trammel the subject with provisions that might, in the end, prevent the adoption of reforms suggested by actual trial. "With great respect, "Your obedient servant, "R. E. LEE, _General_." FEBRUARY 25TH.--Raining. There are more rumors of the evacuation of Wilmington and even _Petersburg_. No doubt that stores, etc. are leaving Petersburg; but I doubt whether it will be evacuated, or Richmond, either. Grant may, and probably will, get the Danville Railroad, but I think Lee will disappoint him in the item of evacuation, nevertheless; for we have some millions in gold--equal to 300,000,000 paper--to purchase subsistence; and it is believed Virginia alone, for _specie_, can feed the army. Then _another_ army may arise in Grant's rear. From the published accounts in the enemy's journals, we learn that Charleston fell on the 18th inst. They say one-third of the city was burned by us. I presume they saw the ruins of the old fire; and that most of the citizens, except the destitute, had left the town. All the cotton was destroyed by the inhabitants. They say an explosion killed several hundred of our people. They boast of capturing 200 guns, and a fine lot of ammunition--the latter, it seems to me, might have been destroyed. I hear the deep booming of guns occasionally--but still doubt the policy or purpose of evacuating Petersburg. Mr. Hunter's eyes seem blood-shotten since he voted against Lee's plan of organizing negro troops. He also voted against displacing the brood of quartermasters and commissioners. The papers are requested to say nothing relative to military operations in South and North Carolina, for they are read by Gen. Grant every morning of their publication. The garrisons of Charleston and Wilmington may add 20,000 men to our force opposing Sherman, and may beat him yet. FEBRUARY 26TH.--Cloudy and cool; rained all night. No news from the South, this morning. But there is an ugly rumor that Beauregard's men have deserted to a frightful extent, and that the general himself is afflicted with disease of mind, etc. Mr. Hunter is now reproached by the slaveowners, whom he thought to please, for defeating the Negro bill. They say his vote will make Virginia a free State, inasmuch as Gen. Lee must evacuate it for the want of negro troops. There is much alarm on the streets. Orders have been given to prepare all the tobacco and cotton, which cannot be removed immediately, for destruction by fire. And it is generally believed that Lieut.-Gen. A. P. Hill's corps has marched away to North Carolina. This would leave some 25,000 men to defend Richmond and Petersburg, against, probably, 60,000. If Richmond be evacuated, most of the population will remain, not knowing whither to go. The new Secretary of War was at work quite early this morning. The "Bureau of Conscription" and the Provost Marshal's office are still "operating," notwithstanding Congress has abolished them both. FEBRUARY 27TH.--Bright and windy. The Virginia Assembly has passed resolutions _instructing_ the Senators to vote for the negro troops bill--so Mr. Hunter must obey or resign. It is authoritatively announced in the papers that Gen. J. E. Johnston has taken command of the army in front of Sherman (a perilous undertaking), superseding Beauregard. Grant is said to be massing his troops on our right, to precipitate them upon the South Side Railroad. Has Hill marched his corps away to North Carolina? If so, Richmond is in very great danger. The _Examiner_ to-day labors to show that the evacuation of Richmond would be fatal to the cause. The _Sentinel_ says it has authority for saying that Richmond will _not_ be given up. "Man proposes--God disposes." It is rumored that Fayetteville, N. C., has fallen into the hands of the enemy. I saw Col. Northrop, late Commissary-General, to-day. He looks down, dark, and dissatisfied. Lee's army _eats_ without him. I see nothing of Lieut.-Col. Ruffin. He always looks down and darkly. Gen. Breckinridge seems to have his heart in the cause--not his soul in his pocket, like most of his predecessors. I saw Admiral Buchanan to-day, limping a little. He says the enemy tried to shoot away his legs to keep him from dancing at his granddaughter's wedding, but won't succeed. Robert Tyler told me that it was feared Governor Brown, and probably Stephens and Toombs, were sowing disaffection among the Georgia troops, hoping to get them out of the army; but that if faction can be kept down thirty days, our cause would assume a new phase. He thinks Breckinridge will make a successful Secretary. The President and Gen. Lee were out at Camp Lee to-day, urging the returned soldiers (from captivity) to forego the usual furlough and enter upon the spring campaign now about to begin. The other day, when the President made a speech to them, he was often interrupted by cries of "furlough!" The ladies in the Treasury Department are ordered to Lynchburg, whither the process of manufacturing Confederate States notes is to be transferred. A committee of the Virginia Assembly waited on the President on Saturday, who told them it was no part of his intention to evacuate Richmond. But some construed his words as equivocal. Tobacco, cotton, etc. are leaving the city daily. The city _is_ in danger. FEBRUARY 28TH.--Raining; warm. The Northern papers announce the capture of Wilmington. No doubt the city has fallen, although the sapient dignitaries of this government deem it a matter of policy to withhold such intelligence from the people and the army. And wherefore, since the enemy's papers have a circulation here--at least their items of news are sure to be reproduced immediately. The Governor of Mississippi has called the Legislature of the State together, for the purpose of summoning a convention of the people. Governor Brown, of Georgia, likewise calls for a convention. One more State calling a convention of all the States may be the consequence--if, indeed, rent by faction, the whole country does not fall a prey to the Federal armies immediately. Governor Brown alleges many bitter things in the conduct of affairs at Richmond, and stigmatizes the President most vehemently. He denounces the President's generalship, the Provost Marshals, the passport system, the "Bureau of Conscription," etc. etc. He says it is attempted to establish a despotism, where the people are sovereigns, and our whole policy should be sanctioned by popular favor. Instead of this it must be admitted that the President's inflexible adherence to obnoxious and incompetent men in his cabinet is too well calculated to produce a depressing effect on the spirits of the people and the army. T. N. Conrad, one of the government's secret agents, says 35,000 of Thomas's army passed down the Potomac several weeks ago. He says also _that our telegraph operator in Augusta, Ga., sent all the military dispatches to Grant_! CHAPTER XLVIII From the North.--Rumored defeat of Gen. Early.--Panic among officials.-- Moving the archives.--Lincoln's inaugural.--Victory in North Carolina.--Rumored treaty with France.--Sheridan's movements.--Letter from Lord John Russell.--Sherman's progress.--Desperate condition of the Government.--Disagreement between the President and Congress.-- Development of Grant's combination.--Assault at Hare's Hill.-- Departure of Mrs. President Davis. MARCH 1ST.--Cloudy, cold, and dismal. We have no news, except from the North, whence we learn Lieut. Beall, one of our Canada raiders, has been hung; that some little cotton and turpentine were burnt at Wilmington; and that the enemy's columns are approaching us from all directions. They say the rebellion will be crushed very soon, and really seem to have speedy and accurate information from Richmond not only of all movements of our army, but of the intentions of the government. They say Lynchburg and East Tennessee now occupy the mind of Gen. Lee; and they know every disposition of our forces from day to day sooner than our own people! What imbecile stolidity! Will we thus blunder on to the end? Congress has passed an act organizing the artillery force of Lee's army--submitted by Gen. Pendleton (Episcopal clergyman), who writes the Secretary that Col. Pemberton (Northern man and once lieutenant-general) is making efforts to induce the President to withhold his approval of the bill, which he deprecates and resents, as the bill is sanctioned by the judgment of Gen. Lee. From this letter I learn we have 330 guns and 90 mortars under Lee; enough to make a _great noise_ yet! Lieut.-Gen. Grant has directed Col. Mulford, Agent of Exchange, to say that some 200 prisoners escaped from us, when taken to Wilmington for exchange, and now in his lines, will be held as paroled, and credited in the general exchange. Moreover, all prisoners in transitu for any point of exchange, falling into their hands, will be held as paroled, and exchanged. He states also that all prisoners held by the United States, whether in close confinement, in irons, or under sentence, are to be exchanged. Surely Gen. Grant is trying to please us in this matter. Yet Lieut. Beall was executed! MARCH 2D.--Raining. No well-authenticated news; but by many it is believed Staunton is in the hands of the enemy, and Lynchburg menaced. Nevertheless, the government is sending a portion of the archives and stores to Lynchburg! The clergymen are at work begging supplies for the soldiers; and they say the holding of Richmond and the success of the cause depend upon the success of their efforts, the government being null! A large per cent. of these preachers is of Northern birth--and some of them may possibly betray the cause if they deem it desperate. This is the history of such men in the South so far. But the President trusts them, and we must trust the President. Hon. Wm. C. Rives has resigned his seat in Congress. Alleged causes, ill health and great age--over 70. The Negro bill still hangs fire in Congress. Roger A. Pryor is to be exchanged. He was the guest of Forney in Washington, and had interviews with President Lincoln. The government is impressing horses in the streets, to collect the tobacco preparatory for its destruction in the event of the city falling into the hands of the enemy. This fact is already known in the North and published in the papers there. A pretty passport and police system, truly! I saw a paper to-day from Mr. Benjamin, saying it had been determined, in the event of burning the tobacco, to exempt that belonging to other governments--French and Austrian; but that belonging to foreign subjects is not to be spared. This he says is with the concurrence of the British Government. Tobacco is being moved from the city with all possible expedition. MARCH 3D.--Raining and cold. This morning there was another arrival of our prisoners on parole, and not yet exchanged. Many thousands have arrived this week, and many more are on the way. How shall we feed them? Will _they_ compel the evacuation of the city? I hope not. Capt. Warner, Commissary-General, is here again; and if assigned to duty, has sufficient business qualifications to collect supplies. Thank God, I have some 300 pounds of flour and half that amount of meal--bread rations for my family, seven in number, for more than two months! I have but 7-1/2 pounds of meat; but we can live without it, as we have often done. I have a bushel of peas also, and coal and wood for a month. This is a guarantee against immediate starvation, should the famine become more rigorous, upon which we may felicitate ourselves. Our nominal income has been increased; amounting now to some $16,000 in paper--less than $300 in specie. But, for the next six months (if we can stay here), our rent will be only $75 per month--a little over one dollar; and servant hire, $40--less than eighty cents. It is rumored that Gen. Early has been beaten again at Waynesborough, and that the enemy have reached _Charlottesville_ for the first time. Thus it seems our downward career continues. We _must_ have a victory soon, else Virginia is irretrievably lost. Two P.M. The wind has shifted to the south; warm showers. Three P.M. It is said they are fighting at Gordonsville; whether or not the enemy have Charlottesville is therefore uncertain. I presume it is an advance of Sheridan's cavalry whom our troops have engaged at Gordonsville. MARCH 4TH.--Raining hard, and warm. We have vague reports of Early's defeat in the Valley by an overwhelming force; and the gloom and despondency among the people are in accordance with the hue of the constantly-occurring disasters. Brig.-Gen. J. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, has been rebuked by Gen. Lee for constantly striving to get mechanics out of the service. Gen. Lee says the time has arrived when the necessity of having able-bodied men in the field is paramount to all other considerations. Brig.-Gen. Preston (Bureau of Conscription) takes issue with Gen. Lee on the best mode of sending back deserters to the field. He says there are at this time 100,000 _deserters_! C. Lamar, Bath, S. C, writes to the President that ----, a bonded farmer, secretly removed his meat and then burnt his smoke-house, conveying the impression that all his meat was destroyed. The President sends this to the Secretary of War with the following indorsement: "For attention--this example shows the vice of class exemption, as well as the practices resorted to to avoid yielding supplies to the government." The Legislature of North Carolina has passed resolutions exempting millers, blacksmith, etc.--in contravention of the act of Congress--and directing Gov. Vance to correspond with the Secretary of War on the subject. This bears an ugly aspect. Gen. Early's little army is scattered to the winds. Charlottesville has been in possession of the enemy, but at last accounts Gen. Rosser, in Sheridan's rear, held it. Sheridan advanced to Scottsville; and is no doubt still advancing. Lynchburg is rendered unsafe; and yet some of the bureaus are packing up and preparing to send the archives thither. They would probably fall into the hands of the enemy. Gen. Lee is in the city--where there is much confusion of tongues--and impatient, waiting for the next scene of the drama. If there was to be concert of action between Grant and Sheridan, probably the copious rains have prevented it. Two P.M. There is almost a panic among officials here who have their families with them, under the belief that the city may be suddenly evacuated, and the impossibility of getting transportation. I do not share the belief--that is, that the event is likely to occur immediately; but if it should occur, I know my wife and children will remain--for a season. We must "pray that our flight be not in the winter." Gen. Lee was closeted with the Secretary of War several hours to-day. It is reported that Gen. L.'s family are preparing to leave the city. MARCH 5TH.--Bright and cool; some frost this morning. I saw an officer yesterday from Early's command. He said the enemy entered Charlottesville on Friday at half-past two o'clock P.M., between 2000 and 3000 strong, cavalry, and had made no advance at the latest accounts. He says Gen. Early, when last seen, was flying, and pursued by some fifteen well-mounted Federals, only fifty paces in his rear. The general being a large heavy man, and badly mounted, was undoubtedly captured. He intimated that Early's _army_ consisted of only about 1000 men! Whether he had more elsewhere, I was unable to learn. I have not heard of any destruction of property by the enemy. There is still an accredited rumor of the defeat of Sherman. Perhaps he may have been checked, and turned toward his supplies on the coast. I learn by a paper from Gen. Gorgas, Chief of Ordnance, that the machinery of the workshops here is being moved to Danville, Salisbury, and other places in North Carolina. He recommends that transportation be given the families of the operatives; and that houses be built for them, with permission to buy subsistence at government prices, for twelve months, that the mechanics may be contented and kept from deserting. This would rid the city of some thousands of its population, and be some measure of relief to those that remain. But how long will we be allowed to remain? All depends upon the operations in the field during the next few weeks--and these may depend upon the wisdom of those in possession of the government, which is now at a discount. The Secretary of the Treasury is selling gold for Confederate States notes for reissue to meet pressing demands; the machinery for manufacturing paper money having just at present no certain abiding place. The government gives $1 of gold for sixty of its own paper; but were it to cease selling gold, it would command $100 for $1. MARCH 6TH.--A bright frosty morning. This day I am fifty-five years of age. It is now reported that Gen. Early made his escape, and that most of his men have straggled into this city. One body of Sheridan's men are said to have been at Gordonsville yesterday, coming hitherward, while another were near Scottsville, aiming for the South Side Railroad. The Adjutant-General, having granted furloughs to the returned prisoners two days ago, to-day revokes them. Will such vacillating policy conciliate the troops, and incite them to heroic deeds? The President and his wife were at church yesterday; so they have not left the city; but Gen. Lee's family, it is rumored, are packing up to leave. I bought a quarter of a cord of oak wood this morning to mix with the green pine, and paid $55 for it. Gen. Early's cavalry, being mostly men of property, were two-thirds of them on furlough or detail, when the enemy advanced on Charlottesville; and the infantry, being poor, with no means either to bribe the authorities, to fee members of Congress, or to aid their suffering families, declined to fight in defense of the property of their rich and _absent_ neighbors! We lost four guns beyond Charlottesville, and our forces were completely routed. There are rumors to-day that a column of the enemy's cavalry has reached Hanover County. Gen. R. E. Lee has ordered Major-Gen. Fitz Lee's cavalry to march against them. Twelve M. They are bringing boxes to the War Office, to pack up the archives. This certainly indicates a sudden removal in an emergency. It is not understood whether they go to Danville or to Lynchburg; that may depend upon _Grant's_ movements. It may, however, be Lee's purpose to _attack_ Grant; meantime preparing to fall back in the event of losing the day. Four days hence we have a day of fasting, etc., appointed by the President; and I understand there are but _three_ day's rations for the army--a nice calculation. Gen. Johnston telegraphs the Secretary that his army must suffer, if not allowed to get commissary stores in the North Carolina depots. The Secretary replies that of course his army must be fed, but hopes he can buy enough, etc., leaving the stores already collected for Lee's army, _which is in great straits_. MARCH 7TH.--Bright and frosty. Yesterday we had no certain accounts of the movements of Sheridan. His force was said to be near Charlottesville--at Keswich. Fitz Lee's cavalry and Pickett's infantry were sent in that direction. Not a word has yet appeared in the Richmond papers concerning this movement from the Valley--the papers being read daily in the enemy's camp below. We hear of no corresponding movement on the part of Grant; and perhaps there was none. Preparations to evacuate the city are still being made with due diligence. If these indications do not suffice to bring the speculators into the ranks to defend their own property (they have no honor, of course), the city and the State are lost; and the property owners will deserve their fate. The extortioners ought to be hung, besides losing their property. This would be a very popular act on the part of the conquerors. On the 4th inst., the day of inauguration at Washington, the troops (Federal) near Petersburg got drunk, and proposed an hour's truce to have a friendly talk. It was refused. I met my friend Brooks to-day, just from Georgia, in a pucker. He says the people there are for reunion. Mr. B. rented his house to Secretary Trenholm for $15,000--furnished. It would now bring $30,000. But he is now running after teams to save his tobacco--_he_ a speculator! A letter was received yesterday from ----, Selma accusing the Assistant Secretary of War, Judge Campbell, his brother-in-law, Judge Goldthwait, and Judge Parsons, of Alabama, with disloyalty, and says Judge C. is about to issue passports for delegates to go to the _Chicago_ Convention, soon to assemble, etc. etc. He says Judge C. is the Fouche of the South. The letter is dated August 23d, 1864, and the President _now_ sends it to the Secretary "for his information." Judge Campbell has exercised almost exclusive control of the conscription and the passport business of the government since his appointment. The President and Secretary must attach some importance to the communication of Mr. ----, the first for sending over the letter at this juncture--the latter, for having just called in Lieut.-Col. Melton, A. A. G., who is assigned a position in his office, and is now superintending the business of _passports_. This arrangement also cuts the earth under the feet of Mr. Kean, Chief of the Bureau of War. The raid of Sheridan has caused some speculators to send their surplus flour into the city for sale. Some sold for $700 per barrel to-day, a decline of $50. D. H. London says the enemy captured the tobacco at Hamilton's Crossing (near Fredericksburg) this morning. I doubt it, but would not deplore it, as it belongs to speculators, sent thither for barter with the enemy. No doubt many articles will decline in price--the owners fearing the coming of the enemy. The packing up of the archives goes on, with directions to be as quiet as possible, so as "not to alarm the people." A large per cent. of the population would behold the exodus with pleasure! MARCH 8TH.--Damp and foggy. We have no military news yet--9 A.M. President Lincoln's short inaugural message, or homily, or sermon, has been received. It is filled with texts from the Bible. He says both sides pray to the same God for aid--one upholding and the other destroying African slavery. If slavery be an offense,--and woe shall fall upon those by whom offenses come,--perhaps not only all the slaves will be lost, but all the accumulated products of their labor be swept away. In short, he "quotes Scripture for the deed" quite as fluently as our President; and since both Presidents resort to religious justification, it may be feared the war is about to assume a more sanguinary aspect and a more cruel nature than ever before. God help us! The history of man, even in the Bible, is but a series of bloody wars. It must be thus to make us appreciate the blessings of peace, and to bow in humble adoration of the great Father of all. The Garden of Eden could not yield contentment to man, nor heaven satisfy all the angels. It is said the enemy have left Fredericksburg--bought all the tobacco, I suppose. To-day the _State_ made distribution in this city of cotton cloth, three yards to each member of a family, at $5.50 for 7-8 and $6.25 for 4-4 width. The State paid about $3 per yard for it, and the profits make a portion of its revenue, or, perhaps, the revenue of its _officers_ and _agents_. Nevertheless, there was a large crowd, and one man fainted. The shops sell at $12 to $15 per yard. Raining at 12 M. All quiet below. Another report of the defeat of Sherman is current to-day, and believed by many. MARCH 9TH.--Rained all night; clearing away this morning. Warm. Nothing positive from Sherman, Grant, or Sheridan. The enemy's papers say Gen. Early and 18,000 men were captured--which is nonsense. Yesterday the Senate passed the Negro troops bill--Mr. Hunter voting for it under instructions. The enemy did capture or destroy the tobacco sent to Fredericksburg by the speculators to exchange for bacon--and 31 cars were burned. No one regrets this, so far as the speculators are concerned. Letters from North Carolina state that the country is swarming with deserters--perhaps many supposed to be deserters are furloughed soldiers just exchanged. It is stated that there are 800 in Randolph County, committing depredations on the _rich_ farmers, etc.; and that the quartermaster and commissary stores at Greensborough are threatened. Meal is selling at $2 per pound, or $100 per bushel, to-day. Bacon, $13 per pound. Two P.M. Cloudy, and prospect of more rain. It is quite warm. A great many officers are here on leave from Lee's army--all operations being, probably, interdicted by the mud and swollen streams. Sheridan failed to cross to the south side of James River, it being certainly his intention to cross and form a junction with Grant, cutting the Danville and South Side Roads on his way. I saw Mr. Benjamin to-day without his usual smile. He is not at ease. The country demands a change of men in the cabinet, and he is the most obnoxious of all. Again, there is a rumor of peace negotiations. All men know that no peace can be negotiated except for reconstruction--and, I suppose, emancipation. MARCH 10TH.--Raining and cold. This is the day appointed by the government for prayer, fasting, etc.; and the departments, shops, etc. are closed. The people, notwithstanding the bad weather, pretty generally proceeded to the churches, which will be open morning, noon, and night, for it is a solemn occasion, and thousands will supplicate Almighty God to be pleased to look upon us with compassion, and aid us, in this hour of extremity, to resist the endeavors of our enemies to reduce us to bondage. The morning papers contain a dispatch from Lee, giving an account of a successful battle in North Carolina. I append it, as the first success chronicled for a great length of time. "HEADQUARTERS, ETC., March 9th, 1865. "HON. J. C. BRECKINRIDGE, SECRETARY OF WAR. "Gen. Bragg reports that he attacked the enemy, yesterday, four miles in front of Kinston, and drove him from his position. He disputed the ground obstinately, and took up a new line three miles from his first. "We captured 3 pieces of artillery and 1500 prisoners. "The number of the enemy's dead and wounded left on the field is large. Ours comparatively small. "The troops behaved most handsomely, and Major-Gens. Hill and Hoke exhibited their usual zeal and energy. R. E. LEE." MARCH 11TH.--Bright and frosty. From a published correspondence between Gens. Hampton and Sherman, on the subject of retaliatory executions, it is mentioned by the former that the City of Columbia, S. C. was burned by the latter. Dispatches this morning inform us of some little successes--Hampton over Kilpatrick in the South, and Rosser over a body of the enemy at Harrisonburg, in the North. Some 1500 prisoners, paroled, arrived this morning--making some 10,000 in the last fortnight. I fear there will soon be a great scarcity of arms, when the negroes are drilled, etc. Mrs. Hobson, of Goochland County, a relative of my wife, has offered a home to my eldest daughter Anne. Mr. H. is wealthy, and his mansion is magnificent. It is lighted with gas, made on the plantation. I am often called upon to lend a copy of the "Wild Western Scenes." My copy is lost. I learn that new editions of my works are published in the United States, where the stereotype plates were deposited. _Here_, as in old times in the North, the publishers prefer to issue publications upon which they pay no copyright--and, I believe, most of our publishers are not Southern men by birth, and hence have no care but for the profits of the business. Congress was to adjourn to-day. But it is said the President has requested them to remain a short time longer, as further legislation will be required _growing out of a treaty with France, about to be consummated_. It is said an alliance has been agreed upon, offensive and defensive, etc. etc. If this should be true! It is but rumor yet--but was first mentioned, gravely, by Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War. MARCH 12TH.--Bright and frosty. About one o'clock last night, there was an alarm, supposed to be the approach of the enemy from the West--Sheridan's cavalry--and the tocsin sounded until daylight. It was a calm moonlight night, without a cloud in the sky. Couriers reported that the enemy were at the outer fortifications, and had burned Ben Green's house. Corse's brigade and one or two batteries passed through the city in the direction of the menaced point; and all the local organizations were ordered to march early in the morning. Mr. Secretary Mallory and Postmaster-General Reagan were in the saddle; and rumor says the President and the remainder of the cabinet had their horses saddled in readiness for flight. About a year ago we had Dahlgren's raid, and it was then announced that the purpose was to burn the city and put to death the President, the cabinet, and other prominent leaders of the "rebellion." Perhaps our leaders had some apprehension of the fate prepared for them on that occasion, and may have concerted a plan of escape. As well as I can learn from couriers, it appears that only some 1200 or 1500 of the enemy's cavalry advanced toward the city, and are now (10 A.M.) retiring--or driven back by our cavalry. But it is a little extraordinary that Gen. Lee, with almost unlimited power, has not been able to prevent 1200 Federals riding from Winchester to Richmond, over almost impracticable roads, without even a respectable skirmish wherein 1000 men were opposed to them. It is true Early was routed--but that was more than a week ago, and we have no particulars yet. The enemy's papers will contain them, however. MARCH 13TH.--Bright and pleasant. The reports of the army of Sheridan (mostly mounted infantry) being within a few miles of the city were at least premature. Subsequent reports indicate that none of the enemy's cavalry have been in the vicinity of Richmond, but that his force, a pretty strong one, is some 20 miles up the river, with pontoon trains, etc., manifesting a purpose to cross the James and cut the Danville Road. In this they will be disappointed probably. The President vetoed several bills last week, among them the one legislating out of office most of the able-bodied post-quarter-masters and commissaries. There is much anxiety to learn the nature of the communication he intends laying before Congress in a few days, and for the reception of which the session has been prolonged. The prevalent supposition is that it relates to foreign complications. Some think the President means to tender his resignation, but this is absurd, for he would be the last man to yield. To-day it is understood the Secretary of War is to be absent from his office, closeted with the President. Gen. Johnston is concentrating on the Wilmington and Weldon Railroad, and perhaps a battle will occur near Goldsborough. Its issue will decide the fate of Raleigh, perhaps of Richmond. The President had the Secretary of War and Mr. Benjamin closeted nearly the entire day yesterday, Sunday. Some important event is in embryo. If Lee's army can be fed--as long as it can be fed--Richmond is safe. Its abandonment will be the loss of Virginia, and perhaps the cause. To save it, therefore, is the problem for those in authority to solve. If we had had competent and honest men always directing the affairs of the Confederacy, Richmond never would have been in danger, and long ere this independence would have been achieved. But passports have been sold, political enemies have been persecuted, conscription has been converted into an engine of vengeance, of cupidity, and has been often made to subserve the ends of the invader, until at last we find ourselves in a deplorable and desperate condition. Gen. Wise, who has been here a few days on sick furlough, has returned to his command, still coughing distressfully, and distressed at the prospect. Miers W. Fisher, member of the Virginia Secession Convention, neglected by the government, and racked with disease, is about to return to the Eastern Shore of Virginia. He may submit and die. He might have done good service, but the politicians who controlled the Confederate States Government ignored him because he had once been a supporter of Gov. Wise for the Presidency. There is a report that Sheridan's force has crossed the James River. If this be so, the Danville Road is in danger, and the President and his cabinet and Congress are all in a predicament. No wonder there is some commotion! But the report may not be true. It is also said Grant is crossing his army to the north side of the river. This may be a feint, but stirring events are casting their shadows before! MARCH 14TH.--Bright and pleasant, but indications of change. The papers contain no news from the armies, near or remote. But there was some alarm in the upper portion of the city about 9 P.M. last night, from a signal seen (appended to a balloon) just over the western horizon. It was stationary for ten minutes, a blood-red light, seen through a hazy atmosphere. I thought it was Mars, but my eldest daughter, a better astronomer than I, said it was neither the time nor place for it to be visible. The air was still, and the dismal barking of the ban-dogs conjured up the most direful portents. All my neighbors supposed it to be a signal from Sheridan to Grant, and that the city would certainly be attacked before morning. It was only a camp signal of one of our own detachments awaiting the approach of Sheridan. Sheridan's passage of the James River has not been confirmed, and so the belief revives that he will assault the city fortifications on the northwest side, while Grant attacks elsewhere. Yesterday the President vetoed several bills, and sent back others unsigned, suggesting alterations. Among them is the Conscript and Exemption bills, which he has detained _ten days_, as Senators say, on a point of constructive etiquette, insisting that the President and Secretary ought to make certain details and exemptions instead of Congress, etc. It is precious time lost, but perhaps in view of the great calamities immediately threatening the country, Congress may yield. But ten days might be enough time lost to lose the cause. The communication referred to by the President, in detaining Congress, has not yet been sent in, unless it be one of his qualified vetoes, and conjecture is still busy, some persons going so far as to hint that it relates to a _capitulation_, yielding up Richmond on certain terms. I have not heard of any demands of Grant of that nature. A dispatch from Gen. R. E. Lee, received this morning, says Fitz Lee's cavalry was at Powhatan C. H. last night (so it was not Fitz's signal), and had been ordered to cross to the north side of the James, which may not be practicable above Richmond. We shall probably see them pass through the city to-day. He says the roads are bad, etc. Sheridan, then, has not crossed the river. Gen. Lee sends to the department this morning a copy of a fierce letter from Lord John Russell, British Secretary of State, to our commissioners abroad, demanding a discontinuance of expeditions fitted out in Canada, and the building and equipping of cruisers in British ports. It says such practices must cease, for they are not only in violation of British law, but calculated to foment war between Great Britain and the United States, which Lord John is very much averse to. The communication is sent to _Washington, D. C._, and thence forwarded by Mr. Seward to Lieut.-Gen. Grant, who sends it by flag of truce to Gen. Lee. Great Britain gives us a kick while the Federal generals are pounding us. The enemy have Fayetteville, N. C. Hardee and Hampton crossed the Cape Fear on the 11th inst. Sherman's army was then within 7 miles of Fayetteville. Bragg, after his fight near Kinston, had to fall back, his rear and right wing being threatened by heavy forces of the enemy coming up from Wilmington. Some of Sheridan's force did cross the James, but retired to the north side. So telegraphs Gen. Lee. MARCH 15TH.--Warm and cloudy. My cabbages coming up in the garden. The papers contain no war news whatever, yet there is great activity in the army. Sheridan's column is said to be at Ashland, and Grant is reported to be sending swarms of troops to the north side of the river, below, "in countless thousands." The President's message, for the completion of which Congress was desired to remain, has been sent in. I will preserve this splendidly exordiumed and most extraordinary document. It is a great legal triumph, achieved by the President over his enemies in Congress, and if we are permitted to have more elections, many obnoxious members will be defeated, for the sins of omission and commission. The President strikes them "between wind and water," at a time, too, when no defense would be listened to, for he says the capital was never in such danger before, and shows that without prodigious effort, and perfect co-operation of all branches of the government, the cause is lost, and we shall have negro garrisons to keep us in subjection, commanded by Northern officers. He will have the satisfaction, at least, of having to say a portion of the responsibility rested with his political opponents. Mr. Benjamin, who is supposed to have written a portion of the message, was very jubilant yesterday, and it is said the President himself was almost jocund as he walked through the Capitol Square, returning home from his office. It is now rumored that a French agent is in the city, and that the President, besides his message, sent to Congress a secret communication. I doubt--but it may be so. Gen. Hood is here, on crutches, attracting no attention, for he was not successful. Judge Campbell, Assistant Secretary of War, said to Mr. Wattles, a clerk, to-day, that we were now arrived at the last days of the Confederacy. Mr. Wattles told me that the judge had been convinced, as far back as 1863, that the cause was nearly hopeless. Some 1200 of Fitz Lee's cavalry passed through the city at 2 P.M. Gen. Longstreet has been ordered by Gen. Lee to attack Sheridan. He telegraphs back from north of the city that he "cannot find them," and this body of cavalry is ordered to reconnoiter their position. I know not how many more men Fitz Lee has in his division, but fear at least _half_ have passed. MARCH 16TH.--Clouds and sunshine; warm. Splendid rainbow last evening. We have nothing new in the papers from any quarter. Sheridan's position is not known yet, though it must be within a short distance of the city. There was no battle yesterday. Sheridan reports the killing of Commodore Hollins, and says it was done because he attempted to escape at Gordonsville. Sherman's march through South Carolina is reported to have been cruel and devastating. Fire and the sword did their worst. Congress, the House of Representatives rather, yesterday passed a bill suspending the privilege of the writ of _habeas corpus_. The Senate will concur probably. Also the President's suggestion amending the Conscript act has been passed. The President has the reins now, and Congress will be more obedient; but can they save this city? Advertisements for recruiting negro troops are in the papers this morning. It is rumored that Sheridan has crossed the Chickahominy and got off without hinderance. If this be so, Gen. Lee will be criticised. One P.M. It is ascertained that Sheridan has withdrawn to the York River, and abandoned any attempt on Richmond. And it is supposed by high military authority that but for the providential freshet, Sheridan would have succeeded in crossing the James River, and cutting the Danville Railroad, which would have deprived Lee's army of supplies. The freshet rendered his pontoon bridge too short, etc. This may be claimed as a direct interposition of Providence, at a time when we were fasting, praying, etc., in accordance with the recommendation of the government. MARCH 17TH.--Bright and cool. A violent southeast gale prevailed last evening, with rain. Of course we have no news in the papers from any quarter. Sheridan having retired, all the local troops returned yesterday. After all, the President does not reap a perfect triumph over Congress. The bill suspending the writ of _habeas corpus_ passed the House by only four majority; and in the Senate it was defeated by nine against six for it! So the President cannot enjoy Cromwell's power without the exercise of Cromwell's violence. We shall have a negro army. Letters are pouring into the department from men of military skill and character, asking authority to raise companies, battalions, and regiments of negro troops. It is the desperate remedy for the very desperate case--and may be successful. If 300,000 efficient soldiers can be made of this material, there is no conjecturing where the next campaign may end. Possibly "over the border," for a little success will elate our spirits extravagantly; and the blackened ruins of our towns, and the moans of women and children bereft of shelter, will appeal strongly to the army for vengeance. There is a vague rumor of another battle by Bragg, in which he did not gain the victory. This is not authentic; and would be very bad, if true, for then Sherman's army would soon loom up in our vicinity like a portentous cloud. The Commissary-General, in a communication to the Secretary urging the necessity of keeping the trade for supplies for Lee's army, now going on in Eastern North Carolina, a profound secret, mentions the "miscarriage of the Fredericksburg affair," which proves that the government _did_ send cotton and tobacco thither for barter with the enemy. One reason alleged for the refusal of Congress to suspend the writ of _habeas corpus_, is the continuance of Mr. Benjamin in the cabinet. MARCH 18TH.--Bright and windy. The following telegram was received this morning from Gen. R. E. Lee: "Gen. Johnston reports that on the 16th Gen. Hardee was repeatedly attacked by four divisions of the enemy a few miles south of Averysborough, but always (cipher). The enemy was reported at night to have crossed Black River, to the east of Varina Point, with the rest of the army. Gen. Hardee is moving to a point twelve miles from Smithfield. Scofield's troops reported at Kinston, repairing railroad. Cheatham's corps not yet up. North Carolina Railroad, with its enormous amount of rolling stock, only conveys about 500 men a day." There has always been corruption--if not treason--among those having charge of transportation. Yesterday the President vetoed another bill--to pay certain arrears to the army and navy; but the House resented this by passing it over his head by more than a two-thirds vote. The Senate will probably do the same. We have a spectacle of war among the politicians as well as in the field! Gen. Whiting, captured at Wilmington, died of his wounds. The government would never listen to his plans for saving Wilmington, and rebuked him for his pertinacity. It is now said Sheridan has crossed the Pamunky, and is returning toward the Rappahannock, instead of forming a junction with Grant. Senator Hunter's place in Essex will probably be visited, and all that region of country ravaged. It is rumored that RALEIGH has fallen! By consulting the map, I perceive that after the battle of Thursday (day before yesterday), Hardee fell back and Sherman advanced, and was within less than thirty miles of Raleigh. The President, it is understood, favors a great and _decisive_ battle. Judge Campbell said to-day that Mr. Wigfall had sent him Mr. Dejarnette's speech (advocating the Monroe doctrine and alliance with the United States), with a message that he (Mr. W.) intended to read it between his sentence and execution, thinking it would tend to reconcile him to death. The judge said, for his own part, he would postpone reading it until after execution. MARCH 19TH.--As beautiful a spring morning as ever dawned since the sun spread its glorious light over the Garden of Eden. Cannon is heard at intervals down the river; and as we have had a few days of wind and sunshine, the surface of the earth is becoming practicable for military operations. I heard no news at the department; but the belief prevails that Raleigh has fallen, or must speedily fall, and that Richmond is in danger--a danger increasing daily. Thousands of non-combatants and families, falling weekly within the power of Sherman's army, have succumbed to circumstances and perforce submitted. I suppose most of those remaining in Savannah, Charleston, Wilmington, etc. have taken the oath of allegiance to the United States; and I hear of no censures upon them for doing so. Whether they will be permitted long to enjoy their property--not their slaves, of course--will depend upon the policy adopted at Washington. If it be confiscated, the war will certainly continue for years, even under the direction of President Davis, who is now quite unpopular. If a contrary course be pursued, the struggle may be more speedily terminated--perhaps after the next great battle. And Mrs. Davis has become unpopular with the ladies belonging to the old families. Her father, Mr. Howell, it is said was of low origin, and this is quite enough to disgust others of "high birth," but yet occupying less exalted positions. Ladies are now offering their jewels and plate at the Treasury for the subsistence of the army. It is not a general thing, however. Yesterday bacon was selling at $20 per pound, and meal at $140 per bushel. If Sherman cuts the communication with North Carolina, no one doubts that this city must be abandoned by Lee's army--and yet it may not be so if diligent search be made for food. The soldiers and the people may suffer, but still subsist until harvest; and meantime the God of battles may change the face of affairs, or France may come to our relief. Four P.M. It is reported that the enemy have taken Weldon. They seem to be closing in on every hand. Lee must soon determine to march away--whether northward or to the southwest, a few weeks, perhaps days, will decide. The unworthy men who have been detained in high civil positions begin now to reap their reward! And the President must reproach himself for his inflexible adherence to a _narrow idea_. He _might_ have been successful. MARCH 20TH.--Sunny and pleasant, but hazy in the south. Cannon heard, quite briskly, south of the city. The papers report that Gen. Hardee repulsed Sherman on the 16th. But the official dispatch of Gen. Johnston says Hardee retired, and Sherman advanced after the fighting was over. Congress adjourned _sine die_ on Saturday, without passing the measures recommended by the President. On the contrary, a committee of the Senate has reported and published an acrimonious reply to certain allegations in the message, and severely resenting the "admonitions" of the Executive. When the joint committee waited on the President to inform him that if he had no further communication to make them they would adjourn, he took occasion to fire another broadside, saying that the measures he had just recommended he sincerely deemed essential for the success of the armies, etc., and, since Congress differed with him in opinion, and did not adopt them, he could only hope that the result would prove he was mistaken and that Congress was right. But if the contrary should appear, _he_ could not be held responsible, etc. This is the mere _squibbing_ of politicians, while the enemy's artillery is thundering at the gates! The Secretary of War visited Gen. Lee's headquarters on Saturday afternoon, and has not yet returned. Breath is suspended in expectation of some event; and the bickering between the President and the Congress has had a bad effect--demoralizing the community. Governor Vance writes (17th instant) to the Secretary of War, that he learns an important secret communication had been sent to Congress, concerning probably his State, and asks a copy of it, etc. The Secretary sends this to the President, intimating that the communication referred to was one inclosing a view of our military "situation" by Gen. Lee, in which he concurred. The President returns Gov. V.'s letter, stating that he does not know his purpose, or exactly what he refers to; but [red tape!] until Congress removes the injunction of secrecy, no one can have copies, etc. Yet he suggests that Gov. V. be written to. Flour is held at $1500 per barrel. Senator Hunter publishes a card to-day, denying that he is in favor of reconstruction, which has been rumored, he says, to his injury, and might injure the country if not denied. A correspondence between Generals Lee and Grant is published, showing that Gen. Longstreet has misunderstood Gen. Ord (Federal) in a late conversation, to the effect that Gen. Grant would be willing to meet Gen. Lee to consult on the means of putting an end to the war. The President gave Lee full powers; but Gen. Grant writes Gen. Lee that Gen. Ord must have been misunderstood, and that he (Grant) had no right to settle such matters, etc. Sad delusion! Assistant Secretary Campbell has given one of his clerks (Cohen, a Jew) a passport to return home--New Orleans--_via_ the United States. The government is still sending away the archives. MARCH 21ST.--Clear and warm. Apricots in blossom. At last we have reliable information that Johnston has checked one of Sherman's columns, at Bentonville, capturing three guns. This success is a great relief--more as an indication of what is to follow, than for what is accomplished. So Bragg and Johnston have both shown successful fight lately. Beauregard next. Sherman has three full generals in his front, with accumulating forces. A few days more will decide his fate--for immortality or destruction. There are many red flags displayed this morning in Clay Street, for sales of furniture and renting of houses to the highest bidders. They have postponed it until the last moment to realize the highest possible prices--and they will get them, in consequence of Johnston's success, which revives the conviction that Richmond will not be evacuated. But they have overreached themselves in demanding extortionate prices--such prices depreciating the currency--$1500 being equivalent to one barrel of flour! If it be determined to abandon the city, what will houses rent for then? Lord Russell's letter, forwarded from Washington some days ago, after much consultation here, was sent back to Gen. Lee by the Secretary of State, declining to receive a communication from a neutral power through a hostile one, and expressing doubts of its _authenticity_. Gen. Lee returns the papers to-day, suggesting that the expression of doubts of the _authenticity_ be omitted--but will, at all events, when returned to him again, have it delivered to Gen. Grant. Mr. Benjamin thinks there is some occult diplomatic danger in the papers--at least he is idle, and wants some diplomatic work on his hands, in the regular way. How to avoid doing anything whatever, diplomatically, with this matter before him, is the very quintessence of diplomacy! He can look at it, read it, handle it, and return it to Lord John, and then diplomatically prove that this government never had any knowledge of its existence! The following official dispatch, from Gen. Lee, was received yesterday: "HEADQUARTERS ARMIES CONFEDERATE STATES, "March 20th, 1865. "HON. JOHN C. BRECKINRIDGE, SECRETARY OF WAR. "Gen. J. E. Johnston reports that about 5 P.M. on the 19th inst. he attacked the enemy near Bentonsville, routed him, capturing three guns. A mile in rear, the enemy rallied upon fresh troops, but was forced back slowly until 6 o'clock P.M., when, receiving more troops, he apparently assumed the offensive, which movement was resisted without difficulty until dark. This morning he is intrenched. "Our loss is small. The troops behaved admirably well. "Dense thickets prevented rapid operations. R. E. LEE." MARCH 22D.--Rained last night; clear and cool this morning. The report of another battle, since Sunday, in North Carolina, is not confirmed. The "Bureau of Conscription" still lives, notwithstanding the action of Congress! The President himself, who favored its abolition, yet being displeased with some of the details of the act, seems to have finally withheld his approval; and so Col. G. W. Lay, son-in-law of Judge Campbell, is again acting Superintendent. The great weight (wealth) of Gen. Preston perhaps saved it--and may have lost the cause. However, it is again said Judge Campbell will soon retire from office. He considers the cause already lost--the work quite accomplished. To-day some of our negro troops will parade in the Capitol Square. The Texas cavalry in Virginia--originally 5000--now number 180! Congress adjourned without adopting any plan to reduce the currency, deeming it hopeless, since the discovery of a deficiency, in Mr. Memminger's accounts, of $400,000,000! So the depreciation will go on, since the collection of taxes is rendered quite impracticable by the operations of the enemy. Yet buying and selling, for what they call "dollars," are still extensively indulged; and although the insecurity of slave property is so manifest, yet a negro man will bring $10,000 at auction. This, however, is only equivalent to about $100. Land, when the price is reduced to the gold standard, is similarly diminished in price. MARCH 23D.--Clear, with high wind. Nothing further from North Carolina. A dispatch from Gen. Lee states that he has directed Gen. Cobb to organize an expedition into _Tennessee_, to cut the enemy's communications. Gen. Wafford, of Kentucky, is in Georgia, with 2000 mounted men, etc. Beef in market this morning sold at $12 to $15 per pound; bacon at $20, and butter at $20. The parade of a few companies of negro troops yesterday was rather a ridiculous affair. The owners are opposed to it. Gen. Rains sends in an indorsement, alleging that owing to the deception of Quartermaster Rhett (not furnishing transportation), he failed to arrest the approach of the enemy on a narrow causeway; and Columbia, S. C., and his shells, etc. fell into the hands of the enemy. A dispatch from Lee states that Gen. Thomas is at Knoxville, and that the enemy has commenced his advance from _that_ direction--is repairing railroads, etc. The same dispatch says Gen. J. E. Johnston is removing his wounded to Smithsville from Bentonville; that the intrenchments of the enemy and greatly superior numbers of Sherman render further offensive operations impracticable. Grant's grand combination is now developed. Sherman from the Southwest, 70,000; Grant himself from the South, 70,000; Thomas, from the West, 40,000; and Sheridan, with 15,000 cavalry from the North--some 200,000 men converging toward this point. To defend it we shall have 120,000 men, without provisions, and, without some speedy successes, no communications with the regions of supply or transportation! Now is coming the time for the exercise of great generalship! Gen. Early has been sent to the West--Tennessee. MARCH 24TH.--Clear and very windy. The fear of utter famine is now assuming form. Those who have the means are laying up stores for the day of siege,--I mean a closer and more rigorous siege,--when all communications with the country shall cease; and this makes the commodities scarcer and the prices higher. There is a project on foot to send away some thousands of useless consumers; but how it is to be effected by the city authorities, and where they will be sent to, are questions I have not heard answered. The population of the city is not less than 100,000, and the markets cannot subsist 70,000. Then there is the army in the vicinity, which _must_ be fed. I suppose the poultry and the sheep will be eaten, and something like a pro rata distribution of flour and meal ordered. There is a rumor of a great victory by Gen. Johnston in North Carolina, the taking of 4500 prisoners, 70 guns, etc.--merely a rumor, I am sure. On the contrary, I apprehend that we shall soon have news of the capture of Raleigh by Sherman. Should this be our fate, we shall soon have three or four different armies encompassing us! I tried in vain this morning to buy a small fish-hook; but could not find one in the city. None but coarse large ones are in the stores. A friend has promised me one--and I can make _pin-hooks_, that will catch minnows. I am too skillful an angler to starve where water runs; and even minnows can be eaten. Besides, there are eels and catfish in the river. The water is always muddy. MARCH 25TH.--Clear and cool. It is reported that Grant is reinforcing Sherman, and that the latter has fallen back upon Goldsborough. This is not yet confirmed by any official statement. A single retrograde movement by Sherman, or even a delay in advancing, would snatch some of his laurels away, and enable Lee to obtain supplies. Yet it may be so. He may have been careering the last month on the unexpended momentum of his recent successes, and really operating on a scale something more than commensurate with the forces of his command. Should this be the case, the moral effect on our people and the army will be prodigious, and a series of triumphs on our side may be the consequence. The Northern papers chronicle the rise in flour here--to $1500 per barrel--a few days ago, and this affords proof of the fact that every occurrence of military importance in Richmond is immediately made known in Washington. How can success be possible? But our authorities are confirmed in their madness. There were some movements yesterday. Pickett's division was ordered from this side of the river to the Petersburg depot, to be transported in haste to that town; but it was countermanded, and the troops now (9 A.M.) are marching back, down Main Street. I have not learned what occasioned all this. The marching and countermarching of troops on this side of the river very much alarmed some of the people, who believed Lee was about to evacuate the city. Eleven A.M. Gen. Lee attacked the enemy's fort (Battery No. 5) near Petersburg this morning, the one which has so long been shelling the town, and captured it, with 600 prisoners, and several guns. This may interfere with Gen. Grant's projects on his left wing, against the railroad. It is rumored that Gen. Grant is moving heavy bodies of troops toward Weldon, to reinforce Sherman. MARCH 26TH.--Frost last night. Cloudy, cold, and windy to-day. Suffered much yesterday and last night with disordered bowels--from cold. This, however, may relieve me of the distressing cough I have had for months. After all, I fear Lee's attempt on the enemy's lines yesterday was a failure. We were compelled to relinquish the fort or battery we had taken, with all the guns we had captured. Our men were exposed to an enfilading fire, not being supported by the divisions intended to co-operate in the movement. The 600 prisoners were completely surprised--their pickets supposing our troops to be merely _deserters_. This indicates an awful state of things, the enemy being convinced that we are beaten, demoralized, etc. There was a communication for the Secretary this morning, from "headquarters;" but being marked "confidential," I did not open it, but sent it to Gen. Breckinridge. Pickett's division has been marching for Petersburg all the morning. MARCH 27TH.--Bright, calm, but cold,--my disorder keeping me at home. The dispatch of Gen. Lee, I fear, indicates that our late attempt to break the enemy's lines was at least prematurely undertaken. The _Dispatch_ newspaper has an article entreating the people not to submit "_too hastily_," as in that event we shall have no benefit of the war between France and the United States--a certain event, the editor thinks. "HEADQUARTERS ARMY CONFEDERATE STATES, "March 25th, 1865--11.20 P.M. "HON. J. C. BRECKINRIDGE, SECRETARY OF WAR. "At daylight this morning, Gen. Gordon assaulted and carried the enemy's works at Hare's Hill, capturing 9 pieces of artillery, 8 mortars, and between 500 and 600 prisoners, among them one brigadier-general and a number of officers of lower grade. "The lines were swept for a distance of four or five hundred yards to the right and left, and two efforts made to recover the captured works were handsomely repulsed. But it was found that the inclosed works in rear, commanding the enemy's main line, could only be taken at a great sacrifice, and our troops were withdrawn to their original position. "It being impracticable to bring off the captured guns, owing to the nature of the ground, they were disabled and left. "Our loss, as reported, is not heavy. Among the wounded are Brig. Gen. Terry, flesh wound, and Brig.-Gen. Phil. Cooke, in the arm. "All the troops engaged, including two brigades under Brig.-Gen. Ransom, behaved most handsomely. The conduct of the sharpshooters of Gordon's corps, who led the assault, deserves the highest commendation. "This afternoon there was skirmishing on the right, between the picket lines, with varied success. At dark the enemy held a considerable portion of the line farthest in advance of our main work. "[Signed] R. E. LEE." MARCH 28TH.--Cloudy and sunshine; but little wind. Too ill to go to the department, and I get nothing new except what I read in the papers. Some of the editorials are very equivocal, and have a squint toward reconstruction. The President, and one of his Aids, Col. Lubbock, ex-Governor of Texas, rode by my house, going toward Camp Lee. If driven from this side the Mississippi, no doubt the President would retire into Texas. And Lee must gain a victory soon, or his communications will be likely to be interrupted. Richmond and Virginia are probably in extreme peril at this moment. MARCH 29TH.--Slightly overcast, but calm and pleasant. I am better, after the worst attack for twenty years. The only medicine I took was blue mass--ten grains. My wife had a little tea and loaf-sugar, and a solitary smoked herring--and this I relish; and have nothing else. A chicken, I believe, would cost $50. I must be careful now, and recuperate. Fine weather, and an indulgence of my old passion for angling, would soon build me up again. The papers give forth an uncertain sound of what is going on in the field, or of what is likely to occur. Unless food and men can be had, Virginia must be lost. The negro experiment will soon be tested. Custis says letters are pouring in at the department from all quarters, asking authority to raise and command negro troops: 100,000 recruits from this source might do wonders. I think Lee's demonstrations on Grant's front have mainly in view the transportation of subsistence from North Carolina. Mrs. President Davis has left the city, with her children, for the South. I believe it is her purpose to go no farther at present than Charlotte, N. C.--rear of Sherman. Some of their furniture has been sent to auction. Furniture will soon be _low_ again. It is now believed that the government will be removed with all expedition to Columbus, Ga. But it is said Richmond will still be held by our army. _Said!_ Alas! would it not be too expensive--"too much for the whistle?" Shad are selling at $50 per pair. If Richmond should be left to strictly military rule, I hope it will rule the prices. It is reported that Gen. Johnston has fallen back on Weldon; some suppose to attack _Grant's_ rear, but no doubt it is because he is pressed by Sherman with superior numbers. A dispatch from Gen. Lee, to-day, states the important fact that Grant's left wing (cavalry and infantry) passed Hatcher's Run this morning, marching to Dinwiddie C. H. The purpose is to cut the South Side and Danville Roads; and it may be accomplished, for we have "here no adequate force of cavalry to oppose Sheridan; and it may be possible, if Sheridan turns his head this way, that shell may be thrown into the city. At all events, he may destroy some bridges--costing him dear." But pontoon bridges were sent up the Danville Road yesterday and to-day, in anticipation, beyond the bridges to be destroyed. MARCH 30TH.--Raining rapidly, and warm. Again the sudden change of weather may be an interposition of Providence to defeat the effort of the enemy to destroy Gen. Lee's communications with his Southern depots of supplies. I hope so, for faith in man is growing weaker. Our loss in the affair of the 25th instant was heavy, and is now admitted to be a disaster; and Lee himself was there! It amounted, probably, to 3000 men. Grant says over 2000 prisoners were registered by his Provost Marshal. It is believed the President advised the desperate undertaking; be that as it may, many such blows cannot follow in quick succession without producing the most deplorable results. The government would soon make its escape--_if it could_. Mrs. Davis, however, soonest informed of our condition, got away in time. Dispatches from Generalissimo Lee inform the Secretary that large expeditions are on foot in Alabama, Mississippi, etc., and that Thomas's army is rapidly advancing upon Virginia from East Tennessee, while no general has yet been designated to command our troops. The papers say nothing of the flank movement commenced yesterday by Grant. This reticence cannot be for the purpose of keeping _the enemy_ in ignorance of it! I am convalescent, but too weak to walk to the department to-day. The deathly "sick man," as the Emperor of Russia used to designate the Sultan of Turkey, is our President. His mind has never yet comprehended the magnitude of the crisis. Custis says letters still flow in asking authority to raise negro troops. In the North the evacuation of Richmond is looked for between the 1st and 25th of April. They may be fooled. But if we lose the Danville Road, it will only be a question of time. Yet there will remain too great a breadth of territory for subjugation--if the _people_ choose to hold out, and soldiers can be made of negroes. It is reported (believed) that several determined assaults were made on our lines yesterday evening and last night at Petersburg, and repulsed with slaughter; and that the attack has been renewed to-day. Very heavy firing has been heard in that direction. Gen. Lee announces no result yet. We have 2,000,000 bread rations in the depots in North Carolina. MARCH 31ST.--Raining; rained all night. My health improving, but prudence requires me to still keep within the house. The reports of terrific fighting near Petersburg on Wednesday evening have not been confirmed. Although Gen. Lee's dispatch shows they were not quite without foundation, I have no doubt there was a false alarm on both sides, and a large amount of ammunition vainly expended. "HEADQUARTERS, March 30th, 1865. "GEN. J. C. BRECKINRIDGE, SECRETARY OF WAR. "Gen. Gordon reports that the enemy, at 11 A.M. yesterday, advanced against a part of his lines, defended by Brig.-Gen. Lewis, but was repulsed. "The fire of artillery and mortars continued for several hours with considerable activity. "No damage on our lines reported. R. E. LEE." We are sinking our gun-boats at Chaffin's Bluff, to obstruct the passage of the enemy's fleet, expected soon to advance. Congress passed two acts, and proper ones, to which the Executive has yet paid no attention whatever, viz.: the abolition of the Bureau of Conscription, and of all Provost Marshals, their guards, etc. not attached to armies in the field. If the new Secretary has consented to be burdened with the responsibility of this contumacy and violation of the Constitution, it will break his back, and ruin our already desperate cause. Four P.M.--Since writing the above, I learn that an order has been published abolishing the "Bureau of Conscription." Gov. Vance has written to know why the government wants the track of the North Carolina Railroad altered to the width of those in Virginia, and has been answered: 1st, to facilitate the transportation of supplies to Gen. Lee's army from North Carolina; and 2d, in the event of disaster, to enable the government to run all the locomotives, cars, etc. of the Virginia roads into North Carolina. CHAPTER XLIX. Rumors of battles.--Excitement in the churches.--The South Side Road captured by the enemy.--Evacuation of Richmond.--Surrender of Gen. Lee.--Occupation of Richmond by Federal forces.--Address to the people of Virginia by J. A. Campbell and others.--Assassination of President Lincoln. APRIL 1ST.--Clear and pleasant. Walked to the department. We have vague and incoherent accounts from excited couriers of fighting, without result, in Dinwiddie County, near the South Side Railroad. It is rumored that a battle will probably occur in that vicinity to-day. I have leave of absence, to improve my health; and propose accompanying my daughter Anne, next week, to Mr. Hobson's mansion in Goochland County. The Hobsons are opulent, and she will have an excellent asylum there, if the vicissitudes of the war do not spoil her calculations. I shall look for angling streams: and if successful, hope for both sport and better health. The books at the conscript office show a frightful list of deserters or absentees without leave--60,000--all Virginians. Speculation! Jno. M. Daniel, editor of the _Examiner_, is dead. The following dispatch from Gen. Lee is just (10 A.M.) received: "HEADQUARTERS, April 1st, 1865. "HIS EXCELLENCY PRESIDENT DAVIS. "Gen. Beauregard has been ordered to make arrangements to defend the railroad in North Carolina against Stoneman. Generals Echols and Martin are directed to co-operate, and obey his orders. R. E. LEE." A rumor (perhaps a 1st of April rumor) is current that a treaty has been signed between the Confederate States Government and Maximilian. APRIL 2D.--Bright and beautiful. The tocsin was sounded this morning at daybreak, and the militia ordered to the fortifications, to relieve some regiments of Longstreet's corps, posted on this side of the river. These latter were hurried off to Petersburg, where a battle is impending, I suppose, if not in progress. A street rumor says there was bloody fighting yesterday a little beyond Petersburg, near the South Side Road, in which Gen. Pickett's division met with fearful loss, being engaged with superior numbers. It is said the enemy's line of intrenchments was carried once or twice, but was retaken, and remained in their hands. I hear nothing of all this at the department; but the absence of dispatches there is now interpreted as bad news! Certain it is, the marching of veteran troops from the defenses of Richmond, and replacing them hurriedly with militia, can only indicate an emergency of alarming importance. A decisive struggle is probably at hand--and may possibly be in progress while I write. Or there may be nothing in it--more than a precautionary concentration to preserve our communications. Mrs. Davis sold nearly all her movables--including presents--before leaving the city. She sent them to different stores. An intense excitement prevails, at 2 P.M. It pervaded the churches. Dr. Hoge intermitted his services. Gen. Cooper and the President left their respective churches, St. James's and St. Paul's. Dr. Minnegerode, before dismissing his congregation, gave notice that Gen. Ewell desired the local forces to assemble at 3 P.M.--and afternoon services will not be held. The excited women in this neighborhood say they have learned the city is to be evacuated to-night. No doubt our army sustained a serious blow yesterday; and Gen. Lee may not have troops sufficient to defend both the city and the Danville Road at the same time. It is true! The enemy have broken through our lines and attained the South Side Road. Gen. Lee has dispatched the Secretary to have everything in readiness to _evacuate the city to-night_. The President told a lady that Lieut.-Gen. Hardee was only twelve miles distant, and might get up in time to save the day. But then Sherman must be in _his_ rear. There is no wild excitement--_yet_. Gen. Kemper was at the department looking for Gen. Ewell, and told me he could find no one to apply to for orders. The banks will move to-night. Eight trains are provided for the transportation of the archives, etc. No provision for civil employees and their families. At 6 P.M. I saw the Hon. James Lyons, and asked him what he intended to do. He said many of his friends advised him to leave, while his inclination was to remain with his sick family. He said, being an original secessionist, his friends apprehended that the Federals would arrest him the first man, and hang him. I told him I differed with them, and believed his presence here might result in benefit to the population. Passing down Ninth Street to the department, I observed quite a number of men--some in uniform, and some of them officers--hurrying away with their trunks. I believe they are not allowed to put them in the cars. The Secretary of War intends to leave at 8 P.M. this evening. The President and the rest of the functionaries, I suppose, will leave at the same time. I met Judge Campbell in Ninth Street, talking rapidly to himself, with two books under his arm, which he had been using in his office. He told me that the chiefs of bureaus determined which clerks would have transportation--embracing only a small proportion of them, which I found to be correct. At the department I learned that all who had families were advised to remain. No compulsion is seen anywhere; even the artisans and mechanics of the government shops are left free to choose--to go or to stay. A few squads of local troops and reserves--guards--may be seen marching here and there. Perhaps they are to burn the tobacco, cotton, etc., if indeed anything is to be burned. Lee must have met with an awful calamity. The President said to several ladies to-day he had hopes of Hardee coming up in time to save Lee--else Richmond must succumb. He said he had done his best, etc. to save it. Hardee is distant two or three days' march. The negroes stand about mostly silent, as if wondering what will be their fate. They make no demonstrations of joy. Several hundred prisoners were brought into the city this afternoon--captured yesterday. Why they were brought here I am at a loss to conjecture. Why were they not paroled and sent into the enemy's lines? At night. All is yet quiet. No explosion, no conflagration, no riots, etc. How long will this continue? When will the enemy come? It was after 2 o'clock P.M. before the purpose to evacuate the city was announced; and the government had gone at 8 P.M.! Short notice! and small railroad facilities to get away. All horses were impressed. There is a report that Lieut.-Gen. A. P. Hill was killed, and that Gen. Lee was wounded. Doubtless it was a battle of great magnitude, wherein both sides had all their forces engaged. I remain here, broken in health and bankrupt in fortune, awaiting my fate, whatever it may be. I can do no more. If I could, I would. APRIL 3D.--Another clear and bright morning. It was a quiet night, with its million of stars. And yet how few could sleep, in anticipation of the entrance of the enemy! But no enemy came until 9 A.M., when some 500 were posted at the Capitol Square. They had been waited upon previously by the City Council, and the surrender of the city stipulated--to occur this morning. They were asked to post guards for the protection of property from pillage, etc., and promised to do so. At dawn there were two tremendous explosions, seeming to startle the very earth, and crashing the glass throughout the western end of the city. One of these was the blowing up of the magazine, near the new almshouse--the other probably the destruction of an iron-clad ram. But subsequently there were others. I was sleeping soundly when awakened by them. All night long they were burning the papers of the Second Auditor's office in the street--claims of the survivors of deceased soldiers, accounts of contractors, etc. At 7 A.M. Committees appointed by the city government visited the liquor shops and had the spirits (such as they could find) destroyed. The streets ran with liquor; and women and boys, black and white, were seen filling pitchers and buckets from the gutters. A lady sold me a bushel of potatoes in Broad Street for $75, Confederate States money--$5 less than the price a few days ago. I bought them at her request. And some of the shops gave clothing to our last retiring guards. Goods, etc. at the government depots were distributed to the poor, to a limited extent, there being a limited amount. A dark volume of smoke rises from the southeastern section of the city, and spreads like a pall over the zenith. It proceeds from the tobacco warehouse, ignited, I suppose, hours ago, and now just bursting forth. At 8-1/2 A.M. The armory, arsenal, and laboratory (Seventh and Canal Streets), which had been previously fired, gave forth terrific sounds from thousands of bursting shells. This continued for more than an hour. Some fragments of shell fell within a few hundred yards of my house. The pavements are filled with pulverized glass. Some of the great flour mills have taken fire from the burning government warehouses, and the flames are spreading through the lower part of the city. A great conflagration is apprehended. The doors of the government bakery (Clay Street) were thrown open this morning, and flour and crackers were freely distributed, until the little stock was exhausted. I got a barrel of the latter, paying a negro man $5 to wheel it home--a short distance. Ten A.M. A battery (United States) passed my house, Clay Street, and proceeded toward Camp Lee. Soon after the officers returned, when I asked the one in command if guards would be placed in this part of the city to prevent disturbance, etc. He paused, with his suite, and answered that such was the intention, and that every precaution would be used to preserve order. He said the only disturbances were caused by our people. I asked if there was any disturbance. He pointed to the black columns of smoke rising from the eastern part of the city, and referred to the incessant bursting of shell. I remarked that the storehouses had doubtless been ignited hours previously. To this he assented, and assuring me that _they_ did not intend to disturb us, rode on. But immediately meeting two negro women laden with plunder, they wheeled them to the right about, and marched them off, to the manifest chagrin of the newly emancipated citizens. Eleven A.M. I walked down Brad Street to the Capitol Square. The street was filled with _negro troops_, cavalry and infantry, and were cheered by hundreds of negroes at the corners. I met Mr. T. Cropper (lawyer from the E. Shore) driving a one-horse wagon containing his bedding and other property of his quarters. He said he had just been burnt out--at Belom's Block--and that St. Paul's Church (Episcopal) was, he thought, on fire. This I found incorrect; but Dr. Reed's (Presbyterian) was in ruins. The leaping and lapping flames were roaring in Main Street up to Ninth; and Goddin's Building (late General Post-Office) was on fire, as well as all the houses in Governor Street up to Franklin. The grass of Capitol Square is covered with parcels of goods snatched from the raging conflagration, and each parcel guarded by a Federal soldier. A general officer rode up and asked me what building that was--pointing to the old stone United States Custom House--late Treasury and State Departments, also the President's office. He said, "Then it is fire-proof, and the fire will be arrested in this direction." He said he was sorry to behold such destruction; and regretted that there was not an adequate supply of engines and other apparatus. Shells are still bursting in the ashes of the armory, etc. All the stores are closed; most of the largest (in Main Street) have been burned. There are supposed to be 10,000 negro troops at Camp Lee, west of my dwelling. An officer told me, 3 P.M., that a white brigade will picket the city to-night; and he assured the ladies standing near that there would not be a particle of danger of molestation. After 9 P.M., all will be required to remain in their houses. Soldiers or citizens, after that hour, will be arrested. He said we had done ourselves great injury by the fire, the lower part of the city being in ashes, and declared that the United States troops had no hand in it. I acquitted them of the deed, and told him that the fire had spread from the tobacco warehouses and military depots, fired by our troops as a military necessity. Four P.M. Thirty-four guns announced the arrival of President Lincoln. He flitted through the mass of human beings in Capitol Square, his carriage drawn by four horses, preceded by out-riders, motioning the people, etc. out of the way, and followed by a mounted guard of thirty. The cortege passed rapidly, precisely as I had seen royal parties ride in Europe. APRIL 4TH.--Another bright and beautiful day. I walked around the burnt district this morning. Some seven hundred houses, from Main Street to the canal, comprising the most valuable stores, and the best business establishments, were consumed. All the bridges across the James were destroyed, the work being done effectually. Shells were placed in all the warehouses where the tobacco was stored, to prevent the saving of any. The War Department was burned after I returned yesterday; and soon after the flames were arrested, mainly by the efforts of the Federal troops. Gen. Weitzel commanded the troops that occupied the city upon its abandonment. The troops do not interfere with the citizens here any more than they do in New York--yet. Last night everything was quiet, and perfect order prevails. A few thousand negroes (mostly women) are idle in the streets, or lying in the Capitol Square, or crowding about headquarters, at the Capitol. Gen. Lee's family remain in the city. I saw a Federal guard promenading in front of the door, his breakfast being just sent to him from within. Brig.-Gen. Gorgas's family remain also. They are Northern-born. It is rumored that another great battle was fought yesterday, at Amelia Court House, on the Danville Road, and that Lee, Johnston and Hardee having come up, defeated Grant. It is only rumor, so far. If it be true, Richmond was evacuated prematurely; for the local defense troops might have held it against the few white troops brought in by Weitzel. The negroes never would have been relied on to take it by assault. I see many of the civil employees left behind. It was the merest accident (being Sunday) that any were apprised, in time, of the purpose to evacuate the city. It was a shameful _abandonment_ on the part of the heads of departments and bureaus. Confederate money is not taken to-day. However, the shops are still closed. APRIL 5TH.--Bright and pleasant. Stayed with my next door neighbors at their request last night--all females. It was quiet; and so far the United States pickets and guards have preserved perfect order. The cheers that greeted President Lincoln were mostly from the negroes and Federals comprising the great mass of humanity. The white citizens felt annoyed that the city should be held mostly by negro troops. If this measure were not unavoidable, it was impolitic if conciliation be the purpose. Mr. Lincoln, after driving to the mansion lately occupied by Mr. Davis, Confederate States President, where he rested, returned, I believe, to the fleet at Rocketts. This morning thousands of negroes and many white females are besieging the public officers for provisions. I do not observe any getting them, and their faces begin to express disappointment. It is said all the negro men, not entering the army, will be put to work, rebuilding bridges, repairing railroads, etc. I have seen a _New York Herald_ of the 3d, with dispatches of the 1st and 2d inst. from Mr. Lincoln, who was at City Point during the progress of the battle. He sums up with estimate of 12,000 prisoners captured, and 50 guns. The rumor of a success by Gen. Lee on Monday is still credited. _Per contra_, it is reported that President Davis is not only a captive, but will soon be exhibited in Capitol Square. The Rev. Mr. Dashiell, who visited us to-day, said it was reported and believed that 6000 South Carolina troops threw down their arms; and that a large number of Mississippians deserted--giving such information to the enemy as betrayed our weak points, etc. Three P.M. I feel that this Diary is near its end. The burnt district includes all the banks, money-changers, and principal speculators and extortioners. This seems like a decree from above! Four P.M. The Square is nearly vacated by the negroes. An officer told me they intended to put them in the army in a few days, and that the Northern people did not really like negro equality any better than we did. Two rumors prevail: that Lee gained a victory on Monday, and that Lee has capitulated, with 35,000 men. The policy of the conquerors here, I believe, is still undecided, and occupies the attention of Mr. Lincoln and his cabinet. APRIL 6TH.--Showery morning. I perceive no change, except, perhaps, a diminution of troops, which seems to confirm the reports of recent battles, and the probable success of Lee and Johnston. But all is doubt and uncertainty. The military authorities are still reticent regarding the fate of those remaining in Richmond. We are at their mercy, and prepared for our fate. I except some of our ladies, who are hysterical, and want to set out on foot "for the Confederacy." APRIL 7TH.--Slight showers. Wm. Ira Smith, tailor, and part owner of the _Whig_, has continued the publication as a Union paper. I visited the awful crater of the magazine. One current or stream of fire and bricks knocked down the east wall of the cemetery, and swept away many head and foot stones, demolishing trees, plants, etc. It is said President Lincoln is still in the city. Dr. Ellison informed me to-day of the prospect of Judge Campbell's conference with Mr. Lincoln. It appears that the judge had prepared statistics of our resources in men and materials, showing them to be utterly inadequate for a prolongation of the contest, and these he exhibited to certain prominent citizens, whom he wished to accompany him. Whether they were designed also for the eye of President Lincoln, or whether he saw them, I did not learn. But one citizen accompanied him--GUSTAVUS A. MYERS, the little old lawyer, who has certainly cultivated the most friendly relations with all the members of President Davis's cabinet, and it is supposed he prosecuted a lucrative business procuring substitutes, obtaining discharges, getting passports, etc. The ultimatum of President Lincoln was Union, emancipation, disbandment of the Confederate States armies. Then no oath of allegiance would be required, no confiscation exacted, or other penalty; and the Governor and Legislature to assemble and readjust the affairs of Virginia without molestation of any character. Negotiations are in progress by the clergymen, who are directed to open the churches on Sunday, and it was intimated to the Episcopalians that they should pray for the President of the United States. To this they demur, being ordered by the Convention to pray for the President of the Confederate States. They are willing to omit the prayer altogether, and await the decision of the military authority on that proposition. APRIL 8TH.--Bright and pleasant weather. We are still in uncertainty as to our fate, or whether an oath of allegiance will be demanded. Efforts by Judge Campbell, Jos. R. Anderson, N. P. Tyler, G. A. Myers and others, are being made to assemble a convention which shall withdraw Virginia from the Confederacy. Hundreds of civil employees remained, many because they had been required to _volunteer_ in the local defense organization or lose their employment, and the fear of being still further perfidiously dealt with, forced into the army, notwithstanding their legal exemptions. Most of them had families whose subsistence depended upon their salaries. It is with governments as with individuals, injustice is sooner or later overtaken by its merited punishment. The people are kinder to each other, sharing provisions, etc. A New York paper says Gen. H. A. Wise was killed; we hear nothing of this here. Roger A. Pryor is said to have remained voluntarily in Petersburg, and announces his abandonment of the Confederate States cause. APRIL 9TH.--Bright and beautiful. Rev. Mr. Dashiell called, after services. The prayer for the President was omitted, by a previous understanding. Rev. Dr. Minnegerode, and others, leading clergymen, consider the cause at an end. A letter from Gen. Lee has been found, and its authenticity vouched for (Rev. Dr. M. says) by Judge Campbell, in which he avows his conviction that further resistance will be in vain--but that so long as it is desired, he will do his utmost in the field. And Dr. M. has information of the capture of three divisions of Longstreet since the battle of Sunday last, with some eight generals--among them Lieut.-Gen. Ewell, Major-Gen. G. W. Custis Lee, etc. The clergy also seem to favor a convention, and the resumption by Virginia of her old position in the Union--minus slavery. Charlottesville has been named as the place for the assembling of the convention. They also believe that Judge Campbell remained to treat with the United States at the request of the Confederate States Government. I doubt. We shall now have no more interference in Cæsar's affairs by the clergy--may they attend to God's hereafter! Ten o'clock P.M. A salute fired--100 guns--from the forts across the river, which was succeeded by music from all the bands. The guard promenading in front of the house says a dispatch has been received from Grant announcing the surrender of Lee! I hear that Gen. Pickett was killed in the recent battle! APRIL 10TH.--Raining. I was startled in bed by the sound of cannon from the new southside fort again. I suppose another hundred guns were fired; and I learn this morning that the Federals declare, and most people believe, that Lee has really surrendered his army--if not indeed all the armies. My Diary is surely drawing to a close, and I feel as one about to take leave of some old familiar associate. A _habit_ is to be discontinued--and that is no trifling thing to one of my age. But I may find sufficient employment in revising, correcting, etc. what I have written. I never supposed it would end in this way. Ten A.M. It is true! Yesterday Gen. Lee surrendered the "Army of Northern Virginia." His son, Custis Lee, and other generals, had surrendered a few days previously. The men are paroled by regimental commanders, from the muster rolls, and are permitted to return to their homes and remain undisturbed until exchanged. The officers to take their side-arms and baggage to their homes, on the same conditions, etc. There _were_ 290 pieces of artillery belonging to this army a few weeks ago. This army was the pride, the hope, the prop of the Confederate cause, and numbered, I believe, on the rolls, 120,000 men. All is lost! No head can be made by any other general or army--if indeed any other army remains. If Mr. Davis had been present, he never would have consented to it; and I doubt if he will ever forgive Gen. Lee. APRIL 11TH.--Cloudy and misty. It is reported that Gen. Johnston has surrendered his army in North Carolina, following the example of Gen. Lee. But no salutes have been fired in honor of the event. The President (Davis) is supposed to be flying toward the Mississippi River, but this is merely conjectural. Undoubtedly the war is at an end, and the Confederate States Government will be immediately extinct--its members fugitives. From the tone of leading Northern papers, we have reason to believe President Lincoln will call Congress together, and proclaim an amnesty, etc. Judge Campbell said to Mr. Hart (clerk in the Confederate States War Department) yesterday that there would be no arrests, and no oath would be required. Yet ex-Captain Warner was arrested yesterday, charged with ill treating Federal prisoners, with registering a false name, and as a dangerous character. I know the contrary of all this; for he has been persecuted by the Confederate States authorities for a year, and forced to resign his commission. My application to Gen. Shepley for permission to remove my family to the Eastern Shore, where they have relatives and friends, and may find subsistence, still hangs fire. Every day I am told to call the _next_ day, as it has not been acted upon. APRIL 12TH.--Warm and cloudy. Gen. Weitzel publishes an order to-day, requiring all ministers who have prayed for the President of the Confederate States to pray hereafter for the President of the United States. He will not allow them to omit the prayer. In answer to my application for permission to take my family to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, where among their relations and friends shelter and food may be had, Brevet Brig.-Gen. Ludlow indorsed: "Disallowed--as none but loyal people, who have taken the oath, are permitted to reside on the Eastern Shore of Virginia." This paper I left at Judge Campbell's residence (he was out) for his inspection, being contrary in spirit to the terms he is represented to have said would be imposed on us. At 1-1/2 P.M. Another 100 guns were fired in Capitol Square, in honor, I suppose, of the surrender of JOHNSTON'S army. I must go and see. Captain Warner is still in prison, and no one is allowed to visit him, I learn. Three P.M. Saw Judge Campbell, who will lay my paper before the military authorities for reconsideration to-morrow. He thinks they have acted unwisely. I said to him that a gentleman's _word_ was better than an enforced oath--and that if persecution and confiscation are to follow, instead of organized armies we shall have bands of assassins everywhere in the field, and the stiletto and the torch will take the place of the sword and the musket--and there can be no solid reconstruction, etc. He says he told the Confederate States authorities months ago that the cause had failed, but they would not listen. He said he had telegraphed something to Lieut.-Gen. Grant to-day. The salute some say was in honor of Johnston's surrender--others say it was for Lee's--and others of Clay's birthday. APRIL 13TH.--Raining. Long trains of "supply" and "ammunition" wagons have been rolling past our dwelling all the morning, indicating a movement of troops southward. I suppose the purpose is to _occupy_ the conquered territory. Alas! we know too well what military occupation is. No intelligent person supposes, after Lee's surrender, that there will be found an army anywhere this side of the Mississippi of sufficient numbers to make a stand. No doubt, however, many of the dispersed Confederates will join the trans-Mississippi army under Gen. E. Kirby Smith, if indeed, he too does not yield to the prevalent surrendering epidemic. Confederate money is valueless, and we have no Federal money. To such extremity are some of the best and wealthiest families reduced, that the ladies are daily engaged making pies and cakes for the Yankee soldiers of all colors, that they may obtain enough "greenbacks" to purchase such articles as are daily required in their housekeeping. It is said we will be supplied with rations from the Federal commissariat. APRIL 14TH.--Bright and cool. Gen. Weitzel and his corps having been ordered away; Major-Gen. Ord has succeeded to the command at Richmond, and his corps has been marching to Camp Lee ever since dawn. I saw no negro troops among them, but presume there are some. Gen. Weitzel's rule became more and more despotic daily; but it is said the order dictating prayers to be offered by the Episcopal clergy came from Mr. Stanton, at Washington, Secretary of War. One of the clergy, being at my house yesterday, said that unless this order were modified there would be no services on Sunday. To-day, Good Friday, the churches are closed. The following circular was published a few days ago: "TO THE PEOPLE OF VIRGINIA. "The undersigned, members of the Legislature of the State of Virginia, in connection with a number of the citizens of the State, whose names are attached to this paper, in view of the evacuation of the City of Richmond by the Confederate Government, and its occupation by the military authorities of the United States, the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, and the suspension of the jurisdiction of the civil power of the State, are of opinion that an immediate meeting of the General Assembly of the State is called for by the exigencies of the situation. "The consent of the military authorities of the United States to the session of the Legislature in Richmond, in connection with the Governor and Lieutenant-Governor, to their free deliberation upon public affairs, and to the ingress and departure of all its members under safe conducts, has been obtained. "The United States authorities will afford transportation from any point under their control to any of the persons before mentioned. "The matters to be submitted to the Legislature are the restoration of peace to the State of Virginia, and the adjustment of questions involving life, liberty, and property, that have arisen in the State as a consequence of the war. "We therefore earnestly request the Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, and members of the Legislature to repair to this city by the 25th April (instant). "We understand that full protection to persons and property will be afforded in the State, and we recommend to peaceful citizens to remain at their homes and pursue their usual avocations, with confidence that they will not be interrupted. "We earnestly solicit the attendance, in Richmond, on or before the 25th of April (instant), of the following persons, citizens of Virginia, to confer with us as to the best means of restoring peace to the State of Virginia. We have procured safe conduct from the military authorities of the United States for them to enter the city and depart without molestation: Hon. R. M. T. Hunter, A. T. Caperton, Wm. C. Rives, John Letcher, A. H. H. Stuart, R. L. Montague, Fayette McMullen, J. P. Holcombe, Alexander Rives, B. Johnson Barbour, James Barbour, Wm. L. Goggin, J. B. Baldwin, Thomas S. Gholson, Waller Staples, S. D. Miller, Thomas J. Randolph, Wm T. Early, R. A. Claybrook, John Critcher, Wm. Towns, T. H. Eppes, and those other persons for whom passports have been procured and especially forwarded that we consider it to be unnecessary to mention. "A. J. Marshall, Senator, Fauquier; James Neeson, Senator, Marion; James Venable, Senator elect, Petersburg; David I. Burr, of House of Delegates, Richmond City; David J. Saunders, of House of Delegates, Richmond City; L. S. Hall, of House of Delegates, Wetzel County; J. J. English, of House of Delegates, Henrico County; Wm. Ambers, of House of Delegates, Chesterfield County; A. M. Keily, of House of Delegates, Petersburg; H. W. Thomas, Second Auditor of Virginia; St. L. L. Moncure, Chief Clerk Second Auditor's office; Joseph Mayo, Mayor of City of Richmond; Robert Howard, Clerk of Hustings Court, Richmond City; Thomas U. Dudley, Sergeant Richmond City; Littleton Tazewell, Commonwealth's Attorney, Richmond City; Wm. T. Joynes, Judge of Circuit Court, Petersburg; John A. Meredith, Judge of Circuit Court, Richmond; Wm. H. Lyons, Judge of Hustings Court, Richmond; Wm. C. Wickham, Member of Congress, Richmond District; Benj. S. Ewell, President of William and Mary College; Nat. Tyler, Editor Richmond _Enquirer_; R. F. Walker, Publisher of _Examiner_; J. R. Anderson, Richmond; R. R. Howison, Richmond; W. Goddin, Richmond; P. G. Bayley, Richmond; F. J. Smith, Richmond; Franklin Stearns, Henrico; John Lyons, Petersburg; Thomas B. Fisher, Fauquier; Wm. M. Harrison, Charles City; Cyrus Hall, Ritchie; Thomas W. Garnett, King and Queen; James A. Scott, Richmond. "I concur in the preceding recommendation. "J. A. CAMPBELL. "Approved for publication in the _Whig_, and in handbill form. "G. WEITZEL, Major-Gen. Commanding. "RICHMOND, VA., April 11th, 1865." To-day the following order is published: "HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF VIRGINIA, "RICHMOND, VA., April 13th, 1865. "Owing to recent events, the permission for the reassembling of the gentlemen recently acting as the Legislature of Virginia is rescinded. Should any of the gentlemen come to the city under the notice of reassembling, already published, they will be furnished passports to return to their homes. "Any of the persons named in the call signed by J. A. Campbell and others, who are found in the city twelve hours after the publication of this notice, will be subject to arrest, unless they are residents of the city. "E. O. C. ORD, Major-Gen. Commanding." Judge Campbell informs me that he saw Gen. Ord yesterday, who promised to grant me permission to take my family to the Eastern Shore of Virginia, and suggesting some omissions and alterations in the application, which I made. Judge C. is to see him again to-day, when I hope the matter will be accomplished. Judge Campbell left my application with Gen. Ord's youngest adjutant, to whom he said the general had approved it. But the adjutant said it would have to be presented again, as there was no indorsement on it. The judge advised me to follow it up, which I did; and stayed until the adjutant did present it again to Gen. Ord, who again approved it. Then the polite aid accompanied me to Gen. Patrick's office and introduced me to him, and to Lieut.-Col. John Coughlin, "Provost Marshal General Department of Virginia," who indorsed on the paper: "These papers will be granted when called for." APRIL 17TH.--Bright and clear. I add a few lines to my Diary. It was whispered, yesterday, that President Lincoln had been assassinated! I met Gen. Duff Green, in the afternoon, who assured me there could be no doubt of it. Still, supposing it might be an April hoax, I inquired at the headquarters of Gen. Ord, and was told it was true. I cautioned those I met to manifest no _feeling_, as the occurrence might be a calamity for the South; and possibly the Federal soldiers, supposing the deed to have been done by a Southern man, might become uncontrollable and perpetrate deeds of horror on the unarmed people. After agreeing to meet Gen. Green this morning at the Provost Marshal's office, and unite with him in an attempt to procure the liberation of Capt. Warner, I returned home; and saw, on the way, Gen. Ord and his staff riding out toward Camp Lee, with no manifestations of excitement or grief on their countenances. Upon going down town this morning, every one was speaking of the death of Lincoln, and the _Whig_ was in mourning. President Lincoln was killed by Booth (Jno. Wilkes), an actor. I suppose his purpose is to live in history as the slayer of a tyrant; thinking to make the leading character in a tragedy, and have his performance acted by others on the stage. I see no grief on the faces of either officers or men of the Federal army. R. A. Pryor and Judge W. T. Joynes have called a meeting in Petersburg, to lament the calamity entailed by the assassination. I got passports to-day for myself and family to the Eastern Shore, taking no oath. We know not when we shall leave. I never swore allegiance to the Confederate States Government, but was true to it. APRIL 19TH.--Yesterday windy, to-day bright and calm. It appears that the day of the death of President Lincoln was appointed for illuminations and rejoicings on the surrender of Lee. There is no intelligence of the death of Mr. Seward or his son. It was a dastardly deed--surely the act of a madman. THE END. Footnotes: [1] Virginia undoubtedly contributed more than any other State, but they were not registered. [2] It is held by the government _now_, January, 1866, and my family are homeless and destitute. _Onancock, Accomac County, Va._--J. B. J. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. The following misprints in Volume I have been corrected: "their's" corrected to "theirs" (page 77) "increasas" corrected to "increases" (page 85) "instrutcted" corrected to "instructed" (page 164) "conntry" corrected to "country" (page 238) "Legisture" corrected to "Legislature" (page 242) "Deparment" corrected to "Department" (page 244) "ha" corrected to "he" (page 251) "a" corrected to "at" (page 255) "reappeard" corrected to "reappeared" (page 275) "calvary" corrected to "cavalry" (page 308) "assults" corrected to "assaults" (page 335) "peisoners" corrected to "prisoners" (page 360) "degees" corrected to "degrees" (page 362) "Wendesday" corrected to "Wednesday" (page 365) The following misprints in Volume II have been corrected: "furnance" corrected to "furnace" (page 17) "miraculousl" corrected to "miraculously" (page 17) "13TH" corrected to "15TH" (page 44) "Corolina" corrected to "Carolina" (page 44) "affirmalive" corrected to "affirmative" (page 79) "nothwithstanding" corrected to "notwithstanding" (page 84) "necestity" corrected to "necessity" (page 93) "2D" corrected to "3D" (page 123) "develope" corrected to "develop" (page 135) "Henly's" corrected to "Henley's" (page 166) "APRIL" corrected to "MAY" (page 199) "May 19TH" corrected to "May 9TH" (page 203) "appropiate" corrected to "appropriate" (page 233) "at at" corrected to "at" (page 257) "commads" corrected to "commands" (page 292) "Tallahassie" corrected to "Tallahassee" (page 292) "Opeleka" corrected (twice) to "Opelika" (page 302) "not" corrected to "now" (page 309) "Congrees" corrected to "Congress" (page 316) "Weeler" corrected to "Wheeler" (page 333) "few few" corrected to "few" (page 337) "Georagia" correctedt to "Georgia" (page 341) "Octoberr" corrected to "October" (page 373) "sufferred" corrected to "suffered" (page 402) "sufferred" corrected to "suffered" (page 419) "parol" corrected to "parole" (page 438) "Peterburg" corrected to "Petersburg" (page 463) "Lietenant" corrected to "Lieutenant" (page 477) Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation usage have been retained. The two footnote markers [1] (Vol. I, page 114) are intentional to reflect the presentation in the original text. 
4154	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1665 N.S. JANUARY 1664-1665 January 1st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, having been busy late last night, then up and to my office, where upon ordering my accounts and papers with respect to my understanding my last year's gains and expense, which I find very great, as I have already set down yesterday. Now this day I am dividing my expense, to see what my clothes and every particular hath stood me in: I mean all the branches of my expense. At noon a good venison pasty and a turkey to ourselves without any body so much as invited by us, a thing unusuall for so small a family of my condition: but we did it and were very merry. After dinner to my office again, where very late alone upon my accounts, but have not brought them to order yet, and very intricate I find it, notwithstanding my care all the year to keep things in as good method as any man can do. Past 11 o'clock home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and it being a most fine, hard frost I walked a good way toward White Hall, and then being overtaken with Sir W. Pen's coach, went into it, and with him thither, and there did our usual business with the Duke. Thence, being forced to pay a great deale of money away in boxes (that is, basins at White Hall), I to my barber's, Gervas, and there had a little opportunity of speaking with my Jane alone, and did give her something, and of herself she did tell me a place where I might come to her on Sunday next, which I will not fail, but to see how modestly and harmlessly she brought it out was very pretty. Thence to the Swan, and there did sport a good while with Herbert's young kinswoman without hurt, though they being abroad, the old people. Then to the Hall, and there agreed with Mrs. Martin, and to her lodgings which she has now taken to lie in, in Bow Streete, pitiful poor things, yet she thinks them pretty, and so they are for her condition I believe good enough. Here I did 'ce que je voudrais avec' her most freely, and it having cost 2s. in wine and cake upon her, I away sick of her impudence, and by coach to my Lord Brunker's, by appointment, in the Piazza, in Covent-Guarding; where I occasioned much mirth with a ballet I brought with me, made from the seamen at sea to their ladies in town; saying Sir W. Pen, Sir G. Ascue, and Sir J. Lawson made them. Here a most noble French dinner and banquet, the best I have seen this many a day and good discourse. Thence to my bookseller's and at his binder's saw Hooke's book of the Microscope, ["Micrographia: or some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by Magnifying Glasses. London, 1665," a very remarkable work with elaborate plates, some of which have been used for lecture illustrations almost to our own day. On November 23rd, 1664, the President of the Royal Society was "desired to sign a licence for printing of Mr. Hooke's microscopical book." At this time the book was mostly printed, but it was delayed, much to Hooke's disgust, by the examination of several Fellows of the Society. In spite of this examination the council were anxious that the author should make it clear that he alone was responsible for any theory put forward, and they gave him notice to that effect. Hooke made this clear in his dedication (see Birch's "History," vol. i., pp. 490-491)] which is so pretty that I presently bespoke it, and away home to the office, where we met to do something, and then though very late by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, but having company with him could not speak with him. So back again home, where thinking to be merry was vexed with my wife's having looked out a letter in Sir Philip Sidney about jealousy for me to read, which she industriously and maliciously caused me to do, and the truth is my conscience told me it was most proper for me, and therefore was touched at it, but tooke no notice of it, but read it out most frankly, but it stucke in my stomach, and moreover I was vexed to have a dog brought to my house to line our little bitch, which they make him do in all their sights, which, God forgive me, do stir my jealousy again, though of itself the thing is a very immodest sight. However, to cards with my wife a good while, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, the streete being full of footballs, it being a great frost, and found him and Mr. Coventry walking in St. James's Parke. I did my errand to him about the felling of the King's timber in the forests, and then to my Lord of Oxford, Justice in Eyre, for his consent thereto, for want whereof my Lord Privy Seale stops the whole business. I found him in his lodgings, in but an ordinary furnished house and roome where he was, but I find him to be a man of good discreet replys. Thence to the Coffee-house, where certain newes that the Dutch have taken some of our colliers to the North; some say four, some say seven. Thence to the 'Change a while, and so home to dinner and to the office, where we sat late, and then I to write my letters, and then to Sir W. Batten's, who is going out of towne to Harwich to-morrow to set up a light-house there, which he hath lately got a patent from the King to set up, that will turne much to his profit. Here very merry, and so to my office again, where very late, and then home to supper and to bed, but sat up with my wife at cards till past two in the morning. 4th. Lay long, and then up and to my Lord of Oxford's, but his Lordshipp was in bed at past ten o'clock: and, Lord helpe us! so rude a dirty family I never saw in my life. He sent me out word my business was not done, but should against the afternoon. I thence to the Coffee-house, there but little company, and so home to the 'Change, where I hear of some more of our ships lost to the Northward. So to Sir W. Batten's, but he was set out before I got thither. I sat long talking with my lady, and then home to dinner. Then come Mr. Moore to see me, and he and I to my Lord of Oxford's, but not finding him within Mr. Moore and I to "Love in a Tubb," which is very merry, but only so by gesture, not wit at all, which methinks is beneath the House. So walked home, it being a very hard frost, and I find myself as heretofore in cold weather to begin to burn within and pimples and pricks all over my body, my pores with cold being shut up. So home to supper and to cards and to bed. 5th. Up, it being very cold and a great snow and frost tonight. To the office, and there all the morning. At noon dined at home, troubled at my wife's being simply angry with Jane, our cook mayde (a good servant, though perhaps hath faults and is cunning), and given her warning to be gone. So to the office again, where we sat late, and then I to my office, and there very late doing business. Home to supper and to the office again, and then late home to bed. 6th. Lay long in bed, but most of it angry and scolding with my wife about her warning Jane our cookemayde to be gone and upon that she desires to go abroad to-day to look a place. A very good mayde she is and fully to my mind, being neat, only they say a little apt to scold, but I hear her not. To my office all the morning busy. Dined at home. To my office again, being pretty well reconciled to my wife, which I did desire to be, because she had designed much mirthe to-day to end Christmas with among her servants. At night home, being twelfenight, and there chose my piece of cake, but went up to my viall, and then to bed, leaving my wife and people up at their sports, which they continue till morning, not coming to bed at all. 7th. Up and to the office all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife and family most of them a-bed. Then to see my Lady Batten and sit with her a while, Sir W. Batten being out of town, and then to my office doing very much business very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and it being a very fine frosty day, I and my boy walked to White Hall, and there to the Chappell, where one Dr. Beaumont' preached a good sermon, and afterwards a brave anthem upon the 150 Psalm, where upon the word "trumpet" very good musique was made. So walked to my Lady's and there dined with her (my boy going home), where much pretty discourse, and after dinner walked to Westminster, and there to the house where Jane Welsh had appointed me, but it being sermon time they would not let me in, and said nobody was there to speak with me. I spent the whole afternoon walking into the Church and Abbey, and up and down, but could not find her, and so in the evening took a coach and home, and there sat discoursing with my wife, and by and by at supper, drinking some cold drink I think it was, I was forced to go make water, and had very great pain after it, but was well by and by and continued so, it being only I think from the drink, or from my straining at stool to do more than my body would. So after prayers to bed. 9th. Up and walked to White Hall, it being still a brave frost, and I in perfect good health, blessed be God! In my way saw a woman that broke her thigh, in her heels slipping up upon the frosty streete. To the Duke, and there did our usual worke. Here I saw the Royal Society bring their new book, wherein is nobly writ their charter' and laws, and comes to be signed by the Duke as a Fellow; and all the Fellows' hands are to be entered there, and lie as a monument; and the King hath put his with the word Founder. Thence I to Westminster, to my barber's, and found occasion to see Jane, but in presence of her mistress, and so could not speak to her of her failing me yesterday, and then to the Swan to Herbert's girl, and lost time a little with her, and so took coach, and to my Lord Crew's and dined with him, who receives me with the greatest respect that could be, telling me that he do much doubt of the successe of this warr with Holland, we going about it, he doubts, by the instigation of persons that do not enough apprehend the consequences of the danger of it, and therein I do think with him. Holmes was this day sent to the Tower,--[For taking New York from the Dutch]--but I perceive it is made matter of jest only; but if the Dutch should be our masters, it may come to be of earnest to him, to be given over to them for a sacrifice, as Sir W. Rawly [Raleigh] was. Thence to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, where I was accosted and most highly complimented by my Lord Bellasses, [John Belasyse, second son of Thomas, first Viscount Fauconberg, created Baron Belasyse of Worlaby, January 27th, 1644, Lord Lieutenant of the East Riding of Yorkshire, and Governor of Hull. He was appointed Governor of Tangier, and Captain of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners. He was a Roman Catholic, and therefore was deprived of all his appointments in 1672 by the provisions of the Test Act, but in 1684 James II. made him First Commissioner of the Treasury. He died 1689.] our new governor, beyond my expectation, or measure I could imagine he would have given any man, as if I were the only person of business that he intended to rely on, and desires my correspondence with him. This I was not only surprized at, but am well pleased with, and may make good use of it. Our patent is renewed, and he and my Lord Barkeley, and Sir Thomas Ingram put in as commissioners. Here some business happened which may bring me some profit. Thence took coach and calling my wife at her tailor's (she being come this afternoon to bring her mother some apples, neat's tongues, and wine); I home, and there at my office late with Sir W. Warren, and had a great deal of good discourse and counsel from him, which I hope I shall take, being all for my good in my deportment in my office, yet with all honesty. He gone I home to supper and to bed. 10th. Lay long, it being still very cold, and then to the office, where till dinner, and then home, and by and by to the office, where we sat and were very late, and I writing letters till twelve at night, and then after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and very angry with my boy for lying long a bed and forgetting his lute. To my office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. After dinner to Gresham College to my Lord Brunker and Commissioner Pett, taking, Mr. Castle with me there to discourse over his draught of a ship he is to build for us. Where I first found reason to apprehend Commissioner Pett to be a man of an ability extraordinary in any thing, for I found he did turn and wind Castle like a chicken in his business, and that most pertinently and mister-like, and great pleasure it was to me to hear them discourse, I, of late having studied something thereof, and my Lord Brunker is a very able person also himself in this sort of business, as owning himself to be a master in the business of all lines and Conicall Sections: Thence home, where very late at my office doing business to my content, though [God] knows with what ado it was that when I was out I could get myself to come home to my business, or when I was there though late would stay there from going abroad again. To supper and to bed. This evening, by a letter from Plymouth, I hear that two of our ships, the Leopard and another, in the Straights, are lost by running aground; and that three more had like to have been so, but got off, whereof Captain Allen one: and that a Dutch fleete are gone thither; which if they should meet with our lame ships, God knows what would become of them. This I reckon most sad newes; God make us sensible of it! This night, when I come home, I was much troubled to hear my poor canary bird, that I have kept these three or four years, is dead. 12th. Up, and to White Hall about getting a privy seal for felling of the King's timber for the navy, and to the Lords' House to speak with my Lord Privy Seale about it, and so to the 'Change, where to my last night's ill news I met more. Spoke with a Frenchman who was taken, but released, by a Dutch man-of-war of thirty-six guns (with seven more of the like or greater ships), off the North Foreland, by Margett. Which is a strange attempt, that they should come to our teeth; but the wind being easterly, the wind that should bring our force from Portsmouth, will carry them away home. God preserve us against them, and pardon our making them in our discourse so contemptible an enemy! So home and to dinner, where Mr. Hollyard with us dined. So to the office, and there late till 11 at night and more, and then home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up betimes and walked to my Lord Bellasses's lodgings in Lincolne's Inne Fieldes, and there he received and discoursed with me in the most respectfull manner that could be, telling me what a character of my judgment, and care, and love to Tangier he had received of me, that he desired my advice and my constant correspondence, which he much valued, and in my courtship, in which, though I understand his designe very well, and that it is only a piece of courtship, yet it is a comfort to me that I am become so considerable as to have him need to say that to me, which, if I did not do something in the world, would never have been. Here well satisfied I to Sir Ph. Warwicke, and there did some business with him; thence to Jervas's and there spent a little idle time with him, his wife, Jane, and a sweetheart of hers. So to the Hall awhile and thence to the Exchange, where yesterday's newes confirmed, though in a little different manner; but a couple of ships in the Straights we have lost, and the Dutch have been in Margaret [Margate] Road. Thence home to dinner and so abroad and alone to the King's house, to a play, "The Traytor," where, unfortunately, I met with Sir W. Pen, so that I must be forced to confess it to my wife, which troubles me. Thence walked home, being ill-satisfied with the present actings of the House, and prefer the other House before this infinitely. To my Lady Batten's, where I find Pegg Pen, the first time that ever I saw her to wear spots. Here very merry, Sir W. Batten being looked for to-night, but is not yet come from Harwich. So home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up and to White Hall, where long waited in the Duke's chamber for a Committee intended for Tangier, but none met, and so I home and to the office, where we met a little, and then to the 'Change, where our late ill newes confirmed in loss of two ships in the Straights, but are now the Phoenix and Nonsuch! Home to dinner, thence with my wife to the King's house, there to see "Vulpone," a most excellent play; the best I think I ever saw, and well, acted. So with Sir W. Pen home in his coach, and then to the office. So home, to supper, and bed, resolving by the grace of God from this day to fall hard to my business again, after some weeke or fortnight's neglect. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and after a little at my office to prepare a fresh draught of my vowes for the next yeare, I to church, where a most insipid young coxcomb preached. Then home to dinner, and after dinner to read in "Rushworth's Collections" about the charge against the late Duke of Buckingham, in order to the fitting me to speak and understand the discourse anon before the King about the suffering the Turkey merchants to send out their fleete at this dangerous time, when we can neither spare them ships to go, nor men, nor King's ships to convoy them. At four o'clock with Sir W. Pen in his coach to my Lord Chancellor's, where by and by Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Lawson, Sir G. Ascue, and myself were called in to the King, there being several of the Privy Council, and my Lord Chancellor lying at length upon a couch (of the goute I suppose); and there Sir W. Pen begun, and he had prepared heads in a paper, and spoke pretty well to purpose, but with so much leisure and gravity as was tiresome; besides, the things he said were but very poor to a man in his trade after a great consideration, but it was to purpose, indeed to dissuade the King from letting these Turkey ships to go out: saying (in short) the King having resolved to have 130 ships out by the spring, he must have above 20 of them merchantmen. Towards which, he in the whole River could find but 12 or 14, and of them the five ships taken up by these merchants were a part, and so could not be spared. That we should need 30,000 [sailors] to man these 130 ships, and of them in service we have not above 16,000; so we shall need 14,000 more. That these ships will with their convoys carry above 2,000 men, and those the best men that could be got; it being the men used to the Southward that are the best men for warr, though those bred in the North among the colliers are good for labour. That it will not be safe for the merchants, nor honourable for the King, to expose these rich ships with his convoy of six ships to go, it not being enough to secure them against the Dutch, who, without doubt, will have a great fleete in the Straights. This, Sir J. Lawson enlarged upon. Sir G. Ascue he chiefly spoke that the warr and trade could not be supported together, and, therefore, that trade must stand still to give way to them. This Mr. Coventry seconded, and showed how the medium of the men the King hath one year with another employed in his Navy since his coming, hath not been above 3,000 men, or at most 4,000 men; and now having occasion of 30,000, the remaining 26,000 must be found out of the trade of the nation. He showed how the cloaths, sending by these merchants to Turkey, are already bought and paid for to the workmen, and are as many as they would send these twelve months or more; so the poor do not suffer by their not going, but only the merchant, upon whose hands they lit dead; and so the inconvenience is the less. And yet for them he propounded, either the King should, if his Treasure would suffer it, buy them, and showed the losse would not be so great to him: or, dispense with the Act of Navigation, and let them be carried out by strangers; and ending that he doubted not but when the merchants saw there was no remedy, they would and could find ways of sending them abroad to their profit. All ended with a conviction (unless future discourse with the merchants should alter it) that it was not fit for them to go out, though the ships be loaded. The King in discourse did ask me two or three questions about my newes of Allen's loss in the Streights, but I said nothing as to the business, nor am not much sorry for it, unless the King had spoke to me as he did to them, and then I could have said something to the purpose I think. So we withdrew, and the merchants were called in. Staying without, my Lord Fitz Harding come thither, and fell to discourse of Prince Rupert, and made nothing to say that his disease was the pox and that he must be fluxed, telling the horrible degree of the disease upon him with its breaking out on his head. But above all I observed how he observed from the Prince, that courage is not what men take it to be, a contempt of death; for, says he, how chagrined the Prince was the other day when he thought he should die, having no more mind to it than another man. But, says he, some men are more apt to think they shall escape than another man in fight, while another is doubtfull he shall be hit. But when the first man is sure he shall die, as now the Prince is, he is as much troubled and apprehensive of it as any man else; for, says he, since we told [him] that we believe he would overcome his disease, he is as merry, and swears and laughs and curses, and do all the things of a [man] in health, as ever he did in his life; which, methought, was a most extraordinary saying before a great many persons there of quality. So by and by with Sir W. Pen home again, and after supper to the office to finish my vows, and so to bed. 16th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we did our business with the Duke. Thence I to Westminster Hall and walked up and down. Among others Ned Pickering met me and tells me how active my Lord is at sea, and that my Lord Hinchingbroke is now at Rome, and, by all report, a very noble and hopefull gentleman. Thence to Mr. Povy's, and there met Creed, and dined well after his old manner of plenty and curiosity. But I sat in pain to think whether he would begin with me again after dinner with his enquiry after my bill, but he did not, but fell into other discourse, at which I was glad, but was vexed this morning meeting of Creed at some bye questions that he demanded of me about some such thing, which made me fear he meant that very matter, but I perceive he did not. Thence to visit my Lady Sandwich and so to a Tangier Committee, where a great company of the new Commissioners, Lords, that in behalfe of my Lord Bellasses are very loud and busy and call for Povy's accounts, but it was a most sorrowful thing to see how he answered to questions so little to the purpose, but to his owne wrong. All the while I sensible how I am concerned in my bill of L100 and somewhat more. So great a trouble is fear, though in a case that at the worst will bear enquiry. My Lord Barkeley was very violent against Povy. But my Lord Ashly, I observe, is a most clear man in matters of accounts, and most ingeniously did discourse and explain all matters. We broke up, leaving the thing to a Committee of which I am one. Povy, Creed, and I staid discoursing, I much troubled in mind seemingly for the business, but indeed only on my own behalf, though I have no great reason for it, but so painfull a thing is fear. So after considering how to order business, Povy and I walked together as far as the New Exchange and so parted, and I by coach home. To the office a while, then to supper and to bed. This afternoon Secretary Bennet read to the Duke of Yorke his letters, which say that Allen [Among the State Papers is a letter from Captain Thomas Allin to Sir Richard Fanshaw, dated from "The Plymouth, Cadiz Bay," December 25th, 1664, in which he writes: "On the 19th attacked with his seven ships left, a Dutch fleet of fourteen, three of which were men-of- war; sunk two vessels and took two others, one a rich prize from Smyrna; the others retired much battered. Has also taken a Dutch prize laden with iron and planks, coming from Lisbon ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 122).] has met with the Dutch Smyrna fleet at Cales,--[The old form of the name Cadiz.]--and sunk one and taken three. How true or what these ships are time will show, but it is good newes and the newes of our ships being lost is doubted at dales and Malaga. God send it false! 17th. Up and walked to Mr. Povy's by appointment, where I found him and Creed busy about fitting things for the Committee, and thence we to my Lord Ashly's, where to see how simply, beyond all patience, Povy did again, by his many words and no understanding, confound himself and his business, to his disgrace, and rendering every body doubtfull of his being either a foole or knave, is very wonderfull. We broke up all dissatisfied, and referred the business to a meeting of Mr. Sherwin and others to settle, but here it was mighty strange methought to find myself sit herein Committee with my hat on, while Mr. Sherwin stood bare as a clerke, with his hat off to his Lord Ashlyand the rest, but I thank God I think myself never a whit the better man for all that. Thence with Creed to the 'Change and Coffee-house, and so home, where a brave dinner, by having a brace of pheasants and very merry about Povy's folly. So anon to the office, and there sitting very late, and then after a little time at Sir W. Batten's, where I am mighty great and could if I thought it fit continue so, I to the office again, and there very late, and so home to the sorting of some of my books, and so to bed, the weather becoming pretty warm, and I think and hope the frost will break. 18th. Up and by and by to my bookseller's, and there did give thorough direction for the new binding of a great many of my old books, to make my whole study of the same binding, within very few. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, who sent for me this morning. Dined with her, and it was to get a letter of hers conveyed by a safe hand to my Lord's owne hand at Portsmouth, which I did undertake. Here my Lady did begin to talk of what she had heard concerning Creed, of his being suspected to be a fanatique and a false fellow. I told her I thought he was as shrewd and cunning a man as any in England, and one that I would feare first should outwit me in any thing. To which she readily concurred. Thence to Mr. Povy's by agreement, and there with Mr. Sherwin, Auditor Beale, and Creed and I hard at it very late about Mr. Povy's accounts, but such accounts I never did see, or hope again to see in my days. At night, late, they gone, I did get him to put out of this account our sums that are in posse only yet, which he approved of when told, but would never have stayed it if I had been gone. Thence at 9 at night home, and so to supper vexed and my head akeing and to bed. 19th. Up, and it being yesterday and to-day a great thaw it is not for a man to walk the streets, but took coach and to Mr. Povy's, and there meeting all of us again agreed upon an answer to the Lords by and by, and thence we did come to Exeter House, and there was a witness of most [base] language against Mr. Povy, from my Lord Peterborough, who is most furiously angry with him, because the other, as a foole, would needs say that the L26,000 was my Lord Peterborough's account, and that he had nothing to do with it. The Lords did find fault also with our answer, but I think really my Lord Ashly would fain have the outside of an Exchequer,--[This word is blotted, and the whole sentence is confused.]--but when we come better to be examined. So home by coach, with my Lord Barkeley, who, by his discourse, I find do look upon Mr. Coventry as an enemy, but yet professes great justice and pains. I at home after dinner to the office, and there sat all the afternoon and evening, and then home to supper and to bed. Memorandum. This day and yesterday, I think it is the change of the weather, I have a great deal of pain, but nothing like what I use to have. I can hardly keep myself loose, but on the contrary am forced to drive away my pain. Here I am so sleepy I cannot hold open my eyes, and therefore must be forced to break off this day's passages more shortly than I would and should have done. This day was buried (but I could not be there) my cozen Percivall Angier; and yesterday I received the newes that Dr. Tom Pepys is dead, at Impington, for which I am but little sorry, not only because he would have been troublesome to us, but a shame to his family and profession; he was such a coxcomb. 20th. Up and to Westminster, where having spoke with Sir Ph. Warwicke, I to Jervas, and there I find them all in great disorder about Jane, her mistress telling me secretly that she was sworn not to reveal anything, but she was undone. At last for all her oath she told me that she had made herself sure to a fellow that comes to their house that can only fiddle for his living, and did keep him company, and had plainly told her that she was sure to him never to leave him for any body else. Now they were this day contriving to get her presently to marry one Hayes that was there, and I did seem to persuade her to it. And at last got them to suffer me to advise privately, and by that means had her company and think I shall meet her next Sunday, but I do really doubt she will be undone in marrying this fellow. But I did give her my advice, and so let her do her pleasure, so I have now and then her company. Thence to the Swan at noon, and there sent for a bit of meat and dined, and had my baiser of the fille of the house there, but nothing plus. So took coach and to my Lady Sandwich's, and so to my bookseller's, and there took home Hooke's book of microscopy, a most excellent piece, and of which I am very proud. So home, and by and by again abroad with my wife about several businesses, and met at the New Exchange, and there to our trouble found our pretty Doll is gone away to live they say with her father in the country, but I doubt something worse. So homeward, in my way buying a hare and taking it home, which arose upon my discourse to-day with Mr. Batten, in Westminster Hall, who showed me my mistake that my hare's foote hath not the joynt to it; and assures me he never had his cholique since he carried it about him: and it is a strange thing how fancy works, for I no sooner almost handled his foote but my belly began to be loose and to break wind, and whereas I was in some pain yesterday and t'other day and in fear of more to-day, I became very well, and so continue. At home to my office a while, and so to supper, read, and to cards, and to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning. Thence my Lord Brunker carried me as far as Mr. Povy's, and there I 'light and dined, meeting Mr. Sherwin, Creed, &c., there upon his accounts. After dinner they parted and Mr. Povy carried me to Somersett House, and there showed me the Queene-Mother's chamber and closett, most beautiful places for furniture and pictures; and so down the great stone stairs to the garden, and tried the brave echo upon the stairs; which continues a voice so long as the singing three notes, concords, one after another, they all three shall sound in consort together a good while most pleasantly. Thence to a Tangier Committee at White Hall, where I saw nothing ordered by judgment, but great heat and passion and faction now in behalf of my Lord Bellasses, and to the reproach of my Lord Tiviott, and dislike as it were of former proceedings. So away with Mr. Povy, he carrying me homeward to Mark Lane in his coach, a simple fellow I now find him, to his utter shame in his business of accounts, as none but a sorry foole would have discovered himself; and yet, in little, light, sorry things very cunning; yet, in the principal, the most ignorant man I ever met with in so great trust as he is. To my office till past 12, and then home to supper and to bed, being now mighty well, and truly I cannot but impute it to my fresh hare's foote. Before I went to bed I sat up till two o'clock in my chamber reading of Mr. Hooke's Microscopicall Observations, the most ingenious book that ever I read in my life. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, leaving my wife in bed, being sick of her months, and to church. Thence home, and in my wife's chamber dined very merry, discoursing, among other things, of a design I have come in my head this morning at church of making a match between Mrs. Betty Pickering and Mr. Hill, my friend the merchant, that loves musique and comes to me a'Sundays, a most ingenious and sweet-natured and highly accomplished person. I know not how their fortunes may agree, but their disposition and merits are much of a sort, and persons, though different, yet equally, I think, acceptable. After dinner walked to Westminster, and after being at the Abbey and heard a good anthem well sung there, I as I had appointed to the Trumpett, there expecting when Jane Welsh should come, but anon comes a maid of the house to tell me that her mistress and master would not let her go forth, not knowing of my being here, but to keep her from her sweetheart. So being defeated, away by coach home, and there spent the evening prettily in discourse with my wife and Mercer, and so to supper, prayers, and to bed. 23rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall; but there finding the Duke gone to his lodgings at St. James's for all together, his Duchesse being ready to lie in, we to him, and there did our usual business. And here I met the great newes confirmed by the Duke's own relation, by a letter from Captain Allen. First, of our own loss of two ships, the Phoenix and Nonesuch, in the Bay of Gibraltar: then of his, and his seven ships with him, in the Bay of Cales, or thereabouts, fighting with the 34 Dutch Smyrna fleete; sinking the King Salamon, a ship worth a L150,000 or more, some say L200,000, and another; and taking of three merchant-ships. Two of our ships were disabled, by the Dutch unfortunately falling against their will against them; the Advice, Captain W. Poole, and Antelope, Captain Clerke: The Dutch men-of-war did little service. Captain Allen did receive many shots at distance before he would fire one gun, which he did not do till he come within pistol-shot of his enemy. The Spaniards on shore at Cales did stand laughing at the Dutch, to see them run away and flee to the shore, 34 or thereabouts, against eight Englishmen at most. I do purpose to get the whole relation, if I live, of Captain Allen himself. In our loss of the two ships in the Bay of Gibraltar, it is observable how the world do comment upon the misfortune of Captain Moone of the Nonesuch (who did lose, in the same manner, the Satisfaction), as a person that hath ill-luck attending him; without considering that the whole fleete was ashore. Captain Allen led the way, and Captain Allen himself writes that all the masters of the fleete, old and young, were mistaken, and did carry their ships aground. But I think I heard the Duke say that Moone, being put into the Oxford, had in this conflict regained his credit, by sinking one and taking another. Captain Seale of the Milford hath done his part very well, in boarding the King Salamon, which held out half an hour after she was boarded; and his men kept her an hour after they did master her, and then she sunk, and drowned about 17 of her men. Thence to Jervas's, my mind, God forgive me, running too much after some folly, but 'elle' not being within I away by coach to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner. And finding Mrs. Bagwell waiting at the office after dinner, away she and I to a cabaret where she and I have eat before, and there I had her company 'tout' and had 'mon plaisir' of 'elle'. But strange to see how a woman, notwithstanding her greatest pretences of love 'a son mari' and religion, may be 'vaincue'. Thence to the Court of the Turkey Company at Sir Andrew Rickard's to treat about carrying some men of ours to Tangier, and had there a very civil reception, though a denial of the thing as not practicable with them, and I think so too. So to my office a little and to Jervas's again, thinking 'avoir rencontrais' Jane, 'mais elle n'etait pas dedans'. So I back again and to my office, where I did with great content 'ferais' a vow to mind my business, and 'laisser aller les femmes' for a month, and am with all my heart glad to find myself able to come to so good a resolution, that thereby I may follow my business, which and my honour thereby lies a bleeding. So home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and by coach to Westminster Hall and the Parliament House, and there spoke with Mr. Coventry and others about business and so back to the 'Change, where no news more than that the Dutch have, by consent of all the Provinces, voted no trade to be suffered for eighteen months, but that they apply themselves wholly to the warr. [This statement of a total prohibition of all trade, and for so long a period as eighteen months, by a government so essentially commercial as that of the United Provinces, seems extraordinary. The fact was, that when in the beginning of the year 1665 the States General saw that the war with England was become inevitable, they took several vigorous measures, and determined to equip a formidable fleet, and with a view to obtain a sufficient number of men to man it, prohibited all navigation, especially in the great and small fisheries as they were then called, and in the whale fishery. This measure appears to have resembled the embargoes so commonly resorted to in this country on similar occasions, rather than a total prohibition of trade.--B.] And they say it is very true, but very strange, for we use to believe they cannot support themselves without trade. Thence home to dinner and then to the office, where all the afternoon, and at night till very late, and then home to supper and bed, having a great cold, got on Sunday last, by sitting too long with my head bare, for Mercer to comb my hair and wash my eares. 25th. Up, and busy all the morning, dined at home upon a hare pye, very good meat, and so to my office again, and in the afternoon by coach to attend the Council at White Hall, but come too late, so back with Mr. Gifford, a merchant, and he and I to the Coffee-house, where I met Mr. Hill, and there he tells me that he is to be Assistant to the Secretary of the Prize Office (Sir Ellis Layton), which is to be held at Sir Richard Ford's, which, methinks, is but something low, but perhaps may bring him something considerable; but it makes me alter my opinion of his being so rich as to make a fortune for Mrs. Pickering. Thence home and visited Sir J. Minnes, who continues ill, but is something better; there he told me what a mad freaking fellow Sir Ellis Layton hath been, and is, and once at Antwerp was really mad. Thence to my office late, my cold troubling me, and having by squeezing myself in a coach hurt my testicles, but I hope will cease its pain without swelling. So home out of order, to supper and to bed. 26th. Lay, being in some pain, but not much, with my last night's bruise, but up and to my office, where busy all the morning, the like after dinner till very late, then home to supper and to bed. My wife mightily troubled with the tooth ake, and my cold not being gone yet, but my bruise yesterday goes away again, and it chiefly occasioned I think now from the sudden change of the weather from a frost to a great rayne on a sudden. 27th. Called up by Mr. Creed to discourse about some Tangier business, and he gone I made me ready and found Jane Welsh, Mr. Jervas his mayde, come to tell me that she was gone from her master, and is resolved to stick to this sweetheart of hers, one Harbing (a very sorry little fellow, and poor), which I did in a word or two endeavour to dissuade her from, but being unwilling to keep her long at my house, I sent her away and by and by followed her to the Exchange, and thence led her about down to the 3 Cranes, and there took boat for the Falcon, and at a house looking into the fields there took up and sat an hour or two talking and discoursing . . . . Thence having endeavoured to make her think of making herself happy by staying out her time with her master and other counsels, but she told me she could not do it, for it was her fortune to have this man, though she did believe it would be to her ruine, which is a strange, stupid thing, to a fellow of no kind of worth in the world and a beggar to boot. Thence away to boat again and landed her at the Three Cranes again, and I to the Bridge, and so home, and after shifting myself, being dirty, I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Povy's and there dined, and thence with him and Creed to my Lord Bellasses', and there debated a great while how to put things in order against his going, and so with my Lord in his coach to White Hall, and with him to my Lord Duke of Albemarle, finding him at cards. After a few dull words or two, I away to White Hall again, and there delivered a letter to the Duke of Yorke about our Navy business, and thence walked up and down in the gallery, talking with Mr. Slingsby, who is a very ingenious person, about the Mint and coynage of money. Among other things, he argues that there being L700,000 coined in the Rump time, and by all the Treasurers of that time, it being their opinion that the Rump money was in all payments, one with another, about a tenth part of all their money. Then, says he, to my question, the nearest guess we can make is, that the money passing up and down in business is L7,000,000. To another question of mine he made me fully understand that the old law of prohibiting bullion to be exported, is, and ever was a folly and an injury, rather than good. Arguing thus, that if the exportations exceed importations, then the balance must be brought home in money, which, when our merchants know cannot be carried out again, they will forbear to bring home in money, but let it lie abroad for trade, or keepe in foreign banks: or if our importations exceed our exportations, then, to keepe credit, the merchants will and must find ways of carrying out money by stealth, which is a most easy thing to do, and is every where done; and therefore the law against it signifies nothing in the world. Besides, that it is seen, that where money is free, there is great plenty; where it is restrained, as here, there is a great want, as in Spayne. These and many other fine discourses I had from him. Thence by coach home (to see Sir J. Minnes first), who is still sick, and I doubt worse than he seems to be. Mrs. Turner here took me into her closet, and there did give me a glass of most pure water, and shewed me her Rocke, which indeed is a very noble thing but a very bawble. So away to my office, where late, busy, and then home to supper and to bed. 28th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner abroad, walked to Paul's Churchyard, but my books not bound, which vexed me. So home to my office again, where very late about business, and so home to supper and to bed, my cold continuing in a great degree upon me still. This day I received a good sum of money due to me upon one score or another from Sir G. Carteret, among others to clear all my matters about Colours,--[Flags]--wherein a month or two since I was so embarrassed and I thank God I find myself to have got clear, by that commodity, L50 and something more; and earned it with dear pains and care and issuing of my owne money, and saved the King near L100 in it. 29th (Lord's day). Up and to my office, where all the morning, putting papers to rights which now grow upon my hands. At noon dined at home. All the afternoon at my business again. In the evening come Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we up to my chamber and there good musique, though my great cold made it the less pleasing to me. Then Mr. Hill (the other going away) and I to supper alone, my wife not appearing, our discourse upon the particular vain humours of Mr. Povy, which are very extraordinary indeed. After supper I to Sir W. Batten's, where I found him, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Robinson, Sir R. Ford and Captain Cocke and Mr. Pen, junior. Here a great deal of sorry disordered talk about the Trinity House men, their being exempted from land service. But, Lord! to see how void of method and sense their discourse was, and in what heat, insomuch as Sir R. Ford (who we judged, some of us, to be a little foxed) fell into very high terms with Sir W. Batten, and then with Captain Cocke. So that I see that no man is wise at all times. Thence home to prayers and to bed. 30th. This is solemnly kept as a Fast all over the City, but I kept my house, putting my closett to rights again, having lately put it out of order in removing my books and things in order to being made clean. At this all day, and at night to my office, there to do some business, and being late at it, comes Mercer to me, to tell me that my wife was in bed, and desired me to come home; for they hear, and have, night after night, lately heard noises over their head upon the leads. Now it is strange to think how, knowing that I have a great sum of money in my house, this puts me into a most mighty affright, that for more than two hours, I could not almost tell what to do or say, but feared this and that, and remembered that this evening I saw a woman and two men stand suspiciously in the entry, in the darke; I calling to them, they made me only this answer, the woman said that the men came to see her; but who she was I could not tell. The truth is, my house is mighty dangerous, having so many ways to be come to; and at my windows, over the stairs, to see who goes up and down; but, if I escape to-night, I will remedy it. God preserve us this night safe! So at almost two o'clock, I home to my house, and, in great fear, to bed, thinking every running of a mouse really a thiefe; and so to sleep, very brokenly, all night long, and found all safe in the morning. 31st. Up and with Sir W. Batten to Westminster, where to speak at the House with my Lord Bellasses, and am cruelly vexed to see myself put upon businesses so uncertainly about getting ships for Tangier being ordered, a servile thing, almost every day. So to the 'Change, back by coach with Sir W. Batten, and thence to the Crowne, a taverne hard by, with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, where we alone, a very good dinner. Thence home to the office, and there all the afternoon late. The office being up, my wife sent for me, and what was it but to tell me how Jane carries herself, and I must put her away presently. But I did hear both sides and find my wife much in fault, and the grounds of all the difference is my wife's fondness of Tom, to the being displeased with all the house beside to defend the boy, which vexes me, but I will cure it. Many high words between my wife and I, but the wench shall go, but I will take a course with the boy, for I fear I have spoiled him already. Thence to the office, to my accounts, and there at once to ease my mind I have made myself debtor to Mr. Povy for the L117 5s. got with so much joy the last month, but seeing that it is not like to be kept without some trouble and question, I do even discharge my mind of it, and so if I come now to refund it, as I fear I shall, I shall now be ne'er a whit the poorer for it, though yet it is some trouble to me to be poorer by such a sum than I thought myself a month since. But, however, a quiet mind and to be sure of my owne is worth all. The Lord be praised for what I have, which is this month come down to L1257. I staid up about my accounts till almost two in the morning. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1664-1665 February 1st. Lay long in bed, which made me, going by coach to St. James's by appointment to have attended the Duke of Yorke and my Lord Bellasses, lose the hopes of my getting something by the hire of a ship to carry men to Tangier. But, however, according to the order of the Duke this morning, I did go to the 'Change, and there after great pains did light of a business with Mr. Gifford and Hubland [Houblon] for bringing me as much as I hoped for, which I have at large expressed in my stating the case of the "King's Fisher," which is the ship that I have hired, and got the Duke of Yorke's agreement this afternoon after much pains and not eating a bit of bread till about 4 o'clock. Going home I put in to an ordinary by Temple Barr and there with my boy Tom eat a pullet, and thence home to the office, being still angry with my wife for yesterday's foolery. After a good while at the office, I with the boy to the Sun behind the Exchange, by agreement with Mr. Young the flag-maker, and there was met by Mr. Hill, Andrews, and Mr. Hubland, a pretty serious man. Here two very pretty savoury dishes and good discourse. After supper a song, or three or four (I having to that purpose carried Lawes's book), and staying here till 12 o'clock got the watch to light me home, and in a continued discontent to bed. After being in bed, my people come and say there is a great stinke of burning, but no smoake. We called up Sir J. Minnes's and Sir W. Batten's people, and Griffin, and the people at the madhouse, but nothing could be found to give occasion to it. At this trouble we were till past three o'clock, and then the stinke ceasing, I to sleep, and my people to bed, and lay very long in the morning. 2nd. Then up and to my office, where till noon and then to the 'Change, and at the Coffee-house with Gifford, Hubland, the Master of the ship, and I read over and approved a charter-party for carrying goods for Tangier, wherein I hope to get some money. Thence home, my head akeing for want of rest and too much business. So to the office. At night comes, Povy, and he and I to Mrs. Bland's to discourse about my serving her to helpe her to a good passage for Tangier. Here I heard her kinswoman sing 3 or 4 very fine songs and in good manner, and then home and to supper. My cook mayd Jane and her mistresse parted, and she went away this day. I vexed to myself, but was resolved to have no more trouble, and so after supper to my office and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and walked with my boy (whom, because of my wife's making him idle, I dare not leave at home) walked first to Salsbury court, there to excuse my not being at home at dinner to Mrs. Turner, who I perceive is vexed, because I do not serve her in something against the great feasting for her husband's Reading--[On his appointment as Reader in Law.]--in helping her to some good penn'eths, but I care not. She was dressing herself by the fire in her chamber, and there took occasion to show me her leg, which indeed is the finest I ever saw, and she not a little proud of it. Thence to my Lord Bellasses; thence to Mr. Povy's, and so up and down at that end of the town about several businesses, it being a brave frosty day and good walking. So back again on foot to the 'Change, in my way taking my books from binding from my bookseller's. My bill for the rebinding of some old books to make them suit with my study, cost me, besides other new books in the same bill, L3; but it will be very handsome. At the 'Change did several businesses, and here I hear that newes is come from Deale, that the same day my Lord Sandwich sailed thence with the fleete, that evening some Dutch men of warr were seen on the back side of the Goodwin, and, by all conjecture, must be seen by my Lord's fleete; which, if so, they must engage. Thence, being invited, to my uncle Wight's, where the Wights all dined; and, among the others, pretty Mrs. Margaret, who indeed is a very pretty lady; and though by my vowe it costs me 12d. a kiss after the first, yet I did adventure upon a couple. So home, and among other letters found one from Jane, that is newly gone, telling me how her mistresse won't pay her her Quarter's wages, and withal tells me how her mistress will have the boy sit 3 or 4 hours together in the dark telling of stories, but speaks of nothing but only her indiscretion in undervaluing herself to do it, but I will remedy that, but am vexed she should get some body to write so much because of making it publique. Then took coach and to visit my Lady Sandwich, where she discoursed largely to me her opinion of a match, if it could be thought fit by my Lord, for my Lady Jemimah, with Sir G. Carteret's eldest son; but I doubt he hath yet no settled estate in land. But I will inform myself, and give her my opinion. Then Mrs. Pickering (after private discourse ended, we going into the other room) did, at my Lady's command, tell me the manner of a masquerade [The masquerade at Court took place on the 2nd, and is referred to by Evelyn, who was present, in his Diary. Some amusing incidents connected with the entertainment are related in the "Grammont Memoirs" (chapter vii.).] before the King and Court the other day. Where six women (my Lady Castlemayne and Duchesse of Monmouth being two of them) and six men (the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Arran and Monsieur Blanfort, being three of them) in vizards, but most rich and antique dresses, did dance admirably and most gloriously. God give us cause to continue the mirthe! So home, and after awhile at my office to supper and to bed. 4th. Lay long in bed discoursing with my wife about her mayds, which by Jane's going away in discontent and against my opinion do make some trouble between my wife and me. But these are but foolish troubles and so not to be set to heart, yet it do disturb me mightily these things. To my office, and there all the morning. At noon being invited, I to the Sun behind the 'Change, to dinner to my Lord Belasses, where a great deal of discourse with him, and some good, among others at table he told us a very handsome passage of the King's sending him his message about holding out the town of Newarke, of which he was then governor for the King. This message he sent in a sluggbullet, being writ in cypher, and wrapped up in lead and swallowed. So the messenger come to my Lord and told him he had a message from the King, but it was yet in his belly; so they did give him some physique, and out it come. This was a month before the King's flying to the Scotts; and therein he told him that at such a day, being the 3d or 6th of May, he should hear of his being come to the Scotts, being assured by the King of France that in coming to them he should be used with all the liberty, honour, and safety, that could be desired. And at the just day he did come to the Scotts. He told us another odd passage: how the King having newly put out Prince Rupert of his generallshipp, upon some miscarriage at Bristoll, and Sir Richard Willis [Sir Richard Willis, the betrayer of the Royalists, was one of the "Sealed Knot." When the Restoration had become a certainty, he wrote to Clarendon imploring him to intercede for him with the king (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii., p. 87).] of his governorship of Newarke, at the entreaty of the gentry of the County, and put in my Lord Bellasses, the great officers of the King's army mutinyed, and come in that manner with swords drawn, into the market-place of the towne where the King was; which the King hearing, says, "I must to horse." And there himself personally, when every body expected they should have been opposed, the King come, and cried to the head of the mutineers, which was Prince Rupert, "Nephew, I command you to be gone." So the Prince, in all his fury and discontent, withdrew, and his company scattered, which they say was the greatest piece of mutiny in the world. Thence after dinner home to my office, and in the evening was sent to by Jane that I would give her her wages. So I sent for my wife to my office, and told her that rather than be talked on I would give her all her wages for this Quarter coming on, though two months is behind, which vexed my wife, and we begun to be angry, but I took myself up and sent her away, but was cruelly vexed in my mind that all my trouble in this world almost should arise from my disorders in my family and the indiscretion of a wife that brings me nothing almost (besides a comely person) but only trouble and discontent. She gone I late at my business, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Lay in bed most of the morning, then up and down to my chamber, among my new books, which is now a pleasant sight to me to see my whole study almost of one binding. So to dinner, and all the afternoon with W. Hewer at my office endorsing of papers there, my business having got before me much of late. In the evening comes to see me Mr. Sheply, lately come out of the country, who goes away again to-morrow, a good and a very kind man to me. There come also Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we sang very pleasantly; and so, they being gone, I and my wife to supper, and to prayers and bed. 6th. Up and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, but the Duke is gone abroad. So to White Hall to him, and there I spoke with him, and so to Westminster, did a little business, and then home to the 'Change, where also I did some business, and went off and ended my contract with the "Kingfisher" I hired for Tangier, and I hope to get something by it. Thence home to dinner, and visited Sir W. Batten, who is sick again, worse than he was, and I am apt to think is very ill. So to my office, and among other things with Sir W. Warren 4 hours or more till very late, talking of one thing or another, and have concluded a firm league with him in all just ways to serve him and myself all I can, and I think he will be a most usefull and thankfull man to me. So home to supper and to bed. This being one of the coldest days, all say, they ever felt in England; and I this day, under great apprehensions of getting an ague from my putting a suit on that hath lain by without ayring a great while, and I pray God it do not do me hurte. 7th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at home to dinner. It being Shrove Tuesday, had some very good fritters. All the afternoon and evening at the office, and at night home to supper and to bed. This day, Sir W. Batten, who hath been sicke four or five days, is now very bad, so as people begin to fear his death; and I am at a loss whether it will be better for me to have him die, because he is a bad man, or live, for fear a worse should come. 8th. Up and by coach to my Lord Peterborough's, where anon my Lord Ashly and Sir Thomas Ingram met, and Povy about his accounts, who is one of the most unhappy accountants that ever I knew in all my life, and one that if I were clear in reference to my bill of L117 he should be hanged before I would ever have to do with him, and as he understands nothing of his business himself, so he hath not one about him that do. Here late till I was weary, having business elsewhere, and thence home by coach, and after dinner did several businesses and very late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to my office, where all the morning very busy. At noon home to dinner, and then to my office again, where Sir William Petty come, among other things to tell me that Mr. Barlow [Thomas Barlow, Pepys's predecessor as Clerk of the Acts, to whom he paid part of the salary. Barlow held the office jointly with Dennis Fleeting.] is dead; for which, God knows my heart, I could be as sorry as is possible for one to be for a stranger, by whose death he gets L100 per annum, he being a worthy, honest man; but after having considered that when I come to consider the providence of God by this means unexpectedly to give me L100 a year more in my estate, I have cause to bless God, and do it from the bottom of my heart. So home late at night, after twelve o'clock, and so to bed. 10th. Up and abroad to Paul's Churchyard, there to see the last of my books new bound: among others, my "Court of King James," ["The Court and Character of King James, written and taken by Sir Anthony Weldon, being an eye and eare witnesse," was published in 1650, and reprinted in 1651 under the title of "Truth brought to Light" Weldon's book was answered in a work entitled "Aulicus Coquinariae." Both the original book and the answer were reprinted in "The Secret History of the Court of King James," Edinburgh, 1811, two vols. (edited by Sir Walter Scott).] and "The Rise and Fall of the Family of the Stewarts;" and much pleased I am now with my study; it being, methinks, a beautifull sight. Thence (in Mr. Grey's coach, who took me up), to Westminster, where I heard that yesterday the King met the Houses to pass the great bill for the L2,500,000. After doing a little business I home, where Mr. Moore dined with me, and evened our reckonings on my Lord Sandwich's bond to me for principal and interest. So that now on both there is remaining due to me L257. 7s., and I bless God it is no more. So all the afternoon at my office, and late home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 11th. Up and to my office, where all the morning. At noon to 'Change by coach with my Lord Brunkard, and thence after doing much business home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon till past 12 at night very busy. So home to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up and to church to St. Lawrence to hear Dr. Wilkins, the great scholar, for curiosity, I having never heard him: but was not satisfied with him at all, only a gentleman sat in the pew I by chance sat in, that sang most excellently, and afterward I found by his face that he had been a Paul's scholler, but know not his name, and I was also well pleased with the church, it being a very fine church. So home to dinner, and then to my office all the afternoon doing of business, and in the evening comes Mr. Hill (but no Andrews) and we spent the evening very finely, singing, supping and discoursing. Then to prayers and to bed. 13th. Up and to St. James's, did our usual business before the Duke. Thence I to Westminster and by water (taking Mr. Stapely the rope-maker by the way), to his rope-ground and to Limehouse, there to see the manner of stoves and did excellently inform myself therein, and coming home did go on board Sir W. Petty's "Experiment," which is a brave roomy vessel, and I hope may do well. So went on shore to a Dutch [house] to drink some mum, and there light upon some Dutchmen, with whom we had good discourse touching stoveing [Stoveing, in sail-making, is the heating of the bolt-ropes, so as to make them pliable.--B.] and making of cables. But to see how despicably they speak of us for our using so many hands more to do anything than they do, they closing a cable with 20, that we use 60 men upon. Thence home and eat something, and then to my office, where very late, and then to supper and to bed. Captain Stokes, it seems, is at last dead at Portsmouth. 14th (St. Valentine). This morning comes betimes Dicke Pen, to be my wife's Valentine, and come to our bedside. By the same token, I had him brought to my side, thinking to have made him kiss me; but he perceived me, and would not; so went to his Valentine: a notable, stout, witty boy. I up about business, and, opening the door, there was Bagwell's wife, with whom I talked afterwards, and she had the confidence to say she came with a hope to be time enough to be my Valentine, and so indeed she did, but my oath preserved me from loosing any time with her, and so I and my boy abroad by coach to Westminster, where did two or three businesses, and then home to the 'Change, and did much business there. My Lord Sandwich is, it seems, with his fleete at Alborough Bay. So home to dinner and then to the office, where till 12 almost at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon with Creed to dinner to Trinity-house, where a very good dinner among the old sokers, where an extraordinary discourse of the manner of the loss of the "Royall Oake" coming home from Bantam, upon the rocks of Scilly, many passages therein very extraordinary, and if I can I will get it in writing. Thence with Creed to Gresham College, where I had been by Mr. Povy the last week proposed to be admitted a member; [According to the minutes of the Royal Society for February 15th, 1664-65, "Mr. Pepys was unanimously elected and admitted." Notes of the experiments shown by Hooke and Boyle are given in Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., p. 15.] and was this day admitted, by signing a book and being taken by the hand by the President, my Lord Brunkard, and some words of admittance said to me. But it is a most acceptable thing to hear their discourse, and see their experiments; which were this day upon the nature of fire, and how it goes out in a place where the ayre is not free, and sooner out where the ayre is exhausted, which they showed by an engine on purpose. After this being done, they to the Crowne Taverne, behind the 'Change, and there my Lord and most of the company to a club supper; Sir P. Neale, Sir R. Murrey, Dr. Clerke, Dr. Whistler, Dr. Goddard, and others of most eminent worth. Above all, Mr. Boyle to-day was at the meeting, and above him Mr. Hooke, who is the most, and promises the least, of any man in the world that ever I saw. Here excellent discourse till ten at night, and then home, and to Sir W. Batten's, where I hear that Sir Thos. Harvy intends to put Mr. Turner out of his house and come in himself, which will be very hard to them, and though I love him not, yet for his family's sake I pity him. So home and to bed. 16th. Up, and with Mr. Andrews to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier, and there I did our victuallers' business for some more money, out of which I hope to get a little, of which I was glad; but, Lord! to see to what a degree of contempt, nay, scorn, Mr. Povy, through his prodigious folly, hath brought himself in his accounts, that if he be not a man of a great interest, he will be kicked out of his employment for a foole, is very strange, and that most deservedly that ever man was, for never any man, that understands accounts so little, ever went through so much, and yet goes through it with the greatest shame and yet with confidence that ever I saw man in my life. God deliver me in my owne business of my bill out of his hands, and if ever I foul my fingers with him again let me suffer for it! Back to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where Mrs. Hunt dined with me, and poor Mrs. Batters; who brought her little daughter with her, and a letter from her husband, wherein, as a token, the foole presents me very seriously with his daughter for me to take the charge of bringing up for him, and to make my owne. But I took no notice to her at all of the substance of the letter, but fell to discourse, and so went away to the office, where all the afternoon till almost one in the morning, and then home to bed. 17th. Up, and it being bitter cold, and frost and snow, which I had thought had quite left us, I by coach to Povy's, where he told me, as I knew already, how he was handled the other day, and is still, by my Lord Barkeley, and among other things tells me, what I did not know, how my Lord Barkeley will say openly, that he hath fought more set fields--[Battles or actions]--than any man in England hath done. I did my business with him, which was to get a little sum of money paid, and so home with Mr. Andrews, who met me there, and there to the office. At noon home and there found Lewellin, which vexed me out of my old jealous humour. So to my office, where till 12 at night, being only a little while at noon at Sir W. Batten's to see him, and had some high words with Sir J. Minnes about Sir W. Warren, he calling him cheating knave, but I cooled him, and at night at Sir W. Pen's, he being to go to Chatham to-morrow. So home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning; at noon to the 'Change, and thence to the Royall Oake taverne in Lumbard Streete, where Sir William Petty and the owners of the double-bottomed boat (the Experiment) did entertain my Lord Brunkard, Sir R. Murrey, myself, and others, with marrow bones and a chine of beefe of the victuals they have made for this ship; and excellent company and good discourse: but, above all, I do value Sir William Petty. Thence home; and took my Lord Sandwich's draught of the harbour of Portsmouth down to Ratcliffe, to one Burston, to make a plate for the King, and another for the Duke, and another for himself; which will be very neat. So home, and till almost one o'clock in the morning at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. My Lord Sandwich, and his fleete of twenty-five ships in the Downes, returned from cruising, but could not meet with any Dutchmen. 19th. Lay in bed, it being Lord's day, all the morning talking with my wife, sometimes pleased, sometimes displeased, and then up and to dinner. All the afternoon also at home, and Sir W. Batten's, and in the evening comes Mr. Andrews, and we sung together, and then to supper, he not staying, and at supper hearing by accident of my mayds their letting in a rogueing Scotch woman that haunts the office, to helpe them to washe and scoure in our house, and that very lately, I fell mightily out, and made my wife, to the disturbance of the house and neighbours, to beat our little girle, and then we shut her down into the cellar, and there she lay all night. So we to bed. 20th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to attend the Duke, and then we back again and rode into the beginning of my Lord Chancellor's new house, near St. James's; which common people have already called Dunkirke-house, from their opinion of his having a good bribe for the selling of that towne. And very noble I believe it will be. Near that is my Lord Barkeley beginning another on one side, and Sir J. Denham on the other. Thence I to the House of Lords and spoke with my Lord Bellasses, and so to the 'Change, and there did business, and so to the Sun taverne, haling in the morning had some high words with Sir J. Lawson about his sending of some bayled goods to Tangier, wherein the truth is I did not favour him, but being conscious that some of my profits may come out by some words that fell from him, and to be quiet, I have accommodated it. Here we dined merry; but my club and the rest come to 7s. 6d., which was too much. Thence to the office, and there found Bagwell's wife, whom I directed to go home, and I would do her business, which was to write a letter to my Lord Sandwich for her husband's advance into a better ship as there should be occasion. Which I did, and by and by did go down by water to Deptford, and then down further, and so landed at the lower end of the town, and it being dark 'entrer en la maison de la femme de Bagwell', and there had 'sa compagnie', though with a great deal of difficulty, 'neanmoins en fin j'avais ma volont d'elle', and being sated therewith, I walked home to Redriffe, it being now near nine o'clock, and there I did drink some strong waters and eat some bread and cheese, and so home. Where at my office my wife comes and tells me that she hath hired a chamber mayde, one of the prettiest maydes that ever she saw in her life, and that she is really jealous of me for her, but hath ventured to hire her from month to month, but I think she means merrily. So to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and to the office (having a mighty pain in my forefinger of my left hand, from a strain that it received last night) in struggling 'avec la femme que je' mentioned yesterday, where busy till noon, and then my wife being busy in going with her woman to a hot-house to bathe herself, after her long being within doors in the dirt, so that she now pretends to a resolution of being hereafter very clean. How long it will hold I can guess. I dined with Sir W. Batten and my Lady, they being now a'days very fond of me. So to the 'Change, and off of the 'Change with Mr. Wayth to a cook's shop, and there dined again for discourse with him about Hamaccos [Or hammock-battens: cleats or battens nailed to the sides of a vessel's beams, from which to suspend the seamen's hammocks.] and the abuse now practised in tickets, and more like every day to be. Also of the great profit Mr. Fen makes of his place, he being, though he demands but 5 per cent. of all he pays, and that is easily computed, but very little pleased with any man that gives him no more. So to the office, and after office my Lord Brunkerd carried me to Lincolne's Inne Fields, and there I with my Lady Sandwich (good lady) talking of innocent discourse of good housewifery and husbands for her daughters, and the luxury and looseness of the times and other such things till past 10 o'clock at night, and so by coach home, where a little at my office, and so to supper and to bed. My Lady tells me how my Lord Castlemayne is coming over from France, and is believed will be made friends with his Lady again. What mad freaks the Mayds of Honour at Court have: that Mrs. Jenings, one of the Duchesses mayds, the other day dressed herself like an orange wench, and went up and down and cried oranges; till falling down, or by such accident, though in the evening, her fine shoes were discerned, and she put to a great deale of shame; that such as these tricks being ordinary, and worse among them, thereby few will venture upon them for wives: my Lady Castlemayne will in merriment say that her daughter (not above a year old or two) will be the first mayde in the Court that will be married. This day my Lord Sandwich writ me word from the Downes, that he is like to be in towne this week. 22nd. Lay last night alone, my wife after her bathing lying alone in another bed. So cold all night. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon at the 'Change, busy; where great talk of a Dutch ship in the North put on shore, and taken by a troop of horse. Home to dinner and Creed with me. Thence to Gresham College, where very noble discourse, and thence home busy till past 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. Mrs. Bland come this night to take leave of me and my wife, going to Tangier. 23rd. This day, by the blessing of Almighty God, I have lived thirty-two years in the world, and am in the best degree of health at this minute that I have been almost in my life time, and at this time in the best condition of estate that ever I was in-the Lord make me thankfull. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, where I hear the most horrid and astonishing newes that ever was yet told in my memory, that De Ruyter with his fleete in Guinny hath proceeded to the taking of whatever we have, forts, goods, ships, and men, and tied our men back to back, and thrown them all into the sea, even women and children also. This a Swede or Hamburgher is come into the River and tells that he saw the thing done. [Similar reports of the cruelty of the English to the Dutch in Guinea were credited in Holland, and were related by Downing in a letter to Clarendon from the Hague, dated April 14th, 1665 (Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii., p. 374).] But, Lord! to see the consternation all our merchants are in is observable, and with what fury and revenge they discourse of it. But I fear it will like other things in a few days cool among us. But that which I fear most is the reason why he that was so kind to our men at first should afterward, having let them go, be so cruel when he went further. What I fear is that there he was informed (which he was not before) of some of Holmes's dealings with his countrymen, and so was moved to this fury. God grant it be not so! But a more dishonourable thing was never suffered by Englishmen, nor a more barbarous done by man, as this by them to us. Home to dinner, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and then at night to take my finall leave of Mrs. Bland, who sets out to-morrow for Tangier, and then I back to my office till past 12, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning upon advising again with some fishermen and the water bayliffe of the City, by Mr. Coventry's direction, touching the protections which are desired for the fishermen upon the River, and I am glad of the occasion to make me understand something of it. At noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon till 9 at night in my chamber, and Mr. Hater with me (to prevent being disturbed at the office), to perfect my contract book, which, for want of time, hath a long time lain without being entered in as I used to do from month to month. Then to my office, where till almost 12, and so home to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change; where just before I come, the Swede that had told the King and the Duke so boldly this great lie of the Dutch flinging our men back to back into the sea at Guinny, so particularly, and readily, and confidently, was whipt round the 'Change: he confessing it a lie, and that he did it in hopes to get something. It is said the judges, upon demand, did give it their opinion that the law would judge him to be whipt, to lose his eares, or to have his nose slit but I do not hear that anything more is to be done to him. They say he is delivered over to the Dutch Embassador to do what he pleased with him. But the world do think that there is some design on one side or other, either of the Dutch or French, for it is not likely a fellow would invent such a lie to get money whereas he might have hoped for a better reward by telling something in behalf of us to please us. Thence to the Sun taverne, and there dined with Sir W. Warren and Mr. Gifford, the merchant: and I hear how Nich. Colborne, that lately lived and got a great estate there, is gone to live like a prince in the country, and that this Wadlow, that did the like at the Devil by St. Dunstane's, did go into the country, and there spent almost all he had got, and hath now choused this Colborne out of his house, that he might come to his old trade again. But, Lord! to see how full the house is, no room for any company almost to come into it. Thence home to the office, where dispatched much business; at night late home, and to clean myself with warm water; my wife will have me, because she do herself, and so to bed. 26th (Sunday). Up and to church, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to my office, and there busy all the afternoon, till in the evening comes Mr. Andrews and Hill, and so home and to singing. Hill staid and supped with me, and very good discourse of Italy, where he was, which is always to me very agreeable. After supper, he gone, we to prayers and to bed. 27th. Up and to St. James's, where we attended the Duke as usual. This morning I was much surprized and troubled with a letter from Mrs. Bland, that she is left behind, and much trouble it cost me this day to find out some way to carry her after the ships to Plymouth, but at last I hope I have done it. At noon to the 'Change to inquire what wages the Dutch give in their men-of-warr at this day, and I hear for certain they give but twelve guilders at most, which is not full 24s., a thing I wonder at. At home to dinner, and then in Sir J. Minnes's coach, my wife and I with him, and also Mercer, abroad, he and I to White Hall, and he would have his coach to wait upon my wife on her visits, it being the first time my wife hath been out of doors (but the other day to bathe her) several weeks. We to a Committee of the Council to discourse concerning pressing of men; but, Lord! how they meet; never sit down: one comes, now another goes, then comes another; one complaining that nothing is done, another swearing that he hath been there these two hours and nobody come. At last it come to this, my Lord Annesly, says he, "I think we must be forced to get the King to come to every committee; for I do not see that we do any thing at any time but when he is here." And I believe he said the truth and very constant he is at the council table on council-days; which his predecessors, it seems, very rarely did; but thus I perceive the greatest affair in the world at this day is likely to be managed by us. But to hear how my Lord Barkeley and others of them do cry up the discipline of the late times here, and in the former Dutch warr is strange, wishing with all their hearts that the business of religion were not so severely carried on as to discourage the sober people to come among us, and wishing that the same law and severity were used against drunkennesse as there was then, saying that our evil living will call the hand of God upon us again. Thence to walk alone a good while in St. James's Parke with Mr. Coventry, who I perceive is grown a little melancholy and displeased to see things go as they do so carelessly. Thence I by coach to Ratcliffe highway, to the plate-maker's, and he has begun my Lord Sandwich's plate very neatly, and so back again. Coming back I met Colonell Atkins, who in other discourse did offer to give me a piece to receive of me 20 when he proves the late news of the Dutch, their drowning our men, at Guinny, and the truth is I find the generality of the world to fear that there is something of truth in it, and I do fear it too. Thence back by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's; and there he did contract with me a kind of friendship and freedom of communication, wherein he assures me to make me understand the whole business of the Treasurer's business of the Navy, that I shall know as well as Sir G. Carteret what money he hath; and will needs have me come to him sometimes, or he meet me, to discourse of things tending to the serving the King: and I am mighty proud and happy in becoming so known to such a man. And I hope shall pursue it. Thence back home to the office a little tired and out of order, and then to supper and to bed. 28th: At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home. After dinner my wife and I to my Lady batten's, it being the first time my wife hath been there, I think, these two years, but I had a mind in part to take away the strangenesse, and so we did, and all very quiett and kind. Come home, I to the taking my wife's kitchen accounts at the latter end of the month, and there find 7s. wanting, which did occasion a very high falling out between us, I indeed too angrily insisting upon so poor a thing, and did give her very provoking high words, calling her beggar, and reproaching her friends, which she took very stomachfully and reproached me justly with mine; and I confess, being myself, I cannot see what she could have done less. I find she is very cunning, and when she least shews it hath her wit at work; but it is an ill one, though I think not so bad but with good usage I might well bear with it, and the truth is I do find that my being over-solicitous and jealous and froward and ready to reproach her do make her worse. However, I find that now and then a little difference do no hurte, but too much of it will make her know her force too much. We parted after many high words very angry, and I to my office to my month's accounts, and find myself worth L1270, for which the Lord God be praised! So at almost 2 o'clock in the morning I home to supper and to bed, and so ends this month, with great expectation of the Hollanders coming forth, who are, it seems, very high and rather more ready than we. God give a good issue to it! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Accounts I never did see, or hope again to see in my days At a loss whether it will be better for me to have him die By his many words and no understanding, confound himself Church, where a most insipid young coxcomb preached Clean myself with warm water; my wife will have me Costs me 12d. a kiss after the first Find that now and then a little difference do no hurte Going with her woman to a hot-house to bathe herself Good discourse and counsel from him, which I hope I shall take Great thaw it is not for a man to walk the streets Heard noises over their head upon the leads His disease was the pox and that he must be fluxed (Rupert) I know not how their fortunes may agree If the exportations exceed importations It is a strange thing how fancy works Law against it signifies nothing in the world Law and severity were used against drunkennesse Luxury and looseness of the times Must be forced to confess it to my wife, which troubles me My wife after her bathing lying alone in another bed No man is wise at all times Offer to give me a piece to receive of me 20 Pretends to a resolution of being hereafter very clean Sat an hour or two talking and discoursing . . . . So great a trouble is fear Those bred in the North among the colliers are good for labour Tied our men back to back, and thrown them all into the sea Too much of it will make her know her force too much Up, leaving my wife in bed, being sick of her months When she least shews it hath her wit at work Where money is free, there is great plenty Who is the most, and promises the least, of any man Wife that brings me nothing almost (besides a comely person) 
4155	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH & APRIL 1664-1665 March 1st. Up, and this day being the day than: by a promise, a great while ago, made to my wife, I was to give her L20 to lay out in clothes against Easter, she did, notwithstanding last night's falling out, come to peace with me and I with her, but did boggle mightily at the parting with my money, but at last did give it her, and then she abroad to buy her things, and I to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon I to dinner at Trinity House, and thence to Gresham College, where Mr. Hooke read a second very curious lecture about the late Comett; among other things proving very probably that this is the very same Comett that appeared before in the year 1618, and that in such a time probably it will appear again, which is a very new opinion; but all will be in print. Then to the meeting, where Sir G. Carteret's two sons, his owne, and Sir N. Slaning, were admitted of the society: and this day I did pay my admission money, 40s. to the society. Here was very fine discourses and experiments, but I do lacke philosophy enough to understand them, and so cannot remember them. Among others, a very particular account of the making of the several sorts of bread in France, which is accounted the best place for bread in the world. So home, where very busy getting an answer to some question of Sir Philip Warwicke touching the expense of the navy, and that being done I by coach at 8 at night with my wife and Mercer to Sir Philip's and discoursed with him (leaving them in the coach), and then back with them home and to supper and to bed. 2nd. Begun this day to rise betimes before six o'clock, and, going down to call my people, found Besse and the girle with their clothes on, lying within their bedding upon the ground close by the fireside, and a candle burning all night, pretending they would rise to scoure. This vexed me, but Besse is going and so she will not trouble me long. Up, and by water to Burston about my Lord's plate, and then home to the office, so there all the morning sitting. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten (my wife being gone again to-day to buy things, having bought nothing yesterday for lack of Mrs. Pierces company), and thence to the office again, where very busy till 12 at night, and vexed at my wife's staying out so late, she not being at home at 9 o'clock, but at last she is come home, but the reason of her stay I know not yet. So shut up my books, and home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and abroad about several things, among others to see Mr. Peter Honiwood, who was at my house the other day, and I find it was for nothing but to pay me my brother John's Quarterage. Thence to see Mrs. Turner, who takes it mighty ill I did not come to dine with the Reader, her husband, which, she says, was the greatest feast that ever was yet kept by a Reader, and I believe it was well. But I am glad I did not go, which confirms her in an opinion that I am growne proud. Thence to the 'Change, and to several places, and so home to dinner and to my office, where till 12 at night writing over a discourse of mine to Mr. Coventry touching the Fishermen of the Thames upon a reference of the business by him to me concerning their being protected from presse. Then home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up very betimes, and walked, it being bitter cold, to Ratcliffe, to the plate-maker's and back again. To the office, where we sat all the morning, I, with being empty and full of ayre and wind, had some pain to-day. Dined alone at home, my wife being gone abroad to buy some more things. All the afternoon at the office. William Howe come to see me, being come up with my Lord from sea: he is grown a discreet, but very conceited fellow. He tells me how little respectfully Sir W. Pen did carry it to my Lord onboard the Duke's ship at sea; and that Captain Minnes, a favourite of Prince Rupert's, do shew my Lord little respect; but that every body else esteems my Lord as they ought. I am sorry for the folly of the latter, and vexed at the dissimulation of the former. At night home to supper and to bed. This day was proclaimed at the 'Change the war with Holland. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and Mr. Burston bringing me by order my Lord's plates, which he has been making this week. I did take coach and to my Lord Sandwich's and dined with my Lord; it being the first time he hath dined at home since his coming from sea: and a pretty odd demand it was of my Lord to my Lady before me: "How do you, sweetheart? How have you done all this week?" himself taking notice of it to me, that he had hardly seen her the week before. At dinner he did use me with the greatest solemnity in the world, in carving for me, and nobody else, and calling often to my Lady to cut for me; and all the respect possible. After dinner looked over the plates, liked them mightily, and indeed I think he is the most exact man in what he do in the world of that kind. So home again, and there after a song or two in the evening with Mr. Hill, I to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach, being a most lamentable cold day as any this year, to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke. Great preparations for his speedy return to sea. I saw him try on his buff coat and hatpiece covered with black velvet. It troubles me more to think of his venture, than of anything else in the whole warr. Thence home to dinner, where I saw Besse go away; she having of all wenches that ever lived with us received the greatest love and kindnesse and good clothes, besides wages, and gone away with the greatest ingratitude. I then abroad to look after my Hamaccoes, and so home, and there find our new chamber-mayde, Mary, come, which instead of handsome, as my wife spoke and still seems to reckon, is a very ordinary wench, I think, and therein was mightily disappointed. To my office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed, and was troubled all this night with a pain in my left testicle, that run up presently into my left kidney and there kept akeing all night. In great pain. 7th. Up, and was pretty well, but going to the office, and I think it was sitting with my back to the fire, it set me in a great rage again, that I could not continue till past noon at the office, but was forced to go home, nor could sit down to dinner, but betook myself to my bed, and being there a while my pain begun to abate and grow less and less. Anon I went to make water, not dreaming of any thing but my testicle that by some accident I might have bruised as I used to do, but in pissing there come from me two stones, I could feel them, and caused my water to be looked into; but without any pain to me in going out, which makes me think that it was not a fit of the stone at all; for my pain was asswaged upon my lying down a great while before I went to make water. Anon I made water again very freely and plentifully. I kept my bed in good ease all the evening, then rose and sat up an hour or two, and then to bed and lay till 8 o'clock, and then, 8th. Though a bitter cold day, yet I rose, and though my pain and tenderness in my testicle remains a little, yet I do verily think that my pain yesterday was nothing else, and therefore I hope my disease of the stone may not return to me, but void itself in pissing, which God grant, but I will consult my physitian. This morning is brought me to the office the sad newes of "The London," in which Sir J. Lawson's men were all bringing her from Chatham to the Hope, and thence he was to go to sea in her; but a little a'this side the buoy of the Nower, she suddenly blew up. About 24 [men] and a woman that were in the round-house and coach saved; the rest, being above 300, drowned: the ship breaking all in pieces, with 80 pieces of brass ordnance. She lies sunk, with her round-house above water. Sir J. Lawson hath a great loss in this of so many good chosen men, and many relations among them. I went to the 'Change, where the news taken very much to heart. So home to dinner, and Mr. Moore with me. Then I to Gresham College, and there saw several pretty experiments, and so home and to my office, and at night about I I home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. At noon to dinner at home, and then abroad with my wife, left her at the New Exchange and I to Westminster, where I hear Mrs. Martin is brought to bed of a boy and christened Charles, which I am very glad of, for I was fearful of being called to be a godfather to it. But it seems it was to be done suddenly, and so I escaped. It is strange to see how a liberty and going abroad without purpose of doing anything do lead a man to what is bad, for I was just upon going to her, where I must of necessity [have] broken my oath or made a forfeit. But I did not, company being (I heard by my porter) with her, and so I home again, taking up my wife, and was set down by her at Paule's Schoole, where I visited Mr. Crumlum at his house; and, Lord! to see how ridiculous a conceited pedagogue he is, though a learned man, he being so dogmaticall in all he do and says. But among other discourse, we fell to the old discourse of Paule's Schoole; and he did, upon my declaring my value of it, give me one of Lilly's grammars of a very old impression, as it was in the Catholique times, which I shall much set by. And so, after some small discourse, away and called upon my wife at a linen draper's shop buying linen, and so home, and to my office, where late, and home to supper and to bed. This night my wife had a new suit of flowered ash-coloured silke, very noble. 10th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, where very hot, people's proposal of the City giving the King' another ship for "The London," that is lately blown up, which would be very handsome, and if well managed, might be done; but I fear if it be put into ill hands, or that the courtiers do solicit it, it will never be done. Home to dinner, and thence to the Committee of Tangier at White Hall, where my Lord Barkely and Craven and others; but, Lord! to see how superficially things are done in the business of the Lottery, which will be the disgrace of the Fishery, and without profit. Home, vexed at my loss of time, and thereto my office. Late at night come the two Bellamys, formerly petty warrant Victuallers of the Navy, to take my advice about a navy debt of theirs for the compassing of which they offer a great deal of money, and the thing most just. Perhaps I may undertake it, and get something by it, which will be a good job. So home late to bed. 11th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner, and to the office again, where very late, and then home to supper and to bed. This day returned Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes from Lee Roade, where they have been to see the wrecke of "The London," out of which, they say, the guns may be got, but the hull of her will be wholly lost, as not being capable of being weighed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and borrowing Sir J. Minnes's coach, to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was gone abroad. I sent the coach back for my wife, my Lord a second time dining at home on purpose to meet me, he having not dined once at home but those times since his coming from sea. I sat down and read over the Bishop of Chichester's' sermon upon the anniversary of the King's death, much cried up, but, methinks, but a mean sermon. By and by comes in my Lord, and he and I to talke of many things in the Navy, one from another, in general, to see how the greatest things are committed to very ordinary men, as to parts and experience, to do; among others, my Lord Barkeley. We talked also of getting W. Howe to be put into the Muster-Mastershipp in the roome of Creed, if Creed will give way, but my Lord do it without any great gusto, calling Howe a proud coxcomb in passion. Down to dinner, where my wife in her new lace whiske, which, indeed, is very noble, and I much pleased with it, and so my Lady also. Here very pleasant my Lord was at dinner, and after dinner did look over his plate, which Burston hath brought him to-day, and is the last of the three that he will have made. After satisfied with that, he abroad, and I after much discourse with my Lady about Sir G. Carteret's son, of whom she hath some thoughts for a husband for my Lady Jemimah, we away home by coach again, and there sang a good while very pleasantly with Mr. Andrews and Hill. They gone; we to supper, and betimes to bed. 13th. Up betimes, this being the first morning of my promise upon a forfeite not to lie in bed a quarter of an hour after my first waking. Abroad to St. James's, and there much business, the King also being with us a great while. Thence to the 'Change, and thence with Captain Tayler and Sir W. Warren dined at a house hard by for discourse sake, and so I home, and there meeting a letter from Mrs. Martin desiring to speak with me, I (though against my promise of visiting her) did go, and there found her in her childbed dress desiring my favour to get her husband a place. I staid not long, but taking Sir W. Warren up at White Hall home, and among other discourse fell to a business which he says shall if accomplished bring me L100. He gone, I to supper and to bed. This day my wife begun to wear light-coloured locks, quite white almost, which, though it makes her look very pretty, yet not being natural, vexes me, that I will not have her wear them. This day I saw my Lord Castlemayne at St. James's, lately come from France. 14th. Up before six, to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, at the Tower, with Sir J. Robinson, at a farewell dinner which he gives Major Holmes at his going out of the Tower, where he hath for some time, since his coming from Guinny, been a prisoner, and, it seems, had presented the Lieutenant with fifty pieces yesterday. Here a great deale of good victuals and company. Thence home to my office, where very late, and home to supper and to bed weary of business. 15th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, where among other things before the Duke, Captain Taylor was called in, and, Sir J. Robinson his accuser not appearing, was acquitted quite from his charge, and declared that he should go to Harwich, which I was very well pleased at. Thence I to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and there privately an houre with him in discourse of the office, and did deliver to him many notes of things about which he is to get the Duke's command, before he goes, for the putting of business among us in better order. He did largely owne his dependance as to the office upon my care, and received very great expressions of love from him, and so parted with great satisfaction to myself. So home to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where my wife being gone down upon a sudden warning from my Lord Sandwich's daughters to the Hope with them to see "The Prince," I dined alone. After dinner to the office, and anon to Gresham College, where, among other good discourse, there was tried the great poyson of Maccassa upon a dogg, ["The experiment of trying to poison a dog with some of the Macassar powder in which a needle had been dipped was made, but without success."--Pepys himself made a communication at this meeting of the information he had received from the master of the Jersey ship, who had been in company of Major Holmes in the Guinea voyage, concerning the pendulum watches (Birch's "History," vol. ii., p. 23).] but it had no effect all the time we sat there. We anon broke up and I home, where late at my office, my wife not coming home. I to bed, troubled, about 12 or past. 16th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, my wife coming home from the water this morning, having lain with them on board "The Prince" all night. At noon home to dinner, where my wife told me the unpleasant journey she had yesterday among the children, whose fear upon the water and folly made it very unpleasing to her. A good dinner, and then to the office again. This afternoon Mr. Harris, the sayle-maker, sent me a noble present of two large silver candlesticks and snuffers, and a slice to keep them upon, which indeed is very handsome. At night come Mr. Andrews with L36, the further fruits of my Tangier contract, and so to bed late and weary with business, but in good content of mind, blessing God for these his benefits. 17th. Up and to my office, and then with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, where many come to take leave, as was expected, of the Duke, but he do not go till Monday. This night my Lady Wood died of the small-pox, and is much lamented among the great persons for a good-natured woman and a good wife, but for all that it was ever believed she was as others are. The Duke did give us some commands, and so broke up, not taking leave of him. But the best piece of newes is, that instead of a great many troublesome Lords, the whole business is to be left with the Duke of Albemarle to act as Admirall in his stead; which is a thing that do cheer my heart. For the other would have vexed us with attendance, and never done the business. Thence to the Committee of Tangier, where the Duke a little, and then left us and we staid. A very great Committee, the Lords Albemarle, Sandwich, Barkely, Fitzharding, Peterborough, Ashley, Sir Thos. Ingram, Sir G. Carteret and others. The whole business was the stating of Povy's accounts, of whom to say no more, never could man say worse himself nor have worse said of him than was by the company to his face; I mean, as to his folly and very reflecting words to his honesty. Broke up without anything but trouble and shame, only I got my businesses done to the signing of two bills for the Contractors and Captain Taylor, and so come away well pleased, and home, taking up my wife at the 'Change, to dinner. After dinner out again bringing my wife to her father's again at Charing Cross, and I to the Committee again, where a new meeting of trouble about Povy, who still makes his business worse and worse, and broke up with the most open shame again to him, and high words to him of disgrace that they would not trust him with any more money till he had given an account of this. So broke up. Then he took occasion to desire me to step aside, and he and I by water to London together. In the way, of his owne accord, he proposed to me that he would surrender his place of Treasurer' to me to have half the profit. The thing is new to me; but the more I think the more I like it, and do put him upon getting it done by the Duke. Whether it takes or no I care not, but I think at present it may have some convenience in it. Home, and there find my wife come home and gone to bed, of a cold got yesterday by water. At the office Bellamy come to me again, and I am in hopes something may be got by his business. So late home to supper and bed. 18th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and took Mr. Hill along with me to Mr. Povy's, where we dined, and shewed him the house to his good content, and I expect when we meet we shall laugh at it. But I having business to stay, he went away, and Povy and Creed and I to do some business upon Povy's accounts all the afternoon till late at night, where, God help him! never man was so confounded, and all his people about him in this world as he and his are. After we had done something [to the] purpose we broke up, and Povy acquainted me before Creed (having said something of it also this morning at our office to me) what he had done in speaking to the Duke and others about his making me Treasurer, and has carried it a great way, so as I think it cannot well be set back. Creed, I perceive, envies me in it, but I think as that will do me no hurte, so if it did I am at a great losse to think whether it were not best for me to let it wholly alone, for it will much disquiett me and my business of the Navy, which in this warr will certainly be worth all my time to me. Home, continuing in this doubtfull condition what to think of it, but God Almighty do his will in it for the best. To my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Mr. Povy sent his coach for me betimes, and I to him, and there to our great trouble do find that my Lord FitzHarding do appear for Mr. Brunkard [Henry Brouncker, younger brother of William, Viscount Brouncker, President of the Royal Society. He was Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke of York, and succeeded to the office of Cofferer on the death of William Ashburnham in 1671. His character was bad, and his conduct in the sea-fight of 1665 was impugned. He was expelled from the House of Commons, but succeeded to his brother's title in 1684. He died in January, 1687.] to be Paymaster upon Povy's going out, by a former promise of the Duke's, and offering to give as much as any for it. This put us all into a great dumpe, and so we went to Creed's new lodging in the Mewes, and there we found Creed with his parrot upon his shoulder, which struck Mr. Povy coming by just by the eye, very deep, which, had it hit his eye, had put it out. This a while troubled us, but not proving very bad, we to our business consulting what to do; at last resolved, and I to Mr. Coventry, and there had his most friendly and ingenuous advice, advising me not to decline the thing, it being that that will bring me to be known to great persons, while now I am buried among three or four of us, says he, in the Navy; but do not make a declared opposition to my Lord FitzHarding. Thence I to Creed, and walked talking in the Park an hour with him, and then to my Lord Sandwich's to dinner, and after dinner to Mr. Povy's, who hath been with the Duke of Yorke, and, by the mediation of Mr. Coventry, the Duke told him that the business shall go on, and he will take off Brunkerd, and my Lord FitzHarding is quiett too. But to see the mischief, I hear that Sir G. Carteret did not seem pleased, but said nothing when he heard me proposed to come in Povy's room, which may learn me to distinguish between that man that is a man's true and false friend. Being very glad of this news Mr. Povy and I in his coach to Hyde Parke, being the first day of the tour there. Where many brave ladies; among others, Castlemayne lay impudently upon her back in her coach asleep, with her mouth open. There was also my Lady Kerneguy, [Daughter of William, Duke of Hamilton, wife of Lord Carnegy, who became Earl of Southesk on his father's death. She is frequently mentioned in the "Memoires de Grammont," and in the letters of the second Earl of Chesterfield.--B.] once my Lady Anne Hambleton, that is said to have given the Duke a clap upon his first coming over. Here I saw Sir J. Lawson's daughter and husband, a fine couple, and also Mr. Southwell and his new lady, very pretty. Thence back, putting in at Dr. Whore's, where I saw his lady, a very fine woman. So home, and thither by my desire comes by and by Creed and lay with me, very merry and full of discourse, what to do to-morrow, and the conveniences that will attend my having of this place, and I do think they may be very great. 20th. Up, Creed and I, and had Mr. Povy's coach sent for us, and we to his house; where we did some business in order to the work of this day. Povy and I to my Lord Sandwich, who tells me that the Duke is not only a friend to the business, but to me, in terms of the greatest love and respect and value of me that can be thought, which overjoys me. Thence to St. James's, and there was in great doubt of Brunkerd, but at last I hear that Brunkerd desists. The Duke did direct Secretary Bennet, who was there, to declare his mind to the Tangier Committee, that he approves of me for Treasurer; and with a character of me to be a man whose industry and discretion he would trust soon as any man's in England: and did the like to my Lord Sandwich. So to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, where there were present, my Lord of Albemarle, my Lord Peterborough, Sandwich, Barkeley, FitzHarding, Secretary Bennet, Sir Thomas Ingram, Sir John Lawson, Povy and I. Where, after other business, Povy did declare his business very handsomely; that he was sorry he had been so unhappy in his accounts, as not to give their Lordships the satisfaction he intended, and that he was sure his accounts are right, and continues to submit them to examination, and is ready to lay down in ready money the fault of his account; and that for the future, that the work might be better done and with more quiet to him, he desired, by approbation of the Duke, he might resign his place to Mr. Pepys. Whereupon, Secretary Bennet did deliver the Duke's command, which was received with great content and allowance beyond expectation; the Secretary repeating also the Duke's character of me. And I could discern my Lord FitzHarding was well pleased with me, and signified full satisfaction, and whispered something seriously of me to the Secretary. And there I received their constitution under all their hands presently; so that I am already confirmed their Treasurer, and put into a condition of striking of tallys; [The practice of striking tallies at the Exchequer was a curious survival of an ancient method of keeping accounts. The method adopted is described in Hubert Hall's "Antiquities and Curiosities of the Exchequer," 1891. The following account of the use of tallies, so frequently alluded to in the Diary, was supplied by Lord Braybrooke. Formerly accounts were kept, and large sums of money paid and received, by the King's Exchequer, with little other form than the exchange or delivery of tallies, pieces of wood notched or scored, corresponding blocks being kept by the parties to the account; and from this usage one of the head officers of the Exchequer was called the tallier, or teller. These tallies were often negotiable; Adam Smith, in his "Wealth of Nations," book ii., ch. xi., says that "in 1696 tallies had been at forty, and fifty, and sixty per cent. discount, and bank-notes at twenty per cent." The system of tallies was discontinued in 1824; and the destruction of the old Houses of Parliament, in the night of October 16th, 1834, is thought to have been occasioned by the overheating of the flues, when the furnaces were employed to consume the tallies rendered useless by the alteration in the mode of keeping the Exchequer accounts.] and all without one harsh word or word of dislike, but quite the contrary; which is a good fortune beyond all imagination. Here we rose, and Povy and Creed and I, all full of joy, thence to dinner, they setting me down at Sir J. Winter's, by promise, and dined with him; and a worthy fine man he seems to be, and of good discourse, our business was to discourse of supplying the King with iron for anchors, if it can be judged good enough, and a fine thing it is to see myself come to the condition of being received by persons of this rank, he being, and having long been, Secretary to the Queene-Mother. Thence to Povy's, and there sat and considered of business a little and then home, where late at it, W. Howe being with me about his business of accounts for his money laid out in the fleet, and he gone, I home to supper and to bed. Newes is this day come of Captain Allen's being come home from the Straights, as far as Portland, with eleven of the King's ships, and about twenty-two of merchantmen. 21st. Up, and my taylor coming to me, did consult all my wardrobe how to order my clothes against next summer. Then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and brought home Mr. Andrews, and there with Mr. Sheply dined and very merry, and a good dinner. Thence to Mr. Povy's to discourse about settling our business of Treasurer, and I think all things will go very fayre between us and to my content, but the more I see the more silly the man seems to me. Thence by coach to the Mewes, but Creed was not there. In our way the coach drove through a lane by Drury Lane, where abundance of loose women stood at the doors, which, God forgive me, did put evil thoughts in me, but proceeded no further, blessed be God. So home, and late at my office, then home and there found a couple of state cups, very large, coming, I suppose, each to about L6 a piece, from Burrows the slopseller. 22nd. Up, and to Mr. Povy's about our business, and thence I to see Sir Ph. Warwicke, but could not meet with him. So to Mr. Coventry, whose profession of love and esteem for me to myself was so large and free that I never could expect or wish for more, nor could have it from any man in England, that I should value it more. Thence to Mr. Povy's, and with Creed to the 'Change and to my house, but, it being washing day, dined not at home, but took him (I being invited) to Mr. Hubland's, the merchant, where Sir William Petty, and abundance of most ingenious men, owners and freighters of "The Experiment," now going with her two bodies to sea. Most excellent discourse. Among others, Sir William Petty did tell me that in good earnest he hath in his will left such parts of his estate to him that could invent such and such things. As among others, that could discover truly the way of milk coming into the breasts of a woman; and he that could invent proper characters to express to another the mixture of relishes and tastes. And says, that to him that invents gold, he gives nothing for the philosopher's stone; for (says he) they that find out that, will be able to pay themselves. But, says he, by this means it is better than to give to a lecture; for here my executors, that must part with this, will be sure to be well convinced of the invention before they do part with their money. After dinner Mr. Hill took me with Mrs. Hubland, who is a fine gentlewoman, into another room, and there made her sing, which she do very well, to my great content. Then to Gresham College, and there did see a kitling killed almost quite, but that we could not quite kill her, with such a way; the ayre out of a receiver, wherein she was put, and then the ayre being let in upon her revives her immediately; ["Two experiments were made for the finding out a way to breathe under water, useful for divers." The first was on a bird and the second on "a kitling" (Birch's "History," vol. ii., p. 25).] nay, and this ayre is to be made by putting together a liquor and some body that ferments, the steam of that do do the work. Thence home, and thence to White Hall, where the house full of the Duke's going to-morrow, and thence to St. James's, wherein these things fell out: (1) I saw the Duke, kissed his hand, and had his most kind expressions of his value and opinion of me, which comforted me above all things in the world, (2) the like from Mr. Coventry most heartily and affectionately. (3) Saw, among other fine ladies, Mrs. Middleton, [Jane, daughter to Sir Robert Needham, is frequently mentioned in the "Grammont Memoirs," and Evelyn calls her "that famous and indeed incomparable beauty" ("Diary," August 2nd, 1683). Her portrait is in the Royal Collection amongst the beauties of Charles II.'s Court. Sir Robert Needham was related to John Evelyn.] a very great beauty I never knew or heard of before; (4) I saw Waller the poet, whom I never saw before. So, very late, by coach home with W. Pen, who was there. To supper and to bed, with my heart at rest, and my head very busy thinking of my several matters now on foot, the new comfort of my old navy business, and the new one of my employment on Tangier. 23rd. Up and to my Lord Sandwich, who follows the Duke this day by water down to the Hope, where "The Prince" lies. He received me, busy as he was, with mighty kindness and joy at my promotions; telling me most largely how the Duke hath expressed on all occasions his good opinion of my service and love for me. I paid my thanks and acknowledgement to him; and so back home, where at the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change. Home, and Lewellin dined with me. Thence abroad, carried my wife to Westminster by coach, I to the Swan, Herbert's, and there had much of the good company of Sarah and to my wish, and then to see Mrs. Martin, who was very kind, three weeks of her month of lying in is over. So took up my wife and home, and at my office a while, and thence to supper and to bed. Great talk of noises of guns heard at Deale, but nothing particularly whether in earnest or not. 24th. Up betimes, and by agreement to the Globe taverne in Fleet Street to Mr. Clerke, my sollicitor, about the business of my uncle's accounts, and we went with one Jefferys to one of the Barons (Spelman), and there my accounts were declared and I sworn to the truth thereof to my knowledge, and so I shall after a few formalities be cleared of all. Thence to Povy's, and there delivered him his letters of greatest import to him that is possible, yet dropped by young Bland, just come from Tangier, upon the road by Sittingburne, taken up and sent to Mr. Pett, at Chatham. Thus everything done by Povy is done with a fatal folly and neglect. Then to our discourse with him, Creed, Mr. Viner, myself and Poyntz about the business of the Workehouse at Clerkenwell, and after dinner went thither and saw all the works there, and did also consult the Act concerning the business and other papers in order to our coming in to undertake it with Povy, the management of the House, but I do not think we can safely meddle with it, at least I, unless I had time to look after it myself, but the thing is very ingenious and laudable. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, where my wife all this day, having kept Good Friday very strict with fasting. Here we supped, and talked very merry. My Lady alone with me, very earnest about Sir G. Carteret's son, with whom I perceive they do desire my Lady Jemimah may be matched. Thence home and to my office, and then to bed. 25th (Lady day). Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. At noon dined alone with Sir W. Batten, where great discourse of Sir W. Pen, Sir W. Batten being, I perceive, quite out of love with him, thinking him too great and too high, and began to talk that the world do question his courage, upon which I told him plainly I have been told that he was articled against for it, and that Sir H. Vane was his great friend therein. This he was, I perceive, glad to hear. Thence to the office, and there very late, very busy, to my great content. This afternoon of a sudden is come home Sir W. Pen from the fleete, but upon what score I know not. Late home to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day and Easter day). Up (and with my wife, who has not been at church a month or two) to church. At noon home to dinner, my wife and I (Mercer staying to the Sacrament) alone. This is the day seven years which, by the blessing of God, I have survived of my being cut of the stone, and am now in very perfect good health and have long been; and though the last winter hath been as hard a winter as any have been these many years, yet I never was better in my life, nor have not, these ten years, gone colder in the summer than I have done all this winter, wearing only a doublet, and a waistcoate cut open on the back; abroad, a cloake and within doors a coate I slipped on. Now I am at a losse to know whether it be my hare's foot which is my preservative against wind, for I never had a fit of the collique since I wore it, and nothing but wind brings me pain, and the carrying away of wind takes away my pain, or my keeping my back cool; for when I do lie longer than ordinary upon my back in bed, my water the next morning is very hot, or whether it be my taking of a pill of turpentine every morning, which keeps me always loose, or all together, but this I know, with thanks to God Almighty, that I am now as well as ever I can wish or desire to be, having now and then little grudgings of wind, that brings me a little pain, but it is over presently, only I do find that my backe grows very weak, that I cannot stoop to write or tell money without sitting but I have pain for a good while after it. Yet a week or two ago I had one day's great pain; but it was upon my getting a bruise on one of my testicles, and then I did void two small stones, without pain though, and, upon my going to bed and bearing up of my testicles, I was well the next. But I did observe that my sitting with my back to the fire at the office did then, as it do at all times, make my back ake, and my water hot, and brings me some pain. I sent yesterday an invitation to Mrs. Turner and her family to come to keep this day with me, which she granted, but afterward sent me word that it being Sunday and Easter day she desired to choose another and put off this. Which I was willing enough to do; and so put it off as to this day, and will leave it to my own convenience when to choose another, and perhaps shall escape a feast by it. At my office all the afternoon drawing up my agreement with Mr. Povy for me to sign to him tomorrow morning. In the evening spent an hour in the garden walking with Sir J. Minnes, talking of the Chest business, wherein Sir W. Batten deals so unfairly, wherein the old man is very hot for the present, but that zeal will not last nor is to be trusted. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 27th. Up betimes to Mr. Povy's, and there did sign and seal my agreement with him about my place of being Treasurer for Tangier, it being the greatest part of it drawnout of a draught of his own drawing up, only I have added something here and there in favour of myself. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, the first time that we officers of the Navy have waited upon him since the Duke of Yorke's going, who hath deputed him to be Admirall in his absence. And I find him a quiet heavy man, that will help business when he can, and hinder nothing, and am very well pleased with our attendance on him. I did afterwards alone give him thanks for his favour to me about my Tangier business, which he received kindly, and did speak much of his esteem of me. Thence, and did the same to Sir H. Bennet, who did the like to me very fully, and did give me all his letters lately come from hence for me to read, which I returned in the afternoon to him. Thence to Mrs. Martin, who, though her husband is gone away, as he writes, like a fool into France, yet is as simple and wanton as ever she was, with much I made myself merry and away. So to my Lord Peterborough's; where Povy, Creed, Williamson, Auditor Beale, and myself, and mighty merry to see how plainly my Lord and Povy did abuse one another about their accounts, each thinking the other a foole, and I thinking they were not either of them, in that point, much in the wrong, though in everything, and even in this manner of reproaching one another, very witty and pleasant. Among other things, we had here the genteelest dinner and the neatest house that I have seen many a day, and the latter beyond anything I ever saw in a nobleman's house. Thence visited my Lord Barkeley, and did sit discoursing with him in his chamber a good while, and [he] mighty friendly to me about the same business of Tangier. From that to other discourse of the times and the want of money, and he said that the Parliament must be called again soon, and more money raised, not by tax, for he said he believed the people could not pay it, but he would have either a general excise upon everything, or else that every city incorporate should pay a toll into the King's revenue, as he says it is in all the cities in the world; for here a citizen hath no more laid on them than their neighbours in the country, whereas, as a city, it ought to pay considerably to the King for their charter; but I fear this will breed ill blood. Thence to Povy, and after a little talk home to my office late. Then to supper and to bed. 28th. Up betimes and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I did most of the business there, God wot. Then to the 'Change, and thence to the Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, where much good discourse for us both till 9 o'clock with great pleasure and content, and then parted and I home to dinner, having eat nothing, and so to my office. At night supped with my wife at Sir W. Pen's, who is to go back for good and all to the fleete to-morrow. Took leave and to my office, where till 12 at night, and then home to bed. 29th. Up betimes and to Povy's, where a good while talking about our business; thence abroad into the City, but upon his tally could not get any money in Lumbard Streete, through the disrepute which he suffers, I perceive, upon his giving up his place, which people think was not choice, but necessity, as indeed it was. So back to his house, after we had been at my house to taste my wine, but my wife being abroad nobody could come at it, and so we were defeated. To his house, and before dinner he and I did discourse of the business of freight, wherein I am so much concerned, above L100 for myself, and in my over hasty making a bill out for the rest for him, but he resolves to move Creed in it. Which troubled me much, and Creed by and by comes, and after dinner he did, but in the most cunning ingenious manner, do his business with Creed by bringing it in by the by, that the most subtile man in the world could never have done it better, and I must say that he is a most witty, cunning man and one that I (am) most afeard of in my conversation, though in all serious matters of business the eeriest foole that ever I met with. The bill was produced and a copy given Creed, whereupon he wrote his Intratur upon the originall, and I hope it will pass, at least I am now put to it that I must stand by it and justify it, but I pray God it may never come to that test. Thence between vexed and joyed, not knowing what yet to make of it, home, calling for my Lord Cooke's 3 volumes at my bookseller's, and so home, where I found a new cook mayd, her name is-----that promises very little. So to my office, where late about drawing up a proposal for Captain Taylor, for him to deliver to the City about his building the new ship, which I have done well, and I hope will do the business, and so home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and to my Lord Ashly, but did nothing, and to Sir Ph. Warwicke and spoke with him about business, and so back to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence to the Tangier Committee, where, Lord! to see how they did run into the giving of Sir J. Lawson (who is come to towne to-day to get this business done) L4000 about his Mole business, and were going to give him 4s. per yarde more, which arises in the whole Mole to L36,000, is a strange thing, but the latter by chance was stopped, the former was given. Thence to see Mrs. Martin, whose husband being it seems gone away, and as she is informed he hath another woman whom he uses, and has long done, as a wife, she is mighty reserved and resolved to keep herself so till the return of her husband, which a pleasant thing to think of her. Thence home, and to my office, where late, and to bed. 31st. Up betimes and walked to my Lord Ashly, and there with Creed after long waiting spoke with him, and was civilly used by him; thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke, and then to visit my Lord of Falmouth, who did also receive me pretty civilly, but not as I expected; he, I perceive, believing that I had undertaken to justify Povy's accounts, taking them upon myself, but I rectified him therein. So to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, and up to her chamber after dinner, and there discoursed about Sir G. Carteret's son, in proposition between us two for my Lady Jemimah. So to Povy, and with him spent the afternoon very busy, till I was weary of following this and neglecting my navy business. So at night called my wife at my Lady's, and so home. To my office and there made up my month's account, which, God be praised! rose to L1300. Which I bless God for. So after 12 o'clock home to supper and to bed. I find Creed mightily transported by my Lord of Falmouth's kind words to him, and saying that he hath a place in his intention for him, which he believes will be considerable. A witty man he is in every respect, but of no good nature, nor a man ordinarily to be dealt with. My Lady Castlemayne is sicke again, people think, slipping her filly. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1665 April 1st. All the morning very busy at the office preparing a last half-year's account for my Lord Treasurer. At noon eat a bit and stepped to Sir Ph. Warwicke, by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and after some private conference and examining of my papers with him I did return into the City and to Sir G. Carteret, whom I found with the Commissioners of Prizes dining at Captain Cocke's, in Broad Streete, very merry. Among other tricks, there did come a blind fiddler to the doore, and Sir G. Carteret did go to the doore and lead the blind fiddler by the hand in. Thence with Sir G. Carteret to my Lord Treasurer, and by and by come Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and anon we come to my Lord, and there did lay open the expence for the six months past, and an estimate of the seven months to come, to November next: the first arising to above L500,000, and the latter will, as we judge, come to above L1,000,000. But to see how my Lord Treasurer did bless himself, crying he could do no more than he could, nor give more money than he had, if the occasion and expence were never so great, which is but a sad story. And then to hear how like a passionate and ignorant asse Sir G. Carteret did harangue upon the abuse of Tickets did make me mad almost and yet was fain to hold my tongue. Thence home, vexed mightily to see how simply our greatest ministers do content themselves to understand and do things, while the King's service in the meantime lies a-bleeding. At my office late writing letters till ready to drop down asleep with my late sitting up of late, and running up and down a-days. So to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). At my office all the morning, renewing my vowes in writing and then home to dinner. All the afternoon, Mr. Tasborough, one of Mr. Povy's clerks, with me about his master's accounts. In the evening Mr. Andrews and Hill sang, but supped not with me, then after supper to bed. 3rd. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle and White Hall, where much business. Thence home and to dinner, and then with Creed, my wife, and Mercer to a play at the Duke's, of my Lord Orrery's, called "Mustapha," which being not good, made Betterton's part and Ianthe's but ordinary too, so that we were not contented with it at all. Thence home and to the office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. All the pleasure of the play was, the King and my Lady Castlemayne were there; and pretty witty Nell,--[Nell Gwynne]--at the King's house, and the younger Marshall sat next us; which pleased me mightily. 4th. All the morning at the office busy, at noon to the 'Change, and then went up to the 'Change to buy a pair of cotton stockings, which I did at the husband's shop of the most pretty woman there, who did also invite me to buy some linnen of her, and I was glad of the occasion, and bespoke some bands of her, intending to make her my seamstress, she being one of the prettiest and most modest looked women that ever I did see. Dined at home and to the office, where very late till I was ready to fall down asleep, and did several times nod in the middle of my letters. 5th. This day was kept publiquely by the King's command, as a fast day against the Dutch warr, and I betimes with Mr. Tooker, whom I have brought into the Navy to serve us as a husband to see goods timely shipped off from hence to the Fleete and other places, and took him with me to Woolwich and Deptford, where by business I have been hindered a great while of going, did a very great deale of business, and home, and there by promise find Creed, and he and my wife, Mercer and I by coach to take the ayre; and, where we had formerly been, at Hackney, did there eat some pullets we carried with us, and some things of the house; and after a game or two at shuffle-board, home, and Creed lay with me; but, being sleepy, he had no mind to talk about business, which indeed I intended, by inviting him to lie with me, but I would not force it on him, and so to bed, he and I, and to sleep, being the first time I have been so much at my ease and taken so much fresh ayre these many weeks or months. 6th. At the office sat all the morning, where, in the absence of Sir W. Batten, Sir G. Carteret being angry about the business of tickets, spoke of Sir W. Batten for speaking some words about the signing of tickets, and called Sir W. Batten in his discourse at the table to us (the clerks being withdrawn) "shitten foole," which vexed me. At noon to the 'Change, and there set my business of lighters' buying for the King, to Sir W. Warren, and I think he will do it for me to very great advantage, at which I am mightily rejoiced. Home and after a mouthfull of dinner to the office, where till 6 o'clock, and then to White Hall, and there with Sir G. Carteret and my Lord Brunkerd attended the Duke of Albemarle about the business of money. I also went to Jervas's, my barber, for my periwigg that was mending there, and there do hear that Jane is quite undone, taking the idle fellow for her husband yet not married, and lay with him several weeks that had another wife and child, and she is now going into Ireland. So called my wife at the 'Change and home, and at my office writing letters till one o'clock in the morning, that I was ready to fall down asleep again. Great talke of a new Comett; and it is certain one do now appear as bright as the late one at the best; but I have not seen it myself. 7th. Up betimes to the Duke of Albemarle about money to be got for the Navy, or else we must shut up shop. Thence to Westminster Hall and up and down, doing not much; then to London, but to prevent Povy's dining with me (who I see is at the 'Change) I went back again and to Herbert's at Westminster, there sent for a bit of meat and dined, and then to my Lord Treasurer's, and there with Sir Philip Warwicke, and thence to White Hall in my Lord Treasurer's chamber with Sir Philip Warwicke till dark night, about fower hours talking of the business of the Navy Charge, and how Sir G. Carteret do order business, keeping us in ignorance what he do with his money, and also Sir Philip did shew me nakedly the King's condition for money for the Navy; and he do assure me, unless the King can get some noblemen or rich money-gentlemen to lend him money, or to get the City to do it, it is impossible to find money: we having already, as he says, spent one year's share of the three-years' tax, which comes to L2,500,000. Being very glad of this day's discourse in all but that I fear I shall quite lose Sir G. Carteret, who knows that I have been privately here all this day with Sir Ph. Warwicke. However, I will order it so as to give him as little offence as I can. So home to my office, and then to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and all the morning full of business at the office. At noon dined with Mr. Povy, and then to the getting some business looked over of his, and then I to my Lord Chancellor's, where to have spoke with the Duke of Albemarle, but the King and Council busy, I could not; then to the Old Exchange and there of my new pretty seamstress bought four bands, and so home, where I found my house mighty neat and clean. Then to my office late, till past 12, and so home to bed. The French Embassadors [The French ambassadors were Henri de Bourbon, Duc de Verneuil, natural son of Henry IV. and brother of Henrietta Maria, and M. de Courtin.--B.] are come incognito before their train, which will hereafter be very pompous. It is thought they come to get our King to joyne with the King of France in helping him against Flanders, and they to do the like to us against Holland. We have laine a good while with a good fleete at Harwich. The Dutch not said yet to be out. We, as high as we make our shew, I am sure, are unable to set out another small fleete, if this should be worsted. Wherefore, God send us peace! I cry. 9th (Lord's day). To church with my wife in the morning, in her new light-coloured silk gowne, which is, with her new point, very noble. Dined at home, and in the afternoon to Fanchurch, the little church in the middle of Fanchurch Streete, where a very few people and few of any rank. Thence, after sermon, home, and in the evening walking in the garden, my Lady Pen and her daughter walked with my wife and I, and so to my house to eat with us, and very merry, and so broke up and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Duke of Albemarle's, and thence to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where new disorder about Mr. Povy's accounts, that I think I shall never be settled in my business of Treasurer for him. Here Captain Cooke met me, and did seem discontented about my boy Tom's having no time to mind his singing nor lute, which I answered him fully in, that he desired me that I would baste his coate. So home and to the 'Change, and thence to the "Old James" to dine with Sir W. Rider, Cutler, and Mr. Deering, upon the business of hemp, and so hence to White Hall to have attended the King and Lord Chancellor about the debts of the navy and to get some money, but the meeting failed. So my Lord Brunkard took me and Sir Thomas Harvy in his coach to the Parke, which is very troublesome with the dust; and ne'er a great beauty there to-day but Mrs. Middleton, and so home to my office, where Mr. Warren proposed my getting of L100 to get him a protection for a ship to go out, which I think I shall do. So home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and betimes to Alderman Cheverton to treat with him about hempe, and so back to the office. At noon dined at the Sun, behind the 'Change, with Sir Edward Deering and his brother and Commissioner Pett, we having made a contract with Sir Edward this day about timber. Thence to the office, where late very busy, but with some trouble have also some hopes of profit too. So home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, contrary to all expectation, my Lord Ashly, being vexed with Povy's accounts, did propose it as necessary that Povy should be still continued Treasurer of Tangier till he had made up his accounts; and with such arguments as, I confess, I was not prepared to answer, but by putting off of the discourse, and so, I think, brought it right again; but it troubled me so all the day after, and night too, that I was not quiet, though I think it doubtfull whether I shall be much the worse for it or no, if it should come to be so. Dined at home and thence to White Hall again (where I lose most of my time now-a-days to my great trouble, charge, and loss of time and benefit), and there, after the Council rose, Sir G. Carteret, my Lord Brunkard, Sir Thomas Harvy, and myself, down to my Lord Treasurer's chamber to him and the Chancellor, and the Duke of Albemarle; and there I did give them a large account of the charge of the Navy, and want of money. But strange to see how they held up their hands crying, "What shall we do?" Says my Lord Treasurer, "Why, what means all this, Mr. Pepys? This is true, you say; but what would you have me to do? I have given all I can for my life. Why will not people lend their money? Why will they not trust the King as well as Oliver? Why do our prizes come to nothing, that yielded so much heretofore?" And this was all we could get, and went away without other answer, which is one of the saddest things that, at such a time as this, with the greatest action on foot that ever was in England, nothing should be minded, but let things go on of themselves do as well as they can. So home, vexed, and going to my Lady Batten's, there found a great many women with her, in her chamber merry, my Lady Pen and her daughter, among others; where my Lady Pen flung me down upon the bed, and herself and others, one after another, upon me, and very merry we were, and thence I home and called my wife with my Lady Pen to supper, and very merry as I could be, being vexed as I was. So home to bed. 13th. Lay long in bed, troubled a little with wind, but not much. So to the office, and there all the morning. At noon to Sheriff Waterman's to dinner, all of us men of the office in towne, and our wives, my Lady Carteret and daughters, and Ladies Batten, Pen, and my wife, &c., and very good cheer we had and merry; musique at and after dinner, and a fellow danced a jigg; but when the company begun to dance, I came away lest I should be taken out; and God knows how my wife carried herself, but I left her to try her fortune. So home, and late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and betimes to Mr. Povy, being desirous to have an end of my trouble of mind touching my Tangier business, whether he hath any desire of accepting what my Lord Ashly offered, of his becoming Treasurer again; and there I did, with a seeming most generous spirit, offer him to take it back again upon his owne terms; but he did answer to me that he would not above all things in the world, at which I was for the present satisfied; but, going away thence and speaking with Creed, he puts me in doubt that the very nature of the thing will require that he be put in again; and did give me the reasons of the auditors, which, I confess, are so plain, that I know not how to withstand them. But he did give me most ingenious advice what to do in it, and anon, my Lord Barkeley and some of the Commissioners coming together, though not in a meeting, I did procure that they should order Povy's payment of his remain of accounts to me; which order if it do pass will put a good stop to the fastening of the thing upon me. At noon Creed and I to a cook's shop at Charing Cross, and there dined and had much discourse, and his very good upon my business, and upon other things, among the rest upon Will Howe's dissembling with us, we discovering one to another his carriage to us, present and absent, being a very false fellow. Thence to White Hall again, and there spent the afternoon, and then home to fetch a letter for the Council, and so back to White Hall, where walked an hour with Mr. Wren, of my Lord Chancellor's, and Mr. Ager, and then to Unthanke's and called my wife, and with her through the city to Mile-End Greene, and eat some creame and cakes and so back home, and I a little at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning I was saluted with newes that the fleetes, ours and the Dutch, were engaged, and that the guns were heard at Walthamstow to play all yesterday, and that Captain Teddiman's legs were shot off in the Royall Katherine. But before night I hear the contrary, both by letters of my owne and messengers thence, that they were all well of our side and no enemy appears yet, and that the Royall Katherine is come to the fleete, and likely to prove as good a ship as any the King hath, of which I am heartily glad, both for Christopher Pett's sake and Captain Teddiman that is in her. 15th. Up, and to White Hall about several businesses, but chiefly to see the proposals of my warrants about Tangier under Creed, but to my trouble found them not finished. So back to the office, where all the morning, busy, then home to dinner, and then all the afternoon till very late at my office, and then home to supper and to bed, weary. 16th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, then up and to my chamber and my office, looking over some plates which I find necessary for me to understand pretty well, because of the Dutch warr. Then home to dinner, where Creed dined with us, and so after dinner he and I walked to the Rolls' Chappell, expecting to hear the great Stillingfleete preach, but he did not; but a very sorry fellow, which vexed me. The sermon done, we parted, and I home, where I find Mr. Andrews, and by and by comes Captain Taylor, my old acquaintance at Westminster, that understands musique very well and composes mighty bravely; he brought us some things of two parts to sing, very hard; but that that is the worst, he is very conceited of them, and that though they are good makes them troublesome to one, to see him every note commend and admire them. He supped with me, and a good understanding man he is and a good scholler, and, among other things, a great antiquary, and among other things he can, as he says, show the very originall Charter to Worcester, of King Edgar's, wherein he stiles himself, Rex Marium Brittanniae, &c.; which is the great text that Mr. Selden and others do quote, but imperfectly and upon trust. But he hath the very originall, which he says he will shew me. He gone we to bed. This night I am told that newes is come of our taking of three Dutch men-of-warr, with the loss of one of our Captains. 17th. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle's, where he shewed me Mr. Coventry's letters, how three Dutch privateers are taken, in one whereof Everson's' son is captaine. But they have killed poor Captaine Golding in The Diamond. Two of them, one of 32 and the other of 20 odd guns, did stand stoutly up against her, which hath 46, and the Yarmouth that hath 52 guns, and as many more men as they. So that they did more than we could expect, not yielding till many of their men were killed. And Everson, when he was brought before the Duke of Yorke, and was observed to be shot through the hat, answered, that he wished it had gone through his head, rather than been taken. One thing more is written: that two of our ships the other day appearing upon the coast of Holland, they presently fired their beacons round the country to give notice. And newes is brought the King, that the Dutch Smyrna fleete is seen upon the back of Scotland; and thereupon the King hath wrote to the Duke, that he do appoint a fleete to go to the Northward to try to meet them coming home round: which God send! Thence to White Hall; where the King seeing me, did come to me, and calling me by name, did discourse with me about the ships in the River: and this is the first time that ever I knew the King did know me personally; so that hereafter I must not go thither, but with expectation to be questioned, and to be ready to give good answers. So home, and thence with Creed, who come to dine with me, to the Old James, where we dined with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, and, by and by, being called by my wife, we all to a play, "The Ghosts," at the Duke's house, but a very simple play. Thence up and down, with my wife with me, to look [for] Sir Ph. Warwicke (Mr. Creed going from me), but missed of him and so home, and late and busy at my office. So home to supper and to bed. This day was left at my house a very neat silver watch, by one Briggs, a scrivener and sollicitor, at which I was angry with my wife for receiving, or, at least, for opening the box wherein it was, and so far witnessing our receipt of it, as to give the messenger 5s. for bringing it; but it can't be helped, and I will endeavour to do the man a kindnesse, he being a friend of my uncle Wight's. 18th. Up and to Sir Philip Warwicke, and walked with him an houre with great delight in the Parke about Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and the endeavours that he hath made to bring Sir G. Carteret to show his accounts and let the world see what he receives and what he pays. Thence home to the office, where I find Sir J. Minnes come home from Chatham, and Sir W. Batten both this morning from Harwich, where they have been these 7 or 8 days. At noon with my wife and Mr. Moore by water to Chelsey about my Privy Seale for Tangier, but my Lord Privy Seale was gone abroad, and so we, without going out of the boat, forced to return, and found him not at White Hall. So I to Sir Philip Warwicke and with him to my Lord Treasurer, who signed my commission for Tangier-Treasurer and the docquet of my Privy Seale, for the monies to be paid to me. Thence to White Hall to Mr. Moore again, and not finding my Lord I home, taking my wife and woman up at Unthanke's. Late at my office, then to supper and to bed. 19th. Up by five o'clock, and by water to White Hall; and there took coach, and with Mr. Moore to Chelsy; where, after all my fears what doubts and difficulties my Lord Privy Seale would make at my Tangier Privy Seale, he did pass it at first reading, without my speaking with him. And then called me in, and was very civil to me. I passed my time in contemplating (before I was called in) the picture of my Lord's son's lady, a most beautiful woman, and most like to Mrs. Butler. Thence very much joyed to London back again, and found out Mr. Povy; told him this; and then went and left my Privy Seale at my Lord Treasurer's; and so to the 'Change, and thence to Trinity-House; where a great dinner of Captain Crisp, who is made an Elder Brother. And so, being very pleasant at dinner, away home, Creed with me; and there met Povy; and we to Gresham College, where we saw some experiments upon a hen, a dogg, and a cat, of the Florence poyson. ["Sir Robert Moray presented the Society from the King with a phial of Florentine poison sent for by his Majesty from Florence, on purpose to have those experiments related of the efficacy thereof, tried by the Society." The poison had little effect upon the kitten (Birch's "History;" vol. ii., p. 31).] The first it made for a time drunk, but it come to itself again quickly; the second it made vomitt mightily, but no other hurt. The third I did not stay to see the effect of it, being taken out by Povy. He and I walked below together, he giving me most exceeding discouragements in the getting of money (whether by design or no I know not, for I am now come to think him a most cunning fellow in most things he do, but his accounts), and made it plain to me that money will be hard to get, and that it is to be feared Backewell hath a design in it to get the thing forced upon himself. This put me into a cruel melancholy to think I may lose what I have had so near my hand; but yet something may be hoped for which to-morrow will shew. He gone, Creed and I together a great while consulting what to do in this case, and after all I left him to do what he thought fit in his discourse to-morrow with my Lord Ashly. So home, and in my way met with Mr. Warren, from whom my hopes I fear will fail of what I hoped for, by my getting him a protection. But all these troubles will if not be over, yet we shall see the worst of there in a day or two. So to my office, and thence to supper, and my head akeing, betimes, that is by 10 or 11 o'clock, to bed. 20th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office. At noon dined, and Mr. Povy by agreement with me (where his boldness with Mercer, poor innocent wench, did make both her and me blush, to think how he were able to debauch a poor girl if he had opportunity) at a dish or two of plain meat of his own choice. After dinner comes Creed and then Andrews, where want of money to Andrews the main discourse, and at last in confidence of Creed's judgement I am resolved to spare him 4 or L500 of what lies by me upon the security of some Tallys. This went against my heart to begin, but when obtaining Mr. Creed to joyne with me we do resolve to assist Mr. Andrews. Then anon we parted, and I to my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. This night I am told the first play is played in White Hall noon-hall, which is now turned to a house of playing. I had a great mind, but could not go to see it. 21st. Up and to my office about business. Anon comes Creed and Povy, and we treat about the business of our lending money, Creed and I, upon a tally for the satisfying of Andrews, and did conclude it as in papers is expressed, and as I am glad to have an opportunity of having 10 per cent. for my money, so I am as glad that the sum I begin this trade with is no more than L350. We all dined at Andrews' charge at the Sun behind the 'Change, a good dinner the worst dressed that ever I eat any, then home, and there found Kate Joyce and Harman come to see us. With them, after long talk, abroad by coach, a tour in the fields, and drunk at Islington, it being very pleasant, the dust being laid by a little rain, and so home very well pleased with this day's work. So after a while at my office to supper and to bed. This day we hear that the Duke and the fleete are sailed yesterday. Pray God go along with them, that they have good speed in the beginning of their worke. 22nd. Up, and Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute-master, being come betimes to teach him, I did speak with him seriously about the boy, what my mind was, if he did not look after his lute and singing that I would turn him away; which I hope will do some good upon the boy. All the morning busy at the office. At noon dined at home, and then to the office again very busy till very late, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife making great preparation to go to Court to Chappell to-morrow. This day I have newes from Mr. Coventry that the fleete is sailed yesterday from Harwich to the coast of Holland to see what the Dutch will do. God go along with them! 23rd (Lord's day). Mr. Povy, according to promise, sent his coach betimes, and I carried my wife and her woman to White Hall Chappell and set them in the Organ Loft, and I having left to untruss went to the Harp and Ball and there drank also, and entertained myself in talke with the mayde of the house, a pretty mayde and very modest. Thence to the Chappell and heard the famous young Stillingfleete, whom I knew at Cambridge, and is now newly admitted one of the King's chaplains; and was presented, they say, to my Lord Treasurer for St. Andrew's, Holborne, where he is now minister, with these words: that they (the Bishops of Canterbury, London, and another) believed he is the ablest young man to preach the Gospel of any since the Apostles. He did make the most plain, honest, good, grave sermon, in the most unconcerned and easy yet substantial manner, that ever I heard in my life, upon the words of Samuell to the people, "Fear the Lord in truth with all your heart, and remember the great things that he hath done for you." It being proper to this day, the day of the King's Coronation. Thence to Mr. Povy's, where mightily treated, and Creed with us. But Lord! to see how Povy overdoes every thing in commending it, do make it nauseous to me, and was not (by reason of my large praise of his house) over acceptable to my wife. Thence after dinner Creed and we by coach took the ayre in the fields beyond St. Pancras, it raining now and then, which it seems is most welcome weather, and then all to my house, where comes Mr. Hill, Andrews, and Captain Taylor, and good musique, but at supper to hear the arguments we had against Taylor concerning a Corant, he saying that the law of a dancing Corant is to have every barr to end in a pricked crochet and quaver, which I did deny, was very strange. It proceeded till I vexed him, but all parted friends, for Creed and I to laugh at when he was gone. After supper, Creed and I together to bed, in Mercer's bed, and so to sleep. 24th. Up and with Creed in Sir W. Batten's coach to White Hall. Sir W. Batten and I to the Duke of Albemarle, where very busy. Then I to Creed's chamber, where I received with much ado my two orders about receiving Povy's monies and answering his credits, and it is strange how he will preserve his constant humour of delaying all business that comes before him. Thence he and I to London to my office, and back again to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, where my wife by agreement. After dinner alone, my Lady told me, with the prettiest kind of doubtfullnesse, whether it would be fit for her with respect to Creed to do it, that is, in the world, that Creed had broke his desire to her of being a servant to Mrs. Betty Pickering, and placed it upon encouragement which he had from some discourse of her ladyship, commending of her virtues to him, which, poor lady, she meant most innocently. She did give him a cold answer, but not so severe as it ought to have been; and, it seems, as the lady since to my Lady confesses, he had wrote a letter to her, which she answered slightly, and was resolved to contemn any motion of his therein. My Lady takes the thing very ill, as it is fit she should; but I advise her to stop all future occasions of the world's taking notice of his coming thither so often as of late he hath done. But to think that he should have this devilish presumption to aime at a lady so near to my Lord is strange, both for his modesty and discretion. Thence to the Cockepitt, and there walked an houre with my Lord Duke of Albemarle alone in his garden, where he expressed in great words his opinion of me; that I was the right hand of the Navy here, nobody but I taking any care of any thing therein; so that he should not know what could be done without me. At which I was (from him) not a little proud. Thence to a Committee of Tangier, where because not a quorum little was done, and so away to my wife (Creed with me) at Mrs. Pierce's, who continues very pretty and is now great with child. I had not seen her a great while. Thence by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, but could not speak with Sir Ph. Warwicke. So by coach with my wife and Mercer to the Parke; but the King being there, and I now-a-days being doubtfull of being seen in any pleasure, did part from the tour, and away out of the Parke to Knightsbridge, and there eat and drank in the coach, and so home, and after a while at my office, home to supper and to bed, having got a great cold I think by my pulling off my periwigg so often. 25th. At the office all the morning, and the like after dinner, at home all the afternoon till very late, and then to bed, being very hoarse with a cold I did lately get with leaving off my periwigg. This afternoon W. Pen, lately come from his father in the fleete, did give me an account how the fleete did sayle, about 103 in all, besides small catches, they being in sight of six or seven Dutch scouts, and sent ships in chase of them. 26th. Up very betimes, my cold continuing and my stomach sick with the buttered ale that I did drink the last night in bed, which did lie upon me till I did this morning vomitt it up. So walked to Povy's, where Creed met me, and there I did receive the first parcel of money as Treasurer of Tangier, and did give him my receipt for it, which was about L2,800 value in Tallys; we did also examine and settle several other things, and then I away to White Hall, talking, with Povy alone, about my opinion of Creed's indiscretion in looking after Mrs. Pickering, desiring him to make no more a sport of it, but to correct him, if he finds that he continues to owne any such thing. This I did by my Lady's desire, and do intend to pursue the stop of it. So to the Carrier's by Cripplegate, to see whether my mother be come to towne or no, I expecting her to-day, but she is not come. So to dinner to my Lady Sandwich's, and there after dinner above in the diningroom did spend an houre or two with her talking again about Creed's folly; but strange it is that he should dare to propose this business himself of Mrs. Pickering to my Lady, and to tell my Lady that he did it for her virtue sake, not minding her money, for he could have a wife with more, but, for that, he did intend to depend upon her Ladyshipp to get as much of her father and mother for her as she could; and that, what he did, was by encouragement from discourse of her Ladyshipp's: he also had wrote to Mrs. Pickering, but she did give him a slighting answer back again. But I do very much fear that Mrs. Pickering's honour, if the world comes to take notice of it, may be wronged by it. Thence home, and all the afternoon till night at my office, then home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning, at noon Creed dined with me; and, after dinner, walked in the garden, he telling me that my Lord Treasurer now begins to be scrupulous, and will know what becomes of the L26,000 saved by my Lord Peterborough, before he parts with any more money, which puts us into new doubts, and me into a great fear, that all my cake will be doe still. [An obsolete proverb, signifying to lose one's hopes, a cake coming out of the oven in a state of dough being considered spoiled. "My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all, but my share in the feast." Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act v., sc. i.-M. B.] But I am well prepared for it to bear it, being not clear whether it will be more for my profit to have it, or go without it, as my profits of the Navy are likely now to be. All the afternoon till late hard at the office. Then to supper and to bed. This night William Hewer is returned from Harwich, where he hath been paying off of some ships this fortnight, and went to sea a good way with the fleete, which was 96 in company then, men of warr, besides some come in, and following them since, which makes now above 100, whom God bless! 28th. Up by 5 o'clock, and by appointment with Creed by 6 at his chamber, expecting Povy, who come not. Thence he and I out to Sir Philip Warwicke's, but being not up we took a turn in the garden hard by, and thither comes Povy to us. After some discourse of the reason of the difficulty that Sir Philip Warwicke makes in issuing a warrant for my striking of tallys, namely, the having a clear account of the L26,000 saved by my Lord of Peterborough, we parted, and I to Sir P. Warwicke, who did give me an account of his demurr, which I applied myself to remove by taking Creed with me to my Lord Ashly, from whom, contrary to all expectation, I received a very kind answer, just as we could have wished it, that he would satisfy my Lord Treasurer. Thence very well satisfied I home, and down the River to visit the victualling-ships, where I find all out of order. And come home to dinner, and then to write a letter to the Duke of Albemarle about the victualling-ships, and carried it myself to the Council-chamber, where it was read; and when they rose, my Lord Chancellor passing by stroked me on the head, and told me that the Board had read my letter, and taken order for the punishing of the watermen for not appearing on board the ships. [Among the State Papers are lists of watermen impressed and put on board the victualling ships. Attached to one of these is a "note of their unfitness and refractory conduct; also that many go ashore to sleep, and are discontent that they, as masters of families, are pressed, while single men are excused on giving money to the pressmen" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 323).] And so did the King afterwards, who do now know me so well, that he never sees me but he speaks to me about our Navy business. Thence got my Lord Ashly to my Lord Treasurer below in his chamber, and there removed the scruple, and by and by brought Mr. Sherwin to Sir Philip Warwicke and did the like, and so home, and after a while at my office, to bed. 29th. All the morning busy at the office. In the afternoon to my Lord Treasurer's, and there got my Lord Treasurer to sign the warrant for my striking of tallys, and so doing many jobbs in my way home, and there late writeing letters, being troubled in my mind to hear that Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes do take notice that I am now-a-days much from the office upon no office business, which vexes me, and will make me mind my business the better, I hope in God; but what troubles me more is, that I do omit to write, as I should do, to Mr. Coventry, which I must not do, though this night I minded it so little as to sleep in the middle of my letter to him, and committed forty blotts and blurrs in my letter to him, but of this I hope never more to be guilty, if I have not already given him sufficient offence. So, late home, and to bed. 30th (Lord's day). Up and to my office alone all the morning, making up my monthly accounts, which though it hath been very intricate, and very great disbursements and receipts and odd reckonings, yet I differed not from the truth; viz.: between my first computing what my profit ought to be and then what my cash and debts do really make me worth, not above 10s., which is very much, and I do much value myself upon the account, and herein I with great joy find myself to have gained this month above L100 clear, and in the whole to be worth above L1400, the greatest sum I ever yet was worth. Thence home to dinner, and there find poor Mr. Spong walking at my door, where he had knocked, and being told I was at the office staid modestly there walking because of disturbing me, which methinks was one of the most modest acts (of a man that hath no need of being so to me) that ever I knew in my life. He dined with me, and then after dinner to my closet, where abundance of mighty pretty discourse, wherein, in a word, I find him the man of the world that hath of his own ingenuity obtained the most in most things, being withall no scholler. He gone, I took boat and down to Woolwich and Deptford, and made it late home, and so to supper and to bed. Thus I end this month in great content as to my estate and gettings: in much trouble as to the pains I have taken, and the rubs I expect yet to meet with, about the business of Tangier. The fleete, with about 106 ships upon the coast of Holland, in sight of the Dutch, within the Texel. Great fears of the sickenesse here in the City, it being said that two or three houses are already shut up. God preserve as all! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Castlemayne is sicke again, people think, slipping her filly Desired me that I would baste his coate Did put evil thoughts in me, but proceeded no further France, which is accounted the best place for bread How Povy overdoes every thing in commending it Never could man say worse himself nor have worse said Wanton as ever she was, with much I made myself merry and away 
4156	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY & JUNE 1665 May 1st. Up and to Mr. Povy's, and by his bedside talked a good while. Among other things he do much insist I perceive upon the difficulty of getting of money, and would fain have me to concur in the thinking of some other way of disposing of the place of Treasurer to one Mr. Bell, but I did seem slight of it, and resolved to try to do the best or to give it up. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, where I was sorry to find myself to come a little late, and so home, and at noon going to the 'Change I met my Lord Brunkard, Sir Robert Murry, Deane Wilkins, and Mr. Hooke, going by coach to Colonell Blunts to dinner. So they stopped and took me with them. Landed at the Tower-wharf, and thence by water to Greenwich; and there coaches met us; and to his house, a very stately sight for situation and brave plantations; and among others, a vineyard, the first that ever I did see. No extraordinary dinner, nor any other entertainment good; but only after dinner to the tryall of some experiments about making of coaches easy. And several we tried; but one did prove mighty easy (not here for me to describe, but the whole body of the coach lies upon one long spring), and we all, one after another, rid in it; and it is very fine and likely to take. These experiments were the intent of their coming, and pretty they are. Thence back by coach to Greenwich, and in his pleasure boat to Deptford, and there stopped and in to Mr. Evelyn's,--[Sayes Court, the well-known residence of John Evelyn.]--which is a most beautiful place; but it being dark and late, I staid not; but Deane Wilkins and Mr. Hooke and I walked to Redriffe; and noble discourse all day long did please me, and it being late did take them to my house to drink, and did give them some sweetmeats, and thence sent them with a lanthorn home, two worthy persons as are in England, I think, or the world. So to my Lady Batten, where my wife is tonight, and so after some merry talk home and to bed. 2nd. Up and to the office all day, where sat late, and then to the office again, and by and by Sir W. Batten and my Lady and my wife and I by appointment yesterday (my Lady Pen failed us, who ought to have been with us) to the Rhenish winehouse at the Steelyard, and there eat a couple of lobsters and some prawns, and pretty merry, especially to see us four together, while my wife and my Lady did never intend ever to be together again after a year's distance between one another. Hither by and by come Sir Richard Ford and also Mrs. Esther, that lived formerly with my Lady Batten, now well married to a priest, come to see my Lady. Thence toward evening home, and to my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up betimes and walked to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, where a long time with him in his chamber alone talking of Sir G. Carteret's business, and the abuses he puts on the nation by his bad payments to both our vexations, but no hope of remedy for ought I see. Thence to my Lord Ashly to a Committee of Tangier for my Lord Rutherford's accounts, and that done we to my Lord Treasurer's, where I did receive my Lord's warrant to Sir R. Long for drawing a warrant for my striking of tallys. So to the Inne again by Cripplegate, expecting my mother's coming to towne, but she is not come this weeke neither, the coach being too full. So to the 'Change and thence home to dinner, and so out to Gresham College, and saw a cat killed with the Duke of Florence's poyson, and saw it proved that the oyle of tobacco ["Mr. Daniel Coxe read an account of the effects of tobacco-oil distilled in a retort, by one drop of which given at the mouth he had killed a lusty cat, which being opened, smelled strongly of the oil, and the blood of the heart more strongly than the rest .... One drop of the Florentine 'oglio di tobacco' being again given to a dog, it proved stupefying and vomitive, as before" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol, ii., pp. 42, 43).] drawn by one of the Society do the same effect, and is judged to be the same thing with the poyson both in colour and smell, and effect. I saw also an abortive child preserved fresh in spirits of salt. Thence parted, and to White Hall to the Councilchamber about an order touching the Navy (our being empowered to commit seamen or Masters that do not, being hired or pressed, follow their worke), but they could give us none. So a little vexed at that, because I put in the memorial to the Duke of Albemarle alone under my own hand, home, and after some time at the office home to bed. My Lord Chief Justice Hide did die suddenly this week, a day or two ago, of an apoplexy. 4th. Up, and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again all day till almost midnight, and then, weary, home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes, and by water to Westminster, there to speak the first time with Sir Robert Long, to give him my Privy Seal and my Lord Treasurer's order for Tangier Tallys; he received me kindly enough. Thence home by water, and presently down to Woolwich and back to Blackewall, and there, viewed the Breach, in order to a Mast Docke, and so to Deptford to the Globe, where my Lord Brunkard, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Commissioner Pett were at dinner, having been at the Breach also, but they find it will be too great charge to make use of it. After dinner to Mr. Evelyn's; he being abroad, we walked in his garden, and a lovely noble ground he hath indeed. And among other rarities, a hive of bees, so as being hived in glass, you may see the bees making their honey and combs mighty pleasantly. Thence home, and I by and by to Mr. Povy's to see him, who is yet in his chamber not well, and thence by his advice to one Lovett's, a varnisher, to see his manner of new varnish, but found not him at home, but his wife, a very beautiful woman, who shewed me much variety of admirable work, and is in order to my having of some papers fitted with his lines for my use for tables and the like. I know not whether I was more pleased with the thing, or that I was shewed it by her, but resolved I am to have some made. So home to my office late, and then to supper and to bed. My wife tells me that she hears that my poor aunt James hath had her breast cut off here in town, her breast having long been out of order. This day, after I had suffered my owne hayre to grow long, in order to wearing it, I find the convenience of periwiggs is so great, that I have cut off all short again, and will keep to periwiggs. 6th. Up, and all day at the office, but a little at dinner, and there late till past 12. So home to bed, pleased as I always am after I have rid a great deal of work, it being very satisfactory to me. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife. Home and dined. After dinner come Mr. Andrews and spent the afternoon with me, about our Tangier business of the victuals, and then parted, and after sermon comes Mr. Hill and a gentleman, a friend of his, one Mr. Scott, that sings well also, and then comes Mr. Andrews, and we all sung and supped, and then to sing again and passed the Sunday very pleasantly and soberly, and so I to my office a little, and then home to prayers and to bed. Yesterday begun my wife to learn to, limn of one Browne, [Alexander Browne, a printseller, who taught drawing, and practised it with success. He published in 1669, "Ars Pictoria, or an Academy treating of Drawing, Painting, Limning and Etching."] which Mr. Hill helps her to, and, by her beginning upon some eyes, I think she will [do] very fine things, and I shall take great delight in it. 8th. Up very betimes, and did much business before I went out with several persons, among others Captain Taylor, who would leave the management of most of his business now he is going to Harwich, upon me, and if I can get money by it, which I believe it will, I shall take some of it upon me. Thence with Sir W. Batten to the Duke of Albemarle's and there did much business, and then to the 'Change, and thence off with Sir W. Warren to an ordinary, where we dined and sat talking of most usefull discourse till 5 in the afternoon, and then home, and very busy till late, and so home and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and to my business at the office, where all the morning. At noon comes Mrs. The. Turner, and dines with us, and my wife's painting-master staid and dined; and I take great pleasure in thinking that my wife will really come to something in that business. Here dined also Luellin. So after dinner to my office, and there very busy till almost midnight, and so home to supper and to bed. This day we have newes of eight ships being taken by some of ours going into the Texel, their two men of warr, that convoyed them, running in. They come from about Ireland, round to the north. 10th. Up betimes, and abroad to the Cocke-Pitt, where the Duke [of Albemarle] did give Sir W. Batten and me an account of the late taking of eight ships, and of his intent to come back to the Gunfleete--[The Gunfleet Sand off the Essex coast.]--with the fleete presently; which creates us much work and haste therein, against the fleete comes. So to Mr. Povy, and after discourse with him home, and thence to the Guard in Southwarke, there to get some soldiers, by the Duke's order, to go keep pressmen on board our ships. So to the 'Change and did much business, and then home to dinner, and there find my poor mother come out of the country today in good health, and I am glad to see her, but my business, which I am sorry for, keeps me from paying the respect I ought to her at her first coming, she being grown very weak in her judgement, and doating again in her discourse, through age and some trouble in her family. I left her and my wife to go abroad to buy something, and then I to my office. In the evening by appointment to Sir W. Warren and Mr. Deering at a taverne hard by with intent to do some good upon their agreement in a great bargain of planks. So home to my office again, and then to supper and to bed, my mother being in bed already. 11th. Up betimes, and at the office all the morning. At home dined, and then to the office all day till late at night, and then home to supper, weary with business, and to bed. 12th. Up betimes, and find myself disappointed in my receiving presently of my L50 I hoped for sure of Mr. Warren upon the benefit of my press warrant, but he promises to make it good. So by water to the Exchequer, and there up and down through all the offices to strike my tallys for L17,500, which methinks is so great a testimony of the goodness of God to me, that I, from a mean clerke there, should come to strike tallys myself for that sum, and in the authority that I do now, is a very stupendous mercy to me. I shall have them struck to-morrow. But to see how every little fellow looks after his fees, and to get what he can for everything, is a strange consideration; the King's fees that he must pay himself for this L17,500 coming to above L100. Thence called my wife at Unthanke's to the New Exchange and elsewhere to buy a lace band for me, but we did not buy, but I find it so necessary to have some handsome clothes that I cannot but lay out some money thereupon. To the 'Change and thence to my watchmaker, where he has put it [i.e. the watch] in order, and a good and brave piece it is, and he tells me worth L14 which is a greater present than I valued it. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes several people, among others my cozen, Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham, [Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham Barnes, Surrey, Master of the Jewel House to Charles II. and James II.] to receive some money, of my Lord Sandwich's, and there I paid him what was due to him upon my uncle's score, but, contrary to my expectation, did get him to sign and seale to my sale of lands for payment of debts. So that now I reckon myself in better condition by L100 in my content than I was before, when I was liable to be called to an account and others after me by my uncle Thomas or his children for every foot of land we had sold before. This I reckon a great good fortune in the getting of this done. He gone, come Mr. Povy, Dr. Twisden, and Mr. Lawson about settling my security in the paying of the L4000 ordered to Sir J. Lawson. So a little abroad and then home, and late at my office and closet settling this day's disordering of my papers, then to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and all day in some little gruntings of pain, as I used to have from winde, arising I think from my fasting so long, and want of exercise, and I think going so hot in clothes, the weather being hot, and the same clothes I wore all winter. To the 'Change after office, and received my watch from the watchmaker, and a very fine [one] it is, given me by Briggs, the Scrivener. Home to dinner, and then I abroad to the Atturney Generall, about advice upon the Act for Land Carriage, which he desired not to give me before I had received the King's and Council's order therein; going home bespoke the King's works, will cost me 50s., I believe. So home and late at my office. But, Lord! to see how much of my old folly and childishnesse hangs upon me still that I cannot forbear carrying my watch in my hand in the coach all this afternoon, and seeing what o'clock it is one hundred times; and am apt to think with myself, how could I be so long without one; though I remember since, I had one, and found it a trouble, and resolved to carry one no more about me while I lived. So home to supper and to bed, being troubled at a letter from Mr. Gholmly from Tangier, wherein he do advise me how people are at worke to overthrow our Victualling business, by which I shall lose L300 per annum, I am much obliged to him for this, secret kindnesse, and concerned to repay it him in his own concernments and look after this. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, it being Whitsunday; my wife very fine in a new yellow bird's-eye hood, as the fashion is now. We had a most sorry sermon; so home to dinner, my mother having her new suit brought home, which makes her very fine. After dinner my wife and she and Mercer to Thomas Pepys's wife's christening of his first child, and I took a coach, and to Wanstead, the house where Sir H. Mildmay died, and now Sir Robert Brookes lives, having bought it of the Duke of Yorke, it being forfeited to him. A fine seat, but an old-fashioned house; and being not full of people looks desolately. Thence to Walthamstow, where (failing at the old place) Sir W. Batten by and by come home, I walking up and down the house and garden with my Lady very pleasantly, then to supper very merry, and then back by coach by dark night. I all the afternoon in the coach reading the treasonous book of the Court of King James, printed a great while ago, and worth reading, though ill intended. As soon as I come home, upon a letter from the Duke of Albemarle, I took boat at about 12 at night, and down the River in a gally, my boy and I, down to the Hope and so up again, sleeping and waking, with great pleasure, my business to call upon every one of 15th. Our victualling ships to set them agoing, and so home, and after dinner to the King's playhouse, all alone, and saw "Love's Maistresse." Some pretty things and good variety in it, but no or little fancy in it. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle to give him account of my day's works, where he shewed me letters from Sir G. Downing, of four days' date, that the Dutch are come out and joyned, well-manned, and resolved to board our best ships, and fight for certain they will. Thence to the Swan at Herbert's, and there the company of Sarah a little while, and so away and called at the Harp and Ball, where the mayde, Mary, is very 'formosa'--[handsome]--; but, Lord! to see in what readiness I am, upon the expiring of my vowes this day, to begin to run into all my pleasures and neglect of business. Thence home, and being sleepy to bed. 16th. Up betimes, and to the Duke of Albemarle with an account of my yesterday's actions in writing. So back to the office, where all the morning very busy. After dinner by coach to see and speak with Mr. Povy, and after little discourse back again home, where busy upon letters till past 12 at night, and so home to supper and to bed, weary. 17th. Up, and by appointment to a meeting of Sir John Lawson and Mr. Cholmly's atturney and Mr. Povy at the Swan taverne at Westminster to settle their business about my being secured in the payment of money to Sir J. Lawson in the other's absence. Thence at Langford's, where I never was since my brother died there. I find my wife and Mercer, having with him agreed upon two rich silk suits for me, which is fit for me to have, but yet the money is too much, I doubt, to lay out altogether; but it is done, and so let it be, it being the expense of the world that I can the best bear with and the worst spare. Thence home, and after dinner to the office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. Sir J. Minnes and I had an angry bout this afternoon with Commissioner Pett about his neglecting his duty and absenting himself, unknown to us, from his place at Chatham, but a most false man I every day find him more and more, and in this very full of equivocation. The fleete we doubt not come to Harwich by this time. Sir W. Batten is gone down this day thither, and the Duchesse of Yorke went down yesterday to meet the Duke. 18th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of Albemarle, where we did much business, and I with good content to myself; among other things we did examine Nixon and Stanesby, about their late running from two Dutchmen; [Captain Edward Nixon, of the "Elizabeth," and Captain John Stanesby, of the "Eagle." John Lanyon wrote to the Navy Commissioners from Plymouth, May 16th: "Understands from the seamen that the conduct of Captains Nixon and Stanesby in their late engagement with two Dutch capers was very foul; the night they left the Dutch, no lights were put out as formerly, and though in sight of them in the morning, they still kept on their way; the Eagle lay by some time, and both the enemy's ships plied on her, but finding the Elizabeth nearly out of sight she also made sail; it is true the wind and sea were high, but there were no sufficient reasons for such endeavours to get from them." ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 367). Both captains were tried; Nixon was condemned to be shot but Stanesby was cleared, and Charnock asserts that he was commander the "Happy Return" in 1672.] for which they are committed to a vessel to carry them to the fleete to be tried. A most fowle unhandsome thing as ever was heard, for plain cowardice on Nixon's part. Thence with the Duke of Albemarle in his coach to my Lord Treasurer, and there was before the King (who ever now calls me by my name) and Lord Chancellor, and many other great Lords, discoursing about insuring of some of the King's goods, wherein the King accepted of my motion that we should; and so away, well pleased. To the office, and dined, and then to the office again, and abroad to speak with Sir G. Carteret; but, Lord! to see how fraile a man I am, subject to my vanities, that can hardly forbear, though pressed with never so much business, my pursuing of pleasure, but home I got, and there very busy very late. Among other things consulting with Mr. Andrews about our Tangier business, wherein we are like to meet with some trouble, and my Lord Bellasses's endeavour to supplant us, which vexes my mind; but, however, our undertaking is so honourable that we shall stand a tug for it I think. So home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to White Hall, where the Committee for Tangier met, and there, though the case as to the merit of it was most plain and most of the company favourable to our business, yet it was with much ado that I got the business not carried fully against us, but put off to another day, my Lord Arlington being the great man in it, and I was sorry to be found arguing so greatly against him. The business I believe will in the end be carried against us, and the whole business fall; I must therefore endeavour the most I can to get money another way. It vexed me to see Creed so hot against it, but I cannot much blame him, having never declared to him my being concerned in it. But that that troubles me most is my Lord Arlington calls to me privately and asks me whether I had ever said to any body that I desired to leave this employment, having not time to look after it. I told him, No, for that the thing being settled it will not require much time to look after it. He told me then he would do me right to the King, for he had been told so, which I desired him to do, and by and by he called me to him again and asked me whether I had no friend about the Duke, asking me (I making a stand) whether Mr. Coventry was not my friend. I told him I had received many friendships from him. He then advised me to procure that the Duke would in his next letter write to him to continue me in my place and remove any obstruction; which I told him I would, and thanked him. So parted, vexed at the first and amazed at this business of my Lord Arlington's. Thence to the Exchequer, and there got my tallys for L17,500, the first payment I ever had out of the Exchequer, and at the Legg spent 14s. upon my old acquaintance, some of them the clerks, and away home with my tallys in a coach, fearful every step of having one of them fall out, or snatched from me. Being come home, I much troubled out again by coach (for company taking Sir W. Warren with me), intending to have spoke to my Lord Arlington to have known the bottom of it, but missed him, and afterwards discoursing the thing as a confidant to Sir W. Warren, he did give me several good hints and principles not to do anything suddenly, but consult my pillow upon that and every great thing of my life, before I resolve anything in it. Away back home, and not being fit for business I took my wife and Mercer down by water to Greenwich at 8 at night, it being very fine and cool and moonshine afterward. Mighty pleasant passage it was; there eat a cake or two, and so home by 10 or 11 at night, and then to bed, my mind not settled what to think. 20th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and to my office, very busy. 21st. Till past one, Lord's day, in the morning writing letters to the fleete and elsewhere, and my mind eased of much business, home to bed and slept till 8. So up, and this day is brought home one of my new silk suits, the plain one, but very rich camelott and noble. I tried it and it pleases me, but did not wear it, being I would not go out today to church. So laid it by, and my mind changed, thinking to go see my Lady Sandwich, and I did go a little way, but stopped and returned home to dinner, after dinner up to my chamber to settle my Tangier accounts, and then to my office, there to do the like with other papers. In the evening home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and down to the ships, which now are hindered from going down to the fleete (to our great sorrow and shame) with their provisions, the wind being against them. So to the Duke of Albemarle, and thence down by water to Deptford, it being Trinity Monday, and so the day of choosing the Master of Trinity House for the next yeare, where, to my great content, I find that, contrary to the practice and design of Sir W. Batten, to breake the rule and custom of the Company in choosing their Masters by succession, he would have brought in Sir W. Rider or Sir W. Pen, over the head of Hurleston (who is a knave too besides, I believe), the younger brothers did all oppose it against the elder, and with great heat did carry it for Hurleston, which I know will vex him to the heart. Thence, the election being over, to church, where an idle sermon from that conceited fellow, Dr. Britton, saving that his advice to unity, and laying aside all envy and enmity among them was very apposite. Thence walked to Redriffe, and so to the Trinity House, and a great dinner, as is usual, and so to my office, where busy all the afternoon till late, and then home to bed, being much troubled in mind for several things, first, for the condition of the fleete for lacke of provisions, the blame this office lies under and the shame that they deserve to have brought upon them for the ships not being gone out of the River, and then for my business of Tangier which is not settled, and lastly for fear that I am not observed to have attended the office business of late as much as I ought to do, though there has been nothing but my attendance on Tangier that has occasioned my absence, and that of late not much. 23rd. Up, and at the office busy all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife and mother being gone by invitation to dine with my mother's old servant Mr. Cordery, who made them very welcome. So to Mr. Povy's, where after a little discourse about his business I home again, and late at the office busy. Late comes Sir Arthur Ingram to my office, to tell me that, by letters from Amsterdam of the 28th of this month (their style), [The new style was adopted by most of the countries of Europe long before it was legalized in England, although Russia still retains the old style.] the Dutch fleete, being about 100 men-of-war, besides fire-ships, &c., did set out upon the 23rd and 24th inst. Being divided into seven squadrons; viz., 1. Generall Opdam. 2. Cottenar, of Rotterdam. 3. Trump. 4. Schram, of Horne. 5. Stillingworth, of Freezland. 6. Everson. 7. One other, not named, of Zealand. 24th. Up, and by 4 o'clock in the morning, and with W. Hewer, there till 12 without intermission putting some papers in order. Thence to the Coffee-house with Creed, where I have not been a great while, where all the newes is of the Dutch being gone out, and of the plague growing upon us in this towne; and of remedies against it: some saying one thing, some another. So home to dinner, and after dinner Creed and I to Colvill's, thinking to shew him all the respect we could by obliging him in carrying him 5 tallys of L5000 to secure him for so much credit he has formerly given Povy to Tangier, but he, like an impertinent fool, cavills at it, but most ignorantly that ever I heard man in my life. At last Mr. Viner by chance comes, who I find a very moderate man, but could not persuade the fool to reason, but brought away the tallys again, and so vexed to my office, where late, and then home to my supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the office all the afternoon, busy till almost 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up at 4 o'clock, and all the morning in my office with W. Hewer finishing my papers that were so long out of order, and at noon to my bookseller's, and there bespoke a book or two, and so home to dinner, where Creed dined with me, and he and I afterwards to Alderman Backewell's to try him about supplying us with money, which he denied at first and last also, saving that he spoke a little fairer at the end than before. But the truth is I do fear I shall have a great deale of trouble in getting of money. Thence home, and in the evening by water to the Duke of Albemarle, whom I found mightily off the hooks, that the ships are not gone out of the River; which vexed me to see, insomuch that I am afeard that we must expect some change or addition of new officers brought upon us, so that I must from this time forward resolve to make myself appear eminently serviceable in attending at my office duly and no where else, which makes me wish with all my heart that I had never anything to do with this business of Tangier. After a while at my office, home to supper vexed, and to bed. 27th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning; at noon dined at home, and then to my office again,, where late, and so to bed, with my mind full of fears for the business of this office and troubled with that of Tangier, concerning which Mr. Povy was with me, but do give me little help, but more reason of being troubled. So that were it not for our Plymouth business I would be glad to be rid of it. 28th (Lord's day). By water to the Duke of Albemarle, where I hear that Nixon is condemned to be shot to death, for his cowardice, by a Council of War. Went to chapel and heard a little musique, and there met with Creed, and with him a little while walking, and to Wilkinson's for me to drink, being troubled with winde, and at noon to Sir Philip Warwicke's to dinner, where abundance of company come in unexpectedly; and here I saw one pretty piece of household stuff, as the company increaseth, to put a larger leaf upon an oval table. After dinner much good discourse with Sir Philip, who I find, I think, a most pious, good man, and a professor of a philosophical manner of life and principles like Epictetus, whom he cites in many things. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, where, to my shame, I had not been a great while before. Here, upon my telling her a story of my Lord Rochester's running away on Friday night last with Mrs. Mallett, the great beauty and fortune of the North, who had supped at White Hall with Mrs. Stewart, and was going home to her lodgings with her grandfather, my Lord Haly, by coach; and was at Charing Cross seized on by both horse and foot men, and forcibly taken from him, and put into a coach with six horses, and two women provided to receive her, and carried away. Upon immediate pursuit, my Lord of Rochester (for whom the King had spoke to the lady often, but with no successe) was taken at Uxbridge; but the lady is not yet heard of, and the King mighty angry, and the Lord sent to the Tower. Hereupon my Lady did confess to me, as a great secret, her being concerned in this story. For if this match breaks between my Lord Rochester and her, then, by the consent of all her friends, my Lord Hinchingbroke stands fair, and is invited for her. She is worth, and will be at her mother's death (who keeps but a little from her), L2500 per annum. Pray God give a good success to it! But my poor Lady, who is afeard of the sickness, and resolved to be gone into the country, is forced to stay in towne a day or two, or three about it, to see the event of it. Thence home and to see my Lady Pen, where my wife and I were shown a fine rarity: of fishes kept in a glass of water, that will live so for ever; and finely marked they are, being foreign.--[Gold-fish introduced from China.]--So to supper at home and to bed, after many people being with me about business, among others the two Bellamys about their old debt due to them from the King for their victualling business, out of which I hope to get some money. 29th. Lay long in bed, being in some little pain of the wind collique, then up and to the Duke of Albemarle, and so to the Swan, and there drank at Herbert's, and so by coach home, it being kept a great holiday through the City, for the birth and restoration of the King. To my office, where I stood by and saw Symson the joyner do several things, little jobbs, to the rendering of my closet handsome and the setting up of some neat plates that Burston has for my money made me, and so home to dinner, and then with my wife, mother, and Mercer in one boat, and I in another, down to Woolwich. I walking from Greenwich, the others going to and fro upon the water till my coming back, having done but little business. So home and to supper, and, weary, to bed. We have every where taken some prizes. Our merchants have good luck to come home safe: Colliers from the North, and some Streights men just now. And our Hambrough ships, of whom we were so much afeard, are safe in Hambrough. Our fleete resolved to sail out again from Harwich in a day or two. 30th. Lay long, and very busy all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and thence to dinner to Sir G. Carteret's, to talk upon the business of insuring our goods upon the Hambrough [ships]. Here a very fine, neat French dinner, without much cost, we being all alone with my Lady and one of the house with her; thence home and wrote letters, and then in the evening, by coach, with my wife and mother and Mercer, our usual tour by coach, and eat at the old house at Islington; but, Lord! to see how my mother found herself talk upon every object to think of old stories. Here I met with one that tells me that Jack Cole, my old schoolefellow, is dead and buried lately of a consumption, who was a great crony of mine. So back again home, and there to my closet to write letters. Hear to my great trouble that our Hambrough ships, [On May 29th Sir William Coventry wrote to Lord Arlington: "Capt. Langhorne has arrived with seven ships, and reports the taking of the Hamburg fleet with the man of war their convoy; mistaking the Dutch fleet for the English, he fell into it" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 393)] valued of the King's goods and the merchants' (though but little of the former) to L200,000 [are lost]. By and by, about 11 at night, called into the garden by my Lady Pen and daughter, and there walked with them and my wife till almost twelve, and so in and closed my letters, and home to bed. 31st. Up, and to my office, and to Westminster, doing business till noon, and then to the 'Change, where great the noise and trouble of having our Hambrough ships lost; and that very much placed upon Mr. Coventry's forgetting to give notice to them of the going away of our fleete from the coast of Holland. But all without reason, for he did; but the merchants not being ready, staid longer than the time ordered for the convoy to stay, which was ten days. Thence home with Creed and Mr. Moore to dinner. Anon we broke up, and Creed and I to discourse about our Tangier matters of money, which vex me. So to Gresham College, staid a very little while, and away and I home busy, and busy late, at the end of the month, about my month's accounts, but by the addition of Tangier it is rendered more intricate, and so (which I have not done these 12 months, nor would willingly have done now) failed of having it done, but I will do it as soon as I can. So weary and sleepy to bed. I endeavoured but missed of seeing Sir Thomas Ingram at Westminster, so went to Houseman's the Painter, who I intend shall draw my wife, but he was not within, but I saw several very good pictures. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE 1665 June 1st. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and there did some business, and home to dinner, whither Creed comes, and after dinner I put on my new silke camelott sute; the best that ever I wore in my life, the sute costing me above L24. In this I went with Creed to Goldsmiths' Hall, to the burial of Sir Thomas Viner; which Hall, and Haberdashers also, was so full of people, that we were fain for ease and coolness to go forth to Pater Noster Row, to choose a silke to make me a plain ordinary suit. That done, we walked to Cornehill, and there at Mr. Cade's' stood in the balcon and saw all the funeral, which was with the blue-coat boys and old men, all the Aldermen, and Lord Mayor, &c., and the number of the company very great; the greatest I ever did see for a taverne. Hither come up to us Dr. Allen, and then Mr. Povy and Mr. Fox. The show being over, and my discourse with Mr. Povy, I took coach and to Westminster Hall, where I took the fairest flower, and by coach to Tothill Fields for the ayre till it was dark. I 'light, and in with the fairest flower to eat a cake, and there did do as much as was safe with my flower, and that was enough on my part. Broke up, and away without any notice, and, after delivering the rose where it should be, I to the Temple and 'light, and come to the middle door, and there took another coach, and so home to write letters, but very few, God knows, being by my pleasure made to forget everything that is. The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again, nor the people at the house where we were. Home to bed, certain news being come that our fleete is in sight of the Dutch ships. 2nd. Lay troubled in mind abed a good while, thinking of my Tangier and victualling business, which I doubt will fall. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle, but missed him. Thence to the Harp and Ball and to Westminster Hall, where I visited "the flowers" in each place, and so met with Mr. Creed, and he and I to Mrs. Croft's to drink and did, but saw not her daughter Borroughes. I away home, and there dined and did business. In the afternoon went with my tallys, made a fair end with Colvill and Viner, delivering them L5000 tallys to each and very quietly had credit given me upon other tallys of Mr. Colvill for L2000 and good words for more, and of Mr. Viner too. Thence to visit the Duke of Albemarle, and thence my Lady Sandwich and Lord Crew. Thence home, and there met an expresse from Sir W. Batten at Harwich, that the fleete is all sailed from Solebay, having spied the Dutch fleete at sea, and that, if the calmes hinder not, they must needs now be engaged with them. Another letter also come to me from Mr. Hater, committed by the Council this afternoon to the Gate House, upon the misfortune of having his name used by one, without his knowledge or privity, for the receiving of some powder that he had bought. Up to Court about these two, and for the former was led up to my Lady Castlemayne's lodgings, where the King and she and others were at supper, and there I read the letter and returned; and then to Sir G. Carteret about Hater, and shall have him released to-morrow, upon my giving bail for his appearance, which I have promised to do. Sir G. Carteret did go on purpose to the King to ask this, and it was granted. So home at past 12, almost one o'clock in the morning. To my office till past two, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up and to White Hall, where Sir G. Carteret did go with me to Secretary Morris, and prevailed with him to let Mr. Hater be released upon bail for his appearance. So I at a loss how to get another besides myself, and got Mr. Hunt, who did patiently stay with me all the morning at Secretary Morris's chamber, Mr. Hater being sent for with his keeper, and at noon comes in the Secretary, and upon entering [into] recognizances, he for L200, and Mr. Hunt and I for L100 each for his appearance upon demand, he was released, it costing him, I think, above L3. I thence home, vexed to be kept from the office all the morning, which I had not been in many months before, if not some years. At home to dinner, and all the afternoon at the office, where late at night, and much business done, then home to supper and to bed. All this day by all people upon the River, and almost every where else hereabout were heard the guns, our two fleets for certain being engaged; which was confirmed by letters from Harwich, but nothing particular: and all our hearts full of concernment for the Duke, and I particularly for my Lord Sandwich and Mr. Coventry after his Royall Highnesse. 4th (Sunday). Up and at my chamber all the forenoon, at evening my accounts, which I could not do sooner, for the last month, and, blessed be God! am worth L1400 odd money, something more than ever I was yet in the world. Dined very well at noon, and then to my office, and there and in the garden discoursed with several people about business, among others Mr. Howell, the turner, who did give me so good a discourse about the practices of the Paymaster J. Fenn that I thought fit to recollect all when he was gone, and have entered it down to be for ever remembered. Thence to my chamber again to settle my Tangier accounts against tomorrow and some other things, and with great joy ended them, and so to supper, where a good fowl and tansy, and so to bed. Newes being come that our fleete is pursuing the Dutch, who, either by cunning, or by being worsted, do give ground, but nothing more for certain. Late to bed upon my papers being quite finished. 5th. Up very betimes to look some other papers, and then to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where I offered my accounts with great acceptation, and so had some good words and honour by it, and one or two things done to my content in my business of Treasurer, but I do clearly see that we shall lose our business of victualling, Sir Thomas Ingram undertaking that it shall be done by persons there as cheap as we do it, and give the seamen their full allowance and themselves give good security here for performance of contract, upon which terms there is no opposing it. This would trouble me, but that I hope when that fails to spend my time to some good advantage other ways, and so shall permit it all to God Almighty's pleasure. Thence home to dinner, after 'Change, where great talke of the Dutch being fled and we in pursuit of them, and that our ship Charity [Sir William Coventry and Sir William Penn to the Navy Commissioners, June 4th: "Engaged yesterday with the Dutch; they began to stand away at 3 p.m. Chased them all the rest of the day and night; 20 considerable ships are destroyed and taken; we have only lost the Great Charity. The Earl of Marlborough, Rear-Admiral Sansum, and Captain Kirby are slain, and Sir John Lawson wounded" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 406).] is lost upon our Captain's, Wilkinson, and Lieutenant's yielding, but of this there is no certainty, save the report of some of the sicke men of the Charity, turned adrift in a boat out of the Charity and taken up and brought on shore yesterday to Sole Bay, and the newes hereof brought by Sir Henry Felton. Home to dinner, and Creed with me. Then he and I down to Deptford, did some business, and back again at night. He home, and I to my office, and so to supper and to bed. This morning I had great discourse with my Lord Barkeley about Mr. Hater, towards whom from a great passion reproaching him with being a fanatique and dangerous for me to keepe, I did bring him to be mighty calme and to ask me pardons for what he had thought of him and to desire me to ask his pardon of Hater himself for the ill words he did give him the other day alone at White Hall (which was, that he had always thought him a man that was no good friend to the King, but did never think it would breake out in a thing of this nature), and did advise him to declare his innocence to the Council and pray for his examination and vindication. Of which I shall consider and say no more, but remember one compliment that in great kindness to me he did give me, extolling my care and diligence, that he did love me heartily for my owne sake, and more that he did will me whatsoever I thought for Mr. Coventry's sake, for though the world did think them enemies, and to have an ill aspect, one to another, yet he did love him with all his heart, which was a strange manner of noble compliment, confessing his owning me as a confidant and favourite of Mr. Coventry's. 6th. Waked in the morning before 4 o'clock with great pain to piss, and great pain in pissing by having, I think, drank too great a draught of cold drink before going to bed. But by and by to sleep again, and then rose and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and at noon to dinner with Sir G. Carteret to his house with all our Board, where a good pasty and brave discourse. But our great fear was some fresh news of the fleete, but not from the fleete, all being said to be well and beaten the Dutch, but I do not give much belief to it, and indeed the news come from Sir W. Batten at Harwich, and writ so simply that we all made good mirth of it. Thence to the office, where upon Sir G. Carteret's accounts, to my great vexation there being nothing done by the Controller to right the King therein. I thence to my office and wrote letters all the afternoon, and in the evening by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier business to get money, and so to my Lady Sandwich's, who, poor lady, expects every hour to hear of my Lord; but in the best temper, neither confident nor troubled with fear, that I ever did see in my life. She tells me my Lord Rochester is now declaredly out of hopes of Mrs. Mallett, and now she is to receive notice in a day or two how the King stands inclined to the giving leave for my Lord Hinchingbroke to look after her, and that being done to bring it to an end shortly. Thence by coach home, and to my office a little, and so before 12 o'clock home and to bed. 7th. This morning my wife and mother rose about two o'clock; and with Mercer, Mary, the boy, and W. Hewer, as they had designed, took boat and down to refresh themselves on the water to Gravesend. Lay till 7 o'clock, then up and to the office upon Sir G. Carteret's accounts again, where very busy; thence abroad and to the 'Change, no news of certainty being yet come from the fleete. Thence to the Dolphin Taverne, where Sir J. Minnes, Lord Brunkard, Sir Thomas Harvy, and myself dined, upon Sir G. Carteret's charge, and very merry we were, Sir Thomas Harvy being a very drolle. Thence to the office, and meeting Creed away with him to my Lord Treasurer's, there thinking to have met the goldsmiths, at White Hall, but did not, and so appointed another time for my Lord to speak to them to advance us some money. Thence, it being the hottest day that ever I felt in my life, and it is confessed so by all other people the hottest they ever knew in England in the beginning of June, we to the New Exchange, and there drunk whey, with much entreaty getting it for our money, and [they] would not be entreated to let us have one glasse more. So took water and to Fox-Hall, to the Spring garden, and there walked an houre or two with great pleasure, saving our minds ill at ease concerning the fleete and my Lord Sandwich, that we have no newes of them, and ill reports run up and down of his being killed, but without ground. Here staid pleasantly walking and spending but 6d. till nine at night, and then by water to White Hall, and there I stopped to hear news of the fleete, but none come, which is strange, and so by water home, where, weary with walking and with the mighty heat of the weather, and for my wife's not coming home, I staying walking in the garden till twelve at night, when it begun to lighten exceedingly, through the greatness of the heat. Then despairing of her coming home, I to bed. This day, much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and "Lord have mercy upon us" writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that, to my remembrance, I ever saw. It put me into an ill conception of myself and my smell, so that I was forced to buy some roll-tobacco to smell to and chaw, which took away the apprehension. 8th. About five o'clock my wife come home, it having lightened all night hard, and one great shower of rain. She come and lay upon the bed; I up and to the office, where all the morning. Alone at home to dinner, my wife, mother, and Mercer dining at W. Joyce's; I giving her a caution to go round by the Half Moone to his house, because of the plague. I to my Lord Treasurer's by appointment of Sir Thomas Ingram's, to meet the Goldsmiths; where I met with the great news at last newly come, brought by Bab May' from the Duke of Yorke, that we have totally routed the Dutch; that the Duke himself, the Prince, my Lord Sandwich, and Mr. Coventry are all well: which did put me into such joy, that I forgot almost all other thoughts. The particulars I shall set down by and by. By and by comes Alderman Maynell and Mr. Viner, and there my Lord Treasurer did intreat them to furnish me with money upon my tallys, Sir Philip Warwicke before my Lord declaring the King's changing of the hand from Mr. Povy to me, whom he called a very sober person, and one whom the Lord Treasurer would owne in all things that I should concern myself with them in the business of money. They did at present declare they could not part with money at present. My Lord did press them very hard, and I hope upon their considering we shall get some of them. Thence with great joy to the Cocke-pitt; where the Duke of Albemarle, like a man out of himself with content, new-told me all; and by and by comes a letter from Mr. Coventry's own hand to him, which he never opened (which was a strange thing), but did give it me to open and read, and consider what was fit for our office to do in it, and leave the letter with Sir W. Clerke; which upon such a time and occasion was a strange piece of indifference, hardly pardonable. I copied out the letter, and did also take minutes out of Sir W. Clerke's other letters; and the sum of the newes is: VICTORY OVER THE DUTCH, JUNE 3RD, 1665. This day they engaged; the Dutch neglecting greatly the opportunity of the wind they had of us, by which they lost the benefit of their fire-ships. The Earl of Falmouth, Muskerry, and Mr. Richard Boyle killed on board the Duke's ship, the Royall Charles, with one shot: their blood and brains flying in the Duke's face; and the head of Mr. Boyle striking down the Duke, as some say. Earle of Marlborough, Portland, Rear-Admirall Sansum (to Prince Rupert) killed, and Capt. Kirby and Ableson. Sir John Lawson wounded on the knee; hath had some bones taken out, and is likely to be well again. Upon receiving the hurt, he sent to the Duke for another to command the Royall Oake. The Duke sent Jordan [Afterwards Sir Joseph Jordan, commander of the "Royal Sovereign," and Vice-Admiral of the Red, 1672. He was knighted on July 1st, 1665.--B.] out of the St. George, who did brave things in her. Capt. Jer. Smith of the Mary was second to the Duke, and stepped between him and Captain Seaton of the Urania (76 guns and 400 men), who had sworn to board the Duke; killed him, 200 men, and took the ship; himself losing 99 men, and never an officer saved but himself and lieutenant. His master indeed is saved, with his leg cut off: Admirall Opdam blown up, Trump killed, and said by Holmes; all the rest of their admiralls, as they say, but Everson (whom they dare not trust for his affection to the Prince of Orange), are killed: we having taken and sunk, as is believed, about 24 of their best ships; killed and taken near 8 or 10,000 men, and lost, we think, not above 700. A great[er] victory never known in the world. They are all fled, some 43 got into the Texell, and others elsewhere, and we in pursuit of the rest. Thence, with my heart full of joy; home, and to my office a little; then to my Lady Pen's, where they are all joyed and not a little puffed up at the good successe of their father; [In the royal charter granted by Charles II. in 1680 to William Penn for the government of his American province, to be styled Pennsylvania, special reference is made to "the memory and merits of Sir William Penn in divers services, and particularly his conduct, courage, and discretion under our dearest brother, James, Duke of York, in that signal battle and victory fought and obtained against the Dutch fleet commanded by Heer van Opdam in 1665" ("Penn's Memorials of Sir W. Penn," vol. ii., p. 359).] and good service indeed is said to have been done by him. Had a great bonefire at the gate; and I with my Lady Pen's people and others to Mrs. Turner's great room, and then down into the streete. I did give the boys 4s. among them, and mighty merry. So home to bed, with my heart at great rest and quiett, saving that the consideration of the victory is too great for me presently to comprehend. [Mrs. Ady (Julia Cartwright), in her fascinating life of Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans, gives an account of the receipt of the news of the great sea-fight in Paris, and quotes a letter of Charles II. to his sister, dated, "Whitehall, June 8th, 1665" The first report that reached Paris was that "the Duke of York's ship had been blown up, and he himself had been drowned." "The shock was too much for Madame . . . she was seized with convulsions, and became so dangerously ill that Lord Hollis wrote to the king, 'If things had gone ill at sea I really believe Madame would have died.'" Charles wrote: "I thanke God we have now the certayne newes of a very considerable victory over the Duch; you will see most of the particulars by the relation my Lord Hopis will shew you, though I have had as great a losse as 'tis possible in a good frinde, poore C. Barckely. It troubles me so much, as I hope you will excuse the shortnesse of this letter, haveing receaved the newes of it but two houres agoe" ("Madame," 1894, pp. 215, 216).] 9th. Lay long in bed, my head akeing with too much thoughts I think last night. Up and to White Hall, and my Lord Treasurer's to Sir Ph. Warwicke, about Tangier business, and in my way met with Mr. Moore, who eases me in one point wherein I was troubled; which was, that I heard of nothing said or done by my Lord Sandwich: but he tells me that Mr. Cowling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, did hear the King say that my Lord Sandwich had done nobly and worthily. The King, it seems, is much troubled at the fall of my Lord of Falmouth; but I do not meet with any man else that so much as wishes him alive again, the world conceiving him a man of too much pleasure to do the King any good, or offer any good office to him. But I hear of all hands he is confessed to have been a man of great honour, that did show it in this his going with the Duke, the most that ever any man did. Home, where my people busy to make ready a supper against night for some guests, in lieu of my stonefeast. At noon eat a small dinner at home, and so abroad to buy several things, and among others with my taylor to buy a silke suit, which though I had one lately, yet I do, for joy of the good newes we have lately had of our victory over the Dutch, which makes me willing to spare myself something extraordinary in clothes; and after long resolution of having nothing but black, I did buy a coloured silk ferrandin. So to the Old Exchange, and there at my pretty seamstresses bought a pair of stockings of her husband, and so home, where by and by comes Mr. Honiwood and Mrs. Wilde, and Roger Pepys and, after long time spent, Mrs. Turner, The. and Joyce. We had a very good venison pasty, this being instead of my stone-feast the last March, and very merry we were, and the more I know the more I like Mr. Honiwood's conversation. So after a good supper they parted, walking to the 'Change for a coach, and I with them to see them there. So home and to bed, glad it was over. 10th. Lay long in bed, and then up and at the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the office busy all the afternoon. In the evening home to supper; and there, to my great trouble, hear that the plague is come into the City (though it hath these three or four weeks since its beginning been wholly out of the City); but where should it begin but in my good friend and neighbour's, Dr. Burnett, in Fanchurch Street: which in both points troubles me mightily. To the office to finish my letters and then home to bed, being troubled at the sicknesse, and my head filled also with other business enough, and particularly how to put my things and estate in order, in case it should please God to call me away, which God dispose of to his glory! 11th (Lord's day). Up, and expected long a new suit; but, coming not, dressed myself in my late new black silke camelott suit; and, when fully ready, comes my new one of coloured ferrandin, which my wife puts me out of love with, which vexes me, but I think it is only my not being used to wear colours which makes it look a little unusual upon me. To my chamber and there spent the morning reading. At noon, by invitation, comes my two cozen Joyces and their wives, my aunt James and he-cozen Harman, his wife being ill. I had a good dinner for them, and as merry as I could be in such company. They being gone, I out of doors a little, to shew, forsooth, my new suit, and back again, and in going I saw poor Dr. Burnett's door shut; but he hath, I hear, gained great goodwill among his neighbours; for he discovered it himself first, and caused himself to be shut up of his own accord: which was very handsome. In the evening comes Mr. Andrews and his wife and Mr. Hill, and staid and played, and sung and supped, most excellent pretty company, so pleasant, ingenious, and harmless, I cannot desire better. They gone we to bed, my mind in great present ease. 12th. Up, and in my yesterday's new suit to the Duke of Albemarle, and after a turne in White Hall, and then in Westminster Hall, returned, and with my taylor bought some gold lace for my sleeve hands in Pater Noster Row. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and down the River to Deptford, and then back again and to my Lord Treasurer's, and up and down to look after my Tangier business, and so home to my office, then to supper and to bed. The Duke of Yorke is sent for last night and expected to be here to-morrow. 13th. Up and to the office, where all the morning doing business. At noon with Sir G. Carteret to my Lord Mayor's to dinner, where much company in a little room, and though a good, yet no extraordinary table. His name, Sir John Lawrence, whose father, a very ordinary old man, sat there at table, but it seems a very rich man. Here were at table three Sir Richard Brownes, viz.: he of the Councill, a clerk, and the Alderman, and his son; and there was a little grandson also Richard, who will hereafter be Sir Richard Browne. The Alderman did here openly tell in boasting how he had, only upon suspicion of disturbances, if there had been any bad newes from sea, clapped up several persons that he was afeard of; and that he had several times done the like and would do, and take no bail where he saw it unsafe for the King. But by and by he said that he was now sued in the Exchequer by a man for false imprisonment, that he had, upon the same score, imprisoned while he was Mayor four years ago, and asked advice upon it. I told him I believed there was none, and told my story of Field, at which he was troubled, and said that it was then unsafe for any man to serve the King, and, I believed, knows not what to do therein; but that Sir Richard Browne, of the Councill, advised him to speak with my Lord Chancellor about it. My Lord Mayor very respectfull to me; and so I after dinner away and found Sir J. Minnes ready with his coach and four horses at our office gate, for him and me to go out of towne to meet the Duke of Yorke coming from Harwich to-night, and so as far as Ilford, and there 'light. By and by comes to us Sir John Shaw and Mr. Neale, that married the rich widow Gold, upon the same errand. After eating a dish of creame, we took coach again, hearing nothing of the Duke, and away home, a most pleasant evening and road. And so to my office, where, after my letters wrote, to supper and to bed. All our discourse in our way was Sir J. Minnes's telling me passages of the late King's and his father's, which I was mightily pleased to hear for information, though the pride of some persons and vice of most was but a sad story to tell how that brought the whole kingdom and King to ruine. 14th. Up, and to Sir Ph. Warwicke's and other places, about Tangier business, but to little purpose. Among others to my Lord Treasurer's, there to speak with him, and waited in the lobby three long hours for to speake with him, to the trial of my utmost patience, but missed him at last, and forced to go home without it, which may teach me how I make others wait. Home to dinner and staid Mr. Hater with me, and after dinner drew up a petition for Mr. Hater to present to the Councill about his troublesome business of powder, desiring a trial that his absence may be vindicated, and so to White Hall, but it was not proper to present it to-day. Here I met with Mr. Cowling, who observed to me how he finds every body silent in the praise of my Lord Sandwich, to set up the Duke and the Prince; but that the Duke did both to the King and my Lord Chancellor write abundantly of my Lord's courage and service. [Charles II.'s letter of thanks to Lord Sandwich, dated "Whitehall, June 9th, 1665," written entirely in the king's hand, is printed in Ellis's "Original Letters," 1st series, vol. iii., p. 327.] And I this day met with a letter of Captain Ferrers, wherein he tells [us] my Lord was with his ship in all the heat of the day, and did most worthily. Met with Creed, and he and I to Westminster; and there saw my Lord Marlborough [Of the four distinguished men who died after the late action with the Dutch and were buried in Westminster Abbey, the Earl of Marlborough was interred on June 14th, Viscount Muskerry on the 19th, the Earl of Falmouth on the 22nd, and Sir Edward Broughton on the 26th. After the entries in the Abbey Registers is this note: "These four last Honble Persons dyed in his Majy's service against the Dutch, excepting only that ST Ed Br received his death's wound at sea, but dyed here at home" (Chester's "Westminster Abbey Registers," p. 162).] brought to be buried, several Lords of the Council carrying him, and with the herald in some state. Thence, vexed in my mind to think that I do so little in my Tangier business, and so home, and after supper to bed. 15th. Up, and put on my new stuff suit with close knees, which becomes me most nobly, as my wife says. At the office all day. At noon, put on my first laced band, all lace; and to Kate Joyce's to dinner, where my mother, wife, and abundance of their friends, and good usage. Thence, wife and Mercer and I to the Old Exchange, and there bought two lace bands more, one of my semstresse, whom my wife concurs with me to be a pretty woman. So down to Deptford and Woolwich, my boy and I. At Woolwich, discoursed with Mr. Sheldon about my bringing my wife down for a month or two to his house, which he approves of, and, I think, will be very convenient. So late back, and to the office, wrote letters, and so home to supper and to bed. This day the Newes book upon Mr. Moore's showing L'Estrange ["The Public Intelligencer," published by Roger L'Estrange, the predecessor of the "London Gazette."] (Captain Ferrers's letter) did do my Lord Sandwich great right as to the late victory. The Duke of Yorke not yet come to towne. The towne grows very sickly, and people to be afeard of it; there dying this last week of the plague 112, from 43 the week before, whereof but [one] in Fanchurch-streete, and one in Broad-streete, by the Treasurer's office. 16th. Up and to the office, where I set hard to business, but was informed that the Duke of Yorke is come, and hath appointed us to attend him this afternoon. So after dinner, and doing some business at the office, I to White Hall, where the Court is full of the Duke and his courtiers returned from sea. All fat and lusty, and ruddy by being in the sun. I kissed his hands, and we waited all the afternoon. By and by saw Mr. Coventry, which rejoiced my very heart. Anon he and I, from all the rest of the company, walked into the Matted Gallery; where after many expressions of love, we fell to talk of business. Among other things, how my Lord Sandwich, both in his counsells and personal service, hath done most honourably and serviceably. Sir J. Lawson is come to Greenwich; but his wound in his knee yet very bad. Jonas Poole, in the Vantguard, did basely, so as to be, or will be, turned out of his ship. Captain Holmes [Captain Robert Holmes (afterwards knighted). Sir William Coventry, in a letter to Lord Arlington (dated from "The Royal Charles," Southwold Bay, June 13th), writes: "Capt. Holmes asked to be rear admiral of the white squadron in place of Sansum who was killed, but the Duke gave the place to Captain Harman, on which he delivered up his commission, which the Duke received, and put Captain Langhorne in his stead" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 423).] expecting upon Sansum's death to be made Rear-admirall to the Prince (but Harman is [John Harman, afterwards knighted. He had served with great reputation in several naval fights, and was desperately wounded in 1673, while] put in) hath delivered up to the Duke his commission, which the Duke took and tore. He, it seems, had bid the Prince, who first told him of Holmes's intention, that he should dissuade him from it; for that he was resolved to take it if he offered it. Yet Holmes would do it, like a rash, proud coxcombe. But he is rich, and hath, it seems, sought an occasion of leaving the service. Several of our captains have done ill. The great ships are the ships do the business, they quite deadening the enemy. They run away upon sight of "The Prince." ["The Prince" was Lord Sandwich's ship; the captain was Roger Cuttance. It was put up at Chatham for repair at this date.] It is strange to see how people do already slight Sir William Barkeley, [Sir William Berkeley, see note, vol. iii., p. 334. His behaviour after the death of his brother, Lord Falmouth, is severely commented on in "Poems on State Affairs," vol. i., p. 29 "Berkeley had heard it soon, and thought not good To venture more of royal Harding's blood; To be immortal he was not of age, And did e'en now the Indian Prize presage; And judged it safe and decent, cost what cost, To lose the day, since his dear brother's lost. With his whole squadron straight away he bore, And, like good boy, promised to fight no more."--B.] my Lord FitzHarding's brother, who, three months since, was the delight of the Court. Captain Smith of "The Mary" the Duke talks mightily of; and some great thing will be done for him. Strange to hear how the Dutch do relate, as the Duke says, that they are the conquerors; and bonefires are made in Dunkirke in their behalf; though a clearer victory can never be expected. Mr. Coventry thinks they cannot have lost less than 6000 men, and we not dead above 200, and wounded about 400; in all about 600. Thence home and to my office till past twelve, and then home to supper and to bed, my wife and mother not being yet come home from W. Hewer's chamber, who treats my mother tonight. Captain Grovel the Duke told us this day, hath done the basest thing at Lowestoffe, in hearing of the guns, and could not (as others) be got out, but staid there; for which he will be tried; and is reckoned a prating coxcombe, and of no courage. 17th. My wife come to bed about one in the morning. I up and abroad about Tangier business, then back to the office, where we sat, and at noon home to dinner, and then abroad to Mr. Povy's, after I and Mr. Andrews had been with Mr. Ball and one Major Strange, who looks after the getting of money for tallys and is helping Mr. Andrews. I had much discourse with Ball, and it may be he may prove a necessary man for our turns. With Mr. Povy I spoke very freely my indifference as to my place of Treasurer, being so much troubled in it, which he took with much seeming trouble, that I should think of letting go so lightly the place, but if the place can't be held I will. So hearing that my Lord Treasurer was gone out of town with his family because of the sicknesse, I returned home without staying there, and at the office find Sir W. Pen come home, who looks very well; and I am gladder to see him than otherwise I should be because of my hearing so well of him for his serviceablenesse in this late great action. To the office late, and then home to bed. It struck me very deep this afternoon going with a hackney coach from my Lord Treasurer's down Holborne, the coachman I found to drive easily and easily, at last stood still, and come down hardly able to stand, and told me that he was suddenly struck very sicke, and almost blind, he could not see; so I 'light and went into another coach, with a sad heart for the poor man and trouble for myself, lest he should have been struck with the plague, being at the end of the towne that I took him up; but God have mercy upon us all! Sir John Lawson, I hear, is worse than yesterday: the King went to see him to-day most kindly. It seems his wound is not very bad; but he hath a fever, a thrush, and a hickup, all three together, which are, it seems, very bad symptoms. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Sir W. Pen was the first time [since he] come from sea, after the battle. Mr. Mills made a sorry sermon to prove that there was a world to come after this. Home and dined and then to my chamber, where all the afternoon. Anon comes Mr. Andrews to see and sing with me, but Mr. Hill not coming, and having business, we soon parted, there coming Mr. Povy and Creed to discourse about our Tangier business of money. They gone, I hear Sir W. Batten and my Lady are returned from Harwich. I went to see them, and it is pretty to see how we appear kind one to another, though neither of us care 2d. one for another. Home to supper, and there coming a hasty letter from Commissioner Pett for pressing of some calkers (as I would ever on his Majesty's service), with all speed, I made a warrant presently and issued it. So to my office a little, and then home to bed. 19th. Up, and to White Hall with Sir W. Batten (calling at my Lord Ashly's, but to no purpose, by the way, he being not up), and there had our usual meeting before the Duke with the officers of the Ordnance with us, which in some respects I think will be the better for us, for despatch sake. Thence home to the 'Change and dined alone (my wife gone to her mother's), after dinner to my little new goldsmith's, [John Colvill of Lombard Street, see ante, May 24th. He lost L85,832 17s. 2d. by the closing of the Exchequer in 1672, and he died between 1672 and 1677 (Price's "Handbook of London Bankers ").] whose wife indeed is one of the prettiest, modest black women that ever I saw. I paid for a dozen of silver salts L6 14s. 6d. Thence with Sir W. Pen from the office down to Greenwich to see Sir J. Lawson, who is better, but continues ill; his hickupp not being yet gone, could have little discourse with him. So thence home and to supper, a while to the office, my head and mind mightily vexed to see the multitude of papers and business before [me] and so little time to do it in. So to bed. 20th. Thankes-giving-day for victory over ye Dutch. Up, and to the office, where very busy alone all the morning till church time, and there heard a mean sorry sermon of Mr. Mills. Then to the Dolphin Taverne, where all we officers of the Navy met with the Commissioners of the Ordnance by agreement, and dined: where good musique at my direction. Our club--[share] ["Next these a sort of Sots there are, Who crave more wine than they can bear, Yet hate, when drunk, to pay or spend Their equal Club or Dividend, But wrangle, when the Bill is brought, And think they're cheated when they're not." The Delights of the Bottle, or the Compleat Vintner, 3rd ed., 1721, p. 29.] --come to 34s. a man, nine of us. Thence after dinner, to White Hall with Sir W. Berkely in his coach, and so walked to Herbert's and there spent a little time . . . . Thence by water to Fox-hall, and there walked an hour alone, observing the several humours of the citizens that were there this holyday, pulling of cherries,--[The game of bob-cherry]--and God knows what, and so home to my office, where late, my wife not being come home with my mother, who have been this day all abroad upon the water, my mother being to go out of town speedily. So I home and to supper and to bed, my wife come home when I come from the office. This day I informed myself that there died four or five at Westminster of the plague in one alley in several houses upon Sunday last, Bell Alley, over against the Palace-gate; yet people do think that the number will be fewer in the towne than it was the last weeke! The Dutch are come out again with 20 sail under Bankert; supposed gone to the Northward to meete their East India fleete. 21st. Up, and very busy all the morning. At noon with Creed to the Excise Office, where I find our tallys will not be money in less than sixteen months, which is a sad thing for the King to pay all that interest for every penny he spends; and, which is strange, the goldsmiths with whom I spoke, do declare that they will not be moved to part with money upon the increase of their consideration of ten per cent. which they have, and therefore desire I would not move in it, and indeed the consequence would be very ill to the King, and have its ill consequences follow us through all the King's revenue. Home, and my uncle Wight and aunt James dined with me, my mother being to go away to-morrow. So to White Hall, and there before and after Council discoursed with Sir Thomas Ingram about our ill case as to Tangier for money. He hath got the King to appoint a meeting on Friday, which I hope will put an end one way or other to my pain. So homewards and to the Cross Keys at Cripplegate, where I find all the towne almost going out of towne, the coaches and waggons being all full of people going into the country. Here I had some of the company of the tapster's wife a while, and so home to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, and in great pain whether to send my another into the country to-day or no, I hearing, by my people, that she, poor wretch, hath a mind to stay a little longer, and I cannot blame her, considering what a life she will through her own folly lead when she comes home again, unlike the pleasure and liberty she hath had here. At last I resolved to put it to her, and she agreed to go, so I would not oppose it, because of the sicknesse in the towne, and my intentions of removing my wife. So I did give her money and took a kind leave of her, she, poor wretch, desiring that I would forgive my brother John, but I refused it to her, which troubled her, poor soul, but I did it in kind words and so let the discourse go off, she leaving me though in a great deal of sorrow. So I to my office and left my wife and people to see her out of town, and I at the office all the morning. At noon my wife tells me that she is with much ado gone, and I pray God bless her, but it seems she was to the last unwilling to go, but would not say so, but put it off till she lost her place in the coach, and was fain to ride in the waggon part. After dinner to the office again till night, very busy, and so home not very late to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up and to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where his Royal Highness was. Our great design was to state to them the true condition of this Committee for want of money, the want whereof was so great as to need some sudden help, and it was with some content resolved to see it supplied and means proposed towards the doing of it. At this Committee, unknown to me, comes my Lord of Sandwich, who, it seems, come to towne last night. After the Committee was up, my Lord Sandwich did take me aside, and we walked an hour alone together in the robe-chamber, the door shut, telling me how much the Duke and Mr. Coventry did, both in the fleete and here, make of him, and that in some opposition to the Prince; and as a more private message, he told me that he hath been with them both when they have made sport of the Prince and laughed at him: yet that all the discourse of the towne, and the printed relation, should not give him one word of honour my Lord thinks mighty strange; he assuring me, that though by accident the Prince was in the van the beginning of the fight for the first pass, yet all the rest of the day my Lord was in the van, and continued so. That notwithstanding all this noise of the Prince, he had hardly a shot in his side nor a man killed, whereas he hath above 30 in her hull, and not one mast whole nor yard; but the most battered ship of the fleet, and lost most men, saving Captain Smith of "The Mary." That the most the Duke did was almost out of gun-shot; but that, indeed, the Duke did come up to my Lord's rescue after he had a great while fought with four of them. How poorly Sir John Lawson performed, notwithstanding all that was said of him; and how his ship turned out of the way, while Sir J. Lawson himself was upon the deck, to the endangering of the whole fleete. It therefore troubles my Lord that Mr. Coventry should not mention a word of him in his relation. I did, in answer, offer that I was sure the relation was not compiled by Mr. Coventry, but by L'Estrange, out of several letters, as I could witness; and that Mr. Coventry's letter that he did give the Duke of Albemarle did give him as much right as the Prince, for I myself read it first and then copied it out, which I promised to show my Lord, with which he was somewhat satisfied. From that discourse my Lord did begin to tell me how much he was concerned to dispose of his children, and would have my advice and help; and propounded to match my Lady Jemimah to Sir G. Carteret's eldest son, which I approved of, and did undertake the speaking with him about it as from myself, which my Lord liked. So parted, with my head full of care about this business. Thence home to the 'Change, and so to dinner, and thence by coach to Mr. Povy's. Thence by appointment with him and Creed to one Mr. Finch; one of the Commissioners for the Excise, to be informed about some things of the Excise, in order to our settling matters therein better for us for our Tangier business. I find him a very discreet, grave person. Thence well satisfied I and Creed to Mr. Fox at White Hall to speak with him about the same matter, and having some pretty satisfaction from him also, he and I took boat and to Fox Hall, where we spent two or three hours talking of several matters very soberly and contentfully to me, which, with the ayre and pleasure of the garden, was a great refreshment to me, and, 'methinks, that which we ought to joy ourselves in. Thence back to White Hall, where we parted, and I to find my Lord to receive his farther direction about his proposal this morning. Wherein I did that I should first by another hand break my intentions to Sir G. Carteret. I pitched upon Dr. Clerke, which my Lord liked, and so I endeavoured but in vain to find him out to-night. So home by hackney-coach, which is become a very dangerous passage now-a-days, the sickness increasing mightily, and to bed. 24th (Midsummer-day). Up very betimes, by six, and at Dr. Clerke's at Westminster by 7 of the clock, having over night by a note acquainted him with my intention of coming, and there I, in the best manner I could, broke my errand about a match between Sir G. Carteret's eldest son and my Lord Sandwich's eldest daughter, which he (as I knew he would) took with great content: and we both agreed that my Lord and he, being both men relating to the sea, under a kind aspect of His Majesty, already good friends, and both virtuous and good familys, their allyance might be of good use to us; and he did undertake to find out Sir George this morning, and put the business in execution. So being both well pleased with the proposition, I saw his niece there and made her sing me two or three songs very prettily, and so home to the office, where to my great trouble I found Mr. Coventry and the board met before I come. I excused my late coming by having been on the River about office business. So to business all the morning. At noon Captain Ferrers and Mr. Moore dined with me, the former of them the first time I saw him since his corning from sea, who do give me the best conversation in general, and as good an account of the particular service of the Prince and my Lord of Sandwich in the late sea-fight that I could desire. After dinner they parted. So I to White Hall, where I with Creed and Povy attended my Lord Treasurer, and did prevail with him to let us have an assignment for 15 or L20,000, which, I hope, will do our business for Tangier. So to Dr. Clerke, and there found that he had broke the business to Sir G. Carteret, and that he takes the thing mighty well. Thence I to Sir G. Carteret at his chamber, and in the best manner I could, and most obligingly, moved the business: he received it with great respect and content, and thanks to me, and promised that he would do what he could possibly for his son, to render him fit for my Lord's daughter, and shewed great kindness to me, and sense of my kindness to him herein. Sir William Pen told me this day that Mr. Coventry is to be sworn a Privy Counsellor, at which my soul is glad. So home and to my letters by the post, and so home to supper and bed. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and several people about business come to me by appointment relating to the office. Thence I to my closet about my Tangier papers. At noon dined, and then I abroad by water, it raining hard, thinking to have gone down to Woolwich, but I did not, but back through bridge to White Hall, where, after I had again visited Sir G. Carteret, and received his (and now his Lady's) full content in my proposal, I went to my Lord Sandwich, and having told him how Sir G. Carteret received it, he did direct me to return to Sir G. Carteret, and give him thanks for his kind reception of this offer, and that he would the next day be willing to enter discourse with him about the business. Which message I did presently do, and so left the business with great joy to both sides. My Lord, I perceive, intends to give L5000 with her, and expects about L800 per annum joynture. So by water home and to supper and bed, being weary with long walking at Court, but had a Psalm or two with my boy and Mercer before bed, which pleased me mightily. This night Sir G. Carteret told me with great kindnesse that the order of the Council did run for the making of Hater and Whitfield incapable of any serving the King again, but that he had stopped the entry of it, which he told me with great kindnesse, but the thing troubles me. After dinner, before I went to White Hall, I went down to Greenwich by water, thinking to have visited Sir J. Lawson, where, when I come, I find that he is dead, and died this morning, at which I was much surprized; and indeed the nation hath a great loss; though I cannot, without dissembling, say that I am sorry for it, for he was a man never kind to me at all. Being at White Hall, I visited Mr. Coventry, who, among other talk, entered about the great question now in the House about the Duke's going to sea again; about which the whole House is divided. He did concur with me that, for the Duke's honour and safety, it were best, after so great a service and victory and danger, not to go again; and, above all, that the life of the Duke cannot but be a security to the Crowne; if he were away, it being more easy to attempt anything upon the King; but how the fleete will be governed without him, the Prince--[Rupert]--being a man of no government and severe in council, that no ordinary man can offer any advice against his; saying truly that it had been better he had gone to Guinny, and that were he away, it were easy to say how matters might be ordered, my Lord Sandwich being a man of temper and judgment as much as any man he ever knew, and that upon good observation he said this, and that his temper must correct the Prince's. But I perceive he is much troubled what will be the event of the question. And so I left him. 26th. Up and to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes, and to the Committee of Tangier, where my Lord Treasurer was, the first and only time he ever was there, and did promise us L15,000 for Tangier and no more, which will be short. But if I can pay Mr. Andrews all his money I care for no more, and the bills of Exchange. Thence with Mr. Povy and Creed below to a new chamber of Mr. Povy's, very pretty, and there discourse about his business, not to his content, but with the most advantage I could to him, and Creed also did the like. Thence with Creed to the King's Head, and there dined with him at the ordinary, and good sport with one Mr. Nicholls, a prating coxcombe, that would be thought a poet, but would not be got to repeat any of his verses. Thence I home, and there find my wife's brother and his wife, a pretty little modest woman, where they dined with my wife. He did come to desire my assistance for a living, and, upon his good promises of care, and that it should be no burden to me, I did say and promise I would think of finding something for him, and the rather because his wife seems a pretty discreet young thing, and humble, and he, above all things, desirous to do something to maintain her, telling me sad stories of what she endured with him in Holland, and I hope it will not be burdensome. So down by water to Woolwich, walking to and again from Greenwich thither and back again, my business being to speak again with Sheldon, who desires and expects my wife coming thither to spend the summer, and upon second thoughts I do agree that it will be a good place for her and me too. So, weary, home, and to my office a while, till almost midnight, and so to bed. The plague encreases mightily, I this day seeing a house, at a bitt-maker's over against St. Clement's Church, in the open street, shut up; which is a sad sight. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined by chance at my Lady Batten's, and they sent for my wife, and there was my Lady Pen and Pegg. Very merry, and so I to my office again, where till 12 o'clock at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 28th. Sir J. Minnes carried me and my wife to White Hall, and thence his coach along with my wife where she would. There after attending the Duke to discourse of the navy. We did not kiss his hand, nor do I think, for all their pretence, of going away to-morrow. Yet I believe they will not go for good and all, but I did take my leave of Sir William Coventry, who, it seems, was knighted and sworn a Privy-Counsellor two days since; who with his old kindness treated me, and I believe I shall ever find [him] a noble friend. Thence by water to Blackfriars, and so to Paul's churchyard and bespoke severall books, and so home and there dined, my man William giving me a lobster sent him by my old maid Sarah. This morning I met with Sir G. Carteret, who tells me how all things proceed between my Lord Sandwich and himself to full content, and both sides depend upon having the match finished presently, and professed great kindnesse to me, and said that now we were something akin. I am mightily, both with respect to myself and much more of my Lord's family, glad of this alliance. After dinner to White Hall, thinking to speak with my Lord Ashly, but failed, and I whiled away some time in Westminster Hall against he did come, in my way observing several plague houses in King's Street and [near] the Palace. Here I hear Mrs. Martin is gone out of town, and that her husband, an idle fellow, is since come out of France, as he pretends, but I believe not that he hath been. I was fearful of going to any house, but I did to the Swan, and thence to White Hall, giving the waterman a shilling, because a young fellow and belonging to the Plymouth. Thence by coach to several places, and so home, and all the evening with Sir J. Minnes and all the women of the house (excepting my Lady Batten) late in the garden chatting. At 12 o'clock home to supper and to bed. My Lord Sandwich is gone towards the sea to-day, it being a sudden resolution, I having taken no leave of him. 29th. Up and by water to White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and people ready to go out of towne. To the Harp and Ball, and there drank and talked with Mary, she telling me in discourse that she lived lately at my neighbour's, Mr. Knightly, which made me forbear further discourse. This end of the towne every day grows very bad of the plague. The Mortality Bill is come to 267; [According to the Bills of Mortality, the total number of deaths in London for the week ending June 27th was 684, of which number 267 were deaths from the plague. The number of deaths rose week by week until September 19th, when the total was 8,297, and the deaths from the plague 7,165. On September 26th the total had fallen to 6,460, and deaths from the plague to 5,533 The number fell gradually, week by week, till October 31st, when the total was 1,388, and deaths from the plague 1,031. On November 7th there was a rise to 1,787 and 1,414 respectively. On November 14th the numbers had gone down to 1,359 and 1,050 respectively. On December 12th the total had fallen to 442, and deaths from the plague to 243. On December 19th there was a rise to 525 and 281 respectively. The total of burials in 1665 was 97,506, of which number the plague claimed 68,596 victims.] which is about ninety more than the last: and of these but four in the City, which is a great blessing to us. Thence to Creed, and with him up and down about Tangier business, to no purpose. Took leave again of Mr. Coventry; though I hope the Duke has not gone to stay, and so do others too. So home, calling at Somersett House, where all are packing up too: the Queene-Mother setting out for France this day to drink Bourbon waters this year, she being in a consumption; and intends not to come till winter come twelvemonths. [The Queen-Mother never came to England again. She retired to her chateau at Colombes, near Paris, where she died in August, 1669, after a long illness; the immediate cause of her death being an opiate ordered by her physicians. She was buried, September 12th, in the church of St. Denis. Her funeral sermon was preached by Bossuet. Sir John Reresby speaks of Queen Henrietta Maria in high terms. He says that in the winter, 1659-60, although the Court of France was very splendid, there was a greater resort to the Palais Royal, "the good humour and wit of our Queen Mother, and the beauty of the Princess [Henrietta] her daughter, giving greater invitation than the more particular humour of the French Queen, being a Spaniard." In another place he says: "Her majesty had a great affection for England, notwithstanding the severe usage she and hers had received from it. Her discourse was much with the great men and ladies of France in praise of the people and of the country; of their courage, generosity, good nature; and would excuse all their miscarriages in relation to unfortunate effects of the late war, as if it were a convulsion of some desperate and infatuated persons, rather than from the genius and temper of the kingdom" ("Memoirs of Sir John Reresby," ed. Cartwright, pp. 43, 45).] So by coach home, where at the office all the morning, and at noon Mrs. Hunt dined with us. Very merry, and she a very good woman. To the office, where busy a while putting some things in my office in order, and then to letters till night. About 10 a'clock home, the days being sensibly shorter before I have once kept a summer's day by shutting up office by daylight; but my life hath been still as it was in winter almost. But I will for a month try what I can do by daylight. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and to White Hall, to the Duke of Albemarle, who I find at Secretary Bennet's, there being now no other great Statesman, I think, but my Lord Chancellor, in towne. I received several commands from them; among others, to provide some bread and cheese for the garrison at Guernsey, which they promised to see me paid for. So to the 'Change, and home to dinner. In the afternoon I down to Woolwich and after me my wife and Mercer, whom I led to Mr. Sheldon's to see his house, and I find it a very pretty place for them to be at. So I back again, walking both forward and backward, and left my wife to come by water. I straight to White Hall, late, to Secretary Bennet's to give him an account of the business I received from him to-day, and there staid weary and sleepy till past 12 at night. Then writ my mind to him, and so back by water and in the dark and against tide shot the bridge, groping with their pole for the way, which troubled me before I got through. So home, about one or two o'clock in the morning, my family at a great losse what was become of me. To supper, and to bed. Thus this book of two years ends. Myself and family in good health, consisting of myself and wife, Mercer, her woman, Mary, Alice, and Susan our maids, and Tom my boy. In a sickly time of the plague growing on. Having upon my hands the troublesome care of the Treasury of Tangier, with great sums drawn upon me, and nothing to pay them with: also the business of the office great. Consideration of removing my wife to Woolwich; she lately busy in learning to paint, with great pleasure and successe. All other things well; especially a new interest I am making, by a match in hand between the eldest son of Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady Jemimah Montage. The Duke of Yorke gone down to the fleete, but all suppose not with intent to stay there, as it is not fit, all men conceive, he should. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A vineyard, the first that ever I did see All the towne almost going out of towne (Plague panic) Buy some roll-tobacco to smell to and chaw Consult my pillow upon that and every great thing of my life Convenience of periwiggs is so great Dying this last week of the plague 112, from 43 the week before Hear that the plague is come into the City Houses marked with a red cross upon the doors My old folly and childishnesse hangs upon me still Plague claimed 68,596 victims (in 1665) Pride of some persons and vice of most was but a sad story The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again Though neither of us care 2d. one for another Which may teach me how I make others wait 
4157	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1665 July 1st, 1665. Called up betimes, though weary and sleepy, by appointment by Mr. Povy and Colonell Norwood to discourse about some payments of Tangier. They gone, I to the office and there sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the Duke of Albemarle's, by appointment, to give him an account of some disorder in the Yarde at Portsmouth, by workmen's going away of their owne accord, for lacke of money, to get work of hay-making, or any thing else to earne themselves bread. [There are several letters among the State Papers from Commissioner Thomas Middleton relating to the want of workmen at Portsmouth Dockyard. On June 29th Middleton wrote to Pepys, "The ropemakers have discharged themselves for want of money, and gone into the country to make hay." The blockmakers, the joiners, and the sawyers all refused to work longer without money ("Calendar," 1664-65, p. 453).] Thence to Westminster, where I hear the sicknesse encreases greatly, and to the Harp and Ball with Mary talking, who tells me simply her losing of her first love in the country in Wales, and coming up hither unknown to her friends, and it seems Dr. Williams do pretend love to her, and I have found him there several times. Thence by coach and late at the office, and so to bed. Sad at the newes that seven or eight houses in Bazing Hall street, are shut up of the plague. 2nd (Sunday). Up, and all the morning dressing my closet at the office with my plates, very neatly, and a fine place now it is, and will be a pleasure to sit in, though I thank God I needed none before. At noon dined at home, and after dinner to my accounts and cast them up, and find that though I have spent above L90 this month yet I have saved L17, and am worth in all above L1450, for which the Lord be praised! In the evening my Lady Pen and daughter come to see, and supped with us, then a messenger about business of the office from Sir G. Carteret at Chatham, and by word of mouth did send me word that the business between my Lord and him is fully agreed on, [The arrangements for the marriage of Lady Jemimah Montagu to Philip Carteret were soon settled, for the wedding took place on July 31st] and is mightily liked of by the King and the Duke of Yorke, and that he sent me this word with great joy; they gone, we to bed. I hear this night that Sir J. Lawson was buried late last night at St. Dunstan's by us, without any company at all, and that the condition of his family is but very poor, which I could be contented to be sorry for, though he never was the man that ever obliged me by word or deed. 3rd. Up and by water with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to White Hall to the Duke of Albemarle, where, after a little business, we parted, and I to the Harp and Ball, and there staid a while talking to Mary, and so home to dinner. After dinner to the Duke of Albemarle's again, and so to the Swan, and there 'demeurais un peu'de temps con la fille', and so to the Harp and Ball, and alone 'demeurais un peu de temps baisant la', and so away home and late at the office about letters, and so home, resolving from this night forwards to close all my letters, if possible, and end all my business at the office by daylight, and I shall go near to do it and put all my affairs in the world in good order, the season growing so sickly, that it is much to be feared how a man can escape having a share with others in it, for which the good Lord God bless me, or to be fitted to receive it. So after supper to bed, and mightily troubled in my sleep all night with dreams of Jacke Cole, my old schoolfellow, lately dead, who was born at the same time with me, and we reckoned our fortunes pretty equal. God fit me for his condition! 4th. Up, and sat at the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and thence to the Dolphin, where a good dinner at the cost of one Mr. Osbaston, who lost a wager to Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Rider, and Sir R. Ford, a good while since and now it is spent. The wager was that ten of our ships should not have a fight with ten of the enemy's before Michaelmas. Here was other very good company, and merry, and at last in come Mr. Buckeworth, a very fine gentleman, and proves to be a Huntingdonshire man. Thence to my office and there all the afternoon till night, and so home to settle some accounts of Tangier and other papers. I hear this day the Duke and Prince Rupert are both come back from sea, and neither of them go back again. The latter I much wonder at, but it seems the towne reports so, and I am very glad of it. This morning I did a good piece of work with Sir W. Warren, ending the business of the lotterys, wherein honestly I think I shall get above L100. Bankert, it seems, is come home with the little fleete he hath been abroad with, without doing any thing, so that there is nobody of an enemy at sea. We are in great hopes of meeting with the Dutch East India fleete, which is mighty rich, or with De Ruyter, who is so also. Sir Richard Ford told me this day, at table, a fine account, how the Dutch were like to have been mastered by the present Prince of Orange [The period alluded to is 1650, when the States-General disbanded part of the forces which the Prince of Orange (William) wished to retain. The prince attempted, but unsuccessfully, to possess himself of Amsterdam. In the same year he died, at the early age of twenty-four; some say of the small-pox; others, with Sir Richard Ford, say of poison.--B.] his father to be besieged in Amsterdam, having drawn an army of foot into the towne, and horse near to the towne by night, within three miles of the towne, and they never knew of it; but by chance the Hamburgh post in the night fell among the horse, and heard their design, and knowing the way, it being very dark and rainy, better than they, went from them, and did give notice to the towne before the others could reach the towne, and so were saved. It seems this De Witt and another family, the Beckarts, were among the chief of the familys that were enemys to the Prince, and were afterwards suppressed by the Prince, and continued so till he was, as they say, poysoned; and then they turned all again, as it was, against the young Prince, and have so carried it to this day, it being about 12 and 14 years, and De Witt in the head of them. 5th. Up, and advised about sending of my wife's bedding and things to Woolwich, in order to her removal thither. So to the office, where all the morning till noon, and so to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner. In the afternoon I abroad to St. James's, and there with Mr. Coventry a good while, and understand how matters are ordered in the fleete: that is, my Lord Sandwich goes Admiral; under him Sir G. Ascue, and Sir T. Teddiman; Vice-Admiral, Sir W. Pen; and under him Sir W. Barkeley, and Sir Jos. Jordan: Reere-Admiral, Sir Thomas Allen; and under him Sir Christopher Mings, [The son of a shoemaker, bred to the sea-service; he rose to the rank of an admiral, and was killed in the fight with the Dutch, June, 1666.--B. See post, June 10th, 1666.] and Captain Harman. We talked in general of business of the Navy, among others how he had lately spoken to Sir G. Carteret, and professed great resolution of friendship with him and reconciliation, and resolves to make it good as well as he can, though it troubles him, he tells me, that something will come before him wherein he must give him offence, but I do find upon the whole that Mr. Coventry do not listen to these complaints of money with the readiness and resolvedness to remedy that he used to do, and I think if he begins to draw in it is high time for me to do so too. From thence walked round to White Hall, the Parke being quite locked up; and I observed a house shut up this day in the Pell Mell, where heretofore in Cromwell's time we young men used to keep our weekly clubs. And so to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, who is come this day from Chatham, and mighty glad he is to see me, and begun to talk of our great business of the match, which goes on as fast as possible, but for convenience we took water and over to his coach to Lambeth, by which we went to Deptford, all the way talking, first, how matters are quite concluded with all possible content between my Lord and him and signed and sealed, so that my Lady Sandwich is to come thither to-morrow or next day, and the young lady is sent for, and all likely to be ended between them in a very little while, with mighty joy on both sides, and the King, Duke, Lord Chancellor, and all mightily pleased. Thence to newes, wherein I find that Sir G. Carteret do now take all my Lord Sandwich's business to heart, and makes it the same with his owne. He tells me how at Chatham it was proposed to my Lord Sandwich to be joined with the Prince in the command of the fleete, which he was most willing to; but when it come to the Prince, he was quite against it; saying, there could be no government, but that it would be better to have two fleetes, and neither under the command of the other, which he would not agree to. So the King was not pleased; but, without any unkindnesse, did order the fleete to be ordered as above, as to the Admirals and commands: so the Prince is come up; and Sir G. Carteret, I remember, had this word thence, that, says he, by this means, though the King told him that it would be but for this expedition, yet I believe we shall keepe him out for altogether. He tells me how my Lord was much troubled at Sir W. Pen's being ordered forth (as it seems he is, to go to Solebay, and with the best fleete he can, to go forth), and no notice taken of my Lord Sandwich going after him, and having the command over him. But after some discourse Mr. Coventry did satisfy, as he says, my Lord, so as they parted friends both in that point and upon the other wherein I know my Lord was troubled, and which Mr. Coventry did speak to him of first thinking that my Lord might justly take offence at, his not being mentioned in the relation of the fight in the news book, and did clear all to my Lord how little he was concerned in it, and therewith my Lord also satisfied, which I am mightily glad of, because I should take it a very great misfortune to me to have them two to differ above all the persons in the world. Being come to Deptford, my Lady not being within, we parted, and I by water to Woolwich, where I found my wife come, and her two mayds, and very prettily accommodated they will be; and I left them going to supper, grieved in my heart to part with my wife, being worse by much without her, though some trouble there is in having the care of a family at home in this plague time, and so took leave, and I in one boat and W. Hewer in another home very late, first against tide, we having walked in the dark to Greenwich. Late home and to bed, very lonely. 6th. Up and forth to give order to my pretty grocer's wife's house, who, her husband tells me, is going this day for the summer into the country. I bespoke some sugar, &c., for my father, and so home to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret about money for the office, a sad thought, for in a little while all must go to wracke, winter coming on apace, when a great sum must be ready to pay part of the fleete, and so far we are from it that we have not enough to stop the mouths of poor people and their hands from falling about our eares here almost in the office. God give a good end to it! Sir G. Carteret told me one considerable thing: Alderman Backewell is ordered abroad upon some private score with a great sum of money; wherein I was instrumental the other day in shipping him away. It seems some of his creditors have taken notice of it, and he was like to be broke yesterday in his absence; Sir G. Carteret telling me that the King and the kingdom must as good as fall with that man at this time; and that he was forced to get L4000 himself to answer Backewell's people's occasions, or he must have broke; but committed this to me as a great secret and which I am heartily sorry to hear. Thence, after a little merry discourse of our marrying business, I parted, and by coach to several places, among others to see my Lord Brunkerd, who is not well, but was at rest when I come. I could not see him, nor had much mind, one of the great houses within two doors of him being shut up: and, Lord! the number of houses visited, which this day I observed through the town quite round in my way by Long Lane and London Wall. So home to the office, and thence to Sir W. Batten, and spent the evening at supper; and, among other discourse, the rashness of Sir John Lawson, for breeding up his daughter so high and proud, refusing a man of great interest, Sir W. Barkeley, to match her with a melancholy fellow, Colonell Norton's' son, of no interest nor good nature nor generosity at all, giving her L6000, when the other would have taken her with two; when he himself knew that he was not worth the money himself in all the world, he did give her that portion, and is since dead, and left his wife and two daughters beggars, and the other gone away with L6000, and no content in it, through the ill qualities of her father-in-law and husband, who, it seems, though a pretty woman, contracted for her as if he had been buying a horse; and, worst of all, is now of no use to serve the mother and two little sisters in any stead at Court, whereas the other might have done what he would for her: so here is an end of this family's pride, which, with good care, might have been what they would, and done well. Thence, weary of this discourse, as the act of the greatest rashness that ever I heard of in all my little conversation, we parted, and I home to bed. Sir W. Pen, it seems, sailed last night from Solebay with, about sixty sail of ship, and my Lord Sandwich in "The Prince" and some others, it seems, going after them to overtake them, for I am sure my Lord Sandwich will do all possible to overtake them, and will be troubled to the heart if he do it not. 7th. Up, and having set my neighbour, Mr. Hudson, wine coopers, at work drawing out a tierce of wine for the sending of some of it to my wife, I abroad, only taking notice to what a condition it hath pleased God to bring me that at this time I have two tierces of Claret, two quarter casks of Canary, and a smaller vessel of Sack; a vessel of Tent, another of Malaga, and another of white wine, all in my wine cellar together; which, I believe, none of my friends of my name now alive ever had of his owne at one time. To Westminster, and there with Mr. Povy and Creed talking of our Tangier business, and by and by I drew Creed aside and acquainted him with what Sir G. Carteret did tell me about Backewell the other day, because he hath money of his in his hands. So home, taking some new books, L5 worth, home to my great content. At home all the day after busy. Some excellent discourse and advice of Sir W. Warren's in the afternoon, at night home to look over my new books, and so late to bed. 8th. All day very diligent at the office, ended my letters by 9 at night, and then fitted myself to go down to Woolwich to my wife, which I did, calling at Sir G. Carteret's at Deptford, and there hear that my Lady Sandwich is come, but not very well. By 12 o'clock to Woolwich, found my wife asleep in bed, but strange to think what a fine night I had down, but before I had been one minute on shore, the mightiest storm come of wind and rain that almost could be for a quarter of an houre and so left. I to bed, being the first time I come to her lodgings, and there lodged well. 9th (Lord's day). Very pleasant with her and among my people, while she made her ready, and, about 10 o'clock, by water to Sir G. Carteret, and there find my Lady [Sandwich] in her chamber, not very well, but looks the worst almost that ever I did see her in my life. It seems her drinking of the water at Tunbridge did almost kill her before she could with most violent physique get it out of her body again. We are received with most extraordinary kindnesse by my Lady Carteret and her children, and dined most nobly. Sir G. Carteret went to Court this morning. After dinner I took occasion to have much discourse with Mr. Ph. Carteret, and find him a very modest man; and I think verily of mighty good nature, and pretty understanding. He did give me a good account of the fight with the Dutch. My Lady Sandwich dined in her chamber. About three o'clock I, leaving my wife there, took boat and home, and there shifted myself into my black silke suit, and having promised Harman yesterday, I to his house, which I find very mean, and mean company. His wife very ill; I could not see her. Here I, with her father and Kate Joyce, who was also very ill, were godfathers and godmother to his boy, and was christened Will. Mr. Meriton christened him. The most observable thing I found there to my content, was to hear him and his clerk tell me that in this parish of Michell's, Cornhill, one of the middlemost parishes and a great one of the towne, there hath, notwithstanding this sickliness, been buried of any disease, man, woman, or child, not one for thirteen months last past; which [is] very strange. And the like in a good degree in most other parishes, I hear, saving only of the plague in them, but in this neither the plague nor any other disease. So back again home and reshifted myself, and so down to my Lady Carteret's, where mighty merry and great pleasantnesse between my Lady Sandwich and the young ladies and me, and all of us mighty merry, there never having been in the world sure a greater business of general content than this match proposed between Mr. Carteret and my Lady Jemimah. But withal it is mighty pretty to think how my poor Lady Sandwich, between her and me, is doubtfull whether her daughter will like of it or no, and how troubled she is for fear of it, which I do not fear at all, and desire her not to do it, but her fear is the most discreet and pretty that ever I did see. Late here, and then my wife and I, with most hearty kindnesse from my Lady Carteret by boat to Woolwich, come thither about 12 at night, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and with great pleasure looking over a nest of puppies of Mr. Shelden's, with which my wife is most extraordinary pleased, and one of them is promised her. Anon I took my leave, and away by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, where he tells me that I must be at Hampton Court anon. So I home to look over my Tangier papers, and having a coach of Mr. Povy's attending me, by appointment, in order to my coming to dine at his country house at Brainford, where he and his family is, I went and Mr. Tasbrough with me therein, it being a pretty chariot, but most inconvenient as to the horses throwing dust and dirt into one's eyes and upon one's clothes. There I staid a quarter of an houre, Creed being there, and being able to do little business (but the less the better). Creed rode before, and Mr. Povy and I after him in the chariot; and I was set down by him at the Parke pale, where one of his saddle horses was ready for me, he himself not daring to come into the house or be seen, because that a servant of his, out of his horse, happened to be sicke, but is not yet dead, but was never suffered to come into his house after he was ill. But this opportunity was taken to injure Povy, and most horribly he is abused by some persons hereupon, and his fortune, I believe, quite broke; but that he hath a good heart to bear, or a cunning one to conceal his evil. There I met with Sir W. Coventry, and by and by was heard by my Lord Chancellor and Treasurer about our Tangier money, and my Lord Treasurer had ordered me to forbear meddling with the L15,000 he offered me the other day, but, upon opening the case to them, they did offer it again, and so I think I shall have it, but my Lord General must give his consent in it, this money having been promised to him, and he very angry at the proposal. Here though I have not been in many years, yet I lacke time to stay, besides that it is, I perceive, an unpleasing thing to be at Court, everybody being fearful one of another, and all so sad, enquiring after the plague, so that I stole away by my horse to Kingston, and there with trouble was forced, to press two sturdy rogues to carry me to London, and met at the waterside with Mr. Charnocke, Sir Philip Warwicke's clerke, who had been in company and was quite foxed. I took him with me in my boat, and so away to Richmond, and there, by night, walked with him to Moreclacke, a very pretty walk, and there staid a good while, now and then talking and sporting with Nan the servant, who says she is a seaman's wife, and at last bade good night. 11th. And so all night down by water, a most pleasant passage, and come thither by two o'clock, and so walked from the Old Swan home, and there to bed to my Will, being very weary, and he lodging at my desire in my house. At 6 o'clock up and to Westminster (where and all the towne besides, I hear, the plague encreases), and, it being too soon to go to the Duke of Albemarle, I to the Harp and Ball, and there made a bargain with Mary to go forth with me in the afternoon, which she with much ado consented to. So I to the Duke of Albemarle's, and there with much ado did get his consent in part to my having the money promised for Tangier, and the other part did not concur. So being displeased with this, I back to the office and there sat alone a while doing business, and then by a solemn invitation to the Trinity House, where a great dinner and company, Captain Dobbin's feast for Elder Brother. But I broke up before the dinner half over and by water to the Harp and Ball, and thence had Mary meet me at the New Exchange, and there took coach and I with great pleasure took the ayre to Highgate, and thence to Hampstead, much pleased with her company, pretty and innocent, and had what pleasure almost I would with her, and so at night, weary and sweaty, it being very hot beyond bearing, we back again, and I set her down in St. Martin's Lane, and so I to the evening 'Change, and there hear all the towne full that Ostend is delivered to us, and that Alderman Backewell [Among the State Papers is a letter from the king to the Lord General (dated August 8th, 1665): "Alderman Backwell being in great straits for the second payment he has to make for the service in Flanders, as much tin is to be transmitted to him as will raise the sum. Has authorized him and Sir George Carteret to treat with the tin farmers for 500 tons of tin to be speedily transported under good convoy; but if, on consulting with Alderman Backwell, this plan of the tin seems insufficient, then without further difficulty he is to dispose for that purpose of the L10,000 assigned for pay of the Guards, not doubting that before that comes due, other ways will be found for supplying it; the payment in Flanders is of such importance that some means must be found of providing for it" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, pp. 508, 509)] did go with L50,000 to that purpose. But the truth of it I do not know, but something I believe there is extraordinary in his going. So to the office, where I did what I could as to letters, and so away to bed, shifting myself, and taking some Venice treakle, feeling myself out of order, and thence to bed to sleep. 12th. After doing what business I could in the morning, it being a solemn fast-day ["A form of Common Prayer; together with an order for fasting for the averting of God's heavy visitation upon many places of this realm. The fast to be observed within the cities of London and Westminster and places adjacent, on Wednesday the twelfth of this instant July, and both there and in all parts of this realm on the first Wednesday in every month during the visitation" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 466).] for the plague growing upon us, I took boat and down to Deptford, where I stood with great pleasure an houre or two by my Lady Sandwich's bedside, talking to her (she lying prettily in bed) of my Lady Jemimah's being from my Lady Pickering's when our letters come to that place; she being at my Lord Montagu's, at Boughton. The truth is, I had received letters of it two days ago, but had dropped them, and was in a very extraordinary straite what to do for them, or what account to give my Lady, but sent to every place; I sent to Moreclacke, where I had been the night before, and there they were found, which with mighty joy come safe to me; but all ending with satisfaction to my Lady and me, though I find my Lady Carteret not much pleased with this delay, and principally because of the plague, which renders it unsafe to stay long at Deptford. I eat a bit (my Lady Carteret being the most kind lady in the world), and so took boat, and a fresh boat at the Tower, and so up the river, against tide all the way, I having lost it by staying prating to and with my Lady, and, from before one, made it seven ere we got to Hampton Court; and when I come there all business was over, saving my finding Mr. Coventry at his chamber, and with him a good while about several businesses at his chamber, and so took leave, and away to my boat, and all night upon the water, staying a while with Nan at Moreclacke, very much pleased and merry with her, and so on homeward, and come home by two o'clock, shooting the bridge at that time of night, and so to bed, where I find Will is not, he staying at Woolwich to come with my wife to dinner tomorrow to my Lady Carteret's. Heard Mr. Williamson repeat at Hampton Court to-day how the King of France hath lately set out a most high arrest against the Pope, which is reckoned very lofty and high. [Arret. The rupture between Alexander VII. and Louis XIV. was healed in 1664, by the treaty signed at Pisa, on February 12th. On August 9th, the pope's nephew, Cardinal Chigi, made his entry into Paris, as legate, to give the king satisfaction for the insult offered at Rome by the Corsican guard to the Duc de Crequi, the French ambassador; (see January 25th, 1662-63). Cardinal Imperiali, Governor of Rome, asked pardon of the king in person, and all the hard conditions of the treaty were fulfilled. But no arret against the pope was set forth in 1665. On the contrary, Alexander, now wishing to please the king, issued a constitution on February 2nd, 1665, ordering all the clergy of France, without any exception, to sign a formulary condemning the famous five propositions extracted from the works of Jansenius; and on April 29th, the king in person ordered the parliament to register the bull. The Jansenist party, of course, demurred to this proceeding; the Bishops of Alais, Angers, Beauvais, and Pamiers, issuing mandates calling upon their clergy to refuse. It was against these mandates, as being contrary to the king's declaration and the pope's intentions, that the arret was directed.--B.] 13th. Lay long, being sleepy, and then up to the office, my Lord Brunker (after his sickness) being come to the office, and did what business there was, and so I by water, at night late, to Sir G. Carteret's, but there being no oars to carry me, I was fain to call a skuller that had a gentleman already in it, and he proved a man of love to musique, and he and I sung together the way down with great pleasure, and an incident extraordinary to be met with. There come to dinner, they haveing dined, but my Lady caused something to be brought for me, and I dined well and mighty merry, especially my Lady Slaning and I about eating of creame and brown bread, which she loves as much as I. Thence after long discourse with them and my Lady alone, I and [my] wife, who by agreement met here, took leave, and I saw my wife a little way down (it troubling me that this absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond), and so parted, and I home to some letters, and then home to bed. Above 700 died of the plague this week. 14th. Up, and all the morning at the Exchequer endeavouring to strike tallys for money for Tangier, and mightily vexed to see how people attend there, some out of towne, and others drowsy, and to others it was late, so that the King's business suffers ten times more than all their service is worth. So I am put off to to-morrow. Thence to the Old Exchange, by water, and there bespoke two fine shirts of my pretty seamstress, who, she tells me, serves Jacke Fenn. Upon the 'Change all the news is that guns have been heard and that news is come by a Dane that my Lord was in view of De Ruyter, and that since his parting from my Lord of Sandwich he hath heard guns, but little of it do I think true. So home to dinner, where Povy by agreement, and after dinner we to talk of our Tangier matters, about keeping our profit at the pay and victualling of the garrison, if the present undertakers should leave it, wherein I did [not] nor will do any thing unworthy me and any just man, but they being resolved to quit it, it is fit I should suffer Mr. Povy to do what he can with Mr. Gauden about it to our profit. Thence to the discoursing of putting some sums of money in order and tallys, which we did pretty well. So he in the evening gone, I by water to Sir G. Carteret's, and there find my Lady Sandwich and her buying things for my Lady Jem.'s wedding; and my Lady Jem. is beyond expectation come to Dagenhams, where Mr. Carteret is to go to visit her to-morrow; and my proposal of waiting on him, he being to go alone to all persons strangers to him, was well accepted, and so I go with him. But, Lord! to see how kind my Lady Carteret is to her! Sends her most rich jewells, and provides bedding and things of all sorts most richly for her, which makes my Lady and me out of our wits almost to see the kindnesse she treats us all with, as if they would buy the young lady. Thence away home and, foreseeing my being abroad two days, did sit up late making of letters ready against tomorrow, and other things, and so to bed, to be up betimes by the helpe of a larum watch, which by chance I borrowed of my watchmaker to-day, while my owne is mending. 15th. Up, and after all business done, though late, I to Deptford, but before I went out of the office saw there young Bagwell's wife returned, but could not stay to speak to her, though I had a great mind to it, and also another great lady, as to fine clothes, did attend there to have a ticket signed; which I did do, taking her through the garden to my office, where I signed it and had a salute--[kiss]--of her, and so I away by boat to Redriffe, and thence walked, and after dinner, at Sir G. Carteret's, where they stayed till almost three o'clock for me, and anon took boat, Mr. Carteret and I to the ferry-place at Greenwich, and there staid an hour crossing the water to and again to get our coach and horses over; and by and by set out, and so toward Dagenhams. But, Lord! what silly discourse we had by the way as to love-matters, he being the most awkerd man I ever met with in my life as to that business. Thither we come, by that time it begun to be dark, and were kindly received by Lady Wright and my Lord Crew. And to discourse they went, my Lord discoursing with him, asking of him questions of travell, which he answered well enough in a few words; but nothing to the lady from him at all. To supper, and after supper to talk again, he yet taking no notice of the lady. My Lord would have had me have consented to leaving the young people together to-night, to begin their amours, his staying being but to be little. But I advised against it, lest the lady might be too much surprised. So they led him up to his chamber, where I staid a little, to know how he liked the lady, which he told me he did mightily; but, Lord! in the dullest insipid manner that ever lover did. So I bid him good night, and down to prayers with my Lord Crew's family, and after prayers, my Lord, and Lady Wright, and I, to consult what to do; and it was agreed at last to have them go to church together, as the family used to do, though his lameness was a great objection against it. But at last my Lady Jem. sent me word by my Lady Wright that it would be better to do just as they used to do before his coming; and therefore she desired to go to church, which was yielded then to. 16th (Lord's day). I up, having lain with Mr. Moore in the chaplin's chamber. And having trimmed myself, down to Mr. Carteret; and he being ready we down and walked in the gallery an hour or two, it being a most noble and pretty house that ever, for the bigness, I saw. Here I taught him what to do: to take the lady always by the hand to lead her, and telling him that I would find opportunity to leave them two together, he should make these and these compliments, and also take a time to do the like to Lord Crew and Lady Wright. After I had instructed him, which he thanked me for, owning that he needed my teaching him, my Lord Crew come down and family, the young lady among the rest; and so by coaches to church four miles off; where a pretty good sermon, and a declaration of penitence of a man that had undergone the Churches censure for his wicked life. Thence back again by coach, Mr. Carteret having not had the confidence to take his lady once by the hand, coming or going, which I told him of when we come home, and he will hereafter do it. So to dinner. My Lord excellent discourse. Then to walk in the gallery, and to sit down. By and by my Lady Wright and I go out (and then my Lord Crew, he not by design), and lastly my Lady Crew come out, and left the young people together. And a little pretty daughter of my Lady Wright's most innocently come out afterward, and shut the door to, as if she had done it, poor child, by inspiration; which made us without, have good sport to laugh at. They together an hour, and by and by church-time, whither he led her into the coach and into the church, and so at church all the afternoon, several handsome ladies at church. But it was most extraordinary hot that ever I knew it. So home again and to walk in the gardens, where we left the young couple a second time; and my Lady Wright and I to walk together, who to my trouble tells me that my Lady Jem. must have something done to her body by Scott before she can be married, and therefore care must be had to send him, also that some more new clothes must of necessity be made her, which and other things I took care of. Anon to supper, and excellent discourse and dispute between my Lord Crew and the chaplin, who is a good scholler, but a nonconformist. Here this evening I spoke with Mrs. Carter, my old acquaintance, that hath lived with my Lady these twelve or thirteen years, the sum of all whose discourse and others for her, is, that I would get her a good husband; which I have promised, but know not when I shall perform. After Mr. Carteret was carried to his chamber, we to prayers again and then to bed. 17th. Up all of us, and to billiards; my Lady Wright, Mr. Carteret, myself, and every body. By and by the young couple left together. Anon to dinner; and after dinner Mr. Carteret took my advice about giving to the servants, and I led him to give L10 among them, which he did, by leaving it to the chief man-servant, Mr. Medows, to do for him. Before we went, I took my Lady Jem. apart, and would know how she liked this gentleman, and whether she was under any difficulty concerning him. She blushed, and hid her face awhile; but at last I forced her to tell me. She answered that she could readily obey what her father and mother had done; which was all she could say, or I expect. So anon I took leave, and for London. But, Lord! to see, among other things, how all these great people here are afeard of London, being doubtfull of anything that comes from thence, or that hath lately been there, that I was forced to say that I lived wholly at Woolwich. In our way Mr. Carteret did give me mighty thanks for my care and pains for him, and is mightily pleased, though the truth is, my Lady Jem. hath carried herself with mighty discretion and gravity, not being forward at all in any degree, but mighty serious in her answers to him, as by what he says and I observed, I collect. To London to my office, and there took letters from the office, where all well, and so to the Bridge, and there he and I took boat and to Deptford, where mighty welcome, and brought the good newes of all being pleased to them. Mighty mirth at my giving them an account of all; but the young man could not be got to say one word before me or my Lady Sandwich of his adventures, but, by what he afterwards related to his father and mother and sisters, he gives an account that pleases them mightily. Here Sir G. Carteret would have me lie all night, which I did most nobly, better than ever I did in my life, Sir G. Carteret being mighty kind to me, leading me to my chamber; and all their care now is, to have the business ended, and they have reason, because the sicknesse puts all out of order, and they cannot safely stay where they are. 18th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and so to my house and eat a bit of victuals, and so to the 'Change, where a little business and a very thin Exchange; and so walked through London to the Temple, where I took water for Westminster to the Duke of Albemarle, to wait on him, and so to Westminster Hall, and there paid for my newes-books, and did give Mrs. Michell, who is going out of towne because of the sicknesse, and her husband, a pint of wine, and so Sir W. Warren coming to me by appointment we away by water home, by the way discoursing about the project I have of getting some money and doing the King good service too about the mast docke at Woolwich, which I fear will never be done if I do not go about it. After dispatching letters at the office, I by water down to Deptford, where I staid a little while, and by water to my wife, whom I have not seen 6 or 5 days, and there supped with her, and mighty pleasant, and saw with content her drawings, and so to bed mighty merry. I was much troubled this day to hear at Westminster how the officers do bury the dead in the open Tuttle-fields, pretending want of room elsewhere; whereas the New Chappell churchyard was walled-in at the publick charge in the last plague time, merely for want of room and now none, but such as are able to pay dear for it, can be buried there. 19th. Up and to the office, and thence presently to the Exchequer, and there with much trouble got my tallys, and afterwards took Mr. Falconer, Spicer, and another or two to the Leg and there give them a dinner, and so with my tallys and about 30 dozen of bags, which it seems are my due, having paid the fees as if I had received the money I away home, and after a little stay down by water to Deptford, where I find all full of joy, and preparing to go to Dagenhams to-morrow. To supper, and after supper to talk without end. Very late I went away, it raining, but I had a design 'pour aller a la femme de Bagwell' and did so . . . . So away about 12, and it raining hard I back to Sir G. Carteret and there called up the page, and to bed there, being all in a most violent sweat. 20th. Up, in a boat among other people to the Tower, and there to the office, where we sat all the morning. So down to Deptford and there dined, and after dinner saw my Lady Sandwich and Mr. Carteret and his two sisters over the water, going to Dagenhams, and my Lady Carteret towards Cranburne. [The royal lodge of that name in Windsor Forest, occupied by Sir George Carteret as Vice-Chamberlain to the King.--B.] So all the company broke up in most extraordinary joy, wherein I am mighty contented that I have had the good fortune to be so instrumental, and I think it will be of good use to me. So walked to Redriffe, where I hear the sickness is, and indeed is scattered almost every where, there dying 1089 of the plague this week. My Lady Carteret did this day give me a bottle of plague-water home with me. So home to write letters late, and then home to bed, where I have not lain these 3 or 4 nights. I received yesterday a letter from my Lord Sandwich, giving me thanks for my care about their marriage business, and desiring it to be dispatched, that no disappointment may happen therein, which I will help on all I can. This afternoon I waited on the Duke of Albemarle, and so to Mrs. Croft's, where I found and saluted Mrs. Burrows, who is a very pretty woman for a mother of so many children. But, Lord! to see how the plague spreads. It being now all over King's Streete, at the Axe, and next door to it, and in other places. 21st. Up and abroad to the goldsmiths, to see what money I could get upon my present tallys upon the advance of the Excise, and I hope I shall get L10,000. I went also and had them entered at the Excise Office. Alderman Backewell is at sea. Sir R. Viner come to towne but this morning. So Colvill was the only man I could yet speak withal to get any money of. Met with Mr. Povy, and I with him and dined at the Custom House Taverne, there to talk of our Tangier business, and Stockedale and Hewet with us. So abroad to several places, among others to Anthony Joyce's, and there broke to him my desire to have Pall married to Harman, whose wife, poor woman, is lately dead, to my trouble, I loving her very much, and he will consider it. So home and late at my chamber, setting some papers in order; the plague growing very raging, and my apprehensions of it great. So very late to bed. 22nd. As soon as up I among my goldsmiths, Sir Robert Viner and Colvill, and there got L10,000 of my new tallys accepted, and so I made it my work to find out Mr. Mervin and sent for others to come with their bills of Exchange, as Captain Hewett, &c., and sent for Mr. Jackson, but he was not in town. So all the morning at the office, and after dinner, which was very late, I to Sir R. Viner's, by his invitation in the morning, and got near L5000 more accepted, and so from this day the whole, or near, L15,000, lies upon interest. Thence I by water to Westminster, and the Duke of Albemarle being gone to dinner to my Lord of Canterbury's, I thither, and there walked and viewed the new hall, a new old-fashion hall as much as possible. Begun, and means left for the ending of it, by Bishop Juxon. Not coming proper to speak with him, I to Fox-hall, where to the Spring garden; but I do not see one guest there, the town being so empty of any body to come thither. Only, while I was there, a poor woman come to scold with the master of the house that a kinswoman, I think, of hers, that was newly dead of the plague, might be buried in the church-yard; for, for her part, she should not be buried in the commons, as they said she should. Back to White Hall, and by and by comes the Duke of Albemarle, and there, after a little discourse, I by coach home, not meeting with but two coaches, and but two carts from White Hall to my own house, that I could observe; and the streets mighty thin of people. I met this noon with Dr. Burnett, who told me, and I find in the newsbook this week that he posted upon the 'Change, that whoever did spread the report that, instead of the plague, his servant was by him killed, it was forgery, and shewed me the acknowledgment of the master of the pest-house, that his servant died of a bubo on his right groine, and two spots on his right thigh, which is the plague. To my office, where late writing letters, and getting myself prepared with business for Hampton Court to-morrow, and so having caused a good pullet to be got for my supper, all alone, I very late to bed. All the news is great: that we must of necessity fall out with France, for He will side with the Dutch against us. That Alderman Backewell is gone over (which indeed he is) with money, and that Ostend is in our present possession. But it is strange to see how poor Alderman Backewell is like to be put to it in his absence, Mr. Shaw his right hand being ill. And the Alderman's absence gives doubts to people, and I perceive they are in great straits for money, besides what Sir G. Carteret told me about fourteen days ago. Our fleet under my Lord Sandwich being about the latitude 55 (which is a great secret) to the Northward of the Texell. So to bed very late. In my way I called upon Sir W. Turner, and at Mr. Shelcrosse's (but he was not at home, having left his bill with Sir W. Turner), that so I may prove I did what I could as soon as I had money to answer all bills. 23rd (Lord's day). Up very betimes, called by Mr. Cutler, by appointment, and with him in his coach and four horses over London Bridge to Kingston, a very pleasant journey, and at Hampton Court by nine o'clock, and in our way very good and various discourse, as he is a man, that though I think he be a knave, as the world thinks him, yet a man of great experience and worthy to be heard discourse. When we come there, we to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there discoursed long with him, he and I alone, the others being gone away, and so walked together through the garden to the house, where we parted, I observing with a little trouble that he is too great now to expect too much familiarity with, and I find he do not mind me as he used to do, but when I reflect upon him and his business I cannot think much of it, for I do not observe anything but the same great kindness from him. I followed the King to chappell, and there hear a good sermon; and after sermon with my Lord Arlington, Sir Thomas Ingram and others, spoke to the Duke about Tangier, but not to much purpose. I was not invited any whither to dinner, though a stranger, which did also trouble me; but yet I must remember it is a Court, and indeed where most are strangers; but, however, Cutler carried me to Mr. Marriott's the house-keeper, and there we had a very good dinner and good company, among others Lilly, the painter. Thence to the councill-chamber, where in a back room I sat all the afternoon, but the councill begun late to sit, and spent most of the time upon Morisco's Tarr businesse. They sat long, and I forced to follow Sir Thomas Ingram, the Duke, and others, so that when I got free and come to look for Cutler, he was gone with his coach, without leaving any word with any body to tell me so; so that I was forced with great trouble to walk up and down looking of him, and at last forced to get a boat to carry me to Kingston, and there, after eating a bit at a neat inne, which pleased me well, I took boat, and slept all the way, without intermission, from thence to Queenhive, where, it being about two o'clock, too late and too soon to go home to bed, I lay and slept till about four, 24th. And then up and home, and there dressed myself, and by appointment to Deptford, to Sir G. Carteret's, between six and seven o'clock, where I found him and my Lady almost ready, and by and by went over to the ferry, and took coach and six horses nobly for Dagenhams, himself and lady and their little daughter, Louisonne, and myself in the coach; where, when we come, we were bravely entertained and spent the day most pleasantly with the young ladies, and I so merry as never more. Only for want of sleep, and drinking of strong beer had a rheum in one of my eyes, which troubled me much. Here with great content all the day, as I think I ever passed a day in my life, because of the contentfulnesse of our errand, and the noblenesse of the company and our manner of going. But I find Mr. Carteret yet as backward almost in his caresses, as he was the first day. At night, about seven o'clock, took coach again; but, Lord! to see in what a pleasant humour Sir G. Carteret hath been both coming and going; so light, so fond, so merry, so boyish (so much content he takes in this business), it is one of the greatest wonders I ever saw in my mind. But once in serious discourse he did say that, if he knew his son to be a debauchee, as many and, most are now-a-days about the Court, he would tell it, and my Lady Jem. should not have him; and so enlarged both he and she about the baseness and looseness of the Court, and told several stories of the Duke of Monmouth, and Richmond, and some great person, my Lord of Ormond's second son, married to a lady of extraordinary quality (fit and that might have been made a wife for the King himself), about six months since, that this great person hath given the pox to------; and discoursed how much this would oblige the Kingdom if the King would banish some of these great persons publiquely from the Court, and wished it with all their hearts. We set out so late that it grew dark, so as we doubted the losing of our way; and a long time it was, or seemed, before we could get to the water-side, and that about eleven at night, where, when we come, all merry (only my eye troubled me, as I said), we found no ferryboat was there, nor no oares to carry us to Deptford. However, afterwards oares was called from the other side at Greenwich; but, when it come, a frolique, being mighty merry, took us, and there we would sleep all night in the coach in the Isle of Doggs. So we did, there being now with us my Lady Scott, and with great pleasure drew up the glasses, and slept till daylight, and then some victuals and wine being brought us, we ate a bit, and so up and took boat, merry as might be; and when come to Sir G. Carteret's, there all to bed. 25th. Our good humour in every body continuing, and there I slept till seven o'clock. Then up and to the office, well refreshed, my eye only troubling me, which by keeping a little covered with my handkercher and washing now and then with cold water grew better by night. At noon to the 'Change, which was very thin, and thence homeward, and was called in by Mr. Rawlinson, with whom I dined and some good company very harmlessly merry. But sad the story of the plague in the City, it growing mightily. This day my Lord Brunker did give me Mr. Grant's' book upon the Bills of Mortality, new printed and enlarged. Thence to my office awhile, full of business, and thence by coach to the Duke of Albemarle's, not meeting one coach going nor coming from my house thither and back again, which is very strange. One of my chief errands was to speak to Sir W. Clerke about my wife's brother, who importunes me, and I doubt he do want mightily, but I can do little for him there as to employment in the army, and out of my purse I dare not for fear of a precedent, and letting him come often to me is troublesome and dangerous too, he living in the dangerous part of the town, but I will do what I can possibly for him and as soon as I can. Mightily troubled all this afternoon with masters coming to me about Bills of Exchange and my signing them upon my Goldsmiths, but I did send for them all and hope to ease myself this weeke of all the clamour. These two or three days Mr. Shaw at Alderman Backewell's hath lain sick, like to die, and is feared will not live a day to an end. At night home and to bed, my head full of business, and among others, this day come a letter to me from Paris from my Lord Hinchingbroke, about his coming over; and I have sent this night an order from the Duke of Albemarle for a ship of 36 guns to [go] to Calais to fetch him. 26th. Up, and after doing a little business, down to Deptford with Sir W. Batten, and there left him, and I to Greenwich to the Park, where I hear the King and Duke are come by water this morn from Hampton Court. They asked me several questions. The King mightily pleased with his new buildings there. I followed them to Castle's ship in building, and there, met Sir W. Batten, and thence to Sir G. Carteret's, where all the morning with them; they not having any but the Duke of Monmouth, and Sir W. Killigrew, and one gentleman, and a page more. Great variety of talk, and was often led to speak to the King and Duke. By and by they to dinner, and all to dinner and sat down to the King saving myself, which, though I could not in modesty expect, yet, God forgive my pride! I was sorry I was there, that Sir W. Batten should say that he could sit down where I could not, though he had twenty times more reason than I, but this was my pride and folly. I down and walked with Mr. Castle, who told me the design of Ford and Rider to oppose and do all the hurt they can to Captain Taylor in his new ship "The London," and how it comes, and that they are a couple of false persons, which I believe, and withal that he himself is a knave too. He and I by and by to dinner mighty nobly, and the King having dined, he come down, and I went in the barge with him, I sitting at the door. Down to Woolwich (and there I just saw and kissed my wife, and saw some of her painting, which is very curious; and away again to the King) and back again with him in the barge, hearing him and the Duke talk, and seeing and observing their manner of discourse. And God forgive me! though I admire them with all the duty possible, yet the more a man considers and observes them, the less he finds of difference between them and other men, though (blessed be God!) they are both princes of great nobleness and spirits. The barge put me into another boat that come to our side, Mr. Holder with a bag of gold to the Duke, and so they away and I home to the office. The Duke of Monmouth is the most skittish leaping gallant that ever I saw, always in action, vaulting or leaping, or clambering. Thence mighty full of the honour of this day, I took coach and to Kate Joyce's, but she not within, but spoke with Anthony, who tells me he likes well of my proposal for Pall to Harman, but I fear that less than L500 will not be taken, and that I shall not be able to give, though I did not say so to him. After a little other discourse and the sad news of the death of so many in the parish of the plague, forty last night, the bell always going, I back to the Exchange, where I went up and sat talking with my beauty, Mrs. Batelier, a great while, who is indeed one of the finest women I ever saw in my life. After buying some small matter, I home, and there to the office and saw Sir J. Minnes now come from Portsmouth, I home to set my Journall for these four days in order, they being four days of as great content and honour and pleasure to me as ever I hope to live or desire, or think any body else can live. For methinks if a man would but reflect upon this, and think that all these things are ordered by God Almighty to make me contented, and even this very marriage now on foot is one of the things intended to find me content in, in my life and matter of mirth, methinks it should make one mightily more satisfied in the world than he is. This day poor Robin Shaw at Backewell's died, and Backewell himself now in Flanders. The King himself asked about Shaw, and being told he was dead, said he was very sorry for it. The sicknesse is got into our parish this week, and is got, indeed, every where; so that I begin to think of setting things in order, which I pray God enable me to put both as to soul and body. 27th. Called up at 4 o'clock. Up and to my preparing some papers for Hampton Court, and so by water to Fox Hall, and there Mr. Gauden's coach took me up, and by and by I took up him, and so both thither, a brave morning to ride in and good discourse with him. Among others he begun with me to speak of the Tangier Victuallers resigning their employment, and his willingness to come on. Of which I was glad, and took the opportunity to answer him with all kindness and promise of assistance. He told me a while since my Lord Berkeley did speak of it to him, and yesterday a message from Sir Thomas Ingram. When I come to Hampton Court I find Sir T. Ingram and Creed ready with papers signed for the putting of Mr. Gawden in, upon a resignation signed to by Lanyon and sent to Sir Thos. Ingram. At this I was surprized but yet was glad, and so it passed but with respect enough to those that are in, at least without any thing ill taken from it. I got another order signed about the boats, which I think I shall get something by. So dispatched all my business, having assurance of continuance of all hearty love from Sir W. Coventry, and so we staid and saw the King and Queene set out toward Salisbury, and after them the Duke and Duchesse, whose hands I did kiss. And it was the first time I did ever, or did see any body else, kiss her hand, and it was a most fine white and fat hand. But it was pretty to see the young pretty ladies dressed like men, in velvet coats, caps with ribbands, and with laced bands, just like men. Only the Duchesse herself it did not become. They gone, we with great content took coach again, and hungry come to Clapham about one o'clock, and Creed there too before us, where a good dinner, the house having dined, and so to walk up and down in the gardens, mighty pleasant. By and by comes by promise to me Sir G. Carteret, and viewed the house above and below, and sat and drank there, and I had a little opportunity to kiss and spend some time with the ladies above, his daughter, a buxom lass, and his sister Fissant, a serious lady, and a little daughter of hers, that begins to sing prettily. Thence, with mighty pleasure, with Sir G. Carteret by coach, with great discourse of kindnesse with him to my Lord Sandwich, and to me also; and I every day see more good by the alliance. Almost at Deptford I 'light and walked over to Half-way House, and so home, in my way being shown my cozen Patience's house, which seems, at distance, a pretty house. At home met the weekly Bill, where above 1000 encreased in the Bill, and of them, in all about 1,700 of the plague, which hath made the officers this day resolve of sitting at Deptford, which puts me to some consideration what to do. Therefore home to think and consider of every thing about it, and without determining any thing eat a little supper and to bed, full of the pleasure of these 6 or 7 last days. 28th. Up betimes, and down to Deptford, where, after a little discourse with Sir G. Carteret, who is much displeased with the order of our officers yesterday to remove the office to Deptford, pretending other things, but to be sure it is with regard to his own house (which is much because his family is going away). I am glad I was not at the order making, and so I will endeavour to alter it. Set out with my Lady all alone with her with six horses to Dagenhams; going by water to the Ferry. And a pleasant going, and good discourse; and when there, very merry, and the young couple now well acquainted. But, Lord! to see in what fear all the people here do live would make one mad, they are afeard of us that come to them, insomuch that I am troubled at it, and wish myself away. But some cause they have; for the chaplin, with whom but a week or two ago we were here mighty high disputing, is since fallen into a fever and dead, being gone hence to a friend's a good way off. A sober and a healthful man. These considerations make us all hasten the marriage, and resolve it upon Monday next, which is three days before we intended it. Mighty merry all of us, and in the evening with full content took coach again and home by daylight with great pleasure, and thence I down to Woolwich, where find my wife well, and after drinking and talking a little we to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and after viewing some of my wife's pictures, which now she is come to do very finely to my great satisfaction beyond what I could ever look for, I went away and by water to the office, where nobody to meet me, but busy all the morning. At noon to dinner, where I hear that my Will is come in thither and laid down upon my bed, ill of the headake, which put me into extraordinary fear; and I studied all I could to get him out of the house, and set my people to work to do it without discouraging him, and myself went forth to the Old Exchange to pay my fair Batelier for some linnen, and took leave of her, they breaking up shop for a while; and so by coach to Kate Joyce's, and there used all the vehemence and rhetorique I could to get her husband to let her go down to Brampton, but I could not prevail with him; he urging some simple reasons, but most that of profit, minding the house, and the distance, if either of them should be ill. However, I did my best, and more than I had a mind to do, but that I saw him so resolved against it, while she was mightily troubled at it. At last he yielded she should go to Windsor, to some friends there. So I took my leave of them, believing that it is great odds that we ever all see one another again; for I dare not go any more to that end of the towne. So home, and to writing of letters--hard, and then at night home, and fell to my Tangier papers till late, and then to bed, in some ease of mind that Will is gone to his lodging, and that he is likely to do well, it being only the headake. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and in my night gowne, cap and neckcloth, undressed all day long, lost not a minute, but in my chamber, setting my Tangier accounts to rights. Which I did by night to my very heart's content, not only that it is done, but I find every thing right, and even beyond what, after so long neglecting them, I did hope for. The Lord of Heaven be praised for it! Will was with me to-day, and is very well again. It was a sad noise to hear our bell to toll and ring so often to-day, either for deaths or burials; I think five or six times. At night weary with my day's work, but full of joy at my having done it, I to bed, being to rise betimes tomorrow to go to the wedding at Dagenhams. So to bed, fearing I have got some cold sitting in my loose garments all this day. 31st. Up, and very betimes by six o'clock at Deptford, and there find Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady ready to go: I being in my new coloured silk suit, and coat trimmed with gold buttons and gold broad lace round my hands, very rich and fine. By water to the Ferry, where, when we come, no coach there; and tide of ebb so far spent as the horse-boat could not get off on the other side the river to bring away the coach. So we were fain to stay there in the unlucky Isle of Doggs, in a chill place, the morning cool, and wind fresh, above two if not three hours to our great discontent. Yet being upon a pleasant errand, and seeing that it could not be helped, we did bear it very patiently; and it was worth my observing, I thought, as ever any thing, to see how upon these two scores, Sir G. Carteret, the most passionate man in the world, and that was in greatest haste to be gone, did bear with it, and very pleasant all the while, at least not troubled much so as to fret and storm at it. Anon the coach comes: in the mean time there coming a News thither with his horse to go over, that told us he did come from Islington this morning; and that Proctor the vintner of the Miter in Wood-street, and his son, are dead this morning there, of the plague; he having laid out abundance of money there, and was the greatest vintner for some time in London for great entertainments. We, fearing the canonicall hour would be past before we got thither, did with a great deal of unwillingness send away the license and wedding ring. So that when we come, though we drove hard with six horses, yet we found them gone from home; and going towards the church, met them coming from church, which troubled us. But, however, that trouble was soon over; hearing it was well done: they being both in their old cloaths; my Lord Crew giving her, there being three coach fulls of them. The young lady mighty sad, which troubled me; but yet I think it was only her gravity in a little greater degree than usual. All saluted her, but I did not till my Lady Sandwich did ask me whether I had saluted her or no. So to dinner, and very merry we were; but yet in such a sober way as never almost any wedding was in so great families: but it was much better. After dinner company divided, some to cards, others to talk. My Lady Sandwich and I up to settle accounts, and pay her some money. And mighty kind she is to me, and would fain have had me gone down for company with her to Hinchingbroke; but for my life I cannot. At night to supper, and so to talk; and which, methought, was the most extraordinary thing, all of us to prayers as usual, and the young bride and bridegroom too and so after prayers, soberly to bed; only I got into the bridegroom's chamber while he undressed himself, and there was very merry, till he was called to the bride's chamber, and into bed they went. I kissed the bride in bed, and so the curtaines drawne with the greatest gravity that could be, and so good night. But the modesty and gravity of this business was so decent, that it was to me indeed ten times more delightfull than if it had been twenty times more merry and joviall. Whereas I feared I must have sat up all night, we did here all get good beds, and I lay in the same I did before with Mr. Brisband, who is a good scholler and sober man; and we lay in bed, getting him to give me an account of home, which is the most delightfull talke a man can have of any traveller: and so to sleep. My eyes much troubled already with the change of my drink. Thus I ended this month with the greatest joy that ever I did any in my life, because I have spent the greatest part of it with abundance of joy, and honour, and pleasant journeys, and brave entertainments, and without cost of money; and at last live to see the business ended with great content on all sides. This evening with Mr. Brisband, speaking of enchantments and spells; I telling him some of my charms; he told me this of his owne knowledge, at Bourdeaux, in France. The words these: Voyci un Corps mort, Royde come un Baston, Froid comme Marbre, Leger come un esprit, Levons to au nom de Jesus Christ. He saw four little girles, very young ones, all kneeling, each of them, upon one knee; and one begun the first line, whispering in the eare of the next, and the second to the third, and the third to the fourth, and she to the first. Then the first begun the second line, and so round quite through, and, putting each one finger only to a boy that lay flat upon his back on the ground, as if he was dead; at the end of the words, they did with their four fingers raise this boy as high as they could reach, and he [Mr. Brisband] being there, and wondering at it, as also being afeard to see it, for they would have had him to have bore a part in saying the words, in the roome of one of the little girles that was so young that they could hardly make her learn to repeat the words, did, for feare there might be some sleight used in it by the boy, or that the boy might be light, call the cook of the house, a very lusty fellow, as Sir G. Carteret's cook, who is very big, and they did raise him in just the same manner. This is one of the strangest things I ever heard, but he tells it me of his owne knowledge, and I do heartily believe it to be true. I enquired of him whether they were Protestant or Catholique girles; and he told me they were Protestant, which made it the more strange to me. Thus we end this month, as I said, after the greatest glut of content that ever I had; only under some difficulty because of the plague, which grows mightily upon us, the last week being about 1700 or 1800 of the plague. My Lord Sandwich at sea with a fleet of about 100 sail, to the Northward, expecting De Ruyter, or the Dutch East India fleet. My Lord Hinchingbroke coming over from France, and will meet his sister at Scott's-hall. Myself having obliged both these families in this business very much; as both my Lady, and Sir G. Carteret and his Lady do confess exceedingly, and the latter do also now call me cozen, which I am glad of. So God preserve us all friends long, and continue health among us. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: About two o'clock, too late and too soon to go home to bed And all to dinner and sat down to the King saving myself Baseness and looseness of the Court Being able to do little business (but the less the better) Contracted for her as if he had been buying a horse Did bear with it, and very pleasant all the while Doubtfull whether her daughter will like of it or no Endeavouring to strike tallys for money for Tangier For, for her part, she should not be buried in the commons Had what pleasure almost I would with her Hath a good heart to bear, or a cunning one to conceal his evil I have promised, but know not when I shall perform I kissed the bride in bed, and so the curtaines drawne Less he finds of difference between them and other men Lord! in the dullest insipid manner that ever lover did Nan at Moreclacke, very much pleased and merry with her Not had the confidence to take his lady once by the hand Out of my purse I dare not for fear of a precedent Plague, forty last night, the bell always going Pretty to see the young pretty ladies dressed like men So to bed, to be up betimes by the helpe of a larum watch This absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond What silly discourse we had by the way as to love-matters 
4145	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1963 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1662-1663 January 1st, Lay with my wife at my Lord's lodgings, where I have been these two nights, till 10 o'clock with great pleasure talking, then I rose and to White Hall, where I spent a little time walking among the courtiers, which I perceive I shall be able to do with great confidence, being now beginning to be pretty well known among them. Then to my wife again, and found Mrs. Sarah with us in the chamber we lay in. Among other discourse, Mrs. Sarah tells us how the King sups at least four or [five] times every week with my Lady Castlemaine; and most often stays till the morning with her, and goes home through the garden all alone privately, and that so as the very centrys take notice of it and speak of it. She tells me, that about a month ago she [Lady Castlemaine] quickened at my Lord Gerard's at dinner, and cried out that she was undone; and all the lords and men were fain to quit the room, and women called to help her. In fine, I find that there is nothing almost but bawdry at Court from top to bottom, as, if it were fit, I could instance, but it is not necessary; only they say my Lord Chesterfield, groom of the stole to the Queen, is either gone or put away from the Court upon the score of his lady's having smitten the Duke of York, so as that he is watched by the Duchess of York, and his lady is retired into the country upon it. How much of this is true, God knows, but it is common talk. After dinner I did reckon with Mrs. Sarah for what we have eat and drank here, and gave her a crown, and so took coach, and to the Duke's House, where we saw "The Villaine" again; and the more I see it, the more I am offended at my first undervaluing the play, it being very good and pleasant, and yet a true and allowable tragedy. The house was full of citizens, and so the less pleasant, but that I was willing to make an end of my gaddings, and to set to my business for all the year again tomorrow. Here we saw the old Roxalana in the chief box, in a velvet gown, as the fashion is, and very handsome, at which I was glad. Hence by coach home, where I find all well, only Sir W. Pen they say ill again. So to my office to set down these two or three days' journall, and to close the last year therein, and so that being done, home to supper, and to bed, with great pleasure talking and discoursing with my wife of our late observations abroad. 2nd. Lay long in bed, and so up and to the office, where all the morning alone doing something or another. So dined at home with my wife, and in the afternoon to the Treasury office, where Sir W. Batten was paying off tickets, but so simply and arbitrarily, upon a dull pretence of doing right to the King, though to the wrong of poor people (when I know there is no man that means the King less right than he, or would trouble himself less about it, but only that he sees me stir, and so he would appear doing something, though to little purpose), that I was weary of it. At last we broke up, and walk home together, and I to see Sir W. Pen, who is fallen sick again. I staid a while talking with him, and so to my office, practising some arithmetique, and so home to supper and bed, having sat up late talking to my poor wife with great content. 3rd. Up and to the office all the morning, and dined alone with my wife at noon, and then to my office all the afternoon till night, putting business in order with great content in my mind. Having nothing now in my mind of trouble in the world, but quite the contrary, much joy, except only the ending of our difference with my uncle Thomas, and the getting of the bills well over for my building of my house here, which however are as small and less than any of the others. Sir W. Pen it seems is fallen very ill again. So to my arithmetique again to-night, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up and to church, where a lazy sermon, and so home to dinner to a good piece of powdered beef, but a little too salt. At dinner my wife did propound my having of my sister Pall at my house again to be her woman, since one we must have, hoping that in that quality possibly she may prove better than she did before, which I take very well of her, and will consider of it, it being a very great trouble to me that I should have a sister of so ill a nature, that I must be forced to spend money upon a stranger when it might better be upon her, if she were good for anything. After dinner I and she walked, though it was dirty, to White Hall (in the way calling at the Wardrobe to see how Mr. Moore do, who is pretty well, but not cured yet), being much afeard of being seen by anybody, and was, I think, of Mr. Coventry, which so troubled me that I made her go before, and I ever after loitered behind. She to Mr. Hunt's, and I to White Hall Chappell, and then up to walk up and down the house, which now I am well known there, I shall forbear to do, because I would not be thought a lazy body by Mr. Coventry and others by being seen, as I have lately been, to walk up and down doing nothing. So to Mr. Hunt's, and there was most prettily and kindly entertained by him and her, who are two as good people as I hardly know any, and so neat and kind one to another. Here we staid late, and so to my Lord's to bed. 5th. Up and to the Duke, who himself told me that Sir J. Lawson was come home to Portsmouth from the Streights, who is now come with great renown among all men, and, I perceive, mightily esteemed at Court by all. The Duke did not stay long in his chamber; but to the King's chamber, whither by and by the Russia Embassadors come; who, it seems, have a custom that they will not come to have any treaty with our or any King's Commissioners, but they will themselves see at the time the face of the King himself, be it forty days one after another; and so they did to-day only go in and see the King; and so out again to the Council-chamber. The Duke returned to his chamber, and so to his closett, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Mr. Coventry, and myself attended him about the business of the Navy; and after much discourse and pleasant talk he went away. And I took Sir W. Batten and Captain Allen into the wine cellar to my tenant (as I call him, Serjeant Dalton), and there drank a great deal of variety of wines, more than I have drunk at one time, or shall again a great while, when I come to return to my oaths, which I intend in a day or two. Thence to my Lord's lodging, where Mr. Hunt and Mr. Creed dined with us, and were very merry. And after dinner he and I to White Hall, where the Duke and the Commissioners for Tangier met, but did not do much: my Lord Sandwich not being in town, nobody making it their business. So up, and Creed and I to my wife again, and after a game or two at cards, to the Cockpitt, where we saw "Claracilla," a poor play, done by the King's house (but neither the King nor Queen were there, but only the Duke and Duchess, who did show some impertinent and, methought, unnatural dalliances there, before the whole world, such as kissing, and leaning upon one another); but to my very little content, they not acting in any degree like the Duke's people. So home (there being here this night Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Martha Batten of our office) to my Lord's lodgings again, and to a game at cards, we three and Sarah, and so to supper and some apples and ale, and to bed with great pleasure, blessed be God! 6th (Twelfth Day). Up and Mr. Creed brought a pot of chocolate ready made for our morning draft, and then he and I to the Duke's, but I was not very willing to be seen at this end of the town, and so returned to our lodgings, and took my wife by coach to my brother's, where I set her down, and Creed and I to St. Paul's Church-yard, to my bookseller's, and looked over several books with good discourse, and then into St. Paul's Church, and there finding Elborough, my old schoolfellow at Paul's, now a parson, whom I know to be a silly fellow, I took him out and walked with him, making Creed and myself sport with talking with him, and so sent him away, and we to my office and house to see all well, and thence to the Exchange, where we met with Major Thomson, formerly of our office, who do talk very highly of liberty of conscience, which now he hopes for by the King's declaration, and that he doubts not that if he will give him, he will find more and better friends than the Bishopps can be to him, and that if he do not, there will many thousands in a little time go out of England, where they may have it. But he says that they are well contented that if the King thinks it good, the Papists may have the same liberty with them. He tells me, and so do others, that Dr. Calamy is this day sent to Newgate for preaching, Sunday was se'nnight, without leave, though he did it only to supply the place; when otherwise the people must have gone away without ever a sermon, they being disappointed of a minister but the Bishop of London will not take that as an excuse. Thence into Wood Street, and there bought a fine table for my dining-room, cost me 50s.; and while we were buying it, there was a scare-fire [Scar-fire or scarefire. An alarm of fire. One of the little pieces in Herrick's "Hesperides" is entitled "The Scar-fire," but the word sometimes was used, as in the text, for the fire itself. Fuller, in his "Worthies," speaks of quenching scare-fires.] in an ally over against us, but they quenched it. So to my brother's, where Creed and I and my wife dined with Tom, and after dinner to the Duke's house, and there saw "Twelfth Night" [Pepys saw "Twelfth Night" for the first time on September 11th, 1661, when he supposed it was a new play, and "took no pleasure at all in it."] acted well, though it be but a silly play, and not related at all to the name or day. Thence Mr. Battersby the apothecary, his wife, and I and mine by coach together, and setting him down at his house, he paying his share, my wife and I home, and found all well, only myself somewhat vexed at my wife's neglect in leaving of her scarf, waistcoat, and night-dressings in the coach today that brought us from Westminster, though, I confess, she did give them to me to look after, yet it was her fault not to see that I did take them out of the coach. I believe it might be as good as 25s. loss or thereabouts. So to my office, however, to set down my last three days' journall, and writing to my Lord Sandwich to give him an account of Sir J. Lawson's being come home, and to my father about my sending him some wine and things this week, for his making an entertainment of some friends in the country, and so home. This night making an end wholly of Christmas, with a mind fully satisfied with the great pleasures we have had by being abroad from home, and I do find my mind so apt to run to its old want of pleasures, that it is high time to betake myself to my late vows, which I will to-morrow, God willing, perfect and bind myself to, that so I may, for a great while, do my duty, as I have well begun, and increase my good name and esteem in the world, and get money, which sweetens all things, and whereof I have much need. So home to supper and to bed, blessing God for his mercy to bring me home, after much pleasure, to my house and business with health and resolution to fall hard to work again. 7th. Up pretty early, that is by seven o'clock, it being not yet light before or then. So to my office all the morning, signing the Treasurer's ledger, part of it where I have not put my hand, and then eat a mouthful of pye at home to stay my stomach, and so with Mr. Waith by water to Deptford, and there among other things viewed old pay-books, and found that the Commanders did never heretofore receive any pay for the rigging time, but only for seatime, contrary to what Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten told the Duke the other day. I also searched all the ships in the Wett Dock for fire, and found all in good order, it being very dangerous for the King that so many of his ships lie together there. I was among the canvass in stores also, with Mr. Harris, the saylemaker, and learnt the difference between one sort and another, to my great content, and so by water home again, where my wife tells me stories how she hears that by Sarah's going to live at Sir W. Pen's, all our affairs of my family are made known and discoursed of there and theirs by my people, which do trouble me much, and I shall take a time to let Sir W. Pen know how he has dealt in taking her without our full consent. So to my office, and by and by home to supper, and so to prayers and bed. 8th. Up pretty early, and sent my boy to the carrier's with some wine for my father, for to make his feast among his Brampton friends this Christmas, and my muff to my mother, sent as from my wife. But before I sent my boy out with them, I beat him for a lie he told me, at which his sister, with whom we have of late been highly displeased, and warned her to be gone, was angry, which vexed me, to see the girl I loved so well, and my wife, should at last turn so much a fool and unthankful to us. So to the office, and there all the morning, and though without and a little against the advice of the officers did, to gratify him, send Thomas Hater to-day towards Portsmouth a day or two before the rest of the clerks, against the Pay next week. Dined at home; and there being the famous new play acted the first time to-day, which is called "The Adventures of Five Hours," at the Duke's house, being, they say, made or translated by Colonel Tuke, I did long to see it; and so made my wife to get her ready, though we were forced to send for a smith, to break open her trunk, her mayde Jane being gone forth with the keys, and so we went; and though early, were forced to sit almost out of sight, at the end of one of the lower forms, so full was the house. And the play, in one word, is the best, for the variety and the most excellent continuance of the plot to the very end, that ever I saw, or think ever shall, and all possible, not only to be done in the time, but in most other respects very admittable, and without one word of ribaldry; and the house, by its frequent plaudits, did show their sufficient approbation. So home; with much ado in an hour getting a coach home, and, after writing letters at my office, I went home to supper and to bed, now resolving to set up my rest as to plays till Easter, if not Whitsuntide next, excepting plays at Court. 9th. Waking in the morning, my wife I found also awake, and begun to speak to me with great trouble and tears, and by degrees from one discourse to another at last it appears that Sarah has told somebody that has told my wife of my meeting her at my brother's and making her sit down by me while she told me stories of my wife, about her giving her scallop to her brother, and other things, which I am much vexed at, for I am sure I never spoke any thing of it, nor could any body tell her but by Sarah's own words. I endeavoured to excuse my silence herein hitherto by not believing any thing she told me, only that of the scallop which she herself told me of. At last we pretty good friends, and my wife begun to speak again of the necessity of her keeping somebody to bear her company; for her familiarity with her other servants is it that spoils them all, and other company she hath none, which is too true, and called for Jane to reach her out of her trunk, giving her the keys to that purpose, a bundle of papers, and pulls out a paper, a copy of what, a pretty while since, she had wrote in a discontent to me, which I would not read, but burnt. She now read it, and it was so piquant, and wrote in English, and most of it true, of the retiredness of her life, and how unpleasant it was; that being wrote in English, and so in danger of being met with and read by others, I was vexed at it, and desired her and then commanded her to tear it. When she desired to be excused it, I forced it from her, and tore it, and withal took her other bundle of papers from her, and leapt out of the bed and in my shirt clapped them into the pocket of my breeches, that she might not get them from me, and having got on my stockings and breeches and gown, I pulled them out one by one and tore them all before her face, though it went against my heart to do it, she crying and desiring me not to do it, but such was my passion and trouble to see the letters of my love to her, and my Will wherein I had given her all I have in the world, when I went to sea with my Lord Sandwich, to be joyned with a paper of so much disgrace to me and dishonour, if it should have been found by any body. Having torn them all, saving a bond of my uncle Robert's, which she hath long had in her hands, and our marriage license, and the first letter that ever I sent her when I was her servant, [The usual word at this time for a lover. We have continued the correlative term "mistress," but rejected that of "servant."] I took up the pieces and carried them into my chamber, and there, after many disputes with myself whether I should burn them or no, and having picked up, the pieces of the paper she read to-day, and of my Will which I tore, I burnt all the rest, and so went out to my office troubled in mind. Hither comes Major Tolhurst, one of my old acquaintance in Cromwell's time, and sometimes of our clubb, to see me, and I could do no less than carry him to the Mitre, and having sent for Mr. Beane, a merchant, a neighbour of mine, we sat and talked, Tolhurst telling me the manner of their collierys in the north. We broke up, and I home to dinner. And to see my folly, as discontented as I am, when my wife came I could not forbear smiling all dinner till she began to speak bad words again, and then I began to be angry again, and so to my office. Mr. Bland came in the evening to me hither, and sat talking to me about many things of merchandise, and I should be very happy in his discourse, durst I confess my ignorance to him, which is not so fit for me to do. There coming a letter to me from Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, by my desire appointing his and Dr. Clerke's coming to dine with me next Monday, I went to my wife and agreed upon matters, and at last for my honour am forced to make her presently a new Moyre gown to be seen by Mrs. Clerke, which troubles me to part with so much money, but, however, it sets my wife and I to friends again, though I and she never were so heartily angry in our lives as to-day almost, and I doubt the heartburning will not [be] soon over, and the truth is I am sorry for the tearing of so many poor loving letters of mine from sea and elsewhere to her. So to my office again, and there the Scrivener brought me the end of the manuscript which I am going to get together of things of the Navy, which pleases me much. So home, and mighty friends with my wife again, and so to bed. 10th. Up and to the office. From thence, before we sat, Sir W. Pen sent for me to his bedside to talk (indeed to reproach me with my not owning to Sir J. Minnes that he had my advice in the blocking up of the garden door the other day, which is now by him out of fear to Sir J. Minnes opened again), to which I answered him so indifferently that I think he and I shall be at a distance, at least to one another, better than ever we did and love one another less, which for my part I think I need not care for. So to the office, and sat till noon, then rose and to dinner, and then to the office again, where Mr. Creed sat with me till late talking very good discourse, as he is full of it, though a cunning knave in his heart, at least not to be too much trusted, till Sir J. Minnes came in, which at last he did, and so beyond my expectation he was willing to sign his accounts, notwithstanding all his objections, which really were very material, and yet how like a doting coxcomb he signs the accounts without the least satisfaction, for which we both sufficiently laughed at him and Sir W. Batten after they had signed them and were gone, and so sat talking together till 11 o'clock at night, and so home and to bed. 11th (Lord's day). Lay long talking pleasant with my wife, then up and to church, the pew being quite full with strangers come along with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, so after a pitifull sermon of the young Scott, home to dinner. After dinner comes a footman of my Lord Sandwich's (my Lord being come to town last night) with a letter from my father, in which he presses me to carry on the business for Tom with his late mistress, which I am sorry to see my father do, it being so much out of our power or for his advantage, as it is clear to me it is, which I shall think of and answer in my next. So to my office all the afternoon writing orders myself to have ready against to-morrow, that I might not appear negligent to Mr. Coventry. In the evening to Sir W. Pen's, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and afterwards came Sir G. Carteret. There talked about business, and afterwards to Sir W. Batten's, where we staid talking and drinking Syder, and so I went away to my office a little, and so home and to bed. 12th. Up, and to Sir W. Batten's to bid him and Sir J. Minnes adieu, they going this day towards Portsmouth, and then to Sir W. Pen's to see Sir J. Lawson, who I heard was there, where I found him the same plain man that he was, after all his success in the Straights, with which he is come loaded home. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and with him in his coach to White Hall, and first I to see my Lord Sandwich (being come now from Hinchingbrooke), and after talking a little with him, he and I to the Duke's chamber, where Mr. Coventry and he and I into the Duke's closett and Sir J. Lawson discoursing upon business of the Navy, and particularly got his consent to the ending some difficulties in Mr. Creed's accounts. Thence to my Lord's lodgings, and with Mr. Creed to the King's Head ordinary, but people being set down, we went to two or three places; at last found some meat at a Welch cook's at Charing Cross, and here dined and our boys. After dinner to the 'Change to buy some linen for my wife, and going back met our two boys. Mine had struck down Creed's boy in the dirt, with his new suit on, and the boy taken by a gentlewoman into a house to make clean, but the poor boy was in a pitifull taking and pickle; but I basted my rogue soundly. Thence to my Lord's lodging, and Creed to his, for his papers against the Committee. I found my Lord within, and he and I went out through the garden towards the Duke's chamber, to sit upon the Tangier matters; but a lady called to my Lord out of my Lady Castlemaine's lodging, telling him that the King was there and would speak with him. My Lord could not tell what to bid me say at the Committee to excuse his absence, but that he was with the King; nor would suffer me to go into the Privy Garden (which is now a through-passage, and common), but bid me to go through some other way, which I did; so that I see he is a servant of the King's pleasures too, as well as business. So I went to the Committee, where we spent all this night attending to Sir J. Lawson's description of Tangier and the place for the Mole, [The construction of this Mole or breakwater turned out a very costly undertaking. In April, 1663, it was found that the charge for one year's work was L13,000. In March, 1665, L36,000 had been spent upon it. The wind and sea exerted a very destructive influence over this structure, although it was very strongly built, and Colonel Norwood reported in 1668 that a breach had been made in the Mole, which cost a considerable sum to repair.] of which he brought a very pretty draught. Concerning the making of the Mole, Mr. Cholmely did also discourse very well, having had some experience in it. Being broke up, I home by coach to Mr. Bland's, and there discoursed about sending away of the merchant ship which hangs so long on hand for Tangier. So to my Lady Batten's, and sat with her awhile, Sir W. Batten being gone out of town; but I did it out of design to get some oranges for my feast to-morrow of her, which I did. So home, and found my wife's new gown come home, and she mightily pleased with it. But I appeared very angry that there were no more things got ready against to-morrow's feast, and in that passion sat up long, and went discontented to bed. 13th. So my poor wife rose by five o'clock in the morning, before day, and went to market and bought fowls and many other things for dinner, with which I was highly pleased, and the chine of beef was down also before six o'clock, and my own jack, of which I was doubtfull, do carry it very well. Things being put in order, and the cook come, I went to the office, where we sat till noon and then broke up, and I home, whither by and by comes Dr. Clerke and his lady, his sister, and a she-cozen, and Mr. Pierce and his wife, which was all my guests. I had for them, after oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, and a rare chine of beef. Next a great dish of roasted fowl, cost me about 30s., and a tart, and then fruit and cheese. My dinner was noble and enough. I had my house mighty clean and neat; my room below with a good fire in it; my dining-room above, and my chamber being made a withdrawing-chamber; and my wife's a good fire also. I find my new table very proper, and will hold nine or ten people well, but eight with great room. After dinner the women to cards in my wife's chamber, and the Dr. and Mr. Pierce in mine, because the dining-room smokes unless I keep a good charcoal fire, which I was not then provided with. At night to supper, had a good sack posset and cold meat, and sent my guests away about ten o'clock at night, both them and myself highly pleased with our management of this day; and indeed their company was very fine, and Mrs. Clerke a very witty, fine lady, though a little conceited and proud. So weary, so to bed. I believe this day's feast will cost me near L5. 14th. Lay very long in bed, till with shame forced to rise, being called up by Mr. Bland about business. He being gone I went and staid upon business at the office and then home to dinner, and after dinner staid a little talking pleasant with my wife, who tells me of another woman offered by her brother that is pretty and can sing, to which I do listen but will not appear over forward, but I see I must keep somebody for company sake to my wife, for I am ashamed she should live as she do. So to the office till 10 at night upon business, and numbering and examining part of my sea-manuscript with great pleasure, my wife sitting working by me. So home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office preparing things, by and by we met and sat Mr. Coventry and I till noon, and then I took him to dine with me, I having a wild goose roasted, and a cold chine of beef and a barrel of oysters. We dined alone in my chamber, and then he and I to fit ourselves for horseback, he having brought me a horse; and so to Deptford, the ways being very dirty. There we walked up and down the Yard and Wett Dock, and did our main business, which was to examine the proof of our new way of the call-books, which we think will be of great use. And so to horse again, and I home with his horse, leaving him to go over the fields to Lambeth, his boy at my house taking home his horse. I vexed, having left my keys in my other pocket in my chamber, and my door is shut, so that I was forced to set my boy in at the window, which done I shifted myself, and so to my office till late, and then home to supper, my mind being troubled about Field's business and my uncle's, which the term coming on I must think to follow again. So to prayers and to bed, and much troubled in mind this night in my dreams about my uncle Thomas and his son going to law with us. 16th. Lay long talking in bed with my wife. Up, and Mr. Battersby, the apothecary, coming to see me, I called for the cold chine of beef and made him eat, and drink wine, and talked, there being with us Captain Brewer, the paynter, who tells me how highly the Presbyters do talk in the coffeehouses still, which I wonder at. They being gone I walked two or three hours with my brother Tom, telling him my mind how it is troubled about my father's concernments, and how things would be with them all if it should please God that I should die, and therefore desire him to be a good husband and follow his business, which I hope he do. At noon to dinner, and after dinner my wife began to talk of a woman again, which I have a mind to have, and would be glad Pall might please us, but she is quite against having her, nor have I any great mind to it, but only for her good and to save money flung away upon a stranger. So to my office till 9 o'clock about my navy manuscripts, and there troubled in my mind more and more about my uncle's business from a letter come this day from my father that tells me that all his tenants are sued by my uncle, which will cost me some new trouble, I went home to supper and so to bed. 17th. Waked early with my mind troubled about our law matters, but it came into my mind that [sayings] of Epictetus, which did put me to a great deal of ease, it being a saying of great reason. Up to the office, and there sat Mr. Coventry, Mr. Pett, new come to town, and I. I was sorry for signing a bill and guiding Mr. Coventry to sign a bill to Mr. Creed for his pay as Deputy Treasurer to this day, though the service ended 5 or 6 months ago, which he perceiving did blot out his name afterwards, but I will clear myself to him from design in it. Sat till two o'clock and then home to dinner, and Creed with me, and after dinner, to put off my mind's trouble, I took Creed by coach and to the Duke's playhouse, where we did see "The Five Hours" entertainment again, which indeed is a very fine play, though, through my being out of order, it did not seem so good as at first; but I could discern it was not any fault in the play. Thence with him to the China alehouse, and there drank a bottle or two, and so home, where I found my wife and her brother discoursing about Mr. Ashwell's daughter, whom we are like to have for my wife's woman, and I hope it may do very well, seeing there is a necessity of having one. So to the office to write letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and after the barber had done, and I had spoke with Mr. Smith (whom I sent for on purpose to speak of Field's business, who stands upon L250 before he will release us, which do trouble me highly), and also Major Allen of the Victualling Office about his ship to be hired for Tangier, I went to church, and thence home to dinner alone with my wife, very pleasant, and after dinner to church again, and heard a dull, drowsy sermon, and so home and to my office, perfecting my vows again for the next year, which I have now done, and sworn to in the presence of Almighty God to observe upon the respective penalties thereto annexed, and then to Sir W. Pen's (though much against my will, for I cannot bear him, but only to keep him from complaint to others that I do not see him) to see how he do, and find him pretty well, and ready to go abroad again. 19th. Up and to White Hall, and while the Duke is dressing himself I went to wait on my Lord Sandwich, whom I found not very well, and Dr. Clerke with him. He is feverish, and hath sent for Mr. Pierce to let him blood, but not being in the way he puts it off till night, but he stirs not abroad to-day. Then to the Duke, and in his closett discoursed as we use to do, and then broke up. That done, I singled out Mr. Coventry into the Matted Gallery, and there I told him the complaints I meet every day about our Treasurer's or his people's paying no money, but at the goldsmith's shops, where they are forced to pay fifteen or twenty sometimes per cent. for their money, which is a most horrid shame, and that which must not be suffered. Nor is it likely that the Treasurer (at least his people) will suffer Maynell the Goldsmith to go away with L10,000 per annum, as he do now get, by making people pay after this manner for their money. We were interrupted by the Duke, who called Mr. Coventry aside for half an hour, walking with him in the gallery, and then in the garden, and then going away I ended my discourse with Mr. Coventry. But by the way Mr. Coventry was saying that there remained nothing now in our office to be amended but what would do of itself every day better and better, for as much as he that was slowest, Sir W. Batten, do now begin to look about him and to mind business. At which, God forgive me! I was a little moved with envy, but yet I am glad, and ought to be, though it do lessen a little my care to see that the King's service is like to be better attended than it was heretofore. Thence by coach to Mr. Povy's, being invited thither by [him] came a messenger this morning from him, where really he made a most excellent and large dinner, of their variety, even to admiration, he bidding us, in a frolique, to call for what we had a mind, and he would undertake to give it us: and we did for prawns, swan, venison, after I had thought the dinner was quite done, and he did immediately produce it, which I thought great plenty, and he seems to set off his rest in this plenty and the neatness of his house, which he after dinner showed me, from room to room, so beset with delicate pictures, and above all, a piece of perspective in his closett in the low parler; his stable, where was some most delicate horses, and the very-racks painted, and mangers, with a neat leaden painted cistern, and the walls done with Dutch tiles, like my chimnies. But still, above all things, he bid me go down into his wine-cellar, where upon several shelves there stood bottles of all sorts of wine, new and old, with labells pasted upon each bottle, and in the order and plenty as I never saw books in a bookseller's shop; and herein, I observe, he puts his highest content, and will accordingly commend all that he hath, but still they deserve to be so. Here dined with me Dr. Whore and Mr. Scawen. Therewith him and Mr. Bland, whom we met by the way, to my Lord Chancellor's, where the King was to meet my Lord Treasurer, &c., many great men, to settle the revenue of Tangier. I staid talking awhile there, but the King not coming I walked to my brother's, where I met my cozen Scotts (Tom not being at home) and sent for a glass of wine for them, and having drunk we parted, and I to the Wardrobe talking with Mr. Moore about my law businesses, which I doubt will go ill for want of time for me to attend them. So home, where I found Mrs. Lodum speaking with my wife about her kinswoman which is offered my wife to come as a woman to her. So to the office and put things in order, and then home and to bed, it being my great comfort that every day I understand more and more the pleasure of following of business and the credit that a man gets by it, which I hope at last too will end in profit. This day, by Dr. Clerke, I was told the occasion of my Lord Chesterfield's going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond's daughter) from Court. It seems he not only hath been long jealous of the Duke of York, but did find them two talking together, though there were others in the room, and the lady by all opinions a most good, virtuous woman. He, the next day (of which the Duke was warned by somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chesterfield was in the night before), went and told the Duke how much he did apprehend himself wronged, in his picking out his lady of the whole Court to be the subject of his dishonour; which the Duke did answer with great calmness, not seeming to understand the reason of complaint, and that was all that passed but my Lord did presently pack his lady into the country in Derbyshire, near the Peake; which is become a proverb at Court, to send a man's wife to the Devil's arse a' Peake, when she vexes him. This noon I did find out Mr. Dixon at Whitehall, and discoursed with him about Mrs. Wheatly's daughter for a wife for my brother Tom, and have committed it to him to enquire the pleasure of her father and mother concerning it. I demanded L300. 20th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning. Dined at home, and Mr. Deane of Woolwich with me, talking about the abuses of the yard. Then to the office about business all the afternoon with great pleasure, seeing myself observed by every body to be the only man of business of us all, but Mr. Coventry. So till late at night, and then home to supper and bed. 21st. Up early leaving my wife very ill in bed... and to my office till eight o'clock, there coming Ch. Pepys [Charles Pepys was second son of Thomas Pepys, elder brother of Samuel's father. Samuel paid part of the legacy to Charles and his elder brother Thomas on May 25th, 1664.] to demand his legacy of me, which I denied him upon good reason of his father and brother's suing us, and so he went away. Then came Commissioner Pett, and he and I by agreement went to Deptford, and after a turn or two in the yard, to Greenwich, and thence walked to Woolwich. Here we did business, and I on board the Tangier-merchant, a ship freighted by us, that has long lain on hand in her despatch to Tangier, but is now ready for sailing. Back, and dined at Mr. Ackworth's, where a pretty dinner, and she a pretty, modest woman; but above all things we saw her Rocke, which is one of the finest things done by a woman that ever I saw. I must have my wife to see it. After dinner on board the Elias, and found the timber brought by her from the forest of Deane to be exceeding good. The Captain gave each of us two barrels of pickled oysters put up for the Queen mother. So to the Dock again, and took in Mrs. Ackworth and another gentlewoman, and carried them to London, and at the Globe tavern, in Eastcheap, did give them a glass of wine, and so parted. I home, where I found my wife ill in bed all day, and her face swelled with pain. My Will has received my last two quarters salary, of which I am glad. So to my office till late and then home, and after the barber had done, to bed. 22nd. To the office, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes are come from Portsmouth. We sat till dinner time. Then home, and Mr. Dixon by agreement came to dine, to give me an account of his success with Mr. Wheatly for his daughter for my brother; and in short it is, that his daughter cannot fancy my brother because of his imperfection in his speech, which I am sorry for, but there the business must die, and we must look out for another. There came in also Mrs. Lodum, with an answer from her brother Ashwell's daughter, who is likely to come to me, and with her my wife's brother, and I carried Commissioner Pett in with me, so I feared want of victuals, but I had a good dinner, and mirth, and so rose and broke up, and with the rest of the officers to Mr. Russell's buriall, where we had wine and rings, and a great and good company of aldermen and the livery of the Skinners' Company. We went to St. Dunstan's in the East church, where a sermon, but I staid not, but went home, and, after writing letters, I took coach to Mr. Povy's, but he not within I left a letter there of Tangier business, and so to my Lord's, and there find him not sick, but expecting his fit to-night of an ague. Here was Sir W. Compton, Mr. Povy, Mr. Bland, Mr. Gawden and myself; we were very busy about getting provisions sent forthwith to Tangier, fearing that by Mr. Gawden's neglect they might want bread. So among other ways thought of to supply them I was empowered by the Commissioners of Tangier that were present to write to Plymouth and direct Mr. Lanyon to take up vessels great or small to the quantity of 150 tons, and fill them with bread of Mr. Gawden's lying ready there for Tangier, which they undertake to bear me out in, and to see the freight paid. This I did. About 10 o'clock we broke up, and my Lord's fit was coming upon him, and so we parted, and I with Mr. Creed, Mr. Pierce, Win. Howe and Captn. Ferrers, who was got almost drunk this afternoon, and was mighty capricious and ready to fall out with any body, supped together in the little chamber that was mine heretofore upon some fowls sent by Mr. Shepley, so we were very merry till 12 at night, and so away, and I lay with Mr. Creed at his lodgings, and slept well. 23rd. Up and hastened him in despatching some business relating to Tangier, and I away homewards, hearing that my Lord had a bad fit to-night, called at my brother's, and found him sick in bed, of a pain in the sole of one of his feet, without swelling, knowing not how it came, but it will not suffer him to stand these two days. So to Mr. Moore, and Mr. Lovell, our proctor, being there, discoursed of my law business. Thence to Mr. Grant, to bid him come for money for Mr. Barlow, and he and I to a coffee-house, where Sir J. Cutler was; [Citizen and grocer of London; most severely handled by Pope. Two statues were erected to his memory--one in the College of Physicians, and the other in the Grocers' Hall. They were erected and one removed (that in the College of Physicians) before Pope stigmatized "sage Cutler." Pope says that Sir John Cutler had an only daughter; in fact, he had two: one married to Lord Radnor; the other, mentioned afterwards by Pepys, the wife of Sir William Portman.--B.] and in discourse, among other things, he did fully make it out that the trade of England is as great as ever it was, only in more hands; and that of all trades there is a greater number than ever there was, by reason of men taking more 'prentices, because of their having more money than heretofore. His discourse was well worth hearing. Coming by Temple Bar I bought "Audley's Way to be Rich," a serious pamphlett and some good things worth my minding. Thence homewards, and meeting Sir W. Batten, turned back again to a coffee-house, and there drunk more till I was almost sick, and here much discourse, but little to be learned, but of a design in the north of a rising, which is discovered, among some men of condition, and they sent for up. Thence to the 'Change, and so home with him by coach, and I to see how my wife do, who is pretty well again, and so to dinner to Sir W. Batten's to a cod's head, and so to my office, and after stopping to see Sir W. Pen, where was Sir J. Lawson and his lady and daughter, which is pretty enough, I came back to my office, and there set to business pretty late, finishing the margenting my Navy-Manuscript. So home and to bed. 24th. Lay pretty long, and by lying with my sheet upon my lip, as I have of old observed it, my upper lip was blistered in the morning. To the office all the morning, sat till noon, then to the Exchange to look out for a ship for Tangier, and delivered my manuscript to be bound at the stationer's. So to dinner at home, and then down to Redriffe, to see a ship hired for Tangier, what readiness she was in, and found her ready to sail. Then home, and so by coach to Mr. Povy's, where Sir W. Compton, Mr. Bland, Gawden, Sir J. Lawson and myself met to settle the victualling of Tangier for the time past, which with much ado we did, and for a six months' supply more. So home in Mr. Gawden's coach, and to my office till late about business, and find that it is business that must and do every day bring me to something.--[In earlier days Pepys noted for us each few pounds or shillings of graft which he annexed at each transaction in his office.]--So home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). Lay till 9 a-bed, then up, and being trimmed by the barber, I walked towards White Hall, calling upon Mr. Moore, whom I found still very ill of his ague. I discoursed with him about my Lord's estate against I speak with my Lord this day. Thence to the King's Head ordinary at Charing Cross, and sent for Mr. Creed, where we dined very finely and good company, good discourse. I understand the King of France is upon consulting his divines upon the old question, what the power of the Pope is? and do intend to make war against him, unless he do right him for the wrong his Embassador received; [On the 20th of August, the Duc de Crequi, then French ambassador at Rome, was insulted by the Corsican armed police, a force whose ignoble duty it was to assist the Sbirri; and the pope, Alexander VII., at first refused reparation for the affront offered to the French. Louis, as in the case of D'Estrades, took prompt measures. He ordered the papal nuncio forthwith to quit France; he seized upon Avignon, and his army prepared to enter Italy. Alexander found it necessary to submit. In fulfilment of a treaty signed at Pisa in 1664, Cardinal Chigi, the pope's nephew, came to Paris, to tender the pope's apology to Louis. The guilty individuals were punished; the Corsicans banished for ever from the Roman States; and in front of the guard-house which they had occupied a pyramid was erected, bearing an inscription which embodied the pope's apology. This pyramid Louis permitted Clement IX. to destroy on his accession.-B.] and banish the Cardinall Imperiall, [Lorenzo Imperiali, of Genoa. He had been appointed Governor of Rome by Innocent X., and he had acted in that capacity at the time of the tumult.--B.] which I understand this day is not meant the Cardinall belonging or chosen by the Emperor, but the name of his family is Imperiali. Thence to walk in the Park, which we did two hours, it being a pleasant sunshine day though cold. Our discourse upon the rise of most men that we know, and observing them to be the results of chance, not policy, in any of them, particularly Sir J. Lawson's, from his declaring against Charles Stuart in the river of Thames, and for the Rump. Thence to my Lord, who had his ague fit last night, but is now pretty well, and I staid talking with him an hour alone in his chamber, about sundry publique and private matters. Among others, he wonders what the project should be of the Duke's going down to Portsmouth just now with his Lady, at this time of the year: it being no way, we think, to increase his popularity, which is not great; nor yet safe to do it, for that reason, if it would have any such effect. By and by comes in my Lady Wright, and so I went away, end after talking with Captn. Ferrers, who tells me of my Lady Castlemaine's and Sir Charles Barkeley being the great favourites at Court, and growing every day more and more; and that upon a late dispute between my Lord Chesterfield, that is the Queen's Lord Chamberlain, and Mr. Edward Montagu, her Master of the Horse, who should have the precedence in taking the Queen's upperhand abroad out of the house, which Mr. Montagu challenges, it was given to my Lord Chesterfield. So that I perceive he goes down the wind in honour as well as every thing else, every day. So walk to my brother's and talked with him, who tells me that this day a messenger is come, that tells us how Collonel Honiwood, who was well yesterday at Canterbury, was flung by his horse in getting up, and broke his scull, and so is dead. So home and to the office, despatching some business, and so home to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. 26th. Up and by water with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, drinking a glass of wormewood wine at the Stillyard, and so up to the Duke, and with the rest of the officers did our common service; thence to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was in bed, and had a bad fit last night, and so I went to, Westminster Hall, it being Term time, it troubling me to think that I should have any business there to trouble myself and thoughts with. Here I met with Monsieur Raby, who is lately come from France. [He] tells me that my Lord Hinchingbroke and his brother do little improve there, and are much neglected in their habits and other things; but I do believe he hath a mind to go over as their tutour, and so I am not apt to believe what he says therein. But I had a great deal of very good discourse with him, concerning the difference between the French and the Pope, and the occasion, which he told me very particularly, and to my great content; and of most of the chief affairs of France, which I did enquire: and that the King is a most excellent Prince, doing all business himself; and that it is true he hath a mistress, Mademoiselle La Valiere, one of the Princess Henriette's women, that he courts for his pleasure every other day, but not so as to make him neglect his publique affairs. He tells me how the King do carry himself nobly to the relations of the dead Cardinall,--[Cardinal Mazarin died March 9th, 1661.]--and will not suffer one pasquill to come forth against him; and that he acts by what directions he received from him before his death. Having discoursed long with him, I took him by coach and set him down at my Lord Crew's, and myself went and dined at Mr. Povy's, where Orlando Massam, Mr. Wilks, a Wardrobe man, myself and Mr. Gawden, and had just such another dinner as I had the other day there. But above all things I do the most admire his piece of perspective especially, he opening me the closett door, and there I saw that there is nothing but only a plain picture hung upon the wall. After dinner Mr. Gauden and I to settle the business of the Tangier victualling, which I perceive none of them yet have hitherto understood but myself. Thence by coach to White Hall, and met upon the Tangier Commission, our greatest business the discoursing of getting things ready for my Lord Rutherford to go about the middle of March next, and a proposal of Sir J. Lawson's and Mr. Cholmely's concerning undertaking the Mole, which is referred to another time. So by coach home, being melancholy, overcharged with business, and methinks I fear that I have some ill offices done to Mr. Coventry, or else he observes that of late I have not despatched business so as I did use to do, which I confess I do acknowledge. But it may be it is but my fear only, he is not so fond as he used to be of me. But I do believe that Sir W. Batten has made him believe that I do too much crow upon having his kindness, and so he may on purpose to countenance him seem a little more strange to me, but I will study hard to bring him back again to the same degree of kindness. So home, and after a little talk with my wife, to the office, and did a great deal of business there till very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up and to the office, where sat till two o'clock, and then home to dinner, whither by and by comes Mr. Creed, and he and I talked of our Tangier business, and do find that there is nothing in the world done with true integrity, but there is design along with it, as in my Lord Rutherford, who designs to have the profit of victualling of the garrison himself, and others to have the benefit of making the Mole, so that I am almost discouraged from coming any more to the Committee, were it not that it will possibly hereafter bring me to some acquaintance of great men. Then to the office again, where very busy till past ten at night, and so home to supper and to bed. I have news this day from Cambridge that my brother hath had his bachelor's cap put on; but that which troubles me is, that he hath the pain of the stone, and makes bloody water with great pain, it beginning just as mine did. I pray God help him. 28th. Up and all the morning at my office doing business, and at home seeing my painters' work measured. So to dinner and abroad with my wife, carrying her to Unthank's, where she alights, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, whom I find missing his ague fit to-day, and is pretty well, playing at dice (and by this I see how time and example may alter a man; he being now acquainted with all sorts of pleasures and vanities, which heretofore he never thought of nor loved, nor, it may be, hath allowed) with Ned Pickering and his page Laud. Thence to the Temple to my cozen Roger Pepys, and thence to Serjt. Bernard to advise with him and retain him against my uncle, my heart and head being very heavy with the business. Thence to Wotton's, the shoemaker, and there bought another pair of new boots, for the other I bought my last would not fit me, and here I drank with him and his wife, a pretty woman, they broaching a vessel of syder a-purpose for me. So home, and there found my wife come home, and seeming to cry; for bringing home in a coach her new ferrandin [Ferrandin, which was sometimes spelt farendon, was a stuff made of silk mixed with some other material, like what is now called poplin. Both mohair and farendon are generally cheap materials; for in the case of Manby v. Scott, decided in the Exchequer Chamber in 1663, and reported in the first volume of "Modern Reports," the question being as to the liability of a husband to pay for goods supplied against his consent to his wife, who had separated from him, Mr. Justice Hyde (whose judgment is most amusing) observes, in putting various supposed cases, that "The wife will have a velvet gown and a satin petticoat, and the husband thinks a mohair or farendon for a gown, and watered tabby for a petticoat, is as fashionable, and fitter for her quality."--B.] waistecoate, in Cheapside, a man asked her whether that was the way to the Tower; and while she was answering him, another, on the other side, snatched away her bundle out of her lap, and could not be recovered, but ran away with it, which vexes me cruelly, but it cannot be helped. So to my office, and there till almost 12 at night with Mr. Lewes, learning to understand the manner of a purser's account, which is very hard and little understood by my fellow officers, and yet mighty necessary. So at last with great content broke up and home to supper and bed. 29th. Lay chiding, and then pleased with my wife in bed, and did consent to her having a new waistcoate made her for that which she lost yesterday. So to the office, and sat all the morning. At noon dined with Mr. Coventry at Sir J. Minnes his lodgings, the first time that ever I did yet, and am sorry for doing it now, because of obliging me to do the like to him again. Here dined old Captn. Marsh of the Tower with us. So to visit Sir W. Pen, and then to the office, and there late upon business by myself, my wife being sick to-day. So home and to supper and to bed. 30th. A solemn fast for the King's murther, and we were forced to keep it more than we would have done, having forgot to take any victuals into the house. I to church in the forenoon, and Mr. Mills made a good sermon upon David's heart smiting him for cutting off the garment of Saul. [Samuel, chap. xxiv. v. 5, "And it came to pass afterward, that David's heart smote him, because he had cut off Saul's skirt."] Home, and whiled away some of the afternoon at home talking with my wife. So to my office, and all alone making up my month's accounts, which to my great trouble I find that I am got no further than L640. But I have had great expenses this month. I pray God the next may be a little better, as I hope it will. In the evening my manuscript is brought home handsomely bound, to my full content; and now I think I have a better collection in reference to the Navy, and shall have by the time I have filled it, than any of my predecessors. So home and eat something such as we have, bread and butter and milk, and so to bed. 31st. Up and to my office, and there we sat till noon. I home to dinner, and there found my plate of the Soverayne with the table to it come from Mr. Christopher Pett, of which I am very glad. So to dinner late, and not very good, only a rabbit not half roasted, which made me angry with my wife. So to the office, and there till late, busy all the while. In the evening examining my wife's letter intended to my Lady, and another to Mademoiselle; they were so false spelt that I was ashamed of them, and took occasion to fall out about them with my wife, and so she wrote none, at which, however, I was, sorry, because it was in answer to a letter of Madam about business. Late home to supper and to bed. FEBRUARY 1662-1663 February 1st (Lord's day). Up and to church, where Mr. Mills, a good sermon, and so home and had a good dinner with my wife, with which I was pleased to see it neatly done, and this troubled me to think of parting with Jane, that is come to be a very good cook. After dinner walked to my Lord Sandwich, and staid with him in the chamber talking almost all the afternoon, he being not yet got abroad since his sickness. Many discourses we had; but, among others, how Sir R. Bernard is turned out of his Recordership of Huntingdon by the Commissioners for Regulation, &c., at which I am troubled, because he, thinking it is done by my Lord Sandwich, will act some of his revenge, it is likely, upon me in my business, so that I must cast about me to get some other counsel to rely upon. In the evening came Mr. Povey and others to see my Lord, and they gone, my Lord and I and Povey fell to the business of Tangier, as to the victualling, and so broke up, and I, it being a fine frost, my boy lighting me I walked home, and after supper up to prayers, and then alone with my wife and Jane did fall to tell her what I did expect would become of her since, after so long being my servant, she had carried herself so as to make us be willing to put her away, and desired God to bless [her], but bid her never to let me hear what became of her, for that I could never pardon ingratitude. So I to bed, my mind much troubled for the poor girl that she leaves us, and yet she not submitting herself, for some words she spoke boldly and yet I believe innocently and out of familiarity to her mistress about us weeks ago, I could not recall my words that she should stay with me. This day Creed and I walking in White Hall garden did see the King coming privately from my Lady Castlemaine's; which is a poor thing for a Prince to do; and I expressed my sense of it to Creed in terms which I should not have done, but that I believe he is trusty in that point. 2nd. Up, and after paying Jane her wages, I went away, because I could hardly forbear weeping, and she cried, saying it was not her fault that she went away, and indeed it is hard to say what it is, but only her not desiring to stay that she do now go. By coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to the Duke; and after discourse as usual with him in his closett, I went to my Lord's: the King and Duke being gone to chappell, it being collar-day, it being Candlemas-day; where I staid with him a while until towards noon, there being Jonas Moore talking about some mathematical businesses, and thence I walked at noon to Mr. Povey's, where Mr. Gawden met me, and after a neat and plenteous dinner as is usual, we fell to our victualling business, till Mr. Gawden and I did almost fall out, he defending himself in the readiness of his provision, when I know that the ships everywhere stay for them. Thence Mr. Povey and I walked to White Hall, it being a great frost still, and after a turn in the Park seeing them slide, we met at the Committee for Tangier, a good full Committee, and agreed how to proceed in the dispatching of my Lord Rutherford, and treating about this business of Mr. Cholmely and Sir J. Lawson's proposal for the Mole. Thence with Mr. Coventry down to his chamber, where among other discourse he did tell me how he did make it not only his desire, but as his greatest pleasure, to make himself an interest by doing business truly and justly, though he thwarts others greater than himself, not striving to make himself friends by addresses; and by this he thinks and observes he do live as contentedly (now he finds himself secured from fear of want), and, take one time with another, as void of fear or cares, or more, than they that (as his own termes were) have quicker pleasures and sharper agonies than he. Thence walking with Mr. Creed homewards we turned into a house and drank a cup of Cock ale and so parted, and I to the Temple, where at my cozen Roger's chamber I met Madam Turner, and after a little stay led her home and there left her, she and her daughter having been at the play to-day at the Temple, it being a revelling time with them. [The revels were held in the Inner Temple Hall. The last revel in any of the Inns of Court was held in the Inner Temple in 1733.] Thence called at my brother's, who is at church, at the buriall of young Cumberland, a lusty young man. So home and there found Jane gone, for which my wife and I are very much troubled, and myself could hardly forbear shedding tears for fear the poor wench should come to any ill condition after her being so long with me. So to my office and setting papers to rights, and then home to supper and to bed. This day at my Lord's I sent for Mr. Ashwell, and his wife came to me, and by discourse I perceive their daughter is very fit for my turn if my family may be as much for hers, but I doubt it will be to her loss to come to me for so small wages, but that will be considered of. 3rd. To the office all the morning, at noon to dinner, where Mr. Creed dined with me, and Mr. Ashwell, with whom after dinner I discoursed concerning his daughter coming to live with us. I find that his daughter will be very fit, I think, as any for our turn, but the conditions I know not what they will be, he leaving it wholly to her, which will be agreed on a while hence when my wife sees her. After an hour's discourse after dinner with them, I to my office again, and there about business of the office till late, and then home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up early and to Mr. Moore, and thence to Mr. Lovell about my law business, and from him to Paul's School, it being Apposition-day there. I heard some of their speeches, and they were just as schoolboys' used to be, of the seven liberal sciences; but I think not so good as ours were in our time. Away thence and to Bow Church, to the Court of Arches, where a judge sits, and his proctors about him in their habits, and their pleadings all in Latin. Here I was sworn to give a true answer to my uncle's libells, and so paid my fee for swearing, and back again to Paul's School, and went up to see the head forms posed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but I think they did not answer in any so well as we did, only in geography they did pretty well: Dr. Wilkins and Outram were examiners. So down to the school, where Dr. Crumlum did me much honour by telling many what a present I had made to the school, shewing my Stephanus, in four volumes, cost me L4 10s. He also shewed us, upon my desire, an old edition of the grammar of Colett's, where his epistle to the children is very pretty; and in rehearsing the creed it is said "borne of the cleane Virgin Mary." Thence with Mr. Elborough (he being all of my old acquaintance that I could meet with here) to a cook's shop to dinner, but I found him a fool, as he ever was, or worse. Thence to my cozen Roger Pepys and Mr. Phillips about my law businesses, which stand very bad, and so home to the office, where after doing some business I went home, where I found our new mayde Mary, that is come in Jane's place. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, and found it so well done, above what I did expect from my mayde Susan, now Jane is gone, that I did call her in and give her sixpence. Thence walked to the Temple, and there at my cozen Roger Pepys's chamber met by appointment with my uncle Thomas and his son Thomas, and there I shewing them a true state of my uncle's estate as he has left it with the debts, &c., lying upon it, we did come to some quiett talk and fair offers against an agreement on both sides, though I do offer quite to the losing of the profit of the whole estate for 8 or 10 years together, yet if we can gain peace, and set my mind at a little liberty, I shall be glad of it. I did give them a copy of this state, and we are to meet tomorrow with their answer. So walked home, it being a very great frost still, and to my office, there late writing letters of office business, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up and to my office about business, examining people what they could swear against Field, and the whole is, that he has called us cheating rogues and cheating knaves, for which we hope to be even with him. Thence to Lincoln's Inn Fields; and it being too soon to go to dinner, I walked up and down, and looked upon the outside of the new theatre, now a-building in Covent Garden, which will be very fine. And so to a bookseller's in the Strand, and there bought Hudibras again, it being certainly some ill humour to be so against that which all the world cries up to be the example of wit; for which I am resolved once again to read him, and see whether I can find it or no. So to Mr. Povy's, and there found them at dinner, and dined there, there being, among others, Mr. Williamson, Latin Secretary, who, I perceive, is a pretty knowing man and a scholler, but, it may be, thinks himself to be too much so. Thence, after dinner, to the Temple, to my cozen Roger Pepys, where met us my uncle Thomas and his son; and, after many high demands, we at last came to a kind of agreement upon very hard terms, which are to be prepared in writing against Tuesday next. But by the way promising them to pay my cozen Mary's' legacys at the time of her marriage, they afterwards told me that she was already married, and married very well, so that I must be forced to pay it in some time. My cozen Roger was so sensible of our coming to agreement that he could not forbear weeping, and, indeed, though it is very hard, yet I am glad to my heart that we are like to end our trouble. So we parted for to-night, and I to my Lord Sandwich and there staid, there being a Committee to sit upon the contract for the Mole, which I dare say none of us that were there understood, but yet they agreed of things as Mr. Cholmely and Sir J. Lawson demanded, who are the undertakers, and so I left them to go on to agree, for I understood it not. So home, and being called by a coachman who had a fare in him, he carried me beyond the Old Exchange, and there set down his fare, who would not pay him what was his due, because he carried a stranger with him, and so after wrangling he was fain to be content with 6d., and being vexed the coachman would not carry me home a great while, but set me down there for the other 6d., but with fair words he was willing to it, and so I came home and to my office, setting business in order, and so to supper and to bed, my mind being in disorder as to the greatness of this day's business that I have done, but yet glad that my trouble therein is like to be over. 7th. Up and to my office, whither by agreement Mr. Coventry came before the time of sitting to confer about preparing an account of the extraordinary charge of the Navy since the King's coming, more than is properly to be applied and called the Navy charge. So by and by we sat, and so till noon. Then home to dinner, and in the afternoon some of us met again upon something relating to the victualling, and thence to my writing of letters late, and making my Alphabet to my new Navy book very pretty. And so after writing to my father by the post about the endeavour to come to a composition with my uncle, though a very bad one, desiring him to be contented therewith, I went home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and it being a very great frost, I walked to White Hall, and to my Lord Sandwich's by the fireside till chapel time, and so to chappell, where there preached little Dr. Duport, of Cambridge, upon Josiah's words,--"But I and my house, we will serve the Lord." But though a great scholler, he made the most flat dead sermon, both for matter and manner of delivery, that ever I heard, and very long beyond his hour, which made it worse. Thence with Mr. Creed to the King's Head ordinary, where we dined well, and after dinner Sir Thomas Willis and another stranger, and Creed and I, fell a-talking; they of the errours and corruption of the Navy, and great expence thereof, not knowing who I was, which at last I did undertake to confute, and disabuse them: and they took it very well, and I hope it was to good purpose, they being Parliament-men. By and by to my Lord's, and with him a good while talking upon his want of money, and ways of his borrowing some, &c., and then by other visitants, I withdrew and away, Creed and I and Captn. Ferrers to the Park, and there walked finely, seeing people slide, we talking all the while; and Captn. Ferrers telling me, among other Court passages, how about a month ago, at a ball at Court, a child was dropped by one of the ladies in dancing, but nobody knew who, it being taken up by somebody in their handkercher. The next morning all the Ladies of Honour appeared early at Court for their vindication, so that nobody could tell whose this mischance should be. But it seems Mrs. Wells [Winifred Wells, maid of honour to the Queen, who figures in the "Grammont Memoirs." The king is supposed to have been father of the child. A similar adventure is told of Mary Kirke (afterwards married to Sir Thomas Vernon), who figures in the "Grammont Memoirs" as Miss Warmestre.] fell sick that afternoon, and hath disappeared ever since, so that it is concluded that it was her. Another story was how my Lady Castlemaine, a few days since, had Mrs. Stuart to an entertainment, and at night began a frolique that they two must be married, and married they were, with ring and all other ceremonies of church service, and ribbands and a sack posset in bed, and flinging the stocking; but in the close, it is said that my Lady Castlemaine, who was the bridegroom, rose, and the King came and took her place with pretty Mrs. Stuart. This is said to be very true. Another story was how Captain Ferrers and W. Howe both have often, through my Lady Castlemaine's window, seen her go to bed and Sir Charles Barkeley in the chamber all the while with her. But the other day Captn. Ferrers going to Sir Charles to excuse his not being so timely at his arms the other day, Sir Charles swearing and cursing told him before a great many other gentlemen that he would not suffer any man of the King's Guards to be absent from his lodging a night without leave. Not but that, says he, once a week or so I know a gentleman must go..., and I am not for denying it to any man, but however he shall be bound to ask leave to lie abroad, and to give account of his absence, that we may know what guard the King has to depend upon. The little Duke of Monmouth, it seems, is ordered to take place of all Dukes, and so to follow Prince Rupert now, before the Duke of Buckingham, or any else. Whether the wind and the cold did cause it or no I know not, but having been this day or two mightily troubled with an itching all over my body' which I took to be a louse or two that might bite me, I found this afternoon that all my body is inflamed, and my face in a sad redness and swelling and pimpled, so that I was before we had done walking not only sick but ashamed of myself to see myself so changed in my countenance, so that after we had thus talked we parted and I walked home with much ado (Captn. Ferrers with me as far as Ludgate Hill towards Mr. Moore at the Wardrobe), the ways being so full of ice and water by peoples' trampling. At last got home and to bed presently, and had a very bad night of it, in great pain in my stomach, and in great fever. 9th. Could not rise and go to the Duke, as I should have done with the rest, but keep my bed and by the Apothecary's advice, Mr. Battersby, I am to sweat soundly, and that will carry all this matter away which nature would of itself eject, but they will assist nature, it being some disorder given the blood, but by what I know not, unless it be by my late quantitys of Dantzic-girkins that I have eaten. In the evening came Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to see me, and Sir J. Minnes advises me to the same thing, but would not have me take anything from the apothecary, but from him, his Venice treacle being better than the others, which I did consent to and did anon take and fell into a great sweat, and about 10 or 11 o'clock came out of it and shifted myself, and slept pretty well alone, my wife lying in the red chamber above. 10th. In the morning most of my disease, that is, itching and pimples, were gone. In the morning visited by Mr. Coventry and others, and very glad I am to see that I am so much inquired after and my sickness taken notice of as I did. I keep my bed all day and sweat again at night, by which I expect to be very well to-morrow. This evening Sir W. Warren came himself to the door and left a letter and box for me, and went his way. His letter mentions his giving me and my wife a pair of gloves; but, opening the box, we found a pair of plain white gloves for my hand, and a fair state dish of silver, and cup, with my arms, ready cut upon them, worth, I believe, about L18, which is a very noble present, and the best I ever had yet. So after some contentful talk with my wife, she to bed and I to rest. 11th. Took a clyster in the morning and rose in the afternoon. My wife and I dined on a pullet and I eat heartily, having eat nothing since Sunday but water gruel and posset drink, but must needs say that our new maid Mary has played her part very well in her readiness and discretion in attending me, of which I am very glad. In the afternoon several people came to see me, my uncle Thomas, Mr. Creed, Sir J. Minnes (who has been, God knows to what end, mighty kind to me and careful of me in my sickness). At night my wife read Sir H. Vane's tryall to me, which she began last night, and I find it a very excellent thing, worth reading, and him to have been a very wise man. So to supper and to bed. 12th. Up and find myself pretty well, and so to the office, and there all the morning. Rose at noon and home to dinner in my green chamber, having a good fire. Thither there came my wife's brother and brought Mary Ashwell with him, whom we find a very likely person to please us, both for person, discourse, and other qualitys. She dined with us, and after dinner went away again, being agreed to come to us about three weeks or a month hence. My wife and I well pleased with our choice, only I pray God I may be able to maintain it. Then came an old man from Mr. Povy, to give me some advice about his experience in the stone, which I [am] beholden to him for, and was well pleased with it, his chief remedy being Castle soap in a posset. Then in the evening to the office, late writing letters and my Journall since Saturday, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th. Lay very long with my wife in bed talking with great pleasure, and then rose. This morning Mr. Cole, our timber merchant, sent me five couple of ducks. Our maid Susan is very ill, and so the whole trouble of the house lies upon our maid Mary, who do it very contentedly and mighty well, but I am sorry she is forced to it. Dined upon one couple of ducks to-day, and after dinner my wife and I by coach to Tom's, and I to the Temple to discourse with my cozen Roger Pepys about my law business, and so back again, it being a monstrous thaw after the long great frost, so that there is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that. Took my wife home, and I to my office. Find myself pretty well but fearful of cold, and so to my office, where late upon business; Mr. Bland sitting with me, talking of my Lord Windsor's being come home from Jamaica, unlooked-for; which makes us think that these young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad, though it is said that he could not have his health there, but hath razed a fort of the King of Spain upon Cuba, which is considerable, or said to be so, for his honour. So home to supper and to bed. This day I bought the second part of Dr. Bates's Elenchus, which reaches to the fall of Richard, and no further, for which I am sorry. This evening my wife had a great mind to choose Valentines against to-morrow, I Mrs. Clerke, or Pierce, she Mr. Hunt or Captain Ferrers, but I would not because of getting charge both to me for mine and to them for her, which did not please her. 14th. Up and to my office, where we met and sate all the morning, only Mr. Coventry, which I think is the first or second time he has missed since he came to the office, was forced to be absent. So home to dinner, my wife and I upon a couple of ducks, and then by coach to the Temple, where my uncle Thomas, and his sons both, and I, did meet at my cozen Roger's and there sign and seal to an agreement. Wherein I was displeased at nothing but my cozen Roger's insisting upon my being obliged to settle upon them as the will do all my uncle's estate that he has left, without power of selling any for the payment of debts, but I would not yield to it without leave of selling, my Lord Sandwich himself and my cozen Thos. Pepys being judges of the necessity thereof, which was done. One thing more that troubles me was my being forced to promise to give half of what personal estate could be found more than L372, which I reported to them, which though I do not know it to be less than what we really have found, yet he would have been glad to have been at liberty for that, but at last I did agree to it under my own handwriting on the backside of the report I did make and did give them of the estate, and have taken a copy of it upon the backside of one that I have. All being done I took the father and his son Thos. home by coach, and did pay them L30, the arrears of the father's annuity, and with great seeming love parted, and I presently to bed, my head akeing mightily with the hot dispute I did hold with my cozen Roger and them in the business. 15th (Lord's day). This morning my wife did wake me being frighted with the noise I made in my sleep, being a dream that one of our sea maisters did desire to see the St. John's Isle of my drawing, which methought I showed him, but methought he did handle it so hard that it put me to very horrid pain.... Which what a strange extravagant dream it was. So to sleep again and lay long in bed, and then trimmed by the barber, and so sending Will to church, myself staid at home, hanging up in my green chamber my picture of the Soveraigne, and putting some things in order there. So to dinner, to three more ducks and two teals, my wife and I. Then to Church, where a dull sermon, and so home, and after walking about the house awhile discoursing with my wife, I to my office there to set down something and to prepare businesses for tomorrow, having in the morning read over my vows, which through sicknesse I could not do the last Lord's day, and not through forgetfulness or negligence, so that I hope it is no breach of my vow not to pay my forfeiture. So home, and after prayers to bed, talking long with my wife and teaching her things in astronomy. 16th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and, after we had done our usual business with the Duke, to my Lord Sandwich and by his desire to Sir W. Wheeler, who was brought down in a sedan chair from his chamber, being lame of the gout, to borrow L1000 of him for my Lord's occasions, but he gave me a very kind denial that he could not, but if any body else would, he would be bond with my Lord for it. So to Westminster Hall, and there find great expectation what the Parliament will do, when they come two days hence to sit again, in matters of religion. The great question is, whether the Presbyters will be contented to have the Papists have the same liberty of conscience with them, or no, or rather be denied it themselves: and the Papists, I hear, are very busy designing how to make the Presbyters consent to take their liberty, and to let them have the same with them, which some are apt to think they will. It seems a priest was taken in his vests officiating somewhere in Holborn the other day, and was committed by Secretary Morris, according to law; and they say the Bishop of London did give him thanks for it. Thence to my Lord Crew's and dined there, there being much company, and the above-said matter is now the present publique discourse. Thence about several businesses to Mr. Phillips my attorney, to stop all proceedings at law, and so to the Temple, where at the Solicitor General's I found Mr. Cholmely and Creed reading to him the agreement for him to put into form about the contract for the Mole at Tangier, which is done at 13s. the Cubical yard, though upon my conscience not one of the Committee, besides the parties concerned, do understand what they do therein, whether they give too much or too little. Thence with Mr. Creed to see Mr. Moore, who continues sick still, within doors, and here I staid a good while after him talking of all the things either business or no that came into my mind, and so home and to see Sir W. Pen, and sat and played at cards with him, his daughter, and Mrs. Rooth, and so to my office a while, and then home and to bed. 17th. Up and to my office, and there we sat all the morning, and at noon my wife being gone to Chelsey with her brother and sister and Mrs. Lodum, to see the wassell at the school, where Mary Ashwell is, I took home Mr. Pett and he dined with me all alone, and much discourse we had upon the business of the office, and so after dinner broke up and with much ado, it raining hard, which it has not done a great while now, but only frost a great while, I got a coach and so to the Temple, where discoursed with Mr. W. Montagu about borrowing some money for my Lord, and so by water (where I have not been a good while through cold) to Westminster to Sir W. Wheeler's, whom I found busy at his own house with the Commissioners of Sewers, but I spoke to him about my Lord's business of borrowing money, and so to my Lord of Sandwich, to give him an account of all, whom I found at cards with Pickering; but he made an end soon: and so all alone, he and I, after I had given him an account, he told me he had a great secret to tell me, such as no flesh knew but himself, nor ought; which was this: that yesterday morning Eschar, Mr. Edward Montagu's man, did come to him from his master with some of the Clerks of the Exchequer, for my Lord to sign to their books for the Embassy money; which my Lord very civilly desired not to do till he had spoke with his master himself. In the afternoon, my Lord and my Lady Wright being at cards in his chamber, in comes Mr. Montagu; and desiring to speak with my Lord at the window in his chamber, he begun to charge my Lord with the greatest ingratitude in the world: that he that had received his earldom, garter, L4000 per annum, and whatever he is in the world, from him, should now study him all the dishonour that he could; and so fell to tell my Lord, that if he should speak all that he knew of him, he could do so and so. In a word, he did rip up all that could be said that was unworthy, and in the basest terms they could be spoken in. To which my Lord answered with great temper, justifying himself, but endeavouring to lessen his heat, which was a strange temper in him, knowing that he did owe all he hath in the world to my Lord, and that he is now all that he is by his means and favour. But my Lord did forbear to increase the quarrel, knowing that it would be to no good purpose for the world to see a difference in the family; but did allay him so as that he fell to weeping. And after much talk (among other things Mr. Montagu telling him that there was a fellow in the town, naming me, that had done ill offices, and that if he knew it to be so, he would have him cudgelled) my Lord did promise him that, if upon account he saw that there was not many tradesmen unpaid, he would sign the books; but if there was, he could not bear with taking too great a debt upon him. So this day he sent him an account, and a letter assuring him there was not above L200 unpaid; and so my Lord did sign to the Exchequer books. Upon the whole, I understand fully what a rogue he is, and how my Lord do think and will think of him for the future; telling me that thus he has served his father my Lord Manchester, and his whole family, and now himself: and which is worst, that he hath abused, and in speeches every day do abuse, my Lord Chancellor, whose favour he hath lost; and hath no friend but Sir H. Bennet, and that (I knowing the rise of the friendship) only from the likeness of their pleasures, and acquaintance, and concernments, they have in the same matters of lust and baseness; for which, God forgive them! But he do flatter himself, from promises of Sir H. Bennet, that he shall have a pension of L2000 per annum, and be made an Earl. My Lord told me he expected a challenge from him, but told me there was no great fear of him, for there was no man lies under such an imputation as he do in the business of Mr. Cholmely, who, though a simple sorry fellow, do brave him and struts before him with the Queen, to the sport and observation of the whole Court. He did keep my Lord at the window, thus reviling and braving him above an hour, my Lady Wright being by; but my Lord tells me she could not hear every word, but did well know what their discourse was; she could hear enough to know that. So that he commands me to keep it as the greatest secret in the world, and bids me beware of speaking words against Mr. Montagu, for fear I should suffer by his passion thereby. After he had told me this I took coach and home, where I found my wife come home and in bed with her sister in law in the chamber with her, she not being able to stay to see the wassel, being so ill..., which I was sorry for. Hither we sent for her sister's viall, upon which she plays pretty well for a girl, but my expectation is much deceived in her, not only for that, but in her spirit, she being I perceive a very subtle witty jade, and one that will give her husband trouble enough as little as she is, whereas I took her heretofore for a very child and a simple fool. I played also, which I have not done this long time before upon any instrument, and at last broke up and I to my office a little while, being fearful of being too much taken with musique, for fear of returning to my old dotage thereon, and so neglect my business as I used to do. Then home and to bed. Coming home I brought Mr. Pickering as far as the Temple, who tells me the story is very true of a child being dropped at the ball at Court; and that the King had it in his closett a week after, and did dissect it; and making great sport of it, said that in his opinion it must have been a month and three hours old; and that, whatever others think, he hath the greatest loss (it being a boy, as he says), that hath lost a subject by the business. He tells me, too, that the other story, of my Lady Castlemaine's and Stuart's marriage, is certain, and that it was in order to the King's coming to Stuart, as is believed generally. He tells me that Sir H. Bennet is a Catholique, and how all the Court almost is changed to the worse since his coming in, they being afeard of him. And that the Queen-Mother's Court is now the greatest of all; and that our own Queen hath little or no company come to her, which I know also to be very true, and am sorry to see it. 18th. Up, leaving my wife sick as last night in bed. I to my office all the morning, casting up with Captain Cocke their accounts of 500 tons of hemp brought from Riga, and bought by him and partners upon account, wherein are many things worth my knowledge. So at noon to dinner, taking Mr. Hater with me because of losing them, and in the afternoon he and I alone at the office, finishing our account of the extra charge of the Navy, not properly belonging to the Navy, since the King's coming in to Christmas last; and all extra things being abated, I find that the true charge of the Navy to that time hath been after the rate of L374,743 a-year. I made an end by eleven o'clock at night, and so home to bed almost weary. This day the Parliament met again, after their long prorogation; but I know not any thing what they have done, being within doors all day. 19th. Up and to my office, where abundance of business all the morning. Dined by my wife's bedside, she not being yet well. We fell out almost upon my discourse of delaying the having of Ashwell, where my wife believing that I have a mind to have Pall, which I have not, though I could wish she did deserve to be had. So to my office, where by and by we sat, this afternoon being the first we have met upon a great while, our times being changed because of the parliament sitting. Being rose, I to my office till twelve at night, drawing out copies of the overcharge of the Navy, one to send to Mr. Coventry early to-morrow. So home and to bed, being weary, sleepy, and my eyes begin to fail me, looking so long by candlelight upon white paper. This day I read the King's speech to the Parliament yesterday; which is very short, and not very obliging; but only telling them his desire to have a power of indulging tender consciences, not that he will yield to have any mixture in the uniformity of the Church's discipline; and says the same for the Papists, but declares against their ever being admitted to have any offices or places of trust in the kingdom; but, God knows, too many have. 20th. Up and by water with Commissioner Pett to Deptford, and there looked over the yard, and had a call, wherein I am very highly pleased with our new manner of call-books, being my invention. Thence thinking to have gone down to Woolwich in the Charles pleasure boat, but she run aground, it being almost low water, and so by oars to the town, and there dined, and then to the yard at Mr. Ackworth's, discoursing with the officers of the yard about their stores of masts, which was our chief business, and having done something therein, took boat and to the pleasure boat, which was come down to fetch us back, and I could have been sick if I would in going, the wind being very fresh, but very pleasant it was, and the first time I have sailed in any one of them. It carried us to Cuckold's Point, and so by oars to the Temple, it raining hard, where missed speaking with my cosen Roger, and so walked home and to my office; there spent the night till bed time, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes (most of the rest being at the Parliament-house), all the morning answering petitions and other business. Towards noon there comes a man in as if upon ordinary business, and shows me a writ from the Exchequer, called a Commission of Rebellion, and tells me that I am his prisoner in Field's business; which methought did strike me to the heart, to think that we could not sit in the middle of the King's business. I told him how and where we were employed, and bid him have a care; and perceiving that we were busy, he said he would, and did withdraw for an hour: in which time Sir J. Minnes took coach and to Court, to see what he could do from thence; and our solicitor against Field came by chance and told me that he would go and satisfy the fees of the Court, and would end the business. So he went away about that, and I staid in my closett, till by and by the man and four more of his fellows came to know what I would do; I told them stay till I heard from the King or my Lord Chief Baron, to both whom I had now sent. With that they consulted, and told me that if I would promise to stay in the house they would go and refresh themselves, and come again, and know what answer I had: so they away, and I home to dinner, whither by chance comes Mr. Hawley and dined with me. Before I had dined, the bayleys come back again with the constable, and at the office knock for me, but found me not there; and I hearing in what manner they were come, did forbear letting them know where I was; so they stood knocking and enquiring for me. By and by at my parler-window comes Sir W. Batten's Mungo, to tell me that his master and lady would have me come to their house through Sir J. Minnes's lodgings, which I could not do; but, however, by ladders, did get over the pale between our yards, and so to their house, where I found them (as they have reason) to be much concerned for me, my lady especially. The fellows staid in the yard swearing with one or two constables, and some time we locked them into the yard, and by and by let them out again, and so kept them all the afternoon, not letting them see me, or know where I was. One time I went up to the top of Sir W. Batten's house, and out of one of their windows spoke to my wife out of one of ours; which methought, though I did it in mirth, yet I was sad to think what a sad thing it would be for me to be really in that condition. By and by comes Sir J. Minnes, who (like himself and all that he do) tells us that he can do no good, but that my Lord Chancellor wonders that we did not cause the seamen to fall about their ears: which we wished we could have done without our being seen in it; and Captain Grove being there, he did give them some affront, and would have got some seamen to have drubbed them, but he had not time, nor did we think it fit to have done it, they having executed their commission; but there was occasion given that he did draw upon one of them and he did complain that Grove had pricked him in the breast, but no hurt done; but I see that Grove would have done our business to them if we had bid him. By and by comes Mr. Clerke, our solicitor, who brings us a release from our adverse atturney, we paying the fees of the commission, which comes to five marks, and pay the charges of these fellows, which are called the commissioners, but are the most rake-shamed rogues that ever I saw in my life; so he showed them this release, and they seemed satisfied, and went away with him to their atturney to be paid by him. But before they went, Sir W. Batten and my lady did begin to taunt them, but the rogues answered them as high as themselves, and swore they would come again, and called me rogue and rebel, and they would bring the sheriff and untile his house, before he should harbour a rebel in his house, and that they would be here again shortly. Well, at last they went away, and I by advice took occasion to go abroad, and walked through the street to show myself among the neighbours, that they might not think worse than the business is. Being met by Captn. Taylor and Bowry, whose ship we have hired for Tangier, they walked along with me to Cornhill talking about their business, and after some difference about their prices we agreed, and so they would have me to a tavern, and there I drank one glass of wine and discoursed of something about freight of a ship that may bring me a little money, and so broke up, and I home to Sir W. Batten's again, where Sir J. Lawson, Captain Allen, Spragg, and several others, and all our discourse about the disgrace done to our office to be liable to this trouble, which we must get removed. Hither comes Mr. Clerke by and by, and tells me that he hath paid the fees of the Court for the commission; but the men are not contented with under; L5 for their charges, which he will not give them, and therefore advises me not to stir abroad till Monday that he comes or sends to me again, whereby I shall not be able to go to White Hall to the Duke of York, as I ought. Here I staid vexing, and yet pleased to see every body, man and woman, my Lady and Mr. Turner especially, for me, till 10 at night; and so home, where my people are mightily surprized to see this business, but it troubles me not very much, it being nothing touching my particular person or estate. Being in talk to-day with Sir W. Batten he tells me that little is done yet in the Parliament-house, but only this day it was moved and ordered that all the members of the House do subscribe to the renouncing of the Covenant, which is thought will try some of them. There is also a bill brought in for the wearing of nothing but cloth or stuffs of our own manufacture, and is likely to be passed. Among other talk this evening, my lady did speak concerning Commissioner Pett's calling the present King bastard, and other high words heretofore; and Sir W. Batten did tell us, that he did give the Duke or Mr. Coventry an account of that and other like matters in writing under oath, of which I was ashamed, and for which I was sorry, but I see there is an absolute hatred never to be altered there, and Sir J. Minnes, the old coxcomb, has got it by the end, which troubles me for the sake of the King's service, though I do truly hate the expressions laid to him. To my office and set down this day's journall, and so home with my mind out of order, though not very sad with it, but ashamed for myself something, and for the honour of the office much more. So home and to bed. 22d (Lord's day). Lay long in bed and went not out all day; but after dinner to Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's, where discoursing much of yesterday's trouble and scandal; but that which troubled me most was Sir J. Minnes coming from Court at night, and instead of bringing great comfort from thence (but I expected no better from him), he tells me that the Duke and Mr. Coventry make no great matter of it. So at night discontented to prayers, and to bed. 23d. Up by times; and not daring to go by land, did (Griffin going along with me for fear), slip to White Hall by water; where to Mr. Coventry, and, as we used to do, to the Duke; the other of my fellows being come. But we said nothing of our business, the Duke being sent for to the King, that he could not stay to speak with us. This morning came my Lord Windsor to kiss the Duke's hand, being returned from Jamaica. He tells the Duke, that from such a degree of latitude going thither he begun to be sick, and was never well till his coming so far back again, and then presently begun to be well. He told the Duke of their taking the fort of St. Jago, upon Cuba, by his men; but, upon the whole, I believe that he did matters like a young lord, and was weary of being upon service out of his own country, where he might have pleasure. For methought it was a shame to see him this very afternoon, being the first day of his coming to town, to be at a playhouse. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who though he has been abroad again two or three days is falling ill again, and is let blood this morning, though I hope it is only a great cold that he has got. It was a great trouble to me (and I had great apprehensions of it) that my Lord desired me to go to Westminster Hall, to the Parliament-house door, about business; and to Sir Wm. Wheeler, which I told him I would do, but durst not go for fear of being taken by these rogues; but was forced to go to White Hall and take boat, and so land below the Tower at the Iron-gate; and so the back way over Little Tower Hill; and with my cloak over my face, took one of the watermen along with me, and staid behind a wall in the New-buildings behind our garden, while he went to see whether any body stood within the Merchants' Gate, under which we pass to go into our garden, and there standing but a little dirty boy before the gate, did make me quake and sweat to think he might be a Trepan. But there was nobody, and so I got safe into the garden, and coming to open my office door, something behind it fell in the opening, which made me start. So that God knows in what a sad condition I should be in if I were truly in the condition that many a poor man is for debt: and therefore ought to bless God that I have no such reall reason, and to endeavour to keep myself, by my good deportment and good husbandry, out of any such condition. At home I found Mr. Creed with my wife, and so he dined with us, I finding by a note that Mr. Clerke in my absence hath left here, that I am free; and that he hath stopped all matters in Court; I was very glad of it, and immediately had a light thought of taking pleasure to rejoice my heart, and so resolved to take my wife to a play at Court to-night, and the rather because it is my birthday, being this day thirty years old, for which let me praise God. While my wife dressed herself, Creed and I walked out to see what play was acted to-day, and we find it "The Slighted Mayde." But, Lord! to see that though I did know myself to be out of danger, yet I durst not go through the street, but round by the garden into Tower Street. By and by took coach, and to the Duke's house, where we saw it well acted, though the play hath little good in it, being most pleased to see the little girl dance in boy's apparel, she having very fine legs, only bends in the hams, as I perceive all women do. The play being done, we took coach and to Court, and there got good places, and saw "The Wilde Gallant," performed by the King's house, but it was ill acted, and the play so poor a thing as I never saw in my life almost, and so little answering the name, that from beginning to end, I could not, nor can at this time, tell certainly which was the Wild Gallant. The King did not seem pleased at all, all the whole play, nor any body else, though Mr. Clerke whom we met here did commend it to us. My Lady Castlemaine was all worth seeing tonight, and little Steward.--[Mrs. Stuart]--Mrs. Wells do appear at Court again, and looks well; so that, it may be, the late report of laying the dropped child to her was not true. It being done, we got a coach and got well home about 12 at night. Now as my mind was but very ill satisfied with these two plays themselves, so was I in the midst of them sad to think of the spending so much money and venturing upon the breach of my vow, which I found myself sorry for, I bless God, though my nature would well be contented to follow the pleasure still. But I did make payment of my forfeiture presently, though I hope to save it back again by forbearing two plays at Court for this one at the Theatre, or else to forbear that to the Theatre which I am to have at Easter. But it being my birthday and my day of liberty regained to me, and lastly, the last play that is likely to be acted at Court before Easter, because of the Lent coming in, I was the easier content to fling away so much money. So to bed. This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine hath all the King's Christmas presents, made him by the peers, given to her, which is a most abominable thing; and that at the great ball she was much richer in jewells than the Queen and Duchess put both together. 24th. Slept hard till 8 o'clock, then waked by Mr. Clerke's being come to consult me about Field's business, which we did by calling him up to my bedside, and he says we shall trounce him. Then up, and to the office, and at 11 o'clock by water to Westminster, and to Sir W. Wheeler's about my Lord's borrowing of money that I was lately upon with him, and then to my Lord, who continues ill, but will do well I doubt not. Among other things, he tells me that he hears the Commons will not agree to the King's late declaration, nor will yield that the Papists have any ground given them to raise themselves up again in England, which I perceive by my Lord was expected at Court. Thence home again by water presently, and with a bad dinner, being not looked for, to the office, and there we sat, and then Captn. Cocke and I upon his hemp accounts till 9 at night, and then, I not very well, home to supper and to bed. My late distemper of heat and itching being come upon me again, so that I must think of sweating again as I did before. 25th. Up and to my office, where with Captain Cocke making an end of his last night's accounts till noon, and so home to dinner, my wife being come in from laying out about L4 in provision of several things against Lent. In the afternoon to the Temple, my brother's, the Wardrobe, to Mr. Moore, and other places, called at about small businesses, and so at night home to my office and then to supper and to bed. The Commons in Parliament, I hear, are very high to stand to the Act of Uniformity, and will not indulge the Papists (which is endeavoured by the Court Party) nor the Presbyters. 26th. Up and drinking a draft of wormewood wine with Sir W. Batten at the Steelyard, he and I by water to the Parliament-house: he went in, and I walked up and down the Hall. All the news is the great odds yesterday in the votes between them that are for the Indulgence to the Papists and Presbyters, and those that are against it, which did carry it by 200 against 30. And pretty it is to consider how the King would appear to be a stiff Protestant and son of the Church; and yet would appear willing to give a liberty to these people, because of his promise at Breda. And yet all the world do believe that the King would not have this liberty given them at all. Thence to my Lord's, who, I hear, has his ague again, for which I am sorry, and Creed and I to the King's Head ordinary, where much good company. Among the rest a young gallant lately come from France, who was full of his French, but methought not very good, but he had enough to make him think himself a wise man a great while. Thence by water from the New Exchange home to the Tower, and so sat at the office, and then writing letters till 11 at night. Troubled this evening that my wife is not come home from Chelsey, whither she is gone to see the play at the school where Ashwell is, but she came at last, it seems, by water, and tells me she is much pleased with Ashwell's acting and carriage, which I am glad of. So home and to supper and bed. 27th. Up and to my office, whither several persons came to me about office business. About 11 o'clock, Commissioner Pett and I walked to Chyrurgeon's Hall (we being all invited thither, and promised to dine there); where we were led into the Theatre; and by and by comes the reader, Dr. Tearne, with the Master and Company, in a very handsome manner: and all being settled, he begun his lecture, this being the second upon the kidneys, ureters, &c., which was very fine; and his discourse being ended, we walked into the Hall, and there being great store of company, we had a fine dinner and good learned company, many Doctors of Phisique, and we used with extraordinary great respect. Among other observables we drank the King's health out of a gilt cup given by King Henry VIII. to this Company, with bells hanging at it, which every man is to ring by shaking after he hath drunk up the whole cup. There is also a very excellent piece of the King, done by Holbein, stands up in the Hall, with the officers of the Company kneeling to him to receive their Charter. After dinner Dr. Scarborough took some of his friends, and I went along with them, to see the body alone, which we did, which was a lusty fellow, a seaman, that was hanged for a robbery. I did touch the dead body with my bare hand: it felt cold, but methought it was a very unpleasant sight. It seems one Dillon, of a great family, was, after much endeavours to have saved him, hanged with a silken halter this Sessions (of his own preparing), not for honour only, but it seems, it being soft and sleek, it do slip close and kills, that is, strangles presently: whereas, a stiff one do not come so close together, and so the party may live the longer before killed. But all the Doctors at table conclude, that there is no pain at all in hanging, for that it do stop the circulation of the blood; and so stops all sense and motion in an instant. Thence we went into a private room, where I perceive they prepare the bodies, and there were the kidneys, ureters [&c.], upon which he read to-day, and Dr. Scarborough upon my desire and the company's did show very clearly the manner of the disease of the stone and the cutting and all other questions that I could think of... how the water [comes] into the bladder through the three skins or coats just as poor Dr. Jolly has heretofore told me. Thence with great satisfaction to me back to the Company, where I heard good discourse, and so to the afternoon Lecture upon the heart and lungs, &c., and that being done we broke up, took leave, and back to the office, we two, Sir W. Batten, who dined here also, being gone before. Here late, and to Sir W. Batten's to speak upon some business, where I found Sir J. Minnes pretty well fuddled I thought: he took me aside to tell me how being at my Lord Chancellor's to-day, my Lord told him that there was a Great Seal passing for Sir W. Pen, through the impossibility of the Comptroller's duty to be performed by one man; to be as it were joynt-comptroller with him, at which he is stark mad; and swears he will give up his place, and do rail at Sir W. Pen the cruellest; he I made shift to encourage as much as I could, but it pleased me heartily to hear him rail against him, so that I do see thoroughly that they are not like to be great friends, for he cries out against him for his house and yard and God knows what. For my part, I do hope, when all is done, that my following my business will keep me secure against all their envys. But to see how the old man do strut, and swear that he understands all his duty as easily as crack a nut, and easier, he told my Lord Chancellor, for his teeth are gone; and that he understands it as well as any man in England; and that he will never leave to record that he should be said to be unable to do his duty alone; though, God knows, he cannot do it more than a child. All this I am glad to see fall out between them and myself safe, and yet I hope the King's service well done for all this, for I would not that should be hindered by any of our private differences. So to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 28th. Waked with great pain in my right ear (which I find myself much subject to) having taken cold. Up and to my office, where we sat all the morning, and I dined with Sir W. Batten by chance, being in business together about a bargain of New England masts. Then to the Temple to meet my uncle Thomas, who I found there, but my cozen Roger not being come home I took boat and to Westminster, where I found him in Parliament this afternoon. The House have this noon been with the King to give him their reasons for refusing to grant any indulgence to Presbyters or Papists; which he, with great content and seeming pleasure, took, saying, that he doubted not but he and they should agree in all things, though there may seem a difference in judgement, he having writ and declared for an indulgence: and that he did believe never prince was happier in a House of Commons, than he was in them. Thence he and I to my Lord Sandwich, who continues troubled with his cold. Our discourse most upon the outing of Sir R. Bernard, and my Lord's being made Recorder of Huntingdon in his stead, which he seems well contented with, saying, that it may be for his convenience to have the chief officer of the town dependent upon him, which is very true. Thence he and I to the Temple, but my uncle being gone we parted, and I walked home, and to my office, and at nine o'clock had a good supper of an oxe's cheek, of my wife's dressing and baking, and so to my office again till past eleven at night, making up my month's account, and find that I am at a stay with what I was last, that is L640. So home and to bed. Coming by, I put in at White Hall, and at the Privy Seal I did see the docquet by which Sir W. Pen is made the Comptroller's assistant, as Sir J. Minnes told me last night, which I must endeavour to prevent. MARCH 1662-1663 March 1st (Lord's day). Up and walked to White Hall, to the Chappell, where preached one Dr. Lewes, said heretofore to have been a great witt; but he read his sermon every word, and that so brokenly and so low, that nobody could hear at any distance, nor I anything worth hearing that sat near. But, which was strange, he forgot to make any prayer before sermon, which all wonder at, but they impute it to his forgetfulness. After sermon a very fine anthem; so I up into the house among the courtiers, seeing the fine ladies, and, above all, my Lady Castlemaine, who is above all, that only she I can observe for true beauty. The King and Queen being set to dinner I went to Mr. Fox's, and there dined with him. Much genteel company, and, among other things, I hear for certain that peace is concluded between the King of France and the Pope; and also I heard the reasons given by our Parliament yesterday to the King why they dissent from him in matter of Indulgence, which are very good quite through, and which I was glad to hear. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who continues with a great cold, locked up; and, being alone, we fell into discourse of my uncle the Captain's death and estate, and I took the opportunity of telling my Lord how matters stand, and read his will, and told him all, what a poor estate he hath left, at all which he wonders strangely, which he may well do. Thence after singing some new tunes with W. Howe I walked home, whither came Will. Joyce, whom I have not seen here a great while, nor desire it a great while again, he is so impertinent a coxcomb, and yet good natured, and mightily concerned for my brother's late folly in his late wooing at the charge to no purpose, nor could in any probability a it. He gone, we all to bed, without prayers, it being washing day to-morrow. 2nd. Up early and by water with Commissioner Pett to Deptford, and there took the Jemmy yacht (that the King and the Lords virtuosos built the other day) down to Woolwich, where we discoursed of several matters both there and at the Ropeyard, and so to the yacht again, and went down four or five miles with extraordinary pleasure, it being a fine day, and a brave gale of wind, and had some oysters brought us aboard newly taken, which were excellent, and ate with great pleasure. There also coming into the river two Dutchmen, we sent a couple of men on board and bought three Hollands cheeses, cost 4d. a piece, excellent cheeses, whereof I had two and Commissioner Pett one. So back again to Woolwich, and going aboard the Hulke to see the manner of the iron bridles, which we are making of for to save cordage to put to the chain, I did fall from the shipside into the ship (Kent), and had like to have broke my left hand, but I only sprained some of my fingers, which, when I came ashore I sent to Mrs. Ackworth for some balsam, and put to my hand, and was pretty well within a little while after. We dined at the White Hart with several officers with us, and after dinner went and saw the Royal James brought down to the stern of the Docke (the main business we came for), and then to the Ropeyard, and saw a trial between Riga hemp and a sort of Indian grass, which is pretty strong, but no comparison between it and the other for strength, and it is doubtful whether it will take tarre or no. So to the yacht again, and carried us almost to London, so by our oars home to the office, and thence Mr. Pett and I to Mr. Grant's coffee-house, whither he and Sir J. Cutler came to us and had much discourse, mixed discourse, and so broke up, and so home where I found my poor wife all alone at work, and the house foul, it being washing day, which troubled me, because that tomorrow I must be forced to have friends at dinner. So to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Shrove Tuesday). Up and walked to the Temple, and by promise calling Commissioner Pett, he and I to White Hall to give Mr. Coventry an account of what we did yesterday. Thence I to the Privy Seal Office, and there got a copy of Sir W. Pen's grant to be assistant to Sir J. Minnes, Comptroller, which, though there be not much in it, yet I intend to stir up Sir J. Minnes to oppose, only to vex Sir W. Pen. Thence by water home, and at noon, by promise, Mrs. Turner and her daughter, and Mrs. Morrice, came along with Roger Pepys to dinner. We were as merry as I could be, having but a bad dinner for them; but so much the better, because of the dinner which I must have at the end of this month. And here Mrs. The. shewed me my name upon her breast as her Valentine, which will cost me 20s. After dinner I took them down into the wine-cellar, and broached my tierce of claret for them. Towards the evening we parted, and I to the office awhile, and then home to supper and to bed, the sooner having taken some cold yesterday upon the water, which brings me my usual pain. This afternoon Roger Pepys tells me, that for certain the King is for all this very highly incensed at the Parliament's late opposing the Indulgence; which I am sorry for, and fear it will breed great discontent. 4th. Lay long talking with my wife about ordering things in our family, and then rose and to my office, there collecting an alphabet for my Navy Manuscript, which, after a short dinner, I returned to and by night perfected to my great content. So to other business till 9 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Rose this morning early, only to try with intention to begin my last summer's course in rising betimes. So to my office a little, and then to Westminster by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, in our way talking of Sir W. Pen's business of his patent, which I think I have put a stop to wholly, for Sir J. Minnes swears he will never consent to it. Here to the Lobby, and spoke with my cozen Roger, who is going to Cambridge to-morrow. In the Hall I do hear that the Catholiques are in great hopes for all this, and do set hard upon the King to get Indulgence. Matters, I hear, are all naught in Ireland, and that the Parliament has voted, and the people, that is, the Papists, do cry out against the Commissioners sent by the King; so that they say the English interest will be lost there. Thence I went to see my Lord Sandwich, who I found very ill, and by his cold being several nights hindered from sleep, he is hardly able to open his eyes, and is very weak and sad upon it, which troubled me much. So after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I found there, about his folly for looking and troubling me and other friends in getting him a place (that is, storekeeper of the Navy at Tangier) before there is any such thing, I returned to the Hall, and thence back with the two knights home again by coach, where I found Mr. Moore got abroad, and dined with me, which I was glad to see, he having not been able to go abroad a great while. Then came in Mr. Hawley and dined with us, and after dinner I left them, and to the office, where we sat late, and I do find that I shall meet with nothing to oppose my growing great in the office but Sir W. Pen, who is now well again, and comes into the office very brisk, and, I think, to get up his time that he has been out of the way by being mighty diligent at the office, which, I pray God, he may be, but I hope by mine to weary him out, for I am resolved to fall to business as hard as I can drive, God giving me health. At my office late, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up betimes, and about eight o'clock by coach with four horses, with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, to Woolwich, a pleasant day. There at the yard we consulted and ordered several matters, and thence to the rope yard and did the like, and so into Mr. Falconer's, where we had some fish, which we brought with us, dressed; and there dined with us his new wife, which had been his mayde, but seems to be a genteel woman, well enough bred and discreet. Thence after dinner back to Deptford, where we did as before, and so home, good discourse in our way, Sir J. Minnes being good company, though a simple man enough as to the business of his office, but we did discourse at large again about Sir W. Pen's patent to be his assistant, and I perceive he is resolved never to let it pass. To my office, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, where Major Holmes was lately come from the Streights, but do tell me strange stories of the faults of Cooper his master, put in by me, which I do not believe, but am sorry to hear and must take some course to have him removed, though I believe that the Captain is proud, and the fellow is not supple enough to him. So to my office again to set down my Journall, and so home and to bed. This evening my boy Waynman's brother was with me, and I did tell him again that I must part with the boy, for I will not keep him. He desires my keeping him a little longer till he can provide for him, which I am willing for a while to do. This day it seems the House of Commons have been very high against the Papists, being incensed by the stir which they make for their having an Indulgence; which, without doubt, is a great folly in them to be so hot upon at this time, when they see how averse already the House have showed themselves from it. This evening Mr. Povy was with me at my office, and tells me that my Lord Sandwich is this day so ill that he is much afeard of him, which puts me to great pain, not more for my own sake than for his poor family's. 7th. Up betimes, and to the office, where some of us sat all the morning. At noon Sir W. Pen began to talk with me like a counterfeit rogue very kindly about his house and getting bills signed for all our works, but he is a cheating fellow, and so I let him talk and answered nothing. So we parted. I to dinner, and there met The. Turner, who is come on foot in a frolique to beg me to get a place at sea for John, their man, which is a rogue; but, however, it may be, the sea may do him good in reclaiming him, and therefore I will see what I can do. She dined with me; and after dinner I took coach, and carried her home; in our way, in Cheapside, lighting and giving her a dozen pair of white gloves as my Valentine. Thence to my Lord Sandwich, who is gone to Sir W. Wheeler's for his more quiet being, where he slept well last night, and I took him very merry, playing at cards, and much company with him. So I left him, and Creed and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a good while. He told me how for some words of my Lady Gerard's [Jane, wife of Lord Gerard (see ante, January 1st, 1662-63). The king had previously put a slight upon Lady Gerard, probably at the instigation of Lady Castlemaine, as the two ladies were not friends. On the 4th of January of this same year Lady Gerard had given a supper to the king and queen, when the king withdrew from the party and proceeded to the house of Lady Castlemaine, and remained there throughout the evening (see Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," 1871, p. 47).] against my Lady Castlemaine to the Queen, the King did the other day affront her in going out to dance with her at a ball, when she desired it as the ladies do, and is since forbid attending the Queen by the King; which is much talked of, my Lord her husband being a great favourite. Thence by water home and to my office, wrote by the post and so home to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Being sent to by Sir J. Minnes to know whether I would go with him to White Hall to-day, I rose but could not get ready before he was gone, but however I walked thither and heard Dr. King, Bishop of Chichester, make a good and eloquent sermon upon these words, "They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy." Thence (the chappell in Lent being hung with black, and no anthem sung after sermon, as at other times), to my Lord Sandwich at Sir W. Wheeler's. I found him out of order, thinking himself to be in a fit of an ague, but in the afternoon he was very cheery. I dined with Sir William, where a good but short dinner, not better than one of mine commonly of a Sunday. After dinner up to my Lord, there being Mr. Kumball. My Lord, among other discourse, did tell us of his great difficultys passed in the business of the Sound, and of his receiving letters from the King there, but his sending them by Whetstone was a great folly; and the story how my Lord being at dinner with Sydney, one of his fellow plenipotentiarys and his mortal enemy, did see Whetstone, and put off his hat three times to him, but the fellow would not be known, which my Lord imputed to his coxcombly humour (of which he was full), and bid Sydney take notice of him too, when at the very time he had letters in his pocket from the King, as it proved afterwards. And Sydney afterwards did find it out at Copenhagen, the Dutch Commissioners telling him how my Lord Sandwich had hired one of their ships to carry back Whetstone to Lubeck, he being come from Flanders from the King. But I cannot but remember my Lord's aequanimity in all these affairs with admiration. Thence walked home, in my way meeting Mr. Moore, with whom I took a turn or two in the street among the drapers in Paul's Churchyard, talking of business, and so home to bed. 9th. Up betimes, to my office, where all the morning. About noon Sir J. Robinson, Lord Mayor, desiring way through the garden from the Tower, called in at the office and there invited me (and Sir W. Pen, who happened to be in the way) to dinner, which we did; and there had a great Lent dinner of fish, little flesh. And thence he and I in his coach, against my will (for I am resolved to shun too great fellowship with him) to White Hall, but came too late, the Duke having been with our fellow officers before we came, for which I was sorry. Thence he and I to walk one turn in the Park, and so home by coach, and I to my office, where late, and so home to supper and bed. There dined with us to-day Mr. Slingsby, of the Mint, who showed us all the new pieces both gold and silver (examples of them all), that are made for the King, by Blondeau's' way; and compared them with those made for Oliver. The pictures of the latter made by Symons, and of the King by one Rotyr, a German, I think, that dined with us also. He extolls those of Rotyr's above the others; and, indeed, I think they are the better, because the sweeter of the two; but, upon my word, those of the Protector are more like in my mind, than the King's, but both very well worth seeing. The crowns of Cromwell are now sold, it seems, for 25s. and 30s. apiece. 10th. Up and to my office all the morning, and great pleasure it is to be doing my business betimes. About noon Sir J. Minnes came to me and staid half an hour with me in my office talking about his business with Sir W. Pen, and (though with me an old doter) yet he told me freely how sensible he is of Sir W. Pen's treachery in this business, and what poor ways he has taken all along to ingratiate himself by making Mr. Turner write out things for him and then he gives them to the Duke, and how he directed him to give Mr. Coventry L100 for his place, but that Mr. Coventry did give him L20 back again. All this I am pleased to hear that his knavery is found out. Dined upon a poor Lenten dinner at home, my wife being vexed at a fray this morning with my Lady Batten about my boy's going thither to turn the watercock with their maydes' leave, but my Lady was mighty high upon it and she would teach his mistress better manners, which my wife answered aloud that she might hear, that she could learn little manners of her. After dinner to my office, and there we sat all the afternoon till 8 at night, and so wrote my letters by the post and so before 9 home, which is rare with me of late, I staying longer, but with multitude of business my head akes, and so I can stay no longer, but home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up betimes, and to my office, walked a little in the garden with Sir W. Batten, talking about the difference between his Lady and my wife yesterday, and I doubt my wife is to blame. About noon had news by Mr. Wood that Butler, our chief witness against Field, was sent by him to New England contrary to our desire, which made me mad almost; and so Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen, and I dined together at Trinity House, and thither sent for him to us and told him our minds, which he seemed not to value much, but went away. I wrote and sent an express to Walthamstow to Sir W. Pen, who is gone thither this morning, to tell him of it. However, in the afternoon Wood sends us word that he has appointed another to go, who shall overtake the ship in the Downes. So I was late at the office, among other things writing to the Downes, to the Commander-in-Chief, and putting things into the surest course I could to help the business. So home and to bed. 12th. Up betimes and to my office all the morning with Captain Cocke ending their account of their Riga contract for hemp. So home to dinner, my head full of business against the office. After dinner comes my uncle Thomas with a letter to my father, wherein, as we desire, he and his son do order their tenants to pay their rents to us, which pleases me well. In discourse he tells me my uncle Wight thinks much that I do never see them, and they have reason, but I do apprehend that they have been too far concerned with my uncle Thomas against us, so that I have had no mind hitherto, but now I shall go see them. He being gone, I to the office, where at the choice of maisters and chyrurgeons for the fleet now going out, I did my business as I could wish, both for the persons I had a mind to serve, and in getting the warrants signed drawn by my clerks, which I was afeard of. Sat late, and having done I went home, where I found Mary Ashwell come to live with us, of whom I hope well, and pray God she may please us, which, though it cost me something, yet will give me much content. So to supper and to bed, and find by her discourse and carriage to-night that she is not proud, but will do what she is bid, but for want of being abroad knows not how to give the respect to her mistress, as she will do when she is told it, she having been used only to little children, and there was a kind of a mistress over them. Troubled all night with my cold, I being quite hoarse with it that I could not speak to be heard at all almost. 13th. Up pretty early and to my office all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner expecting Ashwell's father, who was here in the morning and promised to come but he did not, but there came in Captain Grove, and I found him to be a very stout man, at least in his discourse he would be thought so, and I do think that he is, and one that bears me great respect and deserves to be encouraged for his care in all business. Abroad by water with my wife and Ashwell, and left them at Mr. Pierce's, and I to Whitehall and St. James's Park (there being no Commission for Tangier sitting to-day as I looked for) where I walked an hour or two with great pleasure, it being a most pleasant day. So to Mrs. Hunt's, and there found my wife, and so took them up by coach, and carried them to Hide Park, where store of coaches and good faces. Here till night, and so home and to my office to write by the post, and so to supper and to bed. 14th. Up betimes and to my office, where we sat all the morning, and a great rant I did give to Mr. Davis, of Deptford, and others about their usage of Michell, in his Bewpers,--[Bewpers is the old name for bunting.]--which he serves in for flaggs, which did trouble me, but yet it was in defence of what was truth. So home to dinner, where Creed dined with me, and walked a good while in the garden with me after dinner, talking, among other things, of the poor service which Sir J. Lawson did really do in the Streights, for which all this great fame and honour done him is risen. So to my office, where all the afternoon giving maisters their warrants for this voyage, for which I hope hereafter to get something at their coming home. In the evening my wife and I and Ashwell walked in the garden, and I find she is a pretty ingenuous [For ingenious. The distinction of the two words ingenious and ingenuous by which the former indicates mental, and the second moral qualities, was not made in Pepys's day.] girl at all sorts of fine work, which pleases me very well, and I hope will be very good entertainment for my wife without much cost. So to write by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife and her woman Ashwell the first time to church, where our pew was so full with Sir J. Minnes's sister and her daughter, that I perceive, when we come all together, some of us must be shut out, but I suppose we shall come to some order what to do therein. Dined at home, and to church again in the afternoon, and so home, and I to my office till the evening doing one thing or other and reading my vows as I am bound every Lord's day, and so home to supper and talk, and Ashwell is such good company that I think we shall be very lucky in her. So to prayers and to bed. This day the weather, which of late has been very hot and fair, turns very wet and cold, and all the church time this afternoon it thundered mightily, which I have not heard a great while. 16th. Up very betimes and to my office, where, with several Masters of the King's ships, Sir J. Minnes and I advising upon the business of Slopps, wherein the seaman is so much abused by the Pursers, and that being done, then I home to dinner, and so carried my wife to her mother's, set her down and Ashwell to my Lord's lodging, there left her, and I to the Duke, where we met of course, and talked of our Navy matters. Then to the Commission of Tangier, and there, among other things, had my Lord Peterborough's Commission read over; and Mr. Secretary Bennet did make his querys upon it, in order to the drawing one for my Lord Rutherford more regularly, that being a very extravagant thing. Here long discoursing upon my Lord Rutherford's despatch, and so broke up, and so going out of the Court I met with Mr. Coventry, and so he and I walked half an hour in the long Stone Gallery, where we discoursed of many things, among others how the Treasurer doth intend to come to pay in course, which is the thing of the world that will do the King the greatest service in the Navy, and which joys my heart to hear of. He tells me of the business of Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen, which I knew before, but took no notice or little that I did know it. But he told me it was chiefly to make Mr. Pett's being joyned with Sir W. Batten to go down the better, and do tell me how he well sees that neither one nor the other can do their duties without help. But however will let it fall at present without doing more in it to see whether they will do their duties themselves, which he will see, and saith they do not. We discoursed of many other things to my great content and so parted, and I to my wife at my Lord's lodgings, where I heard Ashwell play first upon the harpsicon, and I find she do play pretty well, which pleaseth me very well. Thence home by coach, buying at the Temple the printed virginal-book for her, and so home and to my office a while, and so home and to supper and to bed. 17th. Up betimes and to my office a while, and then home and to Sir W. Batten, with whom by coach to St. Margaret's Hill in Southwark, where the judge of the Admiralty came, and the rest of the Doctors of the Civill law, and some other Commissioners, whose Commission of Oyer and Terminer was read, and then the charge, given by Dr. Exton, which methought was somewhat dull, though he would seem to intend it to be very rhetoricall, saying that justice had two wings, one of which spread itself over the land, and the other over the water, which was this Admiralty Court. That being done, and the jury called, they broke up, and to dinner to a tavern hard by, where a great dinner, and I with them; but I perceive that this Court is yet but in its infancy (as to its rising again), and their design and consultation was, I could overhear them, how to proceed with the most solemnity, and spend time, there being only two businesses to do, which of themselves could not spend much time. In the afternoon to the court again, where, first, Abraham, the boatswain of the King's pleasure boat, was tried for drowning a man; and next, Turpin, accused by our wicked rogue Field, for stealing the King's timber; but after full examination, they were both acquitted, and as I was glad of the first, for the saving the man's life, so I did take the other as a very good fortune to us; for if Turpin had been found guilty, it would have sounded very ill in the ears of all the world, in the business between Field and us. So home with my mind at very great ease, over the water to the Tower, and thence, there being nobody at the office, we being absent, and so no office could be kept. Sir W. Batten and I to my Lord Mayor's, where we found my Lord with Colonel Strangways and Sir Richard Floyd, Parliament-men, in the cellar drinking, where we sat with them, and then up; and by and by comes in Sir Richard Ford. In our drinking, which was always going, we had many discourses, but from all of them I do find Sir R. Ford a very able man of his brains and tongue, and a scholler. But my Lord Mayor I find to be a talking, bragging Bufflehead, a fellow that would be thought to have led all the City in the great business of bringing in the King, and that nobody understood his plots, and the dark lanthorn he walked by; but led them and plowed with them as oxen and asses (his own words) to do what he had a mind when in every discourse I observe him to be as very a coxcomb as I could have thought had been in the City. But he is resolved to do great matters in pulling down the shops quite through the City, as he hath done in many places, and will make a thorough passage quite through the City, through Canning-street, which indeed will be very fine. And then his precept, which he, in vain-glory, said he had drawn up himself, and hath printed it, against coachmen and carrmen affronting of the gentry in the street; it is drawn so like a fool, and some faults were openly found in it, that I believe he will have so much wit as not to proceed upon it though it be printed. Here we staid talking till eleven at night, Sir R. Ford breaking to my Lord our business of our patent to be justices of the Peace in the City, which he stuck at mightily; but, however, Sir R. Ford knows him to be a fool, and so in his discourse he made him appear, and cajoled him into a consent to it: but so as I believe when he comes to his right mind tomorrow he will be of another opinion; and though Sir R. Ford moved it very weightily and neatly, yet I had rather it had been spared now. But to see how he do rant, and pretend to sway all the City in the Court of Aldermen, and says plainly that they cannot do, nor will he suffer them to do, any thing but what he pleases; nor is there any officer of the City but of his putting in; nor any man that could have kept the City for the King thus well and long but him. And if the country can be preserved, he will undertake that the City shall not dare to stir again. When I am confident there is no man almost in the City cares a turd for him, nor hath he brains to outwit any ordinary tradesman. So home and wrote a letter to Commissioner Pett to Chatham by all means to compose the business between Major Holmes and Cooper his master, and so to bed. 18th. Wake betimes and talk a while with my wife about a wench that she has hired yesterday, which I would have enquired of before she comes, she having lived in great families, and so up and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner. After dinner by water to Redriffe, my wife and Ashwell with me, and so walked and left them at Halfway house; I to Deptford, where up and down the store-houses, and on board two or three ships now getting ready to go to sea, and so back, and find my wife walking in the way. So home again, merry with our Ashwell, who is a merry jade, and so awhile to my office, and then home to supper, and to bed. This day my tryangle, which was put in tune yesterday, did please me very well, Ashwell playing upon it pretty well. 19th. Up betimes and to Woolwich all alone by water, where took the officers most abed. I walked and enquired how all matters and businesses go, and by and by to the Clerk of the Cheque's house, and there eat some of his good Jamaica brawne, and so walked to Greenwich. Part of the way Deane walking with me; talking of the pride and corruption of most of his fellow officers of the yard, and which I believe to be true. So to Deptford, where I did the same to great content, and see the people begin to value me as they do the rest. At noon Mr. Wayth took me to his house, where I dined, and saw his wife, a pretty woman, and had a good fish dinner, and after dinner he and I walked to Redriffe talking of several errors in the Navy, by which I learned a great deal, and was glad of his company. So by water home, and by and by to the office, where we sat till almost 9 at night. So after doing my own business in my office, writing letters, &c., home to supper, and to bed, being weary and vexed that I do not find other people so willing to do business as myself, when I have taken pains to find out what in the yards is wanting and fitting to be done. 20th. Up betimes and over the water, and walked to Deptford, where up and down the yarde, and met the two clerks of the Cheques to conclude by our method their callbooks, which we have done to great perfection, and so walked home again, where I found my wife in great pain abed.... I staid and dined by her, and after dinner walked forth, and by water to the Temple, and in Fleet Street bought me a little sword, with gilt handle, cost 23s., and silk stockings to the colour of my riding cloth suit, cost I 5s., and bought me a belt there too, cost 15s., and so calling at my brother's I find he has got a new maid, very likely girl, I wish he do not play the fool with her. Thence homewards, and meeting with Mr. Kirton's kinsman in Paul's Church Yard, he and I to a coffee-house; where I hear how there had like to have been a surprizall of Dublin by some discontented protestants, and other things of like nature; and it seems the Commissioners have carried themselves so high for the Papists that the others will not endure it. Hewlett and some others are taken and clapped up; and they say the King hath sent over to dissolve the Parliament there, who went very high against the Commissioners. Pray God send all well! Hence home and in comes Captain Ferrers and by and by Mr. Bland to see me and sat talking with me till 9 or 10 at night, and so good night. The Captain to bid my wife to his child's christening. So my wife being pretty well again and Ashwell there we spent the evening pleasantly, and so to bed. 21st. Up betimes and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon, after a very little dinner, to it again, and by and by, by appointment, our full board met, and Sir Philip Warwick and Sir Robert Long came from my Lord Treasurer to speak with us about the state of the debts of the Navy; and how to settle it, so as to begin upon the new foundation of L200,000 per annum, which the King is now resolved not to exceed. This discourse done, and things put in a way of doing, they went away, and Captain Holmes being called in he began his high complaint against his Master Cooper, and would have him forthwith discharged. Which I opposed, not in his defence but for the justice of proceeding not to condemn a man unheard, upon [which] we fell from one word to another that we came to very high terms, such as troubled me, though all and the worst that I ever said was that that was insolently or ill mannerdly spoken. When he told me that it was well it was here that I said it. But all the officers, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen cried shame of it. At last he parted and we resolved to bring the dispute between him and his Master to a trial next week, wherein I shall not at all concern myself in defence of any thing that is unhandsome on the Master's part nor willingly suffer him to have any wrong. So we rose and I to my office, troubled though sensible that all the officers are of opinion that he has carried himself very much unbecoming him. So wrote letters by the post, and home to supper and to bed. 22d (Lord's day). Up betimes and in my office wrote out our bill for the Parliament about our being made justices of Peace in the City. So home and to church, where a dull formall fellow that prayed for the Right Hon. John Lord Barkeley, Lord President of Connaught, &c. So home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I and her woman by coach to Westminster, where being come too soon for the Christening we took up Mr. Creed and went out to take some ayre, as far as Chelsey and further, I lighting there and letting them go on with the coach while I went to the church expecting to see the young ladies of the school, Ashwell desiring me, but I could not get in far enough, and so came out and at the coach's coming back went in again and so back to Westminster, and led my wife and her to Captain Ferrers, and I to my Lord Sandwich, and with him talking a good while; I find the Court would have this Indulgence go on, but the Parliament are against it. Matters in Ireland are full of discontent. Thence with Mr. Creed to Captain Ferrers, where many fine ladies; the house well and prettily furnished. She [Mrs. Ferrers] lies in, in great state, Mr. G. Montagu, Collonel Williams, Cromwell that was, [Colonel Williams--"Cromwell that was"--appears to have been Henry Cromwell, grandson of Sir Oliver Cromwell, and first cousin, once removed, to the Protector. He was seated at Bodsey House, in the parish of Ramsey, which had been his father's residence, and held the commission of a colonel. He served in several Parliaments for Huntingdonshire, voting, in 1660, for the restoration of the monarchy; and as he knew the name of Cromwell would not be grateful to the Court, he disused it, and assumed that of Williams, which had belonged to his ancestors; and he is so styled in a list of knights of the proposed Order of the Royal Oak. He died at Huntingdon, 3rd August, 1673. (Abridged from Noble's "Memoirs of the Cromwells," vol. i., p. 70.)--B.] and Mrs. Wright as proxy for my Lady Jemimah, were witnesses. Very pretty and plentiful entertainment, could not get away till nine at night, and so home. My coach cost me 7s. So to prayers, and to bed. This day though I was merry enough yet I could not get yesterday's quarrel out of my mind, and a natural fear of being challenged by Holmes for the words I did give him, though nothing but what did become me as a principal officer. 23rd. Up betimes and to my office, before noon my wife and I eat something, thinking to have gone abroad together, but in comes Mr. Hunt, who we were forced to stay to dinner, and so while that was got ready he and I abroad about 2 or 3 small businesses of mine, and so back to dinner, and after dinner he went away, and my wife and I and Ashwell by coach, set my wife down at her mother's and Ashwell at my Lord's, she going to see her father and mother, and I to Whitehall, being fearful almost, so poor a spirit I have, of meeting Major Holmes. By and by the Duke comes, and we with him about our usual business, and then the Committee for Tangier, where, after reading my Lord Rutherford's commission and consented to, Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Rider, and I were chosen to bring in some laws for the Civill government of it, which I am little able to do, but am glad to be joyned with them, for I shall learn something of them. Thence to see my Lord Sandwich, and who should I meet at the door but Major Holmes. He would have gone away, but I told him I would not spoil his visitt, and would have gone, but however we fell to discourse and he did as good as desire excuse for the high words that did pass in his heat the other day, which I was willing enough to close with, and after telling him my mind we parted, and I left him to speak with my Lord, and I by coach home, where I found Will. Howe come home to-day with my wife, and staid with us all night, staying late up singing songs, and then he and I to bed together in Ashwell's bed and she with my wife. This the first time that I ever lay in the room. This day Greatorex brought me a very pretty weather-glass for heat and cold. [The thermometer was invented in the sixteenth century, but it is disputed who the inventor was. The claims of Santorio are supported by Borelli and Malpighi, while the title of Cornelius Drebbel is considered undoubted by Boerhaave. Galileo's air thermometer, made before 1597, was the foundation of accurate thermometry. Galileo also invented the alcohol thermometer about 1611 or 1612. Spirit thermometers were made for the Accademia del Cimento, and described in the Memoirs of that academy. When the academy was dissolved by order of the Pope, some of these thermometers were packed away in a box, and were not discovered until early in the nineteenth century. Robert Hooke describes the manufacture and graduation of thermometers in his "Micrographia" (1665).] 24th. Lay pretty long, that is, till past six o'clock, and them up and W. Howe and I very merry together, till having eat our breakfast, he went away, and I to my office. By and by Sir J. Minnes and I to the Victualling Office by appointment to meet several persons upon stating the demands of some people of money from the King. Here we went into their Bakehouse, and saw all the ovens at work, and good bread too, as ever I would desire to eat. Thence Sir J. Minnes and I homewards calling at Browne's, the mathematician in the Minnerys, with a design of buying White's ruler to measure timber with, but could not agree on the price. So home, and to dinner, and so to my office, where we sat anon, and among other things had Cooper's business tried against Captain Holmes, but I find Cooper a fuddling, troublesome fellow, though a good artist, and so am contented to have him turned out of his place, nor did I see reason to say one word against it, though I know what they did against him was with great envy and pride. So anon broke up, and after writing letters, &c., home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lady-day). Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning, at noon dined and to the Exchange, and thence to the Sun Tavern, to my Lord Rutherford, and dined with him, and some others, his officers, and Scotch gentlemen, of fine discourse and education. My Lord used me with great respect, and discoursed upon his business as with one that he did esteem of, and indeed I do believe that this garrison is likely to come to something under him. By and by he went away, forgetting to take leave of me, my back being turned, looking upon the aviary, which is there very pretty, and the birds begin to sing well this spring. Thence home and to my office till night, reading over and consulting upon the book and Ruler that I bought this morning of Browne concerning the lyne of numbers, in which I find much pleasure. This evening came Captain Grove about hiring ships for Tangier. I did hint to him my desire that I could make some lawfull profit thereof, which he promises that he will tell me of all that he gets and that I shall have a share, which I did not demand, but did silently consent to it, and money I perceive something will be got thereby. At night Mr. Bland came and sat with me at my office till late, and so I home and to bed. This day being washing day and my maid Susan ill, or would be thought so, put my house so out of order that we had no pleasure almost in anything, my wife being troubled thereat for want of a good cook-maid, and moreover I cannot have my dinner as I ought in memory of my being cut for the stone, but I must have it a day or two hence. 26th. Up betimes and to my office, leaving my wife in bed to take her physique, myself also not being out of some pain to-day by some cold that I have got by the sudden change of the weather from hot to cold. This day is five years since it pleased God to preserve me at my being cut of the stone, of which I bless God I am in all respects well. Only now and then upon taking cold I have some pain, but otherwise in very good health always. But I could not get my feast to be kept to-day as it used to be, because of my wife's being ill and other disorders by my servants being out of order. This morning came a new cook-maid at L4 per annum, the first time I ever did give so much, but we hope it will be nothing lost by keeping a good cook. She did live last at my Lord Monk's house, and indeed at dinner did get what there was very prettily ready and neat for me, which did please me much. This morning my uncle Thomas was with me according to agreement, and I paid him the L50, which was against my heart to part with, and yet I must be contented; I used him very kindly, and I desire to continue so voyd of any discontent as to my estate, that I may follow my business the better. At the Change I met him again, with intent to have met with my uncle Wight to have made peace with him, with whom by my long absence I fear I shall have a difference, but he was not there, so we missed. All the afternoon sat at the office about business till 9 or 10 at night, and so dispatch business and home to supper and to bed. My maid Susan went away to-day, I giving her something for her lodging and diet somewhere else a while that I might have room for my new maid. 27th. Up betimes and at my office all the morning, at noon to the Exchange, and there by appointment met my uncles Thomas and Wight, and from thence with them to a tavern, and there paid my uncle Wight three pieces of gold for himself, my aunt, and their son that is dead, left by my uncle Robert, and read over our agreement with my uncle Thomas and the state of our debts and legacies, and so good friendship I think is made up between us all, only we have the worst of it in having so much money to pay. Thence I to the Exchequer again, and thence with Creed into Fleet Street, and calling at several places about business; in passing, at the Hercules pillars he and I dined though late, and thence with one that we found there, a friend of Captain Ferrers I used to meet at the playhouse, they would have gone to some gameing house, but I would not but parted, and staying a little in Paul's Churchyard, at the foreign Bookseller's looking over some Spanish books, and with much ado keeping myself from laying out money there, as also with them, being willing enough to have gone to some idle house with them, I got home, and after a while at my office, to supper, and to bed. 28th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me, and though a very cold day and high wind, yet I took him by land to Deptford, my common walk, where I did some little businesses, and so home again walking both forwards and backwards, as much along the street as we could to save going by water. So home, and after being a little while hearing Ashwell play on the tryangle, to my office, and there late, writing a chiding letter--to my poor father about his being so unwilling to come to an account with me, which I desire he might do, that I may know what he spends, and how to order the estate so as to pay debts and legacys as far as may be. So late home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Waked as I used to do betimes, but being Sunday and very cold I lay long, it raining and snowing very hard, which I did never think it would have done any more this year. Up and to church, home to dinner. After dinner in comes Mr. Moore, and sat and talked with us a good while; among other things telling me, that [neither] my Lord nor he are under apprehensions of the late discourse in the House of Commons, concerning resumption of Crowne lands, which I am very glad of. He being gone, up to my chamber, where my wife and Ashwell and I all the afternoon talking and laughing, and by and by I a while to my office, reading over some papers which I found in my man William's chest of drawers, among others some old precedents concerning the practice of this office heretofore, which I am glad to find and shall make use of, among others an oath, which the Principal Officers were bound to swear at their entrance into their offices, which I would be glad were in use still. So home and fell hard to make up my monthly accounts, letting my family go to bed after prayers. I staid up long, and find myself, as I think, fully worth L670. So with good comfort to bed, finding that though it be but little, yet I do get ground every month. I pray God it may continue so with me. 30th. Up betimes and found my weather-glass sunk again just to the same position which it was last night before I had any fire made in my chamber, which had made it rise in two hours time above half a degree. So to my office where all the morning and at the Glass-house, and after dinner by coach with Sir W. Pen I carried my wife and her woman to Westminster, they to visit Mrs. Ferrers and Clerke, we to the Duke, where we did our usual business, and afterwards to the Tangier Committee, where among other things we all of us sealed and signed the Contract for building the Mole with my Lord Tiviott, Sir J. Lawson, and Mr. Cholmeley. A thing I did with a very ill will, because a thing which I did not at all understand, nor any or few of the whole board. We did also read over the propositions for the Civill government and Law Merchant of the town, as they were agreed on this morning at the Glasshouse by Sir R. Ford and Sir W. Rider, who drew them, Mr. Povy and myself as a Committee appointed to prepare them, which were in substance but not in the manner of executing them independent wholly upon the Governor consenting to. Thence to see my Lord Sandwich, who I found very merry and every day better and better. So to my wife, who waited my coming at my Lord's lodgings, and took her up and by coach home, where no sooner come but to bed, finding myself just in the same condition I was lately by the extreme cold weather, my pores stopt and so my body all inflamed and itching. So keeping myself warm and provoking myself to a moderate sweat, and so somewhat better in the morning, 31st. And to that purpose I lay long talking with my wife about my father's coming, which I expect to-day, coming up with the horses brought up for my Lord. Up and to my office, where doing business all the morning, and at Sir W. Batten's, whither Mr. Gauden and many others came to us about business. Then home to dinner, where W. Joyce came, and he still a talking impertinent fellow. So to the office again, and hearing by and by that Madam Clerke, Pierce, and others were come to see my wife I stepped in and staid a little with them, and so to the office again, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. APRIL 1663 April 1st. Up betimes and abroad to my brother's, but he being gone out I went to the Temple to my Cozen Roger Pepys, to see and talk with him a little; who tells me that, with much ado, the Parliament do agree to throw down Popery; but he says it is with so much spite and passion, and an endeavour of bringing all Non-conformists into the same condition, that he is afeard matters will not yet go so well as he could wish. Thence back to my brother's, in my way meeting Mr. Moore and talking with him about getting me some money, and calling at my brother's they tell me that my brother is still abroad, and that my father is not yet up. At which I wondered, not thinking that he was come, though I expected him, because I looked for him at my house. So I up to his bedside and staid an hour or two talking with him. Among other things he tells me how unquiett my mother is grown, that he is not able to live almost with her, if it were not for Pall. All other matters are as well as upon so hard conditions with my uncle Thomas we can expect them. I left him in bed, being very weary, to come to my house to-night or tomorrow, when he pleases, and so I home, calling on the virginall maker, buying a rest for myself to tune my tryangle, and taking one of his people along with me to put it in tune once more, by which I learned how to go about it myself for the time to come. So to dinner, my wife being lazily in bed all this morning. Ashwell and I dined below together, and a pretty girl she is, and I hope will give my wife and myself good content, being very humble and active, my cook maid do also dress my meat very well and neatly. So to my office all the afternoon till night, and then home, calling at Sir W. Batten's, where was Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen, I telling them how by my letter this day from Commissioner Pett I hear that his Stempeese [Stemples, cross pieces which are put into a frame of woodwork to cure and strengthen a shaft.] he undertook for the new ship at Woolwich, which we have been so long, to our shame, in looking for, do prove knotty and not fit for service. Lord! how Sir J. Minnes, like a mad coxcomb, did swear and stamp, swearing that Commissioner Pett hath still the old heart against the King that ever he had, and that this was his envy against his brother that was to build the ship, and all the damnable reproaches in the world, at which I was ashamed, but said little; but, upon the whole, I find him still a fool, led by the nose with stories told by Sir W. Batten, whether with or without reason. So, vexed in my mind to see things ordered so unlike gentlemen, or men of reason, I went home and to bed. 2nd. Up by very betimes and to my office, where all the morning till towards noon, and then by coach to Westminster Hall with Sir W. Pen, and while he went up to the House I walked in the Hall with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, that I met there, talking about my business the other day with Holmes, whom I told my mind, and did freely tell how I do depend upon my care and diligence in my employment to bear me out against the pride of Holmes or any man else in things that are honest, and much to that purpose which I know he will make good use of. But he did advise me to take as few occasions as I can of disobliging Commanders, though this is one that every body is glad to hear that he do receive a check. By and by the House rises and I home again with Sir W. Pen, and all the way talking of the same business, to whom I did on purpose tell him my mind freely, and let him see that it must be a wiser man than Holmes (in these very words) that shall do me any hurt while I do my duty. I to remember him of Holmes's words against Sir J. Minnes, that he was a knave, rogue, coward, and that he will kick him and pull him by the ears, which he remembered all of them and may have occasion to do it hereafter to his owne shame to suffer them to be spoke in his presence without any reply but what I did give him, which, has caused all this feud. But I am glad of it, for I would now and then take occasion to let the world know that I will not be made a novice. Sir W. Pen took occasion to speak about my wife's strangeness to him and his daughter, and that believing at last that it was from his taking of Sarah to be his maid, he hath now put her away, at which I am glad. He told me, that this day the King hath sent to the House his concurrence wholly with them against the Popish priests, Jesuits, &c., which gives great content, and I am glad of it. So home, whither my father comes and dines with us, and being willing to be merry with him I made myself so as much as I could, and so to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and at night having done all my business I went home to my wife and father, and supped, and so to bed, my father lying with me in Ashwell's bed in the red chamber. 3rd. Waked betimes and talked half an hour with my father, and so I rose and to my office, and about 9 o'clock by water from the Old Swan to White Hall and to chappell, which being most monstrous full, I could not go into my pew, but sat among the quire. Dr. Creeton, the Scotchman, preached a most admirable, good, learned, honest and most severe sermon, yet comicall, upon the words of the woman concerning the Virgin, "Blessed is the womb that bare thee (meaning Christ) and the paps that gave thee suck; and he answered, Nay; rather is he blessed that heareth the word of God, and keepeth it." He railed bitterly ever and anon against John Calvin, and his brood, the Presbyterians, and against the present term, now in use, of "tender consciences." He ripped up Hugh Peters (calling him the execrable skellum--[A villain or scoundrel; the cant term for a thief.]--), his preaching and stirring up the maids of the city to bring in their bodkins and thimbles. Thence going out of White Hall, I met Captain Grove, who did give me a letter directed to myself from himself. I discerned money to be in it, and took it, knowing, as I found it to be, the proceed of the place I have got him to be, the taking up of vessels for Tangier. But I did not open it till I came home to my office, and there I broke it open, not looking into it till all the money was out, that I might say I saw no money in the paper, if ever I should be questioned about it. There was a piece in gold and L4 in silver. So home to dinner with my father and wife, and after dinner up to my tryangle, where I found that above my expectation Ashwell has very good principles of musique and can take out a lesson herself with very little pains, at which I am very glad. Thence away back again by water to Whitehall, and there to the Tangier Committee, where we find ourselves at a great stand; the establishment being but L70,000 per annum, and the forces to be kept in the town at the least estimate that my Lord Rutherford can be got to bring it is L53,000. The charge of this year's work of the Mole will be L13,000; besides L1000 a-year to my Lord Peterborough as a pension, and the fortifications and contingencys, which puts us to a great stand, and so unsettled what to do therein we rose, and I to see my Lord Sandwich, whom I found merry at cards, and so by coach home, and after supper a little to my office and so home and to bed. I find at Court that there is some bad news from Ireland of an insurrection of the Catholiques there, which puts them into an alarm. I hear also in the City that for certain there is an embargo upon all our ships in Spayne, upon this action of my Lord Windsor's at Cuba, which signifies little or nothing, but only he hath a mind to say that he hath done something before he comes back again. Late tonight I sent to invite my uncle Wight and aunt with Mrs. Turner to-morrow. 4th. Up betimes and to my office. By and by to Lombard street by appointment to meet Mr. Moore, but the business not being ready I returned to the office, where we sat a while, and, being sent for, I returned to him and there signed to some papers in the conveying of some lands mortgaged by Sir Rob. Parkhurst in my name to my Lord Sandwich, which I having done I returned home to dinner, whither by and by comes Roger Pepys, Mrs. Turner her daughter, Joyce Norton, and a young lady, a daughter of Coll. Cockes, my uncle Wight, his wife and Mrs. Anne Wight. This being my feast, in lieu of what I should have had a few days ago for my cutting of the stone, for which the Lord make me truly thankful. Very merry at, before, and after dinner, and the more for that my dinner was great, and most neatly dressed by our own only maid. We had a fricasee of rabbits and chickens, a leg of mutton boiled, three carps in a dish, a great dish of a side of lamb, a dish of roasted pigeons, a dish of four lobsters, three tarts, a lamprey pie (a most rare pie), a dish of anchovies, good wine of several sorts, and all things mighty noble and to my great content. After dinner to Hide Park; my aunt, Mrs. Wight and I in one coach, and all the rest of the women in Mrs. Turner's; Roger being gone in haste to the Parliament about the carrying this business of the Papists, in which it seems there is great contest on both sides, and my uncle and father staying together behind. At the Park was the King, and in another coach my Lady Castlemaine, they greeting one another at every tour. [The company drove round and round the Ring in Hyde Park. The following two extracts illustrate this, and the second one shows how the circuit was called the Tour: "Here (1697) the people of fashion take the diversion of the Ring. In a pretty high place, which lies very open, they have surrounded a circumference of two or three hundred paces diameter with a sorry kind of balustrade, or rather with postes placed upon stakes but three feet from the ground; and the coaches drive round this. When they have turned for some time round one way they face about and turn t'other: so rowls the world!"--Wilson's Memoirs, 1719, p. 126.] ["It is in this Park where the Grand Tour or Ring is kept for the Ladies to take the air in their coaches, and in fine weather I have seen above three hundred at a time."--[Macky's] Journey through England, 1724, vol. i., p. 75.] Here about an hour, and so leaving all by the way we home and found the house as clean as if nothing had been done there to-day from top to bottom, which made us give the cook 12d. a piece, each of us. So to my office about writing letters by the post, one to my brother John at Brampton telling him (hoping to work a good effect by it upon my mother) how melancholy my father is, and bidding him use all means to get my mother to live peaceably and quietly, which I am sure she neither do nor I fear can ever do, but frightening her with his coming down no more, and the danger of her condition if he should die I trust may do good. So home and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up and spent the morning, till the Barber came, in reading in my chamber part of Osborne's Advice to his Son (which I shall not never enough admire for sense and language), and being by and by trimmed, to Church, myself, wife, Ashwell, &c. Home to dinner, it raining, while that was prepared to my office to read over my vows with great affection and to very good purpose. So to dinner, and very well pleased with it. Then to church again, where a simple bawling young Scot preached. So home to my office alone till dark, reading some papers of my old navy precedents, and so home to supper, and, after some pleasant talk, my wife, Ashwell, and I to bed. 6th. Up very betimes and to my office, and there made an end of reading my book that I have of Mr. Barlow's of the Journal of the Commissioners of the Navy, who begun to act in the year 1628 and continued six years, wherein is fine observations and precedents out of which I do purpose to make a good collection. By and by, much against my will, being twice sent for, to Sir G. Carteret's to pass his accounts there, upon which Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself all the morning, and again after dinner to it, being vexed at my heart to see a thing of that importance done so slightly and with that neglect for which God pardon us, and I would I could mend it. Thence leaving them I made an excuse and away home, and took my wife by coach and left her at Madam Clerk's, to make a visit there, and I to the Committee of Tangier, where I found, to my great joy, my Lord Sandwich, the first time I have seen him abroad these some months, and by and by he rose and took leave, being, it seems, this night to go to Kensington or Chelsey, where he hath taken a lodging for a while to take the ayre. We staid, and after business done I got Mr. Coventry into the Matted Gallery and told him my whole mind concerning matters of our office, all my discontent to see things of so great trust carried so neglectfully, and what pitiful service the Controller and Surveyor make of their duties, and I disburdened my mind wholly to him and he to me his own, many things, telling me that he is much discouraged by seeing things not to grow better and better as he did well hope they would have done. Upon the whole, after a full hour's private discourse, telling one another our minds, we with great content parted, and with very great satisfaction for my [having] thus cleared my conscience, went to Dr. Clerk's and thence fetched my wife, and by coach home. To my office a little to set things in order, and so home to supper and to bed. 7th. Up very betimes, and angry with Will that he made no more haste to rise after I called him. So to my office, and all the morning there. At noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife had been with Ashwell to La Roche's to have her tooth drawn, which it seems aches much, but my wife could not get her to be contented to have it drawn after the first twich, but would let it alone, and so they came home with it undone, which made my wife and me good sport. After dinner to the office, where Sir J. Minnes did make a great complaint to me alone, how my clerk Mr. Hater had entered in one of the Sea books a ticket to have been signed by him before it had been examined, which makes the old fool mad almost, though there was upon enquiry the greatest reason in the world for it. Which though it vexes me, yet it is most to see from day to day what a coxcomb he is, and that so great a trust should lie in the hands of such a fool. We sat all the afternoon, and I late at my office, it being post night, and so home to supper, my father being come again to my house, and after supper to bed, and after some talk to sleep. 8th. Up betimes and to my office, and by and by, about 8 o'clock, to the Temple to Commissioner Pett lately come to town and discoursed about the affairs of our office, how ill they go through the corruption and folly of Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes. Thence by water to White Hall, to chappell; where preached Dr. Pierce, the famous man that preached the sermon so much cried up, before the King against the Papists. His matter was the Devil tempting our Saviour, being carried into the Wilderness by the spirit. And he hath as much of natural eloquence as most men that ever I heard in my life, mixed with so much learning. After sermon I went up and saw the ceremony of the Bishop of Peterborough's paying homage upon the knee to the King, while Sir H. Bennet, Secretary, read the King's grant of the Bishopric of Lincoln, to which he is translated. His name is Dr. Lany. Here I also saw the Duke of Monmouth, with his Order of the Garter, the first time I ever saw it. I am told that the University of Cambridge did treat him a little while since with all the honour possible, with a comedy at Trinity College, and banquet; and made him Master of Arts there. All which, they say, the King took very well. Dr. Raynbow, Master of Magdalen, being now Vice-Chancellor. Home by water to dinner, and with my father, wife, and Ashwell, after dinner, by water towards Woolwich, and in our way I bethought myself that we had left our poor little dog that followed us out of doors at the waterside, and God knows whether he be not lost, which did not only strike my wife into a great passion but I must confess myself also; more than was becoming me. We immediately returned, I taking another boat and with my father went to Woolwich, while they went back to find the dog. I took my father on board the King's pleasure boat and down to Woolwich, and walked to Greenwich thence and turning into the park to show my father the steps up the hill, we found my wife, her woman, and dog attending us, which made us all merry again, and so took boats, they to Deptford and so by land to Half-way house, I into the King's yard and overlook them there, and eat and drank with them, and saw a company of seamen play drolly at our pence, and so home by water. I a little at the office, and so home to supper and to bed, after having Ashwell play my father and me a lesson upon her Tryangle. 9th. Up betimes and to my office, and anon we met upon finishing the Treasurer's accounts. At noon dined at home and am vexed to hear my wife tell me how our maid Mary do endeavour to corrupt our cook maid, which did please me very well, but I am resolved to rid the house of her as soon as I can. To the office and sat all the afternoon till 9 at night, and an hour after home to supper and bed. My father lying at Tom's to-night, he dining with my uncle Fenner and his sons and a great many more of the gang at his own cost to-day. To bed vexed also to think of Sir J. Minnes finding fault with Mr. Hater for what he had done the other day, though there be no hurt in the thing at all but only the old fool's jealousy, made worse by Sir W. Batten. 10th. Up very betimes and to my office, where most hard at business alone all the morning. At noon to the Exchange, where I hear that after great expectation from Ireland, and long stop of letters, there is good news come, that all is quiett after our great noise of troubles there, though some stir hath been as was reported. Off the Exchange with Sir J. Cutler and Mr. Grant to the Royall Oak Tavern, in Lumbard Street, where Alexander Broome the poet was, a merry and witty man, I believe, if he be not a little conceited, and here drank a sort of French wine, called Ho Bryan, [Haut Brion, a claret; one of the first growths of the red wines of Medoc.] that hath a good and most particular taste that I never met with. Home to dinner, and then by water abroad to Whitehall, my wife to see Mrs. Ferrers, I to Whitehall and the Park, doing no business. Then to my Lord's lodgings, met my wife, and walked to the New Exchange. There laid out 10s. upon pendents and painted leather gloves, very pretty and all the mode. So by coach home and to my office till late, and so to supper and to bed. 11th. Up betimes and to my office, where we sat also all the morning till noon, and then home to dinner, my father being there but not very well. After dinner in comes Captain Lambert of the Norwich, this day come from Tangier, whom I am glad to see. There came also with him Captain Wager, and afterwards in came Captain Allen to see me, of the Resolution. All staid a pretty while, and so away, and I a while to my office, then abroad into the street with my father, and left him to go to see my aunt Wight and uncle, intending to lie at Tom's to-night, or my cozen Scott's, where it seems he has hitherto lain and is most kindly used there. So I home and to my office very late making up my Lord's navy accounts, wherein I find him to stand debtor L1200. So home to supper and to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Lay till 8 o'clock, which I have not done a great while, then up and to church, where I found our pew altered by taking some of the hind pew to make ours bigger, because of the number of women, more by Sir J. Minnes company than we used to have. Home to dinner, and after dinner, intending to go to Chelsey to my Lord Sandwich, my wife would needs go with me, though she walked on foot to Whitehall. Which she did and staid at my Lord's lodgings while Creed and I took a turn at Whitehall, but no coach to be had, and so I returned to them and sat talking till evening, and then got a coach and to Gray's Inn walks, where some handsome faces, and so home and there to supper, and a little after 8 o'clock to bed, a thing I have not done God knows when. Coming home to-night, a drunken boy was carrying by our constable to our new pair of stocks to handsel them, being a new pair and very handsome. 13th. Up by five o'clock and to my office, where hard at work till towards noon, and home and eat a bit, and so going out met with Mr. Mount my old acquaintance, and took him in and drank a glass or two of wine to him and so parted, having not time to talk together, and I with Sir W. Batten to the Stillyard, and there eat a lobster together, and Wyse the King's fishmonger coming in we were very merry half an hour, and so by water to Whitehall, and by and by being all met we went in to the Duke and there did our business and so away, and anon to the Tangier Committee, where we had very fine discourse from Dr. Walker and Wiseman, civilians, against our erecting a court-merchant at Tangier, and well answered in many things by my Lord Sandwich (whose speaking I never till now observed so much to be very good) and Sir R. Ford. By and by the discourse being ended, we fell to my Lord Rutherford's dispatch, which do not please him, he being a Scott, and one resolved to scrape every penny that he can get by any way, which the Committee will not agree to. He took offence at something and rose away, without taking leave of the board, which all took ill, though nothing said but only by the Duke of Albemarle, who said that we ought to settle things as they ought to be, and if he will not go upon these terms another man will, no doubt. Here late, quite finishing things against his going, and so rose, and I walked home, being accompanied by Creed to Temple Bar, talking of this afternoon's passage, and so I called at the Wardrobe in my way home, and there spoke at the Horn tavern with Mr. Moore a word or two, but my business was with Mr. Townsend, who is gone this day to his country house, about sparing Charles Pepys some money of his bills due to him when he can, but missing him lost my labour. So walked home, finding my wife abroad, at my aunt, Wight's, who coming home by and by, I home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up betimes to my office, where busy till 8 o'clock that Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen and I down by barge to Woolwich, to see "The Royal James" launched, where she has been under repair a great while. We staid in the yard till almost noon, and then to Mr. Falconer's to a dinner of fish of our own sending, and when it was just ready to come upon the table, word is brought that the King and Duke are come, so they all went away to shew themselves, while I staid and had a little dish or two by myself, resolving to go home, and by the time I had dined they came again, having gone to little purpose, the King, I believe, taking little notice of them. So they to dinner, and I staid a little with them, and so good bye. I walked to Greenwich, studying the slide rule for measuring of timber, which is very fine. Thence to Deptford by water, and walked through the yard, and so walked to Redriffe, and so home pretty weary, to my office, where anon they all came home, the ship well launched, and so sat at the office till 9 at night, and I longer doing business at my office, and so home to supper, my father being come, and to bed. Sir G. Carteret tells me to-night that he perceives the Parliament is likely to make a great bustle before they will give the King any money; will call all things into question; and, above all, the expences of the Navy; and do enquire into the King's expences everywhere, and into the truth of the report of people being forced to sell their bills at 15 per cent. loss in the Navy; and, lastly, that they are in a very angry pettish mood at present, and not likely to be better. 15th. Up betimes, and after talking with my father awhile, I to my office, and there hard at it till almost noon, and then went down the river with Maynes, the purveyor, to show a ship's lading of Norway goods, and called at Sir W. Warren's yard, and so home to dinner. After dinner up with my wife and Ashwell a little to the Tryangle, and so I down to Deptford by land about looking out a couple of catches fitted to be speedily set forth in answer to a letter of Mr. Coventry's to me. Which done, I walked back again, all the way reading of my book of Timber measure, comparing it with my new Sliding Rule brought home this morning with great pleasure. Taking boat again I went to Shishe's yard, but he being newly gone out towards Deptford I followed him thither again, and there seeing him I went with him and pitched upon a couple, and so by water home, it being late, past 8 at night, the wind cold, and I a little weary. So home to my office, then to supper and bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, met to pass Mr. Pitt's (anon Sir J. Lawson's Secretary and Deputy Treasurer) accounts for the voyage last to the Streights, wherein the demands are strangely irregular, and I dare not oppose it alone for making an enemy and do no good, but only bring a review upon my Lord Sandwich, but God knows it troubles my heart to see it, and to see the Comptroller, whose duty it is, to make no more matter of it. At noon home for an hour to dinner, and so to the office public and private till late at night, so home to supper and bed with my father. 17th. Up by five o'clock as I have long done and to my office all the morning, at noon home to dinner with my father with us. Our dinner, it being Good Friday, was only sugarsopps and fish; the only time that we have had a Lenten dinner all this Lent. This morning Mr. Hunt, the instrument maker, brought me home a Basse Viall to see whether I like it, which I do not very well, besides I am under a doubt whether I had best buy one yet or no, because of spoiling my present mind and love to business. After dinner my father and I walked into the city a little, and parted and to Paul's Church Yard, to cause the title of my English "Mare Clausum" [Selden's work was highly esteemed, and Charles I. made an order in council that a copy should be kept in the Council chest, another in the Court of Exchequer, and a third in the Court of Admiralty. The book Pepys refers to is Nedham's translation, which was entitled, "Of the Dominion or Ownership of the Sea. Two Books..., written at first in Latin and entituled Mare Clausum, by John Selden. Translated into English by Marchamont Nedham. London, 1652." This has the Commonwealth arms on the title-page and a dedication "To the Supreme Autoritie of the Nation-The Parliament of the Commonwealth of England." The dedication to Charles I. in Selden's original work was left out. Apparently a new title-page and dedication was prepared in 1663, but the copy in the British Museum, which formerly belonged to Charles Killigrew, does not contain these additions.] to be changed, and the new title, dedicated to the King, to be put to it, because I am ashamed to have the other seen dedicated to the Commonwealth. So home and to my office till night, and so home to talk with my father, and supper and to bed, I have not had yet one quarter of an hour's leisure to sit down and talk with him since he came to town, nor do I know till the holidays when I shall. 18th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. At noon to dinner. With us Mr. Creed, who has been deeply engaged at the office this day about the ending of his accounts, wherein he is most unhappy to have to do with a company of fools who after they have signed his accounts and made bills upon them yet dare not boldly assert to the Treasurer that they are satisfied with his accounts. Hereupon all dinner, and walking in the garden the afternoon, he and I talking of the ill management of our office, which God knows is very ill for the King's advantage. I would I could make it better. In the evening to my office, and at night home to supper and bed. 19th (Easter day). Up and this day put on my close-kneed coloured suit, which, with new stockings of the colour, with belt, and new gilt-handled sword, is very handsome. To church alone, and so to dinner, where my father and brother Tom dined with us, and after dinner to church again, my father sitting below in the chancel. After church done, where the young Scotchman preaching I slept all the while, my father and I to see my uncle and aunt Wight, and after a stay of an hour there my father to my brother's and I home to supper, and after supper fell in discourse of dancing, and I find that Ashwell hath a very fine carriage, which makes my wife almost ashamed of herself to see herself so outdone, but to-morrow she begins to learn to dance for a month or two. So to prayers and to bed. Will being gone, with my leave, to his father's this day for a day or two, to take physique these holydays. 20th. Up betimes as I use to do, and in my chamber begun to look over my father's accounts, which he brought out of the country with him by my desire, whereby I may see what he has received and spent, and I find that he is not anything extravagant, and yet it do so far outdo his estate that he must either think of lessening his charge, or I must be forced to spare money out of my purse to help him through, which I would willing do as far as L20 goes. So to my office the remaining part of the morning till towards noon, and then to Mr. Grant's. There saw his prints, which he shewed me, and indeed are the best collection of any things almost that ever I saw, there being the prints of most of the greatest houses, churches, and antiquitys in Italy and France and brave cutts. I had not time to look them over as I ought, and which I will take time hereafter to do, and therefore left them and home to dinner. After dinner, it raining very hard, by coach to Whitehall, where, after Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Coventry and I had been with the Duke, we to the Committee of Tangier and did matters there dispatching wholly my Lord Teviott, and so broke up. With Sir G. Carteret and Sir John Minnes by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, thinking to have spoken about getting money for paying the Yards; but we found him with some ladies at cards: and so, it being a bad time to speak, we parted, and Sir J. Minnes and I home, and after walking with my wife in the garden late, to supper and to bed, being somewhat troubled at Ashwell's desiring and insisting over eagerly upon her going to a ball to meet some of her old companions at a dancing school here in town next Friday, but I am resolved she shall not go. So to bed. This day the little Duke of Monmouth was marryed at White Hall, in the King's chamber; and tonight is a great supper and dancing at his lodgings, near Charing-Cross. I observed his coat at the tail of his coach he gives the arms of England, Scotland, and France, quartered upon some other fields, but what it is that speaks his being a bastard I know not. 21st. Up betimes and to my office, where first I ruled with red ink my English "Mare Clausum," which, with the new orthodox title, makes it now very handsome. So to business, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to sit at the office in the afternoon, and thence to my study late, and so home to supper to play a game at cards with my wife, and so to bed. Ashwell plays well at cards, and will teach us to play; I wish it do not lose too much of my time, and put my wife too much upon it. 22nd. Up betimes and to my office very busy all the morning there, entering things into my Book Manuscript, which pleases me very much. So to the Change, and so to my uncle Wight's, by invitation, whither my father, wife, and Ashwell came, where we had but a poor dinner, and not well dressed; besides, the very sight of my aunt's hands and greasy manner of carving, did almost turn my stomach. After dinner by coach to the King's Playhouse, where we saw but part of "Witt without mony," which I do not like much, but coming late put me out of tune, and it costing me four half-crowns for myself and company. So, the play done, home, and I to my office a while and so home, where my father (who is so very melancholy) and we played at cards, and so to supper and to bed. 23rd. St. George's day and Coronacion, the King and Court being at Windsor, at the installing of the King of Denmark by proxy and the Duke of Monmouth. I up betimes, and with my father, having a fire made in my wife's new closet above, it being a wet and cold day, we sat there all the morning looking over his country accounts ever since his going into the country. I find his spending hitherto has been (without extraordinary charges) at full L100 per annum, which troubles me, and I did let him apprehend it, so as that the poor man wept, though he did make it well appear to me that he could not have saved a farthing of it. I did tell him how things stand with us, and did shew my distrust of Pall, both for her good nature and housewifery, which he was sorry for, telling me that indeed she carries herself very well and carefully, which I am glad to hear, though I doubt it was but his doting and not being able to find her miscarriages so well nowadays as he could heretofore have done. We resolve upon sending for Will Stankes up to town to give us a right understanding in all that we have in Brampton, and before my father goes to settle every thing so as to resolve how to find a living for my father and to pay debts and legacies, and also to understand truly how Tom's condition is in the world, that we may know what we are like to expect of his doing ill or well. So to dinner, and after dinner to the office, where some of us met and did a little business, and so to Sir W. Batten's to see a little picture drawing of his by a Dutchman which is very well done. So to my office and put a few things in order, and so home to spend the evening with my father. At cards till late, and being at supper, my boy being sent for some mustard to a neat's tongue, the rogue staid half an hour in the streets, it seems at a bonfire, at which I was very angry, and resolve to beat him to-morrow. 24th. Up betimes, and with my salt eel [A salt eel is a rope's end cut from the piece to be used on the back of a culprit. "Yeow shall have salt eel for supper" is an emphatic threat.] went down in the parler and there got my boy and did beat him till I was fain to take breath two or three times, yet for all I am afeard it will make the boy never the better, he is grown so hardened in his tricks, which I am sorry for, he being capable of making a brave man, and is a boy that I and my wife love very well. So made me ready, and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon home, whither came Captain Holland, who is lately come home from sea, and has been much harassed in law about the ship which he has bought, so that it seems in a despair he endeavoured to cut his own throat, but is recovered it; and it seems whether by that or any other persuasion (his wife's mother being a great zealot) he is turned almost a Quaker, his discourse being nothing but holy, and that impertinent, that I was weary of him. At last pretending to go to the Change we walked thither together, and there I left him and home to dinner, sending my boy by the way to enquire after two dancing masters at our end of the town for my wife to learn, of whose names the boy brought word. After dinner all the afternoon fiddling upon my viallin (which I have not done many a day) while Ashwell danced above in my upper best chamber, which is a rare room for musique, expecting this afternoon my wife to bring my cozen Scott and Stradwick, but they came not, and so in the evening we by ourselves to Half-way house to walk, but did not go in there, but only a walk and so home again and to supper, my father with us, and had a good lobster intended for part of our entertainment to these people to-day, and so to cards, and then to bed, being the first day that I have spent so much to my pleasure a great while. 25th. Up betimes and to my vyall and song book a pretty while, and so to my office, and there we sat all the morning. Among other things Sir W. Batten had a mind to cause Butler (our chief witness in the business of Field, whom we did force back from an employment going to sea to come back to attend our law sute) to be borne as a mate on the Rainbow in the Downes in compensation for his loss for our sakes. This he orders an order to be drawn by Mr. Turner for, and after Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen had signed it, it came to me and I was going to put it up into my book, thinking to consider of it and give them my opinion upon it before I parted with it, but Sir W. Pen told me I must sign it or give it him again, for it should not go without my hand. I told him what I meant to do, whereupon Sir W. Batten was very angry, and in a great heat (which will bring out any thing which he has in his mind, and I am glad of it, though it is base in him to have a thing so long in his mind without speaking of it, though I am glad this is the worst, for if he had worse it would out as well as this some time or other) told me that I should not think as I have heretofore done, make them sign orders and not sign them myself. Which what ignorance or worse it implies is easy to judge, when he shall sign to things (and the rest of the board too as appears in this business) for company and not out of their judgment for. After some discourse I did convince them that it was not fit to have it go, and Sir W. Batten first, and then the rest, did willingly cancel all their hands and tear the order, for I told them, Butler being such a rogue as I know him, and we have all signed him to be to the Duke, it will be in his power to publish this to our great reproach, that we should take such a course as this to serve ourselves in wronging the King by putting him into a place he is no wise capable of, and that in an Admiral ship. At noon we rose, Sir W. Batten ashamed and vexed, and so home to dinner, and after dinner walked to the old Exchange and so all along to Westminster Hall, White Hall, my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, and going by water back to the Temple did pay my debts in several places in order to my examining my accounts tomorrow to my great content. So in the evening home, and after supper (my father at my brother's) and merrily practising to dance, which my wife hath begun to learn this day of Mr. Pembleton, [Pembleton, the dancing-master, made Pepys very jealous, and there are many allusions to him in the following pages. His lessons ceased on May 27th.] but I fear will hardly do any great good at it, because she is conceited that she do well already, though I think no such thing. So to bed. At Westminster Hall, this day, I buy a book lately printed and licensed by Dr. Stradling, the Bishop of London's chaplin, being a book discovering the practices and designs of the papists, and the fears of some of our own fathers of the Protestant church heretofore of the return to Popery as it were prefacing it. The book is a very good book; but forasmuch as it touches one of the Queenmother's fathers confessors, the Bishop, which troubles many good men and members of Parliament, hath called it in, which I am sorry for. Another book I bought, being a collection of many expressions of the great Presbyterian Preachers upon publique occasions, in the late times, against the King and his party, as some of Mr. Marshall, Case, Calamy, Baxter, &c., which is good reading now, to see what they then did teach, and the people believe, and what they would seem to believe now. Lastly, I did hear that the Queen is much grieved of late at the King's neglecting her, he having not supped once with her this quarter of a year, and almost every night with my Lady Castlemaine; who hath been with him this St. George's feast at Windsor, and came home with him last night; and, which is more, they say is removed as to her bed from her own home to a chamber in White Hall, next to the King's own; which I am sorry to hear, though I love her much. 26th (Lord's-day). Lay pretty long in bed talking with my wife, and then up and set to the making up of my monthly accounts, but Tom coming, with whom I was angry for botching my camlott coat, to tell me that my father and he would dine with me, and that my father was at our church, I got me ready and had a very good sermon of a country minister upon "How blessed a thing it is for brethren to live together in unity!" So home and all to dinner, and then would have gone by coach to have seen my Lord Sandwich at Chelsey if the man would have taken us, but he denying it we staid at home, and I all the afternoon upon my accounts, and find myself worth full L700, for which I bless God, it being the most I was ever yet worth in money. In the evening (my father being gone to my brother's to lie to-night) my wife, Ashwell, and the boy and I, and the dogg, over the water and walked to Half-way house, and beyond into the fields, gathering of cowslipps, and so to Half-way house, with some cold lamb we carried with us, and there supped, and had a most pleasant walk back again, Ashwell all along telling us some parts of their mask at Chelsey School, which was very pretty, and I find she hath a most prodigious memory, remembering so much of things acted six or seven years ago. So home, and after reading my vows, being sleepy, without prayers to bed, for which God forgive me! 27th. Up betimes and to my office, where doing business alone a good while till people came about business to me. Will Griffin tells me this morning that Captain Browne, Sir W. Batten's brother-in-law, is dead of a blow given him two days ago by a seaman, a servant of his, being drunk, with a stone striking him on the forehead, for which I am sorry, he having a good woman and several small children. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home with my wife, merry, and after dinner by water to White Hall; but found the Duke of York gone to St. James's for this summer; and thence with Mr. Coventry, to whose chamber I went, and Sir W. Pen up to the Duke's closett. And a good while with him about our Navy business; and so I to White Hall, and there alone a while with my Lord Sandwich discoursing about his debt to the Navy, wherein he hath given me some things to resolve him in. Thence to my Lord's lodging, and thither came Creed to me, and he and I walked a great while in the garden, and thence to an alehouse in the market place to drink fine Lambeth ale, and so to Westminster Hall, and after walking there a great while, home by coach, where I found Mary gone from my wife, she being too high for her, though a very good servant, and my boy too will be going in a few days, for he is not for my family, he is grown so out of order and not to be ruled, and do himself, against his brother's counsel, desire to be gone, which I am sorry for, because I love the boy and would be glad to bring him to good. At home with my wife and Ashwell talking of her going into the country this year, wherein we had like to have fallen out, she thinking that I have a design to have her go, which I have not, and to let her stay here I perceive will not be convenient, for she expects more pleasure than I can give her here, and I fear I have done very ill in letting her begin to learn to dance. The Queen (which I did not know) it seems was at Windsor, at the late St. George's feast there; and the Duke of Monmouth dancing with her with his hat in his hand, the King came in and kissed him, and made him put on his hat, which every body took notice of. After being a while at my office home to supper and to bed, my Will being come home again after being at his father's all the last week taking physique. 28th. Up betimes and to my office, and there all the morning, only stepped up to see my wife and her dancing master at it, and I think after all she will do pretty well at it. So to dinner, Mr. Hunt dining with us, and so to the office, where we sat late, and then I to my office casting up my Lord's sea accounts over again, and putting them in order for payment, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and after having at my office settled some accounts for my Lord Sandwich, I went forth, and taking up my father at my brother's, took coach and towards Chelsey, 'lighting at an alehouse near the Gatehouse at Westminster to drink our morning draught, and so up again and to Chelsey, where we found my Lord all alone at a little table with one joynt of meat at dinner; we sat down and very merry talking, and mightily extolling the manner of his retirement, and the goodness of his diet, which indeed is so finely dressed: the mistress of the house, Mrs. Becke, having been a woman of good condition heretofore, a merchant's wife, and hath all things most excellently dressed; among others, her cakes admirable, and so good that my Lord's words were, they were fit to present to my Lady Castlemaine. From ordinary discourse my Lord fell to talk of other matters to me, of which chiefly the second part of the fray, which he told me a little while since of, between Mr. Edward Montagu and himself, which is that after that he had since been with him three times and no notice taken at all of any difference between them, and yet since that he hath forborn coming to him almost two months, and do speak not only slightly of my Lord every where, but hath complained to my Lord Chancellor of him, and arrogated all that ever my Lord hath done to be only by his direction and persuasion. Whether he hath done the like to the King or no, my Lord knows not; but my Lord hath been with the King since, and finds all things fair; and my Lord Chancellor hath told him of it, but with so much contempt of Mr. Montagu, as my Lord knows himself very secure against any thing the fool can do; and notwithstanding all this, so noble is his nature, that he professes himself ready to show kindness and pity to Mr. Montagu on any occasion. My Lord told me of his presenting Sir H. Bennet with a gold cupp of L100, which he refuses, with a compliment; but my Lord would have been glad he had taken it, that he might have had some obligations upon him which he thinks possible the other may refuse to prevent it; not that he hath any reason to doubt his kindness. But I perceive great differences there are at Court; and Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Bristol, and their faction, are likely to carry all things before them (which my Lord's judgment is, will not be for the best), and particularly against the Chancellor, who, he tells me, is irrecoverably lost: but, however, that he will not actually joyne in anything against the Chancellor, whom he do own to be his most sure friend, and to have been his greatest; and therefore will not openly act in either, but passively carry himself even. The Queen, my Lord tells me, he thinks he hath incurred some displeasure with, for his kindness to his neighbour, my Lady Castlemaine. My Lord tells me he hath no reason to fall for her sake, whose wit, management, nor interest, is not likely to hold up any man, and therefore he thinks it not his obligation to stand for her against his own interest. The Duke and Mr. Coventry my Lord says he is very well with, and fears not but they will show themselves his very good friends, specially at this time, he being able to serve them, and they needing him, which he did not tell me wherein. Talking of the business of Tangier, he tells me that my Lord Tiviott is gone away without the least respect paid to him, nor indeed to any man, but without his commission; and (if it be true what he says) having laid out seven or eight thousand pounds in commodities for the place; and besides having not only disobliged all the Commissioners for Tangier, but also Sir Charles Barkeley the other day, who, speaking in behalf of Colonel Fitz-Gerald, that having been deputy-governor there already, he ought to have expected and had the governorship upon the death or removal of the former governor. And whereas it is said that he and his men are Irish, which is indeed the main thing that hath moved the King and Council to put in Tiviott to prevent the Irish having too great and the whole command there under Fitz-Gerald; he further said that there was never an Englishman fit to command Tangier; my Lord Tiviott answered yes, that there were many more fit than himself or Fitz-Gerald either. So that Fitz-Gerald being so great with the Duke of York, and being already made deputy-governor, independent of my Lord Tiviott, and he being also left here behind him for a while, my Lord Sandwich do think that, putting all these things together, the few friends he hath left, and the ill posture of his affairs, my Lord Tiviott is not a man of the conduct and management that either people take him to be, or is fit for the command of the place. And here, speaking of the Duke of York and Sir Charles Barkeley, my Lord tells me that he do very much admire the good management, and discretion, and nobleness of the Duke, that whatever he may be led by him or Mr. Coventry singly in private, yet he did not observe that in publique matters, but he did give as ready hearing and as good acceptance to any reasons offered by any other man against the opinions of them, as he did to them, and would concur in the prosecution of it. Then we came to discourse upon his own sea accompts, and came to a resolution what and how to proceed in them; wherein he resolved, though I offered him a way of evading the greatest part of his debt honestly, by making himself debtor to the Parliament, before the King's time, which he might justly do, yet he resolved to go openly and nakedly in it, and put himself to the kindness of the King and Duke, which humour, I must confess, and so did tell him (with which he was not a little pleased) had thriven very well with him, being known to be a man of candid and open dealing, without any private tricks or hidden designs as other men commonly have in what they do. From that we had discourse of Sir G. Carteret, who he finds kind to him, but it may be a little envious, and most other men are, and of many others; and upon the whole do find that it is a troublesome thing for a man of any condition at Court to carry himself even, and without contracting enemys or envyers; and that much discretion and dissimulation is necessary to do it. My father staid a good while at the window and then sat down by himself while my Lord and I were thus an hour together or two after dinner discoursing, and by and by he took his leave, and told me he would stay below for me. Anon I took leave, and coming down found my father unexpectedly in great pain and desiring for God's sake to get him a bed to lie upon, which I did, and W. Howe and I staid by him, in so great pain as I never saw, poor wretch, and with that patience, crying only: Terrible, terrible pain, God help me, God help me, with the mournful voice, that made my heart ake. He desired to rest a little alone to see whether it would abate, and W. Howe and I went down and walked in the gardens, which are very fine, and a pretty fountayne, with which I was finely wetted, and up to a banquetting house, with a very fine prospect, and so back to my father, who I found in such pain that I could not bear the sight of it without weeping, never thinking that I should be able to get him from thence, but at last, finding it like to continue, I got him to go to the coach, with great pain, and driving hard, he all the while in a most unsufferable torment (meeting in the way with Captain Ferrers going to my Lord, to tell him that my Lady Jemimah is come to town, and that Will Stankes is come with my father's horses), not staying the coach to speak with any body, but once, in St. Paul's Churchyard, we were forced to stay, the jogging and pain making my father vomit, which it never had done before. At last we got home, and all helping him we got him to bed presently, and after half an hour's lying in his naked bed (it being a rupture [with] which he is troubled, and has been this 20 years, but never in half the pain and with so great swelling as now, and how this came but by drinking of cold small beer and sitting long upon a low stool and then standing long after it he cannot tell).... After which he was at good ease, and so continued, and so fell to sleep, and we went down whither W. Stankes was come with his horses. But it is very pleasant to hear how he rails at the rumbling and ado that is in London over it is in the country, that he cannot endure it. He supped with us, and very merry, and then he to his lodgings at the Inne with the horses, and so we to bed, I to my father who is very well again, and both slept very well. 30th. Up, and after drinking my morning draft with my father and W. Stankes, I went forth to Sir W. Batten, who is going (to no purpose as he uses to do) to Chatham upon a survey. So to my office, where till towards noon, and then to the Exchange, and back home to dinner, where Mrs. Hunt, my father, and W. Stankes; but, Lord! what a stir Stankes makes with his being crowded in the streets and wearied in walking in London, and would not be wooed by my wife and Ashwell to go to a play, nor to White Hall, or to see the lyons, [The Tower menagerie, with its famous lions, which was one of the chief sights of London, and gave rise to a new English word, was not abolished until the early part of the present century.] though he was carried in a coach. I never could have thought there had been upon earth a man so little curious in the world as he is. At the office all the afternoon till 9 at night, so home to cards with my father, wife, and Ashwell, and so to bed. MAY 1663 May 1st. Up betimes and my father with me, and he and I all the morning and Will Stankes private, in my wife's closet above, settling our matters concerning our Brampton estate, &c., and I find that there will be, after all debts paid within L100, L50 per annum clear coming towards my father's maintenance, besides L25 per annum annuities to my Uncle Thomas and Aunt Perkins. Of which, though I was in my mind glad, yet thought it not fit to let my father know it thoroughly, but after he had gone out to visit my uncle Thomas and brought him to dinner with him, and after dinner I got my father, brother Tom, and myself together, I did make the business worse to them, and did promise L20 out of my own purse to make it L50 a year to my father, propounding that Stortlow may be sold to pay L200 for his satisfaction therein and the rest to go towards payment of debts and legacies. The truth is I am fearful lest my father should die before debts are paid, and then the land goes to Tom and the burden of paying all debts will fall upon the rest of the land. Not that I would do my brother any real hurt. I advised my father to good husbandry and to living within the compass of L50 a year, and all in such kind words, as not only made, them but myself to weep, and I hope it will have a good effect. That being done, and all things agreed on, we went down, and after a glass of wine we all took horse, and I, upon a horse hired of Mr. Game, saw him out of London, at the end of Bishopsgate Street, and so I turned and rode, with some trouble, through the fields, and then Holborn, &c., towards Hide Park, whither all the world, I think, are going, and in my going, almost thither, met W. Howe coming galloping upon a little crop black nag; it seems one that was taken in some ground of my Lord's, by some mischance being left by his master, a thief; this horse being found with black cloth ears on, and a false mayne, having none of his own; and I back again with him to the Chequer, at Charing Cross, and there put up my own dull jade, and by his advice saddled a delicate stone-horse of Captain Ferrers's, and with that rid in state to the Park, where none better mounted than I almost, but being in a throng of horses, seeing the King's riders showing tricks with their managed horses, which were very strange, my stone-horse was very troublesome, and begun to, fight with other horses, to the dangering him and myself, and with much ado I got out, and kept myself out of harm's way.. Here I saw nothing good, neither the King, nor my Lady Castlemaine, nor any great ladies or beauties being there, there being more pleasure a great deal at an ordinary day; or else those few good faces that there were choked up with the many bad ones, there being people of all sorts in coaches there, to some thousands, I think. Going thither in the highway, just by the Park gate, I met a boy in a sculler boat, carried by a dozen people at least, rowing as hard as he could drive, it seems upon some wager. By and by, about seven or eight o'clock, homeward; and changing my horse again, I rode home, coaches going in great crowds to the further end of the town almost. In my way, in Leadenhall Street, there was morris-dancing which I have not seen a great while. So set my horse up at Game's, paying 5s. for him. And so home to see Sir J. Minnes, who is well again, and after staying talking with him awhile, I took leave and went to hear Mrs. Turner's daughter, at whose house Sir J. Minnes lies, play on the harpsicon; but, Lord! it was enough to make any man sick to hear her; yet I was forced to commend her highly. So home to supper and to bed, Ashwell playing upon the tryangle very well before I went to bed. This day Captain Grove sent me a side of pork, which was the oddest present, sure, that was ever made any man; and the next, I remember I told my wife, I believe would be a pound of candles, or a shoulder of mutton; but the fellow do it in kindness, and is one I am beholden to. So to bed very weary, and a little galled for lack of riding, praying to God for a good journey to my father, of whom I am afeard, he being so lately ill of his pain. 2nd. Being weary last night, I slept till almost seven o'clock, a thing I have not done many a day. So up and to my office (being come to some angry words with my wife about neglecting the keeping of the house clean, I calling her beggar, and she me pricklouse, which vexed me) and there all the morning. So to the Exchange and then home to dinner, and very merry and well pleased with my wife, and so to the office again, where we met extraordinary upon drawing up the debts of the Navy to my Lord Treasurer. So rose and up to Sir W. Pen to drink a glass of bad syder in his new far low dining room, which is very noble, and so home, where Captain Ferrers and his lady are come to see my wife, he being to go the beginning of next week to France to sea and I think to fetch over my young Lord Hinchinbroke. They being gone I to my office to write letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up before 5 o'clock and alone at setting my Brampton papers to rights according to my father's and my computation and resolution the other day to my good content, I finding that there will be clear saved to us L50 per annum, only a debt of it may be L100. So made myself ready and to church, where Sir W. Pen showed me the young lady which young Dawes, that sits in the new corner-pew in the church, hath stole away from Sir Andrew Rickard, her guardian, worth L1000 per annum present, good land, and some money, and a very well-bred and handsome lady: he, I doubt, but a simple fellow. However, he got this good luck to get her, which methinks I could envy him with all my heart. Home to dinner with my wife, who not being very well did not dress herself but staid at home all day, and so I to church in the afternoon and so home again, and up to teach Ashwell the grounds of time and other things on the tryangle, and made her take out a Psalm very well, she having a good ear and hand. And so a while to my office, and then home to supper and prayers, to bed, my wife and I having a little falling out because I would not leave my discourse below with her and Ashwell to go up and talk with her alone upon something she has to say. She reproached me but I had rather talk with any body than her, by which I find I think she is jealous of my freedom with Ashwell, which I must avoid giving occasion of. 4th. Up betimes and to setting my Brampton papers in order and looking over my wardrobe against summer, and laying things in order to send to my brother to alter. By and by took boat intending to have gone down to Woolwich, but seeing I could not get back time enough to dinner, I returned and home. Whither by and by the dancing-master' came, whom standing by, seeing him instructing my wife, when he had done with her, he would needs have me try the steps of a coranto, and what with his desire and my wife's importunity, I did begin, and then was obliged to give him entry-money 10s., and am become his scholler. The truth is, I think it a thing very useful for a gentleman, and sometimes I may have occasion of using it, and though it cost me what I am heartily sorry it should, besides that I must by my oath give half as much more to the poor, yet I am resolved to get it up some other way, and then it will not be above a month or two in a year. So though it be against my stomach yet I will try it a little while; if I see it comes to any great inconvenience or charge I will fling it off. After I had begun with the steps of half a coranto, which I think I shall learn well enough, he went away, and we to dinner, and by and by out by coach, and set my wife down at my Lord Crew's, going to see my Lady Jem. Montagu, who is lately come to town, and I to St. James's; where Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen and I staid a good while for the Duke's coming in, but not coming, we walked to White Hall; and meeting the King, we followed him into the Park, where Mr. Coventry and he talked of building a new yacht, which the King is resolved to have built out of his privy purse, he having some contrivance of his own. The talk being done, we fell off to White Hall, leaving the King in the Park, and going back, met the Duke going towards St. James's to meet us. So he turned back again, and to his closett at White Hall; and there, my Lord Sandwich present, we did our weekly errand, and so broke up; and I down into the garden with my Lord Sandwich (after we had sat an hour at the Tangier Committee); and after talking largely of his own businesses, we begun to talk how matters are at Court: and though he did not flatly tell me any such thing, yet I do suspect that all is not kind between the King and the Duke, and that the King's fondness to the little Duke do occasion it; and it may be that there is some fear of his being made heir to the Crown. But this my Lord did not tell me, but is my guess only; and that my Lord Chancellor is without doubt falling past hopes. He being gone to Chelsey by coach I to his lodgings, where my wife staid for me, and she from thence to see Mrs. Pierce and called me at Whitehall stairs (where I went before by land to know whether there was any play at Court to-night) and there being none she and I to Mr. Creed to the Exchange, where she bought something, and from thence by water to White Fryars, and wife to see Mrs. Turner, and then came to me at my brother's, where I did give him order about my summer clothes, and so home by coach, and after supper to bed to my wife, with whom I have not lain since I used to lie with my father till to-night. 5th. Up betimes and to my office, and there busy all the morning, among other things walked a good while up and down with Sir J. Minnes, he telling many old stories of the Navy, and of the state of the Navy at the beginning of the late troubles, and I am troubled at my heart to think, and shall hereafter cease to wonder, at the bad success of the King's cause, when such a knave as he (if it be true what he says) had the whole management of the fleet, and the design of putting out of my Lord Warwick, and carrying the fleet to the King, wherein he failed most fatally to the King's ruin. Dined at home, and after dinner up to try my dance, and so to the office again, where we sat all the afternoon. In the evening Deane of Woolwich went home with me and showed me the use of a little sliding ruler, less than that I bought the other day, which is the same with that, but more portable; however I did not seem to understand or even to have seen anything of it before, but I find him an ingenious fellow, and a good servant in his place to the King. Thence to my office busy writing letters, and then came Sir W. Warren, staying for a letter in his business by the post, and while that was writing he and I talked about merchandise, trade, and getting of money. I made it my business to enquire what way there is for a man bred like me to come to understand anything of trade. He did most discretely answer me in all things, shewing me the danger for me to meddle either in ships or merchandise of any sort or common stocks, but what I have to keep at interest, which is a good, quiett, and easy profit, and once in a little while something offers that with ready money you may make use of money to good profit. Wherein I concur much with him, and parted late with great pleasure and content in his discourse, and so home to supper and to bed. It has been this afternoon very hot and this evening also, and about 11 at night going to bed it fell a-thundering and lightening, the greatest flashes enlightening the whole body of the yard, that ever I saw in my life. 6th. Up betimes and to my office a good while at my new rulers, then to business, and towards noon to the Exchange with Creed, where we met with Sir J. Minnes coming in his coach from Westminster, who tells us, in great heat, that, by God, the Parliament will make mad work; that they will render all men incapable of any military or civil employment that have borne arms in the late troubles against the King, excepting some persons; which, if it be so, as I hope it is not, will give great cause of discontent, and I doubt will have but bad effects. I left them at the Exchange and walked to Paul's Churchyard to look upon a book or two, and so back, and thence to the Trinity House, and there dined, where, among other discourse worth hearing among the old seamen, they tell us that they have catched often in Greenland in fishing whales with the iron grapnells that had formerly been struck into their bodies covered over with fat; that they have had eleven hogsheads of oyle out of the tongue of a whale. Thence after dinner home to my office, and there busy till the evening. Then home and to supper, and while at supper comes Mr. Pembleton, and after supper we up to our dancing room and there danced three or four country dances, and after that a practice of my coranto I began with him the other day, and I begin to think that I shall be able to do something at it in time. Late and merry at it, and so weary to bed. 7th. Up betimes and to my office awhile, and then by water with my wife, leaving her at the new Exchange, and I to see Dr. Williams, and spoke with him about my business with Tom Trice, and so to my brother's, who I find very careful now-a-days, more than ordinary in his business and like to do well. From thence to Westminster, and there up and down from the Hall to the Lobby, the Parliament sitting. Sir Thomas Crew this day tells me that the Queen, hearing that there was L40,000 per annum brought into her account among the other expences of the Crown to the Committee of Parliament, she took order to let them know that she hath yet for the payment of her whole family received but L4,000, which is a notable act of spirit, and I believe is true. So by coach to my Lord Crew's, and there dined with him. He tells me of the order the House of Commons have made for the drawing an Act for the rendering none capable of preferment or employment in the State, but who have been loyall and constant to the King and Church; which will be fatal to a great many, and makes me doubt lest I myself, with all my innocence during the late times, should be brought in, being employed in the Exchequer; but, I hope, God will provide for me. This day the new Theatre Royal begins to act with scenes the Humourous Lieutenant, but I have not time to see it, nor could stay to see my Lady Jemimah lately come to town, and who was here in the house, but dined above with her grandmother. But taking my wife at my brother's home by coach, and the officers being at Deptford at a Pay we had no office, but I took my wife by water and so spent the evening, and so home with great pleasure to supper, and then to bed. 8th. Up very early and to my office, there preparing letters to my father of great import in the settling of our affairs, and putting him upon a way [of] good husbandry, I promising to make out of my own purse him up to L50 per annum, till either by my uncle Thomas's death or the fall of the Wardrobe place he be otherwise provided. That done I by water to the Strand, and there viewed the Queen-Mother's works at Somersett House, and thence to the new playhouse, but could not get in to see it. So to visit my Lady Jemimah, who is grown much since I saw her; but lacks mightily to be brought into the fashion of the court to set her off: Thence to the Temple, and there sat till one o'clock reading at Playford's in Dr. Usher's 'Body of Divinity' his discourse of the Scripture, which is as much, I believe, as is anywhere said by any man, but yet there is room to cavill, if a man would use no faith to the tradition of the Church in which he is born, which I think to be as good an argument as most is brought for many things, and it may be for that among others. Thence to my brother's, and there took up my wife and Ashwell to the Theatre Royall, being the second day of its being opened. The house is made with extraordinary good contrivance, and yet hath some faults, as the narrowness of the passages in and out of the Pitt, and the distance from the stage to the boxes, which I am confident cannot hear; but for all other things it is well, only, above all, the musique being below, and most of it sounding under the very stage, there is no hearing of the bases at all, nor very well of the trebles, which sure must be mended. The play was "The Humerous Lieutenant," a play that hath little good in it, nor much in the very part which, by the King's command, Lacy now acts instead of Clun. In the dance, the tall devil's actions was very pretty. The play being done, we home by water, having been a little shamed that my wife and woman were in such a pickle, all the ladies being finer and better dressed in the pitt than they used, I think, to be. To my office to set down this day's passage, and, though my oath against going to plays do not oblige me against this house, because it was not then in being, yet believing that at the time my meaning was against all publique houses, I am resolved to deny myself the liberty of two plays at Court, which are in arreare to me for the months of March and April, which will more than countervail this excess, so that this month of May is the first that I must claim a liberty of going to a Court play according to my oath. So home to supper, and at supper comes Pembleton, and afterwards we all up to dancing till late, and so broke up and to bed, and they say that I am like to make a dancer. 9th. Up betimes and to my office, whither sooner than ordinary comes Mr. Hater desiring to speak a word to me alone, which I was from the disorder of his countenance amused at, and so the poor man began telling me that by Providence being the last Lord's day at a meeting of some Friends upon doing of their duties, they were surprised, and he carried to the Counter, but afterwards released; however, hearing that Sir W. Batten do hear of [it,] he thought it good to give me an account of it, lest it might tend to any prejudice to me. I was extraordinary surprised with it, and troubled for him, knowing that now it is out it is impossible for me to conceal it, or keep him in employment under me without danger to myself. I cast about all I could, and did give him the best advice I could, desiring to know if I should promise that he would not for the time to come commit the same, he told me he desired that I would rather forbear to promise that, for he durst not do it, whatever God in His providence shall do with him, and that for my part he did bless God and thank me for all the love and kindness I have shewed him hitherto. I could not without tears in my eyes discourse with him further, but at last did pitch upon telling the truth of the whole to Mr. Coventry as soon as I could, and to that end did use means to prevent Sir W. Batten (who came to town last night) from going to that end to-day, lest he might doe it to Sir G. Carteret or Mr. Coventry before me; which I did prevail and kept him at the office all the morning. At noon dined at home with a heavy heart for the poor man, and after dinner went out to my brother's, and thence to Westminster, where at Mr. Jervas's, my old barber, I did try two or three borders and perriwiggs, meaning to wear one; and yet I have no stomach [for it,] but that the pains of keeping my hair clean is so great. He trimmed me, and at last I parted, but my mind was almost altered from my first purpose, from the trouble that I foresee will be in wearing them also. Thence by water home and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and bed, with my mind much troubled about T. Hater. 10th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and put on a black cloth suit, with white lynings under all, as the fashion is to wear, to appear under the breeches. So being ready walked to St. James's, where I sat talking with Mr. Coventry, while he made himself ready, about several businesses of the Navy, and afterwards, the Duke being gone out, he and I walked to White Hall together over the Park, I telling him what had happened to Tom Hater, at which he seems very sorry, but tells me that if it is not made very publique, it will not be necessary to put him away at present, but give him good caution for the time to come. However, he will speak to the Duke about it and know his pleasure. Parted with him there, and I walked back to St. James's, and was there at mass, and was forced in the crowd to kneel down; and mass being done, to the King's Head ordinary, whither I sent for Mr. Creed and there we dined, where many Parliament-men; and most of their talk was about the news from Scotland, that the Bishop of Galloway was besieged in his house by some woman, and had like to have been outraged, but I know not how he was secured; which is bad news, and looks just as it did in the beginning of the late troubles. From thence they talked of rebellion; and I perceive they make it their great maxime to be sure to master the City of London, whatever comes of it or from it. After that to some other discourse, and, among other things, talking of the way of ordinaries, that it is very convenient, because a man knows what he hath to pay: one did wish that, among many bad, we could learn two good things of France, which were that we would not think it below the gentleman, or person of honour at a tavern, to bargain for his meat before he eats it; and next, to take no servant without certificate from some friend or gentleman of his good behaviour and abilities. Hence with Creed into St. James's Park, and there walked all the afternoon, and thence on foot home, and after a little while at my office walked in the garden with my wife, and so home to supper, and after prayers to bed. My brother Tom supped with me, and should have brought my aunt Ellen with him; she was not free to go abroad. 11th. Up betimes, and by water to Woolwich on board the Royall James, to see in what dispatch she is to be carried about to Chatham. So to the yard a little, and thence on foot to Greenwich, where going I was set upon by a great dogg, who got hold of my garters, and might have done me hurt; but, Lord, to see in what a maze I was, that, having a sword about me, I never thought of it, or had the heart to make use of it, but might, for want of that courage, have been worried. Took water there and home, and both coming and going did con my lesson on my Ruler to measure timber, which I think I can well undertake now to do. At home there being Pembleton I danced, and I think shall come on to do something in a little time, and after dinner by coach with Sir W. Pen (setting down his daughter at Clerkenwell), to St. James's, where we attended the Duke of York: and, among other things, Sir G. Carteret and I had a great dispute about the different value of the pieces of eight rated by Mr. Creed at 4s. and 5d., and by Pitts at 4s. and 9d., which was the greatest husbandry to the King? he persisting that the greatest sum was; which is as ridiculous a piece of ignorance as could be imagined. However, it is to be argued at the Board, and reported to the Duke next week; which I shall do with advantage, I hope. Thence to the Tangier Committee, where we should have concluded in sending Captain Cuttance and the rest to Tangier to deliberate upon the design of the Mole before they begin to work upon it, but there being not a committee (my Lord intending to be there but was taken up at my Lady Castlemayne's) I parted and went homeward, after a little discourse with Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who tells me that my Lady Castlemaine hath now got lodgings near the King's chamber at Court; and that the other day Dr. Clerke and he did dissect two bodies, a man and a woman; before the King, with which the King was highly pleased. By water and called upon Tom Trice by appointment with Dr. Williams, but the Dr. did not come, it seems by T. Trice's desire, not thinking he should be at leisure. However, in general we talked of our business, and I do not find that he will come to any lower terms than L150, which I think I shall not give him but by law, and so we parted, and I called upon Mr. Crumlum, and did give him the 10s. remaining, not laid out of the L5 I promised him for the school, with which he will buy strings, and golden letters upon the books I did give them. I sat with him and his wife a great while talking, and she is [a] pretty woman, never yet with child, and methinks looks as if her mouth watered now and then upon some of her boys. Then upon Tom Pepys, the Turner, desiring his father and his letter to Piggott signifying his consent to the selling of his land for the paying of us his money, and so home, and finding Pembleton there we did dance till it was late, and so to supper and to bed. 12th. Up between four and five, and after dressing myself then to my office to prepare business against the afternoon, where all the morning, and dined at noon at home, where a little angry with my wife for minding nothing now but the dancing-master, having him come twice a day, which is a folly. Again, to my office. We sat till late, our chief business being the reconciling the business of the pieces of eight mentioned yesterday before the Duke of York, wherein I have got the day, and they are all brought over to what I said, of which I am proud. Late writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed. Here I found Creed staying for me, and so after supper I staid him all night and lay with me, our great discourse being the folly of our two doting knights, of which I am ashamed. 13th. Lay till 6 o'clock and then up, and after a little talk and mirth, he went away, and I to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner Pembleton came and I practised. But, Lord! to see how my wife will not be thought to need telling by me or Ashwell, and yet will plead that she has learnt but a month, which causes many short fallings out between us. So to my office, whither one-eyed Cooper came to see me, and I made him to show me the use of platts, and to understand the lines, and how to find how lands bear, &c., to my great content. Then came Mr. Barrow, storekeeper of Chatham, who tells me many things, how basely Sir W. Batten has carried himself to him, and in all things else like a passionate dotard, to the King's great wrong. God mend all, for I am sure we are but in an ill condition in the Navy, however the King is served in other places. Home to supper, to cards, and to bed. 14th. Up betimes and put up some things to send to Brampton. Then abroad to the Temple, and up and down about business, and met Mr. Moore; and with him to an alehouse in Holborn; where in discourse he told me that he fears the King will be tempted to endeavour the setting the Crown upon the little Duke, which may cause troubles; which God forbid, unless it be his due! He told me my Lord do begin to settle to business again, which I am glad of, for he must not sit out, now he has done his own business by getting his estate settled, and that the King did send for him the other day to my Lady Castlemaine's, to play at cards, where he lost L50; for which I am sorry, though he says my Lord was pleased at it, and said he would be glad at any time to lose L50 for the King to send for him to play, which I do not so well like. Thence home, and after dinner to the office, where we sat till night, and then made up my papers and letters by the post, and so home to dance with Pembleton. This day we received a baskett from my sister Pall, made by her of paper, which hath a great deal of labour in it for country innocent work. After supper to bed, and going to bed received a letter from Mr. Coventry desiring my coming to him to-morrow morning, which troubled me to think what the business should be, fearing it must be some bad news in Tom Hater's business. 15th. Up betimes and walked to St. James's, where Mr. Coventry being in bed I walked in the Park, discoursing with the keeper of the Pell Mell, who was sweeping of it; who told me of what the earth is mixed that do floor the Mall, and that over all there is cockle-shells powdered, and spread to keep it fast; which, however, in dry weather, turns to dust and deads the ball. Thence to Mr. Coventry; and sitting by his bedside, he did tell me that he sent for me to discourse upon my Lord Sandwich's allowances for his several pays, and what his thoughts are concerning his demands; which he could not take the freedom to do face to face, it being not so proper as by me: and did give me a most friendly and ingenuous account of all; telling me how unsafe, at this juncture, while every man's, and his actions particularly, are descanted upon, it is either for him to put the Duke upon doing, or my Lord himself to desire anything extraordinary, 'specially the King having been so bountifull already; which the world takes notice of even to some repinings. All which he did desire me to discourse with my Lord of; which I have undertook to do. We talked also of our office in general, with which he told me that he was now-a-days nothing so satisfied as he was wont to be. I confess I told him things are ordered in that way that we must of necessity break in a little time a pieces. After done with him about these things, he told me that for Mr. Hater the Duke's word was in short that he found he had a good servant, an Anabaptist, and unless he did carry himself more to the scandal of the office, he would bear with his opinion till he heard further, which do please me very much. Thence walked to Westminster, and there up and down in the Hall and the Parliament House all the morning; at noon by coach to my Lord Crew's, hearing that Lord Sandwich did dine there; where I told him what had passed between Mr. Coventry and myself; with which he was contented, though I could perceive not very well pleased. And I do believe that my Lord do find some other things go against his mind in the House; for in the motion made the other day in the House by my Lord Bruce, that none be capable of employment but such as have been loyal and constant to the King and Church, the General [Monk] and my Lord were mentioned to be excepted; and my Lord Bruce did come since to my Lord, to clear himself that he meant nothing to his prejudice, nor could it have any such effect if he did mean it. After discourse with my Lord; to dinner with him; there dining there my Lord Montagu of Boughton, Mr. William Montagu his brother, the Queen's Sollicitor, &c., and a fine dinner. Their talk about a ridiculous falling-out two days ago at my Lord of Oxford's house, at an entertainment of his, there being there my Lord of Albemarle, Lynsey, two of the Porters, my Lord Bellasses, and others, where there were high words and some blows, and pulling off of perriwiggs; till my Lord Monk took away some of their swords, and sent for some soldiers to guard the house till the fray was ended. To such a degree of madness the nobility of this age is come! After dinner I went up to Sir Thomas Crew, who lies there not very well in his head, being troubled with vapours and fits of dizziness: and there I sat talking with him all the afternoon from one discourse to another, the most was upon the unhappy posture of things at this time; that the King do mind nothing but pleasures, and hates the very sight or thoughts of business; that my Lady Castlemaine rules him, who, he says, hath all the tricks of Aretin [An allusion to Aretin's infamous letters and sonnets accompanying the as infamous "Postures" engraved by Marc Antonio from the designs of Julio Romano (Steinman's "Memoir of Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland," privately printed, 1871).] that are to be practised to give pleasure. In which he is too able .... but what is the unhappiness in that, as the Italian proverb says, "lazzo dritto non vuolt consiglio." If any of the sober counsellors give him good advice, and move him in anything that is to his good and honour, the other part, which are his counsellers of pleasure, take him when he is with my Lady Castlemaine, and in a humour of delight, and then persuade him that he ought not to hear nor listen to the advice of those old dotards or counsellors that were heretofore his enemies: when, God knows! it is they that now-a-days do most study his honour. It seems the present favourites now are my Lord Bristol, Duke of Buckingham, Sir H. Bennet, my Lord Ashley, and Sir Charles Barkeley; who, among them, have cast my Lord Chancellor upon his back, past ever getting up again; there being now little for him to do, and he waits at Court attending to speak to the King as others do: which I pray God may prove of good effects, for it is feared it will be the same with my Lord Treasurer shortly. But strange to hear how my Lord Ashley, by my Lord Bristol's means (he being brought over to the Catholique party against the Bishopps, whom he hates to the death, and publicly rails against them; not that he is become a Catholique, but merely opposes the Bishopps; and yet, for aught I hear, the Bishopp of London keeps as great with the King as ever) is got into favour, so much that, being a man of great business and yet of pleasure, and drolling too, he, it is thought, will be made Lord Treasurer upon the death or removal of the good old man. My Lord Albemarle, I hear, do bear through and bustle among them, and will not be removed from the King's good opinion and favour, though none of the Cabinett; but yet he is envied enough. It is made very doubtful whether the King do not intend the making of the Duke of Monmouth legitimate; [Thomas Ross, Monmouth's tutor, put the idea into his head that Charles II. had married his mother. The report was sedulously spread abroad, and obtained some kind of credence, until, in June, 1678, the king set the matter at rest by publishing a declaration, which was entered in the Council book and registered in Chancery. The words of the declaration are: "That to avoid any dispute which might happen in time to come concerning the succession of the Crown, he (Charles) did declare, in the presence of Almighty God, that he never gave, nor made any contract of marriage, nor was married to Mrs. Barlow, alias Waters, the Duke of Monmouth's mother, nor to any other woman whatsoever, but to his present wife, Queen Catherine, then living."] but surely the Commons of England will never do it, nor the Duke of York suffer it, whose lady, I am told, is very troublesome to him by her jealousy. But it is wonderful that Sir Charles Barkeley should be so great still, not [only] with the King, but Duke also; who did so stiffly swear that he had lain with her. [The conspiracy of Sir Charles Berkeley, Lord Arran, Jermyn, Talbot, and Killigrew to traduce Anne Hyde was peculiarly disgraceful, and the conduct of all the actors in the affair of the marriage, from Lord Clarendon downwards, was far from creditable (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," ii. 68-79)] And another one Armour that he rode before her on horseback in Holland I think.... No care is observed to be taken of the main chance, either for maintaining of trade or opposing of factions, which, God knows, are ready to break out, if any of them (which God forbid!) should dare to begin; the King and every man about him minding so much their pleasures or profits. My Lord Hinchingbroke, I am told, hath had a mischance to kill his boy by his birding-piece going off as he was a-fowling. The gun was charged with small shot, and hit the boy in the face and about the temples, and he lived four days. In Scotland, it seems, for all the newes-books tell us every week that they are all so quiett, and everything in the Church settled, the old woman had like to have killed, the other day, the Bishop of Galloway, and not half the Churches of the whole kingdom conform. Strange were the effects of the late thunder and lightning about a week since at Northampton, coming with great rain, which caused extraordinary floods in a few hours, bearing away bridges, drowning horses, men, and cattle. Two men passing over a bridge on horseback, the arches before and behind them were borne away, and that left which they were upon: but, however, one of the horses fell over, and was drowned. Stacks of faggots carried as high as a steeple, and other dreadful things; which Sir Thomas Crew showed me letters to him about from Mr. Freemantle and others, that it is very true. The Portugalls have choused us, [The word chouse appears to have been introduced into the language at the beginning of the seventeenth century. In 1609, a Chiaus sent by Sir Robert Shirley, from Constantinople to London, had chiaused (or choused) the Turkish and Persian merchants out of L4,000, before the arrival of his employer, and had decamped. The affair was quite recent in 1610, when Jonson's "Alchemist" appeared, in which it is alluded to.] it seems, in the Island of Bombay, in the East Indys; for after a great charge of our fleets being sent thither with full commission from the King of Portugall to receive it, the Governour by some pretence or other will not deliver it to Sir Abraham Shipman, sent from the King, nor to my Lord of Marlborough; which the King takes highly ill, and I fear our Queen will fare the worse for it. The Dutch decay there exceedingly, it being believed that their people will revolt from them there, and they forced to give over their trade. This is talked of among us, but how true I understand not. Sir Thomas showed me his picture and Sir Anthony Vandike's, in crayon in little, done exceedingly well. Having thus freely talked with him, and of many more things, I took leave, and by coach to St. James's, and there told Mr. Coventry what I had done with my Lord with great satisfaction, and so well pleased home, where I found it almost night, and my wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking. Now so deadly full of jealousy I am that my heart and head did so cast about and fret that I could not do any business possibly, but went out to my office, and anon late home again and ready to chide at every thing, and then suddenly to bed and could hardly sleep, yet durst not say any thing, but was forced to say that I had bad news from the Duke concerning Tom Hater as an excuse to my wife, who by my folly has too much opportunity given her with the man, who is a pretty neat black man, but married. But it is a deadly folly and plague that I bring upon myself to be so jealous and by giving myself such an occasion more than my wife desired of giving her another month's dancing. Which however shall be ended as soon as I can possibly. But I am ashamed to think what a course I did take by lying to see whether my wife did wear drawers to-day as she used to do, and other things to raise my suspicion of her, but I found no true cause of doing it. 16th. Up with my mind disturbed and with my last night's doubts upon me, for which I deserve to be beaten if not really served as I am fearful of being, especially since God knows that I do not find honesty enough in my own mind but that upon a small temptation I could be false to her, and therefore ought not to expect more justice from her, but God pardon both my sin and my folly herein. To my office and there sitting all the morning, and at noon dined at home. After dinner comes Pembleton, and I being out of humour would not see him, pretending business, but, Lord! with what jealousy did I walk up and down my chamber listening to hear whether they danced or no, which they did, notwithstanding I afterwards knew and did then believe that Ashwell was with them. So to my office awhile, and, my jealousy still reigning, I went in and, not out of any pleasure but from that only reason, did go up to them to practise, and did make an end of "La Duchesse," which I think I should, with a little pains, do very well. So broke up and saw him gone. Then Captain Cocke coming to me to speak about my seeming discourtesy to him in the business of his hemp, I went to the office with him, and there discoursed it largely and I think to his satisfaction. Then to my business, writing letters and other things till late at night, and so home to supper and bed. My mind in some better ease resolving to prevent matters for the time to come as much as I can, it being to no purpose to trouble myself for what is past, being occasioned too by my own folly. 17th (Lord's day). Up and in my chamber all the morning, preparing my great letters to my father, stating to him the perfect condition of our estate. My wife and Ashwell to church, and after dinner they to church again, and I all the afternoon making an end of my morning's work, which I did about the evening, and then to talk with my wife till after supper, and so to bed having another small falling out and myself vexed with my old fit of jealousy about her dancing-master. But I am a fool for doing it. So to bed by daylight, I having a very great cold, so as I doubt whether I shall be able to speak to-morrow at our attending the Duke, being now so hoarse. 18th. Up and after taking leave of Sir W. Batten, who is gone this day towards Portsmouth (to little purpose, God knows) upon his survey, I home and spent the morning at dancing; at noon Creed dined with us and Mr. Deane Woolwich, and so after dinner came Mr. Howe, who however had enough for his dinner, and so, having done, by coach to Westminster, she to Mrs. Clerke and I to St. James's, where the Duke being gone down by water to-day with the King I went thence to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, where Mr. Howe and I walked a while, and going towards Whitehall through the garden Dr. Clerk and Creed called me across the bowling green, and so I went thither and after a stay went up to Mrs. Clerke who was dressing herself to go abroad with my wife. But, Lord! in what a poor condition her best chamber is, and things about her, for all the outside and show that she makes, but I found her just such a one as Mrs. Pierce, contrary to my expectation, so much that I am sick and sorry to see it. Thence for an hour Creed and I walked to White Hall, and into the Park, seeing the Queen and Maids of Honour passing through the house going to the Park. But above all, Mrs. Stuart is a fine woman, and they say now a common mistress to the King, [The king said to 'la belle' Stuart, who resisted all his importunities, that he hoped he should live to see her "ugly and willing" (Lord Dartmouth's note to Burnet's "Own Time," vol. i., p. 436, ed. 1823).] as my Lady Castlemaine is; which is a great pity. Thence taking a coach to Mrs. Clerke's, took her, and my wife, and Ashwell, and a Frenchman, a kinsman of hers, to the Park, where we saw many fine faces, and one exceeding handsome, in a white dress over her head, with many others very beautiful. Staying there till past eight at night, I carried Mrs. Clerke and her Frenchman, who sings well, home, and thence home ourselves, talking much of what we had observed to-day of the poor household stuff of Mrs. Clerke and mere show and flutter that she makes in the world; and pleasing myself in my own house and manner of living more than ever I did by seeing how much better and more substantially I live than others do. So to supper and bed. 19th. Up pretty betimes, but yet I observe how my dancing and lying a morning or two longer than ordinary for my cold do make me hard to rise as I used to do, or look after my business as I am wont. To my chamber to make an end of my papers to my father to be sent by the post to-night, and taking copies of them, which was a great work, but I did it this morning, and so to my office, and thence with Sir John Minnes to the Tower; and by Mr. Slingsby, and Mr. Howard, Controller of the Mint, we were shown the method of making this new money, from the beginning to the end, which is so pretty that I did take a note of every part of it and set them down by themselves for my remembrance hereafter. That being done it was dinner time, and so the Controller would have us dine with him and his company, the King giving them a dinner every day. And very merry and good discourse about the business we have been upon, and after dinner went to the Assay Office and there saw the manner of assaying of gold and silver, and how silver melted down with gold do part, just being put into aqua-fortis, the silver turning into water, and the gold lying whole in the very form it was put in, mixed of gold and silver, which is a miracle; and to see no silver at all but turned into water, which they can bring again into itself out of the water. And here I was made thoroughly to understand the business of the fineness and coarseness of metals, and have put down my lessons with my other observations therein. At table among other discourse they told us of two cheats, the best I ever heard. One, of a labourer discovered to convey away the bits of silver cut out pence by swallowing them down into his belly, and so they could not find him out, though, of course, they searched all the labourers; but, having reason to doubt him, they did, by threats and promises, get him to confess, and did find L7 of it in his house at one time. The other of one that got a way of coyning money as good and passable and large as the true money is, and yet saved fifty per cent. to himself, which was by getting moulds made to stamp groats like old groats, which is done so well, and I did beg two of them which I keep for rarities, that there is not better in the world, and is as good, nay, better than those that commonly go, which was the only thing that they could find out to doubt them by, besides the number that the party do go to put off, and then coming to the Comptroller of the Mint, he could not, I say, find out any other thing to raise any doubt upon, but only their being so truly round or near it, though I should never have doubted the thing neither. He was neither hanged nor burned, the cheat was thought so ingenious, and being the first time they could ever trap him in it, and so little hurt to any man in it, the money being as good as commonly goes. Thence to the office till the evening, we sat, and then by water (taking Pembleton with us), over the water to the Halfway House, where we played at nine-pins, and there my damned jealousy took fire, he and my wife being of a side and I seeing of him take her by the hand in play, though I now believe he did [it] only in passing and sport. Thence home and being 10 o'clock was forced to land beyond the Custom House, and so walked home and to my office, and having dispatched my great letters by the post to my father, of which I keep copies to show by me and for my future understanding, I went home to supper and bed, being late. The most observables in the making of money which I observed to-day, is the steps of their doing it. 1. Before they do anything they assay the bullion, which is done, if it be gold, by taking an equal weight of that and of silver, of each a small weight, which they reckon to be six ounces or half a pound troy; this they wrap up in within lead. If it be silver, they put such a quantity of that alone and wrap it up in lead, and then putting them into little earthen cupps made of stuff like tobacco pipes, and put them into a burning hot furnace, where, after a while, the whole body is melted, and at last the lead in both is sunk into the body of the cupp, which carries away all the copper or dross with it, and left the pure gold and silver embodyed together, of that which hath both been put into the cupp together, and the silver alone in these where it was put alone in the leaden case. And to part the silver and the gold in the first experiment, they put the mixed body into a glass of aqua-fortis, which separates them by spitting out the silver into such small parts that you cannot tell what it becomes, but turns into the very water and leaves the gold at the bottom clear of itself, with the silver wholly spit out, and yet the gold in the form that it was doubled together in when it was a mixed body of gold and silver, which is a great mystery; and after all this is done to get the silver together out of the water is as strange. But the nature of the assay is thus: the piece of gold that goes into the furnace twelve ounces, if it comes out again eleven ounces, and the piece of silver which goes in twelve and comes out again eleven and two pennyweight, are just of the alloy of the standard of England. If it comes out, either of them, either the gold above eleven, as very fine will sometimes within very little of what it went in, or the silver above eleven and two pennyweight, as that also will sometimes come out eleven and ten penny weight or more, they are so much above the goodness of the standard, and so they know what proportion of worse gold and silver to put to such a quantity of the bullion to bring it to the exact standard. And on the contrary, [if] it comes out lighter, then such a weight is beneath the standard, and so requires such a proportion of fine metal to be put to the bullion to bring it to the standard, and this is the difference of good and bad, better and worse than the standard, and also the difference of standards, that of Seville being the best and that of Mexico worst, and I think they said none but Seville is better than ours. 2. They melt it into long plates, which, if the mould do take ayre, then the plate is not of an equal heaviness in every part of it, as it often falls out. 3. They draw these plates between rollers to bring them to an even thickness all along and every plate of the same thickness, and it is very strange how the drawing it twice easily between the rollers will make it as hot as fire, yet cannot touch it. 4. They bring it to another pair of rollers, which they call adjusting it, which bring it to a greater exactness in its thickness than the first could be. 5. They cut them into round pieces, which they do with the greatest ease, speed, and exactness in the world. 6. They weigh these, and where they find any to be too heavy they file them, which they call sizeing them; or light, they lay them by, which is very seldom, but they are of a most exact weight, but however, in the melting, all parts by some accident not being close alike, now and then a difference will be, and, this filing being done, there shall not be any imaginable difference almost between the weight of forty of these against another forty chosen by chance out of all their heaps. 7. These round pieces having been cut out of the plates, which in passing the rollers are bent, they are sometimes a little crooked or swelling out or sinking in, and therefore they have a way of clapping 100 or 2 together into an engine, which with a screw presses them so hard that they come out as flat as is possible. 8. They blanch them. 9. They mark the letters on the edges, which is kept as the great secret by Blondeau, who was not in the way, and so I did not speak with him to-day. [Professor W. C. Roberts-Austen, C.B., F.R.S., chemist to the Royal Mint, refers to Pepys's Diary and to Blondeau's machine in his Cantor Lectures on "Alloys used for Coinage," printed in the "journal of the Society of Arts" (vol. xxxii.). He writes, "The hammer was still retained for coining in the Mint in the Tower of London, but the question of the adoption of the screw-press by the Moneyers appears to have been revived in 1649, when the Council of State had it represented to them that the coins of the Government might be more perfectly and beautifully done, and made equal to any coins in Europe. It was proposed to send to France for Peter Blondeau, who had invented and improved a machine and method for making all coins 'with the most beautiful polish and equality on the edge, or with any proper inscription or graining.' He came on the 3rd of September, and although a Committee of the Mint reported in favour of his method of coining, the Company of Moneyers, who appear to have boasted of the success of their predecessors in opposing the introduction of the mill and screw-press in Queen Elizabeth's reign, prevented the introduction of the machinery, and consequently he did not produce pattern pieces until 1653.... It is certain that Blondeau did not invent, but only improved the method of coining by the screw-press, and I believe his improvements related chiefly to a method for 'rounding the pieces before they are sized, and in making the edges of the moneys with letters and graining,' which he undertook to reveal to the king. Special stress is laid on the engines wherewith the rims were marked, 'which might be kept secret among few men.' I cannot find that there is any record in the Paris mint of Blondeau's employment there, and the only reference to his invention in the Mint records of this country refers to the 'collars,' or perforated discs of metal surrounding the 'blank' while it was struck into a coin. There is, however, in the British Museum a MS. believed to be in Blondeau's hand, in which he claims his process, 'as a new invention, to make a handsome coyne, than can be found in all the world besides, viz., that shall not only be stamped on both flat sides, but shall even be marked with letters on the thickness of the brim.' The letters were raised. The press Blondeau used was, I believe, the ordinary screw-press, and I suppose that the presses drawn in Akerman's well-known plate of the coining-room of the Mint in the Tower, published in 1803 ['Microcosm of London,' vol. ii., p. 202], if not actually the same machines, were similar to those erected in 1661-62 by Sir William Parkhurst and Sir Anthony St. Leger, wardens of the Mint, at a cost of L1400, Professor Roberts-Austen shows that Benvenuto Cellini used a similar press to that attributed to Blondeau, and he gives an illustration of this in his lecture (p. 810). In a letter to the editor the professor writes: "Pepys's account of the operations of coining, and especially of assaying gold and silver, is very interesting and singularly accurate considering that he could not have had technical knowledge of the subject."] 10. They mill them, that is, put on the marks on both sides at once with great exactness and speed, and then the money is perfect. The mill is after this manner: one of the dyes, which has one side of the piece cut, is fastened to a thing fixed below, and the other dye (and they tell me a payre of dyes will last the marking of L10,000 before it be worn out, they and all other their tools being made of hardened steel, and the Dutchman who makes them is an admirable artist, and has so much by the pound for every pound that is coyned to find a constant supply of dyes) to an engine above, which is moveable by a screw, which is pulled by men; and then a piece being clapped by one sitting below between the two dyes, when they meet the impression is set, and then the man with his finger strikes off the piece and claps another in, and then the other men they pull again and that is marked, and then another and another with great speed. They say that this way is more charge to the King than the old way, but it is neater, freer from clipping or counterfeiting, the putting of the words upon the edges being not to be done (though counterfeited) without an engine of the charge and noise that no counterfeit will be at or venture upon, and it employs as many men as the old and speedier. They now coyne between L16 and L24,000 in a week. At dinner they did discourse very finely to us of the probability that there is a vast deal of money hid in the land, from this:--that in King Charles's time there was near ten millions of money coyned, besides what was then in being of King James's and Queene Elizabeth's, of which there is a good deal at this day in being. Next, that there was but L750,000 coyned of the Harp and Crosse money, [The Commonwealth coins (stamped with the cross and harp, and the inscription, "The Commonwealth of England") were called in by proclamation, September, 1660, and when brought to the Mint an equal amount of lawful money was allowed for them, weight for weight, deducting only for the coinage (Ruding's "Annals of the Coinage," 18 19, vol. iii., p. 293). The harp was taken out of the naval flags in May, 1660.] and of this there was L500,000 brought in upon its being called in. And from very good arguments they find that there cannot be less of it in Ireland and Scotland than L100,000; so that there is but L150,000 missing; and of that, suppose that there should be not above 650,000 still remaining, either melted down, hid, or lost, or hoarded up in England, there will then be but L100,000 left to be thought to have been transported. Now, if L750,000 in twelve years' time lost but a L100,000 in danger of being transported, then within thirty-five years' time will have lost but L3,888,880 and odd pounds; and as there is L650,000 remaining after twelve years' time in England, so after thirty-five years' time, which was within this two years, there ought in proportion to have been resting L6,111,120 or thereabouts, beside King James's and Queen Elizabeth's money. Now that most of this must be hid is evident, as they reckon, because of the dearth of money immediately upon the calling-in of the State's money, which was L500,000 that came in; and yet there was not any money to be had in this City, which they say to their own observation and knowledge was so. And therefore, though I can say nothing in it myself, I do not dispute it. 20th. Up and to my office, and anon home and to see my wife dancing with Pembleton about noon, and I to the Trinity House to dinner and after dinner home, and there met Pembleton, who I perceive has dined with my wife, which she takes no notice of, but whether that proceeds out of design, or fear to displease me I know not, but it put me into a great disorder again, that I could mind nothing but vexing, but however I continued my resolution of going down by water to Woolwich, took my wife and Ashwell; and going out met Mr. Howe come to see me, whose horse we caused to be set up, and took him with us. The tide against us, so I went ashore at Greenwich before, and did my business at the yard about putting things in order as to their proceeding to build the new yacht ordered to be built by Christopher Pett, [In the minutes of the Royal Society is the following entry: "June 11, 1662. Dr. Pett's brother shewed a draught of the pleasure boat which he intended to make for the king" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. i., p. 85). Peter Pett had already built a yacht for the king at Deptford.] and so to Woolwich town, where at an alehouse I found them ready to attend my coming, and so took boat again, it being cold, and I sweating, with my walk, which was very pleasant along the green come and pease, and most of the way sang, he and I, and eat some cold meat we had, and with great pleasure home, and so he took horse again, and Pembleton coming, we danced a country dance or two and so broke up and to bed, my mind restless and like to be so while she learns to dance. God forgive my folly. 21st. Up, but cannot get up so early as I was wont, nor my mind to business as it should be and used to be before this dancing. However, to my office, where most of the morning talking of Captain Cox of Chatham about his and the whole yard's difference against Mr. Barrow the storekeeper, wherein I told him my mind clearly, that he would be upheld against the design of any to ruin him, he being we all believed, but Sir W. Batten his mortal enemy, as good a servant as any the King has in the yard. After much good advice and other talk I home and danced with Pembleton, and then the barber trimmed me, and so to dinner, my wife and I having high words about her dancing to that degree that I did enter and make a vow to myself not to oppose her or say anything to dispraise or correct her therein as long as her month lasts, in pain of 2s. 6d. for every time, which, if God pleases, I will observe, for this roguish business has brought us more disquiett than anything [that] has happened a great while. After dinner to my office, where late, and then home; and Pembleton being there again, we fell to dance a country dance or two, and so to supper and bed. But being at supper my wife did say something that caused me to oppose her in, she used the word devil, which vexed me, and among other things I said I would not have her to use that word, upon which she took me up most scornfully, which, before Ashwell and the rest of the world, I know not now-a-days how to check, as I would heretofore, for less than that would have made me strike her. So that I fear without great discretion I shall go near to lose too my command over her, and nothing do it more than giving her this occasion of dancing and other pleasures, whereby her mind is taken up from her business and finds other sweets besides pleasing of me, and so makes her that she begins not at all to take pleasure in me or study to please me as heretofore. But if this month of her dancing were but out (as my first was this night, and I paid off Pembleton for myself) I shall hope with a little pains to bring her to her old wont. This day Susan that lived with me lately being out of service, and I doubt a simple wench, my wife do take her for a little time to try her at least till she goes into the country, which I am yet doubtful whether it will be best for me to send her or no, for fear of her running off in her liberty before I have brought her to her right temper again. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, and shall, I hope, come to myself and business again, after a small playing the truant, for I find that my interest and profit do grow daily, for which God be praised and keep me to my duty. To my office, and anon one tells me that Rundall, the house-carpenter of Deptford, hath sent me a fine blackbird, which I went to see. He tells me he was offered 20s. for him as he came along, he do so whistle. So to my office, and busy all the morning, among other things, learning to understand the course of the tides, and I think I do now do it. At noon Mr. Creed comes to me, and he and I to the Exchange, where I had much discourse with several merchants, and so home with him to dinner, and then by water to Greenwich, and calling at the little alehouse at the end of the town to wrap a rag about my little left toe, being new sore with walking, we walked pleasantly to Woolwich, in our way hearing the nightingales sing. So to Woolwich yard, and after doing many things there, among others preparing myself for a dispute against Sir W. Pen in the business of Bowyer's, wherein he is guilty of some corruption to the King's wrong, we walked back again without drinking, which I never do because I would not make my coming troublesome to any, nor would become obliged too much to any. In our going back we were overtook by Mr. Steventon, a purser, and uncle to my clerk Will, who told me how he was abused in the passing of his accounts by Sir J. Minnes to the degree that I am ashamed to hear it, and resolve to retrieve the matter if I can though the poor man has given it over. And however am pleased enough to see that others do see his folly and dotage as well as myself, though I believe in my mind the man in general means well. Took boat at Greenwich and to Deptford, where I did the same thing, and found Davis, the storekeeper, a knave, and shuffling in the business of Bewpers, being of the party with Young and Whistler to abuse the King, but I hope I shall be even with them. So walked to Redriffe, drinking at the Half-way house, and so walked and by water to White Hall, all our way by water coming and going reading a little book said to be writ by a person of Quality concerning English gentry to be preferred before titular honours, but the most silly nonsense, no sense nor grammar, yet in as good words that ever I saw in all my life, but from beginning to end you met not with one entire and regular sentence. At White Hall Sir G. Carteret was out of the way, and so returned back presently, and home by water and to bed. 23rd. Waked this morning between four and five by my blackbird, which whistles as well as ever I heard any; only it is the beginning of many tunes very well, but there leaves them, and goes no further. So up and to my office, where we sat, and among other things I had a fray with Sir J. Minnes in defence of my Will in a business where the old coxcomb would have put a foot upon him, which was only in Jack Davis and in him a downright piece of knavery in procuring a double ticket and getting the wrong one paid as well as the second was to the true party. But it appeared clear enough to the board that Will was true in it. Home to dinner, and after dinner by water to the Temple, and there took my Lyra Viall book bound up with blank paper for new lessons. Thence to Greatorex's, and there seeing Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen go by coach I went in to them and to White Hall; where, in the Matted Gallery, Mr. Coventry was, who told us how the Parliament have required of Sir G. Carteret and him an account what money shall be necessary to be settled upon the Navy for the ordinary charge, which they intend to report L200,000 per annum. And how to allott this we met this afternoon, and took their papers for our perusal, and so we parted. Only there was walking in the gallery some of the Barbary company, and there we saw a draught of the arms of the company, which the King is of, and so is called the Royall Company, which is, in a field argent an elephant proper, with a canton on which England and France is quartered, supported by two Moors. The crest an anchor winged, I think it is, and the motto too tedious: "Regio floret, patrocinio commercium, commercioque Regnum." Thence back by water to Greatorex's, and there he showed me his varnish which he had invented, which appears every whit as good, upon a stick which he hath done, as the Indian, though it did not do very well upon my paper ruled with musique lines, for it sunk and did not shine. Thence home by water, and after a dance with Pembleton to my office and wrote by the post to Sir W. Batten at Portsmouth to send for him up against next Wednesday, being our triall day against Field at Guildhall, in which God give us good end. So home: to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Having taken one of Mr. Holliard's pills last night it brought a stool or two this morning, and so forebore going to church this morning, but staid at home looking over my papers about Tom Trice's business, and so at noon dined, and my wife telling me that there was a pretty lady come to church with Peg Pen to-day, I against my intention had a mind to go to church to see her, and did so, and she is pretty handsome. But over against our gallery I espied Pembleton, and saw him leer upon my wife all the sermon, I taking no notice of him, and my wife upon him, and I observed she made a curtsey to him at coming out without taking notice to me at all of it, which with the consideration of her being desirous these two last Lord's days to go to church both forenoon and afternoon do really make me suspect something more than ordinary, though I am loth to think the worst, but yet it put and do still keep me at a great loss in my mind, and makes me curse the time that I consented to her dancing, and more my continuing it a second month, which was more than she desired, even after I had seen too much of her carriage with him. But I must have patience and get her into the country, or at least to make an end of her learning to dance as soon as I can. After sermon to Sir W. Pen's, with Sir J. Minnes to do a little business to answer Mr. Coventry to-night. And so home and with my wife and Ashwell into the garden walking a great while, discoursing what this pretty wench should be by her garb and deportment; with respect to Mrs. Pen she may be her woman, but only that she sat in the pew with her, which I believe he would not let her do. So home, and read to my wife a fable or two in Ogleby's AEsop, and so to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. My wife this evening discoursing of making clothes for the country, which I seem against, pleading lack of money, but I am glad of it in some respects because of getting her out of the way from this fellow, and my own liberty to look after my business more than of late I have done. So to prayers and to bed. This morning it seems Susan, who I think is distracted, or however is since she went from me taught to drink, and so gets out of doors 2 or 3 times a day without leave to the alehouse, did go before 5 o'clock to-day, making Griffin rise in his shirt to let her out to the alehouse, she said to warm herself, but her mistress, falling out with her about it, turned her out of doors this morning, and so she is gone like an idle slut. I took a pill also this night. 25th. Up, and my pill working a little I staid within most of the morning, and by and by the barber came and Sarah Kite my cozen, poor woman, came to see me and borrow 40s. of me, telling me she will pay it at Michaelmas again to me. I was glad it was no more, being indifferent whether she pays it me or no, but it will be a good excuse to lend her nor give her any more. So I did freely at first word do it, and give her a crown more freely to buy her child something, she being a good-natured and painful wretch, and one that I would do good for as far as I can that I might not be burdened. My wife was not ready, and she coming early did not see her, and I was glad of it. She gone, I up and then hear that my wife and her maid Ashwell had between them spilled the pot.... upon the floor and stool and God knows what, and were mighty merry making of it clean. I took no great notice, but merrily. Ashwell did by and by come to me with an errand from her mistress to desire money to buy a country suit for her against she goes as we talked last night, and so I did give her L4, and believe it will cost me the best part of 4 more to fit her out, but with peace and honour I am willing to spare anything so as to be able to keep all ends together, and my power over her undisturbed. So to my office and by and by home, where my wife and her master were dancing, and so I staid in my chamber till they had done, and sat down myself to try a little upon the Lyra viall, my hand being almost out, but easily brought to again. So by and by to dinner, and then carried my wife and Ashwell to St. James's, and there they sat in the coach while I went in, and finding nobody there likely to meet with the Duke, but only Sir J. Minnes with my Lord Barkely (who speaks very kindly, and invites me with great compliments to come now and then and eat with him, which I am glad to hear, though I value not the thing, but it implies that my esteem do increase rather than fall), and so I staid not, but into the coach again, and taking up my wife's taylor, it raining hard, they set me down, and who should our coachman be but Carleton the Vintner, that should have had Mrs. Sarah, at Westminster, my Lord Chancellor's, and then to Paternoster Row. I staid there to speak with my Lord Sandwich, and in my staying, meeting Mr. Lewis Phillips of Brampton, he and afterwards others tell me that news came last night to Court, that the King of France is sick of the spotted fever, and that they are struck in again; and this afternoon my Lord Mandeville is gone from the King to make him a visit; which will be great news, and of great import through Europe. By and by, out comes my Lord Sandwich, and he and I talked a great while about his business, of his accounts for his pay, and among other things he told me that this day a vote hath passed that the King's grants of land to my Lord Monk and him should be made good; which pleases him very well. He also tells me that things don't go right in the House with Mr. Coventry; I suppose he means in the business of selling of places; but I am sorry for it. Thence by coach home, where I found Pembleton, and so I up to dance with them till the evening, when there came Mr. Alsopp, the King's brewer, and Lanyon of Plymouth to see me. Mr. Alsopp tells me of a horse of his that lately, after four days' pain, voided at his fundament four stones, bigger than that I was cut of, very heavy, and in the middle of each of them either a piece of iron or wood. The King has two of them in his closett, and a third the College of Physicians to keep for rarity, and by the King's command he causes the turd of the horse to be every day searched to find more. At night to see Sir W. Batten come home this day from Portsmouth. I met with some that say that the King of France is poisoned, but how true that is is not known. So home to supper and to bed pleasant. 26th. Lay long in bed talking and pleasing myself with my wife. So up and to my office a while and then home, where I found Pembleton, and by many circumstances I am led to conclude that there is something more than ordinary between my wife and him, which do so trouble me that I know not at this very minute that I now write this almost what either I write or am doing, nor how to carry myself to my wife in it, being unwilling to speak of it to her for making of any breach and other inconveniences, nor let it pass for fear of her continuing to offend me and the matter grow worse thereby. So that I am grieved at the very heart, but I am very unwise in being so. There dined with me Mr. Creed and Captain Grove, and before dinner I had much discourse in my chamber with Mr. Deane, the builder of Woolwich, about building of ships. But nothing could get the business out of my head, I fearing that this afternoon by my wife's sending every [one] abroad and knowing that I must be at the office she has appointed him to come. This is my devilish jealousy, which I pray God may be false, but it makes a very hell in my mind, which the God of heaven remove, or I shall be very unhappy. So to the office, where we sat awhile. By and by my mind being in great trouble I went home to see how things were, and there I found as I doubted Mr. Pembleton with my wife, and nobody else in the house, which made me almost mad, and going up to my chamber after a turn or two I went out again and called somebody on pretence of business and left him in my little room at the door (it was the Dutchman, commander of the King's pleasure boats, who having been beat by one of his men sadly, was come to the office to-day to complain) telling him I would come again to him to speak with him about his business. So in great trouble and doubt to the office, and Mr. Coventry nor Sir G. Carteret being there I made a quick end of our business and desired leave to be gone, pretending to go to the Temple, but it was home, and so up to my chamber, and as I think if they had any intention of hurt I did prevent doing anything at that time, but I continued in my chamber vexed and angry till he went away, pretending aloud, that I might hear, that he could not stay, and Mrs. Ashwell not being within they could not dance. And, Lord! to see how my jealousy wrought so far that I went softly up to see whether any of the beds were out of order or no, which I found not, but that did not content me, but I staid all the evening walking, and though anon my wife came up to me and would have spoke of business to me, yet I construed it to be but impudence, and though my heart full yet I did say nothing, being in a great doubt what to do. So at night, suffered them to go all to bed, and late put myself to bed in great discontent, and so to sleep. 27th. So I waked by 3 o'clock, my mind being troubled, and so took occasion by making water to wake my wife, and after having lain till past 4 o'clock seemed going to rise, though I did it only to see what she would do, and so going out of the bed she took hold of me and would know what ailed me, and after many kind and some cross words I began to tax her discretion in yesterday's business, but she quickly told me my own, knowing well enough that it was my old disease of jealousy, which I denied, but to no purpose. After an hour's discourse, sometimes high and sometimes kind, I found very good reason to think that her freedom with him is very great and more than was convenient, but with no evil intent, and so after awhile I caressed her and parted seeming friends, but she crying in a great discontent. So I up and by water to the Temple, and thence with Commissioner Pett to St. James's, where an hour with Mr. Coventry talking of Mr. Pett's proceedings lately in the forest of Sherwood, and thence with Pett to my Lord Ashley, Chancellor of the Exchequer; where we met the auditors about settling the business of the accounts of persons to whom money is due before the King's time in the Navy, and the clearing of their imprests for what little of their debts they have received. I find my Lord, as he is reported, a very ready, quick, and diligent person. Thence I to Westminster Hall, where Term and Parliament make the Hall full of people; no further news yet of the King of France, whether he be dead or not. Here I met with my cozen Roger Pepys, and walked a good while with him, and among other discourse as a secret he hath committed to nobody but myself, and he tells me that his sister Claxton now resolving to give over the keeping of his house at Impington, he thinks it fit to marry again, and would have me, by the help of my uncle Wight or others, to look him out a widow between thirty and forty years old, without children, and with a fortune, which he will answer in any degree with a joynture fit for her fortune. A woman sober, and no high-flyer, as he calls it. I demanded his estate. He tells me, which he says also he hath not done to any, that his estate is not full L800 per annum, but it is L780 per annum, of which L200 is by the death of his last wife, which he will allot for a joynture for a wife, but the rest, which lies in Cambridgeshire, he is resolved to leave entire for his eldest son. I undertook to do what I can in it, and so I shall. He tells me that the King hath sent to them to hasten to make an end by midsummer, because of his going into the country; so they have set upon four bills to dispatch: the first of which is, he says, too devilish a severe act against conventicles; so beyond all moderation, that he is afeard it will ruin all: telling me that it is matter of the greatest grief to him in the world, that he should be put upon this trust of being a Parliament-man, because he says nothing is done, that he can see, out of any truth and sincerity, but mere envy and design. Thence by water to Chelsey, all the way reading a little book I bought of "Improvement of Trade," a pretty book and many things useful in it. So walked to Little Chelsey, where I found my Lord Sandwich with Mr. Becke, the master of the house, and Mr. Creed at dinner, and I sat down with them, and very merry. After dinner (Mr. Gibbons being come in also before dinner done) to musique, they played a good Fancy, to which my Lord is fallen again, and says he cannot endure a merry tune, which is a strange turn of his humour, after he has for two or three years flung off the practice of Fancies and played only fidlers' tunes. Then into the Great Garden up to the Banqueting House; and there by his glass we drew in the species very pretty. Afterwards to ninepins, where I won a shilling, Creed and I playing against my Lord and Cooke. This day there was great thronging to Banstead Downs, upon a great horse-race and foot-race. I am sorry I could not go thither. So home back as I came, to London Bridge, and so home, where I find my wife in a musty humour, and tells me before Ashwell that Pembleton had been there, and she would not have him come in unless I was there, which I was ashamed of; but however, I had rather it should be so than the other way. So to my office, to put things in order there, and by and by comes Pembleton, and word is brought me from my wife thereof that I might come home. So I sent word that I would have her go dance, and I would come presently. So being at a great loss whether I should appear to Pembleton or no, and what would most proclaim my jealousy to him, I at last resolved to go home, and took Tom Hater with me, and staid a good while in my chamber, and there took occasion to tell him how I hear that Parliament is putting an act out against all sorts of conventicles, [16 Car. II., cap. 4, "An Act to prevent and suppresse seditious Conventicles." It was enacted that anyone of the age of sixteen or upwards present at an unlawful assembly or conventicle was to incur fine or imprisonment. A conventicle was defined as an assembly of more than five persons besides the members of a family met together for holding worship not according to the rites of the Church of England. The act was amended 22 Car. II., cap. i (1670), and practically repealed by the Toleration Act of 1689, but the act 22 Car. II., cap. i, was specially repealed 52 Geo. III., cap. 155, s. 1.] and did give him good counsel, not only in his own behalf, but my own, that if he did hear or know anything that could be said to my prejudice, that he would tell me, for in this wicked age (specially Sir W. Batten being so open to my reproaches, and Sir J. Minnes, for the neglect of their duty, and so will think themselves obliged to scandalize me all they can to right themselves if there shall be any inquiry into the matters of the Navy, as I doubt there will) a man ought to be prepared to answer for himself in all things that can be inquired concerning him. After much discourse of this nature to him I sent him away, and then went up, and there we danced country dances, and single, my wife and I; and my wife paid him off for this month also, and so he is cleared. After dancing we took him down to supper, and were very merry, and I made myself so, and kind to him as much as I could, to prevent his discourse, though I perceive to my trouble that he knows all, and may do me the disgrace to publish it as much as he can. Which I take very ill, and if too much provoked shall witness it to her. After supper and he gone we to bed. 28th. Up this morning, and my wife, I know not for what cause, being against going to Chelsey to-day, it being a holy day (Ascension Day) and I at leisure, it being the first holy day almost that we have observed ever since we came to the office, we did give Ashwell leave to go by herself, and I out to several places about business. Among others to Dr. Williams, to reckon with him for physique that my wife has had for a year or two, coming to almost L4. Then to the Exchange, where I hear that the King had letters yesterday from France that the King there is in a [way] of living again, which I am glad to hear. At the coffee-house in Exchange Alley I bought a little book, "Counsell to Builders," by Sir Balth. Gerbier. It is dedicated almost to all the men of any great condition in England, so that the Epistles are more than the book itself, and both it and them not worth a turd, that I am ashamed that I bought it. Home and there found Creed, who dined with us, and after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre; but that was so full they told us we could have no room. And so to the Duke's House; and there saw "Hamlett" done, giving us fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton. Who should we see come upon the stage but Gosnell, my wife's maid? but neither spoke, danced, nor sung; which I was sorry for. But she becomes the stage very well. Thence by water home, after we had walked to and fro, backwards and forwards, six or seven times in the Temple walks, disputing whether to go by land or water. By land home, and thence by water to Halfway House, and there eat some supper we carried with us, and so walked home again, it being late we were forced to land at the dock, my wife and they, but I in a humour not willing to daub my shoes went round by the Custom House. So home, and by and by to bed, Creed lying with me in the red chamber all night. 29th. This day is kept strictly as a holy-day, being the King's Coronation. We lay long in bed, and it rained very hard, rain and hail, almost all the morning. By and by Creed and I abroad, and called at several churches; and it is a wonder to see, and by that to guess the ill temper of the City at this time, either to religion in general, or to the King, that in some churches there was hardly ten people in the whole church, and those poor people. So to a coffee-house, and there in discourse hear the King of France is likely to be well again. So home to dinner, and out by water to the Royall Theatre, but they not acting to-day, then to the Duke's house, and there saw "The Slighted Mayde," wherein Gosnell acted Pyramena, a great part, and did it very well, and I believe will do it better and better, and prove a good actor. The play is not very excellent, but is well acted, and in general the actors, in all particulars, are better than at the other house. Thence to the Cocke alehouse, and there having drunk, sent them with Creed to see the German Princess, [Mary Moders, alias Stedman, a notorious impostor, who pretended to be a German princess. Her arrival as the German princess "at the Exchange Tavern, right against the Stocks betwixt the Poultry and Cornhill, at 5 in the morning...., with her marriage to Carleton the taverner's wife's brother," are incidents fully narrated in Francis Kirkman's "Counterfeit Lady Unveiled," 1673 ("Boyne's Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., p. 703). Her adventures formed the plot of a tragi-comedy by T. P., entitled "A Witty Combat, or the Female Victor," 1663, which was acted with great applause by persons of quality in Whitsun week. Mary Carleton was tried at the Old Bailey for bigamy and acquitted, after which she appeared on the stage in her own character as the heroine of a play entitled "The German Princess." Pepys went to the Duke's House to see her on April 15th, 1664. The rest of her life was one continued course of robbery and fraud, and in 1678 she was executed at Tyburn for stealing a piece of plate in Chancery Lane.] at the Gatehouse, at Westminster, and I to my brother's, and thence to my uncle Fenner's to have seen my aunt James (who has been long in town and goes away to-morrow and I not seen her), but did find none of them within, which I was glad of, and so back to my brother's to speak with him, and so home, and in my way did take two turns forwards and backwards through the Fleete Ally to see a couple of pretty [strumpets] that stood off the doors there, and God forgive me I could scarce stay myself from going into their houses with them, so apt is my nature to evil after once, as I have these two days, set upon pleasure again. So home and to my office to put down these two days' journalls, then home again and to supper, and then Creed and I to bed with good discourse, only my mind troubled about my spending my time so badly for these seven or eight days; but I must impute it to the disquiet that my mind has been in of late about my wife, and for my going these two days to plays, for which I have paid the due forfeit by money and abating the times of going to plays at Court, which I am now to remember that I have cleared all my times that I am to go to Court plays to the end of this month, and so June is the first time that I am to begin to reckon. 30th. Up betimes, and Creed and I by water to Fleet Street, and my brother not being ready, he and I walked to the New Exchange, and there drank our morning draught of whay, the first I have done this year; but I perceive the lawyers come all in as they go to the Hall, and I believe it is very good. So to my brother's, and there I found my aunt James, a poor, religious, well-meaning, good soul, talking of nothing but God Almighty, and that with so much innocence that mightily pleased me. Here was a fellow that said grace so long like a prayer; I believe the fellow is a cunning fellow, and yet I by my brother's desire did give him a crown, he being in great want, and, it seems, a parson among the fanatiques, and a cozen of my poor aunt's, whose prayers she told me did do me good among the many good souls that did by my father's desires pray for me when I was cut of the stone, and which God did hear, which I also in complaisance did own; but, God forgive me, my mind was otherwise. I had a couple of lobsters and some wine for her, and so, she going out of town to-day, and being not willing to come home with me to dinner, I parted and home, where we sat at the office all the morning, and after dinner all the afternoon till night, there at my office getting up the time that I have of late lost by not following my business, but I hope now to settle my mind again very well to my business. So home, and after supper did wash my feet, and so to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and do plainly see that her distaste (which is beginning now in her again) against Ashwell arises from her jealousy of me and her, and my neglect of herself, which indeed is true, and I to blame; but for the time to come I will take care to remedy all. So up and to church, where I think I did see Pembleton, whatever the reason is I did not perceive him to look up towards my wife, nor she much towards him; however, I could hardly keep myself from being troubled that he was there, which is a madness not to be excused now that his coming to my house is past, and I hope all likelyhood of her having occasion to converse with him again. Home to dinner, and after dinner up and read part of the new play of "The Five Houres' Adventures," which though I have seen it twice; yet I never did admire or understand it enough, it being a play of the greatest plot that ever I expect to see, and of great vigour quite through the whole play, from beginning to the end. To church again after dinner (my wife finding herself ill.... did not go), and there the Scot preaching I slept most of the sermon. This day Sir W. Batten's son's child is christened in the country, whither Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W, Batten, and Sir W. Pen are all gone. I wonder, and take it highly ill that I am not invited by the father, though I know his father and mother, with whom I am never likely to have much kindness, but rather I study the contrary, are the cause of it, and in that respect I am glad of it. Being come from church, I to make up my month's accounts, and find myself clear worth L726, for which God be praised, but yet I might have been better by L20 almost had I forborne some layings out in dancing and other things upon my wife, and going to plays and other things merely to ease my mind as to the business of the dancing-master, which I bless God is now over and I falling to my quiet of mind and business again, which I have for a fortnight neglected too much. This month the greatest news is, the height and heat that the Parliament is in, in enquiring into the revenue, which displeases the Court, and their backwardness to give the King any money. Their enquiring into the selling of places do trouble a great many among the chief, my Lord Chancellor (against whom particularly it is carried), and Mr. Coventry; for which I am sorry. The King of France was given out to be poisoned and dead; but it proves to be the measles: and he is well, or likely to be soon well again. I find myself growing in the esteem and credit that I have in the office, and I hope falling to my business again will confirm me in it, and the saving of money which God grant! So to supper, prayers, and bed. My whole family lying longer this morning than was fit, and besides Will having neglected to brush my clothes, as he ought to do, till I was ready to go to church, and not then till I bade him, I was very angry, and seeing him make little matter of it, but seeming to make it a matter indifferent whether he did it or no, I did give him a box on the ear, and had it been another day should have done more. This is the second time I ever struck him. JUNE 1663 June 1st. Begun again to rise betimes by 4 o'clock, and made an end of "The Adventures of Five Houres," and it is a most excellent play. So to my office, where a while and then about several businesses, in my way to my brother's, where I dined (being invited) with Mr. Peter and Dean Honiwood, where Tom did give us a very pretty dinner, and we very pleasant, but not very merry, the Dean being but a weak man, though very good. I was forced to rise, being in haste to St. James's to attend the Duke, and left them to end their dinner; but the Duke having been a-hunting to-day, and so lately come home and gone to bed, we could not see him, and Mr. Coventry being out of the house too, we walked away to White Hall and there took coach, and I with Sir J. Minnes to the Strand May-pole; and there 'light out of his coach, and walked to the New Theatre, which, since the King's players are gone to the Royal one, is this day begun to be employed by the fencers to play prizes at. And here I came and saw the first prize I ever saw in my life: and it was between one Mathews, who did beat at all weapons, and one Westwicke, who was soundly cut several times both in the head and legs, that he was all over blood: and other deadly blows they did give and take in very good earnest, till Westwicke was in a most sad pickle. They fought at eight weapons, three bouts at each weapon. It was very well worth seeing, because I did till this day think that it has only been a cheat; but this being upon a private quarrel, they did it in good earnest; and I felt one of their swords, and found it to be very little, if at all blunter on the edge, than the common swords are. Strange to see what a deal of money is flung to them both upon the stage between every bout. But a woful rude rabble there was, and such noises, made my head ake all this evening. So, well pleased for once with this sight, I walked home, doing several businesses by the way. In my way calling to see Commissioner Pett, who lies sick at his daughter, a pretty woman, in Gracious Street, but is likely to be abroad again in a day or two. At home I found my wife in bed all this day .... I went to see Sir Wm. Pen, who has a little pain of his gout again, but will do well. So home to supper and to bed. This day I hear at Court of the great plot which was lately discovered in Ireland, made among the Presbyters and others, designing to cry up the Covenant, and to secure Dublin Castle and other places; and they have debauched a good part of the army there, promising them ready money. [This was known as "Blood's Plot," and was named after Colonel Thomas Blood, afterwards notorious for his desperate attack upon the Duke of Ormond in St. James's Street (1670) and for his robbery of the crown jewels in the Tower (1671). He died August 24th, 1680.] Some of the Parliament there, they say, are guilty, and some withdrawn upon it; several persons taken, and among others a son of Scott's, that was executed here for the King's murder. What reason the King hath, I know not; but it seems he is doubtfull of Scotland: and this afternoon, when I was there, the Council was called extraordinary; and they were opening the letters this last post's coming and going between Scotland and us and other places. Blessed be God, my head and hands are clear, and therefore my sleep safe. The King of France is well again. 2d. Up and by water to White Hall and so to St. James's, to Mr. Coventry; where I had an hour's private talk with him. Most of it was discourse concerning his own condition, at present being under the censure of the House, being concerned with others in the Bill for selling of offices. He tells me, that though he thinks himself to suffer much in his fame hereby, yet he values nothing more of evil to hang over him for that it is against no statute, as is pretended, nor more than what his predecessors time out of mind have taken; and that so soon as he found himself to be in an errour, he did desire to have his fees set, which was done; and since that he hath not taken a token more. He undertakes to prove, that he did never take a token of any captain to get him employed in his life beforehand, or demanded any thing: and for the other accusation, that the Cavaliers are not employed, he looked over the list of them now in the service, and of the twenty-seven that are employed, thirteen have been heretofore always under the King; two neutralls, and the other twelve men of great courage, and such as had either the King's particular commands, or great recommendation to put them in, and none by himself. Besides that, he says it is not the King's nor Duke's opinion that the whole party of the late officers should be rendered desperate. And lastly, he confesses that the more of the Cavaliers are put in, the less of discipline hath followed in the fleet; and that, whenever there comes occasion, it must be the old ones that must do any good, there being only, he says, but Captain Allen good for anything of them all. He tells me, that he cannot guess whom all this should come from; but he suspects Sir G. Carteret, as I also do, at least that he is pleased with it. But he tells me that he will bring Sir G. Carteret to be the first adviser and instructor of him what to make his place of benefit to him; telling him that Smith did make his place worth L5000 and he believed L7000 to him the first year; besides something else greater than all this, which he forbore to tell me. It seems one Sir Thomas Tomkins of the House, that makes many mad motions, did bring it into the House, saying that a letter was left at his lodgings, subscribed by one Benson (which is a feigned name, for there is no such man in the Navy), telling him how many places in the Navy have been sold. And by another letter, left in the same manner since, nobody appearing, he writes him that there is one Hughes and another Butler (both rogues, that have for their roguery been turned out of their places), that will swear that Mr. Coventry did sell their places and other things. I offered him my service, and will with all my heart serve him; but he tells me he do not think it convenient to meddle, or to any purpose, but is sensible of my love therein. So I bade him good morrow, he being out of order to speak anything of our office business, and so away to Westminster Hall, where I hear more of the plot from Ireland; which it seems hath been hatching, and known to the Lord Lieutenant a great while, and kept close till within three days that it should have taken effect. The term ended yesterday, and it seems the Courts rose sooner, for want of causes, than it is remembered to have done in the memory of man. Thence up and down about business in several places, as to speak with Mr. Phillips, but missed him, and so to Mr. Beacham, the goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow in Sir W. Batten's case against Field. I have been telling him our case, and I believe he will do us good service there. So home, and seeing my wife had dined I went, being invited, and dined with Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, and others, at Sir W. Batten's, Captain Allen giving them a Foy' dinner, he being to go down to lie Admiral in the Downs this summer. I cannot but think it a little strange that having been so civil to him as I have been he should not invite me to dinner, but I believe it was but a sudden motion, and so I heard not of it. After dinner to the office, where all the afternoon till late, and so to see Sir W. Pen, and so home to supper and to bed. To-night I took occasion with the vintner's man, who came by my direction to taste again my tierce of claret, to go down to the cellar with him to consult about the drawing of it; and there, to my great vexation, I find that the cellar door hath long been kept unlocked, and above half the wine drunk. I was deadly mad at it, and examined my people round, but nobody would confess it; but I did examine the boy, and afterwards Will, and told him of his sitting up after we were in bed with the maids, but as to that business he denies it, which I can [not] remedy, but I shall endeavour to know how it went. My wife did also this evening tell me a story of Ashwell stealing some new ribbon from her, a yard or two, which I am sorry to hear, and I fear my wife do take a displeasure against her, that they will hardly stay together, which I should be sorry for, because I know not where to pick such another out anywhere. 3rd. Up betimes, and studying of my double horizontal diall against Dean Honiwood comes to me, who dotes mightily upon it, and I think I must give it him. So after talking with Sir W. Batten, who is this morning gone to Guildhall to his trial with Field, I to my office, and there read all the morning in my statute-book, consulting among others the statute against selling of offices, wherein Mr. Coventry is so much concerned; and though he tells me that the statute do not reach him, yet I much fear that it will. At noon, hearing that the trial is done, and Sir W. Batten come to the Sun behind the Exchange I went thither, where he tells me that he had much ado to carry it on his side, but that at last he did, but the jury, by the judge's favour, did give us but; L10 damages and the charges of the suit, which troubles me; but it is well it went not against us, which would have been much worse. So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner, taking Deane of Woolwich along with me, and he dined alone with my wife being undressed, and he and I spent all the afternoon finely, learning of him the method of drawing the lines of a ship, to my great satisfaction, and which is well worth my spending some time in, as I shall do when my wife is gone into the country. In the evening to the office and did some business, then home, and, God forgive me, did from my wife's unwillingness to tell me whither she had sent the boy, presently suspect that he was gone to Pembleton's, and from that occasion grew so discontented that I could hardly speak or sleep all night. 4th. Up betimes, and my wife and Ashwell and I whiled away the morning up and down while they got themselves ready, and I did so watch to see my wife put on drawers, which poor soul she did, and yet I could not get off my suspicions, she having a mind to go into Fenchurch Street before she went out for good and all with me, which I must needs construe to be to meet Pembleton, when she afterwards told me it was to buy a fan that she had not a mind that I should know of, and I believe it is so. Specially I did by a wile get out of my boy that he did not yesterday go to Pembleton's or thereabouts, but only was sent all that time for some starch, and I did see him bringing home some, and yet all this cannot make my mind quiet. At last by coach I carried her to Westminster Hall, and they two to Mrs. Bowyer to go from thence to my wife's father's and Ashwell to hers, and by and by seeing my wife's father in the Hall, and being loth that my wife should put me to another trouble and charge by missing him to-day, I did employ a porter to go from a person unknown to tell him his daughter was come to his lodgings, and I at a distance did observe him, but, Lord! what a company of questions he did ask him, what kind of man I was, and God knows what. So he went home, and after I had staid in the Hall a good while, where I heard that this day the Archbishop of Canterbury, Juxon, a man well spoken of by all for a good man, is dead; and the Bishop of London is to have his seat. Home by water, where by and by comes Dean Honiwood, and I showed him my double horizontal diall, and promise to give him one, and that shall be it. So, without eating or drinking, he went away to Mr. Turner's, where Sir J. Minnes do treat my Lord Chancellor and a great deal of guests to-day with a great dinner, which I thank God I do not pay for; and besides, I doubt it is too late for any man to expect any great service from my Lord Chancellor, for which I am sorry, and pray God a worse do not come in his room. So I to dinner alone, and so to my chamber, and then to the office alone, my head aching and my mind in trouble for my wife, being jealous of her spending the day, though God knows I have no great reason. Yet my mind is troubled. By and by comes Will Howe to see us, and walked with me an hour in the garden, talking of my Lord's falling to business again, which I am glad of, and his coming to lie at his lodgings at White Hall again. The match between Sir J. Cutts and my Lady Jemimah, he says, is likely to go on; for which I am glad. In the Hall to-day Dr. Pierce tells me that the Queen begins to be brisk, and play like other ladies, and is quite another woman from what she was, of which I am glad. It may be, it may make the King like her the better, and forsake his two mistresses, my Lady Castlemaine and Stewart. He gone we sat at the office till night, and then home, where my wife is come, and has been with her father all the afternoon, and so home, and she and I to walk in the garden, giving ear to her discourse of her father's affairs, and I found all well, so after putting things in order at my office, home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to read a little, and by and by the carver coming, I directed him how to make me a neat head for my viall that is making. About 10 o'clock my wife and I, not without some discontent, abroad by coach, and I set her at her father's; but their condition is such that she will not let me see where they live, but goes by herself when I am out of sight. Thence to my brother's, taking care for a passage for my wife the next week in a coach to my father's, and thence to Paul's Churchyard, where I found several books ready bound for me; among others, the new Concordance of the Bible, which pleases me much, and is a book I hope to make good use of. Thence, taking the little History of England with me, I went by water to Deptford, where Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten attending the Pay; I dined with them, and there Dr. Britton, parson of the town, a fine man and good company, dined with us, and good discourse. After dinner I left them and walked to Redriffe, and thence to White Hall, and at my Lord's lodgings found my wife, and thence carried her to see my Lady Jemimah, but she was not within. So to Mr. Turner's, and there saw Mr. Edward Pepys's lady, who my wife concurs with me to be very pretty, as most women we ever saw. So home, and after a walk in the garden a little troubled to see my wife take no more pleasure with Ashwell, but neglect her and leave her at home. Home to supper and to bed. 6th. Lay in bed till 7 o'clock, yet rose with an opinion that it was not 5, and so continued though I heard the clock strike, till noon, and would not believe that it was so late as it truly was. I was hardly ever so mistaken in my life before. Up and to Sir G. Carteret at his house, and spoke to him about business, but he being in a bad humour I had no mind to stay with him, but walked, drinking my morning draft of whay, by the way, to York House, where the Russia Embassador do lie; and there I saw his people go up and down louseing themselves: they are all in a great hurry, being to be gone the beginning of next week. But that that pleased me best, was the remains of the noble soul of the late Duke of Buckingham appearing in his house, in every place, in the doorcases and the windows. By and by comes Sir John Hebden, the Russia Resident, to me, and he and I in his coach to White Hall, to Secretary Morrice's, to see the orders about the Russia hemp that is to be fetched from Archangel for our King, and that being done, to coach again, and he brought me into the City and so I home; and after dinner abroad by water, and met by appointment Mr. Deane in the Temple Church, and he and I over to Mr. Blackbury's yard, and thence to other places, and after that to a drinking house, in all which places I did so practise and improve my measuring of timber, that I can now do it with great ease and perfection, which do please me mightily. This fellow Deane is a conceited fellow, and one that means the King a great deal of service, more of disservice to other people that go away with the profits which he cannot make; but, however, I learn much of him, and he is, I perceive, of great use to the King in his place, and so I shall give him all the encouragement I can. Home by water, and having wrote a letter for my wife to my Lady Sandwich to copy out to send this night's post, I to the office, and wrote there myself several things, and so home to supper and bed. My mind being troubled to think into what a temper of neglect I have myself flung my wife into by my letting her learn to dance, that it will require time to cure her of, and I fear her going into the country will but make her worse; but only I do hope in the meantime to spend my time well in my office, with more leisure than while she is here. Hebden, to-day in the coach, did tell me how he is vexed to see things at Court ordered as they are by nobody that attends to business, but every man himself or his pleasures. He cries up my Lord Ashley to be almost the only man that he sees to look after business; and with that ease and mastery, that he wonders at him. He cries out against the King's dealing so much with goldsmiths, and suffering himself to have his purse kept and commanded by them. He tells me also with what exact care and order the States of Holland's stores are kept in their Yards, and every thing managed there by their builders with such husbandry as is not imaginable; which I will endeavour to understand further, if I can by any means learn. 7th (Lord's day). Whit Sunday. Lay long talking with my wife, sometimes angry and ended pleased and hope to bring our matters to a better posture in a little time, which God send. So up and to church, where Mr. Mills preached, but, I know not how, I slept most of the sermon. Thence home, and dined with my wife and Ashwell and after dinner discoursed very pleasantly, and so I to church again in the afternoon, and, the Scot preaching, again slept all the afternoon, and so home, and by and by to Sir W. Batten's, to talk about business, where my Lady Batten inveighed mightily against the German Princess, and I as high in the defence of her wit and spirit, and glad that she is cleared at the sessions. Thence to Sir W. Pen, who I found ill again of the gout, he tells me that now Mr. Castle and Mrs. Martha Batten do own themselves to be married, and have been this fortnight. Much good may it do him, for I do not envy him his wife. So home, and there my wife and I had an angry word or two upon discourse of our boy, compared with Sir W. Pen's boy that he has now, whom I say is much prettier than ours and she the contrary. It troubles me to see that every small thing is enough now-a-days to bring a difference between us. So to my office and there did a little business, and then home to supper and to bed. Mrs. Turner, who is often at Court, do tell me to-day that for certain the Queen hath much changed her humour, and is become very pleasant and sociable as any; and they say is with child, or believed to be so. 8th. Up and to my office a while, and thence by coach with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's to the Duke, where Mr. Coventry and us two did discourse with the Duke a little about our office business, which saved our coming in the afternoon, and so to rights home again and to dinner. After dinner my wife and I had a little jangling, in which she did give me the lie, which vexed me, so that finding my talking did but make her worse, and that her spirit is lately come to be other than it used to be, and now depends upon her having Ashwell by her, before whom she thinks I shall not say nor do anything of force to her, which vexes me and makes me wish that I had better considered all that I have of late done concerning my bringing my wife to this condition of heat, I went up vexed to my chamber and there fell examining my new concordance, that I have bought, with Newman's, the best that ever was out before, and I find mine altogether as copious as that and something larger, though the order in some respects not so good, that a man may think a place is missing, when it is only put in another place. Up by and by my wife comes and good friends again, and to walk in the garden and so anon to supper and to bed. My cozen John Angier the son, of Cambridge coming to me late to see me, and I find his business is that he would be sent to sea, but I dissuaded him from it, for I will not have to do with it without his friends' consent. 9th. Up and after ordering some things towards my wife's going into the country, to the office, where I spent the morning upon my measuring rules very pleasantly till noon, and then comes Creed and he and I talked about mathematiques, and he tells me of a way found out by Mr. Jonas Moore which he calls duodecimal arithmetique, which is properly applied to measuring, where all is ordered by inches, which are 12 in a foot, which I have a mind to learn. So he with me home to dinner and after dinner walk in the garden, and then we met at the office, where Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, and I, and so in the evening, business done, I went home and spent my time till night with my wife. Presently after my coming home comes Pembleton, whether by appointment or no I know not, or whether by a former promise that he would come once before my wife's going into the country, but I took no notice of, let them go up and Ashwell with them to dance, which they did, and I staid below in my chamber, but, Lord! how I listened and laid my ear to the door, and how I was troubled when I heard them stand still and not dance. Anon they made an end and had done, and so I suffered him to go away, and spoke not to him, though troubled in my mind, but showed no discontent to my wife, believing that this is the last time I shall be troubled with him. So my wife and I to walk in the garden, home and to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and all the morning helping my wife to put up her things towards her going into the country and drawing the wine out of my vessel to send. This morning came my cozen Thomas Pepys to desire me to furnish him with some money, which I could not do till his father has wrote to Piggott his consent to the sale of his lands, so by and by we parted and I to the Exchange a while and so home and to dinner, and thence to the Royal Theatre by water, and landing, met with Captain Ferrers his friend, the little man that used to be with him, and he with us, and sat by us while we saw "Love in a Maze." The play is pretty good, but the life of the play is Lacy's part, the clown, which is most admirable; but for the rest, which are counted such old and excellent actors, in my life I never heard both men and women so ill pronounce their parts, even to my making myself sick therewith. Thence, Creed happening to be with us, we four to the Half-Moon Tavern, I buying some sugar and carrying it with me, which we drank with wine and thence to the whay-house, and drank a great deal of whay, and so by water home, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is not in much pain, but his legs swell and so immoveable that he cannot stir them, but as they are lifted by other people and I doubt will have another fit of his late pain. Played a little at cards with him and his daughter, who is grown every day a finer and finer lady, and so home to supper and to bed. When my wife and I came first home we took Ashwell and all the rest below in the cellar with the vintner drawing out my wine, which I blamed Ashwell much for and told her my mind that I would not endure it, nor was it fit for her to make herself equal with the ordinary servants of the house. 11th. Up and spent most of the morning upon my measuring Ruler and with great pleasure I have found out some things myself of great dispatch, more than my book teaches me, which pleases me mightily. Sent my wife's things and the wine to-day by the carrier to my father's, but staid my boy from a letter of my father's, wherein he desires that he may not come to trouble his family as he did the last year. Dined at home and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and at night home and spent the evening with my wife, and she and I did jangle mightily about her cushions that she wrought with worsteds the last year, which are too little for any use, but were good friends by and by again. But one thing I must confess I do observe, which I did not before, which is, that I cannot blame my wife to be now in a worse humour than she used to be, for I am taken up in my talk with Ashwell, who is a very witty girl, that I am not so fond of her as I used and ought to be, which now I do perceive I will remedy, but I would to the Lord I had never taken any, though I cannot have a better than her. To supper and to bed. The consideration that this is the longest day in the year is very unpleasant to me.--[It is necessary to note that this was according to the old style.]--This afternoon my wife had a visit from my Lady Jeminah and Mr. Ferrers. 12th. Up and my office, there conning my measuring Ruler, which I shall grow a master of in a very little time. At noon to the Exchange and so home to dinner, and abroad with my wife by water to the Royall Theatre; and there saw "The Committee," a merry but indifferent play, only Lacey's part, an Irish footman, is beyond imagination. Here I saw my Lord Falconbridge, and his Lady, my Lady Mary Cromwell, who looks as well as I have known her, and well clad; but when the House began to fill she put on her vizard, [Masks were commonly used by ladies in the reign of Elizabeth, and when their use was revived at the Restoration for respectable women attending the theatre, they became general. They soon, however, became the mark of loose women, and their use was discontinued by women of repute. On June 1st, 1704, a song was sung at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields called "The Misses' Lamentation for want of their Vizard Masques at the Theatre." Mr. R. W. Lowe gives several references to the use of vizard masks at the theatre in his interesting biography, "Thomas Betterton."] and so kept it on all the play; which of late is become a great fashion among the ladies, which hides their whole face. So to the Exchange, to buy things with my wife; among others, a vizard for herself. And so by water home and to my office to do a little business, and so to see Sir W. Pen, but being going to bed and not well I could not see him. So home and to supper and bed, being mightily troubled all night and next morning with the palate of my mouth being down from some cold I took to-day sitting sweating in the playhouse, and the wind blowing through the windows upon my head. 13th. Up and betimes to Thames Street among the tarr men, to look the price of tarr and so by water to Whitehall thinking to speak with Sir G. Carteret, but he lying in the city all night, and meeting with Mr. Cutler the merchant, I with him in his coach into the city to Sir G. Carteret, but missing him there, he and I walked to find him at Sir Tho. Allen's in Bread Street, where not finding him he and I walked towards our office, he discoursing well of the business of the Navy, and particularly of the victualling, in which he was once I perceive concerned, and he and I parted and I to the office and there had a difference with Sir W. Batten about Mr. Bowyer's tarr, which I am resolved to cross, though he sent me last night, as a bribe, a barrel of sturgeon, which, it may be, I shall send back, for I will not have the King abused so abominably in the price of what we buy, by Sir W. Batten's corruption and underhand dealing. So from the office, Mr. Wayth with me, to the Parliament House, and there I spoke and told Sir G. Carteret all, with which he is well pleased, and do recall his willingness yesterday, it seems, to Sir W. Batten, that we should buy a great quantity of tarr, being abused by him. Thence with Mr. Wayth after drinking a cupp of ale at the Swan, talking of the corruption of the Navy, by water. I landed him at Whitefriars, and I to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife's brother, and thence after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre, where I resolved to bid farewell, as shall appear by my oaths tomorrow against all plays either at publique houses or Court till Christmas be over. Here we saw "The Faithfull Sheepheardesse," a most simple thing, and yet much thronged after, and often shown, but it is only for the scenes' sake, which is very fine indeed and worth seeing; but I am quite out of opinion with any of their actings, but Lacy's, compared with the other house. Thence to see Mrs. Hunt, which we did and were much made of; and in our way saw my Lady Castlemaine, who, I fear, is not so handsome as I have taken her for, and now she begins to decay something. This is my wife's opinion also, for which I am sorry. Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad, and down byeways, through Bucklersbury home, everybody through the street cursing him, being ready to run over them. So home, and after writing letters by the post, home to supper and bed. Yesterday, upon conference with the King in the Banqueting House, the Parliament did agree with much ado, it being carried but by forty-two voices, that they would supply him with a sum of money; but what and how is not yet known, but expected to be done with great disputes the next week. But if done at all, it is well. 14th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. So up and to church. Then to dinner, and Tom dined with me, who I think grows a very thriving man, as he himself tells me. He tells me that his man John has got a wife, and for that he intends to part with him, which I am sorry for, and then that Mr. Armiger comes to be a constant lodger at his house, and he says has money in his purse and will be a good paymaster, but I do much doubt it. He being gone, I up and sending my people to church, my wife and I did even our reckonings, and had a great deal of serious talk, wherein I took occasion to give her hints of the necessity of our saving all we can. I do see great cause every day to curse the time that ever I did give way to the taking of a woman for her, though I could never have had a better, and also the letting of her learn to dance, by both which her mind is so devilishly taken off her business and minding her occasions, and besides has got such an opinion in her of my being jealous, that it is never to be removed, I fear, nor hardly my trouble that attends it; but I must have patience. I did give her 40s. to carry into the country tomorrow with her, whereof 15s. is to go for the coach-hire for her and Ashwell, there being 20s. paid here already in earnest. In the evening our discourse turned to great content and love, and I hope that after a little forgetting our late differences, and being a while absent one from another, we shall come to agree as well as ever. So to Sir W. Pen's to visit him, and finding him alone, sent for my wife, who is in her riding-suit, to see him, which she hath not done these many months I think. By and by in comes Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and so we sat talking. Among other things, Sir J. Minnes brought many fine expressions of Chaucer, which he doats on mightily, and without doubt he is a very fine poet. [Pepys continued through life an admirer of Chaucer, and we have the authority of Dryden himself for saying that we owe his character of the Good Parson to Pepys's recommendation.] Sir W. Pen continues lame of the gout, that he cannot rise from his chair. So after staying an hour with him, we went home and to supper, and so to prayers and bed. 15th. Up betimes, and anon my wife rose and did give me her keys, and put other things in order and herself against going this morning into the country. I was forced to go to Thames Street and strike up a bargain for some tarr, to prevent being abused therein by Hill, who was with me this morning, and is mightily surprised that I should tell him what I can have the same tarr with his for. Thence home, but finding my wife gone, I took coach and after her to her inn, where I am troubled to see her forced to sit in the back of the coach, though pleased to see her company none but women and one parson; she I find is troubled at all, and I seemed to make a promise to get a horse and ride after them; and so, kissing her often, and Ashwell once, I bid them adieu. So home by coach, and thence by water to Deptford to the Trinity House, where I came a little late; but I found them reading their charter, which they did like fools, only reading here and there a bit, whereas they ought to do it all, every word, and then proceeded to the election of a maister, which was Sir W. Batten, without any control, who made a heavy, short speech to them, moving them to give thanks to the late Maister for his pains, which he said was very great, and giving them thanks for their choice of him, wherein he would serve them to the best of his power. Then to the choice of their assistants and wardens, and so rose. I might have received 2s. 6d. as a younger Brother, but I directed one of the servants of the House to receive it and keep it. Thence to church, where Dr. Britton preached a sermon full of words against the Nonconformists, but no great matter in it, nor proper for the day at all. His text was, "With one mind and one mouth give glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." That done, by water, I in the barge with the Maister, to the Trinity House at London; where, among others, I found my Lords Sandwich and Craven, and my cousin Roger Pepys, and Sir Wm. Wheeler. Anon we sat down to dinner, which was very great, as they always have. Great variety of talk. Mr. Prin, among many, had a pretty tale of one that brought in a bill in parliament for the empowering him to dispose his land to such children as he should have that should bear the name of his wife. It was in Queen Elizabeth's time. One replied that there are many species of creatures where the male gives the denomination to both sexes, as swan and woodcock, but not above one where the female do, and that is a goose. Both at and after dinner we had great discourses of the nature and power of spirits, and whether they can animate dead bodies; in all which, as of the general appearance of spirits, my Lord Sandwich is very scepticall. He says the greatest warrants that ever he had to believe any, is the present appearing of the Devil [In 1664, there being a generall report all over the kingdom of Mr. Monpesson his house being haunted, which hee himself affirming to the King and Queene to be true, the King sent the Lord Falmouth, and the Queene sent mee, to examine the truth of; but wee could neither see nor heare anything that was extraordinary; and about a year after, his Majesty told me that hee had discovered the cheat, and that Mr. Monpesson, upon his Majesty sending for him, confessed it to him. And yet Mr. Monpesson, in a printed letter, had afterwards the confidence to deny that hee had ever made any such confession" ("Letters of the Second Earl of Chesterfield," p. 24, 1829, 8vo.). Joseph Glanville published a relation of the famous disturbance at the house of Mr. Monpesson, at Tedworth, Wilts, occasioned by the beating of an invisible drum every night for a year. This story, which was believed at the time, furnished the plot for Addison's play of "The Drummer," or the "Haunted House." In the "Mercurius Publicus," April 16-23, 1663, there is a curious examination on this subject, by which it appears that one William Drury, of Uscut, Wilts, was the invisible drummer.--B.] in Wiltshire, much of late talked of, who beats a drum up and down. There are books of it, and, they say, very true; but my Lord observes, that though he do answer to any tune that you will play to him upon another drum, yet one tune he tried to play and could not; which makes him suspect the whole; and I think it is a good argument. Sometimes they talked of handsome women, and Sir J. Minnes saying that there was no beauty like what he sees in the country-markets, and specially at Bury, in which I will agree with him that there is a prettiest women I ever saw. My Lord replied thus: "Sir John, what do you think of your neighbour's wife?" looking upon me. "Do you not think that he hath a great beauty to his wife? Upon my word he hath." Which I was not a little proud of. Thence by barge with my Lord to Blackfriars, where we landed and I thence walked home, where vexed to find my boy (whom I boxed at his coming for it) and Will abroad, though he was but upon Tower Hill a very little while. My head akeing with the healths I was forced to drink to-day I sent for the barber, and he having done, I up to my wife's closett, and there played on my viallin a good while, and without supper anon to bed, sad for want of my wife, whom I love with all my heart, though of late she has given me some troubled thoughts. 16th. Up, but not so early as I intend now, and to my office, where doing business all the morning. At noon by desire I dined with Sir W. Batten, who tells me that the House have voted the supply, intended for the King, shall be by subsidy. After dinner with Sir J. Minnes to see some pictures at Brewer's, said to be of good hands, but I do not like them. So I to the office and thence to Stacy's, his Tar merchant, whose servant with whom I agreed yesterday for some tar do by combination with Bowyer and Hill fall from our agreement, which vexes us all at the office, even Sir W. Batten, who was so earnest for it. So to the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night, and then to Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, and so to bed about 10 o'clock. 17th. Up before 4 o'clock, which is the hour I intend now to rise at, and to my office a while, and with great pleasure I fell to my business again. Anon went with money to my tar merchant to pay for the tar, which he refuses to sell me; but now the master is come home, and so he speaks very civilly, and I believe we shall have it with peace. I brought back my money to my office, and thence to White Hall, and in the garden spoke to my Lord Sandwich, who is in his gold-buttoned suit, as the mode is, and looks nobly. Captain Ferrers, I see, is come home from France. I only spoke one word to him, my Lord being there. He tells me the young gentlemen are well there; so my Lord went to my Lord Albemarle's to dinner, and I by water home and dined alone, and at the office (after half an hour's viallin practice after dinner) till late at night, and so home and to bed. This day I sent my cozen Edward Pepys his Lady, at my cozen Turner's, a piece of venison given me yesterday, and Madam Turner I sent for a dozen bottles of her's, to fill with wine for her. This day I met with Pierce the surgeon, who tells me that the King has made peace between Mr. Edward Montagu and his father Lord Montagu, and that all is well again; at which; for the family's sake, I am very glad, but do not think it will hold long. 18th. Up by four o'clock and to my office, where all the morning writing out in my Navy collections the ordinary estimate of the Navy, and did it neatly. Then dined at home alone, my mind pleased with business, but sad for the absence of my wife. After dinner half an hour at my viallin, and then all the afternoon sitting at the office late, and so home and to bed. This morning Mr. Cutler came and sat in my closet half an hour with me, his discourse very excellent, being a wise man, and I do perceive by him as well as many others that my diligence is taken notice of in the world, for which I bless God and hope to continue doing so. Before I went into my house this night I called at Sir W. Batten's, where finding some great ladies at table at supper with him and his lady, I retreated and went home, though they called to me again and again, and afterwards sent for me. So I went, and who should it be but Sir Fr. Clerke and his lady and another proper lady at supper there, and great cheer, where I staid till 11 o'clock at night, and so home and to bed. 19th. Lay till 6 o'clock, and then up and to my office, where all the morning, and at noon to the Exchange, and coming home met Mr. Creed, and took him back, and he dined with me, and by and by came Mr. Moore, whom I supplied with L30, and then abroad with them by water to Lambeth, expecting to have seen the Archbishop lie in state; but it seems he is not laid out yet. And so over to White Hall, and at the Privy Seal Office examined the books, and found the grant of increase of salary to the principall officers in the year 1639, L300 among the Controller, Surveyor, and Clerk of the Shippes. Thence to Wilkinson's after a good walk in the Park, where we met on horseback Captain Ferrers; who tells us that the King of France is well again, and that he saw him train his Guards, all brave men, at Paris; and that when he goes to his mistress, Madame la Valiere, a pretty little woman, now with child by him, he goes with his guards with him publiquely, and his trumpets and kettle-drums with him, who stay before the house while he is with her; and yet he says that, for all this, the Queen do not know of it, for that nobody dares to tell her; but that I dare not believe. Thence I to Wilkinson's, where we had bespoke a dish of pease, where we eat them very merrily, and there being with us the little gentleman, a friend of Captain Ferrers, that was with my wife and I at a play a little while ago, we went thence to the Rhenish wine-house, where we called for a red Rhenish wine called Bleahard, a pretty wine, and not mixed, as they say. Here Mr. Moore showed us the French manner, when a health is drunk, to bow to him that drunk to you, and then apply yourself to him, whose lady's health is drunk, and then to the person that you drink to, which I never knew before; but it seems it is now the fashion. Thence by water home and to bed, having played out of my chamber window on my pipe before I went to bed, and making Will read a part of a Latin chapter, in which I perceive in a little while he will be pretty ready, if he spends but a little pains in it. 20th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and dined at home, Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, with me, and he and I all the afternoon down by water, and in a timber yard, measuring of timber, which I now understand thoroughly, and shall be able in a little time to do the King great service. Home in the evening, and after Will's reading a little in the Latin Testament, to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up betimes, and fell to reading my Latin grammar, which I perceive I have great need of, having lately found it by my calling Will to the reading of a chapter in Latin, and I am resolved to go through it. After being trimmed, I by water to White Hall, and so over the Park, it raining hard, to Mr. Coventry's chamber, where I spent two hours with him about business of the Navy, and how by his absence things are like to go with us, and with good content from my being with him he carried me by coach and set me down at Whitehall, and thence to right home by water. He shewed me a list, which he hath prepared for the Parliament's view, if the business of his selling of offices should be brought to further hearing, wherein he reckons up, as I remember, 236 offices of ships which have been disposed of without his taking one farthing. This, of his own accord, he opened his cabinet on purpose to shew me, meaning, I suppose, that I should discourse abroad of it, and vindicate him therein, which I shall with all my power do. At home, being wet, shifted my band and things, and then to dinner, and after dinner went up and tried a little upon my tryangle, which I understand fully, and with a little use I believe could bring myself to do something. So to church, and slept all the sermon, the Scot, to whose voice I am not to be reconciled, preaching. Thence with Sir J. Minnes (who poor man had forgot that he carried me the other day to the painter's to see some pictures which he has since bought and are brought home) to his Jodgings to see some base things he calls them of great masters of painting. So I said nothing that he had shown me them already, but commended them, and I think they are indeed good enough. Thence to see Sir W. Pen, who continues ill of the gout still. Here we staid a good while, and then I to my office, and read my vows seriously and with content, and so home to supper, to prayers, and to bed. 22nd. Up betimes and to my office, reading over all our letters of the office that we have wrote since I came into the Navy, whereby to bring the whole series of matters into my memory, and to enter in my manuscript some of them that are needful and of great influence. By and by with Sir W. Batten by coach to Westminster, where all along I find the shops evening with the sides of the houses, even in the broadest streets; which will make the City very much better than it was. I walked in the Hall from one man to another. Hear that the House is still divided about the manner of levying the subsidys which they intend to give the King, both as to the manner, the time, and the number. It seems the House do consent to send to the King to desire that he would be graciously pleased to let them know who it was that did inform him of what words Sir Richard Temple should say, which were to this purpose: "That if the King would side with him, or be guided by him and his party, that he should not lack money:" but without knowing who told it, they do not think fit to call him to any account for it. Thence with Creed and bought a lobster, and then to an alehouse, where the maid of the house is a confident merry lass, and if modest is very pleasant to the customers that come thither. Here we eat it, and thence to walk in the Park a good while. The Duke being gone a-hunting, and by and by came in and shifted himself; he having in his hunting, rather than go about, 'light and led his horse through a river up to his breast, and came so home: and when we were come, which was by and by, we went on to him, and being ready he retired with us, and we had a long discourse with him. But Mr. Creed's accounts stick still through the perverse ignorance of Sir G. Carteret, which I cannot safely control as I would. Thence to the Park again, and there walked up and down an hour or two till night with Creed, talking, who is so knowing, and a man of that reason, that I cannot but love his company, though I do not love the man, because he is too wise to be made a friend of, and acts all by interest and policy, but is a man fit to learn of. So to White Hall, and by water to the Temple, and calling at my brother's and several places, but to no purpose, I came home, and meeting Strutt, the purser, he tells me for a secret that he was told by Field that he had a judgment against me in the Exchequer for L400. So I went to Sir W. Batten, and taking Mr. Batten, his son the counsellor, with me, by coach, I went to Clerke, our Solicitor, who tells me there can be no such thing, and after conferring with them two together, who are resolved to look well after the business, I returned home and to my office, setting down this day's passages, and having a letter that all is well in the country I went home to supper, and then a Latin chapter of Will and to bed. 23rd. Up by four o'clock, and so to my office; but before I went out, calling, as I have of late done, for my boy's copybook, I found that he had not done his task; so I beat him, and then went up to fetch my rope's end, but before I got down the boy was gone. I searched the cellar with a candle, and from top to bottom could not find him high nor low. So to the office; and after an hour or two, by water to the Temple, to my cozen Roger; who, I perceive, is a deadly high man in the Parliament business, and against the Court, showing me how they have computed that the King hath spent, at least hath received, about four millions of money since he came in: and in Sir J. Winter's case, in which I spoke to him, he is so high that he says he deserves to be hanged, and all the high words he could give, which I was sorry to see, though I am confident he means well. Thence by water home, and to the 'Change; and by and by comes the King and the Queen by in great state, and the streets full of people. I stood in Mr.--------'s balcone. They dine all at my Lord Mayor's; but what he do for victuals, or room for them, I know not. So home to dinner alone, and there I found that my boy had got out of doors, and came in for his hat and band, and so is gone away to his brother; but I do resolve even to let him go away for good and all. So I by and by to the office, and there had a great fray with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, who, like an old dotard, is led by the nose by him. It was in Captain Cocke's business of hemp, wherein the King is absolutely abused; but I was for peace sake contented to be quiet and to sign to his bill, but in my manner so as to justify myself, and so all was well; but to see what a knave Sir W. Batten is makes my heart ake. So late at my office, and then home to supper and to bed, my man Will not being well. 24th. Up before 4 o'clock, and so to my lute an hour or more, and then by water, drinking my morning draft alone at an alehouse in Thames Street, to the Temple, and thence after a little discourse with my cozen Roger about some business, away by water to St. James's, and there an hour's private discourse with Mr. Coventry, where he told me one thing to my great joy, that in the business of Captain Cocke's hemp, disputed before him the other day, Mr. Coventry absent, the Duke did himself tell him since, that Mr. Pepys and he did stand up and carry it against the rest that were there, Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, which do please me much to see that the Duke do take notice of me. We did talk highly of Sir W. Batten's corruption, which Mr. Coventry did very kindly say that it might be only his heaviness and unaptness for business, that he do things without advice and rashly, and to gratify people that do eat and drink and play with him, and that now and then he observes that he signs bills only in anger and fury to be rid of men. Speaking of Sir G. Carteret, of whom I perceive he speaks but slightly, and diminishing of him in his services for the King in Jersey; that he was well rewarded, and had good lands and rents, and other profits from the King, all the time he was there; and that it was always his humour to have things done his way. He brought an example how he would not let the Castle there be victualled for more than a month, that so he might keep it at his beck, though the people of the town did offer to supply it more often themselves, which, when one did propose to the King, Sir George Carteret being by, says Sir George, "Let me know who they are that would do it, I would with all my heart pay them." "Ah, by God," says the Commander that spoke of it, "that is it that they are afeard of, that you would hug them," meaning that he would not endure them. Another thing he told me, how the Duke of York did give Sir G. Carteret and the Island his profits as Admirall, and other things, toward the building of a pier there. But it was never laid out, nor like to be. So it falling out that a lady being brought to bed, the Duke was to be desired to be one of the godfathers; and it being objected that that would not be proper, there being no peer of the land to be joyned with him, the lady replied, "Why, let him choose; and if he will not be a godfather without a peer, then let him even stay till he hath made a pier of his own." [In the same spirit, long after this, some question arising as to the best material to be used in building Westminster Bridge, Lord Chesterfield remarked, that there were too many wooden piers (peers) at Westminster already.--B.] He tells me, too, that he hath lately been observed to tack about at Court, and to endeavour to strike in with the persons that are against the Chancellor; but this he says of him, that he do not say nor do anything to the prejudice of the Chancellor. But he told me that the Chancellor was rising again, and that of late Sir G. Carteret's business and employment hath not been so full as it used to be while the Chancellor stood up. From that we discoursed of the evil of putting out men of experience in business as the Chancellor, and from that to speak of the condition of the King's party at present, who, as the Papists, though otherwise fine persons, yet being by law kept for these fourscore years out of employment, they are now wholly uncapable of business; and so the Cavaliers for twenty years, who, says he, for the most part have either given themselves over to look after country and family business, and those the best of them, and the rest to debauchery, &c.; and that was it that hath made him high against the late Bill brought into the House for the making all men incapable of employment that had served against the King. Why, says he, in the sea-service, it is impossible to do any thing without them, there being not more than three men of the whole King's side that are fit to command almost; and these were Captain Allen, Smith, and Beech; and it may be Holmes, and Utber, and Batts might do something. I desired him to tell me if he thought that I did speak anything that I do against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes out of ill will or design. He told me quite the contrary, and that there was reason enough. After a good deal of good and fine discourse, I took leave, and so to my Lord Sandwich's house, where I met my Lord, and there did discourse of our office businesses, and how the Duke do show me kindness, though I have endeavoured to displease more or less of my fellow officers, all but Mr. Coventry and Pett; but it matters not. Yes, says my Lord, Sir J. Minnes, who is great with the Chancellor; I told him the Chancellor I have thought was declining, and however that the esteem he has among them is nothing but for a jester or a ballad maker; at which my Lord laughs, and asks me whether I believe he ever could do that well. Thence with Mr. Creed up and down to an ordinary, and, the King's Head being full, went to the other over against it, a pretty man that keeps it, and good and much meat, better than the other, but the company and room so small that he must break, and there wants the pleasure that the other house has in its company. Here however dined an old courtier that is now so, who did bring many examples and arguments to prove that seldom any man that brings any thing to Court gets any thing, but rather the contrary; for knowing that they have wherewith to live, will not enslave themselves to the attendance, and flattery, and fawning condition of a courtier, whereas another that brings nothing, and will be contented to cog, and lie, and flatter every man and woman that has any interest with the persons that are great in favour, and can cheat the King, as nothing is to be got without offending God and the King, there he for the most part, and he alone, saves any thing. Thence to St. James Park, and there walked two or three hours talking of the difference between Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Creed about his accounts, and how to obviate him, but I find Creed a deadly cunning fellow and one that never do any thing openly, but has intrigues in all he do or says. Thence by water home to see all well, and thence down to Greenwich, and there walked into a pretty common garden and there played with him at nine pins for some drink, and to make the fellows drink that set up the pins, and so home again being very cold, and taking a very great cold, being to-day the first time in my tabby doublet this year. Home, and after a small supper Creed and I to bed. This day I observed the house, which I took to be the new tennis-court, newly built next my Lord's lodgings, to be fallen down by the badness of the foundation or slight working, which my cozen Roger and his discontented party cry out upon, as an example how the King's work is done, which I am sorry to see him and others so apt to think ill of things. It hath beaten down a good deal of my Lord's lodgings, and had like to have killed Mrs. Sarah, she having but newly gone out of it. 25th. Up both of us pretty early and to my chamber, where he and I did draw up a letter to Sir G. Carteret in excuse and preparation for Creed against we meet before the Duke upon his accounts, which I drew up and it proved very well, but I am pleased to see with what secret cunning and variety of artifice this Creed has carried on his business even unknown to me, which he is now forced by an accident to communicate to me. So that taking up all the papers of moment which lead to the clearing of his accounts unobserved out of the Controller's hand, which he now makes great use of; knowing that the Controller has not wherewith to betray him. About this all the morning, only Mr. Bland came to me about some business of his, and told me the news, which holds to be true, that the Portuguese did let in the Spaniard by a plot, and they being in the midst of the country and we believing that they would have taken the whole country, they did all rise and kill the whole body, near 8,000 men, and Don John of Austria having two horses killed under him, was forced with one man to flee away. Sir George Carteret at the office (after dinner, and Creed being gone, for both now and yesterday I was afraid to have him seen by Sir G. Carteret with me, for fear that he should increase his doubt that I am of a plot with Creed in the business of his accounts) did tell us that upon Tuesday last, being with my Lord Treasurer, he showed him a letter from Portugall speaking of the advance of the Spaniards into their country, and yet that the Portuguese were never more courageous than now; for by an old prophecy, from France, sent thither some years, though not many since, from the French King, it is foretold that the Spaniards should come into their country, and in such a valley they should be all killed, and then their country should be wholly delivered from the Spaniards. This was on Tuesday last, and yesterday came the very first news that in this very valley they had thus routed and killed the Spaniards, which is very strange but true. So late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. This noon I received a letter from the country from my wife, wherein she seems much pleased with the country; God continue that she may have pleasure while she is there. She, by my Lady's advice, desires a new petticoat of the new silk striped stuff, very pretty. So I went to Paternoster Row' presently, and bought her one, with Mr. Creed's help, a very fine rich one, the best I did see there, and much better than she desires or expects, and sent it by Creed to Unthanke to be made against tomorrow to send by the carrier, thinking it had been but Wednesday to-day, but I found myself mistaken, and also the taylor being out of the way, it could not be done, but the stuff was sent me back at night by Creed to dispose of some other way to make, but now I shall keep it to next week. 26th. Up betimes, and Mr. Moore coming to see me, he and [Paternoster Row, now famous as the headquarters of the publishing houses, was at this time chiefly inhabited by mercers. "This street, before the Fire of London, was taken up by eminent Mercers, Silkmen and Lacemen; and their shops were so resorted to by the nobility and gentry in their coaches, that oft times the street was so stop'd up that there was no passage for foot passengers" (Strype's "Stow," book iii., p. 195)]. I discoursed of going to Oxford this Commencement, Mr. Nathaniel Crew being Proctor and Mr. Childe commencing Doctor of Musique this year, which I have a great mind to do, and, if I can, will order my matters so that I may do it. By and by, he and I to the Temple, it raining hard, my cozen Roger being got out, he and I walked a good while among the Temple trees discoursing of my getting my Lord to let me have security upon his estate for L100 per ann. for two lives, my own and my wife, for my money. But upon second thoughts Mr. Moore tells me it is very likely my Lord will think that I beg something, and may take it ill, and so we resolved not to move it there, but to look for it somewhere else. Here it raining hard he and I walked into the King's Bench Court, where I never was before, and there staid an hour almost, till it had done raining, which is a sad season, that it is said there hath not been one fair day these three months, and I think it is true, and then by water to Westminster, and at the Parliament House I spoke with Roger Pepys. The House is upon the King's answer to their message about Temple, which is, that my Lord of Bristoll did tell him that Temple did say those words; so the House are resolved upon sending some of their members to him to know the truth, and to demand satisfaction if it be not true. So by water home, and after a little while getting me ready, Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, my Lady Batten, and I by coach to Bednall Green, to Sir W. Rider's to dinner, where a fine place, good lady mother, and their daughter, Mrs. Middleton, a fine woman. A noble dinner, and a fine merry walk with the ladies alone after dinner in the garden, which is very pleasant; the greatest quantity of strawberrys I ever saw, and good, and a collation of great mirth, Sir J. Minnes reading a book of scolding very prettily. This very house [Sir William Rider's house was known as Kirby Castle, and was supposed to have been built in 1570 by John Thorpe for John Kirby. It was associated in rhyme with other follies of the time in bricks and mortar, as recorded by Stow "Kirkebyes Castell, and Fisher's Follie, Spinila's pleasure, and Megse's glorie." The place was known in Strype's time as the "Blind Beggar's House," but he knew nothing of the ballad, "The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green," for he remarks, "perhaps Kirby beggared himself by it." Sr. William Rider died at this house in 1669.] was built by the Blind Beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in ballads; but they say it was only some of the outhouses of it. We drank great store of wine, and a beer glass at last which made me almost sick. At table, discoursing of thunder and lightning, they told many stories of their own knowledge at table of their masts being shivered from top to bottom, and sometimes only within and the outside whole, but among the rest Sir W. Rider did tell a story of his own knowledge, that a Genoese gaily in Leghorn Roads was struck by thunder, so as the mast was broke a-pieces, and the shackle upon one of the slaves was melted clear off of his leg without hurting his leg. Sir William went on board the vessel, and would have contributed towards the release of the slave whom Heaven had thus set free, but he could not compass it, and so he was brought to his fetters again. In the evening home, and a little to my Tryangle, and so to bed. 27th. Up by 4 o'clock and a little to my office. Then comes by agreement Sir W. Warren, and he and I from ship to ship to see deals of all sorts, whereby I have encreased my knowledge and with great pleasure. Then to his yard and house, where I staid two hours or more discoursing of the expense of the navy and the corruption of Sir W. Batten and his man Wood that he brings or would bring to sell all that is to be sold by the Navy. Then home to the office, where we sat a little, and at noon home to dinner, alone, and thence, it raining hard, by water to the Temple, and so to Lincoln's Inn, and there walked up and down to see the new garden which they are making, and will be very pretty, and so to walk under the Chappell by agreement, whither Mr. Clerke our Solicitor came to me, and he fetched Mr. Long, our Attorney in the Exchequer in the business against Field, and I directed him to come to the best and speediest composition he could, which he will do. So home on foot, calling upon my brother's and elsewhere upon business, and so home to my office, and there wrote letters to my father and wife, and so home to bed, taking three pills overnight. 28th (Lord's day). Early in the morning my last night's physic worked and did give me a good stool, and then I rose and had three or four stools, and walked up and down my chamber. Then up, my maid rose and made me a posset, and by and by comes Mr. Creed, and he and I spent all the morning discoursing against to-morrow before the Duke the business of his pieces of eight, in which the Treasurer makes so many queries. At noon, my physic having done working, I went down to dinner, and then he and I up again and spent most of the afternoon reading in Cicero and other books of good discourse, and then he went away, and then came my brother Tom to see me, telling me how the Joyces do make themselves fine clothes against Mary is brought to bed. He being gone I went to cast up my monthly accounts, and to my great trouble I find myself L7 worse than I was the last month, but I confess it is by my reckoning beforehand a great many things, yet however I am troubled to see that I can hardly promise myself to lay up much from month's end to month's end, about L4 or L5 at most, one month with another, without some extraordinary gettings, but I must and I hope I shall continue to have a care of my own expenses. So to the reading my vows seriously and then to supper. This evening there came my boy's brother to see for him, and tells me he knows not where he is, himself being out of town this week and is very sorry that he is gone, and so am I, but he shall come no more. So to prayers, and to bed. 29th. Up betimes and to my office, and by and by to the Temple, and there appointed to meet in the evening about my business, and thence I walked home, and up and down the streets is cried mightily the great victory got by the Portugalls against the Spaniards, where 10,000 slain, 3 or 4,000 taken prisoners, with all the artillery, baggage, money, &c., and Don John of Austria [He was natural son of Philip IV., King of Spain, who, after his father's death in 1665, exerted his whole influence to overthrow the Regency appointed during the young king's minority.--B.] forced to flee with a man or two with him, which is very great news. Thence home and at my office all the morning, and then by water to St. James's, but no meeting to-day being holy day, but met Mr. Creed in the Park, and after a walk or two, discoursing his business, took leave of him in Westminster Hall, whither we walked, and then came again to the Hall and fell to talk with Mrs. Lane, and after great talk that she never went abroad with any man as she used heretofore to do, I with one word got her to go with me and to meet me at the further Rhenish wine-house, where I did give her a Lobster and do so touse her and feel her all over, making her believe how fair and good a skin she has, and indeed she has a very white thigh and leg, but monstrous fat. When weary I did give over and somebody, having seen some of our dalliance, called aloud in the street, "Sir! why do you kiss the gentlewoman so?" and flung a stone at the window, which vexed me, but I believe they could not see my touzing her, and so we broke up and I went out the back way, without being observed I think, and so she towards the Hall and I to White Hall, where taking water I to the Temple with my cozen Roger and Mr. Goldsborough to Gray's Inn to his counsel, one Mr. Rawworth, a very fine man, where it being the question whether I as executor should give a warrant to Goldsborough in my reconveying her estate back again, the mortgage being performed against all acts of the testator, but only my own, my cozen said he never heard it asked before; and the other that it was always asked, and he never heard it denied, or scrupled before, so great a distance was there in their opinions, enough to make a man forswear ever having to do with the law; so they agreed to refer it to Serjeant Maynard. So we broke up, and I by water home from the Temple, and there to Sir W. Batten and eat with him, he and his lady and Sir J. Minnes having been below to-day upon the East India men that are come in, but never tell me so, but that they have been at Woolwich and Deptford, and done great deal of business. God help them. So home and up to my lute long, and then, after a little Latin chapter with Will, to bed. But I have used of late, since my wife went, to make a bad use of my fancy with whatever woman I have a mind to, which I am ashamed of, and shall endeavour to do so no more. So to sleep. 30th. Up betimes yesterday and to-day, the sun rising very bright and glorious; and yet yesterday, as it hath been these two months and more, was a foul day the most part of the day. By and by by water to White Hall, and there to my Lord's lodgings by appointment, whither Mr. Creed comes to me, having been at Chelsey this morning to fetch my Lord to St. James's. So he and I to the Park, where we understand that the King and Duke are gone out betimes this morning on board the East India ships lately come in, and so our meeting appointed is lost. But he and I walked at the further end of the Park, not to be observed, whither by and by comes my Lord Sandwich, and he and we walked two hours and more in the Park and then in White Hall Gallery, and lastly in White Hall garden, discoursing of Mr. Creed's accounts, and how to answer the Treasurer's objections. I find that the business is L500 deep, the advantage of Creed, and why my Lord and I should be concerned to promote his profit with so much dishonour and trouble to us I know not, but however we shall do what we can, though he deserves it not, for there is nothing even to his own advantage that can be got out of him, but by mere force. So full of policy he is in the smallest matters, that I perceive him to be made up of nothing but design. I left him here, being in my mind vexed at the trouble that this business gets me, and the distance that it makes between Sir G. Carteret and myself, which I ought to avoyd. Thence by water home and to dinner, and afterwards to the office, and there sat till evening, and then I by water to Deptford to see Sir W. Pen, who lies ill at Captain Rooth's, but in a way to be well again this weather, this day being the only fair day we have had these two or three months. Among other discourse I did tell him plainly some of my thoughts concerning Sir W. Batten. and the office in general, upon design for him to understand that I do mind things and will not balk to take notice of them, that when he comes to be well again he may know how to look upon me. Thence homeward walked, and in my way met Creed coming to meet me, and then turned back and walk a while, and so to boat and home by water, I being not very forward to talk of his business, and he by design the same, to see how I would speak of it, but I did not, but in general terms, and so after supper with general discourse to bed and sleep. Thus, by God's blessing, ends this book of two years; I being in all points in good health and a good way to thrive and do well. Some money I do and can lay up, but not much, being worth now above L700, besides goods of all sorts. My wife in the country with Ashwell, her woman, with my father; myself at home with W. Hewer and my cooke-maid Hannah, my boy Wayneman being lately run away from me. In my office, my repute and understanding good, especially with the Duke and Mr. Coventry; only the rest of the officers do rather envy than love me, I standing in most of their lights, specially Sir W. Batten, whose cheats I do daily oppose to his great trouble, though he appears mighty kind and willing to keep friendship with me, while Sir J. Minnes, like a dotard, is led by the nose by him. My wife and I, by my late jealousy, for which I am truly to be blamed, have not the kindness between us which we used and ought to have, and I fear will be lost hereafter if I do not take course to oblige her and yet preserve my authority. Publique matters are in an ill condition; Parliament sitting and raising four subsidys for the King, which is but a little, considering his wants; and yet that parted withal with great hardness. They being offended to see so much money go, and no debts of the publique's paid, but all swallowed by a luxurious Court: which the King it is believed and hoped will retrench in a little time, when he comes to see the utmost of the revenue which shall be settled on him: he expecting to have his L1,200,000 made good to him, which is not yet done by above L150,000, as he himself reports to the House. My differences with my uncle Thomas at a good quiett, blessed be God! and other matters. The town full of the great overthrow lately given to the Spaniards by the Portugalls, they being advanced into the very middle of Portugall. The weather wet for two or three months together beyond belief, almost not one fair day coming between till this day, which has been a very pleasant [day] and the first pleasant [day] this summer. The charge of the Navy intended to be limited to L200,000 per annum, the ordinary charge of it, and that to be settled upon the Customs. The King yet greatly taken up with Madam Castlemaine and Mrs. Stewart, which God of Heaven put an end to! Myself very studious to learn what I can of all things necessary for my place as an officer of the Navy, reading lately what concerns measuring of timber and knowledge of the tides. I have of late spent much time with Creed, being led to it by his business of his accounts, but I find him a fellow of those designs and tricks, that there is no degree of true friendship to be made with him, and therefore I must cast him off, though he be a very understanding man, and one that much may be learned of as to cunning and judging of other men. Besides, too, I do perceive more and more that my time of pleasure and idleness of any sort must be flung off to attend to getting of some money and the keeping of my family in order, which I fear by my wife's liberty may be otherwise lost. JULY 1663 July 1st. This morning it rained so hard (though it was fair yesterday, and we thereupon in hopes of having some fair weather, which we have wanted these three months) that it wakened Creed, who lay with me last night, and me, and so we up and fell to discourse of the business of his accounts now under dispute, in which I have taken much trouble upon myself and raised a distance between Sir G. Carteret and myself, which troubles me, but I hope we have this morning light on an expedient that will right all, that will answer their queries, and yet save Creed the L500 which he did propose to make of the exchange abroad of the pieces of eight which he disbursed. Being ready, he and I by water to White Hall, where I left him before we came into the Court, for fear I should be seen by Sir G. Carteret with him, which of late I have been forced to avoid to remove suspicion. I to St. James's, and there discoursed a while with Mr. Coventry, between whom and myself there is very good understanding and friendship, and so to Westminster Hall, and being in the Parliament lobby, I there saw my Lord of Bristoll come to the Commons House to give his answer to their question, about some words he should tell the King that were spoke by Sir Richard Temple, a member of their House. A chair was set at the bar of the House for him, which he used but little, but made an harangue of half an hour bareheaded, the House covered. His speech being done, he came out and withdrew into a little room till the House had concluded of an answer to his speech; which they staying long upon, I went away. And by and by out comes Sir W. Batten; and he told me that his Lordship had made a long and a comedian-like speech, and delivered with such action as was not becoming his Lordship. He confesses he did tell the King such a thing of Sir Richard Temple, but that upon his honour they were not spoke by Sir Richard, he having taken a liberty of enlarging to the King upon the discourse which had been between Sir Richard and himself lately; and so took upon himself the whole blame, and desired their pardon, it being not to do any wrong to their fellow-member, but out of zeal to the King. He told them, among many other things, that as to his religion he was a Roman Catholique, but such a one as thought no man to have right to the Crown of England but the Prince that hath it; and such a one as, if the King should desire his counsel as to his own, he would not advise him to another religion than the old true reformed religion of this country, it being the properest of this kingdom as it now stands; and concluded with a submission to what the House shall do with him, saying, that whatever they shall do, says he, "thanks be to God, this head, this heart, and this sword (pointing to them all), will find me a being in any place in Europe." The House hath hereupon voted clearly Sir Richard Temple to be free from the imputation of saying those words; but when Sir William Batten came out, had not concluded what to say to my Lord, it being argued that to own any satisfaction as to my Lord from his speech, would be to lay some fault upon the King for the message he should upon no better accounts send to the impeaching of one of their members. Walking out, I hear that the House of Lords are offended that my Lord Digby should come to this House and make a speech there without leave first asked of the House of Lords. I hear also of another difficulty now upon him; that my Lord of Sunderland (whom I do not know) was so near to the marriage of his daughter as that the wedding-clothes were made, and portion and every thing agreed on and ready; and the other day he goes away nobody yet knows whither, sending her the next morning a release of his right or claim to her, and advice to his friends not to enquire into the reason of this doing, for he hath enough for it; but that he gives them liberty to say and think what they will of him, so they do not demand the reason of his leaving her, being resolved never to have her, but the reason desires and resolves not to give. Thence by water with Sir W. Batten to Trinity House, there to dine with him, which we did; and after dinner we fell talking, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Batten and I; Mr. Batten telling us of a late triall of Sir Charles Sydly the other day, before my Lord Chief Justice Foster and the whole bench, for his debauchery a little while since at Oxford Kate's, [The details in the original are very gross. Dr. Johnson relates the story in the "Lives of the Poets," in his life of Sackville, Lord Dorset "Sackville, who was then Lord Buckhurst, with Sir Charles Sedley and Sir Thomas Ogle, got drunk at the Cock, in Bow Street, by Covent Garden, and going into the balcony exposed themselves to the populace in very indecent postures. At last, as they grew warmer, Sedley stood forth naked, and harangued the populace in such profane language, that the publick indignation was awakened; the crowd attempted to force the door, and being repulsed, drove in the performers with stones, and broke the windows of the house. For this misdemeanour they were indicted, and Sedley was fined five hundred pounds; what was the sentence of the others is not known. Sedley employed [Henry] Killigrew and another to procure a remission from the King, but (mark the friendship of the dissolute!) they begged the fine for themselves, and exacted it to the last groat." The woman known as Oxford Kate appears to have kept the notorious Cock Tavern in Bow Street at this date.] coming in open day into the Balcone and showed his nakedness,.... and abusing of scripture and as it were from thence preaching a mountebank sermon from the pulpit, saying that there he had to sell such a powder as should make all the [women] in town run after him, 1000 people standing underneath to see and hear him, and that being done he took a glass of wine.... and then drank it off, and then took another and drank the King's health. It seems my Lord and the rest of the judges did all of them round give him a most high reproof; my Lord Chief justice saying, that it was for him, and such wicked wretches as he was, that God's anger and judgments hung over us, calling him sirrah many times. It's said they have bound him to his good behaviour (there being no law against him for it) in L5000. It being told that my Lord Buckhurst was there, my Lord asked whether it was that Buckhurst that was lately tried for robbery; and when answered Yes, he asked whether he had so soon forgot his deliverance at that time, and that it would have more become him to have been at his prayers begging God's forgiveness, than now running into such courses again.... Thence home, and my clerks being gone by my leave to see the East India ships that are lately come home, I staid all alone within my office all the afternoon. This day I hear at dinner that Don John of Austria, since his flight out of Portugall, is dead of his wounds:--[not true]--so there is a great man gone, and a great dispute like to be ended for the crown of Spayne, if the King should have died before him. I received this morning a letter from my wife, brought by John Gower to town, wherein I find a sad falling out between my wife and my father and sister and Ashwell upon my writing to my father to advise Pall not to keep Ashwell from her mistress, or making any difference between them. Which Pall telling to Ashwell, and she speaking some words that her mistress heard, caused great difference among them; all which I am sorry from my heart to hear of, and I fear will breed ill blood not to be laid again. So that I fear my wife and I may have some falling out about it, or at least my father and I, but I shall endeavour to salve up all as well as I can, or send for her out of the country before the time intended, which I would be loth to do. In the evening by water to my coz. Roger Pepys' chamber, where he was not come, but I found Dr. John newly come to town, and is well again after his sickness; but, Lord! what a simple man he is as to any public matter of state, and talks so sillily to his brother Dr. Tom. What the matter is I know not, but he has taken (as my father told me a good while since) such displeasure that he hardly would touch his hat to me, and I as little to him. By and by comes Roger, and he told us the whole passage of my Lord Digby to-day, much as I have said here above; only that he did say that he would draw his sword against the Pope himself, if he should offer any thing against his Majesty, and the good of these nations; and that he never was the man that did either look for a Cardinal's cap for himself, or any body else, meaning Abbot Montagu; and the House upon the whole did vote Sir Richard Temple innocent; and that my Lord Digby hath cleared the honour of his Majesty, and Sir Richard Temple's, and given perfect satisfaction of his own respects to the House. Thence to my brother's, and being vexed with his not minding my father's business here in getting his Landscape done, I went away in an anger, and walked home, and so up to my lute and then to bed. 2d. Up betimes to my office, and there all the morning doing business, at noon to the Change, and there met with several people, among others Captain Cox, and with him to a Coffee [House], and drank with him and some other merchants. Good discourse. Thence home and to dinner, and, after a little alone at my viol, to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and so rose at the evening, and then home to supper and to bed, after a little musique. My mind troubled me with the thoughts of the difference between my wife and my father in the country. Walking in the garden this evening with Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes, Sir G. Carteret told us with great contempt how like a stage-player my Lord Digby spoke yesterday, pointing to his head as my Lord did, and saying, "First, for his head," says Sir G. Carteret, "I know what a calf's head would have done better by half for his heart and his sword, I have nothing to say to them." He told us that for certain his head cost the late King his, for it was he that broke off the treaty at Uxbridge. He told us also how great a man he was raised from a private gentleman in France by Monsieur Grandmont, [Antoine, Duc de Gramont, marshal of France, who died July 12th, 1678, aged seventy-four. His memoirs have been published.] and afterwards by the Cardinall,--[Mazarin]--who raised him to be a Lieutenant-generall, and then higher; and entrusted by the Cardinall, when he was banished out of France, with great matters, and recommended by him to the Queen as a man to be trusted and ruled by: yet when he came to have some power over the Queen, he begun to dissuade her from her opinion of the Cardinal; which she said nothing to till the Cardinal was returned, and then she told him of it; who told my Lord Digby, "Eh bien, Monsieur, vous estes un fort bon amy donc:" but presently put him out of all; and then he was, from a certainty of coming in two or three years' time to be Mareschall of France (to which all strangers, even Protestants, and those as often as French themselves, are capable of coming, though it be one of the greatest places in France), he was driven to go out of France into Flanders; but there was not trusted, nor received any kindness from the Prince of Conde, as one to whom also he had been false, as he had been to the Cardinal and Grandmont. In fine, he told us how he is a man of excellent parts, but of no great faith nor judgment, and one very easy to get up to great height of preferment, but never able to hold it. So home and to my musique; and then comes Mr. Creed to me giving me an account of his accounts, how he has now settled them fit for perusal the most strict, at which I am glad. So he and I to bed together. 3d. Up and he home, and I with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten by coach to Westminster, to St. James's, thinking to meet Sir G. Carteret, and to attend the Duke, but he not coming we broke up, and so to Westminster Hall, and there meeting with Mr. Moore he tells me great news that my Lady Castlemaine is fallen from Court, and this morning retired. He gives me no account of the reason of it, but that it is so: for which I am sorry: and yet if the King do it to leave off not only her but all other mistresses, I should be heartily glad of it, that he may fall to look after business. I hear my Lord Digby is condemned at Court for his speech, and that my Lord Chancellor grows great again. Thence with Mr. Creed, whom I called at his chamber, over the water to Lambeth; but could not, it being morning, get to see the Archbishop's hearse: so he and I walked over the fields to Southwark, and there parted, and I spent half an hour in Mary Overy's Church, where are fine monuments of great antiquity, I believe, and has been a fine church. Thence to the Change, and meeting Sir J. Minnes there, he and I walked to look upon Backwell's design of making another alley from his shop through over against the Exchange door, which will be very noble and quite put down the other two. So home to dinner and then to the office, and entered in my manuscript book the Victualler's contract, and then over the water and walked to see Sir W. Pen, and sat with him a while, and so home late, and to my viall. So up comes Creed again to me and stays all night, to-morrow morning being a hearing before the Duke. So to bed full of discourse of his business. 4th. Up by 4 o'clock and sent him to get matters ready, and I to my office looking over papers and mending my manuscript by scraping out the blots and other things, which is now a very fine book. So to St. James's by water with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, I giving occasion to a wager about the tide, that it did flow through bridge, by which Sir W. Batten won 5s. of Sir J. Minnes. At St. James's we staid while the Duke made himself ready. Among other things Sir Allen Apsley showed the Duke the Lisbon Gazette in Spanish, where the late victory is set down particularly, and to the great honour of the English beyond measure. They have since taken back Evora, which was lost to the Spaniards, the English making the assault, and lost not more than three men. Here I learnt that the English foot are highly esteemed all over the world, but the horse not so much, which yet we count among ourselves the best; but they abroad have had no great knowledge of our horse, it seems. The Duke being ready, we retired with him, and there fell upon Mr. Creed's business, where the Treasurer did, like a mad coxcomb, without reason or method run over a great many things against the account, and so did Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, which the Duke himself and Mr. Coventry and my Lord Barkely and myself did remove, and Creed being called in did answer all with great method and excellently to the purpose (myself I am a little conscious did not speak so well as I purposed and do think I used to do, that is, not so intelligibly and persuasively, as I well hoped I should), not that what I said was not well taken, and did carry the business with what was urged and answered by Creed and Mr. Coventry, till the Duke himself did declare that he was satisfied, and my Lord Barkely offered to lay L100 that the King would receive no wrong in the account, and the two last knights held their tongues, or at least by not understanding it did say what made for Mr. Creed, and so Sir G. Carteret was left alone, but yet persisted to say that the account was not good, but full of corruption and foul dealing. And so we broke up to his shame, but I do fear to the loss of his friendship to me a good while, which I am heartily troubled for. Thence with Creed to the King's Head ordinary; but, coming late, dined at the second table very well for 12d.; and a pretty gentleman in our company, who confirms my Lady Castlemaine's being gone from Court, but knows not the reason; he told us of one wipe the Queen a little while ago did give her, when she came in and found the Queen under the dresser's hands, and had been so long: "I wonder your Majesty," says she, "can have the patience to sit so long a-dressing?"--"I have so much reason to use patience," says the Queen, "that I can very well bear with it." He thinks that it may be the Queen hath commanded her to retire, though that is not likely. Thence with Creed to hire a coach to carry us to Hide Park, to-day there being a general muster of the King's Guards, horse and foot: but they demand so high, that I, spying Mr. Cutler the merchant, did take notice of him, and he going into his coach, and telling me that he was going to shew a couple of Swedish strangers the muster, I asked and went along with him; where a goodly sight to see so many fine horses and officers, and the King, Duke, and others come by a-horseback, and the two Queens in the Queen-Mother's coach, my Lady Castlemaine not being there. And after long being there, I 'light, and walked to the place where the King, Duke, &c., did stand to see the horse and foot march by and discharge their guns, to show a French Marquisse (for whom this muster was caused) the goodness of our firemen; which indeed was very good, though not without a slip now and then; and one broadside close to our coach we had going out of the Park, even to the nearness as to be ready to burn our hairs. Yet methought all these gay men are not the soldiers that must do the King's business, it being such as these that lost the old King all he had, and were beat by the most ordinary fellows that could be. Thence with much ado out of the Park, and I 'lighted and through St. James's down the waterside over, to Lambeth, to see the Archbishop's corps (who is to be carried away to Oxford on Monday), but came too late, and so walked over the fields and bridge home (calling by the way at old George's), but find that he is dead, and there wrote several letters, and so home to supper and to bed. This day in the Duke's chamber there being a Roman story in the hangings, and upon the standards written these four letters--S. P. Q. R., Sir G. Carteret came to me to know what the meaning of those four letters were; which ignorance is not to be borne in a Privy Counsellor, methinks, that a schoolboy should be whipt for not knowing. 5th (Lord's day). Lady Batten had sent twice to invite me to go with them to Walthamstow to-day, Mrs. Martha' being married already this morning to Mr. Castle, at this parish church. I could not rise soon enough to go with them, but got myself ready, and so to Games's, where I got a horse and rode thither very pleasantly, only coming to make water I found a stopping, which makes me fearful of my old pain. Being come thither, I was well received, and had two pair of gloves, as the rest, and walked up and down with my Lady in the garden, she mighty kind to me, and I have the way to please her. A good dinner and merry, but methinks none of the kindness nor bridall respect between the bridegroom and bride, that was between my wife and I, but as persons that marry purely for convenience. After dinner to church by coach, and there my Lady, Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Lemon, and I only, we, in spite to one another, kept one another awake; and sometimes I read in my book of Latin plays, which I took in my pocket, thinking to have walked it. An old doting parson preached. So home again, and by and by up and homewards, calling in our way (Sir J. Minnes and I only) at Mr. Batten's (who with his lady and child went in another coach by us), which is a very pretty house, and himself in all things within and without very ingenious, and I find a very fine study and good books. So set out, Sir J. Minnes and I in his coach together, talking all the way of chymistry, wherein he do know something, at least, seems so to me, that cannot correct him, Mr. Batten's man riding my horse, and so home and to my office a while to read my vows, then home to prayers and to bed. 6th. Up pretty early and to my office all the morning, writing out a list of the King's ships in my Navy collections with great pleasure. At noon Creed comes to me, who tells me how well he has sped with Sir G. Carteret after all our trouble, that he had his tallys up and all the kind words possible from him, which I believe is out of an apprehension what a fool he has made of himself hitherto in making so great a stop therein. But I find, and so my Lord Sandwich may, that Sir G. Carteret had a design to do him a disgrace, if he could possibly, otherwise he would never have carried the business so far after that manner, but would first have consulted my Lord and given him advice what to do therein for his own honour, which he thought endangered. Creed dined with me and then walked a while, and so away, and I to my office at my morning's work till dark night, and so with good content home. To supper, a little musique, and then to bed. 7th. Up by 4 o'clock and to my office, and there continued all the morning upon my Navy book to my great content. At noon down by barge with Sir J. Minnes (who is going to Chatham) to Woolwich, in our way eating of some venison pasty in the barge, I having neither eat nor drank to-day, which fills me full of wind. Here also in Mr. Pett's garden I eat some and the first cherries I have eat this year, off the tree where the King himself had been gathering some this morning. Thence walked alone, only part of the way Deane walked with me, complaining of many abuses in the Yard, to Greenwich, and so by water to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry, and with him up and down all the stores, to the great trouble of the officers, and by his help I am resolved to fall hard to work again, as I used to do. So thence he and I by water talking of many things, and I see he puts his trust most upon me in the Navy, and talks, as there is reason, slightly of the two old knights, and I should be glad by any drudgery to see the King's stores and service looked to as they ought, but I fear I shall never understand half the miscarriages and tricks that the King suffers by. He tells me what Mr. Pett did to-day, that my Lord Bristoll told the King that he will impeach the Chancellor of High Treason: but I find that my Lord Bristoll hath undone himself already in every body's opinion, and now he endeavours to raise dust to put out other men's eyes, as well as his own; but I hope it will not take, in consideration merely that it is hard for a Prince to spare an experienced old officer, be he never so corrupt; though I hope this man is not so, as some report him to be. He tells me that Don John is yet alive, and not killed, as was said, in the great victory against the Spaniards in Portugall of late. So home, and late at my office. Thence home and to my musique. This night Mr. Turner's house being to be emptied out of my cellar, and therefore I think to sit up a little longer than ordinary. This afternoon, coming from the waterside with Mr. Coventry, I spied my boy upon Tower Hill playing with the rest of the boys; so I sent W. Griffin to take him, and he did bring him to me, and so I said nothing to him, but caused him to be stripped (for he was run away with his best suit), and so putting on his other, I sent him going, without saying one word hard to him, though I am troubled for the rogue, though he do not deserve it. Being come home I find my stomach not well for want of eating to-day my dinner as I should do, and so am become full of wind. I called late for some victuals, and so to bed, leaving the men below in the cellar emptying the vats up through Mr. Turner's own house, and so with more content to bed late. 8th. Being weary, and going to bed late last night, I slept till 7 o'clock, it raining mighty hard, and so did every minute of the day after sadly. But I know not what will become of the corn this year, we having had but two fair days these many months. Up and to my office, where all the morning busy, and then at noon home to dinner alone upon a good dish of eeles, given me by Michell, the Bewpers' man, and then to my viall a little, and then down into the cellar and up and down with Mr. Turner to see where his vault may be made bigger, or another made him, which I think may well be. And so to my office, where very busy all day setting things in order my contract books and preparing things against the next sitting. In the evening I received letters out of the country, among others from my wife, who methinks writes so coldly that I am much troubled at it, and I fear shall have much ado to bring her to her old good temper. So home to supper and musique, which is all the pleasure I have of late given myself, or is fit I should, others spending too much time and money. Going in I stepped to Sir W. Batten, and there staid and talked with him (my Lady being in the country), and sent for some lobsters, and Mrs. Turner came in, and did bring us an umble pie hot out of her oven, extraordinary good, and afterwards some spirits of her making, in which she has great judgment, very good, and so home, merry with this night's refreshment. 9th. Up. Making water this morning, which I do every morning as soon as I am awake, with greater plenty and freedom than I used to do, which I think I may impute to last night's drinking of elder spirits. Abroad, it raining, to Blackfriars, and there went into a little alehouse and staid while I sent to the Wardrobe, but Mr. Moore was gone out. Here I kissed three or four times the maid of the house, who is a pretty girl, but very modest, and, God forgive me, had a mind to something more. Thence to my lawyer's; up and down to the Six Clerks' Office, where I found my bill against Tom Trice dismissed, which troubles me, it being through my neglect, and will put me to charges. So to Mr. Phillips, and discoursed with him about finding me out somebody that will let me have for money an annuity of about L100 per annum for two lives. So home, and there put up my riding things against the evening, in case Mr. Moore should continue his mind to go to Oxford, which I have little mind to do, the weather continuing so bad and the waters high. Dined at home, and Mr. Moore in the afternoon comes to me and concluded not to go. Sir W. Batten and I sat a little this afternoon at the office, and thence I by water to Deptford, and there mustered the Yard, purposely, God forgive me, to find out Bagwell, a carpenter, whose wife is a pretty woman, that I might have some occasion of knowing him and forcing her to come to the office again, which I did so luckily that going thence he and his wife did of themselves meet me in the way to thank me for my old kindness, but I spoke little to her, but shall give occasion for her coming to me. Her husband went along with me to show me Sir W. Pen's lodging, which I knew before, but only to have a time of speaking to him and sounding him. So left and I went in to Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, and worse, I think, than before. He tells me my Lady Castlemaine was at Court, for all this talk this week, which I am glad to hear; but it seems the King is stranger than ordinary to her. Thence walked home as I used to do, and to bed presently, having taken great cold in my feet by walking in the dirt this day in thin shoes or some other way, so that I begun to be in pain, and with warm clothes made myself better by morning, but yet in pain. 10th. Up late and by water to Westminster Hall, where I met Pierce the chirurgeon, who tells me that for certain the King is grown colder to my Lady Castlemaine than ordinary, and that he believes he begins to love the Queen, and do make much of her, more than he used to do. Up to the Lobby, and there sent out for Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Batten, and told them if they thought convenient I would go to Chatham today, Sir John Minnes being already there at a Pay, and I would do such and such business there, which they thought well of, and so I went home and prepared myself to go after, dinner with Sir W. Batten. Sir W. Batten and Mr. Coventry tell me that my Lord Bristoll hath this day impeached my Lord Chancellor in the House of Lords of High Treason. The chief of the articles are these: 1st. That he should be the occasion of the peace made with Holland lately upon such disadvantageous terms, and that he was bribed to it. 2d. That Dunkirke was also sold by his advice chiefly, so much to the damage of England. 3d. That he had L6000 given him for the drawing-up or promoting of the Irish declaration lately, concerning the division of the lands there. 4th. He did carry on the design of the Portugall match, so much to the prejudice of the Crown of England, notwithstanding that he knew the Queen is not capable of bearing children. 5th. That the Duke's marrying of his daughter was a practice of his, thereby to raise his family; and that it was done by indirect courses. 6th. That the breaking-off of the match with Parma, in which he was employed at the very time when the match with Portugall was made up here, which he took as a great slur to him, and so it was; and that, indeed, is the chief occasion of all this fewde. 7th. That he hath endeavoured to bring in Popery, and wrote to the Pope for a cap for a subject of the King of England's (my Lord Aubigny ); and some say that he lays it to the Chancellor, that a good Protestant Secretary (Sir Edward Nicholas) was laid aside, and a Papist, Sir H. Bennet, put in his room: which is very strange, when the last of these two is his own creature, and such an enemy accounted to the Chancellor, that they never did nor do agree; and all the world did judge the Chancellor to be falling from the time that Sir H. Bennet was brought in. Besides my Lord Bristoll being a Catholique himself, all this is very strange. These are the main of the Articles. Upon which my Lord Chancellor desired that the noble Lord that brought in these Articles, would sign to them with his hand; which my Lord Bristoll did presently. Then the House did order that the judges should, against Monday next, bring in their opinion, Whether these articles are treason, or no? and next, they would know, Whether they were brought in regularly or no, without leave of the Lords' House? After dinner I took boat (H. Russell) and down to Gravesend in good time, and thence with a guide post to Chatham, where I found Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Wayth walking in the garden, whom I told all this day's news, which I left the town full of, and it is great news, and will certainly be in the consequence of it. By and by to supper, and after long discourse, Sir J. Minnes and I, he saw me to my chamber, which not pleasing me, I sent word so to Mrs. Bradford, that I should be crowded into such a hole, while the clerks and boarders of her own take up the best rooms. However I lay there and slept well. 11th. Up early and to the Dock, and with the Storekeeper and other officers all the morning from one office to another. At noon to the Hill-house in Commissioner Pett's coach, and after seeing the guard-ships, to dinner, and after dining done to the Dock by coach, it raining hard, to see "The Prince" launched, which hath lain in the Dock in repairing these three years. I went into her and was launched in her. Thence by boat ashore, it raining, and I went to Mr. Barrow's, where Sir J. Minnes and Commissioner Pett; we staid long eating sweetmeats and drinking, and looking over some antiquities of Mr. Barrow's, among others an old manuscript Almanac, that I believe was made for some monastery, in parchment, which I could spend much time upon to understand. Here was a pretty young lady, a niece of Barrow's, which I took much pleasure to look on. Thence by barge to St. Mary Creek; where Commissioner Pett (doubtful of the growing greatness of Portsmouth by the finding of those creeks there), do design a wett dock at no great charge, and yet no little one; he thinks towards L10,000. And the place, indeed, is likely to be a very fit place, when the King hath money to do it with. Thence, it raining as hard as it could pour down, home to the Hillhouse, and anon to supper, and after supper, Sir J. Minnes and I had great discourse with Captain Cox and Mr. Hempson about business of the yard, and particularly of pursers' accounts with Hempson, who is a cunning knave in that point. So late to bed and, Mr. Wayth being gone, I lay above in the Treasurer's bed and slept well. About one or two in the morning the curtains of my bed being drawn waked me, and I saw a man stand there by the inside of my bed calling me French dogg 20 times, one after another, and I starting, as if I would get out of the bed, he fell a-laughing as hard as he could drive, still calling me French dogg, and laid his hand on my shoulder. At last, whether I said anything or no I cannot tell, but I perceived the man, after he had looked wistly upon me, and found that I did not answer him to the names that he called me by, which was Salmon, Sir Carteret's clerk, and Robt. Maddox, another of the clerks, he put off his hat on a suddaine, and forebore laughing, and asked who I was, saying, "Are you Mr. Pepys?" I told him yes, and now being come a little better to myself, I found him to be Tom Willson, Sir W. Batten's clerk, and fearing he might be in some melancholy fit, I was at a loss what to do or say. At last I asked him what he meant. He desired my pardon for that he was mistaken, for he thought verily, not knowing of my coming to lie there, that it had been Salmon, the Frenchman, with whom he intended to have made some sport. So I made nothing of it, but bade him good night, and I, after a little pause, to sleep again, being well pleased that it ended no worse, and being a little the better pleased with it, because it was the Surveyor's clerk, which will make sport when I come to tell Sir W. Batten of it, it being a report that old Edgeborough, the former Surveyor, who died here, do now and then walk. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and meeting Tom Willson he asked my pardon again, which I easily did give him, telling him only that it was well I was not a woman with child, for it might have made me miscarry. With Sir J. Minnes to church, where an indifferent good sermon. Here I saw Mrs. Becky Allen, who hath been married, and is this day churched, after her bearing a child. She is grown tall, but looks very white and thin, and I can find no occasion while I am here to come to have her company, which I desire and expected in my coming, but only coming out of the church I kissed her and her sister and mother-in-law. So to dinner, Sir J. Minnes, Commissioner Pett, and I, &c., and after dinner walked in the garden, it being a very fine day, the best we have had this great while, if not this whole summer. To church again, and after that walked through the Rope-ground to the Dock, and there over and over the Dock and grounds about it, and storehouses, &c., with the officers of the Yard, and then to Commissioner Pett's and had a good sullybub and other good things, and merry. Commissioner Pett showed me alone his bodys as a secrett, which I found afterwards by discourse with Sir J. Minnes that he had shown them him, wherein he seems to suppose great mystery in the nature of Lynes to be hid, but I do not understand it at all. Thence walked to the Hill-house, being myself much dissatisfied, and more than I thought I should have been with Commissioner Pett, being, by what I saw since I came hither, convinced that he is not able to exercise the command in the Yard over the officers that he ought to do, or somebody else, if ever the service be well looked after there. Sat up and with Sir J. Minnes talking, and he speaking his mind in slighting of the Commissioner, for which I wish there was not so much reason. For I do see he is but a man of words, though indeed he is the ablest man that we have to do service if he would or durst. Sir J. Minnes being gone to bed, I took Mr. Whitfield, one of the clerks, and walked to the Dock about eleven at night, and there got a boat and a crew, and rowed down to the guard-ships, it being a most pleasant moonshine evening that ever I saw almost. The guard-ships were very ready to hail us, being no doubt commanded thereto by their Captain, who remembers how I surprised them the last time I was here. However, I found him ashore, but the ship in pretty good order, and the arms well fixed, charged, and primed. Thence to the Soveraign, where I found no officers aboard, no arms fixed, nor any powder to prime their few guns, which were charged, without bullet though. So to the London, where neither officers nor any body awake; I boarded her, and might have done what I would, and at last could find but three little boys; and so spent the whole night in visiting all the ships, in which I found, for the most part, neither an officer aboard, nor any men so much as awake, which I was grieved to find, specially so soon after a great Larum, as Commissioner Pett brought us word that he [had] provided against, and put all in a posture of defence but a week ago, all which I am resolved to represent to the Duke. 13th. So, it being high day, I put in to shore and to bed for two hours just, and so up again, and with the Storekeeper and Clerk of the Rope-yard up and down the Dock and Rope-house, and by and by mustered the Yard, and instructed the Clerks of the Cheque in my new way of Callbook, and that and other things done, to the Hill-house, and there we eat something, and so by barge to Rochester, and there took coach hired for our passage to London, and Mrs. Allen, the clerk of the Rope-yard's wife with us, desiring her passage, and it being a most pleasant and warm day, we got by four o'clock home. In our way she telling us in what condition Becky Allen is married against all expectation a fellow that proves to be a coxcomb and worth little if any thing at all, and yet are entered into a way of living above their condition that will ruin them presently, for which, for the lady's sake, I am much troubled. Home I found all well there, and after dressing myself, I walked to the Temple; and there, from my cozen Roger, hear that the judges have this day brought in their answer to the Lords, That the articles against my Lord Chancellor are not Treason; and to-morrow they are to bring in their arguments to the House for the same. This day also the King did send by my Lord Chamberlain to the Lords, to tell them from him, that the most of the articles against my Lord Chancellor he himself knows to be false. Thence by water to Whitehall, and so walked to St. James's, but missed Mr. Coventry. I met the Queen-Mother walking in the Pell Mell, led by my Lord St. Alban's. And finding many coaches at the Gate, I found upon enquiry that the Duchess is brought to bed of a boy; and hearing that the King and Queen are rode abroad with the Ladies of Honour to the Park, and seeing a great crowd of gallants staying here to see their return, I also staid walking up and down, and among others spying a man like Mr. Pembleton (though I have little reason to think it should be he, speaking and discoursing long with my Lord D'Aubigne), yet how my blood did rise in my face, and I fell into a sweat from my old jealousy and hate, which I pray God remove from me. By and by the King and Queen, who looked in this dress (a white laced waistcoat and a crimson short pettycoat, and her hair dressed ci la negligence) mighty pretty; and the King rode hand in hand with her. Here was also my Lady Castlemaine rode among the rest of the ladies; but the King took, methought, no notice of her; nor when they 'light did any body press (as she seemed to expect, and staid for it) to take her down, but was taken down by her own gentleman. She looked mighty out of humour, and had a yellow plume in her hat (which all took notice of), and yet is very handsome, but very melancholy: nor did any body speak to her, or she so much as smile or speak to any body. I followed them up into White Hall, and into the Queen's presence, where all the ladies walked, talking and fiddling with their hats and feathers, and changing and trying one another's by one another's heads, and laughing. But it was the finest sight to me, considering their great beautys and dress, that ever I did see in all my life. But, above all, Mrs. Stewart in this dress, with her hat cocked and a red plume, with her sweet eye, little Roman nose, and excellent taille, is now the greatest beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life; and, if ever woman can, do exceed my Lady Castlemaine, at least in this dress nor do I wonder if the King changes, which I verily believe is the reason of his coldness to my Lady Castlemaine. Here late, with much ado I left to look upon them, and went away, and by water, in a boat with other strange company, there being no other to be had, and out of him into a sculler half to the bridge, and so home and to Sir W. Batten, where I staid telling him and Sir J. Minnes and Mrs. Turner, with great mirth, my being frighted at Chatham by young Edgeborough, and so home to supper and to bed, before I sleep fancying myself to sport with Mrs. Stewart with great pleasure. 14th. Up a little late, last night recovering my sleepiness for the night before, which was lost, and so to my office to put papers and things to right, and making up my journal from Wednesday last to this day. All the morning at my office doing of business; at noon Mr. Hunt came to me, and he and I to the Exchange, and a Coffee House, and drank there, and thence to my house to dinner, whither my uncle Thomas came, and he tells me that he is going down to Wisbech, there to try what he can recover of my uncle Day's estate, and seems to have good arguments for what he do go about, in which I wish him good speed. I made him almost foxed, the poor man having but a bad head, and not used I believe nowadays to drink much wine. So after dinner, they being gone, I to my office, and so home to bed. This day I hear the judges, according to order yesterday, did bring into the Lords' House their reasons of their judgment in the business between my Lord Bristoll and the Chancellor; and the Lords do concur with the Judges that the articles are not treason, nor regularly brought into the House, and so voted that a Committee should be chosen to examine them; but nothing to be done therein till the next sitting of this Parliament (which is like to be adjourned in a day or two), and in the mean time the two Lords to, remain without prejudice done to either of them. 15th. Up and all the morning at the office, among other things with Cooper the Purveyor, whose dullness in his proceeding in his work I was vexed at, and find that though he understands it may be as much as other men that profess skill in timber, yet I perceive that many things, they do by rote, and very dully. Thence home to dinner, whither Captain Grove came and dined with me, he going into the country to-day; among other discourse he told me of discourse very much to my honour, both as to my care and ability, happening at the Duke of Albemarle's table the other day, both from the Duke, and the Duchess themselves; and how I paid so much a year to him whose place it was of right, and that Mr. Coventry did report thus of me; which was greatly to my content, knowing how against their minds I was brought into the Navy. Thence by water to Westminster, and there spent a good deal of time walking in the Hall, which is going to be repaired, and, God forgive me, had a mind to have got Mrs. Lane abroad, or fallen in with any woman else (in that hot humour). But it so happened she could not go out, nor I meet with any body else, and so I walked homeward, and in my way did many and great businesses of my own at the Temple among my lawyers and others to my great content, thanking God that I did not fall into any company to occasion spending time and money. To supper, and then to a little viall and to bed, sporting in my fancy with the Queen. 16th. Up and dispatched things into the country and to my father's, and two keggs of Sturgeon and a dozen bottles of wine to Cambridge for my cozen Roger Pepys, which I give him. By and by down by water on several Deall ships, and stood upon a stage in one place seeing calkers sheathing of a ship. Then at Wapping to my carver's about my Viall head. So home, and thence to my Viall maker's in Bishops, gate Street; his name is Wise, who is a pretty fellow at it. Thence to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, and then to my office, where a full board, and busy all the afternoon, and among other things made a great contract with Sir W. Warren for 40,000 deals Swinsound, at L3 17s. od. per hundred. In the morning before I went on the water I was at Thames Street about some pitch, and there meeting Anthony Joyce, I took him and Mr. Stacy, the Tarr merchant, to the tavern, where Stacy told me many old stories of my Lady Batten's former poor condition, and how her former husband broke, and how she came to her state. At night, after office done, I went to Sir W. Batten's, where my Lady and I [had] some high words about emptying our house of office, where I did tell her my mind, and at last agreed that it should be done through my office, and so all well. So home to bed. 17th. Up, and after doing some business at my office, Creed came to me, and I took him to my viall maker's, and there I heard the famous Mr. Stefkins play admirably well, and yet I found it as it is always, I over expected. I took him to the tavern and found him a temperate sober man, at least he seems so to me. I commit the direction of my viall to him. Thence to the Change, and so home, Creed and I to dinner, and after dinner Sir W. Warren came to me, and he and I in my closet about his last night's contract, and from thence to discourse of measuring of timber, wherein I made him see that I could understand the matter well, and did both learn of and teach him something. Creed being gone through my staying talking to him so long, I went alone by water down to Redriffe, and so to sit and talk with Sir W. Pen, where I did speak very plainly concerning my thoughts of Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes. So as it may cost me some trouble if he should tell them again, but he said as much or more to me concerning them both, which I may remember if ever it should come forth, and nothing but what is true and my real opinion of them, that they neither do understand to this day Creed's accounts, nor do deserve to be employed in their places without better care, but that the King had better give them greater salaries to stand still and do nothing. Thence coming home I was saluted by Bagwell and his wife (the woman I have a kindness for), and they would have me into their little house, which I was willing enough to, and did salute his wife. They had got wine for me, and I perceive live prettily, and I believe the woman a virtuous modest woman. Her husband walked through to Redriffe with me, telling me things that I asked of in the yard, and so by water home, it being likely to rain again to-night, which God forbid. To supper and to bed. 18th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and Sir J. Minnes and I did a little, and but a little business at the office. So I eat a bit of victuals at home, and so abroad to several places, as my bookseller's, and then to Thomson the instrument maker's to bespeak a ruler for my pocket for timber, &c., which I believe he will do to my mind. So to the Temple, Wardrobe, and lastly to Westminster Hall, where I expected some bands made me by Mrs. Lane, and while she went to the starchers for them, I staid at Mrs. Howlett's, who with her husband were abroad, and only their daughter (which I call my wife) was in the shop, and I took occasion to buy a pair of gloves to talk to her, and I find her a pretty spoken girl, and will prove a mighty handsome wench. I could love her very well. By and by Mrs. Lane comes, and my bands not being done she and I posted and met at the Crown in the Palace Yard, where we eat a chicken I sent for, and drank, and were mighty merry, and I had my full liberty of towzing her and doing what I would, but the last thing of all.... Of which I am heartily ashamed, but I do resolve never to do more so. But, Lord! to see what a mind she has to a husband, and how she showed me her hands to tell her her fortune, and every thing that she asked ended always whom and when she was to marry. And I pleased her so well, saying as. I know she would have me, and then she would say that she had been with all the artists in town, and they always told her the same things, as that she should live long, and rich, and have a good husband, but few children, and a great fit of sickness, and 20 other things, which she says she has always been told by others. Here I staid late before my bands were done, and then they came, and so I by water to the Temple, and thence walked home, all in a sweat with my tumbling of her and walking, and so a little supper and to bed, fearful of having taken cold. 19th (Lord's day). Lay very long in pleasant dreams till Church time, and so up, and it being foul weather so that I cannot walk as I intended to meet my Cozen Roger at Thomas Pepys's house (whither he rode last night), to Hatcham, I went to church, where a sober Doctor made a good sermon. So home to dinner alone, and then to read a little, and so to church again, where the Scot made an ordinary sermon, and so home to my office, and there read over my vows and increased them by a vow against all strong drink till November next of any sort or quantity, by which I shall try how I can forbear it. God send it may not prejudice my health, and then I care not. Then I fell to read over a silly play writ by a person of honour (which is, I find, as much as to say a coxcomb), called "Love a la Mode,"' and that being ended, home, and played on my lute and sung psalms till bedtime, then to prayers and to bed. 20th. Up and to my office, and then walked to Woolwich, reading Bacon's "Faber fortunae," [Pepys may here refer either to Essay XLI. (of Fortune) or to a chapter' in the "Advancement of Learning." The sentence, "Faber quisque fortunae propria," said to be by Appius Claudian, is quoted more than once in the "De Augmentis Scientiarum," lib. viii., cap. 2.] which the oftener I read the more I admire. There found Captain Cocke, and up and down to many places to look after matters, and so walked back again with him to his house, and there dined very finely. With much ado obtained an excuse from drinking of wine, and did only taste a drop of Sack which he had for his lady, who is, he fears, a little consumptive, and her beauty begins to want its colour. It was Malago Sack, which, he says, is certainly 30 years old, and I tasted a drop of it, and it was excellent wine, like a spirit rather than wine. Thence by water to the office, and taking some papers by water to White Hall and St. James's, but there being no meeting with the Duke to-day, I returned by water and down to Greenwich, to look after some blocks that I saw a load carried off by a cart from Woolwich, the King's Yard. But I could not find them, and so returned, and being heartily weary I made haste to bed, and being in bed made Will read and construe three or four Latin verses in the Bible, and chide him for forgetting his grammar. So to sleep, and sleep ill all the night, being so weary, and feverish with it. 21st. And so lay long in the morning, till I heard people knock at my door, and I took it to be about 8 o'clock (but afterwards found myself a little mistaken), and so I rose and ranted at Will and the maid, and swore I could find my heart to kick them down stairs, which the maid mumbled at mightily. It was my brother, who staid and talked with me, his chief business being about his going about to build his house new at the top, which will be a great charge for him, and above his judgment. By and by comes Mr. Deane, of Woolwich, with his draught of a ship, and the bend and main lines in the body of a ship very finely, and which do please me mightily, and so am resolved to study hard, and learn of him to understand a body, and I find him a very pretty fellow in it, and rational, but a little conceited, but that's no matter to me. At noon, by my Lady Batten's desire, I went over the water to Mr. Castle's, who brings his wife home to his own house to-day, where I found a great many good old women, and my Lady, Sir W. Batten, and Sir J. Minnes. A good, handsome, plain dinner, and then walked in the garden; which is pleasant enough, more than I expected there, and so Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I by water to the office, and there sat, and then I by water to the Temple about my law business, and back again home and wrote letters to my father and wife about my desire that they should observe the feast at Brampton, and have my Lady and the family, and so home to supper and bed, my head aching all the day from my last night's bad rest, and yesterday's distempering myself with over walking, and to-day knocking my head against a low door in Mr. Castle's house. This day the Parliament kept a fast for the present unseasonable weather. 22nd. Up, and by and by comes my uncle Thomas, to whom I paid L10 for his last half year's annuity, and did get his and his son's hand and seal for the confirming to us Piggott's mortgage, which was forgot to be expressed in our late agreement with him, though intended, and therefore they might have cavilled at it, if they would. Thence abroad calling at several places upon some errands, among others to my brother Tom's barber and had my hair cut, while his boy played on the viallin, a plain boy, but has a very good genius, and understands the book very well, but to see what a shift he made for a string of red silk was very pleasant. Thence to my Lord Crew's. My Lord not being come home, I met and staid below with Captain Ferrers, who was come to wait upon my Lady Jemimah to St. James's, she being one of the four ladies that hold up the mantle at the christening this afternoon of the Duke's child (a boy). In discourse of the ladies at Court, Captain Ferrers tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is now as great again as ever she was; and that her going away was only a fit of her own upon some slighting words of the King, so that she called for her coach at a quarter of an hour's warning, and went to Richmond; and the King the next morning, under pretence of going a-hunting, went to see her and make friends, and never was a-hunting at all. After which she came back to Court, and commands the King as much as ever, and hath and doth what she will. No longer ago than last night, there was a private entertainment made for the King and Queen at the Duke of Buckingham's, and she: was not invited: but being at my Lady Suffolk's, her aunt's (where my Lady Jemimah and Lord Sandwich dined) yesterday, she was heard to say, "Well; much good may it do them, and for all that I will be as merry as they:" and so she went home and caused a great supper to be prepared. And after the King had been with the Queen at Wallingford House, he came to my Lady Castlemaine's, and was there all night, and my Lord Sandwich with him, which was the reason my Lord lay in town all night, which he has not done a great while before. He tells me he believes that, as soon as the King can get a husband for Mrs. Stewart however, my Lady Castlemaine's nose will be out of joynt; for that she comes to be in great esteem, and is more handsome than she. I found by his words that my Lord Sandwich finds some pleasure in the country where he now is, whether he means one of the daughters of the house or no I know not, but hope the contrary, that he thinks he is very well pleased with staying there, but yet upon breaking up of the Parliament, which the King by a message to-day says shall be on Monday next, he resolves to go. Ned Pickering, the coxcomb, notwithstanding all his hopes of my Lord's assistance, wherein I am sorry to hear my Lord has much concerned himself, is defeated of the place he expected under the Queen. He came hither by and by and brought some jewells for my Lady Jem. to put on, with which and her other clothes she looks passing well. I staid and dined with my Lord Crew, who whether he was not so well pleased with me as he used to be, or that his head was full of business, as I believe it was, he hardly spoke one word to me all dinner time, we dining alone, only young Jack Crew, Sir Thomas's son, with us. After dinner I bade him farewell. Sir Thomas I hear has gone this morning ill to bed, so I had no mind to see him. Thence homewards, and in the way first called at Wotton's, the shoemaker's, who tells me the reason of Harris's' going from Sir Wm. Davenant's house, that he grew very proud and demanded L20 for himself extraordinary, more than Betterton or any body else, upon every new play, and L10 upon every revive; which with other things Sir W. Davenant would not give him, and so he swore he would never act there more, in expectation of being received in the other House; but the King will not suffer it, upon Sir W. Davenant's desire that he would not, for then he might shut up house, and that is true. He tells me that his going is at present a great loss to the House, and that he fears he hath a stipend from the other House privately. He tells the that the fellow grew very proud of late, the King and every body else crying him up so high, and that above Betterton, he being a more ayery man, as he is indeed. But yet Betterton, he says, they all say do act: some parts that none but himself can do. Thence to my bookseller's, and found my Waggoners done. The very binding cost me 14s., but they are well done, and so with a porter home with them, and so by water to Ratcliffe, and there went to speak with Cumberford the platt-maker, and there saw his manner of working, which is very fine and laborious. So down to Deptford, reading Ben Jonson's "Devil is an asse," and so to see Sir W. Pen, who I find walking out of doors a little, but could not stand long; but in doors and I with him, and staid a great while talking, I taking a liberty to tell him my thoughts in things of the office; that when he comes abroad again, he may know what to think of me, and to value me as he ought. Walked home as I used to do, and being weary, and after some discourse with Mr. Barrow, who came to see and take his leave of me, he being to-morrow to set out toward the Isle of Man, I went to bed. This day I hear that the Moores have made some attaques upon the outworks of Tangier; but my Lord Tiviott; with the loss of about 200 men, did beat them off, and killed many of them. To-morrow the King and Queen for certain go down to Tunbridge. But the King comes hack again against Monday to raise the Parliament. 23rd. Up and to my office, and thence by information from, Mr. Ackworth I went down to Woolwich, and mustered the three East India ships that lie there, believing that there is great-juggling between the Pursers and Clerks of the Cheque in cheating the King of the wages and victuals of men that do not give attendance, and I found very few on board. So to the yard, and there mustered the yard, and found many faults, and discharged several fellows that were absent from their business. I staid also at Mr. Ackworth's desire at dinner with him and his wife, and there was a simple fellow, a gentleman I believe of the Court, their kinsmen, that threatened me I could have little discourse or begin, acquaintance with Ackworth's wife, and so after dinner away, with all haste home, and there found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten at the office, and by Sir W. Batten's testimony and Sir G. Carteret's concurrence was forced to consent to a business of Captain Cocke's timber, as bad as anything we have lately disputed about, and all through Mr. Coventry's not being with us. So up and to supper with Sir W. Batten upon a soused mullett, very good meat, and so home and to bed. 24th. Up pretty early (though of late I have been faulty by an hour or two every morning of what I should do) and by water to the Temple, and there took leave of my cozen Roger Pepys, who goes out of town to-day. So to Westminster Hall, and there at Mrs. Michell's shop sent for beer and sugar and drink, and made great cheer with it among her and Mrs. Howlett, her neighbour, and their daughters, especially Mrs. Howlett's daughter, Betty, which is a pretty girl, and one I have long called wife, being, I formerly thought, like my own wife. After this good neighbourhood, which I do to give them occasion of speaking well and commending me in some company that now and then I know comes to their shop, I went to the Six clerks' office, and there had a writ for Tom Trice, and paid 20s. for it to Wilkinson, and so up and down to many places, among others to the viall maker's, and there saw the head, which now pleases me mightily, and so home, and being sent for presently to Mr. Bland's, where Mr. Povy and Gauden and I were invited to dinner, which we had very finely and great plenty, but for drink, though many and good, I drank nothing but small beer and water, which I drank so much that I wish it may not do me hurt. They had a kinswoman, they call daughter, in the house, a short, ugly, red-haired slut, that plays upon the virginalls, and sings, but after such a country manner I was weary of it, but yet could not but commend it. So by and by after dinner comes Monsr. Gotier, who is beginning to teach her, but, Lord! what a droll fellow it is to make her hold open her mouth, and telling this and that so drolly would make a man burst, but himself I perceive sings very well. Anon we sat dawn again to a collacon of cheesecakes, tarts, custards, and such like, very handsome, and so up and away home, where I at the office a while, till disturbed by, Mr. Hill, of Cambridge, with whom I walked in the garden a while, and thence home and then in my dining room walked, talking of several matters of state till 11 at night, giving him a glass of wine. I was not unwilling to hear him talk, though he is full of words, yet a man of large conversation, especially among the Presbyters and Independents; he tells me that certainly, let the Bishops alone, and they will ruin themselves, and he is confident that the King's declaration about two years since will be the foundation of the settlement of the Church some time or other, for the King will find it hard to banish all those that will appear Nonconformists upon this Act that is coming out against them. He being gone, I to bed. 25th. Up and to my office setting papers in order for these two or three days, in which I have been hindered a little, and then having intended this day to go to Banstead Downs to see a famous race, I sent Will to get himself ready to go with me, and I also by and by home and put on my riding suit, and being ready came to the office to Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and did a little of course at the office this morning, and so by boat to White Hall, where I hear that the race is put off, because the Lords do sit in Parliament to-day. However, having appointed Mr. Creed to come to me to Fox Hall, I went over thither, and after some debate, Creed and I resolved to go to Clapham, to Mr. Gauden's, who had sent his coach to their place for me because I was to have my horse of him to go to the race. So I went thither by coach and my Will by horse with me; Mr. Creed he went over back again to Westminster to fetch his horse. When I came to Mr. Gauden's one first thing was to show me his house, which is almost built, wherein he and his family live. I find it very regular and finely contrived, and the gardens and offices about it as convenient and as full of good variety as ever I saw in my life. It is true he hath been censured for laying out so much money; but he tells me that he built it for his brother, who is since dead (the Bishop), who when he should come to be Bishop of Winchester, which he was promised (to which bishoprick at present there is no house), he did intend to dwell here. Besides, with the good husbandry in making his bricks and other things I do not think it costs him so much money as people think and discourse. By and by to dinner, and in comes Mr. Creed. I saluted Mr. Gauden's lady, and the young ladies, he having many pretty children, and his sister, the Bishop's widow; who was, it seems, Sir W. Russel's daughter, the Treasurer of the Navy; who by her discourse at dinner I find to be very well-bred, and a woman of excellent discourse, even so much as to have my attention all dinner with much more pleasure than I did give to Mr. Creed, whose discourse was mighty merry in inveighing at Mr. Gauden's victuals that they had at sea the last voyage that he prosecuted, till methought the woman began to take it seriously. After dinner by Mr. Gauden's motion we got Mrs. Gauden and her sister to sing to a viall, on which Mr. Gauden's eldest son (a pretty man, but a simple one methinks) played but very poorly, and the musique bad, but yet I commended it. Only I do find that the ladies have been taught to sing and do sing well now, but that the viall puts them out. I took the viall and played some things from one of their books, Lyra lessons, which they seemed to like well. Thus we pass an hour or two after dinner and towards the evening we bade them Adieu! and took horse; being resolved that, instead of the race which fails us, we would go to Epsum. So we set out, and being gone a little way I sent home Will to look to the house, and Creed and I rode forward; the road being full of citizens going and coming toward Epsum, where, when we came, we could hear of no lodging, the town so full; but which was better, I went towards Ashted, my old place of pleasure; and there by direction of one goodman Arthur, whom we met on the way, we went to Farmer Page's, at which direction he and I made good sport, and there we got a lodging in a little hole we could not stand upright in, but rather than go further to look we staid there, and while supper was getting ready I took him to walk up and down behind my cozen Pepys's house that was, which I find comes little short of what I took it to be when I was a little boy, as things use commonly to appear greater than then when one comes to be a man and knows more, and so up and down in the closes, which I know so well methinks, and account it good fortune that I lie here that I may have opportunity to renew my old walks. It seems there is one Mr. Rouse, they call him the Queen's Tailor, that lives there now. So to our lodging to supper, and among other meats had a brave dish of cream, the best I ever eat in my life, and with which we pleased ourselves much, and by and by to bed, where, with much ado yet good sport, we made shift to lie, but with little ease, and a little spaniel by us, which has followed us all the way, a pretty dogg, and we believe that follows my horse, and do belong to Mrs. Gauden, which we, therefore, are very careful of. 26th (Lord's-day). Up and to the Wells, [Epsom medicinal wells were discovered about 1618, but they did not become fashionable until the Restoration. John Toland, in his "Description of Epsom," says that he often counted seventy coaches in the Ring (the present racecourse on the Downs) on a Sunday evening; but by the end of the eighteenth century Epsom had entirely lost its vogue.] where great store of citizens, which was the greatest part of the company, though there were some others of better quality. I met many that I knew, and we drank each of us two pots and so walked away, it being very pleasant to see how everybody turns up his tail, here one and there another, in a bush, and the women in their quarters the like. Thence I walked with Creed to Mr. Minnes's house, which has now a very good way made to it, and thence to Durdans and walked round it and within the Court Yard and to the Bowling-green, where I have seen so much mirth in my time; but now no family in it (my Lord Barkeley, whose it is, being with his family at London), and so up and down by Minnes's wood, with great pleasure viewing my old walks, and where Mrs. Hely and I did use to walk and talk, with whom I had the first sentiments of love and pleasure in woman's company, discourse, and taking her by the hand, she being a pretty woman. So I led him to Ashted Church (by the place where Peter, my cozen's man, went blindfold and found a certain place we chose for him upon a wager), where we had a dull Doctor, one Downe, worse than I think even parson King was, of whom we made so much scorn, and after sermon home, and staid while our dinner, a couple of large chickens, were dressed, and a good mess of cream, which anon we had with good content, and after dinner (we taking no notice of other lodgers in the house, though there was one that I knew, and knew and spoke to me, one Mr. Rider, a merchant), he and I to walk, and I led him to the pretty little wood behind my cozens house, into which we got at last by clambering, and our little dog with us, but when we were among the hazel trees and bushes, Lord! what a course did we run for an hour together, losing ourselves, and indeed I despaired I should ever come to any path, but still from thicket to thicket, a thing I could hardly have believed a man could have been lost so long in so small a room. At last I found out a delicate walk in the middle that goes quite through the wood, and then went out of the wood, and holloed Mr. Creed, and made him hunt me from place to place, and at last went in and called him into my fine walk, the little dog still hunting with us through the wood. In this walk being all bewildered and weary and sweating, Creed he lay down upon the ground, which I did a little, but I durst not long, but walked from him in the fine green walk, which is half a mile long, there reading my vows as I used to on Sundays. And after that was done, and going and lying by Creed an hour, he and I rose and went to our lodging and paid our reckoning, and so mounted, whether to go toward London home or to find a new lodging, and so rode through Epsum, the whole town over, seeing the various companys that were there walking; which was very pleasant to see how they are there without knowing almost what to do, but only in the morning to drink waters. But, Lord! to see how many I met there of citizens, that I could not have thought to have seen there, or that they had ever had it in their heads or purses to go down thither. We rode out of the town through Yowell beyond Nonesuch House a mile, and there our little dogg, as he used to do, fell a-running after a flock of sheep feeding on the common, till he was out of sight, and then endeavoured to come back again, and went to the last gate that he parted with us at, and there the poor thing mistakes our scent, instead of coming forward he hunts us backward, and runs as hard as he could drive back towards Nonesuch, Creed and I after him, and being by many told of his going that way and the haste he made, we rode still and passed him through Yowell, and there we lost any further information of him. However, we went as far as Epsum almost, hearing nothing of him, we went back to Yowell, and there was told that he did pass through the town. We rode back to Nonesuch to see whether he might be gone back again, but hearing nothing we with great trouble and discontent for the loss of our dogg came back once more to Yowell, and there set up our horses and selves for all night, employing people to look for the dogg in the town, but can hear nothing of him. However, we gave order for supper, and while that was dressing walked out through Nonesuch Park to the house, and there viewed as much as we could of the outside, and looked through the great gates, and found a noble court; and altogether believe it to have been a very noble house, and a delicate park about it, where just now there was a doe killed, for the King to carry up to Court. So walked back again, and by and by our supper being ready, a good leg of mutton boiled, we supped and to bed, upon two beds in the same room, wherein we slept most excellently all night. 27th. Up in the morning about 7 o'clock, and after a little study, resolved of riding to the Wells to look for our dogg, which we did, but could hear nothing; but it being much a warmer day than yesterday there was great store of gallant company, more than then, to my greater pleasure. There was at a distance, under one of the trees on the common, a company got together that sung. I, at the distance, and so all the rest being a quarter of a mile off, took them for the Waytes, so I rode up to them, and found them only voices, some citizens met by chance, that sung four or five parts excellently. I have not been more pleased with a snapp of musique, considering the circumstances of the time and place, in all my life anything so pleasant. We drank each of us, three cupps, and so, after riding up to the horsemen upon the hill, where they were making of matches to run, we went away and to Yowell, where we found our breakfast, the remains of our supper last night hashed, and by and by, after the smith had set on two new shoes to Creed's horse, we mounted, and with little discourse, I being intent upon getting home in time, we rode hard home, observing Mr. Gauden's house, but not calling there (it being too late for me to stay, and wanting their dog too). The house stands very finely, and has a graceful view to the highway. Set up our horses at Fox Hall, and I by water (observing the King's barge attending his going to the House this day) home, it being about one o'clock. So got myself ready and shifting myself, and so by water to Westminster, and there came most luckily to the Lords' House as the House of Commons were going into the Lord's House, and there I crowded in along with the Speaker, and got to stand close behind him, where he made his speech to the King (who sat with his crown on and robes, and so all the Lords in their robes, a fine sight); wherein he told his Majesty what they have done this Parliament, and now offered for his royall consent. The greatest matters were a bill for the Lord's day (which it seems the Lords have lost, and so cannot be passed, at which the Commons are displeased); the bills against Conventicles and Papists (but it seems the Lords have not passed them), and giving his Majesty four entire subsidys; which last, with about twenty smaller Acts, were passed with this form: The Clerk of the House reads the title of the bill, and then looks at the end and there finds (writ by the King I suppose) "Le Roy le veult," and that he reads. And to others he reads, "Soit fait comme vous desirez." And to the Subsidys, as well that for the Commons, I mean the layety, as for the Clergy, the King writes, "Le Roy remerciant les Seigneurs, &c., Prelats, &c., accepte leur benevolences." The Speaker's speech was far from any oratory, but was as plain (though good matter) as any thing could be, and void of elocution. After the bills passed, the King, sitting on his throne, with his speech writ in a paper which he held in his lap, and scarce looked off of it, I thought, all the time he made his speech to them, giving them thanks for their subsidys, of which, had he not need, he would not have asked or received them; and that need, not from any extravagancys of his, he was sure, in any thing, but the disorders of the times compelling him to be at greater charge than he hoped for the future, by their care in their country, he should be: and that for his family expenses and others, he would labour however to retrench in many things convenient, and would have all others to do so too. He desired that nothing of old faults should be remembered, or severity for the same used to any in the country, it being his desire to have all forgot as well as forgiven. But, however, to use all care in suppressing any tumults, &c.; assuring them that the restless spirits of his and their adversaries have great expectations of something to be done this summer. And promised that though the Acts about Conventicles and Papists were not ripe for passing this Session, yet he would take care himself that neither of them should in this intervall be encouraged to the endangering of the peace; and that at their next meeting he would himself prepare two bills for them concerning them. So he concluded, that for the better proceeding of justice he did think fit to make this a Session, and to prorogue them to the 16th of March next. His speech was very plain, nothing at all of spirit in it, nor spoke with any; but rather on the contrary imperfectly, repeating many times his words though he read all which I was sorry to see, it having not been hard for him to have got all the speech without book. So they all went away, the King out of the House at the upper end, he being by and by to go to Tunbridge to the Queen; and I in the Painted Chamber spoke with my Lord Sandwich while he was putting off his robes, who tells me he will now hasten down into the country, as soon as he can get some money settled on the Wardrobe. Here meeting Creed, he and I down to the Hall, and I having at Michell's shop wrote a little letter to Mr. Gauden, to go with his horse, and excusing my not taking leave or so much as asking after the old lady the widow when we came away the other day from them, he and I over the water to Fox Hall, and there sent away the horse with my letter, and then to the new Spring Garden, walking up and down, but things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away, leaving much brave company there, and so to a less house hard by, where we liked very well their Codlin tarts, having not time, as we intended, to stay the getting ready of a dish of pease. And there came to us an idle boy to show us some tumbling tricks, which he did very well, and the greatest bending of his body that ever I observed in my life. Thence by water to White Hall, and walked over the Park to St. James's; but missed Mr. Coventry, he not being within; and so out again, and there the Duke was coming along the Pell-Mell. It being a little darkish, I staid not to take notice of him, but we went directly back again. And in our walk over the Park, one of the Duke's footmen came running behind us, and came looking just in our faces to see who we were, and went back again. What his meaning is I know not, but was fearful that I might not go far enough with my hat off, though methinks that should not be it, besides, there were others covered nearer than myself was, but only it was my fear. So to White Hall and by water to the Bridge, and so home to bed, weary and well pleased with my journey in all respects. Only it cost me about 20s., but it was for my health, and I hope will prove so, only I do find by my riding a little swelling to rise just by my anus. I had the same the last time I rode, and then it fell again, and now it is up again about the bigness of the bag of a silkworm, makes me fearful of a rupture. But I will speak to Mr. Hollyard about it, and I am glad to find it now, that I may prevent it before it goes too far. 28th. Up after sleeping very well, and so to my office setting down the Journall of this last three days, and so settled to business again, I hope with greater cheerfulness and success by this refreshment. At the office all the morning, and at noon to Wise's about my viall that is a-doing, and so home to dinner and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night, and I late at it till after the office was risen. Late came my Jane and her brother Will: to entreat for my taking of the boy again, but I will not hear her, though I would yet be glad to do anything for her sake to the boy, but receive him again I will not, nor give him anything. She would have me send him to sea; which if I could I would do, but there is no ship going out. The poor girl cried all the time she was with me, and would not go from me, staying about two hours with me till 10 or 11 o'clock, expecting that she might obtain something of me, but receive him I will not. So the poor girl was fain to go away crying and saying little. So from thence home, where my house of office was emptying, and I find they will do, it with much more cleanness than I expected. I went up and down among them a good while, but knowing that Mr. Coventry was to call me in the morning, I went to bed and left them to look after the people. So to bed. 29th. Up about 6 o'clock, and found the people to have just done, and Hannah not gone to bed yet, but was making clean of the yard and kitchen. Will newly gone to bed. So I to my office, and having given some order to Tom Hater, to whom I gave leave for his recreation to go down to Portsmouth this Pay, I went down to Wapping to Sir W. Warren, and there staid an hour or two discoursing of some of his goods and then things in general relating to this office, &c., and so home, and there going to Sir William Batten (having no stomach to dine at home, it being yet hardly clean of last night's [mess])and there I dined with my Lady and her daughter and son Castle, and mighty kind she is and I kind to her, but, Lord! how freely and plainly she rails against Commissioner Pett, calling him rogue, and wondering that the King keeps such a fellow in the Navy. Thence by and by walked to see Sir W. Pen at Deptford, reading by the way a most ridiculous play, a new one, called "The Politician Cheated." After a little sitting with him I walked to the yard a little and so home again, my Will with me, whom I bade to stay in the yard for me, and so to bed. This morning my brother Tom was with me, and we had some discourse again concerning his country mistress, but I believe the most that is fit for us to condescend to, will not content her friends. 30th. Up and to the office to get business ready for our sitting, this being the first day of altering it from afternoon during the Parliament sitting to the fore-noon again. By and by Mr. Coventry only came (Sir John Minnes and Sir William Batten being gone this morning to Portsmouth to pay some ships and the yard there), and after doing a little business he and I down to Woolwich, and there up and down the yard, and by and by came Sir G. Carteret and we all looked into matters, and then by water back to Deptford, where we dined with him at his house, a very good dinner and mightily tempted with wines of all sorts and brave French Syder, but I drunk none. But that which is a great wonder I find his little daughter Betty, that was in hanging sleeves but a month or two ago, and is a very little young child; married, and to whom, but to young Scott, son to Madam Catharine Scott, that was so long in law, and at whose triall I was with her husband; he pleading that it was unlawfully got and would not own it, she, it seems, being brought to bed of it, if not got by somebody else at Oxford, but it seems a little before his death he did own the child, and hath left him his estate, not long since. So Sir G. Carteret hath struck up of a sudden a match with him for his little daughter. He hath about L2000 per annum; and it seems Sir G. Carteret hath by this means over-reached Sir H. Bennet, who did endeavour to get this gentleman for a sister of his, but Sir G. Carteret I say has over-reached him. By this means Sir G. Carteret hath married two daughters this year both very well. After dinner into Deptford yard, but our bellies being full we could do no great business, and so parted, and Mr. Coventry and I to White Hall by water, where we also parted, and I to several places about business, and so calling for my five books of the Variorum print bound according to my common binding instead of the other which is more gaudy I went home. The town talk this day is of nothing but the great foot-race run this day on Banstead Downes, between Lee, the Duke of Richmond's footman, and a tyler, a famous runner. And Lee hath beat him; though the King and Duke of York and all men almost did bet three or four to one upon the tyler's head. 31st. Up early to my accounts this month, and I find myself worth clear L730, the most I ever had yet, which contents me though I encrease but very little. Thence to my office doing business, and at noon to my viall maker's, who has begun it and has a good appearance, and so to the Exchange, where I met Dr. Pierce, who tells me of his good luck to get to be groom of the Privy-Chamber to the Queen, and without my Lord Sandwich's help; but only by his good fortune, meeting a man that hath let him have his right for a small matter, about L60, for which he can every day have L400. But he tells me my Lord hath lost much honour in standing so long and so much for that coxcomb Pickering, and at last not carrying it for him; but hath his name struck out by the King and Queen themselves after he had been in ever since the Queen's coming. But he tells me he believes that either Sir H. Bennet, my Lady Castlemaine, or Sir Charles Barkeley had received some money for the place, and so the King could not disappoint them, but was forced to put out this fool rather than a better man. And I am sorry to hear what he tells me that Sir Charles Barkeley hath still such power over the King, as to be able to fetch him from the Council-table to my Lady Castlemaine when he pleases. He tells me also, as a friend, the great injury that he thinks I do myself by being so severe in the Yards, and contracting the ill-will of the whole Navy for those offices, singly upon myself. Now I discharge a good conscience therein, and I tell him that no man can (nor do he say any say it) charge me with doing wrong; but rather do as many good offices as any man. They think, he says, that I have a mind to get a good name with the King and Duke, who he tells me do not consider any such thing; but I shall have as good thanks to let all alone, and do as the rest. But I believe the contrary; and yet I told him I never go to the Duke alone, as others do, to talk of my own services. However, I will make use of his council, and take some course to prevent having the single ill-will of the office. Before I went to the office I went to the Coffee House, where Sir J. Cutler and Mr. Grant were, and there Mr. Grant showed me letters of Sir William Petty's, wherein he says, that his vessel which he hath built upon two keeles (a modell whereof, built for the King, he showed me) hath this month won a wager of L50 in sailing between Dublin and Holyhead with the pacquett-boat, the best ship or vessel the King hath there; and he offers to lay with any vessel in the world. It is about thirty ton in burden, and carries thirty men, with good accommodation, (as much more as any ship of her burden,) and so any vessel of this figure shall carry more men, with better accommodation by half, than any other ship. This carries also ten guns, of about five tons weight. In their coming back from Holyhead they started together, and this vessel came to Dublin by five at night, and the pacquett-boat not before eight the next morning; and when they came they did believe that, this vessel had been drowned, or at least behind, not thinking she could have lived in that sea. Strange things are told of this vessel, and he concludes his letter with this position, "I only affirm that the perfection of sayling lies in my principle, finde it out who can." Thence home, in my way meeting Mr. Rawlinson, who tells me that my uncle Wight is off of his Hampshire purchase and likes less of the Wights, and would have me to be kind and study to please him, which I am resolved to do. Being at home he sent for me to dinner to meet Mr. Moore, so I went thither and dined well, but it was strange for me to refuse, and yet I did without any reluctancy to drink wine in a tavern, where nothing else almost was drunk, and that excellent good. Thence with Mr. Moore to the Wardrobe, and there sat while my Lord was private with Mr. Townsend about his accounts an hour or two, we reading of a merry book against the Presbyters called Cabbala, extraordinary witty. Thence walked home and to my office, setting papers of all sorts and writing letters and putting myself into a condition to go to Chatham with Mr. Coventry to-morrow. So, at almost 12 o'clock, and my eyes tired with seeing to write, I went home and to bed. Ending the month with pretty good content of mind, my wife in the country and myself in good esteem, and likely by pains to become considerable, I think, with God's blessing upon my diligence. AUGUST 1663 Aug. 1st. Up betimes and got me ready, and so to the office and put things in order for my going. By and by comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I did some business, and then Mr. Coventry sending for me, he staying in the boat, I got myself presently ready and down to him, he and I by water to Gravesend (his man Lambert with us), and there eat a bit and so mounted, I upon one of his horses which met him there, a brave proud horse, all the way talking of businesses of the office and other matters to good purpose. Being come to Chatham, we put on our boots and so walked to the yard, where we met Commissioner Pett, and there walked up and down looking and inquiring into many businesses, and in the evening went to the Commissioner's and there in his upper Arbor sat and talked, and there pressed upon the Commissioner to take upon him a power to correct and suspend officers that do not their duty and other things, which he unwillingly answered he would if we would own him in it. Being gone thence Mr. Coventry and I did discourse about him, and conclude that he is not able to do the same in that yard that he might and can and it maybe will do in another, what with his old faults and the relations that he has to most people that act there. After an hour or two's discourse at the Hill-house before going to bed, I see him to his and he me to my chamber, he lying in the Treasurer's and I in the Controller's chambers. 2nd (Lord's day). Up and after the barber had done he and I walked to the Docke, and so on board the Mathias, where Commissioner Pett and he and I and a good many of the officers and others of the yard did hear an excellent sermon of Mr. Hudson's upon "All is yours and you are God's," a most ready, learned, and good sermon, such as I have not heard a good while, nor ever thought he could have preached. We took him with us to the Hill-house, and there we dined, and an officer or two with us. So after dinner the company withdrew, and we three to private discourse and laid the matters of the yard home again to the Commissioner, and discoursed largely of several matters. Then to the parish church, and there heard a poor sermon with a great deal of false Greek in it, upon these words, "Ye are my friends, if ye do these things which I command you." Thence to the Docke and by water to view St. Mary Creeke, but do not find it so proper for a wet docks as we would have it, it being uneven ground and hard in the bottom and no, great depth of water in many places. Returned and walked from the Docke home, Mr. Coventry and I very much troubled to see how backward Commissioner Pett is to tell any of the faults of the officers, and to see nothing in better condition here for his being here than they are in other yards where there is none. After some discourse to bed. But I sat up an hour after Mr. Coventry was gone to read my vows, it raining a wonderful hard showre about 11 at night for an hour together. So to bed. 3rd. Up both of us very betimes and to the Yard, and see the men called over and choose some to be discharged. Then to the Ropehouses and viewed them all and made an experiment which was the stronger, English or Riga hemp, the latter proved the stronger, but the other is very good, and much better we believe than any but Riga. We did many other things this morning, and I caused the Timber measurer to measure some timber, where I found much fault and with reason, which we took public notice of, and did give them admonition for the time to come. At noon Mr. Pett did give us a very great dinner, too big in all conscience, so that most of it was left untouched. Here was Collonell Newman and several other gentlemen of the country and officers of the yard. After dinner they withdrew and Commissioner Pett, Mr. Coventry and I sat close to our business all the noon in his parler, and there run through much business and answered several people. And then in the evening walked in the garden, where we conjured him to look after the yard, and for the time to come that he would take the whole faults and ill management of the yard upon himself, he having full power and our concurrence to suspend or do anything else that he thinks fit to keep people and officers to their duty. He having made good promises, though I fear his performance, we parted (though I spoke so freely that he could have been angry) good friends, and in some hopes that matters will be better for the time to come. So walked to the Hillhouse (which we did view and the yard about it, and do think to put it off as soon as we can conveniently) and there made ourselves ready and mounted and rode to Gravesend (my riding Coate not being to be found I fear it is stole) on our way being overtaken by Captain Browne that serves the office of the Ordnance at Chatham. All the way, though he was a rogue and served the late times all along, yet he kept us in discourse of the many services that he did for many of the King's party, lords and Dukes, and among others he recovered a dog that was stolne from Mr. Cary (head-keeper of the buck-hounds to the King) and preserved several horses of the Duke of Richmond's, and his best horse he was forst to put out his eyes and keep him for a stallion to preserve him from being carried away. But he gone at last upon my enquiry to tell us how (he having been here too for survey of the Ropeyard) the day's work of the Rope-makers become settled, which pleased me very well. Being come to our Inn Mr. Coventry and I sat, and talked till 9 or 10 a-clock and then to bed. 4th. We were called up about four a-clock, and being ready went and took a Gravesend boat, and to London by nine a-clock. By the way talking of several businesses of the navy. So to the office, where Sir Wm. Pen (the first time that he has been with us a great while, he having been long sick) met us, and there we sat all the morning. My brother John I find come to town to my house, as I sent for him, on Saturday last; so at noon home and dined with him, and after dinner and the barber been with me I walked out with him to my viall maker's and other places and then left him, and I by water to Blackbury's, and there talked with him about some masts (and by the way he tells me that Paul's is now going to be repaired in good earnest), and so with him to his garden close by his house, where I eat some peaches and apricots; a very pretty place. So over the water to Westminster hall, and not finding Mrs. Lane, with whom I purposed to be merry, I went to Jervas's and took him and his wife over the water to their mother Palmer's (the woman that speaks in the belly, and with whom I have two or three years ago made good sport with Mr. Mallard), thinking because I had heard that she is a woman of that sort that I might there have lit upon some lady of pleasure (for which God forgive me), but blest be God there was none, nor anything that pleased me, but a poor little house that she has set out as fine as she can, and for her singing which she pretends to is only some old body songs and those sung abominably, only she pretends to be able to sing both bass and treble, which she do something like, but not what I thought formerly and expected now; nor do her speaking in her belly take me now as it did then, but it may be that is because I know it and see her mouth when she speaks, which should not be. After I had spent a shilling there in wine I took boat with Jervas and his wife and set them at Westminster, and it being late forbore Mrs. Lane and went by water to the Old Swan by a boat, where I had good sport with one of the young men about his travells as far as Voxhall, in mockery, which yet the fellow answered me most prettily and traveller-like unto my very good mirth. So home, and with my brother eat a bit of bread and cheese, and so to bed, he with me. This day I received a letter from my wife, which troubles me mightily, wherein she tells me how Ashwell did give her the lie to her teeth, and that thereupon my wife giving her a box on the eare, the other struck her again, and a deal of stir which troubles me, and that my Lady has been told by my father or mother something of my wife's carriage, which altogether vexes me, and I fear I shall find a trouble of my wife when she comes home to get down her head again, but if Ashwell goes I am resolved to have no more, but to live poorly and low again for a good while, and save money and keep my wife within bounds if I can, or else I shall bid Adieu to all content in the world. So to bed, my mind somewhat disturbed at this, but yet I shall take care, by prudence, to avoid the ill consequences which I fear, things not being gone too far yet, and this height that my wife is come to being occasioned from my own folly in giving her too much head heretofore for the year past. 5th. All the morning at the office, whither Deane of Woolwich came to me and discoursed of the body of ships, which I am now going about to understand, and then I took him to the coffee-house, where he was very earnest against Mr. Grant's report in favour of Sir W. Petty's vessel, even to some passion on both sides almost. So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner with my brother, and in the afternoon to Westminster hall, and there found Mrs. Lane, and by and by by agreement we met at the Parliament stairs (in my way down to the boat who should meet us but my lady Jemimah, who saw me lead her but said nothing to me of her, though I ought to speak to her to see whether she would take notice of it or no) and off to Stangate and so to the King's Head at Lambeth marsh, and had variety of meats and drinks, but I did so towse her and handled her, but could get nothing more from her though I was very near it; but as wanton and bucksome as she is she dares not adventure upon the business, in which I very much commend and like her. Staid pretty late, and so over with her by water, and being in a great sweat with my towsing of her durst not go home by water, but took coach, and at home my brother and I fell upon Des Cartes, and I perceive he has studied him well, and I cannot find but he has minded his book, and do love it. This evening came a letter about business from Mr. Coventry, and with it a silver pen he promised me to carry inke in, which is very necessary. So to prayers and to bed. 6th. Up and was angry with my maid Hannah for keeping the house no better, it being more dirty now-a-days than ever it was while my whole family was together. So to my office, whither Mr. Coventry came and Sir William Pen, and we sat all the morning. This day Mr. Coventry borrowed of me my manuscript of the Navy. At noon I to the 'Change, and meeting with Sir W. Warren, to a coffee-house, and there finished a contract with him for the office, and so parted, and I to my cozen Mary Joyce's at a gossiping, where much company and good cheer. There was the King's Falconer, that lives by Paul's, and his wife, an ugly pusse, but brought him money. He speaking of the strength of hawkes, which will strike a fowle to the ground with that force that shall make the fowle rebound a great way from ground, which no force of man or art can do, but it was very pleasant to hear what reasons he and another, one Ballard, a rich man of the same Company of Leathersellers of which the Joyces are, did give for this. Ballard's wife, a pretty and a very well-bred woman, I took occasion to kiss several times, and she to carve, drink, and show me great respect. After dinner to talk and laugh. I drank no wine, but sent for some water; the beer not being good. A fiddler was sent for, and there one Mrs. Lurkin, a neighbour, a good, and merry poor woman, but a very tall woman, did dance and show such tricks that made us all merry, but above all a daughter of Mr. Brumfield's, black, but well-shaped and modest, did dance very well, which pleased me mightily. I begun the Duchess with her, but could not do it; but, however, I came off well enough, and made mighty much of her, kissing and leading her home, with her cozen Anthony and Kate Joyce (Kate being very handsome and well, that is, handsomely dressed to-day, and I grew mighty kind and familiar with her, and kissed her soundly, which she takes very well) to their house, and there I left them, having in our way, though nine o'clock at night, carried them into a puppet play in Lincolnes Inn Fields, where there was the story of Holofernes, and other clockwork, well done. There was at this house today Mr. Lawrence, who did give the name, it seems, to my cozen Joyce's child, Samuel, who is a very civil gentleman, and his wife a pretty woman, who, with Kate Joyce, were stewards of the feast to-day, and a double share cost for a man and a woman came to 16s., which I also would pay, though they would not by any means have had me do so. I walked home very well contented with this afternoon's work, I thinking it convenient to keep in with the Joyces against a bad day, if I should have occasion to make use of them. So I walked home, and after a letter to my wife by the post and my father, I home to supper, and after a little talk with my brother to bed. 7th. Up and to my office a little, and then to Brown's for my measuring rule, which is made, and is certainly the best and the most commodious for carrying in one's pocket, and most useful that ever was made, and myself have the honour of being as it were the inventor of this form of it. Here I staid discoursing an hour with him and then home, and thither came Sir Fairbrother to me, and we walked a while together in the garden and then abroad into the cittie, and then we parted for a while and I to my Viall, which I find done and once varnished, and it will please me very well when it is quite varnished. Thence home and to study my new rule till my head aked cruelly. So by and by to dinner and the Doctor and Mr. Creed came to me. The Doctor's discourse, which (though he be a very good-natured man) is but simple, was some sport to me and Creed, though my head akeing I took no great pleasure in it. We parted after dinner, and I walked to Deptford and there found Sir W. Pen, and I fell to measuring of some planks that was serving into the yard, which the people took notice of, and the measurer himself was amused at, for I did it much more ready than he, and I believe Sir W. Pen would be glad I could have done less or he more. By and by he went away and I staid walking up and down, discoursing with the officers of the yard of several things, and so walked back again, and on my way young Bagwell and his wife waylayd me to desire my favour about getting him a better ship, which I shall pretend to be willing to do for them, but my mind is to know his wife a little better. They being parted I went with Cadbury the mast maker to view a parcel of good masts which I think it were good to buy, and resolve to speak to the board about it. So home, and my brother John and I up and I to my musique, and then to discourse with him, and I find him not so thorough a philosopher, at least in Aristotle, as I took him for, he not being able to tell me the definition of final nor which of the 4 Qualitys belonged to each of the 4 Elements. So to prayers, and to bed, among other things being much satisfied with my new rule. 8th. Up and to my office, whither I search for Brown the mathematical instrument maker, who now brought me a ruler for measuring timber and other things so well done and in all things to my mind that I do set up my trust upon it that I cannot have a better, nor any man else have so good for this purpose, this being of my own ordering. By and by we sat all the morning dispatching of business, and then at noon rose, and I with Mr. Coventry down to the water-side, talking, wherein I see so much goodness and endeavours of doing the King service, that I do more and more admire him. It being the greatest trouble to me, he says, in the world to see not only in the Navy, but in the greatest matters of State, where he can lay his finger upon the soare (meaning this man's faults, and this man's office the fault lies in), and yet dare or can not remedy matters. Thence to the Exchange about several businesses, and so home to dinner, and in the afternoon took my brother John and Will down to Woolwich by water, and after being there a good while, and eating of fruit in Sheldon's garden, we began our walk back again, I asking many things in physiques of my brother John, to which he gives me so bad or no answer at all, as in the regions of the ayre he told me that he knew of no such thing, for he never read Aristotle's philosophy and Des Cartes ownes no such thing, which vexed me to hear him say. But I shall call him to task, and see what it is that he has studied since his going to the University. It was late before we could get from Greenwich to London by water, the tide being against us and almost past, so that to save time and to be clear of anchors I landed at Wapping, and so walked home weary enough, walking over the stones. This night Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes returned [from] Portsmouth, but I did not go see them. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and leaving my brother John to go somewhere else, I to church, and heard Mr. Mills (who is lately returned out of the country, and it seems was fetched in by many of the parishioners, with great state,) preach upon the authority of the ministers, upon these words, "We are therefore embassadors of Christ." Wherein, among other high expressions, he said, that such a learned man used to say, that if a minister of the word and an angell should meet him together, he would salute the minister first; which methought was a little too high. This day I begun to make use of the silver pen (Mr. Coventry did give me) in writing of this sermon, taking only the heads of it in Latin, which I shall, I think, continue to do. So home and at my office reading my vowes, and so to Sir W. Batten to dinner, being invited and sent for, and being willing to hear how they left things at Portsmouth, which I found but ill enough, and are mightily for a Commissioner to be at seat there to keep the yard in order. Thence in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, leading her through the streets by the hand to St. Dunstan's Church, hard by us (where by Mrs. Russell's means we were set well), and heard an excellent sermon of one Mr. Gifford, the parson there, upon "Remember Lot's wife." So from thence walked back to Mrs. Russell's, and there drank and sat talking a great while. Among other things talked of young Dawes that married the great fortune, who it seems has a Baronet's patent given him, and is now Sir Thos. Dawes, and a very fine bred man they say he is. Thence home, and my brother being abroad I walked to my uncle Wight's and there staid, though with little pleasure, and supped, there being the husband of Mrs. Anne Wight, who it seems is lately married to one Mr. Bentley, a Norwich factor. Home, and staid up a good while examining Will in his Latin below, and my brother along with him in his Greeke, and so to prayers and to bed. This afternoon I was amused at the tune set to the Psalm by the Clerke of the parish, and thought at first that he was out, but I find him to be a good songster, and the parish could sing it very well, and was a good tune. But I wonder that there should be a tune in the Psalms that I never heard of. 10th. Up, though not so early this summer as I did all the last, for which I am sorry, and though late am resolved to get up betimes before the season of rising be quite past. To my office to fit myself to wait on the Duke this day. By and by by water to White Hall, and so to St. James's, and anon called into the Duke's chamber, and being dressed we were all as usual taken in with him and discoursed of our matters, and that being done, he walked, and I in the company with him, to White Hall, and there he took barge for Woolwich, and, I up to the Committee of Tangier, where my Lord Sandwich, pay Lord Peterborough, (whom I have not seen before since his coming back,) Sir W. Compton, and Mr. Povy. Our discourse about supplying my Lord Teviott with money, wherein I am sorry to see, though they do not care for him, yet they are willing to let him for civility and compliment only have money almost without expecting any account of it; but by this means, he being such a cunning fellow as he is, the King is like to pay dear for our courtiers' ceremony. Thence by coach with my Lords Peterborough and Sandwich to my Lord Peterborough's house; and there, after an hour's looking over some fine books of the Italian buildings, with fine cuts; and also my Lord Peterborough's bowes and arrows, of which he is a great lover, we sat down to dinner, my Lady coming down to dinner also, and there being Mr. Williamson, that belongs to Sir H. Bennet, whom I find a pretty understanding and accomplished man, but a little conceited. After dinner I took leave and went to Greatorex's, whom I found in his garden, and set him to work upon my ruler, to engrave an almanac and other things upon the brasses of it, which a little before night he did, but the latter part he slubbered over, that I must get him to do it over better, or else I shall not fancy my rule, which is such a folly that I am come to now, that whereas before my delight was in multitude of books, and spending money in that and buying alway of other things, now that I am become a better husband, and have left off buying, now my delight is in the neatness of everything, and so cannot be pleased with anything unless it be very neat, which is a strange folly. Hither came W. Howe about business, and he and I had a great deal of discourse about my Lord Sandwich, and I find by him that my Lord do dote upon one of the daughters of Mrs. [Becke] where he lies, so that he spends his time and money upon her. He tells me she is a woman of a very bad fame and very impudent, and has told my Lord so, yet for all that my Lord do spend all his evenings with her, though he be at court in the day time, and that the world do take notice of it, and that Pickering is only there as a blind, that the world may think that my Lord spends his time with him when he do worse, and that hence it is that my Lord has no more mind to go into the country than he has. In fine, I perceive my Lord is dabbling with this wench, for which I am sorry, though I do not wonder at it, being a man amorous enough, and now begins to allow himself the liberty that he says every body else at Court takes. Here I am told that my Lord Bristoll is either fled or concealed himself; having been sent for to the King, it is believed to be sent to the Tower, but he is gone out of the way. Yesterday, I am told also, that Sir J. Lenthall, in Southwarke, did apprehend about one hundred Quakers, and other such people, and hath sent some of them to the gaole at Kingston, it being now the time of the Assizes. Hence home and examined a piece of, Latin of Will's with my brother, and so to prayers and to bed. This evening I had a letter from my father that says that my wife will come to town this week, at which I wonder that she should come to town without my knowing more of it. But I find they have lived very ill together since she went, and I must use all the brains I have to bring her to any good when she do come home, which I fear will be hard to do, and do much disgust me the thoughts of it. 11th. Up and to my office, whither, by and by, my brother Tom came, and I did soundly rattle him for his neglecting to see and please the Joyces as he has of late done. I confess I do fear that he do not understand his business, nor will do any good in his trade, though he tells me that he do please every body and that he gets money, but I shall not believe it till I see a state of his accounts, which I have ordered him to bring me before he sees me any more. We met and sat at the office all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, where I met Dr. Pierce, who tells me that the King comes to towne this day, from Tunbridge, to stay a day or two, and then fetch the Queen from thence, who he says is grown a very debonnaire lady, and now hugs him, and meets him gallopping upon the road, and all the actions of a fond and pleasant lady that can be, that he believes has a chat now and then of Mrs. Stewart, but that there is no great danger of her, she being only an innocent, young, raw girl; but my Lady Castlemaine, who rules the King in matters of state, and do what she list with him, he believes is now falling quite out of favour. After the Queen is come back she goes to the Bath; and so to Oxford, where great entertainments are making for her. This day I am told that my Lord Bristoll hath warrants issued out against him, to have carried him to the Tower; but he is fled away, or hid himself. So much the Chancellor hath got the better of him. Upon the 'Change my brother, and Will bring me word that Madam Turner would come and dine with me to-day, so I hasted home and found her and Mrs. Morrice there (The. Joyce being gone into the country), which is the reason of the mother rambling. I got a dinner for them, and after dinner my uncle Thomas and aunt Bell came and saw me, and I made them almost foxed with wine till they were very kind (but I did not carry them up to my ladies). So they went away, and so my two ladies and I in Mrs. Turner's coach to Mr. Povy's, who being not within, we went in and there shewed Mrs. Turner his perspective and volary, [A large birdcage, in which the birds can fly about; French 'voliere'. Ben Jonson uses the word volary.] and the fine things that he is building of now, which is a most neat thing. Thence to the Temple and by water to Westminster; and there Morrice and I went to Sir R. Ling's to have fetched a niece of his, but she was not within, and so we went to boat again and then down to the bridge, and there tried to find a sister of Mrs. Morrice's, but she was not within neither, and so we went through bridge, and I carried them on board the King's pleasure-boat, all the way reading in a book of Receipts of making fine meats and sweetmeats, among others to make my own sweet water, which made us good sport. So I landed them at Greenwich, and there to a garden, and gave them fruit and wine, and so to boat again, and finally, in the cool of the evening, to Lyon Kee, [Lion Key, Lower Thames Street, where the famous Duchess of Suffolk in the time of Bishop Gardiner's persecution took boat for the continent. James, Duke of York, also left the country from this same place on the night of April 20th, 1648, when he escaped from St. James's Palace.] the tide against us, and so landed and walked to the Bridge, and there took a coach by chance passing by, and so I saw them home, and there eat some cold venison with them, and drunk and bade them good night, having been mighty merry with them, and I think it is not amiss to preserve, though it cost me a little, such a friend as Mrs. Turner. So home and to bed, my head running upon what to do to-morrow to fit things against my wife's coming, as to buy a bedstead, because my brother John is here, and I have now no more beds than are used. 12th. A little to my office, to put down my yesterday's journall, and so abroad to buy a bedstead and do other things. So home again, and having put up the bedstead and done other things in order to my wife's coming, I went out to several places and to Mrs. Turner's, she inviting me last night, and there dined; with her and Madam Morrice and a stranger we were very merry and had a fine dinner, and thence I took leave and to White Hall, where my Lords Sandwich, Peterborough, and others made a Tangier Committee; spent the afternoon in reading and ordering with a great deal of alteration, and yet methinks never a whit the better, of a letter drawn by Creed to my Lord Rutherford. The Lords being against anything that looked to be rough, though it was in matter of money and accounts, wherein their courtship may cost the King dear. Only I do see by them, that speaking in matters distasteful to him that we write to, it is best to do it in the plainest way and without ambages or reasoning, but only say matters of fact, and leave the party to collect your meaning. Thence by water to my brother's, and there I hear my wife is come and gone home, and my father is come to town also, at which I wondered. But I discern it is to give my brother advice about his business, and it may be to pacify me about the differences that have been between my wife and him and my mother at her late being with them. Though by and by he coming to Mr. Holden's (where I was buying a hat) he took no notice to me of anything. I talked to him a little while and left him to lie at the end of the town, and I home, where methought I found my wife strange, not knowing, I believe, in what temper she could expect me to be in, but I fell to kind words, and so we were very kind, only she could not forbear telling me how she had been used by them and her mayde, Ashwell, in the country, but I find it will be best not to examine it, for I doubt she's in fault too, and therefore I seek to put it off from my hearing, and so to bed and there entertained her with great content, and so to sleep. 13th. Lay long in bed with my wife talking of family matters, and so up and to the office, where we sat all the' morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I to talk again about getting of a couple of good mayds and to part with Ashwell, which troubles me for her father's sake, though I shall be glad to have the charge taken away of keeping a woman. Thence a little to the office, and so abroad with my wife by water to White Hall, and there at my Lord's lodgings met my Lady Jemimah, with whom we staid a good while. Thence to Mrs. Hunt's, where I left my wife, and I to walk a little in St. James's Park, while Mrs. Harper might come home, with whom we came to speak about her kinswoman Jane Gentleman to come and live with us as a chamber mayde, and there met with Mr. Hoole my old acquaintance of Magdalen, and walked with him an hour in the Parke, discoursing chiefly of Sir Samuel Morland, whose lady is gone into France. It seems he buys ground and a farm in the country, and lays out money upon building, and God knows what! so that most of the money he sold his pension of L500 per annum for, to Sir Arthur Slingsby, is believed is gone. It seems he hath very great promises from the King, and Hoole hath seen some of the King's letters, under his own hand, to Morland, promising him great things (and among others, the order of the Garter, as Sir Samuel says); but his lady thought it below her to ask any thing at the King's first coming, believing the King would do it of himself, when as Hoole do really think if he had asked to be Secretary of State at the King's first coming, he might have had it. And the other day at her going into France, she did speak largely to the King herself, how her husband hath failed of what his Majesty had promised, and she was sure intended him; and the King did promise still, as he is a King and a gentleman, to be as good as his word in a little time, to a tittle: but I never believe it. Here in the Park I met with Mr. Coventry, where he sent for a letter he had newly writ to me, wherein he had enclosed one from Commissioner Pett complaining of his being defeated in his attempt to suspend two pursers, wherein the manner of his doing it, and complaint of our seeing him (contrary to our promises the other day), deserted, did make us laugh mightily, and was good sport to think how awkwardly he goes about a thing that he has no courage of his own nor mind to do. Mr. Coventry answered it very handsomely, but I perceive Pett has left off his corresponding with me any more. Thence to fetch my wife from Mrs. Hunt's, where now he was come in, and we eat and drunk, and so away (their child being at home, a very lively, but not pretty at all), by water to Mrs. Turner's, and there made a short visit, and so home by coach, and after supper to prayers and to bed, and before going to bed Ashwell began to make her complaint, and by her I do perceive that she has received most base usage from my wife, which my wife sillily denies, but it is impossible the wench could invent words and matter so particularly, against which my wife has nothing to say but flatly to deny, which I am sorry to see, and blows to have past, and high words even at Hinchinbrooke House among my Lady's people, of which I am mightily ashamed. I said nothing to either of them, but let them talk till she was gone and left us abed, and then I told my wife my mind with great sobriety of grief, and so to sleep. 14th. Awake, and to chide my wife again, and I find that my wife has got too great head to be brought down soon, nor is it possible with any convenience to keep Ashwell longer, my wife is so set and convinced, as she was in Sarah, to make her appear a Lyer in every small thing that we shall have no peace while she stays. So I up and to my office doing several businesses in my study, and so home to dinner. The time having outslipt me and my stomach, it being past, two a-clock, and yet before we could sit down to dinner Mrs. Harper and her cousin Jane came, and we treated and discoursed long about her coming to my wife for a chamber mayd, and I think she will do well. So they went away expecting notice when she shall come, and so we sat down to dinner at four a-clock almost, and then I walked forth to my brother's, where I found my father very discontented, and has no mind to come to my house, and would have begun some of the differences between my wife and him, but I desired to hear none of them, and am sorry at my folly in forcing it and theirs in not telling me of it at the beginning, and therefore am resolved to make the best of a bad market, and to bring my wife to herself again as soon and as well as I can. So we parted very kindly, and he will dine with me to-morrow or next day. Thence walked home, doing several errands by the way, and at home took my wife to visit Sir W. Pen, who is still lame, and after an hour with him went home and supped, and with great content to bed. 15th. Lay pretty long in bed, being a little troubled with some pain got by wind and cold, and so up with good peace of mind, hoping that my wife will mind her house and servants, and so to the office, and being too soon to sit walked to my viail, which is well nigh done, and I believe I may have it home to my mind next week. So back to my office, and there we sat all the morning, I till 2 o'clock before I could go to dinner again. After dinner walked forth to my instrument maker, and there had my rule he made me lay now so perfected, that I think in all points I have never need or desire a better, or think that any man yet had one so good in all the several points of it for my use. So by water down to Deptford, taking into my boat with me Mr. Palmer, one whom I knew and his wife when I was first married, being an acquaintance of my wife's and her friends lodging at Charing Cross during our differences. He joyed me in my condition, and himself it seems is forced to follow the law in a common ordinary way, but seems to do well, and is a sober man, enough by his discourse. He landed with me at Deptford, where he saw by the officers' respect to me a piece of my command, and took notice of it, though God knows I hope I shall not be elated with that, but rather desire to be known for serving the King well, and doing my duty. He gone I walked up and down the yard a while discoursing with the officers, and so by water home meditating on my new Rule with great pleasure. So to my office, and there by candle light doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church, and finding her desirous to go to church, I did suspect her meeting of Pembleton, but he was not there, and so I thought my jealousy in vain, and treat the sermon with great quiet. And home to dinner very pleasant, only some angry, notwithstanding my wife could not forbear to give Ashwell, and after dinner to church again, and there, looking up and down, I found Pembleton to stand in the isle against us, he coming too late to get a pew. Which, Lord! into what a sweat did it put me! I do not think my wife did see him, which did a little satisfy me. But it makes me mad to see of what a jealous temper I am and cannot helpe it, though let him do what he can I do not see, as I am going to reduce my family, what hurt he can do me, there being no more occasion now for my wife to learn of him. Here preached a confident young coxcomb. So home, and I staid a while with Sir J. Minnes, at Mrs. Turner's, hearing his parrat talk, laugh, and crow, which it do to admiration. So home and with my wife to see Sir W. Pen, and thence to my uncle Wight, and took him at supper and sat down, where methinks my uncle is more kind than he used to be both to me now, and my father tell me to him also, which I am glad at. After supper home, it being extraordinary dark, and by chance a lanthorn came by, and so we hired it to light us home, otherwise were we no sooner within doors but a great showre fell that had doused us cruelly if we had not been within, it being as dark as pitch. So to prayers and to bed. 17th. Up, and then fell into discourse, my wife and I to Ashwell, and much against my will I am fain to express a willingness to Ashwell that she should go from us, and yet in my mind I am glad of it, to ease me of the charge. So she is to go to her father this day. And leaving my wife and her talking highly, I went away by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to St. James's, and there attended of course the Duke. And so to White Hall, where I met Mr. Moore, and he tells me with great sorrow of my lord's being debauched he fears by this woman at Chelsey, which I am troubled at, and resolve to speak to him of it if I can seasonably. Thence home, where I dined, and after dinner comes our old mayde Susan to look for a gorgett that she says she has lost by leaving it here, and by many circumstances it being clear to me that Hannah, our present cook-mayde, not only has it, but had it on upon her necke when Susan came in, and shifted it off presently upon her coming in, I did charge her so home with it (having a mind to have her gone from us), that in a huff she told us she would be gone to-night if I would pay her her wages, which I was glad and my wife of, and so fetched her her wages, and though I am doubtful that she may convey some things away with her clothes, my wife searching them, yet we are glad of her being so gone, and so she went away in a quarter of an hour's time. Being much amused at this to have never a maid but Ashwell, that we do not intend to keep, nor a boy, and my wife and I being left for an hour, till my brother came in, alone in the house, I grew very melancholy, and so my brother being come in I went forth to Mrs. Holden's, to whom I formerly spoke about a girle to come to me instead of a boy, and the like I did to Mrs. Standing and also to my brother Tom, whom I found at an alehouse in Popinjay ally drinking, and I standing with him at the gate of the ally, Ashwell came by, and so I left Tom and went almost home with her, talking of her going away. I find that she is willing to go, and told her (though behind my back my wife has told her that it was more my desire than hers that she should go, which was not well), that seeing my wife and she could not agree I did choose rather (was she my sister) have her gone, it would be better for us and for her too. To which she willing agreed, and will not tell me anything but that she do believe that my wife would have some body there that might not be so liable to give me information of things as she takes her to be. But, however, I must later to prevent all that. I parted with her near home, agreeing to take no notice of my coming along with her, and so by and by came home after her. Where I find a sad distracted house, which troubles me. However, to supper and prayers and to bed. And while we were getting to bed my wife began to discourse to her, and plainly asked whether she had got a place or no. And the other answered that she could go if we would to one of our own office, to which we agreed if she would. She thereupon said no; she would not go to any but where she might teach children, because of keeping herself in use of what things she had earnt, which she do not here nor will there, but only dressing. By which I perceive the wench is cunning, but one very fit for such a place, and accomplished to be woman to any lady in the land. So quietly to sleep, it being a cold night. But till my house is settled, I do not see that I can mind my business of the office, which grieves me to the heart. But I hope all will over in a little time, and I hope to the best. This day at Mrs. Holden's I found my new low crowned beaver according to the present fashion made, and will be sent home to-morrow. 18th. Up and to my office, where we sat all the morning. And at noon home, and my father came and dined with me, Susan being come and helped my wife to dress dinner. After dinner my father and I talked about our country-matters, and in fine I find that he thinks L50 per ann. will go near to keep them all, which I am glad of. He having taken his leave of me and my wife without any mention of the differences between them and my wife in the country, I went forth to several places about businesses, and so home again, and after prayers to bed. 19th. Up betimes, and my wife up and about the house, Susan beginning to have her drunken tricks, and put us in mind of her old faults and folly and distractednesse, which we had forgot, so that I became mightily troubled with her. This morning came my joyners to new lay the floors, and begun with the dining room. I out and see my viall again, and it is very well, and to Mr. Hollyard, and took some pills of him and a note under his hand to drink wine with my beere, without which I was obliged, by my private vowe, to drink none a good while, and have strictly observed it, and by my drinking of small beere and not eating, I am so mightily troubled with wind, that I know not what to do almost. Thence to White Hall, and there met Mr. Moore, and fell a-talking about my Lord's folly at Chelsey, and it was our discourse by water to London and to the great coffee house against the Exchange, where we sat a good while talking; and I find that my lord is wholly given up to this wench, who it seems has been reputed a common strumpett. I have little encouragement from Mr. Moore to meddle with it to tell my Lord, for fear it may do him no good, but me hurt. Thence homewards, taking leave of him, and met Tom Marsh, my old acquaintance at Westminster, who talks mightily of the honour of his place, being Clerke Assistant to the Clerke of the House of Commons, and I take him to be a coxcombe, and so did give him half a pint of wine, but drink none myself, and so got shut of him. So home, and there found my wife almost mad with Susan's tricks, so as she is forced to let her go and leave the house all in dirt and the clothes all wet, and gets Goody Taylour to do the business for her till another comes. Here came Will Howe, and he and I alone in my chamber talking of my Lord, who drives me out of love to my Lord to tell my Lord of the matter we discoursed of, which tend so much to the ruin of his state, and so I resolved to take a good heart and do whatever comes of it. He gone, we sat down and eat a bit of dinner fetched from the cooke's, and so up again and to my joyners, who will make my floors very handsome. By and by comes in Pembleton, which begun to make me sweat, but I did give him so little countenance, and declared at one word against dancing any more, and bid him a short (God be with you) myself, and so he took as short a leave of my wife and so went away, and I think without any time of receiving any great satisfaction from my wife or invitation to come again. To my office till it was dark doing business, and so home by candle light to make up my accounts for my Lord and Mr. Moore. By and by comes Mr. Moore to me, and staid a good while with me making up his accounts and mine, and we did not come to any end therein for want of his papers, and so put it off to another time. He supped with me in all my dirt and disorder, and so went away and we to bed. I discoursed with him a great while about my speaking to my Lord of his business, and I apprehend from him that it is likely to prove perhaps of bad effect to me and no good to him, and therefore I shall even let it alone and let God do his will, at least till my Lord is in the country, and then we shall see whether he resolves to come to Chelsey again or no, and so order the stopping of him therein if we can. 20th. Up betimes and to my office (having first been angry with my brother John, and in the heat of my sudden passion called him Asse and coxcomb, for which I am sorry, it being but for leaving the key of his chamber with a spring lock within side of his door), and there we sat all the morning, and at noon dined at home, and there found a little girl, which she told my wife her name was Jinny, by which name we shall call her. I think a good likely girl, and a parish child of St. Bride's, of honest parentage, and recommended by the churchwarden. After dinner among my joyners laying my floors, which please me well, and so to my office, and we sat this afternoon upon an extraordinary business of victualling. In the evening came Commissioner Pett, who fell foule on mee for my carriage to him at Chatham, wherein, after protestation of my love and good meaning to him, he was quiet; but I doubt he will not be able to do the service there that any other man of his ability would. Home in the evening my viall (and lute new strung being brought home too), and I would have paid Mr. Hunt for it, but he did not come along with it himself, which I expected and was angry for it, so much is it against my nature to owe anything to any body. This evening the girle that was brought to me to-day for so good a one, being cleansed of lice this day by my wife, and good, new clothes put on her back, she run away from Goody Taylour that was shewing her the way to the bakehouse, and we heard no more of her. So to supper and to bed. 21st. Up betimes and among my joyners, and to my office, where the joyners are also laying mouldings in the inside of my closet. Then abroad and by water to White Hall, and there got Sir G. Carteret to sign me my last quarter's bills for my wages, and meeting with Mr. Creed he told me how my Lord Teviott hath received another attaque from Guyland at Tangier with 10,000 men, and at last, as is said, is come, after a personal treaty with him, to a good understanding and peace with him. Thence to my brother's, and there told him how my girl has served us which he sent me, and directed him to get my clothes again, and get the girl whipped. So to other places by the way about small businesses, and so home, and after looking over all my workmen, I went by water and land to Deptford, and there found by appointment Sir W. Batten, but he was got to Mr. Waith's to dinner, where I dined with him, a good dinner and good discourse, and his wife, I believe, a good woman. We fell in discourse of Captain Cocke, and how his lady has lost all her fine linen almost, but besides that they say she gives out she had L3000 worth of linen, which we all laugh at, and Sir W. Batten (who I perceive is not so fond of the Captain as he used to be, and less of her, from her slight receiving of him and his lady it seems once) told me how he should say that he see he must spend L700 per ann. get it how he could, which was a high speech, and by all men's discover, his estate not good enough to spend so much. After dinner altered our design to go to Woolwich, and put it off to to-morrow morning, and so went all to Greenwich (Mrs. Waith excepted, who went thither, but not to the same house with us, but to her father's, that lives there), to the musique-house, where we had paltry musique, till the master organist came, whom by discourse I afterwards knew, having employed him for my Lord Sandwich, to prick out something (his name Arundell), and he did give me a fine voluntary or two, and so home by water, and at home I find my girl that run away brought by a bedel of St. Bride's Parish, and stripped her and sent her away, and a newe one come, of Griffin's helping to, which I think will prove a pretty girl. Her name, Susan, and so to supper after having this evening paid Mr. Hunt L3 for my viall (besides the carving which I paid this day 10s. for to the carver), and he tells me that I may, without flattery, say, I have as good a Theorbo viall and viallin as is in England. So to bed. 22nd. Up by four o'clock to go with Sir W. Batten to Woolwich and Sir J. Minnes, which we did, though not before 6 or 7 by their laying a-bed. Our business was to survey the new wharf building there, in order to the giving more to him that do it (Mr. Randall) than contracted for, but I see no reason for it, though it be well done, yet no better than contracted to be. Here we eat and drank at the Clerke of the Cheques, and in taking water at the Tower gate, we drank a cup of strong water, which I did out of pure conscience to my health, and I think is not excepted by my oaths, but it is a thing I shall not do again, hoping to have no such occasion. After breakfast Mr. Castle and I walked to Greenwich, and in our way met some gypsys, who would needs tell me my fortune, and I suffered one of them, who told me many things common as others do, but bade me beware of a John and a Thomas, for they did seek to do me hurt, and that somebody should be with me this day se'nnight to borrow money of me, but I should lend him none. She got ninepence of me. And so I left them and to Greenwich and so to Deptford, where the two knights were come, and thence home by water, where I find my closet done at my office to my mind and work gone well on at home; and Ashwell gone abroad to her father, my wife having spoken plainly to her. After dinner to my office, getting my closet made clean and setting some papers in order, and so in the evening home and to bed. This day Sir W. Batten tells me that Mr. Newburne (of whom the nickname came up among us forarse Tom Newburne) is dead of eating cowcumbers, of which, the other day, I heard another, I think Sir Nicholas Crisp's son. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and to church without my wife, she being all dirty, as my house is. God forgive me, I looked about to see if I could spy Pembleton, but I could not, which did please me not a little. Home to dinner, and then to walk up and down in my house with my wife, discoursing of our family matters, and I hope, after all my troubles of mind and jealousy, we shall live happily still. To church again, and so home to my wife; and with her read "Iter Boreale," a poem, made just at the King's coming home; but I never read it before, and now like it pretty well, but not so as it was cried up. So to supper. No pleasure or discourse with Ashwell, with whom for her neglect and unconcernment to do any thing in this time of dirt and trouble in the house, but gadding abroad as she has been all this afternoon, I know not whither. After supper to prayers and to bed, having been, by a sudden letter coming to me from Mr. Coventry, been with Sir W. Pen, to discourse with him about sending 500 soldiers into Ireland. I doubt matters do not go very right there. 24th. Up very early, and my joyners came to work. I to Mr. Moore; from him came back home again, and drew up an account to my Lord, and that being done met him at my Lord Sandwich's, where I was a good while alone with my Lord; and I perceive he confides in me and loves me as he uses to do, and tells me his condition, which is now very well all I fear is that he will not live within compass, for I am told this morning of strange dotages of his upon the slut at Chelsea, even in the presence of his daughter, my Lady Jem, and Mrs. Ferrets, who took notice of it. There come to him this morning his prints of the river Tagus and the City of Lisbon, which he measured with his own hand, and printed by command of the King. My Lord pleases himself with it, but methinks it ought to have been better done than by jobing. Besides I put him upon having some took off upon white sattin, which he ordered presently. I offered my Lord my accounts, and did give him up his old bond for L500 and took a new one of him for L700, which I am by lending him more money to make up: and I am glad of it. My Lord would have had me dine with him, but I had a mind to go home to my workmen, and so took a kind good bye of him, and so with Creed to St. James's, and, missing Mr. Coventry, walked to the New Exchange, and there drank some whey, and so I by water home, and found my closett at my office made very clean and neat to my mind mightily, and home to dinner, and then to my office to brush my books, and put them and my papers in order again, and all the afternoon till late at night doing business there, and so home to supper, and then to work in my chamber, making matters of this day's accounts clear in my books, they being a little extraordinary, and so being very late I put myself to bed, the rest being long ago gone. 25th. Up very early and removed the things out of my chamber into the dining room, it being to be new floored this day. So the workmen being come and falling to work there, I to the office, and thence down to Lymehouse to Phin. Pett's about masts, and so back to the office, where we sat; and being rose, and Mr. Coventry being gone, taking his leave, for that he is to go to the Bath with the Duke to-morrow, I to the 'Change and there spoke with several persons, and lastly with Sir W. Warren, and with him to a Coffee House, and there sat two hours talking of office business and Mr. Wood's knavery, which I verily believe, and lastly he tells me that he hears that Captain Cocke is like to become a principal officer, either a Controller or a Surveyor, at which I am not sorry so either of the other may be gone, and I think it probable enough that it may be so. So home at 2 o'clock, and there I found Ashwell gone, and her wages come to 50s., and my wife, by a mistake from me, did give her 20s. more; but I am glad that she is gone and the charge saved. After dinner among my joyners, and with them till dark night, and this night they made an end of all; and so having paid them 40s. for their six days' work, I am glad they have ended and are gone, for I am weary and my wife too of this dirt. My wife growing peevish at night, being weary, and I a little vexed to see that she do not retain things in her memory that belong to the house as she ought and I myself do, I went out in a little seeming discontent to the office, and after being there a while, home to supper and to bed. To-morrow they say the King and the Duke set out for the Bath. This noon going to the Exchange, I met a fine fellow with trumpets before him in Leadenhall-street, and upon enquiry I find that he is the clerk of the City Market; and three or four men carried each of them an arrow of a pound weight in their hands. It seems this Lord Mayor begins again an old custome, that upon the three first days of Bartholomew Fayre, the first, there is a match of wrestling, which was done, and the Lord Mayor there and Aldermen in Moorefields yesterday: to-day, shooting: and to-morrow, hunting. And this officer of course is to perform this ceremony of riding through the city, I think to proclaim or challenge any to shoot. It seems that the people of the fayre cry out upon it as a great hindrance to them. 26th. Up, and after doing something in order to the putting of my house in order now the joynery is done, I went by water to White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and horses, the King and Court going this day out towards the Bath, and I to St. James's, where I spent an hour or more talking of many things to my great content with Mr. Coventry in his chamber, he being ready to set forth too with the Duke to-day, and so left him, and I meeting Mr. Gauden, with him to our offices and in Sir W. Pen's chamber did discourse by a meeting on purpose with Mr. Waith about the victualling business and came to some issue in it. So home to dinner, and Mr. Moore came and dined with me, and after dinner I paid him some money which evened all reckonings between him and me to this day, and for my Lord also I paid him some money, so that now my Lord owes me, for which I have his bond, just L700. After long discourse with him of the fitness of his giving me a receipt for this money, which I for my security think necessary and he otherwise do not think so, at last, after being a little angry, and I resolving not to let go my money without it, he did give me one. Thence I took him, and he and I took a pleasant walk to Deptford and back again, I doing much business there. He went home and I home also, indoors to supper, being very glad to see my house begin to look like itself again, hoping after this is over not to be in any dirt a great while again, but it is very handsome, and will be more when the floors come to be of one colour. So weary to bed. Pleased this day to see Captain Hickes come to me with a list of all the officers of Deptford Yard, wherein he, being a high old Cavalier, do give me an account of every one of them to their reproach in all respects, and discovers many of their knaverys; and tells me, and so I thank God I hear every where, that my name is up for a good husband for the King, and a good man, for which I bless God; and that he did this by particular direction of Mr. Coventry. 27th. Up, after much pleasant talke with my wife and a little that vexes me, for I see that she is confirmed in it that all that I do is by design, and that my very keeping of the house in dirt, and the doing of this and any thing else in the house, is but to find her employment to keep her within and from minding of her pleasure, in which, though I am sorry to see she minds it, is true enough in a great degree. To my office, and there we sat and despatched much business. Home and dined with my wife well, and then up and made clean my closet of books, and had my chamber a third time made very clean, so that it is now in a very fine condition. Thence down to see some good plank in the river with Sir W. Batten and back again, it being a very cold day and a cold wind. Home again, and after seeing Sir W. Pen, to my office, and there till late doing of business, being mightily encouraged by every body that I meet withal upon the 'Change and every where else, that I am taken notice of for a man that do the King's business wholly and well. For which the Lord be praised, for I know no honour I desire more. Home to supper, where I find my house very clean from top to bottom again to my great content. I found a feacho (as he calls it) of fine sugar and a case of orange-flower water come from Mr. Cocke, of Lisbon, the fruits of my last year's service to him, which I did in great justice to the man, a perfect stranger. He sends it me desiring that I would not let Sir J. Minnes know it, from whom he expected to have found the service done that he had from me, from whom he could expect nothing, and the other failed him, and would have done I am sure to this day had not I brought it to some end. After supper to bed. 28th. At the office betimes (it being cold all night and this morning, and a very great frost they say abroad, which is much, having had no summer at all almost), where we sat, and in the afternoon also about settling the establishment of the number of men borne on ships, &c., till the evening, and after that in my closet till late, and quite tired with business, home to supper and to bed. 29th. Abroad with my wife by water to Westminster, and there left her at my Lord's lodgings, and I to Jervas the barber's, and there was trimmed, and did deliver back a periwigg, which he brought by my desire the other day to show me, having some thoughts, though no great desire or resolution yet to wear one, and so I put it off for a while. Thence to my wife, and calling at both the Exchanges, buying stockings for her and myself, and also at Leadenhall, where she and I, it being candlelight, bought meat for to-morrow, having never a mayde to do it, and I myself bought, while my wife was gone to another shop, a leg of beef, a good one, for six pense, and my wife says is worth my money. So walked home with a woman carrying our things. I am mightily displeased at a letter Tom sent me last night, to borrow L20 more of me, and yet gives me no account, as I have long desired, how matters stand with him in the world. I am troubled also to see how, contrary to my expectation, my brother John neither is the scholler nor minds his studies as I thought would have done, but loiters away his time, so that I must send him soon to Cambridge again. 31st. Up and to my office all the morning, where Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes did pay the short allowance money to the East India companies, and by the assistance of the City Marshall and his men, did lay hold of two or three of the chief of the companies that were in the mutiny the other day, and sent them to prison. This noon came Jane Gentleman to serve my wife as her chamber mayde. I wish she may prove well. So ends this month, with my mind pretty well in quiett, and in good disposition of health since my drinking at home of a little wine with my beer; but no where else do I drink any wine at all. The King and Queen and the Court at the Bath, my Lord Sandwich in the country newly gone. SEPTEMBER 1663 Sept. 1st. Up pretty betimes, and after a little at my viall to my office, where we sat all the morning, and I got my bill among others for my carved work (which I expected to have paid for myself) signed at the table, and hope to get the money back again, though if the rest had not got it paid by the King, I never intended nor did desire to have him pay for my vanity. In the evening my brother John coming to me to complain that my wife seems to be discontented at his being here, and shows him great disrespect; so I took and walked with him in the garden, and discoursed long with him about my affairs, and how imprudent it is for my father and mother and him to take exceptions without great cause at my wife, considering how much it concerns them to keep her their friend and for my peace; not that I would ever be led by her to forget or desert them in the main, but yet she deserves to be pleased and complied with a little, considering the manner of life that I keep her to, and how convenient it were for me to have Brampton for her to be sent to when I have a mind or occasion to go abroad to Portsmouth or elsewhere. So directed him how to behave himself to her, and gave him other counsel; and so to my office, where late. 2nd. Up betimes and to my office, and thence with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, where met us Sir W. Batten, and there staid by the Council Chamber till the Lords called us in, being appointed four days ago to attend them with an account of the riott among the seamen the other day, when Sir J. Minnes did as like a coxcomb as ever I saw any man speak in my life, and so we were dismissed, they making nothing almost of the matter. We staid long without, till by and by my Lord Mayor comes, who also was commanded to be there, and he having, we not being within with him, an admonition from the Lords to take better care of preserving the peace, we joyned with him, and the Lords having commanded Sir J. Minnes to prosecute the fellows for the riott, we rode along with my Lord Mayor in his coach to the Sessions House in the Old Bayley, where the Sessions are now sitting. Here I heard two or three ordinary tryalls, among others one (which, they say, is very common now-a-days, and therefore in my now taking of mayds I resolve to look to have some body to answer for them) a woman that went and was indicted by four names for entering herself a cookemayde to a gentleman that prosecuted her there, and after 3 days run away with a silver tankard, a porringer of silver, and a couple of spoons, and being now found is found guilty, and likely will be hanged. By and by up to dinner with my Lord Mayor and the Aldermen, and a very great dinner and most excellent venison, but it almost made me sick by not daring to drink wine. After dinner into a withdrawing room; and there we talked, among other things, of the Lord Mayor's sword. They tell me this sword, they believe, is at least a hundred or two hundred years old; and another that he hath, which is called the Black Sword, which the Lord Mayor wears when he mournes, but properly is their Lenten sword to wear upon Good Friday and other Lent days, is older than that. Thence I, leaving Sir J. Minnes to look after his indictment drawing up, I home by water, and there found my wife mightily pleased with a present of shells, fine shells given her by Captain Hickes, and so she and I up and look them over, and indeed they are very pleasant ones. By and by in comes Mr. Lewellin, lately come from Ireland, to see me, and he tells me how the English interest falls mightily there, the Irish party being too great, so that most of the old rebells are found innocent, and their lands, which were forfeited and bought or given to the English, are restored to them; which gives great discontent there among the English. He being gone, I to my office, where late, putting things in order, and so home to supper and to bed. Going through the City, my Lord Mayor told me how the piller set up by Exeter House is only to show where the pipes of water run to the City; and observed that this City is as well watered as any city in the world, and that the bringing the water to the City hath cost it first and last above L300,000; but by the new building, and the building of St. James's by my Lord St. Albans, [It was at this time that the Earl of St. Albans planned St. James's Square, which was first styled "The Piazza." The "Warrant for a grant to Baptist May and Abraham Cowley on nomination of the Earl of St. Albans of several parcels of ground in Pall Mall described, on rental of L80, for building thereon a square of 13 or 14 great and good houses," was dated September 24th, 1664.] which is now about (and which the City stomach I perceive highly, but dare not oppose it), were it now to be done, it would not be done for a million of money. 3rd. Up betimes, and for an hour at my viall before my people rise. Then up and to the office a while, and then to Sir W. Batten, who is going this day for pleasure down to the Downes. I eat a breakfast with them, and at my Lady's desire with them by coach to Greenwich, where I went aboard with them on the Charlotte yacht. The wind very fresh, and I believe they will be all sicke enough, besides that she is mighty troublesome on the water. Methinks she makes over much of her husband's ward, young Mr. Griffin, as if she expected some service from him when he comes to it, being a pretty young boy. I left them under sayle, and I to Deptford, and, after a word or two with Sir J. Minnes, walked to Redriffe and so home. In my way, it coming into my head, overtaking of a beggar or two on the way that looked like Gypsys, what the Gypsys 8 or 9 days ago had foretold, that somebody that day se'nnight should be with me to borrow money, but I should lend none; and looking, when I came to my office, upon my journall, that my brother John had brought a letter that day from my brother Tom to borrow L20 more of me, which had vexed me so that I had sent the letter to my father into the country, to acquaint him of it, and how little he is beforehand that he is still forced to borrow. But it pleased me mightily to see how, contrary to my expectations, having so lately lent him L20, and belief that he had money by him to spare, and that after some days not thinking of it, I should look back and find what the Gypsy had told me to be so true. After dinner at home to my office, and there till late doing business, being very well pleased with Mr. Cutler's coming to me about some business, and among other things tells me that they value me as a man of business, which he accounts the best virtuoso, and I know his thinking me so, and speaking where he comes, may be of good use to me. Home to supper, and to bed. 4th. Up betimes, and an hour at my viall, and then abroad by water to White Hall and Westminster Hall, and there bought the first newes-books of L'Estrange's writing; [Roger L'Estrange, a voluminous writer of pamphlets and periodical papers, and translator of classics, &c. Born 1616. He was Licenser of the Press to Charles II. and James II.; and M.P. for Winchester in James II.'s parliament. L'Estrange was knighted in the reign of James II., and died 1704. In 1663 L'Estrange set up a paper called "The Public Intelligencer," which came out on August 31st, and continued to be published twice a week till January 19th, 1665, when it was superseded by the scheme of publishing the "London Gazette," the first number of which appeared on February 4th following.] he beginning this week; and makes, methinks, but a simple beginning. Then to speak to Mrs. Lane, who seems desirous to have me come to see her and to have her company as I had a little while ago, which methinks if she were very modest, considering how I tumbled her and tost her, she should not. Thence to Mrs. Harper, and sent for Creed, and there Mrs. Harper sent for a maid for me to come to live with my wife. I like the maid's looks well enough, and I believe may do well, she looking very modestly and speaking so too. I directed her to speak with my wife, and so Creed and I away to Mr. Povy's, and he not being at home, walked to Lincoln's Inn walks, which they are making very fine, and about one o'clock went back to Povy's; and by and by in comes he, and so we sat and down to dinner, and his lady, whom I never saw before (a handsome old woman that brought him money that makes him do as he does), and so we had plenty of meat and drink, though I drunk no wine, though mightily urged to it, and in the exact manner that I never saw in my life any where, and he the most full and satisfied in it that man can be in this world with any thing. After dinner done, to see his new cellars, which he has made so fine with so noble an arch and such contrivances for his barrels and bottles, and in a room next to it such a grotto and fountayne, which in summer will be so pleasant as nothing in the world can be almost. But to see how he himself do pride himself too much in it, and command and expect to have all admiration, though indeed everything do highly deserve it, is a little troublesome. Thence Creed and I away, and by his importunity away by coach to Bartholomew Fayre, where I have no mind to go without my wife, and therefore rode through the fayre without 'lighting, and away home, leaving him there; and at home made my wife get herself presently ready, and so carried her by coach to the fayre, and showed her the monkeys dancing on the ropes, which was strange, but such dirty sport that I was not pleased with it. There was also a horse with hoofs like rams hornes, a goose with four feet, and a cock with three. Thence to another place, and saw some German Clocke works, the Salutation of the Virgin Mary, and several Scriptural stories; but above all there was at last represented the sea, with Neptune, Venus, mermaids, and Ayrid on a dolphin, the sea rocking, so well done, that had it been in a gaudy manner and place, and at a little distance, it had been admirable. Thence home by coach with my wife, and I awhile to the office, and so to supper and to bed. This day I read a Proclamation for calling in and commanding every body to apprehend my Lord Bristoll. 5th. Up betimes and to my viall awhile, and so to the office, and there sat, and busy all the morning. So at noon to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I met Creed, who dined with me, and after dinner mightily importuned by Captain Hicks, who came to tell my wife the names and story of all the shells, which was a pretty present he made her the other day. He being gone, Creed, my wife, and I to Cornhill, and after many tryalls bought my wife a chintz, that is, a painted Indian callico, for to line her new study, which is very pretty. So home with her, and then I away (Creed being gone) to Captain Minors upon Tower Hill, and there, abating only some impertinence of his, I did inform myself well in things relating to the East Indys; both of the country and the disappointment the King met with the last voyage, by the knavery of the Portugall Viceroy, and the inconsiderablenesse of the place of Bombaim, [Bombay, which was transferred to the East India Company in 1669. The seat of the Western Presidency of India was removed from Surat to Bombay in 1685-87.] if we had had it. But, above all things, it seems strange to me that matters should not be understood before they went out; and also that such a thing as this, which was expected to be one of the best parts of the Queen's portion, should not be better understood; it being, if we had it, but a poor place, and not really so as was described to our King in the draught of it, but a poor little island; whereas they made the King and Lord Chancellor, and other learned men about the King, believe that that, and other islands which are near it, were all one piece; and so the draught was drawn and presented to the King, and believed by the King and expected to prove so when our men came thither; but it is quite otherwise. Thence to my office, and after several letters writ, home to supper and to bed, and took a pill. I hear this day that Sir W. Batten was fain to put ashore at Queenborough with my Lady, who has been so sick she swears never to go to sea again. But it happens well that Holmes is come home into the Downes, where he will meet my Lady, and it may be do her more good than she looked for. He brings news of the peace between Tangier and the Moors, but the particulars I know not. He is come but yesterday. 6th (Lord's day). My pill I took last night worked very well, and I lay long in bed and sweat to get away the itching all about my body from head to foot, which is beginning again as it did the last winter, and I find after I am up that it is abated. I staid at home all day and my wife also, whom, God forgive me, I staid along with me for fear of her seeing of Pembleton. But she and I entertained one another all day long with great pleasure, contriving about my wife's closet and the bedchamber, whither we intend to go up she and I to-day. We dined alone and supped also at night, my brother John with us, and so to prayers and to bed. 7th. Up pretty betimes, and awhile to my vyall, and then abroad to several places, to buy things for the furnishing my house and my wife's closet, and then met my uncle Thomas, by appointment, and he and I to the Prerogative Office in Paternoster Row, and there searched and found my uncle Day's will, end read it over and advised upon it, and his wife's after him, and though my aunt Perkins testimony is very good, yet I fear the estate being great, and the rest that are able to inform us in the matter are all possessed of more or less of the estate, it will be hard for us ever to do anything, nor will I adventure anything till I see what part will be given to us by my uncle Thomas of all that is gained. But I had another end of putting my uncle into some doubt, that so I might keep him: yet from going into the country that he may be there against the Court at his own charge, and so I left him and his son at a loss what to do till I see them again. And so I to my Lord Crew's, thinking to have dined there, but it was too late, and so back and called at my brother's and Mr. Holden's about several businesses, and went all alone to the Black Spread Eagle in Bride Lane, and there had a chopp of veale and some bread, cheese, and beer, cost me a shilling to my dinner, and so through Fleet Ally, God forgive me, out of an itch to look upon the sluts there, against which when I saw them my stomach turned, and so to Bartholomew Fayre, where I met with Mr. Pickering, and he and I to see the monkeys at the Dutch house, which is far beyond the other that my wife and I saw the other day; and thence to see the dancing on the ropes, which was very poor and tedious. But he and I fell in discourse about my Lord Sandwich. He tells me how he is sorry for my Lord at his being at Chelsey, and that his but seeming so to my Lord without speaking one word, had put him clear out of my Lord's favour, so as that he was fain to leave him before he went into the country, for that he was put to eat with his servants; but I could not fish from him, though I knew it, what was the matter; but am very sorry to see that my Lord hath thus much forgot his honour, but am resolved not to meddle with it. The play being done, I stole from him and hied home, buying several things at the ironmonger's--dogs, tongs, and shovels--for my wife's closett and the rest of my house, and so home, and thence to my office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. By my letters from Tangier today I hear that it grows very strong by land, and the Mole goes on. They have lately killed two hundred of the Moores, and lost about forty or fifty. I am mightily afeard of laying out too much money in goods upon my house, but it is not money flung away, though I reckon nothing money but when it is in the bank, till I have a good sum beforehand in the world. 8th. Up and to my viall a while, and then to my office on Phillips having brought me a draught of the Katherine yacht, prettily well done for the common way of doing it. At the office all the morning making up our last half year's account to my Lord Treasurer, which comes to L160,000 or there abouts, the proper expense of this half year, only with an addition of L13,000 for the third due of the last account to the Treasurer for his disbursements, and L1100 for this half year's; so that in three years and a half his thirds come to L14,100. Dined at home with my wife. It being washing day, we had a good pie baked of a leg of mutton; and then to my office, and then abroad, and among other places to Moxon's, and there bought a payre of globes cost me L3 10s., with which I am well pleased, I buying them principally for my wife, who has a mind to understand them, and I shall take pleasure to teach her. But here I saw his great window in his dining room, where there is the two Terrestrial Hemispheres, so painted as I never saw in my life, and nobly done and to good purpose, done by his own hand. Thence home to my office, and there at business late, and then to supper home and to bed, my people sitting up longer than ordinary before they had done their washing. 9th. Up by break of day, and then to my vials a while, and so to Sir W. Warren's by agreement, and after talking and eating something with him, he and I down by water to Woolwich, and there I did several businesses, and had good discourse, and thence walked to Greenwich; in my way a little boy overtook us with a fine cupp turned out of Lignum Vitae, which the poor child confessed was made in the King's yard by his father, a turner there, and that he do often do it, and that I might have one, and God knows what, which I shall examine. Thence to Sir W. Warren's again, and there drew up a contract for masts which he is to sell us, and so home to dinner, finding my poor wife busy. I, after dinner, to the office, and then to White Hall, to Sir G. Carteret's, but did not speak with him, and so to Westminster Hall, God forgive me, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, but she was not there, but here I met with Ned Pickering, with whom I walked 3 or 4 hours till evening, he telling me the whole business of my Lord's folly with this Mrs. Becke, at Chelsey, of all which I am ashamed to see my Lord so grossly play the beast and fool, to the flinging off of all honour, friends, servants, and every thing and person that is good, and only will have his private lust undisturbed with this common.... his sitting up night after night alone, suffering nobody to come to them, and all the day too, casting off Pickering, basely reproaching him with his small estate, which yet is a good one, and other poor courses to obtain privacy beneath his honour, and with his carrying her abroad and playing on his lute under her window, and forty other poor sordid things, which I am grieved to hear; but believe it to no purpose for me to meddle with it, but let him go on till God Almighty and his own conscience and thoughts of his lady and family do it. So after long discourse, to my full satisfaction but great trouble, I home by water and at my office late, and so to supper to my poor wife, and so to bed, being troubled to think that I shall be forced to go to Brampton the next Court, next week. 10th. Up betimes and to my office, and there sat all the morning making a great contract with Sir W. Warren for L3,000 worth of masts; but, good God! to see what a man might do, were I a knave, the whole business from beginning to end being done by me out of the office, and signed to by them upon the once reading of it to them, without the least care or consultation either of quality, price, number, or need of them, only in general that it was good to have a store. But I hope my pains was such, as the King has the best bargain of masts has been bought these 27 years in this office. Dined at home and then to my office again, many people about business with me, and then stepped a little abroad about business to the Wardrobe, but missed Mr. Moore, and elswhere, and in my way met Mr. Moore, who tells me of the good peace that is made at Tangier with the Moores, but to continue but from six months to six months, and that the Mole is laid out, and likely to be done with great ease and successe, we to have a quantity of ground for our cattle about the town to our use. To my office late, and then home to supper, after writing letters, and to bed. This day our cook maid (we having no luck in maids now-adays), which was likely to prove a good servant, though none of the best cooks, fell sick and is gone to her friends, having been with us but 4 days. 11th. This morning, about two or three o'clock, knocked up in our back yard, and rising to the window, being moonshine, I found it was the constable and his watch, who had found our back yard door open, and so came in to see what the matter was. So I desired them to shut the door, and bid them good night, and so to bed again, and at 6 o'clock up and a while to my vyall, and then to the office, where all the morning upon the victualler's accounts, and then with him to dinner at the Dolphin, where I eat well but drank no wine neither; which keeps me in such good order that I am mightily pleased with myself for it. Hither Mr. Moore came to me, and he and I home and advised about business, and so after an hour's examining the state of the Navy debts lately cast up, I took coach to Sir Philip Warwick's, but finding Sir G. Carteret there I did not go in, but directly home, again, it raining hard, having first of all been with Creed and Mrs. Harper about a cook maid, and am like to have one from Creed's lodging. In my way home visited my Lord Crew and Sir Thomas, thinking they might have enquired by the by of me touching my Lord's matters at Chelsey, but they said nothing, and so after some slight common talk I bid them good night. At home to my office, and after a while doing business home to supper and bed. 12th. Up betimes, and by water to White Hall; and thence to Sir Philip Warwick, and there had half an hour's private discourse with him; and did give him some good satisfaction in our Navy matters, and he also me, as to the money paid and due to the Navy; so as he makes me assured by particulars, that Sir G. Carteret is paid within L80,000 every farthing that we to this day, nay to Michaelmas day next have demanded; and that, I am sure, is above L50,000 snore than truly our expenses have been, whatever is become of the money. Home with great content that I have thus begun an acquaintance with him, who is a great man, and a man of as much business as any man in England; which I will endeavour to deserve and keep. Thence by water to my office, in here all the morning, and so to the 'Change at noon, and there by appointment met and bring home my uncle Thomas, who resolves to go with me to Brampton on Monday next. I wish he may hold his mind. I do not tell him, and yet he believes that there is a Court to be that he is to do some business for us there. The truth is I do find him a much more cunning fellow than I ever took him for, nay in his very drink he has his wits about him. I took him home to dinner, and after dinner he began, after a glass of wine or two, to exclaim against Sir G. Carteret and his family in Jersey, bidding me to have a care of him, and how high, proud, false, and politique a fellow he is, and how low he has been under his command in the island. After dinner, and long discourse, he went away to meet on Monday morning, and I to my office, and thence by water to White Hall and Westminster Hall about several businesses, and so home, and to my office writing a laborious letter about our last account to my Lord Treasurer, which took me to one o'clock in the morning, 13th (Lord's day). So that Griffin was fain to carry it to Westminster to go by express, and my other letters of import to my father and elsewhere could not go at all. To bed between one and two and slept till 8, and lay talking till 9 with great pleasure with my wife. So up and put my clothes in order against tomorrow's journey, and then at noon at dinner, and all the afternoon almost playing and discoursing with my wife with great content, and then to my office there to put papers in order against my going. And by and by comes my uncle Wight to bid us to dinner to-morrow to a haunch of venison I sent them yesterday, given me by Mr. Povy, but I cannot go, but my wife will. Then into the garden to read my weekly vows, and then home, where at supper saying to my wife, in ordinary fondness, "Well! shall you and I never travel together again?" she took me up and offered and desired to go along with me. I thinking by that means to have her safe from harm's way at home here, was willing enough to feign, and after some difficulties made did send about for a horse and other things, and so I think she will go. So, in a hurry getting myself and her things ready, to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and my wife's mind and mine holding for her going, so she to get her ready, and I abroad to do the like for myself, and so home, and after setting every thing at my office and at home in order, by coach to Bishop's Gate, it being a very promising fair day. There at the Dolphin we met my uncle Thomas and his son-in-law, which seems a very sober man, and Mr. Moore. So Mr. Moore and my wife set out before, and my uncle and I staid for his son Thomas, who, by a sudden resolution, is preparing to go with us, which makes me fear something of mischief which they design to do us. He staying a great while, the old man and I before, and about eight miles off, his son comes after us, and about six miles further we overtake Mr. Moore and my wife, which makes me mightily consider what a great deal of ground is lost in a little time, when it is to be got up again by another, that is to go his own ground and the other's too; and so after a little bayte (I paying all the reckonings the whole journey) at Ware, to Buntingford, where my wife, by drinking some cold beer, being hot herself, presently after 'lighting, begins to be sick, and became so pale, and I alone with her in a great chamber there, that I thought she would have died, and so in great horror, and having a great tryall of my true love and passion for her, called the mayds and mistresse of the house, and so with some strong water, and after a little vomit, she came to be pretty well again; and so to bed, and I having put her to bed with great content, I called in my company, and supped in the chamber by her, and being very merry in talk, supped and then parted, and I to bed and lay very well. This day my cozen Thomas dropped his hanger, and it was lost. 15th. Up pretty betimes and rode as far as Godmanehester, Mr. Moore having two falls, once in water and another in dirt, and there 'light and eat and drunk, being all of us very weary, but especially my uncle and wife. Thence to Brampton to my father's, and there found all well, but not sensible how they ought to treat my uncle and his son, at least till the Court be over, which vexed me, but on my counsel they carried it fair to them; and so my father, cozen Thomas, and I up to Hinchingbroke, where I find my Lord and his company gone to Boughton, which vexed me; but there I find my Lady and the young ladies, and there I alone with my Lady two hours, she carrying me through every part of the house and gardens, which are, and will be, mighty noble indeed. Here I saw Mrs. Betty Pickering, who is a very well-bred and comely lady, but very fat. Thence, without so much as drinking, home with my father and cozen, who staid for me, and to a good supper; after I had had an hour's talk with my father abroad in the fields, wherein he begun to talk very highly of my promises to him of giving him the profits of Sturtlow, as if it were nothing that I give him out of my purse, and that he would have me to give this also from myself to my brothers and sister; I mean Brampton and all, I think: I confess I was angry to hear him talk in that manner, and took him up roundly in it, and advised him if he could not live upon L50 per ann., which was another part of his discourse, that he would think to come and live at Tom's again, where L50 per ann. will be a good addition to Tom's trade, and I think that must be done when all is done. But my father spoke nothing more of it all the time I was in the country, though at the time he seemed to like it well enough. I also spoke with Piggott too this evening before I went in to supper, and doubt that I shall meet with some knots in my business to-morrow before I can do it at the Court, but I shall do my best. After supper my uncle and his son to Stankes's to bed, which troubles me, all our father's beds being lent to Hinchingbroke, and so my wife and I to bed, she very weary. 16th. Up betimes, and with my wife to Hinchingbroke to see my Lady, she being to go to my Lord this morning, and there I left her, and so back to the Court, and heard Sir R. Bernard's charges to the Courts Baron and Leete, which took up till noon, and were worth hearing, and after putting my business into some way, went home to my father's to dinner, and after dinner to the Court, where Sir Robert and his son came again by and by, and then to our business, and my father and I having given bond to him for the L21 Piggott owed him, my uncle Thomas did quietly admit himself and surrender to us the lands first mortgaged for our whole debt, and Sir Robert added to it what makes it up L209, to be paid in six months. But when I came to give him an account of more lands to be surrendered to us, wherein Piggott's wife was concerned, and she there to give her consent, Sir Robert would not hear of it, but began to talk very high that we were very cruel, and we had caution enough for our money, and he could not in conscience let the woman do it, and reproached my uncle, both he and his son, with taking use upon use for this money. To all which I did give him such answers and spoke so well, and kept him so to it, that all the Court was silent to hear us, and by report since do confess they did never hear the like in the place. But he by a wile had got our bond, and I was content to have as much as I could though I could not get all, and so took Piggott's surrender of them without his wife, and by Sir Robert's own consent did tell the Court that if the money were not paid in the time, and the security prove not sufficient, I would conclude myself wronged by Sir Robert, which he granted I should do. This kept us till night, but am heartily glad it ended so well on my uncle's part, he doing that and Prior's little house very willingly. So the Court broke up, and my father and Mr. Shepley and I to Gorrum's to drink, and then I left them, and to the Bull, where my uncle was to hear what he and the people said of our business, and here nothing but what liked me very well. So by and by home and to supper, and with my mind in pretty good quiett, to bed. 17th. Up, and my father being gone to bed ill last night and continuing so this morning, I was forced to come to a new consideration, whether it was fit for to let my uncle and his son go to Wisbeach about my uncle Day's estate alone or no, and concluded it unfit; and so resolved to go with them myself, leaving my wife there, I begun a journey with them, and with much ado, through the fens, along dikes, where sometimes we were ready to have our horses sink to the belly, we got by night, with great deal of stir and hard riding, to Parson's Drove, a heathen place, where I found my uncle and aunt Perkins, and their daughters, poor wretches! in a sad, poor thatched cottage, like a poor barn, or stable, peeling of hemp, in which I did give myself good content to see their manner of preparing of hemp; and in a poor condition of habitt took them to our miserable inn, and there, after long stay, and hearing of Frank, their son, the miller, play, upon his treble, as he calls it, with which he earns part of his living, and singing of a country bawdy song, we sat down to supper; the whole crew, and Frank's wife and child, a sad company, of which I was ashamed, supped with us. And after supper I, talking with my aunt about her report concerning my uncle Day's will and surrender, I found her in such different reports from what she writes and says to the people, and short of what I expected, that I fear little will be done of good in it. By and by newes is brought to us that one of our horses is stole out of the stable, which proves my uncle's, at which I am inwardly glad--I mean, that it was not mine; and at this we were at a great loss; and they doubting a person that lay at next door, a Londoner, some lawyer's clerk, we caused him to be secured in his bed, and other care to be taken to seize the horse; and so about twelve at night or more, to bed in a sad, cold, nasty chamber, only the mayde was indifferent handsome, and so I had a kiss or two of her, and I to bed, and a little after I was asleep they waked me to tell me that the horse was found, which was good newes, and so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly, and nobody else of our company, which I wonder at, by the gnatts. 18th. Up, and got our people together as soon as we could; and after eating a dish of cold cream, which was my supper last night too, we took leave of our beggarly company, though they seem good people, too; and over most sad Fenns, all the way observing the sad life which the people of the place which if they be born there, they do call the Breedlings' of the place, do live, sometimes rowing from one spot to another, and then wadeing, to Wisbeach, a pretty town, and a fine church and library, where sundry very old abbey manuscripts; and a fine house, built on the church ground by Secretary Thurlow, and a fine gallery built for him in the church, but now all in the Bishop of Ely's hands. After visiting the church, &c., we went out of the towne, by the help of a stranger, to find out one Blinkhorne, a miller, of whom we might inquire something of old Day's disposal of his estate, and in whose hands it now is; and by great chance we met him, and brought him to our inn to dinner; and instead of being informed in his estate by this fellow, we find that he is the next heir to the estate, which was matter, of great sport to my cozen Thomas and me, to see such a fellow prevent us in our hopes, he being Day's brother's, daughter's son, whereas we are but his sister's sons and grandsons; so that, after all, we were fain to propose our matter to him, and to get him to give us leave to look after the business, and so he to have one-third part, and we two to have the other two-third parts, of what should be recovered of the estate, which he consented to; and after some discourse and paying the reckoning, we mounted again, and rode, being very merry at our defeat, to Chatteris, my uncle very weary, and after supper, and my telling of three stories, to their good liking, of spirits, we all three in a chamber went to bed. 19th. Up pretty betimes, and after eating something, we set out and I (being willing thereto) went by a mistake with them to St. Ives, and there, it being known that it was their nearer way to London, I took leave of them there, they going straight to London and I to Brampton, where I find my father ill in bed still, and Madam Norbery (whom and her fair daughter and sister I was ashamed to kiss, but did, my lip being sore with riding in the wind and bit with the gnatts), lately come to town, come to see my father and mother, and they after a little stay being gone, I told my father my success. And after dinner my wife and I took horse, and rode with marvellous, and the first and only hour of, pleasure, that ever I had in this estate since I had to do with it, to Brampton woods; and through the wood rode, and gathered nuts in my way, and then at Graffam to an old woman's house to drink, where my wife used to go; and being in all circumstances highly pleased, and in my wife's riding and good company at this time, I rode, and she showed me the river behind my father's house, which is very pleasant, and so saw her home, and I straight to Huntingdon, and there met Mr. Shepley and to the Crown (having sent home my horse by Stankes), and there a barber came and trimmed me, and thence walked to Hinchingbroke, where my Lord and ladies all are just alighted. And so I in among them, and my Lord glad to see me, and the whole company. Here I staid and supped with them, and after a good stay talking, but yet observing my Lord not to be so mightily ingulphed in his pleasure in the country as I expected and hoped, I took leave of them, and after a walk in the courtyard in the dark with Mr. Howe, who tells me that my Lord do not enjoy himself and please himself as he used to do, but will hasten up to London, and that he is resolved to go to Chelsey again, which we are heartily grieved for and studious how to prevent if it be possible, I took horse, there being one appointed for me, and a groom to attend me, and so home, where my wife: staid up and sister for me, and so to bed, troubled for what I hear of my Lord. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and finding my father somewhat better, walked to Huntingdon church, where in my Lord's pew, with the young ladies, by my Lord's own showing me the place, I stayed the sermon, and so to Hinchingbroke, walking with Mr. Shepley and Dr. King, whom they account a witty man here, as well as a good physician, and there my Lord took me with the rest of the company, and singly demanded my opinion in the walks in his garden, about the bringing of the crooked wall on the mount to a shape; and so to dinner, there being Collonel Williams and much other company, and a noble dinner. But having before got my Lord's warrant for travelling to-day, there being a proclamation read yesterday against it at Huntingdon, at which I am very glad, I took leave, leaving them at dinner, and walked alone to my father's, and there, after a word or two to my father and mother, my wife and I mounted, and, with my father's boy, upon a horse I borrowed of Captain Ferrers, we rode to Bigglesworth by the help of a couple of countrymen, that led us through the very long and dangerous waters, because of the ditches on each side, though it begun to be very dark, and there we had a good breast of mutton roasted for us, and supped, and to bed. 21st. Up very betimes by break of day, and got my wife up, whom the thought of this day's long journey do discourage; and after eating something, and changing of a piece of gold to pay the reckoning, we mounted, and through Baldwicke, where a fayre is kept to-day, and a great one for cheese and other such commodities, and so to Hatfield, it being most curious weather from the time we set out to our getting home, and here we dined, and my wife being very weary, and believing that it would be hard to get her home to-night, and a great charge to keep her longer abroad, I took the opportunity of an empty coach that was to go to London, and left her to come in it to London, for half-a-crown, and so I and the boy home as fast as we could drive, and it was even night before we got home. So that I account it very good fortune that we took this course, being myself very weary, much more would my wife have been. At home found all very well and my house in good order. To see Sir W. Pen, who is pretty well, and Sir J. Minnes, who is a little lame on one foot, and the rest gone to Chatham, viz.: Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, who has in my absence inveighed against my contract the other day for Warren's masts, in which he is a knave, and I shall find matter of tryumph, but it vexes me a little. So home, and by and by comes my wife by coach well home, and having got a good fowl ready for supper against her coming, we eat heartily, and so with great content and ease to our own bed, there nothing appearing so to our content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile. 22nd. I up, well refreshed after my journey, and to my office and there set some things in order, and then Sir W. Pen and I met and held an office, and at noon to dinner, and so by water with my wife to Westminster, she to see her father and mother, and we met again at my Lord's lodgings, and thence by water home again, where at the door we met Sir W. Pen and his daughter coming to visit us, and after their visit I to my office, and after some discourse to my great satisfaction with Sir W. Warren about our bargain of masts, I wrote my letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. This day my wife showed me bills printed, wherein her father, with Sir John Collidon and Sir Edward Ford, have got a patent for curing of smoky chimneys. [The Patent numbered 138 is printed in the appendix to Wheatley's "Samuel Pepys and the World he lived in" (p. 241). It is drawn in favour of John Colladon, Doctor in Physicke, and of Alexander Marchant, of St. Michall, and describes "a way to prevent and cure the smoakeing of Chimneys, either by stopping the tunnell towards the top, and altering the former course of the smoake, or by setting tunnells with checke within the chimneyes." Sir Edward Ford's name does not appear in the patent.] I wish they may do good thereof, but fear it will prove but a poor project. This day the King and Queen are to come to Oxford. I hear my Lady Castlemaine is for certain gone to Oxford to meet him, having lain within here at home this week or two, supposed to have miscarried; but for certain is as great in favour as heretofore; [According to Collins, Henry Fitzroy, Lady Castlemaine's second son by Charles II., was born on September 20th, 1663. He was the first Duke of Grafton.--B.] at least Mrs. Sarah at my Lord's, who hears all from their own family, do say so. Every day brings newes of the Turke's advance into Germany, to the awakeing of all the Christian Princes thereabouts, and possessing himself of Hungary. My present care is fitting my wife's closett and my house, and making her a velvet coate, and me a new black cloth suit, and coate and cloake, and evening my reckoning as well as I can against Michaelmas Day, hoping for all that to have my balance as great or greater than ever I had yet. 23rd. Up betimes and to my office, where setting down my journall while I was in the country to this day, and at noon by water to my Lord Crew's, and there dined with him and Sir Thomas, thinking to have them inquire something about my Lord's lodgings at Chelsey, or any thing of that sort, but they did not, nor seem to take the least notice of it, which is their discretion, though it might be better for my Lord and them too if they did, that so we might advise together for the best, which cannot be while we seem ignorant one to another, and it is not fit for me to begin the discourse. Thence walked to several places about business and to Westminster Hall, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, which is my great vanity upon me at present, but I must correct it. She was not in the way. So by water home and to my office, whither by and by came my brother John, who is to go to Cambridge to-morrow, and I did give him a most severe reprimand for his bad account he gives me of his studies. This I did with great passion and sharp words, which I was sorry to be forced to say, but that I think it for his good, forswearing doing anything for him, and that which I have yet, and now do give him, is against my heart, and will also be hereafter, till I do see him give me a better account of his studies. I was sorry to see him give me no answer, but, for aught I see, to hear me without great resentment, and such as I should have had: in his condition. But I have done my duty, let him do his, for I am resolved to be as good as my word. After two hours walking in the garden, till after it was dark, I ended with him and to my office, and there set some papers in order, and so to supper, and my poor wife, who is mighty busy at home; fitting her closet. So to bed. 24th. Up betimes, and after taking leave of my brother, John, who went from me to my father's this day, I went forth by water to Sir Philip Warwick's, where I was with him a pretty while; and in discourse he tells me, and made it; appear to me, that the King cannot be in debt to the Navy at this time L5,000; and it is my opinion that Sir G. Carteret do owe the King money, and yet the whole Navy debt paid. Thence I parted, being doubtful of myself that I have not, spoke with the gravity and weight that I ought to do in so great a business. But I rather hope it is my doubtfulness of myself, and the haste which he was in, some very great personages waiting for him without, while he was with me, that made him willing to be gone. To the office by water, where we sat doing little, now Mr. Coventry is not here, but only vex myself to see what a sort of coxcombs we are when he is not here to undertake such a business as we do. In the afternoon telling my wife that I go to Deptford, I went, by water to Westminster Hall, and there finding Mrs. Lane, took her over to Lambeth, where we were lately, and there, did what I would with her, but only the main thing, which she; would not consent to, for which God be praised..... But, trust in the Lord, I shall never do so again while I live. After being tired with her company I landed her at White; Hall, and so home and at my office writing letters till 12 at night almost, and then home to supper and bed, and there found my poor wife hard at work, which grieved my heart to see that I should abuse so good a wretch, and that is just with God to make her bad with me for my wrongin of her, but I do resolve never to do the like again. So to bed. 25th. Lay pretty long in bed, and so to my office all the morning till by and by called out by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, with them by water to Deptford, where it of a sudden did lighten, thunder, and rain so as we could do nothing but stay in Davis's house, and by and by Sir J. Minnes and I home again by water, and I home to dinner, and after dinner to the office, and there till night all alone, even of my clerks being there, doing of business, and so home and to bed. 26th. Up and to my office, and there we sat till noon, and then I to the Exchange, but did little there, but meeting Mr. Rawlinson he would needs have me home to dinner, and Mr. Deane of Woolwich being with me I took him with me, and there we dined very well at his own dinner, only no invitation, but here I sat with little pleasure, considering my wife at home alone, and so I made what haste home I could, and was forced to sit down again at dinner with her, being unwilling to neglect her by being known to dine abroad. My doing so being only to keep Deane from dining at home with me, being doubtful what I have to eat. So to the office, and there till late at night, and so home to supper and bed, being mightily pleased to find my wife so mindful of her house. 27th (Lord's day). Lay chatting with my wife a good while, then up and got me ready and to church, without my man William, whom I have not seen to-day, nor care, but would be glad to have him put himself far enough out of my favour that he may not wonder to have me put him away. So home to dinner, being a little troubled to see Pembleton out again, but I do not discern in my wife the least memory of him. Dined, and so to my office a little, and then to church again, where a drowsy sermon, and so home to spend the evening with my poor wife, consulting about her closett, clothes, and other things. At night to supper, though with little comfort, I finding myself both head and breast in great pain, and what troubles me most my right ear is almost deaf. It is a cold, which God Almighty in justice did give me while I sat lewdly sporting with Mrs. Lane the other day with the broken window in my neck. I went to bed with a posset, being very melancholy in consideration of the loss of my hearing. 28th. Up, though with pain in my head, stomach, and ear, and that deaf so as in my way by coach to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes I called at Mr. Holliard's, who did give me some pills, and tells me I shall have my hearing again and be well. So to White Hall, where Sir J. Minnes and I did spend an hour in the Gallery, looking upon the pictures, in which he hath some judgment. And by and by the Commissioners for Tangier met: and there my Lord Teviott, together with Captain Cuttance, Captain Evans, and Jonas Moore, sent to that purpose, did bring us a brave draught of the Mole to be built there; and report that it is likely to be the most considerable place the King of England hath in the world; and so I am apt to think it will. After discourse of this, and of supplying the garrison with some more horse, we rose; and Sir J. Minnes and I home again, finding the street about our house full, Sir R. Ford beginning his shrievalty to-day and, what with his and our houses being new painted, the street begins to look a great deal better than it did, and more gracefull. Home and eat one bit of meat, and then by water with him and Sir W. Batten to a sale of old provisions at Deptford, which we did at Captain Boddily's house, to the value of L600 or L700, but I am not satisfied with the method used in this thing. Then home again by water, and after a little at my office, and visit Sir W. Pen, who is not very well again, with his late pain, home to supper, being hungry, and my ear and cold not so bad I think as it was. So to bed, taking one of my pills. Newes that the King comes to town for certain on Thursday next from his progresse. 29th. Took two pills more in the morning and they worked all day, and I kept the house. About noon dined, and then to carry several heavy things with my wife up and down stairs, in order to our going to lie above, and Will to come down to the Wardrobe, and that put me into a violent sweat, so I had a fire made, and then, being dry again, she and I to put up some paper pictures in the red chamber, where we go to lie very pretty, and the map of Paris. Then in the evening, towards night, it fell to thunder, lighten, and rain so violently that my house was all afloat, and I in all the rain up to the gutters, and there dabbled in the rain and wet half an hour, enough to have killed a man. That done downstairs to dry myself again, and by and by come Mr. Sympson to set up my wife's chimney-piece in her closett, which pleases me, and so that being done, I to supper and to bed, shifting myself from top to toe, and doubtful of my doing myself hurt. 30th. Rose very well, and my hearing pretty well again, and so to my office, by and by Mr. Holliard come, and at my house he searched my ear, and I hope all will be well, though I do not yet hear so well as I used to do with my right ear. So to my office till noon, and then home to dinner, and in the afternoon by water to White Hall, to the Tangier Committee; where my Lord Tiviott about his accounts; which grieves me to see that his accounts being to be examined by us, there are none of the great men at the Board that in compliment will except against any thing in his accounts, and so none of the little persons dare do it: so the King is abused. Thence home again by water with Sir W. Rider, and so to my office, and there I sat late making up my month's accounts, and, blessed be God, do find myself L760 creditor, notwithstanding that for clothes for myself and wife, and layings out on her closett, I have spent this month L47. So home, where I found our new cooke-mayde Elizabeth, whom my wife never saw at all, nor I but once at a distance before, but recommended well by Mr. Creed, and I hope will prove well. So to supper, prayers, and bed. This evening Mr. Coventry is come to St. James's, but I did not go see him, and tomorrow the King, Queen, Duke and his Lady, and the whole Court comes to towne from their progresse. Myself and family well, only my father sicke in the country. All the common talke for newes is the Turke's advance in Hungary, &c. OCTOBER 1663 October 1st. Up and betimes to my office, and then to sit, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Coventry and myself, a fuller board than by the King's progresse and the late pays and my absence has been a great while. Sat late, and then home to dinner. After dinner I by water to Deptford about a little business, and so back again, buying a couple of good eeles by the way, and after writing by the post, home to see the painter at work, late, in my wife's closet, and so to supper and to bed, having been very merry with the painter, late, while he was doing his work. This day the King and Court returned from their progress. 2nd. Up betimes and by water to St. James's, and there visited Mr. Coventry as a compliment after his new coming to town, but had no great talk with him, he being full of business. So back by foot through London, doing several errands, and at the 'Change met with Mr. Cutler, and he and I to a coffee-house, and there discoursed, and he do assure me that there is great likelyhood of a war with Holland, but I hope we shall be in good condition before it comes to break out. I like his company, and will make much of his acquaintance. So home to dinner with my wife, who is over head and eares in getting her house up, and so to the office, and with Mr. Lewes, late, upon some of the old victuallers' accounts, and so home to supper and to bed, up to our red chamber, where we purpose always to lie. This day I received a letter from Mr. Barlow, with a Terella, [Professor Silvanus P. Thompson, F.R.S., has kindly supplied me with the following interesting note on the terrella (or terella): The name given by Dr. William Gilbert, author of the famous treatise, "De Magnete" (Lond. 1600), to a spherical loadstone, on account of its acting as a model, magnetically, of the earth; compass-needles pointing to its poles, as mariners' compasses do to the poles of the earth. The term was adopted by other writers who followed Gilbert, as the following passage from Wm. Barlowe's "Magneticall Advertisements" (Lond. 1616) shows: "Wherefore the round Loadstone is significantly termed by Doct. Gilbert Terrella, that is, a little, or rather a very little Earth: For it representeth in an exceeding small model (as it were) the admirable properties magneticall of the huge Globe of the earth" (op. cit, p. 55). Gilbert set great store by his invention of the terrella, since it led him to propound the true theory of the mariners' compass. In his portrait of himself which he had painted for the University of Oxford he was represented as holding in his hand a globe inscribed terella. In the Galileo Museum in Florence there is a terrella twenty-seven inches in diameter, of loadstone from Elba, constructed for Cosmo de' Medici. A smaller one contrived by Sir Christopher Wren was long preserved in the museum of the Royal Society (Grew's "Rarities belonging to the Royal Society," p. 364). Evelyn was shown "a pretty terrella described with all ye circles and skewing all y magnetic deviations" (Diary, July 3rd, 1655).] which I had hoped he had sent me, but to my trouble I find it is to present from him to my Lord Sandwich, but I will make a little use of it first, and then give it him. 3rd. Up, being well pleased with my new lodging and the convenience of having our mayds and none else about us, Will lying below. So to the office, and there we sat full of business all the morning. At noon I home to dinner, and then abroad to buy a bell to hang by our chamber door to call the mayds. Then to the office, and met Mr. Blackburne, who came to know the reason of his kinsman (my Will) his being observed by his friends of late to droop much. I told him my great displeasure against him and the reasons of it, to his great trouble yet satisfaction, for my care over him, and how every thing I said was for the good of the fellow, and he will take time to examine the fellow about all, and to desire my pleasure concerning him, which I told him was either that he should became a better servant or that we would not have him under my roof to be a trouble. He tells me in a few days he will come to me again and we shall agree what to do therein. I home and told my wife all, and am troubled to see that my servants and others should be the greatest trouble I have in the world, more than for myself. We then to set up our bell with a smith very well, and then I late at the office. So home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up and to church, my house being miserably overflooded with rayne last night, which makes me almost mad. At home to dinner with my wife, and so to talk, and to church again, and so home, and all the evening most pleasantly passed the time in good discourse of our fortune and family till supper, and so to bed, in some pain below, through cold got. 5th. Up with pain, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to the Temple, and then I to my brother's, and up and down on business, and so to the New Exchange, and there met Creed, and he and I walked two or three hours, talking of many businesses, especially about Tangier, and my Lord Tiviot's bringing in of high accounts, and yet if they were higher are like to pass without exception, and then of my Lord Sandwich sending a messenger to know whether the King intends to come to Newmarket, as is talked, that he may be ready to entertain him at Hinchingbroke. Thence home and dined, and my wife all day putting up her hangings in her closett, which she do very prettily herself with her own hand, to my great content. So I to the office till night, about several businesses, and then went and sat an hour or two with Sir W. Pen, talking very largely of Sir J. Minnes's simplicity and unsteadiness, and of Sir W. Batten's suspicious dealings, wherein I was open, and he sufficiently, so that I do not care for his telling of tales, for he said as much, but whether that were so or no I said nothing but what is my certain knowledge and belief concerning him. Thence home to bed in great pain. 6th. Slept pretty well, and my wife waked to ring the bell to call up our mayds to the washing about 4 o'clock, and I was and she angry that our bell did not wake them sooner, but I will get a bigger bell. So we to sleep again till 8 o'clock, and then I up in some ease to the office, where we had a full board, where we examined Cocke's second account, when Mr. Turner had drawn a bill directly to be paid the balance thereof, as Mr. Cocke demanded, and Sir J. Minnes did boldly assert the truth of it, and that he had examined it, when there is no such thing, but many vouchers, upon examination, missing, and we saw reason to strike off several of his demands, and to bring down his 5 per cent. commission to 3 per cent. So we shall save the King some money, which both the Comptroller and his clerke had absolutely given away. There was also two occasions more of difference at the table; the one being to make out a bill to Captain Smith for his salary abroad as commander-in-chief in the Streights. Sir J. Minnes did demand an increase of salary for his being Vice-Admiral in the Downes, he having received but 40s. without an increase, when Sir J. Lawson, in the same voyage, had L3, and others have also had increase, only he, because he was an officer of the board, was worse used than any body else, and particularly told Sir W. Batten that he was the opposer formerly of his having an increase, which I did wonder to hear him so boldly lay it to him. So we hushed up the dispute, and offered, if he would, to examine precedents, and report them, if there was any thing to his advantage to be found, to the Duke. The next was, Mr. Chr. Pett and Deane were summoned to give an account of some knees ["Naturally grown timber or bars of iron bent to a right angle or to fit the surfaces and to secure bodies firmly together as hanging knees secure the deck beams to the sides."--Smyth's Sailor's Word- Book. There are several kinds of knees.] which Pett reported bad, that were to be served in by Sir W. Warren, we having contracted that none should be served but such as were to be approved of by our officers. So that if they were bad they were to be blamed for receiving them. Thence we fell to talk of Warren's other goods, which Pett had said were generally bad, and falling to this contract again, I did say it was the most cautious and as good a contract as had been made here, and the only [one] that had been in such terms. Sir J. Minnes told me angrily that Winter's timber, bought for 33s. per load, was as good and in the same terms. I told him that it was not so, but that he and Sir W. Batten were both abused, and I would prove it was as dear a bargain as had been made this half year, which occasioned high words between them and me, but I am able to prove it and will. That also was so ended, and so to other business. At noon Lewellin coming to me I took him and Deane, and there met my uncle Thomas, and we dined together, but was vexed that, it being washing-day, we had no meat dressed, but sent to the Cook's, and my people had so little witt to send in our meat from abroad in that Cook's dishes, which were marked with the name of the Cook upon them, by which, if they observed anything, they might know it was not my own dinner. After dinner we broke up, and I by coach, setting down Luellin in Cheapside. So to White Hall, where at the Committee of Tangier, but, Lord! how I was troubled to see my Lord Tiviott's accounts of L10,000 paid in that manner, and wish 1000 times I had not been there. Thence rose with Sir G. Carteret and to his lodgings, and there discoursed of our frays at the table to-day, and particularly of that of the contract, and the contract of masts the other day, declaring my fair dealing, and so needing not any man's good report of it, or word for it, and that I would make it so appear to him, if he desired it, which he did, and I will do it. Thence home by water in great pain, and at my office a while, and thence a little to Sir W. Pen, and so home to bed, and finding myself beginning to be troubled with wind as I used to be, and in pain in making water, I took a couple of pills that I had by me of Mr. Hollyard's. 7th. They wrought in the morning, and I did keep my bed, and my pain continued on me mightily that I kept within all day in great pain, and could break no wind nor have any stool after my physic had done working. So in the evening I took coach and to Mr. Holliard's, but he was not at home, and so home again, and whether the coach did me good or no I know not.... So to bed and lay in good ease all night, and.... pretty well to the morning..... [Pepys's prescription for the colic: "Balsom of Sulphur, 3 or 4 drops in a spoonfull of Syrrup of Colts foote, not eating or drinking two hours before or after. "The making of this Balsom: "2/3ds of fine Oyle, and 1/3d of fine Brimstone, sett 13 or 14 houres upon yt fire, simpring till a thicke Stufte lyes at ye Bottome, and ye Balsom at ye topp. Take this off &c. "Sir Rob. Parkhurst for ye Collique."--M. B.] 8th. So, keeping myself warm, to the office, and at noon home to dinner, my pain coming again by breaking no wind nor having any stool. So to Mr. Holliard, and by his direction, he assuring me that it is nothing of the stone, but only my constitution being costive, and that, and cold from without, breeding and keeping the wind, I took some powder that he did give me in white wine, and sat late up, till past eleven at night, with my wife in my chamber till it had done working, which was so weakly that I could hardly tell whether it did work or no. My mayds being at this time in great dirt towards getting of all my house clean, and weary and having a great deal of work to do therein to-morrow and next day, were gone to bed before my wife and I, who also do lie in our room more like beasts than Christians, but that is only in order to having of the house shortly in a cleaner, or rather very clean condition. Some ease I had so long as this did keep my body loose, and I slept well. 9th. And did keep my bed most of this morning, my body I find being still bound and little wind, and so my pain returned again, though not so bad, but keeping my body with warm clothes very hot I made shift to endure it, and at noon sent word to Mr. Hollyard of my condition, that I could neither have a natural stool nor break wind, and by that means still in pain and frequent offering to make water. So he sent me two bottles of drink and some syrup, one bottle to take now and the other to-morrow morning. So in the evening, after Commissioner Pett, who came to visit me, and was going to Chatham, but methinks do talk to me in quite another manner, doubtfully and shyly, and like a stranger, to what he did heretofore. After I saw he was gone I did drink one of them, but it was a most loathsome draught, and did keep myself warm after it, and had that afternoon still a stool or two, but in no plenty, nor any wind almost carried away, and so to bed. In no great pain, but do not think myself likely to be well till I have a freedom of stool and wind. Most of this day and afternoon my wife and I did spend together in setting things now up and in order in her closet, which indeed is, and will be, when I can get her some more things to put in it, a very pleasant place, and is at present very pretty, and such as she, I hope, will find great content in. So to bed. 10th. Up, and not in any good ease yet, but had pain in making water, and some course. I see I must take besides keeping myself warm to make myself break wind and go freely to stool before I can be well, neither of which I can do yet, though I have drank the other bottle of Mr. Hollyard's against my stomach this morning. I did, however, make shift to go to the office, where we sat, and there Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten did advise me to take some juniper water, and Sir W. Batten sent to his Lady for some for me, strong water made of juniper. Whether that or anything else of my draught this morning did it I cannot tell, but I had a couple of stools forced after it.... but whether I shall grow better upon it I cannot tell. Dined at home at noon, my wife and house in the dirtiest pickle that ever she and it was in almost, but in order, I hope, this night to be very clean. To the office all the afternoon upon victualling business, and late at it, so after I wrote by the post to my father, I home. This evening Mr. Hollyard sends me an electuary to take (a walnut quantity of it) going to bed, which I did. 'Tis true I slept well, and rose in a little ease in the morning. 11th (Lord's day). And was mightily pleased to see my house clean and in good condition, but something coming into my wife's head, and mine, to be done more about bringing the green bed into our chamber, which is handsomer than the red one, though not of the colour of our hangings, my wife forebore to make herself clean to-day, but continued in a sluttish condition till to-morrow. I after the old passe, all the day within doors,.... the effect of my electuary last night, and the greatest of my pain I find to come by my straining.... For all this I eat with a very good stomach, and as much as I use to do, and so I did this noon, and staid at home discoursing and doing things in my chamber, altering chairs in my chamber, and set them above in the red room, they being Turkey work, and so put their green covers upon those that were above, not so handsome. At night fell to reading in the Church History of Fuller's, and particularly Cranmer's letter to Queen Elizabeth, which pleases me mightily for his zeal, obedience, and boldness in a cause of religion. After supper to bed as I use to be, in pain..... 12th. Up (though slept well) and made some water in the morning [as] I used to do, and a little pain returned to me, and some fears, but being forced to go to the Duke at St. James's, I took coach and in my way called upon Mr. Hollyard and had his advice to take a glyster. At St. James's we attended the Duke all of us. And there, after my discourse, Mr. Coventry of his own accord begun to tell the Duke how he found that discourse abroad did run to his prejudice about the fees that he took, and how he sold places and other things; wherein he desired to appeal to his Highness, whether he did any thing more than what his predecessors did, and appealed to us all. So Sir G. Carteret did answer that some fees were heretofore taken, but what he knows not; only that selling of places never was nor ought to be countenanced. So Mr. Coventry very hotly answered to Sir G. Carteret, and appealed to himself whether he was not one of the first that put him upon looking after this taking of fees, and that he told him that Mr. Smith should say that he made L5000 the first year, and he believed he made L7000. This Sir G. Carteret denied, and said, that if he did say so he told a lie, for he could not, nor did know, that ever he did make that profit of his place; but that he believes he might say L2500 the first year. Mr. Coventry instanced in another thing, particularly wherein Sir G. Carteret did advise with him about the selling of the Auditor's place of the stores, when in the beginning there was an intention of creating such an office. This he confessed, but with some lessening of the tale Mr. Coventry told, it being only for a respect to my Lord Fitz-Harding. In fine, Mr. Coventry did put into the Duke's hand a list of above 250 places that he did give without receiving one farthing, so much as his ordinary fees for them, upon his life and oath; and that since the Duke's establishment of fees he had never received one token more of any man; and that in his whole life he never conditioned or discoursed of any consideration from any commanders since he came to the Navy. And afterwards, my Lord Barkeley merrily discoursing that he wished his profit greater than it was, and that he did believe that he had got L50,000 since he came in, Mr. Coventry did openly declare that his Lordship, or any of us, should have not only all he had got, but all that he had in the world (and yet he did not come a beggar into the Navy, nor would yet be thought to speak in any contempt of his Royall Highness's bounty), and should have a year to consider of it too, for L25,000. The Duke's answer was, that he wished we all had made more profit than he had of our places, and that we had all of us got as much as one man below stayres in the Court, which he presently named, and it was Sir George Lane! This being ended, and the list left in the Duke's hand, we parted, and I with Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten by coach to the Exchange, and there a while, and so home, and whether it be the jogging, or by having my mind more employed (which I believe is a great matter) I know not, but.... I begin to be suddenly well, at least better than I was. So home and to dinner, and thence by coach to the Old Exchange, and there cheapened some laces for my wife, and then to Mr.-----the great laceman in Cheapside, and bought one cost me L4. more by 20s. than I intended, but when I came to see them I was resolved to buy one worth wearing with credit, and so to the New Exchange, and there put it to making, and so to my Lord's lodgings and left my wife, and so I to the Committee of Tangier, and then late home with my wife again by coach, beginning to be very well, and yet when I came home.... the little straining which I thought was no strain at all at the present did by and by bring me some pain for a good while. Anon, about 8 o'clock, my wife did give me a clyster which Mr. Hollyard directed, viz., a pint of strong ale, 4 oz. of sugar, and 2 oz. of butter. It lay while I lay upon the bed above an hour, if not two, and then thinking it quite lost I rose, and by and by it began with my walking to work, and gave me three or four most excellent stools and carried away wind, put me in excellent ease, and taking my usual walnut quantity of electuary at my going into bed I had about two stools in the night..... 13th. And so rose in the morning in perfect good ease.... continued all the morning well, and in the afternoon had a natural easily and dry stoole, the first I have had these five days or six, for which God be praised, and so am likely to continue well, observing for the time to come when any of this pain comes again (1) To begin to keep myself as warm as I can. (2) Strain as little as ever I can backwards, remembering that my pain will come by and by, though in the very straining I do not feel it. (3) Either by physic forward or by clyster backward or both ways to get an easy and plentiful going to stool and breaking of wind. (4) To begin to suspect my health immediately when I begin to become costive and bound, and by all means to keep my body loose, and that to obtain presently after I find myself going the contrary. This morning at the office, and at noon with Creed to the Exchange, where much business, but, Lord! how my heart, though I know not reason for it, began to doubt myself, after I saw Stint, Field's one-eyed solicitor, though I know not any thing that they are doing, or that they endeavour any thing further against us in the business till the terme. Home, and Creed with me to dinner, and after dinner John Cole, my old friend, came to see and speak with me about a friend. I find him ingenious, but more and more discern his city pedantry; but however, I will endeavour to have his company now and then, for that he knows much of the temper of the City, and is able to acquaint therein as much as most young men, being of large acquaintance, and himself, I think, somewhat unsatisfied with the present state of things at Court and in the Church. Then to the office, and there busy till late, and so home to my wife, with some ease and pleasure that I hope to be able to follow my business again, which by God's leave I am resolved to return to with more and more eagerness. I find at Court, that either the King is doubtfull of some disturbance, or else would seem so (and I have reason to hope it is no worse), by his commanding all commanders of castles, &c., to repair to their charges; and mustering the Guards the other day himself, where he found reason to dislike their condition to my Lord Gerard, finding so many absent men, or dead pays. [This is probably an allusion to the practice of not reporting the deaths of soldiers, that the officers might continue to draw their pay.--B.] My Lady Castlemaine, I hear, is in as great favour as ever, and the King supped with her the very first night he came from Bath: and last night and the night before supped with her; when there being a chine of beef to roast, and the tide rising into their kitchen that it could not be roasted there, and the cook telling her of it, she answered, "Zounds! she must set the house on fire but it should be roasted!" So it was carried to Mrs. Sarah's husband's, and there it was roasted. So home to supper and to bed, being mightily pleased with all my house and my red chamber, where my wife and I intend constantly to lie, and the having of our dressing room and mayds close by us without any interfering or trouble. 14th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and part of it Sir J. Minnes spent, as he do every thing else, like a fool, reading the Anatomy of the body to me, but so sillily as to the making of me understand any thing that I was weary of him, and so I toward the 'Change and met with Mr. Grant, and he and I to the Coffee-house, where I understand by him that Sir W. Petty and his vessel are coming, and the King intends to go to Portsmouth to meet it. Thence home and after dinner my wife and I, by Mr. Rawlinson's conduct, to the Jewish Synagogue: where the men and boys in their vayles, and the women behind a lattice out of sight; and some things stand up, which I believe is their Law, in a press to which all coming in do bow; and at the putting on their vayles do say something, to which others that hear him do cry Amen, and the party do kiss his vayle. Their service all in a singing way, and in Hebrew. And anon their Laws that they take out of the press are carried by several men, four or five several burthens in all, and they do relieve one another; and whether it is that every one desires to have the carrying of it, I cannot tell, thus they carried it round about the room while such a service is singing. And in the end they had a prayer for the King, which they pronounced his name in Portugall; but the prayer, like the rest, in Hebrew. But, Lord! to see the disorder, laughing, sporting, and no attention, but confusion in all their service, more like brutes than people knowing the true God, would make a man forswear ever seeing them more and indeed I never did see so much, or could have imagined there had been any religion in the whole world so absurdly performed as this. Away thence with my mind strongly disturbed with them, by coach and set down my wife in Westminster Hall, and I to White Hall, and there the Tangier Committee met, but the Duke and the Africa Committee meeting in our room, Sir G. Carteret; Sir W. Compton, Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Rider, Cuttance and myself met in another room, with chairs set in form but no table, and there we had very fine discourses of the business of the fitness to keep Sally, and also of the terms of our King's paying the Portugees that deserted their house at Tangier, which did much please me, and so to fetch my wife, and so to the New Exchange about her things, and called at Thomas Pepys the turner's and bought something there, an so home to supper and to bed, after I had been a good while with Sir W. Pen, railing and speaking freely our minds against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, but no more than the folly of one and the knavery of the other do deserve. 15th. Up, I bless God being now in pretty good condition, but cannot come to make natural stools yet..... So up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined at home, my head full of business, and after stepping abroad to buy a thing or two, compasses and snuffers for my wife, I returned to my office and there mighty busy till it was late, and so home well contented with the business that I had done this afternoon, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up and to my office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon home to dinner, and then up to remove my chest and clothes up stairs to my new wardrobe, that I may have all my things above where I lie, and so by coach abroad with my wife, leaving her at my Lord's till I went to the Tangier Committee, where very good discourse concerning the Articles of peace to be continued with Guyland, and thence took up my wife, and with her to her tailor's, and then to the Exchange and to several places, and so home and to my office, where doing some business, and then home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to my office, and there we sat a very full board all the morning upon some accounts of Mr. Gauden's. Here happened something concerning my Will which Sir W. Batten would fain charge upon him, and I heard him mutter something against him of complaint for his often receiving people's money to Sir G. Carteret, which displeased me much, but I will be even with him. Thence to the Dolphin Tavern, and there Mr. Gauden did give us a great dinner. Here we had some discourse of the Queen's being very sick, if not dead, the Duke and Duchess of York being sent for betimes this morning to come to White Hall to her. So to my office and there late doing business, and so home to supper, my house being got mighty clean to my great content from top to toe, and so to bed, myself beginning to be in good condition of health also, but only my laying out so much money upon clothes for myself and wife and her closet troubles me. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and troubled at a distaste my wife took at a small thing that Jane did, and to see that she should be so vexed that I took part with Jane, wherein I had reason; but by and by well again, and so my wife in her best gown and new poynt that I bought her the other day, to church with me, where she has not been these many weeks, and her mayde Jane with her. I was troubled to see Pembleton there, but I thought it prudence to take notice myself first of it and show my wife him, and so by little and little considering that it mattered not much his being there I grew less concerned and so mattered it not much, and the less when, anon, my wife showed me his wife, a pretty little woman, and well dressed, with a good jewel at her breast. The parson, Mr. Mills, I perceive, did not know whether to pray for the Queen or no, and so said nothing about her; which makes me fear she is dead. But enquiring of Sir J. Minnes, he told me that he heard she was better last night. So home to dinner, and Tom came and dined with me, and so, anon, to church again, and there a simple coxcomb preached worse than the Scot, and no Pembleton nor his wife there, which pleased me not a little, and then home and spent most of the evening at Sir W. Pen's in complaisance, seeing him though he deserves no respect from me. This evening came my uncle Wight to speak with me about my uncle Thomas's business, and Mr. Moore came, 4 or 5 days out of the country and not come to see me before, though I desired by two or three messengers that he would come to me as soon as he came to town. Which do trouble me to think he should so soon forget my kindness to him, which I am afraid he do. After walking a good while in the garden with these, I went up again to Sir W. Pen, and took my wife home, and after supper to prayers, and read very seriously my vowes, which I am fearful of forgetting by my late great expenses, but I hope in God I do not, and so to bed. 19th. Waked with a very high wind, and said to my wife, "I pray God I hear not of the death of any great person, this wind is so high!" fearing that the Queen might be dead. So up; and going by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, they tell me that Sir W. Compton, who it is true had been a little sickly for a week or fortnight, but was very well upon Friday at night last at the Tangier Committee with us, was dead--died yesterday: at which I was most exceedingly surprised, he being, and so all the world saying that he was, one of the worthyest men and best officers of State now in England; and so in my conscience he was: of the best temper, valour, abilities of mind, integrity, birth, fine person, and diligence of any one man he hath left behind him in the three kingdoms; and yet not forty years old, or if so, that is all. [Sir William Compton (1625-1663) was knighted at Oxford, December 12th, 1643. He was called by Cromwell "the sober young man and the godly cavalier." After the Restoration he was M.P. for Cambridge (1661), and appointed Master of the Ordnance. He died in Drury Lane, suddenly, as stated in the text, and was buried at Compton Wynyates, Warwickshire.] I find the sober men of the Court troubled for him; and yet not so as to hinder or lessen their mirth, talking, laughing, and eating, drinking, and doing every thing else, just as if there was no such thing, which is as good an instance for me hereafter to judge of death, both as to the unavoidableness, suddenness, and little effect of it upon the spirits of others, let a man be never so high, or rich, or good; but that all die alike, no more matter being made of the death of one than another, and that even to die well, the praise of it is not considerable in the world, compared to the many in the world that know not nor make anything of it, nor perhaps to them (unless to one that like this poor gentleman, who is one of a thousand, there nobody speaking ill of him) that will speak ill of a man. Coming to St. James's, I hear that the Queen did sleep five hours pretty well to-night, and that she waked and gargled her mouth, and to sleep again; but that her pulse beats fast, beating twenty to the King's or my Lady Suffolk's eleven; but not so strong as it was. It seems she was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her feet, and to have the extreme unction given her by the priests, who were so long about it that the doctors were angry. The King, they all say; is most fondly disconsolate for her, and weeps by her, which makes her weep; ["The queen was given over by her physicians,..., and the good nature of the king was much affected with the situation in which he saw! a princess whom, though he did not love her, yet he greatly esteemed. She loved him tenderly, and thinking that it was the last time she should ever speak to him, she told him 'That the concern he showed for her death was enough to make her quit life with regret; but that not possessing charms sufficient to merit his tenderness, she had at least the consolation in dying to give place to a consort who might be more worthy, of it and to whom heaven, perhaps, might grant a blessing that had been refused to her.' At these words she bathed his hands with some tears which he thought would be her last; he mingled his own with hers, and without supposing she would take him at his word, he conjured her to live for his sake."--Grammont Memoirs, chap. vii.] which one this day told me he reckons a good sign, for that it carries away some rheume from the head. This morning Captain Allen tells me how the famous Ned Mullins, by a slight fall, broke his leg at the ancle, which festered; and he had his leg cut off on Saturday, but so ill done, notwithstanding all the great chyrurgeons about the town at the doing of it, that they fear he will not live with it, which is very strange, besides the torment he was put to with it. After being a little with the Duke, and being invited to dinner to my Lord Barkeley's, and so, not knowing how to spend our time till noon, Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and to the Coffee-house in Cornhill; [This may be the Coffee House in Exchange Alley, which had for a sign, Morat the Great, or The Great Turk, where coffee was sold in berry, in powder, and pounded in a mortar. There is a token of the house, see "Boyne's Tokens," ed. Williamson, vol. i., p. 592.] where much talk about the Turk's proceedings, and that the plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier; and it is also carried to Hambrough. The Duke says the King purposes to forbid any of their ships coming into the river. The Duke also told us of several Christian commanders (French) gone over to the Turks to serve them; and upon inquiry I find that the King of France do by this aspire to the Empire, and so to get the Crown of Spayne also upon the death of the King, which is very probable, it seems. Back to St. James's, and there dined with my Lord Barkeley and his lady, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten, and myself, with two gentlemen more; my Lady, and one of the ladies of honour to the Duchesse (no handsome woman, but a most excellent hand). A fine French dinner, and so we after dinner broke up and to Creed's new lodgings in Axe-yard, which I like very well and so with him to White Hall and walked up and down in the galleries with good discourse, and anon Mr. Coventry and Povy, sad for the loss of one of our number we sat down as a Committee for Tangier and did some business and so broke up, and I down with Mr. Coventry and in his chamber discoursing of business of the office and Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten's carriage, when he most ingeniously tells me how they have carried themselves to him in forbearing to speak the other day to the Duke what they know they have so largely at other times said to him, and I told him what I am put to about the bargain for masts. I perceive he thinks of it all and will remember it. Thence took up my wife at Mrs. Harper's where she and Jane were, and so called at the New Exchange for some things for her, and then at Tom's went up and saw his house now it is finished, and indeed it is very handsome, but he not within and so home and to my office; and then to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat; and at noon Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and I to dinner to my Lord Mayor's, being invited, where was the Farmers of the Customes, my Lord Chancellor's three sons, and other great and much company, and a very great noble dinner, as this Mayor--[Sir John Robinson.]--is good for nothing else. No extraordinary discourse of any thing, every man being intent upon his dinner, and myself willing to have drunk some wine to have warmed my belly, but I did for my oath's sake willingly refrain it, but am so well pleased and satisfied afterwards thereby, for it do keep me always in so good a frame of mind that I hope I shall not ever leave this practice. Thence home, and took my wife by coach to White Hall, and she set down at my Lord's lodgings, I to a Committee of Tangier, and thence with her homeward, calling at several places by the way. Among others at Paul's Churchyard, and while I was in Kirton's shop, a fellow came to offer kindness or force to my wife in the coach, but she refusing, he went away, after the coachman had struck him, and he the coachman. So I being called, went thither, and the fellow coming out again of a shop, I did give him a good cuff or two on the chops, and seeing him not oppose me, I did give him another; at last found him drunk, of which I was glad, and so left him, and home, and so to my office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. This evening, at my Lord's lodgings, Mrs. Sarah talking with my wife and I how the Queen do, and how the King tends her being so ill. She tells us that the Queen's sickness is the spotted fever; that she was as full of the spots as a leopard which is very strange that it should be no more known; but perhaps it is not so. And that the King do seem to take it much to heart, for that he hath wept before her; but, for all that; that he hath not missed one night since she was sick, of supping with my Lady Castlemaine; which I believe is true, for she [Sarah] says that her husband hath dressed the suppers every night; and I confess I saw him myself coming through the street dressing of a great supper to-night, which Sarah says is also for the King and her; which is a very strange thing. 21st. Up, and by and by comes my brother Tom to me, though late (which do vex me to the blood that I could never get him to come time enough to me, though I have spoke a hundred times; but he is very sluggish, and too negligent ever to do well at his trade I doubt), and having lately considered with my wife very much of the inconvenience of my going in no better plight, we did resolve of putting me into a better garb, and, among other things, to have a good velvet cloake; that is, of cloth lined with velvet and other things modish, and a perruque, and so I sent him and her out to buy me velvet, and I to the Exchange, and so to Trinity House, and there dined with Sir W. Batten, having some business to speak with him, and Sir W. Rider. Thence, having my belly full, away on foot to my brother's, all along Thames Streete, and my belly being full of small beer, I did all alone, for health's sake, drink half a pint of Rhenish wine at the Still-yard, mixed with beer. From my brother's with my wife to the Exchange, to buy things for her and myself, I being in a humour of laying out money, but not prodigally, but only in clothes, which I every day see that I suffer for want of, I so home, and after a little at my office, home to supper and to bed. Memorandum: This morning one Mr. Commander, a scrivener, came to me from Mr. Moore with a deed of which. Mr. Moore had told me, that my Lord had made use of my name, and that I was desired by my Lord to sign it. Remembering this very well, though understanding little of the particulars, I read it over, and found it concern Sir Robt. Bernard and Duckinford, their interest in the manor of Brampton. So I did sign it, declaring to Mr. Commander that I am only concerned in having my name at my Lord Sandwich's desire used therein, and so I sealed it up after I had signed and sealed the deed, and desired him to give it so sealed to Mr. Moore. I did also call at the Wardrobe this afternoon to have told Mr. Moore of it, but he was not within, but knowing Mr. Commander to have the esteem of a good and honest man with my Lord Crew, I did not doubt to intrust him with the deed after I had signed it. This evening after I came home I begun to enter my wife in arithmetique, in order to her studying of the globes, and she takes it very well, and, I hope, with great pleasure, I shall bring her to understand many fine things. 22nd. Up to the office, where we sat till noon and then I home to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to her study and there read some more arithmetique, which she takes with great ease and pleasure. This morning, hearing that the Queen grows worse again, I sent to stop the making of my velvet cloake, till I see whether she lives or dies. So a little abroad about several businesses, and then home and to my office till night, and then home to supper, teach my wife, and so to bed. 23rd. Up, and this morning comes Mr. Clerke, and tells me that the Injunction against Trice is dismissed again, which troubles me much. So I am to look after it in the afternoon. There comes also by appointment my uncle Thomas, to receive the first payment of his daughter's money. But showing of me the original of the deed by which his daughter gives her right to her legacy to him, and the copy of it attested by the Scrivener, for me to keep by me, I did find some difference, and thereupon did look more into it, and at last did find the whole thing a forgery; yet he maintained it again and again, upon oath, that it had been signed and sealed by my cozen Mary ever since before her marriage. So I told him to his teeth he did like a knave, and so he did, and went with him to the Scrivener at Bedlam, and there found how it came to pass, viz., that he had lost, or pretends to have lost, the true original, and that so he was forced to take this course; but a knave, at least a man that values not what he swears to, I perceive he is. But however I am now better able to see myself fully secured before I part with the money, for I find that his son Charles has right to this legacy till the first L100 of his daughter's portion be paid, he being bond for it. So I put him upon getting both his sons to be bound for my security, and so left him and so home, and then abroad to my brother's, but found him abroad at the young couple that was married yesterday, and he one of the Br[ide's] men, a kinswoman (Brumfield) of the Joyces married to an upholster. Thence walked to the King's Head at Charing Cross and there dined, and hear that the Queen slept pretty well last night, but her fever continues upon her still. It seems she hath never a Portuguese doctor here. Thence by appointment to the Six Clerks' office to meet Mr. Clerke, which I did and there waited all the afternoon for Wilkinson my attorney, but he came not, and so vexed and weary we parted, and I endeavoured but in vain to have found Dr. Williams, of whom I shall have use in Trice's business, but I could not find him. So weary walked home; in my way bought a large kitchen knife and half dozen oyster knives. Thence to Mr. Holliard, who tells me that Mullins is dead of his leg cut off the other day, but most basely done. He tells me that there is no doubt but that all my slyme do come away in my water, and therefore no fear of the stone; but that my water being so slymy is a good sign. He would have me now and then to take a clyster, the same I did the other day, though I feel no pain, only to keep me loose, and instead of butter, which he would have to be salt butter, he would have me sometimes use two or three ounces of honey, at other times two or three ounces of Linseed oil. Thence to Mr. Rawlinson's and saw some of my new bottles made, with my crest upon them, filled with wine, about five or six dozen. So home and to my office a little, and thence home to prepare myself against T. Trice, and also to draw a bond fit for my uncle and his sons to enter into before I pay them the money. That done to bed. 24th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning about Mr. Gauden's account, and at noon to dinner with him at the Dolphin, where mighty merry by pleasant stories of Mr. Coventry's and Sir J. Minnes's, which I have put down some of in my book of tales. Just as I was going out my uncle Thomas came to the with a draught of a bond for him and his sons to sign to me about the payment of the L20 legacy, which I agreed to, but he would fain have had from me the copy of the deed, which he had forged and did bring me yesterday, but I would not give him it. Says [he] I perceive then you will keep it to defame me with, and desired me not to speak of it, for he did it innocently. Now I confess I do not find any great hurt in the thing, but only to keep from me a sight of the true original deed, wherein perhaps there was something else that may touch this business of the legacy which he would keep from me, or it may be, it is really lost as he says it is. But then he need not have used such a slight, but confess it without danger. Thence by coach with Mr. Coventry to the Temple, and thence I to the Six Clerks' office, and discoursed with my Attorney and Solicitor, and he and I to Mr. Turner, who puts me in great fear that I shall not get retayned again against Tom Trice; which troubles me. Thence, it being night, homewards, and called at Wotton's and tried some shoes, but he had none to fit me. He tells me that by the Duke of York's persuasion Harris is come again to Sir W. Davenant upon his terms that he demanded, which will make him very high and proud. Thence to another shop, and there bought me a pair of shoes, and so walked home and to my office, and dispatch letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed, where to my trouble I find my wife begin to talk of her being alone all day, which is nothing but her lack of something to do, for while she was busy she never, or seldom, complained..... The Queen is in a good way of recovery; and Sir Francis Pridgeon hath got great honour by it, it being all imputed to his cordiall, which in her dispaire did give her rest and brought her to some hopes of recovery. It seems that, after the much talk of troubles and a plot, something is found in the North that a party was to rise, and some persons that were to command it are found, as I find in a letter that Mr. Coventry read to-day about it from those parts. [This refers to a rising in the West Riding of Yorkshire, which took place on October 12th, and was known as the Farneley Wood Plot. The rising was easily put down, and several prisoners were taken. A special commission of oyer and terminer was sent down to York to try the prisoners in January, 1663-64, when twenty-one were convicted and executed. (See Whitaker's "Loidis and Elmete," 1816.)] 25th (Lord's day). Up, and my wife and I to church, where it is strange to see how the use and seeing Pembleton come with his wife thither to church, I begin now to make too great matter of it, which before was so terrible to me. Dined at home, my wife and I alone, a good dinner, and so in the afternoon to church again, where the Scot preached, and I slept most of the afternoon. So home, and my wife and I together all the evening discoursing, and then after reading my vowes to myself, and my wife with her mayds (who are mighty busy to get it dispatched because of their mistress's promise, that when it is done they shall have leave all to go see their friends at Westminster, whither my wife will carry them) preparing for their washing to-morrow, we hastened to supper and to bed. 26th. Waked about one o'clock in the morning.... My wife being waked rung her bell, and the mayds rose and went to washing, we to sleep again till 7 o'clock, and then up, and I abroad to look out Dr. Williams, but being gone out I went to Westminster, and there seeing my Lord Sandwich's footman knew he was come to town, and so I went in and saw him, and received a kind salute from him, but hear that my father is very ill still. Thence to Westminster Hall with Creed, and spent the morning walking there, where, it being Terme time, I met several persons, and talked with them, among others Dr. Pierce, who tells me that the Queen is in a way to be pretty well again, but that her delirium in her head continues still; that she talks idle, not by fits, but always, which in some lasts a week after so high a fever, in some more, and in some for ever; that this morning she talked mightily that she was brought to bed, and that she wondered that she should be delivered without pain and without spueing or being sicke, and that she was troubled that her boy was but an ugly boy. But the King being by, said, "No, it is a very pretty boy."--"Nay," says she, "if it be like you it is a fine boy indeed, and I would be very well pleased with it." The other day she talked mightily of Sir H. Wood's lady's great belly, and said if she should miscarry he would never get another, and that she never saw such a man as this Sir H. Wood in her life, and seeing of Dr. Pridgeon, she said, "Nay, Doctor, you need not scratch your head, there is hair little enough already in the place." But methinks it was not handsome for the weaknesses of Princes to be talked of thus. Thence Creed and I to the King's Head ordinary, where much and very good company, among others one very talking man, but a scholler, that would needs put in his discourse and philosophy upon every occasion, and though he did well enough, yet his readiness to speak spoilt all. Here they say that the Turkes go on apace, and that my Lord Castlehaven is going to raise 10,000 men here for to go against him; that the King of France do offer to assist the Empire upon condition that he may be their Generalissimo, and the Dolphin chosen King of the Romans: and it is said that the King of France do occasion this difference among the Christian Princes of the Empire, which gives the Turke such advantages. They say also that the King of Spayne is making all imaginable force against Portugall again. Thence Creed and I to one or two periwigg shops about the Temple, having been very much displeased with one that we saw, a head of greasy and old woman's haire, at Jervas's in the morning; and there I think I shall fit myself of one very handsomely made. Thence by coach, my mind being troubled for not meeting with Dr. Williams, to St. Catharine's to look at a Dutch ship or two for some good handsome maps, but met none, and so back to Cornhill to Moxon's, but it being dark we staid not to see any, then to coach again, and presently spying Sir W. Batten; I 'light and took him in and to the Globe in Fleete Streete, by appointment, where by and by he and I with our solicitor to Sir F. Turner about Field's business, and back to the Globe, and thither I sent for Dr. Williams, and he is willing to swear in my behalf against T. Trice, viz., that at T. Trice's desire we have met to treat about our business. Thence (I drinking no wine) after an hour's stay Sir W. Batten and another, and he drinking, we home by coach, and so to my office and set down my Journall, and then home to supper and to bed, my washing being in a good condition over. I did give Dr. Williams 20s. tonight, but it was after he had answered me well to what I had to ask him about this business, and it was only what I had long ago in my petty bag book allotted for him besides the bill of near L4 which I paid him a good while since by my brother Tom for physique for my wife, without any consideration to this business that he is to do for me, as God shall save me. Among the rest, talking of the Emperor at table to-day one young gentleman, a pretty man, and it seems a Parliament man, did say that he was a sot; [Leopold I, the Holy Roman Emperor, was born June 9th, 1640. He became King of Hungary in 1655, and King of Bohemia in 1658, in which year he received the imperial crown. The Princes of the German Empire watched for some time the progress of his struggle with the Turks with indifference, but in 1663 they were induced to grant aid to Leopold after he had made a personal appeal to them in the diet at Ratisbon.] for he minded nothing of the Government, but was led by the Jesuites. Several at table took him up, some for saying that he was a sot in being led by the Jesuites, [who] are the best counsel he can take. Another commander, a Scott[ish] Collonell, who I believe had several under him, that he was a man that had thus long kept out the Turke till now, and did many other great things, and lastly Mr. Progers, one of our courtiers, who told him that it was not a thing to be said of any Soveraigne Prince, be his weaknesses what they will, to be called a sot, which methinks was very prettily said. 27th. Up, and my uncle Thomas and his scrivener bringing me a bond and affidavit to my mind, I paid him his L20 for his daughter's legacy, and L5 more for a Quarter's annuity, in the manner expressed in each acquittance, to which I must be referred on any future occasion, and to the bond and affidavit. Thence to the office and there sat till noon, and then home to dinner, and after dinner (it being a foul house to-day among my maids, making up their clothes) abroad with my Will with me by coach to Dr, Williams, and with him to the Six Clerks's office, and there, by advice of his acquaintance, I find that my case, through my neglect and the neglect of my lawyers, is come to be very bad, so as that it will be very hard to get my bill retayned again. However, I got him to sign and swear an affidavit that there was treaties between T. Trice and me with as much advantage as I could for me, but I will say that for him he was most exact as ever I saw man in my life, word by word what it was that he swore to, and though, God forgive me, I could have been almost naturally willing to have let him ignorantly have sworn to something that was not of itself very certain, either or no, yet out of his own conscience and care he altered the words himself so as to make them very safe for him to swear. This I carrying to my clerk Wilkinson, and telling him how I heard matters to stand, he, like a conceited fellow, made nothing of it but advised me to offer Trice's clerks the cost of the dismission, viz., 46s. 8d., which I did, but they would not take it without his client. Immediately thereupon we parted, and met T. Trice coming into the room, and he came to me and served me with a subpoena for these very costs, so I paid it him, but Lord! to see his resolution, and indeed discretion, in the wording of his receipt, he would have it most express to my greatest disadvantage that could be, yet so as I could not deny to give it him. That being paid, my clerke, and then his began to ask why we could not think, being friends, of referring it, or stating it, first ourselves, and then put it to some good lawyer to judge in it. From one word to more we were resolved to try, and to that end to step to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there he and his Clerke and Attorney and I and my Clerke, and sent for Mr. Smallwood, and by and by comes Mr. Clerke, my Solicitor, and after I had privately discoursed with my men and seen how doubtfully they talked, and what future certain charge and trouble it would be, with a doubtful victory, I resolved to condescend very low, and after some talke all together Trice and I retired, and he came to L150 the lowest, and I bid him L80. So broke off and then went to our company, and they putting us to a second private discourse, at last I was contented to give him L100, he to spend 40s. of it among this good company that was with us. So we went to our company, both seeming well pleased that we were come to an end, and indeed I am in the respects above said, though it be a great sum for us to part with. I am to pay him by giving him leave to buy about L40 worth of Piggott's land and to strike off so much of Piggott's debt, and the other to give him bond to pay him in 12 months after without interest, only giving him a power to buy more land of Piggott and paying him that way as he did for the other, which I am well enough contented with, or at least to take the land at that price and give him the money. This last I did not tell him, but I shall order it so. Having agreed upon to-morrow come se'nnight for the spending of the 40s. at Mr. Rawlinson's, we parted, and I set T. Trice down in Paul's Churchyard and I by coach home and to my office, and there set down this day's passages, and so home to supper and to bed. Mr. Coventry tells me to-day that the Queen had a very good night last night; but yet it is strange that still she raves and talks of little more than of her having of children, and fancys now that she hath three children, and that the girle is very like the King. And this morning about five o'clock waked (the physician feeling her pulse, thinking to be better able to judge, she being still and asleep, waked her) and the first word she said was, "How do the children?" 28th. Up and at my office all the morning, and at noon Mr. Creed came to me and dined with me, and after dinner Murford came to me and he and I discoursed wholly upon his breach of contract with us. After that Mr. Creed and I abroad, I doing several errands, and with him at last to the great coffee-house, and there after some common discourse we parted and I home, paying what I owed at the Mitre in my way, and at home Sympson the joyner coming he set up my press for my cloaks and other small things, and so to my office a little, and to supper, and to bed. This morning Mr. Blackburne came to me, and telling me what complaints Will made of the usage he had from my wife and other discouragements, and, I seeing him, instead of advising, rather favouring his kinsman, I told him freely my mind, but friendlily, and so we have concluded to have him have a lodging elsewhere, and that I will spare him L15 of his salary, and if I do not need to keep another L20. 29th. Up, it being my Lord Mayor's day, Sir Anthony Bateman. This morning was brought home my new velvet cloake, that is, lined with velvet, a good cloth the outside, the first that ever I had in my life, and I pray God it may not be too soon now that I begin to wear it. I had it this day brought, thinking to have worn it to dinner, but I thought it would be better to go without it because of the crowde, and so I did not wear it. We met a little at the office, and then home again and got me ready to go forth, my wife being gone forth by my consent before to see her father and mother, and taken her cooke mayde and little girle to Westminster with her for them to see their friends. This morning in dressing myself and wanting a band, [The band succeeded the ruff as the ordinary civil costume. The lawyers, who now retain bands, and the clergy, who have only lately left them off, formerly wore ruffs.] I found all my bands that were newly made clean so ill smoothed that I crumpled them, and flung them all on the ground, and was angry with Jane, which made the poor girle mighty sad, so that I were troubled for it afterwards. At noon I went forth, and by coach to Guild Hall (by the way calling at Mr. Rawlinson's), and there was admitted, and meeting with Mr. Proby (Sir R. Ford's son), and Lieutenant-Colonel Baron, a City commander, we went up and down to see the tables; where under every salt there was a bill of fare, and at the end of the table the persons proper for the table. Many were the tables, but none in the Hall but the Mayor's and the Lords of the Privy Council that had napkins [As the practice of eating with forks gradually was introduced from Italy into England, napkins were not so generally used, but considered more as an ornament than a necessary. "The laudable use of forks, Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy, To the sparing of napkins." Ben Jonson, The Devil is an Ass, act v., sc. 3. The guests probably brought their own knife and fork with them in a case.--M.B.] or knives, which was very strange. We went into the Buttry, and there stayed and talked, and then into the Hall again: and there wine was offered and they drunk, I only drinking some hypocras, which do not break my vowe, it being, to the best of my present judgement, only a mixed compound drink, and not any wine. [A drink, composed usually of red wine, but sometimes of white, with the addition of sugar and spices. Sir Walter Scott ("Quarterly Review," vol. xxxiii.) says, after quoting this passage of Pepys, "Assuredly his pieces of bacchanalian casuistry can only be matched by that of Fielding's chaplain of Newgate, who preferred punch to wine, because the former was a liquor nowhere spoken against in Scripture."] If I am mistaken, God forgive me! but I hope and do think I am not. By and by met with Creed; and we, with the others, went within the several Courts, and there saw the tables prepared for the Ladies and Judges and Bishopps: all great sign of a great dinner to come. By and by about one o'clock, before the Lord Mayor came, come into the Hall, from the room where they were first led into, the Lord Chancellor (Archbishopp before him), with the Lords of the Council, and other Bishopps, and they to dinner. Anon comes the Lord Mayor, who went up to the lords, and then to the other tables to bid wellcome; and so all to dinner. I sat near Proby, Baron, and Creed at the Merchant Strangers' table; where ten good dishes to a messe, with plenty of wine of all sorts, of which I drunk none; but it was very unpleasing that we had no napkins nor change of trenchers, and drunk out of earthen pitchers and wooden dishes.--[The City plate was probably melted during the Civil War.-M.B.]--It happened that after the lords had half dined, came the French Embassador, up to the lords' table, where he was to have sat; but finding the table set, he would not sit down nor dine with the Lord Mayor, who was not yet come, nor have a table to himself, which was offered; but in a discontent went away again. After I had dined, I and Creed rose and went up and down the house, and up to the lady's room, and there stayed gazing upon them. But though there were many and fine, both young and old, yet I could not discern one handsome face there; which was very strange, nor did I find the lady that young Dawes married so pretty as I took her for, I having here an opportunity of looking much upon her very near. I expected musique, but there was none but only trumpets and drums, which displeased me. The dinner, it seems, is made by the Mayor and two Sheriffs for the time being, the Lord Mayor paying one half, and they the other. And the whole, Proby says, is reckoned to come to about 7 or L800 at most. Being wearied with looking upon a company of ugly women, Creed and I went away, and took coach and through Cheapside, and there saw the pageants, which were very silly, and thence to the Temple, where meeting Greatorex, he and we to Hercules Pillars, there to show me the manner of his going about of draining of fenns, which I desired much to know, but it did not appear very satisfactory to me, as he discoursed it, and I doubt he will faile in it. Thence I by coach home, and there found my wife come home, and by and by came my brother Tom, with whom I was very angry for not sending me a bill with my things, so as that I think never to have more work done by him if ever he serves me so again, and so I told him. The consideration of laying out L32 12s. this very month in his very work troubles me also, and one thing more, that is to say, that Will having been at home all the day, I doubt is the occasion that Jane has spoken to her mistress tonight that she sees she cannot please us and will look out to provide herself elsewhere, which do trouble both of us, and we wonder also at her, but yet when the rogue is gone I do not fear but the wench will do well. To the office a little, to set down my Journall, and so home late to supper and to bed. The Queen mends apace, they say; but yet talks idle still. 30th. Lay long in bed with my wife, and then up and a while at my office, and so to the Change, and so [home] again, and there I found my wife in a great passion with her mayds. I upstairs to set some things in order in our chamber and wardrobe, and so to dinner upon a good dish of stewed beef, then up again about my business. Then by coach with my wife to the New Exchange, and there bought and paid for several things, and then back, calling at my periwigg-makers, and there showed my wife the periwigg made for me, and she likes it very well, and so to my brother's, and to buy a pair of boddice for her, and so home, and to my office late, and then home to my wife, purposing to go on to a new lesson in arithmetique with her. So to supper and to bed. The Queen mends apace, but her head still light. My mind very heavy thinking of my great layings out lately, and what they must still be for clothes, but I hope it is in order to getting of something the more by it, for I perceive how I have hitherto suffered for lack of going as becomes my place. After a little discourse with my wife upon arithmetique, to bed. 31st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Creed came and dined with me, and after dinner he and I upstairs, and I showed him my velvet cloake and other things of clothes, that I have lately bought, which he likes very well, and I took his opinion as to some things of clothes, which I purpose to wear, being resolved to go a little handsomer than I have hitherto. Thence to the office; where busy till night, and then to prepare my monthly account, about which I staid till 10 or 11 o'clock at night, and to my great sorrow find myself L43 worse than I was the last month, which was then L760, and now it is but L717. But it hath chiefly arisen from my layings-out in clothes for myself and wife; viz., for her about L12, and for myself L55, or thereabouts; having made myself a velvet cloake, two new cloth suits, black, plain both; a new shagg [Shag was a stuff similar to plush. In 1703 a youth who was missing is described in an advertisement as wearing "red shag breeches, striped with black stripes." (Planche's "Cyclopxdia of Costume ").] gowne, trimmed with gold buttons and twist, with a new hat, and, silk tops for my legs, and many other things, being resolved henceforward to go like myself. And also two perriwiggs, one whereof costs me L3, and the other 40s.--I have worn neither yet, but will begin next week, God willing. So that I hope I shall not need now to lay out more money a great while, I having laid out in clothes for myself and wife, and for her closett and other things without, these two months, this and the last, besides household expenses of victuals, &c., above L110. But I hope I shall with more comfort labour to get more, and with better successe than when, for want of clothes, I was forced to sneake like a beggar. Having done this I went home, and after supper to bed, my mind being eased in knowing my condition, though troubled to think that I have been forced to spend so much. Thus I end this month worth L717, or thereabouts, with a good deal of good goods more than I had, and a great deal of new and good clothes. My greatest trouble and my wife's is our family, mighty out of order by this fellow Will's corrupting the mayds by his idle talke and carriage, which we are going to remove by hastening him out of the house, which his uncle Blackburne is upon doing, and I am to give him L20 per annum toward his maintenance. The Queene continues lightheaded, but in hopes to recover. The plague is much in Amsterdam, and we in fears of it here, which God defend. [Defend is used in the sense of forbid. It is a Gallicism from the French "defendre."] The Turke goes on mightily in the Emperor's dominions, and the Princes cannot agree among themselves how to go against him. Myself in pretty good health now, after being ill this month for a week together, but cannot yet come to.... well, being so costive, but for this month almost I have not had a good natural stool, but to this hour am forced to take physic every night, which brings me neither but one stool, and that in the morning as soon as I am up, all the rest of the day very costive. My father has been very ill in the country, but I hope better again now. I am lately come to a conclusion with Tom Trice to pay him L100, which is a great deale of money, but I hope it will save a great deale more. But thus everything lessens, which I have and am like to have, and therefore I must look about me to get something more than just my salary, or else I may resolve to live well and die a beggar. NOVEMBER 1663 November 1st (Lord's day). This morning my brother's man brought me a new black baize waistecoate, faced with silke, which I put on from this day, laying by half-shirts for this winter. He brought me also my new gowne of purple shagg, trimmed with gold, very handsome; he also brought me as a gift from my brother, a velvet hat, very fine to ride in, and the fashion, which pleases me very well, to which end, I believe, he sent it me, for he knows I had lately been angry with him. Up and to church with my wife, and at noon dined at home alone, a good calves head boiled and dumplings, an excellent dinner methought it was. Then to church again, whither Sir W. Pen came, the first time he has been at church these several months, he having been sicke all the while. Home and to my office, where I taught my wife some part of subtraction, and then fell myself to set some papers of my last night's accounts in order, and so to supper home, and after supper another bout at arithmetique with my wife, and then to my office again and made an end of my papers, and so home to prayers, and then to read my vowes, and to bed. 2d. Up, and by coach to White Hall, and there in the long Matted Gallery I find Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten--and by and by comes the King to walk there with three or four with him; and soon as he saw us, says he, "Here is the Navy Office," and there walked twenty turns the length of the gallery, talking, methought, but ordinary talke. By and by came the Duke, and he walked, and at last they went into the Duke's lodgings. The King staid so long that we could not discourse with the Duke, and so we parted. I heard the Duke say that he was going to wear a perriwigg; and they say the King also will. I never till this day observed that the King is mighty gray. Thence, meeting with Creed, walked with him to Westminster Hall, and thence by coach took up Mrs. Hunt, and carried her towards my house, and we light at the 'Change, and sent her to my house, Creed and I to the Coffeehouse, and then to the 'Change, and so home, and carried a barrel of oysters with us, and so to dinner, and after a good dinner left Mrs. Hunt and my wife making marmalett of quinces, and Creed and I to the perriwigg makers, but it being dark concluded of nothing, and so Creed went away, and I with Sir W. Pen, who spied me in the street, in his coach home. There found them busy still, and I up to my vyall. Anon, the comfiture being well done, my wife and I took Mrs. Hunt at almost 9 at night by coach and carried Mrs. Hunt home, and did give her a box of sugar and a haunch of venison given me by my Lady the other day. We did not 'light, but saw her within doors, and straight home, where after supper there happening some discourse where my wife thought she had taken Jane in a lie, she told me of it mighty triumphantly, but I, not seeing reason to conclude it a lie, was vexed, and my wife and I to very high words, wherein I up to my chamber, and she by and by followed me up, and to very bad words from her to me, calling me perfidious and man of no conscience, whatever I pretend to, and I know not what, which troubled me mightily, and though I would allow something to her passion, yet I see again and again that she spoke but somewhat of what she had in her heart. But I tempered myself very well, so as that though we went to bed with discontent she yielded to me and began to be fond, so that being willing myself to peace, we did before we sleep become very good friends, it being past 12 o'clock, and so with good hearts and joy to rest. 3rd. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and at noon to the Coffee-house, and there heard a long and most passionate discourse between two doctors of physique, of which one was Dr. Allen, whom I knew at Cambridge, and a couple of apothecarys; these maintaining chymistry against them Galenicall physique; and the truth is, one of the apothecarys whom they charged most, did speak very prettily, that is, his language and sense good, though perhaps he might not be so knowing a physician as to offer to contest with them. At last they came to some cooler terms, and broke up. I home, and there Mr. Moore coming by my appointment dined with me, and after dinner came Mr. Goldsborough, and we discoursed about the business of his mother, but could come to no agreement in it but parted dissatisfied. By and by comes Chapman, the periwigg-maker, and upon my liking it, without more ado I went up, and there he cut off my haire, which went a little to my heart at present to part with it; but, it being over, and my periwigg on, I paid him L3 for it; and away went he with my owne haire to make up another of, and I by and by, after I had caused all my mayds to look upon it; and they conclude it do become me; though Jane was mightily troubled for my parting of my own haire, and so was Besse, I went abroad to the Coffeehouse, and coming back went to Sir W. Pen and there sat with him and Captain Cocke till late at night, Cocke talking of some of the Roman history very well, he having a good memory. Sir W. Pen observed mightily, and discoursed much upon my cutting off my haire, as he do of every thing that concerns me, but it is over, and so I perceive after a day or two it will be no great matter. 4th. Up and to my office, shewing myself to Sir W. Batten, and Sir J. Minnes, and no great matter made of my periwigg, as I was afeard there would be. Among other things there came to me Shales of Portsmouth, by my order, and I began to discourse with him about the arrears of stores belonging to the Victualling Office there, and by his discourse I am in some hopes that if I can get a grant from the King of such a part of all I discover I may chance to find a way to get something by the by, which do greatly please me the very thoughts of. Home to dinner, and very pleasant with my wife, who is this day also herself making of marmalett of quince, which she now do very well herself. I left her at it and by coach I to the New Exchange and several places to buy and bring home things, among others a case I bought of the trunk maker's for my periwigg, and so home and to my office late, and among other things wrote a letter to Will's uncle to hasten his removal from me, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Captain Cocke did give me a good account of the Guinny trade. The Queene is in a great way to recovery. This noon came John Angier to me in a pickle, I was sad to see him, desiring my good word for him to go a trooper to Tangier, but I did schoole him and sent him away with good advice, but no present encouragement. Presently after I had a letter from his poor father at Cambridge, who is broke, it seems, and desires me to get him a protection, or a place of employment; but, poor man, I doubt I can helpe him, but will endeavour it. 5th. Lay long in bed, then up, called by Captain Cocke about business of a contract of his for some Tarre, and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen and there talked, and he being gone came Sir W. Warren and discoursed about our business with Field, and at noon by agreement to the Miter to dinner upon T. Trice's 40s., to be spent upon our late agreement. Here was a very poor dinner and great company. All our lawyers on both sides, and several friends of his and some of mine brought by him, viz., Mr. Moore, uncle Wight, Dr. Williams, and my cozen Angier, that lives here in town, who t Captain John Shales after dinner carried me aside and showed me a letter from his poor brother at Cambridge to me of the same contents with that yesterday to me desiring help from me. Here I was among a sorry company without any content or pleasure, and at the last the reckoning coming to above 40s. by 15s., he would have me pay the 10s. and he would pay the 5s., which was so poor that I was ashamed of it, and did it only to save contending with him. There, after agreeing a day for him and I to meet and seal our agreement, I parted and home, and at the office by agreement came Mr. Shales, and there he and I discourse till late the business of his helping me in the discovery of some arrears of provisions and stores due to the stores at Portsmouth, out of which I may chance to get some money, and save the King some too, and therefore I shall endeavour to do the fellow some right in other things here to his advantage between Mr. Gauden and him. He gone my wife and I to her arithmetique, in which she pleases me well, and so to the office, there set down my Journall, and so home to supper and to bed. A little troubled to see how my family is out of order by Will's being there, and also to hear that Jane do not please my wife as I expected and would have wished. 6th. This morning waking, my wife was mighty-earnest with me to persuade me that she should prove with child since last night, which, if it be, let it come, and welcome. Up to my office, whither Commissioner Pett came, newly come out of the country, and he and I walked together in the garden talking of business a great while, and I perceive that by our countenancing of him he do begin to pluck up his head, and will do good things I hope in the yard. Thence, he being gone, to my office and there dispatched many people, and at noon to the 'Change to the coffee-house, and among other things heard Sir John Cutler say, that of his owne experience in time of thunder, so many barrels of beer as have a piece of iron laid upon them will not be soured, and the others will. Thence to the 'Change, and there discoursed with many people, and I hope to settle again to my business and revive my report of following of business, which by my being taken off for a while by sickness and, laying out of money has slackened for a little while. Home, and there found Mrs. Hunt, who dined very merry, good woman; with us. After dinner came in Captain Grove, and he and I alone to talk of many things, and among many others of the Fishery, in which he gives the such hopes that being at this time full of projects how to get a little honestly, of which some of them I trust in God will take, I resolved this afternoon to go and consult my Lord Sandwich about it, and so, being to carry home Mrs. Hunt, I took her and my wife by coach and set them at Axe Yard, and I to my Lord's and thither sent for Creed and discoursed with him about it, and he and I to White Hall, where Sir G. Carteret and my Lord met me very fortunately, and wondered first to see me in my perruque, and I am glad it is over, and then, Sir G. Carteret being gone, I took my Lord aside, who do give me the best advice he can, and telling me how there are some projectors, by name Sir Edward Ford, who would have the making of farthings, [Sir Edward Ford, son of Sir William Ford of Harting, born at Up Park in 1605. "After the Restoration he invented a mode of coining farthings. Each piece was to differ minutely from another to prevent forgery. He failed in procuring a patent for these in England, but obtained one for Ireland. He died in Ireland before he could carry his design into execution, on September 3rd, 1670" ("Dictionary of National Biography ").] and out of that give so much to the King for the maintenance of the Fishery; but my Lord do not like that, but would have it go as they offered the last year, and so upon my desire he promises me when it is seasonable to bring me into the commission with others, if any of them take, and I perceive he and Mr. Coventry are resolved to follow it hard. Thence, after walking a good while in the Long gallery, home to my Lord's lodging, my Lord telling me how my father did desire him to speak to me about my giving of my sister something, which do vex me to see that he should trouble my Lord in it, but however it is a good occasion for me to tell my Lord my condition, and so I was glad of it. After that we begun to talk of the Court, and he tells me how Mr. Edward Montagu begins to show respect to him again after his endeavouring to bespatter him all was, possible; but he is resolved never to admit him into his friendship again. He tells me how he and Sir H. Bennet, the Duke of Buckingham and his Duchesse, was of a committee with somebody else for the getting of Mrs. Stewart for the King; but that she proves a cunning slut, and is advised at Somerset House by the Queene-Mother, and by her mother, and so all the plot is spoiled and the whole committee broke. Mr. Montagu and the Duke of Buckingham fallen a-pieces, the Duchesse going to a nunnery; and so Montagu begins to enter friendship with my Lord, and to attend the Chancellor whom he had deserted. My Lord tells me that Mr. Montagu, among other things, did endeavour to represent him to the Chancellor's sons as one that did desert their father in the business of my Lord of Bristoll; which is most false, being the only man that hath several times dined with him when no soul hath come to him, and went with him that very day home when the Earl impeached him in the Parliament House, and hath refused ever to pay a visit to my Lord of Bristoll, not so much as in return to a visit of his. So that the Chancellor and my Lord are well known and trusted one by another. But yet my Lord blames the Chancellor for desiring to have it put off to the next Session of Parliament, contrary to my Lord Treasurer's advice, to whom he swore he would not do it: and, perhaps, my Lord Chancellor, for aught I see by my Lord's discourse, may suffer by it when the Parliament comes to sit. My Lord tells me that he observes the Duke of York do follow and understand business very well, and is mightily improved thereby. Here Mr. Pagett coming in I left my Lord and him, and thence I called my wife and her maid Jane and by coach home and to my office, where late writing some things against tomorrow, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Mr. Blackburne came to me to let me know that he had got a lodging very commodious for his kinsman, and so he is ready at my pleasure to go when I would bid him, and so I told him that I would in a day or two send to speak with him and he and I would talk and advise Will what to do, of which I am very glad. 7th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and Sir W. Pen and I had a word or two, where by opposing him in not being willing to excuse a mulct put upon the purser of the James, absent from duty, he says, by his business and order, he was mighty angry, and went out of the office like an asse discontented: At which I am never a whit sorry; I would not have [him] think that I dare not oppose him, where I see reason and cause for it. Home to dinner, and then by coach abroad about several businesses to several places, among others to Westminster Hall, where, seeing Howlett's daughter going out of the other end of the Hall, I followed her if I would to have offered talk to her and dallied with her a little, but I could not overtake her. Then calling at Unthank's for something of my wife's not done, a pretty little gentlewoman, a lodger there, came out to tell me that it was not yet done, which though it vexed me yet I took opportunity of taking her by the hand with the boot, and so found matter to talk a little the longer to her, but I was ready to laugh at myself to see how my anger would not operate, my disappointment coming to me by such a messenger. Thence to Doctors' Commons and there consulted Dr. Turner about some differences we have with the officers of the East India ships about goods brought by them without paying freight, which we demand of them. So home to my office, and there late writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed, having got a scurvy cold by lying cold in my head the last night. This day Captain Taylor brought me a piece of plate, a little small state dish, he expecting that I should get him some allowance for demorage ["'Demurrage' is the compensation due to a shipowner from a freighter for unduly decaying his vessel in port beyond the time specified in the charter-party or bill of lading. It is in fact an extended freight. A ship, unjustly detained as a prize is entitled to 'demurrage.'"--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book, 1867.] of his ship "William," kept long at Tangier, which I shall and may justly do. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and it being late, to church without my wife, and there I saw Pembleton come into the church and bring his wife with him, a good comely plain woman, and by and by my wife came after me all alone, which I was a little vexed at. I found that my coming in a perriwigg did not prove so strange to the world as I was afear'd it would, for I thought that all the church would presently have cast their eyes all upon me, but I found no such thing. Here an ordinary lazy sermon of Mr. Mill's, and then home to dinner, and there Tom came and dined with us; and after dinner to talk about a new black cloth suit that I have a making, and so at church time to church again, where the Scott preached, and I slept most of the time. Thence home, and I spent most of the evening upon Fuller's "Church History" and Barckly's "Argeny," and so after supper to prayers and to bed, a little fearing my pain coming back again, myself continuing as costive as ever, and my physic ended, but I had sent a porter to-day for more and it was brought me before I went to bed, and so with pretty good content to bed. 9th. Up and found myself very well, and so by coach to White Hall and there met all my fellow officers, and so to the Duke, where, when we came into his closett, he told us that Mr. Pepys was so altered with his new perriwigg that he did not know him. So to our discourse, and among and above other things we were taken up in talking upon Sir J. Lawson's coming home, he being come to Portsmouth; and Captain Berkely is come to towne with a letter from the Duana of Algier to the King, wherein they do demand again the searching of our ships and taking out of strangers, and their goods; and that what English ships are taken without the Duke's pass they will detain (though it be flat contrary to the words of the peace) as prizes, till they do hear from our King, which they advise him may be speedy. And this they did the very next day after they had received with great joy the Grand Seignor's confirmation of the Peace from Constantinople by Captain Berkely; so that there is no command nor certainty to be had of these people. The King is resolved to send his will by a fleete of ships; and it is thought best and speediest to send these very ships that are now come home, five sail of good ships, back again after cleaning, victualling, and paying them. But it is a pleasant thing to think how their Basha, Shavan Aga, did tear his hair to see the soldiers order things thus; for (just like his late predecessor) when they see the evil of war with England, then for certain they complain to the Grand Seignor of him, and cut his head off: this he is sure of, and knows as certain. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I met with Mr. Pierce, chyrurgeon; and among other things he asked me seriously whether I knew anything of my Lord's being out of favour with the King; and told me, that for certain the King do take mighty notice of my Lord's living obscurely in a corner not like himself, and becoming the honour that he is come to. I was sorry to hear, and the truth is, from my Lord's discourse among his people (which I am told) of the uncertainty of princes' favours, and his melancholy keeping from Court, I am doubtful of some such thing; but I seemed wholly strange to him in it, but will make my use of it. He told me also how loose the Court is, nobody looking after business, but every man his lust and gain; and how the King is now become besotted upon Mrs. Stewart, that he gets into corners, and will be with her half an houre together kissing her to the observation of all the world; and she now stays by herself and expects it, as my Lady Castlemaine did use to do; to whom the King, he says, is still kind, so as now and then he goes to have a chat with her as he believes; but with no such fondness as he used to do. But yet it is thought that this new wench is so subtle, that she lets him not do any thing than is safe to her, but yet his doting is so great that, Pierce tells me, it is verily thought if the Queene had died, he would have married her. The Duke of Monmouth is to have part of the Cockpitt new built for lodgings for him, and they say to be made Captain of the Guards in the room of my Lord Gerard. Having thus talked with him, there comes into the Hall Creed and Ned Pickering, and after a turne or two with them, it being noon, I walked with them two to the King's Head ordinary, and there we dined; little discourse but what was common, only that the Duke of Yorke is a very, desperate huntsman, but I was ashamed of Pickering, who could not forbear having up my Lord Sandwich now and then in the most paltry matters abominable. Thence I took leave of them, and so having taken up something at my wife's tailor's, I home by coach and there to my office, whither Shales came and I had much discourse with him about the business of the victualling, and thence in the evening to the Coffee-house, and there sat till by and by, by appointment Will brought me word that his uncle Blackburne was ready to speak with me. So I went down to him, and he and I to a taverne hard by, and there I begun to speak to Will friendlily, advising him how to carry himself now he is going from under my roof, without any reflections upon the occasion from whence his removal arose. This his uncle seconded, and after laying down to him his duty to me, and what I expect of him, in a discourse of about a quarter of an houre or more, we agreed upon his going this week, towards the latter (end) of the week, and so dismissed him, and Mr. Blackburne and I fell to talk of many things, wherein I did speak so freely to him in many things agreeing with his sense that he was very open to me: first, in that of religion, he makes it great matter of prudence for the King and Council to suffer liberty of conscience; and imputes the losse of Hungary to the Turke from the Emperor's denying them this liberty of their religion. He says that many pious ministers of the word of God, some thousands of them, do now beg their bread: and told me how highly the present clergy carry themselves every where, so as that they are hated and laughed at by everybody; among other things, for their excommunications, which they send upon the least occasions almost that can be. And I am convinced in my judgement, not only from his discourse, but my thoughts in general, that the present clergy will never heartily go down with the generality of the commons of England; they have been so used to liberty and freedom, and they are so acquainted with the pride and debauchery of the present clergy. He did give me many stories of the affronts which the clergy receive in all places of England from the gentry and ordinary persons of the parish. He do tell me what the City thinks of General Monk, as of a most perfidious man that hath betrayed every body, and the King also; who, as he thinks, and his party, and so I have heard other good friends of the King say, it might have been better for the King to have had his hands a little bound for the present, than be forced to bring such a crew of poor people about him, and be liable to satisfy the demands of every one of them. He told me that to his knowledge (being present at every meeting at the Treaty at the Isle of Wight), that the old King did confess himself overruled and convinced in his judgement against the Bishopps, and would have suffered and did agree to exclude the service out of the churches, nay his own chappell; and that he did always say, that this he did not by force, for that he would never abate one inch by any vyolence; but what he did was out of his reason and judgement. He tells me that the King by name, with all his dignities, is prayed for by them that they call Fanatiques, as heartily and powerfully as in any of the other churches that are thought better: and that, let the King think what he will, it is them that must helpe him in the day of warr. For as they are the most, so generally they are the most substantial sort of people, and the soberest; and did desire me to observe it to my Lord Sandwich, among other things, that of all the old army now you cannot see a man begging about the street; but what? You shall have this captain turned a shoemaker; the lieutenant, a baker; this a brewer; that a haberdasher; this common soldier, a porter; and every man in his apron and frock, &c., as if they never had done anything else: whereas the others go with their belts and swords, swearing and cursing, and stealing; running into people's houses, by force oftentimes, to carry away something; and this is the difference between the temper of one and the other; and concludes (and I think with some reason,) that the spirits of the old parliament soldiers are so quiett and contented with God's providences, that the King is safer from any evil meant him by them one thousand times more than from his own discontented Cavalier. And then to the publique management of business: it is done, as he observes, so loosely and so carelessly, that the kingdom can never be happy with it, every man looking after himself, and his owne lust and luxury; among other things he instanced in the business of money, he do believe that half of what money the Parliament gives the King is not so much as gathered. And to the purpose he told me how the Bellamys (who had some of the Northern counties assigned them for their debt for the petty warrant victualling) have often complained to him that they cannot get it collected, for that nobody minds, or, if they do, they won't pay it in. Whereas (which is a very remarkable thing,) he hath been told by some of the Treasurers at Warr here of late, to whom the most of the L120,000 monthly was paid, that for most months the payments were gathered so duly, that they seldom had so much or more than 40s., or the like, short in the whole collection; whereas now the very Commissioners for Assessments and other publique payments are such persons, and those that they choose in the country so like themselves, that from top to bottom there is not a man carefull of any thing, or if he be, he is not solvent; that what between the beggar and the knave, the King is abused the best part of all his revenue. From thence we began to talk of the Navy, and particularly of Sir W. Pen, of whose rise to be a general I had a mind to be informed. He told me he was always a conceited man, and one that would put the best side outward, but that it was his pretence of sanctity that brought him into play. Lawson, and Portman, and the Fifth-monarchy men, among whom he was a great brother, importuned that he might be general; and it was pleasant to see how Blackburne himself did act it, how when the Commissioners of the Admiralty would enquire of the captains and admirals of such and such men, how they would with a sigh and casting up the eyes say, "Such a man fears the Lord," or, "I hope such a man hath the Spirit of God," and such things as that. But he tells me that there was a cruel articling against Pen after one fight, for cowardice, in putting himself within a coyle of cables, of which he had much ado to acquit himself: and by great friends did it, not without remains of guilt, but that his brethren had a mind to pass it by, and Sir H. Vane did advise him to search his heart, and see whether this fault or a greater sin was not the occasion of this so great tryall. And he tells me, that what Pen gives out about Cromwell's sending and entreating him to go to Jamaica, is very false; he knows the contrary: besides, the Protector never was a man that needed to send for any man, specially such a one as he, twice. He tells me that the business of Jamaica did miscarry absolutely by his pride, and that when he was in the Tower he would cry like a child. This he says of his own personal knowledge, and lastly tells me that just upon the turne, when Monk was come from the North to the City, and did begin to think of bringing in the King, Pen was then turned Quaker. This he is most certain of. He tells me that Lawson was never counted any thing but only a seaman, and a stout man, but a false man, and that now he appears the greatest hypocrite in the world. And Pen the same. He tells me that it is much talked of, that the King intends to legitimate the Duke of Monmouth; and that he has not, nor his friends of his persuasion, have any hopes of getting their consciences at liberty but by God Almighty's turning of the King's heart, which they expect, and are resolved to live and die in quiett hopes of it; but never to repine, or act any thing more than by prayers towards it. And that not only himself but all of them have, and are willing at any time to take the oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy. Thus far, and upon many more things, we had discoursed when some persons in a room hard by began to sing in three parts very finely and to play upon a flagilette so pleasantly that my discourse afterwards was but troublesome, and I could not attend it, and so, anon, considering of a sudden the time of night, we found it 11 o'clock, which I thought it had not been by two hours, but we were close in talk, and so we rose, he having drunk some wine and I some beer and sugar, and so by a fair moonshine home and to bed, my wife troubled with tooth ache. Mr. Blackburne observed further to me, some certain notice that he had of the present plot so much talked of; that he was told by Mr. Rushworth, how one Captain Oates, a great discoverer, did employ several to bring and seduce others into a plot, and that one of his agents met with one that would not listen to him, nor conceal what he had offered him, but so detected the trapan. This, he says, is most true. He also, among other instances how the King is served, did much insist upon the cowardice and corruption of the King's guards and militia, which to be sure will fail the King, as they have done already, when there will be occasion for them. 10th. Up and to the office, where we sat till noon, and then to the Exchange, where spoke with several and had my head casting about how to get a penny and I hope I shall, and then hone, and there Mr. Moore by appointment dined with me, and after dinner all the afternoon till night drawing a bond and release against to-morrow for T. Trice, and I to come to a conclusion in which I proceed with great fear and jealousy, knowing him to be a rogue and one that I fear has at this time got too great a hank--[hold]--over me by the neglect of my lawyers. But among other things I am come to an end with Mr. Moore for a L32, a good while lying in my hand of my Lord Privy Seal's which he for the odd L7 do give me a bond to secure me against, and so I got L25 clear. Then, he being gone, to the office and there late setting down yesterday's remarkable discourses, and so home and to supper, late, and to bed. The Queene, I hear, is now very well again, and that she hath bespoke herself a new gowne. 11th. Up and to my office all the morning, and at noon to the Coffee-house, where with Dr. Allen some good discourse about physique and chymistry. And among other things, I telling him what Dribble the German Doctor do offer of an instrument to sink ships; he tells me that which is more strange, that something made of gold, which they call in chymistry Aurum fulminans, a grain, I think he said, of it put into a silver spoon and fired, will give a blow like a musquett, and strike a hole through the spoon downward, without the least force upward; and this he can make a cheaper experiment of, he says, with iron prepared. Thence to the 'Change, and being put off a meeting with T. Trice, he not coming, I home to dinner, and after dinner by coach with my wife to my periwigg maker's for my second periwigg, but it is not done, and so, calling at a place or two, home, and there to my office, and there taught my wife a new lesson in arithmetique and so sent her home, and I to several businesses; and so home to supper and to bed, being mightily troubled with a cold in my stomach and head, with a great pain by coughing. 12th. Lay long in bed, indeed too long, divers people and the officers staying for me. My cozen Thomas Pepys the executor being below, and I went to him and stated reckonings about our debt, for his payments of money to my uncle Thomas heretofore by the Captain's orders. I did not pay him but will soon do it if I can. To the office and there all the morning, where Sir W. Pen, like a coxcomb, was so ready to cross me in a motion I made unawares for the entering a man at Chatham into the works, wherein I was vexed to see his spleene, but glad to understand it, and that it was in no greater a matter, I being not at all concerned here. To the 'Change and did several businesses there and so home with Mr. Moore to dinner, my wife having dined, with Mr. Hollyard with her to-day, he being come to advise her about her hollow sore place. After dinner Mr. Moore and I discoursing of my Lord's negligence in attendance at Court, and the discourse the world makes of it, with the too great reason that I believe there is for it; I resolved and took coach to his lodgings, thinking to speak with my Lord about it without more ado. Here I met Mr. Howe, and he and I largely about it, and he very soberly acquainted me how things are with my Lord, that my Lord do not do anything like himself, but follows his folly, and spends his time either at cards at Court with the ladies, when he is there at all, or else at Chelsy with the slut to his great disgrace, and indeed I do see and believe that my Lord do apprehend that he do grow less too at Court. Anon my Lord do come in, and I begun to fall in discourse with him, but my heart did misgive me that my Lord would not take it well, and then found him not in a humour to talk, and so after a few ordinary words, my Lord not talking in the manner as he uses to do; I took leave, and spent some time with W. Howe again, and told him how I could not do what I had so great a mind and resolution to do, but that I thought it would be as well to do it in writing, which he approves of, and so I took leave of him, and by coach home, my mind being full of it, and in pain concerning it. So to my office busy very late, the nights running on faster than one thinks, and so to supper and to bed. 13th. Up and to my office, busy all the morning with Commissioner Pett; at noon I to the Exchange, and meeting Shales, he and I to the Coffee-house and there talked of our victualling matters, which I fear will come to little. However I will go on and carry it as far as I can. So home to dinner where I expected Commissioner Pett, and had a good dinner, but he came not. After dinner came my perriwigg-maker, and brings me a second periwigg, made of my own haire, which comes to 21s. 6d. more than the worth of my own haire, so that they both come to L4 1s. 6d., which he sayth will serve me two years, but I fear it. He being gone, I to my office, and put on my new shagg purple gowne, with gold buttons and loop lace, I being a little fearful of taking cold and of pain coming upon me. Here I staid making an end of a troublesome letter, but to my advantage, against Sir W. Batten, giving Sir G. Carteret an account of our late great contract with Sir W. Warren for masts, wherein I am sure I did the King L600 service. That done home to my wife to take a clyster, which I did, and it wrought very well and brought a great deal of wind, which I perceive is all that do trouble me. After that, about 9 or 10 o'clock, to supper in my wife's chamber, and then about 12 to bed. 14th. Up and to the office, where we sat, and after we had almost done, Sir W. Batten desired to have the room cleared, and there he did acquaint the board how he was obliged to answer to something lately said which did reflect upon the Comptroller and him, and to that purpose told how the bargain for Winter's timber did not prove so bad as I had reported to the board it would. After he had done I cleared the matter that I did not mention the business as a thing designed by me against them, but was led to it by Sir J. Minnes, and that I said nothing but what I was told by Mayers the surveyor as much as by Deane upon whom they laid all the fault, which I must confess did and do still trouble me, for they report him to be a fellow not fit to be employed, when in my conscience he deserves better than any officer in the yard. I thought it not convenient to vindicate him much now, but time will serve when I will do it, and I am bound to do it. I offered to proceed to examine and prove what I said if they please, but Mr. Coventry most discreetly advised not, it being to no purpose, and that he did believe that what I said did not by my manner of speaking it proceed from any design of reproaching them, and so it ended. But my great trouble is for poor Deane. At noon home and dined with my wife, and after dinner Will told me if I pleased he was ready to remove his things, and so before my wife I did give him good counsel, and that his going should not abate my kindnesse for him, if he carried himself well, and so bid "God bless him," and left him to remove his things, the poor lad weeping, but I am apt to think matters will be the better both for him and us. So to the office and there late busy. In the evening Mr. Moore came to tell me that he had no opportunity of speaking his mind to my Lord yesterday, and so I am resolved to write to him very suddenly. So after my business done I home, I having staid till 12 o'clock at night almost, making an end of a letter to Sir G. Carteret about the late contract for masts, wherein I have done myself right, and no wrong to Sir W. Batten. This night I think is the first that I have lain without ever a man in my house besides myself, since I came to keep any. Will being this night gone to his lodging, and by the way I hear to-day that my boy Waynman has behaved himself so with Mr. Davis that they have got him put into a Barbadoes ship to be sent away, and though he sends to me to get a release for him I will not out of love to the boy, for I doubt to keep him here were to bring him to the gallows. 15th (Lord's day). Lay very long in bed with my wife and then up and to my office there to copy fair my letter to Sir G. Carteret, which I did, and by and by most opportunely a footman of his came to me about other business, and so I sent it him by his own servant. I wish good luck with it. At noon home to dinner, my wife not being up, she lying to expect Mr. Holyard the surgeon. So I dined by myself, and in the afternoon to my office again, and there drew up a letter to my Lord, stating to him what the world talks concerning him, and leaving it to him and myself to be thought of by him as he pleases, but I have done but my duty in it. I wait Mr. Moore's coming for his advice about sending it. So home to supper to my wife, myself finding myself by cold got last night beginning to have some pain, which grieves me much in my mind to see to what a weakness I am come. This day being our Queene's birthday, the guns of the Tower went all off; and in the evening the Lord Mayor sent from church to church to order the constables to cause bonfires to be made in every streete, which methinks is a poor thing to be forced to be commanded. After a good supper with my wife, and hearing of the mayds read in the Bible, we to prayers, and to bed. 16th. Up, and being ready then abroad by coach to White Hall, and there with the Duke, where Mr. Coventry did a second time go to vindicate himself against reports and prove by many testimonies that he brought, that he did nothing but what had been done by the Lord Admiral's secretaries heretofore, though he do not approve of it, nor since he had any rule from the Duke hath he exceeded what he is there directed to take, and the thing I think is very clear that they always did take and that now he do take less than ever they did heretofore. Thence away, and Sir G. Carteret did call me to him and discourse with me about my letter yesterday, and did seem to take it unkindly that I should doubt of his satisfaction in the bargain of masts, and did promise me that hereafter whatever he do hear to my prejudice he would tell me before he would believe it, and that this was only Sir W. Batten's report in this business, which he says he did ever approve of, in which I know he lies. Thence to my Lord's lodgings thinking to find Mr. Moore, in order to the sending away my letter of reproof to my Lord, but I do not find him, but contrary do find my Lord come to Court, which I am glad to hear and should be more glad to hear that he do follow his business that I may not have occasion to venture upon his good nature by such a provocation as my letter will be to him. So by coach home, to the Exchange, where I talked about several businesses with several people, and so home to dinner with my wife, and then in the afternoon to my office, and there late, and in the evening Mr. Hollyard came, and he and I about our great work to look upon my wife's malady, which he did, and it seems her great conflux of humours, heretofore that did use to swell there, did in breaking leave a hollow which has since gone in further and further; till now it is near three inches deep, but as God will have it do not run into the bodyward, but keeps to the outside of the skin, and so he must be forced to cut it open all along, and which my heart I doubt will not serve for me to see done, and yet she will not have any body else to see it done, no, not her own mayds, and so I must do it, poor wretch, for her. To-morrow night he is to do it. He being gone, I to my office again a little while, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and while I am dressing myself, Mr. Deane of Woolwich came to me, and I did tell him what had happened to him last Saturday in the office, but did encourage him to make no matter of it, for that I did not fear but he would in a little time be master of his enemies as much as they think to master him, and so he did tell me many instances of the abominable dealings of Mr. Pett of Woolwich towards him. So we broke up, and I to the office, where we sat all the forenoon doing several businesses, and at noon I to the 'Change where Mr. Moore came to me, and by and by Tom Trice and my uncle Wight, and so we out to a taverne (the New Exchange taverne over against the 'Change where I never was before, and I found my old playfellow Ben Stanley master of it), and thence to a scrivener to draw up a bond, and to another tavern (the King's Head) we went, and calling on my cozen Angier at the India House there we eat a bit of pork from a cookes together, and after dinner did seal the bond, and I did take up the old bond of my uncle's to my aunt, and here T. Trice before them do own all matters in difference between us is clear as to this business, and that he will in six days give me it under the hand of his attorney that there is no judgment against the bond that may give me any future trouble, and also a copy of their letters of his Administration to Godfrey, as much of it as concerns me to have. All this being done towards night we broke up, and so I home and with Mr. Moore to my office, and there I read to him the letter I have wrote to send to my Lord to give him an account how the world, both city and court, do talk of him and his living as he do there in such a poor and bad house so much to his disgrace. Which Mr. Moore do conclude so well drawn: that he would not have me by any means to neglect sending it, assuring me in the best of his judgment that it cannot but endear me to my Lord instead of what I fear of getting his offence, and did offer to take the same words and send them as from, him with his hand to him, which I am not unwilling should come (if they are at all fit to go) from any body but myself, and so, he being gone, I did take a copy of it to keep by me in shorthand, and sealed them up to send to-morrow by my Will. So home, Mr. Hollyard being come to my wife, and there she being in bed, he and I alone to look again upon her .... and there he do find that, though it would not be much pain, yet she is so fearful, and the thing will be somewhat painful in the tending, which I shall not be able to look after, but must require a nurse and people about her; so that upon second thoughts he believes that a fomentation will do as well, and though it will be troublesome yet no pain, and what her mayd will be able to do without knowing directly what it is for, but only that it may be for the piles. For though it be nothing but what is fiery honest, yet my wife is loth to give occasion of discourse concerning it. By this my mind and my wife's is much eased, for I confess I should have been troubled to have had my wife cut before my face, I could not have borne to have seen it. I had great discourse with him about my disease. He tells me again that I must eat in a morning some loosening gruel, and at night roasted apples, that I must drink now and then ale with my wine, and eat bread and butter and honey, and rye bread if I can endure it, it being loosening. I must also take once a week a clyster of his last prescription, only honey now and then instead of butter, which things I am now resolved to apply myself to. He being gone I to my office again to a little business, and then home to supper and to bed, being in, a little pain by drinking of cold small beer to-day and being in a cold room at the Taverne I believe. 18th. Up, and after being ready, and done a little business at the office, I and Mr. Hater by water to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I have not been a very great, while, and there paid off the Milford in very good order, and all respect showed me in the office as much as there used to be to any of the rest or the whole board. That done at noon I took Captain Terne, and there coming in by chance Captain Berkeley, him also to dinner with me to the Globe. Captain Berkeley, who was lately come from Algier, did give us a good account of the place, and how the Basha there do live like a prisoner, being at the mercy of the soldiers and officers, so that there is nothing but a great confusion there. After dinner came Sir W. Batten, and I left him to pay off another ship, and I walked home again reading of a little book of new poems of Cowley's, given me by his brother. Abraham do lie, it seems, very sicke, still, but like to recover. At my office till late, and then came Mr. Hollyard so full of discourse and Latin that I think he hath got a cupp, but I do not know; but full of talke he is in defence of Calvin and Luther. He begun this night the fomentation to my wife, and I hope it will do well with her. He gone, I to the office again a little, and so to bed. This morning I sent Will with my great letter of reproof to my Lord Sandwich, who did give it into his owne hand. I pray God give a blessing to it, but confess I am afeard what the consequence may be to me of good or bad, which is according to the ingenuity that he do receive it with. However, I am satisfied that it will do him good, and that he needs it: MY LORD, I do verily hope that neither the manner nor matter of this advice will be condemned by your Lordship, when for my defence in the first I shall alledge my double attempt, since your return from Hinchinbroke, of doing it personally, in both of which your Lordship's occasions, no doubtfulnesse of mine, prevented me, and that being now fearful of a sudden summons to Portsmouth, for the discharge of some ships there, I judge it very unbecoming the duty which every bit of bread I eat tells me I owe to your Lordship to expose the safety of your honour to the uncertainty of my return. For the matter, my Lord, it is such as could I in any measure think safe to conceal from, or likely to be discovered to you by any other hand, I should not have dared so far to owne what from my heart I believe is false, as to make myself but the relater of other's discourse; but, sir, your Lordship's honour being such as I ought to value it to be, and finding both in city and court that discourses pass to your prejudice, too generally for mine or any man's controllings but your Lordship's, I shall, my Lord, without the least greatening or lessening the matter, do my duty in laying it shortly before you. People of all conditions, my Lord, raise matter of wonder from your Lordship's so little appearance at Court: some concluding thence their disfavour thereby, to which purpose I have had questions asked me, and endeavouring to put off such insinuations by asserting the contrary, they have replied, that your Lordship's living so beneath your quality, out of the way, and declining of Court attendance, hath been more than once discoursed about the King. Others, my Lord, when the chief ministers of State, and those most active of the Council have been reckoned up, wherein your Lordship never used to want an eminent place, have said, touching your Lordship, that now your turn was served, and the King had given you a good estate, you left him to stand or fall as he would, and, particularly in that of the Navy, have enlarged upon your letting fall all service there. Another sort, and those the most, insist upon the bad report of the house wherein your Lordship, now observed in perfect health again, continues to sojourne, and by name have charged one of the daughters for a common courtizan, alledging both places and persons where and with whom she hath been too well known, and how much her wantonnesse occasions, though unjustly, scandal to your Lordship, and that as well to gratifying of some enemies as to the wounding of more friends I am not able to tell. Lastly, my Lord, I find a general coldness in all persons towards your Lordship, such as, from my first dependance on you, I never yet knew, wherein I shall not offer to interpose any thoughts or advice of mine, well knowing your Lordship needs not any. But with a most faithful assurance that no person nor papers under Heaven is privy to what I here write, besides myself and this, which I shall be careful to have put into your owne hands, I rest confident of your Lordship's just construction of my dutifull intents herein, and in all humility take leave, may it please your Lordship, Your Lordship's most obedient Servant, S. P. The foregoing letter was sealed up, and enclosed in this that follows MY LORD, If this finds your Lordship either not alone, or not at leisure, I beg the suspending your opening of the enclosed till you shall have both, the matter very well bearing such a delay, and in all humility remain, may it please your Lordship, Your Lordship's most obedient Servant, S. P. November 17, 1663. My servant hath my directions to put this into your Lordship's owne hand, but not to stay for any answer. 19th. Up, and to the office, where (Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten being gone this morning to Portsmouth) the rest of us met, and rode at noon. So I to the 'Change, where little business, and so home to dinner, and being at dinner Mr. Creed in and dined with us, and after dinner Mr. Gentleman, my Jane's father, to see us and her. And after a little stay with them, I was sent for by Sir G. Carteret by agreement, and so left them, and to him and with him by coach to my Lord Treasurer, to discourse with him about Mr. Gauden's having of money, and to offer to him whether it would not be necessary, Mr. Gauden's credit being so low as it is, to take security of him if he demands any great sum, such as L20,000, which now ought to be paid him upon his next year's declaration. Which is a sad thing, that being reduced to this by us, we should be the first to doubt his credit; but so it is. However, it will be managed with great tenderness to him. My Lord Treasurer we found in his bed-chamber, being laid up of the goute. I find him a very ready man, and certainly a brave servant to the King: he spoke so quick and sensibly of the King's charge. Nothing displeased me in him but his long nails, which he lets grow upon a pretty thick white short hand, that it troubled me to see them. Thence with Sir G. Carteret by coach, and he set me down at the New Exchange. In our way he told me there is no such thing likely yet as a Dutch war, neither they nor we being in condition for it, though it will come certainly to that in some time, our interests lying the same way, that is to say, in trade. But not yet. Thence to the Temple, and there visited my cozen Roger Pepys and his brother Dr. John, a couple, methinks, of very ordinary men, and thence to speak [with] Mr. Moore, and met him by the way, who tells me, to my great content, that he believes my letter to my Lord Sandwich hath wrought well upon him, and that he will look after himself and his business upon it, for he begins already to do so. But I dare not conclude anything till I see him, which shall be to-morrow morning, that I may be out of my pain to know how he takes it of me. He and I to the Coffee-house, and there drank and talked a little, and so I home, and after a little at my office home to supper and to bed, not knowing how to avoid hopes from Mr. Moore's words to-night, and yet I am fearful of the worst. 20th. Up, and as soon as I could to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but he was gone out before, and so I am defeated of my expectation of being eased one way or other in the business of my Lord. But I went up to Mr. Howe, who I saw this day the first time in a periwigg, which becomes him very well, and discoursed with him. He tells me that my Lord is of a sudden much changed, and he do believe that he do take my letter well. However, we do both bless God that it hath so good an effect upon him. Thence I home again, calling at the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord, but so busy with Mr. Townsend making up accounts there that I was unwilling to trouble him, and so went away. By and by to the Exchange, and there met by agreement Mr. Howe, and took him with a barrel of oysters home to dinner, where we were very merry, and indeed I observe him to be a very hopeful young man, but only a little conceited. After dinner I took him and my wife, and setting her in Covent Garden at her mother's, he and I to my Lord's, and thence I with Mr. Moore to White Hall, there the King and Council being close, and I thinking it an improper place to meet my Lord first upon the business; I took coach, and calling my wife went home, setting Mr. Moore down by the way, and having been late at the office alone looking over some plates of the Northern seas, the White seas, and Archangell river, I went home, and, after supper, to bed. My wife tells me that she and her brother have had a great falling out to-night, he taking upon him to challenge great obligation upon her, and taxing her for not being so as she ought to be to her friends, and that she can do more with me than she pretends, and I know not what, but God be thanked she cannot. A great talke there is today of a crush between some of the Fanatiques up in arms, and the King's men in the North; but whether true I know not yet. 21st. At the office all the morning and at noon I receive a letter from Mr. Creed, with a token, viz., a very noble parti-coloured Indian gowne for my wife. The letter is oddly writ, over-prizing his present, and little owning any past service of mine, but that this was his genuine respects, and I know not what: I confess I had expectations of a better account from him of my service about his accounts, and so give his boy 12d., and sent it back again, and after having been at the pay of a ship this afternoon at the Treasury, I went by coach to Ludgate, and, by pricing several there, I guess this gowne may be worth about L12 or L15. But, however, I expect at least L50 of him. So in the evening I wrote him a letter telling him clearly my mind, a copy of which I keep and of his letter and so I resolve to have no more such correspondence as I used to have but will have satisfaction of him as I do expect. So to write my letters, and after all done I went home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well at ease from my letter to Creed, and more for my receipt this afternoon of L17 at the Treasury, for the L17 paid a year since to the carver for his work at my house, which I did intend to have paid myself, but, finding others to do it, I thought it not amisse to get it too, but I am afeard that we may hear of it to our greater prejudices hereafter. 22nd (Lord's day). Up pretty early, and having last night bespoke a coach, which failed me this morning, I walked as far as the Temple, and there took coach, and to my Lord's lodgings, whom I found ready to go to chappell; but I coming, he begun, with a very serious countenance, to tell me that he had received my late letter, wherein first he took notice of my care of him and his honour, and did give me thanks for that part of it where I say that from my heart I believe the contrary of what I do there relate to be the discourse of others; but since I intended it not a reproach, but matter of information, and for him to make a judgment of it for his practice, it was necessary for me to tell him the persons of whom I have gathered the several particulars which I there insist on. I would have made excuses in it; but, seeing him so earnest in it, I found myself forced to it, and so did tell him Mr. Pierce; the chyrurgeon, in that of his Lordship's living being discoursed of at Court; a mayd servant that-I kept, that lived at Chelsy school; and also Mr. Pickering, about the report touching the young woman; and also Mr. Hunt, in Axe Yard, near whom she lodged. I told him the whole city do discourse concerning his neglect of business; and so I many times asserting my dutifull intention in all this, and he owning his accepting of it as such. That that troubled me most in particular is, that he did there assert the civility of the people of the house, and the young gentlewoman, for whose reproach he was sorry. His saying that he was resolved how to live, and that though he was taking a house, meaning to live in another manner, yet it was not to please any people, or to stop report, but to please himself, though this I do believe he might say that he might not seem to me to be so much wrought upon by what I have writ; and lastly, and most of all, when I spoke of the tenderness that I have used in declaring this to him, there being nobody privy to it, he told me that I must give him leave to except one. I told him that possibly somebody might know of some thoughts of mine, I having borrowed some intelligence in this matter from them, but nobody could say they knew of the thing itself what I writ. This, I confess, however, do trouble me, for that he seemed to speak it as a quick retort, and it must sure be Will. Howe, who did not see anything of what I writ, though I told him indeed that I would write; but in this, I think, there is no great hurt. I find him, though he cannot but owne his opinion of my good intentions, and so, he did again and again profess it, that he is troubled in his mind at it; and I confess, I think I may have done myself an injury for his good, which, were it to do again, and that I believed he would take it no better, I think I should sit quietly without taking any notice of it, for I doubt there is no medium between his taking it very well or very ill. I could not forbear weeping before him at the latter end, which, since, I am ashamed of, though I cannot see what he can take it to proceed from but my tenderness and good will to him. After this discourse was ended, he began to talk very, cheerfully of other things, and I walked with him to White Hall, and we discoursed of the pictures in the gallery, which, it may be, he might do out of policy, that the boy might not see any, strangeness in him; but I rather think that his mind was somewhat eased, and hope that he will be to me as he was before. But, however, I doubt not when he sees that I follow my business, and become an honour to him, and not to be like to need him, or to be a burden to him, and rather able to serve him than to need him, and if he do continue to follow business, and so come to his right witts again, I do not doubt but he will then consider my faithfulnesse to him, and esteem me as he ought. At chappell I had room in the Privy Seale pew with other gentlemen, and there heard Dr. Killigrew, preach, but my mind was so, I know not whether troubled, or only full of thoughts of what had passed between my Lord and me that I could not mind it, nor can at this hour remember three words. The anthem was good after sermon, being the fifty-first psalme, made for five voices by one of Captain Cooke's boys, a pretty boy. And they say there are four or five of them that can do as much. And here I first perceived that the King is a little musicall, and kept good time with his hand all along the anthem. Up into the gallery after sermon and there I met Creed. We saluted one another and spoke but not one word of what had passed yesterday between us, but told me he was forced to such a place to dinner and so we parted. Here I met Mr. Povy, who tells me how Tangier had like to have been betrayed, and that one of the King's officers is come, to whom 8,000 pieces of eight were offered for his part. Hence I to the King's Head ordinary, and there dined, good and much company, and a good dinner: most of their discourse was about hunting, in a dialect I understand very little. Thence by coach to our own church, and there my mind being yet unsettled I could mind nothing, and after sermon home and there told my wife what had passed, and thence to my office, where doing business only to keep my mind employed till late; and so home to supper, to prayers, and to bed. 23rd: Up and to Alderman Backwell's, where Sir W. Rider, by appointment, met us to consult about the insuring of our hempe ship from Archangell, in which we are all much concerned, by my Lord Treasurer's command. That being put in a way I went to Mr. Beacham, one of our jury, to confer with him about our business with Field at our trial to-morrow, and thence to St. Paul's Churchyarde, and there bespoke "Rushworth's Collections," and "Scobell's Acts of the Long Parliament,"' &c., which I will make the King pay for as to the office; and so I do not break my vow at all. Back to the Coffee-house, and then to the 'Change, where Sir W. Rider and I did bid 15 per cent., and nobody will take it under 20 per cent., and the lowest was 15 per cent. premium, and 15 more to be abated in case of losse, which we did not think fit without order to give, and so we parted, and I home to a speedy, though too good a dinner to eat alone, viz., a good goose and a rare piece of roast beef. Thence to the Temple, but being there too soon and meeting Mr. Moore I took him up and to my Lord Treasurer's, and thence to Sir Ph. Warwick's, where I found him and did desire his advice, who left me to do what I thought fit in this business of the insurance, and so back again to the Temple all the way telling Mr. Moore what had passed between my Lord and me yesterday, and indeed my fears do grow that my Lord will not reform as I hoped he would nor have the ingenuity to take my advice as he ought kindly. But however I am satisfied that the one person whom he said he would take leave to except is not Mr. Moore, and so W. Howe I am sure could tell him nothing of my letter that ever he saw it. Here Mr. Moore and I parted, and I up to the Speaker's chamber, and there met Mr. Coventry by appointment to discourse about Field's business, and thence we parting I homewards and called at the Coffeehouse, and there by great accident hear that a letter is come that our ship is safe come to Newcastle. With this news I went like an asse presently to Alderman Backewell and, told him of it, and he and I went to the African House in Broad Street to have spoke with Sir W. Rider to tell him of it, but missed him. Now what an opportunity had I to have concealed this and seemed to have made an insurance and got L100 with the least trouble and danger in the whole world. This troubles me to think I should be so oversoon. So back again with Alderman Backewell talking of the new money, which he says will never be counterfeited, he believes; but it is deadly inconvenient for telling, it is so thick, and the edges are made to turn up. I found him as full of business, and, to speak the truth, he is a very painfull man, and ever was, and now-a-days is well paid for it. So home and to my office, doing business late in order to the getting a little money, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, where everybody joyed me in our hemp ship's coming safe, and it seems one man, Middleburgh, did give 20 per cent. in gold last night, three or four minutes before the newes came of her being safe. Thence with Mr. Deane home and dined, and after dinner and a good deal of discourse of the business of Woolwich Yard, we opened his draught of a ship which he has made for me, and indeed it is a most excellent one and that that I hope will be of good use to me as soon as I get a little time, and much indebted I am to the poor man. Toward night I by coach to Whitehall to the Tangier committee, and there spoke with my Lord and he seems mighty kind to me, but I will try him to-morrow by a visit to see whether he holds it or no. Then home by coach again and to my office, where late with Captain Miners about the East India business. So home to supper and to bed, being troubled to find myself so bound as I am, notwithstanding all the physic that I take. This day our tryall was with Field, and I hear that they have given him L29 damage more, which is a strange thing, but yet not so much as formerly, nor as I was afeard of. 25th. Up and to Sir G. Carteret's house, and with him by coach to Whitehall. He uses me mighty well to my great joy, and in our discourse took occasion to tell me that as I did desire of him the other day so he desires of me the same favour that we may tell one another at any time any thing that passes among us at the office or elsewhere wherein we are either dissatisfied one with another, and that I should find him in all things as kind and ready to serve me as my own brother. This methinks-was very sudden and extraordinary and do please me mightily, and I am resolved by no means ever to lose him again if I can. He told me that he did still observe my care for the King's service in my office. He set me down in Fleet Street and thence I by another coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I did present him Mr. Barlow's "Terella," with which he was very much pleased, and he did show me great kindnesse, and by other discourse I have reason to think that he is not at all, as I feared he would be, discontented against me more than the trouble of the thing will work upon him. I left him in good humour, and I to White Hall, to the Duke of York and Mr. Coventry, and there advised about insuring the hempe ship at 12 per cent., notwithstanding her being come to Newcastle, and I do hope that in all my three places which are now my hopes and supports I may not now fear any thing, but with care, which through the Lord's blessing I will never more neglect, I don't doubt but to keep myself up with them all. For in the Duke, and Mr. Coventry, my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret I place my greatest hopes, and it pleased me yesterday that Mr. Coventry in the coach (he carrying me to the Exchange at noon from the office) did, speaking of Sir W. Batten, say that though there was a difference between them, yet he would embrace any good motion of Sir W. Batten to the King's advantage as well as of Mr. Pepys' or any friend he had. And when I talked that I would go about doing something of the Controller's work when I had time, and that I thought the Controller would not take it ill, he wittily replied that there was nothing in the world so hateful as a dog in the manger. Back by coach to the Exchange, there spoke with Sir W. Rider about insuring, and spoke with several other persons about business, and shall become pretty well known quickly. Thence home to dinner with my poor wife, and with great joy to my office, and there all the afternoon about business, and among others Mr. Bland came to me and had good discourse, and he has chose me a referee for him in a business, and anon in the evening comes Sir W. Warren, and he and I had admirable discourse. He advised me in things I desired about, bummary,--[bottomry]--and other ways of putting out money as in parts of ships, how dangerous they are, and lastly fell to talk of the Dutch management of the Navy, and I think will helpe me to some accounts of things of the Dutch Admiralty, which I am mighty desirous to know. He seemed to have been mighty privy with my Lord Albemarle in things before this great turn, and to the King's dallying with him and others for some years before, but I doubt all was not very true. However, his discourse is very useful in general, though he would seem a little more than ordinary in this. Late at night home to supper and to bed, my mind in good ease all but my health, of which I am not a little doubtful. 26th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, and there met with Mr. Cutler the merchant, who would needs have me home to his house by the Dutch Church, and there in an old but good house, with his wife and mother, a couple of plain old women, I dined a good plain dinner, and his discourse after dinner with me upon matters of the navy victualling very good and worth my hearing, and so home to my office in the afternoon with my mind full of business, and there at it late, and so home to supper to my poor wife, and to bed, myself being in a little pain..... by a stroke.... in pulling up my breeches yesterday over eagerly, but I will lay nothing to it till I see whether it will cease of itself or no. The plague, it seems, grows more and more at Amsterdam; and we are going upon making of all ships coming from thence and Hambrough, or any other infected places, to perform their Quarantine (for thirty days as Sir Rd. Browne expressed it in the order of the Council, contrary to the import of the word, though in the general acceptation it signifies now the thing, not the time spent in doing it) in Holehaven, a thing never done by us before. 27th. Up and to my office, where busy with great delight all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner with my poor wife, and with great content to my office again, and there hard at work upon stating the account of the freights due to the King from the East India Company till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife mightily pleased with my late discourse of getting a trip over to Calais, or some other port of France, the next summer, in one of the yachts, and I believe I shall do it, and it makes good sport that my mayde Jane dares not go, and Besse is wild to go, and is mad for joy, but yet will be willing to stay if Jane hath a mind, which is the best temper in this and all other things that ever I knew in my life. 28th. Up and at the office sat all the morning, and at noon by Mr. Coventry's coach to the 'Change, and after a little while there where I met with Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who tells me for good newes that my Lord Sandwich is resolved to go no more to Chelsy, and told me he believed that I had been giving my Lord some counsel, which I neither denied nor affirmed, but seemed glad with him that he went thither no more, and so I home to dinner, and thence abroad to Paul's Church Yard, and there looked upon the second part of Hudibras, which I buy not, but borrow to read, to see if it be as good as the first, which the world cry so mightily up, though it hath not a good liking in me, though I had tried by twice or three times reading to bring myself to think it witty. Back again home and to my office, and there late doing business and so home to supper and to bed. I have been told two or three times, but to-day for certain I am told how in Holland publickly they have pictured our King with reproach. One way is with his pockets turned the wrong side outward, hanging out empty; another with two courtiers picking of his pockets; and a third, leading of two ladies, while others abuse him; which amounts to great contempt. 29th (Lord's day). This morning I put on my best black cloth suit, trimmed with scarlett ribbon, very neat, with my cloake lined with velvett, and a new beaver, which altogether is very noble, with my black silk knit canons I bought a month ago. I to church alone, my wife not going, and there I found my Lady Batten in a velvet gown, which vexed me that she should be in it before my wife, or that I am able to put her into one, but what cannot be, cannot be. However, when I came home I told my wife of it, and to see my weaknesse, I could on the sudden have found my heart to have offered her one, but second thoughts put it by, and indeed it would undo me to think of doing as Sir W. Batten and his Lady do, who has a good estate besides his office. A good dinner we had of boeuf a la mode, but not roasted so well as my wife used to do it. So after dinner I to the French Church, but that being too far begun I came back to St. Dunstan's by six and heard a good sermon, and so home and to my office all, the evening making up my accounts of this month, and blessed be God I have got up my crumb again to L770, the most that ever I had yet, and good clothes a great many besides, which is a great mercy of God to me. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Was called up by a messenger from Sir W. Pen to go with him by coach to White Hall. So I got up and went with him, and by the way he began to observe to me some unkind dealing of mine to him a weeke or two since at the table, like a coxcomb, when I answered him pretty freely that I would not think myself to owe any man the service to do this or that because they would have it so (it was about taking of a mulct upon a purser for not keeping guard at Chatham when I was there), so he talked and I talked and let fall the discourse without giving or receiving any great satisfaction, and so to other discourse, but I shall know him still for a false knave. At White Hall we met the Duke in the Matted Gallery, and there he discoursed with us; and by and by my Lord Sandwich came and stood by, and talked; but it being St. Andrew's, and a collar-day, he went to the Chappell, and we parted. From him and Sir W. Pen and I back again and 'light at the 'Change, and to the Coffee-house, where I heard the best story of a cheate intended by a Master of a ship, who had borrowed twice his money upon the bottomary, and as much more insured upon his ship and goods as they were worth, and then would have cast her away upon the coast of France, and there left her, refusing any pilott which was offered him; and so the Governor of the place took her and sent her over hither to find an owner, and so the ship is come safe, and goods and all; they all worth L500, and he had one way or other taken L3000. The cause is to be tried to-morrow at Guildhall, where I intend to be. Thence home to dinner, and then with my wife to her arithmetique. In the evening came W. Howe to see me, who tells me that my Lord hath been angry three or four days with him, would not speak to him; at last did, and charged him with having spoken to me about what he had observed concerning his Lordship, which W. Howe denying stoutly, he was well at ease; and continues very quiett, and is removing from Chelsy as fast as he can, but, methinks, both by my Lord's looks upon me to-day, or it may be it is only my doubtfulness, and by W. Howe's discourse, my Lord is not very well pleased, nor, it may be, will be a good while, which vexes me; but I hope all will over in time, or else I am but ill rewarded for my good service. Anon he and I to the Temple and there parted, and I to my cozen Roger Pepys, whom I met going to his chamber; he was in haste, and to go out of town tomorrow. He tells me of a letter from my father which he will keep to read to me at his coming to town again. I perceive it is about my father's jealousys concerning my wife's doing ill offices with me against him only from the differences they had when she was there, which he very unwisely continues to have and troubles himself and friends about to speak to me in, as my Lord Sandwich, Mr. Moore, and my cozen Roger, which vexes me, but I must impute it to his age and care for my mother and Pall and so let it go. After little discourse with him I took coach and home, calling upon my bookseller's for two books, Rushworth's and Scobell's Collections. I shall make the King pay for them. The first I spent some time at the office to read and it is an excellent book. So home and spent the evening with my wife in arithmetique, and so to supper and to bed. I end this month with my mind in good condition for any thing else, but my unhappy adventuring to disoblige my Lord by doing him service in representing to him the discourse of the world concerning him and his affairs. DECEMBER 1663 December 1st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I home to dinner with my poor wife, with whom now-a-days I enjoy great pleasure in her company and learning of Arithmetique. After dinner I to Guild Hall to hear a tryall at King's Bench, before Lord Chief Justice Hide, about the insurance of a ship, the same I mention in my yesterday's journall, where everything was proved how money was so taken up upon bottomary and insurance, and the ship left by the master and seamen upon rocks, where, when the sea fell at the ebb, she must perish. The master was offered helpe, and he did give the pilotts 20 sols to drink to bid them go about their business, saying that the rocks were old, but his ship was new, and that she was repaired for L6 and less all the damage that she received, and is now brought by one, sent for on purpose by the insurers, into the Thames, with her cargo, vessels of tallow daubed over with butter, instead of all butter, the whole not worth above L500, ship and all, and they had took up, as appeared, above L2,400. He had given his men money to content them; and yet, for all this, he did bring some of them to swear that it was very stormy weather, and [they] did all they could to save her, and that she was seven feete deep water in hold, and were fain to cut her main and foremast, that the master was the last man that went out, and they were fain to force [him] out when she was ready to sink; and her rudder broke off, and she was drawn into the harbour after they were gone, as wrecke all broken, and goods lost: that she could not be carried out again without new building, and many other things so contrary as is not imaginable more. There was all the great counsel in the kingdom in the cause; but after one witnesse or two for the plaintiff, it was cried down as a most notorious cheate; and so the jury, without going out, found it for the plaintiff. But it was pleasant to see what mad sort of testimonys the seamen did give, and could not be got to speak in order: and then their terms such as the judge could not understand; and to hear how sillily the Counsel and judge would speak as to the terms necessary in the matter, would make one laugh: and above all, a Frenchman that was forced to speak in French, and took an English oathe he did not understand, and had an interpreter sworn to tell us what he said, which was the best testimony of all. So home well satisfied with this afternoon's work, purposing to spend an afternoon or two every term so, and so to my office a while and then home to supper, arithmetique with my wife, and to bed. I heard other causes, and saw the course of pleading by being at this trial, and heard and learnt two things: one is that every man has a right of passage in, but not a title to, any highway. The next, that the judge would not suffer Mr. Crow, who hath fined for Alderman, to be called so, but only Mister, and did eight or nine times fret at it, and stop every man that called him so. 2nd. My wife troubled all last night with the toothache and this morning. I up and to my office, where busy, and so home to dinner with my wife, who is better of her tooth than she was, and in the afternoon by agreement called on by Mr. Bland, and with him to the Ship a neighbour tavern and there met his antagonist Mr. Custos and his referee Mr. Clarke a merchant also, and begun the dispute about the freight of a ship hired by Mr. Bland to carry provisions to Tangier, and the freight is now demanded, whereas he says that the goods were some spoiled, some not delivered, and upon the whole demands L1300 of the other, and their minds are both so high, their demands so distant, and their words so many and hot against one another that I fear we shall bring it to nothing. But however I am glad to see myself so capable of understanding the business as I find I do, and shall endeavour to do Mr. Bland all the just service I can therein. Here we were in a bad room, which vexed me most, but we meet at another house next. So at noon I home and to my office till 9 o'clock, and so home to my wife to keep her company, arithmetique, then to supper, and to bed, she being well of her tooth again. 3rd. Up and to the office, where all the forenoon, and then (by Mr. Coventry's coach) to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, very pleasant with my poor wife. Somebody from Portsmouth, I know not who, has this day sent me a Runlett of Tent. So to my office all the afternoon, where much business till late at night, and so home to my wife, and then to supper and to bed. This day Sir G. Carteret did tell us at the table, that the Navy (excepting what is due to the Yards upon the quarter now going on, and what few bills he hath not heard of) is quite out of debt; which is extraordinary good newes, and upon the 'Change to hear how our creditt goes as good as any merchant's upon the 'Change is a joyfull thing to consider, which God continue! I am sure the King will have the benefit of it, as well as we some peace and creditt. 4th. Up pretty betimes, that is about 7 o'clock, it being now dark then, and so got me ready, with my clothes, breeches and warm stockings, and by water with Henry Russell, cold and wet and windy to Woolwich, to a hempe ship there, and staid looking upon it and giving direction as to the getting it ashore, and so back again very cold, and at home without going on shore anywhere about 12 o'clock, being fearful of taking cold, and so dined at home and shifted myself, and so all the afternoon at my office till night, and then home to keep my poor wife company, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then with the whole board, viz., Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself along with Captain Allen home to dinner, where he lives hard by in Mark Lane, where we had a very good plain dinner and good welcome, in a pretty little house but so smoky that it was troublesome to us all till they put out the fire, and made one of charcoale. I was much pleased with this dinner for the many excellent stories told by Mr. Coventry, which I have put down in my book of tales and so shall not mention them here. We staid till night, and then Mr. Coventry away, and by and by I home to my office till 9 or 10 at night, and so home to supper and to bed after some talke and Arithmetique with my poor wife, with whom now-a-days I live with great content, out of all trouble of mind by jealousy (for which God forgive me), or any other distraction more than my fear of my Lord Sandwich's displeasure. 6th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and to church alone, which is the greatest trouble that I have by not having a man or, boy to wait on me, and so home to dinner, my wife, it being a cold day, and it begun to snow (the first snow we have seen this year) kept her bed till after dinner, and I below by myself looking over my arithmetique books and timber rule. So my wife rose anon, and she and I all the afternoon at arithmetique, and she is come to do Addition, Subtraction, and Multiplicacion very well, and so I purpose not to trouble her yet with Division, but to begin with the Globes to her now. At night came Captain Grove to discourse with me about Field's business and of other matters, and so, he being gone, I to my office, and spent an houre or two reading Rushworth, and so to supper home, and to prayers and bed, finding myself by cold to have some pain begin with me, which God defend should increase. 7th. Up betimes, and, it being a frosty morning, walked on foot to White Hall, but not without some fear of my pain coming. At White Hall I hear and find that there was the last night the greatest tide that ever was remembered in England to have been in this river: all White Hall having been drowned, of which there was great discourse. Anon we all met, and up with the Duke and did our business, and by and by my Lord of Sandwich came in, but whether it be my doubt or no I cannot tell, but I do not find that he made any sign of kindnesse or respect to me, which troubles me more than any thing in the world. After done there Sir W. Batten and Captain Allen and I by coach to the Temple, where I 'light, they going home, and indeed it being my trouble of mind to try whether I could meet with my Lord Sandwich and try him to see how he will receive me. I took coach and back again to Whitehall, but there could not find him. But here I met Dr. Clerke, and did tell him my story of my health; how my pain comes to me now-a-days. He did write something for me which I shall take when there is occasion. I then fell to other discourse of Dr. Knapp, who tells me he is the King's physician, and is become a solicitor for places for people, and I am mightily troubled with him. He tells me he is the most impudent fellow in the world, that gives himself out to be the King's physician, but it is not so, but is cast out of the Court. From thence I may learn what impudence there is in the world, and how a man may be deceived in persons: Anon the King and Duke and Duchesse came to dinner in the Vane-roome, where I never saw them before; but it seems since the tables are done, he dines there all together. The Queene is pretty well, and goes out of her chamber to her little chappell in the house. The King of France, they say, is hiring of sixty sail of ships of the Dutch, but it is not said for what design. By and by, not hoping to see my Lord, I went to the King's Head ordinary, where a good dinner but no discourse almost, and after dinner by coach, home, and found my wife this cold day not yet out of bed, and after a little good talk with her to my office, and there spent my time till late. Sir W. Warren two or three hours with me talking of trade, and other very good discourse, which did please me very, well, and so, after reading in Rushworth, home to supper and to bed. 8th. Lay long in bed, and then up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and among other things my Lord Barkely called in question his clerk Mr. Davy for something which Sir W. Batten and I did tell him yesterday, but I endeavoured to make the least of it, and so all was put up. At noon to the 'Change, and among other businesses did discourse with Captain Taylor, and I think I shall safely get L20 by his ship's freight at present, besides what it may be I may get hereafter. So home to dinner, and thence by coach to White Hall, where a great while walked with my Lord Tiviott, whom I find a most carefull, thoughtfull, and cunning man, as I also ever took him to be. He is this day bringing in an account where he makes the King debtor to him L10,000 already on the garrison of Tangier account; but yet demands not ready money to pay it, but offers such ways of paying it out of the sale of old decayed provisions as will enrich him finely. Anon came my Lord Sandwich, and then we fell to our business at the Committee about my Lord Tiviott's accounts, wherein I took occasion to speak now and then, so as my Lord Sandwich did well seem to like of it, and after we were up did bid me good night in a tone that, methinks, he is not so displeased with me as I did doubt he is; however, I will take a course to know whether he be or no. The Committee done, I took coach and home to my office, and there late, and so to supper at home, and to bed, being doubtful of my pain through the very cold weather which we have, but I will take all the care I can to prevent it. 9th. Lay very long in bed for fear of my pain, and then rose and went to stool (after my wife's way, who by all means would have me sit long and upright) very well, and being ready to the office. From thence I was called by and by to my wife, she not being well. So to her, and found her in great pain...... So by and by to my office again, and then abroad to look out a cradle to burn charcoal in at my office, and I found one to my mind in Newgate Market, and so meeting Hoby's man in the street, I spoke to him to serve it in to the office for the King. So home to dinner, and after talk with my wife, she in bed and pain all day, I to my office most of the evening, and then home to my wife. This day Mrs. Russell did give my wife a very fine St. George, in alabaster, which will set out my wife's closett mightily. This evening at the office, after I had wrote my day's passages, there came to me my cozen Angier of Cambridge, poor man, making his moan, and obtained of me that I would send his son to sea as a Reformado, which I will take care to do. But to see how apt every man is to forget friendship in time of adversity. How glad was I when he was gone, for fear he should ask me to be bond for him, or to borrow money of me. 10th. Up, pretty well, the weather being become pretty warm again, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I confess having received so lately a token from Mrs. Russell, I did find myself concerned for our not buying some tallow of her (which she bought on purpose yesterday most unadvisedly to her great losse upon confidence of putting it off to us). So hard it is for a man not to be warped against his duty and master's interest that receives any bribe or present, though not as a bribe, from any body else. But she must be contented, and I to do her a good turn when I can without wrong to the King's service. Then home to dinner (and did drink a glass of wine and beer, the more for joy that this is the shortest day in the year,--[Old Style]--which is a pleasant consideration) with my wife. She in bed but pretty well, and having a messenger from my brother, that he is not well nor stirs out of doors, I went forth to see him, and found him below, he has not been well, but is not ill. I found him taking order for the distribution of Mrs. Ramsey's coals, a thing my father for many years did, and now he after him, which I was glad to see, as also to hear that Mr. Wheatly begins to look after him. I hope it is about his daughter. Thence to St. Paul's Church Yard, to my bookseller's, and having gained this day in the office by my stationer's bill to the King about 40s. or L3, I did here sit two or three hours calling for twenty books to lay this money out upon, and found myself at a great losse where to choose, and do see how my nature would gladly return to laying out money in this trade. I could not tell whether to lay out my money for books of pleasure, as plays, which my nature was most earnest in; but at last, after seeing Chaucer, Dugdale's History of Paul's, Stows London, Gesner, History of Trent, besides Shakespeare, Jonson, and Beaumont's plays, I at last chose Dr. Fuller's Worthys, the Cabbala or Collections of Letters of State, and a little book, Delices de Hollande, with another little book or two, all of good use or serious pleasure: and Hudibras, both parts, the book now in greatest fashion for drollery, though I cannot, I confess, see enough where the wit lies. My mind being thus settled, I went by linke home, and so to my office, and to read in Rushworth; and so home to supper and to bed. Calling at Wotton's, my shoemaker's, today, he tells me that Sir H. Wright is dying; and that Harris is come to the Duke's house again; and of a rare play to be acted this week of Sir William Davenant's: the story of Henry the Eighth with all his wives. 11th. Up and abroad toward the Wardrobe, and going out Mr. Clerke met me to tell me that Field has a writ against me in this last business of L30 10s., and that he believes he will get an execution against me this morning, and though he told me it could not be well before noon, and that he would stop it at the Sheriff's, yet it is hard to believe with what fear I did walk and how I did doubt at every man I saw and do start at the hearing of one man cough behind my neck. I to, the Wardrobe and there missed Mr. Moore. So to Mr. Holden's and evened all reckonings there for hats, and then walked to Paul's Churchyard and after a little at my bookseller's and bought at a shop Cardinall Mazarin's Will in French. I to the Coffeehouse and there among others had good discourse with an Iron Merchant, who tells me the great evil of discouraging our natural manufacture of England in that commodity by suffering the Swede to bring in three times more than ever they did and our owne Ironworks be lost, as almost half of them, he says, are already. Then I went and sat by Mr. Harrington, and some East country merchants, and talking of the country about Quinsborough, and thereabouts, he told us himself that for fish, none there, the poorest body, will buy a dead fish, but must be alive, unless it be in winter; and then they told us the manner of putting their nets into the water. Through holes made in the thick ice, they will spread a net of half a mile long; and he hath known a hundred and thirty and a hundred and seventy barrels of fish taken at one draught. And then the people come with sledges upon the ice, with snow at the bottome, and lay the fish in and cover them with snow, and so carry them to market. And he hath seen when the said fish have been frozen in the sledge, so as that he hath taken a fish and broke a-pieces, so hard it hath been; and yet the same fishes taken out of the snow, and brought into a hot room, will be alive and leap up and down. Swallows are often brought up in their nets out of the mudd from under water, hanging together to some twigg or other, dead in ropes, and brought to the fire will come to life. Fowl killed in December. (Alderman Barker said) he did buy, and putting into the box under his sledge, did forget to take them out to eate till Aprill next, and they then were found there, and were through the frost as sweet and fresh and eat as well as at first killed. Young beares are there; their flesh sold in market as ordinarily as beef here, and is excellent sweet meat. They tell us that beares there do never hurt any body, but fly away from you, unless you pursue and set upon them; but wolves do much mischief. Mr. Harrington told us how they do to get so much honey as they send abroad. They make hollow a great fir-tree, leaving only a small slitt down straight in one place, and this they close up again, only leave a little hole, and there the bees go in and fill the bodys of those trees as full of wax and honey as they can hold; and the inhabitants at times go and open the slit, and take what they please without killing the bees, and so let them live there still and make more. Fir trees are always planted close together, because of keeping one another from the violence of the windes; and when a fell is made, they leave here and there a grown tree to preserve the young ones coming up. The great entertainment and sport of the Duke of Corland, and the princes thereabouts, is hunting; which is not with dogs as we, but he appoints such a day, and summons all the country-people as to a campagnia; and by several companies gives every one their circuit, and they agree upon a place where the toyle is to be set; and so making fires every company as they go, they drive all the wild beasts, whether bears, wolves, foxes, swine, and stags, and roes, into the toyle; and there the great men have their stands in such and such places, and shoot at what they have a mind to, and that is their hunting. They are not very populous there, by reason that people marry women seldom till they are towards or above thirty; and men thirty or forty years old, or more oftentimes. Against a publique hunting the Duke sends that no wolves be killed by the people; and whatever harm they do, the Duke makes it good to the person that suffers it: as Mr. Harrington instanced in a house where he lodged, where a wolfe broke into a hog-stye, and bit three or four great pieces off the back of the hog, before the house could come to helpe it (it calling, and that did give notice to the people of the house); and the man of the house told him that there were three or four wolves thereabouts that did them great hurt; but it was no matter, for the Duke was to make it good to him, otherwise he would kill them. Hence home and upstairs, my wife keeping her bed, and had a very good dinner, and after dinner to my office, and there till late busy. Among other things Captain Taylor came to me about his bill for freight, and besides that I found him contented that I have the L30 I got, he do offer me to give me L6 to take the getting of the bill paid upon me, which I am ready to do, but I am loath to have it said that I ever did it. However, I will do him the service to get it paid if I can and stand to his courtesy what he will give me. Late to supper home, and to my great joy I have by my wife's good advice almost brought myself by going often and leisurely to the stool that I am come almost to have my natural course of stool as well as ever, which I pray God continue to me. 12th. Up and to the office where all the morning, and among other things got Sir G. Carteret to put his letters to Captain Taylor's bill by which I am in hopes to get L5, which joys my heart. We had this morning a great dispute between Mr. Gauden, Victualler of the Navy, and Sir J. Lawson, and the rest of the Commanders going against Argier, about their fish and keeping of Lent; which Mr. Gauden so much insists upon to have it observed, as being the only thing that makes up the loss of his dear bargain all the rest of the year. At noon went home and there I found that one Abrahall, who strikes in for the serving of the King with Ship chandlery ware, has sent my wife a Japan gowne, which pleases her very well and me also, it coming very opportune, but I know not how to carry myself to him, I being already obliged so far to Mrs. Russell, so that I am in both their pays. To the Exchange, where I had sent Luellin word I would come to him, and thence brought him home to dinner with me. He tells me that W. Symon's wife is dead, for which I am sorry, she being a good woman, and tells me an odde story of her saying before her death, being in good sense, that there stood her uncle Scobell. Then he began to tell me that Mr. Deering had been with him to desire him to speak to me that if I would get him off with these goods upon his hands, he would give me 50 pieces, and further that if I would stand his friend to helpe him to the benefit of his patent as the King's merchant, he could spare me L200 per annum out of his profits. I was glad to hear both of these, but answered him no further than that as I would not by any thing be bribed to be unjust in my dealings, [Edward Dering was granted, August, 1660, "the office of King's merchant in the East, for buying and providing necessaries for apparelling the Navy" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1660-61, p. 212). There is evidence among the State Papers of some dissatisfaction with the timber, &c., which he supplied to the Navy, and at this time he appears to have had some stores left on his hands.] so I was not so squeamish as not to take people's acknowledgment where I had the good fortune by my pains to do them good and just offices, and so I would not come to be at any agreement with him, but I would labour to do him this service and to expect his consideration thereof afterwards as he thought fit. So I expect to hear more of it. I did make very much of Luellin in hopes to have some good by this business, and in the evening received some money from Mr. Moore, and so went and settled accounts in my books between him and me, and I do hope at Christmas not only to find myself as rich or more than ever I was yet, but also my accounts in less compass, fewer reckonings either of debts or moneys due to me, than ever I have been for some years, and indeed do so, the goodness of God bringing me from better to a better expectation and hopes of doing well. This day I heard my Lord Barkeley tell Sir G. Carteret that he hath letters from France that the King hath unduked twelve Dukes, only to show his power and to crush his nobility, who he said he did see had heretofore laboured to cross him. And this my Lord Barkeley did mightily magnify, as a sign of a brave and vigorous mind, that what he saw fit to be done he dares do. At night, after business done at my office, home to supper and to bed. I have forgot to set down a very remarkable passage that, Lewellen being gone, and I going into the office, and it begun to be dark, I found nobody there, my clerks being at the burial of a child of W. Griffin's, and so I spent a little time till they came, walking in the garden, and in the mean time, while I was walking Mrs. Pen's pretty maid came by my side, and went into the office, but finding nobody there I went in to her, being glad of the occasion. She told me as she was going out again that there was nobody there, and that she came for a sheet of paper. So I told her I would supply her, and left her in the office and went into my office and opened my garden door, thinking to have got her in, and there to have caressed her, and seeming looking for paper, I told her this way was as near a way for her, but she told me she had left the door open and so did not come to me. So I carried her some paper and kissed her, leading her by the hand to the garden door and there let her go. But, Lord! to see how much I was put out of order by this surprisal, and how much I could have subjected my mind to have treated and been found with this wench, and how afterwards I was troubled to think what if she should tell this and whether I had spoke or done any thing that might be unfit for her to tell. But I think there was nothing more passed than just what I here write. 13th (Lord's day). Up and made me ready for Church, but my wife and I had a difference about her old folly that she would fasten lies upon her mayds, and now upon Jane, which I did not see enough to confirm me in it, and so would not consent to her. To church, where after sermon home, and to my office, before dinner, reading my vowes, and so home to dinner, where Tom came to me and he and I dined together, my wife not rising all day, and after dinner I made even accounts with him, and spent all the afternoon in my chamber talking of many things with him, and about Wheately's daughter for a wife for him, and then about the Joyces and their father Fenner, how they are sometimes all honey one with another and then all turd, and a strange rude life there is among them. In the evening, he gone, I to my office to read Rushworth upon the charge and answer of the Duke of Buckingham, which is very fine, and then to do a little business against to-morrow, and so home to supper to my wife, and then to bed. 14th. Up by candlelight, which I do not use to do, though it be very late, that is to say almost 8 o'clock, and out by coach to White Hall, where we all met and to the Duke, where I heard a large discourse between one that goes over an agent from the King to Legorne and thereabouts, to remove the inconveniences his ships are put to by denial of pratique; which is a thing that is now-a-days made use of only as a cheat, for a man may buy a bill of health for a piece of eight, and my enemy may agree with the Intendent of the Sante for ten pieces of eight or so; that he shall not give me a bill of health, and so spoil me in my design, whatever it be. This the King will not endure, and so resolves either to have it removed, or to keep all ships from coming in, or going out there, so long as his ships are stayed for want hereof. Then, my Lord Sandwich being there, we all went into the Duke's closet and did our business. But among other things, Lord! what an account did Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten make of the pulling down and burning of the head of the Charles, where Cromwell was placed with people under his horse, and Peter, as the Duke called him, is praying to him; and Sir J. Minnes would needs infer the temper of the people from their joy at the doing of this and their building a gibbet for the hanging of his head up, when God knows, it is even the flinging away of L100 out of the King's purse, to the building of another, which it seems must be a Neptune. Thence I through White Hall only to see what was doing, but meeting none that I knew I went through the garden to my Lord Sandwich's lodging, where I found my Lord got before me (which I did not intend or expect) and was there trying some musique, which he intends for an anthem of three parts, I know not whether for the King's chapel or no, but he seems mighty intent upon it. But it did trouble me to hear him swear before God and other oathes, as he did now and then without any occasion, which methinks did so ill become him, and I hope will be a caution for me, it being so ill a thing in him. The musique being done, without showing me any good or ill countenance, he did give me his hat and so adieu, and went down to his coach without saying anything to me. He being gone I and Mr. Howe talked a good while. He tells me that my Lord, it is true, for a while after my letter, was displeased, and did shew many slightings of me when he had occasion of mentioning me to his Lordship, but that now my Lord is in good temper and he do believe will shew me as much respect as ever, and would have me not to refrain to come to him. This news I confess did much trouble me, but when I did hear how he is come to himself, and hath wholly left Chelsy, and the slut, and that I see he do follow his business, and becomes in better repute than before, I am rejoiced to see it, though it do cost me some disfavour for a time, for if not his good nature and ingenuity, yet I believe his memory will not bear it always in his mind. But it is my comfort that this is the thing that after so many years good service that has made him my enemy. Thence to the King's Head ordinary, and there dined among a company of fine gentlemen; some of them discoursed of the King of France's greatness, and how he is come to make the Princes of the Blood to take place of all foreign Embassadors, which it seems is granted by them of Venice and other States, and expected from my Lord. Hollis, our King's Embassador there; and that either upon that score or something else he hath not had his entry yet in Paris, but hath received several affronts, and among others his harnesse cut, and his gentlemen of his horse killed, which will breed bad blood if true. They say also that the King of France hath hired threescore ships of Holland, and forty of the Swede, but nobody knows what to do; but some great designs he hath on foot against the next year. Thence by coach home and to my office, where I spent all the evening till night with Captain Taylor discoursing about keeping of masts, and when he was gone, with Sir W. Warren, who did give me excellent discourse about the same thing, which I have committed to paper, and then fell to other talk of his being at Chatham lately and there discoursing of his masts. Commissioner Pett did let fall several scurvy words concerning my pretending to know masts as well as any body, which I know proceeds ever since I told him I could measure a piece of timber as well as anybody employed by the King. But, however, I shall remember him for a black sheep again a good while, with all his fair words to me, and perhaps may let him know that my ignorance does the King as much good as all his knowledge, which would do more it is true if it were well used. Then we fell to talk of Sir J. Minnes's and Sir W. Batten's burning of Oliver's head, while he was there; which was done with so much insulting and folly as I never heard of, and had the Trayned Band of Rochester to come to the solemnity, which when all comes to all, Commissioner Pett says it never was made for him; but it troubles me the King should suffer L100 losse in his purse, to make a new one after it was forgot whose it was, or any words spoke of it. He being gone I mightily pleased with his discourse, by which I always learn something, I to read a little in Rushworth, and so home to supper to my wife, it having been washing day, and so to bed, my mind I confess a little troubled for my Lord Sandwich's displeasure. But God will give me patience to bear since it rises from so good an occasion. 15th. Before I was up, my brother's man came to tell me that my cozen, Edward Pepys, was dead, died at Mrs. Turner's, for which my wife and I are very sorry, and the more for that his wife was the only handsome woman of our name. So up and to the office, where the greatest business was Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten against me for Sir W. Warren's contract for masts, to which I may go to my memorandum book to see what past, but came off with conquest, and my Lord Barkely and Mr. Coventry well convinced that we are well used. So home to dinner, and thither came to me Mr. Mount and Mr. Luellin, I think almost foxed, and there dined with me and very merry as I could be, my mind being troubled to see things so ordered at the Board, though with no disparagement to me at all. At dinner comes a messenger from the Counter with an execution against me for the L30 10s., given the last verdict to Field. The man's name is Thomas, of the Poultry Counter. I sent Griffin with him to the Dolphin, where Sir W. Batten was at dinner, and he being satisfied that I should pay the money, I did cause the money to be paid him, and Griffin to tell it out to him in the office. He offered to go along with me to Sir R. Ford, but I thought it not necessary, but let him go with it, he also telling me that there is never any receipt for it given, but I have good witness of the payment of it. They being gone, Luellin having again told me by myself that Deering is content to give me L50 if I can sell his deals for him to the King, not that I did ever offer to take it, or bid Luellin bargain for me with him, but did tacitly seem to be willing to do him what service I could in it, and expect his thanks, what he thought good. Thence to White Hall by coach, by the way overtaking Mr. Moore, and took him into the coach to me, and there he could tell me nothing of my Lord, how he stands as to his thoughts or respect to me, but concludes that though at present he may be angry yet he will come to be pleased again with me no doubt, and says that he do mind his business well, and keeps at Court. So to White Hall, and there by order found some of the Commissioners of Tangier met, and my Lord Sandwich among the rest, to whom I bowed, but he shewed me very little if any countenance at all, which troubles me mightily. Having soon done there, I took up Mr. Moore again and set him down at Pauls, by the way he proposed to me of a way of profit which perhaps may shortly be made by money by fines upon houses at the Wardrobe, but how I did not understand but left it to another discourse. So homeward, calling upon Mr. Fen, by Sir G. Carteret's desire, and did there shew him the bill of Captain Taylor's whereby I hope to get something justly. Home and to my office, and there very late with Sir W. Warren upon very serious discourse, telling him how matters passed to-day, and in the close he and I did fall to talk very openly of the business of this office, and (if I was not a little too open to tell him my interest, which is my fault) he did give me most admirable advice, and such as do speak him a most able and worthy man, and understanding seven times more than ever I thought to be in him. He did particularly run over every one of the officers and commanders, and shewed me how I had reason to mistrust every one of them, either for their falsenesse or their over-great power, being too high to fasten a real friendship in, and did give me a common but a most excellent saying to observe in all my life. He did give it in rhyme, but the sense was this, that a man should treat every friend in his discourse and opening his mind to him as of one that may hereafter be his foe. He did also advise me how I should take occasion to make known to the world my case, and the pains that I take in my business, and above all to be sure to get a thorough knowledge in my employment, and to that add all the interest at Court that I can, which I hope I shall do. He staid talking with me till almost 12 at night, and so good night, being sorry to part with him, and more sorry that he should have as far as Wapping to walk to-night. So I to my Journall and so home, to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and with my head and heart full of my business, I to my office, and there all the morning, where among other things to my great content Captain Taylor brought me L40, the greater part of which I shall gain to myself after much care and pains out of his bill of freight, as I have at large set down in my book of Memorandums. At noon to the 'Change and there met with Mr. Wood by design, and got out of him to my advantage a condition which I shall make good use of against Sir W. Batten (vide my book of Memorandums touching the contract of masts of Sir W. Warren about which I have had so much trouble). So home to dinner and then to the Star Tavern hard by to our arbitration of Mr. Bland's business, and at it a great while, but I found no order like to be kept in our inquiry, and Mr. Clerke, the other arbitrator, one so far from being fit (though able as to his trade of a merchant) to inquire and to take pains in searching out the truth on both sides, that we parted without doing anything, nor do I believe we shall at all ever attain to anything in it. Then home and till 12 at night making up my accounts with great account of this day's receipt of Captain Taylor's money and some money reimbursed me which I have laid out on Field's business. So home with my mind in pretty good quiet, and to Supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to my poor wife and dined, and then by coach abroad to Mrs. Turner's where I have not been for many a day, and there I found her and her sister Dike very sad for the death of their brother. After a little common expression of sorrow, Mrs. Turner told me that the trouble she would put me to was, to consult about getting an achievement prepared, scutcheons were done already, to set over the door. So I did go out to Mr. Smith's, where my brother tells me the scutcheons are made, but he not being within, I went to the Temple, and there spent my time in a Bookseller's shop, reading in a book of some Embassages into Moscovia, &c., where was very good reading, and then to Mrs. Turner's, and thither came Smith to me, with whom I did agree for L4 to make a handsome one, ell square within the frame. After he was gone I sat an houre talking of the suddennesse of his death within 7 days, and how by little and little death came upon him, neither he nor they thinking it would come to that. He died after a day's raveing, through lightness in his head for want of sleep. His lady did not know of his sickness, nor do they hear yet how she takes it. Hence home, taking some books by the way in Paul's Churchyard by coach to my office, where late doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and after being ready and done several businesses with people, I took water (taking a dram of the bottle at the waterside) with a gaily, the first that ever I had yet, and down to Woolwich, calling at Ham Creeke, where I met Mr. Deane, and had a great deal of talke with him about business, and so to the Ropeyarde and Docke, discoursing several things, and so back again and did the like at Deptford, and I find that it is absolutely necessary for me to do thus once a weeke at least all the yeare round, which will do me great good, and so home with great ease and content, especially out of the content which I met with in a book I bought yesterday, being a discourse of the state of Rome under the present Pope, Alexander the 7th, it being a very excellent piece. After eating something at home, then to my office, where till night about business to dispatch. Among other people came Mr. Primate, the leather seller, in Fleete Streete, to see me, he says, coming this way; and he tells me that he is upon a proposal to the King, whereby, by a law already in being, he will supply the King, without wrong to any man, or charge to the people in general, so much as it is now, above L200,000 per annum, and God knows what, and that the King do like the proposal, and hath directed that the Duke of Monmouth, with their consent, be made privy, and go along with him and his fellow proposer in the business, God knows what it is; for I neither can guess nor believe there is any such thing in his head. At night made an end of the discourse I read this morning, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I laboured hard at Deering's business of his deals more than I would if I did not think to get something, though I do really believe that I did what is to the King's advantage in it, and yet, God knows, the expectation of profit will have its force and make a man the more earnest. Dined at home, and then with Mr. Bland to another meeting upon his arbitration, and seeing we were likely to do no good I even put them upon it, and they chose Sir W. Rider alone to end the matter, and so I am rid of it. Thence by coach to my shoemaker's and paid all there, and gave something to the boys' box against Christmas. To Mrs. Turner's, whom I find busy with Sir W. Turner, about advising upon going down to Norfolke with the corps, and I find him in talke a sober, considering man. So home to my office late, and then home to supper and to bed. My head full of business, but pretty good content. 20th (Lord's day). Up and alone to church, where a common sermon of Mr. Mills, and so home to dinner in our parler, my wife being clean, and the first time we have dined here a great while together, and in the afternoon went to church with me also, and there begun to take her place above Mrs. Pen, which heretofore out of a humour she was wont to give her as an affront to my Lady Batten. After a dull sermon of the Scotchman, home, and there I found my brother Tom and my two cozens Scotts, he and she, the first time they were ever here. And by and by in comes my uncle. Wight and Mr. Norbury, and they sat with us a while drinking, of wine, of which I did give them plenty. But the two would not stay supper, but the other two did. And we were as merry as I could be with people that I do wish well to, but know not what discourse either to give them or find from them. We showed them our house from top to bottom, and had a good Turkey roasted for our supper, and store of wine, and after supper sent them home on foot, and so we to prayers and to bed. 21st. Up betimes, my wife having a mind to have gone abroad with me, but I had not because of troubling me, and so left her, though against my will, to go and see her father and mother by herself, and I straight to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I had a pretty kind salute from my Lord, and went on to the Duke's, where my fellow officers by and by came, and so in with him to his closet, and did our business, and so broke up, and I with Sir W. Batten by coach to Salisbury Court, and there spoke with Clerk our Solicitor about Field's business, and so parted, and I to Mrs. Turner's, and there saw the achievement pretty well set up, and it is well done. Thence I on foot to Charing Crosse to the ordinary, and there, dined, meeting Mr. Gauden and Creed. Here variety of talk but to no great purpose. After dinner won a wager of a payre of gloves of a crowne of Mr. Gauden upon some words in his contract for victualling. There parted in the street with them, and I to my Lord's, but he not being within, took coach, and, being directed by sight of bills upon the walls, I did go to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at a new pit there, a sport I was never at in my life; but, Lord! to see the strange variety of people, from Parliament-man (by name Wildes, that was Deputy Governor of the Tower when Robinson was Lord Mayor) to the poorest 'prentices, bakers, brewers, butchers, draymen, and what not; and all these fellows one with another in swearing, cursing, and betting. I soon had enough of it, and yet I would not but have seen it once, it being strange to observe the nature of these poor creatures, how they will fight till they drop down dead upon the table, and strike after they are ready to give up the ghost, not offering to run away when they are weary or wounded past doing further, whereas where a dunghill brood comes he will, after a sharp stroke that pricks him, run off the stage, and then they wring off his neck without more ado, whereas the other they preserve, though their eyes be both out, for breed only of a true cock of the game. Sometimes a cock that has had ten to one against him will by chance give an unlucky blow, will strike the other starke dead in a moment, that he never stirs more; but the common rule is, that though a cock neither runs nor dies, yet if any man will bet L10 to a crowne, and nobody take the bet, the game is given over, and not sooner. One thing more it is strange to see how people of this poor rank, that look as if they had not bread to put in their mouths, shall bet three or four pounds at one bet, and lose it, and yet bet as much the next battle (so they call every match of two cocks), so that one of them will lose L10 or L20 at a meeting. Thence, having enough of it, by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, where I find him within with Captain Cooke and his boys, Dr. Childe, Mr. Madge, and Mallard, playing and singing over my Lord's anthem which he hath made to sing in the King's Chappell: my Lord saluted me kindly and took me into the withdrawing-room, to hear it at a distance, and indeed it sounds very finely, and is a good thing, I believe, to be made by him, and they all commend it. And after that was done Captain Cooke and his two boys did sing some Italian songs, which I must in a word say I think was fully the best musique that I ever yet heard in all my life, and it was to me a very great pleasure to hear them. After all musique ended, my Lord going to White Hall, I went along with him, and made a desire for to have his coach to go along with my cozen Edward Pepys's hearse through the City on Wednesday next, which he granted me presently, though he cannot yet come to speak to me in the familiar stile that he did use to do, nor can I expect it. But I was the willinger of this occasion to see whether he would deny me or no, which he would I believe had he been at open defyance against me. Being not a little pleased with all this, though I yet see my Lord is not right yet, I thanked his Lordship and parted with him in White Hall. I back to my Lord's, and there took up W. Howe in a coach, and carried him as far as the Half Moone, and there set him down. By the way, talking of my Lord, who is come another and a better man than he was lately, and God be praised for it, and he says that I shall find my Lord as he used to be to me, of which I have good hopes, but I shall beware of him, I mean W. Howe, how I trust him, for I perceive he is not so discreet as I took him for, for he has told Captain Ferrers (as Mr. Moore tells me) of my letter to my Lord, which troubles me, for fear my Lord should think that I might have told him. So called with my coach at my wife's brother's lodging, but she was gone newly in a coach homewards, and so I drove hard and overtook her at Temple Bar, and there paid off mine, and went home with her in her coach. She tells me how there is a sad house among her friends. Her brother's wife proves very unquiet, and so her mother is, gone back to be with her husband and leave the young couple to themselves, and great trouble, and I fear great want, will be among them, I pray keep me from being troubled with them. At home to put on my gowne and to my office, and there set down this day's Journall, and by and by comes Mrs. Owen, Captain Allen's daughter, and causes me to stay while the papers relating to her husband's place, bought of his father, be copied out because of her going by this morning's tide home to Chatham. Which vexes me, but there is no help for it. I home to supper while a young [man] that she brought with her did copy out the things, and then I to the office again and dispatched her, and so home to bed. 22nd. Up and there comes my she cozen Angier, of Cambridge, to me to speak about her son. But though I love them, and have reason so to do, yet, Lord! to consider how cold I am to speak to her, for fear of giving her too much hopes of expecting either money or anything else from me besides my care of her son. I let her go without drinking, though that was against my will, being forced to hasten to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to Sir R. Ford's, where Sir R. Browne (a dull but it seems upon action a hot man), and he and I met upon setting a price upon the freight of a barge sent to France to the Duchess of Orleans. And here by discourse I find them greatly crying out against the choice of Sir J. Cutler to be Treasurer for Paul's upon condition that he give L1500 towards it, and it seems he did give it upon condition that he might be Treasurer for the work, which they say will be worth three times as much money, and talk as if his being chosen to the office will make people backward to give, but I think him as likely a man as either of them, or better. The business being done we parted, Sir R. Ford never inviting me to dine with him at all, and I was not sorry for it. Home and dined. I had a letter from W. Howe that my Lord hath ordered his coach and six horses for me to-morrow, which pleases me mightily to think that my Lord should do so much, hoping thereby that his anger is a little over. After dinner abroad with my wife by coach to Westminster, and set her at Mrs. Hunt's while I about my business, having in our way met with Captain Ferrers luckily to speak to him about my coach, who was going in all haste thither, and I perceive the King and Duke and all the Court was going to the Duke's playhouse to see "Henry VIII." acted, which is said to be an admirable play. But, Lord! to see how near I was to have broken my oathe, or run the hazard of 20s. losse, so much my nature was hot to have gone thither; but I did not go, but having spoke with W. Howe and known how my Lord did do this kindly as I would have it, I did go to Westminster Hall, and there met Hawley, and walked a great while with him. Among other discourse encouraging him to pursue his love to Mrs. Lane, while God knows I had a roguish meaning in it. Thence calling my wife home by coach, calling at several places, and to my office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I hear for certain that my Lady Castlemaine is turned Papist, which the Queene for all do not much like, thinking that she do it not for conscience sake. I heard to-day of a great fray lately between Sir H. Finch's coachman, who struck with his whip a coachman of the King's to the losse of one of his eyes; at which the people of the Exchange seeming to laugh and make sport with some words of contempt to him, my Lord Chamberlin did come from the King to shut up the 'Change, and by the help of a justice, did it; but upon petition to the King it was opened again. 23rd. Up betimes and my wife; and being in as mourning a dress as we could, at present, without cost, put ourselves into, we by Sir W. Pen's coach to Mrs. Turner's, at Salisbury Court, where I find my Lord's coach and six horses. We staid till almost eleven o'clock, and much company came, and anon, the corps being put into the hearse, and the scutcheons set upon it, we all took coach, and I and my wife and Auditor Beale in my Lord Sandwich's coach, and went next to Mrs. Turner's mourning coach, and so through all the City and Shoreditch, I believe about twenty coaches, and four or five with six and four horses. Being come thither, I made up to the mourners, and bidding them a good journey, I took leave and back again, and setting my wife into a hackney out of Bishopsgate Street, I sent her home, and I to the 'Change and Auditor Beale about his business. Did much business at the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to my office, and there late doing business also to my great content to see God bless me in my place and opening honest ways, I hope to get a little money to lay up and yet to live handsomely. So to supper and to bed. My wife having strange fits of the toothache, some times on this, and by and by on that side of her tooth, which is not common. 24th. Up betimes; and though it was a most foggy morning, and cold, yet with a gally down to Eriffe, several times being at a loss whither we went. There I mustered two ships of the King's, lent by him to the Guiny Company, which are manned better than ours at far less wages. Thence on board two of the King's, one of them the "Leopard," Captain Beech, who I find an able and serious man. He received me civilly, and his wife was there, a very well bred and knowing woman, born at Antwerp, but speaks as good English as myself, and an ingenious woman. Here was also Sir G. Carteret's son, who I find a pretty, but very talking man, but good humour. Thence back again, entertaining myself upon my sliding rule with great content, and called at Woolwich, where Mr. Chr. Pett having an opportunity of being alone did tell me his mind about several things he thought I was offended with him in, and told me of my kindness to his assistant. I did give him such an answer as I thought was fit and left him well satisfied, he offering to do me all the service, either by draughts or modells that I should desire. Thence straight home, being very cold, but yet well, I thank God, and at home found my wife making mince pies, and by and by comes in Captain Ferrers to see us, and, among other talke, tells us of the goodness of the new play of "Henry VIII.," which makes me think [it] long till my time is out; but I hope before I go I shall set myself such a stint as I may not forget myself as I have hitherto done till I was forced for these months last past wholly to forbid myself the seeing of one. He gone I to my office and there late writing and reading, and so home to bed. 25th (Christmas day). Lay long talking pleasantly with my wife, but among other things she begun, I know not whether by design or chance, to enquire what she should do if I should by any accident die, to which I did give her some slight answer; but shall make good use of it to bring myself to some settlement for her sake, by making a will as soon as I can. Up and to church, where Mr. Mills made an ordinary sermon, and so home and dined with great pleasure with my wife, and all the afternoon first looking out at window and seeing the boys playing at many several sports in our back yard by Sir W. Pen's, which reminded me of my own former times, and then I began to read to my wife upon the globes with great pleasure and to good purpose, for it will be pleasant to her and to me to have her understand these things. In the evening at the office, where I staid late reading Rushworth, which is a most excellent collection of the beginning of the late quarrels in this kingdom, and so home to supper and to bed, with good content of mind. 26th. Up and walked forth first to the Minerys to Brown's, and there with great pleasure saw and bespoke several instruments, and so to Cornhill to Mr. Cades, and there went up into his warehouse to look for a map or two, and there finding great plenty of good pictures, God forgive me! how my mind run upon them, and bought a little one for my wife's closett presently, and concluded presently of buying L10 worth, upon condition he would give me the buying of them. Now it is true I did still within me resolve to make the King one way or other pay for them, though I saved it to him another way, yet I find myself too forward to fix upon the expense, and came away with a resolution of buying them, but do hope that I shall not upon second thoughts do it without a way made out before I buy them to myself how to do [it] without charge to my main stock. Thence to the Coffee-house, and sat long in good discourse with some gentlemen concerning the Roman Empire. So home and found Mr. Hollyard there, and he stayed and dined with us, we having a pheasant to dinner. He gone, I all the afternoon with my wife to cards, and, God forgive me! to see how the very discourse of plays, which I shall be at liberty to see after New Year's Day next, do set my mind upon them, but I must be forced to stint myself very strictly before I begin, or else I fear I shall spoil all. In the evening came my aunt Wight's kinswoman to see how my wife do, with a compliment from my aunt, which I take kindly as it is unusual for her to do it, but I do perceive my uncle is very kind to me of late. So to my office writing letters, and then to read and make an end of Rushworth, which I did, and do say that it is a book the most worth reading for a man of my condition or any man that hopes to come to any publique condition in the world that I do know. So home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up and to church alone and so home to dinner with my wife very pleasant and pleased with one another's company, and in our general enjoyment one of another, better we think than most other couples do. So after dinner to the French church, but came too late, and so back to our owne church, where I slept all the sermon the Scott preaching, and so home, and in the evening Sir J. Minnes and I met at Sir W. Pen's about ordering some business of the Navy, and so I home to supper, discourse, prayers, and bed. 28th. Up and by coach to my Lord's lodgings, but he was gone abroad, so I lost my pains, but, however, walking through White Hall I heard the King was gone to play at Tennis, so I down to the new Tennis Court; and saw him and Sir Arthur Slingsby play against my Lord of Suffolke and my Lord Chesterfield. The King beat three, and lost two sets, they all, and he particularly playing well, I thought. Thence went and spoke with the Duke of Albemarle about his wound at Newhall, but I find him a heavy dull man, methinks, by his answers to me. Thence to the King's Head ordinary and there dined, and found Creed there, but we met and dined and parted without any thing more than "How do you?" After dinner straight on foot to Mr. Hollyard's, and there paid him L3 in full for his physic and work to my wife.... but whether it is cured for ever or no I cannot tell, but he says it will never come to anything, though it may be it may ooze now and then a little. So home and found my wife gone out with Will (whom she sent for as she do now a days upon occasion) to have a tooth drawn, she having it seems been in great pain all day, and at night came home with it drawn, and pretty well. This evening I had a stove brought me to the office to try, but it being an old one it smokes as much as if there was nothing but a hearth as I had before, but it may be great new ones do not, and therefore I must enquire further. So at night home to supper and to bed. The Duchesse of York is fallen sicke of the meazles. 29th. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting, at noon to the 'change, and there I found and brought home Mr. Pierse the surgeon to dinner. Where I found also Mr. Luellin and Mount, and merry at dinner, but their discourse so free.... that I was weary of them. But after dinner Luellin took me up to my chamber to give me L50 for the service I did him, though not so great as he expected and I intended. But I told him that I would not sell my liberty to any man. If he would give me any thing by another's hand I would endeavour to deserve it, but I will never give him himself thanks for it, not acknowledging the receiving of any, which he told me was reasonable. I did also tell him that neither this nor any thing should make me to do any thing that should not be for the King's service besides. So we parted and left them three at home with my wife going to cards, and I to my office and there staid late. Sir W. Pen came like a cunning rogue to sit and talk with me about office business and freely about the Comptroller's business of the office, to which I did give him free answers and let him make the best of them. But I know him to be a knave, and do say nothing that I fear to have said again. Anon came Sir W. Warren, and after talking of his business of the masts and helping me to understand some foul dealing in the business of Woods we fell to other talk, and particularly to speak of some means how to part this great familiarity between Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and it is easy to do by any good friend of Sir J. Minnes to whom it will be a good service, and he thinks that Sir J. Denham will be a proper man for it, and so do I. So after other discourse we parted, and I home and to bed. 30th. Up betimes and by coach to my Lord Sandwich, who I met going out, and he did aske me how his cozen, my wife; did, the first time he hath done so since his being offended, and, in my conscience, he would be glad to be free with me again, but he knows not how to begin. So he went out, and I through the garden to Mr. Coventry, where I saw Mr. Ch. Pett bringing him a modell, and indeed it is a pretty one, for a New Year's gift; but I think the work not better done than mine. With him by coach to London, with good and friendly discourse of business and against Sir W. Batten and his foul dealings. So leaving him at the Guiny House I to the Coffee House, whither came Mr. Grant and Sir W. Petty, with whom I talked, and so did many, almost all the house there, about his new vessel, wherein he did give me such satisfaction in every point that I am almost confident she will prove an admirable invention. So home to dinner, and after being upon the 'Change awhile I dined with my wife, who took physique to-day, and so to my office, and there all the afternoon till late at night about office business, and so to supper and to bed. 31st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and among other things Sir W. Warren came about some contract, and there did at the open table, Sir W. Batten not being there; openly defy him, and insisted how Sir W. Batten did endeavour to oppose him in everything that he offered. Sir W. Pen took him up for it, like a counterfeit rogue, though I know he was as much pleased to hear him talk so as any man there. But upon his speaking no more was said but to the business. At noon we broke up and I to the 'Change awhile, and so home again to dinner, my head aching mightily with being overcharged with business. We had to dinner, my wife and I, a fine turkey and a mince pie, and dined in state, poor wretch, she and I, and have thus kept our Christmas together all alone almost, having not once been out, but to-morrow my vowes are all out as to plays and wine, but I hope I shall not be long before I come to new ones, so much good, and God's blessing, I find to have attended them. Thence to the office and did several businesses and answered several people, but my head aching and it being my great night of accounts, I went forth, took coach, and to my brother's, but he was not within, and so I back again and sat an hour or two at the Coffee [house], hearing some simple discourse about Quakers being charmed by a string about their wrists, and so home, and after a little while at my office, I home and supped, and so had a good fire in my chamber and there sat till 4 o'clock in the morning making up my accounts and writing this last Journall of the year. And first I bless God I do, after a large expense, even this month, by reason of Christmas, and some payments to my father, and other things extraordinary, find that I am worth in money, besides all my household stuff, or any thing of Brampton, above L800, whereof in my Lord Sandwich's hand, L700, and the rest in my hand. So that there is not above L5 of all my estate in money at this minute out of my hands and my Lord's. For which the good God be pleased to give me a thankful heart and a mind careful to preserve this and increase it. I do live at my lodgings in the Navy Office, my family being, besides my wife and I, Jane Gentleman, Besse, our excellent, good-natured cookmayde, and Susan, a little girle, having neither man nor boy, nor like to have again a good while, living now in most perfect content and quiett, and very frugally also; my health pretty good, but only that I have been much troubled with a costiveness which I am labouring to get away, and have hopes of doing it. At the office I am well, though envied to the devil by Sir William Batten, who hates me to death, but cannot hurt me. The rest either love me, or at least do not show otherwise, though I know Sir W. Pen to be a false knave touching me, though he seems fair. My father and mother well in the country; and at this time the young ladies of Hinchingbroke with them, their house having the small-pox in it. The Queene after a long and sore sicknesse is become well again; and the King minds his mistresse a little too much, if it pleased God! but I hope all things will go well, and in the Navy particularly, wherein I shall do my duty whatever comes of it. The great talke is the designs of the King of France, whether against the Pope or King of Spayne nobody knows; but a great and a most promising Prince he is, and all the Princes of Europe have their eye upon him. My wife's brother come to great unhappiness by the ill-disposition, my wife says, of his wife, and her poverty, which she now professes, after all her husband's pretence of a great fortune, but I see none of them, at least they come not to trouble me. At present I am concerned for my cozen Angier, of Cambridge, lately broke in his trade, and this day am sending his son John, a very rogue, to sea. My brother Tom I know not what to think of, for I cannot hear whether he minds his business or not; and my brother John at Cambridge, with as little hopes of doing good there, for when he was here he did give me great cause of dissatisfaction with his manner of life. Pall with my father, and God knows what she do there, or what will become of her, for I have not anything yet to spare her, and she grows now old, and must be disposed of one way or other. The Duchesse of York, at this time, sicke of the meazles, but is growing well again. The Turke very far entered into Germany, and all that part of the world at a losse what to expect from his proceedings. Myself, blessed be God! in a good way, and design and resolution of sticking to my business to get a little money with doing the best service I can to the King also; which God continue! So ends the old year. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR PEPY'S DIARY 1963 COMPLETE: A woman sober, and no high-flyer, as he calls it Academy was dissolved by order of the Pope After oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb After some pleasant talk, my wife, Ashwell, and I to bed After awhile I caressed her and parted seeming friends Again that she spoke but somewhat of what she had in her heart And there, did what I would with her And so to sleep till the morning, but was bit cruelly And so to bed and there entertained her with great content And so to bed, my father lying with me in Ashwell's bed Apprehend about one hundred Quakers At last we pretty good friends Before I sent my boy out with them, I beat him for a lie Being cleansed of lice this day by my wife Better we think than most other couples do Book itself, and both it and them not worth a turd But a woful rude rabble there was, and such noises Compliment from my aunt, which I take kindly as it is unusual Conceited, but that's no matter to me Content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile Dare not oppose it alone for making an enemy and do no good Did so watch to see my wife put on drawers, which (she did) Did go to Shoe Lane to see a cocke-fighting at a new pit there Did find none of them within, which I was glad of Dined at home alone, a good calves head boiled and dumplings Dinner was great, and most neatly dressed Dog attending us, which made us all merry again Dr. Calamy is this day sent to Newgate for preaching Duodecimal arithmetique Eat a mouthful of pye at home to stay my stomach Employed by the fencers to play prizes at Enquiring into the selling of places do trouble a great many Every man looking after himself, and his owne lust and luxury Every small thing is enough now-a-days to bring a difference Excommunications, which they send upon the least occasions Expectation of profit will have its force Familiarity with her other servants is it that spoils them all Fear it may do him no good, but me hurt Fearful that I might not go far enough with my hat off Feverish, and hath sent for Mr. Pierce to let him blood Found guilty, and likely will be hanged (for stealing spoons) Found him a fool, as he ever was, or worse Galileo's air thermometer, made before 1597 Give her a Lobster and do so touse her and feel her all over God knows that I do not find honesty enough in my own mind Goes with his guards with him publiquely, and his trumpets Goes down the wind in honour as well as every thing else Great plot which was lately discovered in Ireland Had a good supper of an oxe's cheek Half a pint of Rhenish wine at the Still-yard, mixed with beer Hanged with a silken halter He is too wise to be made a friend of He hoped he should live to see her "ugly and willing" He having made good promises, though I fear his performance His readiness to speak spoilt all How highly the Presbyters do talk in the coffeehouses still I calling her beggar, and she me pricklouse, which vexed me I and she never were so heartily angry in our lives as to-day I do not find other people so willing to do business as myself I slept most of the sermon I was very angry, and resolve to beat him to-morrow Ill humour to be so against that which all the world cries up In some churches there was hardly ten people in the whole church Insurrection of the Catholiques there It must be the old ones that must do any good Jealous, though God knows I have no great reason John has got a wife, and for that he intends to part with him Justice of proceeding not to condemn a man unheard Keep at interest, which is a good, quiett, and easy profit King was gone to play at Tennis Lady Castlemaine hath all the King's Christmas presents Lay long in bed talking and pleasing myself with my wife Lay very long with my wife in bed talking with great pleasure Lay chiding, and then pleased with my wife in bed Liability of a husband to pay for goods supplied his wife Many thousands in a little time go out of England Matters in Ireland are full of discontent Money, which sweetens all things Most flat dead sermon, both for matter and manner of delivery Much discourse, but little to be learned My maid Susan ill, or would be thought so My wife has got too great head to be brought down soon My wife and her maid Ashwell had between them spilled the pot.... No more matter being made of the death of one than another No sense nor grammar, yet in as good words that ever I saw Nor will yield that the Papists have any ground given them Nor would become obliged too much to any Nothing in the world done with true integrity Nothing of any truth and sincerity, but mere envy and design Nothing is to be got without offending God and the King Once a week or so I know a gentleman must go.... Opening his mind to him as of one that may hereafter be his foe Out of an itch to look upon the sluts there Pain of the stone, and makes bloody water with great pain Parliament do agree to throw down Popery Pen was then turned Quaker Persuade me that she should prove with child since last night Plague is much in Amsterdam, and we in fears of it here Pride and debauchery of the present clergy Pride himself too much in it Quakers being charmed by a string about their wrists Rabbit not half roasted, which made me angry with my wife Railed bitterly ever and anon against John Calvin Reading my Latin grammar, which I perceive I have great need Reckon nothing money but when it is in the bank Resolve to live well and die a beggar Sad for want of my wife, whom I love with all my heart Saw his people go up and down louseing themselves Scholler, that would needs put in his discourse (every occasion) Scholler, but, it may be, thinks himself to be too much so See how time and example may alter a man See whether my wife did wear drawers to-day as she used to do Sent me last night, as a bribe, a barrel of sturgeon Servant of the King's pleasures too, as well as business She was so ill as to be shaved and pidgeons put to her feet She is conceited that she do well already She used the word devil, which vexed me She begins not at all to take pleasure in me or study to please So home, and mighty friends with my wife again So much is it against my nature to owe anything to any body So home to supper and bed with my father So home, and after supper did wash my feet, and so to bed So neat and kind one to another Softly up to see whether any of the beds were out of order or no Sorry for doing it now, because of obliging me to do the like Sporting in my fancy with the Queen Statute against selling of offices Talk very highly of liberty of conscience Taught my wife some part of subtraction That I might say I saw no money in the paper That he is not able to live almost with her The plague is got to Amsterdam, brought by a ship from Argier The goldsmith, he being one of the jury to-morrow The house was full of citizens, and so the less pleasant Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad There is no passing but by coach in the streets, and hardly that There is no man almost in the City cares a turd for him Therefore ought not to expect more justice from her These young Lords are not fit to do any service abroad They were so false spelt that I was ashamed of them They say now a common mistress to the King Things being dear and little attendance to be had we went away Though it be but little, yet I do get ground every month Through the Fleete Ally to see a couple of pretty [strumpets] To bed with discontent she yielded to me and began to be fond Towzing her and doing what I would, but the last thing of all Upon a small temptation I could be false to her Vexed at my wife's neglect in leaving of her scarf Waked this morning between four and five by my blackbird We having no luck in maids now-a-days Who is over head and eares in getting her house up Whose voice I am not to be reconciled Wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking Wine, new and old, with labells pasted upon each bottle With much ado in an hour getting a coach home Would not make my coming troublesome to any Yet it was her fault not to see that I did take them 
4153	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1964 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1663-1664 January 1st, Went to bed between 4 and 5 in the morning with my mind in good temper of satisfaction and slept till about 8, that many people came to speak with me. Among others one came with the best New Year's gift that ever I had, namely from Mr. Deering, with a bill of exchange drawn upon himself for the payment of L50 to Mr. Luellin. It being for my use with a letter of compliment. I am not resolved what or how to do in this business, but I conclude it is an extraordinary good new year's gift, though I do not take the whole, or if I do then give some of it to Luellin. By and by comes Captain Allen and his son Jowles and his wife, who continues pretty still. They would have had me set my hand to a certificate for his loyalty, and I know not what his ability for any employment. But I did not think it fit, but did give them a pleasing denial, and after sitting with me an hour they went away. Several others came to me about business, and then being to dine at my uncle Wight's I went to the Coffee-house, sending my wife by Will, and there staid talking an hour with Coll. Middleton, and others, and among other things about a very rich widow, young and handsome, of one Sir Nicholas Gold's, a merchant, lately fallen, and of great courtiers that already look after her: her husband not dead a week yet. She is reckoned worth L80,000. Thence to my uncle Wight's, where Dr. of-----, among others, dined, and his wife, a seeming proud conceited woman, I know not what to make of her, but the Dr's. discourse did please me very well about the disease of the stone, above all things extolling Turpentine, which he told me how it may be taken in pills with great ease. There was brought to table a hot pie made of a swan I sent them yesterday, given me by Mr. Howe, but we did not eat any of it. But my wife and I rose from table, pretending business, and went to the Duke's house, the first play I have been at these six months, according to my last vowe, and here saw the so much cried-up play of "Henry the Eighth;" which, though I went with resolution to like it, is so simple a thing made up of a great many patches, that, besides the shows and processions in it, there is nothing in the world good or well done. Thence mightily dissatisfied back at night to my uncle Wight's, and supped with them, but against my stomach out of the offence the sight of my aunt's hands gives me, and ending supper with a mighty laugh, the greatest I have had these many months, at my uncle's being out in his grace after meat, we rose and broke up, and my wife and I home and to bed, being sleepy since last night. 2nd. Up and to the office, and there sitting all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, in my going met with Luellin and told him how I had received a letter and bill for L50 from Mr. Deering, and delivered it to him, which he told me he would receive for me. To which I consented, though professed not to desire it if he do not consider himself sufficiently able by the service I have done, and that it is rather my desire to have nothing till he be further sensible of my service. From the 'Change I brought him home and dined with us, and after dinner I took my wife out, for I do find that I am not able to conquer myself as to going to plays till I come to some new vowe concerning it, and that I am now come, that is to say, that I will not see above one in a month at any of the publique theatres till the sum of 50s. be spent, and then none before New Year's Day next, unless that I do become worth L1000 sooner than then, and then am free to come to some other terms, and so leaving him in Lombard Street I took her to the King's house, and there met Mr. Nicholson, my old colleague, and saw "The Usurper," which is no good play, though better than what I saw yesterday. However, we rose unsatisfied, and took coach and home, and I to the office late writing letters, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then rose and with a fire in my chamber staid within all day, looking over and settling my accounts in good order, by examining all my books, and the kitchen books, and I find that though the proper profit of my last year was but L305, yet I did by other gain make it up L444., which in every part of it was unforeseen of me, and therefore it was a strange oversight for lack of examining my expenses that I should spend L690 this year, but for the time to come I have so distinctly settled all my accounts in writing and the particulars of all my several layings out, that I do hope I shall hereafter make a better judgment of my spendings than ever. I dined with my wife in her chamber, she in bed, and then down again and till 11 at night, and broke up and to bed with great content, but could not make an end of writing over my vows as I purposed, but I am agreed in every thing how to order myself for the year to come, which I trust in God will be much for my good. So up to prayers and to bed. This evening Sir W. Pen came to invite me against next Wednesday, being Twelfth day, to his usual feast, his wedding day. 4th. Up betimes, and my wife being ready, and her mayd Besse and the girl, I carried them by coach and set them all down in Covent Garden and there left them, and I to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but he not being up, I to the Duke's chamber, and there by and by to his closett, where since his lady was ill, a little red bed of velvet is brought for him to lie alone, which is a very pretty one. After doing business here, I to my Lord's again, and there spoke with him, and he seems now almost friends again as he used to be. Here meeting Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, he told me among other Court newes, how the Queene is very well again, and the King lay with her on Saturday night last; and that she speaks now very pretty English, and makes her sense out now and then with pretty phrazes: as among others this is mightily cried up; that, meaning to say that she did not like such a horse so well as the rest, he being too prancing and full of tricks, she said he did make too much vanity. Thence to the Tennis Court, after I had spent a little time in Westminster Hall, thinking to have met with Mrs. Lane, but I could not and am glad of it, and there saw the King play at Tennis and others: but to see how the King's play was extolled without any cause at all, was a loathsome sight, though sometimes, indeed, he did play very well and deserved to be commended; but such open flattery is beastly. Afterwards to St. James's Parke, being unwilling to go to spend money at the ordinary, and there spent an hour or two, it being a pleasant day, seeing people play at Pell Mell; where it pleased me mightily to hear a gallant, lately come from France, swear at one of his companions for suffering his man (a spruce blade) to be so saucy as to strike a ball while his master was playing on the Mall. [When Egerton was Bishop of Durham, he often played at bowls with his guests on the public days. On an occasion of this sort, a visitor happening to cross the lawn, one of the chaplains exclaimed, "You must not shake the green, for the bishop is going to bowl."-B.] Thence took coach at White Hall and took up my wife, who is mighty sad to think of her father, who is going into Germany against the Turkes; but what will become of her brother I know not. He is so idle, and out of all capacity, I think, to earn his bread. Home and at my office till is at night making my solemn vowes for the next year, which I trust in the Lord I shall keep, but I fear I have a little too severely bound myself in some things and in too many, for I fear I may forget some. But however, I know the worst, and shall by the blessing of God observe to perform or pay my forfeits punctually. So home and to bed with my mind at rest. 5th. Up and to our office, where we sat all the morning, where my head being willing to take in all business whatever, I am afraid I shall over clogg myself with it. But however, it is my desire to do my duty and shall the willinger bear it. At noon home and to the 'Change, where I met with Luellin, who went off with me and parted to meet again at the Coffeehouse, but missed. So home and found him there, and Mr. Barrow came to speak with me, so they both dined with me alone, my wife not being ready, and after dinner I up in my chamber with Barrow to discourse about matters of the yard with him, and his design of leaving the place, which I am sorry for, and will prevent if I can. He being gone then Luellin did give me the L50 from Mr. Deering, which he do give me for my pains in his business and what I may hereafter take for him, though there is not the least word or deed I have yet been guilty of in his behalf but what I am sure has been to the King's advantage and the profit of the service, nor ever will. And for this money I never did condition with him or expected a farthing at the time when I did do him the service, nor have given any receipt for it, it being brought me by Luellin, nor do purpose to give him any thanks for it, but will wherein I can faithfully endeavour to see him have the privilege of his Patent as the King's merchant. I did give Luellin two pieces in gold for a pair of gloves for his kindness herein. Then he being gone, I to my office, where busy till late at night, that through my room being over confounded in business I could stay there no longer, but went home, and after a little supper to bed. 6th (Twelfth day). Up and to my office, where very busy all the morning, being indeed over loaded with it through my own desire of doing all I can. At noon to the 'Change, but did little, and so home to dinner with my poor wife, and after dinner read a lecture to her in Geography, which she takes very prettily and with great pleasure to her and me to teach her, and so to the office again, where as busy as ever in my life, one thing after another, and answering people's business, particularly drawing up things about Mr. Wood's masts, which I expect to have a quarrel about with Sir W. Batten before it be ended, but I care not. At night home to my wife, to supper, discourse, prayers, and to bed. This morning I began a practice which I find by the ease I do it with that I shall continue, it saving me money and time; that is, to trimme myself with a razer: which pleases me mightily. 7th. Up, putting on my best clothes and to the office, where all the morning we sat busy, among other things upon Mr. Wood's performance of his contract for masts, wherein I was mightily concerned, but I think was found all along in the right, and shall have my desire in it to the King's advantage. At noon, all of us to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, where a very handsome dinner, Sir J. Lawson among others, and his lady and his daughter, a very pretty lady and of good deportment, with looking upon whom I was greatly pleased, the rest of the company of the women were all of our own house, of no satisfaction or pleasure at all. My wife was not there, being not well enough, nor had any great mind. But to see how Sir W. Pen imitates me in everything, even in his having his chimney piece in his dining room the same with that in my wife's closett, and in every thing else I perceive wherein he can. But to see again how he was out in one compliment: he lets alone drinking any of the ladies' healths that were there, my Lady Batten and Lawson, till he had begun with my Lady Carteret, who was absent, and that was well enough, and then Mr. Coventry's mistresse, at which he was ashamed, and would not have had him have drunk it, at least before the ladies present, but his policy, as he thought, was such that he would do it. After dinner by coach with Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes by appointment to Auditor Beale's in Salisbury Court, and there we did with great content look over some old ledgers to see in what manner they were kept, and indeed it was in an extraordinary good method, and such as (at least out of design to keep them employed) I do persuade Sir J. Minnes to go upon, which will at least do as much good it may be to keep them for want of something to do from envying those that do something. Thence calling to see whether Mrs. Turner was returned, which she is, and I spoke one word only to her, and away again by coach home and to my office, where late, and then home to supper and bed. 8th. Up and all the morning at my office and with Sir J. Minnes, directing him and Mr. Turner about keeping of their books according to yesterday's work, wherein I shall make them work enough. At noon to the 'Change, and there long, and from thence by appointment took Luellin, Mount, and W. Symons, and Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, home to dinner with me and were merry. But, Lord! to hear how W. Symons do commend and look sadly and then talk bawdily and merrily, though his wife was dead but the other day, would make a dogg laugh. After dinner I did go in further part of kindness to Luellin for his kindness about Deering's L50 which he procured me the other day of him. We spent all the afternoon together and then they to cards with my wife, who this day put on her Indian blue gowne which is very pretty, where I left them for an hour, and to my office, and then to them again, and by and by they went away at night, and so I again to my office to perfect a letter to Mr. Coventry about Department Treasurers, wherein I please myself and hope to give him content and do the King service therein. So having done, I home and to teach my wife a new lesson in the globes, and to supper, and to bed. We had great pleasure this afternoon; among other things, to talk of our old passages together in Cromwell's time; and how W. Symons did make me laugh and wonder to-day when he told me how he had made shift to keep in, in good esteem and employment, through eight governments in one year (the dear 1659, which were indeed, and he did name them all), and then failed unhappy in the ninth, viz. that of the King's coming in. He made good to me the story which Luellin did tell me the other day, of his wife upon her death-bed; how she dreamt of her uncle Scobell, and did foretell, from some discourse she had with him, that she should die four days thence, and not sooner, and did all along say so, and did so. Upon the 'Change a great talke there was of one Mr. Tryan, an old man, a merchant in Lyme-Streete, robbed last night (his man and mayde being gone out after he was a-bed), and gagged and robbed of L1050 in money and about L4000 in jewells, which he had in his house as security for money. It is believed by many circumstances that his man is guilty of confederacy, by their ready going to his secret till in his desk, wherein the key of his cash-chest lay. 9th. Up (my underlip being mightily swelled, I know not how but by overrubbing it, it itching) and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I home to dinner, and by discourse with my wife thought upon inviting my Lord Sandwich to a dinner shortly. It will cost me at least ten or twelve pounds; but, however, some arguments of prudence I have, which however I shall think again upon before I proceed to that expence. After dinner by coach I carried my wife and Jane to Westminster, leaving her at Mr. Hunt's, and I to Westminster Hall, and there visited Mrs. Lane, and by appointment went out and met her at the Trumpet, Mrs. Hare's, but the room being damp we went to the Bell tavern, and there I had her company, but could not do as I used to do (yet nothing but what was honest)..... So I to talk about her having Hawley, she told me flatly no, she could not love him. I took occasion to enquire of Howlett's daughter, with whom I have a mind to meet a little to see what mettle the young wench is made of, being very pretty, but she tells me she is already betrothed to Mrs. Michell's son, and she in discourse tells me more, that Mrs. Michell herself had a daughter before marriage, which is now near thirty years old, a thing I could not have believed. Thence leading her to the Hall, I took coach and called my wife and her mayd, and so to the New Exchange, where we bought several things of our pretty Mrs. Dorothy Stacy, a pretty woman, and has the modestest look that ever I saw in my life and manner of speech. Thence called at Tom's and saw him pretty well again, but has not been currant. So homeward, and called at Ludgate, at Ashwell's uncle's, but she was not within, to have spoke to her to have come to dress my wife at the time my Lord dines here. So straight home, calling for Walsingham's Manuals at my bookseller's to read but not to buy, recommended for a pretty book by Sir W. Warren, whose warrant however I do not much take till I do read it. So home to supper and to bed, my wife not being very well since she came home, being troubled with a fainting fit, which she never yet had before since she was my wife. 10th (Lord's day). Lay in bed with my wife till 10 or 11 o'clock, having been very sleepy all night. So up, and my brother Tom being come to see me, we to dinner, he telling me how Mrs. Turner found herself discontented with her late bad journey, and not well taken by them in the country, they not desiring her coming down, nor the burials of Mr. Edward Pepys's corps there. After dinner I to the office, where all the afternoon, and at night my wife and I to my uncle Wight's, and there eat some of their swan pie, which was good, and I invited them to my house to eat a roasted swan on Tuesday next, which after I was come home did make a quarrels between my wife and I, because she had appointed a wish to-morrow. But, however, we were friends again quickly. So to bed. All our discourse to-night was Mr. Tryan's late being robbed; and that Collonell Turner (a mad, swearing, confident fellow, well known by all, and by me), one much indebted to this man for his very livelihood, was the man that either did or plotted it; and the money and things are found in his hand, and he and his wife now in Newgate for it; of which we are all glad, so very a known rogue he was. 11th. Waked this morning by 4 o'clock by my wife to call the mayds to their wash, and what through my sleeping so long last night and vexation for the lazy sluts lying so long again and their great wash, neither my wife nor I could sleep one winke after that time till day, and then I rose and by coach (taking Captain Grove with me and three bottles of Tent, which I sent to Mrs. Lane by my promise on Saturday night last) to White Hall, and there with the rest of our company to the Duke and did our business, and thence to the Tennis Court till noon, and there saw several great matches played, and so by invitation to St. James's; where, at Mr. Coventry's chamber, I dined with my Lord Barkeley, Sir G. Carteret, Sir Edward Turner, Sir Ellis Layton, and one Mr. Seymour, a fine gentleman; were admirable good discourse of all sorts, pleasant and serious. Thence after dinner to White Hall, where the Duke being busy at the Guinny business, the Duke of Albemarle, Sir W. Rider, Povy, Sir J. Lawson and I to the Duke of Albemarle's lodgings, and there did some business, and so to the Court again, and I to the Duke of York's lodgings, where the Guinny company are choosing their assistants for the next year by ballotting. Thence by coach with Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, he set me down at Cornhill, but, Lord! the simple discourse that all the way we had, he magnifying his great undertakings and cares that have been upon him for these last two years, and how he commanded the city to the content of all parties, when the loggerhead knows nothing almost that is sense. Thence to the Coffee-house, whither comes Sir W. Petty and Captain Grant, and we fell in talke (besides a young gentleman, I suppose a merchant, his name Mr. Hill, that has travelled and I perceive is a master in most sorts of musique and other things) of musique; the universal character; art of memory; Granger's counterfeiting of hands and other most excellent discourses to my great content, having not been in so good company a great while, and had I time I should covet the acquaintance of that Mr. Hill. This morning I stood by the King arguing with a pretty Quaker woman, that delivered to him a desire of hers in writing. The King showed her Sir J. Minnes, as a man the fittest for her quaking religion, saying that his beard was the stiffest thing about him, and again merrily said, looking upon the length of her paper, that if all she desired was of that length she might lose her desires; she modestly saying nothing till he begun seriously to discourse with her, arguing the truth of his spirit against hers; she replying still with these words, "O King!" and thou'd him all along. The general talke of the towne still is of Collonell Turner, about the robbery; who, it is thought, will be hanged. I heard the Duke of York tell to-night, how letters are come that fifteen are condemned for the late plot by the judges at York; and, among others, Captain Oates, against whom it was proved that he drew his sword at his going out, and flinging away the scabbard, said that he would either return victor or be hanged. So home, where I found the house full of the washing and my wife mighty angry about Will's being here to-day talking with her mayds, which she overheard, idling of their time, and he telling what a good mayd my old Jane was, and that she would never have her like again. At which I was angry, and after directing her to beat at least the little girl, I went to the office and there reproved Will, who told me that he went thither by my wife's order, she having commanded him to come thither on Monday morning. Now God forgive me! how apt I am to be jealous of her as to this fellow, and that she must needs take this time, when she knows I must be gone out to the Duke, though methinks had she that mind she would never think it discretion to tell me this story of him, to let me know that he was there, much less to make me offended with him, to forbid him coming again. But this cursed humour I cannot cool in myself by all the reason I have, which God forgive me for, and convince me of the folly of it, and the disquiet it brings me. So home, where, God be thanked, when I came to speak to my wife my trouble of mind soon vanished, and to bed. The house foul with the washing and quite out of order against to-morrow's dinner. 12th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change awhile, and so home, getting things against dinner ready, and anon comes my uncle Wight and my aunt, with their cozens Mary and Robert, and by chance my uncle Thomas Pepys. We had a good dinner, the chief dish a swan roasted, and that excellent meate. At, dinner and all day very merry. After dinner to cards, where till evening, then to the office a little, and to cards again with them, and lost half-a-crowne. They being gone, my wife did tell me how my uncle did this day accost her alone, and spoke of his hoping she was with child, and kissing her earnestly told her he should be very glad of it, and from all circumstances methinks he do seem to have some intention of good to us, which I shall endeavour to continue more than ever I did yet. So to my office till late, and then home to bed, after being at prayers, which is the first time after my late vowe to say prayers in my family twice in every week. 13th. Up and to my office a little, and then abroad to many several places about business, among others to the geometrical instrument makers, and through Bedlam (calling by the way at an old bookseller's and there fell into looking over Spanish books and pitched upon some, till I thought of my oathe when I was going to agree for them, and so with much ado got myself out of the shop glad at my heart and so away) to the African House to look upon their book of contracts for several commodities for my information in the prices we give in the Navy. So to the Coffee [house] where extraordinary good discourse of Dr. Whistler's' upon my question concerning the keeping of masts, he arguing against keeping them dry, by showing the nature of corruption in bodies and the several ways thereof. So to the 'Change, and thence with Sir W. Rider to the Trinity House to dinner, and then home and to my office till night, and then with Mr. Bland to Sir T. Viner's about pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson, and so back to my office, and there late upon business, and so home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon all of us, viz., Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten at one end, and Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes and I (in the middle at the other end, being taught how to sit there all three by my sitting so much the backwarder) at the other end, to Sir G. Carteret's, and there dined well. Here I saw Mr. Scott, the bastard that married his youngest daughter. Much pleasant talk at table, and then up and to the office, where we sat long upon our design of dividing the Controller's work into some of the rest of our hands for the better doing of it, but he would not yield to it, though the simple man knows in his heart that he do not do one part of it. So he taking upon him to do it all we rose, I vexed at the heart to see the King's service run after this manner, but it cannot be helped. Thence to the Old James to the reference about Mr. Bland's business. Sir W. Rider being now added to us, and I believe we shall soon come to some determination in it. So home and to my office, did business, and then up to Sir W. Pen and did express my trouble about this day's business, he not being there, and plainly told him what I thought of it, and though I know him a false fellow yet I adventured, as I have done often, to tell him clearly my opinion of Sir W. Batten and his design in this business, which is very bad. Hence home, and after a lecture to my wife in her globes, to prayers and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and among other things Mr. Turner with me, and I did tell him my mind about the Controller his master and all the office, and my mind touching himself too, as he did carry himself either well or ill to me and my clerks, which I doubt not but it will operate well. Thence to the 'Change, and there met my uncle Wight, who was very kind to me, and would have had me home with him, and so kind that I begin to wonder and think something of it of good to me. Thence home to dinner, and after dinner with Mr. Hater by water, and walked thither and back again from Deptford, where I did do something checking the iron business, but my chief business was my discourse with Mr. Hater about what had passed last night and to-day about the office business, and my resolution to do him all the good I can therein. So home, and my wife tells me that my uncle Wight hath been with her, and played at cards with her, and is mighty inquisitive to know whether she is with child or no, which makes me wonder what his meaning is, and after all my thoughts, I cannot think, unless it be in order to the making his will, that he might know how to do by me, and I would to God my wife had told him that she was. 16th. Up, and having paid some money in the morning to my uncle Thomas on his yearly annuity, to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I to the 'Change about some pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson. There I hear that Collonell Turner is found guilty of felony at the Sessions in Mr. Tryan's business, which will save his life. So home and met there J. Hasper come to see his kinswoman our Jane. I made much of him and made him dine with us, he talking after the old simple manner that he used to do. He being gone, I by water to Westminster Hall, and there did see Mrs. Lane..... So by coach home and to my office, where Browne of the Minerys brought me an Instrument made of a Spyral line very pretty for all questions in Arithmetique almost, but it must be some use that must make me perfect in it. So home to supper and to bed, with my mind 'un peu troubled pour ce que fait' to-day, but I hope it will be 'la dernier de toute ma vie.' 17th (Lord's day). Up, and I and my wife to church, where Pembleton appeared, which, God forgive me, did vex me, but I made nothing of it. So home to dinner, and betimes my wife and I to the French church and there heard a good sermon, the first time my wife and I were there ever together. We sat by three sisters, all pretty women. It was pleasant to hear the reader give notice to them, that the children to be catechized next Sunday were them of Hounsditch and Blanche Chapiton. Thence home, and there found Ashwell come to see my wife (we having called at her lodging the other, day to speak with her about dressing my wife when my Lord Sandwich dines here), and is as merry as ever, and speaks as disconcerned for any difference between us on her going away as ever. She being gone, my wife and I to see Sir W. Pen and there supped with him much against my stomach, for the dishes were so deadly foule that I could not endure to look upon them. So after supper home to prayers and to bed. 18th. Up, being troubled to find my wife so ready to have me go out of doors. God forgive me for my jealousy! but I cannot forbear, though God knows I have no reason to do so, or to expect her being so true to me as I would have her. I abroad to White Hall, where the Court all in mourning for the Duchesse of Savoy. We did our business with the Duke, and so I to W. Howe at my Lord's lodgings, not seeing my Lord, he being abroad, and there I advised with W. Howe about my having my Lord to dinner at my house, who likes it well, though it troubles me that I should come to need the advice of such a boy, but for the present it is necessary. Here I found Mr. Mallard, and had from him a common tune set by my desire to the Lyra Vyall, which goes most admirably. Thence home by coach to the 'Change, after having been at the Coffee-house, where I hear Turner is found guilty of felony and burglary; and strange stories of his confidence at the barr, but yet great indiscretion in his argueing. All desirous of his being hanged. So home and found that Will had been with my wife. But, Lord! why should I think any evil of that; and yet I cannot forbear it. But upon enquiry, though I found no reason of doubtfulness, yet I could not bring my nature to any quiet or content in my wife all day and night, nor though I went with her to divert myself at my uncle Wight's, and there we played at cards till 12 at night and went home in a great shower of rain, it having not rained a great while before. Here was one Mr. Benson, a Dutchman, played and supped with us, that pretends to sing well, and I expected great matters but found nothing to be pleased with at all. So home and to bed, yet troubled in my mind. 19th. Up, without any kindness to my wife, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Cutler's with Sir W. Rider to dinner, and after dinner with him to the Old James upon our reference of Mr. Bland's, and, having sat there upon the business half an hour, broke up, and I home and there found Madame Turner and her sister Dike come to see us, and staid chatting till night, and so away, and I to my office till very late, and my eyes began to fail me, and be in pain which I never felt to now-a-days, which I impute to sitting up late writing and reading by candle-light. So home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and after long staying till his coming down (he not sending for me up, but it may be he did not know I was there), he came down, and I walked with him to the Tennis Court, and there left him, seeing the King play. At his lodgings this morning there came to him Mr. W. Montague's fine lady, which occasioned my Lord's calling me to her about some business for a friend of hers preferred to be a midshipman at sea. My Lord recommended the whole matter to me. She is a fine confident lady, I think, but not so pretty as I once thought her. My Lord did also seal a lease for the house he is now taking in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which stands him in 250 per annum rent. Thence by water to my brother's, whom I find not well in bed, sicke, they think, of a consumption, and I fear he is not well, but do not complain, nor desire to take anything. From him I visited Mr. Honiwood, who is lame, and to thank him for his visit to me the other day, but we were both abroad. So to Mr. Commander's in Warwicke Lane, to speak to him about drawing up my will, which he will meet me about in a day or two. So to the 'Change and walked home, thence with Sir Richard Ford, who told me that Turner is to be hanged to-morrow, and with what impudence he hath carried out his trial; but that last night, when he brought him newes of his death, he began to be sober and shed some tears, and he hopes will die a penitent; he having already confessed all the thing, but says it was partly done for a joke, and partly to get an occasion of obliging the old man by his care in getting him his things again, he having some hopes of being the better by him in his estate at his death. Home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I by water, which we have not done together many a day, that is not since last summer, but the weather is now very warm, and left her at Axe Yard, and I to White Hall, and meeting Mr. Pierce walked with him an hour in the Matted Gallery; among other things he tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is not at all set by by the King, but that he do doat upon Mrs. Stewart only; and that to the leaving of all business in the world, and to the open slighting of the Queene; that he values not who sees him or stands by him while he dallies with her openly; and then privately in her chamber below, where the very sentrys observe his going in and out; and that so commonly, that the Duke or any of the nobles, when they would ask where the King is, they will ordinarily say, "Is the King above, or below?" meaning with Mrs. Stewart: that the King do not openly disown my Lady Castlemaine, but that she comes to Court; but that my Lord FitzHarding and the Hambletons, [The three brothers, George Hamilton, James Hamilton, and the Count Antoine Hamilton, author of the "Memoires de Grammont."] and sometimes my Lord Sandwich, they say, have their snaps at her. But he says my Lord Sandwich will lead her from her lodgings in the darkest and obscurest manner, and leave her at the entrance into the Queene's lodgings, that he might be the least observed; that the Duke of Monmouth the King do still doat on beyond measure, insomuch that the King only, the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, and the Duke of Monmouth, do now wear deep mourning, that is, long cloaks, for the Duchesse of Savoy; so that he mourns as a Prince of the Blood, while the Duke of York do no more, and all the nobles of the land not so much; which gives great offence, and he says the Duke of York do consider. But that the Duke of York do give himself up to business, and is like to prove a noble Prince; and so indeed I do from my heart think he will. He says that it is believed, as well as hoped, that care is taken to lay up a hidden treasure of money by the King against a bad day, pray God it be so! but I should be more glad that the King himself would look after business, which it seems he do not in the least. By and by came by Mr. Coventry, and so we broke off; and he and I took a turn or two and so parted, and then my Lord Sandwich came upon me, to speak with whom my business of coming again to-night to this ende of the town chiefly was, in order to the seeing in what manner he received me, in order to my inviting him to dinner to my house, but as well in the morning as now, though I did wait upon him home and there offered occasion of talk with him, yet he treated me, though with respect, yet as a stranger, without any of the intimacy or friendship which he used to do, and which I fear he will never, through his consciousness of his faults, ever do again. Which I must confess do trouble me above anything in the world almost, though I neither do need at present nor fear to need to be so troubled, nay, and more, though I do not think that he would deny me any friendship now if I did need it, but only that he has not the face to be free with me, but do look upon me as a remembrancer of his former vanity, and an espy upon his present practices, for I perceive that Pickering to-day is great with him again, and that he has done a great courtesy for Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, to a good value, though both these and none but these did I mention by name to my Lord in the business which has caused all this difference between my Lord and me. However, I am resolved to forbear my laying out my money upon a dinner till I see him in a better posture, and by grave and humble, though high deportment, to make him think I do not want him, and that will make him the readier to admit me to his friendship again, I believe the soonest of anything but downright impudence, and thrusting myself, as others do, upon him, which yet I cannot do, not [nor] will not endeavour. So home, calling with my wife to see my brother again, who was up, and walks up and down the house pretty well, but I do think he is in a consumption. Home, troubled in mind for these passages with my Lord, but am resolved to better my case in my business to make my stand upon my owne legs the better and to lay up as well as to get money, and among other ways I will have a good fleece out of Creed's coat ere it be long, or I will have a fall. So to my office and did some business, and then home to supper and to bed, after I had by candlelight shaved myself and cut off all my beard clear, which will make my worke a great deal the less in shaving. 21st. Up, and after sending my wife to my aunt Wight's to get a place to see Turner hanged, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon going to the 'Change; and seeing people flock in the City, I enquired, and found that Turner was not yet hanged. And so I went among them to Leadenhall Street, at the end of Lyme Street, near where the robbery was done; and to St. Mary Axe, where he lived. And there I got for a shilling to stand upon the wheel of a cart, in great pain, above an houre before the execution was done; he delaying the time by long discourses and prayers one after another, in hopes of a reprieve; but none came, and at last was flung off the ladder in his cloake. A comely-looked man he was, and kept his countenance to the end: I was sorry to see him. It was believed there were at least 12 or 14,000 people in the street. So I home all in a sweat, and dined by myself, and after dinner to the Old James, and there found Sir W. Rider and Mr. Cutler at dinner, and made a second dinner with them, and anon came Mr. Bland and Custos, and Clerke, and so we fell to the business of reference, and upon a letter from Mr. Povy to Sir W. Rider and I telling us that the King is concerned in it, we took occasion to fling off the business from off our shoulders and would have nothing to do with it, unless we had power from the King or Commissioners of Tangier, and I think it will be best for us to continue of that mind, and to have no hand, it being likely to go against the King. Thence to the Coffee-house, and heard the full of Turner's discourse on the cart, which was chiefly to clear himself of all things laid to his charge but this fault, for which he now suffers, which he confesses. He deplored the condition of his family, but his chief design was to lengthen time, believing still a reprieve would come, though the sheriff advised him to expect no such thing, for the King was resolved to grant none. After that I had good discourse with a pretty young merchant with mighty content. So to my office and did a little business, and then to my aunt Wight's to fetch my wife home, where Dr. Burnett did tell me how poorly the sheriffs did endeavour to get one jewell returned by Turner, after he was convicted, as a due to them, and not to give it to Mr. Tryan, the true owner, but ruled against them, to their great dishonour. Though they plead it might be another jewell for ought they know and not Tryan's. After supper home, and my wife tells me mighty stories of my uncle's fond and kind discourses to her to-day, which makes me confident that he has thoughts of kindness for us, he repeating his desire for her to be with child, for it cannot enter into my head that he should have any unworthy thoughts concerning her. After doing some business at my office, I home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 22nd. Up, and it being a brave morning, with a gaily to Woolwich, and there both at the Ropeyarde and the other yarde did much business, and thence to Greenwich to see Mr. Pett and others value the carved work of the "Henrietta" (God knows in an ill manner for the King), and so to Deptford, and there viewed Sir W. Petty's vessel; which hath an odd appearance, but not such as people do make of it, for I am of the opinion that he would never have discoursed so much of it, if it were not better than other vessels, and so I believe that he was abused the other day, as he is now, by tongues that I am sure speak before they know anything good or bad of her. I am sorry to find his ingenuity discouraged so. So home, reading all the way a good book, and so home to dinner, and after dinner a lesson on the globes to my wife, and so to my office till 10 or 11 o'clock at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Hawly came to see us and dined with us, and after we had dined came Mr. Mallard, and after he had eat something, I brought down my vyall which he played on, the first maister that ever touched her yet, and she proves very well and will be, I think, an admirable instrument. He played some very fine things of his owne, but I was afeard to enter too far in their commendation for fear he should offer to copy them for me out, and so I be forced to give or lend him something. So to the office in the evening, whither Mr. Commander came to me, and we discoursed about my will, which I am resolved to perfect the next week by the grace of God. He being gone, I to write letters and other business late, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up, and being desirous to perform my vowes that I lately made, among others, to be performed this month, I did go to my office, and there fell on entering, out of a bye-book, part of my second journall-book, which hath lain these two years and more unentered. Upon this work till dinner, and after dinner to it again till night, and then home to supper, and after supper to read a lecture to my wife upon the globes, and so to prayers and to bed. This evening also I drew up a rough draught of my last will to my mind. 25th. Up and by coach to Whitehall to my Lord's lodgings, and seeing that knowing that I was in the house, my Lord did not nevertheless send for me up, I did go to the Duke's lodgings, and there staid while he was making ready, in which time my Lord Sandwich came, and so all into his closet and did our common business, and so broke up, and I homeward by coach with Sir W. Batten, and staid at Warwicke Lane and there called upon Mr. Commander and did give him my last will and testament to write over in form, and so to the 'Change, where I did several businesses. So home to dinner, and after I had dined Luellin came and we set him something to eat, and I left him there with my wife, and to the office upon a particular meeting of the East India Company, where I think I did the King good service against the Company in the business of their sending our ships home empty from the Indies contrary to their contract, and yet, God forgive me! I found that I could be willing to receive a bribe if it were offered me to conceal my arguments that I found against them, in consideration that none of my fellow officers, whose duty it is more than mine, had ever studied the case, or at this hour do understand it, and myself alone must do it. That being done Mr. Povy and Bland came to speak with me about their business of the reference, wherein I shall have some more trouble, but cannot help it, besides I hope to make some good use of Mr. Povy to my advantage. So home after business done at my office, to supper, and then to the globes with my wife, and so to bed. Troubled a little in mind that my Lord Sandwich should continue this strangeness to me that methinks he shows me now a days more than while the thing was fresh. 26th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, after being at the Coffee-house, where I sat by Tom Killigrew, who told us of a fire last night in my Lady Castlemaine's lodging, where she bid L40 for one to adventure the fetching of a cabinet out, which at last was got to be done; and the fire at last quenched without doing much wrong. To 'Change and there did much business, so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon. And so at night my aunt Wight and Mrs. Buggin came to sit with my wife, and I in to them all the evening, my uncle coming afterward, and after him Mr. Benson the Dutchman, a frank, merry man. We were very merry and played at cards till late and so broke up and to bed in good hopes that this my friendship with my uncle and aunt will end well. 27th. Up and to the office, and at noon to the Coffeehouse, where I sat with Sir G. Ascue [Sir George Ayscue or Askew. After his return from his imprisonment he declined to go to sea again, although he was twice afterwards formally appointed. He sat on the court-martial on the loss of the "Defiance" in 1668.] and Sir William Petty, who in discourse is, methinks, one of the most rational men that ever I heard speak with a tongue, having all his notions the most distinct and clear, and, among other things (saying, that in all his life these three books were the most esteemed and generally cried up for wit in the world "Religio Medici," "Osborne's Advice to a Son," [Francis Osborne, an English writer of considerable abilities and popularity, was the author of "Advice to a Son," in two parts, Oxford, 1656-8, 8vo. He died in 1659. He is the same person mentioned as "My Father Osborne," October 19th, 1661.--B.] and "Hudibras "), did say that in these--in the two first principally--the wit lies, and confirming some pretty sayings, which are generally like paradoxes, by some argument smartly and pleasantly urged, which takes with people who do not trouble themselves to examine the force of an argument, which pleases them in the delivery, upon a subject which they like; whereas, as by many particular instances of mine, and others, out of Osborne, he did really find fault and weaken the strength of many of Osborne's arguments, so as that in downright disputation they would not bear weight; at least, so far, but that they might be weakened, and better found in their rooms to confirm what is there said. He shewed finely whence it happens that good writers are not admired by the present age; because there are but few in any age that do mind anything that is abstruse and curious; and so longer before any body do put the true praise, and set it on foot in the world, the generality of mankind pleasing themselves in the easy delights of the world, as eating, drinking, dancing, hunting, fencing, which we see the meanest men do the best, those that profess it. A gentleman never dances so well as the dancing master, and an ordinary fiddler makes better musique for a shilling than a gentleman will do after spending forty, and so in all the delights of the world almost. Thence to the 'Change, and after doing much business, home, taking Commissioner Pett with me, and all alone dined together. He told me many stories of the yard, but I do know him so well, and had his character given me this morning by Hempson, as well as my own too of him before, that I shall know how to value any thing he says either of friendship or other business. He was mighty serious with me in discourse about the consequence of Sir W. Petty's boat, as the most dangerous thing in the world, if it should be practised by endangering our losse of the command of the seas and our trade, while the Turkes and others shall get the use of them, which, without doubt, by bearing more sayle will go faster than any other ships, and, not being of burden, our merchants cannot have the use of them and so will be at the mercy of their enemies. So that I perceive he is afeard that the honour of his trade will down, though (which is a truth) he pretends this consideration to hinder the growth of this invention. He being gone my wife and I took coach and to Covent Garden, to buy a maske at the French House, Madame Charett's, for my wife; in the way observing the streete full of coaches at the new play, "The Indian Queene;" which for show, they say, exceeds "Henry the Eighth." Thence back to Mrs. Turner's and sat a while with them talking of plays and I know not what, and so called to see Tom, but not at home, though they say he is in a deep consumption, and Mrs. Turner and Dike and they say he will not live two months to an end. So home and to the office, and then to supper and to bed. 28th. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and at noon upon several things to the 'Change, and thence to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner of my own accord, and after dinner with Mr. Wayth down to Deptford doing several businesses, and by land back again, it being very cold, the boat meeting me after my staying a while for him at an alehouse by Redriffe stairs. So home, and took Will coming out of my doors, at which I was a little moved, and told my wife of her keeping him from the office (though God knows my base jealous head was the cause of it), which she seemed troubled at, and that it was only to discourse with her about finding a place for her brother. So I to my office late, Mr. Commander coming to read over my will in order to the engrossing it, and so he being gone I to other business, among others chiefly upon preparing matters against Creed for my profit, and so home to supper and bed, being mightily troubled with my left eye all this evening from some dirt that is got into it. 29th. Up, and after shaving myself (wherein twice now, one after another, I have cut myself much, but I think it is from the bluntness of the razor) there came Mr. Deane to me and staid with me a while talking about masts, wherein he prepared me in several things against Mr. Wood, and also about Sir W. Petty's boat, which he says must needs prove a folly, though I do not think so unless it be that the King will not have it encouraged. At noon, by appointment, comes Mr. Hartlibb and his wife, and a little before them Messrs. Langley and Bostocke (old acquaintances of mine at Westminster, clerks), and after shewing them my house and drinking they set out by water, my wife and I with them down to Wapping on board the "Crowne," a merchantman, Captain Floyd, a civil person. Here was Vice-Admiral Goodson, whom the more I know the more I value for a serious man and staunch. Here was Whistler the flagmaker, which vexed me, but it mattered not. Here was other sorry company and the discourse poor, so that we had no pleasure there at all, but only to see and bless God to find the difference that is now between our condition and that heretofore, when we were not only much below Hartlibb in all respects, but even these two fellows above named, of whom I am now quite ashamed that ever my education should lead me to such low company, but it is God's goodness only, for which let him be praised. After dinner I. broke up and with my wife home, and thence to the Fleece in Cornhill, by appointment, to meet my Lord Marlborough, a serious and worthy gentleman, who, after doing our business, about the company, he and they began to talk of the state of the Dutch in India, which is like to be in a little time without any controll; for we are lost there, and the Portuguese as bad. Thence to the Coffee-house, where good discourse, specially of Lt.-Coll. Baron touching the manners of the Turkes' Government, among whom he lived long. So to my uncle Wight's, where late playing at cards, and so home. 30th. Up, and a sorry sermon of a young fellow I knew at Cambridge; but the day kept solemnly for the King's murder, and all day within doors making up my Brampton papers, and in the evening Mr. Commander came and we made perfect and signed and sealed my last will and testament, which is so to my mind, and I hope to the liking of God Almighty, that I take great joy in myself that it is done, and by that means my mind in a good condition of quiett. At night to supper and to bed. This evening, being in a humour of making all things even and clear in the world, I tore some old papers; among others, a romance which (under the title of "Love a Cheate ") I begun ten years ago at Cambridge; and at this time reading it over to-night I liked it very well, and wondered a little at myself at my vein at that time when I wrote it, doubting that I cannot do so well now if I would try. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and in my chamber all day long (but a little at dinner) settling all my Brampton accounts to this day in very good order, I having obliged myself by oathe to do that and some other things within this month, and did also perfectly prepare a state of my estate and annexed it to my last will and testament, which now is perfect, and, lastly, I did make up my monthly accounts, and find that I have gained above L50 this month clear, and so am worth L858 clear, which is the greatest sum I ever yet was master of, and also read over my usual vowes, as I do every Lord's day, but with greater seriousness than ordinary, and I do hope that every day I shall see more and more the pleasure of looking after my business and laying up of money, and blessed be God for what I have already been enabled by his grace to do. So to supper and to bed with my mind in mighty great ease and content, but my head very full of thoughts and business to dispatch this next month also, and among others to provide for answering to the Exchequer for my uncle's being Generall-Receiver in the year 1647, which I am at present wholly unable to do, but I must find time to look over all his papers. FEBRUARY 1663-1664 February 1st. Up (my maids rising early this morning to washing), and being ready I found Mr. Strutt the purser below with 12 bottles of sacke, and tells me (which from Sir W. Batten I had heard before) how young Jack Davis has railed against Sir W. Batten for his endeavouring to turn him out of his place, at which for the fellow's sake, because it will likely prove his ruin, I am sorry, though I do believe he is a very arch rogue. I took Strutt by coach with me to White Hall, where I set him down, and I to my Lord's, but found him gone out betimes to the Wardrobe, which I am glad to see that he so attends his business, though it troubles me that my counsel to my prejudice must be the cause of it. They tell me that he goes into the country next week, and that the young ladies come up this week before the old lady. Here I hear how two men last night, justling for the wall about the New Exchange, did kill one another, each thrusting the other through; one of them of the King's Chappell, one Cave, and the other a retayner of my Lord Generall Middleton's. Thence to White Hall; where, in the Duke's chamber, the King came and stayed an hour or two laughing at Sir W. Petty, who was there about his boat; and at Gresham College in general; at which poor Petty was, I perceive, at some loss; but did argue discreetly, and bear the unreasonable follies of the King's objections and other bystanders with great discretion; and offered to take oddes against the King's best boates; but the King would not lay, but cried him down with words only. Gresham College he mightily laughed at, for spending time only in weighing of ayre, and doing nothing else since they sat. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with diverse people, it being terme time. Among others I spoke with Mrs. Lane, of whom I doubted to hear something of the effects of our last meeting about a fortnight or three weeks ago, but to my content did not. Here I met with Mr. Pierce, who tells me of several passages at Court, among others how the King, coming the other day to his Theatre to see "The Indian Queene" (which he commends for a very fine thing), my Lady Castlemaine was in the next box before he came; and leaning over other ladies awhile to whisper to the King, she rose out of the box and went into the King's, and set herself on the King's right hand, between the King and the Duke of York; which, he swears, put the King himself, as well as every body else, out of countenance; and believes that she did it only to show the world that she is not out of favour yet, as was believed. Thence with Alderman Maynell by his coach to the 'Change, and there with several people busy, and so home to dinner, and took my wife out immediately to the King's Theatre, it being a new month, and once a month I may go, and there saw "The Indian Queene" acted; which indeed is a most pleasant show, and beyond my expectation; the play good, but spoiled with the ryme, which breaks the sense. But above my expectation most, the eldest Marshall did do her part most excellently well as I ever heard woman in my life; but her voice not so sweet as Ianthe's; but, however, we came home mightily contented. Here we met Mr. Pickering and his mistress, Mrs. Doll Wilde; he tells me that the business runs high between the Chancellor and my Lord Bristoll against the Parliament; and that my Lord Lauderdale and Cooper open high against the Chancellor; which I am sorry for. In my way home I 'light and to the Coffee-house, where I heard Lt. Coll. Baron tell very good stories of his travels over the high hills in Asia above the clouds, how clear the heaven is above them, how thicke like a mist the way is through the cloud that wets like a sponge one's clothes, the ground above the clouds all dry and parched, nothing in the world growing, it being only a dry earth, yet not so hot above as below the clouds. The stars at night most delicate bright and a fine clear blue sky, but cannot see the earth at any time through the clouds, but the clouds look like a world below you. Thence home and to supper, being hungry, and so to the office, did business, specially about Creed, for whom I am now pretty well fitted, and so home to bed. This day in Westminster Hall W. Bowyer told me that his father is dead lately, and died by being drowned in the river, coming over in the night; but he says he had not been drinking. He was taken with his stick in his hand and cloake over his shoulder, as ruddy as before he died. His horse was taken overnight in the water, hampered in the bridle, but they were so silly as not to look for his master till the next morning, that he was found drowned. 2nd. Up and to the office, where, though Candlemas day, Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I all the morning, the others being at a survey at Deptford. At noon by coach to the 'Change with Mr. Coventry, thence to the Coffee-house with Captain Coeke, who discoursed well of the good effects in some kind of a Dutch warr and conquest (which I did not consider before, but the contrary) that is, that the trade of the world is too little for us two, therefore one must down: 2ndly, that though our merchants will not be the better husbands by all this, yet our wool will bear a better price by vaunting of our cloths, and by that our tenants will be better able to pay rents, and our lands will be more worth, and all our owne manufactures, which now the Dutch outvie us in; that he thinks the Dutch are not in so good a condition as heretofore because of want of men always, and now from the warrs against the Turke more than ever. Then to the 'Change again, and thence off to the Sun Taverne with Sir W. Warren, and with him discoursed long, and had good advice, and hints from him, and among other things he did give me a payre of gloves for my wife wrapt up in paper, which I would not open, feeling it hard; but did tell him that my wife should thank him, and so went on in discourse. When I came home, Lord! in what pain I was to get my wife out of the room without bidding her go, that I might see what these gloves were; and, by and by, she being gone, it proves a payre of white gloves for her and forty pieces in good gold, which did so cheer my heart, that I could eat no victuals almost for dinner for joy to think how God do bless us every day more and more, and more yet I hope he will upon the increase of my duty and endeavours. I was at great losse what to do, whether tell my wife of it or no, which I could hardly forbear, but yet I did and will think of it first before I do, for fear of making her think me to be in a better condition, or in a better way of getting money, than yet I am. After dinner to the office, where doing infinite of business till past to at night to the comfort of my mind, and so home with joy to supper and to bed. This evening Mr. Hempson came and told me how Sir W, Batten his master will not hear of continuing him in his employment as Clerk of the Survey at Chatham, from whence of a sudden he has removed him without any new or extraordinary cause, and I believe (as he himself do in part write, and J. Norman do confess) for nothing but for that he was twice with me the other day and did not wait upon him. So much he fears me and all that have to do with me. Of this more in the Mem. Book of my office upon this day, there I shall find it. 3rd. Up, and after a long discourse with my cozen Thomas Pepys, the executor, I with my wife by coach to Holborn, where I 'light, and she to her father's, I to the Temple and several places, and so to the 'Change, where much business, and then home to dinner alone; and so to the Mitre Taverne by appointment (and there met by chance with W. Howe come to buy wine for my Lord against his going down to Hinchingbroke, and I private with him a great while discoursing of my Lord's strangeness to me; but he answers that I have no reason to think any such thing, but that my Lord is only in general a more reserved man than he was before) to meet Sir W. Rider and Mr. Clerke, and there after much ado made an end, giving Mr. Custos L202 against Mr. Bland, which I endeavoured to bring down but could not, and think it is well enough ended for Mr. Bland for all that. Thence by coach to fetch my wife from her brother's, and found her gone home. Called at Sir Robert Bernard's about surrendering my estate in reversion to the use of my life, which will be done, and at Roger Pepys, who was gone to bed in pain of a boyle that he could not sit or stand. So home, where my wife is full of sad stories of her good-natured father and roguish brother, who is going for Holland and his wife, to be a soldier. And so after a little at the office to bed. This night late coming in my coach, coming up Ludgate Hill, I saw two gallants and their footmen taking a pretty wench, which I have much eyed, lately set up shop upon the hill, a seller of riband and gloves. They seek to drag her by some force, but the wench went, and I believe had her turn served, but, God forgive me! what thoughts and wishes I had of being in their place. In Covent Garden to-night, going to fetch home my wife, I stopped at the great Coffee-house' there, where I never was before; where Dryden the poet (I knew at Cambridge), and all the wits of the town, and Harris the player, and Mr. Hoole of our College. And had I had time then, or could at ether times, it will be good coming thither, for there, I perceive, is very witty and pleasant discourse. But I could not tarry, and as it was late, they were all ready to go away. 4th. Up and to the office, where after a while sitting, I left the board upon pretence of serious business, and by coach to Paul's School, where I heard some good speeches of the boys that were to be elected this year. Thence by and by with Mr. Pullen and Barnes (a great Non-Conformist) with several others of my old acquaintance to the Nag's Head Taverne, and there did give them a bottle of sacke, and away again and I to the School, and up to hear the upper form examined; and there was kept by very many of the Mercers, Clutterbucke, a Barker, Harrington, and others; and with great respect used by them all, and had a noble dinner. Here they tell me, that in Dr. Colett's will he says that he would have a Master found for the School that hath good skill in Latin, and (if it could be) one that had some knowledge of the Greeke; so little was Greeke known here at that time. Dr. Wilkins and one Mr. Smallwood, Posers. After great pleasure there, and specially to Mr. Crumlum, so often to tell of my being a benefactor to the School, I to my bookseller's and there spent an hour looking over Theatrum Urbium and Flandria illustrata, with excellent cuts, with great content. So homeward, and called at my little milliner's, where I chatted with her, her husband out of the way, and a mad merry slut she is. So home to the office, and by and by comes my wife home from the burial of Captain Grove's wife at Wapping (she telling me a story how her mayd Jane going into the boat did fall down and show her arse in the boat), and alone comes my uncle Wight and Mr. Maes with the state of their case, which he told me very discreetly, and I believe is a very hard one, and so after drinking a bottle of ale or two they gone, and I a little more to the office, and so home to prayers and to bed. This evening I made an end of my letter to Creed about his pieces of eight, and sent it away to him. I pray God give good end to it to bring me some money, and that duly as from him. 5th. Up, and down by water, a brave morning, to Woolwich, and there spent an houre or two to good purpose, and so walked to Greenwich and thence to Deptford, where I found (with Sir W. Batten upon a survey) Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen, and my Lady Batten come down and going to dinner. I dined with them, and so after dinner by water home, all the way going and coming reading "Faber Fortunae," which I can never read too often. At home a while with my wife, and so to my office, where till 8 o'clock, and then home to look over some Brampton papers, and my uncle's accounts as Generall-Receiver of the County for 1647 of our monthly assessment, which, contrary to my expectation, I found in such good order and so, thoroughly that I did not expect, nor could have thought, and that being done, having seen discharges for every farthing of money he received, I went to bed late with great quiett. 6th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and so at noon to the 'Change, where I met Mr. Coventry, the first time I ever saw him there, and after a little talke with him and other merchants, I up and down about several businesses, and so home, whither came one Father Fogourdy, an Irish priest, of my wife's and her mother's acquaintance in France, a sober, discreet person, but one that I would not have converse with my wife for fear of meddling with her religion, but I like the man well. Thence with my wife abroad, and left her at Tom's, while I abroad about several businesses and so back to her, myself being vexed to find at my first coming Tom abroad, and all his books, papers, and bills loose upon the open table in the parlour, and he abroad, which I ranted at him for when he came in. Then by coach home, calling at my cozen Scott's, who (she) lies dying, they say, upon a miscarriage. My wife could not be admitted to see her, nor anybody. At home to the office late writing letters, and then home to supper and to bed. Father Fogourdy confirms to me the newes that for certain there is peace between the Pope and King of France. 7th (Lord's day). Up and to church, and thence home, my wife being ill ... kept her bed all day, and I up and dined by her bedside, and then all the afternoon till late at night writing some letters of business to my father stating of matters to him in general of great import, and other letters to ease my mind in the week days that I have not time to think of, and so up to my wife, and with great mirth read Sir W. Davenant's two speeches in dispraise of London and Paris, by way of reproach one to another, and so to prayers and to bed. 8th. Up, and by coach called upon Mr. Phillips, and after a little talk with him away to my Lord Sandwich's, but he being gone abroad, I staid a little and talked with Mr. Howe, and so to Westminster in term time, and there met Mr. Pierce, who told me largely how the King still do doat upon his women, even beyond all shame; and that the good Queen will of herself stop before she goes sometimes into her dressing-room, till she knows whether the King be there, for fear he should be, as she hath sometimes taken him, with Mrs. Stewart; and that some of the best parts of the Queen's joynture are, contrary to faith, and against the opinion of my Lord Treasurer and his Council, bestowed or rented, I know not how, to my Lord Fitz-Harding and Mrs. Stewart, and others of that crew that the King do doat infinitely upon the Duke of Monmouth, apparently as one that he intends to have succeed him. God knows what will be the end of it! After he was gone I went and talked with Mrs. Lane about persuading her to Hawly, and think she will come on, which I wish were done, and so to Mr. Howlett and his wife, and talked about the same, and they are mightily for it, and I bid them promote it, for I think it will be for both their goods and my content. But I was much pleased to look upon their pretty daughter, which is grown a pretty mayd, and will make a fine modest woman. Thence to the 'Change by coach, and after some business done, home to dinner, and thence to Guildhall, thinking to have heard some pleading, but there were no Courts, and so to Cade's, the stationer, and there did look upon some pictures which he promised to give me the buying of, but I found he would have played the Jacke with me, but at last he did proffer me what I expected, and I have laid aside L10 or L12 worth, and will think of it, but I am loth to lay out so much money upon them. So home a little vexed in my mind to think how to-day I was forced to compliment W. Howe and admit myself to an equality with Mr. Moore, which is come to challenge in his discourse with me, but I will admit it no more, but let me stand or fall, I will show myself as strange to them as my Lord do himself to me. After at the office till 9 o'clock, I home in fear of some pain by taking cold, and so to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon by coach with Mr. Coventry to the 'Change, where busy with several people. Great talke of the Dutch proclaiming themselves in India, Lords of the Southern Seas, and deny traffick there to all ships but their owne, upon pain of confiscation; which makes our merchants mad. Great doubt of two ships of ours, the "Greyhound" and another, very rich, coming from the Streights, for fear of the Turkes. Matters are made up between the Pope and the King of France; so that now all the doubt is, what the French will do with their armies. Thence home, and there found Captain Grove in mourning for his wife, and Hawly, and they dined with me. After dinner, and Grove gone, Hawly and I talked of his mistress, Mrs. Lane, and I seriously advising him and inquiring his condition, and do believe that I shall bring them together. By and by comes Mr. Moore, with whom much good discourse of my Lord, and among other things told me that my Lord is mightily altered, that is, grown very high and stately, and do not admit of any to come into his chamber to him, as heretofore, and that I must not think much of his strangeness to me, for it was the same he do to every body, and that he would not have me be solicitous in the matter, but keep off and give him now and then a visit and no more, for he says he himself do not go to him now a days but when he sends for him, nor then do not stay for him if he be not there at the hour appointed, for, says he, I do find that I can stand upon my own legs and I will not by any over submission make myself cheap to any body and contemptible, which was the doctrine of the world that I lacked most, and shall follow it. I discoursed with him about my money that my Lord hath, and the L1000 that I stand bound with him in, to my cozen Thomas Pepys, in both which I will get myself at liberty as soon as I can; for I do not like his being angry and in debt both together to me; and besides, I do not perceive he looks after paying his debts, but runs farther and farther in. He being gone, my wife and I did walk an houre or two above in our chamber, seriously talking of businesses. I told her my Lord owed me L700, and shewed her the bond, and how I intended to carry myself to my Lord. She and I did cast about how to get Captain Grove for my sister, in which we are mighty earnest at present, and I think it would be a good match, and will endeavour it. So to my office a while, then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Sandwich, to his new house, a fine house, but deadly dear, in Lincoln's Inne Fields, where I found and spoke a little to him. He is high and strange still, but did ask me how my wife did, and at parting remembered him to his cozen, which I thought was pretty well, being willing to flatter myself that in time he will be well again. Thence home straight and busy all the forenoon, and at noon with Mr. Bland to Mr. Povy's, but he being at dinner and full of company we retreated and went into Fleet Street to a friend of his, and after a long stay, he telling me the long and most perplexed story of Coronell and Bushell's business of sugars, wherein Parke and Green and Mr. Bland and 40 more have been so concerned about the King of Portugal's duties, wherein every party has laboured to cheat another, a most pleasant and profitable story to hear, and in the close made me understand Mr. Maes' business better than I did before. By and by dinner came, and after dinner and good discourse that and such as I was willing for improvement sake to hear, I went away too to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where I took occasion to demand of Creed whether he had received my letter, and he told me yes, and that he would answer it, which makes me much wonder what he means to do with me, but I will be even with him before I have done, let him make as light of it as he will. Thence to the Temple, where my cozen Roger Pepys did show me a letter my Father wrote to him last Terme to shew me, proposing such things about Sturtlow and a portion for Pall, and I know not what, that vexes me to see him plotting how to put me to trouble and charge, and not thinking to pay our debts and legacys, but I will write him a letter will persuade him to be wiser. So home, and finding my wife abroad (after her coming home from being with my aunt Wight to-day to buy Lent provisions) gone with Will to my brother's, I followed them by coach, but found them not, for they were newly gone home from thence, which troubled me. I to Sir Robert Bernard's chamber, and there did surrender my reversion in Brampton lands to the use of my will, which I was glad to have done, my will being now good in all parts. Thence homewards, calling a little at the Coffee-house, where a little merry discourse, and so home, where I found my wife, who says she went to her father's to be satisfied about her brother, who I found at my house with her. He is going this next tide with his wife into Holland to seek his fortune. He had taken his leave of us this morning. I did give my wife 10s. to give him, and a coat that I had by me, a close-bodied light-coloured cloth coat, with a gold edgeing in each seam, that was the lace of my wife's best pettycoat that she had when I married her. I staid not there, but to my office, where Stanes the glazier was with me till to at night making up his contract, and, poor man, I made him almost mad through a mistake of mine, but did afterwards reconcile all, for I would not have the man that labours to serve the King so cheap above others suffer too much. He gone I did a little business more, and so home to supper and to bed, being now pretty well again, the weather being warm. My pain do leave me without coming to any great excesse, but my cold that I had got I suppose was not very great, it being only the leaving of my wastecoat unbuttoned one morning. 11th. Up, after much pleasant discourse with my wife, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and did much business, and some much to my content by prevailing against Sir W. Batten for the King's profit. At noon home to dinner, my wife and I hand to fist to a very fine pig. This noon Mr. Falconer came and visited my wife, and brought her a present, a silver state-cup and cover, value about L3 or L4, for the courtesy I did him the other day. He did not stay dinner with me. I am almost sorry for this present, because I would have reserved him for a place to go in summer a-visiting at Woolwich with my wife. 12th. Up, and ready, did find below Mr. Creed's boy with a letter from his master for me. So I fell to reading it, and it is by way of stating the case between S. Pepys and J. Creed most excellently writ, both showing his stoutness and yet willingness to peace, reproaching me yet flattering me again, and in a word in as good a manner as I think the world could have wrote, and indeed put me to a greater stand than ever I thought I could have been in this matter. All the morning thinking how to behave myself in the business, and at noon to the Coffee-house; thence by his appointment met him upon the 'Change, and with him back to the Coffee-house, where with great seriousness and strangeness on both sides he said his part and I mine, he sometimes owning my favour and assistance, yet endeavouring to lessen it, as that the success of his business was not wholly or very much to be imputed to that assistance: I to alledge the contrary, and plainly to tell him that from the beginning I never had it in my mind to do him all that kindnesse for nothing, but he gaining 5 or L600, I did expect a share of it, at least a real and not a complimentary acknowledgment of it. In fine I said nothing all the while that I need fear he can do me more hurt with them than before I spoke them. The most I told him was after we were come to a peace, which he asked me whether he should answer the Board's letter or no. I told him he might forbear it a while and no more. Then he asked how the letter could be signed by them without their much enquiry. I told him it was as I worded it and nothing at all else of any moment, whether my words be ever hereafter spoken of again or no. So that I have the same neither better nor worse force over him that I had before, if he should not do his part. And the peace between us was this: Says he after all, well, says he, I know you will expect, since there must be some condescension, that it do become me to begin it, and therefore, says he, I do propose (just like the interstice between the death of the old and the coming in of the present king, all the time is swallowed up as if it had never been) so our breach of friendship may be as if it had never been, that I should lay aside all misapprehensions of him or his first letter, and that he would reckon himself obliged to show the same ingenuous acknowledgment of my love and service to him as at the beginning he ought to have done, before by my first letter I did (as he well observed) put him out of a capacity of doing it, without seeming to do it servilely, and so it rests, and I shall expect how he will deal with me. After that I began to be free, and both of us to discourse of other things, and he went home with me and dined with me and my wife and very pleasant, having a good dinner and the opening of my lampry (cutting a notch on one side), which proved very good. After dinner he and I to Deptford, walking all the way, where we met Sir W. Petty and I took him back, and I got him to go with me to his vessel and discourse it over to me, which he did very well, and then walked back together to the waterside at Redriffe, with good discourse all the way. So Creed and I by boat to my house, and thence to coach with my wife and called at Alderman Backewell's and there changed Mr. Falconer's state-cup, that he did give us the other day, for a fair tankard. The cup weighed with the fashion L5 16s., and another little cup that Joyce Norton did give us 17s., both L6 13s.; for which we had the tankard, which came to L6 10s., at 5s. 7d. per oz., and 3s. in money, and with great content away thence to my brother's, Creed going away there, and my brother bringing me the old silk standard that I lodged there long ago, and then back again home, and thence, hearing that my uncle Wight had been at my house, I went to him to the Miter, and there with him and Maes, Norbury, and Mr. Rawlinson till late eating some pot venison (where the Crowne earthen pot pleased me mightily), and then homewards and met Mr. Barrow, so back with him to the Miter and sat talking about his business of his discontent in the yard, wherein sometimes he was very foolish and pettish, till 12 at night, and so went away, and I home and up to my wife a-bed, with my mind ill at ease whether I should think that I had by this made myself a bad end by missing the certainty of L100 which I proposed to myself so much, or a good one by easing myself of the uncertain good effect but the certain trouble and reflection which must have fallen on me if we had proceeded to a public dispute, ended besides embarking myself against my Lord, who (which I had forgot) had given him his hand for the value of the pieces of eight at his rates which were all false, which by the way I shall take heed to the giving of my Lord notice of it hereafter whenever he goes out again. 13th. Up, and after I had told my wife in the morning in bed the passages yesterday with Creed my head and heart was mightily lighter than they were before, and so up and to the office, and thence, after sitting, at 11 o'clock with Mr. Coventry to the African House, and there with Sir W. Ryder by agreement we looked over part of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, these being by Creed and Vernaty. Anon down to dinner to a table which Mr. Coventry keeps here, out of his L300 per annum as one of the Assistants to the Royall Company, a very pretty dinner, and good company, and excellent discourse, and so up again to our work for an hour till the Company came to having a meeting of their own, and so we broke up and Creed and I took coach and to Reeves, the perspective glass maker, and there did indeed see very excellent microscopes, which did discover a louse or mite or sand most perfectly and largely. Being sated with that we went away (yet with a good will were it not for my obligation to have bought one) and walked to the New Exchange, and after a turn or two and talked I took coach and home, and so to my office, after I had been with my wife and saw her day's work in ripping the silke standard, which we brought home last night, and it will serve to line a bed, or for twenty uses, to our great content. And there wrote fair my angry letter to my father upon that that he wrote to my cozen Roger Pepys, which I hope will make him the more carefull to trust to my advice for the time to come without so many needless complaints and jealousys, which are troublesome to me because without reason. 14th (Lord's day). Up and to church alone, where a lazy sermon of Mr. Mills, upon a text to introduce catechizing in his parish, which I perceive he intends to begin. So home and very pleasant with my wife at dinner. All the afternoon at my office alone doing business, and then in the evening after a walk with my wife in the garden, she and I to my uncle Wight's to supper, where Mr. Norbury, but my uncle out of tune, and after supper he seemed displeased mightily at my aunt's desiring [to] put off a copper kettle, which it seems with great study he had provided to boil meat in, and now she is put in the head that it is not wholesome, which vexed him, but we were very merry about it, and by and by home, and after prayers to bed. 15th. Up, and carrying my wife to my Lord's lodgings left her, and I to White Hall, to the Duke; where he first put on a periwigg to-day; but methought his hair cut short in order thereto did look very prettily of itself, before he put on his periwigg. [Charles II. followed his brother in the use of the periwig in the following April.] Thence to his closet and there did our business, and thence Mr. Coventry and I down to his chamber and spent a little time, and so parted, and I took my wife homeward, I stopping at the Coffee-house, and thence a while to the 'Change, where great newes of the arrivall of two rich ships, the Greyhound and another, which they were mightily afeard of, and great insurance given, and so home to dinner, and after an houre with my wife at her globes, I to the office, where very busy till 11 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon Sir Thomas Chamberlin came to the office to me, and showed me several letters from the East Indys, showing the height that the Dutch are come to there, showing scorn to all the English, even in our only Factory there of Surat, beating several men, and hanging the English Standard St. George under the Dutch flagg in scorn; saying, that whatever their masters do or say at home, they will do what they list, and will be masters of all the world there; and have so proclaimed themselves Soveraigne of all the South Seas; which certainly our King cannot endure, if the Parliament will give him money. But I doubt and yet do hope they will not yet, till we are more ready for it. 16th. Up and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and most with Mr. Wood, I vexing him about his masts. At noon to the 'Change a little and thence brought Mr. Barrow to dinner with me, where I had a haunch of venison roasted, given me yesterday, and so had a pretty dinner, full of discourse of his business, wherein the poor man is mightily troubled, and I pity him in it, but hope to get him some ease. He being gone I to the office, where very busy till night, that my uncle Wight and Mr. Maes came to me, and after discourse about Maes' business to supper very merry, but my mind upon my business, and so they being gone I to my Vyall a little, which I have not done some months, I think, before, and then a little to my office, at 11 at night, and so home and to bed. 17th. Up, and with my wife, setting her down by her father's in Long Acre, in so ill looked a place, among all the whore houses, that I was troubled at it, to see her go thither. Thence I to White Hall and there walked up and down talking with Mr. Pierce, who tells me of the King's giving of my Lord Fitz-Harding two leases which belong indeed to the Queene, worth L20,000 to him; and how people do talk of it, and other things of that nature which I am sorry to hear. He and I walked round the Park with great pleasure, and back again, and finding no time to speak with my Lord of Albemarle, I walked to the 'Change and there met my wife at our pretty Doll's, and so took her home, and Creed also whom I met there, and sent her hose, while Creed and I staid on the 'Change, and by and by home and dined, where I found an excellent mastiffe, his name Towser, sent me by a chyrurgeon. After dinner I took my wife again by coach (leaving Creed by the way going to Gresham College, of which he is now become one of the virtuosos) and to White Hall, where I delivered a paper about Tangier to my Lord Duke of Albemarle in the council chamber, and so to Mrs. Hunt's to call my wife, and so by coach straight home, and at my office till 3 o'clock in the morning, having spent much time this evening in discourse with Mr. Cutler, who tells me how the Dutch deal with us abroad and do not value us any where, and how he and Sir W. Rider have found reason to lay aside Captain Cocke in their company, he having played some indiscreet and unfair tricks with them, and has lost himself every where by his imposing upon all the world with the conceit he has of his own wit, and so has, he tells me, Sir R. Ford also, both of whom are very witty men. He being gone Sir W. Rider came and staid with me till about 12 at night, having found ourselves work till that time, about understanding the measuring of Mr. Wood's masts, which though I did so well before as to be thought to deal very hardly against Wood, yet I am ashamed I understand it no better, and do hope yet, whatever be thought of me, to save the King some more money, and out of an impatience to breake up with my head full of confused confounded notions, but nothing brought to a clear comprehension, I was resolved to sit up and did till now it is ready to strike 4 o'clock, all alone, cold, and my candle not enough left to light me to my owne house, and so, with my business however brought to some good understanding, and set it down pretty clear, I went home to bed with my mind at good quiet, and the girl sitting up for me (the rest all a-bed). I eat and drank a little, and to bed, weary, sleepy, cold, and my head akeing. 18th. Called up to the office and much against my will I rose, my head aching mightily, and to the office, where I did argue to good purpose for the King, which I have been fitting myself for the last night against Mr. Wood about his masts, but brought it to no issue. Very full of business till noon, and then with Mr. Coventry to the African House, and there fell to my Lord Peterborough's accounts, and by and by to dinner, where excellent discourse, Sir G. Carteret and others of the African Company with us, and then up to the accounts again, which were by and by done, and then I straight home, my head in great pain, and drowsy, so after doing a little business at the office I wrote to my father about sending him the mastiff was given me yesterday. I home and by daylight to bed about 6 o'clock and fell to sleep, wakened about 12 when my wife came to bed, and then to sleep again and so till morning, and then: 19th. Up in good order in my head again and shaved myself, and then to the office, whither Mr. Cutler came, and walked and talked with me a great while; and then to the 'Change together; and it being early, did tell me several excellent examples of men raised upon the 'Change by their great diligence and saving; as also his owne fortune, and how credit grew upon him; that when he was not really worth L1100, he had credit for L100,000 of Sir W. Rider how he rose; and others. By and by joyned with us Sir John Bankes; who told us several passages of the East India Company; and how in his very case, when there was due to him and Alderman Mico L64,000 from the Dutch for injury done to them in the East Indys, Oliver presently after the peace, they delaying to pay them the money, sent them word, that if they did not pay them by such a day, he would grant letters of mark to those merchants against them; by which they were so fearful of him, they did presently pay the money every farthing. By and by, the 'Change filling, I did many businesses, and about 2 o'clock went off with my uncle Wight to his house, thence by appointment we took our wives (they by coach with Mr. Mawes) and we on foot to Mr. Jaggard, a salter, in Thames Street, for whom I did a courtesy among the poor victuallers, his wife, whom long ago I had seen, being daughter to old Day, my uncle Wight's master, is a very plain woman, but pretty children they have. They live methought at first in but a plain way, but afterward I saw their dinner, all fish, brought in very neatly, but the company being but bad I had no great pleasure in it. After dinner I to the office, where we should have met upon business extraordinary, but business not coming we broke up, and I thither again and took my wife; and taking a coach, went to visit my Ladys Jemimah and Paulina Montagu, and Mrs. Elizabeth Dickering, whom we find at their father's new house [The Earl of Sandwich had just moved to a house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Elizabeth Dickering, who afterwards married John Creed, was niece to Lord Sandwich.] in Lincolne's Inn Fields; but the house all in dirt. They received us well enough; but I did not endeavour to carry myself over familiarly with them; and so after a little stay, there coming in presently after us my Lady Aberguenny and other ladies, we back again by coach, and visited, my wife did, my she cozen Scott, who is very ill still, and thence to Jaggard's again, where a very good supper and great store of plate; and above all after supper Mrs. Jaggard did at my entreaty play on the Vyall, but so well as I did not think any woman in England could and but few Maisters, I must confess it did mightily surprise me, though I knew heretofore that she could play, but little thought so well. After her I set Maes to singing, but he did it so like a coxcomb that I was sick of him. About 11 at night I carried my aunt home by coach, and then home myself, having set my wife down at home by the way. My aunt tells me they are counted very rich people, worth at least 10 or L12,000, and their country house all the yeare long and all things liveable, which mightily surprises me to think for how poore a man I took him when I did him the courtesy at our office. So after prayers to bed, pleased at nothing all the day but Mrs. Jaggard playing on the Vyall, and that was enough to make me bear with all the rest that did not content me. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change with Mr. Coventry and thence home to dinner, after dinner by a gaily down to Woolwich, where with Mr. Falconer, and then at the other yard doing some business to my content, and so walked to Greenwich, it being a very fine evening and brought right home with me by water, and so to my office, where late doing business, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. (Lord's day). Up, and having many businesses at the office to-day I spent all the morning there drawing up a letter to Mr. Coventry about preserving of masts, being collections of my own, and at noon home to dinner, whither my brother Tom comes, and after dinner I took him up and read my letter lately of discontent to my father, and he is seemingly pleased at it, and cries out of my sister's ill nature and lazy life there. He being gone I to my office again, and there made an end of my morning's work, and then, after reading my vows of course, home and back again with Mr. Maes and walked with him talking of his business in the garden, and he being gone my wife and I walked a turn or two also, and then my uncle Wight fetching of us, she and I to his house to supper, and by the way calling on Sir G. Carteret to desire his consent to my bringing Maes to him, which he agreed to. So I to my uncle's, but staid a great while vexed both of us for Maes not coming in, and soon he came, and I with him from supper to Sir G. Carteret, and there did largely discourse of the business, and I believe he may expect as much favour as he can do him, though I fear that will not be much. So back, and after sitting there a good while, we home, and going my wife told me how my uncle when he had her alone did tell her that he did love her as well as ever he did, though he did not find it convenient to show it publicly for reasons on both sides, seeming to mean as well to prevent my jealousy as his wife's, but I am apt to think that he do mean us well, and to give us something if he should die without children. So home to prayers and to bed. My wife called up the people to washing by four o'clock in the morning; and our little girl Susan is a most admirable Slut and pleases us mightily, doing more service than both the others and deserves wages better. 22nd. Up and shaved myself, and then my wife and I by coach out, and I set her down by her father's, being vexed in my mind and angry with her for the ill-favoured place, among or near the whore houses, that she is forced to come to him. So left her there, and I to Sir Th. Warwick's but did not speak with him. Thence to take a turn in St. James's Park, and meeting with Anth. Joyce walked with him a turn in the Pell Mell and so parted, he St. James's ward and I out to Whitehall ward, and so to a picture-sellers by the Half Moone in the street over against the Exchange, and there looked over the maps of several cities and did buy two books of cities stitched together cost me 9s. 6d., and when I came home thought of my vowe, and paid 5s. into my poor box for it, hoping in God that I shall forfeit no more in that kind. Thence, meeting Mr. Moore, and to the Exchange and there found my wife at pretty Doll's, and thence by coach set her at my uncle Wight's, to go with my aunt to market once more against Lent, and I to the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, my chief business being to enquire about the manner of other countries keeping of their masts wet or dry, and got good advice about it, and so home, and alone ate a bad, cold dinner, my people being at their washing all day, and so to the office and all the afternoon upon my letter to Mr. Coventry about keeping of masts, and ended it very well at night and wrote it fair over. This evening came Mr. Alsopp the King's brewer, with whom I spent an houre talking and bewailing the posture of things at present; the King led away by half-a-dozen men, that none of his serious servants and friends can come at him. These are Lauderdale, Buckingham, Hamilton, Fitz-Harding (to whom he hath, it seems, given L2,000 per annum in the best part of the King's estate); and that that the old Duke of Buckingham could never get of the King. Progers is another, and Sir H. Bennett. He loves not the Queen at all, but is rather sullen to her; and she, by all reports, incapable of children. He is so fond of the Duke of Monmouth, that every body admires it; and he says the Duke hath said, that he would be the death of any man that says the King was not married to his mother: though Alsopp says, it is well known that she was a common whore before the King lay with her. But it seems, he says, that the King is mighty kind to these his bastard children; and at this day will go at midnight to my Lady Castlemaine's nurses, and take the child and dance it in his arms: that he is not likely to have his tables up again in his house,--[The tables at which the king dined in public.-B.]--for the crew that are about him will not have him come to common view again, but keep him obscurely among themselves. He hath this night, it seems, ordered that the Hall (which there is a ball to be in to-night before the King) be guarded, as the Queen-Mother's is, by his Horse Guards; whereas heretofore they were by the Lord Chamberlain or Steward, and their people. But it is feared they will reduce all to the soldiery, and all other places taken away; and what is worst of all, that he will alter the present militia, and bring all to a flying army. That my Lord Lauderdale, being Middleton's enemy, and one that scorns the Chancellor even to open affronts before the King, hath got the whole power of Scotland into his hand; whereas the other day he was in a fair way to have had his whole estate, and honour, and life, voted away from him. That the King hath done himself all imaginable wrong in the business of my Lord Antrim, in Ireland; who, though he was the head of rebels, yet he by his letter owns to have acted by his father's and mother's, and his commissions; but it seems the truth is, he hath obliged himself, upon the clearing of his estate, to settle it upon a daughter of the Queene-Mother's (by my Lord Germin, I suppose,) in marriage, be it to whom the Queene pleases; which is a sad story. It seems a daughter of the Duke of Lenox's was, by force, going to be married the other day at Somerset House, to Harry Germin; but she got away and run to the King, and he says he will protect her. She is, it seems, very near akin to the King: Such mad doings there are every day among them! The rape upon a woman at Turnstile the other day, her husband being bound in his shirt, they both being in bed together, it being night, by two Frenchmen, who did not only lye with her but abused her with a linke, is hushed up for L300, being the Queen Mother's servants. There was a French book in verse, the other day, translated and presented to the Duke of Monmouth in such a high stile, that the Duke of York, he tells me, was mightily offended at it. The Duke of Monmouth's mother's brother hath a place at Court; and being a Welchman (I think he told me) will talk very broad of the King's being married to his sister. The King did the other day, at the Council, commit my Lord Digby's' chaplin, and steward, and another servant, who went upon the process begun there against their lord, to swear that they saw him at church, end receive the Sacrament as a Protestant, (which, the judges said, was sufficient to prove him such in the eye of the law); the King, I say, did commit them all to the Gate-house, notwithstanding their pleading their dependance upon him, and the faith they owed him as their lord, whose bread they eat. And that the King should say, that he would soon see whether he was King, or Digby. That the Queene-Mother hath outrun herself in her expences, and is now come to pay very ill, or run in debt; the money being spent that she received for leases. He believes there is not any money laid up in bank, as I told him some did hope; but he says, from the best informers he can assure me there is no such thing, nor any body that should look after such a thing; and that there is not now above L80,000 of the Dunkirke money left in stock. That Oliver in the year when he spent L1,400,000 in the Navy, did spend in the whole expence of the kingdom L2,600,000. That all the Court are mad for a Dutch war; but both he and I did concur, that it was a thing rather to be dreaded than hoped for; unless by the French King's falling upon Flanders, they and the Dutch should be divided. That our Embassador had, it is true, an audience; but in the most dishonourable way that could be; for the Princes of the Blood (though invited by our Embassador, which was the greatest absurdity that ever Embassador committed these 400 years) were not there; and so were not said to give place to our King's Embassador. And that our King did openly say, the other day in the Privy Chamber, that he would not be hectored out of his right and preeminencys by the King of France, as great as he was. That the Pope is glad to yield to a peace with the French (as the newes-book says), upon the basest terms that ever was. That the talke which these people about our King, that I named before, have, is to tell him how neither privilege of Parliament nor City is any thing; but his will is all, and ought to be so: and their discourse, it seems, when they are alone, is so base and sordid, that it makes the eares of the very gentlemen of the back-stairs (I think he called them) to tingle to hear it spoke in the King's hearing; and that must be very bad indeed. That my Lord Digby did send to Lisbon a couple of priests, to search out what they could against the Chancellor concerning the match, as to the point of his knowing before-hand that the Queene was not capable of bearing children; and that something was given her to make her so. But as private as they were, when they came thither they were clapped up prisoners. That my Lord Digby endeavours what he can to bring the business into the House of Commons, hoping there to master the Chancellor, there being many enemies of his there; but I hope the contrary. That whereas the late King did mortgage 'Clarendon' to somebody for L20,000, and this to have given it to the Duke of Albemarle, and he sold it to my Lord Chancellor, whose title of Earldome is fetched from thence; the King hath this day sent his order to the Privy Seale for the payment of this L20,000 to my Lord Chancellor, to clear the mortgage! Ireland in a very distracted condition about the hard usage which the Protestants meet with, and the too good which the Catholiques. And from altogether, God knows my heart, I expect nothing but ruine can follow, unless things are better ordered in a little time. He being gone my wife came and told me how kind my uncle Wight had been to her to-day, and that though she says that all his kindness comes from respect to her she discovers nothing but great civility from him, yet but what she says he otherwise will tell me, but to-day he told her plainly that had she a child it should be his heir, and that should I or she want he would be a good friend to us, and did give my wife instructions to consent to all his wife says at any time, she being a pettish woman, which argues a design I think he has of keeping us in with his wife in order to our good sure, and he declaring her jealous of him that so he dares not come to see my wife as otherwise he would do and will endeavour to do. It looks strange putting all together, but yet I am in hopes he means well. My aunt also is mighty open to my wife and tells her mighty plain how her husband did intend to double her portion to her at his death as a jointure. That he will give presently L100 to her niece Mary and a good legacy at his death, and it seems did as much to the other sister, which vexed [me] to think that he should bestow so much upon his wife's friends daily as he do, but it cannot be helped for the time past, and I will endeavour to remedy it for the time to come. After all this discourse with my wife at my office alone, she home to see how the wash goes on and I to make an end of my work, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, it being Shrove Tuesday, and at the office sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change and there met with Sir W. Rider, and of a sudden knowing what I had at home, brought him and Mr. Cutler and Mr. Cooke, clerk to Mr. Secretary Morrice, a sober and pleasant man, and one that I knew heretofore, when he was my Lord 's secretary at Dunkirke. I made much of them and had a pretty dinner for a sudden. We talked very pleasantly, and they many good discourses of their travels abroad. After dinner they gone, I to my office, where doing many businesses very late, but to my good content to see how I grow in estimation every day more and more, and have things given more oftener than I used to have formerly, as to have a case of very pretty knives with agate shafts by Mrs. Russell. So home and to bed. This day, by the blessing of God, I have lived thirty-one years in the world; and, by the grace of God, I find myself not only in good health in every thing, and particularly as to the stone, but only pain upon taking cold, and also in a fair way of coming to a better esteem and estate in the world, than ever I expected. But I pray God give me a heart to fear a fall, and to prepare for it! 24th (Ash-Wednesday). Up and by water, it being a very fine morning, to White Hall, and there to speak with Sir Ph. Warwicke, but he was gone out to chappell, so I spent much of the morning walking in the Park, and going to the Queene's chappell, where I staid and saw their masse, till a man came and bid me go out or kneel down: so I did go out. And thence to Somerset House; and there into the chappell, where Monsieur d'Espagne used to preach. But now it is made very fine, and was ten times more crouded than the Queene's chappell at St. James's; which I wonder at. Thence down to the garden of Somerset House, and up and down the new building, which in every respect will be mighty magnificent and costly. I staid a great while talking with a man in the garden that was sawing of a piece of marble, and did give him 6d. to drink. He told me much of the nature and labour of the worke, how he could not saw above 4 inches of the stone in a day, and of a greater not above one or two, and after it is sawed, then it is rubbed with coarse and then with finer and finer sand till they come to putty, and so polish it as smooth as glass. Their saws have no teeth, but it is the sand only which the saw rubs up and down that do the thing. Thence by water to the Coffee-house, and there sat with Alderman Barker talking of hempe and the trade, and thence to the 'Change a little, and so home and dined with my wife, and then to the office till the evening, and then walked a while merrily with my wife in the garden, and so she gone, I to work again till late, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up and to the office, where we sat, and thence with Mr. Coventry by coach to the glasshouse and there dined, and both before and after did my Lord Peterborough's accounts. Thence home to the office, and there did business till called by Creed, and with him by coach (setting my wife at my brother's) to my Lord's, and saw the young ladies, and talked a little with them, and thence to White Hall, a while talking but doing no business, but resolved of going to meet my Lord tomorrow, having got a horse of Mr. Coventry to-day. So home, taking up my wife, and after doing something at my office home, God forgive me, disturbed in my mind out of my jealousy of my wife tomorrow when I am out of town, which is a hell to my mind, and yet without all reason. God forgive me for it, and mend me. So home, and getting my things ready for me, weary to bed. 26th. Up, and after dressing myself handsomely for riding, I out, and by water to Westminster, to Mr. Creed's chamber, and after drinking some chocolate, and playing on the vyall, Mr. Mallard being there, upon Creed's new vyall, which proves, methinks, much worse than mine, and, looking upon his new contrivance of a desk and shelves for books, we set out from an inne hard by, whither Mr. Coventry's horse was carried, and round about the bush through bad ways to Highgate. Good discourse in the way had between us, and it being all day a most admirable pleasant day, we, upon consultation, had stopped at the Cocke, a mile on this side Barnett, being unwilling to put ourselves to the charge or doubtful acceptance of any provision against my Lord's coming by, and there got something and dined, setting a boy to look towards Barnett Hill, against their coming; and after two or three false alarms, they come, and we met the coach very gracefully, and I had a kind receipt from both Lord and Lady as I could wish, and some kind discourse, and then rode by the coach a good way, and so fell to discoursing with several of the people, there being a dozen attending the coach, and another for the mayds and parson. Among others talking with W. Howe, he told me how my Lord in his hearing the other day did largely tell my Lord Peterborough and Povy (who went with them down to Hinchinbrooke) how and when he discarded Creed, and took me to him, and that since the Duke of York has several times thanked him for me, which did not a little please me, and anon I desiring Mr. Howe to tell me upon [what] occasion this discourse happened, he desired me to say nothing of it now, for he would not have my Lord to take notice of our being together, but he would tell me another time, which put me into some trouble to think what he meant by it. But when we came to my Lord's house, I went in; and whether it was my Lord's neglect, or general indifference, I know not, but he made me no kind of compliment there; and, methinks, the young ladies look somewhat highly upon me. So I went away without bidding adieu to anybody, being desirous not to be thought too servile. But I do hope and believe that my Lord do yet value me as high as ever, though he dare not admit me to the freedom he once did, and that my Lady is still the same woman. So rode home and there found my uncle Wight. 'Tis an odd thing as my wife tells me his caressing her and coming on purpose to give her visits, but I do not trouble myself for him at all, but hope the best and very good effects of it. He being gone I eat something and my wife. I told all this day's passages, and she to give me very good and rational advice how to behave myself to my Lord and his family, by slighting every body but my Lord and Lady, and not to seem to have the least society or fellowship with them, which I am resolved to do, knowing that it is my high carriage that must do me good there, and to appear in good clothes and garbe. To the office, and being weary, early home to bed. 27th. Up, but weary, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. Before I went to the office there came Bagwell's wife to me to speak for her husband. I liked the woman very well and stroked her under the chin, but could not find in my heart to offer anything uncivil to her, she being, I believe, a very modest woman. At noon with Mr. Coventry to the African house, and to my Lord Peterborough's business again, and then to dinner, where, before dinner, we had the best oysters I have seen this year, and I think as good in all respects as ever I eat in my life. I eat a great many. Great, good company at dinner, among others Sir Martin Noell, who told us the dispute between him, as farmer of the Additional Duty, and the East India Company, whether callicos be linnen or no; which he says it is, having been ever esteemed so: they say it is made of cotton woole, and grows upon trees, not like flax or hempe. But it was carried against the Company, though they stand out against the verdict. Thence home and to the office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed, and had a very pleasing and condescending answer from my poor father to-day in answer to my angry discontentful letter to him the other day, which pleases me mightily. 28th (Lord's day). Up and walked to Paul's; and by chance it was an extraordinary day for the Readers of the Inns of Court and all the Students to come to church, it being an old ceremony not used these twenty-five years, upon the first Sunday in Lent. Abundance there was of Students, more than there was room to seat but upon forms, and the Church mighty full. One Hawkins preached, an Oxford man. A good sermon upon these words: "But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable." Both before and after sermon I was most impatiently troubled at the Quire, the worst that ever I heard. But what was extraordinary, the Bishop of London, who sat there in a pew, made a purpose for him by the pulpitt, do give the last blessing to the congregation; which was, he being a comely old man, a very decent thing, methought. The Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir J. Robinson, would needs have me by coach home with him, and sending word home to my house I did go and dine with him, his ordinary table being very good, and his lady a very high-carriaged but comely big woman; I was mightily pleased with her. His officers of his regiment dined with him. No discourse at table to any purpose, only after dinner my Lady would needs see a boy which was represented to her to be an innocent country boy brought up to towne a day or two ago, and left here to the wide world, and he losing his way fell into the Tower, which my Lady believes, and takes pity on him, and will keep him; but though a little boy and but young, yet he tells his tale so readily and answers all questions so wittily, that for certain he is an arch rogue, and bred in this towne; but my Lady will not believe it, but ordered victuals to be given him, and I think will keep him as a footboy for their eldest son. After dinner to chappell in the Tower with the Lieutenant, with the keyes carried before us, and the Warders and Gentleman-porter going before us. And I sat with the Lieutenant in his pew, in great state, but slept all the sermon. None, it seems, of the prisoners in the Tower that are there now, though they may, will come to prayers there. Church being done, I back to Sir John's house and there left him and home, and by and by to Sir W. Pen, and staid a while talking with him about Sir J. Minnes his folly in his office, of which I am sicke and weary to speak of it, and how the King is abused in it, though Pen, I know, offers the discourse only like a rogue to get it out of me, but I am very free to tell my mind to him, in that case being not unwilling he should tell him again if he will or any body else. Thence home, and walked in the garden by brave moonshine with my wife above two hours, till past 8 o'clock, then to supper, and after prayers to bed. 29th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Pen to Charing Cross, and there I 'light, and to Sir Phillip Warwick to visit him and discourse with him about navy business, which I did at large and he most largely with me, not only about the navy but about the general Revenue of England, above two hours, I think, many staying all the while without, but he seemed to take pains to let me either understand the affairs of the Revenue or else to be a witness of his pains and care in stating it. He showed me indeed many excellent collections of the State of the Revenue in former Kings and the late times, and the present. He showed me how the very Assessments between 1643 and 1659, which were taxes (besides Excise, Customes, Sequestrations, Decimations, King and Queene's and Church Lands, or any thing else but just the Assessments), come to above fifteen millions. He showed me a discourse of his concerning the Revenues of this and foreign States. How that of Spayne was great, but divided with his kingdoms, and so came to little. How that of France did, and do much exceed ours before for quantity; and that it is at the will of the Prince to tax what he will upon his people; which is not here. That the Hollanders have the best manner of tax, which is only upon the expence of provisions, by an excise; and do conclude that no other tax is proper for England but a pound-rate, or excise upon the expence of provisions. He showed me every particular sort of payment away of money, since the King's coming in, to this day; and told me, from one to one, how little he hath received of profit from most of them; and I believe him truly. That the L1,200,000 which the Parliament with so much ado did first vote to give the King, and since hath been reexamined by several committees of the present Parliament, is yet above L300,000 short of making up really to the King the L1,200,000, as by particulars he showed me. [A committee was appointed in September, 1660, to consider the subject of the King's revenue, and they "reported to the Commons that the average revenue of Charles I., from 1637 to 1641 inclusive, had been L895,819, and the average expenditure about L1,110,000. At that time prices were lower and the country less burthened with navy and garrisons, among which latter Dunkirk alone now cost more than L100,000 a year. It appeared, therefore, that the least sum to which the King could be expected to 'conform his expense' was L1,200,000." Burnet writes, "It was believed that if two millions had been asked he could have carried it. But he (Clarendon) had no mind to put the King out of the necessity of having recourse to his Parliament."--Lister's Life of Clarendon, vol. ii., pp. 22, 23.] And in my Lord Treasurer's excellent letter to the King upon this subject, he tells the King how it was the spending more than the revenue that did give the first occasion of his father's ruine, and did since to the rebels; who, he says, just like Henry the Eighth, had great and sudden increase of wealth, but yet, by overspending, both died poor; and further tells the King how much of this L1,200,000 depends upon the life of the Prince, and so must be renewed by Parliament again to his successor; which is seldom done without parting with some of the prerogatives of the Crowne; or if denied and he persists to take it of the people, it gives occasion to a civill war, which may, as it did in the late business of tonnage and poundage, prove fatal to the Crowne. He showed me how many ways the Lord Treasurer did take before he moved the King to farme the Customes in the manner he do, and the reasons that moved him to do it. He showed the a very excellent argument to prove, that our importing lesse than we export, do not impoverish the kingdom, according to the received opinion: which, though it be a paradox, and that I do not remember the argument, yet methought there was a great deale in what he said. And upon the whole I find him a most exact and methodicall man, and of great industry: and very glad that he thought fit to show me all this; though I cannot easily guess the reason why he should do it to me, unless from the plainness that he sees I use to him in telling him how much the King may suffer for our want of understanding the case of our Treasury. Thence to White Hall (where my Lord Sandwich was, and gave me a good countenance, I thought), and before the Duke did our usual business, and so I about several businesses in the house, and then out to the Mewes with Sir W. Pen. But in my way first did meet with W. Howe, who did of himself advise me to appear more free with my Lord and to come to him, for my own strangeness he tells me he thinks do make my Lord the worse. At the Mewes Sir W. Pen and Mr. Baxter did shew me several good horses, but Pen, which Sir W. Pen did give the Duke of York, was given away by the Duke the other day to a Frenchman, which Baxter is cruelly vexed at, saying that he was the best horse that he expects a great while to have to do with. Thence I to the 'Change, and thence to a Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, and did talk much about his and Wood's business, and thence homewards, and in my way did stay to look upon a fire in an Inneyard in Lumbard Streete. But, Lord! how the mercers and merchants who had warehouses there did carry away their cloths and silks. But at last it was quenched, and I home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife and set her and her two mayds in Fleete Streete to buy things, and I to White Hall to little purpose, and so to Westminster Hall, and there talked with Mrs. Lane and Howlett, but the match with Hawly I perceive will not take, and so I am resolved wholly to avoid occasion of further ill with her. Thence by water to Salsbury Court, and found my wife, by agreement, at Mrs. Turner's, and after a little stay and chat set her and young Armiger down in Cheapside, and so my wife and I home. Got home before our mayds, who by and by came with a great cry and fright that they had like to have been killed by a coach; but, Lord! to see how Jane did tell the story like a foole and a dissembling fanatique, like her grandmother, but so like a changeling, would make a man laugh to death almost, and yet be vexed to hear her. By and by to the office to make up my monthly accounts, which I make up to-night, and to my great content find myself worth eight hundred and ninety and odd pounds, the greatest sum I ever yet knew, and so with a heart at great case to bed. MARCH 1663-1664 March 1st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and after much business and meeting my uncle Wight, who told me how Mr. Maes had like to have been trapanned yesterday, but was forced to run for it; so with Creed and Mr. Hunt home to dinner, and after a good and pleasant dinner, Mr. Hunt parted, and I took Mr. Creed and my wife and down to Deptford, it being most pleasant weather, and there till night discoursing with the officers there about several things, and so walked home by moonshine, it being mighty pleasant, and so home, and I to my office, where late about getting myself a thorough understanding in the business of masts, and so home to bed, my left eye being mightily troubled with rheum. 2nd. Up, my eye mightily out of order with the rheum that is fallen down into it, however, I by coach endeavoured to have waited on my Lord Sandwich, but meeting him in Chancery Lane going towards the City I stopped and so fairly walked home again, calling at St. Paul's Churchyarde, and there looked upon a pretty burlesque poem, called "Scarronides, or Virgile Travesty;" extraordinary good. At home to the office till dinner, and after dinner my wife cut my hair short, which is growne pretty long again, and then to the office, and there till 9 at night doing business. This afternoon we had a good present of tongues and bacon from Mr. Shales, of Portsmouth. So at night home to supper, and, being troubled with my eye, to bed. This morning Mr. Burgby, one of the writing clerks belonging to the Council, was with me about business, a knowing man, he complains how most of the Lords of the Council do look after themselves and their own ends, and none the publique, unless Sir Edward Nicholas. Sir G. Carteret is diligent, but all for his own ends and profit. My Lord Privy Scale, a destroyer of every body's business, and do no good at all to the publique. The Archbishop of Canterbury speaks very little, nor do much, being now come to the highest pitch that he can expect. He tells me, he believes that things will go very high against the Chancellor by Digby, and that bad things will be proved. Talks much of his neglecting the King; and making the King to trot every day to him, when he is well enough to go to visit his cozen Chief-Justice Hide, but not to the Council or King. He commends my Lord of Ormond mightily in Ireland; but cries out cruelly of Sir G. Lane for his corruption; and that he hath done my Lord great dishonour by selling of places here, which are now all taken away, and the poor wretches ready to starve. That nobody almost understands or judges of business better than the King, if he would not be guilty of his father's fault to be doubtfull of himself, and easily be removed from his own opinion. That my Lord Lauderdale is never from the King's care nor council, and that he is a most cunning fellow. Upon the whole, that he finds things go very bad every where; and even in the Council nobody minds the publique. 3rd. Up pretty early and so to the office, where we sat all the morning making a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for provisions for the yeare coming, and so home to dinner, and there was W. Howe come to dine with me, and before dinner he and I walked in the garden, and we did discourse together, he assuring me of what he told me the other day of my Lord's speaking so highly in my commendation to my Lord Peterborough and Povy, which speaks my Lord having yet a good opinion of me, and also how well my Lord and Lady both are pleased with their children's being at my father's, and when the bigger ladies were there a little while ago, at which I am very glad. After dinner he went away, I having discoursed with him about his own proceedings in his studies, and I observe him to be very considerate and to mind his book in order to preferring himself by my Lord's favour to something, and I hope to the outing of Creed in his Secretaryship. For he tells me that he is confident my Lord do not love him nor will trust him in any secret matter, he is so cunning and crafty in all he do. So my wife and I out of doors thinking to have gone to have seen a play, but when we came to take coach, they tell us there are none this week, being the first of Lent. But, Lord! to see how impatient I found myself within to see a play, I being at liberty once a month to see one, and I think it is the best method I could have taken. But to my office, did very much business with several people till night, and so home, being unwilling to stay late because of my eye which is not yet well of the rheum that is fallen down into it, but to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, my eye being pretty well, and then by coach to my Lord Sandwich, with whom I spoke, walking a good while with him in his garden, which and the house is very fine, talking of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, wherein he is concerned both for the foolery as also inconvenience which may happen upon my Lord Peterborough's ill-stating of his matters, so as to have his gaine discovered unnecessarily. We did talk long and freely that I hope the worst is past and all will be well. There were several people by trying a new-fashion gun [Many attempts to produce a satisfactory revolver were made in former centuries, but it was not till the present one that Colt's revolver was invented. On February 18th, 1661, Edward, Marquis of Worcester, obtained Letters Patent for "an invencon to make certeyne guns or pistolls which in the tenth parte of one minute of an houre may, with a flaske contrived to that purpose, be re-charged the fourth part of one turne of the barrell which remaines still fixt, fastening it as forceably and effectually as a dozen thrids of any scrue, which in the ordinary and usual way require as many turnes." On March 3rd, 1664, Abraham Hill obtained Letters Patent for a "gun or pistoll for small shott, carrying seaven or eight charges of the same in the stocke of the gun."] brought my Lord this morning, to shoot off often, one after another, without trouble or danger, very pretty. Thence to the Temple, and there taking White's boat down to Woolwich, taking Mr. Shish at Deptford in my way, with whom I had some good discourse of the Navy business. At Woolwich discoursed with him and Mr. Pett about iron worke and other businesses, and then walked home, and at Greenwich did observe the foundation laying of a very great house for the King, which will cost a great deale of money. [Building by John Webb; now a part of Greenwich Hospital. Evelyn wrote in his Diary, October 19th, 1661: "I went to London to visite my Lord of Bristoll, having been with Sir John Denham (his Mates surveyor) to consult with him about the placing of his palace at Greenwich, which I would have had built between the river and the Queene's house, so as a large cutt should have let in ye Thames like a bay; but Sir John was for setting it in piles at the very brink of the water, which I did not assent to and so came away, knowing Sir John to be a better poet than architect, tho' he had Mr. Webb (Inigo Jones's man) to assist him."] So home to dinner, and my uncle Wight coming in he along with my wife and I by coach, and setting him down by the way going to Mr. Maes we two to my Lord Sandwich's to visit my Lady, with whom I left my wife discoursing, and I to White Hall, and there being met by the Duke of Yorke, he called me to him and discoursed a pretty while with me about the new ship's dispatch building at Woolwich, and talking of the charge did say that he finds always the best the most cheape, instancing in French guns, which in France you may buy for 4 pistoles, as good to look to as others of 16, but not the service. I never had so much discourse with the Duke before, and till now did ever fear to meet him. He found me and Mr. Prin together talking of the Chest money, which we are to blame not to look after. Thence to my Lord's, and took up my wife, whom my Lady hath received with her old good nature and kindnesse, and so homewards, and she home, I 'lighting by the way, and upon the 'Change met my uncle Wight and told him my discourse this afternoon with Sir G. Carteret in Maes' business, but much to his discomfort, and after a dish of coffee home, and at my office a good while with Sir W. Warren talking with great pleasure of many businesses, and then home to supper, my wife and I had a good fowle to supper, and then I to the office again and so home, my mind in great ease to think of our coming to so good a respect with my Lord again, and my Lady, and that my Lady do so much cry up my father's usage of her children, and the goodness of the ayre there, found in the young ladies' faces at their return thence, as she says, as also my being put into the commission of the Fishery, [There had been recently established, under the Great Seal of England, a Corporation for the Royal Fishing, of which the Duke of York was Governor, Lord Craven Deputy-Governor, and the Lord Mayor and Chamberlain of London, for the time being, Treasurers, in which body was vested the sole power of licensing lotteries ("The Newes," October 6th, 1664). The original charter (dated April 8th, 1664), incorporating James, Duke of York, and thirty-six assistants as Governor and Company of the Royal Fishing of Great Britain and Ireland, is among the State Papers. The duke was to be Governor till February 26th, 1665] for which I must give my Lord thanks, and so home to bed, having a great cold in my head and throat tonight from my late cutting my hair so close to my head, but I hope it will be soon gone again. 5th. Up and to the office, where, though I had a great cold, I was forced to speak much upon a publique meeting of the East India Company, at our office; where our own company was full, and there was also my Lord George Barkeley, in behalfe of the company of merchants (I suppose he is on that company), who, hearing my name, took notice of me, and condoled my cozen Edward Pepys's death, not knowing whose son I was, nor did demand it of me. We broke up without coming to any conclusion, for want of my Lord Marlborough. We broke up and I to the 'Change, where with several people and my uncle Wight to drink a dish of coffee, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, my eye and my throat being very bad, and my cold increasing so as I could not speak almost at all at night. So at night home to supper, that is a posset, and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and my cold continuing in great extremity I could not go out to church, but sat all day (a little time at dinner excepted) in my closet at the office till night drawing up a second letter to Mr. Coventry about the measure of masts to my great satisfaction, and so in the evening home, and my uncle and aunt Wight came to us and supped with us, where pretty merry, but that my cold put me out of humour. At night with my cold, and my eye also sore still, to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and the Duke being gone abroad to-day, as we heard by a messenger, I spent the morning at my office writing fair my yesterday's work till almost 2 o'clock (only Sir G. Carteret coming I went down a little way by water towards Deptford, but having more mind to have my business done I pretended business at the 'Change, and so went into another boat), and then, eating a bit, my wife and I by coach to the Duke's house, where we saw "The Unfortunate Lovers;" but I know not whether I am grown more curious than I was or no, but I was not much pleased with it, though I know not where to lay the fault, unless it was that the house was very empty, by reason of a new play at the other house. Yet here was my Lady Castlemayne in a box, and it was pleasant to hear an ordinary lady hard by us, that it seems did not know her before, say, being told who she was, that "she was well enough." Thence home, and I ended and sent away my letter to Mr. Coventry (having first read it and had the opinion of Sir W. Warren in the case), and so home to supper and to bed, my cold being pretty well gone, but my eye remaining still snare and rhumey, which I wonder at, my right eye ayling nothing. 8th. Up with some little discontent with my wife upon her saying that she had got and used some puppy-dog water, being put upon it by a desire of my aunt Wight to get some for her, who hath a mind, unknown to her husband, to get some for her ugly face. I to the office, where we sat all the morning, doing not much business through the multitude of counsellors, one hindering another. It was Mr. Coventry's own saying to me in his coach going to the 'Change, but I wonder that he did give me no thanks for my letter last night, but I believe he did only forget it. Thence home, whither Luellin came and dined with me, but we made no long stay at dinner; for "Heraclius" being acted, which my wife and I have a mighty mind to see, we do resolve, though not exactly agreeing with the letter of my vowe, yet altogether with the sense, to see another this month, by going hither instead of that at Court, there having been none conveniently since I made my vowe for us to see there, nor like to be this Lent, and besides we did walk home on purpose to make this going as cheap as that would have been, to have seen one at Court, and my conscience knows that it is only the saving of money and the time also that I intend by my oaths, and this has cost no more of either, so that my conscience before God do after good consultation and resolution of paying my forfeit, did my conscience accuse me of breaking my vowe, I do not find myself in the least apprehensive that I have done any violence to my oaths. The play hath one very good passage well managed in it, about two persons pretending, and yet denying themselves, to be son to the tyrant Phocas, and yet heire of Mauritius to the crowne. The garments like Romans very well. The little girle is come to act very prettily, and spoke the epilogue most admirably. But at the beginning, at the drawing up of the curtaine, there was the finest scene of the Emperor and his people about him, standing in their fixed and different pastures in their Roman habitts, above all that ever I yet saw at any of the theatres. Walked home, calling to see my brother Tom, who is in bed, and I doubt very ill of a consumption. To the office awhile, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up pretty betimes to my office, where all day long, but a little at home at dinner, at my office finishing all things about Mr. Wood's contract for masts, wherein I am sure I shall save the King L400 before I have done. At night home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon to the 'Change and there very busy, and so home to dinner with my wife, to a good hog's harslet, [Harslet or haslet, the entrails of an animal, especially of a hog, as the heart, liver, &c.] a piece of meat I love, but have not eat of I think these seven years, and after dinner abroad by coach set her at Mrs. Hunt's and I to White Hall, and at the Privy Seale I enquired, and found the Bill come for the Corporation of the Royall Fishery; whereof the Duke of Yorke is made present Governor, and several other very great persons, to the number of thirty-two, made his assistants for their lives: whereof, by my Lord Sandwich's favour, I am one; and take it not only as a matter of honour, but that, that may come to be of profit to me, and so with great content went and called my wife, and so home and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, who not being up I staid talking with Mr. Moore till my Lord was ready and come down, and went directly out without calling for me or seeing any body. I know not whether he knew I was there, but I am apt to think not, because if he would have given me that slighting yet he would not have done it to others that were there. So I went back again doing nothing but discoursing with Mr. Moore, who I find by discourse to be grown rich, and indeed not to use me at all with the respect he used to do, but as his equal. He made me known to their Chaplin, who is a worthy, able man. Thence home, and by and by to the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and after a little chat with my wife to the office, where all the afternoon till very late at the office busy, and so home to supper and to bed, hoping in God that my diligence, as it is really very useful for the King, so it will end in profit to myself. In the meantime I have good content in mind to see myself improve every day in knowledge and being known. 12th. Lay long pleasantly entertaining myself with my wife, and then up and to the office, where busy till noon, vexed to see how Sir J. Minnes deserves rather to be pitied for his dotage and folly than employed at a great salary to ruin the King's business. At noon to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and then down to Deptford, where busy a while, and then walking home it fell hard a raining. So at Halfway house put in, and there meeting Mr. Stacy with some company of pretty women, I took him aside to a room by ourselves, and there talked with him about the several sorts of tarrs, and so by and by parted, and I walked home and there late at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed talking with my wife, and then up in great doubt whether I should not go see Mr. Coventry or no, who hath not been well these two or three days, but it being foul weather I staid within, and so to my office, and there all the morning reading some Common Law, to which I will allot a little time now and then, for I much want it. At noon home to dinner, and then after some discourse with my wife, to the office again, and by and by Sir W. Pen came to me after sermon and walked with me in the garden and then one comes to tell me that Anthony and Will Joyce were come to see me, so I in to them and made mighty much of them, and very pleasant we were, and most of their business I find to be to advise about getting some woman to attend my brother Tom, whom they say is very ill and seems much to want one. To which I agreed, and desired them to get their wives to enquire out one. By and by they bid me good night, but immediately as they were gone out of doors comes Mrs. Turner's boy with a note to me to tell me that my brother Tom was so ill as they feared he would not long live, and that it would be fit I should come and see him. So I sent for them back, and they came, and Will Joyce desiring to speak with me alone I took him up, and there he did plainly tell me to my great astonishment that my brother is deadly ill, and that their chief business of coming was to tell me so, and what is worst that his disease is the pox, which he hath heretofore got, and hath not been cured, but is come to this, and that this is certain, though a secret told his father Fenner by the Doctor which he helped my brother to. This troubled me mightily, but however I thought fit to go see him for speech of people's sake, and so walked along with them, and in our way called on my uncle Fenner (where I have not been these 12 months and more) and advised with him, and then to my brother, who lies in bed talking idle. He could only say that he knew me, and then fell to other discourse, and his face like a dying man, which Mrs. Turner, who was here, and others conclude he is. The company being gone, I took the mayde, which seems a very grave and serious woman, and in W. Joyce's company' did inquire how things are with her master. She told me many things very discreetly, and said she had all his papers and books, and key of his cutting house, and showed me a bag which I and Wm. Joyce told, coming to L5 14s. 0d., which we left with her again, after giving her good counsel, and the boys, and seeing a nurse there of Mrs. Holden's choosing, I left them, and so walked home greatly troubled to think of my brother's condition, and the trouble that would arise to me by his death or continuing sick. So at home, my mind troubled, to bed. 14th. Up, and walked to my brother's, where I find he hath continued talking idly all night, and now knows me not; which troubles me mightily. So I walked down and discoursed a great while alone with the mayde, who tells me many passages of her master's practices, and how she concludes that he has run behind hand a great while and owes money, and has been dunned by several people, among others by one Cave, both husband and wife, but whether it was for--[See April 6th]--money or something worse she knows not, but there is one Cranburne, I think she called him, in Fleete Lane with whom he hath many times been mighty private, but what their dealings have been she knows not, but believes these were naught, and then his sitting up two Saturday nights one after another when all were abed doing something to himself, which she now suspects what it was, but did not before, but tells me that he hath been a very bad husband as to spending his time, and hath often told him of it, so that upon the whole I do find he is, whether he lives or dies, a ruined man, and what trouble will befall me by it I know not. Thence to White Hall; and in the Duke's chamber, while he was dressing, two persons of quality that were there did tell his Royal Highness how the other night, in Holborne, about midnight, being at cards, a link-boy come by and run into the house, and told the people the house was a-falling. Upon this the whole family was frighted, concluding that the boy had said that the house was a-fire: so they deft their cards above, and one would have got out of the balcone, but it was not open; the other went up to fetch down his children, that were in bed; so all got clear out of the house. And no sooner so, but the house fell down indeed, from top to bottom. It seems my Lord Southampton's canaille--[sewer]--did come too near their foundation, and so weakened the house, and down it came; which, in every respect, is a most extraordinary passage. By and by into his closet and did our business with him. But I did not speed as I expected in a business about the manner of buying hemp for this year, which troubled me, but it proceeds only from my pride, that I must needs expect every thing to be ordered just as I apprehend, though it was not I think from my errour, but their not being willing to hear and consider all that I had to propose. Being broke up I followed my Lord Sandwich and thanked him for his putting me into the Fishery, which I perceive he expected, and cried "Oh!" says he, "in the Fishery you mean. I told you I would remember you in it," but offered no other discourse. But demanding whether he had any commands for me, methought he cried "No!" as if he had no more mind to discourse with me, which still troubles me and hath done all the day, though I think I am a fool for it, in not pursuing my resolution of going handsome in clothes and looking high, for that must do it when all is done with my Lord. Thence by coach with Sir W. Batten to the city, and his son Castle, who talks mighty highly against Captain Tayler, calling him knave, and I find that the old Boating father is led and talks just as the son do, or the son as the father would have him. 'Light and to Mr. Moxon's, and there saw our office globes in doing, which will be very handsome but cost money. So to the Coffee-house, and there very fine discourse with Mr. Hill the merchant, a pretty, gentile, young, and sober man. So to the 'Change, and thence home, where my wife and I fell out about my not being willing to have her have her gowne laced, but would lay out the same money and more on a plain new one. At this she flounced away in a manner I never saw her, nor which I could ever endure. So I away to the office, though she had dressed herself to go see my Lady Sandwich. She by and by in a rage follows me, and coming to me tells me in spitefull manner like a vixen and with a look full of rancour that she would go buy a new one and lace it and make me pay for it, and then let me burn it if I would after she had done it, and so went away in a fury. This vexed me cruelly, but being very busy I had, not hand to give myself up to consult what to do in it, but anon, I suppose after she saw that I did not follow her, she came again to the office, where I made her stay, being busy with another, half an houre, and her stomach coming down we were presently friends, and so after my business being over at the office we out and by coach to my Lady Sandwich's, with whom I left my wife, and I to White Hall, where I met Mr. Delsety, and after an hour's discourse with him met with nobody to do other business with, but back again to my Lady, and after half an hour's discourse with her to my brother's, who I find in the same or worse condition. The doctors give him over and so do all that see him. He talks no sense two, words together now; and I confess it made me weepe to see that he should not be able, when I asked him, to say who I was. I went to Mrs. Turner's, and by her discourse with my brother's Doctor, Mr. Powell, I find that she is full now of the disease which my brother is troubled with, and talks of it mightily, which I am sorry for, there being other company, but methinks it should be for her honour to forbear talking of it, the shame of this very thing I confess troubles me as much as anything. Back to my brother's and took my wife, and carried her to my uncle Fenner's and there had much private discourse with him. He tells me of the Doctor's thoughts of my brother's little hopes of recovery, and from that to tell me his thoughts long of my brother's bad husbandry, and from that to say that he believes he owes a great deal of money, as to my cozen Scott I know not how much, and Dr. Thos. Pepys L30, but that the Doctor confesses that he is paid L20 of it, and what with that and what he owes my father and me I doubt he is in a very sad condition, that if he lives he will not be able to show his head, which will be a very great shame to me. After this I went in to my aunt and my wife and Anthony Joyce and his wife, who were by chance there, and drank and so home, my mind and head troubled, but I hope it will [be] over in a little time one way or other. After doing a little at my office of business I home to supper and to bed. From notice that my uncle Fenner did give my father the last week of my brother's condition, my mother is coming up to towne, which also do trouble me. The business between my Lords Chancellor and Bristoll, they say, is hushed up; and the latter gone or going, by the King's licence, to France. 15th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon comes Madam Turner and her daughter The., her chief errand to tell me that she had got Dr. Wiverly, her Doctor, to search my brother's mouth, where Mr. Powell says there is an ulcer, from thence he concludes that he hath had the pox. But the Doctor swears that there is not, nor ever was any, and my brother being very sensible, which I was glad to hear, he did talk with him about it, and he did wholly disclaim that ever he had the disease, or that ever he said to Powell that he had it. All which did put me into great comfort as to the reproach which was spread against him. So I sent for a barrel of oysters, and they dined, and we were very merry, I being willing to be so upon this news. After dinner we took coach and to my brother's, where contrary to my expectation he continues as bad or worse, talking idle, and now not at all knowing any of us as before. Here we staid a great while, I going up and down the house looking after things. In the evening Dr. Wiverley came again, and I sent for Mr. Powell (the Doctor and I having first by ourselves searched my brother again at his privities, where he was as clear as ever he was born, and in the Doctor's opinion had been ever so), and we three alone discoursed the business, where the coxcomb did give us his simple reasons for what he had said, which the Doctor fully confuted, and left the fellow only saying that he should cease to report any such thing, and that what he had said was the best of his judgment from my brother's words and a ulcer, as he supposed, in his mouth. I threatened him that I would have satisfaction if I heard any more such discourse, and so good night to them two, giving the Doctor a piece for his fee, but the other nothing. I to my brother again, where Madam Turner and her company, and Mrs. Croxton, my wife, and Mrs. Holding. About 8 o'clock my brother began to fetch his spittle with more pain, and to speak as much but not so distinctly, till at last the phlegm getting the mastery of him, and he beginning as we thought to rattle, I had no mind to see him die, as we thought he presently would, and so withdrew and led Mrs. Turner home, but before I came back, which was in half a quarter of an hour, my brother was dead. I went up and found the nurse holding his eyes shut, and he poor wretch lying with his chops fallen, a most sad sight, and that which put me into a present very great transport of grief and cries, and indeed it was a most sad sight to see the poor wretch lie now still and dead, and pale like a stone. I staid till he was almost cold, while Mrs. Croxton, Holden, and the rest did strip and lay him out, they observing his corpse, as they told me afterwards, to be as clear as any they ever saw, and so this was the end of my poor brother, continuing talking idle and his lips working even to his last that his phlegm hindered his breathing, and at last his breath broke out bringing a flood of phlegm and stuff out with it, and so he died. This evening he talked among other talk a great deal of French very plain and good, as, among others: 'quand un homme boit quand il n'a poynt d'inclination a boire il ne luy fait jamais de bien.' I once begun to tell him something of his condition, and asked him whither he thought he should go. He in distracted manner answered me--"Why, whither should I go? there are but two ways: If I go, to the bad way I must give God thanks for it, and if I go the other way I must give God the more thanks for it; and I hope I have not been so undutifull and unthankfull in my life but I hope I shall go that way." This was all the sense, good or bad, that I could get of him this day. I left my wife to see him laid out, and I by coach home carrying my brother's papers, all I could find, with me, and having wrote a letter to, my father telling him what hath been said I returned by coach, it being very late, and dark, to my brother's, but all being gone, the corpse laid out, and my wife at Mrs. Turner's, I thither, and there after an hour's talk, we up to bed, my wife and I in the little blue chamber, and I lay close to my wife, being full of disorder and grief for my brother that I could not sleep nor wake with satisfaction, at last I slept till 5 or 6 o'clock. 16th. And then I rose and up, leaving my wife in bed, and to my brother's, where I set them on cleaning the house, and my wife coming anon to look after things, I up and down to my cozen Stradwicke's and uncle Fenner's about discoursing for the funeral, which I am resolved to put off till Friday next. Thence home and trimmed myself, and then to the 'Change, and told my uncle Wight of my brother's death, and so by coach to my cozen Turner's and there dined very well, but my wife.... in great pain we were forced to rise in some disorder, and in Mrs. Turner's coach carried her home and put her to bed. Then back again with my cozen Norton to Mrs. Turner's, and there staid a while talking with Dr. Pepys, the puppy, whom I had no patience to hear. So I left them and to my brother's to look after things, and saw the coffin brought; and by and by Mrs. Holden came and saw him nailed up. Then came W. Joyce to me half drunk, and much ado I had to tell him the story of my brother's being found clear of what was said, but he would interrupt me by some idle discourse or other, of his crying what a good man, and a good speaker my brother was, and God knows what. At last weary of him I got him away, and I to Mrs. Turner's, and there, though my heart is still heavy to think of my poor brother, yet I could give way to my fancy to hear Mrs. The. play upon the Harpsicon, though the musique did not please me neither. Thence to my brother's and found them with my mayd Elizabeth taking an inventory of the goods of the house, which I was well pleased at, and am much beholden to Mr. Honeywood's man in doing of it. His name is Herbert, one that says he knew me when he lived with Sir Samuel Morland, but I have forgot him. So I left them at it, and by coach home and to my office, there to do a little business, but God knows my heart and head is so full of my brother's death, and the consequences of it, that I can do very little or understand it. So home to supper, and after looking over some business in my chamber I to bed to my wife, who continues in bed in some pain still. This day I have a great barrel of oysters given me by Mr. Barrow, as big as 16 of others, and I took it in the coach with me to Mrs. Turner's, and give them to her. This day the Parliament met again, after a long prorogation, but what they have done I have not been in the way to hear. 17th. Up and to my brother's, where all the morning doing business against to-morrow, and so to my cozen Stradwicke's about the same business, and to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where my wife in bed sick still, but not so bad as yesterday. I dined by her, and so to the office, where we sat this afternoon, having changed this day our sittings from morning to afternoons, because of the Parliament which returned yesterday; but was adjourned till Monday next; upon pretence that many of the members were said to be upon the road; and also the King had other affairs, and so desired them to adjourn till then. But the truth is, the King is offended at my Lord of Bristol, as they say, whom he hath found to have been all this while (pretending a desire of leave to go into France, and to have all the difference between him and the Chancellor made up,) endeavouring to make factions in both Houses to the Chancellor. So the King did this to keep the Houses from meeting; and in the meanwhile sent a guard and a herald last night to have taken him at Wimbleton, where he was in the morning, but could not find him: at which the King was and is still mightily concerned, and runs up and down to and from the Chancellor's like a boy: and it seems would make Digby's articles against the Chancellor to be treasonable reflections against his Majesty. So that the King is very high, as they say; and God knows what will follow upon it! After office I to my brother's again, and thence to Madam Turner's, in both places preparing things against to-morrow; and this night I have altered my resolution of burying him in the church yarde among my young brothers and sisters, and bury him in the church, in the middle isle, as near as I can to my mother's pew. This costs me 20s. more. This being all, home by coach, bringing my brother's silver tankard for safety along with me, and so to supper, after writing to my father, and so to bed. 18th. Up betimes, and walked to my brother's, where a great while putting things in order against anon; then to Madam Turner's and eat a breakfast there, and so to Wotton, my shoemaker, and there got a pair of shoes blacked on the soles against anon for me; so to my brother's and to church, and with the grave-maker chose a place for my brother to lie in, just under my mother's pew. But to see how a man's tombes are at the mercy of such a fellow, that for sixpence he would, (as his owne words were,) "I will justle them together but I will make room for him;" speaking of the fulness of the middle isle, where he was to lie; and that he would, for my father's sake, do my brother that is dead all the civility he can; which was to disturb other corps that are not quite rotten, to make room for him; and methought his manner of speaking it was very remarkable; as of a thing that now was in his power to do a man a courtesy or not. At noon my wife, though in pain, comes, but I being forced to go home, she went back with me, where I dressed myself, and so did Besse; and so to my brother's again: whither, though invited, as the custom is, at one or two o'clock, they came not till four or five. But at last one after another they come, many more than I bid: and my reckoning that I bid was one hundred and twenty; but I believe there was nearer one hundred and fifty. Their service was six biscuits apiece, and what they pleased of burnt claret. My cosen Joyce Norton kept the wine and cakes above; and did give out to them that served, who had white gloves given them. But above all, I am beholden to Mrs. Holden, who was most kind, and did take mighty pains not only in getting the house and every thing else ready, but this day in going up and down to see, the house filled and served, in order to mine, and their great content, I think; the men sitting by themselves in some rooms, and women by themselves in others, very close, but yet room enough. Anon to church, walking out into the streete to the Conduit, and so across the streete, and had a very good company along with the corps. And being come to the grave as above, Dr. Pierson, the minister of the parish, did read the service for buriall: and so I saw my poor brother laid into the grave; and so all broke up; and I and my wife and Madam Turner and her family to my brother's, and by and by fell to a barrell of oysters, cake, and cheese, of Mr. Honiwood's, with him, in his chamber and below, being too merry for so late a sad work. But, Lord! to see how the world makes nothing of the memory of a man, an houre after he is dead! And, indeed, I must blame myself; for though at the sight of him dead and dying, I had real grief for a while, while he was in my sight, yet presently after, and ever since, I have had very little grief indeed for him. By and by, it beginning to be late, I put things in some order in the house, and so took my wife and Besse (who hath done me very good service in cleaning and getting ready every thing and serving the wine and things to-day, and is indeed a most excellent good-natured and faithful wench, and I love her mightily), by coach home, and so after being at the office to set down the day's work home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon my wife and I alone, having a good hen, with eggs, to dinner, with great content. Then by coach to my brother's, where I spent the afternoon in paying some of the charges of the buriall, and in looking over his papers, among which I find several letters of my brother John's to him speaking very foale words of me and my deportment to him here, and very crafty designs about Sturtlow land and God knows what, which I am very glad to know, and shall make him repent them. Anon my father and my brother John came to towne by coach. I sat till night with him, giving him an account of things. He, poor man, very sad and sickly. I in great pain by a simple compressing of my cods to-day by putting one leg over another as I have formerly done, which made me hasten home, and after a little at the office in great disorder home to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Kept my bed all the morning, having laid a poultice to my cods last night to take down the tumour there which I got yesterday, which it did do, being applied pretty warm, and soon after the beginning of the swelling, and the pain was gone also. We lay talking all the while, among other things of religion, wherein I am sorry so often to hear my wife talk of her being and resolving to die a Catholique, [Mrs. Pepys's leaning towards Roman Catholicism was a constant trouble to her husband; but, in spite of his fears, she died a Protestant (Dr. Milles's certificate.)] and indeed a small matter, I believe, would absolutely turn her, which I am sorry for. Up at noon to dinner, and then to my chamber with a fire till late at night looking over my brother Thomas's papers, sorting of them, among which I find many base letters of my brother John's to him against me, and carrying on plots against me to promote Tom's having of his Banbury' Mistress, in base slighting terms, and in worse of my sister Pall, such as I shall take a convenient time to make my father know, and him also to his sorrow. So after supper to bed, our people rising to wash to-morrow. 21st. Up, and it snowing this morning a little, which from the mildness of the winter and the weather beginning to be hot and the summer to come on apace, is a little strange to us. I did not go abroad for fear of my tumour, for fear it shall rise again, but staid within, and by and by my father came, poor man, to me, and my brother John. After much talke and taking them up to my chamber, I did there after some discourse bring in any business of anger--with John, and did before my father read all his roguish letters, which troubled my father mightily, especially to hear me say what I did, against my allowing any thing for the time to come to him out of my owne purse, and other words very severe, while he, like a simple rogue, made very silly and churlish answers to me, not like a man of any goodness or witt, at which I was as much disturbed as the other, and will be as good as my word in making him to his cost know that I will remember his carriage to me in this particular the longest day I live. It troubled me to see my poor father so troubled, whose good nature did make him, poor wretch, to yield, I believe, to comply with my brother Tom and him in part of their designs, but without any ill intent to me, or doubt of me or my good intentions to him or them, though it do trouble me a little that he should in any manner do it. They dined with me, and after dinner abroad with my wife to buy some things for her, and I to the office, where we sat till night, and then, after doing some business at my closet, I home and to supper and to bed. This day the Houses of Parliament met; and the King met them, with the Queene with him. And he made a speech to them: [March 16th, 1663-64. This day both Houses met, and on the gist the king opened the session with a speech from the throne, in which occurs this Passage: "I pray, Mr. Speaker, and you, gentlemen of the House of Commons, give that Triennial Bill once a reading in your house, and then, in God's name, do what you think fit for me and yourselves and the whole kingdom. I need not tell you how much I love parliaments. Never king was so much beholden to parliaments as I have been, nor do I think the crown can ever be happy without frequent parliaments" (Cobbett's "Parliamentary History," vol. iv., cc. 290, 291).] among other things, discoursing largely of the plots abroad against him and the peace of the kingdom; and, among other things, that the dissatisfied party had great hopes upon the effect of the Act for a Triennial Parliament granted by his father, which he desired them to peruse, and, I think, repeal. So the Houses did retire to their own House, and did order the Act to be read to-morrow before them; and I suppose it will be repealed, though I believe much against the will of a good many that sit there. 22nd. Up, and spent the whole morning and afternoon at my office, only in the evening, my wife being at my aunt Wight's, I went thither, calling at my own house, going out found the parlour curtains drawn, and inquiring the reason of it, they told me that their mistress had got Mrs. Buggin's fine little dog and our little bitch, which is proud at this time, and I am apt to think that she was helping him to line her, for going afterwards to my uncle Wight's, and supping there with her, where very merry with Mr. Woolly's drollery, and going home I found the little dog so little that of himself he could not reach our bitch, which I am sorry for, for it is the finest dog that ever I saw in my life, as if he were painted the colours are so finely mixed and shaded. God forgive me, it went against me to have my wife and servants look upon them while they endeavoured to do something.... 23rd. Up, and going out saw Mrs. Buggin's dog, which proves as I thought last night so pretty that I took him and the bitch into my closet below, and by holding down the bitch helped him to line her, which he did very stoutly, so as I hope it will take, for it is the prettiest dog that ever I saw. So to the office, where very busy all the morning, and so to the 'Change, and off hence with Sir W. Rider to the Trinity House, and there dined very well: and good discourse among the old men of Islands now and then rising and falling again in the Sea, and that there is many dangers of grounds and rocks that come just up to the edge almost of the sea, that is never discovered and ships perish without the world's knowing the reason of it. Among other things, they observed, that there are but two seamen in the Parliament house, viz., Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen, and not above twenty or thirty merchants; which is a strange thing in an island, and no wonder that things of trade go no better nor are better understood. Thence home, and all the afternoon at the office, only for an hour in the evening my Lady Jemimah, Paulina, and Madam Pickering come to see us, but my wife would not be seen, being unready. Very merry with them; they mightily talking of their thrifty living for a fortnight before their mother came to town, and other such simple talk, and of their merry life at Brampton, at my father's, this winter. So they being gone, to the office again till late, and so home and to supper and to bed. 24th. Called up by my father, poor man, coming to advise with me about Tom's house and other matters, and he being gone I down by water to Greenwich, it being very-foggy, and I walked very finely to Woolwich, and there did very much business at both yards, and thence walked back, Captain Grove with me talking, and so to Deptford and did the like-there, and then walked to Redriffe (calling and eating a bit of collops and eggs at Half-way house), and so home to the office, where we sat late, and home weary to supper and to bed. 25th (Lady-day). Up and by water to White Hall, and there to chappell; where it was most infinite full to hear Dr. Critton. Being not knowne, some great persons in the pew I pretended to, and went in, did question my coming in. I told them my pretence; so they turned to the orders of the chappell, which hung behind upon the wall, and read it; and were satisfied; but they did not demand whether I was in waiting or no; and so I was in some fear lest he that was in waiting might come and betray me. The Doctor preached upon the thirty-first of Jeremy, and the twenty-first and twenty-second verses, about a woman compassing a man; meaning the Virgin conceiving and bearing our Saviour. It was the worst sermon I ever heard him make, I must confess; and yet it was good, and in two places very bitter, advising the King to do as the Emperor Severus did, to hang up a Presbyter John (a short coat and a long gowne interchangeably) in all the Courts of England. But the story of Severus was pretty, that he hanged up forty senators before the Senate house, and then made a speech presently to the Senate in praise of his owne lenity; and then decreed that never any senator after that time should suffer in the same manner without consent of the Senate: which he compared to the proceeding of the Long Parliament against my Lord Strafford. He said the greatest part of the lay magistrates in England were Puritans, and would not do justice; and the Bishopps, their powers were so taken away and lessened, that they could not exercise the power they ought. He told the King and the ladies plainly, speaking of death and of the skulls and bones of dead men and women, [The preacher appears to have had the grave scene in "Hamlet" in his mind, as he gives the same illustration of Alexander as Hamlet does.] how there is no difference; that nobody could tell that of the great Marius or Alexander from a pyoneer; nor, for all the pains the ladies take with their faces, he that should look in a charnels-house could not distinguish which was Cleopatra's, or fair Rosamond's, or Jane Shoare's. Thence by water home. After dinner to the office, thence with my wife to see my father and discourse how he finds Tom's matters, which he do very ill, and that he finds him to have been so negligent, that he used to trust his servants with cutting out of clothes, never hardly cutting out anything himself; and, by the abstract of his accounts, we find him to owe above L290, and to be coming to him under L200. Thence home with my wife, it being very dirty on foot, and bought some fowl in Gracious. Streets and some oysters against our feast to-morrow. So home, and after at the office a while, home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up very betimes and to my office, and there read over some papers against a meeting by and by at this office of Mr. Povy, Sir W. Rider, Creed, and Vernaty, and Mr. Gauden about my Lord Peterborough's accounts for Tangier, wherein we proceeded a good way; but, Lord! to see how ridiculous Mr. Povy is in all he says or do; like a man not more fit for to be in such employments as he is, and particularly that of Treasurer (paying many and very great sums without the least written order) as he is to be King of England, and seems but this day, after much discourse of mine, to be sensible of that part of his folly, besides a great deal more in other things. This morning in discourse Sir W. Rider [said], that he hath kept a journals of his life for almost these forty years, even to this day and still do, which pleases me mightily. That being done Sir J. Minnes and I sat all the morning, and then I to the 'Change, and there got away by pretence of business with my uncle Wight to put off Creed, whom I had invited to dinner, and so home, and there found Madam Turner, her daughter The., Joyce Norton, my father and Mr. Honywood, and by and by come my uncle Wight and aunt. This being my solemn feast for my cutting of the stone, it being now, blessed be God! this day six years since the time; and I bless God I do in all respects find myself free from that disease or any signs of it, more than that upon the least cold I continue to have pain in making water, by gathering of wind and growing costive, till which be removed I am at no ease, but without that I am very well. One evil more I have, which is that upon the least squeeze almost my cods begin to swell and come to great pain, which is very strange and troublesome to me, though upon the speedy applying of a poultice it goes down again, and in two days I am well again. Dinner not being presently ready I spent some time myself and shewed them a map of Tangier left this morning at my house by Creed, cut by our order, the Commissioners, and drawn by Jonas Moore, which is very pleasant, and I purpose to have it finely set out and hung up. Mrs. Hunt coming to see my wife by chance dined here with us. After dinner Sir W. Batten sent to speak with me, and told me that he had proffered our bill today in the House, and that it was read without any dissenters, and he fears not but will pass very well, which I shall be glad of. He told me also how Sir [Richard] Temple hath spoke very discontentfull words in the House about the Tryennial Bill; but it hath been read the second time to-day, and committed; and, he believes, will go on without more ado, though there are many in the House are displeased at it, though they dare not say much. But above all expectation, Mr. Prin is the man against it, comparing it to the idoll whose head was of gold, and his body and legs and feet of different metal. So this Bill had several degrees of calling of Parliaments, in case the King, and then the Council, and then the Lord Chancellor, and then the Sheriffes, should fail to do it. He tells me also, how, upon occasion of some 'prentices being put in the pillory to-day for beating of their masters, or some such like thing, in Cheapside, a company of 'prentices came and rescued them, and pulled down the pillory; and they being set up again, did the like again. So that the Lord Mayor and Major Generall Browne was fain to come and stay there, to keep the peace; and drums, all up and down the city, was beat to raise the trained bands, for to quiett the towne, and by and by, going out with my uncle and aunt Wight by coach with my wife through Cheapside (the rest of the company after much content and mirth being broke up), we saw a trained band stand in Cheapside upon their guard. We went, much against my uncle's will, as far almost as Hyde Park, he and my aunt falling out all the way about it, which vexed me, but by this I understand my uncle more than ever I did, for he was mighty soon angry, and wished a pox take her, which I was sorry to hear. The weather I confess turning on a sudden to rain did make it very unpleasant, but yet there was no occasion in the world for his being so angry, but she bore herself very discreetly, and I must confess she proves to me much another woman than I thought her, but all was peace again presently, and so it raining very fast, we met many brave coaches coming from the Parke and so we turned and set them down at home, and so we home ourselves, and ended the day with great content to think how it hath pleased the Lord in six years time to raise me from a condition of constant and dangerous and most painfull sicknesse and low condition and poverty to a state of constant health almost, great honour and plenty, for which the Lord God of heaven make me truly thankfull. My wife found her gowne come home laced, which is indeed very handsome, but will cost me a great deal of money, more than ever I intended, but it is but for once. So to the office and did business, and then home and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed wrangling with my wife about the charge she puts me to at this time for clothes more than I intended, and very angry we were, but quickly friends again. And so rising and ready I to my office, and there fell upon business, and then to dinner, and then to my office again to my business, and by and by in the afternoon walked forth towards my father's, but it being church time, walked to St. James's, to try if I could see the belle Butler, but could not; only saw her sister, who indeed is pretty, with a fine Roman nose. Thence walked through the ducking-pond fields; but they are so altered since my father used to carry us to Islington, to the old man's, at the King's Head, to eat cakes and ale (his name was Pitts) that I did not know which was the ducking-pond nor where I was. So through F[l]ee[t] lane to my father's, and there met Mr. Moore, and discoursed with him and my father about who should administer for my brother Tom, and I find we shall have trouble in it, but I will clear my hands of it, and what vexed me, my father seemed troubled that I should seem to rely so wholly upon the advice of Mr. Moore, and take nobody else, but I satisfied him, and so home; and in Cheapside, both coming and going, it was full of apprentices, who have been here all this day, and have done violence, I think, to the master of the boys that were put in the pillory yesterday. But, Lord! to see how the train-bands are raised upon this: the drums beating every where as if an enemy were upon them; so much is this city subject to be put into a disarray upon very small occasions. But it was pleasant to hear the boys, and particularly one little one, that I demanded the business. He told me that that had never been done in the city since it was a city, two prentices put in the pillory, and that it ought not to be so. So I walked home, and then it being fine moonshine with my wife an houre in the garden, talking of her clothes against Easter and about her mayds, Jane being to be gone, and the great dispute whether Besse, whom we both love, should be raised to be chamber-mayde or no. We have both a mind to it, but know not whether we should venture the making her proud and so make a bad chamber-mayde of a very good natured and sufficient cook-mayde. So to my office a little, and then to supper, prayers and to bed. 28th. This is the first morning that I have begun, and I hope shall continue to rise betimes in the morning, and so up and to my office, and thence about 7 o'clock to T. Trice, and advised with him about our administering to my brother Tom, and I went to my father and told him what to do; which was to administer and to let my cozen Scott have a letter of Atturny to follow the business here in his absence for him, who by that means will have the power of paying himself (which we cannot however hinder) and do us a kindness we think too. But, Lord! what a shame, methinks, to me, that, in this condition, and at this age, I should know no better the laws of my owne country! Thence to Westminster Hall, and spent till noon, it being Parliament time, and at noon walked with Creed into St. James's Parke, talking of many things, particularly of the poor parts and great unfitness for business of Mr. Povy, and yet what a show he makes in the world. Mr. Coventry not being come to his chamber, I walked through the house with him for an hour in St. James's fields' talking of the same subject, and then parted, and back and with great impatience, sometimes reading, sometimes walking, sometimes thinking that Mr. Coventry, though he invited us to dinner with him, was gone with the rest of the office without a dinner. At last, at past 4 o'clock I heard that the Parliament was not up yet, and so walked to Westminster Hall, and there found it so, and meeting with Sir J. Minnes, and being very hungry, went over with him to the Leg, and before we had cut a bit, the House rises, however we eat a bit and away to St. James's and there eat a second part of our dinner with Mr. Coventry and his brother Harry, Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen. The great matter today in the House hath been, that Mr. Vaughan, the great speaker, is this day come to towne, and hath declared himself in a speech of an houre and a half, with great reason and eloquence, against the repealing of the Bill for Triennial Parliaments; but with no successe: but the House have carried it that there shall be such Parliaments, but without any coercive power upon the King, if he will bring this Act. But, Lord! to see how the best things are not done without some design; for I perceive all these gentlemen that I was with to-day were against it (though there was reason enough on their side); yet purely, I could perceive, because it was the King's mind to have it; and should he demand any thing else, I believe they would give it him. But this the discontented Presbyters, and the faction of the House will be highly displeased with; but it was carried clearly against them in the House. We had excellent good table-talke, some of which I have entered in my book of stories. So with them by coach home, and there find (bye my wife), that Father Fogourdy hath been with her to-day, and she is mightily for our going to hear a famous Reule preach at the French Embassador's house: I pray God he do not tempt her in any matters of religion, which troubles me; and also, she had messages from her mother to-day, who sent for her old morning-gown, which was almost past wearing; and I used to call it her kingdom, from the ease and content she used to have in the wearing of it. I am glad I do not hear of her begging any thing of more value, but I do not like that these messages should now come all upon Monday morning, when my wife expects of course I should be abroad at the Duke's. To the office, where Mr. Norman came and showed me a design of his for the storekeeper's books, for the keeping of them regular in order to a balance, which I am mightily satisfied to see, and shall love the fellow the better, as he is in all things sober, so particularly for his endeavour to do something in this thing so much wanted. So late home to supper and to bed, weary-with walking so long to no purpose in the Park to-day. 29th. Was called up this morning by a messenger from Sir G. Carteret to come to him to Sir W. Batten's, and so I rose and thither to him, and with him and Sir J. Minnes to, Sir G. Carteret's to examine his accounts, and there we sat at it all the morning. About noon Sir W. Batten came from the House of Parliament and told us our Bill for our office was read the second time to-day, with great applause, and is committed. By and by to dinner, where good cheere, and Sir G. Carteret in his humour a very good man, and the most kind father and pleased father in his children that ever I saw. Here is now hung up a picture of my Lady Carteret, drawn by Lilly, a very fine picture, but yet not so good as I have seen of his doing. After dinner to the business again without any intermission till almost night, and then home, and took coach to my father to see and discourse with him, and so home again and to my office, where late, and then home to bed. 30th. Up very betimes to my office, and thence at 7 o'clock to Sir G. Carteret, and there with Sir J. Minnes made an end of his accounts, but staid not dinner, my Lady having made us drink our morning draft there of several wines, but I drank: nothing but some of her coffee, which was poorly made, with a little sugar in it. Thence to the 'Change a great while, and had good discourse with Captain Cocke at the Coffee-house about a Dutch warr, and it seems the King's design is by getting underhand the merchants to bring in their complaints to the Parliament, to make them in honour begin a warr, which he cannot in honour declare first, for fear they should not second him with money. Thence homewards, staying a pretty while with my little she milliner at the end of Birchin Lane, talking and buying gloves of her, and then home to dinner, and in the afternoon had a meeting upon the Chest business, but I fear unless I have time to look after it nothing will be done,, and that I fear I shall not. In the evening comes Sir W. Batten, who tells us that the Committee have approved of our bill with very few amendments in words, not in matter. So to my office, where late with Sir W. Warren, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up betimes, and to my office, where by and by comes Povy, Sir W. Rider, Mr. Bland, Creed, and Vernatty, about my Lord Peterborough's accounts, which we now went through, but with great difficulty, and many high words between Mr. Povy and I; for I could not endure to see so many things extraordinary put in, against truthe and reason. He was very angry, but I endeavoured all I could to profess my satisfaction in my Lord's part of the accounts, but not in those foolish idle things, they say I said, that others had put in. Anon we rose and parted, both of us angry, but I contented, because I knew all of them must know I was in the right. Then with Creed to Deptford, where I did a great deal of business enquiring into the business of canvas and other things with great content, and so walked back again, good discourse between Creed and I by the way, but most upon the folly of Povy, and at home found Luellin, and so we to dinner, and thence I to the office, where we sat all the afternoon late, and being up and my head mightily crowded with business, I took my wife by coach to see my father. I left her at his house and went to him to an alehouse hard by, where my cozen Scott was, and my father's new tenant, Langford, a tailor, to whom I have promised my custom, and he seems a very modest, carefull young man. Thence my wife coming with the coach to the alley end I home, and after supper to the making up my monthly accounts, and to my great content find myself worth above L900, the greatest sum I ever yet had. Having done my accounts, late to bed. My head of late mighty full of business, and with good content to myself in it, though sometimes it troubles me that nobody else but I should bend themselves to serve the King with that diligence, whereby much of my pains proves ineffectual. APRIL 1664 April 1st. Up and to my office, where busy till noon, and then to the 'Change, where I found all the merchants concerned with the presenting their complaints to the Committee of Parliament appointed to receive them this afternoon against the Dutch. So home to dinner, and thence by coach, setting my wife down at the New Exchange, I to White Hall; and coming too soon for the Tangier Committee walked to Mr. Blagrave for a song. I left long ago there, and here I spoke with his kinswoman, he not being within, but did not hear her sing, being not enough acquainted with her, but would be glad to have her, to come and be at my house a week now and then. Back to White Hall, and in the Gallery met the Duke of Yorke (I also saw the Queene going to the Parke, and her Mayds of Honour: she herself looks ill, and methinks Mrs. Stewart is grown fatter, and not so fair as she was); and he called me to him, and discoursed a good while with me; and after he was gone, twice or thrice staid and called me again to him, the whole length of the house: and at last talked of the Dutch; and I perceive do much wish that the Parliament will find reason to fall out with them. He gone, I by and by found that the Committee of Tangier met at the Duke of Albemarle's, and so I have lost my labour. So with Creed to the 'Change, and there took up my wife and left him, and we two home, and I to walk in the garden with W. Howe, whom we took up, he having been to see us, he tells me how Creed has been questioned before the Council about a letter that has been met with, wherein he is mentioned by some fanatiques as a serviceable friend to them, but he says he acquitted himself well in it, but, however, something sticks against him, he says, with my Lord, at which I am not very sorry, for I believe he is a false fellow. I walked with him to Paul's, he telling me how my Lord is little at home, minds his carding and little else, takes little notice of any body; but that he do not think he is displeased, as I fear, with me, but is strange to all, which makes me the less troubled. So walked back home, and late at the office. So home and to bed. This day Mrs. Turner did lend me, as a rarity, a manuscript of one Mr. Wells, writ long ago, teaching the method of building a ship, which pleases me mightily. I was at it to-night, but durst not stay long at it, I being come to have a great pain and water in my eyes after candle-light. 2nd. Up and to my office, and afterwards sat, where great contest with Sir W. Batten and Mr. Wood, and that doating fool Sir J. Minnes, that says whatever Sir W. Batten says, though never minding whether to the King's profit or not. At noon to the Coffee-house, where excellent discourse with Sir W. Petty, who proposed it as a thing that is truly questionable, whether there really be any difference between waking and dreaming, that it is hard not only to tell how we know when we do a thing really or in a dream, but also to know what the difference [is] between one and the other. Thence to the 'Change, but having at this discourse long afterwards with Sir Thomas Chamberlin, who tells me what I heard from others, that the complaints of most Companies were yesterday presented to the Committee of Parliament against the Dutch, excepting that of the East India, which he tells me was because they would not be said to be the first and only cause of a warr with Holland, and that it is very probable, as well as most necessary, that we fall out with that people. I went to the 'Change, and there found most people gone, and so home to dinner, and thence to Sir W. Warren's, and with him past the whole afternoon, first looking over two ships' of Captain Taylor's and Phin. Pett's now in building, and am resolved to learn something of the art, for I find it is not hard and very usefull, and thence to Woolwich, and after seeing Mr. Falconer, who is very ill, I to the yard, and there heard Mr. Pett tell me several things of Sir W. Batten's ill managements, and so with Sir W. Warren walked to Greenwich, having good discourse, and thence by water, it being now moonshine and 9 or 10 o'clock at night, and landed at Wapping, and by him and his man safely brought to my door, and so he home, having spent the day with him very well. So home and eat something, and then to my office a while, and so home to prayers and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Being weary last night lay long, and called up by W. Joyce. So I rose, and his business was to ask advice of me, he being summonsed to the House of Lords to-morrow, for endeavouring to arrest my Lady Peters [Elizabeth, daughter of John Savage, second Earl Rivers, and first wife to William, fourth Lord Petre, who was, in 1678, impeached by the Commons of high treason, and died under confinement in the Tower, January 5th, 1683, s. p.--B.] for a debt. I did give him advice, and will assist him. He staid all the morning, but would not dine with me. So to my office and did business. At noon home to dinner, and being set with my wife in the kitchen my father comes and sat down there and dined with us. After dinner gives me an account of what he had done in his business of his house and goods, which is almost finished, and he the next week expects to be going down to Brampton again, which I am glad of because I fear the children of my Lord that are there for fear of any discontent. He being gone I to my office, and there very busy setting papers in order till late at night, only in the afternoon my wife sent for me home, to see her new laced gowne, that is her gown that is new laced; and indeed it becomes her very nobly, and is well made. I am much pleased with it. At night to supper, prayers, and to bed. 4th. Up, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's; and there spoke with him about W. Joyce, who told me he would do what was fit in so tender a point. I can yet discern a coldness in him to admit me to any discourse with him. Thence to Westminster, to the Painted Chamber, and there met the two Joyces. Will in a very melancholy taking. After a little discourse I to the Lords' House before they sat; and stood within it a good while, while the Duke of York came to me and spoke to me a good while about the new ship' at Woolwich. Afterwards I spoke with my Lord Barkeley and my Lord Peterborough about it. And so staid without a good while, and saw my Lady Peters, an impudent jade, soliciting all the Lords on her behalf. And at last W. Joyce was called in; and by the consequences, and what my Lord Peterborough told me, I find that he did speak all he said to his disadvantage, and so was committed to the Black Rod: which is very hard, he doing what he did by the advice of my Lord Peters' own steward. But the Sergeant of the Black Rod did direct one of his messengers to take him in custody, and so he was peaceably conducted to the Swan with two Necks, in Tuttle Street, to a handsome dining-room; and there was most civilly used, my uncle Fenner, and his brother Anthony, and some other friends being with him. But who would have thought that the fellow that I should have sworn could have spoken before all the world should in this be so daunted, as not to know what he said, and now to cry like a child. I protest, it is very strange to observe. I left them providing for his stay there to-night and getting a petition against tomorrow, and so away to Westminster Hall, and meeting Mr. Coventry, he took me to his chamber, with Sir William Hickeman, a member of their House, and a very civill gentleman. Here we dined very plentifully, and thence to White Hall to the Duke's, where we all met, and after some discourse of the condition of the Fleete, in order to a Dutch warr, for that, I perceive, the Duke hath a mind it should come to, we away to the office, where we sat, and I took care to rise betimes, and so by water to Halfway House, talking all the way good discourse with Mr. Wayth, and there found my wife, who was gone with her mayd Besse to have a walk. But, Lord! how my jealous mind did make me suspect that she might have some appointment to meet somebody. But I found the poor souls coming away thence, so I took them back, and eat and drank, and then home, and after at the office a while, I home to supper and to bed. It was a sad sight, me thought, to-day to see my Lord Peters coming out of the House fall out with his lady (from whom he is parted) about this business; saying that she disgraced him. But she hath been a handsome woman, and is, it seems, not only a lewd woman, but very high-spirited. 5th. Up very betimes, and walked to my cozen Anthony Joyce's, and thence with him to his brother Will, in Tuttle Street, where I find him pretty cheery over [what] he was yesterday (like a coxcomb), his wife being come to him, and having had his boy with him last night. Here I staid an hour or two and wrote over a fresh petition, that which was drawn by their solicitor not pleasing me, and thence to the Painted chamber, and by and by away by coach to my Lord Peterborough's, and there delivered the petition into his hand, which he promised most readily to deliver to the House today. Thence back, and there spoke to several Lords, and so did his solicitor (one that W. Joyce hath promised L5 to if he be released). Lord Peterborough presented a petition to the House from W. Joyce: and a great dispute, we hear, there was in the House for and against it. At last it was carried that he should be bayled till the House meets again after Easter, he giving bond for his appearance. This was not so good as we hoped, but as good as we could well expect. Anon comes the King and passed the Bill for repealing the Triennial Act, and another about Writs of Errour. I crowded in and heard the King's speech to them; but he speaks the worst that ever I heard man in my life worse than if he read it all, and he had it in writing in his hand. Thence, after the House was up, and I inquired what the order of the House was, I to W. Joyce,' with his brother, and told them all. Here was Kate come, and is a comely fat woman. I would not stay dinner, thinking to go home to dinner, and did go by water as far as the bridge, but thinking that they would take it kindly my being there, to be bayled for him if there was need, I returned, but finding them gone out to look after it, only Will and his wife and sister left and some friends that came to visit him, I to Westminster Hall, and by and by by agreement to Mrs. Lane's lodging, whither I sent for a lobster, and with Mr. Swayne and his wife eat it, and argued before them mightily for Hawly, but all would not do, although I made her angry by calling her old, and making her know what herself is. Her body was out of temper for any dalliance, and so after staying there 3 or 4 hours, but yet taking care to have my oath safe of not staying a quarter of an hour together with her, I went to W. Joyce, where I find the order come, and bayle (his father and brother) given; and he paying his fees, which come to above L2, besides L5 he is to give one man, and his charges of eating and drinking here, and 10s. a-day as many days as he stands under bayle: which, I hope, will teach him hereafter to hold his tongue better than he used to do. Thence with Anth. Joyce's wife alone home talking of Will's folly, and having set her down, home myself, where I find my wife dressed as if she had been abroad, but I think she was not, but she answering me some way that I did not like I pulled her by the nose, indeed to offend her, though afterwards to appease her I denied it, but only it was done in haste. The poor wretch took it mighty ill, and I believe besides wringing her nose she did feel pain, and so cried a great while, but by and by I made her friends, and so after supper to my office a while, and then home to bed. This day great numbers of merchants came to a Grand Committee of the House to bring in their claims against the Dutch. I pray God guide the issue to our good! 6th. Up and to my office, whither by and by came John Noble, my father's old servant, to speake with me. I smelling the business, took him home; and there, all alone, he told me how he had been serviceable to my brother Tom, in the business of his getting his servant, an ugly jade, Margaret, with child. She was brought to bed in St. Sepulchre's parish of two children; one is dead, the other is alive; her name Elizabeth, and goes by the name of Taylor, daughter to John Taylor. It seems Tom did a great while trust one Crawly with the business, who daily got money of him; and at last, finding himself abused, he broke the matter to J. Noble, upon a vowe of secresy. Tom's first plott was to go on the other side the water and give a beggar woman something to take the child. They did once go, but did nothing, J. Noble saying that seven years hence the mother might come to demand the child and force him to produce it, or to be suspected of murder. Then I think it was that they consulted, and got one Cave, a poor pensioner in St. Bride's parish to take it, giving him L5, he thereby promising to keepe it for ever without more charge to them. The parish hereupon indite the man Cave for bringing this child upon the parish, and by Sir Richard Browne he is sent to the Counter. Cave thence writes to Tom to get him out. Tom answers him in a letter of his owne hand, which J. Noble shewed me, but not signed by him, wherein he speaks of freeing him and getting security for him, but nothing as to the business of the child, or anything like it: so that forasmuch as I could guess, there is nothing therein to my brother's prejudice as to the main point, and therefore I did not labour to tear or take away the paper. Cave being released, demands L5 more to secure my brother for ever against the child; and he was forced to give it him and took bond of Cave in L100, made at a scrivener's, one Hudson, I think, in the Old Bayly, to secure John Taylor, and his assigns, &c. (in consideration of L10 paid him), from all trouble, or charge of meat, drink, clothes, and breeding of Elizabeth Taylor; and it seems, in the doing of it, J. Noble was looked upon as the assignee of this John Taylor. Noble says that he furnished Tom with this money, and is also bound by another bond to pay him 20s. more this next Easter Monday; but nothing for either sum appears under Tom's hand. I told him how I am like to lose a great sum by his death, and would not pay any more myself, but I would speake to my father about it against the afternoon. So away he went, and I all the morning in my office busy, and at noon home to dinner mightily oppressed with wind, and after dinner took coach and to Paternoster Row, and there bought a pretty silke for a petticoate for my wife, and thence set her down at the New Exchange, and I leaving the coat at Unthanke's, went to White Hall, but the Councell meeting at Worcester House I went thither, and there delivered to the Duke of Albemarle a paper touching some Tangier business, and thence to the 'Change for my wife, and walked to my father's, who was packing up some things for the country. I took him up and told him this business of Tom, at which the poor wretch was much troubled, and desired me that I would speak with J. Noble, and do what I could and thought fit in it without concerning him in it. So I went to Noble, and saw the bond that Cave did give and also Tom's letter that I mentioned above, and upon the whole I think some shame may come, but that it will be hard from any thing I see there to prove the child to be his. Thence to my father and told what I had done, and how I had quieted Noble by telling him that, though we are resolved to part with no more money out of our own purses, yet if he can make it appear a true debt that it may be justifiable for us to pay it, we will do our part to get it paid, and said that I would have it paid before my own debt. So my father and I both a little satisfied, though vexed to think what a rogue my brother was in all respects. I took my wife by coach home, and to my office, where late with Sir W. Warren, and so home to supper and to bed. I heard to-day that the Dutch have begun with us by granting letters of marke against us; but I believe it not. 7th. Up and to my office, where busy, and by and by comes Sir W. Warren and old Mr. Bond in order to the resolving me some questions about masts and their proportions, but he could say little to me to my satisfaction, and so I held him not long but parted. So to my office busy till noon and then to the 'Change, where high talke of the Dutch's protest against our Royall Company in Guinny, and their granting letters of marke against us there, and every body expects a warr, but I hope it will not yet be so, nor that this is true. Thence to dinner, where my wife got me a pleasant French fricassee of veal for dinner, and thence to the office, where vexed to see how Sir W. Batten ordered things this afternoon (vide my office book, for about this time I have begun, my notions and informations encreasing now greatly every day, to enter all occurrences extraordinary in my office in a book by themselves), and so in the evening after long discourse and eased my mind by discourse with Sir W. Warren, I to my business late, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up betimes and to the office, and anon, it begunn to be fair after a great shower this morning, Sir W. Batten and I by water (calling his son Castle by the way, between whom and I no notice at all of his letter the other day to me) to Deptford, and after a turn in the yard, I went with him to the Almes'-house to see the new building which he, with some ambition, is building of there, during his being Master of Trinity House; and a good worke it is, but to see how simply he answered somebody concerning setting up the arms of the corporation upon the door, that and any thing else he did not deny it, but said he would leave that to the master that comes after him. There I left him and to the King's yard again, and there made good inquiry into the business of the poop lanterns, wherein I found occasion to correct myself mightily for what I have done in the contract with the platerer, and am resolved, though I know not how, to make them to alter it, though they signed it last night, and so I took Stanes [Among the State Papers is a petition of Thomas Staine to the Navy Commissioners "for employment as plateworker in one or two dockyards. Has incurred ill-will by discovering abuses in the great rates given by the king for several things in the said trade. Begs the appointment, whereby it will be seen who does the work best and cheapest, otherwise he and all others will be discouraged from discovering abuses in future, with order thereon for a share of the work to be given to him" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 395)] home with me by boat and discoursed it, and he will come to reason when I can make him to understand it. No sooner landed but it fell a mighty storm of rain and hail, so I put into a cane shop and bought one to walk with, cost me 4s. 6d., all of one joint. So home to dinner, and had an excellent Good Friday dinner of peas porridge and apple pye. So to the office all the afternoon preparing a new book for my contracts, and this afternoon come home the office globes done to my great content. In the evening a little to visit Sir W. Pen, who hath a feeling this day or two of his old pain. Then to walk in the garden with my wife, and so to my office a while, and then home to the only Lenten supper I have had of wiggs--[Buns or teacakes.]--and ale, and so to bed. This morning betimes came to my office to me boatswain Smith of Woolwich, telling me a notable piece of knavery of the officers of the yard and Mr. Gold in behalf of a contract made for some old ropes by Mr. Wood, and I believe I shall find Sir W. Batten of the plot (vide my office daybook). [These note-books referred to in the Diary are not known to exist now.] 9th. The last night, whether it was from cold I got to-day upon the water I know not, or whether it was from my mind being over concerned with Stanes's business of the platery of the navy, for my minds was mighty troubled with the business all night long, I did wake about one o'clock in the morning, a thing I most rarely do, and pissed a little with great pain, continued sleepy, but in a high fever all night, fiery hot, and in some pain. Towards morning I slept a little and waking found myself better, but.... with some pain, and rose I confess with my clothes sweating, and it was somewhat cold too, which I believe might do me more hurt, for I continued cold and apt to shake all the morning, but that some trouble with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten kept me warm. At noon home to dinner upon tripes, and so though not well abroad with my wife by coach to her Tailor's and the New Exchange, and thence to my father's and spoke one word with him, and thence home, where I found myself sick in my stomach and vomited, which I do not use to do. Then I drank a glass or two of Hypocras, and to the office to dispatch some business, necessary, and so home and to bed, and by the help of Mithrydate slept very well. 10th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and my wife dressed herself, it being Easter day, but I not being so well as to go out, she, though much against her will, staid at home with me; for she had put on her new best gowns, which indeed is very fine now with the lace; and this morning her taylor brought home her other new laced silks gowns with a smaller lace, and new petticoats, I bought the other day both very pretty. We spent the day in pleasant talks and company one with another, reading in Dr. Fuller's book what he says of the family of the Cliffords and Kingsmills, and at night being myself better than I was by taking a glyster, which did carry away a great deal of wind, I after supper at night went to bed and slept well. 11th. Lay long talking with my wife, then up and to my chamber preparing papers against my father comes to lie here for discourse about country business. Dined well with my wife at home, being myself not yet thorough well, making water with some pain, but better than I was, and all my fear of an ague gone away. In the afternoon my father came to see us, and he gone I up to my morning's work again, and so in the evening a little to the office and to see Sir W. Batten, who is ill again, and so home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and after my wife had dressed herself very fine in her new laced gown, and very handsome indeed, W. Howe also coming to see us, I carried her by coach to my uncle Wight's and set her down there, and W. Howe and I to the Coffee-house, where we sat talking about getting of him some place under my Lord of advantage if he should go to sea, and I would be glad to get him secretary and to out Creed if I can, for he is a crafty and false rogue. Thence a little to the 'Change, and thence took him to my uncle Wight's, where dined my father, poor melancholy man, that used to be as full of life as anybody, and also my aunt's brother, Mr. Sutton, a merchant in Flanders, a very sober, fine man, and Mr. Cole and his lady; but, Lord! how I used to adore that man's talke, and now methinks he is but an ordinary man, his son a pretty boy indeed, but his nose unhappily awry. Other good company and an indifferent, and but indifferent dinner for so much company, and after dinner got a coach, very dear, it being Easter time and very foul weather, to my Lord's, and there visited my Lady, and leaving my wife there I and W. Howe to Mr. Pagett's, and there heard some musique not very good, but only one Dr. Walgrave, an Englishman bred at Rome, who plays the best upon the lute that I ever heard man. Here I also met Mr. Hill [Thomas Hill, a man whose taste for music caused him to be a very acceptable companion to Pepys. In January, 1664-65, he became assistant to the secretary of the Prize Office.] the little merchant, and after all was done we sung. I did well enough a Psalm or two of Lawes; he I perceive has good skill and sings well, and a friend of his sings a good base. Thence late walked with them two as far as my Lord's, thinking to take up my wife and carry them home, but there being no coach to be got away they went, and I staid a great while, it being very late, about 10 o'clock, before a coach could be got. I found my Lord and ladies and my wife at supper. My Lord seems very kind. But I am apt to think still the worst, and that it is only in show, my wife and Lady being there. So home, and find my father come to lie at our house; and so supped, and saw him, poor man, to bed, my heart never being fuller of love to him, nor admiration of his prudence and pains heretofore in the world than now, to see how Tom hath carried himself in his trade; and how the poor man hath his thoughts going to provide for his younger children and my mother. But I hope they shall never want. So myself and wife to bed. 13th. Though late, past 12, before we went to bed, yet I heard my poor father up, and so I rang up my people, and I rose and got something to eat and drink for him, and so abroad, it being a mighty foul day, by coach, setting my father down in Fleet Streete and I to St. James's, where I found Mr. Coventry (the Duke being now come thither for the summer) with a goldsmith, sorting out his old plate to change for new; but, Lord! what a deale he hath! I staid and had two or three hours discourse with him, talking about the disorders of our office, and I largely to tell him how things are carried by Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to my great grief. He seems much concerned also, and for all the King's matters that are done after the same rate every where else, and even the Duke's household matters too, generally with corruption, but most indeed with neglect and indifferency. I spoke very loud and clear to him my thoughts of Sir J. Minnes and the other, and trust him with the using of them. Then to talk of our business with the Dutch; he tells me fully that he believes it will not come to a warr; for first, he showed me a letter from Sir George Downing, his own hand, where he assures him that the Dutch themselves do not desire, but above all things fear it, and that they neither have given letters of marke against our shipps in Guinny, nor do De Ruyter [Michael De Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, was born 1607. He served under Tromp in the war against England in 1653, and was Lieutenant Admiral General of Holland in 1665. He died April 26th, 1676, of wounds received in a battle with the French off Syracuse. Among the State Papers is a news letter (dated July 14th, 1664) containing information as to the views of the Dutch respecting a war with England. "They are preparing many ships, and raising 6,000 men, and have no doubt of conquering by sea." "A wise man says the States know how to master England by sending moneys into Scotland for them to rebel, and also to the discontented in England, so as to place the King in the same straits as his father was, and bring him to agree with Holland" ("Calendar," 1663-64, p. 642).] stay at home with his fleet with an eye to any such thing, but for want of a wind, and is now come out and is going to the Streights. He tells me also that the most he expects is that upon the merchants' complaints, the Parliament will represent them to the King, desiring his securing of his subjects against them, and though perhaps they may not directly see fit, yet even this will be enough to let the Dutch know that the Parliament do not oppose the King, and by that means take away their hopes, which was that the King of England could not get money or do anything towards a warr with them, and so thought themselves free from making any restitution, which by this they will be deceived in. He tells me also that the Dutch states are in no good condition themselves, differing one with another, and that for certain none but the states of Holland and Zealand will contribute towards a warr, the others reckoning themselves, being inland, not concerned in the profits of warr or peace. But it is pretty to see what he says, that those here that are forward for a warr at Court, they are reported in the world to be only designers of getting money into the King's hands, they that elsewhere are for it have a design to trouble the kingdom and to give the Fanatiques an opportunity of doing hurt, and lastly those that are against it (as he himself for one is very cold therein) are said to be bribed by the Dutch. After all this discourse he carried me in his coach, it raining still, to, Charing Cross, and there put me into another, and I calling my father and brother carried them to my house to dinner, my wife keeping bed all day..... All the afternoon at the office with W. Boddam looking over his particulars about the Chest of Chatham, which shows enough what a knave Commissioner Pett hath been all along, and how Sir W. Batten hath gone on in getting good allowance to himself and others out of the poors' money. Time will show all. So in the evening to see Sir W. Pen, and then home to my father to keep him company, he being to go out of town, and up late with him and my brother John till past 12 at night to make up papers of Tom's accounts fit to leave with my cozen Scott. At last we did make an end of them, and so after supper all to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and after my father's eating something, I walked out with him as far as Milk Streete, he turning down to Cripplegate to take coach; and at the end of the streete I took leave, being much afeard I shall not see him here any more, he do decay so much every day, and so I walked on, there being never a coach to be had till I came to Charing Cross, and there Col. Froud took me up and carried me to St. James's, where with Mr. Coventry and Povy, &c., about my Lord Peterborough's accounts, but, Lord! to see still what a puppy that Povy is with all his show is very strange. Thence to Whitehall and W. C[oventry] and I and Sir W. Rider resolved upon a day to meet and make an end of all the business. Thence walked with Creed to the Coffee-house in Covent Garden, where no company, but he told me many fine experiments at Gresham College; and some demonstration that the heat and cold of the weather do rarify and condense the very body of glasse, as in a bolt head' with cold water in it put into hot water, shall first by rarifying the glasse make the water sink, and then when the heat comes to the water makes that rise again, and then put into cold water makes the water by condensing the glass to rise, and then when the cold comes to the water makes it sink, which is very pretty and true, he saw it tried. Thence by coach home, and dined above with my wife by her bedside, she keeping her bed..... So to the office, where a great conflict with Wood and Castle about their New England masts? So in the evening my mind a little vexed, but yet without reason, for I shall prevail, I hope, for the King's profit, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and all the morning with Captain Taylor at my house talking about things of the Navy, and among other things I showed him my letters to Mr. Coventry, wherein he acknowledges that nobody to this day did ever understand so much as I have done, and I believe him, for I perceive he did very much listen to every article as things new to him, and is contented to abide by my opinion therein in his great contest with us about his and Mr. Wood's masts. At noon to the 'Change, where I met with Mr. Hill, the little merchant, with whom, I perceive, I shall contract a musical acquaintance; but I will make it as little troublesome as I can. Home and dined, and then with my wife by coach to the Duke's house, and there saw "The German Princess" acted, by the woman herself; but never was any thing so well done in earnest, worse performed in jest upon the stage; and indeed the whole play, abating the drollery of him that acts her husband, is very simple, unless here and there a witty sprinkle or two. We met and sat by Dr. Clerke. Thence homewards, calling at Madam Turner's, and thence set my wife down at my aunt Wight's and I to my office till late, and then at to at night fetched her home, and so again to my office a little, and then to supper and to bed. 16th. Up and to the office, where all the morning upon the dispute of Mr. Wood's masts, and at noon with Mr. Coventry to the African House; and after a good and pleasant dinner, up with him, Sir W. Rider, the simple Povy, of all the most ridiculous foole that ever I knew to attend to business, and Creed and Vernatty, about my Lord Peterborough's accounts; but the more we look into them, the more we see of them that makes dispute, which made us break off, and so I home, and there found my wife and Besse gone over the water to Half-way house, and after them, thinking to have gone to Woolwich, but it was too late, so eat a cake and home, and thence by coach to have spoke with Tom Trice about a letter I met with this afternoon from my cozen Scott, wherein he seems to deny proceeding as my father's attorney in administering for him in my brother Tom's estate, but I find him gone out of town, and so returned vexed home and to the office, where late writing a letter to him, and so home and to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and I put on my best cloth black suit and my velvet cloake, and with my wife in her best laced suit to church, where we have not been these nine or ten weeks. The truth is, my jealousy hath hindered it, for fear she should see Pembleton. He was here to-day, but I think sat so as he could not see her, which did please me, God help me! mightily, though I know well enough that in reason this is nothing but my ridiculous folly. Home to dinner, and in the afternoon, after long consulting whether to go to Woolwich or no to see Mr. Falconer, but indeed to prevent my wife going to church, I did however go to church with her, where a young simple fellow did preach: I slept soundly all the sermon, and thence to Sir W. Pen's, my wife and I, there she talking with him and his daughter, and thence with my wife walked to my uncle Wight's and there supped, where very merry, but I vexed to see what charges the vanity of my aunt puts her husband to among her friends and nothing at all among ours. Home and to bed. Our parson, Mr. Mills, his owne mistake in reading of the service was very remarkable, that instead of saying, "We beseech thee to preserve to our use the kindly fruits of the earth," he cries, "Preserve to our use our gracious Queen Katherine." 18th. Up and by coach to Westminster, and there solicited W. Joyce's business again; and did speake to the Duke of Yorke about it, who did understand it very well. I afterwards did without the House fall in company with my Lady Peters, and endeavoured to mollify her; but she told me she would not, to redeem her from hell, do any thing to release him; but would be revenged while she lived, if she lived the age of Methusalem. I made many friends, and so did others. At last it was ordered by the Lords that it should be referred to the Committee of Privileges to consider. So I, after discoursing with the Joyces, away by coach to the 'Change; and there, among other things, do hear that a Jew hath put in a policy of four per cent. to any man, to insure him against a Dutch warr for four months; I could find in my heart to take him at this offer, but however will advise first, and to that end took coach to St. James's, but Mr. Coventry was gone forth, and I thence to Westminster Hall, where Mrs. Lane was gone forth, and so I missed of my intent to be with her this afternoon, and therefore meeting Mr. Blagrave, went home with him, and there he and his kinswoman sang, but I was not pleased with it, they singing methought very ill, or else I am grown worse to please than heretofore. Thence to the Hall again, and after meeting with several persons, and talking there, I to Mrs. Hunt's (where I knew my wife and my aunt Wight were about business), and they being gone to walk in the parke I went after them with Mrs. Hunt, who staid at home for me, and finding them did by coach, which I had agreed to wait for me, go with them all and Mrs. Hunt and a kinswoman of theirs, Mrs. Steward, to Hide Parke, where I have not been since last year; where I saw the King with his periwigg, but not altered at all; and my Lady Castlemayne in a coach by herself, in yellow satin and a pinner on; and many brave persons. And myself being in a hackney and full of people, was ashamed to be seen by the world, many of them knowing me. Thence in the evening home, setting my aunt at home, and thence we sent for a joynt of meat to supper, and thence to the office at 11 o'clock at night, and so home to bed. 19th. Up and to St. James's, where long with Mr. Coventry, Povy, &c., in their Tangier accounts, but such the folly of that coxcomb Povy that we could do little in it, and so parted for the time, and I to walk with Creed and Vernaty in the Physique Garden in St. James's Parke; where I first saw orange-trees, and other fine trees. So to Westminster Hall, and thence by water to the Temple, and so walked to the 'Change, and there find the 'Change full of news from Guinny, some say the Dutch have sunk our ships and taken our fort, and others say we have done the same to them. But I find by our merchants that something is done, but is yet a secret among them. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and at night with Captain Tayler consulting how to get a little money by letting him the Elias to fetch masts from New England. So home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up and by coach to Westminster, and there solicited W. Joyce's business all the morning, and meeting in the Hall with Mr. Coventry, he told me how the Committee for Trade have received now all the complaints of the merchants against the Dutch, and were resolved to report very highly the wrongs they have done us (when, God knows! it is only our owne negligence and laziness that hath done us the wrong) and this to be made to the House to-morrow. I went also out of the Hall with Mrs. Lane to the Swan at Mrs. Herbert's in the Palace Yard to try a couple of bands, and did (though I had a mind to be playing the fool with her) purposely stay but a little while, and kept the door open, and called the master and mistress of the house one after another to drink and talk with me, and showed them both my old and new bands. So that as I did nothing so they are able to bear witness that I had no opportunity there to do anything. Thence by coach with Sir W. Pen home, calling at the Temple for Lawes's Psalms, which I did not so much (by being against my oath) buy as only lay down money till others be bound better for me, and by that time I hope to get money of the Treasurer of the Navy by bills, which, according to my oath, shall make me able to do it. At home dined, and all the afternoon at a Committee of the Chest, and at night comes my aunt and uncle Wight and Nan Ferrers and supped merrily with me, my uncle coming in an hour after them almost foxed. Great pleasure by discourse with them, and so, they gone, late to bed. 21st. Up pretty betimes and to my office, and thither came by and by Mr. Vernaty and staid two hours with me, but Mr. Gauden did not come, and so he went away to meet again anon. Then comes Mr. Creed, and, after some discourse, he and I and my wife by coach to Westminster (leaving her at Unthanke's, her tailor's) Hall, and there at the Lords' House heard that it is ordered, that, upon submission upon the knee both to the House and my Lady Peters, W. Joyce shall be released. I forthwith made him submit, and aske pardon upon his knees; which he did before several Lords. But my Lady would not hear it; but swore she would post the Lords, that the world might know what pitifull Lords the King hath; and that revenge was sweeter to her than milk; and that she would never be satisfied unless he stood in a pillory, and demand pardon there. But I perceive the Lords are ashamed of her, and so I away calling with my wife at a place or two to inquire after a couple of mayds recommended to us, but we found both of them bad. So set my wife at my uncle Wight's and I home, and presently to the 'Change, where I did some business, and thence to my uncle's and there dined very well, and so to the office, we sat all the afternoon, but no sooner sat but news comes my Lady Sandwich was come to see us, so I went out, and running up (her friend however before me) I perceive by my dear Lady blushing that in my dining-room she was doing something upon the pott, which I also was ashamed of, and so fell to some discourse, but without pleasure through very pity to my Lady. She tells me, and I find true since, that the House this day have voted that the King be desired to demand right for the wrong done us by the Dutch, and that they will stand by him with their lives fortunes: which is a very high vote, and more than I expected. What the issue will be, God knows! My Lady, my wife not being at home, did not stay, but, poor, good woman, went away, I being mightily taken with her dear visitt, and so to the office, where all the afternoon till late, and so to my office, and then to supper and to bed, thinking to rise betimes tomorrow. 22nd. Having directed it last night, I was called up this morning before four o'clock. It was full light enough to dress myself, and so by water against tide, it being a little coole, to Greenwich; and thence, only that it was somewhat foggy till the sun got to some height, walked with great pleasure to Woolwich, in my way staying several times to listen to the nightingales. I did much business both at the Ropeyarde and the other, and on floate I discovered a plain cheat which in time I shall publish of Mr. Ackworth's. Thence, having visited Mr. Falconer also, who lies still sick, but hopes to be better, I walked to Greenwich, Mr. Deane with me. Much good discourse, and I think him a very just man, only a little conceited, but yet very able in his way, and so he by water also with me also to towne. I home, and immediately dressing myself, by coach with my wife to my Lord Sandwich's, but they having dined we would not 'light but went to Mrs. Turner's, and there got something to eat, and thence after reading part of a good play, Mrs. The., my wife and I, in their coach to Hide Parke, where great plenty of gallants, and pleasant it was, only for the dust. Here I saw Mrs. Bendy, my Lady Spillman's faire daughter that was, who continues yet very handsome. Many others I saw with great content, and so back again to Mrs. Turner's, and then took a coach and home. I did also carry them into St. James's Park and shewed them the garden. To my office awhile while supper was making ready, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Coronation day). Up, and after doing something at my office, and, it being a holiday, no sitting likely to be, I down by water to Sir W. Warren's, who hath been ill, and there talked long with him good discourse, especially about Sir W. Batten's knavery and his son Castle's ill language of me behind my back, saying that I favour my fellow traytours, but I shall be even with him. So home and to the 'Change, where I met with Mr. Coventry, who himself is now full of talke of a Dutch warr; for it seems the Lords have concurred in the Commons' vote about it; and so the next week it will be presented to the King, insomuch that he do desire we would look about to see what stores we lack, and buy what we can. Home to dinner, where I and my wife much troubled about my money that is in my Lord Sandwich's hand, for fear of his going to sea and be killed; but I will get what of it out I can. All the afternoon, not being well, at my office, and there doing much business, my thoughts still running upon a warr and my money. At night home to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning in my chamber setting some of my private papers in order, for I perceive that now publique business takes up so much of my time that I must get time a-Sundays or a-nights to look after my owne matters. Dined and spent all the afternoon talking with my wife, at night a little to the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's and there up to the Duke, and after he was ready to his closet, where most of our talke about a Dutch warr, and discoursing of things indeed now for it. The Duke, which gives me great good hopes, do talk of setting up a good discipline in the fleete. In the Duke's chamber there is a bird, given him by Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, comes from the East Indys, black the greatest part, with the finest collar of white about the neck; but talks many things and neyes like the horse, and other things, the best almost that ever I heard bird in my life. Thence down with Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Rider, who was there (going along with us from the East Indya house to-day) to discourse of my Lord Peterborough's accounts, and then walked over the Parke, and in Mr. Cutler's coach with him and Rider as far as the Strand, and thence I walked to my Lord Sandwich's, where by agreement I met my wife, and there dined with the young ladies; my Lady, being not well, kept her chamber. Much simple discourse at table among the young ladies. After dinner walked in the garden, talking, with Mr. Moore about my Lord's business. He told me my Lord runs in debt every day more and more, and takes little care how to come out of it. He counted to me how my Lord pays use now for above L9000, which is a sad thing, especially considering the probability of his going to sea, in great danger of his life, and his children, many of them, to provide for. Thence, the young ladies going out to visit, I took my wife by coach out through the city, discoursing how to spend the afternoon; and conquered, with much ado, a desire of going to a play; but took her out at White Chapel, and to Bednal Green; so to Hackney, where I have not been many a year, since a little child I boarded there. Thence to Kingsland, by my nurse's house, Goody Lawrence, where my brother Tom and I was kept when young. Then to Newington Green, and saw the outside of Mrs. Herbert's house, where she lived, and my Aunt Ellen with her; but, Lord! how in every point I find myself to over-value things when a child. Thence to Islington, and so to St. John's to the Red Bull, and there: saw the latter part of a rude prize fought, but with good pleasure enough; and thence back to Islington, and at the King's Head, where Pitts lived, we 'light and eat and drunk for remembrance of the old house sake, and so through Kingsland again, and so to Bishopsgate, and so home with great pleasure. The country mighty pleasant, and we with great content home, and after supper to bed, only a little troubled at the young ladies leaving my wife so to-day, and from some passages fearing my Lady might be offended. But I hope the best. 26th. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich's, and coming a little too early, I went and saw W. Joyce, and by and by comes in Anthony, they both owning a great deal of kindness received from me in their late business, and indeed I did what I could, and yet less I could not do. It has cost the poor man above L40; besides, he is likely to lose his debt. Thence to my Lord's, and by and by he comes down, and with him (Creed with us) I rode in his coach to St. James's, talking about W. Joyce's business mighty merry, and my Lady Peters, he says, is a drunken jade, he himself having seen her drunk in the lobby of their House. I went up with him to the Duke, where methought the Duke did not shew him any so great fondness as he was wont; and methought my Lord was not pleased that I should see the Duke made no more of him, not that I know any thing of any unkindnesse, but I think verily he is not as he was with him in his esteem. By and by the Duke went out and we with him through the Parke, and there I left him going into White Hall, and Creed and I walked round the Parke, a pleasant walk, observing the birds, which is very pleasant; and so walked to the New Exchange, and there had a most delicate dish of curds and creame, and discourse with the good woman of the house, a discreet well-bred woman, and a place with great delight I shall make it now and then to go thither. Thence up, and after a turn or two in the 'Change, home to the Old Exchange by coach, where great newes and true, I saw by written letters, of strange fires seen at Amsterdam in the ayre, and not only there, but in other places thereabout. The talke of a Dutch warr is not so hot, but yet I fear it will come to it at last. So home and to the office, where we sat late. My wife gone this afternoon to the buriall of my she-cozen Scott, a good woman; and it is a sad consideration how the Pepys's decay, and nobody almost that I know in a present way of encreasing them. At night late at my office, and so home to my wife to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and all the morning very busy with multitude of clients, till my head began to be overloaded. Towards noon I took coach and to the Parliament house door, and there staid the rising of the House, and with Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry discoursed of some tarr that I have been endeavouring to buy, for the market begins apace to rise upon us, and I would be glad first to serve the King well, and next if I could I find myself now begin to cast how to get a penny myself. Home by coach with Alderman Backewell in his coach, whose opinion is that the Dutch will not give over the business without putting us to some trouble to set out a fleete; and then, if they see we go on well, will seek to salve up the matter. Upon the 'Change busy. Thence home to dinner, and thence to the office till my head was ready to burst with business, and so with my wife by coach, I sent her to my Lady Sandwich and myself to my cozen Roger Pepys's chamber, and there he did advise me about our Exchequer business, and also about my brother John, he is put by my father upon interceding for him, but I will not yet seem the least to pardon him nor can I in my heart. However, he and I did talk how to get him a mandamus for a fellowship, which I will endeavour. Thence to my Lady's, and in my way met Mr. Sanchy, of Cambridge, whom I have not met a great while. He seems a simple fellow, and tells me their master, Dr. Rainbow, is newly made Bishop of Carlisle. To my Lady's, and she not being well did not see her, but straight home with my wife, and late to my office, concluding in the business of Wood's masts, which I have now done and I believe taken more pains in it than ever any Principall officer in this world ever did in any thing to no profit to this day. So, weary, sleepy, and hungry, home and to bed. This day the Houses attended the King, and delivered their votes to him: upon the business of the Dutch; and he thanks them, and promises an answer in writing. 28th. Up and close at my office all the morning. To the 'Change busy at noon, and so home to dinner, and then in the afternoon at the office till night, and so late home quite tired with business, and without joy in myself otherwise than that I am by God's grace enabled to go through it and one day, hope to have benefit by it. So home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Rider and Cutler to White Hall. Rider and I to St. James's, and there with Mr. Coventry did proceed strictly upon some fooleries of Mr. Povy's in my Lord Peterborough's accounts, which will touch him home, and I am glad of it, for he is the most troublesome impertinent man that ever I met with. Thence to the 'Change, and there, after some business, home to dinner, where Luellin and Mount came to me and dined, and after dinner my wife and I by coach to see my Lady Sandwich, where we find all the children and my Lord removed, and the house so melancholy that I thought my Lady had been dead, knowing that she was not well; but it seems she hath the meazles, and I fear the small pox, poor lady. It grieves me mightily; for it will be a sad houre to the family should she miscarry. Thence straight home and to the office, and in the evening comes Mr. Hill the merchant and another with him that sings well, and we sung some things, and good musique it seemed to me, only my mind too full of business to have much pleasure in it. But I will have more of it. They gone, and I having paid Mr. Moxon for the work he has done for the office upon the King's globes, I to my office, where very late busy upon Captain Tayler's bills for his masts, which I think will never off my hand. Home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, where, after business done, Sir W. Rider and Cutler took me to the Old James and there did give me a good dish of mackerell, the first I have seen this year, very good, and good discourse. After dinner we fell to business about their contract for tarr, in which and in another business of Sir W. Rider's, canvas, wherein I got him to contract with me, I held them to some terms against their wills, to the King's advantage, which I believe they will take notice of to my credit. Thence home, and by water by a gally down to Woolwich, and there a good while with Mr. Pett upon the new ship discoursing and learning of him. Thence with Mr. Deane to see Mr. Falconer, and there find him in a way to be well. So to the water (after much discourse with great content with Mr. Deane) and home late, and so to the office, wrote to, my father among other things my continued displeasure against my brother John, so that I will give him nothing more out of my own purse, which will trouble the poor man, but however it is fit that I should take notice of my brother's ill carriage to me. Then home and till 12 at night about my month's accounts, wherein I have just kept within compass, this having been a spending month. So my people being all abed I put myself to bed very sleepy. All the newes now is what will become of the Dutch business, whether warr or peace. We all seem to desire it, as thinking ourselves to have advantages at present over them; for my part I dread it. The Parliament promises to assist the King with lives and fortunes, and he receives it with thanks and promises to demand satisfaction of the Dutch. My poor Lady Sandwich is fallen sick three days since of the meazles. My Lord Digby's business is hushed up, and nothing made of it; he is gone, and the discourse quite ended. Never more quiet in my family all the days of my life than now, there being only my wife and I and Besse and the little girl Susan, the best wenches to our content that we can ever expect. MAY 1664 May 1st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed. Went not to church, but staid at home to examine my last night's accounts, which I find right, and that I am L908 creditor in the world, the same I was last month. Dined, and after dinner down by water with my wife and Besse with great pleasure as low as Greenwich and so back, playing as it were leisurely upon the water to Deptford, where I landed and sent my wife up higher to land below Half-way house. I to the King's yard and there spoke about several businesses with the officers, and so with Mr. Wayth consulting about canvas, to Half-way house where my wife was, and after eating there we broke and walked home before quite dark. So to supper, prayers, and to bed. 2nd. Lay pretty long in bed. So up and by water to St. James's, and there attended the Duke with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and having done our work with him walked to Westminster Hall, and after walking there and talking of business met Mr. Rawlinson and by coach to the 'Change, where I did some business, and home to dinner, and presently by coach to the King's Play-house to see "The Labyrinth," but, coming too soon, walked to my Lord's to hear how my Lady do, who is pretty well; at least past all fear. There by Captain Ferrers meeting with an opportunity of my Lord's coach, to carry us to the Parke anon, we directed it to come to the play-house door; and so we walked, my wife and I and Madamoiselle. I paid for her going in, and there saw "The Labyrinth," the poorest play, methinks, that ever I saw, there being nothing in it but the odd accidents that fell out, by a lady's being bred up in man's apparel, and a man in a woman's. Here was Mrs. Stewart, who is indeed very pretty, but not like my Lady Castlemayne, for all that. Thence in the coach to the Parke, where no pleasure; there being much dust, little company, and one of our horses almost spoiled by falling down, and getting his leg over the pole; but all mended presently, and after riding up and down, home. Set Madamoiselle at home; and we home, and to my office, whither comes Mr. Bland, and pays me the debt he acknowledged he owed me for my service in his business of the Tangier Merchant, twenty pieces of new gold, a pleasant sight. It cheered my heart; and he being gone, I home to supper, and shewed them my wife; and she, poor wretch, would fain have kept them to look on, without any other design but a simple love to them; but I thought it not convenient, and so took them into my own hand. So, after supper, to bed. 3rd. Up, and being ready, went by agreement to Mr. Bland's and there drank my morning draft in good chocollatte, and slabbering my band sent home for another, and so he and I by water to White Hall, and walked to St. James's, where met Creed and Vernatty, and by and by Sir W. Rider, and so to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and there upon my Lord Peterborough's accounts, where I endeavoured to shew the folly and punish it as much as I could of Mr. Povy; for, of all the men in the world, I never knew any man of his degree so great a coxcomb in such imployments. I see I have lost him forever, but I value it not; for he is a coxcomb, and, I doubt, not over honest, by some things which I see; and yet, for all his folly, he hath the good lucke, now and then, to speak his follies in as good words, and with as good a show, as if it were reason, and to the purpose, which is really one of the wonders of my life. Thence walked to Westminster Hall; and there, in the Lords' House, did in a great crowd, from ten o'clock till almost three, hear the cause of Mr. Roberts, my Lord Privy Seal's son, against Win, who by false ways did get the father of Mr. Roberts's wife (Mr. Bodvill) to give him the estate and disinherit his daughter. The cause was managed for my Lord Privy Seal by Finch the Solicitor [General]; but I do really think that he is truly a man of as great eloquence as ever I heard, or ever hope to hear in all my life. Thence, after long staying to speak with my Lord Sandwich, at last he coming out to me and speaking with me about business of my Lord Peterborough, I by coach home to the office, where all the afternoon, only stept home to eat one bit and to the office again, having eaten nothing before to-day. My wife abroad with my aunt Wight and Norbury. I in the evening to my uncle Wight's, and not finding them come home, they being gone to the Parke and the Mulberry garden, I went to the 'Change, and there meeting with Mr. Hempson, whom Sir W. Batten has lately turned out of his place, merely because of his coming to me when he came to town before he went to him, and there he told me many rogueries of Sir W. Batten, how he knows and is able to prove that Captain Cox of Chatham did give him L10 in gold to get him to certify for him at the King's coming in, and that Tom Newborne did make [the] poor men give him L3 to get Sir W. Batten to cause them to be entered in the yard, and that Sir W. Batten had oftentimes said: "by God, Tom, you shall get something and I will have some on't." His present clerk that is come in Norman's' room has given him something for his place; that they live high and (as Sir Francis Clerk's lady told his wife) do lack money as well as other people, and have bribes of a piece of sattin and cabinetts and other things from people that deal with him, and that hardly any body goes to see or hath anything done by Sir W. Batten but it comes with a bribe, and that this is publickly true that his wife was a whore, and that he had libells flung within his doors for a cuckold as soon as he was married; that he received L100 in money and in other things to the value of L50 more of Hempson, and that he intends to give him back but L50; that he hath abused the Chest and hath now some L1000 by him of it. I met also upon the 'Change with Mr. Cutler, and he told me how for certain Lawson hath proclaimed warr again with Argier, though they had at his first coming given back the ships which they had taken, and all their men; though they refused afterwards to make him restitution for the goods which they had taken out of them. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and he not being at home I went with Mr. Norbury near hand to the Fleece, a mum house in Leadenhall, and there drunk mum and by and by broke up, it being about 11 o'clock at night, and so leaving them also at home, went home myself and to bed. 4th. Up, and my new Taylor, Langford, comes and takes measure of me for a new black cloth suit and cloake, and I think he will prove a very carefull fellow and will please me well. Thence to attend my Lord Peterborough in bed and give him an account of yesterday's proceeding with Povy. I perceive I labour in a business will bring me little pleasure; but no matter, I shall do the King some service. To my Lord's lodgings, where during my Lady's sickness he is, there spoke with him about the same business. Back and by water to my cozen Scott's. There condoled with him the loss of my cozen, his wife, and talked about his matters, as atturney to my father, in his administering to my brother Tom. He tells me we are like to receive some shame about the business of his bastarde with Jack Noble; but no matter, so it cost us no money. Thence to the Coffee-house and to the 'Change a while. News uncertain how the Dutch proceed. Some say for, some against a war. The plague increases at Amsterdam. So home to dinner, and after dinner to my office, where very late, till my eyes (which begin to fail me nowadays by candlelight) begin to trouble me. Only in the afternoon comes Mr. Peter Honiwood to see me and gives me 20s., his and his friends' pence for my brother John, which, God forgive my pride, methinks I think myself too high to take of him; but it is an ungratefull pitch of pride in me, which God forgive. Home at night to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes to my office, busy, and so abroad to change some plate for my father to send to-day by the carrier to Brampton, but I observe and do fear it may be to my wrong that I change spoons of my uncle Robert's into new and set a P upon them that thereby I cannot claim them hereafter, as it was my brother Tom's practice. However, the matter of this is not great, and so I did it. So to the 'Change, and meeting Sir W. Warren, with him to a taverne, and there talked, as we used to do, of the evils the King suffers in our ordering of business in the Navy, as Sir W. Batten now forces us by his knavery. So home to dinner, and to the office, where all the afternoon, and thence betimes home, my eyes beginning every day to grow less and less able to bear with long reading or writing, though it be by daylight; which I never observed till now. So home to my wife, and after supper to bed. 6th. This morning up and to my office, where Sympson my joyner came to work upon altering my closet, which I alter by setting the door in another place, and several other things to my great content. Busy at it all day, only in the afternoon home, and there, my books at the office being out of order, wrote letters and other businesses. So at night with my head full of the business of my closet home to bed, and strange it is to think how building do fill my mind and put out all other things out of my thoughts. 7th. Betimes at my office with the joyners, and giving order for other things about it. By and by we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and after dinner comes Deane of Woolwich, and I spent, as I had appointed, all the afternoon with him about instructions which he gives me to understand the building of a ship, and I think I shall soon understand it. In the evening a little to my office to see how the work goes forward there, and then home and spent the evening also with Mr. Deane, and had a good supper, and then to bed, he lying at my house. 8th (Lord's day). This day my new tailor, Mr. Langford, brought me home a new black cloth suit and cloake lined with silk moyre, and he being gone, who pleases me very well with his work and I hope will use me pretty well, then Deane and I to my chamber, and there we repeated my yesterday's lesson about ships all the morning, and I hope I shall soon understand it. At noon to dinner, and strange how in discourse he cries up chymistry from some talk he has had with an acquaintance of his, a chymist, when, poor man, he understands not one word of it. But I discern very well that it is only his good nature, but in this of building ships he hath taken great pains, more than most builders I believe have. After dinner he went away, and my wife and I to church, and after church to Sir W. Pen, and there sat and talked with him, and the perfidious rogue seems, as he do always, mightily civil to us, though I know he hates and envies us. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 9th. Up and to my office all the morning, and there saw several things done in my work to my great content, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner in Sir W. Pen's coach he set my wife and I down at the New Exchange, and after buying some things we walked to my Lady Sandwich's, who, good lady, is now, thanks be to God! so well as to sit up, and sent to us, if we were not afeard, to come up to her. So we did; but she was mightily against my wife's coming so near her; though, poor wretch! she is as well as ever she was, as to the meazles, and nothing can I see upon her face. There we sat talking with her above three hours, till six o'clock, of several things with great pleasure and so away, and home by coach, buying several things for my wife in our way, and so after looking what had been done in my office to-day, with good content home to supper and to bed. But, strange, how I cannot get any thing to take place in my mind while my work lasts at my office. This day my wife and I in our way to Paternoster Row to buy things called upon Mr. Hollyard to advise upon her drying up her issue in her leg, which inclines of itself to dry up, and he admits of it that it should be dried up. 10th. Up and at my office looking after my workmen all the morning, and after the office was done did the same at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and all day, both forenoon and afternoon, at my office to see it finished by the joyners and washed and every thing in order, and indeed now my closet is very convenient and pleasant for me. My uncle Wight came to me to my office this afternoon to speak with me about Mr. Maes's business again, and from me went to my house to see my wife, and strange to think that my wife should by and by send for me after he was gone to tell me that he should begin discourse of her want of children and his also, and how he thought it would be best for him and her to have one between them, and he would give her L500 either in money or jewells beforehand, and make the child his heir. He commended her body, and discoursed that for all he knew the thing was lawful. She says she did give him a very warm answer, such as he did not excuse himself by saying that he said this in jest, but told her that since he saw what her mind was he would say no more to her of it, and desired her to make no words of it. It seemed he did say all this in a kind of counterfeit laugh, but by all words that passed, which I cannot now so well set down, it is plain to me that he was in good earnest, and that I fear all his kindness is but only his lust to her. What to think of it of a sudden I know not, but I think not to take notice yet of it to him till I have thought better of it. So with my mind and head a little troubled I received a letter from Mr. Coventry about a mast for the Duke's yacht, which with other business makes me resolve to go betimes to Woolwich to-morrow. So to supper and to bed. 12th. Up by 4 o'clock and by water to Woolwich, where did some business and walked to Greenwich, good discourse with Mr. Deane best part of the way; there met by appointment Commissioner Pett, and with him to Deptford, where did also some business, and so home to my office, and at noon Mrs. Hunt and her cozens child and mayd came and dined with me. My wife sick ... in bed. I was troubled with it, but, however, could not help it, but attended them till after dinner, and then to the office and there sat all the afternoon, and by a letter to me this afternoon from Mr. Coventry I saw the first appearance of a warr with Holland. So home; and betimes to bed because of rising to-morrow. 13th. Up before three o'clock, and a little after upon the water, it being very light as at noon, and a bright sunrising; but by and by a rainbow appeared, the first that ever in a morning I saw, and then it fell a-raining a little, but held up again, and I to Woolwich, where before all the men came to work I with Mr. Deane spent two hours upon the new ship, informing myself in the names and natures of many parts of her to my great content, and so back again, without doing any thing else, and after shifting myself away to Westminster, looking after Mr. Maes's business and others. In the Painted Chamber I heard a fine conference between some of the two Houses upon the Bill for Conventicles. The Lords would be freed from having their houses searched by any but the Lord Lieutenant of the County; and upon being found guilty, to be tried only by their peers; and thirdly, would have it added, that whereas the Bill says, "That that, among other things, shall be a conventicle wherein any such meeting is found doing any thing contrary to the Liturgy of the Church of England," they would have it added, "or practice." The Commons to the Lords said, that they knew not what might hereafter be found out which might be called the practice of the Church of England; for there are many things may be said to be the practice of the Church, which were never established by any law, either common, statute, or canon; as singing of psalms, binding up prayers at the end of the Bible, and praying extempore before and after sermon: and though these are things indifferent, yet things for aught they at present know may be started, which may be said to be the practice of the Church which would not be fit to allow. For the Lords' priviledges, Mr. Walter told them how tender their predecessors had been of the priviledges of the Lords; but, however, where the peace of the kingdom stands in competition with them, they apprehend those priviledges must give place. He told them that he thought, if they should owne all to be the priviledges of the Lords which might be demanded, they should be led like the man (who granted leave to his neighbour to pull off his horse's tail, meaning that he could not do it at once) that hair by hair had his horse's tail pulled off indeed: so the Commons, by granting one thing after another, might be so served by the Lords. Mr. Vaughan, whom I could not to my grief perfectly hear, did say, if that they should be obliged in this manner to, exempt the Lords from every thing, it would in time come to pass that whatever (be [it] never so great) should be voted by the Commons as a thing penall for a commoner, the contrary should be thought a priviledge to the Lords: that also in this business, the work of a conventicle being but the work of an hour, the cause of a search would be over before a Lord Lieutenant, who may be many miles off, can be sent for; and that all this dispute is but about L100; for it is said in the Act, that it shall be banishment or payment of L100. I thereupon heard the Duke of Lenox say, that there might be Lords who could not always be ready to lose L100, or some such thing: They broke up without coming to any end in it. There was also in the Commons' House a great quarrel about Mr. Prin, and it was believed that he should have been sent to the Towre, for adding something to a Bill (after it was ordered to be engrossed) of his own head--a Bill for measures for wine and other things of that sort, and a Bill of his owne bringing in; but it appeared he could not mean any hurt in it. But, however, the King was fain to write in his behalf, and all was passed over. But it is worth my remembrance, that I saw old Ryly the Herald, and his son; and spoke to his son, who told me in very bad words concerning Mr. Prin, that the King had given him an office of keeping the Records; but that he never comes thither, nor had been there these six months: so that I perceive they expect to get his imployment from him. Thus every body is liable to be envied and supplanted. At noon over to the Leg, where Sir G. Ascue, Sir Robt. Parkhurst and Sir W. Pen dined. A good dinner and merry. Thence to White Hall walking up and down a great while, but the Council not meeting soon enough I went homeward, calling upon my cozen Roger Pepys, with whom I talked and heard so much from him of his desire that I would see my brother's debts paid, and things still of that nature tending to my parting with what I get with pain to serve others' expenses that I was cruelly vexed. Thence to Sir R. Bernard, and there heard something of Pigott's delay of paying our money, that that also vexed me mightily. So home and there met with a letter from my cozen Scott, which tells me that he is resolved to meddle no more with our business, of administering for my father, which altogether makes me almost distracted to think of the trouble that I am like to meet with by other folks' business more than ever I hope to have by my owne. So with great trouble of mind to bed. 14th. Up, full of pain, I believe by cold got yesterday. So to the office, where we sat, and after office home to dinner, being in extraordinary pain. After dinner my pain increasing I was forced to go to bed, and by and by my pain rose to be as great for an hour or two as ever I remember it was in any fit of the stone, both in the lower part of my belly and in my back also. No wind could I break. I took a glyster, but it brought away but a little, and my height of pain followed it. At last after two hours lying thus in most extraordinary anguish, crying and roaring, I know not what, whether it was my great sweating that may do it, but upon getting by chance, among my other tumblings, upon my knees, in bed, my pain began to grow less and less, till in an hour after I was in very little pain, but could break no wind, nor make any water, and so continued, and slept well all night. 15th (Lord's day). Rose, and as I had intended without reference to this pain, took physique, and it wrought well with me, my wife lying from me to-night, the first time she did in the same house ever since we were married, I think (unless while my father was in town, that he lay with me). She took physique also to-day, and both of our physiques wrought well, so we passed our time to-day, our physique having done working, with some pleasure talking, but I was not well, for I could make no water yet, but a drop or two with great pain, nor break any wind. In the evening came Mr. Vernatty to see me and discourse about my Lord Peterborough's business, and also my uncle Wight and Norbury, but I took no notice nor showed any different countenance to my uncle Wight, or he to me, for all that he carried himself so basely to my wife the last week, but will take time to make my use of it. So, being exceeding hot, to bed, and slept well. 16th. Forced to rise because of going to the Duke to St. James's, where we did our usual business, and thence by invitation to Mr. Pierces the chyrurgeon, where I saw his wife, whom I had not seen in many months before. She holds her complexion still, but in everything else, even in this her new house and the best rooms in it, and her closet which her husband with some vainglory took me to show me, she continues the eeriest slattern that ever I knew in my life. By and by we to see an experiment of killing a dogg by letting opium into his hind leg. He and Dr. Clerke did fail mightily in hitting the vein, and in effect did not do the business after many trials; but with the little they got in, the dogg did presently fall asleep, and so lay till we cut him up, and a little dogg also, which they put it down his throate; he also staggered first, and then fell asleep, and so continued. Whether he recovered or no, after I was gone, I know not, but it is a strange and sudden effect. Thence walked to Westminster Hall, where the King was expected to come to prorogue the House, but it seems, afterwards I hear, he did not come. I promised to go again to Mr. Pierce's, but my pain grew so great, besides a bruise I got to-day in my right testicle, which now vexes me as much as the other, that I was mighty melancholy, and so by coach home and there took another glyster, but find little good by it, but by sitting still my pain of my bruise went away, and so after supper to bed, my wife and I having talked and concluded upon sending my father an offer of having Pall come to us to be with us for her preferment, if by any means I can get her a husband here, which, though it be some trouble to us, yet it will be better than to have her stay there till nobody will have her and then be flung upon my hands. 17th. Slept well all night and lay long, then rose and wrote my letter to my father about Pall, as we had resolved last night. So to dinner and then to the office, finding myself better than I was, and making a little water, but not yet breaking any great store of wind, which I wonder at, for I cannot be well till I do do it. After office home and to supper and with good ease to bed, and endeavoured to tie my hands that I might not lay them out of bed, by which I believe I have got cold, but I could not endure it. 18th. Up and within all the morning, being willing to keep as much as I could within doors, but receiving a very wakening letter from Mr. Coventry about fitting of ships, which speaks something like to be done, I went forth to the office, there to take order in things, and after dinner to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, but did little. So home again and to Sir W. Pen, who, among other things of haste in this new order for ships, is ordered to be gone presently to Portsmouth to look after the work there. I staid to discourse with him, and so home to supper, where upon a fine couple of pigeons, a good supper; and here I met a pretty cabinet sent me by Mr. Shales, which I give my wife, the first of that sort of goods I ever had yet, and very conveniently it comes for her closett. I staid up late finding out the private boxes, but could not do some of them, and so to bed, afraid that I have been too bold to-day in venturing in the cold. This day I begun to drink butter-milke and whey, and I hope to find great good by it. 19th. Up, and it being very rayny weather, which makes it cooler than it was, by coach to Charing Cross with Sir W. Pen, who is going to Portsmouth this day, and left him going to St. James's to take leave of the Duke, and I to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier; where God forgive how our Report of my Lord Peterborough's accounts was read over and agreed to by the Lords, without one of them understanding it! And had it been what it would, it had gone: and, besides, not one thing touching the King's profit in it minded or hit upon. Thence by coach home again, and all the morning at the office, sat, and all the afternoon till 9 at night, being fallen again to business, and I hope my health will give me leave to follow it. So home to supper and to bed, finding myself pretty well. A pretty good stool, which I impute to my whey to-day, and broke wind also. 20th. Up and to my office, whither by and by comes Mr. Cholmely, and staying till the rest of the company come he told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is turned out of the Court, not [to] return again. His fault, I perceive, was his pride, and most of all his affecting to seem great with the Queene and it seems indeed had more of her eare than any body else, and would be with her talking alone two or three hours together; insomuch that the Lords about the King, when he would be jesting with them about their wives, would tell the King that he must have a care of his wife too, for she hath now the gallant: and they say the King himself did once ask Montagu how his mistress (meaning the Queene) did. He grew so proud, and despised every body, besides suffering nobody, he or she, to get or do any thing about the Queene, that they all laboured to do him a good turn. They also say that he did give some affront to the Duke of Monmouth, which the King himself did speak to him of. But strange it is that this man should, from the greatest negligence in the world, come to be the miracle of attendance, so as to take all offices from everybody, either men or women, about the Queene. Insomuch that he was observed as a miracle, but that which is the worst, that which in a wise manner performed [would] turn to his greatest advantage, was by being so observed employed to his greatest wrong, the world concluding that there must be something more than ordinary to cause him to do this. So he is gone, nobody pitying but laughing at him; and he pretends only that he is gone to his father, that is sick in the country. By and by comes Povy, Creed, and Vernatty, and so to their accounts, wherein more trouble and vexation with Povy. That being done, I sent them going and myself fell to business till dinner. So home to dinner very pleasant. In the afternoon to my office, where busy again, and by and by came a letter from my father so full of trouble for discontents there between my mother and servants, and such troubles to my father from hence from Cave that hath my brother's bastard that I know not what in the world to do, but with great trouble, it growing night, spent some time walking, and putting care as much as I could out of my head, with my wife in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, called by Mr. Cholmely, and walked with him in the garden till others came to another Committee of Tangier, as we did meet as we did use to do, to see more of Povy's folly, and so broke up, and at the office sat all the morning, Mr. Coventry with us, and very hot we are getting out some ships. At noon to the 'Change, and there did some business, and thence home to dinner, and so abroad with my wife by coach to the New Exchange, and there laid out almost 40s. upon her, and so called to see my Lady Sandwich, whom we found in her dining-room, which joyed us mightily; but she looks very thin, poor woman, being mightily broke. She told us that Mr. Montagu is to return to Court, as she hears, which I wonder at, and do hardly believe. So home and to my office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up and by water to White Hall to my Lord's lodgings, and with him walked to White Hall without any great discourse, nor do I find that he do mind business at all. Here the Duke of Yorke called me to him, to ask me whether I did intend to go with him to Chatham or no. I told him if he commanded, but I did believe there would be business here for me, and so he told me then it would be better to stay, which I suppose he will take better than if I had been forward to go. Thence, after staying and seeing the throng of people to attend the King to Chappell (but, Lord! what a company of sad, idle people they are) I walked to St. James's with Colonell Remes, where staid a good while and then walked to White Hall with Mr. Coventry, talking about business. So meeting Creed, took him with me home and to dinner, a good dinner, and thence by water to Woolwich, where mighty kindly received by Mrs. Falconer and her husband, who is now pretty well again, this being the first time I ever carried my wife thither. I walked to the Docke, where I met Mrs. Ackworth alone at home, and God forgive me! what thoughts I had, but I had not the courage to stay, but went to Mr. Pett's and walked up and down the yard with him and Deane talking about the dispatch of the ships now in haste, and by and by Creed and my wife and a friend of Mr. Falconer's came with the boat and called me, and so by water to Deptford, where I landed, and after talking with others walked to Half-way house with Mr. Wayth talking about the business of his supplying us with canvas, and he told me in discourse several instances of Sir W. Batten's cheats. So to Half-way house, whither my wife and them were gone before, and after drinking there we walked, and by water home, sending Creed and the other with the boat home. Then wrote a letter to Mr. Coventry, and so a good supper of pease, the first I eat this year, and so to bed. 23rd. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and myself met and did business, we being in a mighty hurry. The King is gone down with the Duke and a great crew this morning by break of day to Chatham. Towards noon I and my wife by water to Woolwich, leaving my wife at Mr. Falconer's, and Mr. Hater and I with some officers of the yard on board to see several ships how ready they are. Then to Mr. Falconer's to a good dinner, having myself carried them a vessel of sturgeon and a Lamprey pie, and then to the Yarde again, and among other things did at Mr. Ackworth's obtain a demonstration of his being a knave; but I did not discover it, till it be a little more seasonable. So back to the Ropeyard and took my wife and Mr. Hater back, it raining mighty hard of a sudden, but we with the tilt [Tilt (A.S. teld) represents a tent or awning. It was used for a cloth covering for a cart or waggon, or for a canopy or awning over a portion of a boat.] kept ourselves dry. So to Deptford, did some business there; but, Lord! to see how in both places the King's business, if ever it should come to a warr, is likely to be done, there not being a man that looks or speaks like a man that will take pains, or use any forecast to serve the King, at which I am heartily troubled. So home, it raining terribly, but we still dry, and at the office late discoursing with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, who like a couple of sots receive all I say but to little purpose. So late home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes and I sat all the morning, and after dinner thither again, and all the afternoon hard at the office till night, and so tired home to supper and to bed. This day I heard that my uncle Fenner is dead, which makes me a little sad, to see with what speed a great many of my friends are gone, and more, I fear, for my father's sake, are going. 25th. Took physique betimes and to sleep, then up, it working all the morning. At noon dined, and in the afternoon in my chamber spending two or three hours to look over some unpleasant letters and things of trouble to answer my father in, about Tom's business and others, that vexed me, but I did go through it and by that means eased my mind very much. This afternoon also came Tom and Charles Pepys by my sending for, and received of me L40 in part towards their L70 legacy of my uncle's. Spent the evening talking with my wife, and so to bed. 26th. Up to the office, where we sat, and I had some high words with Sir W. Batten about canvas, wherein I opposed him and all his experience, about seams in the middle, and the profit of having many breadths and narrow, which I opposed to good purpose, to the rejecting of the whole business. At noon home to dinner, and thence took my wife by coach, and she to my Lady Sandwich to see her. I to Tom Trice, to discourse about my father's giving over his administration to my brother, and thence to Sir R. Bernard, and there received L19 in money, and took up my father's bond of L21, that is L40, in part of Piggot's L209 due to us, which L40 he pays for 7 roods of meadow in Portholme. Thence to my wife, and carried her to the Old Bayly, and there we were led to the Quest House, by the church, where all the kindred were by themselves at the buriall of my uncle Fenner; but, Lord! what a pitiful rout of people there was of them, but very good service and great company the whole was. And so anon to church, and a good sermon, and so home, having for ease put my L19 into W. Joyce's hand, where I left it. So to supper and to bed, being in a little pain from some cold got last night lying without anything upon my feet. 27th. Up, not without some pain by cold, which makes me mighty melancholy, to think of the ill state of my health. To the office, where busy till my brains ready to drop with variety of business, and vexed for all that to see the service like to suffer by other people's neglect. Vexed also at a letter from my father with two troublesome ones enclosed from Cave and Noble, so that I know not what to do therein. At home to dinner at noon. But to comfort my heart, Captain Taylor this day brought me L20 he promised me for my assistance to him about his masts. After dinner to the office again, and thence with Mr. Wayth to St. Catherine's to see some variety of canvas's, which indeed was worth my seeing, but only I was in some pain, and so took not the delight I should otherwise have done. So home to the office, and there busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning my taylor brought me a very tall mayde to be my cook-mayde; she asked L5, but my wife offered her but L3 10s.--whether she will take it or no I know not till to-morrow, but I am afeard she will be over high for us, she having last been a chamber mayde, and holds up her head, as my little girle Su observed. 28th. Up pretty well as to pain and wind, and to the office, where we sat close and did much business. At noon I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Cutler's, where I heard Sir W. Rider was, where I found them at dinner and dined with them, he having yesterday and to-day a fit of a pain like the gout, the first time he ever had it. A good dinner. Good discourse, Sir W. Rider especially much fearing the issue of a Dutch warr, wherein I very highly commend him. Thence home, and at the office a while, and then with Mr. Deane to a second lesson upon my Shipwrightry, wherein I go on with great pleasure. He being gone I to the office late, and so home to supper and to bed. But, Lord! to see how my very going to the 'Change, and being without my gowne, presently brought me wind and pain, till I came home and was well again; but I am come to such a pass that I shall not know what to do with myself, but I am apt to think that it is only my legs that I take cold in from my having so long worn a gowne constantly. 29th (Whitsunday. King's Birth and Restauration day). Up, and having received a letter last night desiring it from Mr. Coventry, I walked to St. James's, and there he and I did long discourse together of the business of the office, and the warr with the Dutch; and he seemed to argue mightily with the little reason that there is for all this. For first, as to the wrong we pretend they have done us: that of the East Indys, for their not delivering of Poleron, it is not yet known whether they have failed or no; that of their hindering the Leopard cannot amount to above L3,000 if true; that of the Guinny Company, all they had done us did not amount to above L200 or L300 he told me truly; and that now, from what Holmes, without any commission, hath done in taking an island and two forts, hath set us much in debt to them; and he believes that Holmes will have been so puffed up with this, that he by this time hath been enforced with more strength than he had then, hath, I say, done a great deale more wrong to them. He do, as to the effect of the warr, tell me clearly that it is not any skill of the Dutch that can hinder our trade if we will, we having so many advantages over them, of winds, good ports, and men; but it is our pride, and the laziness of the merchant. He seems to think that there may be some negotiation which may hinder a warr this year, but that he speaks doubtfully as unwilling I perceive to be thought to discourse any such thing. The main thing he desired to speake with me about was, to know whether I do understand my Lord Sandwich's intentions as to going to sea with this fleete; saying, that the Duke, if he desires it, is most willing to it; but thinking that twelve ships is not a fleete fit for my Lord to be troubled to go out with, he is not willing to offer it to him till he hath some intimations of his mind to go, or not. He spoke this with very great respect as to my Lord, though methinks it is strange they should not understand one another better at this time than to need another's mediation. Thence walked over the Parke to White Hall, Mr. Povy with me, and was taken in a very great showre in the middle of the Parke that we were very wet. So up into, the house and with him to the King's closett, whither by and by the King came, my Lord Sandwich carrying the sword. A Bishopp preached, but he speaking too low for me to hear behind the King's closett, I went forth and walked and discoursed with Colonell Reames, who seems a very willing man to be informed in his business of canvas, which he is undertaking to strike in with us to serve the Navy. By and by my Lord Sandwich came forth, and called me to him: and we fell into discourse a great while about his business, wherein he seems to be very open with me, and to receive my opinion as he used to do; and I hope I shall become necessary to him again. He desired me to think of the fitness, or not, for him to offer himself to go to sea; and to give him my thoughts in a day or two. Thence after sermon among the ladies on the Queene's side; where I saw Mrs. Stewart, very fine and pretty, but far beneath my Lady Castlemayne. Thence with Mr. Povy home to dinner; where extraordinary cheer. And after dinner up and down to see his house. And in a word, methinks, for his perspective upon his wall in his garden, and the springs rising up with the perspective in the little closett; his room floored above with woods of several colours, like but above the best cabinet-work I ever saw; his grotto and vault, with his bottles of wine, and a well therein to keep them cool; his furniture of all sorts; his bath at the top of his house, good pictures, and his manner of eating and drinking; do surpass all that ever I did see of one man in all my life. Thence walked home and found my uncle Wight and Mr. Rawlinson, who supped with me. They being gone, I to bed, being in some pain from my being so much abroad to-day, which is a most strange thing that in such warm weather the least ayre should get cold and wind in me. I confess it makes me mighty sad and out of all content in the world. 30th. Lay long, the bells ringing, it being holiday, and then up and all the day long in my study at home studying of shipmaking with great content till the evening, and then came Mr. Howe and sat and then supped with me. He is a little conceited, but will make a discreet man. He being gone, a little to my office, and then home to bed, being in much pain from yesterday's being abroad, which is a consideration of mighty sorrow to me. 31st. Up, and called upon Mr. Hollyard, with whom I advised and shall fall upon some course of doing something for my disease of the wind, which grows upon me every day more and more. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, and while he was dressing I below discoursed with Captain Cooke, and I think if I do find it fit to keep a boy at all I had as good be supplied from him with one as any body. By and by up to my Lord, and to discourse about his going to sea, and the message I had from Mr. Coventry to him. He wonders, as he well may, that this course should be taken, and he every day with the Duke, who, nevertheless, seems most friendly to him, who hath not yet spoke one word to my Lord of his desire to have him go to sea. My Lord do tell me clearly that were it not that he, as all other men that were of the Parliament side, are obnoxious to reproach, and so is forced to bear what otherwise he would not, he would never suffer every thing to be done in the Navy, and he never be consulted; and it seems, in the naming of all these commanders for this fleete, he hath never been asked one question. But we concluded it wholly inconsistent with his honour not to go with this fleete, nor with the reputation which the world hath of his interest at Court; and so he did give me commission to tell Mr. Coventry that he is most willing to receive any commands from the Duke in this fleete, were it less than it is, and that particularly in this service. With this message I parted, and by coach to the office, where I found Mr. Coventry, and told him this. Methinks, I confess, he did not seem so pleased with it as I expected, or at least could have wished, and asked me whether I had told my Lord that the Duke do not expect his going, which I told him I had. But now whether he means really that the Duke, as he told me the other day, do think the Fleete too small for him to take or that he would not have him go, I swear I cannot tell. But methinks other ways might have been used to put him by without going in this manner about it, and so I hope it is out of kindness indeed. Dined at home, and so to the office, where a great while alone in my office, nobody near, with Bagwell's wife of Deptford, but the woman seems so modest that I durst not offer any courtship to her, though I had it in my mind when I brought her in to me. But I am resolved to do her husband a courtesy, for I think he is a man that deserves very well. So abroad with my wife by coach to St. James's, to one Lady Poultny's, where I found my Lord, I doubt, at some vain pleasure or other. I did give him a short account of what I had done with Mr. Coventry, and so left him, and to my wife again in the coach, and with her to the Parke, but the Queene being gone by the Parke to Kensington, we staid not but straight home and to supper (the first time I have done so this summer), and so to my office doing business, and then to my monthly accounts, where to my great comfort I find myself better than I was still the last month, and now come to L930. I was told to-day, that upon Sunday night last, being the King's birth-day, the King was at my Lady Castlemayne's lodgings (over the hither-gates at Lambert's lodgings) dancing with fiddlers all night almost; and all the world coming by taking notice of it, which I am sorry to hear. The discourse of the town is only whether a warr with Holland or no, and we are preparing for it all we can, which is but little. Myself subject more than ordinary to pain by winde, which makes me very sad, together with the trouble which at present lies upon me in my father's behalf, rising from the death of my brother, which are many and great. Would to God they were over! JUNE 1664 June 1st. Up, having lain long, going to bed very late after the ending of my accounts. Being up Mr. Hollyard came to me, and to my great sorrow, after his great assuring me that I could not possibly have the stone again, he tells me that he do verily fear that I have it again, and has brought me something to dissolve it, which do make me very much troubled, and pray to God to ease me. He gone, I down by water to Woolwich and Deptford to look after the dispatch of the ships, all the way reading Mr. Spencer's Book of Prodigys, which is most ingeniously writ, both for matter and style. Home at noon, and my little girl got me my dinner, and I presently out by water and landed at Somerset stairs, and thence through Covent Garden, where I met with Mr. Southwell (Sir W. Pen's friend), who tells me the very sad newes of my Lord Tiviott's and nineteen more commission officers being killed at Tangier by the Moores, by an ambush of the enemy upon them, while they were surveying their lines; which is very sad, and, he says, afflicts the King much. Thence to W. Joyce's, where by appointment I met my wife (but neither of them at home), and she and I to the King's house, and saw "The Silent Woman;" but methought not so well done or so good a play as I formerly thought it to be, or else I am nowadays out of humour. Before the play was done, it fell such a storm of hayle, that we in the middle of the pit were fain to rise; [The stage was covered in by a tiled roof, but the pit was open to the sky. "The pit lay open to the weather for sake of light, but was subsequently covered in with a glazed cupola, which, however, only imperfectly protected the audience, so that in stormy weather the house was thrown into disorder, and the people in the pit were fain to rise" (Cunningham's "Story of Nell Gwyn," ed. 1893, p. 33).] and all the house in a disorder, and so my wife and I out and got into a little alehouse, and staid there an hour after the play was done before we could get a coach, which at last we did (and by chance took up Joyce Norton and Mrs. Bowles, and set them at home), and so home ourselves, and I, after a little to my office, so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and then to the 'Change, where after some stay by coach with Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Coventry to St. James's, and there dined with Mr. Coventry very finely, and so over the Parke to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier about providing provisions, money, and men for Tangier. At it all the afternoon, but it is strange to see how poorly and brokenly things are done of the greatest consequence, and how soon the memory of this great man is gone, or, at least, out of mind by the thoughts of who goes next, which is not yet knowne. My Lord of Oxford, Muskerry, and several others are discoursed of. It seems my Lord Tiviott's design was to go a mile and half out of the towne, to cut down a wood in which the enemy did use to lie in ambush. He had sent several spyes; but all brought word that the way was clear, and so might be for any body's discovery of an enemy before you are upon them. There they were all snapt, he and all his officers, and about 200 men, as they say; there being left now in the garrison but four captains. This happened the 3d of May last, being not before that day twelvemonth of his entering into his government there: but at his going out in the morning he said to some of his officers, "Gentlemen, let us look to ourselves, for it was this day three years that so many brave Englishmen were knocked on the head by the Moores, when Fines made his sally out." Here till almost night, and then home with Sir J. Minnes by coach, and so to my office a while, and home to supper and bed, being now in constant pain in my back, but whether it be only wind or what it is the Lord knows, but I fear the worst. 3rd. Up, still in a constant pain in my back, which much afflicts me with fear of the consequence of it. All the morning at the office, we sat at the office extraordinary upon the business of our stores, but, Lord! what a pitiful account the Surveyor makes of it grieves my heart. This morning before I came out I made a bargain with Captain Taylor for a ship for the Commissioners for Tangier, wherein I hope to get L40 or L50. To the 'Change, and thence home and dined, and then by coach to White Hall, sending my wife to Mrs. Hunt's. At the Committee for Tangier all the afternoon, where a sad consideration to see things of so great weight managed in so confused a manner as it is, so as I would not have the buying of an acre of land bought by the Duke of York and Mr. Coventry, for ought I see, being the only two that do anything like men; Prince Rupert do nothing but swear and laugh a little, with an oathe or two, and that's all he do. Thence called my wife and home, and I late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed, pleased at my hopes of gains by to-day's work, but very sad to think of the state of my health. 4th. Up and to St. James's by coach, after a good deal of talk before I went forth with J. Noble, who tells me that he will secure us against Cave, that though he knows, and can prove it, yet nobody else can prove it, to be Tom's child; that the bond was made by one Hudson, a scrivener, next to the Fountaine taverne, in the Old Bayly; that the children were born, and christened, and entered in the parish-book of St. Sepulchre's, by the name of Anne and Elizabeth Taylor and he will give us security against Cave if we pay him the money. And then up to the Duke, and was with him giving him an account how matters go, and of the necessity there is of a power to presse seamen, without which we cannot really raise men for this fleete of twelve sayle, besides that it will assert the King's power of pressing, which at present is somewhat doubted, and will make the Dutch believe that we are in earnest. Thence by water to the office, where we sat till almost two o'clock. This morning Captain Ferrer came to the office to tell me that my Lord hath given him a promise of Young's place in the Wardrobe, and hearing that I pretend a promise to it he comes to ask my consent, which I denied him, and told him my Lord may do what he pleases with his promise to me, but my father's condition is not so as that I should let it go if my Lord will stand to his word, and so I sent him going, myself being troubled a little at it. After office I with Mr. Coventry by water to St. James's and dined with him, and had excellent discourse from him. So to the Committee for Tangier all afternoon, where still the same confused doings, and my Lord Fitz-Harding now added to the Committee; which will signify much. It grieves me to see how brokenly things are ordered. So by coach home, and at my office late, and so to supper and to bed, my body by plenty of breaking of wind being just now pretty well again, having had a constant akeing in my back these 5 or 6 days. Mr. Coventry discoursing this noon about Sir W. Batten (what a sad fellow he is!) told me how the King told him the other day how Sir W. Batten, being in the ship with him and Prince Rupert when they expected to fight with Warwick, did walk up and down sweating with a napkin under his throat to dry up his sweat; and that Prince Rupert being a most jealous man, and particularly of Batten, do walk up and down swearing bloodily to the King, that Batten had a mind to betray them to-day, and that the napkin was a signal; "but, by God," says he, "if things go ill, the first thing I will do is to shoot him." He discoursed largely and bravely to me concerning the different sort of valours, the active and passive valour. For the latter, he brought as an instance General Blake; who, in the defending of Taunton and Lime for the Parliament, did through his stubborn sort of valour defend it the most 'opiniastrement' that ever any man did any thing; and yet never was the man that ever made any attaque by land or sea, but rather avoyded it on all, even fair occasions. On the other side, Prince Rupert, the boldest attaquer in the world for personal courage; and yet, in the defending of Bristol, no man ever did anything worse, he wanting the patience and seasoned head to consult and advise for defence, and to bear with the evils of a siege. The like he says is said of my Lord Tiviott, who was the boldest adventurer of his person in the world, and from a mean man in few years was come to this greatness of command and repute only by the death of all his officers, he many times having the luck of being the only survivor of them all, by venturing upon services for the King of France that nobody else would; and yet no man upon a defence, he being all fury and no judgment in a fight. He tells me above all of the Duke of Yorke, that he is more himself and more of judgement is at hand in him in the middle of a desperate service, than at other times, as appeared in the business of Dunkirke, wherein no man ever did braver things, or was in hotter service in the close of that day, being surrounded with enemies; and then, contrary to the advice of all about him, his counsel carried himself and the rest through them safe, by advising that he might make his passage with but a dozen with him; "For," says he, "the enemy cannot move after me so fast with a great body, and with a small one we shall be enough to deal with them;" and though he is a man naturally martiall to the highest degree, yet a man that never in his life talks one word of himself or service of his owne, but only that he saw such or such a thing, and lays it down for a maxime that a Hector can have no courage. He told me also, as a great instance of some men, that the Prince of Condo's excellence is, that there not being a more furious man in the world, danger in fight never disturbs him more than just to make him civill, and to command in words of great obligation to his officers and men; but without any the least disturbance in his judgment or spirit. 5th (Lord's day). About one in the morning I was knocked up by my mayds to come to my wife who is very ill. I rose, and from some cold she got to-day, or from something else, she is taken with great gripings, a looseness, and vomiting. I lay a while by her upon the bed, she being in great pain, poor wretch, but that being a little over I to bed again, and lay, and then up and to my office all the morning, setting matters to rights in some accounts and papers, and then to dinner, whither Mr. Shepley, late come to town, came to me, and after dinner and some pleasant discourse he went his way, being to go out of town to Huntington again to-morrow. So all the afternoon with my wife discoursing and talking, and in the evening to my office doing business, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up and found my wife very ill again, which troubles me, but I was forced to go forth. So by water with Mr. Gauden and others to see a ship hired by me for the Commissioners of Tangier, and to give order therein. So back to the office, and by coach with Mr. Gauden to White Hall, and there to my Lord Sandwich, and here I met Mr. Townsend very opportunely and Captain Ferrer, and after some discourse we did accommodate the business of the Wardrobe place, that he shall have the reversion if he will take it out by giving a covenant that if Mr. Young' dyes before my father my father shall have the benefit of it for his life. So home, and thence by water to Deptford, and there found our Trinity Brethren come from their election to church, where Dr. Britton made, methought, an indifferent sermon touching the decency that we ought to observe in God's house, the church, but yet to see how ridiculously some men will carry themselves. Sir W. Batten did at open table anon in the name of the whole Society desire him to print his sermon, as if the Doctor could think that they were fit judges of a good sermon. Then by barge with Sir W. Batten to Trinity House. It seems they have with much ado carried it for Sir G. Carteret against Captain Harrison, poor man, who by succession ought to have been it, and most hands were for him, but only they were forced to fright the younger Brethren by requiring them to set their hands (which is an ill course) and then Sir G. Carteret carryed it. Here was at dinner my Lord Sandwich, Mr. Coventry, my Lord Craven, and others. A great dinner, and good company. Mr. Prin also, who would not drink any health, no, not the King's, but sat down with his hat on all the while; [William Prynne had published in 1628 a small book against the drinking of healths, entitled, "Healthes, Sicknesse; or a compendious and briefe Discourse, prouing, the Drinking and Pledging of Healthes to be sinfull and utterly unlawfull unto Christians ... wherein all those ordinary objections, excuses or pretences, which are made to justifie, extenuate, or excuse the drinking or pledging of Healthes are likewise cleared and answered." The pamphlet was dedicated to Charles I. as "more interessed in the theame and subject of this compendious discourse then any other that I know," and "because your Majestie of all other persons within your owne dominions, are most dishonoured, prejudiced, and abused by these Healthes."] but nobody took notice of it to him at all; but in discourse with the Doctor he did declare himself that he ever was, and has expressed himself in all his books for mixt communion against the Presbyterian examination. Thence after dinner by water, my Lord Sandwich and all us Tangier men, where at the Committee busy till night with great confusion, and then by coach home, with this content, however, that I find myself every day become more and more known, and shall one day hope to have benefit by it. I found my wife a little better. A little to my office, then home to supper and to bed. 7th. Up and to the office (having by my going by water without any thing upon my legs yesterday got some pain upon me again), where all the morning. At noon a little to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, my wife being ill still in bed. Thence to the office, where busy all the afternoon till 9 at night, and so home to my wife, to supper, and to bed. 8th. All day before dinner with Creed, talking of many things, among others, of my Lord's going so often to Chelsy, and he, without my speaking much, do tell me that his daughters do perceive all, and do hate the place, and the young woman there, Mrs. Betty Becke; for my Lord, who sent them thither only for a disguise for his going thither, will come under pretence to see them, and pack them out of doors to the Parke, and stay behind with her; but now the young ladies are gone to their mother to Kensington. To dinner, and after dinner till 10 at night in my study writing of my old broken office notes in shorthand all in one book, till my eyes did ake ready to drop out. So home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and at my office all the morning. At noon dined at home, Mr. Hunt and his kinswoman (wife in the country), after dinner I to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. Then at night by coach to attend the Duke of Albemarle about the Tangier ship. Coming back my wife spied me going home by coach from Mr. Hunt's, with whom she hath gained much in discourse to-day concerning W. Howe's discourse of me to him. That he was the man that got me to be secretary to my Lord; and all that I have thereby, and that for all this I never did give him 6d. in my life. Which makes me wonder that this rogue dare talk after this manner, and I think all the world is grown false. But I hope I shall make good use of it. So home to supper and to bed, my eyes aching mightily since last night. 10th. Up and by water to White Hall, and there to a Committee of Tangier, and had occasion to see how my Lord Ashworth--[Lord Ashworth is probably a miswriting for Lord Ashley (afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury).]--deports himself, which is very fine indeed, and it joys my heart to see that there is any body looks so near into the King's business as I perceive he do in this business of my Lord Peterborough's accounts. Thence into the Parke, and met and walked with Captain Sylas Taylor, my old acquaintance while I was of the Exchequer, and Dr. Whore, talking of musique, and particularly of Mr. Berckenshaw's way, which Taylor magnifies mightily, and perhaps but what it deserves, but not so easily to be understood as he and others make of it. Thence home by water, and after dinner abroad to buy several things, as a map, and powder, and other small things, and so home to my office, and in the evening with Captain Taylor by water to our Tangier ship, and so home, well pleased, having received L26 profit to-day of my bargain for this ship, which comforts me mightily, though I confess my heart, what with my being out of order as to my health, and the fear I have of the money my Lord oweth me and I stand indebted to him in, is much cast down of late. In the evening home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, where some discourse arose from Sir G. Carteret and Mr. Coventry, which gives me occasion to think that something like a war is expected now indeed, though upon the 'Change afterwards I hear too that an Embassador is landed from Holland, and one from their East India Company, to treat with ours about the wrongs we pretend to. Mr. Creed dined with me, and thence after dinner by coach with my wife only to take the ayre, it being very warm and pleasant, to Bowe and Old Ford; and thence to Hackney. There 'light, and played at shuffle-board, eat cream and good churies; and so with good refreshment home. Then to my office vexed with Captain Taylor about the delay of carrying down the ship hired by me for Tangier, and late about that and other things at the office. So home to supper and to bed. 12th (Lord's day). All the morning in my chamber consulting my lesson of ship building, and at noon Mr. Creed by appointment came and dined with us, and sat talking all the afternoon till, about church time, my wife and I began our great dispute about going to Griffin's child's christening, where I was to have been godfather, but Sir J. Minnes refusing, he wanted an equal for me and my Lady Batten, and so sought for other. Then the question was whether my wife should go, and she having dressed herself on purpose, was very angry, and began to talk openly of my keeping her within doors before Creed, which vexed me to the guts, but I had the discretion to keep myself without passion, and so resolved at last not to go, but to go down by water, which we did by H. Russell--[a waterman]--to the Half-way house, and there eat and drank, and upon a very small occasion had a difference again broke out, where without any the least cause she had the cunning to cry a great while, and talk and blubber, which made me mighty angry in mind, but said nothing to provoke her because Creed was there, but walked home, being troubled in my mind also about the knavery and neglect of Captain Fudge and Taylor, who were to have had their ship for Tangier ready by Thursday last, and now the men by a mistake are come on board, and not any master or man or boy of the ship's company on board with them when we came by her side this afternoon, and also received a letter from Mr. Coventry this day in complaint of it. We came home, and after supper Creed went home, and I to bed. My wife made great means to be friends, coming to my bedside and doing all things to please me, and at last I could not hold out, but seemed pleased, and so parted, and I with much ado to sleep, but was easily wakened by extraordinary great rain, and my mind troubled the more to think what the soldiers would do on board tonight in all this weather. 13th. So up at 5 o'clock, and with Captain Taylor on board her at Deptford, and found all out of order, only the soldiers civil, and Sir Arthur Bassett a civil person. I rated at Captain Taylor, whom, contrary to my expectation, I found a lying and a very stupid blundering fellow, good for nothing, and yet we talk of him in the Navy as if he had been an excellent officer, but I find him a lying knave, and of no judgment or dispatch at all. After finding the condition of the ship, no master, not above four men, and many ship's provisions, sayls, and other things wanting, I went back and called upon Fudge, whom I found like a lying rogue unready to go on board, but I did so jeer him that I made him get every thing ready, and left Taylor and H. Russell to quicken him, and so away and I by water on to White Hall, where I met his Royal Highnesse at a Tangier Committee about this very thing, and did there satisfy him how things are, at which all was pacified without any trouble, and I hope may end well, but I confess I am at a real trouble for fear the rogue should not do his work, and I come to shame and losse of the money I did hope justly to have got by it. Thence walked with Mr. Coventry to St. James's, and there spent by his desire the whole morning reading of some old Navy books given him of old Sir John Cooke's by the Archbishop of Canterbury that now is; wherein the order that was observed in the Navy then, above what it is now, is very observable, and fine things we did observe in our reading. Anon to dinner, after dinner to discourse of the business of the Dutch warr, wherein he tells me the Dutch do in every particular, which are but few and small things that we can demand of them, whatever cry we unjustly make, do seem to offer at an accommodation, for they do owne that it is not for their profit to have warr with England. We did also talk of a History of the Navy of England, how fit it were to be writ; and he did say that it hath been in his mind to propose to me the writing of the History of the late Dutch warr, which I am glad to hear, it being a thing I much desire, and sorts mightily with my genius; and, if well done, may recommend me much. So he says he will get me an order for making of searches to all records, &c., in order thereto, and I shall take great delight in doing of it. Thence by water down to the Tower, and thither sent for Mr. Creed to my house, where he promised to be, and he and I down to the ship, and find all things in pretty good order, and I hope will end to my mind. Thence having a gaily down to Greenwich, and there saw the King's works, which are great, a-doing there, and so to the Cherry Garden, and so carried some cherries home, and after supper to bed, my wife lying with me, which from my not being thoroughly well, nor she, we have not done above once these two or three weeks. 14th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and had great conflict about the flags again, and am vexed methought to see my Lord Berkely not satisfied with what I said, but however I stop the King's being abused by the flag makers for the present. I do not know how it may end, but I will do my best to preserve it. So home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Kensington. In the way overtaking Mr. Laxton, the apothecary, with his wife and daughters, very fine young lasses, in a coach; and so both of us to my Lady Sandwich, who hath lain this fortnight here at Deane Hodges's. Much company came hither to-day, my Lady Carteret, &c., Sir William Wheeler and his lady, and, above all, Mr. Becke, of Chelsy, and wife and daughter, my Lord's mistress, and one that hath not one good feature in her face, and yet is a fine lady, of a fine taille, and very well carriaged, and mighty discreet. I took all the occasion I could to discourse with the young ladies in her company to give occasion to her to talk, which now and then she did, and that mighty finely, and is, I perceive, a woman of such an ayre, as I wonder the less at my Lord's favour to her, and I dare warrant him she hath brains enough to entangle him. Two or three houres we were in her company, going into Sir H. Finche's garden, and seeing the fountayne, and singing there with the ladies, and a mighty fine cool place it is, with a great laver of water in the middle and the bravest place for musique I ever heard. After much mirthe, discoursing to the ladies in defence of the city against the country or court, and giving them occasion to invite themselves to-morrow to me to dinner, to my venison pasty, I got their mother's leave, and so good night, very well pleased with my day's work, and, above all, that I have seen my Lord's mistresse. So home to supper, and a little at my office, and to bed. 15th. Up and by appointment with Captain Witham (the Captain that brought the newes of the disaster at Tangier, where my Lord Tiviott was slain) and Mr. Tooker to Beares Quay, and there saw and more afterward at the several grannarys several parcels of oates, and strange it is to hear how it will heat itself if laid up green and not often turned. We came not to any agreement, but did cheapen several parcels, and thence away, promising to send again to them. So to the Victualling office, and then home. And in our garden I got Captain Witham to tell me the whole story of my Lord Tiviott's misfortune; for he was upon the guard with his horse neare the towne, when at a distance he saw the enemy appear upon a hill, a mile and a half off, and made up to them, and with much ado escaped himself; but what became of my Lord he neither knows nor thinks that any body but the enemy can tell. Our losse was about four hundred. But he tells me that the greater wonder is that my Lord Tiviott met no sooner with such a disaster; for every day he did commit himself to more probable danger than this, for now he had the assurance of all his scouts that there was no enemy thereabouts; whereas he used every day to go out with two or three with him, to make his discoveries, in greater danger, and yet the man that could not endure to have anybody else to go a step out of order to endanger himself. He concludes him to be the man of the hardest fate to lose so much honour at one blow that ever was. His relation being done he parted; and so I home to look after things for dinner. And anon at noon comes Mr. Creed by chance, and by and by the three young ladies:--[Lord Sandwich's daughters.]--and very merry we were with our pasty, very well baked; and a good dish of roasted chickens; pease, lobsters, strawberries. And after dinner to cards: and about five o'clock, by water down to Greenwich; and up to the top of the hill, and there played upon the ground at cards. And so to the Cherry Garden, and then by water singing finely to the Bridge, and there landed; and so took boat again, and to Somersett House. And by this time, the tide being against us, it was past ten of the clock; and such a troublesome passage, in regard of my Lady Paulina's fearfullness, that in all my life I never did see any poor wretch in that condition. Being come hither, there waited for them their coach; but it being so late, I doubted what to do how to get them home. After half an hour's stay in the street, I sent my wife home by coach with Mr. Creed's boy; and myself and Creed in the coach home with them. But, Lord! the fear that my Lady Paulina was in every step of the way; and indeed at this time of the night it was no safe thing to go that road; so that I was even afeard myself, though I appeared otherwise.--We came safe, however, to their house, where all were abed; we knocked them up, my Lady and all the family being in bed. So put them into doors; and leaving them with the mayds, bade them good night, and then into the towne, Creed and I, it being about twelve o'clock and past; and to several houses, inns, but could get no lodging, all being in bed. At the last house, at last, we found some people drinking and roaring; and there got in, and after drinking, got an ill bed, where 16th. I lay in my drawers and stockings and wastecoate till five of the clock, and so up; and being well pleased with our frolique, walked to Knightsbridge, and there eat a messe of creame, and so to St. James's, and there walked a little, and so I to White Hall, and took coach, and found my wife well got home last night, and now in bed. So I to the office, where all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, so home and to my office, where Mr. Ackworth came to me (though he knows himself and I know him to be a very knave), yet he came to me to discover the knavery of other people like the most honest man in the world. However, good use I shall make of his discourse, for in this he is much in the right. He being gone I to the 'Change, Mr. Creed with me, after we had been by water to see a vessell we have hired to carry more soldiers to Tangier, and also visited a rope ground, wherein I learnt several useful things. The talk upon the 'Change is, that De Ruyter is dead, with fifty men of his own ship, of the plague, at Cales: that the Holland Embassador here do endeavour to sweeten us with fair words; and things likely to be peaceable. Home after I had spoke with my cozen Richard Pepys upon the 'Change, about supplying us with bewpers from Norwich, which I should be glad of, if cheap. So home to supper and bed. 17th. Up, and to my office, where I dispatched much business, and then down by water to Woolwich to make a discovery of a cheate providing for us in the working of some of our own ground Tows into new cordage, to be sold to us for Riga cordage. Thence to Mr. Falconer's, where I met Sir W. Batten and Lady, and Captain Tinker, and there dined with them, and so to the Dockyarde and to Deptford by water, and there very long informing myself in the business of flags and bewpers and other things, and so home late, being weary, and full of good information to-day, but I perceive the corruptions of the Navy are of so many kinds that it is endless to look after them, especially while such a one as Sir W. Batten discourages every man that is honest. So home to my office, there very late, and then to supper and to bed mightily troubled in my mind to hear how Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes do labour all they can to abuse or enable others to abuse the King. 18th. From morning till 11 at night (only a little at dinner at home) at my office very busy, setting many businesses in order to my great trouble, but great content in the end. So home to supper and to bed. Strange to see how pert Sir W. Pen is to-day newly come from Portsmouth with his head full of great reports of his service and the state of the ships there. When that is over he will be just as another man again or worse. But I wonder whence Mr. Coventry should take all this care for him, to send for him up only to look after his Irish business with my Lord Ormond and to get the Duke's leave for him to come with so much officiousness, when I am sure he knows him as well as I do as to his little service he do. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning and afternoon (only at dinner at home) at my office doing many businesses for want of time on the week days. In the afternoon the greatest shower of rain of a sudden and the greatest and most continued thunder that ever I heard I think in my life. In the evening home to my wife, and there talked seriously of several of our family concernments, and among others of bringing Pall out of the country to us here to try to put her off, which I am very desirous, and my wife also of. So to supper, prayers, which I have of late too much omitted. So to bed. 20th. It having been a very cold night last night I had got some cold, and so in pain by wind, and a sure precursor of pain is sudden letting off farts, and when that stops, then my passages stop and my pain begins. Up and did several businesses, and so with my wife by water to White Hall, she to her father's, I to the Duke, where we did our usual business. And among other discourse of the Dutch, he was merrily saying how they print that Prince Rupert, Duke of Albemarle, and my Lord Sandwich, are to be Generalls; and soon after is to follow them "Vieux Pen;" and so the Duke called him in mirth Old Pen. They have, it seems, lately wrote to the King, to assure him that their setting-out ships were only to defend their fishing-trade, and to stay near home, not to annoy the King's subjects; and to desire that he would do the like with his ships: which the King laughs at, but yet is troubled they should think him such a child, to suffer them to bring home their fish and East India Company's ships, and then they will not care a fart for us. Thence to Westminster Hall, it being term time, meeting Mr. Dickering, he tells me how my Lady last week went to see Mrs. Becke, the mother; and by and by the daughter came in, but that my Lady do say herself, as he says, that she knew not for what reason, for she never knew they had a daughter, which I do not believe. She was troubled, and her heart did rise as soon as she appeared, and seems the most ugly woman that ever she saw. This if true were strange, but I believe it is not. Thence to my Lord's lodgings; and were merry with the young ladies, who make a great story of their appearing before their mother the morning after we carried them, the last week, home so late; and that their mother took it very well, at least without any anger. Here I heard how the rich widow, my Lady Gold, is married to one Neale, after he had received a box on the eare by her brother (who was there a sentinel, in behalf of some courtier) at the door; but made him draw, and wounded him. She called Neale up to her, and sent for a priest, married presently, and went to bed. The brother sent to the Court, and had a serjeant sent for Neale; but Neale sent for him up to be seen in bed, and she owned him for her husband: and so all is past. It seems Sir H. Bennet did look after her. My Lady very pleasant. After dinner came in Sir Thomas Crew and Mr. Sidney, lately come from France, who is growne a little, and a pretty youth he is; but not so improved as they did give him out to be, but like a child still. But yet I can perceive he hath good parts and good inclinations. Thence with Creed, who dined here, to Westminster to find out Mr. Hawly, and did, but he did not accept of my offer of his being steward to my Lord at sea. Thence alone to several places about my law businesses, and with good success; at last I to Mr. Townsend at the Wardrobe, and received kind words from him to be true to me against Captain Ferrers his endeavours to get the place from my father as my Lord hath promised him. Here met Will. Howe, and he went forth with me; and by water back to White Hall to wait on my Lord, who is come back from Hinchinbroke; where he has been about 4 or 5 days. But I was never more vexed to see how an over-officious visitt is received, for he received me with as little concernment as in the middle of his discontent, and a fool I am to be of so servile a humour, and vexed with that consideration I took coach home, and could not get it off my mind all night. To supper and to bed, my wife finding fault with Besse for her calling upon Jane that lived with us, and there heard Mrs. Harper and her talk ill of us and not told us of it. With which I was also vexed, and told her soundly of it till she cried, poor wench, and I hope without dissimulation, and yet I cannot tell; however, I was glad to see in what manner she received it, and so to sleep. 21st. Being weary yesterday with walking I sleep long, and at last up and to the office, where all the morning. At home to dinner, Mr. Deane with me. After dinner I to White Hall (setting down my wife by the way) to a Committee of Tangier, where the Duke of Yorke, I perceive, do attend the business very well, much better than any man there or most of them, and my [mind] eased of some trouble I lay under for fear of his thinking ill of me from the bad successe in the setting forth of these crew men to Tangier. Thence with Mr. Creed, and walked in the Parke, and so to the New Exchange, meeting Mr. Moore, and he with us. I shewed him no friendly look, but he took no notice to me of the Wardrobe business, which vexes me. I perceive by him my Lord's business of his family and estate goes very ill, and runs in debt mightily. I would to God I were clear of it, both as to my owne money and the bond of L1000, which I stand debtor for him in, to my cozen Thomas Pepys. Thence by coach home and to my office a little, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and I found Mr. Creed below, who staid with me a while, and then I to business all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and Coffee-house, where great talke of the Dutch preparing of sixty sayle of ships. The plague grows mightily among them, both at sea and land. From the 'Change to dinner to Trinity House with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, where a very good dinner. Here Sir G. Ascue dined also, who I perceive desires to make himself known among the seamen. Thence home, there coming to me my Lord Peterborough's Sollicitor with a letter from him to desire present dispatch in his business of freight, and promises me L50, which is good newes, and I hope to do his business readily for him. This much rejoiced me. All the afternoon at his business, and late at night comes the Sollicitor again, and I with him at 9 o'clock to Mr. Povy's, and there acquainted him with the business. The money he won't pay without warrant, but that will be got done in a few days. So home by coach and to bed. 23rd. Up, and to the office, and there we sat all the morning. So to the 'Change, and then home to dinner and to my office, where till 10 at night very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. My cozen, Thomas Pepys, was with me yesterday and I took occasion to speak to him about the bond I stand bound for my Lord Sandwich to him in L1000. I did very plainly, obliging him to secrecy, tell him how the matter stands, yet with all duty to my Lord my resolution to be bound for whatever he desires me for him, yet that I would be glad he had any other security. I perceive by Mr. Moore today that he hath been with my Lord, and my Lord how he takes it I know not, but he is looking after other security and I am mighty glad of it. W. Howe was with me this afternoon, to desire some things to be got ready for my Lord against his going down to his ship, which will be soon; for it seems the King and both the Queenes intend to visit him. The Lord knows how my Lord will get out of this charge; for Mr. Moore tells me to-day that he is L10,000 in debt and this will, with many other things that daily will grow upon him (while he minds his pleasure as he do), set him further backward. But it was pretty this afternoon to hear W. Howe mince the matter, and say that he do believe that my Lord is in debt L2000 or L3000, and then corrected himself and said, No, not so, but I am afraid he is in debt L1000. I pray God gets me well rid of his Lordship as to his debt, and I care not. 24th. Up and out with Captain Witham in several places again to look for oats for Tangier, and among other places to the City granarys, where it seems every company have their granary and obliged to keep such a quantity of corne always there or at a time of scarcity to issue so much at so much a bushell: and a fine thing it is to see their stores of all sorts, for piles for the bridge, and for pipes, a thing I never saw before. [From the commencement of the reign of Henry VIII., or perhaps earlier, it was the custom of the City of London to provide against scarcity, by requiring each of the chartered Companies to keep in store a certain quantity of corn, which was to be renewed from time to time, and when required for that purpose, produced in the market for sale, at such times and prices, and in such quantities, as the Lord Mayor or Common Council should direct. See the report of a case in the Court of Chancery, "Attorney-General v. Haberdashers' Company" (Mylne and Keens "Reports," vol. i., p. 420).--B.] Thence to the office, and there busy all the morning. At noon to my uncle Wight's, and there dined, my wife being there all the morning. After dinner to White Hall; and there met with Mr. Pierce, and he showed me the Queene's bed-chamber, and her closett, where she had nothing but some pretty pious pictures, and books of devotion; and her holy water at her head as she sleeps, with her clock by her bed-side, wherein a lamp burns that tells her the time of the night at any time. Thence with him to the Parke, and there met the Queene coming from Chappell, with her Mayds of Honour, all in silver-lace gowns again: which is new to me, and that which I did not think would have been brought up again. Thence he carried me to the King's closett: where such variety of pictures, and other things of value and rarity, that I was properly confounded and enjoyed no pleasure in the sight of them; which is the only time in my life that ever I was so at a loss for pleasure, in the greatest plenty of objects to give it me. Thence home, calling in many places and doing abundance of errands to my great content, and at night weary home, where Mr. Creed waited for me, and he and I walked in the garden, where he told me he is now in a hurry fitting himself for sea, and that it remains that he deals as an ingenuous man with me in the business I wot of, which he will do before he goes. But I perceive he will have me do many good turns for him first, both as to his bills coming to him in this office, and also in his absence at the Committee of Tangier, which I promise, and as he acquits himself to me I will willingly do. I would I knew the worst of it, what it is he intends, that so I may either quit my hands of him or continue my kindness still to him. 25th. We staid late, and he lay with me all night and rose very merry talking, and excellent company he is, that is the truth of it, and a most cunning man. He being gone I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and then to my office busy, and by and by home with Mr. Deane to a lesson upon raising a Bend of Timbers, [This seems to refer to knee timber, of which there was not a sufficient supply. A proposal was made to produce this bent wood artificially: "June 22, 1664. Sir William Petty intimated that it seemed by the scarcity and greater rate of knee timber that nature did not furnish crooked wood enough for building: wherefore he thought it would be fit to raise by art, so much of it in proportion, as to reduce it to an equal rate with strait timber" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society,")] and he being gone I to the office, and there came Captain Taylor, and he and I home, and I have done all very well with him as to the business of the last trouble, so that come what will come my name will be clear of any false dealing with him. So to my office again late, and then to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and Sir J. Minnes set me down at my Lord Sandwich's, where I waited till his coming down, when he came, too, could find little to say to me but only a general question or two, and so good-bye. Here his little daughter, my Lady Katharine was brought, who is lately come from my father's at Brampton, to have her cheek looked after, which is and hath long been sore. But my Lord will rather have it be as it is, with a scarr in her face, than endanger it being worse by tampering. He being gone, I went home, a little troubled to see he minds me no more, and with Creed called at several churches, which, God knows, are supplied with very young men, and the churches very empty; so home and at our owne church looked in, and there heard one preach whom Sir W. Pen brought, which he desired us yesterday to hear, that had been his chaplin in Ireland, a very silly fellow. So home and to dinner, and after dinner a frolique took us, we would go this afternoon to the Hope; so my wife dressed herself, and, with good victuals and drink, we took boat presently and the tide with us got down, but it was night, and the tide spent by the time we got to Gravesend; so there we stopped, but went not on shore, only Creed, to get some cherries, [Pliny tells us that cherries were introduced into Britain by the Romans, and Lydgate alludes to them as sold in the London streets. Richard Haines, fruiterer to Henry VI IL, imported a number of cherry trees from Flanders, and planted them at Tenham, in Kent. Hence the fame of the Kentish cherries.] and send a letter to the Hope, where the Fleete lies. And so, it being rainy, and thundering mightily, and lightning, we returned. By and by the evening turned mighty clear and moonshine; we got with great pleasure home, about twelve o'clock, which did much please us, Creed telling pretty stories in the boat. He lay with me all night. 27th. Up, and he and I walked to Paul's Church yard, and there saw Sir Harry Spillman's book, and I bespoke it and others, and thence we took coach, and he to my Lord's and I to St. James's, where we did our usual business, and thence I home and dined, and then by water to Woolwich, and there spent the afternoon till night under pretence of buying Captain Blackman's house and grounds, and viewing the ground took notice of Clothiers' cordage with which he, I believe, thinks to cheat the King. That being done I by water home, it being night first, and there I find our new mayd Jane come, a cook mayd. So to bed. 28th. Up, and this day put on a half shirt first this summer, it being very hot; and yet so ill-tempered I am grown, that I am afeard I shall catch cold, while all the world is ready to melt away. To the office all the morning, at noon to dinner at home, then to my office till the evening, then out about several businesses and then by appointment to the 'Change, and thence with my uncle Wight to the Mum house, and there drinking, he do complain of his wife most cruel as the most troublesome woman in the world, and how she will have her will, saying she brought him a portion and God knows what. By which, with many instances more, I perceive they do live a sad life together. Thence to the Mitre and there comes Dr. Burnett to us and Mr. Maes, but the meeting was chiefly to bring the Doctor and me together, and there I began to have his advice about my disease, and then invited him to my house: and I am resolved to put myself into his hands. Here very late, but I drank nothing, nor will, though he do advise me to take care of cold drinks. So home and to bed. 29th. Up, and Mr. Shepley came to me, who is lately come to town; among other things I hear by him how the children are sent for away from my father's, but he says without any great discontent. I am troubled there should be this occasion of difference, and yet I am glad they are gone, lest it should have come to worse. He tells me how my brave dogg I did give him, going out betimes one morning to Huntington, was set upon by five other doggs, and worried to pieces, of which I am a little, and he the most sorry I ever saw man for such a thing. Forth with him and walked a good way talking, then parted and I to the Temple, and to my cozen Roger Pepys, and thence by water to Westminster to see Dean Honiwood, whom I had not visited a great while. He is a good-natured, but a very weak man, yet a Dean, and a man in great esteem. Thence walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and there dined, my Lord there. He was pleasant enough at table with me, but yet without any discourse of business, or any regard to me when dinner was over, but fell to cards, and my Lady and I sat two hours alone, talking of the condition of her family's being greatly in debt, and many children now coming up to provide for. I did give her my sense very plain of it, which she took well and carried further than myself, to the bemoaning their condition, and remembering how finely things were ordered about six years ago, when I lived there and my Lord at sea every year. Thence home, doing several errands by the way. So to my office, and there till late at night, Mr. Comander coming to me for me to sign and seal the new draft of my will, which I did do, I having altered something upon the death of my brother Tom. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, Mr. Wayth with me, and by and by comes in Mr. Falconer and his wife and dined with us, the first time she was ever here. We had a pretty good dinner, very merry in discourse, sat after dinner an hour or two, then down by water to Deptford and Woolwich about getting of some business done which I was bound to by my oath this month, and though in some things I have not come to the height of my vow of doing all my business in paying all my petty debts and receipt of all my petty monies due to me, yet I bless God I am not conscious of any neglect in me that they are not done, having not minded my pleasure at all, and so being resolved to take no manner of pleasure till it be done, I doubt not God will forgive me for not forfeiting the L10 promised. Walked back from Woolwich to Greenwich all alone, save a man that had a cudgell in his hand, and, though he told me he laboured in the King's yarde, and many other good arguments that he is an honest man, yet, God forgive me! I did doubt he might knock me on the head behind with his club. But I got safe home. Then to the making up my month's accounts, and find myself still a gainer and rose to L951, for which God be blessed. I end the month with my mind full of business and some sorrow that I have not exactly performed all my vowes, though my not doing is not my fault, and shall be made good out of my first leisure. Great doubts yet whether the Dutch wary go on or no. The Fleet ready in the Hope, of twelve sayle. The King and Queenes go on board, they say, on Saturday next. Young children of my Lord Sandwich gone with their mayds from my mother's, which troubles me, it being, I hear from Mr. Shepley, with great discontent, saying, that though they buy good meate, yet can never have it before it stinks, which I am ashamed of. JULY 1664 July 1st. Up and within all the morning, first bringing down my Tryangle to my chamber below, having a new frame made proper for it to stand on. By and by comes Dr. Burnett, who assures me that I have an ulcer either in the kidneys or bladder, for my water, which he saw yesterday, he is sure the sediment is not slime gathered by heat, but is a direct pusse. He did write me down some direction what to do for it, but not with the satisfaction I expected. Dr. Burnett's advice to mee. The Originall is fyled among my letters. Take of ye Rootes of Marsh-Mallows foure ounces, of Cumfry, of Liquorish, of each two ounces, of ye Mowers of St. John's Wort two Handsfull, of ye Leaves of Plantan, of Alehoofe, of each three handfulls, of Selfeheale, of Red Roses, of each one Handfull, of Cynament, of Nutmegg, of each halfe an ounce. Beate them well, then powre upon them one Quart of old Rhenish wine, and about Six houres after strayne it and clarify it with ye white of an Egge, and with a sufficient quantity of sugar, boyle it to ye consistence of a Syrrup and reserve it for use. Dissolve one spoonefull of this Syrrup in every draught of Ale or beere you drink. Morning and evening swallow ye quantity of an hazle-nutt of Cyprus Terebintine. If you are bound or have a fit of ye Stone eate an ounce of Cassia new drawne, from ye poynt of a knife. Old Canary or Malaga wine you may drinke to three or 4 glasses, but noe new wine, and what wine you drinke, lett it bee at meales.-[From a slip of paper inserted in the Diary at this place.] I did give him a piece, with good hopes, however, that his advice will be of use to me, though it is strange that Mr. Hollyard should never say one word of this ulcer in all his life to me. He being gone, I to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so to my office, busy till the evening, and then by agreement came Mr. Hill and Andrews and one Cheswicke, a maister who plays very well upon the Spinette, and we sat singing Psalms till 9 at night, and so broke up with great pleasure, and very good company it is, and I hope I shall now and then have their company. They being gone, I to my office till towards twelve o'clock, and then home and to bed. Upon the 'Change, this day, I saw how uncertain the temper of the people is, that, from our discharging of about 200 that lay idle, having nothing to do, upon some of our ships, which were ordered to be fitted for service, and their works are now done, the towne do talk that the King discharges all his men, 200 yesterday and 800 to-day, and that now he hath got L100,000 in his hand, he values not a Dutch warr. But I undeceived a great many, telling them how it is. 2nd. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and there, which is strange, I could meet with nobody that I could invite home to my venison pasty, but only Mr. Alsopp and Mr. Lanyon, whom I invited last night, and a friend they brought along with them. So home and with our venison pasty we had other good meat and good discourse. After dinner sat close to discourse about our business of the victualling of the garrison of Tangier, taking their prices of all provisions, and I do hope to order it so that they and I also may get something by it, which do much please me, for I hope I may get nobly and honestly with profit to the King. They being gone came Sir W. Warren, and he and I discoursed long about the business of masts, and then in the evening to my office, where late writing letters, and then home to look over some Brampton papers, which I am under an oathe to dispatch before I spend one half houre in any pleasure or go to bed before 12 o'clock, to which, by the grace of God, I will be true. Then to bed. When I came home I found that to-morrow being Sunday I should gain nothing by doing it to-night, and to-morrow I can do it very well and better than to-night. I went to bed before my time, but with a resolution of doing the thing to better purpose to-morrow. 3rd (Lord's day). Up and ready, and all the morning in my chamber looking over and settling some Brampton businesses. At noon to dinner, where the remains of yesterday's venison and a couple of brave green geese, which we are fain to eat alone, because they will not keepe, which troubled us. After dinner I close to my business, and before the evening did end it with great content, and my mind eased by it. Then up and spent the evening walking with my wife talking, and it thundering and lightning all the evening, and this yeare have had the most of thunder and lightning they say of any in man's memory, and so it is, it seems, in France and everywhere else. So to prayers and to bed. 4th. Up, and many people with me about business, and then out to several places, and so at noon to my Lord Crew's, and there dined and very much made of there by him. He offered me the selling of some land of his in Cambridgeshire, a purchase of about L1000, and if I can compass it I will. After dinner I walked homeward, still doing business by the way, and at home find my wife this day of her owne accord to have lain out 25s. upon a pair of pendantes for her eares, which did vex me and brought both me and her to very high and very foule words from her to me, such as trouble me to think she should have in her mouth, and reflecting upon our old differences, which I hate to have remembered. I vowed to breake them, or that she should go and get what she could for them again. I went with that resolution out of doors; the poor wretch afterwards in a little while did send out to change them for her money again. I followed Besse her messenger at the 'Change, and there did consult and sent her back; I would not have them changed, being satisfied that she yielded. So went home, and friends again as to that business; but the words I could not get out of my mind, and so went to bed at night discontented, and she came to bed to me, but all would not make me friends, but sleep and rise in the morning angry. This day the King and the Queene went to visit my Lord Sandwich and the fleete, going forth in the Hope. ["Their Majesties were treated at Tilbury Hope by the Earl of Sandwich, returning the same day, abundantly satisfied both with the dutiful respects of that honourable person and with the excellent condition of all matters committed to his charge" ("The Newes," July 7th, 1664).--B.] 5th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change a little, then with W. Howe home and dined. So after dinner to my office, and there busy till late at night, having had among other things much discourse with young Gregory about the Chest business, wherein Sir W. Batten is so great a knave, and also with Alsop and Lanyon about the Tangier victualling, wherein I hope to get something for myself. Late home to supper and to bed, being full of thoughts of a sudden resolution this day taken upon the 'Change of going down to-morrow to the Hope. 6th. Up very betimes, and my wife also, and got us ready; and about eight o'clock, having got some bottles of wine and beer and neat's tongues, we went to our barge at the Towre, where Mr. Pierce and his wife, and a kinswoman and his sister, and Mrs. Clerke and her sister and cozen were to expect us; and so set out for the Hope, all the way down playing at cards and other sports, spending our time pretty merry. Come to the Hope about one and there showed them all the ships, and had a collacion of anchovies, gammon, &c., and after an houre's stay or more, embarked again for home; and so to cards and other sports till we came to Greenwich, and there Mrs. Clerke and my wife and I on shore to an alehouse, for them to do their business, and so to the barge again, having shown them the King's pleasure boat; and so home to the Bridge, bringing night home with us; and it rained hard, but we got them on foot to the Beare, and there put them into a boat, and I back to my wife in the barge, and so to the Tower Wharf and home, being very well pleased today with the company, especially Mrs. Pierce, who continues her complexion as well as ever, and hath, at this day, I think, the best complexion that ever I saw on any woman, young or old, or child either, all days of my life. Also Mrs. Clerke's kinswoman sings very prettily, but is very confident in it; Mrs. Clerke herself witty, but spoils all in being so conceited and making so great a flutter with a few fine clothes and some bad tawdry things worne with them. But the charge of the barge lies heavy upon me, which troubles me, but it is but once, and I may make Pierce do me some courtesy as great. Being come home, I weary to bed with sitting. The reason of Dr. Clerke's not being here was the King's being sicke last night and let blood, and so he durst not come away to-day. 7th. Up, and this day begun, the first day this year, to put off my linnen waistcoat, but it happening to be a cool day I was afraid of taking cold, which troubles me, and is the greatest pain I have in the world to think of my bad temper of my health. At the office all the morning. Dined at home, to my office to prepare some things against a Committee of Tangier this afternoon. So to White Hall, and there found the Duke and twenty more reading their commission (of which I am, and was also sent to, to come) for the Royall Fishery, which is very large, and a very serious charter it is; but the company generally so ill fitted for so serious a worke that I do much fear it will come to little. That being done, and not being able to do any thing for lacke of an oathe for the Governor and Assistants to take, we rose. Then our Committee for the Tangier victualling met and did a little, and so up, and I and Mr. Coventry walked in the garden half an hour, talking of the business of our masts, and thence away and with Creed walked half an hour or more in the Park, and thence to the New Exchange to drink some creame, but missed it and so parted, and I home, calling by the way for my new bookes, viz., Sir H. Spillman's "Whole Glossary," "Scapula's Lexicon," and Shakespeare's plays, which I have got money out of my stationer's bills to pay for. So home and to my office a while, and then home and to bed, finding myself pretty well for all my waistecoate being put off to-day. The king is pretty well to-day, though let blood the night before yesterday. 8th. Up and called out by my Lord Peterborough's gentleman to Mr. Povy's to discourse about getting of his money, wherein I am concerned in hopes of the L50 my Lord hath promised me, but I dare not reckon myself sure of it till I have it in my main,--[hand.]--for these Lords are hard to be trusted. Though I well deserve it. I staid at Povy's for his coming in, and there looked over his stables and every thing, but notwithstanding all the times I have been there I do yet find many fine things to look on. Thence to White Hall a little, to hear how the King do, he not having been well these three days. I find that he is pretty well again. So to Paul's Churchyarde about my books, and to the binder's and directed the doing of my Chaucer, [This was Speght's edition of 1602, which is still in the Pepysian Library. The book is bound in calf, with brass clasps and bosses. It is not lettered.] though they were not full neate enough for me, but pretty well it is; and thence to the clasp-maker's to have it clasped and bossed. So to the 'Change and home to dinner, and so to my office till 5 o'clock, and then came Mr. Hill and Andrews, and we sung an houre or two. Then broke up and Mr. Alsop and his company came and consulted about our Tangier victualling and brought it to a good head. So they parted, and I to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and at the office all the morning. In the afternoon by coach with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there to a Committee for Fishing; but the first thing was swearing to be true to the Company, and we were all sworne; but a great dispute we had, which, methought, is very ominous to the Company; some, that we should swear to be true to the best of our power, and others to the best of our understanding; and carried in the last, though in that we are the least able to serve the Company, because we would not be obliged to attend the business when we can, but when we list. This consideration did displease me, but it was voted and so went. We did nothing else, but broke up till a Committee of Guinny was set and ended, and then met again for Tangier, and there I did my business about my Lord Peterborough's order and my own for my expenses for the garrison lately. So home, by the way calling for my Chaucer and other books, and that is well done to my mind, which pleased me well. So to my office till late writing letters, and so home to my wife to supper and bed, where we have not lain together because of the heat of the weather a good while, but now against her going into the country. 10th (Lord's day). Up and by water, towards noon, to Somersett House, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and there dined with my Lady and the children. And after some ordinary discourse with my Lady, after dinner took our leaves and my wife hers, in order to her going to the country to-morrow. But my Lord took not occasion to speak one word of my father or mother about the children at all, which I wonder at, and begin I will not. Here my Lady showed us my Lady Castlemayne's picture, finely done; given my Lord; and a most beautiful picture it is. Thence with my Lady Jemimah and Mr. Sidney to St. Gyles's Church, and there heard a long, poore sermon. Thence set them down and in their coach to Kate Joyce's christening, where much company, good service of sweetmeates; and after an houre's stay, left them, and in my Lord's coach--his noble, rich coach--home, and there my wife fell to putting things in order against her going to-morrow, and I to read, and so to bed, where I not well, and so had no pleasure at all with my poor wife. 11th. But betimes up this morning, and, getting ready, we by coach to Holborne, where, at nine o'clock, they set out, and I and my man Will on horseback, by my wife, to Barnett; a very pleasant day; and there dined with her company, which was very good; a pretty gentlewoman with her, that goes but to Huntington, and a neighbour to us in towne. Here we staid two hours and then parted for all together, and my poor wife I shall soon want I am sure. Thence I and Will to see the Wells, half a mile off, [The mineral springs at Barnet Common, nearly a mile to the west of High Barnet. The discovery of the wells was announced in the "Perfect Diurnall" of June 5th, 1652, and Fuller, writing in 1662, says that there are hopes that the waters may "save as many lives as were lost in the fatal battle at Barnet" ("Worthies," Herts). A pamphlet on "The Barnet Well Water" was published by the Rev. W. M. Trinder, M.D., as late as the year 1800, but in 1840 the old well- house was pulled down.] and there I drank three glasses, and went and walked and came back and drunk two more; the woman would have had me drink three more; but I could not, my belly being full, but this wrought very well, and so we rode home, round by Kingsland, Hackney, and Mile End till we were quite weary, and my water working at least 7 or 8 times upon the road, which pleased me well, and so home weary, and not being very well, I betimes to bed, and there fell into a most mighty sweat in the night, about eleven o'clock, and there, knowing what money I have in the house and hearing a noyse, I begun to sweat worse and worse, till I melted almost to water. I rung, and could not in half an houre make either of the wenches hear me, and this made me fear the more, lest they might be gaga; and then I begun to think that there was some design in a stone being flung at the window over our stayres this evening, by which the thiefes meant to try what looking there would be after them and know our company. These thoughts and fears I had, and do hence apprehend the fears of all rich men that are covetous and have much money by them. At last Jane rose, and then I understand it was only the dogg wants a lodging and so made a noyse. So to bed, but hardly slept, at last did, and so till morning, 12th. And so rose, called up by my Lord Peterborough's gentleman about getting his Lord's money to-day of Mr. Povy, wherein I took such order, that it was paid, and I had my L50 brought me, which comforts my heart. We sat at the office all the morning, then at home. Dined alone; sad for want of company and not being very well, and know not how to eat alone. After dinner down with Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir W. Batten to view, and did like a place by Deptford yard to lay masts in. By and by comes Mr. Coventry, and after a little stay he and I down to Blackwall, he having a mind to see the yarde, which we did, and fine storehouses there are and good docks, but of no great profit to him that oweth them for ought we see. [For "owneth." This sense is very common in Shakespeare. In the original edition of the authorized version of the Bible we read: "So shall the Jews at Jerusalem bind the man that oweth this girdle" (Acts xxi. I i) Nares's Glossary.] So home by water with him, having good discourse by the way, and so I to the office a while, and late home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up and to my office, at noon (after having at an alehouse hard by discoursed with one Mr. Tyler, a neighbour, and one Captain Sanders about the discovery of some pursers that have sold their provisions) I to my Lord Sandwich, thinking to have dined there, but they not dining at home, I with Captain Ferrers to Mr. Barwell the King's Squire Sadler, where about this time twelvemonths I dined before at a good venison pasty. The like we had now, and very good company, Mr. Tresham and others. Thence to White Hall to the Fishery, and there did little. So by water home, and there met Lanyon, &c., about Tangier matters, and so late to my office, and thence home and to bed. Mr. Moore was with me late to desire me to come to my Lord Sandwich tomorrow morning, which I shall, but I wonder what my business is. 14th. My mind being doubtful what the business should be, I rose a little after four o'clock, and abroad. Walked to my Lord's, and nobody up, but the porter rose out of bed to me so I back again to Fleete Streete, and there bought a little book of law; and thence, hearing a psalm sung, I went into St. Dunstan's, and there heard prayers read, which, it seems, is done there every morning at six o'clock; a thing I never did do at a chappell, but the College Chappell, in all my life. Thence to my Lord's again, and my Lord being up, was sent for up, and he and I alone. He did begin with a most solemn profession of the same confidence in and love for me that he ever had, and then told me what a misfortune was fallen upon me and him: in me, by a displeasure which my Lord Chancellor did show to him last night against me, in the highest and most passionate manner that ever any man did speak, even to the not hearing of any thing to be said to him: but he told me, that he did say all that could be said for a man as to my faithfullnesse and duty to his Lordship, and did me the greatest right imaginable. And what should the business be, but that I should be forward to have the trees in Clarendon Park marked and cut down, which he, it seems, hath bought of my Lord Albemarle; when, God knows! I am the most innocent man in the world in it, and did nothing of myself, nor knew of his concernment therein, but barely obeyed my Lord Treasurer's warrant for the doing thereof. And said that I did most ungentlemanlike with him, and had justified the rogues in cutting down a tree of his; and that I had sent the veriest Fanatique [Deane] that is in England to mark them, on purpose to nose--[provoke]--him. All which, I did assure my Lord, was most properly false, and nothing like it true; and told my Lord the whole passage. My Lord do seem most nearly affected; he is partly, I believe, for me, and partly for himself. So he advised me to wait presently upon my Lord, and clear myself in the most perfect manner I could, with all submission and assurance that I am his creature both in this and all other things; and that I do owne that all I have, is derived through my Lord Sandwich from his Lordship. So, full of horror, I went, and found him busy in tryals of law in his great room; and it being Sitting-day, durst not stay, but went to my Lord and told him so: whereupon he directed me to take him after dinner; and so away I home, leaving my Lord mightily concerned for me. I to the office, and there sat busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and from the 'Change over with Alsopp and the others to the Pope's Head tavern, and there staid a quarter of an hour, and concluded upon this, that in case I got them no more than 3s. per week per man I should have of them but L150 per ann., but to have it without any adventure or charge, but if I got them 3s. 2d., then they would give me L300 in the like manner. So I directed them to draw up their tender in a line or two against the afternoon, and to meet me at White Hall. So I left them, and I to my Lord Chancellor's; and there coming out after dinner I accosted him, telling him that I was the unhappy Pepys that had fallen into his high displeasure, and come to desire him to give me leave to make myself better understood to his Lordship, assuring him of my duty and service. He answered me very pleasingly, that he was confident upon the score of my Lord Sandwich's character of me, but that he had reason to think what he did, and desired me to call upon him some evening: I named to-night, and he accepted of it. So with my heart light I to White Hall, and there after understanding by a stratagem, and yet appearing wholly desirous not to understand Mr. Gauden's price when he desired to show it me, I went down and ordered matters in our tender so well that at the meeting by and by I was ready with Mr. Gauden's and his, both directed him a letter to me to give the board their two tenders, but there being none but the Generall Monk and Mr. Coventry and Povy and I, I did not think fit to expose them to view now, but put it off till Saturday, and so with good content rose. Thence I to the Half Moone, against the 'Change, to acquaint Lanyon and his friends of our proceedings, and thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there heard several tryals, wherein I perceive my Lord is a most able and ready man. After all done, he himself called, "Come, Mr. Pepys, you and I will take a turn in the garden." So he was led down stairs, having the goute, and there walked with me, I think, above an houre, talking most friendly, yet cunningly. I told him clearly how things were; how ignorant I was of his Lordship's concernment in it; how I did not do nor say one word singly, but what was done was the act of the whole Board. He told me by name that he was more angry with Sir G. Carteret than with me, and also with the whole body of the Board. But thinking who it was of the Board that knew him least, he did place his fear upon me; but he finds that he is indebted to none of his friends there. I think I did thoroughly appease him, till he thanked me for my desire and pains to satisfy him; and upon my desiring to be directed who I should of his servants advise with about this business, he told me nobody, but would be glad to hear from me himself. He told me he would not direct me in any thing, that it might not be said that the Lord Chancellor did labour to abuse the King; or (as I offered) direct the suspending the Report of the Purveyors but I see what he means, and I will make it my worke to do him service in it. But, Lord! to see how he is incensed against poor Deane, as a fanatique rogue, and I know not what: and what he did was done in spite to his Lordship, among all his friends and tenants. He did plainly say that he would not direct me in any thing, for he would not put himself into the power of any man to say that he did so and so; but plainly told me as if he would be glad I did something. Lord! to see how we poor wretches dare not do the King good service for fear of the greatness of these men. He named Sir G. Carteret, and Sir J. Minnes, and the rest; and that he was as angry with them all as me. But it was pleasant to think that, while he was talking to me, comes into the garden Sir G. Carteret; and my Lord avoided speaking with him, and made him and many others stay expecting him, while I walked up and down above an houre, I think; and would have me walk with my hat on. And yet, after all this, there has been so little ground for this his jealousy of me, that I am sometimes afeard that he do this only in policy to bring me to his side by scaring me; or else, which is worse, to try how faithfull I would be to the King; but I rather think the former of the two. I parted with great assurance how I acknowledged all I had to come from his Lordship; which he did not seem to refuse, but with great kindness and respect parted. So I by coach home, calling at my Lord's, but he not within. At my office late, and so home to eat something, being almost starved for want of eating my dinner to-day, and so to bed, my head being full of great and many businesses of import to me. 15th. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich's; where he sent for me up, and I did give my Lord an account of what had passed with my Lord Chancellor yesterday; with which he was well pleased, and advised me by all means to study in the best manner I could to serve him in this business. After this discourse ended, he begun to tell me that he had now pitched upon his day of going to sea upon Monday next, and that he would now give me an account how matters are with him. He told me that his work now in the world is only to keep up his interest at Court, having little hopes to get more considerably, he saying that he hath now about L8,000 per annum. It is true, he says, he oweth about L10,000; but he hath been at great charges in getting things to this pass in his estate; besides his building and good goods that he hath bought. He says he hath now evened his reckonings at the Wardrobe till Michaelmas last, and hopes to finish it to Ladyday before he goes. He says now there is due, too, L7,000 to him there, if he knew how to get it paid, besides L2000 that Mr. Montagu do owe him. As to his interest, he says that he hath had all the injury done him that ever man could have by another bosom friend that knows all his secrets, by Mr. Montagu; but he says that the worst of it all is past, and he gone out and hated, his very person by the King, and he believes the more upon the score of his carriage to him; nay, that the Duke of Yorke did say a little while since in his closett, that he did hate him because of his ungratefull carriage to my Lord of Sandwich. He says that he is as great with the Chancellor, or greater, than ever in his life. That with the King he is the like; and told me an instance, that whereas he formerly was of the private council to the King before he was last sicke, and that by the sickness an interruption was made in his attendance upon him; the King did not constantly call him, as he used to do, to his private council, only in businesses of the sea and the like; but of late the King did send a message to him by Sir Harry Bennet, to excuse the King to my Lord that he had not of late sent for him as he used to do to his private council, for it was not out of any distaste, but to avoid giving offence to some others whom he did not name; but my Lord supposes it might be Prince Rupert, or it may be only that the King would rather pass it by an excuse, than be thought unkind: but that now he did desire him to attend him constantly, which of late he hath done, and the King never more kind to him in his life than now. The Duke of Yorke, as much as is possible; and in the business of late, when I was to speak to my Lord about his going to sea, he says that he finds the Duke did it with the greatest ingenuity and love in the world; "and whereas," says my Lord, "here is a wise man hard by that thinks himself so, and would be thought so, and it may be is in a degree so (naming by and by my Lord Crew), would have had me condition with him that neither Prince Rupert nor any body should come over his head, and I know not what." The Duke himself hath caused in his commission, that he be made Admirall of this and what other ships or fleets shall hereafter be put out after these; which is very noble. He tells me in these cases, and that of Mr. Montagu's, and all others, he finds that bearing of them patiently is his best way, without noise or trouble, and things wear out of themselves and come fair again. But, says he, take it from me, never to trust too much to any man in the world, for you put yourself into his power; and the best seeming friend and real friend as to the present may have or take occasion to fall out with you, and then out comes all. Then he told me of Sir Harry Bennet, though they were always kind, yet now it is become to an acquaintance and familiarity above ordinary, that for these months he hath done no business but with my Lord's advice in his chamber, and promises all faithfull love to him and service upon all occasions. My Lord says, that he hath the advantage of being able by his experience to helpe and advise him; and he believes that that chiefly do invite Sir Harry to this manner of treating him. "Now," says my Lord, "the only and the greatest embarras that I have in the world is, how to behave myself to Sir H. Bennet and my Lord Chancellor, in case that there do lie any thing under the embers about my Lord Bristoll, which nobody can tell; for then," says he, "I must appear for one or other, and I will lose all I have in the world rather than desert my Lord Chancellor: so that," says he, "I know not for my life what to do in that case." For Sir H. Bennet's love is come to the height, and his confidence, that he hath given my Lord a character, and will oblige my Lord to correspond with him. "This," says he, "is the whole condition of my estate and interest; which I tell you, because I know not whether I shall see you again or no." Then as to the voyage, he thinks it will be of charge to him, and no profit; but that he must not now look after nor think to encrease, but study to make good what he hath, that what is due to him from the Wardrobe or elsewhere may be paid, which otherwise would fail, and all a man hath be but small content to him. So we seemed to take leave one of another; my Lord of me, desiring me that I would write to him and give him information upon all occasions in matters that concern him; which, put together with what he preambled with yesterday, makes me think that my Lord do truly esteem me still, and desires to preserve my service to him; which I do bless God for. In the middle of our discourse my Lady Crew came in to bring my Lord word that he hath another son, my Lady being brought to bed just now, I did not think her time had been so nigh, but she's well brought to bed, for which God be praised! and send my Lord to study the laying up of something the more! Then with Creed to St. James's, and missing Mr. Coventry, to White Hall; where, staying for him in one of the galleries, there comes out of the chayre-room Mrs. Stewart, in a most lovely form, with her hair all about her eares, having her picture taking there. There was the King and twenty more, I think, standing by all the while, and a lovely creature she in this dress seemed to be. Thence to the 'Change by coach, and so home to dinner and then to my office. In the evening Mr. Hill, Andrews and I to my chamber to sing, which we did very pleasantly, and then to my office again, where very late and so home, with my mind I bless God in good state of ease and body of health, only my head at this juncture very full of business, how to get something. Among others what this rogue Creed will do before he goes to sea, for I would fain be rid of him and see what he means to do, for I will then declare myself his firm friend or enemy. 16th. Up in the morning, my head mightily confounded with the great deale of business I have upon me to do. But to the office, and there dispatched Mr. Creed's business pretty well about his bill; but then there comes W. Howe for my Lord's bill of Imprest for L500 to carry with him this voyage, and so I was at a loss how to carry myself in it, Creed being there, but there being no help I delivered it to them both, and let them contend, when I perceive they did both endeavour to have it, but W. Howe took it, and the other had the discretion to suffer it. But I think I cleared myself to Creed that it past not from any practice of mine. At noon rose and did some necessary business at the 'Change. Thence to Trinity House to a dinner which Sir G. Carteret makes there as Maister this year. Thence to White Hall to the Tangier Committee, and there, above my expectation, got the business of our contract for the victualling carried for my people, viz., Alsopp, Lanyon, and Yeabsly; and by their promise I do thereby get L300 per annum to myself, which do overjoy me; and the matter is left to me to draw up. Mr. Lewes was in the gallery and is mightily amazed at it, and I believe Mr. Gauden will make some stir about it, for he wrote to Mr. Coventry to-day about it to argue why he should for the King's convenience have it, but Mr. Coventry most justly did argue freely for them that served cheapest. Thence walked a while with Mr. Coventry in the gallery, and first find that he is mighty cold in his present opinion of Mr. Peter Pett for his flagging and doing things so lazily there, and he did also surprise me with a question why Deane did not bring in their report of the timber of Clarendon. What he means thereby I know not, but at present put him off; nor do I know how to steer myself: but I must think of it, and advise with my Lord Sandwich. Thence with Creed by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, and there I got Mr. Moore to give me my Lord's hand for my receipt of L109 more of my money of Sir G. Carteret, so that then his debt to me will be under L500, I think. This do ease my mind also. Thence carried him and W. Howe into London, and set them down at Sir G. Carteret's to receive some money, and I home and there busy very late, and so home to supper and to bed, with my mind in pretty good ease, my business being in a pretty good condition every where. 17th (Lord's day). All the morning at my office doing business there, it raining hard. So dined at home alone. After dinner walked to my Lord's, and there found him and much other guests at table at dinner, and it seems they have christened his young son to-day-called him James. I got a piece of cake. I got my Lord to signe and seale my business about my selling of Brampton land, which though not so full as I would, yet is as full as I can at present. Walked home again, and there fell to read, and by and by comes my uncle Wight, Dr. Burnett, and another gentleman, and talked and drank, and the Doctor showed me the manner of eating, turpentine, which pleases me well, for it is with great ease. So they being gone, I to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and walked to my Lord's, and there took my leave of him, he seeming very friendly to me in as serious a manner as ever in his life, and I believe he is very confident of me. He sets out this morning for Deale. Thence to St. James's to the Duke, and there did our usual business. He discourses very freely of a warr with Holland, to begin about winter, so that I believe we shall come to it. Before we went up to the Duke, Sir G. Carteret and I did talk together in the Parke about my Lord Chancellor's business of the timber; he telling me freely that my Lord Chancellor was never so angry with him in all his life, as he was for this business, in great passion; and that when he saw me there, he knew what it was about. And plots now with me how we may serve my Lord, which I am mightily glad of; and I hope together we may do it. Thence to Westminster to my barber's, to have my Periwigg he lately made me cleansed of its nits, which vexed me cruelly that he should put such a thing into my hands. Here meeting his mayd Jane, that has lived with them so long, I talked with her, and sending her of an errand to Dr. Clerk's, did meet her, and took her into a little alehouse in Brewers Yard, and there did sport with her, without any knowledge of her though, and a very pretty innocent girl she is. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, but he being busy I went away to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. By and by comes Creed, and I out with him to Fleet Street, and he to Mr. Povy's, I to my Lord Chancellor's, and missing him again walked to Povy's, and there saw his new perspective in his closet. Povy, to my great surprise and wonder, did here attacque me in his own and Mr. Bland's behalf that I should do for them both for the new contractors for the victualling of the garrison. Which I am ashamed that he should ask of me, nor did I believe that he was a man that did seek benefit in such poor things. Besides that he professed that he did not believe that I would have any hand myself in the contract, and yet here declares that he himself would have profit by it, and himself did move me that Sir W. Rider might join, and Ford with Gauden. I told him I had no interest in them, but I fear they must do something to him, for he told me that those of the Mole did promise to consider him. Thence home and Creed with me, and there he took occasion to owne his obligations to me, and did lay down twenty pieces in gold upon my shelf in my closett, which I did not refuse, but wish and expected should have been more. But, however, this is better than nothing, and now I am out of expectation, and shall henceforward know how to deal with him. After discourse of settling his matters here, we went out by coach, and he 'light at the Temple, and there took final leave of me, in order to his following my Lord to-morrow. I to my Lord Chancellor, and discoursed his business with him. I perceive, and he says plainly, that he will not have any man to have it in his power to say that my Lord Chancellor did contrive the wronging the King of his timber; but yet I perceive, he would be glad to have service done him therein; and told me Sir G. Carteret hath told him that he and I would look after his business to see it done in the best manner for him. Of this I was glad, and so away. Thence home, and late with my Tangier men about drawing up their agreement with us, wherein I find much trouble, and after doing as much as we could to-night, broke up and I to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined alone at home. After dinner Sir W. Batten and I down by water to Woolwich, where coming to the ropeyarde we are told that Mr. Falconer, who hath been ill of a relapse these two days, is just now dead. We went up to his widow, who is sicke in bed also. The poor woman in great sorrow, and entreats our friendship, which we shall, I think, in every thing do for her. I am sure I will. Thence to the Docke, and there in Sheldon's garden eat some fruit; so to Deptford a little, and thence home, it raining mightily, and being cold I doubted my health after it. At the office till 9 o'clock about Sir W. Warren's contract for masts, and then at home with Lanyon and Yeabsly till 12 and past about their contract for Tangier, wherein they and I differed, for I would have it drawn to the King's advantage, as much as might be, which they did not like, but parted good friends; however, when they were gone, I wished that I had forborne any disagreement till I had had their promise to me in writing. They being gone, I to bed. 20th. Up, and a while to my office, and then home with Mr. Deane till dinner, discoursing upon the business of my Lord Chancellor's timber in Clarendon Parke, and how to make a report therein without offending him; which at last I drew up, and hope it will please him. But I would to God neither I nor he ever had had any thing to have done with it! Dined together with a good pig, and then out by coach to White Hall, to the Committee for Fishing; but nothing done, it being a great day to-day there upon drawing at the Lottery of Sir Arthur Slingsby. I got in and stood by the two Queenes and the Duchesse of Yorke, and just behind my Lady Castlemayne, whom I do heartily adore; and good sport it was to see how most that did give their ten pounds did go away with a pair of globes only for their lot, and one gentlewoman, one Mrs. Fish, with the only blanke. And one I staid to see drew a suit of hangings valued at L430, and they say are well worth the money, or near it. One other suit there is better than that; but very many lots of three and fourscore pounds. I observed the King and Queenes did get but as poor lots as any else. But the wisest man I met with was Mr. Cholmley, who insured as many as would, from drawing of the one blank for 12d.; in which case there was the whole number of persons to one, which I think was three or four hundred. And so he insured about 200 for 200 shillings, so that he could not have lost if one of them had drawn it, for there was enough to pay the L10; but it happened another drew it, and so he got all the money he took. I left the lottery, and went to a play, only a piece of it, which was the Duke's house, "Worse and Worse;" just the same manner of play, and writ, I believe, by the same man as "The Adventures of Five Hours;" very pleasant it was, and I begin to admire Harris more than ever. Thence to Westminster to see Creed, and he and I took a walk in the Parke. He is ill, and not able yet to set out after my Lord, but will do to-morrow. So home, and late at my office, and so home to bed. This evening being moonshine I played a little late upon my flageolette in the garden. But being at Westminster Hall I met with great news that Mrs. Lane is married to one Martin, one that serves Captain Marsh. She is gone abroad with him to-day, very fine. I must have a bout with her very shortly to see how she finds marriage. 21st. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, among other things making a contract with Sir W. Warren for almost 1000 Gottenburg masts, the biggest that ever was made in the Navy, and wholly of my compassing and a good one I hope it is for the King. Dined at Sir W. Batten's, where I have not eat these many months. Sir G. Carteret, Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, and myself there only, and my Lady. A good venison pasty, and very merry, and pleasant I made myself with my Lady, and she as much to me. This morning to the office comes Nicholas Osborne, Mr. Gauden's clerke, to desire of me what piece of plate I would choose to have a L100, or thereabouts, bestowed upon me in, he having order to lay out so much; and, out of his freedom with me, do of himself come to make this question. I a great while urged my unwillingnesse to take any, not knowing how I could serve Mr. Gauden, but left it wholly to himself; so at noon I find brought home in fine leather cases, a pair of the noblest flaggons that ever I saw all the days of my life; whether I shall keepe them or no I cannot tell; for it is to oblige me to him in the business of the Tangier victualling, wherein I doubt I shall not; but glad I am to see that I shall be sure to get something on one side or other, have it which will: so, with a merry heart, I looked upon them, and locked them up. After dinner to [give] my Lord Chancellor a good account of his business, and he is very well pleased therewith, and carries himself with great discretion to me, without seeming over glad or beholding to me; and yet I know that he do think himself very well served by me. Thence to Westminster and to Mrs. Lane's lodgings, to give her joy, and there suffered me to deal with her as I hoped to do, and by and by her husband comes, a sorry, simple fellow, and his letter to her which she proudly showed me a simple, nonsensical thing. A man of no discourse, and I fear married her to make a prize of, which he is mistaken in, and a sad wife I believe she will prove to him, for she urged me to appoint a time as soon as he is gone out of town to give her a meeting next week. So by water with a couple of cozens of Mrs. Lane's, and set them down at Queenhive, and I through Bridge home, and there late at business, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then down by water to Deptford, where coming too soon, I spent an houre in looking round the yarde, and putting Mr. Shish [Jonas Shish, master-shipwright at Deptford. There are several papers of his among the State Papers. "I was at the funeral of old Mr. Shish, Master Shipwright of His Majesty's Yard here, an honest and remarkable man, and his death a public loss, for his excellent success in building ships (though altogether illiterate) and for bringing up so many of his children to be able artists. I held up the pall with three knights who did him that honour, and he was worthy of it. It was the custom of this good man to rise in the night and pray, kneeling in his own coffin, which he had lying by him for many years. He was born that famous year, the Gunpowder- plot, 1605" (Evelyn's "Diary," May 13th, 1680).] to measure a piece or two of timber, which he did most cruelly wrong, and to the King's losse 12 or 13s. in a piece of 28 feet in contents. Thence to the Clerke of the Cheques, from whose house Mr. Falconer was buried to-day; Sir J. Minnes and I the only principal officers that were there. We walked to church with him, and then I left them without staying the sermon and straight home by water, and there find, as I expected, Mr. Hill, and Andrews, and one slovenly and ugly fellow, Seignor Pedro, who sings Italian songs to the theorbo most neatly, and they spent the whole evening in singing the best piece of musique counted of all hands in the world, made by Seignor Charissimi, the famous master in Rome. Fine it was, indeed, and too fine for me to judge of. They have spoke to Pedro to meet us every weeke, and I fear it will grow a trouble to me if we once come to bid judges to meet us, especially idle Masters, which do a little displease me to consider. They gone comes Mr. Lanyon, who tells me Mr. Alsopp is now become dangerously ill, and fears his recovery, covery, which shakes my expectation of L630 per annum by the business; and, therefore, bless God for what Mr. Gauden hath sent me, which, from some discourse to-day with Mr. Osborne, swearing that he knows not any thing of this business of the victualling; but, the contrary, that it is not that moves Mr. Gauden to send it me, for he hath had order for it any time these two months. Whether this be true or no, I know not; but I shall hence with the more confidence keepe it. To supper and to the office a little, and to walk in the garden, the moon shining bright, and fine warm fair weather, and so home to bed. 23rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, where I took occasion to break the business of my Lord Chancellor's timber to Mr. Coventry in the best manner I could. He professed to me, that, till, Sir G. Carteret did speake of it at the table, after our officers were gone to survey it, he did not know that my Lord Chancellor had any thing to do with it; but now he says that he had been told by the Duke that Sir G. Carteret had spoke to him about it, and that he had told the Duke that, were he in my Lord Chancellor's case, if he were his father, he would rather fling away the gains of two or L3,000, than have it said that the timber, which should have been the King's, if it had continued the Duke of Albemarle's, was concealed by us in favour of my Lord Chancellor; for, says he, he is a great man, and all such as he, and he himself particularly, have a great many enemies that would be glad of such an advantage against him. When I told him it was strange that Sir J. Minnes and Sir G. Carteret, that knew my Lord Chancellor's concernment therein, should not at first inform us, he answered me that for Sir J. Minnes, he is looked upon to be an old good companion, but by nobody at the other end of the towne as any man of business, and that my Lord Chancellor, he dares say, never did tell him of it, only Sir G. Carteret, he do believe, must needs know it, for he and Sir J. Shaw are the greatest confidants he hath in the world. So for himself, he said, he would not mince the matter, but was resolved to do what was fit, and stand upon his owne legs therein, and that he would speak to the Duke, that he and Sir G. Carteret might be appointed to attend my Lord Chancellor in it. All this disturbs me mightily. I know not what to say to it, nor how to carry myself therein; for a compliance will discommend me to Mr. Coventry, and a discompliance to my Lord Chancellor. But I think to let it alone, or at least meddle in it as little more as I can. From thence walked toward Westminster, and being in an idle and wanton humour, walked through Fleet Alley, and there stood a most pretty wench at one of the doors, so I took a turn or two, but what by sense of honour and conscience I would not go in, but much against my will took coach and away, and away to Westminster Hall, and there 'light of Mrs. Lane, and plotted with her to go over the water. So met at White's stairs in Chanel Row, and over to the old house at Lambeth Marsh, and there eat and drank, and had my pleasure of her twice, she being the strangest woman in talk of love to her husband sometimes, and sometimes again she do not care for him, and yet willing enough to allow me a liberty of doing what I would with her. So spending 5s. or 6s. upon her, I could do what I would, and after an hour's stay and more back again and set her ashore there again, and I forward to Fleet Street, and called at Fleet Alley, not knowing how to command myself, and went in and there saw what formerly I have been acquainted with, the wickedness of these houses, and the forcing a man to present expense. The woman indeed is a most lovely woman, but I had no courage to meddle with her for fear of her not being wholesome, and so counterfeiting that I had not money enough, it was pretty to see how cunning she was, would not suffer me to have to do in any manner with her after she saw I had no money, but told me then I would not come again, but she now was sure I would come again, but I hope in God I shall not, for though she be one of the prettiest women I ever saw, yet I fear her abusing me. So desiring God to forgive me for this vanity, I went home, taking some books from my bookseller, and taking his lad home with me, to whom I paid L10 for books I have laid up money for, and laid out within these three weeks, and shall do no more a great while I hope. So to my office writing letters, and then home and to bed, weary of the pleasure I have had to-day, and ashamed to think of it. 24th (Lord's day). Up, in some pain all day from yesterday's passages, having taken cold, I suppose. So staid within all day reading of two or three good plays. At night to my office a little, and so home, after supper to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten by coach to St. James's, but there the Duke being gone out we to my Lord Berkeley's chamber, Mr. Coventry being there, and among other things there met with a printed copy of the King's commission for the repair of Paul's, which is very large, and large power for collecting money, and recovering of all people that had bought or sold formerly any thing belonging to the Church. And here I find my Lord Mayor of the City set in order before the Archbishopp or any nobleman, though all the greatest officers of state are there. But yet I do not hear by my Lord Berkeley, who is one of them, that any thing is like to come of it. Thence back again homewards, and Sir W. Batten and I to the Coffee-house, but no newes, only the plague is very hot still, and encreases among the Dutch. Home to dinner, and after dinner walked forth, and do what I could I could not keep myself from going through Fleet Lane, but had the sense of safety and honour not to go in, and the rather being a holiday I feared I might meet with some people that might know me. Thence to Charing Cross, and there called at Unthanke's to see what I owed, but found nothing, and here being a couple of pretty ladies, lodgers in the kitchen, I staid a little there. Thence to my barber Gervas, who this day buries his child, which it seems was born without a passage behind, so that it never voided any thing in the week or fortnight that it has been born. Thence to Mr. Reeves, it coming just now in my head to buy a microscope, but he was not within, so I walked all round that end of the town among the loathsome people and houses, but, God be thanked! had no desire to visit any of them. So home, where I met Mr. Lanyon, who tells me Mr. Alsop is past hopes, which will mightily disappoint me in my hopes there, and yet it may be not. I shall think whether it will be safe for me to venture myself or no, and come in as an adventurer. He gone, Mr. Cole (my old Jack Cole) comes to see and speak with me, and his errand in short to tell me that he is giving over his trade; he can do no good in it, and will turn what he has into money and go to sea, his father being dead and leaving him little, if any thing. This I was sorry to hear, he being a man of good parts, but, I fear, debauched. I promised him all the friendship I can do him, which will end in little, though I truly mean it, and so I made him stay with me till 11 at night, talking of old school stories, and very pleasing ones, and truly I find that we did spend our time and thoughts then otherwise than I think boys do now, and I think as well as methinks that the best are now. He supped with me, and so away, and I to bed. And strange to see how we are all divided that were bred so long at school together, and what various fortunes we have run, some good, some bad. 26th. All the morning at the office, at noon to Anthony Joyce's, to our gossip's dinner. I had sent a dozen and a half of bottles of wine thither, and paid my double share besides, which is 18s. Very merry we were, and when the women were merry and rose from table, I above with them, ne'er a man but I, I began discourse of my not getting of children, and prayed them to give me their opinions and advice, and they freely and merrily did give me these ten, among them (1) Do not hug my wife too hard nor too much; (2) eat no late suppers; (3) drink juyce of sage; (4) tent and toast; (5) wear cool holland drawers; (6) keep stomach warm and back cool; (7) upon query whether it was best to do at night or morn, they answered me neither one nor other, but when we had most mind to it; (8) wife not to go too straight laced; (9) myself to drink mum and sugar; (10) Mrs. Ward did give me, to change my place. The 3rd, 4th, 6th, 7th, and 10th they all did seriously declare, and lay much stress upon them as rules fit to be observed indeed, and especially the last, to lie with our heads where our heels do, or at least to make the bed high at feet and low at head. Very merry all, as much as I could be in such sorry company. Great discourse of the fray yesterday in Moorefields, how the butchers at first did beat the weavers (between whom there hath been ever an old competition for mastery), but at last the weavers rallied and beat them. At first the butchers knocked down all for weavers that had green or blue aprons, till they were fain to pull them off and put them in their breeches. At last the butchers were fain to pull off their sleeves, that they might not be known, and were soundly beaten out of the field, and some deeply wounded and bruised; till at last the weavers went out tryumphing, calling L100 for a butcher. I to Mr. Reeves to see a microscope, he having been with me to-day morning, and there chose one which I will have. Thence back and took up young Mrs. Harman, a pretty bred and pretty humoured woman whom I could love well, though not handsome, yet for her person and carriage, and black. By the way met her husband going for her, and set them both down at home, and so home to my office a while, and so to supper and bed. 27th. Up, and after some discourse with Mr. Duke, who is to be Secretary to the Fishery, and is now Secretary to the Committee for Trade, who I find a very ingenious man, I went to Mr. Povy's, and there heard a little of his empty discourse, and fain he would have Mr. Gauden been the victualler for Tangier, which none but a fool would say to me when he knows he hath made it his request to me to get him something of these men that now do it. Thence to St. James's, but Mr. Coventry being ill and in bed I did not stay, but to White Hall a little, walked up and down, and so home to fit papers against this afternoon, and after dinner to the 'Change a little, and then to White Hall, where anon the Duke of Yorke came, and a Committee we had of Tangier, where I read over my rough draught of the contract for Tangier victualling, and acquainted them with the death of Mr. Alsopp, which Mr. Lanyon had told me this morning, which is a sad consideration to see how uncertain a thing our lives are, and how little to be presumed of in our greatest undertakings. The words of the contract approved of, and I home and there came Mr. Lanyon to me and brought my neighbour, Mr. Andrews, to me, whom he proposes for his partner in the room of Mr. Alsopp, and I like well enough of it. We read over the contract together, and discoursed it well over and so parted, and I am glad to see it once over in this condition again, for Mr. Lanyon and I had some discourse to-day about my share in it, and I hope if it goes on to have my first hopes of L300 per ann. They gone, I to supper and to bed. This afternoon came my great store of Coles in, being to Chaldron, so that I may see how long they will last me. 28th. At the office all the morning, dined, after 'Change, at home, and then abroad, and seeing "The Bondman" upon the posts, I consulted my oaths and find I may go safely this time without breaking it; I went thither, notwithstanding my great desire to have gone to Fleet Alley, God forgive me, again. There I saw it acted. It is true, for want of practice, they had many of them forgot their parts a little; but Betterton and my poor Ianthe outdo all the world. There is nothing more taking in the world with me than that play. Thence to Westminster to my barber's, and strange to think how when I find that Jervas himself did intend to bring home my periwigg, and not Jane his maid, I did desire not to have it at all, for I had a mind to have her bring it home. I also went to Mr. Blagrave's about speaking to him for his kinswoman to come live with my wife, but they are not come to town, and so I home by coach and to my office, and then to supper and to bed. My present posture is thus: my wife in the country and my mayde Besse with her and all quiett there. I am endeavouring to find a woman for her to my mind, and above all one that understands musique, especially singing. I am the willinger to keepe one because I am in good hopes to get 2 or L300 per annum extraordinary by the business of the victualling of Tangier, and yet Mr. Alsopp, my chief hopes, is dead since my looking after it, and now Mr. Lanyon, I fear, is, falling sicke too. I am pretty well in health, only subject to wind upon any cold, and then immediate and great pains. All our discourse is of a Dutch warr and I find it is likely to come to it, for they are very high and desire not to compliment us at all, as far as I hear, but to send a good fleete to Guinny to oppose us there. My Lord Sandwich newly gone to sea, and I, I think, fallen into his very good opinion again, at least he did before his going, and by his letter since, show me all manner of respect and confidence. I am over-joyed in hopes that upon this month's account I shall find myself worth L1000, besides the rich present of two silver and gilt flaggons which Mr. Gauden did give me the other day. I do now live very prettily at home, being most seriously, quietly, and neatly served by my two mayds Jane and the girle Su, with both of whom I am mightily well pleased. My greatest trouble is the settling of Brampton Estate, that I may know what to expect, and how to be able to leave it when I die, so as to be just to my promise to my uncle Thomas and his son. The next thing is this cursed trouble my brother Tom is likely to put us to by his death, forcing us to law with his creditors, among others Dr. Tom Pepys, and that with some shame as trouble, and the last how to know in what manner as to saving or spending my father lives, lest they should run me in debt as one of my uncle's executors, and I never the wiser nor better for it. But in all this I hope shortly to be at leisure to consider and inform myself well. 29th. At the office all the morning dispatching of business, at noon to the 'Change after dinner, and thence to Tom Trice about Dr. Pepys's business, and thence it raining turned into Fleet Alley, and there was with Cocke an hour or so. The jade, whether I would not give her money or not enough; she would not offer to invite to do anything, but on the contrary saying she had no time, which I was glad of, for I had no mind to meddle with her, but had my end to see what a cunning jade she was, to see her impudent tricks and ways of getting money and raising the reckoning by still calling for things, that it come to 6 or 7 shillings presently. So away home, glad I escaped without any inconvenience, and there came Mr. Hill, Andrews and Seignor Pedro, and great store of musique we had, but I begin to be weary of having a master with us, for it spoils, methinks, the ingenuity of our practice. After they were gone comes Mr. Bland to me, sat till 11 at night with me, talking of the garrison of Tangier and serving them with pieces of eight. A mind he hath to be employed there, but dares not desire any courtesy of me, and yet would fain engage me to be for him, for I perceive they do all find that I am the busy man to see the King have right done him by inquiring out other bidders. Being quite tired with him, I got him gone, and so to bed. 30th. All the morning at the office; at noon to the 'Change, where great talke of a rich present brought by an East India ship from some of the Princes of India, worth to the King L70,000 in two precious stones. After dinner to the office, and there all the afternoon making an end of several things against the end of the month, that I may clear all my reckonings tomorrow; also this afternoon, with great content, I finished the contracts for victualling of Tangier with Mr. Lanyon and the rest, and to my comfort got him and Andrews to sign to the giving me L300 per annum, by which, at least, I hope to be a L100 or two the better. Wrote many letters by the post to ease my mind of business and to clear my paper of minutes, as I did lately oblige myself to clear every thing against the end of the month. So at night with my mind quiet and contented to bed. This day I sent a side of venison and six bottles of wine to Kate Joyce. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I have not been these many weeks. So home, and thither, inviting him yesterday, comes Mr. Hill, at which I was a little troubled, but made up all very well, carrying him with me to Sir J. Minnes, where I was invited and all our families to a venison pasty. Here good cheer and good discourse. After dinner Mr. Hill and I to my house, and there to musique all the afternoon. He being gone, in the evening I to my accounts, and to my great joy and with great thanks to Almighty God, I do find myself most clearly worth L1014, the first time that ever I was worth L1000 before, which is the height of all that ever I have for a long time pretended to. But by the blessing of God upon my care I hope to lay up something more in a little time, if this business of the victualling of Tangier goes on as I hope it will. So with praise to God for this state of fortune that I am brought to as to wealth, and my condition being as I have at large set it down two days ago in this book, I home to supper and to bed, desiring God to give me the grace to make good use of what I have and continue my care and diligence to gain more. AUGUST 1664 August 1st. Up, my mind very light from my last night's accounts, and so up and with Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, where among other things having prepared with some industry every man a part this morning and no sooner (for fear they should either consider of it or discourse of it one to another) Mr. Coventry did move the Duke and obtain it that one of the clerkes of the Clerke of the Acts should have an addition of L30 a year, as Mr. Turner hath, which I am glad of, that I may give T. Hater L20 and keep L10 towards a boy's keeping. Thence Mr. Coventry and I to the Attorney's chamber at the Temple, but not being there we parted, and I home, and there with great joy told T. Hater what I had done, with which the poor wretch was very glad, though his modesty would not suffer him to say much. So to the Coffee-house, and there all the house full of the victory Generall Soushe [General Soushe was Louis Ratuit, Comte de Souches. The battle was fought at Lewenz (or Leva), in Hungary.--B.] (who is a Frenchman, a soldier of fortune, commanding part of the German army) hath had against the Turke; killing 4,000 men, and taking most extraordinary spoil. Thence taking up Harman and his wife, carried them to Anthony Joyce's, where we had my venison in a pasty well done; but, Lord! to see how much they made of, it, as if they had never eat any before, and very merry we were, but Will most troublesomely so, and I find he and his wife have a most wretched life one with another, but we took no notice, but were very merry as I could be in such company. But Mrs. Harman is a very pretty-humoured wretch, whom I could love with all my heart, being so good and innocent company. Thence to Westminster to Mr. Blagrave's, and there, after singing a thing or two over, I spoke to him about a woman for my wife, and he offered me his kinswoman, which I was glad of, but she is not at present well, but however I hope to have her. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and thence with Mr. Coventry, who appointed to meet me there, and with him to the Attorney General, and there with Sir Ph. Warwicke consulted of a new commission to be had through the Broad Seale to enable us to make this contract for Tangier victualling. So home, and there talked long with Will about the young woman of his family which he spoke of for to live with my wife, but though she hath very many good qualitys, yet being a neighbour's child and young and not very staid, I dare not venture of having her, because of her being able to spread any report of our family upon any discontent among the heart of our neighbours. So that my dependance is upon Mr. Blagrave, and so home to supper and to bed. Last night, at 12 o'clock, I was waked with knocking at Sir W. Pen's door; and what was it but people's running up and down to bring him word that his brother, [George Penn, the elder brother of Sir W. Penn, was a wealthy merchant at San Lucar, the port of Seville. He was seized as a heretic by the Holy Office, and cast into a dungeon eight feet square and dark as the grave. There he remained three years, every month being scourged to make him confess his crimes. At last, after being twice put to the rack, he offered to confess whatever they would suggest. His property, L12,000, was then confiscated, his wife, a Catholic, taken from him, and he was banished from Spain for ever.--M. B.] who hath been a good while, it seems, sicke, is dead. 2nd. At the office all the morning. At noon dined, and then to, the 'Change, and there walked two hours or more with Sir W. Warren, who after much discourse in general of Sir W. Batten's dealings, he fell to talk how every body must live by their places, and that he was willing, if I desired it, that I should go shares with him in anything that he deals in. He told me again and again, too, that he confesses himself my debtor too for my service and friendship to him in his present great contract of masts, and that between this and Christmas he shall be in stocke and will pay it me. This I like well, but do not desire to become a merchant, and, therefore, put it off, but desired time to think of it. Thence to the King's play-house, and there saw "Bartholomew Fayre," which do still please me; and is, as it is acted, the best comedy in the world, I believe. I chanced to sit by Tom Killigrew, who tells me that he is setting up a Nursery; that is, is going to build a house in Moorefields, wherein he will have common plays acted. But four operas it shall have in the year, to act six weeks at a time; where we shall have the best scenes and machines, the best musique, and every thing as magnificent as is in Christendome; and to that end hath sent for voices and painters and other persons from Italy. Thence homeward called upon my Lord Marlborough, and so home and to my office, and then to Sir W. Pen, and with him and our fellow officers and servants of the house and none else to Church to lay his brother in the ground, wherein nothing handsome at all, but that he lays him under the Communion table in the chancel, about nine at night? So home and to bed. 3rd. Up betimes and set some joyners on work to new lay my floor in our wardrobe, which I intend to make a room for musique. Thence abroad to Westminster, among other things to Mr. Blagrave's, and there had his consent for his kinswoman to come to be with my wife for her woman, at which I am well pleased and hope she may do well. Thence to White Hall to meet with Sir G. Carteret about hiring some ground to make our mast docke at Deptford, but being Council morning failed, but met with Mr. Coventry, and he and I discoursed of the likeliness of a Dutch warr, which I think is very likely now, for the Dutch do prepare a fleet to oppose us at Guinny, and he do think we shall, though neither of us have a mind to it, fall into it of a sudden, and yet the plague do increase among them, and is got into their fleet, and Opdam's own ship, which makes it strange they should be so high. Thence to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and down by water to Woolwich to the rope yard, and there visited Mrs. Falconer, who tells me odd stories of how Sir W. Pen was rewarded by her husband with a gold watch (but seems not certain of what Sir W. Batten told me, of his daughter having a life given her in L80 per ann.) for his helping him to his place, and yet cost him L150 to Mr. Coventry besides. He did much advise it seems Mr. Falconer not to marry again, expressing that he would have him make his daughter his heire, or words to that purpose, and that that makes him, she thinks, so cold in giving her any satisfaction, and that W. Boddam hath publickly said, since he came down thither to be clerke of the ropeyard, that it hath this week cost him L100, and would be glad that it would cost him but half as much more for the place, and that he was better before than now, and that if he had been to have bought it, he would not have given so much for it. Now I am sure that Mr. Coventry hath again and again said that he would take nothing, but would give all his part in it freely to him, that so the widow might have something. What the meaning of this is I know not, but that Sir W. Pen do get something by it. Thence to the Dockeyard, and there saw the new ship in great forwardness. So home and to supper, and then to the office, where late, Mr. Bland and I talking about Tangier business, and so home to bed. 4th. Up betimes and to the office, fitting myself against a great dispute about the East India Company, which spent afterwards with us all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Pen, a piece of beef only, and I counterfeited a friendship and mirth which I cannot have with him, yet out with him by his coach, and he did carry me to a play and pay for me at the King's house, which is "The Rivall Ladys," a very innocent and most pretty witty play. I was much pleased with it, and it being given me, I look upon it as no breach to my oathe. Here we hear that Clun, one of their best actors, was, the last night, going out of towne (after he had acted the Alchymist, wherein was one of his best parts that he acts) to his country-house, set upon and murdered; one of the rogues taken, an Irish fellow. It seems most cruelly butchered and bound. The house will have a great miss of him. Thence visited my Lady Sandwich, who tells me my Lord FitzHarding is to be made a Marquis. Thence home to my office late, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up very betimes and set my plaisterer to work about whiting and colouring my musique roome, which having with great pleasure seen done, about ten o'clock I dressed myself, and so mounted upon a very pretty mare, sent me by Sir W. Warren, according to his promise yesterday. And so through the City, not a little proud, God knows, to be seen upon so pretty a beast, and to my cozen W. Joyce's, who presently mounted too, and he and I out of towne toward Highgate; in the way, at Kentish-towne, showing me the place and manner of Clun's being killed and laid in a ditch, and yet was not killed by any wounds, having only one in his arm, but bled to death through his struggling. He told me, also, the manner of it, of his going home so late [from] drinking with his whore, and manner of having it found out. Thence forward to Barnett, and there drank, and so by night to Stevenage, it raining a little, but not much, and there to my great trouble, find that my wife was not come, nor any Stamford coach gone down this week, so that she cannot come. So vexed and weary, and not thoroughly out of pain neither in my old parts, I after supper to bed, and after a little sleep, W. Joyce comes in his shirt into my chamber, with a note and a messenger from my wife, that she was come by Yorke coach to Bigglesworth, and would be with us to-morrow morning. So, mightily pleased at her discreete action in this business, I with peace to sleep again till next morning. So up, and 6th. Here lay Deane Honiwood last night. I met and talked with him this morning, and a simple priest he is, though a good, well-meaning man. W. Joyce and I to a game at bowles on the green there till eight o'clock, and then comes my wife in the coach, and a coach full of women, only one man riding by, gone down last night to meet a sister of his coming to town. So very joyful drank there, not 'lighting, and we mounted and away with them to Welling, and there 'light, and dined very well and merry and glad to see my poor-wife. Here very merry as being weary I could be, and after dinner, out again, and to London. In our way all the way the mightiest merry, at a couple of young gentlemen, come down to meet the same gentlewoman, that ever I was in my life, and so W. Joyce too, to see how one of them was horsed upon a hard-trotting sorrell horse, and both of them soundly weary and galled. But it is not to be set down how merry we were all the way. We 'light in Holborne, and by another coach my wife and mayde home, and I by horseback, and found all things well and most mighty neate and clean. So, after welcoming my wife a little, to the office, and so home to supper, and then weary and not very well to bed. 7th (Lord's day). Lay long caressing my wife and talking, she telling me sad stories of the ill, improvident, disquiett, and sluttish manner that my father and mother and Pall live in the country, which troubles me mightily, and I must seek to remedy it. So up and ready, and my wife also, and then down and I showed my wife, to her great admiration and joy, Mr. Gauden's present of plate, the two flaggons, which indeed are so noble that I hardly can think that they are yet mine. So blessing God for it, we down to dinner mighty pleasant, and so up after dinner for a while, and I then to White Hall, walked thither, having at home met with a letter of Captain Cooke's, with which he had sent a boy for me to see, whom he did intend to recommend to me. I therefore went and there met and spoke with him. He gives me great hopes of the boy, which pleases me, and at Chappell I there met Mr. Blagrave, who gives a report of the boy, and he showed me him, and I spoke to him, and the boy seems a good willing boy to come to me, and I hope will do well. I am to speak to Mr. Townsend to hasten his clothes for him, and then he is to come. So I walked homeward and met with Mr. Spong, and he with me as far as the Old Exchange talking of many ingenuous things, musique, and at last of glasses, and I find him still the same ingenuous man that ever he was, and do among other fine things tell me that by his microscope of his owne making he do discover that the wings of a moth is made just as the feathers of the wing of a bird, and that most plainly and certainly. While we were talking came by several poor creatures carried by, by constables, for being at a conventicle. They go like lambs, without any resistance. I would to God they would either conform, or be more wise, and not be catched! Thence parted with him, mightily pleased with his company, and away homeward, calling at Dan Rawlinson, and supped there with my uncle Wight, and then home and eat again for form sake with her, and then to prayers and to bed. 8th. Up and abroad with Sir W. Batten, by coach to St. James's, where by the way he did tell me how Sir J. Minnes would many times arrogate to himself the doing of that that all the Board have equal share in, and more that to himself which he hath had nothing to do in, and particularly the late paper given in by him to the Duke, the translation of a Dutch print concerning the quarrel between us and them, which he did give as his own when it was Sir Richard Ford's wholly. Also he told me how Sir W. Pen (it falling in our discourse touching Mrs. Falconer) was at first very great for Mr. Coventry to bring him in guests, and that at high rates for places, and very open was he to me therein. After business done with the Duke, I home to the Coffee-house, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to hang up my fine pictures in my dining room, which makes it very pretty, and so my wife and I abroad to the King's play-house, she giving me her time of the last month, she having not seen any then; so my vowe is not broke at all, it costing me no more money than it would have done upon her, had she gone both her times that were due to her. Here we saw "Flora's Figarys." I never saw it before, and by the most ingenuous performance of the young jade Flora, it seemed as pretty a pleasant play as ever I saw in my life. So home to supper, and then to my office late, Mr. Andrews and I to talk about our victualling commission, and then he being gone I to set down my four days past journalls and expenses, and so home to bed. 9th. Up, and to my office, and there we sat all the morning, at noon home, and there by appointment Mr. Blagrave came and dined with me, and brought a friend of his of the Chappell with him. Very merry at dinner, and then up to my chamber and there we sung a Psalm or two of Lawes's, then he and I a little talke by ourselves of his kinswoman that is to come to live with my wife, who is to come about ten days hence, and I hope will do well. They gone I to my office, and there my head being a little troubled with the little wine I drank, though mixed with beer, but it may be a little more than I used to do, and yet I cannot say so, I went home and spent the afternoon with my wife talking, and then in the evening a little to my office, and so home to supper and to bed. This day comes the newes that the Emperour hath beat the Turke; [This was the battle of St. Gothard, in which the Turks were defeated with great slaughter by the imperial forces under Montecuculli, assisted by the confederates from the Rhine, and by forty troops of French cavalry under Coligni. St. Gothard is in Hungary, on the river Raab, near the frontier of Styria; it is about one hundred and twenty miles south of Vienna, and thirty east of Gratz. The battle took place on the 9th Moharrem, A.H. 1075, or 23rd July, A.D. 1664 (old style), which is that used by Pepys.--B.] killed the Grand Vizier and several great Bassas, with an army of 80,000 men killed and routed; with some considerable loss of his own side, having lost three generals, and the French forces all cut off almost. Which is thought as good a service to the Emperour as beating the Turke almost, for had they conquered they would have been as troublesome to him. [The fact is, the Germans were beaten by the Turks, and the French won the battle for them.--B.] 10th. Up, and, being ready, abroad to do several small businesses, among others to find out one to engrave my tables upon my new sliding rule with silver plates, it being so small that Browne that made it cannot get one to do it. So I find out Cocker, the famous writing-master, and get him to do it, and I set an hour by him to see him design it all; and strange it is to see him with his natural eyes to cut so small at his first designing it, and read it all over, without any missing, when for my life I could not, with my best skill, read one word or letter of it; but it is use. But he says that the best light for his life to do a very small thing by (contrary to Chaucer's words to the Sun, "that he should lend his light to them that small seals grave"), it should be by an artificial light of a candle, set to advantage, as he could do it. I find the fellow, by his discourse, very ingenuous; and among other things, a great admirer and well read in all our English poets, and undertakes to judge of them all, and that not impertinently. Well pleased with his company and better with his judgement upon my Rule, I left him and home, whither Mr. Deane by agreement came to me and dined with me, and by chance Gunner Batters's wife. After dinner Deane and I [had] great discourse again about my Lord Chancellor's timber, out of which I wish I may get well. Thence I to Cocker's again, and sat by him with good discourse again for an hour or two, and then left him, and by agreement with Captain Silas Taylor (my old acquaintance at the Exchequer) to the Post Officer to hear some instrument musique of Mr. Berchenshaw's before my Lord Brunkard and Sir Robert Murray. I must confess, whether it be that I hear it but seldom, or that really voice is better, but so it is that I found no pleasure at all in it, and methought two voyces were worth twenty of it. So home to my office a while, and then to supper and to bed. 11th. Up, and through pain, to my great grief forced to wear my gowne to keep my legs warm. At the office all the morning, and there a high dispute against Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen about the breadth of canvas again, they being for the making of it narrower, I and Mr. Coventry and Sir J. Minnes for the keeping it broader. So home to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Creed, lately come from the Downes, and dined with me. I show him a good countenance, but love him not for his base ingratitude to me. However, abroad, carried my wife to buy things at the New Exchange, and so to my Lady Sandwich's, and there merry, talking with her a great while, and so home, whither comes Cocker with my rule, which he hath engraved to admiration, for goodness and smallness of work: it cost me 14s. the doing, and mightily pleased I am with it. By and by, he gone, comes Mr. Moore and staid talking with me a great while about my Lord's businesses, which I fear will be in a bad condition for his family if my Lord should miscarry at sea. He gone, I late to my office, and cannot forbear admiring and consulting my new rule, and so home to supper and to bed. This day, for a wager before the King, my Lords of Castlehaven and Arran (a son of my Lord of Ormond's), they two alone did run down and kill a stoute bucke in St. James's parke. 12th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office with Sir W. Warren about a great contract for New England masts, where I was very hard with him, even to the making him angry, but I thought it fit to do it as well as just for my owne [and] the King's behalf. At noon to the 'Change a little, and so to dinner and then out by coach, setting my wife and mayde down, going to Stevens the silversmith to change some old silver lace and to go buy new silke lace for a petticoat; I to White Hall and did much business at a Tangier Committee; where, among other things, speaking about propriety of the houses there, and how we ought to let the Portugeses I have right done them, as many of them as continue, or did sell the houses while they were in possession, and something further in their favour, the Duke in an anger I never observed in him before, did cry, says he, "All the world rides us, and I think we shall never ride anybody." Thence home, and, though late, yet Pedro being there, he sang a song and parted. I did give him 5s., but find it burdensome and so will break up the meeting. At night is brought home our poor Fancy, which to my great grief continues lame still, so that I wish she had not been brought ever home again, for it troubles me to see her. 13th. Up, and before I went to the office comes my Taylor with a coate I have made to wear within doors, purposely to come no lower than my knees, for by my wearing a gowne within doors comes all my tenderness about my legs. There comes also Mr. Reeve, with a microscope and scotoscope. [An optical instrument used to enable objects to be seen in the dark. The name is derived from the Greek.] For the first I did give him L5 10s., a great price, but a most curious bauble it is, and he says, as good, nay, the best he knows in England, and he makes the best in the world. The other he gives me, and is of value; and a curious curiosity it is to look objects in a darke room with. Mightly pleased with this I to the office, where all the morning. There offered by Sir W. Pen his coach to go to Epsum and carry my wife, I stept out and bade my wife make her ready, but being not very well and other things advising me to the contrary, I did forbear going, and so Mr. Creed dining with me I got him to give my wife and me a play this afternoon, lending him money to do it, which is a fallacy that I have found now once, to avoyde my vowe with, but never to be more practised I swear, and to the new play, at the Duke's house, of "Henry the Fifth;" a most noble play, writ by my Lord Orrery; wherein Betterton, Harris, and Ianthe's parts are most incomparably wrote and done, and the whole play the most full of height and raptures of wit and sense, that ever I heard; having but one incongruity, or what did, not please me in it, that is, that King Harry promises to plead for Tudor to their Mistresse, Princesse Katherine of France, more than when it comes to it he seems to do; and Tudor refused by her with some kind of indignity, not with a difficulty and honour that it ought to have been done in to him. Thence home and to my office, wrote by the post, and then to read a little in Dr. Power's book of discovery by the Microscope to enable me a little how to use and what to expect from my glasse. So to supper and to bed. 14th (Lord's day). After long lying discoursing with my wife, I up, and comes Mr. Holliard to see me, who concurs with me that my pain is nothing but cold in my legs breeding wind, and got only by my using to wear a gowne, and that I am not at all troubled with any ulcer, but my thickness of water comes from my overheat in my back. He gone, comes Mr. Herbert, Mr. Honiwood's man, and dined with me, a very honest, plain, well-meaning man, I think him to be; and by his discourse and manner of life, the true embleme of an old ordinary serving-man. After dinner up to my chamber and made an end of Dr. Power's booke of the Microscope, very fine and to my content, and then my wife and I with great pleasure, but with great difficulty before we could come to find the manner of seeing any thing by my microscope. At last did with good content, though not so much as I expect when I come to understand it better. By and by comes W. Joyce, in his silke suit, and cloake lined with velvett: staid talking with me, and I very merry at it. He supped with me; but a cunning, crafty fellow he is, and dangerous to displease, for his tongue spares nobody. After supper I up to read a little, and then to bed. 15th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke, who tells us more and more signs of a Dutch warr, and how we must presently set out a fleete for Guinny, for the Dutch are doing so, and there I believe the warr will begin. Thence home with him again, in our way he talking of his cures abroad, while he was with the King as a doctor, and above all men the pox. And among others, Sir J. Denham he told me he had cured, after it was come to an ulcer all over his face, to a miracle. To the Coffee-house I, and so to the 'Change a little, and then home to dinner with Creed, whom I met at the Coffee-house, and after dinner by coach set him down at the Temple, and I and my wife to Mr. Blagrave's. They being none of them at home; I to the Hall, leaving her there, and thence to the Trumpett, whither came Mrs. Lane, and there begins a sad story how her husband, as I feared, proves not worth a farthing, and that she is with child and undone, if I do not get him a place. I had my pleasure here of her, and she, like an impudent jade, depends upon my kindness to her husband, but I will have no more to do with her, let her brew as she has baked, seeing she would not take my counsel about Hawly. After drinking we parted, and I to Blagrave's, and there discoursed with Mrs. Blagrave about her kinswoman, who it seems is sickly even to frantiqueness sometimes, and among other things chiefly from love and melancholy upon the death of her servant,--[Servant = lover.]--insomuch that she telling us all most simply and innocently I fear she will not be able to come to us with any pleasure, which I am sorry for, for I think she would have pleased us very well. In comes he, and so to sing a song and his niece with us, but she sings very meanly. So through the Hall and thence by coach home, calling by the way at Charing Crosse, and there saw the great Dutchman that is come over, under whose arm I went with my hat on, and could not reach higher than his eye-browes with the tip of my fingers, reaching as high as I could. He is a comely and well-made man, and his wife a very little, but pretty comely Dutch woman. It is true, he wears pretty high-heeled shoes, but not very high, and do generally wear a turbant, which makes him show yet taller than really he is, though he is very tall, as I have said before. Home to my office, and then to supper, and then to my office again late, and so home to bed, my wife and I troubled that we do not speed better in this business of her woman. 16th. Wakened about two o'clock this morning with the noise of thunder, which lasted for an houre, with such continued lightnings, not flashes, but flames, that all the sky and ayre was light; and that for a great while, not a minute's space between new flames all the time; such a thing as I never did see, nor could have believed had ever been in nature. And being put into a great sweat with it, could not sleep till all was over. And that accompanied with such a storm of rain as I never heard in my life. I expected to find my house in the morning overflowed with the rain breaking in, and that much hurt must needs have been done in the city with this lightning; but I find not one drop of rain in my house, nor any newes of hurt done. But it seems it has been here and all up and down the countrie hereabouts the like tempest, Sir W. Batten saying much of the greatness thereof at Epsum. Up and all the morning at the office. At noon busy at the 'Change about one business or other, and thence home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon very busy, and so to supper anon, and then to my office again a while, collecting observations out of Dr. Power's booke of Microscopes, and so home to bed, very stormy weather to-night for winde. This day we had newes that my Lady Pen is landed and coming hither, so that I hope the family will be in better order and more neate than it hath been. 17th. Up, and going to Sir W. Batten to speak to him about business, he did give me three, bottles of his Epsum water, which I drank and it wrought well with me, and did give me many good stools, and I found myself mightily cooled with them and refreshed. Thence I to Mr. Honiwood and my father's old house, but he was gone out, and there I staid talking with his man Herbert, who tells me how Langford and his wife are very foul-mouthed people, and will speak very ill of my father, calling him old rogue in reference to the hard penniworths he sold him of his goods when the rogue need not have bought any of them. So that I am resolved he shall get no more money by me, but it vexes me to think that my father should be said to go away in debt himself, but that I will cause to be remedied whatever comes of it. Thence to my Lord Crew, and there with him a little while. Before dinner talked of the Dutch war, and find that he do much doubt that we shall fall into it without the money or consent of Parliament, that is expected or the reason of it that is fit to have for every warr. Dined with him, and after dinner talked with Sir Thomas Crew, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is for ever blown up, and now quite out with his father again; to whom he pretended that his going down was, not that he was cast out of the Court, but that he had leave to be absent a month; but now he finds the truth. Thence to my Lady Sandwich, where by agreement my wife dined, and after talking with her I carried my wife to Mr. Pierce's and left her there, and so to Captain Cooke's, but he was not at home, but I there spoke with my boy Tom Edwards, and directed him to go to Mr. Townsend (with whom I was in the morning) to have measure taken of his clothes to be made him there out of the Wardrobe, which will be so done, and then I think he will come to me. Thence to White Hall, and after long staying there was no Committee of the Fishery as was expected. Here I walked long with Mr. Pierce, who tells me the King do still sup every night with my Lady Castlemayne, who he believes has lately slunk a great belly away, for from very big she is come to be down again. Thence to Mrs. Pierce's, and with her and my wife to see Mrs. Clarke, where with him and her very merry discoursing of the late play of Henry the 5th, which they conclude the best that ever was made, but confess with me that Tudor's being dismissed in the manner he is is a great blemish to the play. I am mightily pleased with the Doctor, for he is the only man I know that I could learn to pronounce by, which he do the best that ever I heard any man. Thence home and to the office late, and so to supper and to bed. My Lady Pen came hither first to-night to Sir W. Pen's lodgings. 18th. Lay too long in bed, till 8 o'clock, then up and Mr. Reeve came and brought an anchor and a very fair loadstone. He would have had me bought it, and a good stone it is, but when he saw that I would not buy it he said he [would] leave it for me to sell for him. By and by he comes to tell me that he had present occasion for L6 to make up a sum, and that he would pay me in a day or two, but I had the unusual wit to deny him, and so by and by we parted, and I to the office, where busy all the morning sitting. Dined alone at home, my wife going to-day to dine with Mrs. Pierce, and thence with her and Mrs. Clerke to see a new play, "The Court Secret." I busy all the afternoon, toward evening to Westminster, and there in the Hall a while, and then to my barber, willing to have any opportunity to speak to Jane, but wanted it. So to Mrs. Pierces, who was come home, and she and Mrs. Clerke busy at cards, so my wife being gone home, I home, calling by the way at the Wardrobe and met Mr. Townsend, Mr. Moore and others at the Taverne thereby, and thither I to them and spoke with Mr. Townsend about my boy's clothes, which he says shall be soon done, and then I hope I shall be settled when I have one in the house that is musicall. So home and to supper, and then a little to my office, and then home to bed. My wife says the play she saw is the worst that ever she saw in her life. 19th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I sat all the morning hiring of ships to go to Guinny, where we believe the warr with Holland will first break out. At noon dined at home, and after dinner my wife and I to Sir W. Pen's, to see his Lady, the first time, who is a well-looked, fat, short, old Dutchwoman, but one that hath been heretofore pretty handsome, and is now very discreet, and, I believe, hath more wit than her husband. Here we staid talking a good while, and very well pleased I was with the old woman at first visit. So away home, and I to my office, my wife to go see my aunt Wight, newly come to town. Creed came to me, and he and I out, among other things, to look out a man to make a case, for to keep my stone, that I was cut of, in, and he to buy Daniel's history, which he did, but I missed of my end. So parted upon Ludgate Hill, and I home and to the office, where busy till supper, and home to supper to a good dish of fritters, which I bespoke, and were done much to my mind. Then to the office a while again, and so home to bed. The newes of the Emperour's victory over the Turkes is by some doubted, but by most confessed to be very small (though great) of what was talked, which was 80,000 men to be killed and taken of the Turke's side. 20th. Up and to the office a while, but this day the Parliament meeting only to be adjourned to November (which was done, accordingly), we did not meet, and so I forth to bespeak a case to be made to keep my stone in, which will cost me 25s. Thence I walked to Cheapside, there to see the effect of a fire there this morning, since four o'clock; which I find in the house of Mr. Bois, that married Dr. Fuller's niece, who are both out of towne, leaving only a mayde and man in towne. It begun in their house, and hath burned much and many houses backward, though none forward; and that in the great uniform pile of buildings in the middle of Cheapside. I am very sorry for them, for the Doctor's sake. Thence to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. And thence to Sir W. Batten's, whither Sir Richard Ford came, the Sheriffe, who hath been at this fire all the while; and he tells me, upon my question, that he and the Mayor were there, as it is their dutys to be, not only to keep the peace, but they have power of commanding the pulling down of any house or houses, to defend the whole City. By and by comes in the Common Cryer of the City to speak with him; and when he was gone, says he, "You may see by this man the constitution of the Magistracy of this City; that this fellow's place, I dare give him (if he will be true to me) L1000 for his profits every year, and expect to get L500 more to myself thereby. When," says he, "I in myself am forced to spend many times as much." By and by came Mr. Coventry, and so we met at the office, to hire ships for Guinny, and that done broke up. I to Sir W. Batten's, there to discourse with Mrs. Falconer, who hath been with Sir W. Pen this evening, after Mr. Coventry had promised her half what W. Bodham had given him for his place, but Sir W. Pen, though he knows that, and that Mr. Bodham hath said that his place hath cost him L100 and would L100 more, yet is he so high against the poor woman that he will not hear to give her a farthing, but it seems do listen after a lease where he expects Mr. Falconer hath put in his daughter's life, and he is afraid that that is not done, and did tell Mrs. Falconer that he would see it and know what is done therein in spite of her, when, poor wretch, she neither do nor can hinder him the knowing it. Mr. Coventry knows of this business of the lease, and I believe do think of it as well as I. But the poor woman is gone home without any hope, but only Mr. Coventry's own nobleness. So I to my office and wrote many letters, and so to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Waked about 4 o'clock with my wife, having a looseness, and peoples coming in the yard to the pump to draw water several times, so that fear of this day's fire made me fearful, and called Besse and sent her down to see, and it was Griffin's maid for water to wash her house. So to sleep again, and then lay talking till 9 o'clock. So up and drunk three bottles of Epsum water, which wrought well with me. I all the morning and most of the afternoon after dinner putting papers to rights in my chamber, and the like in the evening till night at my office, and renewing and writing fair over my vowes. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. Mr. Coventry told us the Duke was gone ill of a fit of an ague to bed; so we sent this morning to see how he do. [Elizabeth Falkener, wife of John Falkener, announced to Pepys the death of "her dear and loving husband" in a letter dated July 19th, 1664 "begs interest that she may be in something considered by the person succeeding her husband in his employment, which has occasioned great expenses." ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 646)] 22nd. Up and abroad, doing very many errands to my great content which lay as burdens upon my mind and memory. Home to dinner, and so to White Hall, setting down my wife at her father's, and I to the Tangier Committee, where several businesses I did to my mind, and with hopes thereby to get something. So to Westminster Hall, where by appointment I had made I met with Dr. Tom Pepys, but avoided all discourse of difference with him, though much against my will, and he like a doating coxcomb as he is, said he could not but demand his money, and that he would have his right, and that let all anger be forgot, and such sorry stuff, nothing to my mind, but only I obtained this satisfaction, that he told me about Sturbridge last was 12 months or 2 years he was at Brampton, and there my father did tell him that what he had done for my brother in giving him his goods and setting him up as he had done was upon condition that he should give my brother John L20 per ann., which he charged upon my father, he tells me in answer, as a great deal of hard measure that he should expect that with him that had a brother so able as I am to do that for him. This is all that he says he can say as to my father's acknowledging that he had given Tom his goods. He says his brother Roger will take his oath that my father hath given him thanks for his counsel for his giving of Tom his goods and setting him up in the manner that he hath done, but the former part of this he did not speak fully so bad nor as certain what he could say. So we walked together to my cozen Joyce's, where my wife staid for me, and then I home and her by coach, and so to my office, then to supper and to bed. 23rd. Lay long talking with my wife, and angry awhile about her desiring to have a French mayde all of a sudden, which I took to arise from yesterday's being with her mother. But that went over and friends again, and so she be well qualitied, I care not much whether she be French or no, so a Protestant. Thence to the office, and at noon to the 'Change, where very busy getting ships for Guinny and for Tangier. So home to dinner, and then abroad all the afternoon doing several errands, to comply with my oath of ending many businesses before Bartholomew's day, which is two days hence. Among others I went into New Bridewell, in my way to Mr. Cole, and there I saw the new model, and it is very handsome. Several at work, among others, one pretty whore brought in last night, which works very lazily. I did give them 6d. to drink, and so away. To Graye's Inn, but missed Mr. Cole, and so homeward called at Harman's, and there bespoke some chairs for a room, and so home, and busy late, and then to supper and to bed. The Dutch East India Fleete are now come home safe, which we are sorry for. Our Fleets on both sides are hastening out to Guinny. 24th. Up by six o'clock, and to my office with Tom Hater dispatching business in haste. At nine o'clock to White Hall about Mr. Maes's business at the Council, which stands in an ill condition still. Thence to Graye's Inn, but missed of Mr. Cole the lawyer, and so walked home, calling among the joyners in Wood Streete to buy a table and bade in many places, but did not buy it till I come home to see the place where it is to stand, to judge how big it must be. So after 'Change home and a good dinner, and then to White Hall to a Committee of the Fishery, where my Lord Craven and Mr. Gray mightily against Mr. Creed's being joined in the warrant for Secretary with Mr. Duke. However I did get it put off till the Duke of Yorke was there, and so broke up doing nothing. So walked home, first to the Wardrobe, and there saw one suit of clothes made for my boy and linen set out, and I think to have him the latter end of this week, and so home, Mr. Creed walking the greatest part of the way with me advising what to do in his case about his being Secretary to us in conjunction with Duke, which I did give him the best I could, and so home and to my office, where very much business, and then home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up and to the office after I had spoke to my taylor, Langford (who came to me about some work), desiring to know whether he knew of any debts that my father did owe of his own in the City. He tells me, "No, not any." I did on purpose try him because of what words he and his wife have said of him (as Herbert told me the other day), and further did desire him, that if he knew of any or could hear of any that he should bid them come to me, and I would pay them, for I would not that because he do not pay my brother's debts that therefore he should be thought to deny the payment of his owne. All the morning at the office busy. At noon to the 'Change, among other things busy to get a little by the hire of a ship for Tangier. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Cooke to see me; it is true he was kind to me at sea in carrying messages to and fro to my wife from sea, but I did do him kindnesses too, and therefore I matter not much to compliment or make any regard of his thinking me to slight him as I do for his folly about my brother Tom's mistress. After dinner and some talk with him, I to my office; there busy, till by and by Jacke Noble came to me to tell me that he had Cave in prison, and that he would give me and my father good security that neither we nor any of our family should be troubled with the child; for he could prove that he was fully satisfied for him; and that if the worst came to the worst, the parish must keep it; that Cave did bring the child to his house, but they got it carried back again, and that thereupon he put him in prison. When he saw that I would not pay him the money, nor made anything of being secured against the child, he then said that then he must go to law, not himself, but come in as a witness for Cave against us. I could have told him that he could bear witness that Cave is satisfied, or else there is no money due to himself; but I let alone any such discourse, only getting as much out of him as I could. I perceive he is a rogue, and hath inquired into everything and consulted with Dr. Pepys, and that he thinks as Dr. Pepys told him that my father if he could would not pay a farthing of the debts, and yet I made him confess that in all his lifetime he never knew my father to be asked for money twice, nay, not once, all the time he lived with him, and that for his own debts he believed he would do so still, but he meant only for those of Tom. He said now that Randall and his wife and the midwife could prove from my brother's own mouth that the child was his, and that Tom had told them the circumstances of time, upon November 5th at night, that he got it on her. I offered him if he would secure my father against being forced to pay the money again I would pay him, which at first he would do, give his own security, and when I asked more than his own he told me yes he would, and those able men, subsidy men, but when we came by and by to discourse of it again he would not then do it, but said he would take his course, and joyne with Cave and release him, and so we parted. However, this vexed me so as I could not be quiet, but took coach to go speak with Mr. Cole, but met him not within, so back, buying a table by the way, and at my office late, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind disordered about this roguish business--in every thing else, I thank God, well at ease. 26th. Up by 5 o'clock, which I have not been many a day, and down by water to Deptford, and there took in Mr. Pumpfield the rope-maker, and down with him to Woolwich to view Clothier's cordage, which I found bad and stopped the receipt of it. Thence to the ropeyard, and there among other things discoursed with Mrs. Falconer, who tells me that she has found the writing, and Sir W. Pen's daughter is not put into the lease for her life as he expected, and I am glad of it. Thence to the Dockyarde, and there saw the new ship in very great forwardness, and so by water to Deptford a little, and so home and shifting myself, to the 'Change, and there did business, and thence down by water to White Hall, by the way, at the Three Cranes, putting into an alehouse and eat a bit of bread and cheese. There I could not get into the Parke, and so was fain to stay in the gallery over the gate to look to the passage into the Parke, into which the King hath forbid of late anybody's coming, to watch his coming that had appointed me to come, which he did by and by with his lady and went to Guardener's Lane, and there instead of meeting with one that was handsome and could play well, as they told me, she is the ugliest beast and plays so basely as I never heard anybody, so that I should loathe her being in my house. However, she took us by and by and showed us indeed some pictures at one Hiseman's, a picture drawer, a Dutchman, which is said to exceed Lilly, and indeed there is both of the Queenes and Mayds of Honour (particularly Mrs. Stewart's in a buff doublet like a soldier) as good pictures, I think, as ever I saw. The Queene is drawn in one like a shepherdess, in the other like St. Katharin, most like and most admirably. I was mightily pleased with this sight indeed, and so back again to their lodgings, where I left them, but before I went this mare that carried me, whose name I know not but that they call him Sir John, a pitiful fellow, whose face I have long known but upon what score I know not, but he could have the confidence to ask me to lay down money for him to renew the lease of his house, which I did give eare to there because I was there receiving a civility from him, but shall not part with my money. There I left them, and I by water home, where at my office busy late, then home to supper, and so to bed. This day my wife tells me Mr. Pen, [William Penn, afterwards the famous Quaker. P. Gibson, writing to him in March, 1711-12, says: "I remember your honour very well, when you newly came out of France and wore pantaloon breeches"] Sir William's son, is come back from France, and come to visit her. A most modish person, grown, she says, a fine gentleman. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and there almost made my bargain about a ship for Tangier, which will bring me in a little profit with Captain Taylor. Off the 'Change with Mr. Cutler and Sir W. Rider to Cutler's house, and there had a very good dinner, and two or three pretty young ladies of their relations there. Thence to my case-maker for my stone case, and had it to my mind, and cost me 24s., which is a great deale of money, but it is well done and pleases me. So doing some other small errands I home, and there find my boy, Tom Edwards, come, sent me by Captain Cooke, having been bred in the King's Chappell these four years. I propose to make a clerke of him, and if he deserves well, to do well by him. Spent much of the afternoon to set his chamber in order, and then to the office leaving him at home, and late at night after all business was done I called Will and told him my reason of taking a boy, and that it is of necessity, not out of any unkindness to him, nor should be to his injury, and then talked about his landlord's daughter to come to my wife, and I think it will be. So home and find my boy a very schoole boy, that talks innocently and impertinently, but at present it is a sport to us, and in a little time he will leave it. So sent him to bed, he saying that he used to go to bed at eight o'clock, and then all of us to bed, myself pretty well pleased with my choice of a boy. All the newes this day is, that the Dutch are, with twenty-two sayle of ships of warr, crewsing up and down about Ostend; at which we are alarmed. My Lord Sandwich is come back into the Downes with only eight sayle, which is or may be a prey to the Dutch, if they knew our weakness and inability to set out any more speedily. 28th (Lord's day). Up the first time I have had great while. Home to dined, and with my boy alone to church anybody to attend me to church a dinner, and there met Creed, who, and we merry together, as his learning is such and judgment that I cannot but be pleased with it. After dinner I took him to church, into our gallery, with me, but slept the best part of the sermon, which was a most silly one. So he and I to walk to the 'Change a while, talking from one pleasant discourse to another, and so home, and thither came my uncle Wight and aunt, and supped with us mighty merry. And Creed lay with us all night, and so to bed, very merry to think how Mr. Holliard (who came in this evening to see me) makes nothing, but proving as a most clear thing that Rome is Antichrist. 29th. Up betimes, intending to do business at my office, by 5 o'clock, but going out met at my door Mr. Hughes come to speak with me about office business, and told me that as he came this morning from Deptford he left the King's yarde a-fire. So I presently took a boat and down, and there found, by God's providence, the fire out; but if there had been any wind it must have burned all our stores, which is a most dreadfull consideration. But leaving all things well I home, and out abroad doing many errands, Mr. Creed also out, and my wife to her mother's, and Creed and I met at my Lady Sandwich's and there dined; but my Lady is become as handsome, I think, as ever she was; and so good and discreet a woman I know not in the world. After dinner I to Westminster to Jervas's a while, and so doing many errands by the way, and necessary ones, I home, and thither came the woman with her mother which our Will recommends to my wife. I like her well, and I think will please us. My wife and they agreed, and she is to come the next week. At which I am very well contented, for then I hope we shall be settled, but I must remember that, never since I was housekeeper, I ever lived so quietly, without any noise or one angry word almost, as I have done since my present mayds Besse, Jane, and Susan came and were together. Now I have taken a boy and am taking a woman, I pray God we may not be worse, but I will observe it. After being at my office a while, home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and to the office, where sat long, and at noon to dinner at home; after dinner comes Mr. Pen to visit me, and staid an houre talking with me. I perceive something of learning he hath got, but a great deale, if not too much, of the vanity of the French garbe and affected manner of speech and gait. I fear all real profit he hath made of his travel will signify little. So, he gone, I to my office and there very busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up by five o'clock and to my office, where T. Hater and Will met me, and so we dispatched a great deal of my business as to the ordering my papers and books which were behindhand. All the morning very busy at my office. At noon home to dinner, and there my wife hath got me some pretty good oysters, which is very soon and the soonest, I think, I ever eat any. After dinner I up to hear my boy play upon a lute, which I have this day borrowed of Mr. Hunt; and indeed the boy would, with little practice, play very well upon the lute, which pleases me well. So by coach to the Tangier Committee, and there have another small business by which I may get a little small matter of money. Staid but little there, and so home and to my office, where late casting up my monthly accounts, and, blessed be God! find myself worth L1020, which is still the most I ever was worth. So home and to bed. Prince Rupert I hear this day is to go to command this fleete going to Guinny against the Dutch. I doubt few will be pleased with his going, being accounted an unhappy' man. My mind at good rest, only my father's troubles with Dr. Pepys and my brother Tom's creditors in general do trouble me. I have got a new boy that understands musique well, as coming to me from the King's Chappell, and I hope will prove a good boy, and my wife and I are upon having a woman, which for her content I am contented to venture upon the charge of again, and she is one that our' Will finds out for us, and understands a little musique, and I think will please us well, only her friends live too near us. Pretty well in health, since I left off wearing of a gowne within doors all day, and then go out with my legs into the cold, which brought me daily pain. SEPTEMBER 1664 Sept. 1st. A sad rainy night, up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and thence brought Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon, and Creed, and dined very merry and handsomely; but my wife not being well of those she not with us; and we cut up the great cake Moorcocke lately sent us, which is very good. They gone I to my office, and there very busy till late at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up very betimes and walked (my boy with me) to Mr. Cole's, and after long waiting below, he being under the barber's hands, I spoke with him, and he did give me much hopes of getting my debt that my brother owed me, and also that things would go well with my father. But going to his attorney's, that he directed me to, they tell me both that though I could bring my father to a confession of a judgment, yet he knowing that there are specialties out against him he is bound to plead his knowledge of them to me before he pays me, or else he must do it in his own wrong. I took a great deal of pains this morning in the thorough understanding hereof, and hope that I know the truth of our case, though it be but bad, yet better than to run spending money and all to no purpose. However, I will inquire a little more. Walked home, doing very many errands by the way to my great content, and at the 'Change met and spoke with several persons about serving us with pieces of eight at Tangier. So home to dinner above stairs, my wife not being well of those in bed. I dined by her bedside, but I got her to rise and abroad with me by coach to Bartholomew Fayre, and our boy with us, and there shewed them and myself the dancing on the ropes, and several other the best shows; but pretty it is to see how our boy carries himself so innocently clownish as would make one laugh. Here till late and dark, then up and down, to buy combes for my wife to give her mayds, and then by coach home, and there at the office set down my day's work, and then home to bed. 3rd. I have had a bad night's rest to-night, not sleeping well, as my wife observed, and once or twice she did wake me, and I thought myself to be mightily bit with fleas, and in the morning she chid her mayds for not looking the fleas a-days. But, when I rose, I found that it is only the change of the weather from hot to cold, which, as I was two winters ago, do stop my pores, and so my blood tingles and itches all day all over my body, and so continued to-day all the day long just as I was then, and if it continues to be so cold I fear I must come to the same pass, but sweating cured me then, and I hope, and am told, will this also. At the office sat all the morning, dined at home, and after dinner to White Hall, to the Fishing Committee, but not above four of us met, which could do nothing, and a sad thing it is to see so great a work so ill followed, for at this pace it can come to any thing at first sight. Mr. Hill came to tell me that he had got a gentlewoman for my wife, one Mrs. Ferrabosco, that sings most admirably. I seemed glad of it; but I hear she is too gallant for me, and I am not sorry that I misse her. Thence to the office, setting some papers right, and so home to supper and to bed, after prayers. 5th. Up and to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke; where all our discourse of warr in the highest measure. Prince Rupert was with us; who is fitting himself to go to sea in the Heneretta. And afterwards in White Hall I met him and Mr. Gray, and he spoke to me, and in other discourse, says he, "God damn me, I can answer but for one ship, and in that I will do my part; for it is not in that as in an army, where a man can command every thing." By and by to a Committee for the Fishery, the Duke of Yorke there, where, after Duke was made Secretary, we fell to name a Committee, whereof I was willing to be one, because I would have my hand in the business, to understand it and be known in doing something in it; and so, after cutting out work for the Committee, we rose, and I to my wife to Unthanke's, and with her from shop to shop, laying out near L10 this morning in clothes for her. And so I to the 'Change, where a while, and so home and to dinner, and thither came W. Bowyer and dined with us; but strange to see how he could not endure onyons in sauce to lamb, but was overcome with the sight of it, and so-was forced to make his dinner of an egg or two. He tells us how Mrs. Lane is undone, by her marrying so bad, and desires to speak with me, which I know is wholly to get me to do something for her to get her husband a place, which he is in no wise fit for. After dinner down to Woolwich with a gaily, and then to Deptford, and so home, all the way reading Sir J. Suck[l]ing's "Aglaura," which, methinks, is but a mean play; nothing of design in it. Coming home it is strange to see how I was troubled to find my wife, but in a necessary compliment, expecting Mr. Pen to see her, who had been there and was by her people denied, which, he having been three times, she thought not fit he should be any more. But yet even this did raise my jealousy presently and much vex me. However, he did not come, which pleased me, and I to supper, and to the office till 9 o'clock or thereabouts, and so home to bed. My aunt James had been here to-day with Kate Joyce twice to see us. The second time my wife was at home, and they it seems are going down to Brampton, which I am sorry for, for the charge that my father will be put to. But it must be borne with, and my mother has a mind to see them, but I do condemn myself mightily for my pride and contempt of my aunt and kindred that are not so high as myself, that I have not seen her all this while, nor invited her all this while. 6th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, then to my office and there waited, thinking to have had Bagwell's wife come to me about business, that I might have talked with her, but she came not. So I to White Hall by coach with Mr. Andrews, and there I got his contract for the victualling of Tangier signed and sealed by us there, so that all the business is well over, and I hope to have made a good business of it and to receive L100 by it the next weeke, for which God be praised! Thence to W. Joyce's and Anthony's, to invite them to dinner to meet my aunt James at my house, and the rather because they are all to go down to my father the next weeke, and so I would be a little kind to them before they go. So home, having called upon Doll, our pretty 'Change woman, for a pair of gloves trimmed with yellow ribbon, to [match the] petticoate my wife bought yesterday, which cost me 20s.; but she is so pretty, that, God forgive me! I could not think it too much--which is a strange slavery that I stand in to beauty, that I value nothing near it. So going home, and my coach stopping in Newgate Market over against a poulterer's shop, I took occasion to buy a rabbit, but it proved a deadly old one when I came to eat it, as I did do after an hour being at my office, and after supper again there till past 11 at night. So home,, and to bed. This day Mr. Coventry did tell us how the Duke did receive the Dutch Embassador the other day; by telling him that, whereas they think us in jest, he believes that the Prince (Rupert) which goes in this fleete to Guinny will soon tell them that we are in earnest, and that he himself will do the like here, in the head of the fleete here at home, and that for the meschants, which he told the Duke there were in England, which did hope to do themselves good by the King's being at warr, says he, the English have ever united all this private difference to attend foraigne, and that Cromwell, notwithstanding the meschants in his time, which were the Cavaliers, did never find them interrupt him in his foraigne businesses, and that he did not doubt but to live to see the Dutch as fearfull of provoking the English, under the government of a King, as he remembers them to have been under that of a Coquin. I writ all this story to my Lord Sandwich tonight into the Downes, it being very good and true, word for word from Mr. Coventry to-day. 7th. Lay long to-day, pleasantly discoursing with my wife about the dinner we are to have for the Joyces, a day or two hence. Then up and with Mr. Margetts to Limehouse to see his ground and ropeyarde there, which is very fine, and I believe we shall employ it for the Navy, for the King's grounds are not sufficient to supply our defence if a warr comes. Thence back to the 'Change, where great talke of the forwardnesse of the Dutch, which puts us all to a stand, and particularly myself for my Lord Sandwich, to think him to lie where he is for a sacrifice, if they should begin with us. So home and Creed with me, and to dinner, and after dinner I out to my office, taking in Bagwell's wife, who I knew waited for me, but company came to me so soon that I could have no discourse with her, as I intended, of pleasure. So anon abroad with Creed walked to Bartholomew Fayre, this being the last day, and there saw the best dancing on the ropes that I think I ever saw in my life, and so all say, and so by coach home, where I find my wife hath had her head dressed by her woman, Mercer, which is to come to her to-morrow, but my wife being to go to a christening tomorrow, she came to do her head up to-night. So a while to my office, and then to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and I by water down to Woolwich by a galley, and back again in the evening. All haste made in setting out this Guinny fleete, but yet not such as will ever do the King's business if we come to a warr. My wife this afternoon being very well dressed by her new woman, Mary Mercer, a decayed merchant's daughter that our Will helps us to, did go to the christening of Mrs. Mills, the parson's wife's child, where she never was before. After I was come home Mr. Povey came to me and took me out to supper to Mr. Bland's, who is making now all haste to be gone for Tangier. Here pretty merry, and good discourse, fain to admire the knowledge and experience of Mrs. Bland, who I think as good a merchant as her husband. I went home and there find Mercer, whose person I like well, and I think will do well, at least I hope so. So to my office a while and then to bed. 9th. Up, and to put things in order against dinner. I out and bought several things, among others, a dozen of silver salts; home, and to the office, where some of us met a little, and then home, and at noon comes my company, namely, Anthony and Will Joyce and their wives, my aunt James newly come out of Wales, and my cozen Sarah Gyles. Her husband did not come, and by her I did understand afterwards, that it was because he was not yet able to pay me the 40s. she had borrowed a year ago of me. [Pepys would have been more proud of his cousin had he anticipated her husband's becoming a knight, for she was probably the same person whose burial is recorded in the register of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, September 4th, 1704: "Dame Sarah Gyles, widow, relict of Sir John Gyles."--B.] I was as merry as I could, giving them a good dinner; but W. Joyce did so talk, that he made every body else dumb, but only laugh at him. I forgot there was Mr. Harman and his wife, my aunt, a very good harmlesse woman. All their talke is of her and my two she-cozen Joyces and Will's little boy Will (who was also here to-day), down to Brampton to my father's next week, which will be trouble and charge to them, but however my father and mother desire to see them, and so let them. They eyed mightily my great cupboard of plate, I this day putting my two flaggons upon my table; and indeed it is a fine sight, and better than ever I did hope to see of my owne. Mercer dined with us at table, this being her first dinner in my house. After dinner left them and to White Hall, where a small Tangier Committee, and so back again home, and there my wife and Mercer and Tom and I sat till eleven at night, singing and fiddling, and a great joy it is to see me master of so much pleasure in my house, that it is and will be still, I hope, a constant pleasure to me to be at home. The girle plays pretty well upon the harpsicon, but only ordinary tunes, but hath a good hand; sings a little, but hath a good voyce and eare. My boy, a brave boy, sings finely, and is the most pleasant boy at present, while his ignorant boy's tricks last, that ever I saw. So to supper, and with great pleasure to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where we sate all the morning, and I much troubled to think what the end of our great sluggishness will be, for we do nothing in this office like people able to carry on a warr. We must be put out, or other people put in. Dined at home, and then my wife and I and Mercer to the Duke's house, and there saw "The Rivalls," which is no excellent play, but good acting in it; especially Gosnell comes and sings and dances finely, but, for all that, fell out of the key, so that the musique could not play to her afterwards, and so did Harris also go out of the tune to agree with her. Thence home and late writing letters, and this night I received, by Will, L105, the first-fruits of my endeavours in the late contract for victualling of Tangier, for which God be praised! for I can with a safe conscience say that I have therein saved the King L5000 per annum, and yet got myself a hope of L300 per annum without the least wrong to the King. So to supper and to bed. 11th (Lord's day). Up and to church in the best manner I have gone a good while, that is to say, with my wife, and her woman, Mercer, along with us, and Tom, my boy, waiting on us. A dull sermon. Home, dined, left my wife to go to church alone, and I walked in haste being late to the Abbey at Westminster, according to promise to meet Jane Welsh, and there wearily walked, expecting her till 6 o'clock from three, but no Jane came, which vexed me, only part of it I spent with Mr. Blagrave walking in the Abbey, he telling me the whole government and discipline of White Hall Chappell, and the caution now used against admitting any debauched persons, which I was glad to hear, though he tells me there are persons bad enough. Thence going home went by Jarvis's, and there stood Jane at the door, and so I took her in and drank with her, her master and mistress being out of doors. She told me how she could not come to me this afternoon, but promised another time. So I walked home contented with my speaking with her, and walked to my uncle Wight's, where they were all at supper, and among others comes fair Mrs. Margarett Wight, who indeed is very pretty. So after supper home to prayers and to bed. This afternoon, it seems, Sir J. Minnes fell sicke at church, and going down the gallery stairs fell down dead, but came to himself again and is pretty well. 12th. Up, and to my cozen Anthony Joyce's, and there took leave of my aunt James, and both cozens, their wives, who are this day going down to my father's by coach. I did give my Aunt 20s., to carry as a token to my mother, and 10s. to Pall. Thence by coach to St. James's, and there did our business as usual with the Duke; and saw him with great pleasure play with his little girle,--[Afterwards Queen Mary II.]--like an ordinary private father of a child. Thence walked to Jervas's, where I took Jane in the shop alone, and there heard of her, her master and mistress were going out. So I went away and came again half an hour after. In the meantime went to the Abbey, and there went in to see the tombs with great pleasure. Back again to Jane, and there upstairs and drank with her, and staid two hours with her kissing her, but nothing more. Anon took boat and by water to the Neat Houses over against Fox Hall to have seen Greatorex dive, which Jervas and his wife were gone to see, and there I found them (and did it the rather for a pretence for my having been so long at their house), but being disappointed of some necessaries to do it I staid not, but back to Jane, but she would not go out with me. So I to Mr. Creed's lodgings, and with him walked up and down in the New Exchange, talking mightily of the convenience and necessity of a man's wearing good clothes, and so after eating a messe of creame I took leave of him, he walking with me as far as Fleete Conduit, he offering me upon my request to put out some money for me into Backewell's hands at 6 per cent. interest, which he seldom gives, which I will consider of, being doubtful of trusting any of these great dealers because of their mortality, but then the convenience of having one's money, at an houre's call is very great. Thence to my uncle Wight's, and there supped with my wife, having given them a brave barrel of oysters of Povy's giving me. So home and to bed. 13th. Up and, to the office, where sat busy all morning, dined at home and after dinner to Fishmonger's Hall, where we met the first time upon the Fishery Committee, and many good things discoursed of concerning making of farthings, which was proposed as a way of raising money for this business, and then that of lotterys, [Among the State Papers is a "Statement of Articles in the Covenant proposed by the Commissioners for the Royal Fishing to, Sir Ant. Desmarces & Co. in reference to the regulation of lotteries; which are very unreasonable, and of the objections thereto" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 576.)] but with great confusion; but I hope we shall fall into greater order. So home again and to my office, where after doing business home and to a little musique, after supper, and so to bed. 14th. Up, and wanting some things that should be laid ready for my dressing myself I was angry, and one thing after another made my wife give Besse warning to be gone, which the jade, whether out of fear or ill-nature or simplicity I know not, but she took it and asked leave to go forth to look a place, and did, which vexed me to the heart, she being as good a natured wench as ever we shall have, but only forgetful. At the office all the morning and at noon to the 'Change, and there went off with Sir W. Warren and took occasion to desire him to lend me L100, which he said he would let the have with all his heart presently, as he had promised me a little while ago to give me for my pains in his two great contracts for masts L100, and that this should be it. To which end I did move it to him, and by this means I hope to be, possessed of the L100 presently within 2 or 3 days. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and down to Blackwall by water to view a place found out for laying of masts, and I think it will be most proper. So home and there find Mr. Pen come to visit my wife, and staid with them till sent for to Mr. Bland's, whither by appointment I was to go to supper, and against my will left them together, but, God knows, without any reason of fear in my conscience of any evil between them, but such is my natural folly. Being thither come they would needs have my wife, and so Mr. Bland and his wife (the first time she was ever at my house or my wife at hers) very civilly went forth and brought her and W. Pen, and there Mr. Povy and we supped nobly and very merry, it being to take leave of Mr. Bland, who is upon going soon to Tangier. So late home and to bed. 15th. At the office all the morning, then to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, where Luellin dined with us, and after dinner many people came in and kept me all the afternoon, among other the Master and Wardens of Chyrurgeon's Hall, who staid arguing their cause with me; I did give them the best answer I could, and after their being two hours with me parted, and I to my office to do business, which is much on my hands, and so late home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning very busy putting papers to rights. And among other things Mr. Gauden coming to me, I had a good opportunity to speak to him about his present, which hitherto hath been a burden: to me, that I could not do it, because I was doubtfull that he meant it as a temptation to me to stand by him in the business of Tangier victualling; but he clears me it was not, and that he values me and my proceedings therein very highly, being but what became me, and that what he did was for my old kindnesses to him in dispatching of his business, which I was glad to hear, and with my heart in good rest and great joy parted, and to my business again. At noon to the 'Change, where by appointment I met Sir W. Warren, and afterwards to the Sun taverne, where he brought to me, being all alone; L100 in a bag, which I offered him to give him my receipt for, but he told me, no, it was my owne, which he had a little while since promised me and was glad that (as I had told him two days since) it would now do me courtesy; and so most kindly he did give it me, and I as joyfully, even out of myself, carried it home in a coach, he himself expressly taking care that nobody might see this business done, though I was willing enough to have carried a servant with me to have received it, but he advised me to do it myself. So home with it and to dinner; after dinner I forth with my boy to buy severall things, stools and andirons and candlesticks, &c., household stuff, and walked to the mathematical instrument maker in Moorefields and bought a large pair of compasses, and there met Mr. Pargiter, and he would needs have me drink a cup of horse-radish ale, which he and a friend of his troubled with the stone have been drinking of, which we did and then walked into the fields as far almost as Sir G. Whitmore's, all the way talking of Russia, which, he says, is a sad place; and, though Moscow is a very great city, yet it is from the distance between house and house, and few people compared with this, and poor, sorry houses, the Emperor himself living in a wooden house, his exercise only flying a hawk at pigeons and carrying pigeons ten or twelve miles off and then laying wagers which pigeon shall come soonest home to her house. All the winter within doors, some few playing at chesse, but most drinking their time away. Women live very slavishly there, and it seems in the Emperor's court no room hath above two or three windows, and those the greatest not a yard wide or high, for warmth in winter time; and that the general cure for all diseases there is their sweating houses, or people that are poor they get into their ovens, being heated, and there lie. Little learning among things of any sort. Not a man that speaks Latin, unless the Secretary of State by chance. Mr. Pargiter and I walked to the 'Change together and there parted, and so I to buy more things and then home, and after a little at my office, home to supper and to bed. This day old Hardwicke came and redeemed a watch he had left with me in pawne for 40s. seven years ago, and I let him gave it. Great talk that the Dutch will certainly be out this week, and will sail directly to Guinny, being convoyed out of the Channel with 42 sail of ships. 17th. Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry very angry to see things go so coldly as they do, and I must needs say it makes me fearful every day of having some change of the office, and the truth is, I am of late a little guilty of being remiss myself of what I used to be, but I hope I shall come to my old pass again, my family being now settled again. Dined at home, and to the office, where late busy in setting all my businesses in order, and I did a very great and a very contenting afternoon's work. This day my aunt Wight sent my wife a new scarfe, with a compliment for the many favours she had received of her, which is the several things we have sent her. I am glad enough of it, for I see my uncle is so given up to the Wights that I hope for little more of them. So home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up and to church all of us. At noon comes Anthony and W. Joyce (their wives being in the country with my father) and dined with me very merry as I can be in such company. After dinner walked to Westminster (tiring them by the way, and so left them, Anthony in Cheapside and the other in the Strand), and there spent all the afternoon in the Cloysters as I had agreed with Jane Welsh, but she came not, which vexed me, staying till 5 o'clock, and then walked homeward, and by coach to the old Exchange, and thence to my aunt Wight's, and invited her and my uncle to supper, and so home, and by and by they came, and we eat a brave barrel of oysters Mr. Povy sent me this morning, and very merry at supper, and so to prayers and to bed. Last night it seems my aunt Wight did send my wife a new scarfe, laced, as a token for her many givings to her. It is true now and then we give them some toys, as oranges, &c., but my aime is to get myself something more from my uncle's favour than this. 19th. Up, my wife and I having a little anger about her woman already, she thinking that I take too much care of her at table to mind her (my wife) of cutting for her, but it soon over, and so up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke, and thence homeward straight, calling at the Coffee-house, and there had very good discourse with Sir----Blunt and Dr. Whistler about Egypt and other things. So home to dinner, my wife having put on to-day her winter new suit of moyre, which is handsome, and so after dinner I did give her L15 to lay out in linen and necessaries for the house and to buy a suit for Pall, and I myself to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, where Colonell Reames hath brought us so full and methodical an account of all matters there, that I never have nor hope to see the like of any publique business while I live again. The Committee up, I to Westminster to Jervas's, and spoke with Jane; who I find cold and not so desirous of a meeting as before, and it is no matter, I shall be the freer from the inconvenience that might follow thereof, besides offending God Almighty and neglecting my business. So by coach home and to my office, where late, and so to supper and to bed. I met with Dr. Pierce to-day, who, speaking of Dr. Frazier's being so earnest to have such a one (one Collins) go chyrurgeon to the Prince's person will have him go in his terms and with so much money put into his hands, he tells me (when I was wondering that Frazier should order things with the Prince in that confident manner) that Frazier is so great with my Lady Castlemayne, and Stewart, and all the ladies at Court, in helping to slip their calfes when there is occasion, and with the great men in curing of their claps that he can do what he please with the King, in spite of any man, and upon the same score with the Prince; they all having more or less occasion to make use of him. Sir G. Carteret tells me this afternoon that the Dutch are not yet ready to set out; and by that means do lose a good wind which would carry them out and keep us in, and moreover he says that they begin to boggle in the business, and he thinks may offer terms of peace for all this, and seems to argue that it will be well for the King too, and I pray God send it. Colonell Reames did, among other things, this day tell me how it is clear that, if my Lord Tiviott had lived, he would have quite undone Tangier, or designed himself to be master of it. He did put the King upon most great, chargeable, and unnecessary works there, and took the course industriously to deter, all other merchants but himself to deal there, and to make both King and all others pay what he pleased for all that was brought thither. 20th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and there met by appointment with Captain Poyntz, who hath some place, or title to a place, belonging to gameing, and so I discoursed with him about the business of our improving of the Lotterys, to the King's benefit, and that of the Fishery, and had some light from him in the business, and shall, he says, have more in writing from him. So home to dinner and then abroad to the Fishing Committee at Fishmongers' Hall, and there sat and did some business considerable, and so up and home, and there late at my office doing much business, and I find with great delight that I am come to my good temper of business again. God continue me in it. So home to supper, it being washing day, and to bed. 21st. Up, and by coach to Mr. Povy's, and there got him to signe the payment of Captain Tayler's bills for the remainder of freight for the Eagle, wherein I shall be gainer about L30, thence with him to Westminster by coach to Houseman's [Huysman] the great picture drawer, and saw again very fine pictures, and have his promise, for Mr. Povy's sake, to take pains in what picture I shall set him about, and I think to have my wife's. But it is a strange thing to observe and fit for me to remember that I am at no time so unwilling to part with money as when I am concerned in the getting of it most, as I thank God of late I have got more in this month, viz. near 0250, than ever I did in half a year before in my life, I think. Thence to White Hall with him, and so walked to the old Exchange and back to Povy's to dinner, where great and good company; among others Sir John Skeffington, whom I knew at Magdalen College, a fellow-commoner, my fellow-pupil, but one with whom I had no great acquaintance, he being then, God knows, much above me. Here I was afresh delighted with Mr. Povy's house and pictures of perspective, being strange things to think how they do delude one's eye, that methinks it would make a man doubtful of swearing that ever he saw any thing. Thence with him to St. James's, and so to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, and hope I have light of another opportunity of getting a little money if Sir W. Warren will use me kindly for deales to Tangier, and with the hopes went joyfully home, and there received Captain Tayler's money, received by Will to-day, out of which (as I said above) I shall get above L30. So with great comfort to bed, after supper. By discourse this day I have great hopes from Mr. Coventry that the Dutch and we shall not fall out. 22nd. Up and at the office all the morning. To the 'Change at noon, and among other things discoursed with Sir William Warren what I might do to get a little money by carrying of deales to Tangier, and told him the opportunity I have there of doing it, and he did give me some advice, though not so good as he would have done at any other time of the year, but such as I hope to make good use of, and get a little money by. So to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, and he and I and Captain Cocke all alone, and good discourse, and thence to a Committee of Tangier at White Hall, and so home, where I found my wife not well, and she tells me she thinks she is with child, but I neither believe nor desire it. But God's will be done! So to my office late, and home to supper and to bed; having got a strange cold in my head, by flinging off my hat at dinner, and sitting with the wind in my neck. [In Lord Clarendon's Essay, "On the decay of respect paid to Age," he says that in his younger days he never kept his hat on before those older than himself, except at dinner.--B.] 23rd. My cold and pain in my head increasing, and the palate of my mouth falling, I was in great pain all night. My wife also was not well, so that a mayd was fain to sit up by her all night. Lay long in the morning, at last up, and amongst others comes Mr. Fuller, that was the wit of Cambridge, and Praevaricator [At the Commencement (Comitia Majora) in July, the Praevaricator, or Varier, held a similar position to the Tripos at the Comitia Minora. He was so named from varying the question which he proposed, either by a play upon the words or by the transposition of the terms in which it was expressed. Under the pretence of maintaining some philosophical question, he poured out a medley of absurd jokes and 'personal ridicule, which gradually led to the abolition of the office. In Thoresby's "Diary" we read, "Tuesday, July 6th. The Praevaricator's speech was smart and ingenious, attended with vollies of hurras" (see Wordsworth's "University Life in the Eighteenth Century ").--M. B.] in my time, and staid all the morning with me discoursing, and his business to get a man discharged, which I did do for him. Dined with little heart at noon, in the afternoon against my will to the office, where Sir G. Carteret and we met about an order of the Council for the hiring him a house, giving him L1000 fine, and L70 per annum for it. Here Sir J. Minnes took occasion, in the most childish and most unbeseeming manner, to reproach us all, but most himself, that he was not valued as Comptroller among us, nor did anything but only set his hand to paper, which is but too true; and every body had a palace, and he no house to lie in, and wished he had but as much to build him a house with, as we have laid out in carved worke. It was to no end to oppose, but all bore it, and after laughed at him for it. So home, and late reading "The Siege of Rhodes" to my wife, and then to bed, my head being in great pain and my palate still down. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy, then home to dinner, and so after dinner comes one Phillips, who is concerned in the Lottery, and from him I collected much concerning that business. I carried him in my way to White Hall and set him down at Somersett House. Among other things he told me that Monsieur Du Puy, that is so great a man at the Duke of Yorke's, and this man's great opponent, is a knave and by quality but a tailor. To the Tangier Committee, and there I opposed Colonell Legg's estimate of supplies of provisions to be sent to Tangier till all were ashamed of it, and he fain after all his good husbandry and seeming ignorance and joy to have the King's money saved, yet afterwards he discovered all his design to be to keep the furnishing of these things to the officers of the Ordnance, but Mr. Coventry seconded me, and between us we shall save the King some money in the year. In one business of deales in L520, I offer to save L172, and yet purpose getting money, to myself by it. So home and to my office, and business being done home to supper and so to bed, my head and throat being still out of order mightily. This night Prior of Brampton came and paid me L40, and I find this poor painful man is the only thriving and purchasing man in the town almost. We were told to-day of a Dutch ship of 3 or 400 tons, where all the men were dead of the plague, and the ship cast ashore at Gottenburgh. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and my throat being yet very sore, and, my head out of order, we went not to church, but I spent all the morning reading of "The Madd Lovers," a very good play, and at noon comes Harman and his wife, whom I sent for to meet the Joyces, but they came not. It seems Will has got a fall off his horse and broke his face. However, we were as merry as I could in their company, and we had a good chine of beef, but I had no taste nor stomach through my cold, and therefore little pleased with my dinner. It raining, they sat talking with us all the afternoon. So anon they went away; and then I to read another play, "The Custome of the Country," which is a very poor one, methinks. Then to supper, prayers, and bed. 26th. Up pretty well again, but my mouth very scabby, my cold being going away, so that I was forced to wear a great black patch, but that would not do much good, but it happens we did not go to the Duke to-day, and so I staid at home busy all the morning. At noon, after dinner, to the 'Change, and thence home to my office again, where busy, well employed till 10 at night, and so home to supper and to bed, my mind a little troubled that I have not of late kept up myself so briske in business; but mind my ease a little too much and my family upon the coming of Mercer and Tom. So that I have not kept company, nor appeared very active with Mr. Coventry, but now I resolve to settle to it again, not that I have idled all my time, but as to my ease something. So I have looked a little too much after Tangier and the Fishery, and that in the sight of Mr. Coventry, but I have good reason to love myself for serving Tangier, for it is one of the best flowers in my garden. 27th. Lay long, sleeping, it raining and blowing very hard. Then up and to the office, my mouth still being scabby and a patch on it. At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, and so after dinner (Lewellin dining with me and in my way talking about Deering) to the Fishing Committee, and had there very many fine things argued, and I hope some good will cone of it. So home, where my wife having (after all her merry discourse of being with child) her months upon her is gone to bed. I to my office very late doing business, then home to supper and to bed. To-night Mr. T. Trice and Piggot came to see me, and desire my going down to Brampton Court, where for Piggot's sake, for whom it is necessary, I should go, I would be glad to go, and will, contrary to my purpose, endeavour it, but having now almost L1000, if not above, in my house, I know not what to do with it, and that will trouble my mind to leave in the house, and I not at home. 28th. Up and by water with Mr. Tucker down to Woolwich, first to do several businesses of the King's, then on board Captain Fisher's ship, which we hire to carry goods to Tangier. All the way going and coming I reading and discoursing over some papers of his which he, poor man, having some experience, but greater conceit of it than is fit, did at the King's first coming over make proposals of, ordering in a new manner the whole revenue of the kingdom, but, God knows, a most weak thing; however, one paper I keep wherein he do state the main branches of the publick revenue fit to consider and remember. So home, very cold, and fearfull of having got some pain, but, thanks be to God! I was well after it. So to dinner, and after dinner by coach to White Hall, thinking to have met at a Committee of Tangier, but nobody being there but my Lord Rutherford, he would needs carry me and another Scotch Lord to a play, and so we saw, coming late, part of "The Generall," my Lord Orrery's (Broghill) second play; but, Lord! to see how no more either in words, sense, or design, it is to his "Harry the 5th" is not imaginable, and so poorly acted, though in finer clothes, is strange. And here I must confess breach of a vowe in appearance, but I not desiring it, but against my will, and my oathe being to go neither at my own charge nor at another's, as I had done by becoming liable to give them another, as I am to Sir W. Pen and Mr. Creed; but here I neither know which of them paid for me, nor, if I did, am I obliged ever to return the like, or did it by desire or with any willingness. So that with a safe conscience I do think my oathe is not broke and judge God Almighty will not think it other wise. Thence to W. Joyce's, and there found my aunt and cozen Mary come home from my father's with great pleasure and content, and thence to Kate's and found her also mighty pleased with her journey and their good usage of them, and so home, troubled in my conscience at my being at a play. But at home I found Mercer playing on her Vyall, which is a pretty instrument, and so I to the Vyall and singing till late, and so to bed. My mind at a great losse how to go down to Brampton this weeke, to satisfy Piggott; but what with the fears of my house, my money, my wife, and my office, I know not how in the world to think of it, Tom Hater being out of towne, and I having near L1000 in my house. 29th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, dined at home and Creed with me; after dinner I to Sir G. Carteret, and with him to his new house he is taking in Broad Streete, and there surveyed all the rooms and bounds, in order to the drawing up a lease thereof; and that done, Mr. Cutler, his landlord, took me up and down, and showed me all his ground and house, which is extraordinary great, he having bought all the Augustine Fryers, and many, many a L1000 he hath and will bury there. So home to my business, clearing my papers and preparing my accounts against tomorrow for a monthly and a great auditt. So to supper and to bed. Fresh newes come of our beating the Dutch at Guinny quite out of all their castles almost, which will make them quite mad here at home sure. And Sir G. Carteret did tell me, that the King do joy mightily at it; but asked him laughing, "But," says he, "how shall I do to answer this to the Embassador when he comes?" Nay they say that we have beat them out of the New Netherlands too; [Captain (afterwards Sir Robert) Holmes' expedition to attack the Dutch settlements in Africa eventuated in an important exploit. Holmes suddenly left the coast of Africa, sailed across the Atlantic, and reduced the Dutch settlement of New Netherlands to English rule, under the title of New York. "The short and true state of the matter is this: the country mentioned was part of the province of Virginia, and, as there is no settling an extensive country at once, a few Swedes crept in there, who surrendered the plantations they could not defend to the Dutch, who, having bought the charts and papers of one Hudson, a seaman, who, by the commission from the crown of England, discovered a river, to which he gave his name, conceited they had purchased a province. Sometimes, when we had strength in those parts, they were English subjects; at others, when that strength declined, they were subjects of the United Provinces. However, upon King Charles's claim the States disowned the title, but resumed it during our confusions. On March 12th, 1663-64, Charles II. granted it to the Duke of York ... The King sent Holmes, when he returned, to the Tower, and did not discharge him; till he made it evidently appear that he had not infringed the law of nations ". (Campbell's "Naval History," vol. ii, p., 89). How little did the King or Holmes himself foresee the effects of the capture,--B.] so that we have been doing them mischief for a great while in several parts of the world; without publique knowledge or reason. Their fleete for Guinny is now, they say, ready, and abroad, and will be going this week. Coming home to-night, I did go to examine my wife's house accounts, and finding things that seemed somewhat doubtful, I was angry though she did make it pretty plain, but confessed that when she do misse a sum, she do add something to other things to make it, and, upon my being very angry, she do protest she will here lay up something for herself to buy her a necklace with, which madded me and do still trouble me, for I fear she will forget by degrees the way of living cheap and under a sense of want. 30th. Up, and all day, both morning and afternoon, at my accounts, it being a great month, both for profit and layings out, the last being L89 for kitchen and clothes for myself and wife, and a few extraordinaries for the house; and my profits, besides salary, L239; so that I have this weeke, notwithstanding great layings out, and preparations for laying out, which I make as paid this month, my balance to come to L1203, for which the Lord's name be praised! Dined at home at noon, staying long looking for Kate Joyce and my aunt James and Mary, but they came not. So my wife abroad to see them, and took Mary Joyce to a play. Then in the evening came and sat working by me at the office, and late home to supper and to bed, with my heart in good rest for this day's work, though troubled to think that my last month's negligence besides the making me neglect business and spend money, and lessen myself both as to business and the world and myself, I am fain to preserve my vowe by paying 20s. dry--[ Dry = hard, as "hard cash." ]--money into the poor's box, because I had not fulfilled all my memorandums and paid all my petty debts and received all my petty credits, of the last month, but I trust in God I shall do so no more. OCTOBER 1664 October 1st. Up and at the office both forenoon and afternoon very busy, and with great pleasure in being so. This morning Mrs. Lane (now Martin) like a foolish woman, came to the Horseshoe hard by, and sent for me while I was: at the office; to come to speak with her by a note sealed up, I know to get me to do something for her husband, but I sent her an answer that I would see her at Westminster, and so I did not go, and she went away, poor soul. At night home to supper, weary, and my eyes sore with writing and reading, and to bed. We go now on with great vigour in preparing against the Dutch, who, they say, will now fall upon us without doubt upon this high newes come of our beating them so, wholly in Guinny. 2nd (Lord's day). My wife not being well to go to church I walked with my boy through the City, putting in at several churches, among others at Bishopsgate, and there saw the picture usually put before the King's book, put up in the church, but very ill painted, though it were a pretty piece to set up in a church. I intended to have seen the Quakers, who, they say, do meet every Lord's day at the Mouth at Bishopsgate; but I could see none stirring, nor was it fit to aske for the place, so I walked over Moorefields, and thence to Clerkenwell church, and there, as I wished, sat next pew to the fair Butler, who indeed is a most perfect beauty still; and one I do very much admire myself for my choice of her for a beauty, she having the best lower part of her face that ever I saw all days of my life. After church I walked to my Lady Sandwich's, through my Lord Southampton's new buildings in the fields behind Gray's Inn; and, indeed, they are a very great and a noble work. So I dined with my Lady, and the same innocent discourse that we used to have, only after dinner, being alone, she asked me my opinion about Creed, whether he would have a wife or no, and what he was worth, and proposed Mrs. Wright for him, which, she says, she heard he was once inquiring after. She desired I would take a good time and manner of proposing it, and I said I would, though I believed he would love nothing but money, and much was not to be expected there, she said. So away back to Clerkenwell Church, thinking to have got sight of la belle Boteler again, but failed, and so after church walked all over the fields home, and there my wife was angry with me for not coming home, and for gadding abroad to look after beauties, she told me plainly, so I made all peace, and to supper. This evening came Mrs. Lane (now Martin) with her husband to desire my helpe about a place for him. It seems poor Mr. Daniel is dead of the Victualling Office, a place too good for this puppy to follow him in. But I did give him the best words I could, and so after drinking a glasse of wine sent them going, but with great kindnesse. Go to supper, prayers, and to bed. 3rd. Up with Sir J. Minnes, by coach, to St. James's; and there all the newes now of very hot preparations for the Dutch: and being with the Duke, he told us he was resolved to make a tripp himself, and that Sir W. Pen should go in the same ship with him. Which honour, God forgive me! I could grudge him, for his knavery and dissimulation, though I do not envy much the having the same place myself. Talke also of great haste in the getting out another fleete, and building some ships; and now it is likely we have put one another by each other's dalliance past a retreate. Thence with our heads full of business we broke up, and I to my barber's, and there only saw Jane and stroked her under the chin, and away to the Exchange, and there long about several businesses, hoping to get money by them, and thence home to dinner and there found Hawly. But meeting Bagwell's wife at the office before I went home I took her into the office and there kissed her only. She rebuked me for doing it, saying that did I do so much to many bodies else it would be a stain to me. But I do not see but she takes it well enough, though in the main I believe she is very honest. So after some kind discourse we parted, and I home to dinner, and after dinner down to Deptford, where I found Mr. Coventry, and there we made, an experiment of Holland's and our cordage, and ours outdid it a great deale, as my book of observations tells particularly. Here we were late, and so home together by water, and I to my office, where late, putting things in order. Mr. Bland came this night to me to take his leave of me, he going to Tangier, wherein I wish him good successe. So home to supper and to bed, my mind troubled at the businesses I have to do, that I cannot mind them as I ought to do and get money, and more that I have neglected my frequenting and seeming more busy publicly than I have done of late in this hurry of business, but there is time left to recover it, and I trust in God I shall. 4th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and this morning Sir W. Pen went to Chatham to look: after the ships now going out thence, and particularly that wherein the Duke and himself go. He took Sir G. Ascue with: him, whom, I believe, he hath brought into play. At noon to the 'Change and thence home, where I found my aunt James and the two she joyces. They dined and were merry with us. Thence after dinner to a play, to see "The Generall;" which is so dull and so ill-acted, that I think it is the worst. I ever saw or heard in all my days. I happened to sit near; to Sir Charles Sidly; who I find a very witty man, and he did at every line take notice of the dullness of the poet and badness of the action, that most pertinently; which I was mightily taken with; and among others where by Altemire's command Clarimont, the Generall, is commanded to rescue his Rivall, whom she loved, Lucidor, he, after a great deal of demurre, broke out; "Well, I'le save my Rivall and make her confess, that I deserve, while he do but possesse." "Why, what, pox," says Sir Charles Sydly, "would he have him have more, or what is there more to be had of a woman than the possessing her?" Thence-setting all them at home, I home with my wife and Mercer, vexed at my losing my time and above 20s. in money, and neglecting my business to see so bad a play. To-morrow they told us should be acted, or the day after, a new play, called "The Parson's Dreame," acted all by women. So to my office, and there did business; and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes and to my office, and thence by coach to New Bridewell to meet with Mr. Poyntz to discourse with him (being Master of the Workhouse there) about making of Bewpers for us. But he was not within; however his clerke did lead me up and down through all the house, and there I did with great pleasure see the many pretty works, and the little children employed, every one to do something, which was a very fine sight, and worthy encouragement. I cast away a crowne among them, and so to the 'Change and among the Linnen Wholesale Drapers to enquire about Callicos, to see what can be done with them for the supplying our want of Bewpers for flaggs, and I think I shall do something therein to good purpose for the King. So to the Coffeehouse, and there fell in discourse with the Secretary of the Virtuosi of Gresham College, and had very fine discourse with him. He tells me of a new invented instrument to be tried before the College anon, and I intend to see it. So to Trinity House, and there I dined among the old dull fellows, and so home and to my office a while, and then comes Mr. Cocker to see me, and I discoursed with him about his writing and ability of sight, and how I shall do to get some glasse or other to helpe my eyes by candlelight; and he tells me he will bring me the helps he hath within a day or two, and shew me what he do. Thence to the Musique-meeting at the Postoffice, where I was once before. And thither anon come all the Gresham College, and a great deal of noble company: and the new instrument was brought called the Arched Viall, ["There seems to be a curious fate reigning over the instruments which have the word 'arch' prefixed to their name. They have no vitality, and somehow or other come to grief. Even the famous archlute, which was still a living thing in the time of Handel, has now disappeared from the concert room and joined Mr. Pepys's 'Arched Viall' in the limbo of things forgotten.... Mr. Pepys's verdict that it would never do... has been fully confirmed by the event, as his predictions usually were, being indeed always founded on calm judgment and close observation."--B. (Hueffer's Italian and other Studies, 1883, p. 263).] where being tuned with lute-strings, and played on with kees like an organ, a piece of parchment is always kept moving; and the strings, which by the kees are pressed down upon it, are grated in imitation of a bow, by the parchment; and so it is intended to resemble several vyalls played on with one bow, but so basely and harshly, that it will never do. But after three hours' stay it could not be fixed in tune; and so they were fain to go to some other musique of instruments, which I am grown quite out of love with, and so I, after some good discourse with Mr. Spong, Hill, Grant, and Dr. Whistler, and others by turns, I home to my office and there late, and so home, where I understand my wife has spoke to Jane and ended matters of difference between her and her, and she stays with us, which I am glad of; for her fault is nothing but sleepiness and forgetfulness, otherwise a good-natured, quiet, well-meaning, honest servant, and one that will do as she is bid, so one called upon her and will see her do it. This morning, by three o'clock, the Prince--[Rupert]--and King, and Duke with him, went down the River, and the Prince under sail the next tide after, and so is gone from the Hope. God give him better successe than he used to have! This day Mr. Bland went away hence towards his voyage to Tangier. This day also I had a letter from an unknown hand that tells me that Jacke Angier, he believes, is dead at Lisbon, for he left him there ill. 6th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, among other things about this of the flags and my bringing in of callicos to oppose Young and Whistler. At noon by promise Mr. Pierce and his wife and Madam Clerke and her niece came and dined with me to a rare chine of beefe and spent the afternoon very pleasantly all the afternoon, and then to my office in the evening, they being gone, and late at business, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind coming to itself in following of my business. 7th. Lay pretty while with some discontent abed, even to the having bad words with my wife, and blows too, about the ill-serving up of our victuals yesterday; but all ended in love, and so I rose and to my office busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to my office again, and then abroad to look after callicos for flags, and hope to get a small matter by my pains therein and yet save the King a great deal of money, and so home to my office, and there came Mr. Cocker, and brought me a globe of glasse, and a frame of oyled paper, as I desired, to show me the manner of his gaining light to grave by, and to lessen the glaringnesse of it at pleasure by an oyled paper. This I bought of him, giving him a crowne for it; and so, well satisfied, he went away, and I to my business again, and so home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 8th. All the morning at the office, and after dinner abroad, and among other things contracted with one Mr. Bridges, at the White Bear on Cornhill, for 100 pieces of Callico to make flaggs; and as I know I shall save the King money, so I hope to get a little for my pains and venture of my own money myself. Late in the evening doing business, and then comes Captain Tayler, and he and I till 12 o'clock at night arguing about the freight of his ship Eagle, hired formerly by me to Tangier, and at last we made an end, and I hope to get a little money, some small matter by it. So home to bed, being weary and cold, but contented that I have made an end of that business. 9th (Lord's day). Lay pretty long, but however up time enough with my wife to go to church. Then home to dinner, and Mr. Fuller, my Cambridge acquaintance, coming to me about what he was with me lately, to release a waterman, he told me he was to preach at Barking Church; and so I to heare him, and he preached well and neatly. Thence, it being time enough, to our owne church, and there staid wholly privately at the great doore to gaze upon a pretty lady, and from church dogged her home, whither she went to a house near Tower hill, and I think her to be one of the prettiest women I ever saw. So home, and at my office a while busy, then to my uncle Wight's, whither it seems my wife went after sermon and there supped, but my aunt and uncle in a very ill humour one with another, but I made shift with much ado to keep them from scolding, and so after supper home and to bed without prayers, it being cold, and to-morrow washing day. 10th. Up and, it being rainy, in Sir W. Pen's coach to St. James's, and there did our usual business with the Duke, and more and more preparations every day appear against the Dutch, and (which I must confess do a little move my envy) Sir W. Pen do grow every day more and more regarded by the Duke, ["The duke had decided that the English fleet should consist of three squadrons to be commanded by himself, Prince Rupert, and Lord Sandwich, from which arrangement the two last, who were land admirals; had concluded that Penn would have no concern in this fleet. Neither the duke, Rupert, nor Sandwich had ever been engaged in an encounter of fleets.... Penn alone of the four was familiar with all these things. By the duke's unexpected announcement that he should take Penn with him into his own ship, Rupert and Sandwich at once discovered that they would be really and practically under Penn's command in everything."] because of his service heretofore in the Dutch warr which I am confident is by some strong obligations he hath laid upon Mr. Coventry; for Mr. Coventry must needs know that he is a man of very mean parts, but only a bred seaman: Going home in coach with Sir W. Batten he told me how Sir J. Minnes by the means of Sir R. Ford was the last night brought to his house and did discover the reason of his so long discontent with him, and now they are friends again, which I am sorry for, but he told it me so plainly that I see there is no thorough understanding between them, nor love, and so I hope there will be no great combination in any thing, nor do I see Sir J. Minnes very fond as he used to be. But: Sir W. Batten do raffle still against Mr. Turner and his wife, telling me he is a false fellow, and his wife a false woman, and has rotten teeth and false, set in with wire, and as I know they are so, so I am glad he finds it so. To the Coffee-house, and thence to the 'Change, and therewith Sir W. Warren to the Coffee-house behind the 'Change, and sat alone with him till 4 o'clock talking of his businesses first and then of business in general, and discourse how I might get money and how to carry myself to advantage to contract no envy and yet make the world see my pains; which was with great content to me, and a good friend and helpe I am like to find him, for which God be thanked! So home to dinner at 4 o'clock, and then to the office, and there late, and so home to supper and to bed, having sat up till past twelve at night to look over the account of the collections for the Fishery, and the loose and base manner that monies so collected are disposed of in, would make a man never part with a penny in that manner, and, above all, the inconvenience of having a great man, though never so seeming pious as my Lord Pembroke is. He is too great to be called to an account, and is abused by his servants, and yet obliged to defend them for his owne sake. This day, by the blessing of God, my wife and I have been married nine years: but my head being full of business, I did not think of it to keep it in any extraordinary manner. But bless God for our long lives and loves and health together, which the same God long continue, I wish, from my very heart! 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. My wife this morning went, being invited, to my Lady Sandwich, and I alone at home at dinner, till by and by Luellin comes and dines with me. He tells me what a bawdy loose play this "Parson's Wedding" is, that is acted by nothing but women at the King's house, and I am glad of it. Thence to the Fishery in Thames Street, and there several good discourses about the letting of the Lotterys, and, among others, one Sir Thomas Clifford, whom yet I knew not, do speak very well and neatly. Thence I to my cozen Will Joyce to get him to go to Brampton with me this week, but I think he will not, and I am not a whit sorry for it, for his company both chargeable and troublesome. So home and to my office, and then to supper and then to my office again till late, and so home, with my head and heart full of business, and so to bed. My wife tells me the sad news of my Lady Castlemayne's being now become so decayed, that one would not know her; at least far from a beauty, which I am sorry for. This day with great joy Captain Titus told us the particulars of the French's expedition against Gigery upon the Barbary Coast, in the Straights, with 6,000 chosen men. They have taken the Fort of Gigery, wherein were five men and three guns, which makes the whole story of the King of France's policy and power to be laughed at. 12th. This morning all the morning at my office ordering things against my journey to-morrow. At noon to the Coffeehouse, where very good discourse. For newes, all say De Ruyter is gone to Guinny before us. Sir J. Lawson is come to Portsmouth; and our fleete is hastening all speed: I mean this new fleete. Prince Rupert with his is got into the Downes. At home dined with me W. Joyce and a friend of his. W. Joyce will go with me to Brampton. After dinner I out to Mr. Bridges, the linnen draper, and evened with (him) for 100 pieces of callico, and did give him L208 18s., which I now trust the King for, but hope both to save the King money and to get a little by it to boot. Thence by water up and down all the timber yards to look out some Dram timber, but can find none for our turne at the price I would have; and so I home, and there at my office late doing business against my journey to clear my hands of every thing for two days. So home and to supper and bed. 13th. After being at the office all the morning, I home and dined, and taking leave of my wife with my mind not a little troubled how she would look after herself or house in my absence, especially, too, leaving a considerable sum of money in the office, I by coach to the Red Lyon in Aldersgate Street, and there, by agreement, met W. Joyce and Tom Trice, and mounted, I upon a very fine mare that Sir W. Warren helps me to, and so very merrily rode till it was very darke, I leading the way through the darke to Welling, and there, not being very weary, to supper and to bed. But very bad accommodation at the Swan. In this day's journey I met with Mr. White, Cromwell's chaplin that was, and had a great deale of discourse with him. Among others, he tells me that Richard is, and hath long been, in France, and is now going into Italy. He owns publiquely that he do correspond, and return him all his money. That Richard hath been in some straits at the beginning; but relieved by his friends. That he goes by another name, but do not disguise himself, nor deny himself to any man that challenges him. He tells me, for certain, that offers had been made to the old man, of marriage between the King and his daughter, to have obliged him, but he would not. [The Protector wished the Duke of Buckingham to marry his daughter Frances. She married, 1. Robert Rich, grandson and heir to Robert, Earl of Warwick, on November 11th, 1657, who died in the following February; 2. Sir John Russell, Bart. She died January 27th, 1721-22, aged eighty-four. In T. Morrice's life of Roger, Earl of Orrery, prefixed to Orrery's "State Letters" (Dublin, 1743, vol. i., p. 40), there is a circumstantial account of an interview between Orrery (then Lord Broghill) and Cromwell, in which the former suggested to the latter that Charles II. should marry Frances Cromwell. Cromwell gave great attention to the reasons urged, "but walking two or three turns, and pondering with himself, he told Lord Broghill the king would never forgive him the death of his father. His lordship desired him to employ somebody to sound the king in this matter, to see how he would take it, and offered himself to mediate in it for him. But Cromwell would not consent, but again repeated, 'The king cannot and will not forgive the death of his father;' and so he left his lordship, who durst not tell him he had already dealt with his majesty in that affair. Upon this my lord withdrew, and meeting Cromwell's wife and daughter, they inquired how he had succeeded; of which having given them an account, he added they must try their interest in him, but none could prevail."] He thinks (with me) that it never was in his power to bring in the King with the consent of any of his officers about him; and that he scorned to bring him in as Monk did, to secure himself and deliver every body else. When I told him of what I found writ in a French book of one Monsieur Sorbiere, that gives an account of his observations herein England; among other things he says, that it is reported that Cromwell did, in his life-time, transpose many of the bodies of the Kings of England from one grave to another, and that by that means it is not known certainly whether the head that is now set up upon a post be that of Cromwell, or of one of the Kings; Mr. White tells me that he believes he never had so poor a low thought in him to trouble himself about it. He says the hand of God is much to be seen; that all his children are in good condition enough as to estate, and that their relations that betrayed their family are all now either hanged or very miserable. 14th. Up by break of day, and got to Brampton by three o'clock, where my father and mother overjoyed to see me, my mother, ready to weepe every time she looked upon me. After dinner my father and I to the Court, and there did all our business to my mind, as I have set down in a paper particularly expressing our proceedings at this court. So home, where W. Joyce full of talk and pleased with his journey, and after supper I to bed and left my father, mother, and him laughing. 15th. My father and I up and walked alone to Hinchingbroke; and among the other late chargeable works that my Lord hath done there, we saw his water-works and the Oral which is very fine; and so is the house all over, but I am sorry to think of the money at this time spent therein. Back to my father's (Mr. Sheply being out of town) and there breakfasted, after making an end with Barton about his businesses, and then my mother called me into the garden, and there but all to no purpose desiring me to be friends with John, but I told her I cannot, nor indeed easily shall, which afflicted the poor woman, but I cannot help it. Then taking leave, W. Joyce and I set out, calling T. Trice at Bugden, and thence got by night to Stevenage, and there mighty merry, though I in bed more weary than the other two days, which, I think, proceeded from our galloping so much, my other weariness being almost all over; but I find that a coney skin in my breeches preserves me perfectly from galling, and that eating after I come to my Inne, without drinking, do keep me from being stomach sick, which drink do presently make me. We lay all in several beds in the same room, and W. Joyce full of his impertinent tricks and talk, which then made us merry, as any other fool would have done. So to sleep. 16th (Lord's day). It raining, we set out, and about nine o'clock got to Hatfield in church-time; and I 'light and saw my simple Lord Salsbury sit there in his gallery. Staid not in the Church, but thence mounted again and to Barnett by the end of sermon, and there dined at the Red Lyon very weary again, but all my weariness yesterday night and to-day in my thighs only, the rest of my weariness in my shoulders and arms being quite gone. Thence home, parting company at my cozen Anth. Joyce's, by four o'clock, weary, but very well, to bed at home, where I find all well. Anon my wife came to bed, but for my ease rose again and lay with her woman. 17th. Rose very well and not weary, and with Sir W. Batten to St. James's; there did our business. I saw Sir J. Lawson since his return from sea first this morning, and hear that my Lord Sandwich is come from Portsmouth to town. Thence I to him, and finding him at my Lord Crew's, I went with him home to his house and much kind discourse. Thence my Lord to Court, and I with Creed to the 'Change, and thence with Sir W. Warren to a cook's shop and dined, discoursing and advising him about his great contract he is to make tomorrow, and do every day receive great satisfaction in his company, and a prospect of a just advantage by his friendship. Thence to my office doing some business, but it being very cold, I, for fear of getting cold, went early home to bed, my wife not being come home from my Lady Jemimah, with whom she hath been at a play and at Court to-day. 18th. Up and to the office, where among other things we made a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for 3,000 loade of timber. At noon dined at home. In the afternoon to the Fishery, where, very confused and very ridiculous, my Lord Craven's proceedings, especially his finding fault with Sir J. Collaton and Colonell Griffin's' report in the accounts of the lottery-men. Thence I with Mr. Gray in his coach to White Hall, but the King and Duke being abroad, we returned to Somersett House. In discourse I find him a very worthy and studious gentleman in the business of trade, and among-other things he observed well to me, how it is not the greatest wits, but the steady man, that is a good merchant: he instanced in Ford and Cocke, the last of whom he values above all men as his oracle, as Mr. Coventry do Mr. Jolliffe. He says that it is concluded among merchants, that where a trade hath once been and do decay, it never recovers again, and therefore that the manufacture of cloath of England will never come to esteem again; that, among other faults, Sir Richard Ford cannot keepe a secret, and that it is so much the part of a merchant to be guilty of that fault that the Duke of Yoke is resolved to commit no more secrets to the merchants of the Royall Company; that Sir Ellis Layton is, for a speech of forty words, the wittiest man that ever he knew in his life, but longer he is nothing, his judgment being nothing at all, but his wit most absolute. At Somersett House he carried me in, and there I saw the Queene's new rooms, which are most stately and nobly furnished; and there I saw her, and the Duke of Yorke and Duchesse were there. The Duke espied me, and came to me, and talked with me a very great while about our contract this day with Sir W. Warren, and among other things did with some contempt ask whether we did except Polliards, which Sir W. Batten did yesterday (in spite, as the Duke I believe by my Lord Barkely do well enough know) among other things in writing propose. Thence home by coach, it raining hard, and to my office, where late, then home to supper and to bed. This night the Dutch Embassador desired and had an audience of the King. What the issue of it was I know not. Both sides I believe desire peace, but neither will begin, and so I believe a warr will follow. The Prince is with his fleet at Portsmouth, and the Dutch are making all preparations for warr. 19th. Up and to my office all the morning. At noon dined at home; then abroad by coach to buy for the office "Herne upon the Statute of Charitable Uses," in order to the doing something better in the Chest than we have done, for I am ashamed to see Sir W. Batten possess himself so long of so much money as he hath done. Coming home, weighed, my two silver flaggons at Stevens's. They weigh 212 oz. 27 dwt., which is about L50, at 5s. per oz., and then they judge the fashion to be worth above 5s. per oz. more--nay, some say 10s. an ounce the fashion. But I do not believe, but yet am sorry to see that the fashion is worth so much, and the silver come to no more. So home and to my office, where very busy late. My wife at Mercer's mother's, I believe, W. Hewer with them, which I do not like, that he should ask my leave to go about business, and then to go and spend his time in sport, and leave me here busy. To supper and to bed, my wife coming in by and by, which though I know there was no hurt in it; I do not like. 20th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon my uncle Thomas came, dined with me, and received some money of me. Then I to my office, where I took in with me Bagwell's wife, and there I caressed her, and find her every day more and more coming with good words and promises of getting her husband a place, which I will do. So we parted, and I to my Lord Sandwich at his lodgings, and after a little stay away with Mr. Cholmely to Fleete Streete; in the way he telling me that Tangier is like to be in a bad condition with this same Fitzgerald, he being a man of no honour, nor presence, nor little honesty, and endeavours: to raise the Irish and suppress the English interest there; and offend every body, and do nothing that I hear of well, which I am sorry for. Thence home, by the way taking two silver tumblers home, which I have bought, and so home, and there late busy at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up and by coach to Mr. Cole's, and there conferred with him about some law business, and so to Sir W. Turner's, and there bought my cloth, coloured, for a suit and cloake, to line with plush the cloak, which will cost me money, but I find that I must go handsomely, whatever it costs me, and the charge will be made up in the fruit it brings. Thence to the Coffee-house and 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, whither comes W. Howe to see me, being come from, and going presently back to sea with my Lord. Among other things he tells me Mr. Creed is much out of favour with my Lord from his freedom of talke and bold carriage, and other things with which my Lord is not pleased, but most I doubt his not lending my Lord money, and Mr. Moore's reporting what his answer was I doubt in the worst manner. But, however, a very unworthy rogue he is, and, therefore, let him go for one good for nothing, though wise to the height above most men I converse with. In the evening (W. Howe being gone) comes Mr. Martin, to trouble me again to get him a Lieutenant's place for which he is as fit as a foole can be. But I put him off like an arse, as he is, and so setting my papers and books in order: I home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon comes my uncle Thomas and his daughter Mary about getting me to pay them the L30 due now, but payable in law to her husband. I did give them the best answer I could, and so parted, they not desiring to stay to dinner. After dinner I down to Deptford, and there did business, and so back to my office, where very late busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and to church. At noon comes unexpected Mr. Fuller, the minister, and dines with me, and also I had invited Mr. Cooper with one I judge come from sea, and he and I spent the whole afternoon together, he teaching me some things in understanding of plates. At night to the office, doing business, and then home to supper. Then a psalm, to prayers, and to bed. 24th. Up and in Sir J. Minnes' coach (alone with Mrs. Turner as far as Paternoster Row, where I set her down) to St. James's, and there did our business, and I had the good lucke to speak what pleased the Duke about our great contract in hand with Sir W. Warren against Sir W. Batten, wherein the Duke is very earnest for our contracting. Thence home to the office till noon, and then dined and to the 'Change and off with Sir W. Warren for a while, consulting about managing his contract. Thence to a Committee at White Hall of Tangier, where I had the good lucke to speak something to very good purpose about the Mole at Tangier, which was well received even by Sir J. Lawson and Mr. Cholmely, the undertakers, against whose interest I spoke; that I believe I shall be valued for it. Thence into the galleries to talk with my Lord Sandwich; among other things, about the Prince's writing up to tell us of the danger he and his fleete lie in at Portsmouth, of receiving affronts from the Dutch; which, my Lord said, he would never have done, had he lain there with one ship alone: nor is there any great reason for it, because of the sands. However, the fleete will be ordered to go and lay themselves up at the Cowes. Much beneath the prowesse of the Prince, I think, and the honour of the nation, at the first to be found to secure themselves. My Lord is well pleased to think, that, if the Duke and the Prince go, all the blame of any miscarriage will not light on him; and that if any thing goes well, he hopes he shall have the share of the glory, for the Prince is by no means well esteemed of by any body. Thence home, and though not very well yet up late about the Fishery business, wherein I hope to give an account how I find the Collections to have been managed, which I did finish to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. This day the great O'Neale died; I believe, to the content of all the Protestant pretenders in Ireland. 25th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and finished Sir W. Warren's great contract for timber, with great content to me, because just in the terms I wrote last night to Sir W. Warren and against the terms proposed by Sir W. Batten. At noon home to dinner, and there found Creed and Hawley. After dinner comes in Mrs. Ingram, the first time to make a visit to my wife. After a little stay I left them and to the Committee of the Fishery, and there did make my report of the late public collections for the Fishery, much to the satisfaction of the Committee, and I think much to my reputation, for good notice was taken of it and much it was commended. So home, in my way taking care of a piece of plate for Mr. Christopher Pett, against the launching of his new great ship tomorrow at Woolwich, which I singly did move to His Royall Highness, and did obtain it for him, to the value of twenty pieces. And he, under his hand, do acknowledge to me that he did never receive so great a kindness from any man in the world as from me herein. So to my office, and then to supper, and then to my office again, where busy late, being very full now a days of business to my great content, I thank God, and so home to bed, my house being full of a design, to go to-morrow, my wife and all her servants, to see the new ship launched. 26th. Up, my people rising mighty betimes, to fit themselves to go by water; and my boy, he could not sleep, but wakes about four o'clock, and in bed lay playing on his lute till daylight, and, it seems, did the like last night till twelve o'clock. About eight o'clock, my wife, she and her woman, and Besse and Jane, and W. Hewer and the boy, to the water-side, and there took boat, and by and by I out of doors, to look after the flaggon, to get it ready to carry to Woolwich. That being not ready, I stepped aside and found out Nellson, he that Whistler buys his bewpers of, and did there buy 5 pieces at their price, and am in hopes thereby to bring them down or buy ourselves all we spend of Nellson at the first hand. This jobb was greatly to my content, and by and by the flaggon being finished at the burnisher's, I home, and there fitted myself, and took a hackney-coach I hired, it being a very cold and foule day, to Woolwich, all the way reading in a good book touching the fishery, and that being done, in the book upon the statute of charitable uses, mightily to my satisfaction. At Woolwich; I there up to the King and Duke, and they liked the plate well. Here I staid above with them while the ship was launched, which was done with great success, and the King did very much like the ship, saying, she had the best bow that ever he saw. But, Lord! the sorry talke and discourse among the great courtiers round about him, without any reverence in the world, but with so much disorder. By and by the Queene comes and her Mayds of Honour; one whereof, Mrs. Boynton, and the Duchesse of Buckingham, had been very siclee coming by water in the barge (the water being very rough); but what silly sport they made with them in very common terms, methought, was very poor, and below what people think these great people say and do. The launching being done, the King and company went down to take barge; and I sent for Mr. Pett, and put the flaggon into the Duke's hand, and he, in the presence of the King, did give it, Mr. Pett taking it upon his knee. This Mr. Pett is wholly beholding to me for, and he do know and I believe will acknowledge it. Thence I to Mr. Ackworth, and there eat and drank with Commissioner Pett and his wife, and thence to Shelden's, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady were. By and by I took coach after I had enquired for my wife or her boat, but found none. Going out of the gate, an ordinary woman prayed me to give her room to London, which I did, but spoke not to her all the way, but read, as long as I could see, my book again. Dark when we came to London, and a stop of coaches in Southwarke. I staid above half an houre and then 'light, and finding Sir W. Batten's coach, heard they were gone into the Beare at the Bridge foot, and thither I to them. Presently the stop is removed, and then going out to find my coach, I could not find it, for it was gone with the rest; so I fair to go through the darke and dirt over the bridge, and my leg fell in a hole broke on the bridge, but, the constable standing there to keep people from it, I was catched up, otherwise I had broke my leg; for which mercy the Lord be praised! So at Fanchurch I found my coach staying for me, and so home, where the little girle hath looked to the house well, but no wife come home, which made me begin to fear [for] her, the water being very rough, and cold and darke. But by and by she and her company come in all well, at which I was glad, though angry. Thence I to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat late with him, Sir R. Ford, and Sir John Robinson; the last of whom continues still the same foole he was, crying up what power he has in the City, in knowing their temper, and being able to do what he will with them. It seems the City did last night very freely lend the King L100,000 without any security but the King's word, which was very noble. But this loggerhead and Sir R. Ford would make us believe that they did it. Now Sir R. Ford is a cunning man, and makes a foole of the other, and the other believes whatever the other tells him. But, Lord! to think that such a man should be Lieutenant of the Tower, and so great a man as he is, is a strange thing to me. With them late and then home and with my wife to bed, after supper. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself, were treated at the Dolphin by Mr. Foly, the ironmonger, where a good plain dinner, but I expected musique, the missing of which spoiled my dinner, only very good merry discourse at dinner. Thence with Sir G. Carteret by coach to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, and thence back to London, and 'light in Cheapside and I to Nellson's, and there met with a rub at first, but took him out to drink, and there discoursed to my great content so far with him that I think I shall agree with him for Bewpers to serve the Navy with. So with great content home and to my office, where late, and having got a great cold in my head yesterday home to supper and to bed. 28th. Slept ill all night, having got a very great cold the other day at Woolwich in [my] head, which makes me full of snot. Up in the morning, and my tailor brings me home my fine, new, coloured cloth suit, my cloake lined with plush, as good a suit as ever I wore in my life, and mighty neat, to my great content. To my office, and there all the morning. At noon to Nellson's, and there bought 20 pieces more of Bewpers, and hope to go on with him to a contract. Thence to the 'Change a little, and thence home with Luellin to dinner, where Mr. Deane met me by appointment, and after dinner he and I up to my chamber, and there hard at discourse, and advising him what to do in his business at Harwich, and then to discourse of our old business of ships and taking new rules of him to my great pleasure, and he being gone I to my office a little, and then to see Sir W. Batten, who is sick of a greater cold than I, and thither comes to me Mr. Holliard, and into the chamber to me, and, poor man (beyond all I ever saw of him), was a little drunk, and there sat talking and finding acquaintance with Sir W. Batten and my Lady by relations on both sides, that there we staid very long. At last broke up, and he home much overcome with drink, but well enough to get well home. So I home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and it being my Lord Mayor's show, my boy and three mayds went out; but it being a very foule, rainy day, from morning till night, I was sorry my wife let them go out. All the morning at the office. At dinner at home. In the afternoon to the office again, and about 9 o'clock by appointment to the King's Head tavern upon Fish Street Hill, whither Mr. Wolfe (and Parham by his means) met me to discourse about the Fishery, and great light I had by Parham, who is a little conceited, but a very knowing man in his way, and in the general fishing trade of England. Here I staid three hours, and eat a barrel of very fine oysters of Wolfe's giving me, and so, it raining hard, home and to my office, and then home to bed. All the talke is that De Ruyter is come over-land home with six or eight of his captaines to command here at home, and their ships kept abroad in the Straights; which sounds as if they had a mind to do something with us. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and this morning put on my new, fine, coloured cloth suit, with my cloake lined with plush, which is a dear and noble suit, costing me about L17. To church, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to a little musique with my boy, and so to church with my wife, and so home, and with her all the evening reading and at musique with my boy with great pleasure, and so to supper, prayers, and to bed. 31st. Very busy all the morning, at noon Creed to me and dined with me, and then he and I to White Hall, there to a Committee of Tangier, where it is worth remembering when Mr. Coventry proposed the retrenching some of the charge of the horse, the first word asked by the Duke of Albemarle was, "Let us see who commands them," there being three troops. One of them he calls to mind was by Sir Toby Bridges. "Oh!" says he, "there is a very good man. If you must reform [Reform, i.e. disband. See "Memoirs of Sir John Reresby," September 2nd, 1651. "A great many younger brothers and reformed officers of the King's army depended upon him for their meat and drink." So reformado, a discharged or disbanded officer.--M. B.] two of them, be sure let him command the troop that is left." Thence home, and there came presently to me Mr. Young and Whistler, who find that I have quite overcome them in their business of flags, and now they come to intreat my favour, but I will be even with them. So late to my office and there till past one in the morning making up my month's accounts, and find that my expense this month in clothes has kept me from laying up anything; but I am no worse, but a little better than I was, which is L1205, a great sum, the Lord be praised for it! So home to bed, with my mind full of content therein, and vexed for my being so angry in bad words to my wife to-night, she not giving me a good account of her layings out to my mind to-night. This day I hear young Mr. Stanly, a brave young [gentleman], that went out with young Jermin, with Prince Rupert, is already dead of the small-pox, at Portsmouth. All preparations against the Dutch; and the Duke of Yorke fitting himself with all speed, to go to the fleete which is hastening for him; being now resolved to go in the Charles. NOVEMBER 1664 November 1st. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, at noon (my wife being invited to my Lady Sandwich's) all alone dined at home upon a good goose with Mr. Wayth, discussing of business. Thence I to the Committee of the Fishery, and there we sat with several good discourses and some bad and simple ones, and with great disorder, and yet by the men of businesse of the towne. But my report in the business of the collections is mightily commended and will get me some reputation, and indeed is the only thing looks like a thing well done since we sat. Then with Mr. Parham to the tavern, but I drank no wine, only he did give me another barrel of oysters, and he brought one Major Greene, an able fishmonger, and good discourse to my information. So home and late at business at my office. Then to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and down with Mr. Castle to Redriffe, and there walked to Deptford to view a parcel of brave knees--[Knees of timber]--of his, which indeed are very good, and so back again home, I seeming very friendly to him, though I know him to be a rogue, and one that hates me with his heart. Home and to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon, where in some pain in my backe, which troubled me, but I think it comes only with stooping, and from no other matter. At night to Nellson's, and up and down about business, and so home to my office, then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up and to the office, where strange to see how Sir W. Pen is flocked to by people of all sorts against his going to sea. At the office did much business, among other an end of that that has troubled me long, the business of the bewpers and flags. At noon to the 'Change, and thence by appointment was met with Bagwell's wife, and she followed me into Moorfields, and there into a drinking house, and all alone eat and drank together. I did there caress her, but though I did make some offer did not receive any compliance from her in what was bad, but very modestly she denied me, which I was glad to see and shall value her the better for it, and I hope never tempt her to any evil more. Thence back to the town, and we parted and I home, and then at the office late, where Sir W. Pen came to take his leave of me, being to-morrow, which is very sudden to us, to go on board to lie on board, but I think will come ashore again before the ship, the Charles, ["The Royal Charles" was the Duke of York's ship, and Sir William Penn, who hoisted his flag in the "Royal James" on November 8th, shifted to the "Royal Charles" on November 30th. The duke gave Penn the command of the fleet immediately under himself. On Penn's monument he is styled "Great Captain Commander under His Royal Highness" (Penn's "Memorials of Sir William Penn," vol. ii., p. 296).] can go away. So home to supper and to bed. This night Sir W. Batten did, among other things, tell me strange newes, which troubles me, that my Lord Sandwich will be sent Governor to Tangier, which, in some respects, indeed, I should be glad of, for the good of the place and the safety of his person; but I think his honour will suffer, and, it may be, his interest fail by his distance. 4th. Waked very betimes and lay long awake, my mind being so full of business. Then up and to St. James's, where I find Mr. Coventry full of business, packing up for his going to sea with the Duke. Walked with him, talking, to White Hall, where to the Duke's lodgings, who is gone thither to lodge lately. I appeared to the Duke, and thence Mr. Coventry and I an hour in the Long Gallery, talking about the management of our office, he tells me the weight of dispatch will lie chiefly on me, and told me freely his mind touching Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, the latter of whom, he most aptly said, was like a lapwing; that all he did was to keepe a flutter, to keepe others from the nest that they would find. He told me an old story of the former about the light-houses, how just before he had certified to the Duke against the use of them, and what a burden they are to trade, and presently after, at his being at Harwich, comes to desire that he might have the setting one up there, and gets the usefulness of it certified also by the Trinity House. After long discoursing and considering all our stores and other things, as how the King hath resolved upon Captain Taylor [Coventry, writing to Secretary Bennet (November 14th, 1664), refers to the objections made to Taylor, and adds: "Thinks the King will not easily consent to his rejection, as he is a man of great abilities and dispatch, and was formerly laid aside at Chatham on the Duchess of Albemarle's earnest interposition for another. He is a fanatic, it is true, but all hands will be needed for the work cut out; there is less danger of them in harbour than at sea, and profit will convert most of them" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 68).] and Colonell Middleton, the first to be Commissioner for Harwich and the latter for Portsmouth, I away to the 'Change, and there did very much business, so home to dinner, and Mr. Duke, our Secretary for the Fishery, dined with me. After dinner to discourse of our business, much to my content, and then he away, and I by water among the smiths on the other side, and to the alehouse with one and was near buying 4 or 5 anchors, and learned something worth my knowing of them, and so home and to my office, where late, with my head very full of business, and so away home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so with my wife to the Duke's house to a play, "Macbeth," a pretty good play, but admirably acted. Thence home; the coach being forced to go round by London Wall home, because of the bonefires; the day being mightily observed in the City. To my office late at business, and then home to supper, and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church. Dined at home. And I all the afternoon close at my office drawing up some proposals to present to the Committee for the Fishery to-morrow, having a great good intention to be serviceable in the business if I can. At night, to supper with my uncle Wight, where very merry, and so home. To prayers and to bed. 7th. Up and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where mighty thrusting about the Duke now upon his going. We were with him long. He advised us to follow our business close, and to be directed in his absence by the Committee of the Councell for the Navy. By and by a meeting of the Fishery, where the Duke was, but in such haste, and things looked so superficially over, that I had not a fit opportunity to propose my paper that I wrote yesterday, but I had chewed it to Mr. Gray and Wren before, who did like it most highly, as they said, and I think they would not dissemble in that manner in a business of this nature, but I see the greatest businesses are done so superficially that I wonder anything succeeds at all among us, that is publique. Thence somewhat vexed to see myself frustrated in the good I hoped to have done and a little reputation to have gained, and thence to my barber's, but Jane not being in the way I to my Lady Sandwich's, and there met my wife and dined, but I find that I dine as well myself, that is, as neatly, and my meat as good and well-dressed, as my good Lady do, in the absence of my Lord. Thence by water I to my barber's again, and did meet in the street my Jane, but could not talk with her, but only a word or two, and so by coach called my wife, and home, where at my office late, and then, it being washing day, to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where by and by Mr. Coventry come, and after doing a little business, took his leave of us, being to go to sea with the Duke to-morrow. At noon, I and Sir J. Minnes and Lord Barkeley (who with Sir J. Duncum, and Mr. Chichly, are made Masters of the Ordnance), to the office of the Ordnance, to discourse about wadding for guns. Thence to dinner, all of us to the Lieutenant's of the Tower; where a good dinner, but disturbed in the middle of it by the King's coming into the Tower: and so we broke up, and to him, and went up and down the store-houses and magazines; which are, with the addition of the new great store-house, a noble sight. He gone, I to my office, where Bagwell's wife staid for me, and together with her a good while, to meet again shortly. So all the afternoon at my office till late, and then to bed, joyed in my love and ability to follow my business. This day, Mr. Lever sent my wife a pair of silver candlesticks, very pretty ones. The first man that ever presented me, to whom I have not only done little service, but apparently did him the greatest disservice in his business of accounts, as Purser-Generall, of any man at the board. 9th. Called up, as I had appointed, by H. Russell, between two and three o'clock, and I and my boy Tom by water with a gally down to the Hope, it being a fine starry night. Got thither by eight o'clock, and there, as expected, found the Charles, her mainmast setting. Commissioner Pett aboard. I up and down to see the ship I was so well acquainted with, and a great worke it is, the setting so great a mast. Thence the Commissioner and I on board Sir G. Ascue, in the Henery, who lacks men mightily, which makes me think that there is more believed to be in a man that hath heretofore been employed than truly there is; for one would never have thought, a month ago, that he would have wanted 1000 men at his heels. Nor do I think he hath much of a seaman in him: for he told me, says he, "Heretofore, we used to find our ships clear and ready, everything to our hands in the Downes. Now I come, and must look to see things done like a slave, things that I never minded, nor cannot look after." And by his discourse I find that he hath not minded anything in her at all. Thence not staying, the wind blowing hard, I made use of the Jemmy yacht and returned to the Tower in her, my boy being a very droll boy and good company. Home and eat something, and then shifted myself, and to White Hall, and there the King being in his Cabinet Council (I desiring to speak with Sir G. Carteret), I was called in, and demanded by the King himself many questions, to which I did give him full answers. There were at this Council my Lord Chancellor, Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Treasurer, the two Secretarys, and Sir G. Carteret. Not a little contented at this chance of being made known to these persons, and called often by my name by the King, I to Mr. Pierces to take leave of him, but he not within, but saw her and made very little stay, but straight home to my office, where I did business, and then to supper and to bed. The Duke of York is this day gone away to Portsmouth. 10th. Up, and not finding my things ready, I was so angry with Besse as to bid my wife for good and all to bid her provide herself a place, for though she be very good-natured, she hath no care nor memory of her business at all. So to the office, where vexed at the malice of Sir W. Batten and folly of Sir J. Minnes against Sir W. Warren, but I prevented, and shall do, though to my own disquiet and trouble. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten and the Auditors of the Exchequer at the Dolphin by Mr. Wayth's desire, and after dinner fell to business relating to Sir G. Carteret's account, and so home to the office, where Sir W. Batten begins, too fast, to shew his knavish tricks in giving what price he pleases for commodities. So abroad, intending to have spoke with my Lord Chancellor about the old business of his wood at Clarendon, but could not, and so home again, and late at my office, and then home to supper and bed. My little girle Susan is fallen sicke of the meazles, we fear, or, at least, of a scarlett feavour. 11th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten to the Council Chamber at White Hall, to the Committee of the Lords for the Navy, where we were made to wait an houre or two before called in. In that time looking upon some books of heraldry of Sir Edward Walker's making, which are very fine, there I observed the Duke of Monmouth's armes are neatly done, and his title, "The most noble and high-born Prince, James Scott, Duke of Monmouth, &c.;" nor could Sir J. Minnes, nor any body there, tell whence he should take the name of Scott? And then I found my Lord Sandwich, his title under his armes is, "The most noble and mighty Lord, Edward, Earl of Sandwich, &c." Sir Edward Walker afterwards coming in, in discourse did say that there was none of the families of princes in Christendom that do derive themselves so high as Julius Caesar, nor so far by 1000 years, that can directly prove their rise; only some in Germany do derive themselves from the patrician familys of Rome, but that uncertainly; and, among other things, did much inveigh against the writing of romances, that 500 years hence being wrote of matters in general, true as the romance of Cleopatra, the world will not know which is the true and which the false. Here was a gentleman attending here that told us he saw the other day (and did bring the draught of it to Sir Francis Prigeon) of a monster born of an hostler's wife at Salisbury, two women children perfectly made, joyned at the lower part of their bellies, and every part perfect as two bodies, and only one payre of legs coming forth on one side from the middle where they were joined. It was alive 24 hours, and cried and did as all hopefull children do; but, being showed too much to people, was killed. By and by we were called in, where a great many lords: Annesly in the chair. But, Lord! to see what work they will make us, and what trouble we shall have to inform men in a business they are to begin to know, when the greatest of our hurry is, is a thing to be lamented; and I fear the consequence will be bad to us. Thence I by coach to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, my head akeing mightily with much business. Our little girl better than she was yesterday. After dinner out again by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, but could not speak with him, then up and down to seek Sir Ph. Warwicke, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord Berkely, but failed in all, and so home and there late at business. Among other things Mr. Turner making his complaint to me how my clerks do all the worke and get all the profit, and he hath no comfort, nor cannot subsist, I did make him apprehend how he is beholding to me more than to any body for my suffering him to act as Pourveyour of petty provisions, and told him so largely my little value of any body's favour, that I believe he will make no complaints again a good while. So home to supper and to bed, after prayers, and having my boy and Mercer give me some, each of them some, musique. 12th. Up, being frighted that Mr. Coventry was come to towne and now at the office, so I run down without eating or drinking or washing to the office and it proved my Lord Berkeley. There all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, Mr. Wayth with me, and then to the office, where mighty busy till very late, but I bless God I go through with it very well and hope I shall. 13th (Lord's day). This morning to church, where mighty sport, to hear our clerke sing out of tune, though his master sits by him that begins and keeps the tune aloud for the parish. Dined at home very well, and spent all the afternoon with my wife within doors, and getting a speech out of Hamlett, "To bee or not to bee,"' without book. In the evening to sing psalms, and in come Mr. Hill to see me, and then he and I and the boy finely to sing, and so anon broke up after much pleasure, he gone I to supper, and so prayers and to bed. 14th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, to the Lords of the Admiralty, and there did our business betimes. Thence to Sir Philip Warwicke about Navy business: and my Lord Ashly; and afterwards to my Lord Chancellor, who is very well pleased with me, and my carrying of his business. And so to the 'Change, where mighty busy; and so home to dinner, where Mr. Creed and Moore: and after dinner I to my Lord Treasurer's, to Sir Philip Warwicke there, and then to White Hall, to the Duke of Albemarle, about Tangier; and then homeward to the Coffee-house to hear newes. And it seems the Dutch, as I afterwards found by Mr. Coventry's letters, have stopped a ship of masts of Sir W. Warren's, coming for us in a Swede's ship, which they will not release upon Sir G. Downing's claiming her: which appears as the first act of hostility; and is looked upon as so by Mr. Coventry. The Elias,' coming from New England (Captain Hill, commander), is sunk; only the captain and a few men saved. She foundered in the sea. So home, where infinite busy till 12 at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. That I might not be too fine for the business I intend this day, I did leave off my fine new cloth suit lined with plush and put on my poor black suit, and after office done (where much business, but little done), I to the 'Change, and thence Bagwell's wife with much ado followed me through Moorfields to a blind alehouse, and there I did caress her and eat and drink, and many hard looks and sooth the poor wretch did give me, and I think verily was troubled at what I did, but at last after many protestings by degrees I did arrive at what I would, with great pleasure, and then in the evening, it raining, walked into town to where she knew where she was, and then I took coach and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, and every where else, I thank God, I find myself growing in repute; and so home, and late, very late, at business, nobody minding it but myself, and so home to bed, weary and full of thoughts. Businesses grow high between the Dutch and us on every side. 16th. My wife not being well, waked in the night, and strange to see how dead sleep our people sleep that she was fain to ring an hour before any body would wake. At last one rose and helped my wife, and so to sleep again. Up and to my business, and then to White Hall, there to attend the Lords Commissioners, and so directly home and dined with Sir W. Batten and my Lady, and after dinner had much discourse tending to profit with Sir W. Batten, how to get ourselves into the prize office [The Calendars of State Papers are full of references to applications for Commissionerships of the Prize Office. In December, 1664, the Navy Committee appointed themselves the Commissioners for Prize Goods, Sir Henry Bennet being appointed comptroller, and Lord Ashley treasurer.] or some other fair way of obliging the King to consider us in our extraordinary pains. Then to the office, and there all the afternoon very busy, and so till past 12 at night, and so home to bed. This day my wife went to the burial of a little boy of W. Joyce's. 17th. Up and to my office, and there all the morning mighty busy, and taking upon me to tell the Comptroller how ill his matters were done, and I think indeed if I continue thus all the business of the office will come upon me whether I will or no. At noon to the 'Change, and then home with Creed to dinner, and thence I to the office, where close at it all the afternoon till 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I received from Mr. Foley, but for me to pay for it, if I like it, an iron chest, having now received back some money I had laid out for the King, and I hope to have a good sum of money by me, thereby, in a few days, I think above L800. But when I come home at night, I could not find the way to open it; but, which is a strange thing, my little girle Susan could carry it alone from one table clear from the ground and set upon another, when neither I nor anyone in my house but Jane the cook-mayde could do it. 18th. Up and to the office, and thence to the Committee of the Fishery at White Hall, where so poor simple doings about the business of the Lottery, that I was ashamed to see it, that a thing so low and base should have any thing to do with so noble an undertaking. But I had the advantage this day to hear Mr. Williamson discourse, who come to be a contractor with others for the Lotterys, and indeed I find he is a very logicall man and a good speaker. But it was so pleasant to see my Lord Craven, the chaireman, before many persons of worth and grave, use this comparison in saying that certainly these that would contract for all the lotteries would not suffer us to set up the Virginia lottery for plate before them, "For," says he, "if I occupy a wench first, you may occupy her again your heart out you can never have her maidenhead after I have once had it," which he did more loosely, and yet as if he had fetched a most grave and worthy instance. They made mirth, but I and others were ashamed of it. Thence to the 'Change and thence home to dinner, and thence to the office a good while, and thence to the Council chamber at White Hall to speake with Sir G. Carteret, and here by accident heard a great and famous cause between Sir G. Lane and one Mr. Phill. Whore, an Irish business about Sir G. Lane's endeavouring to reverse a decree of the late Commissioners of Ireland in a Rebells case for his land, which the King had given as forfeited to Sir G. Lane, for whom the Sollicitor did argue most angell like, and one of the Commissioners, Baron, did argue for the other and for himself and his brethren who had decreed it. But the Sollicitor do so pay the Commissioners, how four all along did act for the Papists, and three only for the Protestants, by which they were overvoted, but at last one word (which was omitted in the Sollicitor's repeating of an Act of Parliament in the case) being insisted on by the other part, the Sollicitor was put to a great stop, and I could discern he could not tell what to say, but was quite out. Thence home well pleased with this accident, and so home to my office, where late, and then to supper and to bed. This day I had a letter from Mr. Coventry, that tells me that my Lord Brunkard is to be one of our Commissioners, of which I am very glad, if any more must be. 19th. All the morning at the office, and without dinner down by galley up and down the river to visit the yards and ships now ordered forth with great delight, and so home to supper, and then to office late to write letters, then home to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, where Pegg Pen very fine in her new coloured silk suit laced with silver lace. Dined at home, and Mr. Sheply, lately come to town, with me. A great deal of ordinary discourse with him. Among other things praying him to speak to Stankes to look after our business. With him and in private with Mr. Bodham talking of our ropeyarde stores at Woolwich, which are mighty low, even to admiration. They gone, in the evening comes Mr. Andrews and sings with us, and he gone, I to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir J. Minnes and he and I to talk about our letter to my Lord Treasurer, where his folly and simple confidence so great in a report so ridiculous that he hath drawn up to present to my Lord, nothing of it being true, that I was ashamed, and did roundly and in many words for an houre together talk boldly to him, which pleased Sir W. Batten and my Lady, but I was in the right, and was the willinger to do so before them, that they might see that I am somebody, and shall serve him so in his way another time. So home vexed at this night's passage, for I had been very hot with him, so to supper and to bed, out of order with this night's vexation. 21st. Up, and with them to the Lords at White Hall, where they do single me out to speake to and to hear, much to my content, and received their commands, particularly in several businesses. Thence by their order to the Attorney General's about a new warrant for Captain Taylor which I shall carry for him to be Commissioner in spite of Sir W. Batten, and yet indeed it is not I, but the ability of the man, that makes the Duke and Mr. Coventry stand by their choice. I to the 'Change and there staid long doing business, and this day for certain newes is come that Teddiman hath brought in eighteen or twenty Dutchmen, merchants, their Bourdeaux fleete, and two men of wary to Portsmouth. [Captain Sir Thomas Teddiman (or Tyddiman) had been appointed Rear-Admiral of Lord Sandwich's squadron of the English fleet. In a letter from Sir William Coventry to Secretary Bennet, dated November 13th, 1664, we read, "Rear Admiral Teddeman with four or five ships has gone to course in the Channel, and if he meet any refractory Dutchmen will teach them their duty" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664.-65, p. 66).] And I had letters this afternoon, that three are brought into the Downes and Dover; so that the warr is begun: God give a good end to it! After dinner at home all the afternoon busy, and at night with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes looking over the business of stating the accounts of the navy charge to my Lord Treasurer, where Sir J. Minnes's paper served us in no stead almost, but was all false, and after I had done it with great pains, he being by, I am confident he understands not one word in it. At it till 10 at night almost. Thence by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's, by his desire to have conferred with him, but he being in bed, I to White Hall to the Secretaries, and there wrote to Mr. Coventry, and so home by coach again, a fine clear moonshine night, but very cold. Home to my office awhile, it being past 12 at night; and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning. Sir G. Carteret, upon a motion of Sir W. Batten's, did promise, if we would write a letter to him, to shew it to the King on our behalf touching our desire of being Commissioners of the Prize office. I wrote a letter to my mind and, after eating a bit at home (Mr. Sheply dining and taking his leave of me), abroad and to Sir G. Carteret with the letter and thence to my Lord Treasurer's; wherewith Sir Philip Warwicke long studying all we could to make the last year swell as high as we could. And it is much to see how he do study for the King, to do it to get all the money from the Parliament all he can: and I shall be serviceable to him therein, to help him to heads upon which to enlarge the report of the expense. He did observe to me how obedient this Parliament was for awhile, and the last sitting how they begun to differ, and to carp at the King's officers; and what they will do now, he says, is to make agreement for the money, for there is no guess to be made of it. He told me he was prepared to convince the Parliament that the Subsidys are a most ridiculous tax (the four last not rising to L40,000), and unequall. He talks of a tax of Assessment of L70,000 for five years; the people to be secured that it shall continue no longer than there is really a warr; and the charges thereof to be paid. He told me, that one year of the late Dutch warr cost L1,623,000. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there staid long with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, to speak with my lord about our Prize Office business; but, being sicke and full of visitants, we could not speak with him, and so away home. Where Sir Richard Ford did meet us with letters from Holland this day, that it is likely the Dutch fleete will not come out this year; they have not victuals to keep them out, and it is likely they will be frozen before they can get back. Captain Cocke is made Steward for sick and wounded seamen. So home to supper, where troubled to hear my poor boy Tom has a fit of the stone, or some other pain like it. I must consult Mr. Holliard for him. So at one in the morning home to bed. 23rd. Up and to my office, where close all the morning about my Lord Treasurer's accounts, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon very busy till very late at night, and then to supper and to bed. This evening Mr. Hollyard came to me and told me that he hath searched my boy, and he finds he hath a stone in his bladder, which grieves me to the heart, he being a good-natured and well-disposed boy, and more that it should be my misfortune to have him come to my house. Sir G. Carteret was here this afternoon; and strange to see how we plot to make the charge of this warr to appear greater than it is, because of getting money. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy answering of people. About noon out with Commissioner Pett, and he and I to a Coffee-house, to drink jocolatte, very good; and so by coach to Westminster, being the first day of the Parliament's meeting. After the House had received the King's speech, and what more he had to say, delivered in writing, the Chancellor being sicke, it rose, and I with Sir Philip Warwicke home and conferred our matters about the charge of the Navy, and have more to give him in the excessive charge of this year's expense. I dined with him, and Mr. Povy with us and Sir Edmund Pooly, a fine gentleman, and Mr. Chichly, and fine discourse we had and fine talke, being proud to see myself accepted in such company and thought better than I am. After dinner Sir Philip and I to talk again, and then away home to the office, where sat late; beginning our sittings now in the afternoon, because of the Parliament; and they being rose, I to my office, where late till almost one o'clock, and then home to bed. 25th. Up and at my office all the morning, to prepare an account of the charge we have been put to extraordinary by the Dutch already; and I have brought it to appear L852,700; but God knows this is only a scare to the Parliament, to make them give the more money. Thence to the Parliament House, and there did give it to Sir Philip Warwicke; the House being hot upon giving the King a supply of money, and I by coach to the 'Change and took up Mr. Jenings along with me (my old acquaintance), he telling me the mean manner that Sir Samuel Morland lives near him, in a house he hath bought and laid out money upon, in all to the value of L1200, but is believed to be a beggar; and so I ever thought he would be. From the 'Change with Mr. Deering and Luellin to the White Horse tavern in Lombard Street, and there dined with them, he giving me a dish of meat to discourse in order to my serving Deering, which I am already obliged to do, and shall do it, and would be glad he were a man trusty that I might venture something along with him. Thence home, and by and by in the evening took my wife out by coach, leaving her at Unthanke's while I to White Hall and to Westminster Hall, where I have not been to talk a great while, and there hear that Mrs. Lane and her husband live a sad life together, and he is gone to be a paymaster to a company to Portsmouth to serve at sea. She big with child. Thence I home, calling my wife, and at Sir W. Batten's hear that the House have given the King L2,500,000 to be paid for this warr, only for the Navy, in three years' time; which is a joyfull thing to all the King's party I see, but was much opposed by Mr. Vaughan and others, that it should be so much. So home and to supper and to bed. 26th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. Home a while to dinner and then to the office, where very late busy till quite weary, but contented well with my dispatch of business, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). To church in the morning, then dined at home, and to my office, and there all the afternoon setting right my business of flaggs, and after all my pains find reason not to be sorry, because I think it will bring me considerable profit. In the evening come Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we sung, with my boy, Ravenscroft's 4-part psalms, most admirable musique. Then (Andrews not staying) we to supper, and after supper fell into the rarest discourse with Mr. Hill about Rome and Italy; but most pleasant that I ever had in my life. At it very late and then to bed. 28th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and W. Batten to White Hall, but no Committee of Lords (which is like to do the King's business well). So to Westminster, and there to Jervas's and was a little while with Jane, and so to London by coach and to the Coffee-house, where certain news of our peace made by Captain Allen with Argier, which is good news; and that the Dutch have sent part of their fleete round by Scotland; and resolve to pay off the rest half-pay, promising the rest in the Spring, hereby keeping their men. But how true this, I know not. Home to dinner, then come Dr. Clerke to speak with me about sick and wounded men, wherein he is like to be concerned. After him Mr. Cutler, and much talk with him, and with him to White Hall, to have waited on the Lords by order, but no meeting, neither to-night, which will spoil all. I think I shall get something by my discourse with Cutler. So home, and after being at my office an hour with Mr. Povy talking about his business of Tangier, getting him some money allowed him for freight of ships, wherein I hope to get something too. He gone, home hungry and almost sick for want of eating, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to the Committee of Lords at the Council Chamber, where Sir G. Carteret told us what he had said to the King, and how the King inclines to our request of making us Commissioners of the Prize office, but meeting him anon in the gallery, he tells me that my Lord Barkely is angry we should not acquaint him with it, so I found out my Lord and pacified him, but I know not whether he was so in earnest or no, for he looked very frowardly. Thence to the Parliament House, and with Sir W. Batten home and dined with him, my wife being gone to my Lady Sandwich's, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and I at my office till past 12 at night, and so home to bed. This day I hear that the King should say that the Dutch do begin to comply with him. Sir John Robinson told Sir W. Batten that he heard the King say so. I pray God it may be so. 30th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to the Committee of the Lords, and there did our business; but, Lord! what a sorry dispatch these great persons give to business. Thence to the 'Change, and there hear the certainty and circumstances of the Dutch having called in their fleete and paid their men half-pay, the other to be paid them upon their being ready upon beat of drum to come to serve them again, and in the meantime to have half-pay. This is said. Thence home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon. In the evening my wife and Sir W. Warren with me to White Hall, sending her with the coach to see her father and mother. He and I up to Sir G. Carteret, and first I alone and then both had discourse with him about things of the Navy, and so I and he calling my wife at Unthanke's, home again, and long together talking how to order things in a new contract for Norway goods, as well to the King's as to his advantage. He gone, I to my monthly accounts, and, bless God! I find I have increased my last balance, though but little; but I hope ere long to get more. In the meantime praise God for what I have, which is L1209. So, with my heart glad to see my accounts fall so right in this time of mixing of monies and confusion, I home to bed. DECEMBER 1664 December 1st. Up betimes and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, and so straight home and hard to my business at my office till noon, then to dinner, and so to my office, and by and by we sat all the afternoon, then to my office again till past one in the morning, and so home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Lay long in bed. Then up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At home dined. After dinner with my wife and Mercer to the Duke's House, and there saw "The Rivalls," which I had seen before; but the play not good, nor anything but the good actings of Betterton and his wife and Harris. Thence homeward, and the coach broke with us in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and so walked to Fleete Streete, and there took coach and home, and to my office, whither by and by comes Captain Cocke, and then Sir W. Batten, and we all to Sir J. Minnes, and I did give them a barrel of oysters I had given to me, and so there sat and talked, where good discourse of the late troubles, they knowing things, all of them, very well; and Cocke, from the King's own mouth, being then entrusted himself much, do know particularly that the King's credulity to Cromwell's promises, private to him, against the advice of his friends and the certain discovery of the practices and discourses of Cromwell in council (by Major Huntington) [According to Clarendon the officer here alluded to was a major in Cromwell's own regiment of horse, and employed by him to treat with Charles I. whilst at Hampton Court; but being convinced of the insincerity of the proceeding, communicated his suspicions to that monarch, and immediately gave up his commission. We hear no more of Huntington till the Restoration, when his name occurs with those of many other officers, who tendered their services to the king. His reasons for laying down his commission are printed in Thurloe's "State Papers" and Maseres's "Tracts."--B.] did take away his life and nothing else. Then to some loose atheisticall discourse of Cocke's, when he was almost drunk, and then about 11 o'clock broke up, and I to my office, to fit up an account for Povy, wherein I hope to get something. At it till almost two o'clock, then to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and at the office all the morning, and at noon to Mr. Cutler's, and there dined with Sir W. Rider and him, and thence Sir W. Rider and I by coach to White Hall to a Committee of the Fishery; there only to hear Sir Edward Ford's proposal about farthings, wherein, O God! to see almost every body interested for him; only my Lord Annesly, who is a grave, serious man. My Lord Barkeley was there, but is the most hot, fiery man in discourse, without any cause, that ever I saw, even to breach of civility to my Lord Anglesey, in his discourse opposing to my Lord's. At last, though without much satisfaction to me, it was voted that it should be requested of the King, and that Sir Edward Ford's proposal is the best yet made. Thence by coach home. The Duke of Yorke being expected to-night with great joy from Portsmouth, after his having been abroad at sea three or four days with the fleete; and the Dutch are all drawn into their harbours. But it seems like a victory: and a matter of some reputation to us it is, and blemish to them; but in no degree like what it is esteemed at, the weather requiring them to do so. Home and at my office late, and then to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and to my office, there to dispatch a business in order to the getting something out of the Tangier business, wherein I have an opportunity to get myself paid upon the score of freight. I hope a good sum. At noon home to dinner, and then in the afternoon to church. So home, and by and by comes Mr. Hill and Andrews, and sung together long and with great content. Then to supper and broke up. Pretty discourse, very pleasant and ingenious, and so to my office a little, and then home (after prayers) to bed. This day I hear the Duke of Yorke is come to towne, though expected last night, as I observed, but by what hindrance stopped I can't tell. 5th. Up, and to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes; and there, among an infinite crowd of great persons, did kiss the Duke's hand; but had no time to discourse. Thence up and down the gallery, and got my Lord of Albemarle's hand to my bill for Povy, but afterwards was asked some scurvy questions by Povy about my demands, which troubled [me], but will do no great hurt I think. Thence vexed home, and there by appointment comes my cozen Roger Pepys and Mrs. Turner, and dined with me, and very merry we were. They staid all the afternoon till night, and then after I had discoursed an hour with Sir W. Warren plainly declaring my resolution to desert him if he goes on to join with Castle, who and his family I, for great provocation, love not, which he takes with some trouble, but will concur in everything with me, he says. Now I am loth, I confess, to lose him, he having been the best friend I have had ever in this office. So he being gone, we all, it being night, in Madam Turner's coach to her house, there to see, as she tells us, how fat Mrs. The. is grown, and so I find her, but not as I expected, but mightily pleased I am to hear the mother commend her daughter Betty that she is like to be a great beauty, and she sets much by her. Thence I to White Hall, and there saw Mr. Coventry come to towne, and, with all my heart, am glad to see him, but could have no talke with him, he being but just come. Thence back and took up my wife, and home, where a while, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and in Sir W. Batten's coach to White Hall, but the Duke being gone forth, I to Westminster Hall, and there spent much time till towards noon to and fro with people. So by and by Mrs. Lane comes and plucks me by the cloak to speak to me, and I was fain to go to her shop, and pretending to buy some bands made her go home, and by and by followed her, and there did what I would with her, and so after many discourses and her intreating me to do something for her husband, which I promised to do, and buying a little band of her, which I intend to keep to, I took leave, there coming a couple of footboys to her with a coach to fetch her abroad I know not to whom. She is great with child, and she says I must be godfather, but I do not intend it. Thence by coach to the Old Exchange, and there hear that the Dutch are fitting their ships out again, which puts us to new discourse, and to alter our thoughts of the Dutch, as to their want of courage or force. Thence by appointment to the White Horse Taverne in Lumbard Streete, and there dined with my Lord Rutherford, Povy, Mr. Gauden, Creed, and others, and very merry, and after dinner among other things Povy and I withdrew, and I plainly told him that I was concerned in profit, but very justly, in this business of the Bill that I have been these two or three days about, and he consents to it, and it shall be paid. He tells me how he believes, and in part knows, Creed to be worth L10,000; nay, that now and then he [Povy] hath three or L4,000 in his hands, for which he gives the interest that the King gives, which is ten per cent., and that Creed do come and demand it every three months the interest to be paid him, which Povy looks upon as a cunning and mean tricke of him; but for all that, he will do and is very rich. Thence to the office, where we sat and where Mr. Coventry came the first time after his return from sea, which I was glad of. So after office to my office, and then home to supper, and to my office again, and then late home to bed. 7th. Lay long, then up, and among others Bagwell's wife coming to speak with me put new thoughts of folly into me which I am troubled at. Thence after doing business at my office, I by coach to my Lady Sandwich's, and there dined with her, and found all well and merry. Thence to White Hall, and we waited on the Duke, who looks better than he did, methinks, before his voyage; and, I think, a little more stern than he used to do. Thence to the Temple to my cozen Roger Pepys, thinking to have met the Doctor to have discoursed our business, but he came not, so I home, and there by agreement came my Lord Rutherford, Povy, Gauden, Creed, Alderman Backewell, about Tangier business of accounts between Rutherford and Gauden. Here they were with me an hour or more, then after drinking away, and Povy and Creed staid and eat with me; but I was sorry I had no better cheer for Povy; for the foole may be useful, and is a cunning fellow in his way, which is a strange one, and that, that I meet not in any other man, nor can describe in him. They late with me, and when gone my boy and I to musique, and then to bed. 8th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. In the evening comes my aunt and uncle Wight, Mrs. Norbury, and her daughter, and after them Mr. Norbury, where no great pleasure, my aunt being out of humour in her fine clothes, and it raining hard. Besides, I was a little too bold with her about her doating on Dr. Venner. Anon they went away, and I till past 12 at night at my office, and then home to bed. 9th. Up betimes and walked to Mr. Povy's, and there, not without some few troublesome questions of his, I got a note, and went and received L117 5s. of Alderman Viner upon my pretended freight of the "William" for Tangier, which overbears me on one side with joy and on the other to think of my condition if I shall be called into examination about it, and (though in strictness it is due) not be able to give a good account of it. Home with it, and there comes Captain Taylor to me, and he and I did set even the business of the ship Union lately gone for Tangier, wherein I hope to get L50 more, for all which the Lord be praised. At noon home to dinner, Mr. Hunt and his wife with us, and very pleasant. Then in the afternoon I carried them home by coach, and I to Westminster Hall, and thence to Gervas's, and there find I cannot prevail with Jane to go forth with me, but though I took a good occasion of going to the Trumpet she declined coming, which vexed me. 'Je avait grande envie envers elle, avec vrai amour et passion'. Thence home and to my office till one in the morning, setting to rights in writing this day's two accounts of Povy and Taylor, and then quietly to bed. This day I had several letters from several places, of our bringing in great numbers of Dutch ships. 10th. Lay long, at which I am ashamed, because of so many people observing it that know not how late I sit up, and for fear of Sir W. Batten's speaking of it to others, he having staid for me a good while. At the office all the morning, where comes my Lord Brunkard with his patent in his hand, and delivered it to Sir J. Minnes and myself, we alone being there all the day, and at noon I in his coach with him to the 'Change, where he set me down; a modest civil person he seems to be, but wholly ignorant in the business of the Navy as possible, but I hope to make a friend of him, being a worthy man. Thence after hearing the great newes of so many Dutchmen being brought in to Portsmouth and elsewhere, which it is expected will either put them upon present revenge or despair, I with Sir W. Rider and Cutler to dinner all alone to the Great James, where good discourse, and, I hope, occasion of getting something hereafter. After dinner to White Hall to the Fishery, where the Duke was with us. So home, and late at my office, writing many letters, then home to supper and to bed. Yesterday come home, and this night I visited Sir W. Pen, who dissembles great respect and love to me, but I understand him very well. Major Holmes is come from Guinny, and is now at Plymouth with great wealth, they say. 11th (Lord's day). Up and to church alone in the morning. Dined at home, mighty pleasantly. In the afternoon I to the French church, where much pleased with the three sisters of the parson, very handsome, especially in their noses, and sing prettily. I heard a good sermon of the old man, touching duty to parents. Here was Sir Samuel Morland and his lady very fine, with two footmen in new liverys (the church taking much notice of them), and going into their coach after sermon with great gazeing. So I home, and my cozen, Mary Pepys's husband, comes after me, and told me that out of the money he received some months since he did receive 18d. too much, and did now come and give it me, which was very pretty. So home, and there found Mr. Andrews and his lady, a well-bred and a tolerable pretty woman, and by and by Mr. Hill and to singing, and then to supper, then to sing again, and so good night. To prayers and tonight [bed]. It is a little strange how these Psalms of Ravenscroft after 2 or 3 times singing prove but the same again, though good. No diversity appearing at all almost. 12th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten by coach to White Hall, where all of us with the Duke; Mr. Coventry privately did tell me the reason of his advice against our pretences to the Prize Office (in his letter from Portsmouth), because he knew that the King and the Duke had resolved to put in some Parliament men that have deserved well, and that would needs be obliged, by putting them in. Thence homeward, called at my bookseller's and bespoke some books against the year's out, and then to the 'Change, and so home to dinner, and then to the office, where my Lord Brunkard comes and reads over part of our Instructions in the Navy--and I expounded it to him, so he is become my disciple. He gone, comes Cutler to tell us that the King of France hath forbid any canvass to be carried out of his kingdom, and I to examine went with him to the East India house to see a letter, but came too late. So home again, and there late till 12 at night at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. This day (to see how things are ordered in the world), I had a command from the Earle of Sandwich, at Portsmouth, not to be forward with Mr. Cholmly and Sir J. Lawson about the Mole at Tangier, because that what I do therein will (because of his friendship to me known) redound against him, as if I had done it upon his score. So I wrote to my Lord my mistake, and am contented to promise never to pursue it more, which goes against my mind with all my heart. 13th. Lay long in bed, then up, and many people to speak with me. Then to my office, and dined at noon at home, then to the office again, where we sat all the afternoon, and then home at night to a little supper, and so after my office again at 12 at night home to bed. 14th. Up, and after a while at the office, I abroad in several places, among others to my bookseller's, and there spoke for several books against New Year's day, I resolving to lay out about L7 or L8, God having given me some profit extraordinary of late; and bespoke also some plate, spoons, and forks. I pray God keep me from too great expenses, though these will still be pretty good money. Then to the 'Change, and I home to dinner, where Creed and Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute master, who plays indeed mighty finely, and after dinner I abroad, parting from Creed, and away to and fro, laying out or preparing for laying out more money, but I hope and resolve not to exceed therein, and to-night spoke for some fruit for the country for my father against Christmas, and where should I do it, but at the pretty woman's, that used to stand at the doore in Fanchurch Streete, I having a mind to know her. So home, and late at my office, evening reckonings with Shergoll, hoping to get money by the business, and so away home to supper and to bed, not being very well through my taking cold of late, and so troubled with some wind. 15th. Called up very betimes by Mr. Cholmly, and with him a good while about some of his Tangier accounts; and, discoursing of the condition of Tangier, he did give me the whole account of the differences between Fitzgerald and Norwood, which were very high on both sides, but most imperious and base on Fitzgerald's, and yet through my Lord FitzHarding's means, the Duke of York is led rather to blame Norwood and to speake that he should be called home, than be sensible of the other. He is a creature of FitzHarding's, as a fellow that may be done with what he will, and, himself certainly pretending to be Generall of the King's armies, when Monk dyeth, desires to have as few great or wise men in employment as he can now, but such as he can put in and keep under, which he do this coxcomb Fitzgerald. It seems, of all mankind there is no man so led by another as the Duke is by Lord Muskerry and this FitzHarding, insomuch, as when the King would have him to be Privy-Purse, the Duke wept, and said, "But, Sir, I must have your promise, if you will have my dear Charles from me, that if ever you have occasion for an army again, I may have him with me; believing him to be the best commander of an army in the world." But Mr. Cholmly thinks, as all other men I meet with do, that he is a very ordinary fellow. It is strange how the Duke also do love naturally, and affect the Irish above the English. He, of the company he carried with him to sea, took above two-thirds Irish and French. He tells me the King do hate my Lord Chancellor; and that they, that is the King and my Lord FitzHarding, do laugh at him for a dull fellow; and in all this business of the Dutch war do nothing by his advice, hardly consulting him. Only he is a good minister in other respects, and the King cannot be without him; but, above all, being the Duke's father-in-law, he is kept in; otherwise FitzHarding were able to fling down two of him. This, all the wise and grave lords see, and cannot help it; but yield to it. But he bemoans what the end of it may be, the King being ruled by these men, as he hath been all along since his coming; to the razing all the strong-holds in Scotland, and giving liberty to the Irish in Ireland, whom Cromwell had settled all in one corner; who are now able, and it is feared everyday a massacre again among them. He being gone I abroad to the carrier's, to see some things sent away to my father against Christmas, and thence to Moorfields, and there up and down to several houses to drink to look for a place 'pour rencontrer la femme de je sais quoi' against next Monday, but could meet none. So to the Coffeehouse, where great talke of the Comet seen in several places; and among our men at sea, and by my Lord Sandwich, to whom I intend to write about it to-night. Thence home to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon, and in the evening home to supper, and then to the office late, and so to bed. This night I begun to burn wax candles in my closett at the office, to try the charge, and to see whether the smoke offends like that of tallow candles. 16th. Up, and by water to Deptford, thinking to have met 'la femme de' Bagwell, but failed, and having done some business at the yard, I back again, it being a fine fresh morning to walk. Back again, Mr. Wayth walking with me to Half-Way House talking about Mr. Castle's fine knees lately delivered in. In which I am well informed that they are not as they should be to make them knees, and I hope shall make good use of it to the King's service. Thence home, and having dressed myself, to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, and so abroad by coach with my wife, and bought a looking glasse by the Old Exchange, which costs me L5 5s. and 6s. for the hooks. A very fair glasse. So toward my cozen Scott's, but meeting my Lady Sandwich's coach, my wife turned back to follow them, thinking they might, as they did, go to visit her, and I 'light and to Mrs. Harman, and there staid and talked in her shop with her, and much pleased I am with her. We talked about Anthony Joyce's giving over trade and that he intends to live in lodgings, which is a very mad, foolish thing. She tells me she hears and believes it is because he, being now begun to be called on offices, resolves not to take the new oathe, he having formerly taken the Covenant or Engagement, but I think he do very simply and will endeavour for his wife's sake to advise him therein. Thence to my cozen Scott's, and there met my cozen Roger Pepys, and Mrs. Turner, and The. and Joyce, and prated all the while, and so with the "corps" to church and heard a very fine sermon of the Parson of the parish, and so homeward with them in their coach, but finding it too late to go home with me, I took another coach and so home, and after a while at my office, home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I to the 'Change, and there, among others, had my first meeting with Mr. L'Estrange, who hath endeavoured several times to speak with me. It is to get, now and then, some newes of me, which I shall, as I see cause, give him. He is a man of fine conversation, I think, but I am sure most courtly and full of compliments. Thence home to dinner, and then come the looking-glass man to set up the looking-glass I bought yesterday, in my dining-room, and very handsome it is. So abroad by coach to White Hall, and there to the Committee of Tangier, and then the Fishing. Mr. Povy did in discourse give me a rub about my late bill for money that I did get of him, which vexed me and stuck in my mind all this evening, though I know very well how to cleare myself at the worst. So home and to my office, where late, and then home to bed. Mighty talke there is of this Comet that is seen a'nights; and the King and Queene did sit up last night to see it, and did, it seems. And to-night I thought to have done so too; but it is cloudy, and so no stars appear. But I will endeavour it. Mr. Gray did tell me to-night, for certain, that the Dutch, as high as they seem, do begin to buckle; and that one man in this Kingdom did tell the King that he is offered L40,000 to make a peace, and others have been offered money also. It seems the taking of their Bourdeaux fleete thus, arose from a printed Gazette of the Dutch's boasting of fighting, and having beaten the English: in confidence whereof (it coming to Bourdeaux), all the fleete comes out, and so falls into our hands. 18th (Lord's day). To church, where, God forgive me! I spent most of my time in looking [on] my new Morena--[a brunette]--at the other side of the church, an acquaintance of Pegg Pen's. So home to dinner, and then to my chamber to read Ben Johnson's Cataline, a very excellent piece, and so to church again, and thence we met at the office to hire ships, being in great haste and having sent for several masters of ships to come to us. Then home, and there Mr. Andrews and Hill come and we sung finely, and by and by Mr. Fuller, the Parson, and supped with me, he and a friend of his, but my musique friends would not stay supper. At and after supper Mr. Fuller and I told many storys of apparitions and delusions thereby, and I out with my storys of Tom Mallard. He gone, I a little to my office, and then to prayers and to bed. 19th. Going to bed betimes last night we waked betimes, and from our people's being forced to take the key to go out to light a candle, I was very angry and begun to find fault with my wife for not commanding her servants as she ought. Thereupon she giving me some cross answer I did strike her over her left eye such a blow as the poor wretch did cry out and was in great pain, but yet her spirit was such as to endeavour to bite and scratch me. But I coying--[stroking or caressing]--with her made her leave crying, and sent for butter and parsley, and friends presently one with another, and I up, vexed at my heart to think what I had done, for she was forced to lay a poultice or something to her eye all day, and is black, and the people of the house observed it. But I was forced to rise, and up and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there we waited on the Duke. And among other things Mr. Coventry took occasion to vindicate himself before the Duke and us, being all there, about the choosing of Taylor for Harwich. Upon which the Duke did clear him, and did tell us that he did expect, that, after he had named a man, none of us shall then oppose or find fault with the man; but if we had anything to say, we ought to say it before he had chose him. Sir G. Carteret thought himself concerned, and endeavoured to clear himself: and by and by Sir W. Batten did speak, knowing himself guilty, and did confess, that being pressed by the Council he did say what he did, that he was accounted a fanatique; but did not know that at that time he had been appointed by his Royal Highness. To which the Duke [replied] that it was impossible but he must know that he had appointed him; and so it did appear that the Duke did mean all this while Sir W. Batten. So by and by we parted, and Mr. Coventry did privately tell me that he did this day take this occasion to mention the business to give the Duke an opportunity of speaking his mind to Sir W. Batten in this business, of which I was heartily glad. Thence home, and not finding Bagwell's wife as I expected, I to the 'Change and there walked up and down, and then home, and she being come I bid her go and stay at Mooregate for me, and after going up to my wife (whose eye is very bad, but she is in very good temper to me), and after dinner I to the place and walked round the fields again and again, but not finding her I to the 'Change, and there found her waiting for me and took her away, and to an alehouse, and there I made much of her, and then away thence and to another and endeavoured to caress her, but 'elle ne voulait pas', which did vex me, but I think it was chiefly not having a good easy place to do it upon. So we broke up and parted and I to the office, where we sat hiring of ships an hour or two, and then to my office, and thence (with Captain Taylor home to my house) to give him instructions and some notice of what to his great satisfaction had happened to-day. Which I do because I hope his coming into this office will a little cross Sir W. Batten and may do me good. He gone, I to supper with my wife, very pleasant, and then a little to my office and to bed. My mind, God forgive me, too much running upon what I can 'ferais avec la femme de Bagwell demain', having promised to go to Deptford and 'a aller a sa maison avec son mari' when I come thither. 20th. Up and walked to Deptford, where after doing something at the yard I walked, without being observed, with Bagwell home to his house, and there was very kindly used, and the poor people did get a dinner for me in their fashion, of which I also eat very well. After dinner I found occasion of sending him abroad, and then alone 'avec elle je tentais a faire ce que je voudrais et contre sa force je le faisais biens que passe a mon contentment'. By and by he coming back again I took leave and walked home, and then there to dinner, where Dr. Fayrebrother come to see me and Luellin. We dined, and I to the office, leaving them, where we sat all the afternoon, and I late at the office. To supper and to the office again very late, then home to bed. 21st. Up, and after evening reckonings to this day with Mr. Bridges, the linnen draper, for callicos, I out to Doctors' Commons, where by agreement my cozen Roger and I did meet my cozen Dr. Tom Pepys, and there a great many and some high words on both sides, but I must confess I was troubled; first, to find my cozen Roger such a simple but well-meaning man as he is; next to think that my father, out of folly and vain glory, should now and then (as by their words I gather) be speaking how he had set up his son Tom with his goods and house, and now these words are brought against him--I fear to the depriving him of all the profit the poor man intended to make of the lease of his house and sale of his owne goods. I intend to make a quiet end if I can with the Doctor, being a very foul-tounged fool and of great inconvenience to be at difference with such a one that will make the base noise about it that he will. Thence, very much vexed to find myself so much troubled about other men's matters, I to Mrs. Turner's, in Salsbury Court, and with her a little, and carried her, the porter staying for me, our eagle, which she desired the other day, and we were glad to be rid of her, she fouling our house of office mightily. They are much pleased with her. And thence I home and after dinner to the office, where Sir W. Rider and Cutler come, and in dispute I very high with them against their demands, I hope to no hurt to myself, for I was very plain with them to the best of my reason. So they gone I home to supper, then to the office again and so home to bed. My Lord Sandwich this day writes me word that he hath seen (at Portsmouth) the Comet, and says it is the most extraordinary thing that ever he saw. 22nd. Up and betimes to my office, and then out to several places, among others to Holborne to have spoke with one Mr. Underwood about some English hemp, he lies against Gray's Inn. Thereabouts I to a barber's shop to have my hair cut, and there met with a copy of verses, mightily commended by some gentlemen there, of my Lord Mordaunt's, in excuse of his going to sea this late expedition, with the Duke of Yorke. But, Lord! they are but sorry things; only a Lord made them. Thence to the 'Change; and there, among the merchants, I hear fully the news of our being beaten to dirt at Guinny, by De Ruyter with his fleete. The particulars, as much as by Sir G. Carteret afterwards I heard, I have said in a letter to my Lord Sandwich this day at Portsmouth; it being most wholly to the utter ruine of our Royall Company, and reproach and shame to the whole nation, as well as justification to them in their doing wrong to no man as to his private [property], only takeing whatever is found to belong to the Company, and nothing else. Dined at the Dolphin, Sir G. Carteret, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, with Sir W. Boreman and Sir Theophilus Biddulph and others, Commissioners of the Sewers, about our place below to lay masts in. But coming a little too soon, I out again, and tooke boat down to Redriffe; and just in time within two minutes, and saw the new vessel of Sir William Petty's launched, the King and Duke being there. [Pepys was wrong as to the name of Sir William Petty's new doublekeeled boat. On February 13th, 1664-65, he gives the correct title, which was "The Experiment."] It swims and looks finely, and I believe will do well. The name I think is Twilight, but I do not know certainly. Coming away back immediately to dinner, where a great deal of good discourse, and Sir G. Carteret's discourse of this Guinny business, with great displeasure at the losse of our honour there, and do now confess that the trade brought all these troubles upon us between the Dutch and us. Thence to the office and there sat late, then I to my office and there till 12 at night, and so home to bed weary. 23rd. Up and to my office, then come by appointment cozen Tom Trice to me, and I paid him the L20 remaining due to him upon the bond of L100 given him by agreement November, 1663, to end the difference between us about my aunt's, his mother's, money. And here, being willing to know the worst, I told him, "I hope now there is nothing remaining between you and I of future dispute." "No," says he, "nothing at all that I know of, but only a small matter of about 20 or 30s. that my father Pepys received for me of rent due to me in the country, which I will in a day or two bring you an account of," and so we parted. Dined at home upon a good turkey which Mr. Sheply sent us, then to the office all the afternoon, Mr. Cutler and others coming to me about business. I hear that the Dutch have prepared a fleete to go the backway to the Streights, where without doubt they will master our fleete. This put to that of Guinny makes me fear them mightily, and certainly they are a most wise people, and careful of their business. The King of France, they say, do declare himself obliged to defend them, and lays claim by his Embassador to the wines we have taken from the Dutch Bourdeaux men, and more, it is doubted whether the Swede will be our friend or no. Pray God deliver us out of these troubles! This day Sir W. Batten sent and afterwards spoke to me, to have me and my wife come and dine with them on Monday next: which is a mighty condescension in them, and for some great reason I am sure, or else it pleases God by my late care of business to make me more considerable even with them than I am sure they would willingly owne me to be. God make me thankfull and carefull to preserve myself so, for I am sure they hate me and it is hope or fear that makes them flatter me. It being a bright night, which it has not been a great while, I purpose to endeavour to be called in the morning to see the Comet, though I fear we shall not see it, because it rises in the east but 16 degrees, and then the houses will hinder us. 24th. Having sat up all night to past two o'clock this morning, our porter, being appointed, comes and tells us that the bellman tells him that the star is seen upon Tower Hill; so I, that had been all night setting in order all my old papers in my chamber, did leave off all, and my boy and I to Tower Hill, it being a most fine, bright moonshine night, and a great frost; but no Comet to be seen. So after running once round the Hill, I and Tom, we home and then to bed. Rose about 9 o'clock and then to the office, where sitting all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, to the Coffee-house; and there heard Sir Richard Ford tell the whole story of our defeat at Guinny. Wherein our men are guilty of the most horrid cowardice and perfidiousness, as he says and tells it, that ever Englishmen were. Captain Raynolds, that was the only commander of any of the King's ships there, was shot at by De Ruyter, with a bloody flag flying. He, instead of opposing (which, indeed, had been to no purpose, but only to maintain honour), did poorly go on board himself, to ask what De Ruyter would have; and so yielded to whatever Ruyter would desire. The King and Duke are highly vexed at it, it seems, and the business deserves it. Thence home to dinner, and then abroad to buy some things, and among others to my bookseller's, and there saw several books I spoke for, which are finely bound and good books to my great content. So home and to my office, where late. This evening I being informed did look and saw the Comet, which is now, whether worn away or no I know not, but appears not with a tail, but only is larger and duller than any other star, and is come to rise betimes, and to make a great arch, and is gone quite to a new place in the heavens than it was before: but I hope in a clearer night something more will be seen. So home to bed. 25th (Lord's day and Christmas day). Up (my wife's eye being ill still of the blow I did in a passion give her on Monday last) to church alone, where Mr. Mills, a good sermon. To dinner at home, where very pleasant with my wife and family. After dinner I to Sir W. Batten's, and there received so much good usage (as I have of late done) from him and my Lady, obliging me and my wife, according to promise, to come and dine with them to-morrow with our neighbours, that I was in pain all the day, and night too after, to know how to order the business of my wife's not going, and by discourse receive fresh instances of Sir J. Minnes's folly in complaining to Sir G. Carteret of Sir W. Batten and me for some family offences, such as my having of a stopcock to keepe the water from them, which vexes me, but it would more but that Sir G. Carteret knows him very well. Thence to the French church, but coming too late I returned and to Mr. Rawlinson's church, where I heard a good sermon of one that I remember was at Paul's with me, his name Maggett; and very great store of fine women there is in this church, more than I know anywhere else about us. So home and to my chamber, looking over and setting in order my papers and books, and so to supper, and then to prayers and to bed. 26th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there with the rest did our usual business before the Duke, and then with Sir W. Batten back and to his house, where I by sicknesse excused my wife's coming to them to-day. Thence I to the Coffeehouse, where much good discourse, and all the opinion now is that the Dutch will avoid fighting with us at home, but do all the hurte they can to us abroad; which it may be they may for a while, but that, I think, cannot support them long. Thence to Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Coventry and all our families here, women and all, and Sir R. Ford and his, and a great feast and good discourse and merry, there all the afternoon and evening till late, only stepped in to see my wife, then to my office to enter my day's work, and so home to bed, where my people and wife innocently at cards very merry, and I to bed, leaving them to their sport and blindman's buff. 27th. My people came to bed, after their sporting, at four o'clock in the morning; I up at seven, and to Deptford and Woolwich in a gally; the Duke calling to me out of the barge in which the King was with him going down the river, to know whither I was going. I told him to Woolwich, but was troubled afterward I should say no farther, being in a gally, lest he think me too profuse in my journeys. Did several businesses, and then back again by two o'clock to Sir J. Minnes's to dinner by appointment, where all yesterday's company but Mr. Coventry, who could not come. Here merry, and after an hour's chat I down to the office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed. The Comet appeared again to-night, but duskishly. I went to bed, leaving my wife and all her folks, and Will also, too, come to make Christmas gambolls to-night. 28th. I waked in the morning about 6 o'clock and my wife not come to bed; I lacked a pot, but there was none, and bitter cold, so was forced to rise and piss in the chimney, and to bed again. Slept a little longer, and then hear my people coming up, and so I rose, and my wife to bed at eight o'clock in the morning, which vexed me a little, but I believe there was no hurt in it all, but only mirthe, therefore took no notice. I abroad with Sir W. Batten to the Council Chamber, where all of us to discourse about the way of measuring ships and the freight fit to give for them by the tun, where it was strange methought to hear so poor discourses among the Lords themselves, and most of all to see how a little empty matter delivered gravely by Sir W. Pen was taken mighty well, though nothing in the earth to the purpose. But clothes, I perceive more and more every day, is a great matter. Thence home with Sir W. Batten by coach, and I home to dinner, finding my wife still in bed. After dinner abroad, and among other things visited my Lady Sandwich, and was there, with her and the young ladies, playing at cards till night. Then home and to my office late, then home to bed, leaving my wife and people up to more sports, but without any great satisfaction to myself therein. 29th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. Then whereas I should have gone and dined with Sir W. Pen (and the rest of the officers at his house), I pretended to dine with my Lady Sandwich and so home, where I dined well, and began to wipe and clean my books in my chamber in order to the settling of my papers and things there thoroughly, and then to the office, where all the afternoon sitting, and in the evening home to supper, and then to my work again. 30th. Lay very long in bed with my wife, it being very cold, and my wife very full of a resolution to keepe within doors, not so much as to go to church or see my Lady Sandwich before Easter next, which I am willing enough to, though I seem the contrary. This and other talke kept me a-bed till almost 10 a'clock. Then up and made an end of looking over all my papers and books and taking everything out of my chamber to have all made clean. At noon dined, and after dinner forth to several places to pay away money, to clear myself in all the world, and, among others, paid my bookseller L6 for books I had from him this day, and the silversmith L22 18s. for spoons, forks, and sugar box, and being well pleased with seeing my business done to my mind as to my meeting with people and having my books ready for me, I home and to my office, and there did business late, and then home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 31st. At the office all the morning, and after dinner there again, dispatched first my letters, and then to my accounts, not of the month but of the whole yeare also, and was at it till past twelve at night, it being bitter cold; but yet I was well satisfied with my worke, and, above all, to find myself, by the great blessing of God, worth L1349, by which, as I have spent very largely, so I have laid up above L500 this yeare above what I was worth this day twelvemonth. The Lord make me for ever thankful to his holy name for it! Thence home to eat a little and so to bed. Soon as ever the clock struck one, I kissed my wife in the kitchen by the fireside, wishing her a merry new yeare, observing that I believe I was the first proper wisher of it this year, for I did it as soon as ever the clock struck one. So ends the old yeare, I bless God, with great joy to me, not only from my having made so good a yeare of profit, as having spent L420 and laid up L540 and upwards; but I bless God I never have been in so good plight as to my health in so very cold weather as this is, nor indeed in any hot weather, these ten years, as I am at this day, and have been these four or five months. But I am at a great losse to know whether it be my hare's foote, or taking every morning of a pill of turpentine, or my having left off the wearing of a gowne. My family is, my wife, in good health, and happy with her; her woman Mercer, a pretty, modest, quiett mayde; her chambermayde Besse, her cook mayde Jane, the little girl Susan, and my boy, which I have had about half a yeare, Tom Edwards, which I took from the King's chappell, and a pretty and loving quiett family I have as any man in England. My credit in the world and my office grows daily, and I am in good esteeme with everybody, I think. My troubles of my uncle's estate pretty well over; but it comes to be but of little profit to us, my father being much supported by my purse. But great vexations remain upon my father and me from my brother Tom's death and ill condition, both to our disgrace and discontent, though no great reason for either. Publique matters are all in a hurry about a Dutch warr. Our preparations great; our provocations against them great; and, after all our presumption, we are now afeard as much of them, as we lately contemned them. Every thing else in the State quiett, blessed be God! My Lord Sandwich at sea with the fleete at Portsmouth; sending some about to cruise for taking of ships, which we have done to a great number. This Christmas I judged it fit to look over all my papers and books; and to tear all that I found either boyish or not to be worth keeping, or fit to be seen, if it should please God to take me away suddenly. Among others, I found these two or three notes, which I thought fit to keep. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, PEPY'S DIARY 1664, COMPLETE: A real and not a complimentary acknowledgment A mad merry slut she is About several businesses, hoping to get money by them After many protestings by degrees I did arrive at what I would All divided that were bred so long at school together All ended in love All the men were dead of the plague, and the ship cast ashore And with the great men in curing of their claps At least 12 or 14,000 people in the street (to see the hanging) Bath at the top of his house Bearing more sayle will go faster than any other ships (multihull) Began discourse of my not getting of children Below what people think these great people say and do But the wench went, and I believe had her turn served Came to bed to me, but all would not make me friends Chatted with her, her husband out of the way Could not saw above 4 inches of the stone in a day Do look upon me as a remembrancer of his former vanity Doubtfull of himself, and easily be removed from his own opinion Drink a dish of coffee Even to the having bad words with my wife, and blows too Expected musique, the missing of which spoiled my dinner Expressly taking care that nobody might see this business done Fear of making her think me to be in a better condition Fear all his kindness is but only his lust to her Feared I might meet with some people that might know me Fetch masts from New England Few in any age that do mind anything that is abstruse Find myself to over-value things when a child Gadding abroad to look after beauties Generally with corruption, but most indeed with neglect God forgive me! what thoughts and wishes I had Good writers are not admired by the present Greatest businesses are done so superficially Had no mind to meddle with her Having some experience, but greater conceit of it than is fit Hear something of the effects of our last meeting (pregnancy?) Helping to slip their calfes when there is occasion Her months upon her is gone to bed Her impudent tricks and ways of getting money How little to be presumed of in our greatest undertakings I had agreed with Jane Welsh, but she came not, which vexed me I do not like his being angry and in debt both together to me I will not by any over submission make myself cheap I slept soundly all the sermon Ill from my late cutting my hair so close to my head In my dining-room she was doing something upon the pott In a hackney and full of people, was ashamed to be seen Ireland in a very distracted condition Irish in Ireland, whom Cromwell had settled all in one corner Jane going into the boat did fall down and show her arse King is mighty kind to these his bastard children King still do doat upon his women, even beyond all shame Lay long caressing my wife and talking Let her brew as she has baked Little children employed, every one to do something Mankind pleasing themselves in the easy delights of the world Meazles, we fear, or, at least, of a scarlett feavour Methought very ill, or else I am grown worse to please Mind to have her bring it home Mrs. Lane was gone forth, and so I missed of my intent My wife was angry with me for not coming home, and for gadding My leg fell in a hole broke on the bridge My wife made great means to be friends, coming to my bedside Never to trust too much to any man in the world New Netherlands to English rule, under the title of New York Not well, and so had no pleasure at all with my poor wife Not when we can, but when we list Not the greatest wits, but the steady man Nothing of the memory of a man, an houre after he is dead! Now against her going into the country (lay together) Periwigg he lately made me cleansed of its nits Play good, but spoiled with the ryme, which breaks the sense Pleased to look upon their pretty daughter Pray God give me a heart to fear a fall, and to prepare for it! Presse seamen, without which we cannot really raise men Pretty sayings, which are generally like paradoxes Reduced the Dutch settlement of New Netherlands to English rule Rotten teeth and false, set in with wire Ryme, which breaks the sense Saw "The German Princess" acted, by the woman herself Sent my wife to get a place to see Turner hanged Shakespeare's plays She had the cunning to cry a great while, and talk and blubber She had got and used some puppy-dog water Sheriffs did endeavour to get one jewell Slabbering my band sent home for another So home to prayers and to bed Staid two hours with her kissing her, but nothing more Strange slavery that I stand in to beauty Subject to be put into a disarray upon very small occasions Such open flattery is beastly Talked with Mrs. Lane about persuading her to Hawly Tear all that I found either boyish or not to be worth keeping That hair by hair had his horse's tail pulled off indeed Their saws have no teeth, but it is the sand only There eat and drank, and had my pleasure of her twice There did see Mrs. Lane..... These Lords are hard to be trusted Things wear out of themselves and come fair again Thinks she is with child, but I neither believe nor desire it Till 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed To my Lord Sandwich, thinking to have dined there Travels over the high hills in Asia above the clouds Up, my mind very light from my last night's accounts Upon a very small occasion had a difference again broke out Very angry we were, but quickly friends again Very high and very foule words from her to me We do nothing in this office like people able to carry on a warr Went against me to have my wife and servants look upon them What wine you drinke, lett it bee at meales What a sorry dispatch these great persons give to business What is there more to be had of a woman than the possessing her Where a trade hath once been and do decay, it never recovers Wherein every party has laboured to cheat another Willing to receive a bribe if it were offered me Would either conform, or be more wise, and not be catched! Would make a dogg laugh 
4158	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1665 August 1st. Slept, and lay long; then up and my Lord [Crew] and Sir G. Carteret being gone abroad, I first to see the bridegroom and bride, and found them both up, and he gone to dress himself. Both red in the face, and well enough pleased this morning with their night's lodging. Thence down and Mr. Brisband and I to billiards: anon come my Lord and Sir G. Carteret in, who have been looking abroad and visiting some farms that Sir G. Carteret hath thereabouts, and, among other things, report the greatest stories of the bigness of the calfes they find there, ready to sell to the butchers, as big, they say, as little Cowes, and that they do give them a piece of chalke to licke, which they hold makes them white in the flesh within. Very merry at dinner, and so to talk and laugh after dinner, and up and down, some to [one] place, some to another, full of content on all sides. Anon about five o'clock, Sir G. Carteret and his lady and I took coach with the greatest joy and kindnesse that could be from the two familys or that ever I saw with so much appearance, and, I believe, reality in all my life. Drove hard home, and it was night ere we got to Deptford, where, with much kindnesse from them to me, I left them, and home to the office, where I find all well, and being weary and sleepy, it being very late, I to bed. 2nd. Up, it being a publique fast, as being the first Wednesday of the month, for the plague; I within doors all day, and upon my monthly accounts late, and there to my great joy settled almost all my private matters of money in my books clearly, and allowing myself several sums which I had hitherto not reckoned myself sure of, because I would not be over sure of any thing, though with reason I might do it, I did find myself really worth L1900, for which the great God of Heaven and Earth be praised! At night to the office to write a few letters, and so home to bed, after fitting myself for tomorrow's journey. 3rd. Up, and betimes to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret's, where, not liking the horse that had been hired by Mr. Uthwayt for me, I did desire Sir G. Carteret to let me ride his new L40 horse, which he did, and so I left my 'hacquenee'--[Haquenee = an ambling nag fitted for ladies' riding.]--behind, and so after staying a good while in their bedchamber while they were dressing themselves, discoursing merrily, I parted and to the ferry, where I was forced to stay a great while before I could get my horse brought over, and then mounted and rode very finely to Dagenhams; all the way people, citizens, walking to and again to enquire how the plague is in the City this week by the Bill; which by chance, at Greenwich, I had heard was 2,020 of the plague, and 3,000 and odd of all diseases; but methought it was a sad question to be so often asked me. Coming to Dagenhams, I there met our company coming out of the house, having staid as long as they could for me; so I let them go a little before, and went and took leave of my Lady Sandwich, good woman, who seems very sensible of my service in this late business, and having her directions in some things, among others, to get Sir G. Carteret and my Lord to settle the portion, and what Sir G. Carteret is to settle, into land, soon as may be, she not liking that it should lie long undone, for fear of death on either side. So took leave of her, and then down to the buttery, and eat a piece of cold venison pie, and drank and took some bread and cheese in my hand; and so mounted after them, Mr. Marr very kindly staying to lead me the way. By and by met my Lord Crew returning, after having accompanied them a little way, and so after them, Mr. Marr telling me by the way how a mayde servant of Mr. John Wright's (who lives thereabouts) falling sick of the plague, she was removed to an out-house, and a nurse appointed to look to her; who, being once absent, the mayde got out of the house at the window, and run away. The nurse coming and knocking, and having no answer, believed she was dead, and went and told Mr. Wright so; who and his lady were in great strait what to do to get her buried. At last resolved to go to Burntwood hard by, being in the parish, and there get people to do it. But they would not; so he went home full of trouble, and in the way met the wench walking over the common, which frighted him worse than before; and was forced to send people to take her, which he did; and they got one of the pest coaches and put her into it to carry her to a pest house. And passing in a narrow lane, Sir Anthony Browne, with his brother and some friends in the coach, met this coach with the curtains drawn close. The brother being a young man, and believing there might be some lady in it that would not be seen, and the way being narrow, he thrust his head out of his own into her coach, and to look, and there saw somebody look very ill, and in a sick dress, and stunk mightily; which the coachman also cried out upon. And presently they come up to some people that stood looking after it, and told our gallants that it was a mayde of Mr. Wright's carried away sick of the plague; which put the young gentleman into a fright had almost cost him his life, but is now well again. I, overtaking our young people, 'light, and into the coach to them, where mighty merry all the way; and anon come to the Blockehouse, over against Gravesend, where we staid a great while, in a little drinking-house. Sent back our coaches to Dagenhams. I, by and by, by boat to Gravesend, where no newes of Sir G. Carteret come yet; so back again, and fetched them all over, but the two saddle-horses that were to go with us, which could not be brought over in the horseboat, the wind and tide being against us, without towing; so we had some difference with some watermen, who would not tow them over under 20s., whereupon I swore to send one of them to sea and will do it. Anon some others come to me and did it for 10s. By and by comes Sir G. Carteret, and so we set out for Chatham: in my way overtaking some company, wherein was a lady, very pretty, riding singly, her husband in company with her. We fell into talke, and I read a copy of verses which her husband showed me, and he discommended, but the lady commended: and I read them, so as to make the husband turn to commend them. By and by he and I fell into acquaintance, having known me formerly at the Exchequer. His name is Nokes, over against Bow Church. He was servant to Alderman Dashwood. We promised to meet, if ever we come both to London again; and, at parting, I had a fair salute on horseback, in Rochester streets, of the lady, and so parted. Come to Chatham mighty merry, and anon to supper, it being near 9 o'clock ere we come thither. My Lady Carteret come thither in a coach, by herself, before us. Great mind they have to buy a little 'hacquenee' that I rode on from Greenwich, for a woman's horse. Mighty merry, and after supper, all being withdrawn, Sir G. Carteret did take an opportunity to speak with much value and kindness to me, which is of great joy to me. So anon to bed. Mr. Brisband and I together to my content. 4th. Up at five o'clock, and by six walked out alone, with my Lady Slanning, to the Docke Yard, where walked up and down, and so to Mr. Pett's, who led us into his garden, and there the lady, the best humoured woman in the world, and a devout woman (I having spied her on her knees half an houre this morning in her chamber), clambered up to the top of the banquetting-house to gather nuts, and mighty merry, and so walked back again through the new rope house, which is very usefull; and so to the Hill-house to breakfast and mighty merry. Then they took coach, and Sir G. Carteret kissed me himself heartily, and my Lady several times, with great kindnesse, and then the young ladies, and so with much joy, bade "God be with you!" and an end I think it will be to my mirthe for a great while, it having been the passage of my whole life the most pleasing for the time, considering the quality and nature of the business, and my noble usage in the doing of it, and very many fine journys, entertainments and great company. I returned into the house for a while to do business there with Commissioner Pett, and there with the officers of the Chest, where I saw more of Sir W. Batten's business than ever I did before, for whereas he did own once under his hand to them that he was accountable for L2200, of which he had yet paid but L1600, he writes them a letter lately that he hath but about L50 left that is due to the Chest, but I will do something in it and that speedily. That being done I took horse, and Mr. Barrow with me bore me company to Gravesend, discoursing of his business, wherein I vexed him, and he me, I seeing his frowardness, but yet that he is in my conscience a very honest man, and some good things he told me, which I shall remember to the King's advantage. There I took boat alone, and, the tide being against me, landed at Blackwall and walked to Wapping, Captain Bowd whom I met with talking with me all the way, who is a sober man. So home, and found all things well, and letters from Dover that my Lord Hinchingbroke is arrived at Dover, and would be at Scott's hall this night, where the whole company will meet. I wish myself with them. After writing a few letters I took boat and down to Woolwich very late, and there found my wife and her woman upon the key hearing a fellow in a barge, that lay by, fiddle. So I to them and in, very merry, and to bed, I sleepy and weary. 5th. In the morning up, and my wife showed me several things of her doing, especially one fine woman's Persian head mighty finely done, beyond what I could expect of her; and so away by water, having ordered in the yarde six or eight bargemen to be whipped, who had last night stolen some of the King's cordage from out of the yarde. I to Deptford, and there by agreement met with my Lord Bruncker, and there we kept our office, he and I, and did what there was to do, and at noon parted to meet at the office next week. Sir W. Warren and I thence did walk through the rain to Half-Way House, and there I eat a piece of boiled beef and he and I talked over several businesses, among others our design upon the mast docke, which I hope to compass and get 2 or L300 by. Thence to Redriffe, where we parted, and I home, where busy all the afternoon. Stepped to Colvill's to set right a business of money, where he told me that for certain De Ruyter is come home, with all his fleete, which is very ill newes, considering the charge we have been at in keeping a fleete to the northward so long, besides the great expectation of snapping him, wherein my Lord Sandwich will I doubt suffer some dishonour. I am told also of a great ryott upon Thursday last in Cheapside; Colonell Danvers, a delinquent, having been taken, and in his way to the Tower was rescued from the captain of the guard, and carried away; only one of the rescuers being taken. I am told also that the Duke of Buckingham is dead, but I know not of a certainty. So home and very late at letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Dressed and had my head combed by my little girle, to whom I confess 'que je sum demasiado kind, nuper ponendo mes mains in su des choses de son breast, mais il faut que je' leave it lest it bring me to 'alcun major inconvenience'. So to my business in my chamber, look over and settling more of my papers than I could the two last days I have spent about them. In the evening, it raining hard, down to Woolwich, where after some little talk to bed. 7th. Up, and with great pleasure looking over my wife's pictures, and then to see my Lady Pen, whom I have not seen since her coming hither, and after being a little merry with her, she went forth and I staid there talking with Mrs. Pegg and looking over her pictures, and commended them; but, Lord! so far short of my wife's, as no comparison. Thence to my wife, and there spent, talking, till noon, when by appointment Mr. Andrews come out of the country to speake with me about their Tangier business, and so having done with him and dined, I home by water, where by appointment I met Dr. Twisden, Mr. Povy, Mr. Lawson, and Stockdale about settling their business of money; but such confusion I never met with, nor could anything be agreed on, but parted like a company of fools, I vexed to lose so much time and pains to no purpose. They gone, comes Rayner, the boatmaker, about some business, and brings a piece of plate with him, which I refused to take of him, thinking indeed that the poor man hath no reason nor encouragement from our dealings with him to give any of us any presents. He gone, there comes Luellin, about Mr. Deering's business of planke, to have the contract perfected, and offers me twenty pieces in gold, as Deering had done some time since himself, but I both then and now refused it, resolving not to be bribed to dispatch business, but will have it done however out of hand forthwith. So he gone, I to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where all the morning we sat. At noon I home to dinner alone, and after dinner Bagwell's wife waited at the door, and went with me to my office . . . . So parted, and I to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat the most of the afternoon talking and drinking too much with my Lord Bruncker, Sir G. Smith, G. Cocke and others very merry. I drunk a little mixed, but yet more than I should do. So to my office a little, and then to the Duke of Albemarle's about some business. The streets mighty empty all the way, now even in London, which is a sad sight. And to Westminster Hall, where talking, hearing very sad stories from Mrs. Mumford; among others, of Mrs. Michell's son's family. And poor Will, that used to sell us ale at the Hall-door, his wife and three children died, all, I think, in a day. So home through the City again, wishing I may have taken no ill in going; but I will go, I think, no more thither. Late at the office, and then home to supper, having taken a pullet home with me, and then to bed. The news of De Kuyter's coming home is certain; and told to the great disadvantage of our fleete, and the praise of De Kuyter; but it cannot be helped, nor do I know what to say to it. 9th. Up betimes to my office, where Tom Hater to the writing of letters with me, which have for a good while been in arreare, and we close at it all day till night, only made a little step out for half an houre in the morning to the Exchequer about striking of tallys, but no good done therein, people being most out of towne. At noon T. Hater dined with me, and so at it all the afternoon. At night home and supped, and after reading a little in Cowley's poems, my head being disturbed with overmuch business to-day, I to bed. 10th. Up betimes, and called upon early by my she-cozen Porter, the turner's wife, to tell me that her husband was carried to the Tower, for buying of some of the King's powder, and would have my helpe, but I could give her none, not daring any more to appear in the business, having too much trouble lately therein. By and by to the office, where we sat all the morning; in great trouble to see the Bill this week rise so high, to above 4,000 in all, and of them above 3,000 of the plague. And an odd story of Alderman Bence's stumbling at night over a dead corps in the streete, and going home and telling his wife, she at the fright, being with child, fell sicke and died of the plague. We sat late, and then by invitation my Lord Brunker, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten and I to Sir G. Smith's to dinner, where very good company and good cheer. Captain Cocke was there and Jacke Fenn, but to our great wonder Alderman Bence, and tells us that not a word of all this is true, and others said so too, but by his owne story his wife hath been ill, and he fain to leave his house and comes not to her, which continuing a trouble to me all the time I was there. Thence to the office and, after writing letters, home, to draw-over anew my will, which I had bound myself by oath to dispatch by to-morrow night; the town growing so unhealthy, that a man cannot depend upon living two days to an end. So having done something of it, I to bed. 11th. Up, and all day long finishing and writing over my will twice, for my father and my wife, only in the morning a pleasant rencontre happened in having a young married woman brought me by her father, old Delkes, that carries pins always in his mouth, to get her husband off that he should not go to sea, 'une contre pouvait avoir done any cose cum else, but I did nothing, si ni baisser her'. After they were gone my mind run upon having them called back again, and I sent a messenger to Blackwall, but he failed. So I lost my expectation. I to the Exchequer, about striking new tallys, and I find the Exchequer, by proclamation, removing to Nonesuch.--[Nonsuch Palace, near Epsom, where the Exchequer money was kept during the time of the plague.]--Back again and at my papers, and putting up my books into chests, and settling my house and all things in the best and speediest order I can, lest it should please God to take me away, or force me to leave my house. Late up at it, and weary and full of wind, finding perfectly that so long as I keepe myself in company at meals and do there eat lustily (which I cannot do alone, having no love to eating, but my mind runs upon my business), I am as well as can be, but when I come to be alone, I do not eat in time, nor enough, nor with any good heart, and I immediately begin to be full of wind, which brings my pain, till I come to fill my belly a-days again, then am presently well. 12th. The office now not sitting, but only hereafter on Thursdays at the office, I within all the morning about my papers and setting things still in order, and also much time in settling matters with Dr. Twisden. At noon am sent for by Sir G. Carteret, to meet him and my Lord Hinchingbroke at Deptford, but my Lord did not come thither, he having crossed the river at Gravesend to Dagenhams, whither I dare not follow him, they being afeard of me; but Sir G. Carteret says, he is a most sweet youth in every circumstance. Sir G. Carteret being in haste of going to the Duke of Albemarle and the Archbishop, he was pettish, and so I could not fasten any discourse, but take another time. So he gone, I down to Greenwich and sent away the Bezan, thinking to go with my wife to-night to come back again to-morrow night to the Soveraigne at the buoy off the Nore. Coming back to Deptford, old Bagwell walked a little way with me, and would have me in to his daughter's, and there he being gone 'dehors, ego had my volunte de su hiza'. Eat and drank and away home, and after a little at the office to my chamber to put more things still in order, and late to bed. The people die so, that now it seems they are fain to carry the dead to be buried by day-light, the nights not sufficing to do it in. And my Lord Mayor commands people to be within at nine at night all, as they say, that the sick may have liberty to go abroad for ayre. There is one also dead out of one of our ships at Deptford, which troubles us mightily; the Providence fire-ship, which was just fitted to go to sea. But they tell me to-day no more sick on board. And this day W. Bodham tells me that one is dead at Woolwich, not far from the Rope-yard. I am told, too, that a wife of one of the groomes at Court is dead at Salsbury; so that the King and Queene are speedily to be all gone to Milton. God preserve us! 13th (Lord's day). Up betimes and to my chamber, it being a very wet day all day, and glad am I that we did not go by water to see "The Soveraigne" ["The Sovereign of the Seas" was built at Woolwich in 1637 of timber which had been stripped of its bark while growing in the spring, and not felled till the second autumn afterwards; and it is observed by Dr. Plot ("Phil. Trans." for 1691), in his discourse on the most seasonable time for felling timber, written by the advice of Pepys, that after forty-seven years, "all the ancient timber then remaining in her, it was no easy matter to drive a nail into it" ("Quarterly Review," vol. viii., p. 35).--B.] to-day, as I intended, clearing all matters in packing up my papers and books, and giving instructions in writing to my executors, thereby perfecting the whole business of my will, to my very great joy; so that I shall be in much better state of soul, I hope, if it should please the Lord to call me away this sickly time. At night to read, being weary with this day's great work, and then after supper to bed, to rise betimes to-morrow, and to bed with a mind as free as to the business of the world as if I were not worth L100 in the whole world, every thing being evened under my hand in my books and papers, and upon the whole I find myself worth, besides Brampton estate, the sum of L2164, for which the Lord be praised! 14th. Up, and my mind being at mighty ease from the dispatch of my business so much yesterday, I down to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret, where with him a great while, and a great deale of private talke concerning my Lord Sandwich's and his matters, and chiefly of the latter, I giving him great deale of advice about the necessity of his having caution concerning Fenn, and the many ways there are of his being abused by any man in his place, and why he should not bring his son in to look after his business, and more, to be a Commissioner of the Navy, which he listened to and liked, and told me how much the King was his good Master, and was sure not to deny him that or any thing else greater than that, and I find him a very cunning man, whatever at other times he seems to be, and among other things he told me he was not for the fanfaroone [Fanfaron, French, from fanfare, a sounding of trumpets; hence, a swaggerer, or empty boaster.] to make a show with a great title, as he might have had long since, but the main thing to get an estate; and another thing, speaking of minding of business, "By God," says he, "I will and have already almost brought it to that pass, that the King shall not be able to whip a cat, but I must be at the tayle of it." Meaning so necessary he is, and the King and my Lord Treasurer and all do confess it; which, while I mind my business, is my own case in this office of the Navy, and I hope shall be more, if God give me life and health. Thence by agreement to Sir J. Minnes's lodgings, where I found my Lord Bruncker, and so by water to the ferry, and there took Sir W. Batten's coach that was sent for us, and to Sir W. Batten's, where very merry, good cheer, and up and down the garden with great content to me, and, after dinner, beat Captain Cocke at billiards, won about 8s. of him and my Lord Bruncker. So in the evening after, much pleasure back again and I by water to Woolwich, where supped with my wife, and then to bed betimes, because of rising to-morrow at four of the clock in order to the going out with Sir G. Carteret toward Cranborne to my Lord Hinchingbrooke in his way to Court. This night I did present my wife with the dyamond ring, awhile since given me by Mr. Dicke Vines's brother, for helping him to be a purser, valued at about L10, the first thing of that nature I did ever give her. Great fears we have that the plague will be a great Bill this weeke. 15th. Up by 4 o'clock and walked to Greenwich, where called at Captain Cocke's and to his chamber, he being in bed, where something put my last night's dream into my head, which I think is the best that ever was dreamt, which was that I had my Lady Castlemayne in my armes and was admitted to use all the dalliance I desired with her, and then dreamt that this could not be awake, but that it was only a dream; but that since it was a dream, and that I took so much real pleasure in it, what a happy thing it would be if when we are in our graves (as Shakespeere resembles it) we could dream, and dream but such dreams as this, that then we should not need to be so fearful of death, as we are this plague time. Here I hear that news is brought Sir G. Carteret that my Lord Hinchingbrooke is not well, and so cannot meet us at Cranborne to-night. So I to Sir G. Carteret's; and there was sorry with him for our disappointment. So we have put off our meeting there till Saturday next. Here I staid talking with Sir G. Carteret, he being mighty free with me in his business, and among other things hath ordered Rider and Cutler to put into my hands copper to the value of L5,000 (which Sir G. Carteret's share it seems come to in it), which is to raise part of the money he is to layout for a purchase for my Lady Jemimah. Thence he and I to Sir J. Minnes's by invitation, where Sir W. Batten and my Lady, and my Lord Bruncker, and all of us dined upon a venison pasty and other good meat, but nothing well dressed. But my pleasure lay in getting some bills signed by Sir G. Carteret, and promise of present payment from Mr. Fenn, which do rejoice my heart, it being one of the heaviest things I had upon me, that so much of the little I have should lie (viz. near L1000) in the King's hands. Here very merry and (Sir G. Carteret being gone presently after dinner) to Captain Cocke's, and there merry, and so broke up and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, with whom I spoke a great deale in private, they being designed to send a fleete of ships privately to the Streights. No news yet from our fleete, which is much wondered at, but the Duke says for certain guns have been heard to the northward very much. It was dark before I could get home, and so land at Church-yard stairs, where, to my great trouble, I met a dead corps of the plague, in the narrow ally just bringing down a little pair of stairs. But I thank God I was not much disturbed at it. However, I shall beware of being late abroad again. 16th. Up, and after doing some necessary business about my accounts at home, to the office, and there with Mr. Hater wrote letters, and I did deliver to him my last will, one part of it to deliver to my wife when I am dead. Thence to the Exchange, where I have not been a great while. But, Lord! how sad a sight it is to see the streets empty of people, and very few upon the 'Change. Jealous of every door that one sees shut up, lest it should be the plague; and about us two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up. From the 'Change to Sir G. Smith's' with Mr. Fenn, to whom I am nowadays very complaisant, he being under payment of my bills to me, and some other sums at my desire, which he readily do. Mighty merry with Captain Cocke and Fenn at Sir G. Smith's, and a brave dinner, but I think Cocke is the greatest epicure that is, eats and drinks with the greatest pleasure and liberty that ever man did. Very contrary newes to-day upon the 'Change, some that our fleete hath taken some of the Dutch East India ships, others that we did attaque it at Bergen and were repulsed, others that our fleete is in great danger after this attaque by meeting with the great body now gone out of Holland, almost 100 sayle of men of warr. Every body is at a great losse and nobody can tell. Thence among the goldsmiths to get some money, and so home, settling some new money matters, and to my great joy have got home L500 more of the money due to me, and got some more money to help Andrews first advanced. This day I had the ill news from Dagenhams, that my poor lord of Hinchingbroke his indisposition is turned to the small-pox. Poor gentleman! that he should be come from France so soon to fall sick, and of that disease too, when he should be gone to see a fine lady, his mistresse. I am most heartily sorry for it. So late setting papers to rights, and so home to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined together upon some victuals I had prepared at Sir W. Batten's upon the King's charge, and after dinner, I having dispatched some business and set things in order at home, we down to the water and by boat to Greenwich to the Bezan yacht, where Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, my Lord Bruncker and myself, with some servants (among others Mr. Carcasse, my Lord's clerk, a very civil gentleman), embarked in the yacht and down we went most pleasantly, and noble discourse I had with my Lord Bruneker, who is a most excellent person. Short of Gravesend it grew calme, and so we come to an anchor, and to supper mighty merry, and after it, being moonshine, we out of the cabbin to laugh and talk, and then, as we grew sleepy, went in and upon velvet cushions of the King's that belong to the yacht fell to sleep, which we all did pretty well till 3 or 4 of the clock, having risen in the night to look for a new comet which is said to have lately shone, but we could see no such thing. 18th. Up about 5 o'clock and dressed ourselves, and to sayle again down to the Soveraigne at the buoy of the Nore, a noble ship, now rigged and fitted and manned; we did not stay long, but to enquire after her readinesse and thence to Sheernesse, where we walked up and down, laying out the ground to be taken in for a yard to lay provisions for cleaning and repairing of ships, and a most proper place it is for the purpose. Thence with great pleasure up the Meadeway, our yacht contending with Commissioner Pett's, wherein he met us from Chatham, and he had the best of it. Here I come by, but had not tide enough to stop at Quinbrough, a with mighty pleasure spent the day in doing all and seeing these places, which I had never done before. So to the Hill house at Chatham and there dined, and after dinner spent some time discoursing of business. Among others arguing with the Commissioner about his proposing the laying out so much money upon Sheerenesse, unless it be to the slighting of Chatham yarde, for it is much a better place than Chatham, which however the King is not at present in purse to do, though it were to be wished he were. Thence in Commissioner Pett's coach (leaving them there). I late in the darke to Gravesend, where great is the plague, and I troubled to stay there so long for the tide. At 10 at night, having supped, I took boat alone, and slept well all the way to the Tower docke about three o'clock in the morning. So knocked up my people, and to bed. 19th. Slept till 8 o'clock, and then up and met with letters from the King and Lord Arlington, for the removal of our office to Greenwich. I also wrote letters, and made myself ready to go to Sir G. Carteret, at Windsor; and having borrowed a horse of Mr. Blackbrough, sent him to wait for me at the Duke of Albemarle's door: when, on a sudden, a letter comes to us from the Duke of Albemarle, to tell us that the fleete is all come back to Solebay, and are presently to be dispatched back again. Whereupon I presently by water to the Duke of Albemarle to know what news; and there I saw a letter from my Lord Sandwich to the Duke of Albemarle, and also from Sir W. Coventry and Captain Teddiman; how my Lord having commanded Teddiman with twenty-two ships [A news letter of August 19th (Salisbury), gives the following account of this affair:--"The Earl of Sandwich being on the Norway coast, ordered Sir Thomas Teddeman with 20 ships to attack 50 Dutch merchant ships in Bergen harbour; six convoyers had so placed themselves that only four or five of the ships could be reached at once. The Governor of Bergen fired on our ships, and placed 100 pieces of ordnance and two regiments of foot on the rocks to attack them, but they got clear without the loss of a ship, only 500 men killed or wounded, five or six captains among them. The fleet has gone to Sole Bay to repair losses and be ready to encounter the Dutch fleet, which is gone northward" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1664-65, pp. 526, 527). Medals were struck in Holland, the inscription in Dutch on one of these is thus translated: "Thus we arrest the pride of the English, who extend their piracy even against their friends, and who insulting the forts of Norway, violate the rights of the harbours of King Frederick; but, for the reward of their audacity, see their vessels destroyed by the balls of the Dutch" (Hawkins's "Medallic Illustrations of the History of Great Britain and Ireland," ed. Franks and Grueber, 1885, vol. i., p. 508). Sir Gilbert Talbot's "True Narrative of the Earl of Sandwich's Attempt upon Bergen with the English Fleet on the 3rd of August, 1665, and the Cause of his Miscarriage thereupon," is in the British Museum (Harl. MS., No. 6859). It is printed in "Archaeologia," vol. xxii., p. 33. The Earl of Rochester also gave an account of the action in a letter to his mother (Wordsworth's "Ecclesiastical Biography," fourth edition, vol. iv., p. 611). Sir John Denham, in his "Advice to a Painter," gives a long satirical account of the affair. A coloured drawing of the attack upon Bergen, on vellum, showing the range of the ships engaged, is in the British Museum. Shortly after the Bergen affair forty of the Dutch merchant vessels, on their way to Holland, fell into the hands of the English, and in Penn's "Memorials of Sir William Penn," vol. ii., p. 364, is a list of the prizes taken on the 3rd and 4th September. The troubles connected with these prizes and the disgrace into which Lord Sandwich fell are fully set forth in subsequent pages of the Diary. Evelyn writes in his Diary (November 27th, 1665): "There was no small suspicion of my Lord Sandwich having permitted divers commanders who were at ye taking of ye East India prizes to break bulk and take to themselves jewels, silkes, &c., tho' I believe some whom I could name fill'd their pockets, my Lo. Sandwich himself had the least share. However, he underwent the blame, and it created him enemies, and prepossess'd ye Lo. Generall [Duke of Albemarle], for he spake to me of it with much zeale and concerne, and I believe laid load enough on Lo. Sandwich at Oxford."] (of which but fifteen could get thither, and of those fifteen but eight or nine could come up to play) to go to Bergen; where, after several messages to and fro from the Governor of the Castle, urging that Teddiman ought not to come thither with more than five ships, and desiring time to think of it, all the while he suffering the Dutch ships to land their guns to their best advantage; Teddiman on the second pretence, began to play at the Dutch ships, (wherof ten East India-men,) and in three hours' time (the town and castle, without any provocation, playing on our ships,) they did cut all our cables, so as the wind being off the land, did force us to go out, and rendered our fire-ships useless; without doing any thing, but what hurt of course our guns must have done them: we having lost five commanders, besides Mr. Edward Montagu, and Mr. Windham. [This Mr. Windham had entered into a formal engagement with the Earl of Rochester, "not without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them died, he should appear, and give the other notice of the future state, if there was any." He was probably one of the brothers of Sir William Wyndham, Bart. See Wordsworth's "Ecclesiastical Biography," fourth. edition, vol. iv., p. 615.--B.] Our fleete is come home to our great grief with not above five weeks' dry, and six days' wet provisions: however, must out again; and the Duke hath ordered the Soveraigne, and all other ships ready, to go out to the fleete to strengthen them. This news troubles us all, but cannot be helped. Having read all this news, and received commands of the Duke with great content, he giving me the words which to my great joy he hath several times said to me, that his greatest reliance is upon me. And my Lord Craven also did come out to talk with me, and told me that I am in mighty esteem with the Duke, for which I bless God. Home, and having given my fellow-officers an account hereof, to Chatham, and wrote other letters, I by water to Charing-Cross, to the post-house, and there the people tell me they are shut up; and so I went to the new post-house, and there got a guide and horses to Hounslow, where I was mightily taken with a little girle, the daughter of the master of the house (Betty Gysby), which, if she lives, will make a great beauty. Here I met with a fine fellow who, while I staid for my horses, did enquire newes, but I could not make him remember Bergen in Norway, in 6 or 7 times telling, so ignorant he was. So to Stanes, and there by this time it was dark night, and got a guide who lost his way in the forest, till by help of the moone (which recompenses me for all the pains I ever took about studying of her motions,) I led my guide into the way back again; and so we made a man rise that kept a gate, and so he carried us to Cranborne. Where in the dark I perceive an old house new building with a great deal of rubbish, and was fain to go up a ladder to Sir G. Carteret's chamber. And there in his bed I sat down, and told him all my bad newes, which troubled him mightily; but yet we were very merry, and made the best of it; and being myself weary did take leave, and after having spoken with Mr. Fenn in bed, I to bed in my Lady's chamber that she uses to lie in, and where the Duchesse of York, that now is, was born. So to sleep; being very well, but weary, and the better by having carried with me a bottle of strong water; whereof now and then a sip did me good. 20th (Lord's day). Sir G. Carteret come and walked by my bedside half an houre, talking and telling me how my Lord is in this unblameable in all this ill-successe, he having followed orders; and that all ought to be imputed to the falsenesse of the King of Denmarke, who, he told me as a secret, had promised to deliver up the Dutch ships to us, and we expected no less; and swears it will, and will easily, be the ruine of him and his kingdom, if we fall out with him, as we must in honour do; but that all that can be, must be to get the fleete out again to intercept De Witt, who certainly will be coming home with the East India ships, he being gone thither. He being gone, I up and with Fenn, being ready to walk forth to see the place; and I find it to be a very noble seat in a noble forest, with the noblest prospect towards Windsor, and round about over many countys, that can be desired; but otherwise a very melancholy place, and little variety save only trees. I had thoughts of going home by water, and of seeing Windsor Chappell and Castle, but finding at my coming in that Sir G. Carteret did prevent me in speaking for my sudden return to look after business, I did presently eat a bit off the spit about 10 o'clock, and so took horse for Stanes, and thence to Brainford to Mr. Povy's, the weather being very pleasant to ride in. Mr. Povy not being at home I lost my labour, only eat and drank there with his lady, and told my bad newes, and hear the plague is round about them there. So away to Brainford; and there at the inn that goes down to the water-side, I 'light and paid off my post-horses, and so slipped on my shoes, and laid my things by, the tide not serving, and to church, where a dull sermon, and many Londoners. After church to my inn, and eat and drank, and so about seven o'clock by water, and got between nine and ten to Queenhive, very dark. And I could not get my waterman to go elsewhere for fear of the plague. Thence with a lanthorn, in great fear of meeting of dead corpses, carried to be buried; but, blessed be God, met none, but did see now and then a linke (which is the mark of them) at a distance. So got safe home about 10 o'clock, my people not all abed, and after supper I weary to bed. 21st. Called up, by message from Lord Bruncker and the rest of my fellows, that they will meet me at the Duke of Albemarle's this morning; so I up, and weary, however, got thither before them, and spoke with my Lord, and with him and other gentlemen to walk in the Parke, where, I perceive, he spends much of his time, having no whither else to go; and here I hear him speake of some Presbyter people that he caused to be apprehended yesterday, at a private meeting in Covent Garden, which he would have released upon paying L5 per man to the poor, but it was answered, they would not pay anything; so he ordered them to another prison from the guard. By and by comes my fellow-officers, and the Duke walked in, and to counsel with us; and that being done we departed, and Sir W. Batten and I to the office, where, after I had done a little business, I to his house to dinner, whither comes Captain Cocke, for whose epicurisme a dish of partriges was sent for, and still gives me reason to think is the greatest epicure in the world. Thence, after dinner, I by water to Sir W. Warren's and with him two hours, talking of things to his and my profit, and particularly good advice from him what use to make of Sir G. Carteret's kindnesse to me and my interest in him, with exceeding good cautions for me not using it too much nor obliging him to fear by prying into his secrets, which it were easy for me to do. Thence to my Lord Bruncker, at Greenwich, and Sir J. Minnes by appointment, to looke after the lodgings appointed for us there for our office, which do by no means please me, they being in the heart of all the labourers and workmen there, which makes it as unsafe as to be, I think, at London. Mr. Hugh May, who is a most ingenuous man, did show us the lodgings, and his acquaintance I am desirous of. Thence walked, it being now dark, to Sir J. Minnes's, and there staid at the door talking with him an hour while messengers went to get a boat for me, to carry me to Woolwich, but all to no purpose; so I was forced to walk it in the darke, at ten o'clock at night, with Sir J. Minnes's George with me, being mightily troubled for fear of the doggs at Coome farme, and more for fear of rogues by the way, and yet more because of the plague which is there, which is very strange, it being a single house, all alone from the towne, but it seems they use to admit beggars, for their owne safety, to lie in their barns, and they brought it to them; but I bless God I got about eleven of the clock well to my wife, and giving 4s. in recompence to George, I to my wife, and having first viewed her last piece of drawing since I saw her, which is seven or eight days, which pleases me beyond any thing in the world, to bed with great content but weary. 22nd. Up, and after much pleasant talke and being importuned by my wife and her two mayds, which are both good wenches, for me to buy a necklace of pearle for her, and I promising to give her one of L60 in two years at furthest, and in less if she pleases me in her painting, I went away and walked to Greenwich, in my way seeing a coffin with a dead body therein, dead of the plague, lying in an open close belonging to Coome farme, which was carried out last night, and the parish have not appointed any body to bury it; but only set a watch there day and night, that nobody should go thither or come thence, which is a most cruel thing: this disease making us more cruel to one another than if we are doggs. So to the King's House, and there met my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, and to our lodgings again that are appointed for us, which do please me better to day than last night, and are set a doing. Thence I to Deptford, where by appointment I find Mr. Andrews come, and to the Globe, where we dined together and did much business as to our Plymouth gentlemen; and after a good dinner and good discourse, he being a very good man, I think verily, we parted and I to the King's yard, walked up and down, and by and by out at the back gate, and there saw the Bagwell's wife's mother and daughter, and went to them, and went in to the daughter's house with the mother, and 'faciebam le cose que ego tenebam a mind to con elle', and drinking and talking, by and by away, and so walked to Redriffe, troubled to go through the little lane, where the plague is, but did and took water and home, where all well; but Mr. Andrews not coming to even accounts, as I expected, with relation to something of my own profit, I was vexed that I could not settle to business, but home to my viall, though in the evening he did come to my satisfaction. So after supper (he being gone first) I to settle my journall and to bed. 23rd. Up, and whereas I had appointed Mr. Hater and Will to come betimes to the office to meet me about business there, I was called upon as soon as ready by Mr. Andrews to my great content, and he and I to our Tangier accounts, where I settled, to my great joy, all my accounts with him, and, which is more, cleared for my service to the contractors since the last sum I received of them, L222 13s. profit to myself, and received the money actually in the afternoon. After he was gone comes by a pretence of mine yesterday old Delks the waterman, with his daughter Robins, and several times to and again, he leaving her with me, about the getting of his son Robins off, who was pressed yesterday again . . . . All the afternoon at my office mighty busy writing letters, and received a very kind and good one from my Lord Sandwich of his arrival with the fleete at Solebay, and the joy he has at my last newes he met with, of the marriage of my Lady Jemimah; and he tells me more, the good newes that all our ships, which were in such danger that nobody would insure upon them, from the Eastland, [Eastland was a name given to the eastern countries of Europe. The Eastland Company, or Company of Merchants trading to the East Country, was incorporated in Queen Elizabeth's reign (anno 21), and the charter was confirmed 13 Car. II. They were also called "The Merchants of Elbing."] were all safe arrived, which I am sure is a great piece of good luck, being in much more danger than those of Hambrough which were lost, and their value much greater at this time to us. At night home, much contented with this day's work, and being at home alone looking over my papers, comes a neighbour of ours hard by to speak with me about business of the office, one Mr. Fuller, a great merchant, but not my acquaintance, but he come drunk, and would have had me gone and drunk with him at home, or have let him send for wine hither, but I would do neither, nor offered him any, but after some sorry discourse parted, and I up to [my] chamber and to bed. 24th. Up betimes to my office, where my clerks with me, and very busy all the morning writing letters. At noon down to Sir J. Minnes and Lord Bruncker to Greenwich to sign some of the Treasurer's books, and there dined very well; and thence to look upon our rooms again at the King's house, which are not yet ready for us. So home and late writing letters, and so, weary with business, home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up betimes to the office, and there, as well as all the afternoon, saving a little dinner time, all alone till late at night writing letters and doing business, that I may get beforehand with my business again, which hath run behind a great while, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that Dr. Burnett, my physician, is this morning dead of the plague; which is strange, his man dying so long ago, and his house this month open again. Now himself dead. Poor unfortunate man! 26th. Up betimes, and prepared to my great satisfaction an account for the board of my office disbursements, which I had suffered to run on to almost L120. That done I down by water to Greenwich, where we met the first day my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I, and I think we shall do well there, and begin very auspiciously to me by having my account abovesaid passed, and put into a way of having it presently paid. When we rose I find Mr. Andrews and Mr. Yeabsly, who is just come from Plymouth, at the door, and we walked together toward my Lord Brunker's, talking about their business, Yeabsly being come up on purpose to discourse with me about it, and finished all in a quarter of an hour, and is gone again. I perceive they have some inclination to be going on with their victualling-business for a while longer before they resign it to Mr. Gauden, and I am well contented, for it brings me very good profit with certainty, yet with much care and some pains. We parted at my Lord Bruncker's doore, where I went in, having never been there before, and there he made a noble entertainment for Sir J. Minnes, myself, and Captain Cocke, none else saving some painted lady that dined there, I know not who she is. But very merry we were, and after dinner into the garden, and to see his and her chamber, where some good pictures, and a very handsome young woman for my lady's woman. Thence I by water home, in my way seeing a man taken up dead, out of the hold of a small catch that lay at Deptford. I doubt it might be the plague, which, with the thought of Dr. Burnett, did something disturb me, so that I did not what I intended and should have done at the office, as to business, but home sooner than ordinary, and after supper, to read melancholy alone, and then to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Very well in the morning, and up and to my chamber all the morning to put my things and papers yet more in order, and so to dinner. Thence all the afternoon at my office till late making up my papers and letters there into a good condition of order, and so home to supper, and after reading a good while in the King's works,--[Charles I.'s Works, now in the Pepysian Library]--which is a noble book, to bed. 28th. Up, and being ready I out to Mr. Colvill, the goldsmith's, having not for some days been in the streets; but now how few people I see, and those looking like people that had taken leave of the world. I there, and made even all accounts in the world between him and I, in a very good condition, and I would have done the like with Sir Robert Viner, but he is out of towne, the sicknesse being every where thereabouts. I to the Exchange, and I think there was not fifty people upon it, and but few more like to be as they told me, Sir G. Smith and others. Thus I think to take adieu to-day of the London streets, unless it be to go again to Viner's. Home to dinner, and there W. Hewer brings me L119 he hath received for my office disbursements, so that I think I have L1800 and more in the house, and, blessed be God! no money out but what I can very well command and that but very little, which is much the best posture I ever was in in my life, both as to the quantity and the certainty I have of the money I am worth; having most of it in my own hand. But then this is a trouble to me what to do with it, being myself this day going to be wholly at Woolwich; but for the present I am resolved to venture it in an iron chest, at least for a while. In the afternoon I sent down my boy to Woolwich with some things before me, in order to my lying there for good and all, and so I followed him. Just now comes newes that the fleete is gone, or going this day, out again, for which God be praised! and my Lord Sandwich hath done himself great right in it, in getting so soon out again. I pray God, he may meet the enemy. Towards the evening, just as I was fitting myself, comes W. Hewer and shows me a letter which Mercer had wrote to her mother about a great difference between my wife and her yesterday, and that my wife will have her go away presently. This, together with my natural jealousy that some bad thing or other may be in the way, did trouble me exceedingly, so as I was in a doubt whether to go thither or no, but having fitted myself and my things I did go, and by night got thither, where I met my wife walking to the waterside with her paynter, Mr. Browne, and her mayds. There I met Commissioner Pett, and my Lord Brunker, and the lady at his house had been thereto-day, to see her. Commissioner Pett staid a very little while, and so I to supper with my wife and Mr. Shelden, and so to bed with great pleasure. 29th. In the morning waking, among other discourse my wife begun to tell me the difference between her and Mercer, and that it was only from restraining her to gad abroad to some Frenchmen that were in the town, which I do not wholly yet in part believe, and for my quiet would not enquire into it. So rose and dressed myself, and away by land walking a good way, then remembered that I had promised Commissioner Pett to go with him in his coach, and therefore I went back again to him, and so by his coach to Greenwich, and called at Sir Theophilus Biddulph's, a sober, discreet man, to discourse of the preventing of the plague in Greenwich, and Woolwich, and Deptford, where in every place it begins to grow very great. We appointed another meeting, and so walked together to Greenwich and there parted, and Pett and I to the office, where all the morning, and after office done I to Sir J. Minnes and dined with him, and thence to Deptford thinking to have seen Bagwell, but did not, and so straight to Redriffe, and home, and late at my business to dispatch away letters, and then home to bed, which I did not intend, but to have staid for altogether at Woolwich, but I made a shift for a bed for Tom, whose bed is gone to Woolwich, and so to bed. 30th. Up betimes and to my business of settling my house and papers, and then abroad and met with Hadley, our clerke, who, upon my asking how the plague goes, he told me it encreases much, and much in our parish; for, says he, there died nine this week, though I have returned but six: which is a very ill practice, and makes me think it is so in other places; and therefore the plague much greater than people take it to be. Thence, as I intended, to Sir R. Viner's, and there found not Mr. Lewes ready for me, so I went forth and walked towards Moorefields to see (God forbid my presumption!) whether I could see any dead corps going to the grave; but, as God would have it, did not. But, Lord! how every body's looks, and discourse in the street is of death, and nothing else, and few people going up and down, that the towne is like a place distressed and forsaken. After one turne there back to Viner's, and there found my business ready for me, and evened all reckonings with them to this day to my great content. So home, and all day till very late at night setting my Tangier and private accounts in order, which I did in both, and in the latter to my great joy do find myself yet in the much best condition that ever I was in, finding myself worth L2180 and odd, besides plate and goods, which I value at L250 more, which is a very great blessing to me. The Lord make me thankfull! and of this at this day above L1800 in cash in my house, which speaks but little out of my hands in desperate condition, but this is very troublesome to have in my house at this time. So late to bed, well pleased with my accounts, but weary of being so long at them. 31st. Up and, after putting several things in order to my removal, to Woolwich; the plague having a great encrease this week, beyond all expectation of almost 2,000, making the general Bill 7,000, odd 100; and the plague above 6,000. I down by appointment to Greenwich, to our office, where I did some business, and there dined with our company and Sir W. Boreman, and Sir The. Biddulph, at Mr. Boreman's, where a good venison pasty, and after a good merry dinner I to my office, and there late writing letters, and then to Woolwich by water, where pleasant with my wife and people, and after supper to bed. Thus this month ends with great sadness upon the publick, through the greatness of the plague every where through the kingdom almost. Every day sadder and sadder news of its encrease. In the City died this week 7,496 and of them 6,102 of the plague. But it is feared that the true number of the dead, this week is near 10,000; partly from the poor that cannot be taken notice of, through the greatness of the number, and partly from the Quakers and others that will not have any bell ring for them. Our fleete gone out to find the Dutch, we having about 100 sail in our fleete, and in them the Soveraigne one; so that it is a better fleete than the former with the Duke was. All our fear is that the Dutch should be got in before them; which would be a very great sorrow to the publick, and to me particularly, for my Lord Sandwich's sake. A great deal of money being spent, and the kingdom not in a condition to spare, nor a parliament without much difficulty to meet to give more. And to that; to have it said, what hath been done by our late fleetes? As to myself I am very well, only in fear of the plague, and as much of an ague by being forced to go early and late to Woolwich, and my family to lie there continually. My late gettings have been very great to my great content, and am likely to have yet a few more profitable jobbs in a little while; for which Tangier, and Sir W. Warren I am wholly obliged to. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A fair salute on horseback, in Rochester streets, of the lady Bagwell's wife waited at the door, and went with me to my office Because I would not be over sure of any thing Being the first Wednesday of the month Bottle of strong water; whereof now and then a sip did me good Copper to the value of L5,000 Disease making us more cruel to one another than if we are doggs Every body is at a great losse and nobody can tell Every body's looks, and discourse in the street is of death First thing of that nature I did ever give her (L10 ring) For my quiet would not enquire into it Give the other notice of the future state, if there was any His wife and three children died, all, I think, in a day How sad a sight it is to see the streets empty of people I met a dead corps of the plague, in the narrow ally In our graves (as Shakespeere resembles it) we could dream King is not at present in purse to do King shall not be able to whip a cat Not liking that it should lie long undone, for fear of death Ordered in the yarde six or eight bargemen to be whipped Pest coaches and put her into it to carry her to a pest house Quakers and others that will not have any bell ring for them Resolving not to be bribed to dispatch business Two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up Well enough pleased this morning with their night's lodging 
4159	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER 1665 September 1st. Up, and to visit my Lady Pen and her daughter at the Ropeyarde where I did breakfast with them and sat chatting a good while. Then to my lodging at Mr. Shelden's, where I met Captain Cocke and eat a little bit of dinner, and with him to Greenwich by water, having good discourse with him by the way. After being at Greenwich a little while, I to London, to my house, there put many more things in order for my totall remove, sending away my girle Susan and other goods down to Woolwich, and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and thence home late by water. At the Duke of Albemarle's I overheard some examinations of the late plot that is discoursed of and a great deale of do there is about it. Among other discourses, I heard read, in the presence of the Duke, an examination and discourse of Sir Philip Howard's, with one of the plotting party. In many places these words being, "Then," said Sir P. Howard, "if you so come over to the King, and be faithfull to him, you shall be maintained, and be set up with a horse and armes," and I know not what. And then said such a one, "Yes, I will be true to the King." "But, damn me," said Sir Philip, "will you so and so?" And thus I believe twelve times Sir P. Howard answered him a "damn me," which was a fine way of rhetorique to persuade a Quaker or Anabaptist from his persuasion. And this was read in the hearing of Sir P. Howard, before the Duke and twenty more officers, and they make sport of it, only without any reproach, or he being anything ashamed of it! [This republican plot was described by the Lord Chancellor in a speech delivered on October 9th, when parliament met at Oxford.] But it ended, I remember, at last, "But such a one (the plotter) did at last bid them remember that he had not told them what King he would be faithfull to." 2nd. This morning I wrote letters to Mr. Hill and Andrews to come to dine with me to-morrow, and then I to the office, where busy, and thence to dine with Sir J. Minnes, where merry, but only that Sir J. Minnes who hath lately lost two coach horses, dead in the stable, has a third now a dying. After dinner I to Deptford, and there took occasion to 'entrar a la casa de la gunaica de ma Minusier', and did what I had a mind . . . To Greenwich, where wrote some letters, and home in pretty good time. 3rd (Lord's day). Up; and put on my coloured silk suit very fine, and my new periwigg, bought a good while since, but durst not wear, because the plague was in Westminster when I bought it; and it is a wonder what will be the fashion after the plague is done, as to periwiggs, for nobody will dare to buy any haire, for fear of the infection, that it had been cut off of the heads of people dead of the plague. Before church time comes Mr. Hill (Mr. Andrews failing because he was to receive the Sacrament), and to church, where a sorry dull parson, and so home and most excellent company with Mr. Hill and discourse of musique. I took my Lady Pen home, and her daughter Pegg, and merry we were; and after dinner I made my wife show them her pictures, which did mad Pegg Pen, who learns of the same man and cannot do so well. After dinner left them and I by water to Greenwich, where much ado to be suffered to come into the towne because of the sicknesse, for fear I should come from London, till I told them who I was. So up to the church, where at the door I find Captain Cocke in my Lord Brunker's coach, and he come out and walked with me in the church-yarde till the church was done, talking of the ill government of our Kingdom, nobody setting to heart the business of the Kingdom, but every body minding their particular profit or pleasures, the King himself minding nothing but his ease, and so we let things go to wracke. This arose upon considering what we shall do for money when the fleete comes in, and more if the fleete should not meet with the Dutch, which will put a disgrace upon the King's actions, so as the Parliament and Kingdom will have the less mind to give more money, besides so bad an account of the last money, we fear, will be given, not half of it being spent, as it ought to be, upon the Navy. Besides, it is said that at this day our Lord Treasurer cannot tell what the profit of Chimney money is, what it comes to per annum, nor looks whether that or any other part of the revenue be duly gathered as it ought; the very money that should pay the City the L200,000 they lent the King, being all gathered and in the hands of the Receiver and hath been long and yet not brought up to pay the City, whereas we are coming to borrow 4 or L500,000 more of the City, which will never be lent as is to be feared. Church being done, my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I up to the Vestry at the desire of the justices of the Peace, Sir Theo. Biddulph and Sir W. Boreman and Alderman Hooker, in order to the doing something for the keeping of the plague from growing; but Lord! to consider the madness of the people of the town, who will (because they are forbid) come in crowds along with the dead corps to see them buried; but we agreed on some orders for the prevention thereof. Among other stories, one was very passionate, methought, of a complaint brought against a man in the towne for taking a child from London from an infected house. Alderman Hooker told us it was the child of a very able citizen in Gracious Street, a saddler, who had buried all the rest of his children of the plague, and himself and wife now being shut up and in despair of escaping, did desire only to save the life of this little child; and so prevailed to have it received stark-naked into the arms of a friend, who brought it (having put it into new fresh clothes) to Greenwich; where upon hearing the story, we did agree it should be permitted to be received and kept in the towne. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's, where we mighty merry and supped, and very late I by water to Woolwich, in great apprehensions of an ague. Here was my Lord Bruncker's lady of pleasure, who, I perceive, goes every where with him; and he, I find, is obliged to carry her, and make all the courtship to her that can be. 4th. Writing letters all the morning, among others to my Lady Carteret, the first I have wrote to her, telling her the state of the city as to health and other sorrowfull stories, and thence after dinner to Greenwich, to Sir J. Minnes, where I found my Lord Bruncker, and having staid our hour for the justices by agreement, the time being past we to walk in the Park with Mr. Hammond and Turner, and there eat some fruit out of the King's garden and walked in the Parke, and so back to Sir J. Minnes, and thence walked home, my Lord Bruncker giving me a very neat cane to walk with; but it troubled me to pass by Coome farme where about twenty-one people have died of the plague, and three or four days since I saw a dead corps in a coffin lie in the Close unburied, and a watch is constantly kept there night and day to keep the people in, the plague making us cruel, as doggs, one to another. 5th. Up, and walked with some Captains and others talking to me to Greenwich, they crying out upon Captain Teddiman's management of the business of Bergen, that he staid treating too long while he saw the Dutch fitting themselves, and that at first he might have taken every ship, and done what he would with them. How true I cannot tell. Here we sat very late and for want of money, which lies heavy upon us, did nothing of business almost. Thence home with my Lord Bruncker to dinner where very merry with him and his doxy. After dinner comes Colonell Blunt in his new chariot made with springs; as that was of wicker, wherein a while since we rode at his house. And he hath rode, he says, now this journey, many miles in it with one horse, and out-drives any coach, and out-goes any horse, and so easy, he says. So for curiosity I went into it to try it, and up the hill to the heath, and over the cart-rutts and found it pretty well, but not so easy as he pretends, and so back again, and took leave of my Lord and drove myself in the chariot to the office, and there ended my letters and home pretty betimes and there found W. Pen, and he staid supper with us and mighty merry talking of his travells and the French humours, etc., and so parted and to bed. 6th. Busy all the morning writing letters to several, so to dinner, to London, to pack up more things thence; and there I looked into the street and saw fires burning in the street, as it is through the whole City, by the Lord Mayor's order. Thence by water to the Duke of Albemarle's: all the way fires on each side of the Thames, and strange to see in broad daylight two or three burials upon the Bankeside, one at the very heels of another: doubtless all of the plague; and yet at least forty or fifty people going along with every one of them. The Duke mighty pleasant with me; telling me that he is certainly informed that the Dutch were not come home upon the 1st instant, and so he hopes our fleete may meet with them, and here to my great joy I got him to sign bills for the several sums I have paid on Tangier business by his single letter, and so now I can get more hands to them. This was a great joy to me: Home to Woolwich late by water, found wife in bed, and yet late as [it] was to write letters in order to my rising betimes to go to Povy to-morrow. So to bed, my wife asking me to-night about a letter of hers I should find, which indeed Mary did the other day give me as if she had found it in my bed, thinking it had been mine, brought to her from a man without name owning great kindness to her and I know not what. But looking it over seriously, and seeing it bad sense and ill writ, I did believe it to be her brother's and so had flung it away, but finding her now concerned at it and vexed with Mary about it, it did trouble me, but I would take no notice of it to-night, but fell to sleep as if angry. 7th. Up by 5 of the clock, mighty full of fear of an ague, but was obliged to go, and so by water, wrapping myself up warm, to the Tower, and there sent for the Weekely Bill, and find 8,252 dead in all, and of them 6,878 of the plague; which is a most dreadfull number, and shows reason to fear that the plague hath got that hold that it will yet continue among us. Thence to Brainford, reading "The Villaine," a pretty good play, all the way. There a coach of Mr. Povy's stood ready for me, and he at his house ready to come in, and so we together merrily to Swakely, Sir R. Viner's. A very pleasant place, bought by him of Sir James Harrington's lady. He took us up and down with great respect, and showed us all his house and grounds; and it is a place not very moderne in the garden nor house, but the most uniforme in all that ever I saw; and some things to excess. Pretty to see over the screene of the hall (put up by Sir J. Harrington, a Long Parliamentman) the King's head, and my Lord of Essex on one side, and Fairfax on the other; and upon the other side of the screene, the parson of the parish, and the lord of the manor and his sisters. The window-cases, door-cases, and chimnys of all the house are marble. He showed me a black boy that he had, that died of a consumption, and being dead, he caused him to be dried in an oven, and lies there entire in a box. By and by to dinner, where his lady I find yet handsome, but hath been a very handsome woman; now is old. Hath brought him near L100,000 and now he lives, no man in England in greater plenty, and commands both King and Council with his credit he gives them. Here was a fine lady a merchant's wife at dinner with us, and who should be here in the quality of a woman but Mrs. Worship's daughter, Dr. Clerke's niece, and after dinner Sir Robert led us up to his long gallery, very fine, above stairs (and better, or such, furniture I never did see), and there Mrs. Worship did give us three or four very good songs, and sings very neatly, to my great delight. After all this, and ending the chief business to my content about getting a promise of some money of him, we took leave, being exceedingly well treated here, and a most pleasant journey we had back, Povy and I, and his company most excellent in anything but business, he here giving me an account of as many persons at Court as I had a mind or thought of enquiring after. He tells me by a letter he showed me, that the King is not, nor hath been of late, very well, but quite out of humour; and, as some think, in a consumption, and weary of every thing. He showed me my Lord Arlington's house that he was born in, in a towne called Harlington: and so carried me through a most pleasant country to Brainford, and there put me into my boat, and good night. So I wrapt myself warm, and by water got to Woolwich about one in the morning, my wife and all in bed. 8th. Waked, and fell in talk with my wife about the letter, and she satisfied me that she did not know from whence it come, but believed it might be from her cozen Franke Moore lately come out of France. The truth is the thing I think cannot have much in it, and being unwilling (being in other things so much at ease) to vex myself in a strange place at a melancholy time, passed all by and were presently friends. Up, and several with me about business. Anon comes my Lord Bruncker, as I expected, and we to the enquiring into the business of the late desertion of the Shipwrights from worke, who had left us for three days together for want of money, and upon this all the morning, and brought it to a pretty good issue, that they, we believe, will come to-morrow to work. To dinner, having but a mean one, yet sufficient for him, and he well enough pleased, besides that I do not desire to vye entertainments with him or any else. Here was Captain Cocke also, and Mr. Wayth. We staid together talking upon one business or other all the afternoon. In the evening my Lord Bruncker hearing that Mr. Ackeworth's clerke, the Dutchman who writes and draws so well, was transcribing a book of Rates and our ships for Captain Millet a gallant of his mistress's, we sent for him for it. He would not deliver it, but said it was his mistress's and had delivered it to her. At last we were forced to send to her for it; she would come herself, and indeed the book was a very neat one and worth keeping as a rarity, but we did think fit, and though much against my will, to cancell all that he had finished of it, and did give her the rest, which vexed her, and she bore it discreetly enough, but with a cruel deal of malicious rancour in her looks. I must confess I would have persuaded her to have let us have it to the office, and it may be the board would not have censured too hardly of it, but my intent was to have had it as a Record for the office, but she foresaw what would be the end of it and so desired it might rather be cancelled, which was a plaguy deal of spite. My Lord Bruncker being gone and company, and she also, afterwards I took my wife and people and walked into the fields about a while till night, and then home, and so to sing a little and then to bed. I was in great trouble all this day for my boy Tom who went to Greenwich yesterday by my order and come not home till to-night for fear of the plague, but he did come home to-night, saying he staid last night by Mr. Hater's advice hoping to have me called as I come home with my boat to come along with me. 9th. Up and walked to Greenwich, and there we sat and dispatched a good deal of business I had a mind to. At noon, by invitation, to my Lord Bruncker's, all of us, to dinner, where a good venison pasty, and mighty merry. Here was Sir W. Doyly, lately come from Ipswich about the sicke and wounded, and Mr. Evelyn and Captain Cocke. My wife also was sent for by my Lord Bruncker, by Cocke, and was here. After dinner, my Lord and his mistress would see her home again, it being a most cursed rainy afternoon, having had none a great while before, and I, forced to go to the office on foot through all the rain, was almost wet to my skin, and spoiled my silke breeches almost. Rained all the afternoon and evening, so as my letters being done, I was forced to get a bed at Captain Cocke's, where I find Sir W. Doyly, and he, and Evelyn at supper; and I with them full of discourse of the neglect of our masters, the great officers of State, about all business, and especially that of money: having now some thousands prisoners, kept to no purpose at a great charge, and no money provided almost for the doing of it. We fell to talk largely of the want of some persons understanding to look after businesses, but all goes to rack. "For," says Captain Cocke, "my Lord Treasurer, he minds his ease, and lets things go how they will: if he can have his L8000 per annum, and a game at l'ombre,--[Spanish card game]--he is well. My Lord Chancellor he minds getting of money and nothing else; and my Lord Ashly will rob the Devil and the Alter, but he will get money if it be to be got." But that that put us into this great melancholy, was newes brought to-day, which Captain Cocke reports as a certain truth, that all the Dutch fleete, men-of-war and merchant East India ships, are got every one in from Bergen the 3d of this month, Sunday last; which will make us all ridiculous. The fleete come home with shame to require a great deale of money, which is not to be had, to discharge many men that must get the plague then or continue at greater charge on shipboard, nothing done by them to encourage the Parliament to give money, nor the Kingdom able to spare any money, if they would, at this time of the plague, so that, as things look at present, the whole state must come to ruine. Full of these melancholy thoughts, to bed; where, though I lay the softest I ever did in my life, with a downe bed, after the Danish manner, upon me, yet I slept very ill, chiefly through the thoughts of my Lord Sandwich's concernment in all this ill successe at sea. 10th (Lord's day). Walked home; being forced thereto by one of my watermen falling sick yesterday, and it was God's great mercy I did not go by water with them yesterday, for he fell sick on Saturday night, and it is to be feared of the plague. So I sent him away to London with his fellow; but another boat come to me this morning, whom I sent to Blackewall for Mr. Andrews. I walked to Woolwich, and there find Mr. Hill, and he and I all the morning at musique and a song he hath set of three parts, methinks, very good. Anon comes Mr. Andrews, though it be a very ill day, and so after dinner we to musique and sang till about 4 or 5 o'clock, it blowing very hard, and now and then raining, and wind and tide being against us, Andrews and I took leave and walked to Greenwich. My wife before I come out telling me the ill news that she hears that her father is very ill, and then I told her I feared of the plague, for that the house is shut up. And so she much troubled she did desire me to send them something; and I said I would, and will do so. But before I come out there happened newes to come to the by an expresse from Mr. Coventry, telling me the most happy news of my Lord Sandwich's meeting with part of the Dutch; his taking two of their East India ships, and six or seven others, and very good prizes and that he is in search of the rest of the fleet, which he hopes to find upon the Wellbancke, with the loss only of the Hector, poor Captain Cuttle. This newes do so overjoy me that I know not what to say enough to express it, but the better to do it I did walk to Greenwich, and there sending away Mr. Andrews, I to Captain Cocke's, where I find my Lord Bruncker and his mistress, and Sir J. Minnes. Where we supped (there was also Sir W. Doyly and Mr. Evelyn); but the receipt of this newes did put us all into such an extacy of joy, that it inspired into Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Evelyn such a spirit of mirth, that in all my life I never met with so merry a two hours as our company this night was. Among other humours, Mr. Evelyn's repeating of some verses made up of nothing but the various acceptations of may and can, and doing it so aptly upon occasion of something of that nature, and so fast, did make us all die almost with laughing, and did so stop the mouth of Sir J. Minnes in the middle of all his mirth (and in a thing agreeing with his own manner of genius), that I never saw any man so out-done in all my life; and Sir J. Minnes's mirth too to see himself out-done, was the crown of all our mirth. In this humour we sat till about ten at night, and so my Lord and his mistress home, and we to bed, it being one of the times of my life wherein I was the fullest of true sense of joy. 11th. Up and walked to the office, there to do some business till ten of the clock, and then by agreement my Lord, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Doyly, and I took boat and over to the ferry, where Sir W. Batten's coach was ready for us, and to Walthamstow drove merrily, excellent merry discourse in the way, and most upon our last night's revells; there come we were very merry, and a good plain venison dinner. After dinner to billiards, where I won an angel, [A gold coin, so called because it bore the image of an angel, varying in value from six shillings and eightpence to ten shillings.] and among other sports we were merry with my pretending to have a warrant to Sir W. Hickes (who was there, and was out of humour with Sir W. Doyly's having lately got a warrant for a leash of buckes, of which we were now eating one) which vexed him, and at last would compound with me to give my Lord Bruncker half a buck now, and me a Doe for it a while hence when the season comes in, which we agreed to and had held, but that we fear Sir W. Doyly did betray our design, which spoiled all; however, my Lady Batten invited herself to dine with him this week, and she invited us all to dine with her there, which we agreed to, only to vex him, he being the most niggardly fellow, it seems, in the world. Full of good victuals and mirth we set homeward in the evening, and very merry all the way. So to Greenwich, where when come I find my Lord Rutherford and Creed come from Court, and among other things have brought me several orders for money to pay for Tangier; and, among the rest L7000 and more, to this Lord, which is an excellent thing to consider, that, though they can do nothing else, they can give away the King's money upon their progresse. I did give him the best answer I could to pay him with tallys, and that is all they could get from me. I was not in humour to spend much time with them, but walked a little before Sir J. Minnes's door and then took leave, and I by water to Woolwich, where with my wife to a game at tables, [The old name for backgammon, used by Shakespeare and others. The following lines are from an epitaph entirely made up of puns on backgammon "Man's life's a game at tables, and he may Mend his bad fortune by his wiser play." Wit's Recre., i. 250, reprint, 1817.] and to bed. 12th. Up, and walked to the office, where we sat late, and thence to dinner home with Sir J. Minnes, and so to the office, where writing letters, and home in the evening, where my wife shews me a letter from her brother speaking of their father's being ill, like to die, which, God forgive me! did not trouble me so much as it should, though I was indeed sorry for it. I did presently resolve to send him something in a letter from my wife, viz. 20s. So to bed. 13th. Up, and walked to Greenwich, taking pleasure to walk with my minute watch in my hand, by which I am come now to see the distances of my way from Woolwich to Greenwich, and do find myself to come within two minutes constantly to the same place at the end of each quarter of an houre. Here we rendezvoused at Captain Cocke's, and there eat oysters, and so my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I took boat, and in my Lord's coach to Sir W. Hickes's, whither by and by my Lady Batten and Sir William comes. It is a good seat, with a fair grove of trees by it, and the remains of a good garden; but so let to run to ruine, both house and every thing in and about it, so ill furnished and miserably looked after, I never did see in all my life. Not so much as a latch to his dining-room door; which saved him nothing, for the wind blowing into the room for want thereof, flung down a great bow pott that stood upon the side-table, and that fell upon some Venice glasses, and did him a crown's worth of hurt. He did give us the meanest dinner (of beef, shoulder and umbles of venison [Dr. Johnson was puzzled by the following passage in "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act v., sc. 3: "Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch. I will keep the sides to myself; my shoulders for the fellow of this walk." If he could have read the account of Sir William Hickes's dinner, he would at once have understood the allusion to the keeper's perquisites of the shoulders of all deer killed in his walk.--B.] which he takes away from the keeper of the Forest, and a few pigeons, and all in the meanest manner) that ever I did see, to the basest degree. After dinner we officers of the Navy stepped aside to read some letters and consider some business, and so in again. I was only pleased at a very fine picture of the Queene-Mother, when she was young, by Van-Dike; a very good picture, and a lovely sweet face. Thence in the afternoon home, and landing at Greenwich I saw Mr. Pen walking my way, so we walked together, and for discourse I put him into talk of France, when he took delight to tell me of his observations, some good, some impertinent, and all ill told, but it served for want of better, and so to my house, where I find my wife abroad, and hath been all this day, nobody knows where, which troubled me, it being late and a cold evening. So being invited to his mother's to supper, we took Mrs. Barbara, who was mighty finely dressed, and in my Lady's coach, which we met going for my wife, we thither, and there after some discourse went to supper. By and by comes my wife and Mercer, and had been with Captain Cocke all day, he coming and taking her out to go see his boy at school at Brumly [Bromley], and brought her home again with great respect. Here pretty merry, only I had no stomach, having dined late, to eat. After supper Mr. Pen and I fell to discourse about some words in a French song my wife was saying, "D'un air tout interdict," wherein I laid twenty to one against him which he would not agree with me, though I know myself in the right as to the sense of the word, and almost angry we were, and were an houre and more upon the dispute, till at last broke up not satisfied, and so home in their coach and so to bed. H. Russell did this day deliver my 20s. to my wife's father or mother, but has not yet told us how they do. 14th. Up, and walked to Greenwich, and there fitted myself in several businesses to go to London, where I have not been now a pretty while. But before I went from the office newes is brought by word of mouth that letters are now just now brought from the fleete of our taking a great many more of the Dutch fleete, in which I did never more plainly see my command of my temper in my not admitting myself to receive any kind of joy from it till I had heard the certainty of it, and therefore went by water directly to the Duke of Albemarle, where I find a letter of the Lath from Solebay, from my Lord Sandwich, of the fleete's meeting with about eighteen more of the Dutch fleete, and his taking of most of them; and the messenger says, they had taken three after the letter was wrote and sealed; which being twenty-one, and the fourteen took the other day, is forty-five sail; some of which are good, and others rich ships, which is so great a cause of joy in us all that my Lord and everybody is highly joyed thereat. And having taken a copy of my Lord's letter, I away back again to the Beare at the Bridge foot, being full of wind and out of order, and there called for a biscuit and a piece of cheese and gill of sacke, being forced to walk over the Bridge, toward the 'Change, and the plague being all thereabouts. Here my news was highly welcome, and I did wonder to see the 'Change so full, I believe 200 people; but not a man or merchant of any fashion, but plain men all. And Lord! to see how I did endeavour all I could to talk with as few as I could, there being now no observation of shutting up of houses infected, that to be sure we do converse and meet with people that have the plague upon them. I to Sir Robert Viner's, where my main business was about settling the business of Debusty's L5000 tallys, which I did for the present to enable me to have some money, and so home, buying some things for my wife in the way. So home, and put up several things to carry to Woolwich, and upon serious thoughts I am advised by W. Griffin to let my money and plate rest there, as being as safe as any place, nobody imagining that people would leave money in their houses now, when all their families are gone. So for the present that being my opinion, I did leave them there still. But, Lord! to see the trouble that it puts a man to, to keep safe what with pain a man hath been getting together, and there is good reason for it. Down to the office, and there wrote letters to and again about this good newes of our victory, and so by water home late. Where, when I come home I spent some thoughts upon the occurrences of this day, giving matter for as much content on one hand and melancholy on another, as any day in all my life. For the first; the finding of my money and plate, and all safe at London, and speeding in my business of money this day. The hearing of this good news to such excess, after so great a despair of my Lord's doing anything this year; adding to that, the decrease of 500 and more, which is the first decrease we have yet had in the sickness since it begun: and great hopes that the next week it will be greater. Then, on the other side, my finding that though the Bill in general is abated, yet the City within the walls is encreased, and likely to continue so, and is close to our house there. My meeting dead corpses of the plague, carried to be buried close to me at noon-day through the City in Fanchurch-street. To see a person sick of the sores, carried close by me by Gracechurch in a hackney-coach. My finding the Angell tavern, at the lower end of Tower-hill, shut up, and more than that, the alehouse at the Tower-stairs, and more than that, the person was then dying of the plague when I was last there, a little while ago, at night, to write a short letter there, and I overheard the mistresse of the house sadly saying to her husband somebody was very ill, but did not think it was of the plague. To hear that poor Payne, my waiter, hath buried a child, and is dying himself. To hear that a labourer I sent but the other day to Dagenhams, to know how they did there, is dead of the plague; and that one of my own watermen, that carried me daily, fell sick as soon as he had landed me on Friday morning last, when I had been all night upon the water (and I believe he did get his infection that day at Brainford), and is now dead of the plague. To hear that Captain Lambert and Cuttle are killed in the taking these ships; and that Mr. Sidney Montague is sick of a desperate fever at my Lady Carteret's, at Scott's-hall. To hear that Mr. Lewes hath another daughter sick. And, lastly, that both my servants, W. Hewer and Tom Edwards, have lost their fathers, both in St. Sepulchre's parish, of the plague this week, do put me into great apprehensions of melancholy, and with good reason. But I put off the thoughts of sadness as much as I can, and the rather to keep my wife in good heart and family also. After supper (having eat nothing all this day) upon a fine tench of Mr. Shelden's taking, we to bed. 15th. Up, it being a cold misting morning, and so by water to the office, where very busy upon several businesses. At noon got the messenger, Marlow, to get me a piece of bread and butter and cheese and a bottle of beer and ale, and so I went not out of the office but dined off that, and my boy Tom, but the rest of my clerks went home to dinner. Then to my business again, and by and by sent my waterman to see how Sir W. Warren do, who is sicke, and for which I have reason to be very sorry, he being the friend I have got most by of most friends in England but the King: who returns me that he is pretty well again, his disease being an ague. I by water to Deptford, thinking to have seen my valentine, but I could not, and so come back again, and to the office, where a little business, and thence with Captain Cocke, and there drank a cup of good drink, which I am fain to allow myself during this plague time, by advice of all, and not contrary to my oathe, my physician being dead, and chyrurgeon out of the way, whose advice I am obliged to take, and so by water home and eat my supper, and to bed, being in much pain to think what I shall do this winter time; for go every day to Woolwich I cannot, without endangering my life; and staying from my wife at Greenwich is not handsome. 16th. Up, and walked to Greenwich reading a play, and to the office, where I find Sir J. Minnes gone to the fleete, like a doating foole, to do no good, but proclaim himself an asse; for no service he can do there, nor inform my Lord, who is come in thither to the buoy of the Nore, in anything worth his knowledge. At noon to dinner to my Lord Bruncker, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady come, by invitation, and very merry we were, only that the discourse of the likelihood of the increase of the plague this weeke makes us a little sad, but then again the thoughts of the late prizes make us glad. After dinner, by appointment, comes Mr. Andrews, and he and I walking alone in the garden talking of our Tangier business, and I endeavoured by the by to offer some encouragements for their continuing in the business, which he seemed to take hold of, and the truth is my profit is so much concerned that I could wish they would, and would take pains to ease them in the business of money as much as was possible. He being gone (after I had ordered him L2000, and he paid me my quantum out of it) I also walked to the office, and there to my business; but find myself, through the unfitness of my place to write in, and my coming from great dinners, and drinking wine, that I am not in the good temper of doing business now a days that I used to be and ought still to be. At night to Captain Cocke's, meaning to lie there, it being late, and he not being at home, I walked to him to my Lord Bruncker's, and there staid a while, they being at tables; and so by and by parted, and walked to his house; and, after a mess of good broth, to bed, in great pleasure, his company being most excellent. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and before I went out of my chamber did draw a musique scale, in order to my having it at any time ready in my hand to turn to for exercise, for I have a great mind in this Vacation to perfect myself in my scale, in order to my practising of composition, and so that being done I down stairs, and there find Captain Cocke under the barber's hands, the barber that did heretofore trim Commissioner Pett, and with whom I have been. He offered to come this day after dinner with his violin to play me a set of Lyra-ayres upon it, which I was glad of, hoping to be merry thereby. Being ready we to church, where a company of fine people to church, and a fine Church, and very good sermon, Mr. Plume' being a very excellent scholler and preacher. Coming out of the church I met Mrs. Pierce, whom I was ashamed to see, having not been with her since my coming to town, but promised to visit her. Thence with Captain Cocke, in his coach, home to dinner, whither comes by invitation my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse and very good company we were, but in dinner time comes Sir J. Minnes from the fleete, like a simple weak man, having nothing to say of what he hath done there, but tells of what value he imagines the prizes to be, and that my Lord Sandwich is well, and mightily concerned to hear that I was well. But this did put me upon a desire of going thither; and, moving of it to my Lord, we presently agreed upon it to go this very tide, we two and Captain Cocke. So every body prepared to fit himself for his journey, and I walked to Woolwich to trim and shift myself, and by the time I was ready they come down in the Bezan yacht, and so I aboard and my boy Tom, and there very merrily we sailed to below Gravesend, and there come to anchor for all night, and supped and talked, and with much pleasure at last settled ourselves to sleep having very good lodging upon cushions in the cabbin. 18th. By break of day we come to within sight of the fleete, which was a very fine thing to behold, being above 100 ships, great and small; with the flag-ships of each squadron, distinguished by their several flags on their main, fore, or mizen masts. Among others, the Soveraigne, Charles, and Prince; in the last of which my Lord Sandwich was. When we called by her side his Lordshipp was not stirring, so we come to anchor a little below his ship, thinking to have rowed on board him, but the wind and tide was so strong against us that we could not get up to him, no, though rowed by a boat of the Prince's that come to us to tow us up; at last however he brought us within a little way, and then they flung out a rope to us from the Prince and so come on board, but with great trouble and tune and patience, it being very cold; we find my Lord newly up in his night-gown very well. He received us kindly; telling us the state of the fleet, lacking provisions, having no beer at all, nor have had most of them these three weeks or month, and but few days' dry provisions. And indeed he tells us that he believes no fleete was ever set to sea in so ill condition of provision, as this was when it went out last. He did inform us in the business of Bergen, [Lord Sandwich was not so successful in convincing other people as to the propriety of his conduct at Bergen as he was with Pepys.] so as to let us see how the judgment of the world is not to be depended on in things they know not; it being a place just wide enough, and not so much hardly, for ships to go through to it, the yardarmes sticking in the very rocks. He do not, upon his best enquiry, find reason to except against any part of the management of the business by Teddiman; he having staid treating no longer than during the night, whiles he was fitting himself to fight, bringing his ship a-breast, and not a quarter of an hour longer (as is said); nor could more ships have been brought to play, as is thought. Nor could men be landed, there being 10,000 men effectively always in armes of the Danes; nor, says he, could we expect more from the Dane than he did, it being impossible to set fire on the ships but it must burn the towne. But that wherein the Dane did amisse is, that he did assist them, the Dutch, all the while, while he was treating with us, while he should have been neutrall to us both. But, however, he did demand but the treaty of us; which is, that we should not come with more than five ships. A flag of truce is said, and confessed by my Lord, that he believes it was hung out; but while they did hang it out, they did shoot at us; so that it was not either seen perhaps, or fit to cease upon sight of it, while they continued actually in action against us. But the main thing my Lord wonders at, and condemns the Dane for, is, that the blockhead, who is so much in debt to the Hollander, having now a treasure more by much than all his Crowne was worth, and that which would for ever have beggared the Hollanders, should not take this time to break with the Hollander, and, thereby paid his debt which must have been forgiven him, and got the greatest treasure into his hands that ever was together in the world. By and by my Lord took me aside to discourse of his private matters, who was very free with me touching the ill condition of the fleete that it hath been in, and the good fortune that he hath had, and nothing else that these prizes are to be imputed to. He also talked with me about Mr. Coventry's dealing with him in sending Sir W. Pen away before him, which was not fair nor kind; but that he hath mastered and cajoled Sir W. Pen, that he hath been able to do, nothing in the fleete, but been obedient to him; but withal tells me he is a man that is but of very mean parts, and a fellow not to be lived with, so false and base he is; which I know well enough to be very true, and did, as I had formerly done, give my Lord my knowledge of him. By and by was called a Council of Warr on board, when come Sir W. Pen there, and Sir Christopher Mings, Sir Edward Spragg, Sir Jos. Jordan, Sir Thomas Teddiman, and Sir Roger Cuttance, and so the necessity of the fleete for victuals, clothes, and money was discoursed, but by the discourse there of all but my Lord, that is to say, the counterfeit grave nonsense of Sir W. Pen and the poor mean discourse of the rest, methinks I saw how the government and management of the greatest business of the three nations is committed to very ordinary heads, saving my Lord, and in effect is only upon him, who is able to do what he pleases with them, they not having the meanest degree of reason to be able to oppose anything that he says, and so I fear it is ordered but like all the rest of the King's publique affayres. The council being up they most of them went away, only Sir W. Pen who staid to dine there and did so, but the wind being high the ship (though the motion of it was hardly discernible to the eye) did make me sick, so as I could not eat any thing almost. After dinner Cocke did pray me to helpe him to L500 of W. How, who is deputy Treasurer, wherein my Lord Bruncker and I am to be concerned and I did aske it my Lord, and he did consent to have us furnished with L500, and I did get it paid to Sir Roger Cuttance and Mr. Pierce in part for above L1000 worth of goods, Mace, Nutmegs, Cynamon, and Cloves, and he tells us we may hope to get L1500 by it, which God send! Great spoil, I hear, there hath been of the two East India ships, and that yet they will come in to the King very rich: so that I hope this journey will be worth L100 to me. [There is a shorthand journal of proceedings relating to Pepys's purchase of some East India prize goods among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library.] After having paid this money, we took leave of my Lord and so to our Yacht again, having seen many of my friends there. Among others I hear that W. Howe will grow very rich by this last business and grows very proud and insolent by it; but it is what I ever expected. I hear by every body how much my poor Lord of Sandwich was concerned for me during my silence a while, lest I had been dead of the plague in this sickly time. No sooner come into the yacht, though overjoyed with the good work we have done to-day, but I was overcome with sea sickness so that I begun to spue soundly, and so continued a good while, till at last I went into the cabbin and shutting my eyes my trouble did cease that I fell asleep, which continued till we come into Chatham river where the water was smooth, and then I rose and was very well, and the tide coming to be against us we did land before we come to Chatham and walked a mile, having very good discourse by the way, it being dark and it beginning to rain just as we got thither. At Commissioner Pett's we did eat and drink very well and very merry we were, and about 10 at night, it being moonshine and very cold, we set out, his coach carrying us, and so all night travelled to Greenwich, we sometimes sleeping a little and then talking and laughing by the way, and with much pleasure, but that it was very horrible cold, that I was afeard of an ague. A pretty passage was that the coach stood of a sudden and the coachman come down and the horses stirring, he cried, Hold! which waked me, and the coach[man] standing at the boote to [do] something or other and crying, Hold! I did wake of a sudden and not knowing who he was, nor thinking of the coachman between sleeping and waking I did take up the heart to take him by the shoulder, thinking verily he had been a thief. But when I waked I found my cowardly heart to discover a fear within me and that I should never have done it if I had been awake. 19th. About 4 or 5 of the clock we come to Greenwich, and, having first set down my Lord Bruncker, Cocke and I went to his house, it being light, and there to our great trouble, we being sleepy and cold, we met with the ill newes that his boy Jacke was gone to bed sicke, which put Captain Cocke and me also into much trouble, the boy, as they told us, complaining of his head most, which is a bad sign it seems. So they presently betook themselves to consult whither and how to remove him. However I thought it not fit for me to discover too much fear to go away, nor had I any place to go to. So to bed I went and slept till 10 of the clock and then comes Captain Cocke to wake me and tell me that his boy was well again. With great joy I heard the newes and he told it, so I up and to the office where we did a little, and but a little business. At noon by invitation to my Lord Bruncker's where we staid till four of the clock for my Lady Batten and she not then coming we to dinner and pretty merry but disordered by her making us stay so long. After dinner I to the office, and there wrote letters and did business till night and then to Sir J. Minnes's, where I find my Lady Batten come, and she and my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse, and the whole house-full there at cards. But by and by my Lord Bruncker goes away and others of the company, and when I expected Sir J. Minnes and his sister should have staid to have made Sir W. Batten and Lady sup, I find they go up in snuffe to bed without taking any manner of leave of them, but left them with Mr. Boreman. The reason of this I could not presently learn, but anon I hear it is that Sir J. Minnes did expect and intend them a supper, but they without respect to him did first apply themselves to Boreman, which makes all this great feude. However I staid and there supped, all of us being in great disorder from this, and more from Cocke's boy's being ill, where my Lady Batten and Sir W. Batten did come to town with an intent to lodge, and I was forced to go seek a lodging which my W. Hewer did get me, viz., his own chamber in the towne, whither I went and found it a very fine room, and there lay most excellently. 20th. Called up by Captain Cocke (who was last night put into great trouble upon his boy's being rather worse than better, upon which he removed him out of his house to his stable), who told me that to my comfort his boy was now as well as ever he was in his life. So I up, and after being trimmed, the first time I have been touched by a barber these twelvemonths, I think, and more, went to Sir J. Minnes's, where I find all out of order still, they having not seen one another till by and by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten met, to go into my Lord Bruncker's coach, and so we four to Lambeth, and thence to the Duke of Albemarle, to inform him what we have done as to the fleete, which is very little, and to receive his direction. But, Lord! what a sad time it is to see no boats upon the River; and grass grows all up and down White Hall court, and nobody but poor wretches in the streets! And, which is worst of all, the Duke showed us the number of the plague this week, brought in the last night from the Lord Mayor; that it is encreased about 600 more than the last, which is quite contrary to all our hopes and expectations, from the coldness of the late season. For the whole general number is 8,297, and of them the plague 7,165; which is more in the whole by above 50, than the biggest Bill yet; which is very grievous to us all. I find here a design in my Lord Bruncker and Captain Cocke to have had my Lord Bruncker chosen as one of us to have been sent aboard one of the East Indiamen, and Captain Cocke as a merchant to be joined with him, and Sir J. Minnes for the other, and Sir G. Smith to be joined with him. But I did order it so that my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes were ordered, but I did stop the merchants to be added, which would have been a most pernicious thing to the King I am sure. In this I did, I think, a very good office, though I cannot acquit myself from some envy of mine in the business to have the profitable business done by another hand while I lay wholly imployed in the trouble of the office. Thence back again by my Lord's coach to my Lord Bruncker's house, where I find my Lady Batten, who is become very great with Mrs. Williams (my Lord Bruncker's whore), and there we dined and were mighty merry. After dinner I to the office there to write letters, to fit myself for a journey to-morrow to Nonsuch to the Exchequer by appointment. That being done I to Sir J. Minnes where I find Sir W. Batten and his Lady gone home to Walthamstow in great snuffe as to Sir J. Minnes, but yet with some necessity, hearing that a mayde-servant of theirs is taken ill. Here I staid and resolved of my going in my Lord Bruncker's coach which he would have me to take, though himself cannot go with me as he intended, and so to my last night's lodging to bed very weary. 21st. Up between five and six o'clock; and by the time I was ready, my Lord's coach comes for me; and taking Will Hewer with me, who is all in mourning for his father, who is lately dead of the plague, as my boy Tom's is also, I set out, and took about L100 with me to pay the fees there, and so rode in some fear of robbing. When I come thither, I find only Mr. Ward, who led me to Burgess's bedside, and Spicer's, who, watching of the house, as it is their turns every night, did lie long in bed to-day, and I find nothing at all done in my business, which vexed me. But not seeing how to helpe it I did walk up and down with Mr. Ward to see the house; and by and by Spicer and Mr. Falconbrige come to me and he and I to a towne near by, Yowell, there drink and set up my horses and also bespoke a dinner, and while that is dressing went with Spicer and walked up and down the house and park; and a fine place it hath heretofore been, and a fine prospect about the house. A great walk of an elme and a walnutt set one after another in order. And all the house on the outside filled with figures of stories, and good painting of Rubens' or Holben's doing. And one great thing is, that most of the house is covered, I mean the posts, and quarters in the walls; covered with lead, and gilded. I walked into the ruined garden, and there found a plain little girle, kinswoman of Mr. Falconbridge, to sing very finely by the eare only, but a fine way of singing, and if I come ever to lacke a girle again I shall think of getting her. Thence to the towne, and there Spicer, Woodruffe, and W. Bowyer and I dined together and a friend of Spicer's; and a good dinner I had for them. Falconbrige dined somewhere else, by appointment. Strange to see how young W. Bowyer looks at 41 years; one would not take him for 24 or more, and is one of the greatest wonders I ever did see. After dinner, about 4 of the clock we broke up, and I took coach and home (in fear for the money I had with me, but that this friend of Spicer's, one of the Duke's guard did ride along the best part of the way with us). I got to my Lord Bruncker's before night, and there I sat and supped with him and his mistresse, and Cocke whose boy is yet ill. Thence, after losing a crowne betting at Tables--[Cribbage]--, we walked home, Cocke seeing me at my new lodging, where I went to bed. All my worke this day in the coach going and coming was to refresh myself in my musique scale, which I would fain have perfecter than ever I had yet. 22nd. Up betimes and to the office, meaning to have entered my last 5 or 6 days' Journall, but was called away by my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, and to Blackwall, there to look after the storehouses in order to the laying of goods out of the East India ships when they shall be unloaden. That being done, we into Johnson's house, and were much made of, eating and drinking. But here it is observable what he tells us, that in digging his late Docke, he did 12 foot under ground find perfect trees over-covered with earth. Nut trees, with the branches and the very nuts upon them; some of whose nuts he showed us. Their shells black with age, and their kernell, upon opening, decayed, but their shell perfectly hard as ever. And a yew tree he showed us (upon which, he says, the very ivy was taken up whole about it), which upon cutting with an addes [adze], we found to be rather harder than the living tree usually is. They say, very much, but I do not know how hard a yew tree naturally is. [The same discovery was made in 1789, in digging the Brunswick Dock, also at Blackwall, and elsewhere in the neighbourhood.] The armes, they say, were taken up at first whole, about the body, which is very strange. Thence away by water, and I walked with my Lord Bruncker home, and there at dinner comes a letter from my Lord Sandwich to tell me that he would this day be at Woolwich, and desired me to meet him. Which fearing might have lain in Sir J. Minnes' pocket a while, he sending it me, did give my Lord Bruncker, his mistress, and I occasion to talk of him as the most unfit man for business in the world. Though at last afterwards I found that he was not in this faulty, but hereby I have got a clear evidence of my Lord Bruncker's opinion of him. My Lord Bruncker presently ordered his coach to be ready and we to Woolwich, and my Lord Sandwich not being come, we took a boat and about a mile off met him in his Catch, and boarded him, and come up with him; and, after making a little halt at my house, which I ordered, to have my wife see him, we all together by coach to Mr. Boreman's, where Sir J. Minnes did receive him very handsomely, and there he is to lie; and Sir J. Minnes did give him on the sudden, a very handsome supper and brave discourse, my Lord Bruncker, and Captain Cocke, and Captain Herbert being there, with myself. Here my Lord did witness great respect to me, and very kind expressions, and by other occasions, from one thing to another did take notice how I was overjoyed at first to see the King's letter to his Lordship, and told them how I did kiss it, and that, whatever he was, I did always love the King. This my Lord Bruncker did take such notice [of] as that he could not forbear kissing me before my Lord, professing his finding occasion every day more and more to love me, and Captain Cocke has since of himself taken notice of that speech of my Lord then concerning me, and may be of good use to me. Among other discourse concerning long life, Sir J. Minnes saying that his great-grandfather was alive in Edward the Vth's time; my Lord Sandwich did tell us how few there have been of his family since King Harry the VIIIth; that is to say, the then Chiefe Justice, and his son the Lord Montagu, who was father to Sir Sidney, [These are the words in the MS., and not "his son and the Lord Montagu," as in some former editions. Pepys seems to have written Lord Montagu by mistake for Sir Edward Montagu.] who was his father. And yet, what is more wonderfull, he did assure us from the mouth of my Lord Montagu himself, that in King James's time ([when he] had a mind to get the King to cut off the entayle of some land which was given in Harry the VIIIth's time to the family, with the remainder in the Crowne); he did answer the King in showing how unlikely it was that ever it could revert to the Crown, but that it would be a present convenience to him; and did show that at that time there were 4,000 persons derived from the very body of the Chiefe Justice. It seems the number of daughters in the family having been very great, and they too had most of them many children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. This he tells as a most known and certain truth. After supper, my Lord Bruncker took his leave, and I also did mine, taking Captain Herbert home to my lodging to lie with me, who did mighty seriously inquire after who was that in the black dress with my wife yesterday, and would not believe that it was my wife's mayde, Mercer, but it was she. 23rd. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich, who did advise alone with me how far he might trust Captain Cocke in the business of the prize-goods, my Lord telling me that he hath taken into his hands 2 or L3000 value of them: it being a good way, he says, to get money, and afterwards to get the King's allowance thereof, it being easier, he observes, to keepe money when got of the King than to get it when it is too late. I advised him not to trust Cocke too far, and did therefore offer him ready money for a L1000 or two, which he listens to and do agree to, which is great joy to me, hoping thereby to get something! Thence by coach to Lambeth, his Lordship, and all our office, and Mr. Evelyn, to the Duke of Albemarle, where, after the compliment with my Lord very kind, we sat down to consult of the disposing and supporting of the fleete with victuals and money, and for the sicke men and prisoners; and I did propose the taking out some goods out of the prizes, to the value of L10,000, which was accorded to, and an order, drawn up and signed by the Duke and my Lord, done in the best manner I can, and referred to my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, but what inconveniences may arise from it I do not yet see, but fear there may be many. Here we dined, and I did hear my Lord Craven whisper, as he is mightily possessed with a good opinion of me, much to my advantage, which my good Lord did second, and anon my Lord Craven did speak publiquely of me to the Duke, in the hearing of all the rest; and the Duke did say something of the like advantage to me; I believe, not much to the satisfaction of my brethren; but I was mightily joyed at it. Thence took leave, leaving my Lord Sandwich to go visit the Bishop of Canterbury, and I and Sir W. Batten down to the Tower, where he went further by water, and I home, and among other things took out all my gold to carry along with me to-night with Captain Cocke downe to the fleete, being L180 and more, hoping to lay out that and a great deal more to good advantage. Thence down to Greenwich to the office, and there wrote several letters, and so to my Lord Sandwich, and mighty merry and he mighty kind to me in the face of all, saying much in my favour, and after supper I took leave and with Captain Cocke set out in the yacht about ten o'clock at night, and after some discourse, and drinking a little, my mind full of what we are going about and jealous of Cocke's outdoing me. So to sleep upon beds brought by Cocke on board mighty handsome, and never slept better than upon this bed upon the floor in the Cabbin. 24th (Lord's day). Waked, and up and drank, and then to discourse; and then being about Grayes, and a very calme, curious morning, we took our wherry, and to the fishermen, and bought a great deal of fine fish, and to Gravesend to White's, and had part of it dressed; and, in the meantime, we to walk about a mile from the towne, and so back again; and there, after breakfast, one of our watermen told us he had heard of a bargain of cloves for us, and we went to a blind alehouse at the further end wretched dirty seamen, who, of the towne to a couple of poor wretches, had got together about 37 lb. of cloves and to 10 of nutmeggs, and we bought them of them, the first at 5s. 6d. per lb. and the latter at 4s.; and paid them in gold; but, Lord! to see how silly these men are in the selling of it, and easily to be persuaded almost to anything, offering a bag to us to pass as 20 lbs. of cloves, which upon weighing proved 25 lbs. But it would never have been allowed by my conscience to have wronged the poor wretches, who told us how dangerously they had got some, and dearly paid for the rest of these goods. This being done we with great content herein on board again and there Captain Cocke and I to discourse of our business, but he will not yet be open to me, nor am I to him till I hear what he will say and do with Sir Roger Cuttance. However, this discourse did do me good, and got me a copy of the agreement made the other day on board for the parcel of Mr. Pierce and Sir Roger Cuttance, but this great parcel is of my Lord Sandwich's. By and by to dinner about 3 o'clock and then I in the cabbin to writing down my journall for these last seven days to my, great content, it having pleased God that in this sad time of the plague every thing else has conspired to my happiness and pleasure more for these last three months than in all my, life before in so little time. God long preserve it and make me thankful) for it! After finishing my Journal), then to discourse and to read, and then to supper and to bed, my mind not being at full ease, having not fully satisfied myself how Captain Cocke will deal with me as to the share of the profits. 25th. Found ourselves come to the fleete, and so aboard the Prince; and there, after a good while in discourse, we did agree a bargain of L5,000 with Sir Roger Cuttance for my Lord Sandwich for silk, cinnamon, nutmeggs, and indigo. And I was near signing to an undertaking for the payment of the whole sum; but I did by chance escape it; having since, upon second thoughts, great cause to be glad of it, reflecting upon the craft and not good condition, it may be, of Captain Cocke. I could get no trifles for my wife. Anon to dinner and thence in great haste to make a short visit to Sir W. Pen, where I found them and his lady and daughter and many commanders at dinner. Among others Sir G. Askue, of whom whatever the matter is, the world is silent altogether. But a very pretty dinner there was, and after dinner Sir W. Pen made a bargain with Cocke for ten bales of silke, at 16s. per lb., which, as Cocke says, will be a good pennyworth, and so away to the Prince and presently comes my Lord on board from Greenwich, with whom, after a little discourse about his trusting of Cocke, we parted and to our yacht; but it being calme, we to make haste, took our wherry toward Chatham; but, it growing darke, we were put to great difficultys, our simple, yet confident waterman, not knowing a step of the way; and we found ourselves to go backward and forward, which, in the darke night and a wild place, did vex us mightily. At last we got a fisher boy by chance, and took him into the boat, and being an odde kind of boy, did vex us too; for he would not answer us aloud when we spoke to him, but did carry us safe thither, though with a mistake or two; but I wonder they were not more. In our way I was [surprised] and so were we all, at the strange nature of the sea-water in a darke night, that it seemed like fire upon every stroke of the oare, and, they say, is a sign of winde. We went to the Crowne Inne, at Rochester, and there to supper, and made ourselves merry with our poor fisher-boy, who told us he had not been in a bed in the whole seven years since he came to 'prentice, and hath two or three more years to serve. After eating something, we in our clothes to bed. 26th. Up by five o'clock and got post horses and so set out for Greenwich, calling and drinking at Dartford. Being come to Greenwich and shifting myself I to the office, from whence by and by my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes set out toward Erith to take charge of the two East India shipps, which I had a hand in contriving for the King's service and may do myself a good office too thereby. I to dinner with Mr. Wright to his father-in-law in Greenwich, one of the most silly, harmless, prating old men that ever I heard in my life. Creed dined with me, and among other discourses got of me a promise of half that he could get my Lord Rutherford to give me upon clearing his business, which should not be less, he says, than L50 for my half, which is a good thing, though cunningly got of him. By and by Luellin comes, and I hope to get something of Deering shortly. They being gone, Mr. Wright and I went into the garden to discourse with much trouble for fear of losing all the profit and principal of what we have laid out in buying of prize goods, and therefore puts me upon thoughts of flinging up my interest, but yet I shall take good advice first. Thence to the office, and after some letters down to Woolwich, where I have not lain with my wife these eight days I think, or more. After supper, and telling her my mind in my trouble in what I have done as to buying' of these goods, we to bed. 27th. Up, and saw and admired my wife's picture of our Saviour, [This picture by Mrs. Pepys may have given trouble when Pepys was unjustifiably attacked for having Popish pictures in his house.] now finished, which is very pretty. So by water to Greenwich, where with Creed and Lord Rutherford, and there my Lord told me that he would give me L100 for my pains, which pleased me well, though Creed, like a cunning rogue, hath got a promise of half of it from me. We to the King's Head, the great musique house, the first time I was ever there, and had a good breakfast, and thence parted, I being much troubled to hear from Creed, that he was told at Salsbury that I am come to be a great swearer and drinker, though I know the contrary; but, Lord! to see how my late little drinking of wine is taken notice of by envious men to my disadvantage. I thence to Captain Cocke's, [and] (he not yet come from town) to Mr. Evelyn's, where much company; and thence in his coach with him to the Duke of Albemarle by Lambeth, who was in a mighty pleasant humour; there the Duke tells us that the Dutch do stay abroad, and our fleet must go out again, or to be ready to do so. Here we got several things ordered as we desired for the relief of the prisoners, and sick and wounded men. Here I saw this week's Bill of Mortality, wherein, blessed be God! there is above 1800 decrease, being the first considerable decrease we have had. Back again the same way and had most excellent discourse of Mr. Evelyn touching all manner of learning; wherein I find him a very fine gentleman, and particularly of paynting, in which he tells me the beautifull Mrs. Middleton is rare, and his own wife do brave things. He brought me to the office, whither comes unexpectedly Captain Cocke, who hath brought one parcel of our goods by waggons, and at first resolved to have lodged them at our office; but then the thoughts of its being the King's house altered our resolution, and so put them at his friend's, Mr. Glanvill's, and there they are safe. Would the rest of them were so too! In discourse, we come to mention my profit, and he offers me L500 clear, and I demand L600 for my certain profit. We part to-night, and I lie there at Mr. Glanvill's house, there being none there but a maydeservant and a young man; being in some pain, partly from not knowing what to do in this business, having a mind to be at a certainty in my profit, and partly through his having Jacke sicke still, and his blackemore now also fallen sicke. So he being gone, I to bed. 28th. Up, and being mightily pleased with my night's lodging, drank a cup of beer, and went out to my office, and there did some business, and so took boat and down to Woolwich (having first made a visit to Madam Williams, who is going down to my Lord Bruncker) and there dined, and then fitted my papers and money and every thing else for a journey to Nonsuch to-morrow. That being done I walked to Greenwich, and there to the office pretty late expecting Captain Cocke's coming, which he did, and so with me to my new lodging (and there I chose rather to lie because of my interest in the goods that we have brought there to lie), but the people were abed, so we knocked them up, and so I to bed, and in the night was mightily troubled with a looseness (I suppose from some fresh damp linen that I put on this night), and feeling for a chamber-pott, there was none, I having called the mayde up out of her bed, she had forgot I suppose to put one there; so I was forced in this strange house to rise and shit in the chimney twice; and so to bed and was very well again, and 29th. To sleep till 5 o'clock, when it is now very dark, and then rose, being called up by order by Mr. Marlow, and so up and dressed myself, and by and by comes Mr. Lashmore on horseback, and I had my horse I borrowed of Mr. Gillthropp, Sir W. Batten's clerke, brought to me, and so we set out and rode hard and was at Nonsuch by about eight o'clock, a very fine journey and a fine day. There I come just about chappell time and so I went to chappell with them and thence to the several offices about my tallys, which I find done, but strung for sums not to my purpose, and so was forced to get them to promise me to have them cut into other sums. But, Lord! what ado I had to persuade the dull fellows to it, especially Mr. Warder, Master of the Pells, and yet without any manner of reason for their scruple. But at last I did, and so left my tallies there against another day, and so walked to Yowell, and there did spend a peece upon them, having a whole house full, and much mirth by a sister of the mistresse of the house, an old mayde lately married to a lieutenant of a company that quarters there, and much pleasant discourse we had and, dinner being done, we to horse again and come to Greenwich before night, and so to my lodging, and there being a little weary sat down and fell to order some of my pocket papers, and then comes Captain Cocke, and after a great deal of discourse with him seriously upon the disorders of our state through lack of men to mind the public business and to understand it, we broke up, sitting up talking very late. We spoke a little of my late business propounded of taking profit for my money laid out for these goods, but he finds I rise in my demand, he offering me still L500 certain. So we did give it over, and I to bed. I hear for certain this night upon the road that Sir Martin Noell is this day dead of the plague in London, where he hath lain sick of it these eight days. 30th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and at noon with Sir W. Batten to Coll. Cleggat to dinner, being invited, where a very pretty dinner to my full content and very merry. The great burden we have upon us at this time at the office, is the providing for prisoners and sicke men that are recovered, they lying before our office doors all night and all day, poor wretches. Having been on shore, the captains won't receive them on board, and other ships we have not to put them on, nor money to pay them off, or provide for them. God remove this difficulty! This made us followed all the way to this gentleman's house and there are waited for our coming out after dinner. Hither come Luellin to me and would force me to take Mr. Deering's 20 pieces in gold he did offer me a good while since, which I did, yet really and sincerely against my will and content, I seeing him a man not likely to do well in his business, nor I to reap any comfort in having to do with, and be beholden to, a man that minds more his pleasure and company than his business. Thence mighty merry and much pleased with the dinner and company and they with me I parted and there was set upon by the poor wretches, whom I did give good words and some little money to, and the poor people went away like lambs, and in good earnest are not to be censured if their necessities drive them to bad courses of stealing or the like, while they lacke wherewith to live. Thence to the office, and there wrote a letter or two and dispatched a little business, and then to Captain Cocke's, where I find Mr. Temple, the fat blade, Sir Robert. Viner's chief man. And we three and two companions of his in the evening by agreement took ship in the Bezan and the tide carried us no further than Woolwich about 8 at night, and so I on shore to my wife, and there to my great trouble find my wife out of order, and she took me downstairs and there alone did tell me her falling out with both her mayds and particularly Mary, and how Mary had to her teeth told her she would tell me of something that should stop her mouth and words of that sense. Which I suspect may be about Brown, but my wife prays me to call it to examination, and this, I being of myself jealous, do make me mightily out of temper, and seeing it not fit to enter into the dispute did passionately go away, thinking to go on board again. But when I come to the stairs I considered the Bezan would not go till the next ebb, and it was best to lie in a good bed and, it may be, get myself into a better humour by being with my wife. So I back again and to bed and having otherwise so many reasons to rejoice and hopes of good profit, besides considering the ill that trouble of mind and melancholly may in this sickly time bring a family into, and that if the difference were never so great, it is not a time to put away servants, I was resolved to salve up the business rather than stir in it, and so become pleasant with my wife and to bed, minding nothing of this difference. So to sleep with a good deal of content, and saving only this night and a day or two about the same business a month or six weeks ago, I do end this month with the greatest content, and may say that these last three months, for joy, health, and profit, have been much the greatest that ever I received in all my life in any twelve months almost in my life, having nothing upon me but the consideration of the sicklinesse of the season during this great plague to mortify mee. For all which the Lord God be praised! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And feeling for a chamber-pott, there was none Discourse of Mr. Evelyn touching all manner of learning Fell to sleep as if angry King himself minding nothing but his ease Not to be censured if their necessities drive them to bad Ordered him L2000, and he paid me my quantum out of it Sicke men that are recovered, they lying before our office doors Told us he had not been in a bed in the whole seven years 
4160	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1665 October 1st (Lord's day). Called up about 4 of the clock and so dressed myself and so on board the Bezan, and there finding all my company asleep I would not wake them, but it beginning to be break of day I did stay upon the decke walking, and then into the Maister's cabbin and there laid and slept a little, and so at last was waked by Captain Cocke's calling of me, and so I turned out, and then to chat and talk and laugh, and mighty merry. We spent most of the morning talking and reading of "The Siege of Rhodes," which is certainly (the more I read it the more I think so) the best poem that ever was wrote. We breakfasted betimes and come to the fleete about two of the clock in the afternoon, having a fine day and a fine winde. My Lord received us mighty kindly, and after discourse with us in general left us to our business, and he to his officers, having called a council of wary, we in the meantime settling of papers with Mr. Pierce and everybody else, and by and by with Captain Cuttance. Anon called down to my Lord, and there with him till supper talking and discourse; among other things, to my great joy, he did assure me that he had wrote to the King and Duke about these prize-goods, and told me that they did approve of what he had done, and that he would owne what he had done, and would have me to tell all the world so, and did, under his hand, give Cocke and me his certificate of our bargains, and giving us full power of disposal of what we have so bought. This do ease my mind of all my fear, and makes my heart lighter by L100 than it was before. He did discourse to us of the Dutch fleete being abroad, eighty-five of them still, and are now at the Texell, he believes, in expectation of our Eastland ships coming home with masts and hempe, and our loaden Hambrough ships going to Hambrough. He discoursed against them that would have us yield to no conditions but conquest over the Dutch, and seems to believe that the Dutch will call for the protection of the King of France and come under his power, which were to be wished they might be brought to do under ours by fair means, and to that end would have all Dutch men and familys, that would come hither and settled, to be declared denizens; and my Lord did whisper to me alone that things here must break in pieces, nobody minding any thing, but every man his owne business of profit or pleasure, and the King some little designs of his owne, and that certainly the kingdom could not stand in this condition long, which I fear and believe is very true. So to supper and there my Lord the kindest man to me, before all the table talking of me to my advantage and with tenderness too that it overjoyed me. So after supper Captain Cocke and I and Temple on board the Bezan, and there to cards for a while and then to read again in "Rhodes" and so to sleep. But, Lord! the mirth which it caused me to be waked in the night by their snoaring round about me; I did laugh till I was ready to burst, and waked one of the two companions of Temple, who could not a good while tell where he was that he heard one laugh so, till he recollected himself, and I told him what it was at, and so to sleep again, they still snoaring. 2nd. We having sailed all night (and I do wonder how they in the dark could find the way) we got by morning to Gillingham, and thence all walked to Chatham; and there with Commissioner Pett viewed the Yard; and among other things, a teame of four horses come close by us, he being with me, drawing a piece of timber that I am confident one man could easily have carried upon his back. I made the horses be taken away, and a man or two to take the timber away with their hands. This the Commissioner did see, but said nothing, but I think had cause to be ashamed of. We walked, he and I and Cocke, to the Hill-house, where we find Sir W. Pen in bed and there much talke and much dissembling of kindnesse from him, but he is a false rogue, and I shall not trust him, but my being there did procure his consent to have his silk carried away before the money received, which he would not have done for Cocke I am sure. Thence to Rochester, walked to the Crowne, and while dinner was getting ready, I did there walk to visit the old Castle ruines, which hath been a noble place, and there going up I did upon the stairs overtake three pretty mayds or women and took them up with me, and I did 'baiser sur mouches et toucher leur mains' and necks to my great pleasure: but, Lord! to see what a dreadfull thing it is to look down the precipices, for it did fright me mightily, and hinder me of much pleasure which I would have made to myself in the company of these three, if it had not been for that. The place hath been very noble and great and strong in former ages. So to walk up and down the Cathedral, and thence to the Crowne, whither Mr. Fowler, the Mayor of the towne, was come in his gowne, and is a very reverend magistrate. After I had eat a bit, not staying to eat with them, I went away, and so took horses and to Gravesend, and there staid not, but got a boat, the sicknesse being very much in the towne still, and so called on board my Lord Bruncker and Sir John Minnes, on board one of the East Indiamen at Erith, and there do find them full of envious complaints for the pillageing of the ships, but I did pacify them, and discoursed about making money of some of the goods, and do hope to be the better by it honestly. So took leave (Madam Williams being here also with my Lord), and about 8 o'clock got to Woolwich and there supped and mighty pleasant with my wife, who is, for ought I see, all friends with her mayds, and so in great joy and content to bed. 3rd. Up, and to my great content visited betimes by Mr. Woolly, my uncle Wight's cozen, who comes to see what work I have for him about these East India goods, and I do find that this fellow might have been of great use, and hereafter may be of very great use to me, in this trade of prize goods, and glad I am fully of his coming hither. While I dressed myself, and afterwards in walking to Greenwich we did discourse over all the business of the prize goods, and he puts me in hopes I may get some money in what I have done, but not so much as I expected, but that I may hereafter do more. We have laid a design of getting more, and are to talk again of it a few days hence. To the office, where nobody to meet me, Sir W. Batten being the only man and he gone this day to meet to adjourne the Parliament to Oxford. Anon by appointment comes one to tell me my Lord Rutherford is come; so I to the King's Head to him, where I find his lady, a fine young Scotch lady, pretty handsome and plain. My wife also, and Mercer, by and by comes, Creed bringing them; and so presently to dinner and very merry; and after to even our accounts, and I to give him tallys, where he do allow me L100, of which to my grief the rogue Creed has trepanned me out of L50. But I do foresee a way how it may be I may get a greater sum of my Lord to his content by getting him allowance of interest upon his tallys. That being done, and some musique and other diversions, at last away goes my Lord and Lady, and I sent my wife to visit Mrs. Pierce, and so I to my office, where wrote important letters to the Court, and at night (Creed having clownishly left my wife), I to Mrs. Pierces and brought her and Mrs. Pierce to the King's Head and there spent a piece upon a supper for her and mighty merry and pretty discourse, she being as pretty as ever, most of our mirth being upon "my Cozen" (meaning my Lord Bruncker's ugly mistress, whom he calls cozen), and to my trouble she tells me that the fine Mrs. Middleton is noted for carrying about her body a continued sour base smell, that is very offensive, especially if she be a little hot. Here some bad musique to close the night and so away and all of us saw Mrs. Belle Pierce (as pretty as ever she was almost) home, and so walked to Will's lodging where I used to lie, and there made shift for a bed for Mercer, and mighty pleasantly to bed. This night I hear that of our two watermen that use to carry our letters, and were well on Saturday last, one is dead, and the other dying sick of the plague. The plague, though decreasing elsewhere, yet being greater about the Tower and thereabouts. 4th. Up and to my office, where Mr. Andrews comes, and reckoning with him I get L64 of him. By and by comes Mr. Gawden, and reckoning with him he gives me L60 in his account, which is a great mercy to me. Then both of them met and discoursed the business of the first man's resigning and the other's taking up the business of the victualling of Tangier, and I do not think that I shall be able to do as well under Mr. Gawden as under these men, or within a little as to profit and less care upon me. Thence to the King's Head to dinner, where we three and Creed and my wife and her woman dined mighty merry and sat long talking, and so in the afternoon broke up, and I led my wife to our lodging again, and I to the office where did much business, and so to my wife. This night comes Sir George Smith to see me at the office, and tells me how the plague is decreased this week 740, for which God be praised! but that it encreases at our end of the town still, and says how all the towne is full of Captain Cocke's being in some ill condition about prize-goods, his goods being taken from him, and I know not what. But though this troubles me to have it said, and that it is likely to be a business in Parliament, yet I am not much concerned at it, because yet I believe this newes is all false, for he would have wrote to me sure about it. Being come to my wife, at our lodging, I did go to bed, and left my wife with her people to laugh and dance and I to sleep. 5th. Lay long in bed talking among other things of my sister Pall, and my wife of herself is very willing that I should give her L400 to her portion, and would have her married soon as we could; but this great sicknesse time do make it unfit to send for her up. I abroad to the office and thence to the Duke of Albemarle, all my way reading a book of Mr. Evelyn's translating and sending me as a present, about directions for gathering a Library; [Instructions concerning erecting of a Library, presented to my Lord the President De Mesme by Gilbert Naudeus, and now interpreted by Jo. Evelyn, Esquire. London, 1661: This little book was dedicated to Lord Clarendon by the translator. It was printed while Evelyn was abroad, and is full of typographical errors; these are corrected in a copy mentioned in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings," 1825, p. xii, where a letter to Dr. Godolphin on the subject is printed.] but the book is above my reach, but his epistle to my Lord Chancellor is a very fine piece. When I come to the Duke it was about the victuallers' business, to put it into other hands, or more hands, which I do advise in, but I hope to do myself a jobb of work in it. So I walked through Westminster to my old house the Swan, and there did pass some time with Sarah, and so down by water to Deptford and there to my Valentine. [A Mrs. Bagwell. See ante, February 14th, 1664-65] Round about and next door on every side is the plague, but I did not value it, but there did what I would 'con elle', and so away to Mr. Evelyn's to discourse of our confounded business of prisoners, and sick and wounded seamen, wherein he and we are so much put out of order. [Each of the Commissioners for the Sick and Wounded was appointed to a particular district, and Evelyn's district was Kent and Sussex. On September 25th, 1665, Evelyn wrote in his Diary: "My Lord Admiral being come from ye fleete to Greenewich, I went thence with him to ye Cockpit to consult with the Duke of Albemarle. I was peremptory that unlesse we had L10,000 immediately, the prisoners would starve, and 'twas proposed it should be rais'd out of the E. India prizes now taken by Lord Sandwich. They being but two of ye Commission, and so not impower'd to determine, sent an expresse to his Majesty and Council to know what they should do."] And here he showed me his gardens, which are for variety of evergreens, and hedge of holly, the finest things I ever saw in my life. [Evelyn purchased Sayes Court, Deptford, in 1653, and laid out his gardens, walks, groves, enclosures, and plantations, which afterwards became famous for their beauty. When he took the place in hand it was nothing but an open field of one hundred acres, with scarcely a hedge in it.] Thence in his coach to Greenwich, and there to my office, all the way having fine discourse of trees and the nature of vegetables. And so to write letters, I very late to Sir W. Coventry of great concernment, and so to my last night's lodging, but my wife is gone home to Woolwich. The Bill, blessed be God! is less this week by 740 of what it was the last week. Being come to my lodging I got something to eat, having eat little all the day, and so to bed, having this night renewed my promises of observing my vowes as I used to do; for I find that, since I left them off, my mind is run a'wool-gathering and my business neglected. 6th. Up, and having sent for Mr. Gawden he come to me, and he and I largely discoursed the business of his Victualling, in order to the adding of partners to him or other ways of altering it, wherein I find him ready to do anything the King would have him do. So he and I took his coach and to Lambeth and to the Duke of Albemarle about it, and so back again, where he left me. In our way discoursing of the business and contracting a great friendship with him, and I find he is a man most worthy to be made a friend, being very honest and gratefull, and in the freedom of our discourse he did tell me his opinion and knowledge of Sir W. Pen to be, what I know him to be, as false a man as ever was born, for so, it seems, he hath been to him. He did also tell me, discoursing how things are governed as to the King's treasure, that, having occasion for money in the country, he did offer Alderman Maynell to pay him down money here, to be paid by the Receiver in some county in the country, upon whom Maynell had assignments, in whose hands the money also lay ready. But Maynell refused it, saying that he could have his money when he would, and had rather it should lie where it do than receive it here in towne this sickly time, where he hath no occasion for it. But now the evil is that he hath lent this money upon tallys which are become payable, but he finds that nobody looks after it, how long the money is unpaid, and whether it lies dead in the Receiver's hands or no, so the King he pays Maynell 10 per cent. while the money lies in his Receiver's hands to no purpose but the benefit of the Receiver. I to dinner to the King's Head with Mr. Woolly, who is come to instruct me in the business of my goods, but gives me not so good comfort as I thought I should have had. But, however, it will be well worth my time though not above 2 or L300. He gone I to my office, where very busy drawing up a letter by way of discourse to the Duke of Albemarle about my conception how the business of the Victualling should be ordered, wherein I have taken great pains, and I think have hitt the right if they will but follow it. At this very late and so home to our lodgings to bed. 7th. Up and to the office along with Mr. Childe, whom I sent for to discourse about the victualling business, who will not come into partnership (no more will Captain Beckford ), but I do find him a mighty understanding man, and one I will keep a knowledge of. Did business, though not much, at the office; because of the horrible crowd and lamentable moan of the poor seamen that lie starving in the streets for lack of money. Which do trouble and perplex me to the heart; and more at noon when we were to go through them, for then a whole hundred of them followed us; some cursing, some swearing, and some praying to us. And that that made me more troubled was a letter come this afternoon from the Duke of Albemarle, signifying the Dutch to be in sight, with 80 sayle, yesterday morning, off of Solebay, coming right into the bay. God knows what they will and may do to us, we having no force abroad able to oppose them, but to be sacrificed to them. Here come Sir W. Rider to me, whom I sent for about the victualling business also, but he neither will not come into partnership, but desires to be of the Commission if there be one. Thence back the back way to my office, where very late, very busy. But most of all when at night come two waggons from Rochester with more goods from Captain Cocke; and in houseing them at Mr. Tooker's lodgings come two of the Custome-house to seize them, and did seize them but I showed them my 'Transire'. However, after some hot and angry words, we locked them up, and sealed up the key, and did give it to the constable to keep till Monday, and so parted. But, Lord! to think how the poor constable come to me in the dark going home; "Sir," says he, "I have the key, and if you would have me do any service for you, send for me betimes to-morrow morning, and I will do what you would have me." Whether the fellow do this out of kindness or knavery, I cannot tell; but it is pretty to observe. Talking with him in the high way, come close by the bearers with a dead corpse of the plague; but, Lord! to see what custom is, that I am come almost to think nothing of it. So to my lodging, and there, with Mr. Hater and Will, ending a business of the state of the last six months' charge of the Navy, which we bring to L1,000,000 and above, and I think we do not enlarge much in it if anything. So to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up and, after being trimmed, to the office, whither I upon a letter from the Duke of Albemarle to me, to order as many ships forth out of the river as I can presently, to joyne to meet the Dutch; having ordered all the Captains of the ships in the river to come to me, I did some business with them, and so to Captain Cocke's to dinner, he being in the country. But here his brother Solomon was, and, for guests, myself, Sir G. Smith, and a very fine lady, one Mrs. Penington, and two more gentlemen. But, both [before] and after dinner, most witty discourse with this lady, who is a very fine witty lady, one of the best I ever heard speake, and indifferent handsome. There after dinner an houre or two, and so to the office, where ended my business with the Captains; and I think of twenty-two ships we shall make shift to get out seven. (God helpe us! men being sick, or provisions lacking.) And so to write letters to Sir Ph. Warwicke, Sir W. Coventry, and Sir G. Carteret to Court about the last six months' accounts, and sent away by an express to-night. This day I hear the Pope is dead;--[a false report]--and one said, that the newes is, that the King of France is stabbed, but that the former is very true, which will do great things sure, as to the troubling of that part of the world, the King of Spayne [Philip IV., King of Spain, who succeeded to the throne in 1621, died in 1665. He was succeeded by his son Charles II.] being so lately dead. And one thing more, Sir Martin Noell's lady is dead with griefe for the death of her husband and nothing else, as they say, in the world; but it seems nobody can make anything of his estate, whether he be dead worth anything or no, he having dealt in so many things, publique and private, as nobody can understand whereabouts his estate is, which is the fate of these great dealers at everything. So after my business being done I home to my lodging and to bed, 9th. Up, my head full of business, and called upon also by Sir John Shaw, to whom I did give a civil answer about our prize goods, that all his dues as one of the Farmers of the Customes are paid, and showed him our Transire; with which he was satisfied, and parted, ordering his servants to see the weight of them. I to the office, and there found an order for my coming presently to the Duke of Albemarle, and what should it be, but to tell me, that, if my Lord Sandwich do not come to towne, he do resolve to go with the fleete to sea himself, the Dutch, as he thinks, being in the Downes, and so desired me to get a pleasure boat for to take him in to-morrow morning, and do many other things, and with a great liking of me, and my management especially, as that coxcombe my Lord Craven do tell me, and I perceive it, and I am sure take pains enough to deserve it. Thence away and to the office at London, where I did some business about my money and private accounts, and there eat a bit of goose of Mr. Griffin's, and so by water, it raining most miserably, to Greenwich, calling on several vessels in my passage. Being come there I hear another seizure hath been made of our goods by one Captain Fisher that hath been at Chatham by warrant of the Duke of Albemarle, and is come in my absence to Tooker's and viewed them, demanding the key of the constable, and so sealed up the door. I to the house, but there being no officers nor constable could do nothing, but back to my office full of trouble about this, and there late about business, vexed to see myself fall into this trouble and concernment in a thing that I want instruction from my Lord Sandwich whether I should appear in it or no, and so home to bed, having spent two hours, I and my boy, at Mr. Glanvill's removing of faggots to make room to remove our goods to, but when done I thought it not fit to use it. The newes of the killing of the [King of] France is wholly untrue, and they say that of the Pope too. 10th. Up, and receive a stop from the Duke of Albemarle of setting out any more ships, or providing a pleasure boat for himself, which I am glad of, and do see, what I thought yesterday, that this resolution of his was a sudden one and silly. By and by comes Captain Cocke's Jacob to tell me that he is come from Chatham this morning, and that there are four waggons of goods at hand coming to towne, which troubles me. I directed him to bring them to his master's house. But before I could send him away to bring them thither, newes is brought me that they are seized on in the towne by this Captain Fisher and they will carry them to another place. So I to them and found our four waggons in the streete stopped by the church by this Fisher and company and 100 or 200 people in the streetes gazing. I did give them good words, and made modest desires of carrying the goods to Captain Cocke's, but they would have them to a house of their hiring, where in a barne the goods were laid. I had transires to show for all, and the tale was right, and there I spent all the morning seeing this done. At which Fisher was vexed that I would not let it be done by any body else for the merchant, and that I must needs be concerned therein, which I did not think fit to owne. So that being done, I left the goods to be watched by men on their part and ours, and so to the office by noon, whither by and by comes Captain Cocke, whom I had with great care sent for by expresse the last night, and so I with him to his house and there eat a bit, and so by coach to Lambeth, and I took occasion first to go to the Duke of Albemarle to acquaint him with some thing of what had been done this morning in behalf of a friend absent, which did give a good entrance and prevented their possessing the Duke with anything of evil of me by their report, and by and by in comes. Captain Cocke and tells his whole story. So an order was made for the putting him in possession upon giving security to, be accountable for the goods, which for the present did satisfy us, and so away, giving Locke that drew the order a piece. (Lord! to see how unhappily a man may fall into a necessity of bribing people to do him right in a thing, wherein he hath done nothing but fair, and bought dear.) So to the office, there to write my letters, and Cocke comes to tell me that Fisher is come to him, and that he doubts not to cajole Fisher and his companion and make them friends with drink and a bribe. This night comes Sir Christopher Mings to towne, and I went to see him, and by and by he being then out of the town comes to see me. He is newly come from Court, and carries direction for the making a show of getting out the fleete again to go fight the Dutch, but that it will end in a fleete of 20 good sayling frigates to go to the Northward or Southward, and that will be all. I enquired, but he would not be to know that he had heard any thing at Oxford about the business of the prize goods, which I did suspect, but he being gone, anon comes Cocke and tells me that he hath been with him a great while, and that he finds him sullen and speaking very high what disrespect he had received of my Lord, saying that he hath walked 3 or 4 hours together at that Earle's cabbin door for audience and could not be received, which, if true, I am sorry for. He tells me that Sir G. Ascue says, that he did from the beginning declare against these [prize] goods, and would not receive his dividend; and that he and Sir W. Pen are at odds about it, and that he fears Mings hath been doing ill offices to my Lord. I did to-night give my Lord an account of all this, and so home and to bed. 11th. Up, and so in my chamber staid all the morning doing something toward my Tangier accounts, for the stating of them, and also comes up my landlady, Mrs. Clerke, to make an agreement for the time to come; and I, for the having room enough, and to keepe out strangers, and to have a place to retreat to for my wife, if the sicknesse should come to Woolwich, am contented to pay dear; so for three rooms and a dining-room, and for linen and bread and beer and butter, at nights and mornings, I am to give her L5 10s. per month, and I wrote and we signed to an agreement. By and by comes Cocke to tell me that Fisher and his fellow were last night mightily satisfied and promised all friendship, but this morning he finds them to have new tricks and shall be troubled with them. So he being to go down to Erith with them this afternoon about giving security, I advised him to let them go by land, and so he and I (having eat something at his house) by water to Erith, but they got thither before us, and there we met Mr. Seymour, one of the Commissioners for Prizes, and a Parliament-man, and he was mighty high, and had now seized our goods on their behalf; and he mighty imperiously would have all forfeited, and I know not what. I thought I was in the right in a thing I said and spoke somewhat earnestly, so we took up one another very smartly, for which I was sorry afterwards, shewing thereby myself too much concerned, but nothing passed that I valued at all. But I could not but think [it odd] that a Parliament-man, in a serious discourse before such persons as we and my Lord Bruncker, and Sir John Minnes, should quote Hudibras, as being the book I doubt he hath read most. They I doubt will stand hard for high security, and Cocke would have had me bound with him for his appearing, but I did stagger at it, besides Seymour do stop the doing it at all till he has been with the Duke of Albemarle. So there will be another demurre. It growing late, and I having something to do at home, took my leave alone, leaving Cocke there for all night, and so against tide and in the darke and very cold weather to Woolwich, where we had appointed to keepe the night merrily; and so, by Captain Cocke's coach, had brought a very pretty child, a daughter of one Mrs. Tooker's, next door to my lodging, and so she, and a daughter and kinsman of Mrs. Pett's made up a fine company at my lodgings at Woolwich, where my wife and Mercer, and Mrs. Barbara danced, and mighty merry we were, but especially at Mercer's dancing a jigg, which she does the best I ever did see, having the most natural way of it, and keeps time the most perfectly I ever did see. This night is kept in lieu of yesterday, for my wedding day of ten years; for which God be praised! being now in an extreme good condition of health and estate and honour, and a way of getting more money, though at this houre under some discomposure, rather than damage, about some prize goods that I have bought off the fleete, in partnership with Captain Cocke; and for the discourse about the world concerning my Lord Sandwich, that he hath done a thing so bad; and indeed it must needs have been a very rash act; and the rather because of a Parliament now newly met to give money, and will have some account of what hath already been spent, besides the precedent for a General to take what prizes he pleases, and the giving a pretence to take away much more than he intended, and all will lie upon him; and not giving to all the Commanders, as well as the Flaggs, he displeases all them, and offends even some of them, thinking others to be better served than themselves; and lastly, puts himself out of a power of begging anything again a great while of the King. Having danced with my people as long as I saw fit to sit up, I to bed and left them to do what they would. I forgot that we had W. Hewer there, and Tom, and Golding, my barber at Greenwich, for our fiddler, to whom I did give 10s. 12th. Called up before day, and so I dressed myself and down, it being horrid cold, by water to my Lord Bruncker's ship, who advised me to do so, and it was civilly to show me what the King had commanded about the prize-goods, to examine most severely all that had been done in the taking out any with or without order, without respect to my Lord Sandwich at all, and that he had been doing of it, and find him examining one man, and I do find that extreme ill use was made of my Lord's order. For they did toss and tumble and spoil, and breake things in hold to a great losse and shame to come at the fine goods, and did take a man that knows where the fine goods were, and did this over and over again for many days, Sir W. Berkeley being the chief hand that did it, but others did the like at other times, and they did say in doing it that my Lord Sandwich's back was broad enough to bear it. Having learned as much as I could, which was, that the King and Duke were very severe in this point, whatever order they before had given my Lord in approbation of what he had done, and that all will come out and the King see, by the entries at the Custome House, what all do amount to that had been taken, and so I took leave, and by water, very cold, and to Woolwich where it was now noon, and so I staid dinner and talking part of the afternoon, and then by coach, Captain Cocke's, to Greenwich, taking the young lady home, and so to Cocke, and he tells me that he hath cajolled with Seymour, who will be our friend; but that, above all, Seymour tells him, that my Lord Duke did shew him to-day an order from Court, for having all respect paid to the Earle of Sandwich, and what goods had been delivered by his order, which do overjoy us, and that to-morrow our goods shall be weighed, and he doubts not possession to-morrow or next day. Being overjoyed at this I to write my letters, and at it very late. Good newes this week that there are about 600 less dead of the plague than the last. So home to bed. 13th. Lay long, and this morning comes Sir Jer. Smith [Captain Jeremiah Smith (or Smyth), knighted June, 1665; Admiral of the Blue in 1666. He succeeded Sir William Penn as Comptroller of the Victualling Accounts in 1669, and held the office until 1675.] to see me in his way to Court, and a good man he is, and one that I must keep fair with, and will, it being I perceive my interest to have kindnesse with the Commanders. So to the office, and there very busy till about noon comes Sir W. Warren, and he goes and gets a bit of meat ready at the King's Head for us, and I by and by thither, and we dined together, and I am not pleased with him about a little business of Tangier that I put to him to do for me, but however, the hurt is not much, and his other matters of profit to me continue very likely to be good. Here we spent till 2 o'clock, and so I set him on shore, and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, where I find him with Lord Craven and Lieutenant of the Tower about him; among other things, talking of ships to get of the King to fetch coles for the poore of the city, which is a good worke. But, Lord! to hear the silly talke between these three great people! Yet I have no reason to find fault, the Duke and Lord Craven being my very great friends. Here did the business I come about, and so back home by water, and there Cocke comes to me and tells me that he is come to an understanding with Fisher, and that he must give him L100, and that he shall have his goods in possession to-morrow, they being all weighed to-day, which pleases me very well. This day the Duke tells me that there is no news heard of the Dutch, what they do or where they are, but believes that they are all gone home, for none of our spyes can give us any tideings of them. Cocke is fain to keep these people, Fisher and his fellow, company night and day to keep them friends almost and great troubles withal. My head is full of settling the victualling business also, that I may make some profit out of it, which I hope justly to do to the King's advantage. To-night come Sir J. Bankes to me upon my letter to discourse it with him, and he did give me the advice I have taken almost as fully as if I had been directed by him what to write. The business also of my Tangier accounts to be sent to Court is upon my hands in great haste; besides, all my owne proper accounts are in great disorder, having been neglected now above a month, which grieves me, but it could not be settled sooner. These together and the feare of the sicknesse and providing for my family do fill my head very full, besides the infinite business of the office, and nobody here to look after it but myself. So late from my office to my lodgings, and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where mighty busy, especially with Mr. Gawden, with whom I shall, I think, have much to do, and by and by comes the Lieutenant of the Tower by my invitation yesterday, but I had got nothing for him, it is to discourse about the Cole shipps. So he went away to Sheriffe Hooker's, and I staid at the office till he sent for me at noon to dinner, I very hungry. When I come to the Sheriffe's he was not there, nor in many other places, nor could find him at all, so was forced to come to the office and get a bit of meat from the taverne, and so to my business. By and by comes the Lieutenant and reproaches me with my not treating him as I ought, but all in jest, he it seemed dined with Mr. Adrian May. Very late writing letters at the office, and much satisfied to hear from Captain Cocke that he had got possession of some of his goods to his own house, and expected to have all to-night. The towne, I hear, is full of talke that there are great differences in the fleete among the great Commanders, and that Mings at Oxford did impeach my Lord of something, I think about these goods, but this is but talke. But my heart and head to-night is full of the Victualling business, being overjoyed and proud at my success in my proposal about it, it being read before the King, Duke, and the Caball with complete applause and satisfaction. This Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry both writ me, besides Sir W. Coventry's letter to the Duke of Albemarle, which I read yesterday, and I hope to find my profit in it also. So late home to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and while I staid for the barber, tried to compose a duo of counterpoint, and I think it will do very well, it being by Mr. Berckenshaw's rule. By and by by appointment comes Mr. Povy's coach, and, more than I expected, him himself, to fetch me to Brainford: so he and I immediately set out, having drunk a draft of mulled sacke; and so rode most nobly, in his most pretty and best contrived charriott in the world, with many new conveniences, his never having till now, within a day or two, been yet finished; our discourse upon Tangier business, want of money, and then of publique miscarriages, nobody minding the publique, but every body himself and his lusts. Anon we come to his house, and there I eat a bit, and so with fresh horses, his noble fine horses, the best confessedly in England, the King having none such, he sent me to Sir Robert Viner's, whom I met coming just from church, and so after having spent half-an-hour almost looking upon the horses with some gentlemen that were in company, he and I into his garden to discourse of money, but none is to be had, he confessing himself in great straits, and I believe it. Having this answer, and that I could not get better, we fell to publique talke, and to think how the fleete and seamen will be paid, which he protests he do not think it possible to compass, as the world is now: no money got by trade, nor the persons that have it by them in the City to be come at. The Parliament, it seems, have voted the King L1,250,000 at L50,000 per month, tax for the war; and voted to assist the King against the Dutch, and all that shall adhere to them; and thanks to be given him for his care of the Duke of Yorke, which last is a very popular vote on the Duke's behalf. He tells me how the taxes of the last assessment, which should have been in good part gathered, are not yet laid, and that even in part of the City of London; and the Chimny-money comes almost to nothing, nor any thing else looked after. Having done this I parted, my mind not eased by any money, but only that I had done my part to the King's service. And so in a very pleasant evening back to Mr. Povy's, and there supped, and after supper to talke and to sing, his man Dutton's wife singing very pleasantly (a mighty fat woman), and I wrote out one song from her and pricked the tune, both very pretty. But I did never heare one sing with so much pleasure to herself as this lady do, relishing it to her very heart, which was mighty pleasant. 16th. Up about seven o'clock; and, after drinking, and I observing Mr. Povy's being mightily mortifyed in his eating and drinking, and coaches and horses, he desiring to sell his best, and every thing else, his furniture of his house, he walked with me to Syon, [Sion House, granted by Edward VI. to his uncle, the Duke of Somerset. After his execution, 1552, it was forfeited, and given to John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. The duke being beheaded in 1553, it reverted to the Crown, and was granted in 1604 to Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. It still belongs to the Duke of Northumberland.] and there I took water, in our way he discoursing of the wantonnesse of the Court, and how it minds nothing else, and I saying that that would leave the King shortly if he did not leave it, he told me "No," for the King do spend most of his time in feeling and kissing them naked . . . But this lechery will never leave him. Here I took boat (leaving him there) and down to the Tower, where I hear the Duke of Albemarle is, and I to Lumbard Streete, but can get no money. So upon the Exchange, which is very empty, God knows! and but mean people there. The newes for certain that the Dutch are come with their fleete before Margett, and some men were endeavouring to come on shore when the post come away, perhaps to steal some sheep. But, Lord! how Colvill talks of the businesse of publique revenue like a madman, and yet I doubt all true; that nobody minds it, but that the King and Kingdom must speedily be undone, and rails at my Lord about the prizes, but I think knows not my relation to him. Here I endeavoured to satisfy all I could, people about Bills of Exchange from Tangier, but it is only with good words, for money I have not, nor can get. God knows what will become of all the King's matters in a little time, for he runs in debt every day, and nothing to pay them looked after. Thence I walked to the Tower; but, Lord! how empty the streets are and melancholy, so many poor sick people in the streets full of sores; and so many sad stories overheard as I walk, every body talking of this dead, and that man sick, and so many in this place, and so many in that. And they tell me that, in Westminster, there is never a physician and but one apothecary left, all being dead; but that there are great hopes of a great decrease this week: God send it! At the Tower found my Lord Duke and Duchesse at dinner; so I sat down. And much good cheer, the Lieutenant and his lady, and several officers with the Duke. But, Lord! to hear the silly talk that was there, would make one mad; the Duke having none almost but fools about him. Much of their talke about the Dutch coming on shore, which they believe they may some of them have been and steal sheep, and speak all in reproach of them in whose hands the fleete is; but, Lord helpe him, there is something will hinder him and all the world in going to sea, which is want of victuals; for we have not wherewith to answer our service; and how much better it would have been if the Duke's advice had been taken for the fleete to have gone presently out; but, God helpe the King! while no better counsels are given, and what is given no better taken. Thence after dinner receiving many commands from the Duke, I to our office on the Hill, and there did a little business and to Colvill's again, and so took water at the Tower, and there met with Captain Cocke, and he down with me to Greenwich, I having received letters from my Lord Sandwich to-day, speaking very high about the prize goods, that he would have us to fear nobody, but be very confident in what we have done, and not to confess any fault or doubt of what he hath done; for the King hath allowed it, and do now confirm it, and sent orders, as he says, for nothing to be disturbed that his Lordshipp hath ordered therein as to the division of the goods to the fleete; which do comfort us, but my Lord writes to me that both he and I may hence learn by what we see in this business. But that which pleases me best is that Cocke tells me that he now understands that Fisher was set on in this business by the design of some of the Duke of Albemarle's people, Warcupp and others, who lent him money to set him out in it, and he has spent high. Who now curse him for a rogue to take L100 when he might have had as well L1,500, and they are mightily fallen out about it. Which in due time shall be discovered, but that now that troubles me afresh is, after I am got to the office at Greenwich that some new troubles are come, and Captain Cocke's house is beset before and behind with guards, and more, I do fear they may come to my office here to search for Cocke's goods and find some small things of my clerk's. So I assisted them in helping to remove their small trade, but by and by I am told that it is only the Custome House men who came to seize the things that did lie at Mr. Glanville's, for which they did never yet see our Transire, nor did know of them till to-day. So that my fear is now over, for a transire is ready for them. Cocke did get a great many of his goods to London to-day. To the Still Yarde, which place, however, is now shut up of the plague; but I was there, and we now make no bones of it. Much talke there is of the Chancellor's speech and the King's at the Parliament's meeting, which are very well liked; and that we shall certainly, by their speeches, fall out with France at this time, together with the Dutch, which will find us work. Late at the office entering my Journall for 8 days past, the greatness of my business hindering me of late to put it down daily, but I have done it now very true and particularly, and hereafter will, I hope, be able to fall into my old way of doing it daily. So to my lodging, and there had a good pullet to my supper, and so to bed, it being very cold again, God be thanked for it! 17th. Up, and all day long busy at the office, mighty busy, only stepped to my lodging and had a fowl for my dinner, and at night my wife and Mercer comes to me, which troubled me a little because I am to be mighty busy to-morrow all day seriously about my accounts. So late from my office to her, and supped, and so to bed. 18th. Up, and after some pleasant discourse with my wife (though my head full of business) I out and left her to go home, and myself to the office, and thence by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, and so back again and find my wife gone. So to my chamber at my lodgings, and to the making of my accounts up of Tangier, which I did with great difficulty, finding the difference between short and long reckonings where I have had occasion to mix my moneys, as I have of late done my Tangier treasure upon other occasions, and other moneys upon that. However, I was at it late and did it pretty perfectly, and so, after eating something, to bed, my mind eased of a great deal of figures and castings. 19th. Up, and to my accounts again, and stated them very clear and fair, and at noon dined at my lodgings with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer at table with me, I being come to an agreement yesterday with my landlady for L6 per month, for so many rooms for myself, them, and my wife and mayde, when she shall come, and to pay besides for my dyett. After dinner I did give them my accounts and letters to write against I went to the Duke of Albemarle's this evening, which I did; and among other things, spoke to him for my wife's brother, Balty, to be of his guard, which he kindly answered that he should. My business of the Victualling goes on as I would have it; and now my head is full how to make some profit of it to myself or people. To that end, when I came home, I wrote a letter to Mr. Coventry, offering myself to be the Surveyor Generall, and am apt to think he will assist me in it, but I do not set my heart much on it, though it would be a good helpe. So back to my office, and there till past one before I could get all these letters and papers copied out, which vexed me, but so sent them away without hopes of saving the post, and so to my lodging to bed. 20th. Up, and had my last night's letters brought back to me, which troubles me, because of my accounts, lest they should be asked for before they come, which I abhorr, being more ready to give than they can be to demand them: so I sent away an expresse to Oxford with them, and another to Portsmouth, with a copy of my letter to Mr. Coventry about my victualling business, for fear he should be gone from Oxford, as he intended, thither. So busy all the morning and at noon to Cocke, and dined there. He and I alone, vexed that we are not rid of all our trouble about our goods, but it is almost over, and in the afternoon to my lodging, and there spent the whole afternoon and evening with Mr. Hater, discoursing of the business of the office, where he tells me that among others Thomas Willson do now and then seem to hint that I do take too much business upon me, more than I can do, and that therefore some do lie undone. This I confess to my trouble is true, but it arises from my being forced to take so much on me, more than is my proper task to undertake. But for this at last I did advise to him to take another clerk if he thinks fit, I will take care to have him paid. I discoursed also much with him about persons fit to be put into the victualling business, and such as I could spare something out of their salaries for them, but without trouble I cannot, I see, well do it, because Thomas Willson must have the refusal of the best place which is London of L200 per annum, which I did intend for Tooker, and to get L50 out of it as a help to Mr. Hater. How[ever], I will try to do something of this kind for them. Having done discourse with him late, I to enter my Tangier accounts fair, and so to supper and to bed. 21 st. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, and then with my two clerks home to dinner, and so back again to the office, and there very late very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and after ready and going to Captain Cocke's, where I find we are a little further safe in some part of our goods, I to Church, in my way was meeting with some letters, which made me resolve to go after church to my Lord Duke of Albemarle's, so, after sermon, I took Cocke's chariott, and to Lambeth; but, in going and getting over the water, and through White Hall, I spent so much time, the Duke had almost dined. However, fresh meat was brought for me to his table, and there I dined, and full of discourse and very kind. Here they are again talking of the prizes, and my Lord Duke did speake very broad that my Lord Sandwich and Pen should do what they would, and answer for themselves. For his part, he would lay all before the King. Here he tells me the Dutch Embassador at Oxford is clapped up, but since I hear it is not true. Thence back again, it being evening before I could get home, and there Cocke not being within, I and Mr. Salomon to Mr. Glanville's, and there we found Cocke and sat and supped, and was mighty merry with only Madam Penington, who is a fine, witty lady. Here we spent the evening late with great mirth, and so home and to bed. 23rd. Up, and after doing some business I down by water, calling to see my wife, with whom very merry for ten minutes, and so to Erith, where my Lord Bruncker and I kept the office, and dispatched some business by appointment on the Bezan. Among other things about the slopsellers, who have trusted us so long, they are not able, nor can be expected to trust us further, and I fear this winter the fleete will be undone by that particular. Thence on board the East India ship, where my Lord Bruncker had provided a great dinner, and thither comes by and by Sir John Minnes and before him Sir W. Warren and anon a Perspective glasse maker, of whom we, every one, bought a pocket glasse. But I am troubled with the much talke and conceitedness of Mrs. Williams and her impudence, in case she be not married to my Lord. They are getting themselves ready to deliver the goods all out to the East India Company, who are to have the goods in their possession and to advance two thirds of the moderate value thereof and sell them as well as they can and the King to give them 6 per cent. for the use of the money they shall so advance. By this means the company will not suffer by the King's goods bringing down the price of their own. Thence in the evening back again with Sir W. Warren and Captain Taylor in my boat, and the latter went with me to the office, and there he and I reckoned; and I perceive I shall get L100 profit by my services of late to him, which is a very good thing. Thence to my lodging, where I find my Lord Rutherford, of which I was glad. We supped together and sat up late, he being a mighty wanton man with a daughter in law of my landlady's, a pretty conceited woman big with child, and he would be handling her breasts, which she coyly refused. But they gone, my Lord and I to business, and he would have me forbear paying Alderman Backewell the money ordered him, which I, in hopes to advantage myself, shall forbear, but do not think that my Lord will do any thing gratefully more to me than he hath done, not that I shall get any thing as I pretended by helping him to interest for his last L7700, which I could do, and do him a courtesy too. Discourse being done, he to bed in my chamber and I to another in the house. 24th. Lay long, having a cold. Then to my Lord and sent him going to Oxford, and I to my office, whither comes Sir William Batten now newly from Oxford. I can gather nothing from him about my Lord Sandwich about the business of the prizes, he being close, but he shewed me a bill which hath been read in the House making all breaking of bulke for the time to come felony, but it is a foolish Act, and will do no great matter, only is calculated to my Lord Sandwich's case. He shewed me also a good letter printed from the Bishopp of Munster to the States of Holland shewing the state of their case. Here we did some business and so broke up and I to Cocke, where Mr. Evelyn was, to dinner, and there merry, yet vexed again at publique matters, and to see how little heed is had to the prisoners and sicke and wounded. Thence to my office, and no sooner there but to my great surprise am told that my Lord Sandwich is come to towne; so I presently to Boreman's, where he is and there found him: he mighty kind to me, but no opportunity of discourse private yet, which he tells me he must have with me; only his business is sudden to go to the fleece, to get out a few ships to drive away the Dutch. I left him in discourse with Sir W. Batten and others, and myself to the office till about 10 at night and so, letters being done, I to him again to Captain Cocke's, where he supped, and lies, and never saw him more merry, and here is Charles Herbert, who the King hath lately knighted. [This person, erroneously called by Pepys Sir C. Herbert, will be best defined by subjoining the inscription on his monument in Westminster Abbey: "Sir Charles Harbord, Knight, third son of Sir Charles Harbord, Knight, Surveyor-General, and First Lieutenant of the Royall James, under the most noble and illustrious Captaine, Edward, Earle of Sandwich, Vice-Admirall of England, which, after a terrible fight, maintained to admiration against a squadron of the Holland fleet, above six hours, neere the Suffolk coast, having put off two fireships; at last, being utterly disabled, and few of her men remaining unhurt, was, by a third, unfortunately set on fire. But he (though he swome well) neglected to save himselfe, as some did, and out of perfect love to that worthy Lord, whom, for many yeares, he had constantly accompanyed, in all his honourable employments, and in all the engagements of the former warre, dyed with him, at the age of xxxii., much bewailed by his father, whom he never offended; and much beloved by all for his knowne piety, vertue, loyalty, fortitude, and fidelity."--B.] My Lord, to my great content, did tell me before them, that never anything was read to the King and Council, all the chief Ministers of State being there, as my letter about the Victualling was, and no more said upon it than a most thorough consent to every word was said, and directed, that it be pursued and practised. After much mirth, and my Lord having travelled all night last night, he to bed, and we all parted, I home. 25th. Up and to my Lord Sandwich's, where several Commanders, of whom I took the state of all their ships, and of all could find not above four capable of going out. The truth is, the want of victuals being the whole overthrow of this yeare both at sea, and now at the Nore here and Portsmouth, where all the fleete lies. By and by comes down my Lord, and then he and I an houre together alone upon private discourse. He tells me that Mr. Coventry and he are not reconciled, but declared enemies: the only occasion of it being, he tells me, his ill usage from him about the first fight, wherein he had no right done him, which, methinks, is a poor occasion, for, in my conscience, that was no design of Coventry's. But, however, when I asked my Lord whether it were not best, though with some condescension, to be friends with him, he told me it was not possible, and so I stopped. He tells me, as very private, that there are great factions at the Court between the King's party and the Duke of Yorke's, and that the King, which is a strange difficulty, do favour my Lord in opposition to the Duke's party; that my Lord Chancellor, being, to be sure, the patron of the Duke's, it is a mystery whence it should be that Mr. Coventry is looked upon by him [Clarendon] as an enemy to him; that if he had a mind himself to be out of this employment, as Mr. Coventry, he believes, wishes, and himself and I do incline to wish it also, in many respects, yet he believes he shall not be able, because of the King, who will keepe him in on purpose, in opposition to the other party; that Prince Rupert and he are all possible friends in the world; that Coventry hath aggravated this business of the prizes, though never so great plundering in the world as while the Duke and he were at sea; and in Sir John Lawson's time he could take and pillage, and then sink a whole ship in the Streights, and Coventry say nothing to it; that my Lord Arlington is his fast friend; that the Chancellor is cold to him, and though I told him that I and the world do take my Lord Chancellor, in his speech the other day, to have said as much as could be wished, yet he thinks he did not. That my Lord Chancellor do from hence begin to be cold to him, because of his seeing him and Arlington so great: that nothing at Court is minded but faction and pleasure, and nothing intended of general good to the kingdom by anybody heartily; so that he believes with me, in a little time confusion will certainly come over all the nation. He told me how a design was carried on a while ago, for the Duke of Yorke to raise an army in the North, and to be the Generall of it, and all this without the knowledge or advice of the Duke of Albemarle, which when he come to know, he was so vexed, they were fain to let it fall to content him: that his matching with the family of Sir G. Carteret do make the difference greater between Coventry and him, they being enemies; that the Chancellor did, as every body else, speak well of me the other day, but yet was, at the Committee for Tangier, angry that I should offer to suffer a bill of exchange to be protested. So my Lord did bid me take heed, for that I might easily suppose I could not want enemies, no more than others. In all he speaks with the greatest trust and love and confidence in what I say or do, that a man can do. After this discourse ended we sat down to dinner and mighty merry, among other things, at the Bill brought into the House to make it felony to break bulke, which, as my Lord says well, will make that no prizes shall be taken, or, if taken, shall be sunke after plundering; and the Act for the method of gathering this last L1,250,000 now voted, and how paid wherein are several strange imperfections. After dinner my Lord by a ketch down to Erith, where the Bezan was, it blowing these last two days and now both night and day very hard southwardly, so that it has certainly drove the Dutch off the coast. My Lord being gone I to the office, and there find Captain Ferrers, who tells me his wife is come to town to see him, having not seen him since 15 weeks ago at his first going to sea last. She is now at a Taverne and stays all night, so I was obliged to give him my house and chamber to lie in, which he with great modesty and after much force took, and so I got Mr. Evelyn's coach to carry her thither, and the coach coming back, I with Mr. Evelyn to Deptford, where a little while with him doing a little business, and so in his coach back again to my lodgings, and there sat with Mrs. Ferrers two hours, and with my little girle, Mistress Frances Tooker, and very pleasant. Anon the Captain comes, and then to supper very merry, and so I led them to bed. And so to bed myself, having seen my pretty little girle home first at the next door. 26th. Up, and, leaving my guests to make themselves ready, I to the office, and thither comes Sir Jer. Smith and Sir Christopher Mings to see me, being just come from Portsmouth and going down to the Fleete. Here I sat and talked with them a good while and then parted, only Sir Christopher Mings and I together by water to the Tower; and I find him a very witty well-spoken fellow, and mighty free to tell his parentage, being a shoemaker's son, to whom he is now going, and I to the 'Change, where I hear how the French have taken two and sunk one of our merchant-men in the Streights, and carried the ships to Toulon; so that there is no expectation but we must fall out with them. The 'Change pretty full, and the town begins to be lively again, though the streets very empty, and most shops shut. So back again I and took boat and called for Sir Christopher Mings at St. Katharine's, who was followed with some ordinary friends, of which, he says, he is proud, and so down to Greenwich, the wind furious high, and we with our sail up till I made it be taken down. I took him, it being 3 o'clock, to my lodgings and did give him a good dinner and so parted, he being pretty close to me as to any business of the fleete, knowing me to be a servant of my Lord Sandwich's. He gone I to the office till night, and then they come and tell me my wife is come to towne, so I to her vexed at her coming, but it was upon innocent business, so I was pleased and made her stay, Captain Ferrers and his lady being yet there, and so I left them to dance, and I to the office till past nine at night, and so to them and there saw them dance very prettily, the Captain and his wife, my wife and Mrs. Barbary, and Mercer and my landlady's daughter, and then little Mistress Frances Tooker and her mother, a pretty woman come to see my wife. Anon to supper, and then to dance again (Golding being our fiddler, who plays very well and all tunes) till past twelve at night, and then we broke up and every one to bed, we make shift for all our company, Mrs. Tooker being gone. 27th. Up, and after some pleasant discourse with my wife, I out, leaving her and Mrs. Ferrers there, and I to Captain Cocke's, there to do some business, and then away with Cocke in his coach through Kent Streete, a miserable, wretched, poor place, people sitting sicke and muffled up with plasters at every 4 or 5 doors. So to the 'Change, and thence I by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, and there much company, but I staid and dined, and he makes mighty much of me; and here he tells us the Dutch are gone, and have lost above 160 cables and anchors, through the last foule weather. Here he proposed to me from Mr. Coventry, as I had desired of Mr. Coventry, that I should be Surveyor-Generall of the Victualling business, which I accepted. But, indeed, the terms in which Mr. Coventry proposes it for me are the most obliging that ever I could expect from any man, and more; it saying me to be the fittest man in England, and that he is sure, if I will undertake, I will perform it; and that it will be also a very desirable thing that I might have this encouragement, my encouragement in the Navy alone being in no wise proportionable to my pains or deserts. This, added to the letter I had three days since from Mr. Southerne, signifying that the Duke of Yorke had in his master's absence opened my letter, and commanded him to tell me that he did approve of my being the Surveyor-General, do make me joyful beyond myself that I cannot express it, to see that as I do take pains, so God blesses me, and hath sent me masters that do observe that I take pains. After having done here, I back by water and to London, and there met with Captain Cocke's coach again, and I went in it to Greenwich and thence sent my wife in it to Woolwich, and I to the office, and thence home late with Captain Taylor, and he and I settled all accounts between us, and I do find that I do get above L129 of him for my services for him within these six months. At it till almost one in the morning, and after supper he away and I to bed, mightily satisfied in all this, and in a resolution I have taken to-night with Mr. Hater to propose the port of London for the victualling business for Thomas Willson, by which it will be better done and I at more ease, in case he should grumble. [The Duke of York's letter appointing Thomas Wilson Surveyor of the Victualling of His Majesty's Navy in the Port of London, and referring to Pepys as Surveyor-General of the Victualling Affairs, is printed in "Memoirs of the English Affairs, chiefly Naval, 1660- 73," by James, Duke of York, 1729, p. 131.] So to bed. 28th. Up, and sent for Thomas Willson, and broke the victualling business to him and he is mightily contented, and so am I that I have bestowed it on him, and so I to Mr. Boreman's, where Sir W. Batten is, to tell him what I had proposed to Thomas Willson, and the newes also I have this morning from Sir W. Clerke, which is, that notwithstanding all the care the Duke of Albemarle hath taken about the putting the East India prize goods into the East India Company's hands, and my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes having laden out a great part of the goods, an order is come from Court to stop all, and to have the goods delivered to the Sub-Commissioners of prizes. At which I am glad, because it do vex this simple weake man, and we shall have a little reparation for the disgrace my Lord Sandwich has had in it. He tells me also that the Parliament hath given the Duke of Yorke L120,000, to be paid him after the L1,250,000 is gathered upon the tax which they have now given the King. [This sum was granted by the Commons to Charles, with a request that he would bestow it on his brother.--B.] He tells me that the Dutch have lately launched sixteen new ships; all which is great news. Thence by horsebacke with Mr. Deane to Erith, and so aboard my Lord Bruncker and dined, and very merry with him and good discourse between them about ship building, and, after dinner and a little pleasant discourse, we away and by horse back again to Greenwich, and there I to the office very late, offering my persons for all the victualling posts much to my satisfaction. Also much other business I did to my mind, and so weary home to my lodging, and there after eating and drinking a little I to bed. The King and Court, they say, have now finally resolved to spend nothing upon clothes, but what is of the growth of England; which, if observed, will be very pleasing to the people, and very good for them. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready set out with Captain Cocke in his coach toward Erith, Mr. Deane riding along with us, where we dined and were very merry. After dinner we fell to discourse about the Dutch, Cocke undertaking to prove that they were able to wage warr with us three years together, which, though it may be true, yet, not being satisfied with his arguments, my Lord and I did oppose the strength of his arguments, which brought us to a great heate, he being a conceited man, but of no Logique in his head at all, which made my Lord and I mirth. Anon we parted, and back again, we hardly having a word all the way, he being so vexed at our not yielding to his persuasion. I was set down at Woolwich towne end, and walked through the towne in the darke, it being now night. But in the streete did overtake and almost run upon two women crying and carrying a man's coffin between them. I suppose the husband of one of them, which, methinks, is a sad thing. Being come to Shelden's, I find my people in the darke in the dining room, merry and laughing, and, I thought, sporting one with another, which, God helpe me! raised my jealousy presently. Come in the darke, and one of them touching me (which afterward I found was Susan) made them shreeke, and so went out up stairs, leaving them to light a candle and to run out. I went out and was very vexed till I found my wife was gone with Mr. Hill and Mercer this day to see me at Greenwich, and these people were at supper, and the candle on a sudden falling out of the candlesticke (which I saw as I come through the yarde) and Mrs. Barbary being there I was well at ease again, and so bethought myself what to do, whether to go to Greenwich or stay there; at last go I would, and so with a lanthorne, and 3 or 4 people with me, among others Mr. Browne, who was there, would go, I walked with a lanthorne and discoursed with him about paynting and the several sorts of it. I came in good time to Greenwich, where I found Mr. Hill with my wife, and very glad I was to see him. To supper and discourse of musique and so to bed, I lying with him talking till midnight about Berckenshaw's musique rules, which I did to his great satisfaction inform him in, and so to sleep. 30th. Up, and to my office about business. At noon to dinner, and after some discourse of musique, he and I to the office awhile, and he to get Mr. Coleman, if he can, against night. By and by I back again home, and there find him returned with Mr. Coleman (his wife being ill) and Mr. Laneare, with whom with their Lute we had excellent company and good singing till midnight, and a good supper I did give them, but Coleman's voice is quite spoiled, and when he begins to be drunk he is excellent company, but afterward troublesome and impertinent. Laneare sings in a melancholy method very well, and a sober man he seems to be. They being gone, we to bed. Captain Ferrers coming this day from my Lord is forced to lodge here, and I put him to Mr. Hill. 31st. Up, and to the office, Captain Ferrers going back betimes to my Lord. I to the office, where Sir W. Batten met me, and did tell me that Captain Cocke's black was dead of the plague, which I had heard of before, but took no notice. By and by Captain Cocke come to the office, and Sir W. Batten and I did send to him that he would either forbear the office, or forbear going to his owne office. However, meeting yesterday the Searchers with their rods in their hands coming from Captain Cocke's house, I did overhear them say that the fellow did not die of the plague, but he had I know been ill a good while, and I am told that his boy Jack is also ill. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, leaving Mr. Hill if he can to get Mrs. Coleman at night. About nine at night I come home, and there find Mrs. Pierce come and little Fran. Tooker, and Mr. Hill, and other people, a great many dancing, and anon comes Mrs. Coleman with her husband and Laneare. The dancing ended and to sing, which Mrs. Coleman do very finely, though her voice is decayed as to strength but mighty sweet though soft, and a pleasant jolly woman, and in mighty good humour was to-night. Among other things Laneare did, at the request of Mr. Hill, bring two or three the finest prints for my wife to see that ever I did see in all my life. But for singing, among other things, we got Mrs. Coleman to sing part of the Opera, though she won't owne that ever she did get any of it without book in order to the stage; but, above all, her counterfeiting of Captain Cooke's part, in his reproaching his man with cowardice, "Base slave," &c., she do it most excellently. At it till past midnight, and then broke up and to bed. Hill and I together again, and being very sleepy we had little discourse as we had the other night. Thus we end the month merrily; and the more for that, after some fears that the plague would have increased again this week, I hear for certain that there is above 400 [less], the whole number being 1,388, and of them of the plague, 1,031. Want of money in the Navy puts everything out of order. Men grow mutinous; and nobody here to mind the business of the Navy but myself. At least Sir W. Batten for the few days he has been here do nothing. I in great hopes of my place of Surveyor-Generall of the Victualling, which will bring me L300 per annum. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A conceited man, but of no Logique in his head at all Best poem that ever was wrote (Siege of Rhodes) French have taken two and sunk one of our merchant-men Hath sent me masters that do observe that I take pains How little heed is had to the prisoners and sicke and wounded How unhppily a man may fall into a necessity of bribing people Lechery will never leave him Money I have not, nor can get Mr. Evelyn's translating and sending me as a present Poor seamen that lie starving in the streets Saying me to be the fittest man in England Searchers with their rods in their hands 
4161	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER & DECEMBER 1665 November 1st. Lay very long in bed discoursing with Mr. Hill of most things of a man's life, and how little merit do prevail in the world, but only favour; and that, for myself, chance without merit brought me in; and that diligence only keeps me so, and will, living as I do among so many lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary, that they cannot do anything without him, and so told him of my late business of the victualling, and what cares I am in to keepe myself having to do with people of so different factions at Court, and yet must be fair with them all, which was very pleasant discourse for me to tell, as well as he seemed to take it, for him to hear. At last up, and it being a very foule day for raine and a hideous wind, yet having promised I would go by water to Erith, and bearing sayle was in danger of oversetting, but ordered them take down their sayle, and so cold and wet got thither, as they had ended their dinner. How[ever], I dined well, and after dinner all on shore, my Lord Bruncker with us to Mrs. Williams's lodgings, and Sir W. Batten, Sir Edmund Pooly, and others; and there, it being my Lord's birth-day, had every one a green riband tied in our hats very foolishly; and methinks mighty disgracefully for my Lord to have his folly so open to all the world with this woman. But by and by Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and home to Boreman, and so going home by the backside I saw Captain Cocke 'lighting out of his coach (having been at Erith also with her but not on board) and so he would come along with me to my lodging, and there sat and supped and talked with us, but we were angry a little a while about our message to him the other day about bidding him keepe from the office or his owne office, because of his black dying. I owned it and the reason of it, and would have been glad he had been out of the house, but I could not bid him go, and so supped, and after much other talke of the sad condition and state of the King's matters we broke up, and my friend and I to bed. This night coming with Sir W. Batten into Greenwich we called upon Coll. Cleggatt, who tells us for certaine that the King of Denmark hath declared to stand for the King of England, but since I hear it is wholly false. 2nd. Up, left my wife and to the office, and there to my great content Sir W. Warren come to me to settle the business of the Tangier boates, wherein I shall get above L100, besides L100 which he gives me in the paying for them out of his owne purse. He gone, I home to my lodgings to dinner, and there comes Captain Wagers newly returned from the Streights, who puts me in great fear for our last ships that went to Tangier with provisions, that they will be taken. A brave, stout fellow this Captain is, and I think very honest. To the office again after dinner and there late writing letters, and then about 8 at night set out from my office and fitting myself at my lodgings intended to have gone this night in a Ketch down to the Fleete, but calling in my way at Sir J. Minnes's, who is come up from Erith about something about the prizes, they persuaded me not to go till the morning, it being a horrible darke and a windy night. So I back to my lodging and to bed. 3rd. Was called up about four o'clock and in the darke by lanthorne took boat and to the Ketch and set sayle, sleeping a little in the Cabbin till day and then up and fell to reading of Mr. Evelyn's book about Paynting, [This must surely have been Evelyn's "Sculptura, or the History and Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper," published in 1662. The translation of Freart's "Idea of the Perfection of Painting demonstrated" was not published until 1668.] which is a very pretty book. Carrying good victuals and Tom with me I to breakfast about 9 o'clock, and then to read again and come to the Fleete about twelve, where I found my Lord (the Prince being gone in) on board the Royall James, Sir Thomas Allen commander, and with my Lord an houre alone discoursing what was my chief and only errand about what was adviseable for his Lordship to do in this state of things, himself being under the Duke of Yorke's and Mr. Coventry's envy, and a great many more and likely never to do anything honourably but he shall be envied and the honour taken as much as can be from it. His absence lessens his interest at Court, and what is worst we never able to set out a fleete fit for him to command, or, if out, to keepe them out or fit them to do any great thing, or if that were so yet nobody at home minds him or his condition when he is abroad, and lastly the whole affairs of state looking as if they would all on a sudden break in pieces, and then what a sad thing it would be for him to be out of the way. My Lord did concur in every thing and thanked me infinitely for my visit and counsel, telling me that in every thing he concurs, but puts a query, what if the King will not think himself safe, if any man should go but him. How he should go off then? To that I had no answer ready, but the making the King see that he may be of as good use to him here while another goes forth. But for that I am not able to say much. We after this talked of some other little things and so to dinner, where my Lord infinitely kind to me, and after dinner I rose and left him with some Commanders at the table taking tobacco and I took the Bezan back with me, and with a brave gale and tide reached up that night to the Hope, taking great pleasure in learning the seamen's manner of singing when they sound the depths, and then to supper and to sleep, which I did most excellently all night, it being a horrible foule night for wind and raine. 4th. They sayled from midnight, and come to Greenwich about 5 o'clock in the morning. I however lay till about 7 or 8, and so to my office, my head a little akeing, partly for want of natural rest, partly having so much business to do to-day, and partly from the newes I hear that one of the little boys at my lodging is not well; and they suspect, by their sending for plaister and fume, that it may be the plague; so I sent Mr. Hater and W. Hewer to speake with the mother; but they returned to me, satisfied that there is no hurt nor danger, but the boy is well, and offers to be searched, however, I was resolved myself to abstain coming thither for a while. Sir W. Batten and myself at the office all the morning. At noon with him to dinner at Boreman's, where Mr. Seymour with us, who is a most conceited fellow and not over much in him. Here Sir W. Batten told us (which I had not heard before) that the last sitting day his cloake was taken from Mingo he going home to dinner, and that he was beaten by the seamen and swears he will come to Greenwich, but no more to the office till he can sit safe. After dinner I to the office and there late, and much troubled to have 100 seamen all the afternoon there, swearing below and cursing us, and breaking the glasse windows, and swear they will pull the house down on Tuesday next. I sent word of this to Court, but nothing will helpe it but money and a rope. Late at night to Mr. Glanville's there to lie for a night or two, and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, by boat to the Cockpitt, where I heard the Duke of Albemarle's chaplin make a simple sermon: among other things, reproaching the imperfection of humane learning, he cried: "All our physicians cannot tell what an ague is, and all our arithmetique is not able to number the days of a man;" which, God knows, is not the fault of arithmetique, but that our understandings reach not the thing. To dinner, where a great deale of silly discourse, but the worst is I hear that the plague increases much at Lambeth, St. Martin's and Westminster, and fear it will all over the city. Thence I to the Swan, thinking to have seen Sarah but she was at church, and so I by water to Deptford, and there made a visit to Mr. Evelyn, who, among other things, showed me most excellent painting in little; in distemper, Indian incke, water colours: graveing; and, above all, the whole secret of mezzo-tinto, and the manner of it, which is very pretty, and good things done with it. He read to me very much also of his discourse, he hath been many years and now is about, about Guardenage; which will be a most noble and pleasant piece. He read me part of a play or two of his making, very good, but not as he conceits them, I think, to be. He showed me his Hortus Hyemalis; leaves laid up in a book of several plants kept dry, which preserve colour, however, and look very finely, better than any Herball. In fine, a most excellent person he is, and must be allowed a little for a little conceitedness; but he may well be so, being a man so much above others. He read me, though with too much gusto, some little poems of his own, that were not transcendant, yet one or two very pretty epigrams; among others, of a lady looking in at a grate, and being pecked at by an eagle that was there. Here comes in, in the middle of our discourse Captain Cocke, as drunk as a dogg, but could stand, and talk and laugh. He did so joy himself in a brave woman that he had been with all the afternoon, and who should it be but my Lady Robinson, but very troublesome he is with his noise and talke, and laughing, though very pleasant. With him in his coach to Mr. Glanville's, where he sat with Mrs. Penington and myself a good while talking of this fine woman again and then went away. Then the lady and I to very serious discourse and, among other things, of what a bonny lasse my Lady Robinson is, who is reported to be kind to the prisoners, and has said to Sir G. Smith, who is her great crony, "Look! there is a pretty man, I would be content to break a commandment with him," and such loose expressions she will have often. After an houre's talke we to bed, the lady mightily troubled about a pretty little bitch she hath, which is very sicke, and will eat nothing, and the worst was, I could hear her in her chamber bemoaning the bitch, and by and by taking her into bed with her. The bitch pissed and shit a bed, and she was fain to rise and had coals out of my chamber to dry the bed again. This night I had a letter that Sir G. Carteret would be in towne to-morrow, which did much surprize me. 6th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning and then to dinner to Captain Cocke's with Mr. Evelyn, where very merry, only vexed after dinner to stay too long for our coach. At last, however, to Lambeth and thence the Cockpitt, where we found Sir G. Carteret come, and in with the Duke and the East India Company about settling the business of the prizes, and they have gone through with it. Then they broke up, and Sir G. Carteret come out, and thence through the garden to the water side and by water I with him in his boat down with Captain Cocke to his house at Greenwich, and while supper was getting ready Sir G. Carteret and I did walk an houre in the garden before the house, talking of my Lord Sandwich's business; what enemies he hath, and how they have endeavoured to bespatter him: and particularly about his leaving of 30 ships of the enemy, when Pen would have gone, and my Lord called him back again: which is most false. However, he says, it was purposed by some hot-heads in the House of Commons, at the same time when they voted a present to the Duke of Yorke, to have voted L10,000 to the Prince, and half-a-crowne to my Lord of Sandwich; but nothing come of it. [The tide of popular indignation ran high against Lord Sandwich, and he was sent to Spain as ambassador to get him honourably out of the way (see post, December 6th).] But, for all this, the King is most firme to my Lord, and so is my Lord Chancellor, and my Lord Arlington. The Prince, in appearance, kind; the Duke of Yorke silent, says no hurt; but admits others to say it in his hearing. Sir W. Pen, the falsest rascal that ever was in the world; and that this afternoon the Duke of Albemarle did tell him that Pen was a very cowardly rogue, and one that hath brought all these rogueish fanatick Captains into the fleete, and swears he should never go out with the fleete again. That Sir W. Coventry is most kind to Pen still; and says nothing nor do any thing openly to the prejudice of my Lord. He agrees with me, that it is impossible for the King [to] set out a fleete again the next year; and that he fears all will come to ruine, there being no money in prospect but these prizes, which will bring, it may be, L20,000, but that will signify nothing in the world for it. That this late Act of Parliament for bringing the money into the Exchequer, and making of it payable out there, intended as a prejudice to him and will be his convenience hereafter and ruine the King's business, and so I fear it will and do wonder Sir W. Coventry would be led by Sir G. Downing to persuade the King and Duke to have it so, before they had thoroughly weighed all circumstances; that for my Lord, the King has said to him lately that I was an excellent officer, and that my Lord Chancellor do, he thinks, love and esteem of me as well as he do of any man in England that he hath no more acquaintance with. So having done and received from me the sad newes that we are like to have no money here a great while, not even of the very prizes, I set up my rest [The phrase "set up my rest" is a metaphor from the once fashionable game of Primero, meaning, to stand upon the cards you have in your hand, in hopes they may prove better than those of your adversary. Hence, to make up your mind, to be determined (see Nares's "Glossary").] in giving up the King's service to be ruined and so in to supper, where pretty merry, and after supper late to Mr. Glanville's, and Sir G. Carteret to bed. I also to bed, it being very late. 7th. Up, and to Sir G. Carteret, and with him, he being very passionate to be gone, without staying a minute for breakfast, to the Duke of Albemarle's and I with him by water and with Fen: but, among other things, Lord! to see how he wondered to see the river so empty of boats, nobody working at the Custome-house keys; and how fearful he is, and vexed that his man, holding a wine-glasse in his hand for him to drinke out of, did cover his hands, it being a cold, windy, rainy morning, under the waterman's coate, though he brought the waterman from six or seven miles up the river, too. Nay, he carried this glasse with him for his man to let him drink out of at the Duke of Albemarle's, where he intended to dine, though this he did to prevent sluttery, for, for the same reason he carried a napkin with him to Captain Cocke's, making him believe that he should eat with foule linnen. Here he with the Duke walked a good while in the Parke, and I with Fen, but cannot gather that he intends to stay with us, nor thinks any thing at all of ever paying one farthing of money more to us here, let what will come of it. Thence in, and Sir W. Batten comes in by and by, and so staying till noon, and there being a great deal of company there, Sir W. Batten and I took leave of the Duke and Sir G. Carteret, there being no good to be done more for money, and so over the River and by coach to Greenwich, where at Boreman's we dined, it being late. Thence my head being full of business and mind out of order for thinking of the effects which will arise from the want of money, I made an end of my letters by eight o'clock, and so to my lodging and there spent the evening till midnight talking with Mrs. Penington, who is a very discreet, understanding lady and very pretty discourse we had and great variety, and she tells me with great sorrow her bitch is dead this morning, died in her bed. So broke up and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where busy among other things to looke my warrants for the settling of the Victualling business, the warrants being come to me for the Surveyors of the ports and that for me also to be Surveyor-Generall. I did discourse largely with Tom Willson about it and doubt not to make it a good service to the King as well, as the King gives us very good salarys. It being a fast day, all people were at church and the office quiett; so I did much business, and at noon adventured to my old lodging, and there eat, but am not yet well satisfied, not seeing of Christopher, though they say he is abroad. Thence after dinner to the office again, and thence am sent for to the King's Head by my Lord Rutherford, who, since I can hope for no more convenience from him, his business is troublesome to me, and therefore I did leave him as soon as I could and by water to Deptford, and there did order my matters so, walking up and down the fields till it was dark night, that 'je allais a la maison of my valentine,--[Bagwell's wife]--and there 'je faisais whatever je voudrais avec' her, and, about eight at night, did take water, being glad I was out of the towne; for the plague, it seems, rages there more than ever, and so to my lodgings, where my Lord had got a supper and the mistresse of the house, and her daughters, and here staid Mrs. Pierce to speake with me about her husband's business, and I made her sup with us, and then at night my Lord and I walked with her home, and so back again. My Lord and I ended all we had to say as to his business overnight, and so I took leave, and went again to Mr. Glanville's and so to bed, it being very late. 9th. Up, and did give the servants something at Mr. Glanville's and so took leave, meaning to lie to-night at my owne lodging. To my office, where busy with Mr. Gawden running over the Victualling business, and he is mightily pleased that this course is taking and seems sensible of my favour and promises kindnesse to me. At noon by water, to the King's Head at Deptford, where Captain Taylor invites Sir W: Batten, Sir John Robinson (who come in with a great deale of company from hunting, and brought in a hare alive and a great many silly stories they tell of their sport, which pleases them mightily, and me not at all, such is the different sense of pleasure in mankind), and others upon the score of a survey of his new ship; and strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody, Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Robinson being now as kind to him, and report well of his ship and proceedings, and promise money, and Sir W. Batten is a solicitor for him, but it is a strange thing to observe, they being the greatest enemys he had, and yet, I believe, hath in the world in their hearts. Thence after dinner stole away and to my office, where did a great deale of business till midnight, and then to Mrs. Clerk's, to lodge again, and going home W. Hewer did tell me my wife will be here to-morrow, and hath put away Mary, which vexes me to the heart, I cannot helpe it, though it may be a folly in me, and when I think seriously on it, I think my wife means no ill design in it, or, if she do, I am a foole to be troubled at it, since I cannot helpe it. The Bill of Mortality, to all our griefs, is encreased 399 this week, and the encrease generally through the whole City and suburbs, which makes us all sad. 10th. Up, and entered all my Journall since the 28th of October, having every day's passages well in my head, though it troubles me to remember it, and which I was forced to, being kept from my lodging, where my books and papers are, for several days. So to my office, where till two or three o'clock busy before I could go to my lodging to dinner, then did it and to my office again. In the evening newes is brought me my wife is come: so I to her, and with her spent the evening, but with no great pleasure, I being vexed about her putting away of Mary in my absence, but yet I took no notice of it at all, but fell into other discourse, and she told me, having herself been this day at my house at London, which was boldly done, to see Mary have her things, that Mr. Harrington, our neighbour, an East country merchant, is dead at Epsum of the plague, and that another neighbour of ours, Mr. Hollworthy, a very able man, is also dead by a fall in the country from his horse, his foot hanging in the stirrup, and his brains beat out. Here we sat talking, and after supper to bed. 11th. I up and to the office (leaving my wife in bed) and there till noon, then to dinner and back again to the office, my wife going to Woolwich again, and I staying very late at my office, and so home to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and invited by Captain Cocke to dinner. So after being ready I went to him, and there he and I and Mr. Yard (one of the Guinny Company) dined together and very merry. After dinner I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and there had a little discourse and business with him, chiefly to receive his commands about pilotts to be got for our Hambro' ships, going now at this time of the year convoy to the merchant ships, that have lain at great pain and charge, some three, some four months at Harwich for a convoy. They hope here the plague will be less this weeke. Thence back by water to Captain Cocke's, and there he and I spent a great deale of the evening as we had done of the day reading and discoursing over part of Mr. Stillingfleet's "Origines Sacrae," wherein many things are very good and some frivolous. Thence by and by he and I to Mrs. Penington's, but she was gone to bed. So we back and walked a while, and then to his house and to supper, and then broke up, and I home to my lodging to bed. 13th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon to Captain Cocke's to dinner as we had appointed in order to settle our business of accounts. But here came in an Alderman, a merchant, a very merry man, and we dined, and, he being gone, after dinner Cocke and I walked into the garden, and there after a little discourse he did undertake under his hand to secure me in L500 profit, for my share of the profit of what we have bought of the prize goods. We agreed upon the terms, which were easier on my side than I expected, and so with extraordinary inward joy we parted till the evening. So I to the office and among other business prepared a deed for him to sign and seale to me about our agreement, which at night I got him to come and sign and seale, and so he and I to Glanville's, and there he and I sat talking and playing with Mrs. Penington, whom we found undrest in her smocke and petticoats by the fireside, and there we drank and laughed, and she willingly suffered me to put my hand in her bosom very wantonly, and keep it there long. Which methought was very strange, and I looked upon myself as a man mightily deceived in a lady, for I could not have thought she could have suffered it, by her former discourse with me; so modest she seemed and I know not what. We staid here late, and so home after he and I had walked till past midnight, a bright moonshine, clear, cool night, before his door by the water, and so I home after one of the clock. 14th. Called up by break of day by Captain Cocke, by agreement, and he and I in his coach through Kent-streete (a sad place through the plague, people sitting sicke and with plaisters about them in the street begging) to Viner's and Colvill's about money business, and so to my house, and there I took L300 in order to the carrying it down to my Lord Sandwich in part of the money I am to pay for Captain Cocke by our agreement. So I took it down, and down I went to Greenwich to my office, and there sat busy till noon, and so home to dinner, and thence to the office again, and by and by to the Duke of Albemarle's by water late, where I find he had remembered that I had appointed to come to him this day about money, which I excused not doing sooner; but I see, a dull fellow, as he is, do sometimes remember what another thinks he mindeth not. My business was about getting money of the East India Company; but, Lord! to see how the Duke himself magnifies himself in what he had done with the Company; and my Lord Craven what the King could have done without my Lord Duke, and a deale of stir, but most mightily what a brave fellow I am. Back by water, it raining hard, and so to the office, and stopped my going, as I intended, to the buoy of the Nore, and great reason I had to rejoice at it, for it proved the night of as great a storme as was almost ever remembered. Late at the office, and so home to bed. This day, calling at Mr. Rawlinson's to know how all did there, I hear that my pretty grocer's wife, Mrs. Beversham, over the way there, her husband is lately dead of the plague at Bow, which I am sorry for, for fear of losing her neighbourhood. 15th. Up and all the morning at the office, busy, and at noon to the King's Head taverne, where all the Trinity House dined to-day, to choose a new Master in the room of Hurlestone, that is dead, and Captain Crispe is chosen. But, Lord! to see how Sir W. Batten governs all and tramples upon Hurlestone, but I am confident the Company will grow the worse for that man's death, for now Batten, and in him a lazy, corrupt, doating rogue, will have all the sway there. After dinner who comes in but my Lady Batten, and a troop of a dozen women almost, and expected, as I found afterward, to be made mighty much of, but nobody minded them; but the best jest was, that when they saw themselves not regarded, they would go away, and it was horrible foule weather; and my Lady Batten walking through the dirty lane with new spicke and span white shoes, she dropped one of her galoshes in the dirt, where it stuck, and she forced to go home without one, at which she was horribly vexed, and I led her; and after vexing her a little more in mirth, I parted, and to Glanville's, where I knew Sir John Robinson, Sir G. Smith, and Captain Cocke were gone, and there, with the company of Mrs. Penington, whose father, I hear, was one of the Court of justice, and died prisoner, of the stone, in the Tower, I made them, against their resolutions, to stay from houre to houre till it was almost midnight, and a furious, darke and rainy, and windy, stormy night, and, which was best, I, with drinking small beer, made them all drunk drinking wine, at which Sir John Robinson made great sport. But, they being gone, the lady and I very civilly sat an houre by the fireside observing the folly of this Robinson, that makes it his worke to praise himself, and all he say and do, like a heavy-headed coxcombe. The plague, blessed be God! is decreased 400; making the whole this week but 1300 and odd; for which the Lord be praised! 16th. Up, and fitted myself for my journey down to the fleete, and sending my money and boy down by water to Eriffe,--[Erith]--I borrowed a horse of Mr. Boreman's son, and after having sat an houre laughing with my Lady Batten and Mrs. Turner, and eat and drank with them, I took horse and rode to Eriffe, where, after making a little visit to Madam Williams, who did give me information of W. Howe's having bought eight bags of precious stones taken from about the Dutch Vice-Admirall's neck, of which there were eight dyamonds which cost him L60,000 sterling, in India, and hoped to have made L2000 here for them. And that this is told by one that sold him one of the bags, which hath nothing but rubys in it, which he had for 35s.; and that it will be proved he hath made L125 of one stone that he bought. This she desired, and I resolved I would give my Lord Sandwich notice of. So I on board my Lord Bruncker; and there he and Sir Edmund Pooly carried me down into the hold of the India shipp, and there did show me the greatest wealth lie in confusion that a man can see in the world. Pepper scattered through every chink, you trod upon it; and in cloves and nutmegs, I walked above the knees; whole rooms full. And silk in bales, and boxes of copper-plate, one of which I saw opened. Having seen this, which was as noble a sight as ever I saw in my life, I away on board the other ship in despair to get the pleasure-boat of the gentlemen there to carry me to the fleet. They were Mr. Ashburnham and Colonell Wyndham; but pleading the King's business, they did presently agree I should have it. So I presently on board, and got under sail, and had a good bedd by the shift, of Wyndham's; and so, 17th. Sailed all night, and got down to Quinbrough water, where all the great ships are now come, and there on board my Lord, and was soon received with great content. And after some little discourse, he and I on board Sir W. Pen; and there held a council of Warr about many wants of the fleete, but chiefly how to get slopps and victuals for the fleete now going out to convoy our Hambro' ships, that have been so long detained for four or five months for want of convoy, which we did accommodate one way or other, and so, after much chatt, Sir W. Pen did give us a very good and neat dinner, and better, I think, than ever I did see at his owne house at home in my life, and so was the other I eat with him. After dinner much talke, and about other things, he and I about his money for his prize goods, wherein I did give him a cool answer, but so as we did not disagree in words much, and so let that fall, and so followed my Lord Sandwich, who was gone a little before me on board the Royall James. And there spent an houre, my Lord playing upon the gittarr, which he now commends above all musique in the world, because it is base enough for a single voice, and is so portable and manageable without much trouble. That being done, I got my Lord to be alone, and so I fell to acquaint him with W. Howe's business, which he had before heard a little of from Captain Cocke, but made no great matter of it, but now he do, and resolves nothing less than to lay him by the heels, and seize on all he hath, saying that for this yeare or two he hath observed him so proud and conceited he could not endure him. But though I was not at all displeased with it, yet I prayed him to forbear doing anything therein till he heard from me again about it, and I had made more enquiry into the truth of it, which he agreed to. Then we fell to publique discourse, wherein was principally this: he cleared it to me beyond all doubt that Coventry is his enemy, and has been long so. So that I am over that, and my Lord told it me upon my proposal of a friendship between them, which he says is impossible, and methinks that my Lord's displeasure about the report in print of the first fight was not of his making, but I perceive my Lord cannot forget it, nor the other think he can. I shewed him how advisable it were upon almost any terms for him to get quite off the sea employment. He answers me again that he agrees to it, but thinks the King will not let him go off: He tells me he lacks now my Lord Orrery to solicit it for him, who is very great with the King. As an infinite secret, my Lord tells me, the factions are high between the King and the Duke, and all the Court are in an uproare with their loose amours; the Duke of Yorke being in love desperately with Mrs. Stewart. Nay, that the Duchesse herself is fallen in love with her new Master of the Horse, one Harry Sidney, and another, Harry Savill. So that God knows what will be the end of it. And that the Duke is not so obsequious as he used to be, but very high of late; and would be glad to be in the head of an army as Generall; and that it is said that he do propose to go and command under the King of Spayne, in Flanders. That his amours to Mrs. Stewart are told the King. So that all is like to be nought among them. That he knows that the Duke of Yorke do give leave to have him spoken slightly of in his owne hearing, and doth not oppose it, and told me from what time he hath observed this to begin. So that upon the whole my Lord do concur to wish with all his heart that he could with any honour get from off the imployment. After he had given thanks to me for my kind visit and good counsel, on which he seems to set much by, I left him, and so away to my Bezan againe, and there to read in a pretty French book, "La Nouvelle Allegorique," upon the strife between rhetorique and its enemies, very pleasant. So, after supper, to sleepe, and sayled all night, and came to Erith before break of day. 18th. About nine of the clock, I went on shore, there (calling by the way only to look upon my Lord Bruncker) to give Mrs. Williams an account of her matters, and so hired an ill-favoured horse, and away to Greenwich to my lodgings, where I hear how rude the souldiers have been in my absence, swearing what they would do with me, which troubled me, but, however, after eating a bit I to the office and there very late writing letters, and so home and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, alone by water to Erith, all the way with my song book singing of Mr. Lawes's long recitative song in the beginning of his book. Being come there, on board my Lord Bruncker, I find Captain Cocke and other company, the lady not well, and mighty merry we were; Sir Edmund Pooly being very merry, and a right English gentleman, and one of the discontented Cavaliers, that think their loyalty is not considered. After dinner, all on shore to my Lady Williams, and there drank and talked; but, Lord! the most impertinent bold woman with my Lord that ever I did see. I did give her an account again of my business with my Lord touching W. Howe, and she did give me some more information about it, and examination taken about it, and so we parted and I took boat, and to Woolwich, where we found my wife not well of them, and I out of humour begun to dislike her paynting, the last things not pleasing me so well as the former, but I blame myself for my being so little complaisant. So without eating or drinking, there being no wine (which vexed me too), we walked with a lanthorne to Greenwich and eat something at his house, and so home to bed. 20th. Up before day, and wrote some letters to go to my Lord, among others that about W. Howe, which I believe will turn him out, and so took horse for Nonesuch, with two men with me, and the ways very bad, and the weather worse, for wind and rayne. But we got in good time thither, and I did get my tallys got ready, and thence, with as many as could go, to Yowell, and there dined very well, and I saw my Besse, a very well-favoured country lass there, and after being very merry and having spent a piece I took horse, and by another way met with a very good road, but it rained hard and blew, but got home very well. Here I find Mr. Deering come to trouble me about business, which I soon dispatched and parted, he telling me that Luellin hath been dead this fortnight, of the plague, in St. Martin's Lane, which much surprised me. 21st. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon home to dinner and quickly back again to the office, where very busy all the evening and late sent a long discourse to Mr. Coventry by his desire about the regulating of the method of our payment of bills in the Navy, which will be very good, though, it may be, he did ayme principally at striking at Sir G. Carteret. So weary but pleased with this business being over I home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and there did some little business, but most to shew myself, and mightily I am yet in his and Lord Craven's books, and thence to the Swan and there drank and so down to the bridge, and so to the 'Change, where spoke with many people, and about a great deale of business, which kept me late. I heard this day that Mr. Harrington is not dead of the plague, as we believed, at which I was very glad, but most of all, to hear that the plague is come very low; that is, the whole under 1,000, and the plague 600 and odd: and great hopes of a further decrease, because of this day's being a very exceeding hard frost, and continues freezing. This day the first of the Oxford Gazettes come out, which is very pretty, full of newes, and no folly in it. Wrote by Williamson. Fear that our Hambro' ships at last cannot go, because of the great frost, which we believe it is there, nor are our ships cleared at the Pillow [Pillau], which will keepe them there too all this winter, I fear. From the 'Change, which is pretty full again, I to my office and there took some things, and so by water to my lodging at Greenwich and dined, and then to the office awhile and at night home to my lodgings, and took T. Willson and T. Hater with me, and there spent the evening till midnight discoursing and settling of our Victualling business, that thereby I might draw up instructions for the Surveyours and that we might be doing something to earne our money. This done I late to bed. Among other things it pleased me to have it demonstrated, that a Purser without professed cheating is a professed loser, twice as much as he gets. 23rd. Up betimes, and so, being trimmed, I to get papers ready against Sir H. Cholmly come to me by appointment, he being newly come over from Tangier. He did by and by come, and we settled all matters about his money, and he is a most satisfied man in me, and do declare his resolution to give me 200 per annum. It continuing to be a great frost, which gives us hope for a perfect cure of the plague, he and I to walk in the parke, and there discoursed with grief of the calamity of the times; how the King's service is performed, and how Tangier is governed by a man, who, though honourable, yet do mind his ways of getting and little else compared, which will never make the place flourish. I brought him and had a good dinner for him, and there come by chance Captain Cuttance, who tells me how W. Howe is laid by the heels, and confined to the Royall Katharine, and his things all seized and how, also, for a quarrel, which indeed the other night my Lord told me, Captain Ferrers, having cut all over the back of another of my Lord's servants, is parted from my Lord. I sent for little Mrs. Frances Tooker, and after they were gone I sat dallying with her an hour, doing what I would with my hands about her. And a very pretty creature it is. So in the evening to the office, where late writing letters, and at my lodging later writing for the last twelve days my Journall and so to bed. Great expectation what mischief more the French will do us, for we must fall out. We in extraordinary lacke of money and everything else to go to sea next year. My Lord Sandwich is gone from the fleete yesterday toward Oxford. 24th. Up, and after doing some business at the office, I to London, and there, in my way, at my old oyster shop in Gracious Streete, bought two barrels of my fine woman of the shop, who is alive after all the plague, which now is the first observation or inquiry we make at London concerning everybody we knew before it. So to the 'Change, where very busy with several people, and mightily glad to see the 'Change so full, and hopes of another abatement still the next week. Off the 'Change I went home with Sir G. Smith to dinner, sending for one of my barrels of oysters, which were good, though come from Colchester, where the plague hath been so much. Here a very brave dinner, though no invitation; and, Lord! to see how I am treated, that come from so mean a beginning, is matter of wonder to me. But it is God's great mercy to me, and His blessing upon my taking pains, and being punctual in my dealings. After dinner Captain Cocke and I about some business, and then with my other barrel of oysters home to Greenwich, sent them by water to Mrs. Penington, while he and I landed, and visited Mr. Evelyn, where most excellent discourse with him; among other things he showed me a ledger of a Treasurer of the Navy, his great grandfather, just 100 years old; which I seemed mighty fond of, and he did present me with it, which I take as a great rarity; and he hopes to find me more, older than it. He also shewed us several letters of the old Lord of Leicester's, in Queen Elizabeth's time, under the very hand-writing of Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Mary, Queen of Scotts; and others, very venerable names. But, Lord! how poorly, methinks, they wrote in those days, and in what plain uncut paper. Thence, Cocke having sent for his coach, we to Mrs. Penington, and there sat and talked and eat our oysters with great pleasure, and so home to my lodging late and to bed. 25th. Up, and busy at the office all day long, saving dinner time, and in the afternoon also very late at my office, and so home to bed. All our business is now about our Hambro fleete, whether it can go or no this yeare, the weather being set in frosty, and the whole stay being for want of Pilotts now, which I have wrote to the Trinity House about, but have so poor an account from them, that I did acquaint Sir W. Coventry with it this post. 26th (Lord's day). Up, though very late abed, yet before day to dress myself to go toward Erith, which I would do by land, it being a horrible cold frost to go by water: so borrowed two horses of Mr. Howell and his friend, and with much ado set out, after my horses being frosted [Frosting means, having the horses' shoes turned up by the smith.] (which I know not what it means to this day), and my boy having lost one of my spurs and stockings, carrying them to the smith's; but I borrowed a stocking, and so got up, and Mr. Tooker with me, and rode to Erith, and there on board my Lord Bruncker, met Sir W. Warren upon his business, among others, and did a great deale, Sir J. Minnes, as God would have it, not being there to hinder us with his impertinences. Business done, we to dinner very merry, there being there Sir Edmund Pooly, a very worthy gentleman. They are now come to the copper boxes in the prizes, and hope to have ended all this weeke. After dinner took leave, and on shore to Madam Williams, to give her an account of my Lord's letter to me about Howe, who he has clapped by the heels on suspicion of having the jewells, and she did give me my Lord Bruncker's examination of the fellow, that declares his having them; and so away, Sir W. Warren riding with me, and the way being very bad, that is, hard and slippery by reason of the frost, so we could not come to past Woolwich till night. However, having a great mind to have gone to the Duke of Albemarle, I endeavoured to have gone farther, but the night come on and no going, so I 'light and sent my horse by Tooker, and returned on foot to my wife at Woolwich, where I found, as I had directed, a good dinner to be made against to-morrow, and invited guests in the yarde, meaning to be merry, in order to her taking leave, for she intends to come in a day or two to me for altogether. But here, they tell me, one of the houses behind them is infected, and I was fain to stand there a great while, to have their back-door opened, but they could not, having locked them fast, against any passing through, so was forced to pass by them again, close to their sicke beds, which they were removing out of the house, which troubled me; so I made them uninvite their guests, and to resolve of coming all away to me to-morrow, and I walked with a lanthorne, weary as I was, to Greenwich; but it was a fine walke, it being a hard frost, and so to Captain Cocke's, but he I found had sent for me to come to him to Mrs. Penington's, and there I went, and we were very merry, and supped, and Cocke being sleepy he went away betimes. I stayed alone talking and playing with her till past midnight, she suffering me whatever 'ego voulais avec ses mamilles . . . . Much pleased with her company we parted, and I home to bed at past one, all people being in bed thinking I would have staid out of town all night. 27th. Up, and being to go to wait on the Duke of Albemarle, who is to go out of towne to Oxford to-morrow, and I being unwilling to go by water, it being bitter cold, walked it with my landlady's little boy Christopher to Lambeth, it being a very fine walke and calling at half the way and drank, and so to the Duke of Albemarle, who is visited by every body against his going; and mighty kind to me: and upon my desiring his grace to give me his kind word to the Duke of Yorke, if any occasion there were of speaking of me, he told me he had reason to do so; for there had been nothing done in the Navy without me. His going, I hear, is upon putting the sea business into order, and, as some say, and people of his owne family, that he is agog to go to sea himself the next year. Here I met with a letter from Sir G. Carteret, who is come to Cranborne, that he will be here this afternoon and desires me to be with him. So the Duke would have me dine with him. So it being not dinner time, I to the Swan, and there found Sarah all alone in the house . . . . So away to the Duke of Albemarle again, and there to dinner, he most exceeding kind to me to the observation of all that are there. At dinner comes Sir G. Carteret and dines with us. After dinner a great deal alone with Sir G. Carteret, who tells me that my Lord hath received still worse and worse usage from some base people about the Court. But the King is very kind, and the Duke do not appear the contrary; and my Lord Chancellor swore to him "by---I will not forsake my Lord of Sandwich." Our next discourse is upon this Act for money, about which Sir G. Carteret comes to see what money can be got upon it. But none can be got, which pleases him the thoughts of, for, if the Exchequer should succeede in this, his office would faile. But I am apt to think at this time of hurry and plague and want of trade, no money will be got upon a new way which few understand. We walked, Cocke and I, through the Parke with him, and so we being to meet the Vice-Chamberlayne to-morrow at Nonesuch, to treat with Sir Robert Long about the same business, I into London, it being dark night, by a hackney coach; the first I have durst to go in many a day, and with great pain now for fear. But it being unsafe to go by water in the dark and frosty cold, and unable being weary with my morning walke to go on foot, this was my only way. Few people yet in the streets, nor shops open, here and there twenty in a place almost; though not above five or sixe o'clock at night. So to Viner's, and there heard of Cocke, and found him at the Pope's Head, drinking with Temple. I to them, where the Goldsmiths do decry the new Act, for money to be all brought into the Exchequer, and paid out thence, saying they will not advance one farthing upon it; and indeed it is their interest to say and do so. Thence Cocke and I to Sir G. Smith's, it being now night, and there up to his chamber and sat talking, and I barbing--[shaving]--against to-morrow; and anon, at nine at night, comes to us Sir G. Smith and the Lieutenant of the Tower, and there they sat talking and drinking till past midnight, and mighty merry we were, the Lieutenant of the Tower being in a mighty vein of singing, and he hath a very good eare and strong voice, but no manner of skill. Sir G. Smith shewed me his lady's closett, which was very fine; and, after being very merry, here I lay in a noble chamber, and mighty highly treated, the first time I have lain in London a long time. 28th. Up before day, and Cocke and I took a hackney coach appointed with four horses to take us up, and so carried us over London Bridge. But there, thinking of some business, I did 'light at the foot of the bridge, and by helpe of a candle at a stall, where some payers were at work, I wrote a letter to Mr. Hater, and never knew so great an instance of the usefulness of carrying pen and ink and wax about one: so we, the way being very bad, to Nonesuch, and thence to Sir Robert Longs house; a fine place, and dinner time ere we got thither; but we had breakfasted a little at Mr. Gawden's, he being out of towne though, and there borrowed Dr. Taylor's sermons, and is a most excellent booke and worth my buying, where had a very good dinner, and curiously dressed, and here a couple of ladies, kinswomen of his, not handsome though, but rich, that knew me by report of The. Turner, and mighty merry we were. After dinner to talk of our business, the Act of Parliament, where in short I see Sir R. Long mighty fierce in the great good qualities of it. But in that and many other things he was stiff in, I think without much judgement, or the judgement I expected from him, and already they have evaded the necessity of bringing people into the Exchequer with their bills to be paid there. Sir G. Carteret is titched--[fretful, tetchy]--at this, yet resolves with me to make the best use we can of this Act for the King, but all our care, we think, will not render it as it should be. He did again here alone discourse with me about my Lord, and is himself strongly for my Lord's not going to sea, which I am glad to hear and did confirm him in it. He tells me too that he talked last night with the Duke of Albemarle about my Lord Sandwich, by the by making him sensible that it is his interest to preserve his old friends, which he confessed he had reason to do, for he knows that ill offices were doing of him, and that he honoured my Lord Sandwich with all his heart. After this discourse we parted, and all of us broke up and we parted. Captain Cocke and I through Wandsworth. Drank at Sir Allen Broderick's, a great friend and comrade of Cocke's, whom he values above the world for a witty companion, and I believe he is so. So to Fox-Hall and there took boat, and down to the Old Swan, and thence to Lumbard Streete, it being darke night, and thence to the Tower. Took boat and down to Greenwich, Cocke and I, he home and I to the office, where did a little business, and then to my lodgings, where my wife is come, and I am well pleased with it, only much trouble in those lodgings we have, the mistresse of the house being so deadly dear in everything we have; so that we do resolve to remove home soon as we know how the plague goes this weeke, which we hope will be a good decrease. So to bed. 29th. Up, my wife and I talking how to dispose of our goods, and resolved upon sending our two mayds Alce (who has been a day or two at Woolwich with my wife, thinking to have had a feast there) and Susan home. So my wife after dinner did take them to London with some goods, and I in the afternoon after doing other business did go also by agreement to meet Captain Cocke and from him to Sir Roger Cuttance, about the money due from Cocke to him for the late prize goods, wherein Sir Roger is troubled that he hath not payment as agreed, and the other, that he must pay without being secured in the quiett possession of them, but some accommodation to both, I think, will be found. But Cocke do tell me that several have begged so much of the King to be discovered out of stolen prize goods and so I am afeard we shall hereafter have trouble, therefore I will get myself free of them as soon as I can and my money paid. Thence home to my house, calling my wife, where the poor wretch is putting things in a way to be ready for our coming home, and so by water together to Greenwich, and so spent the night together. 30th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon comes Sir Thomas Allen, and I made him dine with me, and very friendly he is, and a good man, I think, but one that professes he loves to get and to save. He dined with my wife and me and Mrs. Barbary, whom my wife brings along with her from Woolwich for as long as she stays here. In the afternoon to the office, and there very late writing letters and then home, my wife and people sitting up for me, and after supper to bed. Great joy we have this week in the weekly Bill, it being come to 544 in all, and but 333 of the plague; so that we are encouraged to get to London soon as we can. And my father writes as great news of joy to them, that he saw Yorke's waggon go again this week to London, and was full of passengers; and tells me that my aunt Bell hath been dead of the plague these seven weeks. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1665 December 1st. This morning to the office, full of resolution to spend the whole day at business, and there, among other things, I did agree with Poynter to be my clerke for my Victualling business, and so all alone all the day long shut up in my little closett at my office, drawing up instructions, which I should long since have done for my Surveyours of the Ports, Sir W. Coventry desiring much to have them, and he might well have expected them long since. After dinner to it again, and at night had long discourse with Gibson, who is for Yarmouth, who makes me understand so much of the victualling business and the pursers' trade, that I am ashamed I should go about the concerning myself in a business which I understand so very very little of, and made me distrust all I had been doing to-day. So I did lay it by till to-morrow morning to think of it afresh, and so home by promise to my wife, to have mirth there. So we had our neighbours, little Miss Tooker and Mrs. Daniels, to dance, and after supper I to bed, and left them merry below, which they did not part from till two or three in the morning. 2nd. Up, and discoursing with my wife, who is resolved to go to London for good and all this day, we did agree upon giving Mr. Sheldon L10, and Mrs. Barbary two pieces, and so I left her to go down thither to fetch away the rest of the things and pay him the money, and so I to the office, where very busy setting Mr. Poynter to write out my last night's worke, which pleases me this day, but yet it is pretty to reflect how much I am out of confidence with what I had done upon Gibson's discourse with me, for fear I should have done it sillily, but Poynter likes them, and Mr. Hater also, but yet I am afeard lest they should do it out of flattery, so conscious I am of my ignorance. Dined with my wife at noon and took leave of her, she being to go to London, as I said, for altogether, and I to the office, busy till past one in the morning. 3rd. It being Lord's day, up and dressed and to church, thinking to have sat with Sir James Bunce to hear his daughter and her husband sing, that are so much commended, but was prevented by being invited into Coll. Cleggatt's pew. However, there I sat, near Mr. Laneare, with whom I spoke, and in sight, by chance, and very near my fat brown beauty of our Parish, the rich merchant's lady, a very noble woman, and Madame Pierce. A good sermon of Mr. Plume's, and so to Captain Cocke's, and there dined with him, and Colonell Wyndham, a worthy gentleman, whose wife was nurse to the present King, and one that while she lived governed him and every thing else, as Cocke says, as a minister of state; the old King putting mighty weight and trust upon her. They talked much of matters of State and persons, and particularly how my Lord Barkeley hath all along been a fortunate, though a passionate and but weak man as to policy; but as a kinsman brought in and promoted by my Lord of St. Alban's, and one that is the greatest vapourer in the world, this Colonell Wyndham says; and one to whom only, with Jacke Asheburnel and Colonel Legg, the King's removal to the Isle of Wight from Hampton Court was communicated; and (though betrayed by their knavery, or at best by their ignorance, insomuch that they have all solemnly charged one another with their failures therein, and have been at daggers-drawing publickly about it), yet now none greater friends in the world. We dined, and in comes Mrs. Owen, a kinswoman of my Lord Bruncker's, about getting a man discharged, which I did for her, and by and by Mrs. Pierce to speake with me (and Mary my wife's late maid, now gone to her) about her husband's business of money, and she tells us how she prevented Captain Fisher the other day in his purchase of all her husband's fine goods, as pearls and silks, that he had seized in an Apothecary's house, a friend of theirs, but she got in and broke them open and removed all before Captain Fisher came the next day to fetch them away, at which he is starke mad. She went home, and I to my lodgings. At night by agreement I fetched her again with Cocke's coach, and he come and we sat and talked together, thinking to have had Mrs. Coleman and my songsters, her husband and Laneare, but they failed me. So we to supper, and as merry as was sufficient, and my pretty little Miss with me; and so after supper walked [with] Pierce home, and so back and to bed. But, Lord! I stand admiring of the wittinesse of her little boy, which is one of the wittiest boys, but most confident that ever I did see of a child of 9 years old or under in all my life, or indeed one twice his age almost, but all for roguish wit. So to bed. 4th. Several people to me about business, among others Captain Taylor, intended Storekeeper for Harwich, whom I did give some assistance in his dispatch by lending him money. So out and by water to London and to the 'Change, and up and down about several businesses, and after the observing (God forgive me!) one or two of my neighbour Jason's women come to towne, which did please me very well, home to my house at the office, where my wife had got a dinner for me: and it was a joyfull thing for us to meet here, for which God be praised! Here was her brother come to see her, and speake with me about business. It seems my recommending of him hath not only obtained his presently being admitted into the Duke of Albemarle's guards, and present pay, but also by the Duke's and Sir Philip Howard's direction, to be put as a right-hand man, and other marks of special respect, at which I am very glad, partly for him, and partly to see that I am reckoned something in my recommendations, but wish he may carry himself that I may receive no disgrace by him. So to the 'Change. Up and down again in the evening about business and to meet Captain Cocke, who waited for Mrs. Pierce (with whom he is mightily stricken), to receive and hide for her her rich goods she saved the other day from seizure. Upon the 'Change to-day Colvill tells me, from Oxford, that the King in person hath justified my Lord Sandwich to the highest degree; and is right in his favour to the uttermost. So late by water home, taking a barrel of oysters with me, and at Greenwich went and sat with Madam Penington . . . . and made her undress her head and sit dishevilled all night sporting till two in the morning, and so away to my lodging and so to bed. Over-fasting all the morning hath filled me mightily with wind, and nothing else hath done it, that I fear a fit of the cholique. 5th. Up and to the office, where very busy about several businesses all the morning. At noon empty, yet without stomach to dinner, having spoiled myself with fasting yesterday, and so filled with wind. In the afternoon by water, calling Mr. Stevens (who is with great trouble paying of seamen of their tickets at Deptford) and to London, to look for Captain Kingdom whom we found at home about 5 o'clock. I tried him, and he promised to follow us presently to the East India House to sign papers to-night in order to the settling the business of my receiving money for Tangier. We went and stopt the officer there to shut up. He made us stay above an houre. I sent for him; he comes, but was not found at home, but abroad on other business, and brings a paper saying that he had been this houre looking for the Lord Ashley's order. When he looks for it, that is not the paper. He would go again to look; kept us waiting till almost 8 at night. Then was I to go home by water this weather and darke, and to write letters by the post, besides keeping the East India officers there so late. I sent for him again; at last he comes, and says he cannot find the paper (which is a pretty thing to lay orders for L100,000 no better). I was angry; he told me I ought to give people ease at night, and all business was to be done by day. I answered him sharply, that I did [not] make, nor any honest man, any difference between night and day in the King's business, and this was such, and my Lord Ashley should know. He answered me short. I told him I knew the time (meaning the Rump's time) when he did other men's business with more diligence. He cried, "Nay, say not so," and stopped his mouth, not one word after. We then did our business without the order in less than eight minutes, which he made me to no purpose stay above two hours for the doing. This made him mad, and so we exchanged notes, and I had notes for L14,000 of the Treasurer of the Company, and so away and by water to Greenwich and wrote my letters, and so home late to bed. 6th. Up betimes, it being fast-day; and by water to the Duke of Albemarle, who come to towne from Oxford last night. He is mighty brisk, and very kind to me, and asks my advice principally in every thing. He surprises me with the news that my Lord Sandwich goes Embassador to Spayne speedily; though I know not whence this arises, yet I am heartily glad of it. He did give me several directions what to do, and so I home by water again and to church a little, thinking to have met Mrs. Pierce in order to our meeting at night; but she not there, I home and dined, and comes presently by appointment my wife. I spent the afternoon upon a song of Solyman's words to Roxalana that I have set, and so with my wife walked and Mercer to Mrs. Pierce's, where Captain Rolt and Mrs. Knipp, Mr. Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, Mrs. Worshipp and her singing daughter, met; and by and by unexpectedly comes Mr. Pierce from Oxford. Here the best company for musique I ever was in, in my life, and wish I could live and die in it, both for musique and the face of Mrs. Pierce, and my wife and Knipp, who is pretty enough; but the most excellent, mad-humoured thing, and sings the noblest that ever I heard in my life, and Rolt, with her, some things together most excellently. I spent the night in extasy almost; and, having invited them to my house a day or two hence, we broke up, Pierce having told me that he is told how the King hath done my Lord Sandwich all the right imaginable, by shewing him his countenance before all the world on every occasion, to remove thoughts of discontent; and that he is to go Embassador, and that the Duke of Yorke is made generall of all forces by land and sea, and the Duke of Albemarle, lieutenant-generall. Whether the two latter alterations be so, true or no, he knows not, but he is told so; but my Lord is in full favour with the King. So all home and to bed. 7th. Up and to the office, where very busy all day. Sir G. Carteret's letter tells me my Lord Sandwich is, as I was told, declared Embassador Extraordinary to Spayne, and to go with all speed away, and that his enemies have done him as much good as he could wish. At noon late to dinner, and after dinner spent till night with Mr. Gibson and Hater discoursing and making myself more fully [know] the trade of pursers, and what fittest to be done in their business, and so to the office till midnight writing letters, and so home, and after supper with my wife about one o'clock to bed. 8th. Up, well pleased in my mind about my Lord Sandwich, about whom I shall know more anon from Sir G. Carteret, who will be in towne, and also that the Hambrough [ships] after all difficulties are got out. God send them good speed! So, after being trimmed, I by water to London, to the Navy office, there to give order to my mayde to buy things to send down to Greenwich for supper to-night; and I also to buy other things, as oysters, and lemons, 6d. per piece, and oranges, 3d. That done I to the 'Change, and among many other things, especially for getting of my Tangier money, I by appointment met Mr. Gawden, and he and I to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there he did give me alone a very pretty dinner. Our business to talk of his matters and his supply of money, which was necessary for us to talk on before the Duke of Albemarle this afternoon and Sir G. Carteret. After that I offered now to pay him the L4000 remaining of his L8000 for Tangier, which he took with great kindnesse, and prayed me most frankly to give him a note for L3500 and accept the other L500 for myself, which in good earnest was against my judgement to do, for [I] expected about L100 and no more, but however he would have me do it, and ownes very great obligations to me, and the man indeed I love, and he deserves it. This put me into great joy, though with a little stay to it till we have time to settle it, for for so great a sum I was fearfull any accident might by death or otherwise defeate me, having not now time to change papers. So we rose, and by water to White Hall, where we found Sir G. Carteret with the Duke, and also Sir G. Downing, whom I had not seen in many years before. He greeted me very kindly, and I him; though methinks I am touched, that it should be said that he was my master heretofore, as doubtless he will. So to talk of our Navy business, and particularly money business, of which there is little hopes of any present supply upon this new Act, the goldsmiths being here (and Alderman Backewell newly come from Flanders), and none offering any. So we rose without doing more than my stating the case of the Victualler, that whereas there is due to him on the last year's declaration L80,000, and the charge of this year's amounts to L420,000 and odd, he must be supplied between this and the end of January with L150,000, and the remainder in 40 weeks by weekly payments, or else he cannot go through his business. Thence after some discourse with Sir G. Carteret, who, though he tells me that he is glad of my Lord's being made Embassador, and that it is the greatest courtesy his enemies could do him; yet I find he is not heartily merry upon it, and that it was no design of my Lord's friends, but the prevalence of his enemies, and that the Duke of Albemarle and Prince Rupert are like to go to sea together the next year. I pray God, when my Lord is gone, they do not fall hard upon the Vice-Chamberlain, being alone, and in so envious a place, though by this late Act and the instructions now a brewing for our office as to method of payments will destroy the profit of his place of itself without more trouble. Thence by water down to Greenwich, and there found all my company come; that is, Mrs. Knipp, and an ill, melancholy, jealous-looking fellow, her husband, that spoke not a word to us all the night, Pierce and his wife, and Rolt, Mrs. Worshipp and her daughter, Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, and, to make us perfectly happy, there comes by chance to towne Mr. Hill to see us. Most excellent musique we had in abundance, and a good supper, dancing, and a pleasant scene of Mrs. Knipp's rising sicke from table, but whispered me it was for some hard word or other her husband gave her just now when she laughed and was more merry than ordinary. But we got her in humour again, and mighty merry; spending the night, till two in the morning, with most complete content as ever in my life, it being increased by my day's work with Gawden. Then broke up, and we to bed, Mr. Hill and I, whom I love more and more, and he us. 9th. Called up betimes by my Lord Bruncker, who is come to towne from his long water worke at Erith last night, to go with him to the Duke of Albemarle, which by his coach I did. Our discourse upon the ill posture of the times through lacke of money. At the Duke's did some business, and I believe he was not pleased to see all the Duke's discourse and applications to me and everybody else. Discoursed also with Sir G. Carteret about office business, but no money in view. Here my Lord and I staid and dined, the Vice-Chamberlain taking his leave. At table the Duchesse, a damned ill-looked woman, complaining of her Lord's going to sea the next year, said these cursed words: "If my Lord had been a coward he had gone to sea no more: it may be then he might have been excused, and made an Embassador" (meaning my Lord Sandwich). [When Lord Sandwich was away a new commander had to be chosen, and rank and long service pointed out Prince Rupert for the office, it having been decided that the heir presumptive should be kept at home. It was thought, however, that the same confidence could not be placed in the prince's discretion as in his courage, and therefore the Duke of Albemarle was induced to take a joint command with him, "and so make one admiral of two persons" (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. ii., pp. 360,361).] This made me mad, and I believed she perceived my countenance change, and blushed herself very much. I was in hopes others had not minded it, but my Lord Bruncker, after we were come away, took notice of the words to me with displeasure. Thence after dinner away by water, calling and taking leave of Sir G. Carteret, whom we found going through at White Hall, and so over to Lambeth and took coach and home, and so to the office, where late writing letters, and then home to Mr. Hill, and sang, among other things, my song of "Beauty retire," which he likes, only excepts against two notes in the base, but likes the whole very well. So late to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Lay long talking, Hill and I, with great pleasure, and then up, and being ready walked to Cocke's for some newes, but heard none, only they would have us stay their dinner, and sent for my wife, who come, and very merry we were, there being Sir Edmund Pooly and Mr. Evelyn. Before we had dined comes Mr. Andrews, whom we had sent for to Bow, and so after dinner home, and there we sang some things, but not with much pleasure, Mr. Andrews being in so great haste to go home, his wife looking every hour to be brought to bed. He gone Mr. Hill and I continued our musique, one thing after another, late till supper, and so to bed with great pleasure. 11th. Lay long with great pleasure talking. So I left him and to London to the 'Change, and after discoursed with several people about business; met Mr. Gawden at the Pope's Head, where he brought Mr. Lewes and T. Willson to discourse about the Victualling business, and the alterations of the pursers' trade, for something must be done to secure the King a little better, and yet that they may have wherewith to live. After dinner I took him aside, and perfected to my great joy my business with him, wherein he deals most nobly in giving me his hand for the L4,000, and would take my note but for L3500. This is a great blessing, and God make me thankfull truly for it. With him till it was darke putting in writing our discourse about victualling, and so parted, and I to Viner's, and there evened all accounts, and took up my notes setting all straight between us to this day. The like to Colvill, and paying several bills due from me on the Tangier account. Then late met Cocke and Temple at the Pope's Head, and there had good discourse with Temple, who tells me that of the L80,000 advanced already by the East India Company, they have had L5000 out of their hands. He discoursed largely of the quantity of money coyned, and what may be thought the real sum of money in the kingdom. He told me, too, as an instance of the thrift used in the King's business, that the tools and the interest of the money-using to the King for the money he borrowed while the new invention of the mill money was perfected, cost him L35,000, and in mirthe tells me that the new fashion money is good for nothing but to help the Prince if he can secretly get copper plates shut up in silver it shall never be discovered, at least not in his age. Thence Cocke and I by water, he home and I home, and there sat with Mr. Hill and my wife supping, talking and singing till midnight, and then to bed. [That I may remember it the more particularly, I thought fit to insert this additional memorandum of Temple's discourse this night with me, which I took in writing from his mouth. Before the Harp and Crosse money was cried down, he and his fellow goldsmiths did make some particular trials what proportion that money bore to the old King's money, and they found that generally it come to, one with another, about L25 in every L100. Of this money there was, upon the calling of it in, L650,000 at least brought into the Tower; and from thence he computes that the whole money of England must be full L6,250,000. But for all this believes that there is above L30,000,000; he supposing that about the King's coming in (when he begun to observe the quantity of the new money) people begun to be fearfull of this money's being cried down, and so picked it out and set it a-going as fast as they could, to be rid of it; and he thinks L30,000,000 the rather, because if there were but L16,250,000 the King having L2,000,000 every year, would have the whole money of the kingdom in his hands in eight years. He tells me about L350,000 sterling was coined out of the French money, the proceeds of Dunkirke; so that, with what was coined of the Crosse money, there is new coined about L1,000,000 besides the gold, which is guessed at L500,000. He tells me, that, though the King did deposit the French money in pawn all the while for the L350,000 he was forced to borrow thereupon till the tools could be made for the new Minting in the present form, yet the interest he paid for that time came to L35,000, Viner having to his knowledge L10,000 for the use of L100,000 of it.]--(The passage between brackets is from a piece of paper inserted in this place.) 12th. Up, and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker met, and among other things did finish a contract with Cocke for hemp, by which I hope to get my money due from him paid presently. At noon home to dinner, only eating a bit, and with much kindness taking leave of Mr. Hill who goes away to-day, and so I by water saving the tide through Bridge and to Sir G. Downing by appointment at Charing Crosse, who did at first mightily please me with informing me thoroughly the virtue and force of this Act, and indeed it is ten times better than ever I thought could have been said of it, but when he come to impose upon me that without more ado I must get by my credit people to serve in goods and lend money upon it and none could do it better than I, and the King should give me thanks particularly in it, and I could not get him to excuse me, but I must come to him though to no purpose on Saturday, and that he is sure I will bring him some bargains or other made upon this Act, it vexed me more than all the pleasure I took before, for I find he will be troublesome to me in it, if I will let him have as much of my time as he would have. So late I took leave and in the cold (the weather setting in cold) home to the office and, after my letters being wrote, home to supper and to bed, my wife being also gone to London. 13th. Up betimes and finished my journall for five days back, and then after being ready to my Lord Bruncker by appointment, there to order the disposing of some money that we have come into the office, and here to my great content I did get a bill of imprest to Captain Cocke to pay myself in part of what is coming to me from him for my Lord Sandwich's satisfaction and my owne, and also another payment or two wherein I am concerned, and having done that did go to Mr. Pierce's, where he and his wife made me drink some tea, and so he and I by water together to London. Here at a taverne in Cornhill he and I did agree upon my delivering up to him a bill of Captain Cocke's, put into my hand for Pierce's use upon evening of reckonings about the prize goods, and so away to the 'Change, and there hear the ill news, to my great and all our great trouble, that the plague is encreased again this week, notwithstanding there hath been a day or two great frosts; but we hope it is only the effects of the late close warm weather, and if the frosts continue the next week, may fall again; but the town do thicken so much with people, that it is much if the plague do not grow again upon us. Off the 'Change invited by Sheriff Hooker, who keeps the poorest, mean, dirty table in a dirty house that ever I did see any Sheriff of London; and a plain, ordinary, silly man I think he is, but rich; only his son, Mr. Lethulier, I like, for a pretty, civil, understanding merchant; and the more by much, because he happens to be husband to our noble, fat, brave lady in our parish, that I and my wife admire so. Thence away to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there met first with Captain Cocke, and dispatched my business with him to my content, he being ready to sign his bill of imprest of L2,000, and gives it me in part of his payment to me, which glads my heart. He being gone, comes Sir W. Warren, who advised with me about several things about getting money, and L100 I shall presently have of him. We advised about a business of insurance, wherein something may be saved to him and got to me, and to that end he and I did take a coach at night and to the Cockepitt, there to get the Duke of Albemarle's advice for our insuring some of our Sounde goods coming home under Harman's convoy, but he proved shy of doing it without knowledge of the Duke of Yorke, so we back again and calling at my house to see my wife, who is well; though my great trouble is that our poor little parish is the greatest number this weeke in all the city within the walls, having six, from one the last weeke; and so by water to Greenwich leaving Sir W. Warren at home, and I straight to my Lord Bruncker, it being late, and concluded upon insuring something and to send to that purpose to Sir W. Warren to come to us to-morrow morning. So I home and, my mind in great rest, to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office a while with my Lord Bruncker, where we directed Sir W. Warren in the business of the insurance as I desired, and ended some other businesses of his, and so at noon I to London, but the 'Change was done before I got thither, so I to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there find Mr. Gawden and Captain Beckford and Nick Osborne going to dinner, and I dined with them and very exceeding merry we were as I had [not] been a great while, and dinner being done I to the East India House and there had an assignment on Mr. Temple for the L2,000 of Cocke's, which joyed my heart; so, having seen my wife in the way, I home by water and to write my letters and then home to bed. 15th. Up, and spent all the morning with my Surveyors of the Ports for the Victualling, and there read to them what instructions I had provided for them and discoursed largely much of our business and the business of the pursers. I left them to dine with my people, and to my Lord Bruncker's where I met with a great good dinner and Sir T. Teddiman, with whom my Lord and I were to discourse about the bringing of W. Howe to a tryall for his jewells, and there till almost night, and so away toward the office and in my way met with Sir James Bunce; and after asking what newes, he cried "Ah!" says he (I know [not] whether in earnest or jest), "this is the time for you," says he, "that were for Oliver heretofore; you are full of employment, and we poor Cavaliers sit still and can get nothing;" which was a pretty reproach, I thought, but answered nothing to it, for fear of making it worse. So away and I to see Mrs. Penington, but company being to come to her, I staid not, but to the office a little and so home, and after supper to bed. 16th. Up, and met at the office; Sir W. Batten with us, who come from Portsmouth on Monday last, and hath not been with us to see or discourse with us about any business till this day. At noon to dinner, Sir W. Warren with me on boat, and thence I by water, it being a fearfull cold, snowing day to Westminster to White Hall stairs and thence to Sir G. Downing, to whom I brought the happy newes of my having contracted, as we did this day with Sir W. Warren, for a ship's lading of Norway goods here and another at Harwich to the value of above L3,000, which is the first that hath been got upon the New Act, and he is overjoyed with it and tells me he will do me all the right to Court about it in the world, and I am glad I have it to write to Sir W. Coventry to-night. He would fain have me come in L200 to lend upon the Act, but I desire to be excused in doing that, it being to little purpose for us that relate to the King to do it, for the sum gets the King no courtesy nor credit. So I parted from him and walked to Westminster Hall, where Sir W. Warren, who come along with me, staid for me, and there I did see Betty Howlet come after the sicknesse to the Hall. Had not opportunity to salute her, as I desired, but was glad to see her and a very pretty wench she is. Thence back, landing at the Old Swan and taking boat again at Billingsgate, and setting ashore we home and I to the office . . . . and there wrote my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, it being a great frost. Newes is come to-day of our Sounde fleete being come, but I do not know what Sir W. Warren hath insured. 17th (Lord's day). After being trimmed word brought me that Cutler's coach is, by appointment, come to the Isle of Doggs for me, and so I over the water; and in his coach to Hackney, a very fine, cold, clear, frosty day. At his house I find him with a plain little dinner, good wine, and welcome. He is still a prating man; and the more I know him, the less I find in him. A pretty house he hath here indeed, of his owne building. His old mother was an object at dinner that made me not like it; and, after dinner, to visit his sicke wife I did not also take much joy in, but very friendly he is to me, not for any kindnesse I think he hath to any man, but thinking me, I perceive, a man whose friendship is to be looked after. After dinner back again and to Deptford to Mr. Evelyn's, who was not within, but I had appointed my cozen Thos. Pepys of Hatcham to meet me there, to discourse about getting his L1000 of my Lord Sandwich, having now an opportunity of my having above that sum in my hands of his. I found this a dull fellow still in all his discourse, but in this he is ready enough to embrace what I counsel him to, which is, to write importunately to my Lord and me about it and I will look after it. I do again and again declare myself a man unfit to be security for such a sum. He walked with me as far as Deptford upper towne, being mighty respectfull to me, and there parted, he telling me that this towne is still very bad of the plague. I walked to Greenwich first, to make a short visit to my Lord Bruncker, and next to Mrs. Penington and spent all the evening with her with the same freedom I used to have and very pleasant company. With her till one of the clock in the morning and past, and so to my lodging to bed, and 18th. Betimes, up, it being a fine frost, and walked it to Redriffe, calling and drinking at Half-way house, thinking, indeed, to have overtaken some of the people of our house, the women, who were to walk the same walke, but I could not. So to London, and there visited my wife, and was a little displeased to find she is so forward all of a spurt to make much of her brother and sister since my last kindnesse to him in getting him a place, but all ended well presently, and I to the 'Change and up and down to Kingdon and the goldsmith's to meet Mr. Stephens, and did get all my money matters most excellently cleared to my complete satisfaction. Passing over Cornhill I spied young Mrs. Daniel and Sarah, my landlady's daughter, who are come, as I expected, to towne, and did say they spied me and I dogged them to St. Martin's, where I passed by them being shy, and walked down as low as Ducke Lane and enquired for some Spanish books, and so back again and they were gone. So to the 'Change, hoping to see them in the streete, and missing them, went back again thither and back to the 'Change, but no sight of them, so went after my business again, and, though late, was sent to by Sir W. Warren (who heard where I was) to intreat me to come dine with him, hearing that I lacked a dinner, at the Pope's Head; and there with Mr. Hinton, the goldsmith, and others, very merry; but, Lord! to see how Dr. Hinton come in with a gallant or two from Court, and do so call "Cozen" Mr. Hinton, the goldsmith, but I that know him to be a beggar and a knave, did make great sport in my mind at it. [John Hinton, M.D., a strong royalist, who attended Henrietta Maria in her confinement at Exeter when she gave birth to the Princess Henrietta. He was knighted by Charles II., and appointed physician in ordinary to the king and queen. His knighthood was a reward for having procured a private advance of money from his kinsman, the goldsmith, to enable the Duke of Albemarle to pay the army (see "Memorial to King Charles II. from Sir John Hinton, A.D. 1679," printed in Ellis's "Original Letters," 3rd series, vol. iv., p 296).] After dinner Sir W. Warren and I alone in another room a little while talking about business, and so parted, and I hence, my mind full of content in my day's worke, home by water to Greenwich, the river beginning to be very full of ice, so as I was a little frighted, but got home well, it being darke. So having no mind to do any business, went home to my lodgings, and there got little Mrs. Tooker, and Mrs. Daniel, the, daughter, and Sarah to my chamber to cards and sup with me, when in comes Mr. Pierce to me, who tells me how W. Howe has been examined on shipboard by my Lord Bruncker to-day, and others, and that he has charged him out of envy with sending goods under my Lord's seale and in my Lord Bruncker's name, thereby to get them safe passage, which, he tells me, is false, but that he did use my name to that purpose, and hath acknowledged it to my Lord Bruncker, but do also confess to me that one parcel he thinks he did use my Lord Bruncker's name, which do vexe me mightily that my name should be brought in question about such things, though I did not say much to him of my discontent till I have spoke with my Lord Bruncker about it. So he being gone, being to go to Oxford to-morrow, we to cards again late, and so broke up, I having great pleasure with my little girle, Mrs. Tooker. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon by agreement comes Hatcham Pepys to dine with me. I thought to have had him to Sir J. Minnes to a good venison pasty with the rest of my fellows, being invited, but seeing much company I went away with him and had a good dinner at home. He did give me letters he hath wrote to my Lord and Moore about my Lord's money to get it paid to my cozen, which I will make good use of. I made mighty much of him, but a sorry dull fellow he is, fit for nothing that is ingenious, nor is there a turd of kindnesse or service to be had from him. So I shall neglect him if I could get but him satisfied about this money that I may be out of bonds for my Lord to him. To see that this fellow could desire me to helpe him to some employment, if it were but of L100 per annum: when he is not worth less than, I believe, L20,000. He gone, I to Sir J. Minnes, and thence with my Lord Bruncker on board the Bezan to examine W. Howe again, who I find upon this tryall one of much more wit and ingenuity in his answers than ever I expected, he being very cunning and discreet and well spoken in them. I said little to him or concerning him; but, Lord! to see how he writes to me a-days, and styles me "My Honour." So much is a man subjected and dejected under afflictions as to flatter me in that manner on this occasion. Back with my Lord to Sir J. Minnes, where I left him and the rest of a great deale of company, and so I to my office, where late writing letters and then home to bed. 20th. Up, and was trimmed, but not time enough to save my Lord Bruncker's coach or Sir J. Minnes's, and so was fain to walk to Lambeth on foot, but it was a very fine frosty walke, and great pleasure in it, but troublesome getting over the River for ice. I to the Duke of Albemarle, whither my brethren were all come, but I was not too late. There we sat in discourse upon our Navy business an houre, and thence in my Lord Bruncker's coach alone, he walking before (while I staid awhile talking with Sir G. Downing about the Act, in which he is horrid troublesome) to the Old Exchange. Thence I took Sir Ellis Layton to Captain Cocke's, where my Lord Bruncker and Lady Williams dine, and we all mighty merry; but Sir Ellis Layton one of the best companions at a meale in the world. After dinner I to the Exchange to see whether my pretty seamstress be come again or no, and I find she is, so I to her, saluted her over her counter in the open Exchange above, and mightily joyed to see her, poor pretty woman! I must confess I think her a great beauty. After laying out a little money there for two pair of thread stockings, cost 8s., I to Lumbard Streete to see some business to-night there at the goldsmith's, among others paying in L1258 to Viner for my Lord Sandwich's use upon Cocke's account. I was called by my Lord Bruncker in his coach with his mistresse, and Mr. Cottle the lawyer, our acquaintance at Greenwich, and so home to Greenwich, and thence I to Mrs. Penington, and had a supper from the King's Head for her, and there mighty merry and free as I used to be with her, and at last, late, I did pray her to undress herself into her nightgowne, that I might see how to have her picture drawne carelessly (for she is mighty proud of that conceit), and I would walk without in the streete till she had done. So I did walk forth, and whether I made too many turns or no in the darke cold frosty night between the two walls up to the Parke gate I know not, but she was gone to bed when I come again to the house, upon pretence of leaving some papers there, which I did on purpose by her consent. So I away home, and was there sat up for to be spoken with my young Mrs. Daniel, to pray me to speake for her husband to be a Lieutenant. I had the opportunity here of kissing her again and again, and did answer that I would be very willing to do him any kindnesse, and so parted, and I to bed, exceedingly pleased in all my matters of money this month or two, it having pleased God to bless me with several opportunities of good sums, and that I have them in effect all very well paid, or in my power to have. But two things trouble me; one, the sicknesse is increased above 80 this weeke (though in my owne parish not one has died, though six the last weeke); the other, most of all, which is, that I have so complexed an account for these last two months for variety of layings out upon Tangier, occasions and variety of gettings that I have not made even with myself now these 3 or 4 months, which do trouble me mightily, finding that I shall hardly ever come to understand them thoroughly again, as I used to do my accounts when I was at home. 21st. At the office all the morning. At noon all of us dined at Captain Cocke's at a good chine of beef, and other good meat; but, being all frost-bitten, was most of it unroast; but very merry, and a good dish of fowle we dressed ourselves. Mr. Evelyn there, in very good humour. All the afternoon till night pleasant, and then I took my leave of them and to the office, where I wrote my letters, and away home, my head full of business and some trouble for my letting my accounts go so far that I have made an oathe this night for the drinking no wine, &c., on such penalties till I have passed my accounts and cleared all. Coming home and going to bed, the boy tells me his sister Daniel has provided me a supper of little birds killed by her husband, and I made her sup with me, and after supper were alone a great while, and I had the pleasure of her lips, she being a pretty woman, and one whom a great belly becomes as well as ever I saw any. She gone, I to bed. This day I was come to by Mrs. Burrows, of Westminster, Lieutenant Burrows (lately dead) his wife, a most pretty woman and my old acquaintance; I had a kiss or two of her, and a most modest woman she is. 22nd. Up betimes and to my Lord Bruncker to consider the late instructions sent us for the method of our signing bills hereafter and paying them. By and by, by agreement, comes Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and then to read them publicly and consider of putting them in execution. About this all the morning, and, it appearing necessary for the Controller to have another Clerke, I recommended Poynter to him, which he accepts, and I by that means rid of one that I fear would not have been fit for my turne, though he writes very well. At noon comes Mr. Hill to towne, and finds me out here, and brings Mr. Houbland, who met him here. So I was compelled to leave my Lord and his dinner and company, and with them to the Beare, and dined with them and their brothers, of which Hill had his and the other two of his, and mighty merry and very fine company they are, and I glad to see them. After dinner I forced to take leave of them by being called upon by Mr. Andrews, I having sent for him, and by a fine glosse did bring him to desire tallys for what orders I have to pay him and his company for Tangier victualls, and I by that means cleared to myself L210 coming to me upon their two orders, which is also a noble addition to my late profits, which have been very considerable of late, but how great I know not till I come to cast up my accounts, which burdens my mind that it should be so backward, but I am resolved to settle to nothing till I have done it. He gone, I to my Lord Bruncker's, and there spent the evening by my desire in seeing his Lordship open to pieces and make up again his watch, thereby being taught what I never knew before; and it is a thing very well worth my having seen, and am mightily pleased and satisfied with it. So I sat talking with him till late at night, somewhat vexed at a snappish answer Madam Williams did give me to herself, upon my speaking a free word to her in mirthe, calling her a mad jade. She answered, we were not so well acquainted yet. But I was more at a letter from my Lord Duke of Albemarle to-day, pressing us to continue our meetings for all Christmas, which, though every body intended not to have done, yet I am concluded in it, who intended nothing else. But I see it is necessary that I do make often visits to my Lord Duke, which nothing shall hinder after I have evened my accounts, and now the river is frozen I know not how to get to him. Thence to my lodging, making up my Journall for 8 or 9 days, and so my mind being eased of it, I to supper and to bed. The weather hath been frosty these eight or nine days, and so we hope for an abatement of the plague the next weeke, or else God have mercy upon us! for the plague will certainly continue the next year if it do not. 23rd. At my office all the morning and home to dinner, my head full of business, and there my wife finds me unexpectedly. But I not being at leisure to stay or talk with her, she went down by coach to Woolwich, thinking to fetch Mrs. Barbary to carry her to London to keep her Christmas with her, and I to the office. This day one come to me with four great turkies, as a present from Mr. Deane, at Harwich, three of which my wife carried in the evening home with her to London in her coach (Mrs. Barbary not being to be got so suddenly, but will come to her the next week), and I at my office late, and then to my lodgings to bed. 24th (Sunday). Up betimes, to my Lord Duke of Albemarle by water, and after some talke with him about business of the office with great content, and so back again and to dinner, my landlady and her daughters with me, and had mince-pies, and very merry at a mischance her young son had in tearing of his new coate quite down the outside of his sleeve in the whole cloth, one of the strangest mishaps that ever I saw in my life. Then to church, and placed myself in the Parson's pew under the pulpit, to hear Mrs. Chamberlain in the next pew sing, who is daughter to Sir James Bunch, of whom I have heard much, and indeed she sings very finely, and from church met with Sir W. Warren and he and I walked together talking about his and my businesses, getting of money as fairly as we can, and, having set him part of his way home, I walked to my Lord Bruncker, whom I heard was at Alderman Hooker's, hoping to see and salute Mrs. Lethulier, whom I did see in passing, but no opportunity of beginning acquaintance, but a very noble lady she is, however the silly alderman got her. Here we sat talking a great while, Sir The. Biddulph and Mr. Vaughan, a son-in-law of Alderman Hooker's. Hence with my Lord Bruncker home and sat a little with him and so home to bed. 25th (Christmas-day). To church in the morning, and there saw a wedding in the church, which I have not seen many a day; and the young people so merry one with another, and strange to see what delight we married people have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition, every man and woman gazing and smiling at them. Here I saw again my beauty Lethulier. Thence to my Lord Bruncker's by invitation and dined there, and so home to look over and settle my papers, both of my accounts private, and those of Tangier, which I have let go so long that it were impossible for any soul, had I died, to understand them, or ever come to any good end in them. I hope God will never suffer me to come to that disorder again. 26th. Up, and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes and my Lord Bruncker and I met, to give our directions to the Commanders of all the ships in the river to bring in lists of their ships' companies, with entries, discharges, &c., all the last voyage, where young Seymour, among 20 that stood bare, stood with his hat on, a proud, saucy young man. Thence with them to Mr. Cuttle's, being invited, and dined nobly and neatly; with a very pretty house and a fine turret at top, with winding stairs and the finest prospect I know about all Greenwich, save the top of the hill, and yet in some respects better than that. Here I also saw some fine writing worke and flourishing of Mr. Hore, he one that I knew long ago, an acquaintance of Mr. Tomson's at Westminster, that is this man's clerk. It is the story of the several Archbishops of Canterbury, engrossed in vellum, to hang up in Canterbury Cathedrall in tables, in lieu of the old ones, which are almost worn out. Thence to the office a while, and so to Captain Cocke's and there talked, and home to look over my papers, and so to bed. 27th. Up, and with Cocke, by coach to London, there home to my wife, and angry about her desiring a mayde yet, before the plague is quite over. It seems Mercer is troubled that she hath not one under her, but I will not venture my family by increasing it before it be safe. Thence about many businesses, particularly with Sir W. Warren on the 'Change, and he and I dined together and settled our Tangier matters, wherein I get above L200 presently. We dined together at the Pope's Head to do this, and thence to the goldsmiths, I to examine the state of my matters there too, and so with him to my house, but my wife was gone abroad to Mrs. Mercer's, so we took boat, and it being darke and the thaw having broke the ice, but not carried it quite away, the boat did pass through so much of it all along, and that with the crackling and noise that it made me fearfull indeed. So I forced the watermen to land us on Redriffe side, and so walked together till Sir W. Warren and I parted near his house and thence I walked quite over the fields home by light of linke, one of my watermen carrying it, and I reading by the light of it, it being a very fine, clear, dry night. So to Captain Cocke's, and there sat and talked, especially with his Counsellor, about his prize goods, that hath done him good turne, being of the company with Captain Fisher, his name Godderson; here I supped and so home to bed, with great content that the plague is decreased to 152, the whole being but 330. 28th. Up and to the office, and thence with a great deal of business in my head, dined alone with Cocke. So home alone strictly about my accounts, wherein I made a good beginning, and so, after letters wrote by the post, to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and all day long within doors upon my accounts, publique and private, and find the ill effect of letting them go so long without evening, that no soul could have ever understood them but myself, and I with much ado. But, however, my regularity in all I did and spent do helpe me, and I hope to find them well. Late at them and to bed. 30th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon to my accounts again, and there find myself, to my great joy, a great deal worth above L4000, for which the Lord be praised! and is principally occasioned by my getting L500 of Cocke, for my profit in his bargains of prize goods, and from Mr. Gawden's making me a present of L500 more, when I paid him 8000 for Tangier. So to my office to write letters, then to my accounts again, and so to bed, being in great ease of mind. 31st (Lord's day). All the morning in my chamber, writing fair the state of my Tangier accounts, and so dined at home. In the afternoon to the Duke of Albemarle and thence back again by water, and so to my chamber to finish the entry of my accounts and to think of the business I am next to do, which is the stating my thoughts and putting in order my collections about the business of pursers, to see where the fault of our present constitution relating to them lies and what to propose to mend it, and upon this late and with my head full of this business to bed. Thus ends this year, to my great joy, in this manner. I have raised my estate from L1300 in this year to L4400. I have got myself greater interest, I think, by my diligence, and my employments encreased by that of Treasurer for Tangier, and Surveyour of the Victualls. It is true we have gone through great melancholy because of the great plague, and I put to great charges by it, by keeping my family long at Woolwich, and myself and another part of my family, my clerks, at my charge at Greenwich, and a mayde at London; but I hope the King will give us some satisfaction for that. But now the plague is abated almost to nothing, and I intending to get to London as fast as I can. My family, that is my wife and maids, having been there these two or three weeks. The Dutch war goes on very ill, by reason of lack of money; having none to hope for, all being put into disorder by a new Act that is made as an experiment to bring credit to the Exchequer, for goods and money to be advanced upon the credit of that Act. I have never lived so merrily (besides that I never got so much) as I have done this plague time, by my Lord Bruncker's and Captain Cocke's good company, and the acquaintance of Mrs. Knipp, Coleman and her husband, and Mr. Laneare, and great store of dancings we have had at my cost (which I was willing to indulge myself and wife) at my lodgings. The great evil of this year, and the only one indeed, is the fall of my Lord of Sandwich, whose mistake about the prizes hath undone him, I believe, as to interest at Court; though sent (for a little palliating it) Embassador into Spayne, which he is now fitting himself for. But the Duke of Albemarle goes with the Prince to sea this next year, and my Lord very meanly spoken of; and, indeed, his miscarriage about the prize goods is not to be excused, to suffer a company of rogues to go away with ten times as much as himself, and the blame of all to be deservedly laid upon him. [According to Granville Penn ("Memorials of Sir W. Penn," ii. 488 n.) L2000 went to Lord Sandwich and L8000 among eight others.] My whole family hath been well all this while, and all my friends I know of, saving my aunt Bell, who is dead, and some children of my cozen Sarah's, of the plague. But many of such as I know very well, dead; yet, to our great joy, the town fills apace, and shops begin to be open again. Pray God continue the plague's decrease! for that keeps the Court away from the place of business, and so all goes to rack as to publick matters, they at this distance not thinking of it. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A most conceited fellow and not over much in him A pretty man, I would be content to break a commandment with him Among many lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary Delight to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition Great many silly stories they tell of their sport His enemies have done him as much good as he could wish How little merit do prevail in the world, but only favour I am a foole to be troubled at it, since I cannot helpe it L10,000 to the Prince, and half-a-crowne to my Lord of Sandwich Left him with some Commanders at the table taking tobacco One whom a great belly becomes as well as ever I saw any Pleases them mightily, and me not at all See how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody The boy is well, and offers to be searched 
4163	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1666 N.S. JANUARY & FEBRUARY 1665-1666 January 1st (New-Yeare's Day). Called up by five o'clock, by my order, by Mr. Tooker, who wrote, while I dictated to him, my business of the Pursers; and so, without eating or drinking, till three in the afternoon, and then, to my great content, finished it. So to dinner, Gibson and he and I, and then to copying it over, Mr. Gibson reading and I writing, and went a good way in it till interrupted by Sir W. Warren's coming, of whom I always learne something or other, his discourse being very good and his brains also. He being gone we to our business again, and wrote more of it fair, and then late to bed. [This document is in the British Museum (Harleian MS. 6287), and is entitled, "A Letter from Mr. Pepys, dated at Greenwich, 1 Jan. 1665-6, which he calls his New Year's Gift to his hon. friend, Sir Wm. Coventry, wherein he lays down a method for securing his Majesty in husbandly execution of the Victualling Part of the Naval Expence." It consists of nineteen closely written folio pages, and is a remarkable specimen of Pepys's business habits.--B. There are copies of several letters on the victualling of the navy, written by Pepys in 1666, among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian.] 2nd. Up by candlelight again, and wrote the greatest part of my business fair, and then to the office, and so home to dinner, and after dinner up and made an end of my fair writing it, and that being done, set two entering while to my Lord Bruncker's, and there find Sir J. Minnes and all his company, and Mr. Boreman and Mrs. Turner, but, above all, my dear Mrs. Knipp, with whom I sang, and in perfect pleasure I was to hear her sing, and especially her little Scotch song of "Barbary Allen;" [The Scottish ballad is entitled, "Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan," and the English version, "Barbara Allen's Cruelty." Both are printed in Percy's "Reliques," Series III.] and to make our mirthe the completer, Sir J. Minnes was in the highest pitch of mirthe, and his mimicall tricks, that ever I saw, and most excellent pleasant company he is, and the best mimique that ever I saw, and certainly would have made an excellent actor, and now would be an excellent teacher of actors. Thence, it being post night, against my will took leave, but before I come to my office, longing for more of her company, I returned and met them coming home in coaches, so I got into the coach where Mrs. Knipp was and got her upon my knee (the coach being full) and played with her breasts and sung, and at last set her at her house and so good night. So home to my lodgings and there endeavoured to have finished the examining my papers of Pursers' business to have sent away to-night, but I was so sleepy with my late early risings and late goings to bed that I could not do it, but was forced to go to bed and leave it to send away to-morrow by an Expresse. 3rd. Up, and all the morning till three in the afternoon examining and fitting up my Pursers' paper and sent it away by an Expresse. Then comes my wife, and I set her to get supper ready against I go to the Duke of Albemarle and back again; and at the Duke's with great joy I received the good news of the decrease of the plague this week to 70, and but 253 in all; which is the least Bill hath been known these twenty years in the City. Through the want of people in London is it, that must make it so low below the ordinary number for Bills. So home, and find all my good company I had bespoke, as Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, Knipp and her surly husband; and good musique we had, and, among other things, Mrs. Coleman sang my words I set of "Beauty retire," and I think it is a good song, and they praise it mightily. Then to dancing and supper, and mighty merry till Mr. Rolt come in, whose pain of the tooth-ake made him no company, and spoilt ours; so he away, and then my wife's teeth fell of akeing, and she to bed. So forced to break up all with a good song, and so to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker and I, against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes and the whole table, for Sir W. Warren in the business of his mast contract, and overcome them and got them to do what I had a mind to, for indeed my Lord being unconcerned in what I aimed at. So home to dinner, where Mr. Sheldon come by invitation from Woolwich, and as merry as I could be with all my thoughts about me and my wife still in pain of her tooth. He anon took leave and took Mrs. Barbary his niece home with him, and seems very thankful to me for the L10 I did give him for my wife's rent of his house, and I am sure I am beholding to him, for it was a great convenience to me, and then my wife home to London by water and I to the office till 8 at night, and so to my Lord Bruncker's, thinking to have been merry, having appointed a meeting for Sir J. Minnes and his company and Mrs. Knipp again, but whatever hindered I know not, but no company come, which vexed me because it disappointed me of the glut of mirthe I hoped for. However, good discourse with my Lord and merry, with Mrs. Williams's descants upon Sir J. Minnes's and Mrs. Turner's not coming. So home and to bed. 5th. I with my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams by coach with four horses to London, to my Lord's house in Covent-Guarden. But, Lord! what staring to see a nobleman's coach come to town. And porters every where bow to us; and such begging of beggars! And a delightfull thing it is to see the towne full of people again as now it is; and shops begin to open, though in many places seven or eight together, and more, all shut; but yet the towne is full, compared with what it used to be. I mean the City end; for Covent-Guarden and Westminster are yet very empty of people, no Court nor gentry being there. Set Mrs. Williams down at my Lord's house and he and I to Sir G. Carteret, at his chamber at White Hall, he being come to town last night to stay one day. So my Lord and he and I much talke about the Act, what credit we find upon it, but no private talke between him and I. So I to the 'Change, and there met Mr. Povy, newly come to town, and he and I to Sir George Smith's and there dined nobly. He tells me how my Lord Bellases complains for want of money and of him and me therein, but I value it not, for I know I do all that can be done. We had no time to talk of particulars, but leave it to another day, and I away to Cornhill to expect my Lord Bruncker's coming back again, and I staid at my stationer's house, and by and by comes my Lord, and did take me up and so to Greenwich, and after sitting with them a while at their house, home, thinking to get Mrs. Knipp, but could not, she being busy with company, but sent me a pleasant letter, writing herself "Barbary Allen." I went therefore to Mr. Boreman's for pastime, and there staid an houre or two talking with him, and reading a discourse about the River of Thames, the reason of its being choked up in several places with shelfes; which is plain is, by the encroachments made upon the River, and running out of causeways into the River at every wood-wharfe; which was not heretofore when Westminster Hall and White Hall were built, and Redriffe Church, which now are sometimes overflown with water. I had great satisfaction herein. So home and to my papers for lacke of company, but by and by comes little Mrs. Tooker and sat and supped with me, and I kept her very late talking and making her comb my head, and did what I will with her. So late to bed. 6th. Up betimes and by water to the Cockepitt, there met Sir G. Carteret and, after discourse with the Duke, all together, and there saw a letter wherein Sir W. Coventry did take notice to the Duke with a commendation of my paper about Pursers, I to walke in the Parke with the Vice-Chamberlain, and received his advice about my deportment about the advancing the credit of the Act; giving me caution to see that we do not misguide the King by making them believe greater matters from it than will be found. But I see that this arises from his great trouble to see the Act succeede, and to hear my name so much used and my letters shown at Court about goods served us in upon the credit of it. But I do make him believe that I do it with all respect to him and on his behalfe too, as indeed I do, as well as my owne, that it may not be said that he or I do not assist therein. He tells me that my Lord Sandwich do proceed on his journey with the greatest kindnesse that can be imagined from the King and Chancellor, which was joyfull newes to me. Thence with Lord Bruncker to Greenwich by water to a great dinner and much company; Mr. Cottle and his lady and others and I went, hoping to get Mrs. Knipp to us, having wrote a letter to her in the morning, calling myself "Dapper Dicky," in answer to hers of "Barbary Allen," but could not, and am told by the boy that carried my letter, that he found her crying; but I fear she lives a sad life with that ill-natured fellow her husband: so we had a great, but I a melancholy dinner, having not her there, as I hoped. After dinner to cards, and then comes notice that my wife is come unexpectedly to me to towne. So I to her. It is only to see what I do, and why I come not home; and she is in the right that I would have a little more of Mrs. Knipp's company before I go away. My wife to fetch away my things from Woolwich, and I back to cards and after cards to choose King and Queene, and a good cake there was, but no marks found; but I privately found the clove, the mark of the knave, and privately put it into Captain Cocke's piece, which made some mirthe, because of his lately being knowne by his buying of clove and mace of the East India prizes. At night home to my lodging, where I find my wife returned with my things, and there also Captain Ferrers is come upon business of my Lord's to this town about getting some goods of his put on board in order to his going to Spain, and Ferrers presumes upon my finding a bed for him, which I did not like to have done without my invitation because I had done [it] several times before, during the plague, that he could not provide himself safely elsewhere. But it being Twelfth Night, they had got the fiddler and mighty merry they were; and I above come not to them, but when I had done my business among my papers went to bed, leaving them dancing, and choosing King and Queene. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and being trimmed I was invited by Captain Cocke, so I left my wife, having a mind to some discourse with him, and dined with him. He tells me of new difficulties about his goods which troubles me and I fear they will be great. He tells me too what I hear everywhere how the towne talks of my Lord Craven being to come into Sir G. Carteret's place; but sure it cannot be true. But I do fear those two families, his and my Lord Sandwich's, are quite broken. And I must now stand upon my own legs. Thence to my lodging, and considering how I am hindered by company there to do any thing among my papers, I did resolve to go away to-day rather than stay to no purpose till to-morrow and so got all my things packed up and spent half an hour with W. Howe about his papers of accounts for contingencies and my Lord's accounts, so took leave of my landlady and daughters, having paid dear for what time I have spent there, but yet having been quiett and my health, I am very well contented therewith. So with my wife and Mercer took boat and away home; but in the evening, before I went, comes Mrs. Knipp, just to speake with me privately, to excuse her not coming to me yesterday, complaining how like a devil her husband treats her, but will be with us in towne a weeke hence, and so I kissed her and parted. Being come home, my wife and I to look over our house and consider of laying out a little money to hang our bedchamber better than it is, and so resolved to go and buy something to-morrow, and so after supper, with great joy in my heart for my coming once again hither, to bed. 8th. Up, and my wife and I by coach to Bennett's, in Paternoster Row, few shops there being yet open, and there bought velvett for a coate, and camelott for a cloake for myself; and thence to a place to look over some fine counterfeit damasks to hang my wife's closett, and pitched upon one, and so by coach home again, I calling at the 'Change, and so home to dinner and all the afternoon look after my papers at home and my office against to-morrow, and so after supper and considering the uselessness of laying out so much money upon my wife's closett, but only the chamber, to bed. 9th. Up, and then to the office, where we met first since the plague, which God preserve us in! At noon home to dinner, where uncle Thomas with me, and in comes Pierce lately come from Oxford, and Ferrers. After dinner Pierce and I up to my chamber, where he tells me how a great difference hath been between the Duke and Duchesse, he suspecting her to be naught with Mr. Sidney. ["This Duchess was Chancellor Hyde's daughter, and she was a very handsome woman, and had a great deal of wit; therefore it was not without reason that Mr. Sydney, the handsomest youth of his time, of the Duke's bedchamber, was so much in love with her, as appeared to us all, and the Duchess not unkind to him, but very innocently. He was afterwards banished the Court for another reason, as was reported" (Sir John Reresby's "Memoirs," August 5th, 1664, ed. Cartwright, pp. 64,65). "'How could the Duke of York make my mother a Papist?' said the Princess Mary to Dr. Bumet. 'The Duke caught a man in bed with her,' said the Doctor, 'and then had power to make her do anything.' The Prince, who sat by the fire, said, 'Pray, madam, ask the Doctor a few more questions'" (Spence's "Anecdotes," ed. Singer, 329).] But some way or other the matter is made up; but he was banished the Court, and the Duke for many days did not speak to the Duchesse at all. He tells me that my Lord Sandwich is lost there at Court, though the King is particularly his friend. But people do speak every where slightly of him; which is a sad story to me, but I hope it may be better again. And that Sir G. Carteret is neglected, and hath great enemies at work against him. That matters must needs go bad, while all the town, and every boy in the streete, openly cries, "The King cannot go away till my Lady Castlemaine be ready to come along with him;" she being lately put to bed And that he visits her and Mrs. Stewart every morning before he eats his breakfast. All this put together makes me very sad, but yet I hope I shall do pretty well among them for all this, by my not meddling with either of their matters. He and Ferrers gone I paid uncle Thomas his last quarter's money, and then comes Mr. Gawden and he and I talked above stairs together a good while about his business, and to my great joy got him to declare that of the L500 he did give me the other day, none of it was for my Treasurershipp for Tangier (I first telling him how matters stand between Povy and I, that he was to have half of whatever was coming to me by that office), and that he will gratify me at 2 per cent. for that when he next receives any money. So there is L80 due to me more than I thought of. He gone I with a glad heart to the office to write, my letters and so home to supper and bed, my wife mighty full of her worke she hath to do in furnishing her bedchamber. 10th. Up, and by coach to Sir G. Downing, where Mr. Gawden met me by agreement to talke upon the Act. I do find Sir G. Downing to be a mighty talker, more than is true, which I now know to be so, and suspected it before, but for all that I have good grounds to think it will succeed for goods and in time for money too, but not presently. Having done with him, I to my Lord Bruncker's house in Covent-Garden, and, among other things, it was to acquaint him with my paper of Pursers, and read it to him, and had his good liking of it. Shewed him Mr. Coventry's sense of it, which he sent me last post much to my satisfaction. Thence to the 'Change, and there hear to our grief how the plague is encreased this week from seventy to eighty-nine. We have also great fear of our Hambrough fleete, of their meeting the Dutch; as also have certain newes, that by storms Sir Jer. Smith's fleet is scattered, and three of them come without masts back to Plymouth, which is another very exceeding great disappointment, and if the victualling ships are miscarried will tend to the losse of the garrison of Tangier. Thence home, in my way had the opportunity I longed for, of seeing and saluting Mrs. Stokes, my little goldsmith's wife in Paternoster Row, and there bespoke some thing, a silver chafing-dish for warming plates, and so home to dinner, found my wife busy about making her hangings for her chamber with the upholster. So I to the office and anon to the Duke of Albemarle, by coach at night, taking, for saving time, Sir W. Warren with me, talking of our businesses all the way going and coming, and there got his reference of my pursers' paper to the Board to consider of it before he reads it, for he will never understand it I am sure. Here I saw Sir W. Coventry's kind letter to him concerning my paper, and among others of his letters, which I saw all, and that is a strange thing, that whatever is writ to this Duke of Albemarle, all the world may see; for this very night he did give me Mr. Coventry's letter to read, soon as it come to his hand, before he had read it himself, and bid me take out of it what concerned the Navy, and many things there was in it, which I should not have thought fit for him to have let any body so suddenly see; but, among other things, find him profess himself to the Duke a friend into the inquiring further into the business of Prizes, and advises that it may be publique, for the righting the King, and satisfying the people and getting the blame to be rightly laid where it should be, which strikes very hard upon my Lord Sandwich, and troubles me to read it. Besides, which vexes me more, I heard the damned Duchesse again say to twenty gentlemen publiquely in the room, that she would have Montagu sent once more to sea, before he goes his Embassy, that we may see whether he will make amends for his cowardice, and repeated the answer she did give the other day in my hearing to Sir G. Downing, wishing her Lord had been a coward, for then perhaps he might have been made an Embassador, and not been sent now to sea. But one good thing she said, she cried mightily out against the having of gentlemen Captains with feathers and ribbands, and wished the King would send her husband to sea with the old plain sea Captains, that he served with formerly, that would make their ships swim with blood, though they could not make legs [Make bows, play the courtier. The reading, "make leagues," appeared in former editions till Mr. Mynors Bright corrected it.] as Captains nowadays can. It grieved me to see how slightly the Duke do every thing in the world, and how the King and every body suffers whatever he will to be done in the Navy, though never so much against reason, as in the business of recalling tickets, which will be done notwithstanding all the arguments against it. So back again to my office, and there to business and so to bed. 11th. Up and to the office. By and by to the Custome House to the Farmers, there with a letter of Sir G. Carteret's for L3000, which they ordered to be paid me. So away back again to the office, and at noon to dinner all of us by invitation to Sir W. Pen's, and much other company. Among others, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Broome, his poet, and Dr. Whistler, and his (Sir W. Pen's) son-in-law Lowder, servant--[lover]--to Mrs. Margaret Pen, and Sir Edward Spragg, a merry man, that sang a pleasant song pleasantly. Rose from table before half dined, and with Mr. Mountney of the Custome House to the East India House, and there delivered to him tallys for L3000 and received a note for the money on Sir R. Viner. So ended the matter, and back to my company, where staid a little, and thence away with my Lord Bruncker for discourse sake, and he and I to Gresham College to have seen Mr. Hooke and a new invented chariott of Dr. Wilkins, but met with nobody at home! So to Dr. Wilkins's, where I never was before, and very kindly received and met with Dr. Merritt, and fine discourse among them to my great joy, so sober and so ingenious. He is now upon finishing his discourse of a universal character. So away and I home to my office about my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 12th. By coach to the Duke of Albemarle, where Sir W. Batten and I only met. Troubled at my heart to see how things are ordered there without consideration or understanding. Thence back by coach and called at Wotton's, my shoemaker, lately come to towne, and bespoke shoes, as also got him to find me a taylor to make me some clothes, my owne being not yet in towne, nor Pym, my Lord Sandwich's taylor. So he helped me to a pretty man, one Mr. Penny, against St. Dunstan's Church. Thence to the 'Change and there met Mr. Moore, newly come to towne, and took him home to dinner with me and after dinner to talke, and he and I do conclude my Lord's case to be very bad and may be worse, if he do not get a pardon for his doings about the prizes and his business at Bergen, and other things done by him at sea, before he goes for Spayne. I do use all the art I can to get him to get my Lord to pay my cozen Pepys, for it is a great burden to my mind my being bound for my Lord in L1000 to him. Having done discourse with him and directed him to go with my advice to my Lord expresse to-morrow to get his pardon perfected before his going, because of what I read the other night in Sir W. Coventry's letter, I to the office, and there had an extraordinary meeting of Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen, and my Lord Bruncker and I to hear my paper read about pursers, which they did all of them with great good will and great approbation of my method and pains in all, only Sir W. Pen, who must except against every thing and remedy nothing, did except against my proposal for some reasons, which I could not understand, I confess, nor my Lord Bruncker neither, but he did detect indeed a failure or two of mine in my report about the ill condition of the present pursers, which I did magnify in one or two little things, to which, I think, he did with reason except, but at last with all respect did declare the best thing he ever heard of this kind, but when Sir W. Batten did say, "Let us that do know the practical part of the Victualling meet Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen and I and see what we can do to mend all," he was so far from offering or furthering it, that he declined it and said, he must be out of towne. So as I ever knew him never did in his life ever attempt to mend any thing, but suffer all things to go on in the way they are, though never so bad, rather than improve his experience to the King's advantage. So we broke up, however, they promising to meet to offer some thing in it of their opinions, and so we rose, and I and my Lord Bruncker by coach a little way for discourse sake, till our coach broke, and tumbled me over him quite down the side of the coach, falling on the ground about the Stockes, but up again, and thinking it fit to have for my honour some thing reported in writing to the Duke in favour of my pains in this, lest it should be thought to be rejected as frivolous, I did move it to my Lord, and he will see it done to-morrow. So we parted, and I to the office and thence home to my poor wife, who works all day at home like a horse, at the making of her hangings for our chamber and the bed. So to supper and to bed. 13th. At the office all the morning, where my Lord Bruncker moved to have something wrote in my matter as I desired him last night, and it was ordered and will be done next sitting. Home with his Lordship to Mrs. Williams's, in Covent-Garden, to dinner (the first time I ever was there), and there met Captain Cocke; and pretty merry, though not perfectly so, because of the fear that there is of a great encrease again of the plague this week. And again my Lord Bruncker do tell us, that he hath it from Sir John Baber; who is related to my Lord Craven, that my Lord Craven do look after Sir G. Carteret's place, and do reckon himself sure of it. After dinner Cocke and I together by coach to the Exchange, in our way talking of our matters, and do conclude that every thing must breake in pieces, while no better counsels govern matters than there seem to do, and that it will become him and I and all men to get their reckonings even, as soon as they can, and expect all to breake. Besides, if the plague continues among us another yeare, the Lord knows what will become of us. I set him down at the 'Change, and I home to my office, where late writing letters and doing business, and thence home to supper and to bed. My head full of cares, but pleased with my wife's minding her worke so well, and busying herself about her house, and I trust in God if I can but clear myself of my Lord Sandwich's bond, wherein I am bound with him for L1000 to T. Pepys, I shall do pretty well, come what will come. 14th (Lord's day). Long in bed, till raised by my new taylor, Mr. Penny, [who comes and brings me my new velvet coat, very handsome, but plain, and a day hence will bring me my camelott cloak.] He gone I close to my papers and to set all in order and to perform my vow to finish my journall and other things before I kiss any woman more or drink any wine, which I must be forced to do to-morrow if I go to Greenwich as I am invited by Mr. Boreman to hear Mrs. Knipp sing, and I would be glad to go, so as we may be merry. At noon eat the second of the two cygnets Mr. Shepley sent us for a new-year's gift, and presently to my chamber again and so to work hard all day about my Tangier accounts, which I am going again to make up, as also upon writing a letter to my father about Pall, whom it is time now I find to think of disposing of while God Almighty hath given me something to give with her, and in my letter to my father I do offer to give her L450 to make her own L50 given her by my uncle up L500. I do also therein propose Mr. Harman the upholster for a husband for her, to whom I have a great love and did heretofore love his former wife, and a civil man he is and careful in his way, beside, I like his trade and place he lives in, being Cornhill. Thus late at work, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon, after sermon, comes my dear fair beauty of the Exchange, Mrs. Batelier, brought by her sister, an acquaintance of Mercer's, to see my wife. I saluted her with as much pleasure as I had done any a great while. We sat and talked together an houre, with infinite pleasure to me, and so the fair creature went away, and proves one of the modestest women, and pretty, that ever I saw in my life, and my [wife] judges her so too. 15th. Busy all the morning in my chamber in my old cloth suit, while my usuall one is to my taylor's to mend, which I had at noon again, and an answer to a letter I had sent this morning to Mrs. Pierce to go along with my wife and I down to Greenwich to-night upon an invitation to Mr. Boreman's to be merry to dance and sing with Mrs. Knipp. Being dressed, and having dined, I took coach and to Mrs. Pierce, to her new house in Covent-Garden, a very fine place and fine house. Took her thence home to my house, and so by water to Boreman's by night, where the greatest disappointment that ever I saw in my life, much company, a good supper provided, and all come with expectation of excesse of mirthe, but all blank through the waywardnesse of Mrs. Knipp, who, though she had appointed the night, could not be got to come. Not so much as her husband could get her to come; but, which was a pleasant thing in all my anger, I asking him, while we were in expectation what answer one of our many messengers would bring, what he thought, whether she would come or no, he answered that, for his part, he could not so much as thinke. By and by we all to supper, which the silly master of the feast commended, but, what with my being out of humour, and the badnesse of the meate dressed, I did never eat a worse supper in my life. At last, very late, and supper done, she came undressed, but it brought me no mirthe at all; only, after all being done, without singing, or very little, and no dancing, Pierce and I to bed together, and he and I very merry to find how little and thin clothes they give us to cover us, so that we were fain to lie in our stockings and drawers, and lay all our coates and clothes upon the bed. So to sleep. 16th. Up, and leaving the women in bed together (a pretty black and white) I to London to the office, and there forgot, through business, to bespeake any dinner for my wife and Mrs. Pierce. However, by noon they come, and a dinner we had, and Kate Joyce comes to see us, with whom very merry. After dinner she and I up to my chamber, who told me her business was chiefly for my advice about her husband's leaving off his trade, which though I wish enough, yet I did advise against, for he is a man will not know how to live idle, and employment he is fit for none. Thence anon carried her and Mrs. Pierce home, and so to the Duke of Albemarle, and mighty kind he to me still. So home late at my letters, and so to bed, being mightily troubled at the newes of the plague's being encreased, and was much the saddest news that the plague hath brought me from the beginning of it; because of the lateness of the year, and the fear, we may with reason have, of its continuing with us the next summer. The total being now 375, and the plague 158. 17th. Busy all the morning, settling things against my going out of towne this night. After dinner, late took horse, having sent for Lashmore to go with me, and so he and I rode to Dagenhams in the dark. There find the whole family well. It was my Lord Crew's desire that I should come, and chiefly to discourse with me of Lord Sandwich's matters; and therein to persuade, what I had done already, that my Lord should sue out a pardon for his business of the prizes, as also for Bergen, and all he hath done this year past, before he begins his Embassy to Spayne. For it is to be feared that the Parliament will fly out against him and particular men, the next Session. He is glad also that my Lord is clear of his sea-imployment, though sorry as I am, only in the manner of its bringing about. By and by to supper, my Lady Wright very kind. After supper up to wait on my Lady Crew, who is the same weake silly lady as ever, asking such saintly questions. Down to my Lord again and sat talking an houre or two, and anon to prayers the whole family, and then all to bed, I handsomely used, lying in the chamber Mr. Carteret formerly did, but sat up an houre talking sillily with Mr. Carteret and Mr. Marre, and so to bed. 18th. Up before day and thence rode to London before office time, where I met a note at the doore to invite me to supper to Mrs. Pierces because of Mrs. Knipp, who is in towne and at her house: To the office, where, among other things, vexed with Major Norwood's coming, who takes it ill my not paying a bill of Exchange of his, but I have good reason for it, and so the less troubled, but yet troubled, so as at noon being carried by my Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's to dinner, where Mrs. Williams was, and Mrs. Knipp, I was not heartily merry, though a glasse of wine did a little cheer me. After dinner to the office. Anon comes to me thither my Lord Bruncker, Mrs. Williams, and Knipp. I brought down my wife in her night-gowne, she not being indeed very well, to the office to them and there by and by they parted all and my wife and I anon and Mercer, by coach, to Pierces; where mighty merry, and sing and dance with great pleasure; and I danced, who never did in company in my life, and Captain Cocke come for a little while and danced, but went away, but we staid and had a pretty supper, and spent till two in the morning, but got home well by coach, though as dark as pitch, and so to bed. 19th. Up and ready, called on by Mr. Moone, my Lord Bellases' secretary, who and I good friends though I have failed him in some payments. Thence with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of Albemarle's, and carried all well, and met Norwood but prevented him in desiring a meeting of the Commissioners for Tangier. Thence to look for Sir H. [Cholmly], but he not within, he coming to town last night. It is a remarkable thing how infinitely naked all that end of the towne, Covent-Garden, is at this day of people; while the City is almost as full again of people as ever it was. To the 'Change and so home to dinner and the office, whither anon comes Sir H. Cholmley to me, and he and I to my house, there to settle his accounts with me, and so with great pleasure we agreed and great friends become, I think, and he presented me upon the foot of our accounts for this year's service for him L100, whereof Povy must have half. Thence to the office and wrote a letter to Norwood to satisfy him about my nonpayment of his bill, for that do still stick in my mind. So at night home to supper and to bed. 20th. To the office, where upon Mr. Kinaston's coming to me about some business of Colonell Norwood's, I sent my boy home for some papers, where, he staying longer than I would have him, and being vexed at the business and to be kept from my fellows in the office longer than was fit, I become angry, and boxed my boy when he came, that I do hurt my thumb so much, that I was not able to stir all the day after, and in great pain. At noon to dinner, and then to the office again, late, and so to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Lay almost till noon merrily and with pleasure talking with my wife in bed. Then up looking about my house, and the roome which my wife is dressing up, having new hung our bedchamber with blue, very handsome. After dinner to my Tangier accounts and there stated them against to-morrow very distinctly for the Lords to see who meet tomorrow, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and set my people to work in copying Tangier accounts, and I down the river to Greenwich to the office to fetch away some papers and thence to Deptford, where by agreement my Lord Bruncker was to come, but staid almost till noon, after I had spent an houre with W. Howe talking of my Lord Sandwich's matters and his folly in minding his pleasures too much now-a-days, and permitting himself to be governed by Cuttance to the displeasing of all the Commanders almost of the fleete, and thence we may conceive indeed the rise of all my Lord's misfortunes of late. At noon my Lord Bruncker did come, but left the keys of the chests we should open, at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, of my Lord Sandwich's, wherein Howe's supposed jewells are; so we could not, according to my Lord Arlington's order, see them today; but we parted, resolving to meet here at night: my Lord Bruncker being going with Dr. Wilkins, Mr. Hooke, and others, to Colonell Blunts, to consider again of the business of charriots, and to try their new invention. Which I saw here my Lord Bruncker ride in; where the coachman sits astride upon a pole over the horse, but do not touch the horse, which is a pretty odde thing; but it seems it is most easy for the horse, and, as they say, for the man also. Thence I with speede by water home and eat a bit, and took my accounts and to the Duke of Albemarle, where for all I feared of Norwood he was very civill, and Sir Thomas Ingram beyond expectation, I giving them all content and I thereby settled mightily in my mind, for I was weary of the employment, and had had thoughts of giving it over. I did also give a good step in a business of Mr. Hubland's, about getting a ship of his to go to Tangier, which during this strict embargo is a great matter, and I shall have a good reward for it, I hope. Thence by water in the darke down to Deptford, and there find my Lord Bruncker come and gone, having staid long for me. I back presently to the Crowne taverne behind the Exchange by appointment, and there met the first meeting of Gresham College since the plague. Dr. Goddard did fill us with talke, in defence of his and his fellow physicians going out of towne in the plague-time; saying that their particular patients were most gone out of towne, and they left at liberty; and a great deal more, &c. But what, among other fine discourse pleased me most, was Sir G. Ent about Respiration; that it is not to this day known, or concluded on among physicians, nor to be done either, how the action is managed by nature, or for what use it is. Here late till poor Dr. Merriot was drunk, and so all home, and I to bed. 23rd. Up and to the office and then to dinner. After dinner to the office again all the afternoon, and much business with me. Good newes beyond all expectation of the decrease of the plague, being now but 79, and the whole but 272. So home with comfort to bed. A most furious storme all night and morning. 24th. By agreement my Lord Bruncker called me up, and though it was a very foule, windy, and rainy morning, yet down to the waterside we went, but no boat could go, the storme continued so. So my Lord to stay till fairer weather carried me into the Tower to Mr. Hore's and there we staid talking an houre, but at last we found no boats yet could go, so we to the office, where we met upon an occasion extraordinary of examining abuses of our clerkes in taking money for examining of tickets, but nothing done in it. Thence my Lord and I, the weather being a little fairer, by water to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret's house, where W. Howe met us, and there we opened the chests, and saw the poor sorry rubys which have caused all this ado to the undoing of W. Howe; though I am not much sorry for it, because of his pride and ill nature. About 200 of these very small stones, and a cod of muske (which it is strange I was not able to smell) is all we could find; so locked them up again, and my Lord and I, the wind being again very furious, so as we durst not go by water, walked to London quite round the bridge, no boat being able to stirre; and, Lord! what a dirty walk we had, and so strong the wind, that in the fields we many times could not carry our bodies against it, but were driven backwards. We went through Horsydowne, where I never was since a little boy, that I went to enquire after my father, whom we did give over for lost coming from Holland. It was dangerous to walk the streets, the bricks and tiles falling from the houses that the whole streets were covered with them; and whole chimneys, nay, whole houses in two or three places, blowed down. But, above all, the pales on London-bridge on both sides were blown away, so that we were fain to stoop very low for fear of blowing off of the bridge. We could see no boats in the Thames afloat, but what were broke loose, and carried through the bridge, it being ebbing water. And the greatest sight of all was, among other parcels of ships driven here and there in clusters together, one was quite overset and lay with her masts all along in the water, and keel above water. So walked home, my Lord away to his house and I to dinner, Mr. Creed being come to towne and to dine with me, though now it was three o'clock. After dinner he and I to our accounts and very troublesome he is and with tricks which I found plainly and was vexed at; while we were together comes Sir G. Downing with Colonell Norwood, Rumball, and Warrupp to visit me. I made them drink good wine and discoursed above alone a good while with Sir G. Downing, who is very troublesome, and then with Colonell Norwood, who hath a great mind to have me concerned with him in everything; which I like, but am shy of adventuring too much, but will thinke of it. They gone, Creed and I to finish the settling his accounts. Thence to the office, where the Houblans and we discoursed upon a rubb which we have for one of the ships I hoped to have got to go out to Tangier for them. They being gone, I to my office-business late, and then home to supper and even sacke for lacke of a little wine, which I was forced to drink against my oathe, but without pleasure. 25th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner. So abroad to the Duke of Albemarle and Kate Joyce's and her husband, with whom I talked a great deale about Pall's business, and told them what portion I would give her, and they do mightily like of it and will proceed further in speaking with Harman, who hath already been spoke to about it, as from them only, and he is mighty glad of it, but doubts it may be an offence to me, if I should know of it, so thinks that it do come only from Joyce, which I like the better. So I do believe the business will go on, and I desire it were over. I to the office then, where I did much business, and set my people to work against furnishing me to go to Hampton Court, where the King and Duke will be on Sunday next. It is now certain that the King of France hath publickly declared war against us, and God knows how little fit we are for it. At night comes Sir W. Warren, and he and I into the garden, and talked over all our businesses. He gives me good advice not to embarke into trade (as I have had it in my thoughts about Colonell Norwood) so as to be seen to mind it, for it will do me hurte, and draw my mind off from my business and embroile my estate too soon. So to the office business, and I find him as cunning a man in all points as ever I met with in my life and mighty merry we were in the discourse of our owne trickes. So about to o'clock at night I home and staid with him there settling my Tangier-Boates business and talking and laughing at the folly of some of our neighbours of this office till two in the morning and so to bed. 26th. Up, and pleased mightily with what my poor wife hath been doing these eight or ten days with her owne hands, like a drudge in fitting the new hangings of our bed-chamber of blue, and putting the old red ones into my dressing-room, and so by coach to White Hall, where I had just now notice that Sir G. Carteret is come to towne. He seems pleased, but I perceive he is heartily troubled at this Act, and the report of his losing his place, and more at my not writing to him to the prejudice of the Act. But I carry all fair to him and he to me. He bemoans the Kingdom as in a sad state, and with too much reason I doubt, having so many enemys about us and no friends abroad, nor money nor love at home. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, and there a meeting with all the officers of the Navy, where, Lord! to see how the Duke of Albemarle flatters himself with false hopes of money and victuals and all without reason. Then comes the Committee of Tangier to sit, and I there carry all before me very well. Thence with Sir J. Bankes and Mr. Gawden to the 'Change, they both very wise men. After 'Change and agreeing with Houblon about our ships, D. Gawden and I to the Pope's Head and there dined and little Chaplin (who a rich man grown). He gone after dinner, D. Gawden and I to talke of the Victualling business of the Navy in what posture it is, which is very sad also for want of money. Thence home to my chamber by oathe to finish my Journall. Here W. Hewer came to me with L320 from Sir W. Warren, whereof L220 is got clearly by a late business of insurance of the Gottenburg ships, and the other L100 which was due and he had promised me before to give me to my very extraordinary joy, for which I ought and do bless God and so to my office, where late providing a letter to send to Mr. Gawden in a manner we concluded on to-day, and so to bed. 27th. Up very betimes to finish my letter and writ it fair to Mr. Gawden, it being to demand several arrears in the present state of the victualling, partly to the King's and partly to give him occasion to say something relating to the want of money on his own behalf. This done I to the office, where all the morning. At noon after a bit of dinner back to the office and there fitting myself in all points to give an account to the Duke and Mr. Coventry in all things, and in my Tangier business, till three o'clock in the morning, and so to bed, 28th. And up again about six (Lord's day), and being dressed in my velvett coate and plain cravatte took a hackney coach provided ready for me by eight o'clock, and so to my Lord Bruncker's with all my papers, and there took his coach with four horses and away toward Hampton Court, having a great deale of good discourse with him, particularly about his coming to lie at the office, when I went further in inviting him to than I intended, having not yet considered whether it will be convenient for me or no to have him here so near us, and then of getting Mr. Evelyn or Sir Robert Murray into the Navy in the room of Sir Thomas Harvey. At Brainford I 'light, having need to shit, and went into an Inne doore that stood open, found the house of office and used it, but saw no people, only after I was in the house, heard a great dogg barke, and so was afeard how I should get safe back again, and therefore drew my sword and scabbard out of my belt to have ready in my hand, but did not need to use it, but got safe into the coach again, but lost my belt by the shift, not missing it till I come to Hampton Court. At the Wicke found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten at a lodging provided for us by our messenger, and there a good dinner ready. After dinner took coach and to Court, where we find the King, and Duke, and Lords, all in council; so we walked up and down: there being none of the ladies come, and so much the more business I hope will be done. The Council being up, out comes the King, and I kissed his hand, and he grasped me very kindly by the hand. The Duke also, I kissed his, and he mighty kind, and Sir W. Coventry. I found my Lord Sandwich there, poor man! I see with a melancholy face, and suffers his beard to grow on his upper lip more than usual. I took him a little aside to know when I should wait on him, and where: he told me, and that it would be best to meet at his lodgings, without being seen to walk together. Which I liked very well; and, Lord! to see in what difficulty I stand, that I dare not walk with Sir W. Coventry, for fear my Lord or Sir G. Carteret should see me; nor with either of them, for fear Sir W. Coventry should. After changing a few words with Sir W. Coventry, who assures me of his respect and love to me, and his concernment for my health in all this sickness, I went down into one of the Courts, and there met the King and Duke; and the Duke called me to him. And the King come to me of himself, and told me, "Mr. Pepys," says he, "I do give you thanks for your good service all this year, and I assure you I am very sensible of it." And the Duke of Yorke did tell me with pleasure, that he had read over my discourse about pursers, and would have it ordered in my way, and so fell from one discourse to another. I walked with them quite out of the Court into the fields, and then back to my Lord Sandwich's chamber, where I find him very melancholy and not well satisfied, I perceive, with my carriage to Sir G. Carteret, but I did satisfy him and made him confess to me, that I have a very hard game to play; and told me he was sorry to see it, and the inconveniences which likely may fall upon me with him; but, for all that, I am not much afeard, if I can but keepe out of harm's way in not being found too much concerned in my Lord's or Sir G. Carteret's matters, and that I will not be if I can helpe it. He hath got over his business of the prizes, so far as to have a privy seale passed for all that was in his distribution to the officers, which I am heartily glad of; and, for the rest, he must be answerable for what he is proved to have. But for his pardon for anything else, he thinks it not seasonable to aske it, and not usefull to him; because that will not stop a Parliament's mouth, and for the King, he is sure enough of him. I did aske him whether he was sure of the interest and friendship of any great Ministers of State and he told me, yes. As we were going further, in comes my Lord Mandeville, so we were forced to breake off and I away, and to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, where he not come in but I find Sir W. Pen, and he and I to discourse. I find him very much out of humour, so that I do not think matters go very well with him, and I am glad of it. He and I staying till late, and Sir W. Coventry not coming in (being shut up close all the afternoon with the Duke of Albemarle), we took boat, and by water to Kingston, and so to our lodgings, where a good supper and merry, only I sleepy, and therefore after supper I slunk away from the rest to bed, and lay very well and slept soundly, my mind being in a great delirium between joy for what the King and Duke have said to me and Sir W. Coventry, and trouble for my Lord Sandwich's concernments, and how hard it will be for me to preserve myself from feeling thereof. 29th. Up, and to Court by coach, where to Council before the Duke of Yorke, the Duke of Albemarle with us, and after Sir W. Coventry had gone over his notes that he had provided with the Duke of Albemarle, I went over all mine with good successe, only I fear I did once offend the Duke of Albemarle, but I was much joyed to find the Duke of Yorke so much contending for my discourse about the pursers against Sir W. Pen, who opposes it like a foole; my Lord Sandwich come in in the middle of the business, and, poor man, very melancholy, methought, and said little at all, or to the business, and sat at the lower end, just as he come, no roome being made for him, only I did give him my stoole, and another was reached me. After council done, I walked to and again up and down the house, discoursing with this and that man. Among others tooke occasion to thanke the Duke of Yorke for his good opinion in general of my service, and particularly his favour in conferring on me the Victualling business. He told me that he knew nobody so fit as I for it, and next, he was very glad to find that to give me for my encouragement, speaking very kindly of me. So to Sir W. Coventry's to dinner with him, whom I took occasion to thanke for his favour and good thoughts of what little service I did, desiring he would do the last act of friendship in telling me of my faults also. He told me he would be sure he would do that also, if there were any occasion for it. So that as much as it is possible under so great a fall of my Lord Sandwich's, and difference between them, I may conclude that I am thoroughly right with Sir W. Coventry. I dined with him with a great deale of company, and much merry discourse. I was called away before dinner ended to go to my company who dined at our lodgings. Thither I went with Mr. Evelyn (whom I met) in his coach going that way, but finding my company gone, but my Lord Bruncker left his coach for me; so Mr. Evelyn and I into my Lord's coach, and rode together with excellent discourse till we come to Clapham, talking of the vanity and vices of the Court, which makes it a most contemptible thing; and indeed in all his discourse I find him a most worthy person. Particularly he entertained me with discourse of an Infirmary, which he hath projected for the sick and wounded seamen against the next year, which I mightily approve of; and will endeavour to promote it, being a worthy thing, and of use, and will save money. He set me down at Mr. Gawden's, where nobody yet come home, I having left him and his sons and Creed at Court, so I took a book and into the gardens, and there walked and read till darke with great pleasure, and then in and in comes Osborne, and he and I to talk of Mr. Jaggard, who comes from London, and great hopes there is of a decrease this week also of the plague. Anon comes in Creed, and after that Mr. Gawden and his sons, and then they bringing in three ladies, who were in the house, but I do not know them, his daughter and two nieces, daughters of Dr. Whistler's, with whom and Creed mighty sport at supper, the ladies very pretty and mirthfull. I perceive they know Creed's gut and stomach as well as I, and made as much mirthe as I with it at supper. After supper I made the ladies sing, and they have been taught, but, Lord! though I was forced to commend them, yet it was the saddest stuff I ever heard. However, we sat up late, and then I, in the best chamber like a prince, to bed, and Creed with me, and being sleepy talked but little. 30th. Lay long till Mr. Gawden was gone out being to take a little journey. Up, and Creed and I some good discourse, but with some trouble for the state of my Lord's matters. After walking a turne or two in the garden, and bid good morrow to Mr. Gawden's sons, and sent my service to the ladies, I took coach after Mr. Gawden's, and home, finding the towne keeping the day solemnly, it being the day of the King's murther, and they being at church, I presently into the church, thinking to see Mrs. Lethulier or Batelier, but did not, and a dull sermon of our young Lecturer, too bad. This is the first time I have been in this church since I left London for the plague, and it frighted me indeed to go through the church more than I thought it could have done, to see so [many] graves lie so high upon the churchyards where people have been buried of the plague. I was much troubled at it, and do not think to go through it again a good while. So home to my wife, whom I find not well, in bed, and it seems hath not been well these two days. She rose and we to dinner, after dinner up to my chamber, where she entertained me with what she hath lately bought of clothes for herself, and Damask linnen, and other things for the house. I did give her a serious account how matters stand with me, of favour with the King and Duke, and of danger in reference to my Lord's and Sir G. Carteret's falls, and the dissatisfaction I have heard the Duke of Albemarle hath acknowledged to somebody, among other things, against my Lord Sandwich, that he did bring me into the Navy against his desire and endeavour for another, which was our doting foole Turner. Thence from one discourse to another, and looking over my house, and other things I spent the day at home, and at night betimes to bed. After dinner this day I went down by water to Deptford, and fetched up what money there was of W. Howe's contingencies in the chest there, being L516 13s. 3d. and brought it home to dispose of. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then up and to the office, where we met on extraordinary occasion about the business of tickets. By and by to the 'Change, and there did several businesses, among others brought home my cozen Pepys, whom I appointed to be here to-day, and Mr. Moore met us upon the business of my Lord's bond. Seeing my neighbour Mr. Knightly walk alone from the 'Change, his family being not yet come to town, I did invite him home with me, and he dined with me, a very sober, pretty man he is. He is mighty solicitous, as I find many about the City that live near the churchyards, to have the churchyards covered with lime, and I think it is needfull, and ours I hope will be done. Good pleasant discourse at dinner of the practices of merchants to cheate the "Customers," occasioned by Mr. Moore's being with much trouble freed of his prize goods, which he bought, which fell into the Customers' hands, and with much ado hath cleared them. Mr. Knightly being gone, my cozen Pepys and Moore and I to our business, being the clearing of my Lord Sandwich's bond wherein I am bound with him to my cozen for L1000 I have at last by my dexterity got my Lord's consent to have it paid out of the money raised by his prizes. So the bond is cancelled, and he paid by having a note upon Sir Robert Viner, in whose hands I had lodged my Lord's money, by which I am to my extraordinary comfort eased of a liablenesse to pay the sum in case of my Lord's death, or troubles in estate, or my Lord's greater fall, which God defend! Having settled this matter at Sir R. Viner's, I took up Mr. Moore (my cozen going home) and to my Lord Chancellor's new house which he is building, only to view it, hearing so much from Mr. Evelyn of it; and, indeed, it is the finest pile I ever did see in my life, and will be a glorious house. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, who tells me Mr. Coventry is come to town and directs me to go to him about some business in hand, whether out of displeasure or desire of ease I know not; but I asked him not the reason of it but went to White Hall, but could not find him there, though to my great joy people begin to bustle up and down there, the King holding his resolution to be in towne to-morrow, and hath good encouragement, blessed be God! to do so, the plague being decreased this week to 56, and the total to 227. So after going to the Swan in the Palace, and sent for Spicer to discourse about my last Tangier tallys that have some of the words washed out with the rain, to have them new writ, I home, and there did some business and at the office, and so home to supper, and to bed. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1665-1666 February 1st. Up and to the office, where all the morning till late, and Mr. Coventry with us, the first time since before the plague, then hearing my wife was gone abroad to buy things and see her mother and father, whom she hath not seen since before the plague, and no dinner provided for me ready, I walked to Captain Cocke's, knowing my Lord Bruncker dined there, and there very merry, and a good dinner. Thence my Lord and his mistresse, Madam Williams, set me down at the Exchange, and I to Alderman Backewell's to set all my reckonings straight there, which I did, and took up all my notes. So evened to this day, and thence to Sir Robert Viner's, where I did the like, leaving clear in his hands just L2000 of my owne money, to be called for when I pleased. Having done all this I home, and there to the office, did my business there by the post and so home, and spent till one in the morning in my chamber to set right all my money matters, and so to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and knowing that my Lord Sandwich is come to towne with the King and Duke, I to wait upon him, which I did, and find him in very good humour, which I am glad to see with all my heart. Having received his commands, and discoursed with some of his people about my Lord's going, and with Sir Roger Cuttance, who was there, and finds himself slighted by Sir W. Coventry, I advised him however to look after employment lest it should be said that my Lord's friends do forsake the service after he hath made them rich with the prizes. I to London, and there among other things did look over some pictures at Cade's for my house, and did carry home a silver drudger [The dredger was probably the drageoir of France; in low Latin, dragerium, or drageria, in which comfits (dragdes) were kept. Roquefort says, "The ladies wore a little spice-box, in shape like a watch, to carry dragles, and it was called a drageoir." The custom continued certainly till the middle of the last century. Old Palsgrave, in his "Eclaircissement de la Langue Francaise," gives "dradge" as spice, rendering it by the French word dragde. Chaucer says, of his Doctor of Physic, "Full ready hadde he his Apothecaries To send him dragges, and his lattuaries." The word sometimes may have signified the pounded condiments in which our forefathers delighted. It is worth notice, that "dragge" was applied to a grain in the eastern counties, though not exclusively there, appearing to denote mixed grain. Bishop Kennett tells us that "dredge mault is mault made up of oats, mixed with barley, of which they make an excellent, freshe, quiete sort of drinke, in Staffordshire." The dredger is still commonly used in our kitchen.--B.] for my cupboard of plate, and did call for my silver chafing dishes, but they are sent home, and the man would not be paid for them, saying that he was paid for them already, and with much ado got him to tell me by Mr. Wayth, but I would not accept of that, but will send him his money, not knowing any courtesy I have yet done him to deserve it. So home, and with my wife looked over our plate, and picked out L40 worth, I believe, to change for more usefull plate, to our great content, and then we shall have a very handsome cupboard of plate. So to dinner, and then to the office, where we had a meeting extraordinary, about stating to the Duke the present debts of the Navy, for which ready money must be had, and that being done, I to my business, where late, and then home to supper, and to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office very busy till 3 o'clock, and then home, all of us, for half an hour to dinner, and to it again till eight at night, stating our wants of money for the Duke, but could not finish it. So broke up, and I to my office, then about letters and other businesses very late, and so home to supper, weary with business, and to bed. 4th. Lord's day; and my wife and I the first time together at church since the plague, and now only because of Mr. Mills his coming home to preach his first sermon; expecting a great excuse for his leaving the parish before any body went, and now staying till all are come home; but he made but a very poor and short excuse, and a bad sermon. It was a frost, and had snowed last night, which covered the graves in the churchyard, so as I was the less afeard for going through. Here I had the content to see my noble Mrs. Lethulier, and so home to dinner, and all the afternoon at my Journall till supper, it being a long while behindhand. At supper my wife tells me that W. Joyce has been with her this evening, the first time since the plague, and tells her my aunt James is lately dead of the stone, and what she had hath given to his and his brother's wife and my cozen Sarah. So after supper to work again, and late to bed. 5th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten (at whose lodgings calling for him, I saw his Lady the first time since her coming to towne since the plague, having absented myself designedly to shew some discontent, and that I am not at all the more suppliant because of my Lord Sandwich's fall), to my Lord Bruncker's, to see whether he goes to the Duke's this morning or no. But it is put off, and so we parted. My Lord invited me to dinner to-day to dine with Sir W. Batten and his Lady there, who were invited before, but lest he should thinke so little an invitation would serve my turne I refused and parted, and to Westminster about business, and so back to the 'Change, and there met Mr. Hill, newly come to town, and with him the Houblands, preparing for their ship's and his going to Tangier, and agreed that I must sup with them to-night. So home and eat a bit, and then to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, but it did not meet but was put off to to-morrow, so I did some little business and visited my Lord Sandwich, and so, it raining, went directly to the Sun, behind the Exchange, about seven o'clock, where I find all the five brothers Houblons, and mighty fine gentlemen they are all, and used me mighty respectfully. We were mighty civilly merry, and their discourses, having been all abroad, very fine. Here late and at last accompanied home with Mr. J. Houblon and Hill, whom I invited to sup with me on Friday, and so parted and I home to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning. We met upon a report to the Duke of Yorke of the debts of the Navy, which we finished by three o'clock, and having eat one little bit of meate, I by water before the rest to White Hall (and they to come after me) because of a Committee for Tangier, where I did my business of stating my accounts perfectly well, and to good liking, and do not discern, but the Duke of Albemarle is my friend in his intentions notwithstanding my general fears. After that to our Navy business, where my fellow officers were called in, and did that also very well, and then broke up, and I home by coach, Tooker with me, and staid in Lumbard Streete at Viner's, and sent home for the plate which my wife and I had a mind to change, and there changed it, about L50 worth, into things more usefull, whereby we shall now have a very handsome cupboard of plate. So home to the office, wrote my letters by the post, and to bed. 7th. It being fast day I staid at home all day long to set things to rights in my chamber by taking out all my books, and putting my chamber in the same condition it was before the plague. But in the morning doing of it, and knocking up a nail I did bruise my left thumb so as broke a great deal of my flesh off, that it hung by a little. It was a sight frighted my wife, but I put some balsam of Mrs. Turner's to it, and though in great pain, yet went on with my business, and did it to my full content, setting every thing in order, in hopes now that the worst of our fears are over as to the plague for the next year. Interrupted I was by two or three occasions this day to my great vexation, having this the only day I have been able to set apart for this work since my coming to town. At night to supper, weary, and to bed, having had the plasterers and joiners also to do some jobbs. 8th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, expecting to have received from Mr. Houbland, as he promised me, an assignment upon Viner, for my reward for my getting them the going of their two ships to Tangier, but I find myself much disappointed therein, for I spoke with him and he said nothing of it, but looked coldly, through some disturbance he meets with in our business through Colonell Norwood's pressing them to carry more goods than will leave room for some of their own. But I shall ease them. Thence to Captain Cocke's, where Mr. Williamson, Wren, Boldell and Madam Williams, and by and by Lord Bruncker, he having been with the King and Duke upon the water to-day, to see Greenwich house, and the yacht Castle is building of, and much good discourse. So to White Hall to see my Lord Sandwich, and then home to my business till night, and then to bed. 9th. Up, and betimes to Sir Philip Warwicke, who was glad to see me, and very kind. Thence to Colonell Norwood's lodgings, and there set about Houblons' business about their ships. Thence to Westminster, to the Exchequer, about my Tangier business to get orders for tallys, and so to the Hall, where the first day of the Terme, and the Hall very full of people, and much more than was expected, considering the plague that hath been. Thence to the 'Change, and to the Sun behind it to dinner with the Lieutenant of the Tower, Colonell Norwood and others, where strange pleasure they seem to take in their wine and meate, and discourse of it with the curiosity and joy that methinks was below men of worthe. Thence home, and there very much angry with my people till I had put all things in good forwardnesse about my supper for the Houblons, but that being done I was in good humour again, and all things in good order. Anon the five brothers Houblons come and Mr. Hill, and a very good supper we had, and good company and discourse, with great pleasure. My new plate sets off my cupboard very nobly. Here they were till about eleven at night with great pleasure, and a fine sight it is to see these five brothers thus loving one to another, and all industrious merchants. Our subject was principally Mr. Hill's going for them to Portugall, which was the occasion of this entertainment. They gone, we to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office. At noon, full of business, to dinner. This day comes first Sir Thomas Harvy after the plague, having been out of towne all this while. He was coldly received by us, and he went away before we rose also, to make himself appear yet a man less necessary. After dinner, being full of care and multitude of business, I took coach and my wife with me. I set her down at her mother's (having first called at my Lord Treasurer's and there spoke with Sir Ph. Warwicke), and I to the Exchequer about Tangier orders, and so to the Swan and there staid a little, and so by coach took up my wife, and at the old Exchange bought a muffe, and so home and late at my letters, and so to supper and to bed, being now-a-days, for these four or five months, mightily troubled with my snoring in my sleep, and know not how to remedy it. 11th (Lord's day). Up, and put on a new black cloth suit to an old coate that I make to be in mourning at Court, where they are all, for the King of Spayne.--[Philip IV., who died September 17th, 1665.]--To church I, and at noon dined well, and then by water to White Hall, carrying a captain of the Tower (who desired his freight thither); there I to the Parke, and walked two or three turns of the Pell Mell with the company about the King and Duke; the Duke speaking to me a good deal. There met Lord Bruncker and Mr. Coventry, and discoursed about the Navy business; and all of us much at a loss that we yet can hear nothing of Sir Jeremy Smith's fleete, that went away to the Streights the middle of December, through all the storms that we have had since, that have driven back three or four of them with their masts by the board. Yesterday come out the King's Declaration of War against the French, but with such mild invitations of both them and the Dutch to come over hither with promise of their protection, that every body wonders at it. Thence home with my Lord Bruncker for discourse sake, and thence by hackney coach home, and so my wife and I mighty pleasant discourse, supped and to bed. The great wound I had Wednesday last in my thumb having with once dressing by Mrs. Turner's balsam been perfectly cured, whereas I did not hope to save my nail, whatever else ill it did give me. My wife and I are much thoughtfull now-a-days about Pall's coming up in order to a husband. 12th. Up, and very busy to perform an oathe in finishing my Journall this morning for 7 or 8 days past. Then to several people attending upon business, among others Mr. Grant and the executors of Barlow for the L25 due for the quarter before he died, which I scrupled to pay, being obliged but to pay every half year. Then comes Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute-master, whom I have not seen since the plague before, but he hath been in Westminster all this while very well; and tells me in the height of it, how bold people there were, to go in sport to one another's burials; and in spite too, ill people would breathe in the faces (out of their windows) of well people going by. Then to dinner before the 'Change, and so to the 'Change, and then to the taverne to talk with Sir William Warren, and so by coach to several places, among others to my Lord Treasurer's, there to meet my Lord Sandwich, but missed, and met him at [my] Lord Chancellor's, and there talked with him about his accounts, and then about Sir G. Carteret, and I find by him that Sir G. Carteret has a worse game to play than my Lord Sandwich, for people are jeering at him, and he cries out of the business of Sir W. Coventry, who strikes at all and do all. Then to my bookseller's, and then received some books I have new bought, and here late choosing some more to new bind, having resolved to give myself L10 in books, and so home to the office and then home to supper, where Mr. Hill was and supped with us, and good discourse; an excellent person he still appears to me. After supper, and he gone, we to bed. 13th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, and thence after business dined at the Sheriffe's [Hooker], being carried by Mr. Lethulier, where to my heart's content I met with his wife, a most beautifull fat woman. But all the house melancholy upon the sickness of a daughter of the house in childbed, Mr. Vaughan's lady. So all of them undressed, but however this lady a very fine woman. I had a salute of her, and after dinner some discourse the Sheriffe and I about a parcel of tallow I am buying for the office of him. I away home, and there at the office all the afternoon till late at night, and then away home to supper and to bed. Ill newes this night that the plague is encreased this week, and in many places else about the towne, and at Chatham and elsewhere. This day my wife wanting a chambermaid with much ado got our old little Jane to be found out, who come to see her and hath lived all this while in one place, but is so well that we will not desire her removal, but are mighty glad to see the poor wench, who is very well and do well. 14th (St. Valentine's day). This morning called up by Mr. Hill, who, my wife thought, had been come to be her Valentine; she, it seems, having drawne him last night, but it proved not. However, calling him up to our bed-side, my wife challenged him. I up, and made myself ready, and so with him by coach to my Lord Sandwich's by appointment to deliver Mr. Howe's accounts to my Lord. Which done, my Lord did give me hearty and large studied thanks for all my kindnesse to him and care of him and his business. I after profession of all duty to his Lordship took occasion to bemoane myself that I should fall into such a difficulty about Sir G. Carteret, as not to be for him, but I must be against Sir W. Coventry, and therefore desired to be neutrall, which my Lord approved and confessed reasonable, but desired me to befriend him privately. Having done in private with my Lord I brought Mr. Hill to kisse his hands, to whom my Lord professed great respect upon my score. My Lord being gone, I took Mr. Hill to my Lord Chancellor's new house that is building, and went with trouble up to the top of it, and there is there the noblest prospect that ever I saw in my life, Greenwich being nothing to it; and in every thing is a beautiful house, and most strongly built in every respect; and as if, as it hath, it had the Chancellor for its master. Thence with him to his paynter, Mr. Hales, who is drawing his picture, which will be mighty like him, and pleased me so, that I am resolved presently to have my wife's and mine done by him, he having a very masterly hand. So with mighty satisfaction to the 'Change and thence home, and after dinner abroad, taking Mrs. Mary Batelier with us, who was just come to see my wife, and they set me down at my Lord Treasurer's, and themselves went with the coach into the fields to take the ayre. I staid a meeting of the Duke of Yorke's, and the officers of the Navy and Ordnance. My Lord Treasurer lying in bed of the gowte. Our business was discourse of the straits of the Navy for want of money, but after long discourse as much out of order as ordinary people's, we come to no issue, nor any money promised, or like to be had, and yet the worke must be done. Here I perceive Sir G. Carteret had prepared himself to answer a choque of Sir W. Coventry, by offering of himself to shew all he had paid, and what is unpaid, and what moneys and assignments he hath in his hands, which, if he makes good, was the best thing he ever did say in his life, and the best timed, for else it must have fallen very foule on him. The meeting done I away, my wife and they being come back and staying for me at the gate. But, Lord! to see how afeard I was that Sir W. Coventry should have spyed me once whispering with Sir G. Carteret, though not intended by me, but only Sir G. Carteret come to me and I could not avoyde it. So home, they set me down at the 'Change, and I to the Crowne, where my Lord Bruncker was come and several of the Virtuosi, and after a small supper and but little good discourse I with Sir W. Batten (who was brought thither with my Lord Bruncker) home, where I find my wife gone to Mrs. Mercer's to be merry, but presently come in with Mrs. Knipp, who, it seems, is in towne, and was gone thither with my wife and Mercer to dance, and after eating a little supper went thither again to spend the whole night there, being W. Howe there, at whose chamber they are, and Lawd Crisp by chance. I to bed. 15th. Up, and my wife not come home all night. To the office, where sat all the morning. At noon to Starky's, a great cooke in Austin Friars, invited by Colonell Atkins, and a good dinner for Colonell Norwood and his friends, among others Sir Edward Spragg and others, but ill attendance. Before dined, called on by my wife in a coach, and so I took leave, and then with her and Knipp and Mercer (Mr. Hunt newly come out of the country being there also come to see us) to Mr. Hales, the paynter's, having set down Mr. Hunt by the way. Here Mr. Hales' begun my wife in the posture we saw one of my Lady Peters, like a St. Katharine. [It was the fashion at this time to be painted as St. Catherine, in compliment to the queen.] While he painted, Knipp, and Mercer, and I, sang; and by and by comes Mrs. Pierce, with my name in her bosom for her Valentine, which will cost me money. But strange how like his very first dead colouring is, that it did me good to see it, and pleases me mightily, and I believe will be a noble picture. Thence with them all as far as Fleete Streete, and there set Mercer and Knipp down, and we home. I to the office, whither the Houblons come telling me of a little new trouble from Norwood about their ship, which troubles me, though without reason. So late home to supper and to bed. We hear this night of Sir Jeremy Smith, that he and his fleete have been seen at Malaga; which is good newes. 16th. Up betimes, and by appointment to the Exchange, where I met Messrs. Houblons, and took them up in my coach and carried them to Charing Crosse, where they to Colonell Norwood to see how they can settle matters with him, I having informed them by the way with advice to be easy with him, for he may hereafter do us service, and they and I are like to understand one another to very good purpose. I to my Lord Sandwich, and there alone with him to talke of his affairs, and particularly of his prize goods, wherein I find he is wearied with being troubled, and gives over the care of it to let it come to what it will, having the King's release for the dividend made, and for the rest he thinks himself safe from being proved to have anything more. Thence to the Exchequer, and so by coach to the 'Change, Mr. Moore with me, who tells me very odde passages of the indiscretion of my Lord in the management of his family, of his carelessnesse, &c., which troubles me, but makes me rejoice with all my heart of my being rid of the bond of L1000, for that would have been a cruel blow to me. With Moore to the Coffee-House, the first time I have been there, where very full, and company it seems hath been there all the plague time. So to the 'Change, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to settle accounts with him for my Lord, and so evened with him to this day. Then to the office, and out with Sir W. Warren for discourse by coach to White Hall, thinking to have spoke with Sir W. Coventry, but did not, and to see the Queene, but she comes but to Hampton Court to-night. Back to my office and there late, and so home to supper and bed. I walked a good while to-night with Mr. Hater in the garden, talking about a husband for my sister, and reckoning up all our clerks about us, none of which he thinks fit for her and her portion. At last I thought of young Gawden, and will thinke of it again. 17th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Late to dinner, and then to the office again, and there busy till past twelve at night, and so home to supper and to bed. We have newes of Sir Jeremy Smith's being very well with his fleete at Cales.--[Cadiz] 18th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed discoursing with pleasure with my wife, among other things about Pall's coming up, for she must be here a little to be fashioned, and my wife hath a mind to go down for her, which I am not much against, and so I rose and to my chamber to settle several things. At noon comes my uncle Wight to dinner, and brings with him Mrs. Wight, sad company to me, nor was I much pleased with it, only I must shew respect to my uncle. After dinner they gone, and it being a brave day, I walked to White Hall, where the Queene and ladies are all come: I saw some few of them, but not the Queene, nor any of the great beauties. I endeavoured to have seen my Lord Hinchingbrooke, who come to town yesterday, but I could not. Met with Creed and walked with him a turne or two in the Parke, but without much content, having now designs of getting money in my head, which allow me not the leisure I used to have with him, besides an odde story lately told of him for a great truth, of his endeavouring to lie with a woman at Oxford, and her crying out saved her; and this being publickly known, do a little make me hate him. Thence took coach, and calling by the way at my bookseller's for a booke I writ about twenty years ago in prophecy of this year coming on, 1666, explaining it to be the marke of the beast, I home, and there fell to reading, and then to supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was gone out. So I to White Hall, and there waited on the Duke of Yorke with some of the rest of our brethren, and thence back again to my Lord's, to see my Lord Hinchingbroke, which I did, and I am mightily out of countenance in my great expectation of him by others' report, though he is indeed a pretty gentleman, yet nothing what I took him for, methinks, either as to person or discourse discovered to me, but I must try him more before I go too far in censuring. Hence to the Exchequer from office to office, to set my business of my tallys in doing, and there all the morning. So at noon by coach to St. Paul's Church-yarde to my Bookseller's, and there bespoke a few more books to bring all I have lately bought to L10. Here I am told for certain, what I have heard once or twice already, of a Jew in town, that in the name of the rest do offer to give any man L10 to be paid L100, if a certain person now at Smyrna be within these two years owned by all the Princes of the East, and particularly the grand Signor as the King of the world, in the same manner we do the King of England here, and that this man is the true Messiah. One named a friend of his that had received ten pieces in gold upon this score, and says that the Jew hath disposed of L1100 in this manner, which is very strange; and certainly this year of 1666 will be a year of great action; but what the consequences of it will be, God knows! Thence to the 'Change, and from my stationer's thereabouts carried home by coach two books of Ogilby's, his AEsop and Coronation, which fell to my lot at his lottery. Cost me L4 besides the binding. So home. I find my wife gone out to Hales, her paynter's, and I after a little dinner do follow her, and there do find him at worke, and with great content I do see it will be a very brave picture. Left her there, and I to my Lord Treasurer's, where Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes met me, and before my Lord Treasurer and Duke of Albemarle the state of our Navy debts were laid open, being very great, and their want of money to answer them openly professed, there being but L1,500,000 to answer a certaine expense and debt of L2,300,000. Thence walked with Fenn down to White Hall, and there saw the Queene at cards with many ladies, but none of our beauties were there. But glad I was to see the Queene so well, who looks prettily; and methinks hath more life than before, since it is confessed of all that she miscarryed lately; Dr. Clerke telling me yesterday at White Hall that he had the membranes and other vessels in his hands which she voided, and were perfect as ever woman's was that bore a child. Thence hoping to find my Lord Sandwich, away by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, but missed him, and so home and to office, and then to supper and my Journall, and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office; where, among other businesses, Mr. Evelyn's proposition about publique Infirmarys was read and agreed on, he being there: and at noon I took him home to dinner, being desirous of keeping my acquaintance with him; and a most excellent humoured man I still find him, and mighty knowing. After dinner I took him by coach to White Hall, and there he and I parted, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, where coming and bolting into the dining-room, I there found Captain Ferrers going to christen a child of his born yesterday, and I come just pat to be a godfather, along with my Lord Hinchingbrooke, and Madam Pierce, my Valentine, which for that reason I was pretty well contented with, though a little vexed to see myself so beset with people to spend me money, as she of a Valentine and little Mrs. Tooker, who is come to my house this day from Greenwich, and will cost me 20s., my wife going out with her this afternoon, and now this christening. Well, by and by the child is brought and christened Katharine, and I this day on this occasion drank a glasse of wine, which I have not professedly done these two years, I think, but a little in the time of the sicknesse. After that done, and gone and kissed the mother in bed, I away to Westminster Hall, and there hear that Mrs. Lane is come to town. So I staid loitering up and down till anon she comes and agreed to meet at Swayn's, and there I went anon, and she come, but staid but little, the place not being private. I have not seen her since before the plague. So thence parted and 'rencontrais a' her last 'logis', and in the place did what I 'tenais a mind pour ferais con her'. At last she desired to borrow money of me, L5, and would pawn gold with me for it, which I accepted and promised in a day or two to supply her. So away home to the office, and thence home, where little Mrs. Tooker staid all night with us, and a pretty child she is, and happens to be niece to my beauty that is dead, that lived at the Jackanapes, in Cheapside. So to bed, a little troubled that I have been at two houses this afternoon with Mrs. Lane that were formerly shut up of the plague. 21st. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall by his coach, by the way talking of my brother John to get a spiritual promotion for him, which I am now to looke after, for as much as he is shortly to be Master in Arts, and writes me this weeke a Latin letter that he is to go into orders this Lent. There to the Duke's chamber, and find our fellows discoursing there on our business, so I was sorry to come late, but no hurte was done thereby. Here the Duke, among other things, did bring out a book of great antiquity of some of the customs of the Navy, about 100 years since, which he did lend us to read and deliver him back again. Thence I to the Exchequer, and there did strike my tallys for a quarter for Tangier and carried them home with me, and thence to Trinity-house, being invited to an Elder Brother's feast; and there met and sat by Mr. Prin, and had good discourse about the privileges of Parliament, which, he says, are few to the Commons' House, and those not examinable by them, but only by the House of Lords. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to Gresham College, the first time after the sicknesse that I was there, and the second time any met. And here a good lecture of Mr. Hooke's about the trade of felt-making, very pretty. And anon alone with me about the art of drawing pictures by Prince Rupert's rule and machine, and another of Dr. Wren's; [Afterwards the famous Sir Christopher Wren. He was one of the mainstays of the Royal Society.] but he says nothing do like squares, or, which is the best in the world, like a darke roome,--[The camera obscura.]--which pleased me mightily. Thence with Povy home to my house, and there late settling accounts with him, which was very troublesome to me, and he gone, found Mr. Hill below, who sat with me till late talking, and so away, and we to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner and thence by coach with my wife for ayre principally for her. I alone stopped at Hales's and there mightily am pleased with my wife's picture that is begun there, and with Mr. Hill's, though I must [owne] I am not more pleased with it now the face is finished than I was when I saw it the second time of sitting. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, but he not within, but goes to-morrow. My wife to Mrs. Hunt's, who is lately come to towne and grown mighty fat. I called her there, and so home and late at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. We are much troubled that the sicknesse in general (the town being so full of people) should be but three, and yet of the particular disease of the plague there should be ten encrease. 23rd. Up betimes, and out of doors by 6 of the clock, and walked (W. Howe with me) to my Lord Sandwich's, who did lie the last night at his house in Lincoln's Inne Fields. It being fine walking in the morning, and the streets full of people again. There I staid, and the house full of people come to take leave of my Lord, who this day goes out of towne upon his embassy towards Spayne. And I was glad to find Sir W. Coventry to come, though I know it is only a piece of courtshipp. I had much discourse with my Lord, he telling me how fully he leaves the King his friend and the large discourse he had with him the other day, and how he desired to have the business of the prizes examined before he went, and that he yielded to it, and it is done as far as it concerns himself to the full, and the Lords Commissioners for prizes did reprehend all the informers in what related to his Lordship, which I am glad of in many respects. But we could not make an end of discourse, so I promised to waite upon [him] on Sunday at Cranborne, and took leave and away hence to Mr. Hales's with Mr. Hill and two of the Houblons, who come thither to speak with me, and saw my wife's picture, which pleases me well, but Mr. Hill's picture never a whit so well as it did before it was finished, which troubled me, and I begin to doubt the picture of my Lady Peters my wife takes her posture from, and which is an excellent picture, is not of his making, it is so master-like. I set them down at the 'Change and I home to the office, and at noon dined at home and to the office again. Anon comes Mrs. Knipp to see my wife, who is gone out, so I fain to entertain her, and took her out by coach to look my wife at Mrs. Pierce's and Unthanke's, but find her not. So back again, and then my wife comes home, having been buying of things, and at home I spent all the night talking with this baggage, and teaching her my song of "Beauty retire," which she sings and makes go most rarely, and a very fine song it seems to be. She also entertained me with repeating many of her own and others' parts of the play-house, which she do most excellently; and tells me the whole practices of the play-house and players, and is in every respect most excellent company. So I supped, and was merry at home all the evening, and the rather it being my birthday, 33 years, for which God be praised that I am in so good a condition of healthe and estate, and every thing else as I am, beyond expectation, in all. So she to Mrs. Turner's to lie, and we to bed. Mightily pleased to find myself in condition to have these people come about me and to be able to entertain them, and have the pleasure of their qualities, than which no man can have more in the world. 24th. All the morning at the office till past three o'clock. At that houre home and eat a bit alone, my wife being gone out. So abroad by coach with Mr. Hill, who staid for me to speake about business, and he and I to Hales's, where I find my wife and her woman, and Pierce and Knipp, and there sung and was mighty merry, and I joyed myself in it; but vexed at first to find my wife's picture not so like as I expected; but it was only his having finished one part, and not another, of the face; but, before I went, I was satisfied it will be an excellent picture. Here we had ale and cakes and mighty merry, and sung my song, which she [Knipp] now sings bravely, and makes me proud of myself. Thence left my wife to go home with Mrs. Pierce, while I home to the office, and there pretty late, and to bed, after fitting myself for to-morrow's journey. 25th (Lord's day). My wife up between three and four of the clock in the morning to dress herself, and I about five, and were all ready to take coach, she and I and Mercer, a little past five, but, to our trouble, the coach did not come till six. Then with our coach of four horses I hire on purpose, and Leshmore to ride by, we through the City to Branford and so to Windsor, Captain Ferrers overtaking us at Kensington, being to go with us, and here drank, and so through, making no stay, to Cranborne, about eleven o'clock, and found my Lord and the ladies at a sermon in the house; which being ended we to them, and all the company glad to see us, and mighty merry to dinner. Here was my Lord, and Lord Hinchingbroke, and Mr. Sidney, Sir Charles Herbert, and Mr. Carteret, my Lady Carteret, my Lady Jemimah, and Lady Slaning. After dinner to talk to and again, and then to walke in the Parke, my Lord and I alone, talking upon these heads; first, he has left his business of the prizes as well as is possible for him, having cleared himself before the Commissioners by the King's commands, so that nothing or little is to be feared from that point, he goes fully assured, he tells me, of the King's favour. That upon occasion I may know, I desired to know, his friends I may trust to, he tells me, but that he is not yet in England, but continues this summer in Ireland, my Lord Orrery is his father almost in affection. He tells me my Lord of Suffolke, Lord Arlington, Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Treasurer, Mr. Atturny Montagu, Sir Thomas Clifford in the House of Commons, Sir G. Carteret, and some others I cannot presently remember, are friends that I may rely on for him. He tells me my Lord Chancellor seems his very good friend, but doubts that he may not think him so much a servant of the Duke of Yorke's as he would have him, and indeed my Lord tells me he hath lately made it his business to be seen studious of the King's favour, and not of the Duke's, and by the King will stand or fall, for factions there are, as he tells me, and God knows how high they may come. The Duke of Albemarle's post is so great, having had the name of bringing in the King, that he is like to stand, or, if it were not for him, God knows in what troubles we might be from some private faction, if an army could be got into another hand, which God forbid! It is believed that though Mr. Coventry be in appearance so great against the Chancellor, yet that there is a good understanding between the Duke and him. He dreads the issue of this year, and fears there will be some very great revolutions before his coming back again. He doubts it is needful for him to have a pardon for his last year's actions, all which he did without commission, and at most but the King's private single word for that of Bergen; but he dares not ask it at this time, lest it should make them think that there is something more in it than yet they know; and if it should be denied, it would be of very ill consequence. He says also, if it should in Parliament be enquired into the selling of Dunkirke (though the Chancellor was the man that would have it sold to France, saying the King of Spayne had no money to give for it); yet he will be found to have been the greatest adviser of it; which he is a little apprehensive may be called upon this Parliament. He told me it would not be necessary for him to tell me his debts, because he thinks I know them so well. He tells me, that for the match propounded of Mrs. Mallett for my Lord Hinchingbroke, it hath been lately off, and now her friends bring it on again, and an overture hath been made to him by a servant of hers, to compass the thing without consent of friends, she herself having a respect to my Lord's family, but my Lord will not listen to it but in a way of honour. The Duke hath for this weeke or two been very kind to him, more than lately; and so others, which he thinks is a good sign of faire weather again. He says the Archbishopp of Canterbury hath been very kind to him, and hath plainly said to him that he and all the world knows the difference between his judgment and brains and the Duke of Albemarle's, and then calls my Lady Duchesse the veryest slut and drudge and the foulest worde that can be spoke of a woman almost. My Lord having walked an houre with me talking thus and going in, and my Lady Carteret not suffering me to go back again to-night, my Lord to walke again with me about some of this and other discourse, and then in a-doors and to talke with all and with my Lady Carteret, and I with the young ladies and gentle men, who played on the guittar, and mighty merry, and anon to supper, and then my Lord going away to write, the young gentlemen to flinging of cushions, and other mad sports; at this late till towards twelve at night, and then being sleepy, I and my wife in a passage-room to bed, and slept not very well because of noise. 26th. Called up about five in the morning, and my Lord up, and took leave, a little after six, very kindly of me and the whole company. Then I in, and my wife up and to visit my Lady Slaving in her bed, and there sat three hours, with Lady Jemimah with us, talking and laughing, and by and by my Lady Carteret comes, and she and I to talke, I glad to please her in discourse of Sir G. Carteret, that all will do well with him, and she is much pleased, he having had great annoyance and fears about his well doing, and I fear hath doubted that I have not been a friend to him, but cries out against my Lady Castlemaine, that makes the King neglect his business and seems much to fear that all will go to wracke, and I fear with great reason; exclaims against the Duke of Albemarle, and more the Duchesse for a filthy woman, as indeed she is. Here staid till 9 o'clock almost, and then took coach with so much love and kindnesse from my Lady Carteret, Lady Jemimah, and Lady Slaving, that it joys my heart, and when I consider the manner of my going hither, with a coach and four horses and servants and a woman with us, and coming hither being so much made of, and used with that state, and then going to Windsor and being shewn all that we were there, and had wherewith to give every body something for their pains, and then going home, and all in fine weather and no fears nor cares upon me, I do thinke myself obliged to thinke myself happy, and do look upon myself at this time in the happiest occasion a man can be, and whereas we take pains in expectation of future comfort and ease, I have taught myself to reflect upon myself at present as happy, and enjoy myself in that consideration, and not only please myself with thoughts of future wealth and forget the pleasure we at present enjoy. So took coach and to Windsor, to the Garter, and thither sent for Dr. Childe; who come to us, and carried us to St. George's Chappell; and there placed us among the Knights' stalls (and pretty the observation, that no man, but a woman may sit in a Knight's place, where any brass-plates are set); and hither come cushions to us, and a young singing-boy to bring us a copy of the anthem to be sung. And here, for our sakes, had this anthem and the great service sung extraordinary, only to entertain us. It is a noble place indeed, and a good Quire of voices. Great bowing by all the people, the poor Knights particularly, to the Alter. After prayers, we to see the plate of the chappell, and the robes of Knights, and a man to shew us the banners of the several Knights in being, which hang up over the stalls. And so to other discourse very pretty, about the Order. Was shewn where the late [King] is buried, and King Henry the Eighth, and my Lady [Jane] Seymour. This being done, to the King's house, and to observe the neatness and contrivance of the house and gates: it is the most romantique castle that is in the world. But, Lord! the prospect that is in the balcone in the Queene's lodgings, and the terrace and walk, are strange things to consider, being the best in the world, sure. Infinitely satisfied I and my wife with all this, she being in all points mightily pleased too, which added to my pleasure; and so giving a great deal of money to this and that man and woman, we to our taverne, and there dined, the Doctor with us; and so took coach and away to Eton, the Doctor with me. Before we went to Chappell this morning, Kate Joyce, in a stage-coach going toward London, called to me. I went to her and saluted her, but could not get her to stay with us, having company. At Eton I left my wife in the coach, and he and I to the College, and there find all mighty fine. The school good, and the custom pretty of boys cutting their names in the struts of the window when they go to Cambridge, by which many a one hath lived to see himself Provost and Fellow, that had his name in the window standing. To the Hall, and there find the boys' verses, "De Peste;" it being their custom to make verses at Shrove-tide. I read several, and very good ones they were, and better, I think, than ever I made when I was a boy, and in rolls as long and longer than the whole Hall, by much. Here is a picture of Venice hung up given, and a monument made of Sir H. Wotton's giving it to the College. Thence to the porter's, in the absence of the butler, and did drink of the College beer, which is very good; and went into the back fields to see the scholars play. And so to the chappell, and there saw, among other things, Sir H. Wotton's stone with this Epitaph Hic facet primus hujus sententiae Author:-- Disputandi pruritus fit ecclesiae scabies. But unfortunately the word "Author" was wrong writ, and now so basely altered that it disgraces the stone. Thence took leave of the Doctor, and so took coach, and finely, but sleepy, away home, and got thither about eight at night, and after a little at my office, I to bed; and an houre after, was waked with my wife's quarrelling with Mercer, at which I was angry, and my wife and I fell out. But with much ado to sleep again, I beginning to practise more temper, and to give her her way. 27th. Up, and after a harsh word or two my wife and I good friends, and so up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon late to dinner, my wife gone out to Hales's about her picture, and, after dinner, I after her, and do mightily like her picture, and think it will be as good as my Lady Peters's. So home mightily pleased, and there late at business and set down my three last days' journalls, and so to bed, overjoyed to thinke of the pleasure of the last Sunday and yesterday, and my ability to bear the charge of these pleasures, and with profit too, by obliging my Lord, and reconciling Sir George Carteret's family. 28th (Ash Wednesday). Up, and after doing a little business at my office I walked, it being a most curious dry and cold morning, to White Hall, and there I went into the Parke, and meeting Sir Ph. Warwicke took a turne with him in the Pell Mall, talking of the melancholy posture of affairs, where every body is snarling one at another, and all things put together looke ominously. This new Act too putting us out of a power of raising money. So that he fears as I do, but is fearfull of enlarging in that discourse of an ill condition in every thing, and the State and all. We appointed another time to meet to talke of the business of the Navy alone seriously, and so parted, and I to White Hall, and there we did our business with the Duke of Yorke, and so parted, and walked to Westminster Hall, where I staid talking with Mrs. Michell and Howlett long and her daughter, which is become a mighty pretty woman, and thence going out of the Hall was called to by Mrs. Martin, so I went to her and bought two bands, and so parted, and by and by met at her chamber, and there did what I would, and so away home and there find Mrs. Knipp, and we dined together, she the pleasantest company in the world. After dinner I did give my wife money to lay out on Knipp, 20s., and I abroad to White Hall to visit Colonell Norwood, and then Sir G. Carteret, with whom I have brought myself right again, and he very open to me; is very melancholy, and matters, I fear, go down with him, but he seems most afeard of a general catastrophe to the whole kingdom, and thinks, as I fear, that all things will come to nothing. Thence to the Palace Yard, to the Swan, and there staid till it was dark, and then to Mrs. Lane's, and there lent her L5 upon L4 01s. in gold. And then did what I would with her, and I perceive she is come to be very bad, and offers any thing, that it is dangerous to have to do with her, nor will I see [her] any more a good while. Thence by coach home and to the office, where a while, and then betimes to bed by ten o'clock, sooner than I have done many a day. And thus ends this month, with my mind full of resolution to apply myself better from this time forward to my business than I have done these six or eight days, visibly to my prejudice both in quiett of mind and setting backward of my business, that I cannot give a good account of it as I ought to do. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: After a harsh word or two my wife and I good friends By and by met at her chamber, and there did what I would Did drink of the College beer, which is very good Got her upon my knee (the coach being full) and played with her Lady Duchesse the veryest slut and drudge Last act of friendship in telling me of my faults also Scotch song of "Barbary Allen" Tooth-ake made him no company, and spoilt ours Wherewith to give every body something for their pains Who must except against every thing and remedy nothing 
4164	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH & APRIL 1665-1666 March 1st. Up, and to the office and there all the morning sitting and at noon to dinner with my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen at the White Horse in Lumbard Streete, where, God forgive us! good sport with Captain Cocke's having his mayde sicke of the plague a day or two ago and sent to the pest house, where she now is, but he will not say anything but that she is well. But blessed be God! a good Bill this week we have; being but 237 in all, and 42 of the plague, and of them but six in the City: though my Lord Bruneker says, that these six are most of them in new parishes where they were not the last week. Here was with us also Mr. Williamson, who the more I know, the more I honour. Hence I slipt after dinner without notice home and there close to my business at my office till twelve at night, having with great comfort returned to my business by some fresh vowes in addition to my former, and-more severe, and a great joy it is to me to see myself in a good disposition to business. So home to supper and to my Journall and to bed. 2nd. Up, as I have of late resolved before 7 in the morning and to the office, where all the morning, among other things setting my wife and Mercer with much pleasure to worke upon the ruling of some paper for the making of books for pursers, which will require a great deale of worke and they will earn a good deale of money by it, the hopes of which makes them worke mighty hard. At noon dined and to the office again, and about 4 o'clock took coach and to my Lord Treasurer's and thence to Sir Philip Warwicke's new house by appointment, there to spend an houre in talking and we were together above an hour, and very good discourse about the state of the King as to money, and particularly in the point of the Navy. He endeavours hard to come to a good understanding of Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and by his discourse I find Sir G. Carteret must be brought to it, and what a madman he is that he do not do it of himself, for the King expects the Parliament will call upon him for his promise of giving an account of the money, and he will be ready for it, which cannot be, I am sure, without Sir G. Carteret's accounts be better understood than they are. He seems to have a great esteem of me and my opinion and thoughts of things. After we had spent an houre thus discoursing and vexed that we do but grope so in the darke as we do, because the people, that should enlighten us, do not helpe us, we resolved fitting some things for another meeting, and so broke up. He shewed me his house, which is yet all unhung, but will be a very noble house indeed. Thence by coach calling at my bookseller's and carried home L10 worth of books, all, I hope, I shall buy a great while. There by appointment find Mr. Hill come to sup and take his last leave of me, and by and by in comes Mr. James Houbland to bear us company, a man I love mightily, and will not lose his acquaintance. He told me in my eare this night what he and his brothers have resolved to give me, which is L200, for helping them out with two or three ships. A good sum and that which I did believe they would give me, and I did expect little less. Here we talked and very good company till late, and then took leave of one another, and indeed I am heartily sorry for Mr. Hill's leaving us, for he is a very worthy gentleman, as most I know. God give him a good voyage and successe in his business. Thus we parted and my wife and I to bed, heavy for the losse of our friend. 3rd. All the morning at the office, at noon to the Old James, being sent for, and there dined with Sir William Rider, Cutler, and others, to make an end with two Scots Maisters about the freight of two ships of my Lord Rutherford's. After a small dinner and a little discourse I away to the Crowne behind the Exchange to Sir W. Pen, Captain Cocke and Fen, about getting a bill of Cocke's paid to Pen, in part for the East India goods he sold us. Here Sir W. Pen did give me the reason in my eare of his importunity for money, for that he is now to marry his daughter. God send her better fortune than her father deserves I should wish him for a false rogue. Thence by coach to Hales's, and there saw my wife sit; and I do like her picture mightily, and very like it will be, and a brave piece of work. But he do complain that her nose hath cost him as much work as another's face, and he hath done it finely indeed. Thence home and late at the office, and then to bed. 4th (Lord's day). And all day at my Tangier and private accounts, having neglected them since Christmas, which I hope I shall never do again; for I find the inconvenience of it, it being ten times the labour to remember and settle things. But I thank God I did it at last, and brought them all fine and right; and I am, I thinke, by all appears to me (and I am sure I cannot be L10 wrong), worth above L4600, for which the Lord be praised! being the biggest sum I ever was worth yet. 5th. I was at it till past two o'clock on Monday morning, and then read my vowes, and to bed with great joy and content that I have brought my things to so good a settlement, and now having my mind fixed to follow my business again and sensible of Sir W. Coventry's jealousies, I doubt, concerning me, partly my siding with Sir G. Carteret, and partly that indeed I have been silent in my business of the office a great while, and given but little account of myself and least of all to him, having not made him one visitt since he came to towne from Oxford, I am resolved to fall hard to it again, and fetch up the time and interest I have lost or am in a fair way of doing it. Up about eight o'clock, being called up by several people, among others by Mr. Moone, with whom I went to Lumbard Streete to Colvill, and so back again and in my chamber he and I did end all our businesses together of accounts for money upon bills of Exchange, and am pleased to find myself reputed a man of business and method, as he do give me out to be. To the 'Change at noon and so home to dinner. Newes for certain of the King of Denmarke's declaring for the Dutch, and resolution to assist them. To the office, and there all the afternoon. In the evening come Mr. James and brother Houblons to agree upon share parties for their ships, and did acquaint me that they had paid my messenger, whom I sent this afternoon for it, L200 for my friendship in the business, which pleases me mightily. They being gone I forth late to Sir H. Viner's to take a receipt of them for the L200 lodged for me there with them, and so back home, and after supper to bed. 6th. Up betimes and did much business before office time. Then to the office and there till noon and so home to dinner and to the office again till night. In the evening being at Sir W. Batten's, stepped in (for I have not used to go thither a good while), I find my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, and they would of their own accord, though I had never obliged them (nor my wife neither) with one visit for many of theirs, go see my house and my wife; which I showed them and made them welcome with wine and China oranges (now a great rarity since the war, none to be had). There being also Captain Cocke and Mrs. Turner, who had never been in my house since I come to the office before, and Mrs. Carcasse, wife of Mr. Carcasses. My house happened to be mighty clean, and did me great honour, and they mightily pleased with it. They gone I to the office and did some business, and then home to supper and to bed. My mind troubled through a doubtfulness of my having incurred Sir W. Coventry's displeasure by not having waited on him since his coming to towne, which is a mighty faulte and that I can bear the fear of the bad effects of till I have been with him, which shall be to-morrow, God willing. So to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and to St. James's, thinking Mr. Coventry had lain there; but he do not, but at White Hall; so thither I went and had as good a time as heart could wish, and after an houre in his chamber about publique business he and I walked up, and the Duke being gone abroad we walked an houre in the Matted Gallery: he of himself begun to discourse of the unhappy differences between him and my Lord of Sandwich, and from the beginning to the end did run through all passages wherein my Lord hath, at any time, gathered any dissatisfaction, and cleared himself to me most honourably; and in truth, I do believe he do as he says. I did afterwards purge myself of all partiality in the business of Sir G. Carteret, (whose story Sir W. Coventry did also run over,) that I do mind the King's interest, notwithstanding my relation to him; all which he declares he firmly believes, and assures me he hath the same kindnesse and opinion of me as ever. And when I said I was jealous of myself, that having now come to such an income as I am, by his favour, I should not be found to do as much service as might deserve it; he did assure me, he thinks it not too much for me, but thinks I deserve it as much as any man in England. All this discourse did cheer my heart, and sets me right again, after a good deal of melancholy, out of fears of his disinclination to me, upon the differences with my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret; but I am satisfied throughly, and so went away quite another man, and by the grace of God will never lose it again by my folly in not visiting and writing to him, as I used heretofore to do. Thence by coach to the Temple, and it being a holyday, a fast-day, there 'light, and took water, being invited, and down to Greenwich, to Captain Cocke's, where dined, he and Lord Bruncker, and Matt. Wren, Boltele, and Major Cooper, who is also a very pretty companion; but they all drink hard, and, after dinner, to gaming at cards. So I provoked my Lord to be gone, and he and I to Mr. Cottle's and met Mrs. Williams (without whom he cannot stir out of doors) and there took coach and away home. They carry me to London and set me down at the Temple, where my mind changed and I home, and to writing and heare my boy play on the lute, and a turne with my wife pleasantly in the garden by moonshine, my heart being in great peace, and so home to supper and to bed. The King and Duke are to go to-morrow to Audly End, in order to the seeing and buying of it of my Lord Suffolke. 8th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning sitting and did discover three or four fresh instances of Sir W. Pen's old cheating dissembling tricks, he being as false a fellow as ever was born. Thence with Sir. W. Batten and Lord Bruncker to the White Horse in Lumbard Streete to dine with Captain Cocke, upon particular business of canvas to buy for the King, and here by chance I saw the mistresse of the house I have heard much of, and a very pretty woman she is indeed and her husband the simplest looked fellow and old that ever I saw. After dinner I took coach and away to Hales's, where my wife is sitting; and, indeed, her face and necke, which are now finished, do so please me that I am not myself almost, nor was not all the night after in writing of my letters, in consideration of the fine picture that I shall be master of. Thence home and to the office, where very late, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and being ready, to the Cockpitt to make a visit to the Duke of Albemarle, and to my great joy find him the same man to me that [he has been] heretofore, which I was in great doubt of, through my negligence in not visiting of him a great while; and having now set all to rights there, I am in mighty ease in my mind and I think shall never suffer matters to run so far backward again as I have done of late, with reference to my neglecting him and Sir W. Coventry. Thence by water down to Deptford, where I met my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Batten by agreement, and to measuring Mr. Castle's new third-rate ship, which is to be called the Defyance. [William Castell wrote to the Navy Commissioners on February 17th, 1665-66, to inform them that the "Defiance" had gone to Longreach, and again, on February 22nd, to say that Mr. Grey had no masts large enough for the new ship. Sir William Batten on March 29th asked for the consent of the Board to bring the "Defiance" into dock (" Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1665-66, pp. 252, 262, 324).] And here I had my end in saving the King some money and getting myself some experience in knowing how they do measure ships. Thence I left them and walked to Redriffe, and there taking water was overtaken by them in their boat, and so they would have me in with them to Castle's house, where my Lady Batten and Madam Williams were, and there dined and a deale of doings. I had a good dinner and counterfeit mirthe and pleasure with them, but had but little, thinking how I neglected my business. Anon, all home to Sir W. Batten's and there Mrs. Knipp coming we did spend the evening together very merry. She and I singing, and, God forgive me! I do still see that my nature is not to be quite conquered, but will esteem pleasure above all things, though yet in the middle of it, it has reluctances after my business, which is neglected by my following my pleasure. However musique and women I cannot but give way to, whatever my business is. They being gone I to the office a while and so home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office, and there busy sitting till noon. I find at home Mrs. Pierce and Knipp come to dine with me. We were mighty merry; and, after dinner, I carried them and my wife out by coach to the New Exchange, and there I did give my valentine, Mrs. Pierce, a dozen payre of gloves, and a payre of silke stockings, and Knipp for company's sake, though my wife had, by my consent, laid out 20s. upon her the other day, six payre of gloves. Thence to Hales's to have seen our pictures, but could not get in, he being abroad, and so to the Cakehouse hard by, and there sat in the coach with great pleasure, and eat some fine cakes and so carried them to Pierces and away home. It is a mighty fine witty boy, Mrs. Pierces little boy. Thence home and to the office, where late writing letters and leaving a great deale to do on Monday, I home to supper and to bed. The truth is, I do indulge myself a little the more in pleasure, knowing that this is the proper age of my life to do it; and out of my observation that most men that do thrive in the world, do forget to take pleasure during the time that they are getting their estate, but reserve that till they have got one, and then it is too late for them to enjoy it with any pleasure. 11th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, there met Mr. Coventry coming out, going along with the Commissioners of the Ordnance to the water side to take barge, they being to go down to the Hope. I returned with them as far as the Tower in their barge speaking with Sir W. Coventry and so home and to church, and at noon dined and then to my chamber, where with great pleasure about one business or other till late, and so to supper and to bed. 12th. Up betimes, and called on by abundance of people about business, and then away by water to Westminster, and there to the Exchequer about some business, and thence by coach calling at several places, to the Old Exchange, and there did much business, and so homeward and bought a silver salt for my ordinary table to use, and so home to dinner, and after dinner comes my uncle and aunt Wight, the latter I have not seen since the plague; a silly, froward, ugly woman she is. We made mighty much of them, and she talks mightily of her fear of the sicknesse, and so a deale of tittle tattle and I left them and to my office where late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I hear my Uncle Talbot Pepys died the last week, and was buried. All the news now is, that Sir Jeremy Smith is at Cales--[Cadiz]--with his fleete, and Mings in the Elve.--[Elbe]--The King is come this noon to towne from Audly End, with the Duke of Yorke and a fine train of gentlemen. 13th. Up betimes, and to the office, where busy sitting all the morning, and I begin to find a little convenience by holding up my head to Sir W. Pen, for he is come to be more supple. At noon to dinner, and then to the office again, where mighty business, doing a great deale till midnight and then home to supper and to bed. The plague encreased this week 29 from 28, though the total fallen from 238 to 207, which do never a whit please me. 14th. Up, and met by 6 o'clock in my chamber Mr. Povy (from White Hall) about evening reckonings between him and me, on our Tangier business, and at it hard till toward eight o'clock, and he then carried me in his chariot to White Hall, where by and by my fellow officers met me, and we had a meeting before the Duke. Thence with my Lord Bruncker towards London, and in our way called in Covent Garden, and took in Sir John (formerly Dr.) Baber; who hath this humour that he will not enter into discourse while any stranger is in company, till he be told who he is that seems a stranger to him. This he did declare openly to me, and asked my Lord who I was, giving this reason, that he has been inconvenienced by being too free in discourse till he knew who all the company were. Thence to Guildhall (in our way taking in Dr. Wilkins), and there my Lord and I had full and large discourse with Sir Thomas Player, the Chamberlain of the City (a man I have much heard of for his credit and punctuality in the City, and on that score I had a desire to be made known to him), about the credit of our tallys, which are lodged there for security to such as should lend money thereon to the use of the Navy. And I had great satisfaction therein: and the truth is, I find all our matters of credit to be in an ill condition. Thence, I being in a little haste walked before and to the 'Change a little and then home, and presently to Trinity house to dinner, where Captain Cox made his Elder Brother's dinner. But it seemed to me a very poor sorry dinner. I having many things in my head rose, when my belly was full, though the dinner not half done, and home and there to do some business, and by and by out of doors and met Mr. Povy coming to me by appointment, but it being a little too late, I took a little pride in the streete not to go back with him, but prayed him to come another time, and I away to Kate Joyce's, thinking to have spoke to her husband about Pall's business, but a stranger, the Welsh Dr. Powell, being there I forebore and went away and so to Hales's, to see my wife's picture, which I like mighty well, and there had the pleasure to see how suddenly he draws the Heavens, laying a darke ground and then lightening it when and where he will. Thence to walk all alone in the fields behind Grayes Inne, making an end of reading over my dear "Faber fortunae," of my Lord Bacon's, and thence, it growing dark, took two or three wanton turns about the idle places and lanes about Drury Lane, but to no satisfaction, but a great fear of the plague among them, and so anon I walked by invitation to Mrs. Pierces, where I find much good company, that is to say, Mrs. Pierce, my wife, Mrs. Worshipp and her daughter, and Harris the player, and Knipp, and Mercer, and Mrs. Barbary Sheldon, who is come this day to spend a weeke with my wife; and here with musique we danced, and sung and supped, and then to sing and dance till past one in the morning; and much mirthe with Sir Anthony Apsley and one Colonell Sidney, who lodge in the house; and above all, they are mightily taken with Mrs. Knipp. Hence weary and sleepy we broke up, and I and my company homeward by coach and to bed. 15th. Lay till it was full time to rise, it being eight o'clock, and so to the office and there sat till almost three o'clock and then to dinner, and after dinner (my wife and Mercer and Mrs. Barbary being gone to Hales's before), I and my cozen Anthony Joyce, who come on purpose to dinner with me, and he and I to discourse of our proposition of marriage between Pall and Harman, and upon discourse he and I to Harman's house and took him to a taverne hard by, and we to discourse of our business, and I offered L500, and he declares most ingenuously that his trade is not to be trusted on, that he however needs no money, but would have her money bestowed on her, which I like well, he saying that he would adventure 2 or L300 with her. I like him as a most good-natured, and discreet man, and, I believe, very cunning. We come to this conclusion for us to meete one another the next weeke, and then we hope to come to some end, for I did declare myself well satisfied with the match. Thence to Hales's, where I met my wife and people; and do find the picture, above all things, a most pretty picture, and mighty like my wife; and I asked him his price: he says L14, and the truth is, I think he do deserve it. Thence toward London and home, and I to the office, where I did much, and betimes to bed, having had of late so little sleep, and there slept 16th. Till 7 this morning. Up and all the morning about the Victualler's business, passing his account. At noon to the 'Change, and did several businesses, and thence to the Crowne behind the 'Change and dined with my Lord Bruncker and Captain Cocke and Fenn, and Madam Williams, who without question must be my Lord's wife, and else she could not follow him wherever he goes and kisse and use him publiquely as she do. Thence to the office, where Sir W. Pen and I made an end of the Victualler's business, and thence abroad about several businesses, and so in the evening back again, and anon called on by Mr. Povy, and he and I staid together in my chamber till 12 at night ending our reckonings and giving him tallys for all I was to pay him and so parted, and I to make good my Journall for two or three days, and begun it till I come to the other side, where I have scratched so much, for, for want of sleep, I begun to write idle and from the purpose. So forced to breake off, and to bed.--[There are several erasures in the original MS.] 17th. Up, and to finish my Journall, which I had not sense enough the last night to make an end of, and thence to the office, where very busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner and presently with my wife out to Hales's, where I am still infinitely pleased with my wife's picture. I paid him L14 for it, and 25s. for the frame, and I think it is not a whit too deare for so good a picture. It is not yet quite finished and dry, so as to be fit to bring home yet. This day I begun to sit, and he will make me, I think, a very fine picture. He promises it shall be as good as my wife's, and I sit to have it full of shadows, and do almost break my neck looking over my shoulder to make the posture for him to work by. Thence home and to the office, and so home having a great cold, and so my wife and Mrs. Barbary have very great ones, we are at a loss how we all come by it together, so to bed, drinking butter-ale. This day my W. Hewer comes from Portsmouth and gives me an instance of another piece of knavery of Sir W. Pen, who wrote to Commissioner Middleton, that it was my negligence the other day he was not acquainted, as the board directed, with our clerks coming down to the pay. But I need no new arguments to teach me that he is a false rogue to me and all the world besides. 18th (Lord's day). Up and my cold better, so to church, and then home to dinner, and so walked out to St. James's Church, thinking to have seen faire Mrs. Butler, but could not, she not being there, nor, I believe, lives thereabouts now. So walked to Westminster, very fine fair dry weather, but all cry out for lack of rain. To Herbert's and drank, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and did what I would with her; her husband going for some wine for us. The poor man I do think would take pains if I can get him a purser's place, which I will endeavour. She tells me as a secret that Betty Howlet of the Hall, my little sweetheart, that I used to call my second wife, is married to a younger son of Mr. Michell's (his elder brother, who should have had her, being dead this plague), at which I am glad, and that they are to live nearer me in Thames Streete, by the Old Swan. Thence by coach home and to my chamber about some accounts, and so to bed. Sir Christopher Mings is come home from Hambro without anything done, saving bringing home some pipestaves for us. 19th. Up betimes and upon a meeting extraordinary at the office most of the morning with Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Coventry, and Sir W. Pen, upon the business of the accounts. Where now we have got almost as much as we would have we begin to lay all on the Controller, and I fear he will be run down with it, for he is every day less and less capable of doing business. Thence with my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Coventry to the ticket office, to see in what little order things are there, and there it is a shame to see how the King is served. Thence to the Chamberlain of London, and satisfy ourselves more particularly how much credit we have there, which proves very little. Thence to Sir Robert Long's, absent. About much the same business, but have not the satisfaction we would have there neither. So Sir W. Coventry parted, and my Lord and I to Mrs. Williams's, and there I saw her closett, where indeed a great many fine things there are, but the woman I hate. Here we dined, and Sir J. Minnes come to us, and after dinner we walked to the King's play-house, all in dirt, they being altering of the stage to make it wider. But God knows when they will begin to act again; but my business here was to see the inside of the stage and all the tiring-rooms and machines; and, indeed, it was a sight worthy seeing. But to see their clothes, and the various sorts, and what a mixture of things there was; here a wooden-leg, there a ruff, here a hobbyhorse, there a crown, would make a man split himself to see with laughing; and particularly Lacy's wardrobe, and Shotrell's. But then again, to think how fine they show on the stage by candle-light, and how poor things they are to look now too near hand, is not pleasant at all. The machines are fine, and the paintings very pretty. Thence mightily satisfied in my curiosity I away with my Lord to see him at her house again, and so take leave and by coach home and to the office, and thence sent for to Sir G. Carteret by and by to the Broad Streete, where he and I walked two or three hours till it was quite darke in his gallery talking of his affairs, wherein I assure him all will do well, and did give him (with great liberty, which he accepted kindly) my advice to deny the Board nothing they would aske about his accounts, but rather call upon them to know whether there was anything more they desired, or was wanting. But our great discourse and serious reflections was upon the bad state of the kingdom in general, through want of money and good conduct, which we fear will undo all. Thence mightily satisfied with this good fortune of this discourse with him I home, and there walked in the darke till 10 o'clock at night in the garden with Sir W. Warren, talking of many things belonging to us particularly, and I hope to get something considerably by him before the year be over. He gives me good advice of circumspection in my place, which I am now in great mind to improve; for I think our office stands on very ticklish terms, the Parliament likely to sit shortly and likely to be asked more money, and we able to give a very bad account of the expence of what we have done with what they did give before. Besides, the turning out the prize officers may be an example for the King giving us up to the Parliament's pleasure as easily, for we deserve it as much. Besides, Sir G. Carteret did tell me tonight how my Lord Bruncker himself, whose good-will I could have depended as much on as any, did himself to him take notice of the many places I have; and though I was a painful man, yet the Navy was enough for any man to go through with in his owne single place there, which much troubles me, and shall yet provoke me to more and more care and diligence than ever. Thence home to supper, where I find my wife and Mrs. Barbary with great colds, as I also at this time have. This day by letter from my father he propounds a match in the country for Pall, which pleased me well, of one that hath seven score and odd pounds land per annum in possession, and expects L1000 in money by the death of an old aunt. He hath neither father, mother, sister, nor brother, but demands L600 down, and L100 on the birth of first child, which I had some inclination to stretch to. He is kinsman to, and lives with, Mr. Phillips, but my wife tells me he is a drunken, ill-favoured, ill-bred country fellow, which sets me off of it again, and I will go on with Harman. So after supper to bed. 20th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined in haste, and so my wife, Mrs. Barbary, Mercer, and I by coach to Hales's, where I find my wife's picture now perfectly finished in all respects, and a beautiful picture it is, as almost I ever saw. I sat again, and had a great deale done, but, whatever the matter is, I do not fancy that it has the ayre of my face, though it will be a very fine picture. Thence home and to my business, being post night, and so home to supper and to, bed. 21st. Up betimes, and first by coach to my Lord Generall to visitt him, and then to the Duke of Yorke, where we all met and did our usual business with him; but, Lord! how everything is yielded to presently, even by Sir W. Coventry, that is propounded by the Duke, as now to have Troutbecke, his old surgeon, and intended to go Surgeon-General of the fleete, to go Physician-General of the fleete, of which there never was any precedent in the world, and he for that to have L20 per month. Thence with Lord Bruncker to Sir Robert Long, whom we found in his closett, and after some discourse of business he fell to discourse at large and pleasant, and among other things told us of the plenty of partridges in France, where he says the King of France and his company killed with their guns, in the plain de Versailles, 300 and odd partridges at one bout. Thence I to the Excise Office behind the 'Change, and there find our business of our tallys in great disorder as to payment, and thereupon do take a resolution of thinking how to remedy it, as soon as I can. Thence home, and there met Sir W. Warren, and after I had eat a bit of victuals (he staying in the office) he and I to White Hall. He to look after the business of the prize ships which we are endeavouring to buy, and hope to get money by them. So I to London by coach and to Gresham College, where I staid half an houre, and so away home to my office, and there walking late alone in the darke in the garden with Sir W. Warren, who tells me that at the Committee of the Lords for the prizes to-day, there passed very high words between my Lord Ashly and Sir W. Coventry, about our business of the prize ships. And that my Lord Ashly did snuff and talk as high to him, as he used to do to any ordinary seaman. And that Sir W. Coventry did take it very quietly, but yet for all did speak his mind soberly and with reason, and went away, saying, he had done his duty therein, and so left it to them, whether they would let so many ships go for masts or not: Here he and I talked of 1,000 businesses, all profitable discourse, and late parted, and I home to supper and to bed, troubled a little at a letter from my father, telling me how [he] is like to be sued for a debt of Tom's, by Smith, the mercer. 22nd. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon my wife being gone to her father's I dined with Sir W. Batten, he inviting me. After dinner to my office close, and did very much business, and so late home to supper and to bed. The plague increased four this week, which troubles me, though but one in the whole. 23rd. Up, and going out of my dressing-room, when ready to go down stairs, I spied little Mrs. Tooker, my pretty little girle, which, it seems, did come yesterday to our house to stay a little while with us, but I did not know of it till now. I was glad of her coming, she being a very pretty child, and now grown almost a woman. I out by six o'clock by appointment to Hales's, where we fell to my picture presently very hard, and it comes on a very fine picture, and very merry, pleasant discourse we had all the morning while he was painting. Anon comes my wife and Mercer and little Tooker, and having done with me we all to a picture drawer's hard by, Hales carrying me to see some landskipps of a man's doing. But I do not [like] any of them, save only a piece of fruit, which indeed was very fine. Thence I to Westminster, to the Chequer, about a little business, and then to the Swan, and there sent for a bit of meat and dined; and after dinner had opportunity of being pleased with Sarah; and so away to Westminster Hall, and there Mrs. Michell tells me with great joy how little Betty Howlett is married to her young son Michell, which is a pretty odd thing, that he should so soon succeed in the match to his elder brother that died of the plague, and to the house and trade intended for him, and more they say that the girle has heretofore said that she did love this little one more than the other brother that was intended her all along. I am mighty glad of this match, and more that they are likely to live near me in Thames Streete, where I may see Betty now and then, whom I from a girle did use to call my second wife, and mighty pretty she is. Thence by coach to Anthony Joyce to receive Harman's answer, which did trouble me to receive, for he now demands L800, whereas he never made exception at the portion, but accepted of L500. This I do not like; but, however, I cannot much blame the man, if he thinks he can get more of another than of me. So home and hard to my business at the office, where much business, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Anthony Joyce, and I did give my final answer, I would give but L500 with my sister, and did show him the good offer made us in the country, to which I did now more and more incline, and intend to pursue that. After dinner I to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where the Duke of Yorke was, and I acquitted myself well in what I had to do. After the Committee up, I had occasion to follow the Duke into his lodgings, into a chamber where the Duchesse was sitting to have her picture drawn by Lilly, who was there at work. But I was well pleased to see that there was nothing near so much resemblance of her face in his work, which is now the second, if not the third time, as there was of my wife's at the very first time. Nor do I think at last it can be like, the lines not being in proportion to those of her face. So home, and to the office, where late, and so to bed. 25th (Lady day and Sunday). Up, and to my chamber in my gowne all the morning about settling my papers there. At noon to dinner, where my wife's brother, whom I sent for to offer making him a Muster-Master and send to sea, which the poore man likes well of and will go, and it will be a good preferment to him, only hazardous. I hope he will prove a good discreet man. After dinner to my papers and Tangier accounts again till supper, and after supper again to them, but by my mixing them, I know not how, my private and publique accounts, it makes me mad to see how hard it is to bring them to be understood, and my head is confounded, that though I did sweare to sit up till one o'clock upon them, yet, I fear, it will be to no purpose, for I cannot understand what I do or have been doing of them to-day. 26th. Up, and a meeting extraordinary there was of Sir W. Coventry, Lord Bruncker, and myself, about the business of settling the ticket office, where infinite room is left for abusing the King in the wages of seamen. Our [meeting] being done, my Lord Bruncker and I to the Tower, to see the famous engraver, to get him to grave a seale for the office. And did see some of the finest pieces of work in embossed work, that ever I did see in my life, for fineness and smallness of the images thereon, and I will carry my wife thither to shew them her. Here I also did see bars of gold melting, which was a fine sight. So with my Lord to the Pope's Head Taverne in Lumbard Streete to dine by appointment with Captain Taylor, whither Sir W. Coventry come to us, and were mighty merry, and I find reason to honour him every day more and more. Thence alone to Broade Street to Sir G. Carteret by his desire to confer with him, who is I find in great pain about the business of the office, and not a little, I believe, in fear of falling there, Sir W. Coventry having so great a pique against him, and herein I first learn an eminent instance how great a man this day, that nobody would think could be shaken, is the next overthrown, dashed out of countenance, and every small thing of irregularity in his business taken notice of, where nobody the other day durst cast an eye upon them, and next I see that he that the other day nobody durst come near is now as supple as a spaniel, and sends and speaks to me with great submission, and readily hears to advice. Thence home to the office, where busy late, and so home a little to my accounts publique and private, but could not get myself rightly to know how to dispose of them in order to passing. 27th. All the morning at the office busy. At noon dined at home, Mr. Cooke, our old acquaintance at my Lord Sandwich's, come to see and dine with me, but I quite out of humour, having many other and better things to thinke of. Thence to the office to settle my people's worke and then home to my publique accounts of Tangier, which it is strange by meddling with evening reckonings with Mr. Povy lately how I myself am become intangled therein, so that after all I could do, ready to breake my head and brains, I thought of another way, though not so perfect, yet the only one which this account is capable of. Upon this latter I sat up till past two in the morning and then to bed. 28th. Up, and with Creed, who come hither betimes to speake with me about his accounts, to White Hall by water, mighty merry in discourse, though I had been very little troubled with him, or did countenance it, having now, blessed be God! a great deale of good business to mind to better purpose than chatting with him. Waited on the Duke, after that walked with Sir W. Clerke into St. James's Parke, and by and by met with Mr. Hayes, Prince Rupert's Secretary, who are mighty, both, briske blades, but I fear they promise themselves more than they expect. Thence to the Cockpitt, and dined with a great deal of company at the Duke of Albemarle's, and a bad and dirty, nasty dinner. So by coach to Hales's, and there sat again, and it is become mighty like. Hither come my wife and Mercer brought by Mrs. Pierce and Knipp, we were mighty merry and the picture goes on the better for it. Thence set them down at Pierces, and we home, where busy and at my chamber till 12 at night, and so to bed. This night, I am told, the Queene of Portugall, the mother to our Queene, is lately dead, and newes brought of it hither this day. [Donna Luiza, the Queen Regent of Portugal. She was daughter of the Duke de Medina Sidonia and widow of Juan IV. The Court wore the deepest mourning on this occasion. The ladies were directed to wear their hair plain, and to appear without spots on their faces, the disfiguring fashion of patching having just been introduced.-- Strickland s Queens of England, vol. viii., p. 362.] 29th. All the morning hard at the office. At noon dined and then out to Lumbard Streete, to look after the getting of some money that is lodged there of mine in Viner's hands, I having no mind to have it lie there longer. So back again and to the office, where and at home about publique and private business and accounts till past 12 at night, and so to bed. This day, poor Jane, my old, little Jane, came to us again, to my wife's and my great content, and we hope to take mighty pleasure in her, she having all the marks and qualities of a good and loving and honest servant, she coming by force away from the other place, where she hath lived ever since she went from us, and at our desire, her late mistresse having used all the stratagems she could to keepe her. 30th. My wife and I mighty pleased with Jane's coming to us again. Up, and away goes Alce, our cooke-mayde, a good servant, whom we loved and did well by her, and she an excellent servant, but would not bear being told of any faulte in the fewest and kindest words and would go away of her owne accord, after having given her mistresse warning fickly for a quarter of a yeare together. So we shall take another girle and make little Jane our cook, at least, make a trial of it. Up, and after much business I out to Lumbard Streete, and there received L2200 and brought it home; and, contrary to expectation, received L35 for the use of L2000 of it [for] a quarter of a year, where it hath produced me this profit, and hath been a convenience to me as to care and security of my house, and demandable at two days' warning, as this hath been. This morning Sir W. Warren come to me a second time about having L2000 of me upon his bills on the Act to enable him to pay for the ships he is buying, wherein I shall have considerable profit. I am loth to do it, but yet speaking with Colvill I do not see but I shall be able to do it and get money by it too. Thence home and eat one mouthful, and so to Hales's, and there sat till almost quite darke upon working my gowne, which I hired to be drawn in; an Indian gowne, and I do see all the reason to expect a most excellent picture of it. So home and to my private accounts in my chamber till past one in the morning, and so to bed, with my head full of thoughts for my evening of all my accounts tomorrow, the latter end of the month, in which God give me good issue, for I never was in such a confusion in my life and that in great sums. 31st All the morning at the office busy. At noon to dinner, and thence to the office and did my business there as soon as I could, and then home and to my accounts, where very late at them, but, Lord! what a deale of do I have to understand any part of them, and in short do what I could, I could not come to any understanding of them, but after I had throughly wearied myself, I was forced to go to bed and leave them much against my will and vowe too, but I hope God will forgive me, for I have sat up these four nights till past twelve at night to master them, but cannot. Thus ends this month, with my head and mind mighty full and disquiett because of my accounts, which I have let go too long, and confounded my publique with my private that I cannot come to any liquidating of them. However, I do see that I must be grown richer than I was by a good deale last month. Busy also I am in thoughts for a husband for my sister, and to that end my wife and I have determined that she shall presently go into the country to my father and mother, and consider of a proffer made them for her in the country, which, if she likes, shall go forward. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1666 April 1st (Lord's day). Up and abroad, and by coach to Charing Cross, to wait on Sir Philip Howard; whom I found in bed: and he do receive me very civilly. My request was about suffering my wife's brother to go to sea, and to save his pay in the Duke's guards; which after a little difficulty he did with great respect agree to. I find him a very fine-spoken gentleman, and one of great parts, and very courteous. Much pleased with this visit I to White Hall, where I met Sir G. Downing, and to discourse with him an houre about the Exchequer payments upon the late Act, and informed myself of him thoroughly in my safety in lending L2000 to Sir W. Warren, upon an order of his upon the Exchequer for L2602 and I do purpose to do it. Thence meeting Dr. Allen, the physician, he and I and another walked in the Parke, a most pleasant warm day, and to the Queene's chappell; where I do not so dislike the musique. Here I saw on a post an invitation to all good Catholiques to pray for the soul of such a one departed this life. The Queene, I hear, do not yet hear of the death of her mother, she being in a course of physique, that they dare not tell it her. At noon by coach home, and there by invitation met my uncle and aunt Wight and their cozen Mary, and dined with me and very merry. After dinner my uncle and I abroad by coach to White Hall, up and down the house, and I did some business and thence with him and a gentleman he met with to my Lord Chancellor's new house, and there viewed it again and again and up to the top and I like it as well as ever and think it a most noble house. So all up and down my Lord St. Albans his new building and market-house, and the taverne under the market-house, looking to and again into every place of building, and so away and took coach and home, where to my accounts, and was at them till I could not hold open my eyes, and so to bed. I this afternoon made a visit to my Lady Carteret, whom I understood newly come to towne; and she took it mighty kindly, but I see her face and heart are dejected from the condition her husband's matters stand in. But I hope they will do all well enough. And I do comfort her as much as I can, for she is a noble lady. 2nd. Up, and to the office and thence with Mr. Gawden to Guildhall to see the bills and tallys there in the chamber (and by the way in the streete his new coach broke and we fain to take an old hackney). Thence to the Exchequer again to inform myself of some other points in the new Act in order to my lending Sir W. Warren L2000 upon an order of his upon the Act, which they all encourage me to. There walking with Mr. Gawden in Westminster Hall, he and I to talke from one business to another and at last to the marriage of his daughter. He told me the story of Creed's pretences to his daughter, and how he would not believe but she loved him, while his daughter was in great passion on the other hand against him. Thence to talke of his son Benjamin; and I propounded a match for him, and at last named my sister, which he embraces heartily, and speaking of the lowness of her portion, that it would be less than L1000, he tells me if every thing else agrees, he will out of what he means to give me yearly, make a portion for her shall cost me nothing more than I intend freely. This did mightily rejoice me and full of it did go with him to London to the 'Change; and there did much business and at the Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, who very wisely did shew me that my matching my sister with Mr. Gawden would undo me in all my places, everybody suspecting me in all I do; and I shall neither be able to serve him, nor free myself from imputation of being of his faction, while I am placed for his severest check. I was convinced that it would be for neither of our interests to make this alliance, and so am quite off of it again, but with great satisfaction in the motion. Thence to the Crowne tavern behind the Exchange to meet with Cocke and Fenn and did so, and dined with them, and after dinner had the intent of our meeting, which was some private discourse with Fenn, telling him what I hear and think of his business, which he takes very kindly and says he will look about him. It was about his giving of ill language and answers to people that come to him about money and some other particulars. This morning Mrs. Barbary and little Mrs. Tooker went away homeward. Thence my wife by coach calling me at White Hall to visit my Lady Carteret, and she was not within. So to Westminster Hall, where I purposely tooke my wife well dressed into the Hall to see and be seen; and, among others, [met] Howlet's daughter, who is newly married, and is she I call wife, and one I love mightily. So to Broad Streete and there met my Lady and Sir G. Carteret, and sat and talked with them a good while and so home, and to my accounts which I cannot get through with. But at it till I grew drowsy, and so to bed mightily vexed that I can come to no better issue in my accounts. 3rd. Up, and Sir W. Warren with me betimes and signed a bond, and assigned his order on the Exchequer to a blank for me to fill and I did deliver him L1900. The truth is, it is a great venture to venture so much on the Act, but thereby I hedge in L300 gift for my service about some ships that he hath bought, prizes, and good interest besides, and his bond to repay me the money at six weeks' warning. So to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there my brother Balty dined with me and my wife, who is become a good serious man, and I hope to do him good being sending him a Muster-Master on one of the squadrons of the fleete. After dinner and he gone I to my accounts hard all the afternoon till it was quite darke, and I thank God I do come to bring them very fairly to make me worth L5,000 stocke in the world, which is a great mercy to me. Though I am a little troubled to find L50 difference between the particular account I make to myself of my profits and loss in each month and the account which I raise from my acquittances and money which I have at the end of every month in my chest and other men's hands. However I do well believe that I am effectually L5,000, the greatest sum I ever was in my life yet, and this day I have as I have said before agreed with Sir W. Warren and got of him L300 gift. At night a while to the office and then home and supped and to my accounts again till I was ready to sleepe, there being no pleasure to handle them, if they are not kept in good order. So to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to White Hall, in his way talking simply and fondly as he used to do, but I find myself to slight him and his simple talke, I thank God, and that my condition will enable me to do it. Thence, after doing our business with the Duke of Yorke, with Captain Cocke home to the 'Change in his coach. He promises me presently a dozen of silver salts, and proposes a business for which he hath promised Mrs. Williams for my Lord Bruncker a set of plate shall cost him L500 and me the like, which will be a good business indeed. After done several businesses at the 'Change I home, and being washing day dined upon cold meate, and so abroad by coach to Hales's, and there sat till night, mightily pleased with my picture, which is now almost finished. So by coach home, it being the fast day and to my chamber and so after supper to bed, consulting how to send my wife into the country to advise about Pall's marriage, which I much desire, and my father too, and two or three offers are now in hand. 5th. Up, and before office time to Lumbard Streete, and there at Viner's was shewn the silver plates, made for Captain Cocke to present my Lord Bruncker; and I chose a dozen of the same weight to be bespoke for myself, which he told me yesterday he would give me on the same occasion. To the office, where the falsenesse and impertinencies of Sir W. Pen would make a man mad to think of. At noon would have avoided, but could not, dining with my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse with Captain Cocke at the Sun Taverne in Fish Streete, where a good dinner, but the woman do tire me, and indeed how simply my Lord Bruncker, who is otherwise a wise man, do proceed at the table in serving of Cocke, without any means of understanding in his proposal, or defence when proposed, would make a man think him a foole. After dinner home, where I find my wife hath on a sudden, upon notice of a coach going away to-morrow, taken a resolution of going in it to Brampton, we having lately thought it fit for her to go to satisfy herself and me in the nature of the fellow that is there proposed to my sister. So she to fit herself for her journey and I to the office all the afternoon till late, and so home and late putting notes to "It is decreed, nor shall thy fate, &c." and then to bed. The plague is, to our great grief, encreased nine this week, though decreased a few in the total. And this encrease runs through many parishes, which makes us much fear the next year. 6th. Up mighty betimes upon my wife's going this day toward Brampton. I could not go to the coach with her, but W. Hewer did and hath leave from me to go the whole day's journey with her. All the morning upon business at the office, and at noon dined, and Mrs. Hunt coming lent her L5 on her occasions and so carried her to Axe Yard end at Westminster and there left her, a good and understanding woman, and her husband I perceive thrives mightily in his business of the Excise. Thence to Mr. Hales and there sat, and my picture almost finished, which by the word of Mr. and Mrs. Pierce (who come in accidently) is mighty like, and I am sure I am mightily pleased both in the thing and the posture. Thence with them home a little, and so to White Hall and there met by agreement with Sir Stephen Fox and Mr. Ashburnham, and discoursed the business of our Excise tallys; the former being Treasurer of the guards, and the other Cofferer of the King's household. I benefitted much by their discourse. We come to no great conclusion upon our discourse, but parted, and I home, where all things, methinks, melancholy in the absence of my wife. This day great newes of the Swedes declaring for us against the Dutch, and, so far as that, I believe it. After a little supper to bed. 7th. Lay pretty long to-day, lying alone and thinking of several businesses. So up to the office and there till noon. Thence with my Lord Bruncker home by coach to Mrs. Williams's, where Bab. Allen and Dr. Charleton dined. Bab and I sang and were mighty merry as we could be there, where the rest of the company did not overplease. Thence took her by coach to Hales's, and there find Mrs. Pierce and her boy and Mary. She had done sitting the first time, and indeed her face is mighty like at first dash. Thence took them to the cakehouse, and there called in the coach for cakes and drank, and thence I carried them to my Lord Chancellor's new house to shew them that, and all mightily pleased, thence set each down at home, and so I home to the office, where about ten of the clock W. Hewer comes to me to tell me that he has left my wife well this morning at Bugden, which was great riding, and brings me a letter from her. She is very well got thither, of which I am heartily glad. After writing several letters, I home to supper and to bed. The Parliament of which I was afraid of their calling us of the Navy to an account of the expense of money and stores and wherein we were so little ready to give them a good answer [will soon meet]. The Bishop of Munster, every body says, is coming to peace with the Dutch, we having not supplied him with the money promised him. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and was in great trouble how to get a passage to White Hall, it raining, and no coach to be had. So I walked to the Old Swan, and there got a scull. To the Duke of Yorke, where we all met to hear the debate between Sir Thomas Allen and Mr. Wayth; the former complaining of the latter's ill usage of him at the late pay of his ship. But a very sorry poor occasion he had for it. The Duke did determine it with great judgement, chiding both, but encouraging Wayth to continue to be a check to all captains in any thing to the King's right. And, indeed, I never did see the Duke do any thing more in order, nor with more judgement than he did pass the verdict in this business. The Court full this morning of the newes of Tom Cheffin's death, the King's closett-keeper. He was well last night as ever, flaying at tables in the house, and not very ill this morning at six o'clock, yet dead before seven: they think, of an imposthume in his breast. But it looks fearfully among people nowadays, the plague, as we hear, encreasing every where again. To the Chappell, but could not get in to hear well. But I had the pleasure once in my life to see an Archbishop (this was of Yorke) in a pulpit. Then at a loss how to get home to dinner, having promised to carry Mrs. Hunt thither. At last got my Lord Hinchingbroke's coach, he staying at Court; and so took her up in Axe-yard, and home and dined. And good discourse of the old matters of the Protector and his family, she having a relation to them. The Protector [Richard Cromwell subsequently returned to England, and resided in strict privacy at Cheshunt for some years before his death in 1712] lives in France: spends about L500 per annum. Thence carried her home again and then to Court and walked over to St. James's Chappell, thinking to have heard a Jesuite preach, but come too late. So got a hackney and home, and there to business. At night had Mercer comb my head and so to supper, sing a psalm, and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and with my Joyner begun the making of the window in my boy's chamber bigger, purposing it shall be a roome to eat and for having musique in. To the office, where a meeting upon extraordinary business, at noon to the 'Change about more, and then home with Creed and dined, and then with him to the Committee of Tangier, where I got two or three things done I had a mind to of convenience to me. Thence by coach to Mrs. Pierce's, and with her and Knipp and Mrs. Pierce's boy and girle abroad, thinking to have been merry at Chelsey; but being come almost to the house by coach near the waterside, a house alone, I think the Swan, a gentleman walking by called to us to tell us that the house was shut up of the sicknesse. So we with great affright turned back, being holden to the gentleman; and went away (I for my part in great disorder) for Kensington, and there I spent about 30s. upon the jades with great pleasure, and we sang finely and staid till about eight at night, the night coming on apace and so set them down at Pierce's, and so away home, where awhile with Sir W. Warren about business, and then to bed, 10th. Up betimes, and many people to me about business. To the office and there sat till noon, and then home and dined, and to the office again all the afternoon, where we sat all, the first time of our resolution to sit both forenoons and afternoons. Much business at night and then home, and though late did see some work done by the plasterer to my new window in the boy's chamber plastered. Then to supper, and after having my head combed by the little girle to bed. Bad news that the plague is decreased in the general again and two increased in the sickness. 11th. To White Hall, having first set my people to worke about setting me rails upon the leads of my wife's closett, a thing I have long designed, but never had a fit opportunity till now. After having done with the Duke of Yorke, I to Hales's, where there was nothing found to be done more to my picture, but the musique, which now pleases me mightily, it being painted true. Thence home, and after dinner to Gresham College, where a great deal of do and formality in choosing of the Council and Officers. I had three votes to be of the Council, who am but a stranger, nor expected any. So my Lord Bruncker being confirmed President I home, where I find to my great content my rails up upon my leads. To the office and did a little business, and then home and did a great jobb at my Tangier accounts, which I find are mighty apt to run into confusion, my head also being too full of other businesses and pleasures. This noon Bagwell's wife come to me to the office, after her being long at Portsmouth. After supper, and past 12 at night to bed. 12th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home and so to my office again, and taking a turne in the garden my Lady Pen comes to me and takes me into her house, where I find her daughter and a pretty lady of her acquaintance, one Mrs. Lowder, sister, I suppose, of her servant Lowder's, with whom I, notwithstanding all my resolution to follow business close this afternoon, did stay talking and playing the foole almost all the afternoon, and there saw two or three foolish sorry pictures of her doing, but very ridiculous compared to what my wife do. She grows mighty homely and looks old. Thence ashamed at myself for this losse of time, yet not able to leave it, I to the office, where my Lord Bruncker come; and he and I had a little fray, he being, I find, a very peevish man, if he be denied what he expects, and very simple in his argument in this business (about signing a warrant for paying Sir Thos. Allen L1000 out of the groats); but we were pretty good friends before we parted, and so we broke up and I to the writing my letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, being called up by my wife's brother, for whom I have got a commission from the Duke of Yorke for Muster-Master of one of the divisions, of which Harman is Rere-Admirall, of which I am glad as well as he. After I had acquainted him with it, and discoursed a little of it, I went forth and took him with me by coach to the Duke of Albemarle, who being not up, I took a walk with Balty into the Parke, and to the Queene's Chappell, it being Good Friday, where people were all upon their knees very silent; but, it seems, no masse this day. So back and waited on the Duke and received some commands of his, and so by coach to Mr. Hales's, where it is pretty strange to see that his second doing, I mean the second time of her sitting, is less like Mrs. Pierce than the first, and yet I am confident will be most like her, for he is so curious that I do not see how it is possible for him to mistake. Here he and I presently resolved of going to White Hall, to spend an houre in the galleries there among the pictures, and we did so to my great satisfaction, he shewing me the difference in the payntings, and when I come more and more to distinguish and observe the workmanship, I do not find so many good things as I thought there was, but yet great difference between the works of some and others; and, while my head and judgment was full of these, I would go back again to his house to see his pictures, and indeed, though, I think, at first sight some difference do open, yet very inconsiderably but that I may judge his to be very good pictures. Here we fell into discourse of my picture, and I am for his putting out the Landskipp, though he says it is very well done, yet I do judge it will be best without it, and so it shall be put out, and be made a plain sky like my wife's picture, which will be very noble. Thence called upon an old woman in Pannier Ally to agree for ruling of some paper for me and she will do it pretty cheap. Here I found her have a very comely black mayde to her servant, which I liked very well. So home to dinner and to see my joiner do the bench upon my leads to my great content. After dinner I abroad to carry paper to my old woman, and so to Westminster Hall, and there beyond my intention or design did see and speak with Betty Howlett, at her father's still, and it seems they carry her to her own house to begin the world with her young husband on Monday next, Easter Monday. I please myself with the thoughts of her neighbourhood, for I love the girl mightily. Thence home, and thither comes Mr. Houblon and a brother, with whom I evened for the charter parties of their ships for Tangier, and paid them the third advance on their freight to full satisfaction, and so, they being gone, comes Creed and with him till past one in the morning, evening his accounts till my head aked and I was fit for nothing, however, coming at last luckily to see through and settle all to my mind, it did please me mightily, and so with my mind at rest to bed, and he with me and hard to sleep. 14th. Up about seven and finished our papers, he and I, and I delivered him tallys and some money and so away I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home and Creed with me, then parted, and I to the office, and anon called thence by Sir H. Cholmley and he and I to my chamber, and there settled our matters of accounts, and did give him tallys and money to clear him, and so he being gone and all these accounts cleared I shall be even with the King, so as to make a very clear and short account in a very few days, which pleases me very well. Here he and I discoursed a great while about Tangier, and he do convince me, as things are now ordered by my Lord Bellasses and will be by Norwood (men that do only mind themselves), the garrison will never come to any thing, and he proposes his owne being governor, which in truth I do think will do very well, and that he will bring it to something. He gone I to my office, where to write letters late, and then home and looked over a little more my papers of accounts lately passed, and so to bed. 15th (Easter Day). Up and by water to Westminster to the Swan to lay down my cloak, and there found Sarah alone, with whom after I had staid awhile I to White Hall Chapel, and there coming late could hear nothing of the Bishop of London's sermon. So walked into the Park to the Queene's chappell, and there heard a good deal of their mass, and some of their musique, which is not so contemptible, I think, as our people would make it, it pleasing me very well; and, indeed, better than the anthem I heard afterwards at White Hall, at my coming back. I staid till the King went down to receive the Sacrament, and stood in his closett with a great many others, and there saw him receive it, which I did never see the manner of before. But I do see very little difference between the degree of the ceremonies used by our people in the administration thereof, and that in the Roman church, saving that methought our Chappell was not so fine, nor the manner of doing it so glorious, as it was in the Queene's chappell. Thence walked to Mr. Pierces, and there dined, I alone with him and her and their children: very good company and good discourse, they being able to tell me all the businesses of the Court; the amours and the mad doings that are there; how for certain Mrs. Stewart do do everything with the King that a mistress should do; and that the King hath many bastard children that are known and owned, besides the Duke of Monmouth. After a great deale of this discourse I walked thence into the Parke with her little boy James with me, who is the wittiest boy and the best company in the world, and so back again through White Hall both coming and going, and people did generally take him to be my boy and some would aske me. Thence home to Mr. Pierce again; and he being gone forth, she and I and the children out by coach to Kensington, to where we were the other day, and with great pleasure stayed till night; and were mighty late getting home, the horses tiring and stopping at every twenty steps. By the way we discoursed of Mrs. Clerke, who, she says, is grown mighty high, fine, and proud, but tells me an odd story how Captain Rolt did see her the other day accost a gentleman in Westminster Hall and went with him, and he dogged them to Moorefields to a little blind bawdy house, and there staid watching three hours and they come not out, so could stay no longer but left them there, and he is sure it was she, he knowing her well and describing her very clothes to Mrs. Pierce, which she knows are what she wears. Seeing them well at home I homeward, but the horses at Ludgate Hill made a final stop; so there I 'lighted, and with a linke, it being about 10 o'clock, walked home, and after singing a Psalm or two and supped to bed. 16th. Up, and set my people, Mercer, W. Hewer, Tom and the girle at work at ruling and stitching my ruled book for the Muster-Masters, and I hard toward the settling of my Tangier accounts. At noon dined alone, the girl Mercer taking physique can eat nothing, and W. Hewer went forth to dinner. So up to my accounts again, and then comes Mrs. Mercer and fair Mrs. Turner, a neighbour of hers that my wife knows by their means, to visit me. I staid a great while with them, being taken with this pretty woman, though a mighty silly, affected citizen woman she is. Then I left them to come to me at supper anon, and myself out by coach to the old woman in Pannyer Alley for my ruled papers, and they are done, and I am much more taken with her black maid Nan. Thence further to Westminster, thinking to have met Mrs. Martin, but could not find her, so back and called at Kirton's to borrow 10s. to pay for my ruled papers, I having not money in my pocket enough to pay for them. But it was a pretty consideration that on this occasion I was considering where I could with most confidence in a time of need borrow 10s., and I protest I could not tell where to do it and with some trouble and fear did aske it here. So that God keepe me from want, for I shall be in a very bad condition to helpe myself if ever I should come to want or borrow. Thence called for my papers and so home, and there comes Mrs. Turner and Mercer and supped with me, and well pleased I was with their company, but especially Mrs. Turner's, she being a very pretty woman of person and her face pretty good, the colour of her haire very fine and light. They staid with me talking till about eleven o'clock and so home, W. Hewer, who supped with me, leading them home. So I to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, my brother Balty with me, who is fitting himself to go to sea. So after dinner to my accounts and did proceed a good way in settling them, and thence to the office, where all the afternoon late, writing my letters and doing business, but, Lord! what a conflict I had with myself, my heart tempting me 1000 times to go abroad about some pleasure or other, notwithstanding the weather foule. However I reproached myself with my weaknesse in yielding so much my judgment to my sense, and prevailed with difficulty and did not budge, but stayed within, and, to my great content, did a great deale of business, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that Moll Davis, the pretty girle, that sang and danced so well at the Duke's house, is dead. 18th. [Up] and by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir Thos. Allen to White Hall, and there after attending the Duke as usual and there concluding of many things preparatory to the Prince and Generall's going to sea on Monday next, Sir W. Batten and Sir T. Allen and I to Mr. Lilly's, the painter's; and there saw the heads, some finished, and all begun, of the Flaggmen in the late great fight with the Duke of Yorke against the Dutch. The Duke of Yorke hath them done to hang in his chamber, and very finely they are done indeed. Here is the Prince's, Sir G. Askue's, Sir Thomas Teddiman's, Sir Christopher Mings, Sir Joseph Jordan, Sir William Barkeley, Sir Thomas Allen, and Captain Harman's, as also the Duke of Albemarle's; and will be my Lord Sandwich's, Sir W. Pen's, and Sir Jeremy Smith's. Being very well satisfied with this sight, and other good pictures hanging in the house, we parted, and I left them, and [to] pass away a little time went to the printed picture seller's in the way thence to the Exchange, and there did see great plenty of fine prints; but did not buy any, only a print of an old pillar in Rome made for a Navall Triumph, [The columna rostrata erected in the Forum to C. Duilius, who obtained a triumph for the first naval victory over the Carthaginians, B.C. 261. Part of the column was discovered in the ruins of the Forum near the Arch of Septimius, and transferred to the Capitol.--B.] which for the antiquity of the shape of ships, I buy and keepe. Thence to the Exchange, that is, the New Exchange, and looked over some play books and intend to get all the late new plays. So to Westminster, and there at the Swan got a bit of meat and dined alone; and so away toward King's Street, and spying out of my coach Jane that lived heretofore at Jevons, my barber's, I went a little further and stopped, and went on foot back, and overtook her, taking water at Westminster Bridge, and spoke to her, and she telling me whither she was going I over the water and met her at Lambeth, and there drank with her; she telling me how he that was so long her servant, did prove to be a married man, though her master told me (which she denies) that he had lain with her several times in his house. There left her 'sans essayer alcune cose con elle', and so away by boat to the 'Change, and took coach and to Mr. Hales, where he would have persuaded me to have had the landskipp stand in my picture, but I like it not and will have it otherwise, which I perceive he do not like so well, however is so civil as to say it shall be altered. Thence away to Mrs. Pierces, who was not at home, but gone to my house to visit me with Mrs. Knipp. I therefore took up the little girle Betty and my mayde Mary that now lives there and to my house, where they had been but were gone, so in our way back again met them coming back again to my house in Cornehill, and there stopped laughing at our pretty misfortunes, and so I carried them to Fish Streete, and there treated them with prawns and lobsters, and it beginning to grow darke we away, but the jest is our horses would not draw us up the Hill, but we were fain to 'light and stay till the coachman had made them draw down to the bottom of the Hill, thereby warming their legs, and then they came up cheerfully enough, and we got up and I carried them home, and coming home called at my paper ruler's and there found black Nan, which pleases me mightily, and having saluted her again and again away home and to bed . . . . . In all my ridings in the coach and intervals my mind hath been full these three weeks of setting in musique "It is decreed, &c." 19th. Lay long in bed, so to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Warren at the Pope's Head. So back to the office, and there met with the Commissioners of the Ordnance, where Sir W. Pen being almost drunk vexed me, and the more because Mr. Chichly observed it with me, and it was a disparagement to the office. They gone I to my office. Anon comes home my wife from Brampton, not looked for till Saturday, which will hinder me of a little pleasure, but I am glad of her coming. She tells me Pall's business with Ensum is like to go on, but I must give, and she consents to it, another 100. She says she doubts my father is in want of money, for rents come in mighty slowly. My mother grows very unpleasant and troublesome and my father mighty infirm through his old distemper, which altogether makes me mighty thoughtfull. Having heard all this and bid her welcome I to the office, where late, and so home, and after a little more talk with my wife, she to bed and I after her. 20th. Up, and after an houre or two's talke with my poor wife, who gives me more and more content every day than other, I abroad by coach to Westminster, and there met with Mrs. Martin, and she and I over the water to Stangold, and after a walke in the fields to the King's Head, and there spent an houre or two with pleasure with her, and eat a tansy and so parted, and I to the New Exchange, there to get a list of all the modern plays which I intend to collect and to have them bound up together. Thence to Mr. Hales's, and there, though against his particular mind, I had my landskipp done out, and only a heaven made in the roome of it, which though it do not please me thoroughly now it is done, yet it will do better than as it was before. Thence to Paul's Churchyarde, and there bespoke some new books, and so to my ruling woman's and there did see my work a doing, and so home and to my office a little, but was hindered of business I intended by being sent for to Mrs. Turner, who desired some discourse with me and lay her condition before me, which is bad and poor. Sir Thomas Harvey intends again to have lodgings in her house, which she prays me to prevent if I can, which I promised. Thence to talke generally of our neighbours. I find she tells me the faults of all of them, and their bad words of me and my wife, and indeed do discover more than I thought. So I told her, and so will practise that I will have nothing to do with any of them. She ended all with a promise of shells to my wife, very fine ones indeed, and seems to have great respect and honour for my wife. So home and to bed. 21st. Up betimes and to the office, there to prepare some things against the afternoon for discourse about the business of the pursers and settling the pursers' matters of the fleete according to my proposition. By and by the office sat, and they being up I continued at the office to finish my matters against the meeting before the Duke this afternoon, so home about three to clap a bit of meate in my mouth, and so away with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there to the Duke, but he being to go abroad to take the ayre, he dismissed us presently without doing any thing till to-morrow morning. So my Lord Bruncker and I down to walk in the garden [at White Hall], it being a mighty hot and pleasant day; and there was the King, who, among others, talked to us a little; and among other pretty things, he swore merrily that he believed the ketch that Sir W. Batten bought the last year at Colchester was of his own getting, it was so thick to its length. Another pleasant thing he said of Christopher Pett, commending him that he will not alter his moulds of his ships upon any man's advice; "as," says he, "Commissioner Taylor I fear do of his New London, that he makes it differ, in hopes of mending the Old London, built by him." "For," says he, "he finds that God hath put him into the right, and so will keep in it while he is in." "And," says the King, "I am sure it must be God put him in, for no art of his owne ever could have done it;" for it seems he cannot give a good account of what he do as an artist. Thence with my Lord Bruncker in his coach to Hide Parke, the first time I have been there this year. There the King was; but I was sorry to see my Lady Castlemaine, for the mourning forceing all the ladies to go in black, with their hair plain and without any spots, I find her to be a much more ordinary woman than ever I durst have thought she was; and, indeed, is not so pretty as Mrs. Stewart, whom I saw there also. Having done at the Park he set me down at the Exchange, and I by coach home and there to my letters, and they being done, to writing a large letter about the business of the pursers to Sir W. Batten against to-morrow's discourse, and so home and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new black coate, long down to my knees, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where all in deep mourning for the Queene's mother. There had great discourse, before the Duke and Sir W. Coventry begun the discourse of the day about the purser's business, which I seconded, and with great liking to the Duke, whom however afterward my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen did stop by some thing they said, though not much to the purpose, yet because our proposition had some appearance of certain charge to the King it was ruled that for this year we should try another the same in every respect with ours, leaving out one circumstance of allowing the pursers the victuals of all men short of the complement. I was very well satisfied with it and am contented to try it, wishing it may prove effectual. Thence away with Sir W. Batten in his coach home, in our way he telling me the certaine newes, which was afterward confirmed to me this day by several, that the Bishopp of Munster has made a league [with] the Hollanders, and that our King and Court are displeased much at it: moreover we are not sure of Sweden. I home to my house, and there dined mighty well, my poor wife and Mercer and I. So back again walked to White Hall, and there to and again in the Parke, till being in the shoemaker's stockes.--[A cant expression for tight shoes.]--I was heartily weary, yet walked however to the Queene's Chappell at St. James's, and there saw a little mayde baptized; many parts and words whereof are the same with that of our Liturgy, and little that is more ceremonious than ours. Thence walked to Westminster and eat a bit of bread and drank, and so to Worster House, and there staid, and saw the Council up, and then back, walked to the Cockepitt, and there took my leave of the Duke of Albemarle, who is going to-morrow to sea. He seems mightily pleased with me, which I am glad of; but I do find infinitely my concernment in being careful to appear to the King and Duke to continue my care of his business, and to be found diligent as I used to be. Thence walked wearily as far as Fleet Streete and so there met a coach and home to supper and to bed, having sat a great while with Will Joyce, who come to see me, and it is the first time I have seen him at my house since the plague, and find him the same impertinent, prating coxcombe that ever he was. 23rd. Being mighty weary last night, lay long this morning, then up and to the office, where Sir W. Batten, Lord Bruncker and I met, and toward noon took coach and to White Hall, where I had the opportunity to take leave of the Prince, and again of the Duke of Albemarle; and saw them kiss the King's hands and the Duke's; and much content, indeed, there seems to be in all people at their going to sea, and [they] promise themselves much good from them. This morning the House of Parliament do meet, only to adjourne again till winter. The plague, I hear, encreases in the towne much, and exceedingly in the country everywhere. Thence walked to Westminster Hall, and after a little stay, there being nothing now left to keep me there, Betty Howlett being gone, I took coach and away home, in my way asking in two or three places the worth of pearles, I being now come to the time that I have long ago promised my wife a necklace. Dined at home and took Balty with me to Hales's to show him his sister's picture, and thence to Westminster, and there I to the Swan and drank, and so back again alone to Hales's and there met my wife and Mercer, Mrs. Pierce being sitting, and two or three idle people of her acquaintance more standing by. Her picture do come on well. So staid until she had done and then set her down at home, and my wife and I and the girle by coach to Islington, and there eat and drank in the coach and so home, and there find a girle sent at my desire by Mrs. Michell of Westminster Hall, to be my girle under the cooke-mayde, Susan. But I am a little dissatisfied that the girle, though young, is taller and bigger than Su, and will not, I fear, be under her command, which will trouble me, and the more because she is recommended by a friend that I would not have any unkindness with, but my wife do like very well of her. So to my accounts and journall at my chamber, there being bonfires in the streete, for being St. George's day, and the King's Coronation, and the day of the Prince and Duke's going to sea. So having done my business, to bed. 24th. Up, and presently am told that the girle that came yesterday hath packed up her things to be gone home again to Enfield, whence she come, which I was glad of, that we might be at first rid of her altogether rather than be liable to her going away hereafter. The reason was that London do not agree with her. So I did give her something, and away she went. By and by comes Mr. Bland to me, the first time since his coming from Tangier, and tells me, in short, how all things are out of order there, and like to be; and the place never likely to come to anything while the soldiers govern all, and do not encourage trade. He gone I to the office, where all the morning, and so to dinner, and there in the afternoon very busy all day till late, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to White Hall to the Duke as usual, and did our business there. So I away to Westminster (Batty with me, whom I had presented to Sir W. Coventry) and there told Mrs. Michell of her kinswoman's running away, which troubled her. So home, and there find another little girle come from my wife's mother, likely to do well. After dinner I to the office, where Mr. Prin come to meet about the Chest business; and till company come, did discourse with me a good while alone in the garden about the laws of England, telling me the many faults in them; and among others, their obscurity through multitude of long statutes, which he is about to abstract out of all of a sort; and as he lives, and Parliaments come, get them put into laws, and the other statutes repealed, and then it will be a short work to know the law, which appears a very noble good thing. By and by Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Rider met with us, and we did something to purpose about the Chest, and hope we shall go on to do so. They up, I to present Batty to Sir W. Pen, who at my entreaty did write a most obliging letter to Harman to use him civilly, but the dissembling of the rogue is such, that it do not oblige me at all. So abroad to my ruler's of my books, having, God forgive me! a mind to see Nan there, which I did, and so back again, and then out again to see Mrs. Bettons, who were looking out of the window as I come through Fenchurch Streete. So that indeed I am not, as I ought to be, able to command myself in the pleasures of my eye. So home, and with my wife and Mercer spent our evening upon our new leads by our bedchamber singing, while Mrs. Mary Batelier looked out of the window to us, and we talked together, and at last bid good night. However, my wife and I staid there talking of several things with great pleasure till eleven o'clock at night, and it is a convenience I would not want for any thing in the world, it being, methinks, better than almost any roome in my house. So having, supped upon the leads, to bed. The plague, blessed be God! is decreased sixteen this week. 26th. To the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and in the afternoon to my office again, where very busy all the afternoon and particularly about fitting of Mr. Yeabsly's accounts for the view of the Lords Commissioners for Tangier. At night home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up (taking Balty with me, who lay at my house last [night] in order to his going away to-day to sea with the pursers of the Henery, whom I appointed to call him), abroad to many several places about several businesses, to my Lord Treasurer's, Westminster, and I know not where. At noon to the 'Change a little, and there bespoke some maps to hang in my new roome (my boy's roome) which will be very-pretty. Home to dinner, and after dinner to the hanging up of maps, and other things for the fitting of the roome, and now it will certainly be one of the handsomest and most usefull roomes in my house. So that what with this room and the room on my leads my house is half as good again as it was. All this afternoon about this till I was so weary and it was late I could do no more but finished the room. So I did not get out to the office all the day long. At night spent a good deale of time with my wife and Mercer teaching them a song, and so after supper to bed. 28th. Up and to the office. At noon dined at home. After dinner abroad with my wife to Hales's to see only our pictures and Mrs. Pierce's, which I do not think so fine as I might have expected it. My wife to her father's, to carry him some ruling work, which I have advised her to let him do. It will get him some money. She also is to look out again for another little girle, the last we had being also gone home the very same day she came. She was also to look after a necklace of pearle, which she is mighty busy about, I being contented to lay out L80 in one for her. I home to my business. By and by comes my wife and presently after, the tide serving, Balty took leave of us, going to sea, and upon very good terms, to be Muster-Master of a squadron, which will be worth L100 this yeare to him, besides keeping him the benefit of his pay in the Guards. He gone, I very busy all the afternoon till night, among other things, writing a letter to my brother John, the first I have done since my being angry with him, and that so sharpe a one too that I was sorry almost to send it when I had wrote it, but it is preparatory to my being kind to him, and sending for him up hither when he hath passed his degree of Master of Arts. So home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Mr. Mills, a lazy, simple sermon upon the Devil's having no right to any thing in this world. So home to dinner, and after dinner I and my boy down by water to Redriffe and thence walked to Mr. Evelyn's, where I walked in his garden till he come from Church, with great pleasure reading Ridly's discourse, all my way going and coming, upon the Civill and Ecclesiastical Law. He being come home, he and I walked together in the garden with mighty pleasure, he being a very ingenious man; and the more I know him, the more I love him. His chief business with me was to propose having my cozen Thomas Pepys in Commission of the Peace, which I do not know what to say to till I speake with him, but should be glad of it and will put him upon it. Thence walked back again reading and so took water and home, where I find my uncle and aunt Wight, and supped with them upon my leads with mighty pleasure and mirthe, and they being gone I mighty weary to bed, after having my haire of my head cut shorter, even close to my skull, for coolnesse, it being mighty hot weather. 30th. Up and, being ready, to finish my journall for four days past. To the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife gone abroad to conclude about her necklace of pearle. I after dinner to even all my accounts of this month; and, bless God! I find myself, notwithstanding great expences of late; viz. L80 now to pay for a necklace; near L40 for a set of chairs and couch; near L40 for my three pictures: yet I do gather, and am now worth L5200. My wife comes home by and by, and hath pitched upon a necklace with three rows, which is a very good one, and L80 is the price. In the evening, having finished my accounts to my full content and joyed that I have evened them so plainly, remembering the trouble my last accounts did give me by being let alone a little longer than ordinary, by which I am to this day at a loss for L50, I hope I shall never commit such an error again, for I cannot devise where the L50 should be, but it is plain I ought to be worth L50 more than I am, and blessed be God the error was no greater. In the evening with my [wife] and Mercer by coach to take the ayre as far as Bow, and eat and drank in the coach by the way and with much pleasure and pleased with my company. At night home and up to the leads, but were contrary to expectation driven down again with a stinke by Sir W. Pen's shying of a shitten pot in their house of office close by, which do trouble me for fear it do hereafter annoy me. So down to sing a little and then to bed. So ends this month with great layings-out. Good health and gettings, and advanced well in the whole of my estate, for which God make me thankful. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Ashamed at myself for this losse of time Begun to write idle and from the purpose Counterfeit mirthe and pleasure with them, but had but little Driven down again with a stinke by Sir W. Pen's shying of a pot Great newes of the Swedes declaring for us against the Dutch He has been inconvenienced by being too free in discourse Mass, and some of their musique, which is not so contemptible Reading over my dear "Faber fortunae," of my Lord Bacon's Thence to Mrs. Martin's, and did what I would with her Through want of money and good conduct Too late for them to enjoy it with any pleasure Tooke my wife well dressed into the Hall to see and be seen 
4165	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY & JUNE 1666 May 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon, my cozen Thomas Pepys did come to me, to consult about the business of his being a justice of the Peace, which he is much against; and among other reasons, tells me, as a confidant, that he is not free to exercise punishment according to the Act against Quakers and other people, for religion. Nor do he understand Latin, and so is not capable of the place as formerly, now all warrants do run in Latin. Nor is he in Kent, though he be of Deptford parish, his house standing in Surry. However, I did bring him to incline towards it, if he be pressed to take it. I do think it may be some repute to me to have my kinsman in Commission there, specially if he behave himself to content in the country. He gone and my wife gone abroad, I out also to and fro, to see and be seen, among others to find out in Thames Streete where Betty Howlett is come to live, being married to Mrs. Michell's son; which I did about the Old Swan, but did not think fit to go thither or see them. Thence by water to Redriffe, reading a new French book my Lord Bruncker did give me to-day, "L'Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules," [This book, which has frequently been reprinted, was written by Roger de Rabutin, Comte de Bussy, for the amusement of his mistress, Madame de Montglas, and consists of sketches of the chief ladies of the court, in which he libelled friends and foes alike. These circulated in manuscript, and were printed at Liege in 1665. Louis XIV. was so much annoyed with the book that he sent the author to the Bastille for over a year.] being a pretty libel against the amours of the Court of France. I walked up and down Deptford yarde, where I had not been since I come from living at Greenwich, which is some months. There I met with Mr. Castle, and was forced against my will to have his company back with me. So we walked and drank at Halfway house and so to his house, where I drank a cupp of syder, and so home, where I find Mr. Norbury newly come to town to see us. After he gone my wife tells me the ill newes that our Susan is sicke and gone to bed, with great pain in her head and back, which troubles us all. However we to bed expecting what to-morrow would produce. She hath we conceive wrought a little too much, having neither maid nor girle to help her. 2nd. Up and find the girle better, which we are glad of, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall by coach. There attended the Duke as usual. Thence with Captain Cocke, whom I met there, to London, to my office, to consult about serving him in getting him some money, he being already tired of his slavery to my Lord Bruncker, and the charge it costs him, and gets no manner of courtesy from him for it. He gone I home to dinner, find the girle yet better, so no fear of being forced to send her out of doors as we intended. After dinner. I by water to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier upon Mr. Yeabsly's business, which I got referred to a Committee to examine. Thence among other stops went to my ruler's house, and there staid a great while with Nan idling away the afternoon with pleasure. By and by home, so to my office a little, and then home to supper with my wife, the girle being pretty well again, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home, and contrary to my expectation find my little girle Su worse than she was, which troubled me, and the more to see my wife minding her paynting and not thinking of her house business, this being the first day of her beginning the second time to paynt. This together made me froward that I was angry with my wife, and would not have Browne to think to dine at my table with me always, being desirous to have my house to myself without a stranger and a mechanique to be privy to all my concernments. Upon this my wife and I had a little disagreement, but it ended by and by, and then to send up and down for a nurse to take the girle home and would have given anything. I offered to the only one that we could get 20s. per weeke, and we to find clothes, and bedding and physique, and would have given 30s., as demanded, but desired an houre or two's time. So I away by water to Westminster, and there sent for the girle's mother to Westminster Hall to me; she came and undertakes to get her daughter a lodging and nurse at next doore to her, though she dare not, for the parish's sake, whose sexton her husband is, to [have] her into her owne house. Thence home, calling at my bookseller's and other trifling places, and in the evening the mother come and with a nurse she has got, who demanded and I did agree at 10s. per weeke to take her, and so she away, and my house mighty uncouth, having so few in it, and we shall want a servant or two by it, and the truth is my heart was a little sad all the afternoon and jealous of myself. But she went, and we all glad of it, and so a little to the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up and by water to Westminster to Charing Cross (Mr. Gregory for company with me) to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, who was not within. So I took Gregory to White Hall, and there spoke with Joseph Williamson to have leave in the next Gazette to have a general pay for the Chest at Chatham declared upon such a day in June. Here I left Gregory, and I by coach back again to Sir Philip Warwicke's, and in the Park met him walking, so discoursed about the business of striking a quarter's tallys for Tangier, due this day, which he hath promised to get my Lord Treasurer's warrant for, and so away hence, and to Mr. Hales, to see what he had done to Mrs. Pierces picture, and whatever he pretends, I do not think it will ever be so good a picture as my wife's. Thence home to the office a little and then to dinner, and had a great fray with my wife again about Browne's coming to teach her to paynt, and sitting with me at table, which I will not yield to. I do thoroughly believe she means no hurte in it; but very angry we were, and I resolved all into my having my will done, without disputing, be the reason what it will; and so I will have it. After dinner abroad again and to the New Exchange about play books, and to White Hall, thinking to have met Sir G. Carteret, but failed. So to the Swan at Westminster, and there spent a quarter of an hour with Jane, and thence away home, and my wife coming home by and by (having been at her mother's to pray her to look out for a mayde for her) by coach into the fields to Bow, and so home back in the evening, late home, and after supper to bed, being much out of order for lack of somebody in the room of Su. This evening, being weary of my late idle courses, and the little good I shall do the King or myself in the office, I bound myself to very strict rules till Whitsunday next. 5th. At the office all the morning. After dinner upon a letter from the fleete from Sir W. Coventry I did do a great deale of worke for the sending away of the victuallers that are in the river, &c., too much to remember. Till 10 at night busy about letters and other necessary matter of the office. About 11 home, it being a fine moonshine and so my wife and Mercer come into the garden, and, my business being done, we sang till about twelve at night, with mighty pleasure to ourselves and neighbours, by their casements opening, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). To church. Home, and after dinner walked to White Hall, thinking to have seen Mr. Coventry, but failed, and therefore walked clear on foot back again. Busy till night in fitting my Victualling papers in order, which I through my multitude of business and pleasure have not examined these several months. Walked back again home, and so to the Victualling Office, where I met Mr. Gawden, and have received some satisfaction, though it be short of what I expected, and what might be expected from me. So after evened I have gone, and so to supper and to bed. 7th. Up betimes to set my Victualling papers in order against Sir W. Coventry comes, which indeed makes me very melancholy, being conscious that I am much to seeke in giving a good answer to his queries about the Victualling business. At the office mighty busy, and brought myself into a pretty plausible condition before Sir W. Coventry come, and did give him a pretty tolerable account of every thing and went with him into the Victualling office, where we sat and examined his businesses and state of the victualling of the fleete, which made me in my heart blushe that I could say no more to it than I did or could. But I trust in God I shall never be in that condition again. We parted, and I with pretty good grace, and so home to dinner, where my wife troubled more and more with her swollen cheek. So to dinner, my sister-in-law with us, who I find more and more a witty woman; and then I to my Lord Treasurer's and the Exchequer about my Tangier businesses, and with my content passed by all things and persons without so much as desiring any stay or loss of time with them, being by strong vowe obliged on no occasion to stay abroad but my publique offices. So home again, where I find Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Ferrers come to see my wife. I staid a little with them, being full of business, and so to the office, where busy till late at night and so weary and a little conscious of my failures to-day, yet proud that the day is over without more observation on Sir W. Coventry's part, and so to bed and to sleepe soundly. 8th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, my wife's cheek bad still. After dinner to the office again and thither comes Mr. Downing, the anchor-smith, who had given me 50 pieces in gold the last month to speake for him to Sir W. Coventry, for his being smith at Deptford; but after I had got it granted to him, he finds himself not fit to go on with it, so lets it fall. So has no benefit of my motion. I therefore in honour and conscience took him home the money, and, though much to my grief, did yet willingly and forcibly force him to take it again, the poor man having no mind to have it. However, I made him take it, and away he went, and I glad to have given him so much cause to speake well of me. So to my office again late, and then home to supper to a good lobster with my wife, and then a little to my office again, and so to bed. 9th. Up by five o'clock, which I have not a long time done, and down the river by water to Deptford, among other things to examine the state of Ironworke, in order to the doing something with reference to Downing that may induce him to returne me the 50 pieces. Walked back again reading of my Civill Law Book, and so home and by coach to White Hall, where we did our usual business before the Duke, and heard the Duke commend Deane's ship "The Rupert" before "The Defyance," built lately by Castle, in hearing of Sir W. Batten, which pleased me mightily. Thence by water to Westminster, and there looked after my Tangier order, and so by coach to Mrs. Pierces, thinking to have gone to Hales's, but she was not ready, so away home and to dinner, and after dinner out by coach to Lovett's to have forwarded what I have doing there, but find him and his pretty wife gone to my house to show me something. So away to my Lord Treasurer's, and thence to Pierces, where I find Knipp, and I took them to Hales's to see our pictures finished, which are very pretty, but I like not hers half so well as I thought at first, it being not so like, nor so well painted as I expected, or as mine and my wife's are. Thence with them to Cornhill to call and choose a chimney-piece for Pierces closett, and so home, where my wife in mighty pain and mightily vexed at my being abroad with these women; and when they were gone called them whores and I know not what, which vexed me, having been so innocent with them. So I with them to Mrs. Turner's and there sat with them a while, anon my wife sends for me, I come, and what was it but to scold at me and she would go abroad to take the ayre presently, that she would. So I left my company and went with her to Bow, but was vexed and spoke not one word to her all the way going nor coming, or being come home, but went up straight to bed. Half an hour after (she in the coach leaning on me as being desirous to be friends) she comes up mighty sicke with a fit of the cholique and in mighty pain and calls for me out of the bed; I rose and held her, she prays me to forgive her, and in mighty pain we put her to bed, where the pain ceased by and by, and so had some asparagus to our bed side for supper and very kindly afterward to sleepe and good friends in the morning. 10th. So up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner and there busy all the afternoon till past six o'clock, and then abroad with my wife by coach, who is now at great ease, her cheeke being broke inward. We took with us Mrs. Turner, who was come to visit my wife just as we were going out. A great deale of tittle tattle discourse to little purpose, I finding her, though in other things a very discreete woman, as very a gossip speaking of her neighbours as any body. Going out towards Hackney by coach for the ayre, the silly coachman carries us to Shoreditch, which was so pleasant a piece of simplicity in him and us, that made us mighty merry. So back again late, it being wondrous hot all the day and night and it lightning exceeding all the way we went and came, but without thunder. Coming home we called at a little ale-house, and had an eele pye, of which my wife eat part and brought home the rest. So being come home we to supper and to bed. This day come our new cook maid Mary, commended by Mrs. Batters. 11th. Up betimes, and then away with Mr. Yeabsly to my Lord Ashly's, whither by and by comes Sir H. Cholmly and Creed, and then to my Lord, and there entered into examination of Mr. Yeabsly's accounts, wherein as in all other things I find him one of the most distinct men that ever I did see in my life. He raised many scruples which were to be answered another day and so parted, giving me an alarme how to provide myself against the day of my passing my accounts. Thence I to Westminster to look after the striking of my tallys, but nothing done or to be done therein. So to the 'Change, to speake with Captain Cocke, among other things about getting of the silver plates of him, which he promises to do; but in discourse he tells me that I should beware of my fellow-officers; and by name told me that my Lord Bruncker should say in his hearing, before Sir W. Batten, of me, that he could undo the man, if he would; wherein I think he is a foole; but, however, it is requisite I be prepared against the man's friendship. Thence home to dinner alone, my wife being abroad. After dinner to the setting some things in order in my dining-room; and by and by comes my wife home and Mrs. Pierce with her, so I lost most of this afternoon with them, and in the evening abroad with them, our long tour by coach, to Hackney, so to Kingsland, and then to Islington, there entertaining them by candlelight very well, and so home with her, set her down, and so home and to bed. 12th. Up to the office very betimes to draw up a letter for the Duke of Yorke relating to him the badness of our condition in this office for want of money. That being in good time done we met at the office and there sat all the morning. At noon home, where I find my wife troubled still at my checking her last night in the coach in her long stories out of Grand Cyrus, which she would tell, though nothing to the purpose, nor in any good manner. [Sir Walter Scott observes, in his "Life of Dryden," that the romances of Calprenede and Scuderi, those ponderous and unmerciful folios, now consigned to oblivion, were, in their day, not only universally read and admired, but supposed to furnish the most perfect models of gallantry and heroism. Dr. Johnson read them all. "I have," says Mrs. Chapone, "and yet I am still alive, dragged through 'Le Grand Cyrus,' in twelve huge volumes; 'Cleopatra,' in eight or ten; 'Ibrahim,' 'Clelie,' and some others, whose names, as well as all the rest of them, I have forgotten" ("Letters to Mrs. Carter"). No wonder that Pepys sat on thorns, when his wife began to recite "Le Grand Cyrus" in the coach, "and trembled at the impending tale."--B.] This she took unkindly, and I think I was to blame indeed; but she do find with reason, that in the company of Pierce, Knipp, or other women that I love, I do not value her, or mind her as I ought. However very good friends by and by, and to dinner, and after dinner up to the putting our dining room in order, which will be clean again anon, but not as it is to be because of the pictures which are not come home. To the office and did much business, in the evening to Westminster and White Hall about business and among other things met Sir G. Downing on White Hall bridge, and there walked half an hour, talking of the success of the late new Act; and indeed it is very much, that that hath stood really in the room of L800,000 now since Christmas, being itself but L1,250,000. And so I do really take it to be a very considerable thing done by him; for the beginning, end, and every part of it, is to be imputed to him. So home by water, and there hard till 12 at night at work finishing the great letter to the Duke of Yorke against to-morrow morning, and so home to bed. This day come home again my little girle Susan, her sicknesse proving an ague, and she had a fit soon almost as she come home. The fleete is not yet gone from the Nore. The plague encreases in many places, and is 53 this week with us. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to White Hall, where we all met to present a letter to the Duke of Yorke, complaining solemnly of the want of money, and that being done, I to and again up and down Westminster, thinking to have spent a little time with Sarah at the Swan, or Mrs. Martin, but was disappointed in both, so walked the greatest part of the way home, where comes Mr. Symons, my old acquaintance, to dine with me, and I made myself as good company as I could to him, but he was mighty impertinent methought too yet, and thereby I see the difference between myself now and what it was heretofore, when I reckoned him a very brave fellow. After dinner he and I walked together as far as Cheapside, and I quite through to Westminster again, and fell by chance into St. Margett's' Church, where I heard a young man play the foole upon the doctrine of purgatory. At this church I spied Betty Howlett, who indeed is mighty pretty, and struck me mightily. After church time, standing in the Church yarde, she spied me, so I went to her, her father and mother and husband being with her. They desired and I agreed to go home with Mr. Michell, and there had the opportunity to have saluted two or three times Betty and make an acquaintance which they are pleased with, though not so much as I am or they think I am. I staid here an houre or more chatting with them in a little sorry garden of theirs by the Bowling Alley, and so left them and I by water home, and there was in great pain in mind lest Sir W. Pen, who is going down to the Fleete, should come to me or send for me to be informed in the state of things, and particularly the Victualling, that by my pains he might seem wise. So after spending an houre with my wife pleasantly in her closett, I to bed even by daylight. 14th. Comes betimes a letter from Sir W. Coventry, that he and Sir G. Carteret are ordered presently down to the Fleete. I up and saw Sir W. Pen gone also after them, and so I finding it a leisure day fell to making cleane my closett in my office, which I did to my content and set up my Platts again, being much taken also with Griffin's mayde, that did cleane it, being a pretty mayde. I left her at it, and toward Westminster myself with my wife by coach and meeting took up Mr. Lovett the varnisher with us, who is a pleasant speaking and humoured man, so my wife much taken with him, and a good deale of worke I believe I shall procure him. I left my wife at the New Exchange and myself to the Exchequer, to looke after my Tangier tallys, and there met Sir G. Downing, who shewed me his present practise now begun this day to paste up upon the Exchequer door a note of what orders upon the new Act are paid and now in paying, and my Lord of Oxford coming by, also took him, and shewed him his whole method of keeping his books, and everything of it, which indeed is very pretty, and at this day there is assigned upon the Act L804,000. Thence at the New Exchange took up my wife again, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to my office again to set things in order. In the evening out with my wife and my aunt Wight, to take the ayre, and happened to have a pleasant race between our hackney-coach and a gentleman's. At Bow we eat and drank and so back again, it being very cool in the evening. Having set home my aunt and come home, I fell to examine my wife's kitchen book, and find 20s. mistake, which made me mighty angry and great difference between us, and so in the difference to bed. 15th. Up and to the office, where we met and sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's, he having sent for me, but was not within, so I to my Lord Crew's, who is very lately come to towne, and with him talking half an houre of the business of the warr, wherein he is very doubtful, from our want of money, that we shall fail. And I do concur with him therein. After some little discourse of ordinary matters, I away to Sir Philip Warwicke's again, and was come in, and gone out to my Lord Treasurer's; whither I followed him, and there my business was, to be told that my Lord Treasurer hath got L10,000 for us in the Navy, to answer our great necessities, which I did thank him for; but the sum is not considerable. So home, and there busy all the afternoon till night, and then home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up very betimes, and so down the river to Deptford to look after some business, being by and by to attend the Duke and Mr. Coventry, and so I was wiling to carry something fresh that I may look as a man minding business, which I have done too much for a great while to forfeit, and is now so great a burden upon my mind night and day that I do not enjoy myself in the world almost. I walked thither, and come back again by water, and so to White Hall, and did our usual business before the Duke, and so to the Exchequer, where the lazy rogues have not yet done my tallys, which vexes me. Thence to Mr. Hales, and paid him for my picture, and Mr. Hill's, for the first L14 for the picture, and 25s. for the frame, and for the other L7 for the picture, it being a copy of his only, and 5s. for the frame; in all, L22 10s. I am very well satisfied in my pictures, and so took them in another coach home along with me, and there with great pleasure my wife and I hung them up, and, that being done, to dinner, where Mrs. Barbara Sheldon come to see us and dined with us, and we kept her all the day with us, I going down to Deptford, and, Lord! to see with what itching desire I did endeavour to see Bagwell's wife, but failed, for which I am glad, only I observe the folly of my mind that cannot refrain from pleasure at a season above all others in my life requisite for me to shew my utmost care in. I walked both going and coming, spending my time reading of my Civill and Ecclesiastical Law book. Being returned home, I took my wife and Mrs. Barbary and Mercer out by coach and went our Grand Tour, and baited at Islington, and so late home about 11 at night, and so with much pleasure to bed. 17th. Up, lying long, being wearied yesterday with long walking. So to the office, where all the morning with fresh occasion of vexing at myself for my late neglect of business, by which I cannot appear half so usefull as I used to do. Home at noon to dinner, and then to my office again, where I could not hold my eyes open for an houre, but I drowsed (so little sensible I apprehend my soul is of the necessity of minding business), but I anon wakened and minded my business, and did a great deale with very great pleasure, and so home at night to supper and to bed, mightily pleased with myself for the business that I have done, and convinced that if I would but keepe constantly to do the same I might have leisure enough and yet do all my business, and by the grace of God so I will. So to bed. 18th. Up by 5 o'clock, and so down by water to Deptford and Blackewall to dispatch some business. So walked to Dickeshoare, and there took boat again and home, and thence to Westminster, and attended all the morning on the Exchequer for a quarter's tallys for Tangier. But, Lord! to see what a dull, heavy sort of people they are there would make a man mad. At noon had them and carried them home, and there dined with great content with my people, and within and at the office all the afternoon and night, and so home to settle some papers there, and so to bed, being not very well, having eaten too much lobster at noon at dinner with Mr. Hollyard, he coming in and commending it so much. 19th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon took Mr. Deane (lately come to towne) home with me to dinner, and there after giving him some reprimands and good advice about his deportment in the place where by my interest he is at Harwich, and then declaring my resolution of being his friend still, we did then fall to discourse about his ship "Rupert," built by him there, which succeeds so well as he hath got great honour by it, and I some by recommending him; the King, Duke, and every body saying it is the best ship that was ever built. And then he fell to explain to me his manner of casting the draught of water which a ship will draw before-hand: which is a secret the King and all admire in him; and he is the first that hath come to any certainty before-hand, of foretelling the draught of water of a ship before she be launched. I must confess I am much pleased in his successe in this business, and do admire at the confidence of Castle who did undervalue the draught Deane sent up to me, that I was ashamed to owne it or him, Castle asking of me upon the first sight of it whether he that laid it down had ever built a ship or no, which made me the more doubtfull of him. He being gone, I to the office, where much business and many persons to speake with me. Late home and to bed, glad to be at a little quiett. 20th (Lord's day). With my wife to church in the morning. At noon dined mighty nobly, ourselves alone. After dinner my wife and Mercer by coach to Greenwich, to be gossip to Mrs. Daniel's child. I out to Westminster, and straight to Mrs. Martin's, and there did what I would with her, she staying at home all the day for me; and not being well pleased with her over free and loose company, I away to Westminster Abbey, and there fell in discourse with Mr. Blagrave, whom I find a sober politique man, that gets money and increase of places, and thence by coach home, and thence by water after I had discoursed awhile with Mr. Yeabsly, whom I met and took up in my coach with me, and who hath this day presented my Lord Ashly with L100 to bespeak his friendship to him in his accounts now before us; and my Lord hath received it, and so I believe is as bad, as to bribes, as what the world says of him. Calling on all the Victualling ships to know what they had of their complements, and so to Deptford, to enquire after a little business there, and thence by water back again, all the way coming and going reading my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae," which I can never read too often, and so back home, and there find my wife come home, much pleased with the reception she had there, and she was godmother, and did hold the child at the Font, and it is called John. So back again home, and after setting my papers in order and supping, to bed, desirous to rise betimes in the morning. 21st. Up between 4 and 5 o'clock and to set several papers to rights, and so to the office, where we had an extraordinary meeting. But, Lord! how it torments me to find myself so unable to give an account of my Victualling business, which puts me out of heart in every thing else, so that I never had a greater shame upon me in my owne mind, nor more trouble as to publique business than I have now, but I will get out of it as soon as possibly I can. At noon dined at home, and after dinner comes in my wife's brother Balty and his wife, he being stepped ashore from the fleete for a day or two. I away in some haste to my Lord Ashly, where it is stupendous to see how favourably, and yet closely, my Lord Ashly carries himself to Mr. Yeabsly, in his business, so as I think we shall do his business for him in very good manner. But it is a most extraordinary thing to observe, and that which I would not but have had the observation of for a great deal of money. Being done there, and much forwarded Yeabsly's business, I with Sir H. Cholmly to my Lord Bellassis, who is lately come from Tangier to visit him, but is not within. So to Westminster Hall a little about business and so home by water, and then out with my wife, her brother, sister, and Mercer to Islington, our grand tour, and there eat and drank. But in discourse I am infinitely pleased with Balty, his deportment in his business of Muster-Master, and hope mighty well from him, and am glad with all my heart I put him into this business. Late home and to bed, they also lying at my house, he intending to go away to-morrow back again to sea. 22nd. Up betimes and to my business of entering some Tangier payments in my book in order, and then to the office, where very busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, Balty being gone back to sea and his wife dining with us, whom afterward my wife carried home. I after dinner to the office, and anon out on several occasions, among others to Lovett's, and there staid by him and her and saw them (in their poor conditioned manner) lay on their varnish, which however pleased me mightily to see. Thence home to my business writing letters, and so at night home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up by 5 o'clock and to my chamber settling several matters in order. So out toward White Hall, calling in my way on my Lord Bellassis, where I come to his bedside, and did give me a full and long account of his matters, how he left them at Tangier. Declares himself fully satisfied with my care: seems cunningly to argue for encreasing the number of men there. Told me the whole story of his gains by the Turky prizes, which he owns he hath got about L5000 by. Promised me the same profits Povy was to have had; and in fine, I find him a pretty subtle man; and so I left him, and to White Hall before the Duke and did our usual business, and eased my mind of two or three things of weight that lay upon me about Lanyon's salary, which I have got to be L150 per annum. Thence to Westminster to look after getting some little for some great tallys, but shall find trouble in it. Thence homeward and met with Sir Philip Warwicke, and spoke about this, in which he is scrupulous. After that to talk of the wants of the Navy. He lays all the fault now upon the new Act, and owns his owne folly in thinking once so well of it as to give way to others' endeavours about it, and is grieved at heart to see what passe things are like to come to. Thence to the Excise Office to the Commissioners to get a meeting between them and myself and others about our concernments in the Excise for Tangier, and so to the 'Change awhile, and thence home with Creed, and find my wife at dinner with Mr. Cooke, who is going down to Hinchinbrooke. After dinner Creed and I and wife and Mercer out by coach, leaving them at the New Exchange, while I to White Hall, and there staid at Sir G. Carteret's chamber till the Council rose, and then he and I, by agreement this morning, went forth in his coach by Tiburne, to the Parke; discoursing of the state of the Navy as to money, and the state of the Kingdom too, how ill able to raise more: and of our office as to the condition of the officers; he giving me caution as to myself, that there are those that are my enemies as well as his, and by name my Lord Bruncker, who hath said some odd speeches against me. So that he advises me to stand on my guard; which I shall do, and unless my too-much addiction to pleasure undo me, will be acute enough for any of them. We rode to and again in the Parke a good while, and at last home and set me down at Charing Crosse, and thence I to Mrs. Pierces to take up my wife and Mercer, where I find her new picture by Hales do not please her, nor me indeed, it making no show, nor is very like, nor no good painting. Home to supper and to bed, having my right eye sore and full of humour of late, I think, by my late change of my brewer, and having of 8s. beer. 24th. Up very betimes, and did much business in my chamber. Then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon rose in the pleasantest humour I have seen Sir W. Coventry and the whole board in this twelvemonth from a pleasant crossing humour Sir W. Batten was in, he being hungry, and desirous to be gone. Home, and Mr. Hunt come to dine with me, but I was prevented dining till 4 o'clock by Sir H. Cholmly and Sir J. Bankes's coming in about some Tangier business. They gone I to dinner, the others having dined. Mr. Sheply is also newly come out of the country and come to see us, whom I am glad to see. He left all well there; but I perceive under some discontent in my Lord's behalfe, thinking that he is under disgrace with the King; but he is not so at all, as Sir G. Carteret assures me. They gone I to the office and did business, and so in the evening abroad alone with my wife to Kingsland, and so back again and to bed, my right eye continuing very ill of the rheum, which hath troubled it four or five days. 25th. Up betimes and to my chamber to do business, where the greatest part of the morning. Then out to the 'Change to speake with Captain [Cocke], who tells me my silver plates are ready for me, and shall be sent me speedily; and proposes another proposition of serving us with a thousand tons of hempe, and tells me it shall bring me 6500, if the bargain go forward, which is a good word. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, who is at the pay of the tickets with Sir J. Minnes this day, and here I sat with them a while, the first time I ever was there, and thence to dinner with him, a good dinner. Here come a gentleman over from France arrived here this day, Mr. Browne of St. Mellos, who, among other things, tells me the meaning of the setting out of doggs every night out of the towne walls, which are said to secure the city; but it is not so, but only to secure the anchors, cables, and ships that lie dry, which might otherwise in the night be liable to be robbed. And these doggs are set out every night, and called together in every morning by a man with a home, and they go in very orderly. Thence home, and there find Knipp at dinner with my wife, now very big, and within a fortnight of lying down. But my head was full of business and so could have no sport. So I left them, promising to return and take them out at night, and so to the Excise Office, where a meeting was appointed of Sir Stephen Fox, the Cofferer, and myself, to settle the business of our tallys, and it was so pretty well against another meeting. Thence away home to the office and out again to Captain Cocke (Mr. Moore for company walking with me and discoursing and admiring of the learning of Dr. Spencer), and there he and I discoursed a little more of our matters, and so home, and (Knipp being gone) took out my wife and Mercer to take the ayre a little, and so as far as Hackney and back again, and then to bed. 26th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home. So to the office again, and a while at the Victualling Office to understand matters there a little, and thence to the office and despatched much business, to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Rose betimes, and to my office till church time to write two copies of my Will fair, bearing date this day, wherein I have given my sister Pall L500, my father for his owne and my mother's support L2,000, to my wife the rest of my estate, but to have L2500 secured to her, though by deducting out of what I have given my father and my sister. I dispatched all before church time and then to church, my wife with me. Thence home to dinner, whither come my uncle Wight, and aunt and uncle Norbury, and Mr. Shepley. A good dinner and very merry. After dinner we broke up and I by water to Westminster to Mrs. Martin's, and there sat with her and her husband and Mrs. Burrows, the pretty, an hour or two, then to the Swan a while, and so home by water, and with my wife by and by by water as low as Greenwich, for ayre only, and so back again home to supper and to bed with great pleasure. 28th. Up and to my chamber to do some business there, and then to the office, where a while, and then by agreement to the Excise Office, where I waited all the morning for the Cofferer and Sir St. Foxe's coming, but they did not, so I and the Commissioners lost their labour and expectation of doing the business we intended. Thence home, where I find Mr. Lovett and his wife came to see us. They are a pretty couple, and she a fine bred woman. They dined with us, and Browne, the paynter, and she plays finely on the lute. My wife and I were well pleased with her company. After dinner broke up, I to the office and they abroad. All the afternoon I busy at the office, and down by water to Deptford. Walked back to Redriffe, and so home to the office again, being thoughtfull how to answer Sir W. Coventry against to-morrow in the business of the Victualling, but that I do trust to Tom Wilson, that he will be ready with a book for me to-morrow morning. So to bed, my wife telling me where she hath been to-day with my aunt Wight, and seen Mrs. Margaret Wight, and says that she is one of the beautifullest women that ever she saw in her life, the most excellent nose and mouth. They have been also to see pretty Mrs. Batelier, and conclude her to be a prettier woman than Mrs. Pierce, whom my wife led my aunt to see also this day. 29th (King's birth-day and Restauration day). Waked with the ringing of the bells all over the towne; so up before five o'clock, and to the office, where we met, and I all the morning with great trouble upon my spirit to think how I should come off in the afternoon when Sir W. Coventry did go to the Victualling office to see the state of matters there, and methinks by his doing of it without speaking to me, and only with Sir W. Pen, it must be of design to find my negligence. However, at noon I did, upon a small invitation of Sir W. Pen's, go and dine with Sir W. Coventry at his office, where great good cheer and many pleasant stories of Sir W. Coventry; but I had no pleasure in them. However, I had last night and this morning made myself a little able to report how matters were, and did readily go with them after dinner to the Victualling office; and there, beyond belief, did acquit myself very well to full content; so that, beyond expectation, I got over this second rub in this business; and if ever I fall on it again, I deserve to be undone. Being broke up there, I with a merry heart home to my office, and thither my wife comes to me, to tell me, that if I would see the handsomest woman in England, I shall come home presently; and who should it be but the pretty lady of our parish, that did heretofore sit on the other side of our church, over against our gallery, that is since married; she with Mrs. Anne Jones, one of this parish, that dances finely, and Mrs. sister did come to see her this afternoon, and so I home and there find Creed also come to me. So there I spent most of the afternoon with them, and indeed she is a pretty black woman, her name Mrs. Horsely. But, Lord! to see how my nature could not refrain from the temptation; but I must invite them to Foxhall, to Spring Gardens, though I had freshly received minutes of a great deale of extraordinary business. However I could not helpe it, but sent them before with Creed, and I did some of my business; and so after them, and find them there, in an arbour, and had met with Mrs. Pierce, and some company with her. So here I spent 20s. upon them, and were pretty merry. Among other things, had a fellow that imitated all manner of birds, and doggs, and hogs, with his voice, which was mighty pleasant. Staid here till night: then set Mrs. Pierce in at the New Exchange; and ourselves took coach, and so set Mrs. Horsely home, and then home ourselves, but with great trouble in the streets by bonefires, it being the King's birth-day and day of Restauration; but, Lord! to see the difference how many there were on the other side, and so few ours, the City side of the Temple, would make one wonder the difference between the temper of one sort of people and the other: and the difference among all between what they do now, and what it was the night when Monk come into the City. Such a night as that I never think to see again, nor think it can be. After I come home I was till one in the morning with Captain Cocke drawing up a contract with him intended to be offered to the Duke to-morrow, which, if it proceeds, he promises me L500. 30th. Up and to my office, there to settle some business in order .to our waiting on the Duke to-day. That done to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, where I find the Duke gone out with the King to-day on hunting. So after some discourse with him, I by water to Westminster, and there drew a draught of an order for my Lord Treasurer to sign for my having some little tallys made me in lieu of two great ones, of L2000 each, to enable me to pay small sums therewith. I shewed it to Sir R. Long and had his approbation, and so to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, and did give it him to get signed. So home to my office, and there did business. By and by toward noon word is brought me that my father and my sister are come. I expected them to-day, but not so soon. I to them, and am heartily glad to see them, especially my father, who, poor man, looks very well, and hath rode up this journey on horseback very well, only his eyesight and hearing is very bad. I staid and dined with them, my wife being gone by coach to Barnet, with W. Hewer and Mercer, to meet them, and they did come Ware way. After dinner I left them to dress themselves and I abroad by appointment to my Lord Ashly, who, it is strange to see, how prettily he dissembles his favour to Yeabsly's business, which none in the world could mistrust only I, that am privy to his being bribed. Thence to White Hall, and there staid till the Council was up, with Creed expecting a meeting of Tangier to end Yeabsly's business, but we could not procure it. So I to my Lord Treasurer's and got my warrant, and then to Lovett's, but find nothing done there. So home and did a little business at the office, and so down by water to Deptford and back again home late, and having signed some papers and given order in business, home, where my wife is come home, and so to supper with my father, and mighty pleasant we were, and my wife mighty kind to him and Pall, and so after supper to bed, myself being sleepy, and my right eye still very sore, as it has been now about five days or six, which puts me out of tune. To-night my wife tells me newes has been brought her that Balty's wife is brought to bed, by some fall or fit, before her time, of a great child but dead. If the woman do well we have no reason to be sorry, because his staying a little longer without a child will be better for him and her. 31st. Waked very betimes in the morning by extraordinary thunder and rain, which did keep me sleeping and waking till very late, and it being a holiday and my eye very sore, and myself having had very little sleep for a good while till nine o'clock, and so up, and so saw all my family up, and my father and sister, who is a pretty good-bodied woman, and not over thicke, as I thought she would have been, but full of freckles, and not handsome in face. And so I out by water among the ships, and to Deptford and Blackewall about business, and so home and to dinner with my father and sister and family, mighty pleasant all of us; and, among other things, with a sparrow that our Mercer hath brought up now for three weeks, which is so tame that it flies up and down, and upon the table, and eats and pecks, and do everything so pleasantly, that we are mightily pleased with it. After dinner I to my papers and accounts of this month to sett all straight, it being a publique Fast-day appointed to pray for the good successe of the fleete. But it is a pretty thing to consider how little a matter they make of this keeping of a Fast, that it was not so much as declared time enough to be read in the churches the last Sunday; but ordered by proclamation since: I suppose upon some sudden newes of the Dutch being come out. To my accounts and settled them clear; but to my grief find myself poorer than I was the last by near L20, by reason of my being forced to return L50 to Downing, the smith, which he had presented me with. However, I am well contented, finding myself yet to be worth L5,200. Having done, to supper with my wife, and then to finish the writing fair of my accounts, and so to bed. This day come to town Mr. Homewood, and I took him home in the evening to my chamber, and discoursed with him about my business of the Victualling, which I have a mind to employ him in, and he is desirous of also, but do very ingenuously declare he understands it not so well as other things, and desires to be informed in the nature of it before he attempts it, which I like well, and so I carried him to Mr. Gibson to discourse with him about it, and so home again to my accounts. Thus ends this month, with my mind oppressed by my defect in my duty of the Victualling, which lies upon me as a burden, till I get myself into a better posture therein, and hinders me and casts down my courage in every thing else that belongs to me, and the jealousy I have of Sir W. Coventry's being displeased with me about it; but I hope in a little time to remedy all. As to publique business; by late tidings of the French fleete being come to Rochelle (how true, though, I know not) our fleete is divided; Prince Rupert being gone with about thirty ships to the Westward as is conceived to meet the French, to hinder their coming to join with the Dutch. My Lord Duke of Albemarle lies in the Downes with the rest, and intends presently to sail to the Gunfleete. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE 1666 June 1st. Being prevented yesterday in meeting by reason of the fast day, we met to-day all the morning. At noon I and my father, wife and sister, dined at Aunt Wight's here hard by at Mr. Woolly's, upon sudden warning, they being to go out of town to-morrow. Here dined the faire Mrs. Margaret Wight, who is a very fine lady, but the cast of her eye, got only by an ill habit, do her much wrong and her hands are bad; but she hath the face of a noble Roman lady. After dinner my uncle and Woolly and I out into their yarde, to talke about what may be done hereafter to all our profits by prizegoods, which did give us reason to lament the losse of the opportunity of the last yeare, which, if we were as wise as we are now, and at the peaceable end of all those troubles that we met with, all might have been such a hit as will never come again in this age, and so I do really believe it. Thence home to my office and there did much business, and at night home to my father to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where certain newes is brought us of a letter come to the King this morning from the Duke of Albemarle, dated yesterday at eleven o'clock, as they were sailing to the Gunfleete, that they were in sight of the Dutch fleete, and were fitting themselves to fight them; so that they are, ere this, certainly engaged; besides, several do averr they heard the guns all yesterday in the afternoon. This put us at the Board into a tosse. Presently come orders for our sending away to the fleete a recruite of 200 soldiers. So I rose from the table, and to the Victualling office, and thence upon the River among several vessels, to consider of the sending them away; and lastly, down to Greenwich, and there appointed two yachts to be ready for them; and did order the soldiers to march to Blackewall. Having set all things in order against the next flood, I went on shore with Captain Erwin at Greenwich, and into the Parke, and there we could hear the guns from the fleete most plainly. Thence he and I to the King's Head and there bespoke a dish of steaks for our dinner about four o'clock. While that was doing, we walked to the water-side, and there seeing the King and Duke come down in their barge to Greenwich-house, I to them, and did give them an account [of] what I was doing. They went up to the Parke to hear the guns of the fleete go off. All our hopes now are that Prince Rupert with his fleete is coming back and will be with the fleete this even: a message being sent to him to that purpose on Wednesday last; and a return is come from him this morning, that he did intend to sail from St. Ellen's point about four in the afternoon on Wednesday [Friday], which was yesterday; which gives us great hopes, the wind being very fair, that he is with them this even, and the fresh going off of the guns makes us believe the same. After dinner, having nothing else to do till flood, I went and saw Mrs. Daniel, to whom I did not tell that the fleets were engaged, because of her husband, who is in the R. Charles. Very pleasant with her half an hour, and so away and down to Blackewall, and there saw the soldiers (who were by this time gotten most of them drunk) shipped off. But, Lord! to see how the poor fellows kissed their wives and sweethearts in that simple manner at their going off, and shouted, and let off their guns, was strange sport. In the evening come up the River the Katharine yacht, Captain Fazeby, who hath brought over my Lord of Alesbury and Sir Thomas Liddall (with a very pretty daughter, and in a pretty travelling-dress) from Flanders, who saw the Dutch fleete on Thursday, and ran from them; but from that houre to this hath not heard one gun, nor any newes of any fight. Having put the soldiers on board, I home and wrote what I had to write by the post, and so home to supper and to bed, it being late. 3rd (Lord's-day; Whit-sunday). Up, and by water to White Hall, and there met with Mr. Coventry, who tells me the only news from the fleete is brought by Captain Elliott, of The Portland, which, by being run on board by The Guernsey, was disabled from staying abroad; so is come in to Aldbrough. That he saw one of the Dutch great ships blown up, and three on fire. That they begun to fight on Friday; and at his coming into port, he could make another ship of the King's coming in, which he judged to be the Rupert: that he knows of no other hurt to our ships. With this good newes I home by water again, and to church in the sermon-time, and with great joy told it my fellows in the pew. So home after church time to dinner, and after dinner my father, wife, sister, and Mercer by water to Woolwich, while I walked by land, and saw the Exchange as full of people, and hath been all this noon as of any other day, only for newes. I to St. Margaret's, Westminster, and there saw at church my pretty Betty Michell, and thence to the Abbey, and so to Mrs. Martin, and there did what 'je voudrais avec her . . . . So by and by he come in, and after some discourse with him I away to White Hall, and there met with this bad newes farther, that the Prince come to Dover but at ten o'clock last night, and there heard nothing of a fight; so that we are defeated of all our hopes of his helpe to the fleete. It is also reported by some Victuallers that the Duke of Albemarle and Holmes their flags were shot down, and both fain to come to anchor to renew their rigging and sails. A letter is also come this afternoon, from Harman in the Henery; which is she [that] was taken by Elliott for the Rupert; that being fallen into the body of the Dutch fleete, he made his way through them, was set on by three fire-ships one after another, got two of them off, and disabled the third; was set on fire himself; upon which many of his men leapt into the sea and perished; among others, the parson first. Have lost above 100 men, and a good many women (God knows what is become of Balty), and at last quenched his own fire and got to Aldbrough; being, as all say, the greatest hazard that ever any ship escaped, and as bravely managed by him. The mast of the third fire-ship fell into their ship on fire, and hurt Harman's leg, which makes him lame now, but not dangerous. I to Sir G. Carteret, who told me there hath been great bad management in all this; that the King's orders that went on Friday for calling back the Prince, were sent but by the ordinary post on Wednesday; and come to the Prince his hands but on Friday; and then, instead of sailing presently, he stays till four in the evening. And that which is worst of all, the Hampshire, laden with merchants' money, come from the Straights, set out with or but just before the fleete, and was in the Downes by five in the clock yesterday morning; and the Prince with his fleete come to Dover but at ten of the clock at night. This is hard to answer, if it be true. This puts great astonishment into the King, and Duke, and Court, every body being out of countenance. So meeting Creed, he and I by coach to Hide Parke alone to talke of these things, and do blesse God that my Lord Sandwich was not here at this time to be concerned in a business like to be so misfortunate. It was a pleasant thing to consider how fearfull I was of being seen with Creed all this afternoon, for fear of people's thinking that by our relation to my Lord Sandwich we should be making ill construction of the Prince's failure. But, God knows, I am heartily sorry for the sake of the whole nation, though, if it were not for that, it would not be amisse to have these high blades find some checke to their presumption and their disparaging of as good men. Thence set him down in Covent Guarden and so home by the 'Change, which is full of people still, and all talk highly of the failure of the Prince in not making more haste after his instructions did come, and of our managements here in not giving it sooner and with more care and oftener. Thence. After supper to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen to White Hall in the latter's coach, where, when we come, we find the Duke at St. James's, whither he is lately gone to lodge. So walking through the Parke we saw hundreds of people listening at the Gravel-pits,--[Kensington]--and to and again in the Parke to hear the guns, and I saw a letter, dated last night, from Strowd, Governor of Dover Castle, which says that the Prince come thither the night before with his fleete, but that for the guns which we writ that we heard, it is only a mistake for thunder; [Evelyn was in his garden when he heard the guns, and be at once set off to Rochester and the coast, but he found that nothing had been heard at Deal (see his "Diary," June 1st, 1666).] and so far as to yesterday it is a miraculous thing that we all Friday, and Saturday and yesterday, did hear every where most plainly the guns go off, and yet at Deale and Dover to last night they did not hear one word of a fight, nor think they heard one gun. This, added to what I have set down before the other day about the Katharine, makes room for a great dispute in philosophy, how we should hear it and they not, the same wind that brought it to us being the same that should bring it to them: but so it is. Major Halsey, however (he was sent down on purpose to hear newes), did bring newes this morning that he did see the Prince and his fleete at nine of the clock yesterday morning, four or five leagues to sea behind the Goodwin, so that by the hearing of the guns this morning we conclude he is come to the fleete. After wayting upon the Duke, Sir W. Pen (who was commanded to go to-night by water down to Harwich, to dispatch away all the ships he can) and I home, drinking two bottles of Cocke ale in the streete in his new fine coach, where no sooner come, but newes is brought me of a couple of men come to speak with me from the fleete; so I down, and who should it be but Mr. Daniel, all muffled up, and his face as black as the chimney, and covered with dirt, pitch, and tarr, and powder, and muffled with dirty clouts, and his right eye stopped with okum. He is come last night at five o'clock from the fleete, with a comrade of his that hath endangered another eye. They were set on shore at Harwich this morning, and at two o'clock, in a catch with about twenty more wounded men from the Royall Charles. They being able to ride, took post about three this morning, and were here between eleven and twelve. I went presently into the coach with them, and carried them to Somerset-House-stairs, and there took water (all the world gazing upon us, and concluding it to be newes from the fleete, and every body's face appeared expecting of newes) to the Privy-stairs, and left them at Mr. Coventry's lodging (he, though, not being there); and so I into the Parke to the King, and told him my Lord Generall was well the last night at five o'clock, and the Prince come with his fleete and joyned with his about seven. The King was mightily pleased with this newes, and so took me by the hand and talked a little of it. Giving him the best account I could; and then he bid me to fetch the two seamen to him, he walking into the house. So I went and fetched the seamen into the Vane room to him, and there he heard the whole account. THE FIGHT. How we found the Dutch fleete at anchor on Friday half seas over, between Dunkirke and Ostend, and made them let slip their anchors. They about ninety, and we less than sixty. We fought them, and put them to the run, till they met with about sixteen sail of fresh ships, and so bore up again. The fight continued till night, and then again the next morning from five till seven at night. And so, too, yesterday morning they begun again, and continued till about four o'clock, they chasing us for the most part of Saturday and yesterday, we flying from them. The Duke himself, then those people were put into the catch, and by and by spied the Prince's fleete coming, upon which De Ruyter called a little council (being in chase at this time of us), and thereupon their fleete divided into two squadrons; forty in one, and about thirty in the other (the fleete being at first about ninety, but by one accident or other, supposed to be lessened to about seventy); the bigger to follow the Duke, the less to meet the Prince. But the Prince come up with the Generall's fleete, and the Dutch come together again and bore towards their own coast, and we with them; and now what the consequence of this day will be, at that time fighting, we know not. The Duke was forced to come to anchor on Friday, having lost his sails and rigging. No particular person spoken of to be hurt but Sir W. Clerke, who hath lost his leg, and bore it bravely. The Duke himself had a little hurt in his thigh, but signified little. The King did pull out of his pocket about twenty pieces in gold, and did give it Daniel for himself and his companion; and so parted, mightily pleased with the account he did give him of the fight, and the successe it ended with, of the Prince's coming, though it seems the Duke did give way again and again. The King did give order for care to be had of Mr. Daniel and his companion; and so we parted from him, and then met the Duke [of York], and gave him the same account: and so broke up, and I left them going to the surgeon's and I myself by water to the 'Change, and to several people did give account of the business. So home about four o'clock to dinner, and was followed by several people to be told the newes, and good newes it is. God send we may hear a good issue of this day's business! After I had eat something I walked to Gresham College, where I heard my Lord Bruncker was, and there got a promise of the receipt of the fine varnish, which I shall be glad to have. Thence back with Mr. Hooke to my house and there lent some of my tables of naval matters, the names of rigging and the timbers about a ship, in order to Dr. Wilkins' book coming out about the Universal Language. Thence, he being gone, to the Crown, behind the 'Change, and there supped at the club with my Lord Bruncker, Sir G. Ent, and others of Gresham College; and all our discourse is of this fight at sea, and all are doubtful of the successe, and conclude all had been lost if the Prince had not come in, they having chased us the greatest part of Saturday and Sunday. Thence with my Lord Bruncker and Creed by coach to White Hall, where fresh letters are come from Harwich, where the Gloucester, Captain Clerke, is come in, and says that on Sunday night upon coming in of the Prince, the Duke did fly; but all this day they have been fighting; therefore they did face again, to be sure. Captain Bacon of The Bristoll is killed. They cry up Jenings of The Ruby, and Saunders of The Sweepstakes. They condemn mightily Sir Thomas Teddiman for a coward, but with what reason time must shew. Having heard all this Creed and I walked into the Parke till 9 or 10 at night, it being fine moonshine, discoursing of the unhappinesse of our fleete, what it would have been if the Prince had not come in, how much the Duke hath failed of what he was so presumptuous of, how little we deserve of God Almighty to give us better fortune, how much this excuses all that was imputed to my Lord Sandwich, and how much more he is a man fit to be trusted with all those matters than those that now command, who act by nor with any advice, but rashly and without any order. How bad we are at intelligence that should give the Prince no sooner notice of any thing but let him come to Dover without notice of any fight, or where the fleete were, or any thing else, nor give the Duke any notice that he might depend upon the Prince's reserve; and lastly, of how good use all may be to checke our pride and presumption in adventuring upon hazards upon unequal force against a people that can fight, it seems now, as well as we, and that will not be discouraged by any losses, but that they will rise again. Thence by water home, and to supper (my father, wife, and sister having been at Islington today at Pitt's) and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, expecting every houre more newes of the fleete and the issue of yesterday's fight, but nothing come. At noon, though I should have dined with my Lord Mayor and Aldermen at an entertainment of Commissioner Taylor's, yet it being a time of expectation of the successe of the fleete, I did not go, but dined at home, and after dinner by water down to Deptford (and Woolwich, where I had not been since I lodged there, and methinks the place has grown natural to me), and thence down to Longreach, calling on all the ships in the way, seeing their condition for sayling, and what they want. Home about 11 of the clock, and so eat a bit and to bed, having received no manner of newes this day, but of The Rainbow's being put in from the fleete, maimed as the other ships are, and some say that Sir W. Clerke is dead of his leg being cut off. 6th. Up betimes, and vexed with my people for having a key taken out of the chamber doors and nobody knew where it was, as also with my boy for not being ready as soon as I, though I called him, whereupon I boxed him soundly, and then to my business at the office and on the Victualling Office, and thence by water to St. James's, whither he [the Duke of York] is now gone, it being a monthly fast-day for the plague. There we all met, and did our business as usual with the Duke, and among other things had Captain Cocke's proposal of East country goods read, brought by my Lord Bruncker, which I make use of as a monkey do the cat's foot. Sir W. Coventry did much oppose it, and it's likely it will not do; so away goes my hopes of L500. Thence after the Duke into the Parke, walking through to White Hall, and there every body listening for guns, but none heard, and every creature is now overjoyed and concludes upon very good grounds that the Dutch are beaten because we have heard no guns nor no newes of our fleete. By and by walking a little further, Sir Philip Frowde did meet the Duke with an expresse to Sir W. Coventry (who was by) from Captain Taylor, the Storekeeper at Harwich, being the narration of Captain Hayward of The Dunkirke; who gives a very serious account, how upon Monday the two fleetes fought all day till seven at night, and then the whole fleete of Dutch did betake themselves to a very plain flight, and never looked back again. That Sir Christopher Mings is wounded in the leg; that the Generall is well. That it is conceived reasonably, that of all the Dutch fleete, which, with what recruits they had, come to one hundred sayle, there is not above fifty got home; and of them, few if any of their flags. And that little Captain Bell, in one of the fire-ships, did at the end of the day fire a ship of 70 guns. We were all so overtaken with this good newes, that the Duke ran with it to the King, who was gone to chappell, and there all the Court was in a hubbub, being rejoiced over head and ears in this good newes. Away go I by coach to the New Exchange, and there did spread this good newes a little, though I find it had broke out before. And so home to our own church, it being the common Fast-day, and it was just before sermon; but, Lord! how all the people in the church stared upon me to see me whisper to Sir John Minnes and my Lady Pen. Anon I saw people stirring and whispering below, and by and by comes up the sexton from my Lady Ford to tell me the newes (which I had brought), being now sent into the church by Sir W. Batten in writing, and handed from pew to pew. But that which pleased me as much as the newes, was, to have the fair Mrs. Middleton at our church, who indeed is a very beautiful lady. Here after sermon comes to our office 40 people almost of all sorts and qualities to hear the newes, which I took great delight to tell them. Then home and found my wife at dinner, not knowing of my being at church, and after dinner my father and she out to Hales's, where my father is to begin to sit to-day for his picture, which I have a desire to have. I all the afternoon at home doing some business, drawing up my vowes for the rest of the yeare to Christmas; but, Lord! to see in what a condition of happiness I am, if I would but keepe myself so; but my love of pleasure is such, that my very soul is angry with itself for my vanity in so doing. Anon took coach and to Hales's, but he was gone out, and my father and wife gone. So I to Lovett's, and there to my trouble saw plainly that my project of varnished books will not take, it not keeping colour, not being able to take polishing upon a single paper. Thence home, and my father and wife not coming in, I proceeded with my coach to take a little ayre as far as Bow all alone, and there turned back and home; but before I got home, the bonefires were lighted all the towne over, and I going through Crouched Friars, seeing Mercer at her mother's gate, stopped, and 'light, and into her mother's, the first time I ever was there, and find all my people, father and all, at a very fine supper at W. Hewer's lodging, very neatly, and to my great pleasure. After supper, into his chamber, which is mighty fine with pictures and every thing else, very curious, which pleased me exceedingly. Thence to the gate, with the women all about me, and Mrs. Mercer's son had provided a great many serpents, and so I made the women all fire some serpents. By and by comes in our faire neighbour, Mrs. Turner, and two neighbour's daughters, Mrs. Tite, the elder of whom, a long red-nosed silly jade; the younger, a pretty black girle, and the merriest sprightly jade that ever I saw. With them idled away the whole night till twelve at night at the bonefire in the streets. Some of the people thereabouts going about with musquets, and did give me two or three vollies of their musquets, I giving them a crowne to drink; and so home. Mightily pleased with this happy day's newes, and the more, because confirmed by Sir Daniel Harvy, who was in the whole fight with the Generall, and tells me that there appear but thirty-six in all of the Dutch fleete left at the end of the voyage when they run home. The joy of the City was this night exceeding great. 7th. Up betimes, and to my office about business (Sir W. Coventry having sent me word that he is gone down to the fleete to see how matters stand, and to be back again speedily); and with the same expectation of congratulating ourselves with the victory that I had yesterday. But my Lord Bruncker and Sir T. H. that come from Court, tell me quite contrary newes, which astonishes me: that is to say, that we are beaten, lost many ships and good commanders; have not taken one ship of the enemy's; and so can only report ourselves a victory; nor is it certain that we were left masters of the field. But, above all, that The Prince run on shore upon the Galloper, and there stuck; was endeavoured to be fetched off by the Dutch, but could not; and so they burned her; and Sir G. Ascue is taken prisoner, and carried into Holland. This newes do much trouble me, and the thoughts of the ill consequences of it, and the pride and presumption that brought us to it. At noon to the 'Change, and there find the discourse of towne, and their countenances much changed; but yet not very plain. So home to dinner all alone, my father and people being gone all to Woolwich to see the launching of the new ship The Greenwich, built by Chr. Pett. I left alone with little Mrs. Tooker, whom I kept with me in my chamber all the afternoon, and did what I would with her. By and by comes Mr. Wayth to me; and discoursing of our ill successe, he tells me plainly from Captain Page's own mouth (who hath lost his arm in the fight), that the Dutch did pursue us two hours before they left us, and then they suffered us to go on homewards, and they retreated towards their coast: which is very sad newes. Then to my office and anon to White Hall, late, to the Duke of York to see what commands he hath and to pray a meeting to-morrow for Tangier in behalf of Mr. Yeabsly, which I did do and do find the Duke much damped in his discourse, touching the late fight, and all the Court talk sadly of it. The Duke did give me several letters he had received from the fleete, and Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen, who are gone down thither, for me to pick out some works to be done for the setting out the fleete again; and so I took them home with me, and was drawing out an abstract of them till midnight. And as to newes, I do find great reason to think that we are beaten in every respect, and that we are the losers. The Prince upon the Galloper, where both the Royall Charles and Royall Katharine had come twice aground, but got off. The Essex carried into Holland; the Swiftsure missing (Sir William Barkeley) ever since the beginning of the fight. Captains Bacon, Tearne, Wood, Mootham, Whitty, and Coppin, slayne. The Duke of Albemarle writes, that he never fought with worse officers in his life, not above twenty of them behaving themselves like men. Sir William Clerke lost his leg; and in two days died. The Loyall George, Seven Oakes, and Swiftsure, are still missing, having never, as the Generall writes himself, engaged with them. It was as great an alteration to find myself required to write a sad letter instead of a triumphant one to my Lady Sandwich this night, as ever on any occasion I had in my life. So late home and to bed. 8th. Up very betimes and to attend the Duke of York by order, all of us to report to him what the works are that are required of us and to divide among us, wherein I have taken a very good share, and more than I can perform, I doubt. Thence to the Exchequer about some Tangier businesses, and then home, where to my very great joy I find Balty come home without any hurt, after the utmost imaginable danger he hath gone through in the Henery, being upon the quarterdeck with Harman all the time; and for which service Harman I heard this day commended most seriously and most eminently by the Duke of Yorke. As also the Duke did do most utmost right to Sir Thomas Teddiman, of whom a scandal was raised, but without cause, he having behaved himself most eminently brave all the whole fight, and to extraordinary great service and purpose, having given Trump himself such a broadside as was hardly ever given to any ship. Mings is shot through the face, and into the shoulder, where the bullet is lodged. Young Holmes' is also ill wounded, and Atber in The Rupert. Balty tells me the case of The Henery; and it was, indeed, most extraordinary sad and desperate. After dinner Balty and I to my office, and there talked a great deal of this fight; and I am mightily pleased in him and have great content in, and hopes of his doing well. Thence out to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, but it met not. But, Lord! to see how melancholy the Court is, under the thoughts of this last overthrow (for so it is), instead of a victory, so much and so unreasonably expected. Thence, the Committee not meeting, Creed and I down the river as low as Sir W. Warren's, with whom I did motion a business that may be of profit to me, about buying some lighters to send down to the fleete, wherein he will assist me. So back again, he and I talking of the late ill management of this fight, and of the ill management of fighting at all against so great a force bigger than ours, and so to the office, where we parted, but with this satisfaction that we hear the Swiftsure, Sir W. Barkeley, is come in safe to the Nore, after her being absent ever since the beginning of the fight, wherein she did not appear at all from beginning to end. But wherever she has been, they say she is arrived there well, which I pray God however may be true. At the office late, doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to St. James's, there to wait on the Duke of Yorke, and had discourse with him about several businesses of the fleete. But, Lord! to see how the Court is divided about The Swiftsure and The Essex's being safe. And wagers and odds laid on both sides. I did tell the Duke how Sir W. Batten did tell me this morning that he was sure the Swiftsure is safe. This put them all in a great joy and certainty of it, but this I doubt will prove nothing. Thence to White Ball in expectation of a meeting of Tangier, and we did industriously labour to have it this morning; but we could not get a fifth person there, so after much pains and thoughts on my side on behalfe of Yeabsly, we were fain to breake up. But, Lord! to see with what patience Lord Ashly did stay all the morning to get a Committee, little thinking that I know the reason of his willingnesse. So I home to dinner and back again to White Hall, and, being come thither a little too soon, went to Westminster Hall, and bought a payre of gloves, and to see how people do take this late fight at sea, and I find all give over the thoughts of it as a victory and to reckon it a great overthrow. So to White Hall, and there when we were come all together in certain expectation of doing our business to Yeabsly's full content, and us that were his friends, my Lord Peterborough (whether through some difference between him and my Lord Ashly, or him and me or Povy, or through the falsenesse of Creed, I know not) do bring word that the Duke of Yorke (who did expressly bid me wait at the Committee for the dispatch of the business) would not have us go forward in this business of allowing the losse of the ships till Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry were come to towne, which was the very thing indeed which we would have avoided. This being told us, we broke up doing nothing, to my great discontent, though I said nothing, and afterwards I find by my Lord Ashly's discourse to me that he is troubled mightily at it, and indeed it is a great abuse of him and of the whole Commissioners that nothing of that nature can be done without Sir G. Carteret or Sir W. Coventry. No sooner was the Committee up, and I going [through] the Court homeward, but I am told Sir W. Coventry is come to town; so I to his chamber, and there did give him an account how matters go in our office, and with some content I parted from him, after we had discoursed several things of the haste requisite to be made in getting the fleete out again and the manner of doing it. But I do not hear that he is at all pleased or satisfied with the late fight; but he tells me more newes of our suffering, by the death of one or two captains more than I knew before. But he do give over the thoughts of the safety of The Swiftsure or Essex. Thence homewards, landed at the Old Swan, and there find my pretty Betty Michell and her husband at their doore in Thames Streete, which I was glad to find, and went into their shop, and they made me drink some of their strong water, the first time I was ever with them there. I do exceedingly love her. After sitting a little and talking with them about several things at great distance I parted and home to my business late. But I am to observe how the drinking of some strong water did immediately put my eyes into a fit of sorenesse again as they were the other day. I mean my right eye only. Late at night I had an account brought me by Sir W. Warren that he has gone through four lighters for me, which pleases me very well. So home to bed, much troubled with our disappointment at the Tangier Committee. 10th (Lord's day). Up very betimes, and down the river to Deptford, and did a good deale of business in sending away and directing several things to the Fleete. That being done, back to London to my office, and there at my office till after Church time fitting some notes to carry to Sir W. Coventry in the afternoon. At noon home to dinner, where my cozen Joyces, both of them, they and their wives and little Will, come by invitation to dinner to me, and I had a good dinner for them; but, Lord! how sicke was I of W. Joyce's company, both the impertinencies of it and his ill manners before me at my table to his wife, which I could hardly forbear taking notice of; but being at my table and for his wife's sake, I did, though I will prevent his giving me the like occasion again at my house I will warrant him. After dinner I took leave and by water to White Hall, and there spent all the afternoon in the Gallery, till the Council was up, to speake with Sir W. Coventry. Walking here I met with Pierce the surgeon, who is lately come from the fleete, and tells me that all the commanders, officers, and even the common seamen do condemn every part of the late conduct of the Duke of Albemarle: both in his fighting at all, in his manner of fighting, running among them in his retreat, and running the ships on ground; so as nothing can be worse spoken of. That Holmes, Spragg, and Smith do all the business, and the old and wiser commanders nothing. So as Sir Thomas Teddiman (whom the King and all the world speak well of) is mightily discontented, as being wholly slighted. He says we lost more after the Prince come, than before too. The Prince was so maimed, as to be forced to be towed home. He says all the fleete confess their being chased home by the Dutch; and yet the body of the Dutch that did it, was not above forty sayle at most. And yet this put us into the fright, as to bring all our ships on ground. He says, however, that the Duke of Albemarle is as high almost as ever, and pleases himself to think that he hath given the Dutch their bellies full, without sense of what he hath lost us; and talks how he knows now the way to beat them. But he says, that even Smith himself, one of his creatures, did himself condemn the late conduct from the beginning to the end. He tells me further, how the Duke of Yorke is wholly given up to his new mistresse, my Lady Denham, going at noon-day with all his gentlemen with him to visit her in Scotland Yard; she declaring she will not be his mistresse, as Mrs. Price, to go up and down the Privy-stairs, but will be owned publicly; and so she is. Mr. Bruncker, it seems, was the pimp to bring it about, and my Lady Castlemaine, who designs thereby to fortify herself by the Duke; there being a falling-out the other day between the King and her: on this occasion, the Queene, in ordinary talke before the ladies in her drawing-room, did say to my Lady Castlemaine that she feared the King did take cold, by staying so late abroad at her house. She answered before them all, that he did not stay so late abroad with her, for he went betimes thence (though he do not before one, two, or three in the morning), but must stay somewhere else. The King then coming in and overhearing, did whisper in the eare aside, and told her she was a bold impertinent woman, and bid her to be gone out of the Court, and not come again till he sent for, her; which she did presently, and went to a lodging in the Pell Mell, and kept there two or three days, and then sent to the King to know whether she might send for her things away out of her house. The King sent to her, she must first come and view them: and so she come, and the King went to her, and all friends again. He tells me she did, in her anger, say she would be even with the King, and print his letters to her. So putting all together, we are and are like to be in a sad condition. We are endeavouring to raise money by borrowing it of the City; but I do not think the City will lend a farthing. By and by the Council broke up, and I spoke with Sir W. Coventry about business, with whom I doubt not in a little time to be mighty well, when I shall appear to mind my business again as I used to do, which by the grace of God I will do. Gone from him I endeavoured to find out Sir G. Carteret, and at last did at Mr. Ashburnham's, in the Old Palace Yarde, and thence he and I stepped out and walked an houre in the church-yarde, under Henry the Seventh's Chappell, he being lately come from the fleete; and tells me, as I hear from every body else, that the management in the late fight was bad from top to bottom. That several said this would not have been if my Lord Sandwich had had the ordering of it. Nay, he tells me that certainly had my Lord Sandwich had the misfortune to have done as they have done, the King could not have saved him. There is, too, nothing but discontent among the officers; and all the old experienced men are slighted. He tells me to my question (but as a great secret), that the dividing of the fleete did proceed first from a proposition from the fleete, though agreed to hence. But he confesses it arose from want of due intelligence, which he confesses we do want. He do, however, call the fleete's retreat on Sunday a very honourable retreat, and that the Duke of Albemarle did do well in it, and would have been well if he had done it sooner, rather than venture the loss of the fleete and crown, as he must have done if the Prince had not come. He was surprised when I told him I heard that the King did intend to borrow some money of the City, and would know who had spoke of it to me; I told him Sir Ellis Layton this afternoon. He says it is a dangerous discourse; for that the City certainly will not be invited to do it, and then for the King to ask it and be denied, will be the beginning of our sorrow. He seems to fear we shall all fall to pieces among ourselves. This evening we hear that Sir Christopher Mings is dead of his late wounds; and Sir W. Coventry did commend him to me in a most extraordinary manner. But this day, after three days' trial in vain, and the hazard of the spoiling of the ship in lying till next spring, besides the disgrace of it, newes is brought that the Loyall London is launched at Deptford. Having talked thus much with Sir G. Carteret we parted there, and I home by water, taking in my boat with me young Michell and my Betty his wife, meeting them accidentally going to look a boat. I set them down at the Old Swan and myself, went through bridge to the Tower, and so home, and after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and down by water to Sir W. Warren's (the first time I was in his new house on the other side the water since he enlarged it) to discourse about our lighters that he hath bought for me, and I hope to get L100 by this jobb. Having done with him I took boat again (being mightily struck with a woman in a hat, a seaman's mother,--[Mother or mauther, a wench.]--that stood on the key) and home, where at the office all the morning with Sir W. Coventry and some others of our board hiring of fireships, and Sir W. Coventry begins to see my pains again, which I do begin to take, and I am proud of it, and I hope shall continue it. He gone, at noon I home to dinner, and after dinner my father and wife out to the painter's to sit again, and I, with my Lady Pen and her daughter, to see Harman; whom we find lame in bed. His bones of his anckle are broke, but he hopes to do well soon; and a fine person by his discourse he seems to be and my hearty [friend]; and he did plainly tell me that at the Council of War before the fight, it was against his reason to begin the fight then, and the reasons of most sober men there, the wind being such, and we to windward, that they could not use their lower tier of guns, which was a very sad thing for us to have the honour and weal of the nation ventured so foolishly. I left them there, and walked to Deptford, reading in Walsingham's Manual, a very good book, and there met with Sir W. Batten and my Lady at Uthwayt's. Here I did much business and yet had some little mirthe with my Lady, and anon we all come up together to our office, where I was very late doing much business. Late comes Sir J. Bankes to see me, and tells me that coming up from Rochester he overtook three or four hundred seamen, and he believes every day they come flocking from the fleete in like numbers; which is a sad neglect there, when it will be impossible to get others, and we have little reason to think that these will return presently again. He gone, I to end my letters to-night, and then home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and then to White Hall in hopes of a meeting of Tangier about Yeabsly's business, but it could not be obtained, Sir G. Carteret nor Sir W. Coventry being able to be there, which still vexes [me] to see the poor man forced still to attend, as also being desirous to see what my profit is, and get it. Walking here in the galleries I find the Ladies of Honour dressed in their riding garbs, with coats and doublets with deep skirts, just for all the world like mine, and buttoned their doublets up the breast, with perriwigs and with hats; so that, only for a long petticoat dragging under their men's coats, nobody could take them for women in any point whatever; which was an odde sight, and a sight did not please me. It was Mrs. Wells and another fine lady that I saw thus. Thence down by water to Deptford, and there late seeing some things dispatched down to the fleete, and so home (thinking indeed to have met with Bagwell, but I did not) to write my letters very late, and so to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and there did our business before the Duke as usual, having, before the Duke come out of his bed, walked in an ante-chamber with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me there are great jarrs between the Duke of Yorke and the Duke of Albemarle, about the later's turning out one or two of the commanders put in by the Duke of Yorke. Among others, Captain Du Tell, a Frenchman, put in by the Duke of Yorke, and mightily defended by him; and is therein led by Monsieur Blancford, that it seems hath the same command over the Duke of Yorke as Sir W. Coventry hath; which raises ill blood between them. And I do in several little things observe that Sir W. Coventry hath of late, by the by, reflected on the Duke of Albemarle and his captains, particularly in that of old Teddiman, who did deserve to be turned out this fight, and was so; but I heard Sir W. Coventry say that the Duke of Albemarle put in one as bad as he is in his room, and one that did as little. After we had done with the Duke of Yorke, I with others to White Hall, there to attend again a Committee of Tangier, but there was none, which vexed me to the heart, and makes me mighty doubtfull that when we have one, it will be prejudiced against poor Yeabsly and to my great disadvantage thereby, my Lord Peterborough making it his business, I perceive (whether in spite to me, whom he cannot but smell to be a friend to it, or to my Lord Ashly, I know not), to obstruct it, and seems to take delight in disappointing of us; but I shall be revenged of him. Here I staid a very great while, almost till noon, and then meeting Balty I took him with me, and to Westminster to the Exchequer about breaking of two tallys of L2000 each into smaller tallys, which I have been endeavouring a good while, but to my trouble it will not, I fear, be done, though there be no reason against it, but only a little trouble to the clerks; but it is nothing to me of real profit at all. Thence with Balty to Hales's by coach, it being the seventh day from my making my late oathes, and by them I am at liberty to dispense with any of my oathes every seventh day after I had for the six days before going performed all my vowes. Here I find my father's picture begun, and so much to my content, that it joys my very heart to thinke that I should have his picture so well done; who, besides that he is my father, and a man that loves me, and hath ever done so, is also, at this day, one of the most carefull and innocent men, in the world. Thence with mighty content homeward, and in my way at the Stockes did buy a couple of lobsters, and so home to dinner, where I find my wife and father had dined, and were going out to Hales's to sit there, so Balty and I alone to dinner, and in the middle of my grace, praying for a blessing upon (these his good creatures), my mind fell upon my lobsters: upon which I cried, Odd zooks! and Balty looked upon me like a man at a losse what I meant, thinking at first that I meant only that I had said the grace after meat instead of that before meat. But then I cried, what is become of my lobsters? Whereupon he run out of doors to overtake the coach, but could not, so came back again, and mighty merry at dinner to thinke of my surprize. After dinner to the Excise Office by appointment, and there find my Lord Bellasses and the Commissioners, and by and by the whole company come to dispute the business of our running so far behindhand there, and did come to a good issue in it, that is to say, to resolve upon having the debt due to us, and the Household and the Guards from the Excise stated, and so we shall come to know the worst of our condition and endeavour for some helpe from my Lord Treasurer. Thence home, and put off Balty, and so, being invited, to Sir Christopher Mings's funeral, but find them gone to church. However I into the church (which is a fair, large church, and a great chappell) and there heard the service, and staid till they buried him, and then out. And there met with Sir W. Coventry (who was there out of great generosity, and no person of quality there but he) and went with him into his coach, and being in it with him there happened this extraordinary case, one of the most romantique that ever I heard of in my life, and could not have believed, but that I did see it; which was this:--About a dozen able, lusty, proper men come to the coach-side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest begun and says to Sir W. Coventry, "We are here a dozen of us that have long known and loved, and served our dead commander, Sir Christopher Mings, and have now done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be glad we had any other to offer after him, and in revenge of him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get His Royal Highness to give us a fireship among us all, here is a dozen of us, out of all which choose you one to be commander, and the rest of us, whoever he is, will serve him; and, if possible, do that that shall show our memory of our dead commander, and our revenge." Sir W. Coventry was herewith much moved (as well as I, who could hardly abstain from weeping), and took their names, and so parted; telling me that he would move His Royal Highness as in a thing very extraordinary, which was done. Thereon see the next day in this book. So we parted. The truth is, Sir Christopher Mings was a very stout man, and a man of great parts, and most excellent tongue among ordinary men; and as Sir W. Coventry says, could have been the most useful man at such a pinch of time as this. He was come into great renowne here at home, and more abroad in the West Indys. He had brought his family into a way of being great; but dying at this time, his memory and name (his father being always and at this day a shoemaker, and his mother a Hoyman's daughter; of which he was used frequently to boast) will be quite forgot in a few months as if he had never been, nor any of his name be the better by it; he having not had time to will any estate, but is dead poor rather than rich. So we left the church and crowd, and I home (being set down on Tower Hill), and there did a little business and then in the evening went down by water to Deptford, it being very late, and there I staid out as much time as I could, and then took boat again homeward, but the officers being gone in, returned and walked to Mrs. Bagwell's house, and there (it being by this time pretty dark and past ten o'clock) went into her house and did what I would. But I was not a little fearfull of what she told me but now, which is, that her servant was dead of the plague, that her coming to me yesterday was the first day of her coming forth, and that she had new whitened the house all below stairs, but that above stairs they are not so fit for me to go up to, they being not so. So I parted thence, with a very good will, but very civil, and away to the waterside, and sent for a pint of sacke and so home, drank what I would and gave the waterman the rest; and so adieu. Home about twelve at night, and so to bed, finding most of my people gone to bed. In my way home I called on a fisherman and bought three eeles, which cost me three shillings. 14th. Up, and to the office, and there sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and thence with my wife and father to Hales's, and there looked only on my father's picture (which is mighty like); and so away to White Hall to a committee for Tangier, where the Duke of York was, and Sir W. Coventry, and a very full committee; and instead of having a very prejudiced meeting, they did, though indeed inclined against Yeabsly, yield to the greatest part of his account, so as to allow of his demands to the value of L7,000 and more, and only give time for him to make good his pretence to the rest; which was mighty joy to me: and so we rose up. But I must observe the force of money, which did make my Lord Ashly to argue and behave himself in the business with the greatest friendship, and yet with all the discretion imaginable; and [it] will be a business of admonition and instruction to me concerning him (and other men, too, for aught I know) as long as I live. Thence took Creed with some kind of violence and some hard words between us to St. James's, to have found out Sir W. Coventry to have signed the order for his payment among others that did stay on purpose to do it (and which is strange among the rest my Lord Ashly, who did cause Creed to write it presently and kept two or three of them with him by cunning to stay and sign it), but Creed's ill nature (though never so well bribed, as it hath lately in this case by twenty pieces) will not be overcome from his usual delays. Thence failing of meeting Sir W. Coventry I took leave of Creed (very good friends) and away home, and there took out my father, wife, sister, and Mercer our grand Tour in the evening, and made it ten at night before we got home, only drink at the doore at Islington at the Katherine Wheel, and so home and to the office a little, and then to bed. 15th. Up betimes, and to my Journall entries, but disturbed by many businesses, among others by Mr. Houblon's coming to me about evening their freight for Tangier, which I did, and then Mr. Bland, who presented me yesterday with a very fine African mat, to lay upon the ground under a bed of state, being the first fruits of our peace with Guyland. So to the office, and thither come my pretty widow Mrs. Burrows, poor woman, to get her ticket paid for her husband's service, which I did her myself, and did 'baisser her moucher', and I do hope may thereafter have some day 'sa' company. Thence to Westminster to the Exchequer, but could not persuade the blockheaded fellows to do what I desire, of breaking my great tallys into less, notwithstanding my Lord Treasurer's order, which vexed [me] so much that I would not bestow more time and trouble among a company of dunces, and so back again home, and to dinner, whither Creed come and dined with me and after dinner Mr. Moore, and he and I abroad, thinking to go down the river together, but the tide being against me would not, but returned and walked an houre in the garden, but, Lord! to hear how he pleases himself in behalf of my Lord Sandwich, in the miscarriage of the Duke of Albemarle, and do inveigh against Sir W. Coventry as a cunning knave, but I thinke that without any manner of reason at all, but only his passion. He being gone I to my chamber at home to set my Journall right and so to settle my Tangier accounts, which I did in very good order, and then in the evening comes Mr. Yeabsly to reckon with me, which I did also, and have above L200 profit therein to myself, which is a great blessing, the God of heaven make me thankfull for it. That being done, and my eyes beginning to be sore with overmuch writing, I to supper and to bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, and there we sat all the morning and dispatched much business, the King, Duke of Yorke, and Sir W. Coventry being gone down to the fleete. At noon home to dinner and then down to Woolwich and Deptford to look after things, my head akeing from the multitude of businesses I had in my head yesterday in settling my accounts. All the way down and up, reading of "The Mayor of Quinborough," a simple play. At Deptford, while I am there, comes Mr. Williamson, Sir Arthur Ingram and Jacke Fen, to see the new ships, which they had done, and then I with them home in their boat, and a very fine gentleman Mr. Williamson is. It seems the Dutch do mightily insult of their victory, and they have great reason. [This treatment seems to have been that of the Dutch populace alone, and there does not appear to have been cause of complaint against the government. Respecting Sir W. Berkeley's body the following notice was published in the "London Gazette" of July 15th, 1666 (No. 69) "Whitehall, July 15. This day arrived a trumpet from the States of Holland, who came over from Calais in the Dover packet-boat, with a letter to his Majesty, that the States have taken order for the embalming the body of Sir William Berkeley, which they have placed in the chapel of the great church at the Hague, a civility they profess to owe to his corpse, in respect to the quality of his person, the greatness of his command, and of the high courage and valour he showed in the late engagement; desiring his Majesty to signify his pleasure about the further disposal of it." "Frederick Ruysch, the celebrated Dutch anatomist, undertook, by order of the States-General, to inject the body of the English Admiral Berkeley, killed in the sea-fight of 1666; and the body, already somewhat decomposed, was sent over to England as well prepared as if it had been the fresh corpse of a child. This produced to Ruysch, on the part of the States-General, a recompense worthy of their liberality, and the merit of the anatomist," "James's Medical Dictionary."] Sir William Barkeley was killed before his ship taken; and there he lies dead in a sugar-chest, for every body to see, with his flag standing up by him. And Sir George Ascue is carried up and down the Hague for people to see. Home to my office, where late, and then to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Being invited to Anthony Joyce's to dinner, my wife and sister and Mercer and I walked out in the morning, it being fine weather, to Christ Church, and there heard a silly sermon, but sat where we saw one of the prettiest little boys with the prettiest mouth that ever I saw in [my] life. Thence to Joyce's, where William Joyce and his wife were, and had a good dinner; but, Lord! how sicke was I of the company, only hope I shall have no more of it a good while; but am invited to Will's this week; and his wife, poor unhappy woman, cried to hear me say that I could not be there, she thinking that I slight her: so they got me to promise to come. Thence my father and I walked to Gray's Inne Fields, and there spent an houre or two walking and talking of several businesses; first, as to his estate, he told me it produced about L80 per ann., but then there goes L30 per. ann. taxes and other things, certain charge, which I do promise to make good as far as this L30, at which the poor man was overjoyed and wept. As to Pall he tells me he is mightily satisfied with Ensum, and so I promised to give her L500 presently, and to oblige myself to 100 more on the birth of her first child, he insuring her in L10 per ann. for every L100, and in the meantime till she do marry I promise to allow her L10 per ann. Then as to John I tell him I will promise him nothing, but will supply him as so much lent him, I declaring that I am not pleased with him yet, and that when his degree is over I will send for him up hither, and if he be good for any thing doubt not to get him preferment. This discourse ended to the joy of my father and no less to me to see that I am able to do this, we return to Joyce's and there wanting a coach to carry us home I walked out as far as the New Exchange to find one, but could not. So down to the Milke-house, and drank three glasses of whay, and then up into the Strand again, and there met with a coach, and so to Joyce's and took up my father, wife, sister, and Mercer, and to Islington, where we drank, and then our tour by Hackney home, where, after a little, business at my office and then talke with my Lady and Pegg Pen in the garden, I home and to bed, being very weary. 18th. Up betimes and in my chamber most of the morning setting things to rights there, my Journall and accounts with my father and brother, then to the office a little, and so to Lumbard Streete, to borrow a little money upon a tally, but cannot. Thence to the Exchequer, and there after much wrangling got consent that I should have a great tally broken into little ones. Thence to Hales's to see how my father's picture goes on, which pleases me mighty well, though I find again, as I did in Mrs. Pierce's, that a picture may have more of a likeness in the first or second working than it shall have when finished, though this is very well and to my full content, but so it is, and certainly mine was not so like at the first, second, or third sitting as it was afterward. Thence to my Lord Bellasses, by invitation, and there dined with him, and his lady and daughter; and at dinner there played to us a young boy, lately come from France, where he had been learning a yeare or two on the viallin, and plays finely. But impartially I do not find any goodnesse in their ayres (though very good) beyond ours when played by the same hand, I observed in several of Baptiste's' [Jean Baptiste Lulli, son of a Tuscan peasant, born 1633, died 1687. He invented the dramatic overture. "But during the first years of Charles II. all musick affected by the beau mond run in the french way; and the rather because at that time the master of the court musick in France, whose name was Baptista (an Italian frenchifyed) had influenced the french style by infusing a great portion of the Italian harmony into it, whereby the ayre was exceedingly improved" (North's "Memoires of Musick," ed. Rimbault, 1846, p, 102).] (the present great composer) and our Bannister's. But it was pretty to see how passionately my Lord's daughter loves musique, the most that ever I saw creature in my life. Thence after dinner home and to the office and anon to Lumbard Streete again, where much talke at Colvill's, he censuring the times, and how matters are ordered, and with reason enough; but, above all, the thinking to borrow money of the City, which will not be done, but be denied, they being little pleased with the King's affairs, and that must breed differences between the King and the City. Thence down by water to Deptford, to order things away to the fleete and back again, and after some business at my office late home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Coventry is returned this night from the fleete, he being the activest man in the world, and we all (myself particularly) more afeard of him than of the King or his service, for aught I see; God forgive us! This day the great newes is come of the French, their taking the island of St. Christopher's' from us; and it is to be feared they have done the like of all those islands thereabouts this makes the city mad. 19th. Up, and to my office, there to fit business against the rest meet, which they did by and by, and sat late. After the office rose (with Creed with me) to Wm. Joyce's to dinner, being invited, and there find my father and sister, my wife and Mercer, with them, almost dined. I made myself as complaisant as I could till I had dined, but yet much against my will, and so away after dinner with Creed to Penny's, my Tailor, where I bespoke a thin stuff suit, and did spend a little time evening some little accounts with Creed and so parted, and I to Sir. G. Carteret's by appointment; where I perceive by him the King is going to borrow some money of the City; but I fear it will do no good, but hurt. He tells me how the Generall--[The Duke of Albemarle.]--is displeased, and there have been some high words between the Generall and Sir W. Coventry. And it may be so; for I do not find Sir W. Coventry so highly commending the Duke as he used to be, but letting fall now and then some little jerkes: as this day, speaking of newes from Holland, he says, "I find their victory begins to shrinke there, as well as ours here." Here I met with Captain Cocke, and he tells me that the first thing the Prince said to the King upon his coming, was complaining of the Commissioners of the Navy; that they could have been abroad in three or four days but for us; that we do not take care of them which I am troubled at, and do fear may in violence break out upon this office some time or other; for we shall not be able to carry on the business. Thence home, and at my business till late at night, then with my wife into the garden and there sang with Mercer, whom I feel myself begin to love too much by handling of her breasts in a' morning when she dresses me, they being the finest that ever I saw in my life, that is the truth of it. So home and to supper with beans and bacon and to bed. 20th. Up, but in some pain of the collique. I have of late taken too much cold by washing my feet and going in a thin silke waistcoate, without any other coate over it, and open-breasted, but I hope it will go over. I did this morning (my father being to go away to-morrow) give my father some money to buy him a horse, and for other things to himself and my mother and sister, among them L20, besides undertaking to pay for other things for them to about L3, which the poor man takes with infinite kindnesse, and I do not thinke I can bestow it better. Thence by coach to St. James's as usual to wait on the Duke of York, after having discoursed with Collonell Fitzgerald, whom I met in my way and he returned with me to Westminster, about paying him a sum of 700 and odd pounds, and he bids me defalk L25 for myself,--[Abate from an amount.]--which is a very good thing; having done with the Duke I to the Exchequer and there after much ado do get my business quite over of the difficulty of breaking a great tally into little ones and so shall have it done tomorrow. Thence to the Hall and with Mrs. Martin home and staid with her a while, and then away to the Swan and sent for a bit of meat and dined there, and thence to Faythorne, the picture-seller's, and there chose two or three good Cutts to try to vernish, and so to Hales's to see my father's picture, which is now near finished and is very good, and here I staid and took a nap of an hour, thinking my father and wife would have come, but they did not; so I away home as fast as I could, fearing lest my father this day going abroad to see Mr. Honiwood at Major Russell's might meet with any trouble, and so in great pain home; but to spite me, in Cheapside I met Mrs. Williams in a coach, and she called me, so I must needs 'light and go along with her and poor Knipp (who is so big as she can tumble and looks-every day to lie down) as far as Paternoster Row, which I did do and there staid in Bennett's shop with them, and was fearfull lest the people of the shop, knowing me, should aske after my father and give Mrs. Williams any knowledge of me to my disgrace. Having seen them done there and accompanied them to Ludgate I 'light and into my owne coach and home, where I find my father and wife had had no intent of coming at all to Hales's. So I at home all the evening doing business, and at night in the garden (it having been these three or four days mighty hot weather) singing in the evening, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and at the office all the morning; whereby several circumstances I find Sir W. Coventry and the Duke of Albemarle do not agree as they used to do; Sir W. Coventry commending Aylett (in some reproach to the Duke), whom the Duke hath put out for want of courage; and found fault with Steward, whom the Duke keeps in, though as much in fault as any commander in the fleete. At noon home to dinner, my father, sister, and wife dining at Sarah Giles's, poor woman, where I should have been, but my pride would not suffer me. After dinner to Mr. Debasty's to speake with Sir Robert Viner, a fine house and a great many fine ladies. He used me mighty civilly. My business was to set the matter right about the letter of credit he did give my Lord Belassis, that I may take up the tallys lodged with Viner for his security in the answering of my Lord's bills, which we did set right very well, and Sir Robert Viner went home with me and did give me the L5000 tallys presently. Here at Mr. Debasty's I saw, in a gold frame, a picture of a Outer playing on his flute which, for a good while, I took for paynting, but at last observed it a piece of tapestry, and is the finest that ever I saw in my life for figures, and good natural colours, and a very fine thing it is indeed. So home and met Sir George Smith by the way, who tells me that this day my Lord Chancellor and some of the Court have been with the City, and the City have voted to lend the King L100,000; which, if soon paid (as he says he believes it will), will be a greater service than I did ever expect at this time from the City. So home to my letters and then with my wife in the garden, and then upon our leades singing in the evening and so to supper (while at supper comes young Michell, whose wife I love, little Betty Howlet, to get my favour about a ticket, and I am glad of this occasion of obliging him and give occasion of his coming to me, for I must be better acquainted with him and her), and after supper to bed. 22nd. Up, and before I went out Mr. Peter Barr sent me a tierce of claret, which is very welcome. And so abroad down the river to Deptford and there did some business, and then to Westminster, and there did with much ado get my tallys (my small ones instead of one great one of L2,000), and so away home and there all day upon my Tangier accounts with Creed, and, he being gone, with myself, in settling other accounts till past twelve at night, and then every body being in bed, I to bed, my father, wife, and sister late abroad upon the water, and Mercer being gone to her mother's and staid so long she could not get into the office, which vexed me. 23rd. My father and sister very betimes took their leave; and my wife, with all possible kindnesse, went with them to the coach, I being mightily pleased with their company thus long, and my father with his being here, and it rejoices my heart that I am in condition to do any thing to comfort him, and could, were it not for my mother, have been contented he should have stayed always here with me, he is such innocent company. They being gone, I to my papers, but vexed at what I heard but a little of this morning, before my wife went out, that Mercer and she fell out last night, and that the girle is gone home to her mother's for all-together: This troubles me, though perhaps it may be an ease to me of so much charge. But I love the girle, and another we must be forced to keepe I do foresee and then shall be sorry to part with her. At the office all the morning, much disquiett in my mind in the middle of my business about this girle. Home at noon to dinner, and what with the going away of my father today and the losse of Mercer, I after dinner went up to my chamber and there could have cried to myself, had not people come to me about business. In the evening down to Tower Wharfe thinking to go by water, but could not get watermen; they being now so scarce, by reason of the great presse; so to the Custome House, and there, with great threats, got a couple to carry me down to Deptford, all the way reading Pompey the Great (a play translated from the French by several noble persons; among others, my Lord Buckhurst), that to me is but a mean play, and the words and sense not very extraordinary. From Deptford I walked to Redriffe, and in my way was overtaken by Bagwell, lately come from sea in the Providence, who did give me an account of several particulars in the late fight, and how his ship was deserted basely by the York, Captain Swanly, commander. So I home and there after writing my letters home to supper and to bed, fully resolved to rise betimes, and go down the river to-morrow morning, being vexed this night to find none of the officers in the yarde at 7 at night, nor any body concerned as if it were a Dutch warr. It seems Mercer's mother was here in the morning to speak with my wife, but my wife would not. In the afternoon I and my wife in writing did instruct W. Hewer in some discourse to her, and she in the evening did come and satisfy my wife, and by and by Mercer did come, which I was mighty glad of and eased of much pain about her. 24th. Sunday. Midsummer Day. Up, but, being weary the last night, not so soon as I intended. Then being dressed, down by water to Deptford, and there did a great deale of business, being in a mighty hurry, Sir W. Coventry writing to me that there was some thoughts that the Dutch fleete were out or coming out. Business being done in providing for the carrying down of some provisions to the fleete, I away back home and after dinner by water to White Hall, and there waited till the councill rose, in the boarded gallery, and there among other things I hear that Sir Francis Prujean is dead, after being married to a widow about a yeare or thereabouts. He died very rich, and had, for the last yeare, lived very handsomely, his lady bringing him to it. He was no great painstaker in person, yet died very rich; and, as Dr. Clerke says, was of a very great judgment, but hath writ nothing to leave his name to posterity. In the gallery among others met with Major Halsey, a great creature of the Duke of Albemarle's; who tells me that the Duke, by name, hath said that he expected to have the worke here up in the River done, having left Sir W. Batten and Mr. Phipps there. He says that the Duke of Albemarle do say that this is a victory we have had, having, as he was sure, killed them 8000 men, and sunk about fourteen of their ships; but nothing like this appears true. He lays much of the little success we had, however, upon the fleete's being divided by order from above, and the want of spirit in the commanders; and that he was commanded by order to go out of the Downes to the Gun-fleete, and in the way meeting the Dutch fleete, what should he do? should he not fight them? especially having beat them heretofore at as great disadvantage. He tells me further, that having been downe with the Duke of Albemarle, he finds that Holmes and Spragge do govern most business of the Navy; and by others I understand that Sir Thomas Allen is offended thereat; that he is not so much advised with as he ought to be. He tells me also, as he says, of his own knowledge, that several people before the Duke went out did offer to supply the King with L100,000 provided he would be treasurer of it, to see it laid out for the Navy; which he refused, and so it died. But I believe none of this. This day I saw my Lady Falmouth, with whom I remember now I have dined at my Lord Barkeley's heretofore, a pretty woman: she was now in her second or third mourning, and pretty pleasant in her looks. By and by the Council rises, and Sir W. Coventry comes out; and he and I went aside, and discoursed of much business of the Navy; and afterwards took his coach, and to Hide-Parke, he and I alone: there we had much talke. First, he started a discourse of a talke he hears about the towne, which, says he, is a very bad one, and fit to be suppressed, if we knew how which is, the comparing of the successe of the last year with that of this; saying that that was good, and that bad. I was as sparing in speaking as I could, being jealous of him and myself also, but wished it could be stopped; but said I doubted it could not otherwise than by the fleete's being abroad again, and so finding other worke for men's minds and discourse. Then to discourse of himself, saying, that he heard that he was under the lash of people's discourse about the Prince's not having notice of the Dutch being out, and for him to comeback again, nor the Duke of Albemarle notice that the Prince was sent for back again: to which he told me very particularly how careful he was the very same night that it was resolved to send for the Prince back, to cause orders to be writ, and waked the Duke, who was then in bed, to sign them; and that they went by expresse that very night, being the Wednesday night before the fight, which begun on the Friday; and that for sending them by the post expresse, and not by gentlemen on purpose, he made a sport of it, and said, I knew of none to send it with, but would at least have lost more time in fitting themselves out, than any diligence of theirs beyond that of the ordinary post would have recovered. I told him that this was not so much the towne talke as the reason of dividing the fleete. To this he told me he ought not to say much; but did assure me in general that the proposition did first come from the fleete, and the resolution not being prosecuted with orders so soon as the Generall thought fit, the Generall did send Sir Edward Spragge up on purpose for them; and that there was nothing in the whole business which was not done with the full consent and advice of the Duke of Albemarle. But he did adde (as the Catholiques call 'le secret de la Masse'), that Sir Edward Spragge--who had even in Sir Christopher Mings's time put in to be the great favourite of the Prince, but much more now had a mind to be the great man with him, and to that end had a mind to have the Prince at a distance from the Duke of Albemarle, that they might be doing something alone--did, as he believed, put on this business of dividing the fleete, and that thence it came. [This division of the fleet was the original cause of the disaster, and at a later period the enemies of Clarendon charged him with having advised this action, but Coventry's communication to Pepys in the text completely exonerates Clarendon.] He tells me as to the business of intelligence, the want whereof the world did complain much of, that for that it was not his business, and as he was therefore to have no share in the blame, so he would not meddle to lay it any where else. That de Ruyter was ordered by the States not to make it his business to come into much danger, but to preserve himself as much as was fit out of harm's way, to be able to direct the fleete. He do, I perceive, with some violence, forbear saying any thing to the reproach of the Duke of Albemarle; but, contrarily, speaks much of his courage; but I do as plainly see that he do not like the Duke of Albemarle's proceedings, but, contrarily, is displeased therewith. And he do plainly diminish the commanders put in by the Duke, and do lessen the miscarriages of any that have been removed by him. He concurs with me, that the next bout will be a fatal one to one side or other, because, if we be beaten, we shall not be able to set out our fleete again. He do confess with me that the hearts of our seamen are much saddened; and for that reason, among others, wishes Sir Christopher Mings was alive, who might inspire courage and spirit into them. Speaking of Holmes, how great a man he is, and that he do for the present, and hath done all the voyage, kept himself in good order and within bounds; but, says he, a cat will be a cat still, and some time or other out his humour must break again. He do not disowne but that the dividing of the fleete upon the presumptions that were then had (which, I suppose, was the French fleete being come this way), was a good resolution. Having had all this discourse, he and I back to White Hall; and there I left him, being [in] a little doubt whether I had behaved myself in my discourse with the policy and circumspection which ought to be used to so great a courtier as he is, and so wise and factious a man, and by water home, and so, after supper, to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning at my Tangier accounts, which the chopping and changing of my tallys make mighty troublesome; but, however, I did end them with great satisfaction to myself. At noon, without staying to eat my dinner, I down by water to Deptford, and there coming find Sir W. Batten and Sir Jeremy Smith (whom the dispatch of the Loyall London detained) at dinner at Greenwich at the Beare Taverne, and thither I to them and there dined with them. Very good company of strangers there was, but I took no great pleasure among them, being desirous to be back again. So got them to rise as soon as I could, having told them the newes Sir W. Coventry just now wrote me to tell them, which is, that the Dutch are certainly come out. I did much business at Deptford, and so home, by an old poor man, a sculler, having no oares to be got, and all this day on the water entertained myself with the play of Commenius, and being come home did go out to Aldgate, there to be overtaken by Mrs. Margot Pen in her father's coach, and my wife and Mercer with her, and Mrs. Pen carried us to two gardens at Hackny, (which I every day grow more and more in love with,) Mr. Drake's one, where the garden is good, and house and the prospect admirable; the other my Lord Brooke's, where the gardens are much better, but the house not so good, nor the prospect good at all. But the gardens are excellent; and here I first saw oranges grow: some green, some half, some a quarter, and some full ripe, on the same tree, and one fruit of the same tree do come a year or two after the other. I pulled off a little one by stealth (the man being mighty curious of them) and eat it, and it was just as other little green small oranges are; as big as half the end of my little finger. Here were also great variety of other exotique plants, and several labarinths, and a pretty aviary. Having done there with very great pleasure we away back again, and called at the Taverne in Hackny by the church, and there drank and eate, and so in the Goole of the evening home. This being the first day of my putting on my black stuff bombazin suit, and I hope to feel no inconvenience by it, the weather being extremely hot. So home and to bed, and this night the first night of my lying without a waistcoat, which I hope I shall very well endure. So to bed. This morning I did with great pleasure hear Mr. Caesar play some good things on his lute, while he come to teach my boy Tom, and I did give him 40s. for his encouragement. 26th. Up and to my office betimes, and there all the morning, very busy to get out the fleete, the Dutch being now for certain out, and we shall not, we thinke, be much behindhand with them. At noon to the 'Change about business, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to the setting my Journall to rights, and so to the office again, where all the afternoon full of business, and there till night, that my eyes were sore, that I could not write no longer. Then into the garden, then my wife and Mercer and my Lady Yen and her daughter with us, and here we sung in the darke very finely half an houre, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon, after a long drowth, we had a good shower of rain, but it will not signify much if no more come. This day in the morning come Mr. Chichly to Sir W. Coventry, to tell him the ill successe of the guns made for the Loyall London; which is, that in the trial every one of the great guns, the whole cannon of seven (as I take it), broke in pieces, which is a strange mishap, and that which will give more occasion to people's discourse of the King's business being done ill. This night Mary my cookemayde, that hath been with us about three months, but find herself not able to do my worke, so is gone with great kindnesse away, and another (Luce) come, very ugly and plaine, but may be a good servant for all that. 27th. Up, and to my office awhile, and then down the river a little way to see vessels ready for the carrying down of 400 land soldiers to the fleete. Then back to the office for my papers, and so to St. James's, where we did our usual attendance on the Duke. Having done with him, we all of us down to Sir W. Coventry's chamber (where I saw his father my Lord Coventry's picture hung up, done by Stone, who then brought it home. It is a good picture, drawn in his judge's robes, and the great seale by him. And while it was hanging up, "This," says Sir W. Coventry, merrily, "is the use we make of our fathers,") to discourse about the proposition of serving us with hempe, delivered in by my Lord Brouncker as from an unknown person, though I know it to be Captain Cocke's. My Lord and Sir William Coventry had some earnest words about it, the one promoting it for his private ends, being, as Cocke tells me himself, to have L500 if the bargain goes on, and I am to have as much, and the other opposing it for the unseasonableness of it, not knowing at all whose the proposition is, which seems the more ingenious of the two. I sat by and said nothing, being no great friend to the proposition, though Cocke intends me a convenience by it. But what I observed most from the discourse was this of Sir W. Coventry, that he do look upon ourselves in a desperate condition. The issue of all standing upon this one point, that by the next fight, if we beat, the Dutch will certainly be content to take eggs for their money (that was his expression); or if we be beaten, we must be contented to make peace, and glad if we can have it without paying too dear for it. And withall we do rely wholly upon the Parliament's giving us more money the next sitting, or else we are undone. Being gone hence, I took coach to the Old Exchange, but did not go into it, but to Mr. Cade's, the stationer, stood till the shower was over, it being a great and welcome one after so much dry weather. Here I understand that Ogleby is putting out some new fables of his owne, which will be very fine and very satyricall. Thence home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife to her sister's and I to Mr. Hales's, to pay for my father's picture, which cost me L10 the head and 25s. the frame. Thence to Lovett's, who has now done something towards the varnishing of single paper for the making of books, which will do, I think, very well. He did also carry me to a Knight's chamber in Graye's Inne, where there is a frame of his making, of counterfeite tortoise shell, which indeed is most excellently done. Then I took him with me to a picture shop to choose a print for him to vernish, but did not agree for one then. Thence to my wife to take her up and so carried her home, and I at the office till late, and so to supper with my wife and to bed. I did this afternoon visit my Lord Bellasses, who professes all imaginable satisfaction in me. He spoke dissatisfiedly with Creed, which I was pleased well enough with. My Lord is going down to his garrison to Hull, by the King's command, to put it in order for fear of an invasion which course I perceive is taken upon the sea-coasts round; for we have a real apprehension of the King of France's invading us. 28th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner abroad to Lumbard Streete, there to reckon with Sir Robert Viner for some money, and did sett all straight to my great content, and so home, and all the afternoon and evening at the office, my mind full at this time of getting my accounts over, and as much money in my hands as I can, for a great turne is to be feared in the times, the French having some great design (whatever it is) in hand, and our necessities on every side very great. The Dutch are now known to be out, and we may expect them every houre upon our coast. But our fleete is in pretty good readinesse for them. 29th. Up, and within doors most of the morning, sending a porter (Sanders) up and down to several people to pay them money to clear my month's debts every where, being mighty desirous to have all clear so soon as I can, and to that end did so much in settling my Tangier accounts clear. At noon dined, having first been down at Deptford and did a little business there and back again. After dinner to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, but I come a little too late, they were up, so I to several places about business, among others to Westminster Hall, and there did meet with Betty Michell at her own mother's shop. I would fain have carried her home by water, but she was to sup at that end of the town. So I away to White Hall, and thence, the Council being up, walked to St. James's, and there had much discourse with Sir W. Coventry at his chamber, who I find quite weary of the warr, decries our having any warr at all, or himself to have been any occasion of it, that he hopes this will make us shy of any warr hereafter, or to prepare better for it, believes that one overthrow on the Dutch side would make them desire peace, and that one on ours will make us willing to accept of one: tells me that Commissioner Pett is fallen infinitely under the displeasure of the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, not giving them satisfaction in the getting out of the fleete, and that the complaint he believes is come to the King, and by Sir W. Coventry's discourse I find he do concur in it, and speaks of his having of no authority in the place where he is, and I do believe at least it will end in his being removed to some other yarde, and I am not sorry for it, but do fear that though he deserves as bad, yet at this time the blame may not be so well deserved. Thence home and to the office; where I met with a letter from Dover, which tells me (and it did come by expresse) that newes is brought over by a gentleman from Callice that the Dutch fleete, 130 sail, are come upon the French coast; and that the country is bringing in picke-axes, and shovells, and wheel-barrows into Callice; that there are 6,000 men armed with head, back, and breast (Frenchmen) ready to go on board the Dutch fleete, and will be followed by 12,000 more. That they pretend they are to come to Dover; and that thereupon the Governor of Dover Castle is getting the victuallers' provision out of the towne into the Castle to secure it. But I do think this is a ridiculous conceit; but a little time will show. At night home to supper and to bed, 30th. Up, and to the office, and mightily troubled all this morning with going to my Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Bludworth, [As his conduct during the Great Fire fully proved, when he is said to have boasted that he would extinguish the flames by the same means to which Swift tells us Gulliver had recourse at Lilliput.--B.] a silly man, I think), and other places, about getting shipped some men that they have these two last nights pressed in the City out of houses: the persons wholly unfit for sea, and many of them people of very good fashion, which is a shame to think of, and carried to Bridewell they are, yet without being impressed with money legally as they ought to be. But to see how the King's business is done; my Lord Mayor himself did scruple at this time of extremity to do this thing, because he had not money to pay the pressed-money to the men, he told me so himself; nor to take up boats to carry them down through bridge to the ships I had prepared to carry them down in; insomuch that I was forced to promise to be his paymaster, and he did send his City Remembrancer afterwards to the office, and at the table, in the face of the officers, I did there out of my owne purse disburse L15 to pay for their pressing and diet last night and this morning; which is a thing worth record of my Lord Mayor. Busy about this all the morning, at noon dined and then to the office again, and all the afternoon till twelve at night full of this business and others, and among these others about the getting off men pressed by our officers of the fleete into the service; even our owne men that are at the office, and the boats that carry us. So that it is now become impossible to have so much as a letter carried from place to place, or any message done for us: nay, out of Victualling ships full loaden to go down to the fleete, and out of the vessels of the officers of the Ordnance, they press men, so that for want of discipline in this respect I do fear all will be undone. Vexed with these things, but eased in mind by my ridding of a great deale of business from the office, I late home to supper and to bed. But before I was in bed, while I was undressing myself, our new ugly mayde, Luce, had like to have broke her necke in the darke, going down our upper stairs; but, which I was glad of, the poor girle did only bruise her head, but at first did lie on the ground groaning and drawing her breath, like one a-dying. This month I end in much hurry of business, but in much more trouble in mind to thinke what will become of publique businesses, having so many enemys abroad, and neither force nor money at all, and but little courage for ourselves, it being really true that the spirits of our seamen and commanders too are really broke by the last defeate with the Dutch, and this is not my conjecture only, but the real and serious thoughts of Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry, whom I have at distinct times heard the same thing come from with a great deale of grief and trouble. But, lastly, I am providing against a foule day to get as much money into my hands as I can, at least out of the publique hands, that so, if a turne, which I fear, do come, I may have a little to trust to. I pray God give me good successe in my choice how to dispose of what little I have, that I may not take it out of publique hands, and put it into worse. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A cat will be a cat still And if ever I fall on it again, I deserve to be undone Apprehension of the King of France's invading us As very a gossip speaking of her neighbours as any body Baited at Islington, and so late home about 11 at night Called at a little ale-house, and had an eele pye Checking her last night in the coach in her long stories Foretelling the draught of water of a ship before she be launche Great deale of tittle tattle discourse to little purpose He is such innocent company Here I first saw oranges grow I do not value her, or mind her as I ought I to bed even by daylight Long petticoat dragging under their men's coats Mightily pleased with myself for the business that I have done Mightily vexed at my being abroad with these women Never fought with worse officers in his life Not being well pleased with her over free and loose company Now very big, and within a fortnight of lying down Out also to and fro, to see and be seen Providing against a foule day to get as much money into my hands Rejoiced over head and ears in this good newes Requisite I be prepared against the man's friendship Sang till about twelve at night, with mighty pleasure Send up and down for a nurse to take the girle home Shy of any warr hereafter, or to prepare better for it So back again home to supper and to bed with great pleasure So home and to supper with beans and bacon and to bed That I may look as a man minding business There did what I would with her There did what 'je voudrais avec' her . . . . Think that we are beaten in every respect This is the use we make of our fathers Took him home the money, and, though much to my grief Unless my too-much addiction to pleasure undo me What itching desire I did endeavour to see Bagwell's wife Young man play the foole upon the doctrine of purgatory 
4166	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1666 July 1st (Sunday). Up betimes, and to the office receiving letters, two or three one after another from Sir W. Coventry, and sent as many to him, being full of variety of business and hurry, but among the chiefest is the getting of these pressed men out of the City down the river to the fleete. While I was hard at it comes Sir W. Pen to towne, which I little expected, having invited my Lady and her daughter Pegg to dine with me to-day; which at noon they did, and Sir W. Pen with them: and pretty merry we were. And though I do not love him, yet I find it necessary to keep in with him; his good service at Shearnesse in getting out the fleete being much taken notice of, and reported to the King and Duke [of York], even from the Prince and Duke of Albemarle themselves, and made the most of to me and them by Sir W. Coventry: therefore I think it discretion, great and necessary discretion, to keep in with him. After dinner to the office again, where busy, and then down to Deptford to the yard, thinking to have seen Bagwell's wife, whose husband is gone yesterday back to the fleete, but I did not see her, so missed what I went for, and so back to the Tower several times, about the business of the pressed men, and late at it till twelve at night, shipping of them. But, Lord! how some poor women did cry; and in my life I never did see such natural expression of passion as I did here in some women's bewailing themselves, and running to every parcel of men that were brought, one after another, to look for their husbands, and wept over every vessel that went off, thinking they might be there, and looking after the ship as far as ever they could by moone-light, that it grieved me to the heart to hear them. Besides, to see poor patient labouring men and housekeepers, leaving poor wives and families, taking up on a sudden by strangers, was very hard, and that without press-money, but forced against all law to be gone. It is a great tyranny. Having done this I to the Lieutenant of the Tower and bade him good night, and so away home and to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and forced to go to my Lord Mayor's, about the business of the pressed men; and indeed I find him a mean man of understanding and dispatch of any publique business. Thence out of curiosity to Bridewell to see the pressed men, where there are about 300; but so unruly that I durst not go among them: and they have reason to be so, having been kept these three days prisoners, with little or no victuals, and pressed out, and, contrary to all course of law, without press-money, and men that are not liable to it. Here I met with prating Colonel Cox, one of the City collonells heretofore a great presbyter: but to hear how the fellow did commend himself, and the service he do the King; and, like an asse, at Paul's did take me out of my way on purpose to show me the gate (the little north gate) where he had two men shot close by him on each hand, and his own hair burnt by a bullet-shot in the insurrection of Venner, and himself escaped. Thence home and to the Tower to see the men from Bridewell shipped. Being rid of him I home to dinner, and thence to the Excise office by appointment to meet my Lord Bellasses and the Commissioners, which we did and soon dispatched, and so I home, and there was called by Pegg Pen to her house, where her father and mother, and Mrs. Norton, the second Roxalana, a fine woman, indifferent handsome, good body and hand, and good mine, and pretends to sing, but do it not excellently. However I took pleasure there, and my wife was sent for, and Creed come in to us, and so there we spent the most of the afternoon. Thence weary of losing so much time I to the office, and thence presently down to Deptford; but to see what a consternation there is upon the water by reason of this great press, that nothing is able to get a waterman to appear almost. Here I meant to have spoke with Bagwell's mother, but her face was sore, and so I did not, but returned and upon the water found one of the vessels loaden with the Bridewell birds in a great mutiny, and they would not sail, not they; but with good words, and cajoling the ringleader into the Tower (where, when he was come, he was clapped up in the hole), they were got very quietly; but I think it is much if they do not run the vessel on ground. But away they went, and I to the Lieutenant of the Tower, and having talked with him a little, then home to supper very late and to bed weary. 3rd. Being very weary, lay long in bed, then to the office and there sat all the day. At noon dined at home, Balty's wife with us, and in very good humour I was and merry at dinner, and after dinner a song or two, and so I abroad to my Lord Treasurer's (sending my sister home by the coach), while I staid there by appointment to have met my Lord Bellasses and Commissioners of Excise, but they did not meet me, he being abroad. However Mr. Finch, one of the Commissioners, I met there, and he and I walked two houres together in the garden, talking of many things; sometimes of Mr. Povy, whose vanity, prodigality, neglect of his business, and committing it to unfit hands hath undone him and outed him of all his publique employments, and the thing set on foot by an accidental revivall of a business, wherein he had three or fours years ago, by surprize, got the Duke of Yorke to sign to the having a sum of money paid out of the Excise, before some that was due to him, and now the money is fallen short, and the Duke never likely to be paid. This being revived hath undone Povy. Then we fell to discourse of the Parliament, and the great men there: and among others, Mr. Vaughan, whom he reports as a man of excellent judgement and learning, but most passionate and 'opiniastre'. He had done himself the most wrong (though he values it not), that is, the displeasure of the King in his standing so long against the breaking of the Act for a trienniall parliament; but yet do believe him to be a most loyall gentleman. He told me Mr. Prin's character; that he is a man of mighty labour and reading and memory, but the worst judge of matters, or layer together of what he hath read, in the world; which I do not, however, believe him in; that he believes him very true to the King in his heart, but can never be reconciled to episcopacy; that the House do not lay much weight upon him, or any thing he says. He told me many fine things, and so we parted, and I home and hard to work a while at the office and then home and till midnight about settling my last month's accounts wherein I have been interrupted by public business, that I did not state them two or three days ago, but I do now to my great joy find myself worth above L5600, for which the Lord's name be praised! So with my heart full of content to bed. Newes come yesterday from Harwich, that the Dutch had appeared upon our coast with their fleete, and we believe did go to the Gun-fleete, and they are supposed to be there now; but I have heard nothing of them to-day. Yesterday Dr. Whistler, at Sir W. Pen's, told me that Alexander Broome, a the great song-maker, is lately dead. 4th. Up, and visited very betimes by Mr. Sheply, who is come to town upon business from Hinchingbrooke, where he left all well. I out and walked along with him as far as Fleet Streete, it being a fast day, the usual fast day for the plague, and few coaches to be had. Thanks be to God, the plague is, as I hear, encreased but two this week; but in the country in several places it rages mightily, and particularly in Colchester, where it hath long been, and is believed will quite depopulate the place. To St. James's, and there did our usual business with the Duke, all of us, among other things, discoursing about the places where to build ten great ships; the King and Council have resolved on none to be under third-rates; but it is impossible to do it, unless we have more money towards the doing it than yet we have in any view. But, however, the shew must be made to the world. Thence to my Lord Bellasses to take my leave of him, he being going down to the North to look after the Militia there, for fear of an invasion. Thence home and dined, and then to the office, where busy all day, and in the evening Sir W. Pen come to me, and we walked together, and talked of the late fight. I find him very plain, that the whole conduct of the late fight was ill, and that that of truth's all, and he tells me that it is not he, but two-thirds of the commanders of the whole fleete have told him so: they all saying, that they durst not oppose it at the Council of War, for fear of being called cowards, though it was wholly against their judgement to fight that day with the disproportion of force, and then we not being able to use one gun of our lower tier, which was a greater disproportion than the other. Besides, we might very well have staid in the Downs without fighting, or any where else, till the Prince could have come up to them; or at least till the weather was fair, that we might have the benefit of our whole force in the ships that we had. He says three things must [be] remedied, or else we shall be undone by this fleete. 1. That we must fight in a line, whereas we fight promiscuously, to our utter and demonstrable ruine; the Dutch fighting otherwise; and we, whenever we beat them. 2. We must not desert ships of our own in distress, as we did, for that makes a captain desperate, and he will fling away his ship, when there is no hopes left him of succour. 3. That ships, when they are a little shattered, must not take the liberty to come in of themselves, but refit themselves the best they can, and stay out--many of our ships coming in with very small disablenesses. He told me that our very commanders, nay, our very flag-officers, do stand in need of exercising among themselves, and discoursing the business of commanding a fleete; he telling me that even one of our flag-men in the fleete did not know which tacke lost the wind, or which kept it, in the last engagement. He says it was pure dismaying and fear that made them all run upon the Galloper, not having their wits about them; and that it was a miracle they were not all lost. He much inveighs upon my discoursing of Sir John Lawson's saying heretofore, that sixty sail would do as much as one hundred; and says that he was a man of no counsel at all, but had got the confidence to say as the gallants did, and did propose to himself to make himself great by them, and saying as they did; but was no man of judgement in his business, but hath been out in the greatest points that have come before them. And then in the business of fore-castles, which he did oppose, all the world sees now the use of them for shelter of men. He did talk very rationally to me, insomuch that I took more pleasure this night in hearing him discourse, than I ever did in my life in any thing that he said. He gone I to the office again, and so after some business home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning busy, then at noon dined and Mr. Sheply with me, who come to towne the other day. I lent him 630 in silver upon 30 pieces in gold. But to see how apt every body is to neglect old kindnesses! I must charge myself with the ingratitude of being unwilling to lend him so much money without some pawne, if he should have asked it, but he did not aske it, poor man, and so no harm done. After dinner, he gone, I to my office and Lumbard Streete about money, and then to my office again, very busy, and so till late, and then a song with my wife and Mercer in the garden, and so with great content to bed. 6th. Up, and after doing some business at my office abroad to Lumbard Street, about the getting of a good sum of money, thence home, in preparation for my having some good sum in my hands, for fear of a trouble in the State, that I may not have all I have in the world out of my hands and so be left a beggar. Having put that in a way, I home to the office, and so to the Tower; about shipping of some more pressed men, and that done, away to Broad Streete, to Sir G. Carteret, who is at a pay of tickets all alone, and I believe not less than one thousand people in the streets. But it is a pretty thing to observe that both there and every where else, a man shall see many women now-a-days of mean sort in the streets, but no men; men being so afeard of the press. I dined with Sir G. Carteret, and after dinner had much discourse about our publique business; and he do seem to fear every day more and more what I do; which is, a general confusion in the State; plainly answering me to the question, who is it that the weight of the warr depends [upon]? that it is only Sir W. Coventry. He tells me, too, the Duke of Albemarle is dissatisfied, and that the Duchesse do curse Coventry as the man that betrayed her husband to the sea: though I believe that it is not so. Thence to Lumbard Streete, and received L2000, and carried it home: whereof L1000 in gold. The greatest quantity not only that I ever had of gold, but that ever I saw together, and is not much above half a 100 lb. bag full, but is much weightier. This I do for security sake, and convenience of carriage; though it costs me above L70 the change of it, at 18 1/2d. per piece. Being at home, I there met with a letter from Bab Allen,--[Mrs. Knipp]--to invite me to be god-father to her boy, with Mrs. Williams, which I consented to, but know not the time when it is to be. Thence down to the Old Swan, calling at Michell's, he not being within, and there I did steal a kiss or two of her, and staying a little longer, he come in, and her father, whom I carried to Westminster, my business being thither, and so back again home, and very busy all the evening. At night a song in the garden and to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home and Creed with me, and after dinner he and I two or three hours in my chamber discoursing of the fittest way for a man to do that hath money, and find all he offers of turning some into gold and leaving some in a friend's hand is nothing more than what I thought of myself, but is doubtful, as well as I, what is best to be done of all these or other ways to be thought on. He tells me he finds all things mighty dull at Court; and that they now begin to lie long in bed; it being, as we suppose, not seemly for them to be found playing and gaming as they used to be; nor that their minds are at ease enough to follow those sports, and yet not knowing how to employ themselves (though there be work enough for their thoughts and councils and pains), they keep long in bed. But he thinks with me, that there is nothing in the world can helpe us but the King's personal looking after his business and his officers, and that with that we may yet do well; but otherwise must be undone: nobody at this day taking care of any thing, nor hath any body to call him to account for it. Thence left him and to my office all the afternoon busy, and in some pain in my back by some bruise or other I have given myself in my right testicle this morning, and the pain lies there and hath done, and in my back thereupon all this day. At night into the garden to my wife and Lady Pen and Pegg, and Creed, who staid with them till to at night. My Lady Pen did give us a tarte and other things, and so broke up late and I to bed. It proved the hottest night that ever I was in in my life, and thundered and lightened all night long and rained hard. But, Lord! to see in what fears I lay a good while, hearing of a little noise of somebody walking in the house: so rung the bell, and it was my mayds going to bed about one o'clock in the morning. But the fear of being robbed, having so much money in the house, was very great, and is still so, and do much disquiet me. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and pretty well of my pain, so that it did not trouble me at all, and I do clearly find that my pain in my back was nothing but only accompanied my bruise in my stones. To church, wife and Mercer and I, in expectation of hearing some mighty preacher to-day, Mrs. Mary Batelier sending us word so; but it proved our ordinary silly lecturer, which made me merry, and she laughed upon us to see her mistake. At noon W. Hewer dined with us, and a good dinner, and I expected to have had newes sent me of Knipp's christening to-day; but, hearing nothing of it, I did not go, though I fear it is but their forgetfulness and so I may disappoint them. To church, after dinner, again, a thing I have not done a good while before, go twice in one day. After church with my wife and Mercer and Tom by water through bridge to the Spring Garden at Fox Hall, and thence down to Deptford and there did a little business, and so back home and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to Westminster to Sir G. Downing's, but missed of him, and so we parted, I by water home, where busy all the morning, at noon dined at home, and after dinner to my office, where busy till come to by Lovett and his wife, who have brought me some sheets of paper varnished on one side, which lies very white and smooth and, I think, will do our business most exactly, and will come up to the use that I intended them for, and I am apt to believe will be an invention that will take in the world. I have made up a little book of it to give Sir W. Coventry to-morrow, and am very well pleased with it. Home with them, and there find my aunt Wight with my wife come to take her leave of her, being going for the summer into the country; and there was also Mrs. Mary Batelier and her sister, newly come out of France, a black, very black woman, but mighty good-natured people both, as ever I saw. Here I made the black one sing a French song, which she did mighty innocently; and then Mrs. Lovett play on the lute, which she do very well; and then Mercer and I sang; and so, with great pleasure, I left them, having shewed them my chamber, and L1000 in gold, which they wondered at, and given them sweetmeats, and shewn my aunt Wight my father's picture, which she admires. So I left them and to the office, where Mr. Moore come to me and talking of my Lord's family business tells me that Mr. Sheply is ignorantly, we all believe, mistaken in his accounts above L700 more than he can discharge himself of, which is a mighty misfortune, poor man, and may undo him, and yet every body believes that he do it most honestly. I am troubled for him very much. He gone, I hard at the office till night, then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, sitting, and there presented Sir W. Coventry with my little book made up of Lovett's varnished paper, which he and the whole board liked very well. At noon home to dinner and then to the office; the yarde being very full of women (I believe above three hundred) coming to get money for their husbands and friends that are prisoners in Holland; and they lay clamouring and swearing and cursing us, that my wife and I were afeard to send a venison-pasty that we have for supper to-night to the cook's to be baked, for fear of their offering violence to it: but it went, and no hurt done. Then I took an opportunity, when they were all gone into the foreyarde, and slipt into the office and there busy all the afternoon, but by and by the women got into the garden, and come all to my closett window, and there tormented me, and I confess their cries were so sad for money, and laying down the condition of their families and their husbands, and what they have done and suffered for the King, and how ill they are used by us, and how well the Dutch are used here by the allowance of their masters, and what their husbands are offered to serve the Dutch abroad, that I do most heartily pity them, and was ready to cry to hear them, but cannot helpe them. However, when the rest were gone, I did call one to me that I heard complaine only and pity her husband and did give her some money, and she blessed me and went away. Anon my business at the office being done I to the Tower to speak with Sir John Robinson about business, principally the bad condition of the pressed men for want of clothes, so it is represented from the fleete, and so to provide them shirts and stockings and drawers. Having done with him about that, I home and there find my wife and the two Mrs. Bateliers walking in the garden. I with them till almost 9 at night, and then they and we and Mrs. Mercer, the mother, and her daughter Anne, and our Mercer, to supper to a good venison-pasty and other good things, and had a good supper, and very merry, Mistresses Bateliers being both very good-humoured. We sang and talked, and then led them home, and there they made us drink; and, among other things, did show us, in cages, some birds brought from about Bourdeaux, that are all fat, and, examining one of them, they are so, almost all fat. Their name is [Ortolans], which are brought over to the King for him to eat, and indeed are excellent things. We parted from them and so home to bed, it being very late, and to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to Sir G. Downing's, there to discourse with him about the reliefe of the prisoners in Holland; which I did, and we do resolve of the manner of sending them some. So I away by coach to St. James's, and there hear that the Duchesse is lately brought to bed of a boy. By and by called to wait on the Duke, the King being present; and there agreed, among other things, of the places to build the ten new great ships ordered to be built, and as to the relief of prisoners in Holland. And then about several stories of the basenesse of the King of Spayne's being served with officers: they in Flanders having as good common men as any Prince in the world, but the veriest cowards for the officers, nay for the generall officers, as the Generall and Lieutenant-generall, in the whole world. But, above all things, the King did speake most in contempt of the ceremoniousnesse of the King of Spayne, that he do nothing but under some ridiculous form or other, and will not piss but another must hold the chamber-pot. Thence to Westminster Hall and there staid a while, and then to the Swan and kissed Sarah, and so home to dinner, and after dinner out again to Sir Robert Viner, and there did agree with him to accommodate some business of tallys so as I shall get in near L2000 into my own hands, which is in the King's, upon tallys; which will be a pleasure to me, and satisfaction to have a good sum in my own hands, whatever evil disturbances should be in the State; though it troubles me to lose so great a profit as the King's interest of ten per cent. for that money. Thence to Westminster, doing several things by the way, and there failed of meeting Mrs. Lane, and so by coach took up my wife at her sister's, and so away to Islington, she and I alone, and so through Hackney, and home late, our discourse being about laying up of some money safe in prevention to the troubles I am afeard we may have in the state, and so sleepy (for want of sleep the last night, going to bed late and rising betimes in the morning) home, but when I come to the office, I there met with a command from my Lord Arlington, to go down to a galliott at Greenwich, by the King's particular command, that is going to carry the Savoy Envoye over, and we fear there may be many Frenchmen there on board; and so I have a power and command to search for and seize all that have not passes from one of the Secretarys of State, and to bring them and their papers and everything else in custody some whither. So I to the Tower, and got a couple of musquetiers with me, and Griffen and my boy Tom and so down; and, being come, found none on board but two or three servants, looking to horses and doggs, there on board, and, seeing no more, I staid not long there, but away and on shore at Greenwich, the night being late and the tide against us; so, having sent before, to Mrs. Clerke's and there I had a good bed, and well received, the whole people rising to see me, and among the rest young Mrs. Daniel, whom I kissed again and again alone, and so by and by to bed and slept pretty well, 12th. But was up again by five o'clock, and was forced to rise, having much business, and so up and dressed myself (enquiring, was told that Mrs. Tooker was gone hence to live at London) and away with Poundy to the Tower, and thence, having shifted myself, but being mighty drowsy for want of sleep, I by coach to St. James's, to Goring House, there to wait on my Lord Arlington to give him an account of my night's worke, but he was not up, being not long since married: so, after walking up and down the house below,--being the house I was once at Hartlib's sister's wedding, and is a very fine house and finely furnished,--and then thinking it too much for me to lose time to wait my Lord's rising, I away to St. James's, and there to Sir W. Coventry, and wrote a letter to my Lord Arlington giving him an account of what I have done, and so with Sir W. Coventry into London, to the office. And all the way I observed him mightily to make mirth of the Duke of Albemarle and his people about him, saying, that he was the happiest man in the world for doing of great things by sorry instruments. And so particularized in Sir W. Clerke, and Riggs, and Halsey, and others. And then again said that the only quality eminent in him was, that he did persevere; and indeed he is a very drudge, and stands by the King's business. And this he said, that one thing he was good at, that he never would receive an excuse if the thing was not done; listening to no reasoning for it, be it good or bad. But then I told him, what he confessed, that he would however give the man, that he employs, orders for removing of any obstruction that he thinks he shall meet with in the world, and instanced in several warrants that he issued for breaking open of houses and other outrages about the business of prizes, which people bore with either for affection or fear, which he believes would not have been borne with from the King, nor Duke, nor any man else in England, and I thinke he is in the right, but it is not from their love of him, but from something else I cannot presently say. Sir W. Coventry did further say concerning Warcupp, his kinsman, that had the simplicity to tell Sir W. Coventry, that the Duke did intend to go to sea and to leave him his agent on shore for all things that related to the sea. But, says Sir W. Coventry, I did believe but the Duke of Yorke would expect to be his agent on shore for all sea matters. And then he begun to say what a great man Warcupp was, and something else, and what was that but a great lyer; and told me a story, how at table he did, they speaking about antipathys, say, that a rose touching his skin any where, would make it rise and pimple; and, by and by, the dessert coming, with roses upon it, the Duchesse bid him try, and they did; but they rubbed and rubbed, but nothing would do in the world, by which his lie was found at then. He spoke contemptibly of Holmes and his mermidons, that come to take down the ships from hence, and have carried them without any necessaries, or any thing almost, that they will certainly be longer getting ready than if they had staid here. In fine, I do observe, he hath no esteem nor kindnesse for the Duke's matters, but, contrarily, do slight him and them; and I pray God the Kingdom do not pay too dear by this jarring; though this blockheaded Duke I did never expect better from. At the office all the morning, at noon home and thought to have slept, my head all day being full of business and yet sleepy and out of order, and so I lay down on my bed in my gowne to sleep, but I could not, therefore about three o'clock up and to dinner and thence to the office, where. Mrs. Burroughs, my pretty widow, was and so I did her business and sent her away by agreement, and presently I by coach after and took her up in Fenchurch Streete and away through the City, hiding my face as much as I could, but she being mighty pretty and well enough clad, I was not afeard, but only lest somebody should see me and think me idle. I quite through with her, and so into the fields Uxbridge way, a mile or two beyond Tyburne, and then back and then to Paddington, and then back to Lyssen green, a place the coachman led me to (I never knew in my life) and there we eat and drank and so back to Chasing Crosse, and there I set her down. All the way most excellent pretty company. I had her lips as much as I would, and a mighty pretty woman she is and very modest and yet kinde in all fair ways. All this time I passed with mighty pleasure, it being what I have for a long time wished for, and did pay this day 5s. forfeite for her company. She being gone, I to White Hall and there to Lord Arlington's, and met Mr. Williamson, and find there is no more need of my trouble about the Galliott, so with content departed, and went straight home, where at the office did the most at the office in that wearied and sleepy state I could, and so home to supper, and after supper falling to singing with Mercer did however sit up with her, she pleasing me with her singing of "Helpe, helpe," 'till past midnight and I not a whit drowsy, and so to bed. 13th. Lay sleepy in bed till 8 in the morning, then up and to the office, where till about noon, then out to the 'Change and several places, and so home to dinner. Then out again to Sir R. Vines, and there to my content settled the business of two tallys, so as I shall have L2000 almost more of my owne money in my hand, which pleases me mightily, and so home and there to the office, where mighty busy, and then home to supper and to even my Journall and to bed. Our fleete being now in all points ready to sayle, but for the carrying of the two or three new ships, which will keepe them a day or two or three more. It is said the Dutch is gone off our coast, but I have no good reason to believe it, Sir W. Coventry not thinking any such thing. 14th. Up betimes to the office, to write fair a laborious letter I wrote as from the Board to the Duke of Yorke, laying out our want of money again; and particularly the business of Captain Cocke's tenders of hemp, which my Lord Bruncker brought in under an unknown hand without name. Wherein his Lordship will have no great successe, I doubt. That being done, I down to Thames-streete, and there agreed for four or five tons of corke, to send this day to the fleete, being a new device to make barricados with, instead of junke. By this means I come to see and kiss Mr. Hill's young wife, and a blithe young woman she is. So to the office and at noon home to dinner, and then sent for young Michell and employed him all the afternoon about weighing and shipping off of the corke, having by this means an opportunity of getting him 30 or 40s. Having set him a doing, I home and to the office very late, very busy, and did indeed dispatch much business, and so to supper and to bed. After a song in the garden, which, and after dinner, is now the greatest pleasure I take, and indeed do please me mightily, to bed, after washing my legs and feet with warm water in my kitchen. This evening I had Davila [Enrico Caterino Davila (1576-1631) was one of the chief historical writers of Italy, and his "Storia delle guerre civili di Francia" covers a period of forty years, from the death of Henri II. to the Peace of Vervins in 1598.] brought home to me, and find it a most excellent history as ever I read. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where our lecturer made a sorry silly sermon, upon the great point of proving the truth of the Christian religion. Home and had a good dinner, expecting Mr. Hunt, but there comes only young Michell and his wife, whom my wife concurs with me to be a pretty woman, and with her husband is a pretty innocent couple. Mightily pleasant we were, and I mightily pleased in her company and to find my wife so well pleased with them also. After dinner he and I walked to White Hall, not being able to get a coach. He to the Abbey, and I to White Hall, but met with nobody to discourse with, having no great mind to be found idling there, and be asked questions of the fleete, so walked only through to the Parke, and there, it being mighty hot and I weary, lay down by the canaille, upon the grasse, and slept awhile, and was thinking of a lampoone which hath run in my head this weeke, to make upon the late fight at sea, and the miscarriages there; but other businesses put it out of my head. Having lain there a while, I then to the Abbey and there called Michell, and so walked in great pain, having new shoes on, as far as Fleete Streete and there got a coach, and so in some little ease home and there drank a great deale of small beer; and so took up my wife and Betty Michell and her husband, and away into the fields, to take the ayre, as far as beyond Hackny, and so back again, in our way drinking a great deale of milke, which I drank to take away, my heartburne, wherewith I have of late been mightily troubled, but all the way home I did break abundance of wind behind, which did presage no good but a great deal of cold gotten. So home and supped and away went Michell and his wife, of whom I stole two or three salutes, and so to bed in some pain and in fear of more, which accordingly I met with, for I was in mighty pain all night long of the winde griping of my belly and making of me shit often and vomit too, which is a thing not usual with me, but this I impute to the milke that I drank after so much beer, but the cold, to my washing my feet the night before. 16th. Lay in great pain in bed all the morning and most of the afternoon, being in much pain, making little or no water, and indeed having little within to make any with. And had great twinges with the wind all the day in my belly with wind. And a looseness with it, which however made it not so great as I have heretofore had it. A wonderful dark sky, and shower of rain this morning, which at Harwich proved so too with a shower of hail as big as walnuts. I had some broth made me to drink, which I love, only to fill up room. Up in the afternoon, and passed the day with Balty, who is come from sea for a day or two before the fight, and I perceive could be willing fairly to be out of the next fight, and I cannot much blame him, he having no reason by his place to be there; however, would not have him to be absent, manifestly to avoid being there. At night grew a little better and took a glyster of sacke, but taking it by halves it did me not much good, I taking but a little of it. However, to bed, and had a pretty good night of it, 17th. So as to be able to rise to go to the office and there sat, but now and then in pain, and without making much water, or freely. However, it grew better and better, so as after dinner believing the jogging in a coach would do me good, I did take my wife out to the New Exchange to buy things. She there while I with Balty went and bought a common riding-cloake for myself, to save my best. It cost me but 30s., and will do my turne mighty well. Thence home and walked in the garden with Sir W. Pen a while, and saying how the riding in the coach do me good (though I do not yet much find it), he ordered his to be got ready while I did some little business at the office, and so abroad he and I after 8 o'clock at night, as far almost as Bow, and so back again, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I did bid Balty to agree with the Dutch paynter, which he once led me to, to see landskipps, for a winter piece of snow, which indeed is a good piece, and costs me but 40s., which I would not take the money again for, it being, I think, very good. After a little supper to bed, being in less pain still, and had very good rest. 18th. Up in good case, and so by coach to St. James's after my fellows, and there did our business, which is mostly every day to complain of want of money, and that only will undo us in a little time. Here, among other things, before us all, the Duke of Yorke did say, that now at length he is come to a sure knowledge that the Dutch did lose in the late engagements twenty-nine captains and thirteen ships. Upon which Sir W. Coventry did publickly move, that if his Royal Highness had this of a certainty, it would be of use to send this down to the fleete, and to cause it to be spread about the fleete, for the recovering of the spirits of the officers and seamen; who are under great dejectedness for want of knowing that they did do any thing against the enemy, notwithstanding all that they did to us. Which, though it be true, yet methought was one of the most dishonourable motions to our countrymen that ever was made; and is worth remembering. Thence with Sir W. Pen home, calling at Lilly's, to have a time appointed when to be drawn among the other Commanders of Flags the last year's fight. And so full of work Lilly is, that he was faro to take his table-book out to see how his time is appointed, and appointed six days hence for him to come between seven and eight in the morning. Thence with him home; and there by appointment I find Dr. Fuller, now Bishop of Limericke, in Ireland; whom I knew in his low condition at Twittenham. I had also by his desire Sir W. Pen, and with him his lady and daughter, and had a good dinner, and find the Bishop the same good man as ever; and in a word, kind to us, and, methinks, one of the comeliest and most becoming prelates in all respects that ever I saw in my life. During dinner comes an acquaintance of his, Sir Thomas Littleton; whom I knew not while he was in my house, but liked his discourse; and afterwards, by Sir W. Pen, do come to know that he is one of the greatest speakers in the House of Commons, and the usual second to the great Vaughan. So was sorry I did observe him no more, and gain more of his acquaintance. After dinner, they being gone, and I mightily pleased with my guests, I down the river to Greenwich, about business, and thence walked to Woolwich, reading "The Rivall Ladys" all the way, and find it a most pleasant and fine writ play. At Woolwich saw Mr. Shelden, it being late, and there eat and drank, being kindly used by him and Bab, and so by water to Deptford, it being 10 o'clock before I got to Deptford, and dark, and there to Bagwell's, and, having staid there a while, away home, and after supper to bed. The Duke of Yorke said this day that by the letters from the Generals they would sail with the Fleete this day or to-morrow. 19th. Up in very good health in every respect, only my late fever got by my pain do break out about my mouth. So to the office, where all the morning sitting. Full of wants of money, and much stores to buy, for to replenish the stores, and no money to do it with, nor anybody to trust us without it. So at noon home to dinner, Balty and his wife with us. By and by Balty takes his leave of us, he going away just now towards the fleete, where he will pass through one great engagement more before he be two days older, I believe. I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, late, and then home, and, after some pleasant discourse to my wife, to bed. After I was in bed I had a letter from Sir W. Coventry that tells me that the fleete is sailed this morning; God send us good newes of them! 20th. Up, and finding by a letter late last night that the fleete is gone, and that Sir W. Pen is ordered to go down to Sheernesse, and finding him ready to go to St. James's this morning, I was willing to go with him to see how things go, [Sir William Penn's instructions from the Duke of York directing him to embark on his Majesty's yacht "Henrietta," and to see to the manning of such ships has had been left behind by the fleet, dated on this day, 20th July, is printed in Penn's "Memorials of Sir W. Penn," vol. ii., p. 406.] and so with him thither (but no discourse with the Duke), but to White Hall, and there the Duke of York did bid Sir W. Pen to stay to discourse with him and the King about business of the fleete, which troubled me a little, but it was only out of envy, for which I blame myself, having no reason to expect to be called to advise in a matter I understand not. So I away to Lovett's, there to see how my picture goes on to be varnished (a fine Crucifix), [This picture occasioned Pepys trouble long afterwards, having been brought as evidence that he was a Papist (see "Life," vol. i., p. xxxiii).] which will be very fine; and here I saw some fine prints, brought from France by Sir Thomas Crew, who is lately returned. So home, calling at the stationer's for some paper fit to varnish, and in my way home met with Lovett, to whom I gave it, and he did present me with a varnished staffe, very fine and light to walk with. So home and to dinner, there coming young Mrs. Daniel and her sister Sarah, and dined with us; and old Mr. Hawly, whose condition pities me, he being forced to turne under parish-clerke at St. Gyles's, I think at the other end of the towne. Thence I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening with Sir W. Pen, walking with whom in the garden I am of late mighty great, and it is wisdom to continue myself so, for he is of all the men of the office at present most manifestly usefull and best thought of. He and I supped together upon the seat in the garden, and thence, he gone, my wife and Mercer come and walked and sang late, and then home to bed. 21st. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon walked in the garden with Commissioner Pett (newly come to towne), who tells me how infinite the disorders are among the commanders and all officers of the fleete. No discipline: nothing but swearing and cursing, and every body doing what they please; and the Generalls, understanding no better, suffer it, to the reproaching of this Board, or whoever it will be. He himself hath been challenged twice to the field, or something as good, by Sir Edward Spragge and Captain Seymour. He tells me that captains carry, for all the late orders, what men they please; demand and consume what provisions they please. So that he fears, and I do no less, that God Almighty cannot bless us while we keep in this disorder that we are in: he observing to me too, that there is no man of counsel or advice in the fleete; and the truth is, the gentlemen captains will undo us, for they are not to be kept in order, their friends about the King and Duke, and their own house, is so free, that it is not for any person but the Duke himself to have any command over them. He gone I to dinner, and then to the office, where busy all the afternoon. At night walked in the garden with my wife, and so I home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Pen is gone down to Sheernesse to-day to see things made ready against the fleete shall come in again, which makes Pett mad, and calls him dissembling knave, and that himself takes all the pains and is blamed, while he do nothing but hinder business and takes all the honour of it to himself, and tells me plainly he will fling, up his commission rather than bear it. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there till noon mighty busy, setting money matters and other things of mighty moment to rights to the great content of my mind, I finding that accounts but a little let go can never be put in order by strangers, for I cannot without much difficulty do it myself. After dinner to them again till about four o'clock and then walked to White Hall, where saw nobody almost but walked up and down with Hugh May, who is a very ingenious man. Among other things, discoursing of the present fashion of gardens to make them plain, that we have the best walks of gravell in the world, France having no nor Italy; and our green of our bowling allies is better than any they have. So our business here being ayre, this is the best way, only with a little mixture of statues, or pots, which may be handsome, and so filled with another pot of such and such a flower or greene as the season of the year will bear. And then for flowers, they are best seen in a little plat by themselves; besides, their borders spoil the walks of another garden: and then for fruit, the best way is to have walls built circularly one within another, to the South, on purpose for fruit, and leave the walking garden only for that use. Thence walked through the House, where most people mighty hush and, methinks, melancholy. I see not a smiling face through the whole Court; and, in my conscience, they are doubtfull of the conduct again of the Generalls, and I pray God they may not make their fears reasonable. Sir Richard Fanshaw is lately dead at Madrid. Guyland is lately overthrowne wholly in Barbary by the King of Tafiletta. The fleete cannot yet get clear of the River, but expect the first wind to be out, and then to be sure they fight. The Queene and Maids of Honour are at Tunbridge. 23rd. Up, and to my chamber doing several things there of moment, and then comes Sympson, the Joyner; and he and I with great pains contriving presses to put my books up in: they now growing numerous, and lying one upon another on my chairs, I lose the use to avoyde the trouble of removing them, when I would open a book. Thence out to the Excise office about business, and then homewards met Colvill, who tells me he hath L1000 ready for me upon a tally; which pleases me, and yet I know not now what to do with it, having already as much money as is fit for me to have in the house, but I will have it. I did also meet Alderman Backewell, who tells me of the hard usage he now finds from Mr. Fen, in not getting him a bill or two paid, now that he can be no more usefull to him; telling me that what by his being abroad and Shaw's death he hath lost the ball, but that he doubts not to come to give a kicke at it still, and then he shall be wiser and keepe it while he hath it. But he says he hath a good master, the King, who will not suffer him to be undone, as otherwise he must have been, and I believe him. So home and to dinner, where I confess, reflecting upon the ease and plenty that I live in, of money, goods, servants, honour, every thing, I could not but with hearty thanks to Almighty God ejaculate my thanks to Him while I was at dinner, to myself. After dinner to the office and there till five or six o'clock, and then by coach to St. James's and there with Sir W. Coventry and Sir G. Downing to take the gyre in the Parke. All full of expectation of the fleete's engagement, but it is not yet. Sir W. Coventry says they are eighty-nine men-of-warr, but one fifth-rate, and that, the Sweepstakes, which carries forty guns. They are most infinitely manned. He tells me the Loyall London, Sir J. Smith (which, by the way, he commends to be the-best ship in the world, large and small), hath above eight hundred men; and moreover takes notice, which is worth notice, that the fleete hath lane now near fourteen days without any demand for a farthingworth of any thing of any kind, but only to get men. He also observes, that with this excesse of men, nevertheless, they have thought fit to leave behind them sixteen ships, which they have robbed of their men, which certainly might have been manned, and they been serviceable in the fight, and yet the fleete well-manned, according to the excesse of supernumeraries, which we hear they have. At least two or three of them might have been left manned, and sent away with the Gottenburgh ships. They conclude this to be much the best fleete, for force of guns, greatnesse and number of ships and men, that ever England did see; being, as Sir W. Coventry reckons, besides those left behind, eighty-nine men of warr and twenty fire-ships, though we cannot hear that they have with them above eighteen. The French are not yet joined with the Dutch, which do dissatisfy the Hollanders, and if they should have a defeat, will undo De Witt; the people generally of Holland do hate this league with France. We cannot think of any business, but lie big with expectation of the issue of this fight, but do conclude that, this fight being over, we shall be able to see the whole issue of the warr, good or bad. So homeward, and walked over the Parke (St. James's) with Sir G. Downing, and at White Hall took a coach; and there to supper with much pleasure and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where little business done, our heads being full of expectation of the fleete's being engaged, but no certain notice of it, only Sheppeard in the Duke's yacht left them yesterday morning within a league of the Dutch fleete, and making after them, they standing into the sea. At noon to dinner, and after dinner with Mercer (as of late my practice is) a song and so to the office, there to set up again my frames about my Platts, which I have got to be all gilded, and look very fine, and then to my business, and busy very late, till midnight, drawing up a representation of the state of my victualling business to the Duke, I having never appeared to him doing anything yet and therefore I now do it in writing, I now having the advantage of having had two fleetes dispatched in better condition than ever any fleetes were yet, I believe; at least, with least complaint, and by this means I shall with the better confidence get my bills out for my salary. So home to bed. 25th. Up betimes to write fair my last night's paper for the Duke, and so along with Sir W. Batten by hackney coach to St. James's, where the Duke is gone abroad with the King to the Parke, but anon come back to White Hall, and we, after an houre's waiting, walked thither (I having desired Sir W. Coventry in his chamber to read over my paper about the victualling, which he approves of, and I am glad I showed it him first, it makes it the less necessary to show it the Duke at all, if I find it best to let it alone). At White Hall we find [the Court] gone to Chappell, it being St. James's-day. And by and by, while they are at chappell, and we waiting chappell being done, come people out of the Parke, telling us that the guns are heard plain. And so every body to the Parke, and by and by the chappell done, and the King and Duke into the bowling-green, and upon the leads, whither I went, and there the guns were plain to be heard; though it was pretty to hear how confident some would be in the loudnesse of the guns, which it was as much as ever I could do to hear them. By and by the King to dinner, and I waited there his dining; but, Lord! how little I should be pleased, I think, to have so many people crowding about me; and among other things it astonished me to see my Lord Barkeshire waiting at table, and serving the King drink, in that dirty pickle as I never saw man in my life. Here I met Mr. Williams, who in serious discourse told me he did hope well of this fight because of the equality of force or rather our having the advantage in number, and also because we did not go about it with the presumption that we did heretofore, when, he told me, he did before the last fight look upon us by our pride fated to be overcome. He would have me to dine where he was invited to dine, at the Backe-stayres. So after the King's meat was taken away, we thither; but he could not stay, but left me there among two or three of the King's servants, where we dined with the meat that come from his table; which was most excellent, with most brave drink cooled in ice (which at this hot time was welcome), and I drinking no wine, had metheglin for the King's owne drinking, which did please me mightily. Thence, having dined mighty nobly, I away to Mrs. Martin's new lodgings, where I find her, and was with her close, but, Lord! how big she is already. She is, at least seems, in mighty trouble for her husband at sea, when I am sure she cares not for him, and I would not undeceive her, though I know his ship is one of those that is not gone, but left behind without men. Thence to White Hall again to hear news, but found none; so back toward Westminster, and there met Mrs. Burroughs, whom I had a mind to meet, but being undressed did appear a mighty ordinary woman. Thence by water home, and out again by coach to Lovett's to see my Crucifix, which is not done. So to White Hall again to have met Sir G. Carteret, but he is gone, abroad, so back homewards, and seeing Mr. Spong took him up, and he and I to Reeves, the glass maker's, and did set several glasses and had pretty discourse with him, and so away, and set down Mr. Spong in London, and so home and with my wife, late, twatling at my Lady Pen's, and so home to supper and to bed. I did this afternoon call at my woman that ruled my paper to bespeak a musique card, and there did kiss Nan. No news to-night from the fleete how matters go yet. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home: Mr. Hunt and his wife, who is very gallant, and newly come from Cambridge, because of the sicknesse, with us. Very merry at table, and the people I do love mightily, but being in haste to go to White Hall I rose, and Mr. Hunt with me, and by coach thither, where I left him in the boarded gallery, and I by appointment to attend the Duke of Yorke at his closett, but being not come, Sir G. Carteret and I did talke together, and [he] advises me, that, if I could, I would get the papers of examination touching the business of the last year's prizes, which concern my Lord Sandwich, out of Warcupp's hands, who being now under disgrace and poor, he believes may be brought easily to part with them. My Lord Crew, it seems, is fearfull yet that maters may be enquired into. This I will endeavour to do, though I do not thinke it signifies much. By and by the Duke of Yorke comes and we had a meeting and, among other things, I did read my declaration of the proceedings of the Victualling hired this yeare, and desired his Royall Highnesse to give me the satisfaction of knowing whether his Royall Highnesse were pleased therewith. He told me he was, and that it was a good account, and that the business of the Victualling was much in a better condition than it was the last yeare; which did much joy me, being said in the company of my fellows, by which I shall be able with confidence to demand my salary and the rest of the subsurveyors. Thence away mightily satisfied to Mrs. Pierces, there to find my wife. Mrs. Pierce hath lain in of a boy about a month. The boy is dead this day. She lies in good state, and very pretty she is, but methinks do every day grow more and more great, and a little too much, unless they get more money than I fear they do. Thence with my wife and Mercer to my Lord Chancellor's new house, and there carried them up to the leads, where I find my Lord Chamberlain, Lauderdale, Sir Robert Murray, and others, and do find it the most delightfull place for prospect that ever was in the world, and even ravishing me, and that is all, in short, I can say of it. Thence to Islington to our old house and eat and drank, and so round by Kingsland home, and there to the office a little and Sir W. Batten's, but no newes at all from the fleete, and so home to bed. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home and then to the office again, and there walking in the garden with Captain Cocke till 5 o'clock. No newes yet of the fleete. His great bargaine of Hempe with us by his unknown proposition is disliked by the King, and so is quite off; of which he is glad, by this means being rid of his obligation to my Lord Bruncker, which he was tired with, and especially his mistresse, Mrs. Williams, and so will fall into another way about it, wherein he will advise only with myself, which do not displease me, and will be better for him and the King too. Much common talke of publique business, the want of money, the uneasinesse that Parliament will find in raising any, and the ill condition we shall be in if they do not, and his confidence that the Swede is true to us, but poor, but would be glad to do us all manner of service in the world. He gone, I away by water from the Old Swan to White Hall. The waterman tells me that newes is come that our ship Resolution is burnt, and that we had sunke four or five of the enemy's ships. When I come to White Hall I met with Creed, and he tells me the same news, and walking with him to the Park I to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, and there he showed me Captain Talbot's letter, wherein he says that the fight begun on the 25th; that our White squadron begun with one of the Dutch squadrons, and then the Red with another so hot that we put them both to giving way, and so they continued in pursuit all the day, and as long as he stayed with them: that the Blue fell to the Zealand squadron; and after a long dispute, he against two or three great ships, he received eight or nine dangerous shots, and so come away; and says, he saw the Resolution burned by one of their fire-ships, and four or five of the enemy's. But says that two or three of our great ships were in danger of being fired by our owne fire-ships, which Sir W. Coventry, nor I, cannot understand. But upon the whole, he and I walked two or three turns in the Parke under the great trees, and do doubt that this gallant is come away a little too soon, having lost never a mast nor sayle. And then we did begin to discourse of the young gentlemen captains, which he was very free with me in speaking his mind of the unruliness of them; and what a losse the King hath of his old men, and now of this Hannam, of the Resolution, if he be dead, and that there is but few old sober men in the fleete, and if these few of the Flags that are so should die, he fears some other gentlemen captains will get in, and then what a council we shall have, God knows. He told me how he is disturbed to hear the commanders at sea called cowards here on shore, and that he was yesterday concerned publiquely at a dinner to defend them, against somebody that said that not above twenty of them fought as they should do, and indeed it is derived from the Duke of Albemarle himself, who wrote so to the King and Duke, and that he told them how they fought four days, two of them with great disadvantage. The Count de Guiche, who was on board De Ruyter, writing his narrative home in French of the fight, do lay all the honour that may be upon the English courage above the Dutch, and that he himself [Sir W. Coventry] was sent down from the King and Duke of Yorke after the fight, to pray them to spare none that they thought had not done their parts, and that they had removed but four, whereof Du Tell is one, of whom he would say nothing; but, it seems, the Duke of Yorke hath been much displeased at his removal, and hath now taken him into his service, which is a plain affront to the Duke of Albemarle; and two of the others, Sir W. Coventry did speake very slenderly of their faults. Only the last, which was old Teddiman, he says, is in fault, and hath little to excuse himself with; and that, therefore, we should not be forward in condemning men of want of courage, when the Generalls, who are both men of metal, and hate cowards, and had the sense of our ill successe upon them (and by the way must either let the world thinke it was the miscarriage of the Captains or their owne conduct), have thought fit to remove no more of them, when desired by the King and Duke of Yorke to do it, without respect to any favour any of them can pretend to in either of them. At last we concluded that we never can hope to beat the Dutch with such advantage as now in number and force and a fleete in want of nothing, and he hath often repeated now and at other times industriously that many of the Captains have: declared that they want nothing, and again, that they did lie ten days together at the Nore without demanding of any thing in the world but men, and of them they afterward, when they went away, the generalls themselves acknowledge that they have permitted several ships to carry supernumeraries, but that if we do not speede well, we must then play small games and spoile their trade in small parties. And so we parted, and I, meeting Creed in the Parke again, did take him by coach and to Islington, thinking to have met my Lady Pen and wife, but they were gone, so we eat and drank and away back, setting him down in Cheapside and I home, and there after a little while making of my tune to "It is decreed," to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, where no more newes of the fleete than was yesterday. Here we sat and at noon to dinner to the Pope's Head, where my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse dined and Commissioner Pett, Dr. Charleton, and myself, entertained with a venison pasty by Sir W. Warren. Here very pretty discourse of Dr. Charleton's, concerning Nature's fashioning every creature's teeth according to the food she intends them; and that men's, it is plain, was not for flesh, but for fruit, and that he can at any time tell the food of a beast unknown by the teeth. My Lord Bruncker made one or two objections to it that creatures find their food proper for their teeth rather than that the teeth were fitted for the food, but the Doctor, I think, did well observe that creatures do naturally and from the first, before they have had experience to try, do love such a food rather than another, and that all children love fruit, and none brought to flesh, but against their wills at first. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to White Hall, where no news. So to St. James's to Sir W. Coventry, and there hear only of the Bredah's being come in and gives the same small account that the other did yesterday, so that we know not what is done by the body of the fleete at all, but conceive great reason to hope well. Thence with my Lord to his coach-house, and there put in his six horses into his coach, and he and I alone to Highgate. All the way going and coming I learning of him the principles of Optickes, and what it is that makes an object seem less or bigger and how much distance do lessen an object, and that it is not the eye at all, or any rule in optiques, that can tell distance, but it is only an act of reason comparing of one mark with another, which did both please and inform me mightily. Being come thither we went to my Lord Lauderdale's house to speake with him, about getting a man at Leith to joyne with one we employ to buy some prize goods for the King; we find [him] and his lady and some Scotch people at supper. Pretty odd company; though my Lord Bruncker tells me, my Lord Lauderdale is a man of mighty good reason and judgement. But at supper there played one of their servants upon the viallin some Scotch tunes only; several, and the best of their country, as they seemed to esteem them, by their praising and admiring them: but, Lord! the strangest ayre that ever I heard in my life, and all of one cast. But strange to hear my Lord Lauderdale say himself that he had rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in the world; and the better the musique, the more sicke it makes him; and that of all instruments, he hates the lute most, and next to that, the baggpipe. Thence back with my Lord to his house, all the way good discourse, informing of myself about optiques still, and there left him and by a hackney home, and after writing three or four letters, home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up and all the morning in my chamber making up my accounts in my book with my father and brother and stating them. Towards noon before sermon was done at church comes newes by a letter to Sir W. Batten, to my hand, of the late fight, which I sent to his house, he at church. But, Lord! with what impatience I staid till sermon was done, to know the issue of the fight, with a thousand hopes and fears and thoughts about the consequences of either. At last sermon is done and he come home, and the bells immediately rung soon as the church was done. But coming; to Sir W. Batten to know the newes, his letter said nothing of it; but all the towne is full of a victory. By and by a letter from Sir W. Coventry tells me that we have the victory. Beat them into the Weelings; [In a letter from Richard Browne to Williamson, dated Yarmouth, July 30th, we read, "The Zealanders were engaged with the Blue squadron Wednesday and most of Thursday, but at length the Zealanders ran; the Dutch fleet escaped to the Weelings and Goree" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1665-66, p 591).] had taken two of their great ships; but by the orders of the Generalls they are burned. This being, methought, but a poor result after the fighting of two so great fleetes, and four days having no tidings of them, I was still impatient; but could know no more. So away home to dinner, where Mr. Spong and Reeves dined with me by invitation. And after dinner to our business of my microscope to be shown some of the observables of that, and then down to my office to looke in a darke room with my glasses and tube, and most excellently things appeared indeed beyond imagination. This was our worke all the afternoon trying the several glasses and several objects, among others, one of my plates, where the lines appeared so very plain that it is not possible to thinke how plain it was done. Thence satisfied exceedingly with all this we home and to discourse many pretty things, and so staid out the afternoon till it began to be dark, and then they away and I to Sir W. Batten, where the Lieutenant of the Tower was, and Sir John Minnes, and the newes I find is no more or less than what I had heard before; only that our Blue squadron, it seems, was pursued the most of the time, having more ships, a great many, than its number allotted to her share. Young Seamour is killed, the only captain slain. The Resolution burned; but, as they say, most of her [crew] and commander saved. This is all, only we keep the sea, which denotes a victory, or at least that we are not beaten; but no great matters to brag of, God knows. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and did some business in my chamber, then by and by comes my boy's Lute-Master, and I did direct him hereafter to begin to teach him to play his part on the Theorbo, which he will do, and that in a little time I believe. So to the office, and there with Sir W. Warren, with whom I have spent no time a good while. We set right our business of the Lighters, wherein I thinke I shall get L100. At noon home to dinner and there did practise with Mercer one of my new tunes that I have got Dr. Childe to set me a base to and it goes prettily. Thence abroad to pay several debts at the end of the month, and so to Sir W. Coventry, at St. James's, where I find him in his new closett, which is very fine, and well supplied with handsome books. I find him speak very slightly of the late victory: dislikes their staying with the fleete up their coast, believing that the Dutch will come out in fourteen days, and then we with our unready fleete, by reason of some of the ships being maymed, shall be in bad condition to fight them upon their owne coast: is much dissatisfied with the great number of men, and their fresh demands of twenty-four victualling ships, they going out but the other day as full as they could stow. I asked him whether he did never desire an account of the number of supernumeraries, as I have done several ways, without which we shall be in great errour about the victuals; he says he has done it again and again, and if any mistake should happen they must thanke themselves. He spoke slightly of the Duke of Albemarle, saying, when De Ruyter come to give him a broadside--"Now," says he, chewing of tobacco the while, "will this fellow come and give, me two broadsides, and then he will run;" but it seems he held him to it two hours, till the Duke himself was forced to retreat to refit, and was towed off, and De Ruyter staid for him till he come back again to fight. One in the ship saying to the Duke, "Sir, methinks De Ruyter hath given us more: than two broadsides;"--"Well," says the Duke, "but you shall find him run by and by," and so he did, says Sir W. Coventry; but after the Duke himself had been first made to fall off. The Resolution had all brass guns, being the same that Sir J. Lawson had in her in the Straights. It is observed that the two fleetes were even in number to one ship. Thence home; and to sing with my wife and Mercer in the garden; and coming in I find my wife plainly dissatisfied with me, that I can spend so much time with Mercer, teaching her to sing and could never take the pains with her. Which I acknowledge; but it is because that the girl do take musique mighty readily, and she do not, and musique is the thing of the world that I love most, and all the pleasure almost that I can now take. So to bed in some little discontent, but no words from me. 31st. Good friends in the morning and up to the office, where sitting all the morning, and while at table we were mightily joyed with newes brought by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten of the death of De Ruyter, but when Sir W. Coventry come, he told us there was no such thing, which quite dashed me again, though, God forgive me! I was a little sorry in my heart before lest it might give occasion of too much glory to the Duke of Albemarle. Great bandying this day between Sir W. Coventry and my Lord Bruncker about Captain Cocke, which I am well pleased with, while I keepe from any open relyance on either side, but rather on Sir W. Coventry's. At noon had a haunch of venison boiled and a very good dinner besides, there dining with me on a sudden invitation the two mayden sisters, Bateliers, and their elder brother, a pretty man, understanding and well discoursed, much pleased with his company. Having dined myself I rose to go to a Committee of Tangier, and did come thither time enough to meet Povy and Creed and none else. The Court being empty, the King being gone to Tunbridge, and the Duke of Yorke a-hunting. I had some discourse with Povy, who is mightily discontented, I find, about his disappointments at Court; and says, of all places, if there be hell, it is here. No faith, no truth, no love, nor any agreement between man and wife, nor friends. He would have spoke broader, but I put it off to another time; and so parted. Then with Creed and read over with him the narrative of the late [fight], which he makes a very poor thing of, as it is indeed, and speaks most slightingly of the whole matter. Povy discoursed with me about my Lord Peterborough's L50 which his man did give me from him, the last year's salary I paid him, which he would have Povy pay him again; but I have not taken it to myself yet, and therefore will most heartily return him, and mark him out for a coxcomb. Povy went down to Mr. Williamson's, and brought me up this extract out of the Flanders' letters to-day come: That Admiral Everson, and the Admiral and Vice-Admiral of Freezeland, with many captains and men, are slain; that De Ruyter is safe, but lost 250 men out of his own ship; but that he is in great disgrace, and Trump in better favour; that Bankert's ship is burned, himself hardly escaping with a few men on board De Haes; that fifteen captains are to be tried the seventh of August; and that the hangman was sent from Flushing to assist the Council of Warr. How much of this is true, time will shew. Thence to Westminster Hall and walked an hour with Creed talking of the late fight, and observing the ridiculous management thereof and success of the Duke of Albemarle. Thence parted and to Mrs. Martin's lodgings, and sat with her a while, and then by water home, all the way reading the Narrative of the late fight in order, it may be, to the making some marginal notes upon it. At the Old Swan found my Betty Michell at the doore, where I staid talking with her a pretty while, it being dusky, and kissed her and so away home and writ my letters, and then home to supper, where the, brother and Mary Batelier are still and Mercer's two sisters. They have spent the time dancing this afternoon, and we were very merry, and then after supper into the garden and there walked, and then home with them and then back again, my wife and I and the girle, and sang in the garden and then to bed. Colville was with me this morning, and to my great joy I could now have all my money in, that I have in the world. But the times being open again, I thinke it is best to keepe some of it abroad. Mighty well, and end this month in content of mind and body. The publique matters looking more safe for the present than they did, and we having a victory over the Dutch just such as I could have wished, and as the kingdom was fit to bear, enough to give us the name of conquerors, and leave us masters of the sea, but without any such great matters done as should give the Duke of Albemarle any honour at all, or give him cause to rise to his former insolence. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Better the musique, the more sicke it makes him Contempt of the ceremoniousnesse of the King of Spayne Listening to no reasoning for it, be it good or bad Many women now-a-days of mean sort in the streets, but no men Milke, which I drank to take away, my heartburne No money to do it with, nor anybody to trust us without it Rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in the world Says, of all places, if there be hell, it is here So to bed in some little discontent, but no words from me The gentlemen captains will undo us To bed, after washing my legs and feet with warm water Venison-pasty that we have for supper to-night to the cook's With a shower of hail as big as walnuts World sees now the use of them for shelter of men (fore-castles) 
4162	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1965 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1664-1665 January 1st (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, having been busy late last night, then up and to my office, where upon ordering my accounts and papers with respect to my understanding my last year's gains and expense, which I find very great, as I have already set down yesterday. Now this day I am dividing my expense, to see what my clothes and every particular hath stood me in: I mean all the branches of my expense. At noon a good venison pasty and a turkey to ourselves without any body so much as invited by us, a thing unusuall for so small a family of my condition: but we did it and were very merry. After dinner to my office again, where very late alone upon my accounts, but have not brought them to order yet, and very intricate I find it, notwithstanding my care all the year to keep things in as good method as any man can do. Past 11 o'clock home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and it being a most fine, hard frost I walked a good way toward White Hall, and then being overtaken with Sir W. Pen's coach, went into it, and with him thither, and there did our usual business with the Duke. Thence, being forced to pay a great deale of money away in boxes (that is, basins at White Hall), I to my barber's, Gervas, and there had a little opportunity of speaking with my Jane alone, and did give her something, and of herself she did tell me a place where I might come to her on Sunday next, which I will not fail, but to see how modestly and harmlessly she brought it out was very pretty. Thence to the Swan, and there did sport a good while with Herbert's young kinswoman without hurt, though they being abroad, the old people. Then to the Hall, and there agreed with Mrs. Martin, and to her lodgings which she has now taken to lie in, in Bow Streete, pitiful poor things, yet she thinks them pretty, and so they are for her condition I believe good enough. Here I did 'ce que je voudrais avec' her most freely, and it having cost 2s. in wine and cake upon her, I away sick of her impudence, and by coach to my Lord Brunker's, by appointment, in the Piazza, in Covent-Guarding; where I occasioned much mirth with a ballet I brought with me, made from the seamen at sea to their ladies in town; saying Sir W. Pen, Sir G. Ascue, and Sir J. Lawson made them. Here a most noble French dinner and banquet, the best I have seen this many a day and good discourse. Thence to my bookseller's and at his binder's saw Hooke's book of the Microscope, ["Micrographia: or some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by Magnifying Glasses. London, 1665," a very remarkable work with elaborate plates, some of which have been used for lecture illustrations almost to our own day. On November 23rd, 1664, the President of the Royal Society was "desired to sign a licence for printing of Mr. Hooke's microscopical book." At this time the book was mostly printed, but it was delayed, much to Hooke's disgust, by the examination of several Fellows of the Society. In spite of this examination the council were anxious that the author should make it clear that he alone was responsible for any theory put forward, and they gave him notice to that effect. Hooke made this clear in his dedication (see Birch's "History," vol. i., pp. 490-491)] which is so pretty that I presently bespoke it, and away home to the office, where we met to do something, and then though very late by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, but having company with him could not speak with him. So back again home, where thinking to be merry was vexed with my wife's having looked out a letter in Sir Philip Sidney about jealousy for me to read, which she industriously and maliciously caused me to do, and the truth is my conscience told me it was most proper for me, and therefore was touched at it, but tooke no notice of it, but read it out most frankly, but it stucke in my stomach, and moreover I was vexed to have a dog brought to my house to line our little bitch, which they make him do in all their sights, which, God forgive me, do stir my jealousy again, though of itself the thing is a very immodest sight. However, to cards with my wife a good while, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, the streete being full of footballs, it being a great frost, and found him and Mr. Coventry walking in St. James's Parke. I did my errand to him about the felling of the King's timber in the forests, and then to my Lord of Oxford, Justice in Eyre, for his consent thereto, for want whereof my Lord Privy Seale stops the whole business. I found him in his lodgings, in but an ordinary furnished house and roome where he was, but I find him to be a man of good discreet replys. Thence to the Coffee-house, where certain newes that the Dutch have taken some of our colliers to the North; some say four, some say seven. Thence to the 'Change a while, and so home to dinner and to the office, where we sat late, and then I to write my letters, and then to Sir W. Batten's, who is going out of towne to Harwich to-morrow to set up a light-house there, which he hath lately got a patent from the King to set up, that will turne much to his profit. Here very merry, and so to my office again, where very late, and then home to supper and to bed, but sat up with my wife at cards till past two in the morning. 4th. Lay long, and then up and to my Lord of Oxford's, but his Lordshipp was in bed at past ten o'clock: and, Lord helpe us! so rude a dirty family I never saw in my life. He sent me out word my business was not done, but should against the afternoon. I thence to the Coffee-house, there but little company, and so home to the 'Change, where I hear of some more of our ships lost to the Northward. So to Sir W. Batten's, but he was set out before I got thither. I sat long talking with my lady, and then home to dinner. Then come Mr. Moore to see me, and he and I to my Lord of Oxford's, but not finding him within Mr. Moore and I to "Love in a Tubb," which is very merry, but only so by gesture, not wit at all, which methinks is beneath the House. So walked home, it being a very hard frost, and I find myself as heretofore in cold weather to begin to burn within and pimples and pricks all over my body, my pores with cold being shut up. So home to supper and to cards and to bed. 5th. Up, it being very cold and a great snow and frost tonight. To the office, and there all the morning. At noon dined at home, troubled at my wife's being simply angry with Jane, our cook mayde (a good servant, though perhaps hath faults and is cunning), and given her warning to be gone. So to the office again, where we sat late, and then I to my office, and there very late doing business. Home to supper and to the office again, and then late home to bed. 6th. Lay long in bed, but most of it angry and scolding with my wife about her warning Jane our cookemayde to be gone and upon that she desires to go abroad to-day to look a place. A very good mayde she is and fully to my mind, being neat, only they say a little apt to scold, but I hear her not. To my office all the morning busy. Dined at home. To my office again, being pretty well reconciled to my wife, which I did desire to be, because she had designed much mirthe to-day to end Christmas with among her servants. At night home, being twelfenight, and there chose my piece of cake, but went up to my viall, and then to bed, leaving my wife and people up at their sports, which they continue till morning, not coming to bed at all. 7th. Up and to the office all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife and family most of them a-bed. Then to see my Lady Batten and sit with her a while, Sir W. Batten being out of town, and then to my office doing very much business very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and it being a very fine frosty day, I and my boy walked to White Hall, and there to the Chappell, where one Dr. Beaumont' preached a good sermon, and afterwards a brave anthem upon the 150 Psalm, where upon the word "trumpet" very good musique was made. So walked to my Lady's and there dined with her (my boy going home), where much pretty discourse, and after dinner walked to Westminster, and there to the house where Jane Welsh had appointed me, but it being sermon time they would not let me in, and said nobody was there to speak with me. I spent the whole afternoon walking into the Church and Abbey, and up and down, but could not find her, and so in the evening took a coach and home, and there sat discoursing with my wife, and by and by at supper, drinking some cold drink I think it was, I was forced to go make water, and had very great pain after it, but was well by and by and continued so, it being only I think from the drink, or from my straining at stool to do more than my body would. So after prayers to bed. 9th. Up and walked to White Hall, it being still a brave frost, and I in perfect good health, blessed be God! In my way saw a woman that broke her thigh, in her heels slipping up upon the frosty streete. To the Duke, and there did our usual worke. Here I saw the Royal Society bring their new book, wherein is nobly writ their charter' and laws, and comes to be signed by the Duke as a Fellow; and all the Fellows' hands are to be entered there, and lie as a monument; and the King hath put his with the word Founder. Thence I to Westminster, to my barber's, and found occasion to see Jane, but in presence of her mistress, and so could not speak to her of her failing me yesterday, and then to the Swan to Herbert's girl, and lost time a little with her, and so took coach, and to my Lord Crew's and dined with him, who receives me with the greatest respect that could be, telling me that he do much doubt of the successe of this warr with Holland, we going about it, he doubts, by the instigation of persons that do not enough apprehend the consequences of the danger of it, and therein I do think with him. Holmes was this day sent to the Tower,--[For taking New York from the Dutch]--but I perceive it is made matter of jest only; but if the Dutch should be our masters, it may come to be of earnest to him, to be given over to them for a sacrifice, as Sir W. Rawly [Raleigh] was. Thence to White Hall to a Tangier Committee, where I was accosted and most highly complimented by my Lord Bellasses, [John Belasyse, second son of Thomas, first Viscount Fauconberg, created Baron Belasyse of Worlaby, January 27th, 1644, Lord Lieutenant of the East Riding of Yorkshire, and Governor of Hull. He was appointed Governor of Tangier, and Captain of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners. He was a Roman Catholic, and therefore was deprived of all his appointments in 1672 by the provisions of the Test Act, but in 1684 James II. made him First Commissioner of the Treasury. He died 1689.] our new governor, beyond my expectation, or measure I could imagine he would have given any man, as if I were the only person of business that he intended to rely on, and desires my correspondence with him. This I was not only surprized at, but am well pleased with, and may make good use of it. Our patent is renewed, and he and my Lord Barkeley, and Sir Thomas Ingram put in as commissioners. Here some business happened which may bring me some profit. Thence took coach and calling my wife at her tailor's (she being come this afternoon to bring her mother some apples, neat's tongues, and wine); I home, and there at my office late with Sir W. Warren, and had a great deal of good discourse and counsel from him, which I hope I shall take, being all for my good in my deportment in my office, yet with all honesty. He gone I home to supper and to bed. 10th. Lay long, it being still very cold, and then to the office, where till dinner, and then home, and by and by to the office, where we sat and were very late, and I writing letters till twelve at night, and then after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and very angry with my boy for lying long a bed and forgetting his lute. To my office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and so home to dinner. After dinner to Gresham College to my Lord Brunker and Commissioner Pett, taking, Mr. Castle with me there to discourse over his draught of a ship he is to build for us. Where I first found reason to apprehend Commissioner Pett to be a man of an ability extraordinary in any thing, for I found he did turn and wind Castle like a chicken in his business, and that most pertinently and mister-like, and great pleasure it was to me to hear them discourse, I, of late having studied something thereof, and my Lord Brunker is a very able person also himself in this sort of business, as owning himself to be a master in the business of all lines and Conicall Sections: Thence home, where very late at my office doing business to my content, though [God] knows with what ado it was that when I was out I could get myself to come home to my business, or when I was there though late would stay there from going abroad again. To supper and to bed. This evening, by a letter from Plymouth, I hear that two of our ships, the Leopard and another, in the Straights, are lost by running aground; and that three more had like to have been so, but got off, whereof Captain Allen one: and that a Dutch fleete are gone thither; which if they should meet with our lame ships, God knows what would become of them. This I reckon most sad newes; God make us sensible of it! This night, when I come home, I was much troubled to hear my poor canary bird, that I have kept these three or four years, is dead. 12th. Up, and to White Hall about getting a privy seal for felling of the King's timber for the navy, and to the Lords' House to speak with my Lord Privy Seale about it, and so to the 'Change, where to my last night's ill news I met more. Spoke with a Frenchman who was taken, but released, by a Dutch man-of-war of thirty-six guns (with seven more of the like or greater ships), off the North Foreland, by Margett. Which is a strange attempt, that they should come to our teeth; but the wind being easterly, the wind that should bring our force from Portsmouth, will carry them away home. God preserve us against them, and pardon our making them in our discourse so contemptible an enemy! So home and to dinner, where Mr. Hollyard with us dined. So to the office, and there late till 11 at night and more, and then home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up betimes and walked to my Lord Bellasses's lodgings in Lincolne's Inne Fieldes, and there he received and discoursed with me in the most respectfull manner that could be, telling me what a character of my judgment, and care, and love to Tangier he had received of me, that he desired my advice and my constant correspondence, which he much valued, and in my courtship, in which, though I understand his designe very well, and that it is only a piece of courtship, yet it is a comfort to me that I am become so considerable as to have him need to say that to me, which, if I did not do something in the world, would never have been. Here well satisfied I to Sir Ph. Warwicke, and there did some business with him; thence to Jervas's and there spent a little idle time with him, his wife, Jane, and a sweetheart of hers. So to the Hall awhile and thence to the Exchange, where yesterday's newes confirmed, though in a little different manner; but a couple of ships in the Straights we have lost, and the Dutch have been in Margaret [Margate] Road. Thence home to dinner and so abroad and alone to the King's house, to a play, "The Traytor," where, unfortunately, I met with Sir W. Pen, so that I must be forced to confess it to my wife, which troubles me. Thence walked home, being ill-satisfied with the present actings of the House, and prefer the other House before this infinitely. To my Lady Batten's, where I find Pegg Pen, the first time that ever I saw her to wear spots. Here very merry, Sir W. Batten being looked for to-night, but is not yet come from Harwich. So home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up and to White Hall, where long waited in the Duke's chamber for a Committee intended for Tangier, but none met, and so I home and to the office, where we met a little, and then to the 'Change, where our late ill newes confirmed in loss of two ships in the Straights, but are now the Phoenix and Nonsuch! Home to dinner, thence with my wife to the King's house, there to see "Vulpone," a most excellent play; the best I think I ever saw, and well, acted. So with Sir W. Pen home in his coach, and then to the office. So home, to supper, and bed, resolving by the grace of God from this day to fall hard to my business again, after some weeke or fortnight's neglect. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and after a little at my office to prepare a fresh draught of my vowes for the next yeare, I to church, where a most insipid young coxcomb preached. Then home to dinner, and after dinner to read in "Rushworth's Collections" about the charge against the late Duke of Buckingham, in order to the fitting me to speak and understand the discourse anon before the King about the suffering the Turkey merchants to send out their fleete at this dangerous time, when we can neither spare them ships to go, nor men, nor King's ships to convoy them. At four o'clock with Sir W. Pen in his coach to my Lord Chancellor's, where by and by Mr. Coventry, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Lawson, Sir G. Ascue, and myself were called in to the King, there being several of the Privy Council, and my Lord Chancellor lying at length upon a couch (of the goute I suppose); and there Sir W. Pen begun, and he had prepared heads in a paper, and spoke pretty well to purpose, but with so much leisure and gravity as was tiresome; besides, the things he said were but very poor to a man in his trade after a great consideration, but it was to purpose, indeed to dissuade the King from letting these Turkey ships to go out: saying (in short) the King having resolved to have 130 ships out by the spring, he must have above 20 of them merchantmen. Towards which, he in the whole River could find but 12 or 14, and of them the five ships taken up by these merchants were a part, and so could not be spared. That we should need 30,000 [sailors] to man these 130 ships, and of them in service we have not above 16,000; so we shall need 14,000 more. That these ships will with their convoys carry above 2,000 men, and those the best men that could be got; it being the men used to the Southward that are the best men for warr, though those bred in the North among the colliers are good for labour. That it will not be safe for the merchants, nor honourable for the King, to expose these rich ships with his convoy of six ships to go, it not being enough to secure them against the Dutch, who, without doubt, will have a great fleete in the Straights. This, Sir J. Lawson enlarged upon. Sir G. Ascue he chiefly spoke that the warr and trade could not be supported together, and, therefore, that trade must stand still to give way to them. This Mr. Coventry seconded, and showed how the medium of the men the King hath one year with another employed in his Navy since his coming, hath not been above 3,000 men, or at most 4,000 men; and now having occasion of 30,000, the remaining 26,000 must be found out of the trade of the nation. He showed how the cloaths, sending by these merchants to Turkey, are already bought and paid for to the workmen, and are as many as they would send these twelve months or more; so the poor do not suffer by their not going, but only the merchant, upon whose hands they lit dead; and so the inconvenience is the less. And yet for them he propounded, either the King should, if his Treasure would suffer it, buy them, and showed the losse would not be so great to him: or, dispense with the Act of Navigation, and let them be carried out by strangers; and ending that he doubted not but when the merchants saw there was no remedy, they would and could find ways of sending them abroad to their profit. All ended with a conviction (unless future discourse with the merchants should alter it) that it was not fit for them to go out, though the ships be loaded. The King in discourse did ask me two or three questions about my newes of Allen's loss in the Streights, but I said nothing as to the business, nor am not much sorry for it, unless the King had spoke to me as he did to them, and then I could have said something to the purpose I think. So we withdrew, and the merchants were called in. Staying without, my Lord Fitz Harding come thither, and fell to discourse of Prince Rupert, and made nothing to say that his disease was the pox and that he must be fluxed, telling the horrible degree of the disease upon him with its breaking out on his head. But above all I observed how he observed from the Prince, that courage is not what men take it to be, a contempt of death; for, says he, how chagrined the Prince was the other day when he thought he should die, having no more mind to it than another man. But, says he, some men are more apt to think they shall escape than another man in fight, while another is doubtfull he shall be hit. But when the first man is sure he shall die, as now the Prince is, he is as much troubled and apprehensive of it as any man else; for, says he, since we told [him] that we believe he would overcome his disease, he is as merry, and swears and laughs and curses, and do all the things of a [man] in health, as ever he did in his life; which, methought, was a most extraordinary saying before a great many persons there of quality. So by and by with Sir W. Pen home again, and after supper to the office to finish my vows, and so to bed. 16th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we did our business with the Duke. Thence I to Westminster Hall and walked up and down. Among others Ned Pickering met me and tells me how active my Lord is at sea, and that my Lord Hinchingbroke is now at Rome, and, by all report, a very noble and hopefull gentleman. Thence to Mr. Povy's, and there met Creed, and dined well after his old manner of plenty and curiosity. But I sat in pain to think whether he would begin with me again after dinner with his enquiry after my bill, but he did not, but fell into other discourse, at which I was glad, but was vexed this morning meeting of Creed at some bye questions that he demanded of me about some such thing, which made me fear he meant that very matter, but I perceive he did not. Thence to visit my Lady Sandwich and so to a Tangier Committee, where a great company of the new Commissioners, Lords, that in behalfe of my Lord Bellasses are very loud and busy and call for Povy's accounts, but it was a most sorrowful thing to see how he answered to questions so little to the purpose, but to his owne wrong. All the while I sensible how I am concerned in my bill of L100 and somewhat more. So great a trouble is fear, though in a case that at the worst will bear enquiry. My Lord Barkeley was very violent against Povy. But my Lord Ashly, I observe, is a most clear man in matters of accounts, and most ingeniously did discourse and explain all matters. We broke up, leaving the thing to a Committee of which I am one. Povy, Creed, and I staid discoursing, I much troubled in mind seemingly for the business, but indeed only on my own behalf, though I have no great reason for it, but so painfull a thing is fear. So after considering how to order business, Povy and I walked together as far as the New Exchange and so parted, and I by coach home. To the office a while, then to supper and to bed. This afternoon Secretary Bennet read to the Duke of Yorke his letters, which say that Allen [Among the State Papers is a letter from Captain Thomas Allin to Sir Richard Fanshaw, dated from "The Plymouth, Cadiz Bay," December 25th, 1664, in which he writes: "On the 19th attacked with his seven ships left, a Dutch fleet of fourteen, three of which were men-of- war; sunk two vessels and took two others, one a rich prize from Smyrna; the others retired much battered. Has also taken a Dutch prize laden with iron and planks, coming from Lisbon ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 122).] has met with the Dutch Smyrna fleet at Cales,--[The old form of the name Cadiz.]--and sunk one and taken three. How true or what these ships are time will show, but it is good newes and the newes of our ships being lost is doubted at dales and Malaga. God send it false! 17th. Up and walked to Mr. Povy's by appointment, where I found him and Creed busy about fitting things for the Committee, and thence we to my Lord Ashly's, where to see how simply, beyond all patience, Povy did again, by his many words and no understanding, confound himself and his business, to his disgrace, and rendering every body doubtfull of his being either a foole or knave, is very wonderfull. We broke up all dissatisfied, and referred the business to a meeting of Mr. Sherwin and others to settle, but here it was mighty strange methought to find myself sit herein Committee with my hat on, while Mr. Sherwin stood bare as a clerke, with his hat off to his Lord Ashlyand the rest, but I thank God I think myself never a whit the better man for all that. Thence with Creed to the 'Change and Coffee-house, and so home, where a brave dinner, by having a brace of pheasants and very merry about Povy's folly. So anon to the office, and there sitting very late, and then after a little time at Sir W. Batten's, where I am mighty great and could if I thought it fit continue so, I to the office again, and there very late, and so home to the sorting of some of my books, and so to bed, the weather becoming pretty warm, and I think and hope the frost will break. 18th. Up and by and by to my bookseller's, and there did give thorough direction for the new binding of a great many of my old books, to make my whole study of the same binding, within very few. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, who sent for me this morning. Dined with her, and it was to get a letter of hers conveyed by a safe hand to my Lord's owne hand at Portsmouth, which I did undertake. Here my Lady did begin to talk of what she had heard concerning Creed, of his being suspected to be a fanatique and a false fellow. I told her I thought he was as shrewd and cunning a man as any in England, and one that I would feare first should outwit me in any thing. To which she readily concurred. Thence to Mr. Povy's by agreement, and there with Mr. Sherwin, Auditor Beale, and Creed and I hard at it very late about Mr. Povy's accounts, but such accounts I never did see, or hope again to see in my days. At night, late, they gone, I did get him to put out of this account our sums that are in posse only yet, which he approved of when told, but would never have stayed it if I had been gone. Thence at 9 at night home, and so to supper vexed and my head akeing and to bed. 19th. Up, and it being yesterday and to-day a great thaw it is not for a man to walk the streets, but took coach and to Mr. Povy's, and there meeting all of us again agreed upon an answer to the Lords by and by, and thence we did come to Exeter House, and there was a witness of most [base] language against Mr. Povy, from my Lord Peterborough, who is most furiously angry with him, because the other, as a foole, would needs say that the L26,000 was my Lord Peterborough's account, and that he had nothing to do with it. The Lords did find fault also with our answer, but I think really my Lord Ashly would fain have the outside of an Exchequer,--[This word is blotted, and the whole sentence is confused.]--but when we come better to be examined. So home by coach, with my Lord Barkeley, who, by his discourse, I find do look upon Mr. Coventry as an enemy but yet professes great justice and pains. I at home after dinner to the office, and there sat all the afternoon and evening, and then home to supper and to bed. Memorandum. This day and yesterday, I think it is the change of the weather, I have a great deal of pain, but nothing like what I use to have. I can hardly keep myself loose, but on the contrary am forced to drive away my pain. Here I am so sleepy I cannot hold open my eyes, and therefore must be forced to break off this day's passages more shortly than I would and should have done. This day was buried (but I could not be there) my cozen Percivall Angier; and yesterday I received the newes that Dr. Tom Pepys is dead, at Impington, for which I am but little sorry, not only because he would have been troublesome to us, but a shame to his family and profession; he was such a coxcomb. 20th. Up and to Westminster, where having spoke with Sir Ph. Warwicke, I to Jervas, and there I find them all in great disorder about Jane, her mistress telling me secretly that she was sworn not to reveal anything, but she was undone. At last for all her oath she told me that she had made herself sure to a fellow that comes to their house that can only fiddle for his living, and did keep him company, and had plainly told her that she was sure to him never to leave him for any body else. Now they were this day contriving to get her presently to marry one Hayes that was there, and I did seem to persuade her to it. And at last got them to suffer me to advise privately, and by that means had her company and think I shall meet her next Sunday, but I do really doubt she will be undone in marrying this fellow. But I did give her my advice, and so let her do her pleasure, so I have now and then her company. Thence to the Swan at noon, and there sent for a bit of meat and dined, and had my baiser of the fille of the house there, but nothing plus. So took coach and to my Lady Sandwich's, and so to my bookseller's, and there took home Hooke's book of microscopy, a most excellent piece, and of which I am very proud. So home, and by and by again abroad with my wife about several businesses, and met at the New Exchange, and there to our trouble found our pretty Doll is gone away to live they say with her father in the country, but I doubt something worse. So homeward, in my way buying a hare and taking it home, which arose upon my discourse to-day with Mr. Batten, in Westminster Hall, who showed me my mistake that my hare's foote hath not the joynt to it; and assures me he never had his cholique since he carried it about him: and it is a strange thing how fancy works, for I no sooner almost handled his foote but my belly began to be loose and to break wind, and whereas I was in some pain yesterday and t'other day and in fear of more to-day, I became very well, and so continue. At home to my office a while, and so to supper, read, and to cards, and to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning. Thence my Lord Brunker carried me as far as Mr. Povy's, and there I 'light and dined, meeting Mr. Sherwin, Creed, &c., there upon his accounts. After dinner they parted and Mr. Povy carried me to Somersett House, and there showed me the Queene-Mother's chamber and closett, most beautiful places for furniture and pictures; and so down the great stone stairs to the garden, and tried the brave echo upon the stairs; which continues a voice so long as the singing three notes, concords, one after another, they all three shall sound in consort together a good while most pleasantly. Thence to a Tangier Committee at White Hall, where I saw nothing ordered by judgment, but great heat and passion and faction now in behalf of my Lord Bellasses, and to the reproach of my Lord Tiviott, and dislike as it were of former proceedings. So away with Mr. Povy, he carrying me homeward to Mark Lane in his coach, a simple fellow I now find him, to his utter shame in his business of accounts, as none but a sorry foole would have discovered himself; and yet, in little, light, sorry things very cunning; yet, in the principal, the most ignorant man I ever met with in so great trust as he is. To my office till past 12, and then home to supper and to bed, being now mighty well, and truly I cannot but impute it to my fresh hare's foote. Before I went to bed I sat up till two o'clock in my chamber reading of Mr. Hooke's Microscopicall Observations, the most ingenious book that ever I read in my life. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, leaving my wife in bed, being sick of her months, and to church. Thence home, and in my wife's chamber dined very merry, discoursing, among other things, of a design I have come in my head this morning at church of making a match between Mrs. Betty Pickering and Mr. Hill, my friend the merchant, that loves musique and comes to me a'Sundays, a most ingenious and sweet-natured and highly accomplished person. I know not how their fortunes may agree, but their disposition and merits are much of a sort, and persons, though different, yet equally, I think, acceptable. After dinner walked to Westminster, and after being at the Abbey and heard a good anthem well sung there, I as I had appointed to the Trumpett, there expecting when Jane Welsh should come, but anon comes a maid of the house to tell me that her mistress and master would not let her go forth, not knowing of my being here, but to keep her from her sweetheart. So being defeated, away by coach home, and there spent the evening prettily in discourse with my wife and Mercer, and so to supper, prayers, and to bed. 23rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall; but there finding the Duke gone to his lodgings at St. James's for all together, his Duchesse being ready to lie in, we to him, and there did our usual business. And here I met the great newes confirmed by the Duke's own relation, by a letter from Captain Allen. First, of our own loss of two ships, the Phoenix and Nonesuch, in the Bay of Gibraltar: then of his, and his seven ships with him, in the Bay of Cales, or thereabouts, fighting with the 34 Dutch Smyrna fleete; sinking the King Salamon, a ship worth a L150,000 or more, some say L200,000, and another; and taking of three merchant-ships. Two of our ships were disabled, by the Dutch unfortunately falling against their will against them; the Advice, Captain W. Poole, and Antelope, Captain Clerke: The Dutch men-of-war did little service. Captain Allen did receive many shots at distance before he would fire one gun, which he did not do till he come within pistol-shot of his enemy. The Spaniards on shore at Cales did stand laughing at the Dutch, to see them run away and flee to the shore, 34 or thereabouts, against eight Englishmen at most. I do purpose to get the whole relation, if I live, of Captain Allen himself. In our loss of the two ships in the Bay of Gibraltar, it is observable how the world do comment upon the misfortune of Captain Moone of the Nonesuch (who did lose, in the same manner, the Satisfaction), as a person that hath ill-luck attending him; without considering that the whole fleete was ashore. Captain Allen led the way, and Captain Allen himself writes that all the masters of the fleete, old and young, were mistaken, and did carry their ships aground. But I think I heard the Duke say that Moone, being put into the Oxford, had in this conflict regained his credit, by sinking one and taking another. Captain Seale of the Milford hath done his part very well, in boarding the King Salamon, which held out half an hour after she was boarded; and his men kept her an hour after they did master her, and then she sunk, and drowned about 17 of her men. Thence to Jervas's, my mind, God forgive me, running too much after some folly, but 'elle' not being within I away by coach to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner. And finding Mrs. Bagwell waiting at the office after dinner, away she and I to a cabaret where she and I have eat before, and there I had her company 'tout' and had 'mon plaisir' of 'elle'. But strange to see how a woman, notwithstanding her greatest pretences of love 'a son mari' and religion, may be 'vaincue'. Thence to the Court of the Turkey Company at Sir Andrew Rickard's to treat about carrying some men of ours to Tangier, and had there a very civil reception, though a denial of the thing as not practicable with them, and I think so too. So to my office a little and to Jervas's again, thinking 'avoir rencontrais' Jane, 'mais elle n'etait pas dedans'. So I back again and to my office, where I did with great content 'ferais' a vow to mind my business, and 'laisser aller les femmes' for a month, and am with all my heart glad to find myself able to come to so good a resolution, that thereby I may follow my business, which and my honour thereby lies a bleeding. So home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and by coach to Westminster Hall and the Parliament House, and there spoke with Mr. Coventry and others about business and so back to the 'Change, where no news more than that the Dutch have, by consent of all the Provinces, voted no trade to be suffered for eighteen months, but that they apply themselves wholly to the warr. [This statement of a total prohibition of all trade, and for so long a period as eighteen months, by a government so essentially commercial as that of the United Provinces, seems extraordinary. The fact was, that when in the beginning of the year 1665 the States General saw that the war with England was become inevitable, they took several vigorous measures, and determined to equip a formidable fleet, and with a view to obtain a sufficient number of men to man it, prohibited all navigation, especially in the great and small fisheries as they were then called, and in the whale fishery. This measure appears to have resembled the embargoes so commonly resorted to in this country on similar occasions, rather than a total prohibition of trade.--B.] And they say it is very true, but very strange, for we use to believe they cannot support themselves without trade. Thence home to dinner and then to the office, where all the afternoon, and at night till very late, and then home to supper and bed, having a great cold, got on Sunday last, by sitting too long with my head bare, for Mercer to comb my hair and wash my eares. 25th. Up, and busy all the morning, dined at home upon a hare pye, very good meat, and so to my office again, and in the afternoon by coach to attend the Council at White Hall, but come too late, so back with Mr. Gifford, a merchant, and he and I to the Coffee-house, where I met Mr. Hill, and there he tells me that he is to be Assistant to the Secretary of the Prize Office (Sir Ellis Layton), which is to be held at Sir Richard Ford's, which, methinks, is but something low, but perhaps may bring him something considerable; but it makes me alter my opinion of his being so rich as to make a fortune for Mrs. Pickering. Thence home and visited Sir J. Minnes, who continues ill, but is something better; there he told me what a mad freaking fellow Sir Ellis Layton hath been, and is, and once at Antwerp was really mad. Thence to my office late, my cold troubling me, and having by squeezing myself in a coach hurt my testicles, but I hope will cease its pain without swelling. So home out of order, to supper and to bed. 26th. Lay, being in some pain, but not much, with my last night's bruise, but up and to my office, where busy all the morning, the like after dinner till very late, then home to supper and to bed. My wife mightily troubled with the tooth ake, and my cold not being gone yet, but my bruise yesterday goes away again, and it chiefly occasioned I think now from the sudden change of the weather from a frost to a great rayne on a sudden. 27th. Called up by Mr. Creed to discourse about some Tangier business, and he gone I made me ready and found Jane Welsh, Mr. Jervas his mayde, come to tell me that she was gone from her master, and is resolved to stick to this sweetheart of hers, one Harbing (a very sorry little fellow, and poor), which I did in a word or two endeavour to dissuade her from, but being unwilling to keep her long at my house, I sent her away and by and by followed her to the Exchange, and thence led her about down to the 3 Cranes, and there took boat for the Falcon, and at a house looking into the fields there took up and sat an hour or two talking and discoursing .... Thence having endeavoured to make her think of making herself happy by staying out her time with her master and other counsels, but she told me she could not do it, for it was her fortune to have this man, though she did believe it would be to her ruine, which is a strange, stupid thing, to a fellow of no kind of worth in the world and a beggar to boot. Thence away to boat again and landed her at the Three Cranes again, and I to the Bridge, and so home, and after shifting myself, being dirty, I to the 'Change, and thence to Mr. Povy's and there dined, and thence with him and Creed to my Lord Bellasses', and there debated a great while how to put things in order against his going, and so with my Lord in his coach to White Hall, and with him to my Lord Duke of Albemarle, finding him at cards. After a few dull words or two, I away to White Hall again, and there delivered a letter to the Duke of Yorke about our Navy business, and thence walked up and down in the gallery, talking with Mr. Slingsby, who is a very ingenious person, about the Mint and coynage of money. Among other things, he argues that there being L700,000 coined in the Rump time, and by all the Treasurers of that time, it being their opinion that the Rump money was in all payments, one with another, about a tenth part of all their money. Then, says he, to my question, the nearest guess we can make is, that the money passing up and down in business is L7,000,000. To another question of mine he made me fully understand that the old law of prohibiting bullion to be exported, is, and ever was a folly and an injury, rather than good. Arguing thus, that if the exportations exceed importations, then the balance must be brought home in money, which, when our merchants know cannot be carried out again, they will forbear to bring home in money, but let it lie abroad for trade, or keepe in foreign banks: or if our importations exceed our exportations, then, to keepe credit, the merchants will and must find ways of carrying out money by stealth, which is a most easy thing to do, and is every where done; and therefore the law against it signifies nothing in the world. Besides, that it is seen, that where money is free, there is great plenty; where it is restrained, as here, there is a great want, as in Spayne. These and many other fine discourses I had from him. Thence by coach home (to see Sir J. Minnes first), who is still sick, and I doubt worse than he seems to be. Mrs. Turner here took me into her closet, and there did give me a glass of most pure water, and shewed me her Rocke, which indeed is a very noble thing but a very bawble. So away to my office, where late, busy, and then home to supper and to bed. 28th. Up and to my office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner abroad, walked to Paul's Churchyard, but my books not bound, which vexed me. So home to my office again, where very late about business, and so home to supper and to bed, my cold continuing in a great degree upon me still. This day I received a good sum of money due to me upon one score or another from Sir G. Carteret, among others to clear all my matters about Colours,--[Flags]--wherein a month or two since I was so embarrassed and I thank God I find myself to have got clear, by that commodity, L50 and something more; and earned it with dear pains and care and issuing of my owne money, and saved the King near L100 in it. 29th (Lord's day). Up and to my office, where all the morning, putting papers to rights which now grow upon my hands. At noon dined at home. All the afternoon at my business again. In the evening come Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we up to my chamber and there good musique, though my great cold made it the less pleasing to me. Then Mr. Hill (the other going away) and I to supper alone, my wife not appearing, our discourse upon the particular vain humours of Mr. Povy, which are very extraordinary indeed. After supper I to Sir W. Batten's, where I found him, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Robinson, Sir R. Ford and Captain Cocke and Mr. Pen, junior. Here a great deal of sorry disordered talk about the Trinity House men, their being exempted from land service. But, Lord! to see how void of method and sense their discourse was, and in what heat, insomuch as Sir R. Ford (who we judged, some of us, to be a little foxed) fell into very high terms with Sir W. Batten, and then with Captain Cocke. So that I see that no man is wise at all times. Thence home to prayers and to bed. 30th. This is solemnly kept as a Fast all over the City, but I kept my house, putting my closett to rights again, having lately put it out of order in removing my books and things in order to being made clean. At this all day, and at night to my office, there to do some business, and being late at it, comes Mercer to me, to tell me that my wife was in bed, and desired me to come home; for they hear, and have, night after night, lately heard noises over their head upon the leads. Now it is strange to think how, knowing that I have a great sum of money in my house, this puts me into a most mighty affright, that for more than two hours, I could not almost tell what to do or say, but feared this and that, and remembered that this evening I saw a woman and two men stand suspiciously in the entry, in the darke; I calling to them, they made me only this answer, the woman said that the men came to see her; but who she was I could not tell. The truth is, my house is mighty dangerous, having so many ways to be come to; and at my windows, over the stairs, to see who goes up and down; but, if I escape to-night, I will remedy it. God preserve us this night safe! So at almost two o'clock, I home to my house, and, in great fear, to bed, thinking every running of a mouse really a thiefe; and so to sleep, very brokenly, all night long, and found all safe in the morning. 31st. Up and with Sir W. Batten to Westminster, where to speak at the House with my Lord Bellasses, and am cruelly vexed to see myself put upon businesses so uncertainly about getting ships for Tangier being ordered, a servile thing, almost every day. So to the 'Change, back by coach with Sir W. Batten, and thence to the Crowne, a taverne hard by, with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, where we alone, a very good dinner. Thence home to the office, and there all the afternoon late. The office being up, my wife sent for me, and what was it but to tell me how Jane carries herself, and I must put her away presently. But I did hear both sides and find my wife much in fault, and the grounds of all the difference is my wife's fondness of Tom, to the being displeased with all the house beside to defend the boy, which vexes me, but I will cure it. Many high words between my wife and I, but the wench shall go, but I will take a course with the boy, for I fear I have spoiled him already. Thence to the office, to my accounts, and there at once to ease my mind I have made myself debtor to Mr. Povy for the L117 5s. got with so much joy the last month, but seeing that it is not like to be kept without some trouble and question, I do even discharge my mind of it, and so if I come now to refund it, as I fear I shall, I shall now be ne'er a whit the poorer for it, though yet it is some trouble to me to be poorer by such a sum than I thought myself a month since. But, however, a quiet mind and to be sure of my owne is worth all. The Lord be praised for what I have, which is this month come down to L1257. I staid up about my accounts till almost two in the morning. FEBRUARY 1664-1665 February 1st. Lay long in bed, which made me, going by coach to St. James's by appointment to have attended the Duke of Yorke and my Lord Bellasses, lose the hopes of my getting something by the hire of a ship to carry men to Tangier. But, however, according to the order of the Duke this morning, I did go to the 'Change, and there after great pains did light of a business with Mr. Gifford and Hubland [Houblon] for bringing me as much as I hoped for, which I have at large expressed in my stating the case of the "King's Fisher," which is the ship that I have hired, and got the Duke of Yorke's agreement this afternoon after much pains and not eating a bit of bread till about 4 o'clock. Going home I put in to an ordinary by Temple Barr and there with my boy Tom eat a pullet, and thence home to the office, being still angry with my wife for yesterday's foolery. After a good while at the office, I with the boy to the Sun behind the Exchange, by agreement with Mr. Young the flag-maker, and there was met by Mr. Hill, Andrews, and Mr. Hubland, a pretty serious man. Here two very pretty savoury dishes and good discourse. After supper a song, or three or four (I having to that purpose carried Lawes's book), and staying here till 12 o'clock got the watch to light me home, and in a continued discontent to bed. After being in bed, my people come and say there is a great stinke of burning, but no smoake. We called up Sir J. Minnes's and Sir W. Batten's people, and Griffin, and the people at the madhouse, but nothing could be found to give occasion to it. At this trouble we were till past three o'clock, and then the stinke ceasing, I to sleep, and my people to bed, and lay very long in the morning. 2nd. Then up and to my office, where till noon and then to the 'Change, and at the Coffee-house with Gifford, Hubland, the Master of the ship, and I read over and approved a charter-party for carrying goods for Tangier, wherein I hope to get some money. Thence home, my head akeing for want of rest and too much business. So to the office. At night comes, Povy, and he and I to Mrs. Bland's to discourse about my serving her to helpe her to a good passage for Tangier. Here I heard her kinswoman sing 3 or 4 very fine songs and in good manner, and then home and to supper. My cook mayd Jane and her mistresse parted, and she went away this day. I vexed to myself, but was resolved to have no more trouble, and so after supper to my office and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and walked with my boy (whom, because of my wife's making him idle, I dare not leave at home) walked first to Salsbury court, there to excuse my not being at home at dinner to Mrs. Turner, who I perceive is vexed, because I do not serve her in something against the great feasting for her husband's Reading--[On his appointment as Reader in Law.]--in helping her to some good penn'eths, but I care not. She was dressing herself by the fire in her chamber, and there took occasion to show me her leg, which indeed is the finest I ever saw, and she not a little proud of it. Thence to my Lord Bellasses; thence to Mr. Povy's, and so up and down at that end of the town about several businesses, it being a brave frosty day and good walking. So back again on foot to the 'Change, in my way taking my books from binding from my bookseller's. My bill for the rebinding of some old books to make them suit with my study, cost me, besides other new books in the same bill, L3; but it will be very handsome. At the 'Change did several businesses, and here I hear that newes is come from Deale, that the same day my Lord Sandwich sailed thence with the fleete, that evening some Dutch men of warr were seen on the back side of the Goodwin, and, by all conjecture, must be seen by my Lord's fleete; which, if so, they must engage. Thence, being invited, to my uncle Wight's, where the Wights all dined; and, among the others, pretty Mrs. Margaret, who indeed is a very pretty lady; and though by my vowe it costs me 12d. a kiss after the first, yet I did adventure upon a couple. So home, and among other letters found one from Jane, that is newly gone, telling me how her mistresse won't pay her her Quarter's wages, and withal tells me how her mistress will have the boy sit 3 or 4 hours together in the dark telling of stories, but speaks of nothing but only her indiscretion in undervaluing herself to do it, but I will remedy that, but am vexed she should get some body to write so much because of making it publique. Then took coach and to visit my Lady Sandwich, where she discoursed largely to me her opinion of a match, if it could be thought fit by my Lord, for my Lady Jemimah, with Sir G. Carteret's eldest son; but I doubt he hath yet no settled estate in land. But I will inform myself, and give her my opinion. Then Mrs. Pickering (after private discourse ended, we going into the other room) did, at my Lady's command, tell me the manner of a masquerade [The masquerade at Court took place on the 2nd, and is referred to by Evelyn, who was present, in his Diary. Some amusing incidents connected with the entertainment are related in the "Grammont Memoirs" (chapter vii.).] before the King and Court the other day. Where six women (my Lady Castlemayne and Duchesse of Monmouth being two of them) and six men (the Duke of Monmouth and Lord Arran and Monsieur Blanfort, being three of them) in vizards, but most rich and antique dresses, did dance admirably and most gloriously. God give us cause to continue the mirthe! So home, and after awhile at my office to supper and to bed. 4th. Lay long in bed discoursing with my wife about her mayds, which by Jane's going away in discontent and against my opinion do make some trouble between my wife and me. But these are but foolish troubles and so not to be set to heart, yet it do disturb me mightily these things. To my office, and there all the morning. At noon being invited, I to the Sun behind the 'Change, to dinner to my Lord Belasses, where a great deal of discourse with him, and some good, among others at table he told us a very handsome passage of the King's sending him his message about holding out the town of Newarke, of which he was then governor for the King. This message he sent in a sluggbullet, being writ in cypher, and wrapped up in lead and swallowed. So the messenger come to my Lord and told him he had a message from the King, but it was yet in his belly; so they did give him some physique, and out it come. This was a month before the King's flying to the Scotts; and therein he told him that at such a day, being the 3d or 6th of May, he should hear of his being come to the Scotts, being assured by the King of France that in coming to them he should be used with all the liberty, honour, and safety, that could be desired. And at the just day he did come to the Scotts. He told us another odd passage: how the King having newly put out Prince Rupert of his generallshipp, upon some miscarriage at Bristoll, and Sir Richard Willis [Sir Richard Willis, the betrayer of the Royalists, was one of the "Sealed Knot." When the Restoration had become a certainty, he wrote to Clarendon imploring him to intercede for him with the king (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii., p. 87).] of his governorship of Newarke, at the entreaty of the gentry of the County, and put in my Lord Bellasses, the great officers of the King's army mutinyed, and come in that manner with swords drawn, into the market-place of the towne where the King was; which the King hearing, says, "I must to horse." And there himself personally, when every body expected they should have been opposed, the King come, and cried to the head of the mutineers, which was Prince Rupert, "Nephew, I command you to be gone." So the Prince, in all his fury and discontent, withdrew, and his company scattered, which they say was the greatest piece of mutiny in the world. Thence after dinner home to my office, and in the evening was sent to by Jane that I would give her her wages. So I sent for my wife to my office, and told her that rather than be talked on I would give her all her wages for this Quarter coming on, though two months is behind, which vexed my wife, and we begun to be angry, but I took myself up and sent her away, but was cruelly vexed in my mind that all my trouble in this world almost should arise from my disorders in my family and the indiscretion of a wife that brings me nothing almost (besides a comely person) but only trouble and discontent. She gone I late at my business, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Lay in bed most of the morning, then up and down to my chamber, among my new books, which is now a pleasant sight to me to see my whole study almost of one binding. So to dinner, and all the afternoon with W. Hewer at my office endorsing of papers there, my business having got before me much of late. In the evening comes to see me Mr. Sheply, lately come out of the country, who goes away again to-morrow, a good and a very kind man to me. There come also Mr. Andrews and Hill, and we sang very pleasantly; and so, they being gone, I and my wife to supper, and to prayers and bed. 6th. Up and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, but the Duke is gone abroad. So to White Hall to him, and there I spoke with him, and so to Westminster, did a little business, and then home to the 'Change, where also I did some business, and went off and ended my contract with the "Kingfisher" I hired for Tangier, and I hope to get something by it. Thence home to dinner, and visited Sir W. Batten, who is sick again, worse than he was, and I am apt to think is very ill. So to my office, and among other things with Sir W. Warren 4 hours or more till very late, talking of one thing or another, and have concluded a firm league with him in all just ways to serve him and myself all I can, and I think he will be a most usefull and thankfull man to me. So home to supper and to bed. This being one of the coldest days, all say, they ever felt in England; and I this day, under great apprehensions of getting an ague from my putting a suit on that hath lain by without ayring a great while, and I pray God it do not do me hurte. 7th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at home to dinner. It being Shrove Tuesday, had some very good fritters. All the afternoon and evening at the office, and at night home to supper and to bed. This day, Sir W. Batten, who hath been sicke four or five days, is now very bad, so as people begin to fear his death; and I am at a loss whether it will be better for me to have him die, because he is a bad man, or live, for fear a worse should come. 8th. Up and by coach to my Lord Peterborough's, where anon my Lord Ashly and Sir Thomas Ingram met, and Povy about his accounts, who is one of the most unhappy accountants that ever I knew in all my life, and one that if I were clear in reference to my bill of L117 he should be hanged before I would ever have to do with him, and as he understands nothing of his business himself, so he hath not one about him that do. Here late till I was weary, having business elsewhere, and thence home by coach, and after dinner did several businesses and very late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to my office, where all the morning very busy. At noon home to dinner, and then to my office again, where Sir William Petty come, among other things to tell me that Mr. Barlow [Thomas Barlow, Pepys's predecessor as Clerk of the Acts, to whom he paid part of the salary. Barlow held the office jointly with Dennis Fleeting.] is dead; for which, God knows my heart, I could be as sorry as is possible for one to be for a stranger, by whose death he gets L100 per annum, he being a worthy, honest man; but after having considered that when I come to consider the providence of God by this means unexpectedly to give me L100 a year more in my estate, I have cause to bless God, and do it from the bottom of my heart. So home late at night, after twelve o'clock, and so to bed. 10th. Up and abroad to Paul's Churchyard, there to see the last of my books new bound: among others, my "Court of King James," ["The Court and Character of King James, written and taken by Sir Anthony Weldon, being an eye and eare witnesse," was published in 1650, and reprinted in 1651 under the title of "Truth brought to Light" Weldon's book was answered in a work entitled "Aulicus Coquinariae." Both the original book and the answer were reprinted in "The Secret History of the Court of King James," Edinburgh, 1811, two vols. (edited by Sir Walter Scott).] and "The Rise and Fall of the Family of the Stewarts;" and much pleased I am now with my study; it being, methinks, a beautifull sight. Thence (in Mr. Grey's coach, who took me up), to Westminster, where I heard that yesterday the King met the Houses to pass the great bill for the L2,500,000. After doing a little business I home, where Mr. Moore dined with me, and evened our reckonings on my Lord Sandwich's bond to me for principal and interest. So that now on both there is remaining due to me L257. 7s., and I bless God it is no more. So all the afternoon at my office, and late home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 11th. Up and to my office, where all the morning. At noon to 'Change by coach with my Lord Brunkard, and thence after doing much business home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon till past 12 at night very busy. So home to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up and to church to St. Lawrence to hear Dr. Wilkins, the great scholar, for curiosity, I having never heard him: but was not satisfied with him at all, only a gentleman sat in the pew I by chance sat in, that sang most excellently, and afterward I found by his face that he had been a Paul's scholler, but know not his name, and I was also well pleased with the church, it being a very fine church. So home to dinner, and then to my office all the afternoon doing of business, and in the evening comes Mr. Hill (but no Andrews) and we spent the evening very finely, singing, supping and discoursing. Then to prayers and to bed. 13th. Up and to St. James's, did our usual business before the Duke. Thence I to Westminster and by water (taking Mr. Stapely the rope-maker by the way), to his rope-ground and to Limehouse, there to see the manner of stoves and did excellently inform myself therein, and coming home did go on board Sir W. Petty's "Experiment," which is a brave roomy vessel, and I hope may do well. So went on shore to a Dutch [house] to drink some mum, and there light upon some Dutchmen, with whom we had good discourse touching stoveing [Stoveing, in sail-making, is the heating of the bolt-ropes, so as to make them pliable.--B.] and making of cables. But to see how despicably they speak of us for our using so many hands more to do anything than they do, they closing a cable with 20, that we use 60 men upon. Thence home and eat something, and then to my office, where very late, and then to supper and to bed. Captain Stokes, it seems, is at last dead at Portsmouth. 14th (St. Valentine). This morning comes betimes Dicke Pen, to be my wife's Valentine, and come to our bedside. By the same token, I had him brought to my side, thinking to have made him kiss me; but he perceived me, and would not; so went to his Valentine: a notable, stout, witty boy. I up about business, and, opening the door, there was Bagwell's wife, with whom I talked afterwards, and she had the confidence to say she came with a hope to be time enough to be my Valentine, and so indeed she did, but my oath preserved me from loosing any time with her, and so I and my boy abroad by coach to Westminster, where did two or three businesses, and then home to the 'Change, and did much business there. My Lord Sandwich is, it seems, with his fleete at Alborough Bay. So home to dinner and then to the office, where till 12 almost at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon with Creed to dinner to Trinity-house, where a very good dinner among the old sokers, where an extraordinary discourse of the manner of the loss of the "Royall Oake" coming home from Bantam, upon the rocks of Scilly, many passages therein very extraordinary, and if I can I will get it in writing. Thence with Creed to Gresham College, where I had been by Mr. Povy the last week proposed to be admitted a member; [According to the minutes of the Royal Society for February 15th, 1664-65, "Mr. Pepys was unanimously elected and admitted." Notes of the experiments shown by Hooke and Boyle are given in Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., p. 15.] and was this day admitted, by signing a book and being taken by the hand by the President, my Lord Brunkard, and some words of admittance said to me. But it is a most acceptable thing to hear their discourse, and see their experiments; which were this day upon the nature of fire, and how it goes out in a place where the ayre is not free, and sooner out where the ayre is exhausted, which they showed by an engine on purpose. After this being done, they to the Crowne Taverne, behind the 'Change, and there my Lord and most of the company to a club supper; Sir P. Neale, Sir R. Murrey, Dr. Clerke, Dr. Whistler, Dr. Goddard, and others of most eminent worth. Above all, Mr. Boyle to-day was at the meeting, and above him Mr. Hooke, who is the most, and promises the least, of any man in the world that ever I saw. Here excellent discourse till ten at night, and then home, and to Sir W. Batten's, where I hear that Sir Thos. Harvy intends to put Mr. Turner out of his house and come in himself, which will be very hard to them, and though I love him not, yet for his family's sake I pity him. So home and to bed. 16th. Up, and with Mr. Andrews to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier, and there I did our victuallers' business for some more money, out of which I hope to get a little, of which I was glad; but, Lord! to see to what a degree of contempt, nay, scorn, Mr. Povy, through his prodigious folly, hath brought himself in his accounts, that if he be not a man of a great interest, he will be kicked out of his employment for a foole, is very strange, and that most deservedly that ever man was, for never any man, that understands accounts so little, ever went through so much, and yet goes through it with the greatest shame and yet with confidence that ever I saw man in my life. God deliver me in my owne business of my bill out of his hands, and if ever I foul my fingers with him again let me suffer for it! Back to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where Mrs. Hunt dined with me, and poor Mrs. Batters; who brought her little daughter with her, and a letter from her husband, wherein, as a token, the foole presents me very seriously with his daughter for me to take the charge of bringing up for him, and to make my owne. But I took no notice to her at all of the substance of the letter, but fell to discourse, and so went away to the office, where all the afternoon till almost one in the morning, and then home to bed. 17th. Up, and it being bitter cold, and frost and snow, which I had thought had quite left us, I by coach to Povy's, where he told me, as I knew already, how he was handled the other day, and is still, by my Lord Barkeley, and among other things tells me, what I did not know, how my Lord Barkeley will say openly, that he hath fought more set fields--[Battles or actions]--than any man in England hath done. I did my business with him, which was to get a little sum of money paid, and so home with Mr. Andrews, who met me there, and there to the office. At noon home and there found Lewellin, which vexed me out of my old jealous humour. So to my office, where till 12 at night, being only a little while at noon at Sir W. Batten's to see him, and had some high words with Sir J. Minnes about Sir W. Warren, he calling him cheating knave, but I cooled him, and at night at Sir W. Pen's, he being to go to Chatham to-morrow. So home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning; at noon to the 'Change, and thence to the Royall Oake taverne in Lumbard Streete, where Sir William Petty and the owners of the double-bottomed boat (the Experiment) did entertain my Lord Brunkard, Sir R. Murrey, myself, and others, with marrow bones and a chine of beefe of the victuals they have made for this ship; and excellent company and good discourse: but, above all, I do value Sir William Petty. Thence home; and took my Lord Sandwich's draught of the harbour of Portsmouth down to Ratcliffe, to one Burston, to make a plate for the King, and another for the Duke, and another for himself; which will be very neat. So home, and till almost one o'clock in the morning at my office, and then home to supper and to bed. My Lord Sandwich, and his fleete of twenty-five ships in the Downes, returned from cruising, but could not meet with any Dutchmen. 19th. Lay in bed, it being Lord's day, all the morning talking with my wife, sometimes pleased, sometimes displeased, and then up and to dinner. All the afternoon also at home, and Sir W. Batten's, and in the evening comes Mr. Andrews, and we sung together, and then to supper, he not staying, and at supper hearing by accident of my mayds their letting in a rogueing Scotch woman that haunts the office, to helpe them to washe and scoure in our house, and that very lately, I fell mightily out, and made my wife, to the disturbance of the house and neighbours, to beat our little girle, and then we shut her down into the cellar, and there she lay all night. So we to bed. 20th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to attend the Duke, and then we back again and rode into the beginning of my Lord Chancellor's new house, near St. James's; which common people have already called Dunkirke-house, from their opinion of his having a good bribe for the selling of that towne. And very noble I believe it will be. Near that is my Lord Barkeley beginning another on one side, and Sir J. Denham on the other. Thence I to the House of Lords and spoke with my Lord Bellasses, and so to the 'Change, and there did business, and so to the Sun taverne, haling in the morning had some high words with Sir J. Lawson about his sending of some bayled goods to Tangier, wherein the truth is I did not favour him, but being conscious that some of my profits may come out by some words that fell from him, and to be quiet, I have accommodated it. Here we dined merry; but my club and the rest come to 7s. 6d., which was too much. Thence to the office, and there found Bagwell's wife, whom I directed to go home, and I would do her business, which was to write a letter to my Lord Sandwich for her husband's advance into a better ship as there should be occasion. Which I did, and by and by did go down by water to Deptford, and then down further, and so landed at the lower end of the town, and it being dark 'entrer en la maison de la femme de Bagwell', and there had 'sa compagnie', though with a great deal of difficulty, 'neanmoins en fin j'avais ma volont d'elle', and being sated therewith, I walked home to Redriffe, it being now near nine o'clock, and there I did drink some strong waters and eat some bread and cheese, and so home. Where at my office my wife comes and tells me that she hath hired a chamber mayde, one of the prettiest maydes that ever she saw in her life, and that she is really jealous of me for her, but hath ventured to hire her from month to month, but I think she means merrily. So to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and to the office (having a mighty pain in my forefinger of my left hand, from a strain that it received last night) in struggling 'avec la femme que je' mentioned yesterday, where busy till noon, and then my wife being busy in going with her woman to a hot-house to bathe herself, after her long being within doors in the dirt, so that she now pretends to a resolution of being hereafter very clean. How long it will hold I can guess. I dined with Sir W. Batten and my Lady, they being now a'days very fond of me. So to the 'Change, and off of the 'Change with Mr. Wayth to a cook's shop, and there dined again for discourse with him about Hamaccos [Or hammock-battens: cleats or battens nailed to the sides of a vessel's beams, from which to suspend the seamen's hammocks.] and the abuse now practised in tickets, and more like every day to be. Also of the great profit Mr. Fen makes of his place, he being, though he demands but 5 per cent. of all he pays, and that is easily computed, but very little pleased with any man that gives him no more. So to the office, and after office my Lord Brunkerd carried me to Lincolne's Inne Fields, and there I with my Lady Sandwich (good lady) talking of innocent discourse of good housewifery and husbands for her daughters, and the luxury and looseness of the times and other such things till past 10 o'clock at night, and so by coach home, where a little at my office, and so to supper and to bed. My Lady tells me how my Lord Castlemayne is coming over from France, and is believed will be made friends with his Lady again. What mad freaks the Mayds of Honour at Court have: that Mrs. Jenings, one of the Duchesses mayds, the other day dressed herself like an orange wench, and went up and down and cried oranges; till falling down, or by such accident, though in the evening, her fine shoes were discerned, and she put to a great deale of shame; that such as these tricks being ordinary, and worse among them, thereby few will venture upon them for wives: my Lady Castlemayne will in merriment say that her daughter (not above a year old or two) will be the first mayde in the Court that will be married. This day my Lord Sandwich writ me word from the Downes, that he is like to be in towne this week. 22nd. Lay last night alone, my wife after her bathing lying alone in another bed. So cold all night. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon at the 'Change, busy; where great talk of a Dutch ship in the North put on shore, and taken by a troop of horse. Home to dinner and Creed with me. Thence to Gresham College, where very noble discourse, and thence home busy till past 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. Mrs. Bland come this night to take leave of me and my wife, going to Tangier. 23rd. This day, by the blessing of Almighty God, I have lived thirty-two years in the world, and am in the best degree of health at this minute that I have been almost in my life time, and at this time in the best condition of estate that ever I was in-the Lord make me thankfull. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, where I hear the most horrid and astonishing newes that ever was yet told in my memory, that De Ruyter with his fleete in Guinny hath proceeded to the taking of whatever we have, forts, goods, ships, and men, and tied our men back to back, and thrown them all into the sea, even women and children also. This a Swede or Hamburgher is come into the River and tells that he saw the thing done. [Similar reports of the cruelty of the English to the Dutch in Guinea were credited in Holland, and were related by Downing in a letter to Clarendon from the Hague, dated April 14th, 1665 (Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii., p. 374).] But, Lord! to see the consternation all our merchants are in is observable, and with what fury and revenge they discourse of it. But I fear it will like other things in a few days cool among us. But that which I fear most is the reason why he that was so kind to our men at first should afterward, having let them go, be so cruel when he went further. What I fear is that there he was informed (which he was not before) of some of Holmes's dealings with his countrymen, and so was moved to this fury. God grant it be not so! But a more dishonourable thing was never suffered by Englishmen, nor a more barbarous done by man, as this by them to us. Home to dinner, and then to the office, where we sat all the afternoon, and then at night to take my finall leave of Mrs. Bland, who sets out to-morrow for Tangier, and then I back to my office till past 12, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning upon advising again with some fishermen and the water bayliffe of the City, by Mr. Coventry's direction, touching the protections which are desired for the fishermen upon the River, and I am glad of the occasion to make me understand something of it. At noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon till 9 at night in my chamber, and Mr. Hater with me (to prevent being disturbed at the office), to perfect my contract book, which, for want of time, hath a long time lain without being entered in as I used to do from month to month. Then to my office, where till almost 12, and so home to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change; where just before I come, the Swede that had told the King and the Duke so boldly this great lie of the Dutch flinging our men back to back into the sea at Guinny, so particularly, and readily, and confidently, was whipt round the 'Change: he confessing it a lie, and that he did it in hopes to get something. It is said the judges, upon demand, did give it their opinion that the law would judge him to be whipt, to lose his eares, or to have his nose slit but I do not hear that anything more is to be done to him. They say he is delivered over to the Dutch Embassador to do what he pleased with him. But the world do think that there is some design on one side or other, either of the Dutch or French, for it is not likely a fellow would invent such a lie to get money whereas he might have hoped for a better reward by telling something in behalf of us to please us. Thence to the Sun taverne, and there dined with Sir W. Warren and Mr. Gifford, the merchant: and I hear how Nich. Colborne, that lately lived and got a great estate there, is gone to live like a prince in the country, and that this Wadlow, that did the like at the Devil by St. Dunstane's, did go into the country, and there spent almost all he had got, and hath now choused this Colborne out of his house, that he might come to his old trade again. But, Lord! to see how full the house is, no room for any company almost to come into it. Thence home to the office, where dispatched much business; at night late home, and to clean myself with warm water; my wife will have me, because she do herself, and so to bed. 26th (Sunday). Up and to church, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to my office, and there busy all the afternoon, till in the evening comes Mr. Andrews and Hill, and so home and to singing. Hill staid and supped with me, and very good discourse of Italy, where he was, which is always to me very agreeable. After supper, he gone, we to prayers and to bed. 27th. Up and to St. James's, where we attended the Duke as usual. This morning I was much surprized and troubled with a letter from Mrs. Bland, that she is left behind, and much trouble it cost me this day to find out some way to carry her after the ships to Plymouth, but at last I hope I have done it. At noon to the 'Change to inquire what wages the Dutch give in their men-of-warr at this day, and I hear for certain they give but twelve guilders at most, which is not full 24s., a thing I wonder at. At home to dinner, and then in Sir J. Minnes's coach, my wife and I with him, and also Mercer, abroad, he and I to White Hall, and he would have his coach to wait upon my wife on her visits, it being the first time my wife hath been out of doors (but the other day to bathe her) several weeks. We to a Committee of the Council to discourse concerning pressing of men; but, Lord! how they meet; never sit down: one comes, now another goes, then comes another; one complaining that nothing is done, another swearing that he hath been there these two hours and nobody come. At last it come to this, my Lord Annesly, says he, "I think we must be forced to get the King to come to every committee; for I do not see that we do any thing at any time but when he is here." And I believe he said the truth and very constant he is at the council table on council-days; which his predecessors, it seems, very rarely did; but thus I perceive the greatest affair in the world at this day is likely to be managed by us. But to hear how my Lord Barkeley and others of them do cry up the discipline of the late times here, and in the former Dutch warr is strange, wishing with all their hearts that the business of religion were not so severely carried on as to discourage the sober people to come among us, and wishing that the same law and severity were used against drunkennesse as there was then, saying that our evil living will call the hand of God upon us again. Thence to walk alone a good while in St. James's Parke with Mr. Coventry, who I perceive is grown a little melancholy and displeased to see things go as they do so carelessly. Thence I by coach to Ratcliffe highway, to the plate-maker's, and he has begun my Lord Sandwich's plate very neatly, and so back again. Coming back I met Colonell Atkins, who in other discourse did offer to give me a piece to receive of me 20 when he proves the late news of the Dutch, their drowning our men, at Guinny, and the truth is I find the generality of the world to fear that there is something of truth in it, and I do fear it too. Thence back by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's; and there he did contract with me a kind of friendship and freedom of communication, wherein he assures me to make me understand the whole business of the Treasurer's business of the Navy, that I shall know as well as Sir G. Carteret what money he hath; and will needs have me come to him sometimes, or he meet me, to discourse of things tending to the serving the King: and I am mighty proud and happy in becoming so known to such a man. And I hope shall pursue it. Thence back home to the office a little tired and out of order, and then to supper and to bed. 28th: At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home. After dinner my wife and I to my Lady batten's, it being the first time my wife hath been there, I think, these two years, but I had a mind in part to take away the strangenesse, and so we did, and all very quiett and kind. Come home, I to the taking my wife's kitchen accounts at the latter end of the month, and there find 7s. wanting, which did occasion a very high falling out between us, I indeed too angrily insisting upon so poor a thing, and did give her very provoking high words, calling her beggar, and reproaching her friends, which she took very stomachfully and reproached me justly with mine; and I confess, being myself, I cannot see what she could have done less. I find she is very cunning, and when she least shews it hath her wit at work; but it is an ill one, though I think not so bad but with good usage I might well bear with it, and the truth is I do find that my being over-solicitous and jealous and froward and ready to reproach her do make her worse. However, I find that now and then a little difference do no hurte, but too much of it will make her know her force too much. We parted after many high words very angry, and I to my office to my month's accounts, and find myself worth L1270, for which the Lord God be praised! So at almost 2 o'clock in the morning I home to supper and to bed, and so ends this month, with great expectation of the Hollanders coming forth, who are, it seems, very high and rather more ready than we. God give a good issue to it! MARCH 1664-1665 March 1st. Up, and this day being the day than: by a promise, a great while ago, made to my wife, I was to give her L20 to lay out in clothes against Easter, she did, notwithstanding last night's falling out, come to peace with me and I with her, but did boggle mightily at the parting with my money, but at last did give it her, and then she abroad to buy her things, and I to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon I to dinner at Trinity House, and thence to Gresham College, where Mr. Hooke read a second very curious lecture about the late Comett; among other things proving very probably that this is the very same Comett that appeared before in the year 1618, and that in such a time probably it will appear again, which is a very new opinion; but all will be in print. Then to the meeting, where Sir G. Carteret's two sons, his owne, and Sir N. Slaning, were admitted of the society: and this day I did pay my admission money, 40s. to the society. Here was very fine discourses and experiments, but I do lacke philosophy enough to understand them, and so cannot remember them. Among others, a very particular account of the making of the several sorts of bread in France, which is accounted the best place for bread in the world. So home, where very busy getting an answer to some question of Sir Philip Warwicke touching the expense of the navy, and that being done I by coach at 8 at night with my wife and Mercer to Sir Philip's and discoursed with him (leaving them in the coach), and then back with them home and to supper and to bed. 2nd. Begun this day to rise betimes before six o'clock, and, going down to call my people, found Besse and the girle with their clothes on, lying within their bedding upon the ground close by the fireside, and a candle burning all night, pretending they would rise to scoure. This vexed me, but Besse is going and so she will not trouble me long. Up, and by water to Burston about my Lord's plate, and then home to the office, so there all the morning sitting. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten (my wife being gone again to-day to buy things, having bought nothing yesterday for lack of Mrs. Pierces company), and thence to the office again, where very busy till 12 at night, and vexed at my wife's staying out so late, she not being at home at 9 o'clock, but at last she is come home, but the reason of her stay I know not yet. So shut up my books, and home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and abroad about several things, among others to see Mr. Peter Honiwood, who was at my house the other day, and I find it was for nothing but to pay me my brother John's Quarterage. Thence to see Mrs. Turner, who takes it mighty ill I did not come to dine with the Reader, her husband, which, she says, was the greatest feast that ever was yet kept by a Reader, and I believe it was well. But I am glad I did not go, which confirms her in an opinion that I am growne proud. Thence to the 'Change, and to several places, and so home to dinner and to my office, where till 12 at night writing over a discourse of mine to Mr. Coventry touching the Fishermen of the Thames upon a reference of the business by him to me concerning their being protected from presse. Then home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up very betimes, and walked, it being bitter cold, to Ratcliffe, to the plate-maker's and back again. To the office, where we sat all the morning, I, with being empty and full of ayre and wind, had some pain to-day. Dined alone at home, my wife being gone abroad to buy some more things. All the afternoon at the office. William Howe come to see me, being come up with my Lord from sea: he is grown a discreet, but very conceited fellow. He tells me how little respectfully Sir W. Pen did carry it to my Lord onboard the Duke's ship at sea; and that Captain Minnes, a favourite of Prince Rupert's, do shew my Lord little respect; but that every body else esteems my Lord as they ought. I am sorry for the folly of the latter, and vexed at the dissimulation of the former. At night home to supper and to bed. This day was proclaimed at the 'Change the war with Holland. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and Mr. Burston bringing me by order my Lord's plates, which he has been making this week. I did take coach and to my Lord Sandwich's and dined with my Lord; it being the first time he hath dined at home since his coming from sea: and a pretty odd demand it was of my Lord to my Lady before me: "How do you, sweetheart? How have you done all this week?" himself taking notice of it to me, that he had hardly seen her the week before. At dinner he did use me with the greatest solemnity in the world, in carving for me, and nobody else, and calling often to my Lady to cut for me; and all the respect possible. After dinner looked over the plates, liked them mightily, and indeed I think he is the most exact man in what he do in the world of that kind. So home again, and there after a song or two in the evening with Mr. Hill, I to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach, being a most lamentable cold day as any this year, to St. James's, and there did our business with the Duke. Great preparations for his speedy return to sea. I saw him try on his buff coat and hatpiece covered with black velvet. It troubles me more to think of his venture, than of anything else in the whole warr. Thence home to dinner, where I saw Besse go away; she having of all wenches that ever lived with us received the greatest love and kindnesse and good clothes, besides wages, and gone away with the greatest ingratitude. I then abroad to look after my Hamaccoes, and so home, and there find our new chamber-mayde, Mary, come, which instead of handsome, as my wife spoke and still seems to reckon, is a very ordinary wench, I think, and therein was mightily disappointed. To my office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed, and was troubled all this night with a pain in my left testicle, that run up presently into my left kidney and there kept akeing all night. In great pain. 7th. Up, and was pretty well, but going to the office, and I think it was sitting with my back to the fire, it set me in a great rage again, that I could not continue till past noon at the office, but was forced to go home, nor could sit down to dinner, but betook myself to my bed, and being there a while my pain begun to abate and grow less and less. Anon I went to make water, not dreaming of any thing but my testicle that by some accident I might have bruised as I used to do, but in pissing there come from me two stones, I could feel them, and caused my water to be looked into; but without any pain to me in going out, which makes me think that it was not a fit of the stone at all; for my pain was asswaged upon my lying down a great while before I went to make water. Anon I made water again very freely and plentifully. I kept my bed in good ease all the evening, then rose and sat up an hour or two, and then to bed and lay till 8 o'clock, and then, 8th. Though a bitter cold day, yet I rose, and though my pain and tenderness in my testicle remains a little, yet I do verily think that my pain yesterday was nothing else, and therefore I hope my disease of the stone may not return to me, but void itself in pissing, which God grant, but I will consult my physitian. This morning is brought me to the office the sad newes of "The London," in which Sir J. Lawson's men were all bringing her from Chatham to the Hope, and thence he was to go to sea in her; but a little a'this side the buoy of the Nower, she suddenly blew up. About 24 [men] and a woman that were in the round-house and coach saved; the rest, being above 300, drowned: the ship breaking all in pieces, with 80 pieces of brass ordnance. She lies sunk, with her round-house above water. Sir J. Lawson hath a great loss in this of so many good chosen men, and many relations among them. I went to the 'Change, where the news taken very much to heart. So home to dinner, and Mr. Moore with me. Then I to Gresham College, and there saw several pretty experiments, and so home and to my office, and at night about I I home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the afternoon. At noon to dinner at home, and then abroad with my wife, left her at the New Exchange and I to Westminster, where I hear Mrs. Martin is brought to bed of a boy and christened Charles, which I am very glad of, for I was fearful of being called to be a godfather to it. But it seems it was to be done suddenly, and so I escaped. It is strange to see how a liberty and going abroad without purpose of doing anything do lead a man to what is bad, for I was just upon going to her, where I must of necessity [have] broken my oath or made a forfeit. But I did not, company being (I heard by my porter) with her, and so I home again, taking up my wife, and was set down by her at Paule's Schoole, where I visited Mr. Crumlum at his house; and, Lord! to see how ridiculous a conceited pedagogue he is, though a learned man, he being so dogmaticall in all he do and says. But among other discourse, we fell to the old discourse of Paule's Schoole; and he did, upon my declaring my value of it, give me one of Lilly's grammars of a very old impression, as it was in the Catholique times, which I shall much set by. And so, after some small discourse, away and called upon my wife at a linen draper's shop buying linen, and so home, and to my office, where late, and home to supper and to bed. This night my wife had a new suit of flowered ash-coloured silke, very noble. 10th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, where very hot, people's proposal of the City giving the King' another ship for "The London," that is lately blown up, which would be very handsome, and if well managed, might be done; but I fear if it be put into ill hands, or that the courtiers do solicit it, it will never be done. Home to dinner, and thence to the Committee of Tangier at White Hall, where my Lord Barkely and Craven and others; but, Lord! to see how superficially things are done in the business of the Lottery, which will be the disgrace of the Fishery, and without profit. Home, vexed at my loss of time, and thereto my office. Late at night come the two Bellamys, formerly petty warrant Victuallers of the Navy, to take my advice about a navy debt of theirs for the compassing of which they offer a great deal of money, and the thing most just. Perhaps I may undertake it, and get something by it, which will be a good job. So home late to bed. 11th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner, and to the office again, where very late, and then home to supper and to bed. This day returned Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes from Lee Roade, where they have been to see the wrecke of "The London," out of which, they say, the guns may be got, but the hull of her will be wholly lost, as not being capable of being weighed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and borrowing Sir J. Minnes's coach, to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was gone abroad. I sent the coach back for my wife, my Lord a second time dining at home on purpose to meet me, he having not dined once at home but those times since his coming from sea. I sat down and read over the Bishop of Chichester's' sermon upon the anniversary of the King's death, much cried up, but, methinks, but a mean sermon. By and by comes in my Lord, and he and I to talke of many things in the Navy, one from another, in general, to see how the greatest things are committed to very ordinary men, as to parts and experience, to do; among others, my Lord Barkeley. We talked also of getting W. Howe to be put into the Muster-Mastershipp in the roome of Creed, if Creed will give way, but my Lord do it without any great gusto, calling Howe a proud coxcomb in passion. Down to dinner, where my wife in her new lace whiske, which, indeed, is very noble, and I much pleased with it, and so my Lady also. Here very pleasant my Lord was at dinner, and after dinner did look over his plate, which Burston hath brought him to-day, and is the last of the three that he will have made. After satisfied with that, he abroad, and I after much discourse with my Lady about Sir G. Carteret's son, of whom she hath some thoughts for a husband for my Lady Jemimah, we away home by coach again, and there sang a good while very pleasantly with Mr. Andrews and Hill. They gone; we to supper, and betimes to bed. 13th. Up betimes, this being the first morning of my promise upon a forfeite not to lie in bed a quarter of an hour after my first waking. Abroad to St. James's, and there much business, the King also being with us a great while. Thence to the 'Change, and thence with Captain Tayler and Sir W. Warren dined at a house hard by for discourse sake, and so I home, and there meeting a letter from Mrs. Martin desiring to speak with me, I (though against my promise of visiting her) did go, and there found her in her childbed dress desiring my favour to get her husband a place. I staid not long, but taking Sir W. Warren up at White Hall home, and among other discourse fell to a business which he says shall if accomplished bring me L100. He gone, I to supper and to bed. This day my wife begun to wear light-coloured locks, quite white almost, which, though it makes her look very pretty, yet not being natural, vexes me, that I will not have her wear them. This day I saw my Lord Castlemayne at St. James's, lately come from France. 14th. Up before six, to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, at the Tower, with Sir J. Robinson, at a farewell dinner which he gives Major Holmes at his going out of the Tower, where he hath for some time, since his coming from Guinny, been a prisoner, and, it seems, had presented the Lieutenant with fifty pieces yesterday. Here a great deale of good victuals and company. Thence home to my office, where very late, and home to supper and to bed weary of business. 15th. Up and by coach with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, where among other things before the Duke, Captain Taylor was called in, and, Sir J. Robinson his accuser not appearing, was acquitted quite from his charge, and declared that he should go to Harwich, which I was very well pleased at. Thence I to Mr. Coventry's chamber, and there privately an houre with him in discourse of the office, and did deliver to him many notes of things about which he is to get the Duke's command, before he goes, for the putting of business among us in better order. He did largely owne his dependance as to the office upon my care, and received very great expressions of love from him, and so parted with great satisfaction to myself. So home to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner, where my wife being gone down upon a sudden warning from my Lord Sandwich's daughters to the Hope with them to see "The Prince," I dined alone. After dinner to the office, and anon to Gresham College, where, among other good discourse, there was tried the great poyson of Maccassa upon a dogg, ["The experiment of trying to poison a dog with some of the Macassar powder in which a needle had been dipped was made, but without success."--Pepys himself made a communication at this meeting of the information he had received from the master of the Jersey ship, who had been in company of Major Holmes in the Guinea voyage, concerning the pendulum watches (Birch's "History," vol. ii., p. 23).] but it had no effect all the time we sat there. We anon broke up and I home, where late at my office, my wife not coming home. I to bed, troubled, about 12 or past. 16th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, my wife coming home from the water this morning, having lain with them on board "The Prince" all night. At noon home to dinner, where my wife told me the unpleasant journey she had yesterday among the children, whose fear upon the water and folly made it very unpleasing to her. A good dinner, and then to the office again. This afternoon Mr. Harris, the sayle-maker, sent me a noble present of two large silver candlesticks and snuffers, and a slice to keep them upon, which indeed is very handsome. At night come Mr. Andrews with L36, the further fruits of my Tangier contract, and so to bed late and weary with business, but in good content of mind, blessing God for these his benefits. 17th. Up and to my office, and then with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, where many come to take leave, as was expected, of the Duke, but he do not go till Monday. This night my Lady Wood died of the small-pox, and is much lamented among the great persons for a good-natured woman and a good wife, but for all that it was ever believed she was as others are. The Duke did give us some commands, and so broke up, not taking leave of him. But the best piece of newes is, that instead of a great many troublesome Lords, the whole business is to be left with the Duke of Albemarle to act as Admirall in his stead; which is a thing that do cheer my heart. For the other would have vexed us with attendance, and never done the business. Thence to the Committee of Tangier, where the Duke a little, and then left us and we staid. A very great Committee, the Lords Albemarle, Sandwich, Barkely, Fitzharding, Peterborough, Ashley, Sir Thos. Ingram, Sir G. Carteret and others. The whole business was the stating of Povy's accounts, of whom to say no more, never could man say worse himself nor have worse said of him than was by the company to his face; I mean, as to his folly and very reflecting words to his honesty. Broke up without anything but trouble and shame, only I got my businesses done to the signing of two bills for the Contractors and Captain Taylor, and so come away well pleased, and home, taking up my wife at the 'Change, to dinner. After dinner out again bringing my wife to her father's again at Charing Cross, and I to the Committee again, where a new meeting of trouble about Povy, who still makes his business worse and worse, and broke up with the most open shame again to him, and high words to him of disgrace that they would not trust him with any more money till he had given an account of this. So broke up. Then he took occasion to desire me to step aside, and he and I by water to London together. In the way, of his owne accord, he proposed to me that he would surrender his place of Treasurer' to me to have half the profit. The thing is new to me; but the more I think the more I like it, and do put him upon getting it done by the Duke. Whether it takes or no I care not, but I think at present it may have some convenience in it. Home, and there find my wife come home and gone to bed, of a cold got yesterday by water. At the office Bellamy come to me again, and I am in hopes something may be got by his business. So late home to supper and bed. 18th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and took Mr. Hill along with me to Mr. Povy's, where we dined, and shewed him the house to his good content, and I expect when we meet we shall laugh at it. But I having business to stay, he went away, and Povy and Creed and I to do some business upon Povy's accounts all the afternoon till late at night, where, God help him! never man was so confounded, and all his people about him in this world as he and his are. After we had done something [to the] purpose we broke up, and Povy acquainted me before Creed (having said something of it also this morning at our office to me) what he had done in speaking to the Duke and others about his making me Treasurer, and has carried it a great way, so as I think it cannot well be set back. Creed, I perceive, envies me in it, but I think as that will do me no hurte, so if it did I am at a great losse to think whether it were not best for me to let it wholly alone, for it will much disquiett me and my business of the Navy, which in this warr will certainly be worth all my time to me. Home, continuing in this doubtfull condition what to think of it, but God Almighty do his will in it for the best. To my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Mr. Povy sent his coach for me betimes, and I to him, and there to our great trouble do find that my Lord FitzHarding do appear for Mr. Brunkard [Henry Brouncker, younger brother of William, Viscount Brouncker, President of the Royal Society. He was Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke of York, and succeeded to the office of Cofferer on the death of William Ashburnham in 1671. His character was bad, and his conduct in the sea-fight of 1665 was impugned. He was expelled from the House of Commons, but succeeded to his brother's title in 1684. He died in January, 1687.] to be Paymaster upon Povy's going out, by a former promise of the Duke's, and offering to give as much as any for it. This put us all into a great dumpe, and so we went to Creed's new lodging in the Mewes, and there we found Creed with his parrot upon his shoulder, which struck Mr. Povy coming by just by the eye, very deep, which, had it hit his eye, had put it out. This a while troubled us, but not proving very bad, we to our business consulting what to do; at last resolved, and I to Mr. Coventry, and there had his most friendly and ingenuous advice, advising me not to decline the thing, it being that that will bring me to be known to great persons, while now I am buried among three or four of us, says he, in the Navy; but do not make a declared opposition to my Lord FitzHarding. Thence I to Creed, and walked talking in the Park an hour with him, and then to my Lord Sandwich's to dinner, and after dinner to Mr. Povy's, who hath been with the Duke of Yorke, and, by the mediation of Mr. Coventry, the Duke told him that the business shall go on, and he will take off Brunkerd, and my Lord FitzHarding is quiett too. But to see the mischief, I hear that Sir G. Carteret did not seem pleased, but said nothing when he heard me proposed to come in Povy's room, which may learn me to distinguish between that man that is a man's true and false friend. Being very glad of this news Mr. Povy and I in his coach to Hyde Parke, being the first day of the tour there. Where many brave ladies; among others, Castlemayne lay impudently upon her back in her coach asleep, with her mouth open. There was also my Lady Kerneguy, [Daughter of William, Duke of Hamilton, wife of Lord Carnegy, who became Earl of Southesk on his father's death. She is frequently mentioned in the "Memoires de Grammont," and in the letters of the second Earl of Chesterfield.--B.] once my Lady Anne Hambleton, that is said to have given the Duke a clap upon his first coming over. Here I saw Sir J. Lawson's daughter and husband, a fine couple, and also Mr. Southwell and his new lady, very pretty. Thence back, putting in at Dr. Whore's, where I saw his lady, a very fine woman. So home, and thither by my desire comes by and by Creed and lay with me, very merry and full of discourse, what to do to-morrow, and the conveniences that will attend my having of this place, and I do think they may be very great. 20th. Up, Creed and I, and had Mr. Povy's coach sent for us, and we to his house; where we did some business in order to the work of this day. Povy and I to my Lord Sandwich, who tells me that the Duke is not only a friend to the business, but to me, in terms of the greatest love and respect and value of me that can be thought, which overjoys me. Thence to St. James's, and there was in great doubt of Brunkerd, but at last I hear that Brunkerd desists. The Duke did direct Secretary Bennet, who was there, to declare his mind to the Tangier Committee, that he approves of me for Treasurer; and with a character of me to be a man whose industry and discretion he would trust soon as any man's in England: and did the like to my Lord Sandwich. So to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, where there were present, my Lord of Albemarle, my Lord Peterborough, Sandwich, Barkeley, FitzHarding, Secretary Bennet, Sir Thomas Ingram, Sir John Lawson, Povy and I. Where, after other business, Povy did declare his business very handsomely; that he was sorry he had been so unhappy in his accounts, as not to give their Lordships the satisfaction he intended, and that he was sure his accounts are right, and continues to submit them to examination, and is ready to lay down in ready money the fault of his account; and that for the future, that the work might be better done and with more quiet to him, he desired, by approbation of the Duke, he might resign his place to Mr. Pepys. Whereupon, Secretary Bennet did deliver the Duke's command, which was received with great content and allowance beyond expectation; the Secretary repeating also the Duke's character of me. And I could discern my Lord FitzHarding was well pleased with me, and signified full satisfaction, and whispered something seriously of me to the Secretary. And there I received their constitution under all their hands presently; so that I am already confirmed their Treasurer, and put into a condition of striking of tallys; [The practice of striking tallies at the Exchequer was a curious survival of an ancient method of keeping accounts. The method adopted is described in Hubert Hall's "Antiquities and Curiosities of the Exchequer," 1891. The following account of the use of tallies, so frequently alluded to in the Diary, was supplied by Lord Braybrooke. Formerly accounts were kept, and large sums of money paid and received, by the King's Exchequer, with little other form than the exchange or delivery of tallies, pieces of wood notched or scored, corresponding blocks being kept by the parties to the account; and from this usage one of the head officers of the Exchequer was called the tallier, or teller. These tallies were often negotiable; Adam Smith, in his "Wealth of Nations," book ii., ch. xi., says that "in 1696 tallies had been at forty, and fifty, and sixty per cent. discount, and bank-notes at twenty per cent." The system of tallies was discontinued in 1824; and the destruction of the old Houses of Parliament, in the night of October 16th, 1834, is thought to have been occasioned by the overheating of the flues, when the furnaces were employed to consume the tallies rendered useless by the alteration in the mode of keeping the Exchequer accounts.] and all without one harsh word or word of dislike, but quite the contrary; which is a good fortune beyond all imagination. Here we rose, and Povy and Creed and I, all full of joy, thence to dinner, they setting me down at Sir J. Winter's, by promise, and dined with him; and a worthy fine man he seems to be, and of good discourse, our business was to discourse of supplying the King with iron for anchors, if it can be judged good enough, and a fine thing it is to see myself come to the condition of being received by persons of this rank, he being, and having long been, Secretary to the Queene-Mother. Thence to Povy's, and there sat and considered of business a little and then home, where late at it, W. Howe being with me about his business of accounts for his money laid out in the fleet, and he gone, I home to supper and to bed. Newes is this day come of Captain Allen's being come home from the Straights, as far as Portland, with eleven of the King's ships, and about twenty-two of merchantmen. 21st. Up, and my taylor coming to me, did consult all my wardrobe how to order my clothes against next summer. Then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon to the 'Change, and brought home Mr. Andrews, and there with Mr. Sheply dined and very merry, and a good dinner. Thence to Mr. Povy's to discourse about settling our business of Treasurer, and I think all things will go very fayre between us and to my content, but the more I see the more silly the man seems to me. Thence by coach to the Mewes, but Creed was not there. In our way the coach drove through a lane by Drury Lane, where abundance of loose women stood at the doors, which, God forgive me, did put evil thoughts in me, but proceeded no further, blessed be God. So home, and late at my office, then home and there found a couple of state cups, very large, coming, I suppose, each to about L6 a piece, from Burrows the slopseller. 22nd. Up, and to Mr. Povy's about our business, and thence I to see Sir Ph. Warwicke, but could not meet with him. So to Mr. Coventry, whose profession of love and esteem for me to myself was so large and free that I never could expect or wish for more, nor could have it from any man in England, that I should value it more. Thence to Mr. Povy's, and with Creed to the 'Change and to my house, but, it being washing day, dined not at home, but took him (I being invited) to Mr. Hubland's, the merchant, where Sir William Petty, and abundance of most ingenious men, owners and freighters of "The Experiment," now going with her two bodies to sea. Most excellent discourse. Among others, Sir William Petty did tell me that in good earnest he hath in his will left such parts of his estate to him that could invent such and such things. As among others, that could discover truly the way of milk coming into the breasts of a woman; and he that could invent proper characters to express to another the mixture of relishes and tastes. And says, that to him that invents gold, he gives nothing for the philosopher's stone; for (says he) they that find out that, will be able to pay themselves. But, says he, by this means it is better than to give to a lecture; for here my executors, that must part with this, will be sure to be well convinced of the invention before they do part with their money. After dinner Mr. Hill took me with Mrs. Hubland, who is a fine gentlewoman, into another room, and there made her sing, which she do very well, to my great content. Then to Gresham College, and there did see a kitling killed almost quite, but that we could not quite kill her, with such a way; the ayre out of a receiver, wherein she was put, and then the ayre being let in upon her revives her immediately; ["Two experiments were made for the finding out a way to breathe under water, useful for divers." The first was on a bird and the second on "a kitling" (Birch's "History," vol. ii., p. 25).] nay, and this ayre is to be made by putting together a liquor and some body that ferments, the steam of that do do the work. Thence home, and thence to White Hall, where the house full of the Duke's going to-morrow, and thence to St. James's, wherein these things fell out: (1) I saw the Duke, kissed his hand, and had his most kind expressions of his value and opinion of me, which comforted me above all things in the world, (2) the like from Mr. Coventry most heartily and affectionately. (3) Saw, among other fine ladies, Mrs. Middleton, [Jane, daughter to Sir Robert Needham, is frequently mentioned in the "Grammont Memoirs," and Evelyn calls her "that famous and indeed incomparable beauty" ("Diary," August 2nd, 1683). Her portrait is in the Royal Collection amongst the beauties of Charles II.'s Court. Sir Robert Needham was related to John Evelyn.] a very great beauty I never knew or heard of before; (4) I saw Waller the poet, whom I never saw before. So, very late, by coach home with W. Pen, who was there. To supper and to bed, with my heart at rest, and my head very busy thinking of my several matters now on foot, the new comfort of my old navy business, and the new one of my employment on Tangier. 23rd. Up and to my Lord Sandwich, who follows the Duke this day by water down to the Hope, where "The Prince" lies. He received me, busy as he was, with mighty kindness and joy at my promotions; telling me most largely how the Duke hath expressed on all occasions his good opinion of my service and love for me. I paid my thanks and acknowledgement to him; and so back home, where at the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change. Home, and Lewellin dined with me. Thence abroad, carried my wife to Westminster by coach, I to the Swan, Herbert's, and there had much of the good company of Sarah and to my wish, and then to see Mrs. Martin, who was very kind, three weeks of her month of lying in is over. So took up my wife and home, and at my office a while, and thence to supper and to bed. Great talk of noises of guns heard at Deale, but nothing particularly whether in earnest or not. 24th. Up betimes, and by agreement to the Globe taverne in Fleet Street to Mr. Clerke, my sollicitor, about the business of my uncle's accounts, and we went with one Jefferys to one of the Barons (Spelman), and there my accounts were declared and I sworn to the truth thereof to my knowledge, and so I shall after a few formalities be cleared of all. Thence to Povy's, and there delivered him his letters of greatest import to him that is possible, yet dropped by young Bland, just come from Tangier, upon the road by Sittingburne, taken up and sent to Mr. Pett, at Chatham. Thus everything done by Povy is done with a fatal folly and neglect. Then to our discourse with him, Creed, Mr. Viner, myself and Poyntz about the business of the Workehouse at Clerkenwell, and after dinner went thither and saw all the works there, and did also consult the Act concerning the business and other papers in order to our coming in to undertake it with Povy, the management of the House, but I do not think we can safely meddle with it, at least I, unless I had time to look after it myself, but the thing is very ingenious and laudable. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, where my wife all this day, having kept Good Friday very strict with fasting. Here we supped, and talked very merry. My Lady alone with me, very earnest about Sir G. Carteret's son, with whom I perceive they do desire my Lady Jemimah may be matched. Thence home and to my office, and then to bed. 25th (Lady day). Up betimes and to my office, where all the morning. At noon dined alone with Sir W. Batten, where great discourse of Sir W. Pen, Sir W. Batten being, I perceive, quite out of love with him, thinking him too great and too high, and began to talk that the world do question his courage, upon which I told him plainly I have been told that he was articled against for it, and that Sir H. Vane was his great friend therein. This he was, I perceive, glad to hear. Thence to the office, and there very late, very busy, to my great content. This afternoon of a sudden is come home Sir W. Pen from the fleete, but upon what score I know not. Late home to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day and Easter day). Up (and with my wife, who has not been at church a month or two) to church. At noon home to dinner, my wife and I (Mercer staying to the Sacrament) alone. This is the day seven years which, by the blessing of God, I have survived of my being cut of the stone, and am now in very perfect good health and have long been; and though the last winter hath been as hard a winter as any have been these many years, yet I never was better in my life, nor have not, these ten years, gone colder in the summer than I have done all this winter, wearing only a doublet, and a waistcoate cut open on the back; abroad, a cloake and within doors a coate I slipped on. Now I am at a losse to know whether it be my hare's foot which is my preservative against wind, for I never had a fit of the collique since I wore it, and nothing but wind brings me pain, and the carrying away of wind takes away my pain, or my keeping my back cool; for when I do lie longer than ordinary upon my back in bed, my water the next morning is very hot, or whether it be my taking of a pill of turpentine every morning, which keeps me always loose, or all together, but this I know, with thanks to God Almighty, that I am now as well as ever I can wish or desire to be, having now and then little grudgings of wind, that brings me a little pain, but it is over presently, only I do find that my backe grows very weak, that I cannot stoop to write or tell money without sitting but I have pain for a good while after it. Yet a week or two ago I had one day's great pain; but it was upon my getting a bruise on one of my testicles, and then I did void two small stones, without pain though, and, upon my going to bed and bearing up of my testicles, I was well the next. But I did observe that my sitting with my back to the fire at the office did then, as it do at all times, make my back ake, and my water hot, and brings me some pain. I sent yesterday an invitation to Mrs. Turner and her family to come to keep this day with me, which she granted, but afterward sent me word that it being Sunday and Easter day she desired to choose another and put off this. Which I was willing enough to do; and so put it off as to this day, and will leave it to my own convenience when to choose another, and perhaps shall escape a feast by it. At my office all the afternoon drawing up my agreement with Mr. Povy for me to sign to him tomorrow morning. In the evening spent an hour in the garden walking with Sir J. Minnes, talking of the Chest business, wherein Sir W. Batten deals so unfairly, wherein the old man is very hot for the present, but that zeal will not last nor is to be trusted. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed. 27th. Up betimes to Mr. Povy's, and there did sign and seal my agreement with him about my place of being Treasurer for Tangier, it being the greatest part of it drawnout of a draught of his own drawing up, only I have added something here and there in favour of myself. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, the first time that we officers of the Navy have waited upon him since the Duke of Yorke's going, who hath deputed him to be Admirall in his absence. And I find him a quiet heavy man, that will help business when he can, and hinder nothing, and am very well pleased with our attendance on him. I did afterwards alone give him thanks for his favour to me about my Tangier business, which he received kindly, and did speak much of his esteem of me. Thence, and did the same to Sir H. Bennet, who did the like to me very fully, and did give me all his letters lately come from hence for me to read, which I returned in the afternoon to him. Thence to Mrs. Martin, who, though her husband is gone away, as he writes, like a fool into France, yet is as simple and wanton as ever she was, with much I made myself merry and away. So to my Lord Peterborough's; where Povy, Creed, Williamson, Auditor Beale, and myself, and mighty merry to see how plainly my Lord and Povy did abuse one another about their accounts, each thinking the other a foole, and I thinking they were not either of them, in that point, much in the wrong, though in everything, and even in this manner of reproaching one another, very witty and pleasant. Among other things, we had here the genteelest dinner and the neatest house that I have seen many a day, and the latter beyond anything I ever saw in a nobleman's house. Thence visited my Lord Barkeley, and did sit discoursing with him in his chamber a good while, and [he] mighty friendly to me about the same business of Tangier. From that to other discourse of the times and the want of money, and he said that the Parliament must be called again soon, and more money raised, not by tax, for he said he believed the people could not pay it, but he would have either a general excise upon everything, or else that every city incorporate should pay a toll into the King's revenue, as he says it is in all the cities in the world; for here a citizen hath no more laid on them than their neighbours in the country, whereas, as a city, it ought to pay considerably to the King for their charter; but I fear this will breed ill blood. Thence to Povy, and after a little talk home to my office late. Then to supper and to bed. 28th. Up betimes and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I did most of the business there, God wot. Then to the 'Change, and thence to the Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, where much good discourse for us both till 9 o'clock with great pleasure and content, and then parted and I home to dinner, having eat nothing, and so to my office. At night supped with my wife at Sir W. Pen's, who is to go back for good and all to the fleete to-morrow. Took leave and to my office, where till 12 at night, and then home to bed. 29th. Up betimes and to Povy's, where a good while talking about our business; thence abroad into the City, but upon his tally could not get any money in Lumbard Streete, through the disrepute which he suffers, I perceive, upon his giving up his place, which people think was not choice, but necessity, as indeed it was. So back to his house, after we had been at my house to taste my wine, but my wife being abroad nobody could come at it, and so we were defeated. To his house, and before dinner he and I did discourse of the business of freight, wherein I am so much concerned, above L100 for myself, and in my over hasty making a bill out for the rest for him, but he resolves to move Creed in it. Which troubled me much, and Creed by and by comes, and after dinner he did, but in the most cunning ingenious manner, do his business with Creed by bringing it in by the by, that the most subtile man in the world could never have done it better, and I must say that he is a most witty, cunning man and one that I (am) most afeard of in my conversation, though in all serious matters of business the eeriest foole that ever I met with. The bill was produced and a copy given Creed, whereupon he wrote his Intratur upon the originall, and I hope it will pass, at least I am now put to it that I must stand by it and justify it, but I pray God it may never come to that test. Thence between vexed and joyed, not knowing what yet to make of it, home, calling for my Lord Cooke's 3 volumes at my bookseller's, and so home, where I found a new cook mayd, her name is-----that promises very little. So to my office, where late about drawing up a proposal for Captain Taylor, for him to deliver to the City about his building the new ship, which I have done well, and I hope will do the business, and so home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and to my Lord Ashly, but did nothing, and to Sir Ph. Warwicke and spoke with him about business, and so back to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence to the Tangier Committee, where, Lord! to see how they did run into the giving of Sir J. Lawson (who is come to towne to-day to get this business done) L4000 about his Mole business, and were going to give him 4s. per yarde more, which arises in the whole Mole to L36,000, is a strange thing, but the latter by chance was stopped, the former was given. Thence to see Mrs. Martin, whose husband being it seems gone away, and as she is informed he hath another woman whom he uses, and has long done, as a wife, she is mighty reserved and resolved to keep herself so till the return of her husband, which a pleasant thing to think of her. Thence home, and to my office, where late, and to bed. 31st. Up betimes and walked to my Lord Ashly, and there with Creed after long waiting spoke with him, and was civilly used by him; thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke, and then to visit my Lord of Falmouth, who did also receive me pretty civilly, but not as I expected; he, I perceive, believing that I had undertaken to justify Povy's accounts, taking them upon myself, but I rectified him therein. So to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, and up to her chamber after dinner, and there discoursed about Sir G. Carteret's son, in proposition between us two for my Lady Jemimah. So to Povy, and with him spent the afternoon very busy, till I was weary of following this and neglecting my navy business. So at night called my wife at my Lady's, and so home. To my office and there made up my month's account, which, God be praised! rose to L1300. Which I bless God for. So after 12 o'clock home to supper and to bed. I find Creed mightily transported by my Lord of Falmouth's kind words to him, and saying that he hath a place in his intention for him, which he believes will be considerable. A witty man he is in every respect, but of no good nature, nor a man ordinarily to be dealt with. My Lady Castlemayne is sicke again, people think, slipping her filly. APRIL 1665 April 1st. All the morning very busy at the office preparing a last half-year's account for my Lord Treasurer. At noon eat a bit and stepped to Sir Ph. Warwicke, by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and after some private conference and examining of my papers with him I did return into the City and to Sir G. Carteret, whom I found with the Commissioners of Prizes dining at Captain Cocke's, in Broad Streete, very merry. Among other tricks, there did come a blind fiddler to the doore, and Sir G. Carteret did go to the doore and lead the blind fiddler by the hand in. Thence with Sir G. Carteret to my Lord Treasurer, and by and by come Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, and anon we come to my Lord, and there did lay open the expence for the six months past, and an estimate of the seven months to come, to November next: the first arising to above L500,000, and the latter will, as we judge, come to above L1,000,000. But to see how my Lord Treasurer did bless himself, crying he could do no more than he could, nor give more money than he had, if the occasion and expence were never so great, which is but a sad story. And then to hear how like a passionate and ignorant asse Sir G. Carteret did harangue upon the abuse of Tickets did make me mad almost and yet was fain to hold my tongue. Thence home, vexed mightily to see how simply our greatest ministers do content themselves to understand and do things, while the King's service in the meantime lies a-bleeding. At my office late writing letters till ready to drop down asleep with my late sitting up of late, and running up and down a-days. So to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). At my office all the morning, renewing my vowes in writing and then home to dinner. All the afternoon, Mr. Tasborough, one of Mr. Povy's clerks, with me about his master's accounts. In the evening Mr. Andrews and Hill sang, but supped not with me, then after supper to bed. 3rd. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle and White Hall, where much business. Thence home and to dinner, and then with Creed, my wife, and Mercer to a play at the Duke's, of my Lord Orrery's, called "Mustapha," which being not good, made Betterton's part and Ianthe's but ordinary too, so that we were not contented with it at all. Thence home and to the office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. All the pleasure of the play was, the King and my Lady Castlemayne were there; and pretty witty Nell,--[Nell Gwynne]--at the King's house, and the younger Marshall sat next us; which pleased me mightily. 4th. All the morning at the office busy, at noon to the 'Change, and then went up to the 'Change to buy a pair of cotton stockings, which I did at the husband's shop of the most pretty woman there, who did also invite me to buy some linnen of her, and I was glad of the occasion, and bespoke some bands of her, intending to make her my seamstress, she being one of the prettiest and most modest looked women that ever I did see. Dined at home and to the office, where very late till I was ready to fall down asleep, and did several times nod in the middle of my letters. 5th. This day was kept publiquely by the King's command, as a fast day against the Dutch warr, and I betimes with Mr. Tooker, whom I have brought into the Navy to serve us as a husband to see goods timely shipped off from hence to the Fleete and other places, and took him with me to Woolwich and Deptford, where by business I have been hindered a great while of going, did a very great deale of business, and home, and there by promise find Creed, and he and my wife, Mercer and I by coach to take the ayre; and, where we had formerly been, at Hackney, did there eat some pullets we carried with us, and some things of the house; and after a game or two at shuffle-board, home, and Creed lay with me; but, being sleepy, he had no mind to talk about business, which indeed I intended, by inviting him to lie with me, but I would not force it on him, and so to bed, he and I, and to sleep, being the first time I have been so much at my ease and taken so much fresh ayre these many weeks or months. 6th. At the office sat all the morning, where, in the absence of Sir W. Batten, Sir G. Carteret being angry about the business of tickets, spoke of Sir W. Batten for speaking some words about the signing of tickets, and called Sir W. Batten in his discourse at the table to us (the clerks being withdrawn) "shitten foole," which vexed me. At noon to the 'Change, and there set my business of lighters' buying for the King, to Sir W. Warren, and I think he will do it for me to very great advantage, at which I am mightily rejoiced. Home and after a mouthfull of dinner to the office, where till 6 o'clock, and then to White Hall, and there with Sir G. Carteret and my Lord Brunkerd attended the Duke of Albemarle about the business of money. I also went to Jervas's, my barber, for my periwigg that was mending there, and there do hear that Jane is quite undone, taking the idle fellow for her husband yet not married, and lay with him several weeks that had another wife and child, and she is now going into Ireland. So called my wife at the 'Change and home, and at my office writing letters till one o'clock in the morning, that I was ready to fall down asleep again. Great talke of a new Comett; and it is certain one do now appear as bright as the late one at the best; but I have not seen it myself. 7th. Up betimes to the Duke of Albemarle about money to be got for the Navy, or else we must shut up shop. Thence to Westminster Hall and up and down, doing not much; then to London, but to prevent Povy's dining with me (who I see is at the 'Change) I went back again and to Herbert's at Westminster, there sent for a bit of meat and dined, and then to my Lord Treasurer's, and there with Sir Philip Warwicke, and thence to White Hall in my Lord Treasurer's chamber with Sir Philip Warwicke till dark night, about fower hours talking of the business of the Navy Charge, and how Sir G. Carteret do order business, keeping us in ignorance what he do with his money, and also Sir Philip did shew me nakedly the King's condition for money for the Navy; and he do assure me, unless the King can get some noblemen or rich money-gentlemen to lend him money, or to get the City to do it, it is impossible to find money: we having already, as he says, spent one year's share of the three-years' tax, which comes to L2,500,000. Being very glad of this day's discourse in all but that I fear I shall quite lose Sir G. Carteret, who knows that I have been privately here all this day with Sir Ph. Warwicke. However, I will order it so as to give him as little offence as I can. So home to my office, and then to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and all the morning full of business at the office. At noon dined with Mr. Povy, and then to the getting some business looked over of his, and then I to my Lord Chancellor's, where to have spoke with the Duke of Albemarle, but the King and Council busy, I could not; then to the Old Exchange and there of my new pretty seamstress bought four bands, and so home, where I found my house mighty neat and clean. Then to my office late, till past 12, and so home to bed. The French Embassadors [The French ambassadors were Henri de Bourbon, Duc de Verneuil, natural son of Henry IV. and brother of Henrietta Maria, and M. de Courtin.--B.] are come incognito before their train, which will hereafter be very pompous. It is thought they come to get our King to joyne with the King of France in helping him against Flanders, and they to do the like to us against Holland. We have laine a good while with a good fleete at Harwich. The Dutch not said yet to be out. We, as high as we make our shew, I am sure, are unable to set out another small fleete, if this should be worsted. Wherefore, God send us peace! I cry. 9th (Lord's day). To church with my wife in the morning, in her new light-coloured silk gowne, which is, with her new point, very noble. Dined at home, and in the afternoon to Fanchurch, the little church in the middle of Fanchurch Streete, where a very few people and few of any rank. Thence, after sermon, home, and in the evening walking in the garden, my Lady Pen and her daughter walked with my wife and I, and so to my house to eat with us, and very merry, and so broke up and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Duke of Albemarle's, and thence to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where new disorder about Mr. Povy's accounts, that I think I shall never be settled in my business of Treasurer for him. Here Captain Cooke met me, and did seem discontented about my boy Tom's having no time to mind his singing nor lute, which I answered him fully in, that he desired me that I would baste his coate. So home and to the 'Change, and thence to the "Old James" to dine with Sir W. Rider, Cutler, and Mr. Deering, upon the business of hemp, and so hence to White Hall to have attended the King and Lord Chancellor about the debts of the navy and to get some money, but the meeting failed. So my Lord Brunkard took me and Sir Thomas Harvy in his coach to the Parke, which is very troublesome with the dust; and ne'er a great beauty there to-day but Mrs. Middleton, and so home to my office, where Mr. Warren proposed my getting of L100 to get him a protection for a ship to go out, which I think I shall do. So home to supper and to bed. 11th. Up and betimes to Alderman Cheverton to treat with him about hempe, and so back to the office. At noon dined at the Sun, behind the 'Change, with Sir Edward Deering and his brother and Commissioner Pett, we having made a contract with Sir Edward this day about timber. Thence to the office, where late very busy, but with some trouble have also some hopes of profit too. So home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, contrary to all expectation, my Lord Ashly, being vexed with Povy's accounts, did propose it as necessary that Povy should be still continued Treasurer of Tangier till he had made up his accounts; and with such arguments as, I confess, I was not prepared to answer, but by putting off of the discourse, and so, I think, brought it right again; but it troubled me so all the day after, and night too, that I was not quiet, though I think it doubtfull whether I shall be much the worse for it or no, if it should come to be so. Dined at home and thence to White Hall again (where I lose most of my time now-a-days to my great trouble, charge, and loss of time and benefit), and there, after the Council rose, Sir G. Carteret, my Lord Brunkard, Sir Thomas Harvy, and myself, down to my Lord Treasurer's chamber to him and the Chancellor, and the Duke of Albemarle; and there I did give them a large account of the charge of the Navy, and want of money. But strange to see how they held up their hands crying, "What shall we do?" Says my Lord Treasurer, "Why, what means all this, Mr. Pepys? This is true, you say; but what would you have me to do? I have given all I can for my life. Why will not people lend their money? Why will they not trust the King as well as Oliver? Why do our prizes come to nothing, that yielded so much heretofore?" And this was all we could get, and went away without other answer, which is one of the saddest things that, at such a time as this, with the greatest action on foot that ever was in England, nothing should be minded, but let things go on of themselves do as well as they can. So home, vexed, and going to my Lady Batten's, there found a great many women with her, in her chamber merry, my Lady Pen and her daughter, among others; where my Lady Pen flung me down upon the bed, and herself and others, one after another, upon me, and very merry we were, and thence I home and called my wife with my Lady Pen to supper, and very merry as I could be, being vexed as I was. So home to bed. 13th. Lay long in bed, troubled a little with wind, but not much. So to the office, and there all the morning. At noon to Sheriff Waterman's to dinner, all of us men of the office in towne, and our wives, my Lady Carteret and daughters, and Ladies Batten, Pen, and my wife, &c., and very good cheer we had and merry; musique at and after dinner, and a fellow danced a jigg; but when the company begun to dance, I came away lest I should be taken out; and God knows how my wife carried herself, but I left her to try her fortune. So home, and late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and betimes to Mr. Povy, being desirous to have an end of my trouble of mind touching my Tangier business, whether he hath any desire of accepting what my Lord Ashly offered, of his becoming Treasurer again; and there I did, with a seeming most generous spirit, offer him to take it back again upon his owne terms; but he did answer to me that he would not above all things in the world, at which I was for the present satisfied; but, going away thence and speaking with Creed, he puts me in doubt that the very nature of the thing will require that he be put in again; and did give me the reasons of the auditors, which, I confess, are so plain, that I know not how to withstand them. But he did give me most ingenious advice what to do in it, and anon, my Lord Barkeley and some of the Commissioners coming together, though not in a meeting, I did procure that they should order Povy's payment of his remain of accounts to me; which order if it do pass will put a good stop to the fastening of the thing upon me. At noon Creed and I to a cook's shop at Charing Cross, and there dined and had much discourse, and his very good upon my business, and upon other things, among the rest upon Will Howe's dissembling with us, we discovering one to another his carriage to us, present and absent, being a very false fellow. Thence to White Hall again, and there spent the afternoon, and then home to fetch a letter for the Council, and so back to White Hall, where walked an hour with Mr. Wren, of my Lord Chancellor's, and Mr. Ager, and then to Unthanke's and called my wife, and with her through the city to Mile-End Greene, and eat some creame and cakes and so back home, and I a little at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning I was saluted with newes that the fleetes, ours and the Dutch, were engaged, and that the guns were heard at Walthamstow to play all yesterday, and that Captain Teddiman's legs were shot off in the Royall Katherine. But before night I hear the contrary, both by letters of my owne and messengers thence, that they were all well of our side and no enemy appears yet, and that the Royall Katherine is come to the fleete, and likely to prove as good a ship as any the King hath, of which I am heartily glad, both for Christopher Pett's sake and Captain Teddiman that is in her. 15th. Up, and to White Hall about several businesses, but chiefly to see the proposals of my warrants about Tangier under Creed, but to my trouble found them not finished. So back to the office, where all the morning, busy, then home to dinner, and then all the afternoon till very late at my office, and then home to supper and to bed, weary. 16th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, then up and to my chamber and my office, looking over some plates which I find necessary for me to understand pretty well, because of the Dutch warr. Then home to dinner, where Creed dined with us, and so after dinner he and I walked to the Rolls' Chappell, expecting to hear the great Stillingfleete preach, but he did not; but a very sorry fellow, which vexed me. The sermon done, we parted, and I home, where I find Mr. Andrews, and by and by comes Captain Taylor, my old acquaintance at Westminster, that understands musique very well and composes mighty bravely; he brought us some things of two parts to sing, very hard; but that that is the worst, he is very conceited of them, and that though they are good makes them troublesome to one, to see him every note commend and admire them. He supped with me, and a good understanding man he is and a good scholler, and, among other things, a great antiquary, and among other things he can, as he says, show the very originall Charter to Worcester, of King Edgar's, wherein he stiles himself, Rex Marium Brittanniae, &c.; which is the great text that Mr. Selden and others do quote, but imperfectly and upon trust. But he hath the very originall, which he says he will shew me. He gone we to bed. This night I am told that newes is come of our taking of three Dutch men-of-warr, with the loss of one of our Captains. 17th. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle's, where he shewed me Mr. Coventry's letters, how three Dutch privateers are taken, in one whereof Everson's' son is captaine. But they have killed poor Captaine Golding in The Diamond. Two of them, one of 32 and the other of 20 odd guns, did stand stoutly up against her, which hath 46, and the Yarmouth that hath 52 guns, and as many more men as they. So that they did more than we could expect, not yielding till many of their men were killed. And Everson, when he was brought before the Duke of Yorke, and was observed to be shot through the hat, answered, that he wished it had gone through his head, rather than been taken. One thing more is written: that two of our ships the other day appearing upon the coast of Holland, they presently fired their beacons round the country to give notice. And newes is brought the King, that the Dutch Smyrna fleete is seen upon the back of Scotland; and thereupon the King hath wrote to the Duke, that he do appoint a fleete to go to the Northward to try to meet them coming home round: which God send! Thence to White Hall; where the King seeing me, did come to me, and calling me by name, did discourse with me about the ships in the River: and this is the first time that ever I knew the King did know me personally; so that hereafter I must not go thither, but with expectation to be questioned, and to be ready to give good answers. So home, and thence with Creed, who come to dine with me, to the Old James, where we dined with Sir W. Rider and Cutler, and, by and by, being called by my wife, we all to a play, "The Ghosts," at the Duke's house, but a very simple play. Thence up and down, with my wife with me, to look [for] Sir Ph. Warwicke (Mr. Creed going from me), but missed of him and so home, and late and busy at my office. So home to supper and to bed. This day was left at my house a very neat silver watch, by one Briggs, a scrivener and sollicitor, at which I was angry with my wife for receiving, or, at least, for opening the box wherein it was, and so far witnessing our receipt of it, as to give the messenger 5s. for bringing it; but it can't be helped, and I will endeavour to do the man a kindnesse, he being a friend of my uncle Wight's. 18th. Up and to Sir Philip Warwicke, and walked with him an houre with great delight in the Parke about Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and the endeavours that he hath made to bring Sir G. Carteret to show his accounts and let the world see what he receives and what he pays. Thence home to the office, where I find Sir J. Minnes come home from Chatham, and Sir W. Batten both this morning from Harwich, where they have been these 7 or 8 days. At noon with my wife and Mr. Moore by water to Chelsey about my Privy Seale for Tangier, but my Lord Privy Seale was gone abroad, and so we, without going out of the boat, forced to return, and found him not at White Hall. So I to Sir Philip Warwicke and with him to my Lord Treasurer, who signed my commission for Tangier-Treasurer and the docquet of my Privy Seale, for the monies to be paid to me. Thence to White Hall to Mr. Moore again, and not finding my Lord I home, taking my wife and woman up at Unthanke's. Late at my office, then to supper and to bed. 19th. Up by five o'clock, and by water to White Hall; and there took coach, and with Mr. Moore to Chelsy; where, after all my fears what doubts and difficulties my Lord Privy Seale would make at my Tangier Privy Seale, he did pass it at first reading, without my speaking with him. And then called me in, and was very civil to me. I passed my time in contemplating (before I was called in) the picture of my Lord's son's lady, a most beautiful woman, and most like to Mrs. Butler. Thence very much joyed to London back again, and found out Mr. Povy; told him this; and then went and left my Privy Seale at my Lord Treasurer's; and so to the 'Change, and thence to Trinity-House; where a great dinner of Captain Crisp, who is made an Elder Brother. And so, being very pleasant at dinner, away home, Creed with me; and there met Povy; and we to Gresham College, where we saw some experiments upon a hen, a dogg, and a cat, of the Florence poyson. ["Sir Robert Moray presented the Society from the King with a phial of Florentine poison sent for by his Majesty from Florence, on purpose to have those experiments related of the efficacy thereof, tried by the Society." The poison had little effect upon the kitten (Birch's "History;" vol. ii., p. 31).] The first it made for a time drunk, but it come to itself again quickly; the second it made vomitt mightily, but no other hurt. The third I did not stay to see the effect of it, being taken out by Povy. He and I walked below together, he giving me most exceeding discouragements in the getting of money (whether by design or no I know not, for I am now come to think him a most cunning fellow in most things he do, but his accounts), and made it plain to me that money will be hard to get, and that it is to be feared Backewell hath a design in it to get the thing forced upon himself. This put me into a cruel melancholy to think I may lose what I have had so near my hand; but yet something may be hoped for which to-morrow will shew. He gone, Creed and I together a great while consulting what to do in this case, and after all I left him to do what he thought fit in his discourse to-morrow with my Lord Ashly. So home, and in my way met with Mr. Warren, from whom my hopes I fear will fail of what I hoped for, by my getting him a protection. But all these troubles will if not be over, yet we shall see the worst of there in a day or two. So to my office, and thence to supper, and my head akeing, betimes, that is by 10 or 11 o'clock, to bed. 20th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office. At noon dined, and Mr. Povy by agreement with me (where his boldness with Mercer, poor innocent wench, did make both her and me blush, to think how he were able to debauch a poor girl if he had opportunity) at a dish or two of plain meat of his own choice. After dinner comes Creed and then Andrews, where want of money to Andrews the main discourse, and at last in confidence of Creed's judgement I am resolved to spare him 4 or L500 of what lies by me upon the security of some Tallys. This went against my heart to begin, but when obtaining Mr. Creed to joyne with me we do resolve to assist Mr. Andrews. Then anon we parted, and I to my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. This night I am told the first play is played in White Hall noon-hall, which is now turned to a house of playing. I had a great mind, but could not go to see it. 21st. Up and to my office about business. Anon comes Creed and Povy, and we treat about the business of our lending money, Creed and I, upon a tally for the satisfying of Andrews, and did conclude it as in papers is expressed, and as I am glad to have an opportunity of having 10 per cent. for my money, so I am as glad that the sum I begin this trade with is no more than L350. We all dined at Andrews' charge at the Sun behind the 'Change, a good dinner the worst dressed that ever I eat any, then home, and there found Kate Joyce and Harman come to see us. With them, after long talk, abroad by coach, a tour in the fields, and drunk at Islington, it being very pleasant, the dust being laid by a little rain, and so home very well pleased with this day's work. So after a while at my office to supper and to bed. This day we hear that the Duke and the fleete are sailed yesterday. Pray God go along with them, that they have good speed in the beginning of their worke. 22nd. Up, and Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute-master, being come betimes to teach him, I did speak with him seriously about the boy, what my mind was, if he did not look after his lute and singing that I would turn him away; which I hope will do some good upon the boy. All the morning busy at the office. At noon dined at home, and then to the office again very busy till very late, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife making great preparation to go to Court to Chappell to-morrow. This day I have newes from Mr. Coventry that the fleete is sailed yesterday from Harwich to the coast of Holland to see what the Dutch will do. God go along with them! 23rd (Lord's day). Mr. Povy, according to promise, sent his coach betimes, and I carried my wife and her woman to White Hall Chappell and set them in the Organ Loft, and I having left to untruss went to the Harp and Ball and there drank also, and entertained myself in talke with the mayde of the house, a pretty mayde and very modest. Thence to the Chappell and heard the famous young Stillingfleete, whom I knew at Cambridge, and is now newly admitted one of the King's chaplains; and was presented, they say, to my Lord Treasurer for St. Andrew's, Holborne, where he is now minister, with these words: that they (the Bishops of Canterbury, London, and another) believed he is the ablest young man to preach the Gospel of any since the Apostles. He did make the most plain, honest, good, grave sermon, in the most unconcerned and easy yet substantial manner, that ever I heard in my life, upon the words of Samuell to the people, "Fear the Lord in truth with all your heart, and remember the great things that he hath done for you." It being proper to this day, the day of the King's Coronation. Thence to Mr. Povy's, where mightily treated, and Creed with us. But Lord! to see how Povy overdoes every thing in commending it, do make it nauseous to me, and was not (by reason of my large praise of his house) over acceptable to my wife. Thence after dinner Creed and we by coach took the ayre in the fields beyond St. Pancras, it raining now and then, which it seems is most welcome weather, and then all to my house, where comes Mr. Hill, Andrews, and Captain Taylor, and good musique, but at supper to hear the arguments we had against Taylor concerning a Corant, he saying that the law of a dancing Corant is to have every barr to end in a pricked crochet and quaver, which I did deny, was very strange. It proceeded till I vexed him, but all parted friends, for Creed and I to laugh at when he was gone. After supper, Creed and I together to bed, in Mercer's bed, and so to sleep. 24th. Up and with Creed in Sir W. Batten's coach to White Hall. Sir W. Batten and I to the Duke of Albemarle, where very busy. Then I to Creed's chamber, where I received with much ado my two orders about receiving Povy's monies and answering his credits, and it is strange how he will preserve his constant humour of delaying all business that comes before him. Thence he and I to London to my office, and back again to my Lady Sandwich's to dinner, where my wife by agreement. After dinner alone, my Lady told me, with the prettiest kind of doubtfullnesse, whether it would be fit for her with respect to Creed to do it, that is, in the world, that Creed had broke his desire to her of being a servant to Mrs. Betty Pickering, and placed it upon encouragement which he had from some discourse of her ladyship, commending of her virtues to him, which, poor lady, she meant most innocently. She did give him a cold answer, but not so severe as it ought to have been; and, it seems, as the lady since to my Lady confesses, he had wrote a letter to her, which she answered slightly, and was resolved to contemn any motion of his therein. My Lady takes the thing very ill, as it is fit she should; but I advise her to stop all future occasions of the world's taking notice of his coming thither so often as of late he hath done. But to think that he should have this devilish presumption to aime at a lady so near to my Lord is strange, both for his modesty and discretion. Thence to the Cockepitt, and there walked an houre with my Lord Duke of Albemarle alone in his garden, where he expressed in great words his opinion of me; that I was the right hand of the Navy here, nobody but I taking any care of any thing therein; so that he should not know what could be done without me. At which I was (from him) not a little proud. Thence to a Committee of Tangier, where because not a quorum little was done, and so away to my wife (Creed with me) at Mrs. Pierce's, who continues very pretty and is now great with child. I had not seen her a great while. Thence by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, but could not speak with Sir Ph. Warwicke. So by coach with my wife and Mercer to the Parke; but the King being there, and I now-a-days being doubtfull of being seen in any pleasure, did part from the tour, and away out of the Parke to Knightsbridge, and there eat and drank in the coach, and so home, and after a while at my office, home to supper and to bed, having got a great cold I think by my pulling off my periwigg so often. 25th. At the office all the morning, and the like after dinner, at home all the afternoon till very late, and then to bed, being very hoarse with a cold I did lately get with leaving off my periwigg. This afternoon W. Pen, lately come from his father in the fleete, did give me an account how the fleete did sayle, about 103 in all, besides small catches, they being in sight of six or seven Dutch scouts, and sent ships in chase of them. 26th. Up very betimes, my cold continuing and my stomach sick with the buttered ale that I did drink the last night in bed, which did lie upon me till I did this morning vomitt it up. So walked to Povy's, where Creed met me, and there I did receive the first parcel of money as Treasurer of Tangier, and did give him my receipt for it, which was about L2,800 value in Tallys; we did also examine and settle several other things, and then I away to White Hall, talking, with Povy alone, about my opinion of Creed's indiscretion in looking after Mrs. Pickering, desiring him to make no more a sport of it, but to correct him, if he finds that he continues to owne any such thing. This I did by my Lady's desire, and do intend to pursue the stop of it. So to the Carrier's by Cripplegate, to see whether my mother be come to towne or no, I expecting her to-day, but she is not come. So to dinner to my Lady Sandwich's, and there after dinner above in the diningroom did spend an houre or two with her talking again about Creed's folly; but strange it is that he should dare to propose this business himself of Mrs. Pickering to my Lady, and to tell my Lady that he did it for her virtue sake, not minding her money, for he could have a wife with more, but, for that, he did intend to depend upon her Ladyshipp to get as much of her father and mother for her as she could; and that, what he did, was by encouragement from discourse of her Ladyshipp's: he also had wrote to Mrs. Pickering, but she did give him a slighting answer back again. But I do very much fear that Mrs. Pickering's honour, if the world comes to take notice of it, may be wronged by it. Thence home, and all the afternoon till night at my office, then home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning, at noon Creed dined with me; and, after dinner, walked in the garden, he telling me that my Lord Treasurer now begins to be scrupulous, and will know what becomes of the L26,000 saved by my Lord Peterborough, before he parts with any more money, which puts us into new doubts, and me into a great fear, that all my cake will be doe still. [An obsolete proverb, signifying to lose one's hopes, a cake coming out of the oven in a state of dough being considered spoiled. "My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all, but my share in the feast." Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act v., sc. i.-M. B.] But I am well prepared for it to bear it, being not clear whether it will be more for my profit to have it, or go without it, as my profits of the Navy are likely now to be. All the afternoon till late hard at the office. Then to supper and to bed. This night William Hewer is returned from Harwich, where he hath been paying off of some ships this fortnight, and went to sea a good way with the fleete, which was 96 in company then, men of warr, besides some come in, and following them since, which makes now above 100, whom God bless! 28th. Up by 5 o'clock, and by appointment with Creed by 6 at his chamber, expecting Povy, who come not. Thence he and I out to Sir Philip Warwicke's, but being not up we took a turn in the garden hard by, and thither comes Povy to us. After some discourse of the reason of the difficulty that Sir Philip Warwicke makes in issuing a warrant for my striking of tallys, namely, the having a clear account of the L26,000 saved by my Lord of Peterborough, we parted, and I to Sir P. Warwicke, who did give me an account of his demurr, which I applied myself to remove by taking Creed with me to my Lord Ashly, from whom, contrary to all expectation, I received a very kind answer, just as we could have wished it, that he would satisfy my Lord Treasurer. Thence very well satisfied I home, and down the River to visit the victualling-ships, where I find all out of order. And come home to dinner, and then to write a letter to the Duke of Albemarle about the victualling-ships, and carried it myself to the Council-chamber, where it was read; and when they rose, my Lord Chancellor passing by stroked me on the head, and told me that the Board had read my letter, and taken order for the punishing of the watermen for not appearing on board the ships. [Among the State Papers are lists of watermen impressed and put on board the victualling ships. Attached to one of these is a "note of their unfitness and refractory conduct; also that many go ashore to sleep, and are discontent that they, as masters of families, are pressed, while single men are excused on giving money to the pressmen" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 323).] And so did the King afterwards, who do now know me so well, that he never sees me but he speaks to me about our Navy business. Thence got my Lord Ashly to my Lord Treasurer below in his chamber, and there removed the scruple, and by and by brought Mr. Sherwin to Sir Philip Warwicke and did the like, and so home, and after a while at my office, to bed. 29th. All the morning busy at the office. In the afternoon to my Lord Treasurer's, and there got my Lord Treasurer to sign the warrant for my striking of tallys, and so doing many jobbs in my way home, and there late writeing letters, being troubled in my mind to hear that Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes do take notice that I am now-a-days much from the office upon no office business, which vexes me, and will make me mind my business the better, I hope in God; but what troubles me more is, that I do omit to write, as I should do, to Mr. Coventry, which I must not do, though this night I minded it so little as to sleep in the middle of my letter to him, and committed forty blotts and blurrs in my letter to him, but of this I hope never more to be guilty, if I have not already given him sufficient offence. So, late home, and to bed. 30th (Lord's day). Up and to my office alone all the morning, making up my monthly accounts, which though it hath been very intricate, and very great disbursements and receipts and odd reckonings, yet I differed not from the truth; viz.: between my first computing what my profit ought to be and then what my cash and debts do really make me worth, not above 10s., which is very much, and I do much value myself upon the account, and herein I with great joy find myself to have gained this month above L100 clear, and in the whole to be worth above L1400, the greatest sum I ever yet was worth. Thence home to dinner, and there find poor Mr. Spong walking at my door, where he had knocked, and being told I was at the office staid modestly there walking because of disturbing me, which methinks was one of the most modest acts (of a man that hath no need of being so to me) that ever I knew in my life. He dined with me, and then after dinner to my closet, where abundance of mighty pretty discourse, wherein, in a word, I find him the man of the world that hath of his own ingenuity obtained the most in most things, being withall no scholler. He gone, I took boat and down to Woolwich and Deptford, and made it late home, and so to supper and to bed. Thus I end this month in great content as to my estate and gettings: in much trouble as to the pains I have taken, and the rubs I expect yet to meet with, about the business of Tangier. The fleete, with about 106 ships upon the coast of Holland, in sight of the Dutch, within the Texel. Great fears of the sickenesse here in the City, it being said that two or three houses are already shut up. God preserve as all! MAY 1665 May 1st. Up and to Mr. Povy's, and by his bedside talked a good while. Among other things he do much insist I perceive upon the difficulty of getting of money, and would fain have me to concur in the thinking of some other way of disposing of the place of Treasurer to one Mr. Bell, but I did seem slight of it, and resolved to try to do the best or to give it up. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, where I was sorry to find myself to come a little late, and so home, and at noon going to the 'Change I met my Lord Brunkard, Sir Robert Murry, Deane Wilkins, and Mr. Hooke, going by coach to Colonell Blunts to dinner. So they stopped and took me with them. Landed at the Tower-wharf, and thence by water to Greenwich; and there coaches met us; and to his house, a very stately sight for situation and brave plantations; and among others, a vineyard, the first that ever I did see. No extraordinary dinner, nor any other entertainment good; but only after dinner to the tryall of some experiments about making of coaches easy. And several we tried; but one did prove mighty easy (not here for me to describe, but the whole body of the coach lies upon one long spring), and we all, one after another, rid in it; and it is very fine and likely to take. These experiments were the intent of their coming, and pretty they are. Thence back by coach to Greenwich, and in his pleasure boat to Deptford, and there stopped and in to Mr. Evelyn's,--[Sayes Court, the well-known residence of John Evelyn.]--which is a most beautiful place; but it being dark and late, I staid not; but Deane Wilkins and Mr. Hooke and I walked to Redriffe; and noble discourse all day long did please me, and it being late did take them to my house to drink, and did give them some sweetmeats, and thence sent them with a lanthorn home, two worthy persons as are in England, I think, or the world. So to my Lady Batten, where my wife is tonight, and so after some merry talk home and to bed. 2nd. Up and to the office all day, where sat late, and then to the office again, and by and by Sir W. Batten and my Lady and my wife and I by appointment yesterday (my Lady Pen failed us, who ought to have been with us) to the Rhenish winehouse at the Steelyard, and there eat a couple of lobsters and some prawns, and pretty merry, especially to see us four together, while my wife and my Lady did never intend ever to be together again after a year's distance between one another. Hither by and by come Sir Richard Ford and also Mrs. Esther, that lived formerly with my Lady Batten, now well married to a priest, come to see my Lady. Thence toward evening home, and to my office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up betimes and walked to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, where a long time with him in his chamber alone talking of Sir G. Carteret's business, and the abuses he puts on the nation by his bad payments to both our vexations, but no hope of remedy for ought I see. Thence to my Lord Ashly to a Committee of Tangier for my Lord Rutherford's accounts, and that done we to my Lord Treasurer's, where I did receive my Lord's warrant to Sir R. Long for drawing a warrant for my striking of tallys. So to the Inne again by Cripplegate, expecting my mother's coming to towne, but she is not come this weeke neither, the coach being too full. So to the 'Change and thence home to dinner, and so out to Gresham College, and saw a cat killed with the Duke of Florence's poyson, and saw it proved that the oyle of tobacco ["Mr. Daniel Coxe read an account of the effects of tobacco-oil distilled in a retort, by one drop of which given at the mouth he had killed a lusty cat, which being opened, smelled strongly of the oil, and the blood of the heart more strongly than the rest.... One drop of the Florentine 'oglio di tobacco' being again given to a dog, it proved stupefying and vomitive, as before" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol, ii., pp. 42, 43).] drawn by one of the Society do the same effect, and is judged to be the same thing with the poyson both in colour and smell, and effect. I saw also an abortive child preserved fresh in spirits of salt. Thence parted, and to White Hall to the Councilchamber about an order touching the Navy (our being empowered to commit seamen or Masters that do not, being hired or pressed, follow their worke), but they could give us none. So a little vexed at that, because I put in the memorial to the Duke of Albemarle alone under my own hand, home, and after some time at the office home to bed. My Lord Chief Justice Hide did die suddenly this week, a day or two ago, of an apoplexy. 4th. Up, and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again all day till almost midnight, and then, weary, home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up betimes, and by water to Westminster, there to speak the first time with Sir Robert Long, to give him my Privy Seal and my Lord Treasurer's order for Tangier Tallys; he received me kindly enough. Thence home by water, and presently down to Woolwich and back to Blackewall, and there, viewed the Breach, in order to a Mast Docke, and so to Deptford to the Globe, where my Lord Brunkard, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Commissioner Pett were at dinner, having been at the Breach also, but they find it will be too great charge to make use of it. After dinner to Mr. Evelyn's; he being abroad, we walked in his garden, and a lovely noble ground he hath indeed. And among other rarities, a hive of bees, so as being hived in glass, you may see the bees making their honey and combs mighty pleasantly. Thence home, and I by and by to Mr. Povy's to see him, who is yet in his chamber not well, and thence by his advice to one Lovett's, a varnisher, to see his manner of new varnish, but found not him at home, but his wife, a very beautiful woman, who shewed me much variety of admirable work, and is in order to my having of some papers fitted with his lines for my use for tables and the like. I know not whether I was more pleased with the thing, or that I was shewed it by her, but resolved I am to have some made. So home to my office late, and then to supper and to bed. My wife tells me that she hears that my poor aunt James hath had her breast cut off here in town, her breast having long been out of order. This day, after I had suffered my owne hayre to grow long, in order to wearing it, I find the convenience of periwiggs is so great, that I have cut off all short again, and will keep to periwiggs. 6th. Up, and all day at the office, but a little at dinner, and there late till past 12. So home to bed, pleased as I always am after I have rid a great deal of work, it being very satisfactory to me. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife. Home and dined. After dinner come Mr. Andrews and spent the afternoon with me, about our Tangier business of the victuals, and then parted, and after sermon comes Mr. Hill and a gentleman, a friend of his, one Mr. Scott, that sings well also, and then comes Mr. Andrews, and we all sung and supped, and then to sing again and passed the Sunday very pleasantly and soberly, and so I to my office a little, and then home to prayers and to bed. Yesterday begun my wife to learn to, limn of one Browne, [Alexander Browne, a printseller, who taught drawing, and practised it with success. He published in 1669, "Ars Pictoria, or an Academy treating of Drawing, Painting, Limning and Etching."] which Mr. Hill helps her to, and, by her beginning upon some eyes, I think she will [do] very fine things, and I shall take great delight in it. 8th. Up very betimes, and did much business before I went out with several persons, among others Captain Taylor, who would leave the management of most of his business now he is going to Harwich, upon me, and if I can get money by it, which I believe it will, I shall take some of it upon me. Thence with Sir W. Batten to the Duke of Albemarle's and there did much business, and then to the 'Change, and thence off with Sir W. Warren to an ordinary, where we dined and sat talking of most usefull discourse till 5 in the afternoon, and then home, and very busy till late, and so home and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and to my business at the office, where all the morning. At noon comes Mrs. The. Turner, and dines with us, and my wife's painting-master staid and dined; and I take great pleasure in thinking that my wife will really come to something in that business. Here dined also Luellin. So after dinner to my office, and there very busy till almost midnight, and so home to supper and to bed. This day we have newes of eight ships being taken by some of ours going into the Texel, their two men of warr, that convoyed them, running in. They come from about Ireland, round to the north. 10th. Up betimes, and abroad to the Cocke-Pitt, where the Duke [of Albemarle] did give Sir W. Batten and me an account of the late taking of eight ships, and of his intent to come back to the Gunfleete--[The Gunfleet Sand off the Essex coast.]--with the fleete presently; which creates us much work and haste therein, against the fleete comes. So to Mr. Povy, and after discourse with him home, and thence to the Guard in Southwarke, there to get some soldiers, by the Duke's order, to go keep pressmen on board our ships. So to the 'Change and did much business, and then home to dinner, and there find my poor mother come out of the country today in good health, and I am glad to see her, but my business, which I am sorry for, keeps me from paying the respect I ought to her at her first coming, she being grown very weak in her judgement, and doating again in her discourse, through age and some trouble in her family. I left her and my wife to go abroad to buy something, and then I to my office. In the evening by appointment to Sir W. Warren and Mr. Deering at a taverne hard by with intent to do some good upon their agreement in a great bargain of planks. So home to my office again, and then to supper and to bed, my mother being in bed already. 11th. Up betimes, and at the office all the morning. At home dined, and then to the office all day till late at night, and then home to supper, weary with business, and to bed. 12th. Up betimes, and find myself disappointed in my receiving presently of my L50 I hoped for sure of Mr. Warren upon the benefit of my press warrant, but he promises to make it good. So by water to the Exchequer, and there up and down through all the offices to strike my tallys for L17,500, which methinks is so great a testimony of the goodness of God to me, that I, from a mean clerke there, should come to strike tallys myself for that sum, and in the authority that I do now, is a very stupendous mercy to me. I shall have them struck to-morrow. But to see how every little fellow looks after his fees, and to get what he can for everything, is a strange consideration; the King's fees that he must pay himself for this L17,500 coming to above L100. Thence called my wife at Unthanke's to the New Exchange and elsewhere to buy a lace band for me, but we did not buy, but I find it so necessary to have some handsome clothes that I cannot but lay out some money thereupon. To the 'Change and thence to my watchmaker, where he has put it [i.e. the watch] in order, and a good and brave piece it is, and he tells me worth L14 which is a greater present than I valued it. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes several people, among others my cozen, Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham, [Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham Barnes, Surrey, Master of the Jewel House to Charles II. and James II.] to receive some money, of my Lord Sandwich's, and there I paid him what was due to him upon my uncle's score, but, contrary to my expectation, did get him to sign and seale to my sale of lands for payment of debts. So that now I reckon myself in better condition by L100 in my content than I was before, when I was liable to be called to an account and others after me by my uncle Thomas or his children for every foot of land we had sold before. This I reckon a great good fortune in the getting of this done. He gone, come Mr. Povy, Dr. Twisden, and Mr. Lawson about settling my security in the paying of the L4000 ordered to Sir J. Lawson. So a little abroad and then home, and late at my office and closet settling this day's disordering of my papers, then to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and all day in some little gruntings of pain, as I used to have from winde, arising I think from my fasting so long, and want of exercise, and I think going so hot in clothes, the weather being hot, and the same clothes I wore all winter. To the 'Change after office, and received my watch from the watchmaker, and a very fine [one] it is, given me by Briggs, the Scrivener. Home to dinner, and then I abroad to the Atturney Generall, about advice upon the Act for Land Carriage, which he desired not to give me before I had received the King's and Council's order therein; going home bespoke the King's works, will cost me 50s., I believe. So home and late at my office. But, Lord! to see how much of my old folly and childishnesse hangs upon me still that I cannot forbear carrying my watch in my hand in the coach all this afternoon, and seeing what o'clock it is one hundred times; and am apt to think with myself, how could I be so long without one; though I remember since, I had one, and found it a trouble, and resolved to carry one no more about me while I lived. So home to supper and to bed, being troubled at a letter from Mr. Gholmly from Tangier, wherein he do advise me how people are at worke to overthrow our Victualling business, by which I shall lose L300 per annum, I am much obliged to him for this, secret kindnesse, and concerned to repay it him in his own concernments and look after this. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, it being Whitsunday; my wife very fine in a new yellow bird's-eye hood, as the fashion is now. We had a most sorry sermon; so home to dinner, my mother having her new suit brought home, which makes her very fine. After dinner my wife and she and Mercer to Thomas Pepys's wife's christening of his first child, and I took a coach, and to Wanstead, the house where Sir H. Mildmay died, and now Sir Robert Brookes lives, having bought it of the Duke of Yorke, it being forfeited to him. A fine seat, but an old-fashioned house; and being not full of people looks desolately. Thence to Walthamstow, where (failing at the old place) Sir W. Batten by and by come home, I walking up and down the house and garden with my Lady very pleasantly, then to supper very merry, and then back by coach by dark night. I all the afternoon in the coach reading the treasonous book of the Court of King James, printed a great while ago, and worth reading, though ill intended. As soon as I come home, upon a letter from the Duke of Albemarle, I took boat at about 12 at night, and down the River in a gally, my boy and I, down to the Hope and so up again, sleeping and waking, with great pleasure, my business to call upon every one of 15th. Our victualling ships to set them agoing, and so home, and after dinner to the King's playhouse, all alone, and saw "Love's Maistresse." Some pretty things and good variety in it, but no or little fancy in it. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle to give him account of my day's works, where he shewed me letters from Sir G. Downing, of four days' date, that the Dutch are come out and joyned, well-manned, and resolved to board our best ships, and fight for certain they will. Thence to the Swan at Herbert's, and there the company of Sarah a little while, and so away and called at the Harp and Ball, where the mayde, Mary, is very 'formosa'--[handsome]--; but, Lord! to see in what readiness I am, upon the expiring of my vowes this day, to begin to run into all my pleasures and neglect of business. Thence home, and being sleepy to bed. 16th. Up betimes, and to the Duke of Albemarle with an account of my yesterday's actions in writing. So back to the office, where all the morning very busy. After dinner by coach to see and speak with Mr. Povy, and after little discourse back again home, where busy upon letters till past 12 at night, and so home to supper and to bed, weary. 17th. Up, and by appointment to a meeting of Sir John Lawson and Mr. Cholmly's atturney and Mr. Povy at the Swan taverne at Westminster to settle their business about my being secured in the payment of money to Sir J. Lawson in the other's absence. Thence at Langford's, where I never was since my brother died there. I find my wife and Mercer, having with him agreed upon two rich silk suits for me, which is fit for me to have, but yet the money is too much, I doubt, to lay out altogether; but it is done, and so let it be, it being the expense of the world that I can the best bear with and the worst spare. Thence home, and after dinner to the office, where late, and so home to supper and to bed. Sir J. Minnes and I had an angry bout this afternoon with Commissioner Pett about his neglecting his duty and absenting himself, unknown to us, from his place at Chatham, but a most false man I every day find him more and more, and in this very full of equivocation. The fleete we doubt not come to Harwich by this time. Sir W. Batten is gone down this day thither, and the Duchesse of Yorke went down yesterday to meet the Duke. 18th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of Albemarle, where we did much business, and I with good content to myself; among other things we did examine Nixon and Stanesby, about their late running from two Dutchmen; [Captain Edward Nixon, of the "Elizabeth," and Captain John Stanesby, of the "Eagle." John Lanyon wrote to the Navy Commissioners from Plymouth, May 16th: "Understands from the seamen that the conduct of Captains Nixon and Stanesby in their late engagement with two Dutch capers was very foul; the night they left the Dutch, no lights were put out as formerly, and though in sight of them in the morning, they still kept on their way; the Eagle lay by some time, and both the enemy's ships plied on her, but finding the Elizabeth nearly out of sight she also made sail; it is true the wind and sea were high, but there were no sufficient reasons for such endeavours to get from them." ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 367). Both captains were tried; Nixon was condemned to be shot but Stanesby was cleared, and Charnock asserts that he was commander the "Happy Return" in 1672.] for which they are committed to a vessel to carry them to the fleete to be tried. A most fowle unhandsome thing as ever was heard, for plain cowardice on Nixon's part. Thence with the Duke of Albemarle in his coach to my Lord Treasurer, and there was before the King (who ever now calls me by my name) and Lord Chancellor, and many other great Lords, discoursing about insuring of some of the King's goods, wherein the King accepted of my motion that we should; and so away, well pleased. To the office, and dined, and then to the office again, and abroad to speak with Sir G. Carteret; but, Lord! to see how fraile a man I am, subject to my vanities, that can hardly forbear, though pressed with never so much business, my pursuing of pleasure, but home I got, and there very busy very late. Among other things consulting with Mr. Andrews about our Tangier business, wherein we are like to meet with some trouble, and my Lord Bellasses's endeavour to supplant us, which vexes my mind; but, however, our undertaking is so honourable that we shall stand a tug for it I think. So home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to White Hall, where the Committee for Tangier met, and there, though the case as to the merit of it was most plain and most of the company favourable to our business, yet it was with much ado that I got the business not carried fully against us, but put off to another day, my Lord Arlington being the great man in it, and I was sorry to be found arguing so greatly against him. The business I believe will in the end be carried against us, and the whole business fall; I must therefore endeavour the most I can to get money another way. It vexed me to see Creed so hot against it, but I cannot much blame him, having never declared to him my being concerned in it. But that that troubles me most is my Lord Arlington calls to me privately and asks me whether I had ever said to any body that I desired to leave this employment, having not time to look after it. I told him, No, for that the thing being settled it will not require much time to look after it. He told me then he would do me right to the King, for he had been told so, which I desired him to do, and by and by he called me to him again and asked me whether I had no friend about the Duke, asking me (I making a stand) whether Mr. Coventry was not my friend. I told him I had received many friendships from him. He then advised me to procure that the Duke would in his next letter write to him to continue me in my place and remove any obstruction; which I told him I would, and thanked him. So parted, vexed at the first and amazed at this business of my Lord Arlington's. Thence to the Exchequer, and there got my tallys for L17,500, the first payment I ever had out of the Exchequer, and at the Legg spent 14s. upon my old acquaintance, some of them the clerks, and away home with my tallys in a coach, fearful every step of having one of them fall out, or snatched from me. Being come home, I much troubled out again by coach (for company taking Sir W. Warren with me), intending to have spoke to my Lord Arlington to have known the bottom of it, but missed him, and afterwards discoursing the thing as a confidant to Sir W. Warren, he did give me several good hints and principles not to do anything suddenly, but consult my pillow upon that and every great thing of my life, before I resolve anything in it. Away back home, and not being fit for business I took my wife and Mercer down by water to Greenwich at 8 at night, it being very fine and cool and moonshine afterward. Mighty pleasant passage it was; there eat a cake or two, and so home by 10 or 11 at night, and then to bed, my mind not settled what to think. 20th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and to my office, very busy. 21st. Till past one, Lord's day, in the morning writing letters to the fleete and elsewhere, and my mind eased of much business, home to bed and slept till 8. So up, and this day is brought home one of my new silk suits, the plain one, but very rich camelott and noble. I tried it and it pleases me, but did not wear it, being I would not go out today to church. So laid it by, and my mind changed, thinking to go see my Lady Sandwich, and I did go a little way, but stopped and returned home to dinner, after dinner up to my chamber to settle my Tangier accounts, and then to my office, there to do the like with other papers. In the evening home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and down to the ships, which now are hindered from going down to the fleete (to our great sorrow and shame) with their provisions, the wind being against them. So to the Duke of Albemarle, and thence down by water to Deptford, it being Trinity Monday, and so the day of choosing the Master of Trinity House for the next yeare, where, to my great content, I find that, contrary to the practice and design of Sir W. Batten, to breake the rule and custom of the Company in choosing their Masters by succession, he would have brought in Sir W. Rider or Sir W. Pen, over the head of Hurleston (who is a knave too besides, I believe), the younger brothers did all oppose it against the elder, and with great heat did carry it for Hurleston, which I know will vex him to the heart. Thence, the election being over, to church, where an idle sermon from that conceited fellow, Dr. Britton, saving that his advice to unity, and laying aside all envy and enmity among them was very apposite. Thence walked to Redriffe, and so to the Trinity House, and a great dinner, as is usual, and so to my office, where busy all the afternoon till late, and then home to bed, being much troubled in mind for several things, first, for the condition of the fleete for lacke of provisions, the blame this office lies under and the shame that they deserve to have brought upon them for the ships not being gone out of the River, and then for my business of Tangier which is not settled, and lastly for fear that I am not observed to have attended the office business of late as much as I ought to do, though there has been nothing but my attendance on Tangier that has occasioned my absence, and that of late not much. 23rd. Up, and at the office busy all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife and mother being gone by invitation to dine with my mother's old servant Mr. Cordery, who made them very welcome. So to Mr. Povy's, where after a little discourse about his business I home again, and late at the office busy. Late comes Sir Arthur Ingram to my office, to tell me that, by letters from Amsterdam of the 28th of this month (their style), [The new style was adopted by most of the countries of Europe long before it was legalized in England, although Russia still retains the old style.] the Dutch fleete, being about 100 men-of-war, besides fire-ships, &c., did set out upon the 23rd and 24th inst. Being divided into seven squadrons; viz., 1. Generall Opdam. 2. Cottenar, of Rotterdam. 3. Trump. 4. Schram, of Horne. 5. Stillingworth, of Freezland. 6. Everson. 7. One other, not named, of Zealand. 24th. Up, and by 4 o'clock in the morning, and with W. Hewer, there till 12 without intermission putting some papers in order. Thence to the Coffee-house with Creed, where I have not been a great while, where all the newes is of the Dutch being gone out, and of the plague growing upon us in this towne; and of remedies against it: some saying one thing, some another. So home to dinner, and after dinner Creed and I to Colvill's, thinking to shew him all the respect we could by obliging him in carrying him 5 tallys of L5000 to secure him for so much credit he has formerly given Povy to Tangier, but he, like an impertinent fool, cavills at it, but most ignorantly that ever I heard man in my life. At last Mr. Viner by chance comes, who I find a very moderate man, but could not persuade the fool to reason, but brought away the tallys again, and so vexed to my office, where late, and then home to my supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the office all the afternoon, busy till almost 12 at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up at 4 o'clock, and all the morning in my office with W. Hewer finishing my papers that were so long out of order, and at noon to my bookseller's, and there bespoke a book or two, and so home to dinner, where Creed dined with me, and he and I afterwards to Alderman Backewell's to try him about supplying us with money, which he denied at first and last also, saving that he spoke a little fairer at the end than before. But the truth is I do fear I shall have a great deale of trouble in getting of money. Thence home, and in the evening by water to the Duke of Albemarle, whom I found mightily off the hooks, that the ships are not gone out of the River; which vexed me to see, insomuch that I am afeard that we must expect some change or addition of new officers brought upon us, so that I must from this time forward resolve to make myself appear eminently serviceable in attending at my office duly and no where else, which makes me wish with all my heart that I had never anything to do with this business of Tangier. After a while at my office, home to supper vexed, and to bed. 27th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning; at noon dined at home, and then to my office again,, where late, and so to bed, with my mind full of fears for the business of this office and troubled with that of Tangier, concerning which Mr. Povy was with me, but do give me little help, but more reason of being troubled. So that were it not for our Plymouth business I would be glad to be rid of it. 28th (Lord's day). By water to the Duke of Albemarle, where I hear that Nixon is condemned to be shot to death, for his cowardice, by a Council of War. Went to chapel and heard a little musique, and there met with Creed, and with him a little while walking, and to Wilkinson's for me to drink, being troubled with winde, and at noon to Sir Philip Warwicke's to dinner, where abundance of company come in unexpectedly; and here I saw one pretty piece of household stuff, as the company increaseth, to put a larger leaf upon an oval table. After dinner much good discourse with Sir Philip, who I find, I think, a most pious, good man, and a professor of a philosophical manner of life and principles like Epictetus, whom he cites in many things. Thence to my Lady Sandwich's, where, to my shame, I had not been a great while before. Here, upon my telling her a story of my Lord Rochester's running away on Friday night last with Mrs. Mallett, the great beauty and fortune of the North, who had supped at White Hall with Mrs. Stewart, and was going home to her lodgings with her grandfather, my Lord Haly, by coach; and was at Charing Cross seized on by both horse and foot men, and forcibly taken from him, and put into a coach with six horses, and two women provided to receive her, and carried away. Upon immediate pursuit, my Lord of Rochester (for whom the King had spoke to the lady often, but with no successe) was taken at Uxbridge; but the lady is not yet heard of, and the King mighty angry, and the Lord sent to the Tower. Hereupon my Lady did confess to me, as a great secret, her being concerned in this story. For if this match breaks between my Lord Rochester and her, then, by the consent of all her friends, my Lord Hinchingbroke stands fair, and is invited for her. She is worth, and will be at her mother's death (who keeps but a little from her), L2500 per annum. Pray God give a good success to it! But my poor Lady, who is afeard of the sickness, and resolved to be gone into the country, is forced to stay in towne a day or two, or three about it, to see the event of it. Thence home and to see my Lady Pen, where my wife and I were shown a fine rarity: of fishes kept in a glass of water, that will live so for ever; and finely marked they are, being foreign.--[Gold-fish introduced from China.]--So to supper at home and to bed, after many people being with me about business, among others the two Bellamys about their old debt due to them from the King for their victualling business, out of which I hope to get some money. 29th. Lay long in bed, being in some little pain of the wind collique, then up and to the Duke of Albemarle, and so to the Swan, and there drank at Herbert's, and so by coach home, it being kept a great holiday through the City, for the birth and restoration of the King. To my office, where I stood by and saw Symson the joyner do several things, little jobbs, to the rendering of my closet handsome and the setting up of some neat plates that Burston has for my money made me, and so home to dinner, and then with my wife, mother, and Mercer in one boat, and I in another, down to Woolwich. I walking from Greenwich, the others going to and fro upon the water till my coming back, having done but little business. So home and to supper, and, weary, to bed. We have every where taken some prizes. Our merchants have good luck to come home safe: Colliers from the North, and some Streights men just now. And our Hambrough ships, of whom we were so much afeard, are safe in Hambrough. Our fleete resolved to sail out again from Harwich in a day or two. 30th. Lay long, and very busy all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and thence to dinner to Sir G. Carteret's, to talk upon the business of insuring our goods upon the Hambrough [ships]. Here a very fine, neat French dinner, without much cost, we being all alone with my Lady and one of the house with her; thence home and wrote letters, and then in the evening, by coach, with my wife and mother and Mercer, our usual tour by coach, and eat at the old house at Islington; but, Lord! to see how my mother found herself talk upon every object to think of old stories. Here I met with one that tells me that Jack Cole, my old schoolefellow, is dead and buried lately of a consumption, who was a great crony of mine. So back again home, and there to my closet to write letters. Hear to my great trouble that our Hambrough ships, [On May 29th Sir William Coventry wrote to Lord Arlington: "Capt. Langhorne has arrived with seven ships, and reports the taking of the Hamburg fleet with the man of war their convoy; mistaking the Dutch fleet for the English, he fell into it" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 393)] valued of the King's goods and the merchants' (though but little of the former) to L200,000 [are lost]. By and by, about 11 at night, called into the garden by my Lady Pen and daughter, and there walked with them and my wife till almost twelve, and so in and closed my letters, and home to bed. 31st. Up, and to my office, and to Westminster, doing business till noon, and then to the 'Change, where great the noise and trouble of having our Hambrough ships lost; and that very much placed upon Mr. Coventry's forgetting to give notice to them of the going away of our fleete from the coast of Holland. But all without reason, for he did; but the merchants not being ready, staid longer than the time ordered for the convoy to stay, which was ten days. Thence home with Creed and Mr. Moore to dinner. Anon we broke up, and Creed and I to discourse about our Tangier matters of money, which vex me. So to Gresham College, staid a very little while, and away and I home busy, and busy late, at the end of the month, about my month's accounts, but by the addition of Tangier it is rendered more intricate, and so (which I have not done these 12 months, nor would willingly have done now) failed of having it done, but I will do it as soon as I can. So weary and sleepy to bed. I endeavoured but missed of seeing Sir Thomas Ingram at Westminster, so went to Houseman's the Painter, who I intend shall draw my wife, but he was not within, but I saw several very good pictures. JUNE 1665 June 1st. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning, at noon to the 'Change, and there did some business, and home to dinner, whither Creed comes, and after dinner I put on my new silke camelott sute; the best that ever I wore in my life, the sute costing me above L24. In this I went with Creed to Goldsmiths' Hall, to the burial of Sir Thomas Viner; which Hall, and Haberdashers also, was so full of people, that we were fain for ease and coolness to go forth to Pater Noster Row, to choose a silke to make me a plain ordinary suit. That done, we walked to Cornehill, and there at Mr. Cade's' stood in the balcon and saw all the funeral, which was with the blue-coat boys and old men, all the Aldermen, and Lord Mayor, &c., and the number of the company very great; the greatest I ever did see for a taverne. Hither come up to us Dr. Allen, and then Mr. Povy and Mr. Fox. The show being over, and my discourse with Mr. Povy, I took coach and to Westminster Hall, where I took the fairest flower, and by coach to Tothill Fields for the ayre till it was dark. I 'light, and in with the fairest flower to eat a cake, and there did do as much as was safe with my flower, and that was enough on my part. Broke up, and away without any notice, and, after delivering the rose where it should be, I to the Temple and 'light, and come to the middle door, and there took another coach, and so home to write letters, but very few, God knows, being by my pleasure made to forget everything that is. The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again, nor the people at the house where we were. Home to bed, certain news being come that our fleete is in sight of the Dutch ships. 2nd. Lay troubled in mind abed a good while, thinking of my Tangier and victualling business, which I doubt will fall. Up and to the Duke of Albemarle, but missed him. Thence to the Harp and Ball and to Westminster Hall, where I visited "the flowers" in each place, and so met with Mr. Creed, and he and I to Mrs. Croft's to drink and did, but saw not her daughter Borroughes. I away home, and there dined and did business. In the afternoon went with my tallys, made a fair end with Colvill and Viner, delivering them L5000 tallys to each and very quietly had credit given me upon other tallys of Mr. Colvill for L2000 and good words for more, and of Mr. Viner too. Thence to visit the Duke of Albemarle, and thence my Lady Sandwich and Lord Crew. Thence home, and there met an expresse from Sir W. Batten at Harwich, that the fleete is all sailed from Solebay, having spied the Dutch fleete at sea, and that, if the calmes hinder not, they must needs now be engaged with them. Another letter also come to me from Mr. Hater, committed by the Council this afternoon to the Gate House, upon the misfortune of having his name used by one, without his knowledge or privity, for the receiving of some powder that he had bought. Up to Court about these two, and for the former was led up to my Lady Castlemayne's lodgings, where the King and she and others were at supper, and there I read the letter and returned; and then to Sir G. Carteret about Hater, and shall have him released to-morrow, upon my giving bail for his appearance, which I have promised to do. Sir G. Carteret did go on purpose to the King to ask this, and it was granted. So home at past 12, almost one o'clock in the morning. To my office till past two, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up and to White Hall, where Sir G. Carteret did go with me to Secretary Morris, and prevailed with him to let Mr. Hater be released upon bail for his appearance. So I at a loss how to get another besides myself, and got Mr. Hunt, who did patiently stay with me all the morning at Secretary Morris's chamber, Mr. Hater being sent for with his keeper, and at noon comes in the Secretary, and upon entering [into] recognizances, he for L200, and Mr. Hunt and I for L100 each for his appearance upon demand, he was released, it costing him, I think, above L3. I thence home, vexed to be kept from the office all the morning, which I had not been in many months before, if not some years. At home to dinner, and all the afternoon at the office, where late at night, and much business done, then home to supper and to bed. All this day by all people upon the River, and almost every where else hereabout were heard the guns, our two fleets for certain being engaged; which was confirmed by letters from Harwich, but nothing particular: and all our hearts full of concernment for the Duke, and I particularly for my Lord Sandwich and Mr. Coventry after his Royall Highnesse. 4th (Sunday). Up and at my chamber all the forenoon, at evening my accounts, which I could not do sooner, for the last month, and, blessed be God! am worth L1400 odd money, something more than ever I was yet in the world. Dined very well at noon, and then to my office, and there and in the garden discoursed with several people about business, among others Mr. Howell, the turner, who did give me so good a discourse about the practices of the Paymaster J. Fenn that I thought fit to recollect all when he was gone, and have entered it down to be for ever remembered. Thence to my chamber again to settle my Tangier accounts against tomorrow and some other things, and with great joy ended them, and so to supper, where a good fowl and tansy, and so to bed. Newes being come that our fleete is pursuing the Dutch, who, either by cunning, or by being worsted, do give ground, but nothing more for certain. Late to bed upon my papers being quite finished. 5th. Up very betimes to look some other papers, and then to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where I offered my accounts with great acceptation, and so had some good words and honour by it, and one or two things done to my content in my business of Treasurer, but I do clearly see that we shall lose our business of victualling, Sir Thomas Ingram undertaking that it shall be done by persons there as cheap as we do it, and give the seamen their full allowance and themselves give good security here for performance of contract, upon which terms there is no opposing it. This would trouble me, but that I hope when that fails to spend my time to some good advantage other ways, and so shall permit it all to God Almighty's pleasure. Thence home to dinner, after 'Change, where great talke of the Dutch being fled and we in pursuit of them, and that our ship Charity [Sir William Coventry and Sir William Penn to the Navy Commissioners, June 4th: "Engaged yesterday with the Dutch; they began to stand away at 3 p.m. Chased them all the rest of the day and night; 20 considerable ships are destroyed and taken; we have only lost the Great Charity. The Earl of Marlborough, Rear-Admiral Sansum, and Captain Kirby are slain, and Sir John Lawson wounded" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 406).] is lost upon our Captain's, Wilkinson, and Lieutenant's yielding, but of this there is no certainty, save the report of some of the sicke men of the Charity, turned adrift in a boat out of the Charity and taken up and brought on shore yesterday to Sole Bay, and the newes hereof brought by Sir Henry Felton. Home to dinner, and Creed with me. Then he and I down to Deptford, did some business, and back again at night. He home, and I to my office, and so to supper and to bed. This morning I had great discourse with my Lord Barkeley about Mr. Hater, towards whom from a great passion reproaching him with being a fanatique and dangerous for me to keepe, I did bring him to be mighty calme and to ask me pardons for what he had thought of him and to desire me to ask his pardon of Hater himself for the ill words he did give him the other day alone at White Hall (which was, that he had always thought him a man that was no good friend to the King, but did never think it would breake out in a thing of this nature), and did advise him to declare his innocence to the Council and pray for his examination and vindication. Of which I shall consider and say no more, but remember one compliment that in great kindness to me he did give me, extolling my care and diligence, that he did love me heartily for my owne sake, and more that he did will me whatsoever I thought for Mr. Coventry's sake, for though the world did think them enemies, and to have an ill aspect, one to another, yet he did love him with all his heart, which was a strange manner of noble compliment, confessing his owning me as a confidant and favourite of Mr. Coventry's. 6th. Waked in the morning before 4 o'clock with great pain to piss, and great pain in pissing by having, I think, drank too great a draught of cold drink before going to bed. But by and by to sleep again, and then rose and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and at noon to dinner with Sir G. Carteret to his house with all our Board, where a good pasty and brave discourse. But our great fear was some fresh news of the fleete, but not from the fleete, all being said to be well and beaten the Dutch, but I do not give much belief to it, and indeed the news come from Sir W. Batten at Harwich, and writ so simply that we all made good mirth of it. Thence to the office, where upon Sir G. Carteret's accounts, to my great vexation there being nothing done by the Controller to right the King therein. I thence to my office and wrote letters all the afternoon, and in the evening by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier business to get money, and so to my Lady Sandwich's, who, poor lady, expects every hour to hear of my Lord; but in the best temper, neither confident nor troubled with fear, that I ever did see in my life. She tells me my Lord Rochester is now declaredly out of hopes of Mrs. Mallett, and now she is to receive notice in a day or two how the King stands inclined to the giving leave for my Lord Hinchingbroke to look after her, and that being done to bring it to an end shortly. Thence by coach home, and to my office a little, and so before 12 o'clock home and to bed. 7th. This morning my wife and mother rose about two o'clock; and with Mercer, Mary, the boy, and W. Hewer, as they had designed, took boat and down to refresh themselves on the water to Gravesend. Lay till 7 o'clock, then up and to the office upon Sir G. Carteret's accounts again, where very busy; thence abroad and to the 'Change, no news of certainty being yet come from the fleete. Thence to the Dolphin Taverne, where Sir J. Minnes, Lord Brunkard, Sir Thomas Harvy, and myself dined, upon Sir G. Carteret's charge, and very merry we were, Sir Thomas Harvy being a very drolle. Thence to the office, and meeting Creed away with him to my Lord Treasurer's, there thinking to have met the goldsmiths, at White Hall, but did not, and so appointed another time for my Lord to speak to them to advance us some money. Thence, it being the hottest day that ever I felt in my life, and it is confessed so by all other people the hottest they ever knew in England in the beginning of June, we to the New Exchange, and there drunk whey, with much entreaty getting it for our money, and [they] would not be entreated to let us have one glasse more. So took water and to Fox-Hall, to the Spring garden, and there walked an houre or two with great pleasure, saving our minds ill at ease concerning the fleete and my Lord Sandwich, that we have no newes of them, and ill reports run up and down of his being killed, but without ground. Here staid pleasantly walking and spending but 6d. till nine at night, and then by water to White Hall, and there I stopped to hear news of the fleete, but none come, which is strange, and so by water home, where, weary with walking and with the mighty heat of the weather, and for my wife's not coming home, I staying walking in the garden till twelve at night, when it begun to lighten exceedingly, through the greatness of the heat. Then despairing of her coming home, I to bed. This day, much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and "Lord have mercy upon us" writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that, to my remembrance, I ever saw. It put me into an ill conception of myself and my smell, so that I was forced to buy some roll-tobacco to smell to and chaw, which took away the apprehension. 8th. About five o'clock my wife come home, it having lightened all night hard, and one great shower of rain. She come and lay upon the bed; I up and to the office, where all the morning. Alone at home to dinner, my wife, mother, and Mercer dining at W. Joyce's; I giving her a caution to go round by the Half Moone to his house, because of the plague. I to my Lord Treasurer's by appointment of Sir Thomas Ingram's, to meet the Goldsmiths; where I met with the great news at last newly come, brought by Bab May' from the Duke of Yorke, that we have totally routed the Dutch; that the Duke himself, the Prince, my Lord Sandwich, and Mr. Coventry are all well: which did put me into such joy, that I forgot almost all other thoughts. The particulars I shall set down by and by. By and by comes Alderman Maynell and Mr. Viner, and there my Lord Treasurer did intreat them to furnish me with money upon my tallys, Sir Philip Warwicke before my Lord declaring the King's changing of the hand from Mr. Povy to me, whom he called a very sober person, and one whom the Lord Treasurer would owne in all things that I should concern myself with them in the business of money. They did at present declare they could not part with money at present. My Lord did press them very hard, and I hope upon their considering we shall get some of them. Thence with great joy to the Cocke-pitt; where the Duke of Albemarle, like a man out of himself with content, new-told me all; and by and by comes a letter from Mr. Coventry's own hand to him, which he never opened (which was a strange thing), but did give it me to open and read, and consider what was fit for our office to do in it, and leave the letter with Sir W. Clerke; which upon such a time and occasion was a strange piece of indifference, hardly pardonable. I copied out the letter, and did also take minutes out of Sir W. Clerke's other letters; and the sum of the newes is: VICTORY OVER THE DUTCH, JUNE 3RD, 1665. This day they engaged; the Dutch neglecting greatly the opportunity of the wind they had of us, by which they lost the benefit of their fire-ships. The Earl of Falmouth, Muskerry, and Mr. Richard Boyle killed on board the Duke's ship, the Royall Charles, with one shot: their blood and brains flying in the Duke's face; and the head of Mr. Boyle striking down the Duke, as some say. Earle of Marlborough, Portland, Rear-Admirall Sansum (to Prince Rupert) killed, and Capt. Kirby and Ableson. Sir John Lawson wounded on the knee; hath had some bones taken out, and is likely to be well again. Upon receiving the hurt, he sent to the Duke for another to command the Royall Oake. The Duke sent Jordan [Afterwards Sir Joseph Jordan, commander of the "Royal Sovereign," and Vice-Admiral of the Red, 1672. He was knighted on July 1st, 1665.--B.] out of the St. George, who did brave things in her. Capt. Jer. Smith of the Mary was second to the Duke, and stepped between him and Captain Seaton of the Urania (76 guns and 400 men), who had sworn to board the Duke; killed him, 200 men, and took the ship; himself losing 99 men, and never an officer saved but himself and lieutenant. His master indeed is saved, with his leg cut off: Admirall Opdam blown up, Trump killed, and said by Holmes; all the rest of their admiralls, as they say, but Everson (whom they dare not trust for his affection to the Prince of Orange), are killed: we having taken and sunk, as is believed, about 24 of their best ships; killed and taken near 8 or 10,000 men, and lost, we think, not above 700. A great[er] victory never known in the world. They are all fled, some 43 got into the Texell, and others elsewhere, and we in pursuit of the rest. Thence, with my heart full of joy; home, and to my office a little; then to my Lady Pen's, where they are all joyed and not a little puffed up at the good successe of their father; [In the royal charter granted by Charles II. in 1680 to William Penn for the government of his American province, to be styled Pennsylvania, special reference is made to "the memory and merits of Sir William Penn in divers services, and particularly his conduct, courage, and discretion under our dearest brother, James, Duke of York, in that signal battle and victory fought and obtained against the Dutch fleet commanded by Heer van Opdam in 1665" ("Penn's Memorials of Sir W. Penn," vol. ii., p. 359).] and good service indeed is said to have been done by him. Had a great bonefire at the gate; and I with my Lady Pen's people and others to Mrs. Turner's great room, and then down into the streete. I did give the boys 4s. among them, and mighty merry. So home to bed, with my heart at great rest and quiett, saving that the consideration of the victory is too great for me presently to comprehend. [Mrs. Ady (Julia Cartwright), in her fascinating life of Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans, gives an account of the receipt of the news of the great sea-fight in Paris, and quotes a letter of Charles II. to his sister, dated, "Whitehall, June 8th, 1665" The first report that reached Paris was that "the Duke of York's ship had been blown up, and he himself had been drowned." "The shock was too much for Madame... she was seized with convulsions, and became so dangerously ill that Lord Hollis wrote to the king, 'If things had gone ill at sea I really believe Madame would have died.'" Charles wrote: "I thanke God we have now the certayne newes of a very considerable victory over the Duch; you will see most of the particulars by the relation my Lord Hopis will shew you, though I have had as great a losse as 'tis possible in a good frinde, poore C. Barckely. It troubles me so much, as I hope you will excuse the shortnesse of this letter, haveing receaved the newes of it but two houres agoe" ("Madame," 1894, pp. 215, 216).] 9th. Lay long in bed, my head akeing with too much thoughts I think last night. Up and to White Hall, and my Lord Treasurer's to Sir Ph. Warwicke, about Tangier business, and in my way met with Mr. Moore, who eases me in one point wherein I was troubled; which was, that I heard of nothing said or done by my Lord Sandwich: but he tells me that Mr. Cowling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, did hear the King say that my Lord Sandwich had done nobly and worthily. The King, it seems, is much troubled at the fall of my Lord of Falmouth; but I do not meet with any man else that so much as wishes him alive again, the world conceiving him a man of too much pleasure to do the King any good, or offer any good office to him. But I hear of all hands he is confessed to have been a man of great honour, that did show it in this his going with the Duke, the most that ever any man did. Home, where my people busy to make ready a supper against night for some guests, in lieu of my stonefeast. At noon eat a small dinner at home, and so abroad to buy several things, and among others with my taylor to buy a silke suit, which though I had one lately, yet I do, for joy of the good newes we have lately had of our victory over the Dutch, which makes me willing to spare myself something extraordinary in clothes; and after long resolution of having nothing but black, I did buy a coloured silk ferrandin. So to the Old Exchange, and there at my pretty seamstresses bought a pair of stockings of her husband, and so home, where by and by comes Mr. Honiwood and Mrs. Wilde, and Roger Pepys and, after long time spent, Mrs. Turner, The. and Joyce. We had a very good venison pasty, this being instead of my stone-feast the last March, and very merry we were, and the more I know the more I like Mr. Honiwood's conversation. So after a good supper they parted, walking to the 'Change for a coach, and I with them to see them there. So home and to bed, glad it was over. 10th. Lay long in bed, and then up and at the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the office busy all the afternoon. In the evening home to supper; and there, to my great trouble, hear that the plague is come into the City (though it hath these three or four weeks since its beginning been wholly out of the City); but where should it begin but in my good friend and neighbour's, Dr. Burnett, in Fanchurch Street: which in both points troubles me mightily. To the office to finish my letters and then home to bed, being troubled at the sicknesse, and my head filled also with other business enough, and particularly how to put my things and estate in order, in case it should please God to call me away, which God dispose of to his glory! 11th (Lord's day). Up, and expected long a new suit; but, coming not, dressed myself in my late new black silke camelott suit; and, when fully ready, comes my new one of coloured ferrandin, which my wife puts me out of love with, which vexes me, but I think it is only my not being used to wear colours which makes it look a little unusual upon me. To my chamber and there spent the morning reading. At noon, by invitation, comes my two cozen Joyces and their wives, my aunt James and he-cozen Harman, his wife being ill. I had a good dinner for them, and as merry as I could be in such company. They being gone, I out of doors a little, to shew, forsooth, my new suit, and back again, and in going I saw poor Dr. Burnett's door shut; but he hath, I hear, gained great goodwill among his neighbours; for he discovered it himself first, and caused himself to be shut up of his own accord: which was very handsome. In the evening comes Mr. Andrews and his wife and Mr. Hill, and staid and played, and sung and supped, most excellent pretty company, so pleasant, ingenious, and harmless, I cannot desire better. They gone we to bed, my mind in great present ease. 12th. Up, and in my yesterday's new suit to the Duke of Albemarle, and after a turne in White Hall, and then in Westminster Hall, returned, and with my taylor bought some gold lace for my sleeve hands in Pater Noster Row. So home to dinner, and then to the office, and down the River to Deptford, and then back again and to my Lord Treasurer's, and up and down to look after my Tangier business, and so home to my office, then to supper and to bed. The Duke of Yorke is sent for last night and expected to be here to-morrow. 13th. Up and to the office, where all the morning doing business. At noon with Sir G. Carteret to my Lord Mayor's to dinner, where much company in a little room, and though a good, yet no extraordinary table. His name, Sir John Lawrence, whose father, a very ordinary old man, sat there at table, but it seems a very rich man. Here were at table three Sir Richard Brownes, viz.: he of the Councill, a clerk, and the Alderman, and his son; and there was a little grandson also Richard, who will hereafter be Sir Richard Browne. The Alderman did here openly tell in boasting how he had, only upon suspicion of disturbances, if there had been any bad newes from sea, clapped up several persons that he was afeard of; and that he had several times done the like and would do, and take no bail where he saw it unsafe for the King. But by and by he said that he was now sued in the Exchequer by a man for false imprisonment, that he had, upon the same score, imprisoned while he was Mayor four years ago, and asked advice upon it. I told him I believed there was none, and told my story of Field, at which he was troubled, and said that it was then unsafe for any man to serve the King, and, I believed, knows not what to do therein; but that Sir Richard Browne, of the Councill, advised him to speak with my Lord Chancellor about it. My Lord Mayor very respectfull to me; and so I after dinner away and found Sir J. Minnes ready with his coach and four horses at our office gate, for him and me to go out of towne to meet the Duke of Yorke coming from Harwich to-night, and so as far as Ilford, and there 'light. By and by comes to us Sir John Shaw and Mr. Neale, that married the rich widow Gold, upon the same errand. After eating a dish of creame, we took coach again, hearing nothing of the Duke, and away home, a most pleasant evening and road. And so to my office, where, after my letters wrote, to supper and to bed. All our discourse in our way was Sir J. Minnes's telling me passages of the late King's and his father's, which I was mightily pleased to hear for information, though the pride of some persons and vice of most was but a sad story to tell how that brought the whole kingdom and King to ruine. 14th. Up, and to Sir Ph. Warwicke's and other places, about Tangier business, but to little purpose. Among others to my Lord Treasurer's, there to speak with him, and waited in the lobby three long hours for to speake with him, to the trial of my utmost patience, but missed him at last, and forced to go home without it, which may teach me how I make others wait. Home to dinner and staid Mr. Hater with me, and after dinner drew up a petition for Mr. Hater to present to the Councill about his troublesome business of powder, desiring a trial that his absence may be vindicated, and so to White Hall, but it was not proper to present it to-day. Here I met with Mr. Cowling, who observed to me how he finds every body silent in the praise of my Lord Sandwich, to set up the Duke and the Prince; but that the Duke did both to the King and my Lord Chancellor write abundantly of my Lord's courage and service. [Charles II.'s letter of thanks to Lord Sandwich, dated "Whitehall, June 9th, 1665," written entirely in the king's hand, is printed in Ellis's "Original Letters," 1st series, vol. iii., p. 327.] And I this day met with a letter of Captain Ferrers, wherein he tells [us] my Lord was with his ship in all the heat of the day, and did most worthily. Met with Creed, and he and I to Westminster; and there saw my Lord Marlborough [Of the four distinguished men who died after the late action with the Dutch and were buried in Westminster Abbey, the Earl of Marlborough was interred on June 14th, Viscount Muskerry on the 19th, the Earl of Falmouth on the 22nd, and Sir Edward Broughton on the 26th. After the entries in the Abbey Registers is this note: "These four last Honble Persons dyed in his Majy's service against the Dutch, excepting only that ST Ed Br received his death's wound at sea, but dyed here at home" (Chester's "Westminster Abbey Registers," p. 162).] brought to be buried, several Lords of the Council carrying him, and with the herald in some state. Thence, vexed in my mind to think that I do so little in my Tangier business, and so home, and after supper to bed. 15th. Up, and put on my new stuff suit with close knees, which becomes me most nobly, as my wife says. At the office all day. At noon, put on my first laced band, all lace; and to Kate Joyce's to dinner, where my mother, wife, and abundance of their friends, and good usage. Thence, wife and Mercer and I to the Old Exchange, and there bought two lace bands more, one of my semstresse, whom my wife concurs with me to be a pretty woman. So down to Deptford and Woolwich, my boy and I. At Woolwich, discoursed with Mr. Sheldon about my bringing my wife down for a month or two to his house, which he approves of, and, I think, will be very convenient. So late back, and to the office, wrote letters, and so home to supper and to bed. This day the Newes book upon Mr. Moore's showing L'Estrange ["The Public Intelligencer," published by Roger L'Estrange, the predecessor of the "London Gazette."] (Captain Ferrers's letter) did do my Lord Sandwich great right as to the late victory. The Duke of Yorke not yet come to towne. The towne grows very sickly, and people to be afeard of it; there dying this last week of the plague 112, from 43 the week before, whereof but [one] in Fanchurch-streete, and one in Broad-streete, by the Treasurer's office. 16th. Up and to the office, where I set hard to business, but was informed that the Duke of Yorke is come, and hath appointed us to attend him this afternoon. So after dinner, and doing some business at the office, I to White Hall, where the Court is full of the Duke and his courtiers returned from sea. All fat and lusty, and ruddy by being in the sun. I kissed his hands, and we waited all the afternoon. By and by saw Mr. Coventry, which rejoiced my very heart. Anon he and I, from all the rest of the company, walked into the Matted Gallery; where after many expressions of love, we fell to talk of business. Among other things, how my Lord Sandwich, both in his counsells and personal service, hath done most honourably and serviceably. Sir J. Lawson is come to Greenwich; but his wound in his knee yet very bad. Jonas Poole, in the Vantguard, did basely, so as to be, or will be, turned out of his ship. Captain Holmes [Captain Robert Holmes (afterwards knighted). Sir William Coventry, in a letter to Lord Arlington (dated from "The Royal Charles," Southwold Bay, June 13th), writes: "Capt. Holmes asked to be rear admiral of the white squadron in place of Sansum who was killed, but the Duke gave the place to Captain Harman, on which he delivered up his commission, which the Duke received, and put Captain Langhorne in his stead" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 423).] expecting upon Sansum's death to be made Rear-admirall to the Prince (but Harman is [John Harman, afterwards knighted. He had served with great reputation in several naval fights, and was desperately wounded in 1673, while] put in) hath delivered up to the Duke his commission, which the Duke took and tore. He, it seems, had bid the Prince, who first told him of Holmes's intention, that he should dissuade him from it; for that he was resolved to take it if he offered it. Yet Holmes would do it, like a rash, proud coxcombe. But he is rich, and hath, it seems, sought an occasion of leaving the service. Several of our captains have done ill. The great ships are the ships do the business, they quite deadening the enemy. They run away upon sight of "The Prince." ["The Prince" was Lord Sandwich's ship; the captain was Roger Cuttance. It was put up at Chatham for repair at this date.] It is strange to see how people do already slight Sir William Barkeley, [Sir William Berkeley, see note, vol. iii., p. 334. His behaviour after the death of his brother, Lord Falmouth, is severely commented on in "Poems on State Affairs," vol. i., p. 29 "Berkeley had heard it soon, and thought not good To venture more of royal Harding's blood; To be immortal he was not of age, And did e'en now the Indian Prize presage; And judged it safe and decent, cost what cost, To lose the day, since his dear brother's lost. With his whole squadron straight away he bore, And, like good boy, promised to fight no more."--B.] my Lord FitzHarding's brother, who, three months since, was the delight of the Court. Captain Smith of "The Mary" the Duke talks mightily of; and some great thing will be done for him. Strange to hear how the Dutch do relate, as the Duke says, that they are the conquerors; and bonefires are made in Dunkirke in their behalf; though a clearer victory can never be expected. Mr. Coventry thinks they cannot have lost less than 6000 men, and we not dead above 200, and wounded about 400; in all about 600. Thence home and to my office till past twelve, and then home to supper and to bed, my wife and mother not being yet come home from W. Hewer's chamber, who treats my mother tonight. Captain Grovel the Duke told us this day, hath done the basest thing at Lowestoffe, in hearing of the guns, and could not (as others) be got out, but staid there; for which he will be tried; and is reckoned a prating coxcombe, and of no courage. 17th. My wife come to bed about one in the morning. I up and abroad about Tangier business, then back to the office, where we sat, and at noon home to dinner, and then abroad to Mr. Povy's, after I and Mr. Andrews had been with Mr. Ball and one Major Strange, who looks after the getting of money for tallys and is helping Mr. Andrews. I had much discourse with Ball, and it may be he may prove a necessary man for our turns. With Mr. Povy I spoke very freely my indifference as to my place of Treasurer, being so much troubled in it, which he took with much seeming trouble, that I should think of letting go so lightly the place, but if the place can't be held I will. So hearing that my Lord Treasurer was gone out of town with his family because of the sicknesse, I returned home without staying there, and at the office find Sir W. Pen come home, who looks very well; and I am gladder to see him than otherwise I should be because of my hearing so well of him for his serviceablenesse in this late great action. To the office late, and then home to bed. It struck me very deep this afternoon going with a hackney coach from my Lord Treasurer's down Holborne, the coachman I found to drive easily and easily, at last stood still, and come down hardly able to stand, and told me that he was suddenly struck very sicke, and almost blind, he could not see; so I 'light and went into another coach, with a sad heart for the poor man and trouble for myself, lest he should have been struck with the plague, being at the end of the towne that I took him up; but God have mercy upon us all! Sir John Lawson, I hear, is worse than yesterday: the King went to see him to-day most kindly. It seems his wound is not very bad; but he hath a fever, a thrush, and a hickup, all three together, which are, it seems, very bad symptoms. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Sir W. Pen was the first time [since he] come from sea, after the battle. Mr. Mills made a sorry sermon to prove that there was a world to come after this. Home and dined and then to my chamber, where all the afternoon. Anon comes Mr. Andrews to see and sing with me, but Mr. Hill not coming, and having business, we soon parted, there coming Mr. Povy and Creed to discourse about our Tangier business of money. They gone, I hear Sir W. Batten and my Lady are returned from Harwich. I went to see them, and it is pretty to see how we appear kind one to another, though neither of us care 2d. one for another. Home to supper, and there coming a hasty letter from Commissioner Pett for pressing of some calkers (as I would ever on his Majesty's service), with all speed, I made a warrant presently and issued it. So to my office a little, and then home to bed. 19th. Up, and to White Hall with Sir W. Batten (calling at my Lord Ashly's, but to no purpose, by the way, he being not up), and there had our usual meeting before the Duke with the officers of the Ordnance with us, which in some respects I think will be the better for us, for despatch sake. Thence home to the 'Change and dined alone (my wife gone to her mother's), after dinner to my little new goldsmith's, [John Colvill of Lombard Street, see ante, May 24th. He lost L85,832 17s. 2d. by the closing of the Exchequer in 1672, and he died between 1672 and 1677 (Price's "Handbook of London Bankers ").] whose wife indeed is one of the prettiest, modest black women that ever I saw. I paid for a dozen of silver salts L6 14s. 6d. Thence with Sir W. Pen from the office down to Greenwich to see Sir J. Lawson, who is better, but continues ill; his hickupp not being yet gone, could have little discourse with him. So thence home and to supper, a while to the office, my head and mind mightily vexed to see the multitude of papers and business before [me] and so little time to do it in. So to bed. 20th. Thankes-giving-day for victory over ye Dutch. Up, and to the office, where very busy alone all the morning till church time, and there heard a mean sorry sermon of Mr. Mills. Then to the Dolphin Taverne, where all we officers of the Navy met with the Commissioners of the Ordnance by agreement, and dined: where good musique at my direction. Our club--[share] ["Next these a sort of Sots there are, Who crave more wine than they can bear, Yet hate, when drunk, to pay or spend Their equal Club or Dividend, But wrangle, when the Bill is brought, And think they're cheated when they're not." The Delights of the Bottle, or the Compleat Vintner, 3rd ed., 1721, p. 29.] --come to 34s. a man, nine of us. Thence after dinner, to White Hall with Sir W. Berkely in his coach, and so walked to Herbert's and there spent a little time.... Thence by water to Fox-hall, and there walked an hour alone, observing the several humours of the citizens that were there this holyday, pulling of cherries,--[The game of bob-cherry]--and God knows what, and so home to my office, where late, my wife not being come home with my mother, who have been this day all abroad upon the water, my mother being to go out of town speedily. So I home and to supper and to bed, my wife come home when I come from the office. This day I informed myself that there died four or five at Westminster of the plague in one alley in several houses upon Sunday last, Bell Alley, over against the Palace-gate; yet people do think that the number will be fewer in the towne than it was the last weeke! The Dutch are come out again with 20 sail under Bankert; supposed gone to the Northward to meete their East India fleete. 21st. Up, and very busy all the morning. At noon with Creed to the Excise Office, where I find our tallys will not be money in less than sixteen months, which is a sad thing for the King to pay all that interest for every penny he spends; and, which is strange, the goldsmiths with whom I spoke, do declare that they will not be moved to part with money upon the increase of their consideration of ten per cent. which they have, and therefore desire I would not move in it, and indeed the consequence would be very ill to the King, and have its ill consequences follow us through all the King's revenue. Home, and my uncle Wight and aunt James dined with me, my mother being to go away to-morrow. So to White Hall, and there before and after Council discoursed with Sir Thomas Ingram about our ill case as to Tangier for money. He hath got the King to appoint a meeting on Friday, which I hope will put an end one way or other to my pain. So homewards and to the Cross Keys at Cripplegate, where I find all the towne almost going out of towne, the coaches and waggons being all full of people going into the country. Here I had some of the company of the tapster's wife a while, and so home to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, and in great pain whether to send my another into the country to-day or no, I hearing, by my people, that she, poor wretch, hath a mind to stay a little longer, and I cannot blame her, considering what a life she will through her own folly lead when she comes home again, unlike the pleasure and liberty she hath had here. At last I resolved to put it to her, and she agreed to go, so I would not oppose it, because of the sicknesse in the towne, and my intentions of removing my wife. So I did give her money and took a kind leave of her, she, poor wretch, desiring that I would forgive my brother John, but I refused it to her, which troubled her, poor soul, but I did it in kind words and so let the discourse go off, she leaving me though in a great deal of sorrow. So I to my office and left my wife and people to see her out of town, and I at the office all the morning. At noon my wife tells me that she is with much ado gone, and I pray God bless her, but it seems she was to the last unwilling to go, but would not say so, but put it off till she lost her place in the coach, and was fain to ride in the waggon part. After dinner to the office again till night, very busy, and so home not very late to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up and to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where his Royal Highness was. Our great design was to state to them the true condition of this Committee for want of money, the want whereof was so great as to need some sudden help, and it was with some content resolved to see it supplied and means proposed towards the doing of it. At this Committee, unknown to me, comes my Lord of Sandwich, who, it seems, come to towne last night. After the Committee was up, my Lord Sandwich did take me aside, and we walked an hour alone together in the robe-chamber, the door shut, telling me how much the Duke and Mr. Coventry did, both in the fleete and here, make of him, and that in some opposition to the Prince; and as a more private message, he told me that he hath been with them both when they have made sport of the Prince and laughed at him: yet that all the discourse of the towne, and the printed relation, should not give him one word of honour my Lord thinks mighty strange; he assuring me, that though by accident the Prince was in the van the beginning of the fight for the first pass, yet all the rest of the day my Lord was in the van, and continued so. That notwithstanding all this noise of the Prince, he had hardly a shot in his side nor a man killed, whereas he hath above 30 in her hull, and not one mast whole nor yard; but the most battered ship of the fleet, and lost most men, saving Captain Smith of "The Mary." That the most the Duke did was almost out of gun-shot; but that, indeed, the Duke did come up to my Lord's rescue after he had a great while fought with four of them. How poorly Sir John Lawson performed, notwithstanding all that was said of him; and how his ship turned out of the way, while Sir J. Lawson himself was upon the deck, to the endangering of the whole fleete. It therefore troubles my Lord that Mr. Coventry should not mention a word of him in his relation. I did, in answer, offer that I was sure the relation was not compiled by Mr. Coventry, but by L'Estrange, out of several letters, as I could witness; and that Mr. Coventry's letter that he did give the Duke of Albemarle did give him as much right as the Prince, for I myself read it first and then copied it out, which I promised to show my Lord, with which he was somewhat satisfied. From that discourse my Lord did begin to tell me how much he was concerned to dispose of his children, and would have my advice and help; and propounded to match my Lady Jemimah to Sir G. Carteret's eldest son, which I approved of, and did undertake the speaking with him about it as from myself, which my Lord liked. So parted, with my head full of care about this business. Thence home to the 'Change, and so to dinner, and thence by coach to Mr. Povy's. Thence by appointment with him and Creed to one Mr. Finch; one of the Commissioners for the Excise, to be informed about some things of the Excise, in order to our settling matters therein better for us for our Tangier business. I find him a very discreet, grave person. Thence well satisfied I and Creed to Mr. Fox at White Hall to speak with him about the same matter, and having some pretty satisfaction from him also, he and I took boat and to Fox Hall, where we spent two or three hours talking of several matters very soberly and contentfully to me, which, with the ayre and pleasure of the garden, was a great refreshment to me, and, 'methinks, that which we ought to joy ourselves in. Thence back to White Hall, where we parted, and I to find my Lord to receive his farther direction about his proposal this morning. Wherein I did that I should first by another hand break my intentions to Sir G. Carteret. I pitched upon Dr. Clerke, which my Lord liked, and so I endeavoured but in vain to find him out to-night. So home by hackney-coach, which is become a very dangerous passage now-a-days, the sickness increasing mightily, and to bed. 24th (Midsummer-day). Up very betimes, by six, and at Dr. Clerke's at Westminster by 7 of the clock, having over night by a note acquainted him with my intention of coming, and there I, in the best manner I could, broke my errand about a match between Sir G. Carteret's eldest son and my Lord Sandwich's eldest daughter, which he (as I knew he would) took with great content: and we both agreed that my Lord and he, being both men relating to the sea, under a kind aspect of His Majesty, already good friends, and both virtuous and good familys, their allyance might be of good use to us; and he did undertake to find out Sir George this morning, and put the business in execution. So being both well pleased with the proposition, I saw his niece there and made her sing me two or three songs very prettily, and so home to the office, where to my great trouble I found Mr. Coventry and the board met before I come. I excused my late coming by having been on the River about office business. So to business all the morning. At noon Captain Ferrers and Mr. Moore dined with me, the former of them the first time I saw him since his corning from sea, who do give me the best conversation in general, and as good an account of the particular service of the Prince and my Lord of Sandwich in the late sea-fight that I could desire. After dinner they parted. So I to White Hall, where I with Creed and Povy attended my Lord Treasurer, and did prevail with him to let us have an assignment for 15 or L20,000, which, I hope, will do our business for Tangier. So to Dr. Clerke, and there found that he had broke the business to Sir G. Carteret, and that he takes the thing mighty well. Thence I to Sir G. Carteret at his chamber, and in the best manner I could, and most obligingly, moved the business: he received it with great respect and content, and thanks to me, and promised that he would do what he could possibly for his son, to render him fit for my Lord's daughter, and shewed great kindness to me, and sense of my kindness to him herein. Sir William Pen told me this day that Mr. Coventry is to be sworn a Privy Counsellor, at which my soul is glad. So home and to my letters by the post, and so home to supper and bed. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and several people about business come to me by appointment relating to the office. Thence I to my closet about my Tangier papers. At noon dined, and then I abroad by water, it raining hard, thinking to have gone down to Woolwich, but I did not, but back through bridge to White Hall, where, after I had again visited Sir G. Carteret, and received his (and now his Lady's) full content in my proposal, I went to my Lord Sandwich, and having told him how Sir G. Carteret received it, he did direct me to return to Sir G. Carteret, and give him thanks for his kind reception of this offer, and that he would the next day be willing to enter discourse with him about the business. Which message I did presently do, and so left the business with great joy to both sides. My Lord, I perceive, intends to give L5000 with her, and expects about L800 per annum joynture. So by water home and to supper and bed, being weary with long walking at Court, but had a Psalm or two with my boy and Mercer before bed, which pleased me mightily. This night Sir G. Carteret told me with great kindnesse that the order of the Council did run for the making of Hater and Whitfield incapable of any serving the King again, but that he had stopped the entry of it, which he told me with great kindnesse, but the thing troubles me. After dinner, before I went to White Hall, I went down to Greenwich by water, thinking to have visited Sir J. Lawson, where, when I come, I find that he is dead, and died this morning, at which I was much surprized; and indeed the nation hath a great loss; though I cannot, without dissembling, say that I am sorry for it, for he was a man never kind to me at all. Being at White Hall, I visited Mr. Coventry, who, among other talk, entered about the great question now in the House about the Duke's going to sea again; about which the whole House is divided. He did concur with me that, for the Duke's honour and safety, it were best, after so great a service and victory and danger, not to go again; and, above all, that the life of the Duke cannot but be a security to the Crowne; if he were away, it being more easy to attempt anything upon the King; but how the fleete will be governed without him, the Prince--[Rupert]--being a man of no government and severe in council, that no ordinary man can offer any advice against his; saying truly that it had been better he had gone to Guinny, and that were he away, it were easy to say how matters might be ordered, my Lord Sandwich being a man of temper and judgment as much as any man he ever knew, and that upon good observation he said this, and that his temper must correct the Prince's. But I perceive he is much troubled what will be the event of the question. And so I left him. 26th. Up and to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes, and to the Committee of Tangier, where my Lord Treasurer was, the first and only time he ever was there, and did promise us L15,000 for Tangier and no more, which will be short. But if I can pay Mr. Andrews all his money I care for no more, and the bills of Exchange. Thence with Mr. Povy and Creed below to a new chamber of Mr. Povy's, very pretty, and there discourse about his business, not to his content, but with the most advantage I could to him, and Creed also did the like. Thence with Creed to the King's Head, and there dined with him at the ordinary, and good sport with one Mr. Nicholls, a prating coxcombe, that would be thought a poet, but would not be got to repeat any of his verses. Thence I home, and there find my wife's brother and his wife, a pretty little modest woman, where they dined with my wife. He did come to desire my assistance for a living, and, upon his good promises of care, and that it should be no burden to me, I did say and promise I would think of finding something for him, and the rather because his wife seems a pretty discreet young thing, and humble, and he, above all things, desirous to do something to maintain her, telling me sad stories of what she endured with him in Holland, and I hope it will not be burdensome. So down by water to Woolwich, walking to and again from Greenwich thither and back again, my business being to speak again with Sheldon, who desires and expects my wife coming thither to spend the summer, and upon second thoughts I do agree that it will be a good place for her and me too. So, weary, home, and to my office a while, till almost midnight, and so to bed. The plague encreases mightily, I this day seeing a house, at a bitt-maker's over against St. Clement's Church, in the open street, shut up; which is a sad sight. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined by chance at my Lady Batten's, and they sent for my wife, and there was my Lady Pen and Pegg. Very merry, and so I to my office again, where till 12 o'clock at night, and so home to supper and to bed. 28th. Sir J. Minnes carried me and my wife to White Hall, and thence his coach along with my wife where she would. There after attending the Duke to discourse of the navy. We did not kiss his hand, nor do I think, for all their pretence, of going away to-morrow. Yet I believe they will not go for good and all, but I did take my leave of Sir William Coventry, who, it seems, was knighted and sworn a Privy-Counsellor two days since; who with his old kindness treated me, and I believe I shall ever find [him] a noble friend. Thence by water to Blackfriars, and so to Paul's churchyard and bespoke severall books, and so home and there dined, my man William giving me a lobster sent him by my old maid Sarah. This morning I met with Sir G. Carteret, who tells me how all things proceed between my Lord Sandwich and himself to full content, and both sides depend upon having the match finished presently, and professed great kindnesse to me, and said that now we were something akin. I am mightily, both with respect to myself and much more of my Lord's family, glad of this alliance. After dinner to White Hall, thinking to speak with my Lord Ashly, but failed, and I whiled away some time in Westminster Hall against he did come, in my way observing several plague houses in King's Street and [near] the Palace. Here I hear Mrs. Martin is gone out of town, and that her husband, an idle fellow, is since come out of France, as he pretends, but I believe not that he hath been. I was fearful of going to any house, but I did to the Swan, and thence to White Hall, giving the waterman a shilling, because a young fellow and belonging to the Plymouth. Thence by coach to several places, and so home, and all the evening with Sir J. Minnes and all the women of the house (excepting my Lady Batten) late in the garden chatting. At 12 o'clock home to supper and to bed. My Lord Sandwich is gone towards the sea to-day, it being a sudden resolution, I having taken no leave of him. 29th. Up and by water to White Hall, where the Court full of waggons and people ready to go out of towne. To the Harp and Ball, and there drank and talked with Mary, she telling me in discourse that she lived lately at my neighbour's, Mr. Knightly, which made me forbear further discourse. This end of the towne every day grows very bad of the plague. The Mortality Bill is come to 267; [According to the Bills of Mortality, the total number of deaths in London for the week ending June 27th was 684, of which number 267 were deaths from the plague. The number of deaths rose week by week until September 19th, when the total was 8,297, and the deaths from the plague 7,165. On September 26th the total had fallen to 6,460, and deaths from the plague to 5,533 The number fell gradually, week by week, till October 31st, when the total was 1,388, and deaths from the plague 1,031. On November 7th there was a rise to 1,787 and 1,414 respectively. On November 14th the numbers had gone down to 1,359 and 1,050 respectively. On December 12th the total had fallen to 442, and deaths from the plague to 243. On December 19th there was a rise to 525 and 281 respectively. The total of burials in 1665 was 97,506, of which number the plague claimed 68,596 victims.] which is about ninety more than the last: and of these but four in the City, which is a great blessing to us. Thence to Creed, and with him up and down about Tangier business, to no purpose. Took leave again of Mr. Coventry; though I hope the Duke has not gone to stay, and so do others too. So home, calling at Somersett House, where all are packing up too: the Queene-Mother setting out for France this day to drink Bourbon waters this year, she being in a consumption; and intends not to come till winter come twelvemonths. [The Queen-Mother never came to England again. She retired to her chateau at Colombes, near Paris, where she died in August, 1669, after a long illness; the immediate cause of her death being an opiate ordered by her physicians. She was buried, September 12th, in the church of St. Denis. Her funeral sermon was preached by Bossuet. Sir John Reresby speaks of Queen Henrietta Maria in high terms. He says that in the winter, 1659-60, although the Court of France was very splendid, there was a greater resort to the Palais Royal, "the good humour and wit of our Queen Mother, and the beauty of the Princess [Henrietta] her daughter, giving greater invitation than the more particular humour of the French Queen, being a Spaniard." In another place he says: "Her majesty had a great affection for England, notwithstanding the severe usage she and hers had received from it. Her discourse was much with the great men and ladies of France in praise of the people and of the country; of their courage, generosity, good nature; and would excuse all their miscarriages in relation to unfortunate effects of the late war, as if it were a convulsion of some desperate and infatuated persons, rather than from the genius and temper of the kingdom" ("Memoirs of Sir John Reresby," ed. Cartwright, pp. 43, 45).] So by coach home, where at the office all the morning, and at noon Mrs. Hunt dined with us. Very merry, and she a very good woman. To the office, where busy a while putting some things in my office in order, and then to letters till night. About 10 a'clock home, the days being sensibly shorter before I have once kept a summer's day by shutting up office by daylight; but my life hath been still as it was in winter almost. But I will for a month try what I can do by daylight. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up and to White Hall, to the Duke of Albemarle, who I find at Secretary Bennet's, there being now no other great Statesman, I think, but my Lord Chancellor, in towne. I received several commands from them; among others, to provide some bread and cheese for the garrison at Guernsey, which they promised to see me paid for. So to the 'Change, and home to dinner. In the afternoon I down to Woolwich and after me my wife and Mercer, whom I led to Mr. Sheldon's to see his house, and I find it a very pretty place for them to be at. So I back again, walking both forward and backward, and left my wife to come by water. I straight to White Hall, late, to Secretary Bennet's to give him an account of the business I received from him to-day, and there staid weary and sleepy till past 12 at night. Then writ my mind to him, and so back by water and in the dark and against tide shot the bridge, groping with their pole for the way, which troubled me before I got through. So home, about one or two o'clock in the morning, my family at a great losse what was become of me. To supper, and to bed. Thus this book of two years ends. Myself and family in good health, consisting of myself and wife, Mercer, her woman, Mary, Alice, and Susan our maids, and Tom my boy. In a sickly time of the plague growing on. Having upon my hands the troublesome care of the Treasury of Tangier, with great sums drawn upon me, and nothing to pay them with: also the business of the office great. Consideration of removing my wife to Woolwich; she lately busy in learning to paint, with great pleasure and successe. All other things well; especially a new interest I am making, by a match in hand between the eldest son of Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady Jemimah Montage. The Duke of Yorke gone down to the fleete, but all suppose not with intent to stay there, as it is not fit, all men conceive, he should. JULY 1665 July 1st, 1665. Called up betimes, though weary and sleepy, by appointment by Mr. Povy and Colonell Norwood to discourse about some payments of Tangier. They gone, I to the office and there sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to the Duke of Albemarle's, by appointment, to give him an account of some disorder in the Yarde at Portsmouth, by workmen's going away of their owne accord, for lacke of money, to get work of hay-making, or any thing else to earne themselves bread. [There are several letters among the State Papers from Commissioner Thomas Middleton relating to the want of workmen at Portsmouth Dockyard. On June 29th Middleton wrote to Pepys, "The ropemakers have discharged themselves for want of money, and gone into the country to make hay." The blockmakers, the joiners, and the sawyers all refused to work longer without money ("Calendar," 1664-65, p. 453).] Thence to Westminster, where I hear the sicknesse encreases greatly, and to the Harp and Ball with Mary talking, who tells me simply her losing of her first love in the country in Wales, and coming up hither unknown to her friends, and it seems Dr. Williams do pretend love to her, and I have found him there several times. Thence by coach and late at the office, and so to bed. Sad at the newes that seven or eight houses in Bazing Hall street, are shut up of the plague. 2nd (Sunday). Up, and all the morning dressing my closet at the office with my plates, very neatly, and a fine place now it is, and will be a pleasure to sit in, though I thank God I needed none before. At noon dined at home, and after dinner to my accounts and cast them up, and find that though I have spent above L90 this month yet I have saved L17, and am worth in all above L1450, for which the Lord be praised! In the evening my Lady Pen and daughter come to see, and supped with us, then a messenger about business of the office from Sir G. Carteret at Chatham, and by word of mouth did send me word that the business between my Lord and him is fully agreed on, [The arrangements for the marriage of Lady Jemimah Montagu to Philip Carteret were soon settled, for the wedding took place on July 31st] and is mightily liked of by the King and the Duke of Yorke, and that he sent me this word with great joy; they gone, we to bed. I hear this night that Sir J. Lawson was buried late last night at St. Dunstan's by us, without any company at all, and that the condition of his family is but very poor, which I could be contented to be sorry for, though he never was the man that ever obliged me by word or deed. 3rd. Up and by water with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to White Hall to the Duke of Albemarle, where, after a little business, we parted, and I to the Harp and Ball, and there staid a while talking to Mary, and so home to dinner. After dinner to the Duke of Albemarle's again, and so to the Swan, and there 'demeurais un peu'de temps con la fille', and so to the Harp and Ball, and alone 'demeurais un peu de temps baisant la', and so away home and late at the office about letters, and so home, resolving from this night forwards to close all my letters, if possible, and end all my business at the office by daylight, and I shall go near to do it and put all my affairs in the world in good order, the season growing so sickly, that it is much to be feared how a man can escape having a share with others in it, for which the good Lord God bless me, or to be fitted to receive it. So after supper to bed, and mightily troubled in my sleep all night with dreams of Jacke Cole, my old schoolfellow, lately dead, who was born at the same time with me, and we reckoned our fortunes pretty equal. God fit me for his condition! 4th. Up, and sat at the office all the morning. At noon to the 'Change and thence to the Dolphin, where a good dinner at the cost of one Mr. Osbaston, who lost a wager to Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Rider, and Sir R. Ford, a good while since and now it is spent. The wager was that ten of our ships should not have a fight with ten of the enemy's before Michaelmas. Here was other very good company, and merry, and at last in come Mr. Buckeworth, a very fine gentleman, and proves to be a Huntingdonshire man. Thence to my office and there all the afternoon till night, and so home to settle some accounts of Tangier and other papers. I hear this day the Duke and Prince Rupert are both come back from sea, and neither of them go back again. The latter I much wonder at, but it seems the towne reports so, and I am very glad of it. This morning I did a good piece of work with Sir W. Warren, ending the business of the lotterys, wherein honestly I think I shall get above L100. Bankert, it seems, is come home with the little fleete he hath been abroad with, without doing any thing, so that there is nobody of an enemy at sea. We are in great hopes of meeting with the Dutch East India fleete, which is mighty rich, or with De Ruyter, who is so also. Sir Richard Ford told me this day, at table, a fine account, how the Dutch were like to have been mastered by the present Prince of Orange [The period alluded to is 1650, when the States-General disbanded part of the forces which the Prince of Orange (William) wished to retain. The prince attempted, but unsuccessfully, to possess himself of Amsterdam. In the same year he died, at the early age of twenty-four; some say of the small-pox; others, with Sir Richard Ford, say of poison.--B.] his father to be besieged in Amsterdam, having drawn an army of foot into the towne, and horse near to the towne by night, within three miles of the towne, and they never knew of it; but by chance the Hamburgh post in the night fell among the horse, and heard their design, and knowing the way, it being very dark and rainy, better than they, went from them, and did give notice to the towne before the others could reach the towne, and so were saved. It seems this De Witt and another family, the Beckarts, were among the chief of the familys that were enemys to the Prince, and were afterwards suppressed by the Prince, and continued so till he was, as they say, poysoned; and then they turned all again, as it was, against the young Prince, and have so carried it to this day, it being about 12 and 14 years, and De Witt in the head of them. 5th. Up, and advised about sending of my wife's bedding and things to Woolwich, in order to her removal thither. So to the office, where all the morning till noon, and so to the 'Change, and thence home to dinner. In the afternoon I abroad to St. James's, and there with Mr. Coventry a good while, and understand how matters are ordered in the fleete: that is, my Lord Sandwich goes Admiral; under him Sir G. Ascue, and Sir T. Teddiman; Vice-Admiral, Sir W. Pen; and under him Sir W. Barkeley, and Sir Jos. Jordan: Reere-Admiral, Sir Thomas Allen; and under him Sir Christopher Mings, [The son of a shoemaker, bred to the sea-service; he rose to the rank of an admiral, and was killed in the fight with the Dutch, June, 1666.--B. See post, June 10th, 1666.] and Captain Harman. We talked in general of business of the Navy, among others how he had lately spoken to Sir G. Carteret, and professed great resolution of friendship with him and reconciliation, and resolves to make it good as well as he can, though it troubles him, he tells me, that something will come before him wherein he must give him offence, but I do find upon the whole that Mr. Coventry do not listen to these complaints of money with the readiness and resolvedness to remedy that he used to do, and I think if he begins to draw in it is high time for me to do so too. From thence walked round to White Hall, the Parke being quite locked up; and I observed a house shut up this day in the Pell Mell, where heretofore in Cromwell's time we young men used to keep our weekly clubs. And so to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, who is come this day from Chatham, and mighty glad he is to see me, and begun to talk of our great business of the match, which goes on as fast as possible, but for convenience we took water and over to his coach to Lambeth, by which we went to Deptford, all the way talking, first, how matters are quite concluded with all possible content between my Lord and him and signed and sealed, so that my Lady Sandwich is to come thither to-morrow or next day, and the young lady is sent for, and all likely to be ended between them in a very little while, with mighty joy on both sides, and the King, Duke, Lord Chancellor, and all mightily pleased. Thence to newes, wherein I find that Sir G. Carteret do now take all my Lord Sandwich's business to heart, and makes it the same with his owne. He tells me how at Chatham it was proposed to my Lord Sandwich to be joined with the Prince in the command of the fleete, which he was most willing to; but when it come to the Prince, he was quite against it; saying, there could be no government, but that it would be better to have two fleetes, and neither under the command of the other, which he would not agree to. So the King was not pleased; but, without any unkindnesse, did order the fleete to be ordered as above, as to the Admirals and commands: so the Prince is come up; and Sir G. Carteret, I remember, had this word thence, that, says he, by this means, though the King told him that it would be but for this expedition, yet I believe we shall keepe him out for altogether. He tells me how my Lord was much troubled at Sir W. Pen's being ordered forth (as it seems he is, to go to Solebay, and with the best fleete he can, to go forth), and no notice taken of my Lord Sandwich going after him, and having the command over him. But after some discourse Mr. Coventry did satisfy, as he says, my Lord, so as they parted friends both in that point and upon the other wherein I know my Lord was troubled, and which Mr. Coventry did speak to him of first thinking that my Lord might justly take offence at, his not being mentioned in the relation of the fight in the news book, and did clear all to my Lord how little he was concerned in it, and therewith my Lord also satisfied, which I am mightily glad of, because I should take it a very great misfortune to me to have them two to differ above all the persons in the world. Being come to Deptford, my Lady not being within, we parted, and I by water to Woolwich, where I found my wife come, and her two mayds, and very prettily accommodated they will be; and I left them going to supper, grieved in my heart to part with my wife, being worse by much without her, though some trouble there is in having the care of a family at home in this plague time, and so took leave, and I in one boat and W. Hewer in another home very late, first against tide, we having walked in the dark to Greenwich. Late home and to bed, very lonely. 6th. Up and forth to give order to my pretty grocer's wife's house, who, her husband tells me, is going this day for the summer into the country. I bespoke some sugar, &c., for my father, and so home to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret about money for the office, a sad thought, for in a little while all must go to wracke, winter coming on apace, when a great sum must be ready to pay part of the fleete, and so far we are from it that we have not enough to stop the mouths of poor people and their hands from falling about our eares here almost in the office. God give a good end to it! Sir G. Carteret told me one considerable thing: Alderman Backewell is ordered abroad upon some private score with a great sum of money; wherein I was instrumental the other day in shipping him away. It seems some of his creditors have taken notice of it, and he was like to be broke yesterday in his absence; Sir G. Carteret telling me that the King and the kingdom must as good as fall with that man at this time; and that he was forced to get L4000 himself to answer Backewell's people's occasions, or he must have broke; but committed this to me as a great secret and which I am heartily sorry to hear. Thence, after a little merry discourse of our marrying business, I parted, and by coach to several places, among others to see my Lord Brunkerd, who is not well, but was at rest when I come. I could not see him, nor had much mind, one of the great houses within two doors of him being shut up: and, Lord! the number of houses visited, which this day I observed through the town quite round in my way by Long Lane and London Wall. So home to the office, and thence to Sir W. Batten, and spent the evening at supper; and, among other discourse, the rashness of Sir John Lawson, for breeding up his daughter so high and proud, refusing a man of great interest, Sir W. Barkeley, to match her with a melancholy fellow, Colonell Norton's' son, of no interest nor good nature nor generosity at all, giving her L6000, when the other would have taken her with two; when he himself knew that he was not worth the money himself in all the world, he did give her that portion, and is since dead, and left his wife and two daughters beggars, and the other gone away with L6000, and no content in it, through the ill qualities of her father-in-law and husband, who, it seems, though a pretty woman, contracted for her as if he had been buying a horse; and, worst of all, is now of no use to serve the mother and two little sisters in any stead at Court, whereas the other might have done what he would for her: so here is an end of this family's pride, which, with good care, might have been what they would, and done well. Thence, weary of this discourse, as the act of the greatest rashness that ever I heard of in all my little conversation, we parted, and I home to bed. Sir W. Pen, it seems, sailed last night from Solebay with, about sixty sail of ship, and my Lord Sandwich in "The Prince" and some others, it seems, going after them to overtake them, for I am sure my Lord Sandwich will do all possible to overtake them, and will be troubled to the heart if he do it not. 7th. Up, and having set my neighbour, Mr. Hudson, wine coopers, at work drawing out a tierce of wine for the sending of some of it to my wife, I abroad, only taking notice to what a condition it hath pleased God to bring me that at this time I have two tierces of Claret, two quarter casks of Canary, and a smaller vessel of Sack; a vessel of Tent, another of Malaga, and another of white wine, all in my wine cellar together; which, I believe, none of my friends of my name now alive ever had of his owne at one time. To Westminster, and there with Mr. Povy and Creed talking of our Tangier business, and by and by I drew Creed aside and acquainted him with what Sir G. Carteret did tell me about Backewell the other day, because he hath money of his in his hands. So home, taking some new books, L5 worth, home to my great content. At home all the day after busy. Some excellent discourse and advice of Sir W. Warren's in the afternoon, at night home to look over my new books, and so late to bed. 8th. All day very diligent at the office, ended my letters by 9 at night, and then fitted myself to go down to Woolwich to my wife, which I did, calling at Sir G. Carteret's at Deptford, and there hear that my Lady Sandwich is come, but not very well. By 12 o'clock to Woolwich, found my wife asleep in bed, but strange to think what a fine night I had down, but before I had been one minute on shore, the mightiest storm come of wind and rain that almost could be for a quarter of an houre and so left. I to bed, being the first time I come to her lodgings, and there lodged well. 9th (Lord's day). Very pleasant with her and among my people, while she made her ready, and, about 10 o'clock, by water to Sir G. Carteret, and there find my Lady [Sandwich] in her chamber, not very well, but looks the worst almost that ever I did see her in my life. It seems her drinking of the water at Tunbridge did almost kill her before she could with most violent physique get it out of her body again. We are received with most extraordinary kindnesse by my Lady Carteret and her children, and dined most nobly. Sir G. Carteret went to Court this morning. After dinner I took occasion to have much discourse with Mr. Ph. Carteret, and find him a very modest man; and I think verily of mighty good nature, and pretty understanding. He did give me a good account of the fight with the Dutch. My Lady Sandwich dined in her chamber. About three o'clock I, leaving my wife there, took boat and home, and there shifted myself into my black silke suit, and having promised Harman yesterday, I to his house, which I find very mean, and mean company. His wife very ill; I could not see her. Here I, with her father and Kate Joyce, who was also very ill, were godfathers and godmother to his boy, and was christened Will. Mr. Meriton christened him. The most observable thing I found there to my content, was to hear him and his clerk tell me that in this parish of Michell's, Cornhill, one of the middlemost parishes and a great one of the towne, there hath, notwithstanding this sickliness, been buried of any disease, man, woman, or child, not one for thirteen months last past; which [is] very strange. And the like in a good degree in most other parishes, I hear, saving only of the plague in them, but in this neither the plague nor any other disease. So back again home and reshifted myself, and so down to my Lady Carteret's, where mighty merry and great pleasantnesse between my Lady Sandwich and the young ladies and me, and all of us mighty merry, there never having been in the world sure a greater business of general content than this match proposed between Mr. Carteret and my Lady Jemimah. But withal it is mighty pretty to think how my poor Lady Sandwich, between her and me, is doubtfull whether her daughter will like of it or no, and how troubled she is for fear of it, which I do not fear at all, and desire her not to do it, but her fear is the most discreet and pretty that ever I did see. Late here, and then my wife and I, with most hearty kindnesse from my Lady Carteret by boat to Woolwich, come thither about 12 at night, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and with great pleasure looking over a nest of puppies of Mr. Shelden's, with which my wife is most extraordinary pleased, and one of them is promised her. Anon I took my leave, and away by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, where he tells me that I must be at Hampton Court anon. So I home to look over my Tangier papers, and having a coach of Mr. Povy's attending me, by appointment, in order to my coming to dine at his country house at Brainford, where he and his family is, I went and Mr. Tasbrough with me therein, it being a pretty chariot, but most inconvenient as to the horses throwing dust and dirt into one's eyes and upon one's clothes. There I staid a quarter of an houre, Creed being there, and being able to do little business (but the less the better). Creed rode before, and Mr. Povy and I after him in the chariot; and I was set down by him at the Parke pale, where one of his saddle horses was ready for me, he himself not daring to come into the house or be seen, because that a servant of his, out of his horse, happened to be sicke, but is not yet dead, but was never suffered to come into his house after he was ill. But this opportunity was taken to injure Povy, and most horribly he is abused by some persons hereupon, and his fortune, I believe, quite broke; but that he hath a good heart to bear, or a cunning one to conceal his evil. There I met with Sir W. Coventry, and by and by was heard by my Lord Chancellor and Treasurer about our Tangier money, and my Lord Treasurer had ordered me to forbear meddling with the L15,000 he offered me the other day, but, upon opening the case to them, they did offer it again, and so I think I shall have it, but my Lord General must give his consent in it, this money having been promised to him, and he very angry at the proposal. Here though I have not been in many years, yet I lacke time to stay, besides that it is, I perceive, an unpleasing thing to be at Court, everybody being fearful one of another, and all so sad, enquiring after the plague, so that I stole away by my horse to Kingston, and there with trouble was forced, to press two sturdy rogues to carry me to London, and met at the waterside with Mr. Charnocke, Sir Philip Warwicke's clerke, who had been in company and was quite foxed. I took him with me in my boat, and so away to Richmond, and there, by night, walked with him to Moreclacke, a very pretty walk, and there staid a good while, now and then talking and sporting with Nan the servant, who says she is a seaman's wife, and at last bade good night. 11th. And so all night down by water, a most pleasant passage, and come thither by two o'clock, and so walked from the Old Swan home, and there to bed to my Will, being very weary, and he lodging at my desire in my house. At 6 o'clock up and to Westminster (where and all the towne besides, I hear, the plague encreases), and, it being too soon to go to the Duke of Albemarle, I to the Harp and Ball, and there made a bargain with Mary to go forth with me in the afternoon, which she with much ado consented to. So I to the Duke of Albemarle's, and there with much ado did get his consent in part to my having the money promised for Tangier, and the other part did not concur. So being displeased with this, I back to the office and there sat alone a while doing business, and then by a solemn invitation to the Trinity House, where a great dinner and company, Captain Dobbin's feast for Elder Brother. But I broke up before the dinner half over and by water to the Harp and Ball, and thence had Mary meet me at the New Exchange, and there took coach and I with great pleasure took the ayre to Highgate, and thence to Hampstead, much pleased with her company, pretty and innocent, and had what pleasure almost I would with her, and so at night, weary and sweaty, it being very hot beyond bearing, we back again, and I set her down in St. Martin's Lane, and so I to the evening 'Change, and there hear all the towne full that Ostend is delivered to us, and that Alderman Backewell [Among the State Papers is a letter from the king to the Lord General (dated August 8th, 1665): "Alderman Backwell being in great straits for the second payment he has to make for the service in Flanders, as much tin is to be transmitted to him as will raise the sum. Has authorized him and Sir George Carteret to treat with the tin farmers for 500 tons of tin to be speedily transported under good convoy; but if, on consulting with Alderman Backwell, this plan of the tin seems insufficient, then without further difficulty he is to dispose for that purpose of the L10,000 assigned for pay of the Guards, not doubting that before that comes due, other ways will be found for supplying it; the payment in Flanders is of such importance that some means must be found of providing for it" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1664-65, pp. 508, 509)] did go with L50,000 to that purpose. But the truth of it I do not know, but something I believe there is extraordinary in his going. So to the office, where I did what I could as to letters, and so away to bed, shifting myself, and taking some Venice treakle, feeling myself out of order, and thence to bed to sleep. 12th. After doing what business I could in the morning, it being a solemn fast-day ["A form of Common Prayer; together with an order for fasting for the averting of God's heavy visitation upon many places of this realm. The fast to be observed within the cities of London and Westminster and places adjacent, on Wednesday the twelfth of this instant July, and both there and in all parts of this realm on the first Wednesday in every month during the visitation" ("Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1664-65, p. 466).] for the plague growing upon us, I took boat and down to Deptford, where I stood with great pleasure an houre or two by my Lady Sandwich's bedside, talking to her (she lying prettily in bed) of my Lady Jemimah's being from my Lady Pickering's when our letters come to that place; she being at my Lord Montagu's, at Boughton. The truth is, I had received letters of it two days ago, but had dropped them, and was in a very extraordinary straite what to do for them, or what account to give my Lady, but sent to every place; I sent to Moreclacke, where I had been the night before, and there they were found, which with mighty joy come safe to me; but all ending with satisfaction to my Lady and me, though I find my Lady Carteret not much pleased with this delay, and principally because of the plague, which renders it unsafe to stay long at Deptford. I eat a bit (my Lady Carteret being the most kind lady in the world), and so took boat, and a fresh boat at the Tower, and so up the river, against tide all the way, I having lost it by staying prating to and with my Lady, and, from before one, made it seven ere we got to Hampton Court; and when I come there all business was over, saving my finding Mr. Coventry at his chamber, and with him a good while about several businesses at his chamber, and so took leave, and away to my boat, and all night upon the water, staying a while with Nan at Moreclacke, very much pleased and merry with her, and so on homeward, and come home by two o'clock, shooting the bridge at that time of night, and so to bed, where I find Will is not, he staying at Woolwich to come with my wife to dinner tomorrow to my Lady Carteret's. Heard Mr. Williamson repeat at Hampton Court to-day how the King of France hath lately set out a most high arrest against the Pope, which is reckoned very lofty and high. [Arret. The rupture between Alexander VII. and Louis XIV. was healed in 1664, by the treaty signed at Pisa, on February 12th. On August 9th, the pope's nephew, Cardinal Chigi, made his entry into Paris, as legate, to give the king satisfaction for the insult offered at Rome by the Corsican guard to the Duc de Crequi, the French ambassador; (see January 25th, 1662-63). Cardinal Imperiali, Governor of Rome, asked pardon of the king in person, and all the hard conditions of the treaty were fulfilled. But no arret against the pope was set forth in 1665. On the contrary, Alexander, now wishing to please the king, issued a constitution on February 2nd, 1665, ordering all the clergy of France, without any exception, to sign a formulary condemning the famous five propositions extracted from the works of Jansenius; and on April 29th, the king in person ordered the parliament to register the bull. The Jansenist party, of course, demurred to this proceeding; the Bishops of Alais, Angers, Beauvais, and Pamiers, issuing mandates calling upon their clergy to refuse. It was against these mandates, as being contrary to the king's declaration and the pope's intentions, that the arret was directed.--B.] 13th. Lay long, being sleepy, and then up to the office, my Lord Brunker (after his sickness) being come to the office, and did what business there was, and so I by water, at night late, to Sir G. Carteret's, but there being no oars to carry me, I was fain to call a skuller that had a gentleman already in it, and he proved a man of love to musique, and he and I sung together the way down with great pleasure, and an incident extraordinary to be met with. There come to dinner, they haveing dined, but my Lady caused something to be brought for me, and I dined well and mighty merry, especially my Lady Slaning and I about eating of creame and brown bread, which she loves as much as I. Thence after long discourse with them and my Lady alone, I and [my] wife, who by agreement met here, took leave, and I saw my wife a little way down (it troubling me that this absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond), and so parted, and I home to some letters, and then home to bed. Above 700 died of the plague this week. 14th. Up, and all the morning at the Exchequer endeavouring to strike tallys for money for Tangier, and mightily vexed to see how people attend there, some out of towne, and others drowsy, and to others it was late, so that the King's business suffers ten times more than all their service is worth. So I am put off to to-morrow. Thence to the Old Exchange, by water, and there bespoke two fine shirts of my pretty seamstress, who, she tells me, serves Jacke Fenn. Upon the 'Change all the news is that guns have been heard and that news is come by a Dane that my Lord was in view of De Ruyter, and that since his parting from my Lord of Sandwich he hath heard guns, but little of it do I think true. So home to dinner, where Povy by agreement, and after dinner we to talk of our Tangier matters, about keeping our profit at the pay and victualling of the garrison, if the present undertakers should leave it, wherein I did [not] nor will do any thing unworthy me and any just man, but they being resolved to quit it, it is fit I should suffer Mr. Povy to do what he can with Mr. Gauden about it to our profit. Thence to the discoursing of putting some sums of money in order and tallys, which we did pretty well. So he in the evening gone, I by water to Sir G. Carteret's, and there find my Lady Sandwich and her buying things for my Lady Jem.'s wedding; and my Lady Jem. is beyond expectation come to Dagenhams, where Mr. Carteret is to go to visit her to-morrow; and my proposal of waiting on him, he being to go alone to all persons strangers to him, was well accepted, and so I go with him. But, Lord! to see how kind my Lady Carteret is to her! Sends her most rich jewells, and provides bedding and things of all sorts most richly for her, which makes my Lady and me out of our wits almost to see the kindnesse she treats us all with, as if they would buy the young lady. Thence away home and, foreseeing my being abroad two days, did sit up late making of letters ready against tomorrow, and other things, and so to bed, to be up betimes by the helpe of a larum watch, which by chance I borrowed of my watchmaker to-day, while my owne is mending. 15th. Up, and after all business done, though late, I to Deptford, but before I went out of the office saw there young Bagwell's wife returned, but could not stay to speak to her, though I had a great mind to it, and also another great lady, as to fine clothes, did attend there to have a ticket signed; which I did do, taking her through the garden to my office, where I signed it and had a salute--[kiss]--of her, and so I away by boat to Redriffe, and thence walked, and after dinner, at Sir G. Carteret's, where they stayed till almost three o'clock for me, and anon took boat, Mr. Carteret and I to the ferry-place at Greenwich, and there staid an hour crossing the water to and again to get our coach and horses over; and by and by set out, and so toward Dagenhams. But, Lord! what silly discourse we had by the way as to love-matters, he being the most awkerd man I ever met with in my life as to that business. Thither we come, by that time it begun to be dark, and were kindly received by Lady Wright and my Lord Crew. And to discourse they went, my Lord discoursing with him, asking of him questions of travell, which he answered well enough in a few words; but nothing to the lady from him at all. To supper, and after supper to talk again, he yet taking no notice of the lady. My Lord would have had me have consented to leaving the young people together to-night, to begin their amours, his staying being but to be little. But I advised against it, lest the lady might be too much surprised. So they led him up to his chamber, where I staid a little, to know how he liked the lady, which he told me he did mightily; but, Lord! in the dullest insipid manner that ever lover did. So I bid him good night, and down to prayers with my Lord Crew's family, and after prayers, my Lord, and Lady Wright, and I, to consult what to do; and it was agreed at last to have them go to church together, as the family used to do, though his lameness was a great objection against it. But at last my Lady Jem. sent me word by my Lady Wright that it would be better to do just as they used to do before his coming; and therefore she desired to go to church, which was yielded then to. 16th (Lord's day). I up, having lain with Mr. Moore in the chaplin's chamber. And having trimmed myself, down to Mr. Carteret; and he being ready we down and walked in the gallery an hour or two, it being a most noble and pretty house that ever, for the bigness, I saw. Here I taught him what to do: to take the lady always by the hand to lead her, and telling him that I would find opportunity to leave them two together, he should make these and these compliments, and also take a time to do the like to Lord Crew and Lady Wright. After I had instructed him, which he thanked me for, owning that he needed my teaching him, my Lord Crew come down and family, the young lady among the rest; and so by coaches to church four miles off; where a pretty good sermon, and a declaration of penitence of a man that had undergone the Churches censure for his wicked life. Thence back again by coach, Mr. Carteret having not had the confidence to take his lady once by the hand, coming or going, which I told him of when we come home, and he will hereafter do it. So to dinner. My Lord excellent discourse. Then to walk in the gallery, and to sit down. By and by my Lady Wright and I go out (and then my Lord Crew, he not by design), and lastly my Lady Crew come out, and left the young people together. And a little pretty daughter of my Lady Wright's most innocently come out afterward, and shut the door to, as if she had done it, poor child, by inspiration; which made us without, have good sport to laugh at. They together an hour, and by and by church-time, whither he led her into the coach and into the church, and so at church all the afternoon, several handsome ladies at church. But it was most extraordinary hot that ever I knew it. So home again and to walk in the gardens, where we left the young couple a second time; and my Lady Wright and I to walk together, who to my trouble tells me that my Lady Jem. must have something done to her body by Scott before she can be married, and therefore care must be had to send him, also that some more new clothes must of necessity be made her, which and other things I took care of. Anon to supper, and excellent discourse and dispute between my Lord Crew and the chaplin, who is a good scholler, but a nonconformist. Here this evening I spoke with Mrs. Carter, my old acquaintance, that hath lived with my Lady these twelve or thirteen years, the sum of all whose discourse and others for her, is, that I would get her a good husband; which I have promised, but know not when I shall perform. After Mr. Carteret was carried to his chamber, we to prayers again and then to bed. 17th. Up all of us, and to billiards; my Lady Wright, Mr. Carteret, myself, and every body. By and by the young couple left together. Anon to dinner; and after dinner Mr. Carteret took my advice about giving to the servants, and I led him to give L10 among them, which he did, by leaving it to the chief man-servant, Mr. Medows, to do for him. Before we went, I took my Lady Jem. apart, and would know how she liked this gentleman, and whether she was under any difficulty concerning him. She blushed, and hid her face awhile; but at last I forced her to tell me. She answered that she could readily obey what her father and mother had done; which was all she could say, or I expect. So anon I took leave, and for London. But, Lord! to see, among other things, how all these great people here are afeard of London, being doubtfull of anything that comes from thence, or that hath lately been there, that I was forced to say that I lived wholly at Woolwich. In our way Mr. Carteret did give me mighty thanks for my care and pains for him, and is mightily pleased, though the truth is, my Lady Jem. hath carried herself with mighty discretion and gravity, not being forward at all in any degree, but mighty serious in her answers to him, as by what he says and I observed, I collect. To London to my office, and there took letters from the office, where all well, and so to the Bridge, and there he and I took boat and to Deptford, where mighty welcome, and brought the good newes of all being pleased to them. Mighty mirth at my giving them an account of all; but the young man could not be got to say one word before me or my Lady Sandwich of his adventures, but, by what he afterwards related to his father and mother and sisters, he gives an account that pleases them mightily. Here Sir G. Carteret would have me lie all night, which I did most nobly, better than ever I did in my life, Sir G. Carteret being mighty kind to me, leading me to my chamber; and all their care now is, to have the business ended, and they have reason, because the sicknesse puts all out of order, and they cannot safely stay where they are. 18th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and so to my house and eat a bit of victuals, and so to the 'Change, where a little business and a very thin Exchange; and so walked through London to the Temple, where I took water for Westminster to the Duke of Albemarle, to wait on him, and so to Westminster Hall, and there paid for my newes-books, and did give Mrs. Michell, who is going out of towne because of the sicknesse, and her husband, a pint of wine, and so Sir W. Warren coming to me by appointment we away by water home, by the way discoursing about the project I have of getting some money and doing the King good service too about the mast docke at Woolwich, which I fear will never be done if I do not go about it. After dispatching letters at the office, I by water down to Deptford, where I staid a little while, and by water to my wife, whom I have not seen 6 or 5 days, and there supped with her, and mighty pleasant, and saw with content her drawings, and so to bed mighty merry. I was much troubled this day to hear at Westminster how the officers do bury the dead in the open Tuttle-fields, pretending want of room elsewhere; whereas the New Chappell churchyard was walled-in at the publick charge in the last plague time, merely for want of room and now none, but such as are able to pay dear for it, can be buried there. 19th. Up and to the office, and thence presently to the Exchequer, and there with much trouble got my tallys, and afterwards took Mr. Falconer, Spicer, and another or two to the Leg and there give them a dinner, and so with my tallys and about 30 dozen of bags, which it seems are my due, having paid the fees as if I had received the money I away home, and after a little stay down by water to Deptford, where I find all full of joy, and preparing to go to Dagenhams to-morrow. To supper, and after supper to talk without end. Very late I went away, it raining, but I had a design 'pour aller a la femme de Bagwell' and did so.... So away about 12, and it raining hard I back to Sir G. Carteret and there called up the page, and to bed there, being all in a most violent sweat. 20th. Up, in a boat among other people to the Tower, and there to the office, where we sat all the morning. So down to Deptford and there dined, and after dinner saw my Lady Sandwich and Mr. Carteret and his two sisters over the water, going to Dagenhams, and my Lady Carteret towards Cranburne. [The royal lodge of that name in Windsor Forest, occupied by Sir George Carteret as Vice-Chamberlain to the King.--B.] So all the company broke up in most extraordinary joy, wherein I am mighty contented that I have had the good fortune to be so instrumental, and I think it will be of good use to me. So walked to Redriffe, where I hear the sickness is, and indeed is scattered almost every where, there dying 1089 of the plague this week. My Lady Carteret did this day give me a bottle of plague-water home with me. So home to write letters late, and then home to bed, where I have not lain these 3 or 4 nights. I received yesterday a letter from my Lord Sandwich, giving me thanks for my care about their marriage business, and desiring it to be dispatched, that no disappointment may happen therein, which I will help on all I can. This afternoon I waited on the Duke of Albemarle, and so to Mrs. Croft's, where I found and saluted Mrs. Burrows, who is a very pretty woman for a mother of so many children. But, Lord! to see how the plague spreads. It being now all over King's Streete, at the Axe, and next door to it, and in other places. 21st. Up and abroad to the goldsmiths, to see what money I could get upon my present tallys upon the advance of the Excise, and I hope I shall get L10,000. I went also and had them entered at the Excise Office. Alderman Backewell is at sea. Sir R. Viner come to towne but this morning. So Colvill was the only man I could yet speak withal to get any money of. Met with Mr. Povy, and I with him and dined at the Custom House Taverne, there to talk of our Tangier business, and Stockedale and Hewet with us. So abroad to several places, among others to Anthony Joyce's, and there broke to him my desire to have Pall married to Harman, whose wife, poor woman, is lately dead, to my trouble, I loving her very much, and he will consider it. So home and late at my chamber, setting some papers in order; the plague growing very raging, and my apprehensions of it great. So very late to bed. 22nd. As soon as up I among my goldsmiths, Sir Robert Viner and Colvill, and there got L10,000 of my new tallys accepted, and so I made it my work to find out Mr. Mervin and sent for others to come with their bills of Exchange, as Captain Hewett, &c., and sent for Mr. Jackson, but he was not in town. So all the morning at the office, and after dinner, which was very late, I to Sir R. Viner's, by his invitation in the morning, and got near L5000 more accepted, and so from this day the whole, or near, L15,000, lies upon interest. Thence I by water to Westminster, and the Duke of Albemarle being gone to dinner to my Lord of Canterbury's, I thither, and there walked and viewed the new hall, a new old-fashion hall as much as possible. Begun, and means left for the ending of it, by Bishop Juxon. Not coming proper to speak with him, I to Fox-hall, where to the Spring garden; but I do not see one guest there, the town being so empty of any body to come thither. Only, while I was there, a poor woman come to scold with the master of the house that a kinswoman, I think, of hers, that was newly dead of the plague, might be buried in the church-yard; for, for her part, she should not be buried in the commons, as they said she should. Back to White Hall, and by and by comes the Duke of Albemarle, and there, after a little discourse, I by coach home, not meeting with but two coaches, and but two carts from White Hall to my own house, that I could observe; and the streets mighty thin of people. I met this noon with Dr. Burnett, who told me, and I find in the newsbook this week that he posted upon the 'Change, that whoever did spread the report that, instead of the plague, his servant was by him killed, it was forgery, and shewed me the acknowledgment of the master of the pest-house, that his servant died of a bubo on his right groine, and two spots on his right thigh, which is the plague. To my office, where late writing letters, and getting myself prepared with business for Hampton Court to-morrow, and so having caused a good pullet to be got for my supper, all alone, I very late to bed. All the news is great: that we must of necessity fall out with France, for He will side with the Dutch against us. That Alderman Backewell is gone over (which indeed he is) with money, and that Ostend is in our present possession. But it is strange to see how poor Alderman Backewell is like to be put to it in his absence, Mr. Shaw his right hand being ill. And the Alderman's absence gives doubts to people, and I perceive they are in great straits for money, besides what Sir G. Carteret told me about fourteen days ago. Our fleet under my Lord Sandwich being about the latitude 55 (which is a great secret) to the Northward of the Texell. So to bed very late. In my way I called upon Sir W. Turner, and at Mr. Shelcrosse's (but he was not at home, having left his bill with Sir W. Turner), that so I may prove I did what I could as soon as I had money to answer all bills. 23rd (Lord's day). Up very betimes, called by Mr. Cutler, by appointment, and with him in his coach and four horses over London Bridge to Kingston, a very pleasant journey, and at Hampton Court by nine o'clock, and in our way very good and various discourse, as he is a man, that though I think he be a knave, as the world thinks him, yet a man of great experience and worthy to be heard discourse. When we come there, we to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there discoursed long with him, he and I alone, the others being gone away, and so walked together through the garden to the house, where we parted, I observing with a little trouble that he is too great now to expect too much familiarity with, and I find he do not mind me as he used to do, but when I reflect upon him and his business I cannot think much of it, for I do not observe anything but the same great kindness from him. I followed the King to chappell, and there hear a good sermon; and after sermon with my Lord Arlington, Sir Thomas Ingram and others, spoke to the Duke about Tangier, but not to much purpose. I was not invited any whither to dinner, though a stranger, which did also trouble me; but yet I must remember it is a Court, and indeed where most are strangers; but, however, Cutler carried me to Mr. Marriott's the house-keeper, and there we had a very good dinner and good company, among others Lilly, the painter. Thence to the councill-chamber, where in a back room I sat all the afternoon, but the councill begun late to sit, and spent most of the time upon Morisco's Tarr businesse. They sat long, and I forced to follow Sir Thomas Ingram, the Duke, and others, so that when I got free and come to look for Cutler, he was gone with his coach, without leaving any word with any body to tell me so; so that I was forced with great trouble to walk up and down looking of him, and at last forced to get a boat to carry me to Kingston, and there, after eating a bit at a neat inne, which pleased me well, I took boat, and slept all the way, without intermission, from thence to Queenhive, where, it being about two o'clock, too late and too soon to go home to bed, I lay and slept till about four, 24th. And then up and home, and there dressed myself, and by appointment to Deptford, to Sir G. Carteret's, between six and seven o'clock, where I found him and my Lady almost ready, and by and by went over to the ferry, and took coach and six horses nobly for Dagenhams, himself and lady and their little daughter, Louisonne, and myself in the coach; where, when we come, we were bravely entertained and spent the day most pleasantly with the young ladies, and I so merry as never more. Only for want of sleep, and drinking of strong beer had a rheum in one of my eyes, which troubled me much. Here with great content all the day, as I think I ever passed a day in my life, because of the contentfulnesse of our errand, and the noblenesse of the company and our manner of going. But I find Mr. Carteret yet as backward almost in his caresses, as he was the first day. At night, about seven o'clock, took coach again; but, Lord! to see in what a pleasant humour Sir G. Carteret hath been both coming and going; so light, so fond, so merry, so boyish (so much content he takes in this business), it is one of the greatest wonders I ever saw in my mind. But once in serious discourse he did say that, if he knew his son to be a debauchee, as many and, most are now-a-days about the Court, he would tell it, and my Lady Jem. should not have him; and so enlarged both he and she about the baseness and looseness of the Court, and told several stories of the Duke of Monmouth, and Richmond, and some great person, my Lord of Ormond's second son, married to a lady of extraordinary quality (fit and that might have been made a wife for the King himself), about six months since, that this great person hath given the pox to------; and discoursed how much this would oblige the Kingdom if the King would banish some of these great persons publiquely from the Court, and wished it with all their hearts. We set out so late that it grew dark, so as we doubted the losing of our way; and a long time it was, or seemed, before we could get to the water-side, and that about eleven at night, where, when we come, all merry (only my eye troubled me, as I said), we found no ferryboat was there, nor no oares to carry us to Deptford. However, afterwards oares was called from the other side at Greenwich; but, when it come, a frolique, being mighty merry, took us, and there we would sleep all night in the coach in the Isle of Doggs. So we did, there being now with us my Lady Scott, and with great pleasure drew up the glasses, and slept till daylight, and then some victuals and wine being brought us, we ate a bit, and so up and took boat, merry as might be; and when come to Sir G. Carteret's, there all to bed. 25th. Our good humour in every body continuing, and there I slept till seven o'clock. Then up and to the office, well refreshed, my eye only troubling me, which by keeping a little covered with my handkercher and washing now and then with cold water grew better by night. At noon to the 'Change, which was very thin, and thence homeward, and was called in by Mr. Rawlinson, with whom I dined and some good company very harmlessly merry. But sad the story of the plague in the City, it growing mightily. This day my Lord Brunker did give me Mr. Grant's' book upon the Bills of Mortality, new printed and enlarged. Thence to my office awhile, full of business, and thence by coach to the Duke of Albemarle's, not meeting one coach going nor coming from my house thither and back again, which is very strange. One of my chief errands was to speak to Sir W. Clerke about my wife's brother, who importunes me, and I doubt he do want mightily, but I can do little for him there as to employment in the army, and out of my purse I dare not for fear of a precedent, and letting him come often to me is troublesome and dangerous too, he living in the dangerous part of the town, but I will do what I can possibly for him and as soon as I can. Mightily troubled all this afternoon with masters coming to me about Bills of Exchange and my signing them upon my Goldsmiths, but I did send for them all and hope to ease myself this weeke of all the clamour. These two or three days Mr. Shaw at Alderman Backewell's hath lain sick, like to die, and is feared will not live a day to an end. At night home and to bed, my head full of business, and among others, this day come a letter to me from Paris from my Lord Hinchingbroke, about his coming over; and I have sent this night an order from the Duke of Albemarle for a ship of 36 guns to [go] to Calais to fetch him. 26th. Up, and after doing a little business, down to Deptford with Sir W. Batten, and there left him, and I to Greenwich to the Park, where I hear the King and Duke are come by water this morn from Hampton Court. They asked me several questions. The King mightily pleased with his new buildings there. I followed them to Castle's ship in building, and there, met Sir W. Batten, and thence to Sir G. Carteret's, where all the morning with them; they not having any but the Duke of Monmouth, and Sir W. Killigrew, and one gentleman, and a page more. Great variety of talk, and was often led to speak to the King and Duke. By and by they to dinner, and all to dinner and sat down to the King saving myself, which, though I could not in modesty expect, yet, God forgive my pride! I was sorry I was there, that Sir W. Batten should say that he could sit down where I could not, though he had twenty times more reason than I, but this was my pride and folly. I down and walked with Mr. Castle, who told me the design of Ford and Rider to oppose and do all the hurt they can to Captain Taylor in his new ship "The London," and how it comes, and that they are a couple of false persons, which I believe, and withal that he himself is a knave too. He and I by and by to dinner mighty nobly, and the King having dined, he come down, and I went in the barge with him, I sitting at the door. Down to Woolwich (and there I just saw and kissed my wife, and saw some of her painting, which is very curious; and away again to the King) and back again with him in the barge, hearing him and the Duke talk, and seeing and observing their manner of discourse. And God forgive me! though I admire them with all the duty possible, yet the more a man considers and observes them, the less he finds of difference between them and other men, though (blessed be God!) they are both princes of great nobleness and spirits. The barge put me into another boat that come to our side, Mr. Holder with a bag of gold to the Duke, and so they away and I home to the office. The Duke of Monmouth is the most skittish leaping gallant that ever I saw, always in action, vaulting or leaping, or clambering. Thence mighty full of the honour of this day, I took coach and to Kate Joyce's, but she not within, but spoke with Anthony, who tells me he likes well of my proposal for Pall to Harman, but I fear that less than L500 will not be taken, and that I shall not be able to give, though I did not say so to him. After a little other discourse and the sad news of the death of so many in the parish of the plague, forty last night, the bell always going, I back to the Exchange, where I went up and sat talking with my beauty, Mrs. Batelier, a great while, who is indeed one of the finest women I ever saw in my life. After buying some small matter, I home, and there to the office and saw Sir J. Minnes now come from Portsmouth, I home to set my Journall for these four days in order, they being four days of as great content and honour and pleasure to me as ever I hope to live or desire, or think any body else can live. For methinks if a man would but reflect upon this, and think that all these things are ordered by God Almighty to make me contented, and even this very marriage now on foot is one of the things intended to find me content in, in my life and matter of mirth, methinks it should make one mightily more satisfied in the world than he is. This day poor Robin Shaw at Backewell's died, and Backewell himself now in Flanders. The King himself asked about Shaw, and being told he was dead, said he was very sorry for it. The sicknesse is got into our parish this week, and is got, indeed, every where; so that I begin to think of setting things in order, which I pray God enable me to put both as to soul and body. 27th. Called up at 4 o'clock. Up and to my preparing some papers for Hampton Court, and so by water to Fox Hall, and there Mr. Gauden's coach took me up, and by and by I took up him, and so both thither, a brave morning to ride in and good discourse with him. Among others he begun with me to speak of the Tangier Victuallers resigning their employment, and his willingness to come on. Of which I was glad, and took the opportunity to answer him with all kindness and promise of assistance. He told me a while since my Lord Berkeley did speak of it to him, and yesterday a message from Sir Thomas Ingram. When I come to Hampton Court I find Sir T. Ingram and Creed ready with papers signed for the putting of Mr. Gawden in, upon a resignation signed to by Lanyon and sent to Sir Thos. Ingram. At this I was surprized but yet was glad, and so it passed but with respect enough to those that are in, at least without any thing ill taken from it. I got another order signed about the boats, which I think I shall get something by. So dispatched all my business, having assurance of continuance of all hearty love from Sir W. Coventry, and so we staid and saw the King and Queene set out toward Salisbury, and after them the Duke and Duchesse, whose hands I did kiss. And it was the first time I did ever, or did see any body else, kiss her hand, and it was a most fine white and fat hand. But it was pretty to see the young pretty ladies dressed like men, in velvet coats, caps with ribbands, and with laced bands, just like men. Only the Duchesse herself it did not become. They gone, we with great content took coach again, and hungry come to Clapham about one o'clock, and Creed there too before us, where a good dinner, the house having dined, and so to walk up and down in the gardens, mighty pleasant. By and by comes by promise to me Sir G. Carteret, and viewed the house above and below, and sat and drank there, and I had a little opportunity to kiss and spend some time with the ladies above, his daughter, a buxom lass, and his sister Fissant, a serious lady, and a little daughter of hers, that begins to sing prettily. Thence, with mighty pleasure, with Sir G. Carteret by coach, with great discourse of kindnesse with him to my Lord Sandwich, and to me also; and I every day see more good by the alliance. Almost at Deptford I 'light and walked over to Half-way House, and so home, in my way being shown my cozen Patience's house, which seems, at distance, a pretty house. At home met the weekly Bill, where above 1000 encreased in the Bill, and of them, in all about 1,700 of the plague, which hath made the officers this day resolve of sitting at Deptford, which puts me to some consideration what to do. Therefore home to think and consider of every thing about it, and without determining any thing eat a little supper and to bed, full of the pleasure of these 6 or 7 last days. 28th. Up betimes, and down to Deptford, where, after a little discourse with Sir G. Carteret, who is much displeased with the order of our officers yesterday to remove the office to Deptford, pretending other things, but to be sure it is with regard to his own house (which is much because his family is going away). I am glad I was not at the order making, and so I will endeavour to alter it. Set out with my Lady all alone with her with six horses to Dagenhams; going by water to the Ferry. And a pleasant going, and good discourse; and when there, very merry, and the young couple now well acquainted. But, Lord! to see in what fear all the people here do live would make one mad, they are afeard of us that come to them, insomuch that I am troubled at it, and wish myself away. But some cause they have; for the chaplin, with whom but a week or two ago we were here mighty high disputing, is since fallen into a fever and dead, being gone hence to a friend's a good way off. A sober and a healthful man. These considerations make us all hasten the marriage, and resolve it upon Monday next, which is three days before we intended it. Mighty merry all of us, and in the evening with full content took coach again and home by daylight with great pleasure, and thence I down to Woolwich, where find my wife well, and after drinking and talking a little we to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and after viewing some of my wife's pictures, which now she is come to do very finely to my great satisfaction beyond what I could ever look for, I went away and by water to the office, where nobody to meet me, but busy all the morning. At noon to dinner, where I hear that my Will is come in thither and laid down upon my bed, ill of the headake, which put me into extraordinary fear; and I studied all I could to get him out of the house, and set my people to work to do it without discouraging him, and myself went forth to the Old Exchange to pay my fair Batelier for some linnen, and took leave of her, they breaking up shop for a while; and so by coach to Kate Joyce's, and there used all the vehemence and rhetorique I could to get her husband to let her go down to Brampton, but I could not prevail with him; he urging some simple reasons, but most that of profit, minding the house, and the distance, if either of them should be ill. However, I did my best, and more than I had a mind to do, but that I saw him so resolved against it, while she was mightily troubled at it. At last he yielded she should go to Windsor, to some friends there. So I took my leave of them, believing that it is great odds that we ever all see one another again; for I dare not go any more to that end of the towne. So home, and to writing of letters--hard, and then at night home, and fell to my Tangier papers till late, and then to bed, in some ease of mind that Will is gone to his lodging, and that he is likely to do well, it being only the headake. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and in my night gowne, cap and neckcloth, undressed all day long, lost not a minute, but in my chamber, setting my Tangier accounts to rights. Which I did by night to my very heart's content, not only that it is done, but I find every thing right, and even beyond what, after so long neglecting them, I did hope for. The Lord of Heaven be praised for it! Will was with me to-day, and is very well again. It was a sad noise to hear our bell to toll and ring so often to-day, either for deaths or burials; I think five or six times. At night weary with my day's work, but full of joy at my having done it, I to bed, being to rise betimes tomorrow to go to the wedding at Dagenhams. So to bed, fearing I have got some cold sitting in my loose garments all this day. 31st. Up, and very betimes by six o'clock at Deptford, and there find Sir G. Carteret, and my Lady ready to go: I being in my new coloured silk suit, and coat trimmed with gold buttons and gold broad lace round my hands, very rich and fine. By water to the Ferry, where, when we come, no coach there; and tide of ebb so far spent as the horse-boat could not get off on the other side the river to bring away the coach. So we were fain to stay there in the unlucky Isle of Doggs, in a chill place, the morning cool, and wind fresh, above two if not three hours to our great discontent. Yet being upon a pleasant errand, and seeing that it could not be helped, we did bear it very patiently; and it was worth my observing, I thought, as ever any thing, to see how upon these two scores, Sir G. Carteret, the most passionate man in the world, and that was in greatest haste to be gone, did bear with it, and very pleasant all the while, at least not troubled much so as to fret and storm at it. Anon the coach comes: in the mean time there coming a News thither with his horse to go over, that told us he did come from Islington this morning; and that Proctor the vintner of the Miter in Wood-street, and his son, are dead this morning there, of the plague; he having laid out abundance of money there, and was the greatest vintner for some time in London for great entertainments. We, fearing the canonicall hour would be past before we got thither, did with a great deal of unwillingness send away the license and wedding ring. So that when we come, though we drove hard with six horses, yet we found them gone from home; and going towards the church, met them coming from church, which troubled us. But, however, that trouble was soon over; hearing it was well done: they being both in their old cloaths; my Lord Crew giving her, there being three coach fulls of them. The young lady mighty sad, which troubled me; but yet I think it was only her gravity in a little greater degree than usual. All saluted her, but I did not till my Lady Sandwich did ask me whether I had saluted her or no. So to dinner, and very merry we were; but yet in such a sober way as never almost any wedding was in so great families: but it was much better. After dinner company divided, some to cards, others to talk. My Lady Sandwich and I up to settle accounts, and pay her some money. And mighty kind she is to me, and would fain have had me gone down for company with her to Hinchingbroke; but for my life I cannot. At night to supper, and so to talk; and which, methought, was the most extraordinary thing, all of us to prayers as usual, and the young bride and bridegroom too and so after prayers, soberly to bed; only I got into the bridegroom's chamber while he undressed himself, and there was very merry, till he was called to the bride's chamber, and into bed they went. I kissed the bride in bed, and so the curtaines drawne with the greatest gravity that could be, and so good night. But the modesty and gravity of this business was so decent, that it was to me indeed ten times more delightfull than if it had been twenty times more merry and joviall. Whereas I feared I must have sat up all night, we did here all get good beds, and I lay in the same I did before with Mr. Brisband, who is a good scholler and sober man; and we lay in bed, getting him to give me an account of home, which is the most delightfull talke a man can have of any traveller: and so to sleep. My eyes much troubled already with the change of my drink. Thus I ended this month with the greatest joy that ever I did any in my life, because I have spent the greatest part of it with abundance of joy, and honour, and pleasant journeys, and brave entertainments, and without cost of money; and at last live to see the business ended with great content on all sides. This evening with Mr. Brisband, speaking of enchantments and spells; I telling him some of my charms; he told me this of his owne knowledge, at Bourdeaux, in France. The words these: Voyci un Corps mort, Royde come un Baston, Froid comme Marbre, Leger come un esprit, Levons to au nom de Jesus Christ. He saw four little girles, very young ones, all kneeling, each of them, upon one knee; and one begun the first line, whispering in the eare of the next, and the second to the third, and the third to the fourth, and she to the first. Then the first begun the second line, and so round quite through, and, putting each one finger only to a boy that lay flat upon his back on the ground, as if he was dead; at the end of the words, they did with their four fingers raise this boy as high as they could reach, and he [Mr. Brisband] being there, and wondering at it, as also being afeard to see it, for they would have had him to have bore a part in saying the words, in the roome of one of the little girles that was so young that they could hardly make her learn to repeat the words, did, for feare there might be some sleight used in it by the boy, or that the boy might be light, call the cook of the house, a very lusty fellow, as Sir G. Carteret's cook, who is very big, and they did raise him in just the same manner. This is one of the strangest things I ever heard, but he tells it me of his owne knowledge, and I do heartily believe it to be true. I enquired of him whether they were Protestant or Catholique girles; and he told me they were Protestant, which made it the more strange to me. Thus we end this month, as I said, after the greatest glut of content that ever I had; only under some difficulty because of the plague, which grows mightily upon us, the last week being about 1700 or 1800 of the plague. My Lord Sandwich at sea with a fleet of about 100 sail, to the Northward, expecting De Ruyter, or the Dutch East India fleet. My Lord Hinchingbroke coming over from France, and will meet his sister at Scott's-hall. Myself having obliged both these families in this business very much; as both my Lady, and Sir G. Carteret and his Lady do confess exceedingly, and the latter do also now call me cozen, which I am glad of. So God preserve us all friends long, and continue health among us. AUGUST 1665 August 1st. Slept, and lay long; then up and my Lord [Crew] and Sir G. Carteret being gone abroad, I first to see the bridegroom and bride, and found them both up, and he gone to dress himself. Both red in the face, and well enough pleased this morning with their night's lodging. Thence down and Mr. Brisband and I to billiards: anon come my Lord and Sir G. Carteret in, who have been looking abroad and visiting some farms that Sir G. Carteret hath thereabouts, and, among other things, report the greatest stories of the bigness of the calfes they find there, ready to sell to the butchers, as big, they say, as little Cowes, and that they do give them a piece of chalke to licke, which they hold makes them white in the flesh within. Very merry at dinner, and so to talk and laugh after dinner, and up and down, some to [one] place, some to another, full of content on all sides. Anon about five o'clock, Sir G. Carteret and his lady and I took coach with the greatest joy and kindnesse that could be from the two familys or that ever I saw with so much appearance, and, I believe, reality in all my life. Drove hard home, and it was night ere we got to Deptford, where, with much kindnesse from them to me, I left them, and home to the office, where I find all well, and being weary and sleepy, it being very late, I to bed. 2nd. Up, it being a publique fast, as being the first Wednesday of the month, for the plague; I within doors all day, and upon my monthly accounts late, and there to my great joy settled almost all my private matters of money in my books clearly, and allowing myself several sums which I had hitherto not reckoned myself sure of, because I would not be over sure of any thing, though with reason I might do it, I did find myself really worth L1900, for which the great God of Heaven and Earth be praised! At night to the office to write a few letters, and so home to bed, after fitting myself for tomorrow's journey. 3rd. Up, and betimes to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret's, where, not liking the horse that had been hired by Mr. Uthwayt for me, I did desire Sir G. Carteret to let me ride his new L40 horse, which he did, and so I left my 'hacquenee'--[Haquenee = an ambling nag fitted for ladies' riding.]--behind, and so after staying a good while in their bedchamber while they were dressing themselves, discoursing merrily, I parted and to the ferry, where I was forced to stay a great while before I could get my horse brought over, and then mounted and rode very finely to Dagenhams; all the way people, citizens, walking to and again to enquire how the plague is in the City this week by the Bill; which by chance, at Greenwich, I had heard was 2,020 of the plague, and 3,000 and odd of all diseases; but methought it was a sad question to be so often asked me. Coming to Dagenhams, I there met our company coming out of the house, having staid as long as they could for me; so I let them go a little before, and went and took leave of my Lady Sandwich, good woman, who seems very sensible of my service in this late business, and having her directions in some things, among others, to get Sir G. Carteret and my Lord to settle the portion, and what Sir G. Carteret is to settle, into land, soon as may be, she not liking that it should lie long undone, for fear of death on either side. So took leave of her, and then down to the buttery, and eat a piece of cold venison pie, and drank and took some bread and cheese in my hand; and so mounted after them, Mr. Marr very kindly staying to lead me the way. By and by met my Lord Crew returning, after having accompanied them a little way, and so after them, Mr. Marr telling me by the way how a mayde servant of Mr. John Wright's (who lives thereabouts) falling sick of the plague, she was removed to an out-house, and a nurse appointed to look to her; who, being once absent, the mayde got out of the house at the window, and run away. The nurse coming and knocking, and having no answer, believed she was dead, and went and told Mr. Wright so; who and his lady were in great strait what to do to get her buried. At last resolved to go to Burntwood hard by, being in the parish, and there get people to do it. But they would not; so he went home full of trouble, and in the way met the wench walking over the common, which frighted him worse than before; and was forced to send people to take her, which he did; and they got one of the pest coaches and put her into it to carry her to a pest house. And passing in a narrow lane, Sir Anthony Browne, with his brother and some friends in the coach, met this coach with the curtains drawn close. The brother being a young man, and believing there might be some lady in it that would not be seen, and the way being narrow, he thrust his head out of his own into her coach, and to look, and there saw somebody look very ill, and in a sick dress, and stunk mightily; which the coachman also cried out upon. And presently they come up to some people that stood looking after it, and told our gallants that it was a mayde of Mr. Wright's carried away sick of the plague; which put the young gentleman into a fright had almost cost him his life, but is now well again. I, overtaking our young people, 'light, and into the coach to them, where mighty merry all the way; and anon come to the Blockehouse, over against Gravesend, where we staid a great while, in a little drinking-house. Sent back our coaches to Dagenhams. I, by and by, by boat to Gravesend, where no newes of Sir G. Carteret come yet; so back again, and fetched them all over, but the two saddle-horses that were to go with us, which could not be brought over in the horseboat, the wind and tide being against us, without towing; so we had some difference with some watermen, who would not tow them over under 20s., whereupon I swore to send one of them to sea and will do it. Anon some others come to me and did it for 10s. By and by comes Sir G. Carteret, and so we set out for Chatham: in my way overtaking some company, wherein was a lady, very pretty, riding singly, her husband in company with her. We fell into talke, and I read a copy of verses which her husband showed me, and he discommended, but the lady commended: and I read them, so as to make the husband turn to commend them. By and by he and I fell into acquaintance, having known me formerly at the Exchequer. His name is Nokes, over against Bow Church. He was servant to Alderman Dashwood. We promised to meet, if ever we come both to London again; and, at parting, I had a fair salute on horseback, in Rochester streets, of the lady, and so parted. Come to Chatham mighty merry, and anon to supper, it being near 9 o'clock ere we come thither. My Lady Carteret come thither in a coach, by herself, before us. Great mind they have to buy a little 'hacquenee' that I rode on from Greenwich, for a woman's horse. Mighty merry, and after supper, all being withdrawn, Sir G. Carteret did take an opportunity to speak with much value and kindness to me, which is of great joy to me. So anon to bed. Mr. Brisband and I together to my content. 4th. Up at five o'clock, and by six walked out alone, with my Lady Slanning, to the Docke Yard, where walked up and down, and so to Mr. Pett's, who led us into his garden, and there the lady, the best humoured woman in the world, and a devout woman (I having spied her on her knees half an houre this morning in her chamber), clambered up to the top of the banquetting-house to gather nuts, and mighty merry, and so walked back again through the new rope house, which is very usefull; and so to the Hill-house to breakfast and mighty merry. Then they took coach, and Sir G. Carteret kissed me himself heartily, and my Lady several times, with great kindnesse, and then the young ladies, and so with much joy, bade "God be with you!" and an end I think it will be to my mirthe for a great while, it having been the passage of my whole life the most pleasing for the time, considering the quality and nature of the business, and my noble usage in the doing of it, and very many fine journys, entertainments and great company. I returned into the house for a while to do business there with Commissioner Pett, and there with the officers of the Chest, where I saw more of Sir W. Batten's business than ever I did before, for whereas he did own once under his hand to them that he was accountable for L2200, of which he had yet paid but L1600, he writes them a letter lately that he hath but about L50 left that is due to the Chest, but I will do something in it and that speedily. That being done I took horse, and Mr. Barrow with me bore me company to Gravesend, discoursing of his business, wherein I vexed him, and he me, I seeing his frowardness, but yet that he is in my conscience a very honest man, and some good things he told me, which I shall remember to the King's advantage. There I took boat alone, and, the tide being against me, landed at Blackwall and walked to Wapping, Captain Bowd whom I met with talking with me all the way, who is a sober man. So home, and found all things well, and letters from Dover that my Lord Hinchingbroke is arrived at Dover, and would be at Scott's hall this night, where the whole company will meet. I wish myself with them. After writing a few letters I took boat and down to Woolwich very late, and there found my wife and her woman upon the key hearing a fellow in a barge, that lay by, fiddle. So I to them and in, very merry, and to bed, I sleepy and weary. 5th. In the morning up, and my wife showed me several things of her doing, especially one fine woman's Persian head mighty finely done, beyond what I could expect of her; and so away by water, having ordered in the yarde six or eight bargemen to be whipped, who had last night stolen some of the King's cordage from out of the yarde. I to Deptford, and there by agreement met with my Lord Bruncker, and there we kept our office, he and I, and did what there was to do, and at noon parted to meet at the office next week. Sir W. Warren and I thence did walk through the rain to Half-Way House, and there I eat a piece of boiled beef and he and I talked over several businesses, among others our design upon the mast docke, which I hope to compass and get 2 or L300 by. Thence to Redriffe, where we parted, and I home, where busy all the afternoon. Stepped to Colvill's to set right a business of money, where he told me that for certain De Ruyter is come home, with all his fleete, which is very ill newes, considering the charge we have been at in keeping a fleete to the northward so long, besides the great expectation of snapping him, wherein my Lord Sandwich will I doubt suffer some dishonour. I am told also of a great ryott upon Thursday last in Cheapside; Colonell Danvers, a delinquent, having been taken, and in his way to the Tower was rescued from the captain of the guard, and carried away; only one of the rescuers being taken. I am told also that the Duke of Buckingham is dead, but I know not of a certainty. So home and very late at letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Dressed and had my head combed by my little girle, to whom I confess 'que je sum demasiado kind, nuper ponendo mes mains in su des choses de son breast, mais il faut que je' leave it lest it bring me to 'alcun major inconvenience'. So to my business in my chamber, look over and settling more of my papers than I could the two last days I have spent about them. In the evening, it raining hard, down to Woolwich, where after some little talk to bed. 7th. Up, and with great pleasure looking over my wife's pictures, and then to see my Lady Pen, whom I have not seen since her coming hither, and after being a little merry with her, she went forth and I staid there talking with Mrs. Pegg and looking over her pictures, and commended them; but, Lord! so far short of my wife's, as no comparison. Thence to my wife, and there spent, talking, till noon, when by appointment Mr. Andrews come out of the country to speake with me about their Tangier business, and so having done with him and dined, I home by water, where by appointment I met Dr. Twisden, Mr. Povy, Mr. Lawson, and Stockdale about settling their business of money; but such confusion I never met with, nor could anything be agreed on, but parted like a company of fools, I vexed to lose so much time and pains to no purpose. They gone, comes Rayner, the boatmaker, about some business, and brings a piece of plate with him, which I refused to take of him, thinking indeed that the poor man hath no reason nor encouragement from our dealings with him to give any of us any presents. He gone, there comes Luellin, about Mr. Deering's business of planke, to have the contract perfected, and offers me twenty pieces in gold, as Deering had done some time since himself, but I both then and now refused it, resolving not to be bribed to dispatch business, but will have it done however out of hand forthwith. So he gone, I to supper and to bed. 8th. Up and to the office, where all the morning we sat. At noon I home to dinner alone, and after dinner Bagwell's wife waited at the door, and went with me to my office.... So parted, and I to Sir W. Batten's, and there sat the most of the afternoon talking and drinking too much with my Lord Bruncker, Sir G. Smith, G. Cocke and others very merry. I drunk a little mixed, but yet more than I should do. So to my office a little, and then to the Duke of Albemarle's about some business. The streets mighty empty all the way, now even in London, which is a sad sight. And to Westminster Hall, where talking, hearing very sad stories from Mrs. Mumford; among others, of Mrs. Michell's son's family. And poor Will, that used to sell us ale at the Hall-door, his wife and three children died, all, I think, in a day. So home through the City again, wishing I may have taken no ill in going; but I will go, I think, no more thither. Late at the office, and then home to supper, having taken a pullet home with me, and then to bed. The news of De Kuyter's coming home is certain; and told to the great disadvantage of our fleete, and the praise of De Kuyter; but it cannot be helped, nor do I know what to say to it. 9th. Up betimes to my office, where Tom Hater to the writing of letters with me, which have for a good while been in arreare, and we close at it all day till night, only made a little step out for half an houre in the morning to the Exchequer about striking of tallys, but no good done therein, people being most out of towne. At noon T. Hater dined with me, and so at it all the afternoon. At night home and supped, and after reading a little in Cowley's poems, my head being disturbed with overmuch business to-day, I to bed. 10th. Up betimes, and called upon early by my she-cozen Porter, the turner's wife, to tell me that her husband was carried to the Tower, for buying of some of the King's powder, and would have my helpe, but I could give her none, not daring any more to appear in the business, having too much trouble lately therein. By and by to the office, where we sat all the morning; in great trouble to see the Bill this week rise so high, to above 4,000 in all, and of them above 3,000 of the plague. And an odd story of Alderman Bence's stumbling at night over a dead corps in the streete, and going home and telling his wife, she at the fright, being with child, fell sicke and died of the plague. We sat late, and then by invitation my Lord Brunker, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten and I to Sir G. Smith's to dinner, where very good company and good cheer. Captain Cocke was there and Jacke Fenn, but to our great wonder Alderman Bence, and tells us that not a word of all this is true, and others said so too, but by his owne story his wife hath been ill, and he fain to leave his house and comes not to her, which continuing a trouble to me all the time I was there. Thence to the office and, after writing letters, home, to draw-over anew my will, which I had bound myself by oath to dispatch by to-morrow night; the town growing so unhealthy, that a man cannot depend upon living two days to an end. So having done something of it, I to bed. 11th. Up, and all day long finishing and writing over my will twice, for my father and my wife, only in the morning a pleasant rencontre happened in having a young married woman brought me by her father, old Delkes, that carries pins always in his mouth, to get her husband off that he should not go to sea, 'une contre pouvait avoir done any cose cum else, but I did nothing, si ni baisser her'. After they were gone my mind run upon having them called back again, and I sent a messenger to Blackwall, but he failed. So I lost my expectation. I to the Exchequer, about striking new tallys, and I find the Exchequer, by proclamation, removing to Nonesuch.--[Nonsuch Palace, near Epsom, where the Exchequer money was kept during the time of the plague.]--Back again and at my papers, and putting up my books into chests, and settling my house and all things in the best and speediest order I can, lest it should please God to take me away, or force me to leave my house. Late up at it, and weary and full of wind, finding perfectly that so long as I keepe myself in company at meals and do there eat lustily (which I cannot do alone, having no love to eating, but my mind runs upon my business), I am as well as can be, but when I come to be alone, I do not eat in time, nor enough, nor with any good heart, and I immediately begin to be full of wind, which brings my pain, till I come to fill my belly a-days again, then am presently well. 12th. The office now not sitting, but only hereafter on Thursdays at the office, I within all the morning about my papers and setting things still in order, and also much time in settling matters with Dr. Twisden. At noon am sent for by Sir G. Carteret, to meet him and my Lord Hinchingbroke at Deptford, but my Lord did not come thither, he having crossed the river at Gravesend to Dagenhams, whither I dare not follow him, they being afeard of me; but Sir G. Carteret says, he is a most sweet youth in every circumstance. Sir G. Carteret being in haste of going to the Duke of Albemarle and the Archbishop, he was pettish, and so I could not fasten any discourse, but take another time. So he gone, I down to Greenwich and sent away the Bezan, thinking to go with my wife to-night to come back again to-morrow night to the Soveraigne at the buoy off the Nore. Coming back to Deptford, old Bagwell walked a little way with me, and would have me in to his daughter's, and there he being gone 'dehors, ego had my volunte de su hiza'. Eat and drank and away home, and after a little at the office to my chamber to put more things still in order, and late to bed. The people die so, that now it seems they are fain to carry the dead to be buried by day-light, the nights not sufficing to do it in. And my Lord Mayor commands people to be within at nine at night all, as they say, that the sick may have liberty to go abroad for ayre. There is one also dead out of one of our ships at Deptford, which troubles us mightily; the Providence fire-ship, which was just fitted to go to sea. But they tell me to-day no more sick on board. And this day W. Bodham tells me that one is dead at Woolwich, not far from the Rope-yard. I am told, too, that a wife of one of the groomes at Court is dead at Salsbury; so that the King and Queene are speedily to be all gone to Milton. God preserve us! 13th (Lord's day). Up betimes and to my chamber, it being a very wet day all day, and glad am I that we did not go by water to see "The Soveraigne" ["The Sovereign of the Seas" was built at Woolwich in 1637 of timber which had been stripped of its bark while growing in the spring, and not felled till the second autumn afterwards; and it is observed by Dr. Plot ("Phil. Trans." for 1691), in his discourse on the most seasonable time for felling timber, written by the advice of Pepys, that after forty-seven years, "all the ancient timber then remaining in her, it was no easy matter to drive a nail into it" ("Quarterly Review," vol. viii., p. 35).--B.] to-day, as I intended, clearing all matters in packing up my papers and books, and giving instructions in writing to my executors, thereby perfecting the whole business of my will, to my very great joy; so that I shall be in much better state of soul, I hope, if it should please the Lord to call me away this sickly time. At night to read, being weary with this day's great work, and then after supper to bed, to rise betimes to-morrow, and to bed with a mind as free as to the business of the world as if I were not worth L100 in the whole world, every thing being evened under my hand in my books and papers, and upon the whole I find myself worth, besides Brampton estate, the sum of L2164, for which the Lord be praised! 14th. Up, and my mind being at mighty ease from the dispatch of my business so much yesterday, I down to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret, where with him a great while, and a great deale of private talke concerning my Lord Sandwich's and his matters, and chiefly of the latter, I giving him great deale of advice about the necessity of his having caution concerning Fenn, and the many ways there are of his being abused by any man in his place, and why he should not bring his son in to look after his business, and more, to be a Commissioner of the Navy, which he listened to and liked, and told me how much the King was his good Master, and was sure not to deny him that or any thing else greater than that, and I find him a very cunning man, whatever at other times he seems to be, and among other things he told me he was not for the fanfaroone [Fanfaron, French, from fanfare, a sounding of trumpets; hence, a swaggerer, or empty boaster.] to make a show with a great title, as he might have had long since, but the main thing to get an estate; and another thing, speaking of minding of business, "By God," says he, "I will and have already almost brought it to that pass, that the King shall not be able to whip a cat, but I must be at the tayle of it." Meaning so necessary he is, and the King and my Lord Treasurer and all do confess it; which, while I mind my business, is my own case in this office of the Navy, and I hope shall be more, if God give me life and health. Thence by agreement to Sir J. Minnes's lodgings, where I found my Lord Bruncker, and so by water to the ferry, and there took Sir W. Batten's coach that was sent for us, and to Sir W. Batten's, where very merry, good cheer, and up and down the garden with great content to me, and, after dinner, beat Captain Cocke at billiards, won about 8s. of him and my Lord Bruncker. So in the evening after, much pleasure back again and I by water to Woolwich, where supped with my wife, and then to bed betimes, because of rising to-morrow at four of the clock in order to the going out with Sir G. Carteret toward Cranborne to my Lord Hinchingbrooke in his way to Court. This night I did present my wife with the dyamond ring, awhile since given me by Mr. Dicke Vines's brother, for helping him to be a purser, valued at about L10, the first thing of that nature I did ever give her. Great fears we have that the plague will be a great Bill this weeke. 15th. Up by 4 o'clock and walked to Greenwich, where called at Captain Cocke's and to his chamber, he being in bed, where something put my last night's dream into my head, which I think is the best that ever was dreamt, which was that I had my Lady Castlemayne in my armes and was admitted to use all the dalliance I desired with her, and then dreamt that this could not be awake, but that it was only a dream; but that since it was a dream, and that I took so much real pleasure in it, what a happy thing it would be if when we are in our graves (as Shakespeere resembles it) we could dream, and dream but such dreams as this, that then we should not need to be so fearful of death, as we are this plague time. Here I hear that news is brought Sir G. Carteret that my Lord Hinchingbrooke is not well, and so cannot meet us at Cranborne to-night. So I to Sir G. Carteret's; and there was sorry with him for our disappointment. So we have put off our meeting there till Saturday next. Here I staid talking with Sir G. Carteret, he being mighty free with me in his business, and among other things hath ordered Rider and Cutler to put into my hands copper to the value of L5,000 (which Sir G. Carteret's share it seems come to in it), which is to raise part of the money he is to layout for a purchase for my Lady Jemimah. Thence he and I to Sir J. Minnes's by invitation, where Sir W. Batten and my Lady, and my Lord Bruncker, and all of us dined upon a venison pasty and other good meat, but nothing well dressed. But my pleasure lay in getting some bills signed by Sir G. Carteret, and promise of present payment from Mr. Fenn, which do rejoice my heart, it being one of the heaviest things I had upon me, that so much of the little I have should lie (viz. near L1000) in the King's hands. Here very merry and (Sir G. Carteret being gone presently after dinner) to Captain Cocke's, and there merry, and so broke up and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, with whom I spoke a great deale in private, they being designed to send a fleete of ships privately to the Streights. No news yet from our fleete, which is much wondered at, but the Duke says for certain guns have been heard to the northward very much. It was dark before I could get home, and so land at Church-yard stairs, where, to my great trouble, I met a dead corps of the plague, in the narrow ally just bringing down a little pair of stairs. But I thank God I was not much disturbed at it. However, I shall beware of being late abroad again. 16th. Up, and after doing some necessary business about my accounts at home, to the office, and there with Mr. Hater wrote letters, and I did deliver to him my last will, one part of it to deliver to my wife when I am dead. Thence to the Exchange, where I have not been a great while. But, Lord! how sad a sight it is to see the streets empty of people, and very few upon the 'Change. Jealous of every door that one sees shut up, lest it should be the plague; and about us two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up. From the 'Change to Sir G. Smith's' with Mr. Fenn, to whom I am nowadays very complaisant, he being under payment of my bills to me, and some other sums at my desire, which he readily do. Mighty merry with Captain Cocke and Fenn at Sir G. Smith's, and a brave dinner, but I think Cocke is the greatest epicure that is, eats and drinks with the greatest pleasure and liberty that ever man did. Very contrary newes to-day upon the 'Change, some that our fleete hath taken some of the Dutch East India ships, others that we did attaque it at Bergen and were repulsed, others that our fleete is in great danger after this attaque by meeting with the great body now gone out of Holland, almost 100 sayle of men of warr. Every body is at a great losse and nobody can tell. Thence among the goldsmiths to get some money, and so home, settling some new money matters, and to my great joy have got home L500 more of the money due to me, and got some more money to help Andrews first advanced. This day I had the ill news from Dagenhams, that my poor lord of Hinchingbroke his indisposition is turned to the small-pox. Poor gentleman! that he should be come from France so soon to fall sick, and of that disease too, when he should be gone to see a fine lady, his mistresse. I am most heartily sorry for it. So late setting papers to rights, and so home to bed. 17th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon dined together upon some victuals I had prepared at Sir W. Batten's upon the King's charge, and after dinner, I having dispatched some business and set things in order at home, we down to the water and by boat to Greenwich to the Bezan yacht, where Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, my Lord Bruncker and myself, with some servants (among others Mr. Carcasse, my Lord's clerk, a very civil gentleman), embarked in the yacht and down we went most pleasantly, and noble discourse I had with my Lord Bruneker, who is a most excellent person. Short of Gravesend it grew calme, and so we come to an anchor, and to supper mighty merry, and after it, being moonshine, we out of the cabbin to laugh and talk, and then, as we grew sleepy, went in and upon velvet cushions of the King's that belong to the yacht fell to sleep, which we all did pretty well till 3 or 4 of the clock, having risen in the night to look for a new comet which is said to have lately shone, but we could see no such thing. 18th. Up about 5 o'clock and dressed ourselves, and to sayle again down to the Soveraigne at the buoy of the Nore, a noble ship, now rigged and fitted and manned; we did not stay long, but to enquire after her readinesse and thence to Sheernesse, where we walked up and down, laying out the ground to be taken in for a yard to lay provisions for cleaning and repairing of ships, and a most proper place it is for the purpose. Thence with great pleasure up the Meadeway, our yacht contending with Commissioner Pett's, wherein he met us from Chatham, and he had the best of it. Here I come by, but had not tide enough to stop at Quinbrough, a with mighty pleasure spent the day in doing all and seeing these places, which I had never done before. So to the Hill house at Chatham and there dined, and after dinner spent some time discoursing of business. Among others arguing with the Commissioner about his proposing the laying out so much money upon Sheerenesse, unless it be to the slighting of Chatham yarde, for it is much a better place than Chatham, which however the King is not at present in purse to do, though it were to be wished he were. Thence in Commissioner Pett's coach (leaving them there). I late in the darke to Gravesend, where great is the plague, and I troubled to stay there so long for the tide. At 10 at night, having supped, I took boat alone, and slept well all the way to the Tower docke about three o'clock in the morning. So knocked up my people, and to bed. 19th. Slept till 8 o'clock, and then up and met with letters from the King and Lord Arlington, for the removal of our office to Greenwich. I also wrote letters, and made myself ready to go to Sir G. Carteret, at Windsor; and having borrowed a horse of Mr. Blackbrough, sent him to wait for me at the Duke of Albemarle's door: when, on a sudden, a letter comes to us from the Duke of Albemarle, to tell us that the fleete is all come back to Solebay, and are presently to be dispatched back again. Whereupon I presently by water to the Duke of Albemarle to know what news; and there I saw a letter from my Lord Sandwich to the Duke of Albemarle, and also from Sir W. Coventry and Captain Teddiman; how my Lord having commanded Teddiman with twenty-two ships [A news letter of August 19th (Salisbury), gives the following account of this affair:--"The Earl of Sandwich being on the Norway coast, ordered Sir Thomas Teddeman with 20 ships to attack 50 Dutch merchant ships in Bergen harbour; six convoyers had so placed themselves that only four or five of the ships could be reached at once. The Governor of Bergen fired on our ships, and placed 100 pieces of ordnance and two regiments of foot on the rocks to attack them, but they got clear without the loss of a ship, only 500 men killed or wounded, five or six captains among them. The fleet has gone to Sole Bay to repair losses and be ready to encounter the Dutch fleet, which is gone northward" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1664-65, pp. 526, 527). Medals were struck in Holland, the inscription in Dutch on one of these is thus translated: "Thus we arrest the pride of the English, who extend their piracy even against their friends, and who insulting the forts of Norway, violate the rights of the harbours of King Frederick; but, for the reward of their audacity, see their vessels destroyed by the balls of the Dutch" (Hawkins's "Medallic Illustrations of the History of Great Britain and Ireland," ed. Franks and Grueber, 1885, vol. i., p. 508). Sir Gilbert Talbot's "True Narrative of the Earl of Sandwich's Attempt upon Bergen with the English Fleet on the 3rd of August, 1665, and the Cause of his Miscarriage thereupon," is in the British Museum (Harl. MS., No. 6859). It is printed in "Archaeologia," vol. xxii., p. 33. The Earl of Rochester also gave an account of the action in a letter to his mother (Wordsworth's "Ecclesiastical Biography," fourth edition, vol. iv., p. 611). Sir John Denham, in his "Advice to a Painter," gives a long satirical account of the affair. A coloured drawing of the attack upon Bergen, on vellum, showing the range of the ships engaged, is in the British Museum. Shortly after the Bergen affair forty of the Dutch merchant vessels, on their way to Holland, fell into the hands of the English, and in Penn's "Memorials of Sir William Penn," vol. ii., p. 364, is a list of the prizes taken on the 3rd and 4th September. The troubles connected with these prizes and the disgrace into which Lord Sandwich fell are fully set forth in subsequent pages of the Diary. Evelyn writes in his Diary (November 27th, 1665): "There was no small suspicion of my Lord Sandwich having permitted divers commanders who were at ye taking of ye East India prizes to break bulk and take to themselves jewels, silkes, &c., tho' I believe some whom I could name fill'd their pockets, my Lo. Sandwich himself had the least share. However, he underwent the blame, and it created him enemies, and prepossess'd ye Lo. Generall [Duke of Albemarle], for he spake to me of it with much zeale and concerne, and I believe laid load enough on Lo. Sandwich at Oxford."] (of which but fifteen could get thither, and of those fifteen but eight or nine could come up to play) to go to Bergen; where, after several messages to and fro from the Governor of the Castle, urging that Teddiman ought not to come thither with more than five ships, and desiring time to think of it, all the while he suffering the Dutch ships to land their guns to their best advantage; Teddiman on the second pretence, began to play at the Dutch ships, (wherof ten East India-men,) and in three hours' time (the town and castle, without any provocation, playing on our ships,) they did cut all our cables, so as the wind being off the land, did force us to go out, and rendered our fire-ships useless; without doing any thing, but what hurt of course our guns must have done them: we having lost five commanders, besides Mr. Edward Montagu, and Mr. Windham. [This Mr. Windham had entered into a formal engagement with the Earl of Rochester, "not without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them died, he should appear, and give the other notice of the future state, if there was any." He was probably one of the brothers of Sir William Wyndham, Bart. See Wordsworth's "Ecclesiastical Biography," fourth. edition, vol. iv., p. 615.--B.] Our fleete is come home to our great grief with not above five weeks' dry, and six days' wet provisions: however, must out again; and the Duke hath ordered the Soveraigne, and all other ships ready, to go out to the fleete to strengthen them. This news troubles us all, but cannot be helped. Having read all this news, and received commands of the Duke with great content, he giving me the words which to my great joy he hath several times said to me, that his greatest reliance is upon me. And my Lord Craven also did come out to talk with me, and told me that I am in mighty esteem with the Duke, for which I bless God. Home, and having given my fellow-officers an account hereof, to Chatham, and wrote other letters, I by water to Charing-Cross, to the post-house, and there the people tell me they are shut up; and so I went to the new post-house, and there got a guide and horses to Hounslow, where I was mightily taken with a little girle, the daughter of the master of the house (Betty Gysby), which, if she lives, will make a great beauty. Here I met with a fine fellow who, while I staid for my horses, did enquire newes, but I could not make him remember Bergen in Norway, in 6 or 7 times telling, so ignorant he was. So to Stanes, and there by this time it was dark night, and got a guide who lost his way in the forest, till by help of the moone (which recompenses me for all the pains I ever took about studying of her motions,) I led my guide into the way back again; and so we made a man rise that kept a gate, and so he carried us to Cranborne. Where in the dark I perceive an old house new building with a great deal of rubbish, and was fain to go up a ladder to Sir G. Carteret's chamber. And there in his bed I sat down, and told him all my bad newes, which troubled him mightily; but yet we were very merry, and made the best of it; and being myself weary did take leave, and after having spoken with Mr. Fenn in bed, I to bed in my Lady's chamber that she uses to lie in, and where the Duchesse of York, that now is, was born. So to sleep; being very well, but weary, and the better by having carried with me a bottle of strong water; whereof now and then a sip did me good. 20th (Lord's day). Sir G. Carteret come and walked by my bedside half an houre, talking and telling me how my Lord is in this unblameable in all this ill-successe, he having followed orders; and that all ought to be imputed to the falsenesse of the King of Denmarke, who, he told me as a secret, had promised to deliver up the Dutch ships to us, and we expected no less; and swears it will, and will easily, be the ruine of him and his kingdom, if we fall out with him, as we must in honour do; but that all that can be, must be to get the fleete out again to intercept De Witt, who certainly will be coming home with the East India ships, he being gone thither. He being gone, I up and with Fenn, being ready to walk forth to see the place; and I find it to be a very noble seat in a noble forest, with the noblest prospect towards Windsor, and round about over many countys, that can be desired; but otherwise a very melancholy place, and little variety save only trees. I had thoughts of going home by water, and of seeing Windsor Chappell and Castle, but finding at my coming in that Sir G. Carteret did prevent me in speaking for my sudden return to look after business, I did presently eat a bit off the spit about 10 o'clock, and so took horse for Stanes, and thence to Brainford to Mr. Povy's, the weather being very pleasant to ride in. Mr. Povy not being at home I lost my labour, only eat and drank there with his lady, and told my bad newes, and hear the plague is round about them there. So away to Brainford; and there at the inn that goes down to the water-side, I 'light and paid off my post-horses, and so slipped on my shoes, and laid my things by, the tide not serving, and to church, where a dull sermon, and many Londoners. After church to my inn, and eat and drank, and so about seven o'clock by water, and got between nine and ten to Queenhive, very dark. And I could not get my waterman to go elsewhere for fear of the plague. Thence with a lanthorn, in great fear of meeting of dead corpses, carried to be buried; but, blessed be God, met none, but did see now and then a linke (which is the mark of them) at a distance. So got safe home about 10 o'clock, my people not all abed, and after supper I weary to bed. 21st. Called up, by message from Lord Bruncker and the rest of my fellows, that they will meet me at the Duke of Albemarle's this morning; so I up, and weary, however, got thither before them, and spoke with my Lord, and with him and other gentlemen to walk in the Parke, where, I perceive, he spends much of his time, having no whither else to go; and here I hear him speake of some Presbyter people that he caused to be apprehended yesterday, at a private meeting in Covent Garden, which he would have released upon paying L5 per man to the poor, but it was answered, they would not pay anything; so he ordered them to another prison from the guard. By and by comes my fellow-officers, and the Duke walked in, and to counsel with us; and that being done we departed, and Sir W. Batten and I to the office, where, after I had done a little business, I to his house to dinner, whither comes Captain Cocke, for whose epicurisme a dish of partriges was sent for, and still gives me reason to think is the greatest epicure in the world. Thence, after dinner, I by water to Sir W. Warren's and with him two hours, talking of things to his and my profit, and particularly good advice from him what use to make of Sir G. Carteret's kindnesse to me and my interest in him, with exceeding good cautions for me not using it too much nor obliging him to fear by prying into his secrets, which it were easy for me to do. Thence to my Lord Bruncker, at Greenwich, and Sir J. Minnes by appointment, to looke after the lodgings appointed for us there for our office, which do by no means please me, they being in the heart of all the labourers and workmen there, which makes it as unsafe as to be, I think, at London. Mr. Hugh May, who is a most ingenuous man, did show us the lodgings, and his acquaintance I am desirous of. Thence walked, it being now dark, to Sir J. Minnes's, and there staid at the door talking with him an hour while messengers went to get a boat for me, to carry me to Woolwich, but all to no purpose; so I was forced to walk it in the darke, at ten o'clock at night, with Sir J. Minnes's George with me, being mightily troubled for fear of the doggs at Coome farme, and more for fear of rogues by the way, and yet more because of the plague which is there, which is very strange, it being a single house, all alone from the towne, but it seems they use to admit beggars, for their owne safety, to lie in their barns, and they brought it to them; but I bless God I got about eleven of the clock well to my wife, and giving 4s. in recompence to George, I to my wife, and having first viewed her last piece of drawing since I saw her, which is seven or eight days, which pleases me beyond any thing in the world, to bed with great content but weary. 22nd. Up, and after much pleasant talke and being importuned by my wife and her two mayds, which are both good wenches, for me to buy a necklace of pearle for her, and I promising to give her one of L60 in two years at furthest, and in less if she pleases me in her painting, I went away and walked to Greenwich, in my way seeing a coffin with a dead body therein, dead of the plague, lying in an open close belonging to Coome farme, which was carried out last night, and the parish have not appointed any body to bury it; but only set a watch there day and night, that nobody should go thither or come thence, which is a most cruel thing: this disease making us more cruel to one another than if we are doggs. So to the King's House, and there met my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, and to our lodgings again that are appointed for us, which do please me better to day than last night, and are set a doing. Thence I to Deptford, where by appointment I find Mr. Andrews come, and to the Globe, where we dined together and did much business as to our Plymouth gentlemen; and after a good dinner and good discourse, he being a very good man, I think verily, we parted and I to the King's yard, walked up and down, and by and by out at the back gate, and there saw the Bagwell's wife's mother and daughter, and went to them, and went in to the daughter's house with the mother, and 'faciebam le cose que ego tenebam a mind to con elle', and drinking and talking, by and by away, and so walked to Redriffe, troubled to go through the little lane, where the plague is, but did and took water and home, where all well; but Mr. Andrews not coming to even accounts, as I expected, with relation to something of my own profit, I was vexed that I could not settle to business, but home to my viall, though in the evening he did come to my satisfaction. So after supper (he being gone first) I to settle my journall and to bed. 23rd. Up, and whereas I had appointed Mr. Hater and Will to come betimes to the office to meet me about business there, I was called upon as soon as ready by Mr. Andrews to my great content, and he and I to our Tangier accounts, where I settled, to my great joy, all my accounts with him, and, which is more, cleared for my service to the contractors since the last sum I received of them, L222 13s. profit to myself, and received the money actually in the afternoon. After he was gone comes by a pretence of mine yesterday old Delks the waterman, with his daughter Robins, and several times to and again, he leaving her with me, about the getting of his son Robins off, who was pressed yesterday again.... All the afternoon at my office mighty busy writing letters, and received a very kind and good one from my Lord Sandwich of his arrival with the fleete at Solebay, and the joy he has at my last newes he met with, of the marriage of my Lady Jemimah; and he tells me more, the good newes that all our ships, which were in such danger that nobody would insure upon them, from the Eastland, [Eastland was a name given to the eastern countries of Europe. The Eastland Company, or Company of Merchants trading to the East Country, was incorporated in Queen Elizabeth's reign (anno 21), and the charter was confirmed 13 Car. II. They were also called "The Merchants of Elbing."] were all safe arrived, which I am sure is a great piece of good luck, being in much more danger than those of Hambrough which were lost, and their value much greater at this time to us. At night home, much contented with this day's work, and being at home alone looking over my papers, comes a neighbour of ours hard by to speak with me about business of the office, one Mr. Fuller, a great merchant, but not my acquaintance, but he come drunk, and would have had me gone and drunk with him at home, or have let him send for wine hither, but I would do neither, nor offered him any, but after some sorry discourse parted, and I up to [my] chamber and to bed. 24th. Up betimes to my office, where my clerks with me, and very busy all the morning writing letters. At noon down to Sir J. Minnes and Lord Bruncker to Greenwich to sign some of the Treasurer's books, and there dined very well; and thence to look upon our rooms again at the King's house, which are not yet ready for us. So home and late writing letters, and so, weary with business, home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up betimes to the office, and there, as well as all the afternoon, saving a little dinner time, all alone till late at night writing letters and doing business, that I may get beforehand with my business again, which hath run behind a great while, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that Dr. Burnett, my physician, is this morning dead of the plague; which is strange, his man dying so long ago, and his house this month open again. Now himself dead. Poor unfortunate man! 26th. Up betimes, and prepared to my great satisfaction an account for the board of my office disbursements, which I had suffered to run on to almost L120. That done I down by water to Greenwich, where we met the first day my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I, and I think we shall do well there, and begin very auspiciously to me by having my account abovesaid passed, and put into a way of having it presently paid. When we rose I find Mr. Andrews and Mr. Yeabsly, who is just come from Plymouth, at the door, and we walked together toward my Lord Brunker's, talking about their business, Yeabsly being come up on purpose to discourse with me about it, and finished all in a quarter of an hour, and is gone again. I perceive they have some inclination to be going on with their victualling-business for a while longer before they resign it to Mr. Gauden, and I am well contented, for it brings me very good profit with certainty, yet with much care and some pains. We parted at my Lord Bruncker's doore, where I went in, having never been there before, and there he made a noble entertainment for Sir J. Minnes, myself, and Captain Cocke, none else saving some painted lady that dined there, I know not who she is. But very merry we were, and after dinner into the garden, and to see his and her chamber, where some good pictures, and a very handsome young woman for my lady's woman. Thence I by water home, in my way seeing a man taken up dead, out of the hold of a small catch that lay at Deptford. I doubt it might be the plague, which, with the thought of Dr. Burnett, did something disturb me, so that I did not what I intended and should have done at the office, as to business, but home sooner than ordinary, and after supper, to read melancholy alone, and then to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Very well in the morning, and up and to my chamber all the morning to put my things and papers yet more in order, and so to dinner. Thence all the afternoon at my office till late making up my papers and letters there into a good condition of order, and so home to supper, and after reading a good while in the King's works,--[Charles I.'s Works, now in the Pepysian Library]--which is a noble book, to bed. 28th. Up, and being ready I out to Mr. Colvill, the goldsmith's, having not for some days been in the streets; but now how few people I see, and those looking like people that had taken leave of the world. I there, and made even all accounts in the world between him and I, in a very good condition, and I would have done the like with Sir Robert Viner, but he is out of towne, the sicknesse being every where thereabouts. I to the Exchange, and I think there was not fifty people upon it, and but few more like to be as they told me, Sir G. Smith and others. Thus I think to take adieu to-day of the London streets, unless it be to go again to Viner's. Home to dinner, and there W. Hewer brings me L119 he hath received for my office disbursements, so that I think I have L1800 and more in the house, and, blessed be God! no money out but what I can very well command and that but very little, which is much the best posture I ever was in in my life, both as to the quantity and the certainty I have of the money I am worth; having most of it in my own hand. But then this is a trouble to me what to do with it, being myself this day going to be wholly at Woolwich; but for the present I am resolved to venture it in an iron chest, at least for a while. In the afternoon I sent down my boy to Woolwich with some things before me, in order to my lying there for good and all, and so I followed him. Just now comes newes that the fleete is gone, or going this day, out again, for which God be praised! and my Lord Sandwich hath done himself great right in it, in getting so soon out again. I pray God, he may meet the enemy. Towards the evening, just as I was fitting myself, comes W. Hewer and shows me a letter which Mercer had wrote to her mother about a great difference between my wife and her yesterday, and that my wife will have her go away presently. This, together with my natural jealousy that some bad thing or other may be in the way, did trouble me exceedingly, so as I was in a doubt whether to go thither or no, but having fitted myself and my things I did go, and by night got thither, where I met my wife walking to the waterside with her paynter, Mr. Browne, and her mayds. There I met Commissioner Pett, and my Lord Brunker, and the lady at his house had been thereto-day, to see her. Commissioner Pett staid a very little while, and so I to supper with my wife and Mr. Shelden, and so to bed with great pleasure. 29th. In the morning waking, among other discourse my wife begun to tell me the difference between her and Mercer, and that it was only from restraining her to gad abroad to some Frenchmen that were in the town, which I do not wholly yet in part believe, and for my quiet would not enquire into it. So rose and dressed myself, and away by land walking a good way, then remembered that I had promised Commissioner Pett to go with him in his coach, and therefore I went back again to him, and so by his coach to Greenwich, and called at Sir Theophilus Biddulph's, a sober, discreet man, to discourse of the preventing of the plague in Greenwich, and Woolwich, and Deptford, where in every place it begins to grow very great. We appointed another meeting, and so walked together to Greenwich and there parted, and Pett and I to the office, where all the morning, and after office done I to Sir J. Minnes and dined with him, and thence to Deptford thinking to have seen Bagwell, but did not, and so straight to Redriffe, and home, and late at my business to dispatch away letters, and then home to bed, which I did not intend, but to have staid for altogether at Woolwich, but I made a shift for a bed for Tom, whose bed is gone to Woolwich, and so to bed. 30th. Up betimes and to my business of settling my house and papers, and then abroad and met with Hadley, our clerke, who, upon my asking how the plague goes, he told me it encreases much, and much in our parish; for, says he, there died nine this week, though I have returned but six: which is a very ill practice, and makes me think it is so in other places; and therefore the plague much greater than people take it to be. Thence, as I intended, to Sir R. Viner's, and there found not Mr. Lewes ready for me, so I went forth and walked towards Moorefields to see (God forbid my presumption!) whether I could see any dead corps going to the grave; but, as God would have it, did not. But, Lord! how every body's looks, and discourse in the street is of death, and nothing else, and few people going up and down, that the towne is like a place distressed and forsaken. After one turne there back to Viner's, and there found my business ready for me, and evened all reckonings with them to this day to my great content. So home, and all day till very late at night setting my Tangier and private accounts in order, which I did in both, and in the latter to my great joy do find myself yet in the much best condition that ever I was in, finding myself worth L2180 and odd, besides plate and goods, which I value at L250 more, which is a very great blessing to me. The Lord make me thankfull! and of this at this day above L1800 in cash in my house, which speaks but little out of my hands in desperate condition, but this is very troublesome to have in my house at this time. So late to bed, well pleased with my accounts, but weary of being so long at them. 31st. Up and, after putting several things in order to my removal, to Woolwich; the plague having a great encrease this week, beyond all expectation of almost 2,000, making the general Bill 7,000, odd 100; and the plague above 6,000. I down by appointment to Greenwich, to our office, where I did some business, and there dined with our company and Sir W. Boreman, and Sir The. Biddulph, at Mr. Boreman's, where a good venison pasty, and after a good merry dinner I to my office, and there late writing letters, and then to Woolwich by water, where pleasant with my wife and people, and after supper to bed. Thus this month ends with great sadness upon the publick, through the greatness of the plague every where through the kingdom almost. Every day sadder and sadder news of its encrease. In the City died this week 7,496 and of them 6,102 of the plague. But it is feared that the true number of the dead, this week is near 10,000; partly from the poor that cannot be taken notice of, through the greatness of the number, and partly from the Quakers and others that will not have any bell ring for them. Our fleete gone out to find the Dutch, we having about 100 sail in our fleete, and in them the Soveraigne one; so that it is a better fleete than the former with the Duke was. All our fear is that the Dutch should be got in before them; which would be a very great sorrow to the publick, and to me particularly, for my Lord Sandwich's sake. A great deal of money being spent, and the kingdom not in a condition to spare, nor a parliament without much difficulty to meet to give more. And to that; to have it said, what hath been done by our late fleetes? As to myself I am very well, only in fear of the plague, and as much of an ague by being forced to go early and late to Woolwich, and my family to lie there continually. My late gettings have been very great to my great content, and am likely to have yet a few more profitable jobbs in a little while; for which Tangier, and Sir W. Warren I am wholly obliged to. SEPTEMBER 1665 September 1st. Up, and to visit my Lady Pen and her daughter at the Ropeyarde where I did breakfast with them and sat chatting a good while. Then to my lodging at Mr. Shelden's, where I met Captain Cocke and eat a little bit of dinner, and with him to Greenwich by water, having good discourse with him by the way. After being at Greenwich a little while, I to London, to my house, there put many more things in order for my totall remove, sending away my girle Susan and other goods down to Woolwich, and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and thence home late by water. At the Duke of Albemarle's I overheard some examinations of the late plot that is discoursed of and a great deale of do there is about it. Among other discourses, I heard read, in the presence of the Duke, an examination and discourse of Sir Philip Howard's, with one of the plotting party. In many places these words being, "Then," said Sir P. Howard, "if you so come over to the King, and be faithfull to him, you shall be maintained, and be set up with a horse and armes," and I know not what. And then said such a one, "Yes, I will be true to the King." "But, damn me," said Sir Philip, "will you so and so?" And thus I believe twelve times Sir P. Howard answered him a "damn me," which was a fine way of rhetorique to persuade a Quaker or Anabaptist from his persuasion. And this was read in the hearing of Sir P. Howard, before the Duke and twenty more officers, and they make sport of it, only without any reproach, or he being anything ashamed of it! [This republican plot was described by the Lord Chancellor in a speech delivered on October 9th, when parliament met at Oxford.] But it ended, I remember, at last, "But such a one (the plotter) did at last bid them remember that he had not told them what King he would be faithfull to." 2nd. This morning I wrote letters to Mr. Hill and Andrews to come to dine with me to-morrow, and then I to the office, where busy, and thence to dine with Sir J. Minnes, where merry, but only that Sir J. Minnes who hath lately lost two coach horses, dead in the stable, has a third now a dying. After dinner I to Deptford, and there took occasion to 'entrar a la casa de la gunaica de ma Minusier', and did what I had a mind... To Greenwich, where wrote some letters, and home in pretty good time. 3rd (Lord's day). Up; and put on my coloured silk suit very fine, and my new periwigg, bought a good while since, but durst not wear, because the plague was in Westminster when I bought it; and it is a wonder what will be the fashion after the plague is done, as to periwiggs, for nobody will dare to buy any haire, for fear of the infection, that it had been cut off of the heads of people dead of the plague. Before church time comes Mr. Hill (Mr. Andrews failing because he was to receive the Sacrament), and to church, where a sorry dull parson, and so home and most excellent company with Mr. Hill and discourse of musique. I took my Lady Pen home, and her daughter Pegg, and merry we were; and after dinner I made my wife show them her pictures, which did mad Pegg Pen, who learns of the same man and cannot do so well. After dinner left them and I by water to Greenwich, where much ado to be suffered to come into the towne because of the sicknesse, for fear I should come from London, till I told them who I was. So up to the church, where at the door I find Captain Cocke in my Lord Brunker's coach, and he come out and walked with me in the church-yarde till the church was done, talking of the ill government of our Kingdom, nobody setting to heart the business of the Kingdom, but every body minding their particular profit or pleasures, the King himself minding nothing but his ease, and so we let things go to wracke. This arose upon considering what we shall do for money when the fleete comes in, and more if the fleete should not meet with the Dutch, which will put a disgrace upon the King's actions, so as the Parliament and Kingdom will have the less mind to give more money, besides so bad an account of the last money, we fear, will be given, not half of it being spent, as it ought to be, upon the Navy. Besides, it is said that at this day our Lord Treasurer cannot tell what the profit of Chimney money is, what it comes to per annum, nor looks whether that or any other part of the revenue be duly gathered as it ought; the very money that should pay the City the L200,000 they lent the King, being all gathered and in the hands of the Receiver and hath been long and yet not brought up to pay the City, whereas we are coming to borrow 4 or L500,000 more of the City, which will never be lent as is to be feared. Church being done, my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I up to the Vestry at the desire of the justices of the Peace, Sir Theo. Biddulph and Sir W. Boreman and Alderman Hooker, in order to the doing something for the keeping of the plague from growing; but Lord! to consider the madness of the people of the town, who will (because they are forbid) come in crowds along with the dead corps to see them buried; but we agreed on some orders for the prevention thereof. Among other stories, one was very passionate, methought, of a complaint brought against a man in the towne for taking a child from London from an infected house. Alderman Hooker told us it was the child of a very able citizen in Gracious Street, a saddler, who had buried all the rest of his children of the plague, and himself and wife now being shut up and in despair of escaping, did desire only to save the life of this little child; and so prevailed to have it received stark-naked into the arms of a friend, who brought it (having put it into new fresh clothes) to Greenwich; where upon hearing the story, we did agree it should be permitted to be received and kept in the towne. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's, where we mighty merry and supped, and very late I by water to Woolwich, in great apprehensions of an ague. Here was my Lord Bruncker's lady of pleasure, who, I perceive, goes every where with him; and he, I find, is obliged to carry her, and make all the courtship to her that can be. 4th. Writing letters all the morning, among others to my Lady Carteret, the first I have wrote to her, telling her the state of the city as to health and other sorrowfull stories, and thence after dinner to Greenwich, to Sir J. Minnes, where I found my Lord Bruncker, and having staid our hour for the justices by agreement, the time being past we to walk in the Park with Mr. Hammond and Turner, and there eat some fruit out of the King's garden and walked in the Parke, and so back to Sir J. Minnes, and thence walked home, my Lord Bruncker giving me a very neat cane to walk with; but it troubled me to pass by Coome farme where about twenty-one people have died of the plague, and three or four days since I saw a dead corps in a coffin lie in the Close unburied, and a watch is constantly kept there night and day to keep the people in, the plague making us cruel, as doggs, one to another. 5th. Up, and walked with some Captains and others talking to me to Greenwich, they crying out upon Captain Teddiman's management of the business of Bergen, that he staid treating too long while he saw the Dutch fitting themselves, and that at first he might have taken every ship, and done what he would with them. How true I cannot tell. Here we sat very late and for want of money, which lies heavy upon us, did nothing of business almost. Thence home with my Lord Bruncker to dinner where very merry with him and his doxy. After dinner comes Colonell Blunt in his new chariot made with springs; as that was of wicker, wherein a while since we rode at his house. And he hath rode, he says, now this journey, many miles in it with one horse, and out-drives any coach, and out-goes any horse, and so easy, he says. So for curiosity I went into it to try it, and up the hill to the heath, and over the cart-rutts and found it pretty well, but not so easy as he pretends, and so back again, and took leave of my Lord and drove myself in the chariot to the office, and there ended my letters and home pretty betimes and there found W. Pen, and he staid supper with us and mighty merry talking of his travells and the French humours, etc., and so parted and to bed. 6th. Busy all the morning writing letters to several, so to dinner, to London, to pack up more things thence; and there I looked into the street and saw fires burning in the street, as it is through the whole City, by the Lord Mayor's order. Thence by water to the Duke of Albemarle's: all the way fires on each side of the Thames, and strange to see in broad daylight two or three burials upon the Bankeside, one at the very heels of another: doubtless all of the plague; and yet at least forty or fifty people going along with every one of them. The Duke mighty pleasant with me; telling me that he is certainly informed that the Dutch were not come home upon the 1st instant, and so he hopes our fleete may meet with them, and here to my great joy I got him to sign bills for the several sums I have paid on Tangier business by his single letter, and so now I can get more hands to them. This was a great joy to me: Home to Woolwich late by water, found wife in bed, and yet late as [it] was to write letters in order to my rising betimes to go to Povy to-morrow. So to bed, my wife asking me to-night about a letter of hers I should find, which indeed Mary did the other day give me as if she had found it in my bed, thinking it had been mine, brought to her from a man without name owning great kindness to her and I know not what. But looking it over seriously, and seeing it bad sense and ill writ, I did believe it to be her brother's and so had flung it away, but finding her now concerned at it and vexed with Mary about it, it did trouble me, but I would take no notice of it to-night, but fell to sleep as if angry. 7th. Up by 5 of the clock, mighty full of fear of an ague, but was obliged to go, and so by water, wrapping myself up warm, to the Tower, and there sent for the Weekely Bill, and find 8,252 dead in all, and of them 6,878 of the plague; which is a most dreadfull number, and shows reason to fear that the plague hath got that hold that it will yet continue among us. Thence to Brainford, reading "The Villaine," a pretty good play, all the way. There a coach of Mr. Povy's stood ready for me, and he at his house ready to come in, and so we together merrily to Swakely, Sir R. Viner's. A very pleasant place, bought by him of Sir James Harrington's lady. He took us up and down with great respect, and showed us all his house and grounds; and it is a place not very moderne in the garden nor house, but the most uniforme in all that ever I saw; and some things to excess. Pretty to see over the screene of the hall (put up by Sir J. Harrington, a Long Parliamentman) the King's head, and my Lord of Essex on one side, and Fairfax on the other; and upon the other side of the screene, the parson of the parish, and the lord of the manor and his sisters. The window-cases, door-cases, and chimnys of all the house are marble. He showed me a black boy that he had, that died of a consumption, and being dead, he caused him to be dried in an oven, and lies there entire in a box. By and by to dinner, where his lady I find yet handsome, but hath been a very handsome woman; now is old. Hath brought him near L100,000 and now he lives, no man in England in greater plenty, and commands both King and Council with his credit he gives them. Here was a fine lady a merchant's wife at dinner with us, and who should be here in the quality of a woman but Mrs. Worship's daughter, Dr. Clerke's niece, and after dinner Sir Robert led us up to his long gallery, very fine, above stairs (and better, or such, furniture I never did see), and there Mrs. Worship did give us three or four very good songs, and sings very neatly, to my great delight. After all this, and ending the chief business to my content about getting a promise of some money of him, we took leave, being exceedingly well treated here, and a most pleasant journey we had back, Povy and I, and his company most excellent in anything but business, he here giving me an account of as many persons at Court as I had a mind or thought of enquiring after. He tells me by a letter he showed me, that the King is not, nor hath been of late, very well, but quite out of humour; and, as some think, in a consumption, and weary of every thing. He showed me my Lord Arlington's house that he was born in, in a towne called Harlington: and so carried me through a most pleasant country to Brainford, and there put me into my boat, and good night. So I wrapt myself warm, and by water got to Woolwich about one in the morning, my wife and all in bed. 8th. Waked, and fell in talk with my wife about the letter, and she satisfied me that she did not know from whence it come, but believed it might be from her cozen Franke Moore lately come out of France. The truth is the thing I think cannot have much in it, and being unwilling (being in other things so much at ease) to vex myself in a strange place at a melancholy time, passed all by and were presently friends. Up, and several with me about business. Anon comes my Lord Bruncker, as I expected, and we to the enquiring into the business of the late desertion of the Shipwrights from worke, who had left us for three days together for want of money, and upon this all the morning, and brought it to a pretty good issue, that they, we believe, will come to-morrow to work. To dinner, having but a mean one, yet sufficient for him, and he well enough pleased, besides that I do not desire to vye entertainments with him or any else. Here was Captain Cocke also, and Mr. Wayth. We staid together talking upon one business or other all the afternoon. In the evening my Lord Bruncker hearing that Mr. Ackeworth's clerke, the Dutchman who writes and draws so well, was transcribing a book of Rates and our ships for Captain Millet a gallant of his mistress's, we sent for him for it. He would not deliver it, but said it was his mistress's and had delivered it to her. At last we were forced to send to her for it; she would come herself, and indeed the book was a very neat one and worth keeping as a rarity, but we did think fit, and though much against my will, to cancell all that he had finished of it, and did give her the rest, which vexed her, and she bore it discreetly enough, but with a cruel deal of malicious rancour in her looks. I must confess I would have persuaded her to have let us have it to the office, and it may be the board would not have censured too hardly of it, but my intent was to have had it as a Record for the office, but she foresaw what would be the end of it and so desired it might rather be cancelled, which was a plaguy deal of spite. My Lord Bruncker being gone and company, and she also, afterwards I took my wife and people and walked into the fields about a while till night, and then home, and so to sing a little and then to bed. I was in great trouble all this day for my boy Tom who went to Greenwich yesterday by my order and come not home till to-night for fear of the plague, but he did come home to-night, saying he staid last night by Mr. Hater's advice hoping to have me called as I come home with my boat to come along with me. 9th. Up and walked to Greenwich, and there we sat and dispatched a good deal of business I had a mind to. At noon, by invitation, to my Lord Bruncker's, all of us, to dinner, where a good venison pasty, and mighty merry. Here was Sir W. Doyly, lately come from Ipswich about the sicke and wounded, and Mr. Evelyn and Captain Cocke. My wife also was sent for by my Lord Bruncker, by Cocke, and was here. After dinner, my Lord and his mistress would see her home again, it being a most cursed rainy afternoon, having had none a great while before, and I, forced to go to the office on foot through all the rain, was almost wet to my skin, and spoiled my silke breeches almost. Rained all the afternoon and evening, so as my letters being done, I was forced to get a bed at Captain Cocke's, where I find Sir W. Doyly, and he, and Evelyn at supper; and I with them full of discourse of the neglect of our masters, the great officers of State, about all business, and especially that of money: having now some thousands prisoners, kept to no purpose at a great charge, and no money provided almost for the doing of it. We fell to talk largely of the want of some persons understanding to look after businesses, but all goes to rack. "For," says Captain Cocke, "my Lord Treasurer, he minds his ease, and lets things go how they will: if he can have his L8000 per annum, and a game at l'ombre,--[Spanish card game]--he is well. My Lord Chancellor he minds getting of money and nothing else; and my Lord Ashly will rob the Devil and the Alter, but he will get money if it be to be got." But that that put us into this great melancholy, was newes brought to-day, which Captain Cocke reports as a certain truth, that all the Dutch fleete, men-of-war and merchant East India ships, are got every one in from Bergen the 3d of this month, Sunday last; which will make us all ridiculous. The fleete come home with shame to require a great deale of money, which is not to be had, to discharge many men that must get the plague then or continue at greater charge on shipboard, nothing done by them to encourage the Parliament to give money, nor the Kingdom able to spare any money, if they would, at this time of the plague, so that, as things look at present, the whole state must come to ruine. Full of these melancholy thoughts, to bed; where, though I lay the softest I ever did in my life, with a downe bed, after the Danish manner, upon me, yet I slept very ill, chiefly through the thoughts of my Lord Sandwich's concernment in all this ill successe at sea. 10th (Lord's day). Walked home; being forced thereto by one of my watermen falling sick yesterday, and it was God's great mercy I did not go by water with them yesterday, for he fell sick on Saturday night, and it is to be feared of the plague. So I sent him away to London with his fellow; but another boat come to me this morning, whom I sent to Blackewall for Mr. Andrews. I walked to Woolwich, and there find Mr. Hill, and he and I all the morning at musique and a song he hath set of three parts, methinks, very good. Anon comes Mr. Andrews, though it be a very ill day, and so after dinner we to musique and sang till about 4 or 5 o'clock, it blowing very hard, and now and then raining, and wind and tide being against us, Andrews and I took leave and walked to Greenwich. My wife before I come out telling me the ill news that she hears that her father is very ill, and then I told her I feared of the plague, for that the house is shut up. And so she much troubled she did desire me to send them something; and I said I would, and will do so. But before I come out there happened newes to come to the by an expresse from Mr. Coventry, telling me the most happy news of my Lord Sandwich's meeting with part of the Dutch; his taking two of their East India ships, and six or seven others, and very good prizes and that he is in search of the rest of the fleet, which he hopes to find upon the Wellbancke, with the loss only of the Hector, poor Captain Cuttle. This newes do so overjoy me that I know not what to say enough to express it, but the better to do it I did walk to Greenwich, and there sending away Mr. Andrews, I to Captain Cocke's, where I find my Lord Bruncker and his mistress, and Sir J. Minnes. Where we supped (there was also Sir W. Doyly and Mr. Evelyn); but the receipt of this newes did put us all into such an extacy of joy, that it inspired into Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Evelyn such a spirit of mirth, that in all my life I never met with so merry a two hours as our company this night was. Among other humours, Mr. Evelyn's repeating of some verses made up of nothing but the various acceptations of may and can, and doing it so aptly upon occasion of something of that nature, and so fast, did make us all die almost with laughing, and did so stop the mouth of Sir J. Minnes in the middle of all his mirth (and in a thing agreeing with his own manner of genius), that I never saw any man so out-done in all my life; and Sir J. Minnes's mirth too to see himself out-done, was the crown of all our mirth. In this humour we sat till about ten at night, and so my Lord and his mistress home, and we to bed, it being one of the times of my life wherein I was the fullest of true sense of joy. 11th. Up and walked to the office, there to do some business till ten of the clock, and then by agreement my Lord, Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Doyly, and I took boat and over to the ferry, where Sir W. Batten's coach was ready for us, and to Walthamstow drove merrily, excellent merry discourse in the way, and most upon our last night's revells; there come we were very merry, and a good plain venison dinner. After dinner to billiards, where I won an angel, [A gold coin, so called because it bore the image of an angel, varying in value from six shillings and eightpence to ten shillings.] and among other sports we were merry with my pretending to have a warrant to Sir W. Hickes (who was there, and was out of humour with Sir W. Doyly's having lately got a warrant for a leash of buckes, of which we were now eating one) which vexed him, and at last would compound with me to give my Lord Bruncker half a buck now, and me a Doe for it a while hence when the season comes in, which we agreed to and had held, but that we fear Sir W. Doyly did betray our design, which spoiled all; however, my Lady Batten invited herself to dine with him this week, and she invited us all to dine with her there, which we agreed to, only to vex him, he being the most niggardly fellow, it seems, in the world. Full of good victuals and mirth we set homeward in the evening, and very merry all the way. So to Greenwich, where when come I find my Lord Rutherford and Creed come from Court, and among other things have brought me several orders for money to pay for Tangier; and, among the rest L7000 and more, to this Lord, which is an excellent thing to consider, that, though they can do nothing else, they can give away the King's money upon their progresse. I did give him the best answer I could to pay him with tallys, and that is all they could get from me. I was not in humour to spend much time with them, but walked a little before Sir J. Minnes's door and then took leave, and I by water to Woolwich, where with my wife to a game at tables, [The old name for backgammon, used by Shakespeare and others. The following lines are from an epitaph entirely made up of puns on backgammon "Man's life's a game at tables, and he may Mend his bad fortune by his wiser play." Wit's Recre., i. 250, reprint, 1817.] and to bed. 12th. Up, and walked to the office, where we sat late, and thence to dinner home with Sir J. Minnes, and so to the office, where writing letters, and home in the evening, where my wife shews me a letter from her brother speaking of their father's being ill, like to die, which, God forgive me! did not trouble me so much as it should, though I was indeed sorry for it. I did presently resolve to send him something in a letter from my wife, viz. 20s. So to bed. 13th. Up, and walked to Greenwich, taking pleasure to walk with my minute watch in my hand, by which I am come now to see the distances of my way from Woolwich to Greenwich, and do find myself to come within two minutes constantly to the same place at the end of each quarter of an houre. Here we rendezvoused at Captain Cocke's, and there eat oysters, and so my Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and I took boat, and in my Lord's coach to Sir W. Hickes's, whither by and by my Lady Batten and Sir William comes. It is a good seat, with a fair grove of trees by it, and the remains of a good garden; but so let to run to ruine, both house and every thing in and about it, so ill furnished and miserably looked after, I never did see in all my life. Not so much as a latch to his dining-room door; which saved him nothing, for the wind blowing into the room for want thereof, flung down a great bow pott that stood upon the side-table, and that fell upon some Venice glasses, and did him a crown's worth of hurt. He did give us the meanest dinner (of beef, shoulder and umbles of venison [Dr. Johnson was puzzled by the following passage in "The Merry Wives of Windsor," act v., sc. 3: "Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch. I will keep the sides to myself; my shoulders for the fellow of this walk." If he could have read the account of Sir William Hickes's dinner, he would at once have understood the allusion to the keeper's perquisites of the shoulders of all deer killed in his walk.--B.] which he takes away from the keeper of the Forest, and a few pigeons, and all in the meanest manner) that ever I did see, to the basest degree. After dinner we officers of the Navy stepped aside to read some letters and consider some business, and so in again. I was only pleased at a very fine picture of the Queene-Mother, when she was young, by Van-Dike; a very good picture, and a lovely sweet face. Thence in the afternoon home, and landing at Greenwich I saw Mr. Pen walking my way, so we walked together, and for discourse I put him into talk of France, when he took delight to tell me of his observations, some good, some impertinent, and all ill told, but it served for want of better, and so to my house, where I find my wife abroad, and hath been all this day, nobody knows where, which troubled me, it being late and a cold evening. So being invited to his mother's to supper, we took Mrs. Barbara, who was mighty finely dressed, and in my Lady's coach, which we met going for my wife, we thither, and there after some discourse went to supper. By and by comes my wife and Mercer, and had been with Captain Cocke all day, he coming and taking her out to go see his boy at school at Brumly [Bromley], and brought her home again with great respect. Here pretty merry, only I had no stomach, having dined late, to eat. After supper Mr. Pen and I fell to discourse about some words in a French song my wife was saying, "D'un air tout interdict," wherein I laid twenty to one against him which he would not agree with me, though I know myself in the right as to the sense of the word, and almost angry we were, and were an houre and more upon the dispute, till at last broke up not satisfied, and so home in their coach and so to bed. H. Russell did this day deliver my 20s. to my wife's father or mother, but has not yet told us how they do. 14th. Up, and walked to Greenwich, and there fitted myself in several businesses to go to London, where I have not been now a pretty while. But before I went from the office newes is brought by word of mouth that letters are now just now brought from the fleete of our taking a great many more of the Dutch fleete, in which I did never more plainly see my command of my temper in my not admitting myself to receive any kind of joy from it till I had heard the certainty of it, and therefore went by water directly to the Duke of Albemarle, where I find a letter of the Lath from Solebay, from my Lord Sandwich, of the fleete's meeting with about eighteen more of the Dutch fleete, and his taking of most of them; and the messenger says, they had taken three after the letter was wrote and sealed; which being twenty-one, and the fourteen took the other day, is forty-five sail; some of which are good, and others rich ships, which is so great a cause of joy in us all that my Lord and everybody is highly joyed thereat. And having taken a copy of my Lord's letter, I away back again to the Beare at the Bridge foot, being full of wind and out of order, and there called for a biscuit and a piece of cheese and gill of sacke, being forced to walk over the Bridge, toward the 'Change, and the plague being all thereabouts. Here my news was highly welcome, and I did wonder to see the 'Change so full, I believe 200 people; but not a man or merchant of any fashion, but plain men all. And Lord! to see how I did endeavour all I could to talk with as few as I could, there being now no observation of shutting up of houses infected, that to be sure we do converse and meet with people that have the plague upon them. I to Sir Robert Viner's, where my main business was about settling the business of Debusty's L5000 tallys, which I did for the present to enable me to have some money, and so home, buying some things for my wife in the way. So home, and put up several things to carry to Woolwich, and upon serious thoughts I am advised by W. Griffin to let my money and plate rest there, as being as safe as any place, nobody imagining that people would leave money in their houses now, when all their families are gone. So for the present that being my opinion, I did leave them there still. But, Lord! to see the trouble that it puts a man to, to keep safe what with pain a man hath been getting together, and there is good reason for it. Down to the office, and there wrote letters to and again about this good newes of our victory, and so by water home late. Where, when I come home I spent some thoughts upon the occurrences of this day, giving matter for as much content on one hand and melancholy on another, as any day in all my life. For the first; the finding of my money and plate, and all safe at London, and speeding in my business of money this day. The hearing of this good news to such excess, after so great a despair of my Lord's doing anything this year; adding to that, the decrease of 500 and more, which is the first decrease we have yet had in the sickness since it begun: and great hopes that the next week it will be greater. Then, on the other side, my finding that though the Bill in general is abated, yet the City within the walls is encreased, and likely to continue so, and is close to our house there. My meeting dead corpses of the plague, carried to be buried close to me at noon-day through the City in Fanchurch-street. To see a person sick of the sores, carried close by me by Gracechurch in a hackney-coach. My finding the Angell tavern, at the lower end of Tower-hill, shut up, and more than that, the alehouse at the Tower-stairs, and more than that, the person was then dying of the plague when I was last there, a little while ago, at night, to write a short letter there, and I overheard the mistresse of the house sadly saying to her husband somebody was very ill, but did not think it was of the plague. To hear that poor Payne, my waiter, hath buried a child, and is dying himself. To hear that a labourer I sent but the other day to Dagenhams, to know how they did there, is dead of the plague; and that one of my own watermen, that carried me daily, fell sick as soon as he had landed me on Friday morning last, when I had been all night upon the water (and I believe he did get his infection that day at Brainford), and is now dead of the plague. To hear that Captain Lambert and Cuttle are killed in the taking these ships; and that Mr. Sidney Montague is sick of a desperate fever at my Lady Carteret's, at Scott's-hall. To hear that Mr. Lewes hath another daughter sick. And, lastly, that both my servants, W. Hewer and Tom Edwards, have lost their fathers, both in St. Sepulchre's parish, of the plague this week, do put me into great apprehensions of melancholy, and with good reason. But I put off the thoughts of sadness as much as I can, and the rather to keep my wife in good heart and family also. After supper (having eat nothing all this day) upon a fine tench of Mr. Shelden's taking, we to bed. 15th. Up, it being a cold misting morning, and so by water to the office, where very busy upon several businesses. At noon got the messenger, Marlow, to get me a piece of bread and butter and cheese and a bottle of beer and ale, and so I went not out of the office but dined off that, and my boy Tom, but the rest of my clerks went home to dinner. Then to my business again, and by and by sent my waterman to see how Sir W. Warren do, who is sicke, and for which I have reason to be very sorry, he being the friend I have got most by of most friends in England but the King: who returns me that he is pretty well again, his disease being an ague. I by water to Deptford, thinking to have seen my valentine, but I could not, and so come back again, and to the office, where a little business, and thence with Captain Cocke, and there drank a cup of good drink, which I am fain to allow myself during this plague time, by advice of all, and not contrary to my oathe, my physician being dead, and chyrurgeon out of the way, whose advice I am obliged to take, and so by water home and eat my supper, and to bed, being in much pain to think what I shall do this winter time; for go every day to Woolwich I cannot, without endangering my life; and staying from my wife at Greenwich is not handsome. 16th. Up, and walked to Greenwich reading a play, and to the office, where I find Sir J. Minnes gone to the fleete, like a doating foole, to do no good, but proclaim himself an asse; for no service he can do there, nor inform my Lord, who is come in thither to the buoy of the Nore, in anything worth his knowledge. At noon to dinner to my Lord Bruncker, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady come, by invitation, and very merry we were, only that the discourse of the likelihood of the increase of the plague this weeke makes us a little sad, but then again the thoughts of the late prizes make us glad. After dinner, by appointment, comes Mr. Andrews, and he and I walking alone in the garden talking of our Tangier business, and I endeavoured by the by to offer some encouragements for their continuing in the business, which he seemed to take hold of, and the truth is my profit is so much concerned that I could wish they would, and would take pains to ease them in the business of money as much as was possible. He being gone (after I had ordered him L2000, and he paid me my quantum out of it) I also walked to the office, and there to my business; but find myself, through the unfitness of my place to write in, and my coming from great dinners, and drinking wine, that I am not in the good temper of doing business now a days that I used to be and ought still to be. At night to Captain Cocke's, meaning to lie there, it being late, and he not being at home, I walked to him to my Lord Bruncker's, and there staid a while, they being at tables; and so by and by parted, and walked to his house; and, after a mess of good broth, to bed, in great pleasure, his company being most excellent. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and before I went out of my chamber did draw a musique scale, in order to my having it at any time ready in my hand to turn to for exercise, for I have a great mind in this Vacation to perfect myself in my scale, in order to my practising of composition, and so that being done I down stairs, and there find Captain Cocke under the barber's hands, the barber that did heretofore trim Commissioner Pett, and with whom I have been. He offered to come this day after dinner with his violin to play me a set of Lyra-ayres upon it, which I was glad of, hoping to be merry thereby. Being ready we to church, where a company of fine people to church, and a fine Church, and very good sermon, Mr. Plume' being a very excellent scholler and preacher. Coming out of the church I met Mrs. Pierce, whom I was ashamed to see, having not been with her since my coming to town, but promised to visit her. Thence with Captain Cocke, in his coach, home to dinner, whither comes by invitation my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse and very good company we were, but in dinner time comes Sir J. Minnes from the fleete, like a simple weak man, having nothing to say of what he hath done there, but tells of what value he imagines the prizes to be, and that my Lord Sandwich is well, and mightily concerned to hear that I was well. But this did put me upon a desire of going thither; and, moving of it to my Lord, we presently agreed upon it to go this very tide, we two and Captain Cocke. So every body prepared to fit himself for his journey, and I walked to Woolwich to trim and shift myself, and by the time I was ready they come down in the Bezan yacht, and so I aboard and my boy Tom, and there very merrily we sailed to below Gravesend, and there come to anchor for all night, and supped and talked, and with much pleasure at last settled ourselves to sleep having very good lodging upon cushions in the cabbin. 18th. By break of day we come to within sight of the fleete, which was a very fine thing to behold, being above 100 ships, great and small; with the flag-ships of each squadron, distinguished by their several flags on their main, fore, or mizen masts. Among others, the Soveraigne, Charles, and Prince; in the last of which my Lord Sandwich was. When we called by her side his Lordshipp was not stirring, so we come to anchor a little below his ship, thinking to have rowed on board him, but the wind and tide was so strong against us that we could not get up to him, no, though rowed by a boat of the Prince's that come to us to tow us up; at last however he brought us within a little way, and then they flung out a rope to us from the Prince and so come on board, but with great trouble and tune and patience, it being very cold; we find my Lord newly up in his night-gown very well. He received us kindly; telling us the state of the fleet, lacking provisions, having no beer at all, nor have had most of them these three weeks or month, and but few days' dry provisions. And indeed he tells us that he believes no fleete was ever set to sea in so ill condition of provision, as this was when it went out last. He did inform us in the business of Bergen, [Lord Sandwich was not so successful in convincing other people as to the propriety of his conduct at Bergen as he was with Pepys.] so as to let us see how the judgment of the world is not to be depended on in things they know not; it being a place just wide enough, and not so much hardly, for ships to go through to it, the yardarmes sticking in the very rocks. He do not, upon his best enquiry, find reason to except against any part of the management of the business by Teddiman; he having staid treating no longer than during the night, whiles he was fitting himself to fight, bringing his ship a-breast, and not a quarter of an hour longer (as is said); nor could more ships have been brought to play, as is thought. Nor could men be landed, there being 10,000 men effectively always in armes of the Danes; nor, says he, could we expect more from the Dane than he did, it being impossible to set fire on the ships but it must burn the towne. But that wherein the Dane did amisse is, that he did assist them, the Dutch, all the while, while he was treating with us, while he should have been neutrall to us both. But, however, he did demand but the treaty of us; which is, that we should not come with more than five ships. A flag of truce is said, and confessed by my Lord, that he believes it was hung out; but while they did hang it out, they did shoot at us; so that it was not either seen perhaps, or fit to cease upon sight of it, while they continued actually in action against us. But the main thing my Lord wonders at, and condemns the Dane for, is, that the blockhead, who is so much in debt to the Hollander, having now a treasure more by much than all his Crowne was worth, and that which would for ever have beggared the Hollanders, should not take this time to break with the Hollander, and, thereby paid his debt which must have been forgiven him, and got the greatest treasure into his hands that ever was together in the world. By and by my Lord took me aside to discourse of his private matters, who was very free with me touching the ill condition of the fleete that it hath been in, and the good fortune that he hath had, and nothing else that these prizes are to be imputed to. He also talked with me about Mr. Coventry's dealing with him in sending Sir W. Pen away before him, which was not fair nor kind; but that he hath mastered and cajoled Sir W. Pen, that he hath been able to do, nothing in the fleete, but been obedient to him; but withal tells me he is a man that is but of very mean parts, and a fellow not to be lived with, so false and base he is; which I know well enough to be very true, and did, as I had formerly done, give my Lord my knowledge of him. By and by was called a Council of Warr on board, when come Sir W. Pen there, and Sir Christopher Mings, Sir Edward Spragg, Sir Jos. Jordan, Sir Thomas Teddiman, and Sir Roger Cuttance, and so the necessity of the fleete for victuals, clothes, and money was discoursed, but by the discourse there of all but my Lord, that is to say, the counterfeit grave nonsense of Sir W. Pen and the poor mean discourse of the rest, methinks I saw how the government and management of the greatest business of the three nations is committed to very ordinary heads, saving my Lord, and in effect is only upon him, who is able to do what he pleases with them, they not having the meanest degree of reason to be able to oppose anything that he says, and so I fear it is ordered but like all the rest of the King's publique affayres. The council being up they most of them went away, only Sir W. Pen who staid to dine there and did so, but the wind being high the ship (though the motion of it was hardly discernible to the eye) did make me sick, so as I could not eat any thing almost. After dinner Cocke did pray me to helpe him to L500 of W. How, who is deputy Treasurer, wherein my Lord Bruncker and I am to be concerned and I did aske it my Lord, and he did consent to have us furnished with L500, and I did get it paid to Sir Roger Cuttance and Mr. Pierce in part for above L1000 worth of goods, Mace, Nutmegs, Cynamon, and Cloves, and he tells us we may hope to get L1500 by it, which God send! Great spoil, I hear, there hath been of the two East India ships, and that yet they will come in to the King very rich: so that I hope this journey will be worth L100 to me. [There is a shorthand journal of proceedings relating to Pepys's purchase of some East India prize goods among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library.] After having paid this money, we took leave of my Lord and so to our Yacht again, having seen many of my friends there. Among others I hear that W. Howe will grow very rich by this last business and grows very proud and insolent by it; but it is what I ever expected. I hear by every body how much my poor Lord of Sandwich was concerned for me during my silence a while, lest I had been dead of the plague in this sickly time. No sooner come into the yacht, though overjoyed with the good work we have done to-day, but I was overcome with sea sickness so that I begun to spue soundly, and so continued a good while, till at last I went into the cabbin and shutting my eyes my trouble did cease that I fell asleep, which continued till we come into Chatham river where the water was smooth, and then I rose and was very well, and the tide coming to be against us we did land before we come to Chatham and walked a mile, having very good discourse by the way, it being dark and it beginning to rain just as we got thither. At Commissioner Pett's we did eat and drink very well and very merry we were, and about 10 at night, it being moonshine and very cold, we set out, his coach carrying us, and so all night travelled to Greenwich, we sometimes sleeping a little and then talking and laughing by the way, and with much pleasure, but that it was very horrible cold, that I was afeard of an ague. A pretty passage was that the coach stood of a sudden and the coachman come down and the horses stirring, he cried, Hold! which waked me, and the coach[man] standing at the boote to [do] something or other and crying, Hold! I did wake of a sudden and not knowing who he was, nor thinking of the coachman between sleeping and waking I did take up the heart to take him by the shoulder, thinking verily he had been a thief. But when I waked I found my cowardly heart to discover a fear within me and that I should never have done it if I had been awake. 19th. About 4 or 5 of the clock we come to Greenwich, and, having first set down my Lord Bruncker, Cocke and I went to his house, it being light, and there to our great trouble, we being sleepy and cold, we met with the ill newes that his boy Jacke was gone to bed sicke, which put Captain Cocke and me also into much trouble, the boy, as they told us, complaining of his head most, which is a bad sign it seems. So they presently betook themselves to consult whither and how to remove him. However I thought it not fit for me to discover too much fear to go away, nor had I any place to go to. So to bed I went and slept till 10 of the clock and then comes Captain Cocke to wake me and tell me that his boy was well again. With great joy I heard the newes and he told it, so I up and to the office where we did a little, and but a little business. At noon by invitation to my Lord Bruncker's where we staid till four of the clock for my Lady Batten and she not then coming we to dinner and pretty merry but disordered by her making us stay so long. After dinner I to the office, and there wrote letters and did business till night and then to Sir J. Minnes's, where I find my Lady Batten come, and she and my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse, and the whole house-full there at cards. But by and by my Lord Bruncker goes away and others of the company, and when I expected Sir J. Minnes and his sister should have staid to have made Sir W. Batten and Lady sup, I find they go up in snuffe to bed without taking any manner of leave of them, but left them with Mr. Boreman. The reason of this I could not presently learn, but anon I hear it is that Sir J. Minnes did expect and intend them a supper, but they without respect to him did first apply themselves to Boreman, which makes all this great feude. However I staid and there supped, all of us being in great disorder from this, and more from Cocke's boy's being ill, where my Lady Batten and Sir W. Batten did come to town with an intent to lodge, and I was forced to go seek a lodging which my W. Hewer did get me, viz., his own chamber in the towne, whither I went and found it a very fine room, and there lay most excellently. 20th. Called up by Captain Cocke (who was last night put into great trouble upon his boy's being rather worse than better, upon which he removed him out of his house to his stable), who told me that to my comfort his boy was now as well as ever he was in his life. So I up, and after being trimmed, the first time I have been touched by a barber these twelvemonths, I think, and more, went to Sir J. Minnes's, where I find all out of order still, they having not seen one another till by and by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten met, to go into my Lord Bruncker's coach, and so we four to Lambeth, and thence to the Duke of Albemarle, to inform him what we have done as to the fleete, which is very little, and to receive his direction. But, Lord! what a sad time it is to see no boats upon the River; and grass grows all up and down White Hall court, and nobody but poor wretches in the streets! And, which is worst of all, the Duke showed us the number of the plague this week, brought in the last night from the Lord Mayor; that it is encreased about 600 more than the last, which is quite contrary to all our hopes and expectations, from the coldness of the late season. For the whole general number is 8,297, and of them the plague 7,165; which is more in the whole by above 50, than the biggest Bill yet; which is very grievous to us all. I find here a design in my Lord Bruncker and Captain Cocke to have had my Lord Bruncker chosen as one of us to have been sent aboard one of the East Indiamen, and Captain Cocke as a merchant to be joined with him, and Sir J. Minnes for the other, and Sir G. Smith to be joined with him. But I did order it so that my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes were ordered, but I did stop the merchants to be added, which would have been a most pernicious thing to the King I am sure. In this I did, I think, a very good office, though I cannot acquit myself from some envy of mine in the business to have the profitable business done by another hand while I lay wholly imployed in the trouble of the office. Thence back again by my Lord's coach to my Lord Bruncker's house, where I find my Lady Batten, who is become very great with Mrs. Williams (my Lord Bruncker's whore), and there we dined and were mighty merry. After dinner I to the office there to write letters, to fit myself for a journey to-morrow to Nonsuch to the Exchequer by appointment. That being done I to Sir J. Minnes where I find Sir W. Batten and his Lady gone home to Walthamstow in great snuffe as to Sir J. Minnes, but yet with some necessity, hearing that a mayde-servant of theirs is taken ill. Here I staid and resolved of my going in my Lord Bruncker's coach which he would have me to take, though himself cannot go with me as he intended, and so to my last night's lodging to bed very weary. 21st. Up between five and six o'clock; and by the time I was ready, my Lord's coach comes for me; and taking Will Hewer with me, who is all in mourning for his father, who is lately dead of the plague, as my boy Tom's is also, I set out, and took about L100 with me to pay the fees there, and so rode in some fear of robbing. When I come thither, I find only Mr. Ward, who led me to Burgess's bedside, and Spicer's, who, watching of the house, as it is their turns every night, did lie long in bed to-day, and I find nothing at all done in my business, which vexed me. But not seeing how to helpe it I did walk up and down with Mr. Ward to see the house; and by and by Spicer and Mr. Falconbrige come to me and he and I to a towne near by, Yowell, there drink and set up my horses and also bespoke a dinner, and while that is dressing went with Spicer and walked up and down the house and park; and a fine place it hath heretofore been, and a fine prospect about the house. A great walk of an elme and a walnutt set one after another in order. And all the house on the outside filled with figures of stories, and good painting of Rubens' or Holben's doing. And one great thing is, that most of the house is covered, I mean the posts, and quarters in the walls; covered with lead, and gilded. I walked into the ruined garden, and there found a plain little girle, kinswoman of Mr. Falconbridge, to sing very finely by the eare only, but a fine way of singing, and if I come ever to lacke a girle again I shall think of getting her. Thence to the towne, and there Spicer, Woodruffe, and W. Bowyer and I dined together and a friend of Spicer's; and a good dinner I had for them. Falconbrige dined somewhere else, by appointment. Strange to see how young W. Bowyer looks at 41 years; one would not take him for 24 or more, and is one of the greatest wonders I ever did see. After dinner, about 4 of the clock we broke up, and I took coach and home (in fear for the money I had with me, but that this friend of Spicer's, one of the Duke's guard did ride along the best part of the way with us). I got to my Lord Bruncker's before night, and there I sat and supped with him and his mistresse, and Cocke whose boy is yet ill. Thence, after losing a crowne betting at Tables--[Cribbage]--, we walked home, Cocke seeing me at my new lodging, where I went to bed. All my worke this day in the coach going and coming was to refresh myself in my musique scale, which I would fain have perfecter than ever I had yet. 22nd. Up betimes and to the office, meaning to have entered my last 5 or 6 days' Journall, but was called away by my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, and to Blackwall, there to look after the storehouses in order to the laying of goods out of the East India ships when they shall be unloaden. That being done, we into Johnson's house, and were much made of, eating and drinking. But here it is observable what he tells us, that in digging his late Docke, he did 12 foot under ground find perfect trees over-covered with earth. Nut trees, with the branches and the very nuts upon them; some of whose nuts he showed us. Their shells black with age, and their kernell, upon opening, decayed, but their shell perfectly hard as ever. And a yew tree he showed us (upon which, he says, the very ivy was taken up whole about it), which upon cutting with an addes [adze], we found to be rather harder than the living tree usually is. They say, very much, but I do not know how hard a yew tree naturally is. [The same discovery was made in 1789, in digging the Brunswick Dock, also at Blackwall, and elsewhere in the neighbourhood.] The armes, they say, were taken up at first whole, about the body, which is very strange. Thence away by water, and I walked with my Lord Bruncker home, and there at dinner comes a letter from my Lord Sandwich to tell me that he would this day be at Woolwich, and desired me to meet him. Which fearing might have lain in Sir J. Minnes' pocket a while, he sending it me, did give my Lord Bruncker, his mistress, and I occasion to talk of him as the most unfit man for business in the world. Though at last afterwards I found that he was not in this faulty, but hereby I have got a clear evidence of my Lord Bruncker's opinion of him. My Lord Bruncker presently ordered his coach to be ready and we to Woolwich, and my Lord Sandwich not being come, we took a boat and about a mile off met him in his Catch, and boarded him, and come up with him; and, after making a little halt at my house, which I ordered, to have my wife see him, we all together by coach to Mr. Boreman's, where Sir J. Minnes did receive him very handsomely, and there he is to lie; and Sir J. Minnes did give him on the sudden, a very handsome supper and brave discourse, my Lord Bruncker, and Captain Cocke, and Captain Herbert being there, with myself. Here my Lord did witness great respect to me, and very kind expressions, and by other occasions, from one thing to another did take notice how I was overjoyed at first to see the King's letter to his Lordship, and told them how I did kiss it, and that, whatever he was, I did always love the King. This my Lord Bruncker did take such notice [of] as that he could not forbear kissing me before my Lord, professing his finding occasion every day more and more to love me, and Captain Cocke has since of himself taken notice of that speech of my Lord then concerning me, and may be of good use to me. Among other discourse concerning long life, Sir J. Minnes saying that his great-grandfather was alive in Edward the Vth's time; my Lord Sandwich did tell us how few there have been of his family since King Harry the VIIIth; that is to say, the then Chiefe Justice, and his son the Lord Montagu, who was father to Sir Sidney, [These are the words in the MS., and not "his son and the Lord Montagu," as in some former editions. Pepys seems to have written Lord Montagu by mistake for Sir Edward Montagu.] who was his father. And yet, what is more wonderfull, he did assure us from the mouth of my Lord Montagu himself, that in King James's time ([when he] had a mind to get the King to cut off the entayle of some land which was given in Harry the VIIIth's time to the family, with the remainder in the Crowne); he did answer the King in showing how unlikely it was that ever it could revert to the Crown, but that it would be a present convenience to him; and did show that at that time there were 4,000 persons derived from the very body of the Chiefe Justice. It seems the number of daughters in the family having been very great, and they too had most of them many children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. This he tells as a most known and certain truth. After supper, my Lord Bruncker took his leave, and I also did mine, taking Captain Herbert home to my lodging to lie with me, who did mighty seriously inquire after who was that in the black dress with my wife yesterday, and would not believe that it was my wife's mayde, Mercer, but it was she. 23rd. Up, and to my Lord Sandwich, who did advise alone with me how far he might trust Captain Cocke in the business of the prize-goods, my Lord telling me that he hath taken into his hands 2 or L3000 value of them: it being a good way, he says, to get money, and afterwards to get the King's allowance thereof, it being easier, he observes, to keepe money when got of the King than to get it when it is too late. I advised him not to trust Cocke too far, and did therefore offer him ready money for a L1000 or two, which he listens to and do agree to, which is great joy to me, hoping thereby to get something! Thence by coach to Lambeth, his Lordship, and all our office, and Mr. Evelyn, to the Duke of Albemarle, where, after the compliment with my Lord very kind, we sat down to consult of the disposing and supporting of the fleete with victuals and money, and for the sicke men and prisoners; and I did propose the taking out some goods out of the prizes, to the value of L10,000, which was accorded to, and an order, drawn up and signed by the Duke and my Lord, done in the best manner I can, and referred to my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes, but what inconveniences may arise from it I do not yet see, but fear there may be many. Here we dined, and I did hear my Lord Craven whisper, as he is mightily possessed with a good opinion of me, much to my advantage, which my good Lord did second, and anon my Lord Craven did speak publiquely of me to the Duke, in the hearing of all the rest; and the Duke did say something of the like advantage to me; I believe, not much to the satisfaction of my brethren; but I was mightily joyed at it. Thence took leave, leaving my Lord Sandwich to go visit the Bishop of Canterbury, and I and Sir W. Batten down to the Tower, where he went further by water, and I home, and among other things took out all my gold to carry along with me to-night with Captain Cocke downe to the fleete, being L180 and more, hoping to lay out that and a great deal more to good advantage. Thence down to Greenwich to the office, and there wrote several letters, and so to my Lord Sandwich, and mighty merry and he mighty kind to me in the face of all, saying much in my favour, and after supper I took leave and with Captain Cocke set out in the yacht about ten o'clock at night, and after some discourse, and drinking a little, my mind full of what we are going about and jealous of Cocke's outdoing me. So to sleep upon beds brought by Cocke on board mighty handsome, and never slept better than upon this bed upon the floor in the Cabbin. 24th (Lord's day). Waked, and up and drank, and then to discourse; and then being about Grayes, and a very calme, curious morning, we took our wherry, and to the fishermen, and bought a great deal of fine fish, and to Gravesend to White's, and had part of it dressed; and, in the meantime, we to walk about a mile from the towne, and so back again; and there, after breakfast, one of our watermen told us he had heard of a bargain of cloves for us, and we went to a blind alehouse at the further end wretched dirty seamen, who, of the towne to a couple of poor wretches, had got together about 37 lb. of cloves and to 10 of nutmeggs, and we bought them of them, the first at 5s. 6d. per lb. and the latter at 4s.; and paid them in gold; but, Lord! to see how silly these men are in the selling of it, and easily to be persuaded almost to anything, offering a bag to us to pass as 20 lbs. of cloves, which upon weighing proved 25 lbs. But it would never have been allowed by my conscience to have wronged the poor wretches, who told us how dangerously they had got some, and dearly paid for the rest of these goods. This being done we with great content herein on board again and there Captain Cocke and I to discourse of our business, but he will not yet be open to me, nor am I to him till I hear what he will say and do with Sir Roger Cuttance. However, this discourse did do me good, and got me a copy of the agreement made the other day on board for the parcel of Mr. Pierce and Sir Roger Cuttance, but this great parcel is of my Lord Sandwich's. By and by to dinner about 3 o'clock and then I in the cabbin to writing down my journall for these last seven days to my great content, it having pleased God that in this sad time of the plague every thing else has conspired to my happiness and pleasure more for these last three months than in all my life before in so little time. God long preserve it and make me thankful) for it! After finishing my Journal), then to discourse and to read, and then to supper and to bed, my mind not being at full ease, having not fully satisfied myself how Captain Cocke will deal with me as to the share of the profits. 25th. Found ourselves come to the fleete, and so aboard the Prince; and there, after a good while in discourse, we did agree a bargain of L5,000 with Sir Roger Cuttance for my Lord Sandwich for silk, cinnamon, nutmeggs, and indigo. And I was near signing to an undertaking for the payment of the whole sum; but I did by chance escape it; having since, upon second thoughts, great cause to be glad of it, reflecting upon the craft and not good condition, it may be, of Captain Cocke. I could get no trifles for my wife. Anon to dinner and thence in great haste to make a short visit to Sir W. Pen, where I found them and his lady and daughter and many commanders at dinner. Among others Sir G. Askue, of whom whatever the matter is, the world is silent altogether. But a very pretty dinner there was, and after dinner Sir W. Pen made a bargain with Cocke for ten bales of silke, at 16s. per lb., which, as Cocke says, will be a good pennyworth, and so away to the Prince and presently comes my Lord on board from Greenwich, with whom, after a little discourse about his trusting of Cocke, we parted and to our yacht; but it being calme, we to make haste, took our wherry toward Chatham; but, it growing darke, we were put to great difficultys, our simple, yet confident waterman, not knowing a step of the way; and we found ourselves to go backward and forward, which, in the darke night and a wild place, did vex us mightily. At last we got a fisher boy by chance, and took him into the boat, and being an odde kind of boy, did vex us too; for he would not answer us aloud when we spoke to him, but did carry us safe thither, though with a mistake or two; but I wonder they were not more. In our way I was [surprised] and so were we all, at the strange nature of the sea-water in a darke night, that it seemed like fire upon every stroke of the oare, and, they say, is a sign of winde. We went to the Crowne Inne, at Rochester, and there to supper, and made ourselves merry with our poor fisher-boy, who told us he had not been in a bed in the whole seven years since he came to 'prentice, and hath two or three more years to serve. After eating something, we in our clothes to bed. 26th. Up by five o'clock and got post horses and so set out for Greenwich, calling and drinking at Dartford. Being come to Greenwich and shifting myself I to the office, from whence by and by my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes set out toward Erith to take charge of the two East India shipps, which I had a hand in contriving for the King's service and may do myself a good office too thereby. I to dinner with Mr. Wright to his father-in-law in Greenwich, one of the most silly, harmless, prating old men that ever I heard in my life. Creed dined with me, and among other discourses got of me a promise of half that he could get my Lord Rutherford to give me upon clearing his business, which should not be less, he says, than L50 for my half, which is a good thing, though cunningly got of him. By and by Luellin comes, and I hope to get something of Deering shortly. They being gone, Mr. Wright and I went into the garden to discourse with much trouble for fear of losing all the profit and principal of what we have laid out in buying of prize goods, and therefore puts me upon thoughts of flinging up my interest, but yet I shall take good advice first. Thence to the office, and after some letters down to Woolwich, where I have not lain with my wife these eight days I think, or more. After supper, and telling her my mind in my trouble in what I have done as to buying' of these goods, we to bed. 27th. Up, and saw and admired my wife's picture of our Saviour, [This picture by Mrs. Pepys may have given trouble when Pepys was unjustifiably attacked for having Popish pictures in his house.] now finished, which is very pretty. So by water to Greenwich, where with Creed and Lord Rutherford, and there my Lord told me that he would give me L100 for my pains, which pleased me well, though Creed, like a cunning rogue, hath got a promise of half of it from me. We to the King's Head, the great musique house, the first time I was ever there, and had a good breakfast, and thence parted, I being much troubled to hear from Creed, that he was told at Salsbury that I am come to be a great swearer and drinker, though I know the contrary; but, Lord! to see how my late little drinking of wine is taken notice of by envious men to my disadvantage. I thence to Captain Cocke's, [and] (he not yet come from town) to Mr. Evelyn's, where much company; and thence in his coach with him to the Duke of Albemarle by Lambeth, who was in a mighty pleasant humour; there the Duke tells us that the Dutch do stay abroad, and our fleet must go out again, or to be ready to do so. Here we got several things ordered as we desired for the relief of the prisoners, and sick and wounded men. Here I saw this week's Bill of Mortality, wherein, blessed be God! there is above 1800 decrease, being the first considerable decrease we have had. Back again the same way and had most excellent discourse of Mr. Evelyn touching all manner of learning; wherein I find him a very fine gentleman, and particularly of paynting, in which he tells me the beautifull Mrs. Middleton is rare, and his own wife do brave things. He brought me to the office, whither comes unexpectedly Captain Cocke, who hath brought one parcel of our goods by waggons, and at first resolved to have lodged them at our office; but then the thoughts of its being the King's house altered our resolution, and so put them at his friend's, Mr. Glanvill's, and there they are safe. Would the rest of them were so too! In discourse, we come to mention my profit, and he offers me L500 clear, and I demand L600 for my certain profit. We part to-night, and I lie there at Mr. Glanvill's house, there being none there but a maydeservant and a young man; being in some pain, partly from not knowing what to do in this business, having a mind to be at a certainty in my profit, and partly through his having Jacke sicke still, and his blackemore now also fallen sicke. So he being gone, I to bed. 28th. Up, and being mightily pleased with my night's lodging, drank a cup of beer, and went out to my office, and there did some business, and so took boat and down to Woolwich (having first made a visit to Madam Williams, who is going down to my Lord Bruncker) and there dined, and then fitted my papers and money and every thing else for a journey to Nonsuch to-morrow. That being done I walked to Greenwich, and there to the office pretty late expecting Captain Cocke's coming, which he did, and so with me to my new lodging (and there I chose rather to lie because of my interest in the goods that we have brought there to lie), but the people were abed, so we knocked them up, and so I to bed, and in the night was mightily troubled with a looseness (I suppose from some fresh damp linen that I put on this night), and feeling for a chamber-pott, there was none, I having called the mayde up out of her bed, she had forgot I suppose to put one there; so I was forced in this strange house to rise and shit in the chimney twice; and so to bed and was very well again, and 29th. To sleep till 5 o'clock, when it is now very dark, and then rose, being called up by order by Mr. Marlow, and so up and dressed myself, and by and by comes Mr. Lashmore on horseback, and I had my horse I borrowed of Mr. Gillthropp, Sir W. Batten's clerke, brought to me, and so we set out and rode hard and was at Nonsuch by about eight o'clock, a very fine journey and a fine day. There I come just about chappell time and so I went to chappell with them and thence to the several offices about my tallys, which I find done, but strung for sums not to my purpose, and so was forced to get them to promise me to have them cut into other sums. But, Lord! what ado I had to persuade the dull fellows to it, especially Mr. Warder, Master of the Pells, and yet without any manner of reason for their scruple. But at last I did, and so left my tallies there against another day, and so walked to Yowell, and there did spend a peece upon them, having a whole house full, and much mirth by a sister of the mistresse of the house, an old mayde lately married to a lieutenant of a company that quarters there, and much pleasant discourse we had and, dinner being done, we to horse again and come to Greenwich before night, and so to my lodging, and there being a little weary sat down and fell to order some of my pocket papers, and then comes Captain Cocke, and after a great deal of discourse with him seriously upon the disorders of our state through lack of men to mind the public business and to understand it, we broke up, sitting up talking very late. We spoke a little of my late business propounded of taking profit for my money laid out for these goods, but he finds I rise in my demand, he offering me still L500 certain. So we did give it over, and I to bed. I hear for certain this night upon the road that Sir Martin Noell is this day dead of the plague in London, where he hath lain sick of it these eight days. 30th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and at noon with Sir W. Batten to Coll. Cleggat to dinner, being invited, where a very pretty dinner to my full content and very merry. The great burden we have upon us at this time at the office, is the providing for prisoners and sicke men that are recovered, they lying before our office doors all night and all day, poor wretches. Having been on shore, the captains won't receive them on board, and other ships we have not to put them on, nor money to pay them off, or provide for them. God remove this difficulty! This made us followed all the way to this gentleman's house and there are waited for our coming out after dinner. Hither come Luellin to me and would force me to take Mr. Deering's 20 pieces in gold he did offer me a good while since, which I did, yet really and sincerely against my will and content, I seeing him a man not likely to do well in his business, nor I to reap any comfort in having to do with, and be beholden to, a man that minds more his pleasure and company than his business. Thence mighty merry and much pleased with the dinner and company and they with me I parted and there was set upon by the poor wretches, whom I did give good words and some little money to, and the poor people went away like lambs, and in good earnest are not to be censured if their necessities drive them to bad courses of stealing or the like, while they lacke wherewith to live. Thence to the office, and there wrote a letter or two and dispatched a little business, and then to Captain Cocke's, where I find Mr. Temple, the fat blade, Sir Robert. Viner's chief man. And we three and two companions of his in the evening by agreement took ship in the Bezan and the tide carried us no further than Woolwich about 8 at night, and so I on shore to my wife, and there to my great trouble find my wife out of order, and she took me downstairs and there alone did tell me her falling out with both her mayds and particularly Mary, and how Mary had to her teeth told her she would tell me of something that should stop her mouth and words of that sense. Which I suspect may be about Brown, but my wife prays me to call it to examination, and this, I being of myself jealous, do make me mightily out of temper, and seeing it not fit to enter into the dispute did passionately go away, thinking to go on board again. But when I come to the stairs I considered the Bezan would not go till the next ebb, and it was best to lie in a good bed and, it may be, get myself into a better humour by being with my wife. So I back again and to bed and having otherwise so many reasons to rejoice and hopes of good profit, besides considering the ill that trouble of mind and melancholly may in this sickly time bring a family into, and that if the difference were never so great, it is not a time to put away servants, I was resolved to salve up the business rather than stir in it, and so become pleasant with my wife and to bed, minding nothing of this difference. So to sleep with a good deal of content, and saving only this night and a day or two about the same business a month or six weeks ago, I do end this month with the greatest content, and may say that these last three months, for joy, health, and profit, have been much the greatest that ever I received in all my life in any twelve months almost in my life, having nothing upon me but the consideration of the sicklinesse of the season during this great plague to mortify mee. For all which the Lord God be praised! OCTOBER 1665 October 1st (Lord's day). Called up about 4 of the clock and so dressed myself and so on board the Bezan, and there finding all my company asleep I would not wake them, but it beginning to be break of day I did stay upon the decke walking, and then into the Maister's cabbin and there laid and slept a little, and so at last was waked by Captain Cocke's calling of me, and so I turned out, and then to chat and talk and laugh, and mighty merry. We spent most of the morning talking and reading of "The Siege of Rhodes," which is certainly (the more I read it the more I think so) the best poem that ever was wrote. We breakfasted betimes and come to the fleete about two of the clock in the afternoon, having a fine day and a fine winde. My Lord received us mighty kindly, and after discourse with us in general left us to our business, and he to his officers, having called a council of wary, we in the meantime settling of papers with Mr. Pierce and everybody else, and by and by with Captain Cuttance. Anon called down to my Lord, and there with him till supper talking and discourse; among other things, to my great joy, he did assure me that he had wrote to the King and Duke about these prize-goods, and told me that they did approve of what he had done, and that he would owne what he had done, and would have me to tell all the world so, and did, under his hand, give Cocke and me his certificate of our bargains, and giving us full power of disposal of what we have so bought. This do ease my mind of all my fear, and makes my heart lighter by L100 than it was before. He did discourse to us of the Dutch fleete being abroad, eighty-five of them still, and are now at the Texell, he believes, in expectation of our Eastland ships coming home with masts and hempe, and our loaden Hambrough ships going to Hambrough. He discoursed against them that would have us yield to no conditions but conquest over the Dutch, and seems to believe that the Dutch will call for the protection of the King of France and come under his power, which were to be wished they might be brought to do under ours by fair means, and to that end would have all Dutch men and familys, that would come hither and settled, to be declared denizens; and my Lord did whisper to me alone that things here must break in pieces, nobody minding any thing, but every man his owne business of profit or pleasure, and the King some little designs of his owne, and that certainly the kingdom could not stand in this condition long, which I fear and believe is very true. So to supper and there my Lord the kindest man to me, before all the table talking of me to my advantage and with tenderness too that it overjoyed me. So after supper Captain Cocke and I and Temple on board the Bezan, and there to cards for a while and then to read again in "Rhodes" and so to sleep. But, Lord! the mirth which it caused me to be waked in the night by their snoaring round about me; I did laugh till I was ready to burst, and waked one of the two companions of Temple, who could not a good while tell where he was that he heard one laugh so, till he recollected himself, and I told him what it was at, and so to sleep again, they still snoaring. 2nd. We having sailed all night (and I do wonder how they in the dark could find the way) we got by morning to Gillingham, and thence all walked to Chatham; and there with Commissioner Pett viewed the Yard; and among other things, a teame of four horses come close by us, he being with me, drawing a piece of timber that I am confident one man could easily have carried upon his back. I made the horses be taken away, and a man or two to take the timber away with their hands. This the Commissioner did see, but said nothing, but I think had cause to be ashamed of. We walked, he and I and Cocke, to the Hill-house, where we find Sir W. Pen in bed and there much talke and much dissembling of kindnesse from him, but he is a false rogue, and I shall not trust him, but my being there did procure his consent to have his silk carried away before the money received, which he would not have done for Cocke I am sure. Thence to Rochester, walked to the Crowne, and while dinner was getting ready, I did there walk to visit the old Castle ruines, which hath been a noble place, and there going up I did upon the stairs overtake three pretty mayds or women and took them up with me, and I did 'baiser sur mouches et toucher leur mains' and necks to my great pleasure: but, Lord! to see what a dreadfull thing it is to look down the precipices, for it did fright me mightily, and hinder me of much pleasure which I would have made to myself in the company of these three, if it had not been for that. The place hath been very noble and great and strong in former ages. So to walk up and down the Cathedral, and thence to the Crowne, whither Mr. Fowler, the Mayor of the towne, was come in his gowne, and is a very reverend magistrate. After I had eat a bit, not staying to eat with them, I went away, and so took horses and to Gravesend, and there staid not, but got a boat, the sicknesse being very much in the towne still, and so called on board my Lord Bruncker and Sir John Minnes, on board one of the East Indiamen at Erith, and there do find them full of envious complaints for the pillageing of the ships, but I did pacify them, and discoursed about making money of some of the goods, and do hope to be the better by it honestly. So took leave (Madam Williams being here also with my Lord), and about 8 o'clock got to Woolwich and there supped and mighty pleasant with my wife, who is, for ought I see, all friends with her mayds, and so in great joy and content to bed. 3rd. Up, and to my great content visited betimes by Mr. Woolly, my uncle Wight's cozen, who comes to see what work I have for him about these East India goods, and I do find that this fellow might have been of great use, and hereafter may be of very great use to me, in this trade of prize goods, and glad I am fully of his coming hither. While I dressed myself, and afterwards in walking to Greenwich we did discourse over all the business of the prize goods, and he puts me in hopes I may get some money in what I have done, but not so much as I expected, but that I may hereafter do more. We have laid a design of getting more, and are to talk again of it a few days hence. To the office, where nobody to meet me, Sir W. Batten being the only man and he gone this day to meet to adjourne the Parliament to Oxford. Anon by appointment comes one to tell me my Lord Rutherford is come; so I to the King's Head to him, where I find his lady, a fine young Scotch lady, pretty handsome and plain. My wife also, and Mercer, by and by comes, Creed bringing them; and so presently to dinner and very merry; and after to even our accounts, and I to give him tallys, where he do allow me L100, of which to my grief the rogue Creed has trepanned me out of L50. But I do foresee a way how it may be I may get a greater sum of my Lord to his content by getting him allowance of interest upon his tallys. That being done, and some musique and other diversions, at last away goes my Lord and Lady, and I sent my wife to visit Mrs. Pierce, and so I to my office, where wrote important letters to the Court, and at night (Creed having clownishly left my wife), I to Mrs. Pierces and brought her and Mrs. Pierce to the King's Head and there spent a piece upon a supper for her and mighty merry and pretty discourse, she being as pretty as ever, most of our mirth being upon "my Cozen" (meaning my Lord Bruncker's ugly mistress, whom he calls cozen), and to my trouble she tells me that the fine Mrs. Middleton is noted for carrying about her body a continued sour base smell, that is very offensive, especially if she be a little hot. Here some bad musique to close the night and so away and all of us saw Mrs. Belle Pierce (as pretty as ever she was almost) home, and so walked to Will's lodging where I used to lie, and there made shift for a bed for Mercer, and mighty pleasantly to bed. This night I hear that of our two watermen that use to carry our letters, and were well on Saturday last, one is dead, and the other dying sick of the plague. The plague, though decreasing elsewhere, yet being greater about the Tower and thereabouts. 4th. Up and to my office, where Mr. Andrews comes, and reckoning with him I get L64 of him. By and by comes Mr. Gawden, and reckoning with him he gives me L60 in his account, which is a great mercy to me. Then both of them met and discoursed the business of the first man's resigning and the other's taking up the business of the victualling of Tangier, and I do not think that I shall be able to do as well under Mr. Gawden as under these men, or within a little as to profit and less care upon me. Thence to the King's Head to dinner, where we three and Creed and my wife and her woman dined mighty merry and sat long talking, and so in the afternoon broke up, and I led my wife to our lodging again, and I to the office where did much business, and so to my wife. This night comes Sir George Smith to see me at the office, and tells me how the plague is decreased this week 740, for which God be praised! but that it encreases at our end of the town still, and says how all the towne is full of Captain Cocke's being in some ill condition about prize-goods, his goods being taken from him, and I know not what. But though this troubles me to have it said, and that it is likely to be a business in Parliament, yet I am not much concerned at it, because yet I believe this newes is all false, for he would have wrote to me sure about it. Being come to my wife, at our lodging, I did go to bed, and left my wife with her people to laugh and dance and I to sleep. 5th. Lay long in bed talking among other things of my sister Pall, and my wife of herself is very willing that I should give her L400 to her portion, and would have her married soon as we could; but this great sicknesse time do make it unfit to send for her up. I abroad to the office and thence to the Duke of Albemarle, all my way reading a book of Mr. Evelyn's translating and sending me as a present, about directions for gathering a Library; [Instructions concerning erecting of a Library, presented to my Lord the President De Mesme by Gilbert Naudeus, and now interpreted by Jo. Evelyn, Esquire. London, 1661: This little book was dedicated to Lord Clarendon by the translator. It was printed while Evelyn was abroad, and is full of typographical errors; these are corrected in a copy mentioned in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings," 1825, p. xii, where a letter to Dr. Godolphin on the subject is printed.] but the book is above my reach, but his epistle to my Lord Chancellor is a very fine piece. When I come to the Duke it was about the victuallers' business, to put it into other hands, or more hands, which I do advise in, but I hope to do myself a jobb of work in it. So I walked through Westminster to my old house the Swan, and there did pass some time with Sarah, and so down by water to Deptford and there to my Valentine. [A Mrs. Bagwell. See ante, February 14th, 1664-65] Round about and next door on every side is the plague, but I did not value it, but there did what I would 'con elle', and so away to Mr. Evelyn's to discourse of our confounded business of prisoners, and sick and wounded seamen, wherein he and we are so much put out of order. [Each of the Commissioners for the Sick and Wounded was appointed to a particular district, and Evelyn's district was Kent and Sussex. On September 25th, 1665, Evelyn wrote in his Diary: "My Lord Admiral being come from ye fleete to Greenewich, I went thence with him to ye Cockpit to consult with the Duke of Albemarle. I was peremptory that unlesse we had L10,000 immediately, the prisoners would starve, and 'twas proposed it should be rais'd out of the E. India prizes now taken by Lord Sandwich. They being but two of ye Commission, and so not impower'd to determine, sent an expresse to his Majesty and Council to know what they should do."] And here he showed me his gardens, which are for variety of evergreens, and hedge of holly, the finest things I ever saw in my life. [Evelyn purchased Sayes Court, Deptford, in 1653, and laid out his gardens, walks, groves, enclosures, and plantations, which afterwards became famous for their beauty. When he took the place in hand it was nothing but an open field of one hundred acres, with scarcely a hedge in it.] Thence in his coach to Greenwich, and there to my office, all the way having fine discourse of trees and the nature of vegetables. And so to write letters, I very late to Sir W. Coventry of great concernment, and so to my last night's lodging, but my wife is gone home to Woolwich. The Bill, blessed be God! is less this week by 740 of what it was the last week. Being come to my lodging I got something to eat, having eat little all the day, and so to bed, having this night renewed my promises of observing my vowes as I used to do; for I find that, since I left them off, my mind is run a'wool-gathering and my business neglected. 6th. Up, and having sent for Mr. Gawden he come to me, and he and I largely discoursed the business of his Victualling, in order to the adding of partners to him or other ways of altering it, wherein I find him ready to do anything the King would have him do. So he and I took his coach and to Lambeth and to the Duke of Albemarle about it, and so back again, where he left me. In our way discoursing of the business and contracting a great friendship with him, and I find he is a man most worthy to be made a friend, being very honest and gratefull, and in the freedom of our discourse he did tell me his opinion and knowledge of Sir W. Pen to be, what I know him to be, as false a man as ever was born, for so, it seems, he hath been to him. He did also tell me, discoursing how things are governed as to the King's treasure, that, having occasion for money in the country, he did offer Alderman Maynell to pay him down money here, to be paid by the Receiver in some county in the country, upon whom Maynell had assignments, in whose hands the money also lay ready. But Maynell refused it, saying that he could have his money when he would, and had rather it should lie where it do than receive it here in towne this sickly time, where he hath no occasion for it. But now the evil is that he hath lent this money upon tallys which are become payable, but he finds that nobody looks after it, how long the money is unpaid, and whether it lies dead in the Receiver's hands or no, so the King he pays Maynell 10 per cent. while the money lies in his Receiver's hands to no purpose but the benefit of the Receiver. I to dinner to the King's Head with Mr. Woolly, who is come to instruct me in the business of my goods, but gives me not so good comfort as I thought I should have had. But, however, it will be well worth my time though not above 2 or L300. He gone I to my office, where very busy drawing up a letter by way of discourse to the Duke of Albemarle about my conception how the business of the Victualling should be ordered, wherein I have taken great pains, and I think have hitt the right if they will but follow it. At this very late and so home to our lodgings to bed. 7th. Up and to the office along with Mr. Childe, whom I sent for to discourse about the victualling business, who will not come into partnership (no more will Captain Beckford ), but I do find him a mighty understanding man, and one I will keep a knowledge of. Did business, though not much, at the office; because of the horrible crowd and lamentable moan of the poor seamen that lie starving in the streets for lack of money. Which do trouble and perplex me to the heart; and more at noon when we were to go through them, for then a whole hundred of them followed us; some cursing, some swearing, and some praying to us. And that that made me more troubled was a letter come this afternoon from the Duke of Albemarle, signifying the Dutch to be in sight, with 80 sayle, yesterday morning, off of Solebay, coming right into the bay. God knows what they will and may do to us, we having no force abroad able to oppose them, but to be sacrificed to them. Here come Sir W. Rider to me, whom I sent for about the victualling business also, but he neither will not come into partnership, but desires to be of the Commission if there be one. Thence back the back way to my office, where very late, very busy. But most of all when at night come two waggons from Rochester with more goods from Captain Cocke; and in houseing them at Mr. Tooker's lodgings come two of the Custome-house to seize them, and did seize them but I showed them my 'Transire'. However, after some hot and angry words, we locked them up, and sealed up the key, and did give it to the constable to keep till Monday, and so parted. But, Lord! to think how the poor constable come to me in the dark going home; "Sir," says he, "I have the key, and if you would have me do any service for you, send for me betimes to-morrow morning, and I will do what you would have me." Whether the fellow do this out of kindness or knavery, I cannot tell; but it is pretty to observe. Talking with him in the high way, come close by the bearers with a dead corpse of the plague; but, Lord! to see what custom is, that I am come almost to think nothing of it. So to my lodging, and there, with Mr. Hater and Will, ending a business of the state of the last six months' charge of the Navy, which we bring to L1,000,000 and above, and I think we do not enlarge much in it if anything. So to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up and, after being trimmed, to the office, whither I upon a letter from the Duke of Albemarle to me, to order as many ships forth out of the river as I can presently, to joyne to meet the Dutch; having ordered all the Captains of the ships in the river to come to me, I did some business with them, and so to Captain Cocke's to dinner, he being in the country. But here his brother Solomon was, and, for guests, myself, Sir G. Smith, and a very fine lady, one Mrs. Penington, and two more gentlemen. But, both [before] and after dinner, most witty discourse with this lady, who is a very fine witty lady, one of the best I ever heard speake, and indifferent handsome. There after dinner an houre or two, and so to the office, where ended my business with the Captains; and I think of twenty-two ships we shall make shift to get out seven. (God helpe us! men being sick, or provisions lacking.) And so to write letters to Sir Ph. Warwicke, Sir W. Coventry, and Sir G. Carteret to Court about the last six months' accounts, and sent away by an express to-night. This day I hear the Pope is dead;--[a false report]--and one said, that the newes is, that the King of France is stabbed, but that the former is very true, which will do great things sure, as to the troubling of that part of the world, the King of Spayne [Philip IV., King of Spain, who succeeded to the throne in 1621, died in 1665. He was succeeded by his son Charles II.] being so lately dead. And one thing more, Sir Martin Noell's lady is dead with griefe for the death of her husband and nothing else, as they say, in the world; but it seems nobody can make anything of his estate, whether he be dead worth anything or no, he having dealt in so many things, publique and private, as nobody can understand whereabouts his estate is, which is the fate of these great dealers at everything. So after my business being done I home to my lodging and to bed, 9th. Up, my head full of business, and called upon also by Sir John Shaw, to whom I did give a civil answer about our prize goods, that all his dues as one of the Farmers of the Customes are paid, and showed him our Transire; with which he was satisfied, and parted, ordering his servants to see the weight of them. I to the office, and there found an order for my coming presently to the Duke of Albemarle, and what should it be, but to tell me, that, if my Lord Sandwich do not come to towne, he do resolve to go with the fleete to sea himself, the Dutch, as he thinks, being in the Downes, and so desired me to get a pleasure boat for to take him in to-morrow morning, and do many other things, and with a great liking of me, and my management especially, as that coxcombe my Lord Craven do tell me, and I perceive it, and I am sure take pains enough to deserve it. Thence away and to the office at London, where I did some business about my money and private accounts, and there eat a bit of goose of Mr. Griffin's, and so by water, it raining most miserably, to Greenwich, calling on several vessels in my passage. Being come there I hear another seizure hath been made of our goods by one Captain Fisher that hath been at Chatham by warrant of the Duke of Albemarle, and is come in my absence to Tooker's and viewed them, demanding the key of the constable, and so sealed up the door. I to the house, but there being no officers nor constable could do nothing, but back to my office full of trouble about this, and there late about business, vexed to see myself fall into this trouble and concernment in a thing that I want instruction from my Lord Sandwich whether I should appear in it or no, and so home to bed, having spent two hours, I and my boy, at Mr. Glanvill's removing of faggots to make room to remove our goods to, but when done I thought it not fit to use it. The newes of the killing of the [King of] France is wholly untrue, and they say that of the Pope too. 10th. Up, and receive a stop from the Duke of Albemarle of setting out any more ships, or providing a pleasure boat for himself, which I am glad of, and do see, what I thought yesterday, that this resolution of his was a sudden one and silly. By and by comes Captain Cocke's Jacob to tell me that he is come from Chatham this morning, and that there are four waggons of goods at hand coming to towne, which troubles me. I directed him to bring them to his master's house. But before I could send him away to bring them thither, newes is brought me that they are seized on in the towne by this Captain Fisher and they will carry them to another place. So I to them and found our four waggons in the streete stopped by the church by this Fisher and company and 100 or 200 people in the streetes gazing. I did give them good words, and made modest desires of carrying the goods to Captain Cocke's, but they would have them to a house of their hiring, where in a barne the goods were laid. I had transires to show for all, and the tale was right, and there I spent all the morning seeing this done. At which Fisher was vexed that I would not let it be done by any body else for the merchant, and that I must needs be concerned therein, which I did not think fit to owne. So that being done, I left the goods to be watched by men on their part and ours, and so to the office by noon, whither by and by comes Captain Cocke, whom I had with great care sent for by expresse the last night, and so I with him to his house and there eat a bit, and so by coach to Lambeth, and I took occasion first to go to the Duke of Albemarle to acquaint him with some thing of what had been done this morning in behalf of a friend absent, which did give a good entrance and prevented their possessing the Duke with anything of evil of me by their report, and by and by in comes. Captain Cocke and tells his whole story. So an order was made for the putting him in possession upon giving security to, be accountable for the goods, which for the present did satisfy us, and so away, giving Locke that drew the order a piece. (Lord! to see how unhappily a man may fall into a necessity of bribing people to do him right in a thing, wherein he hath done nothing but fair, and bought dear.) So to the office, there to write my letters, and Cocke comes to tell me that Fisher is come to him, and that he doubts not to cajole Fisher and his companion and make them friends with drink and a bribe. This night comes Sir Christopher Mings to towne, and I went to see him, and by and by he being then out of the town comes to see me. He is newly come from Court, and carries direction for the making a show of getting out the fleete again to go fight the Dutch, but that it will end in a fleete of 20 good sayling frigates to go to the Northward or Southward, and that will be all. I enquired, but he would not be to know that he had heard any thing at Oxford about the business of the prize goods, which I did suspect, but he being gone, anon comes Cocke and tells me that he hath been with him a great while, and that he finds him sullen and speaking very high what disrespect he had received of my Lord, saying that he hath walked 3 or 4 hours together at that Earle's cabbin door for audience and could not be received, which, if true, I am sorry for. He tells me that Sir G. Ascue says, that he did from the beginning declare against these [prize] goods, and would not receive his dividend; and that he and Sir W. Pen are at odds about it, and that he fears Mings hath been doing ill offices to my Lord. I did to-night give my Lord an account of all this, and so home and to bed. 11th. Up, and so in my chamber staid all the morning doing something toward my Tangier accounts, for the stating of them, and also comes up my landlady, Mrs. Clerke, to make an agreement for the time to come; and I, for the having room enough, and to keepe out strangers, and to have a place to retreat to for my wife, if the sicknesse should come to Woolwich, am contented to pay dear; so for three rooms and a dining-room, and for linen and bread and beer and butter, at nights and mornings, I am to give her L5 10s. per month, and I wrote and we signed to an agreement. By and by comes Cocke to tell me that Fisher and his fellow were last night mightily satisfied and promised all friendship, but this morning he finds them to have new tricks and shall be troubled with them. So he being to go down to Erith with them this afternoon about giving security, I advised him to let them go by land, and so he and I (having eat something at his house) by water to Erith, but they got thither before us, and there we met Mr. Seymour, one of the Commissioners for Prizes, and a Parliament-man, and he was mighty high, and had now seized our goods on their behalf; and he mighty imperiously would have all forfeited, and I know not what. I thought I was in the right in a thing I said and spoke somewhat earnestly, so we took up one another very smartly, for which I was sorry afterwards, shewing thereby myself too much concerned, but nothing passed that I valued at all. But I could not but think [it odd] that a Parliament-man, in a serious discourse before such persons as we and my Lord Bruncker, and Sir John Minnes, should quote Hudibras, as being the book I doubt he hath read most. They I doubt will stand hard for high security, and Cocke would have had me bound with him for his appearing, but I did stagger at it, besides Seymour do stop the doing it at all till he has been with the Duke of Albemarle. So there will be another demurre. It growing late, and I having something to do at home, took my leave alone, leaving Cocke there for all night, and so against tide and in the darke and very cold weather to Woolwich, where we had appointed to keepe the night merrily; and so, by Captain Cocke's coach, had brought a very pretty child, a daughter of one Mrs. Tooker's, next door to my lodging, and so she, and a daughter and kinsman of Mrs. Pett's made up a fine company at my lodgings at Woolwich, where my wife and Mercer, and Mrs. Barbara danced, and mighty merry we were, but especially at Mercer's dancing a jigg, which she does the best I ever did see, having the most natural way of it, and keeps time the most perfectly I ever did see. This night is kept in lieu of yesterday, for my wedding day of ten years; for which God be praised! being now in an extreme good condition of health and estate and honour, and a way of getting more money, though at this houre under some discomposure, rather than damage, about some prize goods that I have bought off the fleete, in partnership with Captain Cocke; and for the discourse about the world concerning my Lord Sandwich, that he hath done a thing so bad; and indeed it must needs have been a very rash act; and the rather because of a Parliament now newly met to give money, and will have some account of what hath already been spent, besides the precedent for a General to take what prizes he pleases, and the giving a pretence to take away much more than he intended, and all will lie upon him; and not giving to all the Commanders, as well as the Flaggs, he displeases all them, and offends even some of them, thinking others to be better served than themselves; and lastly, puts himself out of a power of begging anything again a great while of the King. Having danced with my people as long as I saw fit to sit up, I to bed and left them to do what they would. I forgot that we had W. Hewer there, and Tom, and Golding, my barber at Greenwich, for our fiddler, to whom I did give 10s. 12th. Called up before day, and so I dressed myself and down, it being horrid cold, by water to my Lord Bruncker's ship, who advised me to do so, and it was civilly to show me what the King had commanded about the prize-goods, to examine most severely all that had been done in the taking out any with or without order, without respect to my Lord Sandwich at all, and that he had been doing of it, and find him examining one man, and I do find that extreme ill use was made of my Lord's order. For they did toss and tumble and spoil, and breake things in hold to a great losse and shame to come at the fine goods, and did take a man that knows where the fine goods were, and did this over and over again for many days, Sir W. Berkeley being the chief hand that did it, but others did the like at other times, and they did say in doing it that my Lord Sandwich's back was broad enough to bear it. Having learned as much as I could, which was, that the King and Duke were very severe in this point, whatever order they before had given my Lord in approbation of what he had done, and that all will come out and the King see, by the entries at the Custome House, what all do amount to that had been taken, and so I took leave, and by water, very cold, and to Woolwich where it was now noon, and so I staid dinner and talking part of the afternoon, and then by coach, Captain Cocke's, to Greenwich, taking the young lady home, and so to Cocke, and he tells me that he hath cajolled with Seymour, who will be our friend; but that, above all, Seymour tells him, that my Lord Duke did shew him to-day an order from Court, for having all respect paid to the Earle of Sandwich, and what goods had been delivered by his order, which do overjoy us, and that to-morrow our goods shall be weighed, and he doubts not possession to-morrow or next day. Being overjoyed at this I to write my letters, and at it very late. Good newes this week that there are about 600 less dead of the plague than the last. So home to bed. 13th. Lay long, and this morning comes Sir Jer. Smith [Captain Jeremiah Smith (or Smyth), knighted June, 1665; Admiral of the Blue in 1666. He succeeded Sir William Penn as Comptroller of the Victualling Accounts in 1669, and held the office until 1675.] to see me in his way to Court, and a good man he is, and one that I must keep fair with, and will, it being I perceive my interest to have kindnesse with the Commanders. So to the office, and there very busy till about noon comes Sir W. Warren, and he goes and gets a bit of meat ready at the King's Head for us, and I by and by thither, and we dined together, and I am not pleased with him about a little business of Tangier that I put to him to do for me, but however, the hurt is not much, and his other matters of profit to me continue very likely to be good. Here we spent till 2 o'clock, and so I set him on shore, and I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, where I find him with Lord Craven and Lieutenant of the Tower about him; among other things, talking of ships to get of the King to fetch coles for the poore of the city, which is a good worke. But, Lord! to hear the silly talke between these three great people! Yet I have no reason to find fault, the Duke and Lord Craven being my very great friends. Here did the business I come about, and so back home by water, and there Cocke comes to me and tells me that he is come to an understanding with Fisher, and that he must give him L100, and that he shall have his goods in possession to-morrow, they being all weighed to-day, which pleases me very well. This day the Duke tells me that there is no news heard of the Dutch, what they do or where they are, but believes that they are all gone home, for none of our spyes can give us any tideings of them. Cocke is fain to keep these people, Fisher and his fellow, company night and day to keep them friends almost and great troubles withal. My head is full of settling the victualling business also, that I may make some profit out of it, which I hope justly to do to the King's advantage. To-night come Sir J. Bankes to me upon my letter to discourse it with him, and he did give me the advice I have taken almost as fully as if I had been directed by him what to write. The business also of my Tangier accounts to be sent to Court is upon my hands in great haste; besides, all my owne proper accounts are in great disorder, having been neglected now above a month, which grieves me, but it could not be settled sooner. These together and the feare of the sicknesse and providing for my family do fill my head very full, besides the infinite business of the office, and nobody here to look after it but myself. So late from my office to my lodgings, and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where mighty busy, especially with Mr. Gawden, with whom I shall, I think, have much to do, and by and by comes the Lieutenant of the Tower by my invitation yesterday, but I had got nothing for him, it is to discourse about the Cole shipps. So he went away to Sheriffe Hooker's, and I staid at the office till he sent for me at noon to dinner, I very hungry. When I come to the Sheriffe's he was not there, nor in many other places, nor could find him at all, so was forced to come to the office and get a bit of meat from the taverne, and so to my business. By and by comes the Lieutenant and reproaches me with my not treating him as I ought, but all in jest, he it seemed dined with Mr. Adrian May. Very late writing letters at the office, and much satisfied to hear from Captain Cocke that he had got possession of some of his goods to his own house, and expected to have all to-night. The towne, I hear, is full of talke that there are great differences in the fleete among the great Commanders, and that Mings at Oxford did impeach my Lord of something, I think about these goods, but this is but talke. But my heart and head to-night is full of the Victualling business, being overjoyed and proud at my success in my proposal about it, it being read before the King, Duke, and the Caball with complete applause and satisfaction. This Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry both writ me, besides Sir W. Coventry's letter to the Duke of Albemarle, which I read yesterday, and I hope to find my profit in it also. So late home to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and while I staid for the barber, tried to compose a duo of counterpoint, and I think it will do very well, it being by Mr. Berckenshaw's rule. By and by by appointment comes Mr. Povy's coach, and, more than I expected, him himself, to fetch me to Brainford: so he and I immediately set out, having drunk a draft of mulled sacke; and so rode most nobly, in his most pretty and best contrived charriott in the world, with many new conveniences, his never having till now, within a day or two, been yet finished; our discourse upon Tangier business, want of money, and then of publique miscarriages, nobody minding the publique, but every body himself and his lusts. Anon we come to his house, and there I eat a bit, and so with fresh horses, his noble fine horses, the best confessedly in England, the King having none such, he sent me to Sir Robert Viner's, whom I met coming just from church, and so after having spent half-an-hour almost looking upon the horses with some gentlemen that were in company, he and I into his garden to discourse of money, but none is to be had, he confessing himself in great straits, and I believe it. Having this answer, and that I could not get better, we fell to publique talke, and to think how the fleete and seamen will be paid, which he protests he do not think it possible to compass, as the world is now: no money got by trade, nor the persons that have it by them in the City to be come at. The Parliament, it seems, have voted the King L1,250,000 at L50,000 per month, tax for the war; and voted to assist the King against the Dutch, and all that shall adhere to them; and thanks to be given him for his care of the Duke of Yorke, which last is a very popular vote on the Duke's behalf. He tells me how the taxes of the last assessment, which should have been in good part gathered, are not yet laid, and that even in part of the City of London; and the Chimny-money comes almost to nothing, nor any thing else looked after. Having done this I parted, my mind not eased by any money, but only that I had done my part to the King's service. And so in a very pleasant evening back to Mr. Povy's, and there supped, and after supper to talke and to sing, his man Dutton's wife singing very pleasantly (a mighty fat woman), and I wrote out one song from her and pricked the tune, both very pretty. But I did never heare one sing with so much pleasure to herself as this lady do, relishing it to her very heart, which was mighty pleasant. 16th. Up about seven o'clock; and, after drinking, and I observing Mr. Povy's being mightily mortifyed in his eating and drinking, and coaches and horses, he desiring to sell his best, and every thing else, his furniture of his house, he walked with me to Syon, [Sion House, granted by Edward VI. to his uncle, the Duke of Somerset. After his execution, 1552, it was forfeited, and given to John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. The duke being beheaded in 1553, it reverted to the Crown, and was granted in 1604 to Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. It still belongs to the Duke of Northumberland.] and there I took water, in our way he discoursing of the wantonnesse of the Court, and how it minds nothing else, and I saying that that would leave the King shortly if he did not leave it, he told me "No," for the King do spend most of his time in feeling and kissing them naked... But this lechery will never leave him. Here I took boat (leaving him there) and down to the Tower, where I hear the Duke of Albemarle is, and I to Lumbard Streete, but can get no money. So upon the Exchange, which is very empty, God knows! and but mean people there. The newes for certain that the Dutch are come with their fleete before Margett, and some men were endeavouring to come on shore when the post come away, perhaps to steal some sheep. But, Lord! how Colvill talks of the businesse of publique revenue like a madman, and yet I doubt all true; that nobody minds it, but that the King and Kingdom must speedily be undone, and rails at my Lord about the prizes, but I think knows not my relation to him. Here I endeavoured to satisfy all I could, people about Bills of Exchange from Tangier, but it is only with good words, for money I have not, nor can get. God knows what will become of all the King's matters in a little time, for he runs in debt every day, and nothing to pay them looked after. Thence I walked to the Tower; but, Lord! how empty the streets are and melancholy, so many poor sick people in the streets full of sores; and so many sad stories overheard as I walk, every body talking of this dead, and that man sick, and so many in this place, and so many in that. And they tell me that, in Westminster, there is never a physician and but one apothecary left, all being dead; but that there are great hopes of a great decrease this week: God send it! At the Tower found my Lord Duke and Duchesse at dinner; so I sat down. And much good cheer, the Lieutenant and his lady, and several officers with the Duke. But, Lord! to hear the silly talk that was there, would make one mad; the Duke having none almost but fools about him. Much of their talke about the Dutch coming on shore, which they believe they may some of them have been and steal sheep, and speak all in reproach of them in whose hands the fleete is; but, Lord helpe him, there is something will hinder him and all the world in going to sea, which is want of victuals; for we have not wherewith to answer our service; and how much better it would have been if the Duke's advice had been taken for the fleete to have gone presently out; but, God helpe the King! while no better counsels are given, and what is given no better taken. Thence after dinner receiving many commands from the Duke, I to our office on the Hill, and there did a little business and to Colvill's again, and so took water at the Tower, and there met with Captain Cocke, and he down with me to Greenwich, I having received letters from my Lord Sandwich to-day, speaking very high about the prize goods, that he would have us to fear nobody, but be very confident in what we have done, and not to confess any fault or doubt of what he hath done; for the King hath allowed it, and do now confirm it, and sent orders, as he says, for nothing to be disturbed that his Lordshipp hath ordered therein as to the division of the goods to the fleete; which do comfort us, but my Lord writes to me that both he and I may hence learn by what we see in this business. But that which pleases me best is that Cocke tells me that he now understands that Fisher was set on in this business by the design of some of the Duke of Albemarle's people, Warcupp and others, who lent him money to set him out in it, and he has spent high. Who now curse him for a rogue to take L100 when he might have had as well L1,500, and they are mightily fallen out about it. Which in due time shall be discovered, but that now that troubles me afresh is, after I am got to the office at Greenwich that some new troubles are come, and Captain Cocke's house is beset before and behind with guards, and more, I do fear they may come to my office here to search for Cocke's goods and find some small things of my clerk's. So I assisted them in helping to remove their small trade, but by and by I am told that it is only the Custome House men who came to seize the things that did lie at Mr. Glanville's, for which they did never yet see our Transire, nor did know of them till to-day. So that my fear is now over, for a transire is ready for them. Cocke did get a great many of his goods to London to-day. To the Still Yarde, which place, however, is now shut up of the plague; but I was there, and we now make no bones of it. Much talke there is of the Chancellor's speech and the King's at the Parliament's meeting, which are very well liked; and that we shall certainly, by their speeches, fall out with France at this time, together with the Dutch, which will find us work. Late at the office entering my Journall for 8 days past, the greatness of my business hindering me of late to put it down daily, but I have done it now very true and particularly, and hereafter will, I hope, be able to fall into my old way of doing it daily. So to my lodging, and there had a good pullet to my supper, and so to bed, it being very cold again, God be thanked for it! 17th. Up, and all day long busy at the office, mighty busy, only stepped to my lodging and had a fowl for my dinner, and at night my wife and Mercer comes to me, which troubled me a little because I am to be mighty busy to-morrow all day seriously about my accounts. So late from my office to her, and supped, and so to bed. 18th. Up, and after some pleasant discourse with my wife (though my head full of business) I out and left her to go home, and myself to the office, and thence by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, and so back again and find my wife gone. So to my chamber at my lodgings, and to the making of my accounts up of Tangier, which I did with great difficulty, finding the difference between short and long reckonings where I have had occasion to mix my moneys, as I have of late done my Tangier treasure upon other occasions, and other moneys upon that. However, I was at it late and did it pretty perfectly, and so, after eating something, to bed, my mind eased of a great deal of figures and castings. 19th. Up, and to my accounts again, and stated them very clear and fair, and at noon dined at my lodgings with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer at table with me, I being come to an agreement yesterday with my landlady for L6 per month, for so many rooms for myself, them, and my wife and mayde, when she shall come, and to pay besides for my dyett. After dinner I did give them my accounts and letters to write against I went to the Duke of Albemarle's this evening, which I did; and among other things, spoke to him for my wife's brother, Balty, to be of his guard, which he kindly answered that he should. My business of the Victualling goes on as I would have it; and now my head is full how to make some profit of it to myself or people. To that end, when I came home, I wrote a letter to Mr. Coventry, offering myself to be the Surveyor Generall, and am apt to think he will assist me in it, but I do not set my heart much on it, though it would be a good helpe. So back to my office, and there till past one before I could get all these letters and papers copied out, which vexed me, but so sent them away without hopes of saving the post, and so to my lodging to bed. 20th. Up, and had my last night's letters brought back to me, which troubles me, because of my accounts, lest they should be asked for before they come, which I abhorr, being more ready to give than they can be to demand them: so I sent away an expresse to Oxford with them, and another to Portsmouth, with a copy of my letter to Mr. Coventry about my victualling business, for fear he should be gone from Oxford, as he intended, thither. So busy all the morning and at noon to Cocke, and dined there. He and I alone, vexed that we are not rid of all our trouble about our goods, but it is almost over, and in the afternoon to my lodging, and there spent the whole afternoon and evening with Mr. Hater, discoursing of the business of the office, where he tells me that among others Thomas Willson do now and then seem to hint that I do take too much business upon me, more than I can do, and that therefore some do lie undone. This I confess to my trouble is true, but it arises from my being forced to take so much on me, more than is my proper task to undertake. But for this at last I did advise to him to take another clerk if he thinks fit, I will take care to have him paid. I discoursed also much with him about persons fit to be put into the victualling business, and such as I could spare something out of their salaries for them, but without trouble I cannot, I see, well do it, because Thomas Willson must have the refusal of the best place which is London of L200 per annum, which I did intend for Tooker, and to get L50 out of it as a help to Mr. Hater. How[ever], I will try to do something of this kind for them. Having done discourse with him late, I to enter my Tangier accounts fair, and so to supper and to bed. 21 st. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, and then with my two clerks home to dinner, and so back again to the office, and there very late very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and after ready and going to Captain Cocke's, where I find we are a little further safe in some part of our goods, I to Church, in my way was meeting with some letters, which made me resolve to go after church to my Lord Duke of Albemarle's, so, after sermon, I took Cocke's chariott, and to Lambeth; but, in going and getting over the water, and through White Hall, I spent so much time, the Duke had almost dined. However, fresh meat was brought for me to his table, and there I dined, and full of discourse and very kind. Here they are again talking of the prizes, and my Lord Duke did speake very broad that my Lord Sandwich and Pen should do what they would, and answer for themselves. For his part, he would lay all before the King. Here he tells me the Dutch Embassador at Oxford is clapped up, but since I hear it is not true. Thence back again, it being evening before I could get home, and there Cocke not being within, I and Mr. Salomon to Mr. Glanville's, and there we found Cocke and sat and supped, and was mighty merry with only Madam Penington, who is a fine, witty lady. Here we spent the evening late with great mirth, and so home and to bed. 23rd. Up, and after doing some business I down by water, calling to see my wife, with whom very merry for ten minutes, and so to Erith, where my Lord Bruncker and I kept the office, and dispatched some business by appointment on the Bezan. Among other things about the slopsellers, who have trusted us so long, they are not able, nor can be expected to trust us further, and I fear this winter the fleete will be undone by that particular. Thence on board the East India ship, where my Lord Bruncker had provided a great dinner, and thither comes by and by Sir John Minnes and before him Sir W. Warren and anon a Perspective glasse maker, of whom we, every one, bought a pocket glasse. But I am troubled with the much talke and conceitedness of Mrs. Williams and her impudence, in case she be not married to my Lord. They are getting themselves ready to deliver the goods all out to the East India Company, who are to have the goods in their possession and to advance two thirds of the moderate value thereof and sell them as well as they can and the King to give them 6 per cent. for the use of the money they shall so advance. By this means the company will not suffer by the King's goods bringing down the price of their own. Thence in the evening back again with Sir W. Warren and Captain Taylor in my boat, and the latter went with me to the office, and there he and I reckoned; and I perceive I shall get L100 profit by my services of late to him, which is a very good thing. Thence to my lodging, where I find my Lord Rutherford, of which I was glad. We supped together and sat up late, he being a mighty wanton man with a daughter in law of my landlady's, a pretty conceited woman big with child, and he would be handling her breasts, which she coyly refused. But they gone, my Lord and I to business, and he would have me forbear paying Alderman Backewell the money ordered him, which I, in hopes to advantage myself, shall forbear, but do not think that my Lord will do any thing gratefully more to me than he hath done, not that I shall get any thing as I pretended by helping him to interest for his last L7700, which I could do, and do him a courtesy too. Discourse being done, he to bed in my chamber and I to another in the house. 24th. Lay long, having a cold. Then to my Lord and sent him going to Oxford, and I to my office, whither comes Sir William Batten now newly from Oxford. I can gather nothing from him about my Lord Sandwich about the business of the prizes, he being close, but he shewed me a bill which hath been read in the House making all breaking of bulke for the time to come felony, but it is a foolish Act, and will do no great matter, only is calculated to my Lord Sandwich's case. He shewed me also a good letter printed from the Bishopp of Munster to the States of Holland shewing the state of their case. Here we did some business and so broke up and I to Cocke, where Mr. Evelyn was, to dinner, and there merry, yet vexed again at publique matters, and to see how little heed is had to the prisoners and sicke and wounded. Thence to my office, and no sooner there but to my great surprise am told that my Lord Sandwich is come to towne; so I presently to Boreman's, where he is and there found him: he mighty kind to me, but no opportunity of discourse private yet, which he tells me he must have with me; only his business is sudden to go to the fleece, to get out a few ships to drive away the Dutch. I left him in discourse with Sir W. Batten and others, and myself to the office till about 10 at night and so, letters being done, I to him again to Captain Cocke's, where he supped, and lies, and never saw him more merry, and here is Charles Herbert, who the King hath lately knighted. [This person, erroneously called by Pepys Sir C. Herbert, will be best defined by subjoining the inscription on his monument in Westminster Abbey: "Sir Charles Harbord, Knight, third son of Sir Charles Harbord, Knight, Surveyor-General, and First Lieutenant of the Royall James, under the most noble and illustrious Captaine, Edward, Earle of Sandwich, Vice-Admirall of England, which, after a terrible fight, maintained to admiration against a squadron of the Holland fleet, above six hours, neere the Suffolk coast, having put off two fireships; at last, being utterly disabled, and few of her men remaining unhurt, was, by a third, unfortunately set on fire. But he (though he swome well) neglected to save himselfe, as some did, and out of perfect love to that worthy Lord, whom, for many yeares, he had constantly accompanyed, in all his honourable employments, and in all the engagements of the former warre, dyed with him, at the age of xxxii., much bewailed by his father, whom he never offended; and much beloved by all for his knowne piety, vertue, loyalty, fortitude, and fidelity."--B.] My Lord, to my great content, did tell me before them, that never anything was read to the King and Council, all the chief Ministers of State being there, as my letter about the Victualling was, and no more said upon it than a most thorough consent to every word was said, and directed, that it be pursued and practised. After much mirth, and my Lord having travelled all night last night, he to bed, and we all parted, I home. 25th. Up and to my Lord Sandwich's, where several Commanders, of whom I took the state of all their ships, and of all could find not above four capable of going out. The truth is, the want of victuals being the whole overthrow of this yeare both at sea, and now at the Nore here and Portsmouth, where all the fleete lies. By and by comes down my Lord, and then he and I an houre together alone upon private discourse. He tells me that Mr. Coventry and he are not reconciled, but declared enemies: the only occasion of it being, he tells me, his ill usage from him about the first fight, wherein he had no right done him, which, methinks, is a poor occasion, for, in my conscience, that was no design of Coventry's. But, however, when I asked my Lord whether it were not best, though with some condescension, to be friends with him, he told me it was not possible, and so I stopped. He tells me, as very private, that there are great factions at the Court between the King's party and the Duke of Yorke's, and that the King, which is a strange difficulty, do favour my Lord in opposition to the Duke's party; that my Lord Chancellor, being, to be sure, the patron of the Duke's, it is a mystery whence it should be that Mr. Coventry is looked upon by him [Clarendon] as an enemy to him; that if he had a mind himself to be out of this employment, as Mr. Coventry, he believes, wishes, and himself and I do incline to wish it also, in many respects, yet he believes he shall not be able, because of the King, who will keepe him in on purpose, in opposition to the other party; that Prince Rupert and he are all possible friends in the world; that Coventry hath aggravated this business of the prizes, though never so great plundering in the world as while the Duke and he were at sea; and in Sir John Lawson's time he could take and pillage, and then sink a whole ship in the Streights, and Coventry say nothing to it; that my Lord Arlington is his fast friend; that the Chancellor is cold to him, and though I told him that I and the world do take my Lord Chancellor, in his speech the other day, to have said as much as could be wished, yet he thinks he did not. That my Lord Chancellor do from hence begin to be cold to him, because of his seeing him and Arlington so great: that nothing at Court is minded but faction and pleasure, and nothing intended of general good to the kingdom by anybody heartily; so that he believes with me, in a little time confusion will certainly come over all the nation. He told me how a design was carried on a while ago, for the Duke of Yorke to raise an army in the North, and to be the Generall of it, and all this without the knowledge or advice of the Duke of Albemarle, which when he come to know, he was so vexed, they were fain to let it fall to content him: that his matching with the family of Sir G. Carteret do make the difference greater between Coventry and him, they being enemies; that the Chancellor did, as every body else, speak well of me the other day, but yet was, at the Committee for Tangier, angry that I should offer to suffer a bill of exchange to be protested. So my Lord did bid me take heed, for that I might easily suppose I could not want enemies, no more than others. In all he speaks with the greatest trust and love and confidence in what I say or do, that a man can do. After this discourse ended we sat down to dinner and mighty merry, among other things, at the Bill brought into the House to make it felony to break bulke, which, as my Lord says well, will make that no prizes shall be taken, or, if taken, shall be sunke after plundering; and the Act for the method of gathering this last L1,250,000 now voted, and how paid wherein are several strange imperfections. After dinner my Lord by a ketch down to Erith, where the Bezan was, it blowing these last two days and now both night and day very hard southwardly, so that it has certainly drove the Dutch off the coast. My Lord being gone I to the office, and there find Captain Ferrers, who tells me his wife is come to town to see him, having not seen him since 15 weeks ago at his first going to sea last. She is now at a Taverne and stays all night, so I was obliged to give him my house and chamber to lie in, which he with great modesty and after much force took, and so I got Mr. Evelyn's coach to carry her thither, and the coach coming back, I with Mr. Evelyn to Deptford, where a little while with him doing a little business, and so in his coach back again to my lodgings, and there sat with Mrs. Ferrers two hours, and with my little girle, Mistress Frances Tooker, and very pleasant. Anon the Captain comes, and then to supper very merry, and so I led them to bed. And so to bed myself, having seen my pretty little girle home first at the next door. 26th. Up, and, leaving my guests to make themselves ready, I to the office, and thither comes Sir Jer. Smith and Sir Christopher Mings to see me, being just come from Portsmouth and going down to the Fleete. Here I sat and talked with them a good while and then parted, only Sir Christopher Mings and I together by water to the Tower; and I find him a very witty well-spoken fellow, and mighty free to tell his parentage, being a shoemaker's son, to whom he is now going, and I to the 'Change, where I hear how the French have taken two and sunk one of our merchant-men in the Streights, and carried the ships to Toulon; so that there is no expectation but we must fall out with them. The 'Change pretty full, and the town begins to be lively again, though the streets very empty, and most shops shut. So back again I and took boat and called for Sir Christopher Mings at St. Katharine's, who was followed with some ordinary friends, of which, he says, he is proud, and so down to Greenwich, the wind furious high, and we with our sail up till I made it be taken down. I took him, it being 3 o'clock, to my lodgings and did give him a good dinner and so parted, he being pretty close to me as to any business of the fleete, knowing me to be a servant of my Lord Sandwich's. He gone I to the office till night, and then they come and tell me my wife is come to towne, so I to her vexed at her coming, but it was upon innocent business, so I was pleased and made her stay, Captain Ferrers and his lady being yet there, and so I left them to dance, and I to the office till past nine at night, and so to them and there saw them dance very prettily, the Captain and his wife, my wife and Mrs. Barbary, and Mercer and my landlady's daughter, and then little Mistress Frances Tooker and her mother, a pretty woman come to see my wife. Anon to supper, and then to dance again (Golding being our fiddler, who plays very well and all tunes) till past twelve at night, and then we broke up and every one to bed, we make shift for all our company, Mrs. Tooker being gone. 27th. Up, and after some pleasant discourse with my wife, I out, leaving her and Mrs. Ferrers there, and I to Captain Cocke's, there to do some business, and then away with Cocke in his coach through Kent Streete, a miserable, wretched, poor place, people sitting sicke and muffled up with plasters at every 4 or 5 doors. So to the 'Change, and thence I by water to the Duke of Albemarle's, and there much company, but I staid and dined, and he makes mighty much of me; and here he tells us the Dutch are gone, and have lost above 160 cables and anchors, through the last foule weather. Here he proposed to me from Mr. Coventry, as I had desired of Mr. Coventry, that I should be Surveyor-Generall of the Victualling business, which I accepted. But, indeed, the terms in which Mr. Coventry proposes it for me are the most obliging that ever I could expect from any man, and more; it saying me to be the fittest man in England, and that he is sure, if I will undertake, I will perform it; and that it will be also a very desirable thing that I might have this encouragement, my encouragement in the Navy alone being in no wise proportionable to my pains or deserts. This, added to the letter I had three days since from Mr. Southerne, signifying that the Duke of Yorke had in his master's absence opened my letter, and commanded him to tell me that he did approve of my being the Surveyor-General, do make me joyful beyond myself that I cannot express it, to see that as I do take pains, so God blesses me, and hath sent me masters that do observe that I take pains. After having done here, I back by water and to London, and there met with Captain Cocke's coach again, and I went in it to Greenwich and thence sent my wife in it to Woolwich, and I to the office, and thence home late with Captain Taylor, and he and I settled all accounts between us, and I do find that I do get above L129 of him for my services for him within these six months. At it till almost one in the morning, and after supper he away and I to bed, mightily satisfied in all this, and in a resolution I have taken to-night with Mr. Hater to propose the port of London for the victualling business for Thomas Willson, by which it will be better done and I at more ease, in case he should grumble. [The Duke of York's letter appointing Thomas Wilson Surveyor of the Victualling of His Majesty's Navy in the Port of London, and referring to Pepys as Surveyor-General of the Victualling Affairs, is printed in "Memoirs of the English Affairs, chiefly Naval, 1660- 73," by James, Duke of York, 1729, p. 131.] So to bed. 28th. Up, and sent for Thomas Willson, and broke the victualling business to him and he is mightily contented, and so am I that I have bestowed it on him, and so I to Mr. Boreman's, where Sir W. Batten is, to tell him what I had proposed to Thomas Willson, and the newes also I have this morning from Sir W. Clerke, which is, that notwithstanding all the care the Duke of Albemarle hath taken about the putting the East India prize goods into the East India Company's hands, and my Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes having laden out a great part of the goods, an order is come from Court to stop all, and to have the goods delivered to the Sub-Commissioners of prizes. At which I am glad, because it do vex this simple weake man, and we shall have a little reparation for the disgrace my Lord Sandwich has had in it. He tells me also that the Parliament hath given the Duke of Yorke L120,000, to be paid him after the L1,250,000 is gathered upon the tax which they have now given the King. [This sum was granted by the Commons to Charles, with a request that he would bestow it on his brother.--B.] He tells me that the Dutch have lately launched sixteen new ships; all which is great news. Thence by horsebacke with Mr. Deane to Erith, and so aboard my Lord Bruncker and dined, and very merry with him and good discourse between them about ship building, and, after dinner and a little pleasant discourse, we away and by horse back again to Greenwich, and there I to the office very late, offering my persons for all the victualling posts much to my satisfaction. Also much other business I did to my mind, and so weary home to my lodging, and there after eating and drinking a little I to bed. The King and Court, they say, have now finally resolved to spend nothing upon clothes, but what is of the growth of England; which, if observed, will be very pleasing to the people, and very good for them. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready set out with Captain Cocke in his coach toward Erith, Mr. Deane riding along with us, where we dined and were very merry. After dinner we fell to discourse about the Dutch, Cocke undertaking to prove that they were able to wage warr with us three years together, which, though it may be true, yet, not being satisfied with his arguments, my Lord and I did oppose the strength of his arguments, which brought us to a great heate, he being a conceited man, but of no Logique in his head at all, which made my Lord and I mirth. Anon we parted, and back again, we hardly having a word all the way, he being so vexed at our not yielding to his persuasion. I was set down at Woolwich towne end, and walked through the towne in the darke, it being now night. But in the streete did overtake and almost run upon two women crying and carrying a man's coffin between them. I suppose the husband of one of them, which, methinks, is a sad thing. Being come to Shelden's, I find my people in the darke in the dining room, merry and laughing, and, I thought, sporting one with another, which, God helpe me! raised my jealousy presently. Come in the darke, and one of them touching me (which afterward I found was Susan) made them shreeke, and so went out up stairs, leaving them to light a candle and to run out. I went out and was very vexed till I found my wife was gone with Mr. Hill and Mercer this day to see me at Greenwich, and these people were at supper, and the candle on a sudden falling out of the candlesticke (which I saw as I come through the yarde) and Mrs. Barbary being there I was well at ease again, and so bethought myself what to do, whether to go to Greenwich or stay there; at last go I would, and so with a lanthorne, and 3 or 4 people with me, among others Mr. Browne, who was there, would go, I walked with a lanthorne and discoursed with him about paynting and the several sorts of it. I came in good time to Greenwich, where I found Mr. Hill with my wife, and very glad I was to see him. To supper and discourse of musique and so to bed, I lying with him talking till midnight about Berckenshaw's musique rules, which I did to his great satisfaction inform him in, and so to sleep. 30th. Up, and to my office about business. At noon to dinner, and after some discourse of musique, he and I to the office awhile, and he to get Mr. Coleman, if he can, against night. By and by I back again home, and there find him returned with Mr. Coleman (his wife being ill) and Mr. Laneare, with whom with their Lute we had excellent company and good singing till midnight, and a good supper I did give them, but Coleman's voice is quite spoiled, and when he begins to be drunk he is excellent company, but afterward troublesome and impertinent. Laneare sings in a melancholy method very well, and a sober man he seems to be. They being gone, we to bed. Captain Ferrers coming this day from my Lord is forced to lodge here, and I put him to Mr. Hill. 31st. Up, and to the office, Captain Ferrers going back betimes to my Lord. I to the office, where Sir W. Batten met me, and did tell me that Captain Cocke's black was dead of the plague, which I had heard of before, but took no notice. By and by Captain Cocke come to the office, and Sir W. Batten and I did send to him that he would either forbear the office, or forbear going to his owne office. However, meeting yesterday the Searchers with their rods in their hands coming from Captain Cocke's house, I did overhear them say that the fellow did not die of the plague, but he had I know been ill a good while, and I am told that his boy Jack is also ill. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, leaving Mr. Hill if he can to get Mrs. Coleman at night. About nine at night I come home, and there find Mrs. Pierce come and little Fran. Tooker, and Mr. Hill, and other people, a great many dancing, and anon comes Mrs. Coleman with her husband and Laneare. The dancing ended and to sing, which Mrs. Coleman do very finely, though her voice is decayed as to strength but mighty sweet though soft, and a pleasant jolly woman, and in mighty good humour was to-night. Among other things Laneare did, at the request of Mr. Hill, bring two or three the finest prints for my wife to see that ever I did see in all my life. But for singing, among other things, we got Mrs. Coleman to sing part of the Opera, though she won't owne that ever she did get any of it without book in order to the stage; but, above all, her counterfeiting of Captain Cooke's part, in his reproaching his man with cowardice, "Base slave," &c., she do it most excellently. At it till past midnight, and then broke up and to bed. Hill and I together again, and being very sleepy we had little discourse as we had the other night. Thus we end the month merrily; and the more for that, after some fears that the plague would have increased again this week, I hear for certain that there is above 400 [less], the whole number being 1,388, and of them of the plague, 1,031. Want of money in the Navy puts everything out of order. Men grow mutinous; and nobody here to mind the business of the Navy but myself. At least Sir W. Batten for the few days he has been here do nothing. I in great hopes of my place of Surveyor-Generall of the Victualling, which will bring me L300 per annum. NOVEMBER 1665 November 1st. Lay very long in bed discoursing with Mr. Hill of most things of a man's life, and how little merit do prevail in the world, but only favour; and that, for myself, chance without merit brought me in; and that diligence only keeps me so, and will, living as I do among so many lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary, that they cannot do anything without him, and so told him of my late business of the victualling, and what cares I am in to keepe myself having to do with people of so different factions at Court, and yet must be fair with them all, which was very pleasant discourse for me to tell, as well as he seemed to take it, for him to hear. At last up, and it being a very foule day for raine and a hideous wind, yet having promised I would go by water to Erith, and bearing sayle was in danger of oversetting, but ordered them take down their sayle, and so cold and wet got thither, as they had ended their dinner. How[ever], I dined well, and after dinner all on shore, my Lord Bruncker with us to Mrs. Williams's lodgings, and Sir W. Batten, Sir Edmund Pooly, and others; and there, it being my Lord's birth-day, had every one a green riband tied in our hats very foolishly; and methinks mighty disgracefully for my Lord to have his folly so open to all the world with this woman. But by and by Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and home to Boreman, and so going home by the backside I saw Captain Cocke 'lighting out of his coach (having been at Erith also with her but not on board) and so he would come along with me to my lodging, and there sat and supped and talked with us, but we were angry a little a while about our message to him the other day about bidding him keepe from the office or his owne office, because of his black dying. I owned it and the reason of it, and would have been glad he had been out of the house, but I could not bid him go, and so supped, and after much other talke of the sad condition and state of the King's matters we broke up, and my friend and I to bed. This night coming with Sir W. Batten into Greenwich we called upon Coll. Cleggatt, who tells us for certaine that the King of Denmark hath declared to stand for the King of England, but since I hear it is wholly false. 2nd. Up, left my wife and to the office, and there to my great content Sir W. Warren come to me to settle the business of the Tangier boates, wherein I shall get above L100, besides L100 which he gives me in the paying for them out of his owne purse. He gone, I home to my lodgings to dinner, and there comes Captain Wagers newly returned from the Streights, who puts me in great fear for our last ships that went to Tangier with provisions, that they will be taken. A brave, stout fellow this Captain is, and I think very honest. To the office again after dinner and there late writing letters, and then about 8 at night set out from my office and fitting myself at my lodgings intended to have gone this night in a Ketch down to the Fleete, but calling in my way at Sir J. Minnes's, who is come up from Erith about something about the prizes, they persuaded me not to go till the morning, it being a horrible darke and a windy night. So I back to my lodging and to bed. 3rd. Was called up about four o'clock and in the darke by lanthorne took boat and to the Ketch and set sayle, sleeping a little in the Cabbin till day and then up and fell to reading of Mr. Evelyn's book about Paynting, [This must surely have been Evelyn's "Sculptura, or the History and Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper," published in 1662. The translation of Freart's "Idea of the Perfection of Painting demonstrated" was not published until 1668.] which is a very pretty book. Carrying good victuals and Tom with me I to breakfast about 9 o'clock, and then to read again and come to the Fleete about twelve, where I found my Lord (the Prince being gone in) on board the Royall James, Sir Thomas Allen commander, and with my Lord an houre alone discoursing what was my chief and only errand about what was adviseable for his Lordship to do in this state of things, himself being under the Duke of Yorke's and Mr. Coventry's envy, and a great many more and likely never to do anything honourably but he shall be envied and the honour taken as much as can be from it. His absence lessens his interest at Court, and what is worst we never able to set out a fleete fit for him to command, or, if out, to keepe them out or fit them to do any great thing, or if that were so yet nobody at home minds him or his condition when he is abroad, and lastly the whole affairs of state looking as if they would all on a sudden break in pieces, and then what a sad thing it would be for him to be out of the way. My Lord did concur in every thing and thanked me infinitely for my visit and counsel, telling me that in every thing he concurs, but puts a query, what if the King will not think himself safe, if any man should go but him. How he should go off then? To that I had no answer ready, but the making the King see that he may be of as good use to him here while another goes forth. But for that I am not able to say much. We after this talked of some other little things and so to dinner, where my Lord infinitely kind to me, and after dinner I rose and left him with some Commanders at the table taking tobacco and I took the Bezan back with me, and with a brave gale and tide reached up that night to the Hope, taking great pleasure in learning the seamen's manner of singing when they sound the depths, and then to supper and to sleep, which I did most excellently all night, it being a horrible foule night for wind and raine. 4th. They sayled from midnight, and come to Greenwich about 5 o'clock in the morning. I however lay till about 7 or 8, and so to my office, my head a little akeing, partly for want of natural rest, partly having so much business to do to-day, and partly from the newes I hear that one of the little boys at my lodging is not well; and they suspect, by their sending for plaister and fume, that it may be the plague; so I sent Mr. Hater and W. Hewer to speake with the mother; but they returned to me, satisfied that there is no hurt nor danger, but the boy is well, and offers to be searched, however, I was resolved myself to abstain coming thither for a while. Sir W. Batten and myself at the office all the morning. At noon with him to dinner at Boreman's, where Mr. Seymour with us, who is a most conceited fellow and not over much in him. Here Sir W. Batten told us (which I had not heard before) that the last sitting day his cloake was taken from Mingo he going home to dinner, and that he was beaten by the seamen and swears he will come to Greenwich, but no more to the office till he can sit safe. After dinner I to the office and there late, and much troubled to have 100 seamen all the afternoon there, swearing below and cursing us, and breaking the glasse windows, and swear they will pull the house down on Tuesday next. I sent word of this to Court, but nothing will helpe it but money and a rope. Late at night to Mr. Glanville's there to lie for a night or two, and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, by boat to the Cockpitt, where I heard the Duke of Albemarle's chaplin make a simple sermon: among other things, reproaching the imperfection of humane learning, he cried: "All our physicians cannot tell what an ague is, and all our arithmetique is not able to number the days of a man;" which, God knows, is not the fault of arithmetique, but that our understandings reach not the thing. To dinner, where a great deale of silly discourse, but the worst is I hear that the plague increases much at Lambeth, St. Martin's and Westminster, and fear it will all over the city. Thence I to the Swan, thinking to have seen Sarah but she was at church, and so I by water to Deptford, and there made a visit to Mr. Evelyn, who, among other things, showed me most excellent painting in little; in distemper, Indian incke, water colours: graveing; and, above all, the whole secret of mezzo-tinto, and the manner of it, which is very pretty, and good things done with it. He read to me very much also of his discourse, he hath been many years and now is about, about Guardenage; which will be a most noble and pleasant piece. He read me part of a play or two of his making, very good, but not as he conceits them, I think, to be. He showed me his Hortus Hyemalis; leaves laid up in a book of several plants kept dry, which preserve colour, however, and look very finely, better than any Herball. In fine, a most excellent person he is, and must be allowed a little for a little conceitedness; but he may well be so, being a man so much above others. He read me, though with too much gusto, some little poems of his own, that were not transcendant, yet one or two very pretty epigrams; among others, of a lady looking in at a grate, and being pecked at by an eagle that was there. Here comes in, in the middle of our discourse Captain Cocke, as drunk as a dogg, but could stand, and talk and laugh. He did so joy himself in a brave woman that he had been with all the afternoon, and who should it be but my Lady Robinson, but very troublesome he is with his noise and talke, and laughing, though very pleasant. With him in his coach to Mr. Glanville's, where he sat with Mrs. Penington and myself a good while talking of this fine woman again and then went away. Then the lady and I to very serious discourse and, among other things, of what a bonny lasse my Lady Robinson is, who is reported to be kind to the prisoners, and has said to Sir G. Smith, who is her great crony, "Look! there is a pretty man, I would be content to break a commandment with him," and such loose expressions she will have often. After an houre's talke we to bed, the lady mightily troubled about a pretty little bitch she hath, which is very sicke, and will eat nothing, and the worst was, I could hear her in her chamber bemoaning the bitch, and by and by taking her into bed with her. The bitch pissed and shit a bed, and she was fain to rise and had coals out of my chamber to dry the bed again. This night I had a letter that Sir G. Carteret would be in towne to-morrow, which did much surprize me. 6th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning and then to dinner to Captain Cocke's with Mr. Evelyn, where very merry, only vexed after dinner to stay too long for our coach. At last, however, to Lambeth and thence the Cockpitt, where we found Sir G. Carteret come, and in with the Duke and the East India Company about settling the business of the prizes, and they have gone through with it. Then they broke up, and Sir G. Carteret come out, and thence through the garden to the water side and by water I with him in his boat down with Captain Cocke to his house at Greenwich, and while supper was getting ready Sir G. Carteret and I did walk an houre in the garden before the house, talking of my Lord Sandwich's business; what enemies he hath, and how they have endeavoured to bespatter him: and particularly about his leaving of 30 ships of the enemy, when Pen would have gone, and my Lord called him back again: which is most false. However, he says, it was purposed by some hot-heads in the House of Commons, at the same time when they voted a present to the Duke of Yorke, to have voted L10,000 to the Prince, and half-a-crowne to my Lord of Sandwich; but nothing come of it. [The tide of popular indignation ran high against Lord Sandwich, and he was sent to Spain as ambassador to get him honourably out of the way (see post, December 6th).] But, for all this, the King is most firme to my Lord, and so is my Lord Chancellor, and my Lord Arlington. The Prince, in appearance, kind; the Duke of Yorke silent, says no hurt; but admits others to say it in his hearing. Sir W. Pen, the falsest rascal that ever was in the world; and that this afternoon the Duke of Albemarle did tell him that Pen was a very cowardly rogue, and one that hath brought all these rogueish fanatick Captains into the fleete, and swears he should never go out with the fleete again. That Sir W. Coventry is most kind to Pen still; and says nothing nor do any thing openly to the prejudice of my Lord. He agrees with me, that it is impossible for the King [to] set out a fleete again the next year; and that he fears all will come to ruine, there being no money in prospect but these prizes, which will bring, it may be, L20,000, but that will signify nothing in the world for it. That this late Act of Parliament for bringing the money into the Exchequer, and making of it payable out there, intended as a prejudice to him and will be his convenience hereafter and ruine the King's business, and so I fear it will and do wonder Sir W. Coventry would be led by Sir G. Downing to persuade the King and Duke to have it so, before they had thoroughly weighed all circumstances; that for my Lord, the King has said to him lately that I was an excellent officer, and that my Lord Chancellor do, he thinks, love and esteem of me as well as he do of any man in England that he hath no more acquaintance with. So having done and received from me the sad newes that we are like to have no money here a great while, not even of the very prizes, I set up my rest [The phrase "set up my rest" is a metaphor from the once fashionable game of Primero, meaning, to stand upon the cards you have in your hand, in hopes they may prove better than those of your adversary. Hence, to make up your mind, to be determined (see Nares's "Glossary").] in giving up the King's service to be ruined and so in to supper, where pretty merry, and after supper late to Mr. Glanville's, and Sir G. Carteret to bed. I also to bed, it being very late. 7th. Up, and to Sir G. Carteret, and with him, he being very passionate to be gone, without staying a minute for breakfast, to the Duke of Albemarle's and I with him by water and with Fen: but, among other things, Lord! to see how he wondered to see the river so empty of boats, nobody working at the Custome-house keys; and how fearful he is, and vexed that his man, holding a wine-glasse in his hand for him to drinke out of, did cover his hands, it being a cold, windy, rainy morning, under the waterman's coate, though he brought the waterman from six or seven miles up the river, too. Nay, he carried this glasse with him for his man to let him drink out of at the Duke of Albemarle's, where he intended to dine, though this he did to prevent sluttery, for, for the same reason he carried a napkin with him to Captain Cocke's, making him believe that he should eat with foule linnen. Here he with the Duke walked a good while in the Parke, and I with Fen, but cannot gather that he intends to stay with us, nor thinks any thing at all of ever paying one farthing of money more to us here, let what will come of it. Thence in, and Sir W. Batten comes in by and by, and so staying till noon, and there being a great deal of company there, Sir W. Batten and I took leave of the Duke and Sir G. Carteret, there being no good to be done more for money, and so over the River and by coach to Greenwich, where at Boreman's we dined, it being late. Thence my head being full of business and mind out of order for thinking of the effects which will arise from the want of money, I made an end of my letters by eight o'clock, and so to my lodging and there spent the evening till midnight talking with Mrs. Penington, who is a very discreet, understanding lady and very pretty discourse we had and great variety, and she tells me with great sorrow her bitch is dead this morning, died in her bed. So broke up and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where busy among other things to looke my warrants for the settling of the Victualling business, the warrants being come to me for the Surveyors of the ports and that for me also to be Surveyor-Generall. I did discourse largely with Tom Willson about it and doubt not to make it a good service to the King as well, as the King gives us very good salarys. It being a fast day, all people were at church and the office quiett; so I did much business, and at noon adventured to my old lodging, and there eat, but am not yet well satisfied, not seeing of Christopher, though they say he is abroad. Thence after dinner to the office again, and thence am sent for to the King's Head by my Lord Rutherford, who, since I can hope for no more convenience from him, his business is troublesome to me, and therefore I did leave him as soon as I could and by water to Deptford, and there did order my matters so, walking up and down the fields till it was dark night, that 'je allais a la maison of my valentine,--[Bagwell's wife]--and there 'je faisais whatever je voudrais avec' her, and, about eight at night, did take water, being glad I was out of the towne; for the plague, it seems, rages there more than ever, and so to my lodgings, where my Lord had got a supper and the mistresse of the house, and her daughters, and here staid Mrs. Pierce to speake with me about her husband's business, and I made her sup with us, and then at night my Lord and I walked with her home, and so back again. My Lord and I ended all we had to say as to his business overnight, and so I took leave, and went again to Mr. Glanville's and so to bed, it being very late. 9th. Up, and did give the servants something at Mr. Glanville's and so took leave, meaning to lie to-night at my owne lodging. To my office, where busy with Mr. Gawden running over the Victualling business, and he is mightily pleased that this course is taking and seems sensible of my favour and promises kindnesse to me. At noon by water, to the King's Head at Deptford, where Captain Taylor invites Sir W: Batten, Sir John Robinson (who come in with a great deale of company from hunting, and brought in a hare alive and a great many silly stories they tell of their sport, which pleases them mightily, and me not at all, such is the different sense of pleasure in mankind), and others upon the score of a survey of his new ship; and strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody, Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Robinson being now as kind to him, and report well of his ship and proceedings, and promise money, and Sir W. Batten is a solicitor for him, but it is a strange thing to observe, they being the greatest enemys he had, and yet, I believe, hath in the world in their hearts. Thence after dinner stole away and to my office, where did a great deale of business till midnight, and then to Mrs. Clerk's, to lodge again, and going home W. Hewer did tell me my wife will be here to-morrow, and hath put away Mary, which vexes me to the heart, I cannot helpe it, though it may be a folly in me, and when I think seriously on it, I think my wife means no ill design in it, or, if she do, I am a foole to be troubled at it, since I cannot helpe it. The Bill of Mortality, to all our griefs, is encreased 399 this week, and the encrease generally through the whole City and suburbs, which makes us all sad. 10th. Up, and entered all my Journall since the 28th of October, having every day's passages well in my head, though it troubles me to remember it, and which I was forced to, being kept from my lodging, where my books and papers are, for several days. So to my office, where till two or three o'clock busy before I could go to my lodging to dinner, then did it and to my office again. In the evening newes is brought me my wife is come: so I to her, and with her spent the evening, but with no great pleasure, I being vexed about her putting away of Mary in my absence, but yet I took no notice of it at all, but fell into other discourse, and she told me, having herself been this day at my house at London, which was boldly done, to see Mary have her things, that Mr. Harrington, our neighbour, an East country merchant, is dead at Epsum of the plague, and that another neighbour of ours, Mr. Hollworthy, a very able man, is also dead by a fall in the country from his horse, his foot hanging in the stirrup, and his brains beat out. Here we sat talking, and after supper to bed. 11th. I up and to the office (leaving my wife in bed) and there till noon, then to dinner and back again to the office, my wife going to Woolwich again, and I staying very late at my office, and so home to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and invited by Captain Cocke to dinner. So after being ready I went to him, and there he and I and Mr. Yard (one of the Guinny Company) dined together and very merry. After dinner I by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and there had a little discourse and business with him, chiefly to receive his commands about pilotts to be got for our Hambro' ships, going now at this time of the year convoy to the merchant ships, that have lain at great pain and charge, some three, some four months at Harwich for a convoy. They hope here the plague will be less this weeke. Thence back by water to Captain Cocke's, and there he and I spent a great deale of the evening as we had done of the day reading and discoursing over part of Mr. Stillingfleet's "Origines Sacrae," wherein many things are very good and some frivolous. Thence by and by he and I to Mrs. Penington's, but she was gone to bed. So we back and walked a while, and then to his house and to supper, and then broke up, and I home to my lodging to bed. 13th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon to Captain Cocke's to dinner as we had appointed in order to settle our business of accounts. But here came in an Alderman, a merchant, a very merry man, and we dined, and, he being gone, after dinner Cocke and I walked into the garden, and there after a little discourse he did undertake under his hand to secure me in L500 profit, for my share of the profit of what we have bought of the prize goods. We agreed upon the terms, which were easier on my side than I expected, and so with extraordinary inward joy we parted till the evening. So I to the office and among other business prepared a deed for him to sign and seale to me about our agreement, which at night I got him to come and sign and seale, and so he and I to Glanville's, and there he and I sat talking and playing with Mrs. Penington, whom we found undrest in her smocke and petticoats by the fireside, and there we drank and laughed, and she willingly suffered me to put my hand in her bosom very wantonly, and keep it there long. Which methought was very strange, and I looked upon myself as a man mightily deceived in a lady, for I could not have thought she could have suffered it, by her former discourse with me; so modest she seemed and I know not what. We staid here late, and so home after he and I had walked till past midnight, a bright moonshine, clear, cool night, before his door by the water, and so I home after one of the clock. 14th. Called up by break of day by Captain Cocke, by agreement, and he and I in his coach through Kent-streete (a sad place through the plague, people sitting sicke and with plaisters about them in the street begging) to Viner's and Colvill's about money business, and so to my house, and there I took L300 in order to the carrying it down to my Lord Sandwich in part of the money I am to pay for Captain Cocke by our agreement. So I took it down, and down I went to Greenwich to my office, and there sat busy till noon, and so home to dinner, and thence to the office again, and by and by to the Duke of Albemarle's by water late, where I find he had remembered that I had appointed to come to him this day about money, which I excused not doing sooner; but I see, a dull fellow, as he is, do sometimes remember what another thinks he mindeth not. My business was about getting money of the East India Company; but, Lord! to see how the Duke himself magnifies himself in what he had done with the Company; and my Lord Craven what the King could have done without my Lord Duke, and a deale of stir, but most mightily what a brave fellow I am. Back by water, it raining hard, and so to the office, and stopped my going, as I intended, to the buoy of the Nore, and great reason I had to rejoice at it, for it proved the night of as great a storme as was almost ever remembered. Late at the office, and so home to bed. This day, calling at Mr. Rawlinson's to know how all did there, I hear that my pretty grocer's wife, Mrs. Beversham, over the way there, her husband is lately dead of the plague at Bow, which I am sorry for, for fear of losing her neighbourhood. 15th. Up and all the morning at the office, busy, and at noon to the King's Head taverne, where all the Trinity House dined to-day, to choose a new Master in the room of Hurlestone, that is dead, and Captain Crispe is chosen. But, Lord! to see how Sir W. Batten governs all and tramples upon Hurlestone, but I am confident the Company will grow the worse for that man's death, for now Batten, and in him a lazy, corrupt, doating rogue, will have all the sway there. After dinner who comes in but my Lady Batten, and a troop of a dozen women almost, and expected, as I found afterward, to be made mighty much of, but nobody minded them; but the best jest was, that when they saw themselves not regarded, they would go away, and it was horrible foule weather; and my Lady Batten walking through the dirty lane with new spicke and span white shoes, she dropped one of her galoshes in the dirt, where it stuck, and she forced to go home without one, at which she was horribly vexed, and I led her; and after vexing her a little more in mirth, I parted, and to Glanville's, where I knew Sir John Robinson, Sir G. Smith, and Captain Cocke were gone, and there, with the company of Mrs. Penington, whose father, I hear, was one of the Court of justice, and died prisoner, of the stone, in the Tower, I made them, against their resolutions, to stay from houre to houre till it was almost midnight, and a furious, darke and rainy, and windy, stormy night, and, which was best, I, with drinking small beer, made them all drunk drinking wine, at which Sir John Robinson made great sport. But, they being gone, the lady and I very civilly sat an houre by the fireside observing the folly of this Robinson, that makes it his worke to praise himself, and all he say and do, like a heavy-headed coxcombe. The plague, blessed be God! is decreased 400; making the whole this week but 1300 and odd; for which the Lord be praised! 16th. Up, and fitted myself for my journey down to the fleete, and sending my money and boy down by water to Eriffe,--[Erith]--I borrowed a horse of Mr. Boreman's son, and after having sat an houre laughing with my Lady Batten and Mrs. Turner, and eat and drank with them, I took horse and rode to Eriffe, where, after making a little visit to Madam Williams, who did give me information of W. Howe's having bought eight bags of precious stones taken from about the Dutch Vice-Admirall's neck, of which there were eight dyamonds which cost him L60,000 sterling, in India, and hoped to have made L2000 here for them. And that this is told by one that sold him one of the bags, which hath nothing but rubys in it, which he had for 35s.; and that it will be proved he hath made L125 of one stone that he bought. This she desired, and I resolved I would give my Lord Sandwich notice of. So I on board my Lord Bruncker; and there he and Sir Edmund Pooly carried me down into the hold of the India shipp, and there did show me the greatest wealth lie in confusion that a man can see in the world. Pepper scattered through every chink, you trod upon it; and in cloves and nutmegs, I walked above the knees; whole rooms full. And silk in bales, and boxes of copper-plate, one of which I saw opened. Having seen this, which was as noble a sight as ever I saw in my life, I away on board the other ship in despair to get the pleasure-boat of the gentlemen there to carry me to the fleet. They were Mr. Ashburnham and Colonell Wyndham; but pleading the King's business, they did presently agree I should have it. So I presently on board, and got under sail, and had a good bedd by the shift, of Wyndham's; and so, 17th. Sailed all night, and got down to Quinbrough water, where all the great ships are now come, and there on board my Lord, and was soon received with great content. And after some little discourse, he and I on board Sir W. Pen; and there held a council of Warr about many wants of the fleete, but chiefly how to get slopps and victuals for the fleete now going out to convoy our Hambro' ships, that have been so long detained for four or five months for want of convoy, which we did accommodate one way or other, and so, after much chatt, Sir W. Pen did give us a very good and neat dinner, and better, I think, than ever I did see at his owne house at home in my life, and so was the other I eat with him. After dinner much talke, and about other things, he and I about his money for his prize goods, wherein I did give him a cool answer, but so as we did not disagree in words much, and so let that fall, and so followed my Lord Sandwich, who was gone a little before me on board the Royall James. And there spent an houre, my Lord playing upon the gittarr, which he now commends above all musique in the world, because it is base enough for a single voice, and is so portable and manageable without much trouble. That being done, I got my Lord to be alone, and so I fell to acquaint him with W. Howe's business, which he had before heard a little of from Captain Cocke, but made no great matter of it, but now he do, and resolves nothing less than to lay him by the heels, and seize on all he hath, saying that for this yeare or two he hath observed him so proud and conceited he could not endure him. But though I was not at all displeased with it, yet I prayed him to forbear doing anything therein till he heard from me again about it, and I had made more enquiry into the truth of it, which he agreed to. Then we fell to publique discourse, wherein was principally this: he cleared it to me beyond all doubt that Coventry is his enemy, and has been long so. So that I am over that, and my Lord told it me upon my proposal of a friendship between them, which he says is impossible, and methinks that my Lord's displeasure about the report in print of the first fight was not of his making, but I perceive my Lord cannot forget it, nor the other think he can. I shewed him how advisable it were upon almost any terms for him to get quite off the sea employment. He answers me again that he agrees to it, but thinks the King will not let him go off: He tells me he lacks now my Lord Orrery to solicit it for him, who is very great with the King. As an infinite secret, my Lord tells me, the factions are high between the King and the Duke, and all the Court are in an uproare with their loose amours; the Duke of Yorke being in love desperately with Mrs. Stewart. Nay, that the Duchesse herself is fallen in love with her new Master of the Horse, one Harry Sidney, and another, Harry Savill. So that God knows what will be the end of it. And that the Duke is not so obsequious as he used to be, but very high of late; and would be glad to be in the head of an army as Generall; and that it is said that he do propose to go and command under the King of Spayne, in Flanders. That his amours to Mrs. Stewart are told the King. So that all is like to be nought among them. That he knows that the Duke of Yorke do give leave to have him spoken slightly of in his owne hearing, and doth not oppose it, and told me from what time he hath observed this to begin. So that upon the whole my Lord do concur to wish with all his heart that he could with any honour get from off the imployment. After he had given thanks to me for my kind visit and good counsel, on which he seems to set much by, I left him, and so away to my Bezan againe, and there to read in a pretty French book, "La Nouvelle Allegorique," upon the strife between rhetorique and its enemies, very pleasant. So, after supper, to sleepe, and sayled all night, and came to Erith before break of day. 18th. About nine of the clock, I went on shore, there (calling by the way only to look upon my Lord Bruncker) to give Mrs. Williams an account of her matters, and so hired an ill-favoured horse, and away to Greenwich to my lodgings, where I hear how rude the souldiers have been in my absence, swearing what they would do with me, which troubled me, but, however, after eating a bit I to the office and there very late writing letters, and so home and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, alone by water to Erith, all the way with my song book singing of Mr. Lawes's long recitative song in the beginning of his book. Being come there, on board my Lord Bruncker, I find Captain Cocke and other company, the lady not well, and mighty merry we were; Sir Edmund Pooly being very merry, and a right English gentleman, and one of the discontented Cavaliers, that think their loyalty is not considered. After dinner, all on shore to my Lady Williams, and there drank and talked; but, Lord! the most impertinent bold woman with my Lord that ever I did see. I did give her an account again of my business with my Lord touching W. Howe, and she did give me some more information about it, and examination taken about it, and so we parted and I took boat, and to Woolwich, where we found my wife not well of them, and I out of humour begun to dislike her paynting, the last things not pleasing me so well as the former, but I blame myself for my being so little complaisant. So without eating or drinking, there being no wine (which vexed me too), we walked with a lanthorne to Greenwich and eat something at his house, and so home to bed. 20th. Up before day, and wrote some letters to go to my Lord, among others that about W. Howe, which I believe will turn him out, and so took horse for Nonesuch, with two men with me, and the ways very bad, and the weather worse, for wind and rayne. But we got in good time thither, and I did get my tallys got ready, and thence, with as many as could go, to Yowell, and there dined very well, and I saw my Besse, a very well-favoured country lass there, and after being very merry and having spent a piece I took horse, and by another way met with a very good road, but it rained hard and blew, but got home very well. Here I find Mr. Deering come to trouble me about business, which I soon dispatched and parted, he telling me that Luellin hath been dead this fortnight, of the plague, in St. Martin's Lane, which much surprised me. 21st. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and at noon home to dinner and quickly back again to the office, where very busy all the evening and late sent a long discourse to Mr. Coventry by his desire about the regulating of the method of our payment of bills in the Navy, which will be very good, though, it may be, he did ayme principally at striking at Sir G. Carteret. So weary but pleased with this business being over I home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and by water to the Duke of Albemarle, and there did some little business, but most to shew myself, and mightily I am yet in his and Lord Craven's books, and thence to the Swan and there drank and so down to the bridge, and so to the 'Change, where spoke with many people, and about a great deale of business, which kept me late. I heard this day that Mr. Harrington is not dead of the plague, as we believed, at which I was very glad, but most of all, to hear that the plague is come very low; that is, the whole under 1,000, and the plague 600 and odd: and great hopes of a further decrease, because of this day's being a very exceeding hard frost, and continues freezing. This day the first of the Oxford Gazettes come out, which is very pretty, full of newes, and no folly in it. Wrote by Williamson. Fear that our Hambro' ships at last cannot go, because of the great frost, which we believe it is there, nor are our ships cleared at the Pillow [Pillau], which will keepe them there too all this winter, I fear. From the 'Change, which is pretty full again, I to my office and there took some things, and so by water to my lodging at Greenwich and dined, and then to the office awhile and at night home to my lodgings, and took T. Willson and T. Hater with me, and there spent the evening till midnight discoursing and settling of our Victualling business, that thereby I might draw up instructions for the Surveyours and that we might be doing something to earne our money. This done I late to bed. Among other things it pleased me to have it demonstrated, that a Purser without professed cheating is a professed loser, twice as much as he gets. 23rd. Up betimes, and so, being trimmed, I to get papers ready against Sir H. Cholmly come to me by appointment, he being newly come over from Tangier. He did by and by come, and we settled all matters about his money, and he is a most satisfied man in me, and do declare his resolution to give me 200 per annum. It continuing to be a great frost, which gives us hope for a perfect cure of the plague, he and I to walk in the parke, and there discoursed with grief of the calamity of the times; how the King's service is performed, and how Tangier is governed by a man, who, though honourable, yet do mind his ways of getting and little else compared, which will never make the place flourish. I brought him and had a good dinner for him, and there come by chance Captain Cuttance, who tells me how W. Howe is laid by the heels, and confined to the Royall Katharine, and his things all seized and how, also, for a quarrel, which indeed the other night my Lord told me, Captain Ferrers, having cut all over the back of another of my Lord's servants, is parted from my Lord. I sent for little Mrs. Frances Tooker, and after they were gone I sat dallying with her an hour, doing what I would with my hands about her. And a very pretty creature it is. So in the evening to the office, where late writing letters, and at my lodging later writing for the last twelve days my Journall and so to bed. Great expectation what mischief more the French will do us, for we must fall out. We in extraordinary lacke of money and everything else to go to sea next year. My Lord Sandwich is gone from the fleete yesterday toward Oxford. 24th. Up, and after doing some business at the office, I to London, and there, in my way, at my old oyster shop in Gracious Streete, bought two barrels of my fine woman of the shop, who is alive after all the plague, which now is the first observation or inquiry we make at London concerning everybody we knew before it. So to the 'Change, where very busy with several people, and mightily glad to see the 'Change so full, and hopes of another abatement still the next week. Off the 'Change I went home with Sir G. Smith to dinner, sending for one of my barrels of oysters, which were good, though come from Colchester, where the plague hath been so much. Here a very brave dinner, though no invitation; and, Lord! to see how I am treated, that come from so mean a beginning, is matter of wonder to me. But it is God's great mercy to me, and His blessing upon my taking pains, and being punctual in my dealings. After dinner Captain Cocke and I about some business, and then with my other barrel of oysters home to Greenwich, sent them by water to Mrs. Penington, while he and I landed, and visited Mr. Evelyn, where most excellent discourse with him; among other things he showed me a ledger of a Treasurer of the Navy, his great grandfather, just 100 years old; which I seemed mighty fond of, and he did present me with it, which I take as a great rarity; and he hopes to find me more, older than it. He also shewed us several letters of the old Lord of Leicester's, in Queen Elizabeth's time, under the very hand-writing of Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Mary, Queen of Scotts; and others, very venerable names. But, Lord! how poorly, methinks, they wrote in those days, and in what plain uncut paper. Thence, Cocke having sent for his coach, we to Mrs. Penington, and there sat and talked and eat our oysters with great pleasure, and so home to my lodging late and to bed. 25th. Up, and busy at the office all day long, saving dinner time, and in the afternoon also very late at my office, and so home to bed. All our business is now about our Hambro fleete, whether it can go or no this yeare, the weather being set in frosty, and the whole stay being for want of Pilotts now, which I have wrote to the Trinity House about, but have so poor an account from them, that I did acquaint Sir W. Coventry with it this post. 26th (Lord's day). Up, though very late abed, yet before day to dress myself to go toward Erith, which I would do by land, it being a horrible cold frost to go by water: so borrowed two horses of Mr. Howell and his friend, and with much ado set out, after my horses being frosted [Frosting means, having the horses' shoes turned up by the smith.] (which I know not what it means to this day), and my boy having lost one of my spurs and stockings, carrying them to the smith's; but I borrowed a stocking, and so got up, and Mr. Tooker with me, and rode to Erith, and there on board my Lord Bruncker, met Sir W. Warren upon his business, among others, and did a great deale, Sir J. Minnes, as God would have it, not being there to hinder us with his impertinences. Business done, we to dinner very merry, there being there Sir Edmund Pooly, a very worthy gentleman. They are now come to the copper boxes in the prizes, and hope to have ended all this weeke. After dinner took leave, and on shore to Madam Williams, to give her an account of my Lord's letter to me about Howe, who he has clapped by the heels on suspicion of having the jewells, and she did give me my Lord Bruncker's examination of the fellow, that declares his having them; and so away, Sir W. Warren riding with me, and the way being very bad, that is, hard and slippery by reason of the frost, so we could not come to past Woolwich till night. However, having a great mind to have gone to the Duke of Albemarle, I endeavoured to have gone farther, but the night come on and no going, so I 'light and sent my horse by Tooker, and returned on foot to my wife at Woolwich, where I found, as I had directed, a good dinner to be made against to-morrow, and invited guests in the yarde, meaning to be merry, in order to her taking leave, for she intends to come in a day or two to me for altogether. But here, they tell me, one of the houses behind them is infected, and I was fain to stand there a great while, to have their back-door opened, but they could not, having locked them fast, against any passing through, so was forced to pass by them again, close to their sicke beds, which they were removing out of the house, which troubled me; so I made them uninvite their guests, and to resolve of coming all away to me to-morrow, and I walked with a lanthorne, weary as I was, to Greenwich; but it was a fine walke, it being a hard frost, and so to Captain Cocke's, but he I found had sent for me to come to him to Mrs. Penington's, and there I went, and we were very merry, and supped, and Cocke being sleepy he went away betimes. I stayed alone talking and playing with her till past midnight, she suffering me whatever 'ego voulais avec ses mamilles.... Much pleased with her company we parted, and I home to bed at past one, all people being in bed thinking I would have staid out of town all night. 27th. Up, and being to go to wait on the Duke of Albemarle, who is to go out of towne to Oxford to-morrow, and I being unwilling to go by water, it being bitter cold, walked it with my landlady's little boy Christopher to Lambeth, it being a very fine walke and calling at half the way and drank, and so to the Duke of Albemarle, who is visited by every body against his going; and mighty kind to me: and upon my desiring his grace to give me his kind word to the Duke of Yorke, if any occasion there were of speaking of me, he told me he had reason to do so; for there had been nothing done in the Navy without me. His going, I hear, is upon putting the sea business into order, and, as some say, and people of his owne family, that he is agog to go to sea himself the next year. Here I met with a letter from Sir G. Carteret, who is come to Cranborne, that he will be here this afternoon and desires me to be with him. So the Duke would have me dine with him. So it being not dinner time, I to the Swan, and there found Sarah all alone in the house.... So away to the Duke of Albemarle again, and there to dinner, he most exceeding kind to me to the observation of all that are there. At dinner comes Sir G. Carteret and dines with us. After dinner a great deal alone with Sir G. Carteret, who tells me that my Lord hath received still worse and worse usage from some base people about the Court. But the King is very kind, and the Duke do not appear the contrary; and my Lord Chancellor swore to him "by---I will not forsake my Lord of Sandwich." Our next discourse is upon this Act for money, about which Sir G. Carteret comes to see what money can be got upon it. But none can be got, which pleases him the thoughts of, for, if the Exchequer should succeede in this, his office would faile. But I am apt to think at this time of hurry and plague and want of trade, no money will be got upon a new way which few understand. We walked, Cocke and I, through the Parke with him, and so we being to meet the Vice-Chamberlayne to-morrow at Nonesuch, to treat with Sir Robert Long about the same business, I into London, it being dark night, by a hackney coach; the first I have durst to go in many a day, and with great pain now for fear. But it being unsafe to go by water in the dark and frosty cold, and unable being weary with my morning walke to go on foot, this was my only way. Few people yet in the streets, nor shops open, here and there twenty in a place almost; though not above five or sixe o'clock at night. So to Viner's, and there heard of Cocke, and found him at the Pope's Head, drinking with Temple. I to them, where the Goldsmiths do decry the new Act, for money to be all brought into the Exchequer, and paid out thence, saying they will not advance one farthing upon it; and indeed it is their interest to say and do so. Thence Cocke and I to Sir G. Smith's, it being now night, and there up to his chamber and sat talking, and I barbing--[shaving]--against to-morrow; and anon, at nine at night, comes to us Sir G. Smith and the Lieutenant of the Tower, and there they sat talking and drinking till past midnight, and mighty merry we were, the Lieutenant of the Tower being in a mighty vein of singing, and he hath a very good eare and strong voice, but no manner of skill. Sir G. Smith shewed me his lady's closett, which was very fine; and, after being very merry, here I lay in a noble chamber, and mighty highly treated, the first time I have lain in London a long time. 28th. Up before day, and Cocke and I took a hackney coach appointed with four horses to take us up, and so carried us over London Bridge. But there, thinking of some business, I did 'light at the foot of the bridge, and by helpe of a candle at a stall, where some payers were at work, I wrote a letter to Mr. Hater, and never knew so great an instance of the usefulness of carrying pen and ink and wax about one: so we, the way being very bad, to Nonesuch, and thence to Sir Robert Longs house; a fine place, and dinner time ere we got thither; but we had breakfasted a little at Mr. Gawden's, he being out of towne though, and there borrowed Dr. Taylor's sermons, and is a most excellent booke and worth my buying, where had a very good dinner, and curiously dressed, and here a couple of ladies, kinswomen of his, not handsome though, but rich, that knew me by report of The. Turner, and mighty merry we were. After dinner to talk of our business, the Act of Parliament, where in short I see Sir R. Long mighty fierce in the great good qualities of it. But in that and many other things he was stiff in, I think without much judgement, or the judgement I expected from him, and already they have evaded the necessity of bringing people into the Exchequer with their bills to be paid there. Sir G. Carteret is titched--[fretful, tetchy]--at this, yet resolves with me to make the best use we can of this Act for the King, but all our care, we think, will not render it as it should be. He did again here alone discourse with me about my Lord, and is himself strongly for my Lord's not going to sea, which I am glad to hear and did confirm him in it. He tells me too that he talked last night with the Duke of Albemarle about my Lord Sandwich, by the by making him sensible that it is his interest to preserve his old friends, which he confessed he had reason to do, for he knows that ill offices were doing of him, and that he honoured my Lord Sandwich with all his heart. After this discourse we parted, and all of us broke up and we parted. Captain Cocke and I through Wandsworth. Drank at Sir Allen Broderick's, a great friend and comrade of Cocke's, whom he values above the world for a witty companion, and I believe he is so. So to Fox-Hall and there took boat, and down to the Old Swan, and thence to Lumbard Streete, it being darke night, and thence to the Tower. Took boat and down to Greenwich, Cocke and I, he home and I to the office, where did a little business, and then to my lodgings, where my wife is come, and I am well pleased with it, only much trouble in those lodgings we have, the mistresse of the house being so deadly dear in everything we have; so that we do resolve to remove home soon as we know how the plague goes this weeke, which we hope will be a good decrease. So to bed. 29th. Up, my wife and I talking how to dispose of our goods, and resolved upon sending our two mayds Alce (who has been a day or two at Woolwich with my wife, thinking to have had a feast there) and Susan home. So my wife after dinner did take them to London with some goods, and I in the afternoon after doing other business did go also by agreement to meet Captain Cocke and from him to Sir Roger Cuttance, about the money due from Cocke to him for the late prize goods, wherein Sir Roger is troubled that he hath not payment as agreed, and the other, that he must pay without being secured in the quiett possession of them, but some accommodation to both, I think, will be found. But Cocke do tell me that several have begged so much of the King to be discovered out of stolen prize goods and so I am afeard we shall hereafter have trouble, therefore I will get myself free of them as soon as I can and my money paid. Thence home to my house, calling my wife, where the poor wretch is putting things in a way to be ready for our coming home, and so by water together to Greenwich, and so spent the night together. 30th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon comes Sir Thomas Allen, and I made him dine with me, and very friendly he is, and a good man, I think, but one that professes he loves to get and to save. He dined with my wife and me and Mrs. Barbary, whom my wife brings along with her from Woolwich for as long as she stays here. In the afternoon to the office, and there very late writing letters and then home, my wife and people sitting up for me, and after supper to bed. Great joy we have this week in the weekly Bill, it being come to 544 in all, and but 333 of the plague; so that we are encouraged to get to London soon as we can. And my father writes as great news of joy to them, that he saw Yorke's waggon go again this week to London, and was full of passengers; and tells me that my aunt Bell hath been dead of the plague these seven weeks. DECEMBER 1665 December 1st. This morning to the office, full of resolution to spend the whole day at business, and there, among other things, I did agree with Poynter to be my clerke for my Victualling business, and so all alone all the day long shut up in my little closett at my office, drawing up instructions, which I should long since have done for my Surveyours of the Ports, Sir W. Coventry desiring much to have them, and he might well have expected them long since. After dinner to it again, and at night had long discourse with Gibson, who is for Yarmouth, who makes me understand so much of the victualling business and the pursers' trade, that I am ashamed I should go about the concerning myself in a business which I understand so very very little of, and made me distrust all I had been doing to-day. So I did lay it by till to-morrow morning to think of it afresh, and so home by promise to my wife, to have mirth there. So we had our neighbours, little Miss Tooker and Mrs. Daniels, to dance, and after supper I to bed, and left them merry below, which they did not part from till two or three in the morning. 2nd. Up, and discoursing with my wife, who is resolved to go to London for good and all this day, we did agree upon giving Mr. Sheldon L10, and Mrs. Barbary two pieces, and so I left her to go down thither to fetch away the rest of the things and pay him the money, and so I to the office, where very busy setting Mr. Poynter to write out my last night's worke, which pleases me this day, but yet it is pretty to reflect how much I am out of confidence with what I had done upon Gibson's discourse with me, for fear I should have done it sillily, but Poynter likes them, and Mr. Hater also, but yet I am afeard lest they should do it out of flattery, so conscious I am of my ignorance. Dined with my wife at noon and took leave of her, she being to go to London, as I said, for altogether, and I to the office, busy till past one in the morning. 3rd. It being Lord's day, up and dressed and to church, thinking to have sat with Sir James Bunce to hear his daughter and her husband sing, that are so much commended, but was prevented by being invited into Coll. Cleggatt's pew. However, there I sat, near Mr. Laneare, with whom I spoke, and in sight, by chance, and very near my fat brown beauty of our Parish, the rich merchant's lady, a very noble woman, and Madame Pierce. A good sermon of Mr. Plume's, and so to Captain Cocke's, and there dined with him, and Colonell Wyndham, a worthy gentleman, whose wife was nurse to the present King, and one that while she lived governed him and every thing else, as Cocke says, as a minister of state; the old King putting mighty weight and trust upon her. They talked much of matters of State and persons, and particularly how my Lord Barkeley hath all along been a fortunate, though a passionate and but weak man as to policy; but as a kinsman brought in and promoted by my Lord of St. Alban's, and one that is the greatest vapourer in the world, this Colonell Wyndham says; and one to whom only, with Jacke Asheburnel and Colonel Legg, the King's removal to the Isle of Wight from Hampton Court was communicated; and (though betrayed by their knavery, or at best by their ignorance, insomuch that they have all solemnly charged one another with their failures therein, and have been at daggers-drawing publickly about it), yet now none greater friends in the world. We dined, and in comes Mrs. Owen, a kinswoman of my Lord Bruncker's, about getting a man discharged, which I did for her, and by and by Mrs. Pierce to speake with me (and Mary my wife's late maid, now gone to her) about her husband's business of money, and she tells us how she prevented Captain Fisher the other day in his purchase of all her husband's fine goods, as pearls and silks, that he had seized in an Apothecary's house, a friend of theirs, but she got in and broke them open and removed all before Captain Fisher came the next day to fetch them away, at which he is starke mad. She went home, and I to my lodgings. At night by agreement I fetched her again with Cocke's coach, and he come and we sat and talked together, thinking to have had Mrs. Coleman and my songsters, her husband and Laneare, but they failed me. So we to supper, and as merry as was sufficient, and my pretty little Miss with me; and so after supper walked [with] Pierce home, and so back and to bed. But, Lord! I stand admiring of the wittinesse of her little boy, which is one of the wittiest boys, but most confident that ever I did see of a child of 9 years old or under in all my life, or indeed one twice his age almost, but all for roguish wit. So to bed. 4th. Several people to me about business, among others Captain Taylor, intended Storekeeper for Harwich, whom I did give some assistance in his dispatch by lending him money. So out and by water to London and to the 'Change, and up and down about several businesses, and after the observing (God forgive me!) one or two of my neighbour Jason's women come to towne, which did please me very well, home to my house at the office, where my wife had got a dinner for me: and it was a joyfull thing for us to meet here, for which God be praised! Here was her brother come to see her, and speake with me about business. It seems my recommending of him hath not only obtained his presently being admitted into the Duke of Albemarle's guards, and present pay, but also by the Duke's and Sir Philip Howard's direction, to be put as a right-hand man, and other marks of special respect, at which I am very glad, partly for him, and partly to see that I am reckoned something in my recommendations, but wish he may carry himself that I may receive no disgrace by him. So to the 'Change. Up and down again in the evening about business and to meet Captain Cocke, who waited for Mrs. Pierce (with whom he is mightily stricken), to receive and hide for her her rich goods she saved the other day from seizure. Upon the 'Change to-day Colvill tells me, from Oxford, that the King in person hath justified my Lord Sandwich to the highest degree; and is right in his favour to the uttermost. So late by water home, taking a barrel of oysters with me, and at Greenwich went and sat with Madam Penington .... and made her undress her head and sit dishevilled all night sporting till two in the morning, and so away to my lodging and so to bed. Over-fasting all the morning hath filled me mightily with wind, and nothing else hath done it, that I fear a fit of the cholique. 5th. Up and to the office, where very busy about several businesses all the morning. At noon empty, yet without stomach to dinner, having spoiled myself with fasting yesterday, and so filled with wind. In the afternoon by water, calling Mr. Stevens (who is with great trouble paying of seamen of their tickets at Deptford) and to London, to look for Captain Kingdom whom we found at home about 5 o'clock. I tried him, and he promised to follow us presently to the East India House to sign papers to-night in order to the settling the business of my receiving money for Tangier. We went and stopt the officer there to shut up. He made us stay above an houre. I sent for him; he comes, but was not found at home, but abroad on other business, and brings a paper saying that he had been this houre looking for the Lord Ashley's order. When he looks for it, that is not the paper. He would go again to look; kept us waiting till almost 8 at night. Then was I to go home by water this weather and darke, and to write letters by the post, besides keeping the East India officers there so late. I sent for him again; at last he comes, and says he cannot find the paper (which is a pretty thing to lay orders for L100,000 no better). I was angry; he told me I ought to give people ease at night, and all business was to be done by day. I answered him sharply, that I did [not] make, nor any honest man, any difference between night and day in the King's business, and this was such, and my Lord Ashley should know. He answered me short. I told him I knew the time (meaning the Rump's time) when he did other men's business with more diligence. He cried, "Nay, say not so," and stopped his mouth, not one word after. We then did our business without the order in less than eight minutes, which he made me to no purpose stay above two hours for the doing. This made him mad, and so we exchanged notes, and I had notes for L14,000 of the Treasurer of the Company, and so away and by water to Greenwich and wrote my letters, and so home late to bed. 6th. Up betimes, it being fast-day; and by water to the Duke of Albemarle, who come to towne from Oxford last night. He is mighty brisk, and very kind to me, and asks my advice principally in every thing. He surprises me with the news that my Lord Sandwich goes Embassador to Spayne speedily; though I know not whence this arises, yet I am heartily glad of it. He did give me several directions what to do, and so I home by water again and to church a little, thinking to have met Mrs. Pierce in order to our meeting at night; but she not there, I home and dined, and comes presently by appointment my wife. I spent the afternoon upon a song of Solyman's words to Roxalana that I have set, and so with my wife walked and Mercer to Mrs. Pierce's, where Captain Rolt and Mrs. Knipp, Mr. Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, Mrs. Worshipp and her singing daughter, met; and by and by unexpectedly comes Mr. Pierce from Oxford. Here the best company for musique I ever was in, in my life, and wish I could live and die in it, both for musique and the face of Mrs. Pierce, and my wife and Knipp, who is pretty enough; but the most excellent, mad-humoured thing, and sings the noblest that ever I heard in my life, and Rolt, with her, some things together most excellently. I spent the night in extasy almost; and, having invited them to my house a day or two hence, we broke up, Pierce having told me that he is told how the King hath done my Lord Sandwich all the right imaginable, by shewing him his countenance before all the world on every occasion, to remove thoughts of discontent; and that he is to go Embassador, and that the Duke of Yorke is made generall of all forces by land and sea, and the Duke of Albemarle, lieutenant-generall. Whether the two latter alterations be so, true or no, he knows not, but he is told so; but my Lord is in full favour with the King. So all home and to bed. 7th. Up and to the office, where very busy all day. Sir G. Carteret's letter tells me my Lord Sandwich is, as I was told, declared Embassador Extraordinary to Spayne, and to go with all speed away, and that his enemies have done him as much good as he could wish. At noon late to dinner, and after dinner spent till night with Mr. Gibson and Hater discoursing and making myself more fully [know] the trade of pursers, and what fittest to be done in their business, and so to the office till midnight writing letters, and so home, and after supper with my wife about one o'clock to bed. 8th. Up, well pleased in my mind about my Lord Sandwich, about whom I shall know more anon from Sir G. Carteret, who will be in towne, and also that the Hambrough [ships] after all difficulties are got out. God send them good speed! So, after being trimmed, I by water to London, to the Navy office, there to give order to my mayde to buy things to send down to Greenwich for supper to-night; and I also to buy other things, as oysters, and lemons, 6d. per piece, and oranges, 3d. That done I to the 'Change, and among many other things, especially for getting of my Tangier money, I by appointment met Mr. Gawden, and he and I to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there he did give me alone a very pretty dinner. Our business to talk of his matters and his supply of money, which was necessary for us to talk on before the Duke of Albemarle this afternoon and Sir G. Carteret. After that I offered now to pay him the L4000 remaining of his L8000 for Tangier, which he took with great kindnesse, and prayed me most frankly to give him a note for L3500 and accept the other L500 for myself, which in good earnest was against my judgement to do, for [I] expected about L100 and no more, but however he would have me do it, and ownes very great obligations to me, and the man indeed I love, and he deserves it. This put me into great joy, though with a little stay to it till we have time to settle it, for for so great a sum I was fearfull any accident might by death or otherwise defeate me, having not now time to change papers. So we rose, and by water to White Hall, where we found Sir G. Carteret with the Duke, and also Sir G. Downing, whom I had not seen in many years before. He greeted me very kindly, and I him; though methinks I am touched, that it should be said that he was my master heretofore, as doubtless he will. So to talk of our Navy business, and particularly money business, of which there is little hopes of any present supply upon this new Act, the goldsmiths being here (and Alderman Backewell newly come from Flanders), and none offering any. So we rose without doing more than my stating the case of the Victualler, that whereas there is due to him on the last year's declaration L80,000, and the charge of this year's amounts to L420,000 and odd, he must be supplied between this and the end of January with L150,000, and the remainder in 40 weeks by weekly payments, or else he cannot go through his business. Thence after some discourse with Sir G. Carteret, who, though he tells me that he is glad of my Lord's being made Embassador, and that it is the greatest courtesy his enemies could do him; yet I find he is not heartily merry upon it, and that it was no design of my Lord's friends, but the prevalence of his enemies, and that the Duke of Albemarle and Prince Rupert are like to go to sea together the next year. I pray God, when my Lord is gone, they do not fall hard upon the Vice-Chamberlain, being alone, and in so envious a place, though by this late Act and the instructions now a brewing for our office as to method of payments will destroy the profit of his place of itself without more trouble. Thence by water down to Greenwich, and there found all my company come; that is, Mrs. Knipp, and an ill, melancholy, jealous-looking fellow, her husband, that spoke not a word to us all the night, Pierce and his wife, and Rolt, Mrs. Worshipp and her daughter, Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, and, to make us perfectly happy, there comes by chance to towne Mr. Hill to see us. Most excellent musique we had in abundance, and a good supper, dancing, and a pleasant scene of Mrs. Knipp's rising sicke from table, but whispered me it was for some hard word or other her husband gave her just now when she laughed and was more merry than ordinary. But we got her in humour again, and mighty merry; spending the night, till two in the morning, with most complete content as ever in my life, it being increased by my day's work with Gawden. Then broke up, and we to bed, Mr. Hill and I, whom I love more and more, and he us. 9th. Called up betimes by my Lord Bruncker, who is come to towne from his long water worke at Erith last night, to go with him to the Duke of Albemarle, which by his coach I did. Our discourse upon the ill posture of the times through lacke of money. At the Duke's did some business, and I believe he was not pleased to see all the Duke's discourse and applications to me and everybody else. Discoursed also with Sir G. Carteret about office business, but no money in view. Here my Lord and I staid and dined, the Vice-Chamberlain taking his leave. At table the Duchesse, a damned ill-looked woman, complaining of her Lord's going to sea the next year, said these cursed words: "If my Lord had been a coward he had gone to sea no more: it may be then he might have been excused, and made an Embassador" (meaning my Lord Sandwich). [When Lord Sandwich was away a new commander had to be chosen, and rank and long service pointed out Prince Rupert for the office, it having been decided that the heir presumptive should be kept at home. It was thought, however, that the same confidence could not be placed in the prince's discretion as in his courage, and therefore the Duke of Albemarle was induced to take a joint command with him, "and so make one admiral of two persons" (see Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. ii., pp. 360,361).] This made me mad, and I believed she perceived my countenance change, and blushed herself very much. I was in hopes others had not minded it, but my Lord Bruncker, after we were come away, took notice of the words to me with displeasure. Thence after dinner away by water, calling and taking leave of Sir G. Carteret, whom we found going through at White Hall, and so over to Lambeth and took coach and home, and so to the office, where late writing letters, and then home to Mr. Hill, and sang, among other things, my song of "Beauty retire," which he likes, only excepts against two notes in the base, but likes the whole very well. So late to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Lay long talking, Hill and I, with great pleasure, and then up, and being ready walked to Cocke's for some newes, but heard none, only they would have us stay their dinner, and sent for my wife, who come, and very merry we were, there being Sir Edmund Pooly and Mr. Evelyn. Before we had dined comes Mr. Andrews, whom we had sent for to Bow, and so after dinner home, and there we sang some things, but not with much pleasure, Mr. Andrews being in so great haste to go home, his wife looking every hour to be brought to bed. He gone Mr. Hill and I continued our musique, one thing after another, late till supper, and so to bed with great pleasure. 11th. Lay long with great pleasure talking. So I left him and to London to the 'Change, and after discoursed with several people about business; met Mr. Gawden at the Pope's Head, where he brought Mr. Lewes and T. Willson to discourse about the Victualling business, and the alterations of the pursers' trade, for something must be done to secure the King a little better, and yet that they may have wherewith to live. After dinner I took him aside, and perfected to my great joy my business with him, wherein he deals most nobly in giving me his hand for the L4,000, and would take my note but for L3500. This is a great blessing, and God make me thankfull truly for it. With him till it was darke putting in writing our discourse about victualling, and so parted, and I to Viner's, and there evened all accounts, and took up my notes setting all straight between us to this day. The like to Colvill, and paying several bills due from me on the Tangier account. Then late met Cocke and Temple at the Pope's Head, and there had good discourse with Temple, who tells me that of the L80,000 advanced already by the East India Company, they have had L5000 out of their hands. He discoursed largely of the quantity of money coyned, and what may be thought the real sum of money in the kingdom. He told me, too, as an instance of the thrift used in the King's business, that the tools and the interest of the money-using to the King for the money he borrowed while the new invention of the mill money was perfected, cost him L35,000, and in mirthe tells me that the new fashion money is good for nothing but to help the Prince if he can secretly get copper plates shut up in silver it shall never be discovered, at least not in his age. Thence Cocke and I by water, he home and I home, and there sat with Mr. Hill and my wife supping, talking and singing till midnight, and then to bed. [That I may remember it the more particularly, I thought fit to insert this additional memorandum of Temple's discourse this night with me, which I took in writing from his mouth. Before the Harp and Crosse money was cried down, he and his fellow goldsmiths did make some particular trials what proportion that money bore to the old King's money, and they found that generally it come to, one with another, about L25 in every L100. Of this money there was, upon the calling of it in, L650,000 at least brought into the Tower; and from thence he computes that the whole money of England must be full L6,250,000. But for all this believes that there is above L30,000,000; he supposing that about the King's coming in (when he begun to observe the quantity of the new money) people begun to be fearfull of this money's being cried down, and so picked it out and set it a-going as fast as they could, to be rid of it; and he thinks L30,000,000 the rather, because if there were but L16,250,000 the King having L2,000,000 every year, would have the whole money of the kingdom in his hands in eight years. He tells me about L350,000 sterling was coined out of the French money, the proceeds of Dunkirke; so that, with what was coined of the Crosse money, there is new coined about L1,000,000 besides the gold, which is guessed at L500,000. He tells me, that, though the King did deposit the French money in pawn all the while for the L350,000 he was forced to borrow thereupon till the tools could be made for the new Minting in the present form, yet the interest he paid for that time came to L35,000, Viner having to his knowledge L10,000 for the use of L100,000 of it.]--(The passage between brackets is from a piece of paper inserted in this place.) 12th. Up, and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker met, and among other things did finish a contract with Cocke for hemp, by which I hope to get my money due from him paid presently. At noon home to dinner, only eating a bit, and with much kindness taking leave of Mr. Hill who goes away to-day, and so I by water saving the tide through Bridge and to Sir G. Downing by appointment at Charing Crosse, who did at first mightily please me with informing me thoroughly the virtue and force of this Act, and indeed it is ten times better than ever I thought could have been said of it, but when he come to impose upon me that without more ado I must get by my credit people to serve in goods and lend money upon it and none could do it better than I, and the King should give me thanks particularly in it, and I could not get him to excuse me, but I must come to him though to no purpose on Saturday, and that he is sure I will bring him some bargains or other made upon this Act, it vexed me more than all the pleasure I took before, for I find he will be troublesome to me in it, if I will let him have as much of my time as he would have. So late I took leave and in the cold (the weather setting in cold) home to the office and, after my letters being wrote, home to supper and to bed, my wife being also gone to London. 13th. Up betimes and finished my journall for five days back, and then after being ready to my Lord Bruncker by appointment, there to order the disposing of some money that we have come into the office, and here to my great content I did get a bill of imprest to Captain Cocke to pay myself in part of what is coming to me from him for my Lord Sandwich's satisfaction and my owne, and also another payment or two wherein I am concerned, and having done that did go to Mr. Pierce's, where he and his wife made me drink some tea, and so he and I by water together to London. Here at a taverne in Cornhill he and I did agree upon my delivering up to him a bill of Captain Cocke's, put into my hand for Pierce's use upon evening of reckonings about the prize goods, and so away to the 'Change, and there hear the ill news, to my great and all our great trouble, that the plague is encreased again this week, notwithstanding there hath been a day or two great frosts; but we hope it is only the effects of the late close warm weather, and if the frosts continue the next week, may fall again; but the town do thicken so much with people, that it is much if the plague do not grow again upon us. Off the 'Change invited by Sheriff Hooker, who keeps the poorest, mean, dirty table in a dirty house that ever I did see any Sheriff of London; and a plain, ordinary, silly man I think he is, but rich; only his son, Mr. Lethulier, I like, for a pretty, civil, understanding merchant; and the more by much, because he happens to be husband to our noble, fat, brave lady in our parish, that I and my wife admire so. Thence away to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there met first with Captain Cocke, and dispatched my business with him to my content, he being ready to sign his bill of imprest of L2,000, and gives it me in part of his payment to me, which glads my heart. He being gone, comes Sir W. Warren, who advised with me about several things about getting money, and L100 I shall presently have of him. We advised about a business of insurance, wherein something may be saved to him and got to me, and to that end he and I did take a coach at night and to the Cockepitt, there to get the Duke of Albemarle's advice for our insuring some of our Sounde goods coming home under Harman's convoy, but he proved shy of doing it without knowledge of the Duke of Yorke, so we back again and calling at my house to see my wife, who is well; though my great trouble is that our poor little parish is the greatest number this weeke in all the city within the walls, having six, from one the last weeke; and so by water to Greenwich leaving Sir W. Warren at home, and I straight to my Lord Bruncker, it being late, and concluded upon insuring something and to send to that purpose to Sir W. Warren to come to us to-morrow morning. So I home and, my mind in great rest, to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office a while with my Lord Bruncker, where we directed Sir W. Warren in the business of the insurance as I desired, and ended some other businesses of his, and so at noon I to London, but the 'Change was done before I got thither, so I to the Pope's Head Taverne, and there find Mr. Gawden and Captain Beckford and Nick Osborne going to dinner, and I dined with them and very exceeding merry we were as I had [not] been a great while, and dinner being done I to the East India House and there had an assignment on Mr. Temple for the L2,000 of Cocke's, which joyed my heart; so, having seen my wife in the way, I home by water and to write my letters and then home to bed. 15th. Up, and spent all the morning with my Surveyors of the Ports for the Victualling, and there read to them what instructions I had provided for them and discoursed largely much of our business and the business of the pursers. I left them to dine with my people, and to my Lord Bruncker's where I met with a great good dinner and Sir T. Teddiman, with whom my Lord and I were to discourse about the bringing of W. Howe to a tryall for his jewells, and there till almost night, and so away toward the office and in my way met with Sir James Bunce; and after asking what newes, he cried "Ah!" says he (I know [not] whether in earnest or jest), "this is the time for you," says he, "that were for Oliver heretofore; you are full of employment, and we poor Cavaliers sit still and can get nothing;" which was a pretty reproach, I thought, but answered nothing to it, for fear of making it worse. So away and I to see Mrs. Penington, but company being to come to her, I staid not, but to the office a little and so home, and after supper to bed. 16th. Up, and met at the office; Sir W. Batten with us, who come from Portsmouth on Monday last, and hath not been with us to see or discourse with us about any business till this day. At noon to dinner, Sir W. Warren with me on boat, and thence I by water, it being a fearfull cold, snowing day to Westminster to White Hall stairs and thence to Sir G. Downing, to whom I brought the happy newes of my having contracted, as we did this day with Sir W. Warren, for a ship's lading of Norway goods here and another at Harwich to the value of above L3,000, which is the first that hath been got upon the New Act, and he is overjoyed with it and tells me he will do me all the right to Court about it in the world, and I am glad I have it to write to Sir W. Coventry to-night. He would fain have me come in L200 to lend upon the Act, but I desire to be excused in doing that, it being to little purpose for us that relate to the King to do it, for the sum gets the King no courtesy nor credit. So I parted from him and walked to Westminster Hall, where Sir W. Warren, who come along with me, staid for me, and there I did see Betty Howlet come after the sicknesse to the Hall. Had not opportunity to salute her, as I desired, but was glad to see her and a very pretty wench she is. Thence back, landing at the Old Swan and taking boat again at Billingsgate, and setting ashore we home and I to the office.... and there wrote my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, it being a great frost. Newes is come to-day of our Sounde fleete being come, but I do not know what Sir W. Warren hath insured. 17th (Lord's day). After being trimmed word brought me that Cutler's coach is, by appointment, come to the Isle of Doggs for me, and so I over the water; and in his coach to Hackney, a very fine, cold, clear, frosty day. At his house I find him with a plain little dinner, good wine, and welcome. He is still a prating man; and the more I know him, the less I find in him. A pretty house he hath here indeed, of his owne building. His old mother was an object at dinner that made me not like it; and, after dinner, to visit his sicke wife I did not also take much joy in, but very friendly he is to me, not for any kindnesse I think he hath to any man, but thinking me, I perceive, a man whose friendship is to be looked after. After dinner back again and to Deptford to Mr. Evelyn's, who was not within, but I had appointed my cozen Thos. Pepys of Hatcham to meet me there, to discourse about getting his L1000 of my Lord Sandwich, having now an opportunity of my having above that sum in my hands of his. I found this a dull fellow still in all his discourse, but in this he is ready enough to embrace what I counsel him to, which is, to write importunately to my Lord and me about it and I will look after it. I do again and again declare myself a man unfit to be security for such a sum. He walked with me as far as Deptford upper towne, being mighty respectfull to me, and there parted, he telling me that this towne is still very bad of the plague. I walked to Greenwich first, to make a short visit to my Lord Bruncker, and next to Mrs. Penington and spent all the evening with her with the same freedom I used to have and very pleasant company. With her till one of the clock in the morning and past, and so to my lodging to bed, and 18th. Betimes, up, it being a fine frost, and walked it to Redriffe, calling and drinking at Half-way house, thinking, indeed, to have overtaken some of the people of our house, the women, who were to walk the same walke, but I could not. So to London, and there visited my wife, and was a little displeased to find she is so forward all of a spurt to make much of her brother and sister since my last kindnesse to him in getting him a place, but all ended well presently, and I to the 'Change and up and down to Kingdon and the goldsmith's to meet Mr. Stephens, and did get all my money matters most excellently cleared to my complete satisfaction. Passing over Cornhill I spied young Mrs. Daniel and Sarah, my landlady's daughter, who are come, as I expected, to towne, and did say they spied me and I dogged them to St. Martin's, where I passed by them being shy, and walked down as low as Ducke Lane and enquired for some Spanish books, and so back again and they were gone. So to the 'Change, hoping to see them in the streete, and missing them, went back again thither and back to the 'Change, but no sight of them, so went after my business again, and, though late, was sent to by Sir W. Warren (who heard where I was) to intreat me to come dine with him, hearing that I lacked a dinner, at the Pope's Head; and there with Mr. Hinton, the goldsmith, and others, very merry; but, Lord! to see how Dr. Hinton come in with a gallant or two from Court, and do so call "Cozen" Mr. Hinton, the goldsmith, but I that know him to be a beggar and a knave, did make great sport in my mind at it. [John Hinton, M.D., a strong royalist, who attended Henrietta Maria in her confinement at Exeter when she gave birth to the Princess Henrietta. He was knighted by Charles II., and appointed physician in ordinary to the king and queen. His knighthood was a reward for having procured a private advance of money from his kinsman, the goldsmith, to enable the Duke of Albemarle to pay the army (see "Memorial to King Charles II. from Sir John Hinton, A.D. 1679," printed in Ellis's "Original Letters," 3rd series, vol. iv., p 296).] After dinner Sir W. Warren and I alone in another room a little while talking about business, and so parted, and I hence, my mind full of content in my day's worke, home by water to Greenwich, the river beginning to be very full of ice, so as I was a little frighted, but got home well, it being darke. So having no mind to do any business, went home to my lodgings, and there got little Mrs. Tooker, and Mrs. Daniel, the daughter, and Sarah to my chamber to cards and sup with me, when in comes Mr. Pierce to me, who tells me how W. Howe has been examined on shipboard by my Lord Bruncker to-day, and others, and that he has charged him out of envy with sending goods under my Lord's seale and in my Lord Bruncker's name, thereby to get them safe passage, which, he tells me, is false, but that he did use my name to that purpose, and hath acknowledged it to my Lord Bruncker, but do also confess to me that one parcel he thinks he did use my Lord Bruncker's name, which do vexe me mightily that my name should be brought in question about such things, though I did not say much to him of my discontent till I have spoke with my Lord Bruncker about it. So he being gone, being to go to Oxford to-morrow, we to cards again late, and so broke up, I having great pleasure with my little girle, Mrs. Tooker. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon by agreement comes Hatcham Pepys to dine with me. I thought to have had him to Sir J. Minnes to a good venison pasty with the rest of my fellows, being invited, but seeing much company I went away with him and had a good dinner at home. He did give me letters he hath wrote to my Lord and Moore about my Lord's money to get it paid to my cozen, which I will make good use of. I made mighty much of him, but a sorry dull fellow he is, fit for nothing that is ingenious, nor is there a turd of kindnesse or service to be had from him. So I shall neglect him if I could get but him satisfied about this money that I may be out of bonds for my Lord to him. To see that this fellow could desire me to helpe him to some employment, if it were but of L100 per annum: when he is not worth less than, I believe, L20,000. He gone, I to Sir J. Minnes, and thence with my Lord Bruncker on board the Bezan to examine W. Howe again, who I find upon this tryall one of much more wit and ingenuity in his answers than ever I expected, he being very cunning and discreet and well spoken in them. I said little to him or concerning him; but, Lord! to see how he writes to me a-days, and styles me "My Honour." So much is a man subjected and dejected under afflictions as to flatter me in that manner on this occasion. Back with my Lord to Sir J. Minnes, where I left him and the rest of a great deale of company, and so I to my office, where late writing letters and then home to bed. 20th. Up, and was trimmed, but not time enough to save my Lord Bruncker's coach or Sir J. Minnes's, and so was fain to walk to Lambeth on foot, but it was a very fine frosty walke, and great pleasure in it, but troublesome getting over the River for ice. I to the Duke of Albemarle, whither my brethren were all come, but I was not too late. There we sat in discourse upon our Navy business an houre, and thence in my Lord Bruncker's coach alone, he walking before (while I staid awhile talking with Sir G. Downing about the Act, in which he is horrid troublesome) to the Old Exchange. Thence I took Sir Ellis Layton to Captain Cocke's, where my Lord Bruncker and Lady Williams dine, and we all mighty merry; but Sir Ellis Layton one of the best companions at a meale in the world. After dinner I to the Exchange to see whether my pretty seamstress be come again or no, and I find she is, so I to her, saluted her over her counter in the open Exchange above, and mightily joyed to see her, poor pretty woman! I must confess I think her a great beauty. After laying out a little money there for two pair of thread stockings, cost 8s., I to Lumbard Streete to see some business to-night there at the goldsmith's, among others paying in L1258 to Viner for my Lord Sandwich's use upon Cocke's account. I was called by my Lord Bruncker in his coach with his mistresse, and Mr. Cottle the lawyer, our acquaintance at Greenwich, and so home to Greenwich, and thence I to Mrs. Penington, and had a supper from the King's Head for her, and there mighty merry and free as I used to be with her, and at last, late, I did pray her to undress herself into her nightgowne, that I might see how to have her picture drawne carelessly (for she is mighty proud of that conceit), and I would walk without in the streete till she had done. So I did walk forth, and whether I made too many turns or no in the darke cold frosty night between the two walls up to the Parke gate I know not, but she was gone to bed when I come again to the house, upon pretence of leaving some papers there, which I did on purpose by her consent. So I away home, and was there sat up for to be spoken with my young Mrs. Daniel, to pray me to speake for her husband to be a Lieutenant. I had the opportunity here of kissing her again and again, and did answer that I would be very willing to do him any kindnesse, and so parted, and I to bed, exceedingly pleased in all my matters of money this month or two, it having pleased God to bless me with several opportunities of good sums, and that I have them in effect all very well paid, or in my power to have. But two things trouble me; one, the sicknesse is increased above 80 this weeke (though in my owne parish not one has died, though six the last weeke); the other, most of all, which is, that I have so complexed an account for these last two months for variety of layings out upon Tangier, occasions and variety of gettings that I have not made even with myself now these 3 or 4 months, which do trouble me mightily, finding that I shall hardly ever come to understand them thoroughly again, as I used to do my accounts when I was at home. 21st. At the office all the morning. At noon all of us dined at Captain Cocke's at a good chine of beef, and other good meat; but, being all frost-bitten, was most of it unroast; but very merry, and a good dish of fowle we dressed ourselves. Mr. Evelyn there, in very good humour. All the afternoon till night pleasant, and then I took my leave of them and to the office, where I wrote my letters, and away home, my head full of business and some trouble for my letting my accounts go so far that I have made an oathe this night for the drinking no wine, &c., on such penalties till I have passed my accounts and cleared all. Coming home and going to bed, the boy tells me his sister Daniel has provided me a supper of little birds killed by her husband, and I made her sup with me, and after supper were alone a great while, and I had the pleasure of her lips, she being a pretty woman, and one whom a great belly becomes as well as ever I saw any. She gone, I to bed. This day I was come to by Mrs. Burrows, of Westminster, Lieutenant Burrows (lately dead) his wife, a most pretty woman and my old acquaintance; I had a kiss or two of her, and a most modest woman she is. 22nd. Up betimes and to my Lord Bruncker to consider the late instructions sent us for the method of our signing bills hereafter and paying them. By and by, by agreement, comes Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and then to read them publicly and consider of putting them in execution. About this all the morning, and, it appearing necessary for the Controller to have another Clerke, I recommended Poynter to him, which he accepts, and I by that means rid of one that I fear would not have been fit for my turne, though he writes very well. At noon comes Mr. Hill to towne, and finds me out here, and brings Mr. Houbland, who met him here. So I was compelled to leave my Lord and his dinner and company, and with them to the Beare, and dined with them and their brothers, of which Hill had his and the other two of his, and mighty merry and very fine company they are, and I glad to see them. After dinner I forced to take leave of them by being called upon by Mr. Andrews, I having sent for him, and by a fine glosse did bring him to desire tallys for what orders I have to pay him and his company for Tangier victualls, and I by that means cleared to myself L210 coming to me upon their two orders, which is also a noble addition to my late profits, which have been very considerable of late, but how great I know not till I come to cast up my accounts, which burdens my mind that it should be so backward, but I am resolved to settle to nothing till I have done it. He gone, I to my Lord Bruncker's, and there spent the evening by my desire in seeing his Lordship open to pieces and make up again his watch, thereby being taught what I never knew before; and it is a thing very well worth my having seen, and am mightily pleased and satisfied with it. So I sat talking with him till late at night, somewhat vexed at a snappish answer Madam Williams did give me to herself, upon my speaking a free word to her in mirthe, calling her a mad jade. She answered, we were not so well acquainted yet. But I was more at a letter from my Lord Duke of Albemarle to-day, pressing us to continue our meetings for all Christmas, which, though every body intended not to have done, yet I am concluded in it, who intended nothing else. But I see it is necessary that I do make often visits to my Lord Duke, which nothing shall hinder after I have evened my accounts, and now the river is frozen I know not how to get to him. Thence to my lodging, making up my Journall for 8 or 9 days, and so my mind being eased of it, I to supper and to bed. The weather hath been frosty these eight or nine days, and so we hope for an abatement of the plague the next weeke, or else God have mercy upon us! for the plague will certainly continue the next year if it do not. 23rd. At my office all the morning and home to dinner, my head full of business, and there my wife finds me unexpectedly. But I not being at leisure to stay or talk with her, she went down by coach to Woolwich, thinking to fetch Mrs. Barbary to carry her to London to keep her Christmas with her, and I to the office. This day one come to me with four great turkies, as a present from Mr. Deane, at Harwich, three of which my wife carried in the evening home with her to London in her coach (Mrs. Barbary not being to be got so suddenly, but will come to her the next week), and I at my office late, and then to my lodgings to bed. 24th (Sunday). Up betimes, to my Lord Duke of Albemarle by water, and after some talke with him about business of the office with great content, and so back again and to dinner, my landlady and her daughters with me, and had mince-pies, and very merry at a mischance her young son had in tearing of his new coate quite down the outside of his sleeve in the whole cloth, one of the strangest mishaps that ever I saw in my life. Then to church, and placed myself in the Parson's pew under the pulpit, to hear Mrs. Chamberlain in the next pew sing, who is daughter to Sir James Bunch, of whom I have heard much, and indeed she sings very finely, and from church met with Sir W. Warren and he and I walked together talking about his and my businesses, getting of money as fairly as we can, and, having set him part of his way home, I walked to my Lord Bruncker, whom I heard was at Alderman Hooker's, hoping to see and salute Mrs. Lethulier, whom I did see in passing, but no opportunity of beginning acquaintance, but a very noble lady she is, however the silly alderman got her. Here we sat talking a great while, Sir The. Biddulph and Mr. Vaughan, a son-in-law of Alderman Hooker's. Hence with my Lord Bruncker home and sat a little with him and so home to bed. 25th (Christmas-day). To church in the morning, and there saw a wedding in the church, which I have not seen many a day; and the young people so merry one with another, and strange to see what delight we married people have to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition, every man and woman gazing and smiling at them. Here I saw again my beauty Lethulier. Thence to my Lord Bruncker's by invitation and dined there, and so home to look over and settle my papers, both of my accounts private, and those of Tangier, which I have let go so long that it were impossible for any soul, had I died, to understand them, or ever come to any good end in them. I hope God will never suffer me to come to that disorder again. 26th. Up, and to the office, where Sir J. Minnes and my Lord Bruncker and I met, to give our directions to the Commanders of all the ships in the river to bring in lists of their ships' companies, with entries, discharges, &c., all the last voyage, where young Seymour, among 20 that stood bare, stood with his hat on, a proud, saucy young man. Thence with them to Mr. Cuttle's, being invited, and dined nobly and neatly; with a very pretty house and a fine turret at top, with winding stairs and the finest prospect I know about all Greenwich, save the top of the hill, and yet in some respects better than that. Here I also saw some fine writing worke and flourishing of Mr. Hore, he one that I knew long ago, an acquaintance of Mr. Tomson's at Westminster, that is this man's clerk. It is the story of the several Archbishops of Canterbury, engrossed in vellum, to hang up in Canterbury Cathedrall in tables, in lieu of the old ones, which are almost worn out. Thence to the office a while, and so to Captain Cocke's and there talked, and home to look over my papers, and so to bed. 27th. Up, and with Cocke, by coach to London, there home to my wife, and angry about her desiring a mayde yet, before the plague is quite over. It seems Mercer is troubled that she hath not one under her, but I will not venture my family by increasing it before it be safe. Thence about many businesses, particularly with Sir W. Warren on the 'Change, and he and I dined together and settled our Tangier matters, wherein I get above L200 presently. We dined together at the Pope's Head to do this, and thence to the goldsmiths, I to examine the state of my matters there too, and so with him to my house, but my wife was gone abroad to Mrs. Mercer's, so we took boat, and it being darke and the thaw having broke the ice, but not carried it quite away, the boat did pass through so much of it all along, and that with the crackling and noise that it made me fearfull indeed. So I forced the watermen to land us on Redriffe side, and so walked together till Sir W. Warren and I parted near his house and thence I walked quite over the fields home by light of linke, one of my watermen carrying it, and I reading by the light of it, it being a very fine, clear, dry night. So to Captain Cocke's, and there sat and talked, especially with his Counsellor, about his prize goods, that hath done him good turne, being of the company with Captain Fisher, his name Godderson; here I supped and so home to bed, with great content that the plague is decreased to 152, the whole being but 330. 28th. Up and to the office, and thence with a great deal of business in my head, dined alone with Cocke. So home alone strictly about my accounts, wherein I made a good beginning, and so, after letters wrote by the post, to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and all day long within doors upon my accounts, publique and private, and find the ill effect of letting them go so long without evening, that no soul could have ever understood them but myself, and I with much ado. But, however, my regularity in all I did and spent do helpe me, and I hope to find them well. Late at them and to bed. 30th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon to my accounts again, and there find myself, to my great joy, a great deal worth above L4000, for which the Lord be praised! and is principally occasioned by my getting L500 of Cocke, for my profit in his bargains of prize goods, and from Mr. Gawden's making me a present of L500 more, when I paid him 8000 for Tangier. So to my office to write letters, then to my accounts again, and so to bed, being in great ease of mind. 31st (Lord's day). All the morning in my chamber, writing fair the state of my Tangier accounts, and so dined at home. In the afternoon to the Duke of Albemarle and thence back again by water, and so to my chamber to finish the entry of my accounts and to think of the business I am next to do, which is the stating my thoughts and putting in order my collections about the business of pursers, to see where the fault of our present constitution relating to them lies and what to propose to mend it, and upon this late and with my head full of this business to bed. Thus ends this year, to my great joy, in this manner. I have raised my estate from L1300 in this year to L4400. I have got myself greater interest, I think, by my diligence, and my employments encreased by that of Treasurer for Tangier, and Surveyour of the Victualls. It is true we have gone through great melancholy because of the great plague, and I put to great charges by it, by keeping my family long at Woolwich, and myself and another part of my family, my clerks, at my charge at Greenwich, and a mayde at London; but I hope the King will give us some satisfaction for that. But now the plague is abated almost to nothing, and I intending to get to London as fast as I can. My family, that is my wife and maids, having been there these two or three weeks. The Dutch war goes on very ill, by reason of lack of money; having none to hope for, all being put into disorder by a new Act that is made as an experiment to bring credit to the Exchequer, for goods and money to be advanced upon the credit of that Act. I have never lived so merrily (besides that I never got so much) as I have done this plague time, by my Lord Bruncker's and Captain Cocke's good company, and the acquaintance of Mrs. Knipp, Coleman and her husband, and Mr. Laneare, and great store of dancings we have had at my cost (which I was willing to indulge myself and wife) at my lodgings. The great evil of this year, and the only one indeed, is the fall of my Lord of Sandwich, whose mistake about the prizes hath undone him, I believe, as to interest at Court; though sent (for a little palliating it) Embassador into Spayne, which he is now fitting himself for. But the Duke of Albemarle goes with the Prince to sea this next year, and my Lord very meanly spoken of; and, indeed, his miscarriage about the prize goods is not to be excused, to suffer a company of rogues to go away with ten times as much as himself, and the blame of all to be deservedly laid upon him. [According to Granville Penn ("Memorials of Sir W. Penn," ii. 488 n.) L2000 went to Lord Sandwich and L8000 among eight others.] My whole family hath been well all this while, and all my friends I know of, saving my aunt Bell, who is dead, and some children of my cozen Sarah's, of the plague. But many of such as I know very well, dead; yet, to our great joy, the town fills apace, and shops begin to be open again. Pray God continue the plague's decrease! for that keeps the Court away from the place of business, and so all goes to rack as to publick matters, they at this distance not thinking of it. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, PEPY'S DIARY,1965 N.S.,COMPLETE: A fair salute on horseback, in Rochester streets, of the lady A most conceited fellow and not over much in him A conceited man, but of no Logique in his head at all A vineyard, the first that ever I did see A pretty man, I would be content to break a commandment with him About two o'clock, too late and too soon to go home to bed Accounts I never did see, or hope again to see in my days All the towne almost going out of towne (Plague panic) Among many lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary And feeling for a chamber-pott, there was none And all to dinner and sat down to the King saving myself At a loss whether it will be better for me to have him die Bagwell's wife waited at the door, and went with me to my office Baseness and looseness of the Court Because I would not be over sure of any thing Being able to do little business (but the less the better) Being the first Wednesday of the month Best poem that ever was wrote (Siege of Rhodes) Bottle of strong water; whereof now and then a sip did me good Buy some roll-tobacco to smell to and chaw By his many words and no understanding, confound himself Castlemayne is sicke again, people think, slipping her filly Church, where a most insipid young coxcomb preached Clean myself with warm water; my wife will have me Consult my pillow upon that and every great thing of my life Contracted for her as if he had been buying a horse Convenience of periwiggs is so great Copper to the value of L5,000 Costs me 12d. a kiss after the first Delight to see these poor fools decoyed into our condition Desired me that I would baste his coate Did bear with it, and very pleasant all the while Did put evil thoughts in me, but proceeded no further Discourse of Mr. Evelyn touching all manner of learning Disease making us more cruel to one another than if we are doggs Doubtfull whether her daughter will like of it or no Dying this last week of the plague 112, from 43 the week before Endeavouring to strike tallys for money for Tangier Every body is at a great losse and nobody can tell Every body's looks, and discourse in the street is of death Fell to sleep as if angry Find that now and then a little difference do no hurte First thing of that nature I did ever give her (L10 ring) For my quiet would not enquire into it For, for her part, she should not be buried in the commons France, which is accounted the best place for bread French have taken two and sunk one of our merchant-men Give the other notice of the future state, if there was any Going with her woman to a hot-house to bathe herself Good discourse and counsel from him, which I hope I shall take Great many silly stories they tell of their sport Great thaw it is not for a man to walk the streets Had what pleasure almost I would with her Hath sent me masters that do observe that I take pains Hath a good heart to bear, or a cunning one to conceal his evil Hear that the plague is come into the City Heard noises over their head upon the leads His wife and three children died, all, I think, in a day His disease was the pox and that he must be fluxed (Rupert) His enemies have done him as much good as he could wish Houses marked with a red cross upon the doors How sad a sight it is to see the streets empty of people How little merit do prevail in the world, but only favour How little heed is had to the prisoners and sicke and wounded How Povy overdoes every thing in commending it How unhppily a man may fall into a necessity of bribing people I kissed the bride in bed, and so the curtaines drawne I have promised, but know not when I shall perform I know not how their fortunes may agree I met a dead corps of the plague, in the narrow ally I am a foole to be troubled at it, since I cannot helpe it If the exportations exceed importations In our graves (as Shakespeere resembles it) we could dream It is a strange thing how fancy works King shall not be able to whip a cat King himself minding nothing but his ease King is not at present in purse to do L10,000 to the Prince, and half-a-crowne to my Lord of Sandwich Law against it signifies nothing in the world Law and severity were used against drunkennesse Lechery will never leave him Left him with some Commanders at the table taking tobacco Less he finds of difference between them and other men Lord! in the dullest insipid manner that ever lover did Luxury and looseness of the times Money I have not, nor can get Mr. Evelyn's translating and sending me as a present Must be forced to confess it to my wife, which troubles me My wife after her bathing lying alone in another bed My old folly and childishnesse hangs upon me still Nan at Moreclacke, very much pleased and merry with her Never could man say worse himself nor have worse said No man is wise at all times Not had the confidence to take his lady once by the hand Not liking that it should lie long undone, for fear of death Not to be censured if their necessities drive them to bad Offer to give me a piece to receive of me 20 One whom a great belly becomes as well as ever I saw any Ordered him L2000, and he paid me my quantum out of it Ordered in the yarde six or eight bargemen to be whipped Out of my purse I dare not for fear of a precedent Pest coaches and put her into it to carry her to a pest house Plague claimed 68,596 victims (in 1665) Plague, forty last night, the bell always going Pleases them mightily, and me not at all Poor seamen that lie starving in the streets Pretends to a resolution of being hereafter very clean Pretty to see the young pretty ladies dressed like men Pride of some persons and vice of most was but a sad story Quakers and others that will not have any bell ring for them Resolving not to be bribed to dispatch business Sat an hour or two talking and discoursing.... Saying me to be the fittest man in England Searchers with their rods in their hands See how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody Sicke men that are recovered, they lying before our office doors So to bed, to be up betimes by the helpe of a larum watch So great a trouble is fear The coachman that carried [us] cannot know me again The boy is well, and offers to be searched This absence makes us a little strange instead of more fond Those bred in the North among the colliers are good for labour Though neither of us care 2d. one for another Tied our men back to back, and thrown them all into the sea Told us he had not been in a bed in the whole seven years Too much of it will make her know her force too much Two shops in three, if not more, generally shut up Up, leaving my wife in bed, being sick of her months Wanton as ever she was, with much I made myself merry and away Well enough pleased this morning with their night's lodging What silly discourse we had by the way as to love-matters When she least shews it hath her wit at work Where money is free, there is great plenty Which may teach me how I make others wait Who is the most, and promises the least, of any man Wife that brings me nothing almost (besides a comely person) 
4167	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST & SEPTEMBER 1666 August 1st. Up betimes to the settling of my last month's accounts, and I bless God I find them very clear, and that I am worth L5700, the most that ever my book did yet make out. So prepared to attend the Duke of Yorke as usual, but Sir W. Pen, just as I was going out, comes home from Sheernesse, and held me in discourse about publique business, till I come by coach too late to St. James's, and there find that every thing stood still, and nothing done for want of me. Thence walked over the Parke with Sir W. Coventry, who I clearly see is not thoroughly pleased with the late management of the fight, nor with any thing that the Generalls do; only is glad to hear that De Ruyter is out of favour, and that this fight hath cost them 5,000 men, as they themselves do report. And it is a strange thing, as he observes, how now and then the slaughter runs on one hand; there being 5,000 killed on theirs, and not above 400 or 500 killed and wounded on ours, and as many flag-officers on theirs as ordinary captains in ours; there being Everson, and the Admiral and Vice-Admiral of Freezeland on theirs, and Seamour, Martin, and-----, on ours. I left him going to Chappell, it being the common fast day, and the Duke of York at Chappell. And I to Mrs. Martin's, but she abroad, so I sauntered to or again to the Abbey, and then to the parish church, fearfull of being seen to do so, and so after the parish church was ended, I to the Swan and there dined upon a rabbit, and after dinner to Mrs. Martin's, and there find Mrs. Burroughs, and by and by comes a pretty widow, one Mrs. Eastwood, and one Mrs. Fenton, a maid; and here merry kissing and looking on their breasts, and all the innocent pleasure in the world. But, Lord! to see the dissembling of this widow, how upon the singing of a certain jigg by Doll, Mrs. Martin's sister, she seemed to be sick and fainted and God knows what, because the jigg, which her husband (who died this last sickness) loved. But by and by I made her as merry as is possible, and towzed and tumbled her as I pleased, and then carried her and her sober pretty kinswoman Mrs. Fenton home to their lodgings in the new market of my Lord Treasurer's, and there left them. Mightily pleased with this afternoon's mirth, but in great pain to ride in a coach with them, for fear of being seen. So home, and there much pleased with my wife's drawing today in her pictures, and so to supper and to bed very pleasant. 2nd. [Up] and to the office, where we sat, and in discourse at the table with Sir W. Batten, I was obliged to tell him it was an untruth, which did displease him mightily, and parted at noon very angry with me. At home find Lovett, who brought me some papers varnished, and showed me my crucifix, which will be very fine when done. He dined with me and Balty's wife, who is in great pain for her husband, not hearing of him since the fight; but I understand he was not in it, going hence too late, and I am glad of it. Thence to the office, and thither comes to me Creed, and he and I walked a good while, and then to the victualling office together, and there with Mr. Gawden I did much business, and so away with Creed again, and by coach to see my Lord Bruncker, who it seems was not well yesterday, but being come thither, I find his coach ready to carry him abroad, but Tom, his footman, whatever the matter was, was lothe to desire me to come in, but I walked a great while in the Piatza till I was going away, but by and by my Lord himself comes down and coldly received me. So I soon parted, having enough for my over officious folly in troubling myself to visit him, and I am apt to think that he was fearfull that my coming was out of design to see how he spent his time [rather] than to enquire after his health. So parted, and I with Creed down to the New Exchange Stairs, and there I took water, and he parted, so home, and then down to Woolwich, reading and making an end of the "Rival Ladys," and find it a very pretty play. At Woolwich, it being now night, I find my wife and Mercer, and Mr. Batelier and Mary there, and a supper getting ready. So I staid, in some pain, it being late, and post night. So supped and merrily home, but it was twelve at night first. However, sent away some letters, and home to bed. 3rd. Up and to the office, where Sir W. Batten and I sat to contract for some fire-ships. I there close all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then abroad to Sir Philip Warwicke's at White Hall about Tangier one quarter tallys, and there had some serious discourse touching money, and the case of the Navy, wherein all I could get of him was that we had the full understanding of the treasure as much as my Lord Treasurer himself, and knew what he can do, and that whatever our case is, more money cannot be got till the Parliament. So talked of getting an account ready as soon as we could to give the Parliament, and so very melancholy parted. So I back again, calling my wife at her sister's, from whose husband we do now hear that he was safe this week, and going in a ship to the fleete from the buoy of the Nore, where he has been all this while, the fleete being gone before he got down. So home, and busy till night, and then to Sir W. Pen, with my wife, to sit and chat, and a small supper, and home to bed. The death of Everson, and the report of our success, beyond expectation, in the killing of so great a number of men, hath raised the estimation of the late victory considerably; but it is only among fools: for all that was but accidental. But this morning, getting Sir .W. Pen to read over the Narrative with me, he did sparingly, yet plainly, say that we might have intercepted their Zealand squadron coming home, if we had done our parts; and more, that we might have spooned before the wind as well as they, and have overtaken their ships in the pursuite, in all the while. [To spoom, or spoon, is to go right before the wind, without any sail. Sea Dictionary. Dryden uses the word "When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale, My heaving wishes help to fill the sail." Hind and Panther, iii. 96.] 4th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and, at noon to dinner, and Mr. Cooke dined with us, who is lately come from Hinchingbroke, [Lord Hinchingbrooke] who is also come to town: The family all well. Then I to the office, where very busy to state to Mr. Coventry the account of the victuals of the fleete, and late at it, and then home to supper and to bed. This evening, Sir W. Pen come into the garden, and walked with me, and told me that he had certain notice that at Flushing they are in great distraction. De Ruyter dares not come on shore for fear of the people; nor any body open their houses or shops for fear of the tumult: which is a every good hearing. 5th. (Lord's day). Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there called Betty Michell and her husband, and had two or three a long salutes from her out of sight of 'su mari', which pleased me mightily, and so carried them by water to West minster, and I to St. James's, and there had a meeting before the Duke of Yorke, complaining of want of money, but nothing done to any purpose, for want we shall, so that now our advices to him signify nothing. Here Sir W. Coventry did acquaint the Duke of Yorke how the world do discourse of the ill method of our books, and that we would consider how to answer any enquiry which shall be made after our practice therein, which will I think concern the Controller most, but I shall make it a memento to myself. Thence walked to the Parish Church to have one look upon Betty Michell, and so away homeward by water, and landed to go to the church, where, I believe, Mrs. Horsely goes, by Merchant-tailors' Hall, and there I find in the pulpit Elborough, my old schoolfellow and a simple rogue, and yet I find him preaching a very good sermon, and in as right a parson-like manner, and in good manner too, as I have heard any body; and the church very full, which is a surprising consideration; but I did not see her. So home, and had a good dinner, and after dinner with my wife, and Mercer, and Jane by water, all the afternoon up as high as Morclaeke with great pleasure, and a fine day, reading over the second part of the, "Siege of Rhodes," with great delight. We landed and walked at Barne-elmes, and then at the Neat Houses I landed and bought a millon,--[melon]--and we did also land and eat and drink at Wandsworth, and so to the Old Swan, and thence walked home. It being a mighty fine cool evening, and there being come, my wife and I spent an houre in the garden, talking of our living in the country, when I shall be turned out of the office, as I fear the Parliament may find faults enough with the office to remove us all, and I am joyed to think in how good a condition I am to retire thither, and have wherewith very well to subsist. Nan, at Sir W. Pen's, lately married to one Markeham, a kinsman of Sir W. Pen's, a pretty wench she is. 6th. Up, and to the office a while, and then by water to my Lady Montagu's, at Westminster, and there visited my Lard Hinchingbroke, newly come from Hinchingbroke, and find him a mighty sober gentleman, to my great content. Thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke and my Lord Treasurer's, but failed in my business; so home and in Fenchurch-streete met with Mr: Battersby; says he, "Do you see Dan Rawlinson's door shut up?" (which I did, and wondered). "Why," says he, "after all the sickness, and himself spending all the last year in the country, one of his men is now dead of the plague, and his wife and one of his mayds sicke, and himself shut up;" which troubles me mightily. So home; and there do hear also from Mrs. Sarah Daniel, that Greenwich is at this time much worse than ever it was, and Deptford too: and she told us that they believed all the towne would leave the towne and come to London; which is now the receptacle of all the people from all infected places. God preserve us! So by and by to dinner, and, after dinner in comes Mrs. Knipp, and I being at the office went home to her, and there I sat and talked with her, it being the first time of her being here since her being brought to bed. I very pleasant with her; but perceive my wife hath no great pleasure in her being here, she not being pleased with my kindnesse to her. However, we talked and sang, and were very pleasant. By and by comes Mr. Pierce and his wife, the first time she also hath been here since her lying-in, both having been brought to bed of boys, and both of them dead. And here we talked, and were pleasant, only my wife in a chagrin humour, she not being pleased with my kindnesse to either of them, and by and by she fell into some silly discourse wherein I checked her, which made her mighty pettish, and discoursed mighty offensively to Mrs. Pierce, which did displease me, but I would make no words, but put the discourse by as much as I could (it being about a report that my wife said was made of herself and meant by Mrs. Pierce, that she was grown a gallant, when she had but so few suits of clothes these two or three years, and a great deale of that silly discourse), and by and by Mrs. Pierce did tell her that such discourses should not trouble her, for there went as bad on other people, and particularly of herself at this end of the towne, meaning my wife, that she was crooked, which was quite false, which my wife had the wit not to acknowledge herself to be the speaker of, though she has said it twenty times. But by this means we had little pleasure in their visit; however, Knipp and I sang, and then I offered them to carry them home, and to take my wife with me, but she would not go: so I with them, leaving my wife in a very ill humour, and very slighting to them, which vexed me. However, I would not be removed from my civility to them, but sent for a coach, and went with them; and, in our way, Knipp saying that she come out of doors without a dinner to us, I took them to Old Fish Streete, to the very house and woman where I kept my wedding dinner, where I never was since, and there I did give them a joie of salmon, and what else was to be had. And here we talked of the ill-humour of my wife, which I did excuse as much as I could, and they seemed to admit of it, but did both confess they wondered at it; but from thence to other discourse, and among others to that of my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, who it seems do speake mighty hardly of me for my not treating them, and not giving her something to her closett, and do speake worse of my wife, and dishonourably, but it is what she do of all the world, though she be a whore herself; so I value it not. But they told me how poorly my Lord carried himself the other day to his kinswoman, Mrs. Howard, and was displeased because she called him uncle to a little gentlewoman that is there with him, which he will not admit of; for no relation is to be challenged from others to a lord, and did treat her thereupon very rudely and ungenteely. Knipp tells me also that my Lord keeps another woman besides Mrs. Williams; and that, when I was there the other day, there was a great hubbub in the house, Mrs. Williams being fallen sicke, because my Lord was gone to his other mistresse, making her wait for him, till his return from the other mistresse; and a great deale of do there was about it; and Mrs. Williams swounded at it, at the very time when I was there and wondered at the reason of my being received so negligently. I set them both at home, Knipp at her house, her husband being at the doore; and glad she was to be found to have staid out so long with me and Mrs. Pierce, and none else; and Mrs. Pierce at her house, and am mightily pleased with the discretion of her during the simplicity and offensiveness of my wife's discourse this afternoon. I perceive by the new face at Mrs. Pierces door that our Mary is gone from her. So I home, calling on W. Joyce in my coach, and staid and talked a little with him, who is the same silly prating fellow that ever he was, and so home, and there find my wife mightily out of order, and reproaching of Mrs. Pierce and Knipp as wenches, and I know not what. But I did give her no words to offend her, and quietly let all pass, and so to bed without any good looke or words to or from my wife. 7th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and home to dinner, and then to the office again, being pretty good friends with my wife again, no angry words passed; but she finding fault with Mercer, suspecting that it was she that must have told Mary, that must have told her mistresse of my wife's saying that she was crooked. But the truth is, she is jealous of my kindnesse to her. After dinner, to the office, and did a great deale of business. In the evening comes Mr. Reeves, with a twelve-foote glasse, so I left the office and home, where I met Mr. Batelier with my wife, in order to our going to-morrow, by agreement, to Bow to see a dancing meeting. But, Lord! to see how soon I could conceive evil fears and thoughts concerning them; so Reeves and I and they up to the top of the house, and there we endeavoured to see the moon, and Saturne and Jupiter; but the heavens proved cloudy, and so we lost our labour, having taken pains to get things together, in order to the managing of our long glasse. So down to supper and then to bed, Reeves lying at my house, but good discourse I had from him: in his own trade, concerning glasses, and so all of us late to bed. I receive fresh intelligence that Deptford and Greenwich are now afresh exceedingly afflicted with the sickness more than ever. 8th. Up, and with Reeves walk as far as the Temple, doing some business in my way at my bookseller's and elsewhere, and there parted, and I took coach, having first discoursed with Mr. Hooke a little, whom we met in the streete, about the nature of sounds, and he did make me understand the nature of musicall sounds made by strings, mighty prettily; and told me that having come to a certain number of vibrations proper to make any tone, he is able to tell how many strokes a fly makes with her wings (those flies that hum in their flying) by the note that it answers to in musique during their flying. That, I suppose, is a little too much refined; but his discourse in general of sound was mighty fine. There I left them, and myself by coach to St. James's, where we attended with the rest of my fellows on the Duke, whom I found with two or three patches upon his nose and about his right eye, which come from his being struck with the bough of a tree the other day in his hunting; and it is a wonder it did not strike out his eye. After we had done our business with him, which is now but little, the want of money being such as leaves us little to do but to answer complaints of the want thereof, and nothing to offer to the Duke, the representing of our want of money being now become uselesse, I into the Park, and there I met with Mrs. Burroughs by appointment, and did agree (after discoursing of some business of her's) for her to meet me at New Exchange, while I by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and then called at the New Exchange, and thence carried her by water to Parliament stayres, and I to the Exchequer about my Tangier quarter tallys, and that done I took coach and to the west door of the Abby, where she come to me, and I with her by coach to Lissen-greene where we were last, and staid an hour or two before dinner could be got for us, I in the meantime having much pleasure with her, but all honest. And by and by dinner come up, and then to my sport again, but still honest; and then took coach and up and down in the country toward Acton, and then toward Chelsy, and so to Westminster, and there set her down where I took her up, with mighty pleasure in her company, and so I by coach home, and thence to Bow, with all the haste I could, to my Lady Pooly's, where my wife was with Mr. Batelier and his sisters, and there I found a noble supper, and every thing exceeding pleasant, and their mother, Mrs: Batelier, a fine woman, but mighty passionate upon sudden news brought her of the loss of a dog borrowed of the Duke of Albemarle's son to line a bitch of hers that is very pretty, but the dog was by and by found, and so all well again, their company mighty innocent and pleasant, we having never been here before. About ten o'clock we rose from table, and sang a song, and so home in two coaches (Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary and my wife and I in one, and Mercer alone in the other); and after being examined at Allgate, whether we were husbands and wives, home, and being there come, and sent away Mr. Batelierand his sister, I find Reeves there, it being a mighty fine bright night, and so upon my leads, though very sleepy, till one in the morning, looking on the moon and Jupiter, with this twelve-foote glasse and another of six foote, that he hath brought with him to-night, and the sights mighty pleasant, and one of the glasses I will buy, it being very usefull. So to bed mighty sleepy, but with much pleasure. Reeves lying at my house again; and mighty proud I am (and ought to be thankfull to God Almighty) that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends. 9th. Up and to the office to prepare business for the Board, Reeves being gone and I having lent him upon one of the glasses. Here we sat, but to little purpose, nobody coming at us but to ask for money, not to offer us any goods. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, being mightily pleased with a Virgin's head that my wife is now doing of. In the evening to Lumbard-streete about money, to enable me to pay Sir G. Carteret's L3000, which he hath lodged in my hands, in behalf of his son and my Lady Jemimah, toward their portion, which, I thank God, I am able to do at a minute's warning. In my [way] I inquired, and find Mrs. Rawlinson is dead of the sickness, and her mayde continues mighty ill. He himself is got out of the house. I met also with Mr. Evelyn in the streete, who tells me the sad condition at this very day at Deptford for the plague, and more at Deale (within his precinct as one of the Commissioners for sick and wounded seamen), that the towne is almost quite depopulated. Thence back home again, and after some business at my office, late, home to supper and to bed, I being sleepy by my late want of rest, notwithstanding my endeavouring to get a nap of an hour this afternoon after dinner. So home and to bed. 10th. Up and to my chamber; there did some business and then to my office, and towards noon by water to the Exchequer about my Tangier order, and thence back again and to the Exchange, where little newes but what is in the book, and, among other things, of a man sent up for by the King and Council for saying that Sir W. Coventry did give intelligence to the Dutch of all our matters here. I met with Colvill, and he and I did agree about his lending me L1000 upon a tally of L1000 for Tangier. Thence to Sympson, the joyner, and I am mightily pleased with what I see of my presses for my books, which he is making for me. So homeward, and hear in Fanchurch-streete, that now the mayde also is dead at Mr. Rawlinson's; so that there are three dead in all, the wife, a man-servant, and mayde-servant. Home to dinner, where sister Balty dined with us, and met a letter come to me from him. He is well at Harwich, going to the fleete. After dinner to the office, and anon with my wife and sister abroad, left them in Paternoster Row, while Creed, who was with me at the office, and I to Westminster; and leaving him in the Strand, I to my Lord Chancellor's, and did very little business, and so away home by water, with more and more pleasure, I every time reading over my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae." So home, and there did little business, and then walked an hour talking of sundry things in the garden, and find him a cunning knave, as I always observed him to be, and so home to supper, and to bed. Pleased that this day I find, if I please, I can have all my money in that I have out of my hands, but I am at a loss whether to take it in or no, and pleased also to hear of Mrs. Barbara Sheldon's good fortune, who is like to have Mr. Wood's son, the mast-maker, a very rich man, and to be married speedily, she being already mighty fine upon it. 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where mighty pleased at my wife's beginnings of a little Virgin's head. To the office and did much business, and then to Mr. Colvill's, and with him did come to an agreement about my L2600 assignment on the Exchequer, which I had of Sir W. Warren; and, to my great joy, I think I shall get above L100 by it, but I must leave it to be finished on Monday. Thence to the office, and there did the remainder of my business, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon I hear as if we had landed some men upon the Dutch coasts, but I believe it is but a foolery either in the report or the attempt. 12th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, where busy all the morning, and my thoughts very much upon the manner of my removal of my closett things the next weeke into my present musique room, if I find I can spare or get money to furnish it. By and by comes Reeves, by appointment, but did not bring the glasses and things I expected for our discourse and my information to-day, but we have agreed on it for next Sunday. By and by, in comes Betty Michell and her husband, and so to dinner, I mightily pleased with their company. We passed the whole day talking with them, but without any pleasure, but only her being there. In the evening, all parted, and I and my wife up to her closett to consider how to order that the next summer, if we live to it; and then down to my chamber at night to examine her kitchen accounts, and there I took occasion to fall out with her for her buying a laced handkercher and pinner without my leave. Though the thing is not much, yet I would not permit her begin to do so, lest worse should follow. From this we began both to be angry, and so continued till bed, and did not sleep friends. 13th. Up, without being friends with my wife, nor great enemies, being both quiet and silent. So out to Colvill's, but he not being come to town yet, I to Paul's Church-yarde, to treat with a bookbinder, to come and gild the backs of all my books, to make them handsome, to stand in my new presses, when they come. So back again to Colvill's, and there did end our treaty, to my full content, about my Exchequer assignment of L2600 of Sir W. Warren's, for which I give him L170 to stand to the hazard of receiving it. So I shall get clear by it L230, which is a very good jobb. God be praised for it! Having done with him, then he and I took coach, and I carried him to Westminster, and there set him down, in our way speaking of several things. I find him a bold man to say any thing of any body, and finds fault with our great ministers of state that nobody looks after any thing; and I thought it dangerous to be free with him, for I do not think he can keep counsel, because he blabs to me what hath passed between other people and him. Thence I to St. James's, and there missed Sir W. Coventry; but taking up Mr. Robinson in my coach, I towards London, and there in the way met Sir W. Coventry, and followed him to White Hall, where a little discourse very kind, and so I away with Robinson, and set him down at the 'Change, and thence I to Stokes the goldsmith, and sent him to and again to get me L1000 in gold; and so home to dinner, my wife and I friends, without any words almost of last night. After dinner, I abroad to Stokes, and there did receive L1000 worth in gold, paying 18 1/2d. and 19d. for others exchange. Home with them, and there to my office to business, and anon home in the evening, there to settle some of my accounts, and then to supper and to bed. 14th. (Thanksgiving day.) [A proclamation ordering August 14th to be observed in London and Westminster, and August 23rd in other places, as a day of thanksgiving for the late victory at sea over the Dutch, was published on August 6th.] Up, and comes Mr. Foley and his man, with a box of a great variety of carpenter's and joyner's tooles, which I had bespoke, to me, which please me mightily; but I will have more. Then I abroad down to the Old Swan, and there I called and kissed Betty Michell, and would have got her to go with me to Westminster, but I find her a little colder than she used to be, methought, which did a little molest me. So I away not pleased, and to White Hall, where I find them at Chappell, and met with Povy, and he and I together, who tells me how mad my letter makes my Lord Peterborough, and what a furious letter he hath writ to me in answer, though it is not come yet. This did trouble me; for though there be no reason, yet to have a nobleman's mouth open against a man may do a man hurt; so I endeavoured to have found him out and spoke with him, but could not. So to the chappell, and heard a piece of the Dean of Westminster's sermon, and a special good anthemne before the king, after a sermon, and then home by coach with Captain Cocke, who is in pain about his hempe, of which he says he hath bought great quantities, and would gladly be upon good terms with us for it, wherein I promise to assist him. So we 'light at the 'Change, where, after a small turn or two, taking no pleasure now-a-days to be there, because of answering questions that would be asked there which I cannot answer; so home and dined, and after dinner, with my wife and Mercer to the Beare-garden, [The Bear Garden was situated on Bankside, close to the precinct of the Clinke Liberty, and very near to the old palace of the bishops of Winchester. Stow, to his "Survey," says: "There be two Bear Gardens, the old and new Places." The name still exists in a street or lane at the foot of Southwark Bridge, and in Bear Garden Wharf.] where I have not been, I think, of many years, and saw some good sport of the bull's tossing of the dogs: one into the very boxes. But it is a very rude and nasty pleasure. We had a great many hectors in the same box with us (and one very fine went into the pit, and played his dog for a wager, which was a strange sport for a gentleman), where they drank wine, and drank Mercer's health first, which I pledged with my hat off; and who should be in the house but Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who saw us and spoke to us. Thence home, well enough satisfied, however, with the variety of this afternoon's exercise; and so I to my chamber, till in the evening our company come to supper. We had invited to a venison pasty Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary, Mrs. Mercer, her daughter Anne, Mr. Le Brun, and W. Hewer; and so we supped, and very merry. And then about nine o'clock to Mrs. Mercer's gate, where the fire and boys expected us, and her son had provided abundance of serpents and rockets; and there mighty merry (my Lady Pen and Pegg going thither with us, and Nan Wright), till about twelve at night, flinging our fireworks, and burning one another and the people over the way. And at last our businesses being most spent, we into Mrs. Mercer's, and there mighty merry, smutting one another with candle grease and soot, till most of us were like devils. And that being done, then we broke up, and to my house; and there I made them drink, and upstairs we went, and then fell into dancing (W. Batelier dancing well), and dressing, him and I and one Mr. Banister (who with his wife come over also with us) like women; and Mercer put on a suit of Tom's, like a boy, and mighty mirth we had, and Mercer danced a jigg; and Nan Wright and my wife and Pegg Pen put on perriwigs. Thus we spent till three or four in the morning, mighty merry; and then parted, and to bed. 15th. Mighty sleepy; slept till past eight of the clock, and was called up by a letter from Sir W. Coventry, which, among other things, tells me how we have burned one hundred and sixty ships of the enemy within the Fly. [On the 8th August the Duke of Albemarle reported to Lord Arlington that he had "sent 1000 good men under Sir R. Holmes and Sir William Jennings to destroy the islands of Vlie and Schelling." On the 10th James Hayes wrote to Williamson: "On the 9th at noon smoke was seen rising from several places in the island of Vlie, and the 10th brought news that Sir Robert had burned in the enemy's harbour 160 outward bound valuable merchant men and three men-of-war, and taken a little pleasure boat and eight guns in four hours. The loss is computed at a million sterling, and will make great confusion when the people see themselves in the power of the English at their very doors. Sir Robert then landed his forces, and is burning the houses in Vlie and Schelling as bonfires for his good success at sea" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 21,27).] I up, and with all possible haste, and in pain for fear of coming late, it being our day of attending the Duke of Yorke, to St. James's, where they are full of the particulars; how they are generally good merchant ships, some of them laden and supposed rich ships. We spent five fire-ships upon them. We landed on the Schelling (Sir Philip Howard with some men, and Holmes, I think; with others, about 1000 in all), and burned a town; and so come away. By and by the Duke of Yorke with his books showed us the very place and manner, and that it was not our design or expectation to have done this, but only to have landed on the Fly, and burned some of their store; but being come in, we spied those ships, and with our long boats, one by one, fired them, our ships running all aground, it being so shoal water. We were led to this by, it seems, a renegado captain of the Hollanders, who found himself ill used by De Ruyter for his good service, and so come over to us, and hath done us good service; so that now we trust him, and he himself did go on this expedition. The service is very great, and our joys as great for it. All this will make the Duke of Albemarle in repute again, I doubt, though there is nothing of his in this. But, Lord! to see what successe do, whether with or without reason, and making a man seem wise, notwithstanding never so late demonstration of the profoundest folly in the world. Thence walked over the Parke with Sir W. Coventry, in our way talking of the unhappy state of our office; and I took an opportunity to let him know, that though the backwardnesses of all our matters of the office may be well imputed to the known want of money, yet, perhaps, there might be personal and particular failings; and that I did, therefore, depend still upon his promise of telling me whenever he finds any ground to believe any defect or neglect on my part, which he promised me still to do; and that there was none he saw, nor, indeed, says he, is there room now-a-days to find fault with any particular man, while we are in this condition for money. This, methought, did not so well please me; but, however, I am glad I have said this, thereby giving myself good grounds to believe that at this time he did not want an occasion to have said what he pleased to me, if he had had anything in his mind, which by his late distance and silence I have feared. But then again I am to consider he is grown a very great man, much greater than he was, and so must keep more distance; and, next, that the condition of our office will not afford me occasion of shewing myself so active and deserving as heretofore; and, lastly, the muchness of his business cannot suffer him to mind it, or give him leisure to reflect on anything, or shew the freedom and kindnesse that he used to do. But I think I have done something considerable to my satisfaction in doing this; and that if I do but my duty remarkably from this time forward, and not neglect it, as I have of late done, and minded my pleasures, I may be as well as ever I was. Thence to the Exchequer, but did nothing, they being all gone from their offices; and so to the Old Exchange, where the towne full of the good newes, but I did not stay to tell or hear any, but home, my head akeing and drowsy, and to dinner, and then lay down upon the couch, thinking to get a little rest, but could not. So down the river, reading "The Adventures of Five Houres," which the more I read the more I admire. So down below Greenwich, but the wind and tide being against us, I back again to Deptford, and did a little business there, and thence walked to Redriffe; and so home, and to the office a while. In the evening comes W. Batelier and his sister, and my wife, and fair Mrs. Turner into the garden, and there we walked, and then with my Lady Pen and Pegg in a-doors, and eat and were merry, and so pretty late broke up, and to bed. The guns of the Tower going off, and there being bonefires also in the street for this late good successe. 16th. Up, having slept well, and after entering my journal, to the office, where all the morning, but of late Sir W. Coventry hath not come to us, he being discouraged from the little we have to do but to answer the clamours of people for money. At noon home, and there dined with me my Lady Pen only and W. Hewer at a haunch of venison boiled, where pretty merry, only my wife vexed me a little about demanding money to go with my Lady Pen to the Exchange to lay out. I to the office, where all the afternoon and very busy and doing much business; but here I had a most eminent experience of the evil of being behindhand in business. I was the most backward to begin any thing, and would fain have framed to myself an occasion of going abroad, and should, I doubt, have done it, but some business coming in, one after another, kept me there, and I fell to the ridding away of a great deale of business, and when my hand was in it was so pleasing a sight to [see] my papers disposed of, and letters answered, which troubled my book and table, that I could have continued there with delight all night long, and did till called away by my Lady Pen and Pegg and my wife to their house to eat with them; and there I went, and exceeding merry, there being Nan Wright, now Mrs. Markham, and sits at table with my Lady. So mighty merry, home and to bed. This day Sir W. Batten did show us at the table a letter from Sir T. Allen, which says that we have taken ten or twelve' ships (since the late great expedition of burning their ships and towne), laden with hempe, flax, tarr, deales, &c. This was good newes; but by and by comes in Sir G. Carteret, and he asked us with full mouth what we would give for good newes. Says Sir W. Batten, "I have better than you, for a wager." They laid sixpence, and we that were by were to give sixpence to him that told the best newes. So Sir W. Batten told his of the ten or twelve ships Sir G. Carteret did then tell us that upon the newes of the burning of the ships and towne the common people a Amsterdam did besiege De Witt's house, and he was force to flee to the Prince of Orange, who is gone to Cleve to the marriage of his sister. This we concluded all the best newest and my Lord Bruncker and myself did give Sir G. Carteret our sixpence a-piece, which he did give Mr. Smith to give the poor. Thus we made ourselves mighty merry. 17th. Up and betimes with Captain Erwin down by water to Woolwich, I walking alone from Greenwich thither, making an end of the "Adventures of Five Hours," which when all is done is the best play that ever I read in my life. Being come thither I did some business there and at the Rope Yarde, and had a piece of bride-cake sent me by Mrs. Barbary into the boate after me, she being here at her uncle's, with her husband, Mr. Wood's son, the mast-maker, and mighty nobly married, they say, she was, very fine, and he very rich, a strange fortune for so odd a looked mayde, though her hands and body be good, and nature very good, I think. Back with Captain Erwin, discoursing about the East Indys, where he hath often been. And among other things he tells me how the King of Syam seldom goes out without thirty or forty thousand people with him, and not a word spoke, nor a hum or cough in the whole company to be heard. He tells me the punishment frequently there for malefactors is cutting off the crowne of their head, which they do very dexterously, leaving their brains bare, which kills them presently. He told me what I remember he hath once done heretofore: that every body is to lie flat down at the coming by of the King, and nobody to look upon him upon pain of death. And that he and his fellows, being strangers, were invited to see the sport of taking of a wild elephant, and they did only kneel, and look toward the King. Their druggerman did desire them to fall down, for otherwise he should suffer for their contempt of the King. The sport being ended, a messenger comes from the King, which the druggerman thought had been to have taken away his life; but it was to enquire how the strangers liked the sport. The druggerman answered that they did cry it up to be the best that ever they saw, and that they never heard of any Prince so great in every thing as this King. The messenger being gone back, Erwin and his company asked their druggerman what he had said, which he told them. "But why," say they, "would you say that without our leave, it being not true?"--"It is no matter for that," says he, "I must have said it, or have been hanged, for our King do not live by meat, nor drink, but by having great lyes told him." In our way back we come by a little vessel that come into the river this morning, and says he left the fleete in Sole Bay, and that he hath not heard (he belonging to Sir W. Jenings, in the fleete) of any such prizes taken as the ten or twelve I inquired about, and said by Sir W. Batten yesterday to be taken, so I fear it is not true. So to Westminster, and there, to my great content, did receive my L2000 of Mr. Spicer's telling, which I was to receive of Colvill, and brought it home with me [to] my house by water, and there I find one of my new presses for my books brought home, which pleases me mightily. As, also, do my wife's progresse upon her head that she is making. So to dinner, and thence abroad with my wife, leaving her at Unthanke's; I to White Hall, waiting at the Council door till it rose, and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry, who and I do much fear our Victuallers, they having missed the fleete in their going. But Sir W. Coventry says it is not our fault, but theirs, if they have not left ships to secure them. This he spoke in a chagrin sort of way, methought. After a little more discourse of several businesses, I away homeward, having in the gallery the good fortune to see Mrs. Stewart, who is grown a little too tall, but is a woman of most excellent features. The narrative of the late expedition in burning the ships is in print, and makes it a great thing, and I hope it is so. So took up my wife and home, there I to the office, and thence with Sympson the joyner home to put together the press he hath brought me for my books this day, which pleases me exceedingly. Then to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir Richard Ford did very understandingly, methought, give us an account of the originall of the Hollands Bank, [This bank at Amsterdam is referred to in a tract entitled "An Appeal to Caesar," 1660, p. 22. In 1640 Charles I. seized the money in the mint in the Tower entrusted to the safe keeping of the Crown. It was the practice of the London goldsmiths at this time to allow interest at the rate of six or eight per cent. on money deposited with them (J. Biddulph Martin, "The Grasshopper in Lombard Street," 1892, p. 152).] and the nature of it, and how they do never give any interest at all to any person that brings in their money, though what is brought in upon the public faith interest is given by the State for. The unsafe condition of a Bank under a Monarch, and the little safety to a Monarch to have any; or Corporation alone (as London in answer to Amsterdam) to have so great a wealth or credit, it is, that makes it hard to have a Bank here. And as to the former, he did tell us how it sticks in the memory of most merchants how the late King (when by the war between Holland and France and Spayne all the bullion of Spayne was brought hither, one-third of it to be coyned; and indeed it was found advantageous to the merchant to coyne most of it), was persuaded in a strait by my Lord Cottington to seize upon the money in the Tower, which, though in a few days the merchants concerned did prevail to get it released, yet the thing will never be forgot. So home to supper and to bed, understanding this evening, since I come home, that our Victuallers are all come in to the fleete, which is good newes. Sir John Minnes come home tonight not well, from Chatham, where he hath been at a pay, holding it at Upnor Castle, because of the plague so much in the towne of Chatham. He hath, they say, got an ague, being so much on the water. 18th. All the morning at my office; then to the Exchange (with my Lord Bruncker in his coach) at noon, but it was only to avoid Mr. Chr. Pett's being invited by me to dinner. So home, calling at my little mercer's in Lumbard Streete, who hath the pretty wench, like the old Queene, and there cheapened some stuffs to hang my roome, that I intend to turn into a closett. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Creed to discourse with me about several things of Tangier concernments and accounts, among others starts the doubt, which I was formerly aware of, but did wink at it, whether or no Lanyon and his partners be not paid for more than they should be, which he presses, so that it did a little discompose me; but, however, I do think no harm will arise thereby. He gone, I to the office, and there very late, very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, and there began to draw out fair and methodically my accounts of Tangier, in order to shew them to the Lords. But by and by comes by agreement Mr. Reeves, and after him Mr. Spong, and all day with them, both before and after dinner, till ten o'clock at night, upon opticke enquiries, he bringing me a frame he closes on, to see how the rays of light do cut one another, and in a darke room with smoake, which is very pretty. He did also bring a lanthorne with pictures in glasse, to make strange things appear on a wall, very pretty. We did also at night see Jupiter and his girdle and satellites, very fine, with my twelve-foote glasse, but could not Saturne, he being very dark. Spong and I had also several fine discourses upon the globes this afternoon, particularly why the fixed stars do not rise and set at the same houre all the yeare long, which he could not demonstrate, nor I neither, the reason of. So, it being late, after supper they away home. But it vexed me to understand no more from Reeves and his glasses touching the nature and reason of the several refractions of the several figured glasses, he understanding the acting part, but not one bit the theory, nor can make any body understand it, which is a strange dullness, methinks. I did not hear anything yesterday or at all to confirm either Sir Thos. Allen's news of the 10 or 12 ships taken, nor of the disorder at Amsterdam upon the news of the burning of the ships, that he [De Witt] should be fled to the Prince of Orange, it being generally believed that he was gone to France before. 20th. Waked this morning, about six o'clock, with a violent knocking at Sir J. Minnes's doore, to call up Mrs. Hammon, crying out that Sir J. Minnes is a-dying. He come home ill of an ague on Friday night. I saw him on Saturday, after his fit of the ague, and then was pretty lusty. Which troubles me mightily, for he is a very good, harmless, honest gentleman, though not fit for the business. But I much fear a worse may come, that may be more uneasy to me. Up, and to Deptford by water, reading "Othello, Moore of Venice," which I ever heretofore esteemed a mighty good play, but having so lately read "The Adventures of Five Houres," it seems a mean thing. Walked back, and so home, and then down to the Old Swan and drank at Betty Michell's, and so to Westminster to the Exchequer about my quarter tallies, and so to Lumbard Streete to choose stuff to hang my new intended closet, and have chosen purple. So home to dinner, and all the afternoon till almost midnight upon my Tangier accounts, getting Tom Wilson to help me in writing as I read, and at night W. Hewer, and find myself most happy in the keeping of all my accounts, for that after all the changings and turnings necessary in such an account, I find myself right to a farthing in an account of L127,000. This afternoon I visited Sir J. Minnes, who, poor man, is much impatient by these few days' sickness, and I fear indeed it will kill him. 21st. Up, and to the office, where much business and Sir W. Coventry there, who of late hath wholly left us, most of our business being about money, to which we can give no answer, which makes him weary of coming to us. He made an experiment to-day, by taking up a heape of petitions that lay upon the table. They proved seventeen in number, and found them thus: one for money for reparation for clothes, four desired to have tickets made out to them, and the other twelve were for money. Dined at home, and sister Balty with us. My wife snappish because I denied her money to lay out this afternoon; however, good friends again, and by coach set them down at the New Exchange, and I to the Exchequer, and there find my business of my tallys in good forwardness. I passed down into the Hall, and there hear that Mr. Bowles, the grocer, after 4 or 5 days' sickness, is dead, and this day buried. So away, and taking up my wife, went homewards. I 'light and with Harman to my mercer's in Lumbard Streete, and there agreed for, our purple serge for my closett, and so I away home. So home and late at the office, and then home, and there found Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary, and we sat chatting a great while, talking of witches and spirits, and he told me of his own knowledge, being with some others at Bourdeaux, making a bargain with another man at a taverne for some clarets, they did hire a fellow to thunder (which he had the art of doing upon a deale board) and to rain and hail, that is, make the noise of, so as did give them a pretence of undervaluing their merchants' wines, by saying this thunder would spoil and turne them. Which was so reasonable to the merchant, that he did abate two pistolls per ton for the wine in belief of that, whereas, going out, there was no such thing. This Batelier did see and was the cause of to his profit, as is above said. By and by broke up and to bed. 22nd. Up and by coach with L100 to the Exchequer to pay fees there. There left it, and I to St. James's, and there with; the Duke of Yorke. I had opportunity of much talk with Sir. W. Pen to-day (he being newly come from the fleete); and he, do much undervalue the honour that is given to the conduct of the late business of Holmes in burning the ships and town [The town burned (see August 15th, ante) was Brandaris, a place of 1000 houses, on the isle of Schelling; the ships lay between that island and the Fly (i.e. Vlieland), the adjoining island. This attack probably provoked that by the Dutch on Chatham.] saying it was a great thing indeed, and of great profit to us in being of great losse to the enemy, but that it was wholly a business of chance, and no conduct employed in it. I find Sir W. Pen do hold up his head at this time higher than ever he did in his life. I perceive he do look after Sir J. Minnes's place if he dies, and though I love him not nor do desire to have him in, yet I do think [he] is the first man in England for it. To the Exchequer, and there received my tallys, and paid my fees in good order, and so home, and there find Mrs. Knipp and my wife going to dinner. She tells me my song, of "Beauty Retire" is mightily cried up, which I am not a little proud of; and do think I have done "It is Decreed" better, but I have not finished it. My closett is doing by upholsters, which I am pleased with, but fear my purple will be too sad for that melancholy roome. After dinner and doing something at the office, I with my wife, Knipp, and Mercer, by coach to Moorefields, and there saw "Polichinello," which pleases me mightily, and here I saw our Mary, our last chamber-maid, who is gone from Mrs. Pierces it seems. Thence carried Knipp home, calling at the Cocke alehouse at the doore and drank, and so home, and there find Reeves, and so up to look upon the stars, and do like my glasse very well, and did even with him for it and a little perspective and the Lanthorne that shows tricks, altogether costing me L9 5s. 0d. So to bed, he lying at our house. 23rd. At the office all the morning, whither Sir W. Coventry sent me word that the Dutch fleete is certainly abroad; and so we are to hasten all we have to send to our fleete with all speed. But, Lord! to see how my Lord Bruncker undertakes the despatch of the fire-ships, when he is no more fit for it than a porter; and all the while Sir W. Pen, who is the most fit, is unwilling to displease him, and do not look after it; and so the King's work is like to be well done. At noon dined at home, Lovett with us; but he do not please me in his business, for he keeps things long in hand, and his paper do not hold so good as I expected--the varnish wiping off in a little time--a very sponge; and I doubt by his discourse he is an odde kind of fellow, and, in plain terms, a very rogue. He gone, I to the office (having seen and liked the upholsters' work in my roome--which they have almost done), and there late, and in the evening find Mr. Batelier and his sister there and then we talked and eat and were merry, and so parted late, and to bed. 24th. Up, and dispatched several businesses at home in the morning, and then comes Sympson to set up my other new presses [These presses still exist, and, according to Pepys's wish, they are placed in the second court of Magdalene College in a room which they exactly fit, and the books are arranged in the presses just as they were when presented to the college.--M. B.] for my books, and so he and I fell in to the furnishing of my new closett, and taking out the things out of my old, and I kept him with me all day, and he dined with me, and so all the afternoon till it was quite darke hanging things, that is my maps and pictures and draughts, and setting up my books, and as much as we could do, to my most extraordinary satisfaction; so that I think it will be as noble a closett as any man hath, and light enough--though, indeed, it would be better to have had a little more light. He gone, my wife and I to talk, and sup, and then to setting right my Tangier accounts and enter my Journall, and then to bed with great content in my day's worke. This afternoon comes Mrs. Barbary Sheldon, now Mrs. Wood, to see my wife. I was so busy I would not see her. But she came, it seems, mighty rich in rings and fine clothes, and like a lady, and says she is matched mighty well, at which I am very glad, but wonder at her good fortune and the folly of her husband, and vexed at myself for not paying her the respect of seeing her, but I will come out of her debt another time. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon dined at home, and after dinner up to my new closett, which pleases me mightily, and there I proceeded to put many things in order as far as I had time, and then set it in washing, and stood by myself a great while to see it washed; and then to the office, and then wrote my letters and other things, and then in mighty good humour home to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and to the finishing the setting things in order in my new closett out of my old, which I did thoroughly by the time sermon was done at church, to my exceeding joy, only I was a little disturbed with newes my Lord Bruncker brought me, that we are to attend the King at White Hall this afternoon, and that it is about a complaint from the Generalls against us. Sir W. Pen dined by invitation with me, his Lady and daughter being gone into the country. We very merry. After dinner we parted, and I to my office, whither I sent for Mr. Lewes and instructed myself fully in the business of the Victualling, to enable me to answer in the matter; and then Sir W. Pen and I by coach to White Hall, and there staid till the King and Cabinet were met in the Green Chamber, and then we were called in; and there the King begun with me, to hear how the victualls of the fleete stood. I did in a long discourse tell him and the rest (the Duke of Yorke, Lord Chancellor, Lord Treasurer, both the Secretarys, Sir G. Carteret, and Sir W. Coventry,) how it stood, wherein they seemed satisfied, but press mightily for more supplies; and the letter of the Generalls, which was read, did lay their not going or too soon returning from the Dutch coast, this next bout, to the want of victuals. They then proceeded to the enquiry after the fireships; and did all very superficially, and without any severity at all. But, however, I was in pain, after we come out, to know how I had done; and hear well enough. But, however, it shall be a caution to me to prepare myself against a day of inquisition. Being come out, I met with Mr. Moore, and he and I an houre together in the Gallery, telling me how far they are gone in getting my Lord [Sandwich's] pardon, so as the Chancellor is prepared in it; and Sir H. Bennet do promote it, and the warrant for the King's signing is drawn. The business between my Lord Hinchingbroke and Mrs. Mallett is quite broke off; he attending her at Tunbridge, and she declaring her affections to be settled; and he not being fully pleased with the vanity and liberty of her carriage. He told me how my Lord has drawn a bill of exchange from Spayne of L1200, and would have me supply him with L500 of it, but I avoyded it, being not willing to embarke myself in money there, where I see things going to ruine. Thence to discourse of the times; and he tells me he believes both my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry, as well as my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret, have reason to fear, and are afeard of this Parliament now coming on. He tells me that Bristoll's faction is getting ground apace against my Lord Chancellor. He told me that my old Lord Coventry was a cunning, crafty man, and did make as many bad decrees in Chancery as any man; and that in one case, that occasioned many years' dispute, at last when the King come in, it was hoped by the party grieved, to get my Lord Chancellor to reverse a decree of his. Sir W. Coventry took the opportunity of the business between the Duke of Yorke and the Duchesse, and said to my Lord Chancellor, that he had rather be drawn up Holborne to be hanged, than live to see his father pissed upon (in these very terms) and any decree of his reversed. And so the Chancellor did not think fit to do it, but it still stands, to the undoing of one Norton, a printer, about his right to the printing of the Bible, and Grammar, &c. Thence Sir W. Pen and I to Islington and there drank at the Katherine Wheele, and so down the nearest way home, where there was no kind of pleasure at all. Being come home, hear that Sir J. Minnes has had a very bad fit all this day, and a hickup do take him, which is a very bad sign, which troubles me truly. So home to supper a little and then to bed. 27th. Up, and to my new closett, which pleases me mightily, and there did a little business. Then to break open a window, to the leads' side in my old closett, which will enlighten the room mightily, and make it mighty pleasant. So to the office, and then home about one thing or other, about my new closet, for my mind is full of nothing but that. So at noon to dinner, mightily pleased with my wife's picture that she is upon. Then to the office, and thither come and walked an hour with me Sir G. Carteret, who tells me what is done about my Lord's pardon, and is not for letting the Duke of Yorke know any thing of it beforehand, but to carry it as speedily and quietly as we can. He seems to be very apprehensive that the Parliament will be troublesome and inquisitive into faults, but seems not to value them as to himself. He gone, I to the Victualling Office, there with Lewes' and Willson setting the business of the state of the fleete's victualling even and plain, and that being done, and other good discourse about it over, Mr. Willson and I by water down the River for discourse only, about business of the office, and then back, and I home, and after a little at my office home to my new closet, and there did much business on my Tangier account and my Journall for three days. So to supper and to bed. We are not sure that the Dutch fleete is out. I have another memento from Sir W. Coventry of the want of provisions in the fleete, which troubles me, though there is no reason for it; but will have the good effect of making me more wary. So, full of thoughts, to bed. 28th. Up, and in my new closet a good while doing business. Then called on Mrs. Martin and Burroughs of Westminster about business of the former's husband. Which done, I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I, with my wife and Mercer, to Philpott Lane, a great cook's shop, to the wedding of Mr. Longracke, our purveyor, a good, sober, civil man, and hath married a sober, serious mayde. Here I met much ordinary company, I going thither at his great request; but there was Mr. Madden and his lady, a fine, noble, pretty lady, and he, and a fine gentleman seems to be. We four were most together; but the whole company was very simple and innocent. A good-dinner, and, what was best, good musique. After dinner the young women went to dance; among others Mr. Christopher Pett his daughter, who is a very pretty, modest girle, I am mightily taken with her; and that being done about five o'clock, home, very well pleased with the afternoon's work. And so we broke up mightily civilly, the bride and bridegroom going to Greenwich (they keeping their dinner here only for my sake) to lie, and we home, where I to the office, and anon am on a sudden called to meet Sir W. Pen and Sir W. Coventry at the Victualling Office, which did put me out of order to be so surprised. But I went, and there Sir William Coventry did read me a letter from the Generalls to the King, [The letter from Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle to the king (dated August 27th, from the "Royal Charles," Sole Bay) is among the State Papers. The generals complain of the want of supplies, in spite of repeated importunities. The demands are answered by accounts from Mr. Pepys of what has been sent to the fleet, which will not satisfy the ships, unless the provisions could be found ". . . Have not a month's provision of beer, yet Sir Wm. Coventry assures the ministers that they are supplied till Oct. 3; unless this is quickened they will have to return home too soon . . . . Want provisions according to their own computation, not Sir Wm. Coventry's, to last to the end of October" ("Calendar," 1666-67, p. 71).] a most scurvy letter, reflecting most upon Sir W. Coventry, and then upon me for my accounts (not that they are not true, but that we do not consider the expence of the fleete), and then of the whole office, in neglecting them and the King's service, and this in very plain and sharp and menacing terms. I did give a good account of matters according to our computation of the expence of the fleete. I find Sir W. Coventry willing enough to accept of any thing to confront the Generalls. But a great supply must be made, and shall be in grace of God! But, however, our accounts here will be found the true ones. Having done here, and much work set me, I with greater content home than I thought I should have done, and so to the office a while, and then home, and a while in my new closet, which delights me every day more and more, and so late to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and there to fit some Tangier accounts, and then, by appointment, to my Lord Bellasses, but about Paul's thought of the chant paper I should carry with me, and so fain to come back again, and did, and then met with Sir W. Pen, and with him to my Lord Bellasses, he sitting in the coach the while, while I up to my Lord and there offered him my account of the bills of exchange I had received and paid for him, wherein we agree all but one L200 bill of Vernatty's drawing, wherein I doubt he hath endeavoured to cheate my Lord; but that will soon appear. Thence took leave, and found Sir W. Pen talking to Orange Moll, of the King's house, who, to our great comfort, told us that they begun to act on the 18th of this month. So on to St. James's, in the way Sir W. Pen telling me that Mr. Norton, that married Sir J. Lawson's daughter, is dead. She left L800 a year jointure, a son to inherit the whole estate. She freed from her father-in-law's tyranny, and is in condition to helpe her mother, who needs it; of which I am glad, the young lady being very pretty. To St. James's, and there Sir W. Coventry took Sir W. Pen and me apart, and read to us his answer to the Generalls' letter to the King that he read last night; wherein he is very plain, and states the matter in full defence of himself and of me with him, which he could not avoid; which is a good comfort to me, that I happen to be involved with him in the same cause. And then, speaking of the supplies which have been made to this fleete, more than ever in all kinds to any, even that wherein the Duke of Yorke himself was, "Well," says he, "if this will not do, I will say, as Sir J. Falstaffe did to the Prince, 'Tell your father, that if he do not like this let him kill the next Piercy himself,'"--["King Henry IV.," Part I, act v., sc. 4.]--and so we broke up, and to the Duke, and there did our usual business. So I to the Parke and there met Creed, and he and I walked to Westminster to the Exchequer, and thence to White Hall talking of Tangier matters and Vernatty's knavery, and so parted, and then I homeward and met Mr. Povy in Cheapside, and stopped and talked a good while upon the profits of the place which my Lord Bellasses hath made this last year, and what share we are to have of it, but of this all imperfect, and so parted, and I home, and there find Mrs. Mary Batelier, and she dined with us; and thence I took them to Islington, and there eat a custard; and so back to Moorfields, and shewed Batelier, with my wife, "Polichinello," which I like the more I see it; and so home with great content, she being a mighty good-natured, pretty woman, and thence I to the Victualling office, and there with Mr. Lewes and Willson upon our Victualling matters till ten at night, and so I home and there late writing a letter to Sir W. Coventry, and so home to supper and to bed. No newes where the Dutch are. We begin to think they will steale through the Channel to meet Beaufort. We think our fleete sayled yesterday, but we have no newes of it. 30th. Up and all the morning at the office, dined at home, and in the afternoon, and at night till two in the morning, framing my great letter to Mr. Hayes about the victualling of the fleete, about which there has been so much ado and exceptions taken by the Generalls. 31st. To bed at 2 or 3 in the morning and up again at 6 to go by appointment to my Lord Bellasses, but he out of town, which vexed me. So back and got Mr. Poynter to enter into, my book while I read from my last night's notes the letter, and that being done to writing it fair. At noon home to dinner, and then the boy and I to the office, and there he read while I writ it fair, which done I sent it to Sir W. Coventry to peruse and send to the fleete by the first opportunity; and so pretty betimes to bed. Much pleased to-day with thoughts of gilding the backs of all my books alike in my new presses. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER 1666 September 1st. Up and at the office all the morning, and then dined at home. Got my new closet made mighty clean against to-morrow. Sir W. Pen and my wife and Mercer and I to "Polichinelly," but were there horribly frighted to see Young Killigrew come in with a great many more young sparks; but we hid ourselves, so as we think they did not see us. By and by, they went away, and then we were at rest again; and so, the play being done, we to Islington, and there eat and drank and mighty merry; and so home singing, and, after a letter or two at the office, to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Some of our mayds sitting up late last night to get things ready against our feast to-day, Jane called us up about three in the morning, to tell us of a great fire they saw in the City. So I rose and slipped on my nightgowne, and went to her window, and thought it to be on the backside of Marke-lane at the farthest; but, being unused to such fires as followed, I thought it far enough off; and so went to bed again and to sleep. About seven rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was and further off. So to my closett to set things to rights after yesterday's cleaning. By and by Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above 300 houses have been burned down to-night by the fire we saw, and that it is now burning down all Fish-street, by London Bridge. So I made myself ready presently, and walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson's little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge; which, among other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah on the bridge. So down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this morning in the King's baker's' house in Pudding-lane, and that it hath burned St. Magnus's Church and most part of Fish-street already. So I down to the water-side, and there got a boat and through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Poor Michell's house, as far as the Old Swan, already burned that way, and the fire running further, that in a very little time it got as far as the Steeleyard, while I was there. Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river or bringing them into lighters that layoff; poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs by the water-side to another. And among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconys till they were, some of them burned, their wings, and fell down. Having staid, and in an hour's time seen the fire: rage every way, and nobody, to my sight, endeavouring to quench it, but to remove their goods, and leave all to the fire, and having seen it get as far as the Steele-yard, and the wind mighty high and driving it into the City; and every thing, after so long a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones of churches, and among other things the poor steeple by which pretty Mrs.--------lives, and whereof my old school-fellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, an there burned till it fell down: I to White Hall (with a gentleman with me who desired to go off from the Tower, to see the fire, in my boat); to White Hall, and there up to the Kings closett in the Chappell, where people come about me, and did give them an account dismayed them all, and word was carried in to the King. So I was called for, and did tell the King and Duke of Yorke what I saw, and that unless his Majesty did command houses to be pulled down nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor--[Sir Thomas Bludworth. See June 30th, 1666.]--from him, and command him to spare no houses, but to pull down before the fire every way. The Duke of York bid me tell him that if he would have any more soldiers he shall; and so did my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret. [Sir William Coventry wrote to Lord Arlington on the evening of this day, "The Duke of York fears the want of workmen and tools to-morrow morning, and wishes the deputy lieutenants and justices of peace to summon the workmen with tools to be there by break of day. In some churches and chapels are great hooks for pulling down houses, which should be brought ready upon the place to-night against the morning" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-66, p. 95).] Here meeting, with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul's, and there walked along Watlingstreet, as well as I could, every creature coming away loaden with goods to save, and here and there sicke people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on backs. At last met my Lord Mayor in Canningstreet, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. To the King's message he cried, like a fainting woman, "Lord! what can I do? I am spent: people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it." That he needed no more soldiers; and that, for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and walked home, seeing people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tarr, in Thames-street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and brandy, and other things. Here I saw Mr. Isaake Houblon, the handsome man, prettily dressed and dirty, at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brothers' things, whose houses were on fire; and, as he says, have been removed twice already; and he doubts (as it soon proved) that they must be in a little time removed from his house also, which was a sad consideration. And to see the churches all filling with goods by people who themselves should have been quietly there at this time. By this time it was about twelve o'clock; and so home, and there find my guests, which was Mr. Wood and his wife Barbary Sheldon, and also Mr. Moons: she mighty fine, and her husband; for aught I see, a likely man. But Mr. Moone's design and mine, which was to look over my closett and please him with the sight thereof, which he hath long desired, was wholly disappointed; for we were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry, as at this time we could be. While at dinner Mrs. Batelier come to enquire after Mr. Woolfe and Stanes (who, it seems, are related to them), whose houses in Fish-street are all burned; and they in a sad condition. She would not stay in the fright. Soon as dined, I and Moone away, and walked, through the City, the streets full of nothing but people and horses and carts loaden with goods, ready to run over one another, and, removing goods from one burned house to another. They now removing out of Canning-streets (which received goods in the morning) into Lumbard-streets, and further; and among others I now saw my little goldsmith, Stokes, receiving some friend's goods, whose house itself was burned the day after. We parted at Paul's; he home, and I to Paul's Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the streets and carried them below and above bridge to and again to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and above and no likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and Duke of York in their barge, and with them to Queenhith and there called Sir Richard Browne to them. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, and so below bridge the water-side; but little was or could be done, the fire coming upon them so fast. Good hopes there was of stopping it at the Three Cranes above, and at Buttolph's Wharf below bridge, if care be used; but the wind carries it into the City so as we know not by the water-side what it do there. River full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and good goods swimming in the water, and only I observed that hardly one lighter or boat in three that had the goods of a house in, but there was a pair of Virginalls [The virginal differed from the spinet in being square instead of triangular in form. The word pair was used in the obsolete sense of a set, as we read also of a pair of organs. The instrument is supposed to have obtained its name from young women, playing upon it.] in it. Having seen as much as I could now, I away to White Hall by appointment, and there walked to St. James's Parks, and there met my wife and Creed and Wood and his wife, and walked to my boat; and there upon the water again, and to the fire up and down, it still encreasing, and the wind great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and all over the Thames, with one's face in the wind, you were almost burned with a shower of firedrops. This is very true; so as houses were burned by these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay, five or six houses, one from another. When we could endure no more upon the water; we to a little ale-house on the Bankside, over against the 'Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark almost, and saw the fire grow; and, as it grew darker, appeared more and more, and in corners and upon steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid malicious bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary fire. Barbary and her husband away before us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it. The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruins. So home with a sad heart, and there find every body discoursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned upon Fish-streets Hall. I invited him to lie at my house, and did receive his goods, but was deceived in his lying there, the newes coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we were forced to begin to pack up our owne goods; and prepare for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry, and moon: shine, and warm weather) carry much of my goods into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place. And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away, and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallys into a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten hath carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, taking down of goods. 3rd. About four o'clock in the morning, my Lady Batten sent me a cart to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things, to Sir W. Rider's at Bednall-greene. Which I did riding myself in my night-gowne in the cart; and, Lord! to see how the streets and the highways are crowded with people running and riding, and getting of carts at any rate to fetch away things. I find Sir W. Rider tired with being called up all night, and receiving things from several friends. His house full of goods, and much of Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's I am eased at my heart to have my treasure so well secured. Then home, with much ado to find a way, nor any sleep all this night to me nor my poor wife. But then and all this day she and I, and all my people labouring to get away the rest of our things, and did get Mr. Tooker to get me a lighter to take them in, and we did carry them (myself some) over Tower Hill, which was by this time full of people's goods, bringing their goods thither; and down to the lighter, which lay at next quay, above the Tower Docke. And here was my neighbour's wife, Mrs.-------,with her pretty child, and some few of her things, which I did willingly give way to be saved with mine; but there was no passing with any thing through the postern, the crowd was so great. The Duke of Yorke of this day by the office, and spoke to us, and did ride with his guard up and down the City, to keep all quiet (he being now Generall, and having the care of all). This day, Mercer being not at home, but against her mistress's order gone to her mother's, and my wife going thither to speak with W. Hewer, met her there, and was angry; and her mother saying that she was not a 'prentice girl, to ask leave every time she goes abroad, my wife with good reason was angry, and, when she came home, bid her be gone again. And so she went away, which troubled me, but yet less than it would, because of the condition we are in, fear of coming into in a little time of being less able to keepe one in her quality. At night lay down a little upon a quilt of W. Hewer's in the office, all my owne things being packed up or gone; and after me my poor wife did the like, we having fed upon the remains of yesterday's dinner, having no fire nor dishes, nor any opportunity of dressing any thing. 4th. Up by break of day to get away the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter at the Iron gate and my hands so few, that it was the afternoon before we could get them all away. Sir W. Pen and I to Tower-streete, and there met the fire burning three or four doors beyond Mr. Howell's, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and dishes, shovells, &c., were flung all along Tower-street in the kennels, and people working therewith from one end to the other; the fire coming on in that narrow streete, on both sides, with infinite fury. Sir W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and I took the opportunity of laying all the papers of my office that I could not otherwise dispose of. And in the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig another, and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese, as well as my wine and some other things. The Duke of Yorke was at the office this day, at Sir W. Pen's; but I happened not to be within. This afternoon, sitting melancholy with Sir W. Pen in our garden, and thinking of the certain burning of this office, without extraordinary means, I did propose for the sending up of all our workmen from Woolwich and Deptford yards (none whereof yet appeared), and to write to Sir W. Coventry to have the Duke of Yorke's permission to pull down houses, rather than lose this office, which would, much hinder, the King's business. So Sir W. Pen he went down this night, in order to the sending them up to-morrow morning; and I wrote to Sir W. Coventry about the business, but received no answer. This night Mrs. Turner (who, poor woman, was removing her goods all this day, good goods into the garden, and knows not how to dispose of them), and her husband supped with my wife and I at night, in the office; upon a shoulder of mutton from the cook's, without any napkin or any thing, in a sad manner, but were merry. Only now and then walking into the garden, and saw how horridly the sky looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put us out of our wits; and, indeed, it was extremely dreadful, for it looks just as if it was at us; and the whole heaven on fire. I after supper walked in the darke down to Tower-streete, and there saw it all on fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the Dolphin Taverne on this side, which was very near us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence. Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in Tower-streete, those next the Tower, which at first did frighten people more than anything, but it stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down the [A copy of this letter, preserved among the Pepys MSS. in the author's own handwriting, is subjoined: "SIR, The fire is now very neere us as well on Tower Streete as Fanchurch Street side, and we little hope of our escape but by this remedy, to ye want whereof we doe certainly owe ye loss of ye City namely, ye pulling down of houses, in ye way of ye fire. This way Sir W. Pen and myself have so far concluded upon ye practising, that he is gone to Woolwich and Deptford to supply himself with men and necessarys in order to the doeing thereof, in case at his returne our condition be not bettered and that he meets with his R. Hs. approbation, which I had thus undertaken to learn of you. Pray please to let me have this night (at whatever hour it is) what his R. Hs. directions are in this particular; Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten having left us, we cannot add, though we are well assured of their, as well as all ye neighbourhood's concurrence. "Yr. obedient servnt. "S. P. "Sir W. Coventry, "Septr. 4, 1666."] houses to the ground in the same places they stood, and then it was easy to quench what little fire was in it, though it kindled nothing almost. W. Newer this day went to see how his mother did, and comes late home, telling us how he hath been forced to remove her to Islington, her house in Pye-corner being burned; so that the fire is got so far that way, and all the Old Bayly, and was running down to Fleete-streete; and Paul's is burned, and all Cheapside. I wrote to my father this night, but the post-house being burned, the letter could not go. [J. Hickes wrote to Williamson on September 3rd from the "Golden Lyon," Red Cross Street Posthouse. Sir Philip [Frowde] and his lady fled from the [letter] office at midnight for: safety; stayed himself till 1 am. till his wife and childrens' patience could stay, no longer, fearing lest they should be quite stopped up; the passage was so tedious they had much ado to get where they are. The Chester and Irish, mails have come-in; sends him his letters, knows not how to dispose of the business ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 95).] 5th. I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer's, quilt, being mighty weary, and sore in my feet with going till I was hardly able to stand. About two in the morning my wife calls me up and tells me of new cryes of fire, it being come to Barkeing Church, which is the bottom of our lane. I up, and finding it so, resolved presently to take her away, and did, and took my gold, which was about L2350, W. Newer, and Jane, down by Proundy's boat to Woolwich; but, Lord! what sad sight it was by moone-light to see, the whole City almost on fire, that you might see it plain at Woolwich, as if you were by it. There, when I come, I find the gates shut, but no guard kept at all, which troubled me, because of discourse now begun, that there is plot in it, and that the French had done it. I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden's, where I locked up my gold, and charged, my wife and W. Newer never to leave the room without one of them in it, night, or day. So back again, by the way seeing my goods well in the lighters at Deptford, and watched well by people. Home; and whereas I expected to have seen our house on fire, it being now about seven o'clock, it was not. But to the fyre, and there find greater hopes than I expected; for my confidence of finding our Office on fire was such, that I durst not ask any body how it was with us, till I come and saw it not burned. But going to the fire, I find by the blowing up of houses, and the great helpe given by the workmen out of the King's yards, sent up by Sir W. Pen, there is a good stop given to it, as well as at Marke-lane end as ours; it having only burned the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch, and was there quenched. I up to the top of Barking steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw; every where great fires, oyle-cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning. I became afeard to stay there long, and therefore down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread as far as I could see it; and to Sir W. Pen's, and there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing since Sunday, but the remains of Sunday's dinner. Here I met with Mr. Young and Whistler; and having removed all my things, and received good hopes that the fire at our end; is stopped, they and I walked into the town, and find Fanchurch-streete, Gracious-streete; and Lumbard-streete all in dust. The Exchange a sad sight, nothing standing there, of all the statues or pillars, but Sir Thomas Gresham's picture in the corner. Walked into Moorefields (our feet ready to burn, walking through the towne among the hot coles), and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their good there, and every body keeping his goods together by themselves (and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weathe for them to keep abroad night and day); drank there, and paid two-pence for a plain penny loaf. Thence homeward, having passed through Cheapside and Newgate Market, all burned, and seen Anthony Joyce's House in fire. And took up (which I keep by me) a piece of glasse of Mercers' Chappell in the streete, where much more was, so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire like parchment. I also did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in the chimney, joyning to the wall of the Exchange; with, the hair all burned off the body, and yet alive. So home at night, and find there good hopes of saving our office; but great endeavours of watching all night, and having men ready; and so we lodged them in the office, and had drink and bread and cheese for them. And I lay down and slept a good night about midnight, though when I rose I heard that there had been a great alarme of French and Dutch being risen, which proved, nothing. But it is a strange thing to see how long this time did look since Sunday, having been always full of variety of actions, and little sleep, that it looked like a week or more, and I had forgot, almost the day of the week. 6th. Up about five o'clock, and where met Mr. Gawden at the gate of the office (I intending to go out, as I used, every now and then to-day, to see how the fire is) to call our men to Bishop's-gate, where no fire had yet been near, and there is now one broke out which did give great grounds to people, and to me too, to think that there is some kind of plot [The terrible disaster which overtook London was borne by the inhabitants of the city with great fortitude, but foreigners and Roman Catholics had a bad dime. As no cause for the outbreak of the fire could be traced, a general cry was raised that it owed its origin to a plot. In a letter from Thomas Waade to Williamson (dated "Whitby, Sept. 14th") we read, "The destruction of London by fire is reported to be a hellish contrivance of the French, Hollanders, and fanatic party" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 124).] in this (on which many by this time have been taken, and, it hath been dangerous for any stranger to walk in the streets), but I went with the men, and we did put it out in a little time; so that that was well again. It was pretty to see how hard the women did work in the cannells, sweeping of water; but then they would scold for drink, and be as drunk as devils. I saw good butts of sugar broke open in the street, and people go and take handsfull out, and put into beer, and drink it. And now all being pretty well, I took boat, and over to Southwarke, and took boat on the other side the bridge, and so to Westminster, thinking to shift myself, being all in dirt from top to bottom; but could not there find any place to buy a shirt or pair of gloves, Westminster Hall being full of people's goods, those in Westminster having removed all their goods, and the Exchequer money put into vessels to carry to Nonsuch; but to the Swan, and there was trimmed; and then to White Hall, but saw nobody; and so home. A sad sight to see how the River looks: no houses nor church near it, to the Temple, where it stopped. At home, did go with Sir W. Batten, and our neighbour, Knightly (who, with one more, was the only man of any fashion left in all the neighbourhood thereabouts, they all removing their goods and leaving their houses to the mercy of the fire), to Sir R. Ford's, and there dined in an earthen platter--a fried breast of mutton; a great many of us, but very merry, and indeed as good a meal, though as ugly a one, as ever I had in my life. Thence down to Deptford, and there with great satisfaction landed all my goods at Sir G. Carteret's safe, and nothing missed I could see, or hurt. This being done to my great content, I home, and to Sir W. Batten's, and there with Sir R. Ford, Mr. Knightly, and one Withers, a professed lying rogue, supped well, and mighty merry, and our fears over. From them to the office, and there slept with the office full of labourers, who talked, and slept, and walked all night long there. But strange it was to see Cloathworkers' Hall on fire these three days and nights in one body of flame, it being the cellar full of oyle. 7th. Up by five o'clock; and, blessed be God! find all well, and by water to Paul's Wharfe. Walked thence, and saw, all the towne burned, and a miserable sight of Paul's church; with all the roofs fallen, and the body of the quire fallen into St. Fayth's; Paul's school also, Ludgate, and Fleet-street, my father's house, and the church, and a good part of the Temple the like. So to Creed's lodging, near the New Exchange, and there find him laid down upon a bed; the house all unfurnished, there being fears of the fire's coming to them. There borrowed a shirt of him, and washed. To Sir W. Coventry, at St. James's, who lay without curtains, having removed all his goods; as the King at White Hall, and every body had done, and was doing. He hopes we shall have no publique distractions upon this fire, which is what every body fears, because of the talke of the French having a hand in it. And it is a proper time for discontents; but all men's minds are full of care to protect themselves, and save their goods: the militia is in armes every where. Our fleetes, he tells me, have been in sight one of another, and most unhappily by fowle weather were parted, to our great losse, as in reason they do conclude; the Dutch being come out only to make a shew, and please their people; but in very bad condition as to stores; victuals, and men. They are at Bullen; and our fleete come to St. Ellen's. We have got nothing, but have lost one ship, but he knows not what. Thence to the Swan, and there drank: and so home, and find all well. My Lord Bruncker, at Sir W. Batten's, and tells us the Generall is sent for up, to come to advise with the King about business at this juncture, and to keep all quiet; which is great honour to him, but I am sure is but a piece of dissimulation. So home, and did give orders for my house to be made clean; and then down to Woolwich, and there find all well: Dined, and Mrs. Markham come to see my wife. So I up again, and calling at Deptford for some things of W. Hewer's, he being with me, and then home and spent the evening with Sir R. Ford, Mr. Knightly, and Sir W. Pen at Sir W. Batten's: This day our Merchants first met at Gresham College, which, by proclamation, is to be their Exchange. Strange to hear what is bid for houses all up and down here; a friend of Sir W. Rider's: having L150 for what he used to let for L40 per annum. Much dispute where the Custome-house shall be thereby the growth of the City again to be foreseen. My Lord Treasurer, they say, and others; would have it at the other end of the towne. I home late to Sir W. Pen's, who did give me a bed; but without curtains or hangings, all being down. So here I went the first time into a naked bed, only my drawers on; and did sleep pretty well: but still hath sleeping and waking had a fear of fire in my heart, that I took little rest. People do all the world over cry out of the simplicity of my Lord Mayor in generall; and more particularly in this business of the fire, laying it all upon' him. A proclamation [On September 5th proclamation was made "ordering that for supply of the distressed people left destitute by the late dreadful and dismal fire. . . . great proportions of bread be brought daily, not only to the former markets, but to those lately ordained; that all churches, chapels, schools, and public buildings are to be open to receive the goods of those who know not how to dispose of them." On September 6th, proclamation ordered "that as the markets are burned down, markets be held in Bishopsgate Street, Tower Hill, Smithfield, and Leadenhall Street" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 100, 104).] is come out for markets to be kept at Leadenhall and Mileendgreene, and several other places about the towne; and Tower-hill, and all churches to be set open to receive poor people. 8th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by water to White Hall and they to St. James's. I stopped with Sir G. Carteret to desire him to go with us, and to enquire after money. But the first he cannot do, and the other as little, or says, "when we can get any, or what shall we do for it?" He, it seems, is employed in the correspondence between the City and the King every day, in settling of things. I find him full of trouble, to think how things will go. I left him, and to St. James's, where we met first at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there did what business we can, without any books. Our discourse, as every thing else, was confused. The fleete is at Portsmouth, there staying a wind to carry them to the Downes, or towards Bullen, where they say the Dutch fleete is gone, and stays. We concluded upon private meetings for a while, not having any money to satisfy any people that may come to us. I bought two eeles upon the Thames, cost me six shillings. Thence with Sir W. Batten to the Cock-pit, whither the Duke of Albemarle is come. It seems the King holds him so necessary at this time, that he hath sent for him, and will keep him here. Indeed, his interest in the City, being acquainted, and his care in keeping things quiet, is reckoned that wherein he will be very serviceable. We to him; he is courted in appearance by every body. He very kind to us; I perceive he lays by all business of the fleete at present, and minds the City, and is now hastening to Gresham College, to discourse with the Aldermen. Sir W. Batten and I home (where met by my brother John, come to town to see how things are with us), and then presently he with me to Gresham College; where infinity of people, partly through novelty to see the new place, and partly to find out and hear what is become one man of another. I met with many people undone, and more that have extraordinary great losses. People speaking their thoughts variously about the beginning of the fire, and the rebuilding; of the City. Then to Sir W. Batten's, and took my brothet with me, and there dined with a great company of neighbours; and much good discourse; among others, of the low spirits of some rich men in the City, in sparing any encouragement to the, poor people that wrought for the saving their houses. Among others, Alderman Starling, a very rich man, without; children, the fire at next door to him in our lane, after our men had saved his house, did give 2s. 6d. among thirty of them, and did quarrel with some that would remove the rubbish out of the way of the fire, saying that they come to steal. Sir W. Coventry told me of another this morning, in Holborne, which he shewed the King that when it was offered to stop the fire near his house for such a reward that came but to 2s. 6d. a man among the neighbours he would, give but 18d. Thence to Bednall Green by coach, my brother with me, and saw all well there, and fetched away my journall book to enter for five days past, and then back to the office where I find Bagwell's wife, and her husband come home. Agreed to come to their house to-morrow, I sending him away to his ship to-day. To the office and late writing letters, and then to Sir W. Pen's, my brother lying with me, and Sir W. Pen gone down to rest himself at Woolwich. But I was much frighted and kept awake in my bed, by some noise I heard a great while below stairs; and the boys not coming up to me when I knocked. It was by their discovery of people stealing of some neighbours' wine that lay in vessels in the streets. So to sleep; and all well all night. 9th (Sunday). Up and was trimmed, and sent my brother to Woolwich to my wife, to dine with her. I to church, where our parson made a melancholy but good sermon; and many and most in the church cried, specially the women. The church mighty full; but few of fashion, and most strangers. I walked to Bednall Green, and there dined well, but a bad venison pasty at Sir W. Rider's. Good people they are, and good discourse; and his daughter, Middleton, a fine woman, discreet. Thence home, and to church again, and there preached Dean Harding; but, methinks, a bad, poor sermon, though proper for the time; nor eloquent, in saying at this time that the City is reduced from a large folio to a decimotertio. So to my office, there to write down my journall, and take leave of my brother, whom I sent back this afternoon, though rainy; which it hath not done a good while before. But I had no room or convenience for him here till my house is fitted; but I was very kind to him, and do take very well of him his journey. I did give him 40s. for his pocket, and so, he being gone, and, it presently rayning, I was troubled for him, though it is good for the fyre. Anon to Sir W. Pen's to bed, and made my boy Tom to read me asleep. 10th. All the morning clearing our cellars, and breaking in pieces all my old lumber, to make room, and to prevent fire. And then to Sir W. Batten's, and dined; and there hear that Sir W. Rider says that the towne is full of the report of the wealth that is in his house, and would be glad that his friends would provide for the safety of their goods there. This made me get a cart; and thither, and there brought my money all away. Took a hackney-coach myself (the hackney-coaches now standing at Allgate). Much wealth indeed there is at his house. Blessed be God, I got all mine well thence, and lodged it in my office; but vexed to have all the world see it. And with Sir W. Batten, who would have taken away my hands before they were stowed. But by and by comes brother Balty from sea, which I was glad of; and so got him, and Mr. Tooker, and the boy, to watch with them all in the office all night, while I upon Jane's coming went down to my wife, calling at Deptford, intending to see Bagwell, but did not 'ouvrir la porte comme je' did expect. So down late to Woolwich, and there find my wife out of humour and indifferent, as she uses upon her having much liberty abroad. 11th. Lay there, and up betimes, and by water with my gold, and laid it with the rest in my office, where I find all well and safe. So with Sir W. Batten to the New Exchange by water and to my Lord Bruncker's house, where Sir W. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret met. Little business before us but want of money. Broke up, and I home by coach round the town. Dined at home, Balty and myself putting up my papers in m closet in the office. He away, I down to Deptford and there spoke with Bagwell and agreed upon to-morrow, and come home in the rain by water. In the evening at Sir W. Pen's; with my wife, at supper, he in a mad, ridiculous, drunken humour; and it seems there have been some late distances between his lady and him, as my [wife] tells me. After supper, I home, and with Mr. Hater, Gibson, and Tom alone, got all my chests and money into the further cellar with much pains, but great content to me when done. So very late and weary, to bed. 12th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's by water, and there did our usual business with the Duke of Yorke. Thence I to Westminster, and there, spoke with Michell and Howlett, who tell me how their poor young ones are going to Shadwell's. The latter told me of the unkindness of the young man to his wife, which is now over, and I have promised to appear a counsellor to him. I am glad she is like to be so near us again. Thence to Martin, and there did 'tout ce que je voudrais avec' her, and drank, and away by water home and to dinner, Balty and his wife there. After dinner I took him down with me to Deptford, and there by the Bezan loaded above half my goods and sent them away. So we back home, and then I found occasion to return in the dark and to Bagwell, and there . . . did do all that I desired, but though I did intend 'pour avoir demeurais con elle' to-day last night, yet when I had done 'ce que je voudrais I did hate both elle and la cose', and taking occasion from the occasion of 'su marido's return . . . did me lever', and so away home late to Sir W. Pen's (Batty and his wife lying at my house), and there in the same simple humour I found Sir W. Pen, and so late to bed. 13th. Up, and down to Tower Wharfe; and there, with Batty and labourers from Deptford, did get my goods housed well at home. So down to Deptford again to fetch the rest, and there eat a bit of dinner at the Globe, with the master of the Bezan with me, while the labourers went to dinner. Here I hear that this poor towne do bury still of the plague seven or eight in a day. So to Sir G. Carteret's to work, and there did to my content ship off into the Bezan all the rest of my goods, saving my pictures and fine things, that I will bring home in wherrys when the house is fit to receive them: and so home, and unload them by carts and hands before night, to my exceeding satisfaction: and so after supper to bed in my house, the first time I have lain there; and lay with my wife in my old closett upon the ground, and Batty and his wife in the best chamber, upon the ground also. 14th. Up, and to work, having carpenters come to helpe in setting up bedsteads and hangings; and at that trade my people and I all the morning, till pressed by publique business to leave them against my will in the afternoon: and yet I was troubled in being at home, to see all my goods lie up and down the house in a bad condition, and strange workmen going to and fro might take what they would almost. All the afternoon busy; and Sir W. Coventry come to me, and found me, as God would have it, in my office, and people about me setting my papers to rights; and there discoursed about getting an account ready against the Parliament, and thereby did create me infinite of business, and to be done on a sudden; which troubled me: but, however, he being gone, I about it late, and to good purpose. And so home, having this day also got my wine out of the ground again, and set in my cellar; but with great pain to keep the porters that carried it in from observing the money-chests there. So to bed as last night, only my wife and I upon a bedstead with curtains in that which was Mercer's chamber, and Balty and his wife (who are here and do us good service), where we lay last night. This day, poor Tom Pepys, the turner, was with me, and Kate, Joyce, to bespeake places; one for himself, the other for her husband. She tells me he hath lost L140 per annum, but have seven houses left. 15th. All the morning at the office, Harman being come to my great satisfaction to put up my beds and hangings, so I am at rest, and followed my business all day. Dined with Sir W. Batten, mighty busy about this account, and while my people were busy, wrote near thirty letters and orders with my owne hand. At it till eleven at night; and it is strange to see how clear my head was, being eased of all the matter of all these letters; whereas one would think that I should have been dazed. I never did observe so much of myself in my life. In the evening there comes to me Captain Cocke, and walked a good while in the garden. He says he hath computed that the rents of houses lost by this fire in the City comes to L600,000 per annum; that this will make the Parliament, more quiet than otherwise they would have been, and give the, King a more ready supply; that the supply must be by excise, as it is in Holland; that the Parliament will see it necessary to carry on the warr; that the late storm hindered our beating the Dutch fleete, who were gone out only to satisfy the people, having no business to do but to avoid us; that the French, as late in the yeare as it is, are coming; that the Dutch are really in bad condition, but that this unhappinesse of ours do give them heart; that there was a late difference between my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry about neglect in the last to send away an express of the other's in time; that it come before the King, and the Duke of Yorke concerned himself in it; but this fire hath stopped it. The Dutch fleete is not gone home, but rather to the North, and so dangerous to our Gottenburgh fleete. That the Parliament is likely to fall foul upon some persons; and, among others, on the Vice-chamberlaine, though we both believe with little ground. That certainly never so great a loss as this was borne so well by citizens in the world; he believing that not one merchant upon the 'Change will break upon it. That he do not apprehend there will be any disturbances in State upon it; for that all men are busy in looking after their owne business to save themselves. He gone, I to finish my letters, and home to bed; and find to my infinite joy many rooms clean; and myself and wife lie in our own chamber again. But much terrified in the nights now-a-days with dreams of fire, and falling down of houses. 16th (Lord's day). Lay with much pleasure in bed talking with my wife about Mr. Hater's lying here and W. Hewer also, if Mrs. Mercer leaves her house. To the office, whither also all my people about this account, and there busy all the morning. At noon, with my wife, against her will, all undressed and dirty, dined at Sir W. Pen's, where was all the company of our families in towne; but, Lord! so sorry a dinner: venison baked in pans, that the dinner I have had for his lady alone hath been worth four of it. Thence, after dinner, displeased with our entertainment, to my office again, and there till almost midnight and my people with me, and then home, my head mightily akeing about our accounts. 17th. Up betimes, and shaved myself after a week's growth, but, Lord! how ugly I was yesterday and how fine to-day! By water, seeing the City all the way, a sad sight indeed, much fire being still in. To Sir W. Coventry, and there read over my yesterday's work: being a collection of the particulars of the excess of charge created by a war, with good content. Sir W. Coventry was in great pain lest the French fleete should be passed by our fleete, who had notice of them on Saturday, and were preparing to go meet them; but their minds altered, and judged them merchant-men, when the same day the Success, Captain Ball, made their whole fleete, and come to Brighthelmstone, and thence at five o'clock afternoon, Saturday, wrote Sir W. Coventry newes thereof; so that we do much fear our missing them. Here come in and talked with him Sir Thomas Clifford, who appears a very fine gentleman, and much set by at Court for his activity in going to sea, and stoutness everywhere, and stirring up and down. Thence by coach over the ruines, down Fleete Streete and Cheapside to Broad Streete to Sir G. Carteret, where Sir W. Batten (and Sir J. Minnes, whom I had not seen a long time before, being his first coming abroad) and Lord Bruncker passing his accounts. Thence home a little to look after my people at work and back to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; and thence, after some discourse; with him upon our publique accounts, I back home, and all the day with Harman and his people finishing the hangings and beds in my house, and the hangings will be as good as ever, and particularly in my new closet. They gone and I weary, my wife and I, and Balty and his wife, who come hither to-day to helpe us, to a barrel of oysters I sent from the river today, and so to bed. 18th. Strange with what freedom and quantity I pissed this night, which I know not what to impute to but my oysters, unless the coldness of the night should cause it, for it was a sad rainy and tempestuous night. Soon as up I begun to have some pain in my bladder and belly, as usual, which made me go to dinner betimes, to fill my belly, and that did ease me, so as I did my business in the afternoon, in forwarding the settling of my house, very well. Betimes to bed, my wife also being all this day ill in the same manner. Troubled at my wife's haire coming off so much. This day the Parliament met, and adjourned till Friday, when the King will be with them. 19th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's, and there did our usual business before the Duke of Yorke; which signified little, our business being only complaints of lack of money. Here I saw a bastard of the late King of Sweden's come to kiss his hands; a mighty modish French-like gentleman. Thence to White Hall, with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen, to Wilkes's; and there did hear the many profane stories of Sir Henry Wood damning the parsons for so much spending the wine at the sacrament, cursing that ever they took the cup to themselves, and then another story that he valued not all the world's curses, for two pence he shall get at any time the prayers of some poor body that is worth a 1000 of all their curses; Lord Norwich drawing a tooth at a health. Another time, he and Pinchbacke and Dr. Goffe, now a religious man, Pinchbacke did begin a frolick to drink out of a glass with a toad in it that he had taken up going out to shit, he did it without harm. Goffe, who knew sacke would kill the toad, called for sacke; and when he saw it dead, says he, "I will have a quick toad, and will not drink from a dead toad." ["They swallow their own contradictions as easily as a hector can drink a frog in a glass of wine."--Benlivoglio and Urania, book v., p. 92, 3rd edit.--B.] By that means, no other being to be found, he escaped the health. Thence home, and dined, and to Deptford and got all my pictures put into wherries, and my other fine things, and landed them all very well, and brought them home, and got Sympson to set them all up to-night; and he gone, I and the boy to finish and set up my books, and everything else in my house, till two o'clock; in the morning, and then to bed; but mightily troubled, and even in my sleep, at my missing four or five of my biggest books. Speed's Chronicle and Maps, and the two parts of Waggoner, and a book of cards, which I suppose I have put up with too much care, that I have forgot where they are; for sure they are not stole. Two little pictures of sea and ships and a little gilt frame belonging to my plate of the River, I want; but my books do heartily trouble me. Most of my gilt frames are hurt, which also troubles me, but most my books. This day I put on two shirts, the first time this year, and do grow well upon it; so that my disease is nothing but wind. 20th. Up, much troubled about my books, but cannot, imagine where they should be. Up, to the setting my closet to rights, and Sir W. Coventry takes me at it, which did not displease me. He and I to discourse about our accounts, and the bringing them to the Parliament, and with much content to see him rely so well on my part. He and I together to Broad Streete to the Vice-Chamberlain, and there discoursed a while and parted. My Lady Carteret come to town, but I did not see her. He tells me how the fleete is come into the Downes. Nothing done, nor French fleete seen: we drove all from our anchors. But he says newes is come that De Ruyter is dead, or very near it, of a hurt in his mouth, upon the discharge of one of his own guns; which put him into a fever, and he likely to die, if not already dead. We parted, and I home to dinner, and after dinner to the setting things in order, and all my people busy about the same work. In the afternoon, out by coach, my wife with me, which we have not done several weeks now, through all the ruines, to shew her them, which frets her much, and is a sad sight indeed. Set her down at her brother's, and thence I to Westminster Hall, and there staid a little while, and called her home. She did give me an account of great differences between her mother and Balty's wife. The old woman charges her with going abroad and staying out late, and painting in the absence of her husband, and I know not what; and they grow proud, both he and she, and do not help their father and mother out of what I help them to, which I do not like, nor my wife. So home, and to the office, to even my journall, and then home, and very late up with Jane setting my books in perfect order in my closet, but am mightily troubled for my great books that I miss, and I am troubled the more for fear there should be more missing than what I find, though by the room they take on the shelves I do not find any reason to think it. So to bed. 21st. Up, and mightily pleased with the setting of my books the last night in order, and that which did please me most of all is that W. Hewer tells me that upon enquiry he do find that Sir W. Pen hath a hamper more than his own, which he took for a hamper of bottles of wine, and are books in it. I was impatient to see it, but they were carried into a wine-cellar, and the boy is abroad with him at the House, where the Parliament met to-day, and the King to be with them. At noon after dinner I sent for Harry, and he tells me it is so, and brought me by and by my hamper of books to my great joy, with the same books I missed, and three more great ones, and no more. I did give him 5s. for his pains, And so home with great joy, and to the setting of some off them right, but could not finish it, but away by coach to the other end of the town, leaving my wife at the 'Change, but neither come time enough to the Council to speak with the Duke of Yorke, nor with Sir G. Carteret, and so called my wife, and paid for some things she bought, and so home, and there after a little doing at the office about our accounts, which now draw near the time they should be ready, the House having ordered Sir G. Carteret, upon his offering them, to bring them in on Saturday next, I home, and there, with great pleasure, very late new setting all my books; and now I am in as good condition as I desire to be in all worldly respects. The Lord of Heaven make me thankfull, and continue me therein! So to bed. This day I had new stairs of main timber put t my cellar going into the yard. 22nd. To my closet, and had it new washed, and now my house is so clean as I never saw it, or any other house in my life, and every thing in as good condition as ever before the fire; but with, I believe, about L20 cost one way or other besides about L20 charge in removing my goods, and do not find that I have lost any thing but two little pictures of ship and sea, and a little gold frame for one of my sea-cards. My glazier, indeed, is so full of worke that I cannot get him to come to perfect my house. To the office, and there busy now for good and all about my accounts. My Lord Brunck come thither, thinking to find an office, but we have not yet met. He do now give me a watch, a plain one, in the roome of my former watch with many motions which I did give him. If it goes well, I care not for the difference in worth, though believe there is above L5. He and I to Sir G. Carteret to discourse about his account, but Mr. Waith not being there nothing could be done, and therefore I home again, and busy all day. In the afternoon comes Anthony Joyce to see me, and with tears told me his losse, but yet that he had something left that he can live well upon, and I doubt it not. But he would buy some place that he could have and yet keepe his trade where he is settled in St. Jones's. He gone, I to the office again, and then to Sir G. Carteret, and there found Mr. Wayth, but, Lord! how fretfully Sir G. Carteret do discourse with Mr. Wayth about his accounts, like a man that understands them not one word. I held my tongue and let him go on like a passionate foole. In the afternoon I paid for the two lighters that carried my goods to Deptford, and they cost me L8. Till past midnight at our accounts, and have brought them to a good issue, so as to be ready to meet Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry to-morrow, but must work to-morrow, which Mr. T. Hater had no mind to, it being the Lord's day, but, being told the necessity, submitted, poor man! This night writ for brother John to come to towne. Among other reasons, my estate lying in money, I am afeard of any sudden miscarriage. So to bed mightily contented in dispatching so much business, and find my house in the best condition that ever I knew it. Home to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, all the morning at the office with my people about me till about one o'clock, and then home, and my people with me, and Mr. Wayth and I eat a bit of victuals in my old closet, now my little dining-room, which makes a pretty room, and my house being so clean makes me mightily pleased, but only I do lacke Mercer or somebody in the house to sing with. Soon as eat a bit Mr. Wayth and I by water to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings Sir W. Coventry met, and we did debate the whole business of our accounts to the Parliament; where it appears to us that the charge of the war from September 1st, 1664, to this Michaelmas, will have been but L3,200,000, and we have paid in that time somewhat about L2,200,000; so that we owe above L900,000: but our method of accounting, though it cannot, I believe, be far wide from the mark, yet will not abide a strict examination if the Parliament should be troublesome. Here happened a pretty question of Sir W. Coventry, whether this account of ours will not put my Lord Treasurer to a difficulty to tell what is become of all the money the Parliament have 'give' in this time for the war, which hath amounted to about L4,000,000, which nobody there could answer; but I perceive they did doubt what his answer could be. Having done, and taken from Sir W. Coventry the minutes of a letter to my Lord Treasurer, Wayth and I back again to the office, and thence back down to the water with my wife and landed him in Southwarke, and my wife and I for pleasure to Fox-hall, and there eat and drank, and so back home, and I to the office till midnight drawing the letter we are to send with our accounts to my Lord Treasurer, and that being done to my mind, I home to bed. 24th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, and there with Sir W. Coventry read and all approved of my letter, and then home, and after dinner, Mr. Hater and Gibson dining with me, to the office, and there very late new moulding my accounts and writing fair my letter, which I did against the evening, and then by coach left my wife at her brother's, and I to St. James's, and up and down to look [for] Sir W. Coventry; and at last found him and Sir G. Carteret with the Lord Treasurer at White Hall, consulting how to make up my Lord Treasurer's general account, as well as that of the Navy particularly. Here brought the letter, but found that Sir G. Carteret had altered his account since he did give me the abstract of it: so all my letter must be writ over again, to put in his last abstract. So to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, to speak a little about the alteration; and there looking over the book that Sir G. Carteret intends to deliver to the Parliament of his payments since September 1st, 1664, and there I find my name the very second for flags, which I had bought for the Navy, of calico; once, about 500 and odd pounds, which vexed me mightily. At last, I concluded of scraping out my name and putting in Mr. Tooker's, which eased me; though the price was such as I should have had glory by. Here I saw my Lady Carteret lately come to towne, who, good lady! is mighty kind, and I must make much of her, for she is a most excellent woman. So took up my wife and away home, and there to bed, and 25th. Up betimes, with all my people to get the letter writ over, and other things done, which I did, and by coach to Lord Bruncker's, and got his hand to it; and then to the Parliament House and got it signed by the rest, and then delivered it at the House-door to Sir Philip Warwicke; Sir G. Carteret being gone into the House with his book of accounts under his arme, to present to the House. I had brought my wife to White Hall, and leaving her with Mrs. Michell, where she sat in her shop and had burnt wine sent for her, I walked in the Hall, and among others with Ned Picketing, who continues still a lying, bragging coxcombe, telling me that my Lord Sandwich may thank himself for all his misfortune; for not suffering him and two or three good honest fellows more to take them by the throats that spoke ill of him, and told me how basely Lionell Walden hath carried himself towards my Lord; by speaking slightly of him, which I shall remember. Thence took my wife home to dinner, and then to the office, where Mr. Hater all the day putting in order and entering in a book all the measures that this account of the Navy hath been made up by, and late at night to Mrs. Turner's, where she had got my wife and Lady Pen and Pegg, and supped, and after, supper and the rest of the company by design gone, Mrs. Turner and her husband did lay their case to me about their lodgings, Sir J. Minnes being now gone wholly to his owne, and now, they being empty, they doubt Sir T. Harvy or Lord Bruncker may look after the lodgings. I did give them the best advice, poor people, that I could, and would do them any kindnesse, though it is strange that now they should have ne'er a friend of Sir W. Batten or Sir W. Pen to trust to but me, that they have disobliged. So home to bed, and all night still mightily troubled in my sleepe, with fire and houses pulling down. 26th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, where every body going to the House, I away by coach to White Hall, and after a few turns, and hearing that our accounts come into the House but to-day, being hindered yesterday by other business, I away by coach home, taking up my wife and calling at Bennet's, our late mercer, who is come into Covent Garden to a fine house looking down upon the Exchange; and I perceive many Londoners every day come; and Mr. Pierce hath let his wife's closett, and the little blind bed chamber, and a garret to a silke man for L50 fine, and L30 per annum, and L40 per annum more for dieting the master and two prentices. So home, not agreeing for silk for a petticoat for her which she desired, but home to dinner and then back to White Hall, leaving my wife by the way to buy her petticoat of Bennet, and I to White Hall waiting all day on the Duke of Yorke to move the King for getting Lanyon some money at Plymouth out of some oyle prizes brought in thither, but could get nothing done, but here Mr. Dugdale I hear the great loss of books in St. Paul's Church-yarde, and at their Hall also, which they value about L150,000; some booksellers being wholly undone, among others, they say, my poor Kirton. And Mr. Crumlu all his books and household stuff burned; they trusting St. Fayth's, and the roof of the church falling, broke the arch down into the lower church, and so all the goods burned. A very great loss. His father hath lost above L1000 in books; one book newly printed, a Discourse, it seems, of Courts. Here I had the hap to see my Lady Denham: and at night went into the dining-room and saw several fine ladies; among others, Castlemayne, but chiefly Denham again; and the Duke of Yorke taking her aside and talking to her in the sight of all the world, all alone; which was strange, and what also I did not like. Here I met with good Mr. Evelyn, who cries out against it, and calls it bitchering,--[This word was apparently of Evelyn's own making.]--for the Duke of Yorke talks a little to her, and then she goes away, and then he follows her again like a dog. He observes that none of the nobility come out of the country at all to help the King, or comfort him, or prevent commotions at this fire; but do as if the King were nobody; nor ne'er a priest comes to give the King and Court good council, or to comfort the poor people that suffer; but all is dead, nothing of good in any of their minds: he bemoans it, and says he fears more ruin hangs over our heads. Thence away by coach, and called away my wife at Unthanke's, where she tells me she hath bought a gowne of 15s. per yard; the same, before her face, my Lady Castlemayne this day bought also, which I seemed vexed for, though I do not grudge it her, but to incline her to have Mercer again, which I believe I shall do, but the girle, I hear, has no mind to come to us again, which vexes me. Being come home, I to Sir W. Batten, and there hear our business was tendered to the House to-day, and a Committee of the whole House chosen to examine our accounts, and a great many Hotspurs enquiring into it, and likely to give us much trouble and blame, and perhaps (which I am afeard of) will find faults enow to demand better officers. This I truly fear. Away with Sir W. Pen, who was there, and he and I walked in the garden by moonlight, and he proposes his and my looking out into Scotland about timber, and to use Pett there; for timber will be a good commodity this time of building the City; and I like the motion, and doubt not that we may do good in it. We did also discourse about our Privateer, and hope well of that also, without much hazard, as, if God blesses us, I hope we shall do pretty well toward getting a penny. I was mightily pleased with our discourse, and so parted, and to the office to finish my journall for three or four days, and so home to supper, and to bed. Our fleete abroad, and the Dutch too, for all we know; the weather very bad; and under the command of an unlucky man, I fear. God bless him, and the fleete under him! 27th. A very furious blowing night all the night; and my mind still mightily perplexed with dreams, and burning the rest of the town, and waking in much pain for the fleete. Up, and with my wife by coach as far as the Temple, and there she to the mercer's again, and I to look out Penny, my tailor, to speak for a cloak and cassock for my brother, who is coming to town; and I will have him in a canonical dress, that he may be the fitter to go abroad with me. I then to the Exchequer, and there, among other things, spoke to Mr. Falconbridge about his girle I heard sing at Nonsuch, and took him and some other 'Chequer men to the Sun Taverne, and there spent 2s. 6d. upon them, and he sent for the girle, and she hath a pretty way of singing, but hath almost forgot for want of practice. She is poor in clothes, and not bred to any carriage, but will be soon taught all, and if Mercer do not come again, I think we may have her upon better terms, and breed her to what we please. Thence to Sir W. Coventry's, and there dined with him and Sir W. Batten, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and Mr. Thin, a pretty gentleman, going to Gottenburgh. Having dined, Sir W. Coventry, Sir W. Batten, and I walked into his closet to consider of some things more to be done in a list to be given to the Parliament of all our ships, and time of entry and discharge. Sir W. Coventry seems to think they will soon be weary of the business, and fall quietly into the giving the King what is fit. This he hopes. Thence I by coach home to the office, and there intending a meeting, but nobody being there but myself and Sir J. Minnes, who is worse than nothing, I did not answer any body, but kept to my business in the office till night, and then Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to me, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, and eat a barrel of oysters I did give them, and so home, and to bed. I have this evening discoursed with W. Hewer about Mercer, I having a mind to have her again; and I am vexed to hear him say that she hath no mind to come again, though her mother hath. No newes of the fleete yet, but that they went by Dover on the 25th towards the Gunfleete, but whether the Dutch be yet abroad, or no, we hear not. De Ruyter is not dead, but like to do well. Most think that the gross of the French fleete are gone home again. 28th. Lay long in bed, and am come to agreement with my wife to have Mercer again, on condition she may learn this winter two months to dance, and she promises me she will endeavour to learn to sing, and all this I am willing enough to. So up, and by and by the glazier comes to finish the windows of my house, which pleases me, and the bookbinder to gild the backs of my books. I got the glass of my book-presses to be done presently, which did mightily content me, and to setting my study in a little better order; and so to my, office to my people, busy about our Parliament accounts; and so to dinner, and then at them again close. At night comes Sir W. Pen, and he and I a turn in the garden, and he broke to me a proposition of his and my joining in a design of fetching timber and deals from Scotland, by the help of Mr. Pett upon the place; which, while London is building, will yield good money. I approve it. We judged a third man, that is knowing, is necessary, and concluded on Sir W. Warren, and sent for him to come to us to-morrow morning. I full of this all night, and the project of our man of war; but he and, I both dissatisfied with Sir W. Batten's proposing his son to be Lieutenant, which we, neither of us, like. He gone, I discoursed with W. Hewer about Mercer, having a great mind she should come to us again, and instructed him what to say to her mother about it. And so home, to supper, and to bed. 29th. A little meeting at the office by Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself, being the first since the fire. We rose soon, and comes Sir W. Warren, by our desire, and with Sir W. Pen and I talked of our Scotch motion, which Sir W. Warren did seem to be stumbled at, and did give no ready answer, but proposed some thing previous to it, which he knows would find us work, or writing to Mr. Pett to be informed how matters go there as to cost and ways of providing sawyers or saw-mills. We were parted without coming to any good resolution in it, I discerning plainly that Sir W. Warren had no mind to it, but that he was surprised at our motion. He gone, I to some office business, and then home to dinner, and then to office again, and then got done by night the lists that are to be presented to the Parliament Committee of the ships, number of men, and time employed since the war, and then I with it (leaving my wife at Unthanke's) to St. James's, where Sir W. Coventry staid for me, and I perused our lists, and find to our great joy that wages, victuals, wear and tear, cast by the medium of the men, will come to above 3,000,000; and that the extraordinaries, which all the world will allow us, will arise to more than will justify the expence we have declared to have been at since the war, viz., L320,000, he and I being both mightily satisfied, he saying to me, that if God send us over this rub we must take another course for a better Comptroller. So parted, and I to my wife [at Unthanke's], who staid for the finishing her new best gowne (the best that ever I made her coloured tabby, flowered, and so took it and her home; and then I to my people, and having cut them out a little more work than they expected, viz., the writing over the lists in new method, I home to bed, being in good humour, and glad of the end we have brought this matter to. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I have not been a good while: and there the church infinitely thronged with strangers since the fire come into our parish; but not one handsome face in all of them, as if, indeed, there was a curse, as Bishop Fuller heretofore said, upon our parish. Here I saw Mercer come into the church, which I had a mind to, but she avoided looking up, which vexed me. A pretty good sermon, and then home, and comes Balty and dined with us. A good dinner; and then to have my haire cut against winter close to my head, and then to church again. A sorry sermon, and away home. [Sir] W. Pen and I to walk to talk about several businesses, and then home; and my wife and I to read in Fuller's Church History, and so to supper and to bed. This month ends with my mind full of business and concernment how this office will speed with the Parliament, which begins to be mighty severe in the examining our accounts, and the expence of the Navy this war. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: About my new closet, for my mind is full of nothing but that About the nature of sounds All the innocent pleasure in the world Angry, and so continued till bed, and did not sleep friends Beare-garden Being examined at Allgate, whether we were husbands and wives Did dig another, and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese Do bury still of the plague seven or eight in a day Durst not ask any body how it was with us Evelyn, who cries out against it, and calls it bitchering Fire grow; and, as it grew darker, appeared more and more Good sport of the bull's tossing of the dogs Great fire they saw in the City Horrid malicious bloody flame I never did observe so much of myself in my life No manner of means used to quench the fire Not permit her begin to do so, lest worse should follow Offered to stop the fire near his house for such a reward Pain to ride in a coach with them, for fear of being seen Plot in it, and that the French had done it Put up with too much care, that I have forgot where they are Removing goods from one burned house to another Sad sight it was: the whole City almost on fire Staying out late, and painting in the absence of her husband There did 'tout ce que je voudrais avec' her This unhappinesse of ours do give them heart Ye pulling down of houses, in ye way of ye fire 
4168	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1666 October 1st, 1666. Up, and all the morning at the office, getting the list of all the ships and vessels employed since the war, for the Committee of Parliament. At noon with it to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there dined with him and [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen, and after dinner examined it and find it will do us much right in the number of men rising to near the expense we delivered to the Parliament. [Sir] W. Coventry and I (the others going before the Committee) to Lord Bruncker's for his hand, and find him simply mighty busy in a council of the Queen's. He come out and took in the papers to sign, and sent them mighty wisely out again. Sir W. Coventry away to the Committee, and I to the Mercer's, and there took a bill of what I owe of late, which comes to about L17. Thence to White Hall, and there did hear Betty Michell was at this end of the towne, and so without breach of vowe did stay to endeavour to meet with her and carry her home; but she did not come, so I lost my whole afternoon. But pretty! how I took another pretty woman for her, taking her a clap on the breech, thinking verily it had been her. Staid till [Sir] W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen come out, and so away home by water with them, and to the office to do some business, and then home, and my wife do tell me that W. Hewer tells her that Mercer hath no mind to come. So I was angry at it, and resolved with her to have Falconbridge's girle, and I think it will be better for us, and will please me better with singing. With this resolution, to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and am sent for to Sir G. Carteret, and to him, and there he tells me how our lists are referred to a Sub-committee to consider and examine, and that I am ordered to be there this afternoon. So I away thence to my new bookbinder to see my books gilding in the backs, and then to White Hall to the House, and spoke to Sir W. Coventry, where he told me I must attend the Committee in the afternoon, and received some hints of more work to do. So I away to the 'Chequer, and thence to an alehouse, and found Mr. Falconbridge, and agreed for his kinswoman to come to me. He says she can dress my wife, and will do anything we would have her to do, and is of a good spirit and mighty cheerful. He is much pleased therewith, and so we shall be. So agreed for her coming the next week. So away home, and eat a short dinner, and then with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and do give his boy my book of papers to hold while he went into the Committee Chamber in the Inner Court of Wards, and I walked without with Mr. Slingsby, of the Tower, who was there, and who did in walking inform me mightily in several things; among others, that the heightening or lowering of money is only a cheat, and do good to some particular men, which, if I can but remember how, I am now by him fully convinced of. Anon Sir W. Pen went away, telling me that Sir W. Coventry that was within had told him that the fleete is all come into the buoy of the Nore, and that he must hasten down to them, and so went away, and I into the Committee Chamber before the Committee sat, and there heard Birch discourse highly and understandingly about the Navy business and a proposal made heretofore to farm the Navy; but Sir W. Coventry did abundantly answer him, and is a most excellent person. By and by the Committee met, and I walked out, and anon they rose and called me in, and appointed me to attend a Committee of them to-morrow at the office to examine our lists. This put me into a mighty fear and trouble; they doing it in a very ill humour, methought. So I away and called on my Lord Bruncker to desire him to be there to-morrow, and so home, having taken up my wife at Unthanke's, full of trouble in mind to think what I shall be obliged to answer, that am neither fully fit, nor in any measure concerned to take the shame and trouble of this office upon me, but only from the inability and folly of the Comptroller that occasions it. When come home I to Sir W. Pen's, to his boy, for my book, and there find he hath it not, but delivered it to the doorekeeper of the Committee for me. This, added to my former disquiet, made me stark mad, considering all the nakedness of the office lay open in papers within those covers. I could not tell in the world what to do, but was mad on all sides, and that which made me worse Captain Cocke was there, and he did so swear and curse at the boy that told me. So Cocke, Griffin, and the boy with me, they to find the housekeeper of the Parliament, Hughes, while I to Sir W. Coventry, but could hear nothing of it there. But coming to our rendezvous at the Swan Taverne, in Ding Streete, I find they have found the housekeeper, and the book simply locked up in the Court. So I staid and drank, and rewarded the doore-keeper, and away home, my heart lighter by all this, but to bed very sad notwithstanding, in fear of what will happen to-morrow upon their coming. 3rd. Waked betimes, mightily troubled in mind, and in the most true trouble that I ever was in my life, saving in the business last year of the East India prizes. So up, and with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer and Griffin to consider of our business, and books and papers necessary for this examination; and by and by, by eight o'clock, comes Birch, the first, with the lists and books of accounts delivered in. He calls me to work, and there he and I begun, when, by and by, comes Garraway, [William Garway, elected M.P. for Chichester, March 26th, 1661, and in 1674 he was appointed by the House to confer with Lord Shaftesbury respecting the charge against Pepys being popishly affected. See note to the Life, vol. i., p, xxxii, and for his character, October 6th, 1666] the first time I ever saw him, and Sir W. Thompson and Mr. Boscawen. They to it, and I did make shift to answer them better than I expected. Sir W. Batten, Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Pen, come in, but presently went out; and [Sir] J. Minnes come in, and said two or three words from the purpose, but to do hurt; and so away he went also, and left me all the morning with them alone to stand or fall. At noon Sir W. Batten comes to them to invite them (though fast day) to dinner, which they did, and good company they were, but especially Garraway. Here I have news brought me of my father's coming to town, and I presently to him, glad to see him, poor man, he being come to town unexpectedly to see us and the city. I could not stay with him, but after dinner to work again, only the Committee and I, till dark night, and by that time they cast up all the lists, and found out what the medium of men was borne all the war, of all sorts, and ended with good peace, and much seeming satisfaction; but I find them wise and reserved, and instructed to hit all our blots, as among others, that we reckon the ships full manned from the beginning. They gone, and my heart eased of a great deale of fear and pain, and reckoning myself to come off with victory, because not overcome in anything or much foiled, I away to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, but he not within, then to White Hall, and there among the ladies, and saw my Lady Castlemaine never looked so ill, nor Mrs. Stewart neither, as in this plain, natural dress. I was not pleased with either of them. Away, not finding [Sir] W. Coventry, and so home, and there find my father and my brother come to towne--my father without my expectation; but glad I am to see him. And so to supper with him, and to work again at the office; then home, to set up all my folio books, which are come home gilt on the backs, very handsome to the eye, and then at midnight to bed. This night [Sir] W. Pen told me [Sir] W. Batten swears he will have nothing to do with the Privateer if his son do not go Lieutenant, which angers me and him; but we will be even with him, one way or other. 4th. Up, and mighty betimes, to [Sir] W. Coventry, to give him an account of yesterday's work, which do give him good content. He did then tell me his speech lately to the House in his owne vindication about the report of his selling of places, he having a small occasion offered him by chance, which he did desire, and took, and did it to his content, and, he says, to the House's seeming to approve of it by their hum. He confessed how long he had done it, and how he desired to have something else; and, since then, he had taken nothing, and challenged all the world. I was glad of this also. Thence up to the Duke of York, by appointment, with fellow officers, to complaine, but to no purpose, of want of money, and so away. I to Sir G. Carteret, to his lodging, and here discoursed much of the want of money and our being designed for destruction. How the King hath lost his power, by submitting himself to this way of examining his accounts, and is become but as a private man. He says the King is troubled at it, but they talk an entry shall be made, that it is not to be brought into example; that the King must, if they do not agree presently, make them a courageous speech, which he says he may do, the City of London being now burned, and himself master of an army, better than any prince before him, and so I believe. Thence home, about noon, to dinner. After dinner the book binder come, and I sent by him some more books to gild. I to the office all day, and spent most of it with Sir W. Warren, whom I have had no discourse with a great while, and when all is done I do find him a mighty wise man as any I know, and his counsel as much to be followed. Late with Mr. Hater upon comparing the charge and husbandry of the last Dutch war with ours now, and do find good roome to think we have done little worse than they, whereof good use may and will be made. So home to supper, and to bed. 5th. Up, and with my father talking awhile, then to the office, and there troubled with a message from Lord Peterborough about money; but I did give as kind answer as I could, though I hate him. Then to Sir G. Carteret to discourse about paying of part of the great ships come in, and so home again to compare the comparison of the two Dutch wars' charges for [Sir] W. Coventry, and then by water (and saw old Mr. Michell digging like a painfull father for his son) to him, and find him at dinner. After dinner to look over my papers, and comparing them with some notes of his and brought me, the sight of some good Navy notes of his which I shall get. Then examined and liked well my notes, and away together to White Hall, in the way discoursing the inconvenience of the King's being thus subject to an account, but it will be remedied for the time to come, he thinks, if we can get this over, and I find he will have the Comptroller's business better done, swearing he will never be for a wit to be employed on business again. Thence I home, and back again to White Hall, and meeting Sir H. Cholmly to White Hall; there walked till night that the Committee come down, and there Sir W. Coventry tells me that the Subcommittee have made their report to the Grand Committee, and in pretty kind terms, and have agreed upon allowing us L4 per head, which I am sure will do the business, but he had endeavoured to have got more, but this do well, and he and I are both mighty glad it is come to this, and the heat of the present business seems almost over. But I have more worke cut out for me, to prepare a list of the extraordinaries, not to be included within the L4, against Monday. So I away from him, and met with the Vice-Chamberlain, and I told him when I had this evening in coming hither met with Captain Cocke, and he told me of a wild motion made in the House of Lords by the Duke of Buckingham for all men that had cheated the King to be declared traitors and felons, and that my Lord Sandwich was named. This put me into a great pain, so the Vice-Chamberlain, who had heard nothing of it, having been all day in the City, away with me to White Hall; and there come to me and told me that, upon Lord Ashly's asking their direction whether, being a peere, he should bring in his accounts to the Commons, which they did give way to, the Duke of Buckingham did move that, for the time to come, what I have written above might be declared by some fuller law than heretofore. Lord Ashly answered, that it was not the fault of the present laws, but want of proof; and so said the Lord Chancellor. He answered, that a better law, he thought, might be made so the House laughing, did refer it to him to bring in a Bill to that purpose, and this was all. So I away with joyful heart home, calling on Cocke and telling him the same. So I away home to the office to clear my Journall for five days, and so home to supper and to bed, my father who had staid out late and troubled me thereat being come home well and gone to bed, which pleases me also. This day, coming home, Mr. Kirton's kinsman, my bookseller, come in my way; and so I am told by him that Mr. Kirton is utterly undone, and made 2 or L3000 worse than nothing, from being worth 7 or L8,000. That the goods laid in the Churchyarde fired through the windows those in St. Fayth's church; and those coming to the warehouses' doors fired them, and burned all the books and the pillars of the church, so as the roof falling down, broke quite down, which it did not do in the other places of the church, which is alike pillared (which I knew not before); but being not burned, they stand still. He do believe there is above; L50,000 of books burned; all the great booksellers almost undone: not only these, but their warehouses at their Hall, and under Christchurch, and elsewhere being all burned. A great want thereof there will be of books, specially Latin books and foreign books; and, among others, the Polyglottes and new Bible, which he believes will be presently worth L40 a-piece. 6th. Up, and having seen my brother in his cassocke, which I am not the most satisfied in, being doubtfull at this time what course to have him profess too soon. To the office and there busy about a list of the extraordinaries of the charge of the fleete this war; and was led to go to the office of the ordnance to be satisfied in something, and find their accounts and books kept in mighty good order, but that they can give no light, nor will the nature of their affairs permit it to tell what the charge of the ordnance comes to a man a month. So home again and to dinner, there coming Creed to me; but what with business and my hatred to the man, I did not spend any time with him, but after dinner [my] wife and he and I took coach and to Westminster, but he 'light about Paul's, and set her at her tailor's, and myself to St. James's, but there missing [Sir] W. Coventry, returned and took up my wife, and calling at the Exchange home, whither Sir H. Cholmly come to visit me, but my business suffered me not to stay with him. So he gone I by water to Westminster Hall and thence to St. James's, and there found [Sir] W. Coventry waiting for me, and I did give him a good account to his mind of the business he expected about extraordinaries and then fell to other talke, among others, our sad condition contracted by want of a Comptroller; [As Sir John Minnes performed the duties inefficiently, it was considered necessary to take the office from him: See January 21st.] and it was his words, that he believes, besides all the shame and trouble he hath brought on the office, the King had better have given L100,000 than ever have had him there. He did discourse about some of these discontented Parliament-men, and says that Birch is a false rogue, but that Garraway is a man that hath not been well used by the Court, though very stout to death, and hath suffered all that is possible for the King from the beginning. But discontented as he is, yet he never knew a Session of Parliament but he hath done some good deed for the King before it rose. I told him the passage Cocke told me of his having begged a brace of bucks of the Lord Arlington for him, and when it come to him, he sent it back again. Sir W. Coventry told me, it is much to be pitied that the King should lose the service of a man so able and faithfull; and that he ought to be brought over, but that it is always observed, that by bringing over one discontented man, you raise up three in his room; which is a State lesson I never knew before. But when others discover your fear, and that discontent procures favour, they will be discontented too, and impose on you. Thence to White Hall and got a coach and home, and there did business late, and so home and set up my little books of one of my presses come home gilt, which pleases me mightily, and then to bed. This morning my wife told me of a fine gentlewoman my Lady Pen tells her of, for L20 per annum, that sings, dances, plays on four or five instruments and many other fine things, which pleases me mightily: and she sent to have her see her, which she did this afternoon; but sings basely, and is a tawdry wench that would take L8, but [neither] my wife nor I think her fit to come. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and after visiting my father in his chamber, to church, and then home to dinner. Little Michell and his wife come to dine with us, which they did, and then presently after dinner I with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, where met by Sir W. Batten and Lord Bruncker, to attend the King and Duke of York at the Cabinet; but nobody had determined what to speak of, but only in general to ask for money. So I was forced immediately to prepare in my mind a method of discoursing. And anon we were called in to the Green Room, where the King, Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Lord Chancellor, Lord Treasurer, Duke of Albemarle, [Sirs] G. Carteret, W. Coventry, Morrice. Nobody beginning, I did, and made a current, and I thought a good speech, laying open the ill state of the Navy: by the greatness of the debt; greatness of work to do against next yeare; the time and materials it would take; and our incapacity, through a total want of money. I had no sooner done, but Prince Rupert rose up and told the King in a heat, that whatever the gentleman had said, he had brought home his fleete in as good a condition as ever any fleete was brought home; that twenty boats would be as many as the fleete would want: and all the anchors and cables left in the storm might be taken up again. This arose from my saying, among other things we had to do, that the fleete was come in--the greatest fleete that ever his Majesty had yet together, and that in as bad condition as the enemy or weather could put it; and to use Sir W. Pen's words, who is upon the place taking a survey, he dreads the reports he is to receive from the Surveyors of its defects. I therefore did only answer, that I was sorry for his Highness's offence, but that what I said was but the report we received from those entrusted in the fleete to inform us. He muttered and repeated what he had said; and so, after a long silence on all hands, nobody, not so much as the Duke of Albemarle, seconding the Prince, nor taking notice of what he said, we withdrew. I was not a little troubled at this passage, and the more when speaking with Jacke Fenn about it, he told me that the Prince will be asking now who this Pepys is, and find him to be a creature of my Lord Sandwich's, and therefore this was done only to disparage him. Anon they broke, up, and Sir W. Coventry come out; so I asked his advice. He told me he had said something to salve it, which was, that his Highnesse had, he believed, rightly informed the King that the fleete is come in good condition to have staid out yet longer, and have fought the enemy, but yet that Mr. Pepys his meaning might be, that, though in so good condition, if they should come in and lie all the winter, we shall be very loth to send them to sea for another year's service with[out] great repairs. He said it would be no hurt if I went to him, and showed him the report himself brought up from the fleete, where every ship, by the Commander's report, do need more or less, and not to mention more of Sir W. Pen for doing him a mischief. So I said I would, but do not think that all this will redound to my hurt, because the truth of what I said will soon appear. Thence, having been informed that, after all this pains, the King hath found out how to supply us with 5 or L6000, when L100,000 were at this time but absolutely necessary, and we mentioned L50,000. This is every day a greater and greater omen of ruine. God fit us for it! Sir J. Minnes and I home (it raining) by coach, calling only on Sir G. Cartefet at his lodging (who is I find troubled at my Lord Treasurer and Sir Ph. Warwicke bungling in his accounts), and come home to supper with my father, and then all to bed. I made my brother in his cassocke to say grace this day, but I like his voice so ill that I begin to be sorry he hath taken this order upon him. 8th. Up and to my office, called up by Commissioner Middleton, newly come to town, but staid not with me; so I to my office busy all the morning. Towards noon, by water to Westminster Hall, and there by several hear that the Parliament do resolve to do something to retrench Sir G. Carteret's great salary; but cannot hear of any thing bad they can lay to his charge. The House did this day order to be engrossed the Bill against importing Irish cattle; a thing, it seems, carried on by the Western Parliament-men, wholly against the sense of most of the rest of the House; who think if you do this, you give the Irish again cause to rebel. Thus plenty on both sides makes us mad. The Committee of the Canary Company of both factions come to me for my Cozen Roger that is of the Committee. Thence with [Sir] W. Coventry when the House rose and [Sir] W. Batten to St. James's, and there agreed of and signed our paper of extraordinaries, and there left them, and I to Unthanke's, where Mr. Falconbridge's girle is, and by and by comes my wife, who likes her well, though I confess I cannot (though she be of my finding out and sings pretty well), because she will be raised from so mean a condition to so high all of a sudden; but she will be much to our profit, more than Mercer, less expense. Here we bespoke anew gowne for her, and to come to us on Friday. She being gone, my wife and I home by coach, and then I presently by water with Mr. Pierce to Westminster Hall, he in the way telling me how the Duke of York and Duke of Albemarle do not agree. The Duke of York is wholly given up to this bitch of Denham. The Duke of Albemarle and Prince Rupert do less agree. So that we are all in pieces, and nobody knows what will be done the next year. The King hath yesterday in Council declared his resolution of setting a fashion for clothes, which he will never alter. [There are several references to this new fashion of dress introduced by the king, Pepys saw the Duke of York put on the vest on the 13th, and he says Charles II. himself put it on on the 15th. On November 4th Pepys dressed himself in the new vest and coat. See notes, October 15th and November 22nd.] It will be a vest, I know not well how; but it is to teach the nobility thrift, and will do good. By and by comes down from the Committee [Sir] W. Coventry, and I find him troubled at several things happened this afternoon, which vexes me also; our business looking worse and worse, and our worke growing on our hands. Time spending, and no money to set anything in hand with; the end thereof must be speedy ruine. The Dutch insult and have taken off Bruant's head, [Captain Du Buat, a Frenchman in the Dutch service, plotted with two magistrates of Rotterdam to obtain a peace with England as the readiest means of pressing the elevation of the Prince of Orange to the office of Captain-General. He was brought before the Supreme Court of Holland, condemned, and executed. He had been one of the household of the Prince of Orange who were dismissed by De Witt.] which they have not dared to do (though found guilty of the fault he did die for, of something of the Prince of Orange's faction) till just now, which speaks more confidence in our being worse than before. Alderman Maynell, I hear, is dead. Thence returned in the darke by coach all alone, full of thoughts of the consequences of this ill complexion of affairs, and how to save myself and the little I have, which if I can do, I have cause to bless God that I am so well, and shall be well contented to retreat to Brampton, and spend the rest of my days there. So to my office, and did some business, and finished my Journall with resolutions, if God bless me, to apply myself soberly to settle all matters for myself, and expect the event of all with comfort. So home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where we sat the first day since the fire, I think. At noon home, and my uncle Thomas was there, and dined with my brother and I (my father and I were gone abroad), and then to the office again in the afternoon, and there close all day long, and did much business. At night to Sir W. Batten, where Sir R. Ford did occasion some discourse of sending a convoy to the Maderas; and this did put us upon some new thoughts of sending our privateer thither on merchants' accounts, which I have more mind to, the profit being certain and occasion honest withall. So home, and to supper with my father, and then to set my remainder of my books gilt in order with much pleasure, and so late to bed. 10th (Fast-day for the fire). Up with Sir W. Batten by water to White Hall, and anon had a meeting before the Duke of York, where pretty to see how Sir W. Batten, that carried the surveys of all the fleete with him, to shew their ill condition to the Duke of York, when he found the Prince there, did not speak one word, though the meeting was of his asking--for nothing else. And when I asked him, he told me he knew the Prince too well to anger him, so that he was afeard to do it. Thence with him to Westminster, to the parish church, where the Parliament-men, and Stillingfleete in the pulpit. So full, no standing there; so he and I to eat herrings at the Dog Taverne. And then to church again, and there was Mr. Frampton in the pulpit, they cry up so much, a young man, and of a mighty ready tongue. I heard a little of his sermon, and liked it; but the crowd so great, I could not stay. So to the Swan, and 'baise la fille', and drank, and then home by coach, and took father, wife, brother, and W. Hewer to Islington, where I find mine host dead. Here eat and drank, and merry; and so home, and to the office a while, and then to Sir W. Batten to talk a while, and with Captain Cocke into the office to hear his newes, who is mighty conversant with Garraway and those people, who tells me what they object as to the maladministration of things as to money. But that they mean well, and will do well; but their reckonings are very good, and show great faults, as I will insert here. They say the king hath had towards this war expressly thus much Royal Ayde.................................... L2,450,000 More.......................................... 1,250,000 Three months' tax given the King by a power of raising a month's tax of L70,000 every year for three years..................... 0,210,000 Customes, out of which the King did promise to pay L240,000, which for two years comes to.................................. 0,480,000 Prizes, which they moderately reckon at........ 0,300,000 A debt declared by the Navy, by us............. 0,900,000 ---------- 5,590,000 The whole charge of the Navy, as we state it for two years and a month, hath been but.. 3,200,000 So what is become of all this sum?........ 2,390,000 He and I did bemoan our public condition. He tells me the Duke of Albemarle is under a cloud, and they have a mind at Court to lay him aside. This I know not; but all things are not right with him, and I am glad of it, but sorry for the time. So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night, [See Life, vol. i., p. xxi., where the register of St. Margaret's parish, Westminster, is quoted to the effect that Pepys was married December 1st, 1655. It seems incomprehensible that both husband and wife should have been wrong as to the date of their wedding day, but Mrs. Pepys was unquestionably wrong as to the number of years, for they had been married nearly eleven.] but how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten. 11th. Up, and discoursed with my father of my sending some money for safety into the country, for I am in pain what to do with what I have. I did give him money, poor man, and he overjoyed. So left him, and to the office, where nothing but sad evidences of ruine coming on us for want of money. So home to dinner, which was a very good dinner, my father, brother, wife and I, and then to the office again, where I was all the afternoon till very late, busy, and then home to supper and to bed. Memorandum. I had taken my Journall during the fire and the disorders following in loose papers until this very day, and could not get time to enter them in my book till January 18, in the morning, having made my eyes sore by frequent attempts this winter to do it. But now it is done, for which I thank God, and pray never the like occasion may happen. 12th. Up, and after taking leave of my poor father, who is setting out this day for Brampton by the Cambridge coach, he having taken a journey to see the city burned, and to bring my brother to towne, I out by water; and so coach to St. James's, the weather being foul; and there, from Sir W. Coventry, do hear how the House have cut us off L150,000 of our wear and tear, for that which was saved by the King while the fleete lay in harbour in winter. However, he seems pleased, and so am I, that they have abated no more, and do intend to allow of 28,000 men for the next year; and this day have appointed to declare the sum they will give the King, [The parliament voted this day a supply of L1,800,000 sterling. See below.] and to propose the way of raising it; so that this is likely to be the great day. This done in his chamber, I with him to Westminster Hall, and there took a few turns, the Hall mighty full of people, and the House likely to be very full to-day about the money business. Here I met with several people, and do find that people have a mighty mind to have a fling at the Vice-Chamberlain, if they could lay hold of anything, his place being, indeed, too much for such, they think, or any single subject of no greater parts and quality than he, to enjoy. But I hope he may weather all, though it will not be by any dexterity of his, I dare say, if he do stand, but by his fate only, and people's being taken off by other things. Thence home by coach, mighty dirty weather, and then to the Treasurer's office and got a ticket paid for my little Michell, and so again by coach to Westminster, and come presently after the House rose. So to the Swan, and there sent for a piece of meat and dined alone and played with Sarah, and so to the Hall a while, and thence to Mrs. Martin's lodging and did what I would with her. She is very big, and resolves I must be godfather. Thence away by water with Cropp to Deptford. It was almost night before I got thither. So I did only give directions concerning a press that I have making there to hold my turning and joyner's tooles that were lately given me, which will be very handsome, and so away back again, it being now dark, and so home, and there find my wife come home, and hath brought her new girle I have helped her to, of Mr. Falconbridge's. She is wretched poor; and but ordinary favoured; and we fain to lay out seven or eight pounds worth of clothes upon her back, which, methinks, do go against my heart; and I do not think I can ever esteem her as I could have done another that had come fine and handsome; and which is more, her voice, for want of use, is so furred, that it do not at present please me; but her manner of singing is such, that I shall, I think, take great pleasure in it. Well, she is come, and I wish us good fortune in her. Here I met with notice of a meeting of the Commissioners for Tangier tomorrow, and so I must have my accounts ready for them, which caused me to confine myself to my chamber presently and set to the making up my accounts, which I find very clear, but with much difficulty by reason of my not doing them sooner, things being out of my mind. 13th. It cost me till four o'clock in the morning, and, which was pretty to think, I was above an hour, after I had made all right, in casting up of about twenty sums, being dozed with much work, and had for forty times together forgot to carry the 60 which I had in my mind, in one denomination which exceeded 60; and this did confound me for above an hour together. At last all even and done, and so to bed. Up at seven, and so to the office, after looking over my last night's work. We sat all the morning. At noon by coach with my Lord Bruncker and 'light at the Temple, and so alone I to dinner at a cooke's, and thence to my Lord Bellasses, whom I find kind; but he had drawn some new proposal to deliver to the Lords Commissioners to-day, wherein one was, that the garrison would not be well paid without some goldsmith's undertaking the paying of the bills of exchange for Tallys. He professing so much kindness to me, and saying that he would not be concerned in the garrison without me; and that if he continued in the employment, no man should have to do with the money but myself. I did ask his Lordship's meaning of the proposition in his paper. He told me he had not much considered it, but that he meant no harm to me. I told him I thought it would render me useless; whereupon he did very frankly, after my seeming denials for a good while, cause it to be writ over again, and that clause left out, which did satisfy me abundantly. It being done, he and I together to White Hall, and there the Duke of York (who is gone over to all his pleasures again, and leaves off care of business, what with his woman, my Lady Denham, and his hunting three times a week) was just come in from hunting. So I stood and saw him dress himself, and try on his vest, which is the King's new fashion, and will be in it for good and all on Monday next, and the whole Court: it is a fashion, the King says; he will never change. He being ready, he and my Lord Chancellor, and Duke of Albemarle, and Prince Rupert, Lord Bellasses, Sir H. Cholmly, Povy, and myself, met at a Committee for Tangier. My Lord Bellasses's propositions were read and discoursed of, about reducing the garrison to less charge; and indeed I am mad in love with my Lord Chancellor, for he do comprehend and speak out well, and with the greatest easinesse and authority that ever I saw man in my life. I did never observe how much easier a man do speak when he knows all the company to be below him, than in him; for though he spoke, indeed, excellent welt, yet his manner and freedom of doing it, as if he played with it, and was informing only all the rest of the company, was mighty pretty. He did call again and again upon Mr. Povy for his accounts. I did think fit to make the solemn tender of my accounts that I intended. I said something that was liked, touching the want of money, and the bad credit of our tallys. My Lord Chancellor moved, that without any trouble to any of the rest of the Lords, I might alone attend the King, when he was with his private Council; and open the state of the garrison's want of credit; and all that could be done, should. Most things moved were referred to Committees, and so we broke up. And at the end Sir W. Coventry come; so I away with him, and he discoursed with me something of the Parliament's business. They have voted giving the [King] for next year L1,800,000; which, were it not for his debts, were a great sum. He says, he thinks the House may say no more to us for the present, but that we must mend our manners against the next tryall, and mend them we will. But he thinks it not a fit time to be found making of trouble among ourselves, meaning about Sir J. Minnes, who most certainly must be removed, or made a Commissioner, and somebody else Comptroller. But he tells me that the House has a great envy at Sir G. Carteret, and that had he ever thought fit in all his discourse to have touched upon the point of our want of money and badness of payment, it would have been laid hold on to Sir G. Carteret's hurt; but he hath avoided it, though without much reason for it, most studiously, and in short did end thus, that he has never shewn so much of the pigeon in all his life as in his innocence to Sir G. Carteret at this time; which I believe, and will desire Sir G. Carteret to thank him for it. So we broke up and I by coach home, calling for a new pair of shoes, and so, little being to do at the office, did go home, and after spending a little in righting some of my books, which stood out of order, I to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, among other things, talking of my wife's renewing her acquaintance with Mrs. Pierce, which, by my wife's ill using her when she was here last, hath been interrupted. Herein we were a little angry together, but presently friends again; and so up, and I to church, which was mighty full, and my beauties, Mrs. Lethulier and fair Batelier, both there. A very foul morning, and rained; and sent for my cloake to go out of the church with. So dined, and after dinner (a good discourse thereat to my brother) he and I by water to White Hall, and he to Westminster Abbey. Here I met with Sir Stephen Fox, who told me how much right I had done myself, and how well it is represented by the Committee to the House, my readinesse to give them satisfaction in everything when they were at the office. I was glad of this. He did further discourse of Sir W. Coventry's, great abilities, and how necessary it were that I were of the House to assist him. I did not owne it, but do myself think it were not unnecessary if either he should die, or be removed to the Lords, or any thing to hinder his doing the like service the next trial, which makes me think that it were not a thing very unfit; but I will not move in it. He and I parted, I to Mrs. Martin's, thinking to have met Mrs. Burrows, but she was not there, so away and took my brother out of the Abbey and home, and there to set some accounts right, and to the office to even my Journall, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Called up, though a very rainy morning, by Sir H. Cholmley, and he and I most of the morning together evening of accounts, which I was very glad of. Then he and I out to Sir Robt. Viner's, at the African house (where I had not been since he come thither); but he was not there; but I did some business with his people, and then to Colvill's, who, I find, lives now in Lyme Streete, and with the same credit as ever, this fire having not done them any wrong that I hear of at all. Thence he and I together to Westminster Hall, in our way talking of matters and passages of state, the viciousness of the Court; the contempt the King brings himself into thereby; his minding nothing, but doing all things just as his people about him will have it; the Duke of York becoming a slave to this whore Denham, and wholly minds her; that there really was amours between the Duchesse and Sidney; a that there is reason to fear that, as soon as the Parliament have raised this money, the King will see that he hath got all that he can get, and then make up a peace. He tells me, what I wonder at, but that I find it confirmed by Mr. Pierce, whom I met by-and-by in the Hall, that Sir W. Coventry is of the caball with the Duke of York, and Bruncker, with this Denham; which is a shame, and I am sorry for it, and that Sir W. Coventry do make her visits; but yet I hope it is not so. Pierce tells me, that as little agreement as there is between the Prince--[Rupert]--and Duke of Albemarle, yet they are likely to go to sea again; for the first will not be trusted alone, and nobody will go with him but this Duke of Albemarle. He tells me much how all the commanders of the fleete and officers that are sober men do cry out upon their bad discipline, and the ruine that must follow it if it continue. But that which I wonder most at, it seems their secretaries have been the most exorbitant in their fees to all sorts of the people, that it is not to be believed that they durst do it, so as it is believed they have got L800 apiece by the very vacancies in the fleete. He tells me that Lady Castlemayne is concluded to be with child again; and that all the people about the King do make no scruple of saying that the King do lie with Mrs. Stewart, who, he says, is a most excellent-natured lady. This day the King begins to put on his vest, and I did see several persons of the House of Lords and Commons too, great courtiers, who are in it; being a long cassocke close to the body, of black cloth, and pinked with white silke under it, and a coat over it, and the legs ruffled with black riband like a pigeon's leg; and, upon the whole, I wish the King may keep it, for it is a very fine and handsome garment. [Evelyn describes the new fashion as "a comely dress after ye Persian mode" (see "Diary," October 18th, 1666). He adds that he had described the "comelinesse and usefulnesse" of the Persian clothing in his pamphlet entitled "Tyrannus, or the Mode." "I do not impute to this discourse the change which soone happen'd, but it was an identity I could not but take notice of." Rugge, in his "Diurnal," thus describes the new Court costume "1666, Oct. 11. In this month His Majestie and whole Court changed the fashion of their clothes-viz. a close coat of cloth, pinkt with a white taffety under the cutts. This in length reached the calf of the leg, and upon that a sercoat cutt at the breast, which hung loose and shorter than the vest six inches. The breeches the Spanish cut, and buskins some of cloth, some of leather, but of the same colour as the vest or garment; of never the like fashion since William the Conqueror." It is represented in a portrait of Lord Arlington, by Sir P. Lely, formerly belonging to Lord de Clifford, and engraved in Lodge's "Portraits." Louis XIV. ordered his servants to wear the dress. See November 22.] Walking with Pierce in the Court of Wards out comes Sir W. Coventry, and he and I talked of business. Among others I proposed the making Sir J. Minnes a Commissioner, and make somebody else Comptroller. He tells me it is the thing he hath been thinking of, and hath spoke to the Duke of York of it. He believes it will be done; but that which I fear is that Pen will be Comptroller, which I shall grudge a little. The Duke of Buckingham called him aside and spoke a good while with him. I did presently fear it might be to discourse something of his design to blemish my Lord of Sandwich, in pursuance of the wild motion he made the other day in the House. Sir W. Coventry, when he come to me again, told me that he had wrought a miracle, which was, the convincing the Duke of Buckingham that something--he did not name what--that he had intended to do was not fit to be done, and that the Duke is gone away of that opinion. This makes me verily believe it was something like what I feared. By and by the House rose, and then we parted, and I with Sir G. Carteret, and walked in the Exchequer Court, discoursing of businesses. Among others, I observing to him how friendly Sir W. Coventry had carried himself to him in these late inquiries, when, if he had borne him any spleen, he could have had what occasion he pleased offered him, he did confess he found the same thing, and would thanke him for it. I did give him some other advices, and so away with him to his lodgings at White Hall to dinner, where my Lady Carteret is, and mighty kind, both of them, to me. Their son and my Lady Jemimah will be here very speedily. She tells me the ladies are to go into a new fashion shortly, and that is, to wear short coats, above their ancles; which she and I do not like, but conclude this long trayne to be mighty graceful. But she cries out of the vices of the Court, and how they are going to set up plays already; and how, the next day after the late great fast, the Duchesse of York did give the King and Queene a play. Nay, she told me that they have heretofore had plays at Court the very nights before the fast for the death of the late King: She do much cry out upon these things, and that which she believes will undo the whole nation; and I fear so too. After dinner away home, Mr. Brisband along with me as far as the Temple, and there looked upon a new booke, set out by one Rycault, secretary to my Lord Winchelsea, of the policy and customs of the Turks, which is, it seems, much cried up. But I could not stay, but home, where I find Balty come back, and with him some muster-books, which I am glad of, and hope he will do me credit in his employment. By and by took coach again and carried him home, and my wife to her tailor's, while I to White Hall to have found out Povy, but miss him and so call in my wife and home again, where at Sir W. Batten's I met Sir W. Pen, lately come from the fleete at the Nore; and here were many good fellows, among others Sir R. Holmes, who is exceeding kind to me, more than usual, which makes me afeard of him, though I do much wish his friendship. Thereupon, after a little stay, I withdrew, and to the office and awhile, and then home to supper and to my chamber to settle a few papers, and then to bed. This day the great debate was in Parliament, the manner of raising the L1,800,000 they voted [the King] on Friday; and at last, after many proposals, one moved that the Chimney-money might be taken from the King, and an equal revenue of something else might be found for the King, and people be enjoyned to buy off this tax of Chimney-money for ever at eight years' purchase, which will raise present money, as they think, L1,600,000, and the State be eased of an ill burthen and the King be supplied of something as food or better for his use. The House seems to like this, and put off the debate to to-morrow. 16th. Up, and to the office, where sat to do little business but hear clamours for money. At noon home to dinner, and to the office again, after hearing my brother play a little upon the Lyra viall, which he do so as to show that he hath a love to musique and a spirit for it, which I am well pleased with. All the afternoon at the office, and at night with Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, [and Sir] J. Minnes, at [Sir] W. Pen's lodgings, advising about business and orders fit presently to make about discharging of ships come into the river, and which to pay first, and many things in order thereto. But it vexed me that, it being now past seven o'clock, and the businesses of great weight, and I had done them by eight o'clock, and sending them to be signed, they were all gone to bed, and Sir W. Pen, though awake, would not, being in bed, have them brought to him to sign; this made me quite angry. Late at work at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. Not come to any resolution at the Parliament to-day about the manner of raising this L1,800,000. 17th. Up, and busy about public and private business all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, alone with my brother, with whom I had now the first private talke I have had, and find he hath preached but twice in his life. I did give him some advice to study pronunciation; but I do fear he will never make a good speaker, nor, I fear, any general good scholar, for I do not see that he minds optickes or mathematiques of any sort, nor anything else that I can find. I know not what he may be at divinity and ordinary school-learning. However, he seems sober, and that pleases me. After dinner took him and my wife and Barker (for so is our new woman called, and is yet but a sorry girle), and set them down at Unthanke's, and so to White Hall, and there find some of my brethren with the Duke of York, but so few I put off the meeting. So staid and heard the Duke discourse, which he did mighty scurrilously, of the French, and with reason, that they should give Beaufort orders when he was to bring, and did bring, his fleete hither, that his rendezvous for his fleete, and for all sluggs to come to, should be between Calais and Dover; which did prove the taking of La Roche[lle], who, among other sluggs behind, did, by their instructions, make for that place, to rendezvous with the fleete; and Beaufort, seeing them as he was returning, took them for the English fleete, and wrote word to the King of France that he had passed by the English fleete, and the English fleete durst not meddle with him. The Court is all full of vests, only my Lord St. Albans not pinked but plain black; and they say the King says the pinking upon white makes them look too much like magpyes, and therefore hath bespoke one of plain velvet. Thence to St. James's by coach, and spoke, at four o'clock or five, with Sir W. Coventry, newly come from the House, where they have sat all this day and not come to an end of the debate how the money shall be raised. He tells me that what I proposed to him the other day was what he had himself thought on and determined, and that he believes it will speedily be done--the making Sir J. Minnes a Commissioner, and bringing somebody else to be Comptroller, and that (which do not please me, I confess, for my own particulars, so well as Sir J. Minnes) will, I fear, be Sir W. Pen, for he is the only fit man for it. Away from him and took up my wife, and left her at Temple Bar to buy some lace for a petticoat, and I took coach and away to Sir R. Viner's about a little business, and then home, and by and by to my chamber, and there late upon making up an account for the Board to pass to-morrow, if I can get them, for the clearing all my imprest bills, which if I can do, will be to my very good satisfaction. Having done this, then to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. The waters so high in the roads, by the late rains, that our letters come not in till to-day, and now I understand that my father is got well home, but had a painful journey of it. At noon with Lord Bruncker to St. Ellen's, where the master of the late Pope's Head Taverne is now set up again, and there dined at Sir W. Warren's cost, a very good dinner. Here my Lord Bruncker proffered to carry me and my wife into a play at Court to-night, and to lend me his coach home, which tempted me much; but I shall not do it. Thence rose from table before dinner ended, and homewards met my wife, and so away by coach towards Lovett's (in the way wondering at what a good pretty wench our Barker makes, being now put into good clothes, and fashionable, at my charge; but it becomes her, so that I do not now think much of it, and is an example of the power of good clothes and dress), where I stood godfather. But it was pretty, that, being a Protestant, a man stood by and was my Proxy to answer for me. A priest christened it, and the boy's name is Samuel. The ceremonies many, and some foolish. The priest in a gentleman's dress, more than my owne; but is a Capuchin, one of the Queene-mother's priests. He did give my proxy and the woman proxy (my Lady Bills, absent, had a proxy also) good advice to bring up the child, and, at the end, that he ought never to marry the child nor the godmother, nor the godmother the child or the godfather: but, which is strange, they say that the mother of the child and the godfather may marry. By and by the Lady Bills come in, a well-bred but crooked woman. The poor people of the house had good wine, and a good cake; and she a pretty woman in her lying-in dress. It cost me near 40s. the whole christening: to midwife 20s., nurse 10s., mayde 2s. 6d., and the coach 5s. I was very well satisfied with what I have done, and so home and to the office, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, and there hear how the business of buying off the Chimney-money is passed in the House; and so the King to be satisfied some other way, and the King supplied with the money raised by this purchasing off of the chimnies. So home, mightily pleased in mind that I have got my bills of imprest cleared by bills signed this day, to my good satisfaction. To supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Ashly's, and thence (he being gone out), to the Exchequer chamber, and there find him and my Lord Bellasses about my Lord Bellasses' accounts, which was the business I went upon. This was soon ended, and then I with Creed back home to my house, and there he and I did even accounts for salary, and by that time dinner was ready, and merry at dinner, and then abroad to Povy's, who continues as much confounded in all his business as ever he was; and would have had me paid money, as like a fool as himself, which I troubled him in refusing; but I did persist in it. After a little more discourse, I left them, and to White Hall, where I met with Sir Robert Viner, who told me a little of what, in going home, I had seen; also a little of the disorder and mutiny among the seamen at the Treasurer's office, which did trouble me then and all day since, considering how many more seamen will come to towne every day, and no money for them. A Parliament sitting, and the Exchange close by, and an enemy to hear of, and laugh at it. [The King of Denmark was induced to conclude a treaty with the United Provinces, a secret article of which bound him to declare war against England. The order in council for the printing and publishing a declaration of war against Denmark is dated "Whitehall, Sept. 19, 1666;" annexed is "A True Declaration of all transactions between his Majesty of Great Britain and the King of Denmark, with a declaration of war against the said king, and the motives that obliged his Majesty thereunto" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 140).] Viner too, and Backewell, were sent for this afternoon; and was before the King and his Cabinet about money; they declaring they would advance no more, it being discoursed of in the House of Parliament for the King to issue out his privy-seals to them to command them to trust him, which gives them reason to decline trusting. But more money they are persuaded to lend, but so little that (with horrour I speake it), coming after the Council was up, with Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Coventry, Lord Bruncker, and myself, I did lay the state of our condition before the Duke of York, that the fleete could not go out without several things it wanted, and we could not have without money, particularly rum and bread, which we have promised the man Swan to helpe him to L200 of his debt, and a few other small sums of L200 a piece to some others, and that I do foresee the Duke of York would call us to an account why the fleete is not abroad, and we cannot answer otherwise than our want of money; and that indeed we do not do the King any service now, but do rather abuse and betray his service by being there, and seeming to do something, while we do not. Sir G. Carteret asked me (just in these words, for in this and all the rest I set down the very words for memory sake, if there should be occasion) whether L50 or L60 would do us any good; and when I told him the very rum man must have L200, he held up his eyes as if we had asked a million. Sir W. Coventry told the Duke of York plainly he did rather desire to have his commission called in than serve in so ill a place, where he cannot do the King service, and I did concur in saying the same. This was all very plain, and the Duke of York did confess that he did not see how we could do anything without a present supply of L20,000, and that he would speak to the King next Council day, and I promised to wait on him to put him in mind of it. This I set down for my future justification, if need be, and so we broke up, and all parted, Sir W. Coventry being not very well, but I believe made much worse by this night's sad discourse. So I home by coach, considering what the consequence of all this must be in a little time. Nothing but distraction and confusion; which makes me wish with all my heart that I were well and quietly settled with what little I have got at Brampton, where I might live peaceably, and study, and pray for the good of the King and my country. Home, and to Sir W. Batten's, where I saw my Lady, who is now come down stairs after a great sickness. Sir W. Batten was at the pay to-day, and tells me how rude the men were, but did go away quietly, being promised pay on Wednesday next. God send us money for it! So to the office, and then to supper and to bed. Among other things proposed in the House to-day, to give the King in lieu of chimneys, there was the bringing up of sealed paper, such as Sir J. Minnes shewed me to-night, at Sir W. Batten's, is used in Spayne, and brings the King a great revenue; but it shows what shifts we are put to too much. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where none met but myself. So I walked a good while with Mr. Gawden in the garden, who is lately come from the fleete at the buoy of the Nore, and he do tell me how all the sober commanders, and even Sir Thomas Allen himself, do complain of the ill government of the fleete. How Holmes and Jennings have commanded all the fleete this yeare, that nothing is done upon deliberation, but if a sober man give his opinion otherwise than the Prince would have it the Prince would cry, "Damn him, do you follow your orders, and that is enough for you." He tells me he hears of nothing but of swearing and drinking and whoring, and all manner of profaneness, quite through the whole fleete. He being gone, there comes to me Commissioner Middleton, whom I took on purpose to walk in the garden with me, and to learn what he observed when the fleete was at Portsmouth. He says that the fleete was in such a condition, as to discipline, as if the Devil had commanded it; so much wickedness of all sorts. Enquiring how it come to pass that so many ships miscarried this year, he tells me that he enquired; and the pilots do say, that they dare not do nor go but as the Captains will have them; and if they offer to do otherwise, the Captains swear they will run them through. He says that he heard Captain Digby (my Lord of Bristoll's son, a young fellow that never was but one year, if that, in the fleete) say that he did hope he should not see a tarpaulin have the command of a ship within this twelve months. He observed while he was on board the Admirall, when the fleete was at Portsmouth, that there was a faction there. Holmes commanded all on the Prince's side, and Sir Jeremy Smith on the Duke's, and every body that come did apply themselves to one side or other; and when the Duke of Albemarle was gone away to come hither, then Sir Jeremy Smith did hang his head, and walked in the Generall's ship but like a private commander. He says he was on board The Prince, when the newes come of the burning of London; and all the Prince said was, that now Shipton's prophecy was out; and he heard a young commander presently swear, that now a citizen's wife that would not take under half a piece before, would be occupied for half-a-crowne: and made mighty sport of it. He says that Hubberd that commanded this year the Admiral's ship is a proud conceited fellow (though I thought otherwise of him), and fit to command a single ship but not a fleete, and he do wonder that there hath not been more mischief this year than there hath. He says the fleete come to anchor between the Horse and the Island, so that when they came to weigh many of the ships could not turn, but run foul of the Horse, and there stuck, but that the weather was good. He says that nothing can do the King more disservice, nor please the standing officers of the ship better than these silly commanders that now we have, for they sign to anything that their officers desire of them, nor have judgment to contradict them if they would. He told me other good things, which made me bless God that we have received no greater disasters this year than we have, though they have been the greatest that ever was known in England before, put all their losses of the King's ships by want of skill and seamanship together from the beginning. He being gone, comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I walked together awhile, discoursing upon the sad condition of the times, what need we have, and how impossible it is to get money. He told me my Lord Chancellor the other day did ask him how it come to pass that his friend Pepys do so much magnify all things to worst, as I did on Sunday last, in the bad condition of the fleete. Sir G. Carteret tells me that he answered him, that I was but the mouth of the rest, and spoke what they have dictated to me; which did, as he says, presently take off his displeasure. So that I am well at present with him, but I must have a care not to be over busy in the office again, and burn my fingers. He tells me he wishes he had sold his place at some good rate to somebody or other at the beginning of the warr, and that he would do it now, but no body will deale with him for it. He tells me the Duke of Albemarle is very much discontented, and the Duke of York do not, it seems, please him. He tells me that our case as to money is not to be made good at present, and therefore wishes a good and speedy peace before it be too late, and from his discourse methinks I find that there is something moving towards it. Many people at the office, but having no more of the office I did put it off till the next meeting. Thence, with Sir G. Carteret, home to dinner, with him, my Lady and Mr. Ashburnham, the Cofferer. Here they talk that the Queene hath a great mind to alter her fashion, and to have the feet seen, which she loves mightily; and they do believe that it [will] come into it in a little time. Here I met with the King's declaration about his proceedings with the King of Denmarke, and particularly the business of Bergen; but it is so well writ, that, if it be true, the King of Denmarke is one of the most absolute wickednesse in the world for a person of his quality. After dinner home, and there met Mr. Povy by appointment, and there he and I all the afternoon, till late at night, evening of all accounts between us, which we did to both our satisfaction; but that which troubles me most is, that I am to refund to the ignoble Lord Peterborough what he had given us six months ago, because we did not supply him with money; but it is no great matter. He gone I to the office, and there did some business; and so home, my mind in good ease by having done with Povy in order to the adjusting of all my accounts in a few days. So home to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and her new woman Barker with her the first time. The girle will, I think, do very well. Here a lazy sermon, and so home to dinner, and took in my Lady Pen and Peg (Sir William being below with the fleete), and mighty merry we were, and then after dinner presently (it being a mighty cool day) I by coach to White Hall, and there attended the Cabinet, and was called in before the King and them to give an account of our want of money for Tangier, which troubles me that it should be my place so often and so soon after one another to come to speak there of their wants--the thing of the world that they love least to hear of, and that which is no welcome thing to be the solicitor for--and to see how like an image the King sat and could not speak one word when I had delivered myself was very strange; only my Lord Chancellor did ask me, whether I thought it was in nature at this time to help us to anything. So I was referred to another meeting of the Lords Commissioners for Tangier and my Lord Treasurer, and so went away, and by coach home, where I spent the evening in reading Stillingfleet's defence of the Archbishopp, the part about Purgatory, a point I had never considered before, what was said for it or against it, and though I do believe we are in the right, yet I do not see any great matter in this book. So to supper; and my people being gone, most of them, to bed, my boy and Jane and I did get two of my iron chests out of the cellar into my closett, and the money to my great satisfaction to see it there again, and the rather because the damp cellar spoils all my chests. This being done, and I weary, to bed. This afternoon walking with Sir H. Cholmly long in the gallery, he told me, among many other things, how Harry Killigrew is banished the Court lately, for saying that my Lady Castlemayne was a little lecherous girle when she was young . . . . This she complained to the King of, and he sent to the Duke of York, whose servant he is, to turn him away. The Duke of York hath done it, but takes it ill of my Lady that he was not complained to first. She attended him to excute it, but ill blood is made by it. He told me how Mr. Williamson stood in a little place to have come into the House of Commons, and they would not choose him; they said, "No courtier." And which is worse, Bab May went down in great state to Winchelsea with the Duke of York's letters, not doubting to be chosen; and there the people chose a private gentleman in spite of him, and cried out they would have no Court pimp to be their burgesse; which are things that bode very ill. This afternoon I went to see and sat a good while with Mrs. Martin, and there was her sister Doll, with whom, contrary to all expectation, I did what I would, and might have done anything else. 22nd. Up, and by coach to Westminster Hall, there thinking to have met Betty Michell, who I heard yesterday staid all night at her father's, but she was gone. So I staid a little and then down to the bridge by water, and there overtook her and her father. So saluted her and walked over London Bridge with them and there parted, the weather being very foul, and so to the Tower by water, and so heme, where I find Mr. Caesar playing the treble to my boy upon the Theorbo, the first time I heard him, which pleases me mightily. After dinner I carried him and my wife towards Westminster, by coach, myself 'lighting at the Temple, and there, being a little too soon, walked in the Temple Church, looking with pleasure on the monuments and epitaphs, and then to my Lord Belasses, where Creed and Povy by appointment met to discourse of some of their Tangier accounts between my Lord and Vernatty, who will prove a very knave. That being done I away with Povy to White Hall, and thence I to Unthanke's, and there take up my wife, and so home, it being very foule and darke. Being there come, I to the settling of some of my money matters in my chests, and evening some accounts, which I was at late, to my extraordinary content, and especially to see all things hit so even and right and with an apparent profit and advantage since my last accounting, but how much I cannot particularly yet come to adjudge. 23rd. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon Sir W. Batten told me Sir Richard Ford would accept of one-third of my profit of our private man-of-war, and bear one-third of the charge, and be bound in the Admiralty, so I shall be excused being bound, which I like mightily of, and did draw up a writing, as well as I could, to that purpose and signed and sealed it, and so he and Sir R. Ford are to go to enter into bond this afternoon. Home to dinner, and after dinner, it being late, I down by water to Shadwell, to see Betty Michell, the first time I was ever at their new dwelling since the fire, and there find her in the house all alone. I find her mighty modest. But had her lips as much as I would, and indeed she is mighty pretty, that I love her exceedingly. I paid her L10 1s. that I received upon a ticket for her husband, which is a great kindness I have done them, and having kissed her as much as I would, I away, poor wretch, and down to Deptford to see Sir J. Minnes ordering of the pay of some ships there, which he do most miserably, and so home. Bagwell's wife, seeing me come the fields way, did get over her pales to come after and talk with me, which she did for a good way, and so parted, and I home, and to the office, very busy, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there find little Michell come to his new shop that he hath built there in the room of his house that was burned. I hope he will do good here. I drank and bade him joy, for I love him and his wife well, him for his care, and her for her person, and so to White Hall, where we attended the Duke; and to all our complaints for want of money, which now we are tired out with making, the Duke only tells us that he is sorry for it, and hath spoke to the King of it, and money we shall have as soon as it can be found; and though all the issue of the war lies upon it, yet that is all the answer we can get, and that is as bad or worse than nothing. Thence to Westminster Hall, where the term is begun, and I did take a turn or two, and so away by coach to Sir R. Viner's, and there received some money, and then home and to dinner. After dinner to little business, and then abroad with my wife, she to see her brother, who is sick, and she believes is from some discontent his wife hath given him by her loose carriage, which he is told, and he hath found has been very suspicious in his absence, which I am sorry for. I to the Hall and there walked long, among others talking with Mr. Hayes, Prince Rupert's Secretary, a very ingenious man, and one, I think, fit to contract some friendship with. Here I staid late, walking to and again, hearing how the Parliament proceeds, which is mighty slowly in the settling of the money business, and great factions growing every day among them. I am told also how Holmes did last Sunday deliver in his articles to the King and Cabinet against [Sir Jeremy] Smith, and that Smith hath given in his answer, and lays his not accompanying the fleete to his pilot, who would not undertake to carry the ship further; which the pilot acknowledges. The thing is not accommodated, but only taken up, and both sides commanded to be quiet; but no peace like to be. The Duke of Albemarle is Smith's friend, and hath publiquely swore that he would never go to sea again unless Holmes's commission were taken from him. [In the instructions given to Sir Thomas Clifford (August 5th, 1666) to be communicated to Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle, we read: "to tell them that the complaint of Sir Jeremy Smith's misbehaviour in the late engagement being so universal, unless he have fully satisfied the generals he should be brought to trial by court-martial, and there purged or condemned." The Duke of Albemarle answered the king (August 14th?): "Wishes to clear a gallant man falsely accused, Sir Jeremiah Smith, who had more men killed and hurt, and his ship received more shot than any in the fleet. There is not a more spirited man serves in the fleet" On October 27th H. Muddiman wrote to Sir Edward Stradling: "Sir Jeremy Smith has got as much credit by his late examination as his enemies wished him disgrace, the King and Duke of York being fully satisfied of his valour in the engagement. It appears that he had 147 men killed and wounded, while the most eminent of his accusers had but two or three." With regard to Sir Jeremy's counter-charges, we read: "Nov. 3. The King having maturely considered the charges brought against Sir Rob. Holmes by Sir Jeremy Smith, finds no cause to suspect Sir Robert of cowardice in the fight with the Dutch of June 25 and 26, but thinks that on the night of the 26th he yielded too easily to the opinion of his pilot, without consulting those of the other ships, muzzled his ship, and thus obliged the squadron to do the same, and so the enemy, which might have been driven into the body of the king's fleet, then returning from the pursuit, was allowed to escape" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 14, 40, 222, 236).] I find by Hayes that they did expect great glory in coming home in so good condition as they did with the fleete, and therefore I the less wonder that the Prince was distasted with my discourse the other day about the bad state of the fleete. But it pleases me to hear that he did expect great thanks, and lays the fault of the want of it upon the fire, which deadened everything, and the glory of his services. About seven at night home, and called my wife, and, it being moonshine, took her into the garden, and there layed open our condition as to our estate, and the danger of my having it [his money] all in the house at once, in case of any disorder or troubles in the State, and therefore resolved to remove part of it to Brampton, and part some whither else, and part in my owne house, which is very necessary, and will tend to our safety, though I shall not think it safe out of my owne sight. So to the office, and then to supper and to bed. 25th. Up betimes and by water to White Hall, and there with Sir G. Carteret to Sir W. Coventry, who is come to his winter lodgings at White Hall, and there agreed upon a method of paying of tickets; and so I back again home and to the office, where we sate all the morning, but to little purpose but to receive clamours for money. At noon home to dinner, where the two Mrs. Daniels come to see us, and dined with us. After dinner I out with my wife to Mrs. Pierces, where she hath not been a great while, from some little unkindness of my wife's to her when she was last here, but she received us with mighty respect and discretion, and was making herself mighty fine to go to a great ball to-night at Court, being the Queene's birthday; so the ladies for this one day do wear laces, but to put them off again to-morrow. Thence I to my Lord Bruncker's, and with him to Mrs. Williams's where we met Knipp. I was glad to see the jade. Made her sing; and she told us they begin at both houses to act on Monday next. But I fear, after all this sorrow, their gains will be but little. Mrs. Williams says, the Duke's house will now be much the better of the two, because of their women; which I am glad to hear. Thence with Lord Bruncker to White Hall and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry about some office business, and then I away to Mrs. Pierces, and there saw her new closet, which is mighty rich and fine. Her daughter Betty grows mighty pretty. Thence with my wife home and to do business at the office. Then to Sir W. Batten's, who tells me that the House of Parliament makes mighty little haste in settling the money, and that he knows not when it will be done; but they fall into faction, and libells have been found in the House. Among others, one yesterday, wherein they reckon up divers great sums to be given away by the King, among others, L10,000 to Sir W. Coventry, for weare and teare (the point he stood upon to advance that sum by, for them to give the King); Sir G. Carteret L50,000 for something else, I think supernumerarys; and so to Matt. Wren L5000 for passing the Canary Company's patent; and so a great many other sums to other persons. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and all the morning and most of the afternoon within doors, beginning to set my accounts in order from before this fire, I being behindhand with them ever since; and this day I got most of my tradesmen to bring in their bills and paid them. Dined at home, and busy again after dinner, and then abroad by water to Westminster Hall, where I walked till the evening, and then out, the first time I ever was abroad with Doll Lane, to the Dog tavern, and there drank with her, a bad face, but good bodied girle. Did nothing but salute and play with her and talk, and thence away by coach, home, and so to do a little more in my accounts, and then to supper and to bed. Nothing done in the House yet as to the finishing of the bill for money, which is a mighty sad thing, all lying at stake for it. 27th. Up, and there comes to see me my Lord Belasses, which was a great honour. He tells me great newes, yet but what I suspected, that Vernatty is fled, and so hath cheated him and twenty more, but most of all, I doubt, Mr. Povy. Thence to talk about publique business; he tells me how the two Houses begin to be troublesome; the Lords to have quarrels one with another. My Lord Duke of Buckingham having said to the Lord Chancellor (who is against the passing of the Bill for prohibiting the bringing over of Irish cattle), that whoever was against the Bill, was there led to it by an Irish interest, or an Irish understanding, which is as much as to say he is a Poole; this bred heat from my Lord Chancellor, and something he [Buckingham] said did offend my Lord of Ossory (my Lord Duke' of Ormond's son), and they two had hard words, upon which the latter sends a challenge to the former; of which the former complains to the House, and so the business is to be heard on Monday next. Then as to the Commons; some ugly knives, like poignards, to stab people with, about two or three hundred of them were brought in yesterday to the House, found in one of the house's rubbish that was burned, and said to be the house of a Catholique. This and several letters out of the country, saying how high the Catholiques are everywhere and bold in the owning their religion, have made the Commons mad, and they presently voted that the King be desired to put all Catholiques out of employment, and other high things; while the business of money hangs in the hedge. So that upon the whole, God knows we are in a sad condition like to be, there being the very beginnings of the late troubles. He gone, I at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mrs. Pierce and her boy and Knipp, who sings as well, and is the best company in the world, dined with us, and infinite merry. The playhouses begin to play next week. Towards evening I took them out to the New Exchange, and there my wife bought things, and I did give each of them a pair of Jesimy [Jessemin (Jasminum), the flowers of which are of a delicate sweet smell, and often used to perfume gloves. Edmund Howes, Stows continuator, informs us that sweet or perfumed gloves were first brought into England by the Earl of Oxford on his return from Italy, in the fifteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, during whose reign, and long afterwards, they were very fashionable. They are frequently mentioned by Shakespeare. Autolyctis, in the "Winter's Tale," has among his wares--"Gloves as sweet as damask roses."--B.] plain gloves, and another of white. Here Knipp and I walked up and down to see handsome faces, and did see several. Then carried each of them home, and with great pleasure and content, home myself, where, having writ several letters, I home, and there, upon some serious discourse between my wife and I upon the business, I called to us my brother, and there broke to him our design to send him into the country with some part of our money, and so did seriously discourse the whole thing, and then away to supper and to bed. I pray God give a blessing to our resolution, for I do much fear we shall meet with speedy distractions for want of money. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife, and then home, and there is come little Michell and his wife, I sent for them, and also tomes Captain Guy to dine with me, and he and I much talk together. He cries out of the discipline of the fleete, and confesses really that the true English valour we talk of is almost spent and worn out; few of the commanders doing what they should do, and he much fears we shall therefore be beaten the next year. He assures me we were beaten home the last June fight, and that the whole fleete was ashamed to hear of our bonefires. He commends Smith, and cries out of Holmes for an idle, proud, conceited, though stout fellow. He tells me we are to owe the losse of so many ships on the sands, not to any fault of the pilots, but to the weather; but in this I have good authority to fear there was something more. He says the Dutch do fight in very good order, and we in none at all. He says that in the July fight, both the Prince and Holmes had their belly-fulls, and were fain to go aside; though, if the wind had continued, we had utterly beaten them. He do confess the whole to be governed by a company of fools, and fears our ruine. After dinner he gone, I with my brother to White Hall and he to Westminster Abbey. I presently to Mrs. Martin's, and there met widow Burroughes and Doll, and did tumble them all the afternoon as I pleased, and having given them a bottle of wine I parted and home by boat (my brother going by land), and thence with my wife to sit and sup with my uncle and aunt Wight, and see Woolly's wife, who is a pretty woman, and after supper, being very merry, in abusing my aunt with Dr. Venner, we home, and I to do something in my accounts, and so to bed. The Revenge having her forecastle blown up with powder to the killing of some men in the River, and the Dyamond's being overset in the careening at Sheernesse, are further marks of the method all the King's work is now done in. The Foresight also and another come to disasters in the same place this week in the cleaning; which is strange. 29th. Up, and to the office to do business, and thither comes to me Sir Thomas Teddiman, and he and I walked a good while in the garden together, discoursing of the disorder and discipline of the fleete, wherein he told me how bad every thing is; but was very wary in speaking any thing to the dishonour of the Prince or Duke of Albemarle, but do magnify my Lord Sandwich much before them both, for ability to serve the King, and do heartily wish for him here. For he fears that we shall be undone the next year, but that he will, however, see an end of it. To prevent the necessity of his dining with me I was forced to pretend occasion of going to Westminster, so away I went, and Mr. Barber, the clerk, having a request to make to me to get him into employment, did walk along with me, and by water to Westminster with me, he professing great love to me, and an able clerk he is. When I come thither I find the new Lord Mayor Bolton a-swearing at the Exchequer, with some of the Aldermen and Livery; but, Lord! to see how meanely they now look, who upon this day used to be all little lords, is a sad sight and worthy consideration. And every body did reflect with pity upon the poor City, to which they are now coming to choose and swear their Lord Mayor, compared with what it heretofore was. Thence by coach (having in the Hall bought me a velvet riding cap, cost me 20s.) to my taylor's, and there bespoke a plain vest, and so to my goldsmith to bid him look out for some gold for me; and he tells me that ginnys, which I bought 2,000 of not long ago, and cost me but 18 1/2d. change, will now cost me 22d.; and but very few to be had at any price. However, some more I will have, for they are very convenient, and of easy disposal. So home to dinner and to discourse with my brother upon his translation of my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae," which I gave him to do and he has done it, but meanely; I am not pleased with it at all, having done it only literally, but without any life at all. About five o'clock I took my wife (who is mighty fine, and with a new fair pair of locks, which vex me, though like a foole I helped her the other night to buy them), and to Mrs. Pierces, and there staying a little I away before to White Hall, and into the new playhouse there, the first time I ever was there, and the first play I have seen since before the great plague. By and by Mr. Pierce comes, bringing my wife and his, and Knipp. By and by the King and Queene, Duke and Duchesse, and all the great ladies of the Court; which, indeed, was a fine sight. But the play being "Love in a Tub," a silly play, and though done by the Duke's people, yet having neither Betterton nor his wife, and the whole thing done ill, and being ill also, I had no manner of pleasure in the play. Besides, the House, though very fine, yet bad for the voice, for hearing. The sight of the ladies, indeed, was exceeding noble; and above all, my Lady Castlemayne. The play done by ten o'clock. I carried them all home, and then home myself, and well satisfied with the sight, but not the play, we with great content to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, where late, very busy, and dispatching much business. Mr. Hater staying most of the afternoon abroad, he come to me, poor man, to make excuse, and it was that he had been looking out for a little house for his family. His wife being much frightened in the country with the discourses of troubles and disorders like to be, and therefore durst not be from him, and therefore he is forced to bring her to towne that they may be together. This is now the general apprehension of all people; particulars I do not know, but my owne fears are also great, and I do think it time to look out to save something, if a storm should come. At night home to supper, and singing with my wife, who hath lately begun to learn, and I think will come to do something, though her eare is not good, nor I, I confess, have patience enough to teach her, or hear her sing now and then a note out of tune, and am to blame that I cannot bear with that in her which is fit I should do with her as a learner, and one that I desire much could sing, and so should encourage her. This I was troubled at, for I do find that I do put her out of heart, and make her fearfull to sing before me. So after supper to bed. 31st. Out with Sir W. Batten toward White Hall, being in pain in my cods by being squeezed the other night in a little coach when I carried Pierce and his wife and my people. But I hope I shall be soon well again. This day is a great day at the House, so little to do with the Duke of York, but soon parted. Coming out of the Court I met Colonell Atkins, who tells me the whole city rings to-day of Sir Jeremy Smith's killing of Holmes in a duell, at which I was not much displeased, for I fear every day more and more mischief from the man, if he lives; but the thing is not true, for in my coach I did by and by meet Sir Jer. Smith going to Court. So I by coach to my goldsmith, there to see what gold I can get, which is but little, and not under 22d. So away home to dinner, and after dinner to my closett, where I spent the whole afternoon till late at evening of all my accounts publique and private, and to my great satisfaction I do find that I do bring my accounts to a very near balance, notwithstanding all the hurries and troubles I have been put to by the late fire, that I have not been able to even my accounts since July last before; and I bless God I do find that I am worth more than ever I yet was, which is L6,200, for which the Holy Name of God be praised! and my other accounts of Tangier in a very plain and clear condition, that I am not liable to any trouble from them; but in fear great I am, and I perceive the whole city is, of some distractions and disorders among us, which God of his goodness prevent! Late to supper with my wife and brother, and then to bed. And thus ends the month with an ill aspect, the business of the Navy standing wholly still. No credit, no goods sold us, nobody will trust. All we have to do at the office is to hear complaints for want of money. The Duke of York himself for now three weeks seems to rest satisfied that we can do nothing without money, and that all must stand still till the King gets money, which the Parliament have been a great while about; but are so dissatisfied with the King's management, and his giving himself up to pleasures, and not minding the calling to account any of his officers, and they observe so much the expense of the war, and yet that after we have made it the most we can, it do not amount to what they have given the King for the warn that they are backward of giving any more. However, L1,800,000 they have voted, but the way of gathering it has taken up more time than is fit to be now lost: The seamen grow very rude, and every thing out of order; commanders having no power over their seamen, but the seamen do what they please. Few stay on board, but all coming running up hither to towne, and nobody can with justice blame them, we owing them so much money; and their familys must starve if we do not give them money, or they procure upon their tickets from some people that will trust them. A great folly is observed by all people in the King's giving leave to so many merchantmen to go abroad this winter, and some upon voyages where it is impossible they should be back again by the spring, and the rest will be doubtfull, but yet we let them go; what the reason of State is nobody can tell, but all condemn it. The Prince and Duke of Albemarle have got no great credit by this year's service. Our losses both of reputation and ships having been greater than is thought have ever been suffered in all ages put together before; being beat home, and fleeing home the first fight, and then losing so many ships then and since upon the sands, and some falling into the enemy's hands, and not one taken this yeare, but the Ruby, French prize, now at the end of the yeare, by the Frenchmen's mistake in running upon us. Great folly in both Houses of Parliament, several persons falling together by the eares, among others in the House of Lords, the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord Ossory. Such is our case, that every body fears an invasion the next yeare; and for my part, I do methinks foresee great unhappiness coming upon us, and do provide for it by laying by something against a rainy day, dividing what I have, and laying it in several places, but with all faithfulness to the King in all respects; my grief only being that the King do not look after his business himself, and thereby will be undone both himself and his nation, it being not yet, I believe, too late if he would apply himself to it, to save all, and conquer the Dutch; but while he and the Duke of York mind their pleasure, as they do and nothing else, we must be beaten. So late with my mind in good condition of quiet after the settling all my accounts, and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Being there, and seeming to do something, while we do not Bill against importing Irish cattle Bringing over one discontented man, you raise up three But how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten But pretty! how I took another pretty woman for her Catholiques are everywhere and bold Did tumble them all the afternoon as I pleased Discoursing upon the sad condition of the times Exceeding kind to me, more than usual, which makes me afeard Fashion, the King says; he will never change I did what I would, and might have done anything else King be desired to put all Catholiques out of employment King hath lost his power, by submitting himself to this way So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night The very rum man must have L200 Time spending, and no money to set anything in hand 
4169	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER 1666 November 1st. Up, and was presented by Burton, one of our smith's wives, with a very noble cake, which I presently resolved to have my wife go with to-day, and some wine, and house-warme my Betty Michell, which she readily resolved to do. So I to the office and sat all the morning, where little to do but answer people about want of money; so that there is little service done the King by us, and great disquiet to ourselves; I am sure there is to me very much, for I do not enjoy myself as I would and should do in my employment if my pains could do the King better service, and with the peace that we used to do it. At noon to dinner, and from dinner my wife and my brother, and W. Hewer and Barker away to Betty Michell's, to Shadwell, and I to my office, where I took in Mrs. Bagwell and did what I would with her, and so she went away, and I all the afternoon till almost night there, and then, my wife being come back, I took her and set her at her brother's, who is very sicke, and I to White Hall, and there all alone a pretty while with Sir W. Coventry at his chamber. I find him very melancholy under the same considerations of the King's service that I am. He confesses with me he expects all will be undone, and all ruined; he complains and sees perfectly what I with grief do, and said it first himself to me that all discipline is lost in the fleete, no order nor no command, and concurs with me that it is necessary we do again and again represent all things more and more plainly to the Duke of York, for a guard to ourselves hereafter when things shall come to be worse. He says the House goes on slowly in finding of money, and that the discontented party do say they have not done with us, for they will have a further bout with us as to our accounts, and they are exceedingly well instructed where to hit us. I left him with a thousand sad reflections upon the times, and the state of the King's matters, and so away, and took up my wife and home, where a little at the office, and then home to supper, and talk with my wife (with whom I have much comfort) and my brother, and so to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Batten to Woolwich, where first we went on board the Ruby, French prize, the only ship of war we have taken from any of our enemies this year. It seems a very good ship, but with galleries quite round the sterne to walk in as a balcone, which will be taken down. She had also about forty good brass guns, but will make little amends to our loss in The Prince. Thence to the Ropeyarde and the other yards to do several businesses, he and I also did buy some apples and pork; by the same token the butcher commended it as the best in England for cloath and colour. And for his beef, says he, "Look how fat it is; the lean appears only here and there a speck, like beauty-spots." Having done at Woolwich, we to Deptford (it being very cold upon the water), and there did also a little more business, and so home, I reading all the why to make end of the "Bondman" (which the oftener I read the more I like), and begun "The Duchesse of Malfy;" which seems a good play. At home to dinner, and there come Mr. Pierce, surgeon, to see me, and after I had eat something, he and I and my wife by coach to Westminster, she set us down at White Hall, and she to her brother's. I up into the House, and among other things walked a good while with the Serjeant Trumpet, who tells me, as I wished, that the King's Italian here is about setting three parts for trumpets, and shall teach some to sound them, and believes they will be admirable musique. I also walked with Sir Stephen Fox an houre, and good discourse of publique business with him, who seems very much satisfied with my discourse, and desired more of my acquaintance. Then comes out the King and Duke of York from the Council, and so I spoke awhile to Sir W. Coventry about some office business, and so called my wife (her brother being now a little better than he was), and so home, and I to my chamber to do some business, and then to supper and to bed. 3rd. This morning comes Mr. Lovett, and brings me my print of the Passion, varnished by him, and the frame black, which indeed is very fine, though not so fine as I expected; however, pleases me exceedingly. This, and the sheets of paper he prepared for me, come to L3, which I did give him, and though it be more than is fit to lay out on pleasure, yet, it being ingenious, I did not think much of it. He gone, I to the office, where all the morning to little purpose, nothing being before us but clamours for money: So at noon home to dinner, and after dinner to hang up my new varnished picture and set my chamber in order to be made clean, and then to; the office again, and there all the afternoon till late at night, and so to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Comes my taylor's man in the morning, and brings my vest home, and coate to wear with it, and belt, and silver-hilted sword. So I rose and dressed myself, and I like myself mightily in it, and so do my wife. Then, being dressed, to church; and after church pulled my Lady Pen and Mrs. Markham into my house to dinner, and Sir J. Minnes he got Mrs. Pegg along with him. I had a good dinner for them, and very merry; and after dinner to the waterside, and so, it being very cold, to White Hall, and was mighty fearfull of an ague, my vest being new and thin, and the coat cut not to meet before upon my breast. Here I waited in the gallery till the Council was up, and among others did speak with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, who tells me my Lord Generall is become mighty low in all people's opinion, and that he hath received several slurs from the King and Duke of York. The people at Court do see the difference between his and the Prince's management, and my Lord Sandwich's. That this business which he is put upon of crying out against the Catholiques and turning them out of all employment, will undo him, when he comes to turn-out the officers out of the Army, and this is a thing of his own seeking. That he is grown a drunken sot, and drinks with nobody but Troutbecke, whom nobody else will keep company with. Of whom he told me this story: That once the Duke of Albemarle in his drink taking notice as of a wonder that Nan Hide should ever come to be Duchesse of York, "Nay," says Troutbecke, "ne'er wonder at that; for if you will give me another bottle of wine, I will tell you as great, if not greater, a miracle." And what was that, but that our dirty Besse (meaning his Duchesse) should come to be Duchesse of Albemarle? Here we parted, and so by and by the Council rose, and out comes Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry, and they and my Lord Bruncker and I went to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, there to discourse about some money demanded by Sir W. Warren, and having done that broke up. And Sir G. Carteret and I alone together a while, where he shows a long letter, all in cipher, from my Lord Sandwich to him. The contents he hath not yet found out, but he tells me that my Lord is not sent for home, as several people have enquired after of me. He spoke something reflecting upon me in the business of pursers, that their present bad behaviour is what he did foresee, and had convinced me of, and yet when it come last year to be argued before the Duke of York I turned and said as the rest did. I answered nothing to it, but let it go, and so to other discourse of the ill state of things, of which all people are full of sorrow and observation, and so parted, and then by water, landing in Southwarke, home to the Tower, and so home, and there began to read "Potter's Discourse upon 1666," which pleases me mightily, and then broke off and to supper and to bed. 5th (A holyday). Lay long; then up, and to the office, where vexed to meet with people come from the fleete at the Nore, where so many ships are laid up and few going abroad, and yet Sir Thomas Allen hath sent up some Lieutenants with warrants to presse men for a few ships to go out this winter, while every day thousands appear here, to our great trouble and affright, before our office and the ticket office, and no Captains able to command one-man aboard. Thence by water to Westminster, and there at the Swan find Sarah is married to a shoemaker yesterday, so I could not see her, but I believe I shall hereafter at good leisure. Thence by coach to my Lady Peterborough, and there spoke with my Lady, who had sent to speak with me. She makes mighty moan of the badness of the times, and her family as to money. My Lord's passionateness for want thereof, and his want of coming in of rents, and no wages from the Duke of York. No money to be had there for wages nor disbursements, and therefore prays my assistance about his pension. I was moved with her story, which she largely and handsomely told me, and promised I would try what I could do in a few days, and so took leave, being willing to keep her Lord fair with me, both for his respect to my Lord Sandwich and for my owne sake hereafter, when I come to pass my accounts. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and there dined, and mightily made of, having not, to my shame, been there in 8 months before. Here my Lord and Sir Thomas Crew, Mr. John, and Dr. Crew, and two strangers. The best family in the world for goodness and sobriety. Here beyond my expectation I met my Lord Hinchingbroke, who is come to towne two days since from Hinchingbroke, and brought his sister and brother Carteret with him, who are at Sir G. Carteret's. After dinner I and Sir Thomas Crew went aside to discourse of public matters, and do find by him that all the country gentlemen are publickly jealous of the courtiers in the Parliament, and that they do doubt every thing that they propose; and that the true reason why the country gentlemen are for a land-tax and against a general excise, is, because they are fearful that if the latter be granted they shall never get it down again; whereas the land-tax will be but for so much; and when the war ceases, there will be no ground got by the Court to keep it up. He do much cry out upon our accounts, and that all that they have had from the King hath been but estimates both from my Lord Treasurer and us, and from all people else, so that the Parliament is weary of it. He says the House would be very glad to get something against Sir G. Carteret, and will not let their inquiries die till they have got something. He do, from what he hath heard at the Committee for examining the burning of the City, conclude it as a thing certain that it was done by plots; it being proved by many witnesses that endeavours were made in several places to encrease the fire, and that both in City and country it was bragged by several Papists that upon such a day or in such a time we should find the hottest weather that ever was in England, and words of plainer sense. But my Lord Crew was discoursing at table how the judges have determined in the case whether the landlords or the tenants (who are, in their leases, all of them generally tied to maintain and uphold their houses) shall bear the losse of the fire; and they say that tenants should against all casualties of fire beginning either in their owne or in their neighbour's; but, where it is done by an enemy, they are not to do it. And this was by an enemy, there having been one convicted and hanged upon this very score. This is an excellent salvo for the tenants, and for which I am glad, because of my father's house. After dinner and this discourse I took coach, and at the same time find my Lord Hinchingbroke and Mr. John Crew and the Doctor going out to see the ruins of the City; so I took the Doctor into my hackney coach (and he is a very fine sober gentleman), and so through the City. But, Lord! what pretty and sober observations he made of the City and its desolation; till anon we come to my house, and there I took them upon Tower Hill to shew them what houses were pulled down there since the fire; and then to my house, where I treated them with good wine of several sorts, and they took it mighty respectfully, and a fine company of gentlemen they are; but above all I was glad to see my Lord Hinchingbroke drink no wine at all. Here I got them to appoint Wednesday come se'nnight to dine here at my house, and so we broke up and all took coach again, and I carried the Doctor to Chancery Lane, and thence I to White Hall, where I staid walking up and down till night, and then got almost into the play house, having much mind to go and see the play at Court this night; but fearing how I should get home, because of the bonefires and the lateness of the night to get a coach, I did not stay; but having this evening seen my Lady Jemimah, who is come to towne, and looks very well and fat, and heard how Mr. John Pickering is to be married this week, and to a fortune with L5000, and seen a rich necklace of pearle and two pendants of dyamonds, which Sir G. Carteret hath presented her with since her coming to towne, I home by coach, but met not one bonefire through the whole town in going round by the wall, which is strange, and speaks the melancholy disposition of the City at present, while never more was said of, and feared of, and done against the Papists than just at this time. Home, and there find my wife and her people at cards, and I to my chamber, and there late, and so to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner down alone by water to Deptford, reading "Duchesse of Malfy," the play, which is pretty good, and there did some business, and so up again, and all the evening at the office. At night home, and there find Mr. Batelier, who supped with us, and good company he is, and so after supper to bed. 7th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where we attended as usual the Duke of York and there was by the folly of Sir W. Batten prevented in obtaining a bargain for Captain Cocke, which would, I think have [been] at this time (during our great want of hempe), both profitable to the King and of good convenience to me; but I matter it not, it being done only by the folly, not any design, of Sir W. Batten's. Thence to Westminster Hall, and, it being fast day, there was no shops open, but meeting with Doll Lane, did go with her to the Rose taverne, and there drank and played with her a good while. She went away, and I staid a good while after, and was seen going out by one of our neighbours near the office and two of the Hall people that I had no mind to have been seen by, but there was no hurt in it nor can be alledged from it. Therefore I am not solicitous in it, but took coach and called at Faythorne's, to buy some prints for my wife to draw by this winter, and here did see my Lady Castlemayne's picture, done by him from Lilly's, in red chalke and other colours, by which he hath cut it in copper to be printed. The picture in chalke is the finest thing I ever saw in my life, I think; and did desire to buy it; but he says he must keep it awhile to correct his copper-plate by, and when that is done he will sell it me. Thence home and find my wife gone out with my brother to see her brother. I to dinner and thence to my chamber to read, and so to the office (it being a fast day and so a holiday), and then to Mrs. Turner's, at her request to speake and advise about Sir Thomas Harvy's coming to lodge there, which I think must be submitted to, and better now than hereafter, when he gets more ground, for I perceive he intends to stay by it, and begins to crow mightily upon his late being at the payment of tickets; but a coxcombe he is and will never be better in the business of the Navy. Thence home, and there find Mr. Batelier come to bring my wife a very fine puppy of his mother's spaniel, a very fine one indeed, which my wife is mighty proud of. He staid and supped with us, and they to cards. I to my chamber to do some business, and then out to them to play and were a little merry, and then to bed. By the Duke of York his discourse to-day in his chamber, they have it at Court, as well as we here, that a fatal day is to be expected shortly, of some great mischiefe to the remainder of this day; whether by the Papists, or what, they are not certain. But the day is disputed; some say next Friday, others a day sooner, others later, and I hope all will prove a foolery. But it is observable how every body's fears are busy at this time. 8th. Up, and before I went to the office I spoke with Mr. Martin for his advice about my proceeding in the business of the private man-of-war, he having heretofore served in one of them, and now I have it in my thoughts to send him purser in ours. After this discourse I to the office, where I sat all the morning, Sir W. Coventry with us, where he hath not been a great while, Sir W. Pen also, newly come from the Nore, where he hath been some time fitting of the ships out. At noon home to dinner and then to the office awhile, and so home for my sword, and there find Mercer come to see her mistresse. I was glad to see her there, and my wife mighty kind also, and for my part, much vexed that the jade is not with us still. Left them together, designing to go abroad to-morrow night to Mrs. Pierces to dance; and so I to Westminster Hall, and there met Mr. Grey, who tells me the House is sitting still (and now it was six o'clock), and likely to sit till midnight; and have proceeded fair to give the King his supply presently; and herein have done more to-day than was hoped for. So to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry, and there would fain have carried Captain Cocke's business for his bargain of hemp, but am defeated and disappointed, and know hardly how to carry myself in it between my interest and desire not to offend Sir W. Coventry. Sir W. Coventry did this night tell me how the business is about Sir J. Minnes; that he is to be a Commissioner, and my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen are to be Controller joyntly, which I am very glad of, and better than if they were either of them alone; and do hope truly that the King's business will be better done thereby, and infinitely better than now it is. Thence by coach home, full of thoughts of the consequence of this alteration in our office, and I think no evil to me. So at my office late, and then home to supper and to bed. Mr. Grey did assure me this night, that he was told this day, by one of the greater Ministers of State in England, and one of the King's Cabinet, that we had little left to agree on between the Dutch and us towards a peace, but only the place of treaty; which do astonish me to hear, but I am glad of it, for I fear the consequence of the war. But he says that the King, having all the money he is like to have, we shall be sure of a peace in a little time. 9th. Up and to the office, where did a good deale of business, and then at noon to the Exchange and to my little goldsmith's, whose wife is very pretty and modest, that ever I saw any. Upon the 'Change, where I seldom have of late been, I find all people mightily at a losse what to expect, but confusion and fears in every man's head and heart. Whether war or peace, all fear the event will be bad. Thence home and with my brother to dinner, my wife being dressing herself against night; after dinner I to my closett all the afternoon, till the porter brought my vest back from the taylor's, and then to dress myself very fine, about 4 or 5 o'clock, and by that time comes Mr. Batelier and Mercer, and away by coach to Mrs. Pierces, by appointment, where we find good company: a fair lady, my Lady Prettyman, Mrs. Corbet, Knipp; and for men, Captain Downing, Mr. Lloyd, Sir W. Coventry's clerk, and one Mr. Tripp, who dances well. After some trifling discourse, we to dancing, and very good sport, and mightily pleased I was with the company. After our first bout of dancing, Knipp and I to sing, and Mercer and Captain Downing (who loves and understands musique) would by all means have my song of "Beauty, retire." which Knipp had spread abroad; and he extols it above any thing he ever heard, and, without flattery, I know it is good in its kind. This being done and going to dance again, comes news that White Hall was on fire; and presently more particulars, that the Horse-guard was on fire; ["Nov. 9th. Between seven and eight at night, there happened a fire in the Horse Guard House, in the Tilt Yard, over against Whitehall, which at first arising, it is supposed, from some snuff of a candle falling amongst the straw, broke out with so sudden a flame, that at once it seized the north-west part of that building; but being so close under His Majesty's own eye, it was, by the timely help His Majesty and His Royal Highness caused to be applied, immediately stopped, and by ten o'clock wholly mastered, with the loss only of that part of the building it had at first seized."--The London Gazette, No. 103.--B.] and so we run up to the garret, and find it so; a horrid great fire; and by and by we saw and heard part of it blown up with powder. The ladies begun presently to be afeard: one fell into fits. The whole town in an alarme. Drums beat and trumpets, and the guards every where spread, running up and down in the street. And I begun to have mighty apprehensions how things might be at home, and so was in mighty pain to get home, and that that encreased all is that we are in expectation, from common fame, this night, or to-morrow, to have a massacre, by the having so many fires one after another, as that in the City, and at same time begun in Westminster, by the Palace, but put out; and since in Southwarke, to the burning down some houses; and now this do make all people conclude there is something extraordinary in it; but nobody knows what. By and by comes news that the fire has slackened; so then we were a little cheered up again, and to supper, and pretty merry. But, above all, there comes in the dumb boy that I knew in Oliver's time, who is mightily acquainted here, and with Downing; and he made strange signs of the fire, and how the King was abroad, and many things they understood, but I could not, which I wondering at, and discoursing with Downing about it, "Why," says he, "it is only a little use, and you will understand him, and make him understand you with as much ease as may be." So I prayed him to tell him that I was afeard that my coach would be gone, and that he should go down and steal one of the seats out of the coach and keep it, and that would make the coachman to stay. He did this, so that the dumb boy did go down, and, like a cunning rogue, went into the coach, pretending to sleep; and, by and by, fell to his work, but finds the seats nailed to the coach. So he did all he could, but could not do it; however, stayed there, and stayed the coach till the coachman's patience was quite spent, and beat the dumb boy by force, and so went away. So the dumb boy come up and told him all the story, which they below did see all that passed, and knew it to be true. After supper, another dance or two, and then newes that the fire is as great as ever, which put us all to our wit's-end; and I mightily [anxious] to go home, but the coach being gone, and it being about ten at night, and rainy dirty weather, I knew not what to do; but to walk out with Mr. Batelier, myself resolving to go home on foot, and leave the women there. And so did; but at the Savoy got a coach, and come back and took up the women; and so, having, by people come from the fire, understood that the fire was overcome, and all well, we merrily parted, and home. Stopped by several guards and constables quite through the town, round the wall, as we went, all being in armes. We got well home . . . . Being come home, we to cards, till two in the morning, and drinking lamb's-wool. [A beverage consisting of ale mixed with sugar, nutmeg, and the pulp of roasted apples. "A cupp of lamb's-wool they dranke unto him then." The King and the Miller of Mansfield (Percy's "Reliques," Series III., book ii., No. 20).] So to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where Sir W. Coventry come to tell us that the Parliament did fall foul of our accounts again yesterday; and we must arme to have them examined, which I am sorry for: it will bring great trouble to me, and shame upon the office. My head full this morning how to carry on Captain Cocke's bargain of hemp, which I think I shall by my dexterity do, and to the King's advantage as well as my own. At noon with my Lord Bruncker and Sir Thomas Harvy, to Cocke's house, and there Mrs. Williams and other company, and an excellent dinner. Mr. Temple's wife; after dinner, fell to play on the harpsicon, till she tired everybody, that I left the house without taking leave, and no creature left standing by her to hear her. Thence I home and to the office, where late doing of business, and then home. Read an hour, to make an end of Potter's Discourse of the Number 666, which I like all along, but his close is most excellent; and, whether it be right or wrong, is mighty ingenious. Then to supper and to bed. This is the fatal day that every body hath discoursed for a long time to be the day that the Papists, or I know not who, had designed to commit a massacre upon; but, however, I trust in God we shall rise to-morrow morning as well as ever. This afternoon Creed comes to me, and by him, as, also my Lady Pen, I hear that my Lady Denham is exceeding sick, even to death, and that she says, and every body else discourses, that she is poysoned; and Creed tells me, that it is said that there hath been a design to poison the King. What the meaning of all these sad signs is, the Lord knows; but every day things look worse and worse. God fit us for the worst! 11th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, myself and wife, where the old dunce Meriton, brother to the known Meriton; of St. Martin's, Westminster, did make a very good sermon, beyond my expectation. Home to dinner, and we carried in Pegg Pen, and there also come to us little Michell and his wife, and dined very pleasantly. Anon to church, my wife and I and Betty Michell, her husband being gone to Westminster . . . . Alter church home, and I to my chamber, and there did finish the putting time to my song of "It is decreed," and do please myself at last and think it will be thought a good song. By and by little Michell comes and takes away his wife home, and my wife and brother and I to my uncle Wight's, where my aunt is grown so ugly and their entertainment so bad that I am in pain to be there; nor will go thither again a good while, if sent for, for we were sent for to-night, we had not gone else. Wooly's wife, a silly woman, and not very handsome, but no spirit in her at all; and their discourse mean, and the fear of the troubles of the times hath made them not to bring their plate to town, since it was carried out upon the business of the fire, so that they drink in earth and a wooden can, which I do not like. So home, and my people to bed. I late to finish my song, and then to bed also, and the business of the firing of the city, and the fears we have of new troubles and violences, and the fear of fire among ourselves, did keep me awake a good while, considering the sad condition I and my family should be in. So at last to sleep. 12th. Lay long in bed, and then up, and Mr. Carcasse brought me near 500 tickets to sign, which I did, and by discourse find him a cunning, confident, shrewd man, but one that I do doubt hath by his discourse of the ill will he hath got with my Lord Marquess of Dorchester (with whom he lived), he hath had cunning practices in his time, and would not now spare to use the same to his profit. That done I to the office; whither by and by comes Creed to me, and he and I walked in the garden a little, talking of the present ill condition of things, which is the common subject of all men's discourse and fears now-a-days, and particularly of my Lady Denham, whom everybody says is poisoned, and he tells me she hath said it to the Duke of York; but is upon the mending hand, though the town says she is dead this morning. He and I to the 'Change. There I had several little errands, and going to Sir R. Viner's, I did get such a splash and spots of dirt upon my new vest, that I was out of countenance to be seen in the street. This day I received 450 pieces of gold more of Mr. Stokes, but cost me 22 1/2d. change; but I am well contented with it,--I having now near L2800 in gold, and will not rest till I get full L3000, and then will venture my fortune for the saving that and the rest. Home to dinner, though Sir R. Viner would have staid us to dine with him, he being sheriffe; but, poor man, was so out of countenance that he had no wine ready to drink to us, his butler being out of the way, though we know him to be a very liberal man. And after dinner I took my wife out, intending to have gone and have seen my Lady Jemimah, at White Hall, but so great a stop there was at the New Exchange, that we could not pass in half an houre, and therefore 'light and bought a little matter at the Exchange, and then home, and then at the office awhile, and then home to my chamber, and after my wife and all the mayds abed but Jane, whom I put confidence in--she and I, and my brother, and Tom, and W. Hewer, did bring up all the remainder of my money, and my plate-chest, out of the cellar, and placed the money in my study, with the rest, and the plate in my dressing-room; but indeed I am in great pain to think how to dispose of my money, it being wholly unsafe to keep it all in coin in one place. 'But now I have it all at my hand, I shall remember it better to think of disposing of it. This done, by one in the morning to bed. This afternoon going towards Westminster, Creed and I did stop, the Duke of York being just going away from seeing of it, at Paul's, and in the Convocation House Yard did there see the body of Robert Braybrooke, Bishop of London, that died 1404: He fell down in his tomb out of the great church into St. Fayth's this late fire, and is here seen his skeleton with the flesh on; but all tough and dry like a spongy dry leather, or touchwood all upon his bones. His head turned aside. A great man in his time, and Lord Chancellor; and his skeletons now exposed to be handled and derided by some, though admired for its duration by others. Many flocking to see it. 13th. At the office all the morning, at noon home to dinner, and out to Bishopsgate Street, and there bought some drinking-glasses, a case of knives, and other things, against tomorrow, in expectation of my Lord Hinchingbroke's coming to dine with me. So home, and having set some things in the way of doing, also against to-morrow, I to my, office, there to dispatch business, and do here receive notice from my Lord Hinchingbroke that he is not well, and so not in condition to come to dine with me to-morrow, which I am not in much trouble for, because of the disorder my house is in, by the bricklayers coming to mend the chimney in my dining-room for smoking, which they were upon almost till midnight, and have now made it very pretty, and do carry smoke exceeding well. This evening come all the Houblons to me, to invite me to sup with them to-morrow night. I did take them home, and there we sat and talked a good while, and a glass of wine, and then parted till to-morrow night. So at night, well satisfied in the alteration of my chimney, to bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, where I bought several things, as a hone, ribbon, gloves, books, and then took coach and to Knipp's lodging, whom I find not ready to go home with me. So I away to do a little business, among others to call upon Mr. Osborne for my Tangier warrant for the last quarter, and so to the Exchange for some things for my wife, and then to Knipp's again, and there staid reading of Waller's verses, while she finished dressing, her husband being by. I had no other pastime. Her lodging very mean, and the condition she lives in; yet makes a shew without doors, God bless us! I carried him along with us into the City, and set him down in Bishopsgate Street, and then home with her. She tells me how Smith, of the Duke's house, hath killed a man upon a quarrel in play; which makes every body sorry, he being a good actor, and, they say, a good man, however this happens. The ladies of the Court do much bemoan him, she says. Here she and we alone at dinner to some good victuals, that we could not put off, that was intended for the great dinner of my Lord Hinchingbroke's, if he had come. After dinner I to teach her my new recitative of "It is decreed," of which she learnt a good part, and I do well like it and believe shall be well pleased when she hath it all, and that it will be found an agreeable thing. Then carried her home, and my wife and I intended to have seen my Lady Jemimah at White Hall, but the Exchange Streete was so full of coaches, every body, as they say, going thither to make themselves fine against tomorrow night, that, after half an hour's stay, we could not do any [thing], only my wife to see her brother, and I to go speak one word with Sir G. Carteret about office business, and talk of the general complexion of matters, which he looks upon, as I do, with horrour, and gives us all for an undone people. That there is no such thing as a peace in hand, nor possibility of any without our begging it, they being as high, or higher, in their terms than ever, and tells me that, just now, my Lord Hollis had been with him, and wept to think in what a condition we are fallen. He shewed me my Lord Sandwich's letter to him, complaining of the lack of money, which Sir G. Carteret is at a loss how in the world to get the King to supply him with, and wishes him, for that reason, here; for that he fears he will be brought to disgrace there, for want of supplies. He says the House is yet in a bad humour; and desiring to know whence it is that the King stirs not, he says he minds it not, nor will be brought to it, and that his servants of the House do, instead of making the Parliament better, rather play the rogue one with another, and will put all in fire. So that, upon the whole, we are in a wretched condition, and I went from him in full apprehensions of it. So took up my wife, her brother being yet very bad, and doubtful whether he will recover or no, and so to St. Ellen's [St. Helen's], and there sent my wife home, and myself to the Pope's Head, where all the Houblons were, and Dr. Croone, [William Croune, or Croone, of Emanuel College, Cambridge, chosen Rhetoric Professor at Gresham College, 1659, F.R.S. and M.D. Died October 12th, 1684, and was interred at St. Mildred's in the Poultry. He was a prominent Fellow of the Royal Society and first Registrar. In accordance with his wishes his widow (who married Sir Edwin Sadleir, Bart.) left by will one-fifth of the clear rent of the King's Head tavern in or near Old Fish Street, at the corner of Lambeth Hill, to the Royal Society for the support of a lecture and illustrative experiments for the advancement of natural knowledge on local motion. The Croonian lecture is still delivered before the Royal Society.] and by and by to an exceeding pretty supper, excellent discourse of all sorts, and indeed [they] are a set of the finest gentlemen that ever I met withal in my life. Here Dr. Croone told me, that, at the meeting at Gresham College to-night, which, it seems, they now have every Wednesday again, there was a pretty experiment of the blood of one dogg let out, till he died, into the body of another on one side, while all his own run out on the other side. [At the meeting on November 14th, "the experiment of transfusing the blood of one dog into another was made before the Society by Mr. King and Mr. Thomas Coxe upon a little mastiff and a spaniel with very good success, the former bleeding to death, and the latter receiving the blood of the other, and emitting so much of his own, as to make him capable of receiving that of the other." On November 21st the spaniel "was produced and found very well" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., pp. 123, 125). The experiment of transfusion of blood, which occupied much of the attention of the Royal Society in its early days, was revived within the last few years.] The first died upon the place, and the other very well, and likely to do well. This did give occasion to many pretty wishes, as of the blood of a Quaker to be let into an Archbishop, and such like; but, as Dr. Croone says, may, if it takes, be of mighty use to man's health, for the amending of bad blood by borrowing from a better body. After supper, James Houblon and another brother took me aside and to talk of some businesses of their owne, where I am to serve them, and will, and then to talk of publique matters, and I do find that they and all merchants else do give over trade and the nation for lost, nothing being done with care or foresight, no convoys granted, nor any thing done to satisfaction; but do think that the Dutch and French will master us the next yeare, do what we can: and so do I, unless necessity makes the King to mind his business, which might yet save all. Here we sat talking till past one in the morning, and then home, where my people sat up for me, my wife and all, and so to bed. 15th. This [morning] come Mr. Shepley (newly out of the country) to see me; after a little discourse with him, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home, and there dined, Shepley with me, and after dinner I did pay him L70, which he had paid my father for my use in the country. He being gone, I took coach and to Mrs. Pierce's, where I find her as fine as possible, and himself going to the ball at night at Court, it being the Queen's birth-day, and so I carried them in my coach, and having set them into the house, and gotten Mr. Pierce to undertake the carrying in my wife, I to Unthanke's, where she appointed to be, and there told her, and back again about business to White Hall, while Pierce went and fetched her and carried her in. I, after I had met with Sir W. Coventry and given him some account of matters, I also to the ball, and with much ado got up to the loft, where with much trouble I could see very well. Anon the house grew full, and the candles light, and the King and Queen and all the ladies set: and it was, indeed, a glorious sight to see Mrs. Stewart in black and white lace, and her head and shoulders dressed with dyamonds, and the like a great many great ladies more, only the Queen none; and the King in his rich vest of some rich silke and silver trimming, as the Duke of York and all the dancers were, some of cloth of silver, and others of other sorts, exceeding rich. Presently after the King was come in, he took the Queene, and about fourteen more couple there was, and began the Bransles. As many of the men as I can remember presently, were, the King, Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Monmouth, Duke of Buckingham, Lord Douglas,' Mr. [George] Hamilton, Colonell Russell, Mr. Griffith, Lord Ossory, Lord Rochester; and of the ladies, the Queene, Duchess of York, Mrs. Stewart, Duchess of Monmouth, Lady Essex Howard, Mrs. Temples Swedes Embassadress, Lady Arlington; Lord George Barkeley's daughter, and many others I remember not; but all most excellently dressed in rich petticoats and gowns, and dyamonds, and pearls. After the Bransles, then to a Corant, and now and then a French dance; but that so rare that the Corants grew tiresome, that I wished it done. Only Mrs. Stewart danced mighty finely, and many French dances, specially one the King called the New Dance, which was very pretty; but upon the whole matter, the business of the dancing of itself was not extraordinary pleasing. But the clothes and sight of the persons was indeed very pleasing, and worth my coming, being never likely to see more gallantry while I live, if I should come twenty times. About twelve at night it broke up, and I to hire a coach with much difficulty, but Pierce had hired a chair for my wife, and so she being gone to his house, he and I, taking up Barker at Unthanke's, to his house, whither his wife was come home a good while ago and gone to bed. So away home with my wife, between displeased with the dull dancing, and satisfied at the clothes and persons. My Lady Castlemayne, without whom all is nothing, being there, very rich, though not dancing. And so after supper, it being very cold, to bed. 16th. Up again betimes to attend the examination of Mr. Gawden's, accounts, where we all met, but I did little but fit myself for the drawing my great letter to the Duke of York of the state of the Navy for want of money. At noon to the 'Change, and thence back to the new taverne come by us; the Three Tuns, where D. Gawden did feast us all with a chine of beef and other good things, and an infinite dish of fowl, but all spoiled in the dressing. This noon I met with Mr. Hooke, and he tells me the dog which was filled with another dog's blood, at the College the other day, is very well, and like to be so as ever, and doubts not its being found of great use to men; and so do Dr. Whistler, who dined with us at the taverne. Thence home in the evening, and I to my preparing my letter, and did go a pretty way in it, staying late upon it, and then home to supper and to bed, the weather being on a sudden set in to be very cold. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and in the afternoon shut myself in my chamber, and there till twelve at night finishing my great letter to the Duke of York, which do lay the ill condition of the Navy so open to him, that it is impossible if the King and he minds any thing of their business, but it will operate upon them to set all matters right, and get money to carry on the war, before it be too late, or else lay out for a peace upon any termes. It was a great convenience to-night that what I had writ foule in short hand, I could read to W. Hewer, and he take it fair in short hand, so as I can read it to-morrow to Sir W. Coventry, and then come home, and Hewer read it to me while I take it in long-hand to present, which saves me much time. So to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up by candle-light and on foote to White Hall, where by appointment I met Lord Bruncker at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there I read over my great letter, and they approved it: and as I do do our business in defence of the Board, so I think it is as good a letter in the manner, and believe it is the worst in the matter of it, as ever come from any office to a Prince. Back home in my Lord Bruncker's coach, and there W. Hewer and I to write it over fair; dined at noon, and Mercer with us, and mighty merry, and then to finish my letter; and it being three o'clock ere we had done, when I come to Sir W. Batten; he was in a huffe, which I made light of, but he signed the letter, though he would not go, and liked the letter well. Sir W. Pen, it seems, he would not stay for it: so, making slight of Sir W. Pen's putting so much weight upon his hand to Sir W. Batten, I down to the Tower Wharf, and there got a sculler, and to White Hall, and there met Lord Bruncker, and he signed it, and so I delivered it to Mr. Cheving, [William Chiffinch, pimp to Charles II. and receiver of the secret pensions paid by the French Court. He succeeded his brother, Thomas Chiffinch (who died in April, 1666), as Keeper of the King's Private Closet (see note, vol. v., p. 265). He is introduced by Scott into his "Peveril of the Peak."] and he to Sir W. Coventry, in the cabinet, the King and councill being sitting, where I leave it to its fortune, and I by water home again, and to my chamber, to even my Journall; and then comes Captain Cocke to me, and he and I a great deal of melancholy discourse of the times, giving all over for gone, though now the Parliament will soon finish the Bill for money. But we fear, if we had it, as matters are now managed, we shall never make the best of it, but consume it all to no purpose or a bad one. He being gone, I again to my Journall and finished it, and so to supper and to bed. 19th. Lay pretty long in bed talking with pleasure with my wife, and then up and all the morning at my own chamber fitting some Tangier matters against the afternoon for a meeting. This morning also came Mr. Caesar, and I heard him on the lute very finely, and my boy begins to play well. After dinner I carried and set my wife down at her brother's, and then to Barkeshire-house, where my Lord Chancellor hath been ever since the fire, but he is not come home yet, so I to Westminster Hall, where the Lords newly up and the Commons still sitting. Here I met with Mr. Robinson, who did give me a printed paper wherein he states his pretence to the post office, and intends to petition the Parliament in it. Thence I to the Bull-head tavern, where I have not been since Mr. Chetwind and the time of our club, and here had six bottles of claret filled, and I sent them to Mrs. Martin, whom I had promised some of my owne, and, having none of my owne, sent her this. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there Mr. Creed and Gawden, Cholmley, and Sir G. Carteret walking in the Park over against the house. I walked with Sir G. Carteret, who I find displeased with the letter I have drawn and sent in yesterday, finding fault with the account we give of the ill state of the Navy, but I said little, only will justify the truth of it. Here we walked to and again till one dropped away after another, and so I took coach to White Hall, and there visited my Lady Jemimah, at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings. Here was Sir Thomas Crew, and he told me how hot words grew again to-day in the House of Lords between my Lord Ossory and Ashly, the former saying that something said by the other was said like one of Oliver's Council. Ashly said that he must give him reparation, or he would take it his owne way. The House therefore did bring my Lord Ossory to confess his fault, and ask pardon for it, as he was also to my Lord Buckingham, for saying that something was not truth that my Lord Buckingham had said. This will render my Lord Ossory very little in a little time. By and by away, and calling my wife went home, and then a little at Sir W. Batten's to hear news, but nothing, and then home to supper, whither Captain Cocke, half foxed, come and sat with us, and so away, and then we to bed. 20th. Called up by Mr. Sheply, who is going into the country to-day to Hinchingbroke, I sent my service to my Lady, and in general for newes: that the world do think well of my Lord, and do wish he were here again, but that the publique matters of the State as to the war are in the worst condition that is possible. By and by Sir W. Warren, and with him half an hour discoursing of several businesses, and some I hope will bring me a little profit. He gone, and Sheply, I to the office a little, and then to church, it being thanksgiving-day for the cessation of the plague; but, Lord! how the towne do say that it is hastened before the plague is quite over, there dying some people still, [According to the Bills of Mortality seven persons died in London of the plague during the week November 20th to 27th; and for some weeks after deaths continued from this cause.] but only to get ground for plays to be publickly acted, which the Bishops would not suffer till the plague was over; and one would thinke so, by the suddenness of the notice given of the day, which was last Sunday, and the little ceremony. The sermon being dull of Mr. Minnes, and people with great indifferency come to hear him. After church home, where I met Mr. Gregory, who I did then agree with to come to teach my wife to play on the Viall, and he being an able and sober man, I am mightily glad of it. He had dined, therefore went away, and I to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Barkeshire-house, and there did get a very great meeting; the Duke of York being there, and much business done, though not in proportion to the greatness of the business, and my Lord Chancellor sleeping and snoring the greater part of the time. Among other things I declared the state of our credit as to tallys to raise money by, and there was an order for payment of L5000 to Mr. Gawden, out of which I hope to get something against Christmas. Here we sat late, and here I did hear that there are some troubles like to be in Scotland, there being a discontented party already risen, that have seized on the Governor of Dumfreeze and imprisoned him, [William Fielding, writing to Sir Phil. Musgrave from Carlisle on November 15th, says: "Major Baxter, who has arrived from Dumfries, reports that this morning a great number of horse and foot came into that town, with drawn swords and pistols, gallopped up to Sir Jas. Turner's lodgings, seized him in his bed, carried him without clothes to the marketplace, threatened to cut him to pieces, and seized and put into the Tollbooth all the foot soldiers that were with him; they also secured the minister of Dumfries. Many of the party were lairds and county people from Galloway--200 horse well mounted, one minister was with them who had swords and pistols, and 200 or 300 foot, some with clubs, others with scythes." On November 17th Rob. Meine wrote to Williamson: "On the 15th 120 fanatics from the Glenkins, Deray; and neighbouring parishes in Dumfriesshire, none worth L10 except two mad fellows, the lairds of Barscob and Corsuck, came to Dumfries early in the morning, seized Sir Jas. Turner, commander of a company of men in Dumfriesshire, and carried him, without violence to others, to a strong house in Maxwell town, Galloway, declaring they sought only revenge against the tyrant who had been severe with them for not keeping to church, and had laid their families waste" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 262, 268).] but the story is yet very uncertain, and therefore I set no great weight on it. I home by Mr. Gawden in his coach, and so with great pleasure to spend the evening at home upon my Lyra Viall, and then to supper and to bed. With mighty peace of mind and a hearty desire that I had but what I have quietly in the country, but, I fear, I do at this day see the best that either I or the rest of our nation will ever see. 21st. Up, with Sir W. Batten to Charing Cross, and thence I to wait on Sir Philip Howard, whom I find dressing himself in his night-gown and turban like a Turke, but one of the finest persons that ever I saw in my life. He had several gentlemen of his owne waiting on him, and one playing finely on the gittar: he discourses as well as ever I heard man, in few words and handsome. He expressed all kindness to Balty, when I told him how sick he is: he says that, before he comes to be mustered again, he must bring a certificate of his swearing the oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy, and having taken the Sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England. This, I perceive, is imposed on all, and he will be ready to do. I pray God he may have his health again to be able to do it. Being mightily satisfied with his civility, I away to Westminster Hall, and there walked with several people, and all the discourse is about some trouble in Scotland I heard of yesterday, but nobody can tell the truth of it. Here was Betty Michell with her mother. I would have carried her home, but her father intends to go with her, so I lost my hopes. And thence I to the Excise Office about some tallies, and then to the Exchange, where I did much business, and so home to dinner, and then to the office, where busy all the afternoon till night, and then home to supper, and after supper an hour reading to my wife and brother something in Chaucer with great pleasure, and so to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and my Lord Bruncker did show me Hollar's new print of the City, with a pretty representation of that part which is burnt, very fine indeed; and tells me that he was yesterday sworn the King's servant, and that the King hath commanded him to go on with his great map of the City, which he was upon before the City was burned, like Gombout of Paris, which I am glad of. At noon home to dinner, where my wife and I fell out, I being displeased with her cutting away a lace handkercher sewed about the neck down to her breasts almost, out of a belief, but without reason, that it is the fashion. Here we did give one another the lie too much, but were presently friends, and then I to my office, where very late and did much business, and then home, and there find Mr. Batelier, and did sup and play at cards awhile. But he tells me the newes how the King of France hath, in defiance to the King of England, caused all his footmen to be put into vests, and that the noblemen of France will do the like; which, if true, is the greatest indignity ever done by one Prince to another, and would incite a stone to be revenged; and I hope our King will, if it be so, as he tells me it is: [Planche throws some doubt on this story in his "Cyclopaedia of Costume" (vol. ii., p. 240), and asks the question, "Was Mr. Batelier hoaxing the inquisitive secretary, or was it the idle gossip of the day, as untrustworthy as such gossip is in general?" But the same statement was made by the author of the "Character of a Trimmer," who wrote from actual knowledge of the Court: "About this time a general humour, in opposition to France, had made us throw off their fashion, and put on vests, that we might look more like a distinct people, and not be under the servility of imitation, which ever pays a greater deference to the original than is consistent with the equality all independent nations should pretend to. France did not like this small beginning of ill humours, at least of emulation; and wisely considering, that it is a natural introduction, first to make the world their apes, that they may be afterwards their slaves. It was thought, that one of the instructions Madame [Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans] brought along with her, was to laugh us out of these vests; which she performed so effectually, that in a moment, like so many footmen who had quitted their master's livery, we all took it again, and returned to our old service; so that the very time of doing it gave a very critical advantage to France, since it looked like an evidence of our returning to her interest, as well as to their fashion. "The Character of a Trimmer" ("Miscellanies by the Marquis of Halifax," 1704, p. 164). Evelyn reports that when the king expressed his intention never to alter this fashion, "divers courtiers and gentlemen gave his Majesty gold by way of wager that he would not persist in this resolution" ("Diary," October 18th, 1666).] being told by one that come over from Paris with my Lady Fanshaw, who is come over with the dead body of her husband, and that saw it before he come away. This makes me mighty merry, it being an ingenious kind of affront; but yet it makes me angry, to see that the King of England is become so little as to have the affront offered him. So I left my people at cards, and so to my chamber to read, and then to bed. Batelier did bring us some oysters to-night, and some bottles of new French wine of this year, mighty good, but I drank but little. This noon Bagwell's wife was with me at the office, and I did what I would, and at night comes Mrs. Burroughs, and appointed to meet upon the next holyday and go abroad together. 23rd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, where we and the rest attended the Duke of York, where, among other things, we had a complaint of Sir William Jennings against his lieutenant, Le Neve, one that had been long the Duke's page, and for whom the Duke of York hath great kindness. It was a drunken quarrel, where one was as blameable as the other. It was referred to further examination, but the Duke of York declared, that as he would not favour disobedience, so neither drunkenness, and therein he said very well. Thence with Sir W. Coventry to Westminster Hall, and there parted, he having told me how Sir J. Minnes do disagree from the proposition of resigning his place, and that so the whole matter is again at a stand, at which I am sorry for the King's sake, but glad that Sir W. Pen is again defeated, for I would not have him come to be Comptroller if I could help it, he will be so cruel proud. Here I spoke with Sir G. Downing about our prisoners in Holland, and their being released; which he is concerned in, and most of them are. Then, discoursing of matters of the House of Parliament, he tells me that it is not the fault of the House, but the King's own party, that have hindered the passing of the Bill for money, by their popping in of new projects for raising it: which is a strange thing; and mighty confident he is, that what money is raised, will be raised and put into the same form that the last was, to come into the Exchequer; and, for aught I see, I must confess I think it is the best way. Thence down to the Hall, and there walked awhile, and all the talk is about Scotland, what news thence; but there is nothing come since the first report, and so all is given over for nothing. Thence home, and after dinner to my chamber with Creed, who come and dined with me, and he and I to reckon for his salary, and by and by comes in Colonel Atkins, and I did the like with him, and it was Creed's design to bring him only for his own ends, to seem to do him a courtesy, and it is no great matter. The fellow I hate, and so I think all the world else do. Then to talk of my report I am to make of the state of our wants of money to the Lord Treasurer, but our discourse come to little. However, in the evening, to be rid of him, I took coach and saw him to the Temple and there 'light, and he being gone, with all the haste back again and to my chamber late to enter all this day's matters of account, and to draw up my report to my Lord Treasurer, and so to bed. At the Temple I called at Playford's, and there find that his new impression of his ketches [John Hilton's "Catch that catch can, or a Choice Collection of Catches, Rounds and Canons for 3 or 4 voyces," was first published by Playford in 1651 or 1652. The book was republished "with large additions by John Playford" in 1658. The edition referred to in the text was published in 1667 with a second title of "The Musical Companion." The book was republished in 1672-73.] are not yet out, the fire having hindered it, but his man tells me that it will be a very fine piece, many things new being added to it. 24th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon rose and to my closet, and finished my report to my Lord Treasurer of our Tangier wants, and then with Sir J. Minnes by coach to Stepney to the Trinity House, where it is kept again now since the burning of their other house in London. And here a great many met at Sir Thomas Allen's feast, of his being made an Elder Brother; but he is sick, and so could not be there. Here was much good company, and very merry; but the discourse of Scotland, it seems, is confirmed, and that they are 4000 of them in armes, and do declare for King and Covenant, which is very ill news. I pray God deliver us from the ill consequences we may justly fear from it. Here was a good venison pasty or two and other good victuals; but towards the latter end of the dinner I rose, and without taking leave went away from the table, and got Sir J. Minnes' coach and away home, and thence with my report to my Lord Treasurer's, where I did deliver it to Sir Philip Warwicke for my Lord, who was busy, my report for him to consider against to-morrow's council. Sir Philip Warwicke, I find, is full of trouble in his mind to see how things go, and what our wants are; and so I have no delight to trouble him with discourse, though I honour the man with all my heart, and I think him to be a very able and right honest man. So away home again, and there to my office to write my letters very late, and then home to supper, and then to read the late printed discourse of witches by a member of Gresham College, and then to bed; the discourse being well writ, in good stile, but methinks not very convincing. This day Mr. Martin is come to tell me his wife is brought to bed of a girle, and I promised to christen it next Sunday. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, and there coming late, I to rights to the chapel, where in my usual place I heard one of the King's chaplains, one Mr. Floyd, preach. He was out two or three times in his prayer, and as many in his sermon, but yet he made a most excellent good sermon, of our duty to imitate the lives and practice of Christ and the saints departed, and did it very handsomely and excellent stile; but was a little overlarge in magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates, that we have seen in our memorys in the world, whom God hath taken from us. At the end of the sermon an excellent anthem; but it was a pleasant thing, an idle companion in our pew, a prating, bold counsellor that hath been heretofore at the Navy Office, and noted for a great eater and drinker, not for quantity, but of the best, his name Tom Bales, said, "I know a fitter anthem for this sermon," speaking only of our duty of following the saints, and I know not what. "Cooke should have sung, 'Come, follow, follow me.'" I After sermon up into the gallery, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; where much company. Among others, Mr. Carteret and my Lady Jemimah, and here was also Mr. [John] Ashburnham, the great man, who is a pleasant man, and that hath seen much of the world, and more of the Court. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I to another room, and he tells me more and more of our want of money and in how ill condition we are likely to be soon in, and that he believes we shall not have a fleete at sea the next year. So do I believe; but he seems to speak it as a thing expected by the King and as if their matters were laid accordingly. Thence into the Court and there delivered copies of my report to my Lord Treasurer, to the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry, and others, and attended there till the Council met, and then was called in, and I read my letter. My Lord Treasurer declared that the King had nothing to give till the Parliament did give him some money. So the King did of himself bid me to declare to all that would take our tallys for payment, that he should, soon as the Parliament's money do come in, take back their tallys, and give them money: which I giving him occasion to repeat to me, it coming from him against the 'gre' [Apparently a translation of the French 'contre le gre', and presumably an expression in common use. "Against the grain" is generally supposed to have its origin in the use of a plane against the grain of the wood.] I perceive, of my Lord Treasurer, I was content therewith, and went out, and glad that I have got so much. Here staid till the Council rose, walking in the gallery. All the talke being of Scotland, where the highest report, I perceive, runs but upon three or four hundred in armes; but they believe that it will grow more, and do seem to apprehend it much, as if the King of France had a hand in it. My Lord Lauderdale do make nothing of it, it seems, and people do censure him for it, he from the beginning saying that there was nothing in it, whereas it do appear to be a pure rebellion; but no persons of quality being in it, all do hope that it cannot amount to much. Here I saw Mrs. Stewart this afternoon, methought the beautifullest creature that ever I saw in my life, more than ever I thought her so, often as I have seen her; and I begin to think do exceed my Lady Castlemayne, at least now. This being St. Catherine's day, the Queene was at masse by seven o'clock this morning; and. Mr. Ashburnham do say that he never saw any one have so much zeale in his life as she hath: and, the question being asked by my Lady Carteret, much beyond the bigotry that ever the old Queen-mother had. I spoke with Mr. Maya who tells me that the design of building the City do go on apace, and by his description it will be mighty handsome, and to the satisfaction of the people; but I pray God it come not out too late. The Council up, after speaking with Sir W. Coventry a little, away home with Captain Cocke in his coach, discourse about the forming of his contract he made with us lately for hempe, and so home, where we parted, and I find my uncle Wight and Mrs. Wight and Woolly, who staid and supped, and mighty merry together, and then I to my chamber to even my journal, and then to bed. I will remember that Mr. Ashburnham to-day at dinner told how the rich fortune Mrs. Mallett reports of her servants; that my Lord Herbert would have had her; my Lord Hinchingbroke was indifferent to have her; [They had quarrelled (see August 26th). She, perhaps, was piqued at Lord Hinchingbroke's refusal "to compass the thing without consent of friends" (see February 25th), whence her expression, "indifferent" to have her. It is worthy of remark that their children intermarried; Lord Hinchingbroke's son married Lady Rochester's daughter.--B.] my Lord John Butler might not have her; my Lord of Rochester would have forced her; [Of the lady thus sought after, whom Pepys calls "a beauty" as well as a fortune, and who shortly afterwards, about the 4th February, 1667, became the wife of the Earl of Rochester, then not twenty years old, no authentic portrait is known to exist. When Mr. Miller, of Albemarle Street, in 1811, proposed to publish an edition of the "Memoires de Grammont," he sent an artist to Windsor to copy there the portraits which he could find of those who figure in that work. In the list given to him for this purpose was the name of Lady Rochester. Not finding amongst the "Beauties," or elsewhere, any genuine portrait of her, but seeing that by Hamilton she is absurdly styled "une triste heritiere," the, artist made a drawing from some unknown portrait at Windsor of a lady of a sorrowful countenance, and palmed it off upon the bookseller. In the edition of "Grammont" it is not actually called Lady Rochester, but "La Triste Heritiere." A similar falsification had been practised in Edwards's edition of 1793, but a different portrait had been copied. It is needless, almost, to remark how ill applied is Hamilton's epithet.--B.] and Sir------Popham, who nevertheless is likely to have her, would kiss her breach to have her. 26th. Up, and to my chamber to do some business. Then to speak with several people, among others with Mrs. Burroughs, whom I appointed to meet me at the New Exchange in the afternoon. I by water to Westminster, and there to enquire after my tallies, which I shall get this week. Thence to the Swan, having sent for some burnt claret, and there by and by comes Doll Lane, and she and I sat and drank and talked a great while, among other things about her sister's being brought to bed, and I to be godfather to the girle. I did tumble Doll, and do almost what I would with her, and so parted, and I took coach, and to the New Exchange, buying a neat's tongue by the way, thinking to eat it out of town, but there I find Burroughs in company of an old woman, an aunt of hers, whom she could not leave for half an hour. So after buying a few baubles to while away time, I down to Westminster, and there into the House of Parliament, where, at a great Committee, I did hear, as long as I would, the great case against my Lord Mordaunt, for some arbitrary proceedings of his against one Taylor, whom he imprisoned, and did all the violence to imaginable, only to get him to give way to his abusing his daughter. Here was Mr. Sawyer, my old chamber-fellow, a counsel against my Lord; and I am glad to see him in so good play. Here I met, before the committee sat, with my cozen Roger Pepys, the first time I have spoke with him this parliament. He hath promised to come, and bring Madam Turner with him, who is come to towne to see the City, but hath lost all her goods of all kinds in Salisbury Court, Sir William Turner having not endeavoured, in her absence, to save one penny, to dine with me on Friday next, of which I am glad. Roger bids me to help him to some good rich widow; for he is resolved to go, and retire wholly, into the country; for, he says, he is confident we shall be all ruined very speedily, by what he sees in the State, and I am much in his mind. Having staid as long as I thought fit for meeting of Burroughs, I away and to the 'Change again, but there I do not find her now, I having staid too long at the House, and therefore very hungry, having eat nothing to-day. Home, and there to eat presently, and then to the office a little, and to Sir W. Batten, where Sir J. Minnes and Captain Cocke was; but no newes from the North at all to-day; and the newes-book makes the business nothing, but that they are all dispersed. I pray God it may prove so. So home, and, after a little, to my chamber to bed. 27th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and here I had a letter from Mr. Brisband on another occasion, which, by the by, intimates my Lord Hinchingbroke's intention to come and dine with me to-morrow. This put me into a great surprise, and therefore endeavoured all I could to hasten over our business at the office, and so home at noon and to dinner, and then away by coach, it being a very foul day, to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret's find my Lord Hinchingbroke, who promises to dine with me to-morrow, and bring Mr. Carteret along with him. Here I staid a little while talking with him and the ladies, and then away to my Lord Crew's, and then did by the by make a visit to my Lord Crew, and had some good discourse with him, he doubting that all will break in pieces in the kingdom; and that the taxes now coming out, which will tax the same man in three or four several capacities, as for lands, office, profession, and money at interest, will be the hardest that ever come out; and do think that we owe it, and the lateness of its being given, wholly to the unpreparedness of the King's own party, to make their demand and choice; for they have obstructed the giving it by land-tax, which had been done long since. Having ended my visit, I spoke to Sir Thomas Crew, to invite him and his brother John to dinner tomorrow, at my house, to meet Lord Hinchingbroke; and so homewards, calling at the cook's, who is to dress it, to bespeak him, and then home, and there set things in order for a very fine dinner, and then to the office, where late very busy and to good purpose as to dispatch of business, and then home. To bed, my people sitting up to get things in order against to-morrow. This evening was brought me what Griffin had, as he says, taken this evening off of the table in the office, a letter sealed and directed to the Principal Officers and Commissioners of the Navy. It is a serious and just libel against our disorder in paying of our money, making ten times more people wait than we have money for, and complaining by name of Sir W. Batten for paying away great sums to particular people, which is true. I was sorry to see this way of reproach taken against us, but more sorry that there is true ground for it. 28th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen to White Hall (setting his lady and daughter down by the way at a mercer's in the Strand, where they are going to lay out some money), where, though it blows hard and rains hard, yet the Duke of York is gone a-hunting. We therefore lost our labour, and so back again, and by hackney coach to secure places to get things ready against dinner, and then home, and did the like there, and to my great satisfaction: and at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, Sir Thomas Crew, Mr. John Crew, Mr. Carteret, and Brisband. I had six noble dishes for them, dressed by a man-cook, and commended, as indeed they deserved, for exceeding well done. We eat with great pleasure, and I enjoyed myself in it with reflections upon the pleasures which I at best can expect, yet not to exceed this; eating in silver plates, and all things mighty rich and handsome about me. A great deal of fine discourse, sitting almost till dark at dinner, and then broke up with great pleasure, especially to myself; and they away, only Mr. Carteret and I to Gresham College, where they meet now weekly again, and here they had good discourse how this late experiment of the dog, which is in perfect good health, may be improved for good uses to men, and other pretty things, and then broke up. Here was Mr. Henry Howard, that will hereafter be Duke of Norfolke, who is admitted this day into the Society, and being a very proud man, and one that values himself upon his family, writes his name, as he do every where, Henry Howard of Norfolke. Thence home and there comes my Lady Pen, Pegg, and Mrs. Turner, and played at cards and supped with us, and were pretty merry, and Pegg with me in my closet a good while, and did suffer me 'a la baiser mouche et toucher ses cosas' upon her breast, wherein I had great pleasure, and so spent the evening and then broke up, and I to bed, my mind mightily pleased with the day's entertainment. 29th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where I find Balty come out to see us, but looks like death, and I do fear he is in a consumption; he has not been abroad many weeks before, and hath now a well day, and a fit day of the headake in extraordinary torture. After dinner left him and his wife, they having their mother hard by and my wife, and I a wet afternoon to White Hall to have seen my Lady Carteret and Jemimah, but as God would have it they were abroad, and I was well contented at it. So my wife and I to Westminster Hall, where I left her a little, and to the Exchequer, and then presently home again, calling at our man-cooke's for his help to-morrow, but he could not come. So I home to the office, my people all busy to get a good dinner to-morrow again. I late at the office, and all the newes I hear I put into a letter this night to my Lord Bruncker at Chatham, thus:-- "I doubt not of your lordship's hearing of Sir Thomas Clifford's succeeding Sir H. Pollard' in the Comptrollership of the King's house; but perhaps our ill, but confirmed, tidings from the Barbadoes may not [have reached you] yet, it coming but yesterday; viz., that about eleven ships, whereof two of the King's, the Hope and Coventry, going thence with men to attack St. Christopher's, were seized by a violent hurricane, and all sunk--two only of thirteen escaping, and those with loss of masts, &c. My Lord Willoughby himself is involved in the disaster, and I think two ships thrown upon an island of the French, and so all the men, to 500, become their prisoners. 'Tis said, too, that eighteen Dutch men-of-war are passed the Channell, in order to meet with our Smyrna ships; and some, I hear, do fright us with the King of Sweden's seizing our mast-ships at Gottenburgh. But we have too much ill newes true, to afflict ourselves with what is uncertain. That which I hear from Scotland is, the Duke of York's saying, yesterday, that he is confident the Lieutenant-Generall there hath driven them into a pound, somewhere towards the mountains." Having writ my letter, I home to supper and to bed, the world being mightily troubled at the ill news from Barbadoes, and the consequence of the Scotch business, as little as we do make of it. And to shew how mad we are at home, here, and unfit for any troubles: my Lord St. John did, a day or two since, openly pull a gentleman in Westminster Hall by the nose, one Sir Andrew Henly, while the judges were upon their benches, and the other gentleman did give him a rap over the pate with his cane, of which fray the judges, they say, will make a great matter: men are only sorry the gentle man did proceed to return a blow; for, otherwise, my Lord would have been soundly fined for the affront, and may be yet for his affront to the judges. 30th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there we did attend the Duke of York, and had much business with him; and pretty to see, it being St. Andrew's day, how some few did wear St. Andrew's crosse; but most did make a mockery at it, and the House of Parliament, contrary to practice, did sit also: people having no mind to observe the Scotch saints' days till they hear better newes from Scotland. Thence to Westminster Hall and the Abbey, thinking as I had appointed to have met Mrs. Burroughs there, but not meeting her I home, and just overtook my cozen Roger Pepys, Mrs. Turner, Dicke, and Joyce Norton, coming by invitation to dine with me. These ladies I have not seen since before the plague. Mrs. Turner is come to towne to look after her things in her house, but all is lost. She is quite weary of the country, but cannot get her husband to let her live here any more, which troubles her mightily. She was mighty angry with me, that in all this time I never writ to her, which I do think and take to myself as a fault, and which I have promised to mend. Here I had a noble and costly dinner for them, dressed by a man-cooke, as that the other day was, and pretty merry we were, as I could be with this company and so great a charge. We sat long, and after much talk of the plenty of her country in fish, but in nothing also that is pleasing, we broke up with great kindness, and when it begun to be dark we parted, they in one coach home, and I in another to Westminster Hall, where by appointment Mrs. Burroughs and I were to meet, but did not after I had spent the whole evening there. Only I did go drink at the Swan, and there did meet with Sarah, who is now newly married, and there I did lay the beginnings of a future 'amour con elle'. . . . . Thence it being late away called at Mrs. Burroughs' mother's door, and she come out to me, and I did hazer whatever I would . . . . and then parted, and home, and after some playing at cards with my wife, we to supper and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Amending of bad blood by borrowing from a better body And for his beef, says he, "Look how fat it is" First their apes, that they may be afterwards their slaves For a land-tax and against a general excise I had six noble dishes for them, dressed by a man-cook In opposition to France, had made us throw off their fashion Magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates Origin in the use of a plane against the grain of the wood Play on the harpsicon, till she tired everybody Reading to my wife and brother something in Chaucer Said that there hath been a design to poison the King Tax the same man in three or four several capacities There I did lay the beginnings of a future 'amour con elle' Too much ill newes true, to afflict ourselves with uncertain What I had writ foule in short hand 
4170	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1666 December 1st. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At home to dinner, and then abroad walking to the Old Swan, and in my way I did see a cellar in Tower Streete in a very fresh fire, the late great winds having blown it up. [The fire continued burning in some cellars of the ruins of the city for four months, though it rained in the month of October ten days without ceasing (Rugge's "Diurnal").--B.] It seemed to be only of log-wood, that Hath kept the fire all this while in it. Going further, I met my late Lord Mayor Bludworth, under whom the City was burned, and went with him by water to White Hall. But, Lord! the silly talk that this fellow had, only how ready he would be to part with all his estate in these difficult times to advance the King's service, and complaining that now, as every body did lately in the fire, every body endeavours to save himself, and let the whole perish: but a very weak man he seems to be. I left him at White Hall, he giving 6d. towards the boat, and I to Westminster Hall, where I was again defeated in my expectation of Burroughs. However, I was not much sorry for it, but by coach home, in the evening, calling at Faythorne's, buying three of my Lady Castlemayne's heads, printed this day, which indeed is, as to the head, I think, a very fine picture, and like her. I did this afternoon get Mrs. Michell to let me only have a sight of a pamphlet lately printed, but suppressed and much called after, called "The Catholique's Apology;" lamenting the severity of the Parliament against them, and comparing it with the lenity of other princes to Protestants; giving old and late instances of their loyalty to their princes, whatever is objected against them; and excusing their disquiets in Queen Elizabeth's time, for that it was impossible for them to think her a lawfull Queen, if Queen Mary, who had been owned as such, were so; one being the daughter of the true, and the other of a false wife: and that of the Gunpowder Treason, by saying that it was only the practice of some of us, if not the King, to trepan some of their religion into it, it never being defended by the generality of their Church, nor indeed known by them; and ends with a large Catalogue, in red letters, of the Catholiques which have lost their lives in the quarrel of the late King and this. The thing is very well writ indeed. So home to my letters, and then to my supper and to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and after church home to dinner, where I met Betty Michell and her husband, very merry at dinner, and after dinner, having borrowed Sir W. Pen's coach, we to Westminster, they two and my wife and I to Mr. Martin's, where find the company almost all come to the christening of Mrs. Martin's child, a girl. A great deal of good plain company. After sitting long, till the church was done, the Parson comes, and then we to christen the child. I was Godfather, and Mrs. Holder (her husband, a good man, I know well), and a pretty lady, that waits, it seems, on my Lady Bath, at White Hall, her name, Mrs. Noble, were Godmothers. After the christening comes in the wine and the sweetmeats, and then to prate and tattle, and then very good company they were, and I among them. Here was old Mrs. Michell and Howlett, and several married women of the Hall, whom I knew mayds. Here was also Mrs. Burroughs and Mrs. Bales, the young widow, whom I led home, and having staid till the moon was up, I took my pretty gossip to White Hall with us, and I saw her in her lodging, and then my owne company again took coach, and no sooner in the coach but something broke, that we were fain there to stay till a smith could be fetched, which was above an hour, and then it costing me 6s. to mend. Away round by the wall and Cow Lane, [Cow Lane, West Smithfield (now named King Street), was famous for its coachmakers.] for fear it should break again; and in pain about the coach all the way. But to ease myself therein Betty Michell did sit at the same end with me . . . . Being very much pleased with this, we at last come home, and so to supper, and then sent them by boat home, and we to bed. When I come home I went to Sir W. Batten's, and there I hear more ill newes still: that all our New England fleete, which went out lately, are put back a third time by foul weather, and dispersed, some to one port and some to another; and their convoys also to Plymouth; and whether any of them be lost or not, we do not know. This, added to all the rest, do lay us flat in our hopes and courages, every body prophesying destruction to the nation. 3rd. Up, and, among a great many people that come to speak with me, one was my Lord Peterborough's gentleman, who comes to me to dun me to get some money advanced for my Lord; and I demanding what newes, he tells me that at Court they begin to fear the business of Scotland more and more; and that the Duke of York intends to go to the North to raise an army, and that the King would have some of the Nobility and others to go and assist; but they were so served the last year, among others his Lord, in raising forces at their own charge, for fear of the French invading us, that they will not be got out now, without money advanced to them by the King, and this is like to be the King's case for certain, if ever he comes to have need of any army. He and others gone, I by water to Westminster, and there to the Exchequer, and put my tallys in a way of doing for the last quarter. But my not following it the last week has occasioned the clerks some trouble, which I am sorry for, and they are mad at. Thence at noon home, and there find Kate Joyce, who dined with me: Her husband and she are weary of their new life of being an Innkeeper, and will leave it, and would fain get some office; but I know none the foole is fit for, but would be glad to help them, if I could, though they have enough to live on, God be thanked! though their loss hath been to the value of L3000 W. Joyce now has all the trade, she says, the trade being come to that end of the towne. She dined with me, my wife being ill of her months in bed. I left her with my wife, and away myself to Westminster Hall by appointment and there found out Burroughs, and I took her by coach as far as the Lord Treasurer's and called at the cake house by Hales's, and there in the coach eat and drank and then carried her home . . . . So having set her down in the palace I to the Swan, and there did the first time 'baiser' the little sister of Sarah that is come into her place, and so away by coach home, where to my vyall and supper and then to bed, being weary of the following of my pleasure and sorry for my omitting (though with a true salvo to my vowes) the stating my last month's accounts in time, as I should, but resolve to settle, and clear all my business before me this month, that I may begin afresh the next yeare, and enjoy some little pleasure freely at Christmasse. So to bed, and with more cheerfulness than I have done a good while, to hear that for certain the Scott rebells are all routed; they having been so bold as to come within three miles of Edinburgh, and there given two or three repulses to the King's forces, but at last were mastered. Three or four hundred killed or taken, among which their leader, one Wallis, and seven ministers, they having all taken the Covenant a few days before, and sworn to live and die in it, as they did; and so all is likely to be there quiet again. There is also the very good newes come of four New-England ships come home safe to Falmouth with masts for the King; which is a blessing mighty unexpected, and without which, if for nothing else, we must have failed the next year. But God be praised for thus much good fortune, and send us the continuance of his favour in other things! So to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home. After dinner presently to my office, and there late and then home to even my Journall and accounts, and then to supper much eased in mind, and last night's good news, which is more and more confirmed with particulars to very good purpose, and so to bed. 5th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where we did much business before the Duke of York, which being done, I away home by water again, and there to my office till noon busy. At noon home, and Goodgroome dined with us, who teaches my wife to sing. After dinner I did give him my song, "Beauty retire," which he has often desired of me, and without flattery I think is a very good song. He gone, I to the office, and there late, very busy doing much business, and then home to supper and talk, and then scold with my wife for not reckoning well the times that her musique master hath been with her, but setting down more than I am sure, and did convince her, they had been with her, and in an ill humour of anger with her to bed. 6th. Up, but very good friends with her before I rose, and so to the office, where we sat all the forenoon, and then home to dinner, where Harman dined with us, and great sport to hear him tell how Will Joyce grows rich by the custom of the City coming to his end of the towne, and how he rants over his brother and sister for their keeping an Inne, and goes thither and tears like a prince, calling him hosteller and his sister hostess. Then after dinner, my wife and brother, in another habit; go out to see a play; but I am not to take notice that I know of my brother's going. So I to the office, where very busy till late at night, and then home. My wife not pleased with the play, but thinks that it is because she is grown more critical than she used to be, but my brother she says is mighty taken with it. So to supper and to bed. This day, in the Gazette, is the whole story of defeating the Scotch rebells, and of the creation of the Duke of Cambridge, Knight of the Garter. 7th. Up, and by water to the Exchequer, where I got my tallys finished for the last quarter for Tangier, and having paid all my fees I to the Swan, whither I sent for some oysters, and thither comes Mr. Falconbridge and Spicer and many more clerks; and there we eat and drank, and a great deal of their sorry discourse, and so parted, and I by coach home, meeting Balty in the streete about Charing Crosse walking, which I am glad to see and spoke to him about his mustering business, I being now to give an account how the several muster-masters have behaved themselves, and so home to dinner, where finding the cloth laid and much crumpled but clean, I grew angry and flung the trenchers about the room, and in a mighty heat I was: so a clean cloth was laid, and my poor wife very patient, and so to dinner, and in comes Mrs. Barbara Sheldon, now Mrs. Wood, and dined with us, she mighty fine, and lives, I perceive, mighty happily, which I am glad [of] for her sake, but hate her husband for a block-head in his choice. So away after dinner, leaving my wife and her, and by water to the Strand, and so to the King's playhouse, where two acts were almost done when I come in; and there I sat with my cloak about my face, and saw the remainder of "The Mayd's Tragedy;" a good play, and well acted, especially by the younger Marshall, who is become a pretty good actor, and is the first play I have seen in either of the houses since before the great plague, they having acted now about fourteen days publickly. But I was in mighty pain lest I should be seen by any body to be at a play. Soon as done I home, and then to my office awhile, and then home and spent the night evening my Tangier accounts, much to my satisfaction, and then to supper, and mighty good friends with my poor wife, and so to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and there find Mr. Pierce and his wife and Betty, a pretty girle, who in discourse at table told me the great Proviso passed the House of Parliament yesterday; which makes the King and Court mad, the King having given order to my Lord Chamberlain to send to the playhouses and bawdy houses, to bid all the Parliament-men that were there to go to the Parliament presently. This is true, it seems; but it was carried against the Court by thirty or forty voices. It is a Proviso to the Poll Bill, that there shall be a Committee of nine persons that shall have the inspection upon oath, and power of giving others, of all the accounts of the money given and spent for this warr. This hath a most sad face, and will breed very ill blood. He tells me, brought in by Sir Robert Howard, who is one of the King's servants, at least hath a great office, and hath got, they say, L20,000 since the King come in. Mr. Pierce did also tell me as a great truth, as being told it by Mr. Cowly, who was by, and heard it, that Tom Killigrew should publiquely tell the King that his matters were coming into a very ill state; but that yet there was a way to help all, which is, says he, "There is a good, honest, able man, that I could name, that if your Majesty would employ, and command to see all things well executed, all things would soon be mended; and this is one Charles Stuart, who now spends his time in employing his lips . . . . about the Court, and hath no other employment; but if you would give him this employment, he were the fittest man in the world to perform it." This, he says, is most true; but the King do not profit by any of this, but lays all aside, and remembers nothing, but to his pleasures again; which is a sorrowful consideration. Very good company we were at dinner, and merry, and after dinner, he being gone about business, my wife and I and Mrs. Pierce and Betty and Balty, who come to see us to-day very sick, and went home not well, together out, and our coach broke the wheel off upon Ludgate Hill. So we were fain to part ourselves and get room in other people's coaches, and Mrs. Pierce and I in one, and I carried her home and set her down, and myself to the King's playhouse, which troubles me since, and hath cost me a forfeit of 10s., which I have paid, and there did see a good part of "The English Monsieur," which is a mighty pretty play, very witty and pleasant. And the women do very well; but, above all, little Nelly; that I am mightily pleased with the play, and much with the House, more than ever I expected, the women doing better than ever I expected, and very fine women. Here I was in pain to be seen, and hid myself; but, as God would have it, Sir John Chichly come, and sat just by me. Thence to Mrs. Pierce's, and there took up my wife and away home, and to the office and Sir W. Batten's, of whom I hear that this Proviso in Parliament is mightily ill taken by all the Court party as a mortal blow, and that, that strikes deep into the King's prerogative, which troubles me mightily. Home, and set some papers right in my chamber, and then to supper and to bed, we being in much fear of ill news of our colliers. A fleete of two hundred sail, and fourteen Dutch men-of-war between them and us and they coming home with small convoy; and the City in great want, coals being at L3 3s. per chaldron, as I am told. I saw smoke in the ruines this very day. 9th (Lord's day). Up, not to church, but to my chamber, and there begun to enter into this book my journall of September, which in the fire-time I could not enter here, but in loose papers. At noon dined, and then to my chamber all the afternoon and night, looking over and tearing and burning all the unnecessary letters, which I have had upon my file for four or five years backward, which I intend to do quite through all my papers, that I may have nothing by me but what is worth keeping, and fit to be seen, if I should miscarry. At this work till midnight, and then to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and at my office all the morning, and several people with me, Sir W. Warren, who I do every day more and more admire for a miracle of cunning and forecast in his business, and then Captain Cocke, with whom I walked in the garden, and he tells me how angry the Court is at the late Proviso brought in by the House. How still my Lord Chancellor is, not daring to do or say any thing to displease the Parliament; that the Parliament is in a very ill humour, and grows every day more and more so; and that the unskilfulness of the Court, and their difference among one another, is the occasion of all not agreeing in what they would have, and so they give leisure and occasion to the other part to run away with what the Court would not have. Then comes Mr. Gawden, and he and I in my chamber discoursing about his business, and to pay him some Tangier orders which he delayed to receive till I had money instead of tallies, but do promise me consideration for my victualling business for this year, and also as Treasurer for Tangier, which I am glad of, but would have been gladder to have just now received it. He gone, I alone to dinner at home, my wife and her people being gone down the river to-day for pleasure, though a cold day and dark night to come up. In the afternoon I to the Excise Office to enter my tallies, which I did, and come presently back again, and then to the office and did much business, and then home to supper, my wife and people being come well and hungry home from Erith. Then I to begin the setting of a Base to "It is Decreed," and so to bed. 11th. Up, and to the office, where we sat, and at noon home to dinner, a small dinner because of a good supper. After dinner my wife and I by coach to St. Clement's Church, to Mrs. Turner's lodgings, hard by, to take our leaves of her. She is returning into the North to her children, where, I perceive, her husband hath clearly got the mastery of her, and she is likely to spend her days there, which for her sake I am a little sorry for, though for his it is but fit she should live where he hath a mind. Here were several people come to see and take leave of her, she going to-morrow: among others, my Lady Mordant, which was Betty Turner, a most homely widow, but young, and pretty rich, and good natured. Thence, having promised to write every month to her, we home, and I to my office, while my wife to get things together for supper. Dispatching my business at the office. Anon come our guests, old Mr. Batelier, and his son and daughter, Mercer, which was all our company. We had a good venison pasty and other good cheer, and as merry as in so good, innocent, and understanding company I could be. He is much troubled that wines, laden by him in France before the late proclamation was out, cannot now be brought into England, which is so much to his and other merchants' loss. We sat long at supper and then to talk, and so late parted and so to bed. This day the Poll Bill was to be passed, and great endeavours used to take away the Proviso. 12th. Up, and to the office, where some accounts of Mr. Gawden's were examined, but I home most of the morning to even some accounts with Sir H. Cholmly, Mr. Moone, and others one after another. Sir H. Cholmly did with grief tell me how the Parliament hath been told plainly that the King hath been heard to say, that he would dissolve them rather than pass this Bill with the Proviso; but tells me, that the Proviso is removed, and now carried that it shall be done by a Bill by itself. He tells me how the King hath lately paid about L30,000 [Two thousand pounds of this sum went to Alderman Edward Bakewell for two diamond rings, severally charged L1000 and L900, bought March 14th, 1665-66 (Second addenda to Steinman's "Memoir of the Duchess of Cleveland," privately printed, 1878, p. 4.).] to clear debts of my Lady Castlemayne's; and that she and her husband are parted for ever, upon good terms, never to trouble one another more. He says that he hears L400,000 hath gone into the Privypurse since this warr; and that that hath consumed so much of our money, and makes the King and Court so mad to be brought to discover it. He gone, and after him the rest, I to the office, and at noon to the 'Change, where the very good newes is just come of our four ships from Smyrna, come safe without convoy even into the Downes, without seeing any enemy; which is the best, and indeed only considerable good newes to our Exchange, since the burning of the City; and it is strange to see how it do cheer up men's hearts. Here I saw shops now come to be in this Exchange, and met little Batelier, who sits here but at L3 per annum, whereas he sat at the other at L100, which he says he believes will prove of as good account to him now as the other did at that rent. From the 'Change to Captain Cocke's, and there, by agreement, dined, and there was Charles Porter, Temple, Fern, Debasty, whose bad English and pleasant discourses was exceeding good entertainment, Matt. Wren, Major Cooper, and myself, mighty merry and pretty discourse. They talked for certain, that now the King do follow Mrs. Stewart wholly, and my Lady Castlemayne not above once a week; that the Duke of York do not haunt my Lady Denham so much; that she troubles him with matters of State, being of my Lord Bristoll's faction, and that he avoids; that she is ill still. After dinner I away to the office, where we sat late upon Mr. Gawden's accounts, Sir J. Minnes being gone home sick. I late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed, being mightily troubled with a pain in the small of my back, through cold, or (which I think most true) my straining last night to get open my plate chest, in such pain all night I could not turn myself in my bed. Newes this day from Brampton, of Mr. Ensum, my sister's sweetheart, being dead: a clowne. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat. At noon to the 'Change and there met Captain Cocke, and had a second time his direction to bespeak L100 of plate, which I did at Sir R. Viner's, being twelve plates more, and something else I have to choose. Thence home to dinner, and there W. Hewer dined with me, and showed me a Gazette, in April last, which I wonder should never be remembered by any body, which tells how several persons were then tried for their lives, and were found guilty of a design of killing the King and destroying the Government; and as a means to it, to burn the City; and that the day intended for the plot was the 3rd of last September. [The "Gazette" of April 23rd-26th, 1666, which contains the following remarkable passage: "At the Sessions in the Old Bailey, John Rathbone, an old army colonel, William Saunders, Henry Tucker, Thomas Flint, Thomas Evans, John Myles, Will. Westcot, and John Cole, officers or soldiers in the late Rebellion, were indicted for conspiring the death of his Majesty and the overthrow of the Government. Having laid their plot and contrivance for the surprisal of the Tower, the killing his Grace the Lord General, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Sir Richard Brown; and then to have declared for an equal division of lands, &c. The better to effect this hellish design, the City was to have been fired, and the portcullis let down to keep out all assistance; and the Horse Guards to have been surprised in the inns where they were quartered, several ostlers having been gained for that purpose. The Tower was accordingly viewed, and its surprise ordered by boats over the moat, and from thence to scale the wall. One Alexander, not yet taken, had likewise distributed money to these conspirators; and, for the carrying on the design more effectually, they were told of a Council of the great ones that sat frequently in London, from whom issued all orders; which Council received their directions from another in Holland, who sat with the States; and that the third of September was pitched on for the attempt, as being found by Lilly's Almanack, and a scheme erected for that purpose, to be a lucky day, a planet then ruling which prognosticated the downfall of Monarchy. The evidence against these persons was very full and clear, and they were accordingly found guilty of High Treason." See November 10th, 1666--B.] And the fire did indeed break out on the 2nd of September, which is very strange, methinks, and I shall remember it. At the office all the afternoon late, and then home to even my accounts in my Tangier book, which I did to great content in all respects, and joy to my heart, and so to bed. This afternoon Sir W. Warren and Mr. Moore, one after another, walked with me in the garden, and they both tell me that my Lord Sandwich is called home, and that he do grow more and more in esteem everywhere, and is better spoken of, which I am mighty glad of, though I know well enough his deserving the same before, and did foresee that it will come to it. In mighty great pain in my back still, but I perceive it changes its place, and do not trouble me at all in making of water, and that is my joy, so that I believe it is nothing but a strain, and for these three or four days I perceive my overworking of my eyes by candlelight do hurt them as it did the last winter, that by day I am well and do get them right, but then after candlelight they begin to be sore and run, so that I intend to get some green spectacles. 14th. Up, and very well again of my pain in my back, it having been nothing but cold. By coach to White Hall, seeing many smokes of the fire by the way yet, and took up into the coach with me a country gentleman, who asked me room to go with me, it being dirty--one come out of the North to see his son, after the burning his house: a merchant. Here endeavoured to wait on the Duke of York, but he would not stay from the Parliament. So I to Westminster Hall, and there met my good friend Mr. Evelyn, and walked with him a good while, lamenting our condition for want of good council, and the King's minding of his business and servants. I out to the Bell Taverne, and thither comes Doll to me . . . ., and after an hour's stay, away and staid in Westminster Hall till the rising of the house, having told Mr. Evelyn, and he several others, of my Gazette which I had about me that mentioned in April last a plot for which several were condemned of treason at the Old Bayly for many things, and among others for a design of burning the city on the 3rd of September. The house sat till three o'clock, and then up: and I home with Sir Stephen Fox to his house to dinner, and the Cofferer with us. There I find Sir S. Fox's lady, a fine woman, and seven the prettiest children of theirs that ever I knew almost. A very genteel dinner, and in great state and fashion, and excellent discourse; and nothing like an old experienced man and a courtier, and such is the Cofferer Ashburnham. The House have been mighty hot to-day against the Paper Bill, showing all manner of averseness to give the King money; which these courtiers do take mighty notice of, and look upon the others as bad rebells as ever the last were. But the courtiers did carry it against those men upon a division of the House, a great many, that it should be committed; and so it was: which they reckon good news. After dinner we three to the Excise Office, and there had long discourse about our monies, but nothing to satisfaction, that is, to shew any way of shortening the time which our tallies take up before they become payable, which is now full two years, which is 20 per, cent. for all the King's money for interest, and the great disservice of his Majesty otherwise. Thence in the evening round by coach home, where I find Foundes his present, of a fair pair of candlesticks, and half a dozen of plates come, which cost him full L50, and is a very good present; and here I met with, sealed up, from Sir H. Cholmly, the lampoone, or the Mocke-Advice to a Paynter, [In a broadside (1680), quoted by Mr. G. T. Drury in his edition of Waller's Poems, 1893, satirical reference is made to the fashionable form of advice to the painters "Each puny brother of the rhyming trade At every turn implores the Painter's aid, And fondly enamoured of own foul brat Cries in an ecstacy, Paint this, draw that." The series was continued, for we find "Advice to a Painter upon the Defeat of the Rebels in the West and the Execution of the late Duke of Monmouth" ("Poems on Affairs of State," vol. ii., p. 148); "Advice to a Painter, being a Satire on the French King," &c., 1692, and "Advice to a Painter," 1697 ("Poems on Affairs of State," vol. ii., p. 428).] abusing the Duke of York and my Lord Sandwich, Pen, and every body, and the King himself, in all the matters of the navy and warr. I am sorry for my Lord Sandwich's having so great a part in it. Then to supper and musique, and to bed. 15th. Up and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker newly come to town, from his being at Chatham and Harwich to spy enormities: and at noon I with him and his lady Williams, to Captain Cocke's, where a good dinner, and very merry. Good news to-day upon the Exchange, that our Hamburgh fleete is got in; and good hopes that we may soon have the like of our Gottenburgh, and then we shall be well for this winter. Very merry at dinner. And by and by comes in Matt. Wren from the Parliament-house; and tells us that he and all his party of the House, which is the Court party, are fools, and have been made so this day by the wise men of the other side; for, after the Court party had carried it yesterday so powerfully for the Paper-Bill, [It was called "A Bill for raising part of the supply for his Majesty by an imposition on Sealed Paper and Parchment"--B.] yet now it is laid aside wholly, and to be supplied by a land-tax; which it is true will do well, and will be the sooner finished, which was the great argument for the doing of it. But then it shews them fools, that they would not permit this to have been done six weeks ago, which they might have had. And next, they have parted with the Paper Bill, which, when once begun, might have proved a very good flower in the Crowne, as any there. So do really say that they are truly outwitted by the other side. Thence away to Sir R. Viner's, and there chose some plate besides twelve plates which I purpose to have with Captain Cocke's gift of L100, and so home and there busy late, and then home and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with my wife in bed, then up with great content and to my chamber to set right a picture or two, Lovett having sent me yesterday Sancta Clara's head varnished, which is very fine, and now my closet is so full stored, and so fine, as I would never desire to have it better. Dined without any strangers with me, which I do not like on Sundays. Then after dinner by water to Westminster to see Mrs. Martin, whom I found up in her chamber and ready to go abroad. I sat there with her and her husband and others a pretty while, and then away to White Hall, and there walked up and down to the Queen's side, and there saw my dear Lady Castlemayne, who continues admirable, methinks, and I do not hear but that the King is the same to her still as ever. Anon to chapel, by the King's closet, and heard a very good anthemne. Then with Lord Bruncker to Sir W. Coventry's chamber; and there we sat with him and talked. He is weary of anything to do, he says, in the Navy. He tells us this Committee of Accounts will enquire sharply into our office. And, speaking of Sir J. Minnes, he says he will not bear any body's faults but his own. He discoursed as bad of Sir W. Batten almost, and cries out upon the discipline of the fleete, which is lost, and that there is not in any of the fourth rates and under scarce left one Sea Commander, but all young gentlemen; and what troubles him, he hears that the gentlemen give out that in two or three years a Tarpaulin shall not dare to look after being better than a Boatswain. Which he is troubled at, and with good reason, and at this day Sir Robert Holmes is mighty troubled that his brother do not command in chief, but is commanded by Captain Hannum, who, Sir W. Coventry says, he believes to be at least of as good blood, is a longer bred seaman, an elder officer, and an elder commander, but such is Sir R. Holmes's pride as never to be stopt, he being greatly troubled at my Lord Bruncker's late discharging all his men and officers but the standing officers at Chatham, and so are all other Commanders, and a very great cry hath been to the King from them all in my Lord's absence. But Sir W. Coventry do undertake to defend it, and my Lord Bruncker got ground I believe by it, who is angry at Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's bad words concerning it, and I have made it worse by telling him that they refuse to sign to a paper which he and I signed on Saturday to declare the reason of his actions, which Sir W. Coventry likes and would have it sent him and he will sign it, which pleases me well. So we parted, and I with Lord Bruncker to Sir P. Neale's chamber, and there sat and talked awhile, Sir Edward Walker being there, and telling us how he hath lost many fine rowles of antiquity in heraldry by the late fire, but hath saved the most of his papers. Here was also Dr. Wallis, the famous scholar and mathematician; but he promises little. Left them, and in the dark and cold home by water, and so to supper and to read and so to bed, my eyes being better to-day, and I cannot impute it to anything but by my being much in the dark to-night, for I plainly find that it is only excess of light that makes my eyes sore. This after noon I walked with Lord Bruncker into the Park and there talked of the times, and he do think that the King sees that he cannot never have much more money or good from this Parliament, and that therefore he may hereafter dissolve them, that as soon as he has the money settled he believes a peace will be clapped up, and that there are overtures of a peace, which if such as the Lord Chancellor can excuse he will take. For it is the Chancellor's interest, he says, to bring peace again, for in peace he can do all and command all, but in war he cannot, because he understands not the nature of the war as to the management thereof. He tells me he do not believe the Duke of York will go to sea again, though there are a great many about the King that would be glad of any occasion to take him out of the world, he standing in their ways; and seemed to mean the Duke of Monmouth, who spends his time the most viciously and idly of any man, nor will be fit for any thing; yet bespeaks as if it were not impossible but the King would own him for his son, and that there was a marriage between his mother and him; which God forbid should be if it be not true, nor will the Duke of York easily be gulled in it. But this put to our other distractions makes things appear very sad, and likely to be the occasion of much confusion in a little time, and my Lord Bruncker seems to say that nothing can help us but the King's making a peace soon as he hath this money; and thereby putting himself out of debt, and so becoming a good husband, and then he will neither need this nor any other Parliament, till he can have one to his mind: for no Parliament can, as he says, be kept long good, but they will spoil one another, and that therefore it hath been the practice of kings to tell Parliaments what he hath for them to do, and give them so long time to do it in, and no longer. Harry Kembe, one of our messengers, is lately dead. 17th. Up, and several people to speak with me, and then comes Mr. Caesar, and then Goodgroome, and, what with one and the other, nothing but musique with me this morning, to my great content; and the more, to see that God Aimighty hath put me into condition to bear the charge of all this. So out to the 'Change, and did a little business, and then home, where they two musicians and Mr. Cooke come to see me, and Mercer to go along with my wife this afternoon to a play. To dinner, and then our company all broke up, and to my chamber to do several things. Among other things, to write a letter to my Lord Sandwich, it being one of the burdens upon my mind that I have not writ to him since he went into Spain, but now I do intend to give him a brief account of our whole year's actions since he went, which will make amends. My wife well home in the evening from the play; which I was glad of, it being cold and dark, and she having her necklace of pearl on, and none but Mercer with her. Spent the evening in fitting my books, to have the number set upon each, in order to my having an alphabet of my whole, which will be of great ease to me. This day Captain Batters come from sea in his fireship and come to see me, poor man, as his patron, and a poor painful wretch he is as can be. After supper to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where I hear the ill news that poor Batters, that had been born and bred a seaman, and brought up his ship from sea but yesterday, was, going down from me to his ship, drowned in the Thames, which is a sad fortune, and do make me afeard, and will do, more than ever I was. At noon dined at home, and then by coach to my Lord Bellasses, but not at home. So to Westminster Hall, where the Lords are sitting still, I to see Mrs. Martin, who is very well, and intends to go abroad to-morrow after her childbed. She do tell me that this child did come is 'meme jour that it ought to hazer after my avoir ete con elle before her marid did venir home . . . . Thence to the Swan, and there I sent for Sarah, and mighty merry we were . . . . So to Sir Robert Viner's about my plate, and carried home another dozen of plates, which makes my stock of plates up 2 1/2 dozen, and at home find Mr. Thomas Andrews, with whom I staid and talked a little and invited him to dine with me at Christmas, and then I to the office, and there late doing business, and so home and to bed. Sorry for poor Batters. 19th. Up, and by water down to White Hall, and there with the .Duke of York did our usual business, but nothing but complaints of want of money [without] success, and Sir W. Coventry's complaint of the defects of our office (indeed Sir J. Minnes's) without any amendment, and he tells us so plainly of the Committee of Parliament's resolution to enquire home into all our managements that it makes me resolve to be wary, and to do all things betimes to be ready for them. Thence going away met Mr. Hingston the organist (my old acquaintance) in the Court, and I took him to the Dog Taverne and got him to set me a bass to my "It is decreed," which I think will go well, but he commends the song not knowing the words, but says the ayre is good, and believes the words are plainly expressed. He is of my mind against having of 8ths unnecessarily in composition. This did all please me mightily. Then to talk of the King's family. He says many of the musique are ready to starve, they being five years behindhand for their wages; nay, Evens, the famous man upon the Harp having not his equal in the world, did the other day die for mere want, and was fain to be buried at the almes of the parish, and carried to his grave in the dark at night without one linke, but that Mr. Hingston met it by chance, and did give 12d. to buy two or three links. He says all must come to ruin at this rate, and I believe him. Thence I up to the Lords' House to enquire for Lord Bellasses; and there hear how at a conference this morning between the two Houses about the business of the Canary Company, my Lord Buckingham leaning rudely over my Lord Marquis Dorchester, my Lord Dorchester removed his elbow. Duke of Buckingham asked him whether he was uneasy; Dorchester replied, yes, and that he durst not do this were he any where else: Buckingham replied, yes he would, and that he was a better man than himself; Dorchester answered that he lyed. With this Buckingham struck off his hat, and took him by his periwigg, and pulled it aside, and held him. My Lord Chamberlain and others interposed, and, upon coming into the House, the Lords did order them both to the Tower, whither they are to go this afternoon. I down into the Hall, and there the Lieutenant of the Tower took me with him, and would have me to the Tower to dinner; where I dined at the head of his table, next his lady,' who is comely and seeming sober and stately, but very proud and very cunning, or I am mistaken, and wanton, too. This day's work will bring the Lieutenant of the Tower L350. But a strange, conceited, vain man he is that ever I met withal, in his own praise, as I have heretofore observed of him. Thence home, and upon Tower Hill saw about 3 or 400 seamen get together; and one, standing upon a pile of bricks, made his sign, with his handkercher, upon his stick, and called all the rest to him, and several shouts they gave. This made me afeard; so I got home as fast as I could. And hearing of no present hurt did go to Sir Robert Viner's about my plate again, and coming home do hear of 1000 seamen said in the streets to be in armes. So in great fear home, expecting to find a tumult about my house, and was doubtful of my riches there. But I thank God I found all well. But by and by Sir W. Batten and Sir R. Ford do tell me, that the seamen have been at some prisons, to release some seamen, and the Duke of Albemarle is in armes, and all the Guards at the other end of the town; and the Duke of Albemarle is gone with some forces to Wapping, to quell the seamen; which is a thing of infinite disgrace to us. I sat long talking with them; and, among other things, Sir R. Ford did make me understand how the House of Commons is a beast not to be understood, it being impossible to know beforehand the success almost of any small plain thing, there being so many to think and speak to any business, and they of so uncertain minds and interests and passions. He did tell me, and so did Sir W. Batten, how Sir Allen Brodericke and Sir Allen Apsly did come drunk the other day into the House, and did both speak for half an hour together, and could not be either laughed, or pulled, or bid to sit down and hold their peace, to the great contempt of the King's servants and cause; which I am grieved at with all my heart. We were full in discourse of the sad state of our times, and the horrid shame brought on the King's service by the just clamours of the poor seamen, and that we must be undone in a little time. Home full of trouble on these considerations, and, among other things, I to my chamber, and there to ticket a good part of my books, in order to the numbering of them for my easy finding them to read as I have occasion. So to supper and to bed, with my heart full of trouble. 20th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and here among other things come Captain Cocke, and I did get him to sign me a note for the L100 to pay for the plate he do present me with, which I am very glad of. At noon home to dinner, where was Balty come, who is well again, and the most recovered in his countenance that ever I did see. Here dined with me also Mrs. Batters, poor woman! now left a sad widow by the drowning of her husband the other day. I pity her, and will do her what kindness I can; yet I observe something of ill-nature in myself more than should be, that I am colder towards her in my charity than I should be to one so painful as he and she have been and full of kindness to their power to my wife and I. After dinner out with Balty, setting him down at the Maypole in the Strand, and then I to my Lord Bellasses, and there spoke with Mr. Moone about some business, and so away home to my business at the office, and then home to supper and to bed, after having finished the putting of little papers upon my books to be numbered hereafter. 21st. Lay long, and when up find Mrs. Clerk of Greenwich and her daughter Daniel, their business among other things was a request her daughter was to make, so I took her into my chamber, and there it was to help her husband to the command of a little new pleasure boat building, which I promised to assist in. And here I had opportunity 'para baiser elle, and toucher ses mamailles' . . . . Then to the office, and there did a little business, and then to the 'Change and did the like. So home to dinner, and spent all the afternoon in putting some things, pictures especially, in order, and pasting my Lady Castlemayne's print on a frame, which I have made handsome, and is a fine piece. So to the office in the evening to marshall my papers of accounts presented to the Parliament, against any future occasion to recur to them, which I did do to my great content. So home and did some Tangier work, and so to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, and there come news from Hogg that our shipp hath brought in a Lubecker to Portsmouth, likely to prove prize, of deals, which joys us. At noon home to dinner, and then Sir W. Pen, Sir R. Ford, and I met at Sir W. Batten's to examine our papers, and have great hopes to prove her prize, and Sir R. Ford I find a mighty yare--[Quick or ready, a naval term frequently used by Shakespeare.]--man in this business, making exceeding good observations from the papers on our behalf. Hereupon concluded what to write to Hogg and Middleton, which I did, and also with Mr. Oviatt (Sir R. Ford's son, who is to be our solicitor), to fee some counsel in the Admiralty, but none in town. So home again, and after writing letters by the post, I with all my clerks and Carcasse and Whitfield to the ticket-office, there to be informed in the method and disorder of the office, which I find infinite great, of infinite concernment to be mended, and did spend till 12 at night to my great satisfaction, it being a point of our office I was wholly unacquainted in. So with great content home and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and alone to church, and meeting Nan Wright at the gate had opportunity to take two or three 'baisers', and so to church, where a vain fellow with a periwigg preached, Chaplain, as by his prayer appeared, to the Earl of Carlisle? Home, and there dined with us Betty Michell and her husband. After dinner to White Hall by coach, and took them with me. And in the way I would have taken 'su main' as I did the last time, but she did in a manner withhold it. So set them down at White Hall, and I to the Chapel to find Dr. Gibbons, and from him to the Harp and Ball to transcribe the treble which I would have him to set a bass to. But this took me so much time, and it growing night, I was fearful of missing a coach, and therefore took a coach and to rights to call Michell and his wife at their father Howlett's, and so home, it being cold, and the ground all snow . . . . They gone I to my chamber, and with my brother and wife did number all my books in my closet, and took a list of their names, which pleases me mightily, and is a jobb I wanted much to have done. Then to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where Lord Bruncker, [Sir] J. Mimics, [Sir] W. Yen, and myself met, and there I did use my notes I took on Saturday night about tickets, and did come to a good settlement in the business of that office, if it be kept to, this morning being a meeting on purpose. At noon to prevent my Lord Bruncker's dining here I walked as if upon business with him, it being frost and dry, as far as Paul's, and so back again through the City by Guildhall, observing the ruines thereabouts, till I did truly lose myself, and so home to dinner. I do truly find that I have overwrought my eyes, so that now they are become weak and apt to be tired, and all excess of light makes them sore, so that now to the candlelight I am forced to sit by, adding, the snow upon the ground all day, my eyes are very bad, and will be worse if not helped, so my Lord Bruncker do advise as a certain cure to use greene spectacles, which I will do. So to dinner, where Mercer with us, and very merry. After dinner she goes and fetches a little son of Mr. Backeworth's, the wittiest child and of the most spirit that ever I saw in my life for discourse of all kind, and so ready and to the purpose, not above four years old. Thence to Sir Robert Viner's, and there paid for the plate I have bought to the value of L94, with the L100 Captain Cocke did give me to that purpose, and received the rest in money. I this evening did buy me a pair of green spectacles, to see whether they will help my eyes or no. So to the 'Change, and went to the Upper 'Change, which is almost as good as the old one; only shops are but on one side. Then home to the office, and did business till my eyes began to be bad, and so home to supper. My people busy making mince pies, and so to bed. No newes yet of our Gottenburgh fleete; which makes [us] have some fears, it being of mighty concernment to have our supply of masts safe. I met with Mr. Cade to-night, my stationer; and he tells me that he hears for certain that the Queene-Mother is about and hath near finished a peace with France, which, as a Presbyterian, he do not like, but seems to fear it will be a means to introduce Popery. 25th (Christmas day). Lay pretty long in bed, and then rose, leaving my wife desirous to sleep, having sat up till four this morning seeing her mayds make mince-pies. I to church, where our parson Mills made a good sermon. Then home, and dined well on some good ribbs of beef roasted and mince pies; only my wife, brother, and Barker, and plenty of good wine of my owne, and my heart full of true joy; and thanks to God Almighty for the goodness of my condition at this day. After dinner, I begun to teach my wife and Barker my song, "It is decreed," which pleases me mightily as now I have Mr. Hinxton's base. Then out and walked alone on foot to the Temple, it being a fine frost, thinking to have seen a play all alone; but there, missing of any bills, concluded there was none, and so back home; and there with my brother reducing the names of all my books to an alphabet, which kept us till 7 or 8 at night, and then to supper, W. Hewer with us, and pretty merry, and then to my chamber to enter this day's journal only, and then to bed. My head a little thoughtfull how to behave myself in the business of the victualling, which I think will be prudence to offer my service in doing something in passing the pursers' accounts, thereby to serve the King, get honour to myself, and confirm me in my place in the victualling, which at present yields not work enough to deserve my wages. 26th. Up, and walked all the way (it being a most fine frost), to White Hall, to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and thence with him up to the Duke of York, where among other things at our meeting I did offer my assistance to Sir J. Minnes to do the business of his office, relating to the Pursers' accounts, which was well accepted by the Duke of York, and I think I have and shall do myself good in it, if it be taken, for it will confirm me in the business of the victualling office, which I do now very little for. Thence home, carrying a barrel of oysters with me. Anon comes Mr. John Andrews and his wife by invitation from Bow to dine with me, and young Batelier and his wife with her great belly, which has spoiled her looks mightily already. Here was also Mercer and Creed, whom I met coming home, who tells me of a most bitter lampoone now out against the Court and the management of State from head to foot, mighty witty and mighty severe. By and by to dinner, a very good one, and merry. After dinner I put the women into a coach, and they to the Duke's house, to a play which was acted, "The--------." It was indifferently done, but was not pleased with the song, Gosnell not singing, but a new wench, that sings naughtily. Thence home, all by coach, and there Mr. Andrews to the vyall, who plays most excellently on it, which I did not know before. Then to dance, here being Pembleton come, by my wife's direction, and a fiddler; and we got, also, the elder Batelier to-night, and Nan Wright, and mighty merry we were, and I danced; and so till twelve at night, and to supper, and then to cross purposes, mighty merry, and then to bed, my eyes being sore. Creed lay here in Barker's bed. 27th. Up; and called up by the King's trumpets, which cost me 10s. So to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon, by invitation, my wife, who had not been there these to months, I think, and I, to meet all our families at Sir W. Batten's at dinner, whither neither a great dinner for so much company nor anything good or handsome. In the middle of dinner I rose, and my wife, and by coach to the King's playhouse, and meeting Creed took him up, and there saw "The Scornfull Lady" well acted; Doll Common doing Abigail most excellently, and Knipp the widow very well, and will be an excellent actor, I think. In other parts the play not so well done as used to be, by the old actors. Anon to White Hall by coach, thinking to have seen a play there to-night, but found it a mistake, so back again, and missed our coach[man], who was gone, thinking to come time enough three hours hence, and we could not blame him. So forced to get another coach, and all three home to my house, and there to Sir W. Batten's, and eat a bit of cold chine of beef, and then staid and talked, and then home and sat and talked a little by the fireside with my wife and Creed, and so to bed, my left eye being very sore. No business publick or private minded all these two days. This day a house or two was blown up with powder in the Minorys, and several people spoiled, and many dug out from under the rubbish. 28th. Up, and Creed and I walked (a very fine walk in the frost) to my Lord Bellasses, but missing him did find him at White Hall, and there spoke with him about some Tangier business. That done, we to Creed's lodgings, which are very pretty, but he is going from them. So we to Lincoln's Inne Fields, he to Ned Pickering's, who it seems lives there, keeping a good house, and I to my Lord Crew's, where I dined, and hear the newes how my Lord's brother, Mr. Nathaniel Crew, hath an estate of 6 or L700 per annum, left him by the death of an old acquaintance of his, but not akin to him at all. And this man is dead without will, but had, above ten years since, made over his estate to this Mr. Crew, to him and his heirs for ever, and given Mr. Crew the keeping of the deeds in his own hand all this time; by which, if he would, he might have taken present possession of the estate, for he knew what they were. This is as great an act of confident friendship as this latter age, I believe, can shew. From hence to the Duke's house, and there saw "Macbeth" most excellently acted, and a most excellent play for variety. I had sent for my wife to meet me there, who did come, and after the play was done, I out so soon to meet her at the other door that I left my cloake in the playhouse, and while I returned to get it, she was gone out and missed me, and with W. Hewer away home. I not sorry for it much did go to White Hall, and got my Lord Bellasses to get me into the playhouse; and there, after all staying above an hour for the players, the King and all waiting, which was absurd, saw "Henry the Fifth" well done by the Duke's people, and in most excellent habits, all new vests, being put on but this night. But I sat so high and far off, that I missed most of the words, and sat with a wind coming into my back and neck, which did much trouble me. The play continued till twelve at night; and then up, and a most horrid cold night it was, and frosty, and moonshine. But the worst was, I had left my cloak at Sir G. Carteret's, and they being abed I was forced to go home without it. So by chance got a coach and to the Golden Lion Taverne in the Strand, and there drank some mulled sack, and so home, where find my poor wife staying for me, and then to bed mighty cold. 29th. Up, called up with newes from Sir W. Batten that Hogg hath brought in two prizes more: and so I thither, and hear the particulars, which are good; one of them, if prize, being worth L4,000: for which God be thanked! Then to the office, and have the newes brought us of Captain Robinson's coming with his fleete from Gottenburgh: dispersed, though, by foul weather. But he hath light of five Dutch men-of-war, and taken three, whereof one is sunk; which is very good newes to close up the year with, and most of our merchantmen already heard of to be safely come home, though after long lookings-for, and now to several ports, as they could make them. At noon home to dinner, where Balty is and now well recovered. Then to the office to do business, and at night, it being very cold, home to my chamber, and there late writing, but my left eye still very sore. I write by spectacles all this night, then to supper and to bed. This day's good news making me very lively, only the arrears of much business on my hands and my accounts to be settled for the whole year past do lie as a weight on my mind. 30th (Lord's day). Lay long, however up and to church, where Mills made a good sermon. Here was a collection for the sexton; but it come into my head why we should be more bold in making the collection while the psalm is singing, than in the sermon or prayer. Home, and, without any strangers, to dinner, and then all the afternoon and evening in my chamber preparing all my accounts in good condition against to-morrow, to state them for the whole year past, to which God give me a good issue when I come to close them! So to supper and to bed. 31st. Rising this day with a full design to mind nothing else but to make up my accounts for the year past, I did take money, and walk forth to several places in the towne as far as the New Exchange, to pay all my debts, it being still a very great frost and good walking. I staid at the Fleece Tavern in Covent Garden while my boy Tom went to W. Joyce's to pay what I owed for candles there. Thence to the New Exchange to clear my wife's score, and so going back again I met Doll Lane (Mrs. Martin's sister), with another young woman of the Hall, one Scott, and took them to the Half Moon Taverne and there drank some burnt wine with them, without more pleasure, and so away home by coach, and there to dinner, and then to my accounts, wherein, at last, I find them clear and right; but, to my great discontent, do find that my gettings this year have been L573 less than my last: it being this year in all but L2,986; whereas, the last, I got L3,560. And then again my spendings this year have exceeded my spendings the last by L644: my whole spendings last year being but L509; whereas this year, it appears, I have spent L1154, which is a sum not fit to be said that ever I should spend in one year, before I am master of a better estate than I am. Yet, blessed be God! and I pray God make me thankful for it, I do find myself worth in money, all good, above L6,200; which is above L1800 more than I was the last year. This, I trust in God, will make me thankfull for what I have, and carefull to make up by care next year what by my negligence and prodigality I have lost and spent this year. The doing of this, and entering of it fair, with the sorting of all my expenses, to see how and in what points I have exceeded, did make it late work, till my eyes become very sore and ill, and then did give over, and supper, and to bed. Thus ends this year of publick wonder and mischief to this nation, and, therefore, generally wished by all people to have an end. Myself and family well, having four mayds and one clerk, Tom, in my house, and my brother, now with me, to spend time in order to his preferment. Our healths all well, only my eyes with overworking them are sore as candlelight comes to them, and not else; publick matters in a most sad condition; seamen discouraged for want of pay, and are become not to be governed: nor, as matters are now, can any fleete go out next year. Our enemies, French and Dutch, great, and grow more by our poverty. The Parliament backward in raising, because jealous of the spending of the money; the City less and less likely to be built again, every body settling elsewhere, and nobody encouraged to trade. A sad, vicious, negligent Court, and all sober men there fearful of the ruin of the whole kingdom this next year; from which, good God deliver us! One thing I reckon remarkable in my owne condition is, that I am come to abound in good plate, so as at all entertainments to be served wholly with silver plates, having two dozen and a half. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Being five years behindhand for their wages (court musicians) But fit she should live where he hath a mind Gladder to have just now received it (than a promise) Most homely widow, but young, and pretty rich, and good natured No Parliament can, as he says, be kept long good Peace with France, which, as a Presbyterian, he do not like That I may have nothing by me but what is worth keeping Weary of the following of my pleasure 
4172	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1667 N.S. JANUARY 1666-1667 January 1st. Lay long, being a bitter, cold, frosty day, the frost being now grown old, and the Thames covered with ice. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon to the 'Change a little, where Mr. James Houblon and I walked a good while speaking of our ill condition in not being able to set out a fleet (we doubt) this year, and the certain ill effect that must bring, which is lamentable. Home to dinner, where the best powdered goose that ever I eat. Then to the office again, and to Sir W. Batten's to examine the Commission going down to Portsmouth to examine witnesses about our prizes, of which God give a good issue! and then to the office again, where late, and so home, my eyes sore. To supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, I, and walked to White Hall to attend the Duke of York, as usual. My wife up, and with Mrs. Pen to walk in the fields to frost-bite themselves. I find the Court full of great apprehensions of the French, who have certainly shipped landsmen, great numbers, at Brest; and most of our people here guess his design for Ireland. We have orders to send all the ships we can possible to the Downes. God have mercy on us! for we can send forth no ships without men, nor will men go without money, every day bringing us news of new mutinies among the seamen; so that our condition is like to be very miserable. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there met all the Houblons, who do laugh at this discourse of the French, and say they are verily of opinion it is nothing but to send to their plantation in the West Indys, and that we at Court do blow up a design of invading us, only to make the Parliament make more haste in the money matters, and perhaps it may be so, but I do not believe we have any such plot in our heads. After them, I, with several people, among others Mr. George Montagu, whom I have not seen long, he mighty kind. He tells me all is like to go ill, the King displeasing the House of Commons by evading their Bill for examining Accounts, and putting it into a Commission, though therein he hath left out Coventry and I and named all the rest the Parliament named, and all country Lords, not one Courtier: this do not please them. He tells me he finds the enmity almost over for my Lord Sandwich, and that now all is upon the Vice-Chamberlain, who bears up well and stands upon his vindication, which he seems to like well, and the others do construe well also. Thence up to the Painted Chamber, and there heard a conference between the House of Lords and Commons about the Wine Patent; which I was exceeding glad to be at, because of my hearing exceeding good discourses, but especially from the Commons; among others, Mr. Swinfen, and a young man, one Sir Thomas Meres: and do outdo the Lords infinitely. So down to the Hall and to the Rose Taverne, while Doll Lane come to me, and we did 'biber a good deal de vino, et je did give elle twelve soldis para comprare elle some gans' for a new anno's gift . . . . Thence to the Hall again, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to the Temple, and there 'light and eat a bit at an ordinary by, and then alone to the King's House, and there saw "The Custome of the Country," the second time of its being acted, wherein Knipp does the Widow well; but, of all the plays that ever I did see, the worst-having neither plot, language, nor anything in the earth that is acceptable; only Knipp sings a little song admirably. But fully the worst play that ever I saw or I believe shall see. So away home, much displeased for the loss of so much time, and disobliging my wife by being there without her. So, by link, walked home, it being mighty cold but dry, yet bad walking because very slippery with the frost and treading. Home and to my chamber to set down my journal, and then to thinking upon establishing my vows against the next year, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon by invitation to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, where my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten, and his lady, myself, and wife, Sir J. Minnes, and Mr. Turner and his wife. Indifferent merry, to which I contributed the most, but a mean dinner, and in a mean manner. In the evening a little to the office, and then to them, where I found them at cards, myself very ill with a cold (the frost continuing hard), so eat but little at supper, but very merry, and late home to bed, not much pleased with the manner of our entertainment, though to myself more civil than to any. This day, I hear, hath been a conference between the two Houses about the Bill for examining Accounts, wherein the House of Lords their proceedings in petitioning the King for doing it by Commission is, in great heat, voted by the Commons, after the conference, unparliamentary. The issue whereof, God knows. 4th. Up, and seeing things put in order for a dinner at my house to-day, I to the office awhile, and about noon home, and there saw all things in good order. Anon comes our company; my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Pen, his lady, and Pegg, and her servant, Mr. Lowther, my Lady Batten (Sir W. Batten being forced to dine at Sir K. Ford's, being invited), Mr. Turner and his wife. Here I had good room for ten, and no more would my table have held well, had Sir J. Minnes, who was fallen lame, and his sister, and niece, and Sir W. Batten come, which was a great content to me to be without them. I did make them all gaze to see themselves served so nobly in plate, and a neat dinner, indeed, though but of seven dishes. Mighty merry I was and made them all, and they mightily pleased. My Lord Bruncker went away after dinner to the ticket-office, the rest staid, only my Lady Batten home, her ague-fit coming on her at table. The rest merry, and to cards, and then to sing and talk, and at night to sup, and then to cards; and, last of all, to have a flaggon of ale and apples, drunk out of a wood cupp, [A mazer or drinking-bowl turned out of some kind of wood, by preference of maple, and especially the spotted or speckled variety called "bird's-eye maple" (see W. H. St. John Hope's paper, "On the English Mediaeval Drinking-bowls called Mazers," "Archaeologia," vol. 50, pp. 129,93).] as a Christmas draught, made all merry; and they full of admiration at my plate, particularly my flaggons (which, indeed, are noble), and so late home, all with great mirth and satisfaction to them, as I thought, and to myself to see all I have and do so much outdo for neatness and plenty anything done by any of them. They gone, I to bed, much pleased, and do observe Mr. Lowther to be a pretty gentleman, and, I think, too good for Peg; and, by the way, Peg Pen seems mightily to be kind to me, and I believe by her father's advice, who is also himself so; but I believe not a little troubled to see my plenty, and was much troubled to hear the song I sung, "The New Droll"--it touching him home. So to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning, thinking at noon to have been taken home, and my wife (according to appointment yesterday), by my Lord Bruncker, to dinner and then to a play, but he had forgot it, at which I was glad, being glad of avoyding the occasion of inviting him again, and being forced to invite his doxy, Mrs. Williams. So home, and took a small snap of victuals, and away, with my wife, to the Duke's house, and there saw "Mustapha," a most excellent play for words and design as ever I did see. I had seen it before but forgot it, so it was wholly new to me, which is the pleasure of my not committing these things to my memory. Home, and a little to the office, and then to bed, where I lay with much pain in my head most of the night, and very unquiet, partly by my drinking before I went out too great a draught of sack, and partly my eyes being still very sore. 6th (Lord's day). Up pretty well in the morning, and then to church, where a dull doctor, a stranger, made a dull sermon. Then home, and Betty Michell and her husband come by invitation to dine with us, and, she I find the same as ever (which I was afraid of the contrary) . . . Here come also Mr. Howe to dine with me, and we had a good dinner and good merry discourse with much pleasure, I enjoying myself mightily to have friends at my table. After dinner young Michell and I, it being an excellent frosty day to walk, did walk out, he showing me the baker's house in Pudding Lane, where the late great fire begun; and thence all along Thames Street, where I did view several places, and so up by London Wall, by Blackfriars, to Ludgate; and thence to Bridewell, which I find to have been heretofore an extraordinary good house, and a fine coming to it, before the house by the bridge was built; and so to look about St. Bride's church and my father's house, and so walked home, and there supped together, and then Michell and Betty home, and I to my closet, there to read and agree upon my vows for next year, and so to bed and slept mighty well. 7th. Lay long in bed. Then up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon (my wife being gone to Westminster) I with my Lord Bruncker by coach as far as the Temple, in the way he telling me that my Lady Denham is at last dead. Some suspect her poisoned, but it will be best known when her body is opened, which will be to-day, she dying yesterday morning. The Duke of York is troubled for her; but hath declared he will never have another public mistress again; which I shall be glad of, and would the King would do the like. He tells me how the Parliament is grown so jealous of the King's being unfayre to them in the business of the Bill for examining Accounts, Irish Bill, and the business of the Papists, that they will not pass the business for money till they see themselves secure that those Bills will pass; which they do observe the Court to keep off till all the Bills come together, that the King may accept what he pleases, and what he pleases to reject, which will undo all our business and the kingdom too. He tells me how Mr. Henry Howard, of Norfolke, hath given our Royal Society all his grandfather's library: which noble gift they value at L1000; and gives them accommodation to meet in at his house, Arundell House, they being now disturbed at Gresham College. Thence 'lighting at the Temple to the ordinary hard by and eat a bit of meat, and then by coach to fetch my wife from her brother's, and thence to the Duke's house, and saw "Macbeth," which, though I saw it lately, yet appears a most excellent play in all respects, but especially in divertisement, though it be a deep tragedy; which is a strange perfection in a tragedy, it being most proper here, and suitable. So home, it being the last play now I am to see till a fortnight hence, I being from the last night entered into my vowes for the year coming on. Here I met with the good newes of Hogg's bringing in two prizes more to Plymouth, which if they prove but any part of them, I hope, at least, we shall be no losers by them. So home from the office, to write over fair my vowes for this year, and then to supper, and to bed. In great peace of mind having now done it, and brought myself into order again and a resolution of keeping it, and having entered my journall to this night, so to bed, my eyes failing me with writing. 8th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where my uncle Thomas with me to receive his quarterage. He tells me his son Thomas is set up in Smithfield, where he hath a shop--I suppose, a booth. Presently after dinner to the office, and there set close to my business and did a great deal before night, and am resolved to stand to it, having been a truant too long. At night to Sir W. Batten's to consider some things about our prizes, and then to other talk, and among other things he tells me that he hears for certain that Sir W. Coventry hath resigned to the King his place of Commissioner of the Navy, the thing he bath often told me that he had a mind to do, but I am surprised to think that he hath done it, and am full of thoughts all this evening after I heard it what may be the consequences of it to me. So home and to supper, and then saw the catalogue of my books, which my brother had wrote out, now perfectly alphabeticall, and so to bed. Sir Richard Ford did this evening at Sir W. Batten's tell us that upon opening the body of my Lady Denham it is said that they found a vessel about her matrix which had never been broke by her husband, that caused all pains in her body. Which if true is excellent invention to clear both the Duchesse from poison or the Duke from lying with her. 9th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen in a hackney-coach to White Hall, the way being most horribly bad upon the breaking up of the frost, so as not to be passed almost. There did our usual [business] with the Duke of York, and here I do hear, by my Lord Bruncker, that for certain Sir W. Coventry hath resigned his place of Commissioner; which I believe he hath done upon good grounds of security to himself, from all the blame which must attend our office this next year; but I fear the King will suffer by it. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there to the conference of the Houses about the word "Nuisance," [In the "Bill against importing Cattle from Ireland and other parts beyond the Seas," the Lords proposed to insert "Detriment and Mischief" in place of "Nuisance," but the Commons stood to their word, and gained their way. The Lords finally consented that "Nuisance" should stand in the Bill.] which the Commons would have, and the Lords will not, in the Irish Bill. The Commons do it professedly to prevent the King's dispensing with it; which Sir Robert Howard and others did expressly repeat often: viz., "the King nor any King ever could do any thing which was hurtful to their people." Now the Lords did argue, that it was an ill precedent, and that which will ever hereafter be used as a way of preventing the King's dispensation with acts; and therefore rather advise to pass the Bill without that word, and let it go, accompanied with a petition, to the King, that he will not dispense with it; this being a more civil way to the King. They answered well, that this do imply that the King should pass their Bill, and yet with design to dispense with it; which is to suppose the King guilty of abusing them. And more, they produce precedents for it; namely, that against new buildings and about leather, wherein the word "Nuisance" is used to the purpose: and further, that they do not rob the King of any right he ever had, for he never had a power to do hurt to his people, nor would exercise it; and therefore there is no danger, in the passing this Bill, of imposing on his prerogative; and concluded, that they think they ought to do this, so as the people may really have the benefit of it when it is passed, for never any people could expect so reasonably to be indulged something from a King, they having already given him so much money, and are likely to give more. Thus they broke up, both adhering to their opinions; but the Commons seemed much more full of judgment and reason than the Lords. Then the Commons made their Report to the Lords of their vote, that their Lordships' proceedings in the Bill for examining Accounts were unparliamentary; they having, while a Bill was sent up to them from the Commons about the business, petitioned his Majesty that he would do the same thing by his Commission. They did give their reasons: viz., that it had no precedent; that the King ought not to be informed of anything passing in the Houses till it comes to a Bill; that it will wholly break off all correspondence between the two Houses, and in the issue wholly infringe the very use and being of Parliaments. Having left their arguments with the Lords they all broke up, and I by coach to the ordinary by the Temple, and there dined alone on a rabbit, and read a book I brought home from Mrs. Michell's, of the proceedings of the Parliament in the 3rd and 4th year of the late King, a very good book for speeches and for arguments of law. Thence to Faythorne, and bought a head or two; one of them my Lord of Ormond's, the best I ever saw, and then to Arundell House, where first the Royall Society meet, by the favour of Mr. Harry Howard, who was there, and has given us his grandfather's library, a noble gift, and a noble favour and undertaking it is for him to make his house the seat for this college. Here was an experiment shown about improving the use of powder for creating of force in winding up of springs and other uses of great worth. And here was a great meeting of worthy noble persons; but my Lord Bruncker, who pretended to make a congratulatory speech upon their coming hither, and in thanks to Mr. Howard, do it in the worst manner in the world, being the worst speaker, so as I do wonder at his parts and the unhappiness of his speaking. Thence home by coach and to the office, and then home to supper, Mercer and her sister there, and to cards, and then to bed. Mr. Cowling did this day in the House-lobby tell me of the many complaints among people against Mr. Townsend in the Wardrobe, and advises me to think of my Lord Sandwich's concernment there under his care. He did also tell me upon my demanding it, that he do believe there are some things on foot for a peace between France and us, but that we shall be foiled in it. 10th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home and, there being business to do in the afternoon, took my Lord Bruncker home with me, who dined with me. His discourse and mine about the bad performances of the Controller's and Surveyor's places by the hands they are now in, and the shame to the service and loss the King suffers by it. Then after dinner to the office, where we and some of the chief of the Trinity House met to examine the occasion of the loss of The Prince Royall, the master and mates being examined, which I took and keep, and so broke up, and I to my letters by the post, and so home and to supper with my mind at pretty good ease, being entered upon minding my business, and so to bed. This noon Mrs. Burroughs come to me about business, whom I did baiser . . . . 11th. Up, being troubled at my being found abed a-days by all sorts of people, I having got a trick of sitting up later than I need, never supping, or very seldom, before 12 at night. Then to the office, there busy all the morning, and among other things comes Sir W. Warren and walked with me awhile, whose discourse I love, he being a very wise man and full of good counsel, and his own practices for wisdom much to be observed, and among other things he tells me how he is fallen in with my Lord Bruncker, who has promised him most particular inward friendship and yet not to appear at the board to do so, and he tells me how my Lord Bruncker should take notice of the two flaggons he saw at my house at dinner, at my late feast, and merrily, yet I know enviously, said, I could not come honestly by them. This I am glad to hear, though vexed to see his ignoble soul, but I shall beware of him, and yet it is fit he should see I am no mean fellow, but can live in the world, and have something. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office with my people and very busy, and did dispatch to my great satisfaction abundance of business, and do resolve, by the grace of God, to stick to it till I have cleared my heart of most things wherein I am in arrear in public and private matters. At night, home to supper and to bed. This day ill news of my father's being very ill of his old grief the rupture, which troubles me. 12th. Up, still lying long in bed; then to the office, where sat very long. Then home to dinner, and so to the office again, mighty busy, and did to the joy of my soul dispatch much business, which do make my heart light, and will enable me to recover all the ground I have lost (if I have by my late minding my pleasures lost any) and assert myself. So home to supper, and then to read a little in Moore's "Antidote against Atheisme," a pretty book, and so to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where young Lowther come to church with Sir W. Pen and his Lady and daughter, and my wife tells me that either they are married or the match is quite perfected, which I am apt to believe, because all the peoples' eyes in the church were much fixed upon them. At noon sent for Mercer, who dined with us, and very merry, and so I, after dinner, walked to the Old Swan, thinking to have got a boat to White Hall, but could not, nor was there anybody at home at Michell's, where I thought to have sat with her . . . . So home, to church, a dull sermon, and then home at my chamber all the evening. So to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where busy getting beforehand with my business as fast as I can. At noon home to dinner, and presently afterward at my office again. I understand my father is pretty well again, blessed be God! and would have my Br[other] John comedown to him for a little while. Busy till night, pleasing myself mightily to see what a deal of business goes off of a man's hands when he stays by it, and then, at night, before it was late (yet much business done) home to supper, discourse with my wife, and to bed. Sir W. Batten tells me the Lords do agree at last with the Commons about the word "Nuisance" in the Irish Bill, and do desire a good correspondence between the two Houses; and that the King do intend to prorogue them the last of this month. 15th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Here my Lord Bruncker would have made me promise to go with him to a play this afternoon, where Knipp acts Mrs. Weaver's great part in "The Indian Emperour," and he says is coming on to be a great actor. But I am so fell to my business, that I, though against my inclination, will not go. At noon, dined with my wife and were pleasant, and then to the office, where I got Mrs. Burroughs 'sola cum ego, and did toucher ses mamailles' . . . She gone, I to my business and did much, and among other things to-night we were all mightily troubled how to prevent the sale of a great deal of hemp, and timber-deals, and other good goods to-morrow at the candle by the Prize Office, where it will be sold for little, and we shall be found to want the same goods and buy at extraordinary prices, and perhaps the very same goods now sold, which is a most horrid evil and a shame. At night home to supper and to bed with my mind mighty light to see the fruits of my diligence in having my business go off my hand so merrily. 16th. Up, and by coach to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York as usual. Here Sir W. Coventry come to me aside in the Duke's chamber, to tell that he had not answered part of a late letter of mine, because 'littera scripta manet'. About his leaving the office, he tells me, [it is] because he finds that his business at Court will not permit him to attend it; and then he confesses that he seldom of late could come from it with satisfaction, and therefore would not take the King's money for nothing. I professed my sorrow for it, and prayed the continuance of his favour; which he promised. I do believe he hath [done] like a very wise man in reference to himself; but I doubt it will prove ill for the King, and for the office. Prince Rupert, I hear to-day, is very ill; yesterday given over, but better to-day. This day, before the Duke of York, the business of the Muster-Masters was reported, and Balty found the best of the whole number, so as the Duke enquired who he was, and whether he was a stranger by his two names, both strange, and offered that he and one more, who hath done next best, should have not only their owne, but part of the others' salary, but that I having said he was my brother-in-law, he did stop, but they two are ordered their pay, which I am glad of, and some of the rest will lose their pay, and others be laid by the heels. I was very glad of this being ended so well. I did also, this morning, move in a business wherein Mr. Hater hath concerned me, about getting a ship, laden with salt from France, permitted to unload, coming in after the King's declaration was out, which I have hopes by some dexterity to get done. Then with the Duke of York to the King, to receive his commands for stopping the sale this day of some prize-goods at the Prize-Office, goods fit for the Navy; and received the King's commands, and carried them to the Lords' House, to my Lord Ashly, who was angry much thereat, and I am sorry it fell to me to carry the order, but I cannot help it. So, against his will, he signed a note I writ to the Commissioners of Prizes, which I carried and delivered to Kingdone, at their new office in Aldersgate Streete. Thence a little to the Exchange, where it was hot that the Prince was dead, but I did rectify it. So home to dinner, and found Balty, told him the good news, and then after dinner away, I presently to White Hall, and did give the Duke of York a memorial of the salt business, against the Council, and did wait all the Council for answer, walking a good while with Sir Stephen Fox, who, among other things, told me his whole mystery in the business of the interest he pays as Treasurer for the Army. They give him 12d. per pound quite through the Army, with condition to be paid weekly. This he undertakes upon his own private credit, and to be paid by the King at the end of every four months. If the King pay him not at the end of the four months, then, for all the time he stays longer, my Lord Treasurer, by agreement, allows him eight per cent. per annum for the forbearance. So that, in fine, he hath about twelve per cent. from the King and the Army, for fifteen or sixteen months' interest; out of which he gains soundly, his expense being about L130,000 per annum; and hath no trouble in it, compared, as I told him, to the trouble I must have to bring in an account of interest. I was, however, glad of being thus enlightened, and so away to the other council door, and there got in and hear a piece of a cause, heard before the King, about a ship deserted by her fellows (who were bound mutually to defend each other), in their way to Virginy, and taken by the enemy, but it was but meanly pleaded. Then all withdrew, and by and by the Council rose, and I spoke with the Duke of York, and he told me my business was done, which I found accordingly in Sir Edward Walker's books. And so away, mightily satisfied, to Arundell House, and there heard a little good discourse, and so home, and there to Sir W. Batten, where I heard the examinations in two of our prizes, which do make but little for us, so that I do begin to doubt their proving prize, which troubled me. So home to supper with my wife, and after supper my wife told me how she had moved to W. Hewer the business of my sister for a wife to him, which he received with mighty acknowledgements, as she says, above anything; but says he hath no intention to alter his condition: so that I am in some measure sorry she ever moved it; but I hope he will think it only come from her. So after supper a little to the office, to enter my journall, and then home to bed. Talk there is of a letter to come from Holland, desiring a place of treaty; but I do doubt it. This day I observe still, in many places, the smoking remains of the late fire: the ways mighty bad and dirty. This night Sir R. Ford told me how this day, at Christ Church Hospital, they have given a living over L200 per annum to Mr. Sanchy, my old acquaintance, which I wonder at, he commending him mightily; but am glad of it. He tells me, too, how the famous Stillingfleete was a Bluecoat boy. The children at this day are provided for in the country by the House, which I am glad also to hear. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office busy also till very late, my heart joyed with the effects of my following my business, by easing my head of cares, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and most of the morning finishing my entry of my journall during the late fire out of loose papers into this book, which did please me mightily when done, I, writing till my eyes were almost blind therewith to make an end of it. Then all the rest of the morning, and, after a mouthful of dinner, all the afternoon in my closet till night, sorting all my papers, which have lain unsorted for all the time we were at Greenwich during the plague, which did please me also, I drawing on to put my office into a good posture, though much is behind. This morning come Captain. Cocke to me, and tells me that the King comes to the House this day to pass the poll Bill and the Irish Bill; he tells me too that, though the Faction is very froward in the House, yet all will end well there. But he says that one had got a Bill ready to present in the House against Sir W. Coventry, for selling of places, and says he is certain of it, and how he was withheld from doing it. He says, that the Vice-chamberlaine is now one of the greatest men in England again, and was he that did prevail with the King to let the Irish Bill go with the word "Nuisance." He told me, that Sir G. Carteret's declaration of giving double to any man that will prove that any of his people have demanded or taken any thing for forwarding the payment of the wages of any man (of which he sent us a copy yesterday, which we approved of) is set up, among other places, upon the House of Lords' door. I do not know how wisely this is done. This morning, also, there come to the office a letter from the Duke of York, commanding our payment of no wages to any of the muster-masters of the fleete the last year, but only two, my brother Balty, taking notice that he had taken pains therein, and one Ward, who, though he had not taken so much as the other, yet had done more than the rest. This I was exceeding glad of for my own sake and his. At night I, by appointment, home, where W. Batelier and his sister Mary, and the two Mercers, to play at cards and sup, and did cut our great cake lately given us by Russell: a very good one. Here very merry late. Sir W. Pen told me this night how the King did make them a very sharp speech in the House of Lords to-day, saying that he did expect to have had more Bills; [On this day "An Act for raising Money by a Poll and otherwise towards the maintenance of the present War," and "An Act prohibiting the Importation of Cattle from Ireland and other parts beyond the Sea, and Fish taken by Foreigners," were passed. The king. complained of the insufficient supply, and said, "'Tis high time for you to make good your promises, and 'tis high time for you to be in the country" ("Journals of the House of Lords," vol xii., p. 81).] that he purposes to prorogue them on Monday come se'nnight; that whereas they have unjustly conceived some jealousys of his making a peace, he declares he knows of no such thing or treaty: and so left them. But with so little effect, that as soon as he come into the House, Sir W. Coventry moved, that now the King hath declared his intention of proroguing them, it would be loss of time to go on with the thing they were upon, when they were called to the King, which was the calling over the defaults of Members appearing in the House; for that, before any person could now come or be brought to town, the House would be up. Yet the Faction did desire to delay time, and contend so as to come to a division of the House; where, however, it was carried, by a few voices, that the debate should be laid by. But this shews that they are not pleased, or that they have not any awe over them from the King's displeasure. The company being gone, to bed. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning. Sir W. Batten tells me to my wonder that at his coming to my Lord Ashly, yesterday morning, to tell him what prize-goods he would have saved for the Navy, and not sold, according to the King's order on the 17th, he fell quite out with him in high terms; and he says, too, that they did go on to the sale yesterday, even of the very hempe, and other things, at which I am astonished, and will never wonder at the ruine of the King's affairs, if this be suffered. At noon dined, and Mr. Pierce come to see me, he newly come from keeping his Christmas in the country. So to the office, where very busy, but with great pleasure till late at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up betimes and down to the Old Swan, there called on Michell and his wife, which in her night linen appeared as pretty almost as ever to my thinking I saw woman. Here I drank some burnt brandy. They shewed me their house, which, poor people, they have built, and is very pretty. I invited them to dine with me, and so away to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry, with whom I have not been alone a good while, and very kind he is, and tells me how the business is now ordered by order of council for my Lord Bruncker to assist Sir J. Minnes in all matters of accounts relating to the Treasurer, and Sir W. Pen in all matters relating to the victuallers' and pursers' accounts, which I am very glad of, and the more for that I think it will not do me any hurt at all. Other discourse, much especially about the heat the House was in yesterday about the ill management of the Navy, which I was sorry to hear; though I think they were well answered, both by Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, as he informs me the substance of their speeches. Having done with him, home mightily satisfied with my being with him, and coming home I to church, and there, beyond expectation, find our seat, and all the church crammed, by twice as many people as used to be: and to my great joy find Mr. Frampton in the pulpit; so to my great joy I hear him preach, and I think the best sermon, for goodness and oratory, without affectation or study, that ever I heard in my life. The truth is, he preaches the most like an apostle that ever I heard man; and it was much the best time that ever I spent in my life at church. His text, Ecclesiastes xi., verse 8th--the words, "But if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all, yet let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many. All that cometh is vanity." He done, I home, and there Michell and his wife, and we dined and mighty merry, I mightily taken more and more with her. After dinner I with my brother away by water to White Hall, and there walked in the Parke, and a little to my Lord Chancellor's, where the King and Cabinet met, and there met Mr. Brisband, with whom good discourse, to White Hall towards night, and there he did lend me "The Third Advice to a Paynter," a bitter satyre upon the service of the Duke of Albemarle the last year. I took it home with me, and will copy it, having the former, being also mightily pleased with it. So after reading it, I to Sir W. Pen to discourse a little with him about the business of our prizes, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up betimes, and with, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, by coach to the Swede's Resident's in the Piatza, to discourse with him about two of our prizes, wherein he puts in his concernment as for his countrymen. We had no satisfaction, nor did give him any, but I find him a cunning fellow. He lives in one of the great houses there, but ill-furnished; and come to us out of bed in his furred mittens and furred cap. Thence to Exeter House to the Doctors Commons, and there with our Proctors to Dr. Walker, who was not very well, but, however, did hear our matters, and after a dull seeming hearing of them read, did discourse most understandingly of them, as well as ever I heard man, telling us all our grounds of pretence to the prize would do no good, and made it appear but thus, and thus, it may be, but yet did give us but little reason to expect it would prove, which troubled us, but I was mightily taken to hear his manner of discourse. Thence with them to Westminster Hall, they setting me down at White Hall, where I missed of finding Sir G. Carteret, up to the Lords' House, and there come mighty seasonably to hear the Solicitor about my Lord Buckingham's pretence to the title of Lord Rosse. Mr. Atturny Montagu is also a good man, and so is old Sir P. Ball; but the Solicitor and Scroggs after him are excellent men. Here spoke with my Lord Bellasses about getting some money for Tangier, which he doubts we shall not be able to do out of the Poll Bill, it being so strictly tied for the Navy. He tells me the Lords have passed the Bill for the accounts with some little amendments. So down to the Hall, and thence with our company to Exeter House, and then did the business I have said before, we doing nothing the first time of going, it being too early. At home find Lovett, to whom I did give my Lady Castlemayne's head to do. He is talking of going into Spayne to get money by his art, but I doubt he will do no good, he being a man of an unsettled head. Thence by water down to Deptford, the first time I have been by water a great while, and there did some little business and walked home, and there come into my company three drunken seamen, but one especially, who told me such stories, calling me Captain, as made me mighty merry, and they would leap and skip, and kiss what mayds they met all the way. I did at first give them money to drink, lest they should know who I was, and so become troublesome to me. Parted at Redriffe, and there home and to the office, where did much business, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, and I to hear a proposition [Sir] R. Ford was to acquaint us with from the Swedes Embassador, in manner of saying, that for money he might be got to our side and relinquish the trouble he may give us. Sir W. Pen did make a long simple declaration of his resolution to give nothing to deceive any poor man of what was his right by law, but ended in doing whatever any body else would, and we did commission Sir R. Ford to give promise of not beyond L350 to him and his Secretary, in case they did not oppose us in the Phoenix (the net profits of which, as [Sir] R. Ford cast up before us, the Admiral's tenths, and ship's thirds, and other charges all cleared, will amount to L3,000) and that we did gain her. [Sir] R. Ford did pray for a curse upon his family, if he was privy to anything more than he told us (which I believe he is a knave in), yet we all concluded him the most fit man for it and very honest, and so left it wholly to him to manage as he pleased. Thence to the office a little while longer, and so home, where W. Hewer's mother was, and Mrs. Turner, our neighbour, and supped with us. His mother a well-favoured old little woman, and a good woman, I believe. After we had supped, and merry, we parted late, Mrs. Turner having staid behind to talk a little about her lodgings, which now my Lord Bruncker upon Sir W. Coventry's surrendering do claim, but I cannot think he will come to live in them so as to need to put them out. She gone, we to bed all. This night, at supper, comes from Sir W. Coventry the Order of Councill for my Lord Bruncker to do all the Comptroller's part relating to the Treasurer's accounts, and Sir W. Pen, all relating to the Victualler's, and Sir J. Minnes to do the rest. This, I hope, will do much better for the King than now, and, I think, will give neither of them ground to over-top me, as I feared they would; which pleases me mightily. This evening, Mr. Wren and Captain Cocke called upon me at the office, and there told me how the House was in better temper to-day, and hath passed the Bill for the remainder of the money, but not to be passed finally till they have done some other things which they will have passed with it; wherein they are very open, what their meaning is, which was but doubted before, for they do in all respects doubt the King's pleasing them. 22nd. Up, and there come to me Darnell the fiddler, one of the Duke's house, and brought me a set of lessons, all three parts, I heard them play to the Duke of York after Christmas at his lodgings, and bid him get me them. I did give him a crowne for them, and did enquire after the musique of the "Siege of Rhodes," which, he tells me, he can get me, which I am mighty glad of. So to the office, where among other things I read the Councill's order about my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen to be assistants to the Comptroller, which quietly went down with Sir J. Minnes, poor man, seeming a little as if he would be thought to have desired it, but yet apparently to his discontent; and, I fear, as the order runs, it will hardly do much good. At noon to dinner, and there comes a letter from Mrs. Pierce, telling me she will come and dine with us on Thursday next, with some of the players, Knipp, &c., which I was glad of, but my wife vexed, which vexed me; but I seemed merry, but know not how to order the matter, whether they shall come or no. After dinner to the office, and there late doing much business, and so home to supper, and to bed. 23rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York, and did our usual business. Having done there, I to St. James's, to see the organ Mrs. Turner told me of the other night, of my late Lord Aubigney's; and I took my Lord Bruncker with me, he being acquainted with my present Lord Almoner, Mr. Howard, brother to the Duke of Norfolke; so he and I thither and did see the organ, but I do not like it, it being but a bauble, with a virginal! joining to it: so I shall not meddle with it. Here we sat and talked with him a good while, and he seems a good-natured gentleman: here I observed the deske which he hath, [made] to remove, and is fastened to one of the armes of his chayre. I do also observe the counterfeit windows there was, in the form of doors with looking-glasses instead of windows, which makes the room seem both bigger and lighter, I think; and I have some thoughts to have the like in one of my rooms. He discoursed much of the goodness of the musique in Rome, but could not tell me how long musique had been in any perfection in that church, which I would be glad to know. He speaks much of the great buildings that this Pope, [Fabio Chigi, of Siena, succeeded Innocent X. in 1655 as Alexander VII. He died May, 1667, and was succeeded by Clement IX.] whom, in mirth to us, he calls Antichrist, hath done in his time. Having done with the discourse, we away, and my Lord and I walking into the Park back again, I did observe the new buildings: and my Lord, seeing I had a desire to see them, they being the place for the priests and fryers, he took me back to my Lord Almoner; and he took us quite through the whole house and chapel, and the new monastery, showing me most excellent pieces in wax-worke: a crucifix given by a Pope to Mary Queen of Scotts, where a piece of the Cross is; [Pieces of "the Cross" were formerly held in such veneration, and were so common, that it has been often said enough existed to build a ship. Most readers will remember the distinction which Sir W. Scott represents Louis XI. (with great appreciation of that monarch's character), as drawing between an oath taken on a false piece and one taken on a piece of the true cross. Sir Thomas More, a very devout believer in relics, says ("Works," p. 119), that Luther wished, in a sermon of his, that he had in his hand all the pieces of the Holy Cross; and said that if he so had, he would throw them there as never sun should shine on them:--and for what worshipful reason would the wretch do such villainy to the cross of Christ? Because, as he saith, that there is so much gold now bestowed about the garnishing of the pieces of the Cross, that there is none left for poore folke. Is not this a high reason? As though all the gold that is now bestowed about the pieces of the Holy Cross would not have failed to have been given to poor men, if they had not been bestowed about the garnishing of the Cross! and as though there were nothing lost, but what is bestowed about Christ's Cross!" "Wolsey, says Cavendish, on his fall, gave to Norris, who brought him a ring of gold as a token of good will from Henry, "a little chaine of gold, made like a bottle chain, with a cross of gold, wherein was a piece of the Holy Cross, which he continually wore about his neck, next his body; and said, furthermore, 'Master Norris, I assure you, when I was in prosperity, although it seem but small in value, yet I would not gladly have departed with the same for a thousand pounds.'" Life, ed. 1852, p. 167. Evelyn mentions, "Diary," November 17th, 1664, that he saw in one of the chapels in St. Peter's a crucifix with a piece of the true cross in it. Amongst the jewels of Mary Queen of Scots was a cross of gold, which had been pledged to Hume of Blackadder for L1000 (Chalmers's "Life," vol. i., p. 31 ).--B.] two bits set in the manner of a cross in the foot of the crucifix: several fine pictures, but especially very good prints of holy pictures. I saw the dortoire--[dormitory]--and the cells of the priests, and we went into one; a very pretty little room, very clean, hung with pictures, set with books. The Priest was in his cell, with his hair clothes to his skin, bare-legged, with a sandal! only on, and his little bed without sheets, and no feather bed; but yet, I thought, soft enough. His cord about his middle; but in so good company, living with ease, I thought it a very good life. A pretty library they have. And I was in the refectoire, where every man his napkin, knife, cup of earth, and basin of the same; and a place for one to sit and read while the rest are at meals. And into the kitchen I went, where a good neck of mutton at the fire, and other victuals boiling. I do not think they fared very hard. Their windows all looking into a fine garden and the Park; and mighty pretty rooms all. I wished myself one of the Capuchins. Having seen what we could here, and all with mighty pleasure, so away with the Almoner in his coach, talking merrily about the difference in our religions, to White Hall, and there we left him. I in my Lord Bruncker's coach, he carried me to the Savoy, and there we parted. I to the Castle Tavern, where was and did come all our company, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, and our Counsel Sir Ellis Layton, Walt Walker, Dr. Budd, Mr. Holder, and several others, and here we had a bad dinner of our preparing, and did discourse something of our business of our prizes, which was the work of the day. I staid till dinner was over, and there being no use of me I away after dinner without taking leave, and to the New Exchange, there to take up my wife and Mercer, and to Temple Bar to the Ordinary, and had a dish of meat for them, they having not dined, and thence to the King's house, and there saw "The Numerous Lieutenant," a silly play, I think; only the Spirit in it that grows very tall, and then sinks again to nothing, having two heads breeding upon one, and then Knipp's singing, did please us. Here, in a box above, we spied Mrs. Pierce; and, going out, they called us, and so we staid for them; and Knipp took us all in, and brought to us Nelly; a most pretty woman, who acted the great part of Coelia to-day very fine, and did it pretty well: I kissed her, and so did my wife; and a mighty pretty soul she is. We also saw Mrs. Halls which is my little Roman-nose black girl, that is mighty pretty: she is usually called Betty. Knipp made us stay in a box and see the dancing preparatory to to-morrow for "The Goblins," a play of Suckling's, not acted these twenty-five years; which was pretty; and so away thence, pleased with this sight also, and specially kissing of Nell. We away, Mr. Pierce and I, on foot to his house, the women by coach. In our way we find the Guards of horse in the street, and hear the occasion to be news that the seamen are in a mutiny, which put me into a great fright; so away with my wife and Mercer home preparing against to-morrow night to have Mrs. Pierce and Knipp and a great deal more company to dance; and, when I come home, hear of no disturbance there of the seamen, but that one of them, being arrested to-day, others do go and rescue him. So to the office a little, and then home to supper, and to my chamber awhile, and then to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, full of thoughts how to order the business of our merry meeting to-night. So to the office, where busy all the morning. [While we were sitting in the morning at the office, we were frighted with news of fire at Sir W. Batten's by a chimney taking fire, and it put me into much fear and trouble, but with a great many hands and pains it was soon stopped.] At noon home to dinner, and presently to the office to despatch my business, and also we sat all the afternoon to examine the loss of The Bredagh, which was done by as plain negligence as ever ship was. We being rose, I entering my letters and getting the office swept and a good fire made and abundance of candles lighted, I home, where most of my company come of this end of the town-Mercer and her sister, Mr. Batelier and Pembleton (my Lady Pen, and Pegg, and Mr. Lowther, but did not stay long, and I believe it was by Sir W. Pen's order; for they had a great mind to have staid), and also Captain Rolt. And, anon, at about seven or eight o'clock, comes Mr. Harris, of the Duke's playhouse, and brings Mrs. Pierce with him, and also one dressed like a country-mayde with a straw hat on; which, at first, I could not tell who it was, though I expected Knipp: but it was she coming off the stage just as she acted this day in "The Goblins;" a merry jade. Now my house is full, and four fiddlers that play well. Harris I first took to my closet; and I find him a very curious and understanding person in all pictures and other things, and a man of fine conversation; and so is Rolt. So away with all my company down to the office, and there fell to dancing, and continued at it an hour or two, there coming Mrs. Anne Jones, a merchant's daughter hard by, who dances well, and all in mighty good humour, and danced with great pleasure; and then sung and then danced, and then sung many things of three voices--both Harris and Rolt singing their parts excellently. Among other things, Harris sung his Irish song--the strangest in itself, and the prettiest sung by him, that ever I heard. Then to supper in the office, a cold, good supper, and wondrous merry. Here was Mrs. Turner also, but the poor woman sad about her lodgings, and Mrs. Markham: after supper to dancing again and singing, and so continued till almost three in the morning, and then, with extraordinary pleasure, broke up only towards morning, Knipp fell a little ill, and so my wife home with her to put her to bed, and we continued dancing and singing; and, among other things, our Mercer unexpectedly did happen to sing an Italian song I know not, of which they two sung the other two parts to, that did almost ravish me, and made me in love with her more than ever with her singing. As late as it was, yet Rolt and Harris would go home to-night, and walked it, though I had a bed for them; and it proved dark, and a misly night, and very windy. The company being all gone to their homes, I up with Mrs. Pierce to Knipp, who was in bed; and we waked her, and there I handled her breasts and did 'baiser la', and sing a song, lying by her on the bed, and then left my wife to see Mrs. Pierce in bed to her, in our best chamber, and so to bed myself, my mind mightily satisfied with all this evening's work, and thinking it to be one of the merriest enjoyment I must look for in the world, and did content myself therefore with the thoughts of it, and so to bed; only the musique did not please me, they not being contented with less than 30s. 25th. Lay pretty long, then to the office, where Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes and I did meet, and sat private all the morning about dividing the Controller's work according to the late order of Council, between them two and Sir W. Pen, and it troubled me to see the poor honest man, Sir J. Minnes, troubled at it, and yet the King's work cannot be done without it. It was at last friendlily ended, and so up and home to dinner with my wife. This afternoon I saw the Poll Bill, now printed; wherein I do fear I shall be very deeply concerned, being to be taxed for all my offices, and then for my money that I have, and my title, as well as my head. It is a very great tax; but yet I do think it is so perplexed, it will hardly ever be collected duly. The late invention of Sir G. Downing's is continued of bringing all the money into the Exchequer; and Sir G. Carteret's three pence is turned for all the money of this act into but a penny per pound, which I am sorry for. After dinner to the office again, where Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen and I met to talk again about the Controller's office, and there [Sir] W. Pen would have a piece of the great office cut out to make an office for him, which I opposed to the making him very angry, but I think I shall carry it against him, and then I care not. So a little troubled at this fray, I away by coach with my wife, and left her at the New Exchange, and I to my Lord Chancellor's, and then back, taking up my wife to my Lord Bellasses, and there spoke with Mr. Moone, who tells me that the peace between us and Spayne is, as he hears, concluded on, which I should be glad of, and so home, and after a little at my office, home to finish my journall for yesterday and to-day, and then a little supper and to bed. This day the House hath passed the Bill for the Assessment, which I am glad of; and also our little Bill, for giving any one of us in the office the power of justice of peace, is done as I would have it. 26th. Up, and at the office. Sat all the morning, where among other things I did the first unkind [thing] that ever I did design to Sir W. Warren, but I did it now to some purpose, to make him sensible how little any man's friendship shall avail him if he wants money. I perceive he do nowadays court much my Lord Bruncker's favour, who never did any man much courtesy at the board, nor ever will be able, at least so much as myself. Besides, my Lord would do him a kindness in concurrence with me, but he would have the danger of the thing to be done lie upon me, if there be any danger in it (in drawing up a letter to Sir W. Warren's advantage), which I do not like, nor will endure. I was, I confess, very angry, and will venture the loss of Sir W. Warren's kindnesses rather than he shall have any man's friendship in greater esteem than mine. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner to the office again, and there all the afternoon, and at night poor Mrs. Turner come and walked in the garden for my advice about her husband and her relating to my Lord Bruncker's late proceedings with them. I do give her the best I can, but yet can lay aside some ends of my own in what advice I do give her. So she being gone I to make an end of my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, Balty lodging here with my brother, he being newly returned from mustering in the river. 27th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and leaving my wife to go by coach to hear Mr. Frampton preach, which I had a mighty desire she should, I down to the Old Swan, and there to Michell and staid while he and she dressed themselves, and here had a 'baiser' or two of her, whom I love mightily; and then took them in a sculler (being by some means or other disappointed of my own boat) to White Hall, and so with them to Westminster, Sir W. Coventry, Bruncker and I all the morning together discoursing of the office business, and glad of the Controller's business being likely to be put into better order than formerly, and did discourse of many good things, but especially of having something done to bringing the Surveyor's matters into order also. Thence I up to the King's closet, and there heard a good Anthem, and discoursed with several people here about business, among others with Lord Bellasses, and so from one to another after sermon till the King had almost dined, and then home with Sir G. Carteret and dined with him, being mightily ashamed of my not having seen my Lady Jemimah so long, and my wife not at all yet since she come, but she shall soon do it. I thence to Sir Philip Warwicke, by appointment, to meet Lord Bellasses, and up to his chamber, but find him unwilling to discourse of business on Sundays; so did not enlarge, but took leave, and went down and sat in a low room, reading Erasmus "de scribendis epistolis," a very good book, especially one letter of advice to a courtier most true and good, which made me once resolve to tear out the two leaves that it was writ in, but I forebore it. By and by comes Lord Bellasses, and then he and I up again to Sir P. Warwicke and had much discourse of our Tangier business, but no hopes of getting any money. Thence I through the garden into the Park, and there met with Roger Pepys, and he and I to walk in the Pell Mell. I find by him that the House of Parliament continues full of ill humours, and he seems to dislike those that are troublesome more than needs, and do say how, in their late Poll Bill, which cost so much time, the yeomanry, and indeed two-thirds of the nation, are left out to be taxed, that there is not effectual provision enough made for collecting of the money; and then, that after a man his goods are distrained and sold, and the overplus returned, I am to have ten days to make my complaints of being over-rated if there be cause, when my goods are sold, and that is too late. These things they are resolved to look into again, and mend them before they rise, which they expect at furthest on Thursday next. Here we met with Mr. May, and he and we to talk of several things, of building, and such like matters; and so walked to White Hall, and there I skewed my cozen Roger the Duchesse of York sitting in state, while her own mother stands by her; he had a desire, and I shewed him my Lady Castlemayne, whom he approves to be very handsome, and wonders that she cannot be as good within as she is fair without. Her little black boy came by him; and, a dog being in his way, the little boy called to the dog: "Pox of this dog!"--"Now," says he, blessing himself, "would I whip this child till the blood come, if it were my child!" and I believe he would. But he do by no means like the liberty of the Court, and did come with expectation of finding them playing at cards to-night, though Sunday; for such stories he is told, but how true I know not. [There is little reason to doubt that it was such as Evelyn describes it at a later time. "I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and prophaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening) which this day se'nnight I was witness of; the King sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, Mazarin, &c. A French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least L2,000 in gold before them; upon which two gentlemen who were with me made reflexions with astonishment. Six days after was all in the dust."--Diary, February, 1685.--B.] After walking up and down the Court with him, it being now dark and past six at night, I walked to the Swan in the Palace yard and there with much ado did get a waterman, and so I sent for the Michells, and they come, and their father Howlett and his wife with them, and there we drank, and so into the boat, poor Betty's head aching. We home by water, a fine moonshine and warm night, it having been also a very summer's day for warmth. I did get her hand to me under my cloak . . . . So there we parted at their house, and he walked almost home with me, and then I home and to supper, and to read a little and to bed. My wife tells me Mr. Frampton is gone to sea, and so she lost her labour to-day in thinking to hear him preach, which I am sorry for. 28th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there drank at Michell's and saw Betty, and so took boat and to the Temple, and thence to my tailor's and other places about business in my way to Westminster, where I spent the morning at the Lords' House door, to hear the conference between the two Houses about my Lord Mordaunt, of which there was great expectation, many hundreds of people coming to hear it. But, when they come, the Lords did insist upon my Lord Mordaunt's having leave to sit upon a stool uncovered within their burr, and that he should have counsel, which the Commons would not suffer, but desired leave to report their Lordships' resolution to the House of Commons; and so parted for this day, which troubled me, I having by this means lost the whole day. Here I hear from Mr. Hayes that Prince Rupert is very bad still, and so bad, that he do now yield to be trepanned. It seems, as Dr. Clerke also tells me, it is a clap of the pox which he got about twelve years ago, and hath eaten to his head and come through his scull, so his scull must be opened, and there is great fear of him. Much work I find there is to do in the two Houses in a little time, and much difference there is between the two Houses in many things to be reconciled; as in the Bill for examining our accounts; Lord Mordaunt's Bill for building the City, and several others. A little before noon I went to the Swan and eat a bit of meat, thinking I should have had occasion to have stayed long at the house, but I did not, but so home by coach, calling at Broad Street and taking the goldsmith home with me, and paid him L15 15s. for my silver standish. He tells me gold holds up its price still, and did desire me to let him have what old 20s. pieces I have, and he would give me 3s. 2d. change for each. He gone, I to the office, where business all the afternoon, and at night comes Mr. Gawden at my desire to me, and to-morrow I shall pay him some money, and shall see what present he will make me, the hopes of which do make me to part with my money out of my chest, which I should not otherwise do, but lest this alteration in the Controller's office should occasion my losing my concernment in the Victualling, and so he have no more need of me. He gone, I to the office again, having come thence home with him to talk, and so after a little more business I to supper. I then sent for Mercer, and began to teach her "It is decreed," which will please me well, and so after supper and reading a little, and my wife's cutting off my hair short, which is grown too long upon my crown of my head, I to bed. I met this day in Westminster Hall Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and the latter since our falling out the other day do look mighty reservedly upon me, and still he shall do so for me, for I will be hanged before I seek to him, unless I see I need it. 29th. Up to the office all the morning, where Sir W. Pen and I look much askewe one upon another, though afterward business made us speak friendly enough, but yet we hate one another. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon expecting Mr. Gawden to come for some money I am to pay him, but he comes not, which makes me think he is considering whether it be necessary to make the present he hath promised, it being possible this alteration in the Controller's duty may make my place in the Victualling unnecessary, so that I am a little troubled at it. Busy till late at night at the office, and Sir W. Batten come to me, and tells me that there is newes upon the Exchange to-day, that my Lord Sandwich's coach and the French Embassador's at Madrid, meeting and contending for the way, they shot my Lord's postilion and another man dead; and that we have killed 25 of theirs, and that my Lord is well. How true this is I cannot tell, there being no newes of it at all at Court, as I am told late by one come thence, so that I hope it is not so. By and by comes Mrs. Turner to me, to make her complaint of her sad usage she receives from my Lord Bruncker, that he thinks much she hath not already got another house, though he himself hath employed her night and day ever since his first mention of the matter, to make part of her house ready for him, as he ordered, and promised she should stay till she had fitted herself; by which and what discourse I do remember he had of the business before Sir W. Coventry on Sunday last I perceive he is a rotten-hearted, false man as any else I know, even as Sir W. Pen himself, and, therefore, I must beware of him accordingly, and I hope I shall. I did pity the woman with all my heart, and gave her the best council I could; and so, falling to other discourse, I made her laugh and merry, as sad as she came to me; so that I perceive no passion in a woman can be lasting long; and so parted and I home, and there teaching my girle Barker part of my song "It is decreed," which she will sing prettily, and so after supper to bed. 30th. Fast-day for the King's death. I all the morning at my chamber making up my month's accounts, which I did before dinner to my thorough content, and find myself but a small gainer this month, having no manner of profits, but just my salary, but, blessed be God! that I am able to save out of that, living as I do. So to dinner, then to my chamber all the afternoon, and in the evening my wife and I and Mercer and Barker to little Michell's, walked, with some neats' tongues and cake and wine, and there sat with the little couple with great pleasure, and talked and eat and drank, and saw their little house, which is very pretty; and I much pleased therewith, and so walked home, about eight at night, it being a little moonshine and fair weather, and so into the garden, and, with Mercer, sang till my wife put me in mind of its being a fast day; and so I was sorry for it, and stopped, and home to cards awhile, and had opportunity 'para baiser' Mercer several times, and so to bed. 31st. Up, and to the office, where we met and sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and by and by Mr. Osborne comes from Mr. Gawden, and takes money and notes for L4000, and leaves me acknowledgment for L4000 and odd; implying as if D. Gawden would give the L800 between Povy and myself, but how he will divide it I know-not, till I speak with him, so that my content is not yet full in the business. In the evening stept out to Sir Robert Viner's to get the money ready upon my notes to D. Gawden, and there hear that Mr. Temple is very ill. I met on the 'Change with Captain Cocke, who tells me that he hears new certainty of the business of Madrid, how our Embassador and the French met, and says that two or three of my Lord's men, and twenty one of the French men are killed, but nothing at Court of it. He fears the next year's service through the badness of our counsels at White Hall, but that if they were wise, and the King would mind his business, he might do what he would yet. The Parliament is not yet up, being finishing some bills. So home and to the office, and late home to supper, and to talk with my wife, with pleasure, and to bed. I met this evening at Sir R. Viner's our Mr. Turner, who I find in a melancholy condition about his being removed out of his house, but I find him so silly and so false that I dare not tell how to trust any advice to him, and therefore did speak only generally to him, but I doubt his condition is very miserable, and do pity his family. Thus the month ends: myself in very good health and content of mind in my family. All our heads full in the office at this dividing of the Comptroller's duty, so that I am in some doubt how it may prove to intrench upon my benefits, but it cannot be much. The Parliament, upon breaking up, having given the King money with much ado, and great heats, and neither side pleased, neither King nor them. The imperfection of the Poll Bill, which must be mended before they rise, there being several horrible oversights to the prejudice of the King, is a certain sign of the care anybody hath of the King's business. Prince Rupert very ill, and to be trepanned on Saturday next. Nobody knows who commands the fleete next year, or, indeed, whether we shall have a fleete or no. Great preparations in Holland and France, and the French have lately taken Antego [Antigua, one of the West India Islands (Leeward Islands), discovered by Columbus in 1493, who is said to have named it after a church at Seville called Santa Maria la Antigua. It was first settled by a few English families in 1632, and in 1663 another settlement was made under Lord Willoughby, to whom the entire island was granted by Charles II. In 1666 it was invaded by a French force, which laid waste all the settlement. It was reconquered by the English, and formally restored to them by the treaty of Breda.] from us, which vexes us. I am in a little care through my at last putting a great deal of money out of my hands again into the King's upon tallies for Tangier, but the interest which I wholly lost while in my trunk is a temptation while things look safe, as they do in some measure for six months, I think, and I would venture but little longer. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Baker's house in Pudding Lane, where the late great fire begun Bill against importing Cattle from Ireland But my wife vexed, which vexed me Clap of the pox which he got about twelve years ago Come to us out of bed in his furred mittens and furred cap Court full of great apprehensions of the French Declared he will never have another public mistress again Desk fastened to one of the armes of his chayre Do outdo the Lords infinitely (debates in the Commons) Enough existed to build a ship (Pieces of the true Cross) Enviously, said, I could not come honestly by them Erasmus "de scribendis epistolis" For I will be hanged before I seek to him, unless I see I need Gold holds up its price still Have not any awe over them from the King's displeasure (Commons) He will do no good, he being a man of an unsettled head I did get her hand to me under my cloak I perceive no passion in a woman can be lasting long Mazer or drinking-bowl turned out of some kind of wood Mirrors which makes the room seem both bigger and lighter Outdo for neatness and plenty anything done by any of them Poll Bill Saying, that for money he might be got to our side Sermon without affectation or study Some ends of my own in what advice I do give her The pleasure of my not committing these things to my memory Very great tax; but yet I do think it is so perplexed Where a piece of the Cross is Whip this child till the blood come, if it were my child! Whom, in mirth to us, he calls Antichrist Wonders that she cannot be as good within as she is fair without Yet let him remember the days of darkness 
4173	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1666-1667 February 1st. Up, and to the office, where I was all the morning doing business, at noon home to dinner, and after dinner down by water, though it was a thick misty and rainy day, and walked to Deptford from Redriffe, and there to Bagwell's by appointment, where the 'mulier etoit within expecting me venir . . . . By and by 'su marido' come in, and there without any notice taken by him we discoursed of our business of getting him the new ship building by Mr. Deane, which I shall do for him. Thence by and by after a little talk I to the yard, and spoke with some of the officers, but staid but little, and the new clerk of the 'Chequer, Fownes, did walk to Redriffe back with me. I perceive he is a very child, and is led by the nose by Cowly and his kinsman that was his clerk, but I did make him understand his duty, and put both understanding and spirit into him, so that I hope he will do well. [Much surprised to hear this day at Deptford that Mrs. Batters is going already to be married to him, that is now the Captain of her husband's ship. She seemed the most passionate mourner in the world. But I believe it cannot be true.]--(The passage between brackets is written in the margin of the MS.)--Thence by water to Billingsgate; thence to the Old Swan, and there took boat, it being now night, to Westminster Hall, there to the Hall, and find Doll Lane, and 'con elle' I went to the Bell Taverne, and 'ibi je' did do what I would 'con elle' as well as I could, she 'sedendo sobre' thus far and making some little resistance. But all with much content, and 'je tenai' much pleasure 'cum ista'. There parted, and I by coach home, and to the office, where pretty late doing business, and then home, and merry with my wife, and to supper. My brother and I did play with the base, and I upon my viallin, which I have not seen out of the case now I think these three years, or more, having lost the key, and now forced to find an expedient to open it. Then to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office. This day I hear that Prince Rupert is to be trepanned. God give good issue to it. Sir W. Pen looks upon me, and I on him, and speak about business together at the table well enough, but no friendship or intimacy since our late difference about his closet, nor do I desire to have any. At noon dined well, and my brother and I to write over once more with my own hand my catalogue of books, while he reads to me. After something of that done, and dined, I to the office, where all the afternoon till night busy. At night, having done all my office matters, I home, and my brother and I to go on with my catalogue, and so to supper. Mrs. Turner come to me this night again to condole her condition and the ill usage she receives from my Lord Bruncker, which I could never have expected from him, and shall be a good caution to me while I live. She gone, I to supper, and then to read a little, and to bed. This night comes home my new silver snuffe-dish, which I do give myself for my closet, which is all I purpose to bestow in plate of myself, or shall need, many a day, if I can keep what I have. So to bed. I am very well pleased this night with reading a poem I brought home with me last night from Westminster Hall, of Dryden's' upon the present war; a very good poem. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there staid till he was ready, talking, and among other things of the Prince's being trepanned, which was in doing just as we passed through the Stone Gallery, we asking at the door of his lodgings, and were told so. We are all full of wishes for the good success; though I dare say but few do really concern ourselves for him in our hearts. Up to the Duke of York, and with him did our business we come about, and among other things resolve upon a meeting at the office to-morrow morning, Sir W. Coventry to be there to determine of all things necessary for the setting of Sir W. Pen to work in his Victualling business. This did awake in me some thoughts of what might in discourse fall out touching my imployment, and did give me some apprehension of trouble. Having done here, and after our laying our necessities for money open to the Duke of York, but nothing obtained concerning it, we parted, and I with others into the House, and there hear that the work is done to the Prince in a few minutes without any pain at all to him, he not knowing when it was done. It was performed by Moulins. Having cut the outward table, as they call it, they find the inner all corrupted, so as it come out without any force; and their fear is, that the whole inside of his head is corrupted like that, which do yet make them afeard of him; but no ill accident appeared in the doing of the thing, but all with all imaginable success, as Sir Alexander Frazier did tell me himself, I asking him, who is very kind to me. I to the Chapel a little, but hearing nothing did take a turn into the Park, and then back to Chapel and heard a very good Anthem to my heart's delight, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, and before dinner did walk with him alone a good while, and from him hear our case likely for all these acts to be bad for money, which troubles me, the year speeding so fast, and he tells me that he believes the Duke of York will go to sea with the fleete, which I am sorry for in respect to his person, but yet there is no person in condition to command the fleete, now the Captains are grown so great, but him, it being impossible for anybody else but him to command any order or discipline among them. He tells me there is nothing at all in the late discourse about my Lord Sandwich and the French Embassador meeting and contending for the way, which I wonder at, to see the confidence of report without any ground. By and by to dinner, where very good company. Among other discourse, we talked much of Nostradamus [Michael Nostradamus, a physician and astrologer, born in the diocese of Avignon, 1503. Amongst other predictions, one was interpreted as foreshowing the singular death of Hen. II. of France, by which his reputation was increased.] his prophecy of these times, and the burning of the City of London, some of whose verses are put into Booker's' Almanack this year; and Sir G. Carteret did tell a story, how at his death he did make the town swear that he should never be dug up, or his tomb opened, after he was buried; but they did after sixty years do it, and upon his breast they found a plate of brasse, saying what a wicked and unfaithful people the people of that place were, who after so many vows should disturb and open him such a day and year and hour; which, if true, is very strange. Then we fell to talking of the burning of the City; and my Lady Carteret herself did tell us how abundance of pieces of burnt papers were cast by the wind as far as Cranborne; and among others she took up one, or had one brought her to see, which was a little bit of paper that had been printed, whereon there remained no more nor less than these words: "Time is, it is done." After dinner I went and took a turn into the Park, and then took boat and away home, and there to my chamber and to read, but did receive some letters from Sir W. Coventry, touching the want of victuals to Kempthorne's' fleete going to the Streights and now in the Downes: which did trouble me, he saying that this disappointment might prove fatal; and the more, because Sir W. Coventry do intend to come to the office upon business to-morrow morning, and I shall not know what answer to give him. This did mightily trouble my mind; however, I fell to read a little in Hakewill's Apology, and did satisfy myself mighty fair in the truth of the saying that the world do not grow old at all, but is in as good condition in all respects as ever it was as to nature. I continued reading this book with great pleasure till supper, and then to bed sooner than ordinary, for rising betimes in the morning to-morrow. So after reading my usual vows to bed, my mind full of trouble against to-morrow, and did not sleep any good time of the night for thoughts of to-morrow morning's trouble. 4th. I up, with my head troubled to think of the issue of this morning, so made ready and to the office, where Mr. Gawden comes, and he and I discoursed the business well, and thinks I shall get off well enough; but I do by Sir W. Coventry's silence conclude that he is not satisfied in my management of my place and the charge it puts the King to, which I confess I am not in present condition through my late laziness to give any good answer to. But here do D. Gawden give me a good cordiall this morning, by telling me that he do give me five of the eight hundred pounds on his account remaining in my hands to myself, for the service I do him in my victualling business, and L100 for my particular share of the profits of my Tangier imployment as Treasurer. This do begin to make my heart glad, and I did dissemble it the better, so when Sir W. Coventry did come, and the rest met, I did appear unconcerned, and did give him answer pretty satisfactory what he asked me; so that I did get off this meeting without any ground lost, but rather a great deal gained by interposing that which did belong to my duty to do, and neither [Sir] W. Coventry nor (Sir) W. Yen did oppose anything thereunto, which did make my heart very glad. All the morning at this work, Sir W. Pen making a great deal of do for the fitting him in his setting out in his employment, and I do yield to any trouble that he gives me without any contradiction. Sir W. Coventry being gone, we at noon to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, he inviting me and my wife, and there a pretty good dinner, intended indeed for Sir W. Coventry, but he would not stay. So here I was mighty merry and all our differences seemingly blown over, though he knows, if he be not a fool, that I love him not, and I do the like that he hates me. Soon as dined, my wife and I out to the Duke's playhouse, and there saw "Heraclius," an excellent play, to my extraordinary content; and the more from the house being very full, and great company; among others, Mrs. Steward, very fine, with her locks done up with puffes, as my wife calls them: and several other great ladies had their hair so, though I do not like it; but my wife do mightily--but it is only because she sees it is the fashion. Here I saw my Lord Rochester and his lady, Mrs. Mallet, who hath after all this ado married him; and, as I hear some say in the pit, it is a great act of charity, for he hath no estate. But it was pleasant to see how every body rose up when my Lord John Butler, the Duke of Ormond's son, come into the pit towards the end of the play, who was a servant--[lover]--to Mrs. Mallet, and now smiled upon her, and she on him. I had sitting next to me a woman, the likest my Lady Castlemayne that ever I saw anybody like another; but she is a whore, I believe, for she is acquainted with every fine fellow, and called them by their name, Jacke, and Tom, and before the end of the play frisked to another place. Mightily pleased with the play, we home by coach, and there a little to the office, and then to my chamber, and there finished my Catalogue of my books with my own hand, and so to supper and to bed, and had a good night's rest, the last night's being troublesome, but now my heart light and full of resolution of standing close to my business. 5th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and then home to dinner. Heard this morning that the Prince is much better, and hath good rest. All the talk is that my Lord Sandwich hath perfected the peace with Spayne, which is very good, if true. Sir H. Cholmly was with me this morning, and told me of my Lord Bellasses's base dealings with him by getting him to give him great gratuities to near L2000 for his friendship in the business of the Mole, and hath been lately underhand endeavouring to bring another man into his place as Governor, so as to receive his money of Sir H. Cholmly for nothing. Dined at home, and after dinner come Mrs. Daniel and her sister and staid and talked a little, and then I to the office, and after setting my things in order at the office I abroad with my wife and little Betty Michell, and took them against my vowes, but I will make good my forfeit, to the King's house, to show them a play, "The Chances." A good play I find it, and the actors most good in it; and pretty to hear Knipp sing in the play very properly, "All night I weepe;" and sung it admirably. The whole play pleases me well: and most of all, the sight of many fine ladies--among others, my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Middleton: the latter of the two hath also a very excellent face and body, I think. Thence by coach to the New Exchange, and there laid out money, and I did give Betty Michell two pair of gloves and a dressing-box; and so home in the dark, over the ruins, with a link. I was troubled with my pain, having got a bruise on my right testicle, I know not how. But this I did make good use of to make my wife shift sides with me, and I did come to sit 'avec' Betty Michell, and there had her 'main', which 'elle' did give me very frankly now, and did hazer whatever I 'voudrais avec la', which did 'plaisir' me 'grandement', and so set her at home with my mind mighty glad of what I have prevailed for so far; and so home, and to the office, and did my business there, and then home to supper, and after to set some things right in my chamber, and so to bed. This morning, before I went to the office, there come to me Mr. Young and Whistler, flaggmakers, and with mighty earnestness did present me with, and press me to take a box, wherein I could not guess there was less than L100 in gold: but I do wholly refuse it, and did not at last take it. The truth is, not thinking them safe men to receive such a gratuity from, nor knowing any considerable courtesy that ever I did do them, but desirous to keep myself free from their reports, and to have it in my power to say I had refused their offer. 6th. Up, lying a little long in bed, and by water to White Hall, and there find the Duke of York gone out, he being in haste to go to the Parliament, and so all my Brethren were gone to the office too. So I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier business, and then to Westminster Hall, and walked up and down, and hear that the Prince do still rest well by day and night, and out of pain; so as great hopes are conceived of him: though I did meet Dr. Clerke and Mr. Pierce, and they do say they believe he will not recover it, they supposing that his whole head within is eaten by this corruption, which appeared in this piece of the inner table. Up to the Parliament door, and there discoursed with Roger Pepys, who goes out of town this week, the Parliament rising this week also. So down to the Hall and there spied Betty Michell, and so I sent for burnt wine to Mrs. Michell's, and there did drink with the two mothers, and by that means with Betty, poor girle, whom I love with all my heart. And God forgive me, it did make me stay longer and hover all the morning up and down the Hall to 'busquer occasions para ambulare con elle. But ego ne pouvoir'. So home by water and to dinner, and then to the office, where we sat upon Denis Gawden's accounts, and before night I rose and by water to White Hall, to attend the Council; but they sat not to-day. So to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and find him within, and with a letter from the Downes in his hands, telling the loss of the St. Patricke coming from Harwich in her way to Portsmouth; and would needs chase two ships (she having the Malago fire-ship in company) which from English colours put up Dutch, and he would clap on board the Vice-Admirall; and after long dispute the Admirall comes on the other side of him, and both together took him. Our fire-ship (Seely) not coming in to fire all three, but come away, leaving her in their possession, and carried away by them: a ship built at Bristoll the last year, of fifty guns and upwards, and a most excellent good ship. This made him very melancholy. I to talk of our wants of money, but I do find that he is not pleased with that discourse, but grieves to hear it, and do seem to think that Sir G. Carteret do not mind the getting of money with the same good cheer that he did heretofore, nor do I think he hath the same reason. Thence to Westminster Hall, thinking to see Betty Michell, she staying there all night, and had hopes to get her out alone, but missed, and so away by coach home, and to Sir W. Batten's, to tell him my bad news, and then to the office, and home to supper, where Mrs. Hewer was, and after supper and she gone, W. Hewer talking with me very late of the ill manner of Sir G. Carteret's accounts being kept, and in what a sad condition he would be if either Fenn or Wayth should break or die, and am resolved to take some time to tell Sir G. Carteret or my Lady of it, I do love them so well and their family. So to bed, my pain pretty well gone. 7th. Lay long with pleasure with my wife, and then up and to the office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and before dinner I went into my green dining room, and there talking with my brother upon matters relating to his journey to Brampton to-morrow, and giving him good counsel about spending the time when he shall stay in the country with my father, I looking another way heard him fall down, and turned my head, and he was fallen down all along upon the ground dead, which did put me into a great fright; and, to see my brotherly love! I did presently lift him up from the ground, he being as pale as death; and, being upon his legs, he did presently come to himself, and said he had something come into his stomach very hot. He knew not what it was, nor ever had such a fit before. I never was so frighted but once, when my wife was ill at Ware upon the road, and I did continue trembling a good while and ready to weepe to see him, he continuing mighty pale all dinner and melancholy, that I was loth to let him take his journey tomorrow; but he began to be pretty well, and after dinner my wife and Barker fell to singing, which pleased me pretty well, my wife taking mighty pains and proud that she shall come to trill, and indeed I think she will. So to the office, and there all the afternoon late doing business, and then home, and find my brother pretty well. So to write a letter to my Lady Sandwich for him to carry, I having not writ to her a great while. Then to supper and so to bed. I did this night give him 20s. for books, and as much for his pocket, and 15s. to carry him down, and so to bed. Poor fellow! he is so melancholy, and withal, my wife says, harmless, that I begin to love him, and would be loth he should not do well. 8th. This morning my brother John come up to my bedside, and took his leave of us, going this day to Brampton. My wife loves him mightily as one that is pretty harmless, and I do begin to fancy him from yesterday's accident, it troubling me to think I should be left without a brother or sister, which is the first time that ever I had thoughts of that kind in my life. He gone, I up, and to the office, where we sat upon the Victuallers' accounts all the morning. At noon Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself to the Swan in Leadenhall Street to dinner, where an exceedingly good dinner and good discourse. Sir W. Batten come this morning from the House, where the King hath prorogued this Parliament to October next. I am glad they are up. The Bill for Accounts was not offered, the party being willing to let it fall; but the King did tell them he expected it. They are parted with great heartburnings, one party against the other. Pray God bring them hereafter together in better temper! It is said that the King do intend himself in this interval to take away Lord Mordaunt's government, so as to do something to appease the House against they come together, and let them see he will do that of his own accord which is fit, without their forcing him; and that he will have his Commission for Accounts go on which will be good things. At dinner we talked much of Cromwell; all saying he was a brave fellow, and did owe his crowne he got to himself as much as any man that ever got one. Thence to the office, and there begun the account which Sir W. Pen by his late employment hath examined, but begun to examine it in the old manner, a clerk to read the Petty warrants, my Lord Bruncker upon very good ground did except against it, and would not suffer him to go on. This being Sir W. Pen's clerk he took it in snuff, and so hot they grew upon it that my Lord Bruncker left the office. He gone (Sir) W. Pen ranted like a devil, saying that nothing but ignorance could do this. I was pleased at heart all this while. At last moved to have Lord Bruncker desired to return, which he did, and I read the petty warrants all the day till late at night, that I was very weary, and troubled to have my private business of my office stopped to attend this, but mightily pleased at this falling out, and the truth is [Sir] W. Pen do make so much noise in this business of his, and do it so little and so ill, that I think the King will be little the better by changing the hand. So up and to my office a little, but being at it all day I could not do much there. So home and to supper, to teach Barker to sing another piece of my song, and then to bed. 9th. To the office, where we sat all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, and then to my office again, where also busy, very busy late, and then went home and read a piece of a play, "Every Man in his Humour,"--[Ben Jonson's well-known play.]--wherein is the greatest propriety of speech that ever I read in my life: and so to bed. This noon come my wife's watchmaker, and received L12 of me for her watch; but Captain Rolt coming to speak with me about a little business, he did judge of the work to be very good work, and so I am well contented, and he hath made very good, that I knew, to Sir W. Pen and Lady Batten. 10th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church, where Mr. Mills made an unnecessary sermon upon Original Sin, neither understood by himself nor the people. Home, where Michell and his wife, and also there come Mr. Carter, my old acquaintance of Magdalene College, who hath not been here of many years. He hath spent his time in the North with the Bishop of Carlisle much. He is grown a very comely person, and of good discourse, and one that I like very much. We had much talk of our old acquaintance of the College, concerning their various fortunes; wherein, to my joy, I met not with any that have sped better than myself. After dinner he went away, and awhile after them Michell and his wife, whom I love mightily, and then I to my chamber there to my Tangier accounts, which I had let run a little behind hand, but did settle them very well to my satisfaction, but it cost me sitting up till two in the morning, and the longer by reason that our neighbour, Mrs. Turner, poor woman, did come to take her leave of us, she being to quit her house to-morrow to my Lord Bruncker, who hath used her very unhandsomely. She is going to lodgings, and do tell me very odde stories how Mrs. Williams do receive the applications of people, and hath presents, and she is the hand that receives all, while my Lord Bruncker do the business, which will shortly come to be loud talk if she continues here, I do foresee, and bring my Lord no great credit. So having done all my business, to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to the Temple, and thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier warrant for tallies, and there met my Lord Bellasses and Creed, and discoursed about our business of money, but we are defeated as to any hopes of getting [any] thing upon the Poll Bill, which I seem but not much troubled at, it not concerning me much. Thence with Creed to Westminster Hall, and there up and down, and heard that Prince Rupert is still better and better; and that he did tell Dr. Troutbecke expressly that my Lord Sandwich is ordered home. I hear, too, that Prince Rupert hath begged the having of all the stolen prize-goods which he can find, and that he is looking out anew after them, which at first troubled me; but I do see it cannot come to anything, but is done by Hayes, or some of his little people about him. Here, among other newes, I bought the King's speech at proroguing the House the other day, wherein are some words which cannot but import some prospect of a peace, which God send us! After walking a good while in the Hall, it being Term time, I home by water, calling at Michell's and giving him a fair occasion to send his wife to the New Exchange to meet my wife and me this afternoon. So home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Lord Bellasses, and with him to Povy's house, whom we find with Auditor Beale and Vernatty about their accounts still, which is never likely to have end. Our business was to speak with Vernatty, who is certainly a most cunning knave as ever was born. Having done what we had to do there, my Lord carried me and set me down at the New Exchange, where I staid at Pottle's shop till Betty Michell come, which she did about five o'clock, and was surprised not to 'trouver my muger' I there; but I did make an excuse good enough, and so I took 'elle' down, and over the water to the cabinet-maker's, and there bought a dressing-box for her for 20s., but would require an hour's time to make fit. This I was glad of, thinking to have got 'elle' to enter to a 'casa de biber', but 'elle' would not, so I did not much press it, but suffered 'elle' to enter 'a la casa de uno de sus hermanos', and so I past my time walking up and down, and among other places, to one Drumbleby, a maker of flageolets, the best in towne. He not within, my design to bespeak a pair of flageolets of the same tune, ordered him to come to me in a day or two, and so I back to the cabinet-maker's and there staid; and by and by Betty comes, and here we staid in the shop and above seeing the workmen work, which was pretty, and some exceeding good work, and very pleasant to see them do it, till it was late quite dark, and the mistresse of the shop took us into the kitchen and there talked and used us very prettily, and took her for my wife, which I owned and her big belly, and there very merry, till my thing done, and then took coach and home . . . But now comes our trouble, I did begin to fear that 'su marido' might go to my house to 'enquire pour elle', and there, 'trouvant' my 'muger'--[wife in Spanish.]--at home, would not only think himself, but give my 'femme' occasion to think strange things. This did trouble me mightily, so though 'elle' would not seem to have me trouble myself about it, yet did agree to the stopping the coach at the streete's end, and 'je allois con elle' home, and there presently hear by him that he had newly sent 'su mayde' to my house to see for her mistresse. This do much perplex me, and I did go presently home Betty whispering me behind the 'tergo de her mari', that if I would say that we did come home by water, 'elle' could make up 'la cose well satis', and there in a sweat did walk in the entry ante my door, thinking what I should say a my 'femme', and as God would have it, while I was in this case (the worst in reference a my 'femme' that ever I was in in my life), a little woman comes stumbling to the entry steps in the dark; whom asking who she was, she enquired for my house. So knowing her voice, and telling her 'su donna' is come home she went away. But, Lord! in what a trouble was I, when she was gone, to recollect whether this was not the second time of her coming, but at last concluding that she had not been here before, I did bless myself in my good fortune in getting home before her, and do verily believe she had loitered some time by the way, which was my great good fortune, and so I in a-doors and there find all well. So my heart full of joy, I to the office awhile, and then home, and after supper and doing a little business in my chamber I to bed, after teaching Barker a little of my song. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, with several things (among others) discoursed relating to our two new assistant controllers, but especially Sir W. Pen, who is mighty troublesome in it. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, and there did much business, and by and by comes Mr. Moore, who in discourse did almost convince me that it is necessary for my Lord Sandwich to come home end take his command at sea this year, for that a peace is like to be. Many considerations he did give me hereupon, which were very good both in reference to the publick and his private condition. By and by with Lord Bruncker by coach to his house, there to hear some Italian musique: and here we met Tom Killigrew, Sir Robert Murray, and the Italian Signor Baptista, who hath composed a play in Italian for the Opera, which T. Killigrew do intend to have up; and here he did sing one of the acts. He himself is the poet as well as the musician; which is very much, and did sing the whole from the words without any musique prickt, and played all along upon a harpsicon most admirably, and the composition most excellent. The words I did not understand, and so know not how they are fitted, but believe very well, and all in the recitativo very fine. But I perceive there is a proper accent in every country's discourse, and that do reach in their setting of notes to words, which, therefore, cannot be natural to any body else but them; so that I am not so much smitten with it as, it may be, I should be, if I were acquainted with their accent. But the whole composition is certainly most excellent; and the poetry, T. Killigrew and Sir R. Murray, who understood the words, did say was excellent. I confess I was mightily pleased with the musique. He pretends not to voice, though it be good, but not excellent. This done, T. Killigrew and I to talk: and he tells me how the audience at his house is not above half so much as it used to be before the late fire. That Knipp is like to make the best actor that ever come upon the stage, she understanding so well: that they are going to give her L30 a-year more. That the stage is now by his pains a thousand times better and more glorious than ever heretofore. Now, wax-candles, and many of them; then, not above 3 lbs. of tallow: now, all things civil, no rudeness anywhere; then, as in a bear-garden then, two or three fiddlers; now, nine or ten of the best then, nothing but rushes upon the ground, and every thing else mean; and now, all otherwise: then, the Queen seldom and the King never would come; now, not the King only for state, but all civil people do think they may come as well as any. He tells me that he hath gone several times, eight or ten times, he tells me, hence to Rome to hear good musique; so much he loves it, though he never did sing or play a note. That he hath ever endeavoured in the late King's time, and in this, to introduce good musique, but he never could do it, there never having been any musique here better than ballads. Nay, says, "Hermitt poore" and "Chevy Chese" ["Like hermit poor in pensive place obscure" is found in "The Phoenix Nest," 1593, and in Harl. MS. No. 6910, written soon after 1596. It was set to music by Alfonso Ferrabosco, and published in his "Ayres," 1609. The song was a favourite with Izaak Walton, and is alluded to in "Hudibras" (Part I., canto ii., line 1169). See Rimbault's "Little Book of Songs and Ballads," 1851, p. 98. Both versions of the famous ballad of "Chevy Chase" are printed in Percy's "Reliques."] was all the musique we had; and yet no ordinary fiddlers get so much money as ours do here, which speaks our rudenesse still. That he hath gathered our Italians from several Courts in Christendome, to come to make a concert for the King, which he do give L200 a-year a-piece to: but badly paid, and do come in the room of keeping four ridiculous gundilows, [The gondolas mentioned before, as sent by the Doge of Venice. See September 12th, 1661] he having got, the King to put them away, and lay out money this way; and indeed I do commend him for it, for I think it is a very noble undertaking. He do intend to have some times of the year these operas to be performed at the two present theatres, since he is defeated in what he intended in Moorefields on purpose for it; and he tells me plainly that the City audience was as good as the Court, but now they are most gone. Baptista tells me that Giacomo Charissimi is still alive at Rome, who was master to Vinnecotio, who is one of the Italians that the King hath here, and the chief composer of them. My great wonder is, how this man do to keep in memory so perfectly the musique of the whole act, both for the voice and the instrument too. I confess I do admire it: but in recitativo the sense much helps him, for there is but one proper way of discoursing and giving the accents. Having done our discourse, we all took coaches, my Lord's and T. Killigrew's, and to Mrs. Knipp's chamber, where this Italian is to teach her to sing her part. And so we all thither, and there she did sing an Italian song or two very fine, while he played the bass upon a harpsicon there; and exceedingly taken I am with her singing, and believe that she will do miracles at that and acting. Her little girl is mighty pretty and witty. After being there an hour, and I mightily pleased with this evening's work, we all parted, and I took coach and home, where late at my office, and then home to enter my last three days' Journall; and so to supper and to bed, troubled at nothing, but that these pleasures do hinder me in my business, and the more by reason of our being to dine abroad to-morrow, and then Saturday next is appointed to meet again at my Lord Bruncker's lodgings, and there to have the whole quire of Italians; but then I do consider that this is all the pleasure I live for in the world, and the greatest I can ever expect in the best of my life, and one thing more, that by hearing this man to-night, and I think Captain Cooke to-morrow, and the quire of Italians on Saturday, I shall be truly able to distinguish which of them pleases me truly best, which I do much desire to know and have good reason and fresh occasion of judging. 13th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business; but troubled to see that, at this time, after our declaring a debt to the Parliament of L900,000, and nothing paid since, but the debt increased, and now the fleete to set out; to hear that the King hath ordered but L35,000 for the setting out of the fleete, out of the Poll Bill, to buy all provisions, when five times as much had been little enough to have done any thing to purpose. They have, indeed, ordered more for paying off of seamen and the Yards to some time, but not enough for that neither. Another thing is, the acquainting the Duke of York with the case of Mr. Lanyon, our agent at Plymouth, who has trusted us to L8000 out of purse; we are not in condition, after so many promises, to obtain him a farthing, nor though a message was carried by Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry to the Commissioners for Prizes, that he might have L3000 out of L20,000 worth of prizes to be shortly sold there, that he might buy at the candle and pay for the goods out of bills, and all would [not] do any thing, but that money must go all another way, while the King's service is undone, and those that trust him perish. These things grieve me to the heart. The Prince, I hear, is every day better and better. So away by water home, stopping at Michell's, where Mrs. Martin was, and I there drank with them and whispered with Betty, who tells me all is well, but was prevented in something she would have said, her 'marido venant' just then, a news which did trouble me, and so drank and parted and home, and there took up my wife by coach, and to Mrs. Pierce's, there to take her up, and with them to Dr. Clerke's, by invitation, where we have not been a great while, nor had any mind to go now, but that the Dr., whom I love, would have us choose a day. Here was his wife, painted, and her sister Worshipp, a widow now and mighty pretty in her mourning. Here was also Mr. Pierce and Mr. Floyd, Secretary to the Lords Commissioners of Prizes, and Captain Cooke, to dinner, an ill and little mean one, with foul cloth and dishes, and everything poor. Discoursed most about plays and the Opera, where, among other vanities, Captain Cooke had the arrogance to say that he was fain to direct Sir W. Davenant in the breaking of his verses into such and such lengths, according as would be fit for musick, and how he used to swear at Davenant, and command him that way, when W. Davenant would be angry, and find fault with this or that note--but a vain coxcomb I perceive he is, though he sings and composes so well. But what I wondered at, Dr. Clerke did say that Sir W. Davenant is no good judge of a dramatick poem, finding fault with his choice of Henry the 5th, and others, for the stage, when I do think, and he confesses, "The Siege of Rhodes" as good as ever was writ. After dinner Captain Cooke and two of his boys to sing, but it was indeed both in performance and composition most plainly below what I heard last night, which I could not have believed. Besides overlooking the words which he sung, I find them not at all humoured as they ought to be, and as I believed he had done all he had sett. Though he himself do indeed sing in a manner as to voice and manner the best I ever heard yet, and a strange mastery he hath in making of extraordinary surprising closes, that are mighty pretty, but his bragging that he do understand tones and sounds as well as any man in the world, and better than Sir W. Davenant or any body else, I do not like by no means, but was sick of it and of him for it. He gone, Dr. Clerke fell to reading a new play, newly writ, of a friend's of his; but, by his discourse and confession afterwards, it was his own. Some things, but very few, moderately good; but infinitely far from the conceit, wit, design, and language of very many plays that I know; so that, but for compliment, I was quite tired with hearing it. It being done, and commending the play, but against my judgment, only the prologue magnifying the happiness of our former poets when such sorry things did please the world as was then acted, was very good. So set Mrs. Pierce at home, and away ourselves home, and there to my office, and then my chamber till my eyes were sore at writing and making ready my letter and accounts for the Commissioners of Tangier to-morrow, which being done, to bed, hearing that there was a very great disorder this day at the Ticket Office, to the beating and bruising of the face of Carcasse very much. A foul evening this was to-night, and I mightily troubled to get a coach home; and, which is now my common practice, going over the ruins in the night, I rid with my sword drawn in the coach. 14th. Up and to the office, where Carcasse comes with his plaistered face, and called himself Sir W. Batten's martyr, which made W. Batten mad almost, and mighty quarrelling there was. We spent the morning almost wholly upon considering some way of keeping the peace at the Ticket Office; but it is plain that the care of that office is nobody's work, and that is it that makes it stand in the ill condition it do. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, and there a meeting: the Duke of York, Duke of Albemarle, and several other Lords of the Commission of Tangier. And there I did present a state of my accounts, and managed them well; and my Lord Chancellor did say, though he was, in other things, in an ill humour, that no man in England was of more method, nor made himself better understood than myself. But going, after the business of money was over, to other businesses, of settling the garrison, he did fling out, and so did the Duke of York, two or three severe words touching my Lord Bellasses: that he would have no Governor come away from thence in less than three years; no, though his lady were with child. "And," says the Duke of York, "there should be no Governor continue so, longer than three years." "Nor," says Lord Arlington, "when our rules are once set, and upon good judgment declared, no Governor should offer to alter them."--"We must correct the many things that are amiss there; for," says the Lord Chancellor, "you must think we do hear of more things amisse than we are willing to speak before our friends' faces." My Lord Bellasses would not take notice of their reflecting on him, and did wisely, but there were also many reflections on him. Thence away by coach to Sir H. Cholmly and Fitzgerald and Creed, setting down the two latter at the New Exchange. And Sir H. Cholmly and I to the Temple, and there walked in the dark in the walks talking of newes; and he surprises me with the certain newes that the King did last night in Council declare his being in treaty with the Dutch: that they had sent him a very civil letter, declaring that, if nobody but themselves were concerned, they would not dispute the place of treaty, but leave it to his choice; but that, being obliged to satisfy therein a Prince of equal quality with himself, they must except any place in England or Spayne. And so the King hath chosen the Hague, and thither hath chose my Lord Hollis and Harry Coventry to go Embassadors to treat; which is so mean a thing, as all the world will believe, that we do go to beg a peace of them, whatever we pretend. And it seems all our Court are mightily for a peace, taking this to be the time to make one, while the King hath money, that he may save something of what the Parliament hath given him to put him out of debt, so as he may need the help of no more Parliaments, as to the point of money: but our debt is so great, and expence daily so encreased, that I believe little of the money will be saved between this and the making of the peace up. But that which troubles me most is, that we have chosen a son of Secretary Morris, a boy never used to any business, to go Embassador [Secretary] to the Embassy, which shows how, little we are sensible of the weight of the business upon us. God therefore give a good end to it, for I doubt it, and yet do much more doubt the issue of our continuing the war, for we are in no wise fit for it, and yet it troubles me to think what Sir H. Cholmly says, that he believes they will not give us any reparation for what we have suffered by the war, nor put us into any better condition than what we were in before the war, for that will be shamefull for us. Thence parted with him and home through the dark over the ruins by coach, with my sword drawn, to the office, where dispatched some business; and so home to my chamber and to supper and to bed. This morning come up to my wife's bedside, I being up dressing myself, little Will Mercer to be her Valentine; and brought her name writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself, very pretty; and we were both well pleased with it. But I am also this year my wife's Valentine, and it will cost me L5; but that I must have laid out if we had not been Valentines. So to bed. 15th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, where we attended upon the Duke of York to complain of the disorders the other day among the seamen at the Pay at the Ticket Office, and that it arises from lack of money, and that we desire, unless better provided for with money, to have nothing more to do with the payment of tickets, it being not our duty; and the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry did agree to it, so that I hope we shall be rid of that trouble. This done, I moved for allowance for a house for Mr. Turner, and got it granted. Then away to Westminster Hall, and there to the Exchequer about my tallies, and so back to White Hall, and so with Lord Bellasses to the Excise Office, where met by Sir H. Cholmly to consider about our business of money there, and that done, home and to dinner, where I hear Pegg Pen is married this day privately; no friends, but two or three relations on his side and hers. Borrowed many things of my kitchen for dressing their dinner. So after dinner to the office, and there busy and did much business, and late at it. Mrs. Turner come to me to hear how matters went; I told her of our getting rent for a house for her. She did give me account of this wedding to-day, its being private being imputed to its being just before Lent, and so in vain to make new clothes till Easter, that they might see the fashions as they are like to be this summer; which is reason good enough. Mrs. Turner tells me she hears [Sir W. Pen] gives L4500 or 4000 with her. They are gone to bed, so I wish them much sport, and home to supper and to bed. They own the treaty for a peace publickly at Court, and the Commissioners providing themselves to go over as soon as a passe comes for them. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. Among other things great heat we were all in on one side or other in the examining witnesses against Mr. Carcasse about his buying of tickets, and a cunning knave I do believe he is, and will appear, though I have thought otherwise heretofore. At noon home to dinner, and there find Mr. Andrews, and Pierce and Hollyard, and they dined with us and merry, but we did rise soon for saving of my wife's seeing a new play this afternoon, and so away by coach, and left her at Mrs. Pierces, myself to the Excise Office about business, and thence to the Temple to walk a little only, and then to Westminster to pass away time till anon, and here I went to Mrs. Martin's to thank her for her oysters . . . . Thence away to my Lord Bruncker's, and there was Sir Robert Murray, whom I never understood so well as now by this opportunity of discourse with him, a most excellent man of reason and learning, and understands the doctrine of musique, and everything else I could discourse of, very finely. Here come Mr. Hooke, Sir George Ent, Dr. Wren, and many others; and by and by the musique, that is to say, Signor Vincentio, who is the master-composer, and six more, whereof two eunuches, so tall, that Sir T. Harvey said well that he believes they do grow large by being gelt as our oxen do, and one woman very well dressed and handsome enough, but would not be kissed, as Mr. Killigrew, who brought the company in, did acquaint us. They sent two harpsicons before; and by and by, after tuning them, they begun; and, I confess, very good musique they made; that is, the composition exceeding good, but yet not at all more pleasing to me than what I have heard in English by Mrs. Knipp, Captain Cooke, and others. Nor do I dote on the eunuches; they sing, indeed, pretty high, and have a mellow kind of sound, but yet I have been as well satisfied with several women's voices and men also, as Crispe of the Wardrobe. The women sung well, but that which distinguishes all is this, that in singing, the words are to be considered, and how they are fitted with notes, and then the common accent of the country is to be known and understood by the hearer, or he will never be a good judge of the vocal musique of another country. So that I was not taken with this at all, neither understanding the first, nor by practice reconciled to the latter, so that their motions, and risings and fallings, though it may be pleasing to an Italian, or one that understands the tongue, yet to me it did not, but do from my heart believe that I could set words in English, and make musique of them more agreeable to any Englishman's eare (the most judicious) than any Italian musique set for the voice, and performed before the same man, unless he be acquainted with the Italian accent of speech. The composition as to the musique part was exceeding good, and their justness in keeping time by practice much before any that we have, unless it be a good band of practised fiddlers. So away, here being Captain Cocke, who is stole away, leaving them at it, in his coach, and to Mrs. Pierce's, where I took up my wife, and there I find Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valentine, she having drawn me; which I was not sorry for, it easing me of something more that I must have given to others. But here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos as well as names; so that Pierce, who drew my wife, did draw also a motto, and this girl drew another for me. What mine was I have forgot; but my wife's was, "Most virtuous and most fair;" which, as it may be used, or an anagram made upon each name, might be very pretty. Thence with Cocke and my wife, set him at home, and then we home. To the office, and there did a little business, troubled that I have so much been hindered by matters of pleasure from my business, but I shall recover it I hope in a little time. So home and to supper, not at all smitten with the musique to-night, which I did expect should have been so extraordinary, Tom Killigrew crying it up, and so all the world, above all things in the world, and so to bed. One wonder I observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to call up our new-married people, which is very mean, methinks, and is as if they had married like dog and bitch. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and called at Michell's, and took him and his wife and carried them to Westminster, I landing at White Hall, and having no pleasure in the way 'con elle'; and so to the Duke's, where we all met and had a hot encounter before the Duke of York about the business of our payments at the Ticket Office, where we urged that we had nothing to do to be troubled with the pay, having examined the tickets. Besides, we are neglected, having not money sent us in time, but to see the baseness of my brethren, not a man almost put in a word but Sir W. Coventry, though at the office like very devils in this point. But I did plainly declare that, without money, no fleete could be expected, and desired the Duke of York to take notice of it, and notice was taken of it, but I doubt will do no good. But I desire to remember it as a most prodigious thing that to this day my Lord Treasurer hath not consulted counsel, which Sir W. Coventry and I and others do think is necessary, about the late Poll act, enough to put the same into such order as that any body dare lend money upon it, though we have from this office under our hands related the necessity thereof to the Duke of York, nor is like to be determined in, for ought I see, a good while had not Sir W. Coventry plainly said that he did believe it would be a better work for the King than going to church this morning, to send for the Atturney Generall to meet at the Lord Treasurer's this afternoon and to bring the thing to an issue, saying that himself, were he going to the Sacrament, would not think he should offend God to leave it and go to the ending this work, so much it is of moment to the King and Kingdom. Hereupon the Duke of York said he would presently speak to the King, and cause it to be done this afternoon. Having done here we broke up; having done nothing almost though for all this, and by and by I met Sir G. Carteret, and he is stark mad at what has passed this morning, and I believe is heartily vexed with me: I said little, but I am sure the King will suffer if some better care be not taken than he takes to look after this business of money. So parted, and I by water home and to dinner, W. Hewer with us, a good dinner and-very merry, my wife and I, and after dinner to my chamber, to fit some things against: the Council anon, and that being done away to White Hall by water, and thence to my Lord Chancellor's, where I met with, and had much pretty discourse with, one of the Progers's that knows me; and it was pretty to hear him tell me, of his own accord, as a matter of no shame, that in Spayne he had a pretty woman, his mistress, whom, when money grew scarce with him, he was forced to leave, and afterwards heard how she and her husband lived well, she being kept by an old fryer who used her as his whore; but this, says he, is better than as our ministers do, who have wives that lay up their estates, and do no good nor relieve any poor--no, not our greatest prelates, and I think he is in the right for my part. Staid till the Council was up, and attended the King and Duke of York round the Park, and was asked several questions by both; but I was in pain, lest they should ask me what I could not answer; as the Duke of York did the value of the hull of the St. Patrick lately lost, which I told him I could not presently answer; though I might have easily furnished myself to answer all those questions. They stood a good while to see the ganders and geese tread one another in the water, the goose being all the while kept for a great while: quite under water, which was new to me, but they did make mighty sport of it, saying (as the King did often) "Now you shall see a marriage, between this and that," which did not please me. They gone, by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, as the Duke of York told me, to settle the business of money for the navy, I walked into the Court to and again till night, and there met Colonell Reames, and he and I walked together a great while complaining of the ill-management of things, whereof he is as full as I am. We ran over many persons and things, and see nothing done like men like to do well while the King minds his pleasures so much. We did bemoan it that nobody would or had authority enough with the King to tell him how all things go to rack and will be lost. Then he and I parted, and I to Westminster to the Swan, and there staid till Michell and his wife come. Old Michell and his wife come to see me, and there we drank and laughed a little, and then the young ones and I took boat, it being fine moonshine. I did to my trouble see all the way that 'elle' did get as close 'a su marido' as 'elle' could, and turn her 'mains' away 'quand je' did endeavour to take one. . . . So that I had no pleasure at all 'con elle ce' night. When we landed I did take occasion to send him back a the bateau while I did get a 'baiser' or two, and would have taken 'la' by 'la' hand, but 'elle' did turn away, and 'quand' I said shall I not 'toucher' to answered 'ego' no love touching, in a slight mood. I seemed not to take notice of it, but parted kindly; 'su marido' did alter with me almost a my case, and there we parted, and so I home troubled at this, but I think I shall make good use of it and mind my business more. At home, by appointment, comes Captain Cocke to me, to talk of State matters, and about the peace; who told me that the whole business is managed between Kevet, Burgomaster of Amsterdam, and my Lord Arlington, who hath, by the interest of his wife there, some interest. We have proposed the Hague, but know not yet whether the Dutch will like it; or; if they do, whether the French will. We think we shall have the help of the information of their affairs and state, and the helps of the Prince of Orange his faction; but above all, that De Witt, who hath all this while said he cannot get peace, his mouth will now be stopped, so that he will be forced to offer fit terms for fear of the people; and, lastly, if France or Spayne do not please us, we are in a way presently to clap up a peace with the Dutch, and secure them. But we are also in treaty with France, as he says: but it must be to the excluding our alliance with the King of Spayne or House of Austria; which we do not know presently what will be determined in. He tells me the Vice-Chamberlaine is so great with the King, that, let the Duke of York, and Sir W. Coventry, and this office, do or say what they will, while the King lives, Sir G. Carteret will do what he will; and advises me to be often with him, and eat and drink with him.; and tells me that he doubts he is jealous of me, and was mighty mad to-day at our discourse to him before the Duke of York. But I did give him my reasons that the office is concerned to declare that, without money, the King's work cannot go on. From that discourse we ran to others, and among the others he assures me that Henry Bruncker is one of the shrewdest fellows for parts in England, and a dangerous man; that if ever the Parliament comes again Sir W. Coventry cannot stand, but in this I believe him not; that, while we want money so much in the Navy, the Officers of the Ordnance have at this day L300,000 good in tallys, which they can command money upon, got by their over-estimating their charge in getting it reckoned as a fifth part of the expense of the Navy; that Harry Coventry, who is to go upon this treaty with Lord Hollis (who he confesses to be a very wise man) into Holland, is a mighty quick, ready man, but not so weighty as he should be, he knowing him so well in his drink as he do; that, unless the King do do something against my Lord Mordaunt and the Patent for the Canary Company, before the Parliament next meets, he do believe there will be a civil war before there will be any more money given, unless it may be at their perfect disposal; and that all things are now ordered to the provoking of the Parliament against they come next, and the spending the King's money, so as to put him into a necessity of having it at the time it is prorogued for, or sooner. Having discoursed all this and much more, he away, and I to supper and to read my vows, and to bed. My mind troubled about Betty Michell, 'pour sa carriage' this night 'envers moy', but do hope it will put me upon doing my business. This evening, going to the Queen's side to see the ladies, I did find the Queene, the Duchesse of York, and another or two, at cards, with the room full of great ladies and men; which I was amazed at to see on a Sunday, having not believed it; but, contrarily, flatly denied the same a little while since to my cozen Roger Pepys? I did this day, going by water, read the answer to "The Apology for Papists," which did like me mightily, it being a thing as well writ as I think most things that ever I read in my life, and glad I am that I read it. 18th. Up, and to my bookbinder's, and there mightily pleased to see some papers of the account we did give the Parliament of the expense of the Navy sewed together, which I could not have conceived before how prettily it was done. Then by coach to the Exchequer about some tallies, and thence back again home, by the way meeting Mr. Weaver, of Huntingdon, and did discourse our business of law together, which did ease my mind, for I was afeard I have omitted doing what I in prudence ought to have done. So home and to dinner, and after dinner to the office, where je had Mrs. Burrows all sola a my closet, and did there 'baiser and toucher ses mamelles' . . . . Thence away, and with my wife by coach to the Duke of York's play-house, expecting a new play, and so stayed not no more than other people, but to the King's house, to "The Mayd's Tragedy;" but vexed all the while with two talking ladies and Sir Charles Sedley; yet pleased to hear their discourse, he being a stranger. And one of the ladies would, and did sit with her mask on, all the play, and, being exceeding witty as ever I heard woman, did talk most pleasantly with him; but was, I believe, a virtuous woman, and of quality. He would fain know who she was, but she would not tell; yet did give him many pleasant hints of her knowledge of him, by that means setting his brains at work to find, out who she was, and did give him leave to use all means to find out who she was, but pulling off her mask. He was mighty witty, and she also making sport with him very inoffensively, that a more pleasant 'rencontre' I never heard. But by that means lost the pleasure of the play wholly, to which now and then Sir Charles Sedley's exceptions against both words and pronouncing were very pretty. So home and to the office, did much business, then home, to supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing little business, our want of money being so infinite great. At noon home, and there find old Mr. Michell and Howlett come to desire mine and my wife's company to dinner to their son's, and so away by coach with them, it being Betty's wedding-day a year, as also Shrove Tuesday. Here I made myself mighty merry, the two old women being there also, and a mighty pretty dinner we had in this little house, to my exceeding great content, and my wife's, and my heart pleased to see Betty. But I have not been so merry a very great while as with them, every thing pleasing me there as much as among so mean company I could be pleased. After dinner I fell to read the Acts about the building of the City again; [Burnet wrote ("History of his Own Time," book ii.): "An act passed in this session for rebuilding the city of London, which gave Lord Chief Justice Hale a great reputation, for it was drawn with so true a judgment, and so great foresight, that the whole city was raised out of its ashes without any suits of law."] and indeed the laws seem to be very good, and I pray God I may live to see it built in that manner! Anon with much content home, walking with my wife and her woman, and there to my office, where late doing much business, and then home to supper and to bed. This morning I hear that our discourse of peace is all in the dirt; for the Dutch will not like of the place, or at least the French will not agree to it; so that I do wonder what we shall do, for carry on the war we cannot. I long to hear the truth of it to-morrow at Court. 20th. Up, with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by coach to White Hall, by the way observing Sir W. Pen's carrying a favour to Sir W. Coventry, for his daughter's wedding, and saying that there was others for us, when we will fetch them, which vexed me, and I am resolved not to wear it when he orders me one. His wedding hath been so poorly kept, that I am ashamed of it; for a fellow that makes such a flutter as he do. When we come to the Duke of York here, I heard discourse how Harris of his play-house is sick, and everybody commends him, and, above all things, for acting the Cardinall. Here they talk also how the King's viallin,--[violin]-- Bannister, is mad that the King hath a Frenchman come to be chief of some part of the King's musique, at which the Duke of York made great mirth. Then withdrew to his closett, all our business, lack of money and prospect of the effects of it, such as made Sir W. Coventry say publickly before us all, that he do heartily wish that his Royal Highness had nothing to do in the Navy, whatever become of him; so much dishonour, he says, is likely to fall under the management of it. The Duke of York was angry, as much as he could be, or ever I saw him, with Sir G. Carteret, for not paying the masters of some ships on Monday last, according to his promise, and I do think Sir G. Carteret will make himself unhappy by not taking some course either to borrow more money or wholly lay aside his pretence to the charge of raising money, when he hath nothing to do to trouble himself with. Thence to the Exchequer, and there find the people in readiness to dispatch my tallies to-day, though Ash Wednesday. So I back by coach to London to Sir Robt. Viner's and there got L100, and come away with it and pay my fees round, and so away with the 'Chequer men to the Leg in King Street, and there had wine for them; and here was one in company with them, that was the man that got the vessel to carry over the King from Bredhemson, who hath a pension of 200 per annum, but ill paid, and the man is looking after getting of a prizeship to live by; but the trouble is, that this poor man, who hath received no part of his money these four years, and is ready to starve almost, must yet pay to the Poll Bill for this pension. He told me several particulars of the King's coming thither, which was mighty pleasant, and shews how mean a thing a king is, how subject to fall, and how like other men he is in his afflictions. Thence with my tallies home, and a little dinner, and then with my wife by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields, sent her to her brother's, and I with Lord Bellasses to the Lord Chancellor's. Lord Bellasses tells me how the King of France hath caused the stop to be made to our proposition of treating in The Hague; that he being greater than they, we may better come and treat at Paris: so that God knows what will become of the peace! He tells me, too, as a grand secret, that he do believe the peace offensive and defensive between Spayne and us is quite finished, but must not be known, to prevent the King of France's present falling upon Flanders. He do believe the Duke of York will be made General of the Spanish armies there, and Governor of Flanders, if the French should come against it, and we assist the Spaniard: that we have done the Spaniard abundance of mischief in the West Indys, by our privateers at Jamaica, which they lament mightily, and I am sorry for it to have it done at this time. By and by, come to my Lord Chancellor, who heard mighty quietly my complaints for lack of money, and spoke mighty kind to me, but little hopes of help therein, only his good word. He do prettily cry upon Povy's account with sometimes seeming friendship and pity, and this day quite the contrary. He do confess our streights here and every where else arise from our outspending our revenue. I mean that the King do do so. Thence away, took up my wife; who tells me her brother hath laid out much money upon himself and wife for clothes, which I am sorry to hear, it requiring great expense. So home and to the office a while, and then home to supper, where Mrs. Turner come to us, and sat and talked. Poor woman, I pity her, but she is very cunning. She concurs with me in the falseness of Sir W. Pen's friendship, and she tells pretty storms of my Lord Bruncker since he come to our end of the town, of people's applications to Mrs. Williams. So, she gone, I back to my accounts of Tangier, which I am settling, having my new tallies from the Exchequer this day, and having set all right as I could wish, then to bed. 21st. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning, and there a most furious conflict between Sir W. Pen and I, in few words, and on a sudden occasion, of no great moment, but very bitter, and stared on one another, and so broke off; and to our business, my heart as full of spite as it could hold, for which God forgive me and him! At the end of the day come witnesses on behalf of Mr. Carcasse; but, instead of clearing him, I find they were brought to recriminate Sir W. Batten, and did it by oath very highly, that made the old man mad, and, I confess, me ashamed, so that I caused all but ourselves to withdraw; being sorry to have such things declared in the open office, before 100 people. But it was done home, and I do believe true, though (Sir) W. Batten denies all, but is cruel mad, and swore one of them, he or Carcasse, should not continue in the Office, which is said like a fool. He gone, for he would not stay, and [Sir] W. Pen gone a good while before, Lord Bruncker, Sir T. Harvy, and I, staid and examined the witnesses, though amounting to little more than a reproaching of Sir W. Batten. I home, my head and mind vexed about the conflict between Sir W. Pen and I, though I have got, nor lost any ground by it. At home was Mr. Daniel and wife and sister, and dined with us, and I disturbed at dinner, Colonell Fitzgerald coming to me about tallies, which I did go and give him, and then to the office, where did much business and walked an hour or two with Lord Bruncker, who is mightily concerned in this business for Carcasse and against Sir W. Batten, and I do hope it will come to a good height, for I think it will be good for the King as well as for me, that they two do not agree, though I do, for ought I see yet, think that my Lord is for the most part in the right. He gone, I to the office again to dispatch business, and late at night comes in Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and [Sir] J. Minnes to the office, and what was it but to examine one Jones, a young merchant, who was said to have spoke the worst against Sir W. Batten, but he do deny it wholly, yet I do believe Carcasse will go near to prove all that was sworn in the morning, and so it be true I wish it may. That done, I to end my letters, and then home to supper, and set right some accounts of Tangier, and then to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where I awhile, and then home with Sir H. Cholmly to give him some tallies upon the business of the Mole at Tangier, and then out with him by coach to the Excise Office, there to enter them, and so back again with him to the Exchange, and there I took another coach, and home to the office, and to my business till dinner, the rest of our officers having been this morning upon the Victuallers' accounts. At dinner all of us, that is to say, Lord Bruncker, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] T. Harvy, and myself, to Sir W. Pen's house, where some other company. It is instead of a wedding dinner for his daughter, whom I saw in palterly clothes, nothing new but a bracelet that her servant had given her, and ugly she is, as heart can wish. A sorry dinner, not any thing handsome or clean, but some silver plates they borrowed of me. My wife was here too. So a great deal of talk, and I seemingly merry, but took no pleasure at all. We had favours given us all, and we put them in our hats, I against my will, but that my Lord and the rest did, I being displeased that he did carry Sir W. Coventry's himself several days ago, and the people up and down the town long since, and we must have them but to-day. After dinner to talk a little, and then I away to my office, to draw up a letter of the state of the Office and Navy for the Duke of York against Sunday next, and at it late, and then home to supper and to bed, talking with my wife of the poorness and meanness of all that Sir W. Pen and the people about us do, compared with what we do. 23rd. This day I am, by the blessing of God, 34 years old, in very good health and mind's content, and in condition of estate much beyond whatever my friends could expect of a child of theirs, this day 34 years. The Lord's name be praised! and may I be ever thankful for it. Up betimes to the office, in order to my letter to the Duke of York to-morrow, and then the office met and spent the greatest part about this letter. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again very close at it all the day till midnight, making an end and writing fair this great letter and other things to my full content, it abundantly providing for the vindication of this office, whatever the success be of our wants of money. This evening Sir W. Batten come to me to the office on purpose, out of spleen (of which he is full to Carcasse!), to tell me that he is now informed of many double tickets now found of Carcasses making which quite overthrows him. It is strange to see how, though I do believe this fellow to be a rogue, and could be contented to have him removed, yet to see him persecuted by Sir W. Batten, who is as bad himself, and that with so much rancour, I am almost the fellow's friend. But this good I shall have from it, that the differences between Sir W. Batten and my Lord Bruncker will do me no hurt. 24th (Lord's day). Up, and with [Sir] W. Batten, by coach; he set me down at my Lord Bruncker's (his feud there not suffering him to 'light himself), and I with my Lord by and by when ready to White Hall, and by and by up to the Duke of York, and there presented our great letter and other papers, and among the rest my report of the victualling, which is good, I think, and will continue my pretence to the place, which I am still afeard Sir W. Coventry's employment may extinguish. We have discharged ourselves in this letter fully from blame in the bad success of the Navy, if money do not come soon to us, and so my heart is at pretty good rest in this point. Having done here, Sir W. Batten and I home by coach, and though the sermon at our church was begun, yet he would 'light to go home and eat a slice of roast beef off the spit, and did, and then he and I to church in the middle of the sermon. My Lady Pen there saluted me with great content to tell me that her daughter and husband are still in bed, as if the silly woman thought it a great matter of honour, and did, going out of the church, ask me whether we did not make a great show at Court today, with all our favours in our hats. After sermon home, and alone with my wife dined. Among other things my wife told me how ill a report our Mercer hath got by her keeping of company, so that she will not send for her to dine with us or be with us as heretofore; and, what is more strange, tells me that little Mis. Tooker hath got a clap as young as she is, being brought up loosely by her mother . . . . In the afternoon away to White Hall by water, and took a turn or two in the Park, and then back to White Hall, and there meeting my Lord Arlington, he, by I know not what kindness, offered to carry me along with him to my Lord Treasurer's, whither, I told him, I was going. I believe he had a mind to discourse of some Navy businesses, but Sir Thomas Clifford coming into the coach to us, we were prevented; which I was sorry for, for I had a mind to begin an acquaintance with him. He speaks well, and hath pretty slight superficial parts, I believe. He, in our going, talked much of the plain habit of the Spaniards; how the King and Lords themselves wear but a cloak of Colchester bayze, and the ladies mantles, in cold weather, of white flannell: and that the endeavours frequently of setting up the manufacture of making these stuffs there have only been prevented by the Inquisition: the English and Dutchmen that have been sent for to work, being taken with a Psalmbook or Testament, and so clapped up, and the house pulled down by the Inquisitors; and the greatest Lord in Spayne dare not say a word against it, if the word Inquisition be but mentioned. At my Lord Treasurer's 'light and parted with them, they going into Council, and I walked with Captain Cocke, who takes mighty notice of the differences growing in our office between Lord Bruncker and [Sir] W. Batten, and among others also, and I fear it may do us hurt, but I will keep out of them. By and by comes Sir S. Fox, and he and I walked and talked together on many things, but chiefly want of money, and the straits the King brings himself and affairs into for want of it. Captain Cocke did tell me what I must not forget: that the answer of the Dutch, refusing The Hague for a place of treaty, and proposing the Boysse, Bredah, Bergen-op-Zoome, or Mastricht, was seemingly stopped by the Swede's Embassador (though he did show it to the King, but the King would take no notice of it, nor does not) from being delivered to the King; and he hath wrote to desire them to consider better of it: so that, though we know their refusal of the place, yet they know not that we know it, nor is the King obliged to show his sense of the affront. That the Dutch are in very great straits, so as to be said to be not able to set out their fleete this year. By and by comes Sir Robert Viner and my Lord Mayor to ask the King's directions about measuring out the streets according to the new Act for building of the City, wherein the King is to be pleased. [See Sir Christopher Wren's "Proposals for rebuilding the City of London after the great fire, with an engraved Plan of the principal Streets and Public Buildings," in Elmes's "Memoirs of Sir Christopher Wren," Appendix, p.61. The originals are in All Souls' College Library, Oxford.--B.] But he says that the way proposed in Parliament, by Colonel Birch, would have been the best, to have chosen some persons in trust, and sold the whole ground, and let it be sold again by them, with preference to the old owner, which would have certainly caused the City to be built where these Trustees pleased; whereas now, great differences will be, and the streets built by fits, and not entire till all differences be decided. This, as he tells it, I think would have been the best way. I enquired about the Frenchman ["One Hubert, a French papist, was seized in Essex, as he was getting out of the way in great confusion. He confessed he had begun the fire, and persisted in his confession to his death, for he was hanged upon no other evidence but that of his own confession. It is true he gave so broken an account of the whole matter that he was thought mad. Yet he was blindfolded, and carried to several places of the city, and then his eyes being opened, he was asked if that was the place, and he being carried to wrong places, after he looked round about for some time, he said that was not the place, but when he was brought to the place where it first broke out, he affirmed that was the true place. "Burnet's Own Time," book ii. Archbishop Tillotson, according to Burnet, believed that London was burnt by design.] that was said to fire the City, and was hanged for it, by his own confession, that he was hired for it by a Frenchman of Roane, and that he did with a stick reach in a fire-ball in at a window of the house: whereas the master of the house, who is the King's baker, and his son, and daughter, do all swear there was no such window, and that the fire did not begin thereabouts. Yet the fellow, who, though a mopish besotted fellow, did not speak like a madman, did swear that he did fire it: and did not this like a madman; for, being tried on purpose, and landed with his keeper at the Tower Wharf, he could carry the keeper to the very house. Asking Sir R. Viner what he thought was the cause of the fire, he tells me, that the baker, son, and his daughter, did all swear again and again, that their oven was drawn by ten o'clock at night; that, having occasion to light a candle about twelve, there was not so much fire in the bakehouse as to light a match for a candle, so that they were fain to go into another place to light it; that about two in the morning they felt themselves almost choked with smoke, and rising, did find the fire coming upstairs; so they rose to save themselves; but that, at that time, the bavins--[brushwood, or faggots used for lighting fires]--were not on fire in the yard. So that they are, as they swear, in absolute ignorance how this fire should come; which is a strange thing, that so horrid an effect should have so mean and uncertain a beginning. By and by called in to the King and Cabinet, and there had a few insipid words about money for Tangier, but to no purpose. Thence away walked to my boat at White Hall, and so home and to supper, and then to talk with W. Hewer about business of the differences at present among the people of our office, and so to my journall and to bed. This night going through bridge by water, my waterman told me how the mistress of the Beare tavern, at the bridge-foot, did lately fling herself into the Thames, and drowned herself; which did trouble me the more, when they tell me it was she that did live at the White Horse tavern in Lumbard Streete, which was a most beautiful woman, as most I have seen. It seems she hath had long melancholy upon her, and hath endeavoured to make away with herself often. 25th. Lay long in bed, talking with pleasure with my poor wife, how she used to make coal fires, and wash my foul clothes with her own hand for me, poor wretch! in our little room at my Lord Sandwich's; for which I ought for ever to love and admire her, and do; and persuade myself she would do the same thing again, if God should reduce us to it. So up and by coach abroad to the Duke of Albemarle's about sending soldiers down to some ships, and so home, calling at a belt-maker's to mend my belt, and so home and to dinner, where pleasant with my wife, and then to the office, where mighty busy all the day, saving going forth to the 'Change to pay for some things, and on other occasions, and at my goldsmith's did observe the King's new medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's face as well done as ever I saw anything in my whole life, I think: and a pretty thing it is, that he should choose her face to represent Britannia by. So at the office late very busy and much business with great joy dispatched, and so home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. And here did receive another reference from Sir W. Coventry about the business of some of the Muster-Masters, concerning whom I had returned their small performances, which do give me a little more trouble for fear [Sir] W. Coventry should think I had a design to favour my brother Balty, and to that end to disparage all the rest. But I shall clear all very well, only it do exercise my thoughts more than I am at leisure for. At home find Balty and his wife very fine, which I did not like, for fear he do spend too much of his money that way, and lay [not] up anything. After dinner to the office again, where by and by Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] J. Minnes and I met about receiving Carcasses answers to the depositions against him. Wherein I did see so much favour from my Lord to him that I do again begin to see that my Lord is not right at the bottom, and did make me the more earnest against him, though said little. My Lord rising, declaring his judgement in his behalf, and going away, I did hinder our arguing it by ourselves, and so broke up the meeting, and myself went full of trouble to my office, there to write over the deposition and his answers side by side, and then home to supper and to bed with some trouble of mind to think of the issue of this, how it will breed ill blood among us here. 27th. Up by candle-light, about six o'clock, it being bitter cold weather again, after all our warm weather, and by water down to Woolwich rope-yard, I being this day at a leisure, the King and Duke of York being gone down to Sheerenesse this morning to lay out the design for a fortification there to the river Medway; and so we do not attend the Duke of York as we should otherwise have done, and there to the Dock Yard to enquire of the state of things, and went into Mr. Pett's; and there, beyond expectation, he did present me with a Japan cane, with a silver head, and his wife sent me by him a ring, with a Woolwich stone; [Woolwich stones, still collected in that locality, are simply waterworn pebbles of flint, which, when broken with a hammer, exhibit on the smooth surface some resemblance to the human face; and their possessors are thus enabled to trace likenesses of friends, or eminent public characters. The late Mr. Tennant, the geologist, of the Strand, had a collection of such stones. In the British Museum is a nodule of globular or Egyptian jasper, which, in its fracture, bears a striking resemblance to the well-known portrait of Chaucer. It is engraved in Rymsdyk's "Museum Britannicum," tab. xxviii. A flint, showing Mr. Pitt's face, used once to be exhibited at the meetings of the Pitt Club.--B.] now much in request; which I accepted, the values not being great, and knowing that I had done them courtesies, which he did own in very high terms; and then, at my asking, did give me an old draught of an ancient-built ship, given him by his father, of the Beare, in Queen Elizabeth's time. This did much please me, it being a thing I much desired to have, to shew the difference in the build of ships now and heretofore. Being much taken with this kindness, I away to Blackwall and Deptford, to satisfy myself there about the King's business, and then walked to Redriffe, and so home about noon; there find Mr. Hunt, newly come out of the country, who tells me the country is much impoverished by the greatness of taxes: the farmers do break every day almost, and L1000 a-year become not worth L500. He dined with us, and we had good discourse of the general ill state of things, and, by the way, he told me some ridiculous pieces of thrift of Sir G. Downing's, who is his countryman, in inviting some poor people, at Christmas last, to charm the country people's mouths; but did give them nothing but beef, porridge, pudding, and pork, and nothing said all dinner, but only his mother would say, "It's good broth, son." He would answer, "Yes, it is good broth." Then, says his lady, Confirm all, and say, "Yes, very good broth." By and by she would begin and say, "Good pork:"--"Yes," says the mother, "good pork." Then he cries, "Yes, very good pork." And so they said of all things; to which nobody made any answer, they going there not out of love or esteem of them, but to eat his victuals, knowing him to be a niggardly fellow; and with this he is jeered now all over the country. This day just before dinner comes Captain Story, of Cambridge, to me to the office, about a bill for prest money, [Money paid to men who enlist into the public service; press money. So called because those who receive it are to be prest or ready when called on ("Encyclopaedic Dictionary ").] for men sent out of the country and the countries about him to the fleete the last year; but, Lord! to see the natures of men; how this man, hearing of my name, did ask me of my country, and told me of my cozen Roger, that he was not so wise a man as his father; for that he do not agree in Parliament with his fellow burgesses and knights of the shire, whereas I know very well the reason; for he is not so high a flyer as Mr. Chichley and others, but loves the King better than any of them, and to better purpose. But yet, he says that he is a very honest gentleman, and thence runs into a hundred stories of his own services to the King, and how he at this day brings in the taxes before anybody here thinks they are collected: discourse very absurd to entertain a stranger with. He being gone, and I glad of it, I home then to dinner. After dinner with my wife by coach abroad, andset Mr. Hunt down at the Temple and her at her brother's, and I to White Hall to meet [Sir] W. Coventry, but found him not, but met Mr. Cooling, who tells me of my Lord Duke of Buckingham's being sent for last night, by a Serjeant at Armes, to the Tower, for treasonable practices, and that the King is infinitely angry with him, and declared him no longer one of his Council. I know not the reason of it, or occasion. To Westminster Hall, and there paid what I owed for books, and so by coach, took up my wife to the Exchange, and there bought things for Mrs. Pierces little daughter, my Valentine, and so to their house, where we find Knipp, who also challengeth me for her Valentine. She looks well, sang well, and very merry we were for half an hour. Tells me Harris is well again, having been very ill, and so we home, and I to the office; then, at night, to Sir W. Pen's, and sat with my Lady, and the young couple (Sir William out of town) talking merrily; but they make a very sorry couple, methinks, though rich. So late home and to bed. 28th. Up, and there comes to me Drumbleby with a flageolet, made to suit with my former and brings me one Greeting, a master, to teach my wife. I agree by the whole with him to teach her to take out any lesson of herself for L4. She was not ready to begin to-day, but do to-morrow. So I to the office, where my Lord Bruncker and I only all the morning, and did business. At noon to the Exchange and to Sir Rob. Viner's about settling my accounts there. So back home and to dinner, where Mr. Holliard dined with us, and pleasant company he is. I love his company, and he secures me against ever having the stone again. He gives it me, as his opinion, that the City will never be built again together, as is expected, while any restraint is laid upon them. He hath been a great loser, and would be a builder again, but, he says, he knows not what restrictions there will be, so as it is unsafe for him to begin. He gone, I to the office, and there busy till night doing much business, then home and to my accounts, wherein, beyond expectation, I succeeded so well as to settle them very clear and plain, though by borrowing of monies this month to pay D. Gawden, and chopping and changing with my Tangier money, they were become somewhat intricate, and, blessed be God; upon the evening my accounts, I do appear L6800 creditor: This done, I to supper about 12 at night, and so to bed. The weather for three or four days being come to be exceeding cold again as any time this year. I did within these six days see smoke still remaining of the late fire in the City; and it is strange to think how, to this very day, I cannot sleep at night without great terrors of fire, and this very night I could not sleep till almost two in the morning through thoughts of fire. Thus this month is ended with great content of mind to me, thriving in my estate, and the affairs in my offices going pretty well as to myself. This afternoon Mr. Gawden was with me and tells me more than I knew before--that he hath orders to get all the victuals he can to Plymouth, and the Western ports, and other outports, and some to Scotland, so that we do intend to keep but a flying fleete this year; which, it may be, may preserve us a year longer, but the end of it must be ruin. Sir J. Minnes this night tells me, that he hears for certain, that ballads are made of us in Holland for begging of a peace; which I expected, but am vexed at. So ends this month, with nothing of weight upon my mind, but for my father and mother, who are both very ill, and have been so for some weeks: whom God help! but I do fear my poor father will hardly be ever thoroughly well again. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Being taken with a Psalmbook or Testament Consider that this is all the pleasure I live for in the world Dinner, an ill and little mean one, with foul cloth and dishes If the word Inquisition be but mentioned King's service is undone, and those that trust him perish Mean, methinks, and is as if they had married like dog and bitch Musique in the morning to call up our new-married people Must yet pay to the Poll Bill for this pension (unreceived) New medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's face Not thinking them safe men to receive such a gratuity Only because she sees it is the fashion (She likes it) Prince's being trepanned, which was in doing just as we passed Proud that she shall come to trill Receive the applications of people, and hath presents Seems she hath had long melancholy upon her Sermon upon Original Sin, neither understood by himself Sick of it and of him for it The world do not grow old at all Then home, and merry with my wife Though he knows, if he be not a fool, that I love him not To my joy, I met not with any that have sped better than myself Used to make coal fires, and wash my foul clothes 
4174	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH 1666-1667 March 1st. Up, it being very cold weather again after a good deal of warm summer weather, and to the office, where I settled to do much business to-day. By and by sent for to Sir G. Carteret to discourse of the business of the Navy, and our wants, and the best way of bestowing the little money we have, which is about L30,000, but, God knows, we have need of ten times as much, which do make my life uncomfortable, I confess, on the King's behalf, though it is well enough as to my own particular, but the King's service is undone by it. Having done with him, back again to the office, and in the streets, in Mark Lane, I do observe, it being St. David's day, the picture of a man dressed like a Welchman, hanging by the neck upon one of the poles that stand out at the top of one of the merchants' houses, in full proportion, and very handsomely done; which is one of the oddest sights I have seen a good while, for it was so like a man that one would have thought it was indeed a man. [From "Poor Robin's Almanack" for 1757 it appears that, in former times in England, a Welshman was burnt in effigy on this anniversary. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, in his edition of Brand's "Popular Antiquities," adds "The practice to which Pepys refers . . . was very common at one time; and till very lately bakers made gingerbread Welshmen, called taffies, on St. David's day, which were made to represent a man skewered" (vol. i., pp. 60,61).] Being returned home, I find Greeting, the flageolet-master, come, and teaching my wife; and I do think my wife will take pleasure in it, and it will be easy for her, and pleasant. So I, as I am well content with the charge it will occasion me. So to the office till dinner-time, and then home to dinner, and before dinner making my wife to sing. Poor wretch! her ear is so bad that it made me angry, till the poor wretch cried to see me so vexed at her, that I think I shall not discourage her so much again, but will endeavour to make her understand sounds, and do her good that way; for she hath a great mind to learn, only to please me; and, therefore, I am mighty unjust to her in discouraging her so much, but we were good friends, and to dinner, and had she not been ill with those and that it were not Friday (on which in Lent there are no plays) I had carried her to a play, but she not being fit to go abroad, I to the office, where all the afternoon close examining the collection of my papers of the accounts of the Navy since this war to my great content, and so at night home to talk and sing with my-wife, and then to supper and so to bed with great pleasure. But I cannot but remember that just before dinner one of my people come up to me, and told me a man come from Huntingdon would speak with me, how my heart come into my mouth doubting that my father, who has been long sicke, was dead. It put me into a trembling, but, blessed be [God]! it was no such thing, but a countryman come about ordinary business to me, to receive L50 paid to my father in the country for the Perkins's for their legacy, upon the death of their mother, by my uncle's will. So though I get nothing at present, at least by the estate, I am fain to pay this money rather than rob my father, and much good may it do them that I may have no more further trouble from them. I hear to-day that Tom Woodall, the known chyrurgeon, is killed at Somerset House by a Frenchman, but the occasion Sir W. Batten could not tell me. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where sitting all the morning, and among other things did agree upon a distribution of L30,000 and odd, which is the only sum we hear of like to come out of all the Poll Bill for the use of this office for buying of goods. I did herein some few courtesies for particular friends I wished well to, and for the King's service also, and was therefore well pleased with what was done. Sir W. Pen this day did bring an order from the Duke of York for our receiving from him a small vessel for a fireship, and taking away a better of the King's for it, it being expressed for his great service to the King. This I am glad of, not for his sake, but that it will give me a better ground, I believe, to ask something for myself of this kind, which I was fearful to begin. This do make Sir W. Pen the most kind to me that can be. I suppose it is this, lest it should find any opposition from me, but I will not oppose, but promote it. After dinner, with my wife, to the King's house to see "The Mayden Queene," a new play of Dryden's, mightily commended for the regularity of it, and the strain and wit; and, the truth is, there is a comical part done by Nell, ["Her skill increasing with her years, other poets sought to obtain recommendations of her wit and beauty to the success of their writings. I have said that Dryden was one of the principal supporters of the King's house, and ere long in one of his new plays a principal character was set apart for the popular comedian. The drama was a tragi-comedy called 'Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen,' and an additional interest was attached to its production from the king having suggested the plot to its author, and calling it 'his play.'"--Cunningham's Story of Nell Gwyn, ed: 1892, pp. 38,39.] which is Florimell, that I never can hope ever to see the like done again, by man or woman. The King and Duke of York were at the play. But so great performance of a comical part was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do this, both as a mad girle, then most and best of all when she comes in like a young gallant; and hath the notions and carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her. Thence home and to the office, where busy a while, and then home to read the lives of Henry 5th and 6th, very fine, in Speede, and to bed. This day I did pay a bill of L50 from my father, being so much out of my own purse gone to pay my uncle Robert's legacy to my aunt Perkins's child. 3rd (Lord's day). Lay long, merrily talking with my wife, and then up and to church, where a dull sermon of Mr. Mills touching Original Sin, and then home, and there find little Michell and his wife, whom I love mightily. Mightily contented I was in their company, for I love her much; and so after dinner I left them and by water from the Old Swan to White Hall, where, walking in the galleries, I in the first place met Mr. Pierce, who tells me the story of Tom Woodall, the surgeon, killed in a drunken quarrel, and how the Duke of York hath a mind to get him [Pierce] one of his places in St. Thomas's Hospitall. Then comes Mr. Hayward, the Duke of York's servant, and tells us that the Swede's Embassador hath been here to-day with news that it is believed that the Dutch will yield to have the treaty at London or Dover, neither of which will get our King any credit, we having already consented to have it at The Hague; which, it seems, De Witt opposed, as a thing wherein the King of England must needs have some profound design, which in my conscience he hath not. They do also tell me that newes is this day come to the King, that the King of France is come with his army to the frontiers of Flanders, demanding leave to pass through their country towards Poland, but is denied, and thereupon that he is gone into the country. How true this is I dare not believe till I hear more. From them I walked into the Parke, it being a fine but very cold day; and there took two or three turns the length of the Pell Mell: and there I met Serjeant Bearcroft, who was sent for the Duke of Buckingham, to have brought him prisoner to the Tower. He come to towne this day, and brings word that, being overtaken and outrid by the Duchesse of Buckingham within a few miles of the Duke's house of Westhorp, he believes she got thither about a quarter of an hour before him, and so had time to consider; so that, when he come, the doors were kept shut against him. The next day, coming with officers of the neighbour market-town to force open the doors, they were open for him, but the Duke gone; so he took horse presently, and heard upon the road that the Duke of Buckingham was gone before him for London: so that he believes he is this day also come to towne before him; but no newes is yet heard of him. This is all he brings. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there, meeting Sir H. Cholmly, he and I walked in my Lord's garden, and talked; among other things, of the treaty: and he says there will certainly be a peace, but I cannot believe it. He tells me that the Duke of Buckingham his crimes, as far as he knows, are his being of a caball with some discontented persons of the late House of Commons, and opposing the desires of the King in all his matters in that House; and endeavouring to become popular, and advising how the Commons' House should proceed, and how he would order the House of Lords. And that he hath been endeavouring to have the King's nativity calculated; which was done, and the fellow now in the Tower about it; which itself hath heretofore, as he says, been held treason, and people died for it; but by the Statute of Treasons, in Queen Mary's times and since, it hath been left out. He tells me that this silly Lord hath provoked, by his ill-carriage, the Duke of York, my Lord Chancellor, and all the great persons; and therefore, most likely, will die. He tells me, too, many practices of treachery against this King; as betraying him in Scotland, and giving Oliver an account of the King's private councils; which the King knows very well, and hath yet pardoned him. [Two of our greatest poets have drawn the character of the Duke of Buckingham in brilliant verse, and both have condemned him to infamy. There is enough in Pepys's reports to corroborate the main features of Dryden's magnificent portrait of Zimri in "Absolom and Achitophel": "In the first rank of these did Zimri stand; A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome; Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; Was everything by starts, and nothing long, But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking, * * * * * * * He laughed himself from Court, then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief." Pope's facts are not correct, and hence the effect of his picture is impaired. In spite of the duke's constant visits to the Tower, Charles II. still continued his friend; but on the death of the king, expecting little from James, he retired to his estate at Helmsley, in Yorkshire, to nurse his property and to restore his constitution. He died on April 16th, 1687, at Kirkby Moorside, after a few days' illness, caused by sitting on the damp grass when heated from a fox chase. The scene of his death was the house of a tenant, not "the worst inn's worst room" ("Moral Essays," epist. iii.). He was buried in Westminster Abbey.] Here I passed away a little time more talking with him and Creed, whom I met there, and so away, Creed walking with me to White Hall, and there I took water and stayed at Michell's to drink. I home, and there to read very good things in Fuller's "Church History," and "Worthies," and so to supper, and after supper had much good discourse with W. Hewer, who supped with us, about the ticket office and the knaveries and extortions every day used there, and particularly of the business of Mr. Carcasse, whom I fear I shall find a very rogue. So parted with him, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Batten by barge to Deptford by eight in the morning, where to the King's yard a little to look after business there, and then to a private storehouse to look upon some cordage of Sir W. Batten's, and there being a hole formerly made for a drain for tarr to run into, wherein the barrel stood still, full of stinking water, Sir W. Batten did fall with one leg into it, which might have been very bad to him by breaking a leg or other hurt, but, thanks be to God, he only sprained his foot a little. So after his shifting his stockings at a strong water shop close by, we took barge again, and so to Woolwich, where our business was chiefly to look upon the ballast wharfe there, which is offered us for the King's use to hire, but we do not think it worth the laying out much money upon, unless we could buy the fee-simple of it, which cannot be sold us, so we wholly flung it off: So to the Dockyard, and there staid a while talking about business of the yard, and thence to the Rope-yard, and so to the White Hart and there dined, and Captain Cocke with us, whom we found at the Rope-yard, and very merry at dinner, and many pretty tales of Sir J. Minnes, which I have entered in my tale book. But by this time Sir W. Batten was come to be in much pain in his foot, so as he was forced to be carried down in a chair to the barge again, and so away to Deptford, and there I a little in the yard, and then to Bagwell's, where I find his wife washing, and also I did 'hazer tout que je voudrais con' her, and then sent for her husband, and discoursed of his going to Harwich this week to his charge of the new ship building there, which I have got him, and so away, walked to Redriffe, and there took boat and away home, and upon Tower Hill, near the ticket office, meeting with my old acquaintance Mr. Chaplin, the cheesemonger, and there fell to talk of news, and he tells me that for certain the King of France is denied passage with his army through Flanders, and that he hears that the Dutch do stand upon high terms with us, and will have a promise of not being obliged to strike the flag to us before they will treat with us, and other high things, which I am ashamed of and do hope will never be yielded to. That they do make all imaginable preparations, but that he believes they will be in mighty want of men; that the King of France do court us mightily. He tells me too that our Lord-Treasurer is going to lay down, and that Lord Arlington is to be Lord Treasurer, but I believe nothing of it, for he is not yet of estate visible enough to have the charge I suppose upon him. So being parted from him I home to the office, and after having done business there I home to supper, and there mightily pleased with my wife's beginning the flagellette, believing that she will come to very well thereon. This day in the barge I took Berckenshaw's translation of Alsted his Templum, but the most ridiculous book, as he has translated it, that ever I saw in my life, I declaring that I understood not three lines together from one end of the book to the other. 5th. Up, and to the office, where met and sat all the morning, doing little for want of money, but only bear the countenance of an office. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, and there comes Martin my purser, and I walked with him awhile in the garden, I giving him good advice to beware of coming any more with high demands for supernumeraries or other things, for now Sir W. Pen is come to mind the business, the passing of his accounts will not be so easy as the last. He tells me he will never need it again, it being as easy, and to as much purpose to do the same thing otherwise, and how he do keep his Captain's table, and by that means hath the command of his Captains, and do not fear in a 5th-rate ship constantly employed to get a L1000 in five years time, and this year, besides all his spendings, which are I fear high, he hath got at this day clear above L150 in a voyage of about five or six months, which is a brave trade. He gone I to the office, and there all the afternoon late doing much business, and then to see Sir W. Batten, whose leg is all but better than it was, and like to do well. I by discourse do perceive he and his Lady are to their hearts out with my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, to which I added something, but, I think, did not venture too far with them. But, Lord! to see to what a poor content any acquaintance among these people, or the people of the world, as they now-adays go, is worth; for my part I and my wife will keep to one another and let the world go hang, for there is nothing but falseness in it. So home to supper and hear my wife and girle sing a little, and then to bed with much content of mind. 6th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall by coach, and by the way agreed to acquaint [Sir] W. Coventry with the business of Mr. Carcasse, and he and I spoke to Sir W. Coventry that we might move it to the Duke of York, which I did in a very indifferent, that is, impartial manner, but vexed I believe Lord Bruncker. Here the Duke of York did acquaint us, and the King did the like also, afterwards coming in, with his resolution of altering the manner of the war this year; that is, we shall keep what fleete we have abroad in several squadrons: so that now all is come out; but we are to keep it as close as we can, without hindering the work that is to be done in preparation to this. Great preparations there are to fortify Sheernesse and the yard at Portsmouth, and forces are drawing down to both those places, and elsewhere by the seaside; so that we have some fear of an invasion; and the Duke of York himself did declare his expectation of the enemy's blocking us up here in the River, and therefore directed that we should send away all the ships that we have to fit out hence. Sir W. Pen told me, going with me this morning to White Hall, that for certain the Duke of Buckingham is brought into the Tower, and that he hath had an hour's private conference with the King before he was sent thither. To Westminster Hall. There bought some news books, and, as every where else, hear every body complain of the dearness of coals, being at L4 per chaldron, the weather, too, being become most bitter cold, the King saying to-day that it was the coldest day he ever knew in England. Thence by coach to my Lord Crew's, where very welcome. Here I find they are in doubt where the Duke of Buckingham is; which makes me mightily reflect on the uncertainty of all history, when, in a business of this moment, and of this day's growth, we cannot tell the truth. Here dined my old acquaintance, Mr. Borfett, that was my Lord Sandwich's chaplain, and my Lady Wright and Dr. Boreman, who is preacher at St. Gyles's in the Fields, who, after dinner, did give my Lord an account of two papist women lately converted, whereof one wrote her recantation, which he shewed under her own hand mighty well drawn, so as my Lord desired a copy of it, after he had satisfied himself from the Doctor, that to his knowledge she was not a woman under any necessity. Thence by coach home and staid a very little, and then by water to Redriffe, and walked to Bagwell's, where 'la moher' was 'defro, sed' would not have me 'demeurer' there 'parce que' Mrs. Batters and one of my 'ancillas', I believe Jane (for she was gone abroad to-day), was in the town, and coming thither; so I away presently, esteeming it a great escape. So to the yard and spoke a word or two, and then by water home, wondrous cold, and reading a ridiculous ballad made in praise of the Duke of Albemarle, to the tune of St. George, the tune being printed, too; and I observe that people have some great encouragement to make ballads of him of this kind. There are so many, that hereafter he will sound like Guy of Warwicke. Then abroad with my wife, leaving her at the 'Change, while I to Sir H. Cholmly's, a pretty house, and a fine, worthy, well-disposed gentleman he is. He and I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, about money for Tangier, but to little purpose. H. Cholmley tells me, among other things, that he hears of little hopes of a peace, their demands being so high as we shall never grant, and could tell me that we shall keep no fleete abroad this year, but only squadrons. And, among other things, that my Lord Bellasses, he believes, will lose his command of Tangier by his corrupt covetous ways of .endeavouring to sell his command, which I am glad [of], for he is a man of no worth in the world but compliment. So to the 'Change, and there bought 32s. worth of things for Mrs. Knipp, my Valentine, which is pretty to see how my wife is come to convention with me, that, whatever I do give to anybody else, I shall give her as much, which I am not much displeased with. So home and to the office and Sir W. Batten, to tell him what I had done to-day about Carcasse's business, and God forgive me I am not without design to give a blow to Sir W. Batten by it. So home, where Mr. Batelier supped with us and talked away the evening pretty late, and so he gone and we to bed. 7th. So up, and to the office, my head full of Carcasse's business; then hearing that Knipp is at my house, I home, and it was about a ticket for a friend of hers. I do love the humour of the jade very well. So to the office again, not being able to stay, and there about noon my Lord Bruncker did begin to talk of Carcasse's business. Only Commissioner Pett, my Lord, and I there, and it was pretty to see how Pett hugged the occasion of having anything against Sir W. Batten, which I am not much troubled at, for I love him not neither. Though I did really endeavour to quash it all I could, because I would prevent their malice taking effect. My Lord I see is fully resolved to vindicate Carcasse, though to the undoing of Sir W. Batten, but I believe he will find himself in a mistake, and do himself no good, and that I shall be glad of, for though I love the treason I hate the traitor. But he is vexed at my moving it to the Duke of York yesterday, which I answered well, so as I think he could not answer. But, Lord! it is pretty to see how Pett hugs this business, and how he favours my Lord Bruncker; who to my knowledge hates him, and has said more to his disadvantage, in my presence, to the King and Duke of York than any man in England, and so let them thrive one with another by cheating one another, for that is all I observe among them. Thence home late, and find my wife hath dined, and she and Mrs. Hewer going to a play. Here was Creed, and he and I to Devonshire House, to a burial of a kinsman of Sir R. Viner's; and there I received a ring, and so away presently to Creed, who staid for me at an alehouse hard by, and thence to the Duke's playhouse, where he parted, and I in and find my wife and Mrs. Hewer, and sat by them and saw "The English Princesse, or Richard the Third;" a most sad, melancholy play, and pretty good; but nothing eminent in it, as some tragedys are; only little Mis. Davis did dance a jig after the end of the play, and there telling the next day's play; so that it come in by force only to please the company to see her dance in boy's 'clothes; and, the truth is, there is no comparison between Nell's dancing the other day at the King's house in boy's clothes and this, this being infinitely beyond the other. Mere was Mr. Clerke and Pierce, to whom one word only of "How do you," and so away home, Mrs: Hewer with us, and I to the office and so to [Sir] W. Batten's, and there talked privately with him and [Sir] W. Pen about business of Carcasse against tomorrow, wherein I think I did give them proof enough of my ability as well as friendship to [Sir] W. Batten, and the honour of the office, in my sense of the rogue's business. So back to finish my office business, and then home to supper, and to bed. This day, Commissioner Taylor come to me for advice, and would force me to take ten pieces in gold of him, which I had no mind to, he being become one of our number at the Board. This day was reckoned by all people the coldest day that ever was remembered in England; and, God knows! coals at a very great price. 8th. Up, and to the Old Swan, where drank at Michell's, but not seeing her whom I love I by water to White Hall, and there acquainted Sir G. Carteret betimes what I had to say this day before the Duke of York in the business of Carcasse, which he likes well of, being a great enemy to him, and then I being too early here to go to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, having nothing to say to him, and being able to give him but a bad account of the business of the office (which is a shame to me, and that which I shall rue if I do not recover), to the Exchequer about getting a certificate of Mr. Lanyon's entered at Sir R. Longs office, and strange it is to see what horrid delays there are at this day in the business of money, there being nothing yet come from my Lord Treasurer to set the business of money in action since the Parliament broke off, notwithstanding the greatness and number of the King's occasions for it. So to the Swan, and there had three or four baisers of the little ancilla there, and so to Westminster Hall, where I saw Mr. Martin, the purser, come through with a picture in his hand, which he had bought, and observed how all the people of the Hall did fleer and laugh upon him, crying, "There is plenty grown upon a sudden;" and, the truth is, I was a little troubled that my favour should fall on so vain a fellow as he, and the more because, methought, the people do gaze upon me as the man that had raised him, and as if they guessed whence my kindness to him springs. So thence to White Hall, where I find all met at the Duke of York's chamber; and, by and by, the Duke of York comes, and Carcasse is called in, and I read the depositions and his answers, and he added with great confidence and good words, even almost to persuasion, what to say; and my Lord Bruncker, like a very silly solicitor, argued against me and us all for him; and, being asked first by the Duke of York his opinion, did give it for his being excused. I next did answer the contrary very plainly, and had, in this dispute, which vexed and will never be forgot by my Lord, many occasions of speaking severely, and did, against his bad practices. Commissioner Pett, like a fawning rogue, sided with my Lord, but to no purpose; and [Sir] W. Pen, like a cunning rogue, spoke mighty indifferently, and said nothing in all the fray, like a knave as he is. But [Sir] W. Batten spoke out, and did come off himself by the Duke's kindness very well; and then Sir G. Carteret, and Sir W. Coventry, and the Duke of York himself, flatly as I said; and so he was declared unfit to continue in, and therefore to be presently discharged the office; which, among other good effects, I hope, will make my Lord Bruncker not 'alloquer' so high, when he shall consider he hath had such a publick foyle as this is. So home with [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen, by coach, and there met at the office, and my Lord Bruncker presently after us, and there did give order to Mr. Stevens for securing the tickets in Carcasses hands, which my Lord against his will could not refuse to sign, and then home to dinner, and so away with my wife by coach, she to Mrs. Pierce's and I to my Lord Bellasses, and with him to [my] Lord Treasurer's, where by agreement we met with Sir H. Cholmly, and there sat and talked all the afternoon almost about one thing or other, expecting Sir Philip Warwicke's coming, but he come not, so we away towards night, Sir H. Cholmly and I to the Temple, and there parted, telling me of my Lord Bellasses's want of generosity, and that he [Bellasses] will certainly be turned out of his government, and he thinks himself stands fair for it. So home, and there found, as I expected, Mrs. Pierce and Mr. Batelier; he went for Mrs. Jones, but no Mrs. Knipp come, which vexed me, nor any other company. So with one fidler we danced away the evening, but I was not well contented with the littleness of the room, and my wife's want of preparing things ready, as they should be, for supper, and bad. So not very merry, though very well pleased. So after supper to bed, my wife and Mrs. Pierce, and her boy James and I. Yesterday I began to make this mark (V) stand instead of three pricks, which therefore I must observe every where, it being a mark more easy to make. 9th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, where Mrs. Pierce did continue with us and her boy (who I still find every day more and more witty beyond his age), and did dine with us, and by and by comes in her husband and a brother-in-law of his, a parson, one of the tallest biggest men that ever I saw in my life. So to the office, where a meeting extraordinary about settling the number and wages of my Lord Bruncker's clerks for his new work upon the Treasurer's accounts, but this did put us upon running into the business of yesterday about Carcasse, wherein I perceive he is most dissatisfied with me, and I am not sorry for it, having all the world but him of my side therein, for it will let him know another time that he is not to expect our submitting to him in every thing, as I think he did heretofore expect. He did speak many severe words to me, and I returned as many to him, so that I do think there cannot for a great while, be, any right peace between us, and I care not a fart for it; but however, I must look about me and mind my business, for I perceive by his threats and enquiries he is and will endeavour to find out something against me or mine. Breaking up here somewhat brokenly I home, and carried Mrs. Pierce and wife to the New Exchange, and there did give her and myself a pair of gloves, and then set her down at home, and so back again straight home and thereto do business, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where [Sir] W. Pen and others, and mighty merry, only I have got a great cold, and the scolding this day at the office with my Lord Bruncker hath made it worse, that I am not able to speak. But, Lord! to see how kind Sir W. Batten and his Lady are to me upon this business of my standing by [Sir] W. Batten against Carcasse, and I am glad of it. Captain Cocke, who was here to-night, did tell us that he is certain that yesterday a proclamation was voted at the Council, touching the proclaiming of my Lord Duke of Buckingham a traytor, and that it will be out on Monday. So home late, and drank some buttered ale, and so to bed and to sleep. This cold did most certainly come by my staying a little too long bare-legged yesterday morning when I rose while I looked out fresh socks and thread stockings, yesterday's having in the night, lying near the window, been covered with snow within the window, which made me I durst not put them on. 10th (Lord's day). Having my cold still grown more upon me, so as I am not able to speak, I lay in bed till noon, and then up and to my chamber with a good fire, and there spent an hour on Morly's Introduction to Musique, a very good but unmethodical book. Then to dinner, my wife and I, and then all the afternoon alone in my chamber preparing a letter for Commissioner Taylor to the City about getting his accounts for The Loyal London, [The "Loyal London" was the ship given to the king by the City. It was launched at Deptford on June 10th, 1666] by him built for them, stated and discharged, they owing him still about L4000. Towards the evening comes Mr. Spong to see me, whose discourse about several things I proposed to him was very good, better than I have had with any body a good while. He gone, I to my business again, and anon comes my Lady Pen and her son-in law and daughter, and there we talked all the evening away, and then to supper; and after supper comes Sir W. Pen, and there we talked together, and then broke up, and so to bed. He tells me that our Mr. Turner has seen the proclamation against the Duke of Buckingham, and that therefore it is true what we heard last night. Yesterday and to-day I have been troubled with a hoarseness through cold that I could not almost speak. 11th. Up, and with my cold still upon me and hoarseness, but I was forced to rise and to the office, where all the morning busy, and among other things Sir W. Warren come to me, to whom of late I have been very strange, partly from my indifference how more than heretofore to get money, but most from my finding that he is become great with my Lord Bruncker, and so I dare not trust him as I used to do, for I will not be inward with him that is open to another. By and by comes Sir H. Cholmly to me about Tangier business, and then talking of news he tells me how yesterday the King did publiquely talk of the King of France's dealing with all the Princes of Christendome. As to the States of Holland, he [the King of France] hath advised them, on good grounds, to refuse to treat with us at the Hague, because of having opportunity of spies, by reason of our interest in the House of Orange; and then, it being a town in one particular province, it would not be fit to have it, but in a town wherein the provinces have equal interest, as at Mastricht, and other places named. That he advises them to offer no terms, nor accept of any, without his privity and consent, according to agreement; and tells them, if not so, he hath in his power to be even with them, the King of England being come to offer him any terms he pleases; and that my Lord St. Albans is now at Paris, Plenipotentiary, to make what peace he pleases; and so he can make it, and exclude them, the Dutch, if he sees fit. A copy of this letter of the King of France's the Spanish Ambassador here gets, and comes and tells all to our King; which our King denies, and says the King of France only uses his power of saying anything. At the same time, the King of France writes to the Emperor, that he is resolved to do all things to express affection to the Emperor, having it now in his power to make what peace he pleases between the King of England and him, and the States of the United Provinces; and, therefore, that he would not have him to concern himself in a friendship with us; and assures him that, on that regard, he will not offer anything to his disturbance, in his interest in Flanders, or elsewhere. He writes, at the same time, to Spayne, to tell him that he wonders to hear of a league almost ended between the Crown of Spayne and England, by my Lord Sandwich, and all without his privity, while he was making a peace upon what terms he pleased with England: that he is a great lover of the Crown of Spayne, and would take the King and his affairs, during his minority, into his protection, nor would offer to set his foot in Flanders, or any where else, to disturb him; and, therefore, would not have him to trouble himself to make peace with any body; only he hath a desire to offer an exchange, which he thinks may be of moment to both sides: that is, that he [France] will enstate the King of Spayne in the kingdom of Portugall, and he and the Dutch will put him into possession of Lisbon; and, that being done, he [France] may have Flanders: and this, they say; do mightily take in Spayne, which is sensible of the fruitless expence Flanders, so far off, gives them; and how much better it would be for them to be master of Portugall; and the King of France offers, for security herein, that the King of England shall be bond for him, and that he will countersecure the King of England with Amsterdam; and, it seems, hath assured our King, that if he will make a league with him, he will make a peace exclusive to the Hollander. These things are almost romantique, but yet true, as Sir H. Cholmly tells me the King himself did relate it all yesterday; and it seems as if the King of France did think other princes fit for nothing but to make sport for him: but simple princes they are, that are forced to suffer this from him. So at noon with Sir W. Pen by coach to the Sun in Leadenhall Streete, where Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Batten, and Commissioner Taylor (whose feast it was) were, and we dined and had a very good dinner. Among other discourses Sir R. Ford did tell me that he do verily believe that the city will in few years be built again in all the greatest streets, and answered the objections I did give to it. Here we had the proclamation this day come out against the Duke of Buckingham, commanding him to come in to one of the Secretaries, or to the Lieutenant of the Tower. A silly, vain man to bring himself to this: and there be many hard circumstances in the proclamation of the causes of this proceeding of the King's, which speak great displeasure of the King's, and crimes of his. Then to discourse of the business of the day, that is, to see Commissioner Taylor's accounts for his ship he built, The Loyall London, and it is pretty to see how dully this old fellow makes his demands, and yet plaguy wise sayings will come from the man sometimes, and also how Sir R. Ford and [Sir] W. Batten did with seeming reliance advise him what to do, and how to come prepared to answer objections to the Common Council. Thence away to the office, where late busy, and then home to supper, mightily pleased with my wife's trill, and so to bed. This night Mr. Carcasse did come to me again to desire favour, and that I would mediate that he might be restored, but I did give him no kind answer at all, but was very angry, and I confess a good deal of it from my Lord Bruncker's simplicity and passion. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all-the morning, and my Lord Bruncker mighty quiet, and no words all day, which I wonder at, expecting that he would have fallen again upon the business of Carcasse, and the more for that here happened that Perkins, who was the greatest witness of all against him, was brought in by Sir W. Batten to prove that he did really belong to The Prince, but being examined was found rather a fool than anything, as not being able to give any account when he come in nor when he come out of her, more than that he was taken by the Dutch in her, but did agree in earnest to Sir W. Pen's saying that she lay up all, the winter before at Lambeth. This I confess did make me begin to doubt the truth of his evidence, but not to doubt the faults of Carcasse, for he was condemned by, many other better evidences than his, besides the whole world's report. At noon home, and there find Mr. Goodgroome, whose teaching of my wife only by singing over and over again to her, and letting her sing with him, not by herself, to correct her faults, I do not like at all, but was angry at it; but have this content, that I do think she will come to sing pretty well, and to trill in time, which pleases me well. He dined with us, and then to the office, when we had a sorry meeting to little purpose, and then broke up, and I to my office, and busy late to good purpose, and so home to supper and to bed. This day a poor seaman, almost starved for want of food, lay in our yard a-dying. I sent him half-a-crown, and we ordered his ticket to be paid. 13th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Batten to the Duke of York to our usual attendance, where I did fear my Lord Bruncker might move something in revenge that might trouble me, but he did not, but contrarily had the content to hear Sir G. Carteret fall foul on him in the Duke of York's bed chamber for his directing people with tickets and petitions to him, bidding him mind his Controller's place and not his, for if he did he should be too hard for him, and made high words, which I was glad of. Having done our usual business with the Duke of York, I away; and meeting Mr. D. Gawden in the presence-chamber, he and I to talk; and among other things he tells me, and I do find every where else, also, that our masters do begin not to like of their councils in fitting out no fleete, but only squadrons, and are finding out excuses for it; and, among others, he tells me a Privy-Councillor did tell him that it was said in Council that a fleete could not be set out this year, for want of victuals, which gives him and me a great alarme, but me especially for had it been so, I ought to have represented it; and therefore it puts me in policy presently to prepare myself to answer this objection, if ever it should come about, by drawing up a state of the Victualler's stores, which I will presently do. So to Westminster Hall, and there staid and talked, and then to Sir G. Carteret's, where I dined with the ladies, he not at home, and very well used I am among them, so that I am heartily ashamed that my wife hath not been there to see them; but she shall very shortly. So home by water, and stepped into Michell's, and there did baiser my Betty, 'que aegrotat' a little. At home find Mr. Holliard, and made him eat a bit of victuals. Here I find Mr. Greeten, who teaches my wife on the flageolet, and I think she will come to something on it. Mr. Holliard advises me to have my father come up to town, for he doubts else in the country he will never find ease, for, poor man, his grief is now grown so great upon him that he is never at ease, so I will have him up at Easter. By and by by coach, set down Mr. Holliard near his house at Hatton Garden and myself to Lord Treasurer's, and sent my wife to the New Exchange. I staid not here, but to Westminster Hall, and thence to Martin's, where he and she both within, and with them the little widow that was once there with her when I was there, that dissembled so well to be grieved at hearing a tune that her, late husband liked, but there being so much company, I had no pleasure here, and so away to the Hall again, and there met Doll Lane coming out, and 'par contrat did hazer bargain para aller to the cabaret de vin', called the Rose, and 'ibi' I staid two hours, 'sed' she did not 'venir', 'lequel' troubled me, and so away by coach and took up my wife, and away home, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where I am told that it is intended by Mr. Carcasse to pray me to be godfather with Lord Bruncker to-morrow to his child, which I suppose they tell me in mirth, but if he should ask me I know not whether I should refuse it or no. Late at my office preparing a speech against to-morrow morning, before the King, at my Lord Treasurer's, and the truth is it run in my head all night. So home to supper and to bed. The Duke of Buckingham is concluded gone over sea, and, it is thought, to France. 14th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to my Lord Treasurer's, where we met with my Lord Bruncker an hour before the King come, and had time to talk a little of our business. Then come much company, among others Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that undoubtedly my Lord Bellasses will go no more as Governor to Tangier, and that he do put in fair for it, and believes he shall have it, and proposes how it may conduce to his account and mine in the business of money. Here we fell into talk with Sir Stephen Fox, and, among other things, of the Spanish manner of walking, when three together, and shewed me how, which was pretty, to prevent differences. By and by comes the King and Duke of York, and presently the officers of the Ordnance were called; my Lord Berkeley, Sir John Duncomb, and Mr. Chichly; then we, my Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself; where we find only the King and Duke of York, and my Lord Treasurer, and Sir G. Carteret; where I only did speak, laying down the state of our wants, which the King and Duke of York seemed very well pleased with, and we did get what we asked, L500,000, assigned upon the eleven months' tax: but that is not so much ready money, or what will raise L40,000 per week, which we desired, and the business will want. Yet are we fain to come away answered, when, God knows, it will undo the King's business to have matters of this moment put off in this manner. The King did prevent my offering anything by and by as Treasurer for Tangier, telling me that he had ordered us L30,000 on the same tax; but that is not what we would have to bring our payments to come within a year. So we gone out, in went others; viz., one after another, Sir Stephen Fox for the army, Captain Cocke for sick and wounded, Mr. Ashburnham for the household. Thence [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and I, back again; I mightily pleased with what I had said and done, and the success thereof. But, it being a fine clear day, I did, 'en gayete de coeur', propose going to Bow for ayre sake, and dine there, which they embraced, and so [Sir] W. Batten and I (setting [Sir] W. Pen down at Mark Lane end) straight to Bow, to the Queen's Head, and there bespoke our dinner, carrying meat with us from London; and anon comes [Sir] W. Pen with my wife and Lady Batten, and then Mr. Lowder with his mother and wife. While [Sir] W. Batten and I were alone, we had much friendly discourse, though I will never trust him far; but we do propose getting "The Flying Greyhound," our privateer, to us and [Sir] W. Pen at the end of the year when we call her home, by begging her of the King, and I do not think we shall be denied her. They being come, we to oysters and so to talk, very pleasant I was all day, and anon to dinner, and I made very good company. Here till the evening, so as it was dark almost before we got home (back again in the same method, I think, we went), and spent the night talking at Sir W. Batten's, only a little at my office, to look over the Victualler's contract, and draw up some arguments for him to plead for his charges in transportation of goods beyond the ports which the letter of one article in his contract do lay upon him. This done I home to supper and to bed. Troubled a little at my fear that my Lord Bruncker should tell Sir W. Coventry of our neglecting the office this afternoon (which was intended) to look after our pleasures, but nothing will fall upon me alone about this. 15th. Up, and pleased at Tom's teaching of Barker something to sing a 3rd part to a song, which will please mightily. So I to the office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, where I do hear that letters this day come to Court do tell us that we are likely not to agree, the Dutch demanding high terms, and the King of France the like, in a most braving manner. The merchants do give themselves over for lost, no man knowing what to do, whether to sell or buy, not knowing whether peace or war to expect, and I am told that could that be now known a man might get L20,000 in a week's time by buying up of goods in case there should be war. Thence home and dined well, and then with my wife, set her at Unthanke's and I to Sir G. Carteret, where talked with the ladies a while, and my Lady Carteret talks nothing but sorrow and afflictions coming on us, and indeed I do fear the same. So away and met Dr. Fuller, Bishop of Limricke, and walked an hour with him in the Court talking of newes only, and he do think that matters will be bad with us. Then to Westminster Hall, and there spent an hour or two walking up and down, thinking 'para avoir' got out Doll Lane, 'sed je ne' could do it, having no opportunity 'de hazer le, ainsi lost the tota' afternoon, and so away and called my wife and home, where a little at the office, and then home to my closet to enter my journalls, and so to supper and to bed. This noon come little Mis. Tooker, who is grown a little woman; ego had opportunity 'para baiser her . . . . This morning I was called up by Sir John Winter, poor man! come in his sedan from the other end of the town, before I was up, and merely about the King's business, which is a worthy thing of him, and I believe him to be a worthy good man, and I will do him the right to tell the Duke of it, who did speak well of him the other day. It was about helping the King in the business of bringing down his timber to the sea-side, in the Forest of Deane. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning; at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again in the afternoon, and there all day very busy till night, and then, having done much business, home to supper, and so to bed. This afternoon come home Sir J. Minnes, who has been down, but with little purpose, to pay the ships below at the Nore. This evening, having done my letters, I did write out the heads of what I had prepared to speak to the King the other day at my Lord Treasurer's, which I do think convenient to keep by me for future use. The weather is now grown warm again, after much cold; and it is observable that within these eight days I did see smoke remaining, coming out of some cellars, from the late great fire, now above six months since. There was this day at the office (as he is most days) Sir W. Warren, against whom I did manifestly plead, and heartily too, God forgive me! But the reason is because I do find that he do now wholly rely almost upon my Lord Bruncker, though I confess I have no greater ground of my leaving him than the confidence which I perceive he hath got in my Lord Bruncker, whose seeming favours only do obtain of him as much compensation as, I believe (for he do know well the way of using his bounties), as mine more real. Besides, my Lord and I being become antagonistic, I do not think it safe for me to trust myself in the hands of one whom I know to be a knave, and using all means to become gracious there. 17th (Lord's day). Up betime with my wife, and by coach with Sir W. Pen and Sir Thomas Allen to White Hall, there my wife and I the first time that ever we went to my Lady Jemimah's chamber at Sir Edward Carteret's lodgings. I confess I have been much to blame and much ashamed of our not visiting her sooner, but better now than never. Here we took her before she was up, which I was sorry for, so only saw her, and away to chapel, leaving further visit till after sermon. I put my wife into the pew below, but it was pretty to see, myself being but in a plain band, and every way else ordinary, how the verger took me for her man, I think, and I was fain to tell him she was a kinswoman of my Lord Sandwich's, he saying that none under knights-baronets' ladies are to go into that pew. So she being there, I to the Duke of York's lodging, where in his dressing-chamber he talking of his journey to-morrow or next day to Harwich, to prepare some fortifications there; so that we are wholly upon the defensive part this year, only we have some expectations that we may by our squadrons annoy them in their trade by the North of Scotland and to the Westward. Here Sir W. Pen did show the Duke of York a letter of Hogg's about a prize he drove in within the Sound at Plymouth, where the Vice-Admiral claims her. Sir W. Pen would have me speak to the latter, which I did, and I think without any offence, but afterwards I was sorry for it, and Sir W. Pen did plainly say that he had no mind to speak to the Duke of York about it, so that he put me upon it, but it shall be, the last time that I will do such another thing, though I think no manner of hurt done by it to me at all. That done I to walk in the Parke, where to the Queene's Chapel, and there heard a fryer preach with his cord about his middle, in Portuguese, something I could understand, showing that God did respect the meek and humble, as well as the high and rich. He was full of action, but very decent and good, I thought, and his manner of delivery very good. Then I went back to White Hall, and there up to the closet, and spoke with several people till sermon was ended, which was preached by the Bishop of Hereford, an old good man, that they say made an excellent sermon. He was by birth a Catholique, and a great gallant, having L1500 per annum, patrimony, and is a Knight Barronet; was turned from his persuasion by the late Archbishop Laud. He and the Bishop of Exeter, Dr. Ward, are the two Bishops that the King do say he cannot have bad sermons from. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me, that undoubtedly my Lord Bellasses do go no more to Tangier, and that he do believe he do stand in a likely way to go Governor; though he says, and showed me, a young silly Lord, one Lord Allington, who hath offered a great sum of money to go, and will put hard for it, he having a fine lady, and a great man would be glad to have him out of the way. After Chapel I down and took out my wife from the pew, where she was talking with a lady whom I knew not till I was gone. It was Mrs. Ashfield of Brampton, who had with much civility been, it seems, at our house to see her. I am sorry I did not show her any more respect. With my wife to Sir G. Carteret's, where we dined and mightily made of, and most extraordinary people they are to continue friendship with for goodness, virtue, and nobleness and interest. After dinner he and I alone awhile and did joy ourselves in my Lord Sandwich's being out of the way all this time. He concurs that we are in a way of ruin by thus being forced to keep only small squadrons out, but do tell me that it was not choice, but only force, that we could not keep out the whole fleete. He tells me that the King is very kind to my Lord Sandwich, and did himself observe to him (Sir G. Carteret), how those very people, meaning the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, are punished in the same kind as they did seek to abuse my Lord Sandwich. Thence away, and got a hackney coach and carried my wife home, and there only drank, and myself back again to my Lord Treasurer's, where the King, Duke of York, and Sir G. Carteret and Lord Arlington were and none else, so I staid not, but to White Hall, and there meeting nobody I would speak with, walked into the Park and took two or three turns all alone, and then took coach and home, where I find Mercer, who I was glad to see, but durst [not] shew so, my wife being displeased with her, and indeed I fear she is grown a very gossip. I to my chamber, and there fitted my arguments which I had promised Mr. Gawden in his behalf in some pretences to allowance of the King, and then to supper, and so to my chamber a little again, and then to bed. Duke of Buckingham not heard of yet. 18th. Up betimes, and to the office to write fair my paper for D. Gawden against anon, and then to other business, where all the morning. D. Gawden by and by comes, and I did read over and give him the paper, which I think I have much obliged him in. A little before noon comes my old good friend, Mr. Richard Cumberland,--[Richard Cumberland, afterwards Bishop of Peterborough]--to see me, being newly come to town, whom I have not seen almost, if not quite, these seven years. In his plain country-parson's dress. I could not spend much time with him, but prayed him come with his brother, who was with him, to dine with me to-day; which he did do and I had a great deal of his good company; and a most excellent person he is as any I know, and one that I am sorry should be lost and buried in a little country town, and would be glad to remove him thence; and the truth is, if he would accept of my sister's fortune, I should give L100 more with him than to a man able to settle her four times as much as, I fear, he is able to do; and I will think of it, and a way how to move it, he having in discourse said he was not against marrying, nor yet engaged. I shewed him my closet, and did give him some very good musique, Mr. Caesar being here upon his lute. They gone I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and among other things comes Captain Jenifer to me, a great servant of my Lord Sandwich's, who tells me that he do hear for certain, though I do not yet believe it, that Sir W. Coventry is to be Secretary of State, and my Lord Arlington Lord Treasurer. I only wish that the latter were as fit for the latter office as the former is for the former, and more fit than my Lord Arlington. Anon Sir W. Pen come and talked with me in the garden, and tells me that for certain the Duke of Richmond is to marry Mrs. Stewart, he having this day brought in an account of his estate and debts to the King on that account. At night home to supper and so to bed. My father's letter this day do tell me of his own continued illness, and that my mother grows so much worse, that he fears she cannot long continue, which troubles me very much. This day, Mr. Caesar told me a pretty experiment of his, of angling with a minikin, a gut-string varnished over, which keeps it from swelling, and is beyond any hair for strength and smallness. The secret I like mightily. 19th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home very pleasantly with my wife, and after dinner with a great deal of pleasure had her sing, which she begins to do with some pleasure to me, more than I expected. Then to the office again, where all the afternoon close, and at night home to supper and to bed. It comes in my mind this night to set down how a house was the other day in Bishopsgate Street blowed up with powder; a house that was untenanted, and between a flax shop and a-----------, both bad for fire; but, thanks be to God, it did no more hurt; and all do conclude it a plot. I would also remember to my shame how I was pleased yesterday, to find the righteous maid of Magister Griffin sweeping of 'nostra' office, 'elle con the Roman nariz and bonne' body which I did heretofore like, and do still refresh me to think 'que elle' is come to us, that I may 'voir her aliquando'. This afternoon I am told again that the town do talk of my Lord Arlington's being to be Lord Treasurer, and Sir W. Coventry to be Secretary of State; and that for certain the match is concluded between the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart, which I am well enough pleased with; and it is pretty to consider how his quality will allay people's talk; whereas, had a meaner person married her, he would for certain have been reckoned a cuckold at first-dash. 20th. Up pretty betimes, and to the Old Swan, and there drank at Michell's, but his wife is not there, but gone to her mother's, who is ill, and so hath staid there since Sunday. Thence to Westminster Hall and drank at the Swan, and 'baiserais the petite misse'; and so to Mrs. Martin's. . . . I sent for some burnt wine, and drank and then away, not pleased with my folly, and so to the Hall again, and there staid a little, and so home by water again, where, after speaking with my wife, I with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to our church to the vestry, to be assessed by the late Poll Bill, where I am rated as an Esquire, and for my office, all will come to about L50. But not more than I expected, nor so much by a great deal as I ought to be, for all my offices. So shall be glad to escape so. Thence by water again to White Hall, and there up into the house, and do hear that newes is come now that the enemy do incline again to a peace, but could hear no particulars, so do not believe it. I had a great mind to have spoke with the King, about a business proper enough for me, about the French prize man-of-war, how he would have her altered, only out of a desire to show myself mindful of business, but my linen was so dirty and my clothes mean, that I neither thought it fit to do that, nor go to other persons at the Court, with whom I had business, which did vex me, and I must remedy [it]. Here I hear that the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart were betrothed last night. Thence to Westminster Hall again, and there saw Betty Michell, and bought a pair of gloves of her, she being fain to keep shop there, her mother being sick, and her father gathering of the tax. I 'aimais her de toute my corazon'. Thence, my mind wandering all this day upon 'mauvaises amours' which I be merry for. So home by water again, where I find my wife gone abroad, so I to Sir W. Batten to dinner, and had a good dinner of ling and herring pie, very good meat, best of the kind that ever I had. Having dined, I by coach to the Temple, and there did buy a little book or two, and it is strange how "Rycaut's Discourse of Turky," which before the fire I was asked but 8s. for, there being all but twenty-two or thereabouts burned, I did now offer 20s., and he demands 50s., and I think I shall give it him, though it be only as a monument of the fire. So to the New Exchange, where I find my wife, and so took her to Unthanke's, and left her there, and I to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, only out of idleness, and to get some little pleasure to my 'mauvais flammes', but sped not, so back and took up my wife; and to Polichinelli at Charing Crosse, which is prettier and prettier, and so full of variety that it is extraordinary good entertainment. Thence by coach home, that is, my wife home, and I to the Exchange, and there met with Fenn, who tells me they have yet no orders out of the Exchequer for money upon the Acts, which is a thing not to be borne by any Prince of understanding or care, for no money can be got advanced upon the Acts only from the weight of orders in form out of the Exchequer so long time after the passing of the Acts. So home to the office a little, where I met with a sad letter from my brother, who tells me my mother is declared by the doctors to be past recovery, and that my father is also very ill every hour: so that I fear we shall see a sudden change there. God fit them and us for it! So to Sir W. Pen's, where my wife was, and supped with a little, but yet little mirth, and a bad, nasty supper, which makes me not love the family, they do all things so meanly, to make a little bad show upon their backs. Thence home and to bed, very much troubled about my father's and my mother's illness. 21st. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and had some melancholy discourse with my wife about my mother's being so ill and my father, and after dinner to cheer myself, I having the opportunity of Sir W. Coventry and the Duke of York's being out of town, I alone out and to the Duke of York's play-house, where unexpectedly I come to see only the young men and women of the house act; they having liberty to act for their own profit on Wednesdays and Fridays this Lent: and the play they did yesterday, being Wednesday, was so well-taken, that they thought fit to venture it publickly to-day; a play of my Lord Falkland's' called "The Wedding Night," a kind of a tragedy, and some things very good in it, but the whole together, I thought, not so. I confess I was well enough pleased with my seeing it: and the people did do better, without the great actors, than I did expect, but yet far short of what they do when they are there, which I was glad to find the difference of. Thence to rights home, and there to the office to my business hard, being sorry to have made this scape without my wife, but I have a good salvo to my oath in doing it. By and by, in the evening, comes Sir W. Batten's Mingo to me to pray me to come to his master and Sir Richard Ford, who have very ill news to tell me. I knew what it was, it was about our trial for a good prize to-day, "The Phoenix," [There are references to the "Phoenix," a Dutch ship taken as a prize, among the State Papers (see "Calendar," 1666-67, p. 404). Pepys appears to have got into trouble at a later date in respect to this same ship, for among the Rawlinson MSS. (A. 170) are "Papers relating to the charge brought against him in the House of Commons in 1689 with reference to the ship Phoenix and the East India Company in 1681-86."] a worth two or L3000. I went to them, where they told me with much trouble how they had sped, being cast and sentenced to make great reparation for what we had embezzled, and they did it so well that I was much troubled at it, when by and by Sir W. Batten asked me whether I was mortified enough, and told me we had got the day, which was mighty welcome news to me and us all. But it is pretty to see what money will do. Yesterday, Walker was mighty cold on our behalf, till Sir W. Batten promised him, if we sped in this business of the goods, a coach; and if at the next trial we sped for the ship, we would give him a pair of horses. And he hath strove for us today like a prince, though the Swedes' Agent was there with all the vehemence he could to save the goods, but yet we carried it against him. This put me in mighty good heart, and then we go to Sir W. Pen, who is come back to-night from Chatham, and did put him into the same condition, and then comforted him. So back to my office, and wrote an affectionate and sad letter to my father about his and my mother's illness, and so home to supper and to bed late. 22nd. Up and by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke about business for Tangier about money, and then to Sir Stephen Fox to give him account of a little service I have done him about money coming to him from our office, and then to Lovett's and saw a few baubling things of their doing which are very pretty, but the quality of the people, living only by shifts, do not please me, that it makes me I do no more care for them, nor shall have more acquaintance with them after I have got my Lady Castlemayne's picture home. So to White Hall, where the King at Chapel, and I would not stay, but to Westminster to Howlett's, and there, he being not well, I sent for a quart of claret and burnt it and drank, and had a 'basado' or three or four of Sarah, whom 'je trouve ici', and so by coach to Sir Robt. Viner's about my accounts with him, and so to the 'Change, where I hear for certain that we are going on with our treaty of peace, and that we are to treat at Bredah. But this our condescension people do think will undo us, and I do much fear it. So home to dinner, where my wife having dressed herself in a silly dress of a blue petticoat uppermost, and a white satin waistcoat and whitehood, though I think she did it because her gown is gone to the tailor's, did, together with my being hungry, which always makes me peevish, make me angry, but when my belly was full were friends again, and dined and then by water down to Greenwich and thence walked to Woolwich, all the way reading Playford's "Introduction to Musique," wherein are some things very pretty. At Woolwich I did much business, taking an account of the state of the ships there under hand, thence to Blackwall, and did the like for two ships we have repairing there, and then to Deptford and did the like there, and so home. Captain Perriman with me from Deptford, telling me many particulars how the King's business is ill ordered, and indeed so they are, God knows! So home and to the office, where did business, and so home to my chamber, and then to supper and to bed. Landing at the Tower to-night I met on Tower Hill with Captain Cocke and spent half an hour walking in the dusk of the evening with him, talking of the sorrowful condition we are in, that we must be ruined if the Parliament do not come and chastize us, that we are resolved to make a peace whatever it cost, that the King is disobliging the Parliament in this interval all that may be, yet his money is gone and he must have more, and they likely not to give it, without a great deal of do. God knows what the issue of it will be. But the considering that the Duke of York, instead of being at sea as Admirall, is now going from port to port, as he is at this day at Harwich, and was the other day with the King at Sheernesse, and hath ordered at Portsmouth how fortifications shall be made to oppose the enemy, in case of invasion, [which] is to us a sad consideration, and as shameful to the nation, especially after so many proud vaunts as we have made against the Dutch, and all from the folly of the Duke of Albemarle, who made nothing of beating them, and Sir John Lawson he always declared that we never did fail to beat them with lesser numbers than theirs, which did so prevail with the King as to throw us into this war. 23rd. At the office all the morning, where Sir W. Pen come, being returned from Chatham, from considering the means of fortifying the river Medway, by a chain at the stakes, and ships laid there with guns to keep the enemy from coming up to burn our ships; all our care now being to fortify ourselves against their invading us. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon again, where Mr. Moore come, who tells me that there is now no doubt made of a peace being agreed on, the King having declared this week in Council that they would treat at Bredagh. He gone I to my office, where busy late, and so to supper and to bed. Vexed with our mayde Luce, our cook-mayde, who is a good drudging servant in everything else, and pleases us, but that she will be drunk, and hath been so last night and all this day, that she could not make clean the house. My fear is only fire. 24th (Lord's day). With Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there I to Sir G. Carteret, who is mighty cheerful, which makes me think and by some discourse that there is expectation of a peace, but I did not ask [him]. Here was Sir J. Minnes also: and they did talk of my Lord Bruncker, whose father, it seems, did give Mr. Ashburnham and the present Lord Digby L1200 to be made an Irish lord, and swore the same day that he had not 12d. left to pay for his dinner: they make great mirth at this, my Lord Bruncker having lately given great matter of offence both to them and us all, that we are at present mightily displeased with him. By and by to the Duke of York, where we all met, and there was the King also; and all our discourse was about fortifying of the Medway and Harwich, which is to be entrenched quite round, and Portsmouth: and here they advised with Sir Godfry Lloyd and Sir Bernard de Gum, the two great engineers, and had the plates drawn before them; and indeed all their care they now take is to fortify themselves, and are not ashamed of it: for when by and by my Lord Arlington come in with letters, and seeing the King and Duke of York give us and the officers of the Ordnance directions in this matter, he did move that we might do it as privately as we could, that it might not come into the Dutch Gazette presently, as the King's and Duke of York's going down the other day to Sheerenesse was, the week after, in the Harlem Gazette. The King and Duke of York both laughed at it, and made no matter, but said, "Let us be safe, and let them talk, for there is nothing will trouble them more, nor will prevent their coming more, than to hear that we are fortifying ourselves." And the Duke of York said further, "What said Marshal Turenne, when some in vanity said that the enemies were afraid, for they entrenched themselves? 'Well,' says he, 'I would they were not afraid, for then they would not entrench themselves, and so we could deal with them the better.'" Away thence, and met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that he do believe the government of Tangier is bought by my Lord Allington for a sum of money to my Lord Arlington, and something to Lord Bellasses, who (he did tell me particularly how) is as very a false villain as ever was born, having received money of him here upon promise and confidence of his return, forcing him to pay it by advance here, and promising to ask no more there, when at the same time he was treating with my Lord Allington to sell his command to him, and yet told Sir H. Cholmly nothing of it, but when Sir H. Cholmly told him what he had heard, he confessed that my Lord Allington had spoken to him of it, but that he was a vain man to look after it, for he was nothing fit for it, and then goes presently to my Lord Allington and drives on the bargain, yet tells Lord Allington what he himself had said of him, as [though] Sir H. Cholmly had said them. I am glad I am informed hereof, and shall know him for a Lord, &c. Sir H. Cholmly tells me further that he is confident there will be a peace, and that a great man did tell him that my Lord Albemarle did tell him the other day at White Hall as a secret that we should have a peace if any thing the King of France can ask and our King can give will gain it, which he is it seems mad at. Thence back with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen home, and heard a piece of sermon, and so home to dinner, where Balty come, very fine, and dined with us, and after dinner with me by water to White Hall, and there he and I did walk round the Park, I giving him my thoughts about the difficulty of getting employment for him this year, but advised him how to employ himself, and I would do what I could. So he and I parted, and I to Martin's, where I find her within, and 'su hermano' and 'la veuve' Burroughs. Here I did 'demeurer toda' the afternoon . . . . By and by come up the mistress of the house, Crags, a pleasant jolly woman. I staid all but a little, and away home by water through bridge, a brave evening, and so home to read, and anon to supper, W. Hewer with us, and then to read myself to sleep again, and then to bed, and mightily troubled the most of the night with fears of fire, which I cannot get out of my head to this day since the last great fire. I did this night give the waterman who uses to carry me 10s. at his request, for the painting of his new boat, on which shall be my arms. 25th. (Ladyday.) Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen by coach to Exeter House to our lawyers to have consulted about our trial to-morrow, but missed them, so parted, and [Sir] W. Pen and I to Mr. Povy's about a little business of [Sir] W. Pen's, where we went over Mr. Povy's house, which lies in the same good condition as ever, which is most extraordinary fine, and he was now at work with a cabinet-maker, making of a new inlaid table. Having seen his house, we away, having in our way thither called at Mr. Lilly's, who was working; and indeed his pictures are without doubt much beyond Mr. Hales's, I think I may say I am convinced: but a mighty proud man he is, and full of state. So home, and to the office, and by and by to dinner, a poor dinner, my wife and I, at Sir W. Pen's, and then he and I before to Exeter House, where I do not stay, but to the King's playhouse; and by and by comes Mr. Lowther and his wife and mine, and into a box, forsooth, neither of them being dressed, which I was almost ashamed of. Sir W. Pen and I in the pit, and here saw "The Mayden Queene" again; which indeed the more I see the more I like, and is an excellent play, and so done by Nell, her merry part, as cannot be better done in nature, I think. Thence home, and there I find letters from my brother, which tell me that yesterday when he wrote my mother did rattle in the throat so as they did expect every moment her death, which though I have a good while expected did much surprise me, yet was obliged to sup at Sir W. Pen's and my wife, and there counterfeited some little mirth, but my heart was sad, and so home after supper and to bed, and much troubled in my sleep of my being crying by my mother's bedside, laying my head over hers and crying, she almost dead and dying, and so waked, but what is strange, methought she had hair over her face, and not the same kind of face as my mother really hath, but yet did not consider that, but did weep over her as my mother, whose soul God have mercy of. 26th. Up with a sad heart in reference to my mother, of whose death I undoubtedly expect to hear the next post, if not of my father's also, who by his pain as well as his grief for her is very ill, but on my own behalf I have cause to be joyful this day, it being my usual feast day, for my being cut of the stone this day nine years, and through God's blessing am at this day and have long been in as good condition of health as ever I was in my life or any man in England is, God make me thankful for it! But the condition I am in, in reference to my mother, makes it unfit for me to keep my usual feast. Unless it shall please God to send her well (which I despair wholly of), and then I will make amends for it by observing another day in its room. So to the office, and at the office all the morning, where I had an opportunity to speak to Sir John Harman about my desire to have my brother Balty go again with him to sea as he did the last year, which he do seem not only contented but pleased with, which I was glad of. So at noon home to dinner, where I find Creed, who dined with us, but I had not any time to talk with him, my head being busy, and before I had dined was called away by Sir W. Batten, and both of us in his coach (which I observe his coachman do always go now from hence towards White Hall through Tower Street, and it is the best way) to Exeter House, where the judge was sitting, and after several little causes comes on ours, and while the several depositions and papers were at large reading (which they call the preparatory), and being cold by being forced to sit with my hat off close to a window in the Hall, Sir W. Pen and I to the Castle Tavern hard by and got a lobster, and he and I staid and eat it, and drank good wine; I only burnt wine, as my whole custom of late hath been, as an evasion, God knows, for my drinking of wine (but it is an evasion which will not serve me now hot weather is coming, that I cannot pretend, as indeed I really have done, that I drank it for cold), but I will leave it off, and it is but seldom, as when I am in women's company, that I must call for wine, for I must be forced to drink to them. Having done here then we back again to the Court, and there heard our cause pleaded; Sir [Edward] Turner, Sir W. Walker, and Sir Ellis Layton being our counsel against only Sir Robert Wiseman on the other. The second of our three counsel was the best, and indeed did speak admirably, and is a very shrewd man. Nevertheless, as good as he did make our case, and the rest, yet when Wiseman come to argue (nay, and though he did begin so sillily that we laughed in scorn in our sleeves at him), yet he did so state the case, that the judge did not think fit to decide the cause to-night, but took to to-morrow, and did stagger us in our hopes, so as to make us despair of the success. I am mightily pleased with the judge, who seems a very rational, learned, and uncorrupt man, and much good reading and reason there is heard in hearing of this law argued, so that the thing pleased me, though our success doth shake me. Thence Sir W. Pen and I home and to write letters, among others a sad one to my father upon fear of my mother's death, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th. [Sir] W. Pen and I to White Hall, and in the coach did begin our discourse again about Balty, and he promises me to move it this very day. He and I met my Lord Bruncker at Sir G. Carteret's by appointment, there to discourse a little business, all being likely to go to rack for lack of money still. Thence to the Duke of York's lodgings, and did our usual business, and Sir W. Pen telling me that he had this morning spoke of Balty to Sir W. Coventry, and that the thing was done, I did take notice of it also to [Sir] W. Coventry, who told me that he had both the thing and the person in his head before to have done it, which is a double pleasure to me. Our business with the Duke being done, [Sir] W. Pen and I towards the Exchequer, and in our way met Sir G. Downing going to chapel, but we stopped, and he would go with us back to the Exchequer and showed us in his office his chests full and ground and shelves full of money, and says that there is L50,000 at this day in his office of people's money, who may demand it this day, and might have had it away several weeks ago upon the late Act, but do rather choose to have it continue there than to put it into the Banker's hands, and I must confess it is more than I should have believed had I not seen it, and more than ever I could have expected would have arisen for this new Act in so short a time, and if it do so now already what would it do if the money was collected upon the Act and returned into the Exchequer so timely as it ought to be. But it comes into my mind here to observe what I have heard from Sir John Bankes, though I cannot fully conceive the reason of it, that it will be impossible to make the Exchequer ever a true bank to all intents, unless the Exchequer stood nearer the Exchange, where merchants might with ease, while they are going about their business, at all hours, and without trouble or loss of time, have their satisfaction, which they cannot have now without much trouble, and loss of half a day, and no certainty of having the offices open. By this he means a bank for common practise and use of merchants, and therein I do agree with him. Being parted from Sir W. Pen and [Sir] G. Downing, I to Westminster Hall and there met Balty, whom I had sent for, and there did break the business of my getting him the place of going again as Muster-Master with Harman this voyage to the West Indys, which indeed I do owe to Sir W. Pen. He is mighty glad of it, and earnest to fit himself for it, but I do find, poor man, that he is troubled how to dispose of his wife, and apparently it is out of fear of her, and his honour, and I believe he hath received some cause of this his jealousy and care, and I do pity him in it, and will endeavour to find out some way to do, it for him. Having put him in a way of preparing himself for the voyage, I did go to the Swan, and there sent for Jervas, my old periwig maker, and he did bring me a periwig, but it was full of nits, so as I was troubled to see it (it being his old fault), and did send him to make it clean, and in the mean time, having staid for him a good while, did go away by water to the Castle Taverne, by Exeter House, and there met Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and several others, among the rest Sir Ellis Layton, who do apply himself to discourse with me, and I think by his discourse, out of his opinion of my interest in Sir W. Coventry, the man I find a wonderful witty, ready man for sudden answers and little tales, and sayings very extraordinary witty, but in the bottom I doubt he is not so. Yet he pretends to have studied men, and the truth is in several that I do know he did give me a very inward account of them. But above all things he did give me a full account, upon my demand, of this judge of the Admiralty, Judge Jenkins; who, he says, is a man never practised in this Court, but taken merely for his merit and ability's sake from Trinity Hall, where he had always lived; only by accident the business of the want of a Judge being proposed to the present Archbishop of Canterbury that now is, he did think of this man and sent for him up: and here he is, against the 'gre' and content of the old Doctors, made judge, but is a very excellent man both for judgment and temper, yet majesty enough, and by all men's report, not to be corrupted. After dinner to the Court, where Sir Ellis Layton did make a very silly motion in our behalf, but did neither hurt nor good. After him Walker and Wiseman; and then the judge did pronounce his sentence; for some part of the goods and ship, and the freight of the whole, to be free, and returned and paid by us; and the remaining, which was the greater part, to be ours. The loss of so much troubles us, but we have got a pretty good part, thanks be to God! So we are not displeased nor yet have cause to triumph, as we did once expect. Having seen the end of this, I being desirous to be at home to see the issue of any country letters about my mother, which I expect shall give me tidings of her death, I directly home and there to the office, where I find no letter from my father or brother, but by and by the boy tells me that his mistress sends me word that she hath opened my letter, and that she is loth to send me any more news. So I home, and there up to my wife in our chamber, and there received from my brother the newes of my mother's dying on Monday, about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and that the last time she spoke of her children was on Friday last, and her last words were, "God bless my poor Sam!" The reading hereof did set me a-weeping heartily, and so weeping to myself awhile, and my wife also to herself, I then spoke to my wife respecting myself, and indeed, having some thoughts how much better both for her and us it is than it might have been had she outlived my father and me or my happy present condition in the world, she being helpless, I was the sooner at ease in my mind, and then found it necessary to go abroad with my wife to look after the providing mourning to send into the country, some to-morrow, and more against Sunday, for my family, being resolved to put myself and wife, and Barker and Jane, W. Hewer and Tom, in mourning, and my two under-mayds, to give them hoods and scarfs and gloves. So to my tailor's, and up and down, and then home and to my office a little, and then to supper and to bed, my heart sad and afflicted, though my judgment at ease. 28th. My tailor come to me betimes this morning, and having given him directions, I to the office and there all the morning. At noon dined well. Balty, who is mighty thoughtful how to dispose of his wife, and would fain have me provide a place for her, which the thoughts of what I should do with her if he should miscarry at sea makes me avoid the offering him that she should be at my house. I find he is plainly jealous of her being in any place where she may have ill company, and I do pity him for it, and would be glad to help him, and will if I can. Having dined, I down by water with Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and [Sir] R. Ford to our prize, part of whose goods were condemned yesterday--"The Lindeboome"--and there we did drink some of her wine, very good. But it did grate my heart to see the poor master come on board, and look about into every corner, and find fault that she was not so clean as she used to be, though methought she was very clean; and to see his new masters come in, that had nothing to do with her, did trouble me to see him. Thence to Blackwall and there to Mr. Johnson's, to see how some works upon some of our repaired ships go on, and at his house eat and drank and mighty extraordinary merry (too merry for me whose mother died so lately, but they know it not, so cannot reproach me therein, though I reproach myself), and in going home had many good stories of Sir W. Batten and one of Sir W. Pen, the most tedious and silly and troublesome (he forcing us to hear him) that ever I heard in my life. So to the office awhile, troubled with Sir W. Pen's impertinences, he being half foxed at Johnson's, and so to bed. 29th. Lay long talking with my wife about Balty, whom I do wish very well to, and would be glad to advise him, for he is very sober and willing to take all pains. Up and to Sir W. Batten, who I find has had some words with Sir W. Pen about the employing of a cooper about our prize wines, [Sir] W. Batten standing and indeed imposing upon us Mr. Morrice, which I like not, nor do [Sir] W. Pen, and I confess the very thoughts of what our goods will come to when we have them do discourage me in going any further in the adventure. Then to the office till noon, doing business, and then to the Exchange, and thence to the Sun Taverne and dined with [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] R. Ford, and the Swede's Agent to discourse of a composition about our prizes that are condemned, but did do little, he standing upon high terms and we doing the like. I home, and there find Balty and his wife got thither both by my wife for me to give them good advice, for her to be with his father and mother all this time of absence, for saving of money, and did plainly and like a friend tell them my mind of the necessity of saving money, and that if I did not find they did endeavour it, I should not think fit to trouble myself for them, but I see she is utterly against being with his father and mother, and he is fond of her, and I perceive the differences between the old people and them are too great to be presently forgot, and so he do propose that it will be cheaper for him to put her to board at a place he is offered at Lee, and I, seeing that I am not like to be troubled with the finding a place, and having given him so much good advice, do leave them to stand and fall as they please, having discharged myself as a friend, and not likely to be accountable for her nor be troubled with her, if he should miscarry I mean, as to her lodging, and so broke up. Then he and I to make a visit to [Sir] W. Pen, who hath thought fit to show kindness to Balty in this business, indeed though he be a false rogue, but it was he knew a thing easy to do. Thence together to my shoemaker's, cutler's, tailor's, and up and down about my mourning, and in my way do observe the great streets in the city are marked out with piles drove into the ground; and if ever it be built in that form with so fair streets, it will be a noble sight. So to the Council chamber, but staid not there, but to a periwigg-maker's of his acquaintance, and there bought two periwiggs, mighty fine; indeed, too fine, I thought, for me; but he persuaded me, and I did buy them for L4 10s. the two. Then to the Exchange and bought gloves, and so to the Bull-Head Taverne, whither he brought my, French gun; and one Truelocke, the famous gunsmith, that is a mighty ingenious man, and he did take my gun in pieces, and made me understand the secrets thereof and upon the whole I do find it a very good piece of work, and truly wrought; but for certain not a thing to be used much with safety: and he do find that this very gun was never yet shot off: I was mighty satisfied with it and him, and the sight of so much curiosity of this kind. Here he brought also a haberdasher at my desire, and I bought a hat of him, and so away and called away my wife from his house, and so home and to read, and then to supper and to bed, my head full in behalf of Balty, who tells me strange stories of his mother. Among others, how she, in his absence in Ireland, did pawne all the things that he had got in his service under Oliver, and run of her own accord, without her husband's leave, into Flanders, and that his purse, and 4s. a week which his father receives of the French church, is all the subsistence his father and mother have, and that about L20 a year maintains them; which, if it please God, I will find one way or other to provide for them, to remove that scandal away. 30th. Up, and the French periwigg maker of whom I bought two yesterday comes with them, and I am very well pleased with them. So to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife's knowledge and leave did by coach go see the silly play of my Lady Newcastle's, called "The Humourous Lovers;" the most silly thing that ever come upon a stage. I was sick to see it, but yet would not but have seen it, that I might the better understand her. Here I spied Knipp and Betty, of the King's house, and sent Knipp oranges, but, having little money about me, did not offer to carry them abroad, which otherwise I had, I fear, been tempted to. So with [Sir] W. Pen home (he being at the play also), a most summer evening, and to my office, where, among other things, a most extraordinary letter to the Duke of York touching the want of money and the sad state of the King's service thereby, and so to supper and to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and my tailor's boy brings my mourning clothes home, and my wife hers and Barker's, but they go not to church this morning. I to church, and with my mourning, very handsome, and new periwigg, make a great shew. After church home to dinner, and there come Betty Michell and her husband. I do and shall love her, but, poor wretch, she is now almost ready to lie down. After dinner Balty (who dined also with us) and I with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to White Hall, but did nothing, but by water to Strand Bridge and thence walked to my Lord Treasurer's, where the King, Duke of York, and the Caball, and much company without; and a fine day. Anon come out from the Caball my Lord Hollis and Mr. H. Coventry, who, it is conceived, have received their instructions from the King this day; they being to begin their journey towards their treaty at Bredagh speedily, their passes being come. Here I saw the Lady Northumberland and her daughter-in-law, my Lord Treasurer's daughter, my Lady Piercy, a beautiful lady indeed. So away back by water, and left Balty at White Hall and I to Mrs. Martin . . . . and so by coach home, and there to my chamber, and then to supper and bed, having not had time to make up my accounts of this month at this very day, but will in a day or two, and pay my forfeit for not doing it, though business hath most hindered me. The month shuts up only with great desires of peace in all of us, and a belief that we shall have a peace, in most people, if a peace can be had on any terms, for there is a necessity of it; for we cannot go on with the war, and our masters are afraid to come to depend upon the good will of the Parliament any more, as I do hear. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Angling with a minikin, a gut-string varnished over Better now than never Bring me a periwig, but it was full of nits Buying up of goods in case there should be war For I will not be inward with him that is open to another He is a man of no worth in the world but compliment History of this day's growth, we cannot tell the truth I love the treason I hate the traitor King of France did think other princes fit for nothing My wife will keep to one another and let the world go hang No man knowing what to do, whether to sell or buy Not more than I expected, nor so much by a great deal as I ought Now above six months since (smoke from the cellars) Reparation for what we had embezzled Uncertainty of all history Whatever I do give to anybody else, I shall give her 
4175	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1667 April 1st. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes in his coach, set him down at the Treasurer's Office in Broad-streete, and I in his coach to White Hall, and there had the good fortune to walk with Sir W. Coventry into the garden, and there read our melancholy letter to the Duke of York, which he likes. And so to talk: and he flatly owns that we must have a peace, for we cannot set out a fleete; and, to use his own words, he fears that we shall soon have enough of fighting in this new way, which we have thought on for this year. He bemoans the want of money, and discovers himself jealous that Sir G. Carteret do not look after, or concern himself for getting, money as he used to do, and did say it is true if Sir G. Carteret would only do his work, and my Lord Treasurer would do his own, Sir G. Carteret hath nothing to do to look after money, but if he will undertake my Lord Treasurer's work to raise money of the Bankers, then people must expect that he will do it, and did further say, that he [Carteret] and my Lord Chancellor do at this very day labour all they can to villify this new way of raising money, and making it payable, as it now is, into the Exchequer; and expressly said that in pursuance hereof, my Lord Chancellor hath prevailed with the King, in the close of his last speech to the House, to say, that he did hope to see them come to give money as it used to be given, without so many provisos, meaning, as Sir W. Coventry says, this new method of the Act. While we were talking, there come Sir Thomas Allen with two ladies; one of which was Mrs. Rebecca Allen, that I knew heretofore, the clerk of the rope-yard's daughter at Chatham, who, poor heart! come to desire favour for her husband, who is clapt up, being a Lieutenant [Jowles], for sending a challenge to his Captain, in the most saucy, base language that could be writ. I perceive [Sir] W. Coventry is wholly resolved to bring him to punishment; for, "bear with this," says he, "and no discipline shall ever be expected." She in this sad condition took no notice of me, nor I of her. So away we to the Duke of York, and there in his closett [Sir] W. Coventry and I delivered the letter, which the Duke of York made not much of, I thought, as to laying it to heart, as the matter deserved, but did promise to look after the getting of money for us, and I believe Sir W. Coventry will add what force he can to it. I did speak to [Sir] W. Coventry about Balty's warrant, which is ready, and about being Deputy Treasurer, which he very readily and friendlily agreed to, at which I was glad, and so away and by coach back to Broad-streete to Sir G. Carteret's, and there found my brother passing his accounts, which I helped till dinner, and dined there, and many good stories at dinner, among others about discoveries of murder, and Sir J. Minnes did tell of the discovery of his own great-grandfather's murder, fifteen years after he was murdered. Thence, after dinner, home and by water to Redriffe, and walked (fine weather) to Deptford, and there did business and so back again, walked, and pleased with a jolly femme that I saw going and coming in the way, which je could avoir been contented pour avoir staid with if I could have gained acquaintance con elle, but at such times as these I am at a great loss, having not confidence, no alcune ready wit. So home and to the office, where late, and then home to supper and bed. This evening Mrs. Turner come to my office, and did walk an hour with me in the garden, telling me stories how Sir Edward Spragge hath lately made love to our neighbour, a widow, Mrs. Hollworthy, who is a woman of estate, and wit and spirit, and do contemn him the most, and sent him away with the greatest scorn in the world; she tells me also odd stories how the parish talks of Sir W. Pen's family, how poorly they clothe their daughter so soon after marriage, and do say that Mr. Lowther was married once before, and some such thing there hath been, whatever the bottom of it is. But to think of the clatter they make with his coach, and his owne fine cloathes, and yet how meanly they live within doors, and nastily, and borrowing everything of neighbours is a most shitten thing. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and much troubled, but little business done for want of money, which makes me mighty melancholy. At noon home to dinner, and Mr. Deane with me, who hath promised me a very fine draught of the Rupert, which he will make purposely for me with great perfection, which I will make one of the beautifullest things that ever was seen of the kind in the world, she being a ship that will deserve it. Then to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and in the evening weary home and there to sing, but vexed with the unreadiness of the girle's voice to learn the latter part of my song, though I confess it is very hard, half notes. So to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there did receive the Duke's order for Balty's receiving of the contingent money to be paymaster of it, and it pleases me the more for that it is but L1500, which will be but a little sum for to try his ability and honesty in the disposing of, and so I am the willinger to trust and pass my word for him therein. By and by up to the Duke of York, where our usual business, and among other things I read two most dismal letters of the straits we are in (from Collonell Middleton and Commissioner Taylor) that ever were writ in the world, so as the Duke of York would have them to shew the King, and to every demand of money, whereof we proposed many and very pressing ones, Sir G. Carteret could make no answer but no money, which I confess made me almost ready to cry for sorrow and vexation, but that which was the most considerable was when Sir G. Carteret did say that he had no funds to raise money on; and being asked by Sir W. Coventry whether the eleven months' tax was not a fund, and he answered, "No, that the bankers would not lend money upon it." Then Sir W. Coventry burst out and said he did supplicate his Royal Highness, and would do the same to the King, that he would remember who they were that did persuade the King from parting with the Chimney-money to the Parliament, and taking that in lieu which they would certainly have given, and which would have raised infallibly ready money; meaning the bankers and the farmers of the Chimney-money, whereof Sir, G. Carteret, I think, is one; saying plainly, that whoever did advise the King to that, did, as much as in them lay, cut the King's throat, and did wholly betray him; to which the Duke of York did assent; and remembered that the King did say again and again at the time, that he was assured, and did fully believe, the money would be raised presently upon a land-tax. This put as all into a stound; and Sir W. Coventry went on to declare, that he was glad he was come to have so lately concern in the Navy as he hath, for he cannot now give any good account of the Navy business; and that all his work now was to be able to provide such orders as would justify his Royal Highness in the business, when it shall be called to account; and that he do do, not concerning himself whether they are or can be performed, or no; and that when it comes to be examined, and falls on my Lord Treasurer, he cannot help it, whatever the issue of it shall be. Hereupon Sir W. Batten did pray him to keep also by him all our letters that come from the office that may justify us, which he says he do do, and, God knows, it is an ill sign when we are once to come to study how to excuse ourselves. It is a sad consideration, and therewith we broke up, all in a sad posture, the most that ever I saw in my life. One thing more Sir W. Coventry did say to the Duke of York, when I moved again, that of about L9000 debt to Lanyon, at Plymouth, he might pay L3700 worth of prize-goods, that he bought lately at the candle, out of this debt due to him from the King; and the Duke of York, and Sir G: Carteret, and Lord Barkeley, saying, all of them, that my Lord Ashly would not be got to yield to it, who is Treasurer of the Prizes, Sir W. Coventry did plainly desire that it might be declared whether the proceeds of the prizes were to go to the helping on of the war, or no; and, if it were, how then could this be denied? which put them all into another stound; and it is true, God forgive us! Thence to the chappell, and there, by chance, hear that Dr. Crew is to preach; and so into the organ-loft, where I met Mr. Carteret, and my Lady Jemimah, and Sir Thomas Crew's two daughters, and Dr. Childe played; and Dr. Crew did make a very pretty, neat, sober, honest sermon; and delivered it very readily, decently, and gravely, beyond his years: so as I was exceedingly taken with it, and I believe the whole chappell, he being but young; but his manner of his delivery I do like exceedingly. His text was, "But seeke ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." Thence with my Lady to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, and so up into the house, and there do hear that the Dutch letters are come, and say that the Dutch have ordered a passe to be sent for our Commissioners, and that it is now upon the way, coming with a trumpeter blinded, as is usual. But I perceive every body begins to doubt the success of the treaty, all their hopes being only that if it can be had on any terms, the Chancellor will have it; for he dare not come before a Parliament, nor a great many more of the courtiers, and the King himself do declare he do not desire it, nor intend it but on a strait; which God defend him from! Here I hear how the King is not so well pleased of this marriage between the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart, as is talked; and that he [the Duke] by a wile did fetch her to the Beare, at the Bridge-foot, where a coach was ready, and they are stole away into Kent, without the King's leave; and that the King hath said he will never see her more; but people do think that it is only a trick. This day I saw Prince Rupert abroad in the Vane-room, pretty well as he used to be, and looks as well, only something appears to be under his periwigg on the crown of his head. So home by water, and there find my wife gone abroad to her tailor's, and I dined alone with W. Hewer, and then to the office to draw up a memorial for the Duke of York this afternoon at the Council about Lanyon's business. By and by we met by appointment at the office upon a reference to Carcasses business to us again from the Duke of York, but a very confident cunning rogue we have found him at length. He carried himself very uncivilly to Sir W. Batten this afternoon, as heretofore, and his silly Lord [Bruncker] pleaded for him, but all will not nor shall not do for ought he shall give, though I love the man as a man of great parts and ability. Thence to White Hall by water (only asking Betty Michell by the way how she did), and there come too late to do any thing at the Council. So by coach to my periwigg maker's and tailor's, and so home, where I find my wife with her flageolet master, which I wish she would practise, and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Batten's, and then to Sir W. Pen's, talking and spending time in vain a little while, and then home up to my chamber, and so to supper and to bed, vexed at two or three things, viz. that my wife's watch proves so bad as it do; the ill state of the office; and Kingdom's business; at the charge which my mother's death for mourning will bring me when all paid. 4th. Up, and going down found Jervas the barber with a periwigg which I had the other day cheapened at Westminster, but it being full of nits, as heretofore his work used to be, I did now refuse it, having bought elsewhere. So to the office till noon, busy, and then (which I think I have not done three times in my life) left the board upon occasion of a letter of Sir W. Coventry, and meeting Balty at my house I took him with me by water, and to the Duke of Albemarle to give him an account of the business, which was the escaping of some soldiers for the manning of a few ships now going out with Harman to the West Indies, which is a sad consideration that at the very beginning of the year and few ships abroad we should be in such want of men that they do hide themselves, and swear they will not go to be killed and have no pay. I find the Duke of Albemarle at dinner with sorry company, some of his officers of the Army; dirty dishes, and a nasty wife at table, and bad meat, of which I made but an ill dinner. Pretty to hear how she talked against Captain Du Tell, the Frenchman, that the Prince and her husband put out the last year; and how, says she, the Duke of York hath made him, for his good services, his Cupbearer; yet he fired more shot into the Prince's ship, and others of the King's ships, than of the enemy. And the Duke of Albemarle did confirm it, and that somebody in the fight did cry out that a little Dutchman, by his ship, did plague him more than any other; upon which they were going to order him to be sunk, when they looked and found it was Du Tell, who, as the Duke of Albemarle says, had killed several men in several of our ships. He said, but for his interest, which he knew he had at Court, he had hanged him at the yard's-arm, without staying for a Court-martiall. One Colonel Howard, at the table, magnified the Duke of Albemarle's fight in June last, as being a greater action than ever was done by Caesar. The Duke of Albemarle, did say it had been no great action, had all his number fought, as they should have done, to have beat the Dutch; but of his 55 ships, not above 25 fought. He did give an account that it was a fight he was forced to: the Dutch being come in his way, and he being ordered to the buoy of the Nore, he could not pass by them without fighting, nor avoid them without great disadvantage and dishonour; and this Sir G. Carteret, I afterwards giving him an account of what he said, says that it is true, that he was ordered up to the Nore. But I remember he said, had all his captains fought, he would no more have doubted to have beat the Dutch, with all their number, than to eat the apple that lay on his trencher. My Lady Duchesse, among other things, discoursed of the wisdom of dividing the fleete; which the General said nothing to, though he knows well that it come from themselves in the fleete, and was brought up hither by Sir Edward Spragge. Colonel Howard, asking how the prince did, the Duke of Albemarle answering, "Pretty well;" the other replied, "But not so well as to go to sea again."--"How!" says the Duchess, "what should he go for, if he were well, for there are no ships for him to command? And so you have brought your hogs to a fair market," said she. [It was pretty to hear the Duke of Albemarle himself to wish that they would come on our ground, meaning the French, for that he would pay them, so as to make them glad to go back to France again; which was like a general, but not like an admiral.] One at the table told an odd passage in this late plague: that at Petersfield, I think, he said, one side of the street had every house almost infected through the town, and the other, not one shut up. Dinner being done, I brought Balty to the Duke of Albemarle to kiss his hand and thank him far his kindness the last year to him, and take leave of him, and then Balty and I to walk in the Park, and, out of pity to his father, told him what I had in my thoughts to do for him about the money--that is, to make him Deputy Treasurer of the fleete, which I have done by getting Sir G. Carteret's consent, and an order from the Duke of York for L1500 to be paid to him. He promises the whole profit to be paid to my wife, for to be disposed of as she sees fit, for her father and mother's relief. So mightily pleased with our walk, it being mighty pleasant weather, I back to Sir G. Carteret's, and there he had newly dined, and talked, and find that he do give every thing over for lost, declaring no money to be raised, and let Sir W. Coventry name the man that persuaded the King to take the Land Tax on promise, of raising present money upon it. He will, he says, be able to clear himself enough of it. I made him merry, with telling him how many land-admirals we are to have this year: Allen at Plymouth, Holmes at Portsmouth, Spragge for Medway, Teddiman at Dover, Smith to the Northward, and Harman to the Southward. He did defend to me Sir W. Coventry as not guilty of the dividing of the fleete the last year, and blesses God, as I do, for my Lord Sandwich's absence, and tells me how the King did lately observe to him how they have been particularly punished that were enemies to my Lord Sandwich. Mightily pleased I am with his family, and my Lady Carteret was on the bed to-day, having been let blood, and tells me of my Lady Jemimah's being big-bellied. Thence with him to my Lord Treasurer's, and there walked during Council sitting with Sir Stephen Fox, talking of the sad condition of the King's purse, and affairs thereby; and how sad the King's life must be, to pass by his officers every hour, that are four years behind-hand unpaid. My Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] I met with there, and fell into talk with him on the same thing, wishing to God that it might be remedied, to which he answered, with an oath, that it was as easy to remedy it as anything in the world; saying, that there is himself and three more would venture their carcasses upon it to pay all the King's debts in three years, had they the managing his revenue, and putting L300,000 in his purse, as a stock. But, Lord! what a thing is this to me, that do know how likely a man my Lord Barkeley of all the world is, to do such a thing as this. Here I spoke with Sir W. Coventry, who tells me plainly that to all future complaints of lack of money he will answer but with the shrug of his shoulder; which methought did come to my heart, to see him to begin to abandon the King's affairs, and let them sink or swim, so he do his owne part, which I confess I believe he do beyond any officer the King hath, but unless he do endeavour to make others do theirs, nothing will be done. The consideration here do make me go away very sad, and so home by coach, and there took up my wife and Mercer, who had been to-day at White Hall to the Maundy, [The practice of giving alms on Maundy Thursday to poor men and women equal in number to the years of the sovereign's age is a curious survival in an altered form of an old custom. The original custom was for the king to wash the feet of twelve poor persons, and to give them a supper in imitation of Christ's last supper and his washing of the Apostles' feet. James II. was the last sovereign to perform the ceremony in person, but it was performed by deputy so late as 1731. The Archbishop of York was the king's deputy on that occasion. The institution has passed through the various stages of feet washing with a supper, the discontinuance of the feet washing, the substitution of a gift of provisions for the supper, and finally the substitution of a gift of money for the provisions. The ceremony took place at the Chapel Royal, Whitehall; but it is now held at Westminster Abbey. Maundy is derived from the Latin word 'maudatum', which commences the original anthem sung during the ceremony, in reference to Christ's command] it being Maundy Thursday; but the King did not wash the poor people's feet himself, but the Bishop of London did it for him, but I did not see it, and with them took up Mrs. Anne Jones at her mother's door, and so to take the ayre to Hackney, where good neat's tongue, and things to eat and drink, and very merry, the weather being mighty pleasant; and here I was told that at their church they have a fair pair of organs, which play while the people sing, which I am mighty glad of, wishing the like at our church at London, and would give L50 towards it. So very pleasant, and hugging of Mercer in our going home, we home, and then to the office to do a little business, and so to supper at home and to bed. 5th. Up, and troubled with Mr. Carcasse's coming to speak with me, which made me give him occasion to fall into a heat, and he began to be ill-mannered to me, which made me angry. He gone, I to Sir W. Pen about the business of Mrs. Turner's son to keep his ship in employment, but so false a fellow as Sir W. Pen is I never did nor hope shall ever know again. So to the office, and there did business, till dinnertime, and then home to dinner, wife and I alone, and then down to the Old Swan, and drank with Betty and her husband, but no opportunity para baiser la. So to White Hall to the Council chamber, where I find no Council held till after the holidays. So to Westminster Hall, and there bought a pair of snuffers, and saw Mrs. Howlett after her sickness come to the Hall again. So by coach to the New Exchange and Mercer's and other places to take up bills for what I owe them, and to Mrs. Pierce, to invite her to dinner with us on Monday, but staid not with her. In the street met with Mr. Sanchy, my old acquaintance at Cambridge, reckoned a great minister here in the City; and by Sir Richard Ford particularly, which I wonder at; for methinks, in his talk, he is but a mean man. I set him down in Holborne, and I to the Old Exchange, and there to Sir Robert Viner's, and made up my accounts there, to my great content; but I find they do not keep them so regularly as, to be able to do it easily, and truly, and readily, nor would it have been easily stated by any body on my behalf but myself, several things being to be recalled to memory, which nobody else could have done, and therefore it is fully necessary for me to even accounts with these people as often as I can. So to the 'Change, and there met with Mr. James Houblon, but no hopes, as he sees, of peace whatever we pretend, but we shall be abused by the King of France. Then home to the office, and busy late, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Young was talking about the building of the City again; and he told me that those few churches that are to be new built are plainly not chosen with regard to the convenience of the City; they stand a great many in a cluster about Cornhill; but that all of them are either in the gift of the Lord Archbishop, or Bishop of London, or Lord Chancellor, or gift of the City. Thus all things, even to the building of churches, are done in this world! And then he says, which I wonder at, that I should not in all this time see, that Moorefields have houses two stories high in them, and paved streets, the City having let leases for seven years, which he do conclude will be very much to the hindering the building of the City; but it was considered that the streets cannot be passable in London till a whole street be built; and several that had got ground of the City for charity, to build sheds on, had got the trick presently to sell that for L60, which did not cost them L20 to put up; and so the City, being very poor in stock, thought it as good to do it themselves, and therefore let leases for seven years of the ground in Moorefields; and a good deal of this money, thus advanced, hath been employed for the enabling them to find some money for Commissioner Taylor, and Sir W. Batten, towards the charge of "The Loyall London," or else, it is feared, it had never been paid. And Taylor having a bill to pay wherein Alderman Hooker was concerned it was his invention to find out this way of raising money, or else this had not been thought on. So home to supper and to bed. This morning come to me the Collectors for my Pollmoney; for which I paid for my title as Esquire and place of Clerk of Acts, and my head and wife's, and servants' and their wages, L40 17s; and though this be a great deal, yet it is a shame I should pay no more; that is, that I should not be assessed for my pay, as in the Victualling business and Tangier; and for my money, which, of my own accord, I had determined to charge myself with L1000 money, till coming to the Vestry, and seeing nobody of our ablest merchants, as Sir Andrew Rickard, to do it, I thought it not decent for me to do it, nor would it be thought wisdom to do it unnecessarily, but vain glory. 6th. Up, and betimes in the morning down to the Tower wharfe, there to attend the shipping of soldiers, to go down to man some ships going out, and pretty to see how merrily some, and most go, and how sad others--the leave they take of their friends, and the terms that some wives, and other wenches asked to part with them: a pretty mixture. So to the office, having staid as long as I could, and there sat all the morning, and then home at noon to dinner, and then abroad, Balty with me, and to White Hall, by water, to Sir G. Carteret, about Balty's L1500 contingent money for the fleete to the West Indys, and so away with him to the Exchange, and mercers and drapers, up and down, to pay all my scores occasioned by this mourning for my mother; and emptied a L50 bag, and it was a joy to me to see that I am able to part with such a sum, without much inconvenience; at least, without any trouble of mind. So to Captain Cocke's to meet Fenn, to talk about this money for Balty, and there Cocke tells me that he is confident there will be a peace, whatever terms be asked us, and he confides that it will take because the French and Dutch will be jealous one of another which shall give the best terms, lest the other should make the peace with us alone, to the ruin of the third, which is our best defence, this jealousy, for ought I at present see. So home and there very late, very busy, and then home to supper and to bed, the people having got their house very clean against Monday's dinner. 7th (Easter day). Up, and when dressed with my wife (in mourning for my mother) to church both, where Mr. Mills, a lazy sermon. Home to dinner, wife and I and W. Hewer, and after dinner I by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret's, there to talk about Balty's money, and did present Balty to him to kiss his hand, and then to walk in the Parke, and heard the Italian musique at the Queen's chapel, whose composition is fine, but yet the voices of eunuchs I do not like like our women, nor am more pleased with it at all than with English voices, but that they do jump most excellently with themselves and their instrument, which is wonderful pleasant; but I am convinced more and more, that, as every nation has a particular accent and tone in discourse, so as the tone of one not to agree with or please the other, no more can the fashion of singing to words, for that the better the words are set, the more they take in of the ordinary tone of the country whose language the song speaks, so that a song well composed by an Englishman must be better to an Englishman than it can be to a stranger, or than if set by a stranger in foreign words. Thence back to White Hall, and there saw the King come out of chapel after prayers in the afternoon, which he is never at but after having received the Sacrament: and the Court, I perceive, is quite out of mourning; and some very fine; among others, my Lord Gerard, in a very rich vest and coat. Here I met with my Lord Bellasses: and it is pretty to see what a formal story he tells me of his leaving, his place upon the death of my Lord Cleveland, by which he is become Captain of the Pensioners; and that the King did leave it to him to keep the other or take this; whereas, I know the contrary, that they had a mind to have him away from Tangier. He tells me he is commanded by the King to go down to the Northward to satisfy the Deputy Lieutenants of Yorkshire, who have desired to lay down their commissions upon pretence of having no profit by their places but charge, but indeed is upon the Duke of Buckingham's being under a cloud (of whom there is yet nothing heard), so that the King is apprehensive of their discontent, and sends him to pacify them, and I think he is as good a dissembler as any man else, and a fine person he is for person, and proper to lead the Pensioners, but a man of no honour nor faith I doubt. So to Sir G. Carteret's again to talk with him about Balty's money, and wrote a letter to Portsmouth about part of it, and then in his coach, with his little daughter Porpot (as he used to nickname her), and saw her at home, and her maid, and another little gentlewoman, and so I walked into Moore Fields, and, as is said, did find houses built two stories high, and like to stand; and it must become a place of great trade, till the City be built; and the street is already paved as London streets used to be, which is a strange, and to mean unpleasing sight. So home and to my chamber about sending an express to Portsmouth about Balty's money, and then comes Mrs. Turner to enquire after her son's business, which goes but bad, which led me to show her how false Sir W. Pen is to her, whereupon she told me his obligations to her, and promises to her, and how a while since he did show himself dissatisfied in her son's coming to the table and applying himself to me, which is a good nut, and a nut I will make use of. She gone I to other business in my chamber, and then to supper and to bed. The Swede's Embassadors and our Commissioners are making all the haste they can over to the treaty for peace, and I find at Court, and particularly Lord Bellasses, says there will be a peace, and it is worth remembering what Sir W. Coventry did tell me (as a secret though) that whereas we are afeard Harman's fleete to the West Indys will not be got out before the Dutch come and block us up, we shall have a happy pretext to get out our ships under pretence of attending the Embassadors and Commissioners, which is a very good, but yet a poor shift. 8th. Up, and having dressed myself, to the office a little, and out, expecting to have seen the pretty daughter of the Ship taverne at the hither end of Billiter Lane (whom I never yet have opportunity to speak to). I in there to drink my morning draught of half a pint of Rhenish wine; but a ma doleur elle and their family are going away thence, and a new man come to the house. So I away to the Temple, to my new. bookseller's; and there I did agree for Rycaut's late History of the Turkish Policy, which costs me 55s.; whereas it was sold plain before the late fire for 8s., and bound and coloured as this is for 20s.; for I have bought it finely bound and truly coloured, all the figures, of which there was but six books done so, whereof the King and Duke of York, and Duke of Monmouth, and Lord Arlington, had four. The fifth was sold, and I have bought the sixth. So to enquire out Mrs. Knipp's new lodging, but could not, but do hear of her at the Playhouse, where she was practising, and I sent for her out by a porter, and the jade come to me all undressed, so cannot go home to my house to dinner, as I had invited her, which I was not much troubled at, because I think there is a distance between her and Mrs. Pierce, and so our company would not be so pleasant. So home, and there find all things in good readiness for a good dinner, and here unexpectedly I find little Mis. Tooker, whom my wife loves not from the report of her being already naught; however, I do shew her countenance, and by and by come my guests, Dr. Clerke and his wife, and Mrs. Worshipp, and her daughter; and then Mr. Pierce and his wife, and boy, and Betty; and then I sent for Mercer; so that we had, with my wife and I, twelve at table, and very good and pleasant company, and a most neat and excellent, but dear dinner; but, Lord! to see with what envy they looked upon all my fine plate was pleasant; for I made the best shew I could, to let them understand me and my condition, to take down the pride of Mrs. Clerke, who thinks herself very great. We sat long, and very merry, and all things agreeable; and, after dinner, went out by coaches, thinking to have seen a play, but come too late to both houses, and then they had thoughts of going abroad somewhere; but I thought all the charge ought not to be mine, and therefore I endeavoured to part the company, and so ordered it to set them all down at Mrs. Pierces; and there my wife and I and Mercer left them in good humour, and we three to the King's house, and saw the latter end of the "Surprisall," a wherein was no great matter, I thought, by what I saw there. Thence away to Polichinello, and there had three times more sport than at the play, and so home, and there the first night we have been this year in the garden late, we three and our Barker singing very well, and then home to supper, and so broke up, and to bed mightily pleased with this day's pleasure. 9th. Up. and to the office a while, none of my fellow officers coming to sit, it being holiday, and so towards noon I to the Exchange, and there do hear mighty cries for peace, and that otherwise we shall be undone; and yet I do suspect the badness of the peace we shall make. Several do complain of abundance of land flung up by tenants out of their hands for want of ability to pay their rents; and by name, that the Duke of Buckingham hath L6000 so flung up. And my father writes, that Jasper Trice, upon this pretence of his tenants' dealing with him, is broke up housekeeping, and gone to board with his brother, Naylor, at Offord; which is very sad. So home to dinner, and after dinner I took coach and to the King's house, and by and by comes after me my wife with W. Hewer and his mother and Barker, and there we saw "The Tameing of a Shrew," which hath some very good pieces in it, but generally is but a mean play; and the best part, "Sawny," [This play was entitled "Sawney the Scot, or the Taming of a Shrew," and consisted of an alteration of Shakespeare's play by John Lacy. Although it had long been popular it was not printed until 1698. In the old "Taming of a Shrew" (1594), reprinted by Thomas Amyot for the Shakespeare Society in 1844, the hero's servant is named Sander, and this seems to have given the hint to Lacy, when altering Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew," to foist a 'Scotsman into the action. Sawney was one of Lacy's favourite characters, and occupies a prominent position in Michael Wright's picture at Hampton Court. Evelyn, on October 3rd, 1662, "visited Mr. Wright, a Scotsman, who had liv'd long at Rome, and was esteem'd a good painter," and he singles out as his best picture, "Lacy, the famous Roscius, or comedian, whom he has painted in three dresses, as a gallant, a Presbyterian minister, and a Scotch Highlander in his plaid." Langbaine and Aubrey both make the mistake of ascribing the third figure to Teague in "The Committee;" and in spite of Evelyn's clear statement, his editor in a note follows them in their blunder. Planche has reproduced the picture in his "History of Costume" (Vol. ii., p. 243).] done by Lacy, hath not half its life, by reason of the words, I suppose, not being understood, at least by me. After the play was done, as I come so I went away alone, and had a mind to have taken out Knipp to have taken the ayre with her, and to that end sent a porter in to her that she should take a coach and come to me to the Piatza in Covent Garden, where I waited for her, but was doubtful I might have done ill in doing it if we should be visti ensemble, sed elle was gone out, and so I was eased of my care, and therefore away to Westminster to the Swan, and there did baiser la little missa . . . . and drank, and then by water to the Old Swan, and there found Betty Michell sitting at the door, it being darkish. I staid and talked a little with her, but no once baiser la, though she was to my thinking at this time une de plus pretty mohers that ever I did voir in my vida, and God forgive me my mind did run sobre elle all the vespre and night and la day suivante. So home and to the office a little, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where he tells me how he hath found his lady's jewels again, which have been so long lost, and a servant imprisoned and arraigned, and they were in her closet under a china cup, where he hath servants will swear they did look in searching the house; but Mrs. Turner and I, and others, do believe that they were only disposed of by my Lady, in case she had died, to some friends of hers, and now laid there again. So home to supper, and to read the book I bought yesterday of the Turkish policy, which is a good book, well writ, and so owned by Dr. Clerke yesterday to me, commending it mightily to me for my reading as the only book of the subject that ever was writ, yet so designedly. So to bed. 10th. Up, and to my office a little, and then, in the garden, find Sir W. Pen; and he and I to Sir W. Batten, where he tells us news of the new disorders of Hogg and his men in taking out of 30 tons of wine out of a prize of ours, which makes us mad; and that, added to the unwillingness of the men to go longer abroad without money, do lead us to conclude not to keep her abroad any longer, of which I am very glad, for I do not like our doings with what we have already got, Sir W. Batten ordering the disposal of our wines and goods, and he leaves it to Morrice the cooper, who I take to be a cunning proud knave, so that I am very desirous to adventure no further. So away by water from the Old Swan to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's, with whom I staid a great while longer than I have done these many months, and had opportunity of talking with him, and he do declare himself troubled that he hath any thing left him to do in the Navy, and would be glad to part with his whole profits and concernments in it, his pains and care being wholly ineffectual during this lack of money; the expense growing infinite, the service not to be done, and discipline and order not to be kept, only from want of money. I begun to discourse with him the business of Tangier, which by the removal of my Lord Bellasses, is now to have a new Governor; and did move him, that at this season all the business of reforming the garrison might be considered, while nobody was to be offended; and I told him it is plain that we do overspend our revenue: that the place is of no more profit to the King than it was the first day, nor in itself of better credit; no more people of condition willing to live there, nor any thing like a place likely to turn his Majesty to account: that it hath been hitherto, and, for aught I see, likely only to be used as a job to do a kindness to some Lord, or he that can get to be Governor. Sir W. Coventry agreed with me, so as to say, that unless the King hath the wealth of the Mogul, he would be a beggar to have his businesses ordered in the manner they now are: that his garrisons must be made places only of convenience to particular persons that he hath moved the Duke of York in it; and that it was resolved to send no Governor thither till there had been Commissioners sent to put the garrison in order, so as that he that goes may go with limitations and rules to follow, and not to do as he please, as the rest have hitherto done. That he is not afeard to speak his mind, though to the displeasure of any man; and that I know well enough; but that, when it is come, as it is now, that to speak the truth in behalf of the King plainly do no good, but all things bore down by other measures than by what is best for the King, he hath no temptation to be perpetually fighting of battles, it being more easy to him do those terms to suffer things to go on without giving any man offence, than to have the same thing done, and he contract the displeasure of all the world, as he must do, that will be for the King. I did offer him to draw up my thoughts in this matter to present to the Duke of York, which he approved of, and I do think to do it. So away, and by coach going home saw Sir G. Carteret going towards White Hall. So 'light and by water met him, and with him to the King's little chapel; and afterwards to see the King heal the King's Evil, wherein no pleasure, I having seen it before; and then to see him and the Queene and Duke of York and his wife, at dinner in the Queene's lodgings; and so with Sir G. Carteret to his lodgings to dinner; where very good company; and after dinner he and I to talk alone how things are managed, and to what ruin we must come if we have not a peace. He did tell me one occasion, how Sir Thomas Allen, which I took for a man of known courage and service on the King's side, was tried for his life in Prince Rupert's fleete, in the late times, for cowardice, and condemned to be hanged, and fled to Jersey; where Sir G. Carteret received him, not knowing the reason of his coming thither: and that thereupon Prince Rupert wrote to the Queen-Mother his dislike of Sir G. Carteret's receiving a person that stood condemned; and so Sir G. Carteret was forced to bid him betake himself to some other place. This was strange to me. Our Commissioners are preparing to go to Bredah to the treaty, and do design to be going the next week. So away by coach home, where there should have been a meeting about Carcasse's business, but only my Lord and I met, and so broke up, Carcasse having only read his answer to his charge, which is well writ, but I think will not prove to his advantage, for I believe him to be a very rogue. So home, and Balty and I to look Mr. Fenn at Sir G. Carteret's office in Broad Streete, and there missing him and at the banker's hard by, we home, and I down by water to Deptford Dockyard, and there did a little business, and so home back again all the way reading a little piece I lately bought, called "The Virtuoso, or the Stoicke," proposing many things paradoxical to our common opinions, wherein in some places he speaks well, but generally is but a sorry man. So home and to my chamber to enter my two last days' journall, and this, and then to supper and to bed. Blessed be God! I hear that my father is better and better, and will, I hope, live to enjoy some cheerful days more; but it is strange what he writes me, that Mr. Weaver, of Huntingdon, who was a lusty, likely, and but a youngish man, should be dead. 11th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and (which is now rare, he having not been with us twice I think these six months) Sir G. Carteret come to us upon some particular business of his office, and went away again. At noon I to the 'Change, and there hear by Mr. Hublon of the loss of a little East Indiaman, valued at about L20,000, coming home alone, and safe to within ten leagues of Scilly, and there snapt by a French Caper. Our merchants do much pray for peace; and he tells me that letters are come that the Dutch have stopped the fitting of their great ships, and the coming out of a fleete of theirs of 50 sayle, that was ready to come out; but I doubt the truth of it yet. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, by his invitation to his office, where my Lady was, and dined with him, and very merry and good people they are, when pleased, as any I know. After dinner I to the office, where busy till evening, and then with Balty to Sir G. Carteret's office, and there with Mr. Fenn despatched the business of Balty's L1500 he received for the contingencies of the fleete, whereof he received about L253 in pieces of eight at a goldsmith's there hard by, which did puzzle me and him to tell; for I could not tell the difference by sight, only by bigness, and that is not always discernible, between a whole and half-piece and quarterpiece. Having received this money I home with Balty and it, and then abroad by coach with my wife and set her down at her father's, and I to White Hall, thinking there to have seen the Duchess of Newcastle's coming this night to Court, to make a visit to the Queene, the King having been with her yesterday, to make her a visit since her coming to town. The whole story of this lady is a romance, and all she do is romantick. Her footmen in velvet coats, and herself in an antique dress, as they say; and was the other day at her own play, "The Humourous Lovers;" the most ridiculous thing that ever was wrote, but yet she and her Lord mightily pleased with it; and she, at the end, made her respects to the players from her box, and did give them thanks. There is as much expectation of her coming to Court, that so people may come to see her, as if it were the Queen of Sheba; but I lost my labour, for she did not come this night. So, meeting Mr. Brisband, he took me up to my Lady Jemimah's chamber, who is let blood to-day, and so there we sat and talked an hour, I think, very merry and one odd thing or other, and so away, and I took up my wife at her tailor's (whose wife is brought to bed, and my wife must be godmother), and so with much ado got a coach to carry us home, it being late, and so to my chamber, having little left to do at my office, my eyes being a little sore by reason of my reading a small printed book the other day after it was dark, and so to supper and to bed. It comes in my head to set down that there have been two fires in the City, as I am told for certain, and it is so, within this week. 12th. Up, and when ready, and to my office, to do a little business, and, coming homeward again, saw my door and hatch open, left so by Luce, our cookmayde, which so vexed me, that I did give her a kick in our entry, and offered a blow at her, and was seen doing so by Sir W. Pen's footboy, which did vex me to the heart, because I know he will be telling their family of it; though I did put on presently a very pleasant face to the boy, and spoke kindly to him, as one without passion, so as it may be he might not think I was angry, but yet I was troubled at it. So away by water to White Hall, and there did our usual business before the Duke of York; but it fell out that, discoursing of matters of money, it rose to a mighty heat, very high words arising between Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, the former in his passion saying that the other should have helped things if they were so bad; and the other answered, so he would, and things should have been better had he been Treasurer of the Navy. I was mightily troubled at this heat, and it will breed ill blood, I fear; but things are in that bad condition that I do daily expect when we shall all fly in one another's faces, when we shall be reduced, every one, to answer for himself. We broke up; and I soon after to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, where I find the poor man telling his lady privately, and she weeping. I went into them, and did seem, as indeed I was, troubled for this; and did give the best advice I could, which, I think, did please them: and they do apprehend me their friend, as indeed I am, for I do take the Vice-chamberlain for a most honest man. He did assure me that he was not, all expences and things paid, clear in estate L15,000 better than he was when the King come in; and that the King and Lord Chancellor did know that he was worth, with the debt the King owed him, L50,000, I think, he said, when the King come into England. I did pacify all I could, and then away by water home, there to write letters and things for the dispatch of Balty away this day to sea; and after dinner he did go, I having given him much good counsell; and I have great hopes that he will make good use of it, and be a good man, for I find him willing to take pains and very sober. He being gone, I close at my office all the afternoon getting off of hand my papers, which, by the late holidays and my laziness, were grown too many upon my hands, to my great trouble, and therefore at it as late as my eyes would give me leave, and then by water down to Redriffe, meaning to meet my wife, who is gone with Mercer, Barker, and the boy (it being most sweet weather) to walk, and I did meet with them, and walked back, and then by the time we got home it was dark, and we staid singing in the garden till supper was ready, and there with great pleasure. But I tried my girles Mercer and Barker singly one after another, a single song, "At dead low ebb," etc., and I do clearly find that as to manner of singing the latter do much the better, the other thinking herself as I do myself above taking pains for a manner of singing, contenting ourselves with the judgment and goodness of eare. So to supper, and then parted and to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and strange how the false fellow Commissioner. Pett was eager to have had Carcasses business brought on to-day that he might give my Lord Bruncker (who hates him, I am sure, and hath spoke as much against him to the King in my hearing as any man) a cast of his office in pleading for his man Carcasse, but I did prevent its being brought on to-day, and so broke up, and I home to dinner, and after dinner with a little singing with some pleasure alone with my poor wife, and then to the office, where sat all the afternoon till late at night, and then home to supper and to bed, my eyes troubling me still after candle-light, which troubles me. Wrote to my father, who, I am glad to hear, is at some ease again, and I long to have him in town, that I may see what can be done for him here; for I would fain do all I can that I may have him live, and take pleasure in my doing well in the world. This afternoon come Mrs. Lowther to me to the office, and there je did toker ses mammailles and did baiser them and su bocca, which she took fort willingly . . . . 14th (Lord's day). Up, and to read a little in my new History of Turkey, and so with my wife to church, and then home, where is little Michell and my pretty Betty and also Mercer, and very merry. A good dinner of roast beef. After dinner I away to take water at the Tower, and thence to Westminster, where Mrs. Martin was not at home. So to White Hall, and there walked up and down, and among other things visited Sir G. Carteret, and much talk with him, who is discontented, as he hath reason, to see how things are like to come all to naught, and it is very much that this resolution of having of country Admirals should not come to his eares till I told him the other day, so that I doubt who manages things. From him to Margaret's Church, and there spied Martin, and home with her . . . . . but fell out to see her expensefullness, having bought Turkey work, chairs, &c. By and by away home, and there took out my wife, and the two Mercers, and two of our mayds, Barker and Jane, and over the water to the Jamaica House, where I never was before, and there the girls did run for wagers over the bowling-green; and there, with much pleasure, spent little, and so home, and they home, and I to read with satisfaction in my book of Turkey, and so to bed. 15th. Lay long in bed, and by and by called up by Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that my Lord Middleton is for certain chosen Governor of Tangier; a man of moderate understanding, not covetous, but a soldier of fortune, and poor. Here comes Mr. Sanchy with an impertinent business to me of a ticket, which I put off. But by and by comes Dr. Childe by appointment, and sat with me all the morning making me bases and inward parts to several songs that I desired of him, to my great content. Then dined, and then abroad by coach, and I set him down at Hatton Garden, and I to the King's house by chance, where a new play: so full as I never saw it; I forced to stand all the while close to the very door till I took cold, and many people went away for want of room. The King, and Queene, and Duke of York and Duchesse there, and all the Court, and Sir W. Coventry. The play called "The Change of Crownes;" a play of Ned Howard's, the best that ever I saw at that house, being a great play and serious; only Lacy did act the country-gentleman come up to Court, who do abuse the Court with all the imaginable wit and plainness about selling of places, and doing every thing for money. The play took very much. Thence I to my new bookseller's, and there bought "Hooker's Polity," the new edition, and "Dugdale's History of the Inns of Court," of which there was but a few saved out of the fire, and Playford's new Catch-book, that hath a great many new fooleries in it. Then home, a little at the office, and then to supper and to bed, mightily pleased with the new play. 16th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, at noon home to dinner, and thence in haste to carry my wife to see the new play I saw yesterday, she not knowing it. But there, contrary to expectation, find "The Silent Woman." However, in; and there Knipp come into the pit. I took her by me, and here we met with Mrs. Horsley, the pretty woman--an acquaintance of Mercer's, whose house is burnt. Knipp tells me the King was so angry at the liberty taken by Lacy's, part to abuse him to his face, that he commanded they should act no more, till Moone went and got leave for them to act again, but not this play. The King mighty angry; and it was bitter indeed, but very true and witty. I never was more taken with a play than I am with this "Silent Woman," as old as it is, and as often as I have seen it. There is more wit in it than goes to ten new plays. Thence with my wife and Knipp to Mrs. Pierce's, and saw her closet again, and liked her picture. Thence took them all to the Cake-house, in Southampton Market-place, where Pierce told us the story how, in good earnest, [the King] is offended with the Duke of Richmond's marrying, and Mrs. Stewart's sending the King his jewels again. As she tells it, it is the noblest romance and example of a brave lady that ever I read in my life. Pretty to hear them talk of yesterday's play, and I durst not own to my wife to have seen it. Thence home and to [Sir] W. Batten!'s, where we have made a bargain for the ending of some of the trouble about some of our prizes for L1400. So home to look on my new books that I have lately bought, and then to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and with the two Sir Williams by coach to the Duke of York, who is come to St. James's, the first time we have attended him there this year. In our way, in Tower Street, we saw Desbrough walking on foot: who is now no more a prisoner, and looks well, and just as he used to do heretofore. When we come to the Duke of York's I was spoke to by Mr. Bruncker on behalf of Carcasse. Thence by coach to Sir G. Carteret's, in London, there to pass some accounts of his, and at it till dinner, and then to work again a little, and then go away, and my wife being sent for by me to the New Exchange I took her up, and there to the King's playhouse (at the door met with W. Joyce in the street, who come to our coach side, but we in haste took no notice of him, for which I was sorry afterwards, though I love not the fellow, yet for his wife's sake), and saw a piece of "Rollo," a play I like not much, but much good acting in it: the house very empty. So away home, and I a little to the office, and then to Sir Robert Viner's, and so back, and find my wife gone down by water to take a little ayre, and I to my chamber and there spent the night in reading my new book, "Origines Juridiciales," which pleases me. So to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to read more in the "Origines," and then to the office, where the news is strong that not only the Dutch cannot set out a fleete this year, but that the French will not, and that he hath given the answer to the Dutch Embassador, saying that he is for the King of England's, having an honourable peace, which, if true, is the best news we have had a good while. At the office all the morning, and there pleased with the little pretty Deptford woman I have wished for long, and she hath occasion given her to come again to me. After office I to the 'Change a little, and then home and to dinner, and then by coach with my wife to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Wits," a play I formerly loved, and is now corrected and enlarged: but, though I like the acting, yet I like not much in the play now. The Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry gone to Portsmouth, makes me thus to go to plays. So home, and to the office a little and then home, where I find Goodgroome, and he and I did sing several things over, and tried two or three grace parts in Playford's new book, my wife pleasing me in singing her part of the things she knew, which is a comfort to my very heart. So he being gone we to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office all the morning, doing a great deal of business. At noon to dinner betimes, and then my wife and I by coach to the Duke's house, calling at Lovett's, where I find my Lady Castlemayne's picture not yet done, which has lain so many months there, which vexes me, but I mean not to trouble them more after this is done. So to the playhouse, not much company come, which I impute to the heat of the weather, it being very hot. Here we saw "Macbeth," [See November 5th, 1664. Downes wrote: "The Tragedy of Macbeth, alter'd by Sir William Davenant; being drest in all it's finery, as new cloaths, new scenes, machines as flyings for the Witches; with all the singing and dancing in it. The first compos'd by Mr. Lock, the other by Mr. Channell and Mr. Joseph Preist; it being all excellently perform'd, being in the nature of an opera, it recompenc'd double the expence; it proves still a lasting play."] which, though I have seen it often, yet is it one of the best plays for a stage, and variety of dancing and musique, that ever I saw. So being very much pleased, thence home by coach with young Goodyer and his own sister, who offered us to go in their coach. A good-natured youth I believe he is, but I fear will mind his pleasures too much. She is pretty, and a modest, brown girle. Set us down, so my wife and I into the garden, a fine moonshine evening, and there talking, and among other things she tells me that she finds by W. Hewer that my people do observe my minding my pleasure more than usual, which I confess, and am ashamed of, and so from this day take upon me to leave it till Whit-Sunday. While we were sitting in the garden comes Mrs. Turner to advise about her son, the Captain, when I did give her the best advice I could, to look out for some land employment for him, a peace being at hand, when few ships will be employed and very many, and these old Captains, to be provided for. Then to other talk, and among the rest about Sir W. Pen's being to buy Wansted House of Sir Robert Brookes, but has put him off again, and left him the other day to pay for a dinner at a tavern, which she says our parishioner, Mrs. Hollworthy, talks of; and I dare be hanged if ever he could mean to buy that great house, that knows not how to furnish one that is not the tenth part so big. Thence I to my chamber to write a little, and then to bed, having got a mighty cold in my right eare and side of my throat, and in much trouble with it almost all the night. 20th. Up, with much pain in my eare and palate. To the office out of humour all the morning. At noon dined, and with my wife to the King's house, but there found the bill torn down and no play acted, and so being in the humour to see one, went to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Witts" again, which likes me better than it did the other day, having much wit in it. Here met with Mr. Rolt, who tells me the reason of no play to-day at the King's house. That Lacy had been committed to the porter's lodge for his acting his part in the late new play, and that being thence released he come to the King's house, there met with Ned Howard, the poet of the play, who congratulated his release; upon which Lacy cursed him as that it was the fault of his nonsensical play that was the cause of his ill usage. Mr. Howard did give him some reply; to which Lacy [answered] him, that he was more a fool than a poet; upon which Howard did give him a blow on the face with his glove; on which Lacy, having a cane in his hand, did give him a blow over the pate. Here Rolt and others that discoursed of it in the pit this afternoon did wonder that Howard did not run him through, he being too mean a fellow to fight with. But Howard did not do any thing but complain to the King of it; so the whole house is silenced, and the gentry seem to rejoice much at it, the house being become too insolent. Here were many fine ladies this afternoon at this house as I have at any time seen, and so after the play home and there wrote to my father, and then to walk in the garden with my wife, resolving by the grace of God to see no more plays till Whitsuntide, I having now seen a play every day this week till I have neglected my business, and that I am ashamed of, being found so much absent; the Duke of York and Sir W. Coventry having been out of town at Portsmouth did the more embolden me thereto. So home, and having brought home with me from Fenchurch Street a hundred of sparrowgrass,--[A form once so commonly used for asparagus that it has found its way into dictionaries.]--cost 18d. We had them and a little bit of salmon, which my wife had a mind to, cost 3s. So to supper, and my pain being somewhat better in my throat, we to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and John, a hackney coachman whom of late I have much used, as being formerly Sir W. Pen's coachman, coming to me by my direction to see whether I would use him to-day or no, I took him to our backgate to look upon the ground which is to be let there, where I have a mind to buy enough to build a coach-house and stable; for I have had it much in my thoughts lately that it is not too much for me now, in degree or cost, to keep a coach, but contrarily, that I am almost ashamed to be seen in a hackney, and therefore if I can have the conveniency, I will secure the ground at least till peace comes, that I do receive encouragement to keep a coach, or else that I may part with the ground again. The place I like very well, being close to my owne house, and so resolve to go about it, and so home and with my wife to church, and then to dinner, Mercer with us, with design to go to Hackney to church in the afternoon. So after dinner she and I sung "Suo Moro," which is one of the best pieces of musique to my thinking that ever I did hear in my life; then took coach and to Hackney church, where very full, and found much difficulty to get pews, I offering the sexton money, and he could not help me. So my wife and Mercer ventured into a pew, and I into another. A knight and his lady very civil to me when they come, and the like to my wife in hers, being Sir G. Viner and his lady--rich in jewells, but most in beauty--almost the finest woman that ever I saw. That which we went chiefly to see was the young ladies of the schools,--[Hackney was long famous for its boarding schools.]--whereof there is great store, very pretty; and also the organ, which is handsome, and tunes the psalm, and plays with the people; which is mighty pretty, and makes me mighty earnest to have a pair at our church, I having almost a mind to give them a pair, if they would settle a maintenance on them for it. I am mightily taken with them. So, church done, we to coach and away to Kingsland and Islington, and there eat and drank at the Old House, and so back, it raining a little, which is mighty welcome, it having not rained in many weeks, so that they say it makes the fields just now mighty sweet. So with great pleasure home by night. Set down Mercer, and I to my chamber, and there read a great deal in Rycaut's Turkey book with great pleasure, and so eat and to bed. My sore throat still troubling me, but not so much. This night I do come to full resolution of diligence for a good while, and I hope God will give me the grace and wisdom to perform it. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, my throat better, and so drest me, and to White Hall to see Sir W. Coventry, returned from Portsmouth, whom I am almost ashamed to see for fear he should have been told how often I have been at plays, but it is better to see him at first than afterward. So walked to the Old Swan and drank at Michell's, and then to White Hall and over the Park to St. James's to [Sir] W. Coventry, where well received, and good discourse. He seems to be sure of a peace; that the King of France do not intend to set out a fleete, for that he do design Flanders. Our Embassadors set out this week. Thence I over the Park to Sir G. Carteret, and after him by coach to the Lord Chancellor's house, the first time I have been therein; and it is very noble, and brave pictures of the ancient and present nobility, never saw better. Thence with him to London, mighty merry in the way. Thence home, and find the boy out of the house and office, and by and by comes in and hath been to Mercer's. I did pay his coat for him. Then to my chamber, my wife comes home with linen she hath been buying of. I then to dinner, and then down the river to Greenwich, and the watermen would go no further. So I turned them off, giving them nothing, and walked to Woolwich; there did some business, and met with Captain Cocke and back with him. He tells me our peace is agreed on; we are not to assist the Spanyard against the French for this year, and no restitution, and we are likely to lose Poleroone. [Among the State Papers is a document dated July 8th, 1667, in which we read: "At Breda, the business is so far advanced that the English have relinquished their pretensions to the ships Henry Bonaventure and Good Hope. The matter sticks only at Poleron; the States have resolved not to part with it, though the English should have a right to it" ("Calendar," 1667, p. 278).] I know not whether this be true or no, but I am for peace on any terms. He tells me how the King was vexed the other day for having no paper laid him at the Council-table, as was usual; and Sir Richard Browne did tell his Majesty he would call the person whose work it was to provide it: who being come, did tell his Majesty that he was but a poor man, and was out L400 or L500 for it, which was as much as he is worth; and that he cannot provide it any longer without money, having not received a penny since the King's coming in. So the King spoke to my Lord Chamberlain; and many such mementos the King do now-a-days meet withall, enough to make an ingenuous man mad. I to Deptford, and there scolded with a master for his ship's not being gone, and so home to the office and did business till my eyes are sore again, and so home to sing, and then to bed, my eyes failing me mightily: 23rd (St. George's-day). The feast being kept at White Hall, out of design, as it is thought, to make the best countenance we can to the Swede's Embassadors, before their leaving us to go to the treaty abroad, to shew some jollity. We sat at the office all the morning. Word is brought me that young Michell is come to call my wife to his wife's labour, and she went, and I at the office full of expectation what to hear from poor Betty Michell. This morning much to do with Sir W. Warren, all whose applications now are to Lord Bruncker, and I am against him now, not professedly, but apparently in discourse, and will be. At noon home to dinner, where alone, and after dinner to my musique papers, and by and by comes in my wife, who gives me the good news that the midwife and she alone have delivered poor Betty of a pretty girl, which I am mighty glad of, and she in good condition, my wife as well as I mightily pleased with it. Then to the office to do things towards the post, and then my wife and I set down at her mother's, and I up and down to do business, but did little; and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did hazer what I would con her, and then called my wife and to little Michell's, where we saw the little child, which I like mightily, being I allow very pretty, and asked her how she did, being mighty glad of her doing well, and so home to the office, and then to my chamber, and so to bed. 24th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Pen to St. James's, and there the Duke of York was preparing to go to some further ceremonies about the Garter, that he could give us no audience. Thence to Westminster Hall, the first day of the Term, and there joyed Mrs. Michell, who is mightily pleased with my wife's work yesterday, and so away to my barber's about my periwigg, and then to the Exchange, there to meet Fenn about some money to be borrowed of the office of the Ordnance to answer a great pinch. So home to dinner, and in the afternoon met by agreement (being put on it by Harry Bruncker's frighting us into a despatch of Carcasse's business) [Lord] Bruncker, T. Harvey, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and I (Sir W. Pen keeping out of the way still), where a great many high words from Bruncker, and as many from me and others to him, and to better purpose, for I think we have fortified ourselves to overthrow his man Carcasse, and to do no honour to him. We rose with little done but great heat, not to be reconciled I doubt, and I care not, for I will be on the right side, and that shall keep me: Thence by coach to Sir John Duncomb's' lodging in the Pell Mell,--[See November 8th, 1664]--in order to the money spoken of in the morning; and there awhile sat and discoursed.: and I find him that he is a very proper man for business, being very resolute and proud, and industrious. He told me what reformation they had made in the office of the Ordnance, taking away Legg's fees: [William Legge, eldest son of Edward Legge, sometime Vice-President of Munster, born 1609(?). He served under Maurice of Nassau and Gustavus Adolphus, and held the rank of colonel in the Royalist army. He closely attached himself to Prince Rupert, and was an active agent in affecting the reconciliation between that prince and his uncle Charles I. Colonel Legge distinguished himself in several actions, and was wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester; it was said that he would have "been executed if his wife had not contrived his escape from Coventry gaol in her own clothes." He was Groom of the Bedchamber to Charles I., and also to Charles II.; he held the offices of Master of the Armories and Lieutenant- General of the Ordnance. He refused honours (a knighthood from Charles I. and an earldom from Charles II.), but his eldest son George was created Baron Dartmouth in 1682. He died October 13th, 1672, at his house in the Minories, and was buried in] and have got an order that no Treasurer after him shall ever sit at the Board; and it is a good one: that no master of the Ordnance here shall ever sell a place. He tells me they have not paid any increase of price for any thing during this war, but in most have paid less; and at this day have greater stores than they know where to lay, if there should be peace, and than ever was any time this war. That they pay every man in course, and have notice of the disposal of every farthing. Every man that they owe money to has his share of every sum they receive; never borrowed all this war but L30,000 by the King's express command, but do usually stay till their assignments become payable in their own course, which is the whole mystery, that they have had assignments for a fifth part of whatever was assigned to the Navy. They have power of putting out and in of all officers; are going upon a building that will cost them L12,000; that they out of their stock of tallies have been forced to help the Treasurer of the Navy at this great pinch. Then to talk of newes: that he thinks the want of money hath undone the King, for the Parliament will never give the King more money without calling all people to account, nor, as he believes, will ever make war again, but they will manage it themselves: unless, which I proposed, he would visibly become a severer inspector into his own business and accounts, and that would gain upon the Parliament yet: which he confesses and confirms as the only lift to set him upon his legs, but says that it is not in his nature ever to do. He says that he believes but four men (such as he could name) would do the business of both offices, his and ours, and if ever the war were to be again it should be so, he believes. He told me to my face that I was a very good clerk, and did understand the business and do it very well, and that he would never desire a better. He do believe that the Parliament, if ever they meet, will offer some alterations to the King, and will turn some of us out, and I protest I think he is in the right that either they or the King will be advised to some regulations, and therefore I ought to beware, as it is easy for me to keep myself up if I will. He thinks that much of our misfortune hath been for want of an active Lord Treasurer, and that such a man as Sir W. Coventry would do the business thoroughly. This talk being over, comes his boy and tells us [Sir] W. Coventry is come in, and so he and I to him, and there told the difficulty of getting this money, and they did play hard upon Sir G. Carteret as a man moped and stunned, not knowing which way to turn himself. Sir W. Coventry cried that he was disheartened, and I do think that there is much in it, but Sir J. Duncomb do charge him with mighty neglect in the pursuing of his business, and that he do not look after it himself, but leaves it to Fenn, so that I do perceive that they are resolved to scheme at bringing the business into a better way of execution, and I think it needs, that is the truth of it. So I away to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings about this money, and contrary to expectation I find he hath prevailed with Legg on his own bond to lend him L2000, which I am glad of, but, poor man, he little sees what observations people do make upon his management, and he is not a man fit to be told what one hears. Thence by water at 10 at night from Westminster Bridge, having kissed little Frank, and so to the Old Swan, and walked home by moonshine, and there to my chamber a while, and supper and to bed. 25th. Received a writ from the Exchequer this morning of distrain for L70,000, which troubled me, though it be but, matter of form. To the office, where sat all the morning. At noon my wife being to Unthanke's christening, I to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, where merry, and the rather because we are like to come to some good end in another of our prizes. Thence by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and there being come too soon to the New Exchange, but did nothing, and back again, and there found my Lord Bruncker and T. Harvy, and walked in a room very merrily discoursing. By and by comes my Lord Ashly and tells us my Lord Treasurer is ill and cannot speak with us now. Thence away, Sir W. Pen and I and Mr. Lewes, who come hither after us, and Mr. Gawden in the last man's coach. Set me down by the Poultry, and I to Sir Robert Viner's, and there had my account stated and took it home to review. So home to the office, and there late writing out something, having been a little at Sir W. Batten's to talk, and there vexed to see them give order for Hogg's further abroad, and so home and to bed. 26th. Up, and by coach with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, and there saw the Duke of Albemarle, who is not well, and do grow crazy. Thence I to St. James's, to meet Sir G. Carteret, and did, and Lord Berkely, to get them (as we would have done the Duke of Albemarle) to the meeting of the Lords of Appeale in the business of one of our prizes. With them to the meeting of the Guinny Company, and there staid, and went with Lord Berkely. While I was waiting for him in the Matted Gallery, a young man was most finely working in Indian inke the great picture of the King and Queen sitting,--[Charles I. and Henrietta Maria.]--by Van Dyke; and did it very finely. Thence to Westminster Hall to hear our cause, but [it] did not come before them to-day, so went down and walked below in the Hall, and there met with Ned Pickering, who tells me the ill newes of his nephew Gilbert, who is turned a very rogue, and then I took a turn with Mr. Evelyn, with whom I walked two hours, till almost one of the clock: talking of the badness of the Government, where nothing but wickedness, and wicked men and women command the King: that it is not in his nature to gainsay any thing that relates to his pleasures; that much of it arises from the sickliness of our Ministers of State, who cannot be about him as the idle companions are, and therefore he gives way to the young rogues; and then, from the negligence of the Clergy, that a Bishop shall never be seen about him, as the King of France hath always: that the King would fain have some of the same gang to be Lord Treasurer, which would be yet worse, for now some delays are put to the getting gifts of the King, as that whore my Lady Byron, [Eleanor, daughter of Robert Needham, Viscount Kilmurrey, and widow of Peter Warburton, became in 1644 the second wife of John Byron, first Lord Byron. Died 1663.--B.] who had been, as he called it, the King's seventeenth whore abroad, did not leave him till she had got him to give her an order for L4000 worth of plate to be made for her; but by delays, thanks be to God! she died before she had it. He tells me mighty stories of the King of France, how great a prince he is. He hath made a code to shorten the law; he hath put out all the ancient commanders of castles that were become hereditary; he hath made all the fryers subject to the bishops, which before were only subject to Rome, and so were hardly the King's subjects, and that none shall become 'religieux' but at such an age, which he thinks will in a few, years ruin the Pope, and bring France into a patriarchate. He confirmed to me the business of the want of paper at the Council-table the other day, which I have observed; Wooly being to have found it, and did, being called, tell the King to his face the reason of it; and Mr. Evelyn tells me several of the menial servants of the Court lacking bread, that have not received a farthing wages since the King's coming in. He tells me the King of France hath his mistresses, but laughs at the foolery of our King, that makes his bastards princes, [Louis made his own bastards dukes and princes, and legitimatized them as much as he could, connecting them also by marriage with the real blood-royal.--B.] and loses his revenue upon them, and makes his mistresses his masters and the King of France did never grant Lavalliere [Louise Francoise de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere had four children by Louis XIV., of whom only two survived-Marie Anne Bourbon, called Mademoiselle de Blois, born in 1666, afterwards married to the Prince de Conti, and the Comte de Vermandois, born in 1667. In that year (the very year in which Evelyn was giving this account to Pepys), the Duchy of Vaujour and two baronies were created in favour of La Valliere, and her daughter, who, in the deed of creation, was legitimatized, and styled princess.--B.] any thing to bestow on others, and gives a little subsistence, but no more, to his bastards. He told me the whole story of Mrs. Stewart's going away from Court, he knowing her well; and believes her, up to her leaving the Court, to be as virtuous as any woman in the world: and told me, from a Lord that she told it to but yesterday, with her own mouth, and a sober man, that when the Duke of Richmond did make love to her, she did ask the King, and he did the like also; and that the King did not deny it, and [she] told this Lord that she was come to that pass as to resolve to have married any gentleman of L1500 a-year that would have had her in honour; for it was come to that pass, that she could not longer continue at Court without prostituting herself to the King, [Even at a much later time Mrs. Godolphin well resolved "not to talk foolishly to men, more especially THE KING,"--"be sure never to talk to THE KING" ("Life," by Evelyn). These expressions speak volumes as to Charles's character.--B.] whom she had so long kept off, though he had liberty more than any other had, or he ought to have, as to dalliance. [Evelyn evidently believed the Duchess of Richmond to be innocent; and his testimony, coupled with her own declaration, ought to weigh down all the scandal which Pepys reports from other sources.--B.] She told this Lord that she had reflected upon the occasion she had given the world to think her a bad woman, and that she had no way but to marry and leave the Court, rather in this way of discontent than otherwise, that the world might see that she sought not any thing but her honour; and that she will never come to live at Court more than when she comes to town to come to kiss the Queene her Mistress's hand: and hopes, though she hath little reason to hope, she can please her Lord so as to reclaim him, that they may yet live comfortably in the country on his estate. She told this Lord that all the jewells she ever had given her at Court, or any other presents, more than the King's allowance of L700 per annum out of the Privypurse for her clothes, were, at her first coming the King did give her a necklace of pearl of about L1100 and afterwards, about seven months since, when the King had hopes to have obtained some courtesy of her, the King did give her some jewells, I have forgot what, and I think a pair of pendants. The Duke of York, being once her Valentine, did give her a jewell of about L800; and my Lord Mandeville, her Valentine this year, a ring of about L300; and the King of France would have had her mother, who, he says, is one of the most cunning women in the world, to have let her stay in France, saying that he loved her not as a mistress, but as one that he could marry as well as any lady in France; and that, if she might stay, for the honour of his Court he would take care she should not repent. But her mother, by command of the Queen-mother, thought rather to bring her into England; and the King of France did give her a jewell: so that Mr. Evelyn believes she may be worth in jewells about L6000, and that that is all that she hath in the world: and a worthy woman; and in this hath done as great an act of honour as ever was done by woman. That now the Countesse Castlemayne do carry all before her: and among other arguments to prove Mrs. Stewart to have been honest to the last, he says that the King's keeping in still with my Lady Castlemayne do show it; for he never was known to keep two mistresses in his life, and would never have kept to her had he prevailed any thing with Mrs. Stewart. She is gone yesterday with her Lord to Cobham. He did tell me of the ridiculous humour of our King and Knights of the Garter the other day, who, whereas heretofore their robes were only to be worn during their ceremonies and service, these, as proud of their coats, did wear them all day till night, and then rode into the Parke with them on. Nay, and he tells me he did see my Lord Oxford and the Duke of Monmouth in a hackney-coach with two footmen in the Parke, with their robes on; which is a most scandalous thing, so as all gravity may be said to be lost among us. By and by we discoursed of Sir Thomas Clifford, whom I took for a very rich and learned man, and of the great family of that name. He tells me he is only a man of about seven-score pounds a-year, of little learning more than the law of a justice of peace, which he knows well: a parson's son, got to be burgess in a little borough in the West, and here fell into the acquaintance of my Lord Arlington, whose creature he is, and never from him; a man of virtue, and comely, and good parts enough; and hath come into his place with a great grace, though with a great skip over the heads of a great many, as Chichly and Duncum, and some Lords that did expect it. By the way, he tells me, that of all the great men of England there is none that endeavours more to raise those that he takes into favour than my Lord Arlington; and that, on that score, he is much more to be made one's patron than my Lord Chancellor, who never did, nor never will do, any thing, but for money! After having this long discourse we parted, about one of the clock, and so away by water home, calling upon Michell, whose wife and girle are pretty well, and I home to dinner, and after dinner with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York before council, where we all met at his closet and did the little business we had, and here he did tell us how the King of France is intent upon his design against Flanders, and hath drawn up a remonstrance of the cause of the war, and appointed the 20th of the next month for his rendezvous, and himself to prepare for the campaign the 30th, so that this, we are in hopes, will keep him in employment. Turenne is to be his general. Here was Carcasses business unexpectedly moved by him, but what was done therein appears in my account of his case in writing by itself. Certain newes of the Dutch being abroad on our coast with twenty-four great ships. This done Sir W. Batten and I back again to London, and in the way met my Lady Newcastle going with her coaches and footmen all in velvet: herself, whom I never saw before, as I have heard her often described, for all the town-talk is now-a-days of her extravagancies, with her velvetcap, her hair about her ears; many black patches, because of pimples about her mouth; naked-necked, without any thing about it, and a black just-au-corps. She seemed to me a very comely woman: but I hope to see more of her on Mayday. My mind is mightily of late upon a coach. At home, to the office, where late spending all the evening upon entering in long hand our late passages with Carcasse for memory sake, and so home in great pain in my back by the uneasiness of Sir W. Batten's coach driving hard this afternoon over the stones to prevent coming too late. So at night to supper in great pain, and to bed, where lay in great pain, not able to turn myself all night. 27th. Up with much pain, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, W. Hewer with us. This noon I got in some coals at 23s. per chaldron, a good hearing, I thank God-having not been put to buy a coal all this dear time, that during this war poor people have been forced to give 45s. and 50s., and L3. In the afternoon (my wife and people busy these late days, and will be for some time, making of shirts and smocks) to the office, where late, and then home, after letters, and so to supper and to bed, with much pleasure of mind, after having dispatched business. This afternoon I spent some time walking with Mr. Moore, in the garden, among other things discoursing of my Lord Sandwich's family, which he tells me is in a very bad condition, for want of money and management, my Lord's charging them with bills, and nobody, nor any thing provided to answer them. He did discourse of his hopes of being supplied with L1900 against a present bill from me, but I took no notice of it, nor will do it. It seems Mr. Sheply doubts his accounts are ill kept, and every thing else in the family out of order, which I am grieved to hear of. 28th (Lord's day). Lay long, my pain in my back being still great, though not so great as it was. However, up and to church, where a lazy sermon, and then home and to dinner, my wife and I alone and Barker. After dinner, by water--the day being mighty pleasant, and the tide serving finely, I up (reading in Boyle's book of colours), as high as Barne Elmes, and there took one turn alone, and then back to Putney Church, where I saw the girls of the schools, few of which pretty; and there I come into a pew, and met with little James Pierce, which I was much pleased at, the little rogue being very glad to see me: his master, Reader to the Church. Here was a good sermon and much company, but I sleepy, and a little out of order, for my hat falling down through a hole underneath the pulpit, which, however, after sermon, by a stick, and the helpe of the clerke, I got up again, and then walked out of the church with the boy, and then left him, promising him to get him a play another time. And so by water, the tide being with me again, down to Deptford, and there I walked down the Yard, Shish and Cox with me, and discoursed about cleaning of the wet docke, and heard, which I had before, how, when the docke was made, a ship of near 500 tons was there found; a ship supposed of Queene Elizabeth's time, and well wrought, with a great deal of stoneshot in her, of eighteen inches diameter, which was shot then in use: and afterwards meeting with Captain Perriman and Mr. Castle at Half-way Tree, they tell me of stoneshot of thirty-six inches diameter, which they shot out of mortarpieces. Thence walked to Half-way Tree, and there stopt and talk with Mr. Castle and Captain Perriman, and so to Redriffe and took boat again, and so home, and there to write down my Journall, and so to supper and to read, and so to bed, mightily pleased with my reading of Boyle's book of colours to-day, only troubled that some part of it, indeed the greatest part, I am not able to understand for want of study. My wife this night troubled at my leaving her alone so much and keeping her within doors, which indeed I do not well nor wisely in. 29th. Up, being visited very early by Creed newly come from Hinchingbrooke, who went thither without my knowledge, and I believe only to save his being taxed by the Poll Bill. I did give him no very good countenance nor welcome, but took occasion to go forth and walked (he with me) to St. Dunstan's, and thence I to Sir W. Coventry's, where a good while with him, and I think he pretty kind, but that the nature of our present condition affords not matter for either of us to be pleased with any thing. We discoursed of Carcasse, whose Lord, he tells me, do make complaints that his clerk should be singled out, and my Lord Berkeley do take his part. So he advises we would sum up all we have against him and lay it before the Duke of York; he condemned my Lord Bruncker. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there talked a little while about office business, and thence by coach home, in several places paying my debts in order to my evening my accounts this month, and thence by and by to White Hall again to Sir G. Carteret to dinner, where very good company and discourse, and I think it my part to keep in there now more than ordinary because of the probability of my Lord's coming soon home. Our Commissioners for the treaty set out this morning betimes down the river. Here I hear that the Duke of Cambridge, the Duke of York's son, is very sick; and my Lord Treasurer very bad of the stone, and hath been so some days. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I alone in his closet an hour or more talking of my Lord Sandwich's coming home, which, the peace being likely to be made here, he expects, both for my Lord's sake and his own (whose interest he wants) it will be best for him to be at home, where he will be well received by the King; he is sure of his service well accepted, though the business of Spain do fall by this peace. He tells me my Lord Arlington hath done like a gentleman by him in all things. He says, if my Lord [Sandwich] were here, he were the fittest man to be Lord Treasurer of any man in England; and he thinks it might be compassed; for he confesses that the King's matters do suffer through the inability of this man, who is likely to die, and he will propound him to the King. It will remove him from his place at sea, and the King will have a good place to bestow. He says to me, that he could wish, when my Lord comes, that he would think fit to forbear playing, as a thing below him, and which will lessen him, as it do my Lord St. Albans, in the King's esteem: and as a great secret tells me that he hath made a match for my Lord Hinchingbroke to a daughter of my Lord Burlington's, where there is a great alliance, L10,000 portion; a civil family, and relation to my Lord Chancellor, whose son hath married one of the daughters; and that my Lord Chancellor do take it with very great kindness, so that he do hold himself obliged by it. My Lord Sandwich hath referred it to my Lord Crew, Sir G. Carteret, and Mr. Montagu, to end it. My Lord Hinchingbroke and the lady know nothing yet of it. It will, I think, be very happy. Very glad of this discourse, I away mightily pleased with the confidence I have in this family, and so away, took up my wife, who was at her mother's, and so home, where I settled to my chamber about my accounts, both Tangier and private, and up at it till twelve at night, with good success, when news is brought me that there is a great fire in Southwarke: so we up to the leads, and then I and the boy down to the end of our, lane, and there saw it, it seeming pretty great, but nothing to the fire of London, that it made me think little of it. We could at that distance see an engine play--that is, the water go out, it being moonlight. By and by, it begun to slacken, and then I home and to bed. 30th. Up, and Mr. Madden come to speak with me, whom my people not knowing have made to wait long without doors, which vexed me. Then comes Sir John Winter to discourse with me about the forest of Deane, and then about my Lord Treasurer, and asking me whether, as he had heard, I had not been cut for the stone, I took him to my closet, and there shewed it to him, of which he took the dimensions and had some discourse of it, and I believe will shew my Lord Treasurer it. Thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, but little to do, and then to the 'Change, where for certain I hear, and the News book declares, a peace between France and Portugal. Met here with Mr. Pierce, and he tells me the Duke of Cambridge is very ill and full of spots about his body, that Dr. Frazier knows not what to think of it. Then home and to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon; we met about Sir W. Warren's business and accounts, wherein I do rather oppose than forward him, but not in declared terms, for I will not be at, enmity with him, but I will not have him find any friendship so good as mine. By and by rose and by water to White Hall, and then called my wife at Unthanke's. So home and to my chamber, to my accounts, and finished them to my heart's wishes and admiration, they being grown very intricate, being let alone for two months, but I brought them together all naturally, within a few shillings, but to my sorrow the Poll money I paid this month and mourning have made me L80 a worse man than at my last balance, so that I am worth now but L6700, which is yet an infinite mercy to me, for which God make me thankful. So late to supper, with a glad heart for the evening of my accounts so well, and so to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: As he called it, the King's seventeenth whore abroad He is not a man fit to be told what one hears I having now seen a play every day this week Ill sign when we are once to come to study how to excuse King is offended with the Duke of Richmond's marrying Mrs. Stewart's sending the King his jewels again Much difficulty to get pews, I offering the sexton money My people do observe my minding my pleasure more than usual My wife this night troubled at my leaving her alone so much Never was known to keep two mistresses in his life (Charles II.) Officers are four years behind-hand unpaid Sparrowgrass Suspect the badness of the peace we shall make Swear they will not go to be killed and have no pay 
4176	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1667 May 1st. Up, it being a fine day, and after doing a little business in my chamber I left my wife to go abroad with W. Hewer and his mother in a Hackney coach incognito to the Park, while I abroad to the Excise Office first, and there met the Cofferer and Sir Stephen Fox about our money matters there, wherein we agreed, and so to discourse of my Lord Treasurer, who is a little better than he was of the stone, having rested a little this night. I there did acquaint them of my knowledge of that disease, which I believe will be told my Lord Treasurer. Thence to Westminster; in the way meeting many milk-maids with their garlands upon their pails, dancing with a fiddler before them; [On the 1st of May milkmaids used to borrow silver cups, tankards, &c., to hang them round their milkpails, with the addition of flowers and ribbons, which they carried upon their heads, accompanied by a bagpipe or fiddle, and went from door to door, dancing before the houses of their customers, in order to obtain a small gratuity from each of them. "In London thirty years ago, When pretty milkmaids went about, It was a goodly sight to see Their May-day pageant all drawn out. "Such scenes and sounds once blest my eyes And charm'd my ears; but all have vanish'd, On May-day now no garlands go, For milkmaids and their dance are banish'd." Hone's Every-Day Book, vol. i., pp. 569, 570.] and saw pretty Nelly standing at her lodgings' door in Drury-lane in her smock sleeves and bodice, looking upon one: she seemed a mighty pretty creature. To the Hall and there walked a while, it being term. I thence home to the Rose, and then had Doll Lane venir para me . . . . To my Lord Crew's, where I found them at dinner, and among others. Mrs. Bocket, which I have not seen a long time, and two little dirty children, and she as idle a prating and impertinent woman as ever she was. After dinner my Lord took me alone and walked with me, giving me an account of the meeting of the Commissioners for Accounts, whereof he is one. How some of the gentlemen, Garraway, Littleton, and others, did scruple at their first coming there, being called thither to act, as Members of Parliament, which they could not do by any authority but that of Parliament, and therefore desired the King's direction in it, which was sent for by my Lord Bridgewater, who brought answer, very short, that the King expected they should obey his Commission. Then they went on, and observed a power to be given them of administering and framing an oath, which they thought they could not do by any power but Act of Parliament; and the whole Commission did think fit to have the judges' opinion in it; and so, drawing up their scruples in writing, they all attended the King, who told them he would send to the judges to be answered, and did so; who have, my Lord tells me, met three times about it, not knowing what answer to give to it; and they have met this week, doing nothing but expecting the solution of the judges in this point. My Lord tells me he do believe this Commission will do more hurt than good; it may undo some accounts, if these men shall think fit; but it can never clear an account, for he must come into the Exchequer for all this. Besides, it is a kind of inquisition that hath seldom ever been granted in England; and he believes it will never, besides, give any satisfaction to the People or Parliament, but be looked upon as a forced, packed business of the King, especially if these Parliament-men that are of it shall not concur with them: which he doubts they will not, and, therefore, wishes much that the King would lay hold of this fit occasion, and let the Commission fall. Then to talk of my Lord Sandwich, whom my Lord Crew hath a great desire might get to be Lord Treasurer if the present Lord should die, as it is believed he will, in a little time; and thinks he can have no competitor but my Lord Arlington, who, it is given out, desires it: but my Lord thinks it is not so, for that the being Secretary do keep him a greater interest with the King than the other would do at least, do believe, that if my Lord would surrender him his Wardrobe place, it would be a temptation to Arlington to assist my Lord in getting the Treasurer's. I did object to my Lord [Crew] that it would be no place of content, nor safety, nor honour for my Lord, the State being so indigent as it is, and the [King] so irregular, and those about him, that my Lord must be forced to part with anything to answer his warrants; and that, therefore, I do believe the King had rather have a man that may be one of his vicious caball, than a sober man that will mind the publick, that so they may sit at cards and dispose of the revenue of the kingdom. This my Lord was moved at, and said he did not indeed know how to answer it, and bid me think of it; and so said he himself would also do. He do mightily cry out of the bad management of our monies, the King having had so much given him; and yet, when the Parliament do find that the King should have L900,000 in his purse by the best account of issues they have yet seen, yet we should report in the Navy a debt due from the King of L900,000; which, I did confess, I doubted was true in the first, and knew to be true in the last, and did believe that there was some great miscarriages in it: which he owned to believe also, saying, that at this rate it is not in the power of the kingdom to make a war, nor answer the King's wants. Thence away to the King's playhouse, by agreement met Sir W. Pen, and saw "Love in a Maze" but a sorry play: only Lacy's clowne's part, which he did most admirably indeed; and I am glad to find the rogue at liberty again. Here was but little, and that ordinary, company. We sat at the upper bench next the boxes; and I find it do pretty well, and have the advantage of seeing and hearing the great people, which may be pleasant when there is good store. Now was only Prince Rupert and my Lord Lauderdale, and my Lord, the naming of whom puts me in mind of my seeing, at Sir Robert Viner's, two or three great silver flagons, made with inscriptions as gifts of the King to such and such persons of quality as did stay in town the late great plague, for the keeping things in order in the town, which is a handsome thing. But here was neither Hart, Nell, nor Knipp; therefore, the play was not likely to please me. Thence Sir W. Pen and I in his coach, Tiburne way, into the Park, where a horrid dust, and number of coaches, without pleasure or order. That which we, and almost all went for, was to see my Lady Newcastle; which we could not, she being followed and crowded upon by coaches all the way she went, that nobody could come near her; only I could see she was in a large black coach, adorned with silver instead of gold, and so white curtains, and every thing black and white, and herself in her cap, but other parts I could not make [out]. But that which I did see, and wonder at with reason, was to find Pegg Pen in a new coach, with only her husband's pretty sister with her, both patched and very fine, and in much the finest coach in the park, and I think that ever I did see one or other, for neatness and richness in gold, and everything that is noble. My Lady Castlemayne, the King, my Lord St. Albans, nor Mr. Jermyn, have so neat a coach, that ever I saw. And, Lord! to have them have this, and nothing else that is correspondent, is to me one of the most ridiculous sights that ever I did see, though her present dress was well enough; but to live in the condition they do at home, and be abroad in this coach, astonishes me. When we had spent half an hour in the Park, we went out again, weary of the dust, and despairing of seeing my Lady Newcastle; and so back the same way, and to St. James's, thinking to have met my Lady Newcastle before she got home, but we staying by the way to drink, she got home a little before us: so we lost our labours, and then home; where we find the two young ladies come home, and their patches off, I suppose Sir W. Pen do not allow of them in his sight, and going out of town to-night, though late, to Walthamstow. So to talk a little at Sir W. Batten's, and then home to supper, where I find Mrs. Hewer and her son, who have been abroad with my wife in the Park, and so after supper to read and then to bed. Sir W. Pen did give me an account this afternoon of his design of buying Sir Robert Brooke's fine house at Wansted; which I so wondered at, and did give him reasons against it, which he allowed of: and told me that he did intend to pull down the house and build a less, and that he should get L1500 by the old house, and I know not what fooleries. But I will never believe he ever intended to buy it, for my part; though he troubled Mr. Gawden to go and look upon it, and advise him in it. 2nd. To the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then abroad to my Lord Treasurer's, who continues so ill as not to be troubled with business. So Mr. Gawden and I to my Lord Ashly's and spoke with him, and then straight home, and there I did much business at the office, and then to my own chamber and did the like there, to my great content, but to the pain of my eyes, and then to supper and to bed, having a song with my wife with great pleasure, she doing it well. 3rd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen in the last man's coach to St. James's, and thence up to the Duke of York's chamber, which, as it is now fretted at the top, and the chimney-piece made handsome, is one of the noblest and best-proportioned rooms that ever, I think, I saw in my life, and when ready, into his closet and did our business, where, among other things, we had a proposition of Mr. Pierces, for being continued in pay, or something done for him, in reward of his pains as Chyrurgeon-Generall; forasmuch as Troutbecke, that was never a doctor before, hath got L200 a year settled on him for nothing but that one voyage with the Duke of Albemarle. The Duke of York and the whole company did shew most particular kindness to Mr. Pierce, every body moving for him, and the Duke himself most, that he is likely to be a very great man, I believe. Here also we had another mention of Carcasses business, and we directed to bring in a report of our opinion of his case, which vexes us that such a rogue shall make us so much trouble. Thence I presently to the Excise Office, and there met the Cofferer and [Sir] Stephen Fox by agreement, and agreed upon a method for our future payments, and then we three to my Lord Treasurer, who continues still very ill. I had taken my stone with me on purpose, and Sir Philip Warwicke carried it in to him to see, but was not in a condition to talk with me about it, poor man. So I with them to Westminster by coach; the Cofferer telling us odd stories how he was dealt with by the men of the Church at Westminster in taking a lease of them at the King's coming in, and particularly the devilish covetousness of Dr. Busby. Sir Stephen Fox, in discourse, told him how he is selling some land he hath, which yields him not above three per cent., if so much, and turning it into money, which he can put out at ten per cent.; and, as times go, if they be like to continue, it is the best way for me to keep money going so, for aught I see. I to Westminster Hall, and there took a turn with my old acquaintance Mr. Pechell, whose red nose makes me ashamed to be seen with him, though otherwise a good-natured man. So away, I not finding of Mr. Moore, with whom I should have met and spoke about a letter I this day received from him from my Lord Hinchingbroke, wherein he desires me to help him to L1900 to pay a bill of exchange of his father's, which troubles me much, but I will find some way, if I can do it, but not to bring myself in bonds or disbursements for it, whatever comes of it. So home to dinner, where my wife hath 'ceux la' upon her and is very ill with them, and so forced to go to bed, and I sat by her a good while, then down to my chamber and made an end of Rycaut's History of the Turks, which is a very good book. Then to the office, and did some business, and then my wife being pretty well, by coach to little Michell's, and there saw my poor Betty and her little child, which slept so soundly we could hardly wake it in an hour's time without hurting it, and they tell me what I did not know, that a child (as this do) will hunt and hunt up and down with its mouth if you touch the cheek of it with your finger's end for a nipple, and fit its mouth for sucking, but this hath not sucked yet, she having no nipples. Here sat a while, and then my wife and I, it being a most curious clear evening, after some rain to-day, took a most excellent tour by coach to Bow, and there drank and back again, and so a little at the office, and home to read a little, and to supper and bed mightily refreshed with this evening's tour, but troubled that it hath hindered my doing some business which I would have done at the office. This day the newes is come that the fleete of the Dutch, of about 20 ships, which come upon our coasts upon design to have intercepted our colliers, but by good luck failed, is gone to the Frith,--[Frith of Forth. See 5th of this month.]--and there lies, perhaps to trouble the Scotch privateers, which have galled them of late very much, it may be more than all our last year's fleete. 4th. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning, among other things a great conflict I had with Sir W. Warren, he bringing a letter to the Board, flatly in words charging them with their delays in passing his accounts, which have been with them these two years, part of which I said was not true, and the other undecent. The whole Board was concerned to take notice of it, as well as myself, but none of them had the honour to do it, but suffered me to do it alone, only Sir W. Batten, who did what he did out of common spite to him. So I writ in the margin of the letter, "Returned as untrue," and, by consent of the Board, did give it him again, and so parted. Home to dinner, and there came a woman whose husband I sent for, one Fisher, about the business of Perkins and Carcasse, and I do think by her I shall find the business as bad as ever it was, and that we shall find Commissioner Pett a rogue, using foul play on behalf of Carcasse. After dinner to the office again, and there late all the afternoon, doing much business, and with great content home to supper and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and going down to the water side, I met Sir John Robinson, and so with him by coach to White Hall, still a vain, prating, boasting man as any I know, as if the whole City and Kingdom had all its work done by him. He tells me he hath now got a street ordered to be continued, forty feet broad, from Paul's through Cannon Street to the Tower, which will be very fine. He and others this day, where I was in the afternoon, do tell me of at least six or eight fires within these few days; and continually stirs of fires, and real fires there have been, in one place or other, almost ever since the late great fire, as if there was a fate sent people for fire. I walked over the Park to Sir W. Coventry's. Among other things to tell him what I hear of people being forced to sell their bills before September for 35 and 40 per cent. loss, and what is worst, that there are some courtiers that have made a knot to buy them, in hopes of some ways to get money of the King to pay them, which Sir W. Coventry is amazed at, and says we are a people made up for destruction, and will do what he can to prevent all this by getting the King to provide wherewith to pay them. We talked of Tangier, of which he is ashamed; also that it should put the King to this charge for no good in the world: and now a man going over that is a good soldier, but a debauched man, which the place need not to have. And so used these words: "That this place was to the King as my Lord Carnarvon says of wood, that it is an excrescence of the earth provided by God for the payment of debts." Thence away to Sir G. Carteret, whom I find taking physic. I staid talking with him but a little, and so home to church, and heard a dull sermon, and most of the best women of our parish gone into the country, or at least not at church. So home, and find my boy not there, nor was at church, which vexed me, and when he come home I enquired, he tells me he went to see his mother. I send him back to her to send me some token that he was with her. So there come a man with him back of good fashion. He says he saw him with her, which pacified me, but I did soundly threaten him before him, and so to dinner, and then had a little scolding with my wife for not being fine enough to go to the christening to-day, which she excused by being ill, as she was indeed, and cried, but I was in an ill humour and ashamed, indeed, that she should not go dressed. However, friends by and by, and we went by water to Michell's, and there his little house full of his father and mothers and the kindred, hardly any else, and mighty merry in this innocent company, and Betty mighty pretty in bed, but, her head akeing, not very merry, but the company mighty merry, and I with them, and so the child was christened; my wife, his father, and her mother, the witnesses, and the child's name Elizabeth. So we had gloves and wine and wafers, very pretty, and talked and tattled, and so we away by water and up with the tide, she and I and Barker, as high as Barne Eimes, it being a fine evening, and back again to pass the bridges at standing water between 9 and 10 at might, and then home and to supper, and then to bed with much pleasure. This day Sir W. Coventry tells me the Dutch fleete shot some shot, four or five hundred, into Burnt-Island in the Frith, but without any hurt; and so are gone. 6th. Up and angry with my mayds for letting in watermen, and I know not who, anybody that they are acquainted with, into my kitchen to talk and prate with them, which I will not endure. Then out and by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, who continues still very ill, then to Sir Ph. Warwicke's house, and there did a little business about my Tangier tallies, and so to Westminster Hall, and there to the Exchequer to consult about some way of getting our poor Creditors of the Navy (who served in their goods before the late Session of Parliament) paid out of the 11 months tax, which seems to relate only for goods to be then served in, and I think I have found out a way to bring them into the Act, which, if it do, I shall think a good service done. Thence by coach home with Captain Cocke, in our way talking of my Lord Bruncker and his Lady, who are mighty angry with us all of the office, about Carcasse's business, but especially with me, and in great confidence he bids me have a care of him, for he hath said that he would wound me with the person where my greatest interest is. I suppose he means Sir W. Coventry, and therefore I will beware of him, and am glad, though vexed to hear it. So home to dinner, where Creed come, whom I vexed devilishly with telling him a wise man, and good friend of his and mine, did say that he lately went into the country to Hinchingbroke; and, at his coming to town again, hath shifted his lodgings, only to avoid paying to the Poll Bill, which is so true that he blushed, and could not in words deny it, but the fellow did think to have not had it discovered. He is so devilish a subtle false rogue, that I am really weary and afeard of his company, and therefore after dinner left him in the house, and to my office, where busy all the afternoon despatching much business, and in the evening to Sir R. Viner's to adjust accounts there, and so home, where some of our old Navy creditors come to me by my direction to consider of what I have invented for their help as I have said in the morning, and like it mighty well, and so I to the office, where busy late, then home to supper and sing with my wife, who do begin to give me real pleasure with her singing, and so to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and by coach to St. James's; but there find Sir W. Coventry gone out betimes this morning, on horseback, with the King and Duke of York, to Putney-heath,--to run some horses, and so back again to the office, where some witnesses from Chatham which I sent for are come up, and do give shrewd testimonies against Carcasse, which put my Lord into a new flame, and he and I to high words, and so broke up. Then home to dinner, where W. Hewer dined with us, and he and I after dinner to discourse of Carcasses business, wherein I apparently now do manage it wholly against my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Pen, like a false rogue, shrinking out of the collar, Sir J. Minnes, afoot, being easily led either way, and Sir W. Batten, a malicious fellow that is not able to defend any thing, so that the whole odium must fall on me, which I will therefore beware how I manage that I may not get enemies to no purpose. It vexes me to see with what a company I am mixed, but then it pleases me to see that I am reckoned the chief mover among them, as they do, confess and esteem me in every thing. Thence to the office, and did business, and then by coach to St. James's again, but [Sir] W. Coventry not within, so I wrote something to him, and then straight back again and to Sir W. Batten's, and there talked with him and [Sir] J. Minnes, who are mighty hot in Carcasses business, but their judgment's not to be trusted. However, I will go through with it, or otherwise we shall be all slaves to my Lord Bruncker and his man's impudence. So to the office a little, and then home to supper and to bed, after hearing my wife sing, who is manifestly come to be more musical in her eare than ever I thought she could have been made, which rejoices me to the heart, for I take great delight now to hear her sing. 8th. Up pretty betimes and out of doors, and in Fen Church street met Mr. Lovett going with a picture to me, but I could not stand to discourse or see it, but on to the next hackney coach and so to Sir W. Coventry, where he and I alone a while discoursing of some businesses of the office, and then up to the Duke of York to his chamber with my fellow brethren who are come, and so did our usual weekly business, which was but little to-day, and I was glad that the business of Carcasse was not mentioned because our report was not ready, but I am resolved it shall against the next coming to the Duke of York. Here was discourse about a way of paying our old creditors which did please me, there being hopes of getting them comprehended within the 11 months Tax, and this did give occasion for Sir G. Carteret's and my going to Sir Robert Long to discourse it, who do agree that now the King's Council do say that they may be included in the Act, which do make me very glad, not so much for the sake of the poor men as for the King, for it would have been a ruin to him and his service not to have had a way to have paid the debt. There parted with Sir G. Carteret and into Westminster Hall, where I met with Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's to speak a little about our Tangier business, but to little purpose, my Lord Treasurer being so ill that no business can be done. Thence with Sir H. Cholmly to find out Creed from one lodging to another, which he hath changed so often that there is no finding him, but at last do come to his lodging that he is entering into this day, and do find his goods unlading at the door, by Scotland Yard, and there I set down Sir H. Cholmly, and I away to the 'Change, where spoke about several things, and then going home did meet Mr. Andrews our neighbour, and did speak with him to enquire about the ground behind our house, of which I have a mind to buy enough to make a stable and coach-house; for I do see that my condition do require it, as well as that it is more charge to my purse to live as I do than to keep one, and therefore I am resolved before winter to have one, unless some extraordinary thing happens to hinder me. He promises me to look after it for me, and so I home to dinner, where I find my wife's flageolette master, and I am so pleased with her proceeding, though she hath lost time by not practising, that I am resolved for the, encouragement of the man to learn myself a little for a month or so, for I do foresee if God send my wife and I to live, she will become very good company for me. He gone, comes Lovett with my little print of my dear Lady Castlemayne varnished, and the frame prettily done like gold, which pleases me well. He dined with me, but by his discourse I do still see that he is a man of good wit but most strange experience, and acquaintance with all manner of subtleties and tricks, that I do think him not fit for me to keep any acquaintance with him, lest he some time or other shew me a slippery trick. After dinner, he gone, I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and so in the evening to Sir R. Viner's, thinking to finish my accounts there, but am prevented, and so back again home, and late at my office at business, and so home to supper and sing a little with my dear wife, and so to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, and at noon home to dinner, and then with my wife and Barker by coach, and left them at Charing Cross, and I to St. James's, and there found Sir W. Coventry alone in his chamber, and sat and talked with him more than I have done a great while of several things of the Navy, how our debts and wants do unfit us for doing any thing. He tells me he hears stories of Commissioner Pett, of selling timber to the Navy under other names, which I told him I believe is true, and did give him an instance. He told me also how his clerk Floyd he hath put away for his common idlenesse and ill company, and particularly that yesterday he was found not able to come and attend him, by being run into the arme in a squabble, though he pretends it was done in the streets by strangers, at nine at night, by the Maypole in the Strand. Sir W. Coventry did write to me this morning to recommend him another, which I could find in my heart to do W. Hewer for his good; but do believe he will not part with me, nor have I any mind to let him go. I would my brother were fit for it, I would adventure him there. He insists upon an unmarried man, that can write well, and hath French enough to transcribe it only from a copy, and may write shorthand, if it may be. Thence with him to my Lord Chancellor at Clarendon House, to a Committee for Tangier, where several things spoke of and proceeded on, and particularly sending Commissioners thither before the new Governor goes, which I think will signify as much good as any thing else that hath been done about the place, which is none at all. I did again tell them the badness of their credit by the time their tallies took before they become payable, and their spending more than their fund. They seem well satisfied with what I said, and I am glad that I may be remembered that I do tell them the case plain; but it troubled me that I see them hot upon it, that the Governor shall not be paymaster, which will force me either to the providing one there to do it (which I will never undertake), or leave the employment, which I had rather do. Mightily pleased with the noblenesse of this house, and the brave furniture and pictures, which indeed is very noble, and, being broke up, I with Sir G. Carteret in his coach into Hide Park, to discourse of things, and spent an hour in this manner with great pleasure, telling me all his concernments, and how he is gone through with the purchase for my Lady Jemimah and her husband; how the Treasury is like to come into the hands of a Committee; but that not that, nor anything else, will do our business, unless the King himself will mind his business, and how his servants do execute their parts; he do fear an utter ruin in the state, and that in a little time, if the King do not mind his business soon; that the King is very kind to him, and to my Lord Sandwich, and that he doubts not but at his coming home, which he expects about Michaelmas, he will be very well received. But it is pretty strange how he began again the business of the intention of a marriage of my Lord Hinchingbroke to a daughter of my Lord Burlington's to my Lord Chancellor, which he now tells me as a great secret, when he told it me the last Sunday but one; but it may be the poor man hath forgot, and I do believe he do make it a secret, he telling me that he has not told it to any but myself, end this day to his daughter my Lady Jemimah, who looks to lie down about two months hence. After all this discourse we turned back and to White Hall, where we parted, and I took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, and in our street, at the Three Tuns' Tavern' door, I find a great hubbub; and what was it but two brothers have fallen out, and one killed the other. And who should they be but the two Fieldings; one whereof, Bazill, was page to my Lady Sandwich; and he hath killed the other, himself being very drunk, and so is sent to Newgate. I to the office and did as much business as my eyes would let me, and so home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where a meeting about the Victuallers' accounts all the morning, and at noon all of us to Kent's, at the Three Tuns' Tavern, and there dined well at Mr. Gawden's charge; and, there the constable of the parish did show us the picklocks and dice that were found in the dead man's pocket, and but 18d. in money; and a table-book, wherein were entered the names of several places where he was to go; and among others Kent's house, where he was to dine, and did dine yesterday: and after dinner went into the church, and there saw his corpse with the wound in his left breast; a sad spectacle, and a broad wound, which makes my hand now shake to write of it. His brother intending, it seems, to kill the coachman, who did not please him, this fellow stepped in, and took away his sword; who thereupon took out his knife, which was of the fashion, with a falchion blade, and a little cross at the hilt like a dagger; and with that stabbed him. So to the office again, very busy, and in the evening to Sir Robert Viner's, and there took up all my notes and evened our balance to the 7th of this month, and saw it entered in their ledger, and took a receipt for the remainder of my money as the balance of an account then adjusted. Then to my Lord Treasurer's, but missed Sir Ph. Warwicke, and so back again, and drove hard towards Clerkenwell, [At Newcastle House, Clerkenwell Close, the duke and duchess lived in great state. The house was divided, and let in tenements in the eighteenth century.] thinking to have overtaken my Lady Newcastle, whom I saw before us in her coach, with 100 boys and girls running looking upon her but I could not: and so she got home before I could come up to her. But I will get a time to see her. So to the office and did more business, and then home and sang with pleasure with my wife, and to supper and so to bed. 11th. Up, and being called on by Mr. Commander, he and I out to the ground behind Sir W. Pen's, where I am resolved to take a lease of some of it for a stable and coach [house], and so to keep a coach, unless some change come before I can do it, for I do see it is a greater charge to me now in hackneys, and I am a little dishonoured by going in them. We spoke with him that hath the letting it, and I do believe when I can tell how much it will be fit for me to have we shall go near to agree. So home, and there found my door open, which makes me very angry with Nell, and do think to put her away for it, though it do so go against me to part with a servant that it troubles me more than anything in the world. So to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Goodgroome and Creed, and I have great hopes that my wife will come to sing to my mind. After dinner my wife and Creed and I being entered a hackney coach to go to the other end of the town, we espied The. Turner coming in her coach to see us, which we were surprised at, and so 'light and took her and another young lady home, and there sat and talked with The., she being lately come out of the North after two or three years absence. She is come to put out her sister and brothers to school at Putney. After a little talk, I over Tower Hill with them to a lady's they go to visit, and so away with my wife, whose being dressed this day in fair hair did make me so mad, that I spoke not one word to her in our going, though I was ready to burst with anger. So to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, where they were discoursing about laws for the civil government of the place, but so dull and so little to the purpose that I fell to slumber, when the fear of being seen by Sir W. Coventry did trouble me much afterwards, but I hope he did not. After that broke up. Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a most pleasant evening, and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in my way home discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks, [Randle Holmes says the ladies wore "false locks set on wyres, to make them stand at a distance from the head," and accompanies the information with the figure of a lady "with a pair of locks and curls which were in great fashion in 1670" (Planche's "Cyclopaedia of Costume;" Vol. i., p. 248).] swearing by God, several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and bending my fist, that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, [A new light is thrown upon this favourite expression of Pepys's when speaking of his wife by the following quotation from a Midland wordbook: "Wretch, n., often used as an expression of endearment or sympathy. Old Woman to Young Master: 'An''ow is the missis to-day, door wretch?' Of a boy going to school a considerable distance off 'I met 'im with a bit o' bread in 'is bag, door wretch'" ("A Glossary of Words and Phrases used in S.E. Worcestershire," by Jesse Salisbury. Published by the English Dialect Society, 1894).] was surprized with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper to bed, vexed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, to settle some accounts there, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, and we begun calmly, that upon having money to lace her gown for second mourning, she would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not enough, begun to except against, and made her fly out to very high terms and cry, and in her heat told me of keeping company with Mrs. Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see her more--of whom she hath more reason to suspect than I had heretofore of Pembleton--she would never wear white locks more. This vexed me, but I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never to see this woman--at least, to have her here more, but by and by I did give her money to buy lace, and she promised to wear no more white locks while I lived, and so all very good friends as ever, and I to my business, and she to dress herself. Against noon we had a coach ready for us, and she and I to White Hall, where I went to see whether Sir G. Carteret was at dinner or no, our design being to make a visit there, and I found them set down, which troubled me, for I would not then go up, but back to the coach to my wife, and she and I homeward again, and in our way bethought ourselves of going alone, she and I, to go to a French house to dinner, and so enquired out Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an ordinary, and in an ugly street in Covent Garden, did find him at the door, and so we in; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage first, and then a couple of pigeons a la esterve, and then a piece of boeuf-a-la-mode, all exceeding well seasoned, and to our great liking; at least it would have been anywhere else but in this bad street, and in a perriwigg-maker's house; but to see the pleasant and ready attendance that we had, and all things so desirous to please, and ingenious in the people, did take me mightily. Our dinner cost us 6s., and so my wife and I away to Islington, it being a fine day, and thence to Sir G. Whitmore's house, where we 'light, and walked over the fields to Kingsland, and back again; a walk, I think, I have not taken these twenty years; but puts me in mind of my boy's time, when I boarded at Kingsland, and used to shoot with my bow and arrows in these fields. A very pretty place it is; and little did any of my friends think I should come to walk in these fields in this condition and state that I am. Then took coach again, and home through Shoreditch; and at home my wife finds Barker to have been abroad, and telling her so many lies about it, that she struck her, and the wench said she would not stay with her: so I examined the wench, and found her in so many lies myself, that I was glad to be rid of her, and so resolved having her go away to-morrow. So my wife and W. Hewer and I to supper, and then he and I to my chamber to begin the draught of the report from this office to the Duke of York in the case of Mr. Carcasse, which I sat up till midnight to do, and then to bed, believing it necessary to have it done, and to do it plainly, for it is not to be endured the trouble that this rascal hath put us to, and the disgrace he hath brought upon this office. 13th. Up, and when ready, to the office (my wife rising to send away Barker, according to our resolution last night, and she did do it with more clothes than have cost us L10, and 20s. in her purse, which I did for the respect I bear Mr. Falconbridge, otherwise she had not deserved half of it, but I am the more willing to do it to be rid of one that made work and trouble in the house, and had not qualities of any honour or pleasure to me or my family, but what is a strange thing did always declare to her mistress and others that she had rather be put to drudgery and to wash the house than to live as she did like a gentlewoman), and there I and Gibson all the morning making an end of my report against Carcasse, which I think will do our business, but it is a horrid shame such a rogue should give me and all of us this trouble. This morning come Sir H. Cholmly to me for a tally or two; and tells me that he hears that we are by agreement to give the King of France Nova Scotia, which he do not like: but I do not know the importance of it. [Nova Scotia and the adjoining countries were called by the French Acadie. Pepys is not the only official personage whose ignorance of Nova Scotia is on record. A story is current of a prime minister (Duke of Newcastle) who was surprised at hearing Cape Breton was an island. "Egad, I'll go tell the King Cape Breton is an island!" Of the same it is said, that when told Annapolis was in danger, and ought to be defended: "Oh! certainly Annapolis must be defended,-- where is Annapolis?"--B.] Then abroad with my wife to my Lord Treasurer's, and she to her tailor's. I find Sir Philip Warwicke, who I perceive do give over my Lord Treasurer for a man of this world, his pain being grown great again upon him, and all the rest he hath is by narcotiques, and now Sir Philip Warwicke do please himself, like a good man, to tell some of the good ejaculations of my Lord Treasurer concerning the little worth of this world, to buy it with so much pain, and other things fit for a dying man. So finding no business likely to be done here for Tangier, I having a warrant for tallies to be signed, I away to the New Exchange, and there staid a little, and then to a looking-glass shop to consult about covering the wall in my closet over my chimney, which is darkish, with looking-glasses, and then to my wife's tailor's, but find her not ready to go home, but got to buy things, and so I away home to look after my business and finish my report of Carcasse, and then did get Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, and [Sir] W. Pen together, and read it over with all the many papers relating to the business, which they do wonder at, and the trouble I have taken about it, and like the report, so as that they do unanimously resolve to sign it, and stand by it, and after a great deal of discourse of the strange deportment of my Lord Bruncker in this business to withstand the whole board in behalf of such an impudent rogue as this is, I parted, and home to my wife, and supped and talked with her, and then to bed, resolving to rise betimes to-morrow to write fair the report. 14th. Up by 5 o'clock, and when ready down to my chamber, and there with Mr. Fist, Sir W. Batten's clerk, who writes mighty well, writing over our report in Mr. Carcasses business, in which we continued till 9 o'clock, that the office met, and then to the office, where all the morning, and so at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Holliard come and eat with us, who among other things do give me good hopes that we shall give my father some ease as to his rupture when he comes to town, which I expect to-morrow. After dinner comes Fist, and he and I to our report again till 9 o'clock, and then by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, where I met Mr. Povy, expecting the coming of the rest of the Commissioners for Tangier. Here I understand how the two Dukes, both the only sons of the Duke of York, are sick even to danger, and that on Sunday last they were both so ill, as that the poor Duchess was in doubt which would die first: the Duke of Cambridge of some general disease; the other little Duke, whose title I know not, of the convulsion fits, of which he had four this morning. Fear that either of them might be dead, did make us think that it was the occasion that the Duke of York and others were not come to the meeting of the Commission which was designed, and my Lord Chancellor did expect. And it was pretty to observe how, when my Lord sent down to St. James's to see why the Duke of York come not, and Mr. Povy, who went, returned, my Lord (Chancellor) did ask, not how the Princes or the Dukes do, as other people do, but "How do the children?" which methought was mighty great, and like a great man and grandfather. I find every body mightily concerned for these children, as a matter wherein the State is much concerned that they should live. At last it was found that the meeting did fail from no known occasion, at which my Lord Chancellor was angry, and did cry out against Creed that he should give him no notice. So Povy and I went forth, and staid at the gate of the house by the streete, and there stopped to talk about the business of the Treasury of Tangier, which by the badness of our credit, and the resolution that the Governor shall not be paymaster, will force me to provide one there to be my paymaster, which I will never do, but rather lose my place, for I will not venture my fortune to a fellow to be employed so far off, and in that wicked place. Thence home, and with Fist presently to the finishing the writing fair of our report. And by and by to Sir W. Batten's, and there he and I and [Sir] J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Pen did read and sign it with great good liking, and so away to the office again to look over and correct it, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well settled, having this report done, and so to supper and to bed. 15th. [This morning my wife had some things brought home by a new woman of the New Exchange, one Mrs. Smith, which she would have me see for her fine hand, and indeed it is a fine hand, and the woman I have observed is a mighty pretty looked woman.] Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to St. James's, and stopt at Temple Bar for Sir J. Minnes to go into the Devil's Taverne to shit, he having drunk whey, and his belly wrought. Being come, we up to the Duke of York's chamber, who, when ready, we to our usual business, and being very glad, we all that signed it, that is, Sir J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and myself, and then Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, Bruncker, and T. Harvy, and the officers of the Ordnance, Sir J. Duncombe, and Mr. Cholmely presented our report about Carcasse, and did afterwards read it with that success that the Duke of York was for punishing him, not only with turning him out of the office, but with what other punishment he could, which nobody did forward, and so he escaped, only with giving security to secure the King against double tickets of his and other things that he might have wronged the King or subject in before his dismission. Yet, Lord! to see how our silly Lord Bruncker would have stood to have justified this rogue, though to the reproach of all us who have signed, which I shall never forget to have been a most malicious or a most silly act, and I do think it is as much the latter as the other, for none but a fool could have done as this silly Lord hath done in this business. So the Duke of York did like our report, and ordered his being secured till he did give his security, which did fully content me, and will I hope vindicate the office. It happened that my Lord Arlington coming in by chance was at the hearing of all this, which I was not sorry for, for he did move or did second the Duke of York that this roguery of his might be put in the News-book that it might be made publique to satisfy for the wrong the credit of this office hath received by this rogue's occasion. So with utmost content I away with Sir G. Carteret to London, talking all the way; and he do tell me that the business of my Lord Hinchingbroke his marriage with my Lord Burlington's daughter is concluded on by all friends; and that my Lady is now told of it, and do mightily please herself with it; which I am mighty glad of. So home, and there I find that my wife hath been at my desire at the Inne, thinking that my father might be come up with the coach, but he is not come this week, poor man, but will be here the next. At noon to dinner, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where I hear the news how our Embassadors were but ill received at Flushing, nor at Bredah itself, there being only a house and no furniture provided for them, though it be said that they have as much as the French. Here we staid talking a little, and then I to the office about my business, and thence to the office, where busy about my own papers of my office, and by and by comes the office full to examine Sir W. Warren's account, which I do appear mighty fierce in against him, and indeed am, for his accounts are so perplexed that I am sure he cannot but expect to get many a L1000 in it before it passes our hands, but I will not favour him, but save what I can to the King. At his accounts, wherein I very high against him, till late, and then we broke up with little done, and so broke up, and I to my office, where late doing of business, and then home to supper and to bed. News still that my Lord Treasurer is so ill as not to be any man of this world; and it is said that the Treasury shall be managed by Commission. I would to God Sir G. Carteret, or my Lord Sandwich, be in it! But the latter is the more fit for it. This day going to White Hall, Sir W. Batten did tell me strange stories of Sir W. Pen, how he is already ashamed of the fine coach which his son-in-law and daughter have made, and indeed it is one of the most ridiculous things for people of their low, mean fashion to make such a coach that ever I saw. He tells me how his people come as they do to mine every day to borrow one thing or other, and that his Lady hath been forced to sell some coals (in the late dear time) only to enable her to pay money that she hath borrowed of Griffin to defray her family expense, which is a strange story for a rogue that spends so much money on clothes and other occasions himself as he do, but that which is most strange, he tells me that Sir W. Pen do not give L6000, as is usually [supposed], with his daughter to him, and that Mr. Lowder is come to use the tubb, that is to bathe and sweat himself, and that his lady is come to use the tubb too, which he takes to be that he hath, and hath given her the pox, but I hope it is not so, but, says Sir W. Batten, this is a fair joynture, that he hath made her, meaning by that the costs the having of a bath. 16th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and, among other things, comes in Mr. Carcasse, and after many arguings against it, did offer security as was desired, but who should this be but Mr. Powell, that is one other of my Lord Bruncker's clerks; and I hope good use will be made of it. But then he began to fall foul upon the injustice of the Board, which when I heard I threatened him with being laid by the heels, which my Lord Bruncker took up as a thing that I could not do upon the occasion he had given, but yet did own that it was ill said of him. I made not many words of it, but have let him see that I can say what I will without fear of him, and so we broke off, leaving the bond to be drawn by me, which I will do in the best manner I can. At noon, this being Holy Thursday, that is, Ascension Day, when the boys go on procession round the parish, we were to go to the Three Tuns' Tavern, to dine with the rest of the parish; where all the parish almost was, Sir Andrew Rickard and others; and of our house, J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and myself; and Mr. Mills did sit uppermost at the table. Here we were informed that the report of our Embassadors being ill received in their way to Bredah is not true, but that they are received with very great civility, which I am glad to hear. But that that did vex me was that among all us there should come in Mr. Carcasse to be a guest for his money (5s. a piece) as well as any of us. This did vex me, and I would have gone, and did go to my house, thinking to dine at home, but I was called away from them, and so we sat down, and to dinner. Among other things Sir John Fredericke and Sir R. Ford did talk of Paul's School, which, they tell me, must be taken away; and then I fear it will be long before another place, as they say is promised, is found; but they do say that the honour of their company is concerned in the doing of it, and that it is a thing that they are obliged to do. Thence home, and to my office, where busy; anon at 7 at night I and my wife and Sir W. Pen in his coach to Unthanke's, my wife's tailor, for her to speak one word, and then we to my Lord Treasurer's, where I find the porter crying, and suspected it was that my Lord is dead; and, poor Lord! we did find that he was dead just now; and the crying of the fellow did so trouble me, that considering I was not likely to trouble him any more, nor have occasion to give any more anything, I did give him 3s.; but it may be, poor man, he hath lost a considerable hope by the death of his Lord, whose house will be no more frequented as before, and perhaps I may never come thither again about any business. There is a good man gone: and I pray God that the Treasury may not be worse managed by the hand or hands it shall now be put into; though, for certain, the slowness, though he was of great integrity, of this man, and remissness, have gone as far to undo the nation, as anything else that hath happened; and yet, if I knew all the difficulties that he hath lain under, and his instrument Sir Philip Warwicke, I might be brought to another mind. Thence we to Islington, to the Old House, and there eat and drank, and then it being late and a pleasant evening, we home, and there to my chamber, and to bed. It is remarkable that this afternoon Mr. Moore come to me, and there, among other things, did tell me how Mr. Moyer, the merchant, having procured an order from the King and Duke of York and Council, with the consent of my Lord Chancellor, and by assistance of Lord Arlington, for the releasing out of prison his brother, Samuel Moyer, who was a great man in the late times in Haberdashers'-hall, and was engaged under hand and seal to give the man that obtained it so much in behalf of my Lord Chancellor; but it seems my Lady Duchess of Albemarle had before undertaken it for so much money, but hath not done it. The Duke of Albemarle did the next day send for this Moyer, to tell him, that notwithstanding this order of the King and Council's being passed for release of his brother, yet, if he did not consider the pains of some friends of his, he would stop that order. This Moyer being an honest, bold man, told him that he was engaged to the hand that had done the thing to give him a reward; and more he would not give, nor could own any kindness done by his Grace's interest; and so parted. The next day Sir Edward Savage did take the said Moyer in tax about it, giving ill words of this Moyer and his brother; which he not being able to bear, told him he would give to the person that had engaged him what he promised, and not any thing to any body else; and that both he and his brother were as honest men as himself, or any man else; and so sent him going, and bid him do his worst. It is one of the most extraordinary cases that ever I saw or understood; but it is true. This day Mr. Sheply is come to town and to see me, and he tells me my father is very well only for his pain, so that he is not able to stir; but is in great pain. I would to God that he were in town that I might have what help can be got for him, for it troubles me to have him live in that condition of misery if I can help it. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning upon some accounts of Mr. Gawden's, and at noon to the Three Tuns to dinner with Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and T. Harvy, where very merry, and my Lord Bruncker in appearance as good friends as ever, though I know he has a hatred to me in heart. After dinner to my house, where Mr. Sheply dined, and we drank and talked together. He, poor man, hath had his arm broke the late frost, slipping in going over Huntingdon Bridge. He tells me that jasper Trice and Lewes Phillips and Mr. Ashfield are gone from Brampton, and he thinks chiefly from the height of Sir J. Bernard's carriage, who carries all things before him there, which they cannot bear with, and so leave the town, and this is a great instance of the advantage a man of the law hath over all other people, which would make a man to study it a little. Sheply being gone, there come the flageolet master, who having had a bad bargain of teaching my wife by the year, she not practising so much as she should do, I did think that the man did deserve some more consideration, and so will give him an opportunity of 20s. a month more, and he shall teach me, and this afternoon I begun, and I think it will be a few shillings well spent. Then to Sir R. Viner's with 600 pieces of gold to turn into silver, for the enabling me to answer Sir G. Carteret's L3000; which he now draws all out of my hand towards the paying for a purchase he hath made for his son and my Lady Jemimah, in Northamptonshire, of Sir Samuel Luke, in a good place; a good house, and near all her friends; which is a very happy thing. Thence to St. James's, and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry, and give him some account of some things, but had little discourse with him, there being company with him, and so directly home again and then to my office, doing some business, and so to my house, and with my wife to practice on the flageolet a little, and with great pleasure I see she can readily hit her notes, but only want of practice makes her she cannot go through a whole tune readily. So to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then to dinner, and after dinner to the office to dictate some letters, and then with my wife to Sir W. Turner's to visit The., but she being abroad we back again home, and then I to the office, finished my letters, and then to walk an hour in the garden talking with my wife, whose growth in musique do begin to please me mightily, and by and by home and there find our Luce drunk, and when her mistress told her of it would be gone, and so put up some of her things and did go away of her accord, nobody pressing her to it, and the truth is, though she be the dirtiest, homeliest servant that ever I kept, yet I was sorry to have her go, partly through my love to my servants, and partly because she was a very drudging, working wench, only she would be drunk. But that which did a little trouble me was that I did hear her tell her mistress that she would tell her master something before she was aware of her that she would be sorry to have him know; but did it in such a silly, drunken manner, that though it trouble me a little, yet not knowing what to suspect she should know, and not knowing well whether she said it to her mistress or Jane, I did not much think of it. So she gone, we to supper and to bed, my study being made finely clean. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber to set some papers in order, and then, to church, where my old acquaintance, that dull fellow, Meriton, made a good sermon, and hath a strange knack of a grave, serious delivery, which is very agreeable. After church to White Hall, and there find Sir G. Carteret just set down to dinner, and I dined with them, as I intended, and good company, the best people and family in the world I think. Here was great talk of the good end that my Lord Treasurer made; closing his owne eyes and setting his mouth, and bidding adieu with the greatest content and freedom in the world; and is said to die with the cleanest hands that ever any Lord Treasurer did. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I alone, and there, among other discourse, he did declare that he would be content to part with his place of Treasurer of the Navy upon good terms. I did propose my Lord Belasses as a man likely to buy it, which he listened to, and I did fully concur and promote his design of parting with it, for though I would have my father live, I would not have him die Treasurer of the Navy, because of the accounts which must be uncleared at his death, besides many other circumstances making it advisable for him to let it go. He tells me that he fears all will come to naught in the nation soon if the King do not mind his business, which he do not seem likely to do. He says that the Treasury will be managed for a while by a Commission, whereof he thinks my Lord Chancellor for the honour of it, and my Lord Ashly, and the two Secretaries will be, and some others he knows not. I took leave of him, and directly by water home, and there to read the life of Mr. Hooker, which pleases me as much as any thing I have read a great while, and by and by comes Mr. Howe to see us, and after him a little Mr. Sheply, and so we all to talk, and, Mercer being there, we some of us to sing, and so to supper, a great deal of silly talk. Among other things, W. Howe told us how the Barristers and Students of Gray's Inne rose in rebellion against the Benchers the other day, who outlawed them, and a great deal of do; but now they are at peace again. They being gone, I to my book again, and made an end of Mr. Hooker's Life, and so to bed. 20th. Up betimes, and comes my flagelette master to set me a new tune, which I played presently, and shall in a month do as much as I desire at it. He being gone, I to several businesses in my chamber, and then by coach to the Commissioners of Excise, and so to Westminster Hall, and there spoke with several persons I had to do with. Here among other news, I hear that the Commissioners for the Treasury were named by the King yesterday; but who they are nobody could tell: but the persons are the Lord Chancellor, the two Secretaries, Lord Ashly, and others say Sir W. Coventry and Sir John Duncomb, but all conclude the Duke of Albemarle; but reports do differ, but will be known in a day or two. Having done my business, I then homeward, and overtook Mr. Commander; so took him into a coach with me, and he and I into Lincoln's Inne Fields, there to look upon the coach-houses to see what ground is necessary for coach-house and horses, because of that that I am going about to do, and having satisfied myself in this he and I to Mr. Hide's to look upon the ground again behind our house, and concluded upon his going along with us to-morrow to see some stables, he thinking that we demand more than is necessary. So away home, and then, I, it being a broken day, and had power by my vows, did walk abroad, first through the Minorys, the first time I have been over the Hill to the postern-gate, and seen the place, since the houses were pulled down about that side of the Tower, since the fire, to find where my young mercer with my pretty little woman to his wife lives, who lived in Lumbard streete, and I did espy them, but took no notice now of them, but may do hereafter. Thence down to the Old Swan, and there saw Betty Michell, whom I have not seen since her christening. But, Lord! how pretty she is, and looks as well as ever I saw her, and her child (which I am fain to seem very fond of) is pretty also, I think, and will be. Thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there walked a while talking at random with Sir W. Doyly, and so away to Mrs. Martin's lodging, who was gone before, expecting me, and there je hazer what je vellem cum her and drank, and so by coach home (but I have forgot that I did in the morning go to the Swan, and there tumbling of la little fille, son uncle did trouver her cum su neckcloth off, which I was ashamed of, but made no great matter of it, but let it pass with a laugh), and there spent the evening with my wife at our flagelets, and so to supper, and after a little reading to bed. My wife still troubled with her cold. I find it everywhere now to be a thing doubted whether we shall have peace or no, and the captain of one of our ships that went with the Embassadors do say, that the seamen of Holland to his hearing did defy us, and called us English dogs, and cried out against peace, and that the great people there do oppose peace, though he says the common people do wish it. 21st. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon dined at home with my wife and find a new girle, a good big girle come to us, got by Payne to be our girle; and his daughter Nell we make our cook. This wench's name is Mary, and seems a good likely maid. After dinner I with Mr. Commander and Mr. Hide's brother to Lincolne's Inne Fields, and there viewed several coach-houses, and satisfied ourselves now fully in it, and then there parted, leaving the rest to future discourse between us. Thence I home; but, Lord! how it went against my heart to go away from the very door of the Duke's play-house, and my Lady Castlemayne's coach, and many great coaches there, to see "The Siege of Rhodes." I was very near making a forfeit, but I did command myself, and so home to my office, and there did much business to my good content, much better than going to a play, and then home to my wife, who is not well with her cold, and sat and read a piece of Grand Cyrus in English by her, and then to my chamber and to supper, and so to bed. This morning the Captain come from Holland did tell us at the board what I have said he reported yesterday. This evening after I come from the office Mrs. Turner come to see my wife and me, and sit and talk with us, and so, my wife not being well and going to bed, Mrs. Turner and I sat up till 12 at night talking alone in my chamber, and most of our discourse was of our neighbours. As to my Lord Bruncker, she says how Mrs. Griffin, our housekeeper's wife, hath it from his maid, that comes to her house often, that they are very poor; that the other day Mrs. Williams was fain to send a jewell to pawn; that their maid hath said herself that she hath got L50 since she come thither, and L17 by the payment of one bill; that they have a most lewd and nasty family here in the office, but Mrs. Turner do tell me that my Lord hath put the King to infinite charge since his coming thither in alterations, and particularly that Mr. Harper at Deptford did himself tell her that my Lord hath had of Foly, the ironmonger, L50 worth in locks and keys for his house, and that it is from the fineness of them, having some of L4 and L5 a lock, such as is in the Duke's closet; that he hath several of these; that he do keep many of her things from her of her own goods, and would have her bring a bill into the office for them; that Mrs. Griffin do say that he do not keep Mrs. Williams now for love, but need, he having another whore that he keeps in Covent Garden; that they do owe money everywhere almost for every thing, even Mrs. Shipman for her butter and cheese about L3, and after many demands cannot get it. Mrs. Turner says she do believe their coming here is only out of a belief of getting purchase by it, and that their servants (which was wittily said of her touching his clerks) do act only as privateers, no purchase, no pay. And in my conscience she is in the right. Then we fell to talk of Sir W. Pen, and his family and rise. She [Mrs. Turner] says that he was a pityfull [fellow] when she first knew them; that his lady was one of the sourest, dirty women, that ever she saw; that they took two chambers, one over another, for themselves and child, in Tower Hill; that for many years together they eat more meals at her house than at their own; did call brothers and sisters the husbands and wives; that her husband was godfather to one, and she godmother to another (this Margaret) of their children, by the same token that she was fain to write with her own hand a letter to Captain Twiddy, to stand for a godfather for her; that she brought my Lady, who then was a dirty slattern, with her stockings hanging about her heels, so that afterwards the people of the whole Hill did say that Mrs. Turner had made Mrs. Pen a gentlewoman, first to the knowledge of my Lady Vane, Sir Henry's lady, and him to the knowledge of most of the great people that then he sought to, and that in short his rise hath been his giving of large bribes, wherein, and she agrees with my opinion and knowledge before therein, he is very profuse. This made him General; this got him out of the Tower when he was in; and hath brought him into what he is now, since the King's coming in: that long ago, indeed, he would drink the King's health privately with Mr. Turner; but that when he saw it fit to turn Roundhead, and was offered by Mr. Turner to drink the King's health, he answered "No;" he was changed, and now, he that would make him drink the King's health, or any health but the Protector's and the State's, or to that purpose, he would be the first man should sheath his sword in his guts. That at the King's coming in, he did send for her husband, and told him what a great man Sir W. Coventry was like to be, and that he having all the records in his hands of the Navy, if he would transcribe what was of most present use of the practice of the Navy, and give them him to give Sir W. Coventry from him, it would undoubtedly do his business of getting him a principal officer's place; that her husband was at L5 charge to get these presently writ; that Sir W. Pen did give them Sir W. Coventry as from himself, which did set him up with W. Coventry, and made him what he is, and never owned any thing of Mr. Turner in them; by which he left him in the lurch, though he did promise the Duke of Albemarle to do all that was possible, and made no question of Mr. Turner's being what he desired; and when afterwards, too, did propose to him the getting of the Purveyor's place for him, he did tell Mr. Turner it was necessary to present Sir W. Coventry 100 pieces, which he did, and W. Coventry took 80 of them: so that he was W. Coventry's mere broker, as Sir W. Batten and my Lady did once tell my Lady Duchess of Albemarle, in the case of Mr. Falconer, whom W. Pen made to give W. Coventry L200 for his place of Clerk of the Rope Yard of Woolwich, and to settle L80 a year upon his daughter Pegg, after the death of his wife, and a gold watch presently to his wife. Mrs. Turner do tell me that my Lady and Pegg have themselves owned to her that Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen had private marks to write to one another by, that when they in appearance writ a fair letter in behalf of anybody, that they had a little mark to show they meant it only in shew: this, these silly people did confess themselves of him. She says that their son, Mr. William Pen, did tell her that his father did observe the commanders did make their addresses to me and applications, but they should know that his father should be the chief of the office, and that she hath observed that Sir W. Pen never had a kindness to her son, since W. Pen told her son that he had applied himself to me. That his rise hath been by her and her husband's means, and that it is a most inconceivable thing how this man can have the face to use her and her family with the neglect that he do them. That he was in the late war a most devilish plunderer, and that got him his estate, which he hath in Ireland, and nothing else, and that he hath always been a very liberal man in his bribes, that upon his coming into this part of the Controller's business wherein he is, he did send for T. Willson and told him how against his knowledge he was put in, and had so little wit as to say to him, "This will make the pot boyle, will it not, Mr. Willson? will it not make the pot boyle?" and do offer him to come in and do his business for him, and he would reward him. This Mr. Willson did come and tell her presently, he having been their servant, and to this day is very faithful to them. That her husband's not being forward to make him a bill for Rere Admirall's pay and Generall's pay both at the same time after he was first made Generall did first give him occasion of keeping a distance from him, since which they have never been great friends, Pen having by degrees been continually growing higher and higher, till now that he do wholly slight them and use them only as servants. Upon the whole, she told me stories enough to confirm me that he is the most false fellow that ever was born of woman, and that so she thinks and knows him to be. 22nd. Up, and by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, who tells me now for certain how the Commission for the Treasury is disposed of: viz., to Duke of Albemarle, Lord Ashly, Sir W. Coventry, Sir John Duncomb, and Sir Thomas Clifford: at which, he says, all the whole Court is disturbed; it having been once concluded otherwise into the other hands formerly mentioned in yesterday's notes, but all of a sudden the King's choice was changed, and these are to be the men; the first of which is only for a puppet to give honour to the rest. He do presage that these men will make it their business to find faults in the management of the late Lord Treasurer, and in discouraging the bankers: but I am, whatever I in compliance do say to him, of another mind, and my heart is very glad of it, for I do expect they will do much good, and that it is the happiest thing that hath appeared to me for the good of the nation since the King come in. Thence to St. James's, and up to the Duke of York; and there in his chamber Sir W. Coventry did of himself take notice of this business of the Treasury, wherein he is in the Commission, and desired that I would be thinking of any thing fit for him to be acquainted with for the lessening of charge and bettering of our credit, and what our expence bath been since the King's coming home, which he believes will be one of the first things they shall enquire into: which I promised him, and from time to time, which he desires, will give him an account of what I can think of worthy his knowledge. I am mighty glad of this opportunity of professing my joy to him in what choice the King hath made, and the hopes I have that it will save the kingdom from perishing and how it do encourage me to take pains again, after my having through despair neglected it! which he told me of himself that it was so with him, that he had given himself up to more ease than ever he expected, and that his opinion of matters was so bad, that there was no publick employment in the kingdom should have been accepted by him but this which the King hath now given him; and therein he is glad, in hopes of the service he may do therein; and in my conscience he will. So into the Duke of York's closet; and there, among other things, Sir W. Coventry did take notice of what he told me the other day, about a report of Commissioner Pett's dealing for timber in the Navy, and selling it to us in other names; and, besides his own proof, did produce a paper I had given him this morning about it, in the case of Widow Murford and Morecocke, which was so handled, that the Duke of York grew very angry, and commanded us presently to fall into the examination of it, saying that he would not trust a man for his sake that lifts up the whites of his eyes. And it was declared that if he be found to have done so, he should be reckoned unfit to serve the Navy; and I do believe he will be turned out; and it was, methought, a worthy saying of Sir W. Coventry to the Duke of York, "Sir," says he, "I do not make this complaint out of any disrespect to Commissioner Pett, but because I do love to do these things fairly and openly." Thence I to Westminster Hall with Sir G. Carteret to the Chequer Chamber to hear our cause of the Lindeboome prize there before the Lords of Appeal, where was Lord Ashly, Arlington, Barkely, and Sir G. Carteret, but the latter three signified nothing, the former only either minding or understanding what was said. Here was good pleading of Sir Walter Walker's and worth hearing, but little done in our business. Thence by coach to the Red Lyon, thinking to meet my father, but I come too soon, but my wife is gone out of town to meet him. I am in great pain, poor man, for him, lest he should come up in pain to town. So I staid not, but to the 'Change, and there staid a little, where most of the newes is that the Swedes are likely to fall out with the Dutch, which we wish, but how true I know not. Here I met my uncle Wight, the second day he hath been abroad, having been sick these two months even to death, but having never sent to me even in the greatest of his danger. I do think my Aunt had no mind I should come, and so I never went to see him, but neither he took notice of it to me, nor I made any excuse for it to him, but past two or three How do you's, and so parted and so home, and by and by comes my poor father, much better than I expected, being at ease by fits, according as his truss sits, and at another time in as much pain. I am mighty glad to see him come well to town. So to dinner, where Creed comes. After dinner my wife and father abroad, and Creed and I also by water, and parted at the Temple stairs, where I landed, and to the King's house, where I did give 18d., and saw the two last acts of "The Goblins," a play I could not make any thing of by these two acts, but here Knipp spied me out of the tiring-room, and come to the pit door, and I out to her, and kissed her, she only coming to see me, being in a country-dress, she, and others having, it seemed, had a country-dance in the play, but she no other part: so we parted, and I into the pit again till it was done. The house full, but I had no mind to be seen, but thence to .my cutler's, and two or three other places on small, errands, and so home, where my father and wife come home, and pretty well my father, who to supper and betimes to bed at his country hours. I to Sir W. Batten's, and there got some more part of my dividend of the prize-money. So home and to set down in writing the state of the account, and then to supper, and my wife to her flageolet, wherein she did make out a tune so prettily of herself, that I was infinitely pleased beyond whatever I expected from her, and so to bed. This day coming from Westminster with W. Batten, we saw at White Hall stairs a fisher-boat, with a sturgeon that he had newly catched in the River; which I saw, but it was but a little one; but big enough to prevent my mistake of that for a colt, if ever I become Mayor of Huntingdon! [During a very high flood in the meadows between Huntingdon and Godmanchester, something was seen floating, which the Godmanchester people thought was a black pig, and the Huntingdon folk declared it was a sturgeon; when rescued from the waters, it proved to be a young donkey. This mistake led to the one party being styled "Godmanchester black pigs," and the other "Huntingdon sturgeons," terms not altogether forgotten at this day. Pepys's colt must be taken to be the colt of an ass.--B.] 23rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home, and with my father dined, and, poor man! he hath put off his travelling-clothes to-day, and is mighty spruce, and I love to see him cheerful. After dinner I to my chamber, and my wife and I to talk, and by and by they tell Mrs. Daniel would speak with me, so I down to the parlour to her, and sat down together and talked about getting her husband a place . . . . I do promise, and mean to do what kindness I can to her husband. After having been there hasti je was ashamed de peur that my people pensait . . . . de it, or lest they might espy us through some trees, we parted and I to the office, and presently back home again, and there was asked by my wife, I know not whether simply or with design, how I come to look as I did, car ego was in much chaleur et de body and of animi, which I put off with the heat of the season, and so to other business, but I had some fear hung upon me lest alcuno had sidi decouvert. So to the office, and then to Sir R. Viner's about some part of my accounts now going on with him, and then home and ended my letters, and then to supper and my chamber to settle many things there, and then to bed. This noon I was on the 'Change, where I to my astonishment hear, and it is in the Gazette, that Sir John Duncomb is sworn yesterday a Privy-councillor. This day I hear also that last night the Duke of Kendall, second son of the Duke of York, did die; and that the other, Duke of Cambridge, continues very ill still. This afternoon I had opportunity para jouer with Mrs. Pen, tokendo her mammailles and baisando elle, being sola in the casa of her pater, and she fort willing. 24th. Up, and to the office, where, by and by, by appointment, we met upon Sir W. Warren's accounts, wherein I do appear in every thing as much as I can his enemy, though not so far but upon good conditions from him I may return to be his friend, but I do think it necessary to do what I do at present. We broke off at noon without doing much, and then home, where my wife not well, but yet engaged by invitation to go with Sir W. Pen. I got her to go with him by coach to Islington to the old house, where his lady and Madam Lowther, with her exceeding fine coach and mean horses, and her mother-in-law, did meet us, and two of Mr. Lowther's brothers, and here dined upon nothing but pigeon-pyes, which was such a thing for him to invite all the company to, that I was ashamed of it. But after dinner was all our sport, when there come in a juggler, who, indeed, did shew us so good tricks as I have never seen in my life, I think, of legerdemaine, and such as my wife hath since seriously said that she would not believe but that he did them by the help of the devil. Here, after a bad dinner, and but ordinary company, saving that I discern good parts in one of the sons, who, methought, did take me up very prettily in one or two things that I said, and I was so sensible of it as to be a caution to me hereafter how I do venture to speak more than is necessary in any company, though, as I did now, I do think them incapable to censure me. We broke up, they back to Walthamstow, and only my wife and I and Sir W. Pen to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mayden Queene," which, though I have often seen, yet pleases me infinitely, it being impossible, I think, ever to have the Queen's part, which is very good and passionate, and Florimel's part, which is the most comicall that ever was made for woman, ever done better than they two are by young Marshall and Nelly. Home, where I spent the evening with my father and wife, and late at night some flagillette with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and there come Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and dined with me, telling me that the Duke of Cambridge continues very ill, so as they do despair of his living. So to the office again, where all the afternoon. About 4 o'clock comes Mrs. Pierce to see my wife, and I into them, and there find Pierce very fine, and in her own hair, which do become her, and so says my wife, ten times better than lighter hair, her complexion being mighty good. With them talked a little, and was invited by her to come with my wife on Wednesday next in the evening, to be merry there, which we shall do. Then to the office again, where dispatched a great deal of business till late at night, to my great content, and then home and with my wife to our flageolets a little, and so to supper and to bed, after having my chamber a little wiped up. 26th (Lord's day). Up sooner than usual on Sundays, and to walk, it being exceeding hot all night (so as this night I begun to leave off my waistcoat this year) and this morning, and so to walk in the garden till toward church time, when my wife and I to church, where several strangers of good condition come to our pew, where the pew was full. At noon dined at home, where little Michell come and his wife, who continues mighty pretty. After dinner I by water alone to Westminster, where, not finding Mrs. Martin within, did go towards the parish church, and in the way did overtake her, who resolved to go into the church with her that she was going with (Mrs. Hargrave, the little crooked woman, the vintner's wife of the Dog) and then go out again, and so I to the church, and seeing her return did go out again myself, but met with Mr. Howlett, who, offering me a pew in the gallery, I had no excuse but up with him I must go, and then much against my will staid out the whole church in pain while she expected me at home, but I did entertain myself with my perspective glass up and down the church, by which I had the great pleasure of seeing and gazing at a great many very fine women; and what with that, and sleeping, I passed away the time till sermon was done, and then to Mrs. Martin, and there staid with her an hour or two, and there did what I would with her, and after been here so long I away to my boat, and up with it as far as Barne Elmes, reading of Mr. Evelyn's late new book against Solitude, in which I do not find much excess of good matter, though it be pretty for a bye discourse. I walked the length of the Elmes, and with great pleasure saw some gallant ladies and people come with their bottles, and basket, and chairs, and form, to sup under the trees, by the waterside, which was mighty pleasant. I to boat again and to my book, and having done that I took another book, Mr. Boyle's of Colours, and there read, where I laughed, finding many fine things worthy observation, and so landed at the Old Swan, and so home, where I find my poor father newly come out of an unexpected fit of his pain, that they feared he would have died. They had sent for me to White Hall and all up and down, and for Mr. Holliard also, who did come, but W. Hewer being here did I think do the business in getting my father's bowel, that was fallen down, into his body again, and that which made me more sensible of it was that he this morning did show me the place where his bowel did use to fall down and swell, which did trouble me to see. But above all things the poor man's patience under it, and his good heart and humour, as soon as he was out of it, did so work upon me, that my heart was sad to think upon his condition, but do hope that a way will be found by a steel truss to relieve him. By and by to supper, all our discourse about Brampton, and my intentions to build there if I could be free of my engagement to my Uncle Thomas and his son, that they may not have what I have built, against my will, to them whether I will or no, in case of me and my brothers being without heirs male; which is the true reason why I am against laying out money upon that place, together with my fear of some inconvenience by being so near Hinchingbroke; being obliged to be a servant to that family, and subject to what expence they shall cost me; and to have all that I shall buy, or do, esteemed as got by the death of my uncle, when indeed what I have from him is not worth naming. After supper to read and then to bed. 27th. Up, and there comes Greeting my flagelette master, and I practised with him. There come also Richardson, the bookbinder, with one of Ogilby's Bibles in quires for me to see and buy, it being Mr. Cade's, my stationer's; but it is like to be so big that I shall not use it, it being too great to stir up and down without much trouble, which I shall not like nor do intend it for. So by water to White Hall, and there find Sir G. Carteret at home, and talked with him a while, and find that the new Commissioners of the Treasury did meet this morning. So I to find out Sir W. Coventry, but missed, only I do hear that they have chosen Sir G. Downing for their Secretary; and I think in my conscience they have done a great thing in it; for he is a business active man, and values himself upon having of things do well under his hand; so that I am mightily pleased in their choice. Here I met Mr. Pierce, who tells me that he lately met Mr. Carcasse, who do mightily inveigh against me, for that all that has been done against him he lays on me, and I think he is in the right and I do own it, only I find what I suspected, that he do report that Sir W. Batten and I, who never agreed before, do now, and since this business agree even more, which I did fear would be thought, and therefore will find occasion to undeceive the world in that particular by promoting something shortly against [Sir] W. Batten. So home, and there to sing with my wife before dinner, and then to dinner, and after dinner comes Carcasse to speak with me, but I would not give him way to enlarge on anything, but he would have begun to have made a noise how I have undone him and used all the wit I could in the drawing up of his report, wherein he told me I had taken a great deal of pains to undo him. To which I did not think fit to enter into any answer, but dismissed him, and so I again up to my chamber, vexed at the impudence of this rogue, but I think I shall be wary enough for him: So to my chamber, and there did some little business, and then abroad, and stopped at the Bear-garden-stairs, there to see a prize fought. But the house so full there was no getting in there, so forced to go through an alehouse into the pit, where the bears are baited; and upon a stool did see them fight, which they did very furiously, a butcher and a waterman. The former had the better all along, till by and by the latter dropped his sword out of his hand, and the butcher, whether not seeing his sword dropped I know not, but did give him a cut over the wrist, so as he was disabled to fight any longer. But, Lord! to see how in a minute the whole stage was full of watermen to revenge the foul play, and the butchers to defend their fellow, though most blamed him; and there they all fell to it to knocking down and cutting many on each side. It was pleasant to see, but that I stood in the pit, and feared that in the tumult I might get some hurt. At last the rabble broke up, and so I away to White Hall and so to St. James's, but I found not Sir W. Coventry, so into the Park and took a turn or two, it being a most sweet day, and so by water home, and with my father and wife walked in the garden, and then anon to supper and to bed. The Duke of Cambridge very ill still. 28th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, where I find Sir W. Coventry, and he desirous to have spoke with me. It was to read over a draught of a letter which he hath made for his brother Commissioners and him to sign to us, demanding an account of the whole business of the Navy accounts; and I perceive, by the way he goes about it, that they will do admirable things. He tells me they have chosen Sir G. Downing their Secretary, who will be as fit a man as any in the world; and said, by the by, speaking of the bankers being fearful of Sir G. Downing's being Secretary, he being their enemy, that they did not intend to be ruled by their Secretary, but do the business themselves. My heart is glad to see so great hopes of good to the nation as will be by these men; and it do me good to see Sir W. Coventry so cheerfull as he now is on the same score. Thence home, and there fell to seeing my office and closet there made soundly clean, and the windows cleaned. At which all the morning, and so at noon to dinner. After dinner my wife away down with Jane and W. Hewer to Woolwich, in order to a little ayre and to lie there to-night, and so to gather May-dew to-morrow morning, [If we are to credit the following paragraph, extracted from the "Morning Post" of May 2nd, 1791, the virtues of May dew were then still held in some estimation; for it records that "on the day preceding, according to annual and superstitious custom, a number of persons went into the fields, and bathed their faces with the dew on the grass, under the idea that it would render them beautiful" (Hone's "Every Day Book," vol. ii., p. 611). Aubrey speaks of May dew as "a great dissolvent" ("Miscellanies," p. 183).--B.] which Mrs. Turner hath taught her as the only thing in the world to wash her face with; and I am contented with it. Presently comes Creed, and he and I by water to Fox-hall, and there walked in Spring Garden. A great deal of company, and the weather and garden pleasant: that it is very pleasant and cheap going thither, for a man may go to spend what he will, or nothing, all is one. But to hear the nightingale and other birds, and here fiddles, and there a harp, and here a Jew's trump, and here laughing, and there fine people walking, is mighty divertising. Among others, there were two pretty women alone, that walked a great while, which being discovered by some idle gentlemen, they would needs take them up; but to see the poor ladies how they were put to it to run from them, and they after them, and sometimes the ladies put themselves along with other company, then the other drew back; at last, the last did get off out of the house, and took boat and away. I was troubled to see them abused so; and could have found in my heart, as little desire of fighting as I have, to have protected the ladies. So by water, set Creed down at White Hall, and I to the Old Swan, and so home. My father gone to bed, and wife abroad at Woolwich, I to Sir W. Pen, where he and his Lady and Pegg and pretty Mrs. Lowther her sister-in-law at supper, where I sat and talked, and Sir W. Pen, half drunk, did talk like a fool and vex his wife, that I was half pleased and half vexed to see so much folly and rudeness from him, and so late home to bed. 29th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, where by and by up to the Duke of York, where, among other things, our parson Mills having the offer of another benefice by Sir Robert Brookes, who was his pupil, he by my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] is made one of the Duke's Chaplains, which qualifies him for two livings. But to see how slightly such things are done, the Duke of York only taking my Lord Barkeley's word upon saying, that we the officers of the Navy do say he is a good man and minister of our parish, and the Duke of York admits him to kiss his hand, but speaks not one word to him; but so a warrant will be drawn from the Duke of York to qualify him, and there's an end of it. So we into the Duke's closett, where little to do, but complaint for want of money and a motion of Sir W. Coventry's that we should all now bethink ourselves of lessening charge to the King, which he said was the only way he saw likely to put the King out of debt, and this puts me upon thinking to offer something presently myself to prevent its being done in a worse manner without me relating to the Victualling business, which, as I may order it, I think may be done and save myself something. Thence home, and there settle to some accounts of mine in my chamber I all the morning till dinner. My wife comes home from Woolwich, but did not dine with me, going to dress herself against night, to go to Mrs. Pierce's to be merry, where we are to have Knepp and Harris and other good people. I at my accounts all the afternoon, being a little lost in them as to reckoning interest. Anon comes down my wife, dressed in her second mourning, with her black moyre waistcoat, and short petticoat, laced with silver lace so basely that I could not endure to see her, and with laced lining, which is too soon, so that I was horrid angry, and went out of doors to the office and there staid, and would not go to our intended meeting, which vexed me to the blood, and my wife sent twice or thrice to me, to direct her any way to dress her, but to put on her cloth gown, which she would not venture, which made me mad: and so in the evening to my chamber, vexed, and to my accounts, which I ended to my great content, and did make amends for the loss of our mirth this night, by getting this done, which otherwise I fear I should not have done a good while else. So to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, being without any words friends with my wife, though last night I was very angry, and do think I did give her as much cause to be angry with me. After dinner I walked to Arundell House, the way very dusty, the day of meeting of the Society being changed from Wednesday to Thursday, which I knew not before, because the Wednesday is a Council-day, and several of the Council are of the Society, and would come but for their attending the King at Council; where I find much company, indeed very much company, in expectation of the Duchesse of Newcastle, who had desired to be invited to the Society; and was, after much debate, pro and con., it seems many being against it; and we do believe the town will be full of ballads of it. Anon comes the Duchesse with her women attending her; among others, the Ferabosco,2 of whom so much talk is that her lady would bid her show her face and kill the gallants. She is indeed black, and hath good black little eyes, but otherwise but a very ordinary woman I do think, but they say sings well. The Duchesse hath been a good, comely woman; but her dress so antick, and her deportment so ordinary, that I do not like her at all, nor did I hear her say any thing that was worth hearing, but that she was full of admiration, all admiration. Several fine experiments were shown her of colours, loadstones, microscopes, and of liquors among others, of one that did, while she was there, turn a piece of roasted mutton into pure blood, which was very rare. Here was Mrs. Moore of Cambridge, whom I had not seen before, and I was glad to see her; as also a very pretty black boy that run up and down the room, somebody's child in Arundell House. After they had shown her many experiments, and she cried still she was full of admiration, she departed, being led out and in by several Lords that were there; among others Lord George Barkeley and Earl of Carlisle, and a very pretty young man, the Duke of Somerset. She gone, I by coach home, and there busy at my letters till night, and then with my wife in the evening singing with her in the garden with great pleasure, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up, and there came young Mrs. Daniel in the morning as I expected about business of her husband's. I took her into the office to discourse with her about getting some employment for him . . . . By water to White Hall to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, the first time I ever was there and I think the second that they have met at the Treasury chamber there. Here I saw Duncomb look as big, and take as much state on him, as if he had been born a lord. I was in with him about Tangier, and at present received but little answer from them, they being in a cloud of business yet, but I doubt not but all will go well under them. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that he is told this day by Secretary Morris that he believes we are, and shall be, only fooled by the French; and that the Dutch are very high and insolent, and do look upon us as come over only to beg a peace; which troubles me very much, and I do fear it is true. Thence to Sir G. Carteret at his lodgings; who, I perceive, is mightily displeased with this new Treasury; and he hath reason, for it will eclipse him; and he tells me that my Lord Ashly says they understand nothing; and he says he believes the King do not intend they shall sit long. But I believe no such thing, but that the King will find such benefit by them as he will desire to have them continue, as we see he hath done, in the late new Act that was so much decried about the King; but yet the King hath since permitted it, and found good by it. He says, and I believe, that a great many persons at Court are angry at the rise of this Duncomb, whose father, he tells me, was a long-Parliamentman, and a great Committee-man; and this fellow used to carry his papers to Committees after him: he was a kind of an atturny: but for all this, I believe this man will be a great man, in spite of all. Thence I away to Holborne to Mr. Gawden, whom I met at Bernard's Inn gate, and straight we together to the Navy Office, where we did all meet about some victualling business, and so home to dinner and to the office, where the weather so hot now-a-days that I cannot but sleep before I do any business, and in the evening home, and there, to my unexpected satisfaction, did get my intricate accounts of interest, which have been of late much perplexed by mixing of some moneys of Sir G. Carteret's with mine, evened and set right: and so late to supper, and with great quiet to bed; finding by the balance of my account that I am creditor L6900, for which the Lord of Heaven be praised! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Advantage a man of the law hath over all other people Certainly Annapolis must be defended,--where is Annapolis? Credit of this office hath received by this rogue's occasion Did take me up very prettily in one or two things that I said Father, who to supper and betimes to bed at his country hours Give the King of France Nova Scotia, which he do not like Hath given her the pox, but I hope it is not so How do the children? Hunt up and down with its mouth if you touch the cheek Just set down to dinner, and I dined with them, as I intended Little worth of this world, to buy it with so much pain Looks to lie down about two months hence Pit, where the bears are baited Said to die with the cleanest hands that ever any Lord Treasurer Says of wood, that it is an excrescence of the earth Shame such a rogue should give me and all of us this trouble Street ordered to be continued, forty feet broad, from Paul's Think never to see this woman--at least, to have her here more We find the two young ladies come home, and their patches off Which he left him in the lurch Who continues so ill as not to be troubled with business Whose red nose makes me ashamed to be seen with him Wretch, n., often used as an expression of endearment 
4177	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE 1667 June 1st. Up; and there comes to me Mr. Commander, whom I employ about hiring of some ground behind the office, for the building of me a stable and coach-house: for I do find it necessary for me, both in respect to honour and the profit of it also, my expense in hackney-coaches being now so great, to keep a coach, and therefore will do it. Having given him some instructions about it, I to the office, where we sat all the morning; where we have news that our peace with Spayne, as to trade, is wholly concluded, and we are to furnish him with some men for Flanders against the French. How that will agree with the French, I know not; but they say that he also hath liberty, to get what men he pleases out of England. But for the Spaniard, I hear that my Lord Castlehaven is raising a regiment of 4000 men, which he is to command there; and several young gentlemen are going over in commands with him: and they say the Duke of Monmouth is going over only as a traveller, not to engage on either side, but only to see the campagne, which will be becoming him much more than to live whoreing and rogueing, as he now do. After dinner to the office, where, after a little nap, I fell to business, and did very much with infinite joy to myself, as it always is to me when I have dispatched much business, and therefore it troubles me to see how hard it is for me to settle to it sometimes when my mind is upon pleasure. So home late to supper and to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up betimes, and down to my chamber without trimming myself, or putting on clean linen, thinking only to keep to my chamber and do business to-day, but when I come there I find that without being shaved I am not fully awake, nor ready to settle to business, and so was fain to go up again and dress myself, which I did, and so down to my chamber, and fell roundly to business, and did to my satisfaction by dinner go far in the drawing up a state of my accounts of Tangier for the new Lords Commissioners. So to dinner, and then to my business again all the afternoon close, when Creed come to visit me, but I did put him off, and to my business, till anon I did make an end, and wrote it fair with a letter to the Lords to accompany my accounts, which I think will be so much satisfaction and so soon done (their order for my doing it being dated but May 30) as they will not find from any hand else. Being weary and almost blind with writing and reading so much to-day, I took boat at the Old Swan, and there up the river all alone as high as Putney almost, and then back again, all the way reading, and finishing Mr. Boyle's book of Colours, which is so chymical, that I can understand but little of it, but understand enough to see that he is a most excellent man. So back and home, and there to supper, and so to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and with Sir W. Coventry a great while talking about several businesses, but especially about accounts, and how backward our Treasurer is in giving them satisfaction, and the truth is I do doubt he cannot do better, but it is strange to say that being conscious of our doing little at this day, nor for some time past in our office for want of money, I do hang my head to him, and cannot be so free with him as I used to be, nor can be free with him, though of all men, I think, I have the least cause to be so, having taken so much more pains, while I could do anything, than the rest of my fellows. Parted with him, and so going through the Park met Mr. Mills, our parson, whom I went back with to bring him to [Sir] W. Coventry, to give him the form of a qualification for the Duke of York to sign to, to enable him to have two livings: which was a service I did, but much against my will, for a lazy, fat priest. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked a turn or two with Sir William Doyly, who did lay a wager with me, the Treasurership would be in one hand, notwithstanding this present Commission, before Christmas: on which we did lay a poll of ling, a brace of carps, and a pottle of wine; and Sir W. Pen and Mr. Scowen to be at the eating of them. Thence down by water to Deptford, it being Trinity Monday, when the Master is chosen, and there, finding them all at church, and thinking they dined, as usual, at Stepny, I turned back, having a good book in my hand, the Life of Cardinal Wolsey, wrote by his own servant, and to Ratcliffe; and so walked to Stepny, and spent, my time in the churchyard, looking over the gravestones, expecting when the company would come by. Finding no company stirring, I sent to the house to see; and, it seems, they dine not there, but at Deptford: so I back again to Deptford, and there find them just sat down. And so I down with them; and we had a good dinner of plain meat, and good company at our table: among others, my good Mr. Evelyn, with whom, after dinner, I stepped aside, and talked upon the present posture of our affairs; which is, that the Dutch are known to be abroad with eighty sail of ships of war, and twenty fire-ships; and the French come into the Channell with twenty sail of men-of-war, and five fireships, while we have not a ship at sea to do them any hurt with; but are calling in all we can, while our Embassadors are treating at Bredah; and the Dutch look upon them as come to beg peace, and use them accordingly; and all this through the negligence of our Prince, who hath power, if he would, to master all these with the money and men that he hath had the command of, and may now have, if he would mind his business. But, for aught we see, the Kingdom is likely to be lost, as well as the reputation of it is, for ever; notwithstanding so much reputation got and preserved by a rebel that went before him. This discourse of ours ended with sorrowful reflections upon our condition, and so broke up, and Creed and I got out of the room, and away by water to White Hall, and there he and I waited in the Treasury-chamber an hour or two, where we saw the Country Receivers and Accountants for money come to attend; and one of them, a brisk young fellow, with his hat cocked like a fool behind, as the present fashion among the blades is, committed to the Serjeant. By and by, I, upon desire, was called in, and delivered in my report of my Accounts. Present, Lord Ashly, Clifford, and Duncomb, who, being busy, did not read it; but committed it to Sir George Downing, and so I was dismissed; but, Lord! to see how Duncomb do take upon him is an eyesore, though I think he deserves great honour, but only the suddenness of his rise, and his pride. But I do like the way of these lords, that they admit nobody to use many words, nor do they spend many words themselves, but in great state do hear what they see necessary, and say little themselves, but bid withdraw. Thence Creed and I by water up to Fox Hall, and over against it stopped, thinking to see some Cock-fighting; but it was just being done, and, therefore, back again to the other side, and to Spring Garden, and there eat and drank a little, and then to walk up and down the garden, reflecting upon the bad management of things now, compared with what it was in the late rebellious times, when men, some for fear, and some for religion, minded their business, which none now do, by being void of both. Much talk of this and, other kinds, very pleasant, and so when it was almost night we home, setting him in at White Hall, and I to the Old Swan, and thence home, where to supper, and then to read a little, and so to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, and there busy all the morning putting in order the answering the great letter sent to the office by the new Commissioners of the Treasury, who demand an account from the King's coming in to this day, which we shall do in the best manner we can. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Commander to me and tells me, after all, that I cannot have a lease of the ground for my coach-house and stable, till a suit in law be ended, about the end of the old stable now standing, which they and I would have pulled down to make a better way for a coach. I am a little sorry that I cannot presently have it, because I am pretty full in my mind of keeping a coach; but yet, when I think on it again, the Dutch and French both at sea, and we poor, and still out of order, I know not yet what turns there may be, and besides, I am in danger of parting with one of my places, which relates to the Victualling, that brings me by accident in L800 a year, that is, L300 from the King and L500 from D. Gawden. I ought to be well contented to forbear awhile, and therefore I am contented. To the office all the afternoon, where I dispatched much business to my great content, and then home in the evening, and there to sing and pipe with my wife, and that being done, she fell all of a sudden to discourse about her clothes and my humours in not suffering her to wear them as she pleases, and grew to high words between us, but I fell to read a book (Boyle's Hydrostatiques) ["Hydrostatical Paradoxes made out by New Experiments" was published by the Hon. Robert Boyle in 1666 (Oxford).] aloud in my chamber and let her talk, till she was tired and vexed that I would not hear her, and so become friends, and to bed together the first night after 4 or 5 that she hath lain from me by reason of a great cold she had got. 5th. Up, and with Mr. Kenasteri by coach to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury about getting money for Tangier, and did come to, after long waiting, speak with them, and there I find them all sat; and, among the rest, Duncomb lolling, with his heels upon another chair, by that, that he sat upon, and had an answer good enough, and then away home, and (it being a most windy day, and hath been so all night, South West, and we have great hopes that it may have done the Dutch or French fleets some hurt) having got some papers in order, I back to St. James's, where we all met at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and dined and talked of our business, he being a most excellent man, and indeed, with all his business, hath more of his employed upon the good of the service of the Navy, than all of us, that makes me ashamed of it. This noon Captain Perriman brings us word how the Happy Returne's' [crew] below in the Hope, ordered to carry the Portugal Embassador to Holland (and the Embassador, I think, on board), refuse to go till paid; and by their example two or three more ships are in a mutiny: which is a sad consideration, while so many of the enemy's ships are at this day triumphing in the sea. Here a very good and neat dinner, after the French manner, and good discourse, and then up after dinner to the Duke of York and did our usual business, and are put in hopes by Sir W. Coventry that we shall have money, and so away, Sir G. Carteret and I to my Lord Crew to advise about Sir G. Carteret's carrying his accounts to-morrow to the Commissioners appointed to examine them and all other accounts since the war, who at last by the King's calling them to him yesterday and chiding them will sit, but Littleton and Garraway much against their wills. The truth of it is, it is a ridiculous thing, for it will come to nothing, nor do the King nor kingdom good in any manner, I think. Here they talked of my Lord Hinchingbroke's match with Lord Burlington's daughter, which is now gone a pretty way forward, and to great content, which I am infinitely glad of. So from hence to White Hall, and in the streete Sir G. Carteret showed me a gentleman coming by in his coach, who hath been sent for up out of Lincolneshire, I think he says he is a justice of peace there, that the Council have laid by the heels here, and here lies in a messenger's hands, for saying that a man and his wife are but one person, and so ought to pay but 12d. for both to the Poll Bill; by which others were led to do the like: and so here he lies prisoner. To White Hall, and there I attended to speak with Sir W. Coventry about Lanyon's business, to get him some money out of the Prize Office from my Lord Ashly, and so home, and there to the office a little, and thence to my chamber to read, and supper, and to bed. My father, blessed be God! finds great ease by his new steel trusse, which he put on yesterday. So to bed. The Duke of Cambridge past hopes of living still. 6th. Up, and to the office all the morning, where (which he hath not done a great while) Sir G. Carteret come to advise with us for the disposing of L10,000, which is the first sum the new Lords Treasurers have provided us; but, unless we have more, this will not enable us to cut off any of the growing charge which they seem to give it us for, and expect we should discharge several ships quite off with it. So home and with my father and wife to Sir W. Pen's to dinner, which they invited us to out of their respect to my father, as a stranger; though I know them as false as the devil himself, and that it is only that they think it fit to oblige me; wherein I am a happy man, that all my fellow-officers are desirous of my friendship. Here as merry as in so false a place, and where I must dissemble my hatred, I could be, and after dinner my father and wife to a play, and I to my office, and there busy all the afternoon till late at night, and then my wife and I sang a song or two in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon comes Mr. Pierce to me about some business, and tells me that the Duke of Cambridge is yet living, but every minute expected to die, and is given over by all people, which indeed is a sad loss. 7th. Up, and after with my flageolet and Mr. Townsend, whom I sent for to come to me to discourse about my Lord Sandwich's business; for whom I am in some pain, lest the Accounts of the Wardrobe may not be in so good order as may please the new Lords Treasurers, who are quick-sighted, and under obligations of recommending themselves to the King and the world, by their finding and mending of faults, and are, most of them, not the best friends to my Lord, and to the office, and there all the morning. At noon home to dinner, my father, wife, and I, and a good dinner, and then to the office again, where busy all the afternoon, also I have a desire to dispatch all business that hath lain long on my hands, and so to it till the evening, and then home to sing and pipe with my wife, and then to supper and to bed, my head full of thoughts how to keep if I can some part of my wages as Surveyor of the Victualling, which I see must now come to be taken away among the other places that have been occasioned by this war, and the rather because I have of late an inclination to keep a coach. Ever since my drinking, two days ago, some very Goole drink at Sir W. Coventry's table I have been full of wind and with some pain, and I was afraid last night that it would amount to much, but, blessed be God! I find that the worst is past, so that I do clearly see that all the indisposition I am liable to-day as to sickness is only the Colique. This day I read (shown me by Mr. Gibson) a discourse newly come forth of the King of France, his pretence to Flanders, which is a very fine discourse, and the truth is, hath so much of the Civil Law in it, that I am not a fit judge of it, but, as it appears to me, he hath a good pretence to it by right of his Queene. So to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where all the news this morning is, that the Dutch are come with a fleete of eighty sail to Harwich, and that guns were heard plain by Sir W. Rider's people at Bednallgreene, all yesterday even. So to the office, we all sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, where our dinner a ham of French bacon, boiled with pigeons, an excellent dish. Here dined with us only W. Hewer and his mother. After dinner to the office again, where busy till night, and then home and to read a little and then to bed. The news is confirmed that the Dutch are off of Harwich, but had done nothing last night. The King hath sent down my Lord of Oxford to raise the countries there; and all the Westerne barges are taken up to make a bridge over the River, about the Hope, for horse to cross the River, if there be occasion. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and so walked to St. James's, where I hear that the Duke of Cambridge, who was given over long since by the Doctors, is now likely to recover; for which God be praised! To Sir W. Coventry, and there talked with him a great while; and mighty glad I was of my good fortune to visit him, for it keeps in my acquaintance with him, and the world sees it, and reckons my interest accordingly. In comes my Lord Barkeley, who is going down to Harwich also to look after the militia there: and there is also the Duke of Monmouth, and with him a great many young Hectors, the Lord Chesterfield, my Lord Mandeville, and others: but to little purpose, I fear, but to debauch the country women thereabouts. My Lord Barkeley wanting some maps, and Sir W. Coventry recommending the six maps of England that are bound up for the pocket, I did offer to present my Lord with them, which he accepted: and so I will send them him. Thence to White Hall, and there to the Chapel, where I met Creed, and he and I staid to hear who preached, which was a man who begun dully, and so we away by water and landed in Southwarke, and to a church in the street where we take water beyond the bridge, which was so full and the weather hot that we could not stand there. So to my house, where we find my father and wife at dinner, and after dinner Creed and I by water to White Hall, and there we parted, and I to Sir G. Carteret's, where, he busy, I up into the house, and there met with a gentleman, Captain Aldrige, that belongs to my Lord Barkeley, and I did give him the book of maps for my Lord, and so I to Westminster Church and there staid a good while, and saw Betty Michell there. So away thence, and after church time to Mrs. Martin's, and then hazer what I would with her, and then took boat and up, all alone, a most excellent evening, as high as Barne Elmes, and there took a turn; and then to my boat again, and home, reading and making an end of the book I lately bought a merry satyr called "The Visions," translated from Spanish by L'Estrange, wherein there are many very pretty things; but the translation is, as to the rendering it into English expression, the best that ever I saw, it being impossible almost to conceive that it should be a translation. Being come home I find an order come for the getting some fire-ships presently to annoy the Dutch, who are in the King's Channel, and expected up higher. So [Sir] W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen being come this evening from their country houses to town we did issue orders about it, and then home to supper and, to bed, 10th. Up; and news brought us that, the Dutch are come up as high as the Nore; and more pressing orders for fireships. W. Batten, W. Pen, and I to St. James's; where the Duke of York gone this morning betimes, to send away some men down to Chatham. So we three to White Hall, and met Sir W. Coventry, who presses all that is possible for fire-ships. So we three to the office presently; and thither comes Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who is to command them all in some exploits he is to do with them on the enemy in the River. So we all down to Deptford, and pitched upon ships and set men at work: but, Lord! to see how backwardly things move at this pinch, notwithstanding that, by the enemy's being now come up as high as almost the Hope, Sir J. Minnes, who has gone down to pay some ships there, hath sent up the money; and so we are possessed of money to do what we will with. Yet partly ourselves, being used to be idle and in despair, and partly people that have been used to be deceived by us as to money, won't believe us; and we know not, though we have it, how almost to promise it; and our wants such, and men out of the way, that it is an admirable thing to consider how much the King suffers, and how necessary it is in a State to keep the King's service always in a good posture and credit. Here I eat a bit, and then in the afternoon took boat and down to Greenwich, where I find the stairs full of people, there being a great riding [It was an ancient custom in Berkshire, when a man had beaten his wife, for the neighbours to parade in front of his house, for the purpose of serenading him with kettles, and horns and hand-bells, and every species of "rough music," by which name the ceremony was designated. Perhaps the riding mentioned by Pepys was a punishment somewhat similar. Malcolm ("Manners of London") quotes from the "Protestant Mercury," that a porter's lady, who resided near Strand Lane, beat her husband with so much violence and perseverance, that the poor man was compelled to leap out of the window to escape her fury. Exasperated at this virago, the neighbours made a "riding," i.e. a pedestrian procession, headed by a drum, and accompanied by a chemise, displayed for a banner. The manual musician sounded the tune of "You round-headed cuckolds, come dig, come dig!" and nearly seventy coalheavers, carmen, and porters, adorned with large horns fastened to their heads, followed. The public seemed highly pleased with the nature of the punishment, and gave liberally to the vindicators of injured manhood.--B.] there to-day for a man, the constable of the town, whose wife beat him. Here I was with much ado fain to press two watermen to make me a galley, and so to Woolwich to give order for the dispatch of a ship I have taken under my care to see dispatched, and orders being so given, I, under pretence to fetch up the ship, which lay at Grays (the Golden Hand), [The "Golden Hand" was to have been used for the conveyance of the Swedish Ambassadors' horses and goods to Holland. In August, 1667, Frances, widow of Captain Douglas and daughter of Lord Grey, petitioned the king "for a gift of the prize ship Golden Hand, now employed in weighing the ships sunk at Chatham, where her husband lost his life in defence of the ships against the Dutch" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 430)] did do that in my way, and went down to Gravesend, where I find the Duke of Albemarle just come, with a great many idle lords and gentlemen, with their pistols and fooleries; and the bulwarke not able to have stood half an hour had they come up; but the Dutch are fallen down from the Hope and Shell-haven as low as Sheernesse, and we do plainly at this time hear the guns play. Yet I do not find the Duke of Albemarle intends to go thither, but stays here to-night, and hath, though the Dutch are gone, ordered our frigates to be brought to a line between the two blockhouses; which I took then to be a ridiculous thing. So I away into the town and took a captain or two of our ships (who did give me an account of the proceedings of the Dutch fleete in the river) to the taverne, and there eat and drank, and I find the townsmen had removed most of their goods out of the town, for fear of the Dutch coming up to them; and from Sir John Griffen, that last night there was not twelve men to be got in the town to defend it: which the master of the house tells me is not true, but that the men of the town did intend to stay, though they did indeed, and so had he, at the Ship, removed their goods. Thence went off to an Ostend man-of-war, just now come up, who met the Dutch fleete, who took three ships that he come convoying hither from him says they are as low as the Nore, or thereabouts. So I homeward, as long as it was light reading Mr. Boyle's book of Hydrostatics, which is a most excellent book as ever I read, and I will take much pains to understand him through if I can, the doctrine being very useful. When it grew too dark to read I lay down and took a nap, it being a most excellent fine evening, and about one o'clock got home, and after having wrote to Sir W. Coventry an account of what I had done and seen (which is entered in my letter-book), I to bed. 11th. Up, and more letters still from Sir W. Coventry about more fire-ships, and so Sir W. Batten and I to the office, where Bruncker come to us, who is just now going to Chatham upon a desire of Commissioner Pett's, who is in a very fearful stink for fear of the Dutch, and desires help for God and the King and kingdom's sake. So Bruncker goes down, and Sir J. Minnes also, from Gravesend. This morning Pett writes us word that Sheernesse is lost last night, after two or three hours' dispute. The enemy hath possessed himself of that place; which is very sad, and puts us into great fears of Chatham. Sir W. Batten and I down by water to Deptford, and there Sir W. Pen and we did consider of several matters relating to the dispatch of the fire-ships, and so [Sir] W. Batten and I home again, and there to dinner, my wife and father having dined, and after dinner, by W. Hewer's lucky advice, went to Mr. Fenn, and did get him to pay me above L400 of my wages, and W. Hewer received it for me, and brought it home this night. Thence I meeting Mr. Moore went toward the other end of the town by coach, and spying Mercer in the street, I took leave of Moore and 'light and followed her, and at Paul's overtook her and walked with her through the dusty street almost to home, and there in Lombard Street met The. Turner in coach, who had been at my house to see us, being to go out of town to-morrow to the Northward, and so I promised to see her tomorrow, and then home, and there to our business, hiring some fire-ships, and receiving every hour almost letters from Sir W. Coventry, calling for more fire-ships; and an order from Council to enable us to take any man's ships; and Sir W. Coventry, in his letter to us, says he do not doubt but at this time, under an invasion, as he owns it to be, the King may, by law, take any man's goods. At this business late, and then home; where a great deal of serious talk with my wife about the sad state we are in, and especially from the beating up of drums this night for the trainbands upon pain of death to appear in arms to-morrow morning with bullet and powder, and money to supply themselves with victuals for a fortnight; which, considering the soldiers drawn out to Chatham and elsewhere, looks as if they had a design to ruin the City and give it up to be undone; which, I hear, makes the sober citizens to think very sadly of things. So to bed after supper, ill in my mind. This afternoon Mrs. Williams sent to me to speak with her, which I did, only about news. I had not spoke with her many a day before by reason of Carcasses business. 12th. Up very betimes to our business at the office, there hiring of more fire-ships; and at it close all the morning. At noon home, and Sir W. Pen dined with us. By and by, after dinner, my wife out by coach to see her mother; and I in another, being afraid, at this busy time, to be seen with a woman in a coach, as if I were idle, towards The. Turner's; but met Sir W. Coventry's boy; and there in his letter find that the Dutch had made no motion since their taking Sheernesse; and the Duke of Albemarle writes that all is safe as to the great ships against any assault, the boom and chaine being so fortified; which put my heart into great joy. [There had been correspondence with Pett respecting this chain in April and May. On the 10th May Pett wrote to the Navy Commissioners, "The chain is promised to be dispatched to-morrow, and all things are ready for fixing it." On the 11th June the Dutch "got twenty or twenty-two ships over the narrow part of the river at Chatham, where ships had been sunk; after two and a half hours' fighting one guard-ship after another was fired and blown up, and the enemy master of the chain" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, pp. 58, 87, 215).] When I come to Sir W: Coventry's chamber, I find him abroad; but his clerk, Powell, do tell me that ill newes is come to Court of the Dutch breaking the Chaine at Chatham; which struck me to the heart. And to White Hall to hear the truth of it; and there, going up the back-stairs, I did hear some lacquies speaking of sad newes come to Court, saying, that hardly anybody in the Court but do look as if he cried, and would not go into the house for fear of being seen, but slunk out and got into a coach, and to The. Turner's to Sir W. Turner's, where I met Roger Pepys, newly come out of the country. He and I talked aside a little, he offering a match for Pall, one Barnes, of whom we shall talk more the next time. His father married a Pepys; in discourse, he told me further that his grandfather, my great grandfather, had L800 per annum, in Queen Elizabeth's time, in the very town of Cottenham; and that we did certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland. More talk I had, and shall have more with him, but my mind is so sad and head full of this ill news that I cannot now set it down. A short visit here, my wife coming to me, and took leave of The., and so home, where all our hearts do now ake; for the newes is true, that the Dutch have broke the chaine and burned our ships, and particularly "The Royal Charles," [Vandervelde's drawings of the conflagration of the English fleet, made by him on the spot, are in the British Museum.--B.] other particulars I know not, but most sad to be sure. And, the truth is, I do fear so much that the whole kingdom is undone, that I do this night resolve to study with my father and wife what to do with the little that I have in money by me, for I give [up] all the rest that I have in the King's hands, for Tangier, for lost. So God help us! and God knows what disorders we may fall into, and whether any violence on this office, or perhaps some severity on our persons, as being reckoned by the silly people, or perhaps may, by policy of State, be thought fit to be condemned by the King and Duke of York, and so put to trouble; though, God knows! I have, in my own person, done my full duty, I am sure. So having with much ado finished my business at the office, I home to consider with my father and wife of things, and then to supper and to bed with a heavy heart. The manner of my advising this night with my father was, I took him and my wife up to her chamber, and shut the door; and there told them the sad state of the times how we are like to be all undone; that I do fear some violence will be offered to this office, where all I have in the world is; and resolved upon sending it away--sometimes into the country--sometimes my father to lie in town, and have the gold with him at Sarah Giles's, and with that resolution went to bed full of fear and fright, hardly slept all night. 13th. No sooner up but hear the sad newes confirmed of the Royall Charles being taken by them, and now in fitting by them--which Pett should have carried up higher by our several orders, and deserves, therefore, to be hanged for not doing it--and turning several others; and that another fleete is come up into the Hope. Upon which newes the King and Duke of York have been below--[Below London Bridge.]--since four o'clock in the morning, to command the sinking of ships at Barking-Creeke, and other places, to stop their coming up higher: which put me into such a fear, that I presently resolved of my father's and wife's going into the country; and, at two hours' warning, they did go by the coach this day, with about L1300 in gold in their night-bag. Pray God give them good passage, and good care to hide it when they come home! but my heart is full of fear: They gone, I continued in fright and fear what to do with the rest. W. Hewer hath been at the banker's, and hath got L500 out of Backewell's hands of his own money; but they are so called upon that they will be all broke, hundreds coming to them for money: and their answer is, "It is payable at twenty days--when the days are out, we will pay you;" and those that are not so, they make tell over their money, and make their bags false, on purpose to give cause to retell it, and so spend time. I cannot have my 200 pieces of gold again for silver, all being bought up last night that were to be had, and sold for 24 and 25s. a-piece. So I must keep the silver by me, which sometimes I think to fling into the house of office, and then again know not how I shall come by it, if we be made to leave the office. Every minute some one or other calls for this or that order; and so I forced to be at the office, most of the day, about the fire-ships which are to be suddenly fitted out: and it's a most strange thing that we hear nothing from any of my brethren at Chatham; so that we are wholly in the dark, various being the reports of what is done there; insomuch that I sent Mr. Clapham express thither to see how matters go: I did, about noon, resolve to send Mr. Gibson away after my wife with another 1000 pieces, under colour of an express to Sir Jeremy Smith; who is, as I hear, with some ships at Newcastle; which I did really send to him, and may, possibly, prove of good use to the King; for it is possible, in the hurry of business, they may not think of it at Court, and the charge of an express is not considerable to the King. So though I intend Gibson no further than to Huntingdon I direct him to send the packet forward. My business the most of the afternoon is listening to every body that comes to the office, what news? which is variously related, some better, some worse, but nothing certain. The King and Duke of York up and down all the day here and there: some time on Tower Hill, where the City militia was; where the King did make a speech to them, that they should venture themselves no further than he would himself. I also sent, my mind being in pain, Saunders after my wife and father, to overtake them at their night's lodgings, to see how matters go with them. In the evening, I sent for my cousin Sarah [Gyles] and her husband, who come; and I did deliver them my chest of writings about Brampton, and my brother Tom's papers, and my journalls, which I value much; and did send my two silver flaggons to Kate Joyce's: that so, being scattered what I have, something might be saved. I have also made a girdle, by which, with some trouble, I do carry about me L300 in gold about my body, that I may not be without something in case I should be surprised: for I think, in any nation but our's, people that appear (for we are not indeed so) so faulty as we, would have their throats cut. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling, and several others, to the office, and tell me that never were people so dejected as they are in the City all over at this day; and do talk most loudly, even treason; as, that we are bought and sold--that we are betrayed by the Papists, and others, about the King; cry out that the office of the Ordnance hath been so backward as no powder to have been at Chatham nor Upnor Castle till such a time, and the carriages all broken; that Legg is a Papist; that Upnor, the old good castle built by Queen Elizabeth, should be lately slighted; that the ships at Chatham should not be carried up higher. They look upon us as lost, and remove their families and rich goods in the City; and do think verily that the French, being come down with his army to Dunkirke, it is to invade us, and that we shall be invaded. Mr. Clerke, the, solicitor, comes to me about business, and tells me that he hears that the King hath chosen Mr. Pierpont and Vaughan of the West, Privy-councillors; that my Lord Chancellor was affronted in the Hall this day, by people telling him of his Dunkirke house; and that there are regiments ordered to be got together, whereof to be commanders my Lord Fairfax, Ingoldsby, Bethell, Norton, and Birch, and other Presbyterians; and that Dr. Bates will have liberty to preach. Now, whether this be true or not, I know not; but do think that nothing but this will unite us together. Late at night comes Mr. Hudson, the cooper, my neighbour, and tells me that he come from Chatham this evening at five o'clock, and saw this afternoon "The Royal James," "Oake," and "London," burnt by the enemy with their fire-ships: that two or three men-of-war come up with them, and made no more of Upnor Castle's shooting, than of a fly; that those ships lay below Upnor Castle, but therein, I conceive, he is in an error; that the Dutch are fitting out "The Royall Charles;" that we shot so far as from the Yard thither, so that the shot did no good, for the bullets grazed on the water; that Upnor played hard with their guns at first, but slowly afterwards, either from the men being beat off, or their powder spent. But we hear that the fleete in the Hope is not come up any higher the last flood; and Sir W. Batten tells me that ships are provided to sink in the River, about Woolwich, that will prevent their coming up higher if they should attempt it. I made my will also this day, and did give all I had equally between my father and wife, and left copies of it in each of Mr. Hater and W. Hewer's hands, who both witnessed the will, and so to supper and then to bed, and slept pretty well, but yet often waking. 14th. Up, and to the office; where Mr. Fryer comes and tells me that there are several Frenchmen and Flemish ships in the River, with passes from the Duke of York for carrying of prisoners, that ought to be parted from the rest of the ships, and their powder taken, lest they do fire themselves when the enemy comes, and so spoil us; which is good advice, and I think I will give notice of it; and did so. But it is pretty odd to see how every body, even at this high time of danger, puts business off of their own hands! He says that he told this to the Lieutenant of the Tower, to whom I, for the same reason, was directing him to go; and the Lieutenant of the Tower bade him come to us, for he had nothing to do with it; and yesterday comes Captain Crew, of one of the fireships, and told me that the officers of the Ordnance would deliver his gunner's materials, but not compound them, [Meaning, apparently, that the Ordnance would deliver the charcoal, sulphur, and saltpetre separately, but not mix them as gunpowder.] [The want of ammunition when the Dutch burnt the fleet, and the revenge of the deserter sailors, are well described by Marvell "Our Seamen, whom no danger's shape could fright, Unpaid, refuse to mount their ships, for spite Or to their fellows swim, on board the Dutch, Who show the tempting metal in their clutch.] but that we must do it; whereupon I was forced to write to them about it; and one that like a great many come to me this morning by and by comes--Mr. Wilson, and by direction of his, a man of Mr. Gawden's; who come from Chatham last night, and saw the three ships burnt, they lying all dry, and boats going from the men-of-war and fire them. But that, that he tells me of worst consequence is, that he himself, I think he said, did hear many Englishmen on board the Dutch ships speaking to one another in English; and that they did cry and say, "We did heretofore fight for tickets; now we fight for dollars!" and did ask how such and such a one did, and would commend themselves to them: which is a sad consideration. And Mr. Lewes, who was present at this fellow's discourse to me, did tell me, that he is told that when they took "The Royall Charles," they said that they had their tickets signed, and showed some, and that now they come to have them paid, and would have them paid before they parted. And several seamen come this morning to me, to tell me that, if I would get their tickets paid, they would go and do all they could against the Dutch; but otherwise they would not venture being killed, and lose all they have already fought for: so that I was forced to try what I could do to get them paid. This man tells me that the ships burnt last night did lie above Upnor Castle, over against the Docke; and the boats come from the ships of war and burnt them all which is very sad. And masters of ships, that we are now taking up, do keep from their ships all their stores, or as much as they can, so that we can despatch them, having not time to appraise them nor secure their payment; only some little money we have, which we are fain to pay the men we have with, every night, or they will not work. And indeed the hearts as well as affections of the seamen are turned away; and in the open streets in Wapping, and up and down, the wives have cried publickly, "This comes of your not paying our husbands; and now your work is undone, or done by hands that understand it not." And Sir W. Batten told me that he was himself affronted with a woman, in language of this kind, on Tower Hill publickly yesterday; and we are fain to bear it, and to keep one at the office door to let no idle people in, for fear of firing of the office and doing us mischief. The City is troubled at their being put upon duty: summoned one hour, and discharged two hours after; and then again summoned two hours after that; to their great charge as well as trouble. And Pelling, the Potticary, tells me the world says all over, that less charge than what the kingdom is put to, of one kind or other, by this business, would have set out all our great ships. It is said they did in open streets yesterday, at Westminster, cry, "A Parliament! a Parliament!" and I do believe it will cost blood to answer for these miscarriages. We do not hear that the Dutch are come to Gravesend; which is a wonder. But a wonderful thing it is that to this day we have not one word yet from Bruncker, or Peter Pett, or J. Minnes, of any thing at Chatham. The people that come hither to hear how things go, make me ashamed to be found unable to answer them: for I am left alone here at the office; and the truth is, I am glad my station is to be here, near my own home and out of danger, yet in a place of doing the King good service. I have this morning good news from Gibson; three letters from three several stages, that he was safe last night as far as Royston, at between nine and ten at night. The dismay that is upon us all, in the business of the kingdom and Navy at this day, is not to be expressed otherwise than by the condition the citizens were in when the City was on fire, nobody knowing which way to turn themselves, while every thing concurred to greaten the fire; as here the easterly gale and spring-tides for coming up both rivers, and enabling them to break the chaine. D. Gawden did tell me yesterday, that the day before at the Council they were ready to fall together by the ears at the Council-table, arraigning one another of being guilty of the counsel that brought us into this misery, by laying up all the great ships. Mr. Hater tells me at noon that some rude people have been, as he hears, at my Lord Chancellor's, where they have cut down the trees before his house and broke his windows; and a gibbet either set up before or painted upon his gate, and these three words writ: "Three sights to be seen; Dunkirke, Tangier, and a barren Queene." ["Pride, Lust, Ambition, and the People's Hate, The kingdom's broker, ruin of the State, Dunkirk's sad loss, divider of the fleet, Tangier's compounder for a barren sheet This shrub of gentry, married to the crown, His daughter to the heir, is tumbled down." Poems on State Affairs, vol. i., p. 253.--B.] It gives great matter of talk that it is said there is at this hour, in the Exchequer, as much money as is ready to break down the floor. This arises, I believe, from Sir G. Downing's late talk of the greatness of the sum lying there of people's money, that they would not fetch away, which he shewed me and a great many others. Most people that I speak with are in doubt how we shall do to secure our seamen from running over to the Dutch; which is a sad but very true consideration at this day. At noon I am told that my Lord Duke of Albemarle is made Lord High Constable; the meaning whereof at this time I know not, nor whether it, be true or no. Dined, and Mr. Hater and W. Hewer with me; where they do speak very sorrowfully of the posture of the times, and how people do cry out in the streets of their being bought and sold; and both they, and every body that come to me, do tell me that people make nothing of talking treason in the streets openly: as, that we are bought and sold, and governed by Papists, and that we are betrayed by people about the King, and shall be delivered up to the French, and I know not what. At dinner we discoursed of Tom of the Wood, a fellow that lives like a hermit near Woolwich, who, as they say, and Mr. Bodham, they tell me, affirms that he was by at the justice's when some did accuse him there for it, did foretell the burning of the City, and now says that a greater desolation is at hand. Thence we read and laughed at Lilly's prophecies this month, in his Almanack this year! So to the office after dinner; and thither comes Mr. Pierce, who tells me his condition, how he cannot get his money, about L500, which, he says, is a very great part of what he hath for his family and children, out of Viner's hand: and indeed it is to be feared that this will wholly undo the bankers. He says he knows nothing of the late affronts to my Lord Chancellor's house, as is said, nor hears of the Duke of Albemarle's being made High Constable; but says that they are in great distraction at White Hall, and that every where people do speak high against Sir W. Coventry: but he agrees with me, that he is the best Minister of State the King hath, and so from my heart I believe. At night come home Sir W. Batten and W. Pen, who only can tell me that they have placed guns at Woolwich and Deptford, and sunk some ships below Woolwich and Blackewall, and are in hopes that they will stop the enemy's coming up. But strange our confusion! that among them that are sunk they have gone and sunk without consideration "The Franakin,"' one of the King's ships, with stores to a very considerable value, that hath been long loaden for supply of the ships; and the new ship at Bristoll, and much wanted there; and nobody will own that they directed it, but do lay it on Sir W. Rider. They speak also of another ship, loaden to the value of L80,000, sunk with the goods in her, or at least was mightily contended for by him, and a foreign ship, that had the faith of the nation for her security: this Sir R. Ford tells us: And it is too plain a truth, that both here and at Chatham the ships that we have sunk have many, and the first of them, been ships completely fitted for fire-ships at great charge. But most strange the backwardness and disorder of all people, especially the King's people in pay, to do any work, Sir W. Pen tells me, all crying out for money; and it was so at Chatham, that this night comes an order from Sir W. Coventry to stop the pay of the wages of that Yard; the Duke of Albemarle having related, that not above three of 1100 in pay there did attend to do any work there. This evening having sent a messenger to Chatham on purpose, we have received a dull letter from my Lord Bruncker and Peter Pett, how matters have gone there this week; but not so much, or so particularly, as we knew it by common talk before, and as true. I doubt they will be found to have been but slow men in this business; and they say the Duke of Albemarle did tell my Lord Bruncker to his face that his discharging of the great ships there was the cause of all this; and I am told that it is become common talk against my Lord Bruncker. But in that he is to be justified, for he did it by verbal order from Sir W. Coventry, and with good intent; and it was to good purpose, whatever the success be, for the men would have but spent the King so much the more in wages, and yet not attended on board to have done the King any service; and as an evidence of that, just now, being the 15th day in the morning that I am writing yesterday's passages, one is with me, Jacob Bryan, Purser of "The Princesse," who confesses to me that he hath about 180 men borne at this day in victuals and wages on that ship lying at Chatham, being lately brought in thither; of which 180 there was not above five appeared to do the King any service at this late business. And this morning also, some of the Cambridge's men come up from Portsmouth, by order from Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who boasted to us the other day that he had sent for 50, and would be hanged if 100 did not come up that would do as much as twice the number of other men: I say some of them, instead of being at work at Deptford, where they were intended, do come to the office this morning to demand the payment of their tickets; for otherwise they would, they said, do no more work; and are, as I understand from every body that has to do with them, the most debauched, damning, swearing rogues that ever were in the Navy, just like their prophane commander. So to Sir W. Batten's to sit and talk a little, and then home to my flageolet, my heart being at pretty good ease by a letter from my wife, brought by Saunders, that my father and wife got well last night to their Inne and out again this morning, and Gibson's being got safe to Caxton at twelve last night. So to supper, and then to bed. No news to-day of any motion of the enemy either upwards towards Chatham or this way. 15th. All the morning at the office. No newes more than last night; only Purser Tyler comes and tells me that he being at all the passages in this business at Chatham, he says there have been horrible miscarriages, such as we shall shortly hear of: that the want of boats hath undone us; and it is commonly said, and Sir J. Minnes under his hand tells us, that they were employed by the men of the Yard to carry away their goods; and I hear that Commissioner Pett will be found the first man that began to remove; he is much spoken against, and Bruncker is complained of and reproached for discharging the men of the great ships heretofore. At noon Mr. Hater dined with me; and tells me he believes that it will hardly be the want of money alone that will excuse to the Parliament the neglect of not setting out a fleete, it having never been done in our greatest straits, but however unlikely it appeared, yet when it was gone about, the State or King did compass it; and there is something in it. In like manner all the afternoon busy, vexed to see how slowly things go on for want of money. At night comes, unexpectedly so soon, Mr. Gibson, who left my wife well, and all got down well with them, but not with himself, which I was afeard of, and cannot blame him, but must myself be wiser against another time. He had one of his bags broke, through his breeches, and some pieces dropped out, not many, he thinks, but two, for he 'light, and took them up, and went back and could find no more. But I am not able to tell how many, which troubles me, but the joy of having the greatest part safe there makes me bear with it, so as not to afflict myself for it. This afternoon poor Betty Michell, whom I love, sent to tell my wife her child was dying, which I am troubled for, poor girle! At night home and to my flageolet. Played with pleasure, but with a heavy heart, only it pleased me to think how it may please God I may live to spend my time in the country with plainness and pleasure, though but with little glory. So to supper and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Up, and called on by several on business of the office. Then to the office to look out several of my old letters to Sir W. Coventry in order to the preparing for justifying this office in our frequent foretelling the want of money. By and by comes Roger Pepys and his son Talbot, whom he had brought to town to settle at the Temple, but, by reason of our present stirs, will carry him back again with him this week. He seems to be but a silly lad. I sent them to church this morning, I staying at home at the office, busy. At noon home to dinner, and much good discourse with him, he being mighty sensible of our misery and mal-administration. Talking of these straits we are in, he tells me that my Lord Arlington did the last week take up L12,000 in gold, which is very likely, for all was taken up that could be. Discoursing afterwards with him of our family he told me, that when I come to his house he will show me a decree in Chancery, wherein there was twenty-six men all housekeepers in the town of Cottenham, in Queene Elizabeth's time, of our name. He to church again in the afternoon, I staid at home busy, and did show some dalliance to my maid Nell, speaking to her of her sweetheart which she had, silly girle. After sermon Roger Pepys comes again. I spent the evening with him much troubled with the thoughts of the evils of our time, whereon we discoursed. By and by occasion offered for my writing to Sir W. Coventry a plain bold letter touching lack of money; which, when it was gone, I was afeard might give offence: but upon two or three readings over again the copy of it, I was satisfied it was a good letter; only Sir W. Batten signed it with me, which I could wish I had done alone. Roger Pepys gone, I to the garden, and there dallied a while all alone with Mrs. Markham, and then home to my chamber and to read and write, and then to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, particularly setting my people to work in transcribing pieces of letters publique and private, which I do collect against a black day to defend the office with and myself. At noon dined at home, Mr. Hater with me alone, who do seem to be confident that this nation will be undone, and with good reason: Wishes himself at Hambrough, as a great many more, he says, he believes do, but nothing but the reconciling of the Presbyterian party will save us, and I am of his mind. At the office all the afternoon, where every moment business of one kind or other about the fire-ships and other businesses, most of them vexatious for want of money, the commanders all complaining that, if they miss to pay their men a night, they run away; seamen demanding money of them by way of advance, and some of Sir Fretcheville Hollis's men, that he so bragged of, demanding their tickets to be paid, or they would not work: this Hollis, Sir W. Batten and W. Pen say, proves a very . . ., as Sir W. B. terms him, and the other called him a conceited, idle, prating, lying fellow. But it was pleasant this morning to hear Hollis give me the account what, he says, he told the King in Commissioner Pett's presence, whence it was that his ship was fit sooner than others, telling the King how he dealt with the several Commissioners and agents of the Ports where he comes, offering Lanyon to carry him a Ton or two of goods to the streights, giving Middleton an hour or two's hearing of his stories of Barbadoes, going to prayer with Taylor, and standing bare and calling, "If it please your Honour," to Pett, but Sir W. Pen says that he tells this story to every body, and believes it to be a very lie. At night comes Captain Cocke to see me, and he and I an hour in the garden together. He tells me there have been great endeavours of bringing in the Presbyterian interest, but that it will not do. He named to me several of the insipid lords that are to command the armies that are to be raised. He says the King and Court are all troubled, and the gates of the Court were shut up upon the first coming of the Dutch to us, but they do mind the business no more than ever: that the bankers, he fears, are broke as to ready-money, though Viner had L100,000 by him when our trouble begun: that he and the Duke of Albemarle have received into their own hands, of Viner, the former L10,000, and the latter L12,000, in tallies or assignments, to secure what was in his hands of theirs; and many other great men of our. masters have done the like; which is no good sign, when they begin to fear the main. He and every body cries out of the office of the Ordnance, for their neglects, both at Gravesend and Upnor, and everywhere else. He gone, I to my business again, and then home to supper and to bed. I have lately played the fool much with our Nell, in playing with her breasts. This night, late, comes a porter with a letter from Monsieur Pratt, to borrow L100 for my Lord Hinchingbroke, to enable him to go out with his troop in the country, as he is commanded; but I did find an excuse to decline it. Among other reasons to myself, this is one, to teach him the necessity of being a good husband, and keeping money or credit by him. 18th. Up, and did this morning dally with Nell . . . which I was afterward troubled for. To the office, and there all the morning. Peg Pen come to see me, and I was glad of it, and did resolve to have tried her this afternoon, but that there was company with elle at my home, whither I got her. Dined at home, W. Hewer with me, and then to the office, and to my Lady Pen's, and did find occasion for Peg to go home with me to my chamber, but there being an idle gentleman with them, he went with us, and I lost my hope. So to the office, and by and by word was brought me that Commissioner Pett is brought to the Tower, and there laid up close prisoner; which puts me into a fright, lest they may do the same with us as they do with him. This puts me upon hastening what I am doing with my people, and collecting out of my papers our defence. Myself got Fist, Sir W. Batten's clerk, and busy with him writing letters late, and then home to supper and to read myself asleep, after piping, and so to bed. Great newes to-night of the blowing up of one of the Dutch greatest ships, while a Council of War was on board: the latter part, I doubt, is not so, it not being confirmed since; but the former, that they had a ship blown up, is said to be true. This evening comes Sir G. Carteret to the office, to talk of business at Sir W. Batten's; where all to be undone for want of money, there being none to pay the Chest at their publique pay the 24th of this month, which will make us a scorn to the world. After he had done there, he and I into the garden, and walked; and the greatest of our discourse is, his sense of the requisiteness of his parting with his being Treasurer of the Navy, if he can, on any good terms. He do harp upon getting my Lord Bruncker to take it on half profit, but that he is not able to secure him in paying him so much. But the thing I do advise him to do by all means, and he resolves on it, being but the same counsel which I intend to take myself. My Lady Jem goes down to Hinchingbroke to lie down, because of the troubles of the times here. He tells me he is not sure that the King of France will not annoy us this year, but that the Court seems [to] reckon upon it as a thing certain, for that is all that I and most people are afeard of this year. He tells me now the great question is, whether a Parliament or no Parliament; and says the Parliament itself cannot be thought able at present to raise money, and therefore it will be to no purpose to call one. I hear this day poor Michell's child is dead. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy with Fist again, beginning early to overtake my business in my letters, which for a post or two have by the late and present troubles been interrupted. At noon comes Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and we to [Sir] W. Pen's house, and there discoursed of business an hour, and by and by comes an order from Sir R. Browne, commanding me this afternoon to attend the Council-board, with all my books and papers touching the Medway. I was ready [to fear] some mischief to myself, though it appears most reasonable that it is to inform them about Commissioner Pett. I eat a little bit in haste at Sir W. Batten's, without much comfort, being fearful, though I shew it not, and to my office and get up some papers, and found out the most material letters and orders in our books, and so took coach and to the Council-chamber lobby, where I met Mr. Evelyn, who do miserably decry our follies that bring all this misery upon us. While we were discoursing over our publique misfortunes, I am called in to a large Committee of the Council: present the Duke of Albemarle, Anglesey, Arlington, Ashly, Carteret, Duncomb, Coventry, Ingram, Clifford, Lauderdale, Morrice, Manchester, Craven, Carlisle, Bridgewater. And after Sir W. Coventry's telling them what orders His Royal Highness had made for the safety of the Medway, I told them to their full content what we had done, and showed them our letters. Then was Peter Pett called in, with the Lieutenant of the Tower. He is in his old clothes, and looked most sillily. His charge was chiefly the not carrying up of the great ships, and the using of the boats in carrying away his goods; to which he answered very sillily, though his faults to me seem only great omissions. Lord Arlington and Coventry very severe against him; the former saying that, if he was not guilty, the world would think them all guilty. [Pett was made a scapegoat. This is confirmed by Marvel: "After this loss, to relish discontent, Some one must be accused by Parliament; All our miscarriages on Pett must fall, His name alone seems fit to answer all. Whose counsel first did this mad war beget? Who all commands sold through the Navy? Pett. Who would not follow when the Dutch were beat? Who treated out the time at Bergen? Pett. Who the Dutch fleet with storms disabled met, And, rifling prizes, them neglected? Pett. Who with false news prevented the Gazette, The fleet divided, writ for Ruhert? Pett. Who all our seamen cheated of their debt? And all our prizes who did swallow? Pett. Who did advise no navy out to set? And who the forts left unprepared? Pett. Who to supply with powder did forget Languard, Sheerness, Gravesend, and Upnor? Pett. Who all our ships exposed in Chatham net? Who should it be but the fanatick Pett? Pett, the sea-architect, in making ships, Was the first cause of all these naval slips. Had he not built, none of these faults had been; If no creation, there had been no sin But his great crime, one boat away he sent, That lost our fleet, and did our flight prevent." Instructions to a Painter.--B] The latter urged, that there must be some faults, and that the Admiral must be found to have done his part. I did say an unhappy word, which I was sorry for, when he complained of want of oares for the boats: and there was, it seems, enough, and good enough, to carry away all the boats with from the King's occasions. He said he used never a boat till they were all gone but one; and that was to carry away things of great value, and these were his models of ships; which, when the Council, some of them, had said they wished that the Dutch had had them instead of the King's ships, he answered, he did believe the Dutch would have made more advantage of the models than of the ships, and that the King had had greater loss thereby; this they all laughed at. After having heard him for an hour or more, they bid him withdraw. I all this while showing him no respect, but rather against him, for which God forgive me! for I mean no hurt to him, but only find that these Lords are upon their own purgation, and it is necessary I should be so in behalf of the office. He being gone, they caused Sir Richard Browne to read over his minutes; and then my Lord Arlington moved that they might be put into my hands to put into form, I being more acquainted with such business; and they were so. So I away back with my books and papers; and when I got into the Court it was pretty to see how people gazed upon me, that I thought myself obliged to salute people and to smile, lest they should think I was a prisoner too; but afterwards I found that most did take me to be there to bear evidence against P. Pett; but my fear was such, at my going in, of the success of the day, that at my going in I did think fit to give T. Hater, whom I took with me, to wait the event, my closet-key and directions where to find L500 and more in silver and gold, and my tallys, to remove, in case of any misfortune to me. Thence to Sir G. Carteret's to take my leave of my Lady Jem, who is going into the country tomorrow; but she being now at prayers with my Lady and family, and hearing here by Yorke, the carrier, that my wife is coming to towne, I did make haste home to see her, that she might not find me abroad, it being the first minute I have been abroad since yesterday was se'ennight. It is pretty to see how strange it is to be abroad to see people, as it used to be after a month or two's absence, and I have brought myself so to it, that I have no great mind to be abroad, which I could not have believed of myself. I got home, and after being there a little, she come, and two of her fellow-travellers with her, with whom we drunk: a couple of merchant-like men, I think, but have friends in our country. They being gone, I and my wife to talk, who did give me so bad an account of her and my father's method in burying of our gold, that made me mad: and she herself is not pleased with it, she believing that my sister knows of it. My father and she did it on Sunday, when they were gone to church, in open daylight, in the midst of the garden; where, for aught they knew, many eyes might see them: which put me into such trouble, that I was almost mad about it, and presently cast about, how to have it back again to secure it here, the times being a little better now; at least at White Hall they seem as if they were, but one way or other I am resolved to free them from the place if I can get them. Such was my trouble at this, that I fell out with my wife, that though new come to towne, I did not sup with her, nor speak to her tonight, but to bed and sleep. 20th. Up, without any respect to my wife, only answering her a question or two, without any anger though, and so to the office, where all the morning busy, and among other things Mr. Barber come to me (one of the clerks of the Ticket office) to get me to sign some tickets, and told me that all the discourse yesterday, about that part of the town where he was, was that Mr. Pett and I were in the Tower; and I did hear the same before. At noon, home to dinner, and there my wife and I very good friends; the care of my gold being somewhat over, considering it was in their hands that have as much cause to secure it as myself almost, and so if they will be mad, let them. But yet I do intend to, send for it away. Here dined Mercer with us, and after dinner she cut my hair, and then I into my closet and there slept a little, as I do now almost every day after dinner; and then, after dallying a little with Nell, which I am ashamed to think of, away to the office. Busy all the afternoon; in the evening did treat with, and in the end agree; but by some kind of compulsion, with the owners of six merchant ships, to serve the King as men-of-war. But, Lord! to see how against the hair it is with these men and every body to trust us and the King; and how unreasonable it is to expect they should be willing to lend their ships, and lay out 2 or L300 a man to fit their ships for new voyages, when we have not paid them half of what we owe them for their old services! I did write so to Sir W. Coventry this night. At night my wife and I to walk and talk again about our gold, which I am not quiet in my mind to be safe, and therefore will think of some way to remove it, it troubling me very much. So home with my wife to supper and to bed, miserable hot weather all night it was. 21st. Up and by water to White Hall, there to discourse with [Sir] G. Carteret and Mr. Fenn about office business. I found them all aground, and no money to do anything with. Thence homewards, calling at my Tailor's to bespeak some coloured clothes, and thence to Hercules Pillars, all alone, and there spent 6d. on myself, and so home and busy all the morning. At noon to dinner, home, where my wife shows me a letter from her father, who is going over sea, and this afternoon would take his leave of her. I sent him by her three Jacobuses in gold, having real pity for him and her. So I to my office, and there all the afternoon. This day comes news from Harwich that the Dutch fleete are all in sight, near 100 sail great and small, they think, coming towards them; where, they think, they shall be able to oppose them; but do cry out of the falling back of the seamen, few standing by them, and those with much faintness. The like they write from Portsmouth, and their letters this post are worth reading. Sir H. Cholmly come to me this day, and tells me the Court is as mad as ever; and that the night the Dutch burned our ships the King did sup with my Lady Castlemayne, at the Duchess of Monmouth's, and there were all mad in hunting of a poor moth. All the Court afraid of a Parliament; but he thinks nothing can save us but the King's giving up all to a Parliament. Busy at the office all the afternoon, and did much business to my great content. In the evening sent for home, and there I find my Lady Pen and Mrs. Lowther, and Mrs. Turner and my wife eating some victuals, and there I sat and laughed with them a little, and so to the office again, and in the evening walked with my wife in the garden, and did give Sir W. Pen at his lodgings (being just come from Deptford from attending the dispatch of the fire-ships there) an account of what passed the other day at Council touching Commissioner Pett, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and to my office, where busy, and there comes Mrs. Daniel. . . At the office I all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Lewes Phillips, by invitation of my wife, comes, he coming up to town with her in the coach this week, and she expected another gentleman, a fellow-traveller, and I perceive the feast was for him, though she do not say it, but by some mistake he come not, so there was a good dinner lost. Here we had the two Mercers, and pretty merry. Much talk with Mr. Phillips about country business, among others that there is no way for me to purchase any severall lands in Brampton, or making any severall that is not so, without much trouble and cost, and, it may be, not do it neither, so that there is no more ground to be laid to our Brampton house. After dinner I left them, and to the office, and thence to Sir W. Pen's, there to talk with Mrs. Lowther, and by and by we hearing Mercer and my boy singing at my house, making exceeding good musique, to the joy of my heart, that I should be the master of it, I took her to my office and there merry a while, and then I left them, and at the office busy all the afternoon, and sleepy after a great dinner. In the evening come Captain Hart and Haywood to me about the six merchant-ships now taken up for men-of-war; and in talk they told me about the taking of "The Royal Charles;" that nothing but carelessness lost the ship, for they might have saved her the very tide that the Dutch come up, if they would have but used means and had had but boats: and that the want of boats plainly lost all the other ships. That the Dutch did take her with a boat of nine men, who found not a man on board her, and her laying so near them was a main temptation to them to come on; and presently a man went up and struck her flag and jacke, and a trumpeter sounded upon her "Joan's placket is torn," that they did carry her down at a time, both for tides and wind, when the best pilot in Chatham would not have undertaken it, they heeling her on one side to make her draw little water: and so carried her away safe. They being gone, by and by comes Sir W. Pen home, and he and I together talking. He hath been at Court; and in the first place, I hear the Duke of Cambridge is dead; a which is a great loss to the nation, having, I think, never an heyre male now of the King's or Duke's to succeed to the Crown. He tells me that they do begin already to damn the Dutch, and call them cowards at White Hall, and think of them and their business no better than they used to do; which is very sad. The King did tell him himself, which is so, I was told, here in the City, that the City, hath lent him L10,000, to be laid out towards securing of the River of Thames; which, methinks, is a very poor thing, that we should be induced to borrow by such mean sums. He tells me that it is most manifest that one great thing making it impossible for us to have set out a fleete this year, if we could have done it for money or stores, was the liberty given the beginning of the year for the setting out of merchant-men, which did take up, as is said, above ten, if not fifteen thousand seamen: and this the other day Captain Cocke tells me appears in the council-books, that is the number of seamen required to man the merchant ships that had passes to go abroad. By and by, my wife being here, they sat down and eat a bit of their nasty victuals, and so parted and we to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up to my chamber, and there all the morning reading in my Lord Coke's Pleas of the Crowne, very fine noble reading. After church time comes my wife and Sir W. Pen his lady and daughter; and Mrs. Markham and Captain Harrison (who come to dine with them), by invitation end dined with me, they as good as inviting themselves. I confess I hate their company and tricks, and so had no great pleasure in [it], but a good dinner lost. After dinner they all to church, and I by water alone to Woolwich, and there called on Mr. Bodham: and he and I to see the batterys newly raised; which, indeed, are good works to command the River below the ships that are sunk, but not above them. Here I met with Captain Cocke and Matt. Wren, Fenn, and Charles Porter, and Temple and his wife. Here I fell in with these, and to Bodham's with them, and there we sat and laughed and drank in his arbour, Wren making much and kissing all the day of Temple's wife. It is a sad sight to see so many good ships there sunk in the River, while we would be thought to be masters of the sea. Cocke says the bankers cannot, till peace returns, ever hope to have credit again; so that they can pay no more money, but people must be contented to take publick security such as they can give them; and if so, and they do live to receive the money thereupon, the bankers will be happy men. Fenn read me an order of council passed the 17th instant, directing all the Treasurers of any part of the King's revenue to make no payments but such as shall be approved by the present Lords Commissioners; which will, I think, spoil the credit of all his Majesty's service, when people cannot depend upon payment any where. But the King's declaration in behalf of the bankers, to make good their assignments for money, is very good, and will, I hope, secure me. Cocke says, that he hears it is come to it now, that the King will try what he can soon do for a peace; and if he cannot, that then he will cast all upon the Parliament to do as they see fit: and in doing so, perhaps, he may save us all. The King of France, it is believed, is engaged for this year; [Louis XIV. was at this time in Flanders, with his queen, his mistresses, and all his Court. Turenne commanded under him. Whilst Charles was hunting moths at Lady Castlemaine's, and the English fleet was burning, Louis was carrying on the campaign with vigour. Armentieres was taken on the 28th May; Charleroi on the 2nd June, St. Winox on the 6th, Fumes on the 12th, Ath on the 16th, Toumay on the 24th; the Escarpe on the 6th July, Courtray on the 18th, Audenarde on the 31st; and Lisle on the 27th August.--B.] so that we shall be safe as to him. The great misery the City and kingdom is like to suffer for want of coals in a little time is very visible, and, is feared, will breed a mutiny; for we are not in any prospect to command the sea for our colliers to come, but rather, it is feared, the Dutch may go and burn all our colliers at Newcastle; though others do say that they lie safe enough there. No news at all of late from Bredagh what our Treaters do. By and by, all by water in three boats to Greenwich, there to Cocke's, where we supped well, and then late, Wren, Fenn, and I home by water, set me in at the Tower, and they to White Hall, and so I home, and after a little talk with my wife to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where much business upon me by the coming of people of all sorts about the dispatch of one business or other of the fire-ships, or other ships to be set out now. This morning Greeting come, and I with him at my flageolet. At noon dined at home with my wife alone, and then in the afternoon all the day at my office. Troubled a little at a letter from my father, which tells me of an idle companion, one Coleman, who went down with him and my wife in the coach, and come up again with my wife, a pensioner of the King's Guard, and one that my wife, indeed, made the feast for on Saturday last, though he did not come; but if he knows nothing of our money I will prevent any other inconvenience. In the evening comes Mr. Povy about business; and he and I to walk in the garden an hour or two, and to talk of State matters. He tells me his opinion that it is out of possibility for us to escape being undone, there being nothing in our power to do that is necessary for the saving us: a lazy Prince, no Council, no money, no reputation at home or abroad. He says that to this day the King do follow the women as much as ever he did; that the Duke of York hath not got Mrs. Middleton, as I was told the other day: but says that he wants not her, for he hath others, and hath always had, and that he [Povy] hath known them brought through the Matted Gallery at White Hall into his [the Duke's] closet; nay, he hath come out of his wife's bed, and gone to others laid in bed for him: that Mr. Bruncker is not the only pimp, but that the whole family is of the same strain, and will do anything to please him: that, besides the death of the two Princes lately, the family is in horrible disorder by being in debt by spending above L60,000 per. annum, when he hath not L40,000: that the Duchesse is not only the proudest woman in the world, but the most expensefull; and that the Duke of York's marriage with her hath undone the kingdom, by making the Chancellor so great above reach, who otherwise would have been but an ordinary man, to have been dealt with by other people; and he would have been careful of managing things well, for fear of being called to account; whereas, now he is secure, and hath let things run to rack, as they now appear. That at a certain time Mr. Povy did carry him an account of the state of the Duke of York's estate, showing in faithfullness how he spent more than his estate would bear, by above L20,000 per annum, and asked my Lord's opinion of it; to which he answered that no man that loved the King or kingdom durst own the writing of that paper; at which Povy was startled, and reckoned himself undone for this good service, and found it necessary then to show it to the Duke of York's Commissioners; who read, examined, and approved of it, so as to cause it to be put into form, and signed it, and gave it the Duke. Now the end of the Chancellor was, for fear that his daughter's ill housewifery should be condemned. He [Povy] tells me that the other day, upon this ill newes of the Dutch being upon us, White Hall was shut up, and the Council called and sat close; and, by the way, he do assure me, from the mouth of some Privy-councillors, that at this day the Privy-council in general do know no more what the state of the kingdom as to peace and war is, than he or I; nor knows who manages it, nor upon whom it depends; and there my Lord Chancellor did make a speech to them, saying that they knew well that he was no friend to the war from the beginning, and therefore had concerned himself little in, nor could say much to it; and a great deal of that kind, to discharge himself of the fault of the war. Upon which my Lord Anglesey rose up and told his Majesty that he thought their coming now together was not to enquire who was, or was not, the cause of the war, but to enquire what was, or could be, done in the business of making a peace, and in whose hands that was, and where it was stopped or forwarded; and went on very highly to have all made open to them: and, by the way, I remember that Captain Cocke did the other day tell me that this Lord Anglesey hath said, within few days, that he would willingly give L10,000 of his estate that he was well secured of the rest, such apprehensions he hath of the sequel of things, as giving all over for lost. He tells me, speaking of the horrid effeminacy of the King, that the King hath taken ten times more care and pains in making friends between my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Stewart, when they have fallen out, than ever he did to save his kingdom; nay, that upon any falling out between my Lady Castlemayne's nurse and her woman, my Lady hath often said she would make the King to make them friends, and they would be friends and be quiet; which the King hath been fain to do: that the King is, at this day, every night in Hyde Park with the Duchesse of Monmouth, or with my Lady Castlemaine: that he [Povy] is concerned of late by my Lord Arlington in the looking after some buildings that he is about in Norfolke, where my Lord is laying out a great deal of money; and that he, Mr. Povy, considering the unsafeness of laying out money at such a time as this, and, besides, the enviousness of the particular county, as well as all the kingdom, to find him building and employing workmen, while all the ordinary people of the country are carried down to the seasides for securing the land, he thought it becoming him to go to my Lord Arlington (Sir Thomas Clifford by), and give it as his advice to hold his hands a little; but my Lord would not, but would have him go on, and so Sir Thomas Clifford advised also, which one would think, if he were a statesman worth a fart should be a sign of his foreseeing that all shall do well. But I do forbear concluding any such thing from them. He tells me that there is not so great confidence between any two men of power in the nation at this day, that he knows of, as between my Lord Arlington and Sir Thomas Clifford; and that it arises by accident only, there being no relation nor acquaintance between them, but only Sir Thomas Clifford's coming to him, and applying himself to him for favours, when he come first up to town to be a Parliament-man. He tells me that he do not think there is anything in the world for us possibly to be saved by but the King of France's generousnesse to stand by us against the Dutch, and getting us a tolerable peace, it may be, upon our giving him Tangier and the islands he hath taken, and other things he shall please to ask. He confirms me in the several grounds I have conceived of fearing that we shall shortly fall into mutinys and outrages among ourselves, and that therefore he, as a Treasurer, and therefore much more myself, I say, as being not only a Treasurer but an officer of the Navy, on whom, for all the world knows, the faults of all our evils are to be laid, do fear to be seized on by some rude hands as having money to answer for, which will make me the more desirous to get off of this Treasurership as soon as I can, as I had before in my mind resolved. Having done all this discourse, and concluded the kingdom in a desperate condition, we parted; and I to my wife, with whom was Mercer and Betty Michell, poor woman, come with her husband to see us after the death of her little girle. We sat in the garden together a while, it being night, and then Mercer and I a song or two, and then in (the Michell's home), my wife, Mercer, and I to supper, and then parted and to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen in his new chariot (which indeed is plain, but pretty and more fashionable in shape than any coach he hath, and yet do not cost him, harness and all, above L32) to White Hall; where staid a very little: and thence to St. James's to [Sir] W. Coventry, whom I have not seen since before the coming of the Dutch into the river, nor did indeed know how well to go see him, for shame either to him or me, or both of us, to find ourselves in so much misery. I find that he and his fellow-Treasurers are in the utmost want of money, and do find fault with Sir G. Carteret, that, having kept the mystery of borrowing money to himself so long, to the ruin of the nation, as [Sir] W. Coventry said in words to [Sir] W. Pen and me, he should now lay it aside and come to them for money for every penny he hath, declaring that he can raise no more: which, I confess, do appear to me the most like ill-will of any thing that I have observed of [Sir] W. Coventry, when he himself did tell us, on another occasion at the same time, that the bankers who used to furnish them money are not able to lend a farthing, and he knows well enough that that was all the mystery [Sir] G. Carteret did use, that is, only his credit with them. He told us the masters and owners of the two ships that I had complained of, for not readily setting forth their ships, which we had taken up to make men-of-war, had been yesterday with the King and Council, and had made their case so well understood, that the King did owe them for what they had earned the last year, that they could not set them out again without some money or stores out of the King's Yards; the latter of which [Sir] W. Coventry said must be done, for that they were not able to raise money for them, though it was but L200 a ship: which do skew us our condition to be so bad, that I am in a total despair of ever having the nation do well. After talking awhile, and all out of heart with stories of want of seamen, and seamen's running away, and their demanding a month's advance, and our being forced to give seamen 3s. a-day to go hence to work at Chatham, and other things that show nothing but destruction upon us; for it is certain that, as it now is, the seamen of England, in my conscience, would, if they could, go over and serve the King of France or Holland rather than us. Up to the Duke of York to his chamber, where he seems to be pretty easy, and now and then merry; but yet one may perceive in all their minds there is something of trouble and care, and with good reason. Thence to White Hall, and with Sir W. Pen, by chariot; and there in the Court met with my Lord Anglesey: and he to talk with [Sir] W. Pen, and told him of the masters of ships being with the Council yesterday, and that we were not in condition, though the men were willing, to furnish them with L200 of money, already due to them as earned by them the last year, to enable them to set out their ships again this year for the King: which he is amazed at; and when I told him, "My Lord, this is a sad instance of the condition we are in," he answered, that it was so indeed, and sighed: and so parted: and he up to the Council-chamber, where I perceive they sit every morning, and I to Westminster Hall, where it is Term time. I met with none I knew, nor did desire it, but only past through the-Hall and so back again, and by coach home to dinner, being weary indeed of seeing the world, and thinking it high time for me to provide against the foul weather that is certainly coming upon us. So to the office, and there [Sir] W. Pen and I did some business, and then home to dinner, where my wife pleases me mightily with what she can do upon the flageolet, and then I to the office again, and busy all the afternoon, and it is worth noting that the King and Council, in their order of the 23rd instant, for unloading three merchant-ships taken up for the King's service for men-of-war, do call the late coming of the Dutch "an invasion." I was told, yesterday, that Mr. Oldenburg, our Secretary at Gresham College, is put into the Tower, for writing newes to a virtuoso in France, with whom he constantly corresponds in philosophical matters; which makes it very unsafe at this time to write, or almost do any thing. Several captains come to the office yesterday and to-day, complaining that their men come and go when they will, and will not be commanded, though they are paid every night, or may be. Nay, this afternoon comes Harry Russell from Gravesend, telling us that the money carried down yesterday for the Chest at Chatham had like to have been seized upon yesterday, in the barge there, by seamen, who did beat our watermen: and what men should these be but the boat's crew of Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who used to brag so much of the goodness and order of his men, and his command over them. Busy all the afternoon at the office. Towards night I with Mr. Kinaston to White Hall about a Tangier order, but lost our labour, only met Sir H. Cholmly there, and he tells me great newes; that this day in Council the King hath declared that he will call his Parliament in thirty days: which is the best newes I have heard a great while, and will, if any thing, save the kingdom. How the King come to be advised to this, I know not; but he tells me that it was against the Duke of York's mind flatly, who did rather advise the King to raise money as he pleased; and against the Chancellor's, who told the King that Queen Elizabeth did do all her business in eighty-eight without calling a Parliament, and so might he do, for anything he saw. But, blessed be God! it is done; and pray God it may hold, though some of us must surely go to the pot, for all must be flung up to them, or nothing will be done. So back home, and my wife down by water, I sent her, with Mrs. Hewer and her son, W. Hewer, to see the sunk ships, while I staid at the office, and in the evening was visited by Mr. Roberts the merchant by us about the getting him a ship cleared from serving the King as a man of war, which I will endeavour to do. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and in dressing myself in my dressing chamber comes up Nell, and I did play with her . . . . So being ready I to White Hall by water, and there to the Lords Treasurers' chamber, and there wait, and here it is every body's discourse that the Parliament is ordered to meet the 25th of July, being, as they say, St. James's day; which every creature is glad of. But it is pretty to consider how, walking to the Old Swan from my house, I met Sir Thomas Harvy, whom, asking the newes of the Parliament's meeting, he told me it was true, and they would certainly make a great rout among us. I answered, I did not care for my part, though I was ruined, so that the Commonwealth might escape ruin by it. He answered, that is a good one, in faith; for you know yourself to be secure, in being necessary to the office; but for my part, says he, I must look to be removed; but then, says he, I doubt not but I shall have amends made me; for all the world knows upon what terms I come in; which is a saying that a wise man would not unnecessarily have said, I think, to any body, meaning his buying his place of my Lord Barkely [of Stratton]. So we parted, and I to White Hall, as I said before, and there met with Sir Stephen Fox and Mr. Scawen, who both confirm the news of the Parliament's meeting. Here I staid for an order for my Tangier money, L30,000, upon the 11 months' tax, and so away to my Lord Arlington's office, and there spoke to him about Mr. Lanyon's business, and received a good answer, and thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, and there met with Colonell Reames, who tells me of a letter come last night, or the day before, from my Lord St. Albans, out of France, wherein he says, that the King of France did lately fall out with him, giving him ill names, saying that he had belied him to our King, by saying that he had promised to assist our King, and to forward the peace; saying that indeed he had offered to forward the peace at such a time, but it was not accepted of, and so he thinks himself not obliged, and would do what was fit for him; and so made him to go out of his sight in great displeasure: and he hath given this account to the King, which, Colonell Reymes tells me, puts them into new melancholy at Court, and he believes hath forwarded the resolution of calling the Parliament. Wherewith for all this I am very well contented, and so parted and to the Exchequer, but Mr. Burgess was not in his office; so alone to the Swan, and thither come Mr. Kinaston to me, and he and I into a room and there drank and discoursed, and I am mightily pleased with him for a most diligent and methodical man in all his business. By and by to Burgess, and did as much as we could with him about our Tangier order, though we met with unexpected delays in it, but such as are not to be avoided by reason of the form of the Act and the disorders which the King's necessities do put upon it, and therefore away by coach, and at White Hall spied Mr. Povy, who tells me, as a great secret, which none knows but himself, that Sir G. Carteret hath parted with his place of Treasurer of the Navy, by consent, to my Lord Anglesey, and is to be Treasurer of Ireland in his stead; but upon what terms it is I know not, but Mr. Povy tells it is so, and that it is in his power to bring me to as great a friendship and confidence in my Lord Anglesey as ever I was with [Sir] W. Coventry, which I am glad of, and so parted, and I to my tailor's about turning my old silk suit and cloak into a suit and vest, and thence with Mr. Kinaston (whom I had set down in the Strand and took up again at the Temple gate) home, and there to dinner, mightily pleased with my wife's playing on the flageolet, and so after dinner to the office. Such is the want already of coals, and the despair of having any supply, by reason of the enemy's being abroad, and no fleete of ours to secure, that they are come, as Mr. Kinaston tells me, at this day to L5 10s. per chaldron. All the afternoon busy at the office. In the evening with my wife and Mercer took coach and to Islington to the Old House, and there eat and drank and sang with great pleasure, and then round by Hackney home with great pleasure, and when come home to bed, my stomach not being well pleased with the cream we had to-night. 27th. Wakened this morning, about three o'clock, by Mr. Griffin with a letter from Sir W. Coventry to W. Pen, which W. Pen sent me to see, that the Dutch are come up to the Nore again, and he knows not whether further or no, and would have, therefore, several things done: ships sunk, and I know not what--which Sir W. Pen (who it seems is very ill this night, or would be thought so) hath directed Griffin to carry to the Trinity House; so he went away with the letter, and I tried and with much ado did get a little sleep more, and so up about six o'clock, full of thought what to do with the little money I have left and my plate, wishing with all my heart that that was all secured. So to the office, where much business all the morning, and the more by my brethren being all out of the way; Sir W. Pen this night taken so ill cannot stir; [Sir] W. Batten ill at Walthamstow; Sir J. Minnes the like at Chatham, and my Lord Bruncker there also upon business. Horrible trouble with the backwardness of the merchants to let us have their ships, and seamen's running away, and not to be got or kept without money. It is worth turning to our letters this day to Sir W. Coventry about these matters. At noon to dinner, having a haunch of venison boiled; and all my clerks at dinner with me; and mightily taken with Mr. Gibson's discourse of the faults of this war in its management compared [with] that in the last war, which I will get him to put into writing. Thence, after dinner, to the office again, and there I saw the proclamations come out this day for the Parliament to meet the 25th of next month; for which God be praised! and another to invite seamen to bring in their complaints, of their being ill-used in the getting their tickets and money, there being a Committee of the Council appointed to receive their complaints. This noon W. Hewer and T. Hater both tell me that it is all over the town, and Mr. Pierce tells me also, this afternoon coming to me, that for certain Sir G. Carteret hath parted with his Treasurer's place, and that my Lord Anglesey is in it upon agreement and change of places, though the latter part I do not think. This Povy told me yesterday, and I think it is a wise act of [Sir] G. Carteret. Pierce tells me that he hears for certain fresh at Court, that France and we shall agree; and more, that yesterday was damned at the Council, the Canary Company; and also that my Lord Mordaunt hath laid down his Commission, both good things to please the Parliament, which I hope will do good. Pierce tells me that all the town do cry out of our office, for a pack of fools and knaves; but says that everybody speaks either well, or at least the best of me, which is my great comfort, and think I do deserve it, and shall shew I have; but yet do think, and he also, that the Parliament will send us all going; and I shall be well contented with it, God knows! But he tells me how Matt. Wren should say that he was told that I should say that W. Coventry was guilty of the miscarriage at Chatham, though I myself, as he confesses, did tell him otherwise, and that it was wholly Pett's fault. This do trouble me, not only as untrue, but as a design in some [one] or other to do me hurt; for, as the thing is false, so it never entered into my mouth or thought, nor ever shall. He says that he hath rectified Wren in his belief of this, and so all is well. He gone, I to business till the evening, and then by chance home, and find the fellow that come up with my wife, Coleman, last from Brampton, a silly rogue, but one that would seem a gentleman; but I did not stay with him. So to the office, where late, busy, and then to walk a little in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. News this tide, that about 80 sail of the Dutch, great and small were seen coming up the river this morning; and this tide some of them to the upper end of the Hope. 28th. Up, and hear Sir W. Batten is come to town: I to see him; he is very ill of his fever, and come to town only for advice. Sir J. Minnes, I hear also, is very ill all this night, worse than before. Thence I going out met at the gate Sir H. Cholmly coming to me, and I to him in the coach, and both of us presently to St. James's, by the way discoursing of some Tangier business about money, which the want of I see will certainly bring the place into a bad condition. We find the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry gone this morning, by two o'clock, to Chatham, to come home to-night: and it is fine to observe how both the King and Duke of York have, in their several late journeys to and again, done them in the night for coolnesse. Thence with him to the Treasury Chamber, and then to the Exchequer to inform ourselves a little about our warrant for L30,000 for Tangier, which vexes us that it is so far off in time of payment. Having walked two or three turns with him in the Hall we parted, and I home by coach, and did business at the office till noon, and then by water to White Hall to dinner to Sir G. Carteret, but he not at home, but I dined with my Lady and good company, and good dinner. My Lady and the family in very good humour upon this business of his parting with his place of Treasurer of the Navy, which I perceive they do own, and we did talk of it with satisfaction. They do here tell me that the Duke of Buckingham hath surrendered himself to Secretary Morrice, and is going to the Tower. Mr. Fenn, at the table, says that he hath been taken by the watch two or three times of late, at unseasonable hours, but so disguised that they could not know him: and when I come home, by and by, Mr. Lowther tells me that the Duke of Buckingham do dine publickly this day at Wadlow's, at the Sun Tavern; and is mighty merry, and sent word to the Lieutenant of the Tower, that he would come to him as soon as he had dined. Now, how sad a thing it is, when we come to make sport of proclaiming men traitors, and banishing them, and putting them out of their offices, and Privy Council, and of sending to and going to the Tower: God have mercy on us! At table, my Lady and Sir Philip Carteret have great and good discourse of the greatness of the present King of France--what great things he hath done, that a man may pass, at any hour in the night, all over that wild city [Paris], with a purse in his hand and no danger: that there is not a beggar to be seen in it, nor dirt lying in it; that he hath married two of Colbert's daughters to two of the greatest princes of France, and given them portions--bought the greatest dukedom in France, and given it to Colbert; [The Carterets appear to have mystified Pepys, who eagerly believed all that was told him. At this time Paris was notoriously unsafe, infested with robbers and beggars, and abominably unclean. Colbert had three daughters, of whom the eldest was just married when Pepys wrote, viz., Jean Marie Therese, to the Duc de Chevreuse, on the 3rd February, 1667. The second daughter, Henriette Louise, was not married to the Duc de St. Aignan till January 21st, 1671; and the third, Marie Anne, to the Duc de Mortemart, February 14th, 1679. Colbert himself was never made a duke. His highest title was Marquis de Seignelay.--B.] and ne'er a prince in France dare whisper against it, whereas here our King cannot do any such thing, but everybody's mouth is open against him for it, and the man that hath the favour also. That to several commanders that had not money to set them out to the present campagne, he did of his own accord--send them L1000 sterling a-piece, to equip themselves. But then they did enlarge upon the slavery of the people--that they are taxed more than the real estates they have; nay, it is an ordinary thing for people to desire to give the King all their land that they have, and themselves become only his tenants, and pay him rent to the full value of it: so they may have but their earnings, But this will not be granted; but he shall give the value of his rent, and part of his labour too. That there is not a petty governor of a province--nay, of a town, but he will take the daughter from the richest man in the town under him, that hath got anything, and give her to his footman for a wife if he pleases, and the King of France will do the like to the best man in his kingdom--take his daughter from him, and give her to his footman, or whom he pleases. It is said that he do make a sport of us now; and says, that he knows no reason why his cozen, the King of England, should not be as willing to let him have his kingdom, as that the Dutch should take it from him, which is a most wretched thing that ever we should live to be in this most contemptible condition. After dinner Sir G. Carteret come in, and I to him and my Lady, and there he did tell me that the business was done between him and my Lord Anglesey; that himself is to have the other's place of Deputy Treasurer of Ireland, which is a place of honour and great profit, being far better, I know not for what reason, but a reason there is, than the Treasurer's, my Lord of Corke's, and to give the other his, of Treasurer of the Navy; that the King, at his earnest entreaty, did, with much unwillingness, but with owning of great obligations to him, for his faithfulness and long service to him and his father, and therefore was willing to grant his desire. That the Duke of York hath given him the same kind words, so that it is done with all the good manner that could be, and he I perceive do look upon it, and so do I, I confess, as a great good fortune to him to meet with one of my Lord Anglesey's quality willing to receive it at this time. Sir W. Coventry he hath not yet made acquainted with it, nor do intend it, it being done purely to ease himself of the many troubles and plagues which he thinks the perverseness and unkindness of Sir W. Coventry and others by his means have and is likely every day to bring upon him, and the Parliament's envy, and lastly to put himself into a condition of making up his accounts, which he is, he says, afeard he shall never otherwise be. My Lord Chancellor, I perceive, is his friend in it. I remember I did in the morning tell Sir H. Cholmly of this business: and he answered me, he was sorry for it; for, whatever Sir G. Carteret was, he is confident my Lord Anglesey is one of the greatest knaves in the world, which is news to me, but I shall make my use of it. Having done this discourse with Sir G. Carteret, and signified my great satisfaction in it, which they seem to look upon as something, I went away and by coach home, and there find my wife making of tea, a drink which Mr. Pelling, the Potticary, tells her is good for her cold and defluxions. I to the office (whither come Mr. Carcasse to me to sue for my favour to him), and Sir W. Pen's, where I find Mr. Lowther come to town after the journey, and after a small visit to him, I to the office to do much business, and then in the evening to Sir W. Batten's, to see how he did; and he is better than he was. He told me how Mrs. Lowther had her train held up yesterday by her page, at his house in the country; which is so ridiculous a piece of pride as I am ashamed of. He told me also how he hears by somebody that my Lord Bruncker's maid hath told that her lady Mrs. Williams had sold her jewels and clothes to raise money for something or other; and indeed the last night a letter was sent from her to me, to send to my Lord, with about five pieces of gold in it, which methought at the time was but a poor supply. I then to Sir W. Pen, who continues a little ill, or dissembles it, the latter of which I am apt to believe. Here I staid but little, not meaning much kindness in it; and so to the office, and dispatched more business; and then home at night, and to supper with my wife, and who should come in but Mr. Pelling, and supped with us, and told us the news of the town; how the officers of the Navy are cried out upon, and a great many greater men; but do think that I shall do well enough; and I think, if I have justice, I shall. He tells me of my Lord Duke of Buckingham, his dining to-day at the Sun, and that he was mighty merry; and, what is strange, tells me that really he is at this day a very popular man, the world reckoning him to suffer upon no other account than that he did propound in Parliament to have all the questions that had to do with the receipt of the taxes and prizes; but they must be very silly that do think he can do any thing out of good intention. After a great deal of tittle-tattle with this honest man, he gone we to bed. We hear that the Dutch are gone down again; and thanks be to God! the trouble they give us this second time is not very considerable. 29th. Up, having had many ugly dreams to-night of my father and my sister and mother's coming to us, and meeting my wife and me at the gate of the office going out, they all in laced suits, and come, they told me, to be with me this May day. My mother told me she lacked a pair of gloves, and I remembered a pair of my wife's in my chamber, and resolved she should have them, but then recollected how my mother come to be here when I was in mourning for her, and so thinking it to be a mistake in our thinking her all this while dead, I did contrive that it should be said to any that enquired that it was my mother-in-law, my wife's mother, that was dead, and we in mourning for. This dream troubled me and I waked . . . . These dreams did trouble me mightily all night. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and there find Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen above stairs, and then we to discourse about making up our accounts against the Parliament; and Sir W. Coventry did give us the best advice he could for us to provide for our own justification, believing, as everybody do, that they will fall heavily upon us all, though he lay all upon want of money, only a little, he says (if the Parliament be in any temper), may be laid upon themselves for not providing money sooner, they being expressly and industriously warned thereof by him, he says, even to the troubling them, that some of them did afterwards tell him that he had frighted them. He says he do prepare to justify himself, and that he hears that my Lord Chancellor, my Lord Arlington, the Vice Chamberlain and himself are reported all up and down the Coffee houses to be the four sacrifices that must be made to atone the people. Then we to talk of the loss of all affection and obedience, now in the seamen, so that all power is lost. He told us that he do concur in thinking that want of money do do the most of it, but that that is not all, but the having of gentlemen Captains, who discourage all Tarpaulins, and have given out that they would in a little time bring it to that pass that a Tarpaulin should not dare to aspire to more than to be a Boatswain or a gunner. That this makes the Sea Captains to lose their own good affections to the service, and to instil it into the seamen also, and that the seamen do see it themselves and resent it; and tells us that it is notorious, even to his bearing of great ill will at Court, that he hath been the opposer of gentlemen Captains; and Sir W. Pen did put in, and said that he was esteemed to have been the man that did instil it into Sir W. Coventry, which Sir W. Coventry did owne also, and says that he hath always told the Gentlemen Captains his opinion of them, and that himself who had now served to the business of the sea 6 or 7 years should know a little, and as much as them that had never almost been at sea, and that yet he found himself fitter to be a Bishop or Pope than to be a Sea-Commander, and so indeed he is. I begun to tell him of the experience I had of the great brags made by Sir F. Hollis the other day, and the little proof either of the command or interest he had in his men, which Sir W. Pen seconded by saying Sir Fr. Hollis had told him that there was not a pilot to be got the other day for his fire-ships, and so was forced to carry them down himself, which Sir W. Coventry says, in my conscience, he knows no more to do and understand the River no more than he do Tiber or Ganges. Thence I away with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, to the Treasury Chamber, but to no purpose, and so by coach home, and there to my office to business, and then home to dinner, and to pipe with my wife, and so to the office again, having taken a resolution to take a turn to Chatham to-morrow, indeed to do business of the King's, but also to give myself the satisfaction of seeing the place after the Dutch have been here. I have sent to and got Creed to go with me by coach betimes to-morrow morning. After having done my business at the office I home, and there I found Coleman come again to my house, and with my wife in our great chamber, which vexed me, there being a bed therein. I staid there awhile, and then to my study vexed, showing no civility to the man. But he comes on a compliment to receive my wife's commands into the country, whither he is going, and it being Saturday my wife told me there was no other room for her to bring him in, and so much is truth. But I staid vexed in my closet till by and by my cozen Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham, come to see me, and he up to my closet, and there sat talking an hour or two of the sad state of the times, whereof we did talk very freely, and he thinks nothing but a union of religious interests will ever settle us; and I do think that, and the Parliament's taking the whole management of things into their hands, and severe inquisitions into our miscarriages; will help us. After we had bewailed ourselves and the kingdom very freely one to another (wherein I do blame myself for my freedom of speech to anybody), he gone, and Coleman gone also before, I to the office, whither Creed come by my desire, and he and I to my wife, to whom I now propose the going to Chatham, who, mightily pleased with it, sent for Mercer to go with her, but she could not go, having friends at home, which vexed my wife and me; and the poor wretch would have had anybody else to have gone, but I would like nobody else, so was contented to stay at home, on condition to go to Ispsum next Sunday, which I will do, and so I to the office to dispatch my business, and then home to supper with Creed, and then Creed and I together to bed, very pleasant in discourse. This day talking with Sir W. Batten, he did give me an account how ill the King and Duke of York was advised to send orders for our frigates and fire-ships to come from Gravesend, soon as ever news come of the Dutch being returned into the river, wherein no seamen, he believes, was advised with; for, says he, we might have done just as Warwicke did, when he, W. Batten; come with the King and the like fleete, in the late wars, into the river: for Warwicke did not run away from them, but sailed before them when they sailed, and come to anchor when they come to anchor, and always kept in a small distance from them: so as to be able to take any opportunity of any of their ships running aground, or change of wind, or any thing else, to his advantage. So might we have done with our fire-ships, and we have lost an opportunity of taking or burning a good ship of their's, which was run aground about Holehaven, I think he said, with the wind so as their ships could not get her away; but we might have done what we would with her, and, it may be, done them mischief, too, with the wind. This seems very probable, and I believe was not considered. 30th (Lord's day). Up about three o'clock, and Creed and I got ourselves ready, and took coach at our gate, it being very fine weather, and the cool of the morning, and with much pleasure, without any stop, got to Rochester about ten of the clock, all the way having mighty pleasant talk of the fate that is over all we do, that it seems as if we were designed in every thing, by land by sea, to undo ourselves. At the foot of Rochester bridge, at the landing-place, I met my Lord Bruncker and my Lord Douglas, and all the officers of the soldiers in the town, waiting there for the Duke of York, whom they heard was coming thither this day; by and by comes my Lord Middleton, the first time I remember to have seen him, well mounted, who had been to meet him, but come back without him; he seems a fine soldier, and so every body says he is; and a man, like my Lord Teviott, and indeed most of the Scotch gentry, as I observe, of few words. After staying here by the water-side and seeing the boats come up from Chatham, with them that rowed with bandeleeres about their shoulders, and muskets in their boats, they being the workmen of the Yard, who have promised to redeem their credit, lost by their deserting the service when the Dutch were there, my Lord Bruncker went with Lord Middleton to his inne, the Crowne, to dinner, which I took unkindly, but he was slightly invited. So I and Creed down by boat to Chatham-yard (our watermen having their bandeleeres about them all the way), and to Commissioner Pett's house, where my Lord Bruncker told me that I should meet with his dinner two dishes of meat, but did not, but however by the help of Mr. Wiles had some beer and ale brought me, and a good piece of roast beef from somebody's table, and eat well at two, and after dinner into the garden to shew Creed, and I must confess it must needs be thought a sorrowful thing for a man that hath taken so much pains to make a place neat to lose it as Commissioner Pett must now this. Thence to see the batteries made; which, indeed, are very fine, and guns placed so as one would think the River should be very secure. I was glad, as also it was new to me, to see so many fortifications as I have of late seen, and so up to the top of the Hill, there to look, and could see towards Sheerenesse, to spy the Dutch fleete, but could make [out] none but one vessel, they being all gone. But here I was told, that, in all the late attempt, there was but one man that they knew killed on shore: and that was a man that had laid himself upon his belly upon one of the hills, on the other side of the River, to see the action; and a bullet come, took the ground away just under his belly, and ripped up his belly, and so was killed. Thence back to the docke, and in my way saw how they are fain to take the deals of the rope-house to supply other occasions, and how sillily the country troopers look, that stand upon the passes there; and, methinks, as if they were more willing to run away than to fight, and it is said that the country soldiers did first run at Sheerenesse, but that then my Lord Douglas's men did run also; but it is excused that there was no defence for them towards the sea, that so the very beach did fly in their faces as the bullets come, and annoyed them, they having, after all this preparation of the officers of the ordnance, only done something towards the land, and nothing at all towards the sea. The people here everywhere do speak very badly of Sir Edward Spragge, as not behaving himself as he should have done in that business, going away with the first, and that old Captain Pyne, who, I am here told, and no sooner, is Master-Gunner of England, was the last that staid there. Thence by barge, it raining hard, down to the chaine; and in our way did see the sad wrackes of the poor "Royall Oake," "James," and "London;" ["The bottom of the 'Royal James' is got afloat, and those of the 'Loyal London' and 'Royal Oak' soon will be so. Many men are at work to put Sheerness in a posture of defence, and a boom is being fitted over the river by Upnor Castle, which with the good fortifications will leave nothing to fear."--Calendar of State Papers, 1667, p. 285.] and several other of our ships by us sunk, and several of the enemy's, whereof three men-of-war that they could not get off, and so burned. We did also see several dead bodies lie by the side of the water. I do not see that Upnor Castle hath received any hurt by them, though they played long against it; and they themselves shot till they had hardly a gun left upon the carriages, so badly provided they were: they have now made two batteries on that side, which will be very good, and do good service. So to the chaine, and there saw it fast at the end on Upnor side of the River; very fast, and borne up upon the several stages across the River; and where it is broke nobody can tell me. I went on shore on Upnor side to look upon the end of the chaine; and caused the link to be measured, and it was six inches and one-fourth in circumference. They have burned the Crane House that was to hawl it taught. It seems very remarkable to me, and of great honour to the Dutch, that those of them that did go on shore to Gillingham, though they went in fear of their lives, and were some of them killed; and, notwithstanding their provocation at Schelling, yet killed none of our people nor plundered their houses, but did take some things of easy carriage, and left the rest, and not a house burned; and, which is to our eternal disgrace, that what my Lord Douglas's men, who come after them, found there, they plundered and took all away; and the watermen that carried us did further tell us, that our own soldiers are far more terrible to those people of the country-towns than the Dutch themselves. We were told at the batteries, upon my seeing of the field-guns that were there, that, had they come a day sooner, they had been able to have saved all; but they had no orders, and lay lingering upon the way, and did not come forward for want of direction. Commissioner Pett's house was all unfurnished, he having carried away all his goods. I met with no satisfaction whereabouts the chaine was broke, but do confess I met with nobody that I could well expect to have satisfaction [from], it being Sunday; and the officers of the Yard most of them abroad, or at the Hill house, at the pay of the Chest, which they did make use of to day to do part in. Several complaints, I hear, of the Monmouth's coming away too soon from the chaine, where she was placed with the two guard-ships to secure it; and Captain Robert Clerke, my friend, is blamed for so doing there, but I hear nothing of him at London about it; but Captain Brookes's running aground with the "Sancta Maria," which was one of the three ships that were ordered to be sunk to have dammed up the River at the chaine, is mightily cried against, and with reason, he being the chief man to approve of the abilities of other men, and the other two slips did get safe thither and he run aground; but yet I do hear that though he be blameable, yet if she had been there, she nor two more to them three would have been able to have commanded the river all over. I find that here, as it hath been in our river, fire-ships, when fitted, have been sunk afterwards, and particularly those here at the Mussle, where they did no good at all. Our great ships that were run aground and sunk are all well raised but the "Vanguard," which they go about to raise to-morrow. "The Henery," being let loose to drive up the river of herself, did run up as high as the bridge, and broke down some of the rails of the bridge, and so back again with the tide, and up again, and then berthed himself so well as no pilot could ever have done better; and Punnet says he would not, for his life, have undertaken to have done it, with all his skill. I find it is true that the Dutch did heele "The Charles" to get her down, and yet run aground twice or thrice, and yet got her safe away, and have her, with a great many good guns in her, which none of our pilots would ever have undertaken. It is very considerable the quantity of goods, which the making of these platforms and batterys do take out of the King's stores: so that we shall have little left there, and, God knows! no credit to buy any; besides, the taking away and spending of (it is possible) several goods that would have been either rejected or abatement made for them before used. It is a strange thing to see that, while my Lords Douglas and Middleton do ride up and down upon single horses, my Lord Bruncker do go up and down with his hackney-coach and six horses at the King's charge, which will do, for all this time, and the time that he is likely to stay, must amount to a great deal. But I do not see that he hath any command over the seamen, he being affronted by three or four seamen before my very face, which he took sillily, methought; and is not able to do so much good as a good boatswain in this business. My Lord Bruncker, I perceive, do endeavour to speak well of Commissioner Pett, saying that he did exercise great care and pains while he was there, but do not undertake to answer for his not carrying up of the great ships. Back again to Rochester, and there walked to the Cathedral as they were beginning of the service, but would not be seen to stay to church there, besides had no mind, but rather to go to our inne, the White Hart, where we drank and were fain (the towne being so full of soldiers) to have a bed corded for us to lie in, I being unwilling to lie at the Hill house for one night, being desirous to be near our coach to be gone betimes to-morrow morning. Here in the streets, I did hear the Scotch march beat by the drums before the soldiers, which is very odde. Thence to the Castle, and viewed it with Creed, and had good satisfaction from him that showed it us touching the history of it. Then into the fields, a fine walk, and there saw Sir Francis Clerke's house, which is a pretty seat, and then back to our inne and bespoke supper, and so back to the fields and into the Cherry garden, where we had them fresh gathered, and here met with a young, plain, silly shopkeeper, and his wife, a pretty young woman, the man's name Hawkins, and I did kiss her, and we talked (and the woman of the house is a very talking bawdy jade), and eat cherries together, and then to walk in the fields till it was late, and did kiss her, and I believe had I had a fit time and place I might have done what I would with her. Walked back and left them at their house near our inne, and then to our inne, where, I hear, my Lord Bruncker hath sent for me to speak with me before I go: so I took his coach, which stands there with two horses, and to him and to his bedside, where he was in bed, and hath a watchman with a halbert at his door; and to him, and did talk a little, and find him a very weak man for this business that he is upon; and do pity the King's service, that is no better handled, and his folly to call away Pett before we could have found a better man to have staid in his stead; so took leave of him, and with Creed back again, it being now about 10 at night, and to our inne to supper, and then to bed, being both sleepy, but could get no sheets to our bed, only linen to our mouths, and so to sleep, merrily talking of Hawkins and his wife, and troubled that Creed did see so much of my dalliance, though very little. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Buying his place of my Lord Barkely Heeling her on one side to make her draw little water Know yourself to be secure, in being necessary to the office Night the Dutch burned our ships the King did sup with Castlemayne Young fellow, with his hat cocked like a fool behind 
4178	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1667 July 1st. Up betimes, about 9 o'clock, waked by a damned noise between a sow gelder and a cow and a dog, nobody after we were up being able to tell us what it was. After being ready we took coach, and, being very sleepy, droused most part of the way to Gravesend, and there 'light, and down to the new batterys, which are like to be very fine, and there did hear a plain fellow cry out upon the folly of the King's officers above, to spend so much money in works at Woolwich and Deptford, and sinking of good ships loaden with goods, when, if half the charge had been laid out here, it would have secured all that, and this place too, before now. And I think it is not only true in this, but that the best of the actions of us all are so silly, that the meanest people begin to see through them, and contemn them. Besides, says he, they spoil the river by it. Then informed ourselves where we might have some creame, and they guided us to one Goody Best's, a little out of the towne towards London road, and thither we went with the coach, and find it a mighty clean, plain house, and had a dish of very good creame to our liking, and so away presently very merry, and fell to reading of the several Advices to a Painter, which made us good sport, and indeed are very witty, and Creed did also repeat to me some of the substance of letters of old Burleigh in Queen Elizabeth's time, which he hath of late read in the printed Cabbala, which is a very fine style at this day and fit to be imitated. With this, and talking and laughing at the folly of our masters in the management of things at this day, we got home by noon, where all well, and then to dinner, and after dinner both of us laid down upon the couch and chairs and to sleep, which I did for an hour or two, and then to the office, where I am sorry to hear that Sir J. Minnes is likely to die this night, or to-morrow, I forgot to set down that we met this morning upon the road with Mrs. Williams going down to my Lord Bruncker; we bowed without speaking one to another, but I am ashamed at the folly of the man to have her down at this serious busy time, when the town and country is full of people and full of censure, and against him particularly. At Sir W. Batten's my Lady tells me that she hears for certain that my Lord's maid of his lodging here do give out that Mrs. Williams hath been fain of late to sell her best clothes and jewels to get a little money upon, which is a sad condition. Thence to the office, and did write to my Lord Bruncker to give me a little satisfaction about the certainty of the chain's being broke, which I begin to doubt, and the more from Sir W. Pen's discourse. It is worth while to read my letter to him entered in my letter book. Home in the evening to supper, and so pretty betimes, about 10 o'clock, to bed, and slept well. This day letters are come that my sister is very ill. 2nd. Up, and put on my new silke camelott suit, made of my cloak, and suit now made into a vest. So to the office, where W. Pen and myself, and Sir T. Harvy met, the first time we have had a meeting since the coming of the Dutch upon this coast. Our only business (for we have little else to do, nobody being willing to trust us for anything) was to speak with the owners of six merchantmen which we have been taking up this fortnight, and are yet in no readiness, they not fitting their ships without money advanced to them, we owing them for what their ships have earned the last year. So every thing stands still for money, while we want money to pay for some of the most necessary things that we promised ready money for in the height of our wants, as grapnells, &c. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and Jane (mighty fine the girle) to go to see Jane's old mistress, who was to see her, and did see my wife the other day, and it is pleasant to hear with what kindness her old mistress speaks of this girle, and how she would still have her, and how the wench cried when she told her that she must come to her old mistress my wife. They gone, I to my chamber, and there dallied a little with my maid Nell . . . . and so to the office where busy till night, and then comes Mrs. Turner, and walks with me in the garden to talk with me about her husband's business, and to tell me how she hears at the other end of the town how bad our office is spoken of by the King and Prince and Duke of Albemarle, and that there is not a good word said of any of us but of me; and me they all do speak mightily of, which, whether true or no, I am mighty glad to hear, but from all put together that I hear from other people, I am likely to pass as well as anybody. So, she gone, comes my wife and to walk in the garden, Sir J. Minnes being still ill and so keeping us from singing, and by and by Sir W. Pen come and walked with us and gave us a bottle of Syder, and so we home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that poor Tooker is dead, a very painfull poor man as ever I knew. 3rd. Up, and within most of the morning, my tailor's boy coming to alter something in my new suit I put on yesterday. Then to the office and did business, and then (my wife being a little ill of those in bed) I to Sir W. Batten's and dined, and there comes in Sir Richard Ford, tells us how he hath been at the Sessions-house, and there it is plain that there is a combination of rogues in the town, that do make it their business to set houses on fire, and that one house they did set on fire in Aldersgate Streete last Easter; and that this is proved by two young men, whom one of them debauched by degrees to steal their fathers' plate and clothes, and at last to be of their company; and they had their places to take up what goods were flung into the streets out of the windows, when the houses were on fire; and this is like to be proved to a great number of rogues, whereof five are already found, and some found guilty this day. One of these boys is the son of a Montagu, of my Lord Manchester's family; but whose son he could not tell me. This is a strange thing methinks, but I am glad that it is proved so true and discovered. So home, and to enter my Journall of my late journey to this hour, and then to the office, where to do a little business, and then by water to White Hall (calling at Michell's in my way, but the rogue would not invite me in, I having a mind para voir his wife), and there to the Council-chamber, to deliver a letter to their Lordships about the state of the six merchantmen which we have been so long fitting out. When I come, the King and the whole table full of Lords were hearing of a pitifull cause of a complaint of an old man, with a great grey beard, against his son, for not allowing him something to live on; and at last come to the ordering the son to allow his father L10 a year. This cause lasted them near two hours; which, methinks, at this time to be the work of the Council-board of England, is a scandalous thing, and methought Sir W. Coventry to me did own as much. Here I find all the newes is the enemy's landing 3,000 men near Harwich, [Richard Browne, writing to Williamson from Aldeburgh, on July 2nd, says: "The Dutch fleet of 80 sail has anchored in the bay; they were expected to land, but they tacked about, and stood first northward and then southward, close by Orford lighthouse, and have now passed the Ness towards Harwich; they have fired no guns, but made false fires" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 258).] and attacking Landguard Fort, and being beat off thence with our great guns, killing some of their men, and they leaving their ladders behind them; but we had no Horse in the way on Suffolk side, otherwise we might have galled their Foot. The Duke of York is gone down thither this day, while the General sat sleeping this afternoon at the Council-table. The news so much talked of this Exchange, of a peace, I find by Sir Richard Browne arises from a letter the Swedes' agent hath received from Bredah and shewed at Court to-day, that they are come very near it, but I do not find anybody here relying upon it. This cause being over, the Trinity House men, whom I did not expect to meet, were called in, and there Sir W. Pen made a formal speech in answer to a question of the King's, whether the lying of the sunk ships in the river would spoil the river. But, Lord! how gingerly he answered it, and with a deal of do that he did not know whether it would be safe as to the enemy to have them taken up, but that doubtless it would be better for the river to have them taken up. Methought the Council found them answer like fools, and it ended in bidding them think more of it, and bring their answer in writing. Thence I to Westminster Hall, and there hear how they talk against the present management of things, and against Sir W. Coventry for his bringing in of new commanders and casting out the old seamen, which I did endeavour to rectify Mrs. Michell and them in, letting them know that he hath opposed it all his life the most of any man in England. After a deal of this tittle tattle, I to Mrs. Martin's, and there she was gone in before, but when I come, contrary to my expectation, I find her all in trouble, and what was it for but that I have got her with child . . . . and is in exceeding grief, and swears that the child is mine, which I do not believe, but yet do comfort her that either it cannot be so, or if it be that I will take care to send for her husband, though I do hardly see how I can be sure of that, the ship being at sea, and as far as Scotland, but however I must do it, and shall find some way or other of doing it, though it do trouble me not a little. Thence, not pleased, away to White Hall to Mr. Williamson, and by and by my Lord Arlington about Mr. Lanyon's business, and it is pretty to see how Mr. Williamson did altogether excuse himself that my business was not done when I come to my Lord and told him my business; "Why," says my Lord, "it hath been done, and the King signed it several days ago," and so it was and was in Mr. Williamson's hands, which made us both laugh, and I in innocent mirth, I remember, said, it is pretty to see in what a condition we are that all our matters now-a-days are undone, we know not how, and done we know not when. He laughed at it, but I have since reflected on it, and find it a severe speech as it might be taken by a chief minister of state, as indeed Mr. Williamson is, for he is indeed the Secretary. But we fell to other pleasant talk, and a fine gentleman he is, and so gave him L5 for his fee, and away home, and to Sir W. Batten's to talk a little, and then to the office to do a little business, and so home to supper and read myself asleep, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and, in vain expecting Sir R. Ford's calling on me, I took coach and to the Sessions-house, where I have a mind to hear Bazill Fielding's case--[See May 9th, 1667]--tried; and so got up to the Bench, my Lord Chief-Justice Keeling being Judge. Here I stood bare, not challenging, though I might well enough, to be covered. But here were several fine trials; among others, several brought in for making it their trade to set houses on fire merely to get plunder; and all proved by the two little boys spoken of yesterday by Sir R. Ford, who did give so good account of particulars that I never heard children in my life. And I confess, though I was unsatisfied with the force given to such little boys, to take away men's lives, yet, when I was told that my Lord Chief-Justice did declare that there was no law against taking the oath of children above twelve years old, and then heard from Sir R. Ford the good account which the boys had given of their understanding the nature and consequence of an oath, and now my own observation of the sobriety and readiness of their answers, further than of any man of any rank that come to give witness this day, though some men of years and learning, I was a little amazed, and fully satisfied that they ought to have as much credit as the rest. They proved against several, their consulting several times at a bawdy-house in Moore-Fields, called the Russia House, among many other rogueries, of setting houses on fire, that they might gather the goods that were flung into the streets; and it is worth considering how unsafe it is to have children play up and down this lewd town. For these two boys, one is my Lady Montagu's (I know not what Lady Montagu) son, and the other of good condition, were playing in Moore-Fields, and one rogue, Gabriel Holmes, did come to them and teach them to drink, and then to bring him plate and clothes from their fathers' houses, and carry him into their houses, and leaving open the doors for him, and at last were made of their conspiracy, and were at the very burning of this house in Aldersgate Street, on Easter Sunday at night last, and did gather up goods, as they had resolved before and this Gabriel Holmes did advise to have had two houses set on fire, one after another, that, while they were quenching of one, they might be burning another. And it is pretty that G. Holmes did tell his fellows, and these boys swore it, that he did set fire to a box of linen in the Sheriffe, Sir Joseph Shelden's' house, while he was attending the fire in Aldersgate Street, and the Sheriffe himself said that there was a fire in his house, in a box of linen, at the same time, but cannot conceive how this fellow should do it. The boys did swear against one of them, that he had made it his part to pull the plug out of the engine while it was a-playing; and it really was so. And goods they did carry away, and the manner of the setting the house on fire was, that Holmes did get to a cockpit; where, it seems, there was a publick cockpit, and set fire to the straw in it, and hath a fire-ball at the end of the straw, which did take fire, and so it prevailed, and burned the house; and, among other things they carried away, he took six of the cocks that were at the cockpit; and afterwards the boys told us how they had one dressed, by the same token it was so hard they could not eat it. But that which was most remarkable was the impudence of this Holmes, who hath been arraigned often, and still got away; and on this business was taken and broke loose just at Newgate Gate; and was last night luckily taken about Bow, who got loose, and run into the river, and hid himself in the rushes; and they pursued him with a dog, and the dog got him and held him till he was taken. But the impudence of this fellow was such, that he denied he ever saw the boys before, or ever knew the Russia House, or that the people knew him; and by and by the mistress of the Russia House was called in, being indicted, at the same time, about another thing; and she denied that the fellow was of her acquaintance, when it was pretty to see how the little boys did presently fall upon her, and ask her how she durst say so, when she was always with them when they met at her house, and particularly when she come in in her smock before a dozen of them, at which the Court laughed, and put the woman away. Well, this fellow Holmes was found guilty of the act of burning the house, and other things, that he stood indicted for. And then there were other good cases, as of a woman that come to serve a gentlewoman, and in three days run away, betimes in the morning, with a great deal of plate and rings, and other good things. It was time very well spent to be here. Here I saw how favourable the judge was to a young gentleman that struck one of the officers, for not making him room: told him he had endangered the loss of his hand, but that he hoped he had not struck him, and would suppose that he had not struck him. About that the Court rose, and I to dinner with my Lord Mayor and Sheriffs; where a good dinner and good discourse; the judge being there. There was also tried this morning Fielding, which I thought had been Bazilll--but it proved the other, and Bazill was killed; that killed his brother, who was found guilty of murder, and nobody pitied him. The judge seems to be a worthy man, and able: and do intend, for these rogues that burned this house to be hung in some conspicuous place in the town, for an example. After dinner to the Court again, where I heard some more causes, but with so much trouble because of the hot weather that I had no pleasure in it. Anon the Court rose, and I walked to Fleet streete for my belt at the beltmaker's, and so home and to the office, wrote some letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the office, where Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] T. Harvy and I met upon Mr. Gawden's accounts, and was at it all the morning. This morning Sir G. Carteret did come to us, and walked in the garden. It was to talk with me about some thing of my Lord Sandwich's, but here he told us that the great seale is passed to my Lord Annesly [Anglesey] for Treasurer of the Navy: so that now he do no more belong to us: and I confess, for his sake, I am glad of it, and do believe the other will have little content in it. At noon I home to dinner with my wife, and after dinner to sing, and then to the office a little and Sir W. Batten's, where I am vexed to hear that Nan Wright, now Mrs. Markham, Sir W. Pen's mayde and whore, is come to sit in our pew at church, and did so while my Lady Batten was there. I confess I am very much vexed at it and ashamed. By and by out with [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, where I staid not, but to the New Exchange to buy gloves and other little errands, and so home and to my office busy till night, and then walked in the garden with my wife, and then to supper and to sing, and so to bed. No news, but that the Dutch are gone clear from Harwich northward, and have given out they are going to Yarmouth. 6th. Up, and to the office, where some of us sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, whither Creed come to dine with us and brings the first word I hear of the news of a peace, the King having letters come to him this noon signifying that it is concluded on, and that Mr. Coventry is upon his way coming over for the King's satisfaction. The news was so good and sudden that I went with great joy to [Sir] W. Batten and then to [Sir] W. Pen to tell it them, and so home to dinner, mighty merry, and light at my heart only on this ground, that a continuing of the war must undo us, and so though peace may do the like if we do not make good use of it to reform ourselves and get up money, yet there is an opportunity for us to save ourselves. At least, for my own particular, we shall continue well till I can get my money into my hands, and then I will shift for myself. After dinner away, leaving Creed there, by coach to Westminster, where to the Swan and drank, and then to the Hall, and there talked a little with great joy of the peace, and then to Mrs. Martin's, where I met with the good news que elle ne est con child, the fear of which she did give me the other day, had troubled me much. My joy in this made me send for wine, and thither come her sister and Mrs. Cragg, and I staid a good while there. But here happened the best instance of a woman's falseness in the world, that her sister Doll, who went for a bottle of wine, did come home all blubbering and swearing against one Captain Vandener, a Dutchman of the Rhenish Wine House, that pulled her into a stable by the Dog tavern, and there did tumble her and toss her, calling him all the rogues and toads in the world, when she knows that elle hath suffered me to do any thing with her a hundred times. Thence with joyful heart to White Hall to ask Mr. Williamson the news, who told me that Mr. Coventry is coming over with a project of a peace; which, if the States agree to, and our King, when their Ministers on both sides have shewed it them, we shall agree, and that is all: but the King, I hear, do give it out plain that the peace is concluded. Thence by coach home, and there wrote a few letters, and then to consult with my wife about going to Epsum to-morrow, sometimes designing to go and then again not; and at last it grew late and I bethought myself of business to employ me at home tomorrow, and so I did not go. This afternoon I met with Mr. Rolt, who tells me that he is going Cornett under Collonel Ingoldsby, being his old acquaintance, and Ingoldsby hath a troop now from under the King, and I think it is a handsome way for him, but it was an ominous thing, methought, just as he was bidding me his last adieu, his nose fell a-bleeding, which ran in my mind a pretty while after. This afternoon Sir Alexander Frazier, who was of council for Sir J. Minnes, and had given him over for a dead man, said to me at White Hall:--"What," says he, "Sir J. Minnes is dead." I told him, "No! but that there is hopes of his life." Methought he looked very sillily after it, and went his way. Late home to supper, a little troubled at my not going to Epsum to-morrow, as I had resolved, especially having the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry out of town, but it was my own fault and at last my judgment to stay, and so to supper and to bed. This day, with great satisfaction, I hear that my Lady Jemimah is brought to bed, at Hinchingbroke, of a boy. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, there to settle some papers, and thither comes Mr. Moore to me and talked till church time of the news of the times about the peace and the bad consequences of it if it be not improved to good purpose of fitting ourselves for another war. He tells me he heard that the discontented Parliament-men are fearful that the next sitting the King will put for a general excise, by which to raise him money, and then to fling off the Parliament, and raise a land-army and keep them all down like slaves; and it is gotten among them, that Bab. May, the Privy-purse, hath been heard to say that L300 a-year is enough for any country gentleman; which makes them mad, and they do talk of 6 or L800,000 gone into the Privy-purse this war, when in King James's time it arose but to L5,000, and in King Charles's but L10,000 in a year. He tells me that a goldsmith in town told him that, being with some plate with my Lady Castlemayne lately, she directed her woman (the great beauty), "Wilson," says she, "make a note for this, and for that, to the Privy-purse for money." He tells me a little more of the baseness of the courses taken at Court in the case of Mr. Moyer, who is at liberty, and is to give L500 for his liberty; but now the great ones are divided, who shall have the money, the Duke of Albemarle on one hand, and another Lord on the other; and that it is fain to be decided by having the person's name put into the King's warrant for his liberty, at whose intercession the King shall own that he is set at liberty; which is a most lamentable thing, that we do professedly own that we do these things, not for right and justice sake, but only to gratify this or that person about the King. God forgive us all! Busy till noon, and then home to dinner, and Mr. Moore come and dined with us, and much more discourse at and after dinner of the same kind, and then, he gone, I to my office busy till the evening, and then with my wife and Jane over to Half-way house, a very good walk; and there drank, and in the cool of the evening back again, and sang with pleasure upon the water, and were mightily pleased in hearing a boatfull of Spaniards sing, and so home to supper and to bed. Jane of late mighty fine, by reason of a laced whiske her mistress hath given her, which makes her a very gracefull servant. But, above all, my wife and I were the most surprised in the beauty of a plain girle, which we met in the little lane going from Redriffe-stairs into the fields, one of the prettiest faces that we think we ever saw in our lives. 8th. Up, and to my chamber, and by and by comes Greeting, and to my flageolett with him with a pretty deal of pleasure, and then to the office, where [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen and I met about putting men to work for the weighing of the ships in the River sunk. Then home again, and there heard Mr. Caesar play some very good things on the lute together with myself on the violl and Greeting on the viallin. Then with my wife abroad by coach, she to her tailor's, I to Westminster to Burges about my Tangier business, and thence to White Hall, where I spoke with Sir John Nicholas, who tells me that Mr. Coventry is come from Bredah, as was expected; but, contrary to expectation, brings with him two or three articles which do not please the King: as, to retrench the Act of Navigation, and then to ascertain what are contraband goods; and then that those exiled persons, who are or shall take refuge in their country, may be secure from any further prosecution. Whether these will be enough to break the peace upon, or no, he cannot tell; but I perceive the certainty of peace is blown over. So called on my wife and met Creed by the way, and they two and I to Charing Cross, there to see the great boy and girle that are lately come out of Ireland, the latter eight, the former but four years old, of most prodigious bigness for their age. I tried to weigh them in my arms, and find them twice as heavy as people almost twice their age; and yet I am apt to believe they are very young. Their father a little sorry fellow, and their mother an old Irish woman. They have had four children of this bigness, and four of ordinary growth, whereof two of each are dead. If, as my Lord Ormond certifies, it be true that they are no older, it is very monstrous. So home and to dinner with my wife and to pipe, and then I to the office, where busy all the afternoon till the evening, and then with my wife by coach abroad to Bow and Stratford, it being so dusty weather that there was little pleasure in it, and so home and to walk in the garden, and thither comes Pelling to us to talk, and so in and to supper, and then to bed. All the world being as I hear very much damped that their hopes of peace is become uncertain again. 9th. Up pretty betimes and to the office, where busy till office time, and then we sat, but nothing to do but receive clamours about money. This day my Lord Anglesey, our new Treasurer, come the first time to the Board, and there sat with us till noon; and I do perceive he is a very notable man, and understanding, and will do things regular, and understand them himself, not trust Fenn, as Sir G. Carteret did, and will solicit soundly for money, which I do fear was Sir G. Carteret's fault, that he did not do that enough, considering the age we live in, that nothing will do but by solicitation, though never so good for the King or Kingdom, and a bad business well solicited shall, for peace sake, speed when a good one shall not. But I do confess that I do think it a very bold act of him to take upon himself the place of Treasurer of the Navy at this time, but when I consider that a regular accountant never ought to fear any thing nor have reason I then do cease to wonder. At noon home to dinner and to play on the flageolet with my wife, and then to the office, where very busy close at my office till late at night. At night walked and sang with my wife in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. This evening news comes for certain that the Dutch are with their fleete before Dover, and that it is expected they will attempt something there. The business of the peace is quite dashed again, so as now it is doubtful whether the King will condescend to what the Dutch demand, it being so near the Parliament, it being a thing that will, it may be, recommend him to them when they shall find that the not having of a peace lies on his side by denying some of their demands. This morning Captain Clerke (Robin Clerke) was at the table, now commands the Monmouth, and did when the enemy passed the chaine at Chatham the other day, who said publickly at the table that he did admire at the order when it was brought him for sinking of the Monmouth (to the endangering of the ship, and spoiling of all her provisions) when her number of men were upon her that he could have carried her up the River whither he pleased, and have-been a guard to the rest, and could have sunk her at any time. He did carry some 100 barrels of powder out of the ship to save it after the orders come for the sinking her. He knew no reason at all, he declares, that could lead them to order the sinking her, nor the rest of the great ships that were sunk, but above all admires they would burn them on shore and sink them there, when it had been better to have sunk them long way in the middle of the River, for then they would not have burned them so low as now they did. 10th. Up, and to the office betimes, and there all the morning very busy causing papers to be entered and sorted to put the office in order against the Parliament. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again close all the afternoon upon the same occasion with great pleasure till late, and then with my wife and Mercer in the garden and sung, and then home and sung, and to supper with great content, and so to bed. The Duke of York is come back last night from Harwich, the news he brings I know not, nor hear anything to-day from Dover, whether the enemy have made any attempt there as was expected. This day our girle Mary, whom Payne helped us to, to be under his daughter, when she come to be our cook-mayde, did go away declaring that she must be where she might earn something one day, and spend it and play away the next. But a good civil wench, and one neither wife nor I did ever give angry word to, but she has this silly vanity that she must play. 11th. Up betimes and to my office, and there busy till the office (which was only Sir T. Harvy and myself) met, and did little business and then broke up. He tells me that the Council last night did sit close to determine of the King's answer about the peace, and that though he do not certainly know, yet by all discourse yesterday he do believe it is peace, and that the King had said it should be peace, and had bidden Alderman Baclewell to declare [it] upon the 'Change. It is high time for us to have peace that the King and Council may get up their credits and have time to do it, for that indeed is the bottom of all our misery, that nobody have any so good opinion of the King and his Council and their advice as to lend money or venture their persons, or estates, or pains upon people that they know cannot thrive with all that we can do, but either by their corruption or negligence must be undone. This indeed is the very bottom of every man's thought, and the certain ground that we must be ruined unless the King change his course, or the Parliament come and alter it. At noon dined alone with my wife. All the afternoon close at the office, very hard at gathering papers and putting things in order against the Parliament, and at night home with my wife to supper, and then to bed, in hopes to have all things in my office in good condition in a little time for any body to examine, which I am sure none else will. 12th. Up betimes and to my chamber, there doing business, and by and by comes Greeting and begun a new month with him, and now to learn to set anything from the notes upon the flageolet, but, Lord! to see how like a fool he goes about to give me direction would make a man mad. I then out and by coach to White Hall and to the Treasury chamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Exchequer to Burges, about Tangier business, and so back again, stepping into the Hall a little, and then homeward by coach, and met at White Hall with Sir H. Cholmly, and so into his coach, and he with me to the Excise Office, there to do a little business also, in the way he telling me that undoubtedly the peace is concluded; for he did stand yesterday where he did hear part of the discourse at the Council table, and there did hear the King argue for it. Among other things, that the spirits of the seamen were down, and the forces of our enemies are grown too great and many for us, and he would not have his subjects overpressed; for he knew an Englishman would do as much as any man upon hopeful terms; but where he sees he is overpressed, he despairs soon as any other; and, besides that, they have already such a load of dejection upon them, that they will not be in temper a good while again. He heard my Lord Chancellor say to the King, "Sir," says he, "the whole world do complain publickly of treachery, that things have been managed falsely by some of his great ministers."--"Sir," says he, "I am for your Majesty's falling into a speedy enquiry into the truth of it, and, where you meet with it, punish it. But, at the same time, consider what you have to do, and make use of your time for having a peace; for more money will not be given without much trouble, nor is it, I fear, to be had of the people, nor will a little do it to put us into condition of doing our business." But Sir H. Cholmly tells me he [the] Chancellors did say the other day at his table, "Treachery!" says he; "I could wish we could prove there was anything of that in it; for that would imply some wit and thoughtfulness; but we are ruined merely by folly and neglect." And so Sir H. Cholmly tells me they did all argue for peace, and so he do believe that the King hath agreed to the three points Mr. Coventry brought over, which I have mentioned before, and is gone with them back. He tells me further that the Duke of Buckingham was before the Council the other day, and there did carry it very submissively and pleasingly to the King; but to my Lord Arlington, who do prosecute the business, he was most bitter and sharp, and very slighting. As to the letter about his employing a man to cast the King's nativity, says he to the King, "Sir," says he, "this is none of my hand, and I refer it to your Majesty whether you do not know this hand." The King answered, that it was indeed none of his, and that he knew whose it was, but could not recall it presently. "Why," says he, "it is my sister of Richmond's, some frolick or other of hers of some certain person; and there is nothing of the King's name in it, but it is only said to be his by supposition, as is said." The King, it seems, seemed not very much displeased with what the Duke had said; but, however, he is still in the Tower, and no discourse of his being out in haste, though my Lady Castlemayne hath so far solicited for him that the King and she are quite fallen out: he comes not to her, nor hath for some three or four days; and parted with very foul words, the King calling her a whore, and a jade that meddled with things she had nothing to do with at all: and she calling him fool; and told him if he was not a fool, he would not suffer his businesses to be carried on by fellows that did not understand them, and cause his best subjects, and those best able to serve him, to be imprisoned; meaning the Duke of Buckingham. And it seems she was not only for his liberty, but to be restored to all his places; which, it is thought, he will never be. While we were at the Excise office talking with Mr. Ball, it was computed that the Parliament had given the King for this war only, besides all prizes, and besides the L200,000 which he was to spend of his own revenue, to guard the sea above L5,000,000 and odd L100,000; which is a most prodigious sum. Sir H. Cholmly, as a true English gentleman, do decry the King's expenses of his Privy-purse, which in King James's time did not rise to above L5000 a year, and in King Charles's to L10,000, do now cost us above L100,000, besides the great charge of the monarchy, as the Duke of York L100,000 of it, and other limbs of the Royal family, and the guards, which, for his part, says he, "I would have all disbanded, for the King is not the better by them, and would be as safe without them; for we have had no rebellions to make him fear anything." But, contrarily, he is now raising of a land-army, which this Parliament and kingdom will never bear; besides, the commanders they put over them are such as will never be able to raise or command them; but the design is, and the Duke of York, he says, is hot for it, to have a land-army, and so to make the government like that of France, but our princes have not brains, or at least care and forecast enough to do that. It is strange how he and every body do now-a-days reflect upon Oliver, and commend him, what brave things he did, and made all the neighbour princes fear him; while here a prince, come in with all the love and prayers and good liking of his people, who have given greater signs of loyalty and willingness to serve him with their estates than ever was done by any people, hath lost all so soon, that it is a miracle what way a man could devise to lose so much in so little time. Thence he set me down at my Lord Crew's and away, and I up to my Lord, where Sir Thomas Crew was, and by and by comes Mr. Caesar, who teaches my Lady's page upon the lute, and here Mr. Caesar did play some very fine things indeed, to my great liking. Here was my Lord Hinchingbroke also, newly come from Hinchingbroke, where all well, but methinks I knowing in what case he stands for money by his demands to me and the report Mr. Moore gives of the management of the family, makes me, God forgive me! to contemn him, though I do really honour and pity them, though they deserve it not, that have so good an estate and will live beyond it. To dinner, and very good discourse with my Lord. And after dinner Sir Thomas Crew and I alone, and he tells me how I am mightily in esteem with the Parliament; there being harangues made in the House to the Speaker, of Mr. Pepys's readiness and civility to show them every thing, which I am at this time very glad of. He tells me the news of the King and my Lady Castlemayne which I have wrote already this day, and the design of the Parliament to look into things very well before they give any more money, and I pray God they may. Thence, after dinner, to St. James's, but missed Sir W. Coventry, and so home, and there find my wife in a dogged humour for my not dining at home, and I did give her a pull by the nose and some ill words, which she provoked me to by something she spoke, that we fell extraordinarily out, insomuch, that I going to the office to avoid further anger, she followed me in a devilish manner thither, and with much ado I got her into the garden out of hearing, to prevent shame, and so home, and by degrees I found it necessary to calme her, and did, and then to the office, where pretty late, and then to walk with her in the garden, and so to supper, and pretty good friends, and so to bed with my mind very quiet. 13th. Up pretty betimes, it being mighty hot weather, I lying this night, which I have not done, I believe, since a boy, I am sure not since I had the stone before, with only a rugg and a sheet upon me. To my chamber, and my wife up to do something, and by chance we fell out again, but I to the office, and there we did at the board much business, though the most was the dividing of L5000 which the Lords Commissioners have with great difficulty found upon our letter to them this week that would have required L50,000 among a great many occasions. After rising, my Lord Anglesey, this being the second time of his being with us, did take me aside and asked me where I lived, because he would be glad to have some discourse with me. This I liked well enough, and told him I would wait upon him, which I will do, and so all broke up, and I home to dinner, where Mr. Pierce dined with us, who tells us what troubles me, that my Lord Buckhurst hath got Nell away from the King's house, lies with her, and gives her L100 a year, so as she hath sent her parts to the house, and will act no more. [Lord Buckhurst and Nell Gwyn, with the help of Sir Charles Sedley, kept "merry house" at Epsom next door to the King's Head Inn (see Cunningham's "Story of Nell Gwyn," ed. 1892, p. 57)] And yesterday Sir Thomas Crew told me that Lacy lies a-dying of the pox, and yet hath his whore by him, whom he will have to look on, he says, though he can do no more; nor would receive any ghostly advice from a Bishop, an old acquaintance of his, that went to see him. He says there is a strangeness between the King and my Lady Castlemayne, as I was told yesterday. After dinner my wife and I to the New Exchange, to pretty maid Mrs. Smith's shop, where I left my wife, and I to Sir W. Coventry, and there had the opportunity of talk with him, who I perceive do not like our business of the change of the Treasurer's hand, and he tells me that he is entered the lists with this new Treasurer before the King in taking away the business of the Victualling money from his hand, and the Regiment, and declaring that he hath no right to the 3d. per by his patent, for that it was always heretofore given by particular Privy Seal, and that the King and Council just upon his coming in had declared L2000 a year sufficient. This makes him angry, but Sir W. Coventry I perceive cares not, but do every day hold up his head higher and higher, and this day I have received an order from the Commissioners of the Treasury to pay no more pensions for Tangier, which I am glad of, and he tells me they do make bold with all things of that kind. Thence I to White Hall, and in the street I spied Mrs. Borroughs, and took a means to meet and salute her and talk a little, and then parted, and I home by coach, taking up my wife at the Exchange, and there I am mightily pleased with this Mrs. Smith, being a very pleasant woman. So home, and resolved upon going to Epsum tomorrow, only for ayre, and got Mrs. Turner to go with us, and so home and to supper (after having been at the office) and to bed. It is an odd and sad thing to say, that though this be a peace worse than we had before, yet every body's fear almost is, that the Dutch will not stand by their promise, now the King hath consented to all they would have. And yet no wise man that I meet with, when he comes to think of it, but wishes, with all his heart, a war; but that the King is not a man to be trusted with the management of it. It was pleasantly said by a man in this City, a stranger, to one that told him that the peace was concluded, "Well," says he, "and have you a peace?"--"Yes," says the other.--"Why, then," says he, "hold your peace!" partly reproaching us with the disgracefulness of it, that it is not fit to be mentioned; and next, that we are not able to make the Dutch keep it, when they have a mind to break it. Sir Thomas Crew yesterday, speaking of the King of France, how great a man he is, why, says he, all the world thought that when the last Pope died, there would have been such bandying between the Crowns of France and Spain, whereas, when he was asked what he would have his ministers at Rome do, why, says he, let them choose who they will; if the Pope will do what is fit, the Pope and I will be friends. If he will not, I will take a course with him: therefore, I will not trouble myself; and thereupon the election was despatched in a little time--I think in a day, and all ended. [Of Clement IX., Giulio Rispogliosi, elected June 20th, 1667, N.S. He was succeeded by Clement X. in 1670.] 14th (Lord's day). Up, and my wife, a little before four, and to make us ready; and by and by Mrs. Turner come to us, by agreement, and she and I staid talking below, while my wife dressed herself, which vexed me that she was so long about it keeping us till past five o'clock before she was ready. She ready; and, taking some bottles of wine, and beer, and some cold fowle with us into the coach, we took coach and four horses, which I had provided last night, and so away. A very fine day, and so towards Epsum, talking all the way pleasantly, and particularly of the pride and ignorance of Mrs. Lowther, in having of her train carried up? The country very fine, only the way very dusty. We got to Epsum by eight o'clock, to the well; where much company, and there we 'light, and I drank the water: they did not, but do go about and walk a little among the women, but I did drink four pints, and had some very good stools by it. Here I met with divers of our town, among others with several of the tradesmen of our office, but did talk but little with them, it growing hot in the sun, and so we took coach again and to the towne, to the King's Head, where our coachman carried us, and there had an ill room for us to go into, but the best in the house that was not taken up. Here we called for drink, and bespoke dinner; and hear that my Lord Buckhurst and Nelly are lodged at the next house, and Sir Charles Sidly with them and keep a merry house. Poor girl! I pity her; but more the loss of her at the King's house. Here I saw Gilsthrop, Sir W. Batten's clerk that hath been long sick, he looks like a dying man, with a consumption got, as is believed, by the pox, but God knows that the man is in a sad condition, though he finds himself much better since his coming thither, he says. W. Hewer rode with us, and I left him and the women, and myself walked to church, where few people, contrary to what I expected, and none I knew, but all the Houblons, brothers, and them after sermon I did salute, and walk with towards my inne, which was in their way to their lodgings. They come last night to see their elder brother, who stays here at the waters, and away to-morrow. James did tell me that I was the only happy man of the Navy, of whom, he says, during all this freedom the people have taken of speaking treason, he hath not heard one bad word of me, which is a great joy to me; for I hear the same of others, but do know that I have deserved as well as most. We parted to meet anon, and I to my women into a better room, which the people of the house borrowed for us, and there to dinner, a good dinner, and were merry, and Pendleton come to us, who happened to be in the house, and there talked and were merry. After dinner, he gone, we all lay down after dinner (the day being wonderful hot) to sleep, and each of us took a good nap, and then rose; and Tom Wilson come to see me, and sat and talked an hour; and I perceive he hath been much acquainted with Dr. Fuller (Tom) and Dr. Pierson, and several of the great cavalier parsons during the late troubles; and I was glad to hear him talk of them, which he did very ingeniously, and very much of Dr. Fuller's art of memory, which he did tell me several instances of. By and by he parted, and we took coach and to take the ayre, there being a fine breeze abroad; and I went and carried them to the well, and there filled some bottles of water to carry home with me; and there talked with the two women that farm the well, at L12 per annum, of the lord of the manor, Mr. Evelyn (who with his lady, and also my Lord George Barkeley's lady, and their fine daughter, that the King of France liked so well, and did dance so rich in jewells before the King at the Ball I was at, at our Court, last winter, and also their son, a Knight of the Bath, were at church this morning). Here W. Hewer's horse broke loose, and we had the sport to see him taken again. Then I carried them to see my cozen Pepys's house, and 'light, and walked round about it, and they like it, as indeed it deserves, very well, and is a pretty place; and then I walked them to the wood hard by, and there got them in the thickets till they had lost themselves, and I could not find the way into any of the walks in the wood, which indeed are very pleasant, if I could have found them. At last got out of the wood again; and I, by leaping down the little bank, coming out of the wood, did sprain my right foot, which brought me great present pain, but presently, with walking, it went away for the present, and so the women and W. Hewer and I walked upon the Downes, where a flock of sheep was; and the most pleasant and innocent sight that ever I saw in my life--we find a shepherd and his little boy reading, far from any houses or sight of people, the Bible to him; so I made the boy read to me, which he did, with the forced tone that children do usually read, that was mighty pretty, and then I did give him something, and went to the father, and talked with him; and I find he had been a servant in my cozen Pepys's house, and told me what was become of their old servants. He did content himself mightily in my liking his boy's reading, and did bless God for him, the most like one of the old patriarchs that ever I saw in my life, and it brought those thoughts of the old age of the world in my mind for two or three days after. We took notice of his woolen knit stockings of two colours mixed, and of his shoes shod with iron shoes, both at the toe and heels, and with great nails in the soles of his feet, which was mighty pretty: and, taking notice of them, "Why," says the poor man, "the downes, you see, are full of stones, and we are faine to shoe ourselves thus; and these," says he, "will make the stones fly till they sing before me." I did give the poor man something, for which he was mighty thankful, and I tried to cast stones with his horne crooke. He values his dog mightily, that would turn a sheep any way which he would have him, when he goes to fold them: told me there was about eighteen scoare sheep in his flock, and that he hath four shillings a week the year round for keeping of them: so we posted thence with mighty pleasure in the discourse we had with this poor man, and Mrs. Turner, in the common fields here, did gather one of the prettiest nosegays that ever I saw in my life. So to our coach, and through Mr. Minnes's wood, and looked upon Mr. Evelyn's house; and so over the common, and through Epsum towne to our inne, in the way stopping a poor woman with her milk-pail, and in one of my gilt tumblers did drink our bellyfulls of milk, better than any creame; and so to our inne, and there had a dish of creame, but it was sour, and so had no pleasure in it; and so paid our reckoning, and took coach, it being about seven at night, and passed and saw the people walking with their wives and children to take the ayre, and we set out for home, the sun by and by going down, and we in the cool of the evening all the way with much pleasure home, talking and pleasing ourselves with the pleasure of this day's work, Mrs. Turner mightily pleased with my resolution, which, I tell her, is never to keep a country-house, but to keep a coach, and with my wife on the Saturday to go sometimes for a day to this place, and then quit to another place; and there is more variety and as little charge, and no trouble, as there is in a country-house. Anon it grew dark, and as it grew dark we had the pleasure to see several glow-wormes, which was mighty pretty, but my foot begins more and more to pain me, which Mrs. Turner, by keeping her warm hand upon it, did much ease; but so that when we come home, which was just at eleven at night, I was not able to walk from the lane's end to my house without being helped, which did trouble me, and therefore to bed presently, but, thanks be to God, found that I had not been missed, nor any business happened in my absence. So to bed, and there had a cerecloth laid to my foot and leg alone, but in great pain all night long. 15th. So as I was not able to go to-day to wait on the Duke of York with my fellows, but was forced in bed to write the particulars for their discourse there, and kept my bed all day, and anon comes Mrs. Turner, and new-dressed my foot, and did it so, that I was at much ease presently, and so continued all day, so as I slept much and well in the daytime, and in the evening rose and eat something, where our poor Jane very sad for the death of her poor brother, who hath left a wife and two small children. I did give her 20s. in money, and what wine she needed, for the burying him. This evening come to see me Pelling, and we did sing together, and he sings well indeed, and after supper I was willing to go to bed to ease my foot again, which I did, and slept well all night. 16th. In the morning I was able to put on a wide shoe on the foot, and to the office without much pain, and there sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Creed to discourse of our Tangier business, which stands very bad in the business of money, and therefore we expect to have a committee called soon, and to acquaint them among other things with the order come to me for the not paying of any more pensions. We dined together, and after dinner I to the office, and there very late, very busy, doing much business indeed, and so with great comfort home to supper, and so to bed to ease my foot, which toward night began to ake. 17th. Up, and to my chamber to set down my Journall of Sunday last with much pleasure, and my foot being pretty well, but yet I am forced to limp. Then by coach, set my wife down at the New Exchange, and I to White Hall to the Treasury chamber, but to little purpose. So to Mr. Burges to as little. There to the Hall and talked with Mrs. Michell, who begins to tire me about doing something for her elder son, which I am willing to do, but know not what. Thence to White Hall again, and thence away, and took up my wife at Unthanke's, and left her at the 'Change, and so I to Bennet's to take up a bill for the last silk I had for my vest and coat, which I owe them for, and so to the Excise Office, and there did a little business, and so to Temple Bar and staid at my bookseller's till my wife calls me, and so home, where I am saluted with the news of Hogg's bringing a rich Canary prize to Hull: [Thomas Pointer to Samuel Pepys (Hull, July 15th): "Capt. Hogg has brought in a great prize laden with Canary wine; also Capt. Reeves of the 'Panther,' and the 'Fanfan,' whose commander is slain, have come in with their prizes" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 298).] and Sir W. Batten do offer me L1000 down for my particular share, beside Sir Richard Ford's part, which do tempt me; but yet I would not take it, but will stand and fall with the company. He and two more, the Panther and Fanfan, did enter into consortship; and so they have all brought in each a prize, though ours worth as much as both theirs, and more. However, it will be well worth having, God be thanked for it! This news makes us all very glad. I at Sir W. Batten's did hear the particulars of it; and there for joy he did give the company that were there a bottle or two of his own last year's wine, growing at Walthamstow, than which the whole company said they never drank better foreign wine in their lives. Home, and to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Pierce, who is interested in the Panther, for some advice, and then comes Creed, and he and I spent the whole afternoon till eight at night walking and talking of sundry things public and private in the garden, but most of all of the unhappy state of this nation at this time by the negligence of the King and his Council. The Duke of Buckingham is, it seems, set at liberty, without any further charge against him or other clearing of him, but let to go out; which is one of the strangest instances of the fool's play with which all publick things are done in this age, that is to be apprehended. And it is said that when he was charged with making himself popular--as indeed he is, for many of the discontented Parliament, Sir Robert Howard and Sir Thomas Meres, and others, did attend at the Council-chamber when he was examined--he should answer, that whoever was committed to prison by my Lord Chancellor or my Lord Arlington, could not want being popular. But it is worth considering the ill state a Minister of State is in, under such a Prince as ours is; for, undoubtedly, neither of those two great men would have been so fierce against the Duke of Buckingham at the Council-table the other day, had they [not] been assured of the King's good liking, and supporting them therein: whereas, perhaps at the desire of my Lady Castlemayne, who, I suppose, hath at last overcome the King, the Duke of Buckingham is well received again, and now these men delivered up to the interest he can make for his revenge. He told me over the story of Mrs. Stewart, much after the manner which I was told it long since, and have entered it in this book, told me by Mr. Evelyn; only he says it is verily believed that the King did never intend to marry her to any but himself, and that the Duke of York and Lord Chancellor were jealous of it; and that Mrs. Stewart might be got with child by the King, or somebody else, and the King own a marriage before his contract, for it is but a contract, as he tells me, to this day, with the Queene, and so wipe their noses of the Crown; and that, therefore, the Duke of York and Chancellor did do all they could to forward the match with my Lord Duke of Richmond, that she might be married out of the way; but, above all, it is a worthy part that this good lady hath acted. Thus we talked till night and then parted, and so I to my office and did business, and so home to supper, and there find my sister Michell [The wife of Balthazar St. Michel, Mrs. Pepys's brother.--B. Leigh, opposite to Sheerness.--R.] come from Lee to see us; but do tattle so much of the late business of the Dutch coming thither that I was weary of it. Yet it is worth remembering what she says: that she hath heard both seamen and soldiers swear they would rather serve the Dutch than the King, for they should be better used. [Reference has already been made to Andrew Marvell's "Instructions to a Painter", in which the unpaid English sailors are described as swimming to the Dutch ships, where they received the money which was withheld from them on their own ships.] She saw "The Royal Charles" brought into the river by them; and how they shot off their great guns for joy, when they got her out of Chatham River. I would not forget that this very day when we had nothing to do almost but five merchantmen to man in the River, which have now been about it some weeks, I was asked at Westminster, what the matter was that there was such ado kept in pressing of men, as it seems there is thereabouts at this day. So after supper we all to bed, my foot very well again, I thank God. 18th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and most of our time taken up with Carcasse upon some complaints brought in against him, and many other petitions about tickets lost, which spends most of our time. Home to dinner, and then to the office again, where very well employed at the office till evening; and then being weary, took out my wife and Will Batelier by coach to Islington, but no pleasure in our going, the way being so dusty that one durst not breathe. Drank at the old house, and so home, and then to the office a little, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and comes the flageolet master, and brings me two new great Ivory pipes which cost me 32s., and so to play, and he being done, and Balty's wife taking her leave of me, she going back to Lee to-day, I to Westminster and there did receive L15,000 orders out of the Exchequer in part of a bigger sum upon the eleven months tax for Tangier, part of which I presently delivered to Sir H. Cholmly, who was there, and thence with Mr. Gawden to Auditor Woods and Beales to examine some precedents in his business of the Victualling on his behalf, and so home, and in my way by coach down Marke Lane, mightily pleased and smitten to see, as I thought, in passing, the pretty woman, the line-maker's wife that lived in Fenchurch Streete, and I had great mind to have gone back to have seen, but yet would correct my nature and would not. So to dinner with my wife, and then to sing, and so to the office, where busy all the afternoon late, and to Sir W. Batten's and to Sir R. Ford's, we all to consider about our great prize at Hull, being troubled at our being likely to be troubled with Prince Rupert, by reason of Hogg's consorting himself with two privateers of the Prince's, and so we study how to ease or secure ourselves. So to walk in the garden with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. One tells me that, by letter from Holland, the people there are made to believe that our condition in England is such as they may have whatever they will ask; and that so they are mighty high, and despise us, or a peace with us; and there is too much reason for them to do so. The Dutch fleete are in great squadrons everywhere still about Harwich, and were lately at Portsmouth; and the last letters say at Plymouth, and now gone to Dartmouth to destroy our Streights' fleete lately got in thither; but God knows whether they can do it any hurt, or no, but it was pretty news come the other day so fast, of the Dutch fleets being in so many places, that Sir W. Batten at table cried, "By God," says he, "I think the Devil shits Dutchmen." 20th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and then towards the 'Change, at noon, in my way observing my mistake yesterday in Mark Lane, that the woman I saw was not the pretty woman I meant, the line-maker's wife, but a new-married woman, very pretty, a strong-water seller: and in going by, to my content, I find that the very pretty daughter at the Ship tavern, at the end of Billiter Lane, is there still, and in the bar: and, I believe, is married to him that is new come, and hath new trimmed the house. Home to dinner, and then to the office, we having dispatched away Mr. Oviatt to Hull, about our prizes there; and I have wrote a letter of thanks by him to Lord Bellasses, who had writ to me to offer all his service for my interest there, but I dare not trust him. In the evening late walking in the garden with my wife, and then to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up betimes, and all the morning, and then to dinner with my wife alone, and then all the afternoon in like manner, in my chamber, making up my Tangier accounts and drawing a letter, which I have done at last to my full content, to present to the Lords Commissioners for Tangier tomorrow; and about seven at night, when finished my letter and weary, I and my wife and Mercer up by water to Barne Elmes, where we walked by moonshine, and called at Lambeth, and drank and had cold meat in the boat, and did eat, and sang, and down home, by almost twelve at night, very fine and pleasant, only could not sing ordinary songs with the freedom that otherwise I would. Here Mercer tells me that the pretty maid of the Ship tavern I spoke of yesterday is married there, which I am glad of. So having spent this night, with much serious pleasure to consider that I am in a condition to fling away an angell [The angel coin was so called from the figure of the Archangel Michael in conflict with the dragon on the obverse. On the reverse was a representation of a ship with a large cross as a mast. The last angel coined was in Charles I.'s reign, and the value varied from 6s. 8d. to 10s.] in such a refreshment to myself and family, we home and to bed, leaving Mercer, by the way, at her own door. 22nd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to St. James's, where the first time I have been there since the enemy's being with us, where little business but lack of money, which now is so professed by Sir W. Coventry as nothing is more, and the King's whole business owned to be at a stand for want of it. So up to my Lord Chancellor's, where was a Committee of Tangier in my Lord's roome, where he is to hear causes, where all the judges' pictures hang up, very fine. Here I read my letter to them, which was well received, and they did fall seriously to discourse the want of money and other particulars, and to some pretty good purpose. But to see how Sir W. Coventry did oppose both my Lord Chancellor and the Duke of York himself, about the Order of the Commissioners of the Treasury to me for not paying of pensions, and with so much reason, and eloquence so natural, was admirable. And another thing, about his pressing for the reduction of the charge of Tangier, which they would have put off to another time; "But," says he, "the King suffers so much by the putting off of the consideration of reductions of charge, that he is undone; and therefore I do pray you, sir, to his Royal Highness, that when any thing offers of the kind, you will not let it escape you." Here was a great bundle of letters brought hither, sent up from sea, from a vessel of ours that hath taken them after they had been flung over by a Dutchman; wherein, among others, the Duke of York did read the superscription of one to De Witt, thus "To the most wise, foreseeing and discreet, These, &c.;" which, I thought with myself, I could have been glad might have been duly directed to any one of them at the table, though the greatest men in this kingdom. The Duke of York, the Lord Chancellor, my Lord Duke of Albemarle, Arlington, Ashley, Peterborough, and Coventry (the best of them all for parts), I perceive they do all profess their expectation of a peace, and that suddenly, and do advise of things accordingly, and do all speak of it (and expressly, I remember, the Duke of Albemarle), saying that they hoped for it. Letters were read at the table from Tangier that Guiland is wholly lost, and that he do offer Arzill to us to deliver it to us. But Sir W. Coventry did declare his opinion that we should have nothing to do with it, and said that if Tangier were offered us now, as the King's condition is, he would advise against the taking it; saying, that the King's charge is too great, and must be brought down, it being, like the fire of this City, never to be mastered till you have brought it under you; and that these places abroad are but so much charge to the King, and we do rather hitherto strive to greaten them than lessen them; and then the King is forced to part with them, "as," says he, "he did with Dunkirke," by my Lord Tiviott's making it so chargeable to the King as he did that, and would have done Tangier, if he had lived: I perceive he is the only man that do seek the King's profit, and is bold to deliver what he thinks on every occasion. Having broke up here, I away with Mr. Gawden in his coach to the 'Change, and there a, little, and then home and dined, and then to the office, and by and by with my wife to White Hall (she to Unthanke's), and there met Creed and did a little business at the Treasury chamber, and then to walk in Westminster Hall an hour or two, with much pleasure reflecting upon our discourse to-day at the Tangier meeting, and crying up the worth of Sir W. Coventry. Creed tells me of the fray between the Duke of Buckingham at the Duke's playhouse the last Saturday (and it is the first day I have heard that they have acted at either the King's or Duke's houses this month or six weeks) and Henry Killigrew, whom the Duke of Buckingham did soundly beat and take away his sword, and make a fool of, till the fellow prayed him to spare his life; and I am glad of it; for it seems in this business the Duke of Buckingham did carry himself very innocently and well, and I wish he had paid this fellow's coat well. I heard something of this at the 'Change to-day: and it is pretty to hear how people do speak kindly of the Duke of Buckingham, as one that will enquire into faults; and therefore they do mightily favour him. And it puts me in mind that, this afternoon, Billing, the Quaker, meeting me in the Hall, come to me, and after a little discourse did say, "Well," says he, "now you will be all called to an account;" meaning the Parliament is drawing near. This done I took coach and took up my wife, and so home, and after a little at the office I home to my chamber a while, and then to supper and to bed. 23rd: Up betimes and to the office, doing something towards our great account to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and anon the office sat, and all the morning doing business. At noon home to dinner, and then close to my business all the afternoon. In the evening Sir R. Ford is come back from the Prince and tells Sir W. Batten and me how basely Sir W. Pen received our letter we sent him about the prizes at Hull, and slily answered him about the Prince's leaving all his concerns to him, but the Prince did it afterward by letter brought by Sir R. Ford to us, which Sir W. Pen knows not of, but a very rogue he is. By and by comes sudden news to me by letter from the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend, that there were thirty sail of Dutch men-of-war coming up into the Hope this last tide: which I told Sir W. Pen of; but he would not believe it, but laughed, and said it was a fleete of Billanders, ["Bilander. A small merchant vessel with two masts, particularly distinguished from other vessels with two masts by the form of her mainsail, which is bent to the whole length of her yard, hanging fore and aft, and inclined to the horizon at an angle of about 45 deg. Few vessels are now rigged in this manner, and the name is rather indiscriminately used."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] and that the guns that were heard was the salutation of the Swede's Ambassador that comes over with them. But within half an hour comes another letter from Captain Proud, that eight of them were come into the Hope, and thirty more following them, at ten this morning. By and by comes an order from White Hall to send down one of our number to Chatham, fearing that, as they did before, they may make a show first up hither, but then go to Chatham: so my Lord Bruncker do go, and we here are ordered to give notice to the merchant men-of-war, gone below the barricado at Woolwich, to come up again. So with much trouble to supper, home and to bed. 24th. Betimes this morning comes a letter from the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend to me, to tell me that the Dutch fleete did come all into the Hope yesterday noon, and held a fight with our ships from thence till seven at night; that they had burned twelve fire-ships, and we took one of their's, and burned five of our fire-ships. But then rising and going to Sir W. Batten, he tells me that we have burned one of their men-of-war, and another of theirs is blown up: but how true this is, I know not. But these fellows are mighty bold, and have had the fortune of the wind easterly this time to bring them up, and prevent our troubling them with our fire-ships; and, indeed, have had the winds at their command from the beginning, and now do take the beginning of the spring, as if they had some great design to do. I to my office, and there hard at work all the morning, to my great content, abstracting the contract book into my abstract book, which I have by reason of the war omitted for above two years, but now am endeavouring to have all my books ready and perfect against the Parliament comes, that upon examination I may be in condition to value myself upon my perfect doing of my own duty. At noon home to dinner, where my wife mighty musty,--[Dull, heavy, spiritless]--but I took no notice of it, but after dinner to the office, and there with Mr. Harper did another good piece of work about my late collection of the accounts of the Navy presented to the Parliament at their last session, which was left unfinished, and now I have done it which sets my mind at my ease, and so, having tired myself, I took a pair of oares about five o'clock, which I made a gally at Redriffe, and so with very much pleasure down to Gravesend, all the way with extraordinary content reading of Boyle's Hydrostatickes, which the more I read and understand, the more I admire, as a most excellent piece of philosophy; as we come nearer Gravesend, we hear the Dutch fleete and ours a-firing their guns most distinctly and loud. But before we got to Gravesend they ceased, and it grew darkish, and so I landed only (and the flood being come) and went up to the Ship and discoursed with the landlord of the house, who undeceives me in what I heard this morning about the Dutch having lost two men-of-war, for it is not so, but several of their fire-ships. He do say, that this afternoon they did force our ships to retreat, but that now they are gone down as far as Shield-haven: but what the event hath been of this evening's guns they know not, but suppose not much, for they have all this while shot at good distance one from another. They seem confident of the security of this town and the River above it, if the enemy should come up so high; their fortifications being so good, and guns many. But he do say that people do complain of Sir Edward Spragg, that he hath not done extraordinary; and more of Sir W. Jenings, that he come up with his tamkins [Tamkin, or tampion, the wooden stopper of a cannon placed in the muzzle to exclude water or dust.] in his guns. Having discoursed this a little with him, and eat a bit of cold venison and drank, I away, took boat, and homeward again, with great pleasure, the moon shining, and it being a fine pleasant cool evening, and got home by half-past twelve at night, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there sang with much pleasure with my wife, and so to the office again, and busy all the afternoon. At night Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself, and Sir R. Ford, did meet in the garden to discourse about our prizes at Hull. It appears that Hogg is the eeriest rogue, the most observable embezzler, that ever was known. This vexes us, and made us very free and plain with Sir W. Pen, who hath been his great patron, and as very a rogue as he. But he do now seem to own that his opinion is changed of him, and that he will joyne with us in our strictest inquiries, and did sign to the letters we had drawn, which he had refused before, and so seemingly parted good friends, and then I demanded of Sir R. Ford and the rest, what passed to-day at the meeting of the Parliament: who told me that, contrary to all expectation by the King that there would be but a thin meeting, there met above 300 this first day, and all the discontented party; and, indeed, the whole House seems to be no other almost. The Speaker told them, as soon as they were sat, that he was ordered by the King to let them know he was hindered by some important business to come to them and speak to them, as he intended; and, therefore, ordered him to move that they would adjourn themselves till Monday next, it being very plain to all the House that he expects to hear by that time of the sealing of the peace, which by letters, it seems, from my Lord Holis, was to be sealed the last Sunday. [The peace was signed on the 31st. See August 9th.--B.] But before they would come to the question whether they would adjourn, Sir Thomas Tomkins steps up and tells them, that all the country is grieved at this new raised standing army; and that they thought themselves safe enough in their trayn-bands; and that, therefore, he desired the King might be moved to disband them. Then rises Garraway and seconds him, only with this explanation, which he said he believed the other meant; that, as soon as peace should be concluded, they might be disbanded. Then rose Sir W. Coventry, and told them that he did approve of what the last gentleman said; but also, that at the same time he did no more than what, he durst be bold to say, he knew to be the King's mind, that as soon as peace was concluded he would do it of himself. Then rose Sir Thomas Littleton, and did give several reasons for the uncertainty of their meeting again but to adjourne, in case news comes of the peace being ended before Monday next, and the possibility of the King's having some about him that may endeavour to alter his own, and the good part of his Council's advice, for the keeping up of the land-army; and, therefore, it was fit that they did present it to the King as their desire, that, as soon as peace was concluded, the land-army might be laid down, and that this their request might be carried to the King by them of their House that were Privy-councillors; which was put to the vote, and carried 'nemine contradicente'. So after this vote passed, they adjourned: but it is plain what the effects of this Parliament will be, if they be suffered to sit, that they will fall foul upon the faults of the Government; and I pray God they may be permitted to do it, for nothing else, I fear, will save the King and kingdom than the doing it betimes. They gone, I to walk with my wife in the garden, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and betimes to the office, where Mr. Hater and I together all the morning about the perfecting of my abstract book of contracts and other things to my great content. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again all the afternoon doing of other good things there, and being tired, I then abroad with my wife and left her at the New Exchange, while I by water thence to Westminster to the Hall, but shops were shut up, and so to White Hall by water, and thence took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, mightily tired with the dust in riding in a coach, it being mighty troublesome. So home and to my office, and there busy very late, and then to walk a little with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. No news at all this day what we have done to the enemy, but that the enemy is fallen down, and we after them, but to little purpose. 27th. Up and to the office, where I hear that Sir John Coventry is come over from Bredah, a nephew, I think, of Sir W. Coventry's: but what message he brings I know not. This morning news is come that Sir Jos. Jordan is come from Harwich, with sixteen fire-ships and four other little ships of war: and did attempt to do some execution upon the enemy, but did it without discretion, as most do say, so as that they have been able to do no good, but have lost four of their fire ships. They attempted [this], it seems, when the wind was too strong, that our grapplings could not hold: others say we come to leeward of them, but all condemn it as a foolish management. They are come to Sir Edward Spragg about Lee, and the Dutch are below at the Nore. At the office all the morning; and at noon to the 'Change, where I met Fenn; and he tells me that Sir John Coventry do bring the confirmation of the peace; but I do not find the 'Change at all glad of it, but rather the worse, they looking upon it as a peace made only to preserve the King for a time in his lusts and ease, and to sacrifice trade and his kingdoms only to his own pleasures: so that the hearts of merchants are quite down. He tells me that the King and my Lady Castlemayne are quite broke off, and she is gone away, and is with child, and swears the King shall own it; and she will have it christened in the Chapel at White Hall so, and owned for the King's, as other Kings have done; or she will bring it into White Hall gallery, and dash the brains of it out before the King's face. [Charles owned only four children by Lady Castlemaine-Anne, Countess of Sussex, and the Dukes of Southampton, Grafton, and Northumberland. The last of these was born in 1665. The paternity of all her other children was certainly doubtful. See pp. 50,52.] He tells me that the King and Court were never in the world so bad as they are now for gaming, swearing, whoring, and drinking, and the most abominable vices that ever were in the world; so that all must come to nought. He told me that Sir G. Carteret was at this end of the town; so I went to visit him in Broad Street; and there he and I together: and he is mightily pleased with my Lady Jem's having a son; and a mighty glad man he is. He [Sir George Carteret] tells me, as to news, that the peace is now confirmed, and all that over. He says it was a very unhappy motion in the House the other day about the land-army; for, whether the King hath a mind of his own to do the thing desired or no, his doing it will be looked upon as a thing done only in fear of the Parliament. He says that the Duke of York is suspected to be the great man that is for raising of this army, and bringing things to be commanded by an army; but he believes that he is wronged, and says that he do know that he is wronged therein. He do say that the Court is in a way to ruin all for their pleasures; and says that he himself hath once taken the liberty to tell the King the necessity of having, at least, a show of religion in the Government, and sobriety; and that it was that, that did set up and keep up Oliver, though he was the greatest rogue in the world, and that it is so fixed in the nature of the common Englishman that it will not out of him. He tells me that while all should be labouring to settle the kingdom, they are at Court all in factions, some for and others against my Lord Chancellor, and another for and against another man, and the King adheres to no man, but this day delivers himself up to this, and the next to that, to the ruin of himself and business; that he is at the command of any woman like a slave, though he be the best man to the Queene in the world, with so much respect, and never lies a night from her: but yet cannot command himself in the presence of a woman he likes. Having had this discourse, I parted, and home to dinner, and thence to the, office all the afternoon to my great content very busy. It raining this day all day to our great joy, it having not rained, I think, this month before, so as the ground was everywhere so burned and dry as could be; and no travelling in the road or streets in London, for dust. At night late home to supper and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, where all the morning close, to draw up a letter to Sir W. Coventry upon the tidings of peace, taking occasion, before I am forced to it, to resign up to his Royall Highness my place of the Victualling, and to recommend myself to him by promise of doing my utmost to improve this peace in the best manner we may, to save the kingdom from ruin. By noon I had done this to my good content, and then with my wife all alone to dinner, and so to my chamber all the afternoon to write my letter fair, and sent it away, and then to talk with my wife, and read, and so by daylight (the only time I think I have done it this year) to supper, and then to my chamber to read and so to bed, my mind very much eased after what I have done to-day. 29th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, to Sir W. Coventry's chamber; where, among other things, he come to me, and told me that he had received my yesterday's letters, and that we concurred very well in our notions; and that, as to my place which I had offered to resign of the Victualling, he had drawn up a letter at the same time for the Duke of York's signing for the like places in general raised during this war; and that he had done me right to the Duke of York, to let him know that I had, of my own accord, offered to resign mine. The letter do bid us to do all things, particularizing several, for the laying up of the ships, and easing the King of charge; so that the war is now professedly over. By and by up to the Duke of York's chamber; and there all the talk was about Jordan's coming with so much indiscretion, with his four little frigates and sixteen fire-ships from Harwich, to annoy the enemy. His failures were of several sorts, I know not which the truest: that he come with so strong a gale of wind, that his grapplings would not hold; that he did come by their lee; whereas if he had come athwart their hawse, they would have held; that they did not stop a tide, and come up with a windward tide, and then they would not have come so fast. Now, there happened to be Captain Jenifer by, who commanded the Lily in this business, and thus says that, finding the Dutch not so many as they expected, they did not know but that there were more of them above, and so were not so earnest to the setting upon these; that they did do what they could to make the fire-ships fall in among the enemy; and, for their lives, neither Sir J. Jordan nor others could, by shooting several times at them, make them go in; and it seems they were commanded by some idle fellows, such as they could of a sudden gather up at Harwich; which is a sad consideration that, at such a time as this, where the saving the reputation of the whole nation lay at stake, and after so long a war, the King had not credit to gather a few able men to command these vessels. He says, that if they had come up slower, the enemy would, with their boats and their great sloops, which they have to row with a great many men, they would, and did, come and cut up several of our fireships, and would certainly have taken most of them, for they do come with a great provision of these boats on purpose, and to save their men, which is bravely done of them, though they did, on this very occasion, shew great fear, as they say, by some men leaping overboard out of a great ship, as these were all of them of sixty and seventy guns a-piece, which one of our fireships laid on board, though the fire did not take. But yet it is brave to see what care they do take to encourage their men to provide great stores of boats to save them, while we have not credit to find one boat for a ship. And, further, he told us that this new way used by Deane, and this Sir W. Coventry observed several times, of preparing of fire-ships, do not do the work; for the fire, not being strong and quick enough to flame up, so as to take the rigging and sails, lies smothering a great while, half an hour before it flames, in which time they can get her off safely, though, which is uncertain, and did fail in one or two this bout, it do serve to burn our own ships. But what a shame it is to consider how two of our ships' companies did desert their ships for fear of being taken by their boats, our little frigates being forced to leave them, being chased by their greater! And one more company did set their ship on fire, and leave her; which afterwards a Feversham fisherman come up to, and put out the fire, and carried safe into Feversham, where she now is, which was observed by the Duke of York, and all the company with him, that it was only want of courage, and a general dismay and abjectness of spirit upon all our men; and others did observe our ill management, and God Almighty's curse upon all that we have in hand, for never such an opportunity was of destroying so many good ships of theirs as we now had. But to see how negligent we were in this business, that our fleete of Jordan's should not have any notice where Spragg was, nor Spragg of Jordan's, so as to be able to meet and join in the business, and help one another; but Jordan, when he saw Spragg's fleete above, did think them to be another part of the enemy's fleete! While, on the other side, notwithstanding our people at Court made such a secret of Jordan's design that nobody must know it, and even this Office itself must not know it; nor for my part I did not, though Sir W. Batten says by others' discourse to him he had heard something of it; yet De Ruyter, or he that commanded this fleete, had notice of it, and told it to a fisherman of ours that he took and released on Thursday last, which was the day before our fleete came to him. But then, that, that seems most to our disgrace, and which the Duke of York did take special and vehement notice of, is, that when the Dutch saw so many fire-ships provided for them, themselves lying, I think, about the Nore, they did with all their great ships, with a North-east wind, as I take it they said, but whatever it was, it was a wind that we should not have done it with, turn down to the Middle-ground; which the Duke of York observed, never was nor would have been undertaken by ourselves. And whereas some of the company answered, it was their great fear, not their choice that made them do it, the Duke of York answered, that it was, it may be, their fear and wisdom that made them do it; but yet their fear did not make them mistake, as we should have done, when we have had no fear upon us, and have run our ships on ground. And this brought it into my mind, that they managed their retreat down this difficult passage, with all their fear, better than we could do ourselves in the main sea, when the Duke of Albemarle run away from the Dutch, when the Prince was lost, and the Royal Charles and the other great ships come on ground upon the Galloper. Thus, in all things, in wisdom, courage, force, knowledge of our own streams, and success, the Dutch have the best of us, and do end the war with victory on their side. The Duke of York being ready, we into his closet, but, being in haste to go to the Parliament House, he could not stay. So we parted, and to Westminster Hall, where the Hall full of people to see the issue of the day, the King being come to speak to the House to-day. One thing extraordinary was, this day a man, a Quaker, came naked through the Hall, only very civilly tied about the privities to avoid scandal, and with a chafing-dish of fire and brimstone burning upon his head, did pass through the Hall, crying, "Repent! repent!" I up to the Painted Chamber, thinking to have got in to have heard the King's speech, but upon second thoughts did not think it would be worth the crowd, and so went down again into the Hall and there walked with several, among others my Lord Rutherford, who is come out of Scotland, and I hope I may get some advantage by it in reference to the business of the interest of the great sum of money I paid him long since without interest. But I did not now move him in it. But presently comes down the House of Commons, the King having made then a very short and no pleasing speech to them at all, not at all giving them thanks for their readiness to come up to town at this busy time; but told them that he did think he should have had occasion for them, but had none, and therefore did dismiss them to look after their own occasions till October; and that he did wonder any should offer to bring in a suspicion that he intended to rule by an army, or otherwise than by the laws of the land, which he promised them he would do; and so bade them go home and settle the minds of the country in that particular; and only added, that he had made a peace which he did believe they would find reasonable, and a good peace, but did give them none of the particulars thereof. Thus they are dismissed again to their general great distaste, I believe the greatest that ever Parliament was, to see themselves so fooled, and the nation in certain condition of ruin, while the King, they see, is only governed by his lust, and women, and rogues about him. The Speaker, they found, was kept from coming in the morning to the House on purpose, till after the King was come to the House of Lords, for fear they should be doing anything in the House of Commons to the further dissatisfaction of the King and his courtiers. They do all give up the kingdom for lost that I speak to; and do hear what the King says, how he and the Duke of York do do what they can to get up an army, that they may need no more Parliaments: and how my Lady Castlemayne hath, before the late breach between her and the King, said to the King that he must rule by an army, or all would be lost, and that Bab. May hath given the like advice to the King, to crush the English gentlemen, saying that L300 a-year was enough for any man but them that lived at Court. I am told that many petitions were provided for the Parliament, complaining of the wrongs they have received from the Court and courtiers, in city and country, if the Parliament had but sat: and I do perceive they all do resolve to have a good account of the money spent before ever they give a farthing more: and the whole kingdom is everywhere sensible of their being abused, insomuch that they forced their Parliament-men to come up to sit; and my cozen Roger told me that (but that was in mirth) he believed, if he had not come up, he should have had his house burned. The kingdom never in so troubled a condition in this world as now; nobody pleased with the peace, and yet nobody daring to wish for the continuance of the war, it being plain that nothing do nor can thrive under us. Here I saw old good Mr. Vaughan, and several of the great men of the Commons, and some of them old men, that are come 200 miles, and more, to attend this session-of Parliament; and have been at great charge and disappointments in their other private business; and now all to no purpose, neither to serve their country, content themselves, nor receive any thanks from the King. It is verily expected by many of them that the King will continue the prorogation in October, so as, if it be possible, never to have [this] Parliament more. My Lord Bristoll took his place in the House of Lords this day, but not in his robes; and when the King come in, he withdrew but my Lord of Buckingham was there as brisk as ever, and sat in his robes; which is a monstrous thing, that a man proclaimed against, and put in the Tower, and all, and released without any trial, and yet not restored to his places: But, above all, I saw my Lord Mordaunt as merry as the best, that it seems hath done such further indignities to Mr. Taylor' since the last sitting of Parliament as would hang [him], if there were nothing else, would the King do what were fit for him; but nothing of that is now likely to be. After having spent an hour or two in the hall, my cozen Roger and I and Creed to the Old Exchange, where I find all the merchants sad at this peace and breaking up of the Parliament, as men despairing of any good to the nation, which is a grievous consideration; and so home, and there cozen Roger and Creed to dinner with me, and very merry:--but among other things they told me of the strange, bold sermon of Dr. Creeton yesterday, before the King; how he preached against the sins of the Court, and particularly against adultery, over and over instancing how for that single sin in David, the whole nation was undone; and of our negligence in having our castles without ammunition and powder when the Dutch come upon us; and how we have no courage now a-days, but let our ships be taken out of our harbour. Here Creed did tell us the story of the dwell last night, in Coventgarden, between Sir H. Bellasses and Tom Porter. It is worth remembering the silliness of the quarrell, and is a kind of emblem of the general complexion of this whole kingdom at present. They two it seems dined yesterday at Sir Robert Carr's, where it seems people do drink high, all that come. It happened that these two, the greatest friends in the world, were talking together: and Sir H. Bellasses talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom Porter, giving of him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, "What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?" Sir H. Bellasses hearing it, said, "No!" says he: "I would have you know that I never quarrel, but I strike; and take that as a rule of mine!"--"How?" says Tom Porter, "strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a blow!" with that Sir H. Bellasses did give him a box of the eare; and so they were going to fight there, but were hindered. And by and by Tom Porter went out; and meeting Dryden the poet, told him of the business, and that he was resolved to fight Sir H. Bellasses presently; for he knew, if he did not, they should be made friends to-morrow, and then the blow would rest upon him; which he would prevent, and desired Dryden to let him have his boy to bring him notice which way Sir H. Bellasses goes. By and by he is informed that Sir H. Bellasses's coach was coming: so Tom Porter went down out of the Coffee-house where he stayed for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasses come out. "Why," says H. Bellasses, "you will not hurt me coming out, will you?"--"No," says Tom Porter. So out he went, and both drew: and H. Bellasses having drawn and flung away his scabbard, Tom Porter asked him whether he was ready? The other answering him he was, they fell to fight, some of their acquaintance by. They wounded one another, and H. Bellasses so much that it is feared he will die: and finding himself severely wounded, he called to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him shift for himself; "for," says he, "Tom, thou hast hurt me; but I will make shift to stand upon my legs till thou mayest withdraw, and the world not take notice of you, for I would not have thee troubled for what thou hast done." And so whether he did fly or no I cannot tell: but Tom Porter shewed H. Bellasses that he was wounded too: and they are both ill, but H. Bellasses to fear of life. And this is a fine example; and H. Bellasses a Parliament-man too, and both of them most extraordinary friends! Among other discourse, my cozen Roger told us a thing certain, that the Archbishop of Canterbury; that now is, do keep a wench, and that he is as very a wencher as can be; and tells us it is a thing publickly known that Sir Charles Sidley had got away one of the Archbishop's wenches from him, and the Archbishop sent to him to let him know that she was his kinswoman, and did wonder that he would offer any dishonour to one related to him. To which Sir Charles Sidley is said to answer, "A pox take his Grace! pray tell his Grace that I believe he finds himself too old, and is afraid that I should outdo him among his girls, and spoil his trade." But he makes no more of doubt to say that the Archbishop is a wencher, and known to be so, which is one of the most astonishing things that I have heard of, unless it be, what for certain he says is true, that my Lady Castlemayne hath made a Bishop lately, namely,--her uncle, Dr. Glenham, who, I think they say, is Bishop of Carlisle; a drunken, swearing rascal, and a scandal to the Church; and do now pretend to be Bishop of Lincoln, in competition with Dr. Raynbow, who is reckoned as worthy a man as most in the Church for piety and learning: which are things so scandalous to consider, that no man can doubt but we must be undone that hears of them. After dinner comes W. How and a son of Mr. Pagett's to see me, with whom I drank, but could not stay, and so by coach with cozen Roger (who before his going did acquaint me in private with an offer made of his marrying of Mrs. Elizabeth Wiles, whom I know; a kinswoman of Mr. Honiwood's, an ugly old maid, but a good housewife; and is said to have L2500 to her portion; but if I can find that she hath but L2000, which he prays me to examine, he says he will have her, she being one he hath long known intimately, and a good housewife, and discreet woman; though I am against it in my heart, she being not handsome at all) and it hath been the very bad fortune of the Pepyses that ever I knew, never to marry an handsome woman, excepting Ned Pepys and Creed, set the former down at the Temple resolving to go to Cambridge to-morrow, and Creed and I to White Hall to the Treasury chamber there to attend, but in vain, only here, looking out of the window into the garden, I saw the King (whom I have not had any desire to see since the Dutch come upon the coast first to Sheerness, for shame that I should see him, or he me, methinks, after such a dishonour) come upon the garden; with him two or three idle Lords; and instantly after him, in another walk, my Lady Castlemayne, led by Bab. May: at which I was surprised, having but newly heard the stories of the King and her being parted for ever. So I took Mr. Povy, who was there, aside, and he told me all, how imperious this woman is, and hectors the King to whatever she will. It seems she is with child, and the King says he did not get it: with that she made a slighting "puh" with her mouth, and went out of the house, and never come in again till the King went to Sir Daniel Harvy's to pray her; and so she is come to-day, when one would think his mind should be full of some other cares, having but this morning broken up such a Parliament, with so much discontent, and so many wants upon him, and but yesterday heard such a sermon against adultery. But it seems she hath told the King, that whoever did get it, he should own it; and the bottom of the quarrel is this:--She is fallen in love with young Jermin who hath of late lain with her oftener than the King, and is now going to marry my Lady Falmouth; the King he is mad at her entertaining Jermin, and she is mad at Jermin's going to marry from her: so they are all mad; and thus the kingdom is governed! and they say it is labouring to make breaches between the Duke of Richmond and his lady that the King may get her to him. But he tells me for certain that nothing is more sure than that the King, and Duke of York, and the Chancellor, are desirous and labouring all they can to get an army, whatever the King says to the Parliament; and he believes that they are at last resolved to stand and fall all three together: so that he says match of the Duke of York with the Chancellor's daughter hath undone the nation. He tells me also that the King hath not greater enemies in the world than those of his own family; for there is not an officer in the house almost but curses him for letting them starve, and there is not a farthing of money to be raised for the buying them bread. Having done talking with him I to Westminster Hall, and there talked and wandered up and down till the evening to no purpose, there and to the Swan, and so till the evening, and so home, and there to walk in the garden with my wife, telling her of my losing L300 a year by my place that I am to part with, which do a little trouble me, but we must live with somewhat more thrift, and so home to supper and to play on the flageolet, which do do very prettily, and so to bed. Many guns were heard this afternoon, it seems, at White Hall and in the Temple garden very plain; but what it should be nobody knows, unless the Dutch be driving our ships up the river. To-morrow we shall know. 30th. Up and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Daniel and his wife with us, come to see whether I could get him any employment. But I am so far from it, that I have the trouble upon my mind how to dispose of Mr. Gibson and one or two more I am concerned for in the Victualling business, which are to be now discharged. After dinner by coach to White Hall, calling on two or three tradesmen and paying their bills, and so to White Hall, to the Treasury-chamber, where I did speak with the Lords, and did my business about getting them to assent to 10 per cent. interest on the 11 months tax, but find them mightily put to it for money. Here I do hear that there are three Lords more to be added to them; my Lord Bridgewater, my Lord Anglesey, and my Lord Chamberlaine. Having done my business, I to Creed's chamber, and thence out with Creed to White Hall with him; in our way, meeting with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, on horseback, who stopped to speak with us, and he proved very drunk, and did talk, and would have talked all night with us, I not being able to break loose from him, he holding me so by the hand. But, Lord! to see his present humour, how he swears at every word, and talks of the King and my Lady Castlemayne in the plainest words in the world. And from him I gather that the story I learned yesterday is true--that the King hath declared that he did not get the child of which she is conceived at this time, he having not as he says lain with her this half year. But she told him, "God damn me, but you shall own it!" It seems, he is jealous of Jermin, and she loves him so, that the thoughts of his marrying of my Lady Falmouth puts her into fits of the mother; and he, it seems, hath lain with her from time to time, continually, for a good while; and once, as this Cooling says, the King had like to have taken him a-bed with her, but that he was fain to creep under the bed into her closet . . . . But it is a pretty thing he told us how the King, once speaking of the Duke of York's being mastered by his wife, said to some of the company by, that he would go no more abroad with this Tom Otter (meaning the Duke of York) and his wife. Tom Killigrew, being by, answered, "Sir," says he, "pray which is the best for a man, to be a Tom Otter to his wife or to his mistress?" meaning the King's being so to my Lady Castlemayne. Thus he went on; and speaking then of my Lord Sandwich, whom he professed to love exceedingly, says Creed, "I know not what, but he is a man, methinks, that I could love for himself, without other regards." . . . He talked very lewdly; and then took notice of my kindness to him on shipboard seven years ago, when the King was coming over, and how much he was obliged to me; but says, pray look upon this acknowledgement of a kindness in me to be a miracle; for, says he, "it is against the law at Court for a man that borrows money of me, even to buy his place with, to own it the next Sunday;" and then told us his horse was a bribe, and his boots a bribe; and told us he was made up of bribes, as an Oxford scholar is set out with other men's goods when he goes out of town, and that he makes every sort of tradesman to bribe him; and invited me home to his house, to taste of his bribe wine. I never heard so much vanity from a man in my life; so, being now weary of him, we parted, and I took coach, and carried Creed to the Temple. There set him down, and to my office, where busy late till my eyes begun to ake, and then home to supper: a pullet, with good sauce, to my liking, and then to play on the flageolet with my wife, which she now does very prettily, and so to bed. 31st. Up, and after some time with Greeting upon my flageolet I to my office, and there all the morning busy. Among other things, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself did examine a fellow of our private man-of-war, who we have found come up from Hull, with near L500 worth of pieces of eight, though he will confess but 100 pieces. But it appears that there have been fine doings there. At noon dined at home, and then to the office, where busy again till the evening, when Major Halsey and Kinaston to adjust matters about Mrs. Rumbald's bill of exchange, and here Major Halsey, speaking much of my doing business, and understanding business, told me how my Lord Generall do say that I am worth them all, but I have heard that Halsey hath said the same behind my back to others. Then abroad with my wife by coach to Marrowbone, where my Lord Mayor and Aldermen, it seem, dined to-day: and were just now going away, methought, in a disconsolate condition, compared with their splendour they formerly had, when the City was standing. Here my wife and I drank at the gate, not 'lighting, and then home with much pleasure, and so to my chamber, and my wife and I to pipe, and so to supper and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: 20s. in money, and what wine she needed, for the burying him Archbishop is a wencher, and known to be so Bold to deliver what he thinks on every occasion Cast stones with his horne crooke Court is in a way to ruin all for their pleasures Dash the brains of it out before the King's face Dog, that would turn a sheep any way which Dutch fleets being in so many places Fool's play with which all publick things are done Good purpose of fitting ourselves for another war (A Peace) He was charged with making himself popular King governed by his lust, and women, and rogues about him King is at the command of any woman like a slave King the necessity of having, at least, a show of religion Never to keep a country-house, but to keep a coach Nobody being willing to trust us for anything She has this silly vanity that she must play So every thing stands still for money They are all mad; and thus the kingdom is governed! What way a man could devise to lose so much in so little time 
4171	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1966 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1665-1666 January 1st (New-Yeare's Day). Called up by five o'clock, by my order, by Mr. Tooker, who wrote, while I dictated to him, my business of the Pursers; and so, without eating or drinking, till three in the afternoon, and then, to my great content, finished it. So to dinner, Gibson and he and I, and then to copying it over, Mr. Gibson reading and I writing, and went a good way in it till interrupted by Sir W. Warren's coming, of whom I always learne something or other, his discourse being very good and his brains also. He being gone we to our business again, and wrote more of it fair, and then late to bed. [This document is in the British Museum (Harleian MS. 6287), and is entitled, "A Letter from Mr. Pepys, dated at Greenwich, 1 Jan. 1665-6, which he calls his New Year's Gift to his hon. friend, Sir Wm. Coventry, wherein he lays down a method for securing his Majesty in husbandly execution of the Victualling Part of the Naval Expence." It consists of nineteen closely written folio pages, and is a remarkable specimen of Pepys's business habits.--B. There are copies of several letters on the victualling of the navy, written by Pepys in 1666, among the Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian.] 2nd. Up by candlelight again, and wrote the greatest part of my business fair, and then to the office, and so home to dinner, and after dinner up and made an end of my fair writing it, and that being done, set two entering while to my Lord Bruncker's, and there find Sir J. Minnes and all his company, and Mr. Boreman and Mrs. Turner, but, above all, my dear Mrs. Knipp, with whom I sang, and in perfect pleasure I was to hear her sing, and especially her little Scotch song of "Barbary Allen;" [The Scottish ballad is entitled, "Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan," and the English version, "Barbara Allen's Cruelty." Both are printed in Percy's "Reliques," Series III.] and to make our mirthe the completer, Sir J. Minnes was in the highest pitch of mirthe, and his mimicall tricks, that ever I saw, and most excellent pleasant company he is, and the best mimique that ever I saw, and certainly would have made an excellent actor, and now would be an excellent teacher of actors. Thence, it being post night, against my will took leave, but before I come to my office, longing for more of her company, I returned and met them coming home in coaches, so I got into the coach where Mrs. Knipp was and got her upon my knee (the coach being full) and played with her breasts and sung, and at last set her at her house and so good night. So home to my lodgings and there endeavoured to have finished the examining my papers of Pursers' business to have sent away to-night, but I was so sleepy with my late early risings and late goings to bed that I could not do it, but was forced to go to bed and leave it to send away to-morrow by an Expresse. 3rd. Up, and all the morning till three in the afternoon examining and fitting up my Pursers' paper and sent it away by an Expresse. Then comes my wife, and I set her to get supper ready against I go to the Duke of Albemarle and back again; and at the Duke's with great joy I received the good news of the decrease of the plague this week to 70, and but 253 in all; which is the least Bill hath been known these twenty years in the City. Through the want of people in London is it, that must make it so low below the ordinary number for Bills. So home, and find all my good company I had bespoke, as Coleman and his wife, and Laneare, Knipp and her surly husband; and good musique we had, and, among other things, Mrs. Coleman sang my words I set of "Beauty retire," and I think it is a good song, and they praise it mightily. Then to dancing and supper, and mighty merry till Mr. Rolt come in, whose pain of the tooth-ake made him no company, and spoilt ours; so he away, and then my wife's teeth fell of akeing, and she to bed. So forced to break up all with a good song, and so to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker and I, against Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes and the whole table, for Sir W. Warren in the business of his mast contract, and overcome them and got them to do what I had a mind to, for indeed my Lord being unconcerned in what I aimed at. So home to dinner, where Mr. Sheldon come by invitation from Woolwich, and as merry as I could be with all my thoughts about me and my wife still in pain of her tooth. He anon took leave and took Mrs. Barbary his niece home with him, and seems very thankful to me for the L10 I did give him for my wife's rent of his house, and I am sure I am beholding to him, for it was a great convenience to me, and then my wife home to London by water and I to the office till 8 at night, and so to my Lord Bruncker's, thinking to have been merry, having appointed a meeting for Sir J. Minnes and his company and Mrs. Knipp again, but whatever hindered I know not, but no company come, which vexed me because it disappointed me of the glut of mirthe I hoped for. However, good discourse with my Lord and merry, with Mrs. Williams's descants upon Sir J. Minnes's and Mrs. Turner's not coming. So home and to bed. 5th. I with my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams by coach with four horses to London, to my Lord's house in Covent-Guarden. But, Lord! what staring to see a nobleman's coach come to town. And porters every where bow to us; and such begging of beggars! And a delightfull thing it is to see the towne full of people again as now it is; and shops begin to open, though in many places seven or eight together, and more, all shut; but yet the towne is full, compared with what it used to be. I mean the City end; for Covent-Guarden and Westminster are yet very empty of people, no Court nor gentry being there. Set Mrs. Williams down at my Lord's house and he and I to Sir G. Carteret, at his chamber at White Hall, he being come to town last night to stay one day. So my Lord and he and I much talke about the Act, what credit we find upon it, but no private talke between him and I. So I to the 'Change, and there met Mr. Povy, newly come to town, and he and I to Sir George Smith's and there dined nobly. He tells me how my Lord Bellases complains for want of money and of him and me therein, but I value it not, for I know I do all that can be done. We had no time to talk of particulars, but leave it to another day, and I away to Cornhill to expect my Lord Bruncker's coming back again, and I staid at my stationer's house, and by and by comes my Lord, and did take me up and so to Greenwich, and after sitting with them a while at their house, home, thinking to get Mrs. Knipp, but could not, she being busy with company, but sent me a pleasant letter, writing herself "Barbary Allen." I went therefore to Mr. Boreman's for pastime, and there staid an houre or two talking with him, and reading a discourse about the River of Thames, the reason of its being choked up in several places with shelfes; which is plain is, by the encroachments made upon the River, and running out of causeways into the River at every wood-wharfe; which was not heretofore when Westminster Hall and White Hall were built, and Redriffe Church, which now are sometimes overflown with water. I had great satisfaction herein. So home and to my papers for lacke of company, but by and by comes little Mrs. Tooker and sat and supped with me, and I kept her very late talking and making her comb my head, and did what I will with her. So late to bed. 6th. Up betimes and by water to the Cockepitt, there met Sir G. Carteret and, after discourse with the Duke, all together, and there saw a letter wherein Sir W. Coventry did take notice to the Duke with a commendation of my paper about Pursers, I to walke in the Parke with the Vice-Chamberlain, and received his advice about my deportment about the advancing the credit of the Act; giving me caution to see that we do not misguide the King by making them believe greater matters from it than will be found. But I see that this arises from his great trouble to see the Act succeede, and to hear my name so much used and my letters shown at Court about goods served us in upon the credit of it. But I do make him believe that I do it with all respect to him and on his behalfe too, as indeed I do, as well as my owne, that it may not be said that he or I do not assist therein. He tells me that my Lord Sandwich do proceed on his journey with the greatest kindnesse that can be imagined from the King and Chancellor, which was joyfull newes to me. Thence with Lord Bruncker to Greenwich by water to a great dinner and much company; Mr. Cottle and his lady and others and I went, hoping to get Mrs. Knipp to us, having wrote a letter to her in the morning, calling myself "Dapper Dicky," in answer to hers of "Barbary Allen," but could not, and am told by the boy that carried my letter, that he found her crying; but I fear she lives a sad life with that ill-natured fellow her husband: so we had a great, but I a melancholy dinner, having not her there, as I hoped. After dinner to cards, and then comes notice that my wife is come unexpectedly to me to towne. So I to her. It is only to see what I do, and why I come not home; and she is in the right that I would have a little more of Mrs. Knipp's company before I go away. My wife to fetch away my things from Woolwich, and I back to cards and after cards to choose King and Queene, and a good cake there was, but no marks found; but I privately found the clove, the mark of the knave, and privately put it into Captain Cocke's piece, which made some mirthe, because of his lately being knowne by his buying of clove and mace of the East India prizes. At night home to my lodging, where I find my wife returned with my things, and there also Captain Ferrers is come upon business of my Lord's to this town about getting some goods of his put on board in order to his going to Spain, and Ferrers presumes upon my finding a bed for him, which I did not like to have done without my invitation because I had done [it] several times before, during the plague, that he could not provide himself safely elsewhere. But it being Twelfth Night, they had got the fiddler and mighty merry they were; and I above come not to them, but when I had done my business among my papers went to bed, leaving them dancing, and choosing King and Queene. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and being trimmed I was invited by Captain Cocke, so I left my wife, having a mind to some discourse with him, and dined with him. He tells me of new difficulties about his goods which troubles me and I fear they will be great. He tells me too what I hear everywhere how the towne talks of my Lord Craven being to come into Sir G. Carteret's place; but sure it cannot be true. But I do fear those two families, his and my Lord Sandwich's, are quite broken. And I must now stand upon my own legs. Thence to my lodging, and considering how I am hindered by company there to do any thing among my papers, I did resolve to go away to-day rather than stay to no purpose till to-morrow and so got all my things packed up and spent half an hour with W. Howe about his papers of accounts for contingencies and my Lord's accounts, so took leave of my landlady and daughters, having paid dear for what time I have spent there, but yet having been quiett and my health, I am very well contented therewith. So with my wife and Mercer took boat and away home; but in the evening, before I went, comes Mrs. Knipp, just to speake with me privately, to excuse her not coming to me yesterday, complaining how like a devil her husband treats her, but will be with us in towne a weeke hence, and so I kissed her and parted. Being come home, my wife and I to look over our house and consider of laying out a little money to hang our bedchamber better than it is, and so resolved to go and buy something to-morrow, and so after supper, with great joy in my heart for my coming once again hither, to bed. 8th. Up, and my wife and I by coach to Bennett's, in Paternoster Row, few shops there being yet open, and there bought velvett for a coate, and camelott for a cloake for myself; and thence to a place to look over some fine counterfeit damasks to hang my wife's closett, and pitched upon one, and so by coach home again, I calling at the 'Change, and so home to dinner and all the afternoon look after my papers at home and my office against to-morrow, and so after supper and considering the uselessness of laying out so much money upon my wife's closett, but only the chamber, to bed. 9th. Up, and then to the office, where we met first since the plague, which God preserve us in! At noon home to dinner, where uncle Thomas with me, and in comes Pierce lately come from Oxford, and Ferrers. After dinner Pierce and I up to my chamber, where he tells me how a great difference hath been between the Duke and Duchesse, he suspecting her to be naught with Mr. Sidney. ["This Duchess was Chancellor Hyde's daughter, and she was a very handsome woman, and had a great deal of wit; therefore it was not without reason that Mr. Sydney, the handsomest youth of his time, of the Duke's bedchamber, was so much in love with her, as appeared to us all, and the Duchess not unkind to him, but very innocently. He was afterwards banished the Court for another reason, as was reported" (Sir John Reresby's "Memoirs," August 5th, 1664, ed. Cartwright, pp. 64,65). "'How could the Duke of York make my mother a Papist?' said the Princess Mary to Dr. Bumet. 'The Duke caught a man in bed with her,' said the Doctor, 'and then had power to make her do anything.' The Prince, who sat by the fire, said, 'Pray, madam, ask the Doctor a few more questions'" (Spence's "Anecdotes," ed. Singer, 329).] But some way or other the matter is made up; but he was banished the Court, and the Duke for many days did not speak to the Duchesse at all. He tells me that my Lord Sandwich is lost there at Court, though the King is particularly his friend. But people do speak every where slightly of him; which is a sad story to me, but I hope it may be better again. And that Sir G. Carteret is neglected, and hath great enemies at work against him. That matters must needs go bad, while all the town, and every boy in the streete, openly cries, "The King cannot go away till my Lady Castlemaine be ready to come along with him;" she being lately put to bed And that he visits her and Mrs. Stewart every morning before he eats his breakfast. All this put together makes me very sad, but yet I hope I shall do pretty well among them for all this, by my not meddling with either of their matters. He and Ferrers gone I paid uncle Thomas his last quarter's money, and then comes Mr. Gawden and he and I talked above stairs together a good while about his business, and to my great joy got him to declare that of the L500 he did give me the other day, none of it was for my Treasurershipp for Tangier (I first telling him how matters stand between Povy and I, that he was to have half of whatever was coming to me by that office), and that he will gratify me at 2 per cent. for that when he next receives any money. So there is L80 due to me more than I thought of. He gone I with a glad heart to the office to write, my letters and so home to supper and bed, my wife mighty full of her worke she hath to do in furnishing her bedchamber. 10th. Up, and by coach to Sir G. Downing, where Mr. Gawden met me by agreement to talke upon the Act. I do find Sir G. Downing to be a mighty talker, more than is true, which I now know to be so, and suspected it before, but for all that I have good grounds to think it will succeed for goods and in time for money too, but not presently. Having done with him, I to my Lord Bruncker's house in Covent-Garden, and, among other things, it was to acquaint him with my paper of Pursers, and read it to him, and had his good liking of it. Shewed him Mr. Coventry's sense of it, which he sent me last post much to my satisfaction. Thence to the 'Change, and there hear to our grief how the plague is encreased this week from seventy to eighty-nine. We have also great fear of our Hambrough fleete, of their meeting the Dutch; as also have certain newes, that by storms Sir Jer. Smith's fleet is scattered, and three of them come without masts back to Plymouth, which is another very exceeding great disappointment, and if the victualling ships are miscarried will tend to the losse of the garrison of Tangier. Thence home, in my way had the opportunity I longed for, of seeing and saluting Mrs. Stokes, my little goldsmith's wife in Paternoster Row, and there bespoke some thing, a silver chafing-dish for warming plates, and so home to dinner, found my wife busy about making her hangings for her chamber with the upholster. So I to the office and anon to the Duke of Albemarle, by coach at night, taking, for saving time, Sir W. Warren with me, talking of our businesses all the way going and coming, and there got his reference of my pursers' paper to the Board to consider of it before he reads it, for he will never understand it I am sure. Here I saw Sir W. Coventry's kind letter to him concerning my paper, and among others of his letters, which I saw all, and that is a strange thing, that whatever is writ to this Duke of Albemarle, all the world may see; for this very night he did give me Mr. Coventry's letter to read, soon as it come to his hand, before he had read it himself, and bid me take out of it what concerned the Navy, and many things there was in it, which I should not have thought fit for him to have let any body so suddenly see; but, among other things, find him profess himself to the Duke a friend into the inquiring further into the business of Prizes, and advises that it may be publique, for the righting the King, and satisfying the people and getting the blame to be rightly laid where it should be, which strikes very hard upon my Lord Sandwich, and troubles me to read it. Besides, which vexes me more, I heard the damned Duchesse again say to twenty gentlemen publiquely in the room, that she would have Montagu sent once more to sea, before he goes his Embassy, that we may see whether he will make amends for his cowardice, and repeated the answer she did give the other day in my hearing to Sir G. Downing, wishing her Lord had been a coward, for then perhaps he might have been made an Embassador, and not been sent now to sea. But one good thing she said, she cried mightily out against the having of gentlemen Captains with feathers and ribbands, and wished the King would send her husband to sea with the old plain sea Captains, that he served with formerly, that would make their ships swim with blood, though they could not make legs [Make bows, play the courtier. The reading, "make leagues," appeared in former editions till Mr. Mynors Bright corrected it.] as Captains nowadays can. It grieved me to see how slightly the Duke do every thing in the world, and how the King and every body suffers whatever he will to be done in the Navy, though never so much against reason, as in the business of recalling tickets, which will be done notwithstanding all the arguments against it. So back again to my office, and there to business and so to bed. 11th. Up and to the office. By and by to the Custome House to the Farmers, there with a letter of Sir G. Carteret's for L3000, which they ordered to be paid me. So away back again to the office, and at noon to dinner all of us by invitation to Sir W. Pen's, and much other company. Among others, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Broome, his poet, and Dr. Whistler, and his (Sir W. Pen's) son-in-law Lowder, servant--[lover]--to Mrs. Margaret Pen, and Sir Edward Spragg, a merry man, that sang a pleasant song pleasantly. Rose from table before half dined, and with Mr. Mountney of the Custome House to the East India House, and there delivered to him tallys for L3000 and received a note for the money on Sir R. Viner. So ended the matter, and back to my company, where staid a little, and thence away with my Lord Bruncker for discourse sake, and he and I to Gresham College to have seen Mr. Hooke and a new invented chariott of Dr. Wilkins, but met with nobody at home! So to Dr. Wilkins's, where I never was before, and very kindly received and met with Dr. Merritt, and fine discourse among them to my great joy, so sober and so ingenious. He is now upon finishing his discourse of a universal character. So away and I home to my office about my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 12th. By coach to the Duke of Albemarle, where Sir W. Batten and I only met. Troubled at my heart to see how things are ordered there without consideration or understanding. Thence back by coach and called at Wotton's, my shoemaker, lately come to towne, and bespoke shoes, as also got him to find me a taylor to make me some clothes, my owne being not yet in towne, nor Pym, my Lord Sandwich's taylor. So he helped me to a pretty man, one Mr. Penny, against St. Dunstan's Church. Thence to the 'Change and there met Mr. Moore, newly come to towne, and took him home to dinner with me and after dinner to talke, and he and I do conclude my Lord's case to be very bad and may be worse, if he do not get a pardon for his doings about the prizes and his business at Bergen, and other things done by him at sea, before he goes for Spayne. I do use all the art I can to get him to get my Lord to pay my cozen Pepys, for it is a great burden to my mind my being bound for my Lord in L1000 to him. Having done discourse with him and directed him to go with my advice to my Lord expresse to-morrow to get his pardon perfected before his going, because of what I read the other night in Sir W. Coventry's letter, I to the office, and there had an extraordinary meeting of Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and Sir W. Pen, and my Lord Bruncker and I to hear my paper read about pursers, which they did all of them with great good will and great approbation of my method and pains in all, only Sir W. Pen, who must except against every thing and remedy nothing, did except against my proposal for some reasons, which I could not understand, I confess, nor my Lord Bruncker neither, but he did detect indeed a failure or two of mine in my report about the ill condition of the present pursers, which I did magnify in one or two little things, to which, I think, he did with reason except, but at last with all respect did declare the best thing he ever heard of this kind, but when Sir W. Batten did say, "Let us that do know the practical part of the Victualling meet Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Pen and I and see what we can do to mend all," he was so far from offering or furthering it, that he declined it and said, he must be out of towne. So as I ever knew him never did in his life ever attempt to mend any thing, but suffer all things to go on in the way they are, though never so bad, rather than improve his experience to the King's advantage. So we broke up, however, they promising to meet to offer some thing in it of their opinions, and so we rose, and I and my Lord Bruncker by coach a little way for discourse sake, till our coach broke, and tumbled me over him quite down the side of the coach, falling on the ground about the Stockes, but up again, and thinking it fit to have for my honour some thing reported in writing to the Duke in favour of my pains in this, lest it should be thought to be rejected as frivolous, I did move it to my Lord, and he will see it done to-morrow. So we parted, and I to the office and thence home to my poor wife, who works all day at home like a horse, at the making of her hangings for our chamber and the bed. So to supper and to bed. 13th. At the office all the morning, where my Lord Bruncker moved to have something wrote in my matter as I desired him last night, and it was ordered and will be done next sitting. Home with his Lordship to Mrs. Williams's, in Covent-Garden, to dinner (the first time I ever was there), and there met Captain Cocke; and pretty merry, though not perfectly so, because of the fear that there is of a great encrease again of the plague this week. And again my Lord Bruncker do tell us, that he hath it from Sir John Baber; who is related to my Lord Craven, that my Lord Craven do look after Sir G. Carteret's place, and do reckon himself sure of it. After dinner Cocke and I together by coach to the Exchange, in our way talking of our matters, and do conclude that every thing must breake in pieces, while no better counsels govern matters than there seem to do, and that it will become him and I and all men to get their reckonings even, as soon as they can, and expect all to breake. Besides, if the plague continues among us another yeare, the Lord knows what will become of us. I set him down at the 'Change, and I home to my office, where late writing letters and doing business, and thence home to supper and to bed. My head full of cares, but pleased with my wife's minding her worke so well, and busying herself about her house, and I trust in God if I can but clear myself of my Lord Sandwich's bond, wherein I am bound with him for L1000 to T. Pepys, I shall do pretty well, come what will come. 14th (Lord's day). Long in bed, till raised by my new taylor, Mr. Penny, [who comes and brings me my new velvet coat, very handsome, but plain, and a day hence will bring me my camelott cloak.] He gone I close to my papers and to set all in order and to perform my vow to finish my journall and other things before I kiss any woman more or drink any wine, which I must be forced to do to-morrow if I go to Greenwich as I am invited by Mr. Boreman to hear Mrs. Knipp sing, and I would be glad to go, so as we may be merry. At noon eat the second of the two cygnets Mr. Shepley sent us for a new-year's gift, and presently to my chamber again and so to work hard all day about my Tangier accounts, which I am going again to make up, as also upon writing a letter to my father about Pall, whom it is time now I find to think of disposing of while God Almighty hath given me something to give with her, and in my letter to my father I do offer to give her L450 to make her own L50 given her by my uncle up L500. I do also therein propose Mr. Harman the upholster for a husband for her, to whom I have a great love and did heretofore love his former wife, and a civil man he is and careful in his way, beside, I like his trade and place he lives in, being Cornhill. Thus late at work, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon, after sermon, comes my dear fair beauty of the Exchange, Mrs. Batelier, brought by her sister, an acquaintance of Mercer's, to see my wife. I saluted her with as much pleasure as I had done any a great while. We sat and talked together an houre, with infinite pleasure to me, and so the fair creature went away, and proves one of the modestest women, and pretty, that ever I saw in my life, and my [wife] judges her so too. 15th. Busy all the morning in my chamber in my old cloth suit, while my usuall one is to my taylor's to mend, which I had at noon again, and an answer to a letter I had sent this morning to Mrs. Pierce to go along with my wife and I down to Greenwich to-night upon an invitation to Mr. Boreman's to be merry to dance and sing with Mrs. Knipp. Being dressed, and having dined, I took coach and to Mrs. Pierce, to her new house in Covent-Garden, a very fine place and fine house. Took her thence home to my house, and so by water to Boreman's by night, where the greatest disappointment that ever I saw in my life, much company, a good supper provided, and all come with expectation of excesse of mirthe, but all blank through the waywardnesse of Mrs. Knipp, who, though she had appointed the night, could not be got to come. Not so much as her husband could get her to come; but, which was a pleasant thing in all my anger, I asking him, while we were in expectation what answer one of our many messengers would bring, what he thought, whether she would come or no, he answered that, for his part, he could not so much as thinke. By and by we all to supper, which the silly master of the feast commended, but, what with my being out of humour, and the badnesse of the meate dressed, I did never eat a worse supper in my life. At last, very late, and supper done, she came undressed, but it brought me no mirthe at all; only, after all being done, without singing, or very little, and no dancing, Pierce and I to bed together, and he and I very merry to find how little and thin clothes they give us to cover us, so that we were fain to lie in our stockings and drawers, and lay all our coates and clothes upon the bed. So to sleep. 16th. Up, and leaving the women in bed together (a pretty black and white) I to London to the office, and there forgot, through business, to bespeake any dinner for my wife and Mrs. Pierce. However, by noon they come, and a dinner we had, and Kate Joyce comes to see us, with whom very merry. After dinner she and I up to my chamber, who told me her business was chiefly for my advice about her husband's leaving off his trade, which though I wish enough, yet I did advise against, for he is a man will not know how to live idle, and employment he is fit for none. Thence anon carried her and Mrs. Pierce home, and so to the Duke of Albemarle, and mighty kind he to me still. So home late at my letters, and so to bed, being mightily troubled at the newes of the plague's being encreased, and was much the saddest news that the plague hath brought me from the beginning of it; because of the lateness of the year, and the fear, we may with reason have, of its continuing with us the next summer. The total being now 375, and the plague 158. 17th. Busy all the morning, settling things against my going out of towne this night. After dinner, late took horse, having sent for Lashmore to go with me, and so he and I rode to Dagenhams in the dark. There find the whole family well. It was my Lord Crew's desire that I should come, and chiefly to discourse with me of Lord Sandwich's matters; and therein to persuade, what I had done already, that my Lord should sue out a pardon for his business of the prizes, as also for Bergen, and all he hath done this year past, before he begins his Embassy to Spayne. For it is to be feared that the Parliament will fly out against him and particular men, the next Session. He is glad also that my Lord is clear of his sea-imployment, though sorry as I am, only in the manner of its bringing about. By and by to supper, my Lady Wright very kind. After supper up to wait on my Lady Crew, who is the same weake silly lady as ever, asking such saintly questions. Down to my Lord again and sat talking an houre or two, and anon to prayers the whole family, and then all to bed, I handsomely used, lying in the chamber Mr. Carteret formerly did, but sat up an houre talking sillily with Mr. Carteret and Mr. Marre, and so to bed. 18th. Up before day and thence rode to London before office time, where I met a note at the doore to invite me to supper to Mrs. Pierces because of Mrs. Knipp, who is in towne and at her house: To the office, where, among other things, vexed with Major Norwood's coming, who takes it ill my not paying a bill of Exchange of his, but I have good reason for it, and so the less troubled, but yet troubled, so as at noon being carried by my Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's to dinner, where Mrs. Williams was, and Mrs. Knipp, I was not heartily merry, though a glasse of wine did a little cheer me. After dinner to the office. Anon comes to me thither my Lord Bruncker, Mrs. Williams, and Knipp. I brought down my wife in her night-gowne, she not being indeed very well, to the office to them and there by and by they parted all and my wife and I anon and Mercer, by coach, to Pierces; where mighty merry, and sing and dance with great pleasure; and I danced, who never did in company in my life, and Captain Cocke come for a little while and danced, but went away, but we staid and had a pretty supper, and spent till two in the morning, but got home well by coach, though as dark as pitch, and so to bed. 19th. Up and ready, called on by Mr. Moone, my Lord Bellases' secretary, who and I good friends though I have failed him in some payments. Thence with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of Albemarle's, and carried all well, and met Norwood but prevented him in desiring a meeting of the Commissioners for Tangier. Thence to look for Sir H. [Cholmly], but he not within, he coming to town last night. It is a remarkable thing how infinitely naked all that end of the towne, Covent-Garden, is at this day of people; while the City is almost as full again of people as ever it was. To the 'Change and so home to dinner and the office, whither anon comes Sir H. Cholmley to me, and he and I to my house, there to settle his accounts with me, and so with great pleasure we agreed and great friends become, I think, and he presented me upon the foot of our accounts for this year's service for him L100, whereof Povy must have half. Thence to the office and wrote a letter to Norwood to satisfy him about my nonpayment of his bill, for that do still stick in my mind. So at night home to supper and to bed. 20th. To the office, where upon Mr. Kinaston's coming to me about some business of Colonell Norwood's, I sent my boy home for some papers, where, he staying longer than I would have him, and being vexed at the business and to be kept from my fellows in the office longer than was fit, I become angry, and boxed my boy when he came, that I do hurt my thumb so much, that I was not able to stir all the day after, and in great pain. At noon to dinner, and then to the office again, late, and so to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Lay almost till noon merrily and with pleasure talking with my wife in bed. Then up looking about my house, and the roome which my wife is dressing up, having new hung our bedchamber with blue, very handsome. After dinner to my Tangier accounts and there stated them against to-morrow very distinctly for the Lords to see who meet tomorrow, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and set my people to work in copying Tangier accounts, and I down the river to Greenwich to the office to fetch away some papers and thence to Deptford, where by agreement my Lord Bruncker was to come, but staid almost till noon, after I had spent an houre with W. Howe talking of my Lord Sandwich's matters and his folly in minding his pleasures too much now-a-days, and permitting himself to be governed by Cuttance to the displeasing of all the Commanders almost of the fleete, and thence we may conceive indeed the rise of all my Lord's misfortunes of late. At noon my Lord Bruncker did come, but left the keys of the chests we should open, at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, of my Lord Sandwich's, wherein Howe's supposed jewells are; so we could not, according to my Lord Arlington's order, see them today; but we parted, resolving to meet here at night: my Lord Bruncker being going with Dr. Wilkins, Mr. Hooke, and others, to Colonell Blunts, to consider again of the business of charriots, and to try their new invention. Which I saw here my Lord Bruncker ride in; where the coachman sits astride upon a pole over the horse, but do not touch the horse, which is a pretty odde thing; but it seems it is most easy for the horse, and, as they say, for the man also. Thence I with speede by water home and eat a bit, and took my accounts and to the Duke of Albemarle, where for all I feared of Norwood he was very civill, and Sir Thomas Ingram beyond expectation, I giving them all content and I thereby settled mightily in my mind, for I was weary of the employment, and had had thoughts of giving it over. I did also give a good step in a business of Mr. Hubland's, about getting a ship of his to go to Tangier, which during this strict embargo is a great matter, and I shall have a good reward for it, I hope. Thence by water in the darke down to Deptford, and there find my Lord Bruncker come and gone, having staid long for me. I back presently to the Crowne taverne behind the Exchange by appointment, and there met the first meeting of Gresham College since the plague. Dr. Goddard did fill us with talke, in defence of his and his fellow physicians going out of towne in the plague-time; saying that their particular patients were most gone out of towne, and they left at liberty; and a great deal more, &c. But what, among other fine discourse pleased me most, was Sir G. Ent about Respiration; that it is not to this day known, or concluded on among physicians, nor to be done either, how the action is managed by nature, or for what use it is. Here late till poor Dr. Merriot was drunk, and so all home, and I to bed. 23rd. Up and to the office and then to dinner. After dinner to the office again all the afternoon, and much business with me. Good newes beyond all expectation of the decrease of the plague, being now but 79, and the whole but 272. So home with comfort to bed. A most furious storme all night and morning. 24th. By agreement my Lord Bruncker called me up, and though it was a very foule, windy, and rainy morning, yet down to the waterside we went, but no boat could go, the storme continued so. So my Lord to stay till fairer weather carried me into the Tower to Mr. Hore's and there we staid talking an houre, but at last we found no boats yet could go, so we to the office, where we met upon an occasion extraordinary of examining abuses of our clerkes in taking money for examining of tickets, but nothing done in it. Thence my Lord and I, the weather being a little fairer, by water to Deptford to Sir G. Carteret's house, where W. Howe met us, and there we opened the chests, and saw the poor sorry rubys which have caused all this ado to the undoing of W. Howe; though I am not much sorry for it, because of his pride and ill nature. About 200 of these very small stones, and a cod of muske (which it is strange I was not able to smell) is all we could find; so locked them up again, and my Lord and I, the wind being again very furious, so as we durst not go by water, walked to London quite round the bridge, no boat being able to stirre; and, Lord! what a dirty walk we had, and so strong the wind, that in the fields we many times could not carry our bodies against it, but were driven backwards. We went through Horsydowne, where I never was since a little boy, that I went to enquire after my father, whom we did give over for lost coming from Holland. It was dangerous to walk the streets, the bricks and tiles falling from the houses that the whole streets were covered with them; and whole chimneys, nay, whole houses in two or three places, blowed down. But, above all, the pales on London-bridge on both sides were blown away, so that we were fain to stoop very low for fear of blowing off of the bridge. We could see no boats in the Thames afloat, but what were broke loose, and carried through the bridge, it being ebbing water. And the greatest sight of all was, among other parcels of ships driven here and there in clusters together, one was quite overset and lay with her masts all along in the water, and keel above water. So walked home, my Lord away to his house and I to dinner, Mr. Creed being come to towne and to dine with me, though now it was three o'clock. After dinner he and I to our accounts and very troublesome he is and with tricks which I found plainly and was vexed at; while we were together comes Sir G. Downing with Colonell Norwood, Rumball, and Warrupp to visit me. I made them drink good wine and discoursed above alone a good while with Sir G. Downing, who is very troublesome, and then with Colonell Norwood, who hath a great mind to have me concerned with him in everything; which I like, but am shy of adventuring too much, but will thinke of it. They gone, Creed and I to finish the settling his accounts. Thence to the office, where the Houblans and we discoursed upon a rubb which we have for one of the ships I hoped to have got to go out to Tangier for them. They being gone, I to my office-business late, and then home to supper and even sacke for lacke of a little wine, which I was forced to drink against my oathe, but without pleasure. 25th. Up and to the office, at noon home to dinner. So abroad to the Duke of Albemarle and Kate Joyce's and her husband, with whom I talked a great deale about Pall's business, and told them what portion I would give her, and they do mightily like of it and will proceed further in speaking with Harman, who hath already been spoke to about it, as from them only, and he is mighty glad of it, but doubts it may be an offence to me, if I should know of it, so thinks that it do come only from Joyce, which I like the better. So I do believe the business will go on, and I desire it were over. I to the office then, where I did much business, and set my people to work against furnishing me to go to Hampton Court, where the King and Duke will be on Sunday next. It is now certain that the King of France hath publickly declared war against us, and God knows how little fit we are for it. At night comes Sir W. Warren, and he and I into the garden, and talked over all our businesses. He gives me good advice not to embarke into trade (as I have had it in my thoughts about Colonell Norwood) so as to be seen to mind it, for it will do me hurte, and draw my mind off from my business and embroile my estate too soon. So to the office business, and I find him as cunning a man in all points as ever I met with in my life and mighty merry we were in the discourse of our owne trickes. So about to o'clock at night I home and staid with him there settling my Tangier-Boates business and talking and laughing at the folly of some of our neighbours of this office till two in the morning and so to bed. 26th. Up, and pleased mightily with what my poor wife hath been doing these eight or ten days with her owne hands, like a drudge in fitting the new hangings of our bed-chamber of blue, and putting the old red ones into my dressing-room, and so by coach to White Hall, where I had just now notice that Sir G. Carteret is come to towne. He seems pleased, but I perceive he is heartily troubled at this Act, and the report of his losing his place, and more at my not writing to him to the prejudice of the Act. But I carry all fair to him and he to me. He bemoans the Kingdom as in a sad state, and with too much reason I doubt, having so many enemys about us and no friends abroad, nor money nor love at home. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, and there a meeting with all the officers of the Navy, where, Lord! to see how the Duke of Albemarle flatters himself with false hopes of money and victuals and all without reason. Then comes the Committee of Tangier to sit, and I there carry all before me very well. Thence with Sir J. Bankes and Mr. Gawden to the 'Change, they both very wise men. After 'Change and agreeing with Houblon about our ships, D. Gawden and I to the Pope's Head and there dined and little Chaplin (who a rich man grown). He gone after dinner, D. Gawden and I to talke of the Victualling business of the Navy in what posture it is, which is very sad also for want of money. Thence home to my chamber by oathe to finish my Journall. Here W. Hewer came to me with L320 from Sir W. Warren, whereof L220 is got clearly by a late business of insurance of the Gottenburg ships, and the other L100 which was due and he had promised me before to give me to my very extraordinary joy, for which I ought and do bless God and so to my office, where late providing a letter to send to Mr. Gawden in a manner we concluded on to-day, and so to bed. 27th. Up very betimes to finish my letter and writ it fair to Mr. Gawden, it being to demand several arrears in the present state of the victualling, partly to the King's and partly to give him occasion to say something relating to the want of money on his own behalf. This done I to the office, where all the morning. At noon after a bit of dinner back to the office and there fitting myself in all points to give an account to the Duke and Mr. Coventry in all things, and in my Tangier business, till three o'clock in the morning, and so to bed, 28th. And up again about six (Lord's day), and being dressed in my velvett coate and plain cravatte took a hackney coach provided ready for me by eight o'clock, and so to my Lord Bruncker's with all my papers, and there took his coach with four horses and away toward Hampton Court, having a great deale of good discourse with him, particularly about his coming to lie at the office, when I went further in inviting him to than I intended, having not yet considered whether it will be convenient for me or no to have him here so near us, and then of getting Mr. Evelyn or Sir Robert Murray into the Navy in the room of Sir Thomas Harvey. At Brainford I 'light, having need to shit, and went into an Inne doore that stood open, found the house of office and used it, but saw no people, only after I was in the house, heard a great dogg barke, and so was afeard how I should get safe back again, and therefore drew my sword and scabbard out of my belt to have ready in my hand, but did not need to use it, but got safe into the coach again, but lost my belt by the shift, not missing it till I come to Hampton Court. At the Wicke found Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten at a lodging provided for us by our messenger, and there a good dinner ready. After dinner took coach and to Court, where we find the King, and Duke, and Lords, all in council; so we walked up and down: there being none of the ladies come, and so much the more business I hope will be done. The Council being up, out comes the King, and I kissed his hand, and he grasped me very kindly by the hand. The Duke also, I kissed his, and he mighty kind, and Sir W. Coventry. I found my Lord Sandwich there, poor man! I see with a melancholy face, and suffers his beard to grow on his upper lip more than usual. I took him a little aside to know when I should wait on him, and where: he told me, and that it would be best to meet at his lodgings, without being seen to walk together. Which I liked very well; and, Lord! to see in what difficulty I stand, that I dare not walk with Sir W. Coventry, for fear my Lord or Sir G. Carteret should see me; nor with either of them, for fear Sir W. Coventry should. After changing a few words with Sir W. Coventry, who assures me of his respect and love to me, and his concernment for my health in all this sickness, I went down into one of the Courts, and there met the King and Duke; and the Duke called me to him. And the King come to me of himself, and told me, "Mr. Pepys," says he, "I do give you thanks for your good service all this year, and I assure you I am very sensible of it." And the Duke of Yorke did tell me with pleasure, that he had read over my discourse about pursers, and would have it ordered in my way, and so fell from one discourse to another. I walked with them quite out of the Court into the fields, and then back to my Lord Sandwich's chamber, where I find him very melancholy and not well satisfied, I perceive, with my carriage to Sir G. Carteret, but I did satisfy him and made him confess to me, that I have a very hard game to play; and told me he was sorry to see it, and the inconveniences which likely may fall upon me with him; but, for all that, I am not much afeard, if I can but keepe out of harm's way in not being found too much concerned in my Lord's or Sir G. Carteret's matters, and that I will not be if I can helpe it. He hath got over his business of the prizes, so far as to have a privy seale passed for all that was in his distribution to the officers, which I am heartily glad of; and, for the rest, he must be answerable for what he is proved to have. But for his pardon for anything else, he thinks it not seasonable to aske it, and not usefull to him; because that will not stop a Parliament's mouth, and for the King, he is sure enough of him. I did aske him whether he was sure of the interest and friendship of any great Ministers of State and he told me, yes. As we were going further, in comes my Lord Mandeville, so we were forced to breake off and I away, and to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, where he not come in but I find Sir W. Pen, and he and I to discourse. I find him very much out of humour, so that I do not think matters go very well with him, and I am glad of it. He and I staying till late, and Sir W. Coventry not coming in (being shut up close all the afternoon with the Duke of Albemarle), we took boat, and by water to Kingston, and so to our lodgings, where a good supper and merry, only I sleepy, and therefore after supper I slunk away from the rest to bed, and lay very well and slept soundly, my mind being in a great delirium between joy for what the King and Duke have said to me and Sir W. Coventry, and trouble for my Lord Sandwich's concernments, and how hard it will be for me to preserve myself from feeling thereof. 29th. Up, and to Court by coach, where to Council before the Duke of Yorke, the Duke of Albemarle with us, and after Sir W. Coventry had gone over his notes that he had provided with the Duke of Albemarle, I went over all mine with good successe, only I fear I did once offend the Duke of Albemarle, but I was much joyed to find the Duke of Yorke so much contending for my discourse about the pursers against Sir W. Pen, who opposes it like a foole; my Lord Sandwich come in in the middle of the business, and, poor man, very melancholy, methought, and said little at all, or to the business, and sat at the lower end, just as he come, no roome being made for him, only I did give him my stoole, and another was reached me. After council done, I walked to and again up and down the house, discoursing with this and that man. Among others tooke occasion to thanke the Duke of Yorke for his good opinion in general of my service, and particularly his favour in conferring on me the Victualling business. He told me that he knew nobody so fit as I for it, and next, he was very glad to find that to give me for my encouragement, speaking very kindly of me. So to Sir W. Coventry's to dinner with him, whom I took occasion to thanke for his favour and good thoughts of what little service I did, desiring he would do the last act of friendship in telling me of my faults also. He told me he would be sure he would do that also, if there were any occasion for it. So that as much as it is possible under so great a fall of my Lord Sandwich's, and difference between them, I may conclude that I am thoroughly right with Sir W. Coventry. I dined with him with a great deale of company, and much merry discourse. I was called away before dinner ended to go to my company who dined at our lodgings. Thither I went with Mr. Evelyn (whom I met) in his coach going that way, but finding my company gone, but my Lord Bruncker left his coach for me; so Mr. Evelyn and I into my Lord's coach, and rode together with excellent discourse till we come to Clapham, talking of the vanity and vices of the Court, which makes it a most contemptible thing; and indeed in all his discourse I find him a most worthy person. Particularly he entertained me with discourse of an Infirmary, which he hath projected for the sick and wounded seamen against the next year, which I mightily approve of; and will endeavour to promote it, being a worthy thing, and of use, and will save money. He set me down at Mr. Gawden's, where nobody yet come home, I having left him and his sons and Creed at Court, so I took a book and into the gardens, and there walked and read till darke with great pleasure, and then in and in comes Osborne, and he and I to talk of Mr. Jaggard, who comes from London, and great hopes there is of a decrease this week also of the plague. Anon comes in Creed, and after that Mr. Gawden and his sons, and then they bringing in three ladies, who were in the house, but I do not know them, his daughter and two nieces, daughters of Dr. Whistler's, with whom and Creed mighty sport at supper, the ladies very pretty and mirthfull. I perceive they know Creed's gut and stomach as well as I, and made as much mirthe as I with it at supper. After supper I made the ladies sing, and they have been taught, but, Lord! though I was forced to commend them, yet it was the saddest stuff I ever heard. However, we sat up late, and then I, in the best chamber like a prince, to bed, and Creed with me, and being sleepy talked but little. 30th. Lay long till Mr. Gawden was gone out being to take a little journey. Up, and Creed and I some good discourse, but with some trouble for the state of my Lord's matters. After walking a turne or two in the garden, and bid good morrow to Mr. Gawden's sons, and sent my service to the ladies, I took coach after Mr. Gawden's, and home, finding the towne keeping the day solemnly, it being the day of the King's murther, and they being at church, I presently into the church, thinking to see Mrs. Lethulier or Batelier, but did not, and a dull sermon of our young Lecturer, too bad. This is the first time I have been in this church since I left London for the plague, and it frighted me indeed to go through the church more than I thought it could have done, to see so [many] graves lie so high upon the churchyards where people have been buried of the plague. I was much troubled at it, and do not think to go through it again a good while. So home to my wife, whom I find not well, in bed, and it seems hath not been well these two days. She rose and we to dinner, after dinner up to my chamber, where she entertained me with what she hath lately bought of clothes for herself, and Damask linnen, and other things for the house. I did give her a serious account how matters stand with me, of favour with the King and Duke, and of danger in reference to my Lord's and Sir G. Carteret's falls, and the dissatisfaction I have heard the Duke of Albemarle hath acknowledged to somebody, among other things, against my Lord Sandwich, that he did bring me into the Navy against his desire and endeavour for another, which was our doting foole Turner. Thence from one discourse to another, and looking over my house, and other things I spent the day at home, and at night betimes to bed. After dinner this day I went down by water to Deptford, and fetched up what money there was of W. Howe's contingencies in the chest there, being L516 13s. 3d. and brought it home to dispose of. 31st. Lay pretty long in bed, and then up and to the office, where we met on extraordinary occasion about the business of tickets. By and by to the 'Change, and there did several businesses, among others brought home my cozen Pepys, whom I appointed to be here to-day, and Mr. Moore met us upon the business of my Lord's bond. Seeing my neighbour Mr. Knightly walk alone from the 'Change, his family being not yet come to town, I did invite him home with me, and he dined with me, a very sober, pretty man he is. He is mighty solicitous, as I find many about the City that live near the churchyards, to have the churchyards covered with lime, and I think it is needfull, and ours I hope will be done. Good pleasant discourse at dinner of the practices of merchants to cheate the "Customers," occasioned by Mr. Moore's being with much trouble freed of his prize goods, which he bought, which fell into the Customers' hands, and with much ado hath cleared them. Mr. Knightly being gone, my cozen Pepys and Moore and I to our business, being the clearing of my Lord Sandwich's bond wherein I am bound with him to my cozen for L1000 I have at last by my dexterity got my Lord's consent to have it paid out of the money raised by his prizes. So the bond is cancelled, and he paid by having a note upon Sir Robert Viner, in whose hands I had lodged my Lord's money, by which I am to my extraordinary comfort eased of a liablenesse to pay the sum in case of my Lord's death, or troubles in estate, or my Lord's greater fall, which God defend! Having settled this matter at Sir R. Viner's, I took up Mr. Moore (my cozen going home) and to my Lord Chancellor's new house which he is building, only to view it, hearing so much from Mr. Evelyn of it; and, indeed, it is the finest pile I ever did see in my life, and will be a glorious house. Thence to the Duke of Albemarle, who tells me Mr. Coventry is come to town and directs me to go to him about some business in hand, whether out of displeasure or desire of ease I know not; but I asked him not the reason of it but went to White Hall, but could not find him there, though to my great joy people begin to bustle up and down there, the King holding his resolution to be in towne to-morrow, and hath good encouragement, blessed be God! to do so, the plague being decreased this week to 56, and the total to 227. So after going to the Swan in the Palace, and sent for Spicer to discourse about my last Tangier tallys that have some of the words washed out with the rain, to have them new writ, I home, and there did some business and at the office, and so home to supper, and to bed. FEBRUARY 1665-1666 February 1st. Up and to the office, where all the morning till late, and Mr. Coventry with us, the first time since before the plague, then hearing my wife was gone abroad to buy things and see her mother and father, whom she hath not seen since before the plague, and no dinner provided for me ready, I walked to Captain Cocke's, knowing my Lord Bruncker dined there, and there very merry, and a good dinner. Thence my Lord and his mistresse, Madam Williams, set me down at the Exchange, and I to Alderman Backewell's to set all my reckonings straight there, which I did, and took up all my notes. So evened to this day, and thence to Sir Robert Viner's, where I did the like, leaving clear in his hands just L2000 of my owne money, to be called for when I pleased. Having done all this I home, and there to the office, did my business there by the post and so home, and spent till one in the morning in my chamber to set right all my money matters, and so to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and knowing that my Lord Sandwich is come to towne with the King and Duke, I to wait upon him, which I did, and find him in very good humour, which I am glad to see with all my heart. Having received his commands, and discoursed with some of his people about my Lord's going, and with Sir Roger Cuttance, who was there, and finds himself slighted by Sir W. Coventry, I advised him however to look after employment lest it should be said that my Lord's friends do forsake the service after he hath made them rich with the prizes. I to London, and there among other things did look over some pictures at Cade's for my house, and did carry home a silver drudger [The dredger was probably the drageoir of France; in low Latin, dragerium, or drageria, in which comfits (dragdes) were kept. Roquefort says, "The ladies wore a little spice-box, in shape like a watch, to carry dragles, and it was called a drageoir." The custom continued certainly till the middle of the last century. Old Palsgrave, in his "Eclaircissement de la Langue Francaise," gives "dradge" as spice, rendering it by the French word dragde. Chaucer says, of his Doctor of Physic, "Full ready hadde he his Apothecaries To send him dragges, and his lattuaries." The word sometimes may have signified the pounded condiments in which our forefathers delighted. It is worth notice, that "dragge" was applied to a grain in the eastern counties, though not exclusively there, appearing to denote mixed grain. Bishop Kennett tells us that "dredge mault is mault made up of oats, mixed with barley, of which they make an excellent, freshe, quiete sort of drinke, in Staffordshire." The dredger is still commonly used in our kitchen.--B.] for my cupboard of plate, and did call for my silver chafing dishes, but they are sent home, and the man would not be paid for them, saying that he was paid for them already, and with much ado got him to tell me by Mr. Wayth, but I would not accept of that, but will send him his money, not knowing any courtesy I have yet done him to deserve it. So home, and with my wife looked over our plate, and picked out L40 worth, I believe, to change for more usefull plate, to our great content, and then we shall have a very handsome cupboard of plate. So to dinner, and then to the office, where we had a meeting extraordinary, about stating to the Duke the present debts of the Navy, for which ready money must be had, and that being done, I to my business, where late, and then home to supper, and to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office very busy till 3 o'clock, and then home, all of us, for half an hour to dinner, and to it again till eight at night, stating our wants of money for the Duke, but could not finish it. So broke up, and I to my office, then about letters and other businesses very late, and so home to supper, weary with business, and to bed. 4th. Lord's day; and my wife and I the first time together at church since the plague, and now only because of Mr. Mills his coming home to preach his first sermon; expecting a great excuse for his leaving the parish before any body went, and now staying till all are come home; but he made but a very poor and short excuse, and a bad sermon. It was a frost, and had snowed last night, which covered the graves in the churchyard, so as I was the less afeard for going through. Here I had the content to see my noble Mrs. Lethulier, and so home to dinner, and all the afternoon at my Journall till supper, it being a long while behindhand. At supper my wife tells me that W. Joyce has been with her this evening, the first time since the plague, and tells her my aunt James is lately dead of the stone, and what she had hath given to his and his brother's wife and my cozen Sarah. So after supper to work again, and late to bed. 5th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten (at whose lodgings calling for him, I saw his Lady the first time since her coming to towne since the plague, having absented myself designedly to shew some discontent, and that I am not at all the more suppliant because of my Lord Sandwich's fall), to my Lord Bruncker's, to see whether he goes to the Duke's this morning or no. But it is put off, and so we parted. My Lord invited me to dinner to-day to dine with Sir W. Batten and his Lady there, who were invited before, but lest he should thinke so little an invitation would serve my turne I refused and parted, and to Westminster about business, and so back to the 'Change, and there met Mr. Hill, newly come to town, and with him the Houblands, preparing for their ship's and his going to Tangier, and agreed that I must sup with them to-night. So home and eat a bit, and then to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, but it did not meet but was put off to to-morrow, so I did some little business and visited my Lord Sandwich, and so, it raining, went directly to the Sun, behind the Exchange, about seven o'clock, where I find all the five brothers Houblons, and mighty fine gentlemen they are all, and used me mighty respectfully. We were mighty civilly merry, and their discourses, having been all abroad, very fine. Here late and at last accompanied home with Mr. J. Houblon and Hill, whom I invited to sup with me on Friday, and so parted and I home to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning. We met upon a report to the Duke of Yorke of the debts of the Navy, which we finished by three o'clock, and having eat one little bit of meate, I by water before the rest to White Hall (and they to come after me) because of a Committee for Tangier, where I did my business of stating my accounts perfectly well, and to good liking, and do not discern, but the Duke of Albemarle is my friend in his intentions notwithstanding my general fears. After that to our Navy business, where my fellow officers were called in, and did that also very well, and then broke up, and I home by coach, Tooker with me, and staid in Lumbard Streete at Viner's, and sent home for the plate which my wife and I had a mind to change, and there changed it, about L50 worth, into things more usefull, whereby we shall now have a very handsome cupboard of plate. So home to the office, wrote my letters by the post, and to bed. 7th. It being fast day I staid at home all day long to set things to rights in my chamber by taking out all my books, and putting my chamber in the same condition it was before the plague. But in the morning doing of it, and knocking up a nail I did bruise my left thumb so as broke a great deal of my flesh off, that it hung by a little. It was a sight frighted my wife, but I put some balsam of Mrs. Turner's to it, and though in great pain, yet went on with my business, and did it to my full content, setting every thing in order, in hopes now that the worst of our fears are over as to the plague for the next year. Interrupted I was by two or three occasions this day to my great vexation, having this the only day I have been able to set apart for this work since my coming to town. At night to supper, weary, and to bed, having had the plasterers and joiners also to do some jobbs. 8th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, expecting to have received from Mr. Houbland, as he promised me, an assignment upon Viner, for my reward for my getting them the going of their two ships to Tangier, but I find myself much disappointed therein, for I spoke with him and he said nothing of it, but looked coldly, through some disturbance he meets with in our business through Colonell Norwood's pressing them to carry more goods than will leave room for some of their own. But I shall ease them. Thence to Captain Cocke's, where Mr. Williamson, Wren, Boldell and Madam Williams, and by and by Lord Bruncker, he having been with the King and Duke upon the water to-day, to see Greenwich house, and the yacht Castle is building of, and much good discourse. So to White Hall to see my Lord Sandwich, and then home to my business till night, and then to bed. 9th. Up, and betimes to Sir Philip Warwicke, who was glad to see me, and very kind. Thence to Colonell Norwood's lodgings, and there set about Houblons' business about their ships. Thence to Westminster, to the Exchequer, about my Tangier business to get orders for tallys, and so to the Hall, where the first day of the Terme, and the Hall very full of people, and much more than was expected, considering the plague that hath been. Thence to the 'Change, and to the Sun behind it to dinner with the Lieutenant of the Tower, Colonell Norwood and others, where strange pleasure they seem to take in their wine and meate, and discourse of it with the curiosity and joy that methinks was below men of worthe. Thence home, and there very much angry with my people till I had put all things in good forwardnesse about my supper for the Houblons, but that being done I was in good humour again, and all things in good order. Anon the five brothers Houblons come and Mr. Hill, and a very good supper we had, and good company and discourse, with great pleasure. My new plate sets off my cupboard very nobly. Here they were till about eleven at night with great pleasure, and a fine sight it is to see these five brothers thus loving one to another, and all industrious merchants. Our subject was principally Mr. Hill's going for them to Portugall, which was the occasion of this entertainment. They gone, we to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office. At noon, full of business, to dinner. This day comes first Sir Thomas Harvy after the plague, having been out of towne all this while. He was coldly received by us, and he went away before we rose also, to make himself appear yet a man less necessary. After dinner, being full of care and multitude of business, I took coach and my wife with me. I set her down at her mother's (having first called at my Lord Treasurer's and there spoke with Sir Ph. Warwicke), and I to the Exchequer about Tangier orders, and so to the Swan and there staid a little, and so by coach took up my wife, and at the old Exchange bought a muffe, and so home and late at my letters, and so to supper and to bed, being now-a-days, for these four or five months, mightily troubled with my snoring in my sleep, and know not how to remedy it. 11th (Lord's day). Up, and put on a new black cloth suit to an old coate that I make to be in mourning at Court, where they are all, for the King of Spayne.--[Philip IV., who died September 17th, 1665.]--To church I, and at noon dined well, and then by water to White Hall, carrying a captain of the Tower (who desired his freight thither); there I to the Parke, and walked two or three turns of the Pell Mell with the company about the King and Duke; the Duke speaking to me a good deal. There met Lord Bruncker and Mr. Coventry, and discoursed about the Navy business; and all of us much at a loss that we yet can hear nothing of Sir Jeremy Smith's fleete, that went away to the Streights the middle of December, through all the storms that we have had since, that have driven back three or four of them with their masts by the board. Yesterday come out the King's Declaration of War against the French, but with such mild invitations of both them and the Dutch to come over hither with promise of their protection, that every body wonders at it. Thence home with my Lord Bruncker for discourse sake, and thence by hackney coach home, and so my wife and I mighty pleasant discourse, supped and to bed. The great wound I had Wednesday last in my thumb having with once dressing by Mrs. Turner's balsam been perfectly cured, whereas I did not hope to save my nail, whatever else ill it did give me. My wife and I are much thoughtfull now-a-days about Pall's coming up in order to a husband. 12th. Up, and very busy to perform an oathe in finishing my Journall this morning for 7 or 8 days past. Then to several people attending upon business, among others Mr. Grant and the executors of Barlow for the L25 due for the quarter before he died, which I scrupled to pay, being obliged but to pay every half year. Then comes Mr. Caesar, my boy's lute-master, whom I have not seen since the plague before, but he hath been in Westminster all this while very well; and tells me in the height of it, how bold people there were, to go in sport to one another's burials; and in spite too, ill people would breathe in the faces (out of their windows) of well people going by. Then to dinner before the 'Change, and so to the 'Change, and then to the taverne to talk with Sir William Warren, and so by coach to several places, among others to my Lord Treasurer's, there to meet my Lord Sandwich, but missed, and met him at [my] Lord Chancellor's, and there talked with him about his accounts, and then about Sir G. Carteret, and I find by him that Sir G. Carteret has a worse game to play than my Lord Sandwich, for people are jeering at him, and he cries out of the business of Sir W. Coventry, who strikes at all and do all. Then to my bookseller's, and then received some books I have new bought, and here late choosing some more to new bind, having resolved to give myself L10 in books, and so home to the office and then home to supper, where Mr. Hill was and supped with us, and good discourse; an excellent person he still appears to me. After supper, and he gone, we to bed. 13th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon to the 'Change, and thence after business dined at the Sheriffe's [Hooker], being carried by Mr. Lethulier, where to my heart's content I met with his wife, a most beautifull fat woman. But all the house melancholy upon the sickness of a daughter of the house in childbed, Mr. Vaughan's lady. So all of them undressed, but however this lady a very fine woman. I had a salute of her, and after dinner some discourse the Sheriffe and I about a parcel of tallow I am buying for the office of him. I away home, and there at the office all the afternoon till late at night, and then away home to supper and to bed. Ill newes this night that the plague is encreased this week, and in many places else about the towne, and at Chatham and elsewhere. This day my wife wanting a chambermaid with much ado got our old little Jane to be found out, who come to see her and hath lived all this while in one place, but is so well that we will not desire her removal, but are mighty glad to see the poor wench, who is very well and do well. 14th (St. Valentine's day). This morning called up by Mr. Hill, who, my wife thought, had been come to be her Valentine; she, it seems, having drawne him last night, but it proved not. However, calling him up to our bed-side, my wife challenged him. I up, and made myself ready, and so with him by coach to my Lord Sandwich's by appointment to deliver Mr. Howe's accounts to my Lord. Which done, my Lord did give me hearty and large studied thanks for all my kindnesse to him and care of him and his business. I after profession of all duty to his Lordship took occasion to bemoane myself that I should fall into such a difficulty about Sir G. Carteret, as not to be for him, but I must be against Sir W. Coventry, and therefore desired to be neutrall, which my Lord approved and confessed reasonable, but desired me to befriend him privately. Having done in private with my Lord I brought Mr. Hill to kisse his hands, to whom my Lord professed great respect upon my score. My Lord being gone, I took Mr. Hill to my Lord Chancellor's new house that is building, and went with trouble up to the top of it, and there is there the noblest prospect that ever I saw in my life, Greenwich being nothing to it; and in every thing is a beautiful house, and most strongly built in every respect; and as if, as it hath, it had the Chancellor for its master. Thence with him to his paynter, Mr. Hales, who is drawing his picture, which will be mighty like him, and pleased me so, that I am resolved presently to have my wife's and mine done by him, he having a very masterly hand. So with mighty satisfaction to the 'Change and thence home, and after dinner abroad, taking Mrs. Mary Batelier with us, who was just come to see my wife, and they set me down at my Lord Treasurer's, and themselves went with the coach into the fields to take the ayre. I staid a meeting of the Duke of Yorke's, and the officers of the Navy and Ordnance. My Lord Treasurer lying in bed of the gowte. Our business was discourse of the straits of the Navy for want of money, but after long discourse as much out of order as ordinary people's, we come to no issue, nor any money promised, or like to be had, and yet the worke must be done. Here I perceive Sir G. Carteret had prepared himself to answer a choque of Sir W. Coventry, by offering of himself to shew all he had paid, and what is unpaid, and what moneys and assignments he hath in his hands, which, if he makes good, was the best thing he ever did say in his life, and the best timed, for else it must have fallen very foule on him. The meeting done I away, my wife and they being come back and staying for me at the gate. But, Lord! to see how afeard I was that Sir W. Coventry should have spyed me once whispering with Sir G. Carteret, though not intended by me, but only Sir G. Carteret come to me and I could not avoyde it. So home, they set me down at the 'Change, and I to the Crowne, where my Lord Bruncker was come and several of the Virtuosi, and after a small supper and but little good discourse I with Sir W. Batten (who was brought thither with my Lord Bruncker) home, where I find my wife gone to Mrs. Mercer's to be merry, but presently come in with Mrs. Knipp, who, it seems, is in towne, and was gone thither with my wife and Mercer to dance, and after eating a little supper went thither again to spend the whole night there, being W. Howe there, at whose chamber they are, and Lawd Crisp by chance. I to bed. 15th. Up, and my wife not come home all night. To the office, where sat all the morning. At noon to Starky's, a great cooke in Austin Friars, invited by Colonell Atkins, and a good dinner for Colonell Norwood and his friends, among others Sir Edward Spragg and others, but ill attendance. Before dined, called on by my wife in a coach, and so I took leave, and then with her and Knipp and Mercer (Mr. Hunt newly come out of the country being there also come to see us) to Mr. Hales, the paynter's, having set down Mr. Hunt by the way. Here Mr. Hales' begun my wife in the posture we saw one of my Lady Peters, like a St. Katharine. [It was the fashion at this time to be painted as St. Catherine, in compliment to the queen.] While he painted, Knipp, and Mercer, and I, sang; and by and by comes Mrs. Pierce, with my name in her bosom for her Valentine, which will cost me money. But strange how like his very first dead colouring is, that it did me good to see it, and pleases me mightily, and I believe will be a noble picture. Thence with them all as far as Fleete Streete, and there set Mercer and Knipp down, and we home. I to the office, whither the Houblons come telling me of a little new trouble from Norwood about their ship, which troubles me, though without reason. So late home to supper and to bed. We hear this night of Sir Jeremy Smith, that he and his fleete have been seen at Malaga; which is good newes. 16th. Up betimes, and by appointment to the Exchange, where I met Messrs. Houblons, and took them up in my coach and carried them to Charing Crosse, where they to Colonell Norwood to see how they can settle matters with him, I having informed them by the way with advice to be easy with him, for he may hereafter do us service, and they and I are like to understand one another to very good purpose. I to my Lord Sandwich, and there alone with him to talke of his affairs, and particularly of his prize goods, wherein I find he is wearied with being troubled, and gives over the care of it to let it come to what it will, having the King's release for the dividend made, and for the rest he thinks himself safe from being proved to have anything more. Thence to the Exchequer, and so by coach to the 'Change, Mr. Moore with me, who tells me very odde passages of the indiscretion of my Lord in the management of his family, of his carelessnesse, &c., which troubles me, but makes me rejoice with all my heart of my being rid of the bond of L1000, for that would have been a cruel blow to me. With Moore to the Coffee-House, the first time I have been there, where very full, and company it seems hath been there all the plague time. So to the 'Change, and then home to dinner, and after dinner to settle accounts with him for my Lord, and so evened with him to this day. Then to the office, and out with Sir W. Warren for discourse by coach to White Hall, thinking to have spoke with Sir W. Coventry, but did not, and to see the Queene, but she comes but to Hampton Court to-night. Back to my office and there late, and so home to supper and bed. I walked a good while to-night with Mr. Hater in the garden, talking about a husband for my sister, and reckoning up all our clerks about us, none of which he thinks fit for her and her portion. At last I thought of young Gawden, and will thinke of it again. 17th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Late to dinner, and then to the office again, and there busy till past twelve at night, and so home to supper and to bed. We have newes of Sir Jeremy Smith's being very well with his fleete at Cales.--[Cadiz] 18th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed discoursing with pleasure with my wife, among other things about Pall's coming up, for she must be here a little to be fashioned, and my wife hath a mind to go down for her, which I am not much against, and so I rose and to my chamber to settle several things. At noon comes my uncle Wight to dinner, and brings with him Mrs. Wight, sad company to me, nor was I much pleased with it, only I must shew respect to my uncle. After dinner they gone, and it being a brave day, I walked to White Hall, where the Queene and ladies are all come: I saw some few of them, but not the Queene, nor any of the great beauties. I endeavoured to have seen my Lord Hinchingbrooke, who come to town yesterday, but I could not. Met with Creed and walked with him a turne or two in the Parke, but without much content, having now designs of getting money in my head, which allow me not the leisure I used to have with him, besides an odde story lately told of him for a great truth, of his endeavouring to lie with a woman at Oxford, and her crying out saved her; and this being publickly known, do a little make me hate him. Thence took coach, and calling by the way at my bookseller's for a booke I writ about twenty years ago in prophecy of this year coming on, 1666, explaining it to be the marke of the beast, I home, and there fell to reading, and then to supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Sandwich's, but he was gone out. So I to White Hall, and there waited on the Duke of Yorke with some of the rest of our brethren, and thence back again to my Lord's, to see my Lord Hinchingbroke, which I did, and I am mightily out of countenance in my great expectation of him by others' report, though he is indeed a pretty gentleman, yet nothing what I took him for, methinks, either as to person or discourse discovered to me, but I must try him more before I go too far in censuring. Hence to the Exchequer from office to office, to set my business of my tallys in doing, and there all the morning. So at noon by coach to St. Paul's Church-yarde to my Bookseller's, and there bespoke a few more books to bring all I have lately bought to L10. Here I am told for certain, what I have heard once or twice already, of a Jew in town, that in the name of the rest do offer to give any man L10 to be paid L100, if a certain person now at Smyrna be within these two years owned by all the Princes of the East, and particularly the grand Signor as the King of the world, in the same manner we do the King of England here, and that this man is the true Messiah. One named a friend of his that had received ten pieces in gold upon this score, and says that the Jew hath disposed of L1100 in this manner, which is very strange; and certainly this year of 1666 will be a year of great action; but what the consequences of it will be, God knows! Thence to the 'Change, and from my stationer's thereabouts carried home by coach two books of Ogilby's, his AEsop and Coronation, which fell to my lot at his lottery. Cost me L4 besides the binding. So home. I find my wife gone out to Hales, her paynter's, and I after a little dinner do follow her, and there do find him at worke, and with great content I do see it will be a very brave picture. Left her there, and I to my Lord Treasurer's, where Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes met me, and before my Lord Treasurer and Duke of Albemarle the state of our Navy debts were laid open, being very great, and their want of money to answer them openly professed, there being but L1,500,000 to answer a certaine expense and debt of L2,300,000. Thence walked with Fenn down to White Hall, and there saw the Queene at cards with many ladies, but none of our beauties were there. But glad I was to see the Queene so well, who looks prettily; and methinks hath more life than before, since it is confessed of all that she miscarryed lately; Dr. Clerke telling me yesterday at White Hall that he had the membranes and other vessels in his hands which she voided, and were perfect as ever woman's was that bore a child. Thence hoping to find my Lord Sandwich, away by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, but missed him, and so home and to office, and then to supper and my Journall, and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office; where, among other businesses, Mr. Evelyn's proposition about publique Infirmarys was read and agreed on, he being there: and at noon I took him home to dinner, being desirous of keeping my acquaintance with him; and a most excellent humoured man I still find him, and mighty knowing. After dinner I took him by coach to White Hall, and there he and I parted, and I to my Lord Sandwich's, where coming and bolting into the dining-room, I there found Captain Ferrers going to christen a child of his born yesterday, and I come just pat to be a godfather, along with my Lord Hinchingbrooke, and Madam Pierce, my Valentine, which for that reason I was pretty well contented with, though a little vexed to see myself so beset with people to spend me money, as she of a Valentine and little Mrs. Tooker, who is come to my house this day from Greenwich, and will cost me 20s., my wife going out with her this afternoon, and now this christening. Well, by and by the child is brought and christened Katharine, and I this day on this occasion drank a glasse of wine, which I have not professedly done these two years, I think, but a little in the time of the sicknesse. After that done, and gone and kissed the mother in bed, I away to Westminster Hall, and there hear that Mrs. Lane is come to town. So I staid loitering up and down till anon she comes and agreed to meet at Swayn's, and there I went anon, and she come, but staid but little, the place not being private. I have not seen her since before the plague. So thence parted and 'rencontrais a' her last 'logis', and in the place did what I 'tenais a mind pour ferais con her'. At last she desired to borrow money of me, L5, and would pawn gold with me for it, which I accepted and promised in a day or two to supply her. So away home to the office, and thence home, where little Mrs. Tooker staid all night with us, and a pretty child she is, and happens to be niece to my beauty that is dead, that lived at the Jackanapes, in Cheapside. So to bed, a little troubled that I have been at two houses this afternoon with Mrs. Lane that were formerly shut up of the plague. 21st. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall by his coach, by the way talking of my brother John to get a spiritual promotion for him, which I am now to looke after, for as much as he is shortly to be Master in Arts, and writes me this weeke a Latin letter that he is to go into orders this Lent. There to the Duke's chamber, and find our fellows discoursing there on our business, so I was sorry to come late, but no hurte was done thereby. Here the Duke, among other things, did bring out a book of great antiquity of some of the customs of the Navy, about 100 years since, which he did lend us to read and deliver him back again. Thence I to the Exchequer, and there did strike my tallys for a quarter for Tangier and carried them home with me, and thence to Trinity-house, being invited to an Elder Brother's feast; and there met and sat by Mr. Prin, and had good discourse about the privileges of Parliament, which, he says, are few to the Commons' House, and those not examinable by them, but only by the House of Lords. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to Gresham College, the first time after the sicknesse that I was there, and the second time any met. And here a good lecture of Mr. Hooke's about the trade of felt-making, very pretty. And anon alone with me about the art of drawing pictures by Prince Rupert's rule and machine, and another of Dr. Wren's; [Afterwards the famous Sir Christopher Wren. He was one of the mainstays of the Royal Society.] but he says nothing do like squares, or, which is the best in the world, like a darke roome,--[The camera obscura.]--which pleased me mightily. Thence with Povy home to my house, and there late settling accounts with him, which was very troublesome to me, and he gone, found Mr. Hill below, who sat with me till late talking, and so away, and we to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner and thence by coach with my wife for ayre principally for her. I alone stopped at Hales's and there mightily am pleased with my wife's picture that is begun there, and with Mr. Hill's, though I must [owne] I am not more pleased with it now the face is finished than I was when I saw it the second time of sitting. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, but he not within, but goes to-morrow. My wife to Mrs. Hunt's, who is lately come to towne and grown mighty fat. I called her there, and so home and late at the office, and so home to supper and to bed. We are much troubled that the sicknesse in general (the town being so full of people) should be but three, and yet of the particular disease of the plague there should be ten encrease. 23rd. Up betimes, and out of doors by 6 of the clock, and walked (W. Howe with me) to my Lord Sandwich's, who did lie the last night at his house in Lincoln's Inne Fields. It being fine walking in the morning, and the streets full of people again. There I staid, and the house full of people come to take leave of my Lord, who this day goes out of towne upon his embassy towards Spayne. And I was glad to find Sir W. Coventry to come, though I know it is only a piece of courtshipp. I had much discourse with my Lord, he telling me how fully he leaves the King his friend and the large discourse he had with him the other day, and how he desired to have the business of the prizes examined before he went, and that he yielded to it, and it is done as far as it concerns himself to the full, and the Lords Commissioners for prizes did reprehend all the informers in what related to his Lordship, which I am glad of in many respects. But we could not make an end of discourse, so I promised to waite upon [him] on Sunday at Cranborne, and took leave and away hence to Mr. Hales's with Mr. Hill and two of the Houblons, who come thither to speak with me, and saw my wife's picture, which pleases me well, but Mr. Hill's picture never a whit so well as it did before it was finished, which troubled me, and I begin to doubt the picture of my Lady Peters my wife takes her posture from, and which is an excellent picture, is not of his making, it is so master-like. I set them down at the 'Change and I home to the office, and at noon dined at home and to the office again. Anon comes Mrs. Knipp to see my wife, who is gone out, so I fain to entertain her, and took her out by coach to look my wife at Mrs. Pierce's and Unthanke's, but find her not. So back again, and then my wife comes home, having been buying of things, and at home I spent all the night talking with this baggage, and teaching her my song of "Beauty retire," which she sings and makes go most rarely, and a very fine song it seems to be. She also entertained me with repeating many of her own and others' parts of the play-house, which she do most excellently; and tells me the whole practices of the play-house and players, and is in every respect most excellent company. So I supped, and was merry at home all the evening, and the rather it being my birthday, 33 years, for which God be praised that I am in so good a condition of healthe and estate, and every thing else as I am, beyond expectation, in all. So she to Mrs. Turner's to lie, and we to bed. Mightily pleased to find myself in condition to have these people come about me and to be able to entertain them, and have the pleasure of their qualities, than which no man can have more in the world. 24th. All the morning at the office till past three o'clock. At that houre home and eat a bit alone, my wife being gone out. So abroad by coach with Mr. Hill, who staid for me to speake about business, and he and I to Hales's, where I find my wife and her woman, and Pierce and Knipp, and there sung and was mighty merry, and I joyed myself in it; but vexed at first to find my wife's picture not so like as I expected; but it was only his having finished one part, and not another, of the face; but, before I went, I was satisfied it will be an excellent picture. Here we had ale and cakes and mighty merry, and sung my song, which she [Knipp] now sings bravely, and makes me proud of myself. Thence left my wife to go home with Mrs. Pierce, while I home to the office, and there pretty late, and to bed, after fitting myself for to-morrow's journey. 25th (Lord's day). My wife up between three and four of the clock in the morning to dress herself, and I about five, and were all ready to take coach, she and I and Mercer, a little past five, but, to our trouble, the coach did not come till six. Then with our coach of four horses I hire on purpose, and Leshmore to ride by, we through the City to Branford and so to Windsor, Captain Ferrers overtaking us at Kensington, being to go with us, and here drank, and so through, making no stay, to Cranborne, about eleven o'clock, and found my Lord and the ladies at a sermon in the house; which being ended we to them, and all the company glad to see us, and mighty merry to dinner. Here was my Lord, and Lord Hinchingbroke, and Mr. Sidney, Sir Charles Herbert, and Mr. Carteret, my Lady Carteret, my Lady Jemimah, and Lady Slaning. After dinner to talk to and again, and then to walke in the Parke, my Lord and I alone, talking upon these heads; first, he has left his business of the prizes as well as is possible for him, having cleared himself before the Commissioners by the King's commands, so that nothing or little is to be feared from that point, he goes fully assured, he tells me, of the King's favour. That upon occasion I may know, I desired to know, his friends I may trust to, he tells me, but that he is not yet in England, but continues this summer in Ireland, my Lord Orrery is his father almost in affection. He tells me my Lord of Suffolke, Lord Arlington, Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Treasurer, Mr. Atturny Montagu, Sir Thomas Clifford in the House of Commons, Sir G. Carteret, and some others I cannot presently remember, are friends that I may rely on for him. He tells me my Lord Chancellor seems his very good friend, but doubts that he may not think him so much a servant of the Duke of Yorke's as he would have him, and indeed my Lord tells me he hath lately made it his business to be seen studious of the King's favour, and not of the Duke's, and by the King will stand or fall, for factions there are, as he tells me, and God knows how high they may come. The Duke of Albemarle's post is so great, having had the name of bringing in the King, that he is like to stand, or, if it were not for him, God knows in what troubles we might be from some private faction, if an army could be got into another hand, which God forbid! It is believed that though Mr. Coventry be in appearance so great against the Chancellor, yet that there is a good understanding between the Duke and him. He dreads the issue of this year, and fears there will be some very great revolutions before his coming back again. He doubts it is needful for him to have a pardon for his last year's actions, all which he did without commission, and at most but the King's private single word for that of Bergen; but he dares not ask it at this time, lest it should make them think that there is something more in it than yet they know; and if it should be denied, it would be of very ill consequence. He says also, if it should in Parliament be enquired into the selling of Dunkirke (though the Chancellor was the man that would have it sold to France, saying the King of Spayne had no money to give for it); yet he will be found to have been the greatest adviser of it; which he is a little apprehensive may be called upon this Parliament. He told me it would not be necessary for him to tell me his debts, because he thinks I know them so well. He tells me, that for the match propounded of Mrs. Mallett for my Lord Hinchingbroke, it hath been lately off, and now her friends bring it on again, and an overture hath been made to him by a servant of hers, to compass the thing without consent of friends, she herself having a respect to my Lord's family, but my Lord will not listen to it but in a way of honour. The Duke hath for this weeke or two been very kind to him, more than lately; and so others, which he thinks is a good sign of faire weather again. He says the Archbishopp of Canterbury hath been very kind to him, and hath plainly said to him that he and all the world knows the difference between his judgment and brains and the Duke of Albemarle's, and then calls my Lady Duchesse the veryest slut and drudge and the foulest worde that can be spoke of a woman almost. My Lord having walked an houre with me talking thus and going in, and my Lady Carteret not suffering me to go back again to-night, my Lord to walke again with me about some of this and other discourse, and then in a-doors and to talke with all and with my Lady Carteret, and I with the young ladies and gentle men, who played on the guittar, and mighty merry, and anon to supper, and then my Lord going away to write, the young gentlemen to flinging of cushions, and other mad sports; at this late till towards twelve at night, and then being sleepy, I and my wife in a passage-room to bed, and slept not very well because of noise. 26th. Called up about five in the morning, and my Lord up, and took leave, a little after six, very kindly of me and the whole company. Then I in, and my wife up and to visit my Lady Slaving in her bed, and there sat three hours, with Lady Jemimah with us, talking and laughing, and by and by my Lady Carteret comes, and she and I to talke, I glad to please her in discourse of Sir G. Carteret, that all will do well with him, and she is much pleased, he having had great annoyance and fears about his well doing, and I fear hath doubted that I have not been a friend to him, but cries out against my Lady Castlemaine, that makes the King neglect his business and seems much to fear that all will go to wracke, and I fear with great reason; exclaims against the Duke of Albemarle, and more the Duchesse for a filthy woman, as indeed she is. Here staid till 9 o'clock almost, and then took coach with so much love and kindnesse from my Lady Carteret, Lady Jemimah, and Lady Slaving, that it joys my heart, and when I consider the manner of my going hither, with a coach and four horses and servants and a woman with us, and coming hither being so much made of, and used with that state, and then going to Windsor and being shewn all that we were there, and had wherewith to give every body something for their pains, and then going home, and all in fine weather and no fears nor cares upon me, I do thinke myself obliged to thinke myself happy, and do look upon myself at this time in the happiest occasion a man can be, and whereas we take pains in expectation of future comfort and ease, I have taught myself to reflect upon myself at present as happy, and enjoy myself in that consideration, and not only please myself with thoughts of future wealth and forget the pleasure we at present enjoy. So took coach and to Windsor, to the Garter, and thither sent for Dr. Childe; who come to us, and carried us to St. George's Chappell; and there placed us among the Knights' stalls (and pretty the observation, that no man, but a woman may sit in a Knight's place, where any brass-plates are set); and hither come cushions to us, and a young singing-boy to bring us a copy of the anthem to be sung. And here, for our sakes, had this anthem and the great service sung extraordinary, only to entertain us. It is a noble place indeed, and a good Quire of voices. Great bowing by all the people, the poor Knights particularly, to the Alter. After prayers, we to see the plate of the chappell, and the robes of Knights, and a man to shew us the banners of the several Knights in being, which hang up over the stalls. And so to other discourse very pretty, about the Order. Was shewn where the late [King] is buried, and King Henry the Eighth, and my Lady [Jane] Seymour. This being done, to the King's house, and to observe the neatness and contrivance of the house and gates: it is the most romantique castle that is in the world. But, Lord! the prospect that is in the balcone in the Queene's lodgings, and the terrace and walk, are strange things to consider, being the best in the world, sure. Infinitely satisfied I and my wife with all this, she being in all points mightily pleased too, which added to my pleasure; and so giving a great deal of money to this and that man and woman, we to our taverne, and there dined, the Doctor with us; and so took coach and away to Eton, the Doctor with me. Before we went to Chappell this morning, Kate Joyce, in a stage-coach going toward London, called to me. I went to her and saluted her, but could not get her to stay with us, having company. At Eton I left my wife in the coach, and he and I to the College, and there find all mighty fine. The school good, and the custom pretty of boys cutting their names in the struts of the window when they go to Cambridge, by which many a one hath lived to see himself Provost and Fellow, that had his name in the window standing. To the Hall, and there find the boys' verses, "De Peste;" it being their custom to make verses at Shrove-tide. I read several, and very good ones they were, and better, I think, than ever I made when I was a boy, and in rolls as long and longer than the whole Hall, by much. Here is a picture of Venice hung up given, and a monument made of Sir H. Wotton's giving it to the College. Thence to the porter's, in the absence of the butler, and did drink of the College beer, which is very good; and went into the back fields to see the scholars play. And so to the chappell, and there saw, among other things, Sir H. Wotton's stone with this Epitaph Hic facet primus hujus sententiae Author:-- Disputandi pruritus fit ecclesiae scabies. But unfortunately the word "Author" was wrong writ, and now so basely altered that it disgraces the stone. Thence took leave of the Doctor, and so took coach, and finely, but sleepy, away home, and got thither about eight at night, and after a little at my office, I to bed; and an houre after, was waked with my wife's quarrelling with Mercer, at which I was angry, and my wife and I fell out. But with much ado to sleep again, I beginning to practise more temper, and to give her her way. 27th. Up, and after a harsh word or two my wife and I good friends, and so up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon late to dinner, my wife gone out to Hales's about her picture, and, after dinner, I after her, and do mightily like her picture, and think it will be as good as my Lady Peters's. So home mightily pleased, and there late at business and set down my three last days' journalls, and so to bed, overjoyed to thinke of the pleasure of the last Sunday and yesterday, and my ability to bear the charge of these pleasures, and with profit too, by obliging my Lord, and reconciling Sir George Carteret's family. 28th (Ash Wednesday). Up, and after doing a little business at my office I walked, it being a most curious dry and cold morning, to White Hall, and there I went into the Parke, and meeting Sir Ph. Warwicke took a turne with him in the Pell Mall, talking of the melancholy posture of affairs, where every body is snarling one at another, and all things put together looke ominously. This new Act too putting us out of a power of raising money. So that he fears as I do, but is fearfull of enlarging in that discourse of an ill condition in every thing, and the State and all. We appointed another time to meet to talke of the business of the Navy alone seriously, and so parted, and I to White Hall, and there we did our business with the Duke of Yorke, and so parted, and walked to Westminster Hall, where I staid talking with Mrs. Michell and Howlett long and her daughter, which is become a mighty pretty woman, and thence going out of the Hall was called to by Mrs. Martin, so I went to her and bought two bands, and so parted, and by and by met at her chamber, and there did what I would, and so away home and there find Mrs. Knipp, and we dined together, she the pleasantest company in the world. After dinner I did give my wife money to lay out on Knipp, 20s., and I abroad to White Hall to visit Colonell Norwood, and then Sir G. Carteret, with whom I have brought myself right again, and he very open to me; is very melancholy, and matters, I fear, go down with him, but he seems most afeard of a general catastrophe to the whole kingdom, and thinks, as I fear, that all things will come to nothing. Thence to the Palace Yard, to the Swan, and there staid till it was dark, and then to Mrs. Lane's, and there lent her L5 upon L4 01s. in gold. And then did what I would with her, and I perceive she is come to be very bad, and offers any thing, that it is dangerous to have to do with her, nor will I see [her] any more a good while. Thence by coach home and to the office, where a while, and then betimes to bed by ten o'clock, sooner than I have done many a day. And thus ends this month, with my mind full of resolution to apply myself better from this time forward to my business than I have done these six or eight days, visibly to my prejudice both in quiett of mind and setting backward of my business, that I cannot give a good account of it as I ought to do. MARCH 1665-1666 March 1st. Up, and to the office and there all the morning sitting and at noon to dinner with my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen at the White Horse in Lumbard Streete, where, God forgive us! good sport with Captain Cocke's having his mayde sicke of the plague a day or two ago and sent to the pest house, where she now is, but he will not say anything but that she is well. But blessed be God! a good Bill this week we have; being but 237 in all, and 42 of the plague, and of them but six in the City: though my Lord Bruneker says, that these six are most of them in new parishes where they were not the last week. Here was with us also Mr. Williamson, who the more I know, the more I honour. Hence I slipt after dinner without notice home and there close to my business at my office till twelve at night, having with great comfort returned to my business by some fresh vowes in addition to my former, and-more severe, and a great joy it is to me to see myself in a good disposition to business. So home to supper and to my Journall and to bed. 2nd. Up, as I have of late resolved before 7 in the morning and to the office, where all the morning, among other things setting my wife and Mercer with much pleasure to worke upon the ruling of some paper for the making of books for pursers, which will require a great deale of worke and they will earn a good deale of money by it, the hopes of which makes them worke mighty hard. At noon dined and to the office again, and about 4 o'clock took coach and to my Lord Treasurer's and thence to Sir Philip Warwicke's new house by appointment, there to spend an houre in talking and we were together above an hour, and very good discourse about the state of the King as to money, and particularly in the point of the Navy. He endeavours hard to come to a good understanding of Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and by his discourse I find Sir G. Carteret must be brought to it, and what a madman he is that he do not do it of himself, for the King expects the Parliament will call upon him for his promise of giving an account of the money, and he will be ready for it, which cannot be, I am sure, without Sir G. Carteret's accounts be better understood than they are. He seems to have a great esteem of me and my opinion and thoughts of things. After we had spent an houre thus discoursing and vexed that we do but grope so in the darke as we do, because the people, that should enlighten us, do not helpe us, we resolved fitting some things for another meeting, and so broke up. He shewed me his house, which is yet all unhung, but will be a very noble house indeed. Thence by coach calling at my bookseller's and carried home L10 worth of books, all, I hope, I shall buy a great while. There by appointment find Mr. Hill come to sup and take his last leave of me, and by and by in comes Mr. James Houbland to bear us company, a man I love mightily, and will not lose his acquaintance. He told me in my eare this night what he and his brothers have resolved to give me, which is L200, for helping them out with two or three ships. A good sum and that which I did believe they would give me, and I did expect little less. Here we talked and very good company till late, and then took leave of one another, and indeed I am heartily sorry for Mr. Hill's leaving us, for he is a very worthy gentleman, as most I know. God give him a good voyage and successe in his business. Thus we parted and my wife and I to bed, heavy for the losse of our friend. 3rd. All the morning at the office, at noon to the Old James, being sent for, and there dined with Sir William Rider, Cutler, and others, to make an end with two Scots Maisters about the freight of two ships of my Lord Rutherford's. After a small dinner and a little discourse I away to the Crowne behind the Exchange to Sir W. Pen, Captain Cocke and Fen, about getting a bill of Cocke's paid to Pen, in part for the East India goods he sold us. Here Sir W. Pen did give me the reason in my eare of his importunity for money, for that he is now to marry his daughter. God send her better fortune than her father deserves I should wish him for a false rogue. Thence by coach to Hales's, and there saw my wife sit; and I do like her picture mightily, and very like it will be, and a brave piece of work. But he do complain that her nose hath cost him as much work as another's face, and he hath done it finely indeed. Thence home and late at the office, and then to bed. 4th (Lord's day). And all day at my Tangier and private accounts, having neglected them since Christmas, which I hope I shall never do again; for I find the inconvenience of it, it being ten times the labour to remember and settle things. But I thank God I did it at last, and brought them all fine and right; and I am, I thinke, by all appears to me (and I am sure I cannot be L10 wrong), worth above L4600, for which the Lord be praised! being the biggest sum I ever was worth yet. 5th. I was at it till past two o'clock on Monday morning, and then read my vowes, and to bed with great joy and content that I have brought my things to so good a settlement, and now having my mind fixed to follow my business again and sensible of Sir W. Coventry's jealousies, I doubt, concerning me, partly my siding with Sir G. Carteret, and partly that indeed I have been silent in my business of the office a great while, and given but little account of myself and least of all to him, having not made him one visitt since he came to towne from Oxford, I am resolved to fall hard to it again, and fetch up the time and interest I have lost or am in a fair way of doing it. Up about eight o'clock, being called up by several people, among others by Mr. Moone, with whom I went to Lumbard Streete to Colvill, and so back again and in my chamber he and I did end all our businesses together of accounts for money upon bills of Exchange, and am pleased to find myself reputed a man of business and method, as he do give me out to be. To the 'Change at noon and so home to dinner. Newes for certain of the King of Denmarke's declaring for the Dutch, and resolution to assist them. To the office, and there all the afternoon. In the evening come Mr. James and brother Houblons to agree upon share parties for their ships, and did acquaint me that they had paid my messenger, whom I sent this afternoon for it, L200 for my friendship in the business, which pleases me mightily. They being gone I forth late to Sir H. Viner's to take a receipt of them for the L200 lodged for me there with them, and so back home, and after supper to bed. 6th. Up betimes and did much business before office time. Then to the office and there till noon and so home to dinner and to the office again till night. In the evening being at Sir W. Batten's, stepped in (for I have not used to go thither a good while), I find my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, and they would of their own accord, though I had never obliged them (nor my wife neither) with one visit for many of theirs, go see my house and my wife; which I showed them and made them welcome with wine and China oranges (now a great rarity since the war, none to be had). There being also Captain Cocke and Mrs. Turner, who had never been in my house since I come to the office before, and Mrs. Carcasse, wife of Mr. Carcasses. My house happened to be mighty clean, and did me great honour, and they mightily pleased with it. They gone I to the office and did some business, and then home to supper and to bed. My mind troubled through a doubtfulness of my having incurred Sir W. Coventry's displeasure by not having waited on him since his coming to towne, which is a mighty faulte and that I can bear the fear of the bad effects of till I have been with him, which shall be to-morrow, God willing. So to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and to St. James's, thinking Mr. Coventry had lain there; but he do not, but at White Hall; so thither I went and had as good a time as heart could wish, and after an houre in his chamber about publique business he and I walked up, and the Duke being gone abroad we walked an houre in the Matted Gallery: he of himself begun to discourse of the unhappy differences between him and my Lord of Sandwich, and from the beginning to the end did run through all passages wherein my Lord hath, at any time, gathered any dissatisfaction, and cleared himself to me most honourably; and in truth, I do believe he do as he says. I did afterwards purge myself of all partiality in the business of Sir G. Carteret, (whose story Sir W. Coventry did also run over,) that I do mind the King's interest, notwithstanding my relation to him; all which he declares he firmly believes, and assures me he hath the same kindnesse and opinion of me as ever. And when I said I was jealous of myself, that having now come to such an income as I am, by his favour, I should not be found to do as much service as might deserve it; he did assure me, he thinks it not too much for me, but thinks I deserve it as much as any man in England. All this discourse did cheer my heart, and sets me right again, after a good deal of melancholy, out of fears of his disinclination to me, upon the differences with my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret; but I am satisfied throughly, and so went away quite another man, and by the grace of God will never lose it again by my folly in not visiting and writing to him, as I used heretofore to do. Thence by coach to the Temple, and it being a holyday, a fast-day, there 'light, and took water, being invited, and down to Greenwich, to Captain Cocke's, where dined, he and Lord Bruncker, and Matt. Wren, Boltele, and Major Cooper, who is also a very pretty companion; but they all drink hard, and, after dinner, to gaming at cards. So I provoked my Lord to be gone, and he and I to Mr. Cottle's and met Mrs. Williams (without whom he cannot stir out of doors) and there took coach and away home. They carry me to London and set me down at the Temple, where my mind changed and I home, and to writing and heare my boy play on the lute, and a turne with my wife pleasantly in the garden by moonshine, my heart being in great peace, and so home to supper and to bed. The King and Duke are to go to-morrow to Audly End, in order to the seeing and buying of it of my Lord Suffolke. 8th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning sitting and did discover three or four fresh instances of Sir W. Pen's old cheating dissembling tricks, he being as false a fellow as ever was born. Thence with Sir. W. Batten and Lord Bruncker to the White Horse in Lumbard Streete to dine with Captain Cocke, upon particular business of canvas to buy for the King, and here by chance I saw the mistresse of the house I have heard much of, and a very pretty woman she is indeed and her husband the simplest looked fellow and old that ever I saw. After dinner I took coach and away to Hales's, where my wife is sitting; and, indeed, her face and necke, which are now finished, do so please me that I am not myself almost, nor was not all the night after in writing of my letters, in consideration of the fine picture that I shall be master of. Thence home and to the office, where very late, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and being ready, to the Cockpitt to make a visit to the Duke of Albemarle, and to my great joy find him the same man to me that [he has been] heretofore, which I was in great doubt of, through my negligence in not visiting of him a great while; and having now set all to rights there, I am in mighty ease in my mind and I think shall never suffer matters to run so far backward again as I have done of late, with reference to my neglecting him and Sir W. Coventry. Thence by water down to Deptford, where I met my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Batten by agreement, and to measuring Mr. Castle's new third-rate ship, which is to be called the Defyance. [William Castell wrote to the Navy Commissioners on February 17th, 1665-66, to inform them that the "Defiance" had gone to Longreach, and again, on February 22nd, to say that Mr. Grey had no masts large enough for the new ship. Sir William Batten on March 29th asked for the consent of the Board to bring the "Defiance" into dock (" Calendar of State Papers," Domestic, 1665-66, pp. 252, 262, 324).] And here I had my end in saving the King some money and getting myself some experience in knowing how they do measure ships. Thence I left them and walked to Redriffe, and there taking water was overtaken by them in their boat, and so they would have me in with them to Castle's house, where my Lady Batten and Madam Williams were, and there dined and a deale of doings. I had a good dinner and counterfeit mirthe and pleasure with them, but had but little, thinking how I neglected my business. Anon, all home to Sir W. Batten's and there Mrs. Knipp coming we did spend the evening together very merry. She and I singing, and, God forgive me! I do still see that my nature is not to be quite conquered, but will esteem pleasure above all things, though yet in the middle of it, it has reluctances after my business, which is neglected by my following my pleasure. However musique and women I cannot but give way to, whatever my business is. They being gone I to the office a while and so home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office, and there busy sitting till noon. I find at home Mrs. Pierce and Knipp come to dine with me. We were mighty merry; and, after dinner, I carried them and my wife out by coach to the New Exchange, and there I did give my valentine, Mrs. Pierce, a dozen payre of gloves, and a payre of silke stockings, and Knipp for company's sake, though my wife had, by my consent, laid out 20s. upon her the other day, six payre of gloves. Thence to Hales's to have seen our pictures, but could not get in, he being abroad, and so to the Cakehouse hard by, and there sat in the coach with great pleasure, and eat some fine cakes and so carried them to Pierces and away home. It is a mighty fine witty boy, Mrs. Pierces little boy. Thence home and to the office, where late writing letters and leaving a great deale to do on Monday, I home to supper and to bed. The truth is, I do indulge myself a little the more in pleasure, knowing that this is the proper age of my life to do it; and out of my observation that most men that do thrive in the world, do forget to take pleasure during the time that they are getting their estate, but reserve that till they have got one, and then it is too late for them to enjoy it with any pleasure. 11th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, there met Mr. Coventry coming out, going along with the Commissioners of the Ordnance to the water side to take barge, they being to go down to the Hope. I returned with them as far as the Tower in their barge speaking with Sir W. Coventry and so home and to church, and at noon dined and then to my chamber, where with great pleasure about one business or other till late, and so to supper and to bed. 12th. Up betimes, and called on by abundance of people about business, and then away by water to Westminster, and there to the Exchequer about some business, and thence by coach calling at several places, to the Old Exchange, and there did much business, and so homeward and bought a silver salt for my ordinary table to use, and so home to dinner, and after dinner comes my uncle and aunt Wight, the latter I have not seen since the plague; a silly, froward, ugly woman she is. We made mighty much of them, and she talks mightily of her fear of the sicknesse, and so a deale of tittle tattle and I left them and to my office where late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I hear my Uncle Talbot Pepys died the last week, and was buried. All the news now is, that Sir Jeremy Smith is at Cales--[Cadiz]--with his fleete, and Mings in the Elve.--[Elbe]--The King is come this noon to towne from Audly End, with the Duke of Yorke and a fine train of gentlemen. 13th. Up betimes, and to the office, where busy sitting all the morning, and I begin to find a little convenience by holding up my head to Sir W. Pen, for he is come to be more supple. At noon to dinner, and then to the office again, where mighty business, doing a great deale till midnight and then home to supper and to bed. The plague encreased this week 29 from 28, though the total fallen from 238 to 207, which do never a whit please me. 14th. Up, and met by 6 o'clock in my chamber Mr. Povy (from White Hall) about evening reckonings between him and me, on our Tangier business, and at it hard till toward eight o'clock, and he then carried me in his chariot to White Hall, where by and by my fellow officers met me, and we had a meeting before the Duke. Thence with my Lord Bruncker towards London, and in our way called in Covent Garden, and took in Sir John (formerly Dr.) Baber; who hath this humour that he will not enter into discourse while any stranger is in company, till he be told who he is that seems a stranger to him. This he did declare openly to me, and asked my Lord who I was, giving this reason, that he has been inconvenienced by being too free in discourse till he knew who all the company were. Thence to Guildhall (in our way taking in Dr. Wilkins), and there my Lord and I had full and large discourse with Sir Thomas Player, the Chamberlain of the City (a man I have much heard of for his credit and punctuality in the City, and on that score I had a desire to be made known to him), about the credit of our tallys, which are lodged there for security to such as should lend money thereon to the use of the Navy. And I had great satisfaction therein: and the truth is, I find all our matters of credit to be in an ill condition. Thence, I being in a little haste walked before and to the 'Change a little and then home, and presently to Trinity house to dinner, where Captain Cox made his Elder Brother's dinner. But it seemed to me a very poor sorry dinner. I having many things in my head rose, when my belly was full, though the dinner not half done, and home and there to do some business, and by and by out of doors and met Mr. Povy coming to me by appointment, but it being a little too late, I took a little pride in the streete not to go back with him, but prayed him to come another time, and I away to Kate Joyce's, thinking to have spoke to her husband about Pall's business, but a stranger, the Welsh Dr. Powell, being there I forebore and went away and so to Hales's, to see my wife's picture, which I like mighty well, and there had the pleasure to see how suddenly he draws the Heavens, laying a darke ground and then lightening it when and where he will. Thence to walk all alone in the fields behind Grayes Inne, making an end of reading over my dear "Faber fortunae," of my Lord Bacon's, and thence, it growing dark, took two or three wanton turns about the idle places and lanes about Drury Lane, but to no satisfaction, but a great fear of the plague among them, and so anon I walked by invitation to Mrs. Pierces, where I find much good company, that is to say, Mrs. Pierce, my wife, Mrs. Worshipp and her daughter, and Harris the player, and Knipp, and Mercer, and Mrs. Barbary Sheldon, who is come this day to spend a weeke with my wife; and here with musique we danced, and sung and supped, and then to sing and dance till past one in the morning; and much mirthe with Sir Anthony Apsley and one Colonell Sidney, who lodge in the house; and above all, they are mightily taken with Mrs. Knipp. Hence weary and sleepy we broke up, and I and my company homeward by coach and to bed. 15th. Lay till it was full time to rise, it being eight o'clock, and so to the office and there sat till almost three o'clock and then to dinner, and after dinner (my wife and Mercer and Mrs. Barbary being gone to Hales's before), I and my cozen Anthony Joyce, who come on purpose to dinner with me, and he and I to discourse of our proposition of marriage between Pall and Harman, and upon discourse he and I to Harman's house and took him to a taverne hard by, and we to discourse of our business, and I offered L500, and he declares most ingenuously that his trade is not to be trusted on, that he however needs no money, but would have her money bestowed on her, which I like well, he saying that he would adventure 2 or L300 with her. I like him as a most good-natured, and discreet man, and, I believe, very cunning. We come to this conclusion for us to meete one another the next weeke, and then we hope to come to some end, for I did declare myself well satisfied with the match. Thence to Hales's, where I met my wife and people; and do find the picture, above all things, a most pretty picture, and mighty like my wife; and I asked him his price: he says L14, and the truth is, I think he do deserve it. Thence toward London and home, and I to the office, where I did much, and betimes to bed, having had of late so little sleep, and there slept 16th. Till 7 this morning. Up and all the morning about the Victualler's business, passing his account. At noon to the 'Change, and did several businesses, and thence to the Crowne behind the 'Change and dined with my Lord Bruncker and Captain Cocke and Fenn, and Madam Williams, who without question must be my Lord's wife, and else she could not follow him wherever he goes and kisse and use him publiquely as she do. Thence to the office, where Sir W. Pen and I made an end of the Victualler's business, and thence abroad about several businesses, and so in the evening back again, and anon called on by Mr. Povy, and he and I staid together in my chamber till 12 at night ending our reckonings and giving him tallys for all I was to pay him and so parted, and I to make good my Journall for two or three days, and begun it till I come to the other side, where I have scratched so much, for, for want of sleep, I begun to write idle and from the purpose. So forced to breake off, and to bed.--[There are several erasures in the original MS.] 17th. Up, and to finish my Journall, which I had not sense enough the last night to make an end of, and thence to the office, where very busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner and presently with my wife out to Hales's, where I am still infinitely pleased with my wife's picture. I paid him L14 for it, and 25s. for the frame, and I think it is not a whit too deare for so good a picture. It is not yet quite finished and dry, so as to be fit to bring home yet. This day I begun to sit, and he will make me, I think, a very fine picture. He promises it shall be as good as my wife's, and I sit to have it full of shadows, and do almost break my neck looking over my shoulder to make the posture for him to work by. Thence home and to the office, and so home having a great cold, and so my wife and Mrs. Barbary have very great ones, we are at a loss how we all come by it together, so to bed, drinking butter-ale. This day my W. Hewer comes from Portsmouth and gives me an instance of another piece of knavery of Sir W. Pen, who wrote to Commissioner Middleton, that it was my negligence the other day he was not acquainted, as the board directed, with our clerks coming down to the pay. But I need no new arguments to teach me that he is a false rogue to me and all the world besides. 18th (Lord's day). Up and my cold better, so to church, and then home to dinner, and so walked out to St. James's Church, thinking to have seen faire Mrs. Butler, but could not, she not being there, nor, I believe, lives thereabouts now. So walked to Westminster, very fine fair dry weather, but all cry out for lack of rain. To Herbert's and drank, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and did what I would with her; her husband going for some wine for us. The poor man I do think would take pains if I can get him a purser's place, which I will endeavour. She tells me as a secret that Betty Howlet of the Hall, my little sweetheart, that I used to call my second wife, is married to a younger son of Mr. Michell's (his elder brother, who should have had her, being dead this plague), at which I am glad, and that they are to live nearer me in Thames Streete, by the Old Swan. Thence by coach home and to my chamber about some accounts, and so to bed. Sir Christopher Mings is come home from Hambro without anything done, saving bringing home some pipestaves for us. 19th. Up betimes and upon a meeting extraordinary at the office most of the morning with Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Coventry, and Sir W. Pen, upon the business of the accounts. Where now we have got almost as much as we would have we begin to lay all on the Controller, and I fear he will be run down with it, for he is every day less and less capable of doing business. Thence with my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Coventry to the ticket office, to see in what little order things are there, and there it is a shame to see how the King is served. Thence to the Chamberlain of London, and satisfy ourselves more particularly how much credit we have there, which proves very little. Thence to Sir Robert Long's, absent. About much the same business, but have not the satisfaction we would have there neither. So Sir W. Coventry parted, and my Lord and I to Mrs. Williams's, and there I saw her closett, where indeed a great many fine things there are, but the woman I hate. Here we dined, and Sir J. Minnes come to us, and after dinner we walked to the King's play-house, all in dirt, they being altering of the stage to make it wider. But God knows when they will begin to act again; but my business here was to see the inside of the stage and all the tiring-rooms and machines; and, indeed, it was a sight worthy seeing. But to see their clothes, and the various sorts, and what a mixture of things there was; here a wooden-leg, there a ruff, here a hobbyhorse, there a crown, would make a man split himself to see with laughing; and particularly Lacy's wardrobe, and Shotrell's. But then again, to think how fine they show on the stage by candle-light, and how poor things they are to look now too near hand, is not pleasant at all. The machines are fine, and the paintings very pretty. Thence mightily satisfied in my curiosity I away with my Lord to see him at her house again, and so take leave and by coach home and to the office, and thence sent for to Sir G. Carteret by and by to the Broad Streete, where he and I walked two or three hours till it was quite darke in his gallery talking of his affairs, wherein I assure him all will do well, and did give him (with great liberty, which he accepted kindly) my advice to deny the Board nothing they would aske about his accounts, but rather call upon them to know whether there was anything more they desired, or was wanting. But our great discourse and serious reflections was upon the bad state of the kingdom in general, through want of money and good conduct, which we fear will undo all. Thence mightily satisfied with this good fortune of this discourse with him I home, and there walked in the darke till 10 o'clock at night in the garden with Sir W. Warren, talking of many things belonging to us particularly, and I hope to get something considerably by him before the year be over. He gives me good advice of circumspection in my place, which I am now in great mind to improve; for I think our office stands on very ticklish terms, the Parliament likely to sit shortly and likely to be asked more money, and we able to give a very bad account of the expence of what we have done with what they did give before. Besides, the turning out the prize officers may be an example for the King giving us up to the Parliament's pleasure as easily, for we deserve it as much. Besides, Sir G. Carteret did tell me tonight how my Lord Bruncker himself, whose good-will I could have depended as much on as any, did himself to him take notice of the many places I have; and though I was a painful man, yet the Navy was enough for any man to go through with in his owne single place there, which much troubles me, and shall yet provoke me to more and more care and diligence than ever. Thence home to supper, where I find my wife and Mrs. Barbary with great colds, as I also at this time have. This day by letter from my father he propounds a match in the country for Pall, which pleased me well, of one that hath seven score and odd pounds land per annum in possession, and expects L1000 in money by the death of an old aunt. He hath neither father, mother, sister, nor brother, but demands L600 down, and L100 on the birth of first child, which I had some inclination to stretch to. He is kinsman to, and lives with, Mr. Phillips, but my wife tells me he is a drunken, ill-favoured, ill-bred country fellow, which sets me off of it again, and I will go on with Harman. So after supper to bed. 20th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined in haste, and so my wife, Mrs. Barbary, Mercer, and I by coach to Hales's, where I find my wife's picture now perfectly finished in all respects, and a beautiful picture it is, as almost I ever saw. I sat again, and had a great deale done, but, whatever the matter is, I do not fancy that it has the ayre of my face, though it will be a very fine picture. Thence home and to my business, being post night, and so home to supper and to, bed. 21st. Up betimes, and first by coach to my Lord Generall to visitt him, and then to the Duke of Yorke, where we all met and did our usual business with him; but, Lord! how everything is yielded to presently, even by Sir W. Coventry, that is propounded by the Duke, as now to have Troutbecke, his old surgeon, and intended to go Surgeon-General of the fleete, to go Physician-General of the fleete, of which there never was any precedent in the world, and he for that to have L20 per month. Thence with Lord Bruncker to Sir Robert Long, whom we found in his closett, and after some discourse of business he fell to discourse at large and pleasant, and among other things told us of the plenty of partridges in France, where he says the King of France and his company killed with their guns, in the plain de Versailles, 300 and odd partridges at one bout. Thence I to the Excise Office behind the 'Change, and there find our business of our tallys in great disorder as to payment, and thereupon do take a resolution of thinking how to remedy it, as soon as I can. Thence home, and there met Sir W. Warren, and after I had eat a bit of victuals (he staying in the office) he and I to White Hall. He to look after the business of the prize ships which we are endeavouring to buy, and hope to get money by them. So I to London by coach and to Gresham College, where I staid half an houre, and so away home to my office, and there walking late alone in the darke in the garden with Sir W. Warren, who tells me that at the Committee of the Lords for the prizes to-day, there passed very high words between my Lord Ashly and Sir W. Coventry, about our business of the prize ships. And that my Lord Ashly did snuff and talk as high to him, as he used to do to any ordinary seaman. And that Sir W. Coventry did take it very quietly, but yet for all did speak his mind soberly and with reason, and went away, saying, he had done his duty therein, and so left it to them, whether they would let so many ships go for masts or not: Here he and I talked of 1,000 businesses, all profitable discourse, and late parted, and I home to supper and to bed, troubled a little at a letter from my father, telling me how [he] is like to be sued for a debt of Tom's, by Smith, the mercer. 22nd. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon my wife being gone to her father's I dined with Sir W. Batten, he inviting me. After dinner to my office close, and did very much business, and so late home to supper and to bed. The plague increased four this week, which troubles me, though but one in the whole. 23rd. Up, and going out of my dressing-room, when ready to go down stairs, I spied little Mrs. Tooker, my pretty little girle, which, it seems, did come yesterday to our house to stay a little while with us, but I did not know of it till now. I was glad of her coming, she being a very pretty child, and now grown almost a woman. I out by six o'clock by appointment to Hales's, where we fell to my picture presently very hard, and it comes on a very fine picture, and very merry, pleasant discourse we had all the morning while he was painting. Anon comes my wife and Mercer and little Tooker, and having done with me we all to a picture drawer's hard by, Hales carrying me to see some landskipps of a man's doing. But I do not [like] any of them, save only a piece of fruit, which indeed was very fine. Thence I to Westminster, to the Chequer, about a little business, and then to the Swan, and there sent for a bit of meat and dined; and after dinner had opportunity of being pleased with Sarah; and so away to Westminster Hall, and there Mrs. Michell tells me with great joy how little Betty Howlett is married to her young son Michell, which is a pretty odd thing, that he should so soon succeed in the match to his elder brother that died of the plague, and to the house and trade intended for him, and more they say that the girle has heretofore said that she did love this little one more than the other brother that was intended her all along. I am mighty glad of this match, and more that they are likely to live near me in Thames Streete, where I may see Betty now and then, whom I from a girle did use to call my second wife, and mighty pretty she is. Thence by coach to Anthony Joyce to receive Harman's answer, which did trouble me to receive, for he now demands L800, whereas he never made exception at the portion, but accepted of L500. This I do not like; but, however, I cannot much blame the man, if he thinks he can get more of another than of me. So home and hard to my business at the office, where much business, and so home to supper and to bed. 24th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Anthony Joyce, and I did give my final answer, I would give but L500 with my sister, and did show him the good offer made us in the country, to which I did now more and more incline, and intend to pursue that. After dinner I to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, where the Duke of Yorke was, and I acquitted myself well in what I had to do. After the Committee up, I had occasion to follow the Duke into his lodgings, into a chamber where the Duchesse was sitting to have her picture drawn by Lilly, who was there at work. But I was well pleased to see that there was nothing near so much resemblance of her face in his work, which is now the second, if not the third time, as there was of my wife's at the very first time. Nor do I think at last it can be like, the lines not being in proportion to those of her face. So home, and to the office, where late, and so to bed. 25th (Lady day and Sunday). Up, and to my chamber in my gowne all the morning about settling my papers there. At noon to dinner, where my wife's brother, whom I sent for to offer making him a Muster-Master and send to sea, which the poore man likes well of and will go, and it will be a good preferment to him, only hazardous. I hope he will prove a good discreet man. After dinner to my papers and Tangier accounts again till supper, and after supper again to them, but by my mixing them, I know not how, my private and publique accounts, it makes me mad to see how hard it is to bring them to be understood, and my head is confounded, that though I did sweare to sit up till one o'clock upon them, yet, I fear, it will be to no purpose, for I cannot understand what I do or have been doing of them to-day. 26th. Up, and a meeting extraordinary there was of Sir W. Coventry, Lord Bruncker, and myself, about the business of settling the ticket office, where infinite room is left for abusing the King in the wages of seamen. Our [meeting] being done, my Lord Bruncker and I to the Tower, to see the famous engraver, to get him to grave a seale for the office. And did see some of the finest pieces of work in embossed work, that ever I did see in my life, for fineness and smallness of the images thereon, and I will carry my wife thither to shew them her. Here I also did see bars of gold melting, which was a fine sight. So with my Lord to the Pope's Head Taverne in Lumbard Streete to dine by appointment with Captain Taylor, whither Sir W. Coventry come to us, and were mighty merry, and I find reason to honour him every day more and more. Thence alone to Broade Street to Sir G. Carteret by his desire to confer with him, who is I find in great pain about the business of the office, and not a little, I believe, in fear of falling there, Sir W. Coventry having so great a pique against him, and herein I first learn an eminent instance how great a man this day, that nobody would think could be shaken, is the next overthrown, dashed out of countenance, and every small thing of irregularity in his business taken notice of, where nobody the other day durst cast an eye upon them, and next I see that he that the other day nobody durst come near is now as supple as a spaniel, and sends and speaks to me with great submission, and readily hears to advice. Thence home to the office, where busy late, and so home a little to my accounts publique and private, but could not get myself rightly to know how to dispose of them in order to passing. 27th. All the morning at the office busy. At noon dined at home, Mr. Cooke, our old acquaintance at my Lord Sandwich's, come to see and dine with me, but I quite out of humour, having many other and better things to thinke of. Thence to the office to settle my people's worke and then home to my publique accounts of Tangier, which it is strange by meddling with evening reckonings with Mr. Povy lately how I myself am become intangled therein, so that after all I could do, ready to breake my head and brains, I thought of another way, though not so perfect, yet the only one which this account is capable of. Upon this latter I sat up till past two in the morning and then to bed. 28th. Up, and with Creed, who come hither betimes to speake with me about his accounts, to White Hall by water, mighty merry in discourse, though I had been very little troubled with him, or did countenance it, having now, blessed be God! a great deale of good business to mind to better purpose than chatting with him. Waited on the Duke, after that walked with Sir W. Clerke into St. James's Parke, and by and by met with Mr. Hayes, Prince Rupert's Secretary, who are mighty, both, briske blades, but I fear they promise themselves more than they expect. Thence to the Cockpitt, and dined with a great deal of company at the Duke of Albemarle's, and a bad and dirty, nasty dinner. So by coach to Hales's, and there sat again, and it is become mighty like. Hither come my wife and Mercer brought by Mrs. Pierce and Knipp, we were mighty merry and the picture goes on the better for it. Thence set them down at Pierces, and we home, where busy and at my chamber till 12 at night, and so to bed. This night, I am told, the Queene of Portugall, the mother to our Queene, is lately dead, and newes brought of it hither this day. [Donna Luiza, the Queen Regent of Portugal. She was daughter of the Duke de Medina Sidonia and widow of Juan IV. The Court wore the deepest mourning on this occasion. The ladies were directed to wear their hair plain, and to appear without spots on their faces, the disfiguring fashion of patching having just been introduced.-- Strickland s Queens of England, vol. viii., p. 362.] 29th. All the morning hard at the office. At noon dined and then out to Lumbard Streete, to look after the getting of some money that is lodged there of mine in Viner's hands, I having no mind to have it lie there longer. So back again and to the office, where and at home about publique and private business and accounts till past 12 at night, and so to bed. This day, poor Jane, my old, little Jane, came to us again, to my wife's and my great content, and we hope to take mighty pleasure in her, she having all the marks and qualities of a good and loving and honest servant, she coming by force away from the other place, where she hath lived ever since she went from us, and at our desire, her late mistresse having used all the stratagems she could to keepe her. 30th. My wife and I mighty pleased with Jane's coming to us again. Up, and away goes Alce, our cooke-mayde, a good servant, whom we loved and did well by her, and she an excellent servant, but would not bear being told of any faulte in the fewest and kindest words and would go away of her owne accord, after having given her mistresse warning fickly for a quarter of a yeare together. So we shall take another girle and make little Jane our cook, at least, make a trial of it. Up, and after much business I out to Lumbard Streete, and there received L2200 and brought it home; and, contrary to expectation, received L35 for the use of L2000 of it [for] a quarter of a year, where it hath produced me this profit, and hath been a convenience to me as to care and security of my house, and demandable at two days' warning, as this hath been. This morning Sir W. Warren come to me a second time about having L2000 of me upon his bills on the Act to enable him to pay for the ships he is buying, wherein I shall have considerable profit. I am loth to do it, but yet speaking with Colvill I do not see but I shall be able to do it and get money by it too. Thence home and eat one mouthful, and so to Hales's, and there sat till almost quite darke upon working my gowne, which I hired to be drawn in; an Indian gowne, and I do see all the reason to expect a most excellent picture of it. So home and to my private accounts in my chamber till past one in the morning, and so to bed, with my head full of thoughts for my evening of all my accounts tomorrow, the latter end of the month, in which God give me good issue, for I never was in such a confusion in my life and that in great sums. 31st All the morning at the office busy. At noon to dinner, and thence to the office and did my business there as soon as I could, and then home and to my accounts, where very late at them, but, Lord! what a deale of do I have to understand any part of them, and in short do what I could, I could not come to any understanding of them, but after I had throughly wearied myself, I was forced to go to bed and leave them much against my will and vowe too, but I hope God will forgive me, for I have sat up these four nights till past twelve at night to master them, but cannot. Thus ends this month, with my head and mind mighty full and disquiett because of my accounts, which I have let go too long, and confounded my publique with my private that I cannot come to any liquidating of them. However, I do see that I must be grown richer than I was by a good deale last month. Busy also I am in thoughts for a husband for my sister, and to that end my wife and I have determined that she shall presently go into the country to my father and mother, and consider of a proffer made them for her in the country, which, if she likes, shall go forward. APRIL 1666 April 1st (Lord's day). Up and abroad, and by coach to Charing Cross, to wait on Sir Philip Howard; whom I found in bed: and he do receive me very civilly. My request was about suffering my wife's brother to go to sea, and to save his pay in the Duke's guards; which after a little difficulty he did with great respect agree to. I find him a very fine-spoken gentleman, and one of great parts, and very courteous. Much pleased with this visit I to White Hall, where I met Sir G. Downing, and to discourse with him an houre about the Exchequer payments upon the late Act, and informed myself of him thoroughly in my safety in lending L2000 to Sir W. Warren, upon an order of his upon the Exchequer for L2602 and I do purpose to do it. Thence meeting Dr. Allen, the physician, he and I and another walked in the Parke, a most pleasant warm day, and to the Queene's chappell; where I do not so dislike the musique. Here I saw on a post an invitation to all good Catholiques to pray for the soul of such a one departed this life. The Queene, I hear, do not yet hear of the death of her mother, she being in a course of physique, that they dare not tell it her. At noon by coach home, and there by invitation met my uncle and aunt Wight and their cozen Mary, and dined with me and very merry. After dinner my uncle and I abroad by coach to White Hall, up and down the house, and I did some business and thence with him and a gentleman he met with to my Lord Chancellor's new house, and there viewed it again and again and up to the top and I like it as well as ever and think it a most noble house. So all up and down my Lord St. Albans his new building and market-house, and the taverne under the market-house, looking to and again into every place of building, and so away and took coach and home, where to my accounts, and was at them till I could not hold open my eyes, and so to bed. I this afternoon made a visit to my Lady Carteret, whom I understood newly come to towne; and she took it mighty kindly, but I see her face and heart are dejected from the condition her husband's matters stand in. But I hope they will do all well enough. And I do comfort her as much as I can, for she is a noble lady. 2nd. Up, and to the office and thence with Mr. Gawden to Guildhall to see the bills and tallys there in the chamber (and by the way in the streete his new coach broke and we fain to take an old hackney). Thence to the Exchequer again to inform myself of some other points in the new Act in order to my lending Sir W. Warren L2000 upon an order of his upon the Act, which they all encourage me to. There walking with Mr. Gawden in Westminster Hall, he and I to talke from one business to another and at last to the marriage of his daughter. He told me the story of Creed's pretences to his daughter, and how he would not believe but she loved him, while his daughter was in great passion on the other hand against him. Thence to talke of his son Benjamin; and I propounded a match for him, and at last named my sister, which he embraces heartily, and speaking of the lowness of her portion, that it would be less than L1000, he tells me if every thing else agrees, he will out of what he means to give me yearly, make a portion for her shall cost me nothing more than I intend freely. This did mightily rejoice me and full of it did go with him to London to the 'Change; and there did much business and at the Coffee-house with Sir W. Warren, who very wisely did shew me that my matching my sister with Mr. Gawden would undo me in all my places, everybody suspecting me in all I do; and I shall neither be able to serve him, nor free myself from imputation of being of his faction, while I am placed for his severest check. I was convinced that it would be for neither of our interests to make this alliance, and so am quite off of it again, but with great satisfaction in the motion. Thence to the Crowne tavern behind the Exchange to meet with Cocke and Fenn and did so, and dined with them, and after dinner had the intent of our meeting, which was some private discourse with Fenn, telling him what I hear and think of his business, which he takes very kindly and says he will look about him. It was about his giving of ill language and answers to people that come to him about money and some other particulars. This morning Mrs. Barbary and little Mrs. Tooker went away homeward. Thence my wife by coach calling me at White Hall to visit my Lady Carteret, and she was not within. So to Westminster Hall, where I purposely tooke my wife well dressed into the Hall to see and be seen; and, among others, [met] Howlet's daughter, who is newly married, and is she I call wife, and one I love mightily. So to Broad Streete and there met my Lady and Sir G. Carteret, and sat and talked with them a good while and so home, and to my accounts which I cannot get through with. But at it till I grew drowsy, and so to bed mightily vexed that I can come to no better issue in my accounts. 3rd. Up, and Sir W. Warren with me betimes and signed a bond, and assigned his order on the Exchequer to a blank for me to fill and I did deliver him L1900. The truth is, it is a great venture to venture so much on the Act, but thereby I hedge in L300 gift for my service about some ships that he hath bought, prizes, and good interest besides, and his bond to repay me the money at six weeks' warning. So to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there my brother Balty dined with me and my wife, who is become a good serious man, and I hope to do him good being sending him a Muster-Master on one of the squadrons of the fleete. After dinner and he gone I to my accounts hard all the afternoon till it was quite darke, and I thank God I do come to bring them very fairly to make me worth L5,000 stocke in the world, which is a great mercy to me. Though I am a little troubled to find L50 difference between the particular account I make to myself of my profits and loss in each month and the account which I raise from my acquittances and money which I have at the end of every month in my chest and other men's hands. However I do well believe that I am effectually L5,000, the greatest sum I ever was in my life yet, and this day I have as I have said before agreed with Sir W. Warren and got of him L300 gift. At night a while to the office and then home and supped and to my accounts again till I was ready to sleepe, there being no pleasure to handle them, if they are not kept in good order. So to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to White Hall, in his way talking simply and fondly as he used to do, but I find myself to slight him and his simple talke, I thank God, and that my condition will enable me to do it. Thence, after doing our business with the Duke of Yorke, with Captain Cocke home to the 'Change in his coach. He promises me presently a dozen of silver salts, and proposes a business for which he hath promised Mrs. Williams for my Lord Bruncker a set of plate shall cost him L500 and me the like, which will be a good business indeed. After done several businesses at the 'Change I home, and being washing day dined upon cold meate, and so abroad by coach to Hales's, and there sat till night, mightily pleased with my picture, which is now almost finished. So by coach home, it being the fast day and to my chamber and so after supper to bed, consulting how to send my wife into the country to advise about Pall's marriage, which I much desire, and my father too, and two or three offers are now in hand. 5th. Up, and before office time to Lumbard Streete, and there at Viner's was shewn the silver plates, made for Captain Cocke to present my Lord Bruncker; and I chose a dozen of the same weight to be bespoke for myself, which he told me yesterday he would give me on the same occasion. To the office, where the falsenesse and impertinencies of Sir W. Pen would make a man mad to think of. At noon would have avoided, but could not, dining with my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse with Captain Cocke at the Sun Taverne in Fish Streete, where a good dinner, but the woman do tire me, and indeed how simply my Lord Bruncker, who is otherwise a wise man, do proceed at the table in serving of Cocke, without any means of understanding in his proposal, or defence when proposed, would make a man think him a foole. After dinner home, where I find my wife hath on a sudden, upon notice of a coach going away to-morrow, taken a resolution of going in it to Brampton, we having lately thought it fit for her to go to satisfy herself and me in the nature of the fellow that is there proposed to my sister. So she to fit herself for her journey and I to the office all the afternoon till late, and so home and late putting notes to "It is decreed, nor shall thy fate, &c." and then to bed. The plague is, to our great grief, encreased nine this week, though decreased a few in the total. And this encrease runs through many parishes, which makes us much fear the next year. 6th. Up mighty betimes upon my wife's going this day toward Brampton. I could not go to the coach with her, but W. Hewer did and hath leave from me to go the whole day's journey with her. All the morning upon business at the office, and at noon dined, and Mrs. Hunt coming lent her L5 on her occasions and so carried her to Axe Yard end at Westminster and there left her, a good and understanding woman, and her husband I perceive thrives mightily in his business of the Excise. Thence to Mr. Hales and there sat, and my picture almost finished, which by the word of Mr. and Mrs. Pierce (who come in accidently) is mighty like, and I am sure I am mightily pleased both in the thing and the posture. Thence with them home a little, and so to White Hall and there met by agreement with Sir Stephen Fox and Mr. Ashburnham, and discoursed the business of our Excise tallys; the former being Treasurer of the guards, and the other Cofferer of the King's household. I benefitted much by their discourse. We come to no great conclusion upon our discourse, but parted, and I home, where all things, methinks, melancholy in the absence of my wife. This day great newes of the Swedes declaring for us against the Dutch, and, so far as that, I believe it. After a little supper to bed. 7th. Lay pretty long to-day, lying alone and thinking of several businesses. So up to the office and there till noon. Thence with my Lord Bruncker home by coach to Mrs. Williams's, where Bab. Allen and Dr. Charleton dined. Bab and I sang and were mighty merry as we could be there, where the rest of the company did not overplease. Thence took her by coach to Hales's, and there find Mrs. Pierce and her boy and Mary. She had done sitting the first time, and indeed her face is mighty like at first dash. Thence took them to the cakehouse, and there called in the coach for cakes and drank, and thence I carried them to my Lord Chancellor's new house to shew them that, and all mightily pleased, thence set each down at home, and so I home to the office, where about ten of the clock W. Hewer comes to me to tell me that he has left my wife well this morning at Bugden, which was great riding, and brings me a letter from her. She is very well got thither, of which I am heartily glad. After writing several letters, I home to supper and to bed. The Parliament of which I was afraid of their calling us of the Navy to an account of the expense of money and stores and wherein we were so little ready to give them a good answer [will soon meet]. The Bishop of Munster, every body says, is coming to peace with the Dutch, we having not supplied him with the money promised him. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and was in great trouble how to get a passage to White Hall, it raining, and no coach to be had. So I walked to the Old Swan, and there got a scull. To the Duke of Yorke, where we all met to hear the debate between Sir Thomas Allen and Mr. Wayth; the former complaining of the latter's ill usage of him at the late pay of his ship. But a very sorry poor occasion he had for it. The Duke did determine it with great judgement, chiding both, but encouraging Wayth to continue to be a check to all captains in any thing to the King's right. And, indeed, I never did see the Duke do any thing more in order, nor with more judgement than he did pass the verdict in this business. The Court full this morning of the newes of Tom Cheffin's death, the King's closett-keeper. He was well last night as ever, flaying at tables in the house, and not very ill this morning at six o'clock, yet dead before seven: they think, of an imposthume in his breast. But it looks fearfully among people nowadays, the plague, as we hear, encreasing every where again. To the Chappell, but could not get in to hear well. But I had the pleasure once in my life to see an Archbishop (this was of Yorke) in a pulpit. Then at a loss how to get home to dinner, having promised to carry Mrs. Hunt thither. At last got my Lord Hinchingbroke's coach, he staying at Court; and so took her up in Axe-yard, and home and dined. And good discourse of the old matters of the Protector and his family, she having a relation to them. The Protector [Richard Cromwell subsequently returned to England, and resided in strict privacy at Cheshunt for some years before his death in 1712] lives in France: spends about L500 per annum. Thence carried her home again and then to Court and walked over to St. James's Chappell, thinking to have heard a Jesuite preach, but come too late. So got a hackney and home, and there to business. At night had Mercer comb my head and so to supper, sing a psalm, and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and with my Joyner begun the making of the window in my boy's chamber bigger, purposing it shall be a roome to eat and for having musique in. To the office, where a meeting upon extraordinary business, at noon to the 'Change about more, and then home with Creed and dined, and then with him to the Committee of Tangier, where I got two or three things done I had a mind to of convenience to me. Thence by coach to Mrs. Pierce's, and with her and Knipp and Mrs. Pierce's boy and girle abroad, thinking to have been merry at Chelsey; but being come almost to the house by coach near the waterside, a house alone, I think the Swan, a gentleman walking by called to us to tell us that the house was shut up of the sicknesse. So we with great affright turned back, being holden to the gentleman; and went away (I for my part in great disorder) for Kensington, and there I spent about 30s. upon the jades with great pleasure, and we sang finely and staid till about eight at night, the night coming on apace and so set them down at Pierce's, and so away home, where awhile with Sir W. Warren about business, and then to bed, 10th. Up betimes, and many people to me about business. To the office and there sat till noon, and then home and dined, and to the office again all the afternoon, where we sat all, the first time of our resolution to sit both forenoons and afternoons. Much business at night and then home, and though late did see some work done by the plasterer to my new window in the boy's chamber plastered. Then to supper, and after having my head combed by the little girle to bed. Bad news that the plague is decreased in the general again and two increased in the sickness. 11th. To White Hall, having first set my people to worke about setting me rails upon the leads of my wife's closett, a thing I have long designed, but never had a fit opportunity till now. After having done with the Duke of Yorke, I to Hales's, where there was nothing found to be done more to my picture, but the musique, which now pleases me mightily, it being painted true. Thence home, and after dinner to Gresham College, where a great deal of do and formality in choosing of the Council and Officers. I had three votes to be of the Council, who am but a stranger, nor expected any. So my Lord Bruncker being confirmed President I home, where I find to my great content my rails up upon my leads. To the office and did a little business, and then home and did a great jobb at my Tangier accounts, which I find are mighty apt to run into confusion, my head also being too full of other businesses and pleasures. This noon Bagwell's wife come to me to the office, after her being long at Portsmouth. After supper, and past 12 at night to bed. 12th. Up and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home and so to my office again, and taking a turne in the garden my Lady Pen comes to me and takes me into her house, where I find her daughter and a pretty lady of her acquaintance, one Mrs. Lowder, sister, I suppose, of her servant Lowder's, with whom I, notwithstanding all my resolution to follow business close this afternoon, did stay talking and playing the foole almost all the afternoon, and there saw two or three foolish sorry pictures of her doing, but very ridiculous compared to what my wife do. She grows mighty homely and looks old. Thence ashamed at myself for this losse of time, yet not able to leave it, I to the office, where my Lord Bruncker come; and he and I had a little fray, he being, I find, a very peevish man, if he be denied what he expects, and very simple in his argument in this business (about signing a warrant for paying Sir Thos. Allen L1000 out of the groats); but we were pretty good friends before we parted, and so we broke up and I to the writing my letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, being called up by my wife's brother, for whom I have got a commission from the Duke of Yorke for Muster-Master of one of the divisions, of which Harman is Rere-Admirall, of which I am glad as well as he. After I had acquainted him with it, and discoursed a little of it, I went forth and took him with me by coach to the Duke of Albemarle, who being not up, I took a walk with Balty into the Parke, and to the Queene's Chappell, it being Good Friday, where people were all upon their knees very silent; but, it seems, no masse this day. So back and waited on the Duke and received some commands of his, and so by coach to Mr. Hales's, where it is pretty strange to see that his second doing, I mean the second time of her sitting, is less like Mrs. Pierce than the first, and yet I am confident will be most like her, for he is so curious that I do not see how it is possible for him to mistake. Here he and I presently resolved of going to White Hall, to spend an houre in the galleries there among the pictures, and we did so to my great satisfaction, he shewing me the difference in the payntings, and when I come more and more to distinguish and observe the workmanship, I do not find so many good things as I thought there was, but yet great difference between the works of some and others; and, while my head and judgment was full of these, I would go back again to his house to see his pictures, and indeed, though, I think, at first sight some difference do open, yet very inconsiderably but that I may judge his to be very good pictures. Here we fell into discourse of my picture, and I am for his putting out the Landskipp, though he says it is very well done, yet I do judge it will be best without it, and so it shall be put out, and be made a plain sky like my wife's picture, which will be very noble. Thence called upon an old woman in Pannier Ally to agree for ruling of some paper for me and she will do it pretty cheap. Here I found her have a very comely black mayde to her servant, which I liked very well. So home to dinner and to see my joiner do the bench upon my leads to my great content. After dinner I abroad to carry paper to my old woman, and so to Westminster Hall, and there beyond my intention or design did see and speak with Betty Howlett, at her father's still, and it seems they carry her to her own house to begin the world with her young husband on Monday next, Easter Monday. I please myself with the thoughts of her neighbourhood, for I love the girl mightily. Thence home, and thither comes Mr. Houblon and a brother, with whom I evened for the charter parties of their ships for Tangier, and paid them the third advance on their freight to full satisfaction, and so, they being gone, comes Creed and with him till past one in the morning, evening his accounts till my head aked and I was fit for nothing, however, coming at last luckily to see through and settle all to my mind, it did please me mightily, and so with my mind at rest to bed, and he with me and hard to sleep. 14th. Up about seven and finished our papers, he and I, and I delivered him tallys and some money and so away I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home and Creed with me, then parted, and I to the office, and anon called thence by Sir H. Cholmley and he and I to my chamber, and there settled our matters of accounts, and did give him tallys and money to clear him, and so he being gone and all these accounts cleared I shall be even with the King, so as to make a very clear and short account in a very few days, which pleases me very well. Here he and I discoursed a great while about Tangier, and he do convince me, as things are now ordered by my Lord Bellasses and will be by Norwood (men that do only mind themselves), the garrison will never come to any thing, and he proposes his owne being governor, which in truth I do think will do very well, and that he will bring it to something. He gone I to my office, where to write letters late, and then home and looked over a little more my papers of accounts lately passed, and so to bed. 15th (Easter Day). Up and by water to Westminster to the Swan to lay down my cloak, and there found Sarah alone, with whom after I had staid awhile I to White Hall Chapel, and there coming late could hear nothing of the Bishop of London's sermon. So walked into the Park to the Queene's chappell, and there heard a good deal of their mass, and some of their musique, which is not so contemptible, I think, as our people would make it, it pleasing me very well; and, indeed, better than the anthem I heard afterwards at White Hall, at my coming back. I staid till the King went down to receive the Sacrament, and stood in his closett with a great many others, and there saw him receive it, which I did never see the manner of before. But I do see very little difference between the degree of the ceremonies used by our people in the administration thereof, and that in the Roman church, saving that methought our Chappell was not so fine, nor the manner of doing it so glorious, as it was in the Queene's chappell. Thence walked to Mr. Pierces, and there dined, I alone with him and her and their children: very good company and good discourse, they being able to tell me all the businesses of the Court; the amours and the mad doings that are there; how for certain Mrs. Stewart do do everything with the King that a mistress should do; and that the King hath many bastard children that are known and owned, besides the Duke of Monmouth. After a great deale of this discourse I walked thence into the Parke with her little boy James with me, who is the wittiest boy and the best company in the world, and so back again through White Hall both coming and going, and people did generally take him to be my boy and some would aske me. Thence home to Mr. Pierce again; and he being gone forth, she and I and the children out by coach to Kensington, to where we were the other day, and with great pleasure stayed till night; and were mighty late getting home, the horses tiring and stopping at every twenty steps. By the way we discoursed of Mrs. Clerke, who, she says, is grown mighty high, fine, and proud, but tells me an odd story how Captain Rolt did see her the other day accost a gentleman in Westminster Hall and went with him, and he dogged them to Moorefields to a little blind bawdy house, and there staid watching three hours and they come not out, so could stay no longer but left them there, and he is sure it was she, he knowing her well and describing her very clothes to Mrs. Pierce, which she knows are what she wears. Seeing them well at home I homeward, but the horses at Ludgate Hill made a final stop; so there I 'lighted, and with a linke, it being about 10 o'clock, walked home, and after singing a Psalm or two and supped to bed. 16th. Up, and set my people, Mercer, W. Hewer, Tom and the girle at work at ruling and stitching my ruled book for the Muster-Masters, and I hard toward the settling of my Tangier accounts. At noon dined alone, the girl Mercer taking physique can eat nothing, and W. Hewer went forth to dinner. So up to my accounts again, and then comes Mrs. Mercer and fair Mrs. Turner, a neighbour of hers that my wife knows by their means, to visit me. I staid a great while with them, being taken with this pretty woman, though a mighty silly, affected citizen woman she is. Then I left them to come to me at supper anon, and myself out by coach to the old woman in Pannyer Alley for my ruled papers, and they are done, and I am much more taken with her black maid Nan. Thence further to Westminster, thinking to have met Mrs. Martin, but could not find her, so back and called at Kirton's to borrow 10s. to pay for my ruled papers, I having not money in my pocket enough to pay for them. But it was a pretty consideration that on this occasion I was considering where I could with most confidence in a time of need borrow 10s., and I protest I could not tell where to do it and with some trouble and fear did aske it here. So that God keepe me from want, for I shall be in a very bad condition to helpe myself if ever I should come to want or borrow. Thence called for my papers and so home, and there comes Mrs. Turner and Mercer and supped with me, and well pleased I was with their company, but especially Mrs. Turner's, she being a very pretty woman of person and her face pretty good, the colour of her haire very fine and light. They staid with me talking till about eleven o'clock and so home, W. Hewer, who supped with me, leading them home. So I to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, my brother Balty with me, who is fitting himself to go to sea. So after dinner to my accounts and did proceed a good way in settling them, and thence to the office, where all the afternoon late, writing my letters and doing business, but, Lord! what a conflict I had with myself, my heart tempting me 1000 times to go abroad about some pleasure or other, notwithstanding the weather foule. However I reproached myself with my weaknesse in yielding so much my judgment to my sense, and prevailed with difficulty and did not budge, but stayed within, and, to my great content, did a great deale of business, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that Moll Davis, the pretty girle, that sang and danced so well at the Duke's house, is dead. 18th. [Up] and by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir Thos. Allen to White Hall, and there after attending the Duke as usual and there concluding of many things preparatory to the Prince and Generall's going to sea on Monday next, Sir W. Batten and Sir T. Allen and I to Mr. Lilly's, the painter's; and there saw the heads, some finished, and all begun, of the Flaggmen in the late great fight with the Duke of Yorke against the Dutch. The Duke of Yorke hath them done to hang in his chamber, and very finely they are done indeed. Here is the Prince's, Sir G. Askue's, Sir Thomas Teddiman's, Sir Christopher Mings, Sir Joseph Jordan, Sir William Barkeley, Sir Thomas Allen, and Captain Harman's, as also the Duke of Albemarle's; and will be my Lord Sandwich's, Sir W. Pen's, and Sir Jeremy Smith's. Being very well satisfied with this sight, and other good pictures hanging in the house, we parted, and I left them, and [to] pass away a little time went to the printed picture seller's in the way thence to the Exchange, and there did see great plenty of fine prints; but did not buy any, only a print of an old pillar in Rome made for a Navall Triumph, [The columna rostrata erected in the Forum to C. Duilius, who obtained a triumph for the first naval victory over the Carthaginians, B.C. 261. Part of the column was discovered in the ruins of the Forum near the Arch of Septimius, and transferred to the Capitol.--B.] which for the antiquity of the shape of ships, I buy and keepe. Thence to the Exchange, that is, the New Exchange, and looked over some play books and intend to get all the late new plays. So to Westminster, and there at the Swan got a bit of meat and dined alone; and so away toward King's Street, and spying out of my coach Jane that lived heretofore at Jevons, my barber's, I went a little further and stopped, and went on foot back, and overtook her, taking water at Westminster Bridge, and spoke to her, and she telling me whither she was going I over the water and met her at Lambeth, and there drank with her; she telling me how he that was so long her servant, did prove to be a married man, though her master told me (which she denies) that he had lain with her several times in his house. There left her 'sans essayer alcune cose con elle', and so away by boat to the 'Change, and took coach and to Mr. Hales, where he would have persuaded me to have had the landskipp stand in my picture, but I like it not and will have it otherwise, which I perceive he do not like so well, however is so civil as to say it shall be altered. Thence away to Mrs. Pierces, who was not at home, but gone to my house to visit me with Mrs. Knipp. I therefore took up the little girle Betty and my mayde Mary that now lives there and to my house, where they had been but were gone, so in our way back again met them coming back again to my house in Cornehill, and there stopped laughing at our pretty misfortunes, and so I carried them to Fish Streete, and there treated them with prawns and lobsters, and it beginning to grow darke we away, but the jest is our horses would not draw us up the Hill, but we were fain to 'light and stay till the coachman had made them draw down to the bottom of the Hill, thereby warming their legs, and then they came up cheerfully enough, and we got up and I carried them home, and coming home called at my paper ruler's and there found black Nan, which pleases me mightily, and having saluted her again and again away home and to bed..... In all my ridings in the coach and intervals my mind hath been full these three weeks of setting in musique "It is decreed, &c." 19th. Lay long in bed, so to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined with Sir W. Warren at the Pope's Head. So back to the office, and there met with the Commissioners of the Ordnance, where Sir W. Pen being almost drunk vexed me, and the more because Mr. Chichly observed it with me, and it was a disparagement to the office. They gone I to my office. Anon comes home my wife from Brampton, not looked for till Saturday, which will hinder me of a little pleasure, but I am glad of her coming. She tells me Pall's business with Ensum is like to go on, but I must give, and she consents to it, another 100. She says she doubts my father is in want of money, for rents come in mighty slowly. My mother grows very unpleasant and troublesome and my father mighty infirm through his old distemper, which altogether makes me mighty thoughtfull. Having heard all this and bid her welcome I to the office, where late, and so home, and after a little more talk with my wife, she to bed and I after her. 20th. Up, and after an houre or two's talke with my poor wife, who gives me more and more content every day than other, I abroad by coach to Westminster, and there met with Mrs. Martin, and she and I over the water to Stangold, and after a walke in the fields to the King's Head, and there spent an houre or two with pleasure with her, and eat a tansy and so parted, and I to the New Exchange, there to get a list of all the modern plays which I intend to collect and to have them bound up together. Thence to Mr. Hales's, and there, though against his particular mind, I had my landskipp done out, and only a heaven made in the roome of it, which though it do not please me thoroughly now it is done, yet it will do better than as it was before. Thence to Paul's Churchyarde, and there bespoke some new books, and so to my ruling woman's and there did see my work a doing, and so home and to my office a little, but was hindered of business I intended by being sent for to Mrs. Turner, who desired some discourse with me and lay her condition before me, which is bad and poor. Sir Thomas Harvey intends again to have lodgings in her house, which she prays me to prevent if I can, which I promised. Thence to talke generally of our neighbours. I find she tells me the faults of all of them, and their bad words of me and my wife, and indeed do discover more than I thought. So I told her, and so will practise that I will have nothing to do with any of them. She ended all with a promise of shells to my wife, very fine ones indeed, and seems to have great respect and honour for my wife. So home and to bed. 21st. Up betimes and to the office, there to prepare some things against the afternoon for discourse about the business of the pursers and settling the pursers' matters of the fleete according to my proposition. By and by the office sat, and they being up I continued at the office to finish my matters against the meeting before the Duke this afternoon, so home about three to clap a bit of meate in my mouth, and so away with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there to the Duke, but he being to go abroad to take the ayre, he dismissed us presently without doing any thing till to-morrow morning. So my Lord Bruncker and I down to walk in the garden [at White Hall], it being a mighty hot and pleasant day; and there was the King, who, among others, talked to us a little; and among other pretty things, he swore merrily that he believed the ketch that Sir W. Batten bought the last year at Colchester was of his own getting, it was so thick to its length. Another pleasant thing he said of Christopher Pett, commending him that he will not alter his moulds of his ships upon any man's advice; "as," says he, "Commissioner Taylor I fear do of his New London, that he makes it differ, in hopes of mending the Old London, built by him." "For," says he, "he finds that God hath put him into the right, and so will keep in it while he is in." "And," says the King, "I am sure it must be God put him in, for no art of his owne ever could have done it;" for it seems he cannot give a good account of what he do as an artist. Thence with my Lord Bruncker in his coach to Hide Parke, the first time I have been there this year. There the King was; but I was sorry to see my Lady Castlemaine, for the mourning forceing all the ladies to go in black, with their hair plain and without any spots, I find her to be a much more ordinary woman than ever I durst have thought she was; and, indeed, is not so pretty as Mrs. Stewart, whom I saw there also. Having done at the Park he set me down at the Exchange, and I by coach home and there to my letters, and they being done, to writing a large letter about the business of the pursers to Sir W. Batten against to-morrow's discourse, and so home and to bed. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new black coate, long down to my knees, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where all in deep mourning for the Queene's mother. There had great discourse, before the Duke and Sir W. Coventry begun the discourse of the day about the purser's business, which I seconded, and with great liking to the Duke, whom however afterward my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen did stop by some thing they said, though not much to the purpose, yet because our proposition had some appearance of certain charge to the King it was ruled that for this year we should try another the same in every respect with ours, leaving out one circumstance of allowing the pursers the victuals of all men short of the complement. I was very well satisfied with it and am contented to try it, wishing it may prove effectual. Thence away with Sir W. Batten in his coach home, in our way he telling me the certaine newes, which was afterward confirmed to me this day by several, that the Bishopp of Munster has made a league [with] the Hollanders, and that our King and Court are displeased much at it: moreover we are not sure of Sweden. I home to my house, and there dined mighty well, my poor wife and Mercer and I. So back again walked to White Hall, and there to and again in the Parke, till being in the shoemaker's stockes.--[A cant expression for tight shoes.]--I was heartily weary, yet walked however to the Queene's Chappell at St. James's, and there saw a little mayde baptized; many parts and words whereof are the same with that of our Liturgy, and little that is more ceremonious than ours. Thence walked to Westminster and eat a bit of bread and drank, and so to Worster House, and there staid, and saw the Council up, and then back, walked to the Cockepitt, and there took my leave of the Duke of Albemarle, who is going to-morrow to sea. He seems mightily pleased with me, which I am glad of; but I do find infinitely my concernment in being careful to appear to the King and Duke to continue my care of his business, and to be found diligent as I used to be. Thence walked wearily as far as Fleet Streete and so there met a coach and home to supper and to bed, having sat a great while with Will Joyce, who come to see me, and it is the first time I have seen him at my house since the plague, and find him the same impertinent, prating coxcombe that ever he was. 23rd. Being mighty weary last night, lay long this morning, then up and to the office, where Sir W. Batten, Lord Bruncker and I met, and toward noon took coach and to White Hall, where I had the opportunity to take leave of the Prince, and again of the Duke of Albemarle; and saw them kiss the King's hands and the Duke's; and much content, indeed, there seems to be in all people at their going to sea, and [they] promise themselves much good from them. This morning the House of Parliament do meet, only to adjourne again till winter. The plague, I hear, encreases in the towne much, and exceedingly in the country everywhere. Thence walked to Westminster Hall, and after a little stay, there being nothing now left to keep me there, Betty Howlett being gone, I took coach and away home, in my way asking in two or three places the worth of pearles, I being now come to the time that I have long ago promised my wife a necklace. Dined at home and took Balty with me to Hales's to show him his sister's picture, and thence to Westminster, and there I to the Swan and drank, and so back again alone to Hales's and there met my wife and Mercer, Mrs. Pierce being sitting, and two or three idle people of her acquaintance more standing by. Her picture do come on well. So staid until she had done and then set her down at home, and my wife and I and the girle by coach to Islington, and there eat and drank in the coach and so home, and there find a girle sent at my desire by Mrs. Michell of Westminster Hall, to be my girle under the cooke-mayde, Susan. But I am a little dissatisfied that the girle, though young, is taller and bigger than Su, and will not, I fear, be under her command, which will trouble me, and the more because she is recommended by a friend that I would not have any unkindness with, but my wife do like very well of her. So to my accounts and journall at my chamber, there being bonfires in the streete, for being St. George's day, and the King's Coronation, and the day of the Prince and Duke's going to sea. So having done my business, to bed. 24th. Up, and presently am told that the girle that came yesterday hath packed up her things to be gone home again to Enfield, whence she come, which I was glad of, that we might be at first rid of her altogether rather than be liable to her going away hereafter. The reason was that London do not agree with her. So I did give her something, and away she went. By and by comes Mr. Bland to me, the first time since his coming from Tangier, and tells me, in short, how all things are out of order there, and like to be; and the place never likely to come to anything while the soldiers govern all, and do not encourage trade. He gone I to the office, where all the morning, and so to dinner, and there in the afternoon very busy all day till late, and so home to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to White Hall to the Duke as usual, and did our business there. So I away to Westminster (Batty with me, whom I had presented to Sir W. Coventry) and there told Mrs. Michell of her kinswoman's running away, which troubled her. So home, and there find another little girle come from my wife's mother, likely to do well. After dinner I to the office, where Mr. Prin come to meet about the Chest business; and till company come, did discourse with me a good while alone in the garden about the laws of England, telling me the many faults in them; and among others, their obscurity through multitude of long statutes, which he is about to abstract out of all of a sort; and as he lives, and Parliaments come, get them put into laws, and the other statutes repealed, and then it will be a short work to know the law, which appears a very noble good thing. By and by Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Rider met with us, and we did something to purpose about the Chest, and hope we shall go on to do so. They up, I to present Batty to Sir W. Pen, who at my entreaty did write a most obliging letter to Harman to use him civilly, but the dissembling of the rogue is such, that it do not oblige me at all. So abroad to my ruler's of my books, having, God forgive me! a mind to see Nan there, which I did, and so back again, and then out again to see Mrs. Bettons, who were looking out of the window as I come through Fenchurch Streete. So that indeed I am not, as I ought to be, able to command myself in the pleasures of my eye. So home, and with my wife and Mercer spent our evening upon our new leads by our bedchamber singing, while Mrs. Mary Batelier looked out of the window to us, and we talked together, and at last bid good night. However, my wife and I staid there talking of several things with great pleasure till eleven o'clock at night, and it is a convenience I would not want for any thing in the world, it being, methinks, better than almost any roome in my house. So having, supped upon the leads, to bed. The plague, blessed be God! is decreased sixteen this week. 26th. To the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and in the afternoon to my office again, where very busy all the afternoon and particularly about fitting of Mr. Yeabsly's accounts for the view of the Lords Commissioners for Tangier. At night home to supper and to bed. 27th. Up (taking Balty with me, who lay at my house last [night] in order to his going away to-day to sea with the pursers of the Henery, whom I appointed to call him), abroad to many several places about several businesses, to my Lord Treasurer's, Westminster, and I know not where. At noon to the 'Change a little, and there bespoke some maps to hang in my new roome (my boy's roome) which will be very-pretty. Home to dinner, and after dinner to the hanging up of maps, and other things for the fitting of the roome, and now it will certainly be one of the handsomest and most usefull roomes in my house. So that what with this room and the room on my leads my house is half as good again as it was. All this afternoon about this till I was so weary and it was late I could do no more but finished the room. So I did not get out to the office all the day long. At night spent a good deale of time with my wife and Mercer teaching them a song, and so after supper to bed. 28th. Up and to the office. At noon dined at home. After dinner abroad with my wife to Hales's to see only our pictures and Mrs. Pierce's, which I do not think so fine as I might have expected it. My wife to her father's, to carry him some ruling work, which I have advised her to let him do. It will get him some money. She also is to look out again for another little girle, the last we had being also gone home the very same day she came. She was also to look after a necklace of pearle, which she is mighty busy about, I being contented to lay out L80 in one for her. I home to my business. By and by comes my wife and presently after, the tide serving, Balty took leave of us, going to sea, and upon very good terms, to be Muster-Master of a squadron, which will be worth L100 this yeare to him, besides keeping him the benefit of his pay in the Guards. He gone, I very busy all the afternoon till night, among other things, writing a letter to my brother John, the first I have done since my being angry with him, and that so sharpe a one too that I was sorry almost to send it when I had wrote it, but it is preparatory to my being kind to him, and sending for him up hither when he hath passed his degree of Master of Arts. So home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Mr. Mills, a lazy, simple sermon upon the Devil's having no right to any thing in this world. So home to dinner, and after dinner I and my boy down by water to Redriffe and thence walked to Mr. Evelyn's, where I walked in his garden till he come from Church, with great pleasure reading Ridly's discourse, all my way going and coming, upon the Civill and Ecclesiastical Law. He being come home, he and I walked together in the garden with mighty pleasure, he being a very ingenious man; and the more I know him, the more I love him. His chief business with me was to propose having my cozen Thomas Pepys in Commission of the Peace, which I do not know what to say to till I speake with him, but should be glad of it and will put him upon it. Thence walked back again reading and so took water and home, where I find my uncle and aunt Wight, and supped with them upon my leads with mighty pleasure and mirthe, and they being gone I mighty weary to bed, after having my haire of my head cut shorter, even close to my skull, for coolnesse, it being mighty hot weather. 30th. Up and, being ready, to finish my journall for four days past. To the office, where busy all the morning. At noon dined alone, my wife gone abroad to conclude about her necklace of pearle. I after dinner to even all my accounts of this month; and, bless God! I find myself, notwithstanding great expences of late; viz. L80 now to pay for a necklace; near L40 for a set of chairs and couch; near L40 for my three pictures: yet I do gather, and am now worth L5200. My wife comes home by and by, and hath pitched upon a necklace with three rows, which is a very good one, and L80 is the price. In the evening, having finished my accounts to my full content and joyed that I have evened them so plainly, remembering the trouble my last accounts did give me by being let alone a little longer than ordinary, by which I am to this day at a loss for L50, I hope I shall never commit such an error again, for I cannot devise where the L50 should be, but it is plain I ought to be worth L50 more than I am, and blessed be God the error was no greater. In the evening with my [wife] and Mercer by coach to take the ayre as far as Bow, and eat and drank in the coach by the way and with much pleasure and pleased with my company. At night home and up to the leads, but were contrary to expectation driven down again with a stinke by Sir W. Pen's shying of a shitten pot in their house of office close by, which do trouble me for fear it do hereafter annoy me. So down to sing a little and then to bed. So ends this month with great layings-out. Good health and gettings, and advanced well in the whole of my estate, for which God make me thankful. MAY 1666 May 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon, my cozen Thomas Pepys did come to me, to consult about the business of his being a justice of the Peace, which he is much against; and among other reasons, tells me, as a confidant, that he is not free to exercise punishment according to the Act against Quakers and other people, for religion. Nor do he understand Latin, and so is not capable of the place as formerly, now all warrants do run in Latin. Nor is he in Kent, though he be of Deptford parish, his house standing in Surry. However, I did bring him to incline towards it, if he be pressed to take it. I do think it may be some repute to me to have my kinsman in Commission there, specially if he behave himself to content in the country. He gone and my wife gone abroad, I out also to and fro, to see and be seen, among others to find out in Thames Streete where Betty Howlett is come to live, being married to Mrs. Michell's son; which I did about the Old Swan, but did not think fit to go thither or see them. Thence by water to Redriffe, reading a new French book my Lord Bruncker did give me to-day, "L'Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules," [This book, which has frequently been reprinted, was written by Roger de Rabutin, Comte de Bussy, for the amusement of his mistress, Madame de Montglas, and consists of sketches of the chief ladies of the court, in which he libelled friends and foes alike. These circulated in manuscript, and were printed at Liege in 1665. Louis XIV. was so much annoyed with the book that he sent the author to the Bastille for over a year.] being a pretty libel against the amours of the Court of France. I walked up and down Deptford yarde, where I had not been since I come from living at Greenwich, which is some months. There I met with Mr. Castle, and was forced against my will to have his company back with me. So we walked and drank at Halfway house and so to his house, where I drank a cupp of syder, and so home, where I find Mr. Norbury newly come to town to see us. After he gone my wife tells me the ill newes that our Susan is sicke and gone to bed, with great pain in her head and back, which troubles us all. However we to bed expecting what to-morrow would produce. She hath we conceive wrought a little too much, having neither maid nor girle to help her. 2nd. Up and find the girle better, which we are glad of, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall by coach. There attended the Duke as usual. Thence with Captain Cocke, whom I met there, to London, to my office, to consult about serving him in getting him some money, he being already tired of his slavery to my Lord Bruncker, and the charge it costs him, and gets no manner of courtesy from him for it. He gone I home to dinner, find the girle yet better, so no fear of being forced to send her out of doors as we intended. After dinner. I by water to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier upon Mr. Yeabsly's business, which I got referred to a Committee to examine. Thence among other stops went to my ruler's house, and there staid a great while with Nan idling away the afternoon with pleasure. By and by home, so to my office a little, and then home to supper with my wife, the girle being pretty well again, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home, and contrary to my expectation find my little girle Su worse than she was, which troubled me, and the more to see my wife minding her paynting and not thinking of her house business, this being the first day of her beginning the second time to paynt. This together made me froward that I was angry with my wife, and would not have Browne to think to dine at my table with me always, being desirous to have my house to myself without a stranger and a mechanique to be privy to all my concernments. Upon this my wife and I had a little disagreement, but it ended by and by, and then to send up and down for a nurse to take the girle home and would have given anything. I offered to the only one that we could get 20s. per weeke, and we to find clothes, and bedding and physique, and would have given 30s., as demanded, but desired an houre or two's time. So I away by water to Westminster, and there sent for the girle's mother to Westminster Hall to me; she came and undertakes to get her daughter a lodging and nurse at next doore to her, though she dare not, for the parish's sake, whose sexton her husband is, to [have] her into her owne house. Thence home, calling at my bookseller's and other trifling places, and in the evening the mother come and with a nurse she has got, who demanded and I did agree at 10s. per weeke to take her, and so she away, and my house mighty uncouth, having so few in it, and we shall want a servant or two by it, and the truth is my heart was a little sad all the afternoon and jealous of myself. But she went, and we all glad of it, and so a little to the office, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up and by water to Westminster to Charing Cross (Mr. Gregory for company with me) to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, who was not within. So I took Gregory to White Hall, and there spoke with Joseph Williamson to have leave in the next Gazette to have a general pay for the Chest at Chatham declared upon such a day in June. Here I left Gregory, and I by coach back again to Sir Philip Warwicke's, and in the Park met him walking, so discoursed about the business of striking a quarter's tallys for Tangier, due this day, which he hath promised to get my Lord Treasurer's warrant for, and so away hence, and to Mr. Hales, to see what he had done to Mrs. Pierces picture, and whatever he pretends, I do not think it will ever be so good a picture as my wife's. Thence home to the office a little and then to dinner, and had a great fray with my wife again about Browne's coming to teach her to paynt, and sitting with me at table, which I will not yield to. I do thoroughly believe she means no hurte in it; but very angry we were, and I resolved all into my having my will done, without disputing, be the reason what it will; and so I will have it. After dinner abroad again and to the New Exchange about play books, and to White Hall, thinking to have met Sir G. Carteret, but failed. So to the Swan at Westminster, and there spent a quarter of an hour with Jane, and thence away home, and my wife coming home by and by (having been at her mother's to pray her to look out for a mayde for her) by coach into the fields to Bow, and so home back in the evening, late home, and after supper to bed, being much out of order for lack of somebody in the room of Su. This evening, being weary of my late idle courses, and the little good I shall do the King or myself in the office, I bound myself to very strict rules till Whitsunday next. 5th. At the office all the morning. After dinner upon a letter from the fleete from Sir W. Coventry I did do a great deale of worke for the sending away of the victuallers that are in the river, &c., too much to remember. Till 10 at night busy about letters and other necessary matter of the office. About 11 home, it being a fine moonshine and so my wife and Mercer come into the garden, and, my business being done, we sang till about twelve at night, with mighty pleasure to ourselves and neighbours, by their casements opening, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). To church. Home, and after dinner walked to White Hall, thinking to have seen Mr. Coventry, but failed, and therefore walked clear on foot back again. Busy till night in fitting my Victualling papers in order, which I through my multitude of business and pleasure have not examined these several months. Walked back again home, and so to the Victualling Office, where I met Mr. Gawden, and have received some satisfaction, though it be short of what I expected, and what might be expected from me. So after evened I have gone, and so to supper and to bed. 7th. Up betimes to set my Victualling papers in order against Sir W. Coventry comes, which indeed makes me very melancholy, being conscious that I am much to seeke in giving a good answer to his queries about the Victualling business. At the office mighty busy, and brought myself into a pretty plausible condition before Sir W. Coventry come, and did give him a pretty tolerable account of every thing and went with him into the Victualling office, where we sat and examined his businesses and state of the victualling of the fleete, which made me in my heart blushe that I could say no more to it than I did or could. But I trust in God I shall never be in that condition again. We parted, and I with pretty good grace, and so home to dinner, where my wife troubled more and more with her swollen cheek. So to dinner, my sister-in-law with us, who I find more and more a witty woman; and then I to my Lord Treasurer's and the Exchequer about my Tangier businesses, and with my content passed by all things and persons without so much as desiring any stay or loss of time with them, being by strong vowe obliged on no occasion to stay abroad but my publique offices. So home again, where I find Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Ferrers come to see my wife. I staid a little with them, being full of business, and so to the office, where busy till late at night and so weary and a little conscious of my failures to-day, yet proud that the day is over without more observation on Sir W. Coventry's part, and so to bed and to sleepe soundly. 8th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon dined at home, my wife's cheek bad still. After dinner to the office again and thither comes Mr. Downing, the anchor-smith, who had given me 50 pieces in gold the last month to speake for him to Sir W. Coventry, for his being smith at Deptford; but after I had got it granted to him, he finds himself not fit to go on with it, so lets it fall. So has no benefit of my motion. I therefore in honour and conscience took him home the money, and, though much to my grief, did yet willingly and forcibly force him to take it again, the poor man having no mind to have it. However, I made him take it, and away he went, and I glad to have given him so much cause to speake well of me. So to my office again late, and then home to supper to a good lobster with my wife, and then a little to my office again, and so to bed. 9th. Up by five o'clock, which I have not a long time done, and down the river by water to Deptford, among other things to examine the state of Ironworke, in order to the doing something with reference to Downing that may induce him to returne me the 50 pieces. Walked back again reading of my Civill Law Book, and so home and by coach to White Hall, where we did our usual business before the Duke, and heard the Duke commend Deane's ship "The Rupert" before "The Defyance," built lately by Castle, in hearing of Sir W. Batten, which pleased me mightily. Thence by water to Westminster, and there looked after my Tangier order, and so by coach to Mrs. Pierces, thinking to have gone to Hales's, but she was not ready, so away home and to dinner, and after dinner out by coach to Lovett's to have forwarded what I have doing there, but find him and his pretty wife gone to my house to show me something. So away to my Lord Treasurer's, and thence to Pierces, where I find Knipp, and I took them to Hales's to see our pictures finished, which are very pretty, but I like not hers half so well as I thought at first, it being not so like, nor so well painted as I expected, or as mine and my wife's are. Thence with them to Cornhill to call and choose a chimney-piece for Pierces closett, and so home, where my wife in mighty pain and mightily vexed at my being abroad with these women; and when they were gone called them whores and I know not what, which vexed me, having been so innocent with them. So I with them to Mrs. Turner's and there sat with them a while, anon my wife sends for me, I come, and what was it but to scold at me and she would go abroad to take the ayre presently, that she would. So I left my company and went with her to Bow, but was vexed and spoke not one word to her all the way going nor coming, or being come home, but went up straight to bed. Half an hour after (she in the coach leaning on me as being desirous to be friends) she comes up mighty sicke with a fit of the cholique and in mighty pain and calls for me out of the bed; I rose and held her, she prays me to forgive her, and in mighty pain we put her to bed, where the pain ceased by and by, and so had some asparagus to our bed side for supper and very kindly afterward to sleepe and good friends in the morning. 10th. So up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner and there busy all the afternoon till past six o'clock, and then abroad with my wife by coach, who is now at great ease, her cheeke being broke inward. We took with us Mrs. Turner, who was come to visit my wife just as we were going out. A great deale of tittle tattle discourse to little purpose, I finding her, though in other things a very discreete woman, as very a gossip speaking of her neighbours as any body. Going out towards Hackney by coach for the ayre, the silly coachman carries us to Shoreditch, which was so pleasant a piece of simplicity in him and us, that made us mighty merry. So back again late, it being wondrous hot all the day and night and it lightning exceeding all the way we went and came, but without thunder. Coming home we called at a little ale-house, and had an eele pye, of which my wife eat part and brought home the rest. So being come home we to supper and to bed. This day come our new cook maid Mary, commended by Mrs. Batters. 11th. Up betimes, and then away with Mr. Yeabsly to my Lord Ashly's, whither by and by comes Sir H. Cholmly and Creed, and then to my Lord, and there entered into examination of Mr. Yeabsly's accounts, wherein as in all other things I find him one of the most distinct men that ever I did see in my life. He raised many scruples which were to be answered another day and so parted, giving me an alarme how to provide myself against the day of my passing my accounts. Thence I to Westminster to look after the striking of my tallys, but nothing done or to be done therein. So to the 'Change, to speake with Captain Cocke, among other things about getting of the silver plates of him, which he promises to do; but in discourse he tells me that I should beware of my fellow-officers; and by name told me that my Lord Bruncker should say in his hearing, before Sir W. Batten, of me, that he could undo the man, if he would; wherein I think he is a foole; but, however, it is requisite I be prepared against the man's friendship. Thence home to dinner alone, my wife being abroad. After dinner to the setting some things in order in my dining-room; and by and by comes my wife home and Mrs. Pierce with her, so I lost most of this afternoon with them, and in the evening abroad with them, our long tour by coach, to Hackney, so to Kingsland, and then to Islington, there entertaining them by candlelight very well, and so home with her, set her down, and so home and to bed. 12th. Up to the office very betimes to draw up a letter for the Duke of Yorke relating to him the badness of our condition in this office for want of money. That being in good time done we met at the office and there sat all the morning. At noon home, where I find my wife troubled still at my checking her last night in the coach in her long stories out of Grand Cyrus, which she would tell, though nothing to the purpose, nor in any good manner. [Sir Walter Scott observes, in his "Life of Dryden," that the romances of Calprenede and Scuderi, those ponderous and unmerciful folios, now consigned to oblivion, were, in their day, not only universally read and admired, but supposed to furnish the most perfect models of gallantry and heroism. Dr. Johnson read them all. "I have," says Mrs. Chapone, "and yet I am still alive, dragged through 'Le Grand Cyrus,' in twelve huge volumes; 'Cleopatra,' in eight or ten; 'Ibrahim,' 'Clelie,' and some others, whose names, as well as all the rest of them, I have forgotten" ("Letters to Mrs. Carter"). No wonder that Pepys sat on thorns, when his wife began to recite "Le Grand Cyrus" in the coach, "and trembled at the impending tale."--B.] This she took unkindly, and I think I was to blame indeed; but she do find with reason, that in the company of Pierce, Knipp, or other women that I love, I do not value her, or mind her as I ought. However very good friends by and by, and to dinner, and after dinner up to the putting our dining room in order, which will be clean again anon, but not as it is to be because of the pictures which are not come home. To the office and did much business, in the evening to Westminster and White Hall about business and among other things met Sir G. Downing on White Hall bridge, and there walked half an hour, talking of the success of the late new Act; and indeed it is very much, that that hath stood really in the room of L800,000 now since Christmas, being itself but L1,250,000. And so I do really take it to be a very considerable thing done by him; for the beginning, end, and every part of it, is to be imputed to him. So home by water, and there hard till 12 at night at work finishing the great letter to the Duke of Yorke against to-morrow morning, and so home to bed. This day come home again my little girle Susan, her sicknesse proving an ague, and she had a fit soon almost as she come home. The fleete is not yet gone from the Nore. The plague encreases in many places, and is 53 this week with us. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to White Hall, where we all met to present a letter to the Duke of Yorke, complaining solemnly of the want of money, and that being done, I to and again up and down Westminster, thinking to have spent a little time with Sarah at the Swan, or Mrs. Martin, but was disappointed in both, so walked the greatest part of the way home, where comes Mr. Symons, my old acquaintance, to dine with me, and I made myself as good company as I could to him, but he was mighty impertinent methought too yet, and thereby I see the difference between myself now and what it was heretofore, when I reckoned him a very brave fellow. After dinner he and I walked together as far as Cheapside, and I quite through to Westminster again, and fell by chance into St. Margett's' Church, where I heard a young man play the foole upon the doctrine of purgatory. At this church I spied Betty Howlett, who indeed is mighty pretty, and struck me mightily. After church time, standing in the Church yarde, she spied me, so I went to her, her father and mother and husband being with her. They desired and I agreed to go home with Mr. Michell, and there had the opportunity to have saluted two or three times Betty and make an acquaintance which they are pleased with, though not so much as I am or they think I am. I staid here an houre or more chatting with them in a little sorry garden of theirs by the Bowling Alley, and so left them and I by water home, and there was in great pain in mind lest Sir W. Pen, who is going down to the Fleete, should come to me or send for me to be informed in the state of things, and particularly the Victualling, that by my pains he might seem wise. So after spending an houre with my wife pleasantly in her closett, I to bed even by daylight. 14th. Comes betimes a letter from Sir W. Coventry, that he and Sir G. Carteret are ordered presently down to the Fleete. I up and saw Sir W. Pen gone also after them, and so I finding it a leisure day fell to making cleane my closett in my office, which I did to my content and set up my Platts again, being much taken also with Griffin's mayde, that did cleane it, being a pretty mayde. I left her at it, and toward Westminster myself with my wife by coach and meeting took up Mr. Lovett the varnisher with us, who is a pleasant speaking and humoured man, so my wife much taken with him, and a good deale of worke I believe I shall procure him. I left my wife at the New Exchange and myself to the Exchequer, to looke after my Tangier tallys, and there met Sir G. Downing, who shewed me his present practise now begun this day to paste up upon the Exchequer door a note of what orders upon the new Act are paid and now in paying, and my Lord of Oxford coming by, also took him, and shewed him his whole method of keeping his books, and everything of it, which indeed is very pretty, and at this day there is assigned upon the Act L804,000. Thence at the New Exchange took up my wife again, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to my office again to set things in order. In the evening out with my wife and my aunt Wight, to take the ayre, and happened to have a pleasant race between our hackney-coach and a gentleman's. At Bow we eat and drank and so back again, it being very cool in the evening. Having set home my aunt and come home, I fell to examine my wife's kitchen book, and find 20s. mistake, which made me mighty angry and great difference between us, and so in the difference to bed. 15th. Up and to the office, where we met and sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Sir Philip Warwicke's, he having sent for me, but was not within, so I to my Lord Crew's, who is very lately come to towne, and with him talking half an houre of the business of the warr, wherein he is very doubtful, from our want of money, that we shall fail. And I do concur with him therein. After some little discourse of ordinary matters, I away to Sir Philip Warwicke's again, and was come in, and gone out to my Lord Treasurer's; whither I followed him, and there my business was, to be told that my Lord Treasurer hath got L10,000 for us in the Navy, to answer our great necessities, which I did thank him for; but the sum is not considerable. So home, and there busy all the afternoon till night, and then home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up very betimes, and so down the river to Deptford to look after some business, being by and by to attend the Duke and Mr. Coventry, and so I was wiling to carry something fresh that I may look as a man minding business, which I have done too much for a great while to forfeit, and is now so great a burden upon my mind night and day that I do not enjoy myself in the world almost. I walked thither, and come back again by water, and so to White Hall, and did our usual business before the Duke, and so to the Exchequer, where the lazy rogues have not yet done my tallys, which vexes me. Thence to Mr. Hales, and paid him for my picture, and Mr. Hill's, for the first L14 for the picture, and 25s. for the frame, and for the other L7 for the picture, it being a copy of his only, and 5s. for the frame; in all, L22 10s. I am very well satisfied in my pictures, and so took them in another coach home along with me, and there with great pleasure my wife and I hung them up, and, that being done, to dinner, where Mrs. Barbara Sheldon come to see us and dined with us, and we kept her all the day with us, I going down to Deptford, and, Lord! to see with what itching desire I did endeavour to see Bagwell's wife, but failed, for which I am glad, only I observe the folly of my mind that cannot refrain from pleasure at a season above all others in my life requisite for me to shew my utmost care in. I walked both going and coming, spending my time reading of my Civill and Ecclesiastical Law book. Being returned home, I took my wife and Mrs. Barbary and Mercer out by coach and went our Grand Tour, and baited at Islington, and so late home about 11 at night, and so with much pleasure to bed. 17th. Up, lying long, being wearied yesterday with long walking. So to the office, where all the morning with fresh occasion of vexing at myself for my late neglect of business, by which I cannot appear half so usefull as I used to do. Home at noon to dinner, and then to my office again, where I could not hold my eyes open for an houre, but I drowsed (so little sensible I apprehend my soul is of the necessity of minding business), but I anon wakened and minded my business, and did a great deale with very great pleasure, and so home at night to supper and to bed, mightily pleased with myself for the business that I have done, and convinced that if I would but keepe constantly to do the same I might have leisure enough and yet do all my business, and by the grace of God so I will. So to bed. 18th. Up by 5 o'clock, and so down by water to Deptford and Blackewall to dispatch some business. So walked to Dickeshoare, and there took boat again and home, and thence to Westminster, and attended all the morning on the Exchequer for a quarter's tallys for Tangier. But, Lord! to see what a dull, heavy sort of people they are there would make a man mad. At noon had them and carried them home, and there dined with great content with my people, and within and at the office all the afternoon and night, and so home to settle some papers there, and so to bed, being not very well, having eaten too much lobster at noon at dinner with Mr. Hollyard, he coming in and commending it so much. 19th. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon took Mr. Deane (lately come to towne) home with me to dinner, and there after giving him some reprimands and good advice about his deportment in the place where by my interest he is at Harwich, and then declaring my resolution of being his friend still, we did then fall to discourse about his ship "Rupert," built by him there, which succeeds so well as he hath got great honour by it, and I some by recommending him; the King, Duke, and every body saying it is the best ship that was ever built. And then he fell to explain to me his manner of casting the draught of water which a ship will draw before-hand: which is a secret the King and all admire in him; and he is the first that hath come to any certainty before-hand, of foretelling the draught of water of a ship before she be launched. I must confess I am much pleased in his successe in this business, and do admire at the confidence of Castle who did undervalue the draught Deane sent up to me, that I was ashamed to owne it or him, Castle asking of me upon the first sight of it whether he that laid it down had ever built a ship or no, which made me the more doubtfull of him. He being gone, I to the office, where much business and many persons to speake with me. Late home and to bed, glad to be at a little quiett. 20th (Lord's day). With my wife to church in the morning. At noon dined mighty nobly, ourselves alone. After dinner my wife and Mercer by coach to Greenwich, to be gossip to Mrs. Daniel's child. I out to Westminster, and straight to Mrs. Martin's, and there did what I would with her, she staying at home all the day for me; and not being well pleased with her over free and loose company, I away to Westminster Abbey, and there fell in discourse with Mr. Blagrave, whom I find a sober politique man, that gets money and increase of places, and thence by coach home, and thence by water after I had discoursed awhile with Mr. Yeabsly, whom I met and took up in my coach with me, and who hath this day presented my Lord Ashly with L100 to bespeak his friendship to him in his accounts now before us; and my Lord hath received it, and so I believe is as bad, as to bribes, as what the world says of him. Calling on all the Victualling ships to know what they had of their complements, and so to Deptford, to enquire after a little business there, and thence by water back again, all the way coming and going reading my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae," which I can never read too often, and so back home, and there find my wife come home, much pleased with the reception she had there, and she was godmother, and did hold the child at the Font, and it is called John. So back again home, and after setting my papers in order and supping, to bed, desirous to rise betimes in the morning. 21st. Up between 4 and 5 o'clock and to set several papers to rights, and so to the office, where we had an extraordinary meeting. But, Lord! how it torments me to find myself so unable to give an account of my Victualling business, which puts me out of heart in every thing else, so that I never had a greater shame upon me in my owne mind, nor more trouble as to publique business than I have now, but I will get out of it as soon as possibly I can. At noon dined at home, and after dinner comes in my wife's brother Balty and his wife, he being stepped ashore from the fleete for a day or two. I away in some haste to my Lord Ashly, where it is stupendous to see how favourably, and yet closely, my Lord Ashly carries himself to Mr. Yeabsly, in his business, so as I think we shall do his business for him in very good manner. But it is a most extraordinary thing to observe, and that which I would not but have had the observation of for a great deal of money. Being done there, and much forwarded Yeabsly's business, I with Sir H. Cholmly to my Lord Bellassis, who is lately come from Tangier to visit him, but is not within. So to Westminster Hall a little about business and so home by water, and then out with my wife, her brother, sister, and Mercer to Islington, our grand tour, and there eat and drank. But in discourse I am infinitely pleased with Balty, his deportment in his business of Muster-Master, and hope mighty well from him, and am glad with all my heart I put him into this business. Late home and to bed, they also lying at my house, he intending to go away to-morrow back again to sea. 22nd. Up betimes and to my business of entering some Tangier payments in my book in order, and then to the office, where very busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, Balty being gone back to sea and his wife dining with us, whom afterward my wife carried home. I after dinner to the office, and anon out on several occasions, among others to Lovett's, and there staid by him and her and saw them (in their poor conditioned manner) lay on their varnish, which however pleased me mightily to see. Thence home to my business writing letters, and so at night home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up by 5 o'clock and to my chamber settling several matters in order. So out toward White Hall, calling in my way on my Lord Bellassis, where I come to his bedside, and did give me a full and long account of his matters, how he left them at Tangier. Declares himself fully satisfied with my care: seems cunningly to argue for encreasing the number of men there. Told me the whole story of his gains by the Turky prizes, which he owns he hath got about L5000 by. Promised me the same profits Povy was to have had; and in fine, I find him a pretty subtle man; and so I left him, and to White Hall before the Duke and did our usual business, and eased my mind of two or three things of weight that lay upon me about Lanyon's salary, which I have got to be L150 per annum. Thence to Westminster to look after getting some little for some great tallys, but shall find trouble in it. Thence homeward and met with Sir Philip Warwicke, and spoke about this, in which he is scrupulous. After that to talk of the wants of the Navy. He lays all the fault now upon the new Act, and owns his owne folly in thinking once so well of it as to give way to others' endeavours about it, and is grieved at heart to see what passe things are like to come to. Thence to the Excise Office to the Commissioners to get a meeting between them and myself and others about our concernments in the Excise for Tangier, and so to the 'Change awhile, and thence home with Creed, and find my wife at dinner with Mr. Cooke, who is going down to Hinchinbrooke. After dinner Creed and I and wife and Mercer out by coach, leaving them at the New Exchange, while I to White Hall, and there staid at Sir G. Carteret's chamber till the Council rose, and then he and I, by agreement this morning, went forth in his coach by Tiburne, to the Parke; discoursing of the state of the Navy as to money, and the state of the Kingdom too, how ill able to raise more: and of our office as to the condition of the officers; he giving me caution as to myself, that there are those that are my enemies as well as his, and by name my Lord Bruncker, who hath said some odd speeches against me. So that he advises me to stand on my guard; which I shall do, and unless my too-much addiction to pleasure undo me, will be acute enough for any of them. We rode to and again in the Parke a good while, and at last home and set me down at Charing Crosse, and thence I to Mrs. Pierces to take up my wife and Mercer, where I find her new picture by Hales do not please her, nor me indeed, it making no show, nor is very like, nor no good painting. Home to supper and to bed, having my right eye sore and full of humour of late, I think, by my late change of my brewer, and having of 8s. beer. 24th. Up very betimes, and did much business in my chamber. Then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon rose in the pleasantest humour I have seen Sir W. Coventry and the whole board in this twelvemonth from a pleasant crossing humour Sir W. Batten was in, he being hungry, and desirous to be gone. Home, and Mr. Hunt come to dine with me, but I was prevented dining till 4 o'clock by Sir H. Cholmly and Sir J. Bankes's coming in about some Tangier business. They gone I to dinner, the others having dined. Mr. Sheply is also newly come out of the country and come to see us, whom I am glad to see. He left all well there; but I perceive under some discontent in my Lord's behalfe, thinking that he is under disgrace with the King; but he is not so at all, as Sir G. Carteret assures me. They gone I to the office and did business, and so in the evening abroad alone with my wife to Kingsland, and so back again and to bed, my right eye continuing very ill of the rheum, which hath troubled it four or five days. 25th. Up betimes and to my chamber to do business, where the greatest part of the morning. Then out to the 'Change to speake with Captain [Cocke], who tells me my silver plates are ready for me, and shall be sent me speedily; and proposes another proposition of serving us with a thousand tons of hempe, and tells me it shall bring me 6500, if the bargain go forward, which is a good word. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, who is at the pay of the tickets with Sir J. Minnes this day, and here I sat with them a while, the first time I ever was there, and thence to dinner with him, a good dinner. Here come a gentleman over from France arrived here this day, Mr. Browne of St. Mellos, who, among other things, tells me the meaning of the setting out of doggs every night out of the towne walls, which are said to secure the city; but it is not so, but only to secure the anchors, cables, and ships that lie dry, which might otherwise in the night be liable to be robbed. And these doggs are set out every night, and called together in every morning by a man with a home, and they go in very orderly. Thence home, and there find Knipp at dinner with my wife, now very big, and within a fortnight of lying down. But my head was full of business and so could have no sport. So I left them, promising to return and take them out at night, and so to the Excise Office, where a meeting was appointed of Sir Stephen Fox, the Cofferer, and myself, to settle the business of our tallys, and it was so pretty well against another meeting. Thence away home to the office and out again to Captain Cocke (Mr. Moore for company walking with me and discoursing and admiring of the learning of Dr. Spencer), and there he and I discoursed a little more of our matters, and so home, and (Knipp being gone) took out my wife and Mercer to take the ayre a little, and so as far as Hackney and back again, and then to bed. 26th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home. So to the office again, and a while at the Victualling Office to understand matters there a little, and thence to the office and despatched much business, to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Rose betimes, and to my office till church time to write two copies of my Will fair, bearing date this day, wherein I have given my sister Pall L500, my father for his owne and my mother's support L2,000, to my wife the rest of my estate, but to have L2500 secured to her, though by deducting out of what I have given my father and my sister. I dispatched all before church time and then to church, my wife with me. Thence home to dinner, whither come my uncle Wight, and aunt and uncle Norbury, and Mr. Shepley. A good dinner and very merry. After dinner we broke up and I by water to Westminster to Mrs. Martin's, and there sat with her and her husband and Mrs. Burrows, the pretty, an hour or two, then to the Swan a while, and so home by water, and with my wife by and by by water as low as Greenwich, for ayre only, and so back again home to supper and to bed with great pleasure. 28th. Up and to my chamber to do some business there, and then to the office, where a while, and then by agreement to the Excise Office, where I waited all the morning for the Cofferer and Sir St. Foxe's coming, but they did not, so I and the Commissioners lost their labour and expectation of doing the business we intended. Thence home, where I find Mr. Lovett and his wife came to see us. They are a pretty couple, and she a fine bred woman. They dined with us, and Browne, the paynter, and she plays finely on the lute. My wife and I were well pleased with her company. After dinner broke up, I to the office and they abroad. All the afternoon I busy at the office, and down by water to Deptford. Walked back to Redriffe, and so home to the office again, being thoughtfull how to answer Sir W. Coventry against to-morrow in the business of the Victualling, but that I do trust to Tom Wilson, that he will be ready with a book for me to-morrow morning. So to bed, my wife telling me where she hath been to-day with my aunt Wight, and seen Mrs. Margaret Wight, and says that she is one of the beautifullest women that ever she saw in her life, the most excellent nose and mouth. They have been also to see pretty Mrs. Batelier, and conclude her to be a prettier woman than Mrs. Pierce, whom my wife led my aunt to see also this day. 29th (King's birth-day and Restauration day). Waked with the ringing of the bells all over the towne; so up before five o'clock, and to the office, where we met, and I all the morning with great trouble upon my spirit to think how I should come off in the afternoon when Sir W. Coventry did go to the Victualling office to see the state of matters there, and methinks by his doing of it without speaking to me, and only with Sir W. Pen, it must be of design to find my negligence. However, at noon I did, upon a small invitation of Sir W. Pen's, go and dine with Sir W. Coventry at his office, where great good cheer and many pleasant stories of Sir W. Coventry; but I had no pleasure in them. However, I had last night and this morning made myself a little able to report how matters were, and did readily go with them after dinner to the Victualling office; and there, beyond belief, did acquit myself very well to full content; so that, beyond expectation, I got over this second rub in this business; and if ever I fall on it again, I deserve to be undone. Being broke up there, I with a merry heart home to my office, and thither my wife comes to me, to tell me, that if I would see the handsomest woman in England, I shall come home presently; and who should it be but the pretty lady of our parish, that did heretofore sit on the other side of our church, over against our gallery, that is since married; she with Mrs. Anne Jones, one of this parish, that dances finely, and Mrs. sister did come to see her this afternoon, and so I home and there find Creed also come to me. So there I spent most of the afternoon with them, and indeed she is a pretty black woman, her name Mrs. Horsely. But, Lord! to see how my nature could not refrain from the temptation; but I must invite them to Foxhall, to Spring Gardens, though I had freshly received minutes of a great deale of extraordinary business. However I could not helpe it, but sent them before with Creed, and I did some of my business; and so after them, and find them there, in an arbour, and had met with Mrs. Pierce, and some company with her. So here I spent 20s. upon them, and were pretty merry. Among other things, had a fellow that imitated all manner of birds, and doggs, and hogs, with his voice, which was mighty pleasant. Staid here till night: then set Mrs. Pierce in at the New Exchange; and ourselves took coach, and so set Mrs. Horsely home, and then home ourselves, but with great trouble in the streets by bonefires, it being the King's birth-day and day of Restauration; but, Lord! to see the difference how many there were on the other side, and so few ours, the City side of the Temple, would make one wonder the difference between the temper of one sort of people and the other: and the difference among all between what they do now, and what it was the night when Monk come into the City. Such a night as that I never think to see again, nor think it can be. After I come home I was till one in the morning with Captain Cocke drawing up a contract with him intended to be offered to the Duke to-morrow, which, if it proceeds, he promises me L500. 30th. Up and to my office, there to settle some business in order.to our waiting on the Duke to-day. That done to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, where I find the Duke gone out with the King to-day on hunting. So after some discourse with him, I by water to Westminster, and there drew a draught of an order for my Lord Treasurer to sign for my having some little tallys made me in lieu of two great ones, of L2000 each, to enable me to pay small sums therewith. I shewed it to Sir R. Long and had his approbation, and so to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, and did give it him to get signed. So home to my office, and there did business. By and by toward noon word is brought me that my father and my sister are come. I expected them to-day, but not so soon. I to them, and am heartily glad to see them, especially my father, who, poor man, looks very well, and hath rode up this journey on horseback very well, only his eyesight and hearing is very bad. I staid and dined with them, my wife being gone by coach to Barnet, with W. Hewer and Mercer, to meet them, and they did come Ware way. After dinner I left them to dress themselves and I abroad by appointment to my Lord Ashly, who, it is strange to see, how prettily he dissembles his favour to Yeabsly's business, which none in the world could mistrust only I, that am privy to his being bribed. Thence to White Hall, and there staid till the Council was up, with Creed expecting a meeting of Tangier to end Yeabsly's business, but we could not procure it. So I to my Lord Treasurer's and got my warrant, and then to Lovett's, but find nothing done there. So home and did a little business at the office, and so down by water to Deptford and back again home late, and having signed some papers and given order in business, home, where my wife is come home, and so to supper with my father, and mighty pleasant we were, and my wife mighty kind to him and Pall, and so after supper to bed, myself being sleepy, and my right eye still very sore, as it has been now about five days or six, which puts me out of tune. To-night my wife tells me newes has been brought her that Balty's wife is brought to bed, by some fall or fit, before her time, of a great child but dead. If the woman do well we have no reason to be sorry, because his staying a little longer without a child will be better for him and her. 31st. Waked very betimes in the morning by extraordinary thunder and rain, which did keep me sleeping and waking till very late, and it being a holiday and my eye very sore, and myself having had very little sleep for a good while till nine o'clock, and so up, and so saw all my family up, and my father and sister, who is a pretty good-bodied woman, and not over thicke, as I thought she would have been, but full of freckles, and not handsome in face. And so I out by water among the ships, and to Deptford and Blackewall about business, and so home and to dinner with my father and sister and family, mighty pleasant all of us; and, among other things, with a sparrow that our Mercer hath brought up now for three weeks, which is so tame that it flies up and down, and upon the table, and eats and pecks, and do everything so pleasantly, that we are mightily pleased with it. After dinner I to my papers and accounts of this month to sett all straight, it being a publique Fast-day appointed to pray for the good successe of the fleete. But it is a pretty thing to consider how little a matter they make of this keeping of a Fast, that it was not so much as declared time enough to be read in the churches the last Sunday; but ordered by proclamation since: I suppose upon some sudden newes of the Dutch being come out. To my accounts and settled them clear; but to my grief find myself poorer than I was the last by near L20, by reason of my being forced to return L50 to Downing, the smith, which he had presented me with. However, I am well contented, finding myself yet to be worth L5,200. Having done, to supper with my wife, and then to finish the writing fair of my accounts, and so to bed. This day come to town Mr. Homewood, and I took him home in the evening to my chamber, and discoursed with him about my business of the Victualling, which I have a mind to employ him in, and he is desirous of also, but do very ingenuously declare he understands it not so well as other things, and desires to be informed in the nature of it before he attempts it, which I like well, and so I carried him to Mr. Gibson to discourse with him about it, and so home again to my accounts. Thus ends this month, with my mind oppressed by my defect in my duty of the Victualling, which lies upon me as a burden, till I get myself into a better posture therein, and hinders me and casts down my courage in every thing else that belongs to me, and the jealousy I have of Sir W. Coventry's being displeased with me about it; but I hope in a little time to remedy all. As to publique business; by late tidings of the French fleete being come to Rochelle (how true, though, I know not) our fleete is divided; Prince Rupert being gone with about thirty ships to the Westward as is conceived to meet the French, to hinder their coming to join with the Dutch. My Lord Duke of Albemarle lies in the Downes with the rest, and intends presently to sail to the Gunfleete. JUNE 1666 June 1st. Being prevented yesterday in meeting by reason of the fast day, we met to-day all the morning. At noon I and my father, wife and sister, dined at Aunt Wight's here hard by at Mr. Woolly's, upon sudden warning, they being to go out of town to-morrow. Here dined the faire Mrs. Margaret Wight, who is a very fine lady, but the cast of her eye, got only by an ill habit, do her much wrong and her hands are bad; but she hath the face of a noble Roman lady. After dinner my uncle and Woolly and I out into their yarde, to talke about what may be done hereafter to all our profits by prizegoods, which did give us reason to lament the losse of the opportunity of the last yeare, which, if we were as wise as we are now, and at the peaceable end of all those troubles that we met with, all might have been such a hit as will never come again in this age, and so I do really believe it. Thence home to my office and there did much business, and at night home to my father to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where certain newes is brought us of a letter come to the King this morning from the Duke of Albemarle, dated yesterday at eleven o'clock, as they were sailing to the Gunfleete, that they were in sight of the Dutch fleete, and were fitting themselves to fight them; so that they are, ere this, certainly engaged; besides, several do averr they heard the guns all yesterday in the afternoon. This put us at the Board into a tosse. Presently come orders for our sending away to the fleete a recruite of 200 soldiers. So I rose from the table, and to the Victualling office, and thence upon the River among several vessels, to consider of the sending them away; and lastly, down to Greenwich, and there appointed two yachts to be ready for them; and did order the soldiers to march to Blackewall. Having set all things in order against the next flood, I went on shore with Captain Erwin at Greenwich, and into the Parke, and there we could hear the guns from the fleete most plainly. Thence he and I to the King's Head and there bespoke a dish of steaks for our dinner about four o'clock. While that was doing, we walked to the water-side, and there seeing the King and Duke come down in their barge to Greenwich-house, I to them, and did give them an account [of] what I was doing. They went up to the Parke to hear the guns of the fleete go off. All our hopes now are that Prince Rupert with his fleete is coming back and will be with the fleete this even: a message being sent to him to that purpose on Wednesday last; and a return is come from him this morning, that he did intend to sail from St. Ellen's point about four in the afternoon on Wednesday [Friday], which was yesterday; which gives us great hopes, the wind being very fair, that he is with them this even, and the fresh going off of the guns makes us believe the same. After dinner, having nothing else to do till flood, I went and saw Mrs. Daniel, to whom I did not tell that the fleets were engaged, because of her husband, who is in the R. Charles. Very pleasant with her half an hour, and so away and down to Blackewall, and there saw the soldiers (who were by this time gotten most of them drunk) shipped off. But, Lord! to see how the poor fellows kissed their wives and sweethearts in that simple manner at their going off, and shouted, and let off their guns, was strange sport. In the evening come up the River the Katharine yacht, Captain Fazeby, who hath brought over my Lord of Alesbury and Sir Thomas Liddall (with a very pretty daughter, and in a pretty travelling-dress) from Flanders, who saw the Dutch fleete on Thursday, and ran from them; but from that houre to this hath not heard one gun, nor any newes of any fight. Having put the soldiers on board, I home and wrote what I had to write by the post, and so home to supper and to bed, it being late. 3rd (Lord's-day; Whit-sunday). Up, and by water to White Hall, and there met with Mr. Coventry, who tells me the only news from the fleete is brought by Captain Elliott, of The Portland, which, by being run on board by The Guernsey, was disabled from staying abroad; so is come in to Aldbrough. That he saw one of the Dutch great ships blown up, and three on fire. That they begun to fight on Friday; and at his coming into port, he could make another ship of the King's coming in, which he judged to be the Rupert: that he knows of no other hurt to our ships. With this good newes I home by water again, and to church in the sermon-time, and with great joy told it my fellows in the pew. So home after church time to dinner, and after dinner my father, wife, sister, and Mercer by water to Woolwich, while I walked by land, and saw the Exchange as full of people, and hath been all this noon as of any other day, only for newes. I to St. Margaret's, Westminster, and there saw at church my pretty Betty Michell, and thence to the Abbey, and so to Mrs. Martin, and there did what 'je voudrais avec her.... So by and by he come in, and after some discourse with him I away to White Hall, and there met with this bad newes farther, that the Prince come to Dover but at ten o'clock last night, and there heard nothing of a fight; so that we are defeated of all our hopes of his helpe to the fleete. It is also reported by some Victuallers that the Duke of Albemarle and Holmes their flags were shot down, and both fain to come to anchor to renew their rigging and sails. A letter is also come this afternoon, from Harman in the Henery; which is she [that] was taken by Elliott for the Rupert; that being fallen into the body of the Dutch fleete, he made his way through them, was set on by three fire-ships one after another, got two of them off, and disabled the third; was set on fire himself; upon which many of his men leapt into the sea and perished; among others, the parson first. Have lost above 100 men, and a good many women (God knows what is become of Balty), and at last quenched his own fire and got to Aldbrough; being, as all say, the greatest hazard that ever any ship escaped, and as bravely managed by him. The mast of the third fire-ship fell into their ship on fire, and hurt Harman's leg, which makes him lame now, but not dangerous. I to Sir G. Carteret, who told me there hath been great bad management in all this; that the King's orders that went on Friday for calling back the Prince, were sent but by the ordinary post on Wednesday; and come to the Prince his hands but on Friday; and then, instead of sailing presently, he stays till four in the evening. And that which is worst of all, the Hampshire, laden with merchants' money, come from the Straights, set out with or but just before the fleete, and was in the Downes by five in the clock yesterday morning; and the Prince with his fleete come to Dover but at ten of the clock at night. This is hard to answer, if it be true. This puts great astonishment into the King, and Duke, and Court, every body being out of countenance. So meeting Creed, he and I by coach to Hide Parke alone to talke of these things, and do blesse God that my Lord Sandwich was not here at this time to be concerned in a business like to be so misfortunate. It was a pleasant thing to consider how fearfull I was of being seen with Creed all this afternoon, for fear of people's thinking that by our relation to my Lord Sandwich we should be making ill construction of the Prince's failure. But, God knows, I am heartily sorry for the sake of the whole nation, though, if it were not for that, it would not be amisse to have these high blades find some checke to their presumption and their disparaging of as good men. Thence set him down in Covent Guarden and so home by the 'Change, which is full of people still, and all talk highly of the failure of the Prince in not making more haste after his instructions did come, and of our managements here in not giving it sooner and with more care and oftener. Thence. After supper to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Pen to White Hall in the latter's coach, where, when we come, we find the Duke at St. James's, whither he is lately gone to lodge. So walking through the Parke we saw hundreds of people listening at the Gravel-pits,--[Kensington]--and to and again in the Parke to hear the guns, and I saw a letter, dated last night, from Strowd, Governor of Dover Castle, which says that the Prince come thither the night before with his fleete, but that for the guns which we writ that we heard, it is only a mistake for thunder; [Evelyn was in his garden when he heard the guns, and be at once set off to Rochester and the coast, but he found that nothing had been heard at Deal (see his "Diary," June 1st, 1666).] and so far as to yesterday it is a miraculous thing that we all Friday, and Saturday and yesterday, did hear every where most plainly the guns go off, and yet at Deale and Dover to last night they did not hear one word of a fight, nor think they heard one gun. This, added to what I have set down before the other day about the Katharine, makes room for a great dispute in philosophy, how we should hear it and they not, the same wind that brought it to us being the same that should bring it to them: but so it is. Major Halsey, however (he was sent down on purpose to hear newes), did bring newes this morning that he did see the Prince and his fleete at nine of the clock yesterday morning, four or five leagues to sea behind the Goodwin, so that by the hearing of the guns this morning we conclude he is come to the fleete. After wayting upon the Duke, Sir W. Pen (who was commanded to go to-night by water down to Harwich, to dispatch away all the ships he can) and I home, drinking two bottles of Cocke ale in the streete in his new fine coach, where no sooner come, but newes is brought me of a couple of men come to speak with me from the fleete; so I down, and who should it be but Mr. Daniel, all muffled up, and his face as black as the chimney, and covered with dirt, pitch, and tarr, and powder, and muffled with dirty clouts, and his right eye stopped with okum. He is come last night at five o'clock from the fleete, with a comrade of his that hath endangered another eye. They were set on shore at Harwich this morning, and at two o'clock, in a catch with about twenty more wounded men from the Royall Charles. They being able to ride, took post about three this morning, and were here between eleven and twelve. I went presently into the coach with them, and carried them to Somerset-House-stairs, and there took water (all the world gazing upon us, and concluding it to be newes from the fleete, and every body's face appeared expecting of newes) to the Privy-stairs, and left them at Mr. Coventry's lodging (he, though, not being there); and so I into the Parke to the King, and told him my Lord Generall was well the last night at five o'clock, and the Prince come with his fleete and joyned with his about seven. The King was mightily pleased with this newes, and so took me by the hand and talked a little of it. Giving him the best account I could; and then he bid me to fetch the two seamen to him, he walking into the house. So I went and fetched the seamen into the Vane room to him, and there he heard the whole account. THE FIGHT. How we found the Dutch fleete at anchor on Friday half seas over, between Dunkirke and Ostend, and made them let slip their anchors. They about ninety, and we less than sixty. We fought them, and put them to the run, till they met with about sixteen sail of fresh ships, and so bore up again. The fight continued till night, and then again the next morning from five till seven at night. And so, too, yesterday morning they begun again, and continued till about four o'clock, they chasing us for the most part of Saturday and yesterday, we flying from them. The Duke himself, then those people were put into the catch, and by and by spied the Prince's fleete coming, upon which De Ruyter called a little council (being in chase at this time of us), and thereupon their fleete divided into two squadrons; forty in one, and about thirty in the other (the fleete being at first about ninety, but by one accident or other, supposed to be lessened to about seventy); the bigger to follow the Duke, the less to meet the Prince. But the Prince come up with the Generall's fleete, and the Dutch come together again and bore towards their own coast, and we with them; and now what the consequence of this day will be, at that time fighting, we know not. The Duke was forced to come to anchor on Friday, having lost his sails and rigging. No particular person spoken of to be hurt but Sir W. Clerke, who hath lost his leg, and bore it bravely. The Duke himself had a little hurt in his thigh, but signified little. The King did pull out of his pocket about twenty pieces in gold, and did give it Daniel for himself and his companion; and so parted, mightily pleased with the account he did give him of the fight, and the successe it ended with, of the Prince's coming, though it seems the Duke did give way again and again. The King did give order for care to be had of Mr. Daniel and his companion; and so we parted from him, and then met the Duke [of York], and gave him the same account: and so broke up, and I left them going to the surgeon's and I myself by water to the 'Change, and to several people did give account of the business. So home about four o'clock to dinner, and was followed by several people to be told the newes, and good newes it is. God send we may hear a good issue of this day's business! After I had eat something I walked to Gresham College, where I heard my Lord Bruncker was, and there got a promise of the receipt of the fine varnish, which I shall be glad to have. Thence back with Mr. Hooke to my house and there lent some of my tables of naval matters, the names of rigging and the timbers about a ship, in order to Dr. Wilkins' book coming out about the Universal Language. Thence, he being gone, to the Crown, behind the 'Change, and there supped at the club with my Lord Bruncker, Sir G. Ent, and others of Gresham College; and all our discourse is of this fight at sea, and all are doubtful of the successe, and conclude all had been lost if the Prince had not come in, they having chased us the greatest part of Saturday and Sunday. Thence with my Lord Bruncker and Creed by coach to White Hall, where fresh letters are come from Harwich, where the Gloucester, Captain Clerke, is come in, and says that on Sunday night upon coming in of the Prince, the Duke did fly; but all this day they have been fighting; therefore they did face again, to be sure. Captain Bacon of The Bristoll is killed. They cry up Jenings of The Ruby, and Saunders of The Sweepstakes. They condemn mightily Sir Thomas Teddiman for a coward, but with what reason time must shew. Having heard all this Creed and I walked into the Parke till 9 or 10 at night, it being fine moonshine, discoursing of the unhappinesse of our fleete, what it would have been if the Prince had not come in, how much the Duke hath failed of what he was so presumptuous of, how little we deserve of God Almighty to give us better fortune, how much this excuses all that was imputed to my Lord Sandwich, and how much more he is a man fit to be trusted with all those matters than those that now command, who act by nor with any advice, but rashly and without any order. How bad we are at intelligence that should give the Prince no sooner notice of any thing but let him come to Dover without notice of any fight, or where the fleete were, or any thing else, nor give the Duke any notice that he might depend upon the Prince's reserve; and lastly, of how good use all may be to checke our pride and presumption in adventuring upon hazards upon unequal force against a people that can fight, it seems now, as well as we, and that will not be discouraged by any losses, but that they will rise again. Thence by water home, and to supper (my father, wife, and sister having been at Islington today at Pitt's) and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, expecting every houre more newes of the fleete and the issue of yesterday's fight, but nothing come. At noon, though I should have dined with my Lord Mayor and Aldermen at an entertainment of Commissioner Taylor's, yet it being a time of expectation of the successe of the fleete, I did not go, but dined at home, and after dinner by water down to Deptford (and Woolwich, where I had not been since I lodged there, and methinks the place has grown natural to me), and thence down to Longreach, calling on all the ships in the way, seeing their condition for sayling, and what they want. Home about 11 of the clock, and so eat a bit and to bed, having received no manner of newes this day, but of The Rainbow's being put in from the fleete, maimed as the other ships are, and some say that Sir W. Clerke is dead of his leg being cut off. 6th. Up betimes, and vexed with my people for having a key taken out of the chamber doors and nobody knew where it was, as also with my boy for not being ready as soon as I, though I called him, whereupon I boxed him soundly, and then to my business at the office and on the Victualling Office, and thence by water to St. James's, whither he [the Duke of York] is now gone, it being a monthly fast-day for the plague. There we all met, and did our business as usual with the Duke, and among other things had Captain Cocke's proposal of East country goods read, brought by my Lord Bruncker, which I make use of as a monkey do the cat's foot. Sir W. Coventry did much oppose it, and it's likely it will not do; so away goes my hopes of L500. Thence after the Duke into the Parke, walking through to White Hall, and there every body listening for guns, but none heard, and every creature is now overjoyed and concludes upon very good grounds that the Dutch are beaten because we have heard no guns nor no newes of our fleete. By and by walking a little further, Sir Philip Frowde did meet the Duke with an expresse to Sir W. Coventry (who was by) from Captain Taylor, the Storekeeper at Harwich, being the narration of Captain Hayward of The Dunkirke; who gives a very serious account, how upon Monday the two fleetes fought all day till seven at night, and then the whole fleete of Dutch did betake themselves to a very plain flight, and never looked back again. That Sir Christopher Mings is wounded in the leg; that the Generall is well. That it is conceived reasonably, that of all the Dutch fleete, which, with what recruits they had, come to one hundred sayle, there is not above fifty got home; and of them, few if any of their flags. And that little Captain Bell, in one of the fire-ships, did at the end of the day fire a ship of 70 guns. We were all so overtaken with this good newes, that the Duke ran with it to the King, who was gone to chappell, and there all the Court was in a hubbub, being rejoiced over head and ears in this good newes. Away go I by coach to the New Exchange, and there did spread this good newes a little, though I find it had broke out before. And so home to our own church, it being the common Fast-day, and it was just before sermon; but, Lord! how all the people in the church stared upon me to see me whisper to Sir John Minnes and my Lady Pen. Anon I saw people stirring and whispering below, and by and by comes up the sexton from my Lady Ford to tell me the newes (which I had brought), being now sent into the church by Sir W. Batten in writing, and handed from pew to pew. But that which pleased me as much as the newes, was, to have the fair Mrs. Middleton at our church, who indeed is a very beautiful lady. Here after sermon comes to our office 40 people almost of all sorts and qualities to hear the newes, which I took great delight to tell them. Then home and found my wife at dinner, not knowing of my being at church, and after dinner my father and she out to Hales's, where my father is to begin to sit to-day for his picture, which I have a desire to have. I all the afternoon at home doing some business, drawing up my vowes for the rest of the yeare to Christmas; but, Lord! to see in what a condition of happiness I am, if I would but keepe myself so; but my love of pleasure is such, that my very soul is angry with itself for my vanity in so doing. Anon took coach and to Hales's, but he was gone out, and my father and wife gone. So I to Lovett's, and there to my trouble saw plainly that my project of varnished books will not take, it not keeping colour, not being able to take polishing upon a single paper. Thence home, and my father and wife not coming in, I proceeded with my coach to take a little ayre as far as Bow all alone, and there turned back and home; but before I got home, the bonefires were lighted all the towne over, and I going through Crouched Friars, seeing Mercer at her mother's gate, stopped, and 'light, and into her mother's, the first time I ever was there, and find all my people, father and all, at a very fine supper at W. Hewer's lodging, very neatly, and to my great pleasure. After supper, into his chamber, which is mighty fine with pictures and every thing else, very curious, which pleased me exceedingly. Thence to the gate, with the women all about me, and Mrs. Mercer's son had provided a great many serpents, and so I made the women all fire some serpents. By and by comes in our faire neighbour, Mrs. Turner, and two neighbour's daughters, Mrs. Tite, the elder of whom, a long red-nosed silly jade; the younger, a pretty black girle, and the merriest sprightly jade that ever I saw. With them idled away the whole night till twelve at night at the bonefire in the streets. Some of the people thereabouts going about with musquets, and did give me two or three vollies of their musquets, I giving them a crowne to drink; and so home. Mightily pleased with this happy day's newes, and the more, because confirmed by Sir Daniel Harvy, who was in the whole fight with the Generall, and tells me that there appear but thirty-six in all of the Dutch fleete left at the end of the voyage when they run home. The joy of the City was this night exceeding great. 7th. Up betimes, and to my office about business (Sir W. Coventry having sent me word that he is gone down to the fleete to see how matters stand, and to be back again speedily); and with the same expectation of congratulating ourselves with the victory that I had yesterday. But my Lord Bruncker and Sir T. H. that come from Court, tell me quite contrary newes, which astonishes me: that is to say, that we are beaten, lost many ships and good commanders; have not taken one ship of the enemy's; and so can only report ourselves a victory; nor is it certain that we were left masters of the field. But, above all, that The Prince run on shore upon the Galloper, and there stuck; was endeavoured to be fetched off by the Dutch, but could not; and so they burned her; and Sir G. Ascue is taken prisoner, and carried into Holland. This newes do much trouble me, and the thoughts of the ill consequences of it, and the pride and presumption that brought us to it. At noon to the 'Change, and there find the discourse of towne, and their countenances much changed; but yet not very plain. So home to dinner all alone, my father and people being gone all to Woolwich to see the launching of the new ship The Greenwich, built by Chr. Pett. I left alone with little Mrs. Tooker, whom I kept with me in my chamber all the afternoon, and did what I would with her. By and by comes Mr. Wayth to me; and discoursing of our ill successe, he tells me plainly from Captain Page's own mouth (who hath lost his arm in the fight), that the Dutch did pursue us two hours before they left us, and then they suffered us to go on homewards, and they retreated towards their coast: which is very sad newes. Then to my office and anon to White Hall, late, to the Duke of York to see what commands he hath and to pray a meeting to-morrow for Tangier in behalf of Mr. Yeabsly, which I did do and do find the Duke much damped in his discourse, touching the late fight, and all the Court talk sadly of it. The Duke did give me several letters he had received from the fleete, and Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen, who are gone down thither, for me to pick out some works to be done for the setting out the fleete again; and so I took them home with me, and was drawing out an abstract of them till midnight. And as to newes, I do find great reason to think that we are beaten in every respect, and that we are the losers. The Prince upon the Galloper, where both the Royall Charles and Royall Katharine had come twice aground, but got off. The Essex carried into Holland; the Swiftsure missing (Sir William Barkeley) ever since the beginning of the fight. Captains Bacon, Tearne, Wood, Mootham, Whitty, and Coppin, slayne. The Duke of Albemarle writes, that he never fought with worse officers in his life, not above twenty of them behaving themselves like men. Sir William Clerke lost his leg; and in two days died. The Loyall George, Seven Oakes, and Swiftsure, are still missing, having never, as the Generall writes himself, engaged with them. It was as great an alteration to find myself required to write a sad letter instead of a triumphant one to my Lady Sandwich this night, as ever on any occasion I had in my life. So late home and to bed. 8th. Up very betimes and to attend the Duke of York by order, all of us to report to him what the works are that are required of us and to divide among us, wherein I have taken a very good share, and more than I can perform, I doubt. Thence to the Exchequer about some Tangier businesses, and then home, where to my very great joy I find Balty come home without any hurt, after the utmost imaginable danger he hath gone through in the Henery, being upon the quarterdeck with Harman all the time; and for which service Harman I heard this day commended most seriously and most eminently by the Duke of Yorke. As also the Duke did do most utmost right to Sir Thomas Teddiman, of whom a scandal was raised, but without cause, he having behaved himself most eminently brave all the whole fight, and to extraordinary great service and purpose, having given Trump himself such a broadside as was hardly ever given to any ship. Mings is shot through the face, and into the shoulder, where the bullet is lodged. Young Holmes' is also ill wounded, and Ather in The Rupert. Balty tells me the case of The Henery; and it was, indeed, most extraordinary sad and desperate. After dinner Balty and I to my office, and there talked a great deal of this fight; and I am mightily pleased in him and have great content in, and hopes of his doing well. Thence out to White Hall to a Committee for Tangier, but it met not. But, Lord! to see how melancholy the Court is, under the thoughts of this last overthrow (for so it is), instead of a victory, so much and so unreasonably expected. Thence, the Committee not meeting, Creed and I down the river as low as Sir W. Warren's, with whom I did motion a business that may be of profit to me, about buying some lighters to send down to the fleete, wherein he will assist me. So back again, he and I talking of the late ill management of this fight, and of the ill management of fighting at all against so great a force bigger than ours, and so to the office, where we parted, but with this satisfaction that we hear the Swiftsure, Sir W. Barkeley, is come in safe to the Nore, after her being absent ever since the beginning of the fight, wherein she did not appear at all from beginning to end. But wherever she has been, they say she is arrived there well, which I pray God however may be true. At the office late, doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to St. James's, there to wait on the Duke of Yorke, and had discourse with him about several businesses of the fleete. But, Lord! to see how the Court is divided about The Swiftsure and The Essex's being safe. And wagers and odds laid on both sides. I did tell the Duke how Sir W. Batten did tell me this morning that he was sure the Swiftsure is safe. This put them all in a great joy and certainty of it, but this I doubt will prove nothing. Thence to White Ball in expectation of a meeting of Tangier, and we did industriously labour to have it this morning; but we could not get a fifth person there, so after much pains and thoughts on my side on behalfe of Yeabsly, we were fain to breake up. But, Lord! to see with what patience Lord Ashly did stay all the morning to get a Committee, little thinking that I know the reason of his willingnesse. So I home to dinner and back again to White Hall, and, being come thither a little too soon, went to Westminster Hall, and bought a payre of gloves, and to see how people do take this late fight at sea, and I find all give over the thoughts of it as a victory and to reckon it a great overthrow. So to White Hall, and there when we were come all together in certain expectation of doing our business to Yeabsly's full content, and us that were his friends, my Lord Peterborough (whether through some difference between him and my Lord Ashly, or him and me or Povy, or through the falsenesse of Creed, I know not) do bring word that the Duke of Yorke (who did expressly bid me wait at the Committee for the dispatch of the business) would not have us go forward in this business of allowing the losse of the ships till Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry were come to towne, which was the very thing indeed which we would have avoided. This being told us, we broke up doing nothing, to my great discontent, though I said nothing, and afterwards I find by my Lord Ashly's discourse to me that he is troubled mightily at it, and indeed it is a great abuse of him and of the whole Commissioners that nothing of that nature can be done without Sir G. Carteret or Sir W. Coventry. No sooner was the Committee up, and I going [through] the Court homeward, but I am told Sir W. Coventry is come to town; so I to his chamber, and there did give him an account how matters go in our office, and with some content I parted from him, after we had discoursed several things of the haste requisite to be made in getting the fleete out again and the manner of doing it. But I do not hear that he is at all pleased or satisfied with the late fight; but he tells me more newes of our suffering, by the death of one or two captains more than I knew before. But he do give over the thoughts of the safety of The Swiftsure or Essex. Thence homewards, landed at the Old Swan, and there find my pretty Betty Michell and her husband at their doore in Thames Streete, which I was glad to find, and went into their shop, and they made me drink some of their strong water, the first time I was ever with them there. I do exceedingly love her. After sitting a little and talking with them about several things at great distance I parted and home to my business late. But I am to observe how the drinking of some strong water did immediately put my eyes into a fit of sorenesse again as they were the other day. I mean my right eye only. Late at night I had an account brought me by Sir W. Warren that he has gone through four lighters for me, which pleases me very well. So home to bed, much troubled with our disappointment at the Tangier Committee. 10th (Lord's day). Up very betimes, and down the river to Deptford, and did a good deale of business in sending away and directing several things to the Fleete. That being done, back to London to my office, and there at my office till after Church time fitting some notes to carry to Sir W. Coventry in the afternoon. At noon home to dinner, where my cozen Joyces, both of them, they and their wives and little Will, come by invitation to dinner to me, and I had a good dinner for them; but, Lord! how sicke was I of W. Joyce's company, both the impertinencies of it and his ill manners before me at my table to his wife, which I could hardly forbear taking notice of; but being at my table and for his wife's sake, I did, though I will prevent his giving me the like occasion again at my house I will warrant him. After dinner I took leave and by water to White Hall, and there spent all the afternoon in the Gallery, till the Council was up, to speake with Sir W. Coventry. Walking here I met with Pierce the surgeon, who is lately come from the fleete, and tells me that all the commanders, officers, and even the common seamen do condemn every part of the late conduct of the Duke of Albemarle: both in his fighting at all, in his manner of fighting, running among them in his retreat, and running the ships on ground; so as nothing can be worse spoken of. That Holmes, Spragg, and Smith do all the business, and the old and wiser commanders nothing. So as Sir Thomas Teddiman (whom the King and all the world speak well of) is mightily discontented, as being wholly slighted. He says we lost more after the Prince come, than before too. The Prince was so maimed, as to be forced to be towed home. He says all the fleete confess their being chased home by the Dutch; and yet the body of the Dutch that did it, was not above forty sayle at most. And yet this put us into the fright, as to bring all our ships on ground. He says, however, that the Duke of Albemarle is as high almost as ever, and pleases himself to think that he hath given the Dutch their bellies full, without sense of what he hath lost us; and talks how he knows now the way to beat them. But he says, that even Smith himself, one of his creatures, did himself condemn the late conduct from the beginning to the end. He tells me further, how the Duke of Yorke is wholly given up to his new mistresse, my Lady Denham, going at noon-day with all his gentlemen with him to visit her in Scotland Yard; she declaring she will not be his mistresse, as Mrs. Price, to go up and down the Privy-stairs, but will be owned publicly; and so she is. Mr. Bruncker, it seems, was the pimp to bring it about, and my Lady Castlemaine, who designs thereby to fortify herself by the Duke; there being a falling-out the other day between the King and her: on this occasion, the Queene, in ordinary talke before the ladies in her drawing-room, did say to my Lady Castlemaine that she feared the King did take cold, by staying so late abroad at her house. She answered before them all, that he did not stay so late abroad with her, for he went betimes thence (though he do not before one, two, or three in the morning), but must stay somewhere else. The King then coming in and overhearing, did whisper in the eare aside, and told her she was a bold impertinent woman, and bid her to be gone out of the Court, and not come again till he sent for, her; which she did presently, and went to a lodging in the Pell Mell, and kept there two or three days, and then sent to the King to know whether she might send for her things away out of her house. The King sent to her, she must first come and view them: and so she come, and the King went to her, and all friends again. He tells me she did, in her anger, say she would be even with the King, and print his letters to her. So putting all together, we are and are like to be in a sad condition. We are endeavouring to raise money by borrowing it of the City; but I do not think the City will lend a farthing. By and by the Council broke up, and I spoke with Sir W. Coventry about business, with whom I doubt not in a little time to be mighty well, when I shall appear to mind my business again as I used to do, which by the grace of God I will do. Gone from him I endeavoured to find out Sir G. Carteret, and at last did at Mr. Ashburnham's, in the Old Palace Yarde, and thence he and I stepped out and walked an houre in the church-yarde, under Henry the Seventh's Chappell, he being lately come from the fleete; and tells me, as I hear from every body else, that the management in the late fight was bad from top to bottom. That several said this would not have been if my Lord Sandwich had had the ordering of it. Nay, he tells me that certainly had my Lord Sandwich had the misfortune to have done as they have done, the King could not have saved him. There is, too, nothing but discontent among the officers; and all the old experienced men are slighted. He tells me to my question (but as a great secret), that the dividing of the fleete did proceed first from a proposition from the fleete, though agreed to hence. But he confesses it arose from want of due intelligence, which he confesses we do want. He do, however, call the fleete's retreat on Sunday a very honourable retreat, and that the Duke of Albemarle did do well in it, and would have been well if he had done it sooner, rather than venture the loss of the fleete and crown, as he must have done if the Prince had not come. He was surprised when I told him I heard that the King did intend to borrow some money of the City, and would know who had spoke of it to me; I told him Sir Ellis Layton this afternoon. He says it is a dangerous discourse; for that the City certainly will not be invited to do it, and then for the King to ask it and be denied, will be the beginning of our sorrow. He seems to fear we shall all fall to pieces among ourselves. This evening we hear that Sir Christopher Mings is dead of his late wounds; and Sir W. Coventry did commend him to me in a most extraordinary manner. But this day, after three days' trial in vain, and the hazard of the spoiling of the ship in lying till next spring, besides the disgrace of it, newes is brought that the Loyall London is launched at Deptford. Having talked thus much with Sir G. Carteret we parted there, and I home by water, taking in my boat with me young Michell and my Betty his wife, meeting them accidentally going to look a boat. I set them down at the Old Swan and myself, went through bridge to the Tower, and so home, and after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and down by water to Sir W. Warren's (the first time I was in his new house on the other side the water since he enlarged it) to discourse about our lighters that he hath bought for me, and I hope to get L100 by this jobb. Having done with him I took boat again (being mightily struck with a woman in a hat, a seaman's mother,--[Mother or mauther, a wench.]--that stood on the key) and home, where at the office all the morning with Sir W. Coventry and some others of our board hiring of fireships, and Sir W. Coventry begins to see my pains again, which I do begin to take, and I am proud of it, and I hope shall continue it. He gone, at noon I home to dinner, and after dinner my father and wife out to the painter's to sit again, and I, with my Lady Pen and her daughter, to see Harman; whom we find lame in bed. His bones of his anckle are broke, but he hopes to do well soon; and a fine person by his discourse he seems to be and my hearty [friend]; and he did plainly tell me that at the Council of War before the fight, it was against his reason to begin the fight then, and the reasons of most sober men there, the wind being such, and we to windward, that they could not use their lower tier of guns, which was a very sad thing for us to have the honour and weal of the nation ventured so foolishly. I left them there, and walked to Deptford, reading in Walsingham's Manual, a very good book, and there met with Sir W. Batten and my Lady at Uthwayt's. Here I did much business and yet had some little mirthe with my Lady, and anon we all come up together to our office, where I was very late doing much business. Late comes Sir J. Bankes to see me, and tells me that coming up from Rochester he overtook three or four hundred seamen, and he believes every day they come flocking from the fleete in like numbers; which is a sad neglect there, when it will be impossible to get others, and we have little reason to think that these will return presently again. He gone, I to end my letters to-night, and then home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon to dinner, and then to White Hall in hopes of a meeting of Tangier about Yeabsly's business, but it could not be obtained, Sir G. Carteret nor Sir W. Coventry being able to be there, which still vexes [me] to see the poor man forced still to attend, as also being desirous to see what my profit is, and get it. Walking here in the galleries I find the Ladies of Honour dressed in their riding garbs, with coats and doublets with deep skirts, just for all the world like mine, and buttoned their doublets up the breast, with perriwigs and with hats; so that, only for a long petticoat dragging under their men's coats, nobody could take them for women in any point whatever; which was an odde sight, and a sight did not please me. It was Mrs. Wells and another fine lady that I saw thus. Thence down by water to Deptford, and there late seeing some things dispatched down to the fleete, and so home (thinking indeed to have met with Bagwell, but I did not) to write my letters very late, and so to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and there did our business before the Duke as usual, having, before the Duke come out of his bed, walked in an ante-chamber with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me there are great jarrs between the Duke of Yorke and the Duke of Albemarle, about the later's turning out one or two of the commanders put in by the Duke of Yorke. Among others, Captain Du Tell, a Frenchman, put in by the Duke of Yorke, and mightily defended by him; and is therein led by Monsieur Blancford, that it seems hath the same command over the Duke of Yorke as Sir W. Coventry hath; which raises ill blood between them. And I do in several little things observe that Sir W. Coventry hath of late, by the by, reflected on the Duke of Albemarle and his captains, particularly in that of old Teddiman, who did deserve to be turned out this fight, and was so; but I heard Sir W. Coventry say that the Duke of Albemarle put in one as bad as he is in his room, and one that did as little. After we had done with the Duke of Yorke, I with others to White Hall, there to attend again a Committee of Tangier, but there was none, which vexed me to the heart, and makes me mighty doubtfull that when we have one, it will be prejudiced against poor Yeabsly and to my great disadvantage thereby, my Lord Peterborough making it his business, I perceive (whether in spite to me, whom he cannot but smell to be a friend to it, or to my Lord Ashly, I know not), to obstruct it, and seems to take delight in disappointing of us; but I shall be revenged of him. Here I staid a very great while, almost till noon, and then meeting Balty I took him with me, and to Westminster to the Exchequer about breaking of two tallys of L2000 each into smaller tallys, which I have been endeavouring a good while, but to my trouble it will not, I fear, be done, though there be no reason against it, but only a little trouble to the clerks; but it is nothing to me of real profit at all. Thence with Balty to Hales's by coach, it being the seventh day from my making my late oathes, and by them I am at liberty to dispense with any of my oathes every seventh day after I had for the six days before going performed all my vowes. Here I find my father's picture begun, and so much to my content, that it joys my very heart to thinke that I should have his picture so well done; who, besides that he is my father, and a man that loves me, and hath ever done so, is also, at this day, one of the most carefull and innocent men, in the world. Thence with mighty content homeward, and in my way at the Stockes did buy a couple of lobsters, and so home to dinner, where I find my wife and father had dined, and were going out to Hales's to sit there, so Balty and I alone to dinner, and in the middle of my grace, praying for a blessing upon (these his good creatures), my mind fell upon my lobsters: upon which I cried, Odd zooks! and Balty looked upon me like a man at a losse what I meant, thinking at first that I meant only that I had said the grace after meat instead of that before meat. But then I cried, what is become of my lobsters? Whereupon he run out of doors to overtake the coach, but could not, so came back again, and mighty merry at dinner to thinke of my surprize. After dinner to the Excise Office by appointment, and there find my Lord Bellasses and the Commissioners, and by and by the whole company come to dispute the business of our running so far behindhand there, and did come to a good issue in it, that is to say, to resolve upon having the debt due to us, and the Household and the Guards from the Excise stated, and so we shall come to know the worst of our condition and endeavour for some helpe from my Lord Treasurer. Thence home, and put off Balty, and so, being invited, to Sir Christopher Mings's funeral, but find them gone to church. However I into the church (which is a fair, large church, and a great chappell) and there heard the service, and staid till they buried him, and then out. And there met with Sir W. Coventry (who was there out of great generosity, and no person of quality there but he) and went with him into his coach, and being in it with him there happened this extraordinary case, one of the most romantique that ever I heard of in my life, and could not have believed, but that I did see it; which was this:--About a dozen able, lusty, proper men come to the coach-side with tears in their eyes, and one of them that spoke for the rest begun and says to Sir W. Coventry, "We are here a dozen of us that have long known and loved, and served our dead commander, Sir Christopher Mings, and have now done the last office of laying him in the ground. We would be glad we had any other to offer after him, and in revenge of him. All we have is our lives; if you will please to get His Royal Highness to give us a fireship among us all, here is a dozen of us, out of all which choose you one to be commander, and the rest of us, whoever he is, will serve him; and, if possible, do that that shall show our memory of our dead commander, and our revenge." Sir W. Coventry was herewith much moved (as well as I, who could hardly abstain from weeping), and took their names, and so parted; telling me that he would move His Royal Highness as in a thing very extraordinary, which was done. Thereon see the next day in this book. So we parted. The truth is, Sir Christopher Mings was a very stout man, and a man of great parts, and most excellent tongue among ordinary men; and as Sir W. Coventry says, could have been the most useful man at such a pinch of time as this. He was come into great renowne here at home, and more abroad in the West Indys. He had brought his family into a way of being great; but dying at this time, his memory and name (his father being always and at this day a shoemaker, and his mother a Hoyman's daughter; of which he was used frequently to boast) will be quite forgot in a few months as if he had never been, nor any of his name be the better by it; he having not had time to will any estate, but is dead poor rather than rich. So we left the church and crowd, and I home (being set down on Tower Hill), and there did a little business and then in the evening went down by water to Deptford, it being very late, and there I staid out as much time as I could, and then took boat again homeward, but the officers being gone in, returned and walked to Mrs. Bagwell's house, and there (it being by this time pretty dark and past ten o'clock) went into her house and did what I would. But I was not a little fearfull of what she told me but now, which is, that her servant was dead of the plague, that her coming to me yesterday was the first day of her coming forth, and that she had new whitened the house all below stairs, but that above stairs they are not so fit for me to go up to, they being not so. So I parted thence, with a very good will, but very civil, and away to the waterside, and sent for a pint of sacke and so home, drank what I would and gave the waterman the rest; and so adieu. Home about twelve at night, and so to bed, finding most of my people gone to bed. In my way home I called on a fisherman and bought three eeles, which cost me three shillings. 14th. Up, and to the office, and there sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and thence with my wife and father to Hales's, and there looked only on my father's picture (which is mighty like); and so away to White Hall to a committee for Tangier, where the Duke of York was, and Sir W. Coventry, and a very full committee; and instead of having a very prejudiced meeting, they did, though indeed inclined against Yeabsly, yield to the greatest part of his account, so as to allow of his demands to the value of L7,000 and more, and only give time for him to make good his pretence to the rest; which was mighty joy to me: and so we rose up. But I must observe the force of money, which did make my Lord Ashly to argue and behave himself in the business with the greatest friendship, and yet with all the discretion imaginable; and [it] will be a business of admonition and instruction to me concerning him (and other men, too, for aught I know) as long as I live. Thence took Creed with some kind of violence and some hard words between us to St. James's, to have found out Sir W. Coventry to have signed the order for his payment among others that did stay on purpose to do it (and which is strange among the rest my Lord Ashly, who did cause Creed to write it presently and kept two or three of them with him by cunning to stay and sign it), but Creed's ill nature (though never so well bribed, as it hath lately in this case by twenty pieces) will not be overcome from his usual delays. Thence failing of meeting Sir W. Coventry I took leave of Creed (very good friends) and away home, and there took out my father, wife, sister, and Mercer our grand Tour in the evening, and made it ten at night before we got home, only drink at the doore at Islington at the Katherine Wheel, and so home and to the office a little, and then to bed. 15th. Up betimes, and to my Journall entries, but disturbed by many businesses, among others by Mr. Houblon's coming to me about evening their freight for Tangier, which I did, and then Mr. Bland, who presented me yesterday with a very fine African mat, to lay upon the ground under a bed of state, being the first fruits of our peace with Guyland. So to the office, and thither come my pretty widow Mrs. Burrows, poor woman, to get her ticket paid for her husband's service, which I did her myself, and did 'baisser her moucher', and I do hope may thereafter have some day 'sa' company. Thence to Westminster to the Exchequer, but could not persuade the blockheaded fellows to do what I desire, of breaking my great tallys into less, notwithstanding my Lord Treasurer's order, which vexed [me] so much that I would not bestow more time and trouble among a company of dunces, and so back again home, and to dinner, whither Creed come and dined with me and after dinner Mr. Moore, and he and I abroad, thinking to go down the river together, but the tide being against me would not, but returned and walked an houre in the garden, but, Lord! to hear how he pleases himself in behalf of my Lord Sandwich, in the miscarriage of the Duke of Albemarle, and do inveigh against Sir W. Coventry as a cunning knave, but I thinke that without any manner of reason at all, but only his passion. He being gone I to my chamber at home to set my Journall right and so to settle my Tangier accounts, which I did in very good order, and then in the evening comes Mr. Yeabsly to reckon with me, which I did also, and have above L200 profit therein to myself, which is a great blessing, the God of heaven make me thankfull for it. That being done, and my eyes beginning to be sore with overmuch writing, I to supper and to bed. 16th. Up betimes and to my office, and there we sat all the morning and dispatched much business, the King, Duke of Yorke, and Sir W. Coventry being gone down to the fleete. At noon home to dinner and then down to Woolwich and Deptford to look after things, my head akeing from the multitude of businesses I had in my head yesterday in settling my accounts. All the way down and up, reading of "The Mayor of Quinborough," a simple play. At Deptford, while I am there, comes Mr. Williamson, Sir Arthur Ingram and Jacke Fen, to see the new ships, which they had done, and then I with them home in their boat, and a very fine gentleman Mr. Williamson is. It seems the Dutch do mightily insult of their victory, and they have great reason. [This treatment seems to have been that of the Dutch populace alone, and there does not appear to have been cause of complaint against the government. Respecting Sir W. Berkeley's body the following notice was published in the "London Gazette" of July 15th, 1666 (No. 69) "Whitehall, July 15. This day arrived a trumpet from the States of Holland, who came over from Calais in the Dover packet-boat, with a letter to his Majesty, that the States have taken order for the embalming the body of Sir William Berkeley, which they have placed in the chapel of the great church at the Hague, a civility they profess to owe to his corpse, in respect to the quality of his person, the greatness of his command, and of the high courage and valour he showed in the late engagement; desiring his Majesty to signify his pleasure about the further disposal of it." "Frederick Ruysch, the celebrated Dutch anatomist, undertook, by order of the States-General, to inject the body of the English Admiral Berkeley, killed in the sea-fight of 1666; and the body, already somewhat decomposed, was sent over to England as well prepared as if it had been the fresh corpse of a child. This produced to Ruysch, on the part of the States-General, a recompense worthy of their liberality, and the merit of the anatomist," "James's Medical Dictionary."] Sir William Barkeley was killed before his ship taken; and there he lies dead in a sugar-chest, for every body to see, with his flag standing up by him. And Sir George Ascue is carried up and down the Hague for people to see. Home to my office, where late, and then to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Being invited to Anthony Joyce's to dinner, my wife and sister and Mercer and I walked out in the morning, it being fine weather, to Christ Church, and there heard a silly sermon, but sat where we saw one of the prettiest little boys with the prettiest mouth that ever I saw in [my] life. Thence to Joyce's, where William Joyce and his wife were, and had a good dinner; but, Lord! how sicke was I of the company, only hope I shall have no more of it a good while; but am invited to Will's this week; and his wife, poor unhappy woman, cried to hear me say that I could not be there, she thinking that I slight her: so they got me to promise to come. Thence my father and I walked to Gray's Inne Fields, and there spent an houre or two walking and talking of several businesses; first, as to his estate, he told me it produced about L80 per ann., but then there goes L30 per. ann. taxes and other things, certain charge, which I do promise to make good as far as this L30, at which the poor man was overjoyed and wept. As to Pall he tells me he is mightily satisfied with Ensum, and so I promised to give her L500 presently, and to oblige myself to 100 more on the birth of her first child, he insuring her in L10 per ann. for every L100, and in the meantime till she do marry I promise to allow her L10 per ann. Then as to John I tell him I will promise him nothing, but will supply him as so much lent him, I declaring that I am not pleased with him yet, and that when his degree is over I will send for him up hither, and if he be good for any thing doubt not to get him preferment. This discourse ended to the joy of my father and no less to me to see that I am able to do this, we return to Joyce's and there wanting a coach to carry us home I walked out as far as the New Exchange to find one, but could not. So down to the Milke-house, and drank three glasses of whay, and then up into the Strand again, and there met with a coach, and so to Joyce's and took up my father, wife, sister, and Mercer, and to Islington, where we drank, and then our tour by Hackney home, where, after a little, business at my office and then talke with my Lady and Pegg Pen in the garden, I home and to bed, being very weary. 18th. Up betimes and in my chamber most of the morning setting things to rights there, my Journall and accounts with my father and brother, then to the office a little, and so to Lumbard Streete, to borrow a little money upon a tally, but cannot. Thence to the Exchequer, and there after much wrangling got consent that I should have a great tally broken into little ones. Thence to Hales's to see how my father's picture goes on, which pleases me mighty well, though I find again, as I did in Mrs. Pierce's, that a picture may have more of a likeness in the first or second working than it shall have when finished, though this is very well and to my full content, but so it is, and certainly mine was not so like at the first, second, or third sitting as it was afterward. Thence to my Lord Bellasses, by invitation, and there dined with him, and his lady and daughter; and at dinner there played to us a young boy, lately come from France, where he had been learning a yeare or two on the viallin, and plays finely. But impartially I do not find any goodnesse in their ayres (though very good) beyond ours when played by the same hand, I observed in several of Baptiste's' [Jean Baptiste Lulli, son of a Tuscan peasant, born 1633, died 1687. He invented the dramatic overture. "But during the first years of Charles II. all musick affected by the beau mond run in the french way; and the rather because at that time the master of the court musick in France, whose name was Baptista (an Italian frenchifyed) had influenced the french style by infusing a great portion of the Italian harmony into it, whereby the ayre was exceedingly improved" (North's "Memoires of Musick," ed. Rimbault, 1846, p, 102).] (the present great composer) and our Bannister's. But it was pretty to see how passionately my Lord's daughter loves musique, the most that ever I saw creature in my life. Thence after dinner home and to the office and anon to Lumbard Streete again, where much talke at Colvill's, he censuring the times, and how matters are ordered, and with reason enough; but, above all, the thinking to borrow money of the City, which will not be done, but be denied, they being little pleased with the King's affairs, and that must breed differences between the King and the City. Thence down by water to Deptford, to order things away to the fleete and back again, and after some business at my office late home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Coventry is returned this night from the fleete, he being the activest man in the world, and we all (myself particularly) more afeard of him than of the King or his service, for aught I see; God forgive us! This day the great newes is come of the French, their taking the island of St. Christopher's' from us; and it is to be feared they have done the like of all those islands thereabouts this makes the city mad. 19th. Up, and to my office, there to fit business against the rest meet, which they did by and by, and sat late. After the office rose (with Creed with me) to Wm. Joyce's to dinner, being invited, and there find my father and sister, my wife and Mercer, with them, almost dined. I made myself as complaisant as I could till I had dined, but yet much against my will, and so away after dinner with Creed to Penny's, my Tailor, where I bespoke a thin stuff suit, and did spend a little time evening some little accounts with Creed and so parted, and I to Sir. G. Carteret's by appointment; where I perceive by him the King is going to borrow some money of the City; but I fear it will do no good, but hurt. He tells me how the Generall--[The Duke of Albemarle.]--is displeased, and there have been some high words between the Generall and Sir W. Coventry. And it may be so; for I do not find Sir W. Coventry so highly commending the Duke as he used to be, but letting fall now and then some little jerkes: as this day, speaking of newes from Holland, he says, "I find their victory begins to shrinke there, as well as ours here." Here I met with Captain Cocke, and he tells me that the first thing the Prince said to the King upon his coming, was complaining of the Commissioners of the Navy; that they could have been abroad in three or four days but for us; that we do not take care of them which I am troubled at, and do fear may in violence break out upon this office some time or other; for we shall not be able to carry on the business. Thence home, and at my business till late at night, then with my wife into the garden and there sang with Mercer, whom I feel myself begin to love too much by handling of her breasts in a' morning when she dresses me, they being the finest that ever I saw in my life, that is the truth of it. So home and to supper with beans and bacon and to bed. 20th. Up, but in some pain of the collique. I have of late taken too much cold by washing my feet and going in a thin silke waistcoate, without any other coate over it, and open-breasted, but I hope it will go over. I did this morning (my father being to go away to-morrow) give my father some money to buy him a horse, and for other things to himself and my mother and sister, among them L20, besides undertaking to pay for other things for them to about L3, which the poor man takes with infinite kindnesse, and I do not thinke I can bestow it better. Thence by coach to St. James's as usual to wait on the Duke of York, after having discoursed with Collonell Fitzgerald, whom I met in my way and he returned with me to Westminster, about paying him a sum of 700 and odd pounds, and he bids me defalk L25 for myself,--[Abate from an amount.]--which is a very good thing; having done with the Duke I to the Exchequer and there after much ado do get my business quite over of the difficulty of breaking a great tally into little ones and so shall have it done tomorrow. Thence to the Hall and with Mrs. Martin home and staid with her a while, and then away to the Swan and sent for a bit of meat and dined there, and thence to Faythorne, the picture-seller's, and there chose two or three good Cutts to try to vernish, and so to Hales's to see my father's picture, which is now near finished and is very good, and here I staid and took a nap of an hour, thinking my father and wife would have come, but they did not; so I away home as fast as I could, fearing lest my father this day going abroad to see Mr. Honiwood at Major Russell's might meet with any trouble, and so in great pain home; but to spite me, in Cheapside I met Mrs. Williams in a coach, and she called me, so I must needs 'light and go along with her and poor Knipp (who is so big as she can tumble and looks-every day to lie down) as far as Paternoster Row, which I did do and there staid in Bennett's shop with them, and was fearfull lest the people of the shop, knowing me, should aske after my father and give Mrs. Williams any knowledge of me to my disgrace. Having seen them done there and accompanied them to Ludgate I 'light and into my owne coach and home, where I find my father and wife had had no intent of coming at all to Hales's. So I at home all the evening doing business, and at night in the garden (it having been these three or four days mighty hot weather) singing in the evening, and then home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and at the office all the morning; whereby several circumstances I find Sir W. Coventry and the Duke of Albemarle do not agree as they used to do; Sir W. Coventry commending Aylett (in some reproach to the Duke), whom the Duke hath put out for want of courage; and found fault with Steward, whom the Duke keeps in, though as much in fault as any commander in the fleete. At noon home to dinner, my father, sister, and wife dining at Sarah Giles's, poor woman, where I should have been, but my pride would not suffer me. After dinner to Mr. Debasty's to speake with Sir Robert Viner, a fine house and a great many fine ladies. He used me mighty civilly. My business was to set the matter right about the letter of credit he did give my Lord Belassis, that I may take up the tallys lodged with Viner for his security in the answering of my Lord's bills, which we did set right very well, and Sir Robert Viner went home with me and did give me the L5000 tallys presently. Here at Mr. Debasty's I saw, in a gold frame, a picture of a Outer playing on his flute which, for a good while, I took for paynting, but at last observed it a piece of tapestry, and is the finest that ever I saw in my life for figures, and good natural colours, and a very fine thing it is indeed. So home and met Sir George Smith by the way, who tells me that this day my Lord Chancellor and some of the Court have been with the City, and the City have voted to lend the King L100,000; which, if soon paid (as he says he believes it will), will be a greater service than I did ever expect at this time from the City. So home to my letters and then with my wife in the garden, and then upon our leades singing in the evening and so to supper (while at supper comes young Michell, whose wife I love, little Betty Howlet, to get my favour about a ticket, and I am glad of this occasion of obliging him and give occasion of his coming to me, for I must be better acquainted with him and her), and after supper to bed. 22nd. Up, and before I went out Mr. Peter Barr sent me a tierce of claret, which is very welcome. And so abroad down the river to Deptford and there did some business, and then to Westminster, and there did with much ado get my tallys (my small ones instead of one great one of L2,000), and so away home and there all day upon my Tangier accounts with Creed, and, he being gone, with myself, in settling other accounts till past twelve at night, and then every body being in bed, I to bed, my father, wife, and sister late abroad upon the water, and Mercer being gone to her mother's and staid so long she could not get into the office, which vexed me. 23rd. My father and sister very betimes took their leave; and my wife, with all possible kindnesse, went with them to the coach, I being mightily pleased with their company thus long, and my father with his being here, and it rejoices my heart that I am in condition to do any thing to comfort him, and could, were it not for my mother, have been contented he should have stayed always here with me, he is such innocent company. They being gone, I to my papers, but vexed at what I heard but a little of this morning, before my wife went out, that Mercer and she fell out last night, and that the girle is gone home to her mother's for all-together: This troubles me, though perhaps it may be an ease to me of so much charge. But I love the girle, and another we must be forced to keepe I do foresee and then shall be sorry to part with her. At the office all the morning, much disquiett in my mind in the middle of my business about this girle. Home at noon to dinner, and what with the going away of my father today and the losse of Mercer, I after dinner went up to my chamber and there could have cried to myself, had not people come to me about business. In the evening down to Tower Wharfe thinking to go by water, but could not get watermen; they being now so scarce, by reason of the great presse; so to the Custome House, and there, with great threats, got a couple to carry me down to Deptford, all the way reading Pompey the Great (a play translated from the French by several noble persons; among others, my Lord Buckhurst), that to me is but a mean play, and the words and sense not very extraordinary. From Deptford I walked to Redriffe, and in my way was overtaken by Bagwell, lately come from sea in the Providence, who did give me an account of several particulars in the late fight, and how his ship was deserted basely by the York, Captain Swanly, commander. So I home and there after writing my letters home to supper and to bed, fully resolved to rise betimes, and go down the river to-morrow morning, being vexed this night to find none of the officers in the yarde at 7 at night, nor any body concerned as if it were a Dutch warr. It seems Mercer's mother was here in the morning to speak with my wife, but my wife would not. In the afternoon I and my wife in writing did instruct W. Hewer in some discourse to her, and she in the evening did come and satisfy my wife, and by and by Mercer did come, which I was mighty glad of and eased of much pain about her. 24th. Sunday. Midsummer Day. Up, but, being weary the last night, not so soon as I intended. Then being dressed, down by water to Deptford, and there did a great deale of business, being in a mighty hurry, Sir W. Coventry writing to me that there was some thoughts that the Dutch fleete were out or coming out. Business being done in providing for the carrying down of some provisions to the fleete, I away back home and after dinner by water to White Hall, and there waited till the councill rose, in the boarded gallery, and there among other things I hear that Sir Francis Prujean is dead, after being married to a widow about a yeare or thereabouts. He died very rich, and had, for the last yeare, lived very handsomely, his lady bringing him to it. He was no great painstaker in person, yet died very rich; and, as Dr. Clerke says, was of a very great judgment, but hath writ nothing to leave his name to posterity. In the gallery among others met with Major Halsey, a great creature of the Duke of Albemarle's; who tells me that the Duke, by name, hath said that he expected to have the worke here up in the River done, having left Sir W. Batten and Mr. Phipps there. He says that the Duke of Albemarle do say that this is a victory we have had, having, as he was sure, killed them 8000 men, and sunk about fourteen of their ships; but nothing like this appears true. He lays much of the little success we had, however, upon the fleete's being divided by order from above, and the want of spirit in the commanders; and that he was commanded by order to go out of the Downes to the Gun-fleete, and in the way meeting the Dutch fleete, what should he do? should he not fight them? especially having beat them heretofore at as great disadvantage. He tells me further, that having been downe with the Duke of Albemarle, he finds that Holmes and Spragge do govern most business of the Navy; and by others I understand that Sir Thomas Allen is offended thereat; that he is not so much advised with as he ought to be. He tells me also, as he says, of his own knowledge, that several people before the Duke went out did offer to supply the King with L100,000 provided he would be treasurer of it, to see it laid out for the Navy; which he refused, and so it died. But I believe none of this. This day I saw my Lady Falmouth, with whom I remember now I have dined at my Lord Barkeley's heretofore, a pretty woman: she was now in her second or third mourning, and pretty pleasant in her looks. By and by the Council rises, and Sir W. Coventry comes out; and he and I went aside, and discoursed of much business of the Navy; and afterwards took his coach, and to Hide-Parke, he and I alone: there we had much talke. First, he started a discourse of a talke he hears about the towne, which, says he, is a very bad one, and fit to be suppressed, if we knew how which is, the comparing of the successe of the last year with that of this; saying that that was good, and that bad. I was as sparing in speaking as I could, being jealous of him and myself also, but wished it could be stopped; but said I doubted it could not otherwise than by the fleete's being abroad again, and so finding other worke for men's minds and discourse. Then to discourse of himself, saying, that he heard that he was under the lash of people's discourse about the Prince's not having notice of the Dutch being out, and for him to comeback again, nor the Duke of Albemarle notice that the Prince was sent for back again: to which he told me very particularly how careful he was the very same night that it was resolved to send for the Prince back, to cause orders to be writ, and waked the Duke, who was then in bed, to sign them; and that they went by expresse that very night, being the Wednesday night before the fight, which begun on the Friday; and that for sending them by the post expresse, and not by gentlemen on purpose, he made a sport of it, and said, I knew of none to send it with, but would at least have lost more time in fitting themselves out, than any diligence of theirs beyond that of the ordinary post would have recovered. I told him that this was not so much the towne talke as the reason of dividing the fleete. To this he told me he ought not to say much; but did assure me in general that the proposition did first come from the fleete, and the resolution not being prosecuted with orders so soon as the Generall thought fit, the Generall did send Sir Edward Spragge up on purpose for them; and that there was nothing in the whole business which was not done with the full consent and advice of the Duke of Albemarle. But he did adde (as the Catholiques call 'le secret de la Masse'), that Sir Edward Spragge--who had even in Sir Christopher Mings's time put in to be the great favourite of the Prince, but much more now had a mind to be the great man with him, and to that end had a mind to have the Prince at a distance from the Duke of Albemarle, that they might be doing something alone--did, as he believed, put on this business of dividing the fleete, and that thence it came. [This division of the fleet was the original cause of the disaster, and at a later period the enemies of Clarendon charged him with having advised this action, but Coventry's communication to Pepys in the text completely exonerates Clarendon.] He tells me as to the business of intelligence, the want whereof the world did complain much of, that for that it was not his business, and as he was therefore to have no share in the blame, so he would not meddle to lay it any where else. That de Ruyter was ordered by the States not to make it his business to come into much danger, but to preserve himself as much as was fit out of harm's way, to be able to direct the fleete. He do, I perceive, with some violence, forbear saying any thing to the reproach of the Duke of Albemarle; but, contrarily, speaks much of his courage; but I do as plainly see that he do not like the Duke of Albemarle's proceedings, but, contrarily, is displeased therewith. And he do plainly diminish the commanders put in by the Duke, and do lessen the miscarriages of any that have been removed by him. He concurs with me, that the next bout will be a fatal one to one side or other, because, if we be beaten, we shall not be able to set out our fleete again. He do confess with me that the hearts of our seamen are much saddened; and for that reason, among others, wishes Sir Christopher Mings was alive, who might inspire courage and spirit into them. Speaking of Holmes, how great a man he is, and that he do for the present, and hath done all the voyage, kept himself in good order and within bounds; but, says he, a cat will be a cat still, and some time or other out his humour must break again. He do not disowne but that the dividing of the fleete upon the presumptions that were then had (which, I suppose, was the French fleete being come this way), was a good resolution. Having had all this discourse, he and I back to White Hall; and there I left him, being [in] a little doubt whether I had behaved myself in my discourse with the policy and circumspection which ought to be used to so great a courtier as he is, and so wise and factious a man, and by water home, and so, after supper, to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning at my Tangier accounts, which the chopping and changing of my tallys make mighty troublesome; but, however, I did end them with great satisfaction to myself. At noon, without staying to eat my dinner, I down by water to Deptford, and there coming find Sir W. Batten and Sir Jeremy Smith (whom the dispatch of the Loyall London detained) at dinner at Greenwich at the Beare Taverne, and thither I to them and there dined with them. Very good company of strangers there was, but I took no great pleasure among them, being desirous to be back again. So got them to rise as soon as I could, having told them the newes Sir W. Coventry just now wrote me to tell them, which is, that the Dutch are certainly come out. I did much business at Deptford, and so home, by an old poor man, a sculler, having no oares to be got, and all this day on the water entertained myself with the play of Commenius, and being come home did go out to Aldgate, there to be overtaken by Mrs. Margot Pen in her father's coach, and my wife and Mercer with her, and Mrs. Pen carried us to two gardens at Hackny, (which I every day grow more and more in love with,) Mr. Drake's one, where the garden is good, and house and the prospect admirable; the other my Lord Brooke's, where the gardens are much better, but the house not so good, nor the prospect good at all. But the gardens are excellent; and here I first saw oranges grow: some green, some half, some a quarter, and some full ripe, on the same tree, and one fruit of the same tree do come a year or two after the other. I pulled off a little one by stealth (the man being mighty curious of them) and eat it, and it was just as other little green small oranges are; as big as half the end of my little finger. Here were also great variety of other exotique plants, and several labarinths, and a pretty aviary. Having done there with very great pleasure we away back again, and called at the Taverne in Hackny by the church, and there drank and eate, and so in the Goole of the evening home. This being the first day of my putting on my black stuff bombazin suit, and I hope to feel no inconvenience by it, the weather being extremely hot. So home and to bed, and this night the first night of my lying without a waistcoat, which I hope I shall very well endure. So to bed. This morning I did with great pleasure hear Mr. Caesar play some good things on his lute, while he come to teach my boy Tom, and I did give him 40s. for his encouragement. 26th. Up and to my office betimes, and there all the morning, very busy to get out the fleete, the Dutch being now for certain out, and we shall not, we thinke, be much behindhand with them. At noon to the 'Change about business, and so home to dinner, and after dinner to the setting my Journall to rights, and so to the office again, where all the afternoon full of business, and there till night, that my eyes were sore, that I could not write no longer. Then into the garden, then my wife and Mercer and my Lady Yen and her daughter with us, and here we sung in the darke very finely half an houre, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon, after a long drowth, we had a good shower of rain, but it will not signify much if no more come. This day in the morning come Mr. Chichly to Sir W. Coventry, to tell him the ill successe of the guns made for the Loyall London; which is, that in the trial every one of the great guns, the whole cannon of seven (as I take it), broke in pieces, which is a strange mishap, and that which will give more occasion to people's discourse of the King's business being done ill. This night Mary my cookemayde, that hath been with us about three months, but find herself not able to do my worke, so is gone with great kindnesse away, and another (Luce) come, very ugly and plaine, but may be a good servant for all that. 27th. Up, and to my office awhile, and then down the river a little way to see vessels ready for the carrying down of 400 land soldiers to the fleete. Then back to the office for my papers, and so to St. James's, where we did our usual attendance on the Duke. Having done with him, we all of us down to Sir W. Coventry's chamber (where I saw his father my Lord Coventry's picture hung up, done by Stone, who then brought it home. It is a good picture, drawn in his judge's robes, and the great seale by him. And while it was hanging up, "This," says Sir W. Coventry, merrily, "is the use we make of our fathers,") to discourse about the proposition of serving us with hempe, delivered in by my Lord Brouncker as from an unknown person, though I know it to be Captain Cocke's. My Lord and Sir William Coventry had some earnest words about it, the one promoting it for his private ends, being, as Cocke tells me himself, to have L500 if the bargain goes on, and I am to have as much, and the other opposing it for the unseasonableness of it, not knowing at all whose the proposition is, which seems the more ingenious of the two. I sat by and said nothing, being no great friend to the proposition, though Cocke intends me a convenience by it. But what I observed most from the discourse was this of Sir W. Coventry, that he do look upon ourselves in a desperate condition. The issue of all standing upon this one point, that by the next fight, if we beat, the Dutch will certainly be content to take eggs for their money (that was his expression); or if we be beaten, we must be contented to make peace, and glad if we can have it without paying too dear for it. And withall we do rely wholly upon the Parliament's giving us more money the next sitting, or else we are undone. Being gone hence, I took coach to the Old Exchange, but did not go into it, but to Mr. Cade's, the stationer, stood till the shower was over, it being a great and welcome one after so much dry weather. Here I understand that Ogleby is putting out some new fables of his owne, which will be very fine and very satyricall. Thence home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife to her sister's and I to Mr. Hales's, to pay for my father's picture, which cost me L10 the head and 25s. the frame. Thence to Lovett's, who has now done something towards the varnishing of single paper for the making of books, which will do, I think, very well. He did also carry me to a Knight's chamber in Graye's Inne, where there is a frame of his making, of counterfeite tortoise shell, which indeed is most excellently done. Then I took him with me to a picture shop to choose a print for him to vernish, but did not agree for one then. Thence to my wife to take her up and so carried her home, and I at the office till late, and so to supper with my wife and to bed. I did this afternoon visit my Lord Bellasses, who professes all imaginable satisfaction in me. He spoke dissatisfiedly with Creed, which I was pleased well enough with. My Lord is going down to his garrison to Hull, by the King's command, to put it in order for fear of an invasion which course I perceive is taken upon the sea-coasts round; for we have a real apprehension of the King of France's invading us. 28th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner abroad to Lumbard Streete, there to reckon with Sir Robert Viner for some money, and did sett all straight to my great content, and so home, and all the afternoon and evening at the office, my mind full at this time of getting my accounts over, and as much money in my hands as I can, for a great turne is to be feared in the times, the French having some great design (whatever it is) in hand, and our necessities on every side very great. The Dutch are now known to be out, and we may expect them every houre upon our coast. But our fleete is in pretty good readinesse for them. 29th. Up, and within doors most of the morning, sending a porter (Sanders) up and down to several people to pay them money to clear my month's debts every where, being mighty desirous to have all clear so soon as I can, and to that end did so much in settling my Tangier accounts clear. At noon dined, having first been down at Deptford and did a little business there and back again. After dinner to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, but I come a little too late, they were up, so I to several places about business, among others to Westminster Hall, and there did meet with Betty Michell at her own mother's shop. I would fain have carried her home by water, but she was to sup at that end of the town. So I away to White Hall, and thence, the Council being up, walked to St. James's, and there had much discourse with Sir W. Coventry at his chamber, who I find quite weary of the warr, decries our having any warr at all, or himself to have been any occasion of it, that he hopes this will make us shy of any warr hereafter, or to prepare better for it, believes that one overthrow on the Dutch side would make them desire peace, and that one on ours will make us willing to accept of one: tells me that Commissioner Pett is fallen infinitely under the displeasure of the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, not giving them satisfaction in the getting out of the fleete, and that the complaint he believes is come to the King, and by Sir W. Coventry's discourse I find he do concur in it, and speaks of his having of no authority in the place where he is, and I do believe at least it will end in his being removed to some other yarde, and I am not sorry for it, but do fear that though he deserves as bad, yet at this time the blame may not be so well deserved. Thence home and to the office; where I met with a letter from Dover, which tells me (and it did come by expresse) that newes is brought over by a gentleman from Callice that the Dutch fleete, 130 sail, are come upon the French coast; and that the country is bringing in picke-axes, and shovells, and wheel-barrows into Callice; that there are 6,000 men armed with head, back, and breast (Frenchmen) ready to go on board the Dutch fleete, and will be followed by 12,000 more. That they pretend they are to come to Dover; and that thereupon the Governor of Dover Castle is getting the victuallers' provision out of the towne into the Castle to secure it. But I do think this is a ridiculous conceit; but a little time will show. At night home to supper and to bed, 30th. Up, and to the office, and mightily troubled all this morning with going to my Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Bludworth, [As his conduct during the Great Fire fully proved, when he is said to have boasted that he would extinguish the flames by the same means to which Swift tells us Gulliver had recourse at Lilliput.--B.] a silly man, I think), and other places, about getting shipped some men that they have these two last nights pressed in the City out of houses: the persons wholly unfit for sea, and many of them people of very good fashion, which is a shame to think of, and carried to Bridewell they are, yet without being impressed with money legally as they ought to be. But to see how the King's business is done; my Lord Mayor himself did scruple at this time of extremity to do this thing, because he had not money to pay the pressed-money to the men, he told me so himself; nor to take up boats to carry them down through bridge to the ships I had prepared to carry them down in; insomuch that I was forced to promise to be his paymaster, and he did send his City Remembrancer afterwards to the office, and at the table, in the face of the officers, I did there out of my owne purse disburse L15 to pay for their pressing and diet last night and this morning; which is a thing worth record of my Lord Mayor. Busy about this all the morning, at noon dined and then to the office again, and all the afternoon till twelve at night full of this business and others, and among these others about the getting off men pressed by our officers of the fleete into the service; even our owne men that are at the office, and the boats that carry us. So that it is now become impossible to have so much as a letter carried from place to place, or any message done for us: nay, out of Victualling ships full loaden to go down to the fleete, and out of the vessels of the officers of the Ordnance, they press men, so that for want of discipline in this respect I do fear all will be undone. Vexed with these things, but eased in mind by my ridding of a great deale of business from the office, I late home to supper and to bed. But before I was in bed, while I was undressing myself, our new ugly mayde, Luce, had like to have broke her necke in the darke, going down our upper stairs; but, which I was glad of, the poor girle did only bruise her head, but at first did lie on the ground groaning and drawing her breath, like one a-dying. This month I end in much hurry of business, but in much more trouble in mind to thinke what will become of publique businesses, having so many enemys abroad, and neither force nor money at all, and but little courage for ourselves, it being really true that the spirits of our seamen and commanders too are really broke by the last defeate with the Dutch, and this is not my conjecture only, but the real and serious thoughts of Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry, whom I have at distinct times heard the same thing come from with a great deale of grief and trouble. But, lastly, I am providing against a foule day to get as much money into my hands as I can, at least out of the publique hands, that so, if a turne, which I fear, do come, I may have a little to trust to. I pray God give me good successe in my choice how to dispose of what little I have, that I may not take it out of publique hands, and put it into worse. JULY 1666 July 1st (Sunday). Up betimes, and to the office receiving letters, two or three one after another from Sir W. Coventry, and sent as many to him, being full of variety of business and hurry, but among the chiefest is the getting of these pressed men out of the City down the river to the fleete. While I was hard at it comes Sir W. Pen to towne, which I little expected, having invited my Lady and her daughter Pegg to dine with me to-day; which at noon they did, and Sir W. Pen with them: and pretty merry we were. And though I do not love him, yet I find it necessary to keep in with him; his good service at Shearnesse in getting out the fleete being much taken notice of, and reported to the King and Duke [of York], even from the Prince and Duke of Albemarle themselves, and made the most of to me and them by Sir W. Coventry: therefore I think it discretion, great and necessary discretion, to keep in with him. After dinner to the office again, where busy, and then down to Deptford to the yard, thinking to have seen Bagwell's wife, whose husband is gone yesterday back to the fleete, but I did not see her, so missed what I went for, and so back to the Tower several times, about the business of the pressed men, and late at it till twelve at night, shipping of them. But, Lord! how some poor women did cry; and in my life I never did see such natural expression of passion as I did here in some women's bewailing themselves, and running to every parcel of men that were brought, one after another, to look for their husbands, and wept over every vessel that went off, thinking they might be there, and looking after the ship as far as ever they could by moone-light, that it grieved me to the heart to hear them. Besides, to see poor patient labouring men and housekeepers, leaving poor wives and families, taking up on a sudden by strangers, was very hard, and that without press-money, but forced against all law to be gone. It is a great tyranny. Having done this I to the Lieutenant of the Tower and bade him good night, and so away home and to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and forced to go to my Lord Mayor's, about the business of the pressed men; and indeed I find him a mean man of understanding and dispatch of any publique business. Thence out of curiosity to Bridewell to see the pressed men, where there are about 300; but so unruly that I durst not go among them: and they have reason to be so, having been kept these three days prisoners, with little or no victuals, and pressed out, and, contrary to all course of law, without press-money, and men that are not liable to it. Here I met with prating Colonel Cox, one of the City collonells heretofore a great presbyter: but to hear how the fellow did commend himself, and the service he do the King; and, like an asse, at Paul's did take me out of my way on purpose to show me the gate (the little north gate) where he had two men shot close by him on each hand, and his own hair burnt by a bullet-shot in the insurrection of Venner, and himself escaped. Thence home and to the Tower to see the men from Bridewell shipped. Being rid of him I home to dinner, and thence to the Excise office by appointment to meet my Lord Bellasses and the Commissioners, which we did and soon dispatched, and so I home, and there was called by Pegg Pen to her house, where her father and mother, and Mrs. Norton, the second Roxalana, a fine woman, indifferent handsome, good body and hand, and good mine, and pretends to sing, but do it not excellently. However I took pleasure there, and my wife was sent for, and Creed come in to us, and so there we spent the most of the afternoon. Thence weary of losing so much time I to the office, and thence presently down to Deptford; but to see what a consternation there is upon the water by reason of this great press, that nothing is able to get a waterman to appear almost. Here I meant to have spoke with Bagwell's mother, but her face was sore, and so I did not, but returned and upon the water found one of the vessels loaden with the Bridewell birds in a great mutiny, and they would not sail, not they; but with good words, and cajoling the ringleader into the Tower (where, when he was come, he was clapped up in the hole), they were got very quietly; but I think it is much if they do not run the vessel on ground. But away they went, and I to the Lieutenant of the Tower, and having talked with him a little, then home to supper very late and to bed weary. 3rd. Being very weary, lay long in bed, then to the office and there sat all the day. At noon dined at home, Balty's wife with us, and in very good humour I was and merry at dinner, and after dinner a song or two, and so I abroad to my Lord Treasurer's (sending my sister home by the coach), while I staid there by appointment to have met my Lord Bellasses and Commissioners of Excise, but they did not meet me, he being abroad. However Mr. Finch, one of the Commissioners, I met there, and he and I walked two houres together in the garden, talking of many things; sometimes of Mr. Povy, whose vanity, prodigality, neglect of his business, and committing it to unfit hands hath undone him and outed him of all his publique employments, and the thing set on foot by an accidental revivall of a business, wherein he had three or fours years ago, by surprize, got the Duke of Yorke to sign to the having a sum of money paid out of the Excise, before some that was due to him, and now the money is fallen short, and the Duke never likely to be paid. This being revived hath undone Povy. Then we fell to discourse of the Parliament, and the great men there: and among others, Mr. Vaughan, whom he reports as a man of excellent judgement and learning, but most passionate and 'opiniastre'. He had done himself the most wrong (though he values it not), that is, the displeasure of the King in his standing so long against the breaking of the Act for a trienniall parliament; but yet do believe him to be a most loyall gentleman. He told me Mr. Prin's character; that he is a man of mighty labour and reading and memory, but the worst judge of matters, or layer together of what he hath read, in the world; which I do not, however, believe him in; that he believes him very true to the King in his heart, but can never be reconciled to episcopacy; that the House do not lay much weight upon him, or any thing he says. He told me many fine things, and so we parted, and I home and hard to work a while at the office and then home and till midnight about settling my last month's accounts wherein I have been interrupted by public business, that I did not state them two or three days ago, but I do now to my great joy find myself worth above L5600, for which the Lord's name be praised! So with my heart full of content to bed. Newes come yesterday from Harwich, that the Dutch had appeared upon our coast with their fleete, and we believe did go to the Gun-fleete, and they are supposed to be there now; but I have heard nothing of them to-day. Yesterday Dr. Whistler, at Sir W. Pen's, told me that Alexander Broome, a the great song-maker, is lately dead. 4th. Up, and visited very betimes by Mr. Sheply, who is come to town upon business from Hinchingbrooke, where he left all well. I out and walked along with him as far as Fleet Streete, it being a fast day, the usual fast day for the plague, and few coaches to be had. Thanks be to God, the plague is, as I hear, encreased but two this week; but in the country in several places it rages mightily, and particularly in Colchester, where it hath long been, and is believed will quite depopulate the place. To St. James's, and there did our usual business with the Duke, all of us, among other things, discoursing about the places where to build ten great ships; the King and Council have resolved on none to be under third-rates; but it is impossible to do it, unless we have more money towards the doing it than yet we have in any view. But, however, the shew must be made to the world. Thence to my Lord Bellasses to take my leave of him, he being going down to the North to look after the Militia there, for fear of an invasion. Thence home and dined, and then to the office, where busy all day, and in the evening Sir W. Pen come to me, and we walked together, and talked of the late fight. I find him very plain, that the whole conduct of the late fight was ill, and that that of truth's all, and he tells me that it is not he, but two-thirds of the commanders of the whole fleete have told him so: they all saying, that they durst not oppose it at the Council of War, for fear of being called cowards, though it was wholly against their judgement to fight that day with the disproportion of force, and then we not being able to use one gun of our lower tier, which was a greater disproportion than the other. Besides, we might very well have staid in the Downs without fighting, or any where else, till the Prince could have come up to them; or at least till the weather was fair, that we might have the benefit of our whole force in the ships that we had. He says three things must [be] remedied, or else we shall be undone by this fleete. 1. That we must fight in a line, whereas we fight promiscuously, to our utter and demonstrable ruine; the Dutch fighting otherwise; and we, whenever we beat them. 2. We must not desert ships of our own in distress, as we did, for that makes a captain desperate, and he will fling away his ship, when there is no hopes left him of succour. 3. That ships, when they are a little shattered, must not take the liberty to come in of themselves, but refit themselves the best they can, and stay out--many of our ships coming in with very small disablenesses. He told me that our very commanders, nay, our very flag-officers, do stand in need of exercising among themselves, and discoursing the business of commanding a fleete; he telling me that even one of our flag-men in the fleete did not know which tacke lost the wind, or which kept it, in the last engagement. He says it was pure dismaying and fear that made them all run upon the Galloper, not having their wits about them; and that it was a miracle they were not all lost. He much inveighs upon my discoursing of Sir John Lawson's saying heretofore, that sixty sail would do as much as one hundred; and says that he was a man of no counsel at all, but had got the confidence to say as the gallants did, and did propose to himself to make himself great by them, and saying as they did; but was no man of judgement in his business, but hath been out in the greatest points that have come before them. And then in the business of fore-castles, which he did oppose, all the world sees now the use of them for shelter of men. He did talk very rationally to me, insomuch that I took more pleasure this night in hearing him discourse, than I ever did in my life in any thing that he said. He gone I to the office again, and so after some business home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning busy, then at noon dined and Mr. Sheply with me, who come to towne the other day. I lent him 630 in silver upon 30 pieces in gold. But to see how apt every body is to neglect old kindnesses! I must charge myself with the ingratitude of being unwilling to lend him so much money without some pawne, if he should have asked it, but he did not aske it, poor man, and so no harm done. After dinner, he gone, I to my office and Lumbard Streete about money, and then to my office again, very busy, and so till late, and then a song with my wife and Mercer in the garden, and so with great content to bed. 6th. Up, and after doing some business at my office abroad to Lumbard Street, about the getting of a good sum of money, thence home, in preparation for my having some good sum in my hands, for fear of a trouble in the State, that I may not have all I have in the world out of my hands and so be left a beggar. Having put that in a way, I home to the office, and so to the Tower; about shipping of some more pressed men, and that done, away to Broad Streete, to Sir G. Carteret, who is at a pay of tickets all alone, and I believe not less than one thousand people in the streets. But it is a pretty thing to observe that both there and every where else, a man shall see many women now-a-days of mean sort in the streets, but no men; men being so afeard of the press. I dined with Sir G. Carteret, and after dinner had much discourse about our publique business; and he do seem to fear every day more and more what I do; which is, a general confusion in the State; plainly answering me to the question, who is it that the weight of the warr depends [upon]? that it is only Sir W. Coventry. He tells me, too, the Duke of Albemarle is dissatisfied, and that the Duchesse do curse Coventry as the man that betrayed her husband to the sea: though I believe that it is not so. Thence to Lumbard Streete, and received L2000, and carried it home: whereof L1000 in gold. The greatest quantity not only that I ever had of gold, but that ever I saw together, and is not much above half a 100 lb. bag full, but is much weightier. This I do for security sake, and convenience of carriage; though it costs me above L70 the change of it, at 18 1/2d. per piece. Being at home, I there met with a letter from Bab Allen,--[Mrs. Knipp]--to invite me to be god-father to her boy, with Mrs. Williams, which I consented to, but know not the time when it is to be. Thence down to the Old Swan, calling at Michell's, he not being within, and there I did steal a kiss or two of her, and staying a little longer, he come in, and her father, whom I carried to Westminster, my business being thither, and so back again home, and very busy all the evening. At night a song in the garden and to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home and Creed with me, and after dinner he and I two or three hours in my chamber discoursing of the fittest way for a man to do that hath money, and find all he offers of turning some into gold and leaving some in a friend's hand is nothing more than what I thought of myself, but is doubtful, as well as I, what is best to be done of all these or other ways to be thought on. He tells me he finds all things mighty dull at Court; and that they now begin to lie long in bed; it being, as we suppose, not seemly for them to be found playing and gaming as they used to be; nor that their minds are at ease enough to follow those sports, and yet not knowing how to employ themselves (though there be work enough for their thoughts and councils and pains), they keep long in bed. But he thinks with me, that there is nothing in the world can helpe us but the King's personal looking after his business and his officers, and that with that we may yet do well; but otherwise must be undone: nobody at this day taking care of any thing, nor hath any body to call him to account for it. Thence left him and to my office all the afternoon busy, and in some pain in my back by some bruise or other I have given myself in my right testicle this morning, and the pain lies there and hath done, and in my back thereupon all this day. At night into the garden to my wife and Lady Pen and Pegg, and Creed, who staid with them till to at night. My Lady Pen did give us a tarte and other things, and so broke up late and I to bed. It proved the hottest night that ever I was in in my life, and thundered and lightened all night long and rained hard. But, Lord! to see in what fears I lay a good while, hearing of a little noise of somebody walking in the house: so rung the bell, and it was my mayds going to bed about one o'clock in the morning. But the fear of being robbed, having so much money in the house, was very great, and is still so, and do much disquiet me. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and pretty well of my pain, so that it did not trouble me at all, and I do clearly find that my pain in my back was nothing but only accompanied my bruise in my stones. To church, wife and Mercer and I, in expectation of hearing some mighty preacher to-day, Mrs. Mary Batelier sending us word so; but it proved our ordinary silly lecturer, which made me merry, and she laughed upon us to see her mistake. At noon W. Hewer dined with us, and a good dinner, and I expected to have had newes sent me of Knipp's christening to-day; but, hearing nothing of it, I did not go, though I fear it is but their forgetfulness and so I may disappoint them. To church, after dinner, again, a thing I have not done a good while before, go twice in one day. After church with my wife and Mercer and Tom by water through bridge to the Spring Garden at Fox Hall, and thence down to Deptford and there did a little business, and so back home and to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to Westminster to Sir G. Downing's, but missed of him, and so we parted, I by water home, where busy all the morning, at noon dined at home, and after dinner to my office, where busy till come to by Lovett and his wife, who have brought me some sheets of paper varnished on one side, which lies very white and smooth and, I think, will do our business most exactly, and will come up to the use that I intended them for, and I am apt to believe will be an invention that will take in the world. I have made up a little book of it to give Sir W. Coventry to-morrow, and am very well pleased with it. Home with them, and there find my aunt Wight with my wife come to take her leave of her, being going for the summer into the country; and there was also Mrs. Mary Batelier and her sister, newly come out of France, a black, very black woman, but mighty good-natured people both, as ever I saw. Here I made the black one sing a French song, which she did mighty innocently; and then Mrs. Lovett play on the lute, which she do very well; and then Mercer and I sang; and so, with great pleasure, I left them, having shewed them my chamber, and L1000 in gold, which they wondered at, and given them sweetmeats, and shewn my aunt Wight my father's picture, which she admires. So I left them and to the office, where Mr. Moore come to me and talking of my Lord's family business tells me that Mr. Sheply is ignorantly, we all believe, mistaken in his accounts above L700 more than he can discharge himself of, which is a mighty misfortune, poor man, and may undo him, and yet every body believes that he do it most honestly. I am troubled for him very much. He gone, I hard at the office till night, then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, sitting, and there presented Sir W. Coventry with my little book made up of Lovett's varnished paper, which he and the whole board liked very well. At noon home to dinner and then to the office; the yarde being very full of women (I believe above three hundred) coming to get money for their husbands and friends that are prisoners in Holland; and they lay clamouring and swearing and cursing us, that my wife and I were afeard to send a venison-pasty that we have for supper to-night to the cook's to be baked, for fear of their offering violence to it: but it went, and no hurt done. Then I took an opportunity, when they were all gone into the foreyarde, and slipt into the office and there busy all the afternoon, but by and by the women got into the garden, and come all to my closett window, and there tormented me, and I confess their cries were so sad for money, and laying down the condition of their families and their husbands, and what they have done and suffered for the King, and how ill they are used by us, and how well the Dutch are used here by the allowance of their masters, and what their husbands are offered to serve the Dutch abroad, that I do most heartily pity them, and was ready to cry to hear them, but cannot helpe them. However, when the rest were gone, I did call one to me that I heard complaine only and pity her husband and did give her some money, and she blessed me and went away. Anon my business at the office being done I to the Tower to speak with Sir John Robinson about business, principally the bad condition of the pressed men for want of clothes, so it is represented from the fleete, and so to provide them shirts and stockings and drawers. Having done with him about that, I home and there find my wife and the two Mrs. Bateliers walking in the garden. I with them till almost 9 at night, and then they and we and Mrs. Mercer, the mother, and her daughter Anne, and our Mercer, to supper to a good venison-pasty and other good things, and had a good supper, and very merry, Mistresses Bateliers being both very good-humoured. We sang and talked, and then led them home, and there they made us drink; and, among other things, did show us, in cages, some birds brought from about Bourdeaux, that are all fat, and, examining one of them, they are so, almost all fat. Their name is [Ortolans], which are brought over to the King for him to eat, and indeed are excellent things. We parted from them and so home to bed, it being very late, and to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to Sir G. Downing's, there to discourse with him about the reliefe of the prisoners in Holland; which I did, and we do resolve of the manner of sending them some. So I away by coach to St. James's, and there hear that the Duchesse is lately brought to bed of a boy. By and by called to wait on the Duke, the King being present; and there agreed, among other things, of the places to build the ten new great ships ordered to be built, and as to the relief of prisoners in Holland. And then about several stories of the basenesse of the King of Spayne's being served with officers: they in Flanders having as good common men as any Prince in the world, but the veriest cowards for the officers, nay for the generall officers, as the Generall and Lieutenant-generall, in the whole world. But, above all things, the King did speake most in contempt of the ceremoniousnesse of the King of Spayne, that he do nothing but under some ridiculous form or other, and will not piss but another must hold the chamber-pot. Thence to Westminster Hall and there staid a while, and then to the Swan and kissed Sarah, and so home to dinner, and after dinner out again to Sir Robert Viner, and there did agree with him to accommodate some business of tallys so as I shall get in near L2000 into my own hands, which is in the King's, upon tallys; which will be a pleasure to me, and satisfaction to have a good sum in my own hands, whatever evil disturbances should be in the State; though it troubles me to lose so great a profit as the King's interest of ten per cent. for that money. Thence to Westminster, doing several things by the way, and there failed of meeting Mrs. Lane, and so by coach took up my wife at her sister's, and so away to Islington, she and I alone, and so through Hackney, and home late, our discourse being about laying up of some money safe in prevention to the troubles I am afeard we may have in the state, and so sleepy (for want of sleep the last night, going to bed late and rising betimes in the morning) home, but when I come to the office, I there met with a command from my Lord Arlington, to go down to a galliott at Greenwich, by the King's particular command, that is going to carry the Savoy Envoye over, and we fear there may be many Frenchmen there on board; and so I have a power and command to search for and seize all that have not passes from one of the Secretarys of State, and to bring them and their papers and everything else in custody some whither. So I to the Tower, and got a couple of musquetiers with me, and Griffen and my boy Tom and so down; and, being come, found none on board but two or three servants, looking to horses and doggs, there on board, and, seeing no more, I staid not long there, but away and on shore at Greenwich, the night being late and the tide against us; so, having sent before, to Mrs. Clerke's and there I had a good bed, and well received, the whole people rising to see me, and among the rest young Mrs. Daniel, whom I kissed again and again alone, and so by and by to bed and slept pretty well, 12th. But was up again by five o'clock, and was forced to rise, having much business, and so up and dressed myself (enquiring, was told that Mrs. Tooker was gone hence to live at London) and away with Poundy to the Tower, and thence, having shifted myself, but being mighty drowsy for want of sleep, I by coach to St. James's, to Goring House, there to wait on my Lord Arlington to give him an account of my night's worke, but he was not up, being not long since married: so, after walking up and down the house below,--being the house I was once at Hartlib's sister's wedding, and is a very fine house and finely furnished,--and then thinking it too much for me to lose time to wait my Lord's rising, I away to St. James's, and there to Sir W. Coventry, and wrote a letter to my Lord Arlington giving him an account of what I have done, and so with Sir W. Coventry into London, to the office. And all the way I observed him mightily to make mirth of the Duke of Albemarle and his people about him, saying, that he was the happiest man in the world for doing of great things by sorry instruments. And so particularized in Sir W. Clerke, and Riggs, and Halsey, and others. And then again said that the only quality eminent in him was, that he did persevere; and indeed he is a very drudge, and stands by the King's business. And this he said, that one thing he was good at, that he never would receive an excuse if the thing was not done; listening to no reasoning for it, be it good or bad. But then I told him, what he confessed, that he would however give the man, that he employs, orders for removing of any obstruction that he thinks he shall meet with in the world, and instanced in several warrants that he issued for breaking open of houses and other outrages about the business of prizes, which people bore with either for affection or fear, which he believes would not have been borne with from the King, nor Duke, nor any man else in England, and I thinke he is in the right, but it is not from their love of him, but from something else I cannot presently say. Sir W. Coventry did further say concerning Warcupp, his kinsman, that had the simplicity to tell Sir W. Coventry, that the Duke did intend to go to sea and to leave him his agent on shore for all things that related to the sea. But, says Sir W. Coventry, I did believe but the Duke of Yorke would expect to be his agent on shore for all sea matters. And then he begun to say what a great man Warcupp was, and something else, and what was that but a great lyer; and told me a story, how at table he did, they speaking about antipathys, say, that a rose touching his skin any where, would make it rise and pimple; and, by and by, the dessert coming, with roses upon it, the Duchesse bid him try, and they did; but they rubbed and rubbed, but nothing would do in the world, by which his lie was found at then. He spoke contemptibly of Holmes and his mermidons, that come to take down the ships from hence, and have carried them without any necessaries, or any thing almost, that they will certainly be longer getting ready than if they had staid here. In fine, I do observe, he hath no esteem nor kindnesse for the Duke's matters, but, contrarily, do slight him and them; and I pray God the Kingdom do not pay too dear by this jarring; though this blockheaded Duke I did never expect better from. At the office all the morning, at noon home and thought to have slept, my head all day being full of business and yet sleepy and out of order, and so I lay down on my bed in my gowne to sleep, but I could not, therefore about three o'clock up and to dinner and thence to the office, where. Mrs. Burroughs, my pretty widow, was and so I did her business and sent her away by agreement, and presently I by coach after and took her up in Fenchurch Streete and away through the City, hiding my face as much as I could, but she being mighty pretty and well enough clad, I was not afeard, but only lest somebody should see me and think me idle. I quite through with her, and so into the fields Uxbridge way, a mile or two beyond Tyburne, and then back and then to Paddington, and then back to Lyssen green, a place the coachman led me to (I never knew in my life) and there we eat and drank and so back to Chasing Crosse, and there I set her down. All the way most excellent pretty company. I had her lips as much as I would, and a mighty pretty woman she is and very modest and yet kinde in all fair ways. All this time I passed with mighty pleasure, it being what I have for a long time wished for, and did pay this day 5s. forfeite for her company. She being gone, I to White Hall and there to Lord Arlington's, and met Mr. Williamson, and find there is no more need of my trouble about the Galliott, so with content departed, and went straight home, where at the office did the most at the office in that wearied and sleepy state I could, and so home to supper, and after supper falling to singing with Mercer did however sit up with her, she pleasing me with her singing of "Helpe, helpe," 'till past midnight and I not a whit drowsy, and so to bed. 13th. Lay sleepy in bed till 8 in the morning, then up and to the office, where till about noon, then out to the 'Change and several places, and so home to dinner. Then out again to Sir R. Vines, and there to my content settled the business of two tallys, so as I shall have L2000 almost more of my owne money in my hand, which pleases me mightily, and so home and there to the office, where mighty busy, and then home to supper and to even my Journall and to bed. Our fleete being now in all points ready to sayle, but for the carrying of the two or three new ships, which will keepe them a day or two or three more. It is said the Dutch is gone off our coast, but I have no good reason to believe it, Sir W. Coventry not thinking any such thing. 14th. Up betimes to the office, to write fair a laborious letter I wrote as from the Board to the Duke of Yorke, laying out our want of money again; and particularly the business of Captain Cocke's tenders of hemp, which my Lord Bruncker brought in under an unknown hand without name. Wherein his Lordship will have no great successe, I doubt. That being done, I down to Thames-streete, and there agreed for four or five tons of corke, to send this day to the fleete, being a new device to make barricados with, instead of junke. By this means I come to see and kiss Mr. Hill's young wife, and a blithe young woman she is. So to the office and at noon home to dinner, and then sent for young Michell and employed him all the afternoon about weighing and shipping off of the corke, having by this means an opportunity of getting him 30 or 40s. Having set him a doing, I home and to the office very late, very busy, and did indeed dispatch much business, and so to supper and to bed. After a song in the garden, which, and after dinner, is now the greatest pleasure I take, and indeed do please me mightily, to bed, after washing my legs and feet with warm water in my kitchen. This evening I had Davila [Enrico Caterino Davila (1576-1631) was one of the chief historical writers of Italy, and his "Storia delle guerre civili di Francia" covers a period of forty years, from the death of Henri II. to the Peace of Vervins in 1598.] brought home to me, and find it a most excellent history as ever I read. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where our lecturer made a sorry silly sermon, upon the great point of proving the truth of the Christian religion. Home and had a good dinner, expecting Mr. Hunt, but there comes only young Michell and his wife, whom my wife concurs with me to be a pretty woman, and with her husband is a pretty innocent couple. Mightily pleasant we were, and I mightily pleased in her company and to find my wife so well pleased with them also. After dinner he and I walked to White Hall, not being able to get a coach. He to the Abbey, and I to White Hall, but met with nobody to discourse with, having no great mind to be found idling there, and be asked questions of the fleete, so walked only through to the Parke, and there, it being mighty hot and I weary, lay down by the canaille, upon the grasse, and slept awhile, and was thinking of a lampoone which hath run in my head this weeke, to make upon the late fight at sea, and the miscarriages there; but other businesses put it out of my head. Having lain there a while, I then to the Abbey and there called Michell, and so walked in great pain, having new shoes on, as far as Fleete Streete and there got a coach, and so in some little ease home and there drank a great deale of small beer; and so took up my wife and Betty Michell and her husband, and away into the fields, to take the ayre, as far as beyond Hackny, and so back again, in our way drinking a great deale of milke, which I drank to take away, my heartburne, wherewith I have of late been mightily troubled, but all the way home I did break abundance of wind behind, which did presage no good but a great deal of cold gotten. So home and supped and away went Michell and his wife, of whom I stole two or three salutes, and so to bed in some pain and in fear of more, which accordingly I met with, for I was in mighty pain all night long of the winde griping of my belly and making of me shit often and vomit too, which is a thing not usual with me, but this I impute to the milke that I drank after so much beer, but the cold, to my washing my feet the night before. 16th. Lay in great pain in bed all the morning and most of the afternoon, being in much pain, making little or no water, and indeed having little within to make any with. And had great twinges with the wind all the day in my belly with wind. And a looseness with it, which however made it not so great as I have heretofore had it. A wonderful dark sky, and shower of rain this morning, which at Harwich proved so too with a shower of hail as big as walnuts. I had some broth made me to drink, which I love, only to fill up room. Up in the afternoon, and passed the day with Balty, who is come from sea for a day or two before the fight, and I perceive could be willing fairly to be out of the next fight, and I cannot much blame him, he having no reason by his place to be there; however, would not have him to be absent, manifestly to avoid being there. At night grew a little better and took a glyster of sacke, but taking it by halves it did me not much good, I taking but a little of it. However, to bed, and had a pretty good night of it, 17th. So as to be able to rise to go to the office and there sat, but now and then in pain, and without making much water, or freely. However, it grew better and better, so as after dinner believing the jogging in a coach would do me good, I did take my wife out to the New Exchange to buy things. She there while I with Balty went and bought a common riding-cloake for myself, to save my best. It cost me but 30s., and will do my turne mighty well. Thence home and walked in the garden with Sir W. Pen a while, and saying how the riding in the coach do me good (though I do not yet much find it), he ordered his to be got ready while I did some little business at the office, and so abroad he and I after 8 o'clock at night, as far almost as Bow, and so back again, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I did bid Balty to agree with the Dutch paynter, which he once led me to, to see landskipps, for a winter piece of snow, which indeed is a good piece, and costs me but 40s., which I would not take the money again for, it being, I think, very good. After a little supper to bed, being in less pain still, and had very good rest. 18th. Up in good case, and so by coach to St. James's after my fellows, and there did our business, which is mostly every day to complain of want of money, and that only will undo us in a little time. Here, among other things, before us all, the Duke of Yorke did say, that now at length he is come to a sure knowledge that the Dutch did lose in the late engagements twenty-nine captains and thirteen ships. Upon which Sir W. Coventry did publickly move, that if his Royal Highness had this of a certainty, it would be of use to send this down to the fleete, and to cause it to be spread about the fleete, for the recovering of the spirits of the officers and seamen; who are under great dejectedness for want of knowing that they did do any thing against the enemy, notwithstanding all that they did to us. Which, though it be true, yet methought was one of the most dishonourable motions to our countrymen that ever was made; and is worth remembering. Thence with Sir W. Pen home, calling at Lilly's, to have a time appointed when to be drawn among the other Commanders of Flags the last year's fight. And so full of work Lilly is, that he was faro to take his table-book out to see how his time is appointed, and appointed six days hence for him to come between seven and eight in the morning. Thence with him home; and there by appointment I find Dr. Fuller, now Bishop of Limericke, in Ireland; whom I knew in his low condition at Twittenham. I had also by his desire Sir W. Pen, and with him his lady and daughter, and had a good dinner, and find the Bishop the same good man as ever; and in a word, kind to us, and, methinks, one of the comeliest and most becoming prelates in all respects that ever I saw in my life. During dinner comes an acquaintance of his, Sir Thomas Littleton; whom I knew not while he was in my house, but liked his discourse; and afterwards, by Sir W. Pen, do come to know that he is one of the greatest speakers in the House of Commons, and the usual second to the great Vaughan. So was sorry I did observe him no more, and gain more of his acquaintance. After dinner, they being gone, and I mightily pleased with my guests, I down the river to Greenwich, about business, and thence walked to Woolwich, reading "The Rivall Ladys" all the way, and find it a most pleasant and fine writ play. At Woolwich saw Mr. Shelden, it being late, and there eat and drank, being kindly used by him and Bab, and so by water to Deptford, it being 10 o'clock before I got to Deptford, and dark, and there to Bagwell's, and, having staid there a while, away home, and after supper to bed. The Duke of Yorke said this day that by the letters from the Generals they would sail with the Fleete this day or to-morrow. 19th. Up in very good health in every respect, only my late fever got by my pain do break out about my mouth. So to the office, where all the morning sitting. Full of wants of money, and much stores to buy, for to replenish the stores, and no money to do it with, nor anybody to trust us without it. So at noon home to dinner, Balty and his wife with us. By and by Balty takes his leave of us, he going away just now towards the fleete, where he will pass through one great engagement more before he be two days older, I believe. I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, late, and then home, and, after some pleasant discourse to my wife, to bed. After I was in bed I had a letter from Sir W. Coventry that tells me that the fleete is sailed this morning; God send us good newes of them! 20th. Up, and finding by a letter late last night that the fleete is gone, and that Sir W. Pen is ordered to go down to Sheernesse, and finding him ready to go to St. James's this morning, I was willing to go with him to see how things go, [Sir William Penn's instructions from the Duke of York directing him to embark on his Majesty's yacht "Henrietta," and to see to the manning of such ships has had been left behind by the fleet, dated on this day, 20th July, is printed in Penn's "Memorials of Sir W. Penn," vol. ii., p. 406.] and so with him thither (but no discourse with the Duke), but to White Hall, and there the Duke of York did bid Sir W. Pen to stay to discourse with him and the King about business of the fleete, which troubled me a little, but it was only out of envy, for which I blame myself, having no reason to expect to be called to advise in a matter I understand not. So I away to Lovett's, there to see how my picture goes on to be varnished (a fine Crucifix), [This picture occasioned Pepys trouble long afterwards, having been brought as evidence that he was a Papist (see "Life," vol. i., p. xxxiii).] which will be very fine; and here I saw some fine prints, brought from France by Sir Thomas Crew, who is lately returned. So home, calling at the stationer's for some paper fit to varnish, and in my way home met with Lovett, to whom I gave it, and he did present me with a varnished staffe, very fine and light to walk with. So home and to dinner, there coming young Mrs. Daniel and her sister Sarah, and dined with us; and old Mr. Hawly, whose condition pities me, he being forced to turne under parish-clerke at St. Gyles's, I think at the other end of the towne. Thence I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening with Sir W. Pen, walking with whom in the garden I am of late mighty great, and it is wisdom to continue myself so, for he is of all the men of the office at present most manifestly usefull and best thought of. He and I supped together upon the seat in the garden, and thence, he gone, my wife and Mercer come and walked and sang late, and then home to bed. 21st. Up and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon walked in the garden with Commissioner Pett (newly come to towne), who tells me how infinite the disorders are among the commanders and all officers of the fleete. No discipline: nothing but swearing and cursing, and every body doing what they please; and the Generalls, understanding no better, suffer it, to the reproaching of this Board, or whoever it will be. He himself hath been challenged twice to the field, or something as good, by Sir Edward Spragge and Captain Seymour. He tells me that captains carry, for all the late orders, what men they please; demand and consume what provisions they please. So that he fears, and I do no less, that God Almighty cannot bless us while we keep in this disorder that we are in: he observing to me too, that there is no man of counsel or advice in the fleete; and the truth is, the gentlemen captains will undo us, for they are not to be kept in order, their friends about the King and Duke, and their own house, is so free, that it is not for any person but the Duke himself to have any command over them. He gone I to dinner, and then to the office, where busy all the afternoon. At night walked in the garden with my wife, and so I home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Pen is gone down to Sheernesse to-day to see things made ready against the fleete shall come in again, which makes Pett mad, and calls him dissembling knave, and that himself takes all the pains and is blamed, while he do nothing but hinder business and takes all the honour of it to himself, and tells me plainly he will fling, up his commission rather than bear it. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there till noon mighty busy, setting money matters and other things of mighty moment to rights to the great content of my mind, I finding that accounts but a little let go can never be put in order by strangers, for I cannot without much difficulty do it myself. After dinner to them again till about four o'clock and then walked to White Hall, where saw nobody almost but walked up and down with Hugh May, who is a very ingenious man. Among other things, discoursing of the present fashion of gardens to make them plain, that we have the best walks of gravell in the world, France having no nor Italy; and our green of our bowling allies is better than any they have. So our business here being ayre, this is the best way, only with a little mixture of statues, or pots, which may be handsome, and so filled with another pot of such and such a flower or greene as the season of the year will bear. And then for flowers, they are best seen in a little plat by themselves; besides, their borders spoil the walks of another garden: and then for fruit, the best way is to have walls built circularly one within another, to the South, on purpose for fruit, and leave the walking garden only for that use. Thence walked through the House, where most people mighty hush and, methinks, melancholy. I see not a smiling face through the whole Court; and, in my conscience, they are doubtfull of the conduct again of the Generalls, and I pray God they may not make their fears reasonable. Sir Richard Fanshaw is lately dead at Madrid. Guyland is lately overthrowne wholly in Barbary by the King of Tafiletta. The fleete cannot yet get clear of the River, but expect the first wind to be out, and then to be sure they fight. The Queene and Maids of Honour are at Tunbridge. 23rd. Up, and to my chamber doing several things there of moment, and then comes Sympson, the Joyner; and he and I with great pains contriving presses to put my books up in: they now growing numerous, and lying one upon another on my chairs, I lose the use to avoyde the trouble of removing them, when I would open a book. Thence out to the Excise office about business, and then homewards met Colvill, who tells me he hath L1000 ready for me upon a tally; which pleases me, and yet I know not now what to do with it, having already as much money as is fit for me to have in the house, but I will have it. I did also meet Alderman Backewell, who tells me of the hard usage he now finds from Mr. Fen, in not getting him a bill or two paid, now that he can be no more usefull to him; telling me that what by his being abroad and Shaw's death he hath lost the ball, but that he doubts not to come to give a kicke at it still, and then he shall be wiser and keepe it while he hath it. But he says he hath a good master, the King, who will not suffer him to be undone, as otherwise he must have been, and I believe him. So home and to dinner, where I confess, reflecting upon the ease and plenty that I live in, of money, goods, servants, honour, every thing, I could not but with hearty thanks to Almighty God ejaculate my thanks to Him while I was at dinner, to myself. After dinner to the office and there till five or six o'clock, and then by coach to St. James's and there with Sir W. Coventry and Sir G. Downing to take the gyre in the Parke. All full of expectation of the fleete's engagement, but it is not yet. Sir W. Coventry says they are eighty-nine men-of-warr, but one fifth-rate, and that, the Sweepstakes, which carries forty guns. They are most infinitely manned. He tells me the Loyall London, Sir J. Smith (which, by the way, he commends to be the-best ship in the world, large and small), hath above eight hundred men; and moreover takes notice, which is worth notice, that the fleete hath lane now near fourteen days without any demand for a farthingworth of any thing of any kind, but only to get men. He also observes, that with this excesse of men, nevertheless, they have thought fit to leave behind them sixteen ships, which they have robbed of their men, which certainly might have been manned, and they been serviceable in the fight, and yet the fleete well-manned, according to the excesse of supernumeraries, which we hear they have. At least two or three of them might have been left manned, and sent away with the Gottenburgh ships. They conclude this to be much the best fleete, for force of guns, greatnesse and number of ships and men, that ever England did see; being, as Sir W. Coventry reckons, besides those left behind, eighty-nine men of warr and twenty fire-ships, though we cannot hear that they have with them above eighteen. The French are not yet joined with the Dutch, which do dissatisfy the Hollanders, and if they should have a defeat, will undo De Witt; the people generally of Holland do hate this league with France. We cannot think of any business, but lie big with expectation of the issue of this fight, but do conclude that, this fight being over, we shall be able to see the whole issue of the warr, good or bad. So homeward, and walked over the Parke (St. James's) with Sir G. Downing, and at White Hall took a coach; and there to supper with much pleasure and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where little business done, our heads being full of expectation of the fleete's being engaged, but no certain notice of it, only Sheppeard in the Duke's yacht left them yesterday morning within a league of the Dutch fleete, and making after them, they standing into the sea. At noon to dinner, and after dinner with Mercer (as of late my practice is) a song and so to the office, there to set up again my frames about my Platts, which I have got to be all gilded, and look very fine, and then to my business, and busy very late, till midnight, drawing up a representation of the state of my victualling business to the Duke, I having never appeared to him doing anything yet and therefore I now do it in writing, I now having the advantage of having had two fleetes dispatched in better condition than ever any fleetes were yet, I believe; at least, with least complaint, and by this means I shall with the better confidence get my bills out for my salary. So home to bed. 25th. Up betimes to write fair my last night's paper for the Duke, and so along with Sir W. Batten by hackney coach to St. James's, where the Duke is gone abroad with the King to the Parke, but anon come back to White Hall, and we, after an houre's waiting, walked thither (I having desired Sir W. Coventry in his chamber to read over my paper about the victualling, which he approves of, and I am glad I showed it him first, it makes it the less necessary to show it the Duke at all, if I find it best to let it alone). At White Hall we find [the Court] gone to Chappell, it being St. James's-day. And by and by, while they are at chappell, and we waiting chappell being done, come people out of the Parke, telling us that the guns are heard plain. And so every body to the Parke, and by and by the chappell done, and the King and Duke into the bowling-green, and upon the leads, whither I went, and there the guns were plain to be heard; though it was pretty to hear how confident some would be in the loudnesse of the guns, which it was as much as ever I could do to hear them. By and by the King to dinner, and I waited there his dining; but, Lord! how little I should be pleased, I think, to have so many people crowding about me; and among other things it astonished me to see my Lord Barkeshire waiting at table, and serving the King drink, in that dirty pickle as I never saw man in my life. Here I met Mr. Williams, who in serious discourse told me he did hope well of this fight because of the equality of force or rather our having the advantage in number, and also because we did not go about it with the presumption that we did heretofore, when, he told me, he did before the last fight look upon us by our pride fated to be overcome. He would have me to dine where he was invited to dine, at the Backe-stayres. So after the King's meat was taken away, we thither; but he could not stay, but left me there among two or three of the King's servants, where we dined with the meat that come from his table; which was most excellent, with most brave drink cooled in ice (which at this hot time was welcome), and I drinking no wine, had metheglin for the King's owne drinking, which did please me mightily. Thence, having dined mighty nobly, I away to Mrs. Martin's new lodgings, where I find her, and was with her close, but, Lord! how big she is already. She is, at least seems, in mighty trouble for her husband at sea, when I am sure she cares not for him, and I would not undeceive her, though I know his ship is one of those that is not gone, but left behind without men. Thence to White Hall again to hear news, but found none; so back toward Westminster, and there met Mrs. Burroughs, whom I had a mind to meet, but being undressed did appear a mighty ordinary woman. Thence by water home, and out again by coach to Lovett's to see my Crucifix, which is not done. So to White Hall again to have met Sir G. Carteret, but he is gone, abroad, so back homewards, and seeing Mr. Spong took him up, and he and I to Reeves, the glass maker's, and did set several glasses and had pretty discourse with him, and so away, and set down Mr. Spong in London, and so home and with my wife, late, twatling at my Lady Pen's, and so home to supper and to bed. I did this afternoon call at my woman that ruled my paper to bespeak a musique card, and there did kiss Nan. No news to-night from the fleete how matters go yet. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home: Mr. Hunt and his wife, who is very gallant, and newly come from Cambridge, because of the sicknesse, with us. Very merry at table, and the people I do love mightily, but being in haste to go to White Hall I rose, and Mr. Hunt with me, and by coach thither, where I left him in the boarded gallery, and I by appointment to attend the Duke of Yorke at his closett, but being not come, Sir G. Carteret and I did talke together, and [he] advises me, that, if I could, I would get the papers of examination touching the business of the last year's prizes, which concern my Lord Sandwich, out of Warcupp's hands, who being now under disgrace and poor, he believes may be brought easily to part with them. My Lord Crew, it seems, is fearfull yet that maters may be enquired into. This I will endeavour to do, though I do not thinke it signifies much. By and by the Duke of Yorke comes and we had a meeting and, among other things, I did read my declaration of the proceedings of the Victualling hired this yeare, and desired his Royall Highnesse to give me the satisfaction of knowing whether his Royall Highnesse were pleased therewith. He told me he was, and that it was a good account, and that the business of the Victualling was much in a better condition than it was the last yeare; which did much joy me, being said in the company of my fellows, by which I shall be able with confidence to demand my salary and the rest of the subsurveyors. Thence away mightily satisfied to Mrs. Pierces, there to find my wife. Mrs. Pierce hath lain in of a boy about a month. The boy is dead this day. She lies in good state, and very pretty she is, but methinks do every day grow more and more great, and a little too much, unless they get more money than I fear they do. Thence with my wife and Mercer to my Lord Chancellor's new house, and there carried them up to the leads, where I find my Lord Chamberlain, Lauderdale, Sir Robert Murray, and others, and do find it the most delightfull place for prospect that ever was in the world, and even ravishing me, and that is all, in short, I can say of it. Thence to Islington to our old house and eat and drank, and so round by Kingsland home, and there to the office a little and Sir W. Batten's, but no newes at all from the fleete, and so home to bed. 27th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home and then to the office again, and there walking in the garden with Captain Cocke till 5 o'clock. No newes yet of the fleete. His great bargaine of Hempe with us by his unknown proposition is disliked by the King, and so is quite off; of which he is glad, by this means being rid of his obligation to my Lord Bruncker, which he was tired with, and especially his mistresse, Mrs. Williams, and so will fall into another way about it, wherein he will advise only with myself, which do not displease me, and will be better for him and the King too. Much common talke of publique business, the want of money, the uneasinesse that Parliament will find in raising any, and the ill condition we shall be in if they do not, and his confidence that the Swede is true to us, but poor, but would be glad to do us all manner of service in the world. He gone, I away by water from the Old Swan to White Hall. The waterman tells me that newes is come that our ship Resolution is burnt, and that we had sunke four or five of the enemy's ships. When I come to White Hall I met with Creed, and he tells me the same news, and walking with him to the Park I to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, and there he showed me Captain Talbot's letter, wherein he says that the fight begun on the 25th; that our White squadron begun with one of the Dutch squadrons, and then the Red with another so hot that we put them both to giving way, and so they continued in pursuit all the day, and as long as he stayed with them: that the Blue fell to the Zealand squadron; and after a long dispute, he against two or three great ships, he received eight or nine dangerous shots, and so come away; and says, he saw the Resolution burned by one of their fire-ships, and four or five of the enemy's. But says that two or three of our great ships were in danger of being fired by our owne fire-ships, which Sir W. Coventry, nor I, cannot understand. But upon the whole, he and I walked two or three turns in the Parke under the great trees, and do doubt that this gallant is come away a little too soon, having lost never a mast nor sayle. And then we did begin to discourse of the young gentlemen captains, which he was very free with me in speaking his mind of the unruliness of them; and what a losse the King hath of his old men, and now of this Hannam, of the Resolution, if he be dead, and that there is but few old sober men in the fleete, and if these few of the Flags that are so should die, he fears some other gentlemen captains will get in, and then what a council we shall have, God knows. He told me how he is disturbed to hear the commanders at sea called cowards here on shore, and that he was yesterday concerned publiquely at a dinner to defend them, against somebody that said that not above twenty of them fought as they should do, and indeed it is derived from the Duke of Albemarle himself, who wrote so to the King and Duke, and that he told them how they fought four days, two of them with great disadvantage. The Count de Guiche, who was on board De Ruyter, writing his narrative home in French of the fight, do lay all the honour that may be upon the English courage above the Dutch, and that he himself [Sir W. Coventry] was sent down from the King and Duke of Yorke after the fight, to pray them to spare none that they thought had not done their parts, and that they had removed but four, whereof Du Tell is one, of whom he would say nothing; but, it seems, the Duke of Yorke hath been much displeased at his removal, and hath now taken him into his service, which is a plain affront to the Duke of Albemarle; and two of the others, Sir W. Coventry did speake very slenderly of their faults. Only the last, which was old Teddiman, he says, is in fault, and hath little to excuse himself with; and that, therefore, we should not be forward in condemning men of want of courage, when the Generalls, who are both men of metal, and hate cowards, and had the sense of our ill successe upon them (and by the way must either let the world thinke it was the miscarriage of the Captains or their owne conduct), have thought fit to remove no more of them, when desired by the King and Duke of Yorke to do it, without respect to any favour any of them can pretend to in either of them. At last we concluded that we never can hope to beat the Dutch with such advantage as now in number and force and a fleete in want of nothing, and he hath often repeated now and at other times industriously that many of the Captains have: declared that they want nothing, and again, that they did lie ten days together at the Nore without demanding of any thing in the world but men, and of them they afterward, when they went away, the generalls themselves acknowledge that they have permitted several ships to carry supernumeraries, but that if we do not speede well, we must then play small games and spoile their trade in small parties. And so we parted, and I, meeting Creed in the Parke again, did take him by coach and to Islington, thinking to have met my Lady Pen and wife, but they were gone, so we eat and drank and away back, setting him down in Cheapside and I home, and there after a little while making of my tune to "It is decreed," to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, where no more newes of the fleete than was yesterday. Here we sat and at noon to dinner to the Pope's Head, where my Lord Bruncker and his mistresse dined and Commissioner Pett, Dr. Charleton, and myself, entertained with a venison pasty by Sir W. Warren. Here very pretty discourse of Dr. Charleton's, concerning Nature's fashioning every creature's teeth according to the food she intends them; and that men's, it is plain, was not for flesh, but for fruit, and that he can at any time tell the food of a beast unknown by the teeth. My Lord Bruncker made one or two objections to it that creatures find their food proper for their teeth rather than that the teeth were fitted for the food, but the Doctor, I think, did well observe that creatures do naturally and from the first, before they have had experience to try, do love such a food rather than another, and that all children love fruit, and none brought to flesh, but against their wills at first. Thence with my Lord Bruncker to White Hall, where no news. So to St. James's to Sir W. Coventry, and there hear only of the Bredah's being come in and gives the same small account that the other did yesterday, so that we know not what is done by the body of the fleete at all, but conceive great reason to hope well. Thence with my Lord to his coach-house, and there put in his six horses into his coach, and he and I alone to Highgate. All the way going and coming I learning of him the principles of Optickes, and what it is that makes an object seem less or bigger and how much distance do lessen an object, and that it is not the eye at all, or any rule in optiques, that can tell distance, but it is only an act of reason comparing of one mark with another, which did both please and inform me mightily. Being come thither we went to my Lord Lauderdale's house to speake with him, about getting a man at Leith to joyne with one we employ to buy some prize goods for the King; we find [him] and his lady and some Scotch people at supper. Pretty odd company; though my Lord Bruncker tells me, my Lord Lauderdale is a man of mighty good reason and judgement. But at supper there played one of their servants upon the viallin some Scotch tunes only; several, and the best of their country, as they seemed to esteem them, by their praising and admiring them: but, Lord! the strangest ayre that ever I heard in my life, and all of one cast. But strange to hear my Lord Lauderdale say himself that he had rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in the world; and the better the musique, the more sicke it makes him; and that of all instruments, he hates the lute most, and next to that, the baggpipe. Thence back with my Lord to his house, all the way good discourse, informing of myself about optiques still, and there left him and by a hackney home, and after writing three or four letters, home to supper and to bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up and all the morning in my chamber making up my accounts in my book with my father and brother and stating them. Towards noon before sermon was done at church comes newes by a letter to Sir W. Batten, to my hand, of the late fight, which I sent to his house, he at church. But, Lord! with what impatience I staid till sermon was done, to know the issue of the fight, with a thousand hopes and fears and thoughts about the consequences of either. At last sermon is done and he come home, and the bells immediately rung soon as the church was done. But coming; to Sir W. Batten to know the newes, his letter said nothing of it; but all the towne is full of a victory. By and by a letter from Sir W. Coventry tells me that we have the victory. Beat them into the Weelings; [In a letter from Richard Browne to Williamson, dated Yarmouth, July 30th, we read, "The Zealanders were engaged with the Blue squadron Wednesday and most of Thursday, but at length the Zealanders ran; the Dutch fleet escaped to the Weelings and Goree" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1665-66, p 591).] had taken two of their great ships; but by the orders of the Generalls they are burned. This being, methought, but a poor result after the fighting of two so great fleetes, and four days having no tidings of them, I was still impatient; but could know no more. So away home to dinner, where Mr. Spong and Reeves dined with me by invitation. And after dinner to our business of my microscope to be shown some of the observables of that, and then down to my office to looke in a darke room with my glasses and tube, and most excellently things appeared indeed beyond imagination. This was our worke all the afternoon trying the several glasses and several objects, among others, one of my plates, where the lines appeared so very plain that it is not possible to thinke how plain it was done. Thence satisfied exceedingly with all this we home and to discourse many pretty things, and so staid out the afternoon till it began to be dark, and then they away and I to Sir W. Batten, where the Lieutenant of the Tower was, and Sir John Minnes, and the newes I find is no more or less than what I had heard before; only that our Blue squadron, it seems, was pursued the most of the time, having more ships, a great many, than its number allotted to her share. Young Seamour is killed, the only captain slain. The Resolution burned; but, as they say, most of her [crew] and commander saved. This is all, only we keep the sea, which denotes a victory, or at least that we are not beaten; but no great matters to brag of, God knows. So home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and did some business in my chamber, then by and by comes my boy's Lute-Master, and I did direct him hereafter to begin to teach him to play his part on the Theorbo, which he will do, and that in a little time I believe. So to the office, and there with Sir W. Warren, with whom I have spent no time a good while. We set right our business of the Lighters, wherein I thinke I shall get L100. At noon home to dinner and there did practise with Mercer one of my new tunes that I have got Dr. Childe to set me a base to and it goes prettily. Thence abroad to pay several debts at the end of the month, and so to Sir W. Coventry, at St. James's, where I find him in his new closett, which is very fine, and well supplied with handsome books. I find him speak very slightly of the late victory: dislikes their staying with the fleete up their coast, believing that the Dutch will come out in fourteen days, and then we with our unready fleete, by reason of some of the ships being maymed, shall be in bad condition to fight them upon their owne coast: is much dissatisfied with the great number of men, and their fresh demands of twenty-four victualling ships, they going out but the other day as full as they could stow. I asked him whether he did never desire an account of the number of supernumeraries, as I have done several ways, without which we shall be in great errour about the victuals; he says he has done it again and again, and if any mistake should happen they must thanke themselves. He spoke slightly of the Duke of Albemarle, saying, when De Ruyter come to give him a broadside--"Now," says he, chewing of tobacco the while, "will this fellow come and give, me two broadsides, and then he will run;" but it seems he held him to it two hours, till the Duke himself was forced to retreat to refit, and was towed off, and De Ruyter staid for him till he come back again to fight. One in the ship saying to the Duke, "Sir, methinks De Ruyter hath given us more: than two broadsides;"--"Well," says the Duke, "but you shall find him run by and by," and so he did, says Sir W. Coventry; but after the Duke himself had been first made to fall off. The Resolution had all brass guns, being the same that Sir J. Lawson had in her in the Straights. It is observed that the two fleetes were even in number to one ship. Thence home; and to sing with my wife and Mercer in the garden; and coming in I find my wife plainly dissatisfied with me, that I can spend so much time with Mercer, teaching her to sing and could never take the pains with her. Which I acknowledge; but it is because that the girl do take musique mighty readily, and she do not, and musique is the thing of the world that I love most, and all the pleasure almost that I can now take. So to bed in some little discontent, but no words from me. 31st. Good friends in the morning and up to the office, where sitting all the morning, and while at table we were mightily joyed with newes brought by Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten of the death of De Ruyter, but when Sir W. Coventry come, he told us there was no such thing, which quite dashed me again, though, God forgive me! I was a little sorry in my heart before lest it might give occasion of too much glory to the Duke of Albemarle. Great bandying this day between Sir W. Coventry and my Lord Bruncker about Captain Cocke, which I am well pleased with, while I keepe from any open relyance on either side, but rather on Sir W. Coventry's. At noon had a haunch of venison boiled and a very good dinner besides, there dining with me on a sudden invitation the two mayden sisters, Bateliers, and their elder brother, a pretty man, understanding and well discoursed, much pleased with his company. Having dined myself I rose to go to a Committee of Tangier, and did come thither time enough to meet Povy and Creed and none else. The Court being empty, the King being gone to Tunbridge, and the Duke of Yorke a-hunting. I had some discourse with Povy, who is mightily discontented, I find, about his disappointments at Court; and says, of all places, if there be hell, it is here. No faith, no truth, no love, nor any agreement between man and wife, nor friends. He would have spoke broader, but I put it off to another time; and so parted. Then with Creed and read over with him the narrative of the late [fight], which he makes a very poor thing of, as it is indeed, and speaks most slightingly of the whole matter. Povy discoursed with me about my Lord Peterborough's L50 which his man did give me from him, the last year's salary I paid him, which he would have Povy pay him again; but I have not taken it to myself yet, and therefore will most heartily return him, and mark him out for a coxcomb. Povy went down to Mr. Williamson's, and brought me up this extract out of the Flanders' letters to-day come: That Admiral Everson, and the Admiral and Vice-Admiral of Freezeland, with many captains and men, are slain; that De Ruyter is safe, but lost 250 men out of his own ship; but that he is in great disgrace, and Trump in better favour; that Bankert's ship is burned, himself hardly escaping with a few men on board De Haes; that fifteen captains are to be tried the seventh of August; and that the hangman was sent from Flushing to assist the Council of Warr. How much of this is true, time will shew. Thence to Westminster Hall and walked an hour with Creed talking of the late fight, and observing the ridiculous management thereof and success of the Duke of Albemarle. Thence parted and to Mrs. Martin's lodgings, and sat with her a while, and then by water home, all the way reading the Narrative of the late fight in order, it may be, to the making some marginal notes upon it. At the Old Swan found my Betty Michell at the doore, where I staid talking with her a pretty while, it being dusky, and kissed her and so away home and writ my letters, and then home to supper, where the brother and Mary Batelier are still and Mercer's two sisters. They have spent the time dancing this afternoon, and we were very merry, and then after supper into the garden and there walked, and then home with them and then back again, my wife and I and the girle, and sang in the garden and then to bed. Colville was with me this morning, and to my great joy I could now have all my money in, that I have in the world. But the times being open again, I thinke it is best to keepe some of it abroad. Mighty well, and end this month in content of mind and body. The publique matters looking more safe for the present than they did, and we having a victory over the Dutch just such as I could have wished, and as the kingdom was fit to bear, enough to give us the name of conquerors, and leave us masters of the sea, but without any such great matters done as should give the Duke of Albemarle any honour at all, or give him cause to rise to his former insolence. AUGUST 1666 August 1st. Up betimes to the settling of my last month's accounts, and I bless God I find them very clear, and that I am worth L5700, the most that ever my book did yet make out. So prepared to attend the Duke of Yorke as usual, but Sir W. Pen, just as I was going out, comes home from Sheernesse, and held me in discourse about publique business, till I come by coach too late to St. James's, and there find that every thing stood still, and nothing done for want of me. Thence walked over the Parke with Sir W. Coventry, who I clearly see is not thoroughly pleased with the late management of the fight, nor with any thing that the Generalls do; only is glad to hear that De Ruyter is out of favour, and that this fight hath cost them 5,000 men, as they themselves do report. And it is a strange thing, as he observes, how now and then the slaughter runs on one hand; there being 5,000 killed on theirs, and not above 400 or 500 killed and wounded on ours, and as many flag-officers on theirs as ordinary captains in ours; there being Everson, and the Admiral and Vice-Admiral of Freezeland on theirs, and Seamour, Martin, and-----, on ours. I left him going to Chappell, it being the common fast day, and the Duke of York at Chappell. And I to Mrs. Martin's, but she abroad, so I sauntered to or again to the Abbey, and then to the parish church, fearfull of being seen to do so, and so after the parish church was ended, I to the Swan and there dined upon a rabbit, and after dinner to Mrs. Martin's, and there find Mrs. Burroughs, and by and by comes a pretty widow, one Mrs. Eastwood, and one Mrs. Fenton, a maid; and here merry kissing and looking on their breasts, and all the innocent pleasure in the world. But, Lord! to see the dissembling of this widow, how upon the singing of a certain jigg by Doll, Mrs. Martin's sister, she seemed to be sick and fainted and God knows what, because the jigg, which her husband (who died this last sickness) loved. But by and by I made her as merry as is possible, and towzed and tumbled her as I pleased, and then carried her and her sober pretty kinswoman Mrs. Fenton home to their lodgings in the new market of my Lord Treasurer's, and there left them. Mightily pleased with this afternoon's mirth, but in great pain to ride in a coach with them, for fear of being seen. So home, and there much pleased with my wife's drawing today in her pictures, and so to supper and to bed very pleasant. 2nd. [Up] and to the office, where we sat, and in discourse at the table with Sir W. Batten, I was obliged to tell him it was an untruth, which did displease him mightily, and parted at noon very angry with me. At home find Lovett, who brought me some papers varnished, and showed me my crucifix, which will be very fine when done. He dined with me and Balty's wife, who is in great pain for her husband, not hearing of him since the fight; but I understand he was not in it, going hence too late, and I am glad of it. Thence to the office, and thither comes to me Creed, and he and I walked a good while, and then to the victualling office together, and there with Mr. Gawden I did much business, and so away with Creed again, and by coach to see my Lord Bruncker, who it seems was not well yesterday, but being come thither, I find his coach ready to carry him abroad, but Tom, his footman, whatever the matter was, was lothe to desire me to come in, but I walked a great while in the Piatza till I was going away, but by and by my Lord himself comes down and coldly received me. So I soon parted, having enough for my over officious folly in troubling myself to visit him, and I am apt to think that he was fearfull that my coming was out of design to see how he spent his time [rather] than to enquire after his health. So parted, and I with Creed down to the New Exchange Stairs, and there I took water, and he parted, so home, and then down to Woolwich, reading and making an end of the "Rival Ladys," and find it a very pretty play. At Woolwich, it being now night, I find my wife and Mercer, and Mr. Batelier and Mary there, and a supper getting ready. So I staid, in some pain, it being late, and post night. So supped and merrily home, but it was twelve at night first. However, sent away some letters, and home to bed. 3rd. Up and to the office, where Sir W. Batten and I sat to contract for some fire-ships. I there close all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then abroad to Sir Philip Warwicke's at White Hall about Tangier one quarter tallys, and there had some serious discourse touching money, and the case of the Navy, wherein all I could get of him was that we had the full understanding of the treasure as much as my Lord Treasurer himself, and knew what he can do, and that whatever our case is, more money cannot be got till the Parliament. So talked of getting an account ready as soon as we could to give the Parliament, and so very melancholy parted. So I back again, calling my wife at her sister's, from whose husband we do now hear that he was safe this week, and going in a ship to the fleete from the buoy of the Nore, where he has been all this while, the fleete being gone before he got down. So home, and busy till night, and then to Sir W. Pen, with my wife, to sit and chat, and a small supper, and home to bed. The death of Everson, and the report of our success, beyond expectation, in the killing of so great a number of men, hath raised the estimation of the late victory considerably; but it is only among fools: for all that was but accidental. But this morning, getting Sir.W. Pen to read over the Narrative with me, he did sparingly, yet plainly, say that we might have intercepted their Zealand squadron coming home, if we had done our parts; and more, that we might have spooned before the wind as well as they, and have overtaken their ships in the pursuite, in all the while. [To spoom, or spoon, is to go right before the wind, without any sail. Sea Dictionary. Dryden uses the word "When virtue spooms before a prosperous gale, My heaving wishes help to fill the sail." Hind and Panther, iii. 96.] 4th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and, at noon to dinner, and Mr. Cooke dined with us, who is lately come from Hinchingbroke, [Lord Hinchingbrooke] who is also come to town: The family all well. Then I to the office, where very busy to state to Mr. Coventry the account of the victuals of the fleete, and late at it, and then home to supper and to bed. This evening, Sir W. Pen come into the garden, and walked with me, and told me that he had certain notice that at Flushing they are in great distraction. De Ruyter dares not come on shore for fear of the people; nor any body open their houses or shops for fear of the tumult: which is a every good hearing. 5th. (Lord's day). Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there called Betty Michell and her husband, and had two or three a long salutes from her out of sight of 'su mari', which pleased me mightily, and so carried them by water to West minster, and I to St. James's, and there had a meeting before the Duke of Yorke, complaining of want of money, but nothing done to any purpose, for want we shall, so that now our advices to him signify nothing. Here Sir W. Coventry did acquaint the Duke of Yorke how the world do discourse of the ill method of our books, and that we would consider how to answer any enquiry which shall be made after our practice therein, which will I think concern the Controller most, but I shall make it a memento to myself. Thence walked to the Parish Church to have one look upon Betty Michell, and so away homeward by water, and landed to go to the church, where, I believe, Mrs. Horsely goes, by Merchant-tailors' Hall, and there I find in the pulpit Elborough, my old schoolfellow and a simple rogue, and yet I find him preaching a very good sermon, and in as right a parson-like manner, and in good manner too, as I have heard any body; and the church very full, which is a surprising consideration; but I did not see her. So home, and had a good dinner, and after dinner with my wife, and Mercer, and Jane by water, all the afternoon up as high as Morclaeke with great pleasure, and a fine day, reading over the second part of the "Siege of Rhodes," with great delight. We landed and walked at Barne-elmes, and then at the Neat Houses I landed and bought a millon,--[melon]--and we did also land and eat and drink at Wandsworth, and so to the Old Swan, and thence walked home. It being a mighty fine cool evening, and there being come, my wife and I spent an houre in the garden, talking of our living in the country, when I shall be turned out of the office, as I fear the Parliament may find faults enough with the office to remove us all, and I am joyed to think in how good a condition I am to retire thither, and have wherewith very well to subsist. Nan, at Sir W. Pen's, lately married to one Markeham, a kinsman of Sir W. Pen's, a pretty wench she is. 6th. Up, and to the office a while, and then by water to my Lady Montagu's, at Westminster, and there visited my Lard Hinchingbroke, newly come from Hinchingbroke, and find him a mighty sober gentleman, to my great content. Thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke and my Lord Treasurer's, but failed in my business; so home and in Fenchurch-streete met with Mr. Battersby; says he, "Do you see Dan Rawlinson's door shut up?" (which I did, and wondered). "Why," says he, "after all the sickness, and himself spending all the last year in the country, one of his men is now dead of the plague, and his wife and one of his mayds sicke, and himself shut up;" which troubles me mightily. So home; and there do hear also from Mrs. Sarah Daniel, that Greenwich is at this time much worse than ever it was, and Deptford too: and she told us that they believed all the towne would leave the towne and come to London; which is now the receptacle of all the people from all infected places. God preserve us! So by and by to dinner, and, after dinner in comes Mrs. Knipp, and I being at the office went home to her, and there I sat and talked with her, it being the first time of her being here since her being brought to bed. I very pleasant with her; but perceive my wife hath no great pleasure in her being here, she not being pleased with my kindnesse to her. However, we talked and sang, and were very pleasant. By and by comes Mr. Pierce and his wife, the first time she also hath been here since her lying-in, both having been brought to bed of boys, and both of them dead. And here we talked, and were pleasant, only my wife in a chagrin humour, she not being pleased with my kindnesse to either of them, and by and by she fell into some silly discourse wherein I checked her, which made her mighty pettish, and discoursed mighty offensively to Mrs. Pierce, which did displease me, but I would make no words, but put the discourse by as much as I could (it being about a report that my wife said was made of herself and meant by Mrs. Pierce, that she was grown a gallant, when she had but so few suits of clothes these two or three years, and a great deale of that silly discourse), and by and by Mrs. Pierce did tell her that such discourses should not trouble her, for there went as bad on other people, and particularly of herself at this end of the towne, meaning my wife, that she was crooked, which was quite false, which my wife had the wit not to acknowledge herself to be the speaker of, though she has said it twenty times. But by this means we had little pleasure in their visit; however, Knipp and I sang, and then I offered them to carry them home, and to take my wife with me, but she would not go: so I with them, leaving my wife in a very ill humour, and very slighting to them, which vexed me. However, I would not be removed from my civility to them, but sent for a coach, and went with them; and, in our way, Knipp saying that she come out of doors without a dinner to us, I took them to Old Fish Streete, to the very house and woman where I kept my wedding dinner, where I never was since, and there I did give them a joie of salmon, and what else was to be had. And here we talked of the ill-humour of my wife, which I did excuse as much as I could, and they seemed to admit of it, but did both confess they wondered at it; but from thence to other discourse, and among others to that of my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, who it seems do speake mighty hardly of me for my not treating them, and not giving her something to her closett, and do speake worse of my wife, and dishonourably, but it is what she do of all the world, though she be a whore herself; so I value it not. But they told me how poorly my Lord carried himself the other day to his kinswoman, Mrs. Howard, and was displeased because she called him uncle to a little gentlewoman that is there with him, which he will not admit of; for no relation is to be challenged from others to a lord, and did treat her thereupon very rudely and ungenteely. Knipp tells me also that my Lord keeps another woman besides Mrs. Williams; and that, when I was there the other day, there was a great hubbub in the house, Mrs. Williams being fallen sicke, because my Lord was gone to his other mistresse, making her wait for him, till his return from the other mistresse; and a great deale of do there was about it; and Mrs. Williams swounded at it, at the very time when I was there and wondered at the reason of my being received so negligently. I set them both at home, Knipp at her house, her husband being at the doore; and glad she was to be found to have staid out so long with me and Mrs. Pierce, and none else; and Mrs. Pierce at her house, and am mightily pleased with the discretion of her during the simplicity and offensiveness of my wife's discourse this afternoon. I perceive by the new face at Mrs. Pierces door that our Mary is gone from her. So I home, calling on W. Joyce in my coach, and staid and talked a little with him, who is the same silly prating fellow that ever he was, and so home, and there find my wife mightily out of order, and reproaching of Mrs. Pierce and Knipp as wenches, and I know not what. But I did give her no words to offend her, and quietly let all pass, and so to bed without any good looke or words to or from my wife. 7th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and home to dinner, and then to the office again, being pretty good friends with my wife again, no angry words passed; but she finding fault with Mercer, suspecting that it was she that must have told Mary, that must have told her mistresse of my wife's saying that she was crooked. But the truth is, she is jealous of my kindnesse to her. After dinner, to the office, and did a great deale of business. In the evening comes Mr. Reeves, with a twelve-foote glasse, so I left the office and home, where I met Mr. Batelier with my wife, in order to our going to-morrow, by agreement, to Bow to see a dancing meeting. But, Lord! to see how soon I could conceive evil fears and thoughts concerning them; so Reeves and I and they up to the top of the house, and there we endeavoured to see the moon, and Saturne and Jupiter; but the heavens proved cloudy, and so we lost our labour, having taken pains to get things together, in order to the managing of our long glasse. So down to supper and then to bed, Reeves lying at my house, but good discourse I had from him: in his own trade, concerning glasses, and so all of us late to bed. I receive fresh intelligence that Deptford and Greenwich are now afresh exceedingly afflicted with the sickness more than ever. 8th. Up, and with Reeves walk as far as the Temple, doing some business in my way at my bookseller's and elsewhere, and there parted, and I took coach, having first discoursed with Mr. Hooke a little, whom we met in the streete, about the nature of sounds, and he did make me understand the nature of musicall sounds made by strings, mighty prettily; and told me that having come to a certain number of vibrations proper to make any tone, he is able to tell how many strokes a fly makes with her wings (those flies that hum in their flying) by the note that it answers to in musique during their flying. That, I suppose, is a little too much refined; but his discourse in general of sound was mighty fine. There I left them, and myself by coach to St. James's, where we attended with the rest of my fellows on the Duke, whom I found with two or three patches upon his nose and about his right eye, which come from his being struck with the bough of a tree the other day in his hunting; and it is a wonder it did not strike out his eye. After we had done our business with him, which is now but little, the want of money being such as leaves us little to do but to answer complaints of the want thereof, and nothing to offer to the Duke, the representing of our want of money being now become uselesse, I into the Park, and there I met with Mrs. Burroughs by appointment, and did agree (after discoursing of some business of her's) for her to meet me at New Exchange, while I by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and then called at the New Exchange, and thence carried her by water to Parliament stayres, and I to the Exchequer about my Tangier quarter tallys, and that done I took coach and to the west door of the Abby, where she come to me, and I with her by coach to Lissen-greene where we were last, and staid an hour or two before dinner could be got for us, I in the meantime having much pleasure with her, but all honest. And by and by dinner come up, and then to my sport again, but still honest; and then took coach and up and down in the country toward Acton, and then toward Chelsy, and so to Westminster, and there set her down where I took her up, with mighty pleasure in her company, and so I by coach home, and thence to Bow, with all the haste I could, to my Lady Pooly's, where my wife was with Mr. Batelier and his sisters, and there I found a noble supper, and every thing exceeding pleasant, and their mother, Mrs. Batelier, a fine woman, but mighty passionate upon sudden news brought her of the loss of a dog borrowed of the Duke of Albemarle's son to line a bitch of hers that is very pretty, but the dog was by and by found, and so all well again, their company mighty innocent and pleasant, we having never been here before. About ten o'clock we rose from table, and sang a song, and so home in two coaches (Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary and my wife and I in one, and Mercer alone in the other); and after being examined at Allgate, whether we were husbands and wives, home, and being there come, and sent away Mr. Batelierand his sister, I find Reeves there, it being a mighty fine bright night, and so upon my leads, though very sleepy, till one in the morning, looking on the moon and Jupiter, with this twelve-foote glasse and another of six foote, that he hath brought with him to-night, and the sights mighty pleasant, and one of the glasses I will buy, it being very usefull. So to bed mighty sleepy, but with much pleasure. Reeves lying at my house again; and mighty proud I am (and ought to be thankfull to God Almighty) that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends. 9th. Up and to the office to prepare business for the Board, Reeves being gone and I having lent him upon one of the glasses. Here we sat, but to little purpose, nobody coming at us but to ask for money, not to offer us any goods. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, being mightily pleased with a Virgin's head that my wife is now doing of. In the evening to Lumbard-streete about money, to enable me to pay Sir G. Carteret's L3000, which he hath lodged in my hands, in behalf of his son and my Lady Jemimah, toward their portion, which, I thank God, I am able to do at a minute's warning. In my [way] I inquired, and find Mrs. Rawlinson is dead of the sickness, and her mayde continues mighty ill. He himself is got out of the house. I met also with Mr. Evelyn in the streete, who tells me the sad condition at this very day at Deptford for the plague, and more at Deale (within his precinct as one of the Commissioners for sick and wounded seamen), that the towne is almost quite depopulated. Thence back home again, and after some business at my office, late, home to supper and to bed, I being sleepy by my late want of rest, notwithstanding my endeavouring to get a nap of an hour this afternoon after dinner. So home and to bed. 10th. Up and to my chamber; there did some business and then to my office, and towards noon by water to the Exchequer about my Tangier order, and thence back again and to the Exchange, where little newes but what is in the book, and, among other things, of a man sent up for by the King and Council for saying that Sir W. Coventry did give intelligence to the Dutch of all our matters here. I met with Colvill, and he and I did agree about his lending me L1000 upon a tally of L1000 for Tangier. Thence to Sympson, the joyner, and I am mightily pleased with what I see of my presses for my books, which he is making for me. So homeward, and hear in Fanchurch-streete, that now the mayde also is dead at Mr. Rawlinson's; so that there are three dead in all, the wife, a man-servant, and mayde-servant. Home to dinner, where sister Balty dined with us, and met a letter come to me from him. He is well at Harwich, going to the fleete. After dinner to the office, and anon with my wife and sister abroad, left them in Paternoster Row, while Creed, who was with me at the office, and I to Westminster; and leaving him in the Strand, I to my Lord Chancellor's, and did very little business, and so away home by water, with more and more pleasure, I every time reading over my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae." So home, and there did little business, and then walked an hour talking of sundry things in the garden, and find him a cunning knave, as I always observed him to be, and so home to supper, and to bed. Pleased that this day I find, if I please, I can have all my money in that I have out of my hands, but I am at a loss whether to take it in or no, and pleased also to hear of Mrs. Barbara Sheldon's good fortune, who is like to have Mr. Wood's son, the mast-maker, a very rich man, and to be married speedily, she being already mighty fine upon it. 11th. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where mighty pleased at my wife's beginnings of a little Virgin's head. To the office and did much business, and then to Mr. Colvill's, and with him did come to an agreement about my L2600 assignment on the Exchequer, which I had of Sir W. Warren; and, to my great joy, I think I shall get above L100 by it, but I must leave it to be finished on Monday. Thence to the office, and there did the remainder of my business, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon I hear as if we had landed some men upon the Dutch coasts, but I believe it is but a foolery either in the report or the attempt. 12th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, where busy all the morning, and my thoughts very much upon the manner of my removal of my closett things the next weeke into my present musique room, if I find I can spare or get money to furnish it. By and by comes Reeves, by appointment, but did not bring the glasses and things I expected for our discourse and my information to-day, but we have agreed on it for next Sunday. By and by, in comes Betty Michell and her husband, and so to dinner, I mightily pleased with their company. We passed the whole day talking with them, but without any pleasure, but only her being there. In the evening, all parted, and I and my wife up to her closett to consider how to order that the next summer, if we live to it; and then down to my chamber at night to examine her kitchen accounts, and there I took occasion to fall out with her for her buying a laced handkercher and pinner without my leave. Though the thing is not much, yet I would not permit her begin to do so, lest worse should follow. From this we began both to be angry, and so continued till bed, and did not sleep friends. 13th. Up, without being friends with my wife, nor great enemies, being both quiet and silent. So out to Colvill's, but he not being come to town yet, I to Paul's Church-yarde, to treat with a bookbinder, to come and gild the backs of all my books, to make them handsome, to stand in my new presses, when they come. So back again to Colvill's, and there did end our treaty, to my full content, about my Exchequer assignment of L2600 of Sir W. Warren's, for which I give him L170 to stand to the hazard of receiving it. So I shall get clear by it L230, which is a very good jobb. God be praised for it! Having done with him, then he and I took coach, and I carried him to Westminster, and there set him down, in our way speaking of several things. I find him a bold man to say any thing of any body, and finds fault with our great ministers of state that nobody looks after any thing; and I thought it dangerous to be free with him, for I do not think he can keep counsel, because he blabs to me what hath passed between other people and him. Thence I to St. James's, and there missed Sir W. Coventry; but taking up Mr. Robinson in my coach, I towards London, and there in the way met Sir W. Coventry, and followed him to White Hall, where a little discourse very kind, and so I away with Robinson, and set him down at the 'Change, and thence I to Stokes the goldsmith, and sent him to and again to get me L1000 in gold; and so home to dinner, my wife and I friends, without any words almost of last night. After dinner, I abroad to Stokes, and there did receive L1000 worth in gold, paying 18 1/2d. and 19d. for others exchange. Home with them, and there to my office to business, and anon home in the evening, there to settle some of my accounts, and then to supper and to bed. 14th. (Thanksgiving day.) [A proclamation ordering August 14th to be observed in London and Westminster, and August 23rd in other places, as a day of thanksgiving for the late victory at sea over the Dutch, was published on August 6th.] Up, and comes Mr. Foley and his man, with a box of a great variety of carpenter's and joyner's tooles, which I had bespoke, to me, which please me mightily; but I will have more. Then I abroad down to the Old Swan, and there I called and kissed Betty Michell, and would have got her to go with me to Westminster, but I find her a little colder than she used to be, methought, which did a little molest me. So I away not pleased, and to White Hall, where I find them at Chappell, and met with Povy, and he and I together, who tells me how mad my letter makes my Lord Peterborough, and what a furious letter he hath writ to me in answer, though it is not come yet. This did trouble me; for though there be no reason, yet to have a nobleman's mouth open against a man may do a man hurt; so I endeavoured to have found him out and spoke with him, but could not. So to the chappell, and heard a piece of the Dean of Westminster's sermon, and a special good anthemne before the king, after a sermon, and then home by coach with Captain Cocke, who is in pain about his hempe, of which he says he hath bought great quantities, and would gladly be upon good terms with us for it, wherein I promise to assist him. So we 'light at the 'Change, where, after a small turn or two, taking no pleasure now-a-days to be there, because of answering questions that would be asked there which I cannot answer; so home and dined, and after dinner, with my wife and Mercer to the Beare-garden, [The Bear Garden was situated on Bankside, close to the precinct of the Clinke Liberty, and very near to the old palace of the bishops of Winchester. Stow, to his "Survey," says: "There be two Bear Gardens, the old and new Places." The name still exists in a street or lane at the foot of Southwark Bridge, and in Bear Garden Wharf.] where I have not been, I think, of many years, and saw some good sport of the bull's tossing of the dogs: one into the very boxes. But it is a very rude and nasty pleasure. We had a great many hectors in the same box with us (and one very fine went into the pit, and played his dog for a wager, which was a strange sport for a gentleman), where they drank wine, and drank Mercer's health first, which I pledged with my hat off; and who should be in the house but Mr. Pierce the surgeon, who saw us and spoke to us. Thence home, well enough satisfied, however, with the variety of this afternoon's exercise; and so I to my chamber, till in the evening our company come to supper. We had invited to a venison pasty Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary, Mrs. Mercer, her daughter Anne, Mr. Le Brun, and W. Hewer; and so we supped, and very merry. And then about nine o'clock to Mrs. Mercer's gate, where the fire and boys expected us, and her son had provided abundance of serpents and rockets; and there mighty merry (my Lady Pen and Pegg going thither with us, and Nan Wright), till about twelve at night, flinging our fireworks, and burning one another and the people over the way. And at last our businesses being most spent, we into Mrs. Mercer's, and there mighty merry, smutting one another with candle grease and soot, till most of us were like devils. And that being done, then we broke up, and to my house; and there I made them drink, and upstairs we went, and then fell into dancing (W. Batelier dancing well), and dressing, him and I and one Mr. Banister (who with his wife come over also with us) like women; and Mercer put on a suit of Tom's, like a boy, and mighty mirth we had, and Mercer danced a jigg; and Nan Wright and my wife and Pegg Pen put on perriwigs. Thus we spent till three or four in the morning, mighty merry; and then parted, and to bed. 15th. Mighty sleepy; slept till past eight of the clock, and was called up by a letter from Sir W. Coventry, which, among other things, tells me how we have burned one hundred and sixty ships of the enemy within the Fly. [On the 8th August the Duke of Albemarle reported to Lord Arlington that he had "sent 1000 good men under Sir R. Holmes and Sir William Jennings to destroy the islands of Vlie and Schelling." On the 10th James Hayes wrote to Williamson: "On the 9th at noon smoke was seen rising from several places in the island of Vlie, and the 10th brought news that Sir Robert had burned in the enemy's harbour 160 outward bound valuable merchant men and three men-of-war, and taken a little pleasure boat and eight guns in four hours. The loss is computed at a million sterling, and will make great confusion when the people see themselves in the power of the English at their very doors. Sir Robert then landed his forces, and is burning the houses in Vlie and Schelling as bonfires for his good success at sea" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 21,27).] I up, and with all possible haste, and in pain for fear of coming late, it being our day of attending the Duke of Yorke, to St. James's, where they are full of the particulars; how they are generally good merchant ships, some of them laden and supposed rich ships. We spent five fire-ships upon them. We landed on the Schelling (Sir Philip Howard with some men, and Holmes, I think; with others, about 1000 in all), and burned a town; and so come away. By and by the Duke of Yorke with his books showed us the very place and manner, and that it was not our design or expectation to have done this, but only to have landed on the Fly, and burned some of their store; but being come in, we spied those ships, and with our long boats, one by one, fired them, our ships running all aground, it being so shoal water. We were led to this by, it seems, a renegado captain of the Hollanders, who found himself ill used by De Ruyter for his good service, and so come over to us, and hath done us good service; so that now we trust him, and he himself did go on this expedition. The service is very great, and our joys as great for it. All this will make the Duke of Albemarle in repute again, I doubt, though there is nothing of his in this. But, Lord! to see what successe do, whether with or without reason, and making a man seem wise, notwithstanding never so late demonstration of the profoundest folly in the world. Thence walked over the Parke with Sir W. Coventry, in our way talking of the unhappy state of our office; and I took an opportunity to let him know, that though the backwardnesses of all our matters of the office may be well imputed to the known want of money, yet, perhaps, there might be personal and particular failings; and that I did, therefore, depend still upon his promise of telling me whenever he finds any ground to believe any defect or neglect on my part, which he promised me still to do; and that there was none he saw, nor, indeed, says he, is there room now-a-days to find fault with any particular man, while we are in this condition for money. This, methought, did not so well please me; but, however, I am glad I have said this, thereby giving myself good grounds to believe that at this time he did not want an occasion to have said what he pleased to me, if he had had anything in his mind, which by his late distance and silence I have feared. But then again I am to consider he is grown a very great man, much greater than he was, and so must keep more distance; and, next, that the condition of our office will not afford me occasion of shewing myself so active and deserving as heretofore; and, lastly, the muchness of his business cannot suffer him to mind it, or give him leisure to reflect on anything, or shew the freedom and kindnesse that he used to do. But I think I have done something considerable to my satisfaction in doing this; and that if I do but my duty remarkably from this time forward, and not neglect it, as I have of late done, and minded my pleasures, I may be as well as ever I was. Thence to the Exchequer, but did nothing, they being all gone from their offices; and so to the Old Exchange, where the towne full of the good newes, but I did not stay to tell or hear any, but home, my head akeing and drowsy, and to dinner, and then lay down upon the couch, thinking to get a little rest, but could not. So down the river, reading "The Adventures of Five Houres," which the more I read the more I admire. So down below Greenwich, but the wind and tide being against us, I back again to Deptford, and did a little business there, and thence walked to Redriffe; and so home, and to the office a while. In the evening comes W. Batelier and his sister, and my wife, and fair Mrs. Turner into the garden, and there we walked, and then with my Lady Pen and Pegg in a-doors, and eat and were merry, and so pretty late broke up, and to bed. The guns of the Tower going off, and there being bonefires also in the street for this late good successe. 16th. Up, having slept well, and after entering my journal, to the office, where all the morning, but of late Sir W. Coventry hath not come to us, he being discouraged from the little we have to do but to answer the clamours of people for money. At noon home, and there dined with me my Lady Pen only and W. Hewer at a haunch of venison boiled, where pretty merry, only my wife vexed me a little about demanding money to go with my Lady Pen to the Exchange to lay out. I to the office, where all the afternoon and very busy and doing much business; but here I had a most eminent experience of the evil of being behindhand in business. I was the most backward to begin any thing, and would fain have framed to myself an occasion of going abroad, and should, I doubt, have done it, but some business coming in, one after another, kept me there, and I fell to the ridding away of a great deale of business, and when my hand was in it was so pleasing a sight to [see] my papers disposed of, and letters answered, which troubled my book and table, that I could have continued there with delight all night long, and did till called away by my Lady Pen and Pegg and my wife to their house to eat with them; and there I went, and exceeding merry, there being Nan Wright, now Mrs. Markham, and sits at table with my Lady. So mighty merry, home and to bed. This day Sir W. Batten did show us at the table a letter from Sir T. Allen, which says that we have taken ten or twelve' ships (since the late great expedition of burning their ships and towne), laden with hempe, flax, tarr, deales, &c. This was good newes; but by and by comes in Sir G. Carteret, and he asked us with full mouth what we would give for good newes. Says Sir W. Batten, "I have better than you, for a wager." They laid sixpence, and we that were by were to give sixpence to him that told the best newes. So Sir W. Batten told his of the ten or twelve ships Sir G. Carteret did then tell us that upon the newes of the burning of the ships and towne the common people a Amsterdam did besiege De Witt's house, and he was force to flee to the Prince of Orange, who is gone to Cleve to the marriage of his sister. This we concluded all the best newest and my Lord Bruncker and myself did give Sir G. Carteret our sixpence a-piece, which he did give Mr. Smith to give the poor. Thus we made ourselves mighty merry. 17th. Up and betimes with Captain Erwin down by water to Woolwich, I walking alone from Greenwich thither, making an end of the "Adventures of Five Hours," which when all is done is the best play that ever I read in my life. Being come thither I did some business there and at the Rope Yarde, and had a piece of bride-cake sent me by Mrs. Barbary into the boate after me, she being here at her uncle's, with her husband, Mr. Wood's son, the mast-maker, and mighty nobly married, they say, she was, very fine, and he very rich, a strange fortune for so odd a looked mayde, though her hands and body be good, and nature very good, I think. Back with Captain Erwin, discoursing about the East Indys, where he hath often been. And among other things he tells me how the King of Syam seldom goes out without thirty or forty thousand people with him, and not a word spoke, nor a hum or cough in the whole company to be heard. He tells me the punishment frequently there for malefactors is cutting off the crowne of their head, which they do very dexterously, leaving their brains bare, which kills them presently. He told me what I remember he hath once done heretofore: that every body is to lie flat down at the coming by of the King, and nobody to look upon him upon pain of death. And that he and his fellows, being strangers, were invited to see the sport of taking of a wild elephant, and they did only kneel, and look toward the King. Their druggerman did desire them to fall down, for otherwise he should suffer for their contempt of the King. The sport being ended, a messenger comes from the King, which the druggerman thought had been to have taken away his life; but it was to enquire how the strangers liked the sport. The druggerman answered that they did cry it up to be the best that ever they saw, and that they never heard of any Prince so great in every thing as this King. The messenger being gone back, Erwin and his company asked their druggerman what he had said, which he told them. "But why," say they, "would you say that without our leave, it being not true?"--"It is no matter for that," says he, "I must have said it, or have been hanged, for our King do not live by meat, nor drink, but by having great lyes told him." In our way back we come by a little vessel that come into the river this morning, and says he left the fleete in Sole Bay, and that he hath not heard (he belonging to Sir W. Jenings, in the fleete) of any such prizes taken as the ten or twelve I inquired about, and said by Sir W. Batten yesterday to be taken, so I fear it is not true. So to Westminster, and there, to my great content, did receive my L2000 of Mr. Spicer's telling, which I was to receive of Colvill, and brought it home with me [to] my house by water, and there I find one of my new presses for my books brought home, which pleases me mightily. As, also, do my wife's progresse upon her head that she is making. So to dinner, and thence abroad with my wife, leaving her at Unthanke's; I to White Hall, waiting at the Council door till it rose, and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry, who and I do much fear our Victuallers, they having missed the fleete in their going. But Sir W. Coventry says it is not our fault, but theirs, if they have not left ships to secure them. This he spoke in a chagrin sort of way, methought. After a little more discourse of several businesses, I away homeward, having in the gallery the good fortune to see Mrs. Stewart, who is grown a little too tall, but is a woman of most excellent features. The narrative of the late expedition in burning the ships is in print, and makes it a great thing, and I hope it is so. So took up my wife and home, there I to the office, and thence with Sympson the joyner home to put together the press he hath brought me for my books this day, which pleases me exceedingly. Then to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir Richard Ford did very understandingly, methought, give us an account of the originall of the Hollands Bank, [This bank at Amsterdam is referred to in a tract entitled "An Appeal to Caesar," 1660, p. 22. In 1640 Charles I. seized the money in the mint in the Tower entrusted to the safe keeping of the Crown. It was the practice of the London goldsmiths at this time to allow interest at the rate of six or eight per cent. on money deposited with them (J. Biddulph Martin, "The Grasshopper in Lombard Street," 1892, p. 152).] and the nature of it, and how they do never give any interest at all to any person that brings in their money, though what is brought in upon the public faith interest is given by the State for. The unsafe condition of a Bank under a Monarch, and the little safety to a Monarch to have any; or Corporation alone (as London in answer to Amsterdam) to have so great a wealth or credit, it is, that makes it hard to have a Bank here. And as to the former, he did tell us how it sticks in the memory of most merchants how the late King (when by the war between Holland and France and Spayne all the bullion of Spayne was brought hither, one-third of it to be coyned; and indeed it was found advantageous to the merchant to coyne most of it), was persuaded in a strait by my Lord Cottington to seize upon the money in the Tower, which, though in a few days the merchants concerned did prevail to get it released, yet the thing will never be forgot. So home to supper and to bed, understanding this evening, since I come home, that our Victuallers are all come in to the fleete, which is good newes. Sir John Minnes come home tonight not well, from Chatham, where he hath been at a pay, holding it at Upnor Castle, because of the plague so much in the towne of Chatham. He hath, they say, got an ague, being so much on the water. 18th. All the morning at my office; then to the Exchange (with my Lord Bruncker in his coach) at noon, but it was only to avoid Mr. Chr. Pett's being invited by me to dinner. So home, calling at my little mercer's in Lumbard Streete, who hath the pretty wench, like the old Queene, and there cheapened some stuffs to hang my roome, that I intend to turn into a closett. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Creed to discourse with me about several things of Tangier concernments and accounts, among others starts the doubt, which I was formerly aware of, but did wink at it, whether or no Lanyon and his partners be not paid for more than they should be, which he presses, so that it did a little discompose me; but, however, I do think no harm will arise thereby. He gone, I to the office, and there very late, very busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, and there began to draw out fair and methodically my accounts of Tangier, in order to shew them to the Lords. But by and by comes by agreement Mr. Reeves, and after him Mr. Spong, and all day with them, both before and after dinner, till ten o'clock at night, upon opticke enquiries, he bringing me a frame he closes on, to see how the rays of light do cut one another, and in a darke room with smoake, which is very pretty. He did also bring a lanthorne with pictures in glasse, to make strange things appear on a wall, very pretty. We did also at night see Jupiter and his girdle and satellites, very fine, with my twelve-foote glasse, but could not Saturne, he being very dark. Spong and I had also several fine discourses upon the globes this afternoon, particularly why the fixed stars do not rise and set at the same houre all the yeare long, which he could not demonstrate, nor I neither, the reason of. So, it being late, after supper they away home. But it vexed me to understand no more from Reeves and his glasses touching the nature and reason of the several refractions of the several figured glasses, he understanding the acting part, but not one bit the theory, nor can make any body understand it, which is a strange dullness, methinks. I did not hear anything yesterday or at all to confirm either Sir Thos. Allen's news of the 10 or 12 ships taken, nor of the disorder at Amsterdam upon the news of the burning of the ships, that he [De Witt] should be fled to the Prince of Orange, it being generally believed that he was gone to France before. 20th. Waked this morning, about six o'clock, with a violent knocking at Sir J. Minnes's doore, to call up Mrs. Hammon, crying out that Sir J. Minnes is a-dying. He come home ill of an ague on Friday night. I saw him on Saturday, after his fit of the ague, and then was pretty lusty. Which troubles me mightily, for he is a very good, harmless, honest gentleman, though not fit for the business. But I much fear a worse may come, that may be more uneasy to me. Up, and to Deptford by water, reading "Othello, Moore of Venice," which I ever heretofore esteemed a mighty good play, but having so lately read "The Adventures of Five Houres," it seems a mean thing. Walked back, and so home, and then down to the Old Swan and drank at Betty Michell's, and so to Westminster to the Exchequer about my quarter tallies, and so to Lumbard Streete to choose stuff to hang my new intended closet, and have chosen purple. So home to dinner, and all the afternoon till almost midnight upon my Tangier accounts, getting Tom Wilson to help me in writing as I read, and at night W. Hewer, and find myself most happy in the keeping of all my accounts, for that after all the changings and turnings necessary in such an account, I find myself right to a farthing in an account of L127,000. This afternoon I visited Sir J. Minnes, who, poor man, is much impatient by these few days' sickness, and I fear indeed it will kill him. 21st. Up, and to the office, where much business and Sir W. Coventry there, who of late hath wholly left us, most of our business being about money, to which we can give no answer, which makes him weary of coming to us. He made an experiment to-day, by taking up a heape of petitions that lay upon the table. They proved seventeen in number, and found them thus: one for money for reparation for clothes, four desired to have tickets made out to them, and the other twelve were for money. Dined at home, and sister Balty with us. My wife snappish because I denied her money to lay out this afternoon; however, good friends again, and by coach set them down at the New Exchange, and I to the Exchequer, and there find my business of my tallys in good forwardness. I passed down into the Hall, and there hear that Mr. Bowles, the grocer, after 4 or 5 days' sickness, is dead, and this day buried. So away, and taking up my wife, went homewards. I 'light and with Harman to my mercer's in Lumbard Streete, and there agreed for, our purple serge for my closett, and so I away home. So home and late at the office, and then home, and there found Mr. Batelier and his sister Mary, and we sat chatting a great while, talking of witches and spirits, and he told me of his own knowledge, being with some others at Bourdeaux, making a bargain with another man at a taverne for some clarets, they did hire a fellow to thunder (which he had the art of doing upon a deale board) and to rain and hail, that is, make the noise of, so as did give them a pretence of undervaluing their merchants' wines, by saying this thunder would spoil and turne them. Which was so reasonable to the merchant, that he did abate two pistolls per ton for the wine in belief of that, whereas, going out, there was no such thing. This Batelier did see and was the cause of to his profit, as is above said. By and by broke up and to bed. 22nd. Up and by coach with L100 to the Exchequer to pay fees there. There left it, and I to St. James's, and there with; the Duke of Yorke. I had opportunity of much talk with Sir. W. Pen to-day (he being newly come from the fleete); and he, do much undervalue the honour that is given to the conduct of the late business of Holmes in burning the ships and town [The town burned (see August 15th, ante) was Brandaris, a place of 1000 houses, on the isle of Schelling; the ships lay between that island and the Fly (i.e. Vlieland), the adjoining island. This attack probably provoked that by the Dutch on Chatham.] saying it was a great thing indeed, and of great profit to us in being of great losse to the enemy, but that it was wholly a business of chance, and no conduct employed in it. I find Sir W. Pen do hold up his head at this time higher than ever he did in his life. I perceive he do look after Sir J. Minnes's place if he dies, and though I love him not nor do desire to have him in, yet I do think [he] is the first man in England for it. To the Exchequer, and there received my tallys, and paid my fees in good order, and so home, and there find Mrs. Knipp and my wife going to dinner. She tells me my song, of "Beauty Retire" is mightily cried up, which I am not a little proud of; and do think I have done "It is Decreed" better, but I have not finished it. My closett is doing by upholsters, which I am pleased with, but fear my purple will be too sad for that melancholy roome. After dinner and doing something at the office, I with my wife, Knipp, and Mercer, by coach to Moorefields, and there saw "Polichinello," which pleases me mightily, and here I saw our Mary, our last chamber-maid, who is gone from Mrs. Pierces it seems. Thence carried Knipp home, calling at the Cocke alehouse at the doore and drank, and so home, and there find Reeves, and so up to look upon the stars, and do like my glasse very well, and did even with him for it and a little perspective and the Lanthorne that shows tricks, altogether costing me L9 5s. 0d. So to bed, he lying at our house. 23rd. At the office all the morning, whither Sir W. Coventry sent me word that the Dutch fleete is certainly abroad; and so we are to hasten all we have to send to our fleete with all speed. But, Lord! to see how my Lord Bruncker undertakes the despatch of the fire-ships, when he is no more fit for it than a porter; and all the while Sir W. Pen, who is the most fit, is unwilling to displease him, and do not look after it; and so the King's work is like to be well done. At noon dined at home, Lovett with us; but he do not please me in his business, for he keeps things long in hand, and his paper do not hold so good as I expected--the varnish wiping off in a little time--a very sponge; and I doubt by his discourse he is an odde kind of fellow, and, in plain terms, a very rogue. He gone, I to the office (having seen and liked the upholsters' work in my roome--which they have almost done), and there late, and in the evening find Mr. Batelier and his sister there and then we talked and eat and were merry, and so parted late, and to bed. 24th. Up, and dispatched several businesses at home in the morning, and then comes Sympson to set up my other new presses [These presses still exist, and, according to Pepys's wish, they are placed in the second court of Magdalene College in a room which they exactly fit, and the books are arranged in the presses just as they were when presented to the college.--M. B.] for my books, and so he and I fell in to the furnishing of my new closett, and taking out the things out of my old, and I kept him with me all day, and he dined with me, and so all the afternoon till it was quite darke hanging things, that is my maps and pictures and draughts, and setting up my books, and as much as we could do, to my most extraordinary satisfaction; so that I think it will be as noble a closett as any man hath, and light enough--though, indeed, it would be better to have had a little more light. He gone, my wife and I to talk, and sup, and then to setting right my Tangier accounts and enter my Journall, and then to bed with great content in my day's worke. This afternoon comes Mrs. Barbary Sheldon, now Mrs. Wood, to see my wife. I was so busy I would not see her. But she came, it seems, mighty rich in rings and fine clothes, and like a lady, and says she is matched mighty well, at which I am very glad, but wonder at her good fortune and the folly of her husband, and vexed at myself for not paying her the respect of seeing her, but I will come out of her debt another time. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon dined at home, and after dinner up to my new closett, which pleases me mightily, and there I proceeded to put many things in order as far as I had time, and then set it in washing, and stood by myself a great while to see it washed; and then to the office, and then wrote my letters and other things, and then in mighty good humour home to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and to the finishing the setting things in order in my new closett out of my old, which I did thoroughly by the time sermon was done at church, to my exceeding joy, only I was a little disturbed with newes my Lord Bruncker brought me, that we are to attend the King at White Hall this afternoon, and that it is about a complaint from the Generalls against us. Sir W. Pen dined by invitation with me, his Lady and daughter being gone into the country. We very merry. After dinner we parted, and I to my office, whither I sent for Mr. Lewes and instructed myself fully in the business of the Victualling, to enable me to answer in the matter; and then Sir W. Pen and I by coach to White Hall, and there staid till the King and Cabinet were met in the Green Chamber, and then we were called in; and there the King begun with me, to hear how the victualls of the fleete stood. I did in a long discourse tell him and the rest (the Duke of Yorke, Lord Chancellor, Lord Treasurer, both the Secretarys, Sir G. Carteret, and Sir W. Coventry,) how it stood, wherein they seemed satisfied, but press mightily for more supplies; and the letter of the Generalls, which was read, did lay their not going or too soon returning from the Dutch coast, this next bout, to the want of victuals. They then proceeded to the enquiry after the fireships; and did all very superficially, and without any severity at all. But, however, I was in pain, after we come out, to know how I had done; and hear well enough. But, however, it shall be a caution to me to prepare myself against a day of inquisition. Being come out, I met with Mr. Moore, and he and I an houre together in the Gallery, telling me how far they are gone in getting my Lord [Sandwich's] pardon, so as the Chancellor is prepared in it; and Sir H. Bennet do promote it, and the warrant for the King's signing is drawn. The business between my Lord Hinchingbroke and Mrs. Mallett is quite broke off; he attending her at Tunbridge, and she declaring her affections to be settled; and he not being fully pleased with the vanity and liberty of her carriage. He told me how my Lord has drawn a bill of exchange from Spayne of L1200, and would have me supply him with L500 of it, but I avoyded it, being not willing to embarke myself in money there, where I see things going to ruine. Thence to discourse of the times; and he tells me he believes both my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry, as well as my Lord Sandwich and Sir G. Carteret, have reason to fear, and are afeard of this Parliament now coming on. He tells me that Bristoll's faction is getting ground apace against my Lord Chancellor. He told me that my old Lord Coventry was a cunning, crafty man, and did make as many bad decrees in Chancery as any man; and that in one case, that occasioned many years' dispute, at last when the King come in, it was hoped by the party grieved, to get my Lord Chancellor to reverse a decree of his. Sir W. Coventry took the opportunity of the business between the Duke of Yorke and the Duchesse, and said to my Lord Chancellor, that he had rather be drawn up Holborne to be hanged, than live to see his father pissed upon (in these very terms) and any decree of his reversed. And so the Chancellor did not think fit to do it, but it still stands, to the undoing of one Norton, a printer, about his right to the printing of the Bible, and Grammar, &c. Thence Sir W. Pen and I to Islington and there drank at the Katherine Wheele, and so down the nearest way home, where there was no kind of pleasure at all. Being come home, hear that Sir J. Minnes has had a very bad fit all this day, and a hickup do take him, which is a very bad sign, which troubles me truly. So home to supper a little and then to bed. 27th. Up, and to my new closett, which pleases me mightily, and there did a little business. Then to break open a window, to the leads' side in my old closett, which will enlighten the room mightily, and make it mighty pleasant. So to the office, and then home about one thing or other, about my new closet, for my mind is full of nothing but that. So at noon to dinner, mightily pleased with my wife's picture that she is upon. Then to the office, and thither come and walked an hour with me Sir G. Carteret, who tells me what is done about my Lord's pardon, and is not for letting the Duke of Yorke know any thing of it beforehand, but to carry it as speedily and quietly as we can. He seems to be very apprehensive that the Parliament will be troublesome and inquisitive into faults, but seems not to value them as to himself. He gone, I to the Victualling Office, there with Lewes' and Willson setting the business of the state of the fleete's victualling even and plain, and that being done, and other good discourse about it over, Mr. Willson and I by water down the River for discourse only, about business of the office, and then back, and I home, and after a little at my office home to my new closet, and there did much business on my Tangier account and my Journall for three days. So to supper and to bed. We are not sure that the Dutch fleete is out. I have another memento from Sir W. Coventry of the want of provisions in the fleete, which troubles me, though there is no reason for it; but will have the good effect of making me more wary. So, full of thoughts, to bed. 28th. Up, and in my new closet a good while doing business. Then called on Mrs. Martin and Burroughs of Westminster about business of the former's husband. Which done, I to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I, with my wife and Mercer, to Philpott Lane, a great cook's shop, to the wedding of Mr. Longracke, our purveyor, a good, sober, civil man, and hath married a sober, serious mayde. Here I met much ordinary company, I going thither at his great request; but there was Mr. Madden and his lady, a fine, noble, pretty lady, and he, and a fine gentleman seems to be. We four were most together; but the whole company was very simple and innocent. A good-dinner, and, what was best, good musique. After dinner the young women went to dance; among others Mr. Christopher Pett his daughter, who is a very pretty, modest girle, I am mightily taken with her; and that being done about five o'clock, home, very well pleased with the afternoon's work. And so we broke up mightily civilly, the bride and bridegroom going to Greenwich (they keeping their dinner here only for my sake) to lie, and we home, where I to the office, and anon am on a sudden called to meet Sir W. Pen and Sir W. Coventry at the Victualling Office, which did put me out of order to be so surprised. But I went, and there Sir William Coventry did read me a letter from the Generalls to the King, [The letter from Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle to the king (dated August 27th, from the "Royal Charles," Sole Bay) is among the State Papers. The generals complain of the want of supplies, in spite of repeated importunities. The demands are answered by accounts from Mr. Pepys of what has been sent to the fleet, which will not satisfy the ships, unless the provisions could be found "... Have not a month's provision of beer, yet Sir Wm. Coventry assures the ministers that they are supplied till Oct. 3; unless this is quickened they will have to return home too soon.... Want provisions according to their own computation, not Sir Wm. Coventry's, to last to the end of October" ("Calendar," 1666-67, p. 71).] a most scurvy letter, reflecting most upon Sir W. Coventry, and then upon me for my accounts (not that they are not true, but that we do not consider the expence of the fleete), and then of the whole office, in neglecting them and the King's service, and this in very plain and sharp and menacing terms. I did give a good account of matters according to our computation of the expence of the fleete. I find Sir W. Coventry willing enough to accept of any thing to confront the Generalls. But a great supply must be made, and shall be in grace of God! But, however, our accounts here will be found the true ones. Having done here, and much work set me, I with greater content home than I thought I should have done, and so to the office a while, and then home, and a while in my new closet, which delights me every day more and more, and so late to bed. 29th. Up betimes, and there to fit some Tangier accounts, and then, by appointment, to my Lord Bellasses, but about Paul's thought of the chant paper I should carry with me, and so fain to come back again, and did, and then met with Sir W. Pen, and with him to my Lord Bellasses, he sitting in the coach the while, while I up to my Lord and there offered him my account of the bills of exchange I had received and paid for him, wherein we agree all but one L200 bill of Vernatty's drawing, wherein I doubt he hath endeavoured to cheate my Lord; but that will soon appear. Thence took leave, and found Sir W. Pen talking to Orange Moll, of the King's house, who, to our great comfort, told us that they begun to act on the 18th of this month. So on to St. James's, in the way Sir W. Pen telling me that Mr. Norton, that married Sir J. Lawson's daughter, is dead. She left L800 a year jointure, a son to inherit the whole estate. She freed from her father-in-law's tyranny, and is in condition to helpe her mother, who needs it; of which I am glad, the young lady being very pretty. To St. James's, and there Sir W. Coventry took Sir W. Pen and me apart, and read to us his answer to the Generalls' letter to the King that he read last night; wherein he is very plain, and states the matter in full defence of himself and of me with him, which he could not avoid; which is a good comfort to me, that I happen to be involved with him in the same cause. And then, speaking of the supplies which have been made to this fleete, more than ever in all kinds to any, even that wherein the Duke of Yorke himself was, "Well," says he, "if this will not do, I will say, as Sir J. Falstaffe did to the Prince, 'Tell your father, that if he do not like this let him kill the next Piercy himself,'"--["King Henry IV.," Part I, act v., sc. 4.]--and so we broke up, and to the Duke, and there did our usual business. So I to the Parke and there met Creed, and he and I walked to Westminster to the Exchequer, and thence to White Hall talking of Tangier matters and Vernatty's knavery, and so parted, and then I homeward and met Mr. Povy in Cheapside, and stopped and talked a good while upon the profits of the place which my Lord Bellasses hath made this last year, and what share we are to have of it, but of this all imperfect, and so parted, and I home, and there find Mrs. Mary Batelier, and she dined with us; and thence I took them to Islington, and there eat a custard; and so back to Moorfields, and shewed Batelier, with my wife, "Polichinello," which I like the more I see it; and so home with great content, she being a mighty good-natured, pretty woman, and thence I to the Victualling office, and there with Mr. Lewes and Willson upon our Victualling matters till ten at night, and so I home and there late writing a letter to Sir W. Coventry, and so home to supper and to bed. No newes where the Dutch are. We begin to think they will steale through the Channel to meet Beaufort. We think our fleete sayled yesterday, but we have no newes of it. 30th. Up and all the morning at the office, dined at home, and in the afternoon, and at night till two in the morning, framing my great letter to Mr. Hayes about the victualling of the fleete, about which there has been so much ado and exceptions taken by the Generalls. 31st. To bed at 2 or 3 in the morning and up again at 6 to go by appointment to my Lord Bellasses, but he out of town, which vexed me. So back and got Mr. Poynter to enter into, my book while I read from my last night's notes the letter, and that being done to writing it fair. At noon home to dinner, and then the boy and I to the office, and there he read while I writ it fair, which done I sent it to Sir W. Coventry to peruse and send to the fleete by the first opportunity; and so pretty betimes to bed. Much pleased to-day with thoughts of gilding the backs of all my books alike in my new presses. SEPTEMBER 1666 September 1st. Up and at the office all the morning, and then dined at home. Got my new closet made mighty clean against to-morrow. Sir W. Pen and my wife and Mercer and I to "Polichinelly," but were there horribly frighted to see Young Killigrew come in with a great many more young sparks; but we hid ourselves, so as we think they did not see us. By and by, they went away, and then we were at rest again; and so, the play being done, we to Islington, and there eat and drank and mighty merry; and so home singing, and, after a letter or two at the office, to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Some of our mayds sitting up late last night to get things ready against our feast to-day, Jane called us up about three in the morning, to tell us of a great fire they saw in the City. So I rose and slipped on my nightgowne, and went to her window, and thought it to be on the backside of Marke-lane at the farthest; but, being unused to such fires as followed, I thought it far enough off; and so went to bed again and to sleep. About seven rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was and further off. So to my closett to set things to rights after yesterday's cleaning. By and by Jane comes and tells me that she hears that above 300 houses have been burned down to-night by the fire we saw, and that it is now burning down all Fish-street, by London Bridge. So I made myself ready presently, and walked to the Tower, and there got up upon one of the high places, Sir J. Robinson's little son going up with me; and there I did see the houses at that end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite great fire on this and the other side the end of the bridge; which, among other people, did trouble me for poor little Michell and our Sarah on the bridge. So down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieutenant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this morning in the King's baker's' house in Pudding-lane, and that it hath burned St. Magnus's Church and most part of Fish-street already. So I down to the water-side, and there got a boat and through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. Poor Michell's house, as far as the Old Swan, already burned that way, and the fire running further, that in a very little time it got as far as the Steeleyard, while I was there. Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and flinging into the river or bringing them into lighters that layoff; poor people staying in their houses as long as till the very fire touched them, and then running into boats, or clambering from one pair of stairs by the water-side to another. And among other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows and balconys till they were, some of them burned, their wings, and fell down. Having staid, and in an hour's time seen the fire: rage every way, and nobody, to my sight, endeavouring to quench it, but to remove their goods, and leave all to the fire, and having seen it get as far as the Steele-yard, and the wind mighty high and driving it into the City; and every thing, after so long a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones of churches, and among other things the poor steeple by which pretty Mrs.--------lives, and whereof my old school-fellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, an there burned till it fell down: I to White Hall (with a gentleman with me who desired to go off from the Tower, to see the fire, in my boat); to White Hall, and there up to the Kings closett in the Chappell, where people come about me, and did give them an account dismayed them all, and word was carried in to the King. So I was called for, and did tell the King and Duke of Yorke what I saw, and that unless his Majesty did command houses to be pulled down nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my Lord Mayor--[Sir Thomas Bludworth. See June 30th, 1666.]--from him, and command him to spare no houses, but to pull down before the fire every way. The Duke of York bid me tell him that if he would have any more soldiers he shall; and so did my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret. [Sir William Coventry wrote to Lord Arlington on the evening of this day, "The Duke of York fears the want of workmen and tools to-morrow morning, and wishes the deputy lieutenants and justices of peace to summon the workmen with tools to be there by break of day. In some churches and chapels are great hooks for pulling down houses, which should be brought ready upon the place to-night against the morning" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-66, p. 95).] Here meeting, with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul's, and there walked along Watlingstreet, as well as I could, every creature coming away loaden with goods to save, and here and there sicke people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on backs. At last met my Lord Mayor in Canningstreet, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. To the King's message he cried, like a fainting woman, "Lord! what can I do? I am spent: people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it." That he needed no more soldiers; and that, for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and walked home, seeing people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tarr, in Thames-street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and brandy, and other things. Here I saw Mr. Isaake Houblon, the handsome man, prettily dressed and dirty, at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brothers' things, whose houses were on fire; and, as he says, have been removed twice already; and he doubts (as it soon proved) that they must be in a little time removed from his house also, which was a sad consideration. And to see the churches all filling with goods by people who themselves should have been quietly there at this time. By this time it was about twelve o'clock; and so home, and there find my guests, which was Mr. Wood and his wife Barbary Sheldon, and also Mr. Moons: she mighty fine, and her husband; for aught I see, a likely man. But Mr. Moone's design and mine, which was to look over my closett and please him with the sight thereof, which he hath long desired, was wholly disappointed; for we were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry, as at this time we could be. While at dinner Mrs. Batelier come to enquire after Mr. Woolfe and Stanes (who, it seems, are related to them), whose houses in Fish-street are all burned; and they in a sad condition. She would not stay in the fright. Soon as dined, I and Moone away, and walked, through the City, the streets full of nothing but people and horses and carts loaden with goods, ready to run over one another, and, removing goods from one burned house to another. They now removing out of Canning-streets (which received goods in the morning) into Lumbard-streets, and further; and among others I now saw my little goldsmith, Stokes, receiving some friend's goods, whose house itself was burned the day after. We parted at Paul's; he home, and I to Paul's Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I met in the streets and carried them below and above bridge to and again to see the fire, which was now got further, both below and above and no likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and Duke of York in their barge, and with them to Queenhith and there called Sir Richard Browne to them. Their order was only to pull down houses apace, and so below bridge the water-side; but little was or could be done, the fire coming upon them so fast. Good hopes there was of stopping it at the Three Cranes above, and at Buttolph's Wharf below bridge, if care be used; but the wind carries it into the City so as we know not by the water-side what it do there. River full of lighters and boats taking in goods, and good goods swimming in the water, and only I observed that hardly one lighter or boat in three that had the goods of a house in, but there was a pair of Virginalls [The virginal differed from the spinet in being square instead of triangular in form. The word pair was used in the obsolete sense of a set, as we read also of a pair of organs. The instrument is supposed to have obtained its name from young women, playing upon it.] in it. Having seen as much as I could now, I away to White Hall by appointment, and there walked to St. James's Parks, and there met my wife and Creed and Wood and his wife, and walked to my boat; and there upon the water again, and to the fire up and down, it still encreasing, and the wind great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and all over the Thames, with one's face in the wind, you were almost burned with a shower of firedrops. This is very true; so as houses were burned by these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay, five or six houses, one from another. When we could endure no more upon the water; we to a little ale-house on the Bankside, over against the 'Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark almost, and saw the fire grow; and, as it grew darker, appeared more and more, and in corners and upon steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid malicious bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary fire. Barbary and her husband away before us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see it. The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruins. So home with a sad heart, and there find every body discoursing and lamenting the fire; and poor Tom Hater come with some few of his goods saved out of his house, which is burned upon Fish-streets Hall. I invited him to lie at my house, and did receive his goods, but was deceived in his lying there, the newes coming every moment of the growth of the fire; so as we were forced to begin to pack up our owne goods; and prepare for their removal; and did by moonshine (it being brave dry, and moon: shine, and warm weather) carry much of my goods into the garden, and Mr. Hater and I did remove my money and iron chests into my cellar, as thinking that the safest place. And got my bags of gold into my office, ready to carry away, and my chief papers of accounts also there, and my tallys into a box by themselves. So great was our fear, as Sir W. Batten hath carts come out of the country to fetch away his goods this night. We did put Mr. Hater, poor man, to bed a little; but he got but very little rest, so much noise being in my house, taking down of goods. 3rd. About four o'clock in the morning, my Lady Batten sent me a cart to carry away all my money, and plate, and best things, to Sir W. Rider's at Bednall-greene. Which I did riding myself in my night-gowne in the cart; and, Lord! to see how the streets and the highways are crowded with people running and riding, and getting of carts at any rate to fetch away things. I find Sir W. Rider tired with being called up all night, and receiving things from several friends. His house full of goods, and much of Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's I am eased at my heart to have my treasure so well secured. Then home, with much ado to find a way, nor any sleep all this night to me nor my poor wife. But then and all this day she and I, and all my people labouring to get away the rest of our things, and did get Mr. Tooker to get me a lighter to take them in, and we did carry them (myself some) over Tower Hill, which was by this time full of people's goods, bringing their goods thither; and down to the lighter, which lay at next quay, above the Tower Docke. And here was my neighbour's wife, Mrs.-------,with her pretty child, and some few of her things, which I did willingly give way to be saved with mine; but there was no passing with any thing through the postern, the crowd was so great. The Duke of Yorke of this day by the office, and spoke to us, and did ride with his guard up and down the City, to keep all quiet (he being now Generall, and having the care of all). This day, Mercer being not at home, but against her mistress's order gone to her mother's, and my wife going thither to speak with W. Hewer, met her there, and was angry; and her mother saying that she was not a 'prentice girl, to ask leave every time she goes abroad, my wife with good reason was angry, and, when she came home, bid her be gone again. And so she went away, which troubled me, but yet less than it would, because of the condition we are in, fear of coming into in a little time of being less able to keepe one in her quality. At night lay down a little upon a quilt of W. Hewer's in the office, all my owne things being packed up or gone; and after me my poor wife did the like, we having fed upon the remains of yesterday's dinner, having no fire nor dishes, nor any opportunity of dressing any thing. 4th. Up by break of day to get away the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter at the Iron gate and my hands so few, that it was the afternoon before we could get them all away. Sir W. Pen and I to Tower-streete, and there met the fire burning three or four doors beyond Mr. Howell's, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and dishes, shovells, &c., were flung all along Tower-street in the kennels, and people working therewith from one end to the other; the fire coming on in that narrow streete, on both sides, with infinite fury. Sir W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and I took the opportunity of laying all the papers of my office that I could not otherwise dispose of. And in the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig another, and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese, as well as my wine and some other things. The Duke of Yorke was at the office this day, at Sir W. Pen's; but I happened not to be within. This afternoon, sitting melancholy with Sir W. Pen in our garden, and thinking of the certain burning of this office, without extraordinary means, I did propose for the sending up of all our workmen from Woolwich and Deptford yards (none whereof yet appeared), and to write to Sir W. Coventry to have the Duke of Yorke's permission to pull down houses, rather than lose this office, which would, much hinder, the King's business. So Sir W. Pen he went down this night, in order to the sending them up to-morrow morning; and I wrote to Sir W. Coventry about the business, but received no answer. This night Mrs. Turner (who, poor woman, was removing her goods all this day, good goods into the garden, and knows not how to dispose of them), and her husband supped with my wife and I at night, in the office; upon a shoulder of mutton from the cook's, without any napkin or any thing, in a sad manner, but were merry. Only now and then walking into the garden, and saw how horridly the sky looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put us out of our wits; and, indeed, it was extremely dreadful, for it looks just as if it was at us; and the whole heaven on fire. I after supper walked in the darke down to Tower-streete, and there saw it all on fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the Dolphin Taverne on this side, which was very near us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence. Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in Tower-streete, those next the Tower, which at first did frighten people more than anything, but it stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down the [A copy of this letter, preserved among the Pepys MSS. in the author's own handwriting, is subjoined: "SIR, The fire is now very neere us as well on Tower Streete as Fanchurch Street side, and we little hope of our escape but by this remedy, to ye want whereof we doe certainly owe ye loss of ye City namely, ye pulling down of houses, in ye way of ye fire. This way Sir W. Pen and myself have so far concluded upon ye practising, that he is gone to Woolwich and Deptford to supply himself with men and necessarys in order to the doeing thereof, in case at his returne our condition be not bettered and that he meets with his R. Hs. approbation, which I had thus undertaken to learn of you. Pray please to let me have this night (at whatever hour it is) what his R. Hs. directions are in this particular; Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten having left us, we cannot add, though we are well assured of their, as well as all ye neighbourhood's concurrence. "Yr. obedient servnt. "S. P. "Sir W. Coventry, "Septr. 4, 1666."] houses to the ground in the same places they stood, and then it was easy to quench what little fire was in it, though it kindled nothing almost. W. Newer this day went to see how his mother did, and comes late home, telling us how he hath been forced to remove her to Islington, her house in Pye-corner being burned; so that the fire is got so far that way, and all the Old Bayly, and was running down to Fleete-streete; and Paul's is burned, and all Cheapside. I wrote to my father this night, but the post-house being burned, the letter could not go. [J. Hickes wrote to Williamson on September 3rd from the "Golden Lyon," Red Cross Street Posthouse. Sir Philip [Frowde] and his lady fled from the [letter] office at midnight for: safety; stayed himself till 1 am. till his wife and childrens' patience could stay, no longer, fearing lest they should be quite stopped up; the passage was so tedious they had much ado to get where they are. The Chester and Irish, mails have come-in; sends him his letters, knows not how to dispose of the business ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 95).] 5th. I lay down in the office again upon W. Hewer's, quilt, being mighty weary, and sore in my feet with going till I was hardly able to stand. About two in the morning my wife calls me up and tells me of new cryes of fire, it being come to Barkeing Church, which is the bottom of our lane. I up, and finding it so, resolved presently to take her away, and did, and took my gold, which was about L2350, W. Newer, and Jane, down by Proundy's boat to Woolwich; but, Lord! what sad sight it was by moone-light to see, the whole City almost on fire, that you might see it plain at Woolwich, as if you were by it. There, when I come, I find the gates shut, but no guard kept at all, which troubled me, because of discourse now begun, that there is plot in it, and that the French had done it. I got the gates open, and to Mr. Shelden's, where I locked up my gold, and charged, my wife and W. Newer never to leave the room without one of them in it, night, or day. So back again, by the way seeing my goods well in the lighters at Deptford, and watched well by people. Home; and whereas I expected to have seen our house on fire, it being now about seven o'clock, it was not. But to the fyre, and there find greater hopes than I expected; for my confidence of finding our Office on fire was such, that I durst not ask any body how it was with us, till I come and saw it not burned. But going to the fire, I find by the blowing up of houses, and the great helpe given by the workmen out of the King's yards, sent up by Sir W. Pen, there is a good stop given to it, as well as at Marke-lane end as ours; it having only burned the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch, and was there quenched. I up to the top of Barking steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw; every where great fires, oyle-cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning. I became afeard to stay there long, and therefore down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread as far as I could see it; and to Sir W. Pen's, and there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing since Sunday, but the remains of Sunday's dinner. Here I met with Mr. Young and Whistler; and having removed all my things, and received good hopes that the fire at our end; is stopped, they and I walked into the town, and find Fanchurch-streete, Gracious-streete; and Lumbard-streete all in dust. The Exchange a sad sight, nothing standing there, of all the statues or pillars, but Sir Thomas Gresham's picture in the corner. Walked into Moorefields (our feet ready to burn, walking through the towne among the hot coles), and find that full of people, and poor wretches carrying their good there, and every body keeping his goods together by themselves (and a great blessing it is to them that it is fair weathe for them to keep abroad night and day); drank there, and paid two-pence for a plain penny loaf. Thence homeward, having passed through Cheapside and Newgate Market, all burned, and seen Anthony Joyce's House in fire. And took up (which I keep by me) a piece of glasse of Mercers' Chappell in the streete, where much more was, so melted and buckled with the heat of the fire like parchment. I also did see a poor cat taken out of a hole in the chimney, joyning to the wall of the Exchange; with, the hair all burned off the body, and yet alive. So home at night, and find there good hopes of saving our office; but great endeavours of watching all night, and having men ready; and so we lodged them in the office, and had drink and bread and cheese for them. And I lay down and slept a good night about midnight, though when I rose I heard that there had been a great alarme of French and Dutch being risen, which proved, nothing. But it is a strange thing to see how long this time did look since Sunday, having been always full of variety of actions, and little sleep, that it looked like a week or more, and I had forgot, almost the day of the week. 6th. Up about five o'clock, and where met Mr. Gawden at the gate of the office (I intending to go out, as I used, every now and then to-day, to see how the fire is) to call our men to Bishop's-gate, where no fire had yet been near, and there is now one broke out which did give great grounds to people, and to me too, to think that there is some kind of plot [The terrible disaster which overtook London was borne by the inhabitants of the city with great fortitude, but foreigners and Roman Catholics had a bad dime. As no cause for the outbreak of the fire could be traced, a general cry was raised that it owed its origin to a plot. In a letter from Thomas Waade to Williamson (dated "Whitby, Sept. 14th") we read, "The destruction of London by fire is reported to be a hellish contrivance of the French, Hollanders, and fanatic party" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 124).] in this (on which many by this time have been taken, and, it hath been dangerous for any stranger to walk in the streets), but I went with the men, and we did put it out in a little time; so that that was well again. It was pretty to see how hard the women did work in the cannells, sweeping of water; but then they would scold for drink, and be as drunk as devils. I saw good butts of sugar broke open in the street, and people go and take handsfull out, and put into beer, and drink it. And now all being pretty well, I took boat, and over to Southwarke, and took boat on the other side the bridge, and so to Westminster, thinking to shift myself, being all in dirt from top to bottom; but could not there find any place to buy a shirt or pair of gloves, Westminster Hall being full of people's goods, those in Westminster having removed all their goods, and the Exchequer money put into vessels to carry to Nonsuch; but to the Swan, and there was trimmed; and then to White Hall, but saw nobody; and so home. A sad sight to see how the River looks: no houses nor church near it, to the Temple, where it stopped. At home, did go with Sir W. Batten, and our neighbour, Knightly (who, with one more, was the only man of any fashion left in all the neighbourhood thereabouts, they all removing their goods and leaving their houses to the mercy of the fire), to Sir R. Ford's, and there dined in an earthen platter--a fried breast of mutton; a great many of us, but very merry, and indeed as good a meal, though as ugly a one, as ever I had in my life. Thence down to Deptford, and there with great satisfaction landed all my goods at Sir G. Carteret's safe, and nothing missed I could see, or hurt. This being done to my great content, I home, and to Sir W. Batten's, and there with Sir R. Ford, Mr. Knightly, and one Withers, a professed lying rogue, supped well, and mighty merry, and our fears over. From them to the office, and there slept with the office full of labourers, who talked, and slept, and walked all night long there. But strange it was to see Cloathworkers' Hall on fire these three days and nights in one body of flame, it being the cellar full of oyle. 7th. Up by five o'clock; and, blessed be God! find all well, and by water to Paul's Wharfe. Walked thence, and saw, all the towne burned, and a miserable sight of Paul's church; with all the roofs fallen, and the body of the quire fallen into St. Fayth's; Paul's school also, Ludgate, and Fleet-street, my father's house, and the church, and a good part of the Temple the like. So to Creed's lodging, near the New Exchange, and there find him laid down upon a bed; the house all unfurnished, there being fears of the fire's coming to them. There borrowed a shirt of him, and washed. To Sir W. Coventry, at St. James's, who lay without curtains, having removed all his goods; as the King at White Hall, and every body had done, and was doing. He hopes we shall have no publique distractions upon this fire, which is what every body fears, because of the talke of the French having a hand in it. And it is a proper time for discontents; but all men's minds are full of care to protect themselves, and save their goods: the militia is in armes every where. Our fleetes, he tells me, have been in sight one of another, and most unhappily by fowle weather were parted, to our great losse, as in reason they do conclude; the Dutch being come out only to make a shew, and please their people; but in very bad condition as to stores; victuals, and men. They are at Bullen; and our fleete come to St. Ellen's. We have got nothing, but have lost one ship, but he knows not what. Thence to the Swan, and there drank: and so home, and find all well. My Lord Bruncker, at Sir W. Batten's, and tells us the Generall is sent for up, to come to advise with the King about business at this juncture, and to keep all quiet; which is great honour to him, but I am sure is but a piece of dissimulation. So home, and did give orders for my house to be made clean; and then down to Woolwich, and there find all well: Dined, and Mrs. Markham come to see my wife. So I up again, and calling at Deptford for some things of W. Hewer's, he being with me, and then home and spent the evening with Sir R. Ford, Mr. Knightly, and Sir W. Pen at Sir W. Batten's: This day our Merchants first met at Gresham College, which, by proclamation, is to be their Exchange. Strange to hear what is bid for houses all up and down here; a friend of Sir W. Rider's: having L150 for what he used to let for L40 per annum. Much dispute where the Custome-house shall be thereby the growth of the City again to be foreseen. My Lord Treasurer, they say, and others; would have it at the other end of the towne. I home late to Sir W. Pen's, who did give me a bed; but without curtains or hangings, all being down. So here I went the first time into a naked bed, only my drawers on; and did sleep pretty well: but still hath sleeping and waking had a fear of fire in my heart, that I took little rest. People do all the world over cry out of the simplicity of my Lord Mayor in generall; and more particularly in this business of the fire, laying it all upon' him. A proclamation [On September 5th proclamation was made "ordering that for supply of the distressed people left destitute by the late dreadful and dismal fire.... great proportions of bread be brought daily, not only to the former markets, but to those lately ordained; that all churches, chapels, schools, and public buildings are to be open to receive the goods of those who know not how to dispose of them." On September 6th, proclamation ordered "that as the markets are burned down, markets be held in Bishopsgate Street, Tower Hill, Smithfield, and Leadenhall Street" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 100, 104).] is come out for markets to be kept at Leadenhall and Mileendgreene, and several other places about the towne; and Tower-hill, and all churches to be set open to receive poor people. 8th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by water to White Hall and they to St. James's. I stopped with Sir G. Carteret to desire him to go with us, and to enquire after money. But the first he cannot do, and the other as little, or says, "when we can get any, or what shall we do for it?" He, it seems, is employed in the correspondence between the City and the King every day, in settling of things. I find him full of trouble, to think how things will go. I left him, and to St. James's, where we met first at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there did what business we can, without any books. Our discourse, as every thing else, was confused. The fleete is at Portsmouth, there staying a wind to carry them to the Downes, or towards Bullen, where they say the Dutch fleete is gone, and stays. We concluded upon private meetings for a while, not having any money to satisfy any people that may come to us. I bought two eeles upon the Thames, cost me six shillings. Thence with Sir W. Batten to the Cock-pit, whither the Duke of Albemarle is come. It seems the King holds him so necessary at this time, that he hath sent for him, and will keep him here. Indeed, his interest in the City, being acquainted, and his care in keeping things quiet, is reckoned that wherein he will be very serviceable. We to him; he is courted in appearance by every body. He very kind to us; I perceive he lays by all business of the fleete at present, and minds the City, and is now hastening to Gresham College, to discourse with the Aldermen. Sir W. Batten and I home (where met by my brother John, come to town to see how things are with us), and then presently he with me to Gresham College; where infinity of people, partly through novelty to see the new place, and partly to find out and hear what is become one man of another. I met with many people undone, and more that have extraordinary great losses. People speaking their thoughts variously about the beginning of the fire, and the rebuilding; of the City. Then to Sir W. Batten's, and took my brothet with me, and there dined with a great company of neighbours; and much good discourse; among others, of the low spirits of some rich men in the City, in sparing any encouragement to the poor people that wrought for the saving their houses. Among others, Alderman Starling, a very rich man, without; children, the fire at next door to him in our lane, after our men had saved his house, did give 2s. 6d. among thirty of them, and did quarrel with some that would remove the rubbish out of the way of the fire, saying that they come to steal. Sir W. Coventry told me of another this morning, in Holborne, which he shewed the King that when it was offered to stop the fire near his house for such a reward that came but to 2s. 6d. a man among the neighbours he would, give but 18d. Thence to Bednall Green by coach, my brother with me, and saw all well there, and fetched away my journall book to enter for five days past, and then back to the office where I find Bagwell's wife, and her husband come home. Agreed to come to their house to-morrow, I sending him away to his ship to-day. To the office and late writing letters, and then to Sir W. Pen's, my brother lying with me, and Sir W. Pen gone down to rest himself at Woolwich. But I was much frighted and kept awake in my bed, by some noise I heard a great while below stairs; and the boys not coming up to me when I knocked. It was by their discovery of people stealing of some neighbours' wine that lay in vessels in the streets. So to sleep; and all well all night. 9th (Sunday). Up and was trimmed, and sent my brother to Woolwich to my wife, to dine with her. I to church, where our parson made a melancholy but good sermon; and many and most in the church cried, specially the women. The church mighty full; but few of fashion, and most strangers. I walked to Bednall Green, and there dined well, but a bad venison pasty at Sir W. Rider's. Good people they are, and good discourse; and his daughter, Middleton, a fine woman, discreet. Thence home, and to church again, and there preached Dean Harding; but, methinks, a bad, poor sermon, though proper for the time; nor eloquent, in saying at this time that the City is reduced from a large folio to a decimotertio. So to my office, there to write down my journall, and take leave of my brother, whom I sent back this afternoon, though rainy; which it hath not done a good while before. But I had no room or convenience for him here till my house is fitted; but I was very kind to him, and do take very well of him his journey. I did give him 40s. for his pocket, and so, he being gone, and, it presently rayning, I was troubled for him, though it is good for the fyre. Anon to Sir W. Pen's to bed, and made my boy Tom to read me asleep. 10th. All the morning clearing our cellars, and breaking in pieces all my old lumber, to make room, and to prevent fire. And then to Sir W. Batten's, and dined; and there hear that Sir W. Rider says that the towne is full of the report of the wealth that is in his house, and would be glad that his friends would provide for the safety of their goods there. This made me get a cart; and thither, and there brought my money all away. Took a hackney-coach myself (the hackney-coaches now standing at Allgate). Much wealth indeed there is at his house. Blessed be God, I got all mine well thence, and lodged it in my office; but vexed to have all the world see it. And with Sir W. Batten, who would have taken away my hands before they were stowed. But by and by comes brother Balty from sea, which I was glad of; and so got him, and Mr. Tooker, and the boy, to watch with them all in the office all night, while I upon Jane's coming went down to my wife, calling at Deptford, intending to see Bagwell, but did not 'ouvrir la porte comme je' did expect. So down late to Woolwich, and there find my wife out of humour and indifferent, as she uses upon her having much liberty abroad. 11th. Lay there, and up betimes, and by water with my gold, and laid it with the rest in my office, where I find all well and safe. So with Sir W. Batten to the New Exchange by water and to my Lord Bruncker's house, where Sir W. Coventry and Sir G. Carteret met. Little business before us but want of money. Broke up, and I home by coach round the town. Dined at home, Balty and myself putting up my papers in m closet in the office. He away, I down to Deptford and there spoke with Bagwell and agreed upon to-morrow, and come home in the rain by water. In the evening at Sir W. Pen's; with my wife, at supper, he in a mad, ridiculous, drunken humour; and it seems there have been some late distances between his lady and him, as my [wife] tells me. After supper, I home, and with Mr. Hater, Gibson, and Tom alone, got all my chests and money into the further cellar with much pains, but great content to me when done. So very late and weary, to bed. 12th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's by water, and there did our usual business with the Duke of Yorke. Thence I to Westminster, and there, spoke with Michell and Howlett, who tell me how their poor young ones are going to Shadwell's. The latter told me of the unkindness of the young man to his wife, which is now over, and I have promised to appear a counsellor to him. I am glad she is like to be so near us again. Thence to Martin, and there did 'tout ce que je voudrais avec' her, and drank, and away by water home and to dinner, Balty and his wife there. After dinner I took him down with me to Deptford, and there by the Bezan loaded above half my goods and sent them away. So we back home, and then I found occasion to return in the dark and to Bagwell, and there... did do all that I desired, but though I did intend 'pour avoir demeurais con elle' to-day last night, yet when I had done 'ce que je voudrais I did hate both elle and la cose', and taking occasion from the occasion of 'su marido's return... did me lever', and so away home late to Sir W. Pen's (Batty and his wife lying at my house), and there in the same simple humour I found Sir W. Pen, and so late to bed. 13th. Up, and down to Tower Wharfe; and there, with Batty and labourers from Deptford, did get my goods housed well at home. So down to Deptford again to fetch the rest, and there eat a bit of dinner at the Globe, with the master of the Bezan with me, while the labourers went to dinner. Here I hear that this poor towne do bury still of the plague seven or eight in a day. So to Sir G. Carteret's to work, and there did to my content ship off into the Bezan all the rest of my goods, saving my pictures and fine things, that I will bring home in wherrys when the house is fit to receive them: and so home, and unload them by carts and hands before night, to my exceeding satisfaction: and so after supper to bed in my house, the first time I have lain there; and lay with my wife in my old closett upon the ground, and Batty and his wife in the best chamber, upon the ground also. 14th. Up, and to work, having carpenters come to helpe in setting up bedsteads and hangings; and at that trade my people and I all the morning, till pressed by publique business to leave them against my will in the afternoon: and yet I was troubled in being at home, to see all my goods lie up and down the house in a bad condition, and strange workmen going to and fro might take what they would almost. All the afternoon busy; and Sir W. Coventry come to me, and found me, as God would have it, in my office, and people about me setting my papers to rights; and there discoursed about getting an account ready against the Parliament, and thereby did create me infinite of business, and to be done on a sudden; which troubled me: but, however, he being gone, I about it late, and to good purpose. And so home, having this day also got my wine out of the ground again, and set in my cellar; but with great pain to keep the porters that carried it in from observing the money-chests there. So to bed as last night, only my wife and I upon a bedstead with curtains in that which was Mercer's chamber, and Balty and his wife (who are here and do us good service), where we lay last night. This day, poor Tom Pepys, the turner, was with me, and Kate, Joyce, to bespeake places; one for himself, the other for her husband. She tells me he hath lost L140 per annum, but have seven houses left. 15th. All the morning at the office, Harman being come to my great satisfaction to put up my beds and hangings, so I am at rest, and followed my business all day. Dined with Sir W. Batten, mighty busy about this account, and while my people were busy, wrote near thirty letters and orders with my owne hand. At it till eleven at night; and it is strange to see how clear my head was, being eased of all the matter of all these letters; whereas one would think that I should have been dazed. I never did observe so much of myself in my life. In the evening there comes to me Captain Cocke, and walked a good while in the garden. He says he hath computed that the rents of houses lost by this fire in the City comes to L600,000 per annum; that this will make the Parliament, more quiet than otherwise they would have been, and give the King a more ready supply; that the supply must be by excise, as it is in Holland; that the Parliament will see it necessary to carry on the warr; that the late storm hindered our beating the Dutch fleete, who were gone out only to satisfy the people, having no business to do but to avoid us; that the French, as late in the yeare as it is, are coming; that the Dutch are really in bad condition, but that this unhappinesse of ours do give them heart; that there was a late difference between my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry about neglect in the last to send away an express of the other's in time; that it come before the King, and the Duke of Yorke concerned himself in it; but this fire hath stopped it. The Dutch fleete is not gone home, but rather to the North, and so dangerous to our Gottenburgh fleete. That the Parliament is likely to fall foul upon some persons; and, among others, on the Vice-chamberlaine, though we both believe with little ground. That certainly never so great a loss as this was borne so well by citizens in the world; he believing that not one merchant upon the 'Change will break upon it. That he do not apprehend there will be any disturbances in State upon it; for that all men are busy in looking after their owne business to save themselves. He gone, I to finish my letters, and home to bed; and find to my infinite joy many rooms clean; and myself and wife lie in our own chamber again. But much terrified in the nights now-a-days with dreams of fire, and falling down of houses. 16th (Lord's day). Lay with much pleasure in bed talking with my wife about Mr. Hater's lying here and W. Hewer also, if Mrs. Mercer leaves her house. To the office, whither also all my people about this account, and there busy all the morning. At noon, with my wife, against her will, all undressed and dirty, dined at Sir W. Pen's, where was all the company of our families in towne; but, Lord! so sorry a dinner: venison baked in pans, that the dinner I have had for his lady alone hath been worth four of it. Thence, after dinner, displeased with our entertainment, to my office again, and there till almost midnight and my people with me, and then home, my head mightily akeing about our accounts. 17th. Up betimes, and shaved myself after a week's growth, but, Lord! how ugly I was yesterday and how fine to-day! By water, seeing the City all the way, a sad sight indeed, much fire being still in. To Sir W. Coventry, and there read over my yesterday's work: being a collection of the particulars of the excess of charge created by a war, with good content. Sir W. Coventry was in great pain lest the French fleete should be passed by our fleete, who had notice of them on Saturday, and were preparing to go meet them; but their minds altered, and judged them merchant-men, when the same day the Success, Captain Ball, made their whole fleete, and come to Brighthelmstone, and thence at five o'clock afternoon, Saturday, wrote Sir W. Coventry newes thereof; so that we do much fear our missing them. Here come in and talked with him Sir Thomas Clifford, who appears a very fine gentleman, and much set by at Court for his activity in going to sea, and stoutness everywhere, and stirring up and down. Thence by coach over the ruines, down Fleete Streete and Cheapside to Broad Streete to Sir G. Carteret, where Sir W. Batten (and Sir J. Minnes, whom I had not seen a long time before, being his first coming abroad) and Lord Bruncker passing his accounts. Thence home a little to look after my people at work and back to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; and thence, after some discourse; with him upon our publique accounts, I back home, and all the day with Harman and his people finishing the hangings and beds in my house, and the hangings will be as good as ever, and particularly in my new closet. They gone and I weary, my wife and I, and Balty and his wife, who come hither to-day to helpe us, to a barrel of oysters I sent from the river today, and so to bed. 18th. Strange with what freedom and quantity I pissed this night, which I know not what to impute to but my oysters, unless the coldness of the night should cause it, for it was a sad rainy and tempestuous night. Soon as up I begun to have some pain in my bladder and belly, as usual, which made me go to dinner betimes, to fill my belly, and that did ease me, so as I did my business in the afternoon, in forwarding the settling of my house, very well. Betimes to bed, my wife also being all this day ill in the same manner. Troubled at my wife's haire coming off so much. This day the Parliament met, and adjourned till Friday, when the King will be with them. 19th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to St. James's, and there did our usual business before the Duke of Yorke; which signified little, our business being only complaints of lack of money. Here I saw a bastard of the late King of Sweden's come to kiss his hands; a mighty modish French-like gentleman. Thence to White Hall, with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen, to Wilkes's; and there did hear the many profane stories of Sir Henry Wood damning the parsons for so much spending the wine at the sacrament, cursing that ever they took the cup to themselves, and then another story that he valued not all the world's curses, for two pence he shall get at any time the prayers of some poor body that is worth a 1000 of all their curses; Lord Norwich drawing a tooth at a health. Another time, he and Pinchbacke and Dr. Goffe, now a religious man, Pinchbacke did begin a frolick to drink out of a glass with a toad in it that he had taken up going out to shit, he did it without harm. Goffe, who knew sacke would kill the toad, called for sacke; and when he saw it dead, says he, "I will have a quick toad, and will not drink from a dead toad." ["They swallow their own contradictions as easily as a hector can drink a frog in a glass of wine."--Benlivoglio and Urania, book v., p. 92, 3rd edit.--B.] By that means, no other being to be found, he escaped the health. Thence home, and dined, and to Deptford and got all my pictures put into wherries, and my other fine things, and landed them all very well, and brought them home, and got Sympson to set them all up to-night; and he gone, I and the boy to finish and set up my books, and everything else in my house, till two o'clock; in the morning, and then to bed; but mightily troubled, and even in my sleep, at my missing four or five of my biggest books. Speed's Chronicle and Maps, and the two parts of Waggoner, and a book of cards, which I suppose I have put up with too much care, that I have forgot where they are; for sure they are not stole. Two little pictures of sea and ships and a little gilt frame belonging to my plate of the River, I want; but my books do heartily trouble me. Most of my gilt frames are hurt, which also troubles me, but most my books. This day I put on two shirts, the first time this year, and do grow well upon it; so that my disease is nothing but wind. 20th. Up, much troubled about my books, but cannot, imagine where they should be. Up, to the setting my closet to rights, and Sir W. Coventry takes me at it, which did not displease me. He and I to discourse about our accounts, and the bringing them to the Parliament, and with much content to see him rely so well on my part. He and I together to Broad Streete to the Vice-Chamberlain, and there discoursed a while and parted. My Lady Carteret come to town, but I did not see her. He tells me how the fleete is come into the Downes. Nothing done, nor French fleete seen: we drove all from our anchors. But he says newes is come that De Ruyter is dead, or very near it, of a hurt in his mouth, upon the discharge of one of his own guns; which put him into a fever, and he likely to die, if not already dead. We parted, and I home to dinner, and after dinner to the setting things in order, and all my people busy about the same work. In the afternoon, out by coach, my wife with me, which we have not done several weeks now, through all the ruines, to shew her them, which frets her much, and is a sad sight indeed. Set her down at her brother's, and thence I to Westminster Hall, and there staid a little while, and called her home. She did give me an account of great differences between her mother and Balty's wife. The old woman charges her with going abroad and staying out late, and painting in the absence of her husband, and I know not what; and they grow proud, both he and she, and do not help their father and mother out of what I help them to, which I do not like, nor my wife. So home, and to the office, to even my journall, and then home, and very late up with Jane setting my books in perfect order in my closet, but am mightily troubled for my great books that I miss, and I am troubled the more for fear there should be more missing than what I find, though by the room they take on the shelves I do not find any reason to think it. So to bed. 21st. Up, and mightily pleased with the setting of my books the last night in order, and that which did please me most of all is that W. Hewer tells me that upon enquiry he do find that Sir W. Pen hath a hamper more than his own, which he took for a hamper of bottles of wine, and are books in it. I was impatient to see it, but they were carried into a wine-cellar, and the boy is abroad with him at the House, where the Parliament met to-day, and the King to be with them. At noon after dinner I sent for Harry, and he tells me it is so, and brought me by and by my hamper of books to my great joy, with the same books I missed, and three more great ones, and no more. I did give him 5s. for his pains, And so home with great joy, and to the setting of some off them right, but could not finish it, but away by coach to the other end of the town, leaving my wife at the 'Change, but neither come time enough to the Council to speak with the Duke of Yorke, nor with Sir G. Carteret, and so called my wife, and paid for some things she bought, and so home, and there after a little doing at the office about our accounts, which now draw near the time they should be ready, the House having ordered Sir G. Carteret, upon his offering them, to bring them in on Saturday next, I home, and there, with great pleasure, very late new setting all my books; and now I am in as good condition as I desire to be in all worldly respects. The Lord of Heaven make me thankfull, and continue me therein! So to bed. This day I had new stairs of main timber put t my cellar going into the yard. 22nd. To my closet, and had it new washed, and now my house is so clean as I never saw it, or any other house in my life, and every thing in as good condition as ever before the fire; but with, I believe, about L20 cost one way or other besides about L20 charge in removing my goods, and do not find that I have lost any thing but two little pictures of ship and sea, and a little gold frame for one of my sea-cards. My glazier, indeed, is so full of worke that I cannot get him to come to perfect my house. To the office, and there busy now for good and all about my accounts. My Lord Brunck come thither, thinking to find an office, but we have not yet met. He do now give me a watch, a plain one, in the roome of my former watch with many motions which I did give him. If it goes well, I care not for the difference in worth, though believe there is above L5. He and I to Sir G. Carteret to discourse about his account, but Mr. Waith not being there nothing could be done, and therefore I home again, and busy all day. In the afternoon comes Anthony Joyce to see me, and with tears told me his losse, but yet that he had something left that he can live well upon, and I doubt it not. But he would buy some place that he could have and yet keepe his trade where he is settled in St. Jones's. He gone, I to the office again, and then to Sir G. Carteret, and there found Mr. Wayth, but, Lord! how fretfully Sir G. Carteret do discourse with Mr. Wayth about his accounts, like a man that understands them not one word. I held my tongue and let him go on like a passionate foole. In the afternoon I paid for the two lighters that carried my goods to Deptford, and they cost me L8. Till past midnight at our accounts, and have brought them to a good issue, so as to be ready to meet Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry to-morrow, but must work to-morrow, which Mr. T. Hater had no mind to, it being the Lord's day, but, being told the necessity, submitted, poor man! This night writ for brother John to come to towne. Among other reasons, my estate lying in money, I am afeard of any sudden miscarriage. So to bed mightily contented in dispatching so much business, and find my house in the best condition that ever I knew it. Home to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, all the morning at the office with my people about me till about one o'clock, and then home, and my people with me, and Mr. Wayth and I eat a bit of victuals in my old closet, now my little dining-room, which makes a pretty room, and my house being so clean makes me mightily pleased, but only I do lacke Mercer or somebody in the house to sing with. Soon as eat a bit Mr. Wayth and I by water to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings Sir W. Coventry met, and we did debate the whole business of our accounts to the Parliament; where it appears to us that the charge of the war from September 1st, 1664, to this Michaelmas, will have been but L3,200,000, and we have paid in that time somewhat about L2,200,000; so that we owe above L900,000: but our method of accounting, though it cannot, I believe, be far wide from the mark, yet will not abide a strict examination if the Parliament should be troublesome. Here happened a pretty question of Sir W. Coventry, whether this account of ours will not put my Lord Treasurer to a difficulty to tell what is become of all the money the Parliament have 'give' in this time for the war, which hath amounted to about L4,000,000, which nobody there could answer; but I perceive they did doubt what his answer could be. Having done, and taken from Sir W. Coventry the minutes of a letter to my Lord Treasurer, Wayth and I back again to the office, and thence back down to the water with my wife and landed him in Southwarke, and my wife and I for pleasure to Fox-hall, and there eat and drank, and so back home, and I to the office till midnight drawing the letter we are to send with our accounts to my Lord Treasurer, and that being done to my mind, I home to bed. 24th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James's, and there with Sir W. Coventry read and all approved of my letter, and then home, and after dinner, Mr. Hater and Gibson dining with me, to the office, and there very late new moulding my accounts and writing fair my letter, which I did against the evening, and then by coach left my wife at her brother's, and I to St. James's, and up and down to look [for] Sir W. Coventry; and at last found him and Sir G. Carteret with the Lord Treasurer at White Hall, consulting how to make up my Lord Treasurer's general account, as well as that of the Navy particularly. Here brought the letter, but found that Sir G. Carteret had altered his account since he did give me the abstract of it: so all my letter must be writ over again, to put in his last abstract. So to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, to speak a little about the alteration; and there looking over the book that Sir G. Carteret intends to deliver to the Parliament of his payments since September 1st, 1664, and there I find my name the very second for flags, which I had bought for the Navy, of calico; once, about 500 and odd pounds, which vexed me mightily. At last, I concluded of scraping out my name and putting in Mr. Tooker's, which eased me; though the price was such as I should have had glory by. Here I saw my Lady Carteret lately come to towne, who, good lady! is mighty kind, and I must make much of her, for she is a most excellent woman. So took up my wife and away home, and there to bed, and 25th. Up betimes, with all my people to get the letter writ over, and other things done, which I did, and by coach to Lord Bruncker's, and got his hand to it; and then to the Parliament House and got it signed by the rest, and then delivered it at the House-door to Sir Philip Warwicke; Sir G. Carteret being gone into the House with his book of accounts under his arme, to present to the House. I had brought my wife to White Hall, and leaving her with Mrs. Michell, where she sat in her shop and had burnt wine sent for her, I walked in the Hall, and among others with Ned Picketing, who continues still a lying, bragging coxcombe, telling me that my Lord Sandwich may thank himself for all his misfortune; for not suffering him and two or three good honest fellows more to take them by the throats that spoke ill of him, and told me how basely Lionell Walden hath carried himself towards my Lord; by speaking slightly of him, which I shall remember. Thence took my wife home to dinner, and then to the office, where Mr. Hater all the day putting in order and entering in a book all the measures that this account of the Navy hath been made up by, and late at night to Mrs. Turner's, where she had got my wife and Lady Pen and Pegg, and supped, and after, supper and the rest of the company by design gone, Mrs. Turner and her husband did lay their case to me about their lodgings, Sir J. Minnes being now gone wholly to his owne, and now, they being empty, they doubt Sir T. Harvy or Lord Bruncker may look after the lodgings. I did give them the best advice, poor people, that I could, and would do them any kindnesse, though it is strange that now they should have ne'er a friend of Sir W. Batten or Sir W. Pen to trust to but me, that they have disobliged. So home to bed, and all night still mightily troubled in my sleepe, with fire and houses pulling down. 26th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, where every body going to the House, I away by coach to White Hall, and after a few turns, and hearing that our accounts come into the House but to-day, being hindered yesterday by other business, I away by coach home, taking up my wife and calling at Bennet's, our late mercer, who is come into Covent Garden to a fine house looking down upon the Exchange; and I perceive many Londoners every day come; and Mr. Pierce hath let his wife's closett, and the little blind bed chamber, and a garret to a silke man for L50 fine, and L30 per annum, and L40 per annum more for dieting the master and two prentices. So home, not agreeing for silk for a petticoat for her which she desired, but home to dinner and then back to White Hall, leaving my wife by the way to buy her petticoat of Bennet, and I to White Hall waiting all day on the Duke of Yorke to move the King for getting Lanyon some money at Plymouth out of some oyle prizes brought in thither, but could get nothing done, but here Mr. Dugdale I hear the great loss of books in St. Paul's Church-yarde, and at their Hall also, which they value about L150,000; some booksellers being wholly undone, among others, they say, my poor Kirton. And Mr. Crumlu all his books and household stuff burned; they trusting St. Fayth's, and the roof of the church falling, broke the arch down into the lower church, and so all the goods burned. A very great loss. His father hath lost above L1000 in books; one book newly printed, a Discourse, it seems, of Courts. Here I had the hap to see my Lady Denham: and at night went into the dining-room and saw several fine ladies; among others, Castlemayne, but chiefly Denham again; and the Duke of Yorke taking her aside and talking to her in the sight of all the world, all alone; which was strange, and what also I did not like. Here I met with good Mr. Evelyn, who cries out against it, and calls it bitchering,--[This word was apparently of Evelyn's own making.]--for the Duke of Yorke talks a little to her, and then she goes away, and then he follows her again like a dog. He observes that none of the nobility come out of the country at all to help the King, or comfort him, or prevent commotions at this fire; but do as if the King were nobody; nor ne'er a priest comes to give the King and Court good council, or to comfort the poor people that suffer; but all is dead, nothing of good in any of their minds: he bemoans it, and says he fears more ruin hangs over our heads. Thence away by coach, and called away my wife at Unthanke's, where she tells me she hath bought a gowne of 15s. per yard; the same, before her face, my Lady Castlemayne this day bought also, which I seemed vexed for, though I do not grudge it her, but to incline her to have Mercer again, which I believe I shall do, but the girle, I hear, has no mind to come to us again, which vexes me. Being come home, I to Sir W. Batten, and there hear our business was tendered to the House to-day, and a Committee of the whole House chosen to examine our accounts, and a great many Hotspurs enquiring into it, and likely to give us much trouble and blame, and perhaps (which I am afeard of) will find faults enow to demand better officers. This I truly fear. Away with Sir W. Pen, who was there, and he and I walked in the garden by moonlight, and he proposes his and my looking out into Scotland about timber, and to use Pett there; for timber will be a good commodity this time of building the City; and I like the motion, and doubt not that we may do good in it. We did also discourse about our Privateer, and hope well of that also, without much hazard, as, if God blesses us, I hope we shall do pretty well toward getting a penny. I was mightily pleased with our discourse, and so parted, and to the office to finish my journall for three or four days, and so home to supper, and to bed. Our fleete abroad, and the Dutch too, for all we know; the weather very bad; and under the command of an unlucky man, I fear. God bless him, and the fleete under him! 27th. A very furious blowing night all the night; and my mind still mightily perplexed with dreams, and burning the rest of the town, and waking in much pain for the fleete. Up, and with my wife by coach as far as the Temple, and there she to the mercer's again, and I to look out Penny, my tailor, to speak for a cloak and cassock for my brother, who is coming to town; and I will have him in a canonical dress, that he may be the fitter to go abroad with me. I then to the Exchequer, and there, among other things, spoke to Mr. Falconbridge about his girle I heard sing at Nonsuch, and took him and some other 'Chequer men to the Sun Taverne, and there spent 2s. 6d. upon them, and he sent for the girle, and she hath a pretty way of singing, but hath almost forgot for want of practice. She is poor in clothes, and not bred to any carriage, but will be soon taught all, and if Mercer do not come again, I think we may have her upon better terms, and breed her to what we please. Thence to Sir W. Coventry's, and there dined with him and Sir W. Batten, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and Mr. Thin, a pretty gentleman, going to Gottenburgh. Having dined, Sir W. Coventry, Sir W. Batten, and I walked into his closet to consider of some things more to be done in a list to be given to the Parliament of all our ships, and time of entry and discharge. Sir W. Coventry seems to think they will soon be weary of the business, and fall quietly into the giving the King what is fit. This he hopes. Thence I by coach home to the office, and there intending a meeting, but nobody being there but myself and Sir J. Minnes, who is worse than nothing, I did not answer any body, but kept to my business in the office till night, and then Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to me, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, and eat a barrel of oysters I did give them, and so home, and to bed. I have this evening discoursed with W. Hewer about Mercer, I having a mind to have her again; and I am vexed to hear him say that she hath no mind to come again, though her mother hath. No newes of the fleete yet, but that they went by Dover on the 25th towards the Gunfleete, but whether the Dutch be yet abroad, or no, we hear not. De Ruyter is not dead, but like to do well. Most think that the gross of the French fleete are gone home again. 28th. Lay long in bed, and am come to agreement with my wife to have Mercer again, on condition she may learn this winter two months to dance, and she promises me she will endeavour to learn to sing, and all this I am willing enough to. So up, and by and by the glazier comes to finish the windows of my house, which pleases me, and the bookbinder to gild the backs of my books. I got the glass of my book-presses to be done presently, which did mightily content me, and to setting my study in a little better order; and so to my office to my people, busy about our Parliament accounts; and so to dinner, and then at them again close. At night comes Sir W. Pen, and he and I a turn in the garden, and he broke to me a proposition of his and my joining in a design of fetching timber and deals from Scotland, by the help of Mr. Pett upon the place; which, while London is building, will yield good money. I approve it. We judged a third man, that is knowing, is necessary, and concluded on Sir W. Warren, and sent for him to come to us to-morrow morning. I full of this all night, and the project of our man of war; but he and, I both dissatisfied with Sir W. Batten's proposing his son to be Lieutenant, which we, neither of us, like. He gone, I discoursed with W. Hewer about Mercer, having a great mind she should come to us again, and instructed him what to say to her mother about it. And so home, to supper, and to bed. 29th. A little meeting at the office by Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, and myself, being the first since the fire. We rose soon, and comes Sir W. Warren, by our desire, and with Sir W. Pen and I talked of our Scotch motion, which Sir W. Warren did seem to be stumbled at, and did give no ready answer, but proposed some thing previous to it, which he knows would find us work, or writing to Mr. Pett to be informed how matters go there as to cost and ways of providing sawyers or saw-mills. We were parted without coming to any good resolution in it, I discerning plainly that Sir W. Warren had no mind to it, but that he was surprised at our motion. He gone, I to some office business, and then home to dinner, and then to office again, and then got done by night the lists that are to be presented to the Parliament Committee of the ships, number of men, and time employed since the war, and then I with it (leaving my wife at Unthanke's) to St. James's, where Sir W. Coventry staid for me, and I perused our lists, and find to our great joy that wages, victuals, wear and tear, cast by the medium of the men, will come to above 3,000,000; and that the extraordinaries, which all the world will allow us, will arise to more than will justify the expence we have declared to have been at since the war, viz., L320,000, he and I being both mightily satisfied, he saying to me, that if God send us over this rub we must take another course for a better Comptroller. So parted, and I to my wife [at Unthanke's], who staid for the finishing her new best gowne (the best that ever I made her coloured tabby, flowered, and so took it and her home; and then I to my people, and having cut them out a little more work than they expected, viz., the writing over the lists in new method, I home to bed, being in good humour, and glad of the end we have brought this matter to. 30th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I have not been a good while: and there the church infinitely thronged with strangers since the fire come into our parish; but not one handsome face in all of them, as if, indeed, there was a curse, as Bishop Fuller heretofore said, upon our parish. Here I saw Mercer come into the church, which I had a mind to, but she avoided looking up, which vexed me. A pretty good sermon, and then home, and comes Balty and dined with us. A good dinner; and then to have my haire cut against winter close to my head, and then to church again. A sorry sermon, and away home. [Sir] W. Pen and I to walk to talk about several businesses, and then home; and my wife and I to read in Fuller's Church History, and so to supper and to bed. This month ends with my mind full of business and concernment how this office will speed with the Parliament, which begins to be mighty severe in the examining our accounts, and the expence of the Navy this war. OCTOBER 1666 October 1st, 1666. Up, and all the morning at the office, getting the list of all the ships and vessels employed since the war, for the Committee of Parliament. At noon with it to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there dined with him and [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen, and after dinner examined it and find it will do us much right in the number of men rising to near the expense we delivered to the Parliament. [Sir] W. Coventry and I (the others going before the Committee) to Lord Bruncker's for his hand, and find him simply mighty busy in a council of the Queen's. He come out and took in the papers to sign, and sent them mighty wisely out again. Sir W. Coventry away to the Committee, and I to the Mercer's, and there took a bill of what I owe of late, which comes to about L17. Thence to White Hall, and there did hear Betty Michell was at this end of the towne, and so without breach of vowe did stay to endeavour to meet with her and carry her home; but she did not come, so I lost my whole afternoon. But pretty! how I took another pretty woman for her, taking her a clap on the breech, thinking verily it had been her. Staid till [Sir] W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen come out, and so away home by water with them, and to the office to do some business, and then home, and my wife do tell me that W. Hewer tells her that Mercer hath no mind to come. So I was angry at it, and resolved with her to have Falconbridge's girle, and I think it will be better for us, and will please me better with singing. With this resolution, to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and am sent for to Sir G. Carteret, and to him, and there he tells me how our lists are referred to a Sub-committee to consider and examine, and that I am ordered to be there this afternoon. So I away thence to my new bookbinder to see my books gilding in the backs, and then to White Hall to the House, and spoke to Sir W. Coventry, where he told me I must attend the Committee in the afternoon, and received some hints of more work to do. So I away to the 'Chequer, and thence to an alehouse, and found Mr. Falconbridge, and agreed for his kinswoman to come to me. He says she can dress my wife, and will do anything we would have her to do, and is of a good spirit and mighty cheerful. He is much pleased therewith, and so we shall be. So agreed for her coming the next week. So away home, and eat a short dinner, and then with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and do give his boy my book of papers to hold while he went into the Committee Chamber in the Inner Court of Wards, and I walked without with Mr. Slingsby, of the Tower, who was there, and who did in walking inform me mightily in several things; among others, that the heightening or lowering of money is only a cheat, and do good to some particular men, which, if I can but remember how, I am now by him fully convinced of. Anon Sir W. Pen went away, telling me that Sir W. Coventry that was within had told him that the fleete is all come into the buoy of the Nore, and that he must hasten down to them, and so went away, and I into the Committee Chamber before the Committee sat, and there heard Birch discourse highly and understandingly about the Navy business and a proposal made heretofore to farm the Navy; but Sir W. Coventry did abundantly answer him, and is a most excellent person. By and by the Committee met, and I walked out, and anon they rose and called me in, and appointed me to attend a Committee of them to-morrow at the office to examine our lists. This put me into a mighty fear and trouble; they doing it in a very ill humour, methought. So I away and called on my Lord Bruncker to desire him to be there to-morrow, and so home, having taken up my wife at Unthanke's, full of trouble in mind to think what I shall be obliged to answer, that am neither fully fit, nor in any measure concerned to take the shame and trouble of this office upon me, but only from the inability and folly of the Comptroller that occasions it. When come home I to Sir W. Pen's, to his boy, for my book, and there find he hath it not, but delivered it to the doorekeeper of the Committee for me. This, added to my former disquiet, made me stark mad, considering all the nakedness of the office lay open in papers within those covers. I could not tell in the world what to do, but was mad on all sides, and that which made me worse Captain Cocke was there, and he did so swear and curse at the boy that told me. So Cocke, Griffin, and the boy with me, they to find the housekeeper of the Parliament, Hughes, while I to Sir W. Coventry, but could hear nothing of it there. But coming to our rendezvous at the Swan Taverne, in Ding Streete, I find they have found the housekeeper, and the book simply locked up in the Court. So I staid and drank, and rewarded the doore-keeper, and away home, my heart lighter by all this, but to bed very sad notwithstanding, in fear of what will happen to-morrow upon their coming. 3rd. Waked betimes, mightily troubled in mind, and in the most true trouble that I ever was in my life, saving in the business last year of the East India prizes. So up, and with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer and Griffin to consider of our business, and books and papers necessary for this examination; and by and by, by eight o'clock, comes Birch, the first, with the lists and books of accounts delivered in. He calls me to work, and there he and I begun, when, by and by, comes Garraway, [William Garway, elected M.P. for Chichester, March 26th, 1661, and in 1674 he was appointed by the House to confer with Lord Shaftesbury respecting the charge against Pepys being popishly affected. See note to the Life, vol. i., p, xxxii, and for his character, October 6th, 1666] the first time I ever saw him, and Sir W. Thompson and Mr. Boscawen. They to it, and I did make shift to answer them better than I expected. Sir W. Batten, Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Pen, come in, but presently went out; and [Sir] J. Minnes come in, and said two or three words from the purpose, but to do hurt; and so away he went also, and left me all the morning with them alone to stand or fall. At noon Sir W. Batten comes to them to invite them (though fast day) to dinner, which they did, and good company they were, but especially Garraway. Here I have news brought me of my father's coming to town, and I presently to him, glad to see him, poor man, he being come to town unexpectedly to see us and the city. I could not stay with him, but after dinner to work again, only the Committee and I, till dark night, and by that time they cast up all the lists, and found out what the medium of men was borne all the war, of all sorts, and ended with good peace, and much seeming satisfaction; but I find them wise and reserved, and instructed to hit all our blots, as among others, that we reckon the ships full manned from the beginning. They gone, and my heart eased of a great deale of fear and pain, and reckoning myself to come off with victory, because not overcome in anything or much foiled, I away to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, but he not within, then to White Hall, and there among the ladies, and saw my Lady Castlemaine never looked so ill, nor Mrs. Stewart neither, as in this plain, natural dress. I was not pleased with either of them. Away, not finding [Sir] W. Coventry, and so home, and there find my father and my brother come to towne--my father without my expectation; but glad I am to see him. And so to supper with him, and to work again at the office; then home, to set up all my folio books, which are come home gilt on the backs, very handsome to the eye, and then at midnight to bed. This night [Sir] W. Pen told me [Sir] W. Batten swears he will have nothing to do with the Privateer if his son do not go Lieutenant, which angers me and him; but we will be even with him, one way or other. 4th. Up, and mighty betimes, to [Sir] W. Coventry, to give him an account of yesterday's work, which do give him good content. He did then tell me his speech lately to the House in his owne vindication about the report of his selling of places, he having a small occasion offered him by chance, which he did desire, and took, and did it to his content, and, he says, to the House's seeming to approve of it by their hum. He confessed how long he had done it, and how he desired to have something else; and, since then, he had taken nothing, and challenged all the world. I was glad of this also. Thence up to the Duke of York, by appointment, with fellow officers, to complaine, but to no purpose, of want of money, and so away. I to Sir G. Carteret, to his lodging, and here discoursed much of the want of money and our being designed for destruction. How the King hath lost his power, by submitting himself to this way of examining his accounts, and is become but as a private man. He says the King is troubled at it, but they talk an entry shall be made, that it is not to be brought into example; that the King must, if they do not agree presently, make them a courageous speech, which he says he may do, the City of London being now burned, and himself master of an army, better than any prince before him, and so I believe. Thence home, about noon, to dinner. After dinner the book binder come, and I sent by him some more books to gild. I to the office all day, and spent most of it with Sir W. Warren, whom I have had no discourse with a great while, and when all is done I do find him a mighty wise man as any I know, and his counsel as much to be followed. Late with Mr. Hater upon comparing the charge and husbandry of the last Dutch war with ours now, and do find good roome to think we have done little worse than they, whereof good use may and will be made. So home to supper, and to bed. 5th. Up, and with my father talking awhile, then to the office, and there troubled with a message from Lord Peterborough about money; but I did give as kind answer as I could, though I hate him. Then to Sir G. Carteret to discourse about paying of part of the great ships come in, and so home again to compare the comparison of the two Dutch wars' charges for [Sir] W. Coventry, and then by water (and saw old Mr. Michell digging like a painfull father for his son) to him, and find him at dinner. After dinner to look over my papers, and comparing them with some notes of his and brought me, the sight of some good Navy notes of his which I shall get. Then examined and liked well my notes, and away together to White Hall, in the way discoursing the inconvenience of the King's being thus subject to an account, but it will be remedied for the time to come, he thinks, if we can get this over, and I find he will have the Comptroller's business better done, swearing he will never be for a wit to be employed on business again. Thence I home, and back again to White Hall, and meeting Sir H. Cholmly to White Hall; there walked till night that the Committee come down, and there Sir W. Coventry tells me that the Subcommittee have made their report to the Grand Committee, and in pretty kind terms, and have agreed upon allowing us L4 per head, which I am sure will do the business, but he had endeavoured to have got more, but this do well, and he and I are both mighty glad it is come to this, and the heat of the present business seems almost over. But I have more worke cut out for me, to prepare a list of the extraordinaries, not to be included within the L4, against Monday. So I away from him, and met with the Vice-Chamberlain, and I told him when I had this evening in coming hither met with Captain Cocke, and he told me of a wild motion made in the House of Lords by the Duke of Buckingham for all men that had cheated the King to be declared traitors and felons, and that my Lord Sandwich was named. This put me into a great pain, so the Vice-Chamberlain, who had heard nothing of it, having been all day in the City, away with me to White Hall; and there come to me and told me that, upon Lord Ashly's asking their direction whether, being a peere, he should bring in his accounts to the Commons, which they did give way to, the Duke of Buckingham did move that, for the time to come, what I have written above might be declared by some fuller law than heretofore. Lord Ashly answered, that it was not the fault of the present laws, but want of proof; and so said the Lord Chancellor. He answered, that a better law, he thought, might be made so the House laughing, did refer it to him to bring in a Bill to that purpose, and this was all. So I away with joyful heart home, calling on Cocke and telling him the same. So I away home to the office to clear my Journall for five days, and so home to supper and to bed, my father who had staid out late and troubled me thereat being come home well and gone to bed, which pleases me also. This day, coming home, Mr. Kirton's kinsman, my bookseller, come in my way; and so I am told by him that Mr. Kirton is utterly undone, and made 2 or L3000 worse than nothing, from being worth 7 or L8,000. That the goods laid in the Churchyarde fired through the windows those in St. Fayth's church; and those coming to the warehouses' doors fired them, and burned all the books and the pillars of the church, so as the roof falling down, broke quite down, which it did not do in the other places of the church, which is alike pillared (which I knew not before); but being not burned, they stand still. He do believe there is above; L50,000 of books burned; all the great booksellers almost undone: not only these, but their warehouses at their Hall, and under Christchurch, and elsewhere being all burned. A great want thereof there will be of books, specially Latin books and foreign books; and, among others, the Polyglottes and new Bible, which he believes will be presently worth L40 a-piece. 6th. Up, and having seen my brother in his cassocke, which I am not the most satisfied in, being doubtfull at this time what course to have him profess too soon. To the office and there busy about a list of the extraordinaries of the charge of the fleete this war; and was led to go to the office of the ordnance to be satisfied in something, and find their accounts and books kept in mighty good order, but that they can give no light, nor will the nature of their affairs permit it to tell what the charge of the ordnance comes to a man a month. So home again and to dinner, there coming Creed to me; but what with business and my hatred to the man, I did not spend any time with him, but after dinner [my] wife and he and I took coach and to Westminster, but he 'light about Paul's, and set her at her tailor's, and myself to St. James's, but there missing [Sir] W. Coventry, returned and took up my wife, and calling at the Exchange home, whither Sir H. Cholmly come to visit me, but my business suffered me not to stay with him. So he gone I by water to Westminster Hall and thence to St. James's, and there found [Sir] W. Coventry waiting for me, and I did give him a good account to his mind of the business he expected about extraordinaries and then fell to other talke, among others, our sad condition contracted by want of a Comptroller; [As Sir John Minnes performed the duties inefficiently, it was considered necessary to take the office from him: See January 21st.] and it was his words, that he believes, besides all the shame and trouble he hath brought on the office, the King had better have given L100,000 than ever have had him there. He did discourse about some of these discontented Parliament-men, and says that Birch is a false rogue, but that Garraway is a man that hath not been well used by the Court, though very stout to death, and hath suffered all that is possible for the King from the beginning. But discontented as he is, yet he never knew a Session of Parliament but he hath done some good deed for the King before it rose. I told him the passage Cocke told me of his having begged a brace of bucks of the Lord Arlington for him, and when it come to him, he sent it back again. Sir W. Coventry told me, it is much to be pitied that the King should lose the service of a man so able and faithfull; and that he ought to be brought over, but that it is always observed, that by bringing over one discontented man, you raise up three in his room; which is a State lesson I never knew before. But when others discover your fear, and that discontent procures favour, they will be discontented too, and impose on you. Thence to White Hall and got a coach and home, and there did business late, and so home and set up my little books of one of my presses come home gilt, which pleases me mightily, and then to bed. This morning my wife told me of a fine gentlewoman my Lady Pen tells her of, for L20 per annum, that sings, dances, plays on four or five instruments and many other fine things, which pleases me mightily: and she sent to have her see her, which she did this afternoon; but sings basely, and is a tawdry wench that would take L8, but [neither] my wife nor I think her fit to come. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and after visiting my father in his chamber, to church, and then home to dinner. Little Michell and his wife come to dine with us, which they did, and then presently after dinner I with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, where met by Sir W. Batten and Lord Bruncker, to attend the King and Duke of York at the Cabinet; but nobody had determined what to speak of, but only in general to ask for money. So I was forced immediately to prepare in my mind a method of discoursing. And anon we were called in to the Green Room, where the King, Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Lord Chancellor, Lord Treasurer, Duke of Albemarle, [Sirs] G. Carteret, W. Coventry, Morrice. Nobody beginning, I did, and made a current, and I thought a good speech, laying open the ill state of the Navy: by the greatness of the debt; greatness of work to do against next yeare; the time and materials it would take; and our incapacity, through a total want of money. I had no sooner done, but Prince Rupert rose up and told the King in a heat, that whatever the gentleman had said, he had brought home his fleete in as good a condition as ever any fleete was brought home; that twenty boats would be as many as the fleete would want: and all the anchors and cables left in the storm might be taken up again. This arose from my saying, among other things we had to do, that the fleete was come in--the greatest fleete that ever his Majesty had yet together, and that in as bad condition as the enemy or weather could put it; and to use Sir W. Pen's words, who is upon the place taking a survey, he dreads the reports he is to receive from the Surveyors of its defects. I therefore did only answer, that I was sorry for his Highness's offence, but that what I said was but the report we received from those entrusted in the fleete to inform us. He muttered and repeated what he had said; and so, after a long silence on all hands, nobody, not so much as the Duke of Albemarle, seconding the Prince, nor taking notice of what he said, we withdrew. I was not a little troubled at this passage, and the more when speaking with Jacke Fenn about it, he told me that the Prince will be asking now who this Pepys is, and find him to be a creature of my Lord Sandwich's, and therefore this was done only to disparage him. Anon they broke, up, and Sir W. Coventry come out; so I asked his advice. He told me he had said something to salve it, which was, that his Highnesse had, he believed, rightly informed the King that the fleete is come in good condition to have staid out yet longer, and have fought the enemy, but yet that Mr. Pepys his meaning might be, that, though in so good condition, if they should come in and lie all the winter, we shall be very loth to send them to sea for another year's service with[out] great repairs. He said it would be no hurt if I went to him, and showed him the report himself brought up from the fleete, where every ship, by the Commander's report, do need more or less, and not to mention more of Sir W. Pen for doing him a mischief. So I said I would, but do not think that all this will redound to my hurt, because the truth of what I said will soon appear. Thence, having been informed that, after all this pains, the King hath found out how to supply us with 5 or L6000, when L100,000 were at this time but absolutely necessary, and we mentioned L50,000. This is every day a greater and greater omen of ruine. God fit us for it! Sir J. Minnes and I home (it raining) by coach, calling only on Sir G. Cartefet at his lodging (who is I find troubled at my Lord Treasurer and Sir Ph. Warwicke bungling in his accounts), and come home to supper with my father, and then all to bed. I made my brother in his cassocke to say grace this day, but I like his voice so ill that I begin to be sorry he hath taken this order upon him. 8th. Up and to my office, called up by Commissioner Middleton, newly come to town, but staid not with me; so I to my office busy all the morning. Towards noon, by water to Westminster Hall, and there by several hear that the Parliament do resolve to do something to retrench Sir G. Carteret's great salary; but cannot hear of any thing bad they can lay to his charge. The House did this day order to be engrossed the Bill against importing Irish cattle; a thing, it seems, carried on by the Western Parliament-men, wholly against the sense of most of the rest of the House; who think if you do this, you give the Irish again cause to rebel. Thus plenty on both sides makes us mad. The Committee of the Canary Company of both factions come to me for my Cozen Roger that is of the Committee. Thence with [Sir] W. Coventry when the House rose and [Sir] W. Batten to St. James's, and there agreed of and signed our paper of extraordinaries, and there left them, and I to Unthanke's, where Mr. Falconbridge's girle is, and by and by comes my wife, who likes her well, though I confess I cannot (though she be of my finding out and sings pretty well), because she will be raised from so mean a condition to so high all of a sudden; but she will be much to our profit, more than Mercer, less expense. Here we bespoke anew gowne for her, and to come to us on Friday. She being gone, my wife and I home by coach, and then I presently by water with Mr. Pierce to Westminster Hall, he in the way telling me how the Duke of York and Duke of Albemarle do not agree. The Duke of York is wholly given up to this bitch of Denham. The Duke of Albemarle and Prince Rupert do less agree. So that we are all in pieces, and nobody knows what will be done the next year. The King hath yesterday in Council declared his resolution of setting a fashion for clothes, which he will never alter. [There are several references to this new fashion of dress introduced by the king, Pepys saw the Duke of York put on the vest on the 13th, and he says Charles II. himself put it on on the 15th. On November 4th Pepys dressed himself in the new vest and coat. See notes, October 15th and November 22nd.] It will be a vest, I know not well how; but it is to teach the nobility thrift, and will do good. By and by comes down from the Committee [Sir] W. Coventry, and I find him troubled at several things happened this afternoon, which vexes me also; our business looking worse and worse, and our worke growing on our hands. Time spending, and no money to set anything in hand with; the end thereof must be speedy ruine. The Dutch insult and have taken off Bruant's head, [Captain Du Buat, a Frenchman in the Dutch service, plotted with two magistrates of Rotterdam to obtain a peace with England as the readiest means of pressing the elevation of the Prince of Orange to the office of Captain-General. He was brought before the Supreme Court of Holland, condemned, and executed. He had been one of the household of the Prince of Orange who were dismissed by De Witt.] which they have not dared to do (though found guilty of the fault he did die for, of something of the Prince of Orange's faction) till just now, which speaks more confidence in our being worse than before. Alderman Maynell, I hear, is dead. Thence returned in the darke by coach all alone, full of thoughts of the consequences of this ill complexion of affairs, and how to save myself and the little I have, which if I can do, I have cause to bless God that I am so well, and shall be well contented to retreat to Brampton, and spend the rest of my days there. So to my office, and did some business, and finished my Journall with resolutions, if God bless me, to apply myself soberly to settle all matters for myself, and expect the event of all with comfort. So home to supper and to bed. 9th. Up and to the office, where we sat the first day since the fire, I think. At noon home, and my uncle Thomas was there, and dined with my brother and I (my father and I were gone abroad), and then to the office again in the afternoon, and there close all day long, and did much business. At night to Sir W. Batten, where Sir R. Ford did occasion some discourse of sending a convoy to the Maderas; and this did put us upon some new thoughts of sending our privateer thither on merchants' accounts, which I have more mind to, the profit being certain and occasion honest withall. So home, and to supper with my father, and then to set my remainder of my books gilt in order with much pleasure, and so late to bed. 10th (Fast-day for the fire). Up with Sir W. Batten by water to White Hall, and anon had a meeting before the Duke of York, where pretty to see how Sir W. Batten, that carried the surveys of all the fleete with him, to shew their ill condition to the Duke of York, when he found the Prince there, did not speak one word, though the meeting was of his asking--for nothing else. And when I asked him, he told me he knew the Prince too well to anger him, so that he was afeard to do it. Thence with him to Westminster, to the parish church, where the Parliament-men, and Stillingfleete in the pulpit. So full, no standing there; so he and I to eat herrings at the Dog Taverne. And then to church again, and there was Mr. Frampton in the pulpit, they cry up so much, a young man, and of a mighty ready tongue. I heard a little of his sermon, and liked it; but the crowd so great, I could not stay. So to the Swan, and 'baise la fille', and drank, and then home by coach, and took father, wife, brother, and W. Hewer to Islington, where I find mine host dead. Here eat and drank, and merry; and so home, and to the office a while, and then to Sir W. Batten to talk a while, and with Captain Cocke into the office to hear his newes, who is mighty conversant with Garraway and those people, who tells me what they object as to the maladministration of things as to money. But that they mean well, and will do well; but their reckonings are very good, and show great faults, as I will insert here. They say the king hath had towards this war expressly thus much Royal Ayde.................................... L2,450,000 More.......................................... 1,250,000 Three months' tax given the King by a power of raising a month's tax of L70,000 every year for three years..................... 0,210,000 Customes, out of which the King did promise to pay L240,000, which for two years comes to.................................. 0,480,000 Prizes, which they moderately reckon at........ 0,300,000 A debt declared by the Navy, by us............. 0,900,000 ---------- 5,590,000 The whole charge of the Navy, as we state it for two years and a month, hath been but.. 3,200,000 So what is become of all this sum?........ 2,390,000 He and I did bemoan our public condition. He tells me the Duke of Albemarle is under a cloud, and they have a mind at Court to lay him aside. This I know not; but all things are not right with him, and I am glad of it, but sorry for the time. So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night, [See Life, vol. i., p. xxi., where the register of St. Margaret's parish, Westminster, is quoted to the effect that Pepys was married December 1st, 1655. It seems incomprehensible that both husband and wife should have been wrong as to the date of their wedding day, but Mrs. Pepys was unquestionably wrong as to the number of years, for they had been married nearly eleven.] but how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten. 11th. Up, and discoursed with my father of my sending some money for safety into the country, for I am in pain what to do with what I have. I did give him money, poor man, and he overjoyed. So left him, and to the office, where nothing but sad evidences of ruine coming on us for want of money. So home to dinner, which was a very good dinner, my father, brother, wife and I, and then to the office again, where I was all the afternoon till very late, busy, and then home to supper and to bed. Memorandum. I had taken my Journall during the fire and the disorders following in loose papers until this very day, and could not get time to enter them in my book till January 18, in the morning, having made my eyes sore by frequent attempts this winter to do it. But now it is done, for which I thank God, and pray never the like occasion may happen. 12th. Up, and after taking leave of my poor father, who is setting out this day for Brampton by the Cambridge coach, he having taken a journey to see the city burned, and to bring my brother to towne, I out by water; and so coach to St. James's, the weather being foul; and there, from Sir W. Coventry, do hear how the House have cut us off L150,000 of our wear and tear, for that which was saved by the King while the fleete lay in harbour in winter. However, he seems pleased, and so am I, that they have abated no more, and do intend to allow of 28,000 men for the next year; and this day have appointed to declare the sum they will give the King, [The parliament voted this day a supply of L1,800,000 sterling. See below.] and to propose the way of raising it; so that this is likely to be the great day. This done in his chamber, I with him to Westminster Hall, and there took a few turns, the Hall mighty full of people, and the House likely to be very full to-day about the money business. Here I met with several people, and do find that people have a mighty mind to have a fling at the Vice-Chamberlain, if they could lay hold of anything, his place being, indeed, too much for such, they think, or any single subject of no greater parts and quality than he, to enjoy. But I hope he may weather all, though it will not be by any dexterity of his, I dare say, if he do stand, but by his fate only, and people's being taken off by other things. Thence home by coach, mighty dirty weather, and then to the Treasurer's office and got a ticket paid for my little Michell, and so again by coach to Westminster, and come presently after the House rose. So to the Swan, and there sent for a piece of meat and dined alone and played with Sarah, and so to the Hall a while, and thence to Mrs. Martin's lodging and did what I would with her. She is very big, and resolves I must be godfather. Thence away by water with Cropp to Deptford. It was almost night before I got thither. So I did only give directions concerning a press that I have making there to hold my turning and joyner's tooles that were lately given me, which will be very handsome, and so away back again, it being now dark, and so home, and there find my wife come home, and hath brought her new girle I have helped her to, of Mr. Falconbridge's. She is wretched poor; and but ordinary favoured; and we fain to lay out seven or eight pounds worth of clothes upon her back, which, methinks, do go against my heart; and I do not think I can ever esteem her as I could have done another that had come fine and handsome; and which is more, her voice, for want of use, is so furred, that it do not at present please me; but her manner of singing is such, that I shall, I think, take great pleasure in it. Well, she is come, and I wish us good fortune in her. Here I met with notice of a meeting of the Commissioners for Tangier tomorrow, and so I must have my accounts ready for them, which caused me to confine myself to my chamber presently and set to the making up my accounts, which I find very clear, but with much difficulty by reason of my not doing them sooner, things being out of my mind. 13th. It cost me till four o'clock in the morning, and, which was pretty to think, I was above an hour, after I had made all right, in casting up of about twenty sums, being dozed with much work, and had for forty times together forgot to carry the 60 which I had in my mind, in one denomination which exceeded 60; and this did confound me for above an hour together. At last all even and done, and so to bed. Up at seven, and so to the office, after looking over my last night's work. We sat all the morning. At noon by coach with my Lord Bruncker and 'light at the Temple, and so alone I to dinner at a cooke's, and thence to my Lord Bellasses, whom I find kind; but he had drawn some new proposal to deliver to the Lords Commissioners to-day, wherein one was, that the garrison would not be well paid without some goldsmith's undertaking the paying of the bills of exchange for Tallys. He professing so much kindness to me, and saying that he would not be concerned in the garrison without me; and that if he continued in the employment, no man should have to do with the money but myself. I did ask his Lordship's meaning of the proposition in his paper. He told me he had not much considered it, but that he meant no harm to me. I told him I thought it would render me useless; whereupon he did very frankly, after my seeming denials for a good while, cause it to be writ over again, and that clause left out, which did satisfy me abundantly. It being done, he and I together to White Hall, and there the Duke of York (who is gone over to all his pleasures again, and leaves off care of business, what with his woman, my Lady Denham, and his hunting three times a week) was just come in from hunting. So I stood and saw him dress himself, and try on his vest, which is the King's new fashion, and will be in it for good and all on Monday next, and the whole Court: it is a fashion, the King says; he will never change. He being ready, he and my Lord Chancellor, and Duke of Albemarle, and Prince Rupert, Lord Bellasses, Sir H. Cholmly, Povy, and myself, met at a Committee for Tangier. My Lord Bellasses's propositions were read and discoursed of, about reducing the garrison to less charge; and indeed I am mad in love with my Lord Chancellor, for he do comprehend and speak out well, and with the greatest easinesse and authority that ever I saw man in my life. I did never observe how much easier a man do speak when he knows all the company to be below him, than in him; for though he spoke, indeed, excellent welt, yet his manner and freedom of doing it, as if he played with it, and was informing only all the rest of the company, was mighty pretty. He did call again and again upon Mr. Povy for his accounts. I did think fit to make the solemn tender of my accounts that I intended. I said something that was liked, touching the want of money, and the bad credit of our tallys. My Lord Chancellor moved, that without any trouble to any of the rest of the Lords, I might alone attend the King, when he was with his private Council; and open the state of the garrison's want of credit; and all that could be done, should. Most things moved were referred to Committees, and so we broke up. And at the end Sir W. Coventry come; so I away with him, and he discoursed with me something of the Parliament's business. They have voted giving the [King] for next year L1,800,000; which, were it not for his debts, were a great sum. He says, he thinks the House may say no more to us for the present, but that we must mend our manners against the next tryall, and mend them we will. But he thinks it not a fit time to be found making of trouble among ourselves, meaning about Sir J. Minnes, who most certainly must be removed, or made a Commissioner, and somebody else Comptroller. But he tells me that the House has a great envy at Sir G. Carteret, and that had he ever thought fit in all his discourse to have touched upon the point of our want of money and badness of payment, it would have been laid hold on to Sir G. Carteret's hurt; but he hath avoided it, though without much reason for it, most studiously, and in short did end thus, that he has never shewn so much of the pigeon in all his life as in his innocence to Sir G. Carteret at this time; which I believe, and will desire Sir G. Carteret to thank him for it. So we broke up and I by coach home, calling for a new pair of shoes, and so, little being to do at the office, did go home, and after spending a little in righting some of my books, which stood out of order, I to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, among other things, talking of my wife's renewing her acquaintance with Mrs. Pierce, which, by my wife's ill using her when she was here last, hath been interrupted. Herein we were a little angry together, but presently friends again; and so up, and I to church, which was mighty full, and my beauties, Mrs. Lethulier and fair Batelier, both there. A very foul morning, and rained; and sent for my cloake to go out of the church with. So dined, and after dinner (a good discourse thereat to my brother) he and I by water to White Hall, and he to Westminster Abbey. Here I met with Sir Stephen Fox, who told me how much right I had done myself, and how well it is represented by the Committee to the House, my readinesse to give them satisfaction in everything when they were at the office. I was glad of this. He did further discourse of Sir W. Coventry's, great abilities, and how necessary it were that I were of the House to assist him. I did not owne it, but do myself think it were not unnecessary if either he should die, or be removed to the Lords, or any thing to hinder his doing the like service the next trial, which makes me think that it were not a thing very unfit; but I will not move in it. He and I parted, I to Mrs. Martin's, thinking to have met Mrs. Burrows, but she was not there, so away and took my brother out of the Abbey and home, and there to set some accounts right, and to the office to even my Journall, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Called up, though a very rainy morning, by Sir H. Cholmley, and he and I most of the morning together evening of accounts, which I was very glad of. Then he and I out to Sir Robt. Viner's, at the African house (where I had not been since he come thither); but he was not there; but I did some business with his people, and then to Colvill's, who, I find, lives now in Lyme Streete, and with the same credit as ever, this fire having not done them any wrong that I hear of at all. Thence he and I together to Westminster Hall, in our way talking of matters and passages of state, the viciousness of the Court; the contempt the King brings himself into thereby; his minding nothing, but doing all things just as his people about him will have it; the Duke of York becoming a slave to this whore Denham, and wholly minds her; that there really was amours between the Duchesse and Sidney; a that there is reason to fear that, as soon as the Parliament have raised this money, the King will see that he hath got all that he can get, and then make up a peace. He tells me, what I wonder at, but that I find it confirmed by Mr. Pierce, whom I met by-and-by in the Hall, that Sir W. Coventry is of the caball with the Duke of York, and Bruncker, with this Denham; which is a shame, and I am sorry for it, and that Sir W. Coventry do make her visits; but yet I hope it is not so. Pierce tells me, that as little agreement as there is between the Prince--[Rupert]--and Duke of Albemarle, yet they are likely to go to sea again; for the first will not be trusted alone, and nobody will go with him but this Duke of Albemarle. He tells me much how all the commanders of the fleete and officers that are sober men do cry out upon their bad discipline, and the ruine that must follow it if it continue. But that which I wonder most at, it seems their secretaries have been the most exorbitant in their fees to all sorts of the people, that it is not to be believed that they durst do it, so as it is believed they have got L800 apiece by the very vacancies in the fleete. He tells me that Lady Castlemayne is concluded to be with child again; and that all the people about the King do make no scruple of saying that the King do lie with Mrs. Stewart, who, he says, is a most excellent-natured lady. This day the King begins to put on his vest, and I did see several persons of the House of Lords and Commons too, great courtiers, who are in it; being a long cassocke close to the body, of black cloth, and pinked with white silke under it, and a coat over it, and the legs ruffled with black riband like a pigeon's leg; and, upon the whole, I wish the King may keep it, for it is a very fine and handsome garment. [Evelyn describes the new fashion as "a comely dress after ye Persian mode" (see "Diary," October 18th, 1666). He adds that he had described the "comelinesse and usefulnesse" of the Persian clothing in his pamphlet entitled "Tyrannus, or the Mode." "I do not impute to this discourse the change which soone happen'd, but it was an identity I could not but take notice of." Rugge, in his "Diurnal," thus describes the new Court costume "1666, Oct. 11. In this month His Majestie and whole Court changed the fashion of their clothes-viz. a close coat of cloth, pinkt with a white taffety under the cutts. This in length reached the calf of the leg, and upon that a sercoat cutt at the breast, which hung loose and shorter than the vest six inches. The breeches the Spanish cut, and buskins some of cloth, some of leather, but of the same colour as the vest or garment; of never the like fashion since William the Conqueror." It is represented in a portrait of Lord Arlington, by Sir P. Lely, formerly belonging to Lord de Clifford, and engraved in Lodge's "Portraits." Louis XIV. ordered his servants to wear the dress. See November 22.] Walking with Pierce in the Court of Wards out comes Sir W. Coventry, and he and I talked of business. Among others I proposed the making Sir J. Minnes a Commissioner, and make somebody else Comptroller. He tells me it is the thing he hath been thinking of, and hath spoke to the Duke of York of it. He believes it will be done; but that which I fear is that Pen will be Comptroller, which I shall grudge a little. The Duke of Buckingham called him aside and spoke a good while with him. I did presently fear it might be to discourse something of his design to blemish my Lord of Sandwich, in pursuance of the wild motion he made the other day in the House. Sir W. Coventry, when he come to me again, told me that he had wrought a miracle, which was, the convincing the Duke of Buckingham that something--he did not name what--that he had intended to do was not fit to be done, and that the Duke is gone away of that opinion. This makes me verily believe it was something like what I feared. By and by the House rose, and then we parted, and I with Sir G. Carteret, and walked in the Exchequer Court, discoursing of businesses. Among others, I observing to him how friendly Sir W. Coventry had carried himself to him in these late inquiries, when, if he had borne him any spleen, he could have had what occasion he pleased offered him, he did confess he found the same thing, and would thanke him for it. I did give him some other advices, and so away with him to his lodgings at White Hall to dinner, where my Lady Carteret is, and mighty kind, both of them, to me. Their son and my Lady Jemimah will be here very speedily. She tells me the ladies are to go into a new fashion shortly, and that is, to wear short coats, above their ancles; which she and I do not like, but conclude this long trayne to be mighty graceful. But she cries out of the vices of the Court, and how they are going to set up plays already; and how, the next day after the late great fast, the Duchesse of York did give the King and Queene a play. Nay, she told me that they have heretofore had plays at Court the very nights before the fast for the death of the late King: She do much cry out upon these things, and that which she believes will undo the whole nation; and I fear so too. After dinner away home, Mr. Brisband along with me as far as the Temple, and there looked upon a new booke, set out by one Rycault, secretary to my Lord Winchelsea, of the policy and customs of the Turks, which is, it seems, much cried up. But I could not stay, but home, where I find Balty come back, and with him some muster-books, which I am glad of, and hope he will do me credit in his employment. By and by took coach again and carried him home, and my wife to her tailor's, while I to White Hall to have found out Povy, but miss him and so call in my wife and home again, where at Sir W. Batten's I met Sir W. Pen, lately come from the fleete at the Nore; and here were many good fellows, among others Sir R. Holmes, who is exceeding kind to me, more than usual, which makes me afeard of him, though I do much wish his friendship. Thereupon, after a little stay, I withdrew, and to the office and awhile, and then home to supper and to my chamber to settle a few papers, and then to bed. This day the great debate was in Parliament, the manner of raising the L1,800,000 they voted [the King] on Friday; and at last, after many proposals, one moved that the Chimney-money might be taken from the King, and an equal revenue of something else might be found for the King, and people be enjoyned to buy off this tax of Chimney-money for ever at eight years' purchase, which will raise present money, as they think, L1,600,000, and the State be eased of an ill burthen and the King be supplied of something as food or better for his use. The House seems to like this, and put off the debate to to-morrow. 16th. Up, and to the office, where sat to do little business but hear clamours for money. At noon home to dinner, and to the office again, after hearing my brother play a little upon the Lyra viall, which he do so as to show that he hath a love to musique and a spirit for it, which I am well pleased with. All the afternoon at the office, and at night with Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, [and Sir] J. Minnes, at [Sir] W. Pen's lodgings, advising about business and orders fit presently to make about discharging of ships come into the river, and which to pay first, and many things in order thereto. But it vexed me that, it being now past seven o'clock, and the businesses of great weight, and I had done them by eight o'clock, and sending them to be signed, they were all gone to bed, and Sir W. Pen, though awake, would not, being in bed, have them brought to him to sign; this made me quite angry. Late at work at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. Not come to any resolution at the Parliament to-day about the manner of raising this L1,800,000. 17th. Up, and busy about public and private business all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, alone with my brother, with whom I had now the first private talke I have had, and find he hath preached but twice in his life. I did give him some advice to study pronunciation; but I do fear he will never make a good speaker, nor, I fear, any general good scholar, for I do not see that he minds optickes or mathematiques of any sort, nor anything else that I can find. I know not what he may be at divinity and ordinary school-learning. However, he seems sober, and that pleases me. After dinner took him and my wife and Barker (for so is our new woman called, and is yet but a sorry girle), and set them down at Unthanke's, and so to White Hall, and there find some of my brethren with the Duke of York, but so few I put off the meeting. So staid and heard the Duke discourse, which he did mighty scurrilously, of the French, and with reason, that they should give Beaufort orders when he was to bring, and did bring, his fleete hither, that his rendezvous for his fleete, and for all sluggs to come to, should be between Calais and Dover; which did prove the taking of La Roche[lle], who, among other sluggs behind, did, by their instructions, make for that place, to rendezvous with the fleete; and Beaufort, seeing them as he was returning, took them for the English fleete, and wrote word to the King of France that he had passed by the English fleete, and the English fleete durst not meddle with him. The Court is all full of vests, only my Lord St. Albans not pinked but plain black; and they say the King says the pinking upon white makes them look too much like magpyes, and therefore hath bespoke one of plain velvet. Thence to St. James's by coach, and spoke, at four o'clock or five, with Sir W. Coventry, newly come from the House, where they have sat all this day and not come to an end of the debate how the money shall be raised. He tells me that what I proposed to him the other day was what he had himself thought on and determined, and that he believes it will speedily be done--the making Sir J. Minnes a Commissioner, and bringing somebody else to be Comptroller, and that (which do not please me, I confess, for my own particulars, so well as Sir J. Minnes) will, I fear, be Sir W. Pen, for he is the only fit man for it. Away from him and took up my wife, and left her at Temple Bar to buy some lace for a petticoat, and I took coach and away to Sir R. Viner's about a little business, and then home, and by and by to my chamber, and there late upon making up an account for the Board to pass to-morrow, if I can get them, for the clearing all my imprest bills, which if I can do, will be to my very good satisfaction. Having done this, then to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. The waters so high in the roads, by the late rains, that our letters come not in till to-day, and now I understand that my father is got well home, but had a painful journey of it. At noon with Lord Bruncker to St. Ellen's, where the master of the late Pope's Head Taverne is now set up again, and there dined at Sir W. Warren's cost, a very good dinner. Here my Lord Bruncker proffered to carry me and my wife into a play at Court to-night, and to lend me his coach home, which tempted me much; but I shall not do it. Thence rose from table before dinner ended, and homewards met my wife, and so away by coach towards Lovett's (in the way wondering at what a good pretty wench our Barker makes, being now put into good clothes, and fashionable, at my charge; but it becomes her, so that I do not now think much of it, and is an example of the power of good clothes and dress), where I stood godfather. But it was pretty, that, being a Protestant, a man stood by and was my Proxy to answer for me. A priest christened it, and the boy's name is Samuel. The ceremonies many, and some foolish. The priest in a gentleman's dress, more than my owne; but is a Capuchin, one of the Queene-mother's priests. He did give my proxy and the woman proxy (my Lady Bills, absent, had a proxy also) good advice to bring up the child, and, at the end, that he ought never to marry the child nor the godmother, nor the godmother the child or the godfather: but, which is strange, they say that the mother of the child and the godfather may marry. By and by the Lady Bills come in, a well-bred but crooked woman. The poor people of the house had good wine, and a good cake; and she a pretty woman in her lying-in dress. It cost me near 40s. the whole christening: to midwife 20s., nurse 10s., mayde 2s. 6d., and the coach 5s. I was very well satisfied with what I have done, and so home and to the office, and thence to Sir W. Batten's, and there hear how the business of buying off the Chimney-money is passed in the House; and so the King to be satisfied some other way, and the King supplied with the money raised by this purchasing off of the chimnies. So home, mightily pleased in mind that I have got my bills of imprest cleared by bills signed this day, to my good satisfaction. To supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and by coach to my Lord Ashly's, and thence (he being gone out), to the Exchequer chamber, and there find him and my Lord Bellasses about my Lord Bellasses' accounts, which was the business I went upon. This was soon ended, and then I with Creed back home to my house, and there he and I did even accounts for salary, and by that time dinner was ready, and merry at dinner, and then abroad to Povy's, who continues as much confounded in all his business as ever he was; and would have had me paid money, as like a fool as himself, which I troubled him in refusing; but I did persist in it. After a little more discourse, I left them, and to White Hall, where I met with Sir Robert Viner, who told me a little of what, in going home, I had seen; also a little of the disorder and mutiny among the seamen at the Treasurer's office, which did trouble me then and all day since, considering how many more seamen will come to towne every day, and no money for them. A Parliament sitting, and the Exchange close by, and an enemy to hear of, and laugh at it. [The King of Denmark was induced to conclude a treaty with the United Provinces, a secret article of which bound him to declare war against England. The order in council for the printing and publishing a declaration of war against Denmark is dated "Whitehall, Sept. 19, 1666;" annexed is "A True Declaration of all transactions between his Majesty of Great Britain and the King of Denmark, with a declaration of war against the said king, and the motives that obliged his Majesty thereunto" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, p. 140).] Viner too, and Backewell, were sent for this afternoon; and was before the King and his Cabinet about money; they declaring they would advance no more, it being discoursed of in the House of Parliament for the King to issue out his privy-seals to them to command them to trust him, which gives them reason to decline trusting. But more money they are persuaded to lend, but so little that (with horrour I speake it), coming after the Council was up, with Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Coventry, Lord Bruncker, and myself, I did lay the state of our condition before the Duke of York, that the fleete could not go out without several things it wanted, and we could not have without money, particularly rum and bread, which we have promised the man Swan to helpe him to L200 of his debt, and a few other small sums of L200 a piece to some others, and that I do foresee the Duke of York would call us to an account why the fleete is not abroad, and we cannot answer otherwise than our want of money; and that indeed we do not do the King any service now, but do rather abuse and betray his service by being there, and seeming to do something, while we do not. Sir G. Carteret asked me (just in these words, for in this and all the rest I set down the very words for memory sake, if there should be occasion) whether L50 or L60 would do us any good; and when I told him the very rum man must have L200, he held up his eyes as if we had asked a million. Sir W. Coventry told the Duke of York plainly he did rather desire to have his commission called in than serve in so ill a place, where he cannot do the King service, and I did concur in saying the same. This was all very plain, and the Duke of York did confess that he did not see how we could do anything without a present supply of L20,000, and that he would speak to the King next Council day, and I promised to wait on him to put him in mind of it. This I set down for my future justification, if need be, and so we broke up, and all parted, Sir W. Coventry being not very well, but I believe made much worse by this night's sad discourse. So I home by coach, considering what the consequence of all this must be in a little time. Nothing but distraction and confusion; which makes me wish with all my heart that I were well and quietly settled with what little I have got at Brampton, where I might live peaceably, and study, and pray for the good of the King and my country. Home, and to Sir W. Batten's, where I saw my Lady, who is now come down stairs after a great sickness. Sir W. Batten was at the pay to-day, and tells me how rude the men were, but did go away quietly, being promised pay on Wednesday next. God send us money for it! So to the office, and then to supper and to bed. Among other things proposed in the House to-day, to give the King in lieu of chimneys, there was the bringing up of sealed paper, such as Sir J. Minnes shewed me to-night, at Sir W. Batten's, is used in Spayne, and brings the King a great revenue; but it shows what shifts we are put to too much. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where none met but myself. So I walked a good while with Mr. Gawden in the garden, who is lately come from the fleete at the buoy of the Nore, and he do tell me how all the sober commanders, and even Sir Thomas Allen himself, do complain of the ill government of the fleete. How Holmes and Jennings have commanded all the fleete this yeare, that nothing is done upon deliberation, but if a sober man give his opinion otherwise than the Prince would have it the Prince would cry, "Damn him, do you follow your orders, and that is enough for you." He tells me he hears of nothing but of swearing and drinking and whoring, and all manner of profaneness, quite through the whole fleete. He being gone, there comes to me Commissioner Middleton, whom I took on purpose to walk in the garden with me, and to learn what he observed when the fleete was at Portsmouth. He says that the fleete was in such a condition, as to discipline, as if the Devil had commanded it; so much wickedness of all sorts. Enquiring how it come to pass that so many ships miscarried this year, he tells me that he enquired; and the pilots do say, that they dare not do nor go but as the Captains will have them; and if they offer to do otherwise, the Captains swear they will run them through. He says that he heard Captain Digby (my Lord of Bristoll's son, a young fellow that never was but one year, if that, in the fleete) say that he did hope he should not see a tarpaulin have the command of a ship within this twelve months. He observed while he was on board the Admirall, when the fleete was at Portsmouth, that there was a faction there. Holmes commanded all on the Prince's side, and Sir Jeremy Smith on the Duke's, and every body that come did apply themselves to one side or other; and when the Duke of Albemarle was gone away to come hither, then Sir Jeremy Smith did hang his head, and walked in the Generall's ship but like a private commander. He says he was on board The Prince, when the newes come of the burning of London; and all the Prince said was, that now Shipton's prophecy was out; and he heard a young commander presently swear, that now a citizen's wife that would not take under half a piece before, would be occupied for half-a-crowne: and made mighty sport of it. He says that Hubberd that commanded this year the Admiral's ship is a proud conceited fellow (though I thought otherwise of him), and fit to command a single ship but not a fleete, and he do wonder that there hath not been more mischief this year than there hath. He says the fleete come to anchor between the Horse and the Island, so that when they came to weigh many of the ships could not turn, but run foul of the Horse, and there stuck, but that the weather was good. He says that nothing can do the King more disservice, nor please the standing officers of the ship better than these silly commanders that now we have, for they sign to anything that their officers desire of them, nor have judgment to contradict them if they would. He told me other good things, which made me bless God that we have received no greater disasters this year than we have, though they have been the greatest that ever was known in England before, put all their losses of the King's ships by want of skill and seamanship together from the beginning. He being gone, comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I walked together awhile, discoursing upon the sad condition of the times, what need we have, and how impossible it is to get money. He told me my Lord Chancellor the other day did ask him how it come to pass that his friend Pepys do so much magnify all things to worst, as I did on Sunday last, in the bad condition of the fleete. Sir G. Carteret tells me that he answered him, that I was but the mouth of the rest, and spoke what they have dictated to me; which did, as he says, presently take off his displeasure. So that I am well at present with him, but I must have a care not to be over busy in the office again, and burn my fingers. He tells me he wishes he had sold his place at some good rate to somebody or other at the beginning of the warr, and that he would do it now, but no body will deale with him for it. He tells me the Duke of Albemarle is very much discontented, and the Duke of York do not, it seems, please him. He tells me that our case as to money is not to be made good at present, and therefore wishes a good and speedy peace before it be too late, and from his discourse methinks I find that there is something moving towards it. Many people at the office, but having no more of the office I did put it off till the next meeting. Thence, with Sir G. Carteret, home to dinner, with him, my Lady and Mr. Ashburnham, the Cofferer. Here they talk that the Queene hath a great mind to alter her fashion, and to have the feet seen, which she loves mightily; and they do believe that it [will] come into it in a little time. Here I met with the King's declaration about his proceedings with the King of Denmarke, and particularly the business of Bergen; but it is so well writ, that, if it be true, the King of Denmarke is one of the most absolute wickednesse in the world for a person of his quality. After dinner home, and there met Mr. Povy by appointment, and there he and I all the afternoon, till late at night, evening of all accounts between us, which we did to both our satisfaction; but that which troubles me most is, that I am to refund to the ignoble Lord Peterborough what he had given us six months ago, because we did not supply him with money; but it is no great matter. He gone I to the office, and there did some business; and so home, my mind in good ease by having done with Povy in order to the adjusting of all my accounts in a few days. So home to supper and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and her new woman Barker with her the first time. The girle will, I think, do very well. Here a lazy sermon, and so home to dinner, and took in my Lady Pen and Peg (Sir William being below with the fleete), and mighty merry we were, and then after dinner presently (it being a mighty cool day) I by coach to White Hall, and there attended the Cabinet, and was called in before the King and them to give an account of our want of money for Tangier, which troubles me that it should be my place so often and so soon after one another to come to speak there of their wants--the thing of the world that they love least to hear of, and that which is no welcome thing to be the solicitor for--and to see how like an image the King sat and could not speak one word when I had delivered myself was very strange; only my Lord Chancellor did ask me, whether I thought it was in nature at this time to help us to anything. So I was referred to another meeting of the Lords Commissioners for Tangier and my Lord Treasurer, and so went away, and by coach home, where I spent the evening in reading Stillingfleet's defence of the Archbishopp, the part about Purgatory, a point I had never considered before, what was said for it or against it, and though I do believe we are in the right, yet I do not see any great matter in this book. So to supper; and my people being gone, most of them, to bed, my boy and Jane and I did get two of my iron chests out of the cellar into my closett, and the money to my great satisfaction to see it there again, and the rather because the damp cellar spoils all my chests. This being done, and I weary, to bed. This afternoon walking with Sir H. Cholmly long in the gallery, he told me, among many other things, how Harry Killigrew is banished the Court lately, for saying that my Lady Castlemayne was a little lecherous girle when she was young.... This she complained to the King of, and he sent to the Duke of York, whose servant he is, to turn him away. The Duke of York hath done it, but takes it ill of my Lady that he was not complained to first. She attended him to excute it, but ill blood is made by it. He told me how Mr. Williamson stood in a little place to have come into the House of Commons, and they would not choose him; they said, "No courtier." And which is worse, Bab May went down in great state to Winchelsea with the Duke of York's letters, not doubting to be chosen; and there the people chose a private gentleman in spite of him, and cried out they would have no Court pimp to be their burgesse; which are things that bode very ill. This afternoon I went to see and sat a good while with Mrs. Martin, and there was her sister Doll, with whom, contrary to all expectation, I did what I would, and might have done anything else. 22nd. Up, and by coach to Westminster Hall, there thinking to have met Betty Michell, who I heard yesterday staid all night at her father's, but she was gone. So I staid a little and then down to the bridge by water, and there overtook her and her father. So saluted her and walked over London Bridge with them and there parted, the weather being very foul, and so to the Tower by water, and so heme, where I find Mr. Caesar playing the treble to my boy upon the Theorbo, the first time I heard him, which pleases me mightily. After dinner I carried him and my wife towards Westminster, by coach, myself 'lighting at the Temple, and there, being a little too soon, walked in the Temple Church, looking with pleasure on the monuments and epitaphs, and then to my Lord Belasses, where Creed and Povy by appointment met to discourse of some of their Tangier accounts between my Lord and Vernatty, who will prove a very knave. That being done I away with Povy to White Hall, and thence I to Unthanke's, and there take up my wife, and so home, it being very foule and darke. Being there come, I to the settling of some of my money matters in my chests, and evening some accounts, which I was at late, to my extraordinary content, and especially to see all things hit so even and right and with an apparent profit and advantage since my last accounting, but how much I cannot particularly yet come to adjudge. 23rd. Up, and to the office all the morning. At noon Sir W. Batten told me Sir Richard Ford would accept of one-third of my profit of our private man-of-war, and bear one-third of the charge, and be bound in the Admiralty, so I shall be excused being bound, which I like mightily of, and did draw up a writing, as well as I could, to that purpose and signed and sealed it, and so he and Sir R. Ford are to go to enter into bond this afternoon. Home to dinner, and after dinner, it being late, I down by water to Shadwell, to see Betty Michell, the first time I was ever at their new dwelling since the fire, and there find her in the house all alone. I find her mighty modest. But had her lips as much as I would, and indeed she is mighty pretty, that I love her exceedingly. I paid her L10 1s. that I received upon a ticket for her husband, which is a great kindness I have done them, and having kissed her as much as I would, I away, poor wretch, and down to Deptford to see Sir J. Minnes ordering of the pay of some ships there, which he do most miserably, and so home. Bagwell's wife, seeing me come the fields way, did get over her pales to come after and talk with me, which she did for a good way, and so parted, and I home, and to the office, very busy, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there find little Michell come to his new shop that he hath built there in the room of his house that was burned. I hope he will do good here. I drank and bade him joy, for I love him and his wife well, him for his care, and her for her person, and so to White Hall, where we attended the Duke; and to all our complaints for want of money, which now we are tired out with making, the Duke only tells us that he is sorry for it, and hath spoke to the King of it, and money we shall have as soon as it can be found; and though all the issue of the war lies upon it, yet that is all the answer we can get, and that is as bad or worse than nothing. Thence to Westminster Hall, where the term is begun, and I did take a turn or two, and so away by coach to Sir R. Viner's, and there received some money, and then home and to dinner. After dinner to little business, and then abroad with my wife, she to see her brother, who is sick, and she believes is from some discontent his wife hath given him by her loose carriage, which he is told, and he hath found has been very suspicious in his absence, which I am sorry for. I to the Hall and there walked long, among others talking with Mr. Hayes, Prince Rupert's Secretary, a very ingenious man, and one, I think, fit to contract some friendship with. Here I staid late, walking to and again, hearing how the Parliament proceeds, which is mighty slowly in the settling of the money business, and great factions growing every day among them. I am told also how Holmes did last Sunday deliver in his articles to the King and Cabinet against [Sir Jeremy] Smith, and that Smith hath given in his answer, and lays his not accompanying the fleete to his pilot, who would not undertake to carry the ship further; which the pilot acknowledges. The thing is not accommodated, but only taken up, and both sides commanded to be quiet; but no peace like to be. The Duke of Albemarle is Smith's friend, and hath publiquely swore that he would never go to sea again unless Holmes's commission were taken from him. [In the instructions given to Sir Thomas Clifford (August 5th, 1666) to be communicated to Prince Rupert and the Duke of Albemarle, we read: "to tell them that the complaint of Sir Jeremy Smith's misbehaviour in the late engagement being so universal, unless he have fully satisfied the generals he should be brought to trial by court-martial, and there purged or condemned." The Duke of Albemarle answered the king (August 14th?): "Wishes to clear a gallant man falsely accused, Sir Jeremiah Smith, who had more men killed and hurt, and his ship received more shot than any in the fleet. There is not a more spirited man serves in the fleet" On October 27th H. Muddiman wrote to Sir Edward Stradling: "Sir Jeremy Smith has got as much credit by his late examination as his enemies wished him disgrace, the King and Duke of York being fully satisfied of his valour in the engagement. It appears that he had 147 men killed and wounded, while the most eminent of his accusers had but two or three." With regard to Sir Jeremy's counter-charges, we read: "Nov. 3. The King having maturely considered the charges brought against Sir Rob. Holmes by Sir Jeremy Smith, finds no cause to suspect Sir Robert of cowardice in the fight with the Dutch of June 25 and 26, but thinks that on the night of the 26th he yielded too easily to the opinion of his pilot, without consulting those of the other ships, muzzled his ship, and thus obliged the squadron to do the same, and so the enemy, which might have been driven into the body of the king's fleet, then returning from the pursuit, was allowed to escape" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 14, 40, 222, 236).] I find by Hayes that they did expect great glory in coming home in so good condition as they did with the fleete, and therefore I the less wonder that the Prince was distasted with my discourse the other day about the bad state of the fleete. But it pleases me to hear that he did expect great thanks, and lays the fault of the want of it upon the fire, which deadened everything, and the glory of his services. About seven at night home, and called my wife, and, it being moonshine, took her into the garden, and there layed open our condition as to our estate, and the danger of my having it [his money] all in the house at once, in case of any disorder or troubles in the State, and therefore resolved to remove part of it to Brampton, and part some whither else, and part in my owne house, which is very necessary, and will tend to our safety, though I shall not think it safe out of my owne sight. So to the office, and then to supper and to bed. 25th. Up betimes and by water to White Hall, and there with Sir G. Carteret to Sir W. Coventry, who is come to his winter lodgings at White Hall, and there agreed upon a method of paying of tickets; and so I back again home and to the office, where we sate all the morning, but to little purpose but to receive clamours for money. At noon home to dinner, where the two Mrs. Daniels come to see us, and dined with us. After dinner I out with my wife to Mrs. Pierces, where she hath not been a great while, from some little unkindness of my wife's to her when she was last here, but she received us with mighty respect and discretion, and was making herself mighty fine to go to a great ball to-night at Court, being the Queene's birthday; so the ladies for this one day do wear laces, but to put them off again to-morrow. Thence I to my Lord Bruncker's, and with him to Mrs. Williams's where we met Knipp. I was glad to see the jade. Made her sing; and she told us they begin at both houses to act on Monday next. But I fear, after all this sorrow, their gains will be but little. Mrs. Williams says, the Duke's house will now be much the better of the two, because of their women; which I am glad to hear. Thence with Lord Bruncker to White Hall and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry about some office business, and then I away to Mrs. Pierces, and there saw her new closet, which is mighty rich and fine. Her daughter Betty grows mighty pretty. Thence with my wife home and to do business at the office. Then to Sir W. Batten's, who tells me that the House of Parliament makes mighty little haste in settling the money, and that he knows not when it will be done; but they fall into faction, and libells have been found in the House. Among others, one yesterday, wherein they reckon up divers great sums to be given away by the King, among others, L10,000 to Sir W. Coventry, for weare and teare (the point he stood upon to advance that sum by, for them to give the King); Sir G. Carteret L50,000 for something else, I think supernumerarys; and so to Matt. Wren L5000 for passing the Canary Company's patent; and so a great many other sums to other persons. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and all the morning and most of the afternoon within doors, beginning to set my accounts in order from before this fire, I being behindhand with them ever since; and this day I got most of my tradesmen to bring in their bills and paid them. Dined at home, and busy again after dinner, and then abroad by water to Westminster Hall, where I walked till the evening, and then out, the first time I ever was abroad with Doll Lane, to the Dog tavern, and there drank with her, a bad face, but good bodied girle. Did nothing but salute and play with her and talk, and thence away by coach, home, and so to do a little more in my accounts, and then to supper and to bed. Nothing done in the House yet as to the finishing of the bill for money, which is a mighty sad thing, all lying at stake for it. 27th. Up, and there comes to see me my Lord Belasses, which was a great honour. He tells me great newes, yet but what I suspected, that Vernatty is fled, and so hath cheated him and twenty more, but most of all, I doubt, Mr. Povy. Thence to talk about publique business; he tells me how the two Houses begin to be troublesome; the Lords to have quarrels one with another. My Lord Duke of Buckingham having said to the Lord Chancellor (who is against the passing of the Bill for prohibiting the bringing over of Irish cattle), that whoever was against the Bill, was there led to it by an Irish interest, or an Irish understanding, which is as much as to say he is a Poole; this bred heat from my Lord Chancellor, and something he [Buckingham] said did offend my Lord of Ossory (my Lord Duke' of Ormond's son), and they two had hard words, upon which the latter sends a challenge to the former; of which the former complains to the House, and so the business is to be heard on Monday next. Then as to the Commons; some ugly knives, like poignards, to stab people with, about two or three hundred of them were brought in yesterday to the House, found in one of the house's rubbish that was burned, and said to be the house of a Catholique. This and several letters out of the country, saying how high the Catholiques are everywhere and bold in the owning their religion, have made the Commons mad, and they presently voted that the King be desired to put all Catholiques out of employment, and other high things; while the business of money hangs in the hedge. So that upon the whole, God knows we are in a sad condition like to be, there being the very beginnings of the late troubles. He gone, I at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mrs. Pierce and her boy and Knipp, who sings as well, and is the best company in the world, dined with us, and infinite merry. The playhouses begin to play next week. Towards evening I took them out to the New Exchange, and there my wife bought things, and I did give each of them a pair of Jesimy [Jessemin (Jasminum), the flowers of which are of a delicate sweet smell, and often used to perfume gloves. Edmund Howes, Stows continuator, informs us that sweet or perfumed gloves were first brought into England by the Earl of Oxford on his return from Italy, in the fifteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, during whose reign, and long afterwards, they were very fashionable. They are frequently mentioned by Shakespeare. Autolyctis, in the "Winter's Tale," has among his wares--"Gloves as sweet as damask roses."--B.] plain gloves, and another of white. Here Knipp and I walked up and down to see handsome faces, and did see several. Then carried each of them home, and with great pleasure and content, home myself, where, having writ several letters, I home, and there, upon some serious discourse between my wife and I upon the business, I called to us my brother, and there broke to him our design to send him into the country with some part of our money, and so did seriously discourse the whole thing, and then away to supper and to bed. I pray God give a blessing to our resolution, for I do much fear we shall meet with speedy distractions for want of money. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife, and then home, and there is come little Michell and his wife, I sent for them, and also tomes Captain Guy to dine with me, and he and I much talk together. He cries out of the discipline of the fleete, and confesses really that the true English valour we talk of is almost spent and worn out; few of the commanders doing what they should do, and he much fears we shall therefore be beaten the next year. He assures me we were beaten home the last June fight, and that the whole fleete was ashamed to hear of our bonefires. He commends Smith, and cries out of Holmes for an idle, proud, conceited, though stout fellow. He tells me we are to owe the losse of so many ships on the sands, not to any fault of the pilots, but to the weather; but in this I have good authority to fear there was something more. He says the Dutch do fight in very good order, and we in none at all. He says that in the July fight, both the Prince and Holmes had their belly-fulls, and were fain to go aside; though, if the wind had continued, we had utterly beaten them. He do confess the whole to be governed by a company of fools, and fears our ruine. After dinner he gone, I with my brother to White Hall and he to Westminster Abbey. I presently to Mrs. Martin's, and there met widow Burroughes and Doll, and did tumble them all the afternoon as I pleased, and having given them a bottle of wine I parted and home by boat (my brother going by land), and thence with my wife to sit and sup with my uncle and aunt Wight, and see Woolly's wife, who is a pretty woman, and after supper, being very merry, in abusing my aunt with Dr. Venner, we home, and I to do something in my accounts, and so to bed. The Revenge having her forecastle blown up with powder to the killing of some men in the River, and the Dyamond's being overset in the careening at Sheernesse, are further marks of the method all the King's work is now done in. The Foresight also and another come to disasters in the same place this week in the cleaning; which is strange. 29th. Up, and to the office to do business, and thither comes to me Sir Thomas Teddiman, and he and I walked a good while in the garden together, discoursing of the disorder and discipline of the fleete, wherein he told me how bad every thing is; but was very wary in speaking any thing to the dishonour of the Prince or Duke of Albemarle, but do magnify my Lord Sandwich much before them both, for ability to serve the King, and do heartily wish for him here. For he fears that we shall be undone the next year, but that he will, however, see an end of it. To prevent the necessity of his dining with me I was forced to pretend occasion of going to Westminster, so away I went, and Mr. Barber, the clerk, having a request to make to me to get him into employment, did walk along with me, and by water to Westminster with me, he professing great love to me, and an able clerk he is. When I come thither I find the new Lord Mayor Bolton a-swearing at the Exchequer, with some of the Aldermen and Livery; but, Lord! to see how meanely they now look, who upon this day used to be all little lords, is a sad sight and worthy consideration. And every body did reflect with pity upon the poor City, to which they are now coming to choose and swear their Lord Mayor, compared with what it heretofore was. Thence by coach (having in the Hall bought me a velvet riding cap, cost me 20s.) to my taylor's, and there bespoke a plain vest, and so to my goldsmith to bid him look out for some gold for me; and he tells me that ginnys, which I bought 2,000 of not long ago, and cost me but 18 1/2d. change, will now cost me 22d.; and but very few to be had at any price. However, some more I will have, for they are very convenient, and of easy disposal. So home to dinner and to discourse with my brother upon his translation of my Lord Bacon's "Faber Fortunae," which I gave him to do and he has done it, but meanely; I am not pleased with it at all, having done it only literally, but without any life at all. About five o'clock I took my wife (who is mighty fine, and with a new fair pair of locks, which vex me, though like a foole I helped her the other night to buy them), and to Mrs. Pierces, and there staying a little I away before to White Hall, and into the new playhouse there, the first time I ever was there, and the first play I have seen since before the great plague. By and by Mr. Pierce comes, bringing my wife and his, and Knipp. By and by the King and Queene, Duke and Duchesse, and all the great ladies of the Court; which, indeed, was a fine sight. But the play being "Love in a Tub," a silly play, and though done by the Duke's people, yet having neither Betterton nor his wife, and the whole thing done ill, and being ill also, I had no manner of pleasure in the play. Besides, the House, though very fine, yet bad for the voice, for hearing. The sight of the ladies, indeed, was exceeding noble; and above all, my Lady Castlemayne. The play done by ten o'clock. I carried them all home, and then home myself, and well satisfied with the sight, but not the play, we with great content to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, where late, very busy, and dispatching much business. Mr. Hater staying most of the afternoon abroad, he come to me, poor man, to make excuse, and it was that he had been looking out for a little house for his family. His wife being much frightened in the country with the discourses of troubles and disorders like to be, and therefore durst not be from him, and therefore he is forced to bring her to towne that they may be together. This is now the general apprehension of all people; particulars I do not know, but my owne fears are also great, and I do think it time to look out to save something, if a storm should come. At night home to supper, and singing with my wife, who hath lately begun to learn, and I think will come to do something, though her eare is not good, nor I, I confess, have patience enough to teach her, or hear her sing now and then a note out of tune, and am to blame that I cannot bear with that in her which is fit I should do with her as a learner, and one that I desire much could sing, and so should encourage her. This I was troubled at, for I do find that I do put her out of heart, and make her fearfull to sing before me. So after supper to bed. 31st. Out with Sir W. Batten toward White Hall, being in pain in my cods by being squeezed the other night in a little coach when I carried Pierce and his wife and my people. But I hope I shall be soon well again. This day is a great day at the House, so little to do with the Duke of York, but soon parted. Coming out of the Court I met Colonell Atkins, who tells me the whole city rings to-day of Sir Jeremy Smith's killing of Holmes in a duell, at which I was not much displeased, for I fear every day more and more mischief from the man, if he lives; but the thing is not true, for in my coach I did by and by meet Sir Jer. Smith going to Court. So I by coach to my goldsmith, there to see what gold I can get, which is but little, and not under 22d. So away home to dinner, and after dinner to my closett, where I spent the whole afternoon till late at evening of all my accounts publique and private, and to my great satisfaction I do find that I do bring my accounts to a very near balance, notwithstanding all the hurries and troubles I have been put to by the late fire, that I have not been able to even my accounts since July last before; and I bless God I do find that I am worth more than ever I yet was, which is L6,200, for which the Holy Name of God be praised! and my other accounts of Tangier in a very plain and clear condition, that I am not liable to any trouble from them; but in fear great I am, and I perceive the whole city is, of some distractions and disorders among us, which God of his goodness prevent! Late to supper with my wife and brother, and then to bed. And thus ends the month with an ill aspect, the business of the Navy standing wholly still. No credit, no goods sold us, nobody will trust. All we have to do at the office is to hear complaints for want of money. The Duke of York himself for now three weeks seems to rest satisfied that we can do nothing without money, and that all must stand still till the King gets money, which the Parliament have been a great while about; but are so dissatisfied with the King's management, and his giving himself up to pleasures, and not minding the calling to account any of his officers, and they observe so much the expense of the war, and yet that after we have made it the most we can, it do not amount to what they have given the King for the warn that they are backward of giving any more. However, L1,800,000 they have voted, but the way of gathering it has taken up more time than is fit to be now lost: The seamen grow very rude, and every thing out of order; commanders having no power over their seamen, but the seamen do what they please. Few stay on board, but all coming running up hither to towne, and nobody can with justice blame them, we owing them so much money; and their familys must starve if we do not give them money, or they procure upon their tickets from some people that will trust them. A great folly is observed by all people in the King's giving leave to so many merchantmen to go abroad this winter, and some upon voyages where it is impossible they should be back again by the spring, and the rest will be doubtfull, but yet we let them go; what the reason of State is nobody can tell, but all condemn it. The Prince and Duke of Albemarle have got no great credit by this year's service. Our losses both of reputation and ships having been greater than is thought have ever been suffered in all ages put together before; being beat home, and fleeing home the first fight, and then losing so many ships then and since upon the sands, and some falling into the enemy's hands, and not one taken this yeare, but the Ruby, French prize, now at the end of the yeare, by the Frenchmen's mistake in running upon us. Great folly in both Houses of Parliament, several persons falling together by the eares, among others in the House of Lords, the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord Ossory. Such is our case, that every body fears an invasion the next yeare; and for my part, I do methinks foresee great unhappiness coming upon us, and do provide for it by laying by something against a rainy day, dividing what I have, and laying it in several places, but with all faithfulness to the King in all respects; my grief only being that the King do not look after his business himself, and thereby will be undone both himself and his nation, it being not yet, I believe, too late if he would apply himself to it, to save all, and conquer the Dutch; but while he and the Duke of York mind their pleasure, as they do and nothing else, we must be beaten. So late with my mind in good condition of quiet after the settling all my accounts, and to bed. NOVEMBER 1666 November 1st. Up, and was presented by Burton, one of our smith's wives, with a very noble cake, which I presently resolved to have my wife go with to-day, and some wine, and house-warme my Betty Michell, which she readily resolved to do. So I to the office and sat all the morning, where little to do but answer people about want of money; so that there is little service done the King by us, and great disquiet to ourselves; I am sure there is to me very much, for I do not enjoy myself as I would and should do in my employment if my pains could do the King better service, and with the peace that we used to do it. At noon to dinner, and from dinner my wife and my brother, and W. Hewer and Barker away to Betty Michell's, to Shadwell, and I to my office, where I took in Mrs. Bagwell and did what I would with her, and so she went away, and I all the afternoon till almost night there, and then, my wife being come back, I took her and set her at her brother's, who is very sicke, and I to White Hall, and there all alone a pretty while with Sir W. Coventry at his chamber. I find him very melancholy under the same considerations of the King's service that I am. He confesses with me he expects all will be undone, and all ruined; he complains and sees perfectly what I with grief do, and said it first himself to me that all discipline is lost in the fleete, no order nor no command, and concurs with me that it is necessary we do again and again represent all things more and more plainly to the Duke of York, for a guard to ourselves hereafter when things shall come to be worse. He says the House goes on slowly in finding of money, and that the discontented party do say they have not done with us, for they will have a further bout with us as to our accounts, and they are exceedingly well instructed where to hit us. I left him with a thousand sad reflections upon the times, and the state of the King's matters, and so away, and took up my wife and home, where a little at the office, and then home to supper, and talk with my wife (with whom I have much comfort) and my brother, and so to bed. 2nd. Up betimes, and with Sir W. Batten to Woolwich, where first we went on board the Ruby, French prize, the only ship of war we have taken from any of our enemies this year. It seems a very good ship, but with galleries quite round the sterne to walk in as a balcone, which will be taken down. She had also about forty good brass guns, but will make little amends to our loss in The Prince. Thence to the Ropeyarde and the other yards to do several businesses, he and I also did buy some apples and pork; by the same token the butcher commended it as the best in England for cloath and colour. And for his beef, says he, "Look how fat it is; the lean appears only here and there a speck, like beauty-spots." Having done at Woolwich, we to Deptford (it being very cold upon the water), and there did also a little more business, and so home, I reading all the why to make end of the "Bondman" (which the oftener I read the more I like), and begun "The Duchesse of Malfy;" which seems a good play. At home to dinner, and there come Mr. Pierce, surgeon, to see me, and after I had eat something, he and I and my wife by coach to Westminster, she set us down at White Hall, and she to her brother's. I up into the House, and among other things walked a good while with the Serjeant Trumpet, who tells me, as I wished, that the King's Italian here is about setting three parts for trumpets, and shall teach some to sound them, and believes they will be admirable musique. I also walked with Sir Stephen Fox an houre, and good discourse of publique business with him, who seems very much satisfied with my discourse, and desired more of my acquaintance. Then comes out the King and Duke of York from the Council, and so I spoke awhile to Sir W. Coventry about some office business, and so called my wife (her brother being now a little better than he was), and so home, and I to my chamber to do some business, and then to supper and to bed. 3rd. This morning comes Mr. Lovett, and brings me my print of the Passion, varnished by him, and the frame black, which indeed is very fine, though not so fine as I expected; however, pleases me exceedingly. This, and the sheets of paper he prepared for me, come to L3, which I did give him, and though it be more than is fit to lay out on pleasure, yet, it being ingenious, I did not think much of it. He gone, I to the office, where all the morning to little purpose, nothing being before us but clamours for money: So at noon home to dinner, and after dinner to hang up my new varnished picture and set my chamber in order to be made clean, and then to; the office again, and there all the afternoon till late at night, and so to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Comes my taylor's man in the morning, and brings my vest home, and coate to wear with it, and belt, and silver-hilted sword. So I rose and dressed myself, and I like myself mightily in it, and so do my wife. Then, being dressed, to church; and after church pulled my Lady Pen and Mrs. Markham into my house to dinner, and Sir J. Minnes he got Mrs. Pegg along with him. I had a good dinner for them, and very merry; and after dinner to the waterside, and so, it being very cold, to White Hall, and was mighty fearfull of an ague, my vest being new and thin, and the coat cut not to meet before upon my breast. Here I waited in the gallery till the Council was up, and among others did speak with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, who tells me my Lord Generall is become mighty low in all people's opinion, and that he hath received several slurs from the King and Duke of York. The people at Court do see the difference between his and the Prince's management, and my Lord Sandwich's. That this business which he is put upon of crying out against the Catholiques and turning them out of all employment, will undo him, when he comes to turn-out the officers out of the Army, and this is a thing of his own seeking. That he is grown a drunken sot, and drinks with nobody but Troutbecke, whom nobody else will keep company with. Of whom he told me this story: That once the Duke of Albemarle in his drink taking notice as of a wonder that Nan Hide should ever come to be Duchesse of York, "Nay," says Troutbecke, "ne'er wonder at that; for if you will give me another bottle of wine, I will tell you as great, if not greater, a miracle." And what was that, but that our dirty Besse (meaning his Duchesse) should come to be Duchesse of Albemarle? Here we parted, and so by and by the Council rose, and out comes Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry, and they and my Lord Bruncker and I went to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, there to discourse about some money demanded by Sir W. Warren, and having done that broke up. And Sir G. Carteret and I alone together a while, where he shows a long letter, all in cipher, from my Lord Sandwich to him. The contents he hath not yet found out, but he tells me that my Lord is not sent for home, as several people have enquired after of me. He spoke something reflecting upon me in the business of pursers, that their present bad behaviour is what he did foresee, and had convinced me of, and yet when it come last year to be argued before the Duke of York I turned and said as the rest did. I answered nothing to it, but let it go, and so to other discourse of the ill state of things, of which all people are full of sorrow and observation, and so parted, and then by water, landing in Southwarke, home to the Tower, and so home, and there began to read "Potter's Discourse upon 1666," which pleases me mightily, and then broke off and to supper and to bed. 5th (A holyday). Lay long; then up, and to the office, where vexed to meet with people come from the fleete at the Nore, where so many ships are laid up and few going abroad, and yet Sir Thomas Allen hath sent up some Lieutenants with warrants to presse men for a few ships to go out this winter, while every day thousands appear here, to our great trouble and affright, before our office and the ticket office, and no Captains able to command one-man aboard. Thence by water to Westminster, and there at the Swan find Sarah is married to a shoemaker yesterday, so I could not see her, but I believe I shall hereafter at good leisure. Thence by coach to my Lady Peterborough, and there spoke with my Lady, who had sent to speak with me. She makes mighty moan of the badness of the times, and her family as to money. My Lord's passionateness for want thereof, and his want of coming in of rents, and no wages from the Duke of York. No money to be had there for wages nor disbursements, and therefore prays my assistance about his pension. I was moved with her story, which she largely and handsomely told me, and promised I would try what I could do in a few days, and so took leave, being willing to keep her Lord fair with me, both for his respect to my Lord Sandwich and for my owne sake hereafter, when I come to pass my accounts. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and there dined, and mightily made of, having not, to my shame, been there in 8 months before. Here my Lord and Sir Thomas Crew, Mr. John, and Dr. Crew, and two strangers. The best family in the world for goodness and sobriety. Here beyond my expectation I met my Lord Hinchingbroke, who is come to towne two days since from Hinchingbroke, and brought his sister and brother Carteret with him, who are at Sir G. Carteret's. After dinner I and Sir Thomas Crew went aside to discourse of public matters, and do find by him that all the country gentlemen are publickly jealous of the courtiers in the Parliament, and that they do doubt every thing that they propose; and that the true reason why the country gentlemen are for a land-tax and against a general excise, is, because they are fearful that if the latter be granted they shall never get it down again; whereas the land-tax will be but for so much; and when the war ceases, there will be no ground got by the Court to keep it up. He do much cry out upon our accounts, and that all that they have had from the King hath been but estimates both from my Lord Treasurer and us, and from all people else, so that the Parliament is weary of it. He says the House would be very glad to get something against Sir G. Carteret, and will not let their inquiries die till they have got something. He do, from what he hath heard at the Committee for examining the burning of the City, conclude it as a thing certain that it was done by plots; it being proved by many witnesses that endeavours were made in several places to encrease the fire, and that both in City and country it was bragged by several Papists that upon such a day or in such a time we should find the hottest weather that ever was in England, and words of plainer sense. But my Lord Crew was discoursing at table how the judges have determined in the case whether the landlords or the tenants (who are, in their leases, all of them generally tied to maintain and uphold their houses) shall bear the losse of the fire; and they say that tenants should against all casualties of fire beginning either in their owne or in their neighbour's; but, where it is done by an enemy, they are not to do it. And this was by an enemy, there having been one convicted and hanged upon this very score. This is an excellent salvo for the tenants, and for which I am glad, because of my father's house. After dinner and this discourse I took coach, and at the same time find my Lord Hinchingbroke and Mr. John Crew and the Doctor going out to see the ruins of the City; so I took the Doctor into my hackney coach (and he is a very fine sober gentleman), and so through the City. But, Lord! what pretty and sober observations he made of the City and its desolation; till anon we come to my house, and there I took them upon Tower Hill to shew them what houses were pulled down there since the fire; and then to my house, where I treated them with good wine of several sorts, and they took it mighty respectfully, and a fine company of gentlemen they are; but above all I was glad to see my Lord Hinchingbroke drink no wine at all. Here I got them to appoint Wednesday come se'nnight to dine here at my house, and so we broke up and all took coach again, and I carried the Doctor to Chancery Lane, and thence I to White Hall, where I staid walking up and down till night, and then got almost into the play house, having much mind to go and see the play at Court this night; but fearing how I should get home, because of the bonefires and the lateness of the night to get a coach, I did not stay; but having this evening seen my Lady Jemimah, who is come to towne, and looks very well and fat, and heard how Mr. John Pickering is to be married this week, and to a fortune with L5000, and seen a rich necklace of pearle and two pendants of dyamonds, which Sir G. Carteret hath presented her with since her coming to towne, I home by coach, but met not one bonefire through the whole town in going round by the wall, which is strange, and speaks the melancholy disposition of the City at present, while never more was said of, and feared of, and done against the Papists than just at this time. Home, and there find my wife and her people at cards, and I to my chamber, and there late, and so to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner down alone by water to Deptford, reading "Duchesse of Malfy," the play, which is pretty good, and there did some business, and so up again, and all the evening at the office. At night home, and there find Mr. Batelier, who supped with us, and good company he is, and so after supper to bed. 7th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where we attended as usual the Duke of York and there was by the folly of Sir W. Batten prevented in obtaining a bargain for Captain Cocke, which would, I think have [been] at this time (during our great want of hempe), both profitable to the King and of good convenience to me; but I matter it not, it being done only by the folly, not any design, of Sir W. Batten's. Thence to Westminster Hall, and, it being fast day, there was no shops open, but meeting with Doll Lane, did go with her to the Rose taverne, and there drank and played with her a good while. She went away, and I staid a good while after, and was seen going out by one of our neighbours near the office and two of the Hall people that I had no mind to have been seen by, but there was no hurt in it nor can be alledged from it. Therefore I am not solicitous in it, but took coach and called at Faythorne's, to buy some prints for my wife to draw by this winter, and here did see my Lady Castlemayne's picture, done by him from Lilly's, in red chalke and other colours, by which he hath cut it in copper to be printed. The picture in chalke is the finest thing I ever saw in my life, I think; and did desire to buy it; but he says he must keep it awhile to correct his copper-plate by, and when that is done he will sell it me. Thence home and find my wife gone out with my brother to see her brother. I to dinner and thence to my chamber to read, and so to the office (it being a fast day and so a holiday), and then to Mrs. Turner's, at her request to speake and advise about Sir Thomas Harvy's coming to lodge there, which I think must be submitted to, and better now than hereafter, when he gets more ground, for I perceive he intends to stay by it, and begins to crow mightily upon his late being at the payment of tickets; but a coxcombe he is and will never be better in the business of the Navy. Thence home, and there find Mr. Batelier come to bring my wife a very fine puppy of his mother's spaniel, a very fine one indeed, which my wife is mighty proud of. He staid and supped with us, and they to cards. I to my chamber to do some business, and then out to them to play and were a little merry, and then to bed. By the Duke of York his discourse to-day in his chamber, they have it at Court, as well as we here, that a fatal day is to be expected shortly, of some great mischiefe to the remainder of this day; whether by the Papists, or what, they are not certain. But the day is disputed; some say next Friday, others a day sooner, others later, and I hope all will prove a foolery. But it is observable how every body's fears are busy at this time. 8th. Up, and before I went to the office I spoke with Mr. Martin for his advice about my proceeding in the business of the private man-of-war, he having heretofore served in one of them, and now I have it in my thoughts to send him purser in ours. After this discourse I to the office, where I sat all the morning, Sir W. Coventry with us, where he hath not been a great while, Sir W. Pen also, newly come from the Nore, where he hath been some time fitting of the ships out. At noon home to dinner and then to the office awhile, and so home for my sword, and there find Mercer come to see her mistresse. I was glad to see her there, and my wife mighty kind also, and for my part, much vexed that the jade is not with us still. Left them together, designing to go abroad to-morrow night to Mrs. Pierces to dance; and so I to Westminster Hall, and there met Mr. Grey, who tells me the House is sitting still (and now it was six o'clock), and likely to sit till midnight; and have proceeded fair to give the King his supply presently; and herein have done more to-day than was hoped for. So to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry, and there would fain have carried Captain Cocke's business for his bargain of hemp, but am defeated and disappointed, and know hardly how to carry myself in it between my interest and desire not to offend Sir W. Coventry. Sir W. Coventry did this night tell me how the business is about Sir J. Minnes; that he is to be a Commissioner, and my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen are to be Controller joyntly, which I am very glad of, and better than if they were either of them alone; and do hope truly that the King's business will be better done thereby, and infinitely better than now it is. Thence by coach home, full of thoughts of the consequence of this alteration in our office, and I think no evil to me. So at my office late, and then home to supper and to bed. Mr. Grey did assure me this night, that he was told this day, by one of the greater Ministers of State in England, and one of the King's Cabinet, that we had little left to agree on between the Dutch and us towards a peace, but only the place of treaty; which do astonish me to hear, but I am glad of it, for I fear the consequence of the war. But he says that the King, having all the money he is like to have, we shall be sure of a peace in a little time. 9th. Up and to the office, where did a good deale of business, and then at noon to the Exchange and to my little goldsmith's, whose wife is very pretty and modest, that ever I saw any. Upon the 'Change, where I seldom have of late been, I find all people mightily at a losse what to expect, but confusion and fears in every man's head and heart. Whether war or peace, all fear the event will be bad. Thence home and with my brother to dinner, my wife being dressing herself against night; after dinner I to my closett all the afternoon, till the porter brought my vest back from the taylor's, and then to dress myself very fine, about 4 or 5 o'clock, and by that time comes Mr. Batelier and Mercer, and away by coach to Mrs. Pierces, by appointment, where we find good company: a fair lady, my Lady Prettyman, Mrs. Corbet, Knipp; and for men, Captain Downing, Mr. Lloyd, Sir W. Coventry's clerk, and one Mr. Tripp, who dances well. After some trifling discourse, we to dancing, and very good sport, and mightily pleased I was with the company. After our first bout of dancing, Knipp and I to sing, and Mercer and Captain Downing (who loves and understands musique) would by all means have my song of "Beauty, retire." which Knipp had spread abroad; and he extols it above any thing he ever heard, and, without flattery, I know it is good in its kind. This being done and going to dance again, comes news that White Hall was on fire; and presently more particulars, that the Horse-guard was on fire; ["Nov. 9th. Between seven and eight at night, there happened a fire in the Horse Guard House, in the Tilt Yard, over against Whitehall, which at first arising, it is supposed, from some snuff of a candle falling amongst the straw, broke out with so sudden a flame, that at once it seized the north-west part of that building; but being so close under His Majesty's own eye, it was, by the timely help His Majesty and His Royal Highness caused to be applied, immediately stopped, and by ten o'clock wholly mastered, with the loss only of that part of the building it had at first seized."--The London Gazette, No. 103.--B.] and so we run up to the garret, and find it so; a horrid great fire; and by and by we saw and heard part of it blown up with powder. The ladies begun presently to be afeard: one fell into fits. The whole town in an alarme. Drums beat and trumpets, and the guards every where spread, running up and down in the street. And I begun to have mighty apprehensions how things might be at home, and so was in mighty pain to get home, and that that encreased all is that we are in expectation, from common fame, this night, or to-morrow, to have a massacre, by the having so many fires one after another, as that in the City, and at same time begun in Westminster, by the Palace, but put out; and since in Southwarke, to the burning down some houses; and now this do make all people conclude there is something extraordinary in it; but nobody knows what. By and by comes news that the fire has slackened; so then we were a little cheered up again, and to supper, and pretty merry. But, above all, there comes in the dumb boy that I knew in Oliver's time, who is mightily acquainted here, and with Downing; and he made strange signs of the fire, and how the King was abroad, and many things they understood, but I could not, which I wondering at, and discoursing with Downing about it, "Why," says he, "it is only a little use, and you will understand him, and make him understand you with as much ease as may be." So I prayed him to tell him that I was afeard that my coach would be gone, and that he should go down and steal one of the seats out of the coach and keep it, and that would make the coachman to stay. He did this, so that the dumb boy did go down, and, like a cunning rogue, went into the coach, pretending to sleep; and, by and by, fell to his work, but finds the seats nailed to the coach. So he did all he could, but could not do it; however, stayed there, and stayed the coach till the coachman's patience was quite spent, and beat the dumb boy by force, and so went away. So the dumb boy come up and told him all the story, which they below did see all that passed, and knew it to be true. After supper, another dance or two, and then newes that the fire is as great as ever, which put us all to our wit's-end; and I mightily [anxious] to go home, but the coach being gone, and it being about ten at night, and rainy dirty weather, I knew not what to do; but to walk out with Mr. Batelier, myself resolving to go home on foot, and leave the women there. And so did; but at the Savoy got a coach, and come back and took up the women; and so, having, by people come from the fire, understood that the fire was overcome, and all well, we merrily parted, and home. Stopped by several guards and constables quite through the town, round the wall, as we went, all being in armes. We got well home .... Being come home, we to cards, till two in the morning, and drinking lamb's-wool. [A beverage consisting of ale mixed with sugar, nutmeg, and the pulp of roasted apples. "A cupp of lamb's-wool they dranke unto him then." The King and the Miller of Mansfield (Percy's "Reliques," Series III., book ii., No. 20).] So to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where Sir W. Coventry come to tell us that the Parliament did fall foul of our accounts again yesterday; and we must arme to have them examined, which I am sorry for: it will bring great trouble to me, and shame upon the office. My head full this morning how to carry on Captain Cocke's bargain of hemp, which I think I shall by my dexterity do, and to the King's advantage as well as my own. At noon with my Lord Bruncker and Sir Thomas Harvy, to Cocke's house, and there Mrs. Williams and other company, and an excellent dinner. Mr. Temple's wife; after dinner, fell to play on the harpsicon, till she tired everybody, that I left the house without taking leave, and no creature left standing by her to hear her. Thence I home and to the office, where late doing of business, and then home. Read an hour, to make an end of Potter's Discourse of the Number 666, which I like all along, but his close is most excellent; and, whether it be right or wrong, is mighty ingenious. Then to supper and to bed. This is the fatal day that every body hath discoursed for a long time to be the day that the Papists, or I know not who, had designed to commit a massacre upon; but, however, I trust in God we shall rise to-morrow morning as well as ever. This afternoon Creed comes to me, and by him, as, also my Lady Pen, I hear that my Lady Denham is exceeding sick, even to death, and that she says, and every body else discourses, that she is poysoned; and Creed tells me, that it is said that there hath been a design to poison the King. What the meaning of all these sad signs is, the Lord knows; but every day things look worse and worse. God fit us for the worst! 11th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, myself and wife, where the old dunce Meriton, brother to the known Meriton; of St. Martin's, Westminster, did make a very good sermon, beyond my expectation. Home to dinner, and we carried in Pegg Pen, and there also come to us little Michell and his wife, and dined very pleasantly. Anon to church, my wife and I and Betty Michell, her husband being gone to Westminster.... Alter church home, and I to my chamber, and there did finish the putting time to my song of "It is decreed," and do please myself at last and think it will be thought a good song. By and by little Michell comes and takes away his wife home, and my wife and brother and I to my uncle Wight's, where my aunt is grown so ugly and their entertainment so bad that I am in pain to be there; nor will go thither again a good while, if sent for, for we were sent for to-night, we had not gone else. Wooly's wife, a silly woman, and not very handsome, but no spirit in her at all; and their discourse mean, and the fear of the troubles of the times hath made them not to bring their plate to town, since it was carried out upon the business of the fire, so that they drink in earth and a wooden can, which I do not like. So home, and my people to bed. I late to finish my song, and then to bed also, and the business of the firing of the city, and the fears we have of new troubles and violences, and the fear of fire among ourselves, did keep me awake a good while, considering the sad condition I and my family should be in. So at last to sleep. 12th. Lay long in bed, and then up, and Mr. Carcasse brought me near 500 tickets to sign, which I did, and by discourse find him a cunning, confident, shrewd man, but one that I do doubt hath by his discourse of the ill will he hath got with my Lord Marquess of Dorchester (with whom he lived), he hath had cunning practices in his time, and would not now spare to use the same to his profit. That done I to the office; whither by and by comes Creed to me, and he and I walked in the garden a little, talking of the present ill condition of things, which is the common subject of all men's discourse and fears now-a-days, and particularly of my Lady Denham, whom everybody says is poisoned, and he tells me she hath said it to the Duke of York; but is upon the mending hand, though the town says she is dead this morning. He and I to the 'Change. There I had several little errands, and going to Sir R. Viner's, I did get such a splash and spots of dirt upon my new vest, that I was out of countenance to be seen in the street. This day I received 450 pieces of gold more of Mr. Stokes, but cost me 22 1/2d. change; but I am well contented with it,--I having now near L2800 in gold, and will not rest till I get full L3000, and then will venture my fortune for the saving that and the rest. Home to dinner, though Sir R. Viner would have staid us to dine with him, he being sheriffe; but, poor man, was so out of countenance that he had no wine ready to drink to us, his butler being out of the way, though we know him to be a very liberal man. And after dinner I took my wife out, intending to have gone and have seen my Lady Jemimah, at White Hall, but so great a stop there was at the New Exchange, that we could not pass in half an houre, and therefore 'light and bought a little matter at the Exchange, and then home, and then at the office awhile, and then home to my chamber, and after my wife and all the mayds abed but Jane, whom I put confidence in--she and I, and my brother, and Tom, and W. Hewer, did bring up all the remainder of my money, and my plate-chest, out of the cellar, and placed the money in my study, with the rest, and the plate in my dressing-room; but indeed I am in great pain to think how to dispose of my money, it being wholly unsafe to keep it all in coin in one place. 'But now I have it all at my hand, I shall remember it better to think of disposing of it. This done, by one in the morning to bed. This afternoon going towards Westminster, Creed and I did stop, the Duke of York being just going away from seeing of it, at Paul's, and in the Convocation House Yard did there see the body of Robert Braybrooke, Bishop of London, that died 1404: He fell down in his tomb out of the great church into St. Fayth's this late fire, and is here seen his skeleton with the flesh on; but all tough and dry like a spongy dry leather, or touchwood all upon his bones. His head turned aside. A great man in his time, and Lord Chancellor; and his skeletons now exposed to be handled and derided by some, though admired for its duration by others. Many flocking to see it. 13th. At the office all the morning, at noon home to dinner, and out to Bishopsgate Street, and there bought some drinking-glasses, a case of knives, and other things, against tomorrow, in expectation of my Lord Hinchingbroke's coming to dine with me. So home, and having set some things in the way of doing, also against to-morrow, I to my office, there to dispatch business, and do here receive notice from my Lord Hinchingbroke that he is not well, and so not in condition to come to dine with me to-morrow, which I am not in much trouble for, because of the disorder my house is in, by the bricklayers coming to mend the chimney in my dining-room for smoking, which they were upon almost till midnight, and have now made it very pretty, and do carry smoke exceeding well. This evening come all the Houblons to me, to invite me to sup with them to-morrow night. I did take them home, and there we sat and talked a good while, and a glass of wine, and then parted till to-morrow night. So at night, well satisfied in the alteration of my chimney, to bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, where I bought several things, as a hone, ribbon, gloves, books, and then took coach and to Knipp's lodging, whom I find not ready to go home with me. So I away to do a little business, among others to call upon Mr. Osborne for my Tangier warrant for the last quarter, and so to the Exchange for some things for my wife, and then to Knipp's again, and there staid reading of Waller's verses, while she finished dressing, her husband being by. I had no other pastime. Her lodging very mean, and the condition she lives in; yet makes a shew without doors, God bless us! I carried him along with us into the City, and set him down in Bishopsgate Street, and then home with her. She tells me how Smith, of the Duke's house, hath killed a man upon a quarrel in play; which makes every body sorry, he being a good actor, and, they say, a good man, however this happens. The ladies of the Court do much bemoan him, she says. Here she and we alone at dinner to some good victuals, that we could not put off, that was intended for the great dinner of my Lord Hinchingbroke's, if he had come. After dinner I to teach her my new recitative of "It is decreed," of which she learnt a good part, and I do well like it and believe shall be well pleased when she hath it all, and that it will be found an agreeable thing. Then carried her home, and my wife and I intended to have seen my Lady Jemimah at White Hall, but the Exchange Streete was so full of coaches, every body, as they say, going thither to make themselves fine against tomorrow night, that, after half an hour's stay, we could not do any [thing], only my wife to see her brother, and I to go speak one word with Sir G. Carteret about office business, and talk of the general complexion of matters, which he looks upon, as I do, with horrour, and gives us all for an undone people. That there is no such thing as a peace in hand, nor possibility of any without our begging it, they being as high, or higher, in their terms than ever, and tells me that, just now, my Lord Hollis had been with him, and wept to think in what a condition we are fallen. He shewed me my Lord Sandwich's letter to him, complaining of the lack of money, which Sir G. Carteret is at a loss how in the world to get the King to supply him with, and wishes him, for that reason, here; for that he fears he will be brought to disgrace there, for want of supplies. He says the House is yet in a bad humour; and desiring to know whence it is that the King stirs not, he says he minds it not, nor will be brought to it, and that his servants of the House do, instead of making the Parliament better, rather play the rogue one with another, and will put all in fire. So that, upon the whole, we are in a wretched condition, and I went from him in full apprehensions of it. So took up my wife, her brother being yet very bad, and doubtful whether he will recover or no, and so to St. Ellen's [St. Helen's], and there sent my wife home, and myself to the Pope's Head, where all the Houblons were, and Dr. Croone, [William Croune, or Croone, of Emanuel College, Cambridge, chosen Rhetoric Professor at Gresham College, 1659, F.R.S. and M.D. Died October 12th, 1684, and was interred at St. Mildred's in the Poultry. He was a prominent Fellow of the Royal Society and first Registrar. In accordance with his wishes his widow (who married Sir Edwin Sadleir, Bart.) left by will one-fifth of the clear rent of the King's Head tavern in or near Old Fish Street, at the corner of Lambeth Hill, to the Royal Society for the support of a lecture and illustrative experiments for the advancement of natural knowledge on local motion. The Croonian lecture is still delivered before the Royal Society.] and by and by to an exceeding pretty supper, excellent discourse of all sorts, and indeed [they] are a set of the finest gentlemen that ever I met withal in my life. Here Dr. Croone told me, that, at the meeting at Gresham College to-night, which, it seems, they now have every Wednesday again, there was a pretty experiment of the blood of one dogg let out, till he died, into the body of another on one side, while all his own run out on the other side. [At the meeting on November 14th, "the experiment of transfusing the blood of one dog into another was made before the Society by Mr. King and Mr. Thomas Coxe upon a little mastiff and a spaniel with very good success, the former bleeding to death, and the latter receiving the blood of the other, and emitting so much of his own, as to make him capable of receiving that of the other." On November 21st the spaniel "was produced and found very well" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., pp. 123, 125). The experiment of transfusion of blood, which occupied much of the attention of the Royal Society in its early days, was revived within the last few years.] The first died upon the place, and the other very well, and likely to do well. This did give occasion to many pretty wishes, as of the blood of a Quaker to be let into an Archbishop, and such like; but, as Dr. Croone says, may, if it takes, be of mighty use to man's health, for the amending of bad blood by borrowing from a better body. After supper, James Houblon and another brother took me aside and to talk of some businesses of their owne, where I am to serve them, and will, and then to talk of publique matters, and I do find that they and all merchants else do give over trade and the nation for lost, nothing being done with care or foresight, no convoys granted, nor any thing done to satisfaction; but do think that the Dutch and French will master us the next yeare, do what we can: and so do I, unless necessity makes the King to mind his business, which might yet save all. Here we sat talking till past one in the morning, and then home, where my people sat up for me, my wife and all, and so to bed. 15th. This [morning] come Mr. Shepley (newly out of the country) to see me; after a little discourse with him, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home, and there dined, Shepley with me, and after dinner I did pay him L70, which he had paid my father for my use in the country. He being gone, I took coach and to Mrs. Pierce's, where I find her as fine as possible, and himself going to the ball at night at Court, it being the Queen's birth-day, and so I carried them in my coach, and having set them into the house, and gotten Mr. Pierce to undertake the carrying in my wife, I to Unthanke's, where she appointed to be, and there told her, and back again about business to White Hall, while Pierce went and fetched her and carried her in. I, after I had met with Sir W. Coventry and given him some account of matters, I also to the ball, and with much ado got up to the loft, where with much trouble I could see very well. Anon the house grew full, and the candles light, and the King and Queen and all the ladies set: and it was, indeed, a glorious sight to see Mrs. Stewart in black and white lace, and her head and shoulders dressed with dyamonds, and the like a great many great ladies more, only the Queen none; and the King in his rich vest of some rich silke and silver trimming, as the Duke of York and all the dancers were, some of cloth of silver, and others of other sorts, exceeding rich. Presently after the King was come in, he took the Queene, and about fourteen more couple there was, and began the Bransles. As many of the men as I can remember presently, were, the King, Duke of York, Prince Rupert, Duke of Monmouth, Duke of Buckingham, Lord Douglas,' Mr. [George] Hamilton, Colonell Russell, Mr. Griffith, Lord Ossory, Lord Rochester; and of the ladies, the Queene, Duchess of York, Mrs. Stewart, Duchess of Monmouth, Lady Essex Howard, Mrs. Temples Swedes Embassadress, Lady Arlington; Lord George Barkeley's daughter, and many others I remember not; but all most excellently dressed in rich petticoats and gowns, and dyamonds, and pearls. After the Bransles, then to a Corant, and now and then a French dance; but that so rare that the Corants grew tiresome, that I wished it done. Only Mrs. Stewart danced mighty finely, and many French dances, specially one the King called the New Dance, which was very pretty; but upon the whole matter, the business of the dancing of itself was not extraordinary pleasing. But the clothes and sight of the persons was indeed very pleasing, and worth my coming, being never likely to see more gallantry while I live, if I should come twenty times. About twelve at night it broke up, and I to hire a coach with much difficulty, but Pierce had hired a chair for my wife, and so she being gone to his house, he and I, taking up Barker at Unthanke's, to his house, whither his wife was come home a good while ago and gone to bed. So away home with my wife, between displeased with the dull dancing, and satisfied at the clothes and persons. My Lady Castlemayne, without whom all is nothing, being there, very rich, though not dancing. And so after supper, it being very cold, to bed. 16th. Up again betimes to attend the examination of Mr. Gawden's, accounts, where we all met, but I did little but fit myself for the drawing my great letter to the Duke of York of the state of the Navy for want of money. At noon to the 'Change, and thence back to the new taverne come by us; the Three Tuns, where D. Gawden did feast us all with a chine of beef and other good things, and an infinite dish of fowl, but all spoiled in the dressing. This noon I met with Mr. Hooke, and he tells me the dog which was filled with another dog's blood, at the College the other day, is very well, and like to be so as ever, and doubts not its being found of great use to men; and so do Dr. Whistler, who dined with us at the taverne. Thence home in the evening, and I to my preparing my letter, and did go a pretty way in it, staying late upon it, and then home to supper and to bed, the weather being on a sudden set in to be very cold. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and in the afternoon shut myself in my chamber, and there till twelve at night finishing my great letter to the Duke of York, which do lay the ill condition of the Navy so open to him, that it is impossible if the King and he minds any thing of their business, but it will operate upon them to set all matters right, and get money to carry on the war, before it be too late, or else lay out for a peace upon any termes. It was a great convenience to-night that what I had writ foule in short hand, I could read to W. Hewer, and he take it fair in short hand, so as I can read it to-morrow to Sir W. Coventry, and then come home, and Hewer read it to me while I take it in long-hand to present, which saves me much time. So to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up by candle-light and on foote to White Hall, where by appointment I met Lord Bruncker at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there I read over my great letter, and they approved it: and as I do do our business in defence of the Board, so I think it is as good a letter in the manner, and believe it is the worst in the matter of it, as ever come from any office to a Prince. Back home in my Lord Bruncker's coach, and there W. Hewer and I to write it over fair; dined at noon, and Mercer with us, and mighty merry, and then to finish my letter; and it being three o'clock ere we had done, when I come to Sir W. Batten; he was in a huffe, which I made light of, but he signed the letter, though he would not go, and liked the letter well. Sir W. Pen, it seems, he would not stay for it: so, making slight of Sir W. Pen's putting so much weight upon his hand to Sir W. Batten, I down to the Tower Wharf, and there got a sculler, and to White Hall, and there met Lord Bruncker, and he signed it, and so I delivered it to Mr. Cheving, [William Chiffinch, pimp to Charles II. and receiver of the secret pensions paid by the French Court. He succeeded his brother, Thomas Chiffinch (who died in April, 1666), as Keeper of the King's Private Closet (see note, vol. v., p. 265). He is introduced by Scott into his "Peveril of the Peak."] and he to Sir W. Coventry, in the cabinet, the King and councill being sitting, where I leave it to its fortune, and I by water home again, and to my chamber, to even my Journall; and then comes Captain Cocke to me, and he and I a great deal of melancholy discourse of the times, giving all over for gone, though now the Parliament will soon finish the Bill for money. But we fear, if we had it, as matters are now managed, we shall never make the best of it, but consume it all to no purpose or a bad one. He being gone, I again to my Journall and finished it, and so to supper and to bed. 19th. Lay pretty long in bed talking with pleasure with my wife, and then up and all the morning at my own chamber fitting some Tangier matters against the afternoon for a meeting. This morning also came Mr. Caesar, and I heard him on the lute very finely, and my boy begins to play well. After dinner I carried and set my wife down at her brother's, and then to Barkeshire-house, where my Lord Chancellor hath been ever since the fire, but he is not come home yet, so I to Westminster Hall, where the Lords newly up and the Commons still sitting. Here I met with Mr. Robinson, who did give me a printed paper wherein he states his pretence to the post office, and intends to petition the Parliament in it. Thence I to the Bull-head tavern, where I have not been since Mr. Chetwind and the time of our club, and here had six bottles of claret filled, and I sent them to Mrs. Martin, whom I had promised some of my owne, and, having none of my owne, sent her this. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there Mr. Creed and Gawden, Cholmley, and Sir G. Carteret walking in the Park over against the house. I walked with Sir G. Carteret, who I find displeased with the letter I have drawn and sent in yesterday, finding fault with the account we give of the ill state of the Navy, but I said little, only will justify the truth of it. Here we walked to and again till one dropped away after another, and so I took coach to White Hall, and there visited my Lady Jemimah, at Sir G. Carteret's lodgings. Here was Sir Thomas Crew, and he told me how hot words grew again to-day in the House of Lords between my Lord Ossory and Ashly, the former saying that something said by the other was said like one of Oliver's Council. Ashly said that he must give him reparation, or he would take it his owne way. The House therefore did bring my Lord Ossory to confess his fault, and ask pardon for it, as he was also to my Lord Buckingham, for saying that something was not truth that my Lord Buckingham had said. This will render my Lord Ossory very little in a little time. By and by away, and calling my wife went home, and then a little at Sir W. Batten's to hear news, but nothing, and then home to supper, whither Captain Cocke, half foxed, come and sat with us, and so away, and then we to bed. 20th. Called up by Mr. Sheply, who is going into the country to-day to Hinchingbroke, I sent my service to my Lady, and in general for newes: that the world do think well of my Lord, and do wish he were here again, but that the publique matters of the State as to the war are in the worst condition that is possible. By and by Sir W. Warren, and with him half an hour discoursing of several businesses, and some I hope will bring me a little profit. He gone, and Sheply, I to the office a little, and then to church, it being thanksgiving-day for the cessation of the plague; but, Lord! how the towne do say that it is hastened before the plague is quite over, there dying some people still, [According to the Bills of Mortality seven persons died in London of the plague during the week November 20th to 27th; and for some weeks after deaths continued from this cause.] but only to get ground for plays to be publickly acted, which the Bishops would not suffer till the plague was over; and one would thinke so, by the suddenness of the notice given of the day, which was last Sunday, and the little ceremony. The sermon being dull of Mr. Minnes, and people with great indifferency come to hear him. After church home, where I met Mr. Gregory, who I did then agree with to come to teach my wife to play on the Viall, and he being an able and sober man, I am mightily glad of it. He had dined, therefore went away, and I to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Barkeshire-house, and there did get a very great meeting; the Duke of York being there, and much business done, though not in proportion to the greatness of the business, and my Lord Chancellor sleeping and snoring the greater part of the time. Among other things I declared the state of our credit as to tallys to raise money by, and there was an order for payment of L5000 to Mr. Gawden, out of which I hope to get something against Christmas. Here we sat late, and here I did hear that there are some troubles like to be in Scotland, there being a discontented party already risen, that have seized on the Governor of Dumfreeze and imprisoned him, [William Fielding, writing to Sir Phil. Musgrave from Carlisle on November 15th, says: "Major Baxter, who has arrived from Dumfries, reports that this morning a great number of horse and foot came into that town, with drawn swords and pistols, gallopped up to Sir Jas. Turner's lodgings, seized him in his bed, carried him without clothes to the marketplace, threatened to cut him to pieces, and seized and put into the Tollbooth all the foot soldiers that were with him; they also secured the minister of Dumfries. Many of the party were lairds and county people from Galloway--200 horse well mounted, one minister was with them who had swords and pistols, and 200 or 300 foot, some with clubs, others with scythes." On November 17th Rob. Meine wrote to Williamson: "On the 15th 120 fanatics from the Glenkins, Deray; and neighbouring parishes in Dumfriesshire, none worth L10 except two mad fellows, the lairds of Barscob and Corsuck, came to Dumfries early in the morning, seized Sir Jas. Turner, commander of a company of men in Dumfriesshire, and carried him, without violence to others, to a strong house in Maxwell town, Galloway, declaring they sought only revenge against the tyrant who had been severe with them for not keeping to church, and had laid their families waste" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1666-67, pp. 262, 268).] but the story is yet very uncertain, and therefore I set no great weight on it. I home by Mr. Gawden in his coach, and so with great pleasure to spend the evening at home upon my Lyra Viall, and then to supper and to bed. With mighty peace of mind and a hearty desire that I had but what I have quietly in the country, but, I fear, I do at this day see the best that either I or the rest of our nation will ever see. 21st. Up, with Sir W. Batten to Charing Cross, and thence I to wait on Sir Philip Howard, whom I find dressing himself in his night-gown and turban like a Turke, but one of the finest persons that ever I saw in my life. He had several gentlemen of his owne waiting on him, and one playing finely on the gittar: he discourses as well as ever I heard man, in few words and handsome. He expressed all kindness to Balty, when I told him how sick he is: he says that, before he comes to be mustered again, he must bring a certificate of his swearing the oaths of Allegiance and Supremacy, and having taken the Sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England. This, I perceive, is imposed on all, and he will be ready to do. I pray God he may have his health again to be able to do it. Being mightily satisfied with his civility, I away to Westminster Hall, and there walked with several people, and all the discourse is about some trouble in Scotland I heard of yesterday, but nobody can tell the truth of it. Here was Betty Michell with her mother. I would have carried her home, but her father intends to go with her, so I lost my hopes. And thence I to the Excise Office about some tallies, and then to the Exchange, where I did much business, and so home to dinner, and then to the office, where busy all the afternoon till night, and then home to supper, and after supper an hour reading to my wife and brother something in Chaucer with great pleasure, and so to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and my Lord Bruncker did show me Hollar's new print of the City, with a pretty representation of that part which is burnt, very fine indeed; and tells me that he was yesterday sworn the King's servant, and that the King hath commanded him to go on with his great map of the City, which he was upon before the City was burned, like Gombout of Paris, which I am glad of. At noon home to dinner, where my wife and I fell out, I being displeased with her cutting away a lace handkercher sewed about the neck down to her breasts almost, out of a belief, but without reason, that it is the fashion. Here we did give one another the lie too much, but were presently friends, and then I to my office, where very late and did much business, and then home, and there find Mr. Batelier, and did sup and play at cards awhile. But he tells me the newes how the King of France hath, in defiance to the King of England, caused all his footmen to be put into vests, and that the noblemen of France will do the like; which, if true, is the greatest indignity ever done by one Prince to another, and would incite a stone to be revenged; and I hope our King will, if it be so, as he tells me it is: [Planche throws some doubt on this story in his "Cyclopaedia of Costume" (vol. ii., p. 240), and asks the question, "Was Mr. Batelier hoaxing the inquisitive secretary, or was it the idle gossip of the day, as untrustworthy as such gossip is in general?" But the same statement was made by the author of the "Character of a Trimmer," who wrote from actual knowledge of the Court: "About this time a general humour, in opposition to France, had made us throw off their fashion, and put on vests, that we might look more like a distinct people, and not be under the servility of imitation, which ever pays a greater deference to the original than is consistent with the equality all independent nations should pretend to. France did not like this small beginning of ill humours, at least of emulation; and wisely considering, that it is a natural introduction, first to make the world their apes, that they may be afterwards their slaves. It was thought, that one of the instructions Madame [Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans] brought along with her, was to laugh us out of these vests; which she performed so effectually, that in a moment, like so many footmen who had quitted their master's livery, we all took it again, and returned to our old service; so that the very time of doing it gave a very critical advantage to France, since it looked like an evidence of our returning to her interest, as well as to their fashion. "The Character of a Trimmer" ("Miscellanies by the Marquis of Halifax," 1704, p. 164). Evelyn reports that when the king expressed his intention never to alter this fashion, "divers courtiers and gentlemen gave his Majesty gold by way of wager that he would not persist in this resolution" ("Diary," October 18th, 1666).] being told by one that come over from Paris with my Lady Fanshaw, who is come over with the dead body of her husband, and that saw it before he come away. This makes me mighty merry, it being an ingenious kind of affront; but yet it makes me angry, to see that the King of England is become so little as to have the affront offered him. So I left my people at cards, and so to my chamber to read, and then to bed. Batelier did bring us some oysters to-night, and some bottles of new French wine of this year, mighty good, but I drank but little. This noon Bagwell's wife was with me at the office, and I did what I would, and at night comes Mrs. Burroughs, and appointed to meet upon the next holyday and go abroad together. 23rd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, where we and the rest attended the Duke of York, where, among other things, we had a complaint of Sir William Jennings against his lieutenant, Le Neve, one that had been long the Duke's page, and for whom the Duke of York hath great kindness. It was a drunken quarrel, where one was as blameable as the other. It was referred to further examination, but the Duke of York declared, that as he would not favour disobedience, so neither drunkenness, and therein he said very well. Thence with Sir W. Coventry to Westminster Hall, and there parted, he having told me how Sir J. Minnes do disagree from the proposition of resigning his place, and that so the whole matter is again at a stand, at which I am sorry for the King's sake, but glad that Sir W. Pen is again defeated, for I would not have him come to be Comptroller if I could help it, he will be so cruel proud. Here I spoke with Sir G. Downing about our prisoners in Holland, and their being released; which he is concerned in, and most of them are. Then, discoursing of matters of the House of Parliament, he tells me that it is not the fault of the House, but the King's own party, that have hindered the passing of the Bill for money, by their popping in of new projects for raising it: which is a strange thing; and mighty confident he is, that what money is raised, will be raised and put into the same form that the last was, to come into the Exchequer; and, for aught I see, I must confess I think it is the best way. Thence down to the Hall, and there walked awhile, and all the talk is about Scotland, what news thence; but there is nothing come since the first report, and so all is given over for nothing. Thence home, and after dinner to my chamber with Creed, who come and dined with me, and he and I to reckon for his salary, and by and by comes in Colonel Atkins, and I did the like with him, and it was Creed's design to bring him only for his own ends, to seem to do him a courtesy, and it is no great matter. The fellow I hate, and so I think all the world else do. Then to talk of my report I am to make of the state of our wants of money to the Lord Treasurer, but our discourse come to little. However, in the evening, to be rid of him, I took coach and saw him to the Temple and there 'light, and he being gone, with all the haste back again and to my chamber late to enter all this day's matters of account, and to draw up my report to my Lord Treasurer, and so to bed. At the Temple I called at Playford's, and there find that his new impression of his ketches [John Hilton's "Catch that catch can, or a Choice Collection of Catches, Rounds and Canons for 3 or 4 voyces," was first published by Playford in 1651 or 1652. The book was republished "with large additions by John Playford" in 1658. The edition referred to in the text was published in 1667 with a second title of "The Musical Companion." The book was republished in 1672-73.] are not yet out, the fire having hindered it, but his man tells me that it will be a very fine piece, many things new being added to it. 24th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon rose and to my closet, and finished my report to my Lord Treasurer of our Tangier wants, and then with Sir J. Minnes by coach to Stepney to the Trinity House, where it is kept again now since the burning of their other house in London. And here a great many met at Sir Thomas Allen's feast, of his being made an Elder Brother; but he is sick, and so could not be there. Here was much good company, and very merry; but the discourse of Scotland, it seems, is confirmed, and that they are 4000 of them in armes, and do declare for King and Covenant, which is very ill news. I pray God deliver us from the ill consequences we may justly fear from it. Here was a good venison pasty or two and other good victuals; but towards the latter end of the dinner I rose, and without taking leave went away from the table, and got Sir J. Minnes' coach and away home, and thence with my report to my Lord Treasurer's, where I did deliver it to Sir Philip Warwicke for my Lord, who was busy, my report for him to consider against to-morrow's council. Sir Philip Warwicke, I find, is full of trouble in his mind to see how things go, and what our wants are; and so I have no delight to trouble him with discourse, though I honour the man with all my heart, and I think him to be a very able and right honest man. So away home again, and there to my office to write my letters very late, and then home to supper, and then to read the late printed discourse of witches by a member of Gresham College, and then to bed; the discourse being well writ, in good stile, but methinks not very convincing. This day Mr. Martin is come to tell me his wife is brought to bed of a girle, and I promised to christen it next Sunday. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, and there coming late, I to rights to the chapel, where in my usual place I heard one of the King's chaplains, one Mr. Floyd, preach. He was out two or three times in his prayer, and as many in his sermon, but yet he made a most excellent good sermon, of our duty to imitate the lives and practice of Christ and the saints departed, and did it very handsomely and excellent stile; but was a little overlarge in magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates, that we have seen in our memorys in the world, whom God hath taken from us. At the end of the sermon an excellent anthem; but it was a pleasant thing, an idle companion in our pew, a prating, bold counsellor that hath been heretofore at the Navy Office, and noted for a great eater and drinker, not for quantity, but of the best, his name Tom Bales, said, "I know a fitter anthem for this sermon," speaking only of our duty of following the saints, and I know not what. "Cooke should have sung, 'Come, follow, follow me.'" I After sermon up into the gallery, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; where much company. Among others, Mr. Carteret and my Lady Jemimah, and here was also Mr. [John] Ashburnham, the great man, who is a pleasant man, and that hath seen much of the world, and more of the Court. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I to another room, and he tells me more and more of our want of money and in how ill condition we are likely to be soon in, and that he believes we shall not have a fleete at sea the next year. So do I believe; but he seems to speak it as a thing expected by the King and as if their matters were laid accordingly. Thence into the Court and there delivered copies of my report to my Lord Treasurer, to the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry, and others, and attended there till the Council met, and then was called in, and I read my letter. My Lord Treasurer declared that the King had nothing to give till the Parliament did give him some money. So the King did of himself bid me to declare to all that would take our tallys for payment, that he should, soon as the Parliament's money do come in, take back their tallys, and give them money: which I giving him occasion to repeat to me, it coming from him against the 'gre' [Apparently a translation of the French 'contre le gre', and presumably an expression in common use. "Against the grain" is generally supposed to have its origin in the use of a plane against the grain of the wood.] I perceive, of my Lord Treasurer, I was content therewith, and went out, and glad that I have got so much. Here staid till the Council rose, walking in the gallery. All the talke being of Scotland, where the highest report, I perceive, runs but upon three or four hundred in armes; but they believe that it will grow more, and do seem to apprehend it much, as if the King of France had a hand in it. My Lord Lauderdale do make nothing of it, it seems, and people do censure him for it, he from the beginning saying that there was nothing in it, whereas it do appear to be a pure rebellion; but no persons of quality being in it, all do hope that it cannot amount to much. Here I saw Mrs. Stewart this afternoon, methought the beautifullest creature that ever I saw in my life, more than ever I thought her so, often as I have seen her; and I begin to think do exceed my Lady Castlemayne, at least now. This being St. Catherine's day, the Queene was at masse by seven o'clock this morning; and. Mr. Ashburnham do say that he never saw any one have so much zeale in his life as she hath: and, the question being asked by my Lady Carteret, much beyond the bigotry that ever the old Queen-mother had. I spoke with Mr. Maya who tells me that the design of building the City do go on apace, and by his description it will be mighty handsome, and to the satisfaction of the people; but I pray God it come not out too late. The Council up, after speaking with Sir W. Coventry a little, away home with Captain Cocke in his coach, discourse about the forming of his contract he made with us lately for hempe, and so home, where we parted, and I find my uncle Wight and Mrs. Wight and Woolly, who staid and supped, and mighty merry together, and then I to my chamber to even my journal, and then to bed. I will remember that Mr. Ashburnham to-day at dinner told how the rich fortune Mrs. Mallett reports of her servants; that my Lord Herbert would have had her; my Lord Hinchingbroke was indifferent to have her; [They had quarrelled (see August 26th). She, perhaps, was piqued at Lord Hinchingbroke's refusal "to compass the thing without consent of friends" (see February 25th), whence her expression, "indifferent" to have her. It is worthy of remark that their children intermarried; Lord Hinchingbroke's son married Lady Rochester's daughter.--B.] my Lord John Butler might not have her; my Lord of Rochester would have forced her; [Of the lady thus sought after, whom Pepys calls "a beauty" as well as a fortune, and who shortly afterwards, about the 4th February, 1667, became the wife of the Earl of Rochester, then not twenty years old, no authentic portrait is known to exist. When Mr. Miller, of Albemarle Street, in 1811, proposed to publish an edition of the "Memoires de Grammont," he sent an artist to Windsor to copy there the portraits which he could find of those who figure in that work. In the list given to him for this purpose was the name of Lady Rochester. Not finding amongst the "Beauties," or elsewhere, any genuine portrait of her, but seeing that by Hamilton she is absurdly styled "une triste heritiere," the artist made a drawing from some unknown portrait at Windsor of a lady of a sorrowful countenance, and palmed it off upon the bookseller. In the edition of "Grammont" it is not actually called Lady Rochester, but "La Triste Heritiere." A similar falsification had been practised in Edwards's edition of 1793, but a different portrait had been copied. It is needless, almost, to remark how ill applied is Hamilton's epithet.--B.] and Sir------Popham, who nevertheless is likely to have her, would kiss her breach to have her. 26th. Up, and to my chamber to do some business. Then to speak with several people, among others with Mrs. Burroughs, whom I appointed to meet me at the New Exchange in the afternoon. I by water to Westminster, and there to enquire after my tallies, which I shall get this week. Thence to the Swan, having sent for some burnt claret, and there by and by comes Doll Lane, and she and I sat and drank and talked a great while, among other things about her sister's being brought to bed, and I to be godfather to the girle. I did tumble Doll, and do almost what I would with her, and so parted, and I took coach, and to the New Exchange, buying a neat's tongue by the way, thinking to eat it out of town, but there I find Burroughs in company of an old woman, an aunt of hers, whom she could not leave for half an hour. So after buying a few baubles to while away time, I down to Westminster, and there into the House of Parliament, where, at a great Committee, I did hear, as long as I would, the great case against my Lord Mordaunt, for some arbitrary proceedings of his against one Taylor, whom he imprisoned, and did all the violence to imaginable, only to get him to give way to his abusing his daughter. Here was Mr. Sawyer, my old chamber-fellow, a counsel against my Lord; and I am glad to see him in so good play. Here I met, before the committee sat, with my cozen Roger Pepys, the first time I have spoke with him this parliament. He hath promised to come, and bring Madam Turner with him, who is come to towne to see the City, but hath lost all her goods of all kinds in Salisbury Court, Sir William Turner having not endeavoured, in her absence, to save one penny, to dine with me on Friday next, of which I am glad. Roger bids me to help him to some good rich widow; for he is resolved to go, and retire wholly, into the country; for, he says, he is confident we shall be all ruined very speedily, by what he sees in the State, and I am much in his mind. Having staid as long as I thought fit for meeting of Burroughs, I away and to the 'Change again, but there I do not find her now, I having staid too long at the House, and therefore very hungry, having eat nothing to-day. Home, and there to eat presently, and then to the office a little, and to Sir W. Batten, where Sir J. Minnes and Captain Cocke was; but no newes from the North at all to-day; and the newes-book makes the business nothing, but that they are all dispersed. I pray God it may prove so. So home, and, after a little, to my chamber to bed. 27th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and here I had a letter from Mr. Brisband on another occasion, which, by the by, intimates my Lord Hinchingbroke's intention to come and dine with me to-morrow. This put me into a great surprise, and therefore endeavoured all I could to hasten over our business at the office, and so home at noon and to dinner, and then away by coach, it being a very foul day, to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret's find my Lord Hinchingbroke, who promises to dine with me to-morrow, and bring Mr. Carteret along with him. Here I staid a little while talking with him and the ladies, and then away to my Lord Crew's, and then did by the by make a visit to my Lord Crew, and had some good discourse with him, he doubting that all will break in pieces in the kingdom; and that the taxes now coming out, which will tax the same man in three or four several capacities, as for lands, office, profession, and money at interest, will be the hardest that ever come out; and do think that we owe it, and the lateness of its being given, wholly to the unpreparedness of the King's own party, to make their demand and choice; for they have obstructed the giving it by land-tax, which had been done long since. Having ended my visit, I spoke to Sir Thomas Crew, to invite him and his brother John to dinner tomorrow, at my house, to meet Lord Hinchingbroke; and so homewards, calling at the cook's, who is to dress it, to bespeak him, and then home, and there set things in order for a very fine dinner, and then to the office, where late very busy and to good purpose as to dispatch of business, and then home. To bed, my people sitting up to get things in order against to-morrow. This evening was brought me what Griffin had, as he says, taken this evening off of the table in the office, a letter sealed and directed to the Principal Officers and Commissioners of the Navy. It is a serious and just libel against our disorder in paying of our money, making ten times more people wait than we have money for, and complaining by name of Sir W. Batten for paying away great sums to particular people, which is true. I was sorry to see this way of reproach taken against us, but more sorry that there is true ground for it. 28th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen to White Hall (setting his lady and daughter down by the way at a mercer's in the Strand, where they are going to lay out some money), where, though it blows hard and rains hard, yet the Duke of York is gone a-hunting. We therefore lost our labour, and so back again, and by hackney coach to secure places to get things ready against dinner, and then home, and did the like there, and to my great satisfaction: and at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, Sir Thomas Crew, Mr. John Crew, Mr. Carteret, and Brisband. I had six noble dishes for them, dressed by a man-cook, and commended, as indeed they deserved, for exceeding well done. We eat with great pleasure, and I enjoyed myself in it with reflections upon the pleasures which I at best can expect, yet not to exceed this; eating in silver plates, and all things mighty rich and handsome about me. A great deal of fine discourse, sitting almost till dark at dinner, and then broke up with great pleasure, especially to myself; and they away, only Mr. Carteret and I to Gresham College, where they meet now weekly again, and here they had good discourse how this late experiment of the dog, which is in perfect good health, may be improved for good uses to men, and other pretty things, and then broke up. Here was Mr. Henry Howard, that will hereafter be Duke of Norfolke, who is admitted this day into the Society, and being a very proud man, and one that values himself upon his family, writes his name, as he do every where, Henry Howard of Norfolke. Thence home and there comes my Lady Pen, Pegg, and Mrs. Turner, and played at cards and supped with us, and were pretty merry, and Pegg with me in my closet a good while, and did suffer me 'a la baiser mouche et toucher ses cosas' upon her breast, wherein I had great pleasure, and so spent the evening and then broke up, and I to bed, my mind mightily pleased with the day's entertainment. 29th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where I find Balty come out to see us, but looks like death, and I do fear he is in a consumption; he has not been abroad many weeks before, and hath now a well day, and a fit day of the headake in extraordinary torture. After dinner left him and his wife, they having their mother hard by and my wife, and I a wet afternoon to White Hall to have seen my Lady Carteret and Jemimah, but as God would have it they were abroad, and I was well contented at it. So my wife and I to Westminster Hall, where I left her a little, and to the Exchequer, and then presently home again, calling at our man-cooke's for his help to-morrow, but he could not come. So I home to the office, my people all busy to get a good dinner to-morrow again. I late at the office, and all the newes I hear I put into a letter this night to my Lord Bruncker at Chatham, thus:-- "I doubt not of your lordship's hearing of Sir Thomas Clifford's succeeding Sir H. Pollard' in the Comptrollership of the King's house; but perhaps our ill, but confirmed, tidings from the Barbadoes may not [have reached you] yet, it coming but yesterday; viz., that about eleven ships, whereof two of the King's, the Hope and Coventry, going thence with men to attack St. Christopher's, were seized by a violent hurricane, and all sunk--two only of thirteen escaping, and those with loss of masts, &c. My Lord Willoughby himself is involved in the disaster, and I think two ships thrown upon an island of the French, and so all the men, to 500, become their prisoners. 'Tis said, too, that eighteen Dutch men-of-war are passed the Channell, in order to meet with our Smyrna ships; and some, I hear, do fright us with the King of Sweden's seizing our mast-ships at Gottenburgh. But we have too much ill newes true, to afflict ourselves with what is uncertain. That which I hear from Scotland is, the Duke of York's saying, yesterday, that he is confident the Lieutenant-Generall there hath driven them into a pound, somewhere towards the mountains." Having writ my letter, I home to supper and to bed, the world being mightily troubled at the ill news from Barbadoes, and the consequence of the Scotch business, as little as we do make of it. And to shew how mad we are at home, here, and unfit for any troubles: my Lord St. John did, a day or two since, openly pull a gentleman in Westminster Hall by the nose, one Sir Andrew Henly, while the judges were upon their benches, and the other gentleman did give him a rap over the pate with his cane, of which fray the judges, they say, will make a great matter: men are only sorry the gentle man did proceed to return a blow; for, otherwise, my Lord would have been soundly fined for the affront, and may be yet for his affront to the judges. 30th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there we did attend the Duke of York, and had much business with him; and pretty to see, it being St. Andrew's day, how some few did wear St. Andrew's crosse; but most did make a mockery at it, and the House of Parliament, contrary to practice, did sit also: people having no mind to observe the Scotch saints' days till they hear better newes from Scotland. Thence to Westminster Hall and the Abbey, thinking as I had appointed to have met Mrs. Burroughs there, but not meeting her I home, and just overtook my cozen Roger Pepys, Mrs. Turner, Dicke, and Joyce Norton, coming by invitation to dine with me. These ladies I have not seen since before the plague. Mrs. Turner is come to towne to look after her things in her house, but all is lost. She is quite weary of the country, but cannot get her husband to let her live here any more, which troubles her mightily. She was mighty angry with me, that in all this time I never writ to her, which I do think and take to myself as a fault, and which I have promised to mend. Here I had a noble and costly dinner for them, dressed by a man-cooke, as that the other day was, and pretty merry we were, as I could be with this company and so great a charge. We sat long, and after much talk of the plenty of her country in fish, but in nothing also that is pleasing, we broke up with great kindness, and when it begun to be dark we parted, they in one coach home, and I in another to Westminster Hall, where by appointment Mrs. Burroughs and I were to meet, but did not after I had spent the whole evening there. Only I did go drink at the Swan, and there did meet with Sarah, who is now newly married, and there I did lay the beginnings of a future 'amour con elle'..... Thence it being late away called at Mrs. Burroughs' mother's door, and she come out to me, and I did hazer whatever I would.... and then parted, and home, and after some playing at cards with my wife, we to supper and to bed. DECEMBER 1666 December 1st. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At home to dinner, and then abroad walking to the Old Swan, and in my way I did see a cellar in Tower Streete in a very fresh fire, the late great winds having blown it up. [The fire continued burning in some cellars of the ruins of the city for four months, though it rained in the month of October ten days without ceasing (Rugge's "Diurnal").--B.] It seemed to be only of log-wood, that Hath kept the fire all this while in it. Going further, I met my late Lord Mayor Bludworth, under whom the City was burned, and went with him by water to White Hall. But, Lord! the silly talk that this fellow had, only how ready he would be to part with all his estate in these difficult times to advance the King's service, and complaining that now, as every body did lately in the fire, every body endeavours to save himself, and let the whole perish: but a very weak man he seems to be. I left him at White Hall, he giving 6d. towards the boat, and I to Westminster Hall, where I was again defeated in my expectation of Burroughs. However, I was not much sorry for it, but by coach home, in the evening, calling at Faythorne's, buying three of my Lady Castlemayne's heads, printed this day, which indeed is, as to the head, I think, a very fine picture, and like her. I did this afternoon get Mrs. Michell to let me only have a sight of a pamphlet lately printed, but suppressed and much called after, called "The Catholique's Apology;" lamenting the severity of the Parliament against them, and comparing it with the lenity of other princes to Protestants; giving old and late instances of their loyalty to their princes, whatever is objected against them; and excusing their disquiets in Queen Elizabeth's time, for that it was impossible for them to think her a lawfull Queen, if Queen Mary, who had been owned as such, were so; one being the daughter of the true, and the other of a false wife: and that of the Gunpowder Treason, by saying that it was only the practice of some of us, if not the King, to trepan some of their religion into it, it never being defended by the generality of their Church, nor indeed known by them; and ends with a large Catalogue, in red letters, of the Catholiques which have lost their lives in the quarrel of the late King and this. The thing is very well writ indeed. So home to my letters, and then to my supper and to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and after church home to dinner, where I met Betty Michell and her husband, very merry at dinner, and after dinner, having borrowed Sir W. Pen's coach, we to Westminster, they two and my wife and I to Mr. Martin's, where find the company almost all come to the christening of Mrs. Martin's child, a girl. A great deal of good plain company. After sitting long, till the church was done, the Parson comes, and then we to christen the child. I was Godfather, and Mrs. Holder (her husband, a good man, I know well), and a pretty lady, that waits, it seems, on my Lady Bath, at White Hall, her name, Mrs. Noble, were Godmothers. After the christening comes in the wine and the sweetmeats, and then to prate and tattle, and then very good company they were, and I among them. Here was old Mrs. Michell and Howlett, and several married women of the Hall, whom I knew mayds. Here was also Mrs. Burroughs and Mrs. Bales, the young widow, whom I led home, and having staid till the moon was up, I took my pretty gossip to White Hall with us, and I saw her in her lodging, and then my owne company again took coach, and no sooner in the coach but something broke, that we were fain there to stay till a smith could be fetched, which was above an hour, and then it costing me 6s. to mend. Away round by the wall and Cow Lane, [Cow Lane, West Smithfield (now named King Street), was famous for its coachmakers.] for fear it should break again; and in pain about the coach all the way. But to ease myself therein Betty Michell did sit at the same end with me. ... Being very much pleased with this, we at last come home, and so to supper, and then sent them by boat home, and we to bed. When I come home I went to Sir W. Batten's, and there I hear more ill newes still: that all our New England fleete, which went out lately, are put back a third time by foul weather, and dispersed, some to one port and some to another; and their convoys also to Plymouth; and whether any of them be lost or not, we do not know. This, added to all the rest, do lay us flat in our hopes and courages, every body prophesying destruction to the nation. 3rd. Up, and, among a great many people that come to speak with me, one was my Lord Peterborough's gentleman, who comes to me to dun me to get some money advanced for my Lord; and I demanding what newes, he tells me that at Court they begin to fear the business of Scotland more and more; and that the Duke of York intends to go to the North to raise an army, and that the King would have some of the Nobility and others to go and assist; but they were so served the last year, among others his Lord, in raising forces at their own charge, for fear of the French invading us, that they will not be got out now, without money advanced to them by the King, and this is like to be the King's case for certain, if ever he comes to have need of any army. He and others gone, I by water to Westminster, and there to the Exchequer, and put my tallys in a way of doing for the last quarter. But my not following it the last week has occasioned the clerks some trouble, which I am sorry for, and they are mad at. Thence at noon home, and there find Kate Joyce, who dined with me: Her husband and she are weary of their new life of being an Innkeeper, and will leave it, and would fain get some office; but I know none the foole is fit for, but would be glad to help them, if I could, though they have enough to live on, God be thanked! though their loss hath been to the value of L3000 W. Joyce now has all the trade, she says, the trade being come to that end of the towne. She dined with me, my wife being ill of her months in bed. I left her with my wife, and away myself to Westminster Hall by appointment and there found out Burroughs, and I took her by coach as far as the Lord Treasurer's and called at the cake house by Hales's, and there in the coach eat and drank and then carried her home.... So having set her down in the palace I to the Swan, and there did the first time 'baiser' the little sister of Sarah that is come into her place, and so away by coach home, where to my vyall and supper and then to bed, being weary of the following of my pleasure and sorry for my omitting (though with a true salvo to my vowes) the stating my last month's accounts in time, as I should, but resolve to settle, and clear all my business before me this month, that I may begin afresh the next yeare, and enjoy some little pleasure freely at Christmasse. So to bed, and with more cheerfulness than I have done a good while, to hear that for certain the Scott rebells are all routed; they having been so bold as to come within three miles of Edinburgh, and there given two or three repulses to the King's forces, but at last were mastered. Three or four hundred killed or taken, among which their leader, one Wallis, and seven ministers, they having all taken the Covenant a few days before, and sworn to live and die in it, as they did; and so all is likely to be there quiet again. There is also the very good newes come of four New-England ships come home safe to Falmouth with masts for the King; which is a blessing mighty unexpected, and without which, if for nothing else, we must have failed the next year. But God be praised for thus much good fortune, and send us the continuance of his favour in other things! So to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home. After dinner presently to my office, and there late and then home to even my Journall and accounts, and then to supper much eased in mind, and last night's good news, which is more and more confirmed with particulars to very good purpose, and so to bed. 5th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where we did much business before the Duke of York, which being done, I away home by water again, and there to my office till noon busy. At noon home, and Goodgroome dined with us, who teaches my wife to sing. After dinner I did give him my song, "Beauty retire," which he has often desired of me, and without flattery I think is a very good song. He gone, I to the office, and there late, very busy doing much business, and then home to supper and talk, and then scold with my wife for not reckoning well the times that her musique master hath been with her, but setting down more than I am sure, and did convince her, they had been with her, and in an ill humour of anger with her to bed. 6th. Up, but very good friends with her before I rose, and so to the office, where we sat all the forenoon, and then home to dinner, where Harman dined with us, and great sport to hear him tell how Will Joyce grows rich by the custom of the City coming to his end of the towne, and how he rants over his brother and sister for their keeping an Inne, and goes thither and tears like a prince, calling him hosteller and his sister hostess. Then after dinner, my wife and brother, in another habit; go out to see a play; but I am not to take notice that I know of my brother's going. So I to the office, where very busy till late at night, and then home. My wife not pleased with the play, but thinks that it is because she is grown more critical than she used to be, but my brother she says is mighty taken with it. So to supper and to bed. This day, in the Gazette, is the whole story of defeating the Scotch rebells, and of the creation of the Duke of Cambridge, Knight of the Garter. 7th. Up, and by water to the Exchequer, where I got my tallys finished for the last quarter for Tangier, and having paid all my fees I to the Swan, whither I sent for some oysters, and thither comes Mr. Falconbridge and Spicer and many more clerks; and there we eat and drank, and a great deal of their sorry discourse, and so parted, and I by coach home, meeting Balty in the streete about Charing Crosse walking, which I am glad to see and spoke to him about his mustering business, I being now to give an account how the several muster-masters have behaved themselves, and so home to dinner, where finding the cloth laid and much crumpled but clean, I grew angry and flung the trenchers about the room, and in a mighty heat I was: so a clean cloth was laid, and my poor wife very patient, and so to dinner, and in comes Mrs. Barbara Sheldon, now Mrs. Wood, and dined with us, she mighty fine, and lives, I perceive, mighty happily, which I am glad [of] for her sake, but hate her husband for a block-head in his choice. So away after dinner, leaving my wife and her, and by water to the Strand, and so to the King's playhouse, where two acts were almost done when I come in; and there I sat with my cloak about my face, and saw the remainder of "The Mayd's Tragedy;" a good play, and well acted, especially by the younger Marshall, who is become a pretty good actor, and is the first play I have seen in either of the houses since before the great plague, they having acted now about fourteen days publickly. But I was in mighty pain lest I should be seen by any body to be at a play. Soon as done I home, and then to my office awhile, and then home and spent the night evening my Tangier accounts, much to my satisfaction, and then to supper, and mighty good friends with my poor wife, and so to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and there find Mr. Pierce and his wife and Betty, a pretty girle, who in discourse at table told me the great Proviso passed the House of Parliament yesterday; which makes the King and Court mad, the King having given order to my Lord Chamberlain to send to the playhouses and bawdy houses, to bid all the Parliament-men that were there to go to the Parliament presently. This is true, it seems; but it was carried against the Court by thirty or forty voices. It is a Proviso to the Poll Bill, that there shall be a Committee of nine persons that shall have the inspection upon oath, and power of giving others, of all the accounts of the money given and spent for this warr. This hath a most sad face, and will breed very ill blood. He tells me, brought in by Sir Robert Howard, who is one of the King's servants, at least hath a great office, and hath got, they say, L20,000 since the King come in. Mr. Pierce did also tell me as a great truth, as being told it by Mr. Cowly, who was by, and heard it, that Tom Killigrew should publiquely tell the King that his matters were coming into a very ill state; but that yet there was a way to help all, which is, says he, "There is a good, honest, able man, that I could name, that if your Majesty would employ, and command to see all things well executed, all things would soon be mended; and this is one Charles Stuart, who now spends his time in employing his lips.... about the Court, and hath no other employment; but if you would give him this employment, he were the fittest man in the world to perform it." This, he says, is most true; but the King do not profit by any of this, but lays all aside, and remembers nothing, but to his pleasures again; which is a sorrowful consideration. Very good company we were at dinner, and merry, and after dinner, he being gone about business, my wife and I and Mrs. Pierce and Betty and Balty, who come to see us to-day very sick, and went home not well, together out, and our coach broke the wheel off upon Ludgate Hill. So we were fain to part ourselves and get room in other people's coaches, and Mrs. Pierce and I in one, and I carried her home and set her down, and myself to the King's playhouse, which troubles me since, and hath cost me a forfeit of 10s., which I have paid, and there did see a good part of "The English Monsieur," which is a mighty pretty play, very witty and pleasant. And the women do very well; but, above all, little Nelly; that I am mightily pleased with the play, and much with the House, more than ever I expected, the women doing better than ever I expected, and very fine women. Here I was in pain to be seen, and hid myself; but, as God would have it, Sir John Chichly come, and sat just by me. Thence to Mrs. Pierce's, and there took up my wife and away home, and to the office and Sir W. Batten's, of whom I hear that this Proviso in Parliament is mightily ill taken by all the Court party as a mortal blow, and that, that strikes deep into the King's prerogative, which troubles me mightily. Home, and set some papers right in my chamber, and then to supper and to bed, we being in much fear of ill news of our colliers. A fleete of two hundred sail, and fourteen Dutch men-of-war between them and us and they coming home with small convoy; and the City in great want, coals being at L3 3s. per chaldron, as I am told. I saw smoke in the ruines this very day. 9th (Lord's day). Up, not to church, but to my chamber, and there begun to enter into this book my journall of September, which in the fire-time I could not enter here, but in loose papers. At noon dined, and then to my chamber all the afternoon and night, looking over and tearing and burning all the unnecessary letters, which I have had upon my file for four or five years backward, which I intend to do quite through all my papers, that I may have nothing by me but what is worth keeping, and fit to be seen, if I should miscarry. At this work till midnight, and then to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and at my office all the morning, and several people with me, Sir W. Warren, who I do every day more and more admire for a miracle of cunning and forecast in his business, and then Captain Cocke, with whom I walked in the garden, and he tells me how angry the Court is at the late Proviso brought in by the House. How still my Lord Chancellor is, not daring to do or say any thing to displease the Parliament; that the Parliament is in a very ill humour, and grows every day more and more so; and that the unskilfulness of the Court, and their difference among one another, is the occasion of all not agreeing in what they would have, and so they give leisure and occasion to the other part to run away with what the Court would not have. Then comes Mr. Gawden, and he and I in my chamber discoursing about his business, and to pay him some Tangier orders which he delayed to receive till I had money instead of tallies, but do promise me consideration for my victualling business for this year, and also as Treasurer for Tangier, which I am glad of, but would have been gladder to have just now received it. He gone, I alone to dinner at home, my wife and her people being gone down the river to-day for pleasure, though a cold day and dark night to come up. In the afternoon I to the Excise Office to enter my tallies, which I did, and come presently back again, and then to the office and did much business, and then home to supper, my wife and people being come well and hungry home from Erith. Then I to begin the setting of a Base to "It is Decreed," and so to bed. 11th. Up, and to the office, where we sat, and at noon home to dinner, a small dinner because of a good supper. After dinner my wife and I by coach to St. Clement's Church, to Mrs. Turner's lodgings, hard by, to take our leaves of her. She is returning into the North to her children, where, I perceive, her husband hath clearly got the mastery of her, and she is likely to spend her days there, which for her sake I am a little sorry for, though for his it is but fit she should live where he hath a mind. Here were several people come to see and take leave of her, she going to-morrow: among others, my Lady Mordant, which was Betty Turner, a most homely widow, but young, and pretty rich, and good natured. Thence, having promised to write every month to her, we home, and I to my office, while my wife to get things together for supper. Dispatching my business at the office. Anon come our guests, old Mr. Batelier, and his son and daughter, Mercer, which was all our company. We had a good venison pasty and other good cheer, and as merry as in so good, innocent, and understanding company I could be. He is much troubled that wines, laden by him in France before the late proclamation was out, cannot now be brought into England, which is so much to his and other merchants' loss. We sat long at supper and then to talk, and so late parted and so to bed. This day the Poll Bill was to be passed, and great endeavours used to take away the Proviso. 12th. Up, and to the office, where some accounts of Mr. Gawden's were examined, but I home most of the morning to even some accounts with Sir H. Cholmly, Mr. Moone, and others one after another. Sir H. Cholmly did with grief tell me how the Parliament hath been told plainly that the King hath been heard to say, that he would dissolve them rather than pass this Bill with the Proviso; but tells me, that the Proviso is removed, and now carried that it shall be done by a Bill by itself. He tells me how the King hath lately paid about L30,000 [Two thousand pounds of this sum went to Alderman Edward Bakewell for two diamond rings, severally charged L1000 and L900, bought March 14th, 1665-66 (Second addenda to Steinman's "Memoir of the Duchess of Cleveland," privately printed, 1878, p. 4.).] to clear debts of my Lady Castlemayne's; and that she and her husband are parted for ever, upon good terms, never to trouble one another more. He says that he hears L400,000 hath gone into the Privypurse since this warr; and that that hath consumed so much of our money, and makes the King and Court so mad to be brought to discover it. He gone, and after him the rest, I to the office, and at noon to the 'Change, where the very good newes is just come of our four ships from Smyrna, come safe without convoy even into the Downes, without seeing any enemy; which is the best, and indeed only considerable good newes to our Exchange, since the burning of the City; and it is strange to see how it do cheer up men's hearts. Here I saw shops now come to be in this Exchange, and met little Batelier, who sits here but at L3 per annum, whereas he sat at the other at L100, which he says he believes will prove of as good account to him now as the other did at that rent. From the 'Change to Captain Cocke's, and there, by agreement, dined, and there was Charles Porter, Temple, Fern, Debasty, whose bad English and pleasant discourses was exceeding good entertainment, Matt. Wren, Major Cooper, and myself, mighty merry and pretty discourse. They talked for certain, that now the King do follow Mrs. Stewart wholly, and my Lady Castlemayne not above once a week; that the Duke of York do not haunt my Lady Denham so much; that she troubles him with matters of State, being of my Lord Bristoll's faction, and that he avoids; that she is ill still. After dinner I away to the office, where we sat late upon Mr. Gawden's accounts, Sir J. Minnes being gone home sick. I late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed, being mightily troubled with a pain in the small of my back, through cold, or (which I think most true) my straining last night to get open my plate chest, in such pain all night I could not turn myself in my bed. Newes this day from Brampton, of Mr. Ensum, my sister's sweetheart, being dead: a clowne. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat. At noon to the 'Change and there met Captain Cocke, and had a second time his direction to bespeak L100 of plate, which I did at Sir R. Viner's, being twelve plates more, and something else I have to choose. Thence home to dinner, and there W. Hewer dined with me, and showed me a Gazette, in April last, which I wonder should never be remembered by any body, which tells how several persons were then tried for their lives, and were found guilty of a design of killing the King and destroying the Government; and as a means to it, to burn the City; and that the day intended for the plot was the 3rd of last September. [The "Gazette" of April 23rd-26th, 1666, which contains the following remarkable passage: "At the Sessions in the Old Bailey, John Rathbone, an old army colonel, William Saunders, Henry Tucker, Thomas Flint, Thomas Evans, John Myles, Will. Westcot, and John Cole, officers or soldiers in the late Rebellion, were indicted for conspiring the death of his Majesty and the overthrow of the Government. Having laid their plot and contrivance for the surprisal of the Tower, the killing his Grace the Lord General, Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Sir Richard Brown; and then to have declared for an equal division of lands, &c. The better to effect this hellish design, the City was to have been fired, and the portcullis let down to keep out all assistance; and the Horse Guards to have been surprised in the inns where they were quartered, several ostlers having been gained for that purpose. The Tower was accordingly viewed, and its surprise ordered by boats over the moat, and from thence to scale the wall. One Alexander, not yet taken, had likewise distributed money to these conspirators; and, for the carrying on the design more effectually, they were told of a Council of the great ones that sat frequently in London, from whom issued all orders; which Council received their directions from another in Holland, who sat with the States; and that the third of September was pitched on for the attempt, as being found by Lilly's Almanack, and a scheme erected for that purpose, to be a lucky day, a planet then ruling which prognosticated the downfall of Monarchy. The evidence against these persons was very full and clear, and they were accordingly found guilty of High Treason." See November 10th, 1666--B.] And the fire did indeed break out on the 2nd of September, which is very strange, methinks, and I shall remember it. At the office all the afternoon late, and then home to even my accounts in my Tangier book, which I did to great content in all respects, and joy to my heart, and so to bed. This afternoon Sir W. Warren and Mr. Moore, one after another, walked with me in the garden, and they both tell me that my Lord Sandwich is called home, and that he do grow more and more in esteem everywhere, and is better spoken of, which I am mighty glad of, though I know well enough his deserving the same before, and did foresee that it will come to it. In mighty great pain in my back still, but I perceive it changes its place, and do not trouble me at all in making of water, and that is my joy, so that I believe it is nothing but a strain, and for these three or four days I perceive my overworking of my eyes by candlelight do hurt them as it did the last winter, that by day I am well and do get them right, but then after candlelight they begin to be sore and run, so that I intend to get some green spectacles. 14th. Up, and very well again of my pain in my back, it having been nothing but cold. By coach to White Hall, seeing many smokes of the fire by the way yet, and took up into the coach with me a country gentleman, who asked me room to go with me, it being dirty--one come out of the North to see his son, after the burning his house: a merchant. Here endeavoured to wait on the Duke of York, but he would not stay from the Parliament. So I to Westminster Hall, and there met my good friend Mr. Evelyn, and walked with him a good while, lamenting our condition for want of good council, and the King's minding of his business and servants. I out to the Bell Taverne, and thither comes Doll to me...., and after an hour's stay, away and staid in Westminster Hall till the rising of the house, having told Mr. Evelyn, and he several others, of my Gazette which I had about me that mentioned in April last a plot for which several were condemned of treason at the Old Bayly for many things, and among others for a design of burning the city on the 3rd of September. The house sat till three o'clock, and then up: and I home with Sir Stephen Fox to his house to dinner, and the Cofferer with us. There I find Sir S. Fox's lady, a fine woman, and seven the prettiest children of theirs that ever I knew almost. A very genteel dinner, and in great state and fashion, and excellent discourse; and nothing like an old experienced man and a courtier, and such is the Cofferer Ashburnham. The House have been mighty hot to-day against the Paper Bill, showing all manner of averseness to give the King money; which these courtiers do take mighty notice of, and look upon the others as bad rebells as ever the last were. But the courtiers did carry it against those men upon a division of the House, a great many, that it should be committed; and so it was: which they reckon good news. After dinner we three to the Excise Office, and there had long discourse about our monies, but nothing to satisfaction, that is, to shew any way of shortening the time which our tallies take up before they become payable, which is now full two years, which is 20 per, cent. for all the King's money for interest, and the great disservice of his Majesty otherwise. Thence in the evening round by coach home, where I find Foundes his present, of a fair pair of candlesticks, and half a dozen of plates come, which cost him full L50, and is a very good present; and here I met with, sealed up, from Sir H. Cholmly, the lampoone, or the Mocke-Advice to a Paynter, [In a broadside (1680), quoted by Mr. G. T. Drury in his edition of Waller's Poems, 1893, satirical reference is made to the fashionable form of advice to the painters "Each puny brother of the rhyming trade At every turn implores the Painter's aid, And fondly enamoured of own foul brat Cries in an ecstacy, Paint this, draw that." The series was continued, for we find "Advice to a Painter upon the Defeat of the Rebels in the West and the Execution of the late Duke of Monmouth" ("Poems on Affairs of State," vol. ii., p. 148); "Advice to a Painter, being a Satire on the French King," &c., 1692, and "Advice to a Painter," 1697 ("Poems on Affairs of State," vol. ii., p. 428).] abusing the Duke of York and my Lord Sandwich, Pen, and every body, and the King himself, in all the matters of the navy and warr. I am sorry for my Lord Sandwich's having so great a part in it. Then to supper and musique, and to bed. 15th. Up and to the office, where my Lord Bruncker newly come to town, from his being at Chatham and Harwich to spy enormities: and at noon I with him and his lady Williams, to Captain Cocke's, where a good dinner, and very merry. Good news to-day upon the Exchange, that our Hamburgh fleete is got in; and good hopes that we may soon have the like of our Gottenburgh, and then we shall be well for this winter. Very merry at dinner. And by and by comes in Matt. Wren from the Parliament-house; and tells us that he and all his party of the House, which is the Court party, are fools, and have been made so this day by the wise men of the other side; for, after the Court party had carried it yesterday so powerfully for the Paper-Bill, [It was called "A Bill for raising part of the supply for his Majesty by an imposition on Sealed Paper and Parchment"--B.] yet now it is laid aside wholly, and to be supplied by a land-tax; which it is true will do well, and will be the sooner finished, which was the great argument for the doing of it. But then it shews them fools, that they would not permit this to have been done six weeks ago, which they might have had. And next, they have parted with the Paper Bill, which, when once begun, might have proved a very good flower in the Crowne, as any there. So do really say that they are truly outwitted by the other side. Thence away to Sir R. Viner's, and there chose some plate besides twelve plates which I purpose to have with Captain Cocke's gift of L100, and so home and there busy late, and then home and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with my wife in bed, then up with great content and to my chamber to set right a picture or two, Lovett having sent me yesterday Sancta Clara's head varnished, which is very fine, and now my closet is so full stored, and so fine, as I would never desire to have it better. Dined without any strangers with me, which I do not like on Sundays. Then after dinner by water to Westminster to see Mrs. Martin, whom I found up in her chamber and ready to go abroad. I sat there with her and her husband and others a pretty while, and then away to White Hall, and there walked up and down to the Queen's side, and there saw my dear Lady Castlemayne, who continues admirable, methinks, and I do not hear but that the King is the same to her still as ever. Anon to chapel, by the King's closet, and heard a very good anthemne. Then with Lord Bruncker to Sir W. Coventry's chamber; and there we sat with him and talked. He is weary of anything to do, he says, in the Navy. He tells us this Committee of Accounts will enquire sharply into our office. And, speaking of Sir J. Minnes, he says he will not bear any body's faults but his own. He discoursed as bad of Sir W. Batten almost, and cries out upon the discipline of the fleete, which is lost, and that there is not in any of the fourth rates and under scarce left one Sea Commander, but all young gentlemen; and what troubles him, he hears that the gentlemen give out that in two or three years a Tarpaulin shall not dare to look after being better than a Boatswain. Which he is troubled at, and with good reason, and at this day Sir Robert Holmes is mighty troubled that his brother do not command in chief, but is commanded by Captain Hannum, who, Sir W. Coventry says, he believes to be at least of as good blood, is a longer bred seaman, an elder officer, and an elder commander, but such is Sir R. Holmes's pride as never to be stopt, he being greatly troubled at my Lord Bruncker's late discharging all his men and officers but the standing officers at Chatham, and so are all other Commanders, and a very great cry hath been to the King from them all in my Lord's absence. But Sir W. Coventry do undertake to defend it, and my Lord Bruncker got ground I believe by it, who is angry at Sir W. Batten's and Sir W. Pen's bad words concerning it, and I have made it worse by telling him that they refuse to sign to a paper which he and I signed on Saturday to declare the reason of his actions, which Sir W. Coventry likes and would have it sent him and he will sign it, which pleases me well. So we parted, and I with Lord Bruncker to Sir P. Neale's chamber, and there sat and talked awhile, Sir Edward Walker being there, and telling us how he hath lost many fine rowles of antiquity in heraldry by the late fire, but hath saved the most of his papers. Here was also Dr. Wallis, the famous scholar and mathematician; but he promises little. Left them, and in the dark and cold home by water, and so to supper and to read and so to bed, my eyes being better to-day, and I cannot impute it to anything but by my being much in the dark to-night, for I plainly find that it is only excess of light that makes my eyes sore. This after noon I walked with Lord Bruncker into the Park and there talked of the times, and he do think that the King sees that he cannot never have much more money or good from this Parliament, and that therefore he may hereafter dissolve them, that as soon as he has the money settled he believes a peace will be clapped up, and that there are overtures of a peace, which if such as the Lord Chancellor can excuse he will take. For it is the Chancellor's interest, he says, to bring peace again, for in peace he can do all and command all, but in war he cannot, because he understands not the nature of the war as to the management thereof. He tells me he do not believe the Duke of York will go to sea again, though there are a great many about the King that would be glad of any occasion to take him out of the world, he standing in their ways; and seemed to mean the Duke of Monmouth, who spends his time the most viciously and idly of any man, nor will be fit for any thing; yet bespeaks as if it were not impossible but the King would own him for his son, and that there was a marriage between his mother and him; which God forbid should be if it be not true, nor will the Duke of York easily be gulled in it. But this put to our other distractions makes things appear very sad, and likely to be the occasion of much confusion in a little time, and my Lord Bruncker seems to say that nothing can help us but the King's making a peace soon as he hath this money; and thereby putting himself out of debt, and so becoming a good husband, and then he will neither need this nor any other Parliament, till he can have one to his mind: for no Parliament can, as he says, be kept long good, but they will spoil one another, and that therefore it hath been the practice of kings to tell Parliaments what he hath for them to do, and give them so long time to do it in, and no longer. Harry Kembe, one of our messengers, is lately dead. 17th. Up, and several people to speak with me, and then comes Mr. Caesar, and then Goodgroome, and, what with one and the other, nothing but musique with me this morning, to my great content; and the more, to see that God Aimighty hath put me into condition to bear the charge of all this. So out to the 'Change, and did a little business, and then home, where they two musicians and Mr. Cooke come to see me, and Mercer to go along with my wife this afternoon to a play. To dinner, and then our company all broke up, and to my chamber to do several things. Among other things, to write a letter to my Lord Sandwich, it being one of the burdens upon my mind that I have not writ to him since he went into Spain, but now I do intend to give him a brief account of our whole year's actions since he went, which will make amends. My wife well home in the evening from the play; which I was glad of, it being cold and dark, and she having her necklace of pearl on, and none but Mercer with her. Spent the evening in fitting my books, to have the number set upon each, in order to my having an alphabet of my whole, which will be of great ease to me. This day Captain Batters come from sea in his fireship and come to see me, poor man, as his patron, and a poor painful wretch he is as can be. After supper to bed. 18th. Up, and to the office, where I hear the ill news that poor Batters, that had been born and bred a seaman, and brought up his ship from sea but yesterday, was, going down from me to his ship, drowned in the Thames, which is a sad fortune, and do make me afeard, and will do, more than ever I was. At noon dined at home, and then by coach to my Lord Bellasses, but not at home. So to Westminster Hall, where the Lords are sitting still, I to see Mrs. Martin, who is very well, and intends to go abroad to-morrow after her childbed. She do tell me that this child did come is 'meme jour that it ought to hazer after my avoir ete con elle before her marid did venir home.... Thence to the Swan, and there I sent for Sarah, and mighty merry we were.... So to Sir Robert Viner's about my plate, and carried home another dozen of plates, which makes my stock of plates up 2 1/2 dozen, and at home find Mr. Thomas Andrews, with whom I staid and talked a little and invited him to dine with me at Christmas, and then I to the office, and there late doing business, and so home and to bed. Sorry for poor Batters. 19th. Up, and by water down to White Hall, and there with the.Duke of York did our usual business, but nothing but complaints of want of money [without] success, and Sir W. Coventry's complaint of the defects of our office (indeed Sir J. Minnes's) without any amendment, and he tells us so plainly of the Committee of Parliament's resolution to enquire home into all our managements that it makes me resolve to be wary, and to do all things betimes to be ready for them. Thence going away met Mr. Hingston the organist (my old acquaintance) in the Court, and I took him to the Dog Taverne and got him to set me a bass to my "It is decreed," which I think will go well, but he commends the song not knowing the words, but says the ayre is good, and believes the words are plainly expressed. He is of my mind against having of 8ths unnecessarily in composition. This did all please me mightily. Then to talk of the King's family. He says many of the musique are ready to starve, they being five years behindhand for their wages; nay, Evens, the famous man upon the Harp having not his equal in the world, did the other day die for mere want, and was fain to be buried at the almes of the parish, and carried to his grave in the dark at night without one linke, but that Mr. Hingston met it by chance, and did give 12d. to buy two or three links. He says all must come to ruin at this rate, and I believe him. Thence I up to the Lords' House to enquire for Lord Bellasses; and there hear how at a conference this morning between the two Houses about the business of the Canary Company, my Lord Buckingham leaning rudely over my Lord Marquis Dorchester, my Lord Dorchester removed his elbow. Duke of Buckingham asked him whether he was uneasy; Dorchester replied, yes, and that he durst not do this were he any where else: Buckingham replied, yes he would, and that he was a better man than himself; Dorchester answered that he lyed. With this Buckingham struck off his hat, and took him by his periwigg, and pulled it aside, and held him. My Lord Chamberlain and others interposed, and, upon coming into the House, the Lords did order them both to the Tower, whither they are to go this afternoon. I down into the Hall, and there the Lieutenant of the Tower took me with him, and would have me to the Tower to dinner; where I dined at the head of his table, next his lady,' who is comely and seeming sober and stately, but very proud and very cunning, or I am mistaken, and wanton, too. This day's work will bring the Lieutenant of the Tower L350. But a strange, conceited, vain man he is that ever I met withal, in his own praise, as I have heretofore observed of him. Thence home, and upon Tower Hill saw about 3 or 400 seamen get together; and one, standing upon a pile of bricks, made his sign, with his handkercher, upon his stick, and called all the rest to him, and several shouts they gave. This made me afeard; so I got home as fast as I could. And hearing of no present hurt did go to Sir Robert Viner's about my plate again, and coming home do hear of 1000 seamen said in the streets to be in armes. So in great fear home, expecting to find a tumult about my house, and was doubtful of my riches there. But I thank God I found all well. But by and by Sir W. Batten and Sir R. Ford do tell me, that the seamen have been at some prisons, to release some seamen, and the Duke of Albemarle is in armes, and all the Guards at the other end of the town; and the Duke of Albemarle is gone with some forces to Wapping, to quell the seamen; which is a thing of infinite disgrace to us. I sat long talking with them; and, among other things, Sir R. Ford did make me understand how the House of Commons is a beast not to be understood, it being impossible to know beforehand the success almost of any small plain thing, there being so many to think and speak to any business, and they of so uncertain minds and interests and passions. He did tell me, and so did Sir W. Batten, how Sir Allen Brodericke and Sir Allen Apsly did come drunk the other day into the House, and did both speak for half an hour together, and could not be either laughed, or pulled, or bid to sit down and hold their peace, to the great contempt of the King's servants and cause; which I am grieved at with all my heart. We were full in discourse of the sad state of our times, and the horrid shame brought on the King's service by the just clamours of the poor seamen, and that we must be undone in a little time. Home full of trouble on these considerations, and, among other things, I to my chamber, and there to ticket a good part of my books, in order to the numbering of them for my easy finding them to read as I have occasion. So to supper and to bed, with my heart full of trouble. 20th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and here among other things come Captain Cocke, and I did get him to sign me a note for the L100 to pay for the plate he do present me with, which I am very glad of. At noon home to dinner, where was Balty come, who is well again, and the most recovered in his countenance that ever I did see. Here dined with me also Mrs. Batters, poor woman! now left a sad widow by the drowning of her husband the other day. I pity her, and will do her what kindness I can; yet I observe something of ill-nature in myself more than should be, that I am colder towards her in my charity than I should be to one so painful as he and she have been and full of kindness to their power to my wife and I. After dinner out with Balty, setting him down at the Maypole in the Strand, and then I to my Lord Bellasses, and there spoke with Mr. Moone about some business, and so away home to my business at the office, and then home to supper and to bed, after having finished the putting of little papers upon my books to be numbered hereafter. 21st. Lay long, and when up find Mrs. Clerk of Greenwich and her daughter Daniel, their business among other things was a request her daughter was to make, so I took her into my chamber, and there it was to help her husband to the command of a little new pleasure boat building, which I promised to assist in. And here I had opportunity 'para baiser elle, and toucher ses mamailles'.... Then to the office, and there did a little business, and then to the 'Change and did the like. So home to dinner, and spent all the afternoon in putting some things, pictures especially, in order, and pasting my Lady Castlemayne's print on a frame, which I have made handsome, and is a fine piece. So to the office in the evening to marshall my papers of accounts presented to the Parliament, against any future occasion to recur to them, which I did do to my great content. So home and did some Tangier work, and so to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, and there come news from Hogg that our shipp hath brought in a Lubecker to Portsmouth, likely to prove prize, of deals, which joys us. At noon home to dinner, and then Sir W. Pen, Sir R. Ford, and I met at Sir W. Batten's to examine our papers, and have great hopes to prove her prize, and Sir R. Ford I find a mighty yare--[Quick or ready, a naval term frequently used by Shakespeare.]--man in this business, making exceeding good observations from the papers on our behalf. Hereupon concluded what to write to Hogg and Middleton, which I did, and also with Mr. Oviatt (Sir R. Ford's son, who is to be our solicitor), to fee some counsel in the Admiralty, but none in town. So home again, and after writing letters by the post, I with all my clerks and Carcasse and Whitfield to the ticket-office, there to be informed in the method and disorder of the office, which I find infinite great, of infinite concernment to be mended, and did spend till 12 at night to my great satisfaction, it being a point of our office I was wholly unacquainted in. So with great content home and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up and alone to church, and meeting Nan Wright at the gate had opportunity to take two or three 'baisers', and so to church, where a vain fellow with a periwigg preached, Chaplain, as by his prayer appeared, to the Earl of Carlisle? Home, and there dined with us Betty Michell and her husband. After dinner to White Hall by coach, and took them with me. And in the way I would have taken 'su main' as I did the last time, but she did in a manner withhold it. So set them down at White Hall, and I to the Chapel to find Dr. Gibbons, and from him to the Harp and Ball to transcribe the treble which I would have him to set a bass to. But this took me so much time, and it growing night, I was fearful of missing a coach, and therefore took a coach and to rights to call Michell and his wife at their father Howlett's, and so home, it being cold, and the ground all snow.... They gone I to my chamber, and with my brother and wife did number all my books in my closet, and took a list of their names, which pleases me mightily, and is a jobb I wanted much to have done. Then to supper and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where Lord Bruncker, [Sir] J. Mimics, [Sir] W. Yen, and myself met, and there I did use my notes I took on Saturday night about tickets, and did come to a good settlement in the business of that office, if it be kept to, this morning being a meeting on purpose. At noon to prevent my Lord Bruncker's dining here I walked as if upon business with him, it being frost and dry, as far as Paul's, and so back again through the City by Guildhall, observing the ruines thereabouts, till I did truly lose myself, and so home to dinner. I do truly find that I have overwrought my eyes, so that now they are become weak and apt to be tired, and all excess of light makes them sore, so that now to the candlelight I am forced to sit by, adding, the snow upon the ground all day, my eyes are very bad, and will be worse if not helped, so my Lord Bruncker do advise as a certain cure to use greene spectacles, which I will do. So to dinner, where Mercer with us, and very merry. After dinner she goes and fetches a little son of Mr. Backeworth's, the wittiest child and of the most spirit that ever I saw in my life for discourse of all kind, and so ready and to the purpose, not above four years old. Thence to Sir Robert Viner's, and there paid for the plate I have bought to the value of L94, with the L100 Captain Cocke did give me to that purpose, and received the rest in money. I this evening did buy me a pair of green spectacles, to see whether they will help my eyes or no. So to the 'Change, and went to the Upper 'Change, which is almost as good as the old one; only shops are but on one side. Then home to the office, and did business till my eyes began to be bad, and so home to supper. My people busy making mince pies, and so to bed. No newes yet of our Gottenburgh fleete; which makes [us] have some fears, it being of mighty concernment to have our supply of masts safe. I met with Mr. Cade to-night, my stationer; and he tells me that he hears for certain that the Queene-Mother is about and hath near finished a peace with France, which, as a Presbyterian, he do not like, but seems to fear it will be a means to introduce Popery. 25th (Christmas day). Lay pretty long in bed, and then rose, leaving my wife desirous to sleep, having sat up till four this morning seeing her mayds make mince-pies. I to church, where our parson Mills made a good sermon. Then home, and dined well on some good ribbs of beef roasted and mince pies; only my wife, brother, and Barker, and plenty of good wine of my owne, and my heart full of true joy; and thanks to God Almighty for the goodness of my condition at this day. After dinner, I begun to teach my wife and Barker my song, "It is decreed," which pleases me mightily as now I have Mr. Hinxton's base. Then out and walked alone on foot to the Temple, it being a fine frost, thinking to have seen a play all alone; but there, missing of any bills, concluded there was none, and so back home; and there with my brother reducing the names of all my books to an alphabet, which kept us till 7 or 8 at night, and then to supper, W. Hewer with us, and pretty merry, and then to my chamber to enter this day's journal only, and then to bed. My head a little thoughtfull how to behave myself in the business of the victualling, which I think will be prudence to offer my service in doing something in passing the pursers' accounts, thereby to serve the King, get honour to myself, and confirm me in my place in the victualling, which at present yields not work enough to deserve my wages. 26th. Up, and walked all the way (it being a most fine frost), to White Hall, to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and thence with him up to the Duke of York, where among other things at our meeting I did offer my assistance to Sir J. Minnes to do the business of his office, relating to the Pursers' accounts, which was well accepted by the Duke of York, and I think I have and shall do myself good in it, if it be taken, for it will confirm me in the business of the victualling office, which I do now very little for. Thence home, carrying a barrel of oysters with me. Anon comes Mr. John Andrews and his wife by invitation from Bow to dine with me, and young Batelier and his wife with her great belly, which has spoiled her looks mightily already. Here was also Mercer and Creed, whom I met coming home, who tells me of a most bitter lampoone now out against the Court and the management of State from head to foot, mighty witty and mighty severe. By and by to dinner, a very good one, and merry. After dinner I put the women into a coach, and they to the Duke's house, to a play which was acted, "The--------." It was indifferently done, but was not pleased with the song, Gosnell not singing, but a new wench, that sings naughtily. Thence home, all by coach, and there Mr. Andrews to the vyall, who plays most excellently on it, which I did not know before. Then to dance, here being Pembleton come, by my wife's direction, and a fiddler; and we got, also, the elder Batelier to-night, and Nan Wright, and mighty merry we were, and I danced; and so till twelve at night, and to supper, and then to cross purposes, mighty merry, and then to bed, my eyes being sore. Creed lay here in Barker's bed. 27th. Up; and called up by the King's trumpets, which cost me 10s. So to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon, by invitation, my wife, who had not been there these to months, I think, and I, to meet all our families at Sir W. Batten's at dinner, whither neither a great dinner for so much company nor anything good or handsome. In the middle of dinner I rose, and my wife, and by coach to the King's playhouse, and meeting Creed took him up, and there saw "The Scornfull Lady" well acted; Doll Common doing Abigail most excellently, and Knipp the widow very well, and will be an excellent actor, I think. In other parts the play not so well done as used to be, by the old actors. Anon to White Hall by coach, thinking to have seen a play there to-night, but found it a mistake, so back again, and missed our coach[man], who was gone, thinking to come time enough three hours hence, and we could not blame him. So forced to get another coach, and all three home to my house, and there to Sir W. Batten's, and eat a bit of cold chine of beef, and then staid and talked, and then home and sat and talked a little by the fireside with my wife and Creed, and so to bed, my left eye being very sore. No business publick or private minded all these two days. This day a house or two was blown up with powder in the Minorys, and several people spoiled, and many dug out from under the rubbish. 28th. Up, and Creed and I walked (a very fine walk in the frost) to my Lord Bellasses, but missing him did find him at White Hall, and there spoke with him about some Tangier business. That done, we to Creed's lodgings, which are very pretty, but he is going from them. So we to Lincoln's Inne Fields, he to Ned Pickering's, who it seems lives there, keeping a good house, and I to my Lord Crew's, where I dined, and hear the newes how my Lord's brother, Mr. Nathaniel Crew, hath an estate of 6 or L700 per annum, left him by the death of an old acquaintance of his, but not akin to him at all. And this man is dead without will, but had, above ten years since, made over his estate to this Mr. Crew, to him and his heirs for ever, and given Mr. Crew the keeping of the deeds in his own hand all this time; by which, if he would, he might have taken present possession of the estate, for he knew what they were. This is as great an act of confident friendship as this latter age, I believe, can shew. From hence to the Duke's house, and there saw "Macbeth" most excellently acted, and a most excellent play for variety. I had sent for my wife to meet me there, who did come, and after the play was done, I out so soon to meet her at the other door that I left my cloake in the playhouse, and while I returned to get it, she was gone out and missed me, and with W. Hewer away home. I not sorry for it much did go to White Hall, and got my Lord Bellasses to get me into the playhouse; and there, after all staying above an hour for the players, the King and all waiting, which was absurd, saw "Henry the Fifth" well done by the Duke's people, and in most excellent habits, all new vests, being put on but this night. But I sat so high and far off, that I missed most of the words, and sat with a wind coming into my back and neck, which did much trouble me. The play continued till twelve at night; and then up, and a most horrid cold night it was, and frosty, and moonshine. But the worst was, I had left my cloak at Sir G. Carteret's, and they being abed I was forced to go home without it. So by chance got a coach and to the Golden Lion Taverne in the Strand, and there drank some mulled sack, and so home, where find my poor wife staying for me, and then to bed mighty cold. 29th. Up, called up with newes from Sir W. Batten that Hogg hath brought in two prizes more: and so I thither, and hear the particulars, which are good; one of them, if prize, being worth L4,000: for which God be thanked! Then to the office, and have the newes brought us of Captain Robinson's coming with his fleete from Gottenburgh: dispersed, though, by foul weather. But he hath light of five Dutch men-of-war, and taken three, whereof one is sunk; which is very good newes to close up the year with, and most of our merchantmen already heard of to be safely come home, though after long lookings-for, and now to several ports, as they could make them. At noon home to dinner, where Balty is and now well recovered. Then to the office to do business, and at night, it being very cold, home to my chamber, and there late writing, but my left eye still very sore. I write by spectacles all this night, then to supper and to bed. This day's good news making me very lively, only the arrears of much business on my hands and my accounts to be settled for the whole year past do lie as a weight on my mind. 30th (Lord's day). Lay long, however up and to church, where Mills made a good sermon. Here was a collection for the sexton; but it come into my head why we should be more bold in making the collection while the psalm is singing, than in the sermon or prayer. Home, and, without any strangers, to dinner, and then all the afternoon and evening in my chamber preparing all my accounts in good condition against to-morrow, to state them for the whole year past, to which God give me a good issue when I come to close them! So to supper and to bed. 31st. Rising this day with a full design to mind nothing else but to make up my accounts for the year past, I did take money, and walk forth to several places in the towne as far as the New Exchange, to pay all my debts, it being still a very great frost and good walking. I staid at the Fleece Tavern in Covent Garden while my boy Tom went to W. Joyce's to pay what I owed for candles there. Thence to the New Exchange to clear my wife's score, and so going back again I met Doll Lane (Mrs. Martin's sister), with another young woman of the Hall, one Scott, and took them to the Half Moon Taverne and there drank some burnt wine with them, without more pleasure, and so away home by coach, and there to dinner, and then to my accounts, wherein, at last, I find them clear and right; but, to my great discontent, do find that my gettings this year have been L573 less than my last: it being this year in all but L2,986; whereas, the last, I got L3,560. And then again my spendings this year have exceeded my spendings the last by L644: my whole spendings last year being but L509; whereas this year, it appears, I have spent L1154, which is a sum not fit to be said that ever I should spend in one year, before I am master of a better estate than I am. Yet, blessed be God! and I pray God make me thankful for it, I do find myself worth in money, all good, above L6,200; which is above L1800 more than I was the last year. This, I trust in God, will make me thankfull for what I have, and carefull to make up by care next year what by my negligence and prodigality I have lost and spent this year. The doing of this, and entering of it fair, with the sorting of all my expenses, to see how and in what points I have exceeded, did make it late work, till my eyes become very sore and ill, and then did give over, and supper, and to bed. Thus ends this year of publick wonder and mischief to this nation, and, therefore, generally wished by all people to have an end. Myself and family well, having four mayds and one clerk, Tom, in my house, and my brother, now with me, to spend time in order to his preferment. Our healths all well, only my eyes with overworking them are sore as candlelight comes to them, and not else; publick matters in a most sad condition; seamen discouraged for want of pay, and are become not to be governed: nor, as matters are now, can any fleete go out next year. Our enemies, French and Dutch, great, and grow more by our poverty. The Parliament backward in raising, because jealous of the spending of the money; the City less and less likely to be built again, every body settling elsewhere, and nobody encouraged to trade. A sad, vicious, negligent Court, and all sober men there fearful of the ruin of the whole kingdom this next year; from which, good God deliver us! One thing I reckon remarkable in my owne condition is, that I am come to abound in good plate, so as at all entertainments to be served wholly with silver plates, having two dozen and a half. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, PEPY'S DIARY, 1966 N.S., COMPLETE: A cat will be a cat still About the nature of sounds About my new closet, for my mind is full of nothing but that After a harsh word or two my wife and I good friends All the innocent pleasure in the world Amending of bad blood by borrowing from a better body And if ever I fall on it again, I deserve to be undone And for his beef, says he, "Look how fat it is" Angry, and so continued till bed, and did not sleep friends Apprehension of the King of France's invading us As very a gossip speaking of her neighbours as any body Ashamed at myself for this losse of time Baited at Islington, and so late home about 11 at night Beare-garden Begun to write idle and from the purpose Being there, and seeming to do something, while we do not Being examined at Allgate, whether we were husbands and wives Being five years behindhand for their wages (court musicians) Better the musique, the more sicke it makes him Bill against importing Irish cattle Bringing over one discontented man, you raise up three But pretty! how I took another pretty woman for her But fit she should live where he hath a mind But how many years I cannot tell; but my wife says ten By and by met at her chamber, and there did what I would Called at a little ale-house, and had an eele pye Catholiques are everywhere and bold Checking her last night in the coach in her long stories Contempt of the ceremoniousnesse of the King of Spayne Counterfeit mirthe and pleasure with them, but had but little Did tumble them all the afternoon as I pleased Did drink of the College beer, which is very good Did dig another, and put our wine in it; and I my Parmazan cheese Discoursing upon the sad condition of the times Do bury still of the plague seven or eight in a day Driven down again with a stinke by Sir W. Pen's shying of a pot Durst not ask any body how it was with us Evelyn, who cries out against it, and calls it bitchering Exceeding kind to me, more than usual, which makes me afeard Fashion, the King says; he will never change Fire grow; and, as it grew darker, appeared more and more First their apes, that they may be afterwards their slaves For a land-tax and against a general excise Foretelling the draught of water of a ship before she be launche Gladder to have just now received it (than a promise) Good sport of the bull's tossing of the dogs Got her upon my knee (the coach being full) and played with her Great fire they saw in the City Great deale of tittle tattle discourse to little purpose Great newes of the Swedes declaring for us against the Dutch He is such innocent company He has been inconvenienced by being too free in discourse Here I first saw oranges grow Horrid malicious bloody flame I to bed even by daylight I do not value her, or mind her as I ought I did what I would, and might have done anything else I never did observe so much of myself in my life I had six noble dishes for them, dressed by a man-cook In opposition to France, had made us throw off their fashion King hath lost his power, by submitting himself to this way King be desired to put all Catholiques out of employment Lady Duchesse the veryest slut and drudge Last act of friendship in telling me of my faults also Listening to no reasoning for it, be it good or bad Long petticoat dragging under their men's coats Magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates Many women now-a-days of mean sort in the streets, but no men Mass, and some of their musique, which is not so contemptible Mightily pleased with myself for the business that I have done Mightily vexed at my being abroad with these women Milke, which I drank to take away, my heartburne Most homely widow, but young, and pretty rich, and good natured Never fought with worse officers in his life No Parliament can, as he says, be kept long good No manner of means used to quench the fire No money to do it with, nor anybody to trust us without it Not being well pleased with her over free and loose company Not permit her begin to do so, lest worse should follow Now very big, and within a fortnight of lying down Offered to stop the fire near his house for such a reward Origin in the use of a plane against the grain of the wood Out also to and fro, to see and be seen Pain to ride in a coach with them, for fear of being seen Peace with France, which, as a Presbyterian, he do not like Play on the harpsicon, till she tired everybody Plot in it, and that the French had done it Providing against a foule day to get as much money into my hands Put up with too much care, that I have forgot where they are Rather hear a cat mew, than the best musique in the world Reading over my dear "Faber fortunae," of my Lord Bacon's Reading to my wife and brother something in Chaucer Rejoiced over head and ears in this good newes Removing goods from one burned house to another Requisite I be prepared against the man's friendship Sad sight it was: the whole City almost on fire Said that there hath been a design to poison the King Sang till about twelve at night, with mighty pleasure Says, of all places, if there be hell, it is here Scotch song of "Barbary Allen" Send up and down for a nurse to take the girle home Shy of any warr hereafter, or to prepare better for it So home to supper, and to bed, it being my wedding night So back again home to supper and to bed with great pleasure So to bed in some little discontent, but no words from me So home and to supper with beans and bacon and to bed Staying out late, and painting in the absence of her husband Tax the same man in three or four several capacities That I may have nothing by me but what is worth keeping That I may look as a man minding business The gentlemen captains will undo us The very rum man must have L200 Thence to Mrs. Martin's, and did what I would with her There did what 'je voudrais avec' her.... There did 'tout ce que je voudrais avec' her There I did lay the beginnings of a future 'amour con elle' There did what I would with her Think that we are beaten in every respect This is the use we make of our fathers This unhappinesse of ours do give them heart Through want of money and good conduct Time spending, and no money to set anything in hand To bed, after washing my legs and feet with warm water Too late for them to enjoy it with any pleasure Too much ill newes true, to afflict ourselves with uncertain Took him home the money, and, though much to my grief Tooke my wife well dressed into the Hall to see and be seen Tooth-ake made him no company, and spoilt ours Unless my too-much addiction to pleasure undo me Venison-pasty that we have for supper to-night to the cook's Weary of the following of my pleasure What I had writ foule in short hand What itching desire I did endeavour to see Bagwell's wife Wherewith to give every body something for their pains Who must except against every thing and remedy nothing With a shower of hail as big as walnuts World sees now the use of them for shelter of men (fore-castles) Ye pulling down of houses, in ye way of ye fire Young man play the foole upon the doctrine of purgatory 
4179	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1667 August 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon my wife and I dined at Sir W. Pen's, only with Mrs. Turner and her husband, on a damned venison pasty, that stunk like a devil. However, I did not know it till dinner was done. We had nothing but only this, and a leg of mutton, and a pullet or two. Mrs. Markham was here, with her great belly. I was very merry, and after dinner, upon a motion of the women, I was got to go to the play with them-the first I have seen since before the Dutch coming upon our coast, and so to the King's house, to see "The Custome of the Country." The house mighty empty--more than ever I saw it--and an ill play. After the play, we into the house, and spoke with Knipp, who went abroad with us by coach to the Neat Houses in the way to Chelsy; and there, in a box in a tree, we sat and sang, and talked and eat; my wife out of humour, as she always is, when this woman is by. So, after it was dark, we home. Set Knepp down at home, who told us the story how Nell is gone from the King's house, and is kept by my Lord Buckhurst. Then we home, the gates of the City shut, it being so late: and at Newgate we find them in trouble, some thieves having this night broke open prison. So we through, and home; and our coachman was fain to drive hard from two or three fellows, which he said were rogues, that he met at the end of Blow-bladder Street, next Cheapside. So set Mrs. Turner home, and then we home, and I to the Office a little; and so home and to bed, my wife in an ill humour still. 2nd. Up, but before I rose my wife fell into angry discourse of my kindness yesterday to Mrs. Knipp, and leading her, and sitting in the coach hand in hand, and my arm about her middle, and in some bad words reproached me with it. I was troubled, but having much business in my head and desirous of peace rose and did not provoke her. So she up and come to me and added more, and spoke basely of my father, who I perceive did do something in the country, at her last being there, that did not like her, but I would not enquire into anything, but let her talk, and when ready away to the Office I went, where all the morning I was, only Mr. Gawden come to me, and he and I home to my chamber, and there reckoned, and there I received my profits for Tangier of him, and L250 on my victualling score. He is a most noble-minded man as ever I met with, and seems to own himself much obliged to me, which I will labour to make him; for he is a good man also: we talked on many good things relating to the King's service, and, in fine, I had much matter of joy by this morning's work, receiving above L400 of him, on one account or other; and a promise that, though I lay down my victualling place, yet, as long as he continues victualler, I shall be the better by him. To the office again, and there evened all our business with Mr. Kinaston about Colonel Norwood's Bill of Exchange from Tangier, and I am glad of it, for though he be a good man, yet his importunity tries me. So home to dinner, where Mr. Hater with me and W. Hewer, because of their being in the way after dinner, and so to the office after dinner, where and with my Lord Bruneker at his lodgings all the afternoon and evening making up our great account for the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, but not so as pleased me yet. So at 12 at night home to supper and to bed, my wife being gone in an ill humour to bed before me. This noon my wife comes to me alone, and tells me she had those upon her and bid me remember it. I asked her why, and she said she had a reason. I do think by something too she said to-day, that she took notice that I had not lain with her this half-year, that she thinks that I have some doubt that she might be with child by somebody else. Which God knows never entered into my head, or whether my father observed any thing at Brampton with Coleman I know not. But I do not do well to let these beginnings of discontents take so much root between us. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Then at noon to dinner, and to the office again, there to enable myself, by finishing our great account, to give it to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury; which I did, and there was called in to them, to tell them only the total of our debt of the Navy on the 25th of May last, which is above L950,000. Here I find them mighty hot in their answer to the Council-board about our Treasurer's threepences of the Victualling, and also against the present farm of the Customes, which they do most highly inveigh against. So home again by coach, and there hard to work till very late and my eyes began to fail me, which now upon very little overworking them they do, which grieves me much. Late home, to supper, and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Busy at my Office from morning till night, in writing with my own hand fair our large general account of the expence and debt of the Navy, which lasted me till night to do, that I was almost blind, and Mr. Gibson with me all day long, and dined with me, and excellent discourse I had with him, he understanding all the business of the Navy most admirably. To walk a little with my wife at night in the garden, it being very hot weather again, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten in the morning to St. James's, where we did our ordinary business with the Duke of York, where I perceive they have taken the highest resolution in the world to become good husbands, and to retrench all charge; and to that end we are commanded to give him an account of the establishment in the seventh year of the late King's reign, and how offices and salaries have been increased since; and I hope it will end in the taking away some of our Commissioners, though it may be to the lessening of some of our salaries also. After done with the Duke of York, and coming out through his dressing-room, I there spied Signor Francisco tuning his gittar, and Monsieur de Puy with him, who did make him play to me, which he did most admirably--so well as I was mightily troubled that all that pains should have been taken upon so bad an instrument. Walked over the Park with Mr. Gawden, end with him by coach home, and to the Exchange, where I hear the ill news of our loss lately of four rich ships, two from Guinea, one from Gallipoly, all with rich oyles; and the other from Barbadoes, worth, as is guessed, L80,000. But here is strong talk, as if Harman had taken some of the Dutch East India ships, but I dare not yet believe it, and brought them into Lisbon. ["Sept. 6, 1667. John Clarke to James Hickes. A vessel arrived from Harwich brings news that the English lost 600 to 700 men in the attempt on St. Christopher; that Sir John Harman was not then there, but going with 11 ships, and left a ketch at Barbadoes to bring more soldiers after him; that the ketch met a French sloop with a packet from St. Christopher to their fleet at Martinico, and took her, whereupon Sir John Harman sailed there and fell upon their fleet of 27 sail, 25 of which he sank, and burnt the others, save two which escaped; also that he left three of his fleet there, and went with the rest to Nevis, to make another attempt on St. Christopher. "Calendar of State Payers, 1667, p. 447] Home, and dined with my wife at Sir W. Pen's, where a very good pasty of venison, better than we expected, the last stinking basely, and after dinner he and my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Love Trickes, or the School of Compliments;" a silly play, only Miss [Davis's] dancing in a shepherd's clothes did please us mightily. Thence without much pleasure home and to my Office, so home, to supper, and to bed. My wife mighty angry with Nell, who is turned a very gossip, and gads abroad as soon as our backs are turned, and will put her away tomorrow, which I am not sorry for. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning very full of business. A full Board. Here, talking of news, my Lord Anglesey did tell us that the Dutch do make a further bogle with us about two or three things, which they will be satisfied in, he says, by us easily; but only in one, it seems, they do demand that we shall not interrupt their East Indiamen coming home, and of which they are in some fear; and we are full of hopes that we have 'light upon some of them, and carried them into Lisbon, by Harman; which God send! But they, which do shew the low esteem they have of us, have the confidence to demand that we shall have a cessation on our parts, and yet they at liberty to take what they will; which is such an affront, as another cannot be devised greater. At noon home to dinner, where I find Mrs. Wood, formerly Bab. Shelden, and our Mercer, who is dressed to-day in a paysan dress, that looks mighty pretty. We dined and sang and laughed mighty merry, and then I to the Office, only met at the door with Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Burroughs, who I took in and drank with, but was afraid my wife should see them, they being, especially the first, a prattling gossip, and so after drinking with them parted, and I to the Office, busy as long as my poor eyes would endure, which troubles me mightily and then into the garden with my wife, and to Sir W. Batten's with [Sir] W. Pen and [Sir] J. Minnes, and there eat a melon and talked, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife, as she said last night, hath put away Nell to-day, for her gossiping abroad and telling of stories. Sir W. Batten did tell me to-night that the Council have ordered a hearing before them of Carcasses business, which do vex me mightily, that we should be troubled so much by an idle rogue, a servant of our own, and all my thoughts to-night have been how to manage the matter before the Council. 7th. Up, and at the office very busy, and did much business all the morning. My wife abroad with her maid Jane and Tom all the afternoon, being gone forth to eat some pasties at "The Bottle of Hay," in St. John's Street, as you go to Islington, of which she is mighty fond, and I dined at home alone, and at the office close all the afternoon, doing much business to my great content. This afternoon Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, comes to me about business, and tells me that though the King and my Lady Castlemayne are friends again, she is not at White Hall, but at Sir D. Harvy's, whither the King goes to her; and he says she made him ask her forgiveness upon his knees, and promised to offend her no more so: that, indeed, she did threaten to bring all his bastards to his closet-door, and hath nearly hectored him out of his wits. I at my office till night, and then home to my pipe, my wife not coming home, which vexed me. I then into the garden, and there walked alone in the garden till 10 at night, when she come home, having been upon the water and could not get home sooner. So to supper, and to bed. 8th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where busy, and at noon home to dinner, where Creed dined with us, who tells me that Sir Henry Bellasses is dead of the duell he fought about ten days ago, with Tom Porter; and it is pretty to see how the world talk of them as a couple of fools, that killed one another out of love. After dinner to the office a while, and then with my wife to the Temple, where I light and sent her to her tailor's. I to my bookseller's; where, by and by, I met Mr. Evelyn, and talked of several things, but particularly of the times: and he tells me that wise men do prepare to remove abroad what they have, for that we must be ruined, our case being past relief, the kingdom so much in debt, and the King minding nothing but his lust, going two days a-week to see my Lady Castlemayne at Sir D. Harvy's. He gone, I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me that my Lord Hinchingbroke is now with his mistress, but not that he is married, as W. Howe come and told us the other day. So by coach to White Hall, and there staid a little, thinking to see Sir G. Carteret, but missed him, and so by coach took up my wife, and so home, and as far as Bow, where we staid and drank, and there, passing by Mr. Lowther and his lady, they stopped and we talked a little with them, they being in their gilt coach, and so parted; and presently come to us Mr. Andrews, whom I had not seen a good while, who, as other merchants do, do all give over any hopes of things doing well, and so he spends his time here most, playing at bowles. After dining together at the coach-side, we with great pleasure home, and so to the office, where I despatched my business, and home to supper, and to bed. 9th. Up, and betimes with Sir H. Cholmly upon some accounts of Tangier, and then he and I to Westminster, to Mr. Burges, and then walked in the Hall, and he and I talked, and he do really declare that he expects that of necessity this kingdom will fall back again to a commonwealth, and other wise men are of the same mind: this family doing all that silly men can do, to make themselves unable to support their kingdom, minding their lust and their pleasure, and making their government so chargeable, that people do well remember better things were done, and better managed, and with much less charge under a commonwealth than they have been by this King, and do seem to resolve to wind up his businesses and get money in his hand against the turn do come. After some talk I by coach and there dined, and with us Mr. Batelier by chance coming in to speak with me, and when I come home, and find Mr. Goodgroome, my wife's singing-master, there I did soundly rattle him for neglecting her so much as he hath done--she not having learned three songs these three months and more. After dinner my wife abroad with Mrs. Turner, and I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening by coach to St. James's, and there met Sir W. Coventry; and he and I walked in the Park an hour. And then to his chamber, where he read to me the heads of the late great dispute between him and the rest of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and our new Treasurer of the Navy where they have overthrown him the last Wednesday, in the great dispute touching his having the payment of the Victualler, which is now settled by Council that he is not to have it and, indeed, they have been most just, as well as most severe and bold, in the doing this against a man of his quality; but I perceive he do really make no difference between any man. He tells me this day it is supposed the peace is ratified at Bredah, and all that matter over. We did talk of many retrenchments of charge of the Navy which he will put in practice, and every where else; though, he tells me, he despairs of being able to do what ought to be done for the saving of the kingdom, which I tell him, as indeed all the world is almost in hopes of, upon the proceeding of these gentlemen for the regulating of the Treasury, it being so late, and our poverty grown so great, that they want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing. He tells me how weary he hath for this year and a half been of the war; and how in the Duke of York's bedchamber, at Christ Church, at Oxford, when the Court was there, he did labour to persuade the Duke to fling off the care of the Navy, and get it committed to other hands; which, if he had done, would have been much to his honour, being just come home with so much honour from sea as he did. I took notice of the sharp letter he wrote, which he sent us to read yesterday, to Sir Edward Spragg, where he is very plain about his leaving his charge of the ships at Gravesend, when the enemy come last up, and several other things: a copy whereof I have kept. But it is done like a most worthy man; and he says it is good, now and then, to tell these gentlemen their duties, for they need it. And it seems, as he tells me, all our Knights are fallen out one with another, he, and Jenings, and Hollis, and (his words were) they are disputing which is the coward among them; and yet men that take the greatest liberty of censuring others! Here, with him, very late, till I could hardly get a coach or link willing to go through the ruines; but I do, but will not do it again, being, indeed, very dangerous. So home and to supper, and bed, my head most full of an answer I have drawn this noon to the Committee of the Council to whom Carcasses business is referred to be examined again. 10th. Up, and to the Office, and there finished the letter about Carcasse, and sent it away, I think well writ, though it troubles me we should be put to trouble by this rogue so much. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where I sang and piped with my wife with great pleasure, and did hire a coach to carry us to Barnett to-morrow. After dinner I to the office, and there wrote as long as my eyes would give me leave, and then abroad and to the New Exchange, to the bookseller's there, where I hear of several new books coming out--Mr. Spratt's History of the Royal Society, and Mrs. Phillips's' poems. Sir John Denham's poems are going to be all printed together; and, among others, some new things; and among them he showed me a copy of verses of his upon Sir John Minnes's going heretofore to Bullogne to eat a pig. [The collected edition of Denham's poems is dated 1668. The verses referred to are inscribed "To Sir John Mennis being invited from Calice to Bologne to eat a pig," and two of the lines run "Little Admiral John To Bologne is gone."] Cowley, he tells me, is dead; who, it seems, was a mighty civil, serious man; which I did not know before. Several good plays are likely to be abroad soon, as Mustapha and Henry the 5th. Here having staid and divertised myself a good while, I home again and to finish my letters by the post, and so home, and betimes to bed with my wife because of rising betimes to-morrow. 11th (Lord's day). Up by four o'clock, and ready with Mrs. Turner to take coach before five; which we did, and set on our journey, and got to the Wells at Barnett by seven o'clock, and there found many people a-drinking; but the morning is a very cold morning, so as we were very cold all the way in the coach. Here we met Joseph Batelier, and I talked with him, and here was W. Hewer also, and his uncle Steventon: so, after drinking three glasses and the women nothing, we back by coach to Barnett, where to the Red Lyon, where we 'light, and went up into the great Room, and there drank, and eat some of the best cheese-cakes that ever I eat in my life, and so took coach again, and W. Hewer on horseback with us, and so to Hatfield, to the inn, next my Lord Salisbury's house, and there rested ourselves, and drank, and bespoke dinner; and so to church, it being just church-time, and there we find my Lord and my Lady Sands and several fine ladies of the family, and a great many handsome faces and genteel persons more in the church, and did hear a most excellent good sermon, which pleased me mightily, and very devout; it being upon, the signs of saving grace, where it is in a man, and one sign, which held him all this day, was, that where that grace was, there is also the grace of prayer, which he did handle very finely. In this church lies the former Lord of Salisbury, Cecil, buried in a noble tomb. So the church being done, we to our inn, and there dined very well, and mighty merry; and as soon as we had dined we walked out into the Park through the fine walk of trees, and to the Vineyard, and there shewed them that, which is in good order, and indeed a place of great delight; which, together with our fine walk through the Park, was of as much pleasure as could be desired in the world for country pleasure and good ayre. Being come back, and weary with the walk, for as I made it, it was pretty long, being come back to our inne, there the women had pleasure in putting on some straw hats, which are much worn in this country, and did become them mightily, but especially my wife. So, after resting awhile, we took coach again, and back to Barnett, where W. Hewer took us into his lodging, which is very handsome, and there did treat us very highly with cheesecakes, cream, tarts, and other good things; and then walked into the garden, which was pretty, and there filled my pockets full of filberts, and so with much pleasure. Among other things, I met in this house with a printed book of the Life of O. Cromwell, to his honour as a soldier and politician, though as a rebell, the first of that kind that ever I saw, and it is well done. Took coach again, and got home with great content, just at day shutting in, and so as soon as home eat a little and then to bed, with exceeding great content at our day's work. 12th. My wife waked betimes to call up her maids to washing, and so to bed again, whom I then hugged, it being cold now in the mornings . . . . Up by and by, and with Mr. Gawden by coach to St. James's, where we find the Duke gone a-hunting with the King, but found Sir W. Coventry within, with whom we discoursed, and he did largely discourse with us about our speedy falling upon considering of retrenchments in the expense of the Navy, which I will put forward as much as I can. So having done there I to Westminster Hall to Burges, and then walked to the New Exchange, and there to my bookseller's, and did buy Scott's Discourse of Witches; and do hear Mr. Cowley mightily lamented his death, by Dr. Ward, the Bishop of Winchester, and Dr. Bates, who were standing there, as the best poet of our nation, and as good a man. Thence I to the printseller's, over against the Exchange towards Covent Garden, and there bought a few more prints of cittys, and so home with them, and my wife and maids being gone over the water to the whitster's [A bleacher of linen. "The whitsters of Datchet Mead" are referred to by Mrs. Ford ("Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii., sc. 3).] with their clothes, this being the first time of her trying this way of washing her linen, I dined at Sir W. Batten's, and after dinner, all alone to the King's playhouse, and there did happen to sit just before Mrs. Pierce, and Mrs. Knepp, who pulled me by the hair; and so I addressed myself to them, and talked to them all the intervals of the play, and did give them fruit. The play is "Brenoralt," which I do find but little in, for my part. Here was many fine ladies-among others, the German Baron, with his lady, who is envoye from the Emperour, and their fine daughter, which hath travelled all Europe over with them, it seems; and is accordingly accomplished, and indeed, is a wonderful pretty woman. Here Sir Philip Frowde, who sat next to me, did tell me how Sir H. Belasses is dead, and that the quarrel between him and Tom Porter, who is fled, did arise in the ridiculous fashion that I was first told it, which is a strange thing between two so good friends. The play being done, I took the women, and Mrs. Corbett, who was with them, by coach, it raining, to Mrs. Manuel's, the Jew's wife, formerly a player, who we heard sing with one of the Italians that was there; and, indeed, she sings mightily well; and just after the Italian manner, but yet do not please me like one of Mrs. Knepp's songs, to a good English tune, the manner of their ayre not pleasing me so well as the fashion of our own, nor so natural. Here I sat a little and then left them, and then by coach home, and my wife not come home, so the office a little and then home, and my wife come; and so, saying nothing where I had been, we to supper and pipe, and so to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner all alone, my wife being again at the whitster's. After dinner with Sir W. Pen to St. James's, where the rest come and attended the Duke of York, with our usual business; who, upon occasion, told us that he did expect this night or to-morrow to hear from Breda of the consummation of the peace. Thence Sir W. Pen and I to the King's house, and there saw "The Committee," which I went to with some prejudice, not liking it before, but I do now find it a very good play, and a great deal of good invention in it; but Lacy's part is so well performed that it would set off anything. The play being done, we with great pleasure home, and there I to the office to finish my letters, and then home to my chamber to sing and pipe till my wife comes home from her washing, which was nine at night, and a dark and rainy night, that I was troubled at her staying out so long. But she come well home, and so to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where we held a meeting extraordinary upon some particular business, and there sat all the morning. At noon, my wife being gone to the whitster's again to her clothes, I to dinner to Sir W. Batten's, where much of our discourse concerning Carcasse, who it seems do find success before the Council, and do everywhere threaten us with what he will prove against us, which do vex us to see that we must be subjected to such a rogue of our own servants as this is. By and by to talk of our prize at Hull, and Sir W. Batten offering, again and again, seriously how he would sell his part for L1000 and I considering the knavery of Hogg and his company, and the trouble we may have with the Prince Rupert about the consort ship, and how we are linked with Sir R. Ford, whose son-in-law too is got thither, and there we intrust him with all our concern, who I doubt not is of the same trade with his father-in-law for a knave, and then the danger of the sea, if it shall be brought about, or bad debts contracted in the sale, but chiefly to be eased of my fears about all or any of this, I did offer my part to him for L700. With a little beating the bargain, we come to a perfect agreement for L666 13s. 4d., which is two-thirds of L1000, which is my proportion of the prize. I went to my office full of doubts and joy concerning what I had done; but, however, did put into writing the heads of our agreement, and returned to Sir W. Batten, and we both signed them; and Sir R. Ford, being come thither since, witnessed them. So having put it past further dispute I away, satisfied, and took coach and to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Country Captain," which is a very ordinary play. Methinks I had no pleasure therein at all, and so home again and to my business hard till my wife come home from her clothes, and so with her to supper and to bed. No news yet come of the ratification of the peace which we have expected now every hour since yesterday. 15th. Up, and to the office betimes, where busy, and sat all the morning, vexed with more news of Carcasses proceedings at the Council, insomuch as we four, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, (Sir) W. Pen, and myself, did make an appointment to dine with Sir W. Coventry to-day to discourse it with him, which we did by going thither as soon as the office was up, and there dined, and very merry, and many good stories, and after dinner to our discourse about Carcasse, and how much we are troubled that we should be brought, as they say we shall, to defend our report before the Council-board with him, and to have a clerk imposed on us. He tells us in short that there is no intention in the Lords for the latter, but wholly the contrary. That they do not desire neither to do anything in disrespect to the Board, and he will endeavour to prevent, as he hath done, our coming to plead at the table with our clerk, and do believe the whole will amount to nothing at the Council, only what he shall declare in behalf of the King against the office, if he offers anything, will and ought to be received, to which we all shew a readiness, though I confess even that (though I think I am as clear as the clearest of them), yet I am troubled to think what trouble a rogue may without cause give a man, though it be only by bespattering a man, and therefore could wish that over, though I fear nothing to be proved. Thence with much satisfaction, and Sir W. Pen and I to the Duke's house, where a new play. The King and Court there: the house full, and an act begun. And so went to the King's, and there saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor:" which did not please me at all, in no part of it, and so after the play done we to the Duke's house, where my wife was by appointment in Sir W. Pen's coach, and she home, and we home, and I to my office, where busy till letters done, and then home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and so at noon to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke's playhouse, where we saw the new play acted yesterday, "The Feign Innocence, or Sir Martin Marr-all;" a play made by my Lord Duke of Newcastle, but, as every body says, corrected by Dryden. It is the most entire piece of mirth, a complete farce from one end to the other, that certainly was ever writ. I never laughed so in all my life. I laughed till my head [ached] all the evening and night with the laughing; and at very good wit therein, not fooling. The house full, and in all things of mighty content to me. Thence to the New Exchange with my wife, where, at my bookseller's, I saw "The History of the Royall Society," which, I believe, is a fine book, and have bespoke one in quires. So home, and I to the office a little, and so to my chamber, and read the history of 88--[See 10th of this month.]--in Speede, in order to my seeing the play thereof acted to-morrow at the King's house. So to supper in some pain by the sudden change of the weather cold and my drinking of cold drink, which I must I fear begin to leave off, though I shall try it as long as I can without much pain. But I find myself to be full of wind, and my anus to be knit together as it is always with cold. Every body wonders that we have no news from Bredah of the ratification of the peace; and do suspect that there is some stop in it. So to bed. 17th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where we sat, and my head was full of the business of Carcasse, who hath a hearing this morning before the Council and hath summonsed at least thirty persons, and which is wondrous, a great many of them, I hear, do declare more against him than for him, and yet he summonses people without distinction. Sure he is distracted. At noon home to dinner, and presently my wife and I and Sir W. Pen to the King's playhouse, where the house extraordinary full; and there was the King and Duke of York to see the new play, "Queen Elizabeth's Troubles and the History of Eighty Eight." I confess I have sucked in so much of the sad story of Queen Elizabeth, from my cradle, that I was ready to weep for her sometimes; but the play is the most ridiculous that sure ever come upon the stage; and, indeed, is merely a shew, only shews the true garbe of the Queen in those days, just as we see Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth painted; but the play is merely a puppet play, acted by living puppets. Neither the design nor language better; and one stands by and tells us the meaning of things: only I was pleased to see Knipp dance among the milkmaids, and to hear her sing a song to Queen Elizabeth; and to see her come out in her night-gowne with no lockes on, but her bare face and hair only tied up in a knot behind; which is the comeliest dress that ever I saw her in to her advantage. Thence home and went as far as Mile End with Sir W. Pen, whose coach took him up there for his country-house; and after having drunk there, at the Rose and Crowne, a good house for Alderman Bides ale,--[John Bide, brewer, Sheriff of London in 1647.--B.]--we parted, and we home, and there I finished my letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready, walked up and down to Cree Church, to see it how it is; but I find no alteration there, as they say there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to come to sermon, as they do every Sunday, as they did formerly to Paul's. Walk back home and to our own church, where a dull sermon and our church empty of the best sort of people, they being at their country houses, and so home, and there dined with me Mr. Turner and his daughter Betty. [Betty Turner, who is frequently mentioned after this date, appears to have been a daughter of Serjeant John Turner and his wife Jane, and younger sister of Theophila Turner (see January 4th, 6th, 1668-69).] Her mother should, but they were invited to Sir J. Minnes, where she dined and the others here with me. Betty is grown a fine lady as to carriage and discourse. I and my wife are mightily pleased with her. We had a good haunch of venison, powdered and boiled, and a good dinner and merry. After dinner comes Mr. Pelling the Potticary, whom I had sent for to dine with me, but he was engaged. After sitting an hour to talk we broke up, all leaving Pelling to talk with my wife, and I walked towards White Hall, but, being wearied, turned into St. Dunstan's Church, where I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place; and stood by a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labour to take by the hand and the body; but she would not, but got further and further from me; and, at last, I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I should touch her again--which seeing I did forbear, and was glad I did spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid in a pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to take her by the hand, which she suffered a little and then withdrew. So the sermon ended, and the church broke up, and my amours ended also, and so took coach and home, and there took up my wife, and to Islington with her, our old road, but before we got to Islington, between that and Kingsland, there happened an odd adventure: one of our coach-horses fell sick of the staggers, so as he was ready to fall down. The coachman was fain to 'light, and hold him up, and cut his tongue to make him bleed, and his tail. The horse continued shaking every part of him, as if he had been in an ague, a good while, and his blood settled in his tongue, and the coachman thought and believed he would presently drop down dead; then he blew some tobacco in his nose, upon which the horse sneezed, and, by and by, grows well, and draws us the rest of our way, as well as ever he did; which was one of the strangest things of a horse I ever observed, but he says it is usual. It is the staggers. Staid and eat and drank at Islington, at the old house, and so home, and to my chamber to read, and then to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning very busy. Towards noon I to Westminster about some tallies at the Exchequer, and then straight home again and dined, and then to sing with my wife with great content, and then I to the office again, where busy, and then out and took coach and to the Duke of York's house, all alone, and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all" again, though I saw him but two days since, and do find it the most comical play that ever I saw in my life. Soon as the play done I home, and there busy till night, and then comes Mr. Moore to me only to discourse with me about some general things touching the badness of the times, how ill they look, and he do agree with most people that I meet with, that we shall fall into a commonwealth in a few years, whether we will or no; for the charge of a monarchy is such as the kingdom cannot be brought to bear willingly, nor are things managed so well nowadays under it, as heretofore. He says every body do think that there is something extraordinary that keeps us so long from the news of the peace being ratified, which the King and the Duke of York have expected these six days. He gone, my wife and I and Mrs. Turner walked in the garden a good while till 9 at night, and then parted, and I home to supper and to read a little (which I cannot refrain, though I have all the reason in the world to favour my eyes, which every day grow worse and worse by over-using them), and then to bed. 20th. Up, and to my chamber to set down my journall for the last three days, and then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then with my wife abroad, set her down at the Exchange, and I to St. James's, where find Sir W. Coventry alone, and fell to discourse of retrenchments; and thereon he tells how he hath already propounded to the Lords Committee of the Councils how he would have the Treasurer of the Navy a less man, that might not sit at the Board, but be subject to the Board. He would have two Controllers to do his work and two Surveyors, whereof one of each to take it by turns to reside at Portsmouth and Chatham by a kind of rotation; he would have but only one Clerk of the Acts. He do tell me he hath propounded how the charge of the Navy in peace shall come within L200,000, by keeping out twenty-four ships in summer, and ten in the winter. And several other particulars we went over of retrenchment: and I find I must provide some things to offer that I may be found studious to lessen the King's charge. By and by comes my Lord Bruncker, and then we up to the Duke of York, and there had a hearing of our usual business, but no money to be heard of--no, not L100 upon the most pressing service that can be imagined of bringing in the King's timber from Whittlewood, while we have the utmost want of it, and no credit to provide it elsewhere, and as soon as we had done with the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry did single [out] Sir W. Pen and me, and desired us to lend the King some money, out of the prizes we have taken by Hogg. He did not much press it, and we made but a merry answer thereto; but I perceive he did ask it seriously, and did tell us that there never was so much need of it in the world as now, we being brought to the lowest straits that can be in the world. This troubled me much. By and by Sir W. Batten told me that he heard how Carcasse do now give out that he will hang me, among the rest of his threats of him and Pen, which is the first word I ever heard of the kind from him concerning me. It do trouble me a little, though I know nothing he can possibly find to fasten on me. Thence, with my Lord Bruncker to the Duke's Playhouse (telling my wife so at the 'Change, where I left her), and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all" again, which I have now seen three times, and it hath been acted but four times, and still find it a very ingenious play, and full of variety. So home, and to the office, where my eyes would not suffer me to do any thing by candlelight, and so called my wife and walked in the garden. She mighty pressing for a new pair of cuffs, which I am against the laying out of money upon yet, which makes her angry. So home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and my wife and I fell out about the pair of cuffs, which she hath a mind to have to go to see the ladies dancing to-morrow at Betty Turner's school; and do vex me so that I am resolved to deny them her. However, by-and-by a way was found that she had them, and I well satisfied, being unwilling to let our difference grow higher upon so small an occasion and frowardness of mine. Then to the office, my Lord Bruncker and I all the morning answering petitions, which now by a new Council's order we are commanded to set a day in a week apart for, and we resolve to do it by turn, my Lord and I one week and two others another. At noon home to dinner, and then my wife and I mighty pleasant abroad, she to the New Exchange and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, who do sit very close, and are bringing the King's charges as low as they can; but Sir W. Coventry did here again tell me that he is very serious in what he said to Sir W. Pen and me yesterday about our lending of money to the King; and says that people do talk that we had had the King's ships at his cost to take prizes, and that we ought to lend the King money more than other people. I did tell him I will consider it, and so parted; and do find I cannot avoid it. So to Westminster Hall and there staid a while, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and there did take a little pleasure both with her and her sister. Here sat and talked, and it is a strange thing to see the impudence of the woman, that desires by all means to have her mari come home, only that she might beat liberty to have me para toker her, which is a thing I do not so much desire. Thence by coach, took up my wife, and home and out to Mile End, and there drank, and so home, and after some little reading in my chamber, to supper and to bed. This day I sent my cozen Roger a tierce of claret, which I give him. This morning come two of Captain Cooke's boys, whose voices are broke, and are gone from the Chapel, but have extraordinary skill; and they and my boy, with his broken voice, did sing three parts; their names were Blaewl and Loggings; but, notwithstanding their skill, yet to hear them sing with their broken voices, which they could not command to keep in tune, would make a man mad--so bad it was. 22nd. Up, and to the office; whence Lord Bruncker, J. Minnes, W. Pen, and I, went to examine some men that are put in there, for rescuing of men that were pressed into the service: and we do plainly see that the desperate condition that we put men into for want of their pay, makes them mad, they being as good men as ever were in the world, and would as readily serve the King again, were they but paid. Two men leapt overboard, among others, into the Thames, out of the vessel into which they were pressed, and were shot by the soldiers placed there to keep them, two days since; so much people do avoid the King's service! And then these men are pressed without money, and so we cannot punish them for any thing, so that we are forced only to make a show of severity by keeping them in prison, but are unable to punish them. Returning to the office, did ask whether we might visit Commissioner Pett, to which, I confess, I have no great mind; and it was answered that he was close prisoner, and we could not; but the Lieutenant of the Tower would send for him to his lodgings, if we would: so we put it off to another time. Returned to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to Captain Cocke's to dinner; where Lord Bruncker and his Lady, Matt. Wren, and Bulteale, and Sir Allen Apsly; the last of whom did make good sport, he being already fallen under the retrenchments of the new Committee, as he is Master Falconer; [The post of Master Falconer was afterwards granted to Charles's son by Nell Gwyn, and it is still held by the Duke of St. Albans, as an hereditary office.--B.] which makes him mad, and swears that we are doing that the Parliament would have done--that is, that we are now endeavouring to destroy one another. But it was well observed by some at the table, that they do not think this retrenching of the King's charge will be so acceptable to the Parliament, they having given the King a revenue of so many L100,000's a-year more than his predecessors had, that he might live in pomp, like a king. After dinner with my Lord Bruncker and his mistress to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Indian Emperour;" where I find Nell come again, which I am glad of; but was most infinitely displeased with her being put to act the Emperour's daughter; which is a great and serious part, which she do most basely. The rest of the play, though pretty good, was not well acted by most of them, methought; so that I took no great content in it. But that, that troubled me most was, that Knipp sent by Moll' to desire to speak to me after the play; and she beckoned to me at the end of the play, and I promised to come; but it was so late, and I forced to step to Mrs. Williams's lodgings with my Lord Bruncker and her, where I did not stay, however, for fear of her shewing me her closet, and thereby forcing me to give her something; and it was so late, that for fear of my wife's coming home before me, I was forced to go straight home, which troubled me. Home and to the office a little, and then home and to my chamber to read, and anon, late, comes home my wife, with Mr. Turner and Mrs. Turner, with whom she supped, having been with Mrs. Turner to-day at her daughter's school, to see her daughters dancing, and the rest, which she says is fine. They gone, I to supper and to bed. My wife very fine to-day, in her new suit of laced cuffs and perquisites. This evening Pelling comes to me, and tells me that this night the Dutch letters are come, and that the peace was proclaimed there the 19th inst., and that all is finished; which, for my life, I know not whether to be glad or sorry for, a peace being so necessary, and yet the peace is so bad in its terms. 23rd. Up, and Greeting comes, who brings me a tune for two flageolets, which we played, and is a tune played at the King's playhouse, which goes so well, that I will have more of them, and it will be a mighty pleasure for me to have my wife able to play a part with me, which she will easily, I find, do. Then abroad to White Hall in a hackney-coach with Sir W. Pen: and in our way, in the narrow street near Paul's, going the backway by Tower Street, and the coach being forced to put back, he was turning himself into a cellar,--[So much of London was yet in ruins.--B]--which made people cry out to us, and so we were forced to leap out--he out of one, and I out of the other boote; [The "boot" was originally a projection on each side of the coach, where the passengers sat with their backs to the carriage. Such a "boot" is seen in the carriage containing the attendants of Queen Elizabeth, in Hoefnagel's well-known picture of Nonsuch Palace, dated 1582. Taylor, the Water Poet, the inveterate opponent of the introduction of coaches, thus satirizes the one in which he was forced to take his place as a passenger: "It wears two boots and no spurs, sometimes having two pairs of legs in one boot; and oftentimes against nature most preposterously it makes fair ladies wear the boot. Moreover, it makes people imitate sea-crabs, in being drawn sideways, as they are when they sit in the boot of the coach." In course of time these projections were abolished, and the coach then consisted of three parts, viz., the body, the boot (on the top of which the coachman sat), and the baskets at the back.] Query, whether a glass-coach would have permitted us to have made the escape?--[See note on introduction of glass coaches, September 23rd, 1667.]--neither of us getting any hurt; nor could the coach have got much hurt had we been in it; but, however, there was cause enough for us to do what we could to save ourselves. So being all dusty, we put into the Castle tavern, by the Savoy, and there brushed ourselves, and then to White Hall with our fellows to attend the Council, by order upon some proposition of my Lord Anglesey, we were called in. The King there: and it was about considering how the fleete might be discharged at their coming in shortly (the peace being now ratified, and it takes place on Monday next, which Sir W. Coventry said would make some clashing between some of us twenty to one, for want of more warning, but the wind has kept the boats from coming over), whether by money or tickets, and cries out against tickets, but the matter was referred for us to provide an answer to, which we must do in a few days. So we parted, and I to Westminster to the Exchequer, to see what sums of money other people lend upon the Act; and find of all sizes from L1000 to L100 nay, to L50, nay, to L20, nay, to L5: for I find that one Dr. Reade, Doctor of Law, gives no more, and others of them L20; which is a poor thing, methinks, that we should stoop so low as to borrow such sums. Upon the whole, I do think to lend, since I must lend, L300, though, God knows! it is much against my will to lend any, unless things were in better condition, and likely to continue so. Thence home and there to dinner, and after dinner by coach out again, setting my wife down at Unthanke's, and I to the Treasury-chamber, where I waited, talking with Sir G. Downing, till the Lords met. He tells me how he will make all the Exchequer officers, of one side and t'other, to lend the King money upon the Act; and that the least clerk shall lend money, and he believes the least will L100: but this I do not believe. He made me almost ashamed that we of the Navy had not in all this time lent any; so that I find it necessary I should, and so will speedily do it, before any of my fellows begin, and lead me to a bigger sum. By and by the Lords come; and I perceive Sir W. Coventry is the man, and nothing done till he comes. Among other things, I hear him observe, looking over a paper, that Sir John Shaw is a miracle of a man, for he thinks he executes more places than any man in England; for there he finds him a Surveyor of some of the King's woods, and so reckoned up many other places, the most inconsistent in the world. Their business with me was to consider how to assigne such of our commanders as will take assignements upon the Act for their wages; and the consideration thereof was referred to me to give them an answer the next sitting: which is a horrid poor thing: but they scruple at nothing of honour in the case. So away hence, and called my wife, and to the King's house, and saw "The Mayden Queene," which pleases us mightily; and then away, and took up Mrs. Turner at her door, and so to Mile End, and there drank, and so back to her house, it being a fine evening, and there supped. The first time I ever was there since they lived there; and she hath all things so neat and well done, that I am mightily pleased with her, and all she do. So here very merry, and then home and to bed, my eyes being very bad. I find most people pleased with their being at ease, and safe of a peace, that they may know no more charge or hazard of an ill-managed war: but nobody speaking of the peace with any content or pleasure, but are silent in it, as of a thing they are ashamed of; no, not at Court, much less in the City. 24th (St. Bartholomew's day). This morning was proclaimed the peace between us and the States of the United Provinces, and also of the King of France and Denmarke; and in the afternoon the Proclamations were printed and come out; and at night the bells rung, but no bonfires that I hear of any where, partly from the dearness of firing, but principally from the little content most people have in the peace. All the morning at the office. At noon dined, and Creed with me, at home. After dinner we to a play, and there saw "The Cardinall" at the King's house, wherewith I am mightily pleased; but, above all, with Becke Marshall. But it is pretty to observe how I look up and down for, and did spy Knipp; but durst not own it to my wife that I see her, for fear of angering her, who do not like my kindness to her, and so I was forced not to take notice of her, and so homeward, leaving Creed at the Temple: and my belly now full with plays, that I do intend to bind myself to see no more till Michaelmas. So with my wife to Mile End, and there drank of Bides ale, and so home. Most of our discourse is about our keeping a coach the next year, which pleases my wife mightily; and if I continue as able as now, it will save us money. This day comes a letter from the Duke of York to the Board to invite us, which is as much as to fright us, into the lending the King money; which is a poor thing, and most dishonourable, and shows in what a case we are at the end of the war to our neighbours. And the King do now declare publickly to give 10 per cent. to all lenders; which makes some think that the Dutch themselves will send over money, and lend it upon our publick faith, the Act of Parliament. So home and to my office, wrote a little, and then home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and thence home; and Pelling comes by invitation to dine with me, and much pleasant discourse with him. After dinner, away by water to White Hall, where I landed Pelling, who is going to his wife, where she is in the country, at Parson's Greene: and myself to Westminster, and there at the Swan I did baiser Frank, and to the parish church, thinking to see Betty Michell; and did stay an hour in the crowd, thinking, by the end of a nose that I saw, that it had been her; but at last the head turned towards me, and it was her mother, which vexed me, and so I back to my boat, which had broke one of her oars in rowing, and had now fastened it again; and so I up to Putney, and there stepped into the church, to look upon the fine people there, whereof there is great store, and the young ladies; and so walked to Barne-Elmes, whither I sent Russel, reading of Boyle's Hydrostatickes, which are of infinite delight. I walked in the Elmes a good while, and then to my boat, and leisurely home, with great pleasure to myself; and there supped, and W. Hewer with us, with whom a great deal of good talk touching the Office, and so to bed. 26th. Up, and Greeting come, and I reckoned with him for his teaching of my wife and me upon the flageolet to this day, and so paid him for having as much as he can teach us. Then to the Office, where we sat upon a particular business all the morning: and my Lord Anglesey with us: who, and my Lord Bruncker, do bring us news how my Lord Chancellor's seal is to be taken away from him to-day. The thing is so great and sudden to me, that it put me into a very great admiration what should be the meaning of it; and they do not own that they know what it should be: but this is certain, that the King did resolve it on Saturday, and did yesterday send the Duke of Albemarle, the only man fit for those works, to him for his purse: to which the Chancellor answered, that he received it from the King, and would deliver it to the King's own hand, and so civilly returned the Duke of Albemarle without it; and this morning my Lord Chancellor is to be with the King, to come to an end in the business. After sitting, we rose, and my wife being gone abroad with Mrs. Turner to her washing at the whitster's, I dined at Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Boreman was, who come from White Hall; who tells us that he saw my Lord Chancellor come in his coach with some of his men, without his Seal, to White Hall to his chamber; and thither the King and Duke of York come and staid together alone, an hour or more: and it is said that the King do say that he will have the Parliament meet, and that it will prevent much trouble by having of him out of their enmity, by his place being taken away; for that all their enmity will be at him. It is said also that my Lord Chancellor answers, that he desires he may be brought to his trial, if he have done any thing to lose his office; and that he will be willing, and is most desirous, to lose that, and his head both together. Upon what terms they parted nobody knows but the Chancellor looked sad, he says. Then in comes Sir Richard Ford, and says he hears that there is nobody more presses to reconcile the King and Chancellor than the Duke of Albemarle and Duke of Buckingham: the latter of which is very strange, not only that he who was so lately his enemy should do it, but that this man, that but the other day was in danger of losing his own head, should so soon come to be a mediator for others: it shows a wise Government. They all say that he [Clarendon] is but a poor man, not worth above L3000 a-year in land; but this I cannot believe: and all do blame him for having built so great a house, till he had got a better estate. Having dined, Sir J. Minnes and I to White Hall, where we could be informed in no more than we were told before, nobody knowing the result of the meeting, but that the matter is suspended. So I walked to the King's playhouse, there to meet Sir W. Pen, and saw "The Surprizall," a very mean play, I thought: or else it was because I was out of humour, and but very little company in the house. But there Sir W. Pen and I had a great deal of discourse with Moll; who tells us that Nell is already left by my Lord Buckhurst, and that he makes sport of her, and swears she hath had all she could get of him; and Hart, [Charles Hart, great-nephew of Shakespeare, a favourite actor. He is credited with being Nell Gwyn's first lover (or Charles I., as the wits put it), and with having brought her on the stage. He died of stone, and was buried at Stanmore Magna, Middlesex, where he had a country house.] her great admirer, now hates her; and that she is very poor, and hath lost my Lady Castlemayne, who was her great friend also but she is come to the House, but is neglected by them all. [Lord Buckhurst's liaison with Nell Gwyn probably came to an end about this time. We learn from Pepys that in January, 1667-68, the king sent several times for Nelly (see January 11th, 1667-68). Nell's eldest son by Charles II., Charles Beauclerc, was not born till May 8th, 1670. He was created Earl of Burford in 1676 and Duke of St. Albans in 1684.] Thence with Sir W. Pen home, and I to the office, where late about business, and then home to supper, and so to bed. 27th. Up, and am invited betimes to be godfather tomorrow to Captain Poole's child with my Lady Pen and Lady Batten, which I accepted out of complaisance to them, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then my wife and I, with Sir W. Pen, to the New Exchange, set her down, and he and I to St. James's, where Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and we waited upon the Duke of York, but did little business, and he, I perceive, his head full of other business, and of late hath not been very ready to be troubled with any of our business. Having done with him, Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten and I to White Hall, and there hear how it is like to go well enough with my Lord Chancellor; that he is like to keep his Seal, desiring that he may stand his trial in Parliament, if they will accuse him of any thing. Here Sir J. Minnes and I looking upon the pictures; and Mr. Chevins, being by, did take us, of his own accord, into the King's closet, to shew us some pictures, which, indeed, is a very noble place, and exceeding great variety of brave pictures, and the best hands. I could have spent three or four hours there well, and we had great liberty to look and Chevins seemed to take pleasure to shew us, and commend the pictures. Having done here, I to the Exchange, and there find my wife gone with Sir W. Pen. So I to visit Colonel Fitzgerald, who hath been long sick at Woolwich, where most of the officers and soldiers quartered there, since the Dutch being in the river, have died or been sick, and he among the rest; and, by the growth of his beard and gray [hairs], I did not know him. His desire to speak with me was about the late command for my paying no more pensions for Tangier. Thence home, and there did business, and so in the evening home to supper and to bed. This day Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, was with me; and tells me how this business of my Lord Chancellor's was certainly designed in my Lady Castlemayne's chamber; and that, when he went from the King on Monday morning, she was in bed, though about twelve o'clock, and ran out in her smock into her aviary looking into White Hall garden; and thither her woman brought her her nightgown; and stood joying herself at the old man's going away: and several of the gallants of White Hall, of which there were many staying to see the Chancellor return, did talk to her in her birdcage; among others, Blancford, telling her she was the bird of paradise. [Clarendon refers to this scene in the continuation of his Life (ed. 1827, vol. iii., p. 291), and Lister writes: "Lady Castlemaine rose hastily from her noontide bed, and came out into her aviary, anxious to read in the saddened air of her distinguished enemy some presage of his fall" ("Life of Clarendon," vol. ii., p. 412).] 28th. Up; and staid undressed till my tailor's boy did mend my vest, in order to my going to the christening anon. Then out and to White Hall, to attend the Council, by their order, with an answer to their demands touching our advice for the paying off of the seamen, when the ships shall come in, which answer is worth seeing, shewing the badness of our condition. There, when I come, I was forced to stay till past twelve o'clock, in a crowd of people in the lobby, expecting the hearing of the great cause of Alderman Barker against my Lord Deputy of Ireland, for his ill usage in his business of land there; but the King and Council sat so long, as they neither heard them nor me. So when they rose, I into the House, and saw the King and Queen at dinner, and heard a little of their viallins' musick, and so home, and there to dinner, and in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, Pen, and her daughter, and my wife, to Mrs. Poole's, where I mighty merry among the women, and christened the child, a girl, Elizabeth, which, though a girl, yet my Lady Batten would have me to give the name. After christening comes Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and Mr. Lowther, and mighty merry there, and I forfeited for not kissing the two godmothers presently after the christening, before I kissed the mother, which made good mirth; and so anon away, and my wife and I took coach and went twice round Bartholomew fayre; which I was glad to see again, after two years missing it by the plague, and so home and to my chamber a little, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and Mr. Moore comes to me, and among other things tells me that my Lord Crew and his friends take it very ill of me that my Lord Sandwich's sea-fee should be retrenched, and so reported from this Office, and I give them no notice of it. The thing, though I know to be false--at least, that nothing went from our office towards it--yet it troubled me, and therefore after the office rose I went and dined with my Lord Crew, and before dinner I did enter into that discourse, and laboured to satisfy him; but found, though he said little, yet that he was not yet satisfied; but after dinner did pray me to go and see how it was, whether true or no. Did tell me if I was not their friend, they could trust to nobody, and that he did not forget my service and love to my Lord, and adventures for him in dangerous times, and therefore would not willingly doubt me now; but yet asked my pardon if, upon this news, he did begin to fear it. This did mightily trouble me: so I away thence to White Hall, but could do nothing. So home, and there wrote all my letters, and then, in the evening, to White Hall again, and there met Sir Richard Browne, Clerk to the Committee for retrenchments, who assures me no one word was ever yet mentioned about my Lord's salary. This pleased me, and I to Sir G. Carteret, who I find in the same doubt about it, and assured me he saw it in our original report, my Lord's name with a discharge against it. This, though I know to be false, or that it must be a mistake in my clerk, I went back to Sir R. Browne and got a sight of their paper, and find how the mistake arose, by the ill copying of it out for the Council from our paper sent to the Duke of York, which I took away with me and shewed Sir G. Carteret, and thence to my Lord Crew, and the mistake ended very merrily, and to all our contents, particularly my own, and so home, and to the office, and then to my chamber late, and so to supper and to bed. I find at Sir G. Carteret's that they do mightily joy themselves in the hopes of my Lord Chancellor's getting over this trouble; and I make them believe, and so, indeed, I do believe he will, that my Lord Chancellor is become popular by it. I find by all hands that the Court is at this day all to pieces, every man of a faction of one sort or other, so as it is to be feared what it will come to. But that, that pleases me is, I hear to-night that Mr. Bruncker is turned away yesterday by the Duke of York, for some bold words he was heard by Colonel Werden to say in the garden, the day the Chancellor was with the King--that he believed the King would be hectored out of everything. For this the Duke of York, who all say hath been very strong for his father-in-law at this trial, hath turned him away: and every body, I think, is glad of it; for he was a pestilent rogue, an atheist, that would have sold his King and country for 6d. almost, so covetous and wicked a rogue he is, by all men's report. But one observed to me, that there never was the occasion of men's holding their tongues at Court and everywhere else as there is at this day, for nobody knows which side will be uppermost. 30th. Up, and to White Hall, where at the Council Chamber I hear Barker's business is like to come to a hearing to-day, having failed the last day. I therefore to Westminster to see what I could do in my 'Chequer business about Tangier, and finding nothing to be done, returned, and in the Lobby staid till almost noon expecting to hear Barker's business, but it was not called, so I come away. Here I met with Sir G. Downing, who tells me of Sir W. Pen's offering to lend L500; and I tell him of my L300, which he would have me to lend upon the credit of the latter part of the Act; saying, that by that means my 10 per cent. will continue to me the longer. But I understand better, and will do it upon the L380,000, which will come to be paid the sooner; there being no delight in lending money now, to be paid by the King two years hence. But here he and Sir William Doyly were attending the Council as Commissioners for sick and wounded, and prisoners: and they told me their business, which was to know how we shall do to release our prisoners; for it seems the Dutch have got us to agree in the treaty, as they fool us in anything, that the dyet of the prisoners on both sides shall be paid for, before they be released; which they have done, knowing ours to run high, they having more prisoners of ours than we have of theirs; so that they are able and most ready to discharge the debt of theirs, but we are neither able nor willing to do that for ours, the debt of those in Zealand only, amounting to above L5000 for men taken in the King's own ships, besides others taken in merchantmen, which expect, as is usual, that the King should redeem them; but I think he will not, by what Sir G. Downing says. This our prisoners complain of there; and say in their letters, which Sir G. Downing shewed me, that they have made a good feat that they should be taken in the service of the King, and the King not pay for their victuals while prisoners for him. But so far they are from doing thus with their men, as we do to discourage ours, that I find in the letters of some of our prisoners there, which he shewed me, that they have with money got our men, that they took, to work and carry their ships home for them; and they have been well rewarded, and released when they come into Holland: which is done like a noble, brave, and wise people. Having staid out my time that I thought fit for me to return home, I home and there took coach and with my wife to Walthamstow; to Sir W. Pen's, by invitation, the first time I have been there, and there find him and all their guests (of our office only) at dinner, which was a very bad dinner, and everything suitable, that I never knew people in my life that make their flutter, that do things so meanly. I was sick to see it, but was merry at some ridiculous humours of my Lady Batten, who, as being an ill-bred woman, would take exceptions at anything any body said, and I made good sport at it. After dinner into the garden and wilderness, which is like the rest of the house, nothing in order, nor looked after. By and by comes newes that my Lady Viner was come to see Mrs. Lowther, which I was glad of, and all the pleasure I had here was to see her, which I did, and saluted her, and find she is pretty, though not so eminently so as people talked of her, and of very pretty carriage and discourse. I sat with them and her an hour talking and pleasant, and then slunk away alone without taking leave, leaving my wife there to come home with them, and I to Bartholomew fayre, to walk up and down; and there, among other things, find my Lady Castlemayne at a puppet-play, "Patient Grizill," [The well-known story, first told by Boccaccio, then by Petrarca, afterwards by Chaucer, and which has since become proverbial. Tom Warton, writing about 1770, says, "I need not mention that it is to this day represented in England, on a stage of the lowest species, and of the highest antiquity: I mean at a puppet show" ("Hist. of English Poetry," sect. xv.).--B.] and the street full of people expecting her coming out. I confess I did wonder at her courage to come abroad, thinking the people would abuse her; but they, silly people! do not know her work she makes, and therefore suffered her with great respect to take coach, and she away, without any trouble at all, which I wondered at, I confess. I only walked up and down, and, among others, saw Tom Pepys, the turner, who hath a shop, and I think lives in the fair when the fair is not. I only asked how he did as he stood in the street, and so up and down sauntering till late and then home, and there discoursed with my wife of our bad entertainment to-day, and so to bed. I met Captain Cocke to-day at the Council Chamber and took him with me to Westminster, who tells me that there is yet expectation that the Chancellor will lose the Seal, and that he is sure that the King hath said it to him who told it him, and he fears we shall be soon broke in pieces, and assures me that there have been high words between the Duke of York and Sir W. Coventry, for his being so high against the Chancellor; so as the Duke of York would not sign some papers that he brought, saying that he could not endure the sight of him: and that Sir W. Coventry answered, that what he did was in obedience to the King's commands; and that he did not think any man fit to serve a Prince, that did not know how to retire and live a country life. This is all I hear. 31st. At the office all the morning; where, by Sir W. Pen, I do hear that the Seal was fetched away to the King yesterday from the Lord Chancellor by Secretary Morrice; which puts me into a great horror, to have it done after so much debate and confidence that it would not be done at last. When we arose I took a turn with Lord Bruncker in the garden, and he tells me that he hath of late discoursed about this business with Sir W. Coventry, who he finds is the great man in the doing this business of the Chancellor's, and that he do persevere in it, though against the Duke of York's opinion, to which he says that the Duke of York was once of the same mind, and if he hath thought fit since, for any reason, to alter his mind, he hath not found any to alter his own, and so desires to be excused, for it is for the King's and kingdom's good. And it seems that the Duke of York himself was the first man that did speak to the King of this, though he hath since altered his mind; and that W. Coventry did tell the Duke of York that he was not fit to serve a Prince that did not know how to retire, and live a private life; and that he was ready for that, if it be his and the King's pleasure. After having wrote my letters at the office in the afternoon, I in the evening to White Hall to see how matters go, and there I met with Mr. Ball, of the Excise-office, and he tells me that the Seal is delivered to Sir Orlando Bridgeman; the man of the whole nation that is the best spoken of, and will please most people; and therefore I am mighty glad of it. He was then at my Lord Arlington's, whither I went, expecting to see him come out; but staid so long, and Sir W. Coventry coming thither, whom I had not a mind should see me there idle upon a post-night, I went home without seeing him; but he is there with his Seal in his hand. So I home, took up my wife, whom I left at Unthanke's, and so home, and after signing my letters to bed. This day, being dissatisfied with my wife's learning so few songs of Goodgroome, I did come to a new bargain with him to teach her songs at so much, viz.; 10s. a song, which he accepts of, and will teach her. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Beginnings of discontents take so much root between us Eat some of the best cheese-cakes that ever I eat in my life Hugged, it being cold now in the mornings . . . . I would not enquire into anything, but let her talk Ill-bred woman, would take exceptions at anything any body said Kingdom will fall back again to a commonwealth Little content most people have in the peace Necessary, and yet the peace is so bad in its terms Never laughed so in all my life. I laughed till my head ached Nobody knows which side will be uppermost Sermon ended, and the church broke up, and my amours ended also Spends his time here most, playing at bowles Take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I should touch her The gates of the City shut, it being so late They want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing Troubled to think what trouble a rogue may without cause give Wise men do prepare to remove abroad what they have 
4180	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER 1667 September 1st (Lord's day). Up, and betimes by water from the Tower, and called at the Old Swan for a glass of strong water, and sent word to have little Michell and his wife come and dine with us to-day; and so, taking in a gentleman and his lady that wanted a boat, I to Westminster. Setting them on shore at Charing Cross, I to Mrs. Martin's, where I had two pair of cuffs which I bespoke, and there did sit and talk with her . . . . and here I did see her little girle my goddaughter, which will be pretty, and there having staid a little I away to Creed's chamber, and when he was ready away to White Hall, where I met with several people and had my fill of talk. Our new Lord-keeper, Bridgeman, did this day, the first time, attend the King to chapel with his Seal. Sir H. Cholmly tells me there are hopes that the women will also have a rout, and particularly that my Lady Castlemayne is coming to a composition with the King to be gone; but how true this is, I know not. Blancfort is made Privy-purse to the Duke of York; the Attorney-general is made Chief justice, in the room of my Lord Bridgeman; the Solicitor-general is made Attorney-general; and Sir Edward Turner made Solicitor-general. It is pretty to see how strange every body looks, nobody knowing whence this arises; whether from my Lady Castlemayne, Bab. May, and their faction; or from the Duke of York, notwithstanding his great appearance of defence of the Chancellor; or from Sir William Coventry, and some few with him. But greater changes are yet expected. So home and by water to dinner, where comes Pelting and young Michell and his wife, whom I have not seen a great while, poor girle, and then comes Mr. Howe, and all dined with me very merry, and spent all the afternoon, Pelting, Howe, and I, and my boy, singing of Lock's response to the Ten Commandments, which he hath set very finely, and was a good while since sung before the King, and spoiled in the performance, which occasioned his printing them for his vindication, and are excellent good. They parted, in the evening my wife and I to walk in the garden and there scolded a little, I being doubtful that she had received a couple of fine pinners (one of point de Gesne), which I feared she hath from some [one] or other of a present; but, on the contrary, I find she hath bought them for me to pay for them, without my knowledge. This do displease me much; but yet do so much please me better than if she had received them the other way, that I was not much angry, but fell to other discourse, and so to my chamber, and got her to read to me for saving of my eyes, and then, having got a great cold, I know not how, I to bed and lay ill at ease all the night. 2nd. This day is kept in the City as a publick fast for the fire this day twelve months: but I was not at church, being commanded, with the rest, to attend the Duke of York; and, therefore, with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, where we had much business before the Duke of York, and observed all things to be very kind between the Duke of York and W. Coventry, which did mightily joy me. When we had done, Sir W. Coventry called me down with him to his chamber, and there told me that he is leaving the Duke of York's service, which I was amazed at. But he tells me that it is not with the least unkindness on the Duke of York's side, though he expects, and I told him he was in the right, it will be interpreted otherwise, because done just at this time; "but," says he, "I did desire it a good while since, and the Duke of York did, with much entreaty, grant it, desiring that I would say nothing of it, that he might have time and liberty to choose his successor, without being importuned for others whom he should not like:" and that he hath chosen Mr. Wren, which I am glad of, he being a very ingenious man; and so Sir W. Coventry says of him, though he knows him little; but particularly commends him for the book he writ in answer to "Harrington's Oceana," which, for that reason, I intend to buy. He tells me the true reason is, that he, being a man not willing to undertake more business than he can go through, and being desirous to have his whole time to spend upon the business of the Treasury, and a little for his own ease, he did desire this of the Duke of York. He assures me that the kindness with which he goes away from the Duke of York is one of the greatest joys that ever he had in the world. I used some freedom with him, telling him how the world hath discoursed of his having offended the Duke of York, about the late business of the Chancellor. He do not deny it, but says that perhaps the Duke of York might have some reason for it, he opposing him in a thing wherein he was so earnest but tells me, that, notwithstanding all that, the Duke of York does not now, nor can blame him; for he tells me that he was the man that did propose the removal of the Chancellor; and that he did still persist in it, and at this day publickly owns it, and is glad of it; but that the Duke of York knows that he did first speak of it to the Duke of York, before he spoke to any mortal creature besides, which was fair dealing: and the Duke of York was then of the same mind with him, and did speak of it to the King; though since, for reasons best known to himself, he was afterwards altered. I did then desire to know what was the great matter that grounded his desire of the Chancellor's removal? He told me many things not fit to be spoken, and yet not any thing of his being unfaithful to the King; but, 'instar omnium', he told me, that while he was so great at the Council-board, and in the administration of matters, there was no room for any body to propose any remedy to what was amiss, or to compass any thing, though never so good for the kingdom, unless approved of by the Chancellor, he managing all things with that greatness which now will be removed, that the King may have the benefit of others' advice. I then told him that the world hath an opinion that he hath joined himself with my Lady Castlemayne's faction in this business; he told me, he cannot help it, but says they are in an errour: but for first he will never, while he lives, truckle under any body or any faction, but do just as his own reason and judgment directs; and, when he cannot use that freedom, he will have nothing to do in public affairs but then he added, that he never was the man that ever had any discourse with my Lady Castlemayne, or with others from her, about this or any public business, or ever made her a visit, or at least not this twelvemonth, or been in her lodgings but when called on any business to attend the King there, nor hath had any thing to do in knowing her mind in this business. He ended all with telling me that he knows that he that serves a Prince must expect, and be contented to stand, all fortunes, and be provided to retreat, and that that he is most willing to do whenever the King shall please. And so we parted, he setting me down out of his coach at Charing Cross, and desired me to tell Sir W. Pen what he had told me of his leaving the Duke of York's service, that his friends might not be the last that know it. I took a coach and went homewards; but then turned again, and to White Hall, where I met with many people; and, among other things, do learn that there is some fear that Mr. Bruncker is got into the King's favour, and will be cherished there; which will breed ill will between the King and Duke of York, he lodging at this time in White Hall since he was put away from the Duke of York: and he is great with Bab. May, my Lady Castlemayne, and that wicked crew. But I find this denied by Sir G. Carteret, who tells me that he is sure he hath no kindness from the King; that the King at first, indeed, did endeavour to persuade the Duke of York from putting him away; but when, besides this business of his ill words concerning his Majesty in the business of the Chancellor, he told him that he hath had, a long time, a mind to put him away for his ill offices, done between him and his wife, the King held his peace, and said no more, but wished him to do what he pleased with him; which was very noble. I met with Fenn; and he tells me, as I do hear from some others, that the business of the Chancellor's had proceeded from something of a mistake, for the Duke of York did first tell the King that the Chancellor had a desire to be eased of his great trouble; and that the King, when the Chancellor come to him, did wonder to hear him deny it, and the Duke of York was forced to deny to the King that ever he did tell him so in those terms: but the King did answer that he was sure that he did say some such thing to him; but, however, since it had gone so far, did desire him to be contented with it, as a thing very convenient for him as well as for himself (the King), and so matters proceeded, as we find. Now it is likely the Chancellor might, some time or other, in a compliment or vanity, say to the Duke of York, that he was weary of this burden, and I know not what; and this comes of it. Some people, and myself among them, are of good hope from this change that things are reforming; but there are others that do think but that it is a hit of chance, as all other our greatest matters are, and that there is no general plot or contrivance in any number of people what to do next, though, I believe, Sir W. Coventry may in himself have further designs; and so that, though other changes may come, yet they shall be accidental and laid upon [not] good principles of doing good. Mr. May shewed me the King's new buildings, in order to their having of some old sails for the closing of the windows this winter. I dined with Sir G. Carteret, with whom dined Mr. Jack Ashburnham and Dr. Creeton, who I observe to be a most good man and scholar. In discourse at dinner concerning the change of men's humours and fashions touching meats, Mr. Ashburnham told us, that he remembers since the only fruit in request, and eaten by the King and Queen at table as the best fruit, was the Katharine payre, though they knew at the time other fruits of France and our own country. After dinner comes in Mr. Townsend; and there I was witness of a horrid rateing, which Mr. Ashburnham, as one of the Grooms of the King's Bedchamber, did give him for want of linen for the King's person; which he swore was not to be endured, and that the King would not endure it, and that the King his father, would have hanged his Wardrobe-man should he have been served so the King having at this day no handkerchers, and but three bands to his neck, he swore. Mr. Townsend answered want of money, and the owing of the linen-draper L5000; and that he hath of late got many rich things made--beds, and sheets, and saddles, and all without money, and he can go no further but still this old man, indeed, like an old loving servant, did cry out for the King's person to be neglected. But, when he was gone, Townsend told me that it is the grooms taking away the King's linen at the quarter's end, as their fees, which makes this great want: for, whether the King can get it or no, they will run away at the quarter's end with what he hath had, let the King get more as he can. All the company gone, Sir G. Carteret and I to talk: and it is pretty to observe how already he says that he did always look upon the Chancellor indeed as his friend, though he never did do him any service at all, nor ever got any thing by him, nor was he a man apt, and that, I think, is true, to do any man any kindness of his own nature; though I do know that he was believed by all the world to be the greatest support of Sir G. Carteret with the King of any man in England: but so little is now made of it! He observes that my Lord Sandwich will lose a great friend in him; and I think so too, my Lord Hinchingbroke being about a match calculated purely out of respect to my Lord Chancellor's family. By and by Sir G. Carteret, and Townsend, and I, to consider of an answer to the Commissioners of the Treasury about my Lord Sandwich's profits in the Wardrobe; which seem, as we make them, to be very small, not L1000 a-year; but only the difference in measure at which he buys and delivers out to the King, and then 6d. in the pound from the tradesmen for what money he receives for him; but this, it is believed, these Commissioners will endeavour to take away. From him I went to see a great match at tennis, between Prince Rupert and one Captain Cooke, against Bab. May and the elder Chichly; where the King was, and Court; and it seems are the best players at tennis in the nation. But this puts me in mind of what I observed in the morning, that the King, playing at tennis, had a steele-yard carried to him, and I was told it was to weigh him after he had done playing; and at noon Mr. Ashburnham told me that it is only the King's curiosity, which he usually hath of weighing himself before and after his play, to see how much he loses in weight by playing: and this day he lost 4 lbs. Thence home and took my wife out to Mile End Green, and there I drank, and so home, having a very fine evening. Then home, and I to Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and there discoursed of Sir W. Coventry's leaving the Duke of York, and Mr. Wren's succeeding him. They told me both seriously, that they had long cut me out for Secretary to the Duke of York, if ever [Sir] W. Coventry left him; which, agreeing with what I have heard from other hands heretofore, do make me not only think that something of that kind hath been thought on, but do comfort me to see that the world hath such an esteem of my qualities as to think me fit for any such thing. Though I am glad, with all my heart, that I am not so; for it would never please me to be forced to the attendance that that would require, and leave my wife and family to themselves, as I must do in such a case; thinking myself now in the best place that ever man was in to please his own mind in, and, therefore, I will take care to preserve it. So to bed, my cold remaining though not so much upon me. This day Nell, an old tall maid, come to live with us, a cook maid recommended by Mr. Batelier. 3rd. All the morning, business at the office, dined at home, then in the afternoon set my wife down at the Exchange, and I to St. James's, and there attended the Duke of York about the list of ships that we propose to sell: and here there attended Mr. Wren the first time, who hath not yet, I think, received the Duke of York's seal and papers. At our coming hither, we found the Duke and Duchesse all alone at dinner, methought melancholy; or else I thought so, from the late occasion of the Chancellor's fall, who, they say, however, takes it very contentedly. Thence I to White Hall a little, and so took up my wife at the 'Change, and so home, and at the office late, and so home to supper and to bed, our boy ill. 4th. By coach to White Hall to the Council-chamber; and there met with Sir W. Coventry going in, who took me aside, and told me that he was just come from delivering up his seal and papers to Mr. Wren; and told me he must now take his leave of me as a naval man, but that he shall always bear respect to his friends there, and particularly to myself, with great kindness; which I returned to him with thanks, and so, with much kindness parted: and he into, the Council. I met with Sir Samuel Morland, who chewed me two orders upon the Exchequer, one of L600, and another of L400, for money assigned to him, which he would have me lend him money upon, and he would allow 12 per cent. I would not meddle with them, though they are very good; and would, had I not so much money out already on public credit. But I see by this his condition all trade will be bad. I staid and heard Alderman Barker's case of his being abused by the Council of Ireland, touching his lands there: all I observed there is the silliness of the King, playing with his dog all the while, and not minding the business, [Lord Rochester wrote "His very dog at council board Sits grave and wise as any lord." Poems, 1697; p. 150.--The king's dogs were constantly stolen from him, and he advertised for their return. Some of these amusing advertisements are printed in "Notes and Queries" (seventh series, vol. vii., p. 26).] and what he said was mighty weak; but my Lord Keeper I observe to be a mighty able man. The business broke off without any end to it, and so I home, and thence with my wife and W. Hewer to Bartholomew fayre, and there Polichinelli, where we saw Mrs. Clerke and all her crew; and so to a private house, and sent for a side of pig, and eat it at an acquaintance of W. Hewer's, where there was some learned physic and chymical books, and among others, a natural "Herball" very fine. Here we staid not, but to the Duke of York's play house, and there saw "Mustapha," which, the more I see, the more I like; and is a most admirable poem, and bravely acted; only both Betterton and Harris could not contain from laughing in the midst of a most serious part from the ridiculous mistake of one of the men upon the stage; which I did not like. Thence home, where Batelier and his sister Mary come to us and sat and talked, and so, they gone, we to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where we sat till noon, and then I home to dinner, where Mary Batelier and her brother dined with us, who grows troublesome in his talking so much of his going to Marseilles, and what commissions he hath to execute as a factor, and a deal of do of which I am weary. After dinner, with Sir W. Pen, my wife, and Mary Batelier to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Heraclius," which is a good play; but they did so spoil it with their laughing, and being all of them out, and with the noise they made within the theatre, that I was ashamed of it, and resolve not to come thither again a good while, believing that this negligence, which I never observed before, proceeds only from their want of company in the pit, that they have no care how they act. My wife was ill, and so I was forced to go out of the house with her to Lincoln's Inn walks, and there in a corner she did her business, and was by and by well, and so into the house again, but sick of their ill acting. So home and to the office, where busy late, then home to supper and to bed. This morning was told by Sir W. Batten, that he do hear from Mr. Grey, who hath good intelligence, that our Queen is to go into a nunnery, there to spend her days; and that my Lady Castlemayne is going into France, and is to have a pension of L4000 a-year. This latter I do more believe than the other, it being very wise in her to do it, and save all she hath, besides easing the King and kingdom of a burden and reproach. 6th. Up, and to Westminster to the Exchequer, and then into the Hall, and there bought "Guillim's Heraldry" for my wife, and so to the Swan, and thither come Doll Lane, and je did toucher her, and drank, and so away, I took coach and home, where I find my wife gone to Walthamstow by invitation with Sir W. Batten, and so I followed, taking up Mrs. Turner, and she and I much discourse all the way touching the baseness of Sir W. Pen and sluttishness of his family, and how the world do suspect that his son Lowther, who is sick of a sore mouth, has got the pox. So we come to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir W. Pen and his Lady, and we and Mrs. Shipman, and here we walked and had an indifferent good dinner, the victuals very good and cleanly dressed and good linen, but no fine meat at all. After dinner we went up and down the house, and I do like it very well, being furnished with a great deal of very good goods. And here we staid, I tired with the company, till almost evening, and then took leave, Turner and I together again, and my wife with [Sir] W. Pen. At Aldgate I took my wife into our coach, and so to Bartholomew fair, and there, it being very dirty, and now night, we saw a poor fellow, whose legs were tied behind his back, dance upon his hands with his arse above his head, and also dance upon his crutches, without any legs upon the ground to help him, which he did with that pain that I was sorry to see it, and did pity him and give him money after he had done. Then we to see a piece of clocke-work made by an Englishman--indeed, very good, wherein all the several states of man's age, to 100 years old, is shewn very pretty and solemne; and several other things more cheerful, and so we ended, and took a link, the women resolving to be dirty, and walked up and down to get a coach; and my wife, being a little before me, had been like to be taken up by one, whom we saw to be Sam Hartlib. My wife had her wizard on: yet we cannot say that he meant any hurt; for it was as she was just by a coach-side, which he had, or had a mind to take up; and he asked her, "Madam, do you go in this coach?" but, soon as he saw a man come to her (I know not whether he knew me) he departed away apace. By and by did get a coach, and so away home, and there to supper, and to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Goodgroome was teaching my wife, and dined with us, and I did tell him of my intention to learn to trill, which he will not promise I shall obtain, but he will do what can be done, and I am resolved to learn. All the afternoon at the office, and towards night out by coach with my wife, she to the 'Change, and I to see the price of a copper cisterne for the table, which is very pretty, and they demand L6 or L7 for one; but I will have one. Then called my wife at the 'Change, and bought a nightgown for my wife: cost but 24s., and so out to Mile End to drink, and so home to the office to end my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to St. James's; but there I find Sir W. Coventry gone from his chamber, and Mr. Wren not yet come thither. But I up to the Duke of York, and there, after being ready, my Lord Bruncker and I had an audience, and thence with my Lord Bruncker to White Hall, and he told me, in discourse, how that, though it is true that Sir W. Coventry did long since propose to the Duke of York the leaving his service, as being unable to fulfill it, as he should do, now he hath so much public business, and that the Duke of York did bid him to say nothing of it, but that he would take time to please himself in another to come in his place; yet the Duke's doing it at this time, declaring that he hath found out another, and this one of the Chancellor's servants, he cannot but think was done with some displeasure, and that it could not well be otherwise, that the Duke of York should keep one in that place, that had so eminently opposed him in the defence of his father-in-law, nor could the Duchesse ever endure the sight of him, to be sure. But he thinks that the Duke of York and he are parted upon clear terms of friendship. He tells me he do believe that my Lady Castlemayne is compounding with the King for a pension, and to leave the Court; but that her demands are mighty high: but he believes the King is resolved, and so do every body else I speak with, to do all possible to please the Parliament; and he do declare that he will deliver every body up to them to give an account of their actions: and that last Friday, it seems, there was an Act of Council passed, to put out all Papists in office, and to keep out any from coming in. I went to the King's Chapel to the closet, and there I hear Cresset sing a tenor part along with the Church musick very handsomely, but so loud that people did laugh at him, as a thing done for ostentation. Here I met Sir G. Downing, who would speak with me, and first to inquire what I paid for my kid's leather gloves I had on my hand, and shewed me others on his, as handsome, as good in all points, cost him but 12d. a pair, and mine me 2s. He told me he had been seven years finding out a man that could dress English sheepskin as it should be--and, indeed, it is now as good, in all respects, as kid, and he says will save L100,000 a-year, that goes out to France for kid's skins. Thus he labours very worthily to advance our own trade, but do it with mighty vanity and talking. But then he told me of our base condition, in the treaty with Holland and France, about our prisoners, that whereas before we did clear one another's prisoners, man for man, and we upon the publication of the peace did release all our's, 300 at Leith, and others in other places for nothing, the Dutch do keep theirs, and will not discharge them with[out] paying their debts according to the Treaty. That his instruments in Holland, writing to our Embassadors about this to Bredagh, they answer them that they do not know of any thing that they have done therein, but left it just as it was before. To which, when they answer, that by the treaty their Lordships had [not] bound our countrymen to pay their debts in prison, they answer they cannot help it, and we must get them off as cheap as we can. On this score, they demand L1100 for Sir G. Ascue, and L5000 for the one province of Zealand, for the prisoners that we have therein. He says that this is a piece of shame that never any nation committed, and that our very Lords here of the Council, when he related this matter to them, did not remember that they had agreed to this article; and swears that all their articles are alike, as the giving away Polleroon, and Surinam, and Nova Scotia, which hath a river 300 miles up the country, with copper mines more than Swedeland, and Newcastle coals, the only place in America that hath coals that we know of; and that Cromwell did value those places, and would for ever have made much of them; but we have given them away for nothing, besides a debt to the King of Denmarke. But, which is most of all, they have discharged those very particular demands of merchants of the Guinny Company and others, which he, when he was there, had adjusted with the Dutch, and come to an agreement in writing, and they undertaken to satisfy, and that this was done in black and white under their hands; and yet we have forgiven all these, and not so much as sent to Sir G. Downing to know what he had done, or to confer with him about any one point of the treaty, but signed to what they would have, and we here signed to whatever in grosse was brought over by Mr. Coventry. And [Sir G. Downing] tells me, just in these words, "My Lord Chancellor had a mind to keep himself from being questioned by clapping up a peace upon any terms." When I answered that there was other privy-councillors to be advised with besides him, and that, therefore, this whole peace could not be laid to his charge, he answered that nobody durst say any thing at the council-table but himself, and that the King was as much afeard of saying any thing there as the meanest privy-councillor; and says more, that at this day the King, in familiar talk, do call the Chancellor "the insolent man," and says that he would not let him speak himself in Council: which is very high, and do shew that the Chancellor is like to be in a bad state, unless he can defend himself better than people think. And yet Creed tells me that he do hear that my Lord Cornbury do say that his father do long for the coming of the Parliament, in order to his own vindication, more than any one of his enemies. And here it comes into my head to set down what Mr. Rawlinson, whom I met in Fenchurch Street on Friday last, looking over his ruines there, told me, that he was told by one of my Lord Chancellor's gentlemen lately (--------byname), that a grant coming to him to be sealed, wherein the King hath given her [Lady Castlemaine], or somebody by her means, a place which he did not like well of, he did stop the grant; saying, that he thought this woman would sell everything shortly: which she hearing of, she sent to let him know that she had disposed of this place, and did not doubt, in a little time, to dispose of his. This Rawlinson do tell me my Lord Chancellor's own gentleman did tell him himself. Thence, meeting Creed, I with him to the Parke, there to walk a little, and to the Queen's Chapel and there hear their musique, which I liked in itself pretty well as to the composition, but their voices are very harsh and rough that I thought it was some instruments they had that made them sound so. So to White Hall, and saw the King and Queen at dinner; and observed (which I never did before), the formality, but it is but a formality, of putting a bit of bread wiped upon each dish into the mouth of every man that brings a dish; but it should be in the sauce. Here were some Russes come to see the King at dinner: among others, the interpreter, a comely Englishman, in the Envoy's own clothes; which the Envoy, it seems, in vanity did send to show his fine clothes upon this man's back, which is one, it seems, of a comelier presence than himself: and yet it is said that none of their clothes are their own, but taken out of the King's own Wardrobe; and which they dare not bring back dirty or spotted, but clean, or are in danger of being beaten, as they say: insomuch that, Sir Charles Cotterell says, when they are to have an audience they never venture to put on their clothes till he appears to come to fetch them; and, as soon as ever they come home, put them off again. I to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; where Mr. Cofferer Ashburnham; who told a good story of a prisoner's being condemned at Salisbury for a small matter. While he was on the bench with his father-in-law, judge Richardson, and while they were considering to transport him to save his life, the fellow flung a great stone at the judge, that missed him, but broke through the wainscoat. Upon this, he had his hand cut off, and was hanged presently! Here was a gentleman, one Sheres, one come lately from my Lord Sandwich, with an express; but, Lord! I was almost ashamed to see him, lest he should know that I have not yet wrote one letter to my Lord since his going. I had no discourse with him, but after dinner Sir G. Carteret and I to talk about some business of his, and so I to Mrs. Martin, where was Mrs. Burroughs, and also fine Mrs. Noble, my partner in the christening of Martin's child, did come to see it, and there we sat and talked an hour, and then all broke up and I by coach home, and there find Mr. Pelling and Howe, and we to sing and good musique till late, and then to supper, and Howe lay at my house, and so after supper to bed with much content, only my mind a little troubled at my late breach of vowes, which however I will pay my forfeits, though the badness of my eyes, making me unfit to read or write long, is my excuse, and do put me upon other pleasures and employment which I should refrain from in observation of my vowes. 9th. Up; and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon comes Creed to dine with me. After dinner, he and I and my wife to the Bear-Garden, to see a prize fought there. But, coming too soon, I left them there and went on to White Hall, and there did some business with the Lords of the Treasury; and here do hear, by Tom Killigrew and Mr. Progers, that for certain news is come of Harman's having spoiled nineteen of twenty-two French ships, somewhere about the Barbadoes, I think they said; but wherever it is, it is a good service, and very welcome. Here I fell in talk with Tom Killigrew about musick, and he tells me that he will bring me to the best musick in England (of which, indeed, he is master), and that is two Italians and Mrs. Yates, who, he says, is come to sing the Italian manner as well as ever he heard any: says that Knepp won't take pains enough, but that she understands her part so well upon the stage, that no man or woman in the House do the like. Thence I by water to the Bear-Garden, where now the yard was full of people, and those most of them seamen, striving by force to get in, that I was afeard to be seen among them, but got into the ale-house, and so by a back-way was put into the bull-house, where I stood a good while all alone among the bulls, and was afeard I was among the bears, too; but by and by the door opened, and I got into the common pit; and there, with my cloak about my face, I stood and saw the prize fought, till one of them, a shoemaker, was so cut in both his wrists that he could not fight any longer, and then they broke off: his enemy was a butcher. The sport very good, and various humours to be seen among the rabble that is there. Thence carried Creed to White Hall, and there my wife and I took coach and home, and both of us to Sir W. Batten's, to invite them to dinner on Wednesday next, having a whole buck come from Hampton Court, by the warrant which Sir Stephen Fox did give me. And so home to supper and to bed, after a little playing on the flageolet with my wife, who do outdo therein whatever I expected of her. 10th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where little to do but bemoan ourselves under the want of money; and indeed little is, or can be done, for want of money, we having not now received one penny for any service in many weeks, and none in view to receive, saving for paying of some seamen's wages. At noon sent to by my Lord Bruncker to speak with him, and it was to dine with him and his Lady Williams (which I have not now done in many months at their own table) and Mr. Wren, who is come to dine with them, the first time he hath been at the office since his being the Duke of York's Secretary. Here we sat and eat and talked and of some matters of the office, but his discourse is as yet but weak in that matter, and no wonder, he being new in it, but I fear he will not go about understanding with the impatience that Sir W. Coventry did. Having dined, I away, and with my wife and Mercer, set my wife down at the 'Change, and the other at White Hall, and I to St. James's, where we all met, and did our usual weekly business with the Duke of York. But, Lord! methinks both he and we are mighty flat and dull over what we used to be, when Sir W. Coventry was among us. Thence I into St. James's Park, and there met Mr. Povy; and he and I to walk an hour or more in the Pell Mell, talking of the times. He tells me, among other things, that this business of the Chancellor do breed a kind of inward distance between the King and the Duke of York, and that it cannot be avoided; for though the latter did at first move it through his folly, yet he is made to see that he is wounded by it, and is become much a less man than he was, and so will be: but he tells me that they are, and have always been, great dissemblers one towards another; and that their parting heretofore in France is never to be thoroughly reconciled between them. He tells me that he believes there is no such thing like to be, as a composition with my Lady Castlemayne, and that she shall be got out of the way before the Parliament comes; for he says she is as high as ever she was, though he believes the King is as weary of her as is possible, and would give any thing to remove her, but he is so weak in his passion that he dare not do it; that he do believe that my Lord Chancellor will be doing some acts in the Parliament which shall render him popular; and that there are many people now do speak kindly of him that did not before; but that, if he do do this, it must provoke the King, and that party that removed him. He seems to doubt what the King of France will do, in case an accommodation shall be made between Spain and him for Flanders, for then he will have nothing more easy to do with his army than to subdue us. Parted with him at White Hall, and, there I took coach and took up my wife and Mercer, and so home and I to the office, where ended my letters, and then to my chamber with my boy to lay up some papers and things that lay out of order against to-morrow, to make it clear against the feast that I am to have. Here Mr. Pelling come to sit with us, and talked of musique and the musicians of the town, and so to bed, after supper. 11th. Up, and with Mr. Gawden to the Exchequer. By the way, he tells me this day he is to be answered whether he must hold Sheriffe or no; for he would not hold unless he may keep it at his office, which is out of the city (and so my Lord Mayor must come with his sword down, whenever he comes thither), which he do, because he cannot get a house fit for him in the city, or else he will fine for it. Among others that they have in nomination for Sheriffe, one is little Chaplin, who was his servant, and a very young man to undergo that place; but as the city is now, there is no great honour nor joy to be had, in being a public officer. At the Exchequer I looked after my business, and when done went home to the 'Change, and there bought a case of knives for dinner, and a dish of fruit for 5s., and bespoke other things, and then home, and here I find all things in good order, and a good dinner towards. Anon comes Sir W. Batten and his lady, and Mr. Griffith, their ward, and Sir W. Pen and his lady, and Mrs. Lowther, who is grown, either through pride or want of manners, a fool, having not a word to say almost all dinner; and, as a further mark of a beggarly, proud fool, hath a bracelet of diamonds and rubies about her wrist, and a sixpenny necklace about her neck, and not one good rag of clothes upon her back; and Sir John Chichly in their company, and Mrs. Turner. Here I had an extraordinary good and handsome dinner for them, better than any of them deserve or understand, saving Sir John Chichly and Mrs. Turner, and not much mirth, only what I by discourse made, and that against my genius. After dinner I took occasion to break up the company soon as I could, and all parted, Sir W. Batten and I by water to White Hall, there to speak with the Commissioners of the Treasury, who are mighty earnest for our hastening all that may be the paying off of the Seamen, now there is money, and are considering many other thins for easing of charge, which I am glad of, but vexed to see that J. Duncomb should be so pressing in it as if none of us had like care with him. Having done there, I by coach to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw part of "The Ungratefull Lovers;" and sat by Beck Marshall, who is very handsome near hand. Here I met Mrs. Turner and my wife as we agreed, and together home, and there my wife and I part of the night at the flageolet, which she plays now any thing upon almost at first sight and in good time. But here come Mr. Moore, and sat and discoursed with me of publique matters: the sum of which is, that he do doubt that there is more at the bottom than the removal of the Chancellor; that is, he do verily believe that the King do resolve to declare the Duke of Monmouth legitimate, and that we shall soon see it. This I do not think the Duke of York will endure without blows; but his poverty, and being lessened by having the Chancellor fallen and [Sir] W. Coventry gone from him, will disable him from being able to do any thing almost, he being himself almost lost in the esteem of people; and will be more and more, unless my Lord Chancellor, who is already begun to be pitied by some people, and to be better thought of than was expected, do recover himself in Parliament. He would seem to fear that this difference about the Crowne (if there be nothing else) will undo us. He do say that, that is very true; that my Lord [Chancellor] did lately make some stop of some grants of L2000 a-year to my Lord Grandison, which was only in his name, for the use of my Lady Castlemaine's children; and that this did incense her, and she did speak very scornful words, and sent a scornful message to him about it. He gone, after supper, I to bed, being mightily pleased with my wife's playing so well upon the flageolet, and I am resolved she shall learn to play upon some instrument, for though her eare be bad, yet I see she will attain any thing to be done by her hand. 12th. Up, and at the office all the morning till almost noon, and then I rode from the office (which I have not done five times I think since I come thither) and to the Exchequer for some tallies for Tangier; and that being done, to the Dog taverne, and there I spent half a piece upon the clerks, and so away, and I to Mrs. Martin's, but she not at home, but staid and drunk with her sister and landlady, and by that time it was time to go to a play, which I did at the Duke's house, where "Tu Quoque" was the first time acted, with some alterations of Sir W. Davenant's; but the play is a very silly play, methinks; for I, and others that sat by me, Mr. Povy and Mr. Progers, were weary of it; but it will please the citizens. My wife also was there, I having sent for her to meet me there, and W. Hewer. After the play we home, and there I to the office and despatched my business, and then home, and mightily pleased with my wife's playing on the flageolet, she taking out any tune almost at first sight, and keeping time to it, which pleases me mightily. So to supper and to bed. 13th. Called up by people come to deliver in ten chaldron of coals, brought in one of our prizes from Newcastle. The rest we intend to sell, we having above ten chaldron between us. They sell at about 28s. or 29s. per chaldron; but Sir W. Batten hath sworn that he was a cuckold that sells under 30s., and that makes us lay up all but what we have for our own spending, which is very pleasant; for I believe we shall be glad to sell them for less. To the office, and there despatched business till ten o'clock, and then with Sir W. Batten and my wife and Mrs. Turner by hackney-coach to Walthamstow, to Mr. Shipman's to dinner, where Sir W. Pen and my Lady and Mrs. Lowther (the latter of which hath got a sore nose, given her, I believe, from her husband, which made me I could not look upon her with any pleasure), and here a very good and plentifull wholesome dinner, and, above all thing, such plenty of milk meats, she keeping a great dairy, and so good as I never met with. The afternoon proved very foul weather, the morning fair. We staid talking till evening, and then home, and there to my flageolet with my wife, and so to bed without any supper, my belly being full and dinner not digested. It vexed me to hear how Sir W. Pen, who come alone from London, being to send his coachman for his wife and daughter, and bidding his coachman in much anger to go for them (he being vexed, like a rogue, to do anything to please his wife), his coachman Tom was heard to say a pox, or God rot her, can she walk hither? These words do so mad me that I could find in my heart to give him or my Lady notice of them. 14th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon comes Mr. Pierce and dined with me to advise about several matters of his relating to the office and his purse, and here he told me that the King and Duke of York and the whole Court is mighty joyful at the Duchesse of York's being brought to bed this day, or yesterday, of a son; which will settle men's minds mightily. And he tells me that he do think that what the King do, of giving the Duke of Monmouth the command of his Guards, and giving my Lord Gerard L12,000 for it, is merely to find an employment for him upon which he may live, and not out of any design to bring him into any title to the Crowne; which Mr. Moore did the other day put me into great fear of. After dinner, he gone, my wife to the King's play-house to see "The Northerne Castle," which I think I never did see before. Knipp acted in it, and did her part very extraordinary well; but the play is but a mean, sorry play; but the house very full of gallants. It seems, it hath not been acted a good while. Thence to the Exchange for something for my wife, and then home and to the office, and then home to our flageolet, and so to bed, being mightily troubled in mind at the liberty I give myself of going to plays upon pretence of the weakness of my eyes, that cannot continue so long together at work at my office, but I must remedy it. 15th (Lord's day). Up to my chamber, there to set some papers to rights. By and by to church, where I stood, in continual fear of Mrs. Markham's coming to church, and offering to come into our pew, to prevent which, soon as ever I heard the great door open, I did step back, and clap my breech to our pew-door, that she might be forced to shove me to come in; but as God would have it, she did not come. Mr. Mills preached, and after sermon, by invitation, he and his wife come to dine with me, which is the first time they have been in my house; I think, these five years, I thinking it not amiss, because of their acquaintance in our country, to shew them some respect. Mr. Turner and his wife, and their son the Captain, dined with me, and I had a very good dinner for them, and very merry, and after dinner, he [Mr. Mills] was forced to go, though it rained, to Stepney, to preach. We also to church, and then home, and there comes Mr. Pelling, with two men, by promise, one Wallington and Piggott, the former whereof, being a very little fellow, did sing a most excellent bass, and yet a poor fellow, a working goldsmith, that goes without gloves to his hands. Here we sung several good things, but I am more and more confirmed that singing with many voices is not singing, but a sort of instrumental musique, the sense of the words being lost by not being heard, and especially as they set them with Fuges of words, one after another, whereas singing properly, I think, should be but with one or two voices at most and the counterpoint. They supped with me, and so broke, up, and then my wife and I to my chamber, where, through the badness of my eyes, she was forced to read to me, which she do very well, and was Mr. Boyle's discourse upon the style of the Scripture,' which is a very fine piece, and so to bed. 16th. Up, and several come to me, among others Mr. Yeabsly of Plymouth, to discourse about their matters touching Tangier, and by and by Sir H. Cholmly, who was with me a good while; who tells me that the Duke of York's child is christened, the Duke of Albemarle and the Marquis of Worcester' godfathers, and my Lady Suffolke godmother; and they have named it Edgar, which is a brave name. But it seems they are more joyful in the Chancellor's family, at the birth of this Prince, than in wisdom they should, for fear it should give the King cause of jealousy. Sir H. Cholmly do not seem to think there is any such thing can be in the King's intention as that of raising the Duke of Monmouth to the Crowne, though he thinks there may possibly be some persons that would, and others that would be glad to have the Queen removed to some monastery, or somewhere or other, to make room for a new wife; for they will all be unsafe under the Duke of York. He says the King and Parliament will agree; that is, that the King will do any thing that they will have him. We together to the Exchequer about our Tangier orders, and so parted at the New Exchange, where I staid reading Mrs. Phillips's poems till my wife and Mercer called me to Mrs. Pierces, by invitation to dinner, where I find her painted, which makes me loathe her, and the nastiest poor dinner that made me sick, only here I met with a Fourth Advice to the Painter upon the coming in of the Dutch to the River and end of the war, that made my heart ake to read, it being too sharp, and so true. Here I also saw a printed account of the examinations taken, touching the burning of the City of London, shewing the plot of the Papists therein; which, it seems, hath been ordered and to have been burnt by the hands of the hangman, in Westminster Palace. I will try to get one of them. After dinner she showed us her closet, which is pretty, with her James's picture done by Hales, but with a mighty bad hand, which is his great fault that he do do negligently, and the drapery also not very good. Being tired of being here, and sick of their damned sluttish dinner, my wife and Mercer and I away to the King's play-house, to see the "Scornfull Lady;" but it being now three o'clock there was not one soul in the pit; whereupon, for shame, we would not go in, but, against our wills, went all to see "Tu Quoque" again, where there is a pretty store of company, and going with a prejudice the play appeared better to us. Here we saw Madam Morland, who is grown mighty fat, but is very comely. But one of the best arts of our sport was a mighty pretty lady that sat behind, that did laugh so heartily and constantly, that it did me good to hear her. Thence to the King's house, upon a wager of mine with my wife, that there would be no acting there today, there being no company: so I went in and found a pretty good company there, and saw their dance at the end of he play, and so to the coach again, and to the Cock ale house, and there drank in our coach, and so home, and my wife read to me as last night, and so to bed vexed with our dinner to-day, and myself more with being convinced that Mrs. Pierce paints, so that henceforth to be sure I shall loathe her. 17th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where Mr. Wren come to us and sat with us, only to learn, and do intend to come once or twice a week and sit with us. In the afternoon walked to the Old Swan, the way mighty dirty, and there called at Michell's, and there had opportunity para kiss su moher, but elle did receive it with a great deal of seeming regret, which did vex me. But however I do not doubt overcoming her as I did the moher of the monsieur at Deptford. So thence by water to Westminster, to Burgess, and there did receive my orders for L1500 more for Tangier. Thence to the Hall, and there talked a little with Mrs. Michell, and so to Mrs. Martin's to pay for my cuffs and drink with her . . . . And by and by away by coach and met with Sir H. Cholmly, and with him to the Temple, and there in Playford's shop did give him some of my Exchequer orders and took his receipts, and so parted and home, and there to my business hard at the office, and then home, my wife being at Mrs. Turner's, who and her husband come home with her, and here staid and talked and staid late, and then went away and we to bed. But that which vexed me much this evening is that Captain Cocke and Sir W. Batten did come to me, and sat, and drank a bottle of wine, and told me how Sir W. Pen hath got an order for the "Flying Greyhound" for himself, which is so false a thing, and the part of a knave, as nothing almost can be more. This vexed me; but I resolve to bring it before the Duke, and try a pull for it. 18th. Up betimes and to Captain Cocke, in his coach which he sent for me, and he not being ready I walked in the Exchange, which is now made pretty, by having windows and doors before all their shops, to keep out the cold. By and by to him, and he being ready, he and I out in his coach to my Lord Chancellor's; there to Mr. Wren's chamber, who did tell us the whole of Sir W. Pen's having the order for this ship of ours, and we went with him to St. James's, and there I did see the copy of it, which is built upon a suggestion of his having given the King a ship of his, "The Prosperous," wherein is such a cheat as I have the best advantage in the world over him, and will make him do reason, or lay him on his back. This I was very glad of, and having done as far as I could in it we returned, and I home, and there at the office all the morning, and at noon with my Lord Bruncker to the Treasurer's office to look over the clerks who are there making up the books, but in such a manner as it is a shame to see. Then home to dinner, and after dinner, my mind mighty full of this business of Sir W. Pen's, to the office, and there busy all the afternoon. This evening Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen and I met at [Sir] W. Batten's house, and there I took an opportunity to break the business, at which [Sir] W. Pen is much disturbed, and would excuse it the most he can, but do it so basely, that though he do offer to let go his pretence to her, and resign up his order for her, and come in only to ask his share of her (which do very well please me, and give me present satisfaction), yet I shall remember him for a knave while I live. But thus my mind is quieted for the present more than I thought I should be, and am glad that I shall have no need of bidding him open defiance, which I would otherwise have done, and made a perpetual war between us. So to the office, and there busy pretty late, and so home and to supper with my wife, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, W. Hewer and I and my wife, when comes my cozen, Kate Joyce, and an aunt of ours, Lettice, formerly Haynes, and now Howlett, come to town to see her friends, and also Sarah Kite, with her little boy in her armes, a very pretty little boy. The child I like very well, and could wish it my own. My wife being all unready, did not appear. I made as much of them as I could such ordinary company; and yet my heart was glad to see them, though their condition was a little below my present state, to be familiar with. She tells me how the lifeguard, which we thought a little while since was sent down into the country about some insurrection, was sent to Winchcombe, to spoil the tobacco there, which it seems the people there do plant contrary to law, and have always done, and still been under force and danger of having it spoiled, as it hath been oftentimes, and yet they will continue to plant it. [Winchcombe St. Peter, a market-town in Gloucestershire. Tobacco was first cultivated in this parish, after its introduction into England, in 1583, and it proved, a considerable source of profit to the inhabitants, till the trade was placed under restrictions. The cultivation was first prohibited during the Commonwealth, and various acts were passed in the reign of Charles II. for the same purpose. Among the king's pamphlets in the British Museum is a tract entitled "Harry Hangman's Honour, or Glostershire Hangman's Request to the Smokers and Tobacconists of London," dated June 11th, 1655. The author writes: "The very planting of tobacco hath proved the decay of my trade, for since it hath been planted in Glostershire, especially at Winchcomb, my trade hath proved nothing worth." He adds: "Then 'twas a merry world with me, for indeed before tobacco was there planted, there being no kind of trade to employ men, and very small tillage, necessity compelled poor men to stand my friends by stealing of sheep and other cattel, breaking of hedges, robbing of orchards, and what not."] The place, she says, is a miserable poor place. They gone, I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and at night, when my eyes were weary of the light, I and my wife to walk in the garden, and then home to supper and pipe, and then to bed. 20th. At the office doing business all the morning. At noon expected Creed to have come to dine with me and brought Mr. Sheres (the gentleman lately come from my Lord Sandwich) with him; but they come not, so there was a good dinner lost. After dinner my wife and Jane about some business of hers abroad, and then I to the office, where, having done my business, I out to pay some debts: among others to the taverne at the end of Billiter Lane, where my design was to see the pretty mistress of the house, which I did, and indeed is, as I always thought, one of the modestest, prettiest, plain women that ever I saw. Thence was met in the street by Sir W. Pen, and he and I by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mad Couple," which I do not remember that I have seen; it is a pretty pleasant play. Thence home, and my wife and I to walk in the garden, she having been at the same play with Jane, in the 18d. seat, to shew Jane the play, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. All the morning at the office, dined at home, and expected Sheres again, but he did not come, so another dinner lost by the folly of Creed. After having done some business at the office, I out with my wife to Sheres's lodging and left an invitation for him to dine with me tomorrow, and so back and took up my wife at the Exchange, and then kissed Mrs. Smith's pretty hand, and so with my wife by coach to take some ayre (but the way very dirty) as far as Bow, and so drinking (as usual) at Mile End of Byde's ale, we home and there busy at my letters till late, and so to walk by moonshine with my wife, and so to bed. The King, Duke of York, and the men of the Court, have been these four or five days a-hunting at Bagshot. 22nd (Lord's day). At my chamber all the morning making up some accounts, to my great content. At noon comes Mr. Sheres, whom I find a good, ingenious man, but do talk a little too much of his travels. He left my Lord Sandwich well, but in pain to be at home for want of money, which comes very hardly. Most of the afternoon talking of Spain, and informing him against his return how things are here, and so spent most of the afternoon, and then he parted, and then to my chamber busy till my eyes were almost blind with writing and reading, and I was fain to get the boy to come and write for me, and then to supper, and Pelling come to me at supper, and then to sing a Psalm with him, and so parted and to bed, after my wife had read some thing to me (to save my eyes) in a good book. This night I did even my accounts of the house, which I have to my great shame omitted now above two months or more, and therefore am content to take my wife's and mayd's accounts as they give them, being not able to correct them, which vexes me; but the fault being my own, contrary to my wife's frequent desires, I cannot find fault, but am resolved never to let them come to that pass again. The truth is, I have indulged myself more in pleasure for these last two months than ever I did in my life before, since I come to be a person concerned in business; and I doubt, when I come to make up my accounts, I shall find it so by the expence. 23rd. Up, and walked to the Exchange, there to get a coach but failed, and so was forced to walk a most dirty walk to the Old Swan, and there took boat, and so to the Exchange, and there took coach to St. James's and did our usual business with the Duke of York. Thence I walked over the Park to White Hall and took water to Westminster, and there, among other things, bought the examinations of the business about the Fire of London, which is a book that Mrs. Pierce tells me hath been commanded to be burnt. The examinations indeed are very plain. Thence to the Excise office, and so to the Exchange, and did a little business, and so home and took up my wife, and so carried her to the other end, where I 'light at my Lord Ashly's, by invitation, to dine there, which I did, and Sir H. Cholmly, Creed, and Yeabsly, upon occasion of the business of Yeabsly, who, God knows, do bribe him very well for it; and it is pretty to see how this great man do condescend to these things, and do all he can in his examining of his business to favour him, and yet with great cunning not to be discovered but by me that am privy to it. At table it is worth remembering that my Lord tells us that the House of Lords is the last appeal that a man can make, upon a poynt of interpretation of the law, and that therein they are above the judges; and that he did assert this in the Lords' House upon the late occasion of the quarrel between my Lord Bristoll and the Chancellor, when the former did accuse the latter of treason, and the judges did bring it in not to be treason: my Lord Ashly did declare that the judgment of the judges was nothing in the presence of their Lordships, but only as far as they were the properest men to bring precedents; but not to interpret the law to their Lordships, but only the inducements of their persuasions: and this the Lords did concur in. Another pretty thing was my Lady Ashly's speaking of the bad qualities of glass-coaches; among others, the flying open of the doors upon any great shake: but another was, that my Lady Peterborough being in her glass-coach, with the glass up, and seeing a lady pass by in a coach whom she would salute, the glass was so clear, that she thought it had been open, and so ran her head through the glass, and cut all her forehead! After dinner, before we fell to the examination of Yeabsly's business, we were put into my Lord's room before he could come to us, and there had opportunity to look over his state of his accounts of the prizes; and there saw how bountiful the King hath been to several people and hardly any man almost, Commander of the Navy of any note, but hath had some reward or other out of it; and many sums to the Privy-purse, but not so many, I see, as I thought there had been: but we could not look quite through it. But several Bedchamber-men and people about the Court had good sums; and, among others, Sir John Minnes and Lord Bruncker have L200 a-piece for looking to the East India prizes, while I did their work for them. By and by my Lord come, and we did look over Yeabsly's business a little; and I find how prettily this cunning Lord can be partial and dissemble it in this case, being privy to the bribe he is to receive. This done; we away, and with Sir H. Cholmly to Westminster; who by the way told me how merry the king and Duke of York and Court were the other day, when they were abroad a-hunting. They come to Sir G. Carteret's house at Cranbourne, and there were entertained, and all made drunk; and that all being drunk, Armerer did come to the King, and swore to him, "By God, Sir," says he, "you are not so kind to the Duke of York of late as you used to be."--"Not I?" says the King. "Why so?"--"Why," says he, "if you are, let us drink his health."--"Why, let us," says the King. Then he fell on his knees, and drank it; and having done, the King began to drink it. "Nay, Sir," says Armerer, "by God you must do it on your knees!" So he did, and then all the company: and having done it, all fell a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another, the King the Duke of York, and the Duke of York the King: and in such a maudlin pickle as never people were: and so passed the day. But Sir H. Cholmly tells me, that the King hath this good luck, that the next day he hates to have any body mention what he had done the day before, nor will suffer any body to gain upon him that way; which is a good quality. Parted with Sir H. Cholmly at White Hall, and there I took coach and took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so out for ayre, it being a mighty pleasant day, as far as Bow, and so drank by the way, and home, and there to my chamber till by and by comes Captain Cocke about business; who tells me that Mr. Bruncker is lost for ever, notwithstanding my Lord Bruncker hath advised with him, Cocke, how he might make a peace with the Duke of York and Chancellor, upon promise of serving him in the Parliament but Cocke says that is base to offer, and will have no success neither. He says that Mr. Wren hath refused a present of Tom Wilson's for his place of Store-keeper of Chatham, and is resolved never to take any thing; which is both wise in him, and good to the King's service. He stayed with me very late, here being Mrs. Turner and W. Batelier drinking and laughing, and then to bed. 24th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning very busy. At noon home, where there dined with me Anthony Joyce and his wife, and Will and his wife, and my aunt Lucett, that was here the other day, and Sarah Kite, and I had a good dinner for them, and were as merry as I could be in that company where W. Joyce is, who is still the same impertinent fellow that ever he was. After dinner I away to St. James's, where we had an audience of the Duke of York of many things of weight, as the confirming an establishment of the numbers of men on ships in peace and other things of weight, about which we stayed till past candle-light, and so Sir W. Batten and W. Pen and I fain to go all in a hackney-coach round by London Wall, for fear of cellars, this being the first time I have been forced to go that way this year, though now I shall begin to use it. We tired one coach upon Holborne-Conduit Hill, and got another, and made it a long journey home. Where to the office and then home, and at my business till twelve at night, writing in short hand the draught of a report to make to the King and Council to-morrow, about the reason of not having the book of the Treasurer made up. This I did finish to-night to the spoiling of my eyes, I fear. This done, then to bed. This evening my wife tells me that W. Batelier hath been here to-day, and brought with him the pretty girl he speaks of, to come to serve my wife as a woman, out of the school at Bow. My wife says she is extraordinary handsome, and inclines to have her, and I am glad of it--at least, that if we must have one, she should be handsome. But I shall leave it wholly to my wife, to do what she will therein. 25th. Up as soon as I could see and to the office to write over fair with Mr. Hater my last night's work, which I did by nine o'clock, and got it signed, and so with Sir H. Cholmly, who come to me about his business, to White Hall: and thither come also my Lord Bruncker: and we by and by called in, and our paper read; and much discourse thereon by Sir G. Carteret, my Lord Anglesey, Sir W. Coventry, and my Lord Ashly, and myself: but I could easily discern that they none of them understood the business; and the King at last ended it with saying lazily, "Why," says he, "after all this discourse, I now come to understand it; and that is, that there can nothing be done in this more than is possible," which was so silly as I never heard: "and therefore," says he, "I would have these gentlemen to do as much as possible to hasten the Treasurer's accounts; and that is all." And so we broke up: and I confess I went away ashamed, to see how slightly things are advised upon there. Here I saw the Duke of Buckingham sit in Council again, where he was re-admitted, it seems, the last Council-day: and it is wonderful to see how this man is come again to his places, all of them, after the reproach and disgrace done him: so that things are done in a most foolish manner quite through. The Duke of Buckingham did second Sir W. Coventry in the advising the King that he would not concern himself in the owning or not owning any man's accounts, or any thing else, wherein he had not the same satisfaction that would satisfy the Parliament; saying, that nothing would displease the Parliament more than to find him defending any thing that is not right, nor justifiable to the utmost degree but methought he spoke it but very poorly. After this, I walked up and down the Gallery till noon; and here I met with Bishop Fuller, who, to my great joy, is made, which I did not hear before, Bishop of Lincoln. At noon I took coach, and to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, to the house that is my Lord's, which my Lord lets him have: and this is the first day of dining there. And there dined with him and his lady my Lord Privy-seale, who is indeed a very sober man; who, among other talk, did mightily wonder at the reason of the growth of the credit of banquiers, since it is so ordinary a thing for citizens to break, out of knavery. Upon this we had much discourse; and I observed therein, to the honour of this City, that I have not heard of one citizen of London broke in all this war, this plague, this fire, and this coming up of the enemy among us; which he owned to be very considerable. [This remarkable fact is confirmed by Evelyn, in a letter to Sir Samuel Tuke, September 27th, 1666. See "Correspondence," vol. iii., p. 345, edit. 1879.] After dinner I to the King's playhouse, my eyes being so bad since last night's straining of them, that I am hardly able to see, besides the pain which I have in them. The play was a new play; and infinitely full: the King and all the Court almost there. It is "The Storme," a play of Fletcher's;' which is but so-so, methinks; only there is a most admirable dance at the end, of the ladies, in a military manner, which indeed did please me mightily. So, it being a mighty wet day and night, I with much ado got a coach, and, with twenty stops which he made, I got him to carry me quite through, and paid dear for it, and so home, and there comes my wife home from the Duke of York's playhouse, where she hath been with my aunt and Kate Joyce, and so to supper, and betimes to bed, to make amends for my last night's work and want of sleep. 26th. Up, and to my chamber, whither Jonas Moore comes, and, among other things, after our business done, discoursing of matters of the office, I shewed him my varnished things, which he says he can outdo much, and tells me the mighty use of Napier's bones; [John Napier or Neper (1550-1617), laird of Merchiston (now swallowed up in the enlarged Edinburgh of to-day, although the old castle still stands), and the inventor of logarithms. He published his "Rabdologiae seu numerationis per virgulas libri duo" in 1617, and the work was reprinted and translated into Italian (1623) and Dutch (1626). In 1667 William Leybourn published "The Art of Numbering by Speaking Rods, vulgarly termed Napier's Bones."] so that I will have a pair presently. To the office, where busy all the morning sitting, and at noon home to dinner, and then with my wife abroad to the King's playhouse, to shew her yesterday's new play, which I like as I did yesterday, the principal thing extraordinary being the dance, which is very good. So to Charing Cross by coach, about my wife's business, and then home round by London Wall, it being very dark and dirty, and so to supper, and, for the ease of my eyes, to bed, having first ended all my letters at the office. 27th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning. While I was busy at the Office, my wife sends for me to come home, and what was it but to see the pretty girl which she is taking to wait upon her: and though she seems not altogether so great a beauty as she had before told me, yet indeed she is mighty pretty; and so pretty, that I find I shall be too much pleased with it, and therefore could be contented as to my judgement, though not to my passion, that she might not come, lest I may be found too much minding her, to the discontent of my wife. She is to come next week. She seems, by her discourse, to be grave beyond her bigness and age, and exceeding well bred as to her deportment, having been a scholar in a school at Bow these seven or eight years. To the office again, my head running on this pretty girl, and there till noon, when Creed and Sheres come and dined with me; and we had a great deal of pretty discourse of the ceremoniousness of the Spaniards, whose ceremonies are so many and so known, that, Sheres tells me, upon all occasions of joy or sorrow in a Grandee's family, my Lord Embassador is fain to send one with an 'en hora buena', if it be upon a marriage, or birth of a child, or a 'pesa me', if it be upon the death of a child, or so. And these ceremonies are so set, and the words of the compliment, that he hath been sent from my Lord, when he hath done no more than send in word to the Grandee that one was there from the Embassador; and he knowing what was his errand, that hath been enough, and he never spoken with him: nay, several Grandees having been to marry a daughter, have wrote letters to my Lord to give him notice, and out of the greatness of his wisdom to desire his advice, though people he never saw; and then my Lord he answers by commending the greatness of his discretion in making so good an alliance, &c., and so ends. He says that it is so far from dishonour to a man to give private revenge for an affront, that the contrary is a disgrace; they holding that he that receives an affront is not fit to appear in the sight of the world till he hath revenged himself; and therefore, that a gentleman there that receives an affront oftentimes never appears again in the world till he hath, by some private way or other, revenged himself: and that, on this account, several have followed their enemies privately to the Indys, thence to Italy, thence to France and back again, watching for an opportunity to be revenged. He says my Lord was fain to keep a letter from the Duke of York to the Queen of Spain a great while in his hands, before he could think fit to deliver it, till he had learnt whether the Queen would receive it, it being directed to his cozen. He says that many ladies in Spain, after they are found to be with child, do never stir out of their beds or chambers till they are brought to bed: so ceremonious they are in that point also. He tells me of their wooing by serenades at the window, and that their friends do always make the match; but yet that they have opportunities to meet at masse at church, and there they make love: that the Court there hath no dancing, nor visits at night to see the King or Queen, but is always just like a cloyster, nobody stirring in it: that my Lord Sandwich wears a beard now, turned up in the Spanish manner. But that which pleases me most indeed is, that the peace which he hath made with Spain is now printed here, and is acknowledged by all the merchants to be the best peace that ever England had with them: and it appears that the King thinks it so, for this is printed before the ratification is gone over; whereas that with France and Holland was not in a good while after, till copys come over of it in English out of Holland and France, that it was a reproach not to have it printed here. This I am mighty glad of; and is the first and only piece of good news, or thing fit to be owned, that this nation hath done several years. After dinner I to the office, and they gone, anon comes Pelling, and he and I to Gray's Inne Fields, thinking to have heard Mrs. Knight sing at her lodgings, by a friend's means of his; [Mrs. Knight, a celebrated singer and mistress of Charles II. There is in Waller's "Poems" a song sung by her to the queen on her birthday. In her portrait, engraved by Faber, after Kneller, she is represented in mourning, and in a devout posture before a crucifix. Evelyn refers to her singing as incomparable, and adds that she had "the greatest reach of any English woman; she had been lately roaming in Italy, and was much improv'd in that quality" ("Diary," December 2nd, 1674).] but we come too late; so must try another time. So lost our labour, and I by coach home, and there to my chamber, and did a great deal of good business about my Tangier accounts, and so with pleasure discoursing with my wife of our journey shortly to Brampton, and of this little girle, which indeed runs in my head, and pleases me mightily, though I dare not own it, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, having slept not so much to-night as I used to do, for my thoughts being so full of this pretty little girle that is coming to live with us, which pleases me mightily. All the morning at the Office, busy upon an Order of Council, wherein they are mightily at a loss what to advise about our discharging of seamen by ticket, there being no money to pay their wages before January, only there is money to pay them since January, provided by the Parliament, which will be a horrid disgrace to the King and Crowne of England that no man shall reckon himself safe, but where the Parliament takes care. And this did move Mr. Wren at the table to-day to say, that he did believe if ever there be occasion more to raise money, it will become here, as it is in Poland, that there are two treasurers--one for the King, and the other for the kingdom. At noon dined at home, and Mr. Hater with me, and Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, dropped in, who I feared did come to bespeak me to be godfather to his son, which I am unwilling now to be, having ended my liking to his wife, since I find she paints. After dinner comes Sir Fr. Hollis to me about business; and I with him by coach to the Temple, and there I 'light; all the way he telling me romantic lies of himself and his family, how they have been Parliamentmen for Grimsby, he and his forefathers, this 140 years; and his father is now: and himself, at this day, stands for to be, with his father, by the death of his fellow-burgess; and that he believes it will cost him as much as it did his predecessor, which was L300 in ale, and L52 in buttered ale; which I believe is one of his devilish lies. Here I 'light and to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Sir Martin Marrall," with great delight, though I have seen it so often, and so home, and there busy late, and so home to my supper and bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and put off first my summer's silk suit, and put on a cloth one. Then to church, and so home to dinner, my wife and I alone to a good dinner. All the afternoon talking in my chamber with my wife, about my keeping a coach the next year, and doing some things to my house, which will cost money--that is, furnish our best chamber with tapestry, and other rooms with pictures. In the evening read good books--my wife to me; and I did even my kitchen accounts. Then to supper, and so to bed. 30th. By water to White Hall, there to a committee of Tangier, but they not met yet, I went to St. James's, there thinking to have opportunity to speak to the Duke of York about the petition I have to make to him for something in reward for my service this war, but I did waive it. Thence to White Hall, and there a Committee met, where little was done, and thence to the Duke of York to Council, where we the officers of the Navy did attend about the business of discharging the seamen by tickets, where several of the Lords spoke and of our number none but myself, which I did in such manner as pleased the King and Council. Speaking concerning the difficulty of pleasing of seamen and giving them assurance to their satisfaction that they should be paid their arrears of wages, my Lord Ashly did move that an assignment for money on the Act might be put into the hands of the East India Company, or City of London, which he thought the seamen would believe. But this my Lord Anglesey did very handsomely oppose, and I think did carry it that it will not be: and it is indeed a mean thing that the King should so far own his own want of credit as to borrow theirs in this manner. My Lord Anglesey told him that this was the way indeed to teach the Parliament to trust the King no more for the time to come, but to have a kingdom's Treasurer distinct from the King's. Home at noon to dinner, where I expected to have had our new girle, my wife's woman, but she is not yet come. I abroad after dinner to White Hall, and there among other things do hear that there will be musique to-morrow night before the King. So to Westminster, where to the Swan . . . . and drank and away to the Hall, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, to bespeak some linen, and there je did avoir all with her, and drank, and away, having first promised my goddaughter a new coat-her first coat. So by coach home, and there find our pretty girl Willet come, brought by Mr. Batelier, and she is very pretty, and so grave as I never saw a little thing in my life. Indeed I think her a little too good for my family, and so well carriaged as I hardly ever saw. I wish my wife may use her well. Now I begin to be full of thought for my journey the next week, if I can get leave, to Brampton. Tonight come and sat with me Mr. Turner and his wife and tell me of a design of sending their son Franke to the East Indy Company's service if they can get him entertainment, which they are promised by Sir Andr. Rickard, which I do very well like of. So the company broke up and to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Act of Council passed, to put out all Papists in office And a deal of do of which I am weary But do it with mighty vanity and talking Feared she hath from some [one] or other of a present Fell a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another Found to be with child, do never stir out of their beds Had his hand cut off, and was hanged presently! Hates to have any body mention what he had done the day before House of Lords is the last appeal that a man can make I find her painted, which makes me loathe her (cosmetics) King do resolve to declare the Duke of Monmouth legitimate Lady Castlemayne is compounding with the King for a pension My intention to learn to trill Never, while he lives, truckle under any body or any faction Pressing in it as if none of us had like care with him Singing with many voices is not singing Their condition was a little below my present state Weary of it; but it will please the citizens Weigh him after he had done playing 
4181	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1667 October 1st. All the morning busy at the office, pleased mightily with my girle that we have got to wait on my wife. At noon dined with Sir G. Carteret and the rest of our officers at his house in Broad Street, they being there upon his accounts. After dinner took coach and to my wife, who was gone before into the Strand, there to buy a nightgown, where I found her in a shop with her pretty girle, and having bought it away home, and I thence to Sir G. Carteret's again, and so took coach alone, it now being almost night, to White Hall, and there in the Boarded-gallery did hear the musick with which the King is presented this night by Monsieur Grebus, the master of his musick; both instrumentall--I think twenty-four violins--and vocall; an English song upon Peace. But, God forgive me! I never was so little pleased with a concert of musick in my life. The manner of setting of words and repeating them out of order, and that with a number of voices, makes me sick, the whole design of vocall musick being lost by it. Here was a great press of people; but I did not see many pleased with it, only the instrumental musick he had brought by practice to play very just. So thence late in the dark round by the wall home by coach, and there to sing and sup with my wife, and look upon our pretty girle, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and very busy all the morning, upon my accounts of Tangier, to present to the Commissioners of the Treasury in the afternoon, and the like upon the accounts of the office. This morning come to me Mr. Gawden about business, with his gold chain about his neck, as being Sheriffe of the City this year. At noon to the Treasury Office again, and there dined and did business, and then by coach to the New Exchange, and there met my wife and girl, and took them to the King's house to see "The Traytour," which still I like as a very good play; and thence, round by the wall, home, having drunk at the Cock ale-house, as I of late have used to do, and so home and to my chamber to read, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and going out of doors, I understand that Sir W. Batten is gone to bed on a sudden again this morning, being struck very ill, and I confess I have observed him for these last two months to look very ill and to look worse and worse. I to St. James's (though it be a sitting day) to the Duke of York, about the Tangier Committee, which met this morning, and he come to us, and the Charter for the City of Tangier was read and the form of the Court Merchant. That being done Sir W. Coventry took me into the gallery, and walked with me an hour, discoursing of Navy business, and with much kindness to, and confidence in, me still; which I must endeavour to preserve, and will do; and, good man! all his care how to get the Navy paid off, and that all other things therein may go well. He gone, I thence to my Lady Peterborough, who sent for me; and with her an hour talking about her husband's pension, and how she hath got an order for its being paid again; though, I believe, for all that order, it will hardly be; but of that I said nothing; but her design is to get it paid again: and how to raise money upon it, to clear it from the engagement which lies upon it to some citizens, who lent her husband money, without her knowledge, upon it, to vast loss. She intends to force them to take their money again, and release her husband of those hard terms. The woman is a very wise woman, and is very plain in telling me how her plate and jewels are at pawne for money, and how they are forced to live beyond their estate, and do get nothing by his being a courtier. The lady I pity, and her family. Having done with her, and drunk two glasses of her meade, which she did give me, and so to the Treasurer's Office, and there find my Lord Bruncker and [Sir] W. Pen at dinner with Sir G. Carteret about his accounts, where I dined and talked and settled some business, and then home, and there took out my wife and Willet, thinking to have gone to a play, but both houses were begun, and so we to the 'Change, and thence to my tailor's, and there, the coachman desiring to go home to change his horses, we went with him into a nasty end of all St. Giles's, and there went into a nasty room, a chamber of his, where he hath a wife and child, and there staid, it growing dark too, and I angry thereat, till he shifted his horses, and then home apace, and there I to business late, and so home, to supper, and walk in the garden with my wife and girle, with whom we are mightily pleased, and after talking and supping, to bed. This noon, going home, I did call on Will Lincolne and agree with him to carry me to Brampton. 4th. Up, and to White Hall to attend the Council about Commissioner Pett's business, along with my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen, and in the Robe-chamber the Duke of York come to us, the officers of the Navy, and there did meet together about Navy business, where Sir W. Coventry was with us, and among other things did recommend his Royal Highness, now the prizes were disposing, to remember Sir John Harman to the King, for some bounty, and also for my Lady Minnes, which was very nobly done of him. Thence all of us to attend the Council, where we were anon called on, and there was a long hearing of Commissioner Pett, who was there, and there were the two Masters Attendant of Chatham called in, who do deny their having any order from Commissioner Pett about bringing up the great ships, which gives the lie to what he says; but, in general, I find him to be but a weak, silly man, and that is guilty of horrid neglect in this business all along. Here broke off without coming to an issue, but that there should be another hearing on Monday next. So the Council rose, and I staid walking up and down the galleries till the King went to dinner, and then I to my Lord Crew's to dinner; but he having dined, I took a very short leave, confessing I had not dined; and so to an ordinary hard by the Temple-gate, where I have heretofore been, and there dined--cost me 10d. And so to my Lord Ashly's, where after dinner Sir H. Cholmly, Creed and I, with his Lordship, about Mr. Yeabsly's business, where having come to agreement with him abating him L1000 of what he demands for ships lost, I to Westminster, to Mrs. Martin's lodging, whither I sent for her, and there hear that her husband is come from sea, which is sooner than I expected; and here I staid and drank, and so did toucher elle and away, and so by coach to my tailor's, and thence to my Lord Crew's, and there did stay with him an hour till almost night, discoursing about the ill state of my Lord Sandwich, that he can neither be got to be called home, nor money got to maintain him there; which will ruin his family. And the truth is, he do almost deserve it, for by all relation he hath, in a little more than a year and a half, spent L20,000 of the King's money, and the best part of L10,000 of his own; which is a most prodigious expence, more than ever Embassador spent there, and more than these Commissioners of the Treasury will or do allow. And they demand an account before they will give him any more money; which puts all his friends to a loss what to answer. But more money we must get him, or to be called home. I offer to speak to Sir W. Coventry about it; but my Lord will not advise to it, without consent of Sir G. Carteret. So home, and there to see Sir W. Batten, who fell sick yesterday morning: He is asleep: and so I could not see him; but in an hour after, word is brought me that he is so ill, that it is believed he cannot live till to-morrow, which troubles me and my wife mightily, partly out of kindness, he being a good neighbour and partly because of the money he owes me, upon our bargain of the late prize. So home and to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the Office; and there all the morning; none but my Lord Anglesey and myself; but much surprized with the news of the death of Sir W. Batten, who died this morning, having been but two days sick. Sir W. Pen and I did dispatch a letter this morning to Sir W. Coventry, to recommend Colonel Middleton, who we think a most honest and understanding man, and fit for that place. Sir G. Carteret did also come this morning, and walked with me in the garden; and concluded not to concern [himself] or have any advice made to Sir W. Coventry, in behalf of my Lord Sandwich's business; so I do rest satisfied, though I do think they are all mad, that they will judge Sir W. Coventry an enemy, when he is indeed no such man to any body, but is severe and just, as he ought to be, where he sees things ill done. At noon home, and by coach to Temple Bar to a India shop, and there bought a gown and sash, which cost me 26s., and so she [Mrs. Pepys] and Willet away to the 'Change, and I to my Lord Crew, and there met my Lord Hinchingbroke and Lady Jemimah, and there dined with them and my Lord, where pretty merry, and after dinner my Lord Crew and Hinchingbroke and myself went aside to discourse about my Lord Sandwich's business, which is in a very ill state for want of money, and so parted, and I to my tailor's, and there took up my wife and Willet, who staid there for me, and to the Duke of York's playhouse, but the house so full, it being a new play, "The Coffee House," that we could not get in, and so to the King's house: and there, going in, met with Knepp, and she took us up into the tireing-rooms: and to the women's shift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. And so walked all up and down the house above, and then below into the scene-room, and there sat down, and she gave us fruit and here I read the questions to Knepp, while she answered me, through all her part of "Flora's Figary's," which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to see how they were both painted would make a man mad, and did make me loath them; and what base company of men comes among them, and how lewdly they talk! and how poor the men are in clothes, and yet what a shew they make on the stage by candle-light, is very observable. But to see how Nell cursed, for having so few people in the pit, was pretty; the other house carrying away all the people at the new play, and is said, now-a-days, to have generally most company, as being better players. By and by into the pit, and there saw the play, which is pretty good, but my belly was full of what I had seen in the house, and so, after the play done, away home, and there to the writing my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and dressed myself, and so walked out with the boy to Smithfield to Cow Lane, to Lincolne's, and there spoke with him, and agreed upon the hour to-morrow, to set out towards Brampton; but vexed that he is not likely to go himself, but sends another for him. Here I took a hackney coach, and to White Hall, and there met Sir W. Coventry, and discoursed with him, and then with my Lord Bruncker, and many others, to end my matters in order to my going into the country to-morrow for five or six days, which I have not done for above three years. Walked with Creed into the Park a little, and at last went into the Queen's side, and there saw the King and Queen, and saw the ladies, in order to my hearing any news stirring to carry into the country, but met with none, and so away home by coach, and there dined, and W. How come to see me, and after dinner parted, and I to my writing to my Lord Sandwich, which is the greatest business I have to do before my going into the country, and in the evening to my office to set matters to rights there, and being in the garden Sir W. Pen did come to me, and fell to discourse about the business of "The Flying Greyhound," wherein I was plain to him and he to me, and at last concluded upon my writing a petition to the Duke of York for a certain ship, The Maybolt Gallyott, and he offers to give me L300 for my success, which, however, I would not oblige him to, but will see the issue of it by fair play, and so I did presently draw a petition, which he undertakes to proffer to the Duke of York, and solicit for me, and will not seem to doubt of his success. So I wrote, and did give it him, and left it with him, and so home to supper, where Pelling comes and sits with me, and there tells us how old Mr. Batelier is dead this last night in the night, going to bed well, which I am mightily troubled for, he being a good man. Supper done, and he gone, I to my chamber to write my journal to this night, and so to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and did do several things towards the settling all matters both of house and office in order for my journey this day, and did leave my chief care, and the key of my closet, with Mr. Hater, with directions what papers to secure, in case of fire or other accident; and so, about nine o'clock, I, and my wife, and Willet, set out in a coach I have hired, with four horses; and W. Hewer and Murford rode by us on horseback; and so my wife and she in their morning gowns, very handsome and pretty, and to my great liking. We set out, and so out at Allgate, and so to the Green Man, and so on to Enfield, in our way seeing Mr. Lowther and his lady in a coach, going to Walthamstow; and he told us that he would overtake us at night, he being to go that way. So we to Enfield, and there bayted, it being but a foul, bad day, and there Lowther and Mr. Burford, an acquaintance of his, did overtake us, and there drank and eat together; and, by and by, we parted, we going before them, and very merry, my wife and girle and I talking, and telling tales, and singing, and before night come to Bishop Stafford, where Lowther and his friend did meet us again, and carried us to the Raynedeere, where Mrs. Aynsworth, [Elizabeth Aynsworth, here mentioned, was a noted procurerss at Cambridge, banished from that town by the university authorities for her evil courses. She subsequently kept the Rein Deer Inn at Bishops Stortford, at which the Vice-Chancellor, and some of the heads of colleges, had occasion to sleep, in their way to London, and were nobly entertained, their supper being served off plate. The next morning their hostess refused to make any charge, saying, that she was still indebted to the Vice-Chancellor, who, by driving her out of Cambridge, had made her fortune. No tradition of this woman has been preserved at Bishops Stortford; but it appears, from the register of that parish, that she was buried there 26th of March, 1686. It is recorded in the "History of Essex," vol. iii., (p. 130) 8vo., 1770, and in a pamphlet in the British Museum, entitled, "Boteler's Case," that she was implicated in the murder of Captain Wood, a Hertfordshire gentleman, at Manuden, in Essex, and for which offence a person named Boteler was executed at Chelmsford, September 10th, 1667, and that Mrs. Aynsworth, tried at the same time as an accessory before the fact, was acquitted for want of evidence; though in her way to the jail she endeavoured to throw herself into the river, but was prevented. See Postea, May 25th, 1668.--B.] who lived heretofore at Cambridge, and whom I knew better than they think for, do live. It was the woman that, among other things, was great with my cozen Barnston, of Cottenham, and did use to sing to him, and did teach me "Full forty times over," a very lewd song: a woman they are very well acquainted with, and is here what she was at Cambridge, and all the good fellows of the country come hither. Lowther and his friend stayed and drank, and then went further this night; but here we stayed, and supped, and lodged. But, as soon as they were gone, and my supper getting ready, I fell to write my letter to my Lord Sandwich, which I could not finish before my coming from London; so did finish it to my good content, and a good letter, telling him the present state of all matters, and did get a man to promise to carry it to-morrow morning, to be there, at my house, by noon, and I paid him well for it; so, that being done, and my mind at ease, we to supper, and so to bed, my wife and I in one bed, and the girl in another, in the same room, and lay very well, but there was so much tearing company in the house, that we could not see my landlady; so I had no opportunity of renewing my old acquaintance with her, but here we slept very well. 8th. Up pretty betimes, though not so soon as we intended, by reason of Murford's not rising, and then not knowing how to open our door, which, and some other pleasant simplicities of the fellow, did give occasion to us to call him. Sir Martin Marrall, and W. Hewer being his helper and counsellor, we did call him, all this journey, Mr. Warner, which did give us good occasion of mirth now and then. At last, rose, and up, and broke our fast, and then took coach, and away, and at Newport did call on Mr. Lowther, and he and his friend, and the master of the house, their friend, where they were, a gentleman, did presently get a-horseback and overtook us, and went with us to Audley-End, and did go along with us all over the house and garden: and mighty merry we were. The house indeed do appear very fine, but not so fine as it hath heretofore to me; particularly the ceilings are not so good as I always took them to be, being nothing so well wrought as my Lord Chancellor's are; and though the figure of the house without be very extraordinary good, yet the stayre-case is exceeding poor; and a great many pictures, and not one good one in the house but one of Harry the Eighth, done by Holben; and not one good suit of hangings in all the house, but all most ancient things, such as I would not give the hanging-up of in my house; and the other furniture, beds and other things, accordingly. [Mr. George T. Robinson, F.S.A., in a paper on "Decorative Plaster Work," read before the Society of Arts in April, 1891, refers to the ceilings at Audley End as presenting an excellent idea of the state of the stuccoer's art in the middle of James I.'s reign, and adds, "Few houses in England can show so fine a series of the same date . . . The great hall has medallions in the square portions of the ceiling formed by its dividing timber beams. The large saloon on the principal floor-a room about 66 feet long by 30 feet wide-has a very remarkable ceiling of the pendentive type, which presents many peculiarities, the most notable of which, that these not only depend from the ceiling, but the outside ones spring from the walls in a natural and structural manner. This is a most unusual circumstance in the stucco work of the time, the reason for the omission of this reasonable treatment evidently being the unwillingness of the stuccoer to omit his elaborate frieze in which he took such delight" ("Journal Soc. of Arts," vol. xxxix., p. 449)] Only the gallery is good, and, above all things, the cellars, where we went down and drank of much good liquor; and indeed the cellars are fine: and here my wife and I did sing to my great content. And then to the garden, and there eat many grapes, and took some with us and so away thence, exceeding well satisfied, though not to that degree that, by my old esteem of the house, I ought and did expect to have done, the situation of it not pleasing me. Here we parted with Lowther and his friends, and away to Cambridge, it being foul, rainy weather, and there did take up at the Rose, for the sake of Mrs. Dorothy Drawwater, the vintner's daughter, which is mentioned in the play of Sir Martin Marrall. Here we had a good chamber, and bespoke a good supper; and then I took my wife, and W. Hewer, and Willet, it holding up a little, and shewed them Trinity College and St. John's Library, and went to King's College Chapel, to see the outside of it only; and so to our inne, and with much pleasure did this, they walking in their pretty morning gowns, very handsome, and I proud to find myself in condition to do this; and so home to our lodging, and there by and by, to supper, with much good sport, talking with the Drawers concerning matters of the town, and persons whom I remember, and so, after supper, to cards; and then to bed, lying, I in one bed, and my wife and girl in another, in the same room, and very merry talking together, and mightily pleased both of us with the girl. Saunders, the only violin in my time, is, I hear, dead of the plague in the late plague there. 9th. Up, and got ready, and eat our breakfast; and then took coach: and the poor, as they did yesterday, did stand at the coach to have something given them, as they do to all great persons; and I did give them something: and the town musique did also come and play: but, Lord! what sad music they made! However, I was pleased with them, being all of us in very good humour, and so through the town, and observed at our College of Magdalene the posts new painted, and understand that the Vice-Chancellor' is there this year. And so away for Huntingdon mightily pleased all along the road to remember old stories; and come to Brampton at about noon, and there find my father and sister and brother all well and here laid up our things, and up and down to see the garden with my father, and the house, and do altogether find it very pretty; especially the little parlour and the summerhouses in the garden, only the wall do want greens upon it, and the house is too low-roofed; but that is only because of my coming from a house with higher ceilings. But altogether is very pretty; and I bless God that I am like to have such a pretty place to retire to: and I did walk with my father without doors, and do find a very convenient way of laying out money there in building, which will make a very good seat, and the place deserves it, I think, very well. By and by to dinner, and after dinner I walked up to Hinchingbroke, where my Lady expected me; and there spent all the afternoon with her: the same most excellent, good, discreet lady that ever she was; and, among other things, is mightily pleased with the lady that is like to be her son Hinchingbroke's wife, which I am mightily glad of. By and by my wife comes with Willet, my wife in her velvett vest, which is mighty fine, and becomes her exceedingly. I am pleased with my Lady Paulina and Anne, who both are grown very proper ladies, and handsome enough. But a thousand questions my Lady asked me, till she could think of no more almost, but walked up and down the house, with me. But I do find, by her, that they are reduced to great straits for money, having been forced to sell her plate, 8 or L900 worth; and she is now going to sell a suit of her best hangings, of which I could almost wish to buy a piece or two, if the pieces will be broke. But the house is most excellently furnished, and brave rooms and good pictures, so that it do please me infinitely beyond Audley End. Here we staid till night walking and talking and drinking, and with mighty satisfaction my Lady with me alone most of the day talking of my Lord's bad condition to be kept in Spayne without money and at a great expense, which (as we will save the family) we must labour to remove. Night being come, we took leave with all possible kindness, and so home, and there Mr. Shepley staid with us and sapped, and full of good country discourse, and when supper done took his leave, and we all to bed, only I a little troubled that my father tells me that he is troubled that my wife shows my sister no countenance, and, him but very little, but is as a stranger in the house; and I do observe she do carry herself very high; but I perceive there was some great falling out when she was here last, but the reason I have no mind to enquire after, for vexing myself, being desirous to pass my time with as much mirth as I can while I am abroad. So all to bed. My wife and I in the high bed in our chamber, and Willet in the trundle bed, which she desired to lie in, by us. 10th. Waked in the morning with great pain of the collique, by cold taken yesterday, I believe, with going up and down in my shirt, but with rubbing my belly, keeping of it warm, I did at last come to some ease, and rose, and up to walk up and down the garden with my father, to talk of all our concernments: about a husband for my sister, whereof there is at present no appearance; but we must endeavour to find her one now, for she grows old and ugly: then for my brother; and resolve he shall stay here this winter, and then I will either send him to Cambridge for a year, till I get him some church promotion, or send him to sea as a chaplain, where he may study, and earn his living. Then walked round about our Greene, to see whether, in case I cannot buy out my uncle Thomas and his son's right in this house, that I can buy another place as good thereabouts to build on, and I do not see that I can. But this, with new building, may be made an excellent pretty thing, and I resolve to look after it as soon as I can, and Goody Gorum dies. By this time it was almost noon, and then my father and I and wife and Willet abroad, by coach round the towne of Brampton, to observe any other place as good as ours, and find none; and so back with great pleasure; and thence went all of us, my sister and brother, and W. Hewer, to dinner to Hinchingbroke, where we had a good plain country dinner, but most kindly used; and here dined the Minister of Brampton and his wife, who is reported a very good, but poor man. Here I spent alone with my Lady, after dinner, the most of the afternoon, and anon the two twins were sent for from schoole, at Mr. Taylor's, to come to see me, and I took them into the garden, and there, in one of the summer-houses, did examine them, and do find them so well advanced in their learning, that I was amazed at it: they repeating a whole ode without book out of Horace, and did give me a very good account of any thing almost, and did make me very readily very good Latin, and did give me good account of their Greek grammar, beyond all possible expectation; and so grave and manly as I never saw, I confess, nor could have believed; so that they will be fit to go to Cambridge in two years at most. They are both little, but very like one another, and well-looked children. Then in to my Lady again, and staid till it was almost night again, and then took leave for a great while again, but with extraordinary kindness from my Lady, who looks upon me like one of her own family and interest. So thence, my wife and people by the highway, and I walked over the park with Mr. Shepley, and through the grove, which is mighty pretty, as is imaginable, and so over their drawbridge to Nun's Bridge, and so to my father's, and there sat and drank, and talked a little, and then parted. And he being gone, and what company there was, my father and I, with a dark lantern; it being now night, into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great work to dig up my gold. But, Lord! what a tosse I was for some time in, that they could not justly tell where it was; that I begun heartily to sweat, and be angry, that they should not agree better upon the place, and at last to fear that it was gone but by and by poking with a spit, we found it, and then begun with a spudd to lift up the ground. But, good God! to see how sillily they did it, not half a foot under ground, and in the sight of the world from a hundred places, if any body by accident were near hand, and within sight of a neighbour's window, and their hearing also, being close by: only my father says that he saw them all gone to church before he begun the work, when he laid the money, but that do not excuse it to me. But I was out of my wits almost, and the more from that, upon my lifting up the earth with the spudd, I did discern that I had scattered the pieces of gold round about the ground among the grass and loose earth; and taking up the iron head-pieces wherein they were put, I perceive the earth was got among the gold, and wet, so that the bags were all rotten, and all the notes, that I could not tell what in the world to say to it, not knowing how to judge what was wanting, or what had been lost by Gibson in his coming down: which, all put together, did make me mad; and at last was forced to take up the head-pieces, dirt and all, and as many of the scattered pieces as I could with the dirt discern by the candlelight, and carry them up into my brother's chamber, and there locke them up till I had eat a little supper: and then, all people going to bed, W. Hewer and I did all alone, with several pails of water and basins, at last wash the dirt off of the pieces, and parted the pieces and the dirt, and then begun to tell [them]; and by a note which I had of the value of the whole in my pocket, do find that there was short above a hundred pieces, which did make me mad; and considering that the neighbour's house was so near that we could not suppose we could speak one to another in the garden at the place where the gold lay--especially my father being deaf--but they must know what we had been doing on, I feared that they might in the night come and gather some pieces and prevent us the next morning; so W. Hewer and I out again about midnight, for it was now grown so late, and there by candlelight did make shift to gather forty-five pieces more. And so in, and to cleanse them: and by this time it was past two in the morning; and so to bed, with my mind pretty quiet to think that I have recovered so many. And then to bed, and I lay in the trundle-bed, the girl being gone to bed to my wife, and there lay in some disquiet all night, telling of the clock till it was daylight. 11th. And then rose and called W. Hewer, and he and I, with pails and a sieve, did lock ourselves into the garden, and there gather all the earth about the place into pails, and then sift those pails in one of the summer-houses, just as they do for dyamonds in other parts of the world; and there, to our great content, did with much trouble by nine o'clock (and by the time we emptied several pails and could not find one), we did make the last night's forty-five up seventy-nine: so that we are come to about twenty or thirty of what I think the true number should be; and perhaps within less; and of them I may reasonably think that Mr. Gibson might lose some: so that I am pretty well satisfied that my loss is not great, and do bless God that it is so well, [About the year 1842, in removing the foundation of an old wall, adjoining a mansion at Brampton, always considered the quondam residence of the Pepys family, an iron pot, full of silver coins, was discovered, and taken to the Earl of Sandwich, the owner of the house, in whose possession they still remain. The pot was so much corroded, that a small piece of it only could be preserved. The coins were chiefly half-crowns of Elizabeth and the two elder Stuarts, and all of a date anterior to the Restoration. Although Pepys states that the treasure which he caused to be buried was gold exclusively, it is very probable that, in the confusion, a pot full of silver money was packed up with the rest; but, at all events, the coincidence appeared too singular to pass over without notice.--B.] and do leave my father to make a second examination of the dirt, which he promises he will do, and, poor man, is mightily troubled for this accident, but I declared myself very well satisfied, and so indeed I am; and my mind at rest in it, being but an accident, which is unusual; and so gives me some kind of content to remember how painful it is sometimes to keep money, as well as to get it, and how doubtful I was how to keep it all night, and how to secure it to London: and so got all my gold put up in bags. And so having the last night wrote to my Lady Sandwich to lend me John Bowles to go along with me my journey, not telling her the reason, that it was only to secure my gold, we to breakfast, and then about ten o'clock took coach, my wife and I, and Willet, and W. Hewer, and Murford and Bowles (whom my Lady lent me), and my brother John on horseback; and with these four I thought myself pretty safe. But, before we went out, the Huntingdon musick come to me and played, and it was better than that of Cambridge. Here I took leave of my father, and did give my sister 20s. She cried at my going; but whether it was at her unwillingness for my going, or any unkindness of my wife's, or no, I know not; but, God forgive me! I take her to be so cunning and ill-natured, that I have no great love for her; but only [she] is my sister, and must be provided for. My gold I put into a basket, and set under one of the seats; and so my work every quarter of an hour was to look to see whether all was well; and I did ride in great fear all the day, but it was a pleasant day, and good company, and I mightily contented. Mr. Shepley saw me beyond St. Neots, and there parted, and we straight to Stevenage, through Bald Lanes, which are already very bad; and at Stevenage we come well before night, and all sat, and there with great care I got the gold up to the chamber, my wife carrying one bag, and the girl another, and W. Hewer the rest in the basket, and set it all under a bed in our chamber; and then sat down to talk, and were very pleasant, satisfying myself, among other things, from John Bowles, in some terms of hunting, and about deere, bucks, and does. And so anon to supper, and very merry we were, and a good supper, and after supper to bed. Brecocke alive still, and the best host I know almost. 12th. Up, and eat our breakfast, and set out about nine o'clock, and so to Barnett, where we staid and baited, the weather very good all day and yesterday, and by five o'clock got home, where I find all well; and did bring my gold, to my heart's content, very safe home, having not this day carried it in a basket, but in our hands: the girl took care of one, and my wife another bag, and I the rest, I being afraid of the bottom of the coach, lest it should break, and therefore was at more ease in my mind than I was yesterday. At home we find that Sir W. Batten's burial was to-day carried from hence, with a hundred or two of coaches, to Walthamstow, and there buried. Here I hear by Mr. Pierce the surgeon; and then by Mr. Lewes, and also by Mr. Hater, that the Parliament hath met on Thursday last, and adjourned to Monday next. The King did make them a very kind speech, promising them to leave all to them to do, and call to account what and whom they pleased; and declared by my Lord Keeper how many, thirty-six, actes he had done since he saw them; among others, disbanding the army, and putting all Papists out of employment, and displacing persons that had managed their business ill, that the Parliament is mightily pleased with the King's speech, and voted giving him thanks for what he said and hath done; and, among things, would by name thank him for displacing my Lord Chancellor, for which a great many did speak in the House, but it was opposed by some, and particularly Harry Coventry, who got that it should be put to a Committee to consider what particulars to mention in their thanks to the King, saying that it was too soon to give thanks for the displacing of a man, before they knew or had examined what was the cause of his displacing. And so it rested; but this do shew that they are and will be very high; and Mr. Pierce do tell me that he fears, and do hear, that it hath been said among them, that they will move for the calling my Lord Sandwich home, to bring him to account; which do trouble me mightily; but I trust it will not be so. Anon comes home Sir W. Pen from the burial, and he and I to walk in the garden, where he did confirm the most of this news, and so to talk of our particular concernments, and among the rest he says that Lady Batten and her children-in-law are all broke in pieces, and that there is but L800 found in the world, of money; and is in great doubt what we shall do towards the doing ourselves right with them, about the prize-money. This troubles me, but we will fall to work upon that next week close. Then he tells me he did deliver my petition into the hands of Sir W. Coventry, who did take it with great kindness and promised to present it to the Duke of York, and that himself has since seen the Duke of York, but it was in haste, and thinks the Duke of York did tell him that the thing was done, but he is confident that it either is or will be done. This do please me mightily. So after a little talk more I away home to supper with John Bowles and brother and wife (who, I perceive, is already a little jealous of my being fond of Willet, but I will avoid giving her any cause to continue in that mind, as much as possible), and before that did go with Sir W. Pen to my Lady Batten, whom I had not seen since she was a widow, which she took unkindly, but I did excuse it; and the house being full of company, and of several factions, she against the children, and they against one another and her, I away, and home to supper, and after supper to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's lodgings, but he was gone out, so I to St. James's, and there to the Duke of York's chamber: and there he was dressing; and many Lords and Parliament-men come to kiss his hands, they being newly come to town. And there the Duke of York did of himself call me to him, and tell me that he had spoke to the King, and that the King had granted me the ship I asked for; and did, moreover, say that he was mightily satisfied with my service, and that he would be willing to do anything that was in his power for me: which he said with mighty kindness; which I did return him thanks for, and departed with mighty joy, more than I did expect. And so walked over the Park to White Hall, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, who walked with me, and told me most of the news I heard last night of the Parliament; and thinks they will do all things very well, only they will be revenged of my Lord Chancellor; and says, however, that he thinks there will be but two things proved on him; and that one is, that he may have said to the King, and to others, words to breed in the King an ill opinion of the Parliament--that they were factious, and that it was better to dissolve them: and this, he thinks, they will be able to prove; but what this will amount to, he knows not. And next, that he hath taken money for several bargains that have been made with the Crown; and did instance one that is already complained of: but there are so many more involved in it, that, should they unravel things of this sort, every body almost will be more or less concerned. But these are the two great points which he thinks they will insist on, and prove against him. Thence I to the Chapel, and there heard the sermon and a pretty good anthem, and so home by water to dinner, where Bowies and brother, and a good dinner, and in the afternoon to make good my journal to this day, and so by water again to White Hall, and thence only walked to Mrs. Martin's, and there sat with her and her sister and Borroughs. . . and there drank and talked and away by water home, and there walked with Sir W. Pen, and told him what the Duke of York told me to-day about the ship I begged; and he was knave enough, of his own accord, but, to be sure, in order to his own advantage, to offer me to send for the master of the vessel, "The Maybolt Galliott," and bid him to get her furnished as for a long voyage, and I to take no notice of it, that she might be the more worth to me: so that here he is a very knave to the King, and I doubt not his being the same to me on occasion. So in a doors and supped with my wife and brother, W. Hewer, and Willett, and so evened with W. Hewer for my expenses upon the road this last journey, and do think that the whole journey will cost me little less than L18 or L20, one way or other; but I am well pleased with it, and so after supper to bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence walked to St. James's, and there to Mr. Wren's; and he told me that my business was done about my warrant on the Maybolt Galliott; which I did see, and though it was not so full in the reciting of my services as the other was in that of Sir W. Pen's, yet I was well pleased with it, and do intend to fetch it away anon. Thence with Sir Thomas Allen, in a little sorry coach which he hath set up of late, and Sir Jeremy Smith, to White Hall, and there I took water and went to Westminster Hall, and there hear that the House is this day again upon the business of giving the King the thanks of the House for his speech, and, among other things, for laying aside of my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to Mrs. Martin's, where by appointment comes to me Mrs. Howlett, which I was afraid was to have told me something of my freedom with her daughter, but it was not so, but only to complain to me of her son-in-law, how he abuses and makes a slave of her, and his mother is one that encourages him in it, so that they are at this time upon very bad terms one with another, and desires that I would take a time to advise him and tell him what it becomes him to do, which office I am very glad of, for some ends of my own also con sa fille, and there drank and parted, I mightily satisfied with this business, and so home by water with Sir W. Warren, who happened to be at Westminster, and there I pretty strange to him, and little discourse, and there at the office Lord Bruncker, W. Pen, T. Hater and I did some business, and so home to dinner, and thence I out to visit Sir G. Carteret and ladies there; and from him do understand that the King himself (but this he told me as a great secret) is satisfied that this thanks which he expects from the House, for the laying aside of my Lord Chancellor, is a thing irregular; but, since it is come into the House, he do think it necessary to carry it on, and will have it, and hath made his mind known to be so, to some of the House. But Sir G. Carteret do say he knows nothing of what my Lord Bruncker told us to-day, that the King was angry with the Duke of York yesterday, and advised him not to hinder what he had a mind to have done, touching this business; which is news very bad, if true. Here I visited my Lady Carteret, who hath been sick some time, but now pretty well, but laid on her bed. Thence to my Lord Crew, to see him after my coming out of the country, and he seems satisfied with some steps they have made in my absence towards my Lord Sandwich's relief for money: and so I have no more to do, nor will trouble myself more about it till they send for me. He tells me also that the King will have the thanks of the House go on: and commends my Lord Keeper's speech for all but what he was forced to say, about the reason of the King's sending away the House so soon the last time, when they were met, but this he was forced to do. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked with Mr. Scowen, who tells me that it is at last carried in the House that the thanks shall be given to the King--among other things, particularly for the removal of my Lord Chancellor; but he tells me it is a strange act, and that which he thinks would never have been, but that the King did insist upon it, that, since it come into the House, it might not be let fall. After walking there awhile I took coach and to the Duke of York's House, and there went in for nothing into the pit, at the last act, to see Sir Martin Marrall, and met my wife, who was there, and my brother, and W. Hewer and Willett, and carried them home, still being pleased with the humour of the play, almost above all that ever I saw. Home, and there do find that John Bowles is not yet come thither. I suppose he is playing the good fellow in the town. So to the office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and to the office, where, Sir W. Pen being ill of the gout, we all of us met there in his parlour and did the business of the office, our greatest business now being to manage the pay of the ships in order and with speed to satisfy the Commissioners of the Treasury. This morning my brother set out for Brampton again, and is gone. At noon home to dinner, and thence my wife and I and Willet to the Duke of York's house, where, after long stay, the King and Duke of York come, and there saw "The Coffee-house," the most ridiculous, insipid play that ever I saw in my life, and glad we were that Betterton had no part in it. But here, before the play begun, my wife begun to complain to me of Willet's confidence in sitting cheek by jowl by us, which was a poor thing; but I perceive she is already jealous of my kindness to her, so that I begin to fear this girle is not likely to stay long with us. The play done, we home by coach, it being moonlight, and got well home, and I to my chamber to settle some papers, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and at home most of the morning with Sir H. Cholmly, about some accounts of his; and for news he tells me that the Commons and Lords have concurred, and delivered the King their thanks, among other things, for his removal of the Chancellor; who took their thanks very well, and, among other things, promised them, in these words, never, in any degree, to entertain the Chancellor any employment again. And he tells me that it is very true, he hath it from one that was by, that the King did, give the Duke of York a sound reprimand; told him that he had lived with him with more kindness than ever any brother King lived with a brother, and that he lived as much like a monarch as himself, but advised him not to cross him in his designs about the Chancellor; in which the Duke of York do very wisely acquiesce, and will be quiet as the King bade him, but presently commands all his friends to be silent in the business of the Chancellor, and they were so: but that the Chancellor hath done all that is possible to provoke the King, and to bring himself to lose his head by enraging of people. He gone, I to the office, busy all the morning. At noon to Broad Street to Sir G. Carteret and Lord Bruncker, and there dined with them, and thence after dinner with Bruncker to White Hall, where the Duke of York is now newly come for this winter, and there did our usual business, which is but little, and so I away to the Duke of York's house, thinking as we appointed, to meet my wife there, but she was not; and more, I was vexed to see Young (who is but a bad actor at best) act Macbeth in the room of Betterton, who, poor man! is sick: but, Lord! what a prejudice it wrought in me against the whole play, and everybody else agreed in disliking this fellow. Thence home, and there find my wife gone home; because of this fellow's acting of the part, she went out of the house again. There busy at my chamber with Mr. Yeabsly, and then with Mr. Lewes, about public business late, and so to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and being sent for by my Lady Batten, I to her, and there she found fault with my not seeing her since her being a widow, which I excused as well as I could, though it is a fault, but it is my nature not to be forward in visits. But here she told me her condition, which is good enough, being sole executrix, to the disappointment of all her husband's children, and prayed my friendship about the accounts of the prizes, which I promised her. And here do see what creatures widows are in weeping for their husbands, and then presently leaving off; but I cannot wonder at it, the cares of the world taking place of all other passions. Thence to the office, where all the morning busy, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. John Andrews and his wife come and dined with me, and pretty merry we were, only I out of humour the greatest part of the dinner, by reason that my people had forgot to get wine ready, I having none in my house, which I cannot say now these almost three years, I think, without having two or three sorts, by which we were fain to stay a great while, while some could be fetched. When it come I begun to be merry, and merry we were, but it was an odd, strange thing to observe of Mr. Andrews what a fancy he hath to raw meat, that he eats it with no pleasure unless the blood run about his chops, which it did now by a leg of mutton that was not above half boiled; but, it seems, at home all his meat is dressed so, and beef and all, and [he] eats it so at nights also. Here most of our discourse is of the business of the Parliament, who run on mighty furiously, having yesterday been almost all the morning complaining against some high proceedings of my Lord Chief Justice Keeling, that the gentlemen of the country did complain against him in the House, and run very high. It is the man that did fall out with my cozen Roger Pepys, once, at the Assizes there, and would have laid him by the heels; but, it seems, a very able lawyer. After dinner I to the office, where we all met with intent to proceed to the publique sale of several prize ships, but upon discourse my Lord Anglesey did discover (which troubled me that he that is a stranger almost should do more than we ourselves could) that the appraisements made by our officers were not above half of what he had been offered for one of them, and did make it good by bringing a gentleman to give us L700 for the Wildboare, which they valued but at L276, which made us all startle and stop the sale, and I did propose to acquaint the Duke of York with it, and accordingly we did agree on it, and I wrote a severe letter about it, and we are to attend him with it to-morrow about it. This afternoon my Lord Anglesey tells us that the House of Commons have this morning run into the inquiry in many things; as, the sale of Dunkirke, the dividing of the fleete the last year, the business of the prizes with my Lord Sandwich, and many other things; so that now they begin to fall close upon it, and God knows what will be the end of it, but a Committee they have chosen to inquire into the miscarriages of the war. Having done, and being a little tired, Sir W. Pen and I in his coach out to Mile End Green, and there drank a cup of Byde's ale, and so talking about the proceedings of Parliament, and how little a thing the King is become to be forced to suffer it, though I declare my being satisfied that things should be enquired into, we back again home, and I to my office to my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and by coach with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York; but first we find him to spend above an hour in private in his closet with Sir W. Coventry; which I was glad to see, that there is so much confidence between them. By and by we were called in and did our usual business, and complained of the business yesterday discovered of our officers abusing the King in the appraisement of the prizes. Here it was worth observing that the Duke of York, considering what third rate ships to keep abroad, the Rupert was thought on, but then it was said that Captain Hubbert was Commander of her and that the King had a mind for Spragg to command the ship, which would not be well to be by turning out Hubbert, who is a good man, but one the Duke of York said he did not know whether he did so well conforme, as at this lime to please the people and Parliament. Sir W. Coventry answered, and the Duke of York merrily agreed to it, that it was very hard to know what it was that the Parliament would call conformity at this time, and so it stopped, which I only observe to see how the Parliament's present temper do amuse them all. Thence to several places to buy a hat, and books, and neckcloths, and several errands I did before I got home, and, among others, bought me two new pair of spectacles of Turlington, who, it seems, is famous for them; and his daughter, he being out of the way, do advise me two very young sights, as that that will help me most, and promises me great ease from them, and I will try them. At the Exchange I met Creed, and took him home with me, and dined, and among other things he tells me that Sir Robert Brookes is the man that did mention the business in Parliament yesterday about my Lord Sandwich, but that it was seconded by nobody, but the matter will fall before the Committee for miscarriages. Thence, after dinner, my wife and he, and I, and Willet to the King's house, and saw "Brenoralt," which is a good tragedy, that I like well, and parted after the play, and so home, and there a little at my office, and so to my chamber, and spent this night late in telling over all my gold, and putting it into proper bags and my iron chest, being glad with my heart to see so much of it here again, but cannot yet tell certainly how much I have lost by Gibson in his journey, and my father's burying of it in the dirt. At this late, but did it to my mind, and so to supper and to bed. 19th. At the office all the morning, where very busy, and at noon home to a short dinner, being full of my desire of seeing my Lord Orrery's new play this afternoon at the King's house, "The Black Prince," the first time it is acted; where, though we come by two o'clock, yet there was no room in the pit, but we were forced to go into one of the upper boxes, at 4s. a piece, which is the first time I ever sat in a box in my life. And in the same box come, by and by, behind me, my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] and his lady; but I did not turn my face to them to be known, so that I was excused from giving them my seat; and this pleasure I had, that from this place the scenes do appear very fine indeed, and much better than in the pit. The house infinite full, and the King and Duke of York was there. By and by the play begun, and in it nothing particular but a very fine dance for variety of figures, but a little too long. But, as to the contrivance, and all that was witty (which, indeed, was much, and very witty), was almost the same that had been in his two former plays of "Henry the 5th" and "Mustapha," and the same points and turns of wit in both, and in this very same play often repeated, but in excellent language, and were so excellent that the whole house was mightily pleased with it all along till towards the end he comes to discover the chief of the plot of the play by the reading of along letter, which was so long and some things (the people being set already to think too long) so unnecessary that they frequently begun to laugh, and to hiss twenty times, that, had it not been for the King's being there, they had certainly hissed it off the stage. But I must confess that, as my Lord Barkeley says behind me, the having of that long letter was a thing so absurd, that he could not imagine how a man of his parts could possibly fall into it; or, if he did, if he had but let any friend read it, the friend would have told him of it; and, I must confess, it is one of the most remarkable instances that ever I did or expect to meet with in my life of a wise man's not being wise at all times, and in all things, for nothing could be more ridiculous than this, though the letter of itself at another time would be thought an excellent letter, and indeed an excellent Romance, but at the end of the play, when every body was weary of sitting, and were already possessed with the effect of the whole letter; to trouble them with a letter a quarter of an hour long, was a most absurd thing. After the play done, and nothing pleasing them from the time of the letter to the end of the play, people being put into a bad humour of disliking (which is another thing worth the noting), I home by coach, and could not forbear laughing almost all the way home, and all the evening to my going to bed, at the ridiculousness of the letter, and the more because my wife was angry with me, and the world, for laughing, because the King was there, though she cannot defend the length of the letter. So after having done business at the office, I home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new tunique of velvett; which is very plain, but good. This morning is brought to me an order for the presenting the Committee of Parliament to-morrow with a list of the commanders and ships' names of all the fleetes set out since the war, and particularly of those ships which were divided from the fleete with Prince Rupert; [This question of the division of the fleet in May, 1666, was one over which endless controversy as to responsibility was raised. When Prince Rupert, with twenty ships, was detached to prevent the junction of the French squadron with the Dutch, the Duke of Albemarle was left with fifty-four ships against eighty belonging to the Dutch. Albemarle's tactics are praised by Captain Mahan.] which gives me occasion to see that they are busy after that business, and I am glad of it. So I alone to church, and then home, and there Mr. Deane comes and dines with me by invitation, and both at and after dinner he and I spent all the day till it was dark in discourse of business of the Navy and the ground of the many miscarriages, wherein he do inform me in many more than I knew, and I had desired him to put them in writing, and many indeed they are and good ones; and also we discoursed of the business of shipping, and he hath promised me a draught of the ship he is now building, wherein I am mightily pleased. This afternoon comes to me Captain O'Bryan, about a ship that the King hath given him; and he and I to talk of the Parliament; and he tells me that the business of the Duke of York's slackening sail in the first fight, at the beginning of the war, is brought into question, and Sir W. Pen and Captain Cox are to appear to-morrow about it; and it is thought will at last be laid upon Mr. Bruncker's giving orders from the Duke of York (which the Duke of York do not own) to Captain Cox to do it; but it seems they do resent this very highly, and are mad in going through all business, where they can lay any fault. I am glad to hear, that in the world I am as kindly spoke of as any body; for, for aught I see, there is bloody work like to be, Sir W. Coventry having been forced to produce a letter in Parliament wherein the Duke of Albemarle did from Sheernesse write in what good posture all things were at Chatham, and that the chain was so well placed that he feared no attempt of the enemy: so that, among other things, I see every body is upon his own defence, and spares not to blame another to defend himself, and the same course I shall take. But God knows where it will end! He gone, and Deane, I to my chamber for a while, and then comes Pelling the apothecary to see us, and sat and supped with me (my wife being gone to bed sick of the cholique), and then I to bed, after supper. Pelting tells me that my Lady Duchesse Albemarle was at Mrs. Turner's this afternoon, she being ill, and did there publickly talk of business, and of our Office; and that she believed that I was safe, and had done well; and so, I thank God! I hear every body speaks of me; and indeed, I think, without vanity, I may expect to be profited rather than injured by this inquiry, which the Parliament makes into business. 21st. Up, and betimes got a coach at the Exchange, and thence to St. James's, where I had forgot that the Duke of York and family were gone to White Hall, and thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, finding the Parliament likely to be busy all this morning about the business of Mr. Bruncker for advising Cox and Harman to shorten sail when they were in pursuit of the Dutch after the first great victory. I went away to Mr. Creed's chamber, there to meet Sir H. Cholmly, about business of Mr. Yeabsly, where I was delivered of a great fear that they would question some of the orders for payment of money which I had got them signed at the time of the plague, when I was here alone, but all did pass. Thence to Westminster again, and up to the lobby, where many commanders of the fleete were, and Captain Cox, and Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon; the last of whom hath been in the House, and declared that he heard Bruncker advise; and give arguments to, Cox, for the safety of the Duke of York's person, to shorten sail, that they might not be in the middle of the enemy in the morning alone; and Cox denying to observe his advice, having received the Duke of York's commands over night to keep within cannon-shot (as they then were) of the enemy, Bruncker did go to Harman, and used the same arguments, and told him that he was sure it would be well pleasing to the King that care should be taken of not endangering the Duke of York; and, after much persuasion, Harman was heard to say, "Why, if it must be, then lower the topsail." And so did shorten sail, to the loss, as the Parliament will have it, of the greatest victory that ever was, and which would have saved all the expence of blood, and money, and honour, that followed; and this they do resent, so as to put it to the question, whether Bruncker should not be carried to the Tower: who do confess that, out of kindness to the Duke of York's safety, he did advise that they should do so, but did not use the Duke of York's name therein; and so it was only his error in advising it, but the greatest theirs in taking it, contrary to order. At last, it ended that it should be suspended till Harman comes home; and then the Parliament-men do all tell me that it will fall heavy, and, they think, be fatal to Bruncker or him. Sir W. Pen tells me he was gone to bed, having been all day labouring, and then not able to stand, of the goute, and did give order for the keeping the sails standing, as they then were, all night. But, which I wonder at, he tells me that he did not know the next day that they had shortened sail, nor ever did enquire into it till about ten days ago, that this begun to be mentioned; and, indeed, it is charged privately as a fault on the Duke of York, that he did not presently examine the reason of the breach of his orders, and punish it. But Cox tells me that he did finally refuse it; and what prevailed with Harman he knows not, and do think that we might have done considerable service on the enemy the next day, if this had not been done. Thus this business ended to-day, having kept them till almost two o'clock; and then I by coach with Sir W. Pen as far as St. Clement's, talking of this matter, and there set down; and I walked to Sir G. Carteret's, and there dined with him and several Parliament-men, who, I perceive, do all look upon it as a thing certain that the Parliament will enquire into every thing, and will be very severe where they can find any fault. Sir W. Coventry, I hear, did this day make a speech, in apology for his reading the letter of the Duke of Albemarle, concerning the good condition which Chatham was in before the enemy come thither: declaring his simple intention therein, without prejudice to my Lord. And I am told that he was also with the Duke of Albemarle yesterday to excuse it; but this day I do hear, by some of Sir W. Coventry's friends, that they think he hath done himself much injury by making this man, and his interest, so much his enemy. After dinner, I away to Westminster, and up to the Parliament-house, and there did wait with great patience, till seven at night, to be called in to the Committee, who sat all this afternoon, examining the business of Chatham; and at last was called in, and told, that the least they expected from us Mr. Wren had promised them, and only bade me to bring all my fellow-officers thitherto attend them tomorrow, afternoon. Sir Robert Brookes in the chair: methinks a sorry fellow to be there, because a young man; and yet he seems to speak very well. I gone thence, my cozen Pepys comes out to me, and walks in the Hall with me, and bids me prepare to answer to every thing; for they do seem to lodge the business of Chatham upon the Commissioners of the Navy, and they are resolved to lay the fault heavy somewhere, and to punish it: and prays me to prepare to save myself, and gives me hints what to prepare against; which I am obliged to him for, and do begin to mistrust lest some unhappy slip or other after all my diligence and pains may not be found (which I can [not] foresee) that may prove as fatal to a man as the constant course of negligence and unfaithfulness of other men. Here we parted, and I to White Hall to Mr. Wren's chamber, thereto advise with him about the list of ships and commanders which he is to present to the Parliament, and took coach (little Michell being with me, whom I took with me from Westminster Hall), and setting him down in Gracious street home myself, where I find my wife and the two Mercers and Willett and W. Batelier have been dancing, but without a fidler. I had a little pleasure in talking with these, but my head and heart full of thoughts between hope and fear and doubts what will become of us and me particularly against a furious Parliament. Then broke up and to bed, and there slept pretty well till about four o'clock, and from that time could not, but my thoughts running on speeches to the Parliament to excuse myself from the blame which by other men's negligence will 'light, it may be, upon the office. This day I did get a list of the fourteen particular miscarriages which are already before the Committee to be examined; wherein, besides two or three that will concern this Office much, there are those of the prizes, and that of Bergen, and not following the Dutch ships, against my Lord Sandwich; that, I fear, will ruine him, unless he hath very good luck, or they may be in better temper before he can come to be charged: but my heart is full of fear for him and his family. I hear that they do prosecute the business against my Lord Chief Justice Keeling with great severity. 22nd. Slept but ill all the last part of the night, for fear of this day's success in Parliament: therefore up, and all of us all the morning close, till almost two o'clock, collecting all we had to say and had done from the beginning, touching the safety of the River Medway and Chatham. And, having done this, and put it into order, we away, I not having time to eat my dinner; and so all in my Lord Bruncker's coach, that is to say, Bruncker, W. Pen, T. Harvy, and myself, talking of the other great matter with which they charge us, that is, of discharging men by ticket, in order to our defence in case that should be asked. We come to the Parliament-door, and there, after a little waiting till the Committee was sat, we were, the House being very full, called in: Sir W. Pen went in and sat as a Member; and my Lord Bruncker would not at first go in, expecting to have a chair set for him, and his brother had bid him not go in, till he was called for; but, after a few words, I had occasion to mention him, and so he was called in, but without any more chair or respect paid him than myself: and so Bruncker, and T. Harvy, and I, were there to answer: and I had a chair brought me to lean my books upon: and so did give them such an account, in a series of the whole business that had passed the Office touching the matter, and so answered all questions given me about it, that I did not perceive but they were fully satisfied with me and the business as to our Office: and then Commissioner Pett (who was by at all my discourse, and this held till within an hour after candlelight, for I had candles brought in to read my papers by) was to answer for himself, we having lodged all matters with him for execution. But, Lord! what a tumultuous thing this Committee is, for all the reputation they have of a great council, is a strange consideration; there being as impertinent questions, and as disorderly proposed, as any man could make. But Commissioner Pett, of all men living, did make the weakest defence for himself: nothing to the purpose, nor to satisfaction, nor certain; but sometimes one thing and sometimes another, sometimes for himself and sometimes against him; and his greatest failure was, that I observed, from his [not] considering whether the question propounded was his part to answer or no, and the thing to be done was his work to do: the want of which distinction will overthrow him; for he concerns himself in giving an account of the disposal of the boats, which he had no reason at all to do, or take any blame upon him for them. He charged the not carrying up of "The Charles" upon the Tuesday, to the Duke of Albemarle; but I see the House is mighty favourable to the Duke of Albemarle, and would give little weight to it. And something of want of armes he spoke, which Sir J. Duncomb answered with great imperiousness and earnestness; but, for all that, I do see the House is resolved to be better satisfied in the business of the unreadiness of Sherenesse, and want of armes and ammunition there and every where: and all their officers were here to-day attending, but only one called in, about armes for boats, to answer Commissioner Pett. None of my brethren said anything but me there, but only two or three silly words my Lord Bruncker gave, in answer to one question about the number of men there were in the King's Yard at the time. At last, the House dismissed us, and shortly after did adjourne the debate till Friday next: and my cozen Pepys did come out and joy me in my acquitting myself so well, and so did several others, and my fellow-officers all very brisk to see themselves so well acquitted; which makes me a little proud, but yet not secure but we may yet meet with a back-blow which we see not. So, with our hearts very light, Sir W. Pen and I in his coach home, it being now near eight o'clock, and so to the office, and did a little business by the post, and so home, hungry, and eat a good supper, and so, with my mind well at ease, to bed. My wife not very well of those. 23rd. Up, and Sir W. Pen and I in his coach to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York; but come a little too late, and so missed it: only spoke with him, and heard him correct my Lord Barkeley, who fell foul on Sir Edward Spragg, who, it seems, said yesterday to the House, that if the Officers of the Ordnance had done as much work at Shereness in ten weeks as "The Prince" did in ten days, he could have defended the place against the Dutch: but the Duke of York told him that every body must have liberty, at this time, to make their own defence, though it be to the charging of the fault upon any other, so it be true; so I perceive the whole world is at work in blaming one another. Thence Sir W. Pen and I back into London; and there saw the King, with his kettle-drums and trumpets, going to the Exchange, to lay the first stone of the first pillar of the new building of the Exchange; which, the gates being shut, I could not get in to see: but, with Sir W. Pen, to Captain Cocke's to drink a dram of brandy, and so he to the Treasury office about Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and I took coach and back again toward Westminster; but in my way stopped at the Exchange, and got in, the King being newly gone; and there find the bottom of the first pillar laid. And here was a shed set up, and hung with tapestry, and a canopy of state, and some good victuals and wine, for the King, who, it seems, did it; and so a great many people, as Tom Killigrew, and others of the Court there, and there I did eat a mouthful and drink a little, and do find Mr. Gawden in his gowne as Sheriffe, and understand that the King hath this morning knighted him upon the place, which I am mightily pleased with; and I think the other Sheriffe, who is Davis, the little fellow, my schoolfellow,--the bookseller, who was one of Audley's' Executors, and now become Sheriffe; which is a strange turn, methinks. Here mighty merry (there being a good deal of good company) for a quarter of an hour, and so I away and to Westminster Hall, where I come just as the House rose; and there, in the Hall, met with Sir W. Coventry, who is in pain to defend himself in the business of tickets, it being said that the paying of the ships at Chatham by ticket was by his direction, and he hath wrote to me to find his letters, and shew them him, but I find none; but did there argue the case with him, and I think no great blame can be laid on us for that matter, only I see he is fearfull. And he tells me his mistake in the House the other day, which occasions him much trouble, in shewing of the House the Duke of Albemarle's letter about the good condition of Chatham, which he is sorry for, and, owns as a mistake, the thing not being necessary to have been done; and confesses that nobody can escape from such error, some times or other. He says the House was well satisfied with my Report yesterday; and so several others told me in the Hall that my Report was very good and satisfactory, and that I have got advantage by it in the House: I pray God it may prove so! And here, after the Hall pretty empty, I did walk a few turns with Commissioner Pett, and did give the poor weak man some advice for his advantage how to better his pleading for himself, which I think he will if he can remember and practise, for I would not have the man suffer what he do not deserve, there being enough of what he do deserve to lie upon him. Thence to Mrs. Martin's, and there staid till two o'clock, and drank and talked, and did give her L3 to buy my goddaughter her first new gowne . . . . and so away homeward, and in my way met Sir W. Pen in Cheapside, and went into his coach, and back again and to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Black Prince" again: which is now mightily bettered by that long letter being printed, and so delivered to every body at their going in, and some short reference made to it in heart in the play, which do mighty well; but, when all is done, I think it the worst play of my Lord Orrery's. But here, to my great satisfaction, I did see my Lord Hinchingbroke and his mistress, with her father and mother; and I am mightily pleased with the young lady, being handsome enough--and, indeed, to my great liking, as I would have her. I could not but look upon them all the play; being exceeding pleased with my good hap to see them, God bring them together! and they are now already mighty kind to one another, and he is as it were one of their family. The play done I home, and to the office a while, and then home to supper, very hungry, and then to my chamber, to read the true story, in Speed, of the Black Prince, and so to bed. This day, it was moved in the House that a day might be appointed to bring in an, impeachment against the Chancellor, but it was decried as being irregular; but that, if there was ground for complaint, it might be brought to the Committee for miscarriages, and, if they thought good, to present it to the House; and so it was carried. They did also vote this day thanks to be given to the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, for their care and conduct in the last year's war, which is a strange act; but, I know not how, the blockhead Albemarle hath strange luck to be loved, though he be, and every man must know it, the heaviest man in the world, but stout and honest to his country. This evening late, Mr. Moore come to me to prepare matters for my Lord Sandwich's defence; wherein I can little assist, but will do all I can; and am in great fear of nothing but the damned business of the prizes, but I fear my Lord will receive a cursed deal of trouble by it. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning very busy, and at noon took Mr. Hater home with me to dinner, and instantly back again to write what letters I had to write, that I might go abroad with my wife, who was not well, only to jumble her, and so to the Duke of York's playhouse; but there Betterton not being yet well, we would not stay, though since I hear that Smith do act his part in "The Villaine," which was then acted, as well or better than he, which I do not believe; but to Charing Cross, there to see Polichinelli. But, it being begun, we in to see a Frenchman, at the house, where my wife's father last lodged, one Monsieur Prin, play on the trump-marine, [The trumpet marine is a stringed instrument having a triangular- shaped body or chest and a long neck, a single string raised on a bridge and running along the body and neck. It was played with a bow.] which he do beyond belief; and, the truth is, it do so far outdo a trumpet as nothing more, and he do play anything very true, and it is most admirable and at first was a mystery to me that I should hear a whole concert of chords together at the end of a pause, but he showed me that it was only when the last notes were 5ths or 3rds, one to another, and then their sounds like an Echo did last so as they seemed to sound all together. The instrument is open at the end, I discovered; but he would not let me look into it, but I was mightily pleased with it, and he did take great pains to shew me all he could do on it, which was very much, and would make an excellent concert, two or three of them, better than trumpets can ever do, because of their want of compass. Here we also saw again the two fat children come out of Ireland, and a brother and sister of theirs now come, which are of little ordinary growth, like other people. But, Lord! how strange it is to observe the difference between the same children, come out of the same little woman's belly! Thence to Mile-End Greene, and there drank, and so home bringing home night with us, and so to the office a little, and then to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning close till two o'clock, till I had not time to eat my dinner, to make our answer ready for the Parliament this afternoon, to shew how Commissioner Pett was singly concerned in the executing of all orders from Chatham, and that we did properly lodge all orders with him. Thence with Sir W. Pen to the Parliament Committee, and there we all met, and did shew, my Lord Bruncker and I, our commissions under the Great Seal in behalf of all the rest, to shew them our duties, and there I had no more matters asked me, but were bid to withdraw, and did there wait, I all the afternoon till eight at, night, while they were examining several about the business of Chatham again, and particularly my Lord Bruncker did meet with two or three blurs that he did not think of. One from Spragg, who says that "The Unity" was ordered up contrary to his order, by my Lord Bruncker and Commissioner Pett. Another by Crispin, the waterman, who said he was upon "The Charles;" and spoke to Lord Bruncker coming by in his boat, to know whether they should carry up "The Charles," they being a great many naked men without armes, and he told them she was well as she was. Both these have little in them indeed, but yet both did stick close against him; and he is the weakest man in the world to make his defence, and so is like to have much fault laid on him therefrom. Spragg was in with them all the afternoon, and hath much fault laid on him for a man that minded his pleasure, and little else of his whole charge. I walked in the lobby, and there do hear from Mr. Chichly that they were (the Commissioners of the Ordnance) shrewdly put to it yesterday, being examined with all severity and were hardly used by them, much otherwise than we, and did go away with mighty blame; and I am told by every body that it is likely to stick mighty hard upon them: at which every body is glad, because of Duncomb's pride, and their expecting to have the thanks of the House whereas they have deserved, as the Parliament apprehends, as bad as bad can be. Here is great talk of an impeachment brought in against my Lord Mordaunt, and that another will be brought in against my Lord Chancellor in a few days. Here I understand for certain that they have ordered that my Lord Arlington's letters, and Secretary Morrice's letters of intelligence, be consulted, about the business of the Dutch fleete's coming abroad, which is a very high point, but this they have done, but in what particular manner I cannot justly say, whether it was not with the King's leave first asked. Here late, as I have said, and at last they broke up, and we had our commissions again, and I do hear how Birch is the high man that do examine and trouble every body with his questions, and they say that he do labour all he can to clear Pett, but it seems a witness has come in tonight, C. Millett, who do declare that he did deliver a message from the Duke of Albemarle time enough for him to carry up "The Charles," and he neglected it, which will stick very hard, it seems, on him. So Sir W. Pen and I in his coach home, and there to supper, a good supper, and so weary, and my eyes spent, to bed. 26th. Up, and we met all this morning at Sir W. Pen's roome, the office being fowle with the altering of our garden door. There very busy, and at noon home, where Mrs. Pierce and her daughter's husband and Mr. Corbet dined with me. I had a good dinner for them, and mighty merry. Pierce and I very glad at the fate of the officers of Ordnance, that they are like to have so much blame on them. Here Mrs. Pierce tells me that the two Marshalls at the King's house are Stephen Marshall's, the great Presbyterian's daughters: and that Nelly and Beck Marshall, falling out the other day, the latter called the other my Lord Buckhurst's whore. Nell answered then, "I was but one man's whore, though I was brought up in a bawdy-house to fill strong waters to the guests; and you are a whore to three or four, though a Presbyter's praying daughter!" which was very pretty. Mrs. Pierce is still very pretty, but paints red on her face, which makes me hate her, that I thank God I take no pleasure in her at all more. After much mirth and good company at dinner, I to the office and left them, and Pendleton also, who come in to see my wife and talk of dancing, and there I at the office all the afternoon very busy, and did much business, with my great content to see it go off of hand, and so home, my eyes spent, to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office, there, with W. Hewer, to dictate a long letter to the Duke of York, about the bad state of the office, it being a work I do think fit for the office to do, though it be to no purpose but for their vindication in these bad times; for I do now learn many things tending to our safety which I did not wholly forget before, but do find the fruits of, and would I had practised them more, as, among other things, to be sure to let our answers to orders bear date presently after their date, that we may be found quick in our execution. This did us great good the other day before the Parliament. All the morning at this, at noon home to dinner, with my own family alone. After dinner, I down to Deptford, the first time that I went to look upon "The Maybolt," which the King hath given me, and there she is; and I did meet with Mr. Uthwayte, who do tell me that there are new sails ordered to be delivered her, and a cable, which I did not speak of at all to him. So, thereupon, I told him I would not be my own hindrance so much as to take her into my custody before she had them, which was all I said to him, but desired him to take a strict inventory of her, that I might not be cheated by the master nor the company, when they come to understand that the vessel is gone away, which he hath promised me, and so away back again home, reading all the way the book of the collection of oaths in the several offices of this nation, which is worth a man's reading, and so away home, and there my boy and I to sing, and at it all the evening, and to supper, and so to bed. This evening come Sir J. Minnes to me, to let me know that a Parliament-man hath been with him, to tell him that the Parliament intend to examine him particularly about Sir W. Coventry's selling of places, and about my Lord Bruncker's discharging the ships at Chatham by ticket: for the former of which I am more particularly sorry that that business of [Sir] W. Coventry should come up again; though this old man tells me, and, I believe, that he can say nothing to it. 28th. Up, and by water to White Hall (calling at Michell's and drank a dram of strong water, but it being early I did not see his wife), and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, but he was gone out, and so going towards St. James's I find him at his house which is fitting for him; and there I to him, and was with him above an hour alone, discoursing of the matters of the nation, and our Office, and himself. He owns that he is, at this day, the chief person aymed at by the Parliament--that is, by the friends of my Lord Chancellor, and also by the Duke of Albemarle, by reason of his unhappy shewing of the Duke of Albemarle's letter, the other day, in the House; but that he thinks that he is not liable to any hurt they can fasten on him for anything, he is so well armed to justify himself in every thing, unless in the old business of selling places, when he says every body did; and he will now not be forward to tell his own story, as he hath been; but tells me he is grown wiser, and will put them to prove any thing, and he will defend himself: besides that, he will dispute the statute, thinking that it will not be found to reach him. We did talk many things, which, as they come into my mind now, I shall set down without order: that he is weary of public employment; and neither ever designed, nor will ever, if his commission were brought to him wrapt in gold, would he accept of any single place in the State, as particularly Secretary of State; which, he says, the world discourses Morrice is willing to resign, and he thinks the King might have thought of him, but he would not, by any means, now take it, if given him, nor anything, but in commission with others, who may bear part of the blame; for now he observes well, that whoever did do anything singly are now in danger, however honest and painful they were, saying that he himself was the only man, he thinks, at the council-board that spoke his mind clearly, as he thought, to the good of the King; and the rest, who sat silent, have nothing said to them, nor are taken notice of. That the first time the King did take him so closely into his confidence and ministry of affairs was upon the business of Chatham, when all the disturbances were there, and in the kingdom; and then, while everybody was fancying for himself, the King did find him to persuade him to call for the Parliament, declaring that it was against his own proper interest, forasmuch as [it was] likely they would find faults with him, as well as with others, but that he would prefer the service of the King before his own: and, thereupon, the King did take him into his special notice, and, from that time to this, hath received him so; and that then he did see the folly and mistakes of the Chancellor in the management of things, and saw that matters were never likely to be done well in that sort of conduct, and did persuade the King to think fit of the taking away the seals from the Chancellor, which, when it was done, he told me that he himself, in his own particular, was sorry for it; for, while he stood, there was he and my Lord Arlington to stand between him and harm: whereas now there is only my Lord Arlington, and he is now down, so that all their fury is placed upon him but that he did tell the King, when he first moved it, that, if he thought the laying of him, W. Coventry, aside, would at all facilitate the removing of the Chancellor, he would most willingly submit to it, whereupon the King did command him to try the Duke of York about it, and persuade him to it, which he did, by the King's command, undertake, and compass, and the Duke of York did own his consent to the King, but afterwards was brought to be of another mind for the Chancellor, and now is displeased with him, and [so is] the Duchesse, so that she will not see him; but he tells me the Duke of York seems pretty kind, and hath said that he do believe that W. Coventry did mean well, and do it only out of judgment. He tells me that he never was an intriguer in his life, nor will be, nor of any combination of persons to set up this, or fling down that, nor hath, in his own business, this Parliament, spoke to three members to say any thing for him, but will stand upon his own defence, and will stay by it, and thinks that he is armed against all they can [say], but the old business of selling places, and in that thinks they cannot hurt him. However, I do find him mighty willing to have his name used as little as he can, and he was glad when I did deliver him up a letter of his to me, which did give countenance to the discharging of men by ticket at Chatham, which is now coming in question; and wherein, I confess, I am sorry to find him so tender of appearing, it being a thing not only good and fit, all that was done in it, but promoted and advised by him. But he thinks the House is set upon wresting anything to his prejudice that they can pick up. He tells me he did never, as a great many have, call the Chancellor rogue and knave, and I know not what; but all that he hath said, and will stand by, is, that his counsels were not good, nor the manner of his managing of things. I suppose he means suffering the King to run in debt; for by and by the King walking in the parke, with a great crowd of his idle people about him, I took occasion to say that it was a sorry thing to be a poor King, and to have others to come to correct the faults of his own servants, and that this was it that brought us all into this condition. He answered that he would never be a poor King, and then the other would mend of itself. "No," says he, "I would eat bread and drink water first, and this day discharge all the idle company about me, and walk only with two footmen; and this I have told the King, and this must do it at last." I asked him how long the King would suffer this. He told me the King must suffer it yet longer, that he would not advise the King to do otherwise; for it would break out again worse, if he should break them up before the core be come up. After this, we fell to other talk, of my waiting upon him hereafter, it may be, to read a chapter in Seneca, in this new house, which he hath bought, and is making very fine, when we may be out of employment, which he seems to wish more than to fear, and I do believe him heartily. Thence home, and met news from Mr. Townsend of the Wardrobe that old Young, the yeoman taylor, whose place my Lord Sandwich promised my father, is dead. Upon which, resolving presently that my father shall not be troubled with it, but I hope I shall be able to enable him to end his days where he is, in quiet, I went forth thinking to tell Mrs. Ferrers (Captain Ferrers's wife), who do expect it after my father, that she may look after it, but upon second thoughts forbore it, and so back again home, calling at the New Exchange, and there buying "The Indian Emperour," newly printed, and so home to dinner, where I had Mr. Clerke, the sollicitor, and one of the Auditor's clerks to discourse about the form of making up my accounts for the Exchequer, which did give me good satisfaction, and so after dinner, my wife, and Mercer, who grows fat, and Willett, and I, to the King's house, and there saw "The Committee," a play I like well, and so at night home and to the office, and so to my chamber about my accounts, and then to Sir W. Pen's to speak with Sir John Chichly, who desired my advice about a prize which he hath begged of the King, and there had a great deal of his foolish talk of ladies and love and I know not what, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and at the office, my Lord Bruncker and I close together till almost 3 after noon, never stirring, making up a report for the Committee this afternoon about the business of discharging men by ticket, which it seems the House is mighty earnest in, but is a foolery in itself, yet gives me a great deal of trouble to draw up a defence for the Board, as if it was a crime; but I think I have done it to very good purpose. Then to my Lady Williams's, with her and my Lord, and there did eat a snapp of good victuals, and so to Westminster Hall, where we find the House not up, but sitting all this day about the method of bringing in the charge against my Lord Chancellor; and at last resolved for a Committee to draw up the heads, and so rose, and no Committee to sit tonight. Here Sir W. Coventry and Lord Bruncker and I did in the Hall (between the two Courts at the top of the Hall) discourse about a letter of [Sir] W. Coventry's to Bruncker, whereon Bruncker did justify his discharging men by ticket, and insists on one word which Sir W. Coventry would not seem very earnest to have left out, but I did see him concerned, and did after labour to suppress the whole letter, the thing being in itself really impertinent, but yet so it is that [Sir] W. Coventry do not desire to have his name used in this business, and I have prevailed with Bruncker for it. Thence Bruncker and I to the King's House, thinking to have gone into a box above, for fear of being seen, the King being there, but the play being 3 acts done we would not give 4s., and so away and parted, and I home, and there after a little supper to bed, my eyes ill, and head full of thoughts of the trouble this Parliament gives us. 30th. All the morning till past noon preparing over again our report this afternoon to the Committee of Parliament about tickets, and then home to eat a bit, and then with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we did a very little business with the Duke of York at our usual meeting, only I perceive that he do leave all of us, as the King do those about him, to stand and fall by ourselves, and I think is not without some cares himself what the Parliament may do in matters wherein his honour is concerned. Thence to the Parliament-house; where, after the Committee was sat, I was called in; and the first thing was upon the complaint of a dirty slut that was there, about a ticket which she had lost, and had applied herself to me for another. . . . I did give them a short and satisfactory answer to that; and so they sent her away, and were ashamed of their foolery, in giving occasion to 500 seamen and seamen's wives to come before them, as there was this afternoon. But then they fell to the business of tickets, and I did give them the best answer I could, but had not scope to do it in the methodical manner which I had prepared myself for, but they did ask a great many broken rude questions about it, and were mightily hot whether my Lord Bruncker had any order to discharge whole ships by ticket, and because my answer was with distinction, and not direct, I did perceive they were not so fully satisfied therewith as I could wish they were. So my Lord Bruncker was called in, and they could fasten nothing on him that I could see, nor indeed was there any proper matter for blame, but I do see, and it was said publicly in the House by Sir T. Clerges that Sir W. Batten had designed the business of discharging men by ticket and an order after the thing was done to justify my Lord Bruncker for having done it. But this I did not owne at all, nor was it just so, though he did indeed do something like it, yet had contributed as much to it as any man of the board by sending down of tickets to do it. But, Lord! to see that we should be brought to justify ourselves in a thing of necessity and profit to the King, and of no profit or convenience to us, but the contrary. We being withdrawn, we heard no more of it, but there staid late and do hear no more, only my cozen Pepys do tell me that he did hear one or two whisper as if they thought that I do bogle at the business of my Lord Bruncker, which is a thing I neither did or have reason to do in his favour, but I do not think it fit to make him suffer for a thing that deserves well. But this do trouble me a little that anything should stick to my prejudice in any of them, and did trouble me so much that all the way home with Sir W. Pen I was not at good ease, nor all night, though when I come home I did find my wife, and Betty Turner, the two Mercers, and Mrs. Parker, an ugly lass, but yet dances well, and speaks the best of them, and W. Batelier, and Pembleton dancing; and here I danced with them, and had a good supper, and as merry as I could be, and so they being gone we to bed. 31st. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon Mr. Creed and Yeabsly dined with me (my wife gone to dine with Mrs. Pierce and see a play with her), and after dinner in comes Mr. Turner, of Eynsbury, lately come to town, and also after him Captain Hill of the "Coventry," who lost her at Barbadoes, and is come out of France, where he hath been long prisoner. After a great deal of mixed discourse, and then Mr. Turner and I alone a little in my closet, talking about my Lord Sandwich (who I hear is now ordered by the King to come home again), we all parted, and I by water, calling at Michell's, and saw and once kissed su wife, but I do think that he is jealous of her, and so she dares not stand out of his sight; so could not do more, but away by water to the Temple, and there, after spending a little time in my bookseller's shop, I to Westminster; and there at the lobby do hear by Commissioner Pett, to my great amazement, that he is in worse condition than before, by the coming in of the Duke of Albemarle's and Prince Rupert's Narratives' this day; wherein the former do most severely lay matters upon him, so as the House this day have, I think, ordered him to the Tower again, or something like it; so that the poor man is likely to be overthrown, I doubt, right or wrong, so infinite fond they are of any thing the Duke of Albemarle says or writes to them! I did then go down, and there met with Colonel Reames and cozen Roger Pepys; and there they do tell me how the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince have laid blame on a great many, and particularly on our Office in general; and particularly for want of provision, wherein I shall come to be questioned again in that business myself; which do trouble me. But my cozen Pepys and I had much discourse alone: and he do bewail the constitution of this House, and says there is a direct caball and faction, as much as is possible between those for and those against the Chancellor, and so in other factions, that there is nothing almost done honestly and with integrity; only some few, he says, there are, that do keep out of all plots and combinations, and when their time comes will speak and see right done, if possible; and that he himself is looked upon to be a man that will be of no faction, and so they do shun to make him; and I am glad of it. He tells me that he thanks God he never knew what it was to be tempted to be a knave in his life; till he did come into the House of Commons, where there is nothing done but by passion, and faction, and private interest. Reames did tell me of a fellow last night (one Kelsy, a commander of a fire-ship, who complained for want of his money paid him) did say that he did see one of the Commissioners of the Navy bring in three waggon-loads of prize-goods into Greenwich one night; but that the House did take no notice of it, nor enquire; but this is me, and I must expect to be called to account, and answer what I did as well as I can. So thence away home, and in Holborne, going round, it being dark, I espied Sir D. Gawden's coach, and so went out of mine into his; and there had opportunity to talk of the business of victuals, which the Duke of Albemarle and Prince did complain that they were in want of the last year: but we do conclude we shall be able to show quite the contrary of that; only it troubles me that we must come to contend with these great persons, which will overrun us. So with some disquiet in my mind on this account I home, and there comes Mr. Yeabsly, and he and I to even some accounts, wherein I shall be a gainer about L200, which is a seasonable profit, for I have got nothing a great while; and he being gone, I to bed. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Commons, where there is nothing done but by passion, and faction Disquiet all night, telling of the clock till it was daylight Painful to keep money, as well as to get it Sorry thing to be a poor King Spares not to blame another to defend himself Wise man's not being wise at all times 
4182	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER 1667 November 1st. Up betimes, and down to the waterside (calling and drinking a dram of the bottle at Michell's, but saw not Betty), and thence to White Hall and to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, where he and I alone a good while, where he gives me the full of the Duke of Albemarle's and Prince's narratives, given yesterday by the House, wherein they fall foul of him and Sir G. Carteret in something about the dividing of the fleete, and the Prince particularly charging the Commissioners of the Navy with negligence, he says the Commissioners of the Navy whereof Sir W. Coventry is one. He tells me that he is prepared to answer any particular most thoroughly, but the quality of the persons do make it difficult for him, and so I do see is in great pain, poor man, though he deserves better than twenty such as either of them, for his abilities and true service to the King and kingdom. He says there is incoherences, he believes, to be found between their two reports, which will be pretty work to consider. The Duke of Albemarle charges W. Coventry that he should tell him, when he come down to the fleete with Sir G. Carteret, to consult about dividing the fleete, that the Dutch would not be out in six weeks, which W. Coventry says is as false as is possible, and he can prove the contrary by the Duke of Albemarle's own letters. The Duke of Albemarle says that he did upon sight of the Dutch call a council of officers, and they did conclude they could not avoid fighting the Dutch; and yet we did go to the enemy, and found them at anchor, which is a pretty contradiction. And he tells me that Spragg did the other day say in the House, that the Prince, at his going from the Duke of Albemarle with his fleete, did tell him that if the Dutch should come on, the Duke was to follow him, the Prince, with his fleete, and not fight the Dutch. Out of all this a great deal of good might well be picked. But it is a sad consideration that all this picking of holes in one another's coats--nay, and the thanks of the House to the Prince and the Duke of Albemarle, and all this envy and design to ruin Sir W. Coventry--did arise from Sir W. Coventry's unfortunate mistake the other day, in producing of a letter from the Duke of Albemarle, touching the good condition of all things at Chatham just before the Dutch come up, and did us that fatal mischiefe; for upon this they are resolved to undo him, and I pray God they do not. He tells me upon my demanding it that he thinks the King do not like this their bringing these narratives, and that they give out that they would have said more but that the King hath hindered them, that I suppose is about my Lord Sandwich. He is getting a copy of the Narratives, which I shall then have, and so I parted from him and away to White Hall, where I met Mr. Creed and Yeabsly, and discoursed a little about Mr. Yeabsly's business and accounts, and so I to chapel and there staid, it being All-Hallows day, and heard a fine anthem, made by Pelham (who is come over) in France, of which there was great expectation, and indeed is a very good piece of musique, but still I cannot call the Anthem anything but instrumentall musique with the voice, for nothing is made of the words at all. I this morning before chapel visited Sir G. Carteret, who is vexed to see how things are likely to go, but cannot help it, and yet seems to think himself mighty safe. I also visited my Lord Hinchingbroke, at his chamber at White Hall, where I found Mr. Turner, Moore, and Creed, talking of my Lord Sandwich, whose case I doubt is but bad, and, I fear, will not escape being worse, though some of the company did say otherwise. But I am mightily pleased with my Lord Hinchingbroke's sobriety and few words. After chapel I with Creed to the Exchange, and after much talk he and I there about securing of some money either by land or goods to be always at our command, which we think a thing advisable in this critical time, we parted, and I to the Sun Taverne with Sir W. Warren (with whom I have not drank many a day, having for some time been strange to him), and there did put it to him to advise me how to dispose of my prize, which he will think of and do to my best advantage. We talked of several other things relating to his service, wherein I promise assistance, but coldly, thinking it policy to do so, and so, after eating a short dinner, I away home, and there took out my wife, and she and I alone to the King's playhouse, and there saw a silly play and an old one, "The Taming of a Shrew," and so home and I to my office a little, and then home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning; at noon home, and after dinner my wife and Willett and I to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Henry the Fourth:" and contrary to expectation, was pleased in nothing more than in Cartwright's speaking of Falstaffe's speech about "What is Honour?" The house full of Parliament-men, it being holyday with them: and it was observable how a gentleman of good habit, sitting just before us, eating of some fruit in the midst of the play, did drop down as dead, being choked; but with much ado Orange Moll did thrust her finger down his throat, and brought him to life again. After the play, we home, and I busy at the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and thither comes Roger Pepys to our pew, and thence home to dinner, whither comes by invitation Mr. Turner, the minister, and my cozen Roger brought with him Jeffrys, the apothecary at Westminster, who is our kinsman, and we had much discourse of Cottenhamshire, and other things with great pleasure. My cozen Roger did tell me of a bargain which I may now have in Norfolke, that my she-cozen, Nan Pepys, is going to sell, the title whereof is very good, and the pennyworth is also good enough; but it is out of the way so of my life, that I shall never enjoy it, nor, it may be, see it, and so I shall have nothing to do with it. After dinner to talk, and I find by discourse Mr. Turner to be a man mighty well read in the Roman history, which is very pleasant. By and by Roger went, and Mr. Turner spent an hour talking over my Lord Sandwich's condition as to this Parliament, which we fear may be bad, and the condition of his family, which can be no better, and then having little to comfort ourselves but that this humour will not last always in the Parliament, and that [it] may well have a great many more as great men as he enquired into, and so we parted, and I to my chamber, and there busy all the evening, and then my wife and I to supper, and so to bed, with much discourse and pleasure one with another. 4th. Up betimes, and by water with Sir R. Ford (who is going to Parliament) to Westminster; and there landing at the New Exchange stairs, I to Sir W. Coventry: and there he read over to me the Prince's and the Duke of Albemarle's Narratives; wherein they are very severe against him and our Office. But [Sir] W. Coventry do contemn them; only that their persons and qualities are great, and so I do perceive [he] is afeard of them, though he will not confess it. But he do say that, if he can get out of these briars, he will never trouble himself with Princes nor Dukes again. He finds several things in their Narratives, which are both inconsistent and foolish, as well as untrue, especially as to what the Duke of Albemarle avers of his knowing of the enemy's being abroad sooner than he says it, which [Sir] W. Coventry will shew him his own letter against him, for I confess I do see so much, that, were I but well possessed of what I should have in the world, I think I could willingly retreat, and trouble myself no more with it. Thence home, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to the Excise Office to see what tallies are paying, and thence back to the Old Exchange, by the way talking of news, and he owning Sir W. Coventry, in his opinion, to be one of the worthiest men in the nation, as I do really think he is. He tells me he do think really that they will cut off my Lord Chancellor's head, the Chancellor at this day showing as much pride as is possible to those few that venture their fortunes by coming to see him; and that the Duke of York is troubled much, knowing that those that fling down the Chancellor cannot stop there, but will do something to him, to prevent his having it in his power hereafter to avenge himself and father-in-law upon them. And this Sir H. Cholmly fears may be by divorcing the Queen and getting another, or declaring the Duke of Monmouth legitimate; which God forbid! He tells me he do verily believe that there will come in an impeachment of High Treason against my Lord of Ormond; among other things, for ordering the quartering of soldiers in Ireland on free quarters; which, it seems, is High Treason in that country, and was one of the things that lost the Lord Strafford his head, and the law is not yet repealed; which, he says, was a mighty oversight of him not to have it repealed, which he might with ease have done, or have justified himself by an Act. From the Exchange I took a coach, and went to Turlington, the great spectacle-maker, for advice, who dissuades me from using old spectacles, but rather young ones, and do tell me that nothing can wrong my eyes more than for me to use reading-glasses, which do magnify much. Thence home, and there dined, and then abroad and left my wife and Willett at her tailor's, and I to White Hall, where the Commissioners of the Treasury do not sit, and therefore I to Westminster to the Hall, and there meeting with Col. Reames I did very cheaply by him get copies of the Prince's and Duke of Albemarle's Narratives, which they did deliver the other day to the House, of which I am mighty glad, both for my present information and for my future satisfaction. So back by coach, and took up my wife, and away home, and there in my chamber all the evening among my papers and my accounts of Tangier to my great satisfaction, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, and thence out with my wife and girle, and left them at her tailor's, and I to the Treasury, and there did a little business for Tangier, and so took them up again, and home, and when I had done at the office, being post night, I to my chamber, and there did something more, and so to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to Westminster, where to the Parliament door, and there spoke with Sir G. Downing, to see what was done yesterday at the Treasury for Tangier, and it proved as good as nothing, so that I do see we shall be brought to great straits for money there. He tells me here that he is passing a Bill to make the Excise and every other part of the King's Revenue assignable on the Exchequer, which indeed will be a very good thing. This he says with great glee as an act of his, and how poor a thing this was in the beginning, and with what envy he carried it on, and how my Lord Chancellor could never endure him for it since he first begun it. He tells me that the thing the House is just now upon is that of taking away the charter from the Company of Woodmongers, whose frauds, it seems, have been mightily laid before them. He tells me that they are like to fly very high against my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to the House of Lords, and there first saw Dr. Fuller, as Bishop of Lincoln, to sit among the Lords. Here I spoke with the Duke of York and the Duke of Albemarle about Tangier; but methinks both of them do look very coldly one upon another, and their discourse mighty cold, and little to the purpose about our want of money. Thence homeward, and called at Allestry's, the bookseller, who is bookseller to the Royal Society, and there did buy three or four books, and find great variety of French and foreign books. And so home and to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to a play, and the girl--"Macbeth," which we still like mightily, though mighty short of the content we used to have when Betterton acted, who is still sick. So home, troubled with the way and to get a coach, and so to supper and to bed. This day, in the Paynted-chamber, I met and walked with Mr. George Montagu, who thinks it may go hard with my Lord Sandwich, but he says the House is offended with Sir W. Coventry much, and that he do endeavour to gain them again in the most precarious manner in all things that is possible. 7th. Up, and at the office hard all the morning, and at noon resolved with Sir W. Pen to go see "The Tempest," an old play of Shakespeare's, acted, I hear, the first day; and so my wife, and girl, and W. Hewer by themselves, and Sir W. Pen and I afterwards by ourselves; and forced to sit in the side balcone over against the musique-room at the Duke's house, close by my Lady Dorset and a great many great ones. The house mighty full; the King and Court there and the most innocent play that ever I saw; and a curious piece of musique in an echo of half sentences, the echo repeating the former half, while the man goes on to the latter; which is mighty pretty. The play [has] no great wit, but yet good, above ordinary plays. Thence home with [Sir] W. Pen, and there all mightily pleased with the play; and so to supper and to bed, after having done at the office. 8th. Called up betimes by Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to good purpose most of the morning--I in my dressing-gown with him, on our Tangier accounts, and stated them well; and here he tells me that he believes it will go hard with my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to the office, where met on some special, business; and here I hear that the Duke of York is very ill; and by and by word brought us that we shall not need to attend to-day the Duke of York, for he is not well, which is bad news. They being gone, I to my workmen, who this day come to alter my office, by beating down the wall, and making me a fayre window both there, and increasing the window of my closet, which do give me some present trouble; but will be mighty pleasant. So all the whole day among them to very late, and so home weary, to supper, and to bed, troubled for the Duke of York his being sick. 9th. Up and to my workmen, who are at work close again, and I at the office all the morning, and there do hear by a messenger that Roger Pepys would speak with me, so before the office up I to Westminster, and there find the House very busy, and like to be so all day, about my Lord Chancellor's impeachment, whether treason or not, where every body is mighty busy. I spoke with my cozen Roger, whose business was only to give me notice that Carcasse hath been before the Committee; and to warn me of it, which is a great courtesy in him to do, and I desire him to continue to do so. This business of this fellow, though it may be a foolish thing, yet it troubles me, and I do plainly see my weakness that I am not a man able to go through trouble, as other men, but that I should be a miserable man if I should meet with adversity, which God keep me from! He desirous to get back into the House, he having his notes in his hand, the lawyers being now speaking to the point of whether treason or not treason, the article of advising the King to break up the Parliament, and to govern by the sword. Thence I down to the Hall, and there met Mr. King, the Parliament-man for Harwich, and there he did shew, and let me take a copy of, all the articles against my Lord Chancellor, and what members they were that undertook to bring witnesses to make them good, of which I was mighty glad, and so away home, and to dinner and to my workmen, and in the afternoon out to get Simpson the joyner to come to work at my office, and so back home and to my letters by the post to-night, and there, by W. Pen, do hear that this article was overvoted in the House not to be a ground of impeachment of treason, at which I was glad, being willing to have no blood spilt, if I could help it. So home to supper, and glad that the dirty bricklayers' work of my office is done, and home to supper and to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Mighty cold, and with my wife to church, where a lazy sermon. Here was my Lady Batten in her mourning at church, but I took no notice of her. At noon comes Michell and his wife to dine with us, and pretty merry. I glad to see her still. After dinner Sir W. Pen and I to White Hall, to speak with Sir W. Coventry; and there, beyond all we looked for, do hear that the Duke of York hath got, and is full of, the small-pox; and so we to his lodgings; and there find most of the family going to St. James's, and the gallery doors locked up, that nobody might pass to nor fro and a sad house, I am sure. I am sad to consider the effects of his death, if he should miscarry; but Dr. Frazier tells me that he is in as good condition as a man can be in his case. The eruption appeared last night; it seems he was let blood on Friday. Thence, not finding [Sir] W. Coventry, and going back again home, we met him coming with the Lord Keeper, and so returned and spoke with him in White Hall Garden, two or three turns, advising with him what we should do about Carcasse's bringing his letter into the Committee of Parliament, and he told us that the counsel he hath too late learned is, to spring nothing in the House, nor offer anything, but just what is drawn out of a man: that this is the best way of dealing with a Parliament, and that he hath paid dear, and knows not how much more he may pay, for not knowing it sooner, when he did unnecessarily produce the Duke of Albemarle's letter about Chatham, which if demanded would have come out with all the advantages in the world to Sir W. Coventry, but, as he brought it out himself, hath drawn much evil upon him. After some talk of this kind, we back home, and there I to my chamber busy all the evening, and then to supper and to bed, my head running all night upon our businesses in Parliament and what examinations we are likely to go under before they have done with us, which troubles me more than it should a wise man and a man the best able to defend himself, I believe, of our own whole office, or any other, I am apt to think. 11th. Up, and to Simpson at work in my office, and thence with Sir G. Carteret (who come to talk with me) to Broad Streete, where great crowding of people for money, at which he blamed himself. Thence with him and Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's (he out of doors), and there drank their morning draught, and thence [Sir] G. Carteret and I toward the Temple in coach together; and there he did tell me how the King do all he can in the world to overthrow my Lord Chancellor, and that notice is taken of every man about the King that is not seen to promote the ruine of the Chancellor; and that this being another great day in his business, he dares not but be there. He tells me that as soon as Secretary Morrice brought the Great Seale from my Lord Chancellor, Bab. May fell upon his knees, and catched the King about the legs, and joyed him, and said that this was the first time that ever he could call him King of England, being freed from this great man: which was a most ridiculous saying. And he told me that, when first my Lord Gerard, a great while ago, come to the King, and told him that the Chancellor did say openly that the King was a lazy person and not fit to govern, which is now made one of the things in the people's mouths against the Chancellor, "Why," says the King, "that is no news, for he hath told me so twenty times, and but the other day he told me so;" and made matter of mirth at it: but yet this light discourse is likely to prove bad to him. I 'light at the Temple, and went to my tailor's and mercer's about a cloake, to choose the stuff, and so to my bookseller's and bought some books, and so home to dinner, and Simpson my joyner with me, and after dinner, my wife, and I, and Willett, to the King's play-house, and there saw "The Indian Emperour," a good play, but not so good as people cry it up, I think, though above all things Nell's ill speaking of a great part made me mad. Thence with great trouble and charge getting a coach (it being now and having been all this day a most cold and foggy, dark, thick day), we home, and there I to my office, and saw it made clean from top to bottom, till I feared I took cold in walking in a damp room while it is in washing, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I had a whole doe sent me by Mr. Hozier, which is a fine present, and I had the umbles of it for dinner. This day I hear Kirton, my bookseller, poor man, is dead, I believe, of grief for his losses by the fire. 12th. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning; and there hear the Duke of York do yet do very well with his smallpox: pray God he may continue to do so! This morning also, to my astonishment, I hear that yesterday my Lord Chancellor, to another of his Articles, that of betraying the King's councils to his enemies, is voted to have matter against him for an impeachment of High Treason, and that this day the impeachment is to be carried up to the House of Lords which is very high, and I am troubled at it; for God knows what will follow, since they that do this must do more to secure themselves against any that will revenge this, if it ever come in their power! At noon home to dinner, and then to my office, and there saw every thing finished, so as my papers are all in order again and my office twice as pleasant as ever it was, having a noble window in my closet and another in my office, to my great content, and so did business late, and then home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and so to Westminster; where I find the House sitting, and in a mighty heat about Commissioner Pett, that they would have him impeached, though the Committee have yet brought in but part of their Report: and this heat of the House is much heightened by Sir Thomas Clifford telling them, that he was the man that did, out of his own purse, employ people at the out-ports to prevent the King of Scots to escape after the battle of Worcester. The House was in a great heat all this day about it; and at last it was carried, however, that it should be referred back to the Committee to make further enquiry. I here spoke with Roger Pepys, who sent for me, and it was to tell me that the Committee is mighty full of the business of buying and selling of tickets, and to caution me against such an enquiry (wherein I am very safe), and that they have already found out Sir Richard Ford's son to have had a hand in it, which they take to be the same as if the father had done it, and I do believe the father may be as likely to be concerned in it as his son. But I perceive by him they are resolved to find out the bottom of the business if it be possible. By and by I met with Mr. Wren, who tells me that the Duke of York is in as good condition as is possible for a man, in his condition of the smallpox. He, I perceive, is mightily concerned in the business of my Lord Chancellor, the impeachment against whom is gone up to the House of Lords; and great differences there are in the Lords' House about it, and the Lords are very high one against another. Thence home to dinner, and as soon as dinner done I and my wife and Willet to the Duke of York's, house, and there saw the Tempest again, which is very pleasant, and full of so good variety that I cannot be more pleased almost in a comedy, only the seamen's part a little too tedious. Thence home, and there to my chamber, and do begin anew to bind myself to keep my old vows, and among the rest not to see a play till Christmas but once in every other week, and have laid aside L10, which is to be lost to the poor, if I do. This I hope in God will bind me, for I do find myself mightily wronged in my reputation, and indeed in my purse and business, by my late following of my pleasure for so long time as I have done. So to supper and then to bed. This day Mr. Chichly told me, with a seeming trouble, that the House have stopped his son Jack (Sir John) his going to France, that he may be a witness against my Lord Sandwich: which do trouble me, though he can, I think, say little. 14th. At the office close all the morning. At noon, all my clerks with me to dinner, to a venison pasty; and there comes Creed, and dined with me, and he tells me how high the Lords were in the Lords' House about the business of the Chancellor, and that they are not yet agreed to impeach him. After dinner, he and I, and my wife and girl, the latter two to their tailor's, and he and I to the Committee of the Treasury, where I had a hearing, but can get but L6000 for the pay of the garrison, in lieu of above L16,000; and this Alderman Backewell gets remitted there, and I am glad of it. Thence by coach took up my wife and girl, and so home, and set down Creed at Arundell House, going to the Royal Society, whither I would be glad to go, but cannot. Thence home, and to the Office, where about my letters, and so home to supper, and to bed, my eyes being bad again; and by this means, the nights, now-a-days, do become very long to me, longer than I can sleep out. 15th. Up, and to Alderman Backewell's [Edward Backwell, goldsmith and alderman of the City of London. He was a man of considerable wealth during the Commonwealth. After the Restoration he negotiated Charles II.'s principal money transactions. He was M.P. for Wendover in the parliament of 1679, and in the Oxford parliament of 1680. According to the writer of the life in the "Diet. of Nat. Biog. "his heirs did not ultimately suffer any pecuniary loss by the closure of the Exchequer. Mr. Hilton Price stated that Backwell removed to Holland in 1676, and died therein 1679; but this is disproved by the pedigree in Lipscomb's "Hist. of Bucks," where the date of his death is given as 1683, as well as by the fact that he sat for Wendover in 1679 and 1680, as stated above.] and there discoursed with him about the remitting of this L6000 to Tangier, which he hath promised to do by the first post, and that will be by Monday next, the 18th, and he and I agreed that I would take notice of it that so he may be found to have done his best upon the desire of the Lords Commissioners. From this we went to discourse of his condition, and he with some vain glory told me that the business of Sheernesse did make him quite mad, and indeed might well have undone him; but yet that he did the very next day pay here and got bills to answer his promise to the King for the Swedes Embassadors (who were then doing our business at the treaty at Breda) L7000, and did promise the Bankers there, that if they would draw upon him all that he had of theirs and L10,000 more, he would answer it. He told me that Serjeant Maynard come to him for a sum of money that he had in his hands of his, and so did many others, and his answer was, What countrymen are you? And when they told him, why then, says he, here is a tally upon the Receiver of your country for so [much], and to yours for so much, and did offer to lay by tallies to the full value of all that he owed in the world, and L40,000 more for the security thereof, and not to touch a penny of his own till the full of what he owed was paid, which so pleased every body that he hath mastered all, so that he hath lent the Commissioners of the Treasury above L40,000 in money since that business, and did this morning offer to a lady who come to give him notice that she should need her money L3000, in twenty days, he bid her if she pleased send for it to-day and she should have it. Which is a very great thing, and will make them greater than ever they were, I am apt to think, in some time. Thence to Westminster, and there I walked with several, and do hear that there is to be a conference between the two Houses today; so I stayed: and it was only to tell the Commons that the Lords cannot agree to the confining or sequestring of the Earle of Clarendon from the Parliament, forasmuch as they do not specify any particular crime which they lay upon him and call Treason. This the House did receive, and so parted: at which, I hear, the Commons are like to grow very high, and will insist upon their privileges, and the Lords will own theirs, though the Duke of Buckingham, Bristoll, and others, have been very high in the House of Lords to have had him committed. This is likely to breed ill blood. Thence I away home, calling at my mercer's and tailor's, and there find, as I expected, Mr. Caesar and little Pelham Humphreys, lately returned from France, and is an absolute Monsieur, as full of form, and confidence, and vanity, and disparages everything, and everybody's skill but his own. The truth is, every body says he is very able, but to hear how he laughs at all the King's musick here, as Blagrave and others, that they cannot keep time nor tune, nor understand anything; and that Grebus, the Frenchman, the King's master of the musick, how he understands nothing, nor can play on any instrument, and so cannot compose: and that he will give him a lift out of his place; and that he and the King are mighty great! and that he hath already spoke to the King of Grebus would make a man piss. I had a good dinner for them, as a venison pasty and some fowl, and after dinner we did play, he on the theorbo. Mr. Caesar on his French lute, and I on the viol, but made but mean musique, nor do I see that this Frenchman do so much wonders on the theorbo, but without question he is a good musician, but his vanity do offend me. They gone, towards night, I to the office awhile, and then home and to my chamber, where busy till by and by comes Mr. Moore, and he staid and supped and talked with me about many things, and tells me his great fear that all things will go to ruin among us, for that the King hath, as he says Sir Thomas Crew told him, been heard to say that the quarrel is not between my Lord Chancellor and him, but his brother and him; which will make sad work among us if that be once promoted, as to be sure it will, Buckingham and Bristoll being now the only counsel the King follows, so as Arlington and Coventry are come to signify little. He tells me they are likely to fall upon my Lord Sandwich; but, for my part, sometimes I am apt to think they cannot do him much harm, he telling me that there is no great fear of the business of Resumption! By and by, I got him to read part of my Lord Cooke's chapter of treason, which is mighty well worth reading, and do inform me in many things, and for aught I see it is useful now to know what these crimes are. And then to supper, and after supper he went away, and so I got the girl to comb my head, and then to bed, my eyes bad. This day, Poundy, the waterman, was with me, to let me know that he was summonsed to bear witness against me to Prince Rupert's people (who have a commission to look after the business of prize-goods) about the business of the prize-goods I was concerned in: but I did desire him to speak all he knew, and not to spare me, nor did promise nor give him any thing, but sent him away with good words, to bid him say all he knew to be true. This do not trouble me much. 16th. At the office all the morning, and at noon took my Lord Bruncker into the garden, and there told him of his man Carcasses proceedings against the Office in the House of Commons. I did [not] desire nor advise him anything, but in general, that the end of this might be ruin to the Office, but that we shall be brought to fencing for ourselves, and that will be no profit to the office, but let it light where it would I thought I should be as well as any body. This I told him, and so he seeming to be ignorant of it, and not pleased with it, we broke off by Sir Thos. Harvy's coming to us from the Pay Office, whither we had sent a smart letter we had writ to him this morning about keeping the clerks at work at the making up the books, which I did to place the fault somewhere, and now I let him defend himself. He was mighty angry, and particularly with me, but I do not care, but do rather desire it, for I will not spare him, that we shall bear the blame, and such an idle fellow as he have L500 a year for nothing. So we broke off, and I home to dinner, and then to the office, and having spent the afternoon on letters, I took coach in the evening, and to White Hall, where there is to be a performance of musique of Pelham's before the King. The company not come; but I did go into the musique-room, where Captain Cocke and many others; and here I did hear the best and the smallest organ go that ever I saw in my life, and such a one as, by the grace of God, I will have the next year, if I continue in this condition, whatever it cost me. I never was so pleased in my life. Thence, it being too soon, I to Westminster Hall, it being now about 7 at night, and there met Mr. Gregory, my old acquaintance, an understanding gentleman; and he and I walked an hour together, talking of the bad prospect of the times; and the sum of what I learn from him is this: That the King is the most concerned in the world against the Chancellor, and all people that do not appear against him, and therefore is angry with the Bishops, having said that he had one Bishop on his side (Crofts ), and but one: that Buckingham and Bristoll are now his only Cabinet Council; [The term Cabinet Council, as stated by Clarendon, originated thus, in 1640: "The bulk and burden of the state affairs lay principally upon the shoulders of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of Strafford, and the Lord Cottington; some others being joined to them, as the Earl of Northumberland for ornament, the Bishop of London for his place, the two Secretaries, Sir H. Vane and Sir Francis Windebank, for service and communication of intelligence: only the Marquis of Hamilton, indeed, by his skill and interest, bore as great a part as he had a mind to do, and had the skill to meddle no further than he had a mind. These persons made up the committee of state, which was reproachfully after called the junto, and enviously then in the Court the Cabinet Council" ("History of the Rebellion," vol. i., p. 211, edit. 1849).] and that, before the Duke of York fell sick, Buckingham was admitted to the King of his Cabinet, and there stayed with him several hours, and the Duke of York shut out. That it is plain that there is dislike between the King and Duke of York, and that it is to be feared that the House will go so far against the Chancellor, that they must do something to undo the Duke of York, or will not think themselves safe. That this Lord Vaughan, that is so great against the Chancellor, is one of the lewdest fellows of the age, worse than Sir Charles Sidly; and that he was heard to swear, God damn him, he would do my Lord Clarendon's business. That he do find that my Lord Clarendon hath more friends in both Houses than he believes he would have, by reason that they do see what are the hands that pull him down; which they do not like. That Harry Coventry was scolded at by the King severely the other day; and that his answer was that, if he must not speak what he thought in this business in Parliament, he must not come thither. And he says that by this very business Harry Coventry hath got more fame and common esteem than any gentleman in England hath at this day, and is an excellent and able person. That the King, who not long ago did say of Bristoll, that he was a man able in three years to get himself a fortune in any kingdom in the world, and lose all again in three months, do now hug him, and commend his parts every where, above all the world. How fickle is this man [the King], and how unhappy we like to be! That he fears some furious courses will be taken against the Duke of York; and that he hath heard that it was designed, if they cannot carry matters against the Chancellor, to impeach the Duke of York himself, which God forbid! That Sir Edward Nicholas, whom he served while Secretary, is one of the best men in the world, but hated by the Queen-Mother, for a service he did the old King against her mind and her favourites; and that she and my Lady Castlemayne did make the King to lay him aside: but this man says that he is one of the most perfect heavenly and charitable men in the whole world. That the House of Commons resolve to stand by their proceedings, and have chosen a Committee to draw up the reasons thereof to carry to the Lords; which is likely to breed great heat between them. That the Parliament, after all this, is likely to give the King no money; and, therefore, that it is to be wondered what makes the King give way to so great extravagancies, which do all tend to the making him less than he is, and so will, every day more and more: and by this means every creature is divided against the other, that there never was so great an uncertainty in England, of what would, be the event of things, as at this day; nobody being at ease, or safe. Being full of his discourse, and glad of the rencontre, I to White Hall; and there got into the theater-room, and there heard both the vocall and instrumentall musick, where the little fellow' stood keeping time; but for my part, I see no great matter, but quite the contrary in both sorts of musique. The composition I believe is very good, but no more of delightfulness to the eare or understanding but what is very ordinary. Here was the King and Queen, and some of the ladies; among whom none more jolly than my Lady Buckingham, her Lord being once more a great man. Thence by coach home and to my office, ended my letters, and then home to supper, and, my eyes being bad, to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife. A dull sermon of Mr. Mills, and then home, without strangers to dinner, and then my wife to read, and I to the office, enter my journall to this day, and so home with great content that it is done, but with sorrow to my eyes. Then home, and got my wife to read to me out of Fuller's Church History, when by and by comes Captain Cocke, who sat with me all the evening, talking, and I find by him, as by all others, that we are like to expect great confusions, and most of our discourse was the same, and did agree with that the last night, particularly that about the difference between the King and the Duke of York which is like to be. He tells me that he hears that Sir W. Coventry was, a little before the Duke of York fell sick, with the Duke of York in his closet, and fell on his knees, and begged his pardon for what he hath done to my Lord Chancellor; but this I dare not soon believe. But he tells me another thing, which he says he had from the person himself who spoke with the Duke of Buckingham, who, he says, is a very sober and worthy man, that he did lately speak with the Duke of Buckingham about his greatness now with the King, and told him-"But, sir, these things that the King do now, in suffering the Parliament to do all this, you know are not fit for the King to suffer, and you know how often you have said to me that the King was a weak man, and unable to govern, but to be governed, and that you could command him as you listed; why do you suffer him to go on in these things?"--"Why," says the Duke of Buckingham, "I do suffer him to do this, that I may hereafter the better command him." This he swears to me the person himself to whom the Duke of Buckingham said this did tell it him, and is a man of worth, understanding, and credit. He told me one odd passage by the Duke of Albemarle, speaking how hasty a man he is, and how for certain he would have killed Sir W. Coventry, had he met him in a little time after his shewing his letter in the House. He told me that a certain lady, whom he knows, did tell him that, she being certainly informed that some of the Duke of Albemarle's family did say that the Earl of Torrington was a bastard, [she] did think herself concerned to tell the Duke of Albemarle of it, and did first tell the Duchesse, and was going to tell the old man, when the Duchesse pulled her back by the sleeve, and hindered her, swearing to her that if he should hear it, he would certainly kill the servant that should be found to have said it, and therefore prayed her to hold her peace. One thing more he told me, which is, that Garraway is come to town, and is thinking how to bring the House to mind the public state of the nation and to put off these particular piques against man and man, and that he propounding this to Sir W. Coventry, Sir W. Coventry did give no encouragement to it: which he says is that by their running after other men he may escape. But I do believe this is not true neither. But however I am glad that Garraway is here, and that he do begin to think of the public condition in reference to our neighbours that we are in, and in reference to ourselves, whereof I am mightily afeard of trouble. So to supper, and he gone and we to bed. 18th. Up, and all the morning at my office till 3 after noon with Mr. Hater about perfecting my little pocket market book of the office, till my eyes were ready to fall out of my head, and then home to dinner, glad that I had done so much, and so abroad to White Hall, to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and there did a little business with them, and so home, leaving multitudes of solicitors at their door, of one sort or other, complaining for want of such despatch as they had in my Lord Treasurer's time, when I believe more business was despatched, but it was in his manner to the King's wrong. Among others here was Gresham College coming about getting a grant of Chelsey College for their Society, which the King, it seems, hath given them his right in; but they met with some other pretences, I think; to it, besides the King's. Thence took up my wife, whom I had left at her tailor's, and home, and there, to save my eyes, got my wife at home to read again, as last night, in the same book, till W. Batelier come and spent the evening talking with us, and supped with us, and so to bed. 19th. To the office, and thence before noon I, by the Board's direction, to the Parliament House to speak with Sir R. Brookes about the meaning of an order come to us this day to bring all the books of the office to the Committee. I find by him that it is only about the business of an order of ours for paying off the ships by ticket, which they think I on behalf of my Lord Bruncker do suppress, which vexes me, and more at its occasioning the bringing them our books. So home and to dinner, where Mr. Shepley with me, newly come out of the country, but I was at little liberty to talk to him, but after dinner with two contracts to the Committee, with Lord Bruncker and Sir T. Harvy, and there did deliver them, and promised at their command more, but much against my will. And here Sir R. Brookes did take me alone, and pray me to prevent their trouble, by discovering the order he would have. I told him I would suppress none, nor could, but this did not satisfy him, and so we parted, I vexed that I should bring on myself this suspicion. Here I did stand by unseen, and did hear their impertinent yet malicious examinations of some rogues about the business of Bergen, wherein they would wind in something against my Lord Sandwich (it was plain by their manner of examining, as Sir Thomas Crew did afterwards observe to me, who was there), but all amounted to little I think. But here Sir Thomas Crew and W. Hewer, who was there also, did tell me that they did hear Captain Downing give a cruel testimony against my Lord Bruncker, for his neglect, and doing nothing, in the time of straits at Chatham, when he was spoke to, and did tell the Committee that he, Downing, did presently after, in Lord Bruncker's hearing, tell the Duke of Albemarle, that if he might advise the King, he should hang both my Lord Bruncker and Pett. This is very hard. Thence with W. Hewer and our messenger, Marlow, home by coach, and so late at letters, and then home to supper, and my wife to read and then to bed. This night I wrote to my father, in answer to a new match which is proposed (the executor of Ensum, my sister's former servant) for my sister, that I will continue my mind of giving her L500, if he likes of the match. My father did also this week, by Shepley, return me up a 'guinny, which, it seems, upon searching the ground, they have found since I was there. I was told this day that Lory Hide, [Laurence Hyde, second son of Lord Chancellor Clarendon (1614-1711). He held many important offices, and was First Lord of the Treasury, 1679-84; created Earl of Rochester in 1681, and K.G. 1685.] second son of my Lord Chancellor, did some time since in the House say, that if he thought his father was guilty but of one of the things then said against him, he would be the first that should call for judgement against him: which Mr. Waller, the poet, did say was spoke like the old Roman, like Brutus, for its greatness and worthiness. 20th. Up, and all the morning at my office shut up with Mr. Gibson, I walking and he reading to me the order books of the office from the beginning of the war, for preventing the Parliament's having them in their hands before I have looked them over and seen the utmost that can be said against us from any of our orders, and to my great content all the morning I find none. So at noon home to dinner with my clerks, who have of late dined frequently with me, and I do purpose to have them so still, by that means I having opportunity to talk with them about business, and I love their company very well. All the morning Mr. Hater and the boy did shut up themselves at my house doing something towards the finishing the abstract book of our contracts for my pocket, which I shall now want very much. After dinner I stayed at home all the afternoon, and Gibson with me; he and I shut up till about ten at night. We went through all our orders, and towards the end I do meet with two or three orders for our discharging of two or three little vessels by ticket without money, which do plunge me; but, however, I have the advantage by this means to study an answer and to prepare a defence, at least for myself. So he gone I to supper, my mind busy thinking after our defence in this matter, but with vexation to think that a thing of this kind, which in itself brings nothing but trouble and shame to us, should happen before all others to become a charge against us. This afternoon Mr. Mills come and visited me, and stayed a little with me (my wife being to be godmother to his child to-morrow), and among other talk he told me how fully satisfactory my first Report was to the House in the business of Chatham: which I am glad to hear; and the more, for that I know that he is a great creature of Sir R. Brookes's. 21st. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home, where my wife not very well, but is to go to Mr. Mills's child's christening, where she is godmother, Sir J. Minnes and Sir R. Brookes her companions. I left her after dinner (my clerks dining with me) to go with Sir J. Minnes, and I to the office, where did much business till after candlelight, and then my eyes beginning to fail me, I out and took coach to Arundell House, where the meeting of Gresham College was broke up; but there meeting Creed, I with him to the taverne in St. Clement's Churchyard, where was Deane Wilkins, Dr. Whistler, Dr. Floyd, a divine admitted, I perceive, this day, and other brave men; and there, among other things of news, I do hear, that upon the reading of the House of Commons's Reasons of the manner of their proceedings in the business of my Lord Chancellor, the Reasons were so bad, that my Lord Bristoll himself did declare that he would not stand to what he had, and did still, advise the Lords to concur to, upon any of the Reasons of the House of Commons; but if it was put to the question whether it should be done on their Reasons, he would be against them; and indeed it seems the Reasons--however they come to escape the House of Commons, which shews how slightly the greatest matters are done in this world, and even in Parliaments were none of them of strength, but the principle of them untrue; they saying, that where any man is brought before a judge, accused of Treason in general, without specifying the particular, the judge do there constantly and is obliged to commit him. Whereas the question being put by the Lords to my Lord Keeper, he said that quite the contrary was true: and then, in the Sixth Article (I will get a copy of them if I can) there are two or three things strangely asserted to the diminishing of the King's power, as is said, at least things that heretofore would not have been heard of. But then the question being put among the Lords, as my Lord Bristoll advised, whether, upon the whole matter and Reasons that had been laid before them, they would commit my Lord Clarendon, it was carried five to one against it; there being but three Bishops against him, of whom Cosens and Dr. Reynolds were two, and I know not the third. This made the opposite Lords, as Bristoll and Buckingham, so mad, that they declared and protested against it, speaking very broad that there was mutiny and rebellion in the hearts of the Lords, and that they desired they might enter their dissents, which they did do, in great fury. So that upon the Lords sending to the Commons, as I am told, to have a conference for them to give their answer to the Commons's Reasons, the Commons did desire a free conference: but the Lords do deny it; and the reason is, that they hold not the Commons any Court, but that themselves only are a Court, and the Chief Court of judicature, and therefore are not to dispute the laws and method of their own Court with them that are none, and so will not submit so much as to have their power disputed. And it is conceived that much of this eagerness among the Lords do arise from the fear some of them have, that they may be dealt with in the same manner themselves, and therefore do stand upon it now. It seems my Lord Clarendon hath, as is said and believed, had his horses several times in his coach, ready to carry him to the Tower, expecting a message to that purpose; but by this means his case is like to be laid by. From this we fell to other discourse, and very good; among the rest they discourse of a man that is a little frantic, that hath been a kind of minister, Dr. Wilkins saying that he hath read for him in his church, that is poor and a debauched man, that the College' have hired for 20s. to have some of the blood of a sheep let into his body; and it is to be done on Saturday next. [This was Arthur Coga, who had studied at Cambridge, and was said to be a bachelor of divinity. He was indigent, and "looked upon as a very freakish and extravagant man." Dr. King, in a letter to the Hon. Robert Boyle, remarks "that Mr. Coga was about thirty-two years of age; that he spoke Latin well, when he was in company, which he liked, but that his brain was sometimes a little too warm." The experiment was performed on November 23rd, 1667, by Dr. King, at Arundel House, in the presence of many spectators of quality, and four or five physicians. Coga wrote a description of his own case in Latin, and when asked why he had not the blood of some other creature, instead of that of a sheep, transfused into him, answered, "Sanguis ovis symbolicam quandam facultatem habet cum sanguine Christi, quia Christus est agnus Dei" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., pp. 214-16). Coga was the first person in England to be experimented upon; previous experiments were made by the transfusion of the blood of one dog into another. See November 14th, 1666 (vol. vi., p. 64).] They purpose to let in about twelve ounces; which, they compute, is what will be let in in a minute's time by a watch. They differ in the opinion they have of the effects of it; some think it may have a good effect upon him as a frantic man by cooling his blood, others that it will not have any effect at all. But the man is a healthy man, and by this means will be able to give an account what alteration, if any, he do find in himself, and so may be usefull. On this occasion, Dr. Whistler told a pretty story related by Muffet, a good author, of Dr. Caius, that built Keys College; that, being very old, and living only at that time upon woman's milk, he, while he fed upon the milk of an angry, fretful woman, was so himself; and then, being advised to take it of a good-natured, patient woman, he did become so, beyond the common temper of his age. Thus much nutriment, they observed, might do. Their discourse was very fine; and if I should be put out of my office, I do take great content in the liberty I shall be at of frequenting these gentlemen's company. Broke up thence and home, and there to my wife in her chamber, who is not well (of those), and there she tells me great stories of the gossiping women of the parish--what this, and what that woman was; and, among the rest, how Mrs. Hollworthy is the veriest confident bragging gossip of them all, which I should not have believed; but that Sir R. Brookes, her partner, was mighty civil to her, and taken with her, and what not. My eyes being bad I spent the evening with her in her chamber talking and inventing a cypher to put on a piece of plate, which I must give, better than ordinary, to the Parson's child, and so to bed, and through my wife's illness had a bad night of it, and she a worse, poor wretch! 22nd. Up betimes, and drinking my morning draught of strong water with Betty Michell, I had not opportunity para baiser la, I by water to White Hall, and there met Creed, and thence with him to Westminster Hall, where we talked long together of news, and there met with Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's Secretary, and from him learn the truth of all I heard last night; and understand further, that this stiffness of the Lords is in no manner of kindness to my Lord Chancellor, for he neither hath, nor do, nor for the future likely can oblige any of them, but rather the contrary; but that they do fear what the consequence may be to themselves, should they yield in his case, as many of them have reason. And more, he shewed me how this is rather to the wrong and prejudice of my Lord Chancellor; for that it is better for him to come to be tried before the Lords, where he can have right and make interest, than, when the Parliament is up, be committed by the King, and tried by a Court on purpose made by the King, of what Lords the King pleases, who have a mind to have his head. So that my Lord [Cornbury] himself, his son, he tells me, hath moved, that if they have Treason against my Lord of Clarendon, that they would specify it and send it up to the Lords, that he might come to his trial; so full of intrigues this business is! Having now a mind to go on and to be rid of Creed, I could not, but was forced to carry him with me to the Excise Office, and thence to the Temple, and there walked a good while in the Temple church, observing the plainness of Selden's tomb, and how much better one of his executors hath, who is buried by him, and there I parted with him and took coach and home, where to dinner. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon also busy till late preparing things to fortify myself and fellows against the Parliament; and particularly myself against what I fear is thought, that I have suppressed the Order of the Board by which the discharging the great ships off at Chatham by tickets was directed; whereas, indeed, there was no such Order. So home at night to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). In my chamber all the morning (having lain long in bed) till Mr. Shepley come to dine with me, and there being to return to Hinchinbroke speedily, I did give him as good account how matters go here as I could. After dinner, he being gone, I to the office, and there for want of other of my clerks, sent to Mr. Gibbs, whom I never used till now, for the writing over of my little pocket Contract-book; and there I laboured till nine at night with him, in drawing up the history of all that hath passed concerning tickets, in order to the laying the whole, and clearing myself and Office, before Sir R. Brookes; and in this I took great pains, and then sent him away, and proceeded, and had W. Hewer come to me, and he and I till past twelve at night in the Office, and he, which was a good service, did so inform me in the consequences of my writing this report, and that what I said would not hold water, in denying this Board to have ever ordered the discharging out of the service whole ships by ticket, that I did alter my whole counsel, and fall to arme myself with good reasons to justify the Office in so doing, which hath been but rare, and having done this, I went, with great quiet in my mind, home, though vexed that so honest a business should bring me so much trouble; but mightily was pleased to find myself put out of my former design; and so, after supper, to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning finishing my letter to Sir Robert Brookes, which I did with great content, and yet at noon when I come home to dinner I read it over again after it was sealed and delivered to the messenger, and read it to my clerks who dined with me, and there I did resolve upon some alteration, and caused it to be new writ, and so to the office after dinner, and there all the afternoon mighty busy, and at night did take coach thinking to have gone to Westminster, but it was mighty dark and foul, and my business not great, only to keep my eyes from reading by candle, being weary, but being gone part of my way I turned back, and so home, and there to read, and my wife to read to me out of Sir Robert Cotton's book about warr, which is very fine, showing how the Kings of England have raised money by the people heretofore upon the people, and how they have played upon the kings also. So after supper I to bed. This morning Sir W. Pen tells me that the House was very hot on Saturday last upon the business of liberty of speech in the House, and damned the vote in the beginning of the Long Parliament against it; I so that he fears that there may be some bad thing which they have a mind to broach, which they dare not do without more security than they now have. God keep us, for things look mighty ill! 26th. Up, all the morning at the office, and then home to dinner, where dined Mr. Clerke, solicitor, with me, to discourse about my Tangier accounts, which I would fain make up, but I have not time. After dinner, by coach as far as the Temple, and there saw a new book, in folio, of all that suffered for the King in the late times, which I will buy, it seems well writ, and then back to the Old Exchange, and there at my goldsmith's bought a basin for my wife to give the Parson's child, to which the other day she was godmother. It cost me; L10 14s. besides graving, which I do with the cypher of the name, Daniel Mills, and so home to the office, and then home to supper and hear my wife read, and then to bed. This afternoon, after dinner, come to me Mr. Warren, and there did tell me that he come to pay his debt to me for the kindness I did him in getting his last ship out, which I must also remember was a service to the King, though I did not tell him so, as appeared by my advising with the board, and there writing to Sir W. Coventry to get the pass for the ship to go for it to Genoa. Now that which he had promised me for the courtesy was I take it 100 pieces or more, I think more, and also for the former courtesy I had done for the getting of his first ship out for this hemp he did promise me a consideration upon the return of the goods, but I never did to this day demand any thing of him, only about a month ago he told me that now his ship was come, and he would come out of my debt, but told me that whereas he did expect to have had some profit by the voyage, it had proved of loss to him, by the loss of some ships, or some accidents, I know not what, and so that he was not able to do what he intended, but told me that he would present me with sixty pieces in gold. I told him I would demand nothing of his promises, though they were much greater, nor would have thus much, but if he could afford to give me but fifty pieces, it should suffice me. So now he brought something in a paper, which since proves to be fifty pieces. But before I would take them I told him that I did not insist on anything, and therefore prayed him to consult his ability before he did part with them: and so I refused them once or twice till he did the third time offer them, and then I took them, he saying that he would present me with as many more if I would undertake to get him L500 paid on his bills. I told him I would by no means have any promise of the kind, nor would have any kindness from him for any such service, but that I should do my utmost for nothing to do him that justice, and would endeavour to do what I could for him, and so we parted, he owning himself mightily engaged to me for my kind usage of him in accepting of so small a matter in satisfaction of all that he owed me; which I enter at large for my justification if anything of this should be hereafter enquired after. This evening also comes to me to my closet at the Office Sir John Chichly, of his own accord, to tell me what he shall answer to the Committee, when, as he expects, he shall be examined about my Lord Sandwich; which is so little as will not hurt my Lord at all, I know. He do profess great generousness towards my Lord, and that this jealousy of my Lord's of him is without ground, but do mightily inveigh against Sir Roger Cuttance, and would never have my Lord to carry him to sea again, as being a man that hath done my Lord more hurt than ever he can repair by his ill advice, and disobliging every body. He will by no means seem to crouch to my Lord, but says that he hath as good blood in his veins as any man, though not so good a title, but that he will do nothing to wrong or prejudice my Lord, and I hope he will not, nor I believe can; but he tells me that Sir E. Spragg and Utber are the men that have done my Lord the most wrong, and did bespatter him the most at Oxford, and that my Lord was misled to believe that all that was there said was his, which indeed it was not, and says that he did at that time complain to his father of this his misfortune. This I confess is strange to me touching these two men, but yet it may well enough as the world goes, though I wonder I confess at the latter of the two, who always professes great love to my Lord. Sir Roger Cuttance was with me in the morning, and there gives me an account so clear about Bergen and the other business against my Lord, as I do not see what can be laid to my Lord in either, and tells me that Pen, however he now dissembles it, did on the quarter deck of my Lord's ship, after he come on board, when my Lord did fire a gun for the ships to leave pursuing the enemy, Pen did say, before a great many, several times, that his heart did leap in his belly for joy when he heard the gun, and that it was the best thing that could be done for securing the fleet. He tells me also that Pen was the first that did move and persuade my Lord to the breaking bulke, as a thing that was now the time to do right to the commanders of the great ships, who had no opportunity of getting anything by prizes, now his Lordship might distribute to everyone something, and he himself did write down before my Lord the proportions for each man. This I am glad of, though it may be this dissembling fellow may, twenty to one, deny it. 27th. Up, and all the morning at my Lord Bruncker's lodgings with Sir J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Pen about Sir W. Warren's accounts, wherein I do not see that they are ever very likely to come to an understanding of them, as Sir J. Minnes hath not yet handled them. Here till noon, and then home to dinner, where Mr. Pierce comes to me, and there, in general, tells me how the King is now fallen in and become a slave to the Duke of Buckingham, led by none but him, whom he, Mr. Pierce, swears he knows do hate the very person of the King, and would, as well as will, certainly ruin him. He do say, and I think with right, that the King do in this do the most ungrateful part of a master to a servant that ever was done, in this carriage of his to my Lord Chancellor: that, it may be, the Chancellor may have faults, but none such as these they speak of; that he do now really fear that all is going to ruin, for he says he hears that Sir W. Coventry hath been, just before his sickness, with the Duke of York, to ask his forgiveness and peace for what he had done; for that he never could foresee that what he meant so well, in the councilling to lay by the Chancellor, should come to this. As soon as dined, I with my boy Tom to my bookbinder's, where all the afternoon long till 8 or 9 at night seeing him binding up two or three collections of letters and papers that I had of him, but above all things my little abstract pocket book of contracts, which he will do very neatly. Then home to read, sup, and to bed. 28th. Up, and at the office all this morning, and then home to dinner, and then by coach sent my wife to the King's playhouse, and I to White Hall, there intending, with Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir T. Harvy to have seen the Duke of York, whom it seems the King and Queen have visited, and so we may now well go to see him. But there was nobody could speak with him, and so we parted, leaving a note in Mr. Wren's chamber that we had been there, he being at the free conference of the two Houses about this great business of my Lord Chancellor's, at which they were at this hour, three in the afternoon, and there they say my Lord Anglesey do his part admirablyably, and each of us taking a copy of the Guinny Company's defence to a petition against them to the Parliament the other day. So I away to the King's playhouse, and there sat by my wife, and saw "The Mistaken Beauty," which I never, I think, saw before, though an old play; and there is much in it that I like, though the name is but improper to it--at least, that name, it being also called "The Lyer," which is proper enough. Here I met with Sir. Richard Browne, who wondered to find me there, telling the that I am a man of so much business, which character, I thank God, I have ever got, and have for a long time had and deserved, and yet am now come to be censured in common with the office for a man of negligence. Thence home and to the office to my letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 29th. Waked about seven o'clock this morning with a noise I supposed I heard, near our chamber, of knocking, which, by and by, increased: and I, more awake, could, distinguish it better. I then waked my wife, and both of us wondered at it, and lay so a great while, while that increased, and at last heard it plainer, knocking, as if it were breaking down a window for people to get out; and then removing of stools and chairs; and plainly, by and by, going up and down our stairs. We lay, both of us, afeard; yet I would have rose, but my wife would not let me. Besides, I could not do it without making noise; and we did both conclude that thieves were in the house, but wondered what our people did, whom we thought either killed, or afeard, as we were. Thus we lay till the clock struck eight, and high day. At last, I removed my gown and slippers safely to the other side of the bed over my wife: and there safely rose, and put on my gown and breeches, and then, with a firebrand in my hand, safely opened the door, and saw nor heard any thing. Then (with fear, I confess) went to the maid's chamber-door, and all quiet and safe. Called Jane up, and went down safely, and opened my chamber door, where all well. Then more freely about, and to the kitchen, where the cook-maid up, and all safe. So up again, and when Jane come, and we demanded whether she heard no noise, she said, "yes, and was afeard," but rose with the other maid, and found nothing; but heard a noise in the great stack of chimnies that goes from Sir J. Minnes through our house; and so we sent, and their chimnies have been swept this morning, and the noise was that, and nothing else. It is one of the most extraordinary accidents in my life, and gives ground to think of Don Quixote's adventures how people may be surprised, and the more from an accident last night, that our young gibb-cat [A male cat. "Gib" is a contraction of the Christian name Gilbert (Old French), "Tibert". "I am melancholy as a gib-cat" Shakespeare, I Henry IV, act i., sc. 3. Gib alone is also used, and a verb made from it--"to gib," or act like a cat.] did leap down our stairs from top to bottom, at two leaps, and frighted us, that we could not tell well whether it was the cat or a spirit, and do sometimes think this morning that the house might be haunted. Glad to have this so well over, and indeed really glad in my mind, for I was much afeard, I dressed myself and to the office both forenoon and afternoon, mighty hard putting papers and things in order to my extraordinary satisfaction, and consulting my clerks in many things, who are infinite helps to my memory and reasons of things, and so being weary, and my eyes akeing, having overwrought them to-day reading so much shorthand, I home and there to supper, it being late, and to bed. This morning Sir W. Pen and I did walk together a good while, and he tells me that the Houses are not likely to agree after their free conference yesterday, and he fears what may follow. 30th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and then by coach to Arundel House, to the election of Officers for the next year; where I was near being chosen of the Council, but am glad I was not, for I could not have attended, though, above all things, I could wish it; and do take it as a mighty respect to have been named there. The company great, and the elections long, and then to Cary House, a house now of entertainment, next my Lord Ashly's; and there, where I have heretofore heard Common Prayer in the time of Dr. Mossum, we after two hours' stay, sitting at the table with our napkins open, had our dinners brought, but badly done. But here was good company. I choosing to sit next Dr. Wilkins, Sir George Ent, and others whom I value, there talked of several things. Among others Dr. Wilkins, talking of the universal speech, of which he hath a book coming out, did first inform me how man was certainly made for society, he being of all creatures the least armed for defence, and of all creatures in the world the young ones are not able to do anything to help themselves, nor can find the dug without being put to it, but would die if the mother did not help it; and, he says, were it not for speech man would be a very mean creature. Much of this good discourse we had. But here, above all, I was pleased to see the person who had his blood taken out. He speaks well, and did this day give the Society a relation thereof in Latin, saying that he finds himself much better since, and as a new man, but he is cracked a little in his head, though he speaks very reasonably, and very well. He had but 20s. for his suffering it, and is to have the same again tried upon him: the first sound man that ever had it tried on him in England, and but one that we hear of in France, which was a porter hired by the virtuosos. Here all the afternoon till within night. Then I took coach and to the Exchange, where I was to meet my wife, but she was gone home, and so I to Westminster Hall, and there took a turn or two, but meeting with nobody to discourse with, returned to Cary House, and there stayed and saw a pretty deception of the sight by a glass with water poured into it, with a stick standing up with three balls of wax upon it, one distant from the other. How these balls did seem double and disappear one after another, mighty pretty! Here Mr. Carcasse did come to me, and brought first Mr. Colwall, our Treasurer, and then Dr. Wilkins to engage me to be his friend, and himself asking forgiveness and desiring my friendship, saying that the Council have now ordered him to be free to return to the Office to be employed. I promised him my friendship, and am glad of this occasion, having desired it; for there is nobody's ill tongue that I fear like his, being a malicious and cunning bold fellow. Thence, paying our shot, 6s. apiece, I home, and there to the office and wrote my letters, and then home, my eyes very sore with yesterday's work, and so home and tried to make a piece by my eare and viall to "I wonder what the grave," &c., and so to supper and to bed, where frighted a good while and my wife again with noises, and my wife did rise twice, but I think it was Sir John Minnes's people again late cleaning their house, for it was past I o'clock in the morning before we could fall to sleep, and so slept. But I perceive well what the care of money and treasure in a man's house is to a man that fears to lose it. My Lord Anglesey told me this day that he did believe the House of Commons would, the next week, yield to the Lords; but, speaking with others this day, they conclude they will not, but that rather the King will accommodate it by committing my Lord Clarendon himself. I remember what Mr. Evelyn said, that he did believe we should soon see ourselves fall into a Commonwealth again. Joseph Williamson I find mighty kind still, but close, not daring to say anything almost that touches upon news or state of affairs. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Anthem anything but instrumentall musique with the voice Chief Court of judicature (House of Lords) Confidence, and vanity, and disparages everything Had the umbles of it for dinner I am not a man able to go through trouble, as other men Liberty of speech in the House Nor offer anything, but just what is drawn out of a man Through my wife's illness had a bad night of it, and she a worse What I said would not hold water 
4183	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1667 December 1st (Lord's day). Up, and after entering my journal for 2 or 3 days, I to church, where Mr. Mills, a dull sermon: and in our pew there sat a great lady, which I afterwards understood to be my Lady Carlisle, that made her husband a cuckold in Scotland, a very fine woman indeed in person. After sermon home, where W. Hewer dined with us, and after dinner he and I all the afternoon to read over our office letters to see what matters can be got for our advantage or disadvantage therein. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling and the two men that were with him formerly, the little man that sings so good a base (Wallington) and another that understands well, one Pigott, and Betty Turner come and sat and supped with us, and we spent the evening mighty well in good musique, to my great content to see myself in condition to have these and entertain them for my own pleasure only. So they gone, we to bed. 2nd. Up, and then abroad to Alderman Backewell's (who was sick of a cold in bed), and then to the Excise Office, where I find Mr. Ball out of humour in expectation of being put out of his office by the change of the farm of the excise. There comes Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Westminster, and there walked up and down till noon, where all the business is that the Lords' answer is come down to the Commons, that they are not satisfied in the Commons' Reasons: and so the Commons are hot, and like to sit all day upon the business what to do herein, most thinking that they will remonstrate against the Lords. Thence to Lord Crew's, and there dined with him; where, after dinner, he took me aside, and bewailed the condition of the nation, how the King and his brother are at a distance about this business of the Chancellor, and the two Houses differing. And he do believe that there are so many about the King like to be concerned and troubled by the Parliament, that they will get him to dissolve or prorogue the Parliament; and the rather, for that the King is likely, by this good husbandry of the Treasury, to get out of debt, and the Parliament is likely to give no money. Among other things, my Lord Crew did tell me, with grief, that he hears that the King of late hath not dined nor supped with the Queen, as he used of late to do. After a little discourse, Mr. Caesar, he dining there, did give us some musique on his lute (Mr. John Crew being there) to my great content, and then away I, and Mr. Caesar followed me and told me that my boy Tom hath this day declared to him that he cared not for the French lute and would learn no more, which Caesar out of faithfulness tells me that I might not spend any more money on him in vain. I shall take the boy to task about it, though I am contented to save my money if the boy knows not what is good for himself. So thanked him, and indeed he is a very honest man I believe, and away home, there to get something ready for the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and so took my wife and girle and set them at Unthanke's, and I to White Hall, and there with the Commissioners of the Treasury, who I find in mighty good condition to go on in payment of the seamen off, and thence I to Westminster Hall, where I met with my cozen Roger and walked a good while with him; he tells me of the high vote of the Commons this afternoon, which I also heard at White Hall, that the proceedings of the Lords in the case of my Lord Clarendon are an obstruction to justice, and of ill precedent to future times. This makes every body wonder what will be the effect of it, most thinking that the King will try him by his own Commission. It seems they were mighty high to have remonstrated, but some said that was too great an appeale to the people. Roger is mighty full of fears of the consequence of it, and wishes the King would dissolve them. So we parted, and I bought some Scotch cakes at Wilkinson's in King Street, and called my wife, and home, and there to supper, talk, and to bed. Supped upon these cakes, of which I have eat none since we lived at Westminster. This night our poor little dogg Fancy was in a strange fit, through age, of which she has had five or six. 3rd. Up, by candlelight, the only time I think I have done so this winter, and a coach being got over night, I to Sir W. Coventry's, the first time I have seen him at his new house since he come to lodge there. He tells me of the vote for none of the House to be of the Commission for the Bill of Accounts; which he thinks is so great a disappointment to Birch and others that expected to be of it, that he thinks, could it have been [fore]seen, there would not have been any Bill at all. We hope it will be the better for all that are to account; it being likely that the men, being few, and not of the House, will hear reason. The main business I went about was about. Gilsthrop, Sir W. Batten's clerk; who, being upon his death-bed, and now dead, hath offered to make discoveries of the disorders of the Navy and of L65,000 damage to the King: which made mighty noise in the Commons' House; and members appointed to go to him, which they did; but nothing to the purpose got from him, but complaints of false musters, and ships being refitted with victuals and stores at Plymouth, after they come fitted from other ports; but all this to no purpose, nor more than we know, and will owne. But the best is, that this loggerhead should say this, that understands nothing of the Navy, nor ever would; and hath particularly blemished his master by name among us. I told Sir W. Coventry of my letter to Sir R. Brookes, and his answer to me. He advises me, in what I write to him, to be as short as I can, and obscure, saving in things fully plain; for all that he do is to make mischief; and that the greatest wisdom in dealing with the Parliament in the world is to say little, and let them get out what they can by force: which I shall observe. He declared to me much of his mind to be ruled by his own measures, and not to go so far as many would have him to the ruin of my Lord Chancellor, and for which they do endeavour to do what they can against [Sir] W. Coventry. "But," says he, "I have done my do in helping to get him out of the administration of things, for which he is not fit; but for his life or estate I will have nothing to say to it: besides that, my duty to my master the Duke of York is such, that I will perish before I will do any thing to displease or disoblige him, where the very necessity of the kingdom do not in my judgment call me." Thence I home and to the office, where my Lord Anglesey, and all the discourse was yesterday's vote in the Commons, wherein he told us that, should the Lords yield to what the Commons would have in this matter, it were to make them worse than any justice of Peace (whereas they are the highest Court in the Kingdom) that they cannot be judges whether an offender be to be committed or bailed, which every justice of Peace do do, and then he showed me precedents plain in their defence. At noon home to dinner, and busy all the afternoon, and at night home, and there met W. Batelier, who tells me the first great news that my Lord Chancellor is fled this day. By and by to Sir W. Pen's, where Sir R. Ford and he and I met, with Mr. Young and Lewes, about our accounts with my Lady Batten, which prove troublesome, and I doubt will prove to our loss. But here I hear the whole that my Lord Chancellor is gone, and left a paper behind him for the House of Lords, telling them the reason of him retiring, complaining of a design for his ruin. But the paper I must get: only the thing at present is great, and will put the King and Commons to some new counsels certainly. So home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Pen I find in much trouble this evening, having been called to the Committee this afternoon, about the business of prizes. Sir Richard Ford told us this evening an odd story of the basenesse of the late Lord Mayor, Sir W. Bolton, in cheating the poor of the City, out of the collections made for the people that were burned, of L1800; of which he can give no account, and in which he hath forsworn himself plainly, so as the Court of Aldermen have sequestered him from their Court till he do bring in an account, which is the greatest piece of roguery that they say was ever found in a Lord Mayor. He says also that this day hath been made appear to them that the Keeper of Newgate, at this day, hath made his house the only nursery of rogues, and whores, and pickpockets, and thieves in the world; where they were bred and entertained, and the whole society met: and that, for the sake of the Sheriffes, they durst not this day committ him, for fear of making him let out the prisoners, but are fain to go by artifice to deal with him. He tells me, also, speaking of the new street that is to be made from Guild Hall down to Cheapside, that the ground is already, most of it, bought. And tells me of one particular, of a man that hath a piece of ground lieing in the very middle of the street that must be; which, when the street is cut out of it, there will remain ground enough, of each side, to build a house to front the street. He demanded L700 for the ground, and to be excused paying any thing for the melioration of the rest of his ground that he was to keep. The Court consented to give him L700, only not to abate him the consideration: which the man denied; but told them, and so they agreed, that he would excuse the City the L700, that he might have the benefit of the melioration without paying any thing for it. So much some will get by having the City burned! But he told me that in other cases ground, by this means, that was not 4d. a-foot before, will now, when houses are built, be worth 15s. a-foot. But he tells me that the common standard now reckoned on between man and man, in places where there is no alteration of circumstances, but only the houses burnt, there the ground, which, with a house on it, did yield L100 a-year, is now reputed worth L33 6s. 8d.; and that this is the common market-price between one man and another, made upon a good and moderate medium. 4th. At the office all the morning. At noon to dinner, and presently with my wife abroad, whom and her girle I leave at Unthanke's, and so to White Hall in expectation of waiting on the Duke of York to-day, but was prevented therein, only at Mr. Wren's chamber there I hear that the House of Lords did send down the paper which my Lord Chancellor left behind him, directed to the Lords, to be seditious and scandalous; and the Commons have voted that it be burned by the hands of the hangman, and that the King be desired to agree to it. I do hear, also, that they have desired the King to use means to stop his escape out of the nation. Here I also heard Mr. Jermin, who was there in the chamber upon occasion of Sir Thomas Harvy's telling him of his brother's having a child, and thereby taking away his hopes (that is, Mr. Jermin's) of L2000 a year. He swore, God damn him, he did not desire to have any more wealth than he had in the world, which indeed is a great estate, having all his uncle's, my Lord St. Alban's, and my Lord hath all the Queen-Mother's. But when Sir Thos. Harvy told him that "hereafter you will wish it more;"--"By God," answers he, "I won't promise what I shall do hereafter." Thence into the House, and there spied a pretty woman with spots on her face, well clad, who was enquiring for the guard chamber; I followed her, and there she went up, and turned into the turning towards the chapel, and I after her, and upon the stairs there met her coming up again, and there kissed her twice, and her business was to enquire for Sir Edward Bishop, one of the serjeants at armes. I believe she was a woman of pleasure, but was shy enough to me, and so I saw her go out afterwards, and I took a hackney coach, and away. I to Westminster Hall, and there walked, and thence towards White Hall by coach, and spying Mrs. Burroughs in a shop did stop and 'light and speak to her; and so to White Hall, where I 'light and went and met her coming towards White Hall, but was upon business, and I could not get her to go any whither and so parted, and I home with my wife and girle (my wife not being very well, of a great looseness day and night for these two days). So home, my wife to read to me in Sir R. Cotton's book of warr, which is excellent reading, and particularly I was mightily pleased this night in what we read about the little profit or honour this kingdom ever gained by the greatest of its conquests abroad in France. This evening come Mr. Mills and sat with us a while, who is mighty kind and good company, and so, he gone, I to supper and to bed. My wife an unquiet night. This day Gilsthrop is buried, who hath made all the late discourse of the great discovery of L65,000, of which the King bath been wronged. 5th. At the office all the morning, do hear that Will Pen, Sir W. Pen's son, is come from Ireland, but I have not seen him yet. At noon to the 'Change, where did little, but so home again and to dinner with my clerks with me, and very good discourse and company they give me, and so to the office all the afternoon till late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day, not for want, but for good husbandry, I sent my father, by his desire, six pair of my old shoes, which fit him, and are good; yet, methought, it was a thing against my mind to have him wear my old things. 6th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of York, the first time that I have seen him, or we waited on him, since his sickness; and, blessed be God! he is not at all the worse for the smallpox, but is only a little weak yet. We did much business with him, and so parted. My Lord Anglesey told me how my Lord Northampton brought in a Bill into the House of Lords yesterday, under the name of a Bill for the Honour and Privilege of the House, and Mercy to my Lord Clarendon: which, he told me, he opposed, saying that he was a man accused of treason by the House of Commons; and mercy was not proper for him, having not been tried yet, and so no mercy needful for him. However, the Duke of Buckingham and others did desire that the Bill might be read; and it, was for banishing my Lord Clarendon from all his Majesty's dominions, and that it should be treason to have him found in any of them: the thing is only a thing of vanity, and to insult over him, which is mighty poor I think, and so do every body else, and ended in nothing, I think. By and by home with Sir J. Minnes, who tells me that my Lord Clarendon did go away in a Custom-house boat, and is now at Callis (Calais): and, I confess, nothing seems to hang more heavy than his leaving of this unfortunate paper behind him, that hath angered both Houses, and hath, I think, reconciled them in that which otherwise would have broke them in pieces; so that I do hence, and from Sir W. Coventry's late example and doctrine to me, learn that on these sorts of occasions there is nothing like silence; it being seldom any wrong to a man to say nothing, but, for the most part, it is to say anything. This day, in coming home, Sir J. Minnes told me a pretty story of Sir Lewes Dives, whom I saw this morning speaking with him, that having escaped once out of prison through a house of office, and another time in woman's apparel, and leaping over a broad canal, a soldier swore, says he, this is a strange jade . . . . He told me also a story of my Lord Cottington, who, wanting a son, intended to make his nephew his heir, a country boy; but did alter his mind upon the boy's being persuaded by another young heir, in roguery, to crow like a cock at my Lord's table, much company being there, and the boy having a great trick at doing that perfectly. My Lord bade them take away that fool from the table, and so gave over the thoughts of making him his heir, from this piece of folly. So home, and there to dinner, and after dinner abroad with my wife and girle, set them down at Unthanke's, and I to White Hall to the Council chamber, where I was summoned about the business of paying of the seamen, where I heard my Lord Anglesey put to it by Sir W. Coventry before the King for altering the course set by the Council; which he like a wise man did answer in few words, that he had already sent to alter it according to the Council's method, and so stopped it, whereas many words would have set the Commissioners of the Treasury on fire, who, I perceive, were prepared for it. Here I heard Mr. Gawden speak to the King and Council upon some business of his before them, but did it so well, in so good words and to the purpose, that I could never have expected from a man of no greater learning. So went away, and in the Lobby met Mr. Sawyer, my old chamber fellow, and stayed and had an hour's discourse of old things with him, and I perceive he do very well in the world, and is married he tells me and hath a child. Then home and to the office, where Captain Cocke come to me; and, among other discourse, tells me that he is told that an impeachment against Sir W. Coventry will be brought in very soon. He tells me, that even those that are against my Lord Chancellor and the Court, in the House, do not trust nor agree one with another. He tells me that my Lord Chancellor went away about ten at night, on Saturday last; and took boat at Westminster, and thence by a vessel to Callis, where he believes he now is: and that the Duke of York and Mr. Wren knew of it, and that himself did know of it on Sunday morning: that on Sunday his coach, and people about it, went to Twittenham, and the world thought that he had been there: that nothing but this unhappy paper hath undone him and that he doubts that this paper hath lost him everywhere that his withdrawing do reconcile things so far as, he thinks the heat of their fury will be over, and that all will be made well between the two [royal] brothers: that Holland do endeavour to persuade the King of France to break peace with us: that the Dutch will, without doubt, have sixty sail of ships out the next year; so knows not what will become of us, but hopes the Parliament will find money for us to have a fleete. He gone, I home, and there my wife made an end to me of Sir K. Cotton's discourse of warr, which is indeed a very fine book. So to supper and to bed. Captain Cocke did this night tell me also, among other discourses, that he did believe that there are jealousies in some of the House at this day against the Commissioners of the Treasury, that by their good husbandry they will bring the King to be out of debt and to save money, and so will not be in need of the Parliament, and then do what he please, which is a very good piece of news that there is such a thing to be hoped, which they would be afeard of. 7th. All the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner with my clerks, and while we were at dinner comes Willet's aunt to see her and my wife; she is a very fine widow and pretty handsome, but extraordinary well carriaged and speaks very handsomely and with extraordinary understanding, so as I spent the whole afternoon in her company with my wife, she understanding all the things of note touching plays and fashions and Court and everything and speaks rarely, which pleases me mightily, and seems to love her niece very well, and was so glad (which was pretty odde) that since she came hither her breasts begin to swell, she being afeard before that she would have none, which was a pretty kind of content she gave herself. She tells us that Catelin is likely to be soon acted, which I am glad to hear, but it is at the King's House. But the King's House is at present and hath for some days been silenced upon some difference [between] Hart and Moone. She being gone I to the office, and there late doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. Only this evening I must remember that my Lady Batten sent for me, and it was to speak to me before her overseers about my bargain with Sir W. Batten about the prize, to which I would give no present answer, but am well enough contented that they begin the discourse of it, and so away to the office again, and then home to supper and to bed. Somebody told me this, that they hear that Thomson, with the wooden leg, and Wildman, the Fifth-Monarchy man, a great creature of the Duke of Buckingham's, are in nomination to be Commissioners, among others, upon the Bill of Accounts. 8th (Lord's day). All the morning at my chamber doing something towards the settling of my papers and accounts, which have been out of order a great while. At noon to dinner, where W. How with us, and after dinner, he being gone, I to my chamber again till almost night, and then took boat, the tide serving, and so to White Hall, where I saw the Duchesse of York, in a fine dress of second mourning for her mother, being black, edged with ermine, go to make her first visit to the Queene since the Duke of York was sick; and by and by, she being returned, the Queene come and visited her. But it was pretty to observe that Sir W. Coventry and I, walking an hour and more together in the Matted Gallery, he observed, and so did I, how the Duchesse, as soon as she spied him, turned her head a one side. Here he and I walked thus long, which we have not done a great while before. Our discourse was upon everything: the unhappiness of having our matters examined by people that understand them not; that it was better for us in the Navy to have men that do understand the whole, and that are not passionate; that we that have taken the most pains are called upon to answer for all crimes, while those that, like Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, did sit and do nothing, do lie still without any trouble; that, if it were to serve the King and kingdom again in a war, neither of us could do more, though upon this experience we might do better than we did; that the commanders, the gentlemen that could never be brought to order, but undid all, are now the men that find fault and abuse others; that it had been much better for the King to have given Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten L1000 a-year to have sat still, than to have had them in his business this war: that the serving a Prince that minds not his business is most unhappy for them that serve him well, and an unhappiness so great that he declares he will never have more to do with a war, under him. That he hath papers which do flatly contradict the Duke of Albemarle's Narrative; and that he hath been with the Duke of Albemarle and shewed him them, to prevent his falling into another like fault: that the Duke of Albemarle seems to be able to answer them; but he thinks that the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince are contented to let their Narratives sleep, they being not only contradictory in some things (as he observed about the business of the Duke of Albemarle's being to follow the Prince upon dividing the fleete, in case the enemy come out), but neither of them to be maintained in others. That the business the other night of my Lord Anglesey at the Council was happily got over for my Lord, by his dexterous silencing it, and the rest, not urging it further; forasmuch as, had the Duke of Buckingham come in time enough, and had got it by the end, he, would have toused him in it; Sir W. Coventry telling me that my Lord Anglesey did, with such impudence, maintain the quarrel against the Commons and some of the Lords, in the business of my Lord Clarendon, that he believes there are enough would be glad but of this occasion to be revenged of him. He tells me that he hears some of the Thomsons are like to be of the Commission for the Accounts, and Wildman, which he much wonders at, as having been a false fellow to every body, and in prison most of the time since the King's coming in. But he do tell me that the House is in such a condition that nobody can tell what to make of them, and, he thinks, they were never in before; that every body leads, and nobody follows; and that he do now think that, since a great many are defeated in their expectation of being of the Commission, now they would put it into such hands as it shall get no credit from: for, if they do look to the bottom and see the King's case, they think they are then bound to give the King money; whereas, they would be excused from that, and therefore endeavour to make this business of the Accounts to signify little. I spoke with him about my Lord Sandwich's business, in which he is very friendly, and do say that the unhappy business of the prizes is it that hath brought all this trouble upon him, and the only thing that made any thing else mentioned, and it is true. So having discoursed with him, I spent some time with Sir Stephen Fox about the business of our adjusting the new method of the Excise between the Guards household and Tangier, the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury being now resolved to bring all their management into a course of payment by orders, and not by tallies, and I am glad of it, and so by water home late, and very dark, and when come home there I got my wife to read, and then come Captain Cocke to me; and there he tells me, to my great satisfaction, that Sir Robert Brookes did dine with him today; and that he told him, speaking of me, that he would make me the darling of the House of Commons, so much he is satisfied concerning me. And this Cocke did tell me that I might give him thanks for it; and I do think it may do me good, for he do happen to be held a considerable person, of a young man, both for sobriety and ability. Then to discourse of business of his own about some hemp of his that is come home to receive it into the King's stores, and then parted, and by and by my wife and I to supper, she not being well, her flux being great upon her, and so to bed. 9th. All the morning busy at the office, doing very considerable business, and thither comes Sir G. Carteret to talk with me; who seems to think himself safe as to his particular, but do doubt what will become of the whole kingdom, things being so broke in pieces. He tells me that the King himself did the other day very particularly tell the whole story of my Lord Sandwich's not following the Dutch ships, with which he is charged; and shews the reasons of it to be the only good course he could have taken, and do discourse it very knowingly. This I am glad of, though, as the King is now, his favour, for aught I see, serves very little in stead at this day, but rather is an argument against a man; and the King do not concern himself to relieve or justify any body, but is wholly negligent of everybody's concernment. This morning I was troubled with my Lord Hinchingbroke's sending to borrow L200 of me; but I did answer that I had none, nor could borrow any; for I am resolved I will not be undone for any body, though I would do much for my Lord Sandwich--for it is to answer a bill of exchange of his, and I perceive he hath made use of all other means in the world to do it, but I am resolved to serve him, but not ruin myself, as it may be to part with so much of the little I have by me to keep if I should by any turn of times lose the rest. At noon I to the 'Change, and there did a little business, and among other things called at Cade's, the stationer, where he tells me how my Lord Gerard is troubled for several things in the House of Commons, and in one wherein himself is concerned; and, it seems, this Lord is a very proud and wicked man, and the Parliament is likely to order him. Then home to dinner, and then a little abroad, thinking to have gone to the other end of the town, but it being almost night I would not, but home again, and there to my chamber, and all alone did there draw up my answer to Sir Rob. Brookes's letter, and when I had done it went down to my clerks at the office for their opinion which at this time serves me to very good purpose, they having many things in their heads which I had not in the businesses of the office now in dispute. Having done with this, then I home and to supper very late, and to bed. My [wife] being yet very ill of her looseness, by which she is forced to lie from me to-night in the girl's chamber. 10th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then home with my people to dinner, and very merry, and then to my office again, where did much business till night, that my eyes begun to be sore, and then forced to leave off, and by coach set my wife at her tailor's and Willet, and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a good while till 8 at night, and there hear to my great content that the King did send a message to the House to-day that he would adjourne them on the 17th instant to February; by which time, at least, I shall have more respite to prepare things on my own behalf, and the Office, against their return. Here met Mr. Hinxton, the organist, walking, and I walked with him; and, asking him many questions, I do find that he can no more give an intelligible answer to a man that is not a great master in his art, than another man. And this confirms me that it is only want of an ingenious man that is master in musique, to bring musique to a certainty, and ease in composition. Having done this, I home, taking up my wife and girle, and there to supper and to bed, having finished my letters, among which one to Commissioner Middleton, who is now coming up to town from Portsmouth, to enter upon his Surveyorship. 11th. By coach to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York, as we are wont, who is now grown pretty well, and goes up and down White Hall, and this night will be at the Council, which I am glad of. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked most of the morning, and among others did there meet my cozen Roger Pepys, who intends to go to Impington on this day s'ennight, the Parliament break up the night before. Here I met Rolt and Sir John Chichly, and Harris, the player, and there we talked of many things, and particularly of "Catiline," which is to be suddenly acted at the King's house; and there all agree that it cannot be well done at that house, there not being good actors enow: and Burt' acts Cicero, which they all conclude he will not be able to do well. The King gives them L500 for robes, there being, as they say, to be sixteen scarlett robes. Thence home to dinner, and would have had Harris home with me, but it was too late for him to get to the playhouse after it, and so home to dinner, and spent the afternoon talking with my wife and people at home till the evening, and then comes Sir W. Warren to talk about some business of his and mine: and he, I find, would have me not to think that the Parliament, in the mind they are in, and having so many good offices in their view to dispose of, will leave any of the King's officers in, but will rout all, though I am likely to escape as well as any, if any can escape; and I think he is in the right, and I do look for it accordingly. Then we fell to discourse of my little vessel, "The Maybolt," and he thinks that it will be best for me to employ her for a voyage to Newcastle for coles, they being now dear, and the voyage not long, nor dangerous yet; and I think I shall go near to do so. Then, talking of his business, I away to the office, where very busy, and thither comes Sir W. Pen, and he and I walked together in the garden, and there told me what passed to-day with him in the Committee, by my Lord Sandwich's breaking bulk of the prizes; and he do seem to me that he hath left it pretty well understood by them, he saying that what my Lord did was done at the desire, and with the advice, of the chief officers of the fleete, and that it was no more than admirals heretofore have done in like cases, which, if it be true that he said it, is very well, and did please me well. He being gone, I to my office again and there late, and so weary home. 12th. Rose before day, and took coach, by daylight, and to Westminster to Sir G. Downing's, and there met Sir Stephen Fox, and thence he and I to Sir Robert Longs to discourse the business of our orders for money, he for the guards, and I for Tangier, and were a little angry in our concerns, one against the other, but yet parted good friends, and I think I got ground by it. Thence straight to the office, and there sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner I all alone to the Duke of York's house, and saw "The Tempest," which, as often as I have seen it, I do like very well, and the house very full. But I could take little pleasure more than the play, for not being able to look about, for fear of being seen. Here only I saw a French lady in the pit, with a tunique, just like one of ours, only a handkercher about her neck; but this fashion for a woman did not look decent. Thence walked to my bookseller's, and there he did give me a list of the twenty who were nominated for the Commission in Parliament for the Accounts: and it is strange that of the twenty the Parliament could not think fit to choose their nine, but were fain to add three that were not in the list of the twenty, they being many of them factious people and ringleaders in the late troubles; so that Sir John Talbott did fly out and was very hot in the business of Wildman's being named, and took notice how he was entertained in the bosom of the Duke of Buckingham, a Privy-counsellor; and that it was fit to be observed by the House, and punished. The men that I know of the nine I like very well; that is, Mr. Pierrepont, Lord Brereton, and Sir William Turner; and I do think the rest are so, too; but such as will not be able to do this business as it ought to be, to do any good with. Here I did also see their votes against my Lord Chiefe Justice Keeling, that his proceedings were illegal, and that he was a contemner of Magna Charta (the great preserver of our lives, freedoms, and properties) and an introduction to arbitrary government; which is very high language, and of the same sound with that in the year 1640. I home, and there wrote my letters, and so to supper and to bed. This day my Lord Chancellor's letter was burned at the 'Change.' 13th. Up, lying long all alone (my wife lying for these two or three days of sickness alone), thinking of my several businesses in hand, and then rose and to the office, being in some doubt of having my cozen Roger and Lord Hinchinbroke and Sir Thos. Crew by my cozens invitation at dinner to-day, and we wholly unprovided. So I away to Westminster, to the Parliament-door, to speak with Roger: and here I saw my Lord Keeling go into the House to the barr, to have his business heard by the whole House to-day; and a great crowd of people to stare upon him. Here I hear that the Lords' Bill for banishing and disabling my Lord Clarendon from bearing any office, or being in the King's dominions, and its being made felony for any to correspond with him but his own children, is brought to the Commons: but they will not agree to it, being not satisfied with that as sufficient, but will have a Bill of Attainder brought in against him: but they make use of this against the Lords, that they, that would not think there was cause enough to commit him without hearing, will have him banished without hearing. By and by comes out my cozen Roger to me, he being not willing to be in the House at the business of my Lord Keeling, lest he should be called upon to complain against him for his abusing him at Cambridge, very wrongfully and shamefully, but not to his reproach, but to the Chief justice's in the end, when all the world cried shame upon him for it. So he with me home, and Creed, whom I took up by the way, going thither, and they to dine with me, and pretty merry, and among other pieces of news, it is now fresh that the King of Portugall is deposed, and his brother made King; and that my Lord Sandwich is gone from Madrid with great honour to Lisbon, to make up, at this juncture, a peace to the advantage, as the Spaniard would have it, of Spain. I wish it may be for my Lord's honour, if it be so; but it seems my Lord is in mighty estimation in Spain. After dinner comes Mr. Moore, and he and I alone a while, he telling me my Lord Sandwich's credit is like to be undone, if the bill of L200 my Lord Hinchingbroke wrote to me about be not paid to-morrow, and that, if I do not help him about it, they have no way but to let it be protested. So, finding that Creed hath supplied them with L150 in their straits, and that this is no bigger sum, I am very willing to serve my Lord, though not in this kind; but yet I will endeavour to get this done for them, and the rather because of some plate that was lodged the other day with me, by my Lady's order, which may be in part of security for my money, as I may order it, for, for ought I see, there is no other to be hoped for. This do trouble me; but yet it is good luck that the sum is no bigger. He gone, I with my cozen Roger to Westminster Hall; and there we met the House rising: and they have voted my Lord Chief Justice Keeling's proceedings illegal; but that, out of particular respect to him, and the mediation of a great many, they have resolved to proceed no further against him. After a turn or two with my cozen, I away with Sir W. Warren, who met me here by my desire, and to Exeter House, and there to counsel, to Sir William Turner, about the business of my bargain with my Lady Batten; and he do give me good advice, and that I am safe, but that there is a great many pretty considerations in it that makes it necessary for me to be silent yet for a while till we see whether the ship be safe or no; for she is drove to the coast of Holland, where she now is in the Texell, so that it is not prudence for me yet to resolve whether I will stand by the bargain or no, and so home, and Sir W. Warren and I walked upon Tower Hill by moonlight a great while, consulting business of the office and our present condition, which is but bad, it being most likely that the Parliament will change all hands, and so let them, so I may keep but what I have. Thence home, and there spent the evening at home with my wife and entering my journal, and so to supper and to bed, troubled with my parting with the L200, which I must lend my Lord Sandwich to answer his bill of exchange. 14th. Up and to the office, where busy, and after dinner also to the office again till night, when Mr. Moore come to me to discourse about the L200 I must supply my Lord Hinchingbroke, and I promised him to do it, though much against my will. So home, to supper and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I heard a German preach, in a tone hard to be understood, but yet an extraordinary good sermon, and wholly to my great content. So home, and there all alone with wife and girle to dinner, and then I busy at my chamber all the afternoon, and looking over my plate, which indeed is a very fine quantity, God knows, more than ever I expected to see of my own, and more than is fit for a man of no better quality than I am. In the evening comes Mrs. Turner to visit us, who hath been long sick, and she sat and supped with us, and after supper, her son Francke being there, now upon the point of his going to the East Indys, I did give him "Lex Mercatoria," and my wife my old pair of tweezers, which are pretty, and my book an excellent one for him. Most of our talk was of the great discourse the world hath against my Lady Batten, for getting her husband to give her all, and disinherit his eldest son; though the truth is, the son, as they say, did play the knave with his father when time was, and the father no great matter better with him, nor with other people also. So she gone, we to bed. 16th. Up, and to several places, to pay what I owed. Among others, to my mercer, to pay for my fine camlott cloak, which costs me, the very stuff, almost L6; and also a velvet coat-the outside cost me above L8. And so to Westminster, where I find the House mighty busy upon a petition against my Lord Gerard, which lays heavy things to his charge, of his abusing the King in his Guards; and very hot the House is upon it. I away home to dinner alone with wife and girle, and so to the office, where mighty busy to my great content late, and then home to supper, talk with my wife, and to bed. It was doubtful to-day whether the House should be adjourned to-morrow or no. 17th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and then in the afternoon I with Sir W. Pen and Sir T. Harvy to White Hall to attend the Duke of York, who is now as well as ever, and there we did our usual business with him, and so away home with Sir W. Pen, and there to the office, where pretty late doing business, my wife having been abroad all day with Mrs. Turner buying of one thing or other. This day I do hear at White Hall that the Duke of Monmouth is sick, and in danger of the smallpox. So home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to my goldsmith's in the morning, to look after the providing of L60 for Mr. Moore, towards the answering of my Lord Sandwich's bill of exchange, he being come to be contented with my lending him L60 in part of it, which pleases me, I expecting to have been forced to answer the whole bill; and this, which I do do, I hope to secure out of the plate, which was delivered into my custody of my Lord's the other day by Mr. Cooke, and which I did get Mr. Stokes, the goldsmith, last night to weigh at my house, and there is enough to secure L100. Thence home to the office, and there all the morning by particular appointment with Sir W. Pen, Sir R. Ford, and those that are concerned for my Lady Batten (Mr. Wood, Young, and Lewes), to even the accounts of our prize business, and at noon broke up, and to dinner, every man to his own home, and to it till late at night again, and we did come to some end, and I am mightily put to it how to order the business of my bargaine, but my industry is to keep it off from discourse till the ship be brought home safe, and this I did do, and so we broke up, she appearing in our debts about L1500, and so we parted, and I to my business, and home to my wife, who is troubled with the tooth ake, and there however I got her to read to me the History of Algiers, which I find a very pretty book, and so to supper with much pleasure talking, and to bed. The Parliament not adjourned yet. 19th. Up, and to the Office, where Commissioner Middleton first took place at the Board as Surveyor of the Navy; and indeed I think will be an excellent officer; I am sure much beyond what his predecessor was. At noon, to avoid being forced to invite him to dinner, it being his first day, and nobody inviting him, I did go to the 'Change with Sir W. Pen in his coach, who first went to Guildhall, whither I went with him, he to speak with Sheriff Gawden--I only for company; and did here look up and down this place, where I have not been before since the fire; and I see that the city are got a pace on in the rebuilding of Guildhall. Thence to the 'Change, where I stayed very little, and so home to dinner, and there find my wife mightily out of order with her teeth. At the office all the afternoon, and at night by coach to Westminster, to the Hall, where I met nobody, and do find that this evening the King by message (which he never did before) hath passed several bills, among others that for the Accounts, and for banishing my Lord Chancellor, and hath adjourned the House to February; at which I am glad, hoping in this time to get leisure to state my Tangier Accounts, and to prepare better for the Parliament's enquiries. Here I hear how the House of Lords, with great severity, if not tyranny, have ordered poor Carr, who only erred in the manner of the presenting his petition against my Lord Gerard, it being first printed before it was presented; which was, it, seems, by Colonel Sands's going into the country, into whose hands he had put it: the poor man is ordered to stand in the pillory two or three times, and his eares cut, and be imprisoned I know not how long. But it is believed that the Commons, when they meet, will not be well pleased with it; and they have no reason, I think. Having only heard this from Mrs. Michell, I away again home, and there to supper and to bed, my wife exceeding ill in her face with the tooth ake, and now her face has become mightily swelled that I am mightily troubled for it. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office with Sir R. Ford and the same company as on Wednesday about my Lady Batten's accounts. At noon home to dinner, where my poor wife in bed in mighty pain, her left cheek so swelled as that we feared it would break, and so were fain to send for Mr. Hollier, who come, and seems doubtful of the defluxions of humours that may spoil her face, if not timely cured. He laid a poultice to it and other directions, and so away, and I to the office, where on the same accounts very late, and did come pretty near a settlement. So at night to Sir W. Pen's with Sir R. Ford, and there was Sir D. Gawden, and there we only talked of sundry things; and I have found of late, by discourse, that the present sort of government is looked upon as a sort of government that we never had yet--that is to say, a King and House of Commons against the House of Lords; for so indeed it is, though neither of the two first care a fig for one another, nor the third for them both, only the Bishops are afeard of losing ground, as I believe they will. So home to my poor wife, who is in mighty pain, and her face miserably swelled: so as I was frighted to see it, and I was forced to lie below in the great chamber, where I have not lain many a day, and having sat up with her, talking and reading and pitying her, I to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my Clerks and Creed, who among other things all alone, after dinner, talking of the times, he tells me that the Nonconformists are mighty high, and their meetings frequented and connived at; and they do expect to have their day now soon; for my Lord of Buckingham is a declared friend to them, and even to the Quakers, who had very good words the other day from the King himself: and, what is more, the Archbishop of Canterbury is called no more to the Cabal, nor, by the way, Sir W. Coventry; which I am sorry for, the Cabal at present being, as he says, the King, and Duke of Buckingham, and Lord Keeper, the Duke of Albemarle, and Privy Seale. The Bishops, differing from the King in the late business in the House of Lords, having caused this and what is like to follow, for every body is encouraged nowadays to speak, and even to preach, as I have heard one of them, as bad things against them as ever in the year 1640; which is a strange change. He gone, I to the office, where busy till late at night, and then home to sit with my wife, who is a little better, and her cheek asswaged. I read to her out of "The History of Algiers," which is mighty pretty reading, and did discourse alone about my sister Pall's match, which is now on foot with one Jackson, another nephew of Mr. Phillips's, to whom he hath left his estate. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and my wife, poor wretch, still in pain, and then to dress myself and down to my chamber to settle some papers, and thither come to me Willet with an errand from her mistress, and this time I first did give her a little kiss, she being a very pretty humoured girle, and so one that I do love mightily. Thence to my office, and there did a little business, and so to church, where a dull sermon, and then home, and Cozen Kate Joyce come and dined with me and Mr. Holliard; but by chance I offering occasion to him to discourse of the Church of Rome, Lord! how he run on to discourse with the greatest vehemence and importunity in the world, as the only thing in the world that he is full of, and it was good sport to me to see him so earnest on so little occasion. She come to see us and to tell me that her husband is going to build his house again, and would borrow of me L300, which I shall upon good security be willing to do, and so told her, being willing to have some money out of my hands upon good security. After dinner up to my wife again, who is in great pain still with her tooth, and there, they gone, I spent the most of the afternoon and night reading and talking to bear her company, and so to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up before day, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, and with him to White Hall, and there walked a great while with him in the garden till the Commissioners of the Treasury met, and there talked over many businesses, and particularly he tells me that by my desire he hath moved the Duke of York that Sir J. Minnes might be removed from the Navy, at least the Controller's place, and his business put on my Lord Brouncker and Sir W. Pen; that the Committee for Accounts are good sober men, and such as he thinks we shall have fair play from; that he hopes that the kingdom will escape ruin in general, notwithstanding all our fears, and yet I find he do seem not very confident in it. So to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and there I had a dispute before them with Sir Stephen Fox about our orders for money, who is very angry, but I value it not. But, Lord! to see with what folly my Lord Albemarle do speak in this business would make a man wonder at the good fortune of such a fool. Thence meeting there with Creed, he and I to the Exchange, and there I saw Carr stand in the pillory for the business of my Lord Gerard, which is supposed will make a hot business in the House of Commons, when they shall come to sit again, the Lords having ordered this with great injustice, as all people think, his only fault being the printing his petition before, by accident, his petition be read in the House. Here walked up and down the Exchange with Creed, and then home to dinner, and there hear by Creed that the Bishops of Winchester and of Rochester, and the Dean of the Chapel, and some other great prelates, are suspended: and a cloud upon the Archbishop ever since the late business in the House of Lords; and I believe it will be a heavy blow to the Clergy. This noon I bought a sermon of Dr. Floyd's, which Creed read a great part of to me and Mr. Hollier, who dined with me, but as well writ and as good, against the Church of Rome, as ever I read; but, Lord! how Hollier, poor man, was taken with it. They gone I to the office, and there very late with Mr. Willson and my people about the making of a new contract for the victualler, which do and will require a great deal of pains of me, and so to supper and to bed, my wife being pretty well all this day by reason of her imposthume being broke in her cheek into her mouth. This day, at the 'Change, Creed shewed me Mr. Coleman, of whom my wife hath so good an opinion, and says that he is as very a rogue for women as any in the world; which did disquiet me, like a fool, and run in my mind a great while. 24th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon with my clerks to dinner, and then to the office again, busy at the office till six at night, and then by coach to St. James's, it being about six at night; my design being to see the ceremonys, this night being the eve of Christmas, at the Queen's chapel. But it being not begun I to Westminster Hall, and there staid and walked, and then to the Swan, and there drank and talked, and did banter a little Frank, and so to White Hall, and sent my coach round, I through the Park to chapel, where I got in up almost to the rail, and with a great deal of patience staid from nine at night to two in the morning, in a very great crowd; and there expected, but found nothing extraordinary, there being nothing but a high masse. The Queen was there, and some ladies. But, Lord! what an odde thing it was for me to be in a crowd of people, here a footman, there a beggar, here a fine lady, there a zealous poor papist, and here a Protestant, two or three together, come to see the shew. I was afeard of my pocket being picked very much . . . . Their musique very good indeed, but their service I confess too frivolous, that there can be no zeal go along with it, and I do find by them themselves that they do run over their beads with one hand, and point and play and talk and make signs with the other in the midst of their masse. But all things very rich and beautiful; and I see the papists have the wit, most of them, to bring cushions to kneel on, which I wanted, and was mightily troubled to kneel. All being done, and I sorry for my coming, missing of what I expected; which was, to have had a child born and dressed there, and a great deal of do: but we broke up, and nothing like it done: and there I left people receiving the Sacrament: and the Queen gone, and ladies; only my Lady Castlemayne, who looked prettily in her night-clothes, and so took my coach, which waited, and away through Covent Garden, to set down two gentlemen and a lady, who come thither to see also, and did make mighty mirth in their talk of the folly of this religion. And so I stopped, having set them down and drank some burnt wine at the Rose Tavern door, while the constables come, and two or three Bellmen went by, 25th. It being a fine, light, moonshine morning, and so home round the city, and stopped and dropped money at five or six places, which I was the willinger to do, it being Christmas-day, and so home, and there find my wife in bed, and Jane and the maids making pyes, and so I to bed, and slept well, and rose about nine, and to church, and there heard a dull sermon of Mr. Mills, but a great many fine people at church; and so home. Wife and girl and I alone at dinner--a good Christmas dinner, and all the afternoon at home, my wife reading to me "The History of the Drummer of Mr. Mompesson," which is a strange story of spies, and worth reading indeed. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling, and he sat and supped with us; and very good company, he reciting to us many copies of good verses of Dr. Wilde, who writ "Iter Boreale," and so to bed, my boy being gone with W. Hewer and Mr. Hater to Mr. Gibson's in the country to dinner and lie there all night. 26th. Up and to Westminster, and there to the Swan, and by chance met Mr. Spicer and another 'Chequer clerk, and there made them drink, and there talked of the credit the 'Chequer is now come to and will in a little time, and so away homeward, and called at my bookseller's, and there bought Mr. Harrington's works, "Oceana," &c., and two other books, which cost me L4, and so home, and there eat a bit, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Surprizall;" which did not please me to-day, the actors not pleasing me; and especially Nell's acting of a serious part, which she spoils. Here met with Sir W. Pen, and sat by him, and home by coach with him, and there to my office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. I hear this day that Mrs. Stewart do at this day keep a great court at Somerset House, with her husband the Duke of Richmond, she being visited for her beauty's sake by people, as the Queen is, at nights; and they say also that she is likely to go to Court again, and there put my Lady Castlemayne's nose out of joynt. God knows that would make a great turn. This day I was invited to have gone to my cozen Mary Pepys' burial, my uncle Thomas' daughter, but could not. 27th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there walked with Creed in the Matted gallery till by and by a Committee for Tangier met: the Duke of York there; and there I did discourse over to them their condition as to money, which they were all mightily, as I could desire, satisfied with, but the Duke of Albemarle, who takes the part of the Guards against us in our supplies of money, which is an odd consideration for a dull, heavy blockhead as he is, understanding no more of either than a goose: but the ability and integrity of Sir W. Coventry, in all the King's concernments, I do and must admire. After the Committee up, I and Sir W. Coventry walked an hour in the gallery, talking over many businesses, and he tells me that there are so many things concur to make him and his Fellow Commissioners unable to go through the King's work that he do despair of it, every body becoming an enemy to them in their retrenchments, and the King unstable, the debts great and the King's present occasions for money great and many and pressing, the bankers broke and every body keeping in their money, while the times are doubtful what will stand. But he says had they come in two years ago they doubt not to have done what the King would by this time, or were the King in the condition as heretofore, when the Chancellor was great, to be able to have what sums of money they pleased of the Parliament, and then the ill administration was such that instead of making good use of this power and money he suffered all to go to ruin. But one such sum now would put all upon their legs, and now the King would have the Parliament give him money when they are in an ill humour and will not be willing to give any, nor are very able, and besides every body distrusts what they give the King will be lost; whereas six months hence, when they see that the King can live without them, and is become steady, and to manage what he has well, he doubts not but their doubts would be removed, and would be much more free as well as more able to give him money. He told me how some of his enemies at the Duke of York's had got the Duke of York's commission for the Commissioners of his estate changed, and he and Brouncker and Povy left out: that this they did do to disgrace and impose upon him at this time; but that he, though he values not the thing, did go and tell the Duke of York what he heard, and that he did not think that he had given him any reason to do this, out of his belief that he would not be as faithful and serviceable to him as the best of those that have got him put out. Whereupon the Duke of York did say that it arose only from his not knowing whether now he would have time to regard his affairs; and that, if he should, he would put him into the commission with his own hand, though the commission be passed. He answered that he had been faithful to him, and done him good service therein, so long as he could attend it; and if he had been able to have attended it more, he would not have enriched himself with such and such estates as my Lord Chancellor hath got, that did properly belong to his Royal Highness, as being forfeited to the King, and so by the King's gift given to the Duke of York. Hereupon the Duke of York did call for the commission, and hath since put him in. This he tells me he did only to show his enemies that he is not so low as to be trod on by them, or the Duke hath any so bad opinion of him as they would think. Here we parted, and I with Sir H. Cholmly went and took a turn into the Park, and there talked of several things, and about Tangier particularly, and of his management of his business, and among other discourse about the method he will leave his accounts in if he should suddenly die, he says there is nothing but what is easily understood, but only a sum of L500 which he has entered given to E. E. S., which in great confidence he do discover to me to be my Lord Sandwich, at the beginning of their contract for the Mole, and I suppose the rest did the like, which was L1500, which would appear a very odd thing for my Lord to be a profiter by the getting of the contract made for them. But here it puts me into thoughts how I shall own my receiving of L200 a year from him, but it is his gift, I never asked of him, and which he did to Mr. Povy, and so there is no great matter in it. Thence to other talk. He tells me that the business of getting the Duchess of Richmond to Court is broke off, the Duke not suffering it; and thereby great trouble is brought among the people that endeavoured it, and thought they had compassed it. And, Lord! to think that at this time the King should mind no other cares but these! He tells me that my Lord of Canterbury is a mighty stout man, and a man of a brave, high spirit, and cares not for this disfavour that he is under at Court, knowing that the King cannot take away his profits during his life, and therefore do not value it. [This character of Archbishop Sheldon does not tally with the scandal that Pepys previously reported of him. Burnet has some passages of importance on this in his "Own Time," Book II. He affirms that Charles's final decision to throw over Clarendon was caused by the Chancellor's favouring Mrs. Stewart's marriage with the Duke of Richmond. The king had a conference with Sheldon on the removal of Clarendon, but could not convert the archbishop to his view. Lauderdale told Burnet that he had an account of the interview from the king. "The king and Sheldon had gone into such expostulations upon it that from that day forward Sheldon could never recover the king's confidence."] Thence I home, and there to my office and wrote a letter to the Duke of York from myself about my clerks extraordinary, which I have employed this war, to prevent my being obliged to answer for what others do without any reason demand allowance for, and so by this means I will be accountable for none but my own, and they shall not have them but upon the same terms that I have, which is a profession that with these helps they will answer to their having performed their duties of their places. So to dinner, and then away by coach to the Temple, and then for speed by water thence to White Hall, and there to our usual attending the Duke of York, and did attend him, where among other things I did present and lodge my letter, and did speed in it as I could wish. Thence home with Sir W. Pen and Comm. Middleton by coach, and there home and to cards with my wife, W. Hewer, Mercer, and the girle, and mighty pleasant all the evening, and so to bed with my wife, which I have not done since her being ill for three weeks or thereabouts. 28th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, at noon home, and there to dinner with my clerks and Mr. Pelting, and had a very good dinner, among others a haunch of venison boiled, and merry we were, and I rose soon from dinner, and with my wife and girle to the King's house, and there saw "The Mad Couple," which is but an ordinary play; but only Nell's and Hart's mad parts are most excellently done, but especially hers: which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any serious part, as, the other day, just like a fool or changeling; and, in a mad part, do beyond all imitation almost. [It pleased us mightily to see the natural affection of a poor woman, the mother of one of the children brought on the stage: the child crying, she by force got upon the stage, and took up her child and carried it away off of the stage from Hart.] Many fine faces here to-day. Thence home, and there to the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. I am told to-day, which troubles me, that great complaint is made upon the 'Change, among our merchants, that the very Ostend little pickaroon men-of-war do offer violence to our merchant-men, and search them, beat our masters, and plunder them, upon pretence of carrying Frenchmen's goods. Lord! what a condition are we come to, and that so soon after a war! 29th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the day, both morning and afternoon (only a little at dinner with my wife alone), upon the settling of my Tangier accounts towards the evening of all reckonings now against the new year, and here I do see the great folly of letting things go long unevened, it being very hard for me and dangerous to state after things are gone out of memory, and much more would be so should I have died in this time and my accounts come to other hands, to understand which would never be. At night comes Mrs. Turner to see us; and there, among other talk, she tells me that Mr. William Pen, who is lately come over from Ireland, is a Quaker again, or some very melancholy thing; that he cares for no company, nor comes into any which is a pleasant thing, after his being abroad so long, and his father such a hypocritical rogue, and at this time an Atheist. She gone, I to my very great content do find my accounts to come very even and naturally, and so to supper and to bed. 30th. Up before day, and by coach to Westminster, and there first to Sir H. Cholmly, and there I did to my great content deliver him up his little several papers for sums of money paid him, and took his regular receipts upon his orders, wherein I am safe. Thence to White Hall, and there to visit Sir G. Carteret, and there was with him a great while, and my Lady and they seem in very good humour, but by and by Sir G. Carteret and I alone, and there we did talk of the ruinous condition we are in, the King being going to put out of the Council so many able men; such as my Lord Anglesey, Ashly, Hopis, Secretary Morrice (to bring in Mr. Trevor), and the Archbishop of Canterbury, and my Lord Bridgewater. He tells me that this is true, only the Duke of York do endeavour to hinder it, and the Duke of York himself did tell him so: that the King and the Duke of York do not in company disagree, but are friendly; but that there is a core in their hearts, he doubts, which is not to be easily removed; for these men do suffer only for their constancy to the Chancellor, or at least from the King's ill-will against him: that they do now all they can to vilify the clergy, and do accuse Rochester [Dolben] . . . and so do raise scandals, all that is possible, against other of the Bishops. He do suggest that something is intended for the Duke of Monmouth, and it may be, against the Queene also: that we are in no manner sure against an invasion the next year: that the Duke of Buckingham do rule all now, and the Duke of York comes indeed to the Caball, but signifies little there. That this new faction do not endure, nor the King, Sir W. Coventry; but yet that he is so usefull that they cannot be without him; but that he is not now called to the Caball. That my Lord of Buckingham, Bristoll, and Arlington, do seem to agree in these things; but that they do not in their hearts trust one another, but do drive several ways, all of them. In short, he do bless himself that he is no more concerned in matters now; and the hopes he hath of being at liberty, when his accounts are over, to retire into the country. That he do give over the kingdom for wholly lost. So after some other little discourse, I away, meeting with Mr. Cooling. I with him by coach to the Wardrobe, where I never was since the fire in Hatton Garden, but did not 'light: and he tells me he fears that my Lord Sandwich will suffer much by Mr. Townsend's being untrue to him, he being now unable to give the Commissioners of the Treasury an account of his money received by many thousands of pounds, which I am troubled for. Thence to the Old Exchange together, he telling me that he believes there will be no such turning out of great men as is talked of, but that it is only to fright people, but I do fear there may be such a thing doing. He do mightily inveigh against the folly of the King to bring his matters to wrack thus, and that we must all be undone without help. I met with Cooling at the Temple-gate, after I had been at both my booksellers and there laid out several pounds in books now against the new year. From the 'Change (where I met with Captain Cocke, who would have borrowed money of me, but I had the grace to deny him, he would have had 3 or L400) I with Cocke and Mr. Temple (whose wife was just now brought to bed of a boy, but he seems not to be at all taken with it, which is a strange consideration how others do rejoice to have a child born), to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there did dine together, there being there, among other company, Mr. Attorney Montagu, and his fine lady, a fine woman. After dinner, I did understand from my Lady Jemimah that her brother Hinchingbroke's business was to be ended this day, as she thinks, towards his match, and they do talk here of their intent to buy themselves some new clothes against the wedding, which I am very glad of. After dinner I did even with Sir G. Carteret the accounts of the interest of the money which I did so long put out for him in Sir R. Viner's hands, and by it I think I shall be a gainer about L28, which is a very good reward for the little trouble I have had in it. Thence with Sir Philip Carteret to the King's playhouse, there to see "Love's Cruelty," an old play, but which I have not seen before; and in the first act Orange Moll come to me, with one of our porters by my house, to tell me that Mrs. Pierce and Knepp did dine at my house to-day, and that I was desired to come home. So I went out presently, and by coach home, and they were just gone away so, after a very little stay with my wife, I took coach again, and to the King's playhouse again, and come in the fourth act; and it proves to me a very silly play, and to everybody else, as far as I could judge. But the jest is, that here telling Moll how I had lost my journey, she told me that Mrs. Knepp was in the house, and so shews me to her, and I went to her, and sat out the play, and then with her to Mrs. Manuel's, where Mrs. Pierce was, and her boy and girl; and here I did hear Mrs. Manuel and one of the Italians, her gallant, sing well. But yet I confess I am not delighted so much with it, as to admire it: for, not understanding the words, I lose the benefit of the vocalitys of the musick, and it proves only instrumental; and therefore was more pleased to hear Knepp sing two or three little English things that I understood, though the composition of the other, and performance, was very fine. Thence, after sitting and talking a pretty while, I took leave and left them there, and so to my bookseller's, and paid for the books I had bought, and away home, where I told my wife where I had been. But she was as mad as a devil, and nothing but ill words between us all the evening while we sat at cards--W. Hewer and the girl by--even to gross ill words, which I was troubled for, but do see that I must use policy to keep her spirit down, and to give her no offence by my being with Knepp and Pierce, of which, though she will not own it, yet she is heartily jealous. At last it ended in few words and my silence (which for fear of growing higher between us I did forbear), and so to supper and to bed without one word one to another. This day I did carry money out, and paid several debts. Among others, my tailor, and shoemaker, and draper, Sir W. Turner, who begun to talk of the Commission of accounts, wherein he is one; but though they are the greatest people that ever were in the nation as to power, and like to be our judges, yet I did never speak one word to him of desiring favour, or bidding him joy in it, but did answer him to what he said, and do resolve to stand or fall by my silent preparing to answer whatever can be laid to me, and that will be my best proceeding, I think. This day I got a little rent in my new fine camlett cloak with the latch of Sir G. Carteret's door; but it is darned up at my tailor's, that it will be no great blemish to it; but it troubled me. I could not but observe that Sir Philip Carteret would fain have given me my going into a play; but yet, when he come to the door, he had no money to pay for himself, I having refused to accept of it for myself, but was fain; and I perceive he is known there, and do run upon the score for plays, which is a shame; but I perceive always he is in want of money. [The practice of gallants attending the theatre without payment is illustrated by Mr. Lowe in his "Betterton," from Shadwell's "True Widow": "1st Doorkeeper. Pray, sir, pay me: my masters will make me pay it. 3d Man. Impudent rascal, do you ask me for money? Take that, sirrah. 2nd Doorkeeper. Will you pay me, sir? 4th Man. No; I don't intend to stay. 2nd Doorkeeper. So you say every day, and see two or three acts for nothing."] In the pit I met with Sir Ch. North, formerly Mr. North, who was with my Lord at sea; and he, of his own accord, was so silly as to tell me he is married; and for her quality (being a Lord's daughter, my Lord Grey), and person, and beauty, and years, and estate, and disposition, he is the happiest man in the world. I am sure he is an ugly fellow; but a good scholar and sober gentleman; and heir to his father, now Lord North, the old Lord being dead. 31st. Up, without words to my wife, or few, and those not angry, and so to White Hall, and there waited a long time, while the Duke of York was with the King in the Caball, and there I and Creed stayed talking without, in the Vane-Room, and I perceive all people's expectation is, what will be the issue of this great business of putting these great Lords out of the council and power, the quarrel, I perceive, being only their standing against the will of the King in the business of the Chancellor. Anon the Duke of York comes out, and then to a committee of Tangier, where my Lord Middleton did come to-day, and seems to me but a dull, heavy man; but he is a great soldier, and stout, and a needy Lord, which will still keep that poor garrison from ever coming to be worth anything to the King. Here, after a short meeting, we broke up, and I home to the office, where they are sitting, and so I to them, and having done our business rose, and I home to dinner with my people, and there dined with me my uncle Thomas, with a mourning hat-band on, for his daughter Mary, and here I and my people did discourse of the Act for the accounts, ["An Act for taking the Accompts of the several sums of money therein menconed, 19 and 20 Car. II., c. I. The commissioners were empowered to call before them all Treasurers, Receivers, Paymasters, Principal Officers and Commissioners of the Navy and Ordnance respectively, Pursers, Mustermasters and Clerks of the Cheque, Accomptants, and all Officers and Keepers of his Majesties Stores and Provisions for Warr as well for Land as Sea, and all other persons whatsoever imployed in the management of the said Warr or requisite for the discovery of any frauds relating thereunto," &c., &c. ("Statutes of the Realm," vol. v., pp. 624,627).] which do give the greatest power to these people, as they report that have read it (I having not yet read it, and indeed its nature is such as I have no mind to go about to read it, for fear of meeting matter in it to trouble me), that ever was given to any subjects, and too much also. After dinner with my wife and girl to Unthanke's, and there left her, and I to Westminster, and there to Mrs. Martin's, and did hazer con elle what I desired, and there did drink with her, and find fault with her husband's wearing of too fine clothes, by which I perceive he will be a beggar, and so after a little talking I away and took up my wife again, and so home and to the office, where Captain Perryman did give me an account, walking in the garden, how the seamen of England are discouraged by want of money (or otherwise by being, as he says, but I think without cause, by their being underrated) so far as that he thinks the greatest part are gone abroad or going, and says that it is known that there are Irish in the town, up and down, that do labour to entice the seamen out of the nation by giving them L3 in hand, and promise of 40s. per month, to go into the King of France's service, which is a mighty shame, but yet I believe is true. I did advise with him about my little vessel, "The Maybolt," which he says will be best for me to sell, though my employing her to Newcastle this winter, and the next spring, for coles, will be a gainful trade, but yet make me great trouble, but I will think of it, and so to my office, ended my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, good friends with my wife. Thus ends the year, with great happiness to myself and family as to health and good condition in the world, blessed be God for it! only with great trouble to my mind in reference to the publick, there being little hopes left but that the whole nation must in a very little time be lost, either by troubles at home, the Parliament being dissatisfied, and the King led into unsettled councils by some about him, himself considering little, and divisions growing between the King and Duke of York; or else by foreign invasion, to which we must submit if any, at this bad point of time, should come upon us, which the King of France is well able to do. These thoughts, and some cares upon me, concerning my standing in this Office when the Committee of Parliament shall come to examine our Navy matters, which they will now shortly do. I pray God they may do the kingdom service therein, as they will have sufficient opportunity of doing it! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A gainful trade, but yet make me great trouble Every body leads, and nobody follows Lady Castlemayne's nose out of joynt Make a man wonder at the good fortune of such a fool Mr. William Pen a Quaker again Run over their beads with one hand, and point and play and talk Silence; it being seldom any wrong to a man to say nothing Speaks rarely, which pleases me mightily Sport to me to see him so earnest on so little occasion Supper and to bed without one word one to another Voyage to Newcastle for coles 
4185	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1668 N.S. JANUARY 1667-1668 January 1st. Up, and all the morning in my chamber making up some accounts against this beginning of the new year, and so about noon abroad with my wife, who was to dine with W. Hewer and Willet at Mrs. Pierces, but I had no mind to be with them, for I do clearly find that my wife is troubled at my friendship with her and Knepp, and so dined with my Lord Crew, with whom was Mr. Browne, Clerk of the House of Lords, and Mr. John Crew. Here was mighty good discourse, as there is always: and among other things my Lord Crew did turn to a place in the Life of Sir Philip Sidney, wrote by Sir Fulke Greville, which do foretell the present condition of this nation, in relation to the Dutch, to the very degree of a prophecy; and is so remarkable that I am resolved to buy one of them, it being, quite throughout, a good discourse. Here they did talk much of the present cheapness of corne, even to a miracle; so as their farmers can pay no rent, but do fling up their lands; and would pay in corne: but, which I did observe to my Lord, and he liked well of it, our gentry are grown so ignorant in every thing of good husbandry, that they know not how to bestow this corne: which, did they understand but a little trade, they would be able to joyne together, and know what markets there are abroad, and send it thither, and thereby ease their tenants and be able to pay themselves. They did talk much of the disgrace the Archbishop is fallen under with the King, and the rest of the Bishops also. Thence I after dinner to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Sir Martin Mar-all;" which I have seen so often, and yet am mightily pleased with it, and think it mighty witty, and the fullest of proper matter for mirth that ever was writ; and I do clearly see that they do improve in their acting of it. Here a mighty company of citizens, 'prentices, and others; and it makes me observe, that when I begun first to be able to bestow a play on myself, I do not remember that I saw so many by half of the ordinary 'prentices and mean people in the pit at 2s. 6d. a-piece as now; I going for several years no higher than the 12d. and then the 18d. places, though, I strained hard to go in then when I did: so much the vanity and prodigality of the age is to be observed in this particular. Thence I to White Hall, and there walked up and down the house a while, and do hear nothing of anything done further in this business of the change of Privy-counsellors: only I hear that Sir G. Savile, one of the Parliament Committee of nine, for examining the Accounts, is by the King made a Lord, the Lord Halifax; which, I believe, will displease the Parliament. By and by I met with Mr. Brisband; and having it in my mind this Christmas to (do what I never can remember that I did) go to see the manner of the gaming at the Groome-Porter's, I having in my coming from the playhouse stepped into the two Temple-halls, and there saw the dirty 'prentices and idle people playing; wherein I was mistaken, in thinking to have seen gentlemen of quality playing there, as I think it was when I was a little child, that one of my father's servants, John Bassum, I think, carried me in his arms thither. I did tell Brisband of it, and he did lead me thither, where, after staying an hour, they begun to play at about eight at night, where to see how differently one man took his losing from another, one cursing and swearing, and another only muttering and grumbling to himself, a third without any apparent discontent at all: to see how the dice will run good luck in one hand, for half an hour together, and another have no good luck at all: to see how easily here, where they play nothing but guinnys, a L100 is won or lost: to see two or three gentlemen come in there drunk, and putting their stock of gold together, one 22 pieces, the second 4, and the third 5 pieces; and these to play one with another, and forget how much each of them brought, but he that brought the 22 thinks that he brought no more than the rest: to see the different humours of gamesters to change their luck, when it is bad, how ceremonious they are as to call for new dice, to shift their places, to alter their manner of throwing, and that with great industry, as if there was anything in it: to see how some old gamesters, that have no money now to spend as formerly, do come and sit and look on, as among others, Sir Lewis Dives, who was here, and hath been a great gamester in his time: to hear their cursing and damning to no purpose, as one man being to throw a seven if he could, and, failing to do it after a great many throws, cried he would be damned if ever he flung seven more while he lived, his despair of throwing it being so great, while others did it as their luck served almost every throw: to see how persons of the best quality do here sit down, and play with people of any, though meaner; and to see how people in ordinary clothes shall come hither, and play away 100, or 2 or 300 guinnys, without any kind of difficulty: and lastly, to see the formality of the groome-porter, who is their judge of all disputes in play and all quarrels that may arise therein, and how his under-officers are there to observe true play at each table, and to give new dice, is a consideration I never could have thought had been in the world, had I not now seen it. And mighty glad I am that I did see it, and it may be will find another evening, before Christmas be over, to see it again, when I may stay later, for their heat of play begins not till about eleven or twelve o'clock; which did give me another pretty observation of a man, that did win mighty fast when I was there. I think he won L100 at single pieces in a little time. While all the rest envied him his good fortune, he cursed it, saying, "A pox on it, that it should come so early upon me, for this fortune two hours hence would be worth something to me, but then, God damn me, I shall have no such luck." This kind of prophane, mad entertainment they give themselves. And so I, having enough for once, refusing to venture, though Brisband pressed me hard, and tempted me with saying that no man was ever known to lose the first time, the devil being too cunning to discourage a gamester; and he offered me also to lend me ten pieces to venture; but I did refuse, and so went away, and took coach and home about 9 or to at night, where not finding my wife come home, I took the same coach again, and leaving my watch behind me for fear of robbing, I did go back and to Mrs. Pierces, thinking they might not have broken up yet, but there I find my wife newly gone, and not going out of my coach spoke only to Mr. Pierce in his nightgown in the street, and so away back again home, and there to supper with my wife and to talk about their dancing and doings at Mrs. Pierces to-day, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, and there attended the King and the Duke of York in the Duke of York's lodgings, with the rest of the Officers and many of the Commanders of the fleete, and some of our master shipwrights, to discourse the business of having the topmasts of ships made to lower abaft of the mainmast; a business I understand not, and so can give no good account; but I do see that by how much greater the Council, and the number of Counsellors is, the more confused the issue is of their councils; so that little was said to the purpose regularly, and but little use was made of it, they coming to a very broken conclusion upon it, to make trial in a ship or two. From this they fell to other talk about the fleete's fighting this late war, and how the King's ships have been shattered; though the King said that the world would not have it that about ten or twenty ships in any fight did do any service, and that this hath been told so to him himself, by ignorant people. The Prince, who was there, was mightily surprised at it, and seemed troubled: but the King told him that it was only discourse of the world. But Mr. Wren whispered me in the eare, and said that the Duke of Albemarle had put it into his Narrative for the House, that not above twenty-five ships fought in the engagement wherein he was, but that he was advised to leave it out; but this he did write from sea, I am sure, or words to that effect: and did displease many commanders, among others, Captain Batts, who the Duke of York said was a very stout man, all the world knew; and that another was brought into his ship that had been turned out of his place when he was a boatswain, not long before, for being a drunkard. This the Prince took notice of, and would have been angry, I think, but they let their discourse fall: but the Duke of York was earnest in it. And the Prince said to me, standing by me, "God damn me, if they will turn out every man that will be drunk, they must turn out all the commanders in the fleete. What is the matter if he be drunk, so when he comes to fight he do his work? At least, let him be punished for his drunkenness, and not put out of his command presently." This he spoke, very much concerned for this idle fellow, one Greene. After this the King began to tell stories of the cowardice of the Spaniards in Flanders, when he was there, at the siege of Mardike and Dunkirke; which was very pretty, though he tells them but meanly. This being done I to Westminster Hall, and there staid a little: and then home, and by the way did find with difficulty the Life of Sir Philip Sidney (the book I mentioned yesterday). And the bookseller told me that he had sold four, within this week or two, which is more than ever he sold in all his life of them; and he could not imagine what should be the reason of it: but I suppose it is from the same reason of people's observing of this part therein, touching his prophesying our present condition here in England in relation to the Dutch, which is very remarkable. So home to dinner, where Balty's wife is come to town; she come last night and lay at my house, but being weary was gone to bed before I come home, and so I saw her not before. After dinner I took my wife and her girl out to the New Exchange, and there my wife bought herself a lace for a handkercher, which I do give her, of about L3, for a new year's gift, and I did buy also a lace for a band for myself, and so home, and there to the office busy late, and so home to my chamber, where busy on some accounts, and then to supper and to bed. This day my wife shows me a locket of dyamonds worth about L40, which W. Hewer do press her to accept, and hath done for a good while, out of his gratitude for my kindness and hers to him. But I do not like that she should receive it, it not being honourable for me to do it; and so do desire her to force him to take it back again, he leaving it against her will yesterday with her. And she did this evening force him to take it back, at which she says he is troubled; but, however, it becomes me more to refuse it, than to let her accept of it. And so I am well pleased with her returning it him. It is generally believed that France is endeavouring a firmer league with us than the former, in order to his going on with his business against Spayne the next year; which I am, and so everybody else is, I think, very glad of, for all our fear is, of his invading us. This day, at White Hall, I overheard Sir W. Coventry propose to the King his ordering of some particular thing in the Wardrobe, which was of no great value; but yet, as much as it was, it was of profit to the King and saving to his purse. The King answered to it with great indifferency, as a thing that it was no great matter whether it was done or no. Sir W. Coventry answered: "I see your Majesty do not remember the old English proverb, 'He that will not stoop for a pin, will never be worth a pound.'" And so they parted, the King bidding him do as he would; which, methought, was an answer not like a King that did intend ever to do well. 3rd. At the office all the morning with Mr. Willson and my clerks, consulting again about a new contract with the Victualler of the Navy, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, where busy all the afternoon preparing something for the Council about Tangier this evening. So about five o'clock away with it to the Council, and there do find that the Council hath altered its times of sitting to the mornings, and so I lost my labour, and back again by coach presently round by the city wall, it being dark, and so home, and there to the office, where till midnight with Mr. Willson and my people to go through with the Victualler's contract and the considerations about the new one, and so home to supper and to bed, thinking my time very well spent. 4th. Up, and there to the office, where we sat all the morning; at noon home to dinner, where my clerks and Mr. Clerke the sollicitor with me, and dinner being done I to the office again, where all the afternoon till late busy, and then home with my mind pleased at the pleasure of despatching my business, and so to supper and to bed, my thoughts full, how to order our design of having some dancing at our house on Monday next, being Twelfth-day. It seems worth remembering that this day I did hear my Lord Anglesey at the table, speaking touching this new Act for Accounts, say that the House of Lords did pass it because it was a senseless, impracticable, ineffectual, and foolish Act; and that my Lord Ashly having shown this that it was so to the House of Lords, the Duke of Buckingham did stand up and told the Lords that they were beholden to my Lord Ashly, that having first commended them for a most grave and honourable assembly, he thought it fit for the House to pass this Act for Accounts because it was a foolish and simple Act: and it seems it was passed with but a few in the House, when it was intended to have met in a grand Committee upon it. And it seems that in itself it is not to be practiced till after this session of Parliament, by the very words of the Act, which nobody regarded, and therefore cannot come in force yet, unless the next meeting they do make a new Act for the bringing it into force sooner; which is a strange omission. But I perceive my Lord Anglesey do make a mere laughing-stock of this Act, as a thing that can do nothing considerable, for all its great noise. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready, and disappointed of a coach, it breaking a wheel just as it was coming for me, I walked as far as the Temple, it being dirty, and as I went out of my doors my cozen Anthony Joyce met me, and so walked part of the way with me, and it was to see what I would do upon what his wife a little while since did desire, which was to supply him L350 to enable him to go to build his house again. I (who in my nature am mighty unready to answer no to anything, and thereby wonder that I have suffered no more in my life by my easiness in that kind than I have) answered him that I would do it, and so I will, he offering me good security, and so it being left for me to consider the manner of doing it we parted. Taking coach as I said before at the Temple, I to Charing Cross, and there went into Unthanke's to have my shoes wiped, dirty with walking, and so to White Hall, where I visited the Vice-Chamberlain, who tells me, and so I find by others, that the business of putting out of some of the Privy-council is over, the King being at last advised to forbear it; for whereas he did design it to make room for some of the House of Commons that are against him, thereby to gratify them, it is believed that it will but so much the more fret the rest that are not provided for, and raise a new stock of enemies by them that are displeased, and so all they think is over: and it goes for a pretty saying of my Lord Anglesey's up and down the Court, that he should lately say to one of them that are the great promoters of this putting him and others out of the Council, "Well," says he, "and what are we to look for when we are outed? Will all things be set right in the nation?" The other said that he did believe that many things would be mended: "But," says my Lord, "will you and the rest of you be contented to be hanged, if you do not redeem all our misfortunes and set all right, if the power be put into your hands?" The other answered, "No, I would not undertake that:"--"Why, then," says my Lord, "I and the rest of us that you are labouring to put out, will be contented to be hanged, if we do not recover all that is past, if the King will put the power into our hands, and adhere wholly to our advice;" which saying as it was severe, so generally people have so little opinion of those that are likely to be uppermost that they do mightily commend my Lord Anglesey for this saying. From the Vice-Chamberlain up and down the house till Chapel done, and then did speak with several that I had a mind to, and so intending to go home, my Lady Carteret saw and called me out of her window, and so would have me home with her to Lincoln's Inn Fields to dinner, and there we met with my Lord Brereton, and several other strangers, to dine there; and I find him a very sober and serious, able man, and was in discourse too hard for the Bishop of Chester, who dined there; and who, above all books lately wrote, commending the matter and style of a late book, called "The Causes of the Decay of Piety," I do resolve at his great commendation to buy it. Here dined also Sir Philip Howard, a Barkeshire Howard, whom I did once hear swear publickly and loud in the matted gallery that he had not been at a wench in so long a time. He did take occasion to tell me at the table that I have got great ground in the Parliament, by my ready answers to all that was asked me there about the business of Chatham, and they would never let me be out of employment, of which I made little; but was glad to hear him, as well as others, say it. And he did say also, relating to Commissioner Pett, that he did not think that he was guilty of anything like a fault, that he was either able or concerned to amend, but only the not carrying up of the ships higher, he meant; but he said, three or four miles lower down, to Rochester Bridge, which is a strange piece of ignorance in a Member of Parliament at such a time as this, and after so many examinations in the house of this business; and did boldly declare that he did think the fault to lie in my Lord Middleton, who had the power of the place, to secure the boats that were made ready by Pett, and to do anything that he thought fit, and was much, though not altogether in the right, for Spragg, that commanded the river, ought rather to be charged with the want of the boats and the placing of them. After dinner, my Lord Brereton very gentilely went to the organ, and played a verse very handsomely. Thence after dinner away with Sir G. Carteret to White Hall, setting down my Lord Brereton at my Lord Brouncker's, and there up and down the house, and on the Queen's side, to see the ladies, and there saw the Duchesse of York, whom few pay the respect they used, I think, to her; but she bears all out, with a very great deal of greatness; that is the truth of it. And so, it growing night, I away home by coach, and there set my wife to read, and then comes Pelling, and he and I to sing a little, and then sup and so to bed. 6th. Up, leaving my wife to get her ready, and the maids to get a supper ready against night for our company; and I by coach to White Hall, and there up and down the house, and among others met with Mr. Pierce, by whom I find, as I was afeard from the folly of my wife, that he understood that he and his wife was to dine at my house to-day, whereas it was to sup; and therefore I, having done my business at court, did go home to dinner, and there find Mr. Harris, by the like mistake, come to dine with me. However, we did get a pretty dinner ready for him; and there he and I to discourse of many things, and I do find him a very excellent person, such as in my whole [acquaintances] I do not know another better qualified for converse, whether in things of his own trade, or of other kinds, a man of great understanding and observation, and very agreeable in the manner of his discourse, and civil as far as is possible. I was mightily pleased with his company; and after dinner did take coach with him, and my wife and girl, to go to a play, and to carry him thither to his own house. But I 'light by the way to return home, thinking to have spoke with Mrs. Bagwell, who I did see to-day in our entry, come from Harwich, whom I have not seen these twelve months, I think, and more, and voudrai avoir hazer alcun with her, sed she was gone, and so I took coach and away to my wife at the Duke of York's house, in the pit, and so left her; and to Mrs. Pierce, and took her and her cozen Corbet, Knepp and little James, and brought them to the Duke's house; and, the house being full, was forced to carry them to a box, which did cost me 20s., besides oranges, which troubled me, though their company did please me. Thence, after the play, stayed till Harris was undressed, there being acted "The Tempest," and so he withall, all by coach, home, where we find my house with good fires and candles ready, and our Office the like, and the two Mercers, and Betty Turner, Pendleton, and W. Batelier. And so with much pleasure we into the house, and there fell to dancing, having extraordinary Musick, two viollins, and a base viollin, and theorbo, four hands, the Duke of Buckingham's musique, the best in towne, sent me by Greeting, and there we set in to dancing. By and by to my house, to a very good supper, and mighty merry, and good musick playing; and after supper to dancing and singing till about twelve at night; and then we had a good sack posset for them, and an excellent cake, cost me near 20s., of our Jane's making, which was cut into twenty pieces, there being by this time so many of our company, by the coming in of young Goodyer and some others of our neighbours, young men that could dance, hearing of our dancing; and anon comes in Mrs. Turner, the mother, and brings with her Mrs. Hollworthy, which pleased me mightily. And so to dancing again, and singing, with extraordinary great pleasure, till about two in the morning, and then broke up; and Mrs. Pierce and her family, and Harris and Knepp by coach home, as late as it was. And they gone, I took Mrs. Turner and Hollworthy home to my house, and there gave wine and sweetmeats; but I find Mrs. Hollworthy but a mean woman, I think, for understanding, only a little conceited, and proud, and talking, but nothing extraordinary in person, or discourse, or understanding. However, I was mightily pleased with her being there, I having long longed for to know her, and they being gone, I paid the fiddlers L3 among the four, and so away to bed, weary and mightily pleased, and have the happiness to reflect upon it as I do sometimes on other things, as going to a play or the like, to be the greatest real comfort that I am to expect in the world, and that it is that that we do really labour in the hopes of; and so I do really enjoy myself, and understand that if I do not do it now I shall not hereafter, it may be, be able to pay for it, or have health to take pleasure in it, and so fill myself with vain expectation of pleasure and go without it. 7th. Up, weary, about 9 o'clock, and then out by coach to White Hall to attend the Lords of the Treasury about Tangier with Sir Stephen Fox, and having done with them I away back again home by coach time enough to dispatch some business, and after dinner with Sir W. Pen's coach (he being gone before with Sir D. Gawden) to White Hall to wait on the Duke of York, but I finding him not there, nor the Duke of York within, I away by coach to the Nursery, where I never was yet, and there to meet my wife and Mercer and Willet as they promised; but the house did not act to-day; and so I was at a loss for them, and therefore to the other two playhouses into the pit, to gaze up and down, to look for them, and there did by this means, for nothing, see an act in "The Schoole of Compliments" at the Duke of York's house, and "Henry the Fourth" at the King's house; but, not finding them, nor liking either of the plays, I took my coach again, and home, and there to my office to do business, and by and by they come home, and had been at the King's House, and saw me, but I could [not] see them, and there I walked with them in the garden awhile, and to sing with Mercer there a little, and so home with her, and taught her a little of my "It is decreed," which I have a mind to have her learn to sing, and she will do it well, and so after supper she went away, and we to bed, and there made amends by sleep for what I wanted last night. 8th. Up, and it being dirty, I by coach (which I was forced to go to the charge for) to White Hall, and there did deliver the Duke of York a memorial for the Council about the case of Tangiers want of money; and I was called in there and my paper was read. I did not think fit to say much, but left them to make what use they pleased of my paper; and so went out and waited without all the morning, and at noon hear that there is something ordered towards our help, and so I away by coach home, taking up Mr. Prin at the Court-gate, it raining, and setting him down at the Temple: and by the way did ask him about the manner of holding of Parliaments, and whether the number of Knights and Burgesses were always the same? And he says that the latter were not; but that, for aught he can find, they were sent up at the discretion, at first, of the Sheriffes, to whom the writs are sent, to send up generally the Burgesses and citizens of their county: and he do find that heretofore the Parliament-men being paid by the country, several burroughs have complained of the Sheriffes putting them to the charge of sending up Burgesses; which is a very extraordinary thing to me, that knew not this, but thought that the number had been known, and always the same. Thence home to the office, and so with my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, Williams, to Captain Cocke's to dinner, where was Temple and Mr. Porter, and a very good dinner, and merry. Thence with Lord Brouncker to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury at their sending for us to discourse about the paying of tickets, and so away, and I by coach to the 'Change, and there took up my wife and Mercer and the girl by agreement, and so home, and there with Mercer to teach her more of "It is decreed," and to sing other songs and talk all the evening, and so after supper I to even my journall since Saturday last, and so to bed. Yesterday Mr. Gibson, upon his discovering by my discourse to him that I had a willingness, or rather desire, to have him stay with me, than go, as he designed, on Sir W. Warren's account, to sea, he resolved to let go the design and wait his fortune with me, though I laboured hard to make him understand the uncertainty of my condition or service, but however he will hazard it, which I take mighty kindly of him, though troubled lest he may come to be a loser by it, but it will not be for want of my telling him what he was to think on and expect. However, I am well pleased with it, with regard to myself, who find him mighty understanding and acquainted with all things in the Navy, that I should, if I continue in the Navy, make great use of him. 9th. Up, and to the office, having first been visited by my cozen Anthony Joyce about the L350 which he desires me to lend him, and which I have a mind enough to do, but would have it in my power to call it out again in a little time, and so do take a little further time to consider it. So to the office, where all the morning busy, and so home at noon to dinner with my people, where Mr. Hollier come and dined with me, and it is still mighty pleasant to hear him talk of Rome and the Pope, with what hearty zeal and hatred he talks against him. After dinner to the office again, where busy till night, very busy, and among other things wrote to my father about lending Anthony Joyce the money he desires; and I declare that I would do it as part of Pall's portion, and that Pall should have the use of the money till she be married, but I do propose to him to think of Mr. Cumberland rather than this Jackson that he is upon; and I confess I have a mighty mind to have a relation so able a man, and honest, and so old an acquaintance as Mr. Cumberland. I shall hear his answer by the next [post]. At night home and to cards with my wife and girle, and to supper late, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and with Sir Denis Gawden, who called me, to White Hall, and there to wait on the Duke of York with the rest of my brethren, which we did a little in the King's Greenroom, while the King was in Council: and in this room we found my Lord Bristoll walking alone; which, wondering at, while the Council was sitting, I was answered that, as being a Catholique, he could not be of the Council, which I did not consider before. After broke up and walked a turn or two with Lord Brouncker talking about the times, and he tells me that he thinks, and so do every body else, that the great business of putting out some of the Council to make room for some of the Parliament men to gratify and wheedle them is over, thinking that it might do more hurt than good, and not obtain much upon the Parliament either. This morning there was a Persian in that country dress, with a turban, waiting to kiss the King's hand in the Vane-room, against he come out: it was a comely man as to features, and his dress, methinks, very comely. Thence in Sir W. Pen's coach alone (he going with Sir D. Gawden) to my new bookseller's, Martin's; and there did meet with Fournier, [George Fournier, a Jesuit, born at Caen in 1569, was the author of several nautical works. His chief one, "L'Hydrographie," was published at Paris in folio in 1663. A second edition appeared in 1667.] the Frenchman, that hath wrote of the Sea and Navigation, and I could not but buy him, and also bespoke an excellent book, which I met with there, of China. The truth is, I have bought a great many books lately to a great value; but I think to buy no more till Christmas next, and those that I have will so fill my two presses that I must be forced to give away some to make room for them, it being my design to have no more at any time for my proper library than to fill them. Thence home and to the Exchange, there to do a little business, where I find everybody concerned whether we shall have out a fleete this next year or no, they talking of a peace concluded between France and Spayne, so that the King of France will have nothing to do with his army unless he comes to us; but I do not see in the world how we shall be able to set out a fleete for want of money to buy stores and pay men, for neither of which we shall be any more trusted. So home to dinner, and then with my wife and Deb. to the King's house, to see "Aglaura," which hath been always mightily cried up; and so I went with mighty expectation, but do find nothing extraordinary in it at all, and but hardly good in any degree. So home, and thither comes to us W. Batelier and sat with us all the evening, and to cards and supper, passing the evening pretty pleasantly, and so late at night parted, and so to bed. I find him mightily troubled at the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury opposing him in the business he hath a patent for about the business of Impost on wine, but I do see that the Lords have reason for it, it being a matter wherein money might be saved to his Majesty, and I am satisfied that they do let nothing pass that may save money, and so God bless them! So he being gone we to bed. This day I received a letter from my father, and another from my cozen Roger Pepys, who have had a view of Jackson's evidences of his estate, and do mightily like of the man, and his condition and estate, and do advise me to accept of the match for my sister, and to finish it as soon as I can; and he do it so as, I confess, I am contented to have it done, and so give her her portion; and so I shall be eased of one care how to provide for her, and do in many respects think that it may be a match proper enough to have her married there, and to one that may look after my concernments if my father should die and I continue where I am, and there[fore] I am well pleased with it, and so to bed. 11th. Lay some time, talking with my wife in bed about Pall's business, and she do conclude to have her married here, and to be merry at it; and to have W. Hewer, and Batelier, and Mercer, and Willet bridemen and bridemaids, and to be very merry; and so I am glad of it, and do resolve to let it be done as soon as I can. So up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and thence home to dinner, and from dinner with Mercer, who dined with us, and wife and Deb. to the King's house, there to see "The Wild-goose Chase," which I never saw, but have long longed to see it, being a famous play, but as it was yesterday I do find that where I expect most I find least satisfaction, for in this play I met with nothing extraordinary at all, but very dull inventions and designs. Knepp come and sat by us, and her talk pleased me a little, she telling me how Mis Davis is for certain going away from the Duke's house, the King being in love with her; and a house is taken for her, and furnishing; and she hath a ring given her already worth L600: that the King did send several times for Nelly, and she was with him, but what he did she knows not; this was a good while ago, and she says that the King first spoiled Mrs. Weaver, which is very mean, methinks, in a prince, and I am sorry for it, and can hope for no good to the State from having a Prince so devoted to his pleasure. She told me also of a play shortly coming upon the stage, of Sir Charles Sidly's, which, she thinks, will be called "The Wandering Ladys," a comedy that, she thinks, will be most pleasant; and also another play, called "The Duke of Lerma;" besides "Catelin," which she thinks, for want of the clothes which the King promised them, will not be acted for a good while. Thence home, and there to the office and did some business, and so with my wife for half an hour walking in the moonlight, and it being cold, frosty weather, walking in the garden, and then home to supper, and so by the fireside to have my head combed, as I do now often do, by Deb., whom I love should be fiddling about me, and so to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and to dress myself, and then called into my wife's chamber, and there she without any occasion fell to discourse of my father's coming to live with us when my sister marries. This, she being afeard of declaring an absolute hatred to him since his falling out with her about Coleman's being with her, she declares against his coming hither, which I not presently agreeing to, she declared, if he come, she would not live with me, but would shame me all over the city and court, which I made slight of, and so we fell very foul; and I do find she do keep very bad remembrances of my former unkindness to her, and do mightily complain of her want of money and liberty, which I will rather hear and bear the complaint of than grant the contrary, and so we had very hot work a great while: but at last I did declare as I intend, that my father shall not come, and that he do not desire and intend it; and so we parted with pretty good quiet, and so away, and being ready went to church, where first I saw Alderman Backewell and his lady come to our church, they living in Mark Lane; and I could find in my heart to invite her to sit with us, she being a fine lady. I come in while they were singing the 19th Psalm, while the sexton was gathering to his box, to which I did give 5s., and so after sermon home, my wife, Deb., and I all alone and very kind, full of good discourses, and after dinner I to my chamber, ordering my Tangier accounts to give to the Auditor in a day or two, which should have been long ago with him. At them to my great content all the afternoon till supper, and after supper with my wife, W. Hewer and Deb. pretty merry till 12 at night, and then to bed. 13th. Up, and Mr. Gibbs comes to me, and I give him instructions about the writing fair my Tangier accounts against to-morrow. So I abroad with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there did with the rest attend the Duke of York, where nothing extraordinary; only I perceive there is nothing yet declared for the next, year, what fleete shall be abroad. Thence homeward by coach and stopped at Martin's, my bookseller, where I saw the French book which I did think to have had for my wife to translate, called "L'escholle des filles," ["L'Escole des Filles," by Helot, was burnt at the foot of the gallows in 1672, and the author himself was burnt in effigy.] but when I come to look in it, it is the most bawdy, lewd book that ever I saw, rather worse than "Putana errante," so that I was ashamed of reading in it, and so away home, and there to the 'Change to discourse with Sir H. Cholmly, and so home to dinner, and in the evening, having done some business, I with my wife and girl out, and left them at Unthanke's, while I to White Hall to the Treasury Chamber for an order for Tangier, and so back, took up my wife, and home, and there busy about my Tangier accounts against tomorrow, which I do get ready in good condition, and so with great content to bed. 14th. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner with Mr. Clerke and Gibson to the Temple (my wife and girle going further by coach), and there at the Auditor's did begin the examining my Tangier accounts, and did make a great entry into it and with great satisfaction, and I am glad I am so far eased. So appointing another day for further part of my accounts, I with Gibson to my bookseller, Martin, and there did receive my book I expected of China, a most excellent book with rare cuts; and there fell into discourse with him about the burning of Paul's when the City was burned; his house being in the church-yard. And he tells me that it took fire first upon the end of a board that, among others, was laid upon the roof instead of lead, the lead being broke off, and thence down lower and lower: but that the burning of the goods under St. Fayth's arose from the goods taking fire in the church-yard, and so got into St. Fayth's Church; and that they first took fire from the Draper's side, by some timber of the houses that were burned falling into the church. He says that one warehouse of books was saved under Paul's; and he says that there were several dogs found burned among the goods in the church-yard, and but one man, which was an old man, that said he would go and save a blanket which he had in the church, and, being a weak old man, the fire overcome him, and was burned. He says that most of the booksellers do design to fall a-building again the next year; but he says that the Bishop of London do use them most basely, worse than any other landlords, and says he will be paid to this day the rent, or else he will not come to treat with them for the time to come; and will not, on that condition either, promise them any thing how he will use them; and, the Parliament sitting, he claims his privilege, and will not be cited before the Lord Chief justice, as others are there, to be forced to a fair dealing. Thence by coach to Mrs. Pierce's, where my wife and Deb. is; and there they fell to discourse of the last night's work at Court, where the ladies and Duke of Monmouth and others acted "The Indian Emperour;" wherein they told me these things most remark able: that not any woman but the Duchesse of Monmouth and Mrs. Cornwallis did any thing but like fools and stocks, but that these two did do most extraordinary well: that not any man did any thing well but Captain O'Bryan, who spoke and did well, but, above all things, did dance most incomparably. That she did sit near the players of the Duke's house; among the rest, Mis Davis, who is the most impertinent slut, she says, in the world; and the more, now the King do show her countenance; and is reckoned his mistress, even to the scorne of the whole world; the King gazing on her, and my Lady Castlemayne being melancholy and out of humour, all the play, not smiling once. The King, it seems, hath given her a ring of L700, which she shews to every body, and owns that the King did give it her; and he hath furnished a house for her in Suffolke Street most richly, which is a most infinite shame. It seems she is a bastard of Colonell Howard, my Lord Berkshire, and that he do pimp to her for the King, and hath got her for him; but Pierce says that she is a most homely jade as ever she saw, though she dances beyond any thing in the world. She tells me that the Duchesse of Richmond do not yet come to the Court, nor hath seen the King, nor will not, nor do he own his desire of seeing her; but hath used means to get her to Court, but they do not take. Thence home, and there I to my chamber, having a great many books brought me home from my bookbinder's, and so I to the new setting of my books against the next year, which costs me more trouble than I expected, and at it till two o'clock in the morning, and then to bed, the business not being yet done to my mind. This evening come Mr. Mills and his wife to see and sit and talk with us, which they did till 9 o'clock at night, and then parted, and I to my books. 15th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office again, where we met about some business of D. Gawden's till candle-light; and then, as late as it was, I down to Redriffe, and so walked by moonlight to Deptford, where I have not been a great while, and my business I did there was only to walk up and down above la casa of Bagwell, but could not see her, it being my intent to have spent a little time con her, she being newly come from her husband; but I did lose my labour, and so walked back again, but with pleasure by the walk, and I had the sport to see two boys swear, and stamp, and fret, for not being able to get their horse over a stile and ditch, one of them swearing and cursing most bitterly; and I would fain, in revenge, have persuaded him to have drove his horse through the ditch, by which I believe he would have stuck there. But the horse would not be drove, and so they were forced to go back again, and so I walked away homeward, and there reading all the evening, and so to bed. This afternoon my Lord Anglesey tells us that it is voted in Council to have a fleete of 50 ships out; but it is only a disguise for the Parliament to get some money by; but it will not take, I believe, and if it did, I do not think it will be such as he will get any of, nor such as will enable us to set out such a fleete. 16th. Up, after talking with my wife with pleasure, about her learning on the flageolet a month or two again this winter, and all the rest of the year her painting, which I do love, and so to the office, where sat all the morning, and here Lord Anglesey tells us again that a fleete is to be set out; and that it is generally, he hears, said, that it is but a Spanish rhodomontado; and that he saying so just now to the Duke of Albemarle, who come to town last night, after the thing was ordered, he told him a story of two seamen: one wished all the guns of the ship were his, and that they were silver; and says the other, "You are a fool, for, if you can have it for wishing, why do you not wish them gold?"--"So," says he, "if a rhodomontado will do any good, why do you not say 100 ships?" And it is true; for the Dutch and French are said to make such preparations as 50 sail will do no good. At noon home to dinner with my gang of clerks, in whose society I am mightily pleased, and mightily with Mr. Gibson's talking; [Richard Gibson, so frequently noticed by Pepys, was a clerk in the Navy Office. His collection of papers relating to the navy of England A.D. 1650-1702, compiled, as he states, from the Admiralty books in the Navy Office, are in the British Museum.--B.] he telling me so many good stories relating to the warr and practices of commanders, which I will find a time to recollect; and he will be an admirable help to my writing a history of the Navy, if ever I do. So to the office, where busy all the afternoon and evening, and then home. My work this night with my clerks till midnight at the office was to examine my list of ships I am making for myself and their dimensions, and to see how it agrees or differs from other lists, and I do find so great a difference between them all that I am at a loss which to take, and therefore think mine to be as much depended upon as any I can make out of them all. So little care there has been to this day to know or keep any history of the Navy. 17th. Up, and by coach to White Hall to attend the Council there, and here I met first by Mr. Castle the shipwright, whom I met there, and then from the whole house the discourse of the duell yesterday between the Duke of Buckingham, Holmes, and one Jenkins, on one side, and my Lord of Shrewsbury, Sir John Talbot, and one Bernard Howard, on the other side: and all about my Lady Shrewsbury, [Anna Maria, daughter of Robert Brudenel, second Earl of Cardigan. Walpole says she held the Duke of Buckingham's horse, in the habit of a page, while he was fighting the duel with her husband. She married, secondly, George Rodney Bridges, son of Sir Thomas Bridges of Keynsham, Somerset, Groom of the Bedchamber to Charles IL, and died April 20th, 1702. A portrait of the Countess of Shrewsbury, as Minerva, by Lely.] who is a whore, and is at this time, and hath for a great while been, a whore to the Duke of Buckingham. And so her husband challenged him, and they met yesterday in a close near Barne-Elmes, and there fought: and my Lord Shrewsbury is run through the body, from the right breast through the shoulder: and Sir John Talbot all along up one of his armes; and Jenkins killed upon the place, and the rest all, in a little measure, wounded. This will make the world think that the King hath good councillors about him, when the Duke of Buckingham, the greatest man about him, is a fellow of no more sobriety than to fight about a whore. And this may prove a very bad accident to the Duke of Buckingham, but that my Lady Castlemayne do rule all at this time as much as ever she did, and she will, it is believed, keep all matters well with the Duke of Buckingham: though this is a time that the King will be very backward, I suppose, to appear in such a business. And it is pretty to hear how the King had some notice of this challenge a week or two ago, and did give it to my Lord Generall to confine the Duke, or take security that he should not do any such thing as fight: and the Generall trusted to the King that he, sending for him, would do it, and the King trusted to the Generall; and so, between both, as everything else of the greatest moment do, do fall between two stools. The whole House full of nothing but the talk of this business; and it is said that my Lord Shrewsbury's case is to be feared, that he may die too; and that may make it much the worse for the Duke of Buckingham: and I shall not be much sorry for it, that we may have some sober man come in his room to assist in the Government. Here I waited till the Council rose, and talked the while, with Creed, who tells me of Mr. Harry Howard's' giving the Royal Society a piece of ground next to his house, to build a College on, which is a most generous act. And he tells me he is a very fine person, and understands and speaks well; and no rigid Papist neither, but one that would not have a Protestant servant leave his religion, which he was going to do, thinking to recommend himself to his master by it; saying that he had rather have an honest Protestant than a knavish Catholique. I was not called into the Council; and, therefore, home, first informing myself that my Lord Hinchingbroke hath been married this week to my Lord Burlington's daughter; so that that great business is over; and I mighty glad of it, though I am not satisfied that I have not a Favour sent me, as I see Attorney Montagu and the Vice-Chamberlain have. But I am mighty glad that the thing is done. So home, and there alone with my wife and Deb. to dinner, and after dinner comes Betty Turner, and I carried them to the New Exchange, and thence I to White Hall and did a little business at the Treasury, and so called them there, and so home and to cards and supper, and her mother come and sat at cards with us till past 12 at night, and then broke up and to bed, after entering my journall, which made it one before I went to bed. 18th. At the office all the morning busy sitting. At noon home to dinner, where Betty Turner dined with us, and after dinner carried my wife, her and Deb. to the 'Change, where they bought some things, while I bought "The Mayden Queene," a play newly printed, which I like at the King's house so well, of Mr. Dryden's, which he himself, in his preface, seems to brag of, and indeed is a good play. So home again, and I late at the office and did much business, and then home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). My wife the last night very ill of those, and waked me early, and hereupon I up and to church, where a dull sermon by our lecturer, and so home to dinner in my wife's chamber, which she is a little better. Then after dinner with Captain Perryman down to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I sent for Mr. Shish out of the Church to advise about my vessel, "The Maybolt," and I do resolve to sell, presently, for any thing rather than keep her longer, having already lost L100 in her value, which I was once offered and refused, and the ship left without any body to look to her, which vexes me. Thence Perryman and I back again, talking of the great miscarriages in the Navy, and among the principal that of having gentlemen commanders. I shall hereafter make use of his and others' help to reckon up and put down in writing what is fit to be mended in the Navy after all our sad experience therein. So home, and there sat with my wife all the evening, and Mr. Pelting awhile talking with us, who tells me that my Lord Shrewsbury is likely to do well, after his great wound in the late dwell. He gone, comes W. Hewer and supped with me, and so to talk of things, and he tells me that Mr. Jessop is made Secretary to the Commissions of Parliament for Accounts, and I am glad, and it is pretty to see that all the Cavalier party were not able to find the Parliament nine Commissioners, or one Secretary, fit for the business. So he gone, I to read a little in my chamber, and so to bed. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office very busy, and at noon by coach to Westminster, to the 'Chequer, about a warrant for Tangier money. In my way both coming and going I did stop at Drumbleby's, the pipe-maker, there to advise about the making of a flageolet to go low and soft; and he do shew me a way which do do, and also a fashion of having two pipes of the same note fastened together, so as I can play on one, and then echo it upon the other, which is mighty pretty. So to my Lord Crew's to dinner, where we hear all the good news of our making a league now with Holland against the French power coming over them, or us which is the first good act that hath been done a great while, and done secretly, and with great seeming wisdom; and is certainly good for us at this time, while we are in no condition to resist the French, if they should come over hither; and then a little time of peace will give us time to lay up something, which these Commissioners of the Treasury are doing; and the world do begin to see that they will do the King's work for him, if he will let them. Here dined Mr. Case, the minister, who, Lord! do talk just as I remember he used to preach, and did tell a pretty story of a religious lady, Queen of Navarre; [Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre, sister of Francis I. of France. The "pretty story" was doubtless from her "Heptameron," a work imitating in title and matter the "Decameron" of Boccaccio. She is said to be the heroine of some of the adventures. It is fair to add that she wrote also the "Miroir dune Ame Pecheresse," translated into English by Queen Elizabeth, the title of whose book was "A Godly Medytacyon of the Christian Soules," published by John Bale in 1548.--B.] and my Lord also told a good story of Mr. Newman, the Minister in New England, who wrote the Concordance, of his foretelling his death and preaching a funeral sermon, and did at last bid the angels do their office, and died. It seems there is great presumption that there will be a Toleration granted: so that the Presbyterians do hold up their heads; but they will hardly trust the King or the Parliament what to yield them, though most of the sober party be for some kind of allowance to be given them. Thence and home, and then to the 'Change in the evening, and there Mr. Cade told me how my Lord Gerard is likely to meet with trouble, the next sitting of Parliament, about [Carr] being set in the pillory; and I am glad of it; and it is mighty acceptable to the world to hear, that, among other reductions, the King do reduce his Guards, which do please mightily. So to my bookbinder's with my boy, and there did stay late to see two or three things done that I had a mind to see done, and among others my Tangier papers of accounts, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and while at the office comes news from Kate Joyce that if I would see her husband alive, I must come presently. So, after the office was up, I to him, and W. Hewer with me, and find him in his sick bed (I never was at their house, this Inne, before) very sensible in discourse and thankful for my kindness to him, and his breath rattled in his throate, and they did lay pigeons to his feet while I was in the house, and all despair of him, and with good reason. But the story is that it seems on Thursday last he went sober and quiet out of doors in the morning to Islington, and behind one of the inns, the White Lion, did fling himself into a pond, was spied by a poor woman and got out by some people binding up hay in a barn there, and set on his head and got to life, and known by a woman coming that way; and so his wife and friends sent for. He confessed his doing the thing, being led by the Devil; and do declare his reason to be, his trouble that he found in having forgot to serve God as he ought, since he come to this new employment: and I believe that, and the sense of his great loss by the fire, did bring him to it, and so everybody concludes. He stayed there all that night, and come home by coach next morning, and there grew sick, and worse and worse to this day. I stayed awhile among the friends that were there, and they being now in fear that the goods and estate would be seized on, though he lived all this while, because of his endeavouring to drown himself, my cozen did endeavour to remove what she could of plate out of the house, and desired me to take my flagons; which I was glad of, and did take them away with me in great fear all the way of being seized; though there was no reason for it, he not being dead, but yet so fearful I was. So home, and there eat my dinner, and busy all the afternoon, and troubled at this business. In the evening with Sir D. Gawden, to Guild Hall, to advise with the Towne-Clerke about the practice of the City and nation in this case: and he thinks that it cannot be found self-murder; but if it be, it will fall, all the estate, to the King. So we parted, and I to my cozens again; where I no sooner come but news was brought down from his chamber that he was departed. So, at their entreaty, I presently took coach to White Hall, and there find Sir W. Coventry; and he carried me to the King, the Duke of York being with him, and there told my story which I had told him: [This was not the only time that Pepys took trouble to save the estate of a friend who had committed suicide. In the "Caveat Book" in the Record Office, p. 42 of the volume for 1677, is the following entry: "That no grant pass of the Estate of Francis Gurney of Maldon in Essex, who drowned himself in his own well on Tuesday night ye 12th of this instant August, at the desire of Samuel Pepys, Esquire, August 20, 1677."] and the King, without more ado, granted that, if it was found, the estate should be to the widow and children. I presently to each Secretary's office, and there left caveats, and so away back again to my cozens, leaving a chimney on fire at White Hall, in the King's closet; but no danger. And so, when I come thither, I find her all in sorrow, but she and the rest mightily pleased with my doing this for them; and, indeed, it was a very great courtesy, for people are looking out for the estate, and the coroner will be sent to, and a jury called to examine his death. This being well done to my and their great joy, I home, and there to my office, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, mightily busy all the morning at the office. At noon with Lord Brouncker to Sir D. Gawden's, at the Victualling-Office, to dinner, where I have not dined since he was Sheriff: He expected us; and a good dinner, and much good company; and a fine house, and especially two rooms, very fine, he hath built there. His lady a good lady; but my Lord led himself and me to a great absurdity in kissing all the ladies, but the finest of all the company, leaving her out, I know not how; and I was loath to do it, since he omitted it. Here little Chaplin dined, who is like to be Sheriff the next year; and a pretty humoured little man he is. I met here with Mr. Talents, the younger, of Magdalene College, Chaplain here to the Sheriff; which I was glad to see, though not much acquainted with him. This day come the first demand from the Commissioners of Accounts to us, and it contains more than we shall ever be able to answer while we live, and I do foresee we shall be put to much trouble and some shame, at least some of us. Thence stole away after dinner to my cozen Kate's, and there find the Crowner's jury sitting, but they could not end it, but put off the business to Shrove Tuesday next, and so do give way to the burying of him, and that is all; but they all incline to find it a natural death, though there are mighty busy people to have it go otherwise, thinking to get his estate, but are mistaken. Thence, after sitting with her and company a while, comforting her: though I can find she can, as all other women, cry, and yet talk of other things all in a breath. So home, and thereto cards with my wife, Deb., and Betty Turner, and Batelier, and after supper late to sing. But, Lord! how did I please myself to make Betty Turner sing, to see what a beast she is as to singing, not knowing how to sing one note in tune; but, only for the experiment, I would not for 40s. hear her sing a tune: worse than my wife a thousand times, so that it do a little reconcile me to her. So late to bed. 23rd. At the Office all the morning; and at noon find the Bishop of Lincolne come to dine with us; and after him comes Mr. Brisband; and there mighty good company. But the Bishop a very extraordinary good-natured man, and one that is mightily pleased, as well as I am, that I live so near Bugden, the seat of his bishopricke, where he is like to reside: and, indeed, I am glad of it. In discourse, we think ourselves safe for this year, by this league with Holland, which pleases every body, and, they say, vexes France; insomuch that D'Estrades; the French Embassador in Holland, when he heard it, told the States that he would have them not forget that his master is at the head of 100,000 men, and is but 28 years old; which was a great speech. The Bishop tells me he thinks that the great business of Toleration will not, notwithstanding this talk, be carried this Parliament; nor for the King's taking away the Deans' and Chapters' lands to supply his wants, they signifying little to him, if he had them, for his present service. He gone, I mightily pleased with his kindness, I to the office, where busy till night, and then to Mrs. Turner's, where my wife, and Deb., and I, and Batelier spent the night, and supped, and played at cards, and very merry, and so I home to bed. She is either a very prodigal woman, or richer than she would be thought, by her buying of the best things, and laying out much money in new-fashioned pewter; and, among other things, a new-fashioned case for a pair of snuffers, which is very pretty; but I could never have guessed what it was for, had I not seen the snuffers in it. 24th. Up before day to my Tangier accounts, and then out and to a Committee of Tangier, where little done but discourse about reduction of the charge of the garrison, and thence to Westminster about orders at the Exchequer, and at the Swan I drank, and there met with a pretty ingenious young Doctor of physic, by chance, and talked with him, and so home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife to the Temple, and thence she to a play, and I to St. Andrew's church, in Holburne, at the 'Quest House, where the company meets to the burial of my cozen Joyce; and here I staid with a very great rabble of four or five hundred people of mean condition, and I staid in the room with the kindred till ready to go to church, where there is to be a sermon of Dr. Stillingfleete, and thence they carried him to St. Sepulchre's. But it being late, and, indeed, not having a black cloak to lead her [Kate Joyce] with, or follow the corps, I away, and saw, indeed, a very great press of people follow the corps. I to the King's playhouse, to fetch my wife, and there saw the best part of "The Mayden Queene," which, the more I see, the more I love, and think one of the best plays I ever saw, and is certainly the best acted of any thing ever the House did, and particularly Becke Marshall, to admiration. Found my wife and Deb., and saw many fine ladies, and sat by Colonell Reames, who understands and loves a play as well as I, and I love him for it. And so thence home; and, after being at the Office, I home to supper, and to bed, my eyes being very bad again with overworking with them. 25th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, and then at noon to the 'Change with Mr. Hater, and there he and I to a tavern to meet Captain Minors, which we did, and dined; and there happened to be Mr. Prichard, a ropemaker of his acquaintance, and whom I know also, and did once mistake for a fiddler, which sung well, and I asked him for such a song that I had heard him sing, and after dinner did fall to discourse about the business of the old contract between the King and the East India Company for the ships of the King that went thither, and about this did beat my brains all the afternoon, and then home and made an end of the accounts to my great content, and so late home tired and my eyes sore, to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to Church, and at noon home to dinner. No strangers there; and all the afternoon and evening very late doing serious business of my Tangier accounts, and examining my East India accounts, with Mr. Poynter, whom I employed all this day, to transcribe it fair; and so to supper, W. Hewer with us, and so the girl to comb my head till I slept, and then to bed. 27th. It being weather like the beginning of a frost and the ground dry, I walked as far as the Temple, and there took coach and to White Hall, but the Committee not being met I to Westminster, and there I do hear of the letter that is in the pamphlet this day of the King of France, declaring his design to go on against Flanders, and the grounds of it, which do set us mightily at rest. So to White Hall, and there a committee of Tangier, but little done there, only I did get two or three little jobs done to the perfecting two or three papers about my Tangier accounts. Here Mr. Povy do tell me how he is like to lose his L400 a-year pension of the Duke of York, which he took in consideration of his place which was taken from him. He tells me the Duchesse is a devil against him, and do now come like Queen Elizabeth, and sits with the Duke of York's Council, and sees what they do; and she crosses out this man's wages and prices, as she sees fit, for saving money; but yet, he tells me, she reserves L5000 a-year for her own spending; and my Lady Peterborough, by and by, tells me that the Duchesse do lay up, mightily, jewells. Thence to my Lady Peterborough's, she desiring to speak with me. She loves to be taken dressing herself, as I always find her; and there, after a little talk, to please her, about her husband's pension, which I do not think he will ever get again, I away thence home, and all the afternoon mighty busy at the office, and late, preparing a letter to the Commissioners of Accounts, our first letter to them, and so home to supper, where Betty Turner was (whose brother Frank did set out toward the East Indies this day, his father and mother gone down with him to Gravesend), and there was her little brother Moses, whom I examined, and he is a pretty good scholar for a child, and so after supper to talk and laugh, and to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, and there with W. Griffin talking about getting the place to build a coach-house, or to hire one, which I now do resolve to have, and do now declare it; for it is plainly for my benefit for saving money. By and by the office sat, and there we concluded on our letter to the Commissioners of Accounts and to the several officers of ours about the work they are to do to answer their late great demands. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner set my wife and girl down at the Exchange, and I to White Hall; and, by and by, the Duke of York comes, and we had a little meeting, Anglesey, W. Pen, and I there, and none else: and, among other things, did discourse of the want of discipline in the fleete, which the Duke' of York confessed, and yet said that he, while he was there, did keep it in a good measure, but that it was now lost when he was absent; but he will endeavour to have it again. That he did tell the Prince and Duke of Albemarle they would lose all order by making such and such men commanders, which they would, because they were stout men: he told them that it was a reproach to the nation, as if there were no sober men among us, that were stout, to be had. That they did put out some men for cowards that the Duke of York had put in, but little before, for stout men; and would now, were he to go to sea again, entertain them in his own division, to choose: and did put in an idle fellow, Greene, who was hardly thought fit for a boatswain by him: they did put him from being a lieutenant to a captain's place of a second-rate ship; as idle a drunken fellow, he said, as any was in the fleete. That he will now desire the King to let him be what he is, that is, Admirall; and he will put in none but those that he hath great reason to think well of; and particularly says, that; though he likes Colonell Legg well, yet his son that was, he knows not how, made a captain after he had been but one voyage at sea, he should go to sea another apprenticeship, before ever he gives him a command. We did tell him of the many defects and disorders among the captains, and I prayed we might do it in writing to him, which he liked; and I am glad of an opportunity of doing it. Thence away, and took up wife and girl, and home, and to the office, busy late, and so to supper and to bed. My wife this day hears from her father and mother: they are in France, at Paris; he, poor good man! I think he is, gives her good counsel still, which I always observed of him, and thankful for my small charities to him. I could be willing to do something for them, were I sure not to bring them over again hither. Coming home, my wife and I went and saw Kate Joyce, who is still in mighty sorrow, and the more from something that Dr. Stillingfleete should simply say in his sermon, of her husband's manner of dying, as killing himself. 29th. Up betimes, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, whom I found in his chamber, and there stayed an hour and talked with him about several things of the Navy, and our want of money, which they indeed do supply us with a little, but in no degree likely to enable us to go on with the King's service. He is at a stand where to have more, and is in mighty pain for it, declaring that he believes there never was a kingdom so governed as this was in the time of the late Chancellor and the Treasurer, nobody minding or understanding any thing how things went or what the King had in his Treasury, or was to have, nothing in the world of it minded. He tells me that there are still people desirous to overthrow him; he resolving to stick at nothing nor no person that stands in his way against bringing the King out of debt, be it to retrench any man's place or profit, and that he cares not, for rather than be employed under the King, and have the King continue in this condition of indigence, he desires to be put out from among them, thinking it no honour to be a minister in such a government. He tells me he hath no friends in the whole Court but my Lord Keeper and Sir John Duncomb. He tells me they have reduced the charges of Ireland above L70,000 a-year, and thereby cut off good profits from my Lord Lieutenant; which will make a new enemy, but he cares not. He tells me that Townsend, of the Wardrobe, is the eeriest knave and bufflehead that ever he saw in his life, and wonders how my Lord Sandwich come to trust such a fellow, and that now Reames and--------are put in to be overseers there, and do great things, and have already saved a great deal of money in the King's liverys, and buy linnen so cheap, that he will have them buy the next cloth he hath, for shirts. But then this is with ready money, which answers all. He do not approve of my letter I drew and the office signed yesterday to the Commissioners of Accounts, saying that it is a little too submissive, and grants a little too much and too soon our bad managements, though we lay on want of money, yet that it will be time enough to plead it when they object it. Which was the opinion of my Lord Anglesey also; so I was ready to alter it, and did so presently, going from him home, and there transcribed it fresh as he would have it, and got it signed, and to White Hall presently and shewed it him, and so home, and there to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon and till 12 o'clock at night with Mr. Gibson at home upon my Tangier accounts, and did end them fit to be given the last of them to the Auditor to-morrow, to my great content. This evening come Betty Turner and the two Mercers, and W. Batelier, and they had fiddlers, and danced, and kept a quarter,--[A term for making a noise or disturbance.]--which pleased me, though it disturbed me; but I could not be with them at all. Mr. Gibson lay at my house all night, it was so late. 30th. Up, it being fast day for the King's death, and so I and Mr. Gibson by water to the Temple, and there all the morning with Auditor Wood, and I did deliver in the whole of my accounts and run them over in three hours with full satisfaction, and so with great content thence, he and I, and our clerks, and Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, to a little ordinary in Hercules-pillars Ally--the Crowne, a poor, sorry place, where a fellow, in twelve years, hath gained an estate of, as he says, L600 a-year, which is very strange, and there dined, and had a good dinner, and very good discourse between them, old men belonging to the law, and here I first heard that my cozen Pepys, of Salisbury Court, was Marshal to my Lord Cooke when he was Lord Chief justice; which beginning of his I did not know to be so low: but so it was, it seems. After dinner I home, calling at my bookbinder's, but he not within. When come home, I find Kate Joyce hath been there, with sad news that her house stands not in the King's liberty, but the Dean of Paul's; and so, if her estate be forfeited, it will not be in the King's power to do her any good. So I took coach and to her, and there found her in trouble, as I cannot blame her. But I do believe this arises from somebody that hath a mind to fright her into a composition for her estate, which I advise her against; and, indeed, I do desire heartily to be able to do her service, she being, methinks, a piece of care I ought to take upon me, for our fathers' and friends' sake, she being left alone, and no friend so near as me, or so able to help her. After having given her my advice, I home, and there to my office and did business, and hear how the Committee for Accounts are mighty active and likely to examine every thing, but let them do their worst I am to be before them with our contract books to-morrow. So home from the office, to supper, and to bed. 31st. Up; and by coach, with W. Griffin with me, and our Contract-books, to Durham Yard, to the Commissioners for Accounts; the first time I ever was there; and staid awhile before I was admitted to them. I did observe a great many people attending about complaints of seamen concerning tickets, and, among others, Mr. Carcasse, and Mr. Martin, my purser. And I observe a fellow, one Collins, is there, who is employed by these Commissioners particularly to hold an office in Bishopsgate Street, or somewhere thereabouts, to receive complaints of all people about tickets: and I believe he will have work enough. Presently I was called in, where I found the whole number of Commissioners, and was there received with great respect and kindness; and did give them great satisfaction, making it my endeavour to inform them what it was they were to expect from me, and what was the duty of other people; this being my only way to preserve myself, after all my pains and trouble. They did ask many questions, and demanded other books of me, which I did give them very ready and acceptable answers to; and, upon the whole, I observe they do go about their business like men resolved to go through with it, and in a very good method; like men of understanding. They have Mr. Jessop, their secretary: and it is pretty to see that they are fain to find out an old-fashioned man of Cromwell's to do their business for them, as well as the Parliament to pitch upon such, for the most part, in the list of people that were brought into the House, for Commissioners. I went away, with giving and receiving great satisfaction; and so away to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury; where, waiting some time, I there met with Colonel Birch; and he and I fell into discourse; and I did give him thanks for his kindness to me in the Parliament-house, both before my face and behind my back. He told me that he knew me to be a man of the old way for taking pains, and did always endeavour to do me right, and prevent any thing that was moved that might tend to my injury; which I was obliged to him for, and thanked him. Thence to talk of other things, and the want of money and he told me of the general want of money in the country; that land sold for nothing, and the many pennyworths he knows of lands and houses upon them, with good titles in his country, at 16 years' purchase: "and," says he, "though I am in debt, yet I have a mind to one thing, and that is a Bishop's lease;" but said, "I will yet choose such a lease before any other, yes," says he, plainly, "because I know they cannot stand, and then it will fall into the King's hands, and I in possession shall have an advantage by it." "And," says he, "I know they must fall, and they are now near it, taking all the ways they can to undo themselves, and showing us the way;" and thereupon told the a story of the present quarrel between the Bishop and Deane of Coventry and Lichfield; the former of which did excommunicate the latter, and caused his excommunication to be read in the Church while he was there; and, after it was read, the Deane made the service be gone through with, though himself, an excommunicate, was present, which is contrary to the Canon, and said he would justify the quire therein against the Bishop; and so they are at law in the Arches about it; which is a very pretty story. He tells me that the King is for Toleration, though the Bishops be against it: and that he do not doubt but it will be carried in Parliament; but that he fears some will stand for the tolerating of Papists with the rest; and that he knows not what to say, but rather thinks that the sober party will be without it, rather than have it upon those terms; and I do believe so. Here we broke off, and I home to dinner, and after dinner set down my wife and Deb. at the 'Change, and I to make a visit to Mr. Godolphin [William Godolphin, descended from a younger branch of that family, which was afterwards ennobled in the person of Sidney, Earl Godolphin, Lord Treasurer. William Godolphin was of Christ Church, Oxford, and graduated M.A., January 14th, 1660-61. He was afterwards secretary to Sir H. Bennet (Lord Arlington), and M.P. for Camelford. He was a great favourite at Court, and was knighted on August 28th, 1668. In the spring of 1669 he returned to Spain as Envoy Extraordinary, and in 1671 he became Ambassador. On July 11th, 1696, he died at Madrid, having been for some years a Roman Catholic.] at his lodgings, who is lately come from Spain from my Lord Sandwich, and did, the other day, meeting me in White Hall, compliment me mightily, and so I did offer him this visit, but missed him, and so back and took up my wife and set her at Mrs. Turner's, and I to my bookbinder's, and there, till late at night, binding up my second part of my Tangier accounts, and I all the while observing his working, and his manner of gilding of books with great pleasure, and so home, and there busy late, and then to bed. This day Griffin did, in discourse in the coach, put me in the head of the little house by our garden, where old goodman Taylor puts his brooms and dirt, to make me a stable of, which I shall improve, so as, I think, to be able to get me a stable without much charge, which do please me mightily. He did also in discourse tell me that it is observed, and is true, in the late fire of London, that the fire burned just as many Parish-Churches as there were hours from the beginning to the end of the fire; and, next, that there were just as many Churches left standing as there were taverns left standing in the rest of the City that was not burned, being, I think he told me, thirteen in all of each: which is pretty to observe. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And they did lay pigeons to his feet As all other women, cry, and yet talk of other things Carry them to a box, which did cost me 20s., besides oranges Declared, if he come, she would not live with me Fear that the goods and estate would be seized (after suicide) Fears some will stand for the tolerating of Papists Greater number of Counsellors is, the more confused the issue He that will not stoop for a pin, will never be worth a pound In my nature am mighty unready to answer no to anything It may be, be able to pay for it, or have health Lady Castlemayne do rule all at this time as much as ever No man was ever known to lose the first time She loves to be taken dressing herself, as I always find her The devil being too cunning to discourage a gamester The manner of the gaming This kind of prophane, mad entertainment they give themselves Turn out every man that will be drunk, they must turn out all Where I expect most I find least satisfaction 
4186	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY 1667-1668 February 1st. Up, and to the office pretty betimes, and the Board not meeting as soon as I wished, I was forced to go to White Hall in expectation of a Committee for Tangier, but when I come it was put off, and so home again to the office, and sat till past two o'clock; where at the Board some high words passed between Sir W. Pen and I, begun by me, and yielded to by him, I being in the right in finding fault with him for his neglect of duty. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife, thinking to have gone to the Duke of York's playhouse, but was, to my great content in the saving my vow, hindered by coming a little too late; and so, it being a fine day, we out to Islington, and there to the old house and eat cheese-cakes and drank and talked, and so home in the evening, the ways being mighty bad, so as we had no pleasure in being abroad at all almost, but only the variety of it, and so to the office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed, my head mighty full of business now on my hands: viz., of finishing my Tangier Accounts; of auditing my last year's Accounts; of preparing answers to the Commissioners of Accounts; of drawing up several important letters to the Duke of York and the Commissioners of the Treasury; the marrying of my sister; the building of a coach and stables against summer, and the setting many things in the Office right; and the drawing up a new form of Contract with the Victualler of the Navy, and several other things, which pains, however, will go through with, among others the taking care of Kate Joyce in that now she is in at present for saving her estate. 2nd (Lord's day). Wife took physick this day, I all day at home, and all the morning setting my books in order in my presses, for the following year, their number being much increased since the last, so as I am fain to lay by several books to make room for better, being resolved to keep no more than just my presses will contain. At noon to dinner, my wife coming down to me, and a very good dinner we had, of a powdered leg of pork and a loin of lamb roasted, and with much content she and I and Deb. After dinner, my head combed an hour, and then to work again, and at it, doing many things towards the setting my accounts and papers in order, and so in the evening Mr. Pelling supping with us, and to supper, and so to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where with my clerks all the morning very busy about several things there wherein I was behindhand. At noon home to dinner, and thence after dinner to the Duke of York's house, to the play, "The Tempest," which we have often seen, but yet I was pleased again, and shall be again to see it, it is so full of variety, and particularly this day I took pleasure to learn the tune of the seaman's dance, which I have much desired to be perfect in, and have made myself so. So home with my wife and Deb., and there at the office met to my trouble with a warrant from the Commissioners of Accounts for my attending them and Cocke two days hence, which I apprehend by Captain Cocke's being to go also, to be about the prizes. But, however, there is nothing of crime can be laid to my charge, and the worst that can be is to refund my L500 profit, and who can help it. So I resolve not to be troubled at it, though I fear I cannot bear it so, my spirit being very poor and mean as to the bearing with trouble that I do find of myself. So home, and there to my chamber and did some business,--and thence to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where a full Board sat all the morning, busy among other things concerning a solemn letter we intend to write to the Duke of York about the state of the things of the Navy, for want of money, though I doubt it will be to little purpose. After dinner I abroad by coach to Kate Joyce's, where the jury did sit where they did before, about her husband's death, and their verdict put off for fourteen days longer, at the suit of somebody, under pretence of the King; but it is only to get money out of her to compound the matter. But the truth is, something they will make out of Stillingfleete's sermon, which may trouble us, he declaring, like a fool, in his pulpit, that he did confess that his losses in the world did make him do what he did. This do vex me to see how foolish our Protestant Divines are, while the Papists do make it the duty of Confessor to be secret, or else nobody would confess their sins to them. All being put off for to-day, I took my leave of Kate, who is mightily troubled at it for her estate sake, not for her husband; for her sorrow for that, I perceive, is all over. I home, and, there to my office busy till the evening, and then home, and there my wife and Deb. and I and Betty Turner, I employed in the putting new titles to my books, which we proceeded on till midnight, and then being weary and late to bed. 5th. Up, and I to Captain Cocke's, where he and I did discourse of our business that we are to go about to the Commissioners of Accounts about our prizes, and having resolved to conceal nothing but to confess the truth, the truth being likely to do us most good, we parted, and I to White Hall, where missing of the Commissioners of the Treasury, I to the Commissioners of Accounts, where I was forced to stay two hours before I was called in, and when come in did take an oath to declare the truth to what they should ask me, which is a great power; I doubt more than the Act do, or as some say can, give them, to force a man to swear against himself; and so they fell to enquire about the business of prize-goods, wherein I did answer them as well as I could, answer them in everything the just truth, keeping myself to that. I do perceive at last, that, that they did lay most like a fault to me was, that I did buy goods upon my Lord Sandwich's declaring that it was with the King's allowance, and my believing it, without seeing the King's allowance, which is a thing I will own, and doubt not to justify myself in. That that vexed me most was, their having some watermen by, to witness my saying that they were rogues that they had betrayed my goods, which was upon some discontent with one of the watermen that I employed at Greenwich, who I did think did discover the goods sent from Rochester to the Custom-House officer; but this can do me no great harm. They were inquisitive into the minutest particulars, and the evening great information; but I think that they can do me no hurt, at the worst, more than to make me refund, if it must be known, what profit I did make of my agreement with Captain Cocke; and yet, though this be all, I do find so poor a spirit within me, that it makes me almost out of my wits, and puts me to so much pain, that I cannot think of anything, nor do anything but vex and fret, and imagine myself undone, so that I am ashamed of myself to myself, and do fear what would become of me if any real affliction should come upon me. After they had done with me, they called in Captain Cocke, with whom they were shorter; and I do fear he may answer foolishly, for he did speak to me foolishly before he went in; but I hope to preserve myself, and let him shift for himself as well as he can. So I away, walked to my flageolet maker in the Strand, and there staid for Captain Cocke, who took me up and carried me home, and there coming home and finding dinner done, and Mr. Cooke, who come for my Lady Sandwich's plate, which I must part with, and so endanger the losing of my money, which I lent upon my thoughts of securing myself by that plate. But it is no great sum--but L60: and if it must be lost, better that, than a greater sum. I away back again, to find a dinner anywhere else, and so I, first, to the Ship Tavern, thereby to get a sight of the pretty mistress of the house, with whom I am not yet acquainted at all, and I do always find her scolding, and do believe she is an ill-natured devil, that I have no great desire to speak to her. Here I drank, and away by coach to the Strand, there to find out Mr. Moore, and did find him at the Bell Inn, and there acquainted him with what passed between me and the Commissioners to-day about the prize goods, in order to the considering what to do about my Lord Sandwich, and did conclude to own the thing to them as done by the King's allowance, and since confirmed. Thence to other discourse, among others, he mightily commends my Lord Hinchingbroke's match and Lady, though he buys her L10,000 dear, by the jointure and settlement his father makes her; and says that the Duke of York and Duchess of York did come to see them in bed together, on their wedding-night, and how my Lord had fifty pieces of gold taken out of his pocket that night, after he was in bed. He tells me that an Act of Comprehension is likely to pass this Parliament, for admitting of all persuasions in religion to the public observation of their particular worship, but in certain places, and the persons therein concerned to be listed of this, or that Church; which, it is thought, will do them more hurt than good, and make them not own, their persuasion. He tells me that there is a pardon passed to the Duke of Buckingham, my Lord of Shrewsbury, and the rest, for the late duell and murder; [The royal pardon was thus announced in the "Gazette" of February 24th, 1668: "This day his Majesty was pleased to declare at the Board, that whereas, in contemplation of the eminent services heretofore done to his Majesty by most of the persons who were engaged in the late duel, or rencounter, wherein William Jenkins was killed, he Both graciously pardon the said offence: nevertheless, He is resolved from henceforth that on no pretence whatsoever any pardon shall be hereafter granted to any person whatsoever for killing of any man, in any duel or rencounter, but that the course of law shall wholly take place in all such cases." The warrant for a pardon to George, Duke of Buckingham, is dated January 27th, 1668; and on the following day was issued, "Warrant for a grant to Francis, Earl of Shrewsbury, of pardon for killing William Jenkins, and for all duels, assaults, or batteries on George, Duke of Buckingham, Sir John Talbot, Sir Robert Holmes, or any other, whether indicted or not for the same, with restitution of lands, goods, &c." ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667-68, pp. 192,193).] which he thinks a worse fault than any ill use my late Lord Chancellor ever put the Great Seal to, and will be so thought by the Parliament, for them to be pardoned without bringing them to any trial: and that my Lord Privy-Seal therefore would not have it pass his hand, but made it go by immediate warrant; or at least they knew that he would not pass it, and so did direct it to go by immediate warrant, that it might not come to him. He tells me what a character my Lord Sandwich hath sent over of Mr. Godolphin, as the worthiest man, and such a friend to him as he may be trusted in any thing relating to him in the world; as one whom, he says, he hath infallible assurances that he will remaine his friend which is very high, but indeed they say the gentleman is a fine man. Thence, after eating a lobster for my dinner, having eat nothing to-day, we broke up, here coming to us Mr. Townsend of the Wardrobe, who complains of the Commissioners of the Treasury as very severe against my Lord Sandwich, but not so much as they complain of him for a fool and a knave, and so I let him alone, and home, carrying Mr. Moore as far as Fenchurch Street, and I home, and there being vexed in my mind about my prize businesses I to my chamber, where my wife and I had much talk of W. Hewer, she telling me that he is mightily concerned for my not being pleased with him, and is herself mightily concerned, but I have much reason to blame him for his little assistance he gives me in my business, not being able to copy out a letter with sense or true spelling that makes me mad, and indeed he is in that regard of as little use to me as the boy, which troubles me, and I would have him know it,--and she will let him know it. By and by to supper, and so to bed, and slept but ill all night, my mind running like a fool on my prize business, which according to my reason ought not to trouble me at all. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning,, and among other things Sir H. Cholmly comes to me about a little business, and there tells me how the Parliament, which is to meet again to-day, are likely to fall heavy on the business of the Duke of Buckingham's pardon; and I shall be glad of it: and that the King hath put out of the Court the two Hides, my Lord Chancellor's two sons, and also the Bishops of Rochester and Winchester, the latter of whom should have preached before him yesterday, being Ash Wednesday, and had his sermon ready, but was put by; which is great news: He gone, we sat at the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and my wife being gone before, I to the Duke of York's playhouse; where a new play of Etherige's, called "She Would if she Could;" and though I was there by two o'clock, there was 1000 people put back that could not have room in the pit: and I at last, because my wife was there, made shift to get into the 18d. box, and there saw; but, Lord! how full was the house, and how silly the play, there being nothing in the world good in it, and few people pleased in it. The King was there; but I sat mightily behind, and could see but little, and hear not all. The play being done, I into the pit to look (for) my wife, and it being dark and raining, I to look my wife out, but could not find her; and so staid going between the two doors and through the pit an hour and half, I think, after the play was done; the people staying there till the rain was over, and to talk with one another. And, among the rest, here was the Duke of Buckingham to-day openly sat in the pit; and there I found him with my Lord Buckhurst, and Sidly, and Etherige, the poet; the last of whom I did hear mightily find fault with the actors, that they were out of humour, and had not their parts perfect, and that Harris did do nothing, nor could so much as sing a ketch in it; and so was mightily concerned while all the rest did, through the whole pit, blame the play as a silly, dull thing, though there was something very roguish and witty; but the design of the play, and end, mighty insipid. At last I did find my wife staying for me in the entry; and with her was Betty Turner, Mercer, and Deb. So I got a coach, and a humour took us, and I carried them to Hercules Pillars, and there did give them a kind of a supper of about 7s., and very merry, and home round the town, not through the ruines; and it was pretty how the coachman by mistake drives us into the ruines from London-wall into Coleman Street: and would persuade me that I lived there. And the truth is, I did think that he and the linkman had contrived some roguery; but it proved only a mistake of the coachman; but it was a cunning place to have done us a mischief in, as any I know, to drive us out of the road into the ruines, and there stop, while nobody could be called to help us. But we come safe home, and there, the girls being gone home, I to the office, where a while busy, my head not being wholly free of my trouble about my prize business, I home to bed. This evening coming home I did put my hand under the coats of Mercer and did touch her thigh, but then she did put by my hand and no hurt done, but talked and sang and was merry. 7th. Up, and to the office, to the getting of my books in order, to carry to the Commissioners of Accounts this morning. This being done, I away first to Westminster Hall, and there met my cozen, Roger Pepys, by his desire, the first time I have seen him since his coming to town, the Parliament meeting yesterday and adjourned to Monday next; and here he tells me that Mr. Jackson, my sister's servant, is come to town, and hath this day suffered a recovery on his estate, in order to the making her a settlement. The young man is gone out of the Hall, so I could not now see him, but here I walked a good while with my cozen, and among other things do hear that there is a great triall between my Lord Gerard and Carr to-day, who is indicted for his life at the King's Bench, for running from his colours; but all do say that my Lord Gerard, though he designs the ruining of this man, will not get any thing by it. Thence to the Commissioners of Accounts, and there presented my books, and was made to sit down, and used with much respect, otherwise than the other day, when I come to them as a criminal about the business of the prizes. I sat here with them a great while, while my books were inventoried. And here do hear from them by discourse that they are like to undo the Treasurer's instruments of the Navy by making it a rule that they shall repay all money paid to wrong parties, which is a thing not to be supported by these poor creatures the Treasurer's instruments, as it is also hard for seamen to be ruined by their paying money to whom they please. I know not what will be the issue of it. I find these gentlemen to sit all day, and only eat a bit of bread at noon, and a glass of wine; and are resolved to go through their business with great severity and method. Thence I, about two o'clock, to Westminster Hall, by appointment, and there met my cozen Roger again, and Mr. Jackson, who is a plain young man, handsome enough for Pall, one of no education nor discourse, but of few words, and one altogether that, I think, will please me well enough. My cozen had got me to give the odd sixth L100 presently, which I intended to keep to the birth of the first child: and let it go--I shall be eased of the care, and so, after little talk, we parted, resolving to dine together at my house tomorrow. So there parted, my mind pretty well satisfied with this plain fellow for my sister, though I shall, I see, have no pleasure nor content in him, as if he had been a man of reading and parts, like Cumberland, and to the Swan, and there sent for a bit of meat and eat and drank, and so to White Hall to the Duke of York's chamber, where I find him and my fellows at their usual meeting, discoursing about securing the Medway this year, which is to shut the door after the horse is stole. However, it is good. Having done here, my Lord Brouncker, and W. Pen, and I, and with us Sir Arnold Breames, to the King's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Love in a Maze," a dull, silly play, I think; and after the play, home with W. Pen and his son Lowther, whom we met there, and then home and sat most of the evening with my wife and Mr. Pelting, talking, my head being full of business of one kind or other, and most such as do not please me, and so to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where sat all day, and at noon home, and there find cozen Roger and Jackson by appointment come to dine with me, and Creed, and very merry, only Jackson hath few words, and I like him never the worse for it. The great talk is of Carr's coming off in all his trials, to the disgrace of my Lord Gerard, to that degree, and the ripping up of so many notorious rogueries and cheats of my Lord's, that my Lord, it is thought, will be ruined; and, above all things, do skew the madness of the House of Commons, who rejected the petition of this poor man by a combination of a few in the House; and, much more, the base proceedings (just the epitome of all our publick managements in this age), of the House of Lords, that ordered him to stand in the pillory for those very things, without hearing and examining what he hath now, by the seeking of my Lord Gerard himself, cleared himself of, in open Court, to the gaining himself the pity of all the world, and shame for ever to my Lord Gerard. We had a great deal of good discourse at table, and after dinner we four men took coach, and they set me down at the Old Exchange, and they home, having discoursed nothing today with cozen or Jackson about our business. I to Captain Cocke's, and there discoursed over our business of prizes, and I think I shall go near to state the matter so as to secure myself without wrong to him, doing nor saying anything but the very truth. Thence away to the Strand, to my bookseller's, and there staid an hour, and bought the idle, rogueish book, "L'escholle des filles;" which I have bought in plain binding, avoiding the buying of it better bound, because I resolve, as soon as I have read it, to burn it, that it may not stand in the list of books, nor among them, to disgrace them if it should be found. Thence home, and busy late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. My wife well pleased with my sister's match, and designing how to be merry at their marriage. And I am well at ease in my mind to think that that care will be over. This night calling at the Temple, at the Auditor's, his man told me that he heard that my account must be brought to the view of the Commissioners of Tangier before it can be passed, which though I know no hurt in it, yet it troubled me lest there should be any or any designed by them who put this into the head of the Auditor, I suppose Auditor Beale, or Creed, because they saw me carrying my account another way than by them. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the morning and the office doing business, and also reading a little of "L'escholle des filles," which is a mighty lewd book, but yet not amiss for a sober man once to read over to inform himself in the villainy of the world. At noon home to dinner, where by appointment Mr. Pelting come and with him three friends, Wallington, that sings the good base, and one Rogers, and a gentleman, a young man, his name Tempest, who sings very well indeed, and understands anything in the world at first sight. After dinner we into our dining-room, and there to singing all the afternoon. (By the way, I must remember that Pegg Pen was brought to bed yesterday of a girl; and, among other things, if I have not already set it down, that hardly ever was remembered such a season for the smallpox as these last two months have been, people being seen all up and down the streets, newly come out after the smallpox.) But though they sang fine things, yet I must confess that I did take no pleasure in it, or very little, because I understood not the words, and with the rests that the words are set, there is no sense nor understanding in them though they be English, which makes me weary of singing in that manner, it being but a worse sort of instrumental musick. We sang until almost night, and drank mighty good store of wine, and then they parted, and I to my chamber, where I did read through "L'escholle des filles," a lewd book, but what do no wrong once to read for information sake . . . . And after I had done it I burned it, that it might not be among my books to my shame, and so at night to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by coach to Westminster, and there made a visit to Mr. Godolphin, at his chamber; and I do find him a very pretty and able person, a man of very fine parts, and of infinite zeal to my Lord Sandwich; and one that says he is, he believes, as wise and able a person as any prince in the world hath. He tells me that he meets with unmannerly usage by Sir Robert Southwell, in Portugall, who would sign with him in his negociations there, being a forward young man: but that my Lord mastered him in that point, it being ruled for my Lord here, at a hearing of a Committee of the Council. He says that if my Lord can compass a peace between Spain and Portugall, and hath the doing of it and the honour himself, it will be a thing of more honour than ever any man had, and of as much advantage. Thence to Westminster Hall, where the Hall mighty full: and, among other things, the House begins to sit to-day, and the King come. But, before the King's coming, the House of Commons met; and upon information given them of a Bill intended to be brought in, as common report said, for Comprehension, they did mightily and generally inveigh against it, and did vote that the King should be desired by the House (and the message delivered by the Privy-counsellers of the House) that the laws against breakers of the Act of Uniformity should be put in execution: and it was moved in the House that, if any people had a mind to bring any new laws into the House, about religion, they might come, as a proposer of new laws did in Athens, with ropes about their necks. By and by the King comes to the Lords' House, and there tells them of his league with Holland, and the necessity of a fleete, and his debts; and, therefore, want of money; and his desire that they would think of some way to bring in all his Protestant subjects to a right understanding and peace one with another; meaning the Bill of Comprehension. The Commons coming to their House, it was moved that the vote passed this morning might be suspended, because of the King's speech, till the House was full and called over, two days hence: but it was denied, so furious they are against this Bill: and thereby a great blow either given to the King or Presbyters, or, which is the rather of the two, to the House itself, by denying a thing desired by the King, and so much desired by much the greater part of the nation. Whatever the consequence be, if the King be a man of any stomach and heat, all do believe that he will resent this vote. Thence with Creed home to my house to dinner, where I met with Mr. Jackson, and find my wife angry with Deb., which vexes me. After dinner by coach away to Westminster; taking up a friend of Mr. Jackson's, a young lawyer, and parting with Creed at White Hall. They and I to Westminster Hall, and there met Roger Pepys, and with him to his chamber, and there read over and agreed upon the Deed of Settlement to our minds: my sister to have L600 presently, and she to be joyntured in L60 per annum; wherein I am very well satisfied. Thence I to the Temple to Charles Porter's lodgings, where Captain Cocke met me, and after long waiting, on Pemberton, [Francis Pemberton, afterwards knighted, and made Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench in 1679. His career was a most singular one, he having been twice removed from the Bench, and twice imprisoned by the House of Commons. He twice returned to the bar, and after his second return he practised with great success as a serjeant for the next fourteen years till his death, June 10th, 1697. Evelyn says, "He was held to be the most learned of the judges and an honest man" ("Diary," October 4th, 1683).] an able lawyer, about the business of our prizes, and left the matter with him to think of against to-morrow, this being a matter that do much trouble my mind, though there be no fault in it that I need fear the owning that I know of. Thence with Cocke home to his house and there left him, and I home, and there got my wife to read a book I bought to-day, and come out to-day licensed by Joseph Williamson for Lord Arlington, shewing the state of England's affairs relating to France at this time, and the whole body of the book very good and solid, after a very foolish introduction as ever I read, and do give a very good account of the advantage of our league with Holland at this time. So, vexed in my mind with the variety of cares I have upon me, and so to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning, where comes a damned summons to attend the Committee of Miscarriages to-day, which makes me mad, that I should by my place become the hackney of this Office, in perpetual trouble and vexation, that need it least. At noon home to dinner, where little pleasure, my head being split almost with the variety of troubles upon me at this time, and cares, and after dinner by coach to Westminster Hall, and sent my wife and Deb. to see "Mustapha" acted. Here I brought a book to the Committee, and do find them; and particularly Sir Thomas Clarges, mighty hot in the business of tickets, which makes me mad to see them bite at the stone, and not at the hand that flings it, and here my Lord Brouncker unnecessarily orders it that he is called in to give opportunity to present his report of the state of the business of paying by ticket, which I do not think will do him any right, though he was made believe that it did operate mightily, and that Sir Fresh. Hollis did make a mighty harangue and to much purpose in his defence, but I believe no such effects of it, for going in afterward I did hear them speak with prejudice of it, and that his pleading of the Admiral's warrant for it now was only an evasion, if not an aspersion upon the Admirall, and therefore they would not admit of this his report, but go on with their report as they had resolved before. The orders they sent for this day was the first order that I have yet met with about this business, and was of my own single hand warranting, but I do think it will do me no harm, and therefore do not much trouble myself with it, more than to see how much trouble I am brought to who have best deported myself in all the King's business. Thence with Lord Brouncker, and set him down at Bow Streete, and so to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw the last act for nothing, where I never saw such good acting of any creature as Smith's part of Zanger; and I do also, though it was excellently acted by---------, do yet want Betterton mightily. Thence to the Temple, to Porter's chamber, where Cocke met me, and after a stay there some time, they two and I to Pemberton's chamber, and there did read over the Act of calling people to account, and did discourse all our business of the prizes; and, upon the whole, he do make it plainly appear, that there is no avoiding to give these Commissioners satisfaction in everything they will ask; and that there is fear lest they may find reason to make us refund for all the extraordinary profit made by those bargains; and do make me resolve rather to declare plainly, and, once for all, the truth of the whole, and what my profit hath been, than be forced at last to do it, and in the meantime live in gain, as I must always do: and with this resolution on my part I departed, with some more satisfaction of mind, though with less hopes of profit than I expected. It was pretty here to see the heaps of money upon this lawyer's table; and more to see how he had not since last night spent any time upon our business, but begun with telling us that we were not at all concerned in that Act; which was a total mistake, by his not having read over the Act at all. Thence to Porter's chamber, where Captain Cocke had fetched my wife out of the coach, and there we staid and talked and drank, he being a very generous, good-humoured man, and so away by coach, setting Cocke at his house, and we with his coach home, and there I to the office, and there till past one in the morning, and so home to supper and to bed, my mind at pretty good ease, though full of care and fear of loss. This morning my wife in bed told me the story of our Tom and Jane:--how the rogue did first demand her consent to love and marry him, and then, with pretence of displeasing me, did slight her; but both he and she have confessed the matter to her, and she hath charged him to go on with his love to her, and be true to her, and so I think the business will go on, which, for my love to her, because she is in love with him, I am pleased with; but otherwise I think she will have no good bargain of it, at least if I should not do well in my place. But if I do stand, I do intend to give her L50 in money, and do them all the good I can in my way. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning drawing up my narrative of my proceedings and concernments in the buying of prize-goods, which I am to present to the Committee for Accounts; and being come to a resolution to conceal nothing from them, I was at great ease how to draw it up without any inventions or practise to put me to future pain or thoughts how to carry on, and now I only discover what my profit was, and at worst I suppose I can be made but to refund my profit and so let it go. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Jackson dined with me, and after dinner I (calling at the Excise Office, and setting my wife and Deb. at her tailor's) did with Mr. Jackson go to find my cozen Roger Pepys, which I did in the Parliament House, where I met him and Sir Thomas Crew and Mr. George Montagu, who are mighty busy how to save my Lord's name from being in the Report for anything which the Committee is commanded to report to the House of the miscarriages of the late war. I find they drive furiously still in the business of tickets, which is nonsense in itself and cannot come to any thing. Thence with cozen Roger to his lodgings, and there sealed the writings with Jackson, about my sister's marriage: and here my cozen Roger told me the pleasant passage of a fellow's bringing a bag of letters to-day, into the lobby of the House, and left them, and withdrew himself without observation. The bag being opened, the letters were found all of one size, and directed with one hand: a letter to most of the Members of the House. The House was acquainted with it, and voted they should be brought in, and one opened by the Speaker; wherein if he found any thing unfit to communicate, to propose a Committee to be chosen for it. The Speaker opening one, found it only a case with a libell in it, printed: a satire most sober and bitter as ever I read; and every letter was the same. So the House fell a-scrambling for them like boys: and my cozen Roger had one directed to him, which he lent me to read. So away, and took up my wife, and setting Jackson down at Fetter Lane end, I to the old Exchange to look Mr. Houblon, but, not finding him, did go home, and there late writing a letter to my Lord Sandwich, and to give passage to a letter of great moment from Mr. Godolphin to him, which I did get speedy passage for by the help of Mr. Houblon, who come late to me, and there directed the letter to Lisbon under cover of his, and here we talked of the times, which look very sad and distracted, and made good mirth at this day's passage in the House, and so parted; and going to the gate with him, I found his lady and another fine lady sitting an hour together, late at night, in their coach, while he was with me, which is so like my wife, that I was mighty taken with it, though troubled for it. So home to supper and to bed. This day Captain Cocke was with the Commissioners of Accounts to ask more time for his bringing in his answer about the prize goods, and they would not give him 14 days as he asks, but would give only two days, which was very hard, I think, and did trouble me for fear of their severity, though I have prepared my matter so as to defy it. 13th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to White Hall, setting, them at her tailor's, and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where myself alone did argue the business of the East India Company against their whole Company on behalf of the King before the Lords Commissioners, and to very good effect, I think, and with reputation. That business being over, the Lords and I had other things to talk about, and among the rest, about our making more assignments on the Exchequer since they bid us hold, whereat they were extraordinary angry with us, which troubled me a little, though I am not concerned in it at all. Waiting here some time without, I did meet with several people, among others Mr. Brisband, who tells me in discourse that Tom Killigrew hath a fee out of the Wardrobe for cap and bells, [The Lord Chamberlain's Records contain a copy of a warrant dated July 12th, 1661, "to deliver to Mr. Killegrew thirty yards of velvett, three dozen of fringe, and sixteene yards of Damaske for the year 1661." The heading of this entry is "Livery for ye jester" (Lowe's "Betterton," p. 70).] under the title of the King's Foole or jester; and may with privilege revile or jeere any body, the greatest person, without offence, by the privilege of his place. Thence took up my wife, and home, and there busy late at the office writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed. The House was called over to-day. This morning Sir G. Carteret come to the Office to see and talk with me: and he assures me that to this day the King is the most kind man to my Lord Sandwich in the whole world; that he himself do not now mind any publick business, but suffers things to go on at Court as they will, he seeing all likely to come to ruin: that this morning the Duke of York sent to him to come to make up one of a Committee of the Council for Navy Affairs; where, when he come, he told the Duke of York that he was none of them: which shews how things are now-a-days ordered, that there should be a Committee for the Navy; and the Lord Admiral not know the persons of it! And that Sir G. Carteret and my Lord Anglesey should be left out of it, and men wholly improper put into it. I do hear of all hands that there is a great difference at this day between my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry, which I am sorry for. 14th (Valentine's day). Up, being called up by Mercer, who come to be my Valentine, and so I rose and my wife, and were merry a little, I staying to talk, and did give her a guinny in gold for her Valentine's gift. There comes also my cozen Roger Pepys betimes, and comes to my wife, for her to be his Valentine, whose Valentine I was also, by agreement to be so to her every year; and this year I find it is likely to cost L4 or L5 in a ring for her, which she desires. Cozen Roger did come also to speak with Sir W. Pen, who was quoted, it seems, yesterday by Sir Fr. Hollis to have said that if my Lord Sandwich had done so and so, we might have taken all the Dutch prizes at the time when he staid and let them go. But Sir W. Pen did tell us he should say nothing in it but what would do my Lord honour, and he is a knave I am able to prove if he do otherwise. He gone, I to my Office, to perfect my Narrative about prize-goods; and did carry it to the Commissioners of Accounts, who did receive it with great kindness, and express great value of, and respect to me: and my heart is at rest that it is lodged there, in so full truth and plainness, though it may hereafter prove some loss to me. But here I do see they are entered into many enquiries about prizes, by the great attendance of commanders and others before them, which is a work I am not sorry for. Thence I away, with my head busy, but my heart at pretty good ease, to the Old Exchange, and there met Mr. Houblon. I prayed him to discourse with some of the merchants that are of the Committee for Accounts, to see how they do resent my paper, and in general my particular in the relation to the business of the Navy, which he hath promised to do carefully for me and tell me. Here it was a mighty pretty sight to see old Mr. Houblon, whom I never saw before, and all his sons about him, all good merchants. Thence home to dinner, and had much discourse with W. Hewer about my going to visit Colonel Thomson, one of the Committee of Accounts, who, among the rest, is mighty kind to me, and is likely to mind our business more than any; and I would be glad to have a good understanding with him. Thence after dinner to White Hall, to attend the Duke of York, where I did let him know, too, the troublesome life we lead, and particularly myself, by being obliged to such attendances every day as I am, on one Committee or another. And I do find the Duke of York himself troubled, and willing not to be troubled with occasions of having his name used among the Parliament, though he himself do declare that he did give directions to Lord Brouncker to discharge the men at Chatham by ticket, and will own it, if the House call for it, but not else. Thence I attended the King and Council, and some of the rest of us, in a business to be heard about the value of a ship of one Dorrington's:--and it was pretty to observe how Sir W. Pen making use of this argument against the validity of an oath, against the King, being made by the master's mate of the ship, who was but a fellow of about 23 years of age--the master of the ship, against whom we pleaded, did say that he did think himself at that age capable of being master's mate of any ship; and do know that he, himself, Sir W: Pen, was so himself, and in no better degree at that age himself: which word did strike Sir W. Pen dumb, and made him open his mouth no more; and I saw the King and Duke of York wink at one another at it. This done, we into the gallery; and there I walked with several people, and among others my Lord Brouncker, who I do find under much trouble still about the business of the tickets, his very case being brought in; as is said, this day in the Report of the Miscarriages. And he seems to lay much of it on me, which I did clear and satisfy him in; and would be glad with all my heart to serve him in, and have done it more than he hath done for himself, he not deserving the least blame, but commendations, for this. I met with my cozen Roger Pepys and Creed; and from them understand that the Report was read to-day of the Miscarriages, wherein my Lord Sandwich is [named] about the business I mentioned this morning; but I will be at rest, for it can do him no hurt. Our business of tickets is soundly up, and many others: so they went over them again, and spent all the morning on the first, which is the dividing of the fleete; wherein hot work was, and that among great men, Privy-Councillors, and, they say, Sir W. Coventry; but I do not much fear it, but do hope that it will shew a little, of the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince to have been advisers in it: but whereas they ordered that the King's Speech should be considered today, they took no notice of it at all, but are really come to despise the King in all possible ways of chewing it. And it was the other day a strange saying, as I am told by my cozen Roger Pepys, in the House, when it was moved that the King's speech should be considered, that though the first part of the Speech, meaning the league that is there talked of, be the only good publick thing that hath been done since the King come into England, yet it might bear with being put off to consider, till Friday next, which was this day. Secretary Morrice did this day in the House, when they talked of intelligence, say that he was allowed but L70 a-year for intelligence,--[Secret service money]--whereas, in Cromwell's time, he [Cromwell] did allow L70,000 a-year for it; and was confirmed therein by Colonel Birch, who said that thereby Cromwell carried the secrets of all the princes of Europe at his girdle. The House is in a most broken condition; nobody adhering to any thing, but reviling and finding fault: and now quite mad at the Undertakers, as they are commonly called, Littleton, Lord Vaughan, Sir R. Howard, and others that are brought over to the Court, and did undertake to get the King money; but they despise, and would not hear them in the House; and the Court do do as much, seeing that they cannot be useful to them, as was expected. In short, it is plain that the King will never be able to do any thing with this Parliament; and that the only likely way to do better, for it cannot do worse, is to break this and call another Parliament; and some do think that it is intended. I was told to-night that my Lady Castlemayne is so great a gamester as to have won L5000 in one night, and lost L25,000 in another night, at play, and hath played L1000 and L1500 at a cast. Thence to the Temple, where at Porter's chamber I met Captain Cocke, but lost our labour, our Counsellor not being within, Pemberton, and therefore home and late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up betimes, and with Captain Cocke my coach to the Temple to his Counsel again about the prize goods in order to the drawing up of his answer to them, where little done but a confirmation that our best interest is for him to tell the whole truth, and so parted, and I home to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon and evening till midnight almost, and till I had tired my own backe, and my wife's, and Deb.'s, in titleing of my books for the present year, and in setting them in order, which is now done to my very good satisfaction, though not altogether so completely as I think they were the last year, when my mind was more at leisure to mind it. So about midnight to bed, where my wife taking some physic overnight it wrought with her, and those coming upon her with great gripes, she was in mighty pain all night long, yet, God forgive me! I did find that I was most desirous to take my rest than to ease her, but there was nothing I could do to do her any good with. 16th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, where all the morning making a catalogue of my books, which did find me work, but with great pleasure, my chamber and books being now set in very good order, and my chamber washed and cleaned, which it had not been in some months before, my business and trouble having been so much. At noon Mr. Holliard put in, and dined with my wife and me, who was a little better to-day. His company very good. His story of his love and fortune, which hath been very good and very bad in the world, well worth hearing. Much discourse also about the bad state of the Church, and how the Clergy are come to be men of no worth in the world; and, as the world do now generally discourse, they must be reformed; and I believe the Hierarchy will in a little time be shaken, whether they will or no; the King being offended with them, and set upon it, as I hear. He gone, after dinner to have my head combed, and then to my chamber and read most of the evening till pretty late, when, my wife not being well, I did lie below stairs in our great chamber, where I slept well. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning till noon getting some things more ready against the afternoon for the Committee of Accounts, which did give me great trouble, to see how I am forced to dance after them in one place, and to answer Committees of Parliament in another. At noon thence toward the Committee, but meeting with Sir W. Warren in Fleet Street he and I to the Ordinary by Temple Bar and there dined together, and to talk, where he do seem to be very high now in defiance of the Board, now he says that the worst is come upon him to have his accounts brought to the Committee of Accounts, and he do reflect upon my late coldness to him, but upon the whole I do find that he is still a cunning fellow, and will find it necessary to be fair to me, and what hath passed between us of coldness to hold his tongue, which do please me very well. Thence to the Committee, where I did deliver the several things they expected from me, with great respect and show of satisfaction, and my mind thereby eased of some care. But thence I to Westminster Hall, and there spent till late at night walking to and again with many people, and there in general I hear of the great high words that were in the House on Saturday last, upon the first part of the Committee's Report about the dividing of the fleete; wherein some would have the counsels of the King to be declared, and the reasons of them, and who did give them; where Sir W. Coventry laid open to them the consequences of doing that, that the King would never have any honest and wise men ever to be of his Council. They did here in the House talk boldly of the King's bad counsellors, and how they must be all turned out, and many of them, and better; brought in: and the proceedings of the Long-Parliament in the beginning of the war were called to memory: and the King's bad intelligence was mentioned, wherein they were bitter against my Lord Arlington, saying, among other things, that whatever Morrice's was, who declared he had but L750 a-year allowed him for intelligence, the King paid too dear for my Lord Arlington's, in giving him L10,000 and a barony for it. Sir W. Coventry did here come to his defence, in the business of the letter that was sent to call back Prince Rupert, after he was divided from the fleete, wherein great delay was objected; but he did show that he sent it at one in the morning, when the Duke of York did give him the instructions after supper that night, and did clear himself well of it: only it was laid as a fault, which I know not how he removes, of not sending it by an express, but by the ordinary post; but I think I have heard he did send it to my Lord Arlington's; and that there it lay for some hours; it coming not to Sir Philip Honiwood's hand at Portsmouth till four in the afternoon that day, being about fifteen or sixteen hours in going; and about this, I think, I have heard of a falling out between my Lord Arlington, heretofore, and W. Coventry. Some mutterings I did hear of a design of dissolving the Parliament; but I think there is no ground for it yet, though Oliver would have dissolved them for half the trouble and contempt these have put upon the King and his councils. The dividing of the fleete, however, is, I hear, voted a miscarriage, and the not building a fortification at Sheernesse: and I have reason every hour to expect that they will vote the like of our paying men off by ticket; and what the consequence of that will be I know not, but I am put thereby into great trouble of mind. I did spend a little time at the Swan, and there did kiss the maid, Sarah. At noon home, and there up to my wife, who is still ill, and supped with her, my mind being mighty full of trouble for the office and my concernments therein, and so to supper and talking with W. Hewer in her chamber about business of the office, wherein he do well understand himself and our case, and it do me advantage to talk with him and the rest of my people. I to bed below as I did last night. 18th. Up by break of day, and walked down to the old Swan, where I find little Michell building, his booth being taken down, and a foundation laid for a new house, so that that street is like to be a very fine place. I drank, but did not see Betty, and so to Charing Cross stairs, and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's, [Sir William Coventry's love of money is said by Sir John Denham to have influenced him in promoting naval officers, who paid him for their commissions. "Then Painter! draw cerulian Coventry Keeper, or rather Chancellor o' th' sea And more exactly to express his hue, Use nothing but ultra-mariuish blue. To pay his fees, the silver trumpet spends, And boatswain's whistle for his place depends. Pilots in vain repeat their compass o'er, Until of him they learn that one point more The constant magnet to the pole doth hold, Steel to the magnet, Coventry to gold. Muscovy sells us pitch, and hemp, and tar; Iron and copper, Sweden; Munster, war; Ashley, prize; Warwick, custom; Cart'ret, pay; But Coventry doth sell the fleet away."--B.] and talked with him, who tells me how he hath been persecuted, and how he is yet well come off in the business of the dividing of the fleete, and the sending of the letter. He expects next to be troubled about the business of bad officers in the fleete, wherein he will bid them name whom they call bad, and he will justify himself, having never disposed of any but by the Admiral's liking. And he is able to give an account of all them, how they come recommended, and more will be found to have been placed by the Prince and Duke of Albemarle than by the Duke of York during the war, and as no bad instance of the badness of officers he and I did look over the list of commanders, and found that we could presently recollect thirty-seven commanders that have been killed in actuall service this war. He tells me that Sir Fr. Hollis is the main man that hath persecuted him hitherto, in the business of dividing the fleete, saying vainly that the want of that letter to the Prince hath given him that, that he shall remember it by to his grave, meaning the loss of his arme; when, God knows! he is as idle and insignificant a fellow as ever come into the fleete. He tells me that in discourse on Saturday he did repeat Sir Rob. Howard's words about rowling out of counsellors, that for his part he neither cared who they rowled in, nor who they rowled out, by which the word is become a word of use in the House, the rowling out of officers. I will remember what, in mirth, he said to me this morning, when upon this discourse he said, if ever there was another Dutch war, they should not find a Secretary; "Nor," said I, "a Clerk of the Acts, for I see the reward of it; and, thanked God! I have enough of my own to buy me a good book and a good fiddle, and I have a good wife;"--"Why," says he, "I have enough to buy me a good book, and shall not need a fiddle, because I have never a one of your good wives." I understand by him that we are likely to have our business of tickets voted a miscarriage, but [he] cannot tell me what that will signify more than that he thinks they will report them to the King and there leave them, but I doubt they will do more. Thence walked over St. James's Park to White Hall, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked all the morning, and did speak with several Parliament-men-among others, Birch, who is very kind to me, and calls me, with great respect and kindness, a man of business, and he thinks honest, and so long will stand by me, and every such man, to the death. My business was to instruct them to keep the House from falling into any mistaken vote about the business of tickets, before they were better informed. I walked in the Hall all the morning with my Lord Brouncker, who was in great pain there, and, the truth is, his business is, without reason, so ill resented by the generality of the House, that I was almost troubled to be seen to walk with him, and yet am able to justify him in all, that he is under so much scandal for. Here I did get a copy of the report itself, about our paying off men by tickets; and am mightily glad to see it, now knowing the state of our case, and what we have to answer to, and the more for that the House is like to be kept by other business to-day and to-morrow, so that, against Thursday, I shall be able to draw up some defence to put into some Member's hands, to inform them, and I think we may [make] a very good one, and therefore my mind is mightily at ease about it. This morning they are upon a Bill, brought in to-day by Sir Richard Temple, for obliging the King to call Parliaments every three years; or, if he fail, for others to be obliged to do it, and to keep him from a power of dissolving any Parliament in less than forty days after their first day of sitting, which is such a Bill as do speak very high proceedings, to the lessening of the King; and this they will carry, and whatever else they desire, before they will give any money; and the King must have money, whatever it cost him. I stepped to the Dog Tavern, and thither come to me Doll Lane, and there we did drink together, and she tells me she is my valentine . . . . Thence, she being gone, and having spoke with Mr. Spicer here, whom I sent for hither to discourse about the security of the late Act of 11 months' tax on which I have secured part of my money lent to Tangier. I to the Hall, and there met Sir W. Pen, and he and I to the Beare, in Drury Lane, an excellent ordinary, after the French manner, but of Englishmen; and there had a good fricassee, our dinner coming to 8s., which was mighty pretty, to my great content; and thence, he and I to the King's house, and there, in one of the upper boxes, saw "Flora's Vagarys," which is a very silly play; and the more, I being out of humour, being at a play without my wife, and she ill at home, and having no desire also to be seen, and, therefore, could not look about me. Thence to the Temple, and there we parted, and I to see Kate Joyce, where I find her and her friends in great ease of mind, the jury having this day given in their verdict that her husband died of a feaver. Some opposition there was, the foreman pressing them to declare the cause of the feaver, thinking thereby to obstruct it: but they did adhere to their verdict, and would give no reason; so all trouble is now over, and she safe in her estate, which I am mighty glad of, and so took leave, and home, and up to my wife, not owning my being at a play, and there she shews me her ring of a Turky-stone set with little sparks of dyamonds, [The turquoise. This stone was sometimes referred to simply as the turkey, and Broderip ("Zoological Recreations") conjectured that the bird (turkey) took its name from the blue or turquoise colour of the skin about its head.] which I am to give her, as my Valentine, and I am not much troubled at it. It will cost me near L5--she costing me but little compared with other wives, and I have not many occasions to spend on her. So to my office, where late, and to think upon my observations to-morrow, upon the report of the Committee to the Parliament about the business of tickets, whereof my head is full, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning drawing up an answer to the Report of the Committee for miscarriages to the Parliament touching our paying men by tickets, which I did do in a very good manner I think. Dined with my clerks at home, where much good discourse of our business of the Navy, and the trouble now upon us, more than we expected. After dinner my wife out with Deb., to buy some things against my sister's wedding, and I to the office to write fair my business I did in the morning, and in the evening to White Hall, where I find Sir W. Coventry all alone, a great while with the Duke of York, in the King's drawing-room, they two talking together all alone, which did mightily please me. Then I did get Sir W. Coventry (the Duke of York being gone) aside, and there read over my paper, which he liked and corrected, and tells me it will be hard to escape, though the thing be never so fair, to have it voted a miscarriage; but did advise me and my Lord Brouncker, who coming by did join with us, to prepare some members in it, which we shall do. Here I do hear how La Roche, a French captain, who was once prisoner here, being with his ship at Plymouth, hath played some freakes there, for which his men being beat out of the town, he hath put up his flag of defiance, and also, somewhere thereabout, did land with his men, and go a mile into the country, and did some pranks, which sounds pretty odd, to our disgrace, but we are in condition now to bear any thing. But, blessed be God! all the Court is full of the good news of my Lord Sandwich's having made a peace between Spain and Portugall, which is mighty great news, and, above all, to my Lord's honour, more than any thing he ever did; and yet I do fear it will not prevail to secure him in Parliament against incivilities there. Thence, took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, and there my mind being full of preparing my paper against to-morrow for the House, with an address from the office to the House, I to the office, very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office a while, and thence to White Hall by coach with Mr. Batelier with me, whom I took up in the street. I thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there with Lord Brouncker, Sir T. Harvy, Sir J. Minnes, did wait all the morning to speak to members about our business, thinking our business of tickets would come before the House to-day, but we did alter our minds about the petition to the House, sending in the paper to them. But the truth is we were in a great hurry, but it fell out that they were most of the morning upon the business of not prosecuting the first victory; which they have voted one of the greatest miscarriages of the whole war, though they cannot lay the fault anywhere yet, because Harman is not come home. This kept them all the morning, which I was glad of. So down to the Hall, where my wife by agreement stayed for me at Mrs. Michell's, and there was Mercer and the girl, and I took them to Wilkinson's the cook's in King Street (where I find the master of the house hath been dead for some time), and there dined, and thence by one o'clock to the King's house: a new play, "The Duke of Lerma," of Sir Robert Howard's: where the King and Court was; and Knepp and Nell spoke the prologue most excellently, especially Knepp, who spoke beyond any creature I ever, heard. The play designed to reproach our King with his mistresses, that I was troubled for it, and expected it should be interrupted; but it ended all well, which salved all. The play a well-writ and good play, only its design I did not like of reproaching the King, but altogether a very good and most serious play. Thence home, and there a little to the office, and so home to supper, where Mercer with us, and sang, and then to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning to get a little business done, I having, and so the whole office, been put out of doing any business there for this week by our trouble in attending the Parliament. Hither comes to me young Captain Beckford, the slopseller, and there presents me a little purse with gold in it, it being, as he told me, for his present to me, at the end of the last year. I told him I had not done him any service I knew of. He persisted, and I refused, but did at several denials; and telling him that it was not an age to take presents in, he told me he had reason to present me with something, and desired me to accept of it, which, at his so urging me, I did, and so fell to talk of his business, and so parted. I do not know of any manner of kindness I have done him this last year, nor did expect any thing. It was therefore very welcome to me, but yet I was not fully satisfied in my taking it, because of my submitting myself to the having it objected against me hereafter, and the rather because this morning Jacke Fen come and shewed me an order from the Commissioners of Accounts, wherein they demand of him an account upon oath of all the sums of money that have been by him defalked or taken from any man since their time, of enquiry upon any payments, and if this should, as it is to be feared, come to be done to us, I know not what I shall then do, but I shall take counsel upon it. At noon by coach towards Westminster, and met my Lord Brouncker, and W. Pen, and Sir T. Harvey, in King's Street, coming away from the Parliament House; and so I to them, and to the French ordinary, at the Blue Bells, in Lincolne's Inn Fields, and there dined and talked. And, among other things, they tell me how the House this day is still as backward for giving any money as ever, and do declare they will first have an account of the disposals of the last Poll-bill, and eleven months' tax: and it is pretty odde that the very first sum mentioned in the account brought in by Sir Robert Long, of the disposal of the Poll-bill money, is L5000 to my Lord Arlington for intelligence; which was mighty unseasonable, so soon after they had so much cried out against his want of intelligence. The King do also own but L250,000, or thereabouts, yet paid on the Poll-bill, and that he hath charged L350,000 upon it. This makes them mad; for that the former Poll-bill, that was so much less in its extent than the last, which took in all sexes and qualities, did come to L350,000. Upon the whole, I perceive they are like to do nothing in this matter to please the King, or relieve the State, be the case never so pressing; and, therefore, it is thought by a great many that the King cannot be worse if he should dissolve them: but there is nobody dares advise it, nor do he consider any thing himself. Thence, having dined for 20s., we to the Duke of York at White Hall, and there had our usual audience, and did little but talk of the proceedings of the Parliament, wherein he is as much troubled as we; for he is not without fears that they do ayme at doing him hurt; but yet he declares that he will never deny to owne what orders he hath given to any man to justify him, notwithstanding their having sent to him to desire his being tender to take upon him the doing any thing of that kind. Thence with Brouncker and T. Harvey to Westminster Hall, and there met with Colonel Birch and Sir John Lowther, and did there in the lobby read over what I have drawn up for our defence, wherein they own themselves mightily satisfied; and Birch, like a particular friend, do take it upon him to defend us, and do mightily do me right in all his discourse. Here walked in the Hall with him a great while, and discoursed with several members, to prepare them in our business against to-morrow, and meeting my cozen Roger Pepys, he showed me Granger's written confession, [Pepys here refers to the extraordinary proceedings which occurred between Charles, Lord Gerard, and Alexander Fitton, of which a narrative was published at the Hague in 1665. Granger was a witness in the cause, and was afterwards said to be conscience-stricken from his perjury. Some notice of this case will be found in North's "Examen," p. 558; but the copious and interesting note in Ormerod's "History of Cheshire," Vol. iii., p. 291, will best satisfy the reader, who will not fail to be struck by the paragraph with which it is closed-viz., "It is not improbable that Alexander Fitton, who, in the first instance, gained rightful possession of Gawsworth under an acknowledged settlement, was driven headlong into unpremeditated guilt by the production of a revocation by will which Lord Gerard had so long concealed. Having lost his own fortune in the prosecution of his claims, he remained in gaol till taken out by James II. to be made Chancellor of Ireland (under which character Hume first notices him), was knighted, and subsequently created Lord Gawsworth after the abdication of James, sat in his parliament in Dublin in 1689, and then is supposed to have accompanied his fallen master to France. Whether the conduct of Fitton was met, as he alleges, by similar guilt on the part of Lord Gerard, God only can judge; but his hand fell heavily on the representatives of that noble house. In less than half a century the husbands of its two co-heiresses, James, Duke of Hamilton, and Charles, Lord Mohun, were slain by each other's hands in a murderous duel arising out of a dispute relative to the partition of the Fitton estates, and Gawsworth itself passed to an unlineal hand, by a series of alienations complicated beyond example in the annals of this country."--B.] of his being forced by imprisonment, &c., by my Lord Gerard, most barbarously to confess his forging of a deed in behalf of Fitton, in the great case between him [Fitton] and my Lord Gerard; which business is under examination, and is the foulest against my Lord Gerard that ever any thing in the world was, and will, all do believe, ruine him; and I shall be glad of it. Thence with Lord Brouncker and T. Harvey as far as the New Exchange, and there at a draper's shop drawing up a short note of what they are to desire of the House for our having a hearing before they determine any thing against us, which paper is for them to show to what friends they meet against to-morrow, I away home to the office, and there busy pretty late, and here comes my wife to me, who hath been at Pegg Pen's christening, which, she says, hath made a flutter and noise; but was as mean as could be, and but little company, just like all the rest that that family do. So home to supper and to bed, with my head full of a defence before the Parliament tomorrow, and therein content myself very well, and with what I have done in preparing some of the members thereof in order thereto. 22nd. Up, and by coach through Ducke Lane, and there did buy Kircher's Musurgia, cost me 35s., a book I am mighty glad of, expecting to find great satisfaction in it. Thence to Westminster Hall and the lobby, and up and down there all the morning, and to the Lords' House, and heard the Solicitor-General plead very finely, as he always do; and this was in defence of the East India Company against a man that complains of wrong from them, and thus up and down till noon in expectation of our business coming on in the House of Commons about tickets, but they being busy about my Lord Gerard's business I did give over the thoughts of ours coming on, and so with my wife, and Mercer, and Deb., who come to the Hall to me, I away to the Beare, in Drury Lane, and there bespoke a dish of meat; and, in the mean time, sat and sung with Mercer; and, by and by, dined with mighty pleasure, and excellent meat, one little dish enough for us all, and good wine, and all for 8s., and thence to the Duke's playhouse, and there saw "Albumazar," an old play, this the second time of acting. It is said to have been the ground of B. Jonson's "Alchymist;" but, saving the ridicuiousnesse of Angell's part, which is called Trinkilo, I do not see any thing extraordinary in it, but was indeed weary of it before it was done. The King here, and, indeed, all of us, pretty merry at the mimique tricks of Trinkilo. So home, calling in Ducke Lane for the book I bought this morning, and so home, and wrote my letters at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, and, being desired by a messenger from Sir G. Carteret, I by water over to Southwarke, and so walked to the Falkon, on the Bank-side, and there got another boat, and so to Westminster, where I would have gone into the Swan; but the door was locked; and the girl could not let me in, and so to Wilkinson's in King Street, and there wiped my shoes, and so to Court, where sermon not yet done I met with Brisband; and he tells me, first, that our business of tickets did come to debate yesterday, it seems, after I was gone away, and was voted a miscarriage in general. He tells me in general that there is great looking after places, upon a presumption of a great many vacancies; and he did shew me a fellow at Court, a brother of my Lord Fanshaw's, a witty but rascally fellow, without a penny in his purse, that was asking him what places there were in the Navy fit for him, and Brisband tells me, in mirth, he told him the Clerke of the Acts, and I wish he had it, so I were well and quietly rid of it; for I am weary of this kind of trouble, having, I think, enough whereon to support myself. By and by, chapel done, I met with Sir W. Coventry, and he and I walked awhile together in the Matted Gallery; and there he told me all the proceedings yesterday: that the matter is found, in general, a miscarriage, but no persons named; and so there is no great matter to our prejudice yet, till, if ever, they come to particular persons. He told me Birch was very industrious to do what he could, and did, like a friend; but they were resolved to find the thing, in general, a miscarriage; and says, that when we shall think fit to desire its being heard, as to our own defence, it will be granted. He tells me how he hath, with advantage, cleared himself in what concerns himself therein, by his servant Robson, which I am glad of. He tells me that there is a letter sent by conspiracy to some of the House, which he hath seen, about the matter of selling of places, which he do believe he shall be called upon to-morrow for: and thinks himself well prepared to defend himself in it; and then neither he, nor his friends for him, are afeard of anything to his prejudice. Thence by coach, with Brisband, to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there dined: a good dinner and good company; and after dinner he and I alone, discoursing of my Lord Sandwich's matters; who hath, in the first business before the House, been very kindly used beyond expectation, the matter being laid by, till his coming home and old Mr. Vaughan did speak for my Lord, which I am mighty glad of. The business of the prizes is the worst that can be said, and therein I do fear something may lie hard upon him; but, against this, we must prepare the best we can for his defence. Thence with G. Carteret to White Hall, where I, finding a meeting of the Committee of the Council for the Navy, his Royal Highness there, and Sir W. Pen, and, some of the Brethren of the Trinity House to attend, I did go in with them; and it was to be informed of the practice heretofore, for all foreign nations, at enmity one with another, to forbear any acts of hostility to one another, in the presence of any of the King of England's ships, of which several instances were given: and it is referred to their further enquiry, in order to the giving instructions accordingly to our ships now, during the war between Spain and France. Would to God we were in the same condition as heretofore, to challenge and maintain this our dominion! Thence with W. Pen homeward, and quite through to Mile End, for a little ayre; the days being now pretty long, but the ways mighty dirty, and here we drank at the Rose, the old house, and so back again, talking of the Parliament and our trouble with them and what passed yesterday. Going back again, Sir R. Brookes overtook us coming to town; who hath played the jacke with us all, and is a fellow that I must trust no more, he quoting me for all he hath said in this business of tickets; though I have told him nothing that either is not true, or I afeard to own. But here talking, he did discourse in this stile: "We,"--and "We" all along,--"will not give any money, be the pretence never so great, nay, though the enemy was in the River of Thames again, till we know what is become of the last money given;" and I do believe he do speak the mind of his fellows, and so let them, if the King will suffer it. He gone, we home, and there I to read, and my belly being full of my dinner to-day, I anon to bed, and there, as I have for many days, slept not an hour quietly, but full of dreams of our defence to the Parliament and giving an account of our doings. This evening, my wife did with great pleasure shew me her stock of jewells, encreased by the ring she hath made lately as my Valentine's gift this year, a Turky stone' set with diamonds: and, with this and what she had, she reckons that she hath above L150 worth of jewells, of one kind or other; and I am glad of it, for it is fit the wretch should have something to content herself with. 24th. Up, and to my office, where most of the morning, entering my journal for the three days past. Thence about noon with my wife to the New Exchange, by the way stopping at my bookseller's, and there leaving my Kircher's Musurgia to be bound, and did buy "L'illustre Bassa," in four volumes, for my wife. Thence to the Exchange and left her; while meeting Dr. Gibbons there, he and I to see an organ at the Dean of Westminster's lodgings at the Abby, the Bishop of Rochester's; where he lives like a great prelate, his lodgings being very good; though at present under great disgrace at Court, being put by his Clerk of the Closet's place. I saw his lady, of whom the 'Terrae Filius' of Oxford was once so merry; [A scholar appointed to make a satirical and jesting speech at an Act in the University of Oxford. Mr. Christopher Wordsworth gives, in his "Social Life at the English Universities in the Eighteenth Century," 1874, a list of terra-filii from 1591 to 1713 (pp. 296- 298, 680). The 'terrae filius' was sometimes expelled the university on account of the licence of his speech. The practice was discontinued early in the eighteenth century.] and two children, whereof one a very pretty little boy, like him, so fat and black. Here I saw the organ; but it is too big for my house, and the fashion do not please me enough; and therefore will not have it. Thence to the 'Change back again, leaving him, and took my wife and Deb. home, and there to dinner alone, and after dinner I took them to the Nursery,--[Theatre company of young actors in training.]--where none of us ever were before; where the house is better and the musique better than we looked for, and the acting not much worse, because I expected as bad as could be: and I was not much mistaken, for it was so. However, I was pleased well to see it once, it being worth a man's seeing to discover the different ability and understanding of people, and the different growth of people's abilities by practise. Their play was a bad one, called "Jeronimo is Mad Again," a tragedy. Here was some good company by us, who did make mighty sport at the folly of their acting, which I could not neither refrain from sometimes, though I was sorry for it. So away hence home, where to the office to do business a while, and then home to supper and to read, and then to bed. I was prettily served this day at the playhouse-door, where, giving six shillings into the fellow's hand for us three, the fellow by legerdemain did convey one away, and with so much grace faced me down that I did give him but five, that, though I knew the contrary, yet I was overpowered by his so grave and serious demanding the other shilling, that I could not deny him, but was forced by myself to give it him. After I come home this evening comes a letter to me from Captain Allen, formerly Clerk of the Ropeyard at Chatham, and whom I was kind to in those days, who in recompense of my favour to him then do give me notice that he hears of an accusation likely to be exhibited against me of my receiving L50 of Mason, the timber merchant, and that his wife hath spoke it. I am mightily beholden to Captain Allen for this, though the thing is to the best of my memory utterly false, and I do believe it to be wholly so, but yet it troubles me to have my name mentioned in this business, and more to consider how I may be liable to be accused where I have indeed taken presents, and therefore puts me on an enquiry, into my actings in this kind and prepare against a day of accusation. 25th. Up, having lain the last night the first night that I have lain with my wife since she was last ill, which is about eight days. To the office, where busy all the morning. At noon comes W. Howe to me, to advise what answer to give to the business of the prizes, wherein I did give him the best advice I could; but am sorry to see so many things, wherein I doubt it will not be prevented but Sir Roger Cuttance and Mr. Pierce will be found very much concerned in goods beyond the distribution, and I doubt my Lord Sandwich too, which troubles me mightily. He gone I to dinner, and thence set my wife at the New Exchange, and I to Mr. Clerke, my solicitor, to the Treasury chamber, but the Lords did not sit, so I by water with him to the New Exchange, and there we parted, and I took my wife and Deb. up, and to the Nursery, where I was yesterday, and there saw them act a comedy, a pastorall, "The Faythful Shepherd," having the curiosity to see whether they did a comedy better than a tragedy; but they do it both alike, in the meanest manner, that I was sick of it, but only for to satisfy myself once in seeing the manner of it, but I shall see them no more, I believe. Thence to the New Exchange, to take some things home that my wife hath bought, a dressing-box, and other things for her chamber and table, that cost me above L4, and so home, and there to the office, and tell W. Hewer of the letter from Captain Allen last night, to give him caution if any thing should be discovered of his dealings with anybody, which I should for his sake as well, or more than for my own, be sorry for; and with great joy I do find, looking over my memorandum books, which are now of great use to me, and do fully reward me for all my care in keeping them, that I am not likely to be troubled for any thing of the kind but what I shall either be able beforehand to prevent, or if discovered, be able to justify myself in, and I do perceive, by Sir W. Warren's discourse, that they [the House] do all they can possibly to get out of him and others, what presents they have made to the Officers of the Navy; but he tells me that he hath denied all, though he knows that he is forsworn as to what relates to me. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and by water to Charing Cross stairs, and thence to W. Coventry to discourse concerning the state of matters in the Navy, where he particularly acquainted me with the trouble he is like to meet with about the selling of places, all carried on by Sir Fr. Hollis, but he seems not to value it, being able to justify it to be lawful and constant practice, and never by him used in the least degree since he upon his own motion did obtain a salary of L500 in lieu thereof. Thence to the Treasury Chamber about a little business, and so home by coach, and in my way did meet W. Howe going to the Commissioners of Accounts. I stopped and spoke to him, and he seems well resolved what to answer them, but he will find them very strict, and not easily put off: So home and there to dinner, and after dinner comes W. Howe to tell me how he sped, who says he was used civilly, and not so many questions asked as he expected; but yet I do perceive enough to shew that they do intend to know the bottom of things, and where to lay the great weight of the disposal of these East India goods, and that they intend plainly to do upon my Lord Sandwich. Thence with him by coach and set him down at the Temple, and I to Westminster Hall, where, it being now about six o'clock, I find the House just risen; and met with Sir W. Coventry and the Lieutenant of the Tower, they having sat all day; and with great difficulty have got a vote for giving the King L300,000, not to be raised by any land-tax. The sum is much smaller than I expected, and than the King needs; but is grounded upon Mr. Wren's reading our estimates the other day of L270,000, to keep the fleete abroad, wherein we demanded nothing for setting and fitting of them out, which will cost almost L200,000, I do verily believe: and do believe that the King hath no cause to thank Wren for this motion. I home to Sir W. Coventry's lodgings, with him and the Lieutenant of the Tower, where also was Sir John Coventry, and Sir John Duncomb, and Sir Job Charleton. And here a great deal of good discourse: and they seem mighty glad to have this vote pass, which I did wonder at, to see them so well satisfied with so small a sum, Sir John Duncomb swearing, as I perceive he will freely do, that it was as much as the nation could beare. Among other merry discourse about spending of money, and how much more chargeable a man's living is now more than it was heretofore, Duncomb did swear that in France he did live of L100 a year with more plenty, and wine and wenches, than he believes can be done now for L200, which was pretty odd for him, being a Committee-man's son, to say. Having done here, and supped, where I eat very little, we home in Sir John Robinson's coach, and there to bed. 27th. All the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to the King's House, to see "The Virgin Martyr," the first time it hath been acted a great while: and it is mighty pleasant; not that the play is worth much, but it is finely acted by Becke Marshall. But that which did please me beyond any thing in, the whole world was the wind-musique when the angel comes down, which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have formerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor all the evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of any thing, but remained all night transported, so as I could not believe that ever any musick hath that real command over the soul of a man as this did upon me: and makes me resolve to practice wind-musique, and to make my wife do the like. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and after dinner with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we and the rest of us presented a great letter of the state of our want of money to his Royal Highness. I did also present a demand of mine for consideration for my travelling-charges of coach and boat-hire during the war, which, though his Royal Highness and the company did all like of, yet, contrary to my expectation, I find him so jealous now of doing any thing extraordinary, that he desired the gentlemen that they would consider it, and report their minds in it to him. This did unsettle my mind a great while, not expecting this stop: but, however, I shall do as well, I know, though it causes me a little stop. But that, that troubles me most is, that while we were thus together with the Duke of York, comes in Mr. Wren from the House, where, he tells us, another storm hath been all this day almost against the Officers of the Navy upon this complaint,--that though they have made good rules for payment of tickets, yet that they have not observed them themselves, which was driven so high as to have it urged that we should presently be put out of our places: and so they have at last ordered that we shall be heard at the bar of the House upon this business on Thursday next. This did mightily trouble me and us all; but me particularly, who am least able to bear these troubles, though I have the least cause to be concerned in it. Thence, therefore, to visit Sir H. Cholmly, who hath for some time been ill of a cold; and thence walked towards Westminster, and met Colonel Birch, who took me back to walk with him, and did give me an account of this day's heat against the Navy Officers, and an account of his speech on our behalf, which was very good; and indeed we are much beholden to him, as I, after I parted with him, did find by my cozen Roger, whom I went to: and he and I to his lodgings. And there he did tell me the same over again; and how much Birch did stand up in our defence; and that he do see that there are many desirous to have us out of the Office; and the House is so furious and passionate, that he thinks nobody can be secure, let him deserve never so well. But now, he tells me, we shall have a fair hearing of the House, and he hopes justice of them: but, upon the whole, he do agree with me that I should hold my hand as to making any purchase of land, which I had formerly discoursed with him about, till we see a little further how matters go. He tells me that that made them so mad to-day first was, several letters in the House about the Fanatickes, in several places, coming in great bodies, and turning people out of the churches, and there preaching themselves, and pulling the surplice over the Parsons' heads: this was confirmed from several places; which makes them stark mad, especially the hectors and bravadoes of the House, who shew all the zeal on this occasion. Having done with him, I home vexed in my mind, and so fit for no business, but sat talking with my wife and supped with her; and Nan Mercer come and sat all the evening with us, and much pretty discourse, which did a little ease me, and so to bed. 29th. Up, and walked to Captain Cocke's, where Sir G. Carteret promised to meet me and did come to discourse about the prize-business of my Lord Sandwich's, which I perceive is likely to be of great ill consequence to my Lord, the House being mighty vehement in it. We could say little but advise that his friends should labour to get it put off, till he comes. We did here talk many things over, in lamentation of the present posture of affairs, and the ill condition of all people that have had anything to do under the King, wishing ourselves a great way off: Here they tell me how Sir Thomas Allen hath taken the Englishmen out of "La Roche," and taken from him an Ostend prize which La Roche had fetched out of our harbours; and at this day La Roche keeps upon our coasts; and had the boldness to land some men and go a mile up into the country, and there took some goods belonging to this prize out of a house there; which our King resents, and, they say, hath wrote to the King of France about; and everybody do think a war will follow; and then in what a case we shall be for want of money, nobody knows. Thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and to the office again in the afternoon, where we met to consider of an answer to the Parliament about the not paying of tickets according to our own orders, to which I hope we shall be able to give a satisfactory answer, but that the design of the House being apparently to remove us, I do question whether the best answer will prevail with them. This done I by coach with my wife to Martin, my bookseller's, expecting to have had my Kercher's Musurgia, but to my trouble and loss of trouble it was not done. So home again, my head full of thoughts about our troubles in the office, and so to the office. Wrote to my father this post, and sent him now Colvill's--[The Goldsmith.]--note for L600 for my sister's portion, being glad that I shall, I hope, have that business over before I am out of place, and I trust I shall be able to save a little of what I have got, and so shall not be troubled to be at ease; for I am weary of this life. So ends this month, with a great deal of care and trouble in my head about the answerings of the Parliament, and particularly in our payment of seamen by tickets. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Being very poor and mean as to the bearing with trouble Bite at the stone, and not at the hand that flings it Burned it, that it might not be among my books to my shame Come to see them in bed together, on their wedding-night Fear what would become of me if any real affliction should come Force a man to swear against himself L'escholle des filles, a lewd book Live of L100 a year with more plenty, and wine and wenches No pleasure--only the variety of it 
4187	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH 1667-1668 March 1st (Lord's day). Up very betimes, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's; and there, largely carrying with me all my notes and papers, did run over our whole defence in the business of tickets, in order to the answering the House on Thursday next; and I do think, unless they be set without reason to ruin us, we shall make a good defence. I find him in great anxiety, though he will not discover it, in the business of the proceedings of Parliament; and would as little as is possible have his name mentioned in our discourse to them; and particularly the business of selling places is now upon his hand to defend himself in; wherein I did help him in his defence about the flag-maker's place, which is named in the House. We did here do the like about the complaint of want of victuals in the fleete in the year 1666, which will lie upon me to defend also. So that my head is full of care and weariness in my employment. Thence home, and there my mind being a little lightened by my morning's work in the arguments I have now laid together in better method for our defence to the Parliament, I to talk with my wife; and in lieu of a coach this year, I have got my wife to be contented with her closet being made up this summer, and going into the country this summer for a month or two, to my father's, and there Mercer and Deb. and Jane shall go with her, which I the rather do for the entertaining my wife, and preventing of fallings out between her and my father or Deb., which uses to be the fate of her going into the country. After dinner by coach to Westminster, and there to St. Margaret's church, thinking to have seen Betty Michell, but she was not there, but met her father and mother and with them to her father's house, where I never was before, but was mighty much made of, with some good strong waters, which they have from their son Michell, and mighty good people they are. Thence to Mrs. Martin's, where I have not been also a good while, and with great difficulty, company being there, did get an opportunity to hazer what I would con her, and here I was mightily taken with a starling which she hath, that was the King's, which he kept in his bedchamber; and do whistle and talk the most and best that ever I heard anything in my life. Thence to visit Sir H. Cholmly, who continues still sick of his cold, and thence calling, but in vain, to speak with Sir G. Carteret at his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I spoke with nobody, but home, where spent the evening talking with W. Hewer about business of the House, and declaring my expectation of all our being turned out. Hither comes Carcasse to me about business, and there did confess to me of his own accord his having heretofore discovered as a complaint against Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen and me that we did prefer the paying of some men to man "The Flying Greyhound" to others, by order under our hands. The thing upon recollection I believe is true, and do hope no great matter can be made of it, but yet I would be glad to have my name out of it, which I shall labour to do; in the mean time it weighs as a new trouble on my mind, and did trouble me all night. So without supper to bed, my eyes being also a little overwrought of late that I could not stay up to read. 2nd. Up and betimes to the office, where I did much business, and several come to me, and among others I did prepare Mr. Warren, and by and by Sir D. Gawden, about what presents I have had from them, that they may not publish them, or if they do, that in truth I received none on the account of the Navy but Tangier, and this is true to the former, and in both that I never asked any thing of them. I must do the like with the rest. Mr. Moore was with me, and he do tell me, and so W. Hewer tells me, he hears this morning that all the town is full of the discourse that the Officers of the Navy shall be all turned out, but honest Sir John Minnes, who, God knows, is fitter to have been turned out himself than any of us, doing the King more hurt by his dotage and folly than all the rest can do by their knavery, if they had a mind to it. At noon home to dinner, where was Mercer, and very merry as I could be with my mind so full of business, and so with my wife, her and the girl, to the King's house to see the "Virgin Martyr" again, which do mightily please me, but above all the musique at the coming down of the angel, which at this hearing the second time, do still commend me as nothing ever did, and the other musique is nothing to it. Thence with my wife to the 'Change, and so, calling at the Cocke ale house, we home, and there I settle to business, and with my people preparing my great answer to the Parliament for the office about tickets till past 1 a o'clock at night, and then home to supper and to bed, keeping Mr. Gibson all night with me. This day I have the news that my sister was married on Thursday last to Mr. Jackson; so that work is, I hope, well over. 3rd. Up betimes to work again, and then met at the Office, where to our great business of this answer to the Parliament; where to my great vexation I find my Lord Brouncker prepared only to excuse himself, while I, that have least reason to trouble myself, am preparing with great pains to defend them all: and more, I perceive, he would lodge the beginning of discharging ships by ticket upon me; but I care not, for I believe I shall get more honour by it when the Parliament, against my will, shall see how the whole business of the Office was done by me. At noon rose and to dinner. My wife abroad with Mercer and Deb. buying of things, but I with my clerks home to dinner, and thence presently down with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, T. Harvy, T. Middleton, and Mr. Tippets, who first took his place this day at the table, as a Commissioner, in the room of Commissioner Pett. Down by water to Deptford, where the King, Queene, and Court are to see launched the new ship built by Mr. Shish, called "The Charles." 2 God send her better luck than the former! Here some of our brethren, who went in a boat a little before my boat, did by appointment take opportunity of asking the King's leave that we might make full use of the want of money, in our excuse to the Parliament for the business of tickets, and other things they will lay to our charge, all which arose from nothing else: and this the King did readily agree to, and did give us leave to make our full use of it. The ship being well launched, I back again by boat, setting [Sir] T. Middleton and Mr. Tippets on shore at Ratcliffe, I home and there to my chamber with Mr. Gibson, and late up till midnight preparing more things against our defence on Thursday next to my content, though vexed that all this trouble should be on me. So to supper and to bed. 4th. Up betimes and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to White Hall, there to wait upon the Duke of York and the Commissioners of the Treasury, [Sir] W. Coventry and Sir John Duncombe, who do declare that they cannot find the money we demand, and we that less than what we demand will not set out the fleet intended, and so broke up, with no other conclusion than that they would let us have what they could get and we would improve that as well as we could. So God bless us, and prepare us against the consequences of these matters. Thence, it being a cold wet day, I home with Sir J. Minnes in his coach, and called by the way at my bookseller's and took home with me Kercher's Musurgia--very well bound, but I had no comfort to look upon them, but as soon as I come home fell to my work at the office, shutting the doors, that we, I and my clerks, might not be interrupted, and so, only with room for a little dinner, we very busy all the day till night that the officers met for me to give them the heads of what I intended to say, which I did with great discontent to see them all rely on me that have no reason at all to trouble myself about it, nor have any thanks from them for my labour, but contrarily Brouncker looked mighty dogged, as thinking that I did not intend to do it so as to save him. This troubled me so much as, together with the shortness of the time and muchness of the business, did let me be at it till but about ten at night, and then quite weary, and dull, and vexed, I could go no further, but resolved to leave the rest to to-morrow morning, and so in full discontent and weariness did give over and went home, with[out] supper vexed and sickish to bed, and there slept about three hours, but then waked, and never in so much trouble in all my life of mind, thinking of the task I have upon me, and upon what dissatisfactory grounds, and what the issue of it may be to me. 5th. With these thoughts I lay troubling myself till six o'clock, restless, and at last getting my wife to talk to me to comfort me, which she at last did, and made me resolve to quit my hands of this Office, and endure the trouble of it no longer than till I can clear myself of it. So with great trouble, but yet with some ease, from this discourse with my wife, I up, and to my Office, whither come my clerks, and so I did huddle the best I could some more notes for my discourse to-day, and by nine o'clock was ready, and did go down to the Old Swan, and there by boat, with T. H[ater] and W. H[ewer] with me, to Westminster, where I found myself come time enough, and my brethren all ready. But I full of thoughts and trouble touching the issue of this day; and, to comfort myself, did go to the Dog and drink half-a-pint of mulled sack, and in the Hall [Westminster] did drink a dram of brandy at Mrs. Hewlett's; and with the warmth of this did find myself in better order as to courage, truly. So we all up to the lobby; and between eleven and twelve o'clock, were called in, with the mace before us, into the House, where a mighty full House; and we stood at the bar, namely, Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, Sir T. Harvey, and myself, W. Pen being in the House, as a Member. I perceive the whole House was full, and full of expectation of our defence what it would be, and with great prejudice. After the Speaker had told us the dissatisfaction of the House, and read the Report of the Committee, I began our defence most acceptably and smoothly, and continued at it without any hesitation or losse, but with full scope, and all my reason free about me, as if it had been at my own table, from that time till past three in the afternoon; and so ended, without any interruption from the Speaker; but we withdrew. And there all my Fellow-Officers, and all the world that was within hearing, did congratulate me, and cry up my speech as the best thing they ever heard; and my Fellow-Officers overjoyed in it; we were called in again by and by to answer only one question, touching our paying tickets to ticket-mongers; and so out; and we were in hopes to have had a vote this day in our favour, and so the generality of the House was; but my speech, being so long, many had gone out to dinner and come in again half drunk; and then there are two or three that are professed enemies to us and every body else; among others, Sir T. Littleton, Sir Thomas Lee, Mr. Wiles, the coxcomb whom I saw heretofore at the cock-fighting, and a few others; I say, these did rise up and speak against the coming to a vote now, the House not being full, by reason of several being at dinner, but most because that the House was to attend the King this afternoon, about the business of religion, wherein they pray him to put in force all the laws against Nonconformists and Papists; and this prevented it, so that they put it off to to-morrow come se'nnight. However, it is plain we have got great ground; and everybody says I have got the most honour that any could have had opportunity of getting; and so with our hearts mightily overjoyed at this success, we all to dinner to Lord Brouncker's--that is to say, myself, T. Harvey, and W. Pen, and there dined; and thence with Sir Anthony Morgan, who is an acquaintance of Brouncker's, a very wise man, we after dinner to the King's house, and there saw part of "The Discontented Colonel," but could take no great pleasure in it, because of our coming in in the middle of it. After the play, home with W. Pen, and there to my wife, whom W. Hewer had told of my success, and she overjoyed, and I also as to my particular; and, after talking awhile, I betimes to bed, having had no quiet rest a good while. 6th. Up betimes, and with Sir D. Gawden to Sir W, Coventry's chamber: where the first word he said to me was, "Good-morrow, Mr. Pepys, that must be Speaker of the Parliament-house:" and did protest I had got honour for ever in Parliament. He said that his brother, that sat by him, admires me; and another gentleman said that I could not get less than L1000 a-year if I would put on a gown and plead at the Chancery-bar; but, what pleases me most, he tells me that the Sollicitor-Generall did protest that he thought I spoke the best of any man in England. After several talks with him alone, touching his own businesses, he carried me to White Hall, and there parted; and I to the Duke of York's lodgings, and find him going to the Park, it being a very fine morning, and I after him; and, as soon as he saw me, he told me, with great satisfaction, that I had converted a great many yesterday, and did, with great praise of me, go on with the discourse with me. And, by and by, overtaking the King, the King and Duke of York come to me both; and he--[The King]--said, "Mr. Pepys, I am very glad of your success yesterday;" and fell to talk of my well speaking; and many of the Lords there. My Lord Barkeley did cry the up for what they had heard of it; and others, Parliament-men there, about the King, did say that they never heard such a speech in their lives delivered in that manner. Progers, of the Bedchamber, swore to me afterwards before Brouncker, in the afternoon, that he did tell the King that he thought I might teach the Sollicitor-Generall. Every body that saw me almost come to me, as Joseph Williamson and others, with such eulogys as cannot be expressed. From thence I went to Westminster Hall, where I met Mr. G. Montagu, who come to me and kissed me, and told me that he had often heretofore kissed my hands, but now he would kiss my lips: protesting that I was another Cicero, and said, all the world said the same of me. Mr. Ashburnham, and every creature I met there of the Parliament, or that knew anything of the Parliament's actings, did salute me with this honour:--Mr. Godolphin;--Mr. Sands, who swore he would go twenty mile, at any time, to hear the like again, and that he never saw so many sit four hours together to hear any man in his life, as there did to hear me; Mr. Chichly,--Sir John Duncomb,--and everybody do say that the kingdom will ring of my abilities, and that I have done myself right for my whole life: and so Captain Cocke, and others of my friends, say that no man had ever such an opportunity of making his abilities known; and, that I may cite all at once, Mr. Lieutenant of the Tower did tell me that Mr. Vaughan did protest to him, and that, in his hearing it, said so to the Duke of Albemarle, and afterwards to W. Coventry, that he had sat twenty-six years in Parliament and never heard such a speech there before: for which the Lord God make me thankful! and that I may make use of it not to pride and vain-glory, but that, now I have this esteem, I may do nothing that may lessen it! I spent the morning thus walking in the Hall, being complimented by everybody with admiration: and at noon stepped into the Legg with Sir William Warren, who was in the Hall, and there talked about a little of his business, and thence into the Hall a little more, and so with him by coach as far as the Temple almost, and there 'light, to follow my Lord Brouncker's coach, which I spied, and so to Madam Williams's, where I overtook him, and agreed upon meeting this afternoon, and so home to dinner, and after dinner with W. Pen, who come to my house to call me, to White Hall, to wait on the Duke of York, where he again and all the company magnified me, and several in the Gallery: among others, my Lord Gerard, who never knew me before nor spoke to me, desires his being better acquainted with me; and [said] that, at table where he was, he never heard so much said of any man as of me, in his whole life. We waited on the Duke of York, and thence into the Gallery, where the House of Lords waited the King's coming out of the Park, which he did by and by; and there, in the Vane-room, my Lord Keeper delivered a message to the King, the Lords being about him, wherein the Barons of England, from many good arguments, very well expressed in the part he read out of, do demand precedence in England of all noblemen of either of the King's other two kingdoms, be their title what it will; and did shew that they were in England reputed but as Commoners, and sat in the House of Commons, and at conferences with the Lords did stand bare. It was mighty worth my hearing: but the King did only say that he would consider of it, and so dismissed them. Thence Brouncker and I to the Committee of Miscarriages sitting in the Court of Wards, expecting with Sir D. Gawden to have been heard against Prince Rupert's complaints for want of victuals. But the business of Holmes's charge against Sir Jer. Smith, which is a most shameful scandalous thing for Flag officers to accuse one another of, and that this should be heard here before men that understand it not at all, and after it hath been examined and judged in before the King and Lord High Admirall and other able seamen to judge, it is very hard. But this business did keep them all the afternoon, so we not heard but put off to another day. Thence, with the Lieutenant of the Tower, in his coach home; and there, with great pleasure, with my wife, talking and playing at cards a little--she, and I, and W. Hewer, and Deb., and so, after a little supper, I to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, at noon home to dinner, where Mercer with us, and after dinner she, my wife, Deb., and I, to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Spanish Gipsys," the second time of acting, and the first that I saw it. A very silly play, only great variety of dances, and those most excellently done, especially one part by one Hanes, only lately come thither from the Nursery, an understanding fellow, but yet, they say, hath spent L1000 a-year before he come thither. This day my wife and I full of thoughts about Mrs. Pierces sending me word that she, and my old company, Harris and Knipp, would come and dine with us next Wednesday, how we should do-to receive or put them off, my head being, at this time, so full of business, and my wife in no mind to have them neither, and yet I desire it. Come to no resolution tonight. Home from the playhouse to the office, where I wrote what I had to write, and among others to my father to congratulate my sister's marriage, and so home to supper a little and then to bed. 8th (Lord's day). At my sending to desire it, Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, did call me with his coach, and carried me to White Hall, where met with very many people still that did congratulate my speech the other day in the House of Commons, and I find all the world almost rings of it. Here spent the morning walking and talking with one or other, and among the rest with Sir W. Coventry, who I find full of care in his own business, how to defend himself against those that have a mind to choke him; and though, I believe, not for honour and for the keeping his employment, but for his safety and reputation's sake, is desirous to preserve himself free from blame, and among other mean ways which himself did take notice to me to be but a mean thing he desires me to get information against Captain Tatnell, thereby to diminish his testimony, who, it seems, hath a mind to do W. Coventry hurt: and I will do it with all my heart; for Tatnell is a very rogue. He would be glad, too, that I could find anything proper for his taking notice against Sir F. Hollis. At noon, after sermon, I to dinner with Sir G. Carteret to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I find mighty deal of company--a solemn day for some of his and her friends, and dine in the great dining-room above stairs, where Sir G. Carteret himself, and I, and his son, at a little table by, the great table being full of strangers. Here my Lady Jem. do promise to come, and bring my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady some day this week, to dinner to me, which I am glad of. After dinner, I up with her husband, Sir Philip Carteret, to his closet, where, beyond expectation, I do find many pretty things, wherein he appears to be ingenious, such as in painting, and drawing, and making of watches, and such kind of things, above my expectation; though, when all is done, he is a shirke, who owns his owing me L10 for his lady two or three years ago, and yet cannot provide to pay me. The company by and by parted, and G. Carteret and I to White Hall, where I set him down and took his coach as far as the Temple, it raining, and there took a hackney and home, and so had my head combed, and then to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and anon with Sir W. Warren, who come to speak with me, by coach to White Hall, and there met Lord Brouncker: and he and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where I find them mighty kind to me, more, I think, than was wont. And here I also met Colvill, the goldsmith; who tells me, with great joy, how the world upon the 'Change talks of me; and how several Parliamentmen, viz., Boscawen and Major [Lionel] Walden, of Huntingdon, who, it seems, do deal with him, do say how bravely I did speak, and that the House was ready to have given me thanks for it; but that, I think, is a vanity. Thence I with Lord Brouncker, and did take up his mistress, Williams, and so to the 'Change, only to shew myself, and did a little business there, and so home to dinner, and then to the office busy till the evening, and then to the Excize Office, where I find Mr. Ball in a mighty trouble that he is to be put out of his place at Midsummer, the whole Commission being to cease, and the truth is I think they are very fair dealing men, all of them. Here I did do a little business, and then to rights home, and there dispatched many papers, and so home late to supper and to bed, being eased of a great many thoughts, and yet have a great many more to remove as fast as I can, my mind being burdened with them, having been so much employed upon the public business of the office in their defence before the Parliament of late, and the further cases that do attend it. 10th. Up, and to the office betimes, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my clerks, and after dinner comes Kate Joyce, who tells me she is putting off her house, which I am glad of, but it was pleasant that she come on purpose to me about getting a ticket paid, and in her way hither lost her ticket, so that she is at a great loss what to do.--There comes in then Mrs. Mercer, the mother, the first time she has been here since her daughter lived with us, to see my wife, and after a little talk I left them and to the office, and thence with Sir D. Gawden to Westminster Hall, thinking to have attended the Committee about the Victualling business, but they did not meet, but here we met Sir R. Brookes, who do mightily cry up my speech the other day, saying my fellow-officers are obliged to me, as indeed they are. Thence with Sir D. Gawden homewards, calling at Lincolne's Inn Fields: but my Lady Jemimah was not within: and so to Newgate, where he stopped to give directions to the jaylor about a Knight, one Sir Thomas Halford brought in yesterday for killing one Colonel Temple, falling out at a taverne. So thence as far as Leadenhall, and there I 'light, and back by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields; but my Lady was not come in, and so I am at a great loss whether she and her brother Hinchingbroke and sister will dine with me to-morrow or no, which vexes me. So home; and there comes Mr. Moore to me, who tells me that he fears my Lord Sandwich will meet with very great difficulties to go through about the prizes, it being found that he did give orders for more than the King's letter do justify; and then for the Act of Resumption, which he fears will go on, and is designed only to do him hurt, which troubles me much. He tells me he believes the Parliament will not be brought to do anything in matters of religion, but will adhere to the Bishops. So he gone, I up to supper, where I find W. Joyce and Harman come to see us, and there was also Mrs. Mercer and her two daughters, and here we were as merry as that fellow Joyce could make us with his mad talking, after the old wont, which tired me. But I was mightily pleased with his singing; for the rogue hath a very good eare, and a good voice. Here he stayed till he was almost drunk, and then away at about ten at night, and then all broke up, and I to bed. 11th. Up, and betimes to the office, where busy till 8 o'clock, and then went forth, and meeting Mr. Colvill, I walked with, him to his building, where he is building a fine house, where he formerly lived, in Lumbard Street: and it will be a very fine street. Thence walked down to the Three Cranes and there took boat to White Hall, where by direction I waited on the Duke of York about office business, and so by water to Westminster, where walking in the Hall most of the morning, and up to my Lady Jem. in Lincoln's Inn Fields to get her to appoint the day certain when she will come and dine with me, and she hath appointed Saturday next. So back to Westminster; and there still walked, till by and by comes Sir W. Coventry, and with him Mr. Chichly and Mr. Andrew Newport, I to dinner with them to Mr. Chichly's, in Queene Street, in Covent Garden. A very fine house, and a man that lives in mighty great fashion, with all things in a most extraordinary manner noble and rich about him, and eats in the French fashion all; and mighty nobly served with his servants, and very civilly; that I was mighty pleased with it: and good discourse. He is a great defender of the Church of England, and against the Act for Comprehension, which is the work of this day, about which the House is like to sit till night. After dinner, away with them back to Westminster, where, about four o'clock, the House rises, and hath done nothing more in the business than to put off the debate to this day month. In the mean time the King hath put out his proclamations this day, as the House desired, for the putting in execution the Act against Nonconformists and Papists, but yet it is conceived that for all this some liberty must be given, and people will have it. Here I met with my cozen Roger Pepys, who is come to town, and hath been told of my performance before the House the other day, and is mighty proud of it, and Captain Cocke met me here to-day, and told me that the Speaker says he never heard such a defence made; in all his life, in the House; and that the Sollicitor-Generall do commend me even to envy. I carried cozen Roger as far as the Strand, where, spying out of the coach Colonel Charles George Cocke, formerly a very great man, and my father's customer, whom I have carried clothes to, but now walks like a poor sorry sneake, he stopped, and I 'light to him. This man knew me, which I would have willingly avoided, so much pride I had, he being a man of mighty height and authority in his time, but now signifies nothing. Thence home, where to the office a while and then home, where W. Batelier was and played at cards and supped with us, my eyes being out of order for working, and so to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, at noon home, and after dinner with wife and Deb., carried them to Unthanke's, and I to Westminster Hall expecting our being with the Committee this afternoon about Victualling business, but once more waited in vain. So after a turn or two with Lord Brouncker, I took my wife up and left her at the 'Change while I to Gresham College, there to shew myself; and was there greeted by Dr. Wilkins, Whistler, and others, as the patron of the Navy Office, and one that got great fame by my late speech to the Parliament. Here I saw a great trial of the goodness of a burning glass, made of a new figure, not spherical (by one Smithys, I think, they call him), that did burn a glove of my Lord Brouncker's from the heat of a very little fire, which a burning glass of the old form, or much bigger, could not do, which was mighty pretty. Here I heard Sir Robert Southwell give an account of some things committed to him by the Society at his going to Portugall, which he did deliver in a mighty handsome manner. [At the meeting of the Royal Society on March 12th, 1668, "Mr. Smethwick's glasses were tried again; and his telescope being compared with another longer telescope, and the object-glasses exchanged, was still found to exceed the other in goodness; and his burning concave being compared with a spherical burning-glass of almost twice the diameter, and held to the fire, it burnt gloves, whereas the other spherical ones would not burn at all."--"Sir Robert Southwell being lately returned from Portugal, where he had been ambassador from the king, and being desired to acquaint the society with what he had done with respect to the instructions, which he had received from them before his departure from England, related, that he had lodged the astronomical quadrant, which the society had sent to Portugal to make observations with there, with a body of men at Lisbon, who had applied themselves among other kinds of literature to mathematics" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., p. 256).] Thence went away home, and there at my office as long as my eyes would endure, and then home to supper, and to talk with Mr. Pelling, who tells me what a fame I have in the City for my late performance; and upon the whole I bless God for it. I think I have, if I can keep it, done myself a great deal of repute. So by and by to bed. 13th. Up betimes to my office, where to fit myself for attending the Parliament again, not to make any more speech, which, while my fame is good, I will avoid, for fear of losing it; but only to answer to what objections will be made against us. Thence walked to the Old Swan and drank at Michell's, whose house is going up apace. Here I saw Betty, but could not baiser la, and so to Westminster, there to the Hall, where up to my cozen Roger Pepys at the Parliament door, and there he took me aside, and told me how he was taken up by one of the House yesterday, for moving for going on with the King's supply of money, without regard to the keeping pace therewith, with the looking into miscarriages, and was told by this man privately that it did arise because that he had a kinsman concerned therein; and therefore he would prefer the safety of his kinsman to the good of the nation, and that there was great things against us and against me, for all my fine discourse the other day. But I did bid him be at no pain for me; for I knew of nothing but what I was very well prepared to answer; and so I think I am, and therefore was not at all disquieted by this. Thence he to the House, and I to the Hall, where my Lord Brouncker and the rest waiting till noon and not called for by the House, they being upon the business of money again, and at noon all of us to Chatelin's, the French house in Covent Garden, to dinner--Brouncker, J. Minnes, W. Pen, T. Harvey, and myself--and there had a dinner cost us 8s. 6d. a-piece, a damned base dinner, which did not please us at all, so that I am not fond of this house at all, but do rather choose the Beare. After dinner to White Hall to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business, complaining of our standing still in every-respect for want of money, but no remedy propounded, but so I must still be. Thence with our company to the King's playhouse, where I left them, and I, my head being full of to-morrow's dinner, I to my Lord Crew's, there to invite Sir Thomas Crew; and there met with my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady, the first time I spoke to her. I saluted her; and she mighty civil and; with my Lady Jemimah, do all resolve to be very merry to-morrow at my house. My Lady Hinchingbroke I cannot say is a beauty, nor ugly; but is altogether a comely lady enough, and seems very good-humoured, and I mighty glad of the occasion of seeing her before to-morrow. Thence home; and there find one laying of my napkins against tomorrow in figures of all sorts, which is mighty pretty; and, it seems, it is his trade, and he gets much money by it; and do now and then furnish tables with plate and linnen for a feast at so much, which is mighty pretty, and a trade I could not have thought of. I find my wife upon the bed not over well, her breast being broke out with heat, which troubles her, but I hope it will be for her good. Thence I to Mrs. Turner, and did get her to go along with me to the French pewterer's, and there did buy some new pewter against to-morrow; and thence to White Hall, to have got a cook of her acquaintance, the best in England, as she says. But after we had with much ado found him, he could not come, nor was Mr. Gentleman in town, whom next I would have had, nor would Mrs. Stone let her man Lewis come, whom this man recommended to me; so that I was at a mighty loss what in the world to do for a cooke, Philips being out of town. Therefore, after staying here at Westminster a great while, we back to London, and there to Philips's, and his man directed us to Mr. Levett's, who could not come, and he sent to two more, and they could not; so that, at last, Levett as a great kindness did resolve he would leave his business and come himself, which set me in great ease in my mind, and so home, and there with my wife setting all things in order against to-morrow, having seen Mrs. Turner at home, and so late to bed. 14th. Up very betimes, and with Jane to Levett's, there to conclude upon our dinner; and thence to the pewterer's, to buy a pewter sesterne, [A pewter cistern was formerly part of the furniture of a well- appointed dining-room; the plates were rinsed in it, when necessary, during the meal. A magnificent silver cistern is still preserved in the dining-room at Burghley House, the seat of the Marquis of Exeter. It is said to be the largest piece of plate in England, and was once the subject of a curious wager.--B.] which I have ever hitherto been without, and so up and down upon several occasions to set matters in order, and that being done I out of doors to Westminster Hall, and there met my Lord Brouncker, who tells me that our business is put off till Monday, and so I was mighty glad that I was eased of my attendance here, and of any occasion that might put me out of humour, as it is likely if we had been called before the Parliament. Therefore, after having spoke with Mr. Godolphin and cozen Roger, I away home, and there do find everything in mighty good order, only my wife not dressed, which troubles me. Anon comes my company, viz., my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady, Sir Philip Carteret and his, lady, Godolphin and my cozen Roger, and Creed: and mighty merry; and by and by to dinner, which was very good and plentifull: (I should have said, and Mr. George Montagu), who come at a very little warning, which was exceeding kind of him. And there, among other things, my Lord had Sir Samuel Morland's late invention for casting up of sums of L. s. d.; [The same as Morland's so-called calculating machine. Sir Samuel published in 1673 "The Description and Use of two Arithmetick Instruments, together with a short Treatise of Arithmetic, as likewise a Perpetual Almanack and severall useful tables."] which is very pretty, but not very useful. Most of our discourse was of my Lord Sandwich and his family, as being all of us of the family; and with extraordinary pleasure all the afternoon, thus together eating and looking over my closet: and my Lady Hinchingbroke I find a very sweet-natured and well-disposed lady, a lover of books and pictures, and of good understanding. About five o'clock they went; and then my wife and I abroad by coach into Moorefields, only for a little ayre, and so home again, staying no where, and then up to her chamber, there to talk with pleasure of this day's passages, and so to bed. This day I had the welcome news of our prize being come safe from Holland, so as I shall have hopes, I hope, of getting my money of my Lady Batten, or good part of it. 15th (Lord's day). Up and walked, it being fine dry weather, to Sir W. Coventry's, overtaking my boy Ely (that was), and he walked with me, being grown a man, and I think a sober fellow. He parted at Charing Cross, and I to Sir W. Coventry's, and there talked with him about the Commissioners of Accounts, who did give in their report yesterday to the House, and do lay little upon us as aggravate any thing at present, but only do give an account of the dissatisfactory account they receive from Sir G. Carteret, which I am sorry for, they saying that he tells them not any time when he paid any sum, which is fit for them to know for the computing of interest, but I fear he is hardly able to tell it. They promise to give them an account of the embezzlement of prizes, wherein I shall be something concerned, but nothing that I am afeard of, I thank God. Thence walked with W. Coventry into the Park, and there met the King and the Duke of York, and walked a good while with them: and here met Sir Jer. Smith, who tells me he is like to get the better of Holmes, and that when he is come to an end of that, he will do Hollis's business for him, in the House, for his blasphemies, which I shall be glad of. So to White Hall, and there walked with this man and that man till chapel done, and, the King dined and then Sir Thomas Clifford, the Comptroller, took me with him to dinner to his lodgings, where my Lord Arlington and a great deal of good and great company; where I very civilly used by them, and had a most excellent dinner: and good discourse of Spain, Mr. Godolphin being there; particularly of the removal of the bodies of all the dead Kings of Spain that could be got together, and brought to the Pantheon at the Escuriall, when it was finished, and there placed before the altar, there to lie for ever; and there was a sermon made to them upon this text, "Arida ossa, audite verbum Dei;" and a most eloquent sermon, as they say, who say they have read it. After dinner, away hence, and I to Mrs. Martin's, and there spent the afternoon, and did hazer con elle, and here was her sister and Mrs. Burrows, and so in the evening got a coach and home, and there find Mr. Pelting and W. Hewer, and there talked and supped, Pelting being gone, and mightily pleased with a picture that W. Hewer brought hither of several things painted upon a deale board, which board is so well painted that in my whole life I never was so well pleased or surprized with any picture, and so troubled that so good pictures should be painted upon a piece of bad deale. Even after I knew that it was not board, but only the picture of a board, I could not remove my fancy. After supper to bed, being very sleepy, and, I bless God, my mind being at very good present rest. 16th. Up, to set my papers and books in order, and put up my plate since my late feast, and then to Westminster, by water, with Mr. Hater, and there, in the Hall, did walk all the morning, talking with one or other, expecting to have our business in the House; but did now a third time wait to no purpose, they being all this morning upon the business of Barker's petition about the making void the Act of Settlement in Ireland, which makes a great deal of hot work: and, at last, finding that by all men's opinion they could not come to our matter today, I with Sir W. Pen home, and there to dinner, where I find, by Willet's crying, that her mistress had been angry with her: but I would take no notice of it. Busy all the afternoon at the office, and then by coach to the Excize Office, but lost my labour, there being nobody there, and so back again home, and after a little at the office I home, and there spent the evening with my wife talking and singing, and so to bed with my mind pretty well at ease. This evening W. Pen and Sir R. Ford and I met at the first's house to talk of our prize that is now at last come safe over from Holland, by which I hope to receive some if not all the benefit of my bargain with W. Batten for my share in it, which if she had miscarried I should have doubted of my Lady Batten being left little able to have paid me. 17th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning busy, and then at noon home to dinner, and so again to the office awhile, and then abroad to the Excize-Office, where I met Mr. Ball, and did receive the paper I went for; and there fell in talk with him, who, being an old cavalier, do swear and curse at the present state of things, that we should be brought to this, that we must be undone and cannot be saved; that the Parliament is sitting now, and will till midnight, to find how to raise this L300,000, and he doubts they will not do it so as to be seasonable for the King: but do cry out against our great men at Court; how it is a fine thing for a Secretary of State to dance a jigg, and that it was not so heretofore; and, above all, do curse my Lord of Bristoll, saying the worst news that ever he heard in his life, or that the Devil could ever bring us, was this Lord's coming to prayers the other day in the House of Lords, by which he is coming about again from being a Papist, which will undo this nation; and he says he ever did say, at the King's first coming in, that this nation could not be safe while that man was alive. Having done there, I away towards Westminster, but seeing by the coaches the House to be up, I stopped at the 'Change (where, I met Mrs. Turner, and did give her a pair of gloves), and there bought several things for my wife, and so to my bookseller's, and there looked for Montaigne's Essays, [This must have been Florio's translation, as Cotton's was not published until 1685.] which I heard by my Lord Arlington and Lord Blaney so much commended, and intend to buy it, but did not now, but home, where at the office did some business, as much as my eyes would give leave, and so home to supper, Mercer with us talking and singing, and so to bed. The House, I hear, have this day concluded upon raising L100,000 of the L300,000 by wine, and the rest by a poll-[tax], and have resolved to excuse the Church, in expectation that they will do the more of themselves at this juncture; and I do hear that Sir W. Coventry did make a speech in behalf of the Clergy. 18th. Up betimes to Westminster, where met with cozen Roger and Creed and walked with them, and Roger do still continue of the mind that there is no other way of saving this nation but by dissolving this Parliament and calling another; but there are so many about the King that will not be able to stand, if a new Parliament come, that they will not persuade the King to it. I spent most of the morning walking with one or other, and anon met Doll Lane at the Dog tavern, and there je did hater what I did desire with her . . . and I did give her as being my valentine 20s. to buy what elle would. Thence away by coach to my bookseller's, and to several places to pay my debts, and to Ducke Lane, and there bought Montaigne's Essays, in English, and so away home to dinner, and after dinner with W. Pen to White Hall, where we and my Lord Brouncker attended the Council, to discourse about the fitness of entering of men presently for the manning of the fleete, before one ship is in condition to receive them. W. Coventry did argue against it: I was wholly silent, because I saw the King, upon the earnestness of the Prince, was willing to it, crying very sillily, "If ever you intend to man the fleete, without being cheated by the captains and pursers, you may go to bed, and resolve never to have it manned;" and so it was, like other things, over-ruled that all volunteers should be presently entered. Then there was another great business about our signing of certificates to the Exchequer for [prize] goods, upon the L1,20,000 Act, which the Commissioners of the Treasury did all oppose, and to the laying fault upon us. But I did then speak to the justifying what we had done, even to the angering of Duncomb and Clifford, which I was vexed at: but, for all that, I did set the Office and myself right, and went away with the victory, my Lord Keeper saying that he would not advise the Council to order us to sign no more certificates. But, before I began to say anything in this matter, the King and the Duke of York talking at the Council-table, before all the Lords, of the Committee of Miscarriages, how this entering of men before the ships could be ready would be reckoned a miscarriage; "Why," says the King, "it is then but Mr. Pepys making of another speech to them;" which made all the Lords, and there were by also the Atturny and Sollicitor-Generall, look upon me. Thence Sir W. Coventry, W. Pen and I, by hackney-coach to take a little ayre in Hyde Parke, the first time I have been there this year; and we did meet many coaches going and coming, it being mighty pleasant weather; and so, coming back again, I 'light in the Pell Mell; and there went to see Sir H. Cholmly, who continues very ill of his cold. And there come in Sir H. Yelverton, whom Sir H. Cholmly commended me to his acquaintance, which the other received, but without remembering to me, or I him, of our being school-fellows together; and I said nothing of it. But he took notice of my speech the other day at the bar of the House; and indeed I perceive he is a wise man by his manner of discourse, and here he do say that the town is full of it, that now the Parliament hath resolved upon L300,000, the King, instead of fifty, will set out but twenty-five ships, and the Dutch as many; and that Smith is to command them, who is allowed to have the better of Holmes in the late dispute, and is in good esteem in the Parliament, above the other. Thence home, and there, in favour to my eyes, stayed at home, reading the ridiculous History of my Lord Newcastle, wrote by his wife, which shews her to be a mad, conceited, ridiculous woman, and he an asse to suffer her to write what she writes to him, and of him. ["The Life of the thrice noble, high, and puissant Prince, William Cavendish, Duke . . . of Newcastle," by his duchess, of which the first edition, in folio, was published in 1667.] Betty Turner sent my wife the book to read, and it being a fair print, to ease my eyes, which would be reading, I read that. Anon comes Mrs. Turner and sat and talked with us, and most about the business of Ackworth, [William Acworth, storekeeper at Woolwich, was accused of converting stores to his own use (see "Calendar of State Papers," 1667-68, p. 279).] which comes before us to-morrow, that I would favour it, but I do not think, notwithstanding all the friendship I can shew him, that he can escape, and therefore it had been better that he had followed the advice I sent him the other day by Mrs. Turner, to make up the business. So parted, and I to bed, my eyes being very bad; and I know not how in the world to abstain from reading. 19th. Up, and betimes to the Old Swan, and by water to White Hall, and thence to W. Coventry's, where stayed but a little to talk with him, and thence by water back again, it being a mighty fine, clear spring morning. Back to the Old Swan, and drank at Michell's, whose house goes up apace, but I could not see Betty, and thence walked all along Thames Street, which I have not done since it was burned, as far as Billingsgate; and there do see a brave street likely to be, many brave houses being built, and of them a great many by Mr. Jaggard; but the raising of the street will make it mighty fine. So to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence to the office, very busy till five o'clock, and then to ease my eyes I took my wife out and Deb. to the 'Change, and there bought them some things, and so home again and to the office, ended my letters, and so home to read a little more in last night's book, with much sport, it being a foolish book, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon I was surprized with a letter without a name to it, very well writ, in a good stile, giving me notice of my cozen Kate Joyce's being likely to ruin herself by marriage, and by ill reports already abroad of her, and I do fear that this keeping of an inne may spoil her, being a young and pretty comely woman, and thought to be left well. I did answer the letter with thanks and good liking, and am resolved to take the advice he gives me, and go see her, and find out what I can: but if she will ruin herself, I cannot help it, though I should be troubled for it. 20th. Up betimes, and to my Office, where we had a meeting extraordinary to consider of several things, among others the sum of money fit to be demanded ready money, to enable us to set out 27 ships, every body being now in pain for a fleete, and everybody endeavouring to excuse themselves for the not setting out of one, and our true excuse is lack of money. At it all the morning, and so at noon home to dinner with my clerks, my wife and Deb. being busy at work above in her chamber getting things ready and fine for her going into the country a week or two hence. I away by coach to White Hall, where we met to wait on the Duke of York, and, soon as prayers were done, it being Good Friday, he come to us, and we did a little business and presented him with our demand of money, and so broke up, and I thence by coach to Kate Joyce's, being desirous and in pain to speak with her about the business that I received a letter yesterday, but had no opportunity of speaking with her about it, company being with her, so I only invited her to come and dine with me on Sunday next, and so away home, and for saving my eyes at my chamber all the evening pricking down some things, and trying some conclusions upon my viall, in order to the inventing a better theory of musique than hath yet been abroad; and I think verily I shall do it. So to supper with my wife, who is in very good humour with her working, and so am I, and so to bed. This day at Court I do hear that Sir W. Pen do command this summer's fleete; and Mr. Progers of the Bedchamber, as a secret, told me that the Prince Rupert is troubled at it, and several friends of his have been with him to know the reason of it; so that he do pity Sir W. Pen, whom he hath great kindness for, that he should not at any desire of his be put to this service, and thereby make the Prince his enemy, and contract more envy from other people. But I am not a whit sorry if it should be so, first for the King's sake, that his work will be better done by Sir W. Pen than the Prince, and next that Pen, who is a false rogue, may be bit a little by it. 21st. Up betimes to the office, and there we sat all the morning, at noon home with my clerks, a good dinner, and then to the Office, and wrote my letters, and then abroad to do several things, and pay what little scores I had, and among others to Mrs. Martin's, and there did give 20s. to Mrs. Cragg, her landlady, who was my Valentine in the house, as well as Doll Lane . . . . So home and to the office, there to end my letters, and so home, where Betty Turner was to see my wife, and she being gone I to my chamber to read a little again, and then after supper to bed. 22nd (Easter day). I up, and walked to the Temple, and there got a coach, and to White Hall, where spoke with several people, and find by all that Pen is to go to sea this year with this fleete; and they excuse the Prince's going, by saying it is not a command great enough for him. Here I met with Brisband, and, after hearing the service at the King's chapel, where I heard the Bishop of Norwich, Dr. Reynolds, the old presbyterian, begin a very plain sermon, he and I to the Queen's chapel, and there did hear the Italians sing; and indeed their musick did appear most admirable to me, beyond anything of ours: I was never so well satisfied in my life with it. So back to White Hall, and there met Mr. Pierce, and adjusted together how we should spend to-morrow together, and so by coach I home to dinner, where Kate Joyce was, as I invited her, and had a good dinner, only she and us; and after dinner she and I alone to talk about her business, as I designed; and I find her very discreet, and she assures me she neither do nor will incline to the doing anything towards marriage, without my advice, and did tell me that she had many offers, and that Harman and his friends would fain have her; but he is poor, and hath poor friends, and so it will not be advisable: but that there is another, a tobacconist, one Holinshed, whom she speaks well of, to be a plain, sober man, and in good condition, that offers her very well, and submits to me my examining and inquiring after it, if I see good, which I do like of it, for it will be best for her to marry, I think, as soon as she can--at least, to be rid of this house; for the trade will not agree with a young widow, that is a little handsome, at least ordinary people think her so. Being well satisfied with her answer, she anon went away, and I to my closet to make a few more experiments of my notions in musique, and so then my wife and I to walk in the garden, and then home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and after discoursing with my wife about many things touching this day's dinner, I abroad, and first to the taverne to pay what I owe there, but missed of seeing the mistress of the house, and there bespoke wine for dinner, and so away thence, and to Bishopsgate Streete, thinking to have found a Harpsicon-maker that used to live there before the fire, but he is gone, and I have a mind forthwith to have a little Harpsicon made me to confirm and help me in my musique notions, which my head is now-a-days full of, and I do believe will come to something that is very good. Thence to White Hall, expecting to have heard the Bishop of Lincolne, my friend, preach, for so I understood he would do yesterday, but was mistaken, and therefore away presently back again, and there find everything in good order against dinner, and at noon come Mr. Pierce and she, and Mrs. Manuel, the Jew's wife, and Mrs. Corbet, and Mrs. Pierces boy and girl. But we are defeated of Knepp, by her being forced to act to-day, and also of Harris, which did trouble me, they being my chief guests. However, I had an extraordinary good dinner, and the better because dressed by my own servants, and were mighty merry; and here was Mr. Pelling by chance come and dined with me; and after sitting long at dinner, I had a barge ready at Tower-wharfe, to take us in, and so we went, all of us, up as high as Barne-Elms, a very fine day, and all the way sang; and Mrs. Manuel sings very finely, and is a mighty discreet, sober-carriaged woman, that both my wife and I are mightily taken with her, and sings well, and without importunity or the contrary. At Barne-Elms we walked round, and then to the barge again, and had much merry talk, and good singing; and come before it was dark to the New Exchange stairs, and there landed, and walked up to Mrs. Pierces, where we sat awhile, and then up to their dining-room. And so, having a violin and theorbo, did fall to dance, here being also Mrs. Floyd come hither, and by and by Mr. Harris. But there being so few of us that could dance, and my wife not being very well, we had not much pleasure in the dancing: there was Knepp also, by which with much pleasure we did sing a little, and so, about ten o'clock, I took coach with my wife and Deb., and so home, and there to bed. 24th. Up pretty betimes, and so there comes to me Mr. Shish, to desire my appearing for him to succeed Mr. Christopher Pett, lately dead, in his place of Master-Shipwright of Deptford and Woolwich, which I do resolve to promote what I can. So by and by to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York's chamber, where I understand it is already resolved by the King and Duke of York that Shish shall have the place. From the Duke's chamber Sir W. Coventry and I to walk in the Matted Gallery; and there, among other things, he tells me of the wicked design that now is at last contriving against him, to get a petition presented from people that the money they have paid to W. Coventry for their places may be repaid them back; and that this is set on by Temple and Hollis of the Parliament, and, among other mean people in it, by Captain Tatnell: and he prays me that I will use some effectual way to sift Tatnell what he do, and who puts him on in this business, which I do undertake, and will do with all my skill for his service, being troubled that he is still under this difficulty. Thence up and down Westminster by Mrs. Burroughes her mother's shop, thinking to have seen her, but could not, and therefore back to White Hall, where great talk of the tumult at the other end of the town, about Moore-fields, among the 'prentices, taking the liberty of these holydays to pull down bawdy-houses. [It was customary for the apprentices of the metropolis to avail themselves of their holidays, especially on Shrove Tuesday, to search after women of ill fame, and to confine them during the season of Lent. See a "Satyre against Separatists," 1642. "Stand forth, Shrove Tuesday, one a' the silenc'st bricklayers; 'Tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses." Middleton's Inner Temple Masque, 1619, Works, ed. Bullen, vii., 209.] And, Lord! to see the apprehensions which this did give to all people at Court, that presently order was given for all the soldiers, horse and foot, to be in armes! and forthwith alarmes were beat by drum and trumpet through Westminster, and all to their colours, and to horse, as if the French were coming into the town! So Creed, whom I met here, and I to Lincolne's Inn-fields, thinking to have gone into the fields to have seen the 'prentices; but here we found these fields full of soldiers all in a body, and my Lord Craven commanding of them, and riding up and down to give orders, like a madman. And some young men we saw brought by soldiers to the Guard at White Hall, and overheard others that stood by say, that it was only for pulling down the bawdy-houses; and none of the bystanders finding fault with them, but rather of the soldiers for hindering them. And we heard a justice of the Peace this morning say to the King, that he had been endeavouring to suppress this tumult, but could not; and that, imprisoning some [of them] in the new prison at Clerkenwell, the rest did come and break open the prison and release them; and that they do give out that they are for pulling down the bawdy-houses, which is one of the greatest grievances of the nation. To which the King made a very poor, cold, insipid answer: "Why, why do they go to them, then?" and that was all, and had no mind to go on with the discourse. Mr. Creed and I to dinner to my Lord Crew, where little discourse, there being none but us at the table, and my Lord and my Lady Jemimah, and so after dinner away, Creed and I to White Hall, expecting a Committee of Tangier, but come too late. So I to attend the Council, and by and by were called in with Lord Brouncker and Sir W. Pen to advise how to pay away a little money to most advantage to the men of the yards, to make them dispatch the ships going out, and there did make a little speech, which was well liked, and after all it was found most satisfactory to the men, and best for the king's dispatch, that what money we had should be paid weekly to the men for their week's work until a greater sum could be got to pay them their arrears and then discharge them. But, Lord! to see what shifts and what cares and thoughts there was employed in this matter how to do the King's work and please the men and stop clamours would make a man think the King should not eat a bit of good meat till he has got money to pay the men, but I do not see the least print of care or thoughts in him about it at all. Having done here, I out and there met Sir Fr. Hollis, who do still tell me that, above all things in the world, he wishes he had my tongue in his mouth, meaning since my speech in Parliament. He took Lord Brouncker and me down to the guards, he and his company being upon the guards to-day; and there he did, in a handsome room to that purpose, make us drink, and did call for his bagpipes, which, with pipes of ebony, tipt with silver, he did play beyond anything of that kind that ever I heard in my life; and with great pains he must have obtained it, but with pains that the instrument do not deserve at all; for, at the best, it is mighty barbarous musick. So home and there to my chamber, to prick out my song, "It is Decreed," intending to have it ready to give Mr. Harris on Thursday, when we meet, for him to sing, believing that he will do it more right than a woman that sings better, unless it were Knepp, which I cannot have opportunity to teach it to. This evening I come home from White Hall with Sir W. Pen, who fell in talk about his going to sea this year, and the difficulties that arise to him by it, by giving offence to the Prince, and occasioning envy to him, and many other things that make it a bad matter, at this time of want of money and necessaries, and bad and uneven counsels at home,--for him to go abroad: and did tell me how much with the King and Duke of York he had endeavoured to be excused, desiring the Prince might be satisfied in it, who hath a mind to go; but he tells me they will not excuse him, and I believe it, and truly do judge it a piece of bad fortune to W. Pen. 25th. Up, and walked to White Hall, there to wait on the Duke of York, which I did: and in his chamber there, first by hearing the Duke of York call me by my name, my Lord Burlington did come to me, and with great respect take notice of me and my relation to my Lord Sandwich, and express great kindness to me; and so to talk of my Lord Sandwich's concernments. By and by the Duke of York is ready; and I did wait for an opportunity of speaking my mind to him about Sir J. Minnes, his being unable to do the King any service, which I think do become me to do in all respects, and have Sir W. Coventry's concurrence therein, which I therefore will seek a speedy opportunity to do, come what will come of it. The Duke of York and all with him this morning were full of the talk of the 'prentices, who are not yet [put] down, though the guards and militia of the town have been in armes all this night, and the night before; and the 'prentices have made fools of them, sometimes by running from them and flinging stones at them. Some blood hath been spilt, but a great many houses pulled down; and, among others, the Duke of York was mighty merry at that of Damaris Page's, the great bawd of the seamen; and the Duke of York complained merrily that he hath lost two tenants, by their houses being pulled down, who paid him for their wine licenses L15 a year. But here it was said how these idle fellows have had the confidence to say that they did ill in contenting themselves in pulling down the little bawdyhouses, and did not go and pull down the great bawdy-house at White Hall. And some of them have the last night had a word among them, and it was "Reformation and Reducement." This do make the courtiers ill at ease to see this spirit among people, though they think this matter will not come to much: but it speaks people's minds; and then they do say that there are men of understanding among them, that have been of Cromwell's army: but how true that is, I know not. Thence walked a little to Westminster, but met with nobody to spend any time with, and so by coach homeward, and in Seething Lane met young Mrs. Daniel, and I stopt, and she had been at my house, but found nobody within, and tells me that she drew me for her Valentine this year, so I took her into the coach, and was going to the other end of the town, thinking to have taken her abroad, but remembering that I was to go out with my wife this afternoon, . . . and so to a milliner at the corner shop going into Bishopsgate and Leadenhall Street, and there did give her eight pair of gloves, and so dismissed her, and so I home and to dinner, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse to see "The Storme," which we did, but without much pleasure, it being but a mean play compared with "The Tempest," at the Duke of York's house, though Knepp did act her part of grief very well. Thence with my wife and Deb. by coach to Islington, to the old house, and there eat and drank till it was almost night, and then home, being in fear of meeting the 'prentices, who are many of them yet, they say, abroad in the fields, but we got well home, and so I to my chamber a while, and then to supper and to bed. 26th. Up betimes to the office, where by and by my Lord Brouncker and I met and made an end of our business betimes. So I away with him to Mrs. Williams's, and there dined, and thence I alone to the Duke of York's house, to see the new play, called "The Man is the Master," where the house was, it being not above one o'clock, very full. But my wife and Deb. being there before, with Mrs. Pierce and Corbet and Betty Turner, whom my wife carried with her, they made me room; and there I sat, it costing me 8s. upon them in oranges, at 6d. a-piece. By and by the King come; and we sat just under him, so that I durst not turn my back all the play. The play is a translation out of French, and the plot Spanish, but not anything extraordinary at all in it, though translated by Sir W. Davenant, and so I found the King and his company did think meanly of it, though there was here and there something pretty: but the most of the mirth was sorry, poor stuffe, of eating of sack posset and slabbering themselves, and mirth fit for clownes; the prologue but poor, and the epilogue little in it but the extraordinariness of it, it being sung by Harris and another in the form of a ballet. Thence, by agreement, we all of us to the Blue Balls, hard by, whither Mr. Pierce also goes with us, who met us at the play, and anon comes Manuel, and his wife, and Knepp, and Harris, who brings with him Mr. Banister, the great master of musique; and after much difficulty in getting of musique, we to dancing, and then to a supper of some French dishes, which yet did not please me, and then to dance and sing; and mighty merry we were till about eleven or twelve at night, with mighty great content in all my company, and I did, as I love to do, enjoy myself in my pleasure as being the height of what we take pains for and can hope for in this world, and therefore to be enjoyed while we are young and capable of these joys. My wife extraordinary fine to-day, in her flower tabby suit, bought a year and more ago, before my mother's death put her into mourning, and so not worn till this day: and every body in love with it; and indeed she is very fine and handsome in it. I having paid the reckoning, which come to almost L4., we parted: my company and William Batelier, who was also with us, home in a coach, round by the Wall, where we met so many stops by the Watches, that it cost us much time and some trouble, and more money, to every Watch, to them to drink; this being encreased by the trouble the 'prentices did lately give the City, so that the Militia and Watches are very strict at this time; and we had like to have met with a stop for all night at the Constable's watch, at Mooregate, by a pragmatical Constable; but we come well home at about two in the morning, and so to bed. This noon, from Mrs. Williams's, my Lord Brouncker sent to Somersett House to hear how the Duchess of Richmond do; and word was brought him that she is pretty well, but mighty full of the smallpox, by which all do conclude she will be wholly spoiled, which is the greatest instance of the uncertainty of beauty that could be in this age; but then she hath had the benefit of it to be first married, and to have kept it so long, under the greatest temptations in the world from a King, and yet without the least imputation. This afternoon, at the play, Sir Fr. Hollis spoke to me as a secret, and matter of confidence in me, and friendship to Sir W. Pen, who is now out of town, that it were well he were made acquainted that he finds in the House of Commons, which met this day, several motions made for the calling strictly again upon the Miscarriages, and particularly in the business of the Prises, and the not prosecuting of the first victory, only to give an affront to Sir W. Pen, whose going to sea this year do give them matter of great dislike. So though I do not much trouble myself for him, yet I am sorry that he should have this fall so unhappily without any fault, but rather merit of his own that made him fitter for this command than any body else, and the more for that this business of his may haply occasion their more eager pursuit against the whole body of the office. 27th. Up, and walked to the waterside, and thence to White Hall to the Duke of York's chamber, where he being ready he went to a Committee of Tangier, where I first understand that my Lord Sandwich is, in his coming back from Spayne, to step over thither, to see in what condition the place is, which I am glad of, hoping that he will be able to do some good there, for the good of the place, which is so much out of order. Thence to walk a little in Westminster Hall, where the Parliament I find sitting, but spoke with nobody to let me know what they are doing, nor did I enquire. Thence to the Swan and drank, and did baiser Frank, and so down by water back again, and to the Exchange a turn or two, only to show myself, and then home to dinner, where my wife and I had a small squabble, but I first this day tried the effect of my silence and not provoking her when she is in an ill humour, and do find it very good, for it prevents its coming to that height on both sides which used to exceed what was fit between us. So she become calm by and by and fond, and so took coach, and she to the mercer's to buy some lace, while I to White Hall, but did nothing, but then to Westminster Hall and took a turn, and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did sit a little and talk and drink, and did hazer con her, and so took coach and called my wife at Unthanke's, and so up and down to the Nursery, where they did not act, then to the New Cockpit, and there missed, and then to Hide Parke, where many coaches, but the dust so great, that it was troublesome, and so by night home, where to my chamber and finished my pricking out of my song for Mr. Harris ("It is decreed"), and so a little supper, being very sleepy and weary since last night, and so by to o'clock to bed and slept well all night. This day, at noon, comes Mr. Pelling to me, and shews me the stone cut lately out of Sir Thomas Adams' (the old comely Alderman's) body, which is very large indeed, bigger I think than my fist, and weighs above twenty-five ounces and, which is very miraculous, he never in all his life had any fit of it, but lived to a great age without pain, and died at last of something else, without any sense of this in all his life. This day Creed at White Hall in discourse told me what information he hath had, from very good hands, of the cowardice and ill-government of Sir Jer. Smith and Sir Thomas Allen, and the repute they have both of them abroad in the Streights, from their deportment when they did at several times command there; and that, above all Englishmen that ever were there, there never was any man that behaved himself like poor Charles Wager, whom the very Moores do mention, with teares sometimes. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and at noon home to dinner with my clerks; and though my head full of business, yet I had a desire to end this holyday week with a play; and so, with my wife and Deb., to the King's house, and there saw "The Indian Emperour," a very good play indeed, and thence directly home, and to my writing of my letters, and so home to supper and to bed for fearing my eyes. Our greatest business at the office to-day is our want of money for the setting forth of these ships that are to go out, and my people at dinner tell me that they do verily doubt that the want of men will be so great, as we must press; and if we press, there will be mutinies in the town; for the seamen are said already to have threatened the pulling down of the Treasury Office; and if they do once come to that, it will not be long before they come to ours. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and I to Church, where I have not been these many weeks before, and there did first find a strange Reader, who could not find in the Service-book the place for churching women, but was fain to change books with the clerke: and then a stranger preached, a seeming able man; but said in his pulpit that God did a greater work in raising of an oake-tree from an akehorne, than a man's body raising it, at the last day, from his dust (shewing the possibility of the Resurrection): which was, methought, a strange saying. At home to dinner, whither comes and dines with me W. Howe, and by invitation Mr. Harris and Mr. Banister, most extraordinary company both, the latter for musique of all sorts, the former for everything: here we sang, and Banister played on the theorbo, and afterwards Banister played on his flageolet, and I had very good discourse with him about musique, so confirming some of my new notions about musique that it puts me upon a resolution to go on and make a scheme and theory of musique not yet ever made in the world. Harris do so commend my wife's picture of Mr. Hales's, that I shall have him draw Harris's head; and he hath also persuaded me to have Cooper draw my wife's, which, though it cost L30, yet I will have done. Thus spent the afternoon most deliciously, and then broke up and walked with them as far as the Temple, and there parted, and I took coach to Westminster, but there did nothing, meeting nobody that I had a mind to speak with, and so home, and there find Mr. Pelling, and then also comes Mrs. Turner, and supped and talked with us, and so to bed. I do hear by several that Sir W. Pen's going to sea do dislike the Parliament mightily, and that they have revived the Committee of Miscarriages to find something to prevent it; and that he being the other day with the Duke of Albemarle to ask his opinion touching his going to sea, the Duchess overheard and come in to him, and asks W. Pen how he durst have the confidence to offer to go to sea again, to the endangering the nation, when he knew himself such a coward as he was, which, if true, is very severe. 30th. Up betimes, and so to the office, there to do business till about to o'clock, and then out with my wife and Deb. and W. Hewer by coach to Common-garden Coffee-house, where by appointment I was to meet Harris; which I did, and also Mr. Cooper, the great painter, and Mr. Hales: and thence presently to Mr. Cooper's house, to see some of his work, which is all in little, but so excellent as, though I must confess I do think the colouring of the flesh to be a little forced, yet the painting is so extraordinary, as I do never expect to see the like again. Here I did see Mrs. Stewart's picture as when a young maid, and now just done before her having the smallpox: and it would make a man weep to see what she was then, and what she is like to be, by people's discourse, now. Here I saw my Lord Generall's picture, and my Lord Arlington and Ashly's, and several others; but among the rest one Swinfen, that was Secretary to my Lord Manchester, Lord Chamberlain, with Cooling, done so admirably as I never saw any thing: but the misery was, this fellow died in debt, and never paid Cooper for his picture; but, it being seized on by his creditors, among his other goods, after his death, Cooper himself says that he did buy it, and give L25 out of his purse for it, for what he was to have had but L30. Being infinitely satisfied with this sight, and resolving that my wife shall be drawn by him when she comes out of the country, I away with Harris and Hales to the Coffee-house, sending my people away, and there resolve for Hales to begin Harris's head for me, which I will be at the cost of. After a little talk, I away to White Hall and Westminster, where I find the Parliament still bogling about the raising of this money: and every body's mouth full now; and Mr. Wren himself tells me that the Duke of York declares to go to sea himself this year; and I perceive it is only on this occasion of distaste of the Parliament against W. Pen's going, and to prevent the Prince's: but I think it is mighty hot counsel for the Duke of York at this time to go out of the way; but, Lord! what a pass are all our matters come to! At noon by appointment to Cursitor's Alley, in Chancery Lane, to meet Captain Cocke and some other creditors of the Navy, and their Counsel, Pemberton, North, Offly, and Charles Porter; and there dined, and talked of the business of the assignments on the Exchequer of the L1,250,000 on behalf of our creditors; and there I do perceive that the Counsel had heard of my performance in the Parliamenthouse lately, and did value me and what I said accordingly. At dinner we had a great deal of good discourse about Parliament: their number being uncertain, and always at the will of the King to encrease, as he saw reason to erect a new borough. But all concluded that the bane of the Parliament hath been the leaving off the old custom of the places allowing wages to those that served them in Parliament, by which they chose men that understood their business and would attend it, and they could expect an account from, which now they cannot; and so the Parliament is become a company of men unable to give account for the interest of the place they serve for. Thence, the meeting of the Counsel with the King's Counsel this afternoon being put off by reason of the death of Serjeant Maynard's lady, I to White Hall, where the Parliament was to wait on the King; and they did: and it was to be told that he did think fit to tell them that they might expect to be adjourned at Whitsuntide, and that they might make haste to raise their money; but this, I fear, will displease them, who did expect to sit as long as they pleased, and whether this be done by the King upon some new counsel I know not, for the King must be beholding to them till they do settle this business of money. Great talk to-day as if Beaufort was come into the Channel with about 20 ships, and it makes people apprehensive, but yet the Parliament do not stir a bit faster in the business of money. Here I met with Creed, expecting a Committee of Tangier, but the Committee met not, so he and I up and down, having nothing to do, and particularly to the New Cockpit by the King's Gate in Holborne, but seeing a great deal of rabble we did refuse to go in, but took coach and to Hide Park, and there till all the tour was empty, and so he and I to the Lodge in the Park, and there eat and drank till it was night, and then carried him to White Hall, having had abundance of excellent talk with him in reproach of the times and managements we live under, and so I home, and there to talk and to supper with my wife, and so to bed. 31st. Up pretty betimes and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I home to dinner, where uncle Thomas dined with me, as he do every quarter, and I paid him his pension; and also comes Mr. Hollier a little fuddled, and so did talk nothing but Latin, and laugh, that it was very good sport to see a sober man in such a humour, though he was not drunk to scandal. At dinner comes a summons for this office and the Victualler to attend a Committee of Parliament this afternoon, with Sir D. Gawden, which I accordingly did, with my papers relating to the sending of victuals to Sir John Harman's fleete; and there, Sir R. Brookes in the chair, we did give them a full account, but, Lord! to see how full they are and immoveable in their jealousy that some means are used to keep Harman from coming home, for they have an implacable desire to know the bottom of the not improving the first victory, and would lay it upon Brouncker. Having given them good satisfaction I away thence, up and down, wanting a little to see whether I could get Mrs. Burroughes out, but elle being in the shop ego did speak con her much, she could not then go far, and so I took coach and away to Unthanke's, and there took up my wife and Deb., and to the Park, where, being in a hackney, and they undressed, was ashamed to go into the tour, but went round the park, and so with pleasure home, where Mr. Pelting come and sat and talked late with us, and he being gone, I called Deb. to take pen, ink, and paper and write down what things come into my head for my wife to do in order to her going into the country, and the girl, writing not so well as she would do, cried, and her mistress construed it to be sullenness, and so away angry with her too, but going to bed she undressed me, and there I did give her good advice and baiser la, elle weeping still. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Act against Nonconformists and Papists Bookseller's, and there looked for Montaigne's Essays Bought Montaigne's Essays, in English But if she will ruin herself, I cannot help it Endangering the nation, when he knew himself such a coward I know not how in the world to abstain from reading Inventing a better theory of musique King, "it is then but Mr. Pepys making of another speech to them" Never saw so many sit four hours together to hear any man Not eat a bit of good meat till he has got money to pay the men Slabbering themselves, and mirth fit for clownes To be enjoyed while we are young and capable of these joys Tried the effect of my silence and not provoking her Trouble, and more money, to every Watch, to them to drink Uncertainty of beauty Without importunity or the contrary 
4188	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL 1668 April 1st. Up, and to dress myself, and call as I use Deb. to brush and dress me . . . , and I to my office, where busy till noon, and then out to bespeak some things against my wife's going into the country to-morrow, and so home to dinner, my wife and I alone, she being mighty busy getting her things ready for her journey, I all the afternoon with her looking after things on the same account, and then in the afternoon out and all alone to the King's house, and there sat in an upper box, to hide myself, and saw "The Black Prince," a very good play; but only the fancy, most of it, the same as in the rest of my Lord Orrery's plays; but the dance very stately; but it was pretty to see how coming after dinner and with no company with me to talk to, and at a play that I had seen, and went to now not for curiosity but only idleness, I did fall asleep the former part of the play, but afterward did mind it and like it very well. Thence called at my bookseller's, and took Mr. Boyle's Book of Formes, newly reprinted, and sent my brother my old one. So home, and there to my chamber till anon comes Mr. Turner and his wife and daughter, and Pelting, to sup with us and talk of my wife's journey to-morrow, her daughter going with my wife; and after supper to talk with her husband about the Office, and his place, which, by Sir J. Minnes's age and inability, is very uncomfortable to him, as well as without profit, or certainty what he shall do, when Sir J. Minnes dies, which is a sad condition for a man that hath lived so long in the Office as Mr. Turner hath done. But he aymes, and I advise him to it, to look for Mr. Ackworth's place, in case he should be removed. His wife afterwards did take me into my closet, and give me a cellar [A box to hold bottles. "Run for the cellar of strong waters quickly" --Ben Jonson, Magnetic Lady, act iii., sc. r.] of waters of her own distilling for my father, to be carried down with my wife and her daughter to-morrow, which was very handsome. So broke up and to bed. 2nd. Up, after much pleasant talk with my wife, and upon some alterations I will make in my house in her absence, and I do intend to lay out some money thereon. So she and I up, and she got her ready to be gone, and by and by comes Betty Turner and her mother, and W. Batelier, and they and Deb., to whom I did give 10s. this morning, to oblige her to please her mistress (and ego did baiser her mouche), and also Jane, and so in two coaches set out about eight o'clock towards the carrier, there for to take coach for my father's, that is to say, my wife and Betty Turner, Deb., and Jane; but I meeting my Lord Anglesey going to the Office, was forced to 'light in Cheapside, and there took my leave of them (not baisado Deb., which je had a great mind to), left them to go to their coach, and I to the office, where all the morning busy, and so at noon with my other clerks (W. Hewer being a day's journey with my wife) to dinner, where Mr. Pierce come and dined with me, and then with Lord Brouncker (carrying his little kinswoman on my knee, his coach being full), to the Temple, where my Lord and I 'light and to Mr. Porter's chamber, where Cocke and his counsel, and so to the attorney's, whither the Sollicitor-Generall come, and there, their cause about their assignments on the L1,250,000 Act was argued, where all that was to be said for them was said, and so answered by the Sollicitor-Generall beyond what I expected, that I said not one word all my time, rather choosing to hold my tongue, and so mind my reputation with the Sollicitor-Generall, who did mightily approve of my speech in Parliament, than say anything against him to no purpose. This I believe did trouble Cocke and these gentlemen, but I do think this best for me, and so I do think that the business will go against them, though it is against my judgment, and I am sure against all justice to the men to be invited to part with their goods and be deceived afterward of their security for payment. Thence with Lord Brouncker to the Royall Society, where they were just done; but there I was forced to subscribe to the building of a College, and did give L40; and several others did subscribe, some greater and some less sums; but several I saw hang off: and I doubt it will spoil the Society, for it breeds faction and ill-will, and becomes burdensome to some that cannot, or would not, do it. Here, to my great content, I did try the use of the Otacousticon,--[Ear trumpet.]--which was only a great glass bottle broke at the bottom, putting the neck to my eare, and there I did plainly hear the dashing of the oares of the boats in the Thames to Arundell gallery window, which, without it, I could not in the least do, and may, I believe, be improved to a great height, which I am mighty glad of. Thence with Lord Brouncker and several of them to the King's Head Taverne by Chancery Lane, and there did drink and eat and talk, and, above the rest, I did hear of Mr. Hooke and my Lord an account of the reason of concords and discords in musique, which they say is from the equality of vibrations; but I am not satisfied in it, but will at my leisure think of it more, and see how far that do go to explain it. So late at night home with Mr. Colwell, and parted, and I to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen to confer with him, and Sir R. Ford and Young, about our St. John Baptist prize, and so home, without more supper to bed, my family being now little by the departure of my wife and two maids. 3rd. Up, and Captain Perryman come to me to tell me how Tatnell told him that this day one How is to charge me before the Commissioners of Prizes to the value of L8000 in prizes, which I was troubled to hear, so fearful I am, though I know that there is not a penny to be laid to my charge that I dare not own, or that I have not owned under my hand, but upon recollection it signifies nothing to me, and so I value it not, being sure that I can have nothing in the world to my hurt known from the business. So to the office, where all the morning to despatch business, and so home to dinner with my clerks, whose company is of great pleasure to me for their good discourse in any thing of the navy I have a mind to talk of. After dinner by water from the Tower to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York as usual, and particularly in a fresh complaint the Commissioners of the Treasury do make to him, and by and by to the Council this day of our having prepared certificates on the Exchequer to the further sum of near L50,000, and soon as we had done with the Duke of York we did attend the Council; and were there called in, and did hear Mr. Sollicitor [General] make his Report to the Council in the business; which he did in a most excellent manner of words, but most cruelly severe against us, and so were some of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, as men guilty of a practice with the tradesmen, to the King's prejudice. I was unwilling to enter into a contest with them; but took advantage of two or three words last spoke, and brought it to a short issue in good words, that if we had the King's order to hold our hands, we would, which did end the matter: and they all resolved we should have it, and so it ended: and so we away; I vexed that I did not speak more in a cause so fit to be spoke in, and wherein we had so much advantage; but perhaps I might have provoked the Sollicitor and the Commissioners of the Treasury, and therefore, since, I am not sorry that I forbore. Thence my Lord Brouncker and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw the latter part of "The Master and the Man," and thence by coach to Duck Lane, to look out for Marsanne, in French, a man that has wrote well of musique, but it is not to be had, but I have given order for its being sent for over, and I did here buy Des Cartes his little treatise of musique, and so home, and there to read a little, and eat a little, though I find that my having so little taste do make me so far neglect eating that, unless company invite, I do not love to spend time upon eating, and so bring emptiness and the Cholique. So to bed. This day I hear that Prince Rupert and Holmes do go to sea: and by this there is a seeming friendship and peace among our great seamen; but the devil a bit is there any love among them, or can be. 4th. Up betimes, and by coach towards White Hall, and took Aldgate Street in my way, and there called upon one Hayward, that makes virginalls, and did there like of a little espinette, and will have him finish it for me; for I had a mind to a small harpsichon, but this takes up less room, and will do my business as to finding out of chords, and I am very well pleased that I have found it. Thence to White Hall, and after long waiting did get a small running Committee of Tangier, where I staid but little, and little done but the correcting two or three egregious faults in the Charter for Tangier after it had so long lain before the Council and been passed there and drawn up by the Atturney Generall, so slightly are all things in this age done. Thence home to the office by water, where we sat till noon, and then I moved we might go to the Duke of York and the King presently to get out their order in writing that was ordered us yesterday about the business of certificates, that we might be secure against the tradesmen who (Sir John Banks by name) have told me this day that they will complain in Parliament against us for denying to do them right. So we rose of a sudden, being mighty sensible of this inconvenience we are liable to should we delay to give them longer, and yet have no order for our indemnity. I did dine with Sir W. Pen, where my Lady Batten did come with desire of meeting me there, and speaking with me about the business of the L500 we demand of her for the Chest. She do protest, before God, she never did see the account, but that it was as her husband in his life-time made it, and he did often declare to her his expecting L500, and that we could not deny it him for his pains in that business, and that he hath left her worth nothing of his own in the world, and that therefore she could pay nothing of it, come what will come, but that he hath left her a beggar, which I am sorry truly for, though it is a just judgment upon people that do live so much beyond themselves in housekeeping and vanity, as they did. I did give her little answer, but generally words that might not trouble her, and so to dinner, and after dinner Sir W. Pen and I away by water to White Hall, and there did attend the Duke of York, and he did carry us to the King's lodgings: but he was asleep in his closet; so we stayed in the Green-Roome, where the Duke of York did tell us what rules he had, of knowing the weather, and did now tell us we should have rain before to-morrow, it having been a dry season for some time, and so it did rain all night almost; and pretty rules he hath, and told Brouncker and me some of them, which were such as no reason seems ready to be given. By and by the King comes out, and he did easily agree to what we moved, and would have the Commissioners of the Navy to meet us with him to-morrow morning: and then to talk of other things; about the Quakers not swearing, and how they do swear in the business of a late election of a Knight of the Shire of Hartfordshire in behalf of one they have a mind to have; and how my Lord of Pembroke says he hath heard him (the Quaker) at the tennis-court swear to himself when he loses: and told us what pretty notions my Lord Pembroke hath of the first chapter of Genesis, how Adam's sin was not the sucking (which he did before) but the swallowing of the apple, by which the contrary elements begun to work in him, and to stir up these passions, and a great deal of such fooleries, which the King made mighty mockery at. Thence my Lord Brouncker and I into the Park in his coach, and there took a great deal of ayre, saving that it was mighty dusty, and so a little unpleasant. Thence to Common Garden with my Lord, and there I took a hackney and home, and after having done a few letters at the office, I home to a little supper and so to bed, my eyes being every day more and more weak and apt to be tired. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there to the writing fair some of my late musique notions, and so to church, where I have not been a good while, and thence home, and dined at home, with W. Hewer with me; and after dinner, he and I a great deal of good talk touching this Office, how it is spoiled by having so many persons in it, and so much work that is not made the work of any one man, but of all, and so is never done; and that the best way to have it well done, were to have the whole trust in one, as myself, to set whom I pleased to work in the several businesses of the Office, and me to be accountable for the whole, and that would do it, as I would find instruments: but this is not to be compassed; but something I am resolved to do about Sir J. Minnes before it be long. Then to my chamber again, to my musique, and so to church; and then home, and thither comes Captain Silas Taylor to me, the Storekeeper of Harwich, where much talk, and most of it against Captain Deane, whom I do believe to be a high, proud fellow; but he is an active man, and able in his way, and so I love him. He gone, I to my musique again, and to read a little, and to sing with Mr. Pelling, who come to see me, and so spent the evening, and then to supper and to bed. I hear that eight of the ringleaders in the late tumults of the 'prentices at Easter are condemned to die. [Four were executed on May 9th, namely, Thomas Limmerick, Edward Cotton, Peter Massenger, and Richard Beasley. They were drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn, and two of their heads fixed upon London Bridge ("The London Gazette," No. 259). See "The Tryals of such persons as under the notion of London Apprentices were tumultuously assembled in Moore Fields, under colour of pulling down bawdy-houses," 4to., London, 1668. "It is to be observed," says "The London Gazette," "to the just vindication of the City, that none of the persons apprehended upon the said tumult were found to be apprentices, as was given out, but some idle persons, many of them nursed in the late Rebellion, too readily embracing any opportunity of making their own advantages to the disturbance of the peace, and injury of others."] 6th. Betimes I to Alderman Backewell, and with him to my Lord Ashly's, where did a little business about Tangier, and to talk about the business of certificates, wherein, contrary to what could be believed, the King and Duke of York themselves, in my absence, did call for some of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and give them directions about the business [of the certificates], which I, despairing to do any thing on a Sunday, and not thinking that they would think of it themselves, did rest satisfied, and stayed at home all yesterday, leaving it to do something in this day; but I find that the King and Duke of York had been so pressing in it, that my Lord Ashly was more forward with the doing of it this day, than I could have been. And so I to White Hall with Alderman Backewell in his coach, with Mr. Blany; my Lord's Secretary: and there did draw up a rough draught of what order I would have, and did carry it in, and had it read twice and approved of, before my Lord Ashly and three more of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and then went up to the Council-chamber, where the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, and the rest of the Committee of the Navy were sitting: and I did get some of them to read it there: and they would have had it passed presently, but Sir John Nicholas desired they would first have it approved by a full Council: and, therefore, a Council Extraordinary was readily summoned against the afternoon, and the Duke of York run presently to the King, as if now they were really set to mind their business, which God grant! So I thence to Westminster, and walked in the Hall and up and down, the House being called over to-day, and little news, but some talk as if the agreement between France and Spain were like to be, which would be bad for us, and at noon with Sir Herbert Price to Mr. George Montagu's to dinner, being invited by him in the hall, and there mightily made of, even to great trouble to me to be so commended before my face, with that flattery and importunity, that I was quite troubled with it. Yet he is a fine gentleman, truly, and his lady a fine woman; and, among many sons that I saw there, there was a little daughter that is mighty pretty, of which he is infinite fond: and, after dinner, did make her play on the gittar and sing, which she did mighty prettily, and seems to have a mighty musical soul, keeping time with most excellent spirit. Here I met with Mr. Brownlow, my old schoolfellow, who come thither, I suppose, as a suitor to one of the young ladies that were there, and a sober man he seems to be. But here Mr. Montagu did tell me how Mr. Vaughan, in that very room, did say that I was a great man, and had great understanding, and I know not what, which, I confess, I was a little proud of, if I may believe him. Here I do hear, as a great secret, that the King, and Duke of York and Duchesse, and my Lady Castlemayne, are now all agreed in a strict league, and all things like to go very current, and that it is not impossible to have my Lord Clarendon, in time, here again. But I do hear that my Lady Castlemayne is horribly vexed at the late libell, ["The Poor Whores' Petition to the most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent Lady of Pleasure the Countess of Castlemayne, &c., signed by us, Madam Cresswell and Damaris Page, this present 25th day of March, 1668." This sham petition occasioned a pretended answer, entitled, "The Gracious Answer of the Most Illustrious Lady of Pleasure, the Countess of Castlem . . . . to the Poor Whores' Petition." It is signed, "Given at our Closset, in King Street, Westminster, die Veneris, April 24, 1668. Castlem . . . ." Compare Evelyn, April 2nd, 1668.] the petition of the poor whores about the town, whose houses were pulled down the other day. I have got one of them, but it is not very witty, but devilish severe against her and the King and I wonder how it durst be printed and spread abroad, which shews that the times are loose, and come to a great disregard of the King, or Court, or Government. Thence I to White Hall to attend the Council, and when the Council rose we find my order mightily enlarged by the Sollicitor Generall, who was called thither, making it more safe for him and the Council, but their order is the same in the command of it that I drew, and will I think defend us well. So thence, meeting Creed, he and I to the new Cocke-pitt by the King's gate, and there saw the manner of it, and the mixed rabble of people that come thither; and saw two battles of cocks, wherein is no great sport, but only to consider how these creatures, without any provocation, do fight and kill one another, and aim only at one another's heads, and by their good will not leave till one of them be killed; and thence to the Park in a hackney coach, so would not go into the tour, but round about the Park, and to the House, and there at the door eat and drank; whither come my Lady Kerneagy, of whom Creed tells me more particulars; how her Lord, finding her and the Duke of York at the King's first coming in too kind, did get it out of her that he did dishonour him, and so bid her continue . . . , which is the most pernicious and full piece of revenge that ever I heard of; and he at this day owns it with great glory, and looks upon the Duke of York and the world with great content in the ampleness of his revenge. Thence (where the place was now by the last night's rain very pleasant, and no dust) to White Hall, and set Creed down, and I home and to my chamber, and there about my musique notions again, wherein I take delight and find great satisfaction in them, and so, after a little supper, to bed. This day, in the afternoon, stepping with the Duke of York into St. James's Park, it rained: and I was forced to lend the Duke of York my cloak, which he wore through the Park. 7th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where great hurry to be made in the fitting forth of this present little fleet, but so many rubs by reason of want of money, and people's not believing us in cases where we had money unless (which in several cases, as in hiring of vessels, cannot be) they be paid beforehand, that every thing goes backward instead of forward. At noon comes Mr. Clerke, my solicitor, and the Auditor's men with my account drawn up in the Exchequer way with their queries, which are neither many nor great, or hard to answer upon it, and so dined with me, and then I by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The English Monsieur;"' sitting for privacy sake in an upper box: the play hath much mirth in it as to that particular humour. After the play done, I down to Knipp, and did stay her undressing herself; and there saw the several players, men and women go by; and pretty to see how strange they are all, one to another, after the play is done. Here I saw a wonderful pretty maid of her own, that come to undress her, and one so pretty that she says she intends not to keep her, for fear of her being undone in her service, by coming to the playhouse. Here I hear Sir W. Davenant is just now dead; and so who will succeed him in the mastership of the house is not yet known. The eldest Davenport is, it seems, gone from this house to be kept by somebody; which I am glad of, she being a very bad actor. I took her then up into a coach and away to the Park, which is now very fine after some rain, but the company was going away most, and so I took her to the Lodge, and there treated her and had a deal of good talk, and now and then did baiser la, and that was all, and that as much or more than I had much mind to because of her paint. She tells me mighty news, that my Lady Castlemayne is mightily in love with Hart of their house: and he is much with her in private, and she goes to him, and do give him many presents; and that the thing is most certain, and Becke Marshall only privy to it, and the means of bringing them together, which is a very odd thing; and by this means she is even with the King's love to Mrs. Davis. This done, I carried her and set her down at Mrs. Manuel's, but stayed not there myself, nor went in; but straight home, and there to my letters, and so home to bed. 8th. Up, and at my office all the morning, doing business, and then at noon home to dinner all alone. Then to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to attend the Duke of York upon our usual business, which was this day but little, and thence with Lord Brouncker to the Duke of York's playhouse, where we saw "The Unfortunate Lovers," no extraordinary play, methinks, and thence I to Drumbleby's, and there did talk a great deal about pipes; and did buy a recorder, which I do intend to learn to play on, the sound of it being, of all sounds in the world, most pleasing to me. Thence home, and to visit Mrs. Turner, where among other talk, Mr. Foly and her husband being there, she did tell me of young Captain Holmes's marrying of Pegg Lowther last Saturday by stealth, which I was sorry for, he being an idle rascal, and proud, and worth little, I doubt; and she a mighty pretty, well-disposed lady, and good fortune. Her mother and friends take on mightily; but the sport is, Sir Robert Holmes do seem to be mad too with his brother, and will disinherit him, saying that he hath ruined himself, marrying below himself, and to his disadvantage; whereas, I said, in this company, that I had married a sister lately, with little above half that portion, that he should have kissed her breech before he should have had her, which, if R. Holmes should hear, would make a great quarrel; but it is true I am heartily sorry for the poor girl that is undone by it. So home to my chamber, to be fingering of my Recorder, and getting of the scale of musique without book, which I at last see is necessary for a man that would understand musique, as it is now taught to understand, though it be a ridiculous and troublesome way, and I know I shall be able hereafter to show the world a simpler way; but, like the old hypotheses in philosophy, it must be learned, though a man knows a better. Then to supper, and to bed. This morning Mr. Christopher Pett's widow and daughter come to me, to desire my help to the King and Duke of York, and I did promise, and do pity her. 9th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, then at noon home to dinner with my people, and so to the office again writing of my letters, and then abroad to my bookseller's, and up and down to the Duke of York's playhouse, there to see, which I did, Sir W. Davenant's corpse carried out towards Westminster, there to be buried. Here were many coaches and six horses, and many hacknies, that made it look, methought, as if it were the buriall of a poor poet. He seemed to have many children, by five or six in the first mourning-coach, all boys. And there I left them coming forth, and I to the New Exchange, there to meet Mrs. Burroughs, and did take her in a carosse and carry elle towards the Park, kissing her . . . , but did not go into any house, but come back and set her down at White Hall, and did give her wrapt in paper for my Valentine's gift for the last year before this, which I never did yet give her anything for, twelve half-crowns, and so back home and there to my office, where come a packet from the Downes from my brother Balty, who, with Harman, is arrived there, of which this day come the first news. And now the Parliament will be satisfied, I suppose, about the business they have so long desired between Brouncker and Harman about not prosecuting the first victory. Balty is very well, and I hope hath performed his work well, that I may get him into future employment. I wrote to him this night, and so home, and there to the perfecting my getting the scale of musique without book, which I have done to perfection backward and forward, and so to supper and to bed. 10th (Friday) All the morning at Office. At noon with W. Pen to Duke of York, and attended Council. So to piper and Duck Lane, and there kissed bookseller's wife, and bought Legend. So home, coach. Sailor. Mrs. Hannam dead. News of Peace. Conning my gamut. [The entries from April 10th to April 19th are transcribed from three leaves (six pages) of rough notes, which are inserted in the MS. The rough notes were made to serve for a sort of account book, but the amounts paid are often not registered in the fair copy when he came to transcribe his notes into the Diary.] 12th (Sunday). Dined at Brouncker's, and saw the new book. Peace. Cutting away sails. 13th (Monday). Spent at Michel's 6d.; in the Folly, 1s.; [The Folly was a floating house of entertainment on the Thames, which at this time was a fashionable resort.] oysters, 1s.; coach to W. Coventry about Mrs. Pett, 1s.; thence to Commissioners of Treasury, and so to Westminster Hall by water, 6d. With G. Montagu and Roger Pepys, and spoke with Birch and Vaughan, all in trouble about the prize business. So to Lord Crew's (calling for a low pipe by the way), where Creed and G. M. and G. C. come, 1s. So with Creed to a play. Little laugh, 4s. Thence towards the Park by coach, 2s. 6d. Come home, met with order of Commissioners of Accounts, which put together with the rest vexed me, and so home to supper and to bed. 14th (Tuesday). Up betimes by water to the Temple. In the way read the Narrative about prizes; and so to Lord Crew's bedside, and then to Westminster, where I hear Pen is, and sent for by messenger last night. Thence to Commissioners of Accounts and there examined, and so back to Westminster Hall, where all the talk of committing all to the Tower, and Creed and I to the Quaker's, dined together. Thence to the House, where rose about four o'clock; and, with much ado, Pen got to Thursday to bring in his answer; so my Lord escapes to-day. Thence with Godage and G. Montagu to G. Carteret's, and there sat their dinner-time: and hear myself, by many Parliament-men, mightily commended. Thence to a play, "Love's Cruelty," and so to my Lord Crew's, who glad of this day's time got, and so home, and there office, and then home to supper and to bed, my eyes being the better upon leaving drinking at night. Water, 1s. Porter, 6d. Water, 6d. Dinner, 3s. 6d. Play part, 2s. Oranges, 1s. Home coach, 1s. 6d. 15th. After playing a little upon my new little flageolet, that is so soft that pleases me mightily, betimes to my office, where most of the morning. Then by coach, 1s., and meeting Lord Brouncker, 'light at the Exchange, and thence by water to White Hall, 1s., and there to the Chapel, expecting wind musick and to the Harp-and-Ball, and drank all alone, 2d. Back, and to the fiddling concert, and heard a practice mighty good of Grebus, and thence to Westminster Hall, where all cry out that the House will be severe with Pen; but do hope well concerning the buyers, that we shall have no difficulty, which God grant! Here met Creed, and, about noon, he and I, and Sir P. Neale to the Quaker's, and there dined with a silly Executor of Bishop Juxon's, and cozen Roger Pepys. Business of money goes on slowly in the House. Thence to White Hall by water, and there with the Duke of York a little, but stayed not, but saw him and his lady at his little pretty chapel, where I never was before: but silly devotion, God knows! Thence I left Creed, and to the King's playhouse, into a corner of the 18d. box, and there saw "The Maid's Tragedy," a good play. Coach, 1s.: play and oranges, 2s. 6d. Creed come, dropping presently here, but he did not see me, and come to the same place, nor would I be seen by him. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and there he come also after, and there with Sir T. Crew bemoaning my Lord's folly in leaving his old interest, by which he hath now lost all. An ill discourse in the morning of my Lord's being killed, but this evening Godolphin tells us here that my Lord is well. Thence with Creed to the Cock ale-house, and there spent 6d., and so by coach home, 2s. 6d., and so to bed. 16th. Th[ursday]. Greeting's book, is. Begun this day to learn the Recorder. To the office, where all the morning. Dined with my clerks: and merry at Sir W. Pen's crying yesterday, as they say, to the King, that he was his martyr. So to White Hall by coach to Commissioners of [the] Treasury about certificates, but they met not, 2s. To Westminster by water. To Westminster Hall, where I hear W. Pen is ordered to be impeached, 6d. There spoke with many, and particularly with G. Montagu: and went with him and Creed to his house, where he told how W. Pen hath been severe to Lord Sandwich; but the Coventrys both labouring to save him, by laying it on Lord Sandwich, which our friends cry out upon, and I am silent, but do believe they did it as the only way to save him. It could not be carried to commit him. It is thought the House do coole: W. Coventry's being for him, provoked Sir R. Howard and his party; Court, all for W. Pen. Thence to White Hall, but no meeting of the Commissioners, and there met Mr. Hunt, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and, there did what I would, she troubled for want of employ for her husband, spent on her 1s. Thence to the Hall to walk awhile and ribbon, spent is. So [to] Lord Crew's, and there with G. Carteret and my Lord to talk, and they look upon our matters much the better, and by this and that time is got, 1s. So to the Temple late, and by water, by moonshine, home, 1s. Cooks, 6d. Wrote my letters to my Lady Sandwich, and so home, where displeased to have my maid bring her brother, a countryman, to lye there, and so to bed. 17th (Friday). Called up by Balty's coming, who gives me a good account of his voyage, and pleases me well, and I hope hath got something. This morning paid the Royall Society L1 6s., and so to the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my people, and there much pretty discourse of Balty's. So by coach to White Hall: the coachman on Ludgate Hill 'lighted, and beat a fellow with a sword, 2s. 6d. Did little business with the Duke of York. Hear that the House is upon the business of Harman, who, they say, takes all on himself. Thence, with Brouncker, to the King's house, and saw "The Surprizall," where base singing, only Knepp,' who come, after her song in the clouds, to me in the pit, and there, oranges, 2s. After the play, she, and I, and Rolt, by coach, 6s. 6d., to Kensington, and there to the Grotto, and had admirable pleasure with their singing, and fine ladies listening to us: with infinite pleasure, I enjoyed myself: so to the tavern there, and did spend 16s. 6d., and the gardener 2s. Mighty merry, and sang all the way to the town, a most pleasant evening, moonshine, and set them at her house in Covent Garden, and I home and to bed. 18th (Saturday). Up, and my bookseller brought home books, bound--the binding comes to 17s. Advanced to my maid Bridget L1. Sir W. Pen at the Office, seemingly merry. Do hear this morning that Harman is committed by the Parliament last night, the day he come up, which is hard; but he took all upon himself first, and then when a witness come in to say otherwise, he would have retracted; and the House took it so ill, they would commit him. Thence home to dinner with my clerks, and so to White Hall by water, 1s., and there a short Committee for Tangier, and so I to the King's playhouse, 1s., and to the play of the "Duke of Lerma," 2s. 6d., and oranges, 1s. Thence by coach to Westminster, 1s., and the House just up, having been about money business, 1s. So home by coach, 3s., calling in Duck Lane, and did get Des Cartes' Musique in English,' and so home and wrote my letters, and then to my chamber to save my eyes, and to bed. 19th (Sunday). Lay long. Roger Pepys and his son come, and to Church with me, where W. Pen was, and did endeavour to shew himself to the Church. Then home to dinner, and Roger Pepys did tell me the whole story of Harman, how he prevaricated, and hath undoubtedly been imposed on, and wheedled; and he is called the miller's man that, in Richard the Third's time, was hanged for his master. [The story alluded to by Pepys, which belongs not to the reign of Richard III., but to that of Edward VI., occurred during a seditious outbreak at Bodmin, in Cornwall, and is thus related by Holinshed: "At the same time, and neare the same place [Bodmin], dwelled a miller, that had beene a greate dooer in that rebellion, for whom also Sir Anthonie Kingston sought: but the miller being thereof warned, called a good tall fellow that he had to his servant, and said unto him, 'I have business to go from home; if anie therefore come to ask for me, saie thou art the owner of the mill, and the man for whom they shall so aske, and that thou hast kept this mill for the space of three yeares; but in no wise name me.' The servant promised his maister so to doo. And shortlie after, came Sir Anthonie Kingston to the miller's house, and calling for the miller, the servant came forth, and answered that he was the miller. 'How long,' quoth Sir Anthonie, 'hast thou kept this mill?' He answered, 'Three years.'--'Well, then,' said he, 'come on: thou must go with me;' and caused his men to laie hands on him, and to bring him to the next tree, saieing to him, 'Thou hast been a busie knave, and therefore here shalt thou hang.' Then cried the fellow out, and saide that he was not the miller, but the miller's man. 'Well, then,' said Sir Anthonie, 'thou art a false knave to be in two tales: therefore,' said he, 'hang him up;' and so incontinentlie hanged he was indeed. After he was dead, one that was present told Sir Anthonie, 'Surelie, sir, this was but the miller's man.'--'What then!' said he, 'could he ever have done his maister better service than to hang for him?'"--B.] So after dinner I took them by water to White Hall, taking in a very pretty woman at Paul's Wharf, and there landed we, and I left Roger Pepys and to St. Margaret's Church, and there saw Betty, and so to walk in the Abbey with Sir John Talbot, who would fain have pumped me about the prizes, but I would not let him, and so to walk towards Michell's to see her, but could not, and so to Martin's, and her husband was at home, and so took coach and to the Park, and thence home and to bed betimes. Water 1s., coach 5s. Balty borrowed L2. 20th. Up betimes and to the getting ready my answer to the Committee of Accounts to several questions, which makes me trouble, though I know of no blame due to me from any, let them enquire what they can out. [The first part of the entry for April 20th is among the rough notes, and stands as follows: "Monday 20. Up and busy about answer to Committee of Accounts this morning about several questions which vexed me though in none I have reason to be troubled. But the business of The Flying Greyhound begins to find me some care, though in that I am wholly void of blame." This may be compared with the text.] I to White Hall, and there hear how Henry Brouncker is fled, which, I think, will undo him: but what good it will do Harman I know not, he hath so befooled himself; but it will be good sport to my Lord Chancellor to hear how his great enemy is fain to take the same course that he is. There met Robinson, who tells me that he fears his master, W. Coventry, will this week have his business brought upon the stage again, about selling of places, which I shall be sorry for, though the less, since I hear his standing for Pen the other day, to the prejudice, though not to the wrong, of my Lord Sandwich; and yet I do think what he did, he did out of a principle of honesty. Thence to Committee of Accounts, and delivered my paper, and had little discourse, and was unwilling to stay long with them to enter into much, but away and glad to be from them, though very civil to me, but cunning and close I see they are. So to Westminster Hall, and there find the Parliament upon the Irish business, where going into the Speaker's chamber I did hear how plainly one lawyer of counsel for the complainants did inveigh by name against all the late Commissioners there. Thence with Creed, thinking, but failed, of dining with Lord Crew, and so he and I to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence home by coach, and so with Jack Fenn to the Chamberlain of London to look after the state of some Navy assignments that are in his hands, and thence away, and meeting Sir William Hooker, the Alderman, he did cry out mighty high against Sir W. Pen for his getting such an estate, and giving L15,000 with his daughter, which is more, by half, than ever he did give; but this the world believes, and so let them. Thence took coach and I all alone to Hyde Park (passing through Duck Lane among the booksellers, only to get a sight of the pretty little woman I did salute the other night, and did in passing), and so all the evening in the Park, being a little unwilling to be seen there, and at night home, and thereto W. Pen's and sat and talked there with his wife and children a good while, he being busy in his closet, I believe preparing his defence in Parliament, and so home to bed. 21st. Up, and at the office all the morning, at noon dined at home, and thence took Mrs. Turner out and carried her to the King's house, and saw "The Indian Emperour;" and after that done, took Knepp out, and to Kensington; and there walked in the garden, and then supped, and mighty merry, there being also in the house Sir Philip Howard, and some company, and had a dear reckoning, but merry, and away, it being quite night, home, and dark, about 9 o'clock or more, and in my coming had the opportunity the first time in my life to be bold with Knepp . . . , and so left her at home, and so Mrs. Turner and I home to my letters and to bed. Here hear how Sir W. Pen's impeachment was read, and agreed to, in the House this day, and ordered to be engrossed; and he suspended the House--[From sitting as a member pending the impeachment.-B.]--Harman set at liberty; and Brouncker put out of the House, and a writ for a new election, and an impeachment ordered to be brought in against him, he being fled! [Sir Charles Berkeley, jun. was chosen in his room. In the sea- fight off Southwold Bay on June 3rd, 1665, the English triumphed over the Dutch, but the very considerable victory was not followed up. During the night, while the Duke of York slept, Henry Brouncker, his groom of the bedchamber, ordered the lieutenant to shorten sail, by which means the progress of the whole fleet was retarded, the Duke of York's being the leading ship. The duke affirmed that he first heard of Brouncker's unjustifiable action in July, and yet he kept the culprit in his service for nearly two years after the offence had come to his knowledge. After Brouncker had been dismissed from the duke's service, the House of Commons ejected him. The whole matter is one of the unsolved difficulties of history. See Lister's "Life of Clarendon," ii., 334 335] 22nd. Up, and all the morning at my office busy. At noon, it being washing day, I toward White Hall, and stopped and dined all alone at Hercules Pillars, where I was mighty pleased to overhear a woman talk to her counsel how she had troubled her neighbours with law, and did it very roguishly and wittily. Thence to White Hall, and there we attended the Duke of York as usual; and I did present Mrs. Pett, the widow, and her petition to the Duke of York, for some relief from the King. Here was to-day a proposition made to the Duke of York by Captain Von Hemskirke for L20,000, to discover an art how to make a ship go two foot for one what any ship do now, which the King inclines to try, it costing him nothing to try; and it is referred to us to contract with the man. Thence to attend the Council about the business of certificates to the Exchequer, where the Commissioners of the Treasury of different minds, some would, and my Lord Ashly would not have any more made out, and carried it there should not. After done here, and the Council up, I by water from the Privy-stairs to Westminster Hall; and, taking water, the King and the Duke of York were in the new buildings; and the Duke of York called to me whither I was going? and I answered aloud, "To wait on our maisters at Westminster;" at which he and all the company laughed; but I was sorry and troubled for it afterwards, for fear any Parliament-man should have been there; and will be a caution to me for the time to come. Met with Roger Pepys, who tells me they have been on the business of money, but not ended yet, but will take up more time. So to the fishmonger's, and bought a couple of lobsters, and over to the 'sparagus garden, thinking to have met Mr. Pierce, and his wife and Knepp; but met their servant coming to bring me to Chatelin's, the French house, in Covent Garden, and there with musick and good company, Manuel and his wife, and one Swaddle, a clerk of Lord Arlington's, who dances, and speaks French well, but got drunk, and was then troublesome, and here mighty merry till ten at night, and then I away, and got a coach, and so home, where I find Balty and his wife come to town, and did sup with them, and so they to bed. This night the Duke of Monmouth and a great many blades were at Chatelin's, and I left them there, with a hackney-coach attending him. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon comes Knepp and Mrs. Pierce, and her daughter, and one Mrs. Foster, and dined with me, and mighty merry, and after dinner carried them to the Tower, and shewed them all to be seen there, and, among other things, the Crown and Scepters and rich plate, which I myself never saw before, and indeed is noble, and I mightily pleased with it. Thence by water to the Temple, and thereto the Cocke alehouse, and drank, and eat a lobster, and sang, and mighty merry. So, almost night, I carried Mrs. Pierce home, and then Knepp and I to the Temple again, and took boat, it being darkish, and to Fox Hall, it being now night, and a bonfire burning at Lambeth for the King's coronation-day. And there she and I drank; . . . . and so back, and led her home, it being now ten at night; and so got a link; and, walking towards home, just at my entrance into the ruines at St. Dunstan's, I was met by two rogues with clubs, who come towards us. So I went back, and walked home quite round by the wall, and got well home, and to bed weary, but pleased at my day's pleasure, but yet displeased at my expence, and time I lose. 24th. Up betimes, and by water to White Hall, to the Duke of York, and there hear that this day Hopis and Temple purpose to bring in the petition against Sir W. Coventry, which I am sorry for, but hope he will get out of it. Here I presented Mrs. Pett and her condition to Mr. Wren for his favour, which he promised us. Thence to Lord Brouncker and sat and talked with him, who thinks the Parliament will, by their violence and delay in money matters, force the King to run any hazard, and dissolve them. Thence to Ducke Lane, and there did overlook a great many of Monsieur Fouquet's library, that a bookseller hath bought, and I did buy one Spanish [work], "Los Illustres Varones." [Nicholas Fouquet, "Surintendant des Finances" in France, had built at Vaux a house which surpassed in magnificence any palace belonging to Louis XIV., prior to the erection of Versailles, and caused much envy to all the Court, especially to Colbert. Fouquet died at Pignerol in 1680, after nineteen years' incarceration; and whilst Pepys was buying his books in London, Colbert had become prime minister in France, and Colbert's brother ambassador in England. The 'viper' had caught the 'squirrel'!--B.] Here did I endeavour to see my pretty woman that I did baiser in las tenebras a little while depuis. And did find her sofa in the book[shop], but had not la confidence para alter a elle. So lost my pains. But will another time, and so home and to my office, and then to dinner. After dinner down to the Old Swan, and by the way called at Michell's, and there did see Betty, and that was all, for either she is shy or foolish, and su mardi hath no mind para laiser me see su moher. To White Hall by water, and there did our business with the Duke of York, which was very little, only here I do hear the Duke of York tell how Sir W. Pen's impeachment was brought into the House of Lords to-day; and spoke with great kindness of him: and that the Lords would not commit him till they could find precedent for it, and did incline to favour him. Thence to the King's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Beggar's Bush," which I have not seen some years, and thence home, and there to Sir W. Pen's and supped and sat talking there late, having no where else to go, and my eyes too bad to read right, and so home to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to my Lord Brouncker, and with him all of us to my Lord Ashly to satisfy him about the reason of what we do or have done in the business of the tradesmen's certificates, which he seems satisfied with, but is not, but I believe we have done what we can justify, and he hath done what he cannot in stopping us to grant them, and I believe it will come into Parliament and make trouble. So home and there at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence after dinner to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all," which, the more I see, the more I like, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with Roger Pepys; and he tells me that nothing hath lately passed about my Lord Sandwich, but only Sir Robert Carr did speak hardly of him. But it is hoped that nothing will be done more, this meeting of Parliament, which the King did, by a message yesterday, declare again, should rise the 4th of May, and then only adjourne for three months: and this message being only adjournment, did please them mightily, for they are desirous of their power mightily. Thence homeward by the Coffee House in Covent Garden, thinking to have met Harris here but could not, and so home, and there, after my letters, I home to have my hair cut by my sister Michell and her husband, and so to bed. This day I did first put off my waste-coate, the weather being very hot, but yet lay in it at night, and shall, for a little time. 26th (Lord's day). Lay long, and then up and to Church, and so home, where there come and dined with me Harris, Rolt, and Bannister, and one Bland, that sings well also, and very merry at dinner, and, after dinner, to sing all the afternoon. But when all was done, I did begin to think that the pleasure of these people was not worth so often charge and cost to me, as it hath occasioned me. They being gone I and Balty walked as far as Charing Cross, and there got a coach and to Hales's the painter, thinking to have found Harris sitting there for his picture, which is drawing for me. But he, and all this day's company, and Hales, were got to the Crown tavern, at next door, and thither I to them and stayed a minute, leaving Captain Grant telling pretty stories of people that have killed themselves, or been accessory to it, in revenge to other people, and to mischief other people, and thence with Hales to his house, and there did see his beginning of Harris's picture, which I think will be pretty like, and he promises a very good picture. Thence with Balty away and got a coach and to Hide Park, and there up and down and did drink some milk at the Lodge, and so home and to bed. 27th. Up, and Captain Deane come to see me, and he and I toward Westminster together, and I set him down at White Hall, while I to Westminster Hall, and up to the Lords' House, and there saw Sir W. Pen go into the House of Lords, where his impeachment was read to him, and he used mighty civilly, the Duke of York being there; and two days hence, at his desire, he is to bring in his answer, and a day then to be appointed for his being heard with Counsel. Thence down into the Hall, and with Creed and Godolphin walked; and do hear that to-morrow is appointed, upon a motion on Friday last, to discourse the business of my Lord Sandwich, moved by Sir R. Howard, that he should be sent for, home; and I fear it will be ordered. Certain news come, I hear, this day, that the Spanish Plenipotentiary in Flanders will not agree to the peace and terms we and the Dutch have made for him and the King of France; and by this means the face of things may be altered, and we forced to join with the French against Spain, which will be an odd thing. At noon with Creed to my Lord Crew's, and there dined; and here was a very fine-skinned lady dined, the daughter of my Lord Roberts, and also a fine lady, Mr. John Parkhurst his wife, that was but a boy the other day. And after dinner there comes in my Lady Roberts herself, and with her Mr. Roberts's daughter, that was Mrs. Boddevill, the great beauty, and a fine lady indeed, the first time I saw her. My Lord Crew, and Sir Thomas, and I, and Creed, all the afternoon debating of my Lord Sandwich's business, against to-morrow, and thence I to the King's playhouse, and there saw most of "The Cardinall," a good play, and thence to several places to pay my debts, and then home, and there took a coach and to Mile End to take a little ayre, and thence home to Sir W. Pen's, where I supped, and sat all the evening; and being lighted homeward by Mrs. Markham, I blew out the candle and kissed her, and so home to bed. 28th. Up betimes, and to Sir W. Coventry's by water, but lost my labour, so through the Park to White Hall, and thence to my Lord Crew's to advise again with him about my Lord Sandwich, and so to the office, where till noon, and then I by coach to Westminster Hall, and there do understand that the business of religion, and the Act against Conventicles, have so taken them up all this morning, and do still, that my Lord Sandwich's business is not like to come on to-day, which I am heartily glad of. This law against Conventicles is very severe; but Creed, whom I met here, do tell me that, it being moved that Papists' meetings might be included, the House was divided upon it, and it was carried in the negative; which will give great disgust to the people, I doubt. Thence with Creed to Hercules Pillars by the Temple again, and there dined he and I all alone, and thence to the King's house, and there did see "Love in a Maze," wherein very good mirth of Lacy, the clown, and Wintersell, the country-knight, his master. Thence to the New Exchange to pay a debt of my wife's there, and so home, and there to the office and walk in the garden in the dark to ease my eyes, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home, and my clerks with me, and thence I to White Hall, and there do hear how Sir W. Pen hath delivered in his answer; and the Lords have sent it down to the Commons, but they have not yet read it, nor taken notice of it, so as, I believe, they will by design defer it till they rise, that so he, by lying under an impeachment, may be prevented in his going to sea, which will vex him, and trouble the Duke of York. Did little business with the Duke of York, and then Lord Brouncker and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Love in a Tubb;" and, after the play done, I stepped up to Harris's dressing-room, where I never was, and there I observe much company come to him, and the Witts, to talk, after the play is done, and to assign meetings. Mine was to talk about going down to see "The Resolution," and so away, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with Mr. G. Montagu, and walked and talked; who tells me that the best fence against the Parliament's present fury is delay, and recommended it to me, in my friends' business and my own, if I have any; and is that, that Sir W. Coventry do take, and will secure himself; that the King will deliver up all to the Parliament; and being petitioned the other day by Mr. Brouncker to protect him, with teares in his eyes, the King did say he could not, and bid him shift for himself, at least till the House is up. Thence I away to White Hall, and there took coach home with a stranger I let into the coach, to club with me for it, he going into London, I set him down at the lower end of Cheapside, and I home, and to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat, and by and by, it being now about nine o'clock at night, I heard Mercer's voice, and my boy Tom's singing in the garden, which pleased me mightily, I longing to see the girl, having not seen her since my wife went; and so into the garden to her and sang, and then home to supper, and mightily pleased with her company, in talking and singing, and so parted, and to bed. 30th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon Sir J. Minnes and I to the Dolphin Tavern, there to meet our neighbours, all of the Parish, this being Procession-day, to dine. And did; and much very good discourse; they being, most of them, very able merchants as any in the City: Sir Andrew Rickard, Mr. Vandeputt, Sir John Fredericke, Harrington, and others. They talked with Mr. Mills about the meaning of this day, and the good uses of it; and how heretofore, and yet in several places, they do whip a boy at each place they stop at in their procession. Thence I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Tempest," which still pleases me mightily, and thence to the New Exchange, and then home, and in the way stopped to talk with Mr. Brisband, who gives me an account of the rough usage Sir G. Carteret and his Counsel had the other day, before the Commissioners of Accounts, and what I do believe we shall all of us have, in a greater degree than any he hath had yet with them, before their three years are out, which are not yet begun, nor God knows when they will, this being like to be no session of Parliament, when they now rise. So home, and there took up Mrs. Turner and carried her to Mile End and drank, and so back talking, and so home and to bed, I being mighty cold, this being a mighty cold day, and I had left off my waistcoat three or four days. This evening, coming home in the dusk, I saw and spoke to our Nell, Pain's daughter, and had I not been very cold I should have taken her to Tower hill para together et toker her. Thus ends this month; my wife in the country, myself full of pleasure and expence; and some trouble for my friends, my Lord Sandwich, by the Parliament, and more for my eyes, which are daily worse and worse, that I dare not write or read almost any thing. The Parliament going in a few days to rise; myself so long without accounting now, for seven or eight months, I think, or more, that I know not what condition almost I am in, as to getting or spending for all that time, which troubles me, but I will soon do it. The kingdom in an ill state through poverty; a fleete going out, and no money to maintain it, or set it out; seamen yet unpaid, and mutinous when pressed to go out again; our Office able to do little, nobody trusting us, nor we desiring any to trust us, and yet have not money for any thing, but only what particularly belongs to this fleete going out, and that but lamely too. The Parliament several months upon an Act for L300,000, but cannot or will not agree upon it, but do keep it back, in spite of the King's desires to hasten it, till they can obtain what they have a mind, in revenge upon some men for the late ill managements; and he is forced to submit to what they please, knowing that, without it, he shall have no money, and they as well, that, if they give the money, the King will suffer them to do little more; and then the business of religion do disquiet every body, the Parliament being vehement against the Nonconformists, while the King seems to be willing to countenance them. So we are all poor, and in pieces--God help us! while the peace is like to go on between Spain and France; and then the French may be apprehended able to attack us. So God help us! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Best fence against the Parliament's present fury is delay But this the world believes, and so let them Coach to W. Coventry about Mrs. Pett, 1s. Ever have done his maister better service than to hang for him? Making their own advantages to the disturbance of the peace Parliament being vehement against the Nonconformists Rough notes were made to serve for a sort of account book Saw two battles of cocks, wherein is no great sport Whip a boy at each place they stop at in their procession Work that is not made the work of any one man 
4189	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1668 May 1st, 1668. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. Then to Westminster Hall, and there met Sir W. Pen, who labours to have his answer to his impeachment, and sent down from the Lords' House, read by the House of Commons; but they are so busy on other matters, that he cannot, and thereby will, as he believes, by design, be prevented from going to sea this year. Here met my cozen Thomas Pepys of Deptford, and took some turns with him; who is mightily troubled for this Act now passed against Conventicles, and in few words, and sober, do lament the condition we are in, by a negligent Prince and a mad Parliament. Thence I by coach to the Temple, and there set him down, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dine, but he not being at home, I back again to the New Exchange a little, and thence back again to Hercules Pillars, and there dined all alone, and then to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Surprizall;" and a disorder in the pit by its raining in, from the cupola at top, it being a very foul day, and cold, so as there are few I believe go to the Park to-day, if any. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there I understand how the Houses of Commons and Lords are like to disagree very much, about the business of the East India Company and one Skinner; to the latter of which the Lords have awarded L5000 from the former, for some wrong done him heretofore; and the former appealing to the Commons, the Lords vote their petition a libell; and so there is like to follow very hot work. Thence by water, not being able to get a coach, nor boat but a sculler, and that with company, is being so foul a day, to the Old Swan, and so home, and there spent the evening, making Balty read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon with Lord Brouncker in his coach as far as the Temple, and there 'light and to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence to the Duke of York's playhouse, at a little past twelve, to get a good place in the pit, against the new play, and there setting a poor man to keep my place, I out, and spent an hour at Martin's, my bookseller's, and so back again, where I find the house quite full. But I had my place, and by and by the King comes and the Duke of York; and then the play begins, called "The Sullen Lovers; or, The Impertinents," having many good humours in it, but the play tedious, and no design at all in it. But a little boy, for a farce, do dance Polichinelli, the best that ever anything was done in the world, by all men's report: most pleased with that, beyond anything in the world, and much beyond all the play. Thence to the King's house to see Knepp, but the play done; and so I took a hackney alone, and to the park, and there spent the evening, and to the lodge, and drank new milk. And so home to the Office, ended my letters, and, to spare my eyes, home, and played on my pipes, and so to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I saw Sir A. Rickard, though he be under the Black Rod, by order of the Lords' House, upon the quarrel between the East India Company and Skinner, which is like to come to a very great heat between the two Houses. At noon comes Mr. Mills and his wife, and Mr. Turner and his wife, by invitation to dinner, and we were mighty merry, and a very pretty dinner, of my Bridget and Nell's dressing, very handsome. After dinner to church again . . . . So home and with Sir W. Pen took a hackney, and he and I to Old Street, to a brew-house there, to see Sir Thomas Teddiman, who is very ill in bed of a fever, got, I believe, by the fright the Parliament have put him into, of late. But he is a good man, a good seaman, and stout. Thence Pen and I to Islington, and there, at the old house, eat, and drank, and merry, and there by chance giving two pretty fat boys each of them a cake, they proved to be Captain Holland's children, whom therefore I pity. So round by Hackney home, having good discourse, he [Pen] being very open to me in his talk, how the King ought to dissolve this Parliament, when the Bill of Money is passed, they being never likely to give him more; how he [the King] hath great opportunity of making himself popular by stopping this Act against Conventicles; and how my Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, if the Parliament continue, will undoubtedly fall, he having managed that place with so much self-seeking, and disorder, and pleasure, and some great men are designing to overthrow [him], as, among the rest, my Lord Orrery; and that this will try the King mightily, he being a firm friend to my Lord Lieutenant. So home; and to supper a little, and then to bed, having stepped, after I come home, to Alderman Backewell's about business, and there talked a while with him and his wife, a fine woman of the country, and how they had bought an estate at Buckeworth, within four mile of Brampton. 4th. Up betimes, and by water to Charing Cross, and so to W. Coventry, and there talked a little with him, and thence over the Park to White Hall, and there did a little business at the Treasury, and so to the Duke, and there present Balty to the Duke of York and a letter from the Board to him about him, and the Duke of York is mightily pleased with him, and I doubt not his continuance in employment, which I am glad of. Thence with Sir H. Cholmly to Westminster Hall talking, and he crying mightily out of the power the House of Lords usurps in this business of the East India Company. Thence away home and there did business, and so to dinner, my sister Michell and I, and thence to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Impertinents" again, and with less pleasure than before, it being but a very contemptible play, though there are many little witty expressions in it; and the pit did generally say that of it. Thence, going out, Mrs. Pierce called me from the gallery, and there I took her and Mrs. Corbet by coach up and down, and took up Captain Rolt in the street; and at last, it being too late to go to the Park, I carried them to the Beare in Drury Lane, and there did treat them with a dish of mackrell, the first I have seen this year, and another dish, and mighty merry; and so carried her home, and thence home myself, well pleased with this evening's pleasure, and so to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner and Creed with me, and after dinner he and I to the Duke of York's playhouse; and there coming late, he and I up to the balcony-box, where we find my Lady Castlemayne and several great ladies; and there we sat with them, and I saw "The Impertinents" once more, now three times, and the three only days it hath been acted. And to see the folly how the house do this day cry up the play more than yesterday! and I for that reason like it, I find, the better, too; by Sir Positive At-all, I understand, is meant Sir Robert Howard. My Lady [Castlemaine] pretty well pleased with it; but here I sat close to her fine woman, Willson, who indeed is very handsome, but, they say, with child by the King. I asked, and she told me this was the first time her Lady had seen it, I having a mind to say something to her. One thing of familiarity I observed in my Lady Castlemayne: she called to one of her women, another that sat by this, for a little patch off her face, and put it into her mouth and wetted it, and so clapped it upon her own by the side of her mouth, I suppose she feeling a pimple rising there. Thence with Creed to Westminster Hall, and there met with cozen Roger, who tells me of the great conference this day between the Lords and Commons, about the business of the East India Company, as being one of the weightiest conferences that hath been, and managed as weightily. I am heartily sorry I was not there, it being upon a mighty point of the privileges of the subjects of England, in regard to the authority of the House of Lords, and their being condemned by them as the Supreme Court, which, we say, ought not to be, but by appeal from other Courts. And he tells me that the Commons had much the better of them, in reason and history there quoted, and believes the Lords will let it fall. Thence to walk in the Hall, and there hear that Mrs. Martin's child, my god-daughter, is dead, and so by water to the Old Swan, and thence home, and there a little at Sir W. Pen's, and so to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, and thence to White Hall, but come too late to see the Duke of York, with whom my business was, and so to Westminster Hall, where met with several people and talked with them, and among other things understand that my Lord St. John is meant by Mr. Woodcocke, in "The Impertinents." ["Whilst Positive walks, like Woodcock in the park, Contriving projects with a brewer's clerk." Andrew Marvell's "Instructions to a Painter," part iii., to which is subjoined the following note: "Sir Robert Howard, and Sir William Bucknell, the brewer."--Works, ed. by Capt. E. Thompson, vol. iii., p. 405.--B.] Here met with Mrs. Washington, my old acquaintance of the Hall, whose husband has a place in the Excise at Windsor, and it seems lives well. I have not seen her these 8 or 9 years, and she begins to grow old, I perceive, visibly. So time do alter, and do doubtless the like in myself. This morning the House is upon the City Bill, and they say hath passed it, though I am sorry that I did not think to put somebody in mind of moving for the churches to be allotted according to the convenience of the people, and not to gratify this Bishop, or that College. Thence by water to the New Exchange, where bought a pair of shoe-strings, and so to Mr. Pierces, where invited, and there was Knepp and Mrs. Foster and here dined, but a poor, sluttish dinner, as usual, and so I could not be heartily merry at it: here saw her girl's picture, but it is mighty far short of her boy's, and not like her neither; but it makes Hales's picture of her boy appear a good picture. Thence to White Hall, walked with Brisband, who dined there also, and thence I back to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Virgin Martyr," and heard the musick that I like so well, and intended to have seen Knepp, but I let her alone; and having there done, went to Mrs. Pierces back again, where she was, and there I found her on a pallet in the dark . . . , that is Knepp. And so to talk; and by and by did eat some curds and cream, and thence away home, and it being night, I did walk in the dusk up and down, round through our garden, over Tower Hill, and so through Crutched Friars, three or four times, and once did meet Mercer and another pretty lady, but being surprized I could say little to them,, although I had an opportunity of pleasing myself with them, but left them, and then I did see our Nell, Payne's daughter, and her je did desire venir after me, and so elle did see me to, Tower Hill to our back entry there that comes upon the degres entrant into nostra garden . . . , and so parted, and je home to put up things against to-morrow's carrier for my wife; and, among others, a very fine salmon-pie, sent me by Mr. Steventon, W. Hewer's uncle, and so to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thither I sent for Mercer to dine with me, and after dinner she and I called Mrs. Turner, and I carried them to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Man's the Master," which proves, upon my seeing it again, a very good play. Thence called Knepp from the King's house, where going in for her, the play being done, I did see Beck Marshall come dressed, off of the stage, and looks mighty fine, and pretty, and noble: and also Nell, in her boy's clothes, mighty pretty. But, Lord! their confidence! and how many men do hover about them as soon as they come off the stage, and how confident they are in their talk! Here I did kiss the pretty woman newly come, called Pegg, that was Sir Charles Sidly's mistress, a mighty pretty woman, and seems, but is not, modest. Here took up Knepp into our coach, and all of us with her to her lodgings, and thither comes Bannister with a song of hers, that he hath set in Sir Charles Sidly's play for her, which is, I think, but very meanly set; but this he did, before us, teach her, and it being but a slight, silly, short ayre, she learnt it presently. But I did get him to prick me down the notes of the Echo in "The Tempest," which pleases me mightily. Here was also Haynes, the incomparable dancer of the King's house, and a seeming civil man, and sings pretty well, and they gone, we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in the garden, the first time I ever was there; and a pretty place it is, and here we eat and drank and stayed till 9 at night, and so home by moonshine . . . . And so set Mrs. Knepp at her lodging, and so the rest, and I home talking with a great deal of pleasure, and so home to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Towards noon I to Westminster and there understand that the Lords' House did sit till eleven o'clock last night, about the business in difference between them and the Commons, in the matter of the East India Company. Here took a turn or two, and up to my Lord Crew's, and there dined; where Mr. Case, the minister, a dull fellow in his talk, and all in the Presbyterian manner; a great deal of noise and a kind of religious tone, but very dull. After dinner my Lord and I together. He tells me he hears that there are great disputes like to be at Court, between the factions of the two women, my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Stewart, who is now well again, and the King hath made several public visits to her, and like to come to Court: the other is to go to Barkeshire-house, which is taken for her, and they say a Privy-Seal is passed for L5000 for it. He believes all will come to ruin. Thence I to White Hall, where the Duke of York gone to the Lords' House, where there is to be a conference on the Lords' side to the Commons this afternoon, giving in their Reasons, which I would have been at, but could not; for, going by direction to the Prince's chamber, there Brouncker, W. Pen, and Mr. Wren, and I, met, and did our business with the Duke of York. But, Lord! to see how this play of Sir Positive At-all,--["The Impertinents."]--in abuse of Sir Robert Howard, do take, all the Duke's and every body's talk being of that, and telling more stories of him, of the like nature, that it is now the town and country talk, and, they say, is most exactly true. The Duke of York himself said that of his playing at trap-ball is true, and told several other stories of him. This being done, Brouncker, Pen, and I to Brouncker's house, and there sat and talked, I asking many questions in mathematics to my Lord, which he do me the pleasure to satisfy me in, and here we drank and so spent an hour, and so W. Pen and I home, and after being with W. Pen at his house an hour, I home and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning we sat. Here I first hear that the Queene hath miscarryed of a perfect child, being gone about ten weeks, which do shew that she can conceive, though it be unfortunate that she cannot bring forth. Here we are told also that last night the Duchesse of Monmouth, dancing at her lodgings, hath sprained her thigh. Here we are told also that the House of Commons sat till five o'clock this morning, upon the business of the difference between the Lords and them, resolving to do something therein before they rise, to assert their privileges. So I at noon by water to Westminster, and there find the King hath waited in the Prince's chamber these two hours, and the Houses are not ready for him. The Commons having sent this morning, after their long debate therein the last night, to the Lords, that they do think the only expedient left to preserve unity between the two Houses is, that they do put a stop to any proceedings upon their late judgement against the East India Company, till their next meeting; to which the Lords returned answer that they would return answer to them by a messenger of their own, which they not presently doing, they were all inflamed, and thought it was only a trick, to keep them in suspense till the King come to adjourne them; and, so, rather than lose the opportunity of doing themselves right, they presently with great fury come to this vote: "That whoever should assist in the execution of the judgement of the Lords against the Company, should be held betrayers of the liberties of the people of England, and of the privileges of that House." This the Lords had notice of, and were mad at it; and so continued debating without any design to yield to the Commons, till the King come in, and sent for the Commons, where the Speaker made a short but silly speech, about their giving Him L300,000; and then the several Bills, their titles were read, and the King's assent signified in the proper terms, according to the nature of the Bills, of which about three or four were public Bills, and seven or eight private ones, the additional Bills for the building of the City and the Bill against Conventicles being none of them. The King did make a short, silly speech, which he read, giving them thanks for the money, which now, he said, he did believe would be sufficient, because there was peace between his neighbours, which was a kind of a slur, methought, to the Commons; and that he was sorry for what he heard of difference between the two Houses, but that he hoped their recesse would put them into a way of accommodation; and so adjourned them to the 9th of August, and then recollected himself, and told them the 11th; so imperfect a speaker he is. So the Commons went to their House, and forthwith adjourned; and the Lords resumed their House, the King being gone, and sat an hour or two after, but what they did, I cannot tell; but every body expected they would commit Sir Andrew Rickard, Sir Samuel Barnardiston, Mr. Boone, and Mr. Wynne, who were all there, and called in, upon their knees, to the bar of the House; and Sir John Robinson I left there, endeavouring to prevent their being committed to the Tower, lest he should thereby be forced to deny their order, because of this vote of the Commons, whereof he is one, which is an odde case. [This "odd case" was that of Thomas Skinner and the East India Company. According to Ralph, the Commons had ordered Skinner, the plaintiff, into the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms, and the Lords did the same by Sir Samuel Barnadiston, deputy-governor of the company, as likewise Sir Andrew Rickard, Mr. Rowland Gwynn, and Mr. Christopher Boone.--B.] Thence I to the Rose Taverne in Covent Garden, and there sent for a pullet and dined all alone, being to meet Sir W. Pen, who by and by come, and he and I into the King's house, and there "The Mayd's Tragedy," a good play, but Knepp not there; and my head and eyes out of order, the first from my drinking wine at dinner, and the other from my much work in the morning. Thence parted, and I towards the New Exchange and there bought a pair of black silk stockings at the hosier's that hath the very pretty woman to his wife, about ten doors on this side of the 'Change, and she is indeed very pretty, but I think a notable talking woman by what I heard to others there. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I hear the Lords are up, but what they have done I know not, and so walked toward White Hall and thence by water to the Tower, and so home and there to my letters, and so to Sir W. Pen's; and there did talk with Mrs. Lowther, who is very kind to me, more than usual, and I will make use of it. She begins to draw very well, and I think do as well, if not better, than my wife, if it be true that she do it herself, what she shews me, and so to bed, and my head akeing all night with the wine I drank to-day, and my eyes ill. So lay long, my head pretty well in the morning. 10th (Lord's day). Up, and to the office, there to do, business till church time, when Mr. Shepley, newly come to town, come to see me, and we had some discourse of all matters, and particularly of my Lord Sandwich's concernments, and here did by the by as he would seem tell me that my Lady--[Lady Sandwich.]--had it in her thoughts, if she had occasion, to, borrow L100 of me, which I did not declare any opposition to, though I doubt it will be so much lost. But, however, I will not deny my Lady, if she ask it, whatever comes of it, though it be lost; but shall be glad that it is no bigger sum. And yet it vexes me though, and the more because it brings into my head some apprehensions what trouble I may here after be brought to when my Lord comes home, if he should ask me to come into bonds with him, as I fear he will have occasions to make money, but I hope I shall have the wit to deny it. He being gone, I to church, and so home, and there comes W. Hewer and Balty, and by and by I sent for Mercer to come and dine with me, and pretty merry, and after dinner I fell to teach her "Canite Jehovae," which she did a great part presently, and so she away, and I to church, and from church home with my Lady Pen; and, after being there an hour or so talking, I took her, and Mrs. Lowther, and old Mrs. Whistler, her mother-in-law, by water with great pleasure as far as Chelsy, and so back to Spring Garden, at Fox-hall, and there walked, and eat, and drank, and so to water again, and set down the old woman at home at Durham Yard:' and it raining all the way, it troubled us; but, however, my cloak kept us all dry, and so home, and at the Tower wharf there we did send for a pair of old shoes for Mrs. Lowther, and there I did pull the others off and put them on, elle being peu shy, but do speak con mighty kindness to me that she would desire me pour su mari if it were to be done . . . . . Here staid a little at Sir W. Pen's, who was gone to bed, it being about eleven at night, and so I home to bed. 11th. Up, and to my office, where alone all the morning. About noon comes to me my cousin Sarah, and my aunt Livett, newly come out of Gloucestershire, good woman, and come to see me; I took them home, and made them drink, but they would not stay dinner, I being alone. But here they tell me that they hear that this day Kate Joyce was to be married to a man called Hollingshed, whom she indeed did once tell me of, and desired me to enquire after him. But, whatever she said of his being rich, I do fear, by her doing this without my advice, it is not as it ought to be; but, as she brews, let her bake. They being gone, I to dinner with Balty and his wife, who is come to town to-day from Deptford to see us, and after dinner I out and took a coach, and called Mercer, and she and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Tempest," and between two acts, I went out to Mr. Harris, and got him to repeat to me the words of the Echo, while I writ them down, having tried in the play to have wrote them; but, when I had done it, having done it without looking upon my paper, I find I could not read the blacklead. But now I have got the words clear, and, in going in thither, had the pleasure to see the actors in their several dresses, especially the seamen and monster, which were very droll: so into the play again. But there happened one thing which vexed me, which is, that the orange-woman did come in the pit, and challenge me for twelve oranges, which she delivered by my order at a late play, at night, to give to some ladies in a box, which was wholly untrue, but yet she swore it to be true. But, however, I did deny it, and did not pay her; but, for quiet, did buy 4s. worth of oranges of her, at 6d. a-piece. Here I saw first my Lord Ormond since his coming from Ireland, which is now about eight days. After the play done, I took Mercer by water to Spring Garden; and there with great pleasure walked, and eat, and drank, and sang, making people come about us, to hear us, and two little children of one of our neighbours that happened to be there, did come into our arbour, and we made them dance prettily. So by water, with great pleasure, down to the Bridge, and there landed, and took water again on the other side; and so to the Tower, and I saw her home, I myself home to my chamber, and by and by to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat, and sat all the morning. Here Lord Anglesey was with us, and in talk about the late difference between the two Houses, do tell us that he thinks the House of Lords may be in an error, at least, it is possible they may, in this matter of Skinner; and he doubts they may, and did declare his judgement in the House of Lords against their proceedings therein, he having hindered 100 originall causes being brought into their House, notwithstanding that he was put upon defending their proceedings: but that he is confident that the House of Commons are in the wrong, in the method they take to remedy an error of the Lords, for no vote of theirs can do it; but, in all like cases, the Commons have done it by petition to the King, sent up to the Lords, and by them agreed to, and so redressed, as they did in the Petition of Right. He says that he did tell them indeed, which is talked of, and which did vex the Commons, that the Lords were "Judices nati et Conciliarii nati;" but all other judges among us are under salary, and the Commons themselves served for wages; and therefore the Lords, in reason, were the freer judges. At noon to dinner at home, and after dinner, where Creed dined with me, he and I, by water to the Temple, where we parted, and I both to the King's and Duke of York's playhouses, and there went through the houses to see what faces I could spy that I knew, and meeting none, I away by coach to my house, and then to Mrs. Mercer's, where I met with her two daughters, and a pretty-lady I never knew yet, one Mrs. Susan Gayet, a very pretty black lady, that speaks French well, and is a Catholick, and merchant's daughter, by us, and here was also Mrs. Anne Jones, and after sitting and talking a little, I took them out, and carried them through Hackney to Kingsland, and there walked to Sir G. Whitmore's house, where I have not been many a day; and so to the old house at Islington, and eat, and drank, and sang, and mighty merry; and so by moonshine with infinite pleasure home, and there sang again in Mercer's garden. And so parted, I having there seen a mummy in a merchant's warehouse there, all the middle of the man or woman's body, black and hard. I never saw any before, and, therefore, it pleased me much, though an ill sight; and he did give me a little bit, and a bone of an arme, I suppose, and so home, and there to bed. 13th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and so to Sir H. Cholmly's, who not being up I made a short visit to Sir W. Coventry, and he and I through the Park to White Hall, and thence I back into the Park, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Sir Stephen Fox's, where we met and considered the business of the Excise, how far it is charged in reference to the payment of the Guards and Tangier. Thence he and I walked to Westminster Hall and there took a turn, it being holyday, and so back again, and I to the mercer's, and my tailor's about a stuff suit that I am going to make. Thence, at noon, to Hercules Pillars, and there dined all alone, and so to White Hall, some of us attended the Duke of York as usual, and so to attend the Council about the business of Hemskirke's project of building a ship that sails two feet for one of any other ship, which the Council did agree to be put in practice, the King to give him, if it proves good, L5000 in hand, and L15,000 more in seven years, which, for my part, I think a piece of folly for them to meddle with, because the secret cannot be long kept. So thence, after Council, having drunk some of the King's wine and water with Mr. Chevins, my Lord Brouncker, and some others, I by water to the Old Swan, and there to Michell's, and did see her and drink there, but he being there je ne baiser la; and so back again by water to Spring Garden all alone, and walked a little, and so back again home, and there a little to my viall, and so to bed, Mrs. Turner having sat and supped with me. This morning I hear that last night Sir Thomas Teddiman, poor man! did die by a thrush in his mouth: a good man, and stout and able, and much lamented; though people do make a little mirth, and say, as I believe it did in good part, that the business of the Parliament did break his heart, or, at least, put him into this fever and disorder, that caused his death. 14th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my people, but did not stay to dine out with them, but rose and straight by water to the Temple, and so to Penny's, my tailor's, where by and by by agreement Mercer, and she, to my great content, brings Mrs. Gayet, and I carried them to the King's house; but, coming too soon, we out again to the Rose taverne, and there I did give them a tankard of cool drink, the weather being very hot, and then into the playhouse again, and there saw "The Country Captain," a very dull play, that did give us no content, and besides, little company there, which made it very unpleasing. Thence to the waterside, at Strand bridge, and so up by water and to Fox-hall, where we walked a great while, and pleased mightily with the pleasure thereof, and the company there, and then in, and eat and drank, and then out again and walked, and it beginning to be dark, we to a corner and sang, that everybody got about us to hear us; and so home, where I saw them both at their doors, and, full of the content of this afternoon's pleasure, I home and to walk in the garden a little, and so home to bed. 15th. Up, and betimes to White Hall, and there met with Sir H. Cholmly at Sir Stephen Fox's, and there was also the Cofferer, and we did there consider about our money and the condition of the Excise, and after much dispute agreed upon a state thereof and the manner of our future course of payments. Thence to the Duke of York, and there did a little navy business as we used to do, and so to a Committee for Tangier, where God knows how my Lord Bellasses's accounts passed; understood by nobody but my Lord Ashly, who, I believe, was mad to let them go as he pleased. But here Sir H. Cholmly had his propositions read, about a greater price for his work of the Mole, or to do it upon account, which, being read, he was bid to withdraw. But, Lord! to see how unlucky a man may be, by chance; for, making an unfortunate minute when they were almost tired with the other business, the Duke of York did find fault with it, and that made all the rest, that I believe he had better have given a great deal, and had nothing said to it to-day; whereas, I have seen other things more extravagant passed at first hearing, without any difficulty. Thence I to my Lord Brouncker's, at Mrs. Williams's, and there dined, and she did shew me her closet, which I was sorry to see, for fear of her expecting something from me; and here she took notice of my wife's not once coming to see her, which I am glad of; for she shall not--a prating, vain, idle woman. Thence with Lord Brouncker to Loriners'-hall, [The Loriners, or Lorimers (bit-makers), of London are by reputation an ancient mistery, but they were first incorporated by letters patent of 10 Queen Anne (December 3rd, 1711). Their small hall was at the corner of Basinghall Street in London Wall. The company has no hall now.] by Mooregate, a hall I never heard of before, to Sir Thomas Teddiman's burial, where most people belonging to the sea were. And here we had rings: and here I do hear that some of the last words that he said were, that he had a very good King, God bless him! but that the Parliament had very ill rewarded him for all the service he had endeavoured to do them and his country; so that, for certain, this did go far towards his death. But, Lord! to see among [the company] the young commanders, and Thomas Killigrew and others that come, how unlike a burial this was, O'Brian taking out some ballads out of his pocket, which I read, and the rest come about me to hear! and there very merry we were all, they being new ballets. By and by the corpse went; and I, with my Lord Brouncker, and Dr. Clerke, and Mr. Pierce, as far as the foot of London-bridge; and there we struck off into Thames Street, the rest going to Redriffe, where he is to be buried. And we 'light at the Temple, and there parted; and I to the King's house, and there saw the last act of "The Committee," thinking to have seen Knepp there, but she did not act. And so to my bookseller's, and there carried home some books-among others, "Dr. Wilkins's Reall Character," and thence to Mrs. Turner's, and there went and sat, and she showed me her house from top to bottom, which I had not seen before, very handsome, and here supped, and so home, and got Mercer, and she and I in the garden singing till ten at night, and so home to a little supper, and then parted, with great content, and to bed. The Duchesse of Monmouth's hip is, I hear, now set again, after much pain. I am told also that the Countess of Shrewsbury is brought home by the Duke of Buckingham to his house, where his Duchess saying that it was not for her and the other to live together in a house, he answered, Why, Madam, I did think so, and, therefore, have ordered your coach to be ready, to carry you to your father's, which was a devilish speech, but, they say, true; and my Lady Shrewsbury is there, it seems. 16th. Up; and to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and at noon, home with my people to dinner; and thence to the Office all the afternoon, till, my eyes weary, I did go forth by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw the best part of "The Sea Voyage," where Knepp I see do her part of sorrow very well. I afterwards to her house; but she did not come presently home; and there je did kiss her ancilla, which is so mighty belle; and I to my tailor's, and to buy me a belt for my new suit against to-morrow; and so home, and there to my Office, and afterwards late walking in the garden; and so home to supper, and to bed, after Nell's cutting of my hair close, the weather being very hot. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new stuff-suit, with a shoulder-belt, according to the new fashion, and the bands of my vest and tunique laced with silk lace, of the colour of my suit: and so, very handsome, to Church, where a dull sermon and of a stranger, and so home; and there I find W. Howe, and a younger brother of his, come to dine with me; and there comes Mercer, and brings with her Mrs. Gayet, which pleased me mightily; and here was also W. Hewer, and mighty merry; and after dinner to sing psalms. But, Lord! to hear what an excellent base this younger brother of W. Howe's sings, even to my astonishment, and mighty pleasant. By and by Gayet goes away, being a Catholick, to her devotions, and Mercer to church; but we continuing an hour or two singing, and so parted; and I to Sir W. Pen's, and there sent for a hackney-coach; and he and she [Lady Pen] and I out, to take the gyre. We went to Stepney, and there stopped at the Trinity House, he to talk with the servants there against to-morrow, which is a great day for the choice of a new Master, and thence to Mile End, and there eat and drank, and so home; and I supped with them--that is, eat some butter and radishes, which is my excuse for not eating any other of their victuals, which I hate, because of their sluttery: and so home, and made my boy read to me part of Dr. Wilkins's new book of the "Real Character;" and so to bed. 18th. Up, and to my office, where most of the morning doing business and seeing my window-frames new painted, and then I out by coach to my Lord Bellasses, at his new house by my late Lord Treasurer's, and there met him and Mr. Sherwin, Auditor Beale, and Creed, about my Lord's accounts, and here my Lord shewed me his new house, which, indeed, is mighty noble, and good pictures--indeed, not one bad one in it. Thence to my tailor's, and there did find Mercer come with Mrs. Horsfield and Gayet according to my desire, and there I took them up, it being almost twelve o'clock, or a little more, and carried them to the King's playhouse, where the doors were not then open; but presently they did open; and we in, and find many people already come in, by private ways, into the pit, it being the first day of Sir Charles Sidly's new play, so long expected, "The Mullberry Guarden," of whom, being so reputed a wit, all the world do expect great matters. I having sat here awhile, and eat nothing to-day, did slip out, getting a boy to keep my place; and to the Rose Tavern, and there got half a breast of mutton, off of the spit, and dined all alone. And so to the play again, where the King and Queen, by and by, come, and all the Court; and the house infinitely full. But the play, when it come, though there was, here and there, a pretty saying, and that not very many neither, yet the whole of the play had nothing extraordinary in it, at all, neither of language nor design; insomuch that the King I did not see laugh, nor pleased the whole play from the beginning to the end, nor the company; insomuch that I have not been less pleased at a new play in my life, I think. And which made it the worse was, that there never was worse musick played--that is, worse things composed, which made me and Captain Rolt, who happened to sit near me, mad. So away thence, very little satisfied with the play, but pleased with my company. I carried them to Kensington, to the Grotto, and there we sang, to my great content, only vexed, in going in, to see a son of Sir Heneage Finch's beating of a poor little dog to death, letting it lie in so much pain that made me mad to see it, till, by and by, the servants of the house chiding of their young master, one of them come with a thong, and killed the dog outright presently. Thence to Westminster palace, and there took boat and to Fox Hall, where we walked, and eat, and drank, and sang, and very merry. But I find Mrs. Horsfield one of the veriest citizen's wives in the world, so full of little silly talk, and now and then a little sillily bawdy, that I believe if you had her sola a man might hazer all with her. So back by water to Westminster Palace, and there got a coach which carried us as far as the Minorys, and there some thing of the traces broke, and we forced to 'light, and walked to Mrs. Horsfield's house, it being a long and bad way, and dark, and having there put her in a doors, her husband being in bed, we left her and so back to our coach, where the coachman had put it in order, but could not find his whip in the dark a great while, which made us stay long. At last getting a neighbour to hold a candle out of their window Mercer found it, and so away we home at almost 12 at night, and setting them both at their homes, I home and to bed. 19th. Up, and called on Mr. Pierce, who tells me that after all this ado Ward is come to town, and hath appeared to the Commissioners of Accounts and given such answers as he thinks will do every body right, and let the world see that their great expectations and jealousies have been vain in this matter of the prizes. The Commissioners were mighty inquisitive whether he was not instructed by letters or otherwise from hence from my Lord Sandwich's friends what to say and do, and particularly from me, which he did wholly deny, as it was true, I not knowing the man that I know of. He tells me also that, for certain, Mr. Vaughan is made Lord Chief justice, which I am glad of. He tells me, too; that since my Lord of Ormond's coming over, the King begins to be mightily reclaimed, and sups every night with great pleasure with the Queene: and yet, it seems, he is mighty hot upon the Duchess of Richmond; insomuch that, upon Sunday was se'nnight, at night, after he had ordered his Guards and coach to be ready to carry him to the Park, he did, on a sudden, take a pair of oars or sculler, and all alone, or but one with him, go to Somersett House, and there, the garden-door not being open, himself clamber over the walls to make a visit to her, which is a horrid shame. He gone, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, Sir W. Pen sick of the gout comes not out. After dinner at home, to White Hall, it being a very rainy day, and there a Committee for Tangier, where I was mightily pleased to see Sir W. Coventry fall upon my Lord Bellasses' business of the 3d. in every piece of it which he would get to himself, making the King pay 4s. 9d, while he puts them off for 4s. 6d., so that Sir W. Coventry continues still the same man for the King's good. But here Creed did vex me with saying that I ought first to have my account past by the Commissioners of Tangier before in the Exchequer. Thence W. Coventry and I in the Matted gallery, and there he did talk very well to me about the way to save the credit of the officers of the Navy, and their places too, by making use of this interval of Parliament to be found to be mending of matters in the Navy, and that nothing but this will do it, and gives an instance in themselves of the Treasury, whereof himself and Sir John Duncombe all the world knows have enemies, and my Lord Ashly a man obnoxious to most, and Sir Thomas Clifford one that as a man suddenly rising and a creature of my Lord Arlington's hath enemies enough (none of them being otherwise but the Duke of Albemarle), yet with all this fault they hear nothing of the business of the Treasury, but all well spoken of there. He is for the removal of Sir John Minnes, thinking that thereby the world will see a greater change in the hands than now they do; and I will endeavour it, and endeavour to do some good in the office also. So home by coach, and to the office, where ended my letters, and then home, and there got Balty to read to me out of Sorbiere's Observations in his Voyage into England, and then to bed. 20th. Up, and with Colonell Middleton, in a new coach he hath made him, very handsome, to White Hall, where the Duke of York having removed his lodgings for this year to St. James's, we walked thither; and there find the Duke of York coming to White Hall, and so back to the Council-chamber, where the Committee of the Navy sat; and here we discoursed several things; but, Lord! like fools; so as it was a shame to see things of this importance managed by a Council that understand nothing of them: and, among other things, one was about this building of a ship with Hemskirke's secret, to sail a third faster than any other ship; but he hath got Prince Rupert on his side, and by that means, I believe, will get his conditions made better than he would otherwise, or ought indeed. Having done there, I met with Sir Richard Browne, and he took me to dinner with him to a new tavern, above Charing Cross, where some clients of his did give him a good dinner, and good company; among others, one Bovy, a solicitor, and lawyer and merchant all together, who hath travelled very much, did talk some things well; but only he is a "Sir Positive:" but the talk of their travels over the Alps very fine. Thence walked to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Mulberry Garden" again, and cannot be reconciled to it, but only to find here and there an independent sentence of wit, and that is all. Here met with Creed; and took him to Hales's, and there saw the beginnings of Harris's head which he draws for me, which I do not yet like. So he and I down to the New Exchange, and there cheapened ribbands for my wife, and so down to the Whey house and drank some and eat some curds, which did by and by make my belly ake mightily. So he and I to White Hall, and walked over the Park to the Mulberry-Garden, [On the site of the present Buckingham Palace and gardens. Originally a garden of mulberry trees, planted by James I. in 1609 with the intention of cultivating the manufacture of English silks.] where I never was before; and find it a very silly place, worse than Spring-garden, and but little company, and those a rascally, whoring, roguing sort of people, only a wilderness here, that is somewhat pretty, but rude. Did not stay to drink, but walked an hour and so away to Charing Cross, and there took coach and away home, in my way going into Bishopsgate Street, to bespeak places for myself and boy to go to Cambridge in the coach this week, and so to Brampton, to see my wife. So home, and to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and busy to send some things into the country, and then to the Office, where meets me Sir Richard Ford, who among other things congratulates me, as one or two did yesterday, [on] my great purchase; and he advises me rather to forbear, if it be not done, as a thing that the world will envy me in: and what is it but my cozen Tom Pepys's buying of Martin Abbey, in Surry! which is a mistake I am sorry for, and yet do fear that it may spread in the world to my prejudice. All the morning at the office, and at noon my clerks dined with me, and there do hear from them how all the town is full of the talk of a meteor, or some fire, that did on Saturday last fly over the City at night, which do put me in mind that, being then walking in the dark an hour or more myself in the garden, after I had done writing, I did see a light before me come from behind me, which made me turn back my head; and I did see a sudden fire or light running in the sky, as it were towards Cheapside ward, and it vanished very quick, which did make me bethink myself what holyday it was, and took it for some rocket, though it was much brighter than any rocket, and so thought no more of it, but it seems Mr. Hater and Gibson going home that night did meet with many clusters of people talking of it, and many people of the towns about the city did see it, and the world do make much discourse of it, their apprehensions being mighty full of the rest of the City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats. Which God prevent! Thence after dinner I by coach to the Temple, and there bought a new book of songs set to musique by one Smith of Oxford, some songs of Mr. Cowley's, and so to Westminster, and there to walk a little in the Hall, and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did hazer cet que je voudrai mit her, and drank and sat most of the afternoon with her and her sister, and here she promises me her fine starling, which was the King's, and speaks finely, which I shall be glad of, and so walked to the Temple, meeting in the street with my cozen Alcocke, the young man, that is a good sober youth, I have not seen these four or five years, newly come to town to look for employment: but I cannot serve him, though I think he deserves well, and so I took coach and home to my business, and in the evening took Mrs. Turner and Mercer out to Mile End and drank, and then home, and sang; and eat a dish of greene pease, the first I have seen this year, given me by Mr. Gibson, extraordinary young and pretty, and so saw them at home, and so home to bed. Sir W. Pen continues ill of the gout. 22nd. Up, and all the morning at the office busy. At noon home with my people to dinner, where good discourse and merry. After dinner comes Mr. Martin, the purser, and brings me his wife's starling, which was formerly the King's bird, that do speak and whistle finely, which I am mighty proud of and shall take pleasure in it. Thence to the Duke of York's house to a play, and saw Sir Martin Marr-all, where the house is full; and though I have seen it, I think, ten times, yet the pleasure I have is yet as great as ever, and is undoubtedly the best comedy ever was wrote. Thence to my tailor's and a mercer's for patterns to carry my wife of cloth and silk for a bed, which I think will please her and me, and so home, and fitted myself for my journey to-morrow, which I fear will not be pleasant, because of the wet weather, it raining very hard all this day; but the less it troubles me because the King and Duke of York and Court are at this day at Newmarket, at a great horse-race, and proposed great pleasure for two or three days, but are in the same wet. So from the office home to supper, and betimes to bed. 23rd. Up by four o'clock; and, getting my things ready, and recommending the care of my house to W. Hewer, I with my boy Tom, whom I take with me, to the Bull, in Bishopsgate Street, and there, about six, took coach, he and I, and a gentleman and his man, there being another coach also, with as many more, I think, in it; and so away to Bishop's Stafford, and there dined, and changed horses and coach, at Mrs. Aynsworth's; but I took no knowledge of her. Here the gentleman and I to dinner, and in comes Captain Forster, an acquaintance of his, he that do belong to my Lord Anglesey, who had been at the late horse-races at Newmarket, where the King now is, and says that they had fair weather there yesterday, though we here, and at London, had nothing but rain, insomuch that the ways are mighty full of water, so as hardly to be passed. Here I hear Mrs. Aynsworth is going to live at London: but I believe will be mistaken in it; for it will be found better for her to be chief where she is, than to have little to do at London. There being many finer than she there. After dinner away again and come to Cambridge, after much bad way, about nine at night; and there, at the Rose, I met my father's horses, with a man, staying for me. But it is so late, and the waters so deep, that I durst not go to-night; but after supper to bed; and there lay very ill, by reason of some drunken scholars making a noise all night, and vexed for fear that the horses should not be taken up from grass, time enough for the morning. Well pleased all this journey with the conversation of him that went with me, who I think is a lawyer, and lives about Lynne, but his name I did not ask. 24th (Lord's day). I up, at between two and three in the morning, and, calling up my boy, and father's boy, we set out by three o'clock, it being high day; end so through the water with very good success, though very deep almost all the way, and got to Brampton, where most of them in bed, and so I weary up to my wife's chamber, whom I find in bed, and pretended a little not well, and indeed she hath those upon her, but fell to talk and mightily pleased both of us, and upgot the rest, Betty Turner and Willet and Jane, all whom I was glad to see, and very merry, and got me ready in my new stuff clothes that I send down before me, and so my wife and they got ready too, while I to my father, poor man, and walked with him up and down the house--it raining a little, and the waters all over Portholme and the meadows, so as no pleasure abroad. Here I saw my brothers and sister Jackson, she growing fat, and, since being married, I think looks comelier than before: but a mighty pert woman she is, and I think proud, he keeping her mighty handsome, and they say mighty fond, and are going shortly to live at Ellington of themselves, and will keep malting, and grazing of cattle. At noon comes Mr. Phillips and dines with us, and a pretty odd-humoured man he seems to be; but good withal, but of mighty great methods in his eating and drinking, and will not kiss a woman since his wife's death. After dinner my Lady Sandwich sending to see whether I was come, I presently took horse, and find her and her family at chapel; and thither I went in to them, and sat out the sermon, where I heard Jervas Fullwood, now their chaplain, preach a very good and seraphic kind of sermon, too good for an ordinary congregation. After sermon, I with my Lady, and my Lady Hinchingbroke, and Paulina, and Lord Hinchingbroke, to the dining-room, saluting none of them, and there sat and talked an hour or two, with great pleasure and satisfaction, to my Lady, about my Lord's matters; but I think not with that satisfaction to her, or me, that otherwise would, she knowing that she did design tomorrow, and I remaining all the while in fear, of being asked to lend her some money, as I was afterward, when I had taken leave of her, by Mr. Shepley, L100, which I will not deny my Lady, and am willing to be found when my Lord comes home to have done something of that kind for them, and so he riding to Brampton and supping there with me he did desire it of me from my Lady, and I promised it, though much against my will, for I fear it is as good as lost. After supper, where very merry, we to bed, myself very weary and to sleep all night. 25th. Waked betimes, and lay long . . . . and there fell to talking, and by and by rose, it being the first fair day, and yet not quite fair, that we have had some time, and so up, and to walk with my father again in the garden, consulting what to do with him and this house when Pall and her husband go away; and I think it will be to let it, and he go live with her, though I am against letting the house for any long time, because of having it to retire to, ourselves. So I do intend to think more of it before I resolve. By and by comes Mr. Cooke to see me and so spent the morning, and he gone by and by at noon to dinner, where Mr. Shepley come and we merry, all being in good humour between my wife and her people about her, and after dinner took horse, I promising to fetch her away about fourteen days hence, and so calling all of us, we men on horseback, and the women and my father, at Goody Gorum's, and there in a frolic drinking I took leave, there going with me and my boy, my two brothers, and one Browne, whom they call in mirth Colonell, for our guide, and also Mr. Shepley, to the end of Huntingdon, and another gentleman who accidentally come thither, one Mr. Castle; and I made them drink at the Chequers, where I observed the same tapster, Tom, that was there when I was a little boy and so we, at the end of the town, took leave of Shepley and the other gentleman, and so we away and got well to Cambridge, about seven to the Rose, the waters not being now so high as before. And here 'lighting, I took my boy and two brothers, and walked to Magdalene College: and there into the butterys, as a stranger, and there drank my bellyfull of their beer, which pleased me, as the best I ever drank: and hear by the butler's man, who was son to Goody Mulliner over against the College, that we used to buy stewed prunes of, concerning the College and persons in it; and find very few, only Mr. Hollins and Pechell, I think, that were of my time. But I was mightily pleased to come in this condition to see and ask, and thence, giving the fellow something, away walked to Chesterton, to see our old walk, and there into the Church, the bells ringing, and saw the place I used to sit in, and so to the ferry, and ferried over to the other side, and walked with great pleasure, the river being mighty high by Barnewell Abbey: and so by Jesus College to the town, and so to our quarters, and to supper, and then to bed, being very weary and sleepy and mightily pleased with this night's walk. 26th. Up by four o'clock; and by the time we were ready, and had eat, we were called to the coach, where about six o'clock we set out, there being a man and two women of one company, ordinary people, and one lady alone, that is tolerably handsome, but mighty well spoken, whom I took great pleasure in talking to, and did get her to read aloud in a book she was reading, in the coach, being the King's Meditations;--[The meditations on death, and prayers used by Charles I. shortly before his execution]--and then the boy and I to sing, and so about noon come to Bishop's Stafford, to another house than what we were at the other day, and better used. And here I paid for the reckoning 11s., we dining together, and pretty merry; and then set out again, sleeping most part of the way; and got to Bishopsgate Street before eight o'clock, the waters being now most of them down, and we avoiding the bad way in the forest by a privy way, which brought us to Hodsden; and so to Tibalds, that road, which was mighty pleasant. So home, where we find all well, and brother Balty and his wife looking to the house, she mighty fine, in a new gold-laced 'just a cour'. I shifted myself, and so to see Mrs. Turner, and Mercer appearing over the way, called her in, and sat and talked, and then home to my house by and by, and there supped and talked mighty merry, and then broke up and to bed, being a little vexed at what W. Hewer tells me Sir John Shaw did this day in my absence say at the Board, complaining of my doing of him injury and the board permitting it, whereas they had more reason to except against his attributing that to me alone which I could not do but with their condent and direction, it being to very good service to the King, and which I shall be proud to have imputed to me alone. The King I hear come to town last night. 27th. Up, and to the office, where some time upon Sir D. Gawden's accounts, and then I by water to Westminster for some Tangier orders, and so meeting with Mr. Sawyers my old chamber-fellow, he and I by water together to the Temple, he giving me an account of the base, rude usage, which he and Sir G. Carteret had lately, before the Commissioners of Accounts, where he was, as Counsel to Sir G. Carteret, which I was sorry to hear, they behaving themselves like most insolent and ill-mannered men. Thence by coach to the Exchange, and there met with Sir H. Cholmly at Colvill's; and there did give him some orders, and so home, and there to the office again, where busy till two o'clock, and then with Sir D. Gawden to his house, with my Lord Brouncker and Sir J. Minnes, to dinner, where we dined very well, and much good company, among others, a Dr., a fat man, whom by face I know, as one that uses to sit in our church, that after dinner did take me out, and walked together, who told me that he had now newly entered himself into Orders, in the decay of the Church, and did think it his duty so to do, thereby to do his part toward the support and reformation thereof; and spoke very soberly, and said that just about the same age Dr. Donne did enter into Orders. I find him a sober gentleman, and a man that hath seen much of the world, and I think may do good. Thence after dinner to the office, and there did a little business, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who I find still very ill of the goute, sitting in his great chair, made on purpose for persons sick of that disease, for their ease; and this very chair, he tells me, was made for my Lady Lambert! Thence I by coach to my tailor's, there to direct about the making of me another suit, and so to White Hall, and through St. James's Park to St. James's, thinking to have met with Mr. Wren, but could not, and so homeward toward the New Exchange, and meeting Mr. Creed he and I to drink some whey at the whey-house, and so into the 'Change and took a walk or two, and so home, and there vexed at my boy's being out of doors till ten at night, but it was upon my brother Jackson's business, and so I was the less displeased, and then made the boy to read to me out of Dr. Wilkins his "Real Character," and particularly about Noah's arke, where he do give a very good account thereof, shewing how few the number of the several species of beasts and fowls were that were to be in the arke, and that there was room enough for them and their food and dung, which do please me mightily and is much beyond what ever I heard of the subject, and so to bed. 28th. Up, to set right some little matters of my Tangier accounts, and so to the office, where busy all the morning, and then home with my people to dinner, and after dinner comes about a petition for a poor woman whose-ticket she would get paid, and so talked a little and did baiser her, and so to the office, being pleased that this morning my bookseller brings me home Marcennus's book of musick,' which costs me L3 2s.; but is a very fine book. So to the office and did some business, and then by coach to the New Exchange, and there by agreement at my bookseller's shop met Mercer and Gayet, and took them by water, first to one of the Neat-houses, where walked in the garden, but nothing but a bottle of wine to be had, though pleased with seeing the garden; and so to Fox Hall, where with great pleasure we walked, and then to the upper end of the further retired walk, and there sat and sang, and brought great many gallants and fine people about us, and, upon the bench, we did by and by eat and drink what we had, and very merry: and so with much pleasure to the Old Swan, and walked with them home, and there left them, and so I home to my business at the office a little, and so to bed. 29th. Betimes up, and up to my Tangier accounts, and then by water to the Council Chamber, and there received some directions from the Duke of York and the Committee of the Navy there about casting up the charge of the present summer's fleete, that so they may come within the bounds of the sum given by the Parliament. But it is pretty to see how Prince Rupert and other mad, silly people, are for setting out but a little fleete, there being no occasion for it; and say it will be best to save the money for better uses. But Sir W. Coventry did declare that, in wisdom, it was better to do so; but that, in obedience to the Parliament, he was [for] setting out the fifty sail talked on, though it spent all the money, and to little purpose; and that this was better than to leave it to the Parliament to make bad construction of their thrift, if any trouble should happen. Thus wary the world is grown! Thence back again presently home, and did business till noon: and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, with much good company, it being the King's birthday, and many healths drunk: and here I did receive another letter from my Lord Sandwich, which troubles me to see how I have neglected him, in not writing, or but once, all this time of his being abroad; and I see he takes notice, but yet gently, of it, that it puts me to great trouble, and I know not how to get out of it, having no good excuse, and too late now to mend, he being coming home. Thence home, whither, by agreement, by and by comes Mercer and Gayet, and two gentlemen with them, Mr. Monteith and Pelham, the former a swaggering young handsome gentleman, the latter a sober citizen merchant. Both sing, but the latter with great skill-the other, no skill, but a good voice, and a good basse, but used to sing only tavern tunes; and so I spent all this evening till eleven at night singing with them, till I was tired of them, because of the swaggering fellow with the base, though the girl Mercer did mightily commend him before to me. This night je had agreed par' alter at Deptford, there par' avoir lain con the moher de Bagwell, but this company did hinder me. 30th. Up, and put on a new summer black bombazin suit, and so to the office; and being come now to an agreement with my barber, to keep my perriwig in good order at 20s. a-year, I am like to go very spruce, more than I used to do. All the morning at the office and at noon home to dinner, and so to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Philaster;" where it is pretty to see how I could remember almost all along, ever since I was a boy, Arethusa, the part which I was to have acted at Sir Robert Cooke's; and it was very pleasant to me, but more to think what a ridiculous thing it would have been for me to have acted a beautiful woman. Thence to Mr. Pierces, and there saw Knepp also, and were merry; and here saw my little Lady Katherine Montagu come to town, about her eyes, which are sore, and they think the King's evil, poor, pretty lady. Here I was freed from a fear that Knepp was angry or might take advantage to declare the essay that je did the other day, quand je was con her . . . Thence to the New Exchange, and there met Harris and Rolt, and one Richards, a tailor and great company-keeper, and with these over to Fox Hall, and there fell into the company of Harry Killigrew, a rogue newly come back out of France, but still in disgrace at our Court, and young Newport and others, as very rogues as any in the town, who were ready to take hold of every woman that come by them. And so to supper in an arbour: but, Lord! their mad bawdy talk did make my heart ake! And here I first understood by their talk the meaning of the company that lately were called Ballets; Harris telling how it was by a meeting of some young blades, where he was among them, and my Lady Bennet [Evidently adopted as a cant expression. The woman here alluded to was a procuress well known in her day, and described in the "Tatler" (No. 84) as "the celebrated Madam Bennet." We further learn, from the "Spectator" (No. 266), that she was the Lady B. to whom Wycherley addressed his ironical dedication of "The Plain Dealer," which is considered as a masterpiece of raillery. It is worthy of remark that the fair sex may justly complain of almost every word in the English language designating a woman having, at some time or another, been used as a term of reproach; for we find Mother, Madam, Mistress, and Miss, all denoting women of bad character; and here Pepys adds the title of my Lady to the number, and completes the ungracious catalogue.--B.] and her ladies; and their there dancing naked, and all the roguish things in the world. But, Lord! what loose cursed company was this, that I was in to-night, though full of wit; and worth a man's being in for once, to know the nature of it, and their manner of talk, and lives. Thence set Rolt and some of [them] at the New Exchange, and so I home, and my business being done at the office, I to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and to church in the morning. At noon I sent for Mr. Mills and his wife and daughter to dine, and they dined with me, and W. Hewer, and very good company, I being in good humour. They gone to church, comes Mr. Tempest, and he and I sang a psalm or two, and so parted, and I by water to the New Exchange, and there to Mrs. Pierces, where Knepp, and she, and W. Howe, and Mr. Pierce, and little Betty, over to Fox Hall, and there walked and supped with great pleasure. Here was Mrs. Manuel also, and mighty good company, and good mirth in making W. Howe spend his six or seven shillings, and so they called him altogether "Cully." So back, and at Somerset-stairs do understand that a boy is newly drowned, washing himself there, and they cannot find his body. So seeing them home, I home by water, W. Howe going with me, and after some talk he lay at my house, and all to bed. Here I hear that Mrs. Davis is quite gone from the Duke of York's house, and Gosnell comes in her room, which I am glad of. At the play at Court the other night, Mrs. Davis was there; and when she was to come to dance her jigg, the Queene would not stay to see it, which people do think it was out of displeasure at her being the King's whore, that she could not bear it. My Lady Castlemayne is, it seems, now mightily out of request, the King coming little to her, and thus she mighty melancholy and discontented. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And will not kiss a woman since his wife's death Beating of a poor little dog to death, letting it lie City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats Disorder in the pit by its raining in, from the cupola Down to the Whey house and drank some and eat some curds Eat some butter and radishes Little company there, which made it very unpleasing So time do alter, and do doubtless the like in myself There setting a poor man to keep my place Whom I find in bed, and pretended a little not well 
4190	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JUNE & JULY 1668 June 1st. Up and with Sir J. Minnes to Westminster, and in the Hall there I met with Harris and Rolt, and carried them to the Rhenish wine-house, where I have not been in a morning--nor any tavern, I think, these seven years and more. Here I did get the words of a song of Harris that I wanted. Here also Mr. Young and Whistler by chance met us, and drank with us. Thence home, and to prepare business against the afternoon, and did walk an hour in the garden with Sir W. Warren, who do tell me of the great difficulty he is under in the business of his accounts with the Commissioners of Parliament, and I fear some inconveniences and troubles may be occasioned thereby to me. So to dinner, and then with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there attended the Lords of the Treasury and also a committee of Council with the Duke of York about the charge of this year's fleete, and thence I to Westminster and to Mrs. Martin's, and did hazer what je would con her, and did once toker la thigh de su landlady, and thence all alone to Fox Hall, and walked and saw young Newport, and two more rogues of the town, seize on two ladies, who walked with them an hour with their masks on; perhaps civil ladies; and there I left them, and so home, and thence to Mr. Mills's, where I never was before, and here find, whom I indeed saw go in, and that did make me go thither, Mrs. Hallworthy and Mrs. Andrews, and here supped, and, extraordinary merry till one in the morning, Mr. Andrews coming to us: and mightily pleased with this night's company and mirth I home to bed. Mrs. Turner, too, was with us. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there dined with me, besides my own people, W. Batelier and Mercer, and we very merry. After dinner, they gone, only Mercer and I to sing a while, and then parted, and I out and took a coach, and called Mercer at their back-door, and she brought with her Mrs. Knightly, a little pretty sober girl, and I carried them to Old Ford, a town by Bow, where I never was before, and there walked in the fields very pleasant, and sang: and so back again, and stopped and drank at the Gun, at Mile End, and so to the Old Exchange door, and did buy them a pound of cherries, cost me 2s., and so set them down again; and I to my little mercer's Finch, that lives now in the Minories, where I have left my cloak, and did here baiser su moher, a belle femme, and there took my cloak which I had left there, and so by water, it being now about nine o'clock, down to Deptford, where I have not been many a day, and there it being dark I did by agreement aller a la house de Bagwell, and there after a little playing and baisando we did go up in the dark a su camera . . . and to my boat again, and against the tide home. Got there by twelve o'clock, taking into my boat, for company, a man that desired a passage--a certain western bargeman, with whom I had good sport, talking of the old woman of Woolwich, and telling him the whole story. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy till g o'clock, and then to White Hall, to the Council-chamber, where I did present the Duke of York with an account of the charge of the present fleete, to his satisfaction; and this being done, did ask his leave for my going out of town five or six days, which he did give me, saying, that my diligence in the King's business was such, that I ought not to be denied when my own business called me any whither. Thence with Sir D. Gawden to Westminster, where I did take a turn or two, and met Roger Pepys, who is mighty earnest for me to stay from going into the country till he goes, and to bring my people thither for some time: but I cannot, but will find another time this summer for it. Thence with him home, and there to the office till noon, and then with Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir G. Carteret, upon whose accounts they have been this day to the Three Tuns to dinner, and thence back again home, and after doing a little business I by coach to the King's house, and there saw good, part of "The Scornfull Lady," and that done, would have takn out Knepp, but she was engaged, and so to my Lord Crew's to visit him; from whom I learn nothing but that there hath been some controversy at the Council-table, about my Lord Sandwich's signing, where some would not have had him, in the treaty with Portugall; but all, I think, is over in it. Thence by coach to Westminster to the Hall, and thence to the Park, where much good company, and many fine ladies; and in so handsome a hackney I was, that I believe Sir W. Coventry and others, who looked on me, did take me to be in one of my own, which I was a little troubled for. So to the lodge, and drank a cup of new milk, and so home, and there to Mrs. Turner's, and sat and talked with her, and then home to bed, having laid my business with W. Hewer to go out of town Friday next, with hopes of a great deal of pleasure. 4th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, dined with me and my clerks. After dinner I carried and set him down at the Temple, he observing to me how St. Sepulchre's church steeple is repaired already a good deal, and the Fleet Bridge is contracted for by the City to begin to be built this summer, which do please me mightily. I to White Hall, and walked through the Park for a little ayre; and so back to the Council-chamber, to the Committee of the Navy, about the business of fitting the present fleete, suitable to the money given, which, as the King orders it, and by what appears, will be very little; and so as I perceive the Duke of York will have nothing to command, nor can intend to go abroad. But it is pretty to see how careful these great men are to do every thing so as they may answer it to the Parliament, thinking themselves safe in nothing but where the judges, with whom they often advise, do say the matter is doubtful; and so they take upon themselves then to be the chief persons to interpret what is doubtful. Thence home, and all the evening to set matters in order against my going to Brampton to-morrow, being resolved upon my journey, and having the Duke of York's leave again to-day; though I do plainly see that I can very ill be spared now, there being much business, especially about this, which I have attended the Council about, and I the man that am alone consulted with; and, besides, my Lord Brouncker is at this time ill, and Sir W. Pen. So things being put in order at the Office, I home to do the like there; and so to bed. 5th (Friday). [The rough notes for the journal from this time to the 17th of June are contained on five leaves, inserted in the book; and after them follow several pages left blank for the fair copy which was never made.] At Barnet, for milk, 6d. On the highway, to menders of the highway, 6d. Dinner at Stevenage, 5s. 6d. 6th (Saturday). Spent at Huntingdon with Bowles, and Appleyard, and Shepley, 2s. 7th (Sunday). My father, for money lent, and horse-hire L1 11s. 8th (Monday). Father's servants (father having in the garden told me bad stories of my wife's ill words), 14s.; one that helped at the horses, 2s.; menders of the highway, 2s. Pleasant country to Bedford, where, while they stay, I rode through the town; and a good country-town; and there, drinking, 1s. We on to Newport; and there 'light, and I and W. Hewer to the Church, and there give the boy 1s. So to Buckingham, a good old town. Here I to see the Church, which very good, and the leads, and a school in it: did give the sexton's boy 1s. A fair bridge here, with many arches: vexed at my people's making me lose so much time; reckoning, 13s. 4d. Mighty pleased with the pleasure of the ground all the day. At night to Newport Pagnell; and there a good pleasant country-town, but few people in it. A very fair--and like a Cathedral--Church; and I saw the leads, and a vault that goes far under ground, and here lay with Betty Turner's sparrow: the town, and so most of this country, well watered. Lay here well, and rose next day by four o'clock: few people in the town: and so away. Reckoning for supper, 19s. 6d.; poor, 6d. Mischance to the coach, but no time lost. 9th (Tuesday). When come to Oxford, a very sweet place: paid our guide, L1 2s. 6d.; barber, 2s. 6d.; book, Stonage, 4s. [This must have been either Inigo Jones's "The most notable Antiquity of Great Britain vulgarly called Stonehenge," printed in 1655, or "Chorea Gigantum, or the most famous Antiquity of Great Britain, vulgarly called Stones Heng, standing on Salisbury Plain, restor'd to the Danes," by Walter Charleton, M.D., and published in 1663.] To dinner; and then out with my wife and people, and landlord: and to him that showed us the schools and library, 10s.; to him that showed us All Souls' College, and Chichly's picture, 5s. So to see Christ Church with my wife, I seeing several others very fine alone, with W. Hewer, before dinner, and did give the boy that went with me 1s. Strawberries, 1s. 2d. Dinner and servants, L1 0s. 6d. After come home from the schools, I out with the landlord to Brazen-nose College;--to the butteries, and in the cellar find the hand of the Child of Hales, . . . long. Butler, 2s. Thence with coach and people to Physic-garden, 1s. So to Friar Bacon's study: I up and saw it, and give the man 1s. Bottle of sack for landlord, 2s. Oxford mighty fine place; and well seated, and cheap entertainment. At night come to Abingdon, where had been a fair of custard; and met many people and scholars going home; and there did get some pretty good musick, and sang and danced till supper: 5s. 10th (Wednesday). Up, and walked to the Hospitall:--[Christ's Hospital]--very large and fine; and pictures of founders, and the History' of the Hospitall; and is said to be worth; L700 per annum; and that Mr. Foly was here lately to see how their lands were settled; and here, in old English, the story of the occasion of it, and a rebus at the bottom. So did give the poor, which they would not take but in their box, 2s. 6d. So to the inn, and paid the reckoning and what not, 13s. So forth towards Hungerford, led this good way by our landlord, one Heart, an old but very civil and well-spoken man, more than I ever heard, of his quality. He gone, we forward; and I vexed at my people's not minding the way. So come to Hungerford, where very good trouts, eels, and crayfish. Dinner: a mean town. At dinner there, 12s. Thence set out with a guide, who saw us to Newmarket-heath, and then left us, 3s. 6d. So all over the Plain by the sight of the steeple, the Plain high and low, to Salisbury, by night; but before I come to the town, I saw a great fortification, and there 'light, and to it and in it; and find it prodigious, so as to frighten me to be in it all alone at that time of night, it being dark. I understand, since, it to be that, that is called Old Sarum. Come to the George Inne, where lay in a silk bed; and very good diet. To supper; then to bed. 11th (Thursday). Up, and W. Hewer and I up and down the town, and find it a very brave place. The river goes through every street; and a most capacious market-place. The city great, I think greater than Hereford. But the Minster most admirable; as big, I think, and handsomer than Westminster: and a most large Close about it, and houses for the Officers thereof, and a fine palace for the Bishop. So to my lodging back, and took out my wife and people to shew them the town and Church; but they being at prayers, we could not be shown the Quire. A very good organ; and I looked in, and saw the Bishop, my friend Dr. Ward. Thence to the inne; and there not being able to hire coach-horses, and not willing to use our own, we got saddle-horses, very dear. Boy that went to look for them, 6d. So the three women behind W. Hewer, Murford, and our guide, and I single to Stonage; over the Plain and some great hills, even to fright us. Come thither, and find them as prodigious as any tales I ever heard of them, and worth going this journey to see. God knows what their use was! they are hard to tell, but yet maybe told. Give the shepherd-woman, for leading our horses, 4d. So back by Wilton, my Lord Pembroke's house, which we could not see, he being just coming to town; but the situation I do not like, nor the house promise much, it being in a low but rich valley. So back home; and there being 'light, we to the Church, and there find them at prayers again, so could not see the Quire; but I sent the women home, and I did go in, and saw very many fine tombs, and among the rest some very ancient, of the Montagus. [The Montacutes, from whom Lord Sandwich's family claimed descent: --B.] So home to dinner; and, that being done, paid the reckoning, which was so exorbitant; and particular in rate of my horses, and 7s. 6d. for bread and beer, that I was mad, and resolve to trouble the master about it, and get something for the poor; and come away in that humour: L2 5s. 6d. Servants, 1s. 6d.; poor, 1s.; guide to the Stones, 2s.; poor woman in the street, 1s.; ribbands, 9d.; washwoman, 1s.; sempstress for W. Hewer, 3s.; lent W. Hewer, 3s. Thence about six o'clock, and with a guide went over the smooth Plain indeed till night; and then by a happy mistake, and that looked like an adventure, we were carried out of our way to a town where we would lye, since we could not go so far as we would. And there with great difficulty come about ten at night to a little inn, where we were fain to go into a room where a pedlar was in bed, and made him rise; and there wife and I lay, and in a truckle-bed Betty Turner and Willett. But good beds, and the master of the house a sober, understanding man, and I had good discourse with him about this country's matters, as wool, and corne, and other things. And he also merry, and made us mighty merry at supper, about manning the new ship, at Bristol, with none but men whose wives do master them; and it seems it is become in reproach to some men of estate that are such hereabouts, that this is become common talk. By and by to bed, glad of this mistake, because, it seems, had we gone on as we intended, we could not have passed with our coach, and must have lain on the Plain all night. This day from Salisbury I wrote by the post my excuse for not coming home, which I hope will do, for I am resolved to see the Bath, and, it may be, Bristol. 12th (Friday). Up, finding our beds good, but lousy; which made us merry. We set out, the reckoning and servants coming to 9s. 6d.; my guide thither, 2s.; coachman, advanced, 10s. So rode a very good way, led to my great content by our landlord to Philips-Norton, with great pleasure, being now come into Somersetshire; where my wife and Deb. mightily joyed thereat,--[They were natives of that county.-B.]--I commending the country, as indeed it deserves. And the first town we came to was Brekington, where, we stopping for something for the horses, we called two or three little boys to us, and pleased ourselves with their manner of speech, and did make one of them kiss Deb., and another say the Lord's Prayer (hallowed be thy kingdom come). At Philips-Norton I walked to the Church, and there saw a very ancient tomb of some Knight Templar, I think; and here saw the tombstone whereon there were only two heads cut, which, the story goes, and credibly, were two sisters, called the Fair Maids of Foscott, that had two bodies upward and one belly, and there lie buried. Here is also a very fine ring of six bells, and they mighty tuneable. Having dined very well, 10s., we come before night to the Bath; where I presently stepped out with my landlord, and saw the baths, with people in them. They are not so large as I expected, but yet pleasant; and the town most of stone, and clean, though the streets generally narrow. I home, and being weary, went to bed without supper; the rest supping. 13th (Saturday). Up at four o'clock, being by appointment called up to the Cross Bath, where we were carried one after one another, myself, and wife, and Betty Turner, Willet, and W. Hewer. And by and by, though we designed to have done before company come, much company come; very fine ladies; and the manner pretty enough, only methinks it cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water. Good conversation among them that are acquainted here, and stay together. Strange to see how hot the water is; and in some places, though this is the most temperate bath, the springs so hot as the feet not able to endure. But strange to see, when women and men herein, that live all the season in these waters, that cannot but be parboiled, and look like the creatures of the bath! Carried away, wrapped in a sheet, and in a chair, home; and there one after another thus carried, I staying above two hours in the water, home to bed, sweating for an hour; and by and by, comes musick to play to me, extraordinary good as ever I heard at London almost, or anywhere: 5s. Up, to go to Bristol, about eleven o'clock, and paying my landlord that was our guide from Chiltern, 10s., and the serjeant of the bath, 10s., and the man that carried us in chairs, 3s. 6d. Set out towards Bristoll, and come thither (in a coach hired to spare our own horses); the way bad, but country good, about two o'clock, where set down at the Horse'shoe, and there, being trimmed by a very handsome fellow, 2s., walked with my wife and people through the city, which is in every respect another London, that one can hardly know it, to stand in the country, no more than that. No carts, it standing generally on vaults, only dog-carts. ["They draw all their heavy goods here on sleds, or sledges, which they call 'gee hoes,' without wheels, which kills a multitude of horses." Another writer says, "They suffer no carts to be used in the city, lest, as some say, the shake occasioned by them on the pavement should affect the Bristol milk (the sherry) in the vaults, which is certainly had here in the greatest perfection." An order of Common Council occurs in 1651 to prohibit the use of carts and waggons-only suffering drays. "Camden in giving our city credit for its cleanliness in forming 'goutes,' says they use sledges here instead of carts, lest they destroy the arches beneath which are the goutes."--Chilcott's New Guide to Bristol, &c.,] So to the Three ..Crowns Tavern I was directed; but, when I come in, the master told me that he had newly given over the selling of wine; it seems, grown rich; and so went to the Sun; and there Deb. going with W. Hewer and Betty Turner to see her uncle [Butts], and leaving my wife with the mistress of the house, I to see the quay, which is a most large and noble Vlace; and to see the new ship building by Bally, neither he nor Furzer being in town. It will be a fine ship. Spoke with the foreman, and did give the boys that kept the cabin 2s. Walked back to the Sun, where I find Deb. come back, and with her, her uncle, a sober merchant, very good company, and so like one of our sober, wealthy, London merchants, as pleased me mightily. Here we dined, and much good talk with him, 7s. 6d.: a messenger to Sir John Knight, who was not at home, 6d. Then walked with him [Butts] and my wife and company round the quay, and to the ship; and he shewed me the Custom-house, and made me understand many things of the place, and led us through Marsh Street, where our girl was born. But, Lord! the joy that was among the old poor people of the place, to see Mrs. Willet's daughter, it seems her mother being a brave woman and mightily beloved! And so brought us a back way by surprize to his house, where a substantial good house, and well furnished; and did give us good entertainment of strawberries, a whole venison-pasty, cold, and plenty of brave wine, and above all Bristoll milk, [A sort of rum punch (milk punch), which, and turtle, were products of the trade of Bristol with the West Indies. So Byron says in the first edition of his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" "Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, Too much oer bowls of rack prolong the night." These lines will not be found in the modern editions; but the following are substituted: "Four turtle feeder's verse must needs he flat, Though Bristol bloat him with the verdant fat." Lord Macaulay says of the collations with which the sugar-refiners of Bristol regaled their visitors: "The repast was dressed in the furnace, And was accompanied by a rich brewage made of the best Spanish wine, and celebrated over the whole kingdom as Bristol milk" ("Hist. of England," vol. i., p. 335)--B.] where comes in another poor woman, who, hearing that Deb. was here, did come running hither, and with her eyes so lull of tears, and heart so full of joy, that she could not speak when she come in, that it made me weep too: I protest that I was not able to speak to her, which I would have done, to have diverted her tears. His wife a good woman, and so sober and substantiall as I was never more pleased anywhere. Servant-maid, 2s. So thence took leave, and he with us through the city, where in walking I find the city pay him great respect, and he the like to the meanest, which pleased me mightily. He shewed us the place where the merchants meet here, and a fine Cross yet standing, like Cheapside. And so to the Horseshoe, where paid the reckoning, 2s. 6d. We back, and by moonshine to the Bath again, about ten-o'clock: bad way; and giving the coachman 1s., went all of us to bed. 14th (Sunday). Up, and walked up and down the town, and saw a pretty good market-place, and many good streets, and very fair stone-houses. And so to the great Church, and there saw Bishop Montagu's tomb; [James Montagu, Bishop of Bath and Wells in 1608, and of Winchester in 1616--died 1618. He was uncle to the Earl of Sandwich, whose mother was Pepys's aunt. Hence Pepys's curiosity respecting the tomb.--B.] and, when placed, did there see many brave people come, and, among others, two men brought in, in litters, and set down in the chancel to hear: but I did not know one face. Here a good organ; but a vain, pragmatical fellow preached a ridiculous, affected sermon, that made me angry, and some gentlemen that sat next me, and sang well. So home, walking round the walls of the City, which are good, and the battlements all whole. The sexton of the church is. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Butts again to see me, and he and I to church, where the same idle fellow preached; and I slept most of the sermon. Thence home, and took my wife out and the girls, and come to this church again, to see it, and look over the monuments, where, among others, Dr. Venner and Pelting, and a lady of Sir W. Walter's; he lying with his face broken. So to the fields a little and walked, and then home and had my head looked [at], and so to supper, and then comes my landlord to me, a sober understanding man, and did give me a good account of the antiquity of this town and Wells; and of two Heads, on two pillars, in Wells church. But he a Catholick. So he gone, I to bed. 15th (Monday). Up, and with Mr. Butts to look into the baths, and find the King and Queen's full of a mixed sort, of good and bad, and the Cross only almost for the gentry. So home and did the like with my wife, and did pay my guides, two women, 5s.; one man, 2s. 6d.; poor, 6d.; woman to lay my foot-cloth, 1s. So to our inne, and there eat and paid reckoning, L1 8s. 6d.; servants, 3s.; poor, 1s.; lent the coach man, 10s. Before I took coach, I went to make a boy dive in the King's bath, 1s. I paid also for my coach and a horse to Bristol, L1 1s. 6d. Took coach, and away, without any of the company of the other stage-coaches, that go out of this town to-day; and rode all day with some trouble, for fear of being out of our way, over the Downes, where the life of the shepherds is, in fair weather only, pretty. In the afternoon come to Abebury, where, seeing great stones like those of Stonage standing up, I stopped, and took a countryman of that town, and he carried me and shewed me a place trenched in, like Old Sarum almost, with great stones pitched in it, some bigger than those at Stonage in figure, to my great admiration: and he told me that most people of learning, coming by, do come and view them, and that the King did so: and that the Mount cast hard by is called Selbury, from one King Seall buried there, as tradition says. I did give this man 1s. So took coach again, seeing one place with great high stones pitched round, which, I believe, was once some particular building, in some measure like that of Stonage. But, about a mile off, it was prodigious to see how full the Downes are of great stones; and all along the vallies, stones of considerable bigness, most of them growing certainly out of the ground so thick as to cover the ground, which makes me think the less of the wonder of Stonage, for hence they might undoubtedly supply themselves with stones, as well as those at Abebury. In my way did give to the poor and menders of the highway 3s. Before night, come to Marlborough, and lay at the Hart; a good house, and a pretty fair town for a street or two; and what is most singular is, their houses on one side having their pent-houses supported with pillars, which makes it a good walk. My wife pleased with all, this evening reading of "Mustapha" to me till supper, and then to supper, and had musique whose innocence pleased me, and I did give them 3s. So to bed, and lay well all night, and long, so as all the five coaches that come this day from Bath, as well as we, were gone out of the town before six. 16th (Tuesday). So paying the reckoning, 14s. 4d., and servants, 2s., poor 1s., set out; and overtook one coach and kept a while company with it, till one of our horses losing a shoe, we stopped and drank and spent 1s. So on, and passing through a good part of this county of Wiltshire, saw a good house of Alexander Popham's, and another of my Lord Craven's, I think in Barkeshire. Come to Newbery, and there dined, which cost me, and musick, which a song of the old courtier of Queen Elizabeth's, and how he was changed upon the coming in of the King, did please me mightily, and I did cause W. Hewer to write it out, 3s. 6d. Then comes the reckoning, forced to change gold, 8s. 7d.; servants and poor, 1s. 6d. So out, and lost our way, which made me vexed, but come into it again; and in the evening betimes come to Reading, and there heard my wife read more of "Mustapha," and then to supper, and then I to walk about the town, which is a very great one, I think bigger than Salsbury: a river runs through it, in seven branches, and unite in one, in one part of the town, and runs into the Thames half-a-mile off one odd sign of the Broad Face. W. Hewer troubled with the headake we had none of his company last night, nor all this day nor night to talk. Then to my inn, and so to bed. 17th (Wednesday). Rose, and paying the reckoning, 12s. 6d.; servants and poor, 2s. 6d.; musick, the worst we have had, coming to our chamber-door, but calling us by wrong names, we lay; so set out with one coach in company, and through Maydenhead, which I never saw before, to Colebrooke by noon; the way mighty good; and there dined, and fitted ourselves a little to go through London, anon. Somewhat out of humour all day, reflecting on my wife's neglect of things, and impertinent humour got by this liberty of being from me, which she is never to be trusted with; for she is a fool. Thence pleasant way to London, before night, and find all very well, to great content; and there to talk with my wife, and saw Sir W. Pen, who is well again. I hear of the ill news by the great fire at Barbados. By and by home, and there with my people to supper, all in pretty good humour, though I find my wife hath something in her gizzard, that only waits an opportunity of being provoked to bring up; but I will not, for my content-sake, give it. So I to bed, glad to find all so well here, and slept well. [The rough notes end here.] 18th. Up betimes and to the office, there to set my papers in order and books, my office having been new whited and windows made clean, and so to sit, where all the morning, and did receive a hint or two from my Lord Anglesey, as if he thought much of my taking the ayre as I have done; but I care not a turd; but whatever the matter is, I think he hath some ill-will to me, or at least an opinion that I am more the servant of the Board than I am. At noon home to dinner, where my wife still in a melancholy, fusty humour, and crying, and do not tell me plainly what it is; but I by little words find that she hath heard of my going to plays, and carrying people abroad every day, in her absence; and that I cannot help but the storm will break out, I think, in a little time. After dinner carried her by coach to St. James's, where she sat in the coach till I to my Lady Peterborough's, who tells me, among other things, her Lord's good words to the Duke of York lately, about my Lord Sandwich, and that the Duke of York is kind to my Lord Sandwich, which I am glad to hear: my business here was about her Lord's pension from Tangier. Here met with Povy, who tells me how hard Creed is upon him, though he did give him, about six months since, I think he said, fifty pieces in gold; and one thing there is in his accounts that I fear may touch me, but I shall help it, I hope. So my wife not speaking a word, going nor coming, nor willing to go to a play, though a new one, I to the Office, and did much business. At night home, where supped Mr. Turner and his wife, and Betty and Mercer and Pelling, as merry as the ill, melancholy humour that my wife was in, would let us, which vexed me; but I took no notice of it, thinking that will be the best way, and let it wear away itself. After supper, parted, and to bed; and my wife troubled all night, and about one o'clock goes out of the bed to the girl's bed, which did trouble me, she crying and sobbing, without telling the cause. By and by she comes back to me, and still crying; I then rose, and would have sat up all night, but she would have me come to bed again; and being pretty well pacified, we to sleep. 19th. When between two and three in the morning we were waked with my maids crying out, "Fire, fire, in Markelane!" So I rose and looked out, and it was dreadful; and strange apprehensions in me, and us all, of being presently burnt. So we all rose; and my care presently was to secure my gold, and plate, and papers, and could quickly have done it, but I went forth to see where it was; and the whole town was presently in the streets; and I found it in a new-built house that stood alone in Minchin-lane, over against the Cloth-workers'-hall, which burned furiously: the house not yet quite finished; and the benefit of brick was well seen, for it burnt all inward, and fell down within itself; so no fear of doing more hurt. So homeward, and stopped at Mr. Mills's, where he and she at the door, and Mrs. Turner, and Betty, and Mrs. Hollworthy, and there I stayed and talked, and up to the church leads, and saw the fire, which spent itself, till all fear over. I home, and there we to bed again, and slept pretty well, and about nine rose, and then my wife fell into her blubbering again, and at length had a request to make to me, which was, that she might go into France, and live there, out of trouble; and then all come out, that I loved pleasure and denied her any, and a deal of do; and I find that there have been great fallings out between my father and her, whom, for ever hereafter, I must keep asunder, for they cannot possibly agree. And I said nothing, but, with very mild words and few, suffered her humour to spend, till we begun to be very quiet, and I think all will be over, and friends, and so I to the office, where all the morning doing business. Yesterday I heard how my Lord Ashly is like to die, having some imposthume in his breast, that he hath been fain to be cut into the body. ["Such an operation was performed in this year, after a consultation of medical men, and chiefly by Locke's advice, and the wound was afterwards always kept open, a silver pipe being inserted. This saved Lord Ashley's life, and gave him health"--Christie's Life of the first Earl of Shaftesbury, vol. ii., p. 34. 'Tapski' was a name given to Shaftesbury in derision, and vile defamers described the abscess, which had originated in a carriage accident in Holland, as the result of extreme dissipation. Lines by Duke, a friend and imitator of Dryden: "The working ferment of his active mind, In his weak body's cask with pain confined, Would burst the rotten vessel where 'tis pent, But that 'tis tapt to give the treason vent."] At noon home to dinner, and thence by coach to White Hall, where we attended the Duke of York in his closet, upon our usual business. And thence out, and did see many of the Knights of the Garter, with the King and Duke of York, going into the Privychamber, to elect the Elector of Saxony into that Order, who, I did hear the Duke of York say, was a good drinker: I know not upon what score this compliment is done him. Thence with W. Pen, who is in great pain of the gowte, by coach round by Holborne home, he being at every kennel full of pain. Thence home, and by and by comes my wife and Deb. home, have been at the King's playhouse to-day, thinking to spy me there; and saw the new play, "Evening Love," of Dryden's, which, though the world commends, she likes not. So to supper and talk, and all in good humour, and then to bed, where I slept not well, from my apprehensions of some trouble about some business of Mr. Povy's he told me of the other day. 20th. Up, and talked with my wife all in good humour, and so to the office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and so she and I alone to the King's house, and there I saw this new play my wife saw yesterday, and do not like it, it being very smutty, and nothing so good as "The Maiden Queen," or "The Indian Emperour," of his making, that I was troubled at it; and my wife tells me wholly (which he confesses a little in the epilogue) taken out of the "Illustre Bassa." So she to Unthanke's and I to Mr. Povy, and there settled some business; and here talked of things, and he thinks there will be great revolutions, and that Creed will be a great man, though a rogue, he being a man of the old strain, which will now be up again. So I took coach, and set Povy down at Charing Cross, and took my wife up, and calling at the New Exchange at Smith's shop, and kissed her pretty hand, and so we home, and there able to do nothing by candlelight, my eyes being now constantly so bad that I must take present advice or be blind. So to supper, grieved for my eyes, and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and home and dined with my wife and Deb. alone, but merry and in good humour, which is, when all is done, the greatest felicity of all, and after dinner she to read in the "Illustre Bassa" the plot of yesterday's play, which is most exactly the same, and so to church I alone, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is ill again, and then home, and there get my wife to read to me till supper, and then to bed. 22nd. Up, and with Balty to St. James's, and there presented him to Mr. Wren about his being Muster-Master this year, which will be done. So up to wait on the Duke of York, and thence, with W. Coventry, walked to White Hall good discourse about the Navy, where want of money undoes us. Thence to the Harp and Ball I to drink, and so to the Coffee-house in Covent Garden; but met with nobody but Sir Philip Howard, who shamed me before the whole house there, in commendation of my speech in Parliament, and thence I away home to dinner alone, my wife being at her tailor's, and after dinner comes Creed, whom I hate, to speak with me, and before him comes Mrs. Daniel about business . . . . She gone, Creed and I to the King's playhouse, and saw an act or two of the new play ["Evening's Love"] again, but like it not. Calling this day at Herringman's, he tells me Dryden do himself call it but a fifth-rate play. Thence with him to my Lord Brouncker's, where a Council of the Royall Society; and there heard Mr. Harry Howard's' noble offers about ground for our College, and his intentions of building his own house there most nobly. My business was to meet Mr. Boyle, which I did, and discoursed about my eyes; and he did give me the best advice he could, but refers me to one Turberville, of Salsbury, lately come to town, which I will go to. [Daubigny Turberville, of Oriel College; created M.D. at Oxford,1660. He was a physician of some eminence, and, dying at Salisbury on the 21st April, 1696, aged eighty-five, he was buried in the cathedral, where his monument remains. Cassan, in his "Lives of the Bishops of Sarum," part iii., p. 103, has reprinted an interesting account of Turberville, from the "Memoir of Bishop Seth Ward," published in 1697, by Dr. Walter Pope. Turberville was born at Wayford, co. Somerset, in 1612, and became an expert oculist; and probably Pepys received great benefit from his advice, as his vision does not appear to have failed during the many years that he lived after discontinuing the Diary. The doctor died rich, and subsequently to his decease his sister Mary, inheriting all his prescriptions, and knowing how to use them, practised as an oculist in London with good reputation.--B.] Thence home, where the streets full, at our end of the town, removing their wine against the Act begins, which will be two days hence, to raise the price. I did get my store in of Batelier this night. So home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, and so to the office again all the afternoon, and then to Westminster to Dr. Turberville about my eyes, whom I met with: and he did discourse, I thought, learnedly about them; and takes time before he did prescribe me any thing, to think of it. So I away with my wife and Deb., whom I left at Unthanke's, and so to Hercules Pillars, and there we three supped on cold powdered beef, and thence home and in the garden walked a good while with Deane, talking well of the Navy miscarriages and faults. So home to bed. 24th. Up, and Creed and Colonell Atkins come to me about sending coals to Tangier: and upon that most of the morning. Thence Creed and I to Alderman Backewell's about Tangier business of money, and thence I by water (calling and drinking, but not baisado, at Michell's) to Westminster, but it being holyday did no business, only to Martin's . . . and so home again by water, and busy till dinner, and then with wife, Mercer, Deb., and W. Hewer to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Impertinents," a pretty good play; and so by water to Spring Garden, and there supped, and so home, not very merry, only when we come home, Mercer and I sat and sung in the garden a good while, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office all the morning, and after dinner at home to the office again, and there all the afternoon very busy till night, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. All the morning doing business at the office. At noon, with my Fellow-Officers, to the Dolphin, at Sir G. Carteret's charge, to dinner, he having some accounts examined this morning. All the afternoon we all at Sir W. Pen's with him about the Victuallers' accounts, and then in the evening to Charing Cross, and there took up my wife at her tailor's, and so home and to walk in the garden, and then to sup and to bed. 27th. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home, and then my wife, and Deb., and I to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Indian Queene," but do not doat upon Nan Marshall's acting therein, as the world talks of her excellence therein. Thence with my wife to buy some linnen, L13 worth, for sheets, &c., at the new shop over against the New Exchange; [and the master, who is] come out of London--[To the Strand.]--since the fire, says his and other tradesmen's retail trade is so great here, and better than it was in London, that they believe they shall not return, nor the city be ever so great for retail as heretofore. So home and to my business, and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and then home to dinner, where Betty Turner, Mercer, and Captain Deane, and after dinner to sing, Mr. Pelting coming. Then, they gone, Deane and I all the afternoon till night to talk of navy matters and ships with great pleasure, and so at night, he gone, I to supper, Pelling coming again and singing a while, then to bed. Much talk of the French setting out their fleete afresh; but I hear nothing that our King is alarmed at it, at all, but rather making his fleete less. 29th. Called up by my Lady Peterborough's servant about some business of hers, and so to the office. Thence by and by with Sir J. Minnes toward St. James's, and I stop at Dr. Turberville's, and there did receive a direction for some physic, and also a glass of something to drop into my eyes: who gives me hopes that I may do well. Thence to St. James's, and thence to White Hall, where I find the Duke of York in the Council-chamber; where the Officers of the Navy were called in about Navy business, about calling in of more ships; the King of France having, as the Duke of York says, ordered his fleete to come in, notwithstanding what he had lately ordered for their staying abroad. Thence to the Chapel, it being St. Peter's day, and did hear an anthem of Silas Taylor's making; a dull, old-fashioned thing, of six and seven parts, that nobody could understand: and the Duke of York, when he come out, told me that he was a better store-keeper than anthem-maker, and that was bad enough, too. This morning Mr. May' shewed me the King's new buildings at White Hall, very fine; and among other things, his ceilings, and his houses of office. So home to dinner, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse--"The Mulberry Garden," which she had not seen. So by coach to Islington, and round by Hackney home with much pleasure, and to supper and bed. 30th. Up, and at the Office all the morning: then home to dinner, where a stinking leg of mutton, the weather being very wet and hot to keep meat in. Then to the Office again, all the afternoon: we met about the Victualler's new contract. And so up, and to walk all the evening with my wife and Mrs. Turner in the garden, till supper, about eleven at night; and so, after supper, parted, and to bed, my eyes bad, but not worse, only weary with working. But, however, I very melancholy under the fear of my eyes being spoiled, and not to be recovered; for I am come that I am not able to readout a small letter, and yet my sight good for the little while I can read, as ever they were, I think. THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. JULY 1668 July 1st. Up; and all the morning we met at the office about the Victualler's contract. At noon home to dinner, my Cozen Roger, come newly to town, dined with us, and mighty importunate for our coming down to Impington, which I think to do, this Sturbridge fair. Thence I set him down at the Temple, and Commissioner Middleton dining the first time with me, he and I to White Hall, and so to St. James's, where we met; and much business with the Duke of York. And I find the Duke of York very hot for regulations in the Navy; and, I believe, is put on it by W. Coventry; and I am glad of it; and particularly, he falls heavy on Chatham-yard,, and is vexed that Lord Anglesey did, the other day, complain at the Council-table of disorders in the Navy, and not to him. So I to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier; and there vexed, with the importunity and clamours of Alderman Backewell, for my acquittance for money supplied by him to the garrison, before I have any order for paying it: so home, calling at several places-among others, the 'Change, and on Cooper, to know when my wife shall come to sit for her picture, which will be next week, and so home and to walk with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. 2nd. Called up by a letter from W. Coventry telling me that the Commissioners of Accounts intend to summons me about Sir W. Warren's Hamburg contract, and so I up and to W. Coventry's (he and G. Carteret being the party concerned in it), and after conference with him about it to satisfaction I home again to the office. At noon home to dinner, and then all the afternoon busy to prepare an answer to this demand of the Commissioners of Accounts, and did discourse with Sir W. Warren about it, and so in the evening with my wife and Deb. by coach to take ayre to Mile-end, and so home and I to bed, vexed to be put to this frequent trouble in things we deserve best in. 3rd. Betimes to the office, my head full of this business. Then by coach to the Commissioners of Accounts at Brooke House, the first time I was ever there, and there Sir W. Turner in the chair; and present, Lord Halifax, Thoms[on], Gregory, Dunster, and Osborne. I long with them, and see them hot set on this matter; but I did give them proper and safe answers. Halifax, I perceive, was industrious on my side, in behalf of his uncle Coventry, it being the business of fir W. Warren. Vexed only at their denial of a copy of what I set my hand to, and swore. Here till almost two o'clock, and then home to dinner, and set down presently what I had done and said this day, and so abroad by water to Eagle Court in the Strand, and there to an alehouse: met Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon, and Dr. Clerke, Waldron, Turberville, my physician for the eyes, and Lowre, to dissect several eyes of sheep and oxen, with great pleasure, and to my great information. But strange that this Turberville should be so great a man, and yet, to this day, had seen no eyes dissected, or but once, but desired this Dr. Lowre to give him the opportunity to see him dissect some. Thence to Unthanke's, to my wife, and carried her home, and there walked in the garden, and so to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and give him account of my doings yesterday, which he well liked of, and was told thereof by my Lord Halifax before; but I do perceive he is much concerned for this business. Gives me advice to write a smart letter to the Duke of York about the want of money in the Navy, and desire him to communicate it to the Commissioners of the Treasury; for he tells me he hath hot work sometimes to contend with the rest for the Navy, they being all concerned for some other part of the King's expenses, which they would prefer to this, of the Navy. He shewed me his closet, with his round table, for him to sit in the middle, very convenient; and I borrowed several books of him, to collect things out of the Navy, which I have not, and so home, and there busy sitting all the morning, and at noon dined, and then all the afternoon busy, till night, and then to Mile-End with my wife and girl, and there drank and eat a joie of salmon, at the Rose and Crown, our old house; and so home to bed. 5th (Lord's day). About four in the morning took four pills of Dr. Turberville's prescribing, for my eyes, and they wrought pretty well most of the morning, and I did get my wife to spend the morning reading of Wilkins's Reall Character. At noon comes W. Hewer and Pelling, and young Michell and his wife, and dined with us, and most of the afternoon talking; and then at night my wife to read again, and to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to St. James's, and there attended the Duke of York, and was there by himself told how angry he was, and did declare to my Lord Anglesey, about his late complaining of things of the Navy to the King in Council, and not to him; and I perceive he is mightily concerned at it, and resolved to reform things therein. Thence with W. Coventry walked in the Park together a good while, he mighty kind to me. And hear many pretty stories of my Lord Chancellor's being heretofore made sport of by Peter Talbot the priest, in his story of the death of Cardinall Bleau; [It is probable these stories, in ridicule of Clarendon, are nowhere recorded. Cardinal Jean Balue was the minister of Louis XI. of France. The reader will remember him in Sir W. Scott's "Quentin Durward." He was confined for eleven years in an iron cage invented by himself in the Chateau de Loches, and died soon after he regained his liberty.--B.] by Lord Cottington, in his 'Dolor de las Tyipas'; [Gripes. It was a joke against Lord Cottington that whenever he was seriously ill he declared himself a Roman Catholic, when he was well again he returned to the Protestant faith.] and Tom Killigrew, in his being bred in Ram Ally, and now bound prentice to Lord Cottington, going to Spain with L1000, and two suits of clothes. Thence home to dinner, and thence to Mr. Cooper's, and there met my wife and W. Hewer and Deb.; and there my wife first sat for her picture: but he is a most admirable workman, and good company. Here comes Harris, and first told us how Betterton is come again upon the stage: whereupon my wife and company to the [Duke's] house to see "Henry the Fifth;" while I to attend the Duke of York at the Committee of the Navy, at the Council, where some high dispute between him and W. Coventry about settling pensions upon all Flag-Officers, while unemployed: W. Coventry against it, and, I think, with reason. Thence I to the playhouse, and saw a piece of the play, and glad to see Betterton; and so with wife and Deb. to Spring-garden, and eat a lobster, and so home in the evening and to bed. Great doings at Paris, I hear, with their triumphs for their late conquests! The Duchesse of Richmond sworn last week of the queen's Bedchamber, and the King minding little else but what he used to do--about his women. 7th. Up, and to the office, where Kate Joyce come to me about some tickets of hers, but took no notice to me of her being married, but seemed mighty pale, and doubtful what to say or do, expecting, I believe, that I should begin; and not finding me beginning, said nothing, but, with trouble in her face, went away. At the office all the morning, and after dinner also all the afternoon, and in the evening with my wife and Deb. and Betty Turner to Unthanke's, where we are fain to go round by Newgate, because of Fleet Bridge being under rebuilding. They stayed there, and I about some business, and then presently back and brought them home and supped and Mrs. Turner, the mother, comes to us, and there late, and so to bed. 8th. Betimes by water to Sir W. Coventry, and there discoursed of several things; and I find him much concerned in the present enquiries now on foot of the Commissioners of Accounts, though he reckons himself and the rest very safe, but vexed to see us liable to these troubles, in things wherein we have laboured to do best. Thence, he being to go out of town to-morrow, to drink Banbury waters, I to the Duke of York, to attend him about business of the Office; and find him mighty free to me, and how he is concerned to mend things in the Navy himself, and not leave it to other people. So home to dinner; and then with my wife to Cooper's, and there saw her sit; and he do do extraordinary things indeed. So to White Hall; and there by and by the Duke of York comes to the Robe-chamber, and spent with us three hours till night, in hearing the business of the Master-Attendants of Chatham, and the Store-keeper of Woolwich; and resolves to displace them all; so hot he is of giving proofs of his justice at this time, that it is their great fate now, to come to be questioned at such a time as this. Thence I to Unthanke's, and took my wife and Deb. home, and to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and after noon to the office again till night, mighty busy getting Mr. Fist to come and help me, my own clerks all busy, and so in the evening to ease my eyes, and with my wife and Deb. and Betty Turner, by coach to Unthanke's and back again, and then to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to attend the Council, but all in vain, the Council spending all the morning upon a business about the printing of the Critickes, a dispute between the first Printer, one Bee that is dead, and the Abstractor, who would now print his Abstract, one Poole. So home to dinner, and thence to Haward's to look upon an Espinette, and I did come near the buying one, but broke off. I have a mind to have one. So to Cooper's; and there find my wife and W. Hewer and Deb., sitting, and painting; and here he do work finely, though I fear it will not be so like as I expected: but now I understand his great skill in musick, his playing and setting to the French lute most excellently; and speaks French, and indeed is an excellent man. Thence, in the evening, with my people in a glass hackney-coach to the park, but was ashamed to be seen. So to the lodge, and drank milk, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning. After dinner to the King's playhouse, to see an old play of Shirly's, called "Hide Parker" the first day acted; where horses are brought upon the stage but it is but a very moderate play, only an excellent epilogue spoke by Beck Marshall. Thence home and to my office, and then to supper and to bed, and overnight took some pills, 12th. Which work with me pretty betimes, being Lord's day, and so I within all day. Busy all the morning upon some accounts with W. Hewer, and at noon, an excellent dinner, comes Pelling and W. Howe, and the latter staid and talked with me all the afternoon, and in the evening comes Mr. Mills and his wife and supped and talked with me, and so to bed. This last night Betty Michell about midnight cries out, and my wife goes to her, and she brings forth a girl, and this afternoon the child is christened, and my wife godmother again to a Betty. 13th. Up, and to my office, and thence by water to White Hall to attend the Council, but did not, and so home to dinner, and so out with my wife, and Deb., and W. Hewer towards Cooper's, but I 'light and walked to Ducke Lane, and there to the bookseller's; at the Bible, whose moher je have a mind to, but elle no erat dentro, but I did there look upon and buy some books, and made way for coming again to the man, which pleases me. Thence to Reeves's, and there saw some, and bespoke a little perspective, and was mightily pleased with seeing objects in a dark room. And so to Cooper's, and spent the afternoon with them; and it will be an excellent picture. Thence my people all by water to Deptford, to see Balty, while I to buy my espinette, [Espinette is the French term for a small harpsichord, at that time called in England a spinet. It was named from a fancied resemblance of its quill plectra to spines or thorns.] which I did now agree for, and did at Haward's meet with Mr. Thacker, and heard him play on the harpsicon, so as I never heard man before, I think. So home, it being almost night, and there find in the garden Pelling, who hath brought Tempest, Wallington, and Pelham, to sings and there had most excellent musick late, in the dark, with great pleasure. Made them drink and eat; and so with much pleasure to bed, but above all with little Wallington. This morning I was let blood, and did bleed about fourteen ounces, towards curing my eyes. 14th. Up, and to my office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence all the afternoon hard at the office, we meeting about the Victualler's new contract; and so into the garden, my Lady Pen, Mrs. Turner and her daughter, my wife and I, and there supped in the dark and were merry, and so to bed. This day Bossc finished his copy of my picture, which I confess I do not admire, though my wife prefers him to Browne; nor do I think it like. He do it for W. Hewer, who hath my wife's also, which I like less. This afternoon my Lady Pickering come to see us: I busy, saw her not. But how natural it is for us to slight people out of power, and for people out of power to stoop to see those that while in power they contemned! 15th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office to my great content, attending to the settling of papers there that I may have the more rest in winter for my eyes by how much I do the more in the settling of all things in the summer by daylight. At noon home to dinner, where is brought home the espinette I bought the other day of Haward; costs me L5. So to St. James's, where did our ordinary business with the Duke of York. So to Unthanke's to my wife, and with her and Deb. to visit Mrs. Pierce, whom I do not now so much affect, since she paints. But stayed here a while, and understood from her how my Lady Duchesse of Monmouth is still lame, and likely always to be so, which is a sad chance for a young [lady] to get, only by trying of tricks in dancing. So home, and there Captain Deane come and spent the evening with me, to draw some finishing lines on his fine draught of "The Resolution," the best ship, by all report, in the world, and so to bed. Wonderful hot all day and night, and this the first night that I remember in my life that ever I could lie with only a sheet and one rug. So much I am now stronger than ever I remember myself, at least since before I had the stone. 16th. Up, and to the office, where Yeabsly and Lanyon come to town and to speak with me about a matter wherein they are accused of cheating the King before the Lords' Commissioners of Tangier, and I doubt it true, but I have no hand in it, but will serve them what I can. All the morning at the office, and at noon dined at home, and then to the office again, where we met to finish the draft of the Victualler's contract, and so I by water with my Lord Brouncker to Arundell House, to the Royall Society, and there saw an experiment of a dog's being tied through the back, about the spinal artery, and thereby made void of all motion; and the artery being loosened again, the dog recovers. Thence to Cooper's, and saw his advance on my wife's picture, which will be indeed very fine. So with her to the 'Change, to buy some things, and here I first bought of the sempstress next my bookseller's, where the pretty young girl is, that will be a great beauty. So home, and to supper with my wife in the garden, it being these two days excessively hot, and so to bed. 17th. Up, and fitted myself to discourse before the Council about business of tickets. So to White Hall, where waited on the Duke of York, and then the Council about that business; and I did discourse to their liking, only was too high to assert that nothing could be invented to secure the King more in the business of tickets than there is; which the Duke of Buckingham did except against, and I could have answered, but forbore; but all liked very well. Thence home, and with my wife and Deb. to the King's House to see a play revived called The------, a sorry mean play, that vexed us to sit in so much heat of the weather to hear it. Thence to see Betty Michell newly lain in, and after a little stay we took water and to Spring Garden, and there walked, and supped, and staid late, and with much pleasure, and to bed. The weather excessive hot, so as we were forced to lie in two beds, and I only with a sheet and rug, which is colder than ever I remember I could bear. 18th. At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home and Creed with me, who I do really begin to hate, and do use him with some reservedness. Here was also my old acquaintance, Will Swan, to see me, who continues a factious fanatick still, and I do use him civilly, in expectation that those fellows may grow great again. Thence to the office, and then with my wife to the 'Change and Unthanke's, after having been at Cooper's and sat there for her picture, which will be a noble picture, but yet I think not so like as Hales's is. So home and to my office, and then to walk in the garden, and home to supper and to bed. They say the King of France is making a war again, in Flanders, with the King of Spain; the King of Spain refusing to give him all that he says was promised him in the treaty. Creed told me this day how when the King was at my Lord Cornwallis's when he went last to Newmarket, that being there on a Sunday, the Duke of Buckingham did in the afternoon to please the King make a bawdy sermon to him out of Canticles, and that my Lord Cornwallis did endeavour to get the King a whore, and that must be a pretty girl the daughter of the parson of the place, but that she did get away, and leaped off of some place and killed herself, which if true is very sad. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there I up and down in the house spent the morning getting things ready against noon, when come Mr. Cooper, Hales, Harris, Mr. Butler, that wrote Hudibras, and Mr. Cooper's cozen Jacke; and by and by comes Mr. Reeves and his wife, whom I never saw before: and there we dined: a good dinner, and company that pleased me mightily, being all eminent men in their way. Spent all the afternoon in talk and mirth, and in the evening parted, and then my wife and I to walk in the garden, and so home to supper, Mrs. Turner and husband and daughter with us, and then to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office, where Mrs. Daniel comes. . . . All the morning at the office. Dined at home, then with Mr. Colvill to the new Excise Office in Aldersgate Street, and thence back to the Old Exchange, to see a very noble fine lady I spied as I went through, in coming; and there took occasion to buy some gloves, and admire her, and a mighty fine fair lady indeed she was. Thence idling all the afternoon to Duck Lane, and there saw my bookseller's moher, but get no ground there yet; and here saw Mrs. Michell's daughter married newly to a bookseller, and she proves a comely little grave woman. So to visit my Lord Crew, who is very sick, to great danger, by an irisipulus;--[Erysipelas.]--the first day I heard of it, and so home, and took occasion to buy a rest for my espinette at the ironmonger's by Holborn Conduit, where the fair pretty woman is that I have lately observed there, and she is pretty, and je credo vain enough. Thence home and busy till night, and so to bed. 21st. Up, and to St. James's, but lost labour, the Duke abroad. So home to the office, where all the morning, and so to dinner, and then all the afternoon at the office, only went to my plate-maker's, and there spent an hour about contriving my little plates, [This passage has been frequently quoted as referring to Pepys's. small bookplate, with his initials S. P. and two anchors and ropes entwined; but if looked at carefully with the further reference on the 27th, it will be seen that it merely describes the preparation of engravings of the four dockyards.] for my books of the King's four Yards. At night walked in the garden, and supped and to bed, my eyes bad. 22nd. All the morning at the office. Dined at home, and then to White Hall with Symson the joyner, and after attending at the Committee of the Navy about the old business of tickets, where the only expedient they have found is to bind the Commanders and Officers by oaths. The Duke of York told me how the Duke of Buckingham, after the Council the other day, did make mirth at my position, about the sufficiency of present rules in the business of tickets; and here I took occasion to desire a private discourse with the Duke of York, and he granted it to me on Friday next. So to shew Symson the King's new lodgings for his chimnies, which I desire to have one built in that mode, and so I home, and with little supper, to bed. This day a falling out between my wife and Deb., about a hood lost, which vexed me. 23rd. Up, and all day long, but at dinner, at the Office, at work, till I was almost blind, which makes my heart sad. 24th. Up, and by water to St. James's, having, by the way, shewn Symson Sir W. Coventry's chimney-pieces, in order to the making me one; and there, after the Duke of York was ready, he called me to his closet; and there I did long and largely show him the weakness of our Office, and did give him advice to call us to account for our duties, which he did take mighty well, and desired me to draw up what I would have him write to the Office. I did lay open the whole failings of the Office, and how it was his duty to find them, and to find fault with them, as Admiral, especially at this time, which he agreed to, and seemed much to rely on what I said. Thence to White Hall, and there waited to attend the Council, but was not called in, and so home, and after dinner back with Sir J. Minnes by coach, and there attended, all of us, the Duke of York, and had the hearing of Mr. Pett's business, the Master-Shipwright at Chatham, and I believe he will be put out. But here Commissioner. Middleton did, among others, shew his good-nature and easiness to the Masters-Attendants, by mitigating their faults, so as, I believe, they will come in again. So home, and to supper and to bed, the Duke of York staying with us till almost night. 25th. Up, and at the Office all the morning; and at noon, after dinner, to Cooper's, it being a very rainy day, and there saw my wife's picture go on, which will be very fine indeed. And so home again to my letters, and then to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning and after dinner, the afternoon also, with W. Hewer in my closet, setting right my Tangier Accounts, which I have let alone these six months and more, but find them very right, and is my great comfort. So in the evening to walk with my wife, and to supper and to bed. 27th. Busy all the morning at my office. At noon dined, and then I out of doors to my bookseller in Duck Lane, but su moher not at home, and it was pretty here to see a pretty woman pass by with a little wanton look, and je did sequi her round about the street from Duck Lane to Newgate Market, and then elle did turn back, and je did lose her. And so to see my Lord Crew, whom I find up; and did wait on him; but his face sore, but in hopes to do now very well again. Thence to Cooper's, where my wife's picture almost done, and mighty fine indeed. So over the water with my wife, and Deb., and Mercer, to Spring-Garden, and there eat and walked; and observe how rude some of the young gallants of the town are become, to go into people's arbours where there are not men, and almost force the women; which troubled me, to see the confidence of the vice of the age: and so we away by water, with much pleasure home. This day my plate-maker comes with my four little plates of the four Yards, cost me L5, which troubles me, but yet do please me also. 28th. All the morning at the office, and after dinner with my wife and Deb. to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Slighted Maid," but a mean play; and thence home, there being little pleasure now in a play, the company being but little. Here we saw Gosnell, who is become very homely, and sings meanly, I think, to what I thought she did. 29th. Busy all the morning at the office. So home to dinner, where Mercer, and there comes Mr. Swan, my old acquaintance, and dines with me, and tells me, for a certainty, that Creed is to marry Betty Pickering, and that the thing is concluded, which I wonder at, and am vexed for. So he gone I with my wife and two girls to the King's house, and saw "The Mad Couple," a mean play altogether, and thence to Hyde Parke, where but few coaches, and so to the New Exchange, and thence by water home, with much pleasure, and then to sing in the garden, and so home to bed, my eyes for these four days being my trouble, and my heart thereby mighty sad. 30th. Up, and by water to White Hall. There met with Mr. May, who was giving directions about making a close way for people to go dry from the gate up into the House, to prevent their going through the galleries; which will be very good. I staid and talked with him about the state of the King's Offices in general, and how ill he is served, and do still find him an excellent person, and so back to the office. So close at my office all the afternoon till evening, and then out with my wife to the New Exchange, and so back again. 31st. Up, and at my office all the morning. About noon with Mr. Ashburnham to the new Excise Office, and there discoursed about our business, and I made him admire my drawing a thing presently in shorthand: but, God knows! I have paid dear for it, in my eyes. Home and to dinner, and then my wife and Deb. and I, with Sir J. Minnes, to White Hall, she going hence to the New Exchange, and the Duke of York not being in the way, Sir J. Minnes and I to her and took them two to the King's house, to see the first day of Lacy's "Monsieur Ragou," now new acted. The King and Court all there, and mighty merry--a farce. Thence Sir J. Minnes giving us, like a gentleman, his coach, hearing we had some business, we to the Park, and so home. Little pleasure there, there being little company, but mightily taken with a little chariot that we saw in the street, and which we are resolved to have ours like it. So home to walk in the garden a little, and then to bed. The month ends mighty sadly with me, my eyes being now past all use almost; and I am mighty hot upon trying the late printed experiment of paper tubes. [An account of these tubulous spectacles ("An easy help for decayed sight") is given in "The Philosophical Transactions," No. 37, pp. 727,731 (Hutton's Abridgment, vol. i., p. 266). See Diary, August 12th and 23rd, post.] ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: At work, till I was almost blind, which makes my heart sad Bristol milk (the sherry) in the vaults But get no ground there yet Cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water City pay him great respect, and he the like to the meanest Cost me L5, which troubles me, but yet do please me also Espinette is the French term for a small harpsichord Forced to change gold, 8s. 7d.; servants and poor, 1s. 6d. Frequent trouble in things we deserve best in How natural it is for us to slight people out of power I could have answered, but forbore Little pleasure now in a play, the company being but little Made him admire my drawing a thing presently in shorthand My wife hath something in her gizzard, that only waits My wife's neglect of things, and impertinent humour So out, and lost our way, which made me vexed Suffered her humour to spend, till we begun to be very quiet Troubled me, to see the confidence of the vice of the age Up, finding our beds good, but lousy; which made us merry Weather being very wet and hot to keep meat in. When he was seriously ill he declared himself a Roman Catholic Where a pedlar was in bed, and made him rise 
4191	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. AUGUST 1668 August 1st. All the morning at the office. After dinner my wife, and Deb., and I, to the King's house again, coming too late yesterday to hear the prologue, and do like the play better now than before; and, indeed, there is a great deal of true wit in it, more than in the common sort of plays, and so home to my business, and at night to bed, my eyes making me sad. 2nd. (Lord's day). Up and at home all the morning, hanging, and removing of some pictures, in my study and house. At noon Pelling dined with me. After dinner, I and Tom, my boy, by water up to Putney, and there heard a sermon, and many fine people in the church. Thence walked to Barne Elmes, and there, and going and coming, did make the boy read to me several things, being now-a-days unable to read myself anything, for above two lines together, but my eyes grow weary. Home about night, and so to supper and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by water to White Hall and St. James's, where I did much business, and about noon meeting Dr. Gibbons, carried him to the Sun taverne, in King Street, and there made him, and some friends of his, drink; among others, Captain Silas Taylor, and here did get Gibbons to promise me some things for my flageolets. So to the Old Exchange, and then home to dinner, and so, Mercer dining with us, I took my wife and her and Deb. out to Unthanke's, while I to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and so back to them and took them out to Islington, where we met with W. Joyce and his wife and boy, and there eat and drank, and a great deal of his idle talk, and so we round by Hackney home, and so to sing a little in the garden, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and to my office a little, and then to White Hall about a Committee for Tangier at my Lord Arlington's, where, by Creed's being out of town, I have the trouble given me of drawing up answers to the complaints of the Turks of Algiers, and so I have all the papers put into my hand. Here till noon, and then back to the Office, where sat a little, and then to dinner, and presently to the office, where come to me my Lord Bellassis, Lieutenant-Colonell Fitzgerald, newly come from Tangier, and Sir Arthur Basset, and there I received their informations, and so, they being gone, I with my clerks and another of Lord Brouncker's, Seddon, sat up till two in the morning, drawing up my answers and writing them fair, which did trouble me mightily to sit up so long, because of my eyes. 5th. So to bed about two o'clock, and then up about seven and to White Hall, where read over my report to Lord Arlington and Berkeley, and then afterward at the Council Board with great good liking, but, Lord! how it troubled my eyes, though I did not think I could have done it, but did do it, and was not very bad afterward. So home to dinner, and thence out to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Guardian;" formerly the same, I find, that was called "Cutter of Coleman Street;" a silly play. And thence to Westminster Hall, where I met Fitzgerald; and with him to a tavern, to consider of the instructions for Sir Thomas Allen, against his going to Algiers; he and I being designed to go down to Portsmouth by the Council's order, and by and by he and I went to the Duke of York, who orders me to go down to-morrow morning. So I away home, and there bespeak a coach; and so home and to bed, my wife being abroad with the Mercers walking in the fields, and upon the water. 6th. Waked betimes, and my wife, at an hour's warning, is resolved to go with me, which pleases me, her readiness. But, before ready, comes a letter from Fitzgerald, that he is seized upon last night by an order of the General's by a file of musqueteers, and kept prisoner in his chamber. The Duke of York did tell me of it to-day: it is about a quarrel between. him and Witham, and they fear a challenge: so I to him, and sent my wife by the coach round to Lambeth. I lost my labour going to his lodgings, and he in bed: and, staying a great while for him, I at last grew impatient, and would stay no longer; but to St. James's to Mr. Wren, to bid him "God be with you!" and so over the water to Fox Hall; and there my wife and Deb. come and took me up, and we away to Gilford, losing our way for three or four mile, about Cobham. At Gilford we dined; and, I shewed them the hospitall there of Bishop Abbot's, and his tomb in the church, which, and the rest of the tombs there, are kept mighty clean and neat, with curtains before them. So to coach again, and got to Lippock,2 late over Hindhead, having an old man, a guide, in the coach with us; but got thither with great fear of being out of our way, it being ten at night. Here good, honest people; and after supper, to bed . . . . 7th. Up, and to coach, and with a guide to Petersfield, where I find Sir Thomas Allen and Mr. Tippets come; the first about the business, the latter only in respect to me; as also Fitzgerald, who come post all last night, and newly arrived here. We four sat down presently to our business, and in an hour despatched all our talk; and did inform Sir Thomas Allen well in it, who, I perceive, in serious matters, is a serious man: and tells me he wishes all we are told be true, in our defence; for he finds by all, that the Turks have, to this day, been very civil to our merchant-men everywhere; and, if they would have broke with us, they never had such an opportunity over our rich merchant-men, as lately, coming out of the Streights. Then to dinner, and pretty merry: and here was Mr. Martin, the purser, and dined with us, and wrote some things for us. And so took coach again back; Fitzgerald with us, whom I was pleased with all the day, with his discourse of his observations abroad, as being a great soldier and of long standing abroad: and knows all things and persons abroad very well--I mean, the great soldiers of France, and Spain, and Germany; and talks very well. Come at night to Gilford, where the Red Lyon so full of people, and a wedding, that the master of the house did get us a lodging over the way, at a private house, his landlord's, mighty neat and fine; and there supped and talked with the landlord and his wife: and so to bed with great content, only Fitzgerald lay at the Inne. So to bed. 8th. Up, and I walked out, and met Uncle Wight, whom I sent to last night, and Mr. Wight coming to see us, and I walked with them back to see my aunt at Katherine Hill, and there walked up and down the hill and places, about: but a dull place, but good ayre, and the house dull. But here I saw my aunt, after many days not seeing her--I think, a year or two; and she walked with me to see my wife. And here, at the Red Lyon, we all dined together, and mighty merry, and then parted: and we home to Fox Hall, where Fitzgerald and I 'light, and by water to White Hall, where the Duke of York being abroad, I by coach and met my wife, who went round, and after doing at the office a little, and finding all well at home, I to bed. I hear that Colbert, the French Ambassador, is come, and hath been at Court incognito. When he hath his audience, I know not. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to Holborne, where got John Powell's coach at the Black Swan, and he attended me at St. James's, where waited on the Duke of York: and both by him and several of the Privy-Council, beyond expectation, I find that my going to Sir Thomas Allen was looked upon as a thing necessary: and I have got some advantage by it, among them. Thence to White Hall, and thence to visit Lord Brouncker, and back to White Hall, where saw the Queen and ladies; and so, with Mr. Slingsby, to Mrs. Williams's, thinking to dine with Lord Brouncker there, but did not, having promised my wife to come home, though here I met Knepp, to my great content. So home; and, after dinner, I took my wife and Deb. round by Hackney, and up and down to take the ayre; and then home, and made visits to Mrs. Turner, and Mrs. Mercer, and Sir W. Pen, who is come from Epsom not well, and Sir J. Minnes, who is not well neither. And so home to supper, and to set my books a little right, and then to bed. This day Betty Michell come and dined with us, the first day after her lying in, whom I was glad to see. 10th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence to Sir W. Coventry, but he is gone out of town this morning, so thence to my Lord Arlington's house, the first time I there since he come thither, at Goring House, a very fine, noble place; and there he received me in sight of several Lords with great respect. I did give him an account of my journey; and here, while I waited for him a little, my Lord Orrery took notice of me, and begun discourse of hangings, and of the improvement of shipping: I not thinking that he knew me, but did then discover it, with a mighty compliment of my abilities and ingenuity, which I am mighty proud of; and he do speak most excellently. Thence to Westminster Hall, and so by coach to the old Exchange, and there did several businesses, and so home to dinner, and then abroad to Duck Lane, where I saw my belle femme of the book vendor, but had no opportunity para hazer con her. So away to Cooper's, where I spent all the afternoon with my wife and girl, seeing him-make an end of her picture, which he did Jo my great content, though not so great as, I confess, I expected, being not satisfied in the greatness of the resemblance, nor in the blue garment: but it is most certainly a most rare piece of work, as to the painting. He hath L30 for his work--and the chrystal, and case, and gold case comes to L8 3s. 4d.; and which I sent him this night, that I might be out of debt. Thence my people home, and I to Westminster Hall about a little business, and so by water home [to] supper, and my wife to read a ridiculous book I bought today of the History of the Taylors' Company, [The title of this book was, "The Honour of the Merchant Taylors." Wherein is set forth the noble acts, valliant deeds, and heroick performances of Merchant Taylors in former ages; their honourable loves, and knightly adventures, their combating of foreign enemies and glorious successes in honour of the English nation: together with their pious....] and all the while Deb. did comb my head, and I did toker her with my main para very great pleasure, and so to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to Sir W. Coventry to visit him, whom I find yet troubled at the Commissioners of Accounts, about this business of Sir W. Warren, which is a ridiculous thing, and can come to nothing but contempt, and thence to Westminster Hall, where the Parliament met enough to adjourne, which they did, to the 10th of November next, and so by water home to the office, and so to dinner, and thence at the Office all the afternoon till night, being mightily pleased with a little trial I have made of the use of a tube-spectacall of paper, tried with my right eye. This day I hear that, to the great joy of the Nonconformists, the time is out of the Act against them, so that they may meet: and they have declared that they will have a morning lecture [During the troubled reign of Charles I., the House of Commons gave parishioners the right of appointing lecturers at the various churches without the consent of rector or vicar, and this naturally gave rise to many quarrels. In the early period of the war between the king and the parliament, a course of sermons or lectures was projected in aid of the parliamentary cause. These lectures, which were preached by eminent Presbyterian divines at seven o'clock on the Sunday mornings, were commenced in the church of St. Mary Magdalen in Milk Street, but were soon afterwards removed to St. Giles's, Cripplegate. After the Restoration the lectures were collected in four volumes, and published under the title of the "Cripplegate Morning Exercises," vol. i. in 1661; vol. ii. in 1674; vol. iii. in 1682; and vol. iv. in 1690. In addition there were two volumes which form a supplement to the work, viz., "The Morning Exercises methodized," preached at St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, edited by the Rev. Thomas Case in 1660, and the "Exercises against Popery," preached in Southwark, and published in 1675 (see Demon's "Records of St. Giles's, Crinnlegate," 1883, pp. 55-56).] up again, which is pretty strange; and they are connived at by the King every where, I hear, in City and country. So to visit W. Pen, who is yet ill, and then home, where W. Batelier and Mrs. Turner come and sat and supped with us, and so they gone we to bed. This afternoon my wife, and Mercer, and Deb., went with Pelting to see the gypsies at Lambeth, and have their fortunes told; but what they did, I did not enquire. 12th. Up, and all the morning busy at my office. Thence to the Excise Office, and so to the Temple to take counsel about Major Nicholls's business for the King. So to several places about business, and among others to Drumbleby's about the mouths for my paper tubes, and so to the 'Change and home. Met Captain Cocke, who tells me that he hears for certain the Duke of York will lose the authority of an Admiral, and be governed by a Committee: and all our Office changed; only they are in dispute whether I shall continue or no, which puts new thoughts in me, but I know not whether to be glad or sorry. Home to dinner, where Pelting dines with us, and brings some partridges, which is very good meat; and, after dinner, I, and wife, and Mercer, and Deb., to the Duke of York's house, and saw "Mackbeth," to our great content, and then home, where the women went to the making of my tubes, and I to the office, and then come Mrs. Turner and her husband to advise about their son, the Chaplain, who is turned out of his ship, a sorrow to them, which I am troubled for, and do give them the best advice I can, and so they gone we to bed. 13th. Up, and Greeting comes, and there he and I tried some things of Mr. Locke's for two flageolets, to my great content, and this day my wife begins again to learn of him; for I have a great mind for her to be able to play a part with me. Thence I to the Office, where all the afternoon [morning??], and then to dinner, where W. Howe dined with me, who tells me for certain that Creed is like to speed in his match with Mrs. Betty Pickering. Here dined with me also Mr. Hollier, who is mighty vain in his pretence to talk Latin. So to the Office again all the afternoon till night, very busy, and so with much content home, and made my wife sing and play on the flageolet to me till I slept with great pleasure in bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall and St. James's, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and discourse about business of our Office, telling him my trouble there, to see how things are ordered. I told him also what Cocke told me the other day, but he says there is not much in it, though he do know that this hath been in the eye of some persons to compass for the turning all things in the navy, and that it looks so like a popular thing as that he thinks something may be done in it, but whether so general or no, as I tell it him, he knows not. Thence to White Hall, and there wait at the Council-chamber door a good while, talking with one or other, and so home by water, though but for a little while, because I am to return to White Hall. At home I find Symson, putting up my new chimney-piece, in our great chamber, which is very fine, but will cost a great deal of money, but it is not flung away. So back to White Hall, and after the council up, I with Mr. Wren, by invitation, to Sir Stephen Fox's to dinner, where the Cofferer and Sir Edward Savage; where many good stories of the antiquity and estates of many families at this day in Cheshire, and that part of the kingdom, more than what is on this side, near London. My Lady [Fox] dining with us; a very good lady, and a family governed so nobly and neatly as do me good to see it. Thence the Cofferer, Sir Stephen, and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury about business: and so I up to the Duke of York, who enquired for what I had promised him, about my observations of the miscarriages of our Office; [This refers to the letter on the affairs of the office which Pepys prepared, and respecting which, and the proceedings which grew out of it, so many references are made in future pages of the Diary.] and I told him he should have it next week, being glad he called for it; for I find he is concerned to do something, and to secure himself thereby, I believe: for the world is labouring to eclipse him, I doubt; I mean, the factious part of the Parliament. The Office met this afternoon as usual, and waited on him; where, among other things, he talked a great while of his intentions of going to Dover soon, to be sworn as Lord Warden, which is a matter of great ceremony and state, and so to the Temple with Mr. Wren, to the Attorney's chamber, about business, but he abroad, and so I home, and there spent the evening talking with my wife and piping, and pleased with our chimney-piece, and so to bed. 15th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and after dinner with my wife, Mercer, and Deb., to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Love's Mistresse" revived, the thing pretty good, but full of variety of divertisement. So home and to my business at the office, my eyes bad again, and so to bed. 16th (Lord's day). All the morning at my Office with W. Hewer, there drawing up my Report to the Duke of York, as I have promised, about the faults of this Office, hoping thereby to have opportunity of doing myself [something]. At noon to dinner, and again with him to work all the afternoon till night, till I was weary and had despatched a good deal of business, and so to bed after hearing my wife read a little. 17th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and so to St. James's, and thence with Mr. Wren by appointment in his coach to Hampstead, to speak with the Atturney-general, whom we met in the fields, by his old route and house; and after a little talk about our business of Ackeworth, went and saw the Lord Wotton's house and garden, which is wonderfull fine: too good for the house the gardens are, being, indeed, the most noble that ever I saw, and brave orange and lemon trees. Thence to Mr. Chichley's by invitation, and there dined with Sir John, his father not coming home. And while at dinner comes by the French Embassador Colbert's mules, the first I eversaw, with their sumpter-clothes mighty rich, and his coaches, he being to have his entry to-day: but his things, though rich, are not new; supposed to be the same his brother [A mistake of Pepys's. Colbert de Croissy, then in England, had himself been the French Plenipotentiary at Aix-la-Chapelle.--B.] had the other day, at the treaty at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Flanders. Thence to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Cupid's Revenge," under the new name of "Love Despised," that hath something very good in it, though I like not the whole body of it. This day the first time acted here. Thence home, and there with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer late, reading over all the principal officers' instructions in order to my great work upon my hand, and so to bed, my eyes very ill. 18th. Up, and to my office about my great business betimes, and so to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined, and then to the office all the afternoon also, and in the evening to Sir W. Coventry's, but he not within, I took coach alone to the Park, to try to meet him there, but did not; but there were few coaches, but among the few there were in two coaches our two great beauties, my Lady Castlemayne and Richmond; the first time I saw the latter since she had the smallpox. I had much pleasure to see them, but I thought they were strange one to another. Thence going out I met a coach going, which I thought had Knepp in it, so I went back, but it was not she. So back to White Hall and there took water, and so home, and busy late about my great letter to the Duke of York, and so to supper and to bed . . . . 19th. Up betimes, and all day and afternoon without going out, busy upon my great letter to the Duke of York, which goes on to my content. W. Hewer and Gibson I employ with me in it. This week my people wash, over the water, and so I little company at home. In the evening, being busy above, a great cry I hear, and go down; and what should it be but Jane, in a fit of direct raving, which lasted half-an-hour. Beyond four or five of our strength to keep her down; and, when all come to all, a fit of jealousy about Tom, with whom she is in love. So at night, I, and my wife, and W. Hewer called them to us, and there I did examine all the thing, and them, in league. She in love, and he hath got her to promise him to marry, and he is now cold in it, so that I must rid my hands of them, which troubles me, and the more because my head is now busy upon other greater things. I am vexed also to be told by W. Hewer that he is summoned to the Commissioners of Accounts about receiving a present of L30 from Mr. Mason, the timber merchant, though there be no harm in it, that will appear on his part, he having done them several lawful kindnesses and never demanded anything, as they themselves have this day declared to the Commissioners, they being forced up by the discovery of somebody that they in confidence had once told it to. So to supper vexed and my head full of care, and so to bed. 20th. Betimes at my business again, and so to the office, and dined with Brouncker and J. Minnes, at Sir W. Pen's at a bad pasty of venison, and so to work again, and at it till past twelve at night, that I might get my great letter [In the Pepysian Library is a MS. (No. 2242), entitled, "Papers conteyning my addresse to his Royall Highnesse James Duke of Yorke, Lord High Admirall of England, &c., by letter dated the 20th of August, 1668, humbly tendering him my advice touching the present State of the Office of the Navy, with his Royall Highness's proceedings upon the same, and their result."] to the Duke of York ready against to-morrow, which I shall do, to my great content. So to bed. 21st. Up betimes, and with my people again to work, and finished all before noon: and then I by water to White Hall, and there did tell the Duke of York that I had done; and he hath to my great content desired me to come to him at Sunday next in the afternoon, to read it over, by which I have more time to consider and correct it. So back home and to the 'Change, in my way calling at Morris', my vintner's, where I love to see su moher, though no acquaintance accostais this day con her. Did several things at the 'Change, and so home to dinner. After dinner I by coach to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and there did spend a little time and regarder su moher, and so to St. James's, where did a little ordinary business; and by and by comes Monsieur Colbert, the French Embassador, to make his first visit to the Duke of York, and then to the Duchess: and I saw it: a silly piece of ceremony, he saying only a few formal words. A comely man, and in a black suit and cloak of silk, which is a strange fashion, now it hath been so long left off: This day I did first see the Duke of York's room of pictures of some Maids of Honour, done by Lilly: good, but not like. [The set of portraits known as "King Charles's Beauties," formerly in Windsor Castle, but now at Hampton Court.--B.] Thence to Reeves's, and bought a reading-glass, and so to my bookseller's again, there to buy a Book of Martyrs, [The popular name of John Fox's "Acts and Monuments," first published in 1562-63.] which I did agree for; and so, after seeing and beginning acquaintance con his femme, but very little, away home, and there busy very late at the correcting my great letter to the Duke of York, and so to bed. 22nd. Up betimes, at it again with great content, and so to the Office, where all the morning, and did fall out with W. Pen about his slight performance of his office, and so home to dinner, fully satisfied that this Office must sink or the whole Service be undone. To the office all the afternoon again, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well at ease, my great letter being now finished to my full content; and I thank God I have opportunity of doing it, though I know it will set the Office and me by the ears for ever. This morning Captain Cocke comes, and tells me that he is now assured that it is true, what he told me the other day, that our whole Office will be turned out, only me, which, whether he says true or no, I know not, nor am much concerned, though I should be better contented to have it thus than otherwise. This afternoon, after I was weary in my business of the office, I went forth to the 'Change, thinking to have spoke with Captain Cocke, but he was not within. So I home, and took London-bridge in my way; walking down Fish Street and Gracious Street, to see how very fine a descent they have now made down the hill, that it is become very easy and pleasant, and going through Leaden-Hall, it being market-day, I did see a woman catched, that had stolen a shoulder of mutton off of a butcher's stall, and carrying it wrapt up in a cloth, in a basket. The jade was surprised, and did not deny it, and the woman so silly, as to let her go that took it, only taking the meat. 23rd (Lord's day). Up betimes, my head busy in my great letter, and I did first hang up my new map of Paris in my green room, and changed others in other places. Then to Captain Cocke's, thinking to have talked more of what he told me yesterday, but he was not within. So back to church, and heard a good sermon of Mr. Gifford's at our church, upon "Seek ye first the kingdom of Heaven and its righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you." A very excellent and persuasive, good and moral sermon. Shewed, like a wise man, that righteousness is a surer moral way of being rich, than sin and villainy. Then home to dinner, where Mr. Pelting, who brought us a hare, which we had at dinner, and W. Howe. After dinner to the Office, Mr. Gibson and I, to examine my letter to the Duke of York, which, to my great joy, I did very well by my paper tube, without pain to my eyes. And I do mightily like what I have therein done; and did, according to the Duke of York's order, make haste to St. James's, and about four o'clock got thither: and there the Duke of York was ready, to expect me, and did hear it all over with extraordinary content; and did give me many and hearty thanks, and in words the most expressive tell me his sense of my good endeavours, and that he would have a care of me on all occasions; and did, with much inwardness,--[i.e., intimacy.]--tell me what was doing, suitable almost to what Captain Cocke tells me, of designs to make alterations in the Navy; and is most open to me in them, and with utmost confidence desires my further advice on all occasions: and he resolves to have my letter transcribed, and sent forthwith to the Office. So, with as much satisfaction as I could possibly, or did hope for, and obligation on the Duke of York's side professed to me, I away into the Park, and there met Mr. Pierce and his wife, and sister and brother, and a little boy, and with them to Mulberry Garden, and spent I 18s. on them, and there left them, she being again with child, and by it, the least pretty that ever I saw her. And so I away, and got a coach, and home, and there with my wife and W. Hewer, talking all the evening, my mind running on the business of the Office, to see what more I can do to the rendering myself acceptable and useful to all and to the King. We to supper, and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning upon considerations on the Victualler's contract, and then home to dinner, where my wife is upon hanging the long chamber where the girl lies, with the sad stuff that was in the best chamber, in order to the hanging that with tapestry. So to dinner, and then to the office again, where all the afternoon till night, we met to discourse upon the alterations which are propounded to be made in the draft of the victualler's contract which we did lately make, and then we being up comes Mr. Child, Papillion and Littleton, his partners, to discourse upon the matter with me, which I did, and spent all the evening with them at the office, and so, they being gone, I to supper and talk with my wife, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and by water to St. James's, and there, with Mr. Wren, did discourse about my great letter, which the Duke of York hath given him: and he hath set it to be transcribed by Billings, his man, whom, as he tells me, he can most confide in for secresy, and is much pleased with it, and earnest to have it be; and he and I are like to be much together in the considering how to reform the Office, and that by the Duke of York's command. Thence I, mightily pleased with this success, away to the Office, where all the morning, my head full of this business. And it is pretty how Lord Brouncker this day did tell me how he hears that a design is on foot to remove us out of the Office: and proposes that we two do agree to draw up a form of a new constitution of the Office, there to provide remedies for the evils we are now under, so that we may be beforehand with the world, which I agreed to, saying nothing of my design; and, the truth is, he is the best man of them all, and I would be glad, next myself, to save him; for, as he deserves best, so I doubt he needs his place most. So home to dinner at noon, and all the afternoon busy at the office till night, and then with my mind full of business now in my head, I to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning almost, busy about business against the afternoon, and we met a little to sign two or three things at the Board of moment, and thence at noon home to dinner, and so away to White Hall by water. In my way to the Old Swan, finding a great many people gathered together in Cannon Street about a man that was working in the ruins, and the ground did sink under him, and he sunk in, and was forced to be dug out again, but without hurt. Thence to White Hall, and it is strange to say with what speed the people employed do pull down Paul's steeple, and with what ease: it is said that it, and the choir are to be taken down this year, and another church begun in the room thereof, the next. At White Hall we met at the Treasury chamber, and there before the Lords did debate our draft of the victualling contract with the several bidders for it, which were Sir D. Gawden, Mr. Child and his fellows, and Mr. Dorrington and his, a poor variety in a business of this value. There till after candle-lighting, and so home by coach with Sir D. Gawden, who, by the way, tells me how the City do go on in several things towards the building of the public places, which I am glad to hear; and gives hope that in a few years it will be a glorious place; but we met with several stops and new troubles in the way in the streets, so as makes it bad to travel in the dark now through the City. So I to Mr. Batelier's by appointment, where I find my wife, and Deb., and Mercer; Mrs. Pierce and her husband, son, and daughter; and Knepp and Harris, and W. Batelier, and his sister Mary, and cozen Gumbleton, a good-humoured, fat young gentleman, son to the jeweller, that dances well; and here danced all night long, with a noble supper; and about two in the morning the table spread again for a noble breakfast beyond all moderation, that put me out of countenance, so much and so good. Mrs. Pierce and her people went home betimes, she being big with child; but Knepp and the rest staid till almost three in the morning, and then broke up. 27th. Knepp home with us, and I to bed, and rose about six, mightily pleased with last night's mirth, and away by water to St. James's, and there, with Mr. Wren, did correct his copy of my letter, which the Duke of York hath signed in my very words, without alteration of a syllable. [A copy of this letter is in the British Museum, Harl. MS. 6003. See July 24th, ante, and August 29th, Post. In the Pepysian Collection are the following: An Inquisition, by his Royal Highness the Duke of York, when Lord High Admiral of England, into the Management of the Navy, 1668, with his Regulations thereon, fol. Also Mr. Pepys's Defence of the same upon an Inquisition thereunto by Parliament, 1669, fol.--B.] And so pleased therewith, I to my Lord Brouncker, who I find within, but hath business, and so comes not to the Office to-day. And so I by water to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and, just as the Board rises, comes the Duke of York's letter, which I knowing, and the Board not being full, and desiring rather to have the Duke of York deliver it himself to us, I suppressed it for this day, my heart beginning to falsify in this business, as being doubtful of the trouble it may give me by provoking them; but, however, I am resolved to go through it, and it is too late to help it now. At noon to dinner to Captain Cocke's, where I met with Mr. Wren; my going being to tell him what I have done, which he likes, and to confer with Cocke about our Office; who tells me that he is confident the design of removing our Officers do hold, but that he is sure that I am safe enough. Which pleases me, though I do not much shew it to him, but as a thing indifferent. So away home, and there met at Sir Richard Ford's with the Duke of York's Commissioners about our Prizes, with whom we shall have some trouble before we make an end with them, and hence, staying a little with them, I with my wife, and W. Batelier, and Deb.; carried them to Bartholomew Fayre, where we saw the dancing of the ropes and nothing else, it being late, and so back home to supper and to bed, after having done at my office. 28th. Busy at the office till toward 10 o'clock, and then by water to White Hall, where attending the Council's call all the morning with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, and the rest, about the business of supernumeraries in the fleete, but were not called in. But here the Duke of York did call me aside, and told me that he must speak with me in the afternoon, with Mr. Wren, for that now he hath got the paper from my Lord Keeper about the exceptions taken against the management of the Navy; and so we are to debate upon answering them. At noon I home with W. Coventry to his house; and there dined with him, and talked freely with him; and did acquaint him with what I have done, which he is well pleased with, and glad of: and do tell me that there are endeavours on foot to bring the Navy into new, but, he fears, worse hands. After much talk with great content with him, I walked to the Temple, and staid at Starky's, my bookseller's (looking over Dr. Heylin's new book of the Life of Bishop Laud, a strange book of the Church History of his time), till Mr. Wren comes, and by appointment we to the Atturney General's chamber, and there read and heard the witnesses in the business of Ackeworth, most troublesome and perplexed by the counter swearing of the witnesses one against the other, and so with Mr. Wren away thence to St. [James's] for his papers, and so to White Hall, and after the Committee was done at the Council chamber about the business of Supernumeraries, wherein W. Pen was to do all and did, but like an ignorant illiterate coxcomb, the Duke of York fell to work with us, the Committee being gone, in the Council-chamber; and there, with his own hand, did give us his long letter, telling us that he had received several from us, and now did give us one from him, taking notice of our several duties and failures, and desired answer to it, as he therein desired; this pleased me well; and so fell to other business, and then parted. And the Duke of York, and Wren, and I, it being now candle-light, into the Duke of York's closet in White Hall; and there read over this paper of my Lord Keeper's, wherein are laid down the faults of the Navy, so silly, and the remedies so ridiculous, or else the same that are now already provided, that we thought it not to need any answer, the Duke of York being able himself to do it: that so it makes us admire the confidence of these men to offer things so silly, in a business of such moment. But it is a most perfect instance of the complexion of the times! and so the Duke of York said himself, who, I perceive, is mightily concerned in it, and do, again and again, recommend it to Mr. Wren and me together, to consider upon remedies fit to provide for him to propound to the King, before the rest of the world, and particularly the Commissioners of Accounts, who are men of understanding and order, to find our faults, and offer remedies of their own, which I am glad of, and will endeavour to do something in it. So parted, and with much difficulty, by candle-light, walked over the Matted Gallery, as it is now with the mats and boards all taken up, so that we walked over the rafters. But strange to see what hard matter the plaister of Paris is, that is there taken up, as hard as stone! And pity to see Holben's work in the ceiling blotted on, and only whited over! Thence; with much ado, by several coaches home, to supper and to bed. My wife having been this day with Hales, to sit for her hand to be mended, in her picture. 29th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where the Duke of York's long letter was read, to their great trouble, and their suspecting me to have been the writer of it. And at noon comes, by appointment, Harris to dine with me and after dinner he and I to Chyrurgeon's-hall, where they are building it new, very fine; and there to see their theatre; which stood all the fire, and, which was our business, their great picture of Holben's, thinking to have bought it, by the help of Mr. Pierce, for a little money: I did think to give L200 for it, it being said to be worth L1000; but it is so spoiled that I have no mind to it, and is not a pleasant, though a good picture. Thence carried Harris to his playhouse, where, though four o'clock, so few people there at "The Impertinents," as I went out; and do believe they did not act, though there was my Lord Arlington and his company there. So I out, and met my wife in a coach, and stopped her going thither to meet me; and took her, and Mercer, and Deb., to Bartholomew Fair, and there did see a ridiculous, obscene little stage-play, called "Marry Andrey;" a foolish thing, but seen by every body; and so to Jacob Hall's dancing of the ropes; a thing worth seeing, and mightily followed, and so home and to the office, and then to bed. Writing to my father to-night not to unfurnish our house in the country for my sister, who is going to her own house, because I think I may have occasion myself to come thither; and so I do, by our being put out of the Office, which do not at all trouble me to think of. 30th (Lord's day). Walked to St. James's and Pell Mell, and read over, with Sir W. Coventry, my long letter to the Duke of York, and which the Duke of York hath, from mine, wrote to the Board, wherein he is mightily pleased, and I perceive do put great value upon me, and did talk very openly on all matters of State, and how some people have got the bit into their mouths, meaning the Duke of Buckingham and his party, and would likely run away with all. But what pleased me mightily was to hear the good character he did give of my Lord Falmouth for his generosity, good-nature, desire of public good, and low thoughts of his own wisdom; his employing his interest in the King to do good offices to all people, without any other fault than the freedom he, do learn in France of thinking himself obliged to serve his King in his pleasures: and was W. Coventry's particular friend: and W. Coventry do tell me very odde circumstances about the fatality of his death, which are very strange. Thence to White Hall to chapel, and heard the anthem, and did dine with the Duke of Albemarle in a dirty manner as ever. All the afternoon, I sauntered up and down the house and Park. And there was a Committee for Tangier met, wherein Lord Middleton would, I think, have found fault with me for want of coles; but I slighted it, and he made nothing of it, but was thought to be drunk; and I see that he hath a mind to find fault with me and Creed, neither of us having yet applied ourselves to him about anything: but do talk of his profits and perquisites taken from him, and garrison reduced, and that it must be increased, and such things, as; I fear, he will be just such another as my Lord Tiviott and the rest, to ruin that place. So I to the Park, and there walk an hour or two; and in the King's garden, and saw the Queen and ladies walk; and I did steal some apples off the trees; and here did see my Lady Richmond, who is of a noble person as ever I saw, but her face worse than it was considerably by the smallpox: her sister' is also very handsome. Coming into the Park, and the door kept strictly, I had opportunity of handing in the little, pretty, squinting girl of the Duke of York's house, but did not make acquaintance with her; but let her go, and a little girl that was with her, to walk by themselves. So to White Hall in the evening, to the Queen's side, and there met the Duke of York; and he did tell me and W. Coventry, who was with me, how that Lord Anglesey did take notice of our reading his long and sharp letter to the Board; but that it was the better, at least he said so. The Duke of York, I perceive, is earnest in it, and will have good effects of it; telling W. Coventry that it was a letter that might have come from the Commissioners of Accounts, but it was better it should come first from him. I met Lord Brouncker, who, I perceive, and the rest, do smell that it comes from me, but dare not find fault with it; and I am glad of it, it being my glory and defence that I did occasion and write it. So by water home, and did spend the evening with W. Hewer, telling him how we are all like to be turned out, Lord Brouncker telling me this evening that the Duke of Buckingham did, within few hours, say that he had enough to turn us all out which I am not sorry for at all, for I know the world will judge me to go for company; and my eyes are such as I am not able to do the business of my Office as I used, and would desire to do, while I am in it. So with full content, declaring all our content in being released of my employment, my wife and I to bed, and W. Hewer home, and so all to bed. 31st. Up, and to my office, there to set my journal for all the last week, and so by water to Westminster to the Exchequer, and thence to the Swan, and there drank and did baiser la fille there, and so to the New Exchange and paid for some things, and so to Hercules Pillars,' and there dined all alone, while I sent my shoe to have the heel fastened at Wotton's, and thence to White Hall to the Treasury chamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Duke of York's playhouse and there met my wife and Deb. and Mary Mercer and Batelier, where also W. Hewer was, and saw "Hamlet," which we have not seen this year before, or more; and mightily pleased with it; but, above all, with Betterton, the best part I believe, that ever man acted. Thence to the Fayre, and saw "Polichinelle," and so home, and after a little supper to bed. This night lay the first night in Deb.'s chamber, which is now hung with that that hung our great chamber, and is now a very handsome room. This day Mrs. Batelier did give my wife a mighty pretty Spaniel bitch [Flora], which she values mightily, and is pretty; but as a new comer, I cannot be fond of her. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: And the woman so silly, as to let her go that took it But what they did, I did not enquire Family governed so nobly and neatly as do me good to see it I know not whether to be glad or sorry My heart beginning to falsify in this business Pictures of some Maids of Honor: good, but not like Resolved to go through it, and it is too late to help it now Saw "Mackbeth," to our great content The factious part of the Parliament Though I know it will set the Office and me by the ears for ever 
4192	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. SEPTEMBER & OCTOBER 1668 September 1st. Up and all the morning at the office busy, and after dinner to the office again busy till about four, and then I abroad (my wife being gone to Hales's about drawing her hand new in her picture) and I to see Betty Michell, which I did, but su mari was dentro, and no pleasure. So to the Fair, and there saw several sights; among others, the mare that tells money, [This is not the first learned horse of which we read. Shakespeare, "Love's Labour's Lost," act i., SC. 2, mentions "the dancing horse,"' and the commentators have added many particulars of Banks's bay horse.] and many things to admiration; and, among others, come to me, when she was bid to go to him of the company that most loved a pretty wench in a corner. And this did cost me 12d. to the horse, which I had flung him before, and did give me occasion to baiser a mighty belle fille that was in the house that was exceeding plain, but fort belle. At night going home I went to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and find her weeping in the shop, so as ego could not have any discourse con her nor ask the reason, so departed and took coach home, and taking coach was set on by a wench that was naught, and would have gone along with me to her lodging in Shoe Lane, but ego did donner her a shilling . . . and left her, and home, where after supper, W. Batelier with us, we to bed. This day Mrs. Martin come to see us, and dined with us. 2nd. Fast-day for the burning of London, strictly observed. I at home at the office all day, forenoon and afternoon, about the Victualler's contract and other things, and at night home to supper, having had but a cold dinner, Mr. Gibson with me; and this evening comes Mr. Hill to discourse with me about Yeabsly and Lanyon's business, wherein they are troubled, and I fear they have played the knave too far for me to help or think fit to appear for them. So he gone, and after supper, to bed, being troubled with a summons, though a kind one, from Mr. Jessop, to attend the Commissioners of Accounts tomorrow. 3rd. Up, and to the Office, where busy till it was time to go to the Commissioners of Accounts, which I did about noon, and there was received with all possible respect, their business being only to explain the meaning of one of their late demands to us, which we had not answered in our answer to them, and, this being done, I away with great content, my mind being troubled before, and so to the Exchequer and several places, calling on several businesses, and particularly my bookseller's, among others, for "Hobbs's Leviathan," ["Leviathan: or the matter, forme and power of a Commonwealth ecclesiasticall and civill," by Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, first published in 1651. It was reprinted in 1680, with its old date. Hobbes's complete works, English and Latin, were published by Sir William Molesworth in sixteen volumes 8vo. between 1839 and 1845.] which is now mightily called for; and what was heretofore sold for 8s. I now give 24s. for, at the second hand, and is sold for 30s., it being a book the Bishops will not let be printed again, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, and towards evening by water to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and presently back again, and there met a little with W. Pen and the rest about our Prize accounts, and so W. Pen and Lord Brouncker and I at the lodging of the latter to read over our new draft of the victualler's contract, and so broke up and home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and met at the Office all the morning; and at noon my wife, and Deb., and Mercer, and W. Hewer and I to the Fair, and there, at the old house, did eat a pig, and was pretty merry, but saw no sights, my wife having a mind to see the play "Bartholomew-Fayre," with puppets. Which we did, and it is an excellent play; the more I see it, the more I love the wit of it; only the business of abusing the Puritans begins to grow stale, and of no use, they being the people that, at last, will be found the wisest. And here Knepp come to us, and sat with us, and thence took coach in two coaches, and losing one another, my wife, and Knepp, and I to Hercules Pillars, and there supped, and I did take from her mouth the words and notes of her song of "the Larke," which pleases me mightily. And so set her at home, and away we home, where our company come home before us. This night Knepp tells us that there is a Spanish woman lately come over, that pretends to sing as well as Mrs. Knight; both of which I must endeavour to hear. So, after supper, to bed. 5th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and to the office to work all the afternoon again till the evening, and then by coach to Mr. Hales's new house, where, I find, he hath finished my wife's hand, which is better than the other; and here I find Harris's picture, done in his habit of "Henry the Fifth;" mighty like a player, but I do not think the picture near so good as any yet he hath made for me: however, it is pretty well, and thence through the fair home, but saw nothing, it being late, and so home to my business at the office, and thence to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and got myself ready to go by water, and about nine o'clock took boat with Henry Russell to Gravesend, coming thither about one, where, at the Ship, I dined; and thither come to me Mr. Hosier, whom I went to speak with, about several businesses of work that he is doing, and I would have him do, of writing work, for me. And I did go with him to his lodging, and there did see his wife, a pretty tolerable woman, and do find him upon an extraordinary good work of designing a method of keeping our Storekeeper's Accounts, in the Navy. Here I should have met with Mr. Wilson, but he is sick, and could not come from Chatham to me. So, having done with Hosier, I took boat again the beginning of the flood, and come home by nine at night, with much pleasure, it being a fine day. Going down I spent reading of the "Five Sermons of Five Several Styles," worth comparing one with another: but I do think, when all is done, that, contrary to the design of the book, the Presbyterian style and the Independent are the best of the five sermons to be preached in; this I do, by the best of my present judgment think, and coming back I spent reading of a book of warrants of our office in the first Dutch war, and do find that my letters and warrants and method will be found another gate's business than this that the world so much adores, and I am glad for my own sake to find it so. My boy was with me, and read to me all day, and we sang a while together, and so home to supper a little, and so to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, we met, and at noon dined at home, and after dinner carried my wife and Deb. to Unthanke's, and I to White Hall with Mr. Gibson, where the rest of our officers met us, and to the Commissioners of the Treasury about the Victualling contract, but staid not long, but thence, sending Gibson to my wife, I with Lord Brouncker (who was this day in an unusual manner merry, I believe with drink), J. Minnes, and W. Pen to Bartholomew-Fair; and there saw the dancing mare again, which, to-day, I find to act much worse than the other day, she forgetting many things, which her master beat her for, and was mightily vexed; and then the dancing of the ropes, and also the little stage-play, which is very ridiculous, and so home to the office with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, and myself (J. Minnes being gone home before not well), and so, after a little talk together, I home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and to St. James's, there to talk a little with Mr. Wren about the private business we are upon, in the Office, where he tells me he finds that they all suspect me to be the author of the great letter, which I value not, being satisfied that it is the best thing I could ever do for myself; and so, after some discourse of this kind more, I back to the Office, where all the morning; and after dinner to it again, all the afternoon, and very late, and then home to supper, where met W. Batelier and Betty Turner; and, after some talk with them, and supper, we to bed. This day, I received so earnest an invitation again from Roger Pepys, to come to Sturbridge-Fair [at Cambridge] that I resolve to let my wife go, which she shall do the next week, and so to bed. This day I received two letters from the Duke of Richmond about his yacht, which is newly taken into the King's service, and I am glad of it, hoping hereby to oblige him, and to have occasions of seeing his noble Duchess, which I admire. 9th. Up, and to the office, and thence to the Duke of Richmond's lodgings by his desire, by letter, yesterday. I find him at his lodgings in the little building in the bowling-green, at White Hall, that was begun to be built by Captain Rolt. They are fine rooms. I did hope to see his lady, the beautiful Mrs. Stuart, but she, I hear, is in the country. His business was about his yacht, and he seems a mighty good-natured man, and did presently write me a warrant for a doe from Cobham, when the season comes, bucks season being past. I shall make much of this acquaintance, that I may live to see his lady near. Thence to Westminster, to Sir R. Longs Office: and, going, met Mr. George Montagu, who talked and complimented me mightily; and long discourse I had with him, who, for news, tells me for certain that Trevor do come to be Secretary at Michaelmas, and that Morrice goes out, and he believes, without any compensation. He tells me that now Buckingham does rule all; and the other day, in the King's journey he is now on, at Bagshot, and that way, he caused Prince Rupert's horses to be turned out of an inne, and caused his own to be kept there, which the Prince complained of to the King, and the Duke of York seconded the complaint; but the King did over-rule it for Buckingham, by which there are high displeasures among them; and Buckingham and Arlington rule all. Thence by water home and to dinner, and after dinner by water again to White Hall, where Brouncker, W. Pen, and I attended the Commissioners of the Treasury about the victualling-contract, where high words between Sir Thomas Clifford and us, and myself more particularly, who told him that something, that he said was told him about this business, was a flat untruth. However, we went on to our business in, the examination of the draught, and so parted, and I vexed at what happened, and Brouncker and W. Pen and I home in a hackney coach. And I all that night so vexed that I did not sleep almost all night, which shows how unfit I am for trouble. So, after a little supper, vexed, and spending a little time melancholy in making a base to the Lark's song, I to bed. 10th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's house, where I staid in his dining-room two hours thinking to speak with him, but I find Garraway and he are private, which I am glad of, Captain Cocke bringing them this day together. Cocke come out and talked to me, but it was too late for me to stay longer, and therefore to the Treasury chamber, where the rest met, and W. Coventry come presently after. And we spent the morning in finishing the Victualler's contract, and so I by water home, and there dined with me Batelier and his wife, and Mercer, and my people, at a good venison-pasty; and after dinner I and W. Howe, who come to see me, by water to the Temple, and met our four women, my wife, M. Batelier, Mercer, and Deb., at the Duke's play-house, and there saw "The Maid in the Mill," revived--a pretty, harmless old play. Thence to Unthanke's, and 'Change, where wife did a little business, while Mercer and I staid in the coach; and, in a quarter of an hour, I taught her the whole Larke's song perfectly, so excellent an eare she hath. Here we at Unthanke's 'light, and walked them to White Hall, my wife mighty angry at it, and did give me ill words before Batelier, which vexed me, but I made no matter of it, but vexed to myself. So landed them, it being fine moonshine, at the Bear, and so took water to the other side, and home. I to the office, where a child is laid at Sir J. Minnes's door, as there was one heretofore. So being good friends again, my wife seeking, it, by my being silent I overcoming her, we to bed. 11th. Up, and at my Office all the morning, and after dinner all the afternoon in my house with Batelier shut up, drawing up my defence to the Duke of York upon his great letter, which I have industriously taken this opportunity of doing for my future use. At it late, and my mind and head mighty full of it all night. 12th. At it again in the morning, and then to the Office, where till noon, and I do see great whispering among my brethren about their replies to the Duke of York, which vexed me, though I know no reason for it; for I have no manner of ground to fear them. At noon home to dinner, and, after dinner, to work all the afternoon again. At home late, and so to bed. 13th (Lord's day). The like all this morning and afternoon, and finished it to my mind. So about four o'clock walked to the Temple, and there by coach to St. James's, and met, to my wish, the Duke of York and Mr. Wren; and understand the Duke of York hath received answers from Brouncker, W. Pen, and J. Minnes; and as soon as he saw me, he bid Mr. Wren read them over with me. So having no opportunity of talk with the Duke of York, and Mr. Wren some business to do, he put them into my hands like an idle companion, to, take home with me before himself had read them, which do give me great opportunity of altering my answer, if there was cause. So took a hackney and home, and after supper made my wife to read them all over, wherein she is mighty useful to me; and I find them all evasions, and in many things false, and in few, to the full purpose. Little said reflective on me, though W. Pen and J. Minnes do mean me in one or two places, and J. Minnes a little more plainly would lead the Duke of York to question the exactness of my keeping my records; but all to no purpose. My mind is mightily pleased by this, if I can but get time to have a copy taken of them, for my future use; but I must return them tomorrow. So to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and walked to the Temple, and stopped, viewing the Exchange, and Paul's, and St. Fayth's, where strange how the very sight of the stones falling from the top of the steeple do make me sea-sick! But no hurt, I hear, hath yet happened in all this work of the steeple, which is very much. So from the Temple I by coach to St. James's, where I find Sir W. Pen and Lord Anglesey, who delivered this morning his answer to the Duke of York, but I could not see it. But after being above with the Duke of York, but said nothing, I down with Mr. Wren; and he and I read all over that I had, and I expounded them to him, and did so order it that I had them home with me, so that I shall, to my heart's wish, be able to take a copy of them. After dinner, I by water to, White Hall; and there, with the Cofferer and Sir Stephen Fox, attended the Commissioners of the Treasury, about bettering our fund; and are promised it speedily. Thence by water home, and so all the afternoon and evening late busy at the office, and then home to supper, and Mrs. Turner comes to see my wife before her journey to-morrow, but she is in bed, and so sat talking to little purpose with me a great while, and, she gone, I to bed. 15th. Up mighty betimes, my wife and people, Mercer lying here all night, by three o'clock, and I about five; and they before, and I after them, to the coach in Bishopsgate Street, which was not ready to set out. So took wife and Mercer and Deb. and W. Hewer (who are all to set out this day for Cambridge, to cozen Roger Pepys's, to see Sturbridge Fayre); and I shewed them the Exchange, which is very finely carried on, with good dispatch. So walked back and saw them gone, there being only one man in the coach besides them; and so home to the Office, where Mrs. Daniel come and staid talking to little purpose with me to borrow money, but I did not lend her any, having not opportunity para hater allo thing mit her. At the office all the morning, and at noon dined with my people at home, and so to the office again a while, and so by water to the King's playhouse, to see a new play, acted but yesterday, a translation out of French by Dryden, called "The Ladys a la Mode:" so mean a thing as, when they come to say it would be acted again to-morrow, both he that said it, Beeson, and the pit fell a-laughing, there being this day not a quarter of the pit full. Thence to St. James's and White Hall to wait on the Duke of York, but could not come to speak to him till time to go home, and so by water home, and there late at the office and my chamber busy, and so after a little supper to bed. 16th. Up; and dressing myself I did begin para toker the breasts of my maid Jane, which elle did give way to more than usual heretofore, so I have a design to try more when I can bring it to. So to the office, and thence to St. James's to the Duke of York, walking it to the Temple, and in my way observe that the Stockes are now pulled quite down; and it will make the coming into Cornhill and Lumber Street mighty noble. I stopped, too, at Paul's, and there did go into St. Fayth's Church, and also in the body of the west part of the Church; and do see a hideous sight of the walls of the Church ready to fall, that I was in fear as long as I was in it: and here I saw the great vaults underneath the body of the Church. No hurt, I hear, is done yet, since their going to pull down the Church and steeple; but one man, on Monday this week, fell from the top to a piece of the roof, of the east end, that stands next the steeple, and there broke himself all to pieces. It is pretty here to see how the late Church was but a case wrought over the old Church; for you may see the very old pillars standing whole within the wall of this. When I come to St. James's, I find the Duke of York gone with the King to see the muster of the Guards in Hyde Park; and their Colonel, the Duke of Monmouth, to take his command this day of the King's Life-Guard, by surrender of my Lord Gerard. So I took a hackney-coach and saw it all: and indeed it was mighty noble, and their firing mighty fine, and the Duke of Monmouth in mighty rich clothes; but the well-ordering of the men I understand not. Here, among a thousand coaches that were there, I saw and spoke to Mrs. Pierce: and by and by Mr. Wren hunts me out, and gives me my Lord Anglesey's answer to the Duke of York's letter, where, I perceive, he do do what he can to hurt me, by bidding the Duke of York call for my books: but this will do me all the right in the world, and yet I am troubled at it. So away out of the Park, and home; and there Mr. Gibson and I to dinner: and all the afternoon with him, writing over anew, and a little altering, my answer to the Duke of York, which I have not yet delivered, and so have the opportunity of doing it after seeing all their answers, though this do give me occasion to alter very little. This done, he to write it over, and I to the Office, where late, and then home; and he had finished it; and then he to read to me the life of Archbishop Laud, wrote by Dr. Heylin; which is a shrewd book, but that which I believe will do the Bishops in general no great good, but hurt, it pleads for so much Popish. So after supper to bed. This day my father's letters tell me of the death of poor Fancy, in the country, big with puppies, which troubles me, as being one of my oldest acquaintances and servants. Also good Stankes is dead. 17th. Up, and all the morning sitting at the office, where every body grown mighty cautious in what they do, or omit to do, and at noon comes Knepp, with design to dine with Lord Brouncker, but she being undressed, and there being: much company, dined with me; and after dinner I out with her, and carried her to the playhouse; and in the way did give her five guineas as a fairing, I having given her nothing a great while, and her coming hither sometimes having been matter of cost to her, and so I to St. James's, but missed of the Duke of York, and so went back to the King's playhouse, and saw "Rollo, Duke of Normandy," which, for old acquaintance, pleased me pretty well, and so home and to my business,. and to read again, and to bed. This evening Batelier comes to tell me that he was going down to Cambridge to my company, to see the Fair, which vexed me, and the more because I fear he do know that Knepp did dine with me to-day.--[And that he might tell Mrs. Pepys.--B.] 18th. Up, and to St. James's, and there took a turn or two in the Park; and then up to the Duke of York, and there had opportunity of delivering my answer to his late letter, which he did not read, but give to Mr. Wren, as looking on it as a thing I needed not have done, but only that I might not give occasion to the rest to suspect my communication with the Duke of York against them. So now I am at rest in that matter, and shall be more, when my copies are finished of their answers, which I am now taking with all speed. Thence to my several booksellers and elsewhere, about several errands, and so at noon home, and after dinner by coach to White Hall, and thither comes the Duke of York to us, and by and by met at the robe chamber upon our usual business, where the Duke of York I find somewhat sour, and particularly angry with Lord Anglesey for his not being there now, nor at other times so often as he should be with us. So to the King's house, and saw a piece of "Henry the Fourth;" at the end of the play, thinking to have gone abroad with Knepp, but it was too late, and she to get her part against to-morrow, in "The Silent Woman," and so I only set her at home, and away home myself, and there to read again and sup with Gibson, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and so dined with my people at home, and then to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Silent Woman;" the best comedy, I think, that ever was wrote; and sitting by Shadwell the poet, he was big with admiration of it. Here was my Lord Brouncker and W. Pen and their ladies in the box, being grown mighty kind of a sudden; but, God knows, it will last but a little while, I dare swear. Knepp did her part mighty well. And so home straight, and to work, and particularly to my cozen Roger, who, W. Hewer and my wife writes me, do use them with mighty plenty and noble entertainment: so home to supper, and to bed. All the news now is, that Mr. Trevor is for certain now to be Secretary, in Morrice's place, which the Duke of York did himself tell me yesterday; and also that Parliament is to be adjourned to the 1st of March, which do please me well, hoping thereby to get my things in a little better order than I should have done; and the less attendances at that end of the town in winter. So home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and to set some papers to rights in my chamber, and the like in my office, and so to church, at our own church, and heard but a dull sermon of one Dr. Hicks, who is a suitor to Mrs. Howell, the widow of our turner of the Navy; thence home to dinner, staying till past one o'clock for Harris, whom I invited, and to bring Shadwell the poet with him; but they come not, and so a good dinner lost, through my own folly. And so to dinner alone, having since church heard the boy read over Dryden's Reply to Sir R. Howard's Answer, about his Essay of Poesy, and a letter in answer to that; the last whereof is mighty silly, in behalf of Howard. [The title of the letter is as follows: "A Letter from a Gentleman to the Honourable Ed. Howard, Esq., occasioned by a Civiliz'd Epistle of Mr. Dryden's before his Second Edition of his Indian Emperour. In the Savoy, printed by Thomas Newcomb, 1668." The "Civiliz'd Epistle" was a caustic attack on Sir Robert Howard; and the Letter is signed, "Sir, your faithful and humble servant, R. F."--i.e., Richard Flecknoe.] Thence walked forth and got a coach and to visit Mrs. Pierce, with whom, and him, I staid a little while, and do hear how the Duchesse of Monmouth is at this time in great trouble of the shortness of her lame leg, which is likely to grow shorter and shorter, that she will never recover it. Thence to St. Margaret's Church, thinking to have seen Betty Michell, but she was not there. So back, and walked to Gray's Inn walks a while, but little company; and so over the fields to Clerkenwell, to see whether I could find that the fair Botelers do live there still, I seeing Frances the other day in a coach with Cary Dillon, her old servant, but know not where she lives. So walked home, and there walked in the garden an hour, it being mighty pleasant weather, and so took my Lady Pen and Mrs. Markham home with me and sent for Mrs. Turner, and by and by comes Sir W. Pen and supped with me, a good supper, part of my dinner to-day. They gone, Mrs. Turner staid an hour talking with me . . . . So parted, and I to bed. 21st. Up, and betimes Sir D. Gawden with me talking about the Victualling business, which is now under dispute for a new contract, or whether it shall be put into a Commission. He gone, comes Mr. Hill to talk with me about Lanyon's business, and so being in haste I took him to the water with me, and so to White Hall, and there left him, and I to Sir W. Coventry, and shewed him my answer to the Duke of York's great letter, which he likes well. We also discoursed about the Victualling business, which he thinks there is a design to put into a way of Commission, but do look upon all things to be managed with faction, and is grieved under it. So to St. James's, and there the Duke of York did of his own accord come to me, and tell me that he had read, and do like of, my answers to the objections which he did give me the other day, about the Navy; and so did W. Coventry too, who told me that the Duke of York had shown him them: So to White Hall a little and the Chequer, and then by water home to dinner with my people, where Tong was also this day with me, whom I shall employ for a time, and so out again and by water to Somerset House, but when come thither I turned back and to Southwarke-Fair, very dirty, and there saw the puppet-show of Whittington, which was pretty to see; and how that idle thing do work upon people that see it, and even myself too! And thence to Jacob Hall's dancing on the ropes, where I saw such action as I never saw before, and mightily worth seeing; and here took acquaintance with a fellow that carried me to a tavern, whither come the musick of this booth, and by and by Jacob Hall himself, with whom I had a mind to speak, to hear whether he had ever any mischief by falls in his time. He told me, "Yes, many; but never to the breaking of a limb:" he seems a mighty strong man. So giving them a bottle or two of wine, I away with Payne, the waterman. He, seeing me at the play, did get a link to light me, and so light me to the Beare, where Bland, my waterman, waited for me with gold and other things he kept for me, to the value of L40 and more, which I had about me, for fear of my pockets being cut. So by link-light through the bridge, it being mighty dark, but still weather, and so home, where I find my draught of "The Resolution" come, finished, from Chatham; but will cost me, one way or other, about L12 or L13, in the board, frame, and garnishing, which is a little too much, but I will not be beholden to the King's officers that do it. So to supper, and the boy to read to me, and so to bed. This day I met Mr. Moore in the New Exchange, and had much talk of my Lord's concernments. This day also come out first the new five-pieces in gold, coined by the Guiny Company; and I did get two pieces of Mr. Holder. [Guineas took their name from the gold brought from Guinea by the African Company in 1663, who, as an encouragement to bring over gold to be coined, were permitted by their charter from Charles II. to have their stamp of an elephant upon the coin. When first coined they were valued at 20s., but were worth 30s. in 1695. There were likewise fivepound pieces, like the guinea, with the inscription upon the rim.] 22nd. Up, and to the Office, where sitting all the morning at noon, home to dinner, with my people, and so to the Office again, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening spent my time walking in the dark, in the garden, to favour my eyes, which I find nothing but ease to help. In the garden there comes to me my Lady Pen and Mrs. Turner and Markham, and we sat and talked together, and I carried them home, and there eat a bit of something, and by and by comes Sir W. Pen, and eat with us, and mighty merry-in appearance, at least, he being on all occasions glad to be at friendship with me, though we hate one another, and know it on both sides. They gone, Mrs. Turner and I to walk in the garden . . . . So led her home, and I back to bed. This day Mr. Wren did give me, at the Board, Commissioner Middleton's answer to the Duke of York's great letter; so that now I have all of them. 23rd. At my office busy all the morning. At noon comes Mr. Evelyn to me, about some business with the Office, and there in discourse tells me of his loss, to the value of F 500, which he hath met with, in a late attempt of making of bricks [At the end of the year 1666 a Dutchman of the Prince of Orange's party, named Kiviet, came over to England with proposals for embanking the river from the Temple to the Tower with brick, and was knighted by the king. He was introduced to Evelyn, whom he persuaded to join with him in a great undertaking for the making of bricks. On March 26th, 1667, the two went in search of brick-earth, and in September articles were drawn up between them for the purpose of proceeding in the manufacture. In April, 1668, Evelyn subscribed 50,000 bricks for the building of a college for the Royal Society, in addition to L50 given previously for the same purpose. No more information on the subject is given in Evelyn's "Diary."] upon an adventure with others, by which he presumed to have got a great deal of money: so that I see the most ingenious men may sometimes be mistaken. So to the 'Change a little, and then home to dinner, and then by water to White Hall, to attend the Commissioners of the Treasury with Alderman Backewell, about L10,000 he is to lend us for Tangier, and then up to a Committee of the Council, where was the Duke of York, and they did give us, the Officers of the Navy, the proposals of the several bidders for the victualling of the Navy, for us to give our answer to, which is the best, and whether it be better to victual by commission or contract, and to bring them our answer by Friday afternoon, which is a great deal of work. So thence back with Sir J. Minnes home, and come after us Sir W. Pen and Lord Brouncker, and we fell to the business, and I late when they were gone to digest something of it, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. Up betimes and Sir D. Gawden with me, and I told him all, being very desirous for the King's sake, as well as my own, that he may be kept in it, and after consulting him I to the Office, where we met again and spent most of the morning about this business, and no other, and so at noon home to dinner, and then close with Mr. Gibson till night, drawing up our answer, which I did the most part by seven at night, and so to Lord Brouncker and the rest at his lodgings to read it, and they approved of it. So back home to supper, and made my boy read to me awhile, and then to bed. 25th. Up, and Sir D. Gawden with me betimes to confer again about this business, and he gone I all the morning finishing our answer, which I did by noon, and so to dinner, and W. Batelier with me, who is lately come from Impington, beyond which I perceive he went not, whatever his pretence at first was; and so he tells me how well and merry all are there, and how nobly used by my cozen. He gone, after dinner I to work again, and Gibson having wrote our answer fair and got Brouncker and the rest to sign it, I by coach to White Hall to the Committee of the Council, which met late, and Brouncker and J. Minnes with me, and there the Duke of York present (but not W. Coventry, who I perceive do wholly avoid to have to do publickly in this business, being shy of appearing in any Navy business, which I telling him the other day that I thought the King might suffer by it, he told me that the occasion is now so small that it cannot be fatal to the service, and for the present it is better for him not to appear, saying that it may fare the worse for his appearing in it as things are now governed), where our answer was read and debated, and some hot words between the Duke of York and Sir T. Clifford, the first for and the latter against Gawden, but the whole put off to to-morrow's Council, for till the King goes out of town the next week the Council sits every day. So with the Duke of York and some others to his closet, and Alderman Backewell about a Committee of Tangier, and there did agree upon a price for pieces of eight at 4s. 6d. Present the Duke of York, Arlington, Berkeley, Sir J. Minnes, and myself. They gone, the Duke of York did tell me how hot Clifford is for Child, and for removing of old Officers, he saying plainly to-night, that though D. Gawden was a man that had done the best service that he believed any man, or any ten men, could have done, yet that it was for the King's interest not to let it lie too long in one hand, lest nobody should be able to serve him but one. But the Duke of York did openly tell him that he was not for removing of old servants that have done well, neither in this place, nor in any other place, which is very nobly said. It being 7 or 8 at night, I home with Backewell by coach, and so walked to D. Gawden's, but he not at home, and so back to my chamber, the boy to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 26th. Could sleep but little last night, for my concernments in this business of the victualling for Sir D. Gawden, so up in the morning and he comes to me, and there I did tell him all, and give him my advice, and so he away, and I to the office, where we met and did a little business, and I left them and by water to attend the Council, which I did all the morning, but was not called in, but the Council meets again in the afternoon on purpose about it. So I at noon to Westminster Hall and there stayed a little, and at the Swan also, thinking to have got Doll Lane thither, but elle did not understand my signs; and so I away and walked to Charing Cross, and there into the great new Ordinary, by my Lord Mulgrave's, being led thither by Mr. Beale, one of Oliver's, and now of the King's Guards; and he sat with me while I had two grilled pigeons, very handsome and good meat: and there he and I talked of our old acquaintances, W. Clerke and others, he being a very civil man, and so walked to Westminster and there parted, and I to the Swan again, but did nothing, and so to White Hall, and there attended the King and Council, who met and heard our answer. I present, and then withdrew; and they sent two hours at least afterwards about it, and at last rose; and to my great content, the Duke of York, at coming out, told me that it was carried for D. Gawden at 6d. 8d., and 8 3/4d.; but with great difficulty, I understand, both from him and others, so much that Sir Edward Walker told me that he prays to God he may never live to need to plead his merit, for D. Gawden's sake; for that it hath stood him in no stead in this business at all, though both he and all the world that speaks of him, speaks of him as the most deserving man of any servant of the King's in the whole nation, and so I think he is: but it is done, and my heart is glad at it. So I took coach and away, and in Holborne overtook D. Gawden's coach, and stopped and went home, and Gibson to come after, and to my house, where D. Gawden did talk a little, and he do mightily acknowledge my kindness to him, and I know I have done the King and myself good service in it. So he gone, and myself in mighty great content in what is done, I to the office a little, and then home to supper, and the boy to read to me, and so to bed. This noon I went to my Lady Peterborough's house, and talked with her about the money due to her Lord, and it gives me great trouble, her importunity and impertinency about it. This afternoon at Court I met with Lord Hinchingbroke, newly come out of the country, who tells me that Creed's business with Mrs. Pickering will do, which I am neither troubled nor glad at. 27th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office to finish my journall for five days past, and so abroad and walked to White Hall, calling in at Somerset House Chapel, and also at the Spanish Embassador's at York House, and there did hear a little masse: and so to White Hall; and there the King being gone to Chapel, I to walk all the morning in the Park, where I met Mr. Wren; and he and I walked together in the Pell-Mell, it being most summer weather that ever was seen: and here talking of several things: of the corruption of the Court, and how unfit it is for ingenious men, and himself particularly, to live in it, where a man cannot live but he must spend, and cannot get suitably, without breach of his honour: and did thereupon tell me of the basest thing of my Lord Barkeley, one of the basest things that ever was heard of of a man, which was this: how the Duke of York's Commissioners do let his wine-licenses at a bad rate, and being offered a better, they did persuade the Duke of York to give some satisfaction to the former to quit it, and let it to the latter, which being done, my Lord Barkeley did make the bargain for the former to have L1500 a-year to quit it; whereof, since, it is come to light that they were to have but L800 and himself L700, which the Duke of York hath ever since for some years paid, though this second bargain hath been broken, and the Duke of York lost by it, [half] of what the first was. He told me that there hath been a seeming accommodation between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington, the two latter desiring it; but yet that there is not true agreement between them, but they do labour to bring in all new creatures into play, and the Duke of York do oppose it, as particularly in this of Sir D. Gawden. Thence, he gone, I to the Queen's Chapel, and there heard some good singing; and so to White Hall, and saw the King and Queen at dinner and thence with Sir Stephen Fox to dinner: and the Cofferer with us; and there mighty kind usage, and good discourse. Thence spent all the afternoon walking in the Park, and then in the evening at Court, on the Queen's side; and there met Mr. Godolphin, who tells me that the news, is true we heard yesterday, of my Lord Sandwich's being come to Mount's Bay, in Cornwall, and so I heard this afternoon at Mrs. Pierce's, whom I went to make a short visit to. This night, in the Queen's drawing-room, my Lord Brouncker told me the difference that is now between the three Embassadors here, the Venetian, French, and Spaniard; the third not being willing to make a visit to the first, because he would not receive him at the door; who is willing to give him as much respect as he did to the French, who was used no otherwise, and who refuses now to take more of him, upon being desired thereto, in order to the making an accommodation in this matter, which is very pretty. So a boat staying for me all this evening, I home in the dark about eight at night, and so over the ruins from the Old Swan home with great trouble, and so to hear my boy read a little, and supper and to bed. This evening I found at home Pelling and Wallington and one Aldrige, and we supped and sung. 28th. Up betimes, and Knepp's maid comes to me, to tell me that the women's day at the playhouse is to-day, and that therefore I must be there, to encrease their profit. I did give the pretty maid Betty that comes to me half-a-crown for coming, and had a baiser or two-elle being mighty jolie. And so I about my business. By water to St. James's, and there had good opportunity of speaking with the Duke of York, who desires me again, talking on that matter, to prepare something for him to do for the better managing of our Office, telling me that, my Lord Keeper and he talking about it yesterday, my Lord Keeper did advise him to do so, it being better to come from him than otherwise, which I have promised to do. Thence to my Lord Burlington's houses the first time I ever was there, it being the house built by Sir John Denham, next to Clarendon House; and here I visited my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady; Mr. Sidney Montagu being come last night to town unexpectedly from Mount's Bay, where he left my Lord well, eight days since, so as we may now hourly expect to hear of his arrival at Portsmouth. Sidney is mighty grown; and I am glad I am here to see him at his first coming, though it cost me dear, for here I come to be necessitated to supply them with L500 for my Lord. He sent him up with a declaration to his friends, of the necessity of his being presently supplied with L2000; but I do not think he will get one. However, I think it becomes my duty to my Lord to do something extraordinary in this, and the rather because I have been remiss in writing to him during this voyage, more than ever I did in my life, and more indeed than was fit for me. By and by comes Sir W. Godolphin to see Mr. Sidney, who, I perceive, is much dissatisfied that he should come to town last night, and not yet be with my Lord Arlington, who, and all the town, hear of his being come to town, and he did, it seems, take notice of it to Godolphin this morning: so that I perceive this remissness in affairs do continue in my Lord's managements still, which I am sorry for; but, above all, to see in what a condition my Lord is for money, that I dare swear he do not know where to take up L500 of any man in England at this time, upon his word, but of myself, as I believe by the sequel hereof it will appear. Here I first saw and saluted my Lady Burlington, a very fine-speaking lady, and a good woman, but old, and not handsome; but a brave woman in her parts. Here my Lady Hinchingbroke tells me that she hath bought most of the wedding-clothes for Mrs. Dickering, so that the thing is gone through, and will soon be ended; which I wonder at, but let them do as they will. Here I also, standing by a candle that was brought for sealing of a letter, do set my periwigg a-fire, which made such an odd noise, nobody could tell what it was till they saw the flame, my back being to the candle. Thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, and to the Exchequer, and so home by water, and after eating a bit I to my vintner's, and there did only look upon su wife, which is mighty handsome; and so to my glove and ribbon shop, in Fenchurch Street, and did the like there. And there, stopping against the door of the shop, saw Mrs. Horsfall, now a late widow, in a coach. I to her, and shook her by the hand, and so she away; and I by coach towards the King's playhouse, and meeting W. Howe took him with me, and there saw "The City Match;" not acted these thirty years, and but a silly play: the King and Court there; the house, for the women's sake, mighty full. So I to White Hall, and there all the evening on the Queen's side; and it being a most summerlike day, and a fine warm evening, the Italians come in a barge under the leads, before the Queen's drawing-room; and so the Queen and ladies went out, and heard them, for almost an hour: and it was indeed very good together; but yet there was but one voice that alone did appear considerable, and that was Seignor Joanni. This done, by and by they went in; and here I saw Mr. Sidney Montagu kiss the Queen's hand, who was mighty kind to him, and the ladies looked mightily on him; and the King come by and by, and did talk to him. So I away by coach with Alderman Backewell home, who is mighty kind to me, more than ordinary, in his expressions. But I do hear this day what troubles me, that Sir W. Coventry is quite out of play, the King seldom speaking to him; and that there is a design of making a Lord Treasurer, and that my Lord Arlington shall be the man; but I cannot believe it. But yet the Duke of Buckingham hath it in his mind, and those with him, to make a thorough alteration in things; and, among the rest, Coventry to be out. The Duke of York did this day tell me how hot the whole party was in the business of Gawden; and particularly, my Lord Anglesey tells me, the Duke of Buckingham, for Child against Gawden; but the Duke of York did stand stoutly to it. So home to read and sup, and to bed. 29th (Tuesday, Michaelmas day). Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. OCTOBER 1668 [In this part of the "Diary" no entry occurs for thirteen days, though there are several pages left blank. During the interval Pepys went into the country, as he subsequently mentions his having been at Saxham, in Suffolk, during the king's visit to Lord Crofts, which took place at this time (see October 23rd, host). He might also probably have gone to Impington to fetch his wife. The pages left blank were never filled up.--B.] October 11th (Lord's day'). Up and to church, where I find Parson Mills come to town and preached, and the church full, most people being now come home to town, though the season of year is as good as summer in all respects. At noon dined at home with my wife, all alone, and busy all the afternoon in my closet, making up some papers with W. Hewer and at night comes Mr. Turner and his wife, and there they tell me that Mr. Harper is dead at Deptford, and so now all his and my care is, how to secure his being Storekeeper in his stead; and here they and their daughter, and a kinswoman that come along with them, did sup with me, and pretty merry, and then, they gone, and my wife to read to me, and to bed. 12th. Up, and with Mr. Turner by water to White Hall, there to think to enquire when the Duke of York will be in town, in order to Mr. Turner's going down to Audley Ends about his place; and here I met in St. James's Park with one that told us that the Duke of York would be in town to-morrow, and so Turner parted and went home, and I also did stop my intentions of going to the Court, also this day, about securing Mr. Turner's place of Petty-purveyor to Mr. Hater. So I to my Lord Brouncker's, thinking to have gone and spoke to him about it, but he is gone out to town till night, and so, meeting a gentleman of my Lord Middleton's looking for me about the payment of the L1000 lately ordered to his Lord, in advance of his pay, which shall arise upon his going Governor to Tangier, I did go to his Lord's lodgings, and there spoke the first time with him, and find him a shrewd man, but a drinking man, I think, as the world says; but a man that hath seen much of the world, and is a Scot. I offered him my service, though I can do him little; but he sends his man home with me, where I made him stay, till I had gone to Sir W. Pen, to bespeak him about Mr. Hater, who, contrary to my fears, did appear very friendly, to my great content; for I was afraid of his appearing for his man Burroughs. But he did not; but did declare to me afterwards his intentions to desire an excuse in his own business, to be eased of the business of the Comptroller, his health not giving him power to stay always in town, but he must go into the country. I did say little to him but compliment, having no leisure to think of his business, or any man's but my own, and so away and home, where I find Sir H. Cholmly come to town; and is come hither to see me: and he is a man that I love mightily, as being, of a gentleman, the most industrious that ever I saw. He staid with me awhile talking, and telling me his obligations to my Lord Sandwich, which I was glad of; and that the Duke of Buckingham is now chief of all men in this kingdom, which I knew before; and that he do think the Parliament will hardly ever meet again; which is a great many men's thoughts, and I shall not be sorry for it. He being gone, I with my Lord Middleton's servant to Mr. Colvill's, but he was not in town, and so he parted, and I home, and there to dinner, and Mr. Pelling with us; and thence my wife and Mercer, and W. Hewer and Deb., to the King's playhouse, and I afterwards by water with them, and there we did hear the Eunuch (who, it seems, is a Frenchman, but long bred in Italy) sing, which I seemed to take as new to me, though I saw him on Saturday last, but said nothing of it; but such action and singing I could never have imagined to have heard, and do make good whatever Tom Hill used to tell me. Here we met with Mr. Batelier and his sister, and so they home with us in two coaches, and there at my house staid and supped, and this night my bookseller Shrewsbury comes, and brings my books of Martyrs, and I did pay him for them, and did this night make the young women before supper to open all the volumes for me. So to supper, and after supper to read a ridiculous nonsensical book set out by Will. Pen, for the Quakers; but so full of nothing but nonsense, that I was ashamed to read in it. So they gone, we to bed. [Penn's first work, entitled, "Truth exalted, in a short but sure testimony against all those religions, faiths, and worships, that have been formed and followed, in the darkness of apostacy; and for that glorious light which is now risen, and shines forth, in the life and doctrine of the despised Quakers . . . . by W. Penn, whom divine love constrains, in holy contempt, to trample on Egypt's glory, not fearing the King's wrath, having beheld the Majesty of Him who is invisible:" London, 1668.--B.] 13th. Up, and to the office, and before the office did speak with my Lord Brouncker, and there did get his ready assent to T. Hater's having of Mr. Turner's place, and so Sir J. Minnes's also: but when we come to sit down at the Board, comes to us Mr. Wren this day to town, and tells me that James Southern do petition the Duke of York for the Storekeeper's place of Deptford, which did trouble me much, and also the Board, though, upon discourse, after he was gone, we did resolve to move hard for our Clerks, and that places of preferment may go according to seniority and merit. So, the Board up, I home with my people to dinner, and so to the office again, and there, after doing some business, I with Mr. Turner to the Duke of Albemarle's at night; and there did speak to him about his appearing to Mr. Wren a friend to Mr. Turner, which he did take kindly from me; and so away thence, well pleased with what we had now done, and so I with him home, stopping at my Lord Brouncker's, and getting his hand to a letter I wrote to the Duke of York for T. Hater, and also at my Lord Middleton's, to give him an account of what I had done this day, with his man, at Alderman Backewell's, about the getting of his L1000 paid; [It was probably for this payment that the tally was obtained, the loss of which caused Pepys so much anxiety. See November 26th, 1668] and here he did take occasion to discourse about the business of the Dutch war, which, he says, he was always an enemy to; and did discourse very well of it, I saying little, but pleased to hear him talk; and to see how some men may by age come to know much, and yet by their drinking and other pleasures render themselves not very considerable. I did this day find by discourse with somebody, that this nobleman was the great Major-General Middleton; that was of the Scots army, in the beginning of the late war against the King. Thence home and to the office to finish my letters, and so home and did get my wife to read to me, and then Deb to comb my head . . . . 14th. Up, and by water, stopping at Michell's, and there saw Betty, but could have no discourse with her, but there drank. To White Hall, and there walked to St. James's, where I find the Court mighty full, it being the Duke or York's birthday; and he mighty fine, and all the musick, one after another, to my great content. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly; and he and I to walk, and to my Lord Barkeley's new house; there to see a new experiment of a cart, which; by having two little wheeles fastened to the axle-tree, is said to make it go with half the ease and more, than another cart but we did not see the trial made. Thence I home, and after dinner to St. James's, and there met my brethren; but the Duke of York being gone out, and to-night being a play there; and a great festival, we would not stay, but went all of us to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Faythful Shepherdess" again, that we might hear the French Eunuch sing, which we did, to our great content; though I do admire his action as much as his singing, being both beyond all I ever saw or heard. Thence with W. Pen home, and there to get my people to read, and to supper, and so to bed. 15th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at home at dinner, where, after dinner, my wife and I and Deb. out by coach to the upholsters in Long Lane, Alderman Reeve's, and then to Alderman Crow's, to see variety of hangings, and were mightily pleased therewith, and spent the whole afternoon thereupon; and at last I think we shall pitch upon the best suit of Apostles, where three pieces for my room will come to almost L80: so home, and to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. This day at the Board comes unexpected the warrants from the Duke of York for Mr. Turner and Hater, for the places they desire, which contents me mightily. 16th. Up, and busy all the morning at the office, and before noon I took my wife by coach, and Deb., and shewed her Mr. Wren's hangings and bed, at St. James's, and Sir W. Coventry's in the Pell Mell, for our satisfaction in what we are going to buy; and so by Mr. Crow's, home, about his hangings, and do pitch upon buying his second suit of Apostles-the whole suit, which comes to L83; and this we think the best for us, having now the whole suit, to answer any other rooms or service. So home to dinner, and with Mr. Hater by water to St. James's: there Mr. Hater, to give Mr. Wren thanks for his kindness about his place that he hath lately granted him, of Petty Purveyor of petty emptions, upon the removal of Mr. Turner to be Storekeeper at Deptford, on the death of Harper. And then we all up to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business, and so I with J. Minnes home, and there finding my wife gone to my aunt Wight's, to see her the first time after her coming to town, and indeed the first time, I think, these two years (we having been great strangers one to the other for a great while), I to them; and there mighty kindly used, and had a barrel of oysters, and so to look up and down their house, they having hung a room since I was there, but with hangings not fit to be seen with mine, which I find all come home to-night, and here staying an hour or two we home, and there to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and at noon home to dinner, and to the office all the afternoon, and then late home, and there with much pleasure getting Mr. Gibbs, that writes well, to write the name upon my new draught of "The Resolution;" and so set it up, and altered the situation of some of my pictures in my closet, to my extraordinary content, and at it with much pleasure till almost 12 at night. Mr. Moore and Seymour were with me this afternoon, who tell me that my Lord Sandwich was received mighty kindly by the King, and is in exceeding great esteem with him, and the rest about him; but I doubt it will be hard for him to please both the King and the Duke of York, which I shall be sorry for. Mr. Moore tells me the sad condition my Lord is in, in his estate and debts; and the way he now lives in, so high, and so many vain servants about him, that he must be ruined, if he do not take up, which, by the grace of God, I will put him upon, when I come to see him. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and with my boy Tom all the morning altering the places of my pictures with great pleasure, and at noon to dinner, and then comes Mr. Shales to see me, and I with him to recommend him to my Lord Brouncker's service, which I did at Madam Williams's, and my Lord receives him. Thence with Brouncker to Lincolne's Inn, and Mr. Ball, to visit Dr. Wilkins, now newly Bishop of Chester: and he received us mighty kindly; and had most excellent discourse from him about his Book of Reall Character: and so I with Lord Brouncker to White Hall, and there saw the Queen and some ladies, and with Lord Brouncker back, it again being a rainy evening, and so my Lord forced to lend me his coach till I got a hackney, which I did, and so home and to supper, and got my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and to my office to set down my Journall for some days past, and so to other business. At the office all the morning upon some business of Sir W. Warren's, and at noon home to dinner, and thence out by coach with my wife and Deb. and Mr. Harman, the upholster, and carried them to take measure of Mr. Wren's bed at St. James's, I being resolved to have just such another made me, and thence set him down in the Strand, and my wife and I to the Duke of York's playhouse; and there saw, the first time acted, "The Queene of Arragon," an old Blackfriars play, but an admirable one, so good that I am astonished at it, and wonder where it hath lain asleep all this while, that I have never heard of it before. Here met W. Batelier and Mrs. Hunt, Deb.'s aunt; and saw her home--a very witty woman, and one that knows this play, and understands a play mighty well. Left her at home in Jewen Street, and we home, and to supper, and my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office all the morning, and then home to dinner, having this day a new girl come to us in the room of Nell, who is lately, about four days since, gone away, being grown lazy and proud. This girl to stay only till we have a boy, which I intend to keep when I have a coach, which I am now about. At this time my wife and I mighty busy laying out money in dressing up our best chamber, and thinking of a coach and coachman and horses, &c.; and the more because of Creed's being now married to Mrs. Pickering; a thing I could never have expected, but it is done about seven or ten days since, as I hear out of the country. At noon home to dinner, and my wife and Harman and girl abroad to buy things, and I walked out to several places to pay debts, and among other things to look out for a coach, and saw many; and did light on one for which I bid L50, which do please me mightily, and I believe I shall have it. So to my tailor's, and the New Exchange, and so by coach home, and there, having this day bought "The Queene of Arragon" play, I did get my wife and W. Batelier to read it over this night by 11 o'clock, and so to bed. 21st. Lay pretty long talking with content with my wife about our coach and things, and so to the office, where Sir D. Gawden was to do something in his accounts. At noon to dinner to Mr. Batelier's, his mother coming this day a-housewarming to him, and several friends of his, to which he invited us. Here mighty merry, and his mother the same; I heretofore took her for a gentlewoman, and understanding. I rose from table before the rest, because under an obligation to go to my Lord Brouncker's, where to meet several gentlemen of the Royal Society, to go and make a visit to the French Embassador Colbert, at Leicester House, he having endeavoured to make one or two to my Lord Brouncker, as our President, but he was not within, but I come too late, they being gone before: but I followed to Leicester House; but they are gore in and up before me; and so I away to the New Exchange, and there staid for my wife, and she come, we to Cow Lane, and there I shewed her the coach which I pitch on, and she is out of herself for joy almost. But the man not within, so did nothing more towards an agreement, but to Mr. Crow's about a bed, to have his advice, and so home, and there had my wife to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. Memorandum: that from Crow's, we went back to Charing Cross, and there left my people at their tailor's, while I to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, who come to town the last night, and is come thither to lye: and met with him within: and among others my new cozen Creed, who looks mighty soberly; and he and I saluted one another with mighty gravity, till we come to a little more freedom of talk about it. But here I hear that Sir Gilbert Pickering is lately dead, about three days since, which makes some sorrow there, though not much, because of his being long expected to die, having been in a lethargy long. So waited on my Lord to Court, and there staid and saw the ladies awhile: and thence to my wife, and took them up; and so home, and to supper and bed. 22nd. Up, and W. Batelier's Frenchman, a perriwigg maker, comes and brings me a new one, which I liked and paid him for: a mighty genteel fellow. So to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and thence with wife and Deb. to Crow's, and there did see some more beds; and we shall, I think, pitch upon a camlott one, when all is done. Thence sent them home, and I to Arundell House, where the first time we have met since the vacation, and not much company: but here much good discourse, and afterwards my Lord and others and I to the Devil tavern, and there eat and drank, and so late, with Mr. Colwell, home by coach; and at home took him with me, and there found my uncle Wight and aunt, and Woolly and his wife, and there supped, and mighty merry. And anon they gone, and Mrs. Turner staid, who was there also to talk of her husband's business; and the truth is, I was the less pleased to talk with her, for that she hath not yet owned, in any fit manner of thanks, my late and principal service to her husband about his place, which I alone ought to have the thanks for, if they know as much as I do; but let it go: if they do not own it, I shall have it in my hand to teach them to do it. So to bed. This day word come for all the Principal Officers to bring them [the Commissioners of Accounts] their patents, which I did in the afternoon, by leaving it at their office, but am troubled at what should be their design therein. 23rd. Up, and plasterers at work and painters about my house. Commissioner Middleton and I to St. James's, where with the rest of our company we attended on our usual business the Duke of York. Thence I to White Hall, to my Lord Sandwich's, where I find my Lord within, but busy, private; and so I staid a little talking with the young gentlemen: and so away with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, towards Tyburne, to see the people executed; but come too late, it being done; two men and a woman hanged, and so back again and to my coachmaker's, and there did come a little nearer agreement for the coach, and so to Duck Lane, and there my bookseller's, and saw his moher, but elle is so big-bellied that elle is not worth seeing. So home, and there all alone to dinner, my wife and W. Hewer being gone to Deptford to see her mother, and so I to the office all the afternoon. In the afternoon comes my cozen, Sidney Pickering, to bring my wife and me his sister's Favour for her wedding, which is kindly done, and he gone, I to business again, and in the evening home, made my wife read till supper time, and so to bed. This day Pierce do tell me, among other news, the late frolick and debauchery of Sir Charles Sidly and Buckhurst, running up and down all the night with their arses bare, through the streets; and at last fighting, and being beat by the watch and clapped up all night; and how the King takes their parts; and my Lord Chief Justice Keeling hath laid the constable by the heels to answer it next Sessions: which is a horrid shame. How the King and these gentlemen did make the fiddlers of Thetford, this last progress, to sing them all the bawdy songs they could think of. How Sir W. Coventry was brought the other day to the Duchesse of York by the Duke, to kiss her hand; who did acknowledge his unhappiness to occasion her so much sorrow, declaring his intentions in it, and praying her pardon; which she did give him upon his promise to make good his pretences of innocence to her family, by his faithfulness to his master, the Duke of York. That the Duke of Buckingham is now all in all, and will ruin Coventry, if he can: and that W. Coventry do now rest wholly upon the Duke of York for his standing, which is a great turn. He tells me that my Lady Castlemayne, however, is a mortal enemy to the Duke of Buckingham, which I understand not; but, it seems, she is disgusted with his greatness, and his ill usage of her. That the King was drunk at Saxam with Sidly, Buckhurst, &c., the night that my Lord Arlington come thither, and would not give him audience, or could not which is true, for it was the night that I was there, and saw the King go up to his chamber, and was told that the King had been drinking. He tells me, too, that the Duke of York did the next day chide Bab. May for his occasioning the King's giving himself up to these gentlemen, to the neglecting of my Lord Arlington: to which he answered merrily, that, by God, there was no man in England that had heads to lose, durst do what they do, every day, with the King, and asked the Duke of York's pardon: which is a sign of a mad world. God bless us out of it! 24th. This morning comes to me the coachmaker, and agreed with me for L53, and stand to the courtesy of what more I should give him upon the finishing of the coach: he is likely also to fit me with a coachman. There comes also to me Mr. Shotgrave, the operator of our Royal Society, to show me his method of making the Tubes for the eyes, which are clouterly done, so that mine are better, but I have well informed myself in several things from him, and so am glad of speaking with him. So to the office, where all the morning, and then to dinner, and so all the afternoon late at the office, and so home; and my wife to read to me, and then with much content to bed. This day Lord Brouncker tells me that the making Sir J. Minnes a bare Commissioner is now in doing, which I am glad of; but he speaks of two new Commissioners, which I do not believe. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and discoursing with my wife about our house and many new things we are doing of, and so to church I, and there find Jack Fenn come, and his wife, a pretty black woman: I never saw her before, nor took notice of her now. So home and to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon got my wife and boy to read to me, and at night W. Batelier comes and sups with us; and, after supper, to have my head combed by Deb., which occasioned the greatest sorrow to me that ever I knew in this world, for my wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl . . . . I was at a wonderful loss upon it, and the girle also, and I endeavoured to put it off, but my wife was struck mute and grew angry, and so her voice come to her, grew quite out of order, and I to say little, but to bed, and my wife said little also, but could not sleep all night, but about two in the morning waked me and cried, and fell to tell me as a great secret that she was a Roman Catholique and had received the Holy Sacrament, which troubled me, but I took no notice of it, but she went on from one thing to another till at last it appeared plainly her trouble was at what she saw, but yet I did not know how much she saw, and therefore said nothing to her. But after her much crying and reproaching me with inconstancy and preferring a sorry girl before her, I did give her no provocation, but did promise all fair usage to her and love, and foreswore any hurt that I did with her, till at last she seemed to be at ease again, and so toward morning a little sleep, and so I with some little repose and rest 26th. Rose, and up and by water to White Hall, but with my mind mightily troubled for the poor girle, whom I fear I have undone by this, my [wife] telling me that she would turn her out of doors. However, I was obliged to attend the Duke of York, thinking to have had a meeting of Tangier to-day, but had not; but he did take me and Mr. Wren into his closet, and there did press me to prepare what I had to say upon the answers of my fellow-officers to his great letter, which I promised to do against his coming to town again, the next week; and so to other discourse, finding plainly that he is in trouble, and apprehensions of the Reformers, and would be found to do what he can towards reforming, himself. And so thence to my Lord Sandwich's, where, after long stay, he being in talk with others privately, I to him; and there he, taking physic and keeping his chamber, I had an hour's talk with him about the ill posture of things at this time, while the King gives countenance to Sir Charles Sidly and Lord Buckhurst, telling him their late story of running up and down the streets a little while since all night, and their being beaten and clapped up all night by the constable, who is since chid and imprisoned for his pains. He tells me that he thinks his matters do stand well with the King, and hopes to have dispatch to his mind; but I doubt it, and do see that he do fear it, too. He told me my Lady Carteret's trouble about my writing of that letter of the Duke of York's lately to the Office, which I did not own, but declared to be of no injury to G. Carteret, and that I would write a letter to him to satisfy him therein. But this I am in pain how to do, without doing myself wrong, and the end I had, of preparing a justification to myself hereafter, when the faults of the Navy come to be found out however, I will do it in the best manner I can. Thence by coach home and to dinner, finding my wife mightily discontented, and the girle sad, and no words from my wife to her. So after dinner they out with me about two or three things, and so home again, I all the evening busy, and my wife full of trouble in her looks, and anon to bed, where about midnight she wakes me, and there falls foul of me again, affirming that she saw me hug and kiss the girle; the latter I denied, and truly, the other I confessed and no more, and upon her pressing me did offer to give her under my hand that I would never see Mrs. Pierce more nor Knepp, but did promise her particular demonstrations of my true love to her, owning some indiscretions in what I did, but that there was no harm in it. She at last upon these promises was quiet, and very kind we were, and so to sleep, and 27th. In the morning up, but my, mind troubled for the poor girle, with whom I could not get opportunity to speak, but to the office, my mind mighty full of sorrow for her, to the office, where all the morning, and to dinner with my people, and to the office all the afternoon, and so at night home, and there busy to get some things ready against to-morrow's meeting of Tangier, and that being done, and my clerks gone, my wife did towards bedtime begin to be in a mighty rage from some new matter that she had got in her head, and did most part of the night in bed rant at me in most high terms of threats of publishing my shame, and when I offered to rise would have rose too, and caused a candle to be light to burn by her all night in the chimney while she ranted, while the knowing myself to have given some grounds for it, did make it my business to appease her all I could possibly, and by good words and fair promises did make her very quiet, and so rested all night, and rose with perfect good peace, being heartily afflicted for this folly of mine that did occasion it, but was forced to be silent about the girle, which I have no mind to part with, but much less that the poor girle should be undone by my folly. So up with mighty kindness from my wife and a thorough peace, and being up did by a note advise the girle what I had done and owned, which note I was in pain for till she told me she had burned it. This evening Mr. Spong come, and sat late with me, and first told me of the instrument called parallelogram, [This useful instrument, used for copying maps, plans, drawings, &c. either of the same size, or larger or smaller than the originals, is now named a pantograph.] which I must have one of, shewing me his practice thereon, by a map of England. 28th. So by coach with Mr. Gibson to Chancery Lane, and there made oath before a Master of Chancery to the Tangier account of fees, and so to White Hall, where, by and by, a Committee met, my Lord Sandwich there, but his report was not received, it being late; but only a little business done, about the supplying the place with victuals. But I did get, to my great content, my account allowed of fees, with great applause by my Lord Ashly and Sir W. Pen. Thence home, calling at one or two places; and there about our workmen, who are at work upon my wife's closet, and other parts of my house, that we are all in dirt. So after dinner with Mr. Gibson all the afternoon in my closet, and at night to supper and to bed, my wife and I at good peace, but yet with some little grudgings of trouble in her and more in me about the poor girle. 29th. At the office all the morning, where Mr. Wren first tells us of the order from the King, came last night to the Duke of York, for signifying his pleasure to the Sollicitor-General for drawing up a Commission for suspending of my Lord Anglesey, and putting in Sir Thomas. Littleton and Sir Thomas Osborne, the former a creature of Arlington's, and the latter of the Duke of Buckingham's, during the suspension. The Duke of York was forced to obey, and did grant it, he being to go to Newmarket this day with the King, and so the King pressed for it. But Mr. Wren do own that the Duke of York is the most wounded in this, in the world, for it is done and concluded without his privity, after his appearing for Lord Anglesey, and that it is plain that they do ayme to bring the Admiralty into Commission too, and lessen the Duke of York. This do put strange apprehensions into all our Board; only I think I am the least troubled at it, for I care not at all for it: but my Lord Brouncker and Pen do seem to think much of it. So home to dinner, full of this news, and after dinner to the office, and so home all the afternoon to do business towards my drawing up an account for the Duke of York of the answers of this office to his late great letter, and late at it, and so to bed, with great peace from my wife and quiet, I bless God. 30th. Up betimes; and Mr. Povy comes to even accounts with me, which we did, and then fell to other talk. He tells, in short, how the King is made a child of, by Buckingham and Arlington, to the lessening of the Duke of York, whom they cannot suffer to be great, for fear of my Lord Chancellor's return, which, therefore, they make the King violent against. That he believes it is impossible these two great men can hold together long: or, at least, that the ambition of the former is so great, that he will endeavour to master all, and bring into play as many as he can. That Anglesey will not lose his place easily, but will contend in law with whoever comes to execute it. That the Duke of York, in all things but in his cod-piece, is led by the nose by his wife. That W. Coventry is now, by the Duke of York, made friends with the Duchess; and that he is often there, and waits on her. That he do believe that these present great men will break in time, and that W. Coventry will be a great man again; for he do labour to have nothing to do in matters of the State, and is so usefull to the side that he is on, that he will stand, though at present he is quite out of play. That my Lady Castlemayne hates the Duke of Buckingham. That the Duke of York hath expressed himself very kind to my Lord Sandwich, which I am mighty glad of. That we are to expect more changes if these men stand. This done, he and I to talk of my coach, and I got him to go see it, where he finds most infinite fault with it, both as to being out of fashion and heavy, with so good reason that I am mightily glad of his having corrected me in it; and so I do resolve to have one of his build, and with his advice, both in coach and horses, he being the fittest man in the world for it, and so he carried me home, and said the same to my wife. So I to the office and he away, and at noon I home to dinner, and all the afternoon late with Gibson at my chamber about my present great business, only a little in the afternoon at the office about Sir D. Gawden's accounts, and so to bed and slept heartily, my wife and I at good peace, but my heart troubled and her mind not at ease, I perceive, she against and I for the girle, to whom I have not said anything these three days, but resolve to be mighty strange in appearance to her. This night W. Batelier come and took his leave of us, he setting out for France to-morrow. 31st. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my people, and afternoon to the office again, and then to my chamber with Gibson to do more about my great answer for the Duke of York, and so at night after supper to bed well pleased with my advance thereon. This day my Lord Anglesey was at the Office, and do seem to make nothing of this business of his suspension, resolving to bring it into the Council, where he seems not to doubt to have right, he standing upon his defence and patent, and hath put in his caveats to the several Offices: so, as soon as the King comes back again, which will be on Tuesday next, he will bring it into the Council. So ends this month with some quiet to my mind, though not perfect, after the greatest falling out with my poor wife, and through my folly with the girl, that ever I had, and I have reason to be sorry and ashamed of it, and more to be troubled for the poor girl's sake, whom I fear I shall by this means prove the ruin of, though I shall think myself concerned both to love and be a friend to her. This day Roger Pepys and his son Talbot, newly come to town, come and dined with me, and mighty glad I am to see them. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A book the Bishops will not let be printed again All things to be managed with faction Being the people that, at last, will be found the wisest Business of abusing the Puritans begins to grow stale Cannot get suitably, without breach of his honour Caustic attack on Sir Robert Howard Doe from Cobham, when the season comes, bucks season being past Forgetting many things, which her master beat her for Glad to be at friendship with me, though we hate one another I away with great content, my mind being troubled before My wife having a mind to see the play "Bartholomew-Fayre" My wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl Presbyterian style and the Independent are the best Ridiculous nonsensical book set out by Will. Pen, for the Quaker Shows how unfit I am for trouble Sir, your faithful and humble servant The most ingenious men may sometimes be mistaken Their ladies in the box, being grown mighty kind of a sudden Vexed me, but I made no matter of it, but vexed to myself With hangings not fit to be seen with mine 
4193	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. NOVEMBER 1668 November 1st (Lord's day). Up, and with W. Hewer at my chamber all this morning, going further in my great business for the Duke of York, and so at noon to dinner, and then W. Hewer to write fair what he had writ, and my wife to read to me all the afternoon, till anon Mr. Gibson come, and he and I to perfect it to my full mind, and so to supper and to bed, my mind yet at disquiet that I cannot be informed how poor Deb. stands with her mistress, but I fear she will put her away, and the truth is, though it be much against my mind and to my trouble, yet I think that it will be fit that she should be gone, for my wife's peace and mine, for she cannot but be offended at the sight of her, my wife having conceived this jealousy of me with reason, and therefore for that, and other reasons of expense, it will be best for me to let her go, but I shall love and pity her. This noon Mr. Povy sent his coach for my wife and I to see, which we like mightily, and will endeavour to have him get us just such another. 2nd. Up, and a cold morning, by water through bridge without a cloak, and there to Mr. Wren at his chamber at White Hall, the first time of his coming thither this year, the Duchess coming thither tonight, and there he and I did read over my paper that I have with so much labour drawn up about the several answers of the officers of this Office to the Duke of York's reflections, and did debate a little what advice to give the Duke of York when he comes to town upon it. Here come in Lord Anglesy, and I perceive he makes nothing of this order for his suspension, resolving to contend and to bring it to the Council on Wednesday when the King is come to town to-morrow, and Mr. Wren do join with him mightily in it, and do look upon the Duke of York as concerned more in it than he. So to visit Creed at his chamber, but his wife not come thither yet, nor do he tell me where she is, though she be in town, at Stepney, at Atkins's. So to Mr. Povy's to talk about a coach, but there I find my Lord Sandwich, and Peterborough, and Hinchingbroke, Charles Harbord, and Sidney Montagu; and there I was stopped, and dined mighty nobly at a good table, with one little dish at a time upon it, but mighty merry. I was glad to see it: but sorry, methought, to see my Lord have so little reason to be merry, and yet glad, for his sake, to have him cheerful. After dinner up, and looked up and down the house, and so to the cellar; and thence I slipt away, without taking leave, and so to a few places about business, and among others to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and so home, where the house still full of dirt by painters and others, and will not be clean a good while. So to read and talk with my wife till by and by called to the office about Sir W. Warren's business, where we met a little, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I went, by Mr. Povy's direction, to a coachmaker near him, for a coach just like his, but it was sold this very morning. 3rd. Up, and all the morning at the Office. At noon to dinner, and then to the Office, and there busy till 12 at night, without much pain to my eyes, but I did not use them to read or write, and so did hold out very well. So home, and there to supper, and I observed my wife to eye my eyes whether I did ever look upon Deb., which I could not but do now and then (and to my grief did see the poor wretch look on me and see me look on her, and then let drop a tear or two, which do make my heart relent at this minute that I am writing this with great trouble of mind, for she is indeed my sacrifice, poor girle); and my wife did tell me in bed by the by of my looking on other people, and that the only way is to put things out of sight, and this I know she means by Deb., for she tells me that her Aunt was here on Monday, and she did tell her of her desire of parting with Deb., but in such kind terms on both sides that my wife is mightily taken with her. I see it will be, and it is but necessary, and therefore, though it cannot but grieve me, yet I must bring my mind to give way to it. We had a great deal of do this day at the Office about Clutterbucke,--[See note to February 4th, 1663-64]--I declaring my dissent against the whole Board's proceedings, and I believe I shall go near to shew W. Pen a very knave in it, whatever I find my Lord Brouncker. 4th. Up, and by coach to White Hall; and there I find the King and Duke of York come the last night, and every body's mouth full of my Lord Anglesey's suspension being sealed; which it was, it seems, yesterday; so that he is prevented in his remedy at the Council; and, it seems, the two new Treasurers did kiss the King's hand this morning, brought in by my Lord Arlington. They walked up and down together the Court this day, and several people joyed them; but I avoided it, that I might not be seen to look either way. This day also I hear that my Lord Ormond is to be declared in Council no more Deputy Governor of Ireland, his commission being expired: and the King is prevailed with to take it out of his hands; which people do mightily admire, saying that he is the greatest subject of any prince in Christendome, and hath more acres of land than any, and hath done more for his Prince than ever any yet did. But all will not do; he must down, it seems, the Duke of Buckingham carrying all before him. But that, that troubles me most is, that they begin to talk that the Duke of York's regiment is ordered to be disbanded; and more, that undoubtedly his Admiralty will follow: which do shake me mightily, and I fear will have ill consequences in the nation, for these counsels are very mad. The Duke of York do, by all men's report, carry himself wonderfull submissive to the King, in the most humble manner in the world; but yet, it seems, nothing must be spared that tends to, the keeping out of the Chancellor; and that is the reason of all this. The great discourse now is, that the Parliament shall be dissolved and another called, which shall give the King the Deane and Chapter lands; and that will put him out of debt. And it is said that Buckingham do knownly meet daily with Wildman and other Commonwealth-men; and that when he is with them, he makes the King believe that he is with his wenches; and something looks like the Parliament's being dissolved, by Harry Brouncker's being now come back, and appears this day the first day at White Hall; but hath not been yet with the King, but is secure that he shall be well received, I hear. God bless us, when such men as he shall be restored! But that, that pleases me most is, that several do tell me that Pen is to be removed; and others, that he hath resigned his place; and particularly Spragg tells me for certain that he hath resigned it, and is become a partner with Gawden in the Victualling: in which I think he hath done a very cunning thing; but I am sure I am glad of it; and it will be well for the King to have him out of this Office. Thence by coach, doing several errands, home and there to dinner, and then to the Office, where all the afternoon till late at night, and so home. Deb. hath been abroad to-day with her friends, poor girle, I believe toward the getting of a place. This day a boy is sent me out of the country from Impington by my cozen Roger Pepys' getting, whom I visited this morning at his chamber in the Strand and carried him to Westminster Hall, where I took a turn or two with him and Sir John Talbot, who talks mighty high for my Lord of Ormond: and I perceive this family of the Talbots hath been raised by my Lord. When I come home to-night I find Deb. not come home, and do doubt whether she be not quite gone or no, but my wife is silent to me in it, and I to her, but fell to other discourse, and indeed am well satisfied that my house will never be at peace between my wife and I unless I let her go, though it grieves me to the heart. My wife and I spent much time this evening talking of our being put out of the Office, and my going to live at Deptford at her brother's, till I can clear my accounts, and rid my hands of the town, which will take me a year or more, and I do think it will be best for me to do so, in order to our living cheap, and out of sight. 5th. Up, and Willet come home in the morning, and, God forgive me! I could not conceal my content thereat by smiling, and my wife observed it, but I said nothing, nor she, but away to the office. Presently up by water to White Hall, and there all of us to wait on the Duke of York, which we did, having little to do, and then I up and down the house, till by and by the Duke of York, who had bid me stay, did come to his closet again, and there did call in me and Mr. Wren; and there my paper, that I have lately taken pains to draw up, was read, and the Duke of York pleased therewith; and we did all along conclude upon answers to my mind for the Board, and that that, if put in execution, will do the King's business. But I do now more and more perceive the Duke of York's trouble, and that he do lie under great weight of mind from the Duke of Buckingham's carrying things against him; and particularly when I advised that he would use his interest that a seaman might come into the room of W. Pen, who is now declared to be gone from us to that of the Victualling, and did shew how the Office would now be left without one seaman in it, but the Surveyour and the Controller, who is so old as to be able to do nothing, he told me plainly that I knew his mind well enough as to seamen, but that it must be as others will. And Wren did tell it me as a secret, that when the Duke of York did first tell the King about Sir W. Pen's leaving of the place, and that when the Duke of York did move the King that either Captain Cox or Sir Jer. Smith might succeed him, the King did tell him that that was a matter fit to be considered of, and would not agree to either presently; and so the Duke of York could not prevail for either, nor knows who it shall be. The Duke of York did tell me himself, that if he had not carried it privately when first he mentioned Pen's leaving his place to the King, it had not been done; for the Duke of Buckingham and those of his party do cry out upon it, as a strange thing to trust such a thing into the hands of one that stands accused in Parliament: and that they have so far prevailed upon the King that he would not have him named in Council, but only take his name to the Board; but I think he said that only D. Gawden's name shall go in the patent; at least, at the time when Sir Richard Browne asked the King the names of D. Gawden's security, the King told him it was not yet necessary for him to declare them. And by and by, when the Duke of York and we had done, and Wren brought into the closet Captain Cox and James Temple About business of the Guiney Company, and talking something of the Duke of Buckingham's concernment therein, and says the Duke of York, "I will give the Devil his due, as they say the Duke of Buckingham hath paid in his money to the Company," or something of that kind, wherein he would do right to him. The Duke of York told me how these people do begin to cast dirt upon the business that passed the Council lately, touching Supernumeraries, as passed by virtue of his authority there, there being not liberty for any man to withstand what the Duke of York advises there; which, he told me, they bring only as an argument to insinuate the putting of the Admiralty into Commission, which by all men's discourse is now designed, and I perceive the same by him. This being done, and going from him, I up and down the house to hear news: and there every body's mouth full of changes; and, among others, the Duke of York's regiment of Guards, that was raised during the late war at sea, is to be disbanded: and also, that this day the King do intend to declare that the Duke of Ormond is no more Deputy of Ireland, but that he will put it into Commission. This day our new Treasurers did kiss the King's hand, who complimented them, as they say, very highly, that he had for a long time been abused in his Treasurer, and that he was now safe in their hands. I saw them walk up and down the Court together all this morning; the first time I ever saw Osborne, who is a comely gentleman. This day I was told that my Lord Anglesey did deliver a petition on Wednesday in Council to the King, laying open, that whereas he had heard that his Majesty had made such a disposal of his place, which he had formerly granted him for life upon a valuable consideration, and that, without any thing laid to his charge, and during a Parliament's sessions, he prayed that his Majesty would be pleased to let his case be heard before the Council and the judges of the land, who were his proper counsel in all matters of right: to which, I am told, the King, after my Lord's being withdrawn, concluded upon his giving him an answer some few days hence; and so he was called in, and told so, and so it ended. Having heard all this I took coach and to Mr. Povy's, where I hear he is gone to the Swedes Resident in Covent Garden, where he is to dine. I went thither, but he is not come yet, so I to White Hall to look for him, and up and down walking there I met with Sir Robert Holmes, who asking news I told him of Sir W. Pen's going from us, who ketched at it so as that my heart misgives me that he will have a mind to it, which made me heartily sorry for my words, but he invited me and would have me go to dine with him at the Treasurer's, Sir Thomas Clifford, where I did go and eat some oysters; which while we were at, in comes my Lord Keeper and much company; and so I thought it best to withdraw. And so away, and to the Swedes Agent's, and there met Mr. Povy; where the Agent would have me stay and dine, there being only them, and Joseph Williamson, and Sir Thomas Clayton; but what he is I know not. Here much extraordinary noble discourse of foreign princes, and particularly the greatness of the King of France, and of his being fallen into the right way of making the kingdom great, which [none] of his ancestors ever did before. I was mightily pleased with this company and their discourse, so as to have been seldom so much in all my life, and so after dinner up into his upper room, and there did see a piece of perspective, but much inferior to Mr. Povy's. Thence with Mr. Povy spent all the afternoon going up and down among the coachmakers in Cow Lane, and did see several, and at last did pitch upon a little chariott, whose body was framed, but not covered, at the widow's, that made Mr. Lowther's fine coach; and we are mightily pleased with it, it being light, and will be very genteel and sober: to be covered with leather, and yet will hold four. Being much satisfied with this, I carried him to White Hall; and so by coach home, where give my wife a good account of my day's work, and so to the office, and there late, and so to bed. 6th. Up, and presently my wife up with me, which she professedly now do every day to dress me, that I may not see Willet, and do eye me, whether I cast my eye upon her, or no; and do keep me from going into the room where she is among the upholsters at work in our blue chamber. So abroad to White Hall by water, and so on for all this day as I have by mistake set down in the fifth day after this mark. [In the margin here is the following: "Look back one leaf for my mistake."] In the room of which I should have said that I was at the office all the morning, and so to dinner, my wife with me, but so as I durst not look upon the girle, though, God knows, notwithstanding all my protestations I could not keep my mind from desiring it. After dinner to the office again, and there did some business, and then by coach to see Roger Pepys at his lodgings, next door to Arundell House, a barber's; and there I did see a book, which my Lord Sandwich hath promised one to me of, "A Description of the Escuriall in Spain;" which I have a great desire to have, though I took it for a finer book when he promised it me. With him to see my cozen Turner and The., and there sat and talked, they being newly come out of the country; and here pretty merry, and with The. to shew her a coach at Mr. Povy's man's, she being in want of one, and so back again with her, and then home by coach, with my mind troubled and finding no content, my wife being still troubled, nor can be at peace while the girle is there, which I am troubled at on the other side. We past the evening together, and then to bed and slept ill, she being troubled and troubling me in the night with talk and complaints upon the old business. This is the day's work of the 5th, though it stands under the 6th, my mind being now so troubled that it is no wonder that I fall into this mistake more than ever I did in my life before. 7th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and so to it again after dinner, and there busy late, choosing to employ myself rather than go home to trouble with my wife, whom, however, I am forced to comply with, and indeed I do pity her as having cause enough for her grief. So to bed, and there slept ill because of my wife. This afternoon I did go out towards Sir D. Gawden's, thinking to have bespoke a place for my coach and horses, when I have them, at the Victualling Office; but find the way so bad and long that I returned, and looked up and down for places elsewhere, in an inne, which I hope to get with more convenience than there. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the morning, setting papers to rights, with my boy; and so to dinner at noon. The girle with us, but my wife troubled thereat to see her, and do tell me so, which troubles me, for I love the girle. At my chamber again to work all the afternoon till night, when Pelling comes, who wonders to find my wife so dull and melancholy, but God knows she hath too much cause. However, as pleasant as we can, we supped together, and so made the boy read to me, the poor girle not appearing at supper, but hid herself in her chamber. So that I could wish in that respect that she was out of the house, for our peace is broke to all of us while she is here, and so to bed, where my wife mighty unquiet all night, so as my bed is become burdensome to me. 9th. Up, and I did by a little note which I flung to Deb. advise her that I did continue to deny that ever I kissed her, and so she might govern herself. The truth is that I did adventure upon God's pardoning me this lie, knowing how heavy a thing it would be for me to the ruin of the poor girle, and next knowing that if my wife should know all it were impossible ever for her to be at peace with me again, and so our whole lives would be uncomfortable. The girl read, and as I bid her returned me the note, flinging it to me in passing by. And so I abroad by [coach] to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York to wait on him, who told me that Sir W. Pen had been with him this morning, to ask whether it would be fit for him to sit at the Office now, because of his resolution to be gone, and to become concerned in the Victualling. The Duke of York answered, "Yes, till his contract was signed:" Thence I to Lord Sandwich's, and there to see him; but was made to stay so long, as his best friends are, and when I come to him so little pleasure, his head being full of his own business, I think, that I have no pleasure [to] go to him. Thence to White Hall with him, to the Committee of Tangier; a day appointed for him to give an account of Tangier, and what he did, and found there, which, though he had admirable matter for it, and his doings there were good, and would have afforded a noble account, yet he did it with a mind so low and mean, and delivered in so poor a manner, that it appeared nothing at all, nor any body seemed to value it; whereas, he might have shewn himself to have merited extraordinary thanks, and been held to have done a very great service: whereas now, all that cost the King hath been at for his journey through Spain thither, seems to be almost lost. After we were up, Creed and I walked together, and did talk a good while of the weak report my Lord made, and were troubled for it; I fearing that either his mind and judgment are depressed, or that he do it out of his great neglect, and so my fear that he do all the rest of his affairs accordingly. So I staid about the Court a little while, and then to look for a dinner, and had it at Hercules-Pillars, very late, all alone, costing me 10d. And so to the Excise Office, thinking to meet Sir Stephen Fox and the Cofferer, but the former was gone, and the latter I met going out, but nothing done, and so I to my bookseller's, and also to Crow's, and there saw a piece of my bed, and I find it will please us mightily. So home, and there find my wife troubled, and I sat with her talking, and so to bed, and there very unquiet all night. 10th. Up, and my wife still every day as ill as she is all night, will rise to see me out doors, telling me plainly that she dares not let me see the girle, and so I out to the office, where all the morning, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife mightily troubled again, more than ever, and she tells me that it is from her examining the girle and getting a confession now from her of all . . . . which do mightily trouble me, as not being able to foresee the consequences of it, as to our future peace together. So my wife would not go down to dinner, but I would dine in her chamber with her, and there after mollifying her as much as I could we were pretty quiet and eat, and by and by comes Mr. Hollier, and dines there by himself after we had dined, and he being gone, we to talk again, and she to be troubled, reproaching me with my unkindness and perjury, I having denied my ever kissing her. As also with all her old kindnesses to me, and my ill-using of her from the beginning, and the many temptations she hath refused out of faithfulness to me, whereof several she was particular in, and especially from my Lord Sandwich, by the sollicitation of Captain Ferrers, and then afterward the courtship of my Lord Hinchingbrooke, even to the trouble of his lady. All which I did acknowledge and was troubled for, and wept, and at last pretty good friends again, and so I to my office, and there late, and so home to supper with her, and so to bed, where after half-an-hour's slumber she wakes me and cries out that she should never sleep more, and so kept raving till past midnight, that made me cry and weep heartily all the while for her, and troubled for what she reproached me with as before, and at last with new vows, and particularly that I would myself bid the girle be gone, and shew my dislike to her, which I will endeavour to perform, but with much trouble, and so this appeasing her, we to sleep as well as we could till morning. 11th. Up, and my wife with me as before, and so to the Office, where, by a speciall desire, the new Treasurers come, and there did shew their Patent, and the Great Seal for the suspension of my Lord Anglesey: and here did sit and discourse of the business of the Office: and brought Mr. Hutchinson with them, who, I hear, is to be their Paymaster, in the room of Mr. Waith. For it seems they do turn out every servant that belongs to the present Treasurer: and so for Fenn, do bring in Mr. Littleton, Sir Thomas's brother, and oust all the rest. But Mr. Hutchinson do already see that his work now will be another kind of thing than before, as to the trouble of it. They gone, and, indeed, they appear, both of them, very intelligent men, I home to dinner, and there with my people dined, and so to my wife, who would not dine with [me] that she might not have the girle come in sight, and there sat and talked a while with her and pretty quiet, I giving no occasion of offence, and so to the office [and then by coach to my cozen Roger Pepys, who did, at my last being with him this day se'nnight, move me as to the supplying him with L500 this term, and L500 the next, for two years, upon a mortgage, he having that sum to pay, a debt left him by his father, which I did agree to, trusting to his honesty and ability, and am resolved to do it for him, that I may not have all I have lie in the King's hands. Having promised him this I returned home again, where to the office], and there having done, I home and to supper and to bed, where, after lying a little while, my wife starts up, and with expressions of affright and madness, as one frantick, would rise, and I would not let her, but burst out in tears myself, and so continued almost half the night, the moon shining so that it was light, and after much sorrow and reproaches and little ravings (though I am apt to think they were counterfeit from her), and my promise again to discharge the girle myself, all was quiet again, and so to sleep. 12th. Up, and she with me as heretofore, and so I to the Office, where all the morning, and at noon to dinner, and Mr. Wayth, who, being at my office about business, I took him with me to talk and understand his matters, who is in mighty trouble from the Committee of Accounts about his contracting with this Office for sayle-cloth, but no hurt can be laid at his door in it, but upon us for doing it, if any, though we did it by the Duke of York's approval, and by him I understand that the new Treasurers do intend to bring in all new Instruments, and so having dined we parted, and I to my wife and to sit with her a little, and then called her and Willet to my chamber, and there did, with tears in my eyes, which I could not help, discharge her and advise her to be gone as soon as she could, and never to see me, or let me see her more while she was in the house, which she took with tears too, but I believe understands me to be her friend, and I am apt to believe by what my wife hath of late told me is a cunning girle, if not a slut. Thence, parting kindly with my wife, I away by coach to my cozen Roger, according as by mistake (which the trouble of my mind for some days has occasioned, in this and another case a day or two before) is set down in yesterday's notes, and so back again, and with Mr. Gibson late at my chamber making an end of my draught of a letter for the Duke of York, in answer to the answers of this Office, which I have now done to my mind, so as, if the Duke likes it, will, I think, put an end to a great deal of the faults of this Office, as well as my trouble for them. So to bed, and did lie now a little better than formerly, but with little, and yet with some trouble. 13th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to White Hall, where to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business; and thence I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where I staid, and heard an excellent case argued between my Lord Gerard and the Town of Newcastle, about a piece of ground which that Lord hath got a grant of, under the Exchequer Seal, which they were endeavouring to get of the King under the Great Seal. I liked mightily the Counsel for the town, Shaftow, their Recorder, and Mr. Offly. But I was troubled, and so were the Lords, to hear my Lord fly out against their great pretence of merit from the King, for their sufferings and loyalty; telling them that they might thank him for that repute which they have for their loyalty, for that it was he that forced them to be so, against their wills, when he was there: and, moreover, did offer a paper to the Lords to read from the Town, sent in 1648; but the Lords would not read it; but I believe it was something about bringing the King to trial, or some such thing, in that year. Thence I to the Three Tuns Tavern, by Charing Cross, and there dined with W. Pen, Sir J. Minnes, and Commissioner Middleton; and as merry as my mind could be, that hath so much trouble upon it at home. And thence to White Hall, and there staid in Mr. Wren's chamber with him, reading over my draught of a letter, which Mr. Gibson then attended me with; and there he did like all, but doubted whether it would be necessary for the Duke to write in so sharp a style to the Office, as I had drawn it in; which I yield to him, to consider the present posture of the times and the Duke of York and whether it were not better to err on that hand than the other. He told me that he did not think it was necessary for the Duke of York to do so, and that it would not suit so well with his nature nor greatness; which last, perhaps, is true, but then do too truly shew the effects of having Princes in places, where order and discipline should be. I left it to him to do as the Duke of York pleases; and so fell to other talk, and with great freedom, of public things; and he told me, upon my several inquiries to that purpose, that he did believe it was not yet resolved whether the Parliament should ever meet more or no, the three great rulers of things now standing thus:--The Duke of Buckingham is absolutely against their meeting, as moved thereto by his people that he advises with, the people of the late times, who do never expect to have any thing done by this Parliament for their religion, and who do propose that, by the sale of the Church-lands, they shall be able to put the King out of debt: my Lord Keeper is utterly against putting away this and choosing another Parliament, lest they prove worse than this, and will make all the King's friends, and the King himself, in a desperate condition: my Lord Arlington know not which is best for him, being to seek whether this or the next will use him worst. He tells me that he believes that it is intended to call this Parliament, and try them with a sum of money; and, if they do not like it, then to send them going, and call another, who will, at the ruin of the Church perhaps, please the King with what he will for a time. And he tells me, therefore, that he do believe that this policy will be endeavoured by the Church and their friends--to seem to promise the King money, when it shall be propounded, but make the King and these great men buy it dear, before they have it. He tells me that he is really persuaded that the design of the Duke of Buckingham is, by bringing the state into such a condition as, if the King do die without issue, it shall, upon his death, break into pieces again; and so put by the Duke of York, who they have disobliged, they know, to that degree, as to despair of his pardon. He tells me that there is no way to rule the King but by brisknesse, which the Duke of Buckingham hath above all men; and that the Duke of York having it not, his best way is what he practices, that is to say, a good temper, which will support him till the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington fall out, which cannot be long first, the former knowing that the latter did, in the time of the Chancellor, endeavour with the Chancellor to hang him at that time, when he was proclaimed against. And here, by the by, he told me that the Duke of Buckingham did, by his friends, treat with my Lord Chancellor, by the mediation of Matt. Wren and Matt. Clifford, to fall in with my Lord Chancellor; which, he tells me, he did advise my Lord Chancellor to accept of, as that, that with his own interest and the Duke of York's, would undoubtedly have assured all to him and his family; but that my Lord Chancellor was a man not to be advised, thinking himself too high to be counselled: and so all is come to nothing; for by that means the Duke of Buckingham became desperate, and was forced to fall in with Arlington, to his [the Chancellor's] ruin. Thence I home, and there to talk, with great pleasure all the evening, with my wife, who tells me that Deb, has been abroad to-day, and is come home and says she has got a place to go to, so as she will be gone tomorrow morning. This troubled me, and the truth is, I have a good mind to have the maidenhead of this girl, which I should not doubt to have if je could get time para be con her. But she will be gone and I not know whither. Before we went to bed my wife told me she would not have me to see her or give her her wages, and so I did give my wife L10 for her year and half a quarter's wages, which she went into her chamber and paid her, and so to bed, and there, blessed be God! we did sleep well and with peace, which I had not done in now almost twenty nights together. This afternoon I went to my coachmaker and Crow's, and there saw things go on to my great content. This morning, at the Treasury-chamber, I did meet Jack Fenn, and there he did shew me my Lord Anglesey's petition and the King's answer: the former good and stout, as I before did hear it: but the latter short and weak, saying that he was not, by what the King had done, hindered from taking the benefit of his laws, and that the reason he had to suspect his mismanagement of his money in Ireland, did make him think it unfit to trust him with his Treasury in England, till he was satisfied in the former. 14th. Up, and had a mighty mind to have seen or given her a little money, to which purpose I wrapt up 40s. in paper, thinking to have given her a little money, but my wife rose presently, and would not let me be out of her sight, and went down before me into the kitchen, and come up and told me that she was in the kitchen, and therefore would have me go round the other way; which she repeating and I vexed at it, answered her a little angrily, upon which she instantly flew out into a rage, calling me dog and rogue, and that I had a rotten heart; all which, knowing that I deserved it, I bore with, and word being brought presently up that she was gone away by coach with her things, my wife was friends, and so all quiet, and I to the Office, with my heart sad, and find that I cannot forget the girl, and vexed I know not where to look for her. And more troubled to see how my wife is by this means likely for ever to have her hand over me, that I shall for ever be a slave to her--that is to say, only in matters of pleasure, but in other things she will make [it] her business, I know, to please me and to keep me right to her, which I will labour to be indeed, for she deserves it of me, though it will be I fear a little time before I shall be able to wear Deb, out of my mind. At the Office all the morning, and merry at noon, at dinner; and after dinner to the Office, where all the afternoon, doing much business, late. My mind being free of all troubles, I thank God, but only for my thoughts of this girl, which hang after her. And so at night home to supper, and then did sleep with great content with my wife. I must here remember that I have lain with my moher as a husband more times since this falling out than in I believe twelve months before. And with more pleasure to her than I think in all the time of our marriage before. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and after long lying with pleasure talking with my wife, and then up to look up and down our house, which will when our upholster hath done be mighty fine, and so to my chamber, and there did do several things among my papers, and so to the office to write down my journal for 6 or 7 days, my mind having been so troubled as never to get the time to do it before, as may appear a little by the mistakes I have made in this book within these few days. At noon comes Mr. Shepley to dine with me and W. Howe, and there dined and pretty merry, and so after dinner W. Howe to tell me what hath happened between him and the Commissioners of late, who are hot again, more than ever, about my Lord Sandwich's business of prizes, which I am troubled for, and the more because of the great security and neglect with which, I think, my Lord do look upon this matter, that may yet, for aught I know, undo him. They gone, and Balty being come from the Downs, not very well, is come this day to see us, I to talk with him, and with some pleasure, hoping that he will make a good man. I in the evening to my Office again, to make an end of my journall, and so home to my chamber with W. Hewer to settle some papers, and so to supper and to bed, with my mind pretty quiet, and less troubled about Deb. than I was, though yet I am troubled, I must confess, and would be glad to find her out, though I fear it would be my ruin. This evening there come to sit with us Mr. Pelling, who wondered to see my wife and I so dumpish, but yet it went off only as my wife's not being well, and, poor wretch, she hath no cause to be well, God knows. 16th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there at the robe chamber at a Committee for Tangier, where some of us--my Lord Sandwich, Sir W. Coventry, and myself, with another or two--met to debate the business of the Mole, and there drew up reasons for the King's taking of it into his own hands, and managing of it upon accounts with Sir H. Cholmley. This being done I away to Holborne, about Whetstone's Park, where I never was in my life before, where I understand by my wife's discourse that Deb. is gone, which do trouble me mightily that the poor girle should be in a desperate condition forced to go thereabouts, and there not hearing of any such man as Allbon, with whom my wife said she now was, I to the Strand, and there by sending Drumbleby's boy, my flageolet maker, to Eagle Court, where my wife also by discourse lately let fall that he did lately live, I find that this Dr. Allbon is a kind of poor broken fellow that dare not shew his head nor be known where he is gone, but to Lincoln's Inn Fields I went to Mr. Povy's, but missed him, and so hearing only that this Allbon is gone to Fleet Street, I did only call at Martin's, my bookseller's, and there bought "Cassandra," and some other French books for my wife's closet, and so home, having eat nothing but two pennyworths of oysters, opened for me by a woman in the Strand, while the boy went to and again to inform me about this man, and therefore home and to dinner, and so all the afternoon at the office, and there late busy, and so home to supper, and pretty pleasant with my wife to bed, rested pretty well. 17th. Up, and to the Office all the morning, where the new Treasurers come, their second time, and before they sat down, did discourse with the Board, and particularly my Lord Brouncker, about their place, which they challenge, as having been heretofore due, and given to their predecessor; which, at last, my Lord did own hath been given him only out of courtesy to his quality, and that he did not take it as a right at the Board: so they, for the present, sat down, and did give him the place, but, I think, with an intent to have the Duke of York's directions about it. My wife and maids busy now, to make clean the house above stairs, the upholsters having done there, in her closet and the blue room, and they are mighty pretty. At my office all the afternoon and at night busy, and so home to my wife, and pretty pleasant, and at mighty ease in my mind, being in hopes to find Deb., and without trouble or the knowledge of my wife. So to supper at night and to bed. 18th. Lay long in bed talking with my wife, she being unwilling to have me go abroad, saying and declaring herself jealous of my going out for fear of my going to Deb., which I do deny, for which God forgive me, for I was no sooner out about noon but I did go by coach directly to Somerset House, and there enquired among the porters there for Dr. Allbun, and the first I spoke with told me he knew him, and that he was newly gone into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but whither he could not tell me, but that one of his fellows not then in the way did carry a chest of drawers thither with him, and that when he comes he would ask him. This put me into some hopes, and I to White Hall, and thence to Mr. Povy's, but he at dinner, and therefore I away and walked up and down the Strand between the two turnstiles, hoping to see her out of a window, and then employed a porter, one Osberton, to find out this Doctor's lodgings thereabouts, who by appointment comes to me to Hercules pillars, where I dined alone, but tells me that he cannot find out any such, but will enquire further. Thence back to White Hall to the Treasury a while, and thence to the Strand, and towards night did meet with the porter that carried the chest of drawers with this Doctor, but he would not tell me where he lived, being his good master, he told me, but if I would have a message to him he would deliver it. At last I told him my business was not with him, but a little gentlewoman, one Mrs. Willet, that is with him, and sent him to see how she did from her friend in London, and no other token. He goes while I walk in Somerset House, walk there in the Court; at last he comes back and tells me she is well, and that I may see her if I will, but no more. So I could not be commanded by my reason, but I must go this very night, and so by coach, it being now dark, I to her, close by my tailor's, and she come into the coach to me, and je did baiser her . . . . I did nevertheless give her the best council I could, to have a care of her honour, and to fear God, and suffer no man para avoir to do con her as je have done, which she promised. Je did give her 20s. and directions para laisser sealed in paper at any time the name of the place of her being at Herringman's, my bookseller in the 'Change, by which I might go para her, and so bid her good night with much content to my mind, and resolution to look after her no more till I heard from her. And so home, and there told my wife a fair tale, God knows, how I spent the whole day, with which the poor wretch was satisfied, or at least seemed so, and so to supper and to bed, she having been mighty busy all day in getting of her house in order against to-morrow to hang up our new hangings and furnishing our best chamber. 19th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, with my heart full of joy to think in what a safe condition all my matters now stand between my wife and Deb, and me, and at noon running up stairs to see the upholsters, who are at work upon hanging my best room, and setting up my new bed, I find my wife sitting sad in the dining room; which enquiring into the reason of, she begun to call me all the false, rotten-hearted rogues in the world, letting me understand that I was with Deb. yesterday, which, thinking it impossible for her ever to understand, I did a while deny, but at last did, for the ease of my mind and hers, and for ever to discharge my heart of this wicked business, I did confess all, and above stairs in our bed chamber there I did endure the sorrow of her threats and vows and curses all the afternoon, and, what was worse, she swore by all that was good that she would slit the nose of this girle, and be gone herself this very night from me, and did there demand 3 or L400 of me to buy my peace, that she might be gone without making any noise, or else protested that she would make all the world know of it. So with most perfect confusion of face and heart, and sorrow and shame, in the greatest agony in the world I did pass this afternoon, fearing that it will never have an end; but at last I did call for W. Hewer, who I was forced to make privy now to all, and the poor fellow did cry like a child, [and] obtained what I could not, that she would be pacified upon condition that I would give it under my hand never to see or speak with Deb, while I live, as I did before with Pierce and Knepp, and which I did also, God knows, promise for Deb. too, but I have the confidence to deny it to the perjury of myself. So, before it was late, there was, beyond my hopes as well as desert, a durable peace; and so to supper, and pretty kind words, and to bed, and there je did hazer con eile to her content, and so with some rest spent the night in bed, being most absolutely resolved, if ever I can master this bout, never to give her occasion while I live of more trouble of this or any other kind, there being no curse in the world so great as this of the differences between myself and her, and therefore I do, by the grace of God, promise never to offend her more, and did this night begin to pray to God upon my knees alone in my chamber, which God knows I cannot yet do heartily; but I hope God will give me the grace more and more every day to fear Him, and to be true to my poor wife. This night the upholsters did finish the hanging of my best chamber, but my sorrow and trouble is so great about this business, that it puts me out of all joy in looking upon it or minding how it was. 20th. This morning up, with mighty kind words between my poor wife and I; and so to White Hall by water, W. Hewer with me, who is to go with me every where, until my wife be in condition to go out along with me herself; for she do plainly declare that she dares not trust me out alone, and therefore made it a piece of our league that I should alway take somebody with me, or her herself, which I am mighty willing to, being, by the grace of God, resolved never to do her wrong more. We landed at the Temple, and there I bid him call at my cozen Roger Pepys's lodgings, and I staid in the street for him, and so took water again at the Strand stairs; and so to White Hall, in my way I telling him plainly and truly my resolutions, if I can get over this evil, never to give new occasion for it. He is, I think, so honest and true a servant to us both, and one that loves us, that I was not much troubled at his being privy to all this, but rejoiced in my heart that I had him to assist in the making us friends, which he did truly and heartily, and with good success, for I did get him to go to Deb. to tell her that I had told my wife all of my being with her the other night, that so if my wife should send she might not make the business worse by denying it. While I was at White Hall with the Duke of York, doing our ordinary business with him, here being also the first time the new Treasurers. W. Hewer did go to her and come back again, and so I took him into St. James's Park, and there he did tell me he had been with her, and found what I said about my manner of being with her true, and had given her advice as I desired. I did there enter into more talk about my wife and myself, and he did give me great assurance of several particular cases to which my wife had from time to time made him privy of her loyalty and truth to me after many and great temptations, and I believe them truly. I did also discourse the unfitness of my leaving of my employment now in many respects to go into the country, as my wife desires, but that I would labour to fit myself for it, which he thoroughly understands, and do agree with me in it; and so, hoping to get over this trouble, we about our business to Westminster Hall to meet Roger Pepys, which I did, and did there discourse of the business of lending him L500 to answer some occasions of his, which I believe to be safe enough, and so took leave of him and away by coach home, calling on my coachmaker by the way, where I like my little coach mightily. But when I come home, hoping for a further degree of peace and quiet, I find my wife upon her bed in a horrible rage afresh, calling me all the bitter names, and, rising, did fall to revile me in the bitterest manner in the world, and could not refrain to strike me and pull my hair, which I resolved to bear with, and had good reason to bear it. So I by silence and weeping did prevail with her a little to be quiet, and she would not eat her dinner without me; but yet by and by into a raging fit she fell again, worse than before, that she would slit the girl's nose, and at last W. Hewer come in and come up, who did allay her fury, I flinging myself, in a sad desperate condition, upon the bed in the blue room, and there lay while they spoke together; and at last it come to this, that if I would call Deb. whore under my hand and write to her that I hated her, and would never see her more, she would believe me and trust in me, which I did agree to, only as to the name of whore I would have excused, and therefore wrote to her sparing that word, which my wife thereupon tore it, and would not be satisfied till, W. Hewer winking upon me, I did write so with the name of a whore as that I did fear she might too probably have been prevailed upon to have been a whore by her carriage to me, and therefore as such I did resolve never to see her more. This pleased my wife, and she gives it W. Hewer to carry to her with a sharp message from her. So from that minute my wife begun to be kind to me, and we to kiss and be friends, and so continued all the evening, and fell to talk of other matters, with great comfort, and after supper to bed. This evening comes Mr. Billup to me, to read over Mr. Wren's alterations of my draught of a letter for the Duke of York to sign, to the Board; which I like mighty well, they being not considerable, only in mollifying some hard terms, which I had thought fit to put in. From this to other discourse; and do find that the Duke of York and his master, Mr. Wren, do look upon this service of mine as a very seasonable service to the Duke of York, as that which he will have to shew to his enemies in his own justification, of his care of the King's business; and I am sure I am heartily glad of it, both for the King's sake and the Duke of York's, and my own also; for, if I continue, my work, by this means, will be the less, and my share in the blame also. He being gone, I to my wife again, and so spent the evening with very great joy, and the night also with good sleep and rest, my wife only troubled in her rest, but less than usual, for which the God of Heaven be praised. I did this night promise to my wife never to go to bed without calling upon God upon my knees by prayer, and I begun this night, and hope I shall never forget to do the like all my life; for I do find that it is much the best for my soul and body to live pleasing to God and my poor wife, and will ease me of much care as well as much expense. 21st. Up, with great joy to my wife and me, and to the office, where W. Hewer did most honestly bring me back the part of my letter to Deb. wherein I called her whore, assuring me that he did not shew it her, and that he did only give her to understand that wherein I did declare my desire never to see her, and did give her the best Christian counsel he could, which was mighty well done of him. But by the grace of God, though I love the poor girl and wish her well, as having gone too far toward the undoing her, yet I will never enquire after or think of her more, my peace being certainly to do right to my wife. At the Office all the morning; and after dinner abroad with W. Hewer to my Lord Ashly's, where my Lord Barkeley and Sir Thomas Ingram met upon Mr. Povy's account, where I was in great pain about that part of his account wherein I am concerned, above L150, I think; and Creed hath declared himself dissatisfied with it, so far as to desire to cut his "Examinatur" out of the paper, as the only condition in which he would be silent in it. This Povy had the wit to yield to; and so when it come to be inquired into, I did avouch the truth of the account as to that particular, of my own knowledge, and so it went over as a thing good and just--as, indeed, in the bottom of it, it is; though in strictness, perhaps, it would not so well be understood. This Committee rising, I, with my mind much satisfied herein, away by coach home, setting Creed into Southampton Buildings, and so home; and there ended my letters, and then home to my wife, where I find my house clean now, from top to bottom, so as I have not seen it many a day, and to the full satisfaction of my mind, that I am now at peace, as to my poor wife, as to the dirtiness of my house, and as to seeing an end, in a great measure, to my present great disbursements upon my house, and coach and horses. 22nd (Lord's day). My wife and I lay long, with mighty content; and so rose, and she spent the whole day making herself clean, after four or five weeks being in continued dirt; and I knocking up nails, and making little settlements in my house, till noon, and then eat a bit of meat in the kitchen, I all alone. And so to the Office, to set down my journall, for some days leaving it imperfect, the matter being mighty grievous to me, and my mind, from the nature of it; and so in, to solace myself with my wife, whom I got to read to me, and so W. Hewer and the boy; and so, after supper, to bed. This day my boy's livery is come home, the first I ever had, of greene, lined with red; and it likes me well enough. 23rd. Up, and called upon by W. Howe, who went, with W. Hewer with me, by water, to the Temple; his business was to have my advice about a place he is going to buy--the Clerk of the Patent's place, which I understand not, and so could say little to him, but fell to other talk, and setting him in at the Temple, we to White Hall, and there I to visit Lord Sandwich, who is now so reserved, or moped rather, I think, with his own business, that he bids welcome to no man, I think, to his satisfaction. However, I bear with it, being willing to give him as little trouble as I can, and to receive as little from him, wishing only that I had my money in my purse, that I have lent him; but, however, I shew no discontent at all. So to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier expected, but none met. I met with Mr. Povy, who I discoursed with about publick business, who tells me that this discourse which I told him of, of the Duke of Monmouth being made Prince of Wales, hath nothing in it; though he thinks there are all the endeavours used in the world to overthrow the Duke of York. He would not have me doubt of my safety in the Navy, which I am doubtful of from the reports of a general removal; but he will endeavour to inform me, what he can gather from my Lord Arlington. That he do think that the Duke of Buckingham hath a mind rather to overthrow all the kingdom, and bring in a Commonwealth, wherein he may think to be General of their Army, or to make himself King, which, he believes, he may be led to, by some advice he hath had with conjurors, which he do affect. Thence with W. Hewer, who goes up and down with me like a jaylour, but yet with great love and to my great good liking, it being my desire above all things to please my wife therein. I took up my wife and boy at Unthank's, and from there to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence to our upholster's, about some things more to buy, and so to see our coach, and so to the looking-glass man's, by the New Exchange, and so to buy a picture for our blue chamber chimney, and so home; and there I made my boy to read to me most of the night, to get through the Life of the Archbishop of Canterbury. At supper comes Mary Batelier, and with us all the evening, prettily talking, and very innocent company she is; and she gone, we with much content to bed, and to sleep, with mighty rest all night. 24th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Gentleman, the cook, and an old woman, his third or fourth wife, come and dined with us, to enquire about a ticket of his son's, that is dead; and after dinner, I with Mr. Hosier to my closet, to discourse of the business of balancing Storekeeper's accounts, which he hath taken great pains in reducing to a method, to my great satisfaction; and I shall be glad both for the King's sake and his, that the thing may be put in practice, and will do my part to promote it. That done, he gone, I to the Office, where busy till night; and then with comfort to sit with my wife, and get her to read to me, and so to supper, and to bed, with my mind at mighty ease. 25th. Up, and by coach with W. Hewer to see W. Coventry; but he gone out, I to White Hall, and there waited on Lord Sandwich, which I have little encouragement to do, because of the difficulty of seeing him, and the little he hath to say to me when I do see him, or to any body else, but his own idle people about him, Sir Charles Harbord, &c. Thence walked with him to White Hall, where to the Duke of York; and there the Duke, and Wren, and I, by appointment in his closet, to read over our letter to the Office, which he heard, and signed it, and it is to my mind, Mr. Wren having made it somewhat sweeter to the Board, and yet with all the advice fully, that I did draw it up with. He [the Duke] said little more to us now, his head being full of other business; but I do see that he do continue to put a value upon my advice; and so Mr. Wren and I to his chamber, and there talked: and he seems to hope that these people, the Duke of Buckingham and Arlington, will run themselves off of their legs; they being forced to be always putting the King upon one idle thing or other, against the easiness of his nature, which he will never be able to bear, nor they to keep him to, and so will lose themselves. And, for instance of their little progress, he tells me that my Lord of Ormond is like yet to carry it, and to continue in his command in Ireland; at least, they cannot get the better of him yet. But he tells me that the Keeper is wrought upon, as they say, to give his opinion for the dissolving of the Parliament, which, he thinks, will undo him in the eyes of the people. He do not seem to own the hearing or fearing of any thing to be done in the Admiralty, to the lessening of the Duke of York, though he hears how the town talk's full of it. Thence I by coach home, and there find my cozen Roger come to dine with me, and to seal his mortgage for the L500 I lend him; but he and I first walked to the 'Change, there to look for my uncle Wight, and get him to dinner with us. So home, buying a barrel of oysters at my old oyster-woman's, in Gracious Street, but over the way to where she kept her shop before. So home, and there merry at dinner; and the money not being ready, I carried Roger Pepys to Holborn Conduit, and there left him going to Stradwick's, whom we avoided to see, because of our long absence, and my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, to see "The Duchesse of Malfy," a sorry play, and sat with little pleasure, for fear of my wife's seeing me look about, and so I was uneasy all the while, though I desire and resolve never to give her trouble of that kind more. So home, and there busy at the Office a while, and then home, where my wife to read to me, and so to supper, and to bed. This evening, to my great content, I got Sir Richard Ford to give me leave to set my coach in his yard. 26th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, where I was to have delivered the Duke of York's letter of advice to the Board, in answer to our several answers to his great letter; but Lord Brouncker not being there, and doubtful to deliver it before the new Treasurers, I forbore it to next sitting. So home at noon to dinner, where I find Mr. Pierce and his wife but I was forced to shew very little pleasure in her being there because of my vow to my wife; and therefore was glad of a very bad occasion for my being really troubled, which is, at W. Hewer's losing of a tally of L1000, which I sent him this day to receive of the Commissioners of Excise. So that though I hope at the worst I shall be able to get another, yet I made use of this to get away as soon as I had dined, and therefore out with him to the Excise Office to make a stop of its payment, and so away to the coachmaker's and several other places, and so away home, and there to my business at the office, and thence home, and there my wife to read to me, and W. Hewer to set some matters of accounts right at my chamber, to bed. 27th. Up, and with W. Hewer to see W. Coventry again, but missed him again, by coming too late, the man of [all] the world that I am resolved to preserve an interest in. Thence to White Hall, and there at our usual waiting on the Duke of York; and that being done, I away to the Exchequer, to give a stop, and take some advice about my lost tally, wherein I shall have some remedy, with trouble, and so home, and there find Mr. Povy, by appointment, to dine with me; where a pretty good dinner, but for want of thought in my wife it was but slovenly dressed up; however, much pleasant discourse with him, and some serious; and he tells me that he would, by all means, have me get to be a Parliament-man the next Parliament, which he believes there will be one, which I do resolve of. By and by comes my cozen Roger, and dines with us; and, after dinner, did seal his mortgage, wherein I do wholly rely on his honesty, not having so much as read over what he hath given me for it, nor minded it, but do trust to his integrity therein. They all gone, I to the office and there a while, and then home to ease my eyes and make my wife read to me. 28th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where, while I was sitting, one comes and tells me that my coach is come. So I was forced to go out, and to Sir Richard Ford's, where I spoke to him, and he is very willing to have it brought in, and stand there; and so I ordered it, to my great content, it being mighty pretty, only the horses do not please me, and, therefore, resolve to have better. At noon home to dinner, and so to the office again all the afternoon, and did a great deal of business, and so home to supper and to bed, with my mind at pretty good ease, having this day presented to the Board the Duke of York's letter, which, I perceive, troubled Sir W. Pen, he declaring himself meant in that part, that concerned excuse by sickness; but I do not care, but am mightily glad that it is done, and now I shall begin to be at pretty good ease in the Office. This morning, to my great content, W. Hewer tells me that a porter is come, who found my tally in Holborne, and brings it him, for which he gives him 20s. 29th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed with pleasure with my wife, with whom I have now a great deal of content, and my mind is in other things also mightily more at ease, and I do mind my business better than ever and am more at peace, and trust in God I shall ever be so, though I cannot yet get my mind off from thinking now and then of Deb., but I do ever since my promise a while since to my wife pray to God by myself in my chamber every night, and will endeavour to get my wife to do the like with me ere long, but am in much fear of what she lately frighted me with about her being a Catholique; and I dare not, therefore, move her to go to church, for fear she should deny me; but this morning, of her own accord, she spoke of going to church the next Sunday, which pleases me mightily. This morning my coachman's clothes come home; and I like the livery mightily, and so I all the morning at my chamber, and dined with my wife, and got her to read to me in the afternoon, till Sir W. Warren, by appointment, comes to me, who spent two hours, or three, with me, about his accounts of Gottenburgh, which are so confounded, that I doubt they will hardly ever pass without my doing something, which he desires of me, and which, partly from fear, and partly from unwillingness to wrong the King, and partly from its being of no profit to me, I am backward to give way to, though the poor man do indeed deserve to be rid of this trouble, that he hath lain so long under, from the negligence of this Board. We afterwards fell to other talk, and he tells me, as soon as he saw my coach yesterday, he wished that the owner might not contract envy by it; but I told him it was now manifestly for my profit to keep a coach, and that, after employments like mine for eight years, it were hard if I could not be justly thought to be able to do that. [Though our journalist prided himself not a little upon becoming possessed of a carriage, the acquisition was regarded with envy and jealousy by his enemies, as will appear by the following extract from the scurrilous pamphlet, "A Hue and Cry after P. and H. and Plain Truth (or a Private Discourse between P. and H.)," in which Pepys and Hewer are severely handled: "There is one thing more you must be mightily sorry for with all speed. Your presumption in your coach, in which you daily ride, as if you had been son and heir to the great Emperor Neptune, or as if you had been infallibly to have succeeded him in his government of the Ocean, all which was presumption in the highest degree. First, you had upon the fore part of your chariot, tempestuous waves and wrecks of ships; on your left hand, forts and great guns, and ships a-fighting; on your right hand was a fair harbour and galleys riding, with their flags and pennants spread, kindly saluting each other, just like P[epys] and H[ewer]. Behind it were high curled waves and ships a-sinking, and here and there an appearance of some bits of land."] He gone, my wife and I to supper; and so she to read, and made an end of the Life of Archbishop Laud, which is worth reading, as informing a man plainly in the posture of the Church, and how the things of it were managed with the same self-interest and design that every other thing is, and have succeeded accordingly. So to bed. 30th. Up betimes, and with W. Hewer, who is my guard, to White Hall, to a Committee of Tangier, where the business of Mr. Lanyon [John Lanyon, agent of the Navy Commissioners at Plymouth. The cause of complaint appears to have been connected with his contract for Tangier. In 1668 a charge was made against Lanyon and Thomas Yeabsley that they had defrauded the king in the freighting of the ship "Tiger" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1668-69, p. 138).] took up all the morning; and where, poor man! he did manage his business with so much folly, and ill fortune to boot, that the Board, before his coming in, inclining, of their own accord, to lay his cause aside, and leave it to the law, but he pressed that we would hear it, and it ended to the making him appear a very knave, as well as it did to me a fool also, which I was sorry for. Thence by water, Mr. Povy, Creed, and I, to Arundell House, and there I did see them choosing their Council, it being St. Andrew's-day; and I had his Cross [The cross of St. Andrew, like that of St. Patrick, is a saltire. The two, combined with the red cross of St. George, form the Union flag.] set on my hat, as the rest had, and cost me 2s., and so leaving them I away by coach home to dinner, and my wife, after dinner, went the first time abroad to take the maidenhead of her coach, calling on Roger Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed, and my cozen Turner, while I at home all the afternoon and evening, very busy and doing much work, to my great content. Home at night, and there comes Mrs. Turner and Betty to see us, and supped with us, and I shewed them a cold civility for fear of troubling my wife, and after supper, they being gone, we to bed. Thus ended this month, with very good content, that hath been the most sad to my heart and the most expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished my wife's closet and the best chamber, and a coach and horses, that ever I yet knew in the world: and do put me into the greatest condition of outward state that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be, or desired: and this at a time when we do daily expect great changes in this Office: and by all reports we must, all of us, turn out. But my eyes are come to that condition that I am not able to work: and therefore that, and my wife's desire, make me have no manner of trouble in my thoughts about it. So God do his will in it! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Calling me dog and rogue, and that I had a rotten heart Have me get to be a Parliament-man the next Parliament I have a good mind to have the maidenhead of this girl Resolve never to give her trouble of that kind more Should alway take somebody with me, or her herself There being no curse in the world so great as this 
4194	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. DECEMBER 1668 December 1st. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon with my people to dinner, and so to the office, very busy till night, and then home and made my boy read to me Wilkins's Reall Character, which do please me mightily, and so after supper to bed with great pleasure and content with my wife. This day I hear of poor Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, being dead, of a cold, after being not above two days ill, which troubles me mightily, poor man! 2nd. Up, and at the office all the morning upon some accounts of Sir D. Gawden, and at noon abroad with W. Hewer, thinking to have found Mr. Wren at Captain Cox's, to have spoke something to him about doing a favour for Will's uncle Steventon, but missed him. And so back home and abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my own coach, which do make my heart rejoice, and praise God, and pray him to bless it to me and continue it. So she and I to the King's playhouse, and there sat to avoid seeing Knepp in a box above where Mrs. Williams happened to be, and there saw "The Usurper;" a pretty good play, in all but what is designed to resemble Cromwell and Hugh Peters, which is mighty silly. The play done, we to White Hall; where my wife staid while I up to the Duchesse's and Queen's side, to speak with the Duke of York: and here saw all the ladies, and heard the silly discourse of the King, with his people about him, telling a story of my Lord Rochester's having of his clothes stole, while he was with a wench; and his gold all gone, but his clothes found afterwards stuffed into a feather bed by the wench that stole them. I spoke with the Duke of York, just as he was set down to supper with the King, about our sending of victuals to Sir Thomas Allen's fleet hence to Cales [Cadiz] to meet him. And so back to my wife in my coach, and so with great content and joy home, where I made my boy to make an end of the Reall Character, which I begun a great while ago, and do please me infinitely, and indeed is a most worthy labour, and I think mighty easy, though my eyes make me unable to attempt any thing in it. To-day I hear that Mr. Ackworth's cause went for him at Guildhall, against his accusers, which I am well enough pleased with. 3rd. Up betimes, and by water with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there to Mr. Wren, who gives me but small hopes of the favour I hoped for Mr. Steventon, Will's uncle, of having leave, being upon the point of death, to surrender his place, which do trouble me, but I will do what I can. So back again to the Office, Sir Jer. Smith with me; who is a silly, prating, talking man; but he tells me what he hears, that Holmes and Spragg now rule all with the Duke of Buckingham, as to seabusiness, and will be great men: but he do prophesy what will be the fruit of it; so I do. So to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and at noon home to dinner, and then abroad again, with my wife, to the Duke of York's playhouse, and saw "The Unfortunate Lovers;" a mean play, I think, but some parts very good, and excellently acted. We sat under the boxes, and saw the fine ladies; among others, my Lady Kerneguy, a who is most devilishly painted. And so home, it being mighty pleasure to go alone with my poor wife, in a coach of our own, to a play, and makes us appear mighty great, I think, in the world; at least, greater than ever I could, or my friends for me, have once expected; or, I think, than ever any of my family ever yet lived, in my memory, but my cozen Pepys in Salisbury Court. So to the office, and thence home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and with W. Hewer by water to White Hall, and there did wait as usual upon the Duke of York, where, upon discoursing something touching the Ticket-Office, which by letter the Board did give the Duke of York their advice, to be put upon Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes did foolishly rise up and complain of the Office, and his being made nothing of; and this before Sir Thomas Littleton, who would be glad of this difference among us, which did trouble me mightily; and therefore I did forbear to say what I otherwise would have thought fit for me to say on this occasion, upon so impertinent a speech as this doting fool made--but, I say, I let it alone, and contented myself that it went as I advised, as to the Duke of York's judgment, in the thing disputed. And so thence away, my coach meeting me there and carrying me to several places to do little jobs, which is a mighty convenience, and so home, where by invitation I find my aunt Wight, who looked over all our house, and is mighty pleased with it, and indeed it is now mighty handsome, and rich in furniture. By and by comes my uncle, and then to dinner, where a venison pasty and very merry, and after dinner I carried my wife and her to Smithfield, where they sit in the coach, while Mr. Pickering, who meets me there, and I, and W. Hewer, and a friend of his, a jockey, did go about to see several pairs of horses, for my coach; but it was late, and we agreed on none, but left it to another time: but here I do see instances of a piece of craft and cunning that I never dreamed of, concerning the buying and choosing of horses. So Mr. Pickering, to whom I am much beholden for his kindness herein, and I parted; and I with my people home, where I left them, and I to the office, to meet about some business of Sir W. Warren's accounts, where I vexed to see how ill all the Comptroller's business is likely to go on, so long as ever Sir J. Minnes lives; and so troubled I was, that I thought it a good occasion for me to give my thoughts of it in writing, and therefore wrote a letter at the Board, by the help of a tube, to Lord Brouncker, and did give it him, which I kept a copy of, and it may be of use to me hereafter to shew, in this matter. This being done, I home to my aunt, who supped with us, and my uncle also: and a good-humoured woman she is, so that I think we shall keep her acquaintance; but mighty proud she is of her wedding-ring, being lately set with diamonds; cost her about L12: and I did commend it mightily to her, but do not think it very suitable for one of our quality. After supper they home, and we to bed. 5th. Up, after a little talk with my wife, which troubled me, she being ever since our late difference mighty watchful of sleep and dreams, and will not be persuaded but I do dream of Deb., and do tell me that I speak in my dreams and that this night I did cry, Huzzy, and it must be she, and now and then I start otherwise than I used to do, she says, which I know not, for I do not know that I dream of her more than usual, though I cannot deny that my thoughts waking do run now and then against my will and judgment upon her, for that only is wanting to undo me, being now in every other thing as to my mind most happy, and may still be so but for my own fault, if I be catched loving any body but my wife again. So up and to the office, and at noon to dinner, and thence to office, where late, mighty busy, and despatching much business, settling papers in my own office, and so home to supper, and to bed. No news stirring, but that my Lord of Ormond is likely to go to Ireland again, which do shew that the Duke of Buckingham do not rule all so absolutely; and that, however, we shall speedily have more changes in the Navy: and it is certain that the Nonconformists do now preach openly in houses, in many places, and among others the house that was heretofore Sir G. Carteret's, in Leadenhall Streete, and have ready access to the King. And now the great dispute is, whether this Parliament or another; and my great design, if I continue in the Navy, is to get myself to be a Parliament-man. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church; which pleases me mightily, I being full of fear that she would never go to church again, after she had declared to me that she was a Roman Catholique. But though I do verily think she fears God, and is truly and sincerely righteous, yet I do see she is not so strictly so a Catholique as not to go to church with me, which pleases me mightily. Here Mills made a lazy sermon, upon Moses's meeknesse, and so home, and my wife and I alone to dinner, and then she to read a little book concerning speech in general, a translation late out of French; a most excellent piece as ever I read, proving a soul in man, and all the ways and secrets by which nature teaches speech in man, which do please me most infinitely to read. By and by my wife to church, and I to my Office to complete my Journall for the last three days, and so home to my chamber to settle some papers, and so to spend the evening with my wife and W. Hewer talking over the business of the Office, and particularly my own Office, how I will make it, and it will become, in a little time, an Office of ease, and not slavery, as it hath for so many years been. So to supper, and to bed. 7th. Up by candlelight, the first time I have done so this winter, but I had lost my labour so often to visit Sir W. Coventry, and not visited him so long, that I was resolved to get time enough, and so up, and with W. Hewer, it being the first frosty day we have had this winter, did walk it very well to W. Coventry's, and there alone with him an hour talking of the Navy, which he pities, but says he hath no more mind to be found meddling with the Navy, lest it should do it hurt, as well as him, to be found to meddle with it. So to talk of general things: and telling him that, with all these doings, he, I thanked God, stood yet; he told me, Yes, but that he thought his continuing in, did arise from his enemies my Lord of Buckingham and Arlington's seeing that he cared so little if he was out; and he do protest to me that he is as weary of the Treasury, as ever he was of the Navy. He tells me that he do believe that their heat is over almost, as to the Navy, there being now none left of the old stock but my Lord Brouncker, J. Minnes, who is ready to leave the world, and myself. But he tells me that he do foresee very great wants and great disorders by reason thereof; insomuch, as he is represented to the King by his enemies as a melancholy man, and one that is still prophesying ill events, so as the King called him Visionaire, which being told him, he said he answered the party, that, whatever he foresaw, he was not afeard as to himself of any thing, nor particularly of my Lord Arlington, so much as the Duke of Buckingham hath been, nor of the Duke of Buckingham, so much as my Lord Arlington at this time is. But he tells me that he hath been always looked upon as a melancholy man; whereas, others that would please the King do make him believe that all is safe: and so he hath heard my Lord Chancellor openly say to the King, that he was now a glorious prince, and in a glorious condition, because of some one accident that hath happened, or some one rub that hath been removed; "when," says W. Coventry, "they reckoned their one good meal, without considering that there was nothing left in the cup board for to-morrow." After this and other discourse of this kind, I away, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and walked with him to White Hall, and took a quarter of an hour's walk in the garden with him, which I had not done for so much time with him since his coming into England; and talking of his own condition, and particularly of the world's talk of his going to Tangier. I find, if his conditions can be made profitable and safe as to money, he would go, but not else; but, however, will seem not averse to it, because of facilitating his other accounts now depending, which he finds hard to get through, but yet hath some hopes, the King, he says, speaking very kindly to him. Thence to a Committee of Tangier, and so with W. Hewer to Westminster to Sir R. Longs office, and so to the Temple, but did nothing, the Auditor not being within, and so home to dinner, and after dinner out again with my wife to the Temple, and up and down to do a little business, and back again, and so to my office, and did a little business, and so home, and W. Hewer with me, to read and talk, and so to supper, and then to bed in mighty good humour. This afternoon, passing through Queen's Street, I saw pass by our coach on foot Deb., which, God forgive me, did put me into some new thoughts of her, and for her, but durst not shew them, and I think my wife did not see her, but I did get my thoughts free of her soon as I could. 8th. Up, and Sir H. Cholmly betimes with me, about some accounts and moneys due to him: and he gone, I to the Office, where sat all the morning; and here, among other things, breaks out the storm W. Hewer and I have long expected from the Surveyor,--[Colonel Middleton.]--about W. Hewer's conspiring to get a contract, to the burdening of the stores with kerseys and cottons, of which he hath often complained, and lately more than ever; and now he did it by a most scandalous letter to the Board, reflecting on my Office: and, by discourse, it fell to such high words between him and me, as can hardly ever be forgot; I declaring I would believe W. Hewer as soon as him, and laying the fault, if there be any, upon himself; he, on the other hand, vilifying of my word and W. Hewer's, calling him knave, and that if he were his clerk, he should lose his ears. At last, I closed the business for this morning with making the thing ridiculous, as it is, and he swearing that the King should have right in it, or he would lose his place. The Office was cleared of all but ourselves and W. Hewer; but, however, the world did by the beginning see what it meant, and it will, I believe, come to high terms between us, which I am sorry for, to have any blemish laid upon me or mine, at this time, though never so unduly, for fear of giving occasion to my real discredit: and therefore I was not only all the rest of the morning vexed, but so went home to dinner, where my wife tells me of my Lord Orrery's new play "Tryphon," at the Duke of York's house, which, however, I would see, and therefore put a bit of meat in our mouths, and went thither; where, with much ado, at half-past one, we got into a blind hole in the 18d. place, above stairs, where we could not hear well, but the house infinite full, but the prologue most silly, and the play, though admirable, yet no pleasure almost in it, because just the very same design, and words, and sense, and plot, as every one of his plays have, any one of which alone would be held admirable, whereas so many of the same design and fancy do but dull one another; and this, I perceive, is the sense of every body else, as well as myself, who therefore showed but little pleasure in it. So home, mighty hot, and my mind mightily out of order, so as I could not eat any supper, or sleep almost all night, though I spent till twelve at night with W. Hewer to consider of our business: and we find it not only most free from any blame of our side, but so horrid scandalous on the other, to make so groundless a complaint, and one so shameful to him, that it could not but let me see that there is no need of my being troubled; but such is the weakness of my nature, that I could not help it, which vexes me, showing me how unable I am to live with difficulties. 9th. Up, and to the Office, but did little there, my mind being still uneasy, though more and more satisfied that there is no occasion for it; but abroad with my wife to the Temple, where I met with Auditor Wood's clerk, and did some business with him, and so to see Mr. Spong, and found him out by Southampton Market, and there carried my wife, and up to his chamber, a bye place, but with a good prospect of the fields; and there I had most infinite pleasure, not only with his ingenuity in general, but in particular with his shewing me the use of the Parallelogram, by which he drew in a quarter of an hour before me, in little, from a great, a most neat map of England--that is, all the outlines, which gives me infinite pleasure, and foresight of pleasure, I shall have with it; and therefore desire to have that which I have bespoke, made. Many other pretty things he showed us, and did give me a glass bubble, to try the strength of liquors with. [This seems to refer to the first form of the Hon. Robert Boyle's hydrometer, which he described in a paper in the "Philosophical Transactions" for June, 1675, under the title of a "New Essay instrument." In this paper the author refers to a glass instrument exhibited many years before by himself, "consisting of a bubble furnished with a long and slender stem, which was to be put into several liquors to compare and estimate their specific gravity." Boyle describes this glass bubble in a paper in "Philosophical Transactions," vol. iv., No. 50, p. 1001, 1669, entitled, "The Weights of Water in Water with ordinary Balances and Weights."] This done, and having spent 6d. in ale in the coach, at the door of the Bull Inn, with the innocent master of the house, a Yorkshireman, for his letting us go through his house, we away to Hercules Pillars, and there eat a bit of meat: and so, with all speed, back to the Duke of York's house, where mighty full again; but we come time enough to have a good place in the pit, and did hear this new play again, where, though I better understood it than before, yet my sense of it and pleasure was just the same as yesterday, and no more, nor any body else's about us. So took our coach and home, having now little pleasure to look about me to see the fine faces, for fear of displeasing my wife, whom I take great comfort now, more than ever, in pleasing; and it is a real joy to me. So home, and to my Office, where spent an hour or two; and so home to my wife, to supper and talk, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Office, where busy all the morning: Middleton not there, so no words or looks of him. At noon, home to dinner; and so to the Office, and there all the afternoon busy; and at night W. Hewer home with me; and we think we have got matter enough to make Middleton appear a coxcomb. But it troubled me to have Sir W. Warren meet me at night, going out of the Office home, and tell me that Middleton do intend to complain to the Duke of York: but, upon consideration of the business, I did go to bed, satisfied that it was best for me that he should; and so my trouble was over, and to bed, and slept well. 11th. Up, and with W. Hewer by water to Somerset House; and there I to my Lord Brouncker, before he went forth to the Duke of York, and there told him my confidence that I should make Middleton appear a fool, and that it was, I thought, best for me to complain of the wrong he hath done; but brought it about, that my Lord desired me I would forbear, and promised that he would prevent Middleton till I had given in my answer to the Board, which I desired: and so away to White Hall, and there did our usual attendance and no word spoke before the Duke of York by Middleton at all; at which I was glad to my heart, because by this means I have time to draw up my answer to my mind. So with W. Hewer by coach to Smithfield, but met not Mr. Dickering, he being not come, and so he [Will] and I to a cook's shop, in Aldersgate Street; and dined well for 19 1/2 d., upon roast beef, pleasing ourselves with the infinite strength we have to prove Middleton a coxcomb; and so, having dined, we back to Smithfield, and there met Dickering, and up and down all the afternoon about horses, and did see the knaveries and tricks of jockeys. Here I met W. Joyce, who troubled me with his impertinencies a great while, and the like Mr. Knepp, who, it seems, is a kind of a jockey, and would fain have been doing something for me, but I avoided him, and the more for fear of being troubled thereby with his wife, whom I desire but dare not see, for my vow to my wife. At last went away and did nothing, only concluded upon giving L50 for a fine pair of black horses we saw this day se'nnight; and so set Mr. Dickering down near his house, whom I am much beholden to, for his care herein, and he hath admirable skill, I perceive, in this business, and so home, and spent the evening talking and merry, my mind at good ease, and so to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and so the like mighty busy, late, all the afternoon, that I might be ready to go to the drawing up of my answer to Middleton to-morrow, and therefore home to supper and to bed. I hear this day that there is fallen down a new house, not quite finished, in Lumbard Street, and that there have been several so, they making use of bad mortar and bricks; but no hurt yet, as God hath ordered it. This day was brought home my pair of black coach-horses, the first I ever was master of. They cost me L50, and are a fine pair. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and with W. Hewer to the Office, where all the morning, and then home to a little dinner, and presently to it again all alone till twelve at night, drawing up my answer to Middleton, which I think I shall do to very good purpose--at least, I satisfy myself therein; and so to bed, weary with walking in my Office dictating to him [Hewer]. In the night my wife very ill, vomited, but was well again by and by. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, among other things, a silly account of a falling out between Norwood, at Tangier, and Mr. Bland, the mayor, who is fled to Cales [Cadiz]. His complaint is ill-worded, and the other's defence the most ridiculous that ever I saw; and so everybody else that was there, thought it; but never did I see so great an instance of the use of grammar, and knowledge how to tell a man's tale as this day, Bland having spoiled his business by ill-telling it, who had work to have made himself notorious by his mastering Norwood, his enemy, if he had known how to have used it. Thence calling Smith, the Auditor's clerk at the Temple, I by the Exchange home, and there looked over my Tangier accounts with him, and so to dinner, and then set him down again by a hackney, my coachman being this day about breaking of my horses to the coach, they having never yet drawn. Left my wife at Unthank's, and I to the Treasury, where we waited on the Lords Commissioners about Sir D. Gawden's matters, and so took her up again at night, and home to the office, and so home with W. Hewer, and to talk about our quarrel with Middleton, and so to supper and to bed. This day I hear, and am glad, that the King hath prorogued the Parliament to October next; and, among other reasons, it will give me time to go to France, I hope. 15th. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning, and the new Treasurers there; and, for my life, I cannot keep Sir J. Minnes and others of the Board from shewing our weakness, to the dishonour of the Board, though I am not concerned but it do vex me to the heart to have it before these people, that would be glad to find out all our weaknesses. At noon Mrs. Mary Batelier with us, and so, after dinner, I with W. Hewer all the afternoon till night beginning to draw up our answer to Middleton, and it proves troublesome, because I have so much in my head at a time to say, but I must go through with it. So at night to supper and to bed. 16th. I did the like all day long, only a little at dinner, and so to work again, and were at it till 2 in the morning, and so W. Hewer, who was with me all day, home to his lodging, and I to bed, after we had finished it. 17th. Up, and set my man Gibson and Mr. Fists to work to write it over fair, while I all the morning at the office sitting. At noon home to them, and all the afternoon looking over them and examining with W. Hewer, and so about to at night I to bed, leaving them to finish the writing it fair, which they did by sitting up most of the night, and so home to bed. 18th. All the morning at the office about Sir W. Warren's accounts, my mind full of my business, having before we met gone to Lord Brouncker, and got him to read over my paper, who owns most absolute content in it, and the advantage I have in it, and the folly of the Surveyor. At noon home to dinner; and then again to the office a while, and so by hackney coach to Brooke House, and there spoke with Colonel Thomson, I by order carrying them [the Commissioners of Accounts] our Contract-books, from the beginning to the end of the late war. I found him finding of errors in a ship's book, where he shewed me many, which must end in the ruin, I doubt, of the Controller, who found them not out in the pay of the ship, or the whole Office. But I took little notice of them to concern myself in them, but so leaving my books I home to the Office, where the office met, and after some other business done, fell to mine, which the Surveyor begun to be a little brisk at the beginning; but when I come to the point to touch him, which I had all the advantages in the world to do, he become as calm as a lamb, and owned, as the whole Board did, their satisfaction, and cried excuse: and so all made friends; and their acknowledgment put into writing, and delivered into Sir J. Minnes's hand, to be kept there for the use of the Board, or me, when I shall call for it; they desiring it might be so, that I might not make use of it to the prejudice of the Surveyor, whom I had an advantage over, by his extraordinary folly in this matter. But, besides this, I have no small advantage got by this business, as I have put several things into my letter which I should otherwise have wanted an opportunity of saying, which pleases me mightily. So Middleton desiring to be friends, I forgave him; and all mighty quiet, and fell to talk of other stories, and there staid, all of us, till nine or ten at night, more than ever we did in our lives before, together. And so home, where I have a new fight to fight with my wife, who is under new trouble by some news she hath heard of Deb.'s being mighty fine, and gives out that she has a friend that gives her money, and this my wife believes to be me, and, poor wretch! I cannot blame her, and therefore she run into mighty extremes; but I did pacify all, and were mighty good friends, and to bed, and I hope it will be our last struggle from this business, for I am resolved never to give any new occasion, and great peace I find in my mind by it. So to supper, she and I to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon, eating very little dinner, my wife and I by hackney to the King's playhouse, and there, the pit being full, satin a box above, and saw "Catiline's Conspiracy," yesterday being the first day: a play of much good sense and words to read, but that do appear the worst upon the stage, I mean, the least diverting, that ever I saw any, though most fine in clothes; and a fine scene of the Senate, and of a fight, that ever I saw in my life. But the play is only to be read, and therefore home, with no pleasure at all, but only in sitting next to Betty Hall, that did belong to this house, and was Sir Philip Howard's mistress; a mighty pretty wench, though my wife will not think so; and I dare neither commend, nor be seen to look upon her, or any other now, for fear of offending her. So, our own coach coming for us, home, and to end letters, and so home, my wife to read to me out of "The Siege of Rhodes," and so to supper, and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and then home, and there found W. Joyce come to dine with me, as troublesome a talking coxcombe as ever he was, and yet once in a year I like him well enough. In the afternoon my wife and W. Hewer and I to White Hall, where they set me down and staid till I had been with the Duke of York, with the rest of us of the Office, and did a little business, and then the Duke of York in good humour did fall to tell us many fine stories of the wars in Flanders, and how the Spaniards are the [best] disciplined foot in the world; will refuse no extraordinary service if commanded, but scorn to be paid for it, as in other countries, though at the same time they will beg in the streets: not a soldier will carry you a cloak-bag for money for the world, though he will beg a penny, and will do the thing, if commanded by his Commander. That, in the citadel of Antwerp, a soldier hath not a liberty of begging till he hath served three years. They will cry out against their King and Commanders and Generals, none like them in the world, and yet will not hear a stranger say a word of them but he will cut his throat. That, upon a time, some of the Commanders of their army exclaiming against their Generals, and particularly the Marquis de Caranen, the Confessor of the Marquis coming by and hearing them, he stops and gravely tells them that the three great trades of the world are, the lawyers, who govern the world; the churchmen, who enjoy the world; and a sort of fools whom they call souldiers, who make it their work to defend the world. He told us, too, that Turenne being now become a Catholique, he is likely to get over the head of Colbert, their interests being contrary; the latter to promote trade [This reminds us of the famous reply, 'Laissez nous affaire', made to Colbert by the French merchants, whose interests he thought to promote by laws and regulations.--B.] and the sea, which, says the Duke of York, is that that we have most cause to fear; and Turenne to employ the King and his forces by land, to encrease his conquests. Thence to the coach to my wife, and so home, and there with W. Hewer to my office and to do some business, and so set down my Journall for four or five days, and then home to supper and read a little, and to bed. W. Hewer tells me to-day that he hears that the King of France hath declared in print, that he do intend this next summer to forbid his Commanders to strike--[Strike topsails]--to us, but that both we and the Dutch shall strike to him; and that he hath made his captains swear it already, that they will observe it: which is a great thing if he do it, as I know nothing to hinder him. 21st. My own coach carrying me and my boy Tom, who goes with me in the room of W. Hewer, who could not, and I dare not go alone, to the Temple, and there set me down, the first time my fine horses ever carried me, and I am mighty proud of them, and there took a hackney and to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier, but little to do, and so away home, calling at the Exchange and buying several little things, and so home, and there dined with my wife and people and then she, and W. Hewer, and I by appointment out with our coach, but the old horses, not daring yet to use the others too much, but only to enter them, and to the Temple, there to call Talbot Pepys, and took him up, and first went into Holborne, and there saw the woman that is to be seen with a beard. She is a little plain woman, a Dane: her name, Ursula Dyan; about forty years old; her voice like a little girl's; with a beard as much as any man I ever saw, black almost, and grizly; they offered to shew my wife further satisfaction if she desired it, refusing it to men that desired it there, but there is no doubt but by her voice she is a woman; it begun to grow at about seven years old, and was shaved not above seven months ago, and is now so big as any man's almost that ever I saw; I say, bushy and thick. It was a strange sight to me, I confess, and what pleased me mightily. Thence to the Duke's playhouse, and saw "Macbeth." The King and Court there; and we sat just under them and my Lady Castlemayne, and close to the woman that comes into the pit, a kind of a loose gossip, that pretends to be like her, and is so, something. And my wife, by my troth, appeared, I think, as pretty as any of them; I never thought so much before; and so did Talbot and W. Hewer, as they said, I heard, to one another. The King and Duke of York minded me, and smiled upon me, at the handsome woman near me but it vexed me to see Moll Davis, in the box over the King's and my Lady Castlemayne's head, look down upon the King, and he up to her; and so did my Lady Castlemayne once, to see who it was; but when she saw her, she looked like fire; which troubled me. The play done, took leave of Talbot, who goes into the country this Christmas, and so we home, and there I to work at the office late, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, thinking to meet with Langford about my father's house in Fleet Streete, but I come too late, and so home to dinner, and all the afternoon at the office busy, and at night home to supper and talk, and with mighty content with my wife, and so to bed. 23rd. Met at the Office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and there met with Langford and Mr. Franke, the landlord of my father's house in Fleet Streete, and are come to an arbitration what my father shall give him to be freed of his lease and building the house again. Walked up and down the 'Change, and among others discoursed with Sir John Bankes, who thinks this prorogation will please all but the Parliament itself, which will, if ever they meet, be vexed at Buckingham, who yet governs all. He says the Nonconformists are glad of it, and, he believes, will get the upperhand in a little time, for the King must trust to them or nobody; and he thinks the King will be forced to it. He says that Sir D. Gawden is mightily troubled at Pen's being put upon him, by the Duke of York, and that he believes he will get clear of it, which, though it will trouble me to have Pen still at the Office, yet I shall think D. Gawden do well in it, and what I would advise him to, because I love him. So home to dinner, and then with my wife alone abroad, with our new horses, the beautifullest almost that ever I saw, and the first time they ever carried her, and me but once; but we are mighty proud of them. To her tailor's, and so to the 'Change, and laid out three or four pounds in lace, for her and me; and so home, and there I up to my Lord Brouncker, at his lodgings, and sat with him an hour, on purpose to talk over the wretched state of this Office at present, according to the present hands it is made up of; wherein he do fully concur with me, and that it is our part not only to prepare for defending it and ourselves, against the consequences of it, but to take the best ways we can, to make it known to the Duke of York; for, till Sir J. Minnes be removed, and a sufficient man brought into W. Pen's place, when he is gone, it is impossible for this Office ever to support itself. So home, and to supper and to bed. 24th. A cold day. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning alone at the Office, nobody meeting, being the eve of Christmas. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office busy, all the afternoon, and at night home to supper, and it being now very cold, and in hopes of a frost, I begin this night to put on a waistcoat, it being the first winter in my whole memory that ever I staid till this day before I did so. So to bed in mighty good humour with my wife, but sad, in one thing, and that is for my poor eyes. 25th (Christmas-day). Up, and continued on my waistcoat, the first day this winter, and I to church, where Alderman Backewell, coming in late, I beckoned to his lady to come up to us, who did, with another lady; and after sermon, I led her down through the church to her husband and coach, a noble, fine woman, and a good one, and one my wife shall be acquainted with. So home, and to dinner alone with my wife, who, poor wretch! sat undressed all day, till ten at night, altering and lacing of a noble petticoat: while I by her, making the boy read to me the Life of Julius Caesar, and Des Cartes' book of Musick ["Musicae Compendium." By Rene Des Cartes, Amsterdam, 1617; rendered into English, London, 1653, 4to. The translator, whose name did not appear on the title, was William, Viscount Brouncker, Pepys's colleague, who proved his knowledge of music by the performance.] --the latter of which I understand not, nor think he did well that writ it, though a most learned man. Then, after supper, I made the boy play upon his lute, which I have not done twice before since he come to me; and so, my mind in mighty content, we to bed. 26th. Lay long with pleasure, prating with my wife, and then up, and I a little to the Office, and my head busy setting some papers and accounts to rights, which being long neglected because of my eyes will take me up much time and care to do, but it must be done. So home at noon to dinner, and then abroad with my wife to a play, at the Duke of York's house, the house full of ordinary citizens. The play was "Women Pleased," which we had never seen before; and, though but indifferent, yet there is a good design for a good play. So home, and there to talk, and my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Walked to White Hall and there saw the King at chapel; but staid not to hear anything, but went to walk in the Park, with W. Hewer, who was with me; and there, among others, met with Sir G. Downing, and walked with him an hour, talking of business, and how the late war was managed, there being nobody to take care of it, and telling how, when he was in Holland, what he offered the King to do, if he might have power, and they would give him power, and then, upon the least word, perhaps of a woman, to the King, he was contradicted again, and particularly to the loss of all that we lost in Guinny. He told me that he had so good spies, that he hath had the keys taken out of De Witt's [The celebrated John de Witt, Grand Pensionary of Holland, who, a few years afterwards, was massacred, with his brother Cornelius, by the Dutch mob, enraged at their opposition to the elevation of William of Orange to the Stadtholdership, when the States were overrun by the French army, and the Dutch fleets beaten at sea by the English. The murder of the De Witts forms one of the main incidents of Alexandre Dumas's "Black Tulip."] pocket when he was a-bed, and his closet opened, and papers brought to him, and left in his hands for an hour, and carried back and laid in the place again, and keys put into his pocket again. He says that he hath always had their most private debates, that have been but between two or three of the chief of them, brought to him in an hour after, and an hour after that, hath sent word thereof to the King, but nobody here regarded them. But he tells me the sad news, that he is out of all expectations that ever the debts of the Navy will be paid, if the Parliament do not enable the King to do it by money; all they can hope for to do out of the King's revenue being but to keep our wheels a-going on present services, and, if they can, to cut off the growing interest: which is a sad story, and grieves me to the heart. So home, my coach coming for me, and there find Balty and Mr. How, who dined with me; and there my wife and I fell out a little about the foulness of the linen of the table, but were friends presently, but she cried, poor heart! which I was troubled for, though I did not give her one hard word. Dinner done, she to church, and W. How and I all the afternoon talking together about my Lord Sandwich's suffering his business of the prizes to be managed by Sir R. Cuttance, who is so deep in the business, more than my Lord knows of, and such a loggerhead, and under such prejudice, that he will, we doubt, do my Lord much wrong. In the evening, he gone, my wife to read to me and talk, and spent the evening with much pleasure, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, called up by drums and trumpets; these things and boxes [??] having cost me much money this Christmas already, and will do more. My wife down by water to see her mother, and I with W. Hewer all day together in my closet making some advance in the settling of my accounts, which have been so long unevened that it troubles me how to set them right, having not the use of my eyes to help me. My wife at night home, and tells me how much her mother prays for me and is troubled for my eyes; and I am glad to have friendship with them, and believe they are truly glad to see their daughter come to live so well as she do. So spent the night in talking, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, and at noon to dinner, and there, by a pleasant mistake, find my uncle and aunt Wight, and three more of their company, come to dine with me to-day, thinking that they had been invited, which they were not; but yet we did give them a pretty good dinner, and mighty merry at the mistake. They sat most of the afternoon with us, and then parted, and my wife and I out, thinking to have gone to a play, but it was too far begun, and so to the 'Change, and there she and I bought several things, and so home, with much pleasure talking, and then to reading, and so to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and vexed a little to be forced to pay 40s. for a glass of my coach, which was broke the other day, nobody knows how, within the door, while it was down; but I do doubt that I did break it myself with my knees. After dinner, my wife and I to the Duke's playhouse, and there did see King Harry the Eighth; and was mightily pleased, better than I ever expected, with the history and shows of it. We happened to sit by Mr. Andrews, our neighbour, and his wife, who talked so fondly to his little boy. Thence my wife and I to the 'Change; but, in going, our neere horse did fling himself, kicking of the coachbox over the pole; and a great deal of trouble it was to get him right again, and we forced to 'light, and in great fear of spoiling the horse, but there was no hurt. So to the 'Change, and then home, and there spent the evening talking, and so to supper and to bed. 31st. Up, and at the Office all the morning. At noon Capt. Ferrers and Mr. Sheres [Henry Sheres accompanied Lord Sandwich in his embassy to Spain, and returned to England in September, 1667, bearing letters from the ambassador (see September 8th, 22nd, 27th). He was an officer in the Ordnance, and served under Lord Dartmouth at the demolition of the Mole at Tangier in 1683. He was knighted about 1684. He translated Polybius (2 vols. 8vo., 1693), and also some of the "Dialogues" of Lucian, included in the translation published in 1711 (3 vols. 8vo.). Pepys bequeathed him a ring, and he died about 1713.] come to me to dinner, who did, and pretty pleased with their talk of Spayne; but my wife did not come down, I suppose because she would not, Captain Ferrers being there, to oblige me by it. They gone, after dinner, I to the office, and then in the evening home, being the last day of the year, to endeavour to pay all bills and servants' wages, &c., which I did almost to L5 that I know that I owe in the world, but to the publique; and so with great pleasure to supper and to bed, and, blessed be God! the year ends, after some late very great sorrow with my wife by my folly, yet ends, I say, with great mutual peace and content, and likely to last so by my care, who am resolved to enjoy the sweet of it, which I now possess, by never giving her like cause of trouble. My greatest trouble is now from the backwardness of my accounts, which I have not seen the bottom of now near these two years, so that I know not in what condition I am in the world, but by the grace of God, as far as my eyes will give me leave, I will do it. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Craft and cunning concerning the buying and choosing of horses Did see the knaveries and tricks of jockeys Hath not a liberty of begging till he hath served three years He told me that he had so good spies Laissez nous affaire--Colbert Nonconformists do now preach openly in houses Offered to shew my wife further satisfaction if she desired Seeing that he cared so little if he was out Tell me that I speak in my dreams 
4196	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. 1669 N.S. JANUARY 1668-1669 January 1st. Up, and presented from Captain Beckford with a noble silver warming-pan, which I am doubtful whether to take or no. Up, and with W. Hewer to the New Exchange, and then he and I to the cabinet-shops, to look out, and did agree, for a cabinet to give my wife for a New-year's gift; and I did buy one cost me L11, which is very pretty, of walnutt-tree, and will come home to-morrow. So back to the old Exchange, and there met my uncle Wight; and there walked, and met with the Houblons, and talked with them--gentlemen whom I honour mightily: and so to my uncle's, and met my wife; and there, with W. Hewer, we dined with our family, and had a very good dinner, and pretty merry and after dinner, my wife and I with our coach to the King's playhouse, and there in a box saw "The Mayden Queene." Knepp looked upon us, but I durst not shew her any countenance; and, as well as I could carry myself, I found my wife uneasy there, poor wretch! therefore, I shall avoid that house as much as I can. So back to my aunt's, and there supped and talked, and staid pretty late, it being dry and moonshine, and so walked home, and to bed in very good humour. 2nd. Up, at the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where I find my cabinet come home, and paid for it, and it pleases me and my wife well. So after dinner busy late at the office, and so home and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and busy all the morning, getting rooms and dinner ready for my guests, which were my uncle and aunt Wight, and two of their cousins, and an old woman, and Mr. Mills and his wife; and a good dinner, and all our plate out, and mighty fine and merry, only I a little vexed at burning a new table-cloth myself, with one of my trencher-salts. Dinner done, I out with W. Hewer and Mr. Spong, who by accident come to dine with me, and good talk with him: to White Hall by coach, and there left him, and I with my Lord Brouncker to attend the Duke of York, and then up and down the House till the evening, hearing how the King do intend this frosty weather, it being this day the first, and very hard frost, that hath come this year, and very cold it is. So home; and to supper and read; and there my wife and I treating about coming to an allowance to my wife for clothes; and there I, out of my natural backwardness, did hang off, which vexed her, and did occasion some discontented talk in bed, when we went to bed; and also in the morning, but I did recover all in the morning. 4th. Lay long, talking with my wife, and did of my own accord come to an allowance of her of L30 a-year for all expences, clothes and everything, which she was mightily pleased with, it being more than ever she asked or expected, and so rose, with much content, and up with W. Hewer to White Hall, there to speak with Mr. Wren, which I did about several things of the office entered in my memorandum books, and so about noon, going homeward with W. Hewer, he and I went in and saw the great tall woman that is to be seen, who is but twenty-one years old, and I do easily stand under her arms. Then, going further, The. Turner called me, out of her coach where her mother, &c., was, and invited me by all means to dine with them, at my cozen Roger's mistress's, the widow Dickenson! So, I went to them afterwards, and dined with them, and mighty handsomely treated, and she a wonderful merry, good-humoured, fat, but plain woman, but I believe a very good woman, and mighty civil to me. Mrs. Turner, the mother, and Mrs. Dyke, and The., and Betty was the company, and a gentleman of their acquaintance. Betty I did long to see, and she is indifferent pretty, but not what the world did speak of her; but I am mighty glad to have one so pretty of our kindred. After dinner, I walked with them, to shew them the great woman, which they admire, as well they may; and so back with them, and left them; and I to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier met, but little to do there, but I did receive an instance of the Duke of York's kindness to me, and the whole Committee, that they would not order any thing about the Treasurer for the Corporation now in establishing, without my assent, and considering whether it would be to my wrong or no. Thence up and down the house, and to the Duke of York's side, and there in the Duchess's presence; and was mightily complimented by my Lady Peterborough, in my Lord Sandwich's presence, whom she engaged to thank me for my kindness to her and her Lord. . . . By and by I met my Lord Brouncker; and he and I to the Duke of York alone, and discoursed over the carriage of the present Treasurers, in opposition to, or at least independency of, the Duke of York, or our Board, which the Duke of York is sensible of, and all remember, I believe; for they do carry themselves very respectlessly of him and us. We also declared our minds together to the Duke of York about Sir John Minnes's incapacity to do any service in the Office, and that it is but to betray the King to have any business of trust committed to his weakness. So the Duke of York was very sensible of it and promised to speak to the King about it. That done, I with W. Hewer took up my wife at Unthank's, and so home, and there with pleasure to read and talk, and so to supper, and put into writing, in merry terms, our agreement between my wife and me, about L30 a-year, and so to bed. This was done under both our hands merrily, and put into W. Hewer's to keep. 5th. Up, and to the office all the morning, the frost and cold continuing. At noon home with my people to dinner; and so to work at the office again; in the evening comes Creed to me, and tells me his wife is at my house. So I in, and spent an hour with them, the first time she hath been here, or I have seen her, since she was married. She is not overhandsome, though a good lady, and one I love. So after some pleasant discourse, they gone, I to the Office again, and there late, and then home to supper to my wife, who is not very well of those, and so sat talking till past one in the morning, and then to bed. 6th (Twelfth day). Up, and to look after things against dinner to-day for my guests, and then to the Office to write down my journall for five or six days backward, and so home to look after dinner, it being now almost noon. At noon comes Mrs. Turner and Dyke, and Mrs. Dickenson, and then comes The. and Betty Turner, the latter of which is a very pretty girl; and then Creed and his wife, whom I sent for, by my coach. These were my guests, and Mrs. Turner's friend, whom I saw the other day, Mr. Wicken, and very merry we were at dinner, and so all the afternoon, talking, and looking up and down my house; and in the evening I did bring out my cake--a noble cake, and there cut it into pieces, with wine and good drink: and after a new fashion, to prevent spoiling the cake, did put so many titles into a hat, and so drew cuts; and I was the Queene; and The. Turner, King--Creed, Sir Martin Marr-all; and Betty, Mrs. Millicent: and so we were mighty merry till it was night; and then, being moonshine and fine frost, they went home, I lending some of them my coach to help to carry them, and so my wife and I spent the rest of the evening in talk and reading, and so with great pleasure to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, and then at noon home to dinner, and thence my wife and I to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Island Princesse," the first time I ever saw it; and it is a pretty good play, many good things being in it, and a good scene of a town on fire. We sat in an upper box, and the jade Nell come and sat in the next box; a bold merry slut, who lay laughing there upon people; and with a comrade of hers of the Duke's house, that come in to see the play. Thence home and to the office to do some business, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and with Colonel Middleton, in his coach, and Mr. Tippets to White Hall; and there attended the Duke of York with the rest, where the Duke was mighty plain with the Treasurers, according to the advice my Lord Brouncker and I did give him the other night, and he did it fully; and so as, I believe, will make the Treasurers carefull of themselves, unless they do resolve upon defying the Duke of York. Thence with W. Hewer home, and to dinner, and so out again, my wife and I and Mr. Hater to White Hall, where she set us down, and she up and down to buy things, while we at the Treasury-Chamber, where I alone did manage the business of "The Leopard" against the whole Committee of the East India Company, with Mr. Blackburne with them; and to the silencing of them all, to my no great content. Thence walked to my wife, and so set out for home in our coach, it being very cold weather, and so to the office to do a little business, and then home to my wife's chamber, my people having laid the cloth, and got the rooms all clean above-stairs to-night for our dinner to-morrow, and therefore I to bed. 9th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and at noon, my Lord Brouncker, Mr. Wren, Joseph Williamson, and Captain Cocke, dined with me; and, being newly sat down, comes in, by invitation of Williamson's, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and he brings in with him young Mr. Whore, whose father, of the Tower, I know.--And here I had a neat dinner, and all in so good manner and fashion, and with so good company, and everything to my mind, as I never had more in my life--the company being to my heart's content, and they all well pleased. So continued, looking over my books and closet till the evening, and so I to the Office and did a good deal of business, and so home to supper and to bed with my mind mightily pleased with this day's management, as one of the days of my life of fullest content. 10th (Lord's day). Accidentally talking of our maids before we rose, I said a little word that did give occasion to my wife to fall out; and she did most vexatiously, almost all the morning, but ended most perfect good friends; but the thoughts of the unquiet which her ripping up of old faults will give me, did make me melancholy all day long. So about noon, past 12, we rose, and to dinner, and then to read and talk, my wife and I alone, for Balty was gone, who come to dine with us, and then in the evening comes Pelting to sit and talk with us, and so to supper and pretty merry discourse, only my mind a little vexed at the morning's work, but yet without any appearance. So after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and with W. Hewer, my guard, to White Hall, where no Committee of Tangier met, so up and down the House talking with this and that man, and so home, calling at the New Exchange for a book or two to send to Mr. Shepley and thence home, and thence to the 'Change, and there did a little business, and so walked home to dinner, and then abroad with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Joviall Crew," but ill acted to what it was heretofore, in Clun's time, and when Lacy could dance. Thence to the New Exchange, to buy some things; and, among others, my wife did give me my pair of gloves, which, by contract, she is to give me in her L30 a-year. Here Mrs. Smith tells us of the great murder thereabouts, on Saturday last, of one Captain Bumbridge, by one Symons, both of her acquaintance; and hectors that were at play, and in drink: the former is killed, and is kinsman to my Lord of Ormond, which made him speak of it with so much passion, as I overheard him this morning, but could not make anything of it till now, but would they would kill more of them. So home; and there at home all the evening; and made Tom to prick down some little conceits and notions of mine, in musique, which do mightily encourage me to spend some more thoughts about it; for I fancy, upon good reason, that I am in the right way of unfolding the mystery of this matter, better than ever yet. 12th. Up, and to the Office, where, by occasion of a message from the Treasurers that their Board found fault with Commissioner Middleton, I went up from our Board to the Lords of the Treasury to meet our Treasurers, and did, and there did dispute the business, it being about the matter of paying a little money to Chatham Yard, wherein I find the Treasurers mighty supple, and I believe we shall bring them to reason, though they begun mighty upon us, as if we had no power of directing them, but they, us. Thence back presently home, to dinner, where I discern my wife to have been in pain about where I have been, but said nothing to me, but I believe did send W. Hewer to seek me, but I take no notice of it, but am vexed. So to dinner with my people, and then to the Office, where all the afternoon, and did much business, and at it late, and so home to supper, and to bed. This day, meeting Mr. Pierce at White Hall, he tells me that his boy hath a great mind to see me, and is going to school again; and Dr. Clerke, being by, do tell me that he is a fine boy; but I durst not answer anything, because I durst not invite him to my house, for fear of my wife; and therefore, to my great trouble, was forced to neglect that discourse. But here Mr. Pierce, I asking him whither he was going, told me as a great secret that he was going to his master's mistress, Mrs. Churchill, with some physic; meaning for the pox I suppose, or else that she is got with child. This evening I observed my wife mighty dull, and I myself was not mighty fond, because of some hard words she did give me at noon, out of a jealousy at my being abroad this morning, which, God knows, it was upon the business of the Office unexpectedly: but I to bed, not thinking but she would come after me. But waking by and by out of a slumber, which I usually fall into presently after my coming into the bed, I found she did not prepare to come to bed, but got fresh candles, and more wood for her fire, it being mighty cold, too. At this being troubled, I after a while prayed her to come to bed, all my people being gone to bed; so, after an hour or two, she silent, and I now and then praying her to come to bed, she fell out into a fury, that I was a rogue, and false to her. But yet I did perceive that she was to seek what to say, only she invented, I believe, a business that I was seen in a hackney coach with the glasses up with Deb., but could not tell the time, nor was sure I was he. I did, as I might truly, deny it, and was mightily troubled, but all would not serve. At last, about one o'clock, she come to my side of the bed, and drew my curtaine open, and with the tongs red hot at the ends, made as if she did design to pinch me with them, at which, in dismay, I rose up, and with a few words she laid them down; and did by little and, little, very sillily, let all the discourse fall; and about two, but with much seeming difficulty, come to bed, and there lay well all night, and long in bed talking together, with much pleasure, it being, I know, nothing but her doubt of my going out yesterday, without telling her of my going, which did vex her, poor wretch! last night, and I cannot blame her jealousy, though it do vex me to the heart. 13th. So up and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, but he gone out, so I to White Hall, and thence walked out into the Park, all in the snow, with the Duke of York and the rest, and so home, after visiting my Lady Peterborough, and there by invitation find Mr. Povy, and there was also Talbot Pepys, newly come from Impington, and dined with me; and after dinner and a little talk with Povy about publick matters, he gone, and I and my wife and Talbot towards the Temple, and there to the King's playhouse, and there saw, I think, "The Maiden Queene," and so home and to supper and read, and to bed. This day come home the instrument I have so long longed for, the Parallelogram. 14th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy, and so home to dinner, where Goodgroome with us, and after dinner a song, and then to the office, where busy till night, and then home to work there with W. Hewer to get ready some Tangier papers against to-morrow, and so to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, where with him a good while in his chamber, talking of one thing or another; among others, he told me of the great factions at Court at this day, even to the sober engaging of great persons, and differences, and making the King cheap and ridiculous. It is about my Lady Harvy's being offended at Doll Common's acting of Sempronia, to imitate her; for which she got my Lord Chamberlain, her kinsman, to imprison Doll: when my Lady Castlemayne made the King to release her, and to order her to act it again, worse than ever, the other day, where the King himself was: and since it was acted again, and my Lady Harvy provided people to hiss her and fling oranges at her: but, it seems the heat is come to a great height, and real troubles at Court about it. Thence he and I out of doors, but he to Sir J. Duncomb, and I to White Hall through the Park, where I met the King and the Duke of York, and so walked with them, and so to White Hall, where the Duke of York met the office and did a little business; and I did give him thanks for his favour to me yesterday, at the Committee of Tangier, in my absence, Mr. Povy having given me advice of it, of the discourse there of doing something as to the putting the payment of the garrison into some undertaker's hand, Alderman Backewell, which the Duke of York would not suffer to go on, without my presence at the debate. And he answered me just thus: that he ought to have a care of him that do the King's business in the manner that I do, and words of more force than that. Then down with Lord Brouncker to Sir R. Murray, into the King's little elaboratory, under his closet, a pretty place; and there saw a great many chymical glasses and things, but understood none of them. So I home and to dinner, and then out again and stop with my wife at my cozen Turner's where I staid and sat a while, and carried The. and my wife to the Duke of York's house, to "Macbeth," and myself to White Hall, to the Lords of the Treasury, about Tangier business; and there was by at much merry discourse between them and my Lord Anglesey, who made sport of our new Treasurers, and called them his deputys, and much of that kind. And having done my own business, I away back, and carried my cozen Turner and sister Dyke to a friend's house, where they were to sup, in Lincoln's Inn Fields; and I to the Duke of York's house and saw the last two acts, and so carried The. thither, and so home with my wife, who read to me late, and so to supper and to bed. This day The. Turner shewed me at the play my Lady Portman, who has grown out of my knowledge. 16th. Up, and to the office all the morning, dined at home with my people, and so all the afternoon till night at the office busy, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Creed, and in the afternoon comes Povy, to advise with me about my answer to the Lords [Commissioners] of Tangier, about the propositions for the Treasurership there, which I am not much concerned for. But the latter, talking of publick things, told me, as Mr. Wren also did, that the Parliament is likely to meets again, the King being frighted with what the Speaker hath put him in mind of--his promise not to prorogue, but only to adjourne them. They speak mighty freely of the folly of the King in this foolish woman's business, of my Lady Harvy. Povy tells me that Sir W. Coventry was with the King alone, an hour this day; and that my Lady Castlemayne is now in a higher command over the King than ever--not as a mistress, for she scorns him, but as a tyrant, to command him: and says that the Duchess of York and the Duke of York are mighty great with her, which is a great interest to my Lord Chancellor's' family; and that they do agree to hinder all they can the proceedings of the Duke of Buckingham and Arlington: and so we are in the old mad condition, or rather worse than any; no man knowing what the French intend to do the next summer. 17th (Lord's day). To church myself after seeing every thing fitted for dinner, and so, after church, home, and thither comes Mrs. Batelier and her two daughters to dinner to us; and W. Hewer and his mother, and Mr. Spong. We were very civilly merry, and Mrs. Batelier a very discreet woman, but mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will. After dinner, Mr. Spong and I to my closet, there to try my instrument Parallelogram, which do mighty well, to my full content; but only a little stiff, as being new. Thence, taking leave of my guests, he and I and W. Hewer to White Hall, and there parting with Spong, a man that I mightily love for his plainness and ingenuity, I into the Court, and there up and down and spoke with my Lords Bellassis and Peterborough about the business now in dispute, about my deputing a Treasurer to pay the garrison at Tangier, which I would avoid, and not be accountable, and they will serve me therein. Here I met Hugh May, and he brings me to the knowledge of Sir Henry Capell, a Member of Parliament, and brother of my Lord of Essex, who hath a great value, it seems, for me; and they appoint a day to come and dine with me, and see my books, and papers of the Office, which I shall be glad to shew them, and have opportunity to satisfy them therein. Here all the discourse is, that now the King is of opinion to have the Parliament called, notwithstanding his late resolutions for proroguing them; so unstable are his councils, and those about him. So staying late talking in the Queen's side, I away, with W. Hewer home, and there to read and talk with my wife, and so to bed. 18th. Up by candlelight, and with W. Hewer walked to the Temple, and thence took coach and to Sir William Coventry's, and there discoursed the business of my Treasurer's place, at Tangier, wherein he consents to my desire, and concurs therein, which I am glad of, that I may not be accountable for a man so far off. And so I to my Lord Sandwich's, and there walk with him through the garden, to White Hall, where he tells me what he had done about this Treasurer's place, and I perceive the whole thing did proceed from him: that finding it would be best to have the Governor have nothing to do with the pay of the garrison, he did propose to the Duke of York alone that a pay-master should be there; and that being desirous to do a courtesy to Sir Charles Harbord, and to prevent the Duke of York's looking out for any body else, he did name him to the Duke of York. That when he come the other day to move this to the Board of Tangier, the Duke of York, it seems, did readily reply, that it was fit to have Mr. Pepys satisfied therein first, and that it was not good to make places for persons. This my Lord in great confidence tells me, that he do take very ill from the Duke of York, though nobody knew the meaning of these words but him; and that he did take no notice of them, but bit his lip, being satisfied that the Duke of York's care of me was as desirable to him, as it could be to have Sir Charles Harbord: and did seem industrious to let me see that he was glad that the Duke of York and he might come to contend who shall be the kindest to me, which I owned as his great love, and so I hope and believe it is, though my Lord did go a little too far in this business, to move it so far, without consulting me. But I took no notice of that, but was glad to see this competition come about, that my Lord Sandwich is apparently jealous of my thinking that the Duke of York do mean me more kindness than him. So we walked together, and I took this occasion to invite him to dinner one day to my house, and he readily appointed Friday next, which I shall be glad to have over to his content, he having never yet eat a bit of my bread. Thence to the Duke of York on the King's side, with our Treasurers of the Navy, to discourse some business of the Navy, about the pay of the yards, and there I was taken notice of, many Lords being there in the room, of the Duke of York's conference with me; and so away, and meeting Mr. Sidney Montagu and Sheres, a small invitation served their turn to carry them to London, where I paid Sheres his L100, given him for his pains in drawing the plate of Tangier fortifications, &c., and so home to my house to dinner, where I had a pretty handsome sudden dinner, and all well pleased; and thence we three and my wife to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Witts," a medley of things, but some similes mighty good, though ill mixed; and thence with my wife to the Exchange and bought some things, and so home, after I had been at White Hall, and there in the Queen's withdrawing-room invited my Lord Peterborough to dine with me, with my Lord Sandwich, who readily accepted it. Thence back and took up my wife at the 'Change, and so home. This day at noon I went with my young gentlemen (thereby to get a little time while W. Hewer went home to bid them get a dinner ready) to the Pope's Head tavern, there to see the fine painted room which Rogerson told me of, of his doing; but I do not like it at all, though it be good for such a publick room. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon eat a mouthful, and so with my wife to Madam Turner's, and find her gone, but The. staid for us; and so to the King's house, to see "Horace;" this the third day of its acting--a silly tragedy; but Lacy hath made a farce of several dances--between each act, one: but his words are but silly, and invention not extraordinary, as to the dances; only some Dutchmen come out of the mouth and tail of a Hamburgh sow. Thence, not much pleased with the play, set them at home in the Strand; and my wife and I home, and there to do a little business at the Office, and so home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up; and my wife, and I, and W. Hewer to White Hall, where she set us down; and there I spoke with my Lord Peterborough, to tell him of the day for his dining with me being altered by my Lord Sandwich from Friday to Saturday next. And thence heard at the Council-board the City, by their single counsel Symson, and the company of Strangers Merchants, a debate the business of water-baylage; a tax demanded upon all goods, by the City, imported and exported: which these Merchants oppose, and demanding leave to try the justice of the City's demand by a Quo Warranto, which the City opposed, the Merchants did quite lay the City on their backs with great triumph, the City's cause being apparently too weak: but here I observed Mr. Gold, the merchant, to speak very well, and very sharply, against the City. Thence to my wife at Unthanke's, and with her and W. Hewer to Hercules Pillars, calling to do two or three things by the way, end there dined, and thence to the Duke of York's house, and saw "Twelfth Night," as it is now revived; but, I think, one of the weakest plays that ever I saw on the stage. This afternoon, before the play, I called with my wife at Dancre's, the great landscape-painter, by Mr. Povy's advice; and have bespoke him to come to take measure of my dining-room panels, and there I met with the pretty daughter of the coalseller's, that lived in Cheapside, and now in Covent Garden, who hath her picture drawn here, but very poorly; but she is a pretty woman, and now, I perceive, married, a very pretty black woman. So, the play done, we home, my wife letting fall some words of her observing my eyes to be mightily employed in the playhouse, meaning upon women, which did vex me; but, however, when we come home, we were good friends; and so to read, and to supper, and so to bed. 21st. Up, and walked to the Temple, it being frosty, and there took coach, my boy Tom with me, and so to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where they met, and by and by and till twelve at noon upon business, among others mine, where my desire about being eased of appointing and standing accountable for a Treasurer there was well accepted, and they will think of some other way. This I was glad of, finding reason to doubt that I might in this (since my Lord Sandwich made me understand what he had said to the Duke of York herein) fear to offend either the Duke of York by denying it, for he seemed on Sunday night last, when I first made known my desire to him herein to be a little amused at it, though I knew not then the reason, or else offend my Lord Sandwich by accepting it, or denying it in a manner that might not forward his desire for Sir Charles Harbord, but I thank God I did it to my great content without any offence, I think, to either. Thence in my own coach home, where I find Madam Turner, Dyke, and The., and had a good dinner for them, and merry; and so carried them to the Duke of York's house, all but Dyke, who went away on other business; and there saw "The Tempest;" but it is but ill done by Gosnell, in lieu of Moll Davis. Thence set them at home, and my wife and I to the 'Change, and so home, where my wife mighty dogged, and I vexed to see it, being mightily troubled, of late, at her being out of humour, for fear of her discovering any new matter of offence against me, though I am conscious of none; but do hate to be unquiet at home. So, late up, silent, and not supping, but hearing her utter some words of discontent to me with silence, and so to bed, weeping to myself for grief, which she discerning, come to bed, and mighty kind, and so with great joy on both sides to sleep. 22nd. Up, and with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York, and thence to the Exchange, in the way calling at several places on occasions relating to my feast to-morrow, on which my mind is now set; as how to get a new looking-glass for my dining-room, and some pewter, and good wine, against to-morrow; and so home, where I had the looking-glass set up, cost me L6 7s. 6d. And here at the 'Change I met with Mr. Dancre, the famous landscape painter, with whom I was on Wednesday; and he took measure of my panels in my dining-room, where, in the four, I intend to have the four houses of the King, White Hall, Hampton Court, Greenwich, and Windsor. He gone, I to dinner with my people, and so to my office to dispatch a little business, and then home to look after things against to-morrow, and among other things was mightily pleased with the fellow that come to lay the cloth, and fold the napkins, which I like so well, as that I am resolved to give him 40s. to teach my wife to do it. So to supper, with much kindness between me and my wife, which, now-a-days, is all my care, and so to bed. 23rd. Up, and again to look after the setting things right against dinner, which I did to very good content. So to the office, where all the morning till noon, when word brought me to the Board that my Lord Sandwich was come; so I presently rose, leaving the Board ready to rise, and there I found my Lord Sandwich, Peterborough, and Sir Charles Harbord; and presently after them comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, Mr. Sidney, and Sir William Godolphin. And after greeting them, and some time spent in talk, dinner was brought up, one dish after another, but a dish at a time, but all so good; but, above all things, the variety of wines, and excellent of their kind, I had for them, and all in so good order, that they were mightily pleased, and myself full of content at it: and indeed it was, of a dinner of about six or eight dishes, as noble as any man need to have, I think; at least, all was done in the noblest manner that ever I had any, and I have rarely seen in my life better anywhere else, even at the Court. After dinner, my Lords to cards, and the rest of us sitting about them and talking, and looking on my books and pictures, and my wife's drawings, which they commend mightily; and mighty merry all day long, with exceeding great content, and so till seven at night; and so took their leaves, it being dark and foul weather. Thus was this entertainment over, the best of its kind, and the fullest of honour and content to me, that ever I had in my life: and shall not easily have so good again. The truth is, I have some fear that I am more behind-hand in the world for these last two years, since I have not, or for some time could not, look after my accounts, which do a little allay my pleasure. But I do trust in God I am pretty well yet, and resolve, in a very little time, to look into my accounts, and see how they stand. So to my wife's chamber, and there supped, and got her cut my hair and look my shirt, for I have itched mightily these 6 or 7 days, and when all comes to all she finds that I am lousy, having found in my head and body about twenty lice, little and great, which I wonder at, being more than I have had I believe these 20 years. I did think I might have got them from the little boy, but they did presently look him, and found none. So how they come I know not, but presently did shift myself, and so shall be rid of them, and cut my hair close to my head, and so with much content to bed. 24th (Lord's day). An order brought me in bed, for the Principal Officers to attend the King at my Lord Keeper's this afternoon, it being resolved late the last night; and, by the warrant, I find my Lord Keeper did not then know the cause of it, the messenger being ordered to call upon him, to tell it him by the way, as he come to us. So I up, and to my Office to set down my Journall for yesterday, and so home, and with my wife to Church, and then home, and to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife by coach, to cozen Turner's, where she and The. gone to church, but I left my wife with Mrs. Dyke and Joyce Norton, whom I have not seen till now since their coming to town: she is become an old woman, and with as cunning a look as ever, and thence I to White Hall, and there walked up and down till the King and Duke of York were ready to go forth; and here I met Will. Batelier, newly come post from France, his boots all dirty. He brought letters to the King, and I glad to see him, it having been reported that he was drowned, for some days past, and then, he being gone, I to talk with Tom Killigrew, who told me and others, talking about the playhouse, that he is fain to keep a woman on purpose at 20s. a week to satisfy 8 or 10 of the young men of his house, whom till he did so he could never keep to their business, and now he do. By and by the King comes out, and so I took coach, and followed his coaches to my Lord Keeper's, at Essex House, where I never was before, since I saw my old Lord Essex lie in state when he was dead; a large, but ugly house. Here all the Officers of the Navy attended, and by and by were called in to the King and Cabinet, where my Lord, who was ill, did lie upon the bed, as my old Lord Treasurer, or Chancellor, heretofore used to; and the business was to know in what time all the King's ships might be repaired, fit for service. The Surveyor answered, in two years, and not sooner. I did give them hopes that, with supplies of money suitable, we might have them all fit for sea some part of the summer after this. Then they demanded in what time we could set out forty ships. It was answered, as they might be chosen of the newest and most ready, we could, with money, get forty ready against May. The King seemed mighty full that we should have money to do all that we desired, and satisfied that, without it, nothing could be done: and so, without determining any thing, we were dismissed; and I doubt all will end in some little fleete this year, and those of hired merchant-men, which would indeed be cheaper to the King, and have many conveniences attending it, more than to fit out the King's own; and this, I perceive, is designed, springing from Sir W. Coventry's counsel; and the King and most of the Lords, I perceive, full of it, to get the King's fleete all at once in condition for service. Thence I with Mr. Wren in his coach to my cozen Turner's for discourse sake, and in our way he told me how the business of the Parliament is wholly laid aside, it being overruled now, that they shall not meet, but must be prorogued, upon this argument chiefly, that all the differences between the two Houses, and things on foot, that were matters of difference and discontent, may be laid aside, and must begin again, if ever the House shall have a mind to pursue them. They must begin all anew. Here he set me down, and I to my cozen Turner, and stayed and talked a little; and so took my wife, and home, and there to make her read, and then to supper, and to bed. At supper come W. Batelier and supped with us, and told us many pretty things of France, and the greatness of the present King. 25th. Up, and to the Committee of Tangier, where little done, and thence I home by my own coach, and busy after dinner at my office all the afternoon till late at night, that my eyes were tired. So home, and my wife shewed me many excellent prints of Nanteuil's and others, which W. Batelier hath, at my desire, brought me out of France, of the King, and Colbert, and others, most excellent, to my great content. But he hath also brought a great many gloves perfumed, of several sorts; but all too big by half for her, and yet she will have two or three dozen of them, which vexed me, and made me angry. So she, at last, to please me, did come to take what alone I thought fit, which pleased me. So, after a little supper, to bed, my eyes being very bad. 26th. Up, and to the office, where busy sitting all the morning. Then to the Office again, and then to White Hall, leaving my wife at Unthanke's; and I to the Secretary's chamber, where I was, by particular order, this day summoned to attend, as I find Sir D. Gawden also was. And here was the King and the Cabinet met; and, being called in, among the rest I find my Lord Privy Seale, whom I never before knew to be in so much play, as to be of the Cabinet. The business is, that the Algerines have broke the peace with us, by taking some Spaniards and goods out of an English ship, which had the Duke of York's pass, of which advice come this day; and the King is resolved to stop Sir Thomas Allen's fleete from coming home till he hath amends made him for this affront, and therefore sent for us to advise about victuals to be sent to that fleete, and some more ships; wherein I answered them to what they demanded of me, which was but some few mean things; but I see that on all these occasions they seem to rely most upon me. And so, this being done, I took coach and took up my wife and straight home, and there late at the office busy, and then home, and there I find W. Batelier hath also sent the books which I made him bring me out of France. Among others, L'Estat, de France, Marnix, &c., to my great content; and so I was well pleased with them, and shall take a time to look them over: as also one or two printed musick-books of songs; but my eyes are now too much out of tune to look upon them with any pleasure, therefore to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and with Sir John Minnes in his coach to White Hall, where first we waited on the Lords of the Treasury about finishing the Victualling Contract; and there also I was put to it to make good our letter complaining against my Lord Anglesey's failing us in the payment of the moneys assigned us upon the Customs, where Mr. Fenn was, and I know will tell my Lord; but it is no matter, I am over shy already, and therefore must not fear. Then we up to a Committee of the Council for the Navy, about a business of Sir D. Gawden's relating to the Victualling, and thence I by hackney to the Temple to the Auditor's man, and with him to a tavern to meet with another under-auditor to advise about the clearing of my Lord Bellasses' accounts without injuring myself and perplexing my accounts, and so thence away to my cozen Turner's, where I find Roger Pepys come last night to town, and here is his mistress, Mrs. Dickenson, and by and by comes in Mr. Turner, a worthy, sober, serious man--I honour him mightily. And there we dined, having but an ordinary dinner; and so, after dinner, she, and I, and Roger, and his mistress, to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Five Hours' Adventure," which hath not been acted a good while before, but once, and is a most excellent play, I must confess. My wife and The. come after us, after they had been to buy some things abroad, and so after the play done we to see them home, and then home ourselves, and my wife to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the afternoon, also after dinner, and there late dispatching much business, and then home to supper with my wife, and to get her to read to me, and here I did find that Mr. Sheres hath, beyond his promise, not only got me a candlestick made me, after a form he remembers to have seen in Spain, for keeping the light from one's eyes, but hath got it done in silver very neat, and designs to give it me, in thanks for my paying him his L100 in money, for his service at Tangier, which was ordered him; but I do intend to force him to make me [pay] for it. But I yet, without his direction, cannot tell how it is to be made use of. So after a little reading to bed. 29th. Up, and with W. Hewer in Colonel Middleton's coach to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York, to attend him, where among other things I did give a severe account of our proceedings, and what we found, in the business of Sir W. Jenings's demand of Supernumeraries. I thought it a good occasion to make an example of him, for he is a proud, idle fellow; and it did meet with the Duke of York's acceptance and well-liking; and he did call him in, after I had done, and did not only give him a soft rebuke, but condemns him to pay both their victuals and wages, or right himself of the purser. This I was glad of, and so were all the rest of us, though I know I have made myself an immortal enemy by it. Thence home by hackney, calling Roger Pepys at the Temple gate in the bookseller's shop, and to the Old Exchange, where I staid a little to invite my uncle Wight, and so home, and there find my aunt Wight and her husband come presently, and so to dinner; and after dinner Roger, and I, and my wife, and aunt, to see Mr. Cole; but he nor his wife was within, but we looked upon his picture of Cleopatra, which I went principally to see, being so much commended by my wife and aunt; but I find it a base copy of a good originall, that vexed me to hear so much commended. Thence to see Creed's wife, and did so, and staid a while, where both of them within; and here I met Mr. Bland, newly come from Gales [Cadiz] after his differences with Norwood. I think him a foolish, light-headed man; but certainly he hath been abused in this matter by Colonel Norwood. Here Creed shewed me a copy of some propositions, which Bland and others, in the name of the Corporation of Tangier, did present to Norwood, for his opinion in, in order to the King's service, which were drawn up very humbly, and were really good things; but his answer to them was in the most shitten proud, carping, insolent, and ironically-prophane stile, that ever I saw in my life, so as I shall never think the place can do well, while he is there. Here, after some talk, and Creed's telling us that he is upon taking the next house to his present lodgings, which is next to that that my cozen Tom Pepys once lived in, in Newport Street, in Covent Garden; and is in a good place, and then, I suppose, he will keep his coach. So, setting Roger down at the Temple, who tells me that he is now concluded in all matters with his widow, we home, and there hired my wife to make an end of Boyle's Book of Formes, to-night and to-morrow; and so fell to read and sup, and then to bed. This day, Mr. Ned Pickering brought his lady to see my wife, in acknowledgment of a little present of oranges and olives, which I sent her, for his kindness to me in the buying of my horses, which was very civil. She is old, but hath, I believe, been a pretty comely woman: 30th. Lay long in bed, it being a fast-day for the murder of the late King; and so up and to church, where Dr. Hicks made a dull sermon; and so home, and there I find W. Batelier and Balty, and they dined with us, and I spent all the afternoon with my wife and W. Batelier talking, and then making them read, and particularly made an end of Mr. Boyle's Book of Formes, which I am glad to have over, and then fell to read a French discourse, which he hath brought over with him for me, to invite the people of France to apply themselves to Navigation, which it do very well, and is certainly their interest, and what will undo us in a few years, if the King of France goes on to fit up his Navy, and encrease it and his trade, as he hath begun. At night to supper, and after supper, and W. Batelier gone, my wife begun another book I lately bought, called "The State of England," which promises well, and is worth reading, and so after a while to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Lay long talking with pleasure, and so up and I to church, and there did hear the Doctor that is lately turned Divine, I have forgot his name, I met him a while since at Sir D. Gawden's at dinner, Dr. Waterhouse! He preaches in a devout manner of way, not elegant nor very persuasive, but seems to mean well, and that he would preach holily; and was mighty passionate against people that make a scoff of religion. And, the truth is, I did observe Mrs. Hollworthy smile often, and many others of the parish, who, I perceive, have known him, and were in mighty expectation of hearing him preach, but could not forbear smiling, and she particularly upon me, and I on her. So home to dinner: and before dinner to my Office, to set down my journal for this week, and then home to dinner; and after dinner to get my wife and boy, one after another, to read to me: and so spent the afternoon and the evening, and so after supper to bed. And thus endeth this month, with many different days of sadness and mirth, from differences between me and my wife, from her remembrance of my late unkindness to her with Willet, she not being able to forget it, but now and then hath her passionate remembrance of it as often as prompted to it by any occasion; but this night we are at present very kind. And so ends this month. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Dine with them, at my cozen Roger's mistress's Dutchmen come out of the mouth and tail of a Hamburgh sow Fain to keep a woman on purpose at 20s. a week Find it a base copy of a good originall, that vexed me Found in my head and body about twenty lice, little and great I have itched mightily these 6 or 7 days I know I have made myself an immortal enemy by it Lady Castlemayne is now in a higher command over the King Mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will Observing my eyes to be mightily employed in the playhouse Proud, carping, insolent, and ironically-prophane stile She finds that I am lousy Unquiet which her ripping up of old faults will give me Up, and with W. Hewer, my guard, to White Hall Weeping to myself for grief, which she discerning, come to bed 
4197	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. FEBRUARY & MARCH 1668-1669 February 1st. Up, and by water from the Tower to White Hall, the first time that I have gone to that end of the town by water, for two or three months, I think, since I kept a coach, which God send propitious to me; but it is a very great convenience. I went to a Committee of Tangier, but it did not meet, and so I meeting Mr. Povy, he and I away to Dancre's, to speak something touching the pictures I am getting him to make for me. And thence he carried me to Mr. Streeter's, the famous history-painter over the way, whom I have often heard of, but did never see him before; and there I found him, and Dr. Wren, and several Virtuosos, looking upon the paintings which he is making for the new Theatre at Oxford: and, indeed, they look as if they would be very fine, and the rest think better than those of Rubens in the Banqueting-house at White Hall, but I do not so fully think so. But they will certainly be very noble; and I am mightily pleased to have the fortune to see this man and his work, which is very famous; and he a very civil little man, and lame, but lives very handsomely. So thence to my Lord Bellassis, and met him within: my business only to see a chimney-piece of Dancre's doing, in distemper, with egg to keep off the glaring of the light, which I must have done for my room: and indeed it is pretty, but, I must confess, I do think it is not altogether so beautiful as the oyle pictures; but I will have some of one, and some of another. Thence set him down at Little Turnstile, and so I home, and there eat a little dinner, and away with my wife by coach to the King's playhouse, thinking to have seen "The Heyresse," first acted on Saturday last; but when we come thither, we find no play there; Kinaston, that did act a part therein, in abuse to Sir Charles Sedley, being last night exceedingly beaten with sticks, by two or three that assaulted him, so as he is mightily bruised, and forced to keep his bed. So we to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "She Would if She Could," and so home and to my office to business, and then to supper and to bed. This day, going to the play, The. Turner met us, and carried us to her mother, at my Lady Mordaunt's; and I did carry both mother and daughter with us to the Duke of York's playhouse, at next door. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and home to dinner at noon, where I find Mr. Sheres; and there made a short dinner, and carried him with us to the King's playhouse, where "The Heyresse," not-withstanding Kinaston's being beaten, is acted; and they say the King is very angry with Sir Charles Sedley for his being beaten, but he do deny it. But his part is done by Beeston, who is fain to read it out of a book all the while, and thereby spoils the part, and almost the play, it being one of the best parts in it; and though the design is, in the first conception of it, pretty good, yet it is but an indifferent play, wrote, they say, by my Lord Newcastle. But it was pleasant to see Beeston come in with others, supposing it to be dark, and yet he is forced to read his part by the light of the candles: and this I observing to a gentleman that sat by me, he was mightily pleased therewith, and spread it up and down. But that, that pleased me most in the play is, the first song that Knepp sings, she singing three or four; and, indeed, it was very finely sung, so as to make the whole house clap her. Thence carried Sheres to White Hall, and there I stepped in, and looked out Mr. May, who tells me that he and his company cannot come to dine with me to-morrow, whom I expected only to come to see the manner of our Office and books, at which I was not very much displeased, having much business at the Office, and so away home, and there to the office about my letters, and then home to supper and to bed, my wife being in mighty ill humour all night, and in the morning I found it to be from her observing Knepp to wink and smile on me; and she says I smiled on her; and, poor wretch! I did perceive that she did, and do on all such occasions, mind my eyes. I did, with much difficulty, pacify her, and were friends, she desiring that hereafter, at that house, we might always sit either above in a box, or, if there be [no] room, close up to the lower boxes. 3rd. So up, and to the Office till noon, and then home to a little dinner, and thither again till night, mighty busy, to my great content, doing a great deal of business, and so home to supper, and to bed; I finding this day that I may be able to do a great deal of business by dictating, if I do not read myself, or write, without spoiling my eyes, I being very well in my eyes after a great day's work. 4th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home with my people to dinner, and then after dinner comes Mr. Spong to see me, and brings me my Parallelogram, in better order than before, and two or three draughts of the port of Brest, to my great content, and I did call Mr. Gibson to take notice of it, who is very much pleased therewith; and it seems this Parallelogram is not, as Mr. Sheres would, the other day, have persuaded me, the same as a Protractor, which do so much the more make me value it, but of itself it is a most usefull instrument. Thence out with my wife and him, and carried him to an instrument-maker's shop in Chancery Lane, that was once a 'Prentice of Greatorex's, but the master was not within, and there he [Gibson] shewed me a Parallelogram in brass, which I like so well that I will buy, and therefore bid it be made clean and fit for me. And so to my cozen Turner's, and there just spoke with The., the mother not being at home; and so to the New Exchange, and thence home to my letters; and so home to supper and to bed. This morning I made a slip from the Office to White Hall, expecting Povy's business at a Committee of Tangier, at which I would be, but it did not meet, and so I presently back. 5th. Up betimes, by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, and with him by coach to White Hall, and there walked in the garden talking of several things, and by my visit to keep fresh my interest in him; and there he tells me how it hath been talked that he was to go one of the Commissioners to Ireland, which he was resolved never to do, unless directly commanded; for he told me that for to go thither, while the Chief Secretary of State was his professed enemy, was to undo himself; and, therefore, it were better for him to venture being unhappy here, than to go further off, to be undone by some obscure instructions, or whatever other way of mischief his enemies should cut out for him. He mighty kind to me, and so parted, and thence home, calling in two or three places--among others, Dancre's, where I find him beginning of a piece for me, of Greenwich, which will please me well, and so home to dinner, and very busy all the afternoon, and so at night home to supper, and to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and thence after dinner to the King's playhouse, and there,--in an upper box, where come in Colonel Poynton and Doll Stacey, who is very fine, and, by her wedding-ring, I suppose he hath married her at last,--did see "The Moor of Venice:" but ill acted in most parts; Mohun, which did a little surprise me, not acting Iago's part by much so well as Clun used to do; nor another Hart's, which was Cassio's; nor, indeed, Burt doing the Moor's so well as I once thought he did. Thence home, and just at Holborn Conduit the bolt broke, that holds the fore-wheels to the perch, and so the horses went away with them, and left the coachman and us; but being near our coachmaker's, and we staying in a little ironmonger's shop, we were presently supplied with another, and so home, and there to my letters at the office, and so to supper and to bed. 7th (Lord's day). My wife mighty peevish in the morning about my lying unquietly a-nights, and she will have it that it is a late practice, from my evil thoughts in my dreams, . . . .and mightily she is troubled about it; but all blew over, and I up, and to church, and so home to dinner, where she in a worse fit, which lasted all the afternoon, and shut herself up, in her closet, and I mightily grieved and vexed, and could not get her to tell me what ayled her, or to let me into her closet, but at last she did, where I found her crying on the ground, and I could not please her; but I did at last find that she did plainly expound it to me. It was, that she did believe me false to her with Jane, and did rip up three or four silly circumstances of her not rising till I come out of my chamber, and her letting me thereby see her dressing herself; and that I must needs go into her chamber and was naught with her; which was so silly, and so far from truth, that I could not be troubled at it, though I could not wonder at her being troubled, if she had these thoughts, and therefore she would lie from me, and caused sheets to be put on in the blue room, and would have Jane to lie with her lest I should come to her. At last, I did give her such satisfaction, that we were mighty good friends, and went to bed betimes . . . . . 8th. Up, and dressed myself; and by coach, with W. Hewer and my wife, to White Hall, where she set us two down; and in the way, our little boy, at Martin, my bookseller's shop, going to 'light, did fall down; and, had he not been a most nimble boy (I saw how he did it, and was mightily pleased with him for it), he had been run over by the coach. I to visit my Lord Sandwich; and there, while my Lord was dressing himself, did see a young Spaniard, that he hath brought over with him, dance, which he is admired for, as the best dancer in Spain, and indeed he do with mighty mastery; but I do not like his dancing as the English, though my Lord commends it mightily: but I will have him to my house, and show it my wife. Here I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me the state of my Lord's accounts of his embassy, which I find not so good as I thought: for, though it be passed the King and his Cabal (the Committee for Foreign Affairs as they are called), yet they have cut off from L9000 full L8000, and have now sent it to the Lords of the Treasury, who, though the Committee have allowed the rest, yet they are not obliged to abide by it. So that I do fear this account may yet be long ere it be passed--much more, ere that sum be paid: I am sorry for the family, and not a little for what it owes me. So to my wife, took her up at Unthank's, and in our way home did shew her the tall woman in Holborne, which I have seen before; and I measured her, and she is, without shoes, just six feet five inches high, and they say not above twenty-one years old. Thence home, and there to dinner, and my wife in a wonderful ill humour; and, after dinner, I staid with her alone, being not able to endure this life, and fell to some angry words together; but by and by were mighty good friends, she telling me plain it was still about Jane, whom she cannot believe but I am base with, which I made a matter of mirth at; but at last did call up Jane, and confirm her mistress's directions for her being gone at Easter, which I find the wench willing to be, but directly prayed that Tom might go with her, which I promised, and was but what I designed; and she being thus spoke with, and gone, my wife and I good friends, and mighty kind, I having promised, and I will perform it, never to give her for the time to come ground of new trouble; and so I to the Office, with a very light heart, and there close at my business all the afternoon. This day I was told by Mr. Wren, that Captain Cox, Master-Attendant at Deptford, is to be one of us very soon, he and Tippets being to take their turns for Chatham and Portsmouth, which choice I like well enough; and Captain Annesley is to come in his room at Deptford. This morning also, going to visit Roger Pepys, at the potticary's in King's Street, he tells me that Roger is gone to his wife's, so that they have been married, as he tells me, ever since the middle of last week: it was his design, upon good reasons, to make no noise of it; but I am well enough contented that it is over. Dispatched a great deal of business at the office, and there pretty late, till finding myself very full of wind, by my eating no dinner to-day, being vexed, I was forced to go home, and there supped W. Batelier with us, and so with great content to bed. 9th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office, and after dinner abroad with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Island Princesse," which I like mighty well, as an excellent play: and here we find Kinaston to be well enough to act again, which he do very well, after his beating by Sir Charles Sedley's appointment; and so thence home, and there to my business at the Office, and after my letters done, then home to supper and to bed, my mind being mightily eased by my having this morning delivered to the Office a letter of advice about our answers to the Commissioners of Accounts, whom we have neglected, and I have done this as a record in my justification hereafter, when it shall come to be examined. 10th. Up, and with my wife and W. Hewer, she set us down at White Hall, where the Duke of York was gone a-hunting: and so, after I had done a little business there, I to my wife, and with her to the plaisterer's at Charing Cross, that casts heads and bodies in plaister: and there I had my whole face done; but I was vexed first to be forced to daub all my face over with pomatum: but it was pretty to feel how soft and easily it is done on the face, and by and by, by degrees, how hard it becomes, that you cannot break it, and sits so close, that you cannot pull it off, and yet so easy, that it is as soft as a pillow, so safe is everything where many parts of the body do bear alike. Thus was the mould made; but when it came off there was little pleasure in it, as it looks in the mould, nor any resemblance whatever there will be in the figure, when I come to see it cast off, which I am to call for a day or two hence, which I shall long to see. Thence to Hercules Pillars, and there my wife and W. Hewer and I dined, and back to White Hall, where I staid till the Duke of York come from hunting, which he did by and by, and, when dressed, did come out to dinner; and there I waited: and he did tell me that to-morrow was to be the great day that the business of the Navy would be dis coursed of before the King and his Caball, and that he must stand on his guard, and did design to have had me in readiness by, but that upon second thoughts did think it better to let it alone, but they are now upon entering into the economical part of the Navy. Here he dined, and did mightily magnify his sauce, which he did then eat with every thing, and said it was the best universal sauce in the world, it being taught him by the Spanish Embassador; made of some parsley and a dry toast, beat in a mortar, together with vinegar, salt, and a little pepper: he eats it with flesh, or fowl, or fish: and then he did now mightily commend some new sort of wine lately found out, called Navarre wine, which I tasted, and is, I think, good wine: but I did like better the notion of the sauce, and by and by did taste it, and liked it mightily. After dinner, I did what I went for, which was to get his consent that Balty might hold his Muster-Master's place by deputy, in his new employment which I design for him, about the Storekeeper's accounts; which the Duke of York did grant me, and I was mighty glad of it. Thence home, and there I find Povy and W. Batelier, by appointment, met to talk of some merchandize of wine and linnen; but I do not like of their troubling my house to meet in, having no mind to their pretences of having their rendezvous here, but, however, I was not much troubled, but went to the office, and there very busy, and did much business till late at night, and so home to supper, and with great pleasure to bed. This day, at dinner, I sent to Mr. Spong to come to me to Hercules Pillars, who come to us, and there did bring with him my new Parallelogram of brass, which I was mightily pleased with, and paid for it 25s., and am mightily pleased with his ingenious and modest company. 11th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home and heard that the last night Colonel Middleton's wife died, a woman I never saw since she come hither, having never been within their house since. Home at noon to dinner, and thence to work all the afternoon with great pleasure, and did bring my business to a very little compass in my day book, which is a mighty pleasure, and so home to supper and get my wife to read to me, and then to bed. 12th. Up, and my wife with me to White Hall, and Tom, and there she sets us down, and there to wait on the Duke of York, with the rest of us, at the Robes, where the Duke of York did tell us that the King would have us prepare a draught of the present administration of the Navy, and what it was in the late times, in order to his being able to distinguish between the good and the bad, which I shall do, but to do it well will give me a great deal of trouble. Here we shewed him Sir J. Minnes's propositions about balancing Storekeeper's accounts; and I did shew him Hosier's, which did please him mightily, and he will have it shewed the Council and King anon, to be put in practice. Thence to the Treasurer's; and I and Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Tippets down to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and there had a hot debate from Sir Thomas Clifford and my Lord Ashly (the latter of which, I hear, is turning about as fast as he can to the Duke of Buckingham's side, being in danger, it seems, of being otherwise out of play, which would not be convenient for him), against Sir W. Coventry and Sir J. Duncomb, who did uphold our Office against an accusation of our Treasurers, who told the Lords that they found that we had run the King in debt L50,000 or more, more than the money appointed for the year would defray, which they declared like fools, and with design to hurt us, though the thing is in itself ridiculous. But my Lord Ashly and Clifford did most horribly cry out against the want of method in the Office. At last it come that it should be put in writing what they had to object; but I was devilish mad at it, to see us thus wounded by our own members, and so away vexed, and called my wife, and to Hercules Pillars, Tom and I, there dined; and here there coming a Frenchman by with his Shew, we did make him shew it us, which he did just as Lacy acts it, which made it mighty pleasant to me. So after dinner we away and to Dancre's, and there saw our picture of Greenwich in doing, which is mighty pretty, and so to White Hall, my wife to Unthank's, and I attended with Lord Brouncker the King and Council, about the proposition of balancing Storekeeper's accounts and there presented Hosier's book, and it was mighty well resented and approved of. So the Council being up, we to the Queen's side with the King and Duke of York: and the Duke of York did take me out to talk of our Treasurers, whom he is mighty angry with: and I perceive he is mighty desirous to bring in as many good motions of profit and reformation in the Navy as he can, before the Treasurers do light upon them, they being desirous, it seems, to be thought the great reformers: and the Duke of York do well. But to my great joy he is mighty open to me in every thing; and by this means I know his whole mind, and shall be able to secure myself, if he stands. Here to-night I understand, by my Lord Brouncker, that at last it is concluded on by the King and Buckingham that my Lord of Ormond shall not hold his government of Ireland, which is a great stroke, to shew the power of Buckingham and the poor spirit of the King, and little hold that any man can have of him. Thence I homeward, and calling my wife called at my cozen Turner's, and there met our new cozen Pepys (Mrs. Dickenson), and Bab. and Betty' come yesterday to town, poor girls, whom we have reason to love, and mighty glad we are to see them; and there staid and talked a little, being also mightily pleased to see Betty Turner, who is now in town, and her brothers Charles and Will, being come from school to see their father, and there talked a while, and so home, and there Pelling hath got me W. Pen's book against the Trinity. [Entitled, "The Sandy Foundation Shaken; or those . . . doctrines of one God subsisting in three distinct and separate persons; the impossibility of God's pardoning sinners without a plenary satisfaction, the justification of impure persons by an imputative righteousness, refuted from the authority of Scripture testimonies and right reason, etc. London, 1668." It caused him to be imprisoned in the Tower. "Aug. 4, 1669. Young Penn who wrote the blasphemous book is delivered to his father to be transported" ("Letter to Sir John Birkenhead, quoted by Bishop Kennett in his MS. Collections, vol. lxxxix., p. 477).] I got my wife to read it to me; and I find it so well writ as, I think, it is too good for him ever to have writ it; and it is a serious sort of book, and not fit for every body to read. So to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner, and thence to the office again mighty busy, to my great content, till night, and then home to supper and, my eyes being weary, to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, and there, he taking physic, I with him all the morning, full of very good discourse of the Navy and publick matters, to my great content, wherein I find him doubtful that all will be bad, and, for his part, he tells me he takes no more care for any thing more than in the Treasury; and that, that being done, he goes to cards and other delights, as plays, and in summertime to bowles. But here he did shew me two or three old books of the Navy, of my Lord Northumberland's' times, which he hath taken many good notes out of, for justifying the Duke of York and us, in many things, wherein, perhaps, precedents will be necessary to produce, which did give me great content. At noon home, and pleased mightily with my morning's work, and coming home, I do find a letter from Mr. Wren, to call me to the Duke of York after dinner. So dined in all haste, and then W. Hewer and my wife and I out, we set her at my cozen Turner's while we to White Hall, where the Duke of York expected me; and in his closet Wren and I. He did tell me how the King hath been acquainted with the Treasurers' discourse at the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, the other day, and is dissatisfied with our running him in debt, which I removed; and he did, carry me to the King, and I did satisfy him also; but his satisfaction is nothing worth, it being easily got, and easily removed; but I do purpose to put in writing that which shall make the Treasurers ashamed. But the Duke of York is horrid angry against them; and he hath cause, for they do all they can to bring dishonour upon his management, as do vainly appear in all they do. Having done with the Duke of York, who do repose all in me, I with Mr. Wren to his, chamber, to talk; where he observed, that these people are all of them a broken sort of people, that have not much to lose, and therefore will venture all to make their fortunes better: that Sir Thomas Osborne is a beggar, having 11 of L1200 a-year, but owes above L10,000. The Duke of Buckingham's condition is shortly this: that he hath about L19,600 a-year, of which he pays away about L7,000 a-year in interest, about L2000 in fee-farm rents to the King, about L6000 wages and pensions, and the rest to live upon, and pay taxes for the whole. Wren says, that for the Duke of York to stir in this matter, as his quality might justify, would but make all things worse, and that therefore he must bend, and suffer all, till time works it out: that he fears they will sacrifice the Church, and that the King will take anything, and so he will hold up his head a little longer, and then break in pieces. But Sir W. Coventry did today mightily magnify my late Lord Treasurer, for a wise and solid, though infirm man: and, among other things, that when he hath said it was impossible in nature to find this or that sum of money, and my Lord Chancellor hath made sport of it, and tell the King that when my Lord hath said it [was] impossible, yet he hath made shift to find it, and that was by Sir G. Carteret's getting credit, my Lord did once in his hearing say thus, which he magnifies as a great saying--that impossible would be found impossible at last; meaning that the King would run himself out, beyond all his credit and funds, and then we should too late find it impossible; which is, he says, now come to pass. For that Sir W. Coventry says they could borrow what money they would, if they had assignments, and funds to secure it with, which before they had enough of, and then must spend it as if it would never have an end. From White Hall to my cozen Turner's, and there took up my wife; and so to my uncle Wight's, and there sat and supped, and talked pretty merry, and then walked home, and to bed. 15th. Up, and with Tom to White Hall; and there at a Committee of Tangier, where a great instance of what a man may lose by the neglect of a friend: Povy never had such an opportunity of passing his accounts, the Duke of York being there, and everybody well disposed, and in expectation of them; but my Lord Ashly, on whom he relied, and for whose sake this day was pitched on, that he might be sure to be there, among the rest of his friends, staid too long, till the Duke of York and the company thought unfit to stay longer and so the day lost, and God knows when he will ever have so good a one again, as long as he lives; and this was the man of the whole company that he hath made the most interest to gain, and now most depended upon him. So up and down the house a while, and then to the plaisterer's, and there saw the figure of my face taken from the mould: and it is most admirably like, and I will have another made, before I take it away, and therefore I away and to the Temple, and thence to my cozen Turner's, where, having the last night been told by her that she had drawn me for her Valentine, I did this day call at the New Exchange, and bought her a pair of green silk stockings and garters and shoe-strings, and two pair of jessimy gloves, all coming to about 28s., and did give them her this noon. At the 'Change, I did at my bookseller's shop accidentally fall into talk with Sir Samuel Tuke about trees, and Mr. Evelyn's garden; and I do find him, I think, a little conceited, but a man of very fine discourse as any I ever heard almost, which I was mighty glad of. I dined at my cozen Turner's, and my wife also and her husband there, and after dinner, my wife and I endeavoured to make a visit to Ned Pickering; but he not at home, nor his lady; and therefore back again, and took up my cozen Turner, and to my cozen Roger's lodgings, and there find him pretty well again, and his wife mighty kind and merry, and did make mighty much of us, and I believe he is married to a very good woman. Here was also Bab. and Betty, who have not their clothes yet, and therefore cannot go out, otherwise I would have had them abroad to-morrow; but the poor girls mighty kind to us, and we must skew them kindness also. Here in Suffolk Street lives Moll Davis; and we did see her coach come for her to her door, a mighty pretty fine coach. Here we staid an hour or two, and then carried Turner home, and there staid and talked a while, and then my wife and I to White Hall; and there, by means of Mr. Cooling, did get into the play, the only one we have seen this winter: it was "The Five Hours' Adventure:" but I sat so far I could not hear well, nor was there any pretty woman that I did see, but my wife, who sat in my Lady Fox's pew [We may suppose that pews were by no means common at this time within consecrated walls, from the word being applied indifferently by Pepys to a box in a place of amusement, and two days afterwards to a seat at church. It would appear, from other authorities, that between 1646 and 1660 scarcely any pews had been erected; and Sir C. Wren is known to have objected to their introduction into his London churches.--B.] with her. The house very full; and late before done, so that it was past eleven before we got home. But we were well pleased with seeing it, and so to supper, where it happened that there was no bread in the house, which was an unusual case, and so to bed. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, my head full of business of the office now at once on my hands, and so at noon home to dinner, where I find some things of W. Batelier's come out of France, among which some clothes for my wife, wherein she is likely to lead me to the expence of so much money as vexed me; but I seemed so, more than I at this time was, only to prevent her taking too much, and she was mighty calm under it. But I was mightily pleased with another picture of the King of France's head, of Nanteuil's, bigger than the other which he brought over, that pleases me infinitely: and so to the Office, where busy all the afternoon, though my eyes mighty bad with the light of the candles last night, which was so great as to make my eyes sore all this day, and do teach me, by a manifest experiment, that it is only too much light that do make my eyes sore. Nevertheless, with the help of my tube, and being desirous of easing my mind of five or six days journall, I did venture to write it down from ever since this day se'nnight, and I think without hurting my eyes any more than they were before, which was very much, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and with W. Hewer with me to Lincoln's Inn, by appointment, to have spoke with Mr. Pedley about Mr. Goldsborough's business and Mr. Weaver's, but he was gone out, and so I with Mr. Castle, the son-in-law of Weaver, to White Hall to look for him, but did not find him, but here I did meet with several and talked, and do hear only that the King dining yesterday at the Dutch Embassador's, after dinner they drank, and were pretty merry; and, among the rest of the King's company, there was that worthy fellow my lord of Rochester, and Tom Killigrew, whose mirth and raillery offended the former so much, that he did give Tom Killigrew a box on the ear in the King's presence, which do much give offence to the people here at Court, to see how cheap the King makes himself, and the more, for that the King hath not only passed by the thing, and pardoned it to Rochester already, but this very morning the King did publickly walk up and down, and Rochester I saw with him as free as ever, to the King's everlasting shame, to have so idle a rogue his companion. How Tom Killigrew takes it, I do not hear. I do also this day hear that my Lord Privy Seale do accept to go Lieutenant into Ireland; but whether it be true or no, I cannot tell. So calling at my shoemaker's, and paying him to this day, I home to dinner, and in the afternoon to Colonel Middleton's house, to the burial of his wife, where we are all invited, and much more company, and had each of us a ring: and so towards evening to our church, where there was a sermon preached by Mills, and so home. At church there was my Lord Brouncker and Mrs. Williams in our pew, the first time they were ever there or that I knew that either of them would go to church. At home comes Castle to me, to desire me to go to Mr. Pedly, this night, he being to go out of town to-morrow morning, which I, therefore, did, by hackney-coach, first going to White Hall to meet with Sir W. Coventry, but missed him. But here I had a pleasant rencontre of a lady in mourning, that, by the little light I had, seemed handsome. I passing by her, I did observe she looked back again and again upon me, I suffering her to go before, and it being now duske. I observed she went into the little passage towards the Privy Water-Gate, and I followed, but missed her; but coming back again, I observed she returned, and went to go out of the Court. I followed her, and took occasion, in the new passage now built, where the walke is to be, to take her by the hand, to lead her through, which she willingly accepted, and I led her to the Great Gate, and there left her, she telling me, of her own accord, that she was going as far as, Charing Cross; but my boy was at the gate, and so je durst not go out con her, which vexed me, and my mind (God forgive me) did run apres her toute that night, though I have reason to thank God, and so I do now, that I was not tempted to go further. So to Lincoln's Inn, where to Mr. Pedly, with whom I spoke, and did my business presently: and I find him a man of very good language, and mighty civil, and I believe very upright: and so home, where W. Batelier was, and supped with us, and I did reckon this night what I owed him; and I do find that the things my wife, of her own head, hath taken (together with my own, which comes not to above L5), comes to above L22. But it is the last, and so I am the better contented; and they are things that are not trifles, but clothes, gloves, shoes, hoods, &c. So after supper, to bed. 18th. Up, and to the Office, and at noon home, expecting to have this day seen Bab. and Betty Pepys here, but they come not; and so after dinner my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, to a play, and there saw "The Mad Lover," which do not please me so well as it used to do, only Betterton's part still pleases me. But here who should we have come to us but Bab. and Betty and Talbot, the first play they were yet at; and going to see us, and hearing by my boy, whom I sent to them, that we were here, they come to us hither, and happened all of us to sit by my cozen Turner and The., and we carried them home first, and then took Bab. and Betty to our house, where they lay and supped, and pretty merry, and very fine with their new clothes, and good comely girls they are enough, and very glad I am of their being with us, though I would very well have been contented to have been without the charge. So they to bed and we to bed. 19th. Up, and after seeing the girls, who lodged in our bed, with their maid Martha, who hath been their father's maid these twenty years and more, I with Lord Brouncker to White Hall, where all of us waited on the Duke of York; and after our usual business done, W. Hewer and I to look my wife at the Black Lion, Mercer's, but she is gone home, and so I home and there dined, and W. Batelierand W. Hewer with us. All the afternoon I at the Office, while the young people went to see Bedlam, and at night home to them and to supper, and pretty merry, only troubled with a great cold at this time, and my eyes very bad ever since Monday night last that the light of the candles spoiled me. So to bed. This morning, among other things, talking with Sir W. Coventry, I did propose to him my putting in to serve in Parliament, if there should, as the world begins to expect, be a new one chose: he likes it mightily, both for the King's and Service's sake, and the Duke of York's, and will propound it to the Duke of York: and I confess, if there be one, I would be glad to be in. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then home to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife and my two girls to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Gratefull Servant," a pretty good play, and which I have forgot that ever I did see. And thence with them to Mrs. Gotier's, the Queen's tire-woman, for a pair of locks for my wife; she is an oldish French woman, but with a pretty hand as most I have seen; and so home, and to supper, W. Batelier and W. Hewer with us, and so my cold being great, and greater by my having left my coat at my tailor's to-night and come home in a thinner that I borrowed there, I went to bed before them and slept pretty well. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife and two girls to church, they very fine; and so home, where comes my cozen Roger and his wife, I having sent for them, to dine with us, and there comes in by chance also Mr. Shepley, who is come to town with my Lady Paulina, who is desperately sick, and is gone to Chelsey, to the old house where my Lord himself was once sick, where I doubt my Lord means to visit hers more for young Mrs. Beck's sake than for hers. Here we dined with W. Batelier, and W. Hewer with us, these two, girls making it necessary that they be always with us, for I am not company light enough to be always merry with them and so sat talking all the afternoon, and then Shepley went: away first, and then my cozen Roger and his wife. And so I, to my Office, to write down my Journall, and so home to my chamber and to do a little business there, my papers being in mighty disorder, and likely so to continue while these girls are with us. In the evening comes W. Batelier and his sisters and supped and talked with us, and so spent the evening, myself being somewhat out of order because of my eyes, which have never been well since last Sunday's reading at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and so after supper to bed. 22nd. Up, and betimes to White Hall; but there the Duke of York is gone abroad a-hunting, and therefore after a little stay there I into London, with Sir H. Cholmly, talking all the way of Tangier matters, wherein I find him troubled from some reports lately from Norwood (who is his great enemy and I doubt an ill man), of some decay of the Mole, and a breach made therein by the sea to a great value. He set me down at the end of Leadenhall Street, and so I home, and after dinner, with my wife, in her morning-gown, and the two girls dressed, to Unthanke's, where my wife dresses herself, having her gown this day laced, and a new petticoat; and so is indeed very fine. And in the evening I do carry them to White Hall, and there did without much trouble get into the playhouse, there in a good place among the Ladies of Honour, and myself also sat in the pit; and there by and by come the King and Queen, and they begun "Bartholomew Fayre." But I like no play here so well as at the common playhouse; besides that, my eyes being very ill since last Sunday and this day se'nnight, with the light of the candles, I was in mighty pain to defend myself now from the light of the candles. After the play done, we met with W. Batelier and W. Hewer and Talbot Pepys, and they follow us in a hackney-coach: and we all stopped at Hercules' Pillars; and there I did give them the best supper I could, and pretty merry; and so home between eleven and twelve at night, and so to bed, mightily well pleased with this day's work. 23rd. Up: and to the Office, where all the morning, and then home, and put a mouthfull of victuals in my mouth; and by a hackney-coach followed my wife and the girls, who are gone by eleven o'clock, thinking to have seen a new play at the Duke of York's house. But I do find them staying at my tailor's, the play not being to-day, and therefore I now took them to Westminster Abbey, and there did show them all the tombs very finely, having one with us alone, there being other company this day to see the tombs, it being Shrove Tuesday; and here we did see, by particular favour, the body of Queen Katherine of Valois; and I had the upper part of her body in my hands, and I did kiss her mouth, reflecting upon it that I did kiss a Queen, [Pepys's attachment to the fair sex extended even to a dead queen. The record of this royal salute on his natal day is very characteristic. The story told him in Westminster Abbey appears to have been correct; for Neale informs us ("History of Westminster Abbey," vol. ii., p. 88) that near the south side of Henry V.'s tomb there was formerly a wooden chest, or coffin, wherein part of the skeleton and parched body of Katherine de Valois, his queen (from the waist upwards), was to be seen. She was interred in January, 1457, in the Chapel of Our Lady, at the east end of this church; but when that building was pulled down by her grandson, Henry VII., her coffin was found to be decayed, and her body was taken up, and placed in a chest, near her first husband's tomb. "There," says Dart, "it hath ever since continued to be seen, the bones being firmly united, and thinly clothed with flesh, like scrapings of tanned leather." This awful spectacle of frail mortality was at length removed from the public gaze into St. Nicholas's Chapel, and finally deposited under the monument of Sir George Villiers, when the vault was made for the remains of Elizabeth Percy, Duchess of Northumberland, in December, 1776.--B.] and that this was my birth-day, thirty-six years old, that I did first kiss a Queen. But here this man, who seems to understand well, tells me that the saying is not true that says she was never buried, for she was buried; only, when Henry the Seventh built his chapel, it was taken up and laid in this wooden coffin; but I did there see that, in it, the body was buried in a leaden one, which remains under the body to this day. Thence to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, finding the play begun, we homeward to the Glass-House, [Glass House Alley, Whitefriars and Blackfriars, marked the site for some years: The Whitefriars Glass Works of Messrs. Powell and Sons are on the old site, now Temple Street.] and there shewed my cozens the making of glass, and had several things made with great content; and, among others, I had one or two singing-glasses made, which make an echo to the voice, the first that ever I saw; but so thin, that the very breath broke one or two of them. So home, and thence to Mr. Batelier's, where we supped, and had a good supper, and here was Mr. Gumbleton; and after supper some fiddles, and so to dance; but my eyes were so out of order, that I had little pleasure this night at all, though I was glad to see the rest merry, and so about midnight home and to bed. 24th. Lay long in bed, both being sleepy and my eyes bad, and myself having a great cold so as I was hardly able to speak, but, however, by and by up and to the office, and at noon home with my people to dinner, and then I to the office again, and there till the evening doing of much business, and at night my wife sends for me to W. Hewer's lodging, where I find two best chambers of his so finely furnished, and all so rich and neat, that I was mightily pleased with him and them and here only my wife, and I, and the two girls, and had a mighty neat dish of custards and tarts, and good drink and talk. And so away home to bed, with infinite content at this his treat; for it was mighty pretty, and everything mighty rich. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon home and eat a bit myself, and then followed my wife and girls to the Duke of York's house, and there before one, but the house infinite full, where, by and by, the King and Court come, it being a new play, or an old one new vamped, by Shadwell, called "The Royall Shepherdesse;" but the silliest for words and design, and everything, that ever I saw in my whole life, there being nothing in the world pleasing in it, but a good martial dance of pikemen, where Harris and another do handle their pikes in a dance to admiration; but never less satisfied with a play in my life. Thence to the office I, and did a little business, and so home to supper with my girls, and pretty merry, only my eyes, which continue very bad, and my cold, that I cannot speak at all, do trouble me. 26th. Was forced to send my excuse to the Duke of York for my not attending him with my fellows this day because of my cold, and was the less troubled because I was thereby out of the way to offer my proposals about Pursers till the Surveyor hath delivered his notions, which he is to do to-day about something he has to offer relating to the Navy in general, which I would be glad to see and peruse before I offer what I have to say. So lay long in bed, and then up and to my office, and so to dinner, and then, though I could not speak, yet I went with my wife and girls to the King's playhouse, to shew them that, and there saw "The Faithfull Shepherdesse." But, Lord! what an empty house, there not being, as I could tell the people, so many as to make up above L10 in the whole house! The being of a new play at the other house, I suppose, being the cause, though it be so silly a play that I wonder how there should be enough people to go thither two days together, and not leave more to fill this house. The emptiness of the house took away our pleasure a great deal, though I liked it the better; for that I plainly discern the musick is the better, by how much the house the emptier. Thence home, and again to W. Hewer's, and had a pretty little treat, and spent an hour or two, my voice being wholly taken away with my cold, and so home and to bed. 27th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where I could speak but a little. At noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon till night busy at the office again, where forced to speak low and dictate. But that that troubles me most is my eyes, which are still mighty bad night and day, and so home at night to talk and sup with my cozens, and so all of us in mighty good humour to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and got my wife to read to me a copy of what the Surveyor offered to the Duke of York on Friday, he himself putting it into my hands to read; but, Lord! it is a poor, silly thing ever to think to bring it in practice, in the King's Navy. It is to have the Captains to account for all stores and victuals; but upon so silly grounds, to my thinking; and ignorance of the present instructions of Officers, that I am ashamed to hear it. However, I do take a copy of it, for my future use and answering; and so to church, where, God forgive me! I did most of the time gaze on the fine milliner's wife, in Fenchurch Street, who was at our church to-day; and so home to dinner. And after dinner to write down my Journall; and then abroad by coach with my cozens, to their father's, where we are kindly received, but he is an great pain for his man Arthur, who, he fears, is now dead, having been desperately sick, and speaks so much of him that my cozen, his wife, and I did make mirth of it, and call him Arthur O'Bradly. After staying here a little, and eat and drank, and she gave me some ginger-bread made in cakes, like chocolate, very good, made by a friend, I carried him and her to my cozen Turner's, where we staid, expecting her coming from church; but she coming not, I went to her husband's chamber in the Temple, and thence fetched her, she having been there alone ever since sermon staying till the evening to walk home on foot, her horses being ill. This I did, and brought her home. And after talking there awhile, and agreeing to be all merry at my house on Tuesday next, I away home; and there spent the evening talking and reading, with my wife and Mr. Pelling, and yet much troubled with my cold, it hardly suffering me to speak, we to bed. THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MARCH 1668-1669 March 1st. Up, and to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, but it did not meet. But here I do hear first that my Lady Paulina Montagu did die yesterday; at which I went to my Lord's lodgings, but he is shut up with sorrow, and so not to be spoken with: and therefore I returned, and to Westminster Hall, where I have not been, I think, in some months. And here the Hall was very full, the King having, by Commission to some Lords this day, prorogued the Parliament till the 19th of October next: at which I am glad, hoping to have time to go over to France this year. But I was most of all surprised this morning by my Lord Bellassis, who, by appointment, met me at Auditor Wood's, at the Temple, and tells me of a duell designed between the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord Halifax, or Sir W. Coventry; the challenge being carried by Harry Saville, but prevented by my Lord Arlington, and the King told of it; and this was all the discourse at Court this day. But I, meeting Sir W. Coventry in the Duke of York's chamber, he would not own it to me, but told me that he was a man of too much peace to meddle with fighting, and so it rested: but the talk is full in the town of the business. Thence, having walked some turns with my cozen Pepys, and most people, by their discourse, believing that this Parliament will never sit more, I away to several places to look after things against to-morrow's feast, and so home to dinner; and thence, after noon, my wife and I out by hackneycoach, and spent the afternoon in several places, doing several things at the 'Change and elsewhere against to-morrow; and, among others, I did also bring home a piece of my face cast in plaister, for to make a wizard upon, for my eyes. And so home, where W. Batelier come, and sat with us; and there, after many doubts, did resolve to go on with our feast and dancing to-morrow; and so, after supper, left the maids to make clean the house, and to lay the cloth, and other things against to-morrow, and we to bed. 2nd. Up, and at the office till noon, when home, and there I find my company come, namely, Madam Turner, Dyke, The., and Betty Turner, and Mr. Bellwood, formerly their father's clerk, but now set up for himself--a conceited, silly fellow, but one they make mightily of--my cozen Roger Pepys, and his wife, and two daughters. I had a noble dinner for them, as I almost ever had, and mighty merry, and particularly myself pleased with looking on Betty Turner, who is mighty pretty. After dinner, we fell one to one talk, and another to another, and looking over my house, and closet, and things; and The. Turner to write a letter to a lady in the country, in which I did, now and then, put in half a dozen words, and sometimes five or six lines, and then she as much, and made up a long and good letter, she being mighty witty really, though troublesome-humoured with it. And thus till night, that our musick come, and the Office ready and candles, and also W. Batelier and his sister Susan come, and also Will. Howe and two gentlemen more, strangers, which, at my request yesterday, he did bring to dance, called Mr. Ireton and Mr. Starkey. We fell to dancing, and continued, only with intermission for a good supper, till two in the morning, the musick being Greeting, and another most excellent violin, and theorbo, the best in town. And so with mighty mirth, and pleased with their dancing of jigs afterwards several of them, and, among others, Betty Turner, who did it mighty prettily; and, lastly, W. Batelier's "Blackmore and Blackmore Mad;" and then to a country-dance again, and so broke up with extraordinary pleasure, as being one of the days and nights of my life spent with the greatest content; and that which I can but hope to repeat again a few times in my whole life. This done, we parted, the strangers home, and I did lodge my cozen Pepys and his wife in our blue chamber. My cozen Turner, her sister, and The., in our best chamber; Bab., Betty, and Betty Turner, in our own chamber; and myself and my wife in the maid's bed, which is very good. Our maids in the, coachman's bed; the coachman with the boy in his settlebed, and Tom where he uses to lie. And so I did, to my great content, lodge at once in my house, with the greatest ease, fifteen, and eight of them strangers of quality. My wife this day put on first her French gown, called a Sac, which becomes her very well, brought her over by W. Batelier. 3rd. Up, after a very good night's rest, and was called upon by Sir H. Cholmly, who was with me an hour, and though acquainted did not stay to talk with my company I had in the house, but away, and then I to my guests, and got them to breakfast, and then parted by coaches; and I did, in mine, carry my she-cozen Pepys and her daughters home, and there left them, and so to White Hall, where W. Hewer met me; and he and I took a turn in St. James's Park, and in the Mall did meet Sir W. Coventry and Sir J. Duncomb, and did speak with them about some business before the Lords of the Treasury; but I did find them more than usually busy, though I knew not then the reason of it, though I guess it by what followed to-morrow. Thence to Dancre's, the painter's, and there saw my picture of Greenwich, finished to my very good content, though this manner of distemper do make the figures not so pleasing as in oyle. So to Unthanke's, and there took up my wife, and carried her to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw an old play, the first time acted these forty years, called "The Lady's Tryall," acted only by the young people of the house; but the house very full. But it is but a sorry play, and the worse by how much my head is out of humour by being a little sleepy and my legs weary since last night. So after the play we to the New Exchange, and so called at my cozen Turner's; and there, meeting Mr. Bellwood, did hear how my Lord Mayor, being invited this day to dinner at the Reader's at the Temple, and endeavouring to carry his sword up, the students did pull it down, and forced him to go and stay all the day in a private Councillor's chamber, until the Reader himself could get the young gentlemen to dinner; and then my Lord Mayor did retreat out of the Temple by stealth, with his sword up. This do make great heat among the students; and my Lord Mayor did send to the King, and also I hear that Sir Richard Browne did cause the drums to beat for the Train-bands, but all is over, only I hear that the students do resolve to try the Charter of the City. So we home, and betimes to bed, and slept well all night. 4th. Up, and a while at the office, but thinking to have Mr. Povy's business to-day at the Committee for Tangier, I left the Board and away to White Hall, where in the first court I did meet Sir Jeremy Smith, who did tell me that Sir W. Coventry was just now sent to the Tower, about the business of his challenging the Duke of Buckingham, and so was also Harry Saville to the Gate-house; which, as [he is] a gentleman, and of the Duke of York's bedchamber, I heard afterwards that the Duke of York is mightily incensed at, and do appear very high to the King that he might not be sent thither, but to the Tower, this being done only in contempt to him. This news of Sir W. Coventry did strike me to the heart, and with reason, for by this and my Lord of Ormond's business, I do doubt that the Duke of Buckingham will be so flushed, that he will not stop at any thing, but be forced to do any thing now, as thinking it not safe to end here; and, Sir W. Coventry being gone, the King will have never a good counsellor, nor the Duke of York any sure friend to stick to him; nor any good man will be left to advise what is good. This, therefore, do heartily trouble me as any thing that ever I heard. So up into the House, and met with several people; but the Committee did not meet; and the whole House I find full of this business of Sir W. Coventry's, and most men very sensible of the cause and effects of it. So, meeting with my Lord Bellassis, he told me the particulars of this matter; that it arises about a quarrel which Sir W. Coventry had with the Duke of Buckingham about a design between the Duke and Sir Robert Howard, to bring him into a play at the King's house, which W. Coventry not enduring, did by H. Saville send a letter to the Duke of Buckingham, that he had a desire to speak with him. Upon which, the Duke of Buckingham did bid Holmes, his champion ever since my Lord Shrewsbury's business, [Charles II. wrote to his sister (Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans), on March 7th, 1669: "I am not sorry that Sir Will. Coventry has given me this good occasion by sending my Lord of Buckingham a challenge to turne him out of the Councill. I do intend to turn him allso out of the Treasury. The truth of it is, he has been a troublesome man in both places and I am well rid of him" (Julia Cartwright's "Madame," 1894, p. 283).] go to him to know the business; but H. Saville would not tell it to any but himself, and therefore did go presently to the Duke of Buckingham, and told him that his uncle Coventry was a person of honour, and was sensible of his Grace's liberty taken of abusing him, and that he had a desire of satisfaction, and would fight with him. But that here they were interrupted by my Lord Chamberlain's coming in, who was commanded to go to bid the Duke of Buckingham to come to the King, Holmes having discovered it. He told me that the King did last night, at the Council, ask the Duke of Buckingham, upon his honour, whether he had received any challenge from W. Coventry? which he confessed that he had; and then the King asking W. Coventry, he told him that he did not owne what the Duke of Buckingham had said, though it was not fit for him to give him a direct contradiction. But, being by the King put upon declaring, upon his honour, the matter, he answered that he had understood that many hard questions had upon this business been moved to some lawyers, and that therefore he was unwilling to declare any thing that might, from his own mouth, render him obnoxious to his Majesty's displeasure, and, therefore, prayed to be excused: which the King did think fit to interpret to be a confession, and so gave warrant that night for his commitment to the Tower. Being very much troubled at this, I away by coach homewards, and directly to the Tower, where I find him in one Mr. Bennet's house, son to Major Bayly, one of the Officers of the Ordnance, in the Bricke Tower: [The Brick Tower stands on the northern wall, a little to the west of Martin tower, with which it communicates by a secret passage. It was the residence of the Master of the Ordnance, and Raleigh was lodged here for a time.] where I find him busy with my Lord Halifax and his brother; so I would not stay to interrupt them, but only to give him comfort, and offer my service to him, which he kindly and cheerfully received, only owning his being troubled for the King his master's displeasure, which, I suppose, is the ordinary form and will of persons in this condition. And so I parted, with great content, that I had so earlily seen him there; and so going out, did meet Sir Jer. Smith going to meet me, who had newly been with Sir W. Coventry. And so he and I by water to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I have not been, I think, these twelve months: and there to the Treasurer's house, where the Duke of York is, and his Duchess; and there we find them at dinner in the great room, unhung; and there was with them my Lady Duchess of Monmouth, the Countess of Falmouth, Castlemayne, Henrietta Hide' (my Lady Hinchingbroke's sister), and my Lady Peterborough. And after dinner Sir Jer. Smith and I were invited down to dinner with some of the Maids of Honour, namely, Mrs. Ogle, Blake, and Howard, which did me good to have the honour to dine with, and look on; and the Mother of the Maids, and Mrs. Howard, the mother of the Maid of Honour of that name, and the Duke's housekeeper here. Here was also Monsieur Blancfort, Sir Richard Powell, Colonel Villers, Sir Jonathan Trelawny, and others. And here drank most excellent, and great variety, and plenty of wines, more than I have drank, at once, these seven years, but yet did me no great hurt. Having dined and very merry, and understanding by Blancfort how angry the Duke of York was, about their offering to send Saville to the Gate-house, among the rogues; and then, observing how this company, both the ladies and all, are of a gang, and did drink a health to the union of the two brothers, and talking of others as their enemies, they parted, and so we up; and there I did find the Dupe of York and Duchess, with all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet, on the ground, there being no chairs, playing at "I love my love with an A, because he is so and so: and I hate him with an A, because of this and that:" and some of them, but particularly the Duchess herself, and my Lady Castlemayne, were very witty. This done, they took barge, and I with Sir J. Smith to Captain Cox's; and there to talk, and left them and other company to drink; while I slunk out to Bagwell's; and there saw her, and her mother, and our late maid Nell, who cried for joy to see me, but I had no time for pleasure then nor could stay, but after drinking I back to the yard, having a month's mind para have had a bout with Nell, which I believe I could have had, and may another time. So to Cox's, and thence walked with Sir J. Smith back to Redriffe; and so, by water home, and there my wife mighty angry for my absence, and fell mightily out, but not being certain of any thing, but thinks only that Pierce or Knepp was there, and did ask me, and, I perceive, the boy, many questions. But I did answer her; and so, after much ado, did go to bed, and lie quiet all night; but [she] had another bout with me in the morning, but I did make shift to quiet her, but yet she was not fully satisfied, poor wretch! in her mind, and thinks much of my taking so much pleasure from her; which, indeed, is a fault, though I did not design or foresee it when I went. 5th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where did a little business with the Duke of York at our usual attending him, and thence to my wife, who was with my coach at Unthanke's, though not very well of those upon her, and so home to dinner, and after dinner I to the Tower, where I find Sir W. Coventry with abundance of company with him; and after sitting awhile, and hearing some merry discourse, and, among others, of Mr. Brouncker's being this day summoned to Sir William Morton, one of the judges, to give in security for his good behaviour, upon his words the other day to Sir John Morton, a Parliament-man, at White Hall, who had heretofore spoke very highly against Brouncker in the House, I away, and to Aldgate, and walked forward towards White Chapel, till my wife overtook me with the coach, it being a mighty fine afternoon; and there we went the first time out of town with our coach and horses, and went as far as Bow, the spring beginning a little now to appear, though the way be dirty; and so, with great pleasure, with the fore-part of our coach up, we spent the afternoon. And so in the evening home, and there busy at the Office awhile, and so to bed, mightily pleased with being at peace with my poor wife, and with the pleasure we may hope to have with our coach this summer, when the weather comes to be good. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, only before the Office I stepped to Sir W. Coventry at the Tower, and there had a great deal of discourse with him; among others, of the King's putting him out of the Council yesterday, with which he is well contented, as with what else they can strip him of, he telling me, and so hath long done, that he is weary and surfeited of business; but he joins with me in his fears that all will go to naught, as matters are now managed. He told me the matter of the play that was intended for his abuse, wherein they foolishly and sillily bring in two tables like that which he hath made, with a round hole in the middle, in his closet, to turn himself in; and he is to be in one of them as master, and Sir J. Duncomb in the other, as his man or imitator: and their discourse in those tables, about the disposing of their books and papers, very foolish. But that, that he is offended with, is his being made so contemptible, as that any should dare to make a gentleman a subject for the mirth of the world: and that therefore he had told Tom Killigrew that he should tell his actors, whoever they were, that did offer at any thing like representing him, that he would not complain to my Lord Chamberlain, which was too weak, nor get him beaten, as Sir Charles Sidly is said to do, but that he would cause his nose to be cut. He told me the passage at the Council much like what my Lord Bellassis told me. He told me how that the Duke of Buckingham did himself, some time since, desire to join with him, of all men in England, and did bid him propound to himself to be Chief Minister of State, saying that he would bring it about, but that he refused to have anything to do with any faction; and that the Duke of Buckingham did, within these few days, say that, of all men in England, he would have chosen W. Coventry to have joined entire with. He tells me that he fears their prevailing against the Duke of York; and that their violence will force them to it, as being already beyond his pardon. He repeated to me many examples of challenging of Privy-Councillors and others; but never any proceeded against with that severity which he is, it never amounting to others to more than a little confinement. He tells me of his being weary of the Treasury, and of the folly, ambition, and desire of popularity of Sir Thomas Clifford; and yet the rudeness of his tongue and passions when angry. This and much more discourse being over I with great pleasure come home and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and thence to the office again, where very hard at work all the afternoon till night, and then home to my wife to read to me, and to bed, my cold having been now almost for three days quite gone from me. This day my wife made it appear to me that my late entertainment this week cost me above L12, an expence which I am almost ashamed of, though it is but once in a great while, and is the end for which, in the most part, we live, to have such a merry day once or twice in a man's life. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to the office, busy till church time, and then to church, where a dull sermon, and so home to dinner, all alone with my wife, and then to even my Journall to this day, and then to the Tower, to see Sir W. Coventry, who had H. Jermin and a great many more with him, and more, while I was there, come in; so that I do hear that there was not less than sixty coaches there yesterday, and the other day; which I hear also that there is a great exception taken at, by the King and the Duke of Buckingham, but it cannot be helped. Thence home, and with our coach out to Suffolk Street, to see my cozen Pepys, but neither the old nor young at home. So to my cozen Turner's, and there staid talking a little, and then back to Suffolk Street, where they not being yet come home I to White Hall, and there hear that there are letters come from Sir Thomas Allen, that he hath made some kind of peace with Algiers; upon which the King and Duke of York, being to go out of town to-morrow, are met at my Lord Arlington's: so I there, and by Mr. Wren was desired to stay to see if there were occasion for their speaking with me, which I did, walking without, with Charles Porter, [Charles Porter "was the son of a prebend[ary] in Norwich, and a 'prentice boy in the city in the rebellious times. When the committee house was blown up, he was very active in that rising, and after the soldiers came and dispersed the rout, he, as a rat among joint stools, shifted to and fro among the shambles, and had forty pistols shot at him by the troopers that rode after him to kill him [24th April, 1648]. In that distress he had the presence of mind to catch up a little child that, during the rout, was frighted, and stood crying in the streets, and, unobserved by the troopers, ran away with it. The people opened a way for him, saying, ' Make room for the poor child.' Thus he got off, and while search was made for him in the market-place, got into the Yarmouth ferry, and at Yarmouth took ship and went to Holland . . . . In Holland he trailed a pike, and was in several actions as a common soldier. At length he kept a cavalier eating-house; but, his customers being needy, he soon broke, and came for England, and being a genteel youth, was taken in among the chancery clerks, and got to be under a master . . . . His industry was great; and he had an acquired dexterity and skill in the forms of the court; and although he was a bon companion, and followed much the bottle, yet he made such dispatches as satisfied his clients, especially the clerks, who knew where to find him. His person was florid, and speech prompt and articulate. But his vices, in the way of women and the bottle, were so ungoverned, as brought him to a morsel . . . . When the Lord Keeper North had the Seal, who from an early acquaintance had a kindness for him which was well known, and also that he was well heard, as they call it, business flowed in to him very fast, and yet he could scarce keep himself at liberty to follow his business .... At the Revolution, when his interest fell from, and his debts began to fall upon him, he was at his wits' end .... His character for fidelity, loyalty, and facetious conversation was without exception"--Roger North's Lives of the Norths (Lord Keeper Guilford), ed. Jessopp, vol. i., pp. 381-2. He was originally made Lord Chancellor of Ireland in the reign of James II., during the viceroyalty of Lord Clarendon, 1686, when he was knighted. "He was," says Burnet, "a man of ready wit, and being poor was thought a person fit to be made a tool of. When Clarendon was recalled, Porter was also displaced, and Fitton was made chancellor, a man who knew no other law than the king's pleasure" ("Own Time"). Sir Charles Porter was again made Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1690, and in this same year he acted as one of the Lords Justices. This note of Lord Braybrooke's is retained and added to, but the reference may after all be to another Charles Porter. See vol. iii., p. 122, and vol. vi., p. 98.] talking of a great many things: and I perceive all the world is against the Duke of Buckingham his acting thus high, and do prophesy nothing but ruin from it: But he do well observe that the church lands cannot certainly come to much, if the King shall [be] persuaded to take them; they being leased out for long leases. By and by, after two hours' stay, they rose, having, as Wren tells me, resolved upon sending six ships to the Streights forthwith, not being contented with the peace upon the terms they demand, which are, that all our ships, where any Turks or Moores shall be found slaves, shall be prizes; which will imply that they, must be searched. I hear that to-morrow the King and the Duke of York set out for Newmarket, by three in the morning; to some foot and horse-races, to be abroad ten or twelve days: So I away, without seeing the Duke of York; but Mr. Wren showed me the Order of Council about the balancing the Storekeeper's accounts, passed the Council in the very terms I drew it, only I did put in my name as he that presented the book of Hosier's preparing, and that is left out--I mean, my name--which is no great matter. So to my wife to Suffolk Streete, where she was gone, and there I found them at supper, and eat a little with them, and so home, and there to bed, my cold pretty well gone. 8th. Up, and with W. Hewer by hackney coach to White Hall, where the King and the Duke of York is gone by three in the morning, and had the misfortune to be overset with the Duke of York, the Duke of Monmouth, and the Prince, at the King's Gate' in Holborne; and the King all dirty, but no hurt. How it come to pass I know not, but only it was dark, and the torches did not, they say, light the coach as they should do. I thought this morning to have seen my Lord Sandwich before he went out of town, but I come half an hour too late; which troubles me, I having not seen him since my Lady Palls died. So W. Hewer and I to the Harp-and-Ball, to drink my morning draught, having come out in haste; and there met with King, the Parliament-man, with whom I had some impertinent talk. And so to the Privy Seal Office, to examine what records I could find there, for my help in the great business I am put upon, of defending the present constitution of the Navy; but there could not have liberty without order from him that is in present waiting, Mr. Bickerstaffe, who is out of town. This I did after I had walked to the New Exchange and there met Mr. Moore, who went with me thither, and I find him the same discontented poor man as ever. He tells me that Mr. Shepley is upon being turned away from my Lord's family, and another sent down, which I am sorry for; but his age and good fellowship have almost made him fit for nothing. Thence, at Unthanke's my wife met me, and with our coach to my cozen Turner's and there dined, and after dinner with my wife alone to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mocke Astrologer," which I have often seen, and but an ordinary play; and so to my cozen Turner's again, where we met Roger Pepys, his wife, and two daughters, and there staid and talked a little, and then home, and there my wife to read to me, my eyes being sensibly hurt by the too great lights of the playhouse. So to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the Tower; and there find Sir W. Coventry alone, writing down his journal, which, he tells me, he now keeps of the material things; upon which I told him, and he is the only man I ever told it to, I think, that I kept it most strictly these eight or ten years; and I am sorry almost that I told it him, it not being necessary, nor may be convenient to have it known. Here he showed me the petition he had sent to the King by my Lord Keeper, which was not to desire any admittance to employment, but submitting himself therein humbly to his Majesty; but prayed the removal of his displeasure, and that he might be set free. He tells me that my Lord Keeper did acquaint the King with the substance of it, not shewing him the petition; who answered, that he was disposing of his employments, and when that was done, he might be led to discharge him: and this is what he expects, and what he seems to desire. But by this discourse he was pleased to take occasion to shew me and read to me his account, which he hath kept by him under his own hand, of all his discourse, and the King's answers to him, upon the great business of my Lord Clarendon, and how he had first moved the Duke of York with it twice, at good distance, one after another, but without success; shewing me thereby the simplicity and reasons of his so doing, and the manner of it; and the King's accepting it, telling him that he was not satisfied in his management, and did discover some dissatisfaction against him for his opposing the laying aside of my Lord Treasurer, at Oxford, which was a secret the King had not discovered. And really I was mighty proud to be privy to this great transaction, it giving me great conviction of the noble nature and ends of Sir W. Coventry in it, and considerations in general of the consequences of great men's actions, and the uncertainty of their estates, and other very serious considerations. From this to other discourse, and so to the Office, where we sat all the morning, and after dinner by coach to my cozen Turner's, thinking to have taken the young ladies to a play; but The. was let blood to-day; and so my wife and I towards the King's playhouse, and by the way found Betty [Turner], and Bab., and Betty Pepys staying for us; and so took them all to see "Claricilla," which do not please me almost at all, though there are some good things in it. And so to my cozen Turner's again, and there find my Lady Mordaunt, and her sister Johnson; and by and by comes in a gentleman, Mr. Overbury, a pleasant man, who plays most excellently on the flagelette, a little one, that sounded as low as one of mine, and mighty pretty. Hence by and by away, and with my wife, and Bab. and Betty Pepys, and W. Hewer, whom I carried all this day with me, to my cozen Stradwick's, where I have not been ever since my brother Tom died, there being some difference between my father and them, upon the account of my cozen Scott; and I was glad of this opportunity of seeing them, they being good and substantial people, and kind, and here met my cozen Roger and his wife, and my cozen Turner, and here, which I never did before, I drank a glass, of a pint, I believe, at one draught, of the juice of oranges, of whose peel they make comfits; and here they drink the juice as wine, with sugar, and it is very fine drink; but, it being new, I was doubtful whether it might not do me hurt. Having staid a while, my wife and I back, with my cozen Turner, etc., to her house, and there we took our leaves of my cozen Pepys, who goes with his wife and two daughters for Impington tomorrow. They are very good people, and people I love, and am obliged to, and shall have great pleasure in their friendship, and particularly in hers, she being an understanding and good woman. So away home, and there after signing my letters, my eyes being bad, to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by hackney-coach to Auditor Beale's Office, in Holborne, to look for records of the Navy, but he was out of the way, and so forced to go next to White Hall, to the Privy Seal; and, after staying a little there, then to Westminster, where, at the Exchequer, I met with Mr. Newport and Major Halsey; and, after doing a little business with Mr. Burges, we by water to White Hall, where I made a little stop: and so with them by coach to Temple Bar, where, at the Sugar Loaf we dined, and W. Hewer with me; and there comes a companion of theirs, Colonel Vernon, I think they called him; a merry good fellow, and one that was very plain in cursing the Duke of Buckingham, and discoursing of his designs to ruin us, and that ruin must follow his counsels, and that we are an undone people. To which the others concurred, but not so plain, but all vexed at Sir W. Coventry's being laid aside: but Vernon, he is concerned, I perceive, for my Lord Ormond's being laid aside; but their company, being all old cavaliers, were very pleasant to hear how they swear and talk. But Halsey, to my content, tells me that my Lord Duke of Albemarle says that W. Coventry being gone, nothing will be well done at the Treasury, and I believe it; but they do all talk as that Duncombe, upon some pretence or other, must follow him. Thence to Auditor Beale's, his house and office, but not to be found, and therefore to the Privy Seale at White Hall, where, with W. Hewer and Mr. Gibson, who met me at the Temple, I spent the afternoon till evening looking over the books there, and did find several things to my purpose, though few of those I designed to find, the books being kept there in no method at all. Having done there, we by water home, and there find my cozen Turner and her two daughters come to see us; and there, after talking a little, I had my coach ready, and my wife and I, they going home, we out to White Chapel to take a little ayre, though yet the dirtiness of the road do prevent most of the pleasure, which should have been from this tour. So home, and my wife to read to me till supper, and to bed. 11th. Up, and to Sir W. Coventry, to the Tower, where I walked and talked with him an hour alone, from one good thing to another: who tells me that he hears that the Commission is gone down to the King, with a blank to fill, for his place in the Treasury: and he believes it will be filled with one of our Treasurers of the Navy, but which he knows not, but he believes it will be Osborne. We walked down to the Stone Walk, which is called, it seems, my Lord of Northumberland's walk, being paved by some one of that title, that was prisoner there: and at the end of it, there is a piece of iron upon the wall, with, his armes upon it, and holes to put in a peg, for every turn that they make upon that walk. So away to the Office, where busy all the morning, and so to dinner, and so very busy all the afternoon, at my Office, late; and then home tired, to supper, with content with my wife, and so to bed, she pleasing me, though I dare not own it, that she hath hired a chambermaid; but she, after many commendations, told me that she had one great fault, and that was, that she was very handsome, at which I made nothing, but let her go on; but many times to-night she took occasion to discourse of her handsomeness, and the danger she was in by taking her, and that she did doubt yet whether it would be fit for her, to take her. But I did assure her of my resolutions to have nothing to do with her maids, but in myself I was glad to have the content to have a handsome one to look on. 12th. Up, and abroad, with my own coach, to Auditor Beale's house, and thence with W. Hewer to his Office, and there with great content spent all the morning looking over the Navy accounts of several years, and the several patents of the Treasurers, which was more than I did hope to have found there. About noon I ended there, to my great content, and giving the clerks there 20s. for their trouble, and having sent for W. Howe to me to discourse with him about the Patent Office records, wherein I remembered his brother to be concerned, I took him in my coach with W. Hewer and myself towards Westminster; and there he carried me to Nott's, the famous bookbinder, that bound for my Lord Chancellor's library; and here I did take occasion for curiosity to bespeak a book to be bound, only that I might have one of his binding. Thence back to Graye's Inne: and, at the next door, at a cook's-shop of Howe's acquaintance, we bespoke dinner, it being now two o'clock; and in the meantime he carried us into Graye's Inne, to his chamber, where I never was before; and it is very pretty, and little, and neat, as he was always. And so, after a little stay, and looking over a book or two there, we carried a piece of my Lord Coke with us, and to our dinner, where, after dinner, he read at my desire a chapter in my Lord Coke about perjury, wherein I did learn a good deal touching oaths, and so away to the Patent Office; in Chancery Lane, where his brother Jacke, being newly broke by running in debt, and growing an idle rogue, he is forced to hide himself; and W. Howe do look after the Office, and here I did set a clerk to look out some things for me in their books, while W. Hewer and I to the Crowne Offices where we met with several good things that I most wanted, and did take short notes of the dockets, and so back to the Patent Office, and did the like there, and by candle-light ended. And so home, where, thinking to meet my wife with content, after my pains all this day, I find her in her closet, alone, in the dark, in a hot fit of railing against me, upon some news she has this day heard of Deb.'s living very fine, and with black spots, and speaking ill words of her mistress, which with good reason might vex her; and the baggage is to blame, but, God knows, I know nothing of her, nor what she do, nor what becomes of her, though God knows that my devil that is within me do wish that I could. Yet God I hope will prevent me therein, for I dare not trust myself with it if I should know it; but, what with my high words, and slighting it, and then serious, I did at last bring her to very good and kind terms, poor heart! and I was heartily glad of it, for I do see there is no man can be happier than myself, if I will, with her. But in her fit she did tell me what vexed me all the night, that this had put her upon putting off her handsome maid and hiring another that was full of the small pox, which did mightily vex me, though I said nothing, and do still. So down to supper, and she to read to me, and then with all possible kindness to bed. 13th. Up, and to the Tower, to see Sir W. Coventry, and with him talking of business of the Navy, all alone, an hour, he taking physic. And so away to the Office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, with my people, and so to the Office again, and there all the afternoon till night, when comes, by mistake, my cozen Turner, and her two daughters, which love such freaks, to eat some anchovies and ham of bacon with me, instead of noon, at dinner, when I expected them. But, however, I had done my business before they come, and so was in good humour enough to be with them, and so home to them to supper, and pretty merry, being pleased to see Betty Turner, which hath something mighty pretty. But that which put me in good humour, both at noon and night, is the fancy that I am this day made a Captain of one of the King's ships, Mr. Wren having this day sent me, the Duke of York's commission to be Captain of "The Jerzy," in order to my being of a Court-martiall for examining the loss of "The Defyance," and other things; which do give me occasion of much mirth, and may be of some use to me, at least I shall get a little money by it for the time I have it; it being designed that I must really be a Captain to be able to sit in this Court. They staid till about eight at night, and then away, and my wife to read to me, and then to bed in mighty good humour, but for my eyes. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office with Tom, whom I made to read to me the books of Propositions in the time of the Grand Commission, which I did read a good part of before church, and then with my wife to church, where I did see my milliner's wife come again, which pleased me; but I durst not be seen to mind her for fear of my wife's seeing me, though the woman I did never speak twenty words to, and that but only in her husband's shop. But so fearful I am of discontenting my wife, or giving her cause of jealousy. But here we heard a most excellent good sermon of Mr. Gifford's, upon the righteousness of Scribes and Pharisees. So home to dinner and to work again, and so till dinner, where W. Howe come and dined with me, and staid and read in my Lord Cooke upon his chapter of perjury again, which pleased me, and so parted, and I to my office, and there made an end of the books of Propositions, which did please me mightily to hear read, they being excellently writ and much to the purpose, and yet so as I think I shall make good use of his defence of our present constitution. About four o'clock took coach to visit my cozen Turner, and I out with her to make a visit, but the lady she went to see was abroad. So back and to talk with her and her daughters, and then home, and she and I to walk in the garden, the first time this year, the weather being mighty temperate; and then I to write down my Journall for the last week, my eyes being very bad, and therefore I forced to find a way to use by turns with my tube, one after another, and so home to supper and to bed. Before I went from my office this night I did tell Tom my resolution not to keep him after Jane was gone, but shall do well by him, which pleases him; and I think he will presently marry her, and go away out of my house with her. 15th. Up, and by water with W. Hewer to the Temple; and thence to the Rolls, where I made inquiry for several rolls, and was soon informed in the manner of it: and so spent the whole morning with W. Hewer, he taking little notes in short-hand, while I hired a clerk there to read to me about twelve or more several rolls which I did call for: and it was great pleasure to me to see the method wherein their rolls are kept; that when the Master of the Office, one Mr. Case, do call for them, who is a man that I have heretofore known by coming to my Lord of Sandwich's, he did most readily turn to them. At noon they shut up; and W. Hewer and I did walk to the Cocke, at the end of Suffolke Streete, where I never was, a great ordinary, mightily cried up, and there bespoke a pullett; which while dressing, he and I walked into St. James's Park, and thence back, and dined very handsome, with a good soup, and a pullet, for 4s. 6d. the whole. Thence back to the Rolls, and did a little more business: and so by water to White Hall, whither. I went to speak with Mr. Williamson, that if he hath any papers relating to the Navy I might see them, which he promises me: and so by water home, with great content for what I have this day found, having got almost as much as I desire of the history of the Navy, from 1618 to 1642, when the King and Parliament fell out. So home, and did get my wife to read, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and to the office, after having visited Sir W. Coventry at the Tower, and walked with him upon the Stone Walk, alone, till other company come to him, and had very good discourse with him. At noon home, where my wife and Jane gone abroad, and Tom, in order to their buying of things for their wedding, which, upon my discourse the last night, is now resolved to be done, upon the 26th of this month, the day of my solemnity for my cutting of the stone, when my cozen Turner must be with us. My wife, therefore, not at dinner; and comes to me Mr. Evelyn of Deptford, a worthy good man, and dined with me, but a bad dinner; who is grieved for, and speaks openly to me his thoughts of, the times, and our ruin approaching; and all by the folly of the King. His business to me was about some ground of his, at Deptford, next to the King's yard: and after dinner we parted. My sister Michell coming also this day to see us, whom I left there, and I away down by water with W. Hewer to Woolwich, where I have not been I think more than a year or two, and here I saw, but did not go on board, my ship "The Jerzy," she lying at the wharf under repair. But my business was to speak with Ackworth, about some old things and passages in the Navy, for my information therein, in order to my great business now of stating the history of the Navy. This I did; and upon the whole do find that the late times, in all their management, were not more husbandly than we; and other things of good content to me. His wife was sick, and so I could not see her. Thence, after seeing Mr. Sheldon, I to Greenwich by water, and there landed at the King's house, which goes on slow, but is very pretty. [The old palace at Greenwich had just been pulled down, and a new building commenced by Charles II., only one wing of which was completed, at the expense of L36,000, under the auspices of Webb, Inigo Jones's kinsman and executor. In 1694 the unfinished edifice was granted by William and Mary to trustees for the use and service of a Naval Hospital; and it has been repeatedly enlarged and improved till it has arrived at its present splendour.--B.] I to the Park, there to see the prospect of the hill, to judge of Dancre's picture, which he hath made thereof for me: and I do like it very well: and it is a very pretty place. Thence to Deptford, but staid not, Uthwayte being out of the way: and so home, and then to the Ship Tavern, Morrice's, and staid till W. Hewer fetched his uncle Blackburne by appointment to me, to discourse of the business of the Navy in the late times; and he did do it, by giving me a most exact account in writing, of the several turns in the Admiralty and Navy, of the persons employed therein, from the beginning of the King's leaving the Parliament, to his Son's coming in, to my great content; and now I am fully informed in all I at present desire. We fell to other talk; and I find by him that the Bishops must certainly fall, and their hierarchy; these people have got so much ground upon the King and kingdom as is not to be got again from them: and the Bishops do well deserve it. But it is all the talk, I find, that Dr. Wilkins, my friend, the Bishop of Chester, shall be removed to Winchester, and be Lord Treasurer. Though this be foolish talk, yet I do gather that he is a mighty rising man, as being a Latitudinarian, and the Duke of Buckingham his great friend. Here we staid talking till to at night, where I did never drink before since this man come to the house, though for his pretty wife's sake I do fetch my wine from this, whom I could not nevertheless get para see to-night, though her husband did seem to call for her. So parted here and I home, and to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and by water to see Mr. Wren, and then Mr. Williamson, who did shew me the very original bookes of propositions made by the Commissioners for the Navy, in 1618, to my great content; but no other Navy papers he could now shew me. Thence to Westminster by water and to the Hall, where Mrs. Michell do surprize me with the news that Doll Lane is suddenly brought to bed at her sister's lodging, and gives it out that she is married, but there is no such thing certainly, she never mentioning it before, but I have cause to rejoice that I have not seen her a great while, she having several times desired my company, but I doubt to an evil end. Thence to the Exchequer, where W. Hewer come to me, and after a little business did go by water home, and there dined, and took my wife by a hackney to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Coxcomb," the first time acted, but an old play, and a silly one, being acted only by the young people. Here met cozen Turner and The. So parted there from them, and home by coach and to my letters at the office, where pretty late, and so to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and walked with him a good while in the Stone Walk: and brave discourse about my Lord Chancellor, and his ill managements and mistakes, and several things of the Navy, and thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, and so home to dinner, where my wife mighty finely dressed, by a maid that she hath taken, and is to come to her when Jane goes; and the same she the other day told me of, to be so handsome. I therefore longed to see her, but did not till after dinner, that my wife and I going by coach, she went with us to Holborne, where we set her down. She is a mighty proper maid, and pretty comely, but so so; but hath a most pleasing tone of voice, and speaks handsomely, but hath most great hands, and I believe ugly; but very well dressed, and good clothes, and the maid I believe will please me well enough. Thence to visit Ned Pickering and his lady, and Creed and his wife, but the former abroad, and the latter out of town, gone to my Lady Pickering's in Northamptonshire, upon occasion of the late death of their brother, Oliver Pickering, a youth, that is dead of the smallpox. So my wife and I to Dancre's to see the pictures; and thence to Hyde Park, the first time we were there this year, or ever in our own coach, where with mighty pride rode up and down, and many coaches there; and I thought our horses and coach as pretty as any there, and observed so to be by others. Here staid till night, and so home, and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and to bed, with great content, but much business in my head of the office, which troubles me. 19th. Up, and by water to White Hall, there to the Lords of the Treasury, and did some business, and here Sir Thomas Clifford did speak to me, as desirous that I would some time come and confer with him about the Navy, which I am glad of, but will take the direction of the Duke of York before I do it, though I would be glad to do something to secure myself, if I could, in my employment. Thence to the plaisterer's, and took my face, and my Lord Duke of Albemarle's, home with me by coach, they being done to my mind; and mighty glad I am of understanding this way of having the pictures of any friends. At home to dinner, where Mr. Sheres dined with us, but after dinner I left him and my wife, and with Commissioner Middleton and Kempthorne to a Court-martiall, to which, by virtue of my late Captainship, I am called, the first I was ever at; where many Commanders, and Kempthorne president. Here was tried a difference between Sir L. Van Hemskirke, the Dutch Captain who commands "The Nonsuch," built by his direction, and his Lieutenant; a drunken kind of silly business. We ordered the Lieutenant to ask him pardon, and have resolved to lay before the Duke of York what concerns the Captain, which was striking of his Lieutenant and challenging him to fight, which comes not within any article of the laws martiall. But upon discourse the other day with Sir W. Coventry, I did advise Middleton, and he and I did forbear to give judgment, but after the debate did withdraw into another cabin, the Court being held in one of the yachts, which was on purpose brought up over against St. Katharine's, it being to be feared that this precedent of our being made Captains, in order to the trying of the loss of "The Defyance," wherein we are the proper persons to enquire into the want of instructions while ships do lie in harbour, evil use might be hereafter made of the precedent by putting the Duke of Buckingham, or any of these rude fellows that now are uppermost, to make packed Courts, by Captains made on purpose to serve their turns. The other cause was of the loss of "The Providence" at Tangier, where the Captain's being by chance on shore may prove very inconvenient to him, for example's sake, though the man be a good man, and one whom, for Norwood's sake, I would be kind to; but I will not offer any thing to the excusing such a miscarriage. He is at present confined, till he can bring better proofs on his behalf of the reasons of his being on shore. So Middleton and I away to the Office; and there I late busy, making my people, as I have done lately, to read Mr. Holland's' Discourse of the Navy, and what other things I can get to inform me fully in all; and here late, about eight at night, comes Mr. Wren to me, who had been at the Tower to Coventry. He come only to see how matters go, and tells me, as a secret, that last night the Duke of York's closet was broken open, and his cabinets, and shut again, one of them that the rogue that did it hath left plate and a watch behind him, and therefore they fear that it was only for papers, which looks like a very malicious business in design, to hurt the Duke of York; but they cannot know that till the Duke of York comes to town about the papers, and therefore make no words of it. He gone, I to work again, and then to supper at home, and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the Tower, to W. Coventry, and there walked with him alone, on the Stone Walk, till company come to him; and there about the business of the Navy discoursed with him, and about my Lord Chancellor and Treasurer; that they were against the war [with the Dutch] at first, declaring, as wise men and statesmen, at first to the King, that they thought it fit to have a war with them at some time or other, but that it ought not to be till we found the Crowns of Spain and France together by the Bares, the want of which did ruin our war. But then he told me that, a great deal before the war, my Lord Chancellor did speak of a war with some heat, as a thing to be desired, and did it upon a belief that he could with his speeches make the Parliament give what money he pleased, and do what he would, or would make the King desire; but he found himself soon deceived of the Parliament, they having a long time before his removal been cloyed with his speeches and good words, and were come to hate him. Sir W. Coventry did tell me it, as the wisest thing that ever was said to the King by any statesman of his time, and it was by my Lord Treasurer that is dead, whom, I find, he takes for a very great statesman--that when the King did shew himself forward for passing the Act of Indemnity, he did advise the King that he would hold his hand in doing it, till he had got his power restored, that had been diminished by the late times, and his revenue settled in such a manner as he might depend on himself, without resting upon Parliaments,--and then pass it. But my Lord Chancellor, who thought he could have the command of Parliaments for ever, because for the King's sake they were awhile willing to grant all the King desired, did press for its being done; and so it was, and the King from that time able to do nothing with the Parliament almost. Thence to the office, where sat all the forenoon, and then home to dinner, and so to the office, where late busy, and so home, mightily pleased with the news brought me to-night, that the King and Duke of York are come back this afternoon, and no sooner come, but a warrant was sent to the Tower for the releasing Sir W. Coventry; which do put me in some hopes that there may be, in this absence, some accommodation made between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham and; Arlington. So home, to supper, and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and by water over to Southwarke; and then, not getting a boat, I forced to walk to Stangate; and so over to White Hall, in a scull; where up to the Duke of York's dressing-room, and there met Harry Saville, and understand that Sir W. Coventry is come to his house last night. I understand by Mr. Wren that his friends having, by Secretary Trevor and my Lord Keeper, applied to the King upon his first coming home, and a promise made that he should be discharged this day, my Lord Arlington did anticipate them, by sending a warrant presently for his discharge which looks a little like kindness, or a desire of it; which God send! though I fear the contrary: however, my heart is glad that he is out. Thence up and down the House. Met with Mr. May, who tells me the story of his being put by Sir John Denham's place, of Surveyor of the King's Works, who it seems, is lately dead, by the unkindness of the Duke Buckingham, who hath brought in Dr. Wren: though, he tells me, he hath been his servant for twenty years together in all his wants and dangers, saving him from want of bread by his care and management, and with a promise of having his help in his advancement, and an engagement under his hand for L1000 not yet paid, and yet the Duke of Buckingham so ungrateful as to put him by: which is an ill thing, though Dr. Wren is a worthy man. But he tells me that the King is kind to him, and hath promised him a pension of L300 a-year out of the Works; which will be of more content to him than the place, which, under their present wants of money, is a place that disobliges most people, being not able to do what they desire to their lodgings. Here meeting with Sir H. Cholmly and Povy, that tell me that my Lord Middleton is resolved in the Cabal that he shall not go to Tangier; and that Sir Edward Harlow [Harley], whom I know not, is propounded to go, who was Governor of Dunkirke, and, they say, a most worthy brave man, which I shall be very glad of. So by water (H. Russell coming for me) home to dinner, where W. Howe comes to dine with me; and after dinner propounds to me my lending him L500, to help him to purchase a place--the Master of the Patent Office, of Sir Richard Piggott. I did give him a civil answer, but shall think twice of it; and the more, because of the changes we are like to have in the Navy, which will not make it fit for me to divide the little I have left more than I have done, God knowing what my condition is, I having not attended, and now not being able to examine what my state is, of my accounts, and being in the world, which troubles me mightily. He gone, I to the office to enter my journall for a week. News is lately come of the Algerines taking L3000 in money, out of one of our Company's East India ships, outward bound, which will certainly make the war last; which I am sorry for, being so poor as we are, and broken in pieces. At night my wife to read to me, and then to supper, where Pelling comes to see and sup with us, and I find that he is assisting my wife in getting a licence to our young people to be married this Lent, which is resolved shall be done upon Friday next, my great day, or feast, for my being cut of the stone. So after supper to bed, my eyes being very bad. 22nd. Up, and by water, with W. Newer, to White Hall, there to attend the Lords of the Treasury; but, before they sat, I did make a step to see Sir W. Coventry at his house, where, I bless God! he is come again; but in my way I met him, and so he took me into his coach and carried me to White Hall, and there set me down where he ought not--at least, he hath not yet leave to come, nor hath thought fit to ask it, hearing that Henry Saville is not only denied to kiss the King's hand, but the King, being asked it by the Duke of York, did deny it, and directed that the Duke shall not receive him, to wait upon him in his chamber, till further orders. Sir W. Coventry told me that he was going to visit Sir John Trevor, who hath been kind to him; and he shewed me a long list of all his friends that he must this week make visits to, that come to visit him in the Tower; and seems mighty well satisfied with his being out of business, but I hope he will not long be so; at least, I do believe that all must go to rat if the King do not come to see the want of such a servant. Thence to the Treasury-Chamber, and there all the morning to my great grief, put to do Sir G. Downing's work of dividing the Customes for this year, between the Navy, the Ordnance and Tangier: but it did so trouble my eyes, that I had rather have given L20 than have had it to do; but I did thereby oblige Sir Thomas Clifford and Sir J. Duncombe, and so am glad of the opportunity to recommend myself to the former for the latter I need not, he loving me well already. At it till noon, here being several of my brethren with me but doing nothing, but I all. But this day I did also represent to our Treasurers, which was read here, a state of the charge of the Navy, and what the expence of it this year would likely be; which is done so as it will appear well done and to my honour, for so the Lords did take it: and I oblige the Treasurers by doing it, at their request. Thence with W. Hewer at noon to Unthanke's, where my wife stays for me and so to the Cocke, where there was no room, and thence to King Street, to several cook's shops, where nothing to be had; and at last to the corner shop, going down Ivy Lane, by my Lord of Salisbury's, and there got a good dinner, my wife, and W. Newer, and I: and after dinner she, with her coach, home; and he and I to look over my papers for the East India Company, against the afternoon: which done, I with them to White Hall, and there to the Treasury-Chamber, where the East India Company and three Councillors pleaded against me alone, for three or four hours, till seven at night, before the Lords; and the Lords did give me the conquest on behalf of the King, but could not come to any conclusion, the Company being stiff: and so I think we shall go to law with them. This done, and my eyes mighty bad with this day's work, I to Mr. Wren's, and then up to the Duke of York, and there with Mr. Wren did propound to him my going to Chatham to-morrow with Commissioner Middleton, and so this week to make the pay there, and examine the business of "The Defyance" being lost, and other businesses, which I did the rather, that I might be out of the way at the wedding, and be at a little liberty myself for a day, or two, to find a little pleasure, and give my eyes a little ease. The Duke of York mightily satisfied with it; and so away home, where my wife troubled at my being so late abroad, poor woman! though never more busy, but I satisfied her; and so begun to put things in order for my journey to-morrow, and so, after supper, to bed. 23rd. Up, and to my office to do a little business there, and so, my things being all ready, I took coach with Commissioner Middleton, Captain Tinker, and Mr. Huchinson, a hackney coach, and over the bridge, and so out towards Chatham, and; dined at Dartford, where we staid an hour or two, it being a cold day; and so on, and got to Chatham just at night, with very good discourse by the way, but mostly of matters of religion, wherein Huchinson his vein lies. After supper, we fell to talk of spirits and apparitions, whereupon many pretty, particular stories were told, so as to make me almost afeard to lie alone, but for shame I could not help it; and so to bed and, being sleepy, fell soon to rest, and so rested well. 24th. Up, and walked abroad in the garden, and find that Mrs. Tooker has not any of her daughters here as I expected and so walked to the yard, leaving Middleton at the pay, and there I only walked up and down the yard, and then to the Hill-House, and there did give order for the coach to be made ready; and got Mr. Gibson, whom I carried with me, to go with me and Mr. Coney, the surgeon, towards Maydston which I had a mighty mind to see, and took occasion, in my way, at St. Margett's, to pretend to call to see Captain Allen to see whether Mrs. Jowles, his daughter, was there; and there his wife come to the door, he being at London, and through a window, I spied Jowles, but took no notice of he but made excuse till night, and then promised to come and see Mrs. Allen again, and so away, it being a mighty cold and windy, but clear day; and had the pleasure of seeing the Medway running, winding up and down mightily, and a very fine country; and I went a little out of the way to have visited Sir John Bankes, but he at London; but here I had a sight of his seat and house, the outside, which is an old abbey just like Hinchingbroke, and as good at least, and mighty finely placed by the river; and he keeps the grounds about it, and walls and the house, very handsome: I was mightily pleased with the sight of it. Thence to Maydstone, which I had a mighty mind to see, having never been there; and walked all up and down the town, and up to the top of the steeple, and had a noble view, and then down again: and in the town did see an old man beating of flax, and did step into the barn and give him money, and saw that piece of husbandry which I never saw, and it is very pretty: in the street also I did buy and send to our inne, the Bell, a dish of fresh fish. And so, having walked all round the town, and found it very pretty, as most towns I ever saw, though not very big, and people of good fashion in it, we to our inne to dinner, and had a good dinner; and after dinner a barber come to me, and there trimmed me, that I might be clean against night, to go to Mrs. Allen. And so, staying till about four o'clock, we set out, I alone in the coach going and coming; and in our way back, I 'light out of the way to see a Saxon monument, [Kits-Cotty House, a cromlech in Aylesford parish, Kent, on a hillside adjacent to the river Medway, three and a half miles N. by W. of Maidstone. It consists of three upright stones and an overlying one, and forms a small chamber open in front. It is supposed to have been the centre of a group of monuments indicating the burial-place of the Belgian settlers in this part of Britain. Other stones of a similar character exist in the neighbourhood.] as they say, of a King, which is three stones standing upright, and a great round one lying on them, of great bigness, although not so big as those on Salisbury Plain; but certainly it is a thing of great antiquity, and I mightily glad to see it; it is near to Aylesford, where Sir John Bankes lives. So homeward, and stopped again at Captain Allen's, and there 'light, and sent the coach and Gibson home, and I and Coney staid; and there comes to us Mrs. Jowles, who is a very fine, proper lady, as most I know, and well dressed. Here was also a gentleman, one Major Manly, and his wife, neighbours; and here we staid, and drank, and talked, and set Coney and him to play while Mrs. Jowles and I to talk, and there had all our old stories up, and there I had the liberty to salute her often, and pull off her glove, where her hand mighty moist, and she mighty free in kindness to me, and je do not at all doubt that I might have had that that I would have desired de elle had I had time to have carried her to Cobham, as she, upon my proposing it, was very willing to go, for elle is a whore, that is certain, but a very brave and comely one. Here was a pretty cozen of hers come in to supper also, of a great fortune, daughter-in-law to this Manly, mighty pretty, but had now such a cold, she could not speak. Here mightily pleased with Mrs. Jowles, and did get her to the street door, and there to her su breasts, and baiser her without any force, and credo that I might have had all else, but it was not time nor place. Here staid till almost twelve at night, and then with a lanthorn from thence walked over the fields, as dark as pitch, and mighty cold, and snow, to Chatham, and Mr. Coney with great kindness to me: and there all in bed before I come home, and so I presently to bed. 25th. Up, and by and by, about eight o'clock, come Rear-Admiral Kempthorne and seven Captains more, by the Duke of York's order, as we expected, to hold the Court-martiall about the loss of "The Defyance;" and so presently we by boat to "The Charles," which lies over against Upnor Castle, and there we fell to the business; and there I did manage the business, the Duke of York having, by special order, directed them to take the assistance of Commissioner Middleton and me, forasmuch as there might be need of advice in what relates to the government of the ships in harbour. And so I did lay the law open to them, and rattle the Master Attendants out of their wits almost; and made the trial last till seven at night, not eating a bit all the day; only when we had done examination, and I given my thoughts that the neglect of the Gunner of the ship was as great as I thought any neglect could be, which might by the law deserve death, but Commissioner Middleton did declare that he was against giving the sentence of death, we withdrew, as not being of the Court, and so left them to do what they pleased; and, while they were debating it, the Boatswain of the ship did bring us out of the kettle a piece of hot salt beef, and some brown bread and brandy; and there we did make a little meal, but so good as I never would desire to eat better meat while I live, only I would have cleaner dishes. By and by they had done, and called us down from the quarterdeck; and there we find they do sentence that the Gunner of "The Defyance" should stand upon "The Charles" three hours with his fault writ upon his breast, and with a halter about his neck, and so be made incapable of any office. The truth is, the man do seem, and is, I believe, a good man; but his neglect, in trusting a girl to carry fire into his cabin, is not to be pardoned. This being done, we took boat and home; and there a good supper was ready for us, which should have been our dinner. The Captains, desirous to be at London, went away presently for Gravesend, to get thither by this night's tide; and so we to supper, it having been a great snowy and mighty cold, foul day; and so after supper to bed. 26th. Up, and with Middleton all the morning at the Docke, looking over the storehouses and Commissioner Pett's house, in order to Captain Cox's coming to live there in his stead, as Commissioner. But it is a mighty pretty house; and pretty to see how every thing is said to be out of repair for this new man, though L10 would put it into as good condition in every thing as it ever was in, so free every body is of the King's money. By and by to Mr. Wilson's, and there drank, but did not see his wife, nor any woman in the yard, and so to dinner at the Hill-House; and after dinner, till eight at night, close, Middleton and I, examining the business of Mr. Pett, about selling a boat, and we find him a very knave; and some other quarrels of his, wherein, to justify himself, he hath made complaints of others. This being done, we to supper, and so to talk, Commissioner Middleton being mighty good company upon a journey, and so to bed, thinking how merry my people are at this time, putting Tom and Jane to bed, being to have been married this day, it being also my feast for my being cut of the stone, but how many years I do not remember, but I think it to be about ten or eleven. 27th. Up, and did a little business, Middleton and I, then; after drinking a little buttered ale, he and Huchinson and: I took coach, and, exceeding merry in talk, to Dartford: Middleton finding stories of his own life at Barbadoes, and up and down at Venice, and elsewhere, that are mighty pretty, and worth hearing; and he is a strange good companion, and; droll upon the road, more than ever I could have thought to have been in him. Here we dined and met Captain Allen of Rochester, who dined with us, and so went on his journey homeward, and we by and by took coach again and got home about six at night, it being all the morning as cold, snowy, windy, and rainy day, as any in the whole winter past, but pretty clear in the afternoon. I find all well, but my wife abroad with Jane, who was married yesterday, and I to the office busy, till by and by my wife comes home, and so home, and there hear how merry they were yesterday, and I glad at it, they being married, it seems, very handsomely, at Islington; and dined at the old house, and lay in our blue chamber, with much company, and wonderful merry. The Turner and Mary Batelier bridesmaids, and Talbot Pepys and W. Hewer bridesmen. Anon to supper and to bed, my head a little troubled with the muchness of the business I have upon me at present. So to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with pleasure with my wife, and so up and to the Office with Tom, who looks mighty smug upon his marriage, as Jane also do, both of whom I did give joy, and so Tom and I at work at the Office all the morning, till dinner, and then dined, W. Batelier with us; and so after dinner to work again, and sent for Gibson, and kept him also till eight at night, doing much business. And so, that being done, and my journal writ, my eyes being very bad, and every day worse and worse, I fear: but I find it most certain that stronge drinks do make my eyes sore, as they have done heretofore always; for, when I was in the country, when my eyes were at the best, their stronge beere would make my eyes sore: so home to supper, and by and by to bed. 29th. Up, and by water to White Hall; and there to the Duke of York, to shew myself, after my journey to Chatham, but did no business to-day with him: only after gone from him, I to Sir T. Clifford's; and there, after an hour's waiting, he being alone in his closet, I did speak with him, and give him the account he gave me to draw up, and he did like it very well: and then fell to talk of the business of the Navy and giving me good words, did fall foul of the constitution [of the Board], and did then discover his thoughts, that Sir J. Minnes was too old, and so was Colonel Middleton, and that my Lord Brouncker did mind his mathematics too much. I did not give much encouragement to that of finding fault with my fellow-officers; but did stand up for the constitution, and did say that what faults there were in our Office would be found not to arise from the constitution, but from the failures of the officers in whose hands it was. This he did seem to give good ear to; but did give me of myself very good words, which pleased me well, though I shall not build upon them any thing. Thence home; and after dinner by water with Tom down to Greenwich, he reading to me all the way, coming and going, my collections out of the Duke of York's old manuscript of the Navy, which I have bound up, and do please me mightily. At Greenwich I come to Captain Cocke's, where the house full of company, at the burial of James Temple, who, it seems, hath been dead these five days here I had a very good ring, which I did give my wife as soon as I come home. I spent my time there walking in the garden, talking with James Pierce, who tells me that he is certain that the Duke of Buckingham had been with his wenches all the time that he was absent, which was all the last week, nobody knowing where he was. The great talk is of the King's being hot of late against Conventicles, and to see whether the Duke of Buckingham's being returned will turn the King, which will make him very popular: and some think it is his plot to make the King thus, to shew his power in the making him change his mind. But Pierce did tell me that the King did certainly say, that he that took one stone from the Church, did take two from his Crown. By and by the corpse come out; and I, with Sir Richard Browne and Mr. Evelyn, in their coach to the church, where Mr. Plume preached. But I, in the midst of the sermon, did go out, and walked all alone, round to Deptford, thinking para have seen the wife of Bagwell, which I did at her door, but I could not conveniently go into her house, and so lost my labour: and so to the King's Yard, and there my boat by order met me; and home, where I made my boy to finish the my manuscript, and so to supper and to bed my new chamber-maid, that comes in the room of Jane; is come, Jane and Tom lying at their own lodging this night: the new maid's name is Matt, a proper and very comely maid . . . This day also our cook-maid Bridget went away, which I was sorry for; but, just at her going she was found to be a thief, and so I was the less trouble for it; but now our whole house will, in a manner, be new which, since Jane is gone, I am not at all sorry for, for that my late differences with my wife about poor Deb. will not be remembered. So to bed after supper, and to sleep with great content. 30th. Up, and to Sir W. Coventry, to see and discourse with him; and he tells me that he hath lately been with my Lord Keeper, and had much discourse about the Navy; and particularly he tells me that he finds they are divided touching me and my Lord Brouncker; some are for removing; and some for keeping us. He told my Lord Keeper that it would cost the King L10,000 before he hath made another as fit to serve him in the Navy as I am; which, though I believe it is true, yet I am much pleased to have that character given me by W. Coventry, whatever be the success of it. But I perceive they do think that I know too much, and shall impose upon whomever shall come next, and therefore must be removed, though he tells me that Sir T. Clifford is inclined well enough to me, and Sir T. Osborne; by what I have lately done, I suppose. This news do a little trouble me, but yet, when I consider it, it is but what I ought not to be much troubled for, considering my incapacity, in regard to my eyes, to continue long at this work, and this when I think of and talk with my wife do make me the less troubled for it. After some talk of the business of the navy more with him, I away and to the Office, where all the morning; and Sir W. Pen, the first time that he hath been here since his being last sick, which, I think, is two or three months; and I think will be the last that he will be here as one of the Board, he now inviting us all to dine with him, as a parting dinner, on Thursday next, which I am glad of, I am sure; for he is a very villain. At noon home to dinner, where, and at the office, all the afternoon, troubled at what I have this morning heard, at least my mind full of thoughts upon it, and so at night after supper to bed. 31st. Up, and by water to Sir W. Coventry's, there to talk with him about business of the Navy, and received from him direction what to advise the Duke of York at this time, which was, to submit and give way to the King's naming a man or two, that the people about him have a mind should be brought into the Navy, and perhaps that may stop their fury in running further against the whole; and this, he believes, will do it. After much discourse with him, I walked out with him into St. James's Park, where, being afeard to be seen with him, he having not leave yet to kiss the King's hand, but notice taken, as I hear, of all that go to him, I did take the pretence of my attending the Tangier Committee, to take my leave, though to serve him I should, I think, stick at nothing. At the Committee, this morning, my Lord Middleton declares at last his being ready to go, as soon as ever money can be made ready to pay the garrison: and so I have orders to get money, but how soon I know not. Thence home, and there find Mr Sheres, for whom I find my moher of late to talk with mighty kindness; and particularly he hath shewn himself to be a poet, and that she do mightily value him for. He did not stay to dine with us, but we to dinner; and then, in the afternoon, my wife being very well dressed by her new maid, we abroad, to make a visit to Mrs. Pickering; but she abroad again, and so we never yet saw her. Thence to Dancre's, and there, saw our pictures which are in doing; and I did choose a view of Rome instead of Hampton Court; and mightily pleased I shall be in them. Here were Sir Charles Cotterell and his son bespeaking something; both ingenious men. Thence my wife and I to the Park; and pretty store of company; and so home with great content the month, my mind in pretty good content for all things, but the designs on foot to bring alterations in the Office, which troubles me. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Broken sort of people, that have not much to lose But so fearful I am of discontenting my wife By her wedding-ring, I suppose he hath married her at last Have not much to lose, and therefore will venture all His satisfaction is nothing worth, it being easily got Nor was there any pretty woman that I did see, but my wife With egg to keep off the glaring of the light 
4198	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. APRIL & MAY 1669 April 1st. Up, and with Colonel Middleton, at the desire of Rear-Admiral Kempthorne, the President, for our assisting them, to the Court-martiall on board a yacht in the River here, to try the business of the Purser's complaints, Baker against Trevanion, his Commander, of "The Dartmouth." But, Lord! to see what wretched doings there were among all the Commanders to ruin the Purser, and defend the Captain in all his rogueries, be it to the prejudice of the King or Purser, no good man could bear! I confess I was pretty high, which did not at least the young gentlemen Commander like; and Middleton did the like. But could not bring it to any issue this day, sitting till two o'clock; and therefore we being sent for, went to Sir W. Pen's by invitation to dine; where my wife was, and my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, and Sir J. Minnes and his niece; and here a bad dinner, and little mirth, I being little pleased with my host. However, I made myself sociable; and so, after dinner, my wife and I, with my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, they set us down at my cozen Turner's, and there we staid awhile and talked; and particularly here we met with Dr. Ball, the Parson of the Temple, who did tell me a great many pretty stories about the manner of the Parsons being paid for their preaching at Paul's heretofore, and now, and the ground of the Lecture, and heretofore the names of the founders thereof, which were many, at some 5s., some 6s. per annum towards it: and had their names read in the pulpit every sermon among those holy persons that the Church do order a collect for, giving God thanks for. By and by comes by my desire Commissioner Middleton's coach and horses for us, and we went with it towards the Park, thinking to have met The. Turner and Betty, but did not; so turned back again to their lodging, and there found them and Mr. Batelier, and there, after a little talk, we took leave, and carry Batelier home with us. So to supper, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there with the Office attended the Duke of York, and staid in White Hall till about noon, and so with W. Hewer to the Cocke, and there he and I dined alone with great content, he reading to me, for my memory's sake, my late collections of the history of the Navy, that I might represent the same by and by to the Duke of York; and so, after dinner, he and I to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York's lodgings, whither he, by and by, by his appointment come: and alone with him an hour in his closet, telling him mine and W. Coventry's advice touching the present posture of the Navy, as the Duke of Buckingham and the rest do now labour to make changes therein; and that it were best for him to suffer the King to be satisfied with the bringing in of a man or two which they desire. I did also give the Duke of York a short account of the history of the Navy, as to our Office, wherewith he was very well satisfied: but I do find that he is pretty stiff against their bringing in of men against his mind, as the Treasures were, and particularly against Child's' coming in, because he is a merchant. After much discourse with him, we parted; and [he to] the Council, while I staid waiting for his telling me when I should be ready to give him a written account of the administration of the Navy. This caused me to wait the whole afternoon, till night. In the mean time, stepping to the Duchess of York's side to speak with Lady Peterborough; I did see the young Duchess, [The Princess Mary, afterwards Queen of England.] a little child in hanging sleeves; dance most finely, so as almost to ravish me, her ears were so good: taught by a Frenchman that did heretofore teach the King, and all the King's children, and the Queen-Mother herself, who do still dance well. Thence to the council door and Mr. Chevins took me into the back stairs, and they with his friend, Mr. Fowkes, for whom he is very solicitous in some things depending in this Office, he did make me, with some others that he took in (among others, Alderman Back well), eat a pickled herring, the largest I ever saw, and drink variety of wines till I was almost merry; but I did keep in good tune; and so, after the Council was up, I home; and there find my wife not yet come home from Deptford, he she hath been all this day to see her mother, but she come and by, and so to talk, and supper, and to bed. This night I did bring home from the King's potticary's, in White Hall by Mr. Cooling's direction, a water that he says did him mighty good for his eyes. I pray God it may do me good; but, by his description, his disease was the same as mine, and this do encourage me to use it. 3rd. Up, and to the Council of War again, with Middleton: but the proceedings of the Commanders so devilishly bad, and so professedly partial to the Captain, that I could endure it no longer, but took occasion to pretend business at the Office, and away, and Colonel Middleton with me, who was of the same mind, and resolved to declare our minds freely to the Duke of York about it. So to the office, where we sat all the morning. Then home to dinner, and so back to the office, where busy late till night, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Alderman Backewell's wife, by my invitation with my head, come up with her mother, and sat with us, and after sermon I did walk with them home, and there left them, and home to dinner, and after dinner with Sir J. Minnes and T. Middleton to White Hall, by appointment; and at my Lord Arlington's the Office did attend the King and Cabal, to discourse the further quantity of victuals fit to be declared for, which was 2,000 men for six months; and so without more ado or stay, there, hearing no news but that Sir Thomas Allen is to be expected every hour at home with his fleete, or news of his being gone back to Algier, and so home, where got my wife to read to me; and so after supper to bed. The Queen-Mother hath been of late mighty ill, and some fears of her death. 5th. Up, and by coach, it being very cold, to White Hall, expecting a meeting of Tangier, but it did not. But, however, did wait there all the morning, and, among other things, I spent a little time with Creed walking in the garden, and talking about our Office, and Child's coming in to be a Commissioner; and, being his friend, I did think he might do me a kindness to learn of him what the Duke of Buckingham and the faction do design touching me, and to instil good words concerning me, which he says, and I believe he will: and it is but necessary; for I have not a mind indeed at this time to be put out of my Office, if I can make any shift that is honourable to keep it; but I will not do it by deserting the Duke of York. At noon by appointment comes Mr. Sheres, and he and I to Unthanke's, where my wife stays for us in our coach, and Betty Turner with her; and we to the Mulberry Garden, where Sheres is to treat us with a Spanish Olio, [An olio is a mixed dish of meat and vegetables, and, secondarily, mixture or medley.] by a cook of his acquaintance that is there, that was with my Lord in Spain: and without any other company, he did do it, and mighty nobly; and the Olio was indeed a very noble dish, such as I never saw better, or any more of. This, and the discourse he did give us of Spain, and description of the Escuriall, was a fine treat. So we left other good things, that would keep till night, for a collation; and, with much content, took coach again, and went five or six miles towards Branford, the Prince of Tuscany, who comes into England only to spend money and see our country, comes into the town to-day, and is much expected; and we met him, but the coach passing by apace, we could not see much of him but he seems a very jolly and good comely man. By the way, we overtook Captain Ferrers upon his fine Spanish horse, and he is a fine horse indeed; but not so good, I think, as I have seen some. He did ride by us most of the way, and with us to the Park, and there left us, where we passed the evening, and meeting The. Turner, Talbot, W. Batelier, and his sister, in a coach, we anon took them with us to the Mulberry Garden; and there, after a walk, to supper upon what was left at noon; and very good; only Mr. Sheres being taken suddenly ill for a while, did spoil our mirth; but by and by was well again, and we mighty merry: and so broke up, and left him at Charing Cross, and so calling only at my cozen Turner's, away home, mightily pleased with the day's work, and this day come another new mayd, for a middle mayd, but her name I know not yet; and, for a cookmaid, we have, ever since Bridget went, used a blackmoore of Mr. Batelier's, Doll, who dresses our meat mighty well, and we mightily pleased with her. So by and by to bed. 6th. Up, and to the Office, and thence to the Excise Office about some business, and so back to the office and sat till late, end thence to Mr. Batelier's to dinner, where my cozen Turner and both her daughters, and Talbot Pepys and my wife, and a mighty fine dinner. They at dinner before I come; and, when I had dined, I away home, and thence to White Hall, where the Board waited on the Duke of York to discourse about the disposing of Sir Thomas Allen's fleete, which is newly come home to Portsmouth; and here Middleton and I did in plain terms acquaint the Duke of York what we thought and had observed in the late Court-martiall, which the Duke did give ear to; and though he thinks not fit to revoke what is already done in this case by a Court-martiall, yet it shall bring forth some good laws in the behaviour of Captains to their under Officers for the time to come. Thence home, and there, after a while at the Office, I home, and there come home my wife, who hath been with Batelier's late, and been dancing with the company, at which I seemed a little troubled, not being sent for thither myself, but I was not much so, but went to bed well enough pleased. 7th. Up, and by coach to my cozen Turner's, and invited them to dine at the Cocke to-day, with my wife and me; and so to the Lords of the Treasury, where all the morning, and settled matters to their liking about the assignments on the Customes, between the Navy Office and Victualler, and to that end spent most of the morning there with D. Gawden, and thence took him to the Cocke, and there left him and my clerk Gibson together evening their reckonings, while I to the New Exchange to talk with Betty, my little sempstress; and so to Mrs. Turner's, to call them to dinner, but my wife not come, I back again, and was overtaken by a porter, with a message from my wife that she was ill, and could not come to us: so I back again to Mrs. Turner's, and find them gone; and so back again to the Cocke, and there find Mr: Turner, Betty, and Talbot Pepys, and they dined with myself Sir D. Gawden and Gibson, and mighty merry, this house being famous for good meat, and particularly pease-porridge and after dinner broke up, and they away; and I to the Council-Chamber, and there heard the great complaint of the City, tried against the gentlemen of the Temple, for the late riot, as they would have it, when my Lord Mayor was there. But, upon hearing the whole business, the City was certainly to blame to charge them in this manner as with a riot: but the King and Council did forbear to determine any thing it, till the other business of the title and privilege be decided which is now under dispute at law between them, whether Temple be within the liberty of the City or no. But I, sorry to see the City so ill advised as to complain in a thing where their proofs were so weak. Thence to my cousin Turner's, and thence with her and her daughters, and her sister Turner, I carrying Betty in my lap, to Talbot's chamber at the Temple, where, by agreement, the poor rogue had a pretty dish of anchovies and sweetmeats for them; and hither come Mr. Eden, who was in his mistress's disfavour ever since the other night that he come in thither fuddled, when we were there. But I did make them friends by my buffoonery, and bringing up a way of spelling their names, and making Theophila spell Lamton, which The. would have to be the name of Mr. Eden's mistress, and mighty merry we were till late, and then I by coach home, and so to bed, my wife being ill of those, but well enough pleased with my being with them. This day I do hear that Betty Turner is to be left at school at Hackney, which I am mightily pleased with; for then I shall, now and then, see her. She is pretty, and a girl for that, and her relations, I love. 8th. Up, and to White Hall, to the King's side, to find Sir T. Clifford, where the Duke of York come and found me, which I was sorry for, for fear he should think I was making friends on that side. But I did put it off the best I could, my being there: and so, by and by, had opportunity alone to shew Sir T. Clifford the fair account I had drawn up of the Customes, which he liked, and seemed mightily pleased with me; and so away to the Excise-Office, to do a little business there, and so to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again till the evening, and then with my wife by coach to Islington, to pay what we owe there, for the late dinner at Jane's wedding; and so round by Kingsland and Hogsden home, pleased with my. wife's singing with me, by the way, and so to the office again a little, and then home to supper and to bed. Going this afternoon through Smithfield, I did see a coach run over the coachman's neck, and stand upon it, and yet the man rose up, and was well after it, which I thought a wonder. 9th. Up, and by water to White Hall, end there, with the Board, attended the Duke of York, and Sir Thomas Allen with us (who come to town yesterday); and it is resolved another fleete shall go to the Streights forthwith, and he command it. But his coming home is mighty hardly talked on by the merchants, for leaving their ships there to the mercy of the Turks: but of this more in my White-Booke. Thence out, and slipped out by water to Westminster Hall and there thought to have spoke with Mrs. Martin, but she was not there, nor at home. So back again, and with W. Hewer by coach home and to dinner, and then to the office, and out again with W. Hewer to the Excise-Office, and to several places; among others, to Mr. Faythorne's, to have seen an instrument which he was said to have, for drawing perspectives, but he had it not: but here I did see his work-house, and the best things of his doing he had by him, and so to other places among others to Westminster Hall, and I took occasion to make a step to Mrs. Martin's, the first time I have been with her since her husband went last to sea, which is I think a year since . . . . But, Lord! to hear how sillily she tells the story of her sister Doll's being a widow and lately brought to bed; and her husband, one Rowland Powell, drowned, sea with her husband, but by chance dead at sea, cast When God knows she hath played the whore, and forced at this time after she was brought to bed, this story. Thence calling at several places by the home, and there to the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Excise-Office, and thence to White Hall a little, and so back again to the 'Change, but nobody there, it being over, and so walked home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Seymour to visit me, a talking fellow: but I hear by him that Captain Trevanion do give it out every where, that I did overrule the whole Court-martiall against him, as long as I was there; and perhaps I may receive, this time, some wrong by it: but I care not, for what I did was out of my desire of doing justice. So the office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 11th (Lord's day. Easter day). Up, and to Church; where Alderman Backewell's wife, and mother, and boy, and another gentlewoman, did come, and sit in our pew; but no women of our own there, and so there was room enough. Our Parson made a dull sermon, and so home to dinner; and, after dinner, my wife and I out by coach, and Balty with us, to Loton, the landscape-drawer, a Dutchman, living in St. James's Market, but there saw no good pictures. But by accident he did direct us to a painter that was then in the house with him, a Dutchman, newly come over, one Evarelst, who took us to his lodging close by, and did shew us a little flower-pot of his doing, the finest thing that ever, I think, I saw in my life; the drops of dew hanging on the leaves, so as I was forced, again and again, to put my finger to it, to feel whether my eyes were deceived or no. He do ask L70 for it: I had the vanity to bid him L20; but a better picture I never saw in my whole life; and it is worth going twenty miles to see it. Thence, leaving Balty there, I took my wife to St. James's, and there carried her to the Queen's Chapel, the first time I ever did it; and heard excellent musick, but not so good as by accident I did hear there yesterday, as I went through the Park from White Hall to see Sir W. Coventry, which I have forgot to set down in my journal yesterday. And going out of the Chapel, I did see the Prince of Tuscany' come out, a comely, black, fat man, in a mourning suit; and my wife and I did see him this afternoon through a window in this Chapel. All that Sir W. Coventry yesterday did tell me new was, that the King would not yet give him leave to come to kiss his hand; and he do believe that he will not in a great while do it, till those about him shall see fit, which I am sorry for. Thence to the Park, my wife and I; and here Sir W. Coventry did first see me and my wife in a coach of our own; and so did also this night the Duke of York, who did eye my wife mightily. But I begin to doubt that my being so much seen in my own coach at this time, may be observed to my prejudice; but I must venture it now. So home, and by night home, and so to my office, and there set down my journal, with the help of my left eye through my tube, for fourteen days' past; which is so much, as, I hope, I shall not run in arrear again, but the badness of my eyes do force me to it. So home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where I of the whole Office attended the Duke of York at his meeting with Sir Thomas Allen and several flag-officers, to consider of the manner of managing the war with Algiers; and, it being a thing I was wholly silent in, I did only observe; and find that; their manner of discourse on this weighty affair was very mean and disorderly, the Duke of York himself being the man that I thought spoke most to the purpose. Having done here, I up and down the house, talking with this man and that, and: then meeting Mr. Sheres, took him to see the fine flower-pot I saw yesterday, and did again offer L20 for it; but he [Verelst] insists upon L50. Thence I took him to St. James's, but there was no musique, but so walked to White Hall, and, by and by to my wife at Unthanke's, and with her was Jane, and so to the Cocke, where they, and I, and Sheres, and Tom dined, my wife having a great desire to eat of their soup made of pease, and dined very well, and thence by water to the Bear-Garden, and there happened to sit by Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who is still full of his vain-glorious and prophane talk. Here we saw a prize fought between a soldier and country fellow, one Warrell, who promised the least in his looks, and performed the most of valour in his boldness and evenness of mind, and smiles in all he did, that ever I saw and we were all both deceived and infinitely taken with him. He did soundly beat the soldier, and cut him over the head. Thence back to White Hall, mightily pleased, all of us, with this sight, and particularly this fellow, as a most extraordinary man for his temper and evenness in fighting. And there leaving Sheres, we by our own coach home, and after sitting an hour, thrumming upon my viall, and singing, I to bed, and left my wife to do something to a waistcoat and petticoat she is to wear to-morrow. This evening, coming home, we overtook Alderman Backewell's coach and his lady, and followed them to their house, and there made them the first visit, where they received us with extraordinary civility, and owning the obligation. But I do, contrary to my expectation, find her something a proud and vain-glorious woman, in telling the number of her servants and family and expences: he is also so, but he was ever of that strain. But here he showed me the model of his houses that he is going to build in Cornhill and Lumbard Street; but he hath purchased so much there, that it looks like a little town, and must have cost him a great deal of money. 13th. Up, and at the Office a good while, and then, my wife going down the River to spend the day with her mother at Deptford, I abroad, and first to the milliner's in Fenchurch Street, over against Rawlinson's, and there, meeting both him and her in the shop, I bought a pair of gloves, and fell to talk, and found so much freedom that I stayed there the best part of the morning till towards noon, with great pleasure, it being a holiday, and then against my will away and to the 'Change, where I left W. Hewer, and I by hackney-coach to the Spittle, and heard a piece of a dull sermon to my Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and thence saw them all take horse and ride away, which I have not seen together many a-day; their wives also went in their coaches; and, indeed, the sight was mighty pleasing. Thence took occasion to go back to this milliner's [in Fenchurch Street], whose name I now understand to be Clerke; and there, her husband inviting me up to the balcony, to see the sight go by to dine at Clothworker's-Hall, I did go up and there saw it go by: and then; there being a good piece of cold roast beef upon the tables and one Margetts, a young merchant that lodges there, and is likely to marry a sister of hers, I staid and eat, and had much good conversation with her, who hath the vanity to talk of her great friends and father, one Wingate, near Welling;, that hath been a Parliament-man. Here also was Stapely: the rope-merchant, and dined with us; and, after spending most of the afternoon also, I away home, and there sent for W. Hewer, and he and I by water to White Hall to loop among other things, for Mr. May, to unbespeak his dining with me to-morrow. But here being in the court-yard, God would have it, I spied Deb., which made my heart and head to work, and I presently could not refrain, but sent W. Hewer away to look for Mr. Wren (W. Hewer, I perceive, did see her, but whether he did see me see her I know not, or suspect my sending him away I know not, but my heart could not hinder me), and I run after her and two women and a man, more ordinary people, and she in her old clothes, and after hunting a little, find them in the lobby of the chapel below stairs, and there I observed she endeavoured to avoid me, but I did speak to her and she to me, and did get her pour dire me ou she demeurs now, and did charge her para say nothing of me that I had vu elle, which she did promise, and so with my heart full of surprize and disorder I away, and meeting with Sir H. Cholmley walked into the Park with him and back again, looking to see if I could spy her again in the Park, but I could not. And so back to White Hall, and then back to the Park with Mr. May, but could see her, no more, and so with W. Hewer, who I doubt by my countenance might see some disorder in me, we home by water, and there I find Talbot Pepys, and Mrs. Turner, and Betty, come to invite us to dinner on Thursday; and, after drinking, I saw them to the water-side, and so back home through Crutched Friars, and there saw Mary Mercer, and put off my hat to her, on the other side of the way, but it being a little darkish she did not, I think, know me well, and so to my office to put my papers in order, they having been removed for my closet to be made clean, and so home to my wife, who is come home from Deptford. But, God forgive me, I hardly know how to put on confidence enough to speak as innocent, having had this passage to-day with Deb., though only, God knows, by accident. But my great pain is lest God Almighty shall suffer me to find out this girl, whom indeed I love, and with a bad amour, but I will pray to God to give me grace to forbear it. So home to supper, where very sparing in my discourse, not giving occasion of any enquiry where I have been to-day, or what I have done, and so without any trouble to-night more than my fear, we to bed. 14th. Up, and with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there I did speak with the Duke of York, the Council sitting in the morning, and it was to direct me to have my business ready of the Administration of the Office against Saturday next, when the King would have a hearing of it. Thence home, W. Hewer with me, and then out with my own coach to the Duke of York's play-house, and there saw "The Impertinents," a play which pleases me well still; but it is with great trouble that I now see a play, because of my eyes, the light of the candles making it very troublesome to me. After the play;: my wife and I towards the Park, but it being too late we to Creed's, and there find him and her [his wife] together alone, in their new house, where I never was before, they lodging before at the next door, and a pretty house it is; but I do not see that they intend to keep any coach. Here they treat us like strangers, quite according to the fashion--nothing to drink or eat, which is a thing that will spoil our ever having any acquaintance with them; for we do continue the old freedom and kindness of England to all our friends. But they do here talk mightily of my Lady Paulina making a very good end, and being mighty religious in her lifetime; and hath left many good notes of sermons and religion; wrote with her own hand, hand, which nobody ever knew of; which I am glad of: but she was always a peevish lady. Thence home, and there to talk and to supper and to bed, all being very safe as to my seeing of poor Deb. yesterday. 15th. Up, and to the office, and thence before the office sat to the Excise Office with W. Hewer, but found some occasion to go another way to the Temple upon business, and I by Deb.'s direction did know whither in Jewen Street to direct my hackney coachman, while I staid in the coach in Aldgate Street, to go thither just to enquire whether Mrs. Hunt, her aunt, was in town, who brought me word she was not; thought this was as much as I could do at once, and therefore went away troubled through that I could do no more but to the office I must go and did, and there all the morning, but coming thither I find Bagwell's wife, who did give me a little note into my hand, wherein I find her para invite me para meet her in Moorfields this noon, where I might speak with her, and so after the office was up, my wife being gone before by invitation to my cozen Turner's to dine, I to the place, and there, after walking up and down by the windmills, I did find her and talk with her, but it being holiday and the place full of people, we parted, leaving further discourse and doing to another time. Thence I away, and through Jewen Street, my mind, God knows, running that way, but stopped not, but going down Holborne hill, by the Conduit, I did see Deb. on foot going up the hill. I saw her, and she me, but she made no stop, but seemed unwilling to speak to me; so I away on, but then stopped and 'light, and after her and overtook her at the end of Hosier lane in Smithfield, and without standing in the street desired her to follow me, and I led her into a little blind alehouse within the walls, and there she and I alone fell to talk and baiser la and toker su mammailles, but she mighty coy, and I hope modest . . . . I did give her in a paper 20s., and we did agree para meet again in the Hall at Westminster on Monday next; and so giving me great hopes by her carriage that she continues modest and honest, we did there part, she going home and I to Mrs. Turner's, but when I come back to the place where I left my coach it was gone, I having staid too long, which did trouble me to abuse the poor fellow, so that taking another coach I did direct him to find out the fellow and send him to me. At my cozen Turner's I find they are gone all to dinner to Povy's, and thither I, and there they were all, and W. Batelier and his sister, and had dined; but I had good things brought me, and then all up and down the house, and mightily pleased to see the fine rooms: but, the truth is, there are so many bad pictures, that to me make the good ones lose much of the pleasure in seeing them. The. and Betty Turner in new flowered tabby gowns, and so we were pretty merry, only my fear upon me for what I had newly done, do keep my content in. So, about five or six o'clock, away, and I took my wife and the two Bateliers, and carried them homeward, and W. Batelier 'lighting, I carried the women round by Islington, and so down Bishopsgate Street home, and there to talk and sup, and then to bed. 16th. Up, and to my chamber, where with Mr. Gibson all the morning, and there by noon did almost finish what I had to write about the Administration of the Office to present to the Duke of York, and my wife being gone abroad with W. Hewer, to see the new play to-day, at the Duke of York's house, "Guzman," I dined alone with my people, and in the afternoon away by coach to White Hall; and there the Office attended the Duke of York; and being despatched pretty soon, and told that we should not wait on the King, as intended, till Sunday, I thence presently to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, in the 18d. seat, did get room to see almost three acts of the play; but it seemed to me but very ordinary. After the play done, I into the pit, and there find my wife and W. Hewer; and Sheres got to them, which, so jealous is my nature, did trouble me, though my judgment tells me there is no hurt in it, on neither side; but here I did meet with Shadwell, the poet, who, to my great wonder, do tell me that my Lord of [Orrery] did write this play, trying what he could do in comedy, since his heroique plays could do no more wonders. This do trouble me; for it is as mean a thing, and so he says, as hath been upon the stage a great while; and Harris, who hath no part in it, did come to me, and told me in discourse that he was glad of it, it being a play that will not take. Thence home, and to my business at the office, to finish it, but was in great pain about yesterday still, lest my wife should have sent her porter to enquire anything, though for my heart I cannot see it possible how anything could be discovered of it, but yet such is fear as to render me full of doubt and disgust. At night to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon at home to dinner, and there find Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and he dined with us; and there hearing that "The Alchymist" was acted, we did go, and took him with us to the King's house; and it is still a good play, having not been acted for two or three years before; but I do miss Clun, for the Doctor. But more my eyes will not let me enjoy the pleasure I used to have in a play. Thence with my wife in hackney to Sir W. Coventry's, who being gone to the Park we drove after him, and there met him coming out, and followed him home, and there sent my wife to Unthanke's while I spent on hour with him reading over first my draught of the Administration of the Navy, which he do like very well; and so fell to talk of other things, and among the rest of the story of his late disgrace, and how basely and in what a mean manner the Duke of Buckingham hath proceeded against him--not like a man of honour. He tells me that the King will not give other answer about his coming to kiss his hands, than "Not yet." But he says that this that he desires, of kissing the King's hand, is only to show to the world that he is not discontented, and not in any desire to come again into play, though I do perceive that he speaks this with less earnestness than heretofore: and this, it may be, is, from what he told me lately, that the King is offended at what is talked, that he hath declared himself desirous not to have to do with any employment more. But he do tell me that the leisure he hath yet had do not at all begin to be burdensome to him, he knowing how to spend his time with content to himself; and that he hopes shortly to contract his expence, so as that he shall not be under any straits in that respect neither; and so seems to be in very good condition of content. Thence I away over the Park, it being now night, to White Hall, and there, in the Duchess's chamber, do find the Duke of York; and, upon my offer to speak with him, he did come to me, and withdrew to his closet, and there did hear and approve my paper of the Administration of the Navy, only did bid me alter these words, "upon the rupture between the late King and the Parliament," to these, "the beginning of the late Rebellion;" giving it me as but reason to shew that it was with the Rebellion that the Navy was put by out of its old good course, into that of a Commission. Having done this, we fell to other talk; he with great confidence telling me how matters go among our adversaries, in reference to the Navy, and that he thinks they do begin to flag; but then, beginning to talk in general of the excellency of old constitutions, he did bring out of his cabinet, and made me read it, an extract out of a book of my late Lord of Northumberland's, so prophetic of the: business of Chatham, as is almost miraculous. I did desire, and he did give it me to copy out, which pleased me mightily, and so, it being late, I away and to my wife, and by hackney; home, and there, my eyes being weary with reading so much: but yet not so much as I was afeard they would, we home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning till 2 o'clock at my Office, with Gibson and Tom, about drawing up fair my discourse of the Administration of the Navy, and then, Mr. Spong being come to dine with me, I in to dinner, and then out to my Office again, to examine the fair draught; and so borrowing Sir J. Minnes's coach, he going with Colonel Middleton, I to White Hall, where we all met and did sign it and then to my Lord Arlington's, where the King, and the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, as also Ormond and the two Secretaries, with my Lord Ashly and Sir T. Clifton was. And there, by and by, being called in, Mr. Williamson did read over our paper, which was in a letter to the Duke of York, bound up in a book with the Duke of York's Book of Instructions. He read it well; and, after read, we were bid to withdraw, nothing being at all said to it. And by and by we were called in again, and nothing said to that business; but another begun, about the state of this year's action, and our wants of money, as I had stated the same lately to our Treasurers; which I was bid, and did largely, and with great content, open. And having so done, we all withdrew, and left them to debate our supply of money; to which, being called in, and referred to attend on the Lords of the Treasury, we all departed. And I only staid in the House till the Council rose; and then to the Duke of York, who in the Duchess's chamber come to me, and told me that the book was there left with my Lord Arlington, for any of the Lords to view that had a mind, and to prepare and present to the King what they had to say in writing, to any part of it, which is all we can desire, and so that rested. The Duke of York then went to other talk; and by and by comes the Prince of Tuscany to visit him, and the Duchess; and I find that he do still remain incognito, and so intends to do all the time he stays here, for avoiding trouble to the King and himself, and expence also to both. Thence I to White Hall Gate, thinking to have found Sir J. Minnes's coach staying for me; but, not being there, and this being the first day of rain we have had many a day, the streets being as dusty as in summer, I forced to walk to my cozen Turner's, and there find my wife newly gone home, which vexed me, and so I, having kissed and taken leave of Betty, who goes to Putney to school to-morrow, I walked through the rain to the Temple, and there, with much ado, got a coach, and so home, and there to supper, and Pelling comes to us, and after much talk, we parted, and to bed. 19th. Up, and with Tom (whom, with his wife, I, and my wife, had this morning taken occasion to tell that I did intend to give him L40 for himself, and L20 to his wife, towards their setting out in the world, and that my wife would give her L20 more, that she might have as much to begin with as he) by coach to White Hall, and there having set him work in the Robe Chamber, to write something for me, I to Westminster Hall, and there walked from 10 o'clock to past 12, expecting to have met Deb., but whether she had been there before, and missing me went away, or is prevented in coming, and hath no mind to come to me (the last whereof, as being most pleasing, as shewing most modesty, I should be most glad of), I know not, but she not then appearing, I being tired with walking went home, and my wife being all day at Jane's, helping her, as she said, to cut out linen and other things belonging to her new condition, I after dinner out again, and, calling for my coach, which was at the coachmaker's, and hath been for these two or three days, to be new painted, and the window-frames gilt against May-day, went on with my hackney to White Hall, and thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there did beckon to Doll Lane, now Mrs. Powell, as she would have herself called, and went to her sister Martin's lodgings, the first time I have been there these eight or ten months, I think, and her sister being gone to Portsmouth to her Y husband, I did stay and talk and drink with Doll . . . . So away:; and to White Hall, and there took my own coach, which was now come, and so away home, and there to do business, and my wife being come home we to talk and to sup, there having been nothing yet like discovery in my wife of what hath lately passed with me about Deb., and so with great content to bed 20th. Up; and to the Office, and my wife abroad with Mary Batelier, with our own coach, but borrowed Sir J Minnes's coachman, that so our own might stay at home, to attend at dinner; our family being mightily disordered by our little boy's falling sick the last night; and we fear it will prove the small-pox. At noon comes my guest, Mr. Hugh May, and with him Sir Henry Capell, my old Lord Capel's son, and Mr. Parker; and I had a pretty dinner for them; and both before and after dinner had excellent discourse; and shewed them my closet and my Office, and the method of it to their great content; and more extraordinary, manly discourse and opportunity of shewing myself, and learning from others, I have not, in ordinary discourse, had in my life, they being all persons of worth, but especially Sir H. Capell, whose being a Parliament-man, and hearing my discourse in the Parliament-house, hath, as May tells me, given him along desire to know and discourse with me. In the afternoon we walked to the Old Artillery-Ground' near the Spitalfields, where I never was before, but now, by Captain Deane's invitation, did go to see his new gun tryed, this being the place where the Officers of the Ordnance do try all their great guns; and when we come, did find that the trial had been made; and they going away with extraordinary report of the proof of his gun, which, from the shortness and bigness, they do call Punchinello. But I desired Colonel Legg to stay and give us a sight of her performance, which he did, and there, in short, against a gun more than as long and as heavy again, and charged with as much powder again, she carried the same bullet as strong to the mark, and nearer and above the mark at a point blank than theirs, and is more easily managed, and recoyles no more than that, which is a thing so extraordinary as to be admired for the happiness of his invention, and to the great regret of the old Gunners and Officers of the Ordnance that were there, only Colonel Legg did do her much right in his report of her. And so, having seen this great and first experiment, we all parted, I seeing my guests into a hackney coach, and myself, with Captain Deane, taking a hackney coach, did go out towards Bow, and went as far as Stratford, and all the way talking of this invention, and he offering me a third of the profit of the invention; which, for aught I know, or do at present think, may prove matter considerable to us: for either the King will give him a reward for it, if he keeps it to himself, or he will give us a patent to make our profit of it: and no doubt but it will be of profit to merchantmen and others, to have guns of the same force at half the charge. This was our talk: and then to talk of other things, of the Navy in general: and, among other things, he did tell me that he do hear how the Duke of Buckingham hath a spite at me, which I knew before, but value it not: and he tells me that Sir T. Allen is not my friend; but for all this I am not much troubled, for I know myself so usefull that, as I believe, they will not part with me; so I thank God my condition is such that I can; retire, and be able to live with comfort, though not with abundance. Thus we spent the evening with extraordinary good discourse, to my great content, and so home to the Office, and there did some business, and then home, where my wife do come home, and I vexed at her staying out so late, but she tells me that she hath been at home with M. Batelier a good while, so I made nothing of it, but to supper and to bed. 21st. Up; and with my own coach as far as the Temple, and thence sent it to my cozen Turner, who, to ease her own horses, that are going with her out of town, do borrow mine to-day. So I to Auditor Wood's, and thereto meet, and met my Lord Bellassis upon some business of his accounts, and having done that did thence go to St. James's, and attended the Duke of York a little, being the first time of my waiting on him at St. James's this summer, whither he is now newly gone and thence walked to White Hall; and so, by and by, to the Council-Chamber, and heard a remarkable cause pleaded between the Farmers of the Excise of Wiltshire, in complaint against the justices of Peace of Salisbury: and Sir H. Finch was for the former. But, Lord! to see how he did with his admirable eloquence order the matter, is not to be conceived almost: so pleasant a thing it is to hear him plead. Then at noon by coach home, and thither by and by comes cozen Turner, and The., and Joyce, in their riding-clod: they being come from their lodgings to her husbands chamber, at the Temple, and there do lie, and purpose to go out of town on Friday next; and here I had a good dinner for them. After dinner by water to White Hall, where the Duke of York did meet our Office, and went with us to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury; and there we did go over all the business of the state I had drawn up, of this year's action and expence, which I did do to their satisfaction, and convincing them of the necessity of providing more money, if possible, for us. Thence the Duke of York being gone, I did there stay walking with Sir H. Cholmly in the Court, talking of news; where he told me, that now the great design of the Duke of Buckingham is to prevent the meeting, since he cannot bring about with the King the dissolving, of this Parliament, that the King may not need it; and therefore my Lord St. Albans is hourly expected with great offers of a million of money,--[From Louis XIV. See April 28th]--to buy our breach with the Dutch: and this, they do think, may tempt the King to take the money, and thereby be out of a necessity of calling the Parliament again, which these people dare not suffer to meet again: but this he doubts, and so do I, that it will be to the ruin of the nation if we fall out with Holland. This we were discoursing when my boy comes to tell me that his mistress was at the Gate with the coach, whither I went, and there find my wife and the whole company. So she, and Mrs. Turner, and The., and Talbot, in mine: and Joyce, W. Batelier, and I, in a hackney, to Hyde Park, where I was ashamed to be seen; but mightily pleased, though troubled, with a drunken coachman that did not remember when we come to 'light, where it was that he took us up; but said at Hammersmith, and thither he was carrying of us when we come first out of the Park. So I carried them all to Hercules-Pillars, and there did treat them: and so, about ten at night, parted, and my wife, and I, and W. Batelier, home; and he gone, we to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and Captain Deane with us; and very good discourse, and particularly about my getting a book for him to draw up his whole theory of shipping, which, at my desire, he hath gone far in, and hath shewn me what he hath done therein, to admiration. I did give him a Parallelogram, which he is mightily taken with; and so after dinner to the Office, where all the afternoon till night late, and then home. Vexed at my wife's not being come home, she being gone again abroad with M. Batelier, and come not home till ten at night, which vexed me, so that I to bed, and lay in pain awake till past one, and then to sleep. 23rd. Going to rise, without saying anything, my wife stopped me; and, after a little angry talk, did tell me how she spent all day yesterday with M. Batelier and her sweetheart, and seeing a play at the New Nursery, which is set up at the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which was formerly the King's house. So that I was mightily pleased again, and rose a with great content; and so by water to White Hall, and there to the Council-Chamber, and heard two or three causes: among others, that of the complaint of Sir Philip Howard and Watson, the inventors, as they pretend, of the business of varnishing and lackerworke, against the Company of Painters, who take upon them to do the same thing; where I saw a great instance of the weakness of a young Counsel not used to such an audience, against the Solicitor-General and two more able Counsel used to it. Though he had the right of, his side, and did prevail for what he pretended to against the rest, yet it was with much disadvantage and hazard. Here, also I heard Mr. Papillion' make his defence to the King, against some complaints of the Farmers of Excise; but it was so weak, and done only by his own seeking, that it was to his injury more than profit, and made his case the worse, being ill managed, and in a cause against the King. Thence at noon, the Council rising, I to Unthanke's, and there by agreement met my wife, and with her to the Cocke, and did give her a dinner, but yet both of us but in an ill humour, whatever was the matter with her, but thence to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Generous Portugalls," a play that pleases me better and better every time we see it; and, I thank God! it did not trouble my eyes so much as I was afeard it would. Here, by accident, we met Mr. Sheres, and yet I could not but be troubled, because my wife do so delight to talk of him, and to see him. Nevertheless, we took him with us to our mercer's, and to the Exchange, and he helped me to choose a summer-suit of coloured camelott, coat and breeches, and a flowered tabby vest very rich; and so home, where he took his leave, and down to Greenwich, where he hath some friends; and I to see Colonel Middleton, who hath been ill for a day or two, or three; and so home to supper, and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, Mr. Sheres dining with us by agreement; and my wife, which troubled me, mighty careful to have a handsome dinner for him; but yet I see no reason to be troubled at it, he being a very civil and worthy man, I think; but only it do seem to imply some little neglect of me. After dinner to the King's house, and there saw "The General" revived--a good play, that pleases me well, and thence, our coach coming for us, we parted and home, and I busy late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. Well pleased to-night to have Lead, the vizard-maker, bring me home my vizard, with a tube fastened in it, which, I think, will do my business, at least in a great measure, for the easing of my eyes. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and to my Office awhile, and thither comes Lead with my vizard, with a tube fastened within both eyes; which, with the help which he prompts me to, of a glass in the tube, do content me mightily. So to church, where a stranger made a dull sermon, but I mightily pleased to looks upon Mr. Buckworth's little pretty daughters, and so home to, dinner, where W. Howe come and dined with us; and then I to my Office, he being gone, to write down my journal for the last twelve days: and did it with the help of my vizard and tube fixed to it, and do find it mighty manageable, but how helpfull to my eyes this trial will shew me. So abroad with my wife, in the afternoon, to the Park, where very much company, and the weather very pleasant. I carried my wife to the Lodge, the first time this year, and there in our coach eat a cheese-cake and drank a tankard of milk. I showed her this day also first the Prince of Tuscany, who was in the Park, and many very fine ladies, and so home, and after supper to bed. 26th. Up, having lain long, and then by coach with W. Hewer to the Excise Office, and so to Lilly's, the Varnishes; who is lately dead, and his wife and brother keep up the trade, and there I left my French prints to be put on boards:, and, while I was there, a fire burst out in a chimney of a house over against his house, but it was with a gun quickly put out. So to White Hall, and did a little business there at the Treasury chamber, and so homeward, calling at the laceman's for some lace for my new suit, and at my tailor's, and so home, where to dinner, and Mr. Sheres dined, with us, who come hither to-day to teach my wife the rules of perspective; but I think, upon trial, he thinks it too hard to teach her, being ignorant of the principles of lines. After dinner comes one Colonel Macnachan, one that I see often at Court, a Scotchman, but know him not; only he brings me a letter from my Lord Middleton, who, he says, is in great distress for L500 to relieve my Lord Morton with, but upon, what account I know not; and he would have me advance it without order upon his pay for Tangier, which I was astonished at, but had the grace to deny him with an excuse. And so he went away, leaving me a little troubled that I was thus driven, on a sudden, to do any thing herein; but Creed, coming just now to see me, he approves of what I have done. And then to talk of general matters, and, by and by, Sheres being gone, my wife, and he, and I out, and I set him down at Temple Bar, and myself and wife went down the Temple upon seeming business, only to put him off, and just at the Temple gate I spied Deb. with another gentlewoman, and Deb. winked on me and smiled, but undiscovered, and I was glad to see her. So my wife and I to the 'Change, about things for her; and here, at Mrs. Burnett's shop, I am told by Betty, who was all undressed, of a great fire happened in Durham-Yard last night, burning the house of one Lady Hungerford, who was to come to town to it this night; and so the house is burned, new furnished, by carelessness of the girl sent to take off a candle from a bunch of candles, which she did by burning it off, and left the rest, as is supposed, on fire. The King and Court were here, it seems, and stopped the fire by blowing up of the next house. The King and Court went out of town to Newmarket this morning betimes, for a week. So home, and there to my chamber, and got my wife to read to me a little, and so to supper and to bed. Coming home this night I did call at the coachmaker's, and do resolve upon having the standards of my coach gilt with this new sort of varnish, which will come but to 40s.; and, contrary to my expectation, the doing of the biggest coach all over comes not to above L6, which is [not] very much. 27th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office again, where the afternoon busy till late, and then home, and got my wife to read to me in the Nepotisme, [The work here mentioned is a bitter satire against the Court Rome, written in Italian, and attributed to Gregorio Leti. It was first printed in 1667, without the name or place of printer, but it is from the press of the Elzevirs. The book obtained by Pepys was probably the anonymous English translation, "Il Nipotismo di Roma: or the history of the Popes nephews from the time of Sixtus the IV. to the death the last Pope Alexander the VII. In two parts. Written originally Italian in the year 1667 and Englished by W. A. London, 1669" 8vo. From this work the word Nepotism is derived, and is applied to the bad practice of statesmen, when in power, providing lucrative places for their relations.] which is very pleasant, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon was brought to me a fresh Distringas upon the score of the Tangier accounts which vexes me, though I hope it will not turn to my wrong. 28th. Up, and was called upon by Sir H. Cholmly to discourse about some accounts of his, of Tangier: and then other talk; and I find by him that it is brought almost effect ([through] the late endeavours of the Duke of York Duchess, the Queen-Mother, and my Lord St. Albans, together with some of the contrary faction, my Lord Arlington), that for a sum of money we shall enter into a league with the King of France, wherein, he says, my Lord Chancellor--[Clarendon; then an exile in France.]--is also concerned; and that he believes that, in the doing hereof, it is meant that he [Clarendon] shall come again, and that this sum of money will so help the King that he will not need the Parliament; and that, in that regard it will be forwarded by the Duke of Buckingham and his faction, who dread the Parliament. But hereby we must leave the Dutch, and that I doubt will undo us; and Sir H. Cholmly says he finds W. Coventry do think the like. Lady Castlemayne is instrumental in this matter, and, he say never more great with the King than she is now. But this a thing that will make the Parliament and kingdom mad, and will turn to our ruine: for with this money the King shall wanton away his time in pleasures, and think nothing of the main till it be too late. He gone, I to the office, where busy till noon, and then home to dinner, where W. Batelier dined with us, and pretty merry, and so I to the office again. This morning Mr. Sheres sent me, in two volumes, Mariana his History of Spaine, in Spanish, an excellent book; and I am much obliged for it to him. 29th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning, and at noon dined at home, and then to the Office again, there to despatch as much business as I could, that I might be at liberty to-morrow to look after my many things that I have to do, against May-day. So at night home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and by coach to the coachmaker's: and there I do find a great many ladies sitting in the body of a coach that must be ended by to-morrow: they were my Lady Marquess of Winchester, Bellassis, and other great ladies; eating of bread and butter, and drinking ale. I to my coach, which is silvered over, but no varnish yet laid on, so I put it in a way of doing; and myself about other business, and particularly to see Sir W. Coventry, with whom I talked a good while to my great content; and so to other places-among others, to my tailor's: and then to the belt-maker's, where my belt cost me 55s., of the colour of my new suit; and here, understanding that the mistress of the house, an oldish woman in a hat hath some water good for the eyes, she did dress me, making my eyes smart most horribly, and did give me a little glass of it, which I will use, and hope it will do me good. So to the cutler's, and there did give Tom, who was with me all day a sword cost me 12s. and a belt of my owne; and set my own silver-hilt sword a-gilding against to-morrow. This morning I did visit Mr. Oldenburgh, and did see the instrument for perspective made by Dr. Wren, of which I have one making by Browne; and the sight of this do please me mightily. At noon my wife come to me at my tailor's, and I sent her home and myself and Tom dined at Hercules' Pillars; and so about our business again, and particularly to Lilly's, the varnisher about my prints, whereof some of them are pasted upon the boards, and to my full content. Thence to the frame-maker's one Morris, in Long Acre, who shewed me several forms of frames to choose by, which was pretty, in little bits of mouldings, to choose by. This done, I to my coach-maker's, and there vexed to see nothing yet done to my coach, at three in the afternoon; but I set it in doing, and stood by it till eight at night, and saw the painter varnish which is pretty to see how every doing it over do make it more and more yellow; and it dries as fast in the sun as it can be laid on almost; and most coaches are, now-a-days done so, and it is very pretty when laid on well, and not pale, as some are, even to shew the silver. Here I did make the workmen drink, and saw my coach cleaned and oyled; and, staying among poor people there in the alley, did hear them call their fat child Punch, which pleased me mightily that word being become a word of common use for all that is thick and short. At night home, and there find my wife hath been making herself clean against to-morrow; and, late as it was, I did send my coachman and horses to fetch home the coach to-night, and so we to supper, myself most weary with walking and standing so much, to see all things fine against to-morrow, and so to bed. God give a blessing to it! Meeting with Mr. Sheres, he went with me up and down to several places, and, among others, to buy a perriwig, but I bought none; and also to Dancre's, where he was about my picture of Windsor, which is mighty pretty, and so will the prospect of Rome be. THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A. DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS. MAY 1669 May 1st. Up betimes. Called up by my tailor, and there first put on a summer suit this year; but it was not my fine one of flowered tabby vest, and coloured camelott tunique, because it was too fine with the gold lace at the hands, that I was afeard to be seen in it; but put on the stuff suit I made the last year, which is now repaired; and so did go to the Office in it, and sat all the morning, the day looking as if it would be fowle. At noon home to dinner, and there find my wife extraordinary fine, with her flowered tabby gown that she made two years ago, now laced exceeding pretty; and, indeed, was fine all over; and mighty earnest to go, though the day was very lowering; and she would have me put on my fine suit, which I did. And so anon we went alone through the town with our new liveries of serge, and the horses' manes and tails tied with red ribbons, and the standards there gilt with varnish, and all clean, and green refines, that people did mightily look upon us; and, the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more gay, than ours, all the day. But we set out, out of humour--I because Betty, whom I expected, was not come to go with us; and my wife that I would sit on the same seat with her, which she likes not, being so fine: and she then expected to meet Sheres, which we did in the Pell Mell, and, against my will, I was forced to take him into the coach, but was sullen all day almost, and little complaisant: the day also being unpleasing, though the Park full of coaches, but dusty and windy, and cold, and now and then a little dribbling rain; and, what made it worst, there were so many hackney-coaches as spoiled the sight of the gentlemen's; and so we had little pleasure. But here was W. Batelier and his sister in a borrowed coach by themselves, and I took them and we to the lodge; and at the door did give them a syllabub, and other things, cost me 12s., and pretty merry. And so back to the coaches, and there till the evening, and then home, leaving Mr. Sheres at St. James's Gate, where he took leave of us for altogether, he; being this night to set out for Portsmouth post, in his way to Tangier, which troubled my wife mightily, who is mighty, though not, I think, too fond of him. But she was out of humour all the evening, and I vexed at her for it, and she did not rest almost all the night, so as in the night I was forced; to take her and hug her to put her to rest. So home, and after a little supper, to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and there visit my Lord Sandwich, who, after about two months' absence at Hinchingbroke, come to town last night. I saw him, and very kind; and I am glad he is so, I having not wrote to him all the time, my eyes indeed not letting me. Here with Sir Charles Herbert [Harbord], and my Lord Hinchingbroke, and Sidney, we looked upon the picture of Tangier, designed: by Charles Herbert [Harbord], and drawn by Dancre, which my Lord Sandwich admires, as being the truest picture that ever he's saw in his life: and it is indeed very pretty, and I will be at the cost of having one of them. Thence with them to White Hall, and there walked out the sermon, with one or other; and then saw the Duke of York after sermon, and he talked to me a little; and so away back by water home, and after dinner got my wife to read, and then by coach, she and I, to the Park, and there spent the evening with much pleasure, it proving clear after a little shower, and we mighty fine as yesterday, and people mightily pleased with our coach, as I perceived; but I had not on my fine suit, being really afeard to wear it, it being so fine with the gold lace, though not gay. So home and to supper, and my wife to read, and Tom, my Nepotisme, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to my Lord Brouncker's, where Sir G. Carteret did meet Sir J. Minnes and me, to discourse upon Mr. Deering's business, who was directed, in the time of the war, to provide provisions at Hamburgh, by Sir G. Carteret's direction; and now G. Carteret is afeard to own it, it being done without written order. But by our meeting we do all begin to recollect enough to preserve Mr. Deering, I think, which, poor silly man! I shall be glad of, it being too much he should suffer for endeavouring to serve us. Thence to St. James's, where the Duke of York was playing in the Pell Mell; and so he called me to him most part of the time that he played, which was an hour, and talked alone to me; and, among other things, tells me how the King will not yet be got to name anybody in the room of Pen, but puts it off for three or four days; from whence he do collect that they are brewing something for the Navy, but what he knows not; but I perceive is vexed that things should go so, and he hath reason; for he told me that it is likely they will do in this as in other things--resolve first, and consider it and the fitness of it afterward. Thence to White Hall, and met with Creed, and I took him to the Harp and Balls, and there drank a cup of ale, he and I alone, and discoursed of matters; and I perceive by him that he makes no doubt but that all will turn to the old religion, for these people cannot hold things in their hands, nor prevent its coming to that; and by his discourse fits himself for it, and would have my Lord Sandwich do so, too, and me. After a little talk with him, and particularly about the ruinous condition of Tangier, which I have a great mind to lay before the Duke of York, before it be too late, but dare not, because of his great kindness to Lord Middleton, we parted, and I homeward; but called at Povy's, and there he stopped me to dinner, there being Mr. Williamson, the Lieutenant of the Tower, Mr. Childe, and several others. And after dinner, Povy and I together to talk of Tangier; and he would have me move the Duke of York in it, for it concerns him particularly, more than any, as being the head of us; and I do think to do it. Thence home, and at the office busy all the afternoon, and so to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, and then my wife being gone to see her mother at Deptford, I before the office sat went to the Excise Office, and thence being alone stepped into Duck Lane, and thence tried to have sent a porter to Deb.'s, but durst not trust him, and therefore having bought a book to satisfy the bookseller for my stay there, a 12d. book, Andronicus of Tom Fuller, I took coach, and at the end of Jewen Street next Red Cross Street I sent the coachman to her lodging, and understand she is gone for Greenwich to one Marys's, a tanner's, at which I, was glad, hoping to have opportunity to find her out; and so, in great fear of being seen, I to the office, and there all the morning, dined at home, and presently after dinner comes home my wife, who I believe is jealous of my spending the day, and I had very good fortune in being at home, for if Deb. had been to have been found it is forty to one but I had been abroad, God forgive me. So the afternoon at the office, and at night walked with my wife in the garden, and my Lord Brouncker with us, who is newly come to W. Pen's lodgings; and by and by comes Mr. Hooke; and my Lord, and he, and I into my Lord's lodgings, and there discoursed of many fine things in philosophy, to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and thought to have gone with Lord Brouncker to Mr. Hooke this morning betimes; but my Lord is taken ill of the gout, and says his new lodgings have infected him, he never having had any symptoms of it till now. So walked to Gresham College, to tell Hooke that my Lord could not come; and so left word, he being abroad, and I to St. James's, and thence, with the Duke of York, to White Hall, where the Board waited on him all the morning: and so at noon with Sir Thomas Allen, and Sir Edward Scott, and Lord Carlingford, to the Spanish Embassador's, where I dined the first time. The Olio not so good as Sheres's. There was at the table himself and a Spanish Countess, a good, comely, and witty lady-three Fathers and us. Discourse good and pleasant. And here was an Oxford scholar in a Doctor of Law's gowne, sent from the College where the Embassador lay, when the Court was there, to salute him before his return to Spain: This man, though a gentle sort of scholar, yet sat like a fool for want of French or Spanish, but [knew] only Latin, which he spoke like an Englishman to one of the Fathers. And by and by he and I to talk, and the company very merry at my defending Cambridge against Oxford: and I made much use of my French and Spanish here, to my great content. But the dinner not extraordinary at all, either for quantity or quality. Thence home, where my wife ill of those upon the maid's bed, and troubled at my being abroad. So I to the office, and there till night, and then to her, and she read to me the Epistle of Cassandra, which is very good indeed; and the better to her, because recommended by Sheres. So to supper, and to bed. 6th. Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, but he gone out. I by water back to the Office, and there all the morning; then to dinner, and then to the Office again, and anon with my wife by coach to take the ayre, it being a noble day, as far as the Greene Man, mightily pleased with our journey, and our condition of doing it in our own coach, and so home, and to walk in the garden, and so to supper and to bed, my eyes being bad with writing my journal, part of it, to-night. 7th. Up, and by coach to W. Coventry's; and there to talk with him a great deal with great content; and so to the Duke of York, having a great mind to speak to him about Tangier; but, when I come to it, his interest for my Lord Middleton is such that I dare not. So to the Treasury chamber, and then walked home round by the Excise Office, having by private vows last night in prayer to God Almighty cleared my mind for the present of the thoughts of going to Deb. at Greenwich, which I did long after. I passed by Guildhall, which is almost finished, and saw a poor labourer carried by, I think, dead with a fall, as many there are, I hear. So home to dinner, and then to the office a little, and so to see my Lord Brouncker, who is a little ill of the gout; and there Madam Williams told me that she heard that my wife was going into France this year, which I did not deny, if I can get time, and I pray God I may. But I wondering how she come to know it, she tells me a woman that my wife spoke to for a maid, did tell her so, and that a lady that desires to go thither would be glad to go in her company. Thence with my wife abroad, with our coach, most pleasant weather; and to Hackney, and into the marshes, where I never was before, and thence round about to Old Ford and Bow; and coming through the latter home, there being some young gentlewomen at a door, and I seeming not to know who they were, my wife's jealousy told me presently that I knew well enough it was that damned place where Deb. dwelt, which made me swear very angrily that it was false, as it was, and I carried [her] back again to see the place, and it proved not so, so I continued out of humour a good while at it, she being willing to be friends, so I was by and by, saying no more of it. So home, and there met with a letter from Captain Silas Taylor, and, with it, his written copy of a play that he hath wrote, and intends to have acted.--It is called "The Serenade, or Disappointment," which I will read, not believing he can make any good of that kind. He did once offer to show Harris it, but Harris told him that he would judge by one Act whether it were good or no, which is indeed a foolish saying, and we see them out themselves in the choice of a play after they have read the whole, it being sometimes found not fit to act above three times; nay, and some that have been refused at one house is found a good one at the other. This made Taylor say he would not shew it him, but is angry, and hath carried it to the other house, and he thinks it will be acted there, though he tells me they are not yet agreed upon it. But I will find time to get it read to me, and I did get my wife to begin a little to-night in the garden, but not so much as I could make any judgment of it. So home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the Office, and there comes Lead to me, and at last my vizards are done, and glasses got to put in and out, as I will; and I think I have brought it to the utmost, both for easiness of using and benefit, that I can; and so I paid him 15s. for what he hath done now last, in the finishing them, and they, I hope, will do me a great deal of ease. At the Office all the morning, and this day, the first time, did alter my side of the table, after above eight years sitting on that next the fire. But now I am not able to bear the light of the windows in my eyes, I do begin there, and I did sit with much more content than I had done on the other side for a great while, and in winter the fire will not trouble my back. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon within, with Mr. Hater, Gibson, and W. Hewer, reading over and drawing up new things in the Instructions of Commanders, which will be good, and I hope to get them confirmed by the Duke of York, though I perceive nothing will effectually perfect them but to look over the whole body of the Instructions, of all the Officers of a ship, and make them all perfect together. This being done, comes my bookseller, and brings me home bound my collection of papers, about my Addresse to the Duke of York in August, which makes me glad, it being that which shall do me more right many years hence than, perhaps, all I ever did in my life: and therefore I do, both for my own and the King's sake, value it much. By and by also comes Browne, the mathematical instrument maker, and brings me home my instrument for perspective, made according to the description of Dr. Wren's, in the late Transactions; and he hath made it, I think, very well, and that, that I believe will do the thing, and therein gives me great content; but have I fear all the content that must be received by my eyes is almost lost. So to the office, and there late at business, and then home to supper and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Up; and, after dressing in my best suit with gold trimming, I to the Office, and there with Gibson and Tom finishing against to-morrow my notes upon Commanders' Instructions; and, when church-time, to church with my wife, leaving them at work. Dr. Mills preached a dull sermon, and so we home to dinner; and thence by coach to St. Andrew's, Holborne, thinking to have heard Dr. Stillingfleete preach, but we could not get a place, and so to St. Margaret's, Westminster, and there heard a sermon, and did get a place, the first we have heard there these many years, and here at a distance I saw Betty Michell, but she is become much a plainer woman than she was a girl. Thence towards the Park, but too soon to go in, so went on to Knightsbridge, and there eat and drank at "The World's End," where we had good things, and then back to the Park, and there till night, being fine weather, and much company, and so home, and after supper to bed. This day I first left off both my waistcoats by day, and my waistcoat by night, it being very hot weather, so hot as to make me break out, here and there, in my hands, which vexes me to see, but is good for me. 10th. Troubled, about three in the morning, with my wife's calling her maid up, and rising herself, to go with her coach abroad, to gather May-dew, which she did, and I troubled for it, for fear of any hurt, going abroad so betimes, happening to her; but I to sleep again, and she come home about six, and to bed again all well, and I up and with Mr. Gibson by coach to St. James's, and thence to White Hall, where the Duke of York met the Office, and there discoursed of several things, particularly the Instructions of Commanders of ships. But here happened by chance a discourse of the Council of Trade, against which the Duke of York is mightily displeased, and particularly Mr. Child, against whom he speaking hardly, Captain Cox did second the Duke of York, by saying that he was talked of for an unfayre dealer with masters of ships, about freight: to which Sir T. Littleton very hotly and foolishly replied presently, that he never heard any honest man speak ill of Child; to which the Duke of York did make a smart reply, and was angry; so as I was sorry to hear it come so far, and that I, by seeming to assent to Cox, might be observed too much by Littleton, though I said nothing aloud, for this must breed great heart-burnings. After this meeting done, the Duke of York took the Treasurers into his closet to chide them, as Mr. Wren tells me; for that my Lord Keeper did last night at the Council say, when nobody was ready to say any thing against the constitution of the Navy, that he did believe the Treasurers of the Navy had something to say, which was very foul on their part, to be parties against us. They being gone, Mr. Wren [and I] took boat, thinking to dine with my Lord of Canterbury; but, when we come to Lambeth, the gate was shut, which is strictly done at twelve o'clock, and nobody comes in afterwards: so we lost our labour, and therefore back to White Hall, and thence walked my boy Jacke with me, to my Lord Crew, whom I have not seen since he was sick, which is eight months ago, I think and there dined with him: he is mightily broke. A stranger a country gentleman, was with him: and he pleased with my discourse accidentally about the decay of gentlemen's families in the country, telling us that the old rule was, that a family might remain fifty miles from London one hundred years, one hundred miles from London two hundred years, and so farther, or nearer London more or less years. He also told us that he hath heard his father say, that in his time it was so rare for a country gentleman to come to London, that, when he did come, he used to make his will before he set out. Thence: to St. James's, and there met the Duke of York, who told me, with great content, that he did now think he should master our adversaries, for that the King did tell him that he was; satisfied in the constitution of the Navy, but that it was well to give these people leave to object against it, which they having not done, he did give order to give warrant to the Duke of York to direct Sir Jeremy Smith to be a Commissioner of the Navy in the room of Pen; which, though he be an impertinent fellow, yet I am glad of it, it showing that the other side is not so strong as it was: and so, in plain terms, the Duke of York did tell me, that they were every day losing ground; and particularly that he would take care to keep out Child: at all which I am glad, though yet I dare not think myself secure, as the King may yet be wrought upon by these people to bring changes in our Office, and remove us, ere it be long. Thence I to White Hall, an there took boat to Westminster, and to Mrs. Martin's, who is not come to town from her husband at Portsmouth. So drank only at Cragg's with Doll, and so to the Swan, and there baiser a new maid that is there, and so to White Hall again, to a Committee of Tangier, where I see all things going to rack in the business of the Corporation, and consequently in the place, by Middleton's going. Thence walked a little with Creed, who tells me he hears how fine my horses and coach are, and advises me to avoid being noted for it, which I was vexed to hear taken notice of, it being what I feared and Povy told me of my gold-lace sleeves in the Park yesterday, which vexed me also, so as to resolve never to appear in Court with them, but presently to have them taken off, as it is fit I should, and so to my wife at Unthanke's, and coach, and so called at my tailor's to that purpose, and so home, and after a little walk in the garden, home to supper and to bed. 11th. My wife again up by four o'clock, to go to gather May-dew; and so back home by seven, to bed, and by and by I up and to the office, where all the morning, and dined at noon at home with my people, and so all the afternoon. In the evening my wife and I all alone, with the boy, by water, up as high as Putney almost, with the tide, and back again, neither staying going nor coming; but talking, and singing, and reading a foolish copy of verses upon my Lord Mayor's entertaining of all the bachelors, designed in praise to my Lord Mayor, and so home and to the office a little, and then home to bed, my eyes being bad. Some trouble at Court for fear of the Queen's miscarrying; she being, as they all conclude, far gone with child. 12th. Up, and to Westminster Hall, where the term is, and this the first day of my being there, and here by chance met Roger Pepys, come to town the last night: I was glad to see him. After some talk with him and others, and among others Sir Charles Harbord and Sidney Montagu, the latter of whom is to set out to-morrow towards Flanders and Italy, I invited them to dine with me to-morrow, and so to Mrs. Martin's lodging, who come to town last night, and there je did hazer her, she having been a month, I think, at Portsmouth with her husband, newly come home from the Streights. But, Lord! how silly the woman talks of her great entertainment there, and how all the gentry come to visit her, and that she believes her husband is worth L6 or L700, which nevertheless I am glad of, but I doubt they will spend it a fast. Thence home, and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, in the side balcony, over against the musick, did hear, but not see, a new play, the first day acted, "The Roman Virgin," an old play, and but ordinary, I thought; but the trouble of my eyes with the light of the candles did almost kill me. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, and there had a promise from Sidney to come and dine with me to-morrow; and so my wife and I home in our coach, and there find my brother John, as I looked for, come to town from Ellington, where, among other things, he tell me the first news that my [sister Jackson] is with child, and fat gone, which I know not whether it did more trouble or please me, having no great care for my friends to have children; though I love other people's. So, glad to see him, we to supper, and so to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, it being a rainy foul day. But at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, and Sidney, and Sir Charles Harbord, and Roger Pepys, and dined with me; and had a good dinner, and very merry with; us all the afternoon, it being a farewell to Sidney; and so in the evening they away, and I to my business at the Office and so to supper, and talk with my brother, and so to bed. 14th. Up, and to St. James's to the Duke of York, and thence to White Hall, where we met about office business, and then at noon with Mr. Wren to Lambeth, to dinner with the Archbishop of Canterbury; the first time I was ever there and I have long longed for it; where a noble house, and well furnished with good pictures and furniture, and noble attendance in good order, and great deal of company, though an ordinary day; and exceeding great cheer, no where better, or so much, that ever I think I saw, for an ordinary table: and the Bishop mighty kind to me, particularly desiring my company another time, when less company there. Most of the company gone, and I going, I heard by a gentleman of a sermon that was to be there; and so I staid to hear it, thinking it serious, till by and by the gentleman told me it was a mockery, by one Cornet Bolton, a very gentleman-like man, that behind a chair did pray and preach like a Presbyter Scot that ever I heard in my life, with all the possible imitation in grimaces and voice. And his text about the hanging up their harps upon the willows: and a serious good sermon too, exclaiming against Bishops, and crying up of my good Lord Eglinton, a till it made us all burst; but I did wonder to have the Bishop at this time to make himself sport with things of this kind, but I perceive it was shewn him as a rarity; and he took care to have the room-door shut, but there were about twenty gentlemen there, and myself, infinitely pleased with the novelty. So over to White Hall, to a little Committee of Tangier; and thence walking in the Gallery, I met Sir Thomas Osborne, who, to my great content, did of his own accord fall into discourse with me, with so much professions of value and respect, placing the whole virtue of the Office of the Navy upon me, and that for the Comptroller's place, no man in England was fit for it but me, when Sir J. Minnes, as he says it is necessary, is removed: but then he knows not what to do for a man in my place; and in discourse, though I have no mind to the other, I did bring in Tom Hater to be the fittest man in the world for it, which he took good notice of. But in the whole I was mightily pleased, reckoning myself now fifty per cent. securer in my place than I did before think myself to be. Thence to Unthanke's, and there find my wife, but not dressed, which vexed me, because going to the Park, it being a most pleasant day after yesterday's rain, which lays all the dust, and most people going out thither, which vexed me. So home, sullen; but then my wife and I by water, with my brother, as high as Fulham, talking and singing, and playing the rogue with the Western barge-men, about the women of Woolwich, which mads them, an so back home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and at the Office all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me home, and I did discourse about evening some reckonings with him in the afternoon; but I could not, for my eyes, do it, which troubled me, and vexed him that would not; but yet we were friends, I advancing him more without it, and so to walk all the afternoon together in the garden; and I perceive still he do expect a change in of matters, especially as to religion, and fits himself for it by professing himself for it in his discourse. He gone, I to my business at my Office, and so at night home to supper, and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). My wife and I at church, our pew filled with Mrs. Backewell, and six more that she brought with her, which vexed me at her confidence. Dined at home and W. Batelier with us, and I all the afternoon drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York, about my eyes, for leave to spend three or four months out of the Office, drawing it so as to give occasion to a voyage abroad which I did, to my pretty good liking; and then with my wife to Hyde Park, where a good deal of company, and good weather, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to several places doing business, and the home to dinner, and then my wife and I and brother John by coach to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Spanish Curate" revived, which is a pretty good play, but my eyes troubled with seeing it, mightily. Thence carried them and Mr. Gibson, who met me at my Lord Brouncker's with a fair copy of my petition, which I thought to shew the Duke of York this night, but could not, and therefore carried them to the Park, where they had never been, and so home to supper and to bed. Great the news now of the French taking St. Domingo, in Spaniola, from the Spaniards, which troubles us, that they should have it, and have the honour of taking it, when we could not. 18th. Up, and to St. James's and other places, and then to the office, where all the morning. At noon home and dined in my wife's chamber, she being much troubled with the tooth-ake, and I staid till a surgeon of hers come, one Leeson, who hath formerly drawn her mouth, and he advised her to draw it: so I to the Office, and by and by word is come that she hath drawn it, which pleased me, it being well done. So I home, to comfort her, and so back to the office till night, busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. With my coach to St. James's; and there finding the Duke of York gone to muster his men, in Hyde Park, I alone with my boy thither, and there saw more, walking out of my coach as other gentlemen did, of a soldier's trade, than ever I did in my life: the men being mighty fine, and their Commanders, particularly the Duke of Monmouth; but me-thought their trade but very easy as to the mustering of their men, and the men but indifferently ready to perform what was commanded, in the handling of their arms. Here the news was first talked of Harry Killigrew's being wounded in nine places last night, by footmen, in the highway, going from the Park in a hackney-coach towards Hammersmith, to his house at Turnham Greene: they being supposed to be my Lady Shrewsbury's men, she being by, in her coach with six horses; upon an old grudge of his saying openly that he had lain with her. Thence by and by to White Hall, and there I waited upon the King and Queen all dinner-time, in the Queen's lodgings, she being in her white pinner and apron, like a woman with child; and she seemed handsomer plain so, than dressed. And by and by, dinner done, I out, and to walk in the Gallery, for the Duke of York's coming out; and there, meeting Mr. May, he took me down about four o'clock to Mr. Chevins's lodgings, and all alone did get me a dish of cold chickens, and good wine; and I dined like a prince, being before very hungry and empty. By and by the Duke of York comes, and readily took me to his closet, and received my petition, and discoursed about my eyes, and pitied me, and with much kindness did give me his consent to be absent, and approved of my proposition to go into Holland to observe things there, of the Navy; but would first ask the King's leave, which he anon did, and did tell me that the King would be a good master to me, these were his words, about my eyes, and do like of my going into Holland, but do advise that nobody should know of my going thither, but pretend that I did go into the country somewhere, which I liked well. Glad of this, I home, and thence took out my wife, and to Mr. Holliard's about a swelling in her cheek, but he not at home, and so round by Islington and eat and drink, and so home, and after supper to bed. In discourse this afternoon, the Duke of York did tell me that he was the most amazed at one thing just now, that ever he was in his life, which was, that the Duke of Buckingham did just now come into the Queen's bed-chamber, where the King was, and much mixed company, and among others, Tom Killigrew, the father of Harry, who was last night wounded so as to be in danger of death, and his man is quite dead; and [Buckingham] there in discourse did say that he had spoke with some one that was by (which all the world must know that it must be his whore, my Lady Shrewsbury), who says that they did not mean to hurt, but beat him, and that he did run first at them with his sword; so that he do hereby clearly discover that he knows who did it, and is of conspiracy with them, being of known conspiracy with her, which the Duke of York did seem to be pleased with, and said it might, perhaps, cost him his life in the House of Lords; and I find was mightily pleased with it, saying it was the most impudent thing, as well as the most foolish, that ever he knew man do in all his life. 20th. Up and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon, the whole Office--Brouncker, J. Minnes, T. Middleton, Samuel Pepys, and Captain Cox to dine with the Parish, at the Three Tuns, this day being Ascension-day, where exceeding good discourse among the merchants, and thence back home, and after a little talk with my wife, to my office did a great deal of business, and so with my eyes might weary, and my head full of care how to get my accounts and business settled against my journey, home to supper, and bed. Yesterday, at my coming home, I found that my wife had, on a sudden, put away Matt upon some falling out, and I doubt my wife did call her ill names by my wife's own discourse; but I did not meddle to say anything upon it, but let her go, being not sorry, because now we may get one that speaks French, to go abroad with us. 21st. I waited with the Office upon the Duke of York in the morning. Dined at home, where Lewis Phillips the friend of his, dined with me. In the afternoon at the Office. In the evening visited by Roger Pepys and Philip Packer and so home. 22nd. Dined at home, the rest of the whole day at office. 23rd (Lord's day). Called up by Roger Pepys and his son who to church with me, and then home to dinner. In the afternoon carried them to Westminster, and myself to James's, where, not finding the Duke of York, back home, and with my wife spent the evening taking the ayre about Hackney, with great pleasure, and places we had never seen before. 24th. To White Hall, and there all the morning, and they home, and giving order for some business and setting my brother to making a catalogue of my books, I back again to W. Hewer to White Hall, where I attended the Duke of York and was by him led to [the King], who expressed great sense of my misfortune in my eyes, and concernment for their recovery; and accordingly signified, not only his assent to desire therein, but commanded me to give them rest summer, according to my late petition to the Duke of York. W. Hewer and I dined alone at the Swan; and thence having thus waited on the King, spent till four o'clock in St. James's Park, when I met my wife at Unthanke's, and so home. 25th. Dined at home; and the rest of the day, morning and afternoon, at the Office. 26th. To White Hall, where all the morning. Dined with Mr. Chevins, with Alderman Backewell, and Spragg. The Court full of the news from Captain Hubbert, of "The Milford," touching his being affronted in the Streights, shot at, and having eight men killed him by a French man-of-war, calling him "English dog," and commanding him to strike, which he refused, and, as knowing himself much too weak for him, made away from him. The Queen, as being supposed with child, fell ill, so as to call for Madam Nun, Mr. Chevins's sister, and one of her women, from dinner from us; this being the last day of their doubtfulness touching her being with child; and they were therein well confirmed by her Majesty's being well again before night. One Sir Edmund Bury Godfry, a woodmonger and justice of Peace in Westminster, having two days since arrested Sir Alexander Frazier for about L30 in firing, the bailiffs were apprehended, committed to the porter's lodge, and there, by the King's command, the last night severely whipped; from which the justice himself very hardly escaped, to such an unusual degree was the King moved therein. But he lies now in the lodge, justifying his act, as grounded upon the opinion of several of the judges, and, among others, my Lord Chief-Justice; which makes the King very angry with the Chief-Justice, as they say; and the justice do lie and justify his act, and says he will suffer in the cause for the people, and do refuse to receive almost any nutriment. The effects of it may be bad to the Court. Expected a meeting of Tangier this afternoon, but failed. So home, met by my wife at Unthanke's.! 27th. At the office all the morning, dined at home, Mr. Hollier with me. Presented this day by Mr. Browne with a book of drawing by him, lately printed, which cost me 20s. to him. In the afternoon to the Temple, to meet with Auditor Aldworth about my interest account, but failed meeting him. To visit my cozen Creed, and found her ill at home, being with child, and looks poorly. Thence to her husband, at Gresham College, upon some occasions of Tangier; and so home, with Sir John Bankes with me, to Mark Lane. 28th. To St. James's, where the King's being with the Duke of York prevented a meeting of the Tangier Commission. But, Lord! what a deal of sorry discourse did I hear between the King and several Lords about him here! but very mean methought. So with Creed to the Excise Office, and back to White Hall, where, in the Park, Sir G. Carteret did give me an account of his discourse lately, with the Commissioners of Accounts, who except against many things, but none that I find considerable; among others, that of the Officers of the Navy selling of the King's goods, and particularly my providing him with calico flags, which having been by order, and but once, when necessity, and the King's apparent profit, justified it, as conformable to my particular duty, it will prove to my advantage that it be enquired into. Nevertheless, having this morning received from them a demand of an account of all monies within their cognizance, received and issued by me, I was willing, upon this hint, to give myself rest, by knowing whether their meaning therein might reach only to my Treasurership for Tangier, or the monies employed on this occasion. I went, therefore, to them this afternoon, to understand what monies they meant, where they answered me, by saying, "The eleven months' tax, customs, and prizemoney," without mentioning, any more than I demanding, the service they respected therein; and so, without further discourse, we parted, upon very good terms of respect, and with few words, but my mind not fully satisfied about the monies they mean. At noon Mr. Gibson and I dined at the Swan, and thence doing this at Brook house, and thence caking at the Excise Office for an account of payment of my tallies for Tangier, I home, and thence with my wife and brother spent the evening on the water, carrying our supper with us, as high as Chelsea; so home, making sport with the Westerne bargees, and my wife and I singing, to my great content. 29th. The King's birth-day. To White Hall, where all very gay; and particularly the Prince of Tuscany very fine, and is the first day of his appearing out of mourning, since he come. I heard the Bishop of Peterborough' preach but dully; but a good anthem of Pelham's. Home to dinner, and then with my wife to Hyde Park, where all the evening; great store of company, and great preparations by the Prince of Tuscany to celebrate the night with fire-works, for the King's birth-day. And so home. 30th (Whitsunday). By water to White Hall, and thence to Sir W. Coventry, where all the morning by his bed-side, he being indisposed. Our discourse was upon the notes I have lately prepared for Commanders' Instructions; but concluded that nothing will render them effectual, without an amendment in the choice of them, that they be seamen, and not gentleman above the command of the Admiral, by the greatness of their relations at Court. Thence to White Hall, and dined alone with Mr. Chevins his sister: whither by and by come in Mr. Progers and Sir Thomas Allen, and by and by fine Mrs. Wells, who is a great beauty; and there I had my full gaze upon her, to my great content, she being a woman of pretty conversation. Thence to the Duke of York, who, with the officers of the Navy, made a good entrance on my draught of my new Instructions to Commanders, as well expressing general [views] of a reformation among them, as liking of my humble offers towards it. Thence being called by my wife, Mr. Gibson and I, we to the Park, whence the rain suddenly home. 31st. Up very betimes, and so continued all the morning with W. Hewer, upon examining and stating my accounts, in order to the fitting myself to go abroad beyond sea, which the ill condition of my eyes, and my neglect for a year or two, hath kept me behindhand in, and so as to render it very difficult now, and troublesome to my mind to do it; but I this day made a satisfactory entrance therein. Dined at home, and in the afternoon by water to White Hall, calling by the way at Michell's, where I have not been many a day till just the other day, and now I met her mother there and knew her husband to be out of town. And here je did baiser elle, but had not opportunity para hazer some with her as I would have offered if je had had it. And thence had another meeting with the Duke of York, at White Hall, on yesterday's work, and made a good advance: and so, being called by my wife, we to the Park, Mary Batelier, and a Dutch gentleman, a friend of hers, being with us. Thence to "The World's End," a drinking-house by the Park; and there merry, and so home late. And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now so long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand; and, therefore, whatever comes of it, I must forbear: and, therefore, resolve, from this time forward, to have it kept by my people in long-hand, and must therefore be contented to set down no more than is fit for them and all the world to know; or, if there be any thing, which cannot be much, now my amours to Deb. are past, and my eyes hindering me in almost all other pleasures, I must endeavour to keep a margin in my book open, to add, here and there, a note in short-hand with my own hand. And so I betake myself to that course, which is almost as much as to see myself go into my grave: for which, and all the discomforts that will accompany my being blind, the good God prepare me! May 31, 1669. END OF THE DIARY. PREFACE [This moved, by the editor, to the end where it seems to fit more comfortably.] First issue of this edition June, 1896. Reprinted 1897. In the present volume the Diary is completed, and we here take leave of a writer who has done so much to interest and enlighten successive generations of English readers, and who is now for the first time presented to the world as he really drew his own portrait day by day. No one who has followed the daily notes of Samuel Pepys from January, 1660, to May, 1669, but must feel sincere regret at their abrupt conclusion, more particularly as the writer lays down his pen while in an unhappy temper. It is evident from the tone of his later utterances that Pepys thought that he was going blind, a belief which was happily falsified. The holiday tour in which Charles II. and James, Duke of York, took so much interest appears to have had its desired effect in restoring the Diarist to health. The rest of his eventful life must be sought in the history of the English Navy which he helped to form, and in his numerous letters, which on some future occasion the present editor hopes to annotate. The details to be obtained from these sources form, however, but a sorry substitute for the words written in the solitude of his office by Pepys for his own eye alone, and we cannot but feel how great is the world's loss in that he never resumed the writing of his journal. All must agree with Coleridge when he wrote on the margin of a copy of the Diary: "Truly may it be said that this was a greater and more grievous loss to the mind's eye of posterity than to the bodily organs of Pepys himself. It makes me restless and discontented to think what a Diary equal in minuteness and truth of portraiture to the preceding from 1669 to 1688 or 1690 would have been for the true causes, process and character of the Revolution." Most works of this nature are apt to tire when they are extended over a certain length of time, but Pepys's pages are always fresh, and most readers wish for more. For himself the editor can say that each time he has read over the various proofs he has read with renewed interest, so that it is with no ordinary feelings of regret that he comes to the end of his task, and he believes that every reader will feel the same regret that he has no more to read. In reviewing the Diary it is impossible not to notice the growth of historical interest as it proceeds. In the earlier period we find Pepys surrounded by men not otherwise known, but as the years pass, and his position becomes more assured, we find him in daily communication with the chief men of his day, and evidently every one who came in contact with him appreciated his remarkable ability. The survival of the Diary must ever remain a marvel. It could never have been intended for the reading of others, but doubtless the more elaborate portraits of persons in the later pages were intended for use when Pepys came to write his projected history of the Navy. The only man who is uniformly spoken well of in the Diary is Sir William Coventry, and many of the characters introduced come in for severe castigation. It is therefore the more necessary to remember that many of the judgments on men were set down hastily, and would probably have been modified had occasion offered. At all events, we know that, however much he may have censured them, Pepys always helped on those who were dependent upon him. H. R. W. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York Last day of their doubtfulness touching her being with child Quite according to the fashion--nothing to drink or eat 
4199	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1969 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1668-1669 January 1st. Up, and presented from Captain Beckford with a noble silver warming-pan, which I am doubtful whether to take or no. Up, and with W. Hewer to the New Exchange, and then he and I to the cabinet-shops, to look out, and did agree, for a cabinet to give my wife for a New-year's gift; and I did buy one cost me L11, which is very pretty, of walnutt-tree, and will come home to-morrow. So back to the old Exchange, and there met my uncle Wight; and there walked, and met with the Houblons, and talked with them--gentlemen whom I honour mightily: and so to my uncle's, and met my wife; and there, with W. Hewer, we dined with our family, and had a very good dinner, and pretty merry and after dinner, my wife and I with our coach to the King's playhouse, and there in a box saw "The Mayden Queene." Knepp looked upon us, but I durst not shew her any countenance; and, as well as I could carry myself, I found my wife uneasy there, poor wretch! therefore, I shall avoid that house as much as I can. So back to my aunt's, and there supped and talked, and staid pretty late, it being dry and moonshine, and so walked home, and to bed in very good humour. 2nd. Up, at the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where I find my cabinet come home, and paid for it, and it pleases me and my wife well. So after dinner busy late at the office, and so home and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and busy all the morning, getting rooms and dinner ready for my guests, which were my uncle and aunt Wight, and two of their cousins, and an old woman, and Mr. Mills and his wife; and a good dinner, and all our plate out, and mighty fine and merry, only I a little vexed at burning a new table-cloth myself, with one of my trencher-salts. Dinner done, I out with W. Hewer and Mr. Spong, who by accident come to dine with me, and good talk with him: to White Hall by coach, and there left him, and I with my Lord Brouncker to attend the Duke of York, and then up and down the House till the evening, hearing how the King do intend this frosty weather, it being this day the first, and very hard frost, that hath come this year, and very cold it is. So home; and to supper and read; and there my wife and I treating about coming to an allowance to my wife for clothes; and there I, out of my natural backwardness, did hang off, which vexed her, and did occasion some discontented talk in bed, when we went to bed; and also in the morning, but I did recover all in the morning. 4th. Lay long, talking with my wife, and did of my own accord come to an allowance of her of L30 a-year for all expences, clothes and everything, which she was mightily pleased with, it being more than ever she asked or expected, and so rose, with much content, and up with W. Hewer to White Hall, there to speak with Mr. Wren, which I did about several things of the office entered in my memorandum books, and so about noon, going homeward with W. Hewer, he and I went in and saw the great tall woman that is to be seen, who is but twenty-one years old, and I do easily stand under her arms. Then, going further, The. Turner called me, out of her coach where her mother, &c., was, and invited me by all means to dine with them, at my cozen Roger's mistress's, the widow Dickenson! So, I went to them afterwards, and dined with them, and mighty handsomely treated, and she a wonderful merry, good-humoured, fat, but plain woman, but I believe a very good woman, and mighty civil to me. Mrs. Turner, the mother, and Mrs. Dyke, and The., and Betty was the company, and a gentleman of their acquaintance. Betty I did long to see, and she is indifferent pretty, but not what the world did speak of her; but I am mighty glad to have one so pretty of our kindred. After dinner, I walked with them, to shew them the great woman, which they admire, as well they may; and so back with them, and left them; and I to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier met, but little to do there, but I did receive an instance of the Duke of York's kindness to me, and the whole Committee, that they would not order any thing about the Treasurer for the Corporation now in establishing, without my assent, and considering whether it would be to my wrong or no. Thence up and down the house, and to the Duke of York's side, and there in the Duchess's presence; and was mightily complimented by my Lady Peterborough, in my Lord Sandwich's presence, whom she engaged to thank me for my kindness to her and her Lord.... By and by I met my Lord Brouncker; and he and I to the Duke of York alone, and discoursed over the carriage of the present Treasurers, in opposition to, or at least independency of, the Duke of York, or our Board, which the Duke of York is sensible of, and all remember, I believe; for they do carry themselves very respectlessly of him and us. We also declared our minds together to the Duke of York about Sir John Minnes's incapacity to do any service in the Office, and that it is but to betray the King to have any business of trust committed to his weakness. So the Duke of York was very sensible of it and promised to speak to the King about it. That done, I with W. Hewer took up my wife at Unthank's, and so home, and there with pleasure to read and talk, and so to supper, and put into writing, in merry terms, our agreement between my wife and me, about L30 a-year, and so to bed. This was done under both our hands merrily, and put into W. Hewer's to keep. 5th. Up, and to the office all the morning, the frost and cold continuing. At noon home with my people to dinner; and so to work at the office again; in the evening comes Creed to me, and tells me his wife is at my house. So I in, and spent an hour with them, the first time she hath been here, or I have seen her, since she was married. She is not overhandsome, though a good lady, and one I love. So after some pleasant discourse, they gone, I to the Office again, and there late, and then home to supper to my wife, who is not very well of those, and so sat talking till past one in the morning, and then to bed. 6th (Twelfth day). Up, and to look after things against dinner to-day for my guests, and then to the Office to write down my journall for five or six days backward, and so home to look after dinner, it being now almost noon. At noon comes Mrs. Turner and Dyke, and Mrs. Dickenson, and then comes The. and Betty Turner, the latter of which is a very pretty girl; and then Creed and his wife, whom I sent for, by my coach. These were my guests, and Mrs. Turner's friend, whom I saw the other day, Mr. Wicken, and very merry we were at dinner, and so all the afternoon, talking, and looking up and down my house; and in the evening I did bring out my cake--a noble cake, and there cut it into pieces, with wine and good drink: and after a new fashion, to prevent spoiling the cake, did put so many titles into a hat, and so drew cuts; and I was the Queene; and The. Turner, King--Creed, Sir Martin Marr-all; and Betty, Mrs. Millicent: and so we were mighty merry till it was night; and then, being moonshine and fine frost, they went home, I lending some of them my coach to help to carry them, and so my wife and I spent the rest of the evening in talk and reading, and so with great pleasure to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, and then at noon home to dinner, and thence my wife and I to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Island Princesse," the first time I ever saw it; and it is a pretty good play, many good things being in it, and a good scene of a town on fire. We sat in an upper box, and the jade Nell come and sat in the next box; a bold merry slut, who lay laughing there upon people; and with a comrade of hers of the Duke's house, that come in to see the play. Thence home and to the office to do some business, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and with Colonel Middleton, in his coach, and Mr. Tippets to White Hall; and there attended the Duke of York with the rest, where the Duke was mighty plain with the Treasurers, according to the advice my Lord Brouncker and I did give him the other night, and he did it fully; and so as, I believe, will make the Treasurers carefull of themselves, unless they do resolve upon defying the Duke of York. Thence with W. Hewer home, and to dinner, and so out again, my wife and I and Mr. Hater to White Hall, where she set us down, and she up and down to buy things, while we at the Treasury-Chamber, where I alone did manage the business of "The Leopard" against the whole Committee of the East India Company, with Mr. Blackburne with them; and to the silencing of them all, to my no great content. Thence walked to my wife, and so set out for home in our coach, it being very cold weather, and so to the office to do a little business, and then home to my wife's chamber, my people having laid the cloth, and got the rooms all clean above-stairs to-night for our dinner to-morrow, and therefore I to bed. 9th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and at noon, my Lord Brouncker, Mr. Wren, Joseph Williamson, and Captain Cocke, dined with me; and, being newly sat down, comes in, by invitation of Williamson's, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and he brings in with him young Mr. Whore, whose father, of the Tower, I know.--And here I had a neat dinner, and all in so good manner and fashion, and with so good company, and everything to my mind, as I never had more in my life--the company being to my heart's content, and they all well pleased. So continued, looking over my books and closet till the evening, and so I to the Office and did a good deal of business, and so home to supper and to bed with my mind mightily pleased with this day's management, as one of the days of my life of fullest content. 10th (Lord's day). Accidentally talking of our maids before we rose, I said a little word that did give occasion to my wife to fall out; and she did most vexatiously, almost all the morning, but ended most perfect good friends; but the thoughts of the unquiet which her ripping up of old faults will give me, did make me melancholy all day long. So about noon, past 12, we rose, and to dinner, and then to read and talk, my wife and I alone, for Balty was gone, who come to dine with us, and then in the evening comes Pelting to sit and talk with us, and so to supper and pretty merry discourse, only my mind a little vexed at the morning's work, but yet without any appearance. So after supper to bed. 11th. Up, and with W. Hewer, my guard, to White Hall, where no Committee of Tangier met, so up and down the House talking with this and that man, and so home, calling at the New Exchange for a book or two to send to Mr. Shepley and thence home, and thence to the 'Change, and there did a little business, and so walked home to dinner, and then abroad with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Joviall Crew," but ill acted to what it was heretofore, in Clun's time, and when Lacy could dance. Thence to the New Exchange, to buy some things; and, among others, my wife did give me my pair of gloves, which, by contract, she is to give me in her L30 a-year. Here Mrs. Smith tells us of the great murder thereabouts, on Saturday last, of one Captain Bumbridge, by one Symons, both of her acquaintance; and hectors that were at play, and in drink: the former is killed, and is kinsman to my Lord of Ormond, which made him speak of it with so much passion, as I overheard him this morning, but could not make anything of it till now, but would they would kill more of them. So home; and there at home all the evening; and made Tom to prick down some little conceits and notions of mine, in musique, which do mightily encourage me to spend some more thoughts about it; for I fancy, upon good reason, that I am in the right way of unfolding the mystery of this matter, better than ever yet. 12th. Up, and to the Office, where, by occasion of a message from the Treasurers that their Board found fault with Commissioner Middleton, I went up from our Board to the Lords of the Treasury to meet our Treasurers, and did, and there did dispute the business, it being about the matter of paying a little money to Chatham Yard, wherein I find the Treasurers mighty supple, and I believe we shall bring them to reason, though they begun mighty upon us, as if we had no power of directing them, but they, us. Thence back presently home, to dinner, where I discern my wife to have been in pain about where I have been, but said nothing to me, but I believe did send W. Hewer to seek me, but I take no notice of it, but am vexed. So to dinner with my people, and then to the Office, where all the afternoon, and did much business, and at it late, and so home to supper, and to bed. This day, meeting Mr. Pierce at White Hall, he tells me that his boy hath a great mind to see me, and is going to school again; and Dr. Clerke, being by, do tell me that he is a fine boy; but I durst not answer anything, because I durst not invite him to my house, for fear of my wife; and therefore, to my great trouble, was forced to neglect that discourse. But here Mr. Pierce, I asking him whither he was going, told me as a great secret that he was going to his master's mistress, Mrs. Churchill, with some physic; meaning for the pox I suppose, or else that she is got with child. This evening I observed my wife mighty dull, and I myself was not mighty fond, because of some hard words she did give me at noon, out of a jealousy at my being abroad this morning, which, God knows, it was upon the business of the Office unexpectedly: but I to bed, not thinking but she would come after me. But waking by and by out of a slumber, which I usually fall into presently after my coming into the bed, I found she did not prepare to come to bed, but got fresh candles, and more wood for her fire, it being mighty cold, too. At this being troubled, I after a while prayed her to come to bed, all my people being gone to bed; so, after an hour or two, she silent, and I now and then praying her to come to bed, she fell out into a fury, that I was a rogue, and false to her. But yet I did perceive that she was to seek what to say, only she invented, I believe, a business that I was seen in a hackney coach with the glasses up with Deb., but could not tell the time, nor was sure I was he. I did, as I might truly, deny it, and was mightily troubled, but all would not serve. At last, about one o'clock, she come to my side of the bed, and drew my curtaine open, and with the tongs red hot at the ends, made as if she did design to pinch me with them, at which, in dismay, I rose up, and with a few words she laid them down; and did by little and, little, very sillily, let all the discourse fall; and about two, but with much seeming difficulty, come to bed, and there lay well all night, and long in bed talking together, with much pleasure, it being, I know, nothing but her doubt of my going out yesterday, without telling her of my going, which did vex her, poor wretch! last night, and I cannot blame her jealousy, though it do vex me to the heart. 13th. So up and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, but he gone out, so I to White Hall, and thence walked out into the Park, all in the snow, with the Duke of York and the rest, and so home, after visiting my Lady Peterborough, and there by invitation find Mr. Povy, and there was also Talbot Pepys, newly come from Impington, and dined with me; and after dinner and a little talk with Povy about publick matters, he gone, and I and my wife and Talbot towards the Temple, and there to the King's playhouse, and there saw, I think, "The Maiden Queene," and so home and to supper and read, and to bed. This day come home the instrument I have so long longed for, the Parallelogram. 14th. Up and to the office, where all the morning busy, and so home to dinner, where Goodgroome with us, and after dinner a song, and then to the office, where busy till night, and then home to work there with W. Hewer to get ready some Tangier papers against to-morrow, and so to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, where with him a good while in his chamber, talking of one thing or another; among others, he told me of the great factions at Court at this day, even to the sober engaging of great persons, and differences, and making the King cheap and ridiculous. It is about my Lady Harvy's being offended at Doll Common's acting of Sempronia, to imitate her; for which she got my Lord Chamberlain, her kinsman, to imprison Doll: when my Lady Castlemayne made the King to release her, and to order her to act it again, worse than ever, the other day, where the King himself was: and since it was acted again, and my Lady Harvy provided people to hiss her and fling oranges at her: but, it seems the heat is come to a great height, and real troubles at Court about it. Thence he and I out of doors, but he to Sir J. Duncomb, and I to White Hall through the Park, where I met the King and the Duke of York, and so walked with them, and so to White Hall, where the Duke of York met the office and did a little business; and I did give him thanks for his favour to me yesterday, at the Committee of Tangier, in my absence, Mr. Povy having given me advice of it, of the discourse there of doing something as to the putting the payment of the garrison into some undertaker's hand, Alderman Backewell, which the Duke of York would not suffer to go on, without my presence at the debate. And he answered me just thus: that he ought to have a care of him that do the King's business in the manner that I do, and words of more force than that. Then down with Lord Brouncker to Sir R. Murray, into the King's little elaboratory, under his closet, a pretty place; and there saw a great many chymical glasses and things, but understood none of them. So I home and to dinner, and then out again and stop with my wife at my cozen Turner's where I staid and sat a while, and carried The. and my wife to the Duke of York's house, to "Macbeth," and myself to White Hall, to the Lords of the Treasury, about Tangier business; and there was by at much merry discourse between them and my Lord Anglesey, who made sport of our new Treasurers, and called them his deputys, and much of that kind. And having done my own business, I away back, and carried my cozen Turner and sister Dyke to a friend's house, where they were to sup, in Lincoln's Inn Fields; and I to the Duke of York's house and saw the last two acts, and so carried The. thither, and so home with my wife, who read to me late, and so to supper and to bed. This day The. Turner shewed me at the play my Lady Portman, who has grown out of my knowledge. 16th. Up, and to the office all the morning, dined at home with my people, and so all the afternoon till night at the office busy, and so home to supper and to bed. This morning Creed, and in the afternoon comes Povy, to advise with me about my answer to the Lords [Commissioners] of Tangier, about the propositions for the Treasurership there, which I am not much concerned for. But the latter, talking of publick things, told me, as Mr. Wren also did, that the Parliament is likely to meets again, the King being frighted with what the Speaker hath put him in mind of--his promise not to prorogue, but only to adjourne them. They speak mighty freely of the folly of the King in this foolish woman's business, of my Lady Harvy. Povy tells me that Sir W. Coventry was with the King alone, an hour this day; and that my Lady Castlemayne is now in a higher command over the King than ever--not as a mistress, for she scorns him, but as a tyrant, to command him: and says that the Duchess of York and the Duke of York are mighty great with her, which is a great interest to my Lord Chancellor's' family; and that they do agree to hinder all they can the proceedings of the Duke of Buckingham and Arlington: and so we are in the old mad condition, or rather worse than any; no man knowing what the French intend to do the next summer. 17th (Lord's day). To church myself after seeing every thing fitted for dinner, and so, after church, home, and thither comes Mrs. Batelier and her two daughters to dinner to us; and W. Hewer and his mother, and Mr. Spong. We were very civilly merry, and Mrs. Batelier a very discreet woman, but mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will. After dinner, Mr. Spong and I to my closet, there to try my instrument Parallelogram, which do mighty well, to my full content; but only a little stiff, as being new. Thence, taking leave of my guests, he and I and W. Hewer to White Hall, and there parting with Spong, a man that I mightily love for his plainness and ingenuity, I into the Court, and there up and down and spoke with my Lords Bellassis and Peterborough about the business now in dispute, about my deputing a Treasurer to pay the garrison at Tangier, which I would avoid, and not be accountable, and they will serve me therein. Here I met Hugh May, and he brings me to the knowledge of Sir Henry Capell, a Member of Parliament, and brother of my Lord of Essex, who hath a great value, it seems, for me; and they appoint a day to come and dine with me, and see my books, and papers of the Office, which I shall be glad to shew them, and have opportunity to satisfy them therein. Here all the discourse is, that now the King is of opinion to have the Parliament called, notwithstanding his late resolutions for proroguing them; so unstable are his councils, and those about him. So staying late talking in the Queen's side, I away, with W. Hewer home, and there to read and talk with my wife, and so to bed. 18th. Up by candlelight, and with W. Hewer walked to the Temple, and thence took coach and to Sir William Coventry's, and there discoursed the business of my Treasurer's place, at Tangier, wherein he consents to my desire, and concurs therein, which I am glad of, that I may not be accountable for a man so far off. And so I to my Lord Sandwich's, and there walk with him through the garden, to White Hall, where he tells me what he had done about this Treasurer's place, and I perceive the whole thing did proceed from him: that finding it would be best to have the Governor have nothing to do with the pay of the garrison, he did propose to the Duke of York alone that a pay-master should be there; and that being desirous to do a courtesy to Sir Charles Harbord, and to prevent the Duke of York's looking out for any body else, he did name him to the Duke of York. That when he come the other day to move this to the Board of Tangier, the Duke of York, it seems, did readily reply, that it was fit to have Mr. Pepys satisfied therein first, and that it was not good to make places for persons. This my Lord in great confidence tells me, that he do take very ill from the Duke of York, though nobody knew the meaning of these words but him; and that he did take no notice of them, but bit his lip, being satisfied that the Duke of York's care of me was as desirable to him, as it could be to have Sir Charles Harbord: and did seem industrious to let me see that he was glad that the Duke of York and he might come to contend who shall be the kindest to me, which I owned as his great love, and so I hope and believe it is, though my Lord did go a little too far in this business, to move it so far, without consulting me. But I took no notice of that, but was glad to see this competition come about, that my Lord Sandwich is apparently jealous of my thinking that the Duke of York do mean me more kindness than him. So we walked together, and I took this occasion to invite him to dinner one day to my house, and he readily appointed Friday next, which I shall be glad to have over to his content, he having never yet eat a bit of my bread. Thence to the Duke of York on the King's side, with our Treasurers of the Navy, to discourse some business of the Navy, about the pay of the yards, and there I was taken notice of, many Lords being there in the room, of the Duke of York's conference with me; and so away, and meeting Mr. Sidney Montagu and Sheres, a small invitation served their turn to carry them to London, where I paid Sheres his L100, given him for his pains in drawing the plate of Tangier fortifications, &c., and so home to my house to dinner, where I had a pretty handsome sudden dinner, and all well pleased; and thence we three and my wife to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Witts," a medley of things, but some similes mighty good, though ill mixed; and thence with my wife to the Exchange and bought some things, and so home, after I had been at White Hall, and there in the Queen's withdrawing-room invited my Lord Peterborough to dine with me, with my Lord Sandwich, who readily accepted it. Thence back and took up my wife at the 'Change, and so home. This day at noon I went with my young gentlemen (thereby to get a little time while W. Hewer went home to bid them get a dinner ready) to the Pope's Head tavern, there to see the fine painted room which Rogerson told me of, of his doing; but I do not like it at all, though it be good for such a publick room. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon eat a mouthful, and so with my wife to Madam Turner's, and find her gone, but The. staid for us; and so to the King's house, to see "Horace;" this the third day of its acting--a silly tragedy; but Lacy hath made a farce of several dances--between each act, one: but his words are but silly, and invention not extraordinary, as to the dances; only some Dutchmen come out of the mouth and tail of a Hamburgh sow. Thence, not much pleased with the play, set them at home in the Strand; and my wife and I home, and there to do a little business at the Office, and so home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up; and my wife, and I, and W. Hewer to White Hall, where she set us down; and there I spoke with my Lord Peterborough, to tell him of the day for his dining with me being altered by my Lord Sandwich from Friday to Saturday next. And thence heard at the Council-board the City, by their single counsel Symson, and the company of Strangers Merchants, a debate the business of water-baylage; a tax demanded upon all goods, by the City, imported and exported: which these Merchants oppose, and demanding leave to try the justice of the City's demand by a Quo Warranto, which the City opposed, the Merchants did quite lay the City on their backs with great triumph, the City's cause being apparently too weak: but here I observed Mr. Gold, the merchant, to speak very well, and very sharply, against the City. Thence to my wife at Unthanke's, and with her and W. Hewer to Hercules Pillars, calling to do two or three things by the way, end there dined, and thence to the Duke of York's house, and saw "Twelfth Night," as it is now revived; but, I think, one of the weakest plays that ever I saw on the stage. This afternoon, before the play, I called with my wife at Dancre's, the great landscape-painter, by Mr. Povy's advice; and have bespoke him to come to take measure of my dining-room panels, and there I met with the pretty daughter of the coalseller's, that lived in Cheapside, and now in Covent Garden, who hath her picture drawn here, but very poorly; but she is a pretty woman, and now, I perceive, married, a very pretty black woman. So, the play done, we home, my wife letting fall some words of her observing my eyes to be mightily employed in the playhouse, meaning upon women, which did vex me; but, however, when we come home, we were good friends; and so to read, and to supper, and so to bed. 21st. Up, and walked to the Temple, it being frosty, and there took coach, my boy Tom with me, and so to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where they met, and by and by and till twelve at noon upon business, among others mine, where my desire about being eased of appointing and standing accountable for a Treasurer there was well accepted, and they will think of some other way. This I was glad of, finding reason to doubt that I might in this (since my Lord Sandwich made me understand what he had said to the Duke of York herein) fear to offend either the Duke of York by denying it, for he seemed on Sunday night last, when I first made known my desire to him herein to be a little amused at it, though I knew not then the reason, or else offend my Lord Sandwich by accepting it, or denying it in a manner that might not forward his desire for Sir Charles Harbord, but I thank God I did it to my great content without any offence, I think, to either. Thence in my own coach home, where I find Madam Turner, Dyke, and The., and had a good dinner for them, and merry; and so carried them to the Duke of York's house, all but Dyke, who went away on other business; and there saw "The Tempest;" but it is but ill done by Gosnell, in lieu of Moll Davis. Thence set them at home, and my wife and I to the 'Change, and so home, where my wife mighty dogged, and I vexed to see it, being mightily troubled, of late, at her being out of humour, for fear of her discovering any new matter of offence against me, though I am conscious of none; but do hate to be unquiet at home. So, late up, silent, and not supping, but hearing her utter some words of discontent to me with silence, and so to bed, weeping to myself for grief, which she discerning, come to bed, and mighty kind, and so with great joy on both sides to sleep. 22nd. Up, and with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York, and thence to the Exchange, in the way calling at several places on occasions relating to my feast to-morrow, on which my mind is now set; as how to get a new looking-glass for my dining-room, and some pewter, and good wine, against to-morrow; and so home, where I had the looking-glass set up, cost me L6 7s. 6d. And here at the 'Change I met with Mr. Dancre, the famous landscape painter, with whom I was on Wednesday; and he took measure of my panels in my dining-room, where, in the four, I intend to have the four houses of the King, White Hall, Hampton Court, Greenwich, and Windsor. He gone, I to dinner with my people, and so to my office to dispatch a little business, and then home to look after things against to-morrow, and among other things was mightily pleased with the fellow that come to lay the cloth, and fold the napkins, which I like so well, as that I am resolved to give him 40s. to teach my wife to do it. So to supper, with much kindness between me and my wife, which, now-a-days, is all my care, and so to bed. 23rd. Up, and again to look after the setting things right against dinner, which I did to very good content. So to the office, where all the morning till noon, when word brought me to the Board that my Lord Sandwich was come; so I presently rose, leaving the Board ready to rise, and there I found my Lord Sandwich, Peterborough, and Sir Charles Harbord; and presently after them comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, Mr. Sidney, and Sir William Godolphin. And after greeting them, and some time spent in talk, dinner was brought up, one dish after another, but a dish at a time, but all so good; but, above all things, the variety of wines, and excellent of their kind, I had for them, and all in so good order, that they were mightily pleased, and myself full of content at it: and indeed it was, of a dinner of about six or eight dishes, as noble as any man need to have, I think; at least, all was done in the noblest manner that ever I had any, and I have rarely seen in my life better anywhere else, even at the Court. After dinner, my Lords to cards, and the rest of us sitting about them and talking, and looking on my books and pictures, and my wife's drawings, which they commend mightily; and mighty merry all day long, with exceeding great content, and so till seven at night; and so took their leaves, it being dark and foul weather. Thus was this entertainment over, the best of its kind, and the fullest of honour and content to me, that ever I had in my life: and shall not easily have so good again. The truth is, I have some fear that I am more behind-hand in the world for these last two years, since I have not, or for some time could not, look after my accounts, which do a little allay my pleasure. But I do trust in God I am pretty well yet, and resolve, in a very little time, to look into my accounts, and see how they stand. So to my wife's chamber, and there supped, and got her cut my hair and look my shirt, for I have itched mightily these 6 or 7 days, and when all comes to all she finds that I am lousy, having found in my head and body about twenty lice, little and great, which I wonder at, being more than I have had I believe these 20 years. I did think I might have got them from the little boy, but they did presently look him, and found none. So how they come I know not, but presently did shift myself, and so shall be rid of them, and cut my hair close to my head, and so with much content to bed. 24th (Lord's day). An order brought me in bed, for the Principal Officers to attend the King at my Lord Keeper's this afternoon, it being resolved late the last night; and, by the warrant, I find my Lord Keeper did not then know the cause of it, the messenger being ordered to call upon him, to tell it him by the way, as he come to us. So I up, and to my Office to set down my Journall for yesterday, and so home, and with my wife to Church, and then home, and to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife by coach, to cozen Turner's, where she and The. gone to church, but I left my wife with Mrs. Dyke and Joyce Norton, whom I have not seen till now since their coming to town: she is become an old woman, and with as cunning a look as ever, and thence I to White Hall, and there walked up and down till the King and Duke of York were ready to go forth; and here I met Will. Batelier, newly come post from France, his boots all dirty. He brought letters to the King, and I glad to see him, it having been reported that he was drowned, for some days past, and then, he being gone, I to talk with Tom Killigrew, who told me and others, talking about the playhouse, that he is fain to keep a woman on purpose at 20s. a week to satisfy 8 or 10 of the young men of his house, whom till he did so he could never keep to their business, and now he do. By and by the King comes out, and so I took coach, and followed his coaches to my Lord Keeper's, at Essex House, where I never was before, since I saw my old Lord Essex lie in state when he was dead; a large, but ugly house. Here all the Officers of the Navy attended, and by and by were called in to the King and Cabinet, where my Lord, who was ill, did lie upon the bed, as my old Lord Treasurer, or Chancellor, heretofore used to; and the business was to know in what time all the King's ships might be repaired, fit for service. The Surveyor answered, in two years, and not sooner. I did give them hopes that, with supplies of money suitable, we might have them all fit for sea some part of the summer after this. Then they demanded in what time we could set out forty ships. It was answered, as they might be chosen of the newest and most ready, we could, with money, get forty ready against May. The King seemed mighty full that we should have money to do all that we desired, and satisfied that, without it, nothing could be done: and so, without determining any thing, we were dismissed; and I doubt all will end in some little fleete this year, and those of hired merchant-men, which would indeed be cheaper to the King, and have many conveniences attending it, more than to fit out the King's own; and this, I perceive, is designed, springing from Sir W. Coventry's counsel; and the King and most of the Lords, I perceive, full of it, to get the King's fleete all at once in condition for service. Thence I with Mr. Wren in his coach to my cozen Turner's for discourse sake, and in our way he told me how the business of the Parliament is wholly laid aside, it being overruled now, that they shall not meet, but must be prorogued, upon this argument chiefly, that all the differences between the two Houses, and things on foot, that were matters of difference and discontent, may be laid aside, and must begin again, if ever the House shall have a mind to pursue them. They must begin all anew. Here he set me down, and I to my cozen Turner, and stayed and talked a little; and so took my wife, and home, and there to make her read, and then to supper, and to bed. At supper come W. Batelier and supped with us, and told us many pretty things of France, and the greatness of the present King. 25th. Up, and to the Committee of Tangier, where little done, and thence I home by my own coach, and busy after dinner at my office all the afternoon till late at night, that my eyes were tired. So home, and my wife shewed me many excellent prints of Nanteuil's and others, which W. Batelier hath, at my desire, brought me out of France, of the King, and Colbert, and others, most excellent, to my great content. But he hath also brought a great many gloves perfumed, of several sorts; but all too big by half for her, and yet she will have two or three dozen of them, which vexed me, and made me angry. So she, at last, to please me, did come to take what alone I thought fit, which pleased me. So, after a little supper, to bed, my eyes being very bad. 26th. Up, and to the office, where busy sitting all the morning. Then to the Office again, and then to White Hall, leaving my wife at Unthanke's; and I to the Secretary's chamber, where I was, by particular order, this day summoned to attend, as I find Sir D. Gawden also was. And here was the King and the Cabinet met; and, being called in, among the rest I find my Lord Privy Seale, whom I never before knew to be in so much play, as to be of the Cabinet. The business is, that the Algerines have broke the peace with us, by taking some Spaniards and goods out of an English ship, which had the Duke of York's pass, of which advice come this day; and the King is resolved to stop Sir Thomas Allen's fleete from coming home till he hath amends made him for this affront, and therefore sent for us to advise about victuals to be sent to that fleete, and some more ships; wherein I answered them to what they demanded of me, which was but some few mean things; but I see that on all these occasions they seem to rely most upon me. And so, this being done, I took coach and took up my wife and straight home, and there late at the office busy, and then home, and there I find W. Batelier hath also sent the books which I made him bring me out of France. Among others, L'Estat, de France, Marnix, &c., to my great content; and so I was well pleased with them, and shall take a time to look them over: as also one or two printed musick-books of songs; but my eyes are now too much out of tune to look upon them with any pleasure, therefore to supper and to bed. 27th. Up, and with Sir John Minnes in his coach to White Hall, where first we waited on the Lords of the Treasury about finishing the Victualling Contract; and there also I was put to it to make good our letter complaining against my Lord Anglesey's failing us in the payment of the moneys assigned us upon the Customs, where Mr. Fenn was, and I know will tell my Lord; but it is no matter, I am over shy already, and therefore must not fear. Then we up to a Committee of the Council for the Navy, about a business of Sir D. Gawden's relating to the Victualling, and thence I by hackney to the Temple to the Auditor's man, and with him to a tavern to meet with another under-auditor to advise about the clearing of my Lord Bellasses' accounts without injuring myself and perplexing my accounts, and so thence away to my cozen Turner's, where I find Roger Pepys come last night to town, and here is his mistress, Mrs. Dickenson, and by and by comes in Mr. Turner, a worthy, sober, serious man--I honour him mightily. And there we dined, having but an ordinary dinner; and so, after dinner, she, and I, and Roger, and his mistress, to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Five Hours' Adventure," which hath not been acted a good while before, but once, and is a most excellent play, I must confess. My wife and The. come after us, after they had been to buy some things abroad, and so after the play done we to see them home, and then home ourselves, and my wife to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the afternoon, also after dinner, and there late dispatching much business, and then home to supper with my wife, and to get her to read to me, and here I did find that Mr. Sheres hath, beyond his promise, not only got me a candlestick made me, after a form he remembers to have seen in Spain, for keeping the light from one's eyes, but hath got it done in silver very neat, and designs to give it me, in thanks for my paying him his L100 in money, for his service at Tangier, which was ordered him; but I do intend to force him to make me [pay] for it. But I yet, without his direction, cannot tell how it is to be made use of. So after a little reading to bed. 29th. Up, and with W. Hewer in Colonel Middleton's coach to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York, to attend him, where among other things I did give a severe account of our proceedings, and what we found, in the business of Sir W. Jenings's demand of Supernumeraries. I thought it a good occasion to make an example of him, for he is a proud, idle fellow; and it did meet with the Duke of York's acceptance and well-liking; and he did call him in, after I had done, and did not only give him a soft rebuke, but condemns him to pay both their victuals and wages, or right himself of the purser. This I was glad of, and so were all the rest of us, though I know I have made myself an immortal enemy by it. Thence home by hackney, calling Roger Pepys at the Temple gate in the bookseller's shop, and to the Old Exchange, where I staid a little to invite my uncle Wight, and so home, and there find my aunt Wight and her husband come presently, and so to dinner; and after dinner Roger, and I, and my wife, and aunt, to see Mr. Cole; but he nor his wife was within, but we looked upon his picture of Cleopatra, which I went principally to see, being so much commended by my wife and aunt; but I find it a base copy of a good originall, that vexed me to hear so much commended. Thence to see Creed's wife, and did so, and staid a while, where both of them within; and here I met Mr. Bland, newly come from Gales [Cadiz] after his differences with Norwood. I think him a foolish, light-headed man; but certainly he hath been abused in this matter by Colonel Norwood. Here Creed shewed me a copy of some propositions, which Bland and others, in the name of the Corporation of Tangier, did present to Norwood, for his opinion in, in order to the King's service, which were drawn up very humbly, and were really good things; but his answer to them was in the most shitten proud, carping, insolent, and ironically-prophane stile, that ever I saw in my life, so as I shall never think the place can do well, while he is there. Here, after some talk, and Creed's telling us that he is upon taking the next house to his present lodgings, which is next to that that my cozen Tom Pepys once lived in, in Newport Street, in Covent Garden; and is in a good place, and then, I suppose, he will keep his coach. So, setting Roger down at the Temple, who tells me that he is now concluded in all matters with his widow, we home, and there hired my wife to make an end of Boyle's Book of Formes, to-night and to-morrow; and so fell to read and sup, and then to bed. This day, Mr. Ned Pickering brought his lady to see my wife, in acknowledgment of a little present of oranges and olives, which I sent her, for his kindness to me in the buying of my horses, which was very civil. She is old, but hath, I believe, been a pretty comely woman: 30th. Lay long in bed, it being a fast-day for the murder of the late King; and so up and to church, where Dr. Hicks made a dull sermon; and so home, and there I find W. Batelier and Balty, and they dined with us, and I spent all the afternoon with my wife and W. Batelier talking, and then making them read, and particularly made an end of Mr. Boyle's Book of Formes, which I am glad to have over, and then fell to read a French discourse, which he hath brought over with him for me, to invite the people of France to apply themselves to Navigation, which it do very well, and is certainly their interest, and what will undo us in a few years, if the King of France goes on to fit up his Navy, and encrease it and his trade, as he hath begun. At night to supper, and after supper, and W. Batelier gone, my wife begun another book I lately bought, called "The State of England," which promises well, and is worth reading, and so after a while to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Lay long talking with pleasure, and so up and I to church, and there did hear the Doctor that is lately turned Divine, I have forgot his name, I met him a while since at Sir D. Gawden's at dinner, Dr. Waterhouse! He preaches in a devout manner of way, not elegant nor very persuasive, but seems to mean well, and that he would preach holily; and was mighty passionate against people that make a scoff of religion. And, the truth is, I did observe Mrs. Hollworthy smile often, and many others of the parish, who, I perceive, have known him, and were in mighty expectation of hearing him preach, but could not forbear smiling, and she particularly upon me, and I on her. So home to dinner: and before dinner to my Office, to set down my journal for this week, and then home to dinner; and after dinner to get my wife and boy, one after another, to read to me: and so spent the afternoon and the evening, and so after supper to bed. And thus endeth this month, with many different days of sadness and mirth, from differences between me and my wife, from her remembrance of my late unkindness to her with Willet, she not being able to forget it, but now and then hath her passionate remembrance of it as often as prompted to it by any occasion; but this night we are at present very kind. And so ends this month. FEBRUARY 1668-1669 February 1st. Up, and by water from the Tower to White Hall, the first time that I have gone to that end of the town by water, for two or three months, I think, since I kept a coach, which God send propitious to me; but it is a very great convenience. I went to a Committee of Tangier, but it did not meet, and so I meeting Mr. Povy, he and I away to Dancre's, to speak something touching the pictures I am getting him to make for me. And thence he carried me to Mr. Streeter's, the famous history-painter over the way, whom I have often heard of, but did never see him before; and there I found him, and Dr. Wren, and several Virtuosos, looking upon the paintings which he is making for the new Theatre at Oxford: and, indeed, they look as if they would be very fine, and the rest think better than those of Rubens in the Banqueting-house at White Hall, but I do not so fully think so. But they will certainly be very noble; and I am mightily pleased to have the fortune to see this man and his work, which is very famous; and he a very civil little man, and lame, but lives very handsomely. So thence to my Lord Bellassis, and met him within: my business only to see a chimney-piece of Dancre's doing, in distemper, with egg to keep off the glaring of the light, which I must have done for my room: and indeed it is pretty, but, I must confess, I do think it is not altogether so beautiful as the oyle pictures; but I will have some of one, and some of another. Thence set him down at Little Turnstile, and so I home, and there eat a little dinner, and away with my wife by coach to the King's playhouse, thinking to have seen "The Heyresse," first acted on Saturday last; but when we come thither, we find no play there; Kinaston, that did act a part therein, in abuse to Sir Charles Sedley, being last night exceedingly beaten with sticks, by two or three that assaulted him, so as he is mightily bruised, and forced to keep his bed. So we to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "She Would if She Could," and so home and to my office to business, and then to supper and to bed. This day, going to the play, The. Turner met us, and carried us to her mother, at my Lady Mordaunt's; and I did carry both mother and daughter with us to the Duke of York's playhouse, at next door. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and home to dinner at noon, where I find Mr. Sheres; and there made a short dinner, and carried him with us to the King's playhouse, where "The Heyresse," not-withstanding Kinaston's being beaten, is acted; and they say the King is very angry with Sir Charles Sedley for his being beaten, but he do deny it. But his part is done by Beeston, who is fain to read it out of a book all the while, and thereby spoils the part, and almost the play, it being one of the best parts in it; and though the design is, in the first conception of it, pretty good, yet it is but an indifferent play, wrote, they say, by my Lord Newcastle. But it was pleasant to see Beeston come in with others, supposing it to be dark, and yet he is forced to read his part by the light of the candles: and this I observing to a gentleman that sat by me, he was mightily pleased therewith, and spread it up and down. But that, that pleased me most in the play is, the first song that Knepp sings, she singing three or four; and, indeed, it was very finely sung, so as to make the whole house clap her. Thence carried Sheres to White Hall, and there I stepped in, and looked out Mr. May, who tells me that he and his company cannot come to dine with me to-morrow, whom I expected only to come to see the manner of our Office and books, at which I was not very much displeased, having much business at the Office, and so away home, and there to the office about my letters, and then home to supper and to bed, my wife being in mighty ill humour all night, and in the morning I found it to be from her observing Knepp to wink and smile on me; and she says I smiled on her; and, poor wretch! I did perceive that she did, and do on all such occasions, mind my eyes. I did, with much difficulty, pacify her, and were friends, she desiring that hereafter, at that house, we might always sit either above in a box, or, if there be [no] room, close up to the lower boxes. 3rd. So up, and to the Office till noon, and then home to a little dinner, and thither again till night, mighty busy, to my great content, doing a great deal of business, and so home to supper, and to bed; I finding this day that I may be able to do a great deal of business by dictating, if I do not read myself, or write, without spoiling my eyes, I being very well in my eyes after a great day's work. 4th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home with my people to dinner, and then after dinner comes Mr. Spong to see me, and brings me my Parallelogram, in better order than before, and two or three draughts of the port of Brest, to my great content, and I did call Mr. Gibson to take notice of it, who is very much pleased therewith; and it seems this Parallelogram is not, as Mr. Sheres would, the other day, have persuaded me, the same as a Protractor, which do so much the more make me value it, but of itself it is a most usefull instrument. Thence out with my wife and him, and carried him to an instrument-maker's shop in Chancery Lane, that was once a 'Prentice of Greatorex's, but the master was not within, and there he [Gibson] shewed me a Parallelogram in brass, which I like so well that I will buy, and therefore bid it be made clean and fit for me. And so to my cozen Turner's, and there just spoke with The., the mother not being at home; and so to the New Exchange, and thence home to my letters; and so home to supper and to bed. This morning I made a slip from the Office to White Hall, expecting Povy's business at a Committee of Tangier, at which I would be, but it did not meet, and so I presently back. 5th. Up betimes, by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, and with him by coach to White Hall, and there walked in the garden talking of several things, and by my visit to keep fresh my interest in him; and there he tells me how it hath been talked that he was to go one of the Commissioners to Ireland, which he was resolved never to do, unless directly commanded; for he told me that for to go thither, while the Chief Secretary of State was his professed enemy, was to undo himself; and, therefore, it were better for him to venture being unhappy here, than to go further off, to be undone by some obscure instructions, or whatever other way of mischief his enemies should cut out for him. He mighty kind to me, and so parted, and thence home, calling in two or three places--among others, Dancre's, where I find him beginning of a piece for me, of Greenwich, which will please me well, and so home to dinner, and very busy all the afternoon, and so at night home to supper, and to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and thence after dinner to the King's playhouse, and there,--in an upper box, where come in Colonel Poynton and Doll Stacey, who is very fine, and, by her wedding-ring, I suppose he hath married her at last,--did see "The Moor of Venice:" but ill acted in most parts; Mohun, which did a little surprise me, not acting Iago's part by much so well as Clun used to do; nor another Hart's, which was Cassio's; nor, indeed, Burt doing the Moor's so well as I once thought he did. Thence home, and just at Holborn Conduit the bolt broke, that holds the fore-wheels to the perch, and so the horses went away with them, and left the coachman and us; but being near our coachmaker's, and we staying in a little ironmonger's shop, we were presently supplied with another, and so home, and there to my letters at the office, and so to supper and to bed. 7th (Lord's day). My wife mighty peevish in the morning about my lying unquietly a-nights, and she will have it that it is a late practice, from my evil thoughts in my dreams,....and mightily she is troubled about it; but all blew over, and I up, and to church, and so home to dinner, where she in a worse fit, which lasted all the afternoon, and shut herself up, in her closet, and I mightily grieved and vexed, and could not get her to tell me what ayled her, or to let me into her closet, but at last she did, where I found her crying on the ground, and I could not please her; but I did at last find that she did plainly expound it to me. It was, that she did believe me false to her with Jane, and did rip up three or four silly circumstances of her not rising till I come out of my chamber, and her letting me thereby see her dressing herself; and that I must needs go into her chamber and was naught with her; which was so silly, and so far from truth, that I could not be troubled at it, though I could not wonder at her being troubled, if she had these thoughts, and therefore she would lie from me, and caused sheets to be put on in the blue room, and would have Jane to lie with her lest I should come to her. At last, I did give her such satisfaction, that we were mighty good friends, and went to bed betimes ..... 8th. Up, and dressed myself; and by coach, with W. Hewer and my wife, to White Hall, where she set us two down; and in the way, our little boy, at Martin, my bookseller's shop, going to 'light, did fall down; and, had he not been a most nimble boy (I saw how he did it, and was mightily pleased with him for it), he had been run over by the coach. I to visit my Lord Sandwich; and there, while my Lord was dressing himself, did see a young Spaniard, that he hath brought over with him, dance, which he is admired for, as the best dancer in Spain, and indeed he do with mighty mastery; but I do not like his dancing as the English, though my Lord commends it mightily: but I will have him to my house, and show it my wife. Here I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me the state of my Lord's accounts of his embassy, which I find not so good as I thought: for, though it be passed the King and his Cabal (the Committee for Foreign Affairs as they are called), yet they have cut off from L9000 full L8000, and have now sent it to the Lords of the Treasury, who, though the Committee have allowed the rest, yet they are not obliged to abide by it. So that I do fear this account may yet be long ere it be passed--much more, ere that sum be paid: I am sorry for the family, and not a little for what it owes me. So to my wife, took her up at Unthank's, and in our way home did shew her the tall woman in Holborne, which I have seen before; and I measured her, and she is, without shoes, just six feet five inches high, and they say not above twenty-one years old. Thence home, and there to dinner, and my wife in a wonderful ill humour; and, after dinner, I staid with her alone, being not able to endure this life, and fell to some angry words together; but by and by were mighty good friends, she telling me plain it was still about Jane, whom she cannot believe but I am base with, which I made a matter of mirth at; but at last did call up Jane, and confirm her mistress's directions for her being gone at Easter, which I find the wench willing to be, but directly prayed that Tom might go with her, which I promised, and was but what I designed; and she being thus spoke with, and gone, my wife and I good friends, and mighty kind, I having promised, and I will perform it, never to give her for the time to come ground of new trouble; and so I to the Office, with a very light heart, and there close at my business all the afternoon. This day I was told by Mr. Wren, that Captain Cox, Master-Attendant at Deptford, is to be one of us very soon, he and Tippets being to take their turns for Chatham and Portsmouth, which choice I like well enough; and Captain Annesley is to come in his room at Deptford. This morning also, going to visit Roger Pepys, at the potticary's in King's Street, he tells me that Roger is gone to his wife's, so that they have been married, as he tells me, ever since the middle of last week: it was his design, upon good reasons, to make no noise of it; but I am well enough contented that it is over. Dispatched a great deal of business at the office, and there pretty late, till finding myself very full of wind, by my eating no dinner to-day, being vexed, I was forced to go home, and there supped W. Batelier with us, and so with great content to bed. 9th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office, and after dinner abroad with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Island Princesse," which I like mighty well, as an excellent play: and here we find Kinaston to be well enough to act again, which he do very well, after his beating by Sir Charles Sedley's appointment; and so thence home, and there to my business at the Office, and after my letters done, then home to supper and to bed, my mind being mightily eased by my having this morning delivered to the Office a letter of advice about our answers to the Commissioners of Accounts, whom we have neglected, and I have done this as a record in my justification hereafter, when it shall come to be examined. 10th. Up, and with my wife and W. Hewer, she set us down at White Hall, where the Duke of York was gone a-hunting: and so, after I had done a little business there, I to my wife, and with her to the plaisterer's at Charing Cross, that casts heads and bodies in plaister: and there I had my whole face done; but I was vexed first to be forced to daub all my face over with pomatum: but it was pretty to feel how soft and easily it is done on the face, and by and by, by degrees, how hard it becomes, that you cannot break it, and sits so close, that you cannot pull it off, and yet so easy, that it is as soft as a pillow, so safe is everything where many parts of the body do bear alike. Thus was the mould made; but when it came off there was little pleasure in it, as it looks in the mould, nor any resemblance whatever there will be in the figure, when I come to see it cast off, which I am to call for a day or two hence, which I shall long to see. Thence to Hercules Pillars, and there my wife and W. Hewer and I dined, and back to White Hall, where I staid till the Duke of York come from hunting, which he did by and by, and, when dressed, did come out to dinner; and there I waited: and he did tell me that to-morrow was to be the great day that the business of the Navy would be dis coursed of before the King and his Caball, and that he must stand on his guard, and did design to have had me in readiness by, but that upon second thoughts did think it better to let it alone, but they are now upon entering into the economical part of the Navy. Here he dined, and did mightily magnify his sauce, which he did then eat with every thing, and said it was the best universal sauce in the world, it being taught him by the Spanish Embassador; made of some parsley and a dry toast, beat in a mortar, together with vinegar, salt, and a little pepper: he eats it with flesh, or fowl, or fish: and then he did now mightily commend some new sort of wine lately found out, called Navarre wine, which I tasted, and is, I think, good wine: but I did like better the notion of the sauce, and by and by did taste it, and liked it mightily. After dinner, I did what I went for, which was to get his consent that Balty might hold his Muster-Master's place by deputy, in his new employment which I design for him, about the Storekeeper's accounts; which the Duke of York did grant me, and I was mighty glad of it. Thence home, and there I find Povy and W. Batelier, by appointment, met to talk of some merchandize of wine and linnen; but I do not like of their troubling my house to meet in, having no mind to their pretences of having their rendezvous here, but, however, I was not much troubled, but went to the office, and there very busy, and did much business till late at night, and so home to supper, and with great pleasure to bed. This day, at dinner, I sent to Mr. Spong to come to me to Hercules Pillars, who come to us, and there did bring with him my new Parallelogram of brass, which I was mightily pleased with, and paid for it 25s., and am mightily pleased with his ingenious and modest company. 11th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home and heard that the last night Colonel Middleton's wife died, a woman I never saw since she come hither, having never been within their house since. Home at noon to dinner, and thence to work all the afternoon with great pleasure, and did bring my business to a very little compass in my day book, which is a mighty pleasure, and so home to supper and get my wife to read to me, and then to bed. 12th. Up, and my wife with me to White Hall, and Tom, and there she sets us down, and there to wait on the Duke of York, with the rest of us, at the Robes, where the Duke of York did tell us that the King would have us prepare a draught of the present administration of the Navy, and what it was in the late times, in order to his being able to distinguish between the good and the bad, which I shall do, but to do it well will give me a great deal of trouble. Here we shewed him Sir J. Minnes's propositions about balancing Storekeeper's accounts; and I did shew him Hosier's, which did please him mightily, and he will have it shewed the Council and King anon, to be put in practice. Thence to the Treasurer's; and I and Sir J. Minnes and Mr. Tippets down to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and there had a hot debate from Sir Thomas Clifford and my Lord Ashly (the latter of which, I hear, is turning about as fast as he can to the Duke of Buckingham's side, being in danger, it seems, of being otherwise out of play, which would not be convenient for him), against Sir W. Coventry and Sir J. Duncomb, who did uphold our Office against an accusation of our Treasurers, who told the Lords that they found that we had run the King in debt L50,000 or more, more than the money appointed for the year would defray, which they declared like fools, and with design to hurt us, though the thing is in itself ridiculous. But my Lord Ashly and Clifford did most horribly cry out against the want of method in the Office. At last it come that it should be put in writing what they had to object; but I was devilish mad at it, to see us thus wounded by our own members, and so away vexed, and called my wife, and to Hercules Pillars, Tom and I, there dined; and here there coming a Frenchman by with his Shew, we did make him shew it us, which he did just as Lacy acts it, which made it mighty pleasant to me. So after dinner we away and to Dancre's, and there saw our picture of Greenwich in doing, which is mighty pretty, and so to White Hall, my wife to Unthank's, and I attended with Lord Brouncker the King and Council, about the proposition of balancing Storekeeper's accounts and there presented Hosier's book, and it was mighty well resented and approved of. So the Council being up, we to the Queen's side with the King and Duke of York: and the Duke of York did take me out to talk of our Treasurers, whom he is mighty angry with: and I perceive he is mighty desirous to bring in as many good motions of profit and reformation in the Navy as he can, before the Treasurers do light upon them, they being desirous, it seems, to be thought the great reformers: and the Duke of York do well. But to my great joy he is mighty open to me in every thing; and by this means I know his whole mind, and shall be able to secure myself, if he stands. Here to-night I understand, by my Lord Brouncker, that at last it is concluded on by the King and Buckingham that my Lord of Ormond shall not hold his government of Ireland, which is a great stroke, to shew the power of Buckingham and the poor spirit of the King, and little hold that any man can have of him. Thence I homeward, and calling my wife called at my cozen Turner's, and there met our new cozen Pepys (Mrs. Dickenson), and Bab. and Betty' come yesterday to town, poor girls, whom we have reason to love, and mighty glad we are to see them; and there staid and talked a little, being also mightily pleased to see Betty Turner, who is now in town, and her brothers Charles and Will, being come from school to see their father, and there talked a while, and so home, and there Pelling hath got me W. Pen's book against the Trinity. [Entitled, "The Sandy Foundation Shaken; or those... doctrines of one God subsisting in three distinct and separate persons; the impossibility of God's pardoning sinners without a plenary satisfaction, the justification of impure persons by an imputative righteousness, refuted from the authority of Scripture testimonies and right reason, etc. London, 1668." It caused him to be imprisoned in the Tower. "Aug. 4, 1669. Young Penn who wrote the blasphemous book is delivered to his father to be transported" ("Letter to Sir John Birkenhead, quoted by Bishop Kennett in his MS. Collections, vol. lxxxix., p. 477).] I got my wife to read it to me; and I find it so well writ as, I think, it is too good for him ever to have writ it; and it is a serious sort of book, and not fit for every body to read. So to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner, and thence to the office again mighty busy, to my great content, till night, and then home to supper and, my eyes being weary, to bed. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, and there, he taking physic, I with him all the morning, full of very good discourse of the Navy and publick matters, to my great content, wherein I find him doubtful that all will be bad, and, for his part, he tells me he takes no more care for any thing more than in the Treasury; and that, that being done, he goes to cards and other delights, as plays, and in summertime to bowles. But here he did shew me two or three old books of the Navy, of my Lord Northumberland's' times, which he hath taken many good notes out of, for justifying the Duke of York and us, in many things, wherein, perhaps, precedents will be necessary to produce, which did give me great content. At noon home, and pleased mightily with my morning's work, and coming home, I do find a letter from Mr. Wren, to call me to the Duke of York after dinner. So dined in all haste, and then W. Hewer and my wife and I out, we set her at my cozen Turner's while we to White Hall, where the Duke of York expected me; and in his closet Wren and I. He did tell me how the King hath been acquainted with the Treasurers' discourse at the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, the other day, and is dissatisfied with our running him in debt, which I removed; and he did, carry me to the King, and I did satisfy him also; but his satisfaction is nothing worth, it being easily got, and easily removed; but I do purpose to put in writing that which shall make the Treasurers ashamed. But the Duke of York is horrid angry against them; and he hath cause, for they do all they can to bring dishonour upon his management, as do vainly appear in all they do. Having done with the Duke of York, who do repose all in me, I with Mr. Wren to his, chamber, to talk; where he observed, that these people are all of them a broken sort of people, that have not much to lose, and therefore will venture all to make their fortunes better: that Sir Thomas Osborne is a beggar, having 11 of L1200 a-year, but owes above L10,000. The Duke of Buckingham's condition is shortly this: that he hath about L19,600 a-year, of which he pays away about L7,000 a-year in interest, about L2000 in fee-farm rents to the King, about L6000 wages and pensions, and the rest to live upon, and pay taxes for the whole. Wren says, that for the Duke of York to stir in this matter, as his quality might justify, would but make all things worse, and that therefore he must bend, and suffer all, till time works it out: that he fears they will sacrifice the Church, and that the King will take anything, and so he will hold up his head a little longer, and then break in pieces. But Sir W. Coventry did today mightily magnify my late Lord Treasurer, for a wise and solid, though infirm man: and, among other things, that when he hath said it was impossible in nature to find this or that sum of money, and my Lord Chancellor hath made sport of it, and tell the King that when my Lord hath said it [was] impossible, yet he hath made shift to find it, and that was by Sir G. Carteret's getting credit, my Lord did once in his hearing say thus, which he magnifies as a great saying--that impossible would be found impossible at last; meaning that the King would run himself out, beyond all his credit and funds, and then we should too late find it impossible; which is, he says, now come to pass. For that Sir W. Coventry says they could borrow what money they would, if they had assignments, and funds to secure it with, which before they had enough of, and then must spend it as if it would never have an end. From White Hall to my cozen Turner's, and there took up my wife; and so to my uncle Wight's, and there sat and supped, and talked pretty merry, and then walked home, and to bed. 15th. Up, and with Tom to White Hall; and there at a Committee of Tangier, where a great instance of what a man may lose by the neglect of a friend: Povy never had such an opportunity of passing his accounts, the Duke of York being there, and everybody well disposed, and in expectation of them; but my Lord Ashly, on whom he relied, and for whose sake this day was pitched on, that he might be sure to be there, among the rest of his friends, staid too long, till the Duke of York and the company thought unfit to stay longer and so the day lost, and God knows when he will ever have so good a one again, as long as he lives; and this was the man of the whole company that he hath made the most interest to gain, and now most depended upon him. So up and down the house a while, and then to the plaisterer's, and there saw the figure of my face taken from the mould: and it is most admirably like, and I will have another made, before I take it away, and therefore I away and to the Temple, and thence to my cozen Turner's, where, having the last night been told by her that she had drawn me for her Valentine, I did this day call at the New Exchange, and bought her a pair of green silk stockings and garters and shoe-strings, and two pair of jessimy gloves, all coming to about 28s., and did give them her this noon. At the 'Change, I did at my bookseller's shop accidentally fall into talk with Sir Samuel Tuke about trees, and Mr. Evelyn's garden; and I do find him, I think, a little conceited, but a man of very fine discourse as any I ever heard almost, which I was mighty glad of. I dined at my cozen Turner's, and my wife also and her husband there, and after dinner, my wife and I endeavoured to make a visit to Ned Pickering; but he not at home, nor his lady; and therefore back again, and took up my cozen Turner, and to my cozen Roger's lodgings, and there find him pretty well again, and his wife mighty kind and merry, and did make mighty much of us, and I believe he is married to a very good woman. Here was also Bab. and Betty, who have not their clothes yet, and therefore cannot go out, otherwise I would have had them abroad to-morrow; but the poor girls mighty kind to us, and we must skew them kindness also. Here in Suffolk Street lives Moll Davis; and we did see her coach come for her to her door, a mighty pretty fine coach. Here we staid an hour or two, and then carried Turner home, and there staid and talked a while, and then my wife and I to White Hall; and there, by means of Mr. Cooling, did get into the play, the only one we have seen this winter: it was "The Five Hours' Adventure:" but I sat so far I could not hear well, nor was there any pretty woman that I did see, but my wife, who sat in my Lady Fox's pew [We may suppose that pews were by no means common at this time within consecrated walls, from the word being applied indifferently by Pepys to a box in a place of amusement, and two days afterwards to a seat at church. It would appear, from other authorities, that between 1646 and 1660 scarcely any pews had been erected; and Sir C. Wren is known to have objected to their introduction into his London churches.--B.] with her. The house very full; and late before done, so that it was past eleven before we got home. But we were well pleased with seeing it, and so to supper, where it happened that there was no bread in the house, which was an unusual case, and so to bed. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, my head full of business of the office now at once on my hands, and so at noon home to dinner, where I find some things of W. Batelier's come out of France, among which some clothes for my wife, wherein she is likely to lead me to the expence of so much money as vexed me; but I seemed so, more than I at this time was, only to prevent her taking too much, and she was mighty calm under it. But I was mightily pleased with another picture of the King of France's head, of Nanteuil's, bigger than the other which he brought over, that pleases me infinitely: and so to the Office, where busy all the afternoon, though my eyes mighty bad with the light of the candles last night, which was so great as to make my eyes sore all this day, and do teach me, by a manifest experiment, that it is only too much light that do make my eyes sore. Nevertheless, with the help of my tube, and being desirous of easing my mind of five or six days journall, I did venture to write it down from ever since this day se'nnight, and I think without hurting my eyes any more than they were before, which was very much, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and with W. Hewer with me to Lincoln's Inn, by appointment, to have spoke with Mr. Pedley about Mr. Goldsborough's business and Mr. Weaver's, but he was gone out, and so I with Mr. Castle, the son-in-law of Weaver, to White Hall to look for him, but did not find him, but here I did meet with several and talked, and do hear only that the King dining yesterday at the Dutch Embassador's, after dinner they drank, and were pretty merry; and, among the rest of the King's company, there was that worthy fellow my lord of Rochester, and Tom Killigrew, whose mirth and raillery offended the former so much, that he did give Tom Killigrew a box on the ear in the King's presence, which do much give offence to the people here at Court, to see how cheap the King makes himself, and the more, for that the King hath not only passed by the thing, and pardoned it to Rochester already, but this very morning the King did publickly walk up and down, and Rochester I saw with him as free as ever, to the King's everlasting shame, to have so idle a rogue his companion. How Tom Killigrew takes it, I do not hear. I do also this day hear that my Lord Privy Seale do accept to go Lieutenant into Ireland; but whether it be true or no, I cannot tell. So calling at my shoemaker's, and paying him to this day, I home to dinner, and in the afternoon to Colonel Middleton's house, to the burial of his wife, where we are all invited, and much more company, and had each of us a ring: and so towards evening to our church, where there was a sermon preached by Mills, and so home. At church there was my Lord Brouncker and Mrs. Williams in our pew, the first time they were ever there or that I knew that either of them would go to church. At home comes Castle to me, to desire me to go to Mr. Pedly, this night, he being to go out of town to-morrow morning, which I, therefore, did, by hackney-coach, first going to White Hall to meet with Sir W. Coventry, but missed him. But here I had a pleasant rencontre of a lady in mourning, that, by the little light I had, seemed handsome. I passing by her, I did observe she looked back again and again upon me, I suffering her to go before, and it being now duske. I observed she went into the little passage towards the Privy Water-Gate, and I followed, but missed her; but coming back again, I observed she returned, and went to go out of the Court. I followed her, and took occasion, in the new passage now built, where the walke is to be, to take her by the hand, to lead her through, which she willingly accepted, and I led her to the Great Gate, and there left her, she telling me, of her own accord, that she was going as far as, Charing Cross; but my boy was at the gate, and so je durst not go out con her, which vexed me, and my mind (God forgive me) did run apres her toute that night, though I have reason to thank God, and so I do now, that I was not tempted to go further. So to Lincoln's Inn, where to Mr. Pedly, with whom I spoke, and did my business presently: and I find him a man of very good language, and mighty civil, and I believe very upright: and so home, where W. Batelier was, and supped with us, and I did reckon this night what I owed him; and I do find that the things my wife, of her own head, hath taken (together with my own, which comes not to above L5), comes to above L22. But it is the last, and so I am the better contented; and they are things that are not trifles, but clothes, gloves, shoes, hoods, &c. So after supper, to bed. 18th. Up, and to the Office, and at noon home, expecting to have this day seen Bab. and Betty Pepys here, but they come not; and so after dinner my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, to a play, and there saw "The Mad Lover," which do not please me so well as it used to do, only Betterton's part still pleases me. But here who should we have come to us but Bab. and Betty and Talbot, the first play they were yet at; and going to see us, and hearing by my boy, whom I sent to them, that we were here, they come to us hither, and happened all of us to sit by my cozen Turner and The., and we carried them home first, and then took Bab. and Betty to our house, where they lay and supped, and pretty merry, and very fine with their new clothes, and good comely girls they are enough, and very glad I am of their being with us, though I would very well have been contented to have been without the charge. So they to bed and we to bed. 19th. Up, and after seeing the girls, who lodged in our bed, with their maid Martha, who hath been their father's maid these twenty years and more, I with Lord Brouncker to White Hall, where all of us waited on the Duke of York; and after our usual business done, W. Hewer and I to look my wife at the Black Lion, Mercer's, but she is gone home, and so I home and there dined, and W. Batelierand W. Hewer with us. All the afternoon I at the Office, while the young people went to see Bedlam, and at night home to them and to supper, and pretty merry, only troubled with a great cold at this time, and my eyes very bad ever since Monday night last that the light of the candles spoiled me. So to bed. This morning, among other things, talking with Sir W. Coventry, I did propose to him my putting in to serve in Parliament, if there should, as the world begins to expect, be a new one chose: he likes it mightily, both for the King's and Service's sake, and the Duke of York's, and will propound it to the Duke of York: and I confess, if there be one, I would be glad to be in. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then home to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife and my two girls to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Gratefull Servant," a pretty good play, and which I have forgot that ever I did see. And thence with them to Mrs. Gotier's, the Queen's tire-woman, for a pair of locks for my wife; she is an oldish French woman, but with a pretty hand as most I have seen; and so home, and to supper, W. Batelier and W. Hewer with us, and so my cold being great, and greater by my having left my coat at my tailor's to-night and come home in a thinner that I borrowed there, I went to bed before them and slept pretty well. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife and two girls to church, they very fine; and so home, where comes my cozen Roger and his wife, I having sent for them, to dine with us, and there comes in by chance also Mr. Shepley, who is come to town with my Lady Paulina, who is desperately sick, and is gone to Chelsey, to the old house where my Lord himself was once sick, where I doubt my Lord means to visit hers more for young Mrs. Beck's sake than for hers. Here we dined with W. Batelier, and W. Hewer with us, these two, girls making it necessary that they be always with us, for I am not company light enough to be always merry with them and so sat talking all the afternoon, and then Shepley went: away first, and then my cozen Roger and his wife. And so I, to my Office, to write down my Journall, and so home to my chamber and to do a little business there, my papers being in mighty disorder, and likely so to continue while these girls are with us. In the evening comes W. Batelier and his sisters and supped and talked with us, and so spent the evening, myself being somewhat out of order because of my eyes, which have never been well since last Sunday's reading at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and so after supper to bed. 22nd. Up, and betimes to White Hall; but there the Duke of York is gone abroad a-hunting, and therefore after a little stay there I into London, with Sir H. Cholmly, talking all the way of Tangier matters, wherein I find him troubled from some reports lately from Norwood (who is his great enemy and I doubt an ill man), of some decay of the Mole, and a breach made therein by the sea to a great value. He set me down at the end of Leadenhall Street, and so I home, and after dinner, with my wife, in her morning-gown, and the two girls dressed, to Unthanke's, where my wife dresses herself, having her gown this day laced, and a new petticoat; and so is indeed very fine. And in the evening I do carry them to White Hall, and there did without much trouble get into the playhouse, there in a good place among the Ladies of Honour, and myself also sat in the pit; and there by and by come the King and Queen, and they begun "Bartholomew Fayre." But I like no play here so well as at the common playhouse; besides that, my eyes being very ill since last Sunday and this day se'nnight, with the light of the candles, I was in mighty pain to defend myself now from the light of the candles. After the play done, we met with W. Batelier and W. Hewer and Talbot Pepys, and they follow us in a hackney-coach: and we all stopped at Hercules' Pillars; and there I did give them the best supper I could, and pretty merry; and so home between eleven and twelve at night, and so to bed, mightily well pleased with this day's work. 23rd. Up: and to the Office, where all the morning, and then home, and put a mouthfull of victuals in my mouth; and by a hackney-coach followed my wife and the girls, who are gone by eleven o'clock, thinking to have seen a new play at the Duke of York's house. But I do find them staying at my tailor's, the play not being to-day, and therefore I now took them to Westminster Abbey, and there did show them all the tombs very finely, having one with us alone, there being other company this day to see the tombs, it being Shrove Tuesday; and here we did see, by particular favour, the body of Queen Katherine of Valois; and I had the upper part of her body in my hands, and I did kiss her mouth, reflecting upon it that I did kiss a Queen, [Pepys's attachment to the fair sex extended even to a dead queen. The record of this royal salute on his natal day is very characteristic. The story told him in Westminster Abbey appears to have been correct; for Neale informs us ("History of Westminster Abbey," vol. ii., p. 88) that near the south side of Henry V.'s tomb there was formerly a wooden chest, or coffin, wherein part of the skeleton and parched body of Katherine de Valois, his queen (from the waist upwards), was to be seen. She was interred in January, 1457, in the Chapel of Our Lady, at the east end of this church; but when that building was pulled down by her grandson, Henry VII., her coffin was found to be decayed, and her body was taken up, and placed in a chest, near her first husband's tomb. "There," says Dart, "it hath ever since continued to be seen, the bones being firmly united, and thinly clothed with flesh, like scrapings of tanned leather." This awful spectacle of frail mortality was at length removed from the public gaze into St. Nicholas's Chapel, and finally deposited under the monument of Sir George Villiers, when the vault was made for the remains of Elizabeth Percy, Duchess of Northumberland, in December, 1776.--B.] and that this was my birth-day, thirty-six years old, that I did first kiss a Queen. But here this man, who seems to understand well, tells me that the saying is not true that says she was never buried, for she was buried; only, when Henry the Seventh built his chapel, it was taken up and laid in this wooden coffin; but I did there see that, in it, the body was buried in a leaden one, which remains under the body to this day. Thence to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, finding the play begun, we homeward to the Glass-House, [Glass House Alley, Whitefriars and Blackfriars, marked the site for some years: The Whitefriars Glass Works of Messrs. Powell and Sons are on the old site, now Temple Street.] and there shewed my cozens the making of glass, and had several things made with great content; and, among others, I had one or two singing-glasses made, which make an echo to the voice, the first that ever I saw; but so thin, that the very breath broke one or two of them. So home, and thence to Mr. Batelier's, where we supped, and had a good supper, and here was Mr. Gumbleton; and after supper some fiddles, and so to dance; but my eyes were so out of order, that I had little pleasure this night at all, though I was glad to see the rest merry, and so about midnight home and to bed. 24th. Lay long in bed, both being sleepy and my eyes bad, and myself having a great cold so as I was hardly able to speak, but, however, by and by up and to the office, and at noon home with my people to dinner, and then I to the office again, and there till the evening doing of much business, and at night my wife sends for me to W. Hewer's lodging, where I find two best chambers of his so finely furnished, and all so rich and neat, that I was mightily pleased with him and them and here only my wife, and I, and the two girls, and had a mighty neat dish of custards and tarts, and good drink and talk. And so away home to bed, with infinite content at this his treat; for it was mighty pretty, and everything mighty rich. 25th. All the morning at the office. At noon home and eat a bit myself, and then followed my wife and girls to the Duke of York's house, and there before one, but the house infinite full, where, by and by, the King and Court come, it being a new play, or an old one new vamped, by Shadwell, called "The Royall Shepherdesse;" but the silliest for words and design, and everything, that ever I saw in my whole life, there being nothing in the world pleasing in it, but a good martial dance of pikemen, where Harris and another do handle their pikes in a dance to admiration; but never less satisfied with a play in my life. Thence to the office I, and did a little business, and so home to supper with my girls, and pretty merry, only my eyes, which continue very bad, and my cold, that I cannot speak at all, do trouble me. 26th. Was forced to send my excuse to the Duke of York for my not attending him with my fellows this day because of my cold, and was the less troubled because I was thereby out of the way to offer my proposals about Pursers till the Surveyor hath delivered his notions, which he is to do to-day about something he has to offer relating to the Navy in general, which I would be glad to see and peruse before I offer what I have to say. So lay long in bed, and then up and to my office, and so to dinner, and then, though I could not speak, yet I went with my wife and girls to the King's playhouse, to shew them that, and there saw "The Faithfull Shepherdesse." But, Lord! what an empty house, there not being, as I could tell the people, so many as to make up above L10 in the whole house! The being of a new play at the other house, I suppose, being the cause, though it be so silly a play that I wonder how there should be enough people to go thither two days together, and not leave more to fill this house. The emptiness of the house took away our pleasure a great deal, though I liked it the better; for that I plainly discern the musick is the better, by how much the house the emptier. Thence home, and again to W. Hewer's, and had a pretty little treat, and spent an hour or two, my voice being wholly taken away with my cold, and so home and to bed. 27th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where I could speak but a little. At noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon till night busy at the office again, where forced to speak low and dictate. But that that troubles me most is my eyes, which are still mighty bad night and day, and so home at night to talk and sup with my cozens, and so all of us in mighty good humour to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and got my wife to read to me a copy of what the Surveyor offered to the Duke of York on Friday, he himself putting it into my hands to read; but, Lord! it is a poor, silly thing ever to think to bring it in practice, in the King's Navy. It is to have the Captains to account for all stores and victuals; but upon so silly grounds, to my thinking; and ignorance of the present instructions of Officers, that I am ashamed to hear it. However, I do take a copy of it, for my future use and answering; and so to church, where, God forgive me! I did most of the time gaze on the fine milliner's wife, in Fenchurch Street, who was at our church to-day; and so home to dinner. And after dinner to write down my Journall; and then abroad by coach with my cozens, to their father's, where we are kindly received, but he is an great pain for his man Arthur, who, he fears, is now dead, having been desperately sick, and speaks so much of him that my cozen, his wife, and I did make mirth of it, and call him Arthur O'Bradly. After staying here a little, and eat and drank, and she gave me some ginger-bread made in cakes, like chocolate, very good, made by a friend, I carried him and her to my cozen Turner's, where we staid, expecting her coming from church; but she coming not, I went to her husband's chamber in the Temple, and thence fetched her, she having been there alone ever since sermon staying till the evening to walk home on foot, her horses being ill. This I did, and brought her home. And after talking there awhile, and agreeing to be all merry at my house on Tuesday next, I away home; and there spent the evening talking and reading, with my wife and Mr. Pelling, and yet much troubled with my cold, it hardly suffering me to speak, we to bed. MARCH 1668-1669 March 1st. Up, and to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, but it did not meet. But here I do hear first that my Lady Paulina Montagu did die yesterday; at which I went to my Lord's lodgings, but he is shut up with sorrow, and so not to be spoken with: and therefore I returned, and to Westminster Hall, where I have not been, I think, in some months. And here the Hall was very full, the King having, by Commission to some Lords this day, prorogued the Parliament till the 19th of October next: at which I am glad, hoping to have time to go over to France this year. But I was most of all surprised this morning by my Lord Bellassis, who, by appointment, met me at Auditor Wood's, at the Temple, and tells me of a duell designed between the Duke of Buckingham and my Lord Halifax, or Sir W. Coventry; the challenge being carried by Harry Saville, but prevented by my Lord Arlington, and the King told of it; and this was all the discourse at Court this day. But I, meeting Sir W. Coventry in the Duke of York's chamber, he would not own it to me, but told me that he was a man of too much peace to meddle with fighting, and so it rested: but the talk is full in the town of the business. Thence, having walked some turns with my cozen Pepys, and most people, by their discourse, believing that this Parliament will never sit more, I away to several places to look after things against to-morrow's feast, and so home to dinner; and thence, after noon, my wife and I out by hackneycoach, and spent the afternoon in several places, doing several things at the 'Change and elsewhere against to-morrow; and, among others, I did also bring home a piece of my face cast in plaister, for to make a wizard upon, for my eyes. And so home, where W. Batelier come, and sat with us; and there, after many doubts, did resolve to go on with our feast and dancing to-morrow; and so, after supper, left the maids to make clean the house, and to lay the cloth, and other things against to-morrow, and we to bed. 2nd. Up, and at the office till noon, when home, and there I find my company come, namely, Madam Turner, Dyke, The., and Betty Turner, and Mr. Bellwood, formerly their father's clerk, but now set up for himself--a conceited, silly fellow, but one they make mightily of--my cozen Roger Pepys, and his wife, and two daughters. I had a noble dinner for them, as I almost ever had, and mighty merry, and particularly myself pleased with looking on Betty Turner, who is mighty pretty. After dinner, we fell one to one talk, and another to another, and looking over my house, and closet, and things; and The. Turner to write a letter to a lady in the country, in which I did, now and then, put in half a dozen words, and sometimes five or six lines, and then she as much, and made up a long and good letter, she being mighty witty really, though troublesome-humoured with it. And thus till night, that our musick come, and the Office ready and candles, and also W. Batelier and his sister Susan come, and also Will. Howe and two gentlemen more, strangers, which, at my request yesterday, he did bring to dance, called Mr. Ireton and Mr. Starkey. We fell to dancing, and continued, only with intermission for a good supper, till two in the morning, the musick being Greeting, and another most excellent violin, and theorbo, the best in town. And so with mighty mirth, and pleased with their dancing of jigs afterwards several of them, and, among others, Betty Turner, who did it mighty prettily; and, lastly, W. Batelier's "Blackmore and Blackmore Mad;" and then to a country-dance again, and so broke up with extraordinary pleasure, as being one of the days and nights of my life spent with the greatest content; and that which I can but hope to repeat again a few times in my whole life. This done, we parted, the strangers home, and I did lodge my cozen Pepys and his wife in our blue chamber. My cozen Turner, her sister, and The., in our best chamber; Bab., Betty, and Betty Turner, in our own chamber; and myself and my wife in the maid's bed, which is very good. Our maids in the coachman's bed; the coachman with the boy in his settlebed, and Tom where he uses to lie. And so I did, to my great content, lodge at once in my house, with the greatest ease, fifteen, and eight of them strangers of quality. My wife this day put on first her French gown, called a Sac, which becomes her very well, brought her over by W. Batelier. 3rd. Up, after a very good night's rest, and was called upon by Sir H. Cholmly, who was with me an hour, and though acquainted did not stay to talk with my company I had in the house, but away, and then I to my guests, and got them to breakfast, and then parted by coaches; and I did, in mine, carry my she-cozen Pepys and her daughters home, and there left them, and so to White Hall, where W. Hewer met me; and he and I took a turn in St. James's Park, and in the Mall did meet Sir W. Coventry and Sir J. Duncomb, and did speak with them about some business before the Lords of the Treasury; but I did find them more than usually busy, though I knew not then the reason of it, though I guess it by what followed to-morrow. Thence to Dancre's, the painter's, and there saw my picture of Greenwich, finished to my very good content, though this manner of distemper do make the figures not so pleasing as in oyle. So to Unthanke's, and there took up my wife, and carried her to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw an old play, the first time acted these forty years, called "The Lady's Tryall," acted only by the young people of the house; but the house very full. But it is but a sorry play, and the worse by how much my head is out of humour by being a little sleepy and my legs weary since last night. So after the play we to the New Exchange, and so called at my cozen Turner's; and there, meeting Mr. Bellwood, did hear how my Lord Mayor, being invited this day to dinner at the Reader's at the Temple, and endeavouring to carry his sword up, the students did pull it down, and forced him to go and stay all the day in a private Councillor's chamber, until the Reader himself could get the young gentlemen to dinner; and then my Lord Mayor did retreat out of the Temple by stealth, with his sword up. This do make great heat among the students; and my Lord Mayor did send to the King, and also I hear that Sir Richard Browne did cause the drums to beat for the Train-bands, but all is over, only I hear that the students do resolve to try the Charter of the City. So we home, and betimes to bed, and slept well all night. 4th. Up, and a while at the office, but thinking to have Mr. Povy's business to-day at the Committee for Tangier, I left the Board and away to White Hall, where in the first court I did meet Sir Jeremy Smith, who did tell me that Sir W. Coventry was just now sent to the Tower, about the business of his challenging the Duke of Buckingham, and so was also Harry Saville to the Gate-house; which, as [he is] a gentleman, and of the Duke of York's bedchamber, I heard afterwards that the Duke of York is mightily incensed at, and do appear very high to the King that he might not be sent thither, but to the Tower, this being done only in contempt to him. This news of Sir W. Coventry did strike me to the heart, and with reason, for by this and my Lord of Ormond's business, I do doubt that the Duke of Buckingham will be so flushed, that he will not stop at any thing, but be forced to do any thing now, as thinking it not safe to end here; and, Sir W. Coventry being gone, the King will have never a good counsellor, nor the Duke of York any sure friend to stick to him; nor any good man will be left to advise what is good. This, therefore, do heartily trouble me as any thing that ever I heard. So up into the House, and met with several people; but the Committee did not meet; and the whole House I find full of this business of Sir W. Coventry's, and most men very sensible of the cause and effects of it. So, meeting with my Lord Bellassis, he told me the particulars of this matter; that it arises about a quarrel which Sir W. Coventry had with the Duke of Buckingham about a design between the Duke and Sir Robert Howard, to bring him into a play at the King's house, which W. Coventry not enduring, did by H. Saville send a letter to the Duke of Buckingham, that he had a desire to speak with him. Upon which, the Duke of Buckingham did bid Holmes, his champion ever since my Lord Shrewsbury's business, [Charles II. wrote to his sister (Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans), on March 7th, 1669: "I am not sorry that Sir Will. Coventry has given me this good occasion by sending my Lord of Buckingham a challenge to turne him out of the Councill. I do intend to turn him allso out of the Treasury. The truth of it is, he has been a troublesome man in both places and I am well rid of him" (Julia Cartwright's "Madame," 1894, p. 283).] go to him to know the business; but H. Saville would not tell it to any but himself, and therefore did go presently to the Duke of Buckingham, and told him that his uncle Coventry was a person of honour, and was sensible of his Grace's liberty taken of abusing him, and that he had a desire of satisfaction, and would fight with him. But that here they were interrupted by my Lord Chamberlain's coming in, who was commanded to go to bid the Duke of Buckingham to come to the King, Holmes having discovered it. He told me that the King did last night, at the Council, ask the Duke of Buckingham, upon his honour, whether he had received any challenge from W. Coventry? which he confessed that he had; and then the King asking W. Coventry, he told him that he did not owne what the Duke of Buckingham had said, though it was not fit for him to give him a direct contradiction. But, being by the King put upon declaring, upon his honour, the matter, he answered that he had understood that many hard questions had upon this business been moved to some lawyers, and that therefore he was unwilling to declare any thing that might, from his own mouth, render him obnoxious to his Majesty's displeasure, and, therefore, prayed to be excused: which the King did think fit to interpret to be a confession, and so gave warrant that night for his commitment to the Tower. Being very much troubled at this, I away by coach homewards, and directly to the Tower, where I find him in one Mr. Bennet's house, son to Major Bayly, one of the Officers of the Ordnance, in the Bricke Tower: [The Brick Tower stands on the northern wall, a little to the west of Martin tower, with which it communicates by a secret passage. It was the residence of the Master of the Ordnance, and Raleigh was lodged here for a time.] where I find him busy with my Lord Halifax and his brother; so I would not stay to interrupt them, but only to give him comfort, and offer my service to him, which he kindly and cheerfully received, only owning his being troubled for the King his master's displeasure, which, I suppose, is the ordinary form and will of persons in this condition. And so I parted, with great content, that I had so earlily seen him there; and so going out, did meet Sir Jer. Smith going to meet me, who had newly been with Sir W. Coventry. And so he and I by water to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I have not been, I think, these twelve months: and there to the Treasurer's house, where the Duke of York is, and his Duchess; and there we find them at dinner in the great room, unhung; and there was with them my Lady Duchess of Monmouth, the Countess of Falmouth, Castlemayne, Henrietta Hide' (my Lady Hinchingbroke's sister), and my Lady Peterborough. And after dinner Sir Jer. Smith and I were invited down to dinner with some of the Maids of Honour, namely, Mrs. Ogle, Blake, and Howard, which did me good to have the honour to dine with, and look on; and the Mother of the Maids, and Mrs. Howard, the mother of the Maid of Honour of that name, and the Duke's housekeeper here. Here was also Monsieur Blancfort, Sir Richard Powell, Colonel Villers, Sir Jonathan Trelawny, and others. And here drank most excellent, and great variety, and plenty of wines, more than I have drank, at once, these seven years, but yet did me no great hurt. Having dined and very merry, and understanding by Blancfort how angry the Duke of York was, about their offering to send Saville to the Gate-house, among the rogues; and then, observing how this company, both the ladies and all, are of a gang, and did drink a health to the union of the two brothers, and talking of others as their enemies, they parted, and so we up; and there I did find the Dupe of York and Duchess, with all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet, on the ground, there being no chairs, playing at "I love my love with an A, because he is so and so: and I hate him with an A, because of this and that:" and some of them, but particularly the Duchess herself, and my Lady Castlemayne, were very witty. This done, they took barge, and I with Sir J. Smith to Captain Cox's; and there to talk, and left them and other company to drink; while I slunk out to Bagwell's; and there saw her, and her mother, and our late maid Nell, who cried for joy to see me, but I had no time for pleasure then nor could stay, but after drinking I back to the yard, having a month's mind para have had a bout with Nell, which I believe I could have had, and may another time. So to Cox's, and thence walked with Sir J. Smith back to Redriffe; and so, by water home, and there my wife mighty angry for my absence, and fell mightily out, but not being certain of any thing, but thinks only that Pierce or Knepp was there, and did ask me, and, I perceive, the boy, many questions. But I did answer her; and so, after much ado, did go to bed, and lie quiet all night; but [she] had another bout with me in the morning, but I did make shift to quiet her, but yet she was not fully satisfied, poor wretch! in her mind, and thinks much of my taking so much pleasure from her; which, indeed, is a fault, though I did not design or foresee it when I went. 5th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where did a little business with the Duke of York at our usual attending him, and thence to my wife, who was with my coach at Unthanke's, though not very well of those upon her, and so home to dinner, and after dinner I to the Tower, where I find Sir W. Coventry with abundance of company with him; and after sitting awhile, and hearing some merry discourse, and, among others, of Mr. Brouncker's being this day summoned to Sir William Morton, one of the judges, to give in security for his good behaviour, upon his words the other day to Sir John Morton, a Parliament-man, at White Hall, who had heretofore spoke very highly against Brouncker in the House, I away, and to Aldgate, and walked forward towards White Chapel, till my wife overtook me with the coach, it being a mighty fine afternoon; and there we went the first time out of town with our coach and horses, and went as far as Bow, the spring beginning a little now to appear, though the way be dirty; and so, with great pleasure, with the fore-part of our coach up, we spent the afternoon. And so in the evening home, and there busy at the Office awhile, and so to bed, mightily pleased with being at peace with my poor wife, and with the pleasure we may hope to have with our coach this summer, when the weather comes to be good. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, only before the Office I stepped to Sir W. Coventry at the Tower, and there had a great deal of discourse with him; among others, of the King's putting him out of the Council yesterday, with which he is well contented, as with what else they can strip him of, he telling me, and so hath long done, that he is weary and surfeited of business; but he joins with me in his fears that all will go to naught, as matters are now managed. He told me the matter of the play that was intended for his abuse, wherein they foolishly and sillily bring in two tables like that which he hath made, with a round hole in the middle, in his closet, to turn himself in; and he is to be in one of them as master, and Sir J. Duncomb in the other, as his man or imitator: and their discourse in those tables, about the disposing of their books and papers, very foolish. But that, that he is offended with, is his being made so contemptible, as that any should dare to make a gentleman a subject for the mirth of the world: and that therefore he had told Tom Killigrew that he should tell his actors, whoever they were, that did offer at any thing like representing him, that he would not complain to my Lord Chamberlain, which was too weak, nor get him beaten, as Sir Charles Sidly is said to do, but that he would cause his nose to be cut. He told me the passage at the Council much like what my Lord Bellassis told me. He told me how that the Duke of Buckingham did himself, some time since, desire to join with him, of all men in England, and did bid him propound to himself to be Chief Minister of State, saying that he would bring it about, but that he refused to have anything to do with any faction; and that the Duke of Buckingham did, within these few days, say that, of all men in England, he would have chosen W. Coventry to have joined entire with. He tells me that he fears their prevailing against the Duke of York; and that their violence will force them to it, as being already beyond his pardon. He repeated to me many examples of challenging of Privy-Councillors and others; but never any proceeded against with that severity which he is, it never amounting to others to more than a little confinement. He tells me of his being weary of the Treasury, and of the folly, ambition, and desire of popularity of Sir Thomas Clifford; and yet the rudeness of his tongue and passions when angry. This and much more discourse being over I with great pleasure come home and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and thence to the office again, where very hard at work all the afternoon till night, and then home to my wife to read to me, and to bed, my cold having been now almost for three days quite gone from me. This day my wife made it appear to me that my late entertainment this week cost me above L12, an expence which I am almost ashamed of, though it is but once in a great while, and is the end for which, in the most part, we live, to have such a merry day once or twice in a man's life. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to the office, busy till church time, and then to church, where a dull sermon, and so home to dinner, all alone with my wife, and then to even my Journall to this day, and then to the Tower, to see Sir W. Coventry, who had H. Jermin and a great many more with him, and more, while I was there, come in; so that I do hear that there was not less than sixty coaches there yesterday, and the other day; which I hear also that there is a great exception taken at, by the King and the Duke of Buckingham, but it cannot be helped. Thence home, and with our coach out to Suffolk Street, to see my cozen Pepys, but neither the old nor young at home. So to my cozen Turner's, and there staid talking a little, and then back to Suffolk Street, where they not being yet come home I to White Hall, and there hear that there are letters come from Sir Thomas Allen, that he hath made some kind of peace with Algiers; upon which the King and Duke of York, being to go out of town to-morrow, are met at my Lord Arlington's: so I there, and by Mr. Wren was desired to stay to see if there were occasion for their speaking with me, which I did, walking without, with Charles Porter, [Charles Porter "was the son of a prebend[ary] in Norwich, and a 'prentice boy in the city in the rebellious times. When the committee house was blown up, he was very active in that rising, and after the soldiers came and dispersed the rout, he, as a rat among joint stools, shifted to and fro among the shambles, and had forty pistols shot at him by the troopers that rode after him to kill him [24th April, 1648]. In that distress he had the presence of mind to catch up a little child that, during the rout, was frighted, and stood crying in the streets, and, unobserved by the troopers, ran away with it. The people opened a way for him, saying, 'Make room for the poor child.' Thus he got off, and while search was made for him in the market-place, got into the Yarmouth ferry, and at Yarmouth took ship and went to Holland.... In Holland he trailed a pike, and was in several actions as a common soldier. At length he kept a cavalier eating-house; but, his customers being needy, he soon broke, and came for England, and being a genteel youth, was taken in among the chancery clerks, and got to be under a master.... His industry was great; and he had an acquired dexterity and skill in the forms of the court; and although he was a bon companion, and followed much the bottle, yet he made such dispatches as satisfied his clients, especially the clerks, who knew where to find him. His person was florid, and speech prompt and articulate. But his vices, in the way of women and the bottle, were so ungoverned, as brought him to a morsel.... When the Lord Keeper North had the Seal, who from an early acquaintance had a kindness for him which was well known, and also that he was well heard, as they call it, business flowed in to him very fast, and yet he could scarce keep himself at liberty to follow his business.... At the Revolution, when his interest fell from, and his debts began to fall upon him, he was at his wits' end.... His character for fidelity, loyalty, and facetious conversation was without exception"--Roger North's Lives of the Norths (Lord Keeper Guilford), ed. Jessopp, vol. i., pp. 381-2. He was originally made Lord Chancellor of Ireland in the reign of James II., during the viceroyalty of Lord Clarendon, 1686, when he was knighted. "He was," says Burnet, "a man of ready wit, and being poor was thought a person fit to be made a tool of. When Clarendon was recalled, Porter was also displaced, and Fitton was made chancellor, a man who knew no other law than the king's pleasure" ("Own Time"). Sir Charles Porter was again made Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1690, and in this same year he acted as one of the Lords Justices. This note of Lord Braybrooke's is retained and added to, but the reference may after all be to another Charles Porter. See vol. iii., p. 122, and vol. vi., p. 98.] talking of a great many things: and I perceive all the world is against the Duke of Buckingham his acting thus high, and do prophesy nothing but ruin from it: But he do well observe that the church lands cannot certainly come to much, if the King shall [be] persuaded to take them; they being leased out for long leases. By and by, after two hours' stay, they rose, having, as Wren tells me, resolved upon sending six ships to the Streights forthwith, not being contented with the peace upon the terms they demand, which are, that all our ships, where any Turks or Moores shall be found slaves, shall be prizes; which will imply that they, must be searched. I hear that to-morrow the King and the Duke of York set out for Newmarket, by three in the morning; to some foot and horse-races, to be abroad ten or twelve days: So I away, without seeing the Duke of York; but Mr. Wren showed me the Order of Council about the balancing the Storekeeper's accounts, passed the Council in the very terms I drew it, only I did put in my name as he that presented the book of Hosier's preparing, and that is left out--I mean, my name--which is no great matter. So to my wife to Suffolk Streete, where she was gone, and there I found them at supper, and eat a little with them, and so home, and there to bed, my cold pretty well gone. 8th. Up, and with W. Hewer by hackney coach to White Hall, where the King and the Duke of York is gone by three in the morning, and had the misfortune to be overset with the Duke of York, the Duke of Monmouth, and the Prince, at the King's Gate' in Holborne; and the King all dirty, but no hurt. How it come to pass I know not, but only it was dark, and the torches did not, they say, light the coach as they should do. I thought this morning to have seen my Lord Sandwich before he went out of town, but I come half an hour too late; which troubles me, I having not seen him since my Lady Palls died. So W. Hewer and I to the Harp-and-Ball, to drink my morning draught, having come out in haste; and there met with King, the Parliament-man, with whom I had some impertinent talk. And so to the Privy Seal Office, to examine what records I could find there, for my help in the great business I am put upon, of defending the present constitution of the Navy; but there could not have liberty without order from him that is in present waiting, Mr. Bickerstaffe, who is out of town. This I did after I had walked to the New Exchange and there met Mr. Moore, who went with me thither, and I find him the same discontented poor man as ever. He tells me that Mr. Shepley is upon being turned away from my Lord's family, and another sent down, which I am sorry for; but his age and good fellowship have almost made him fit for nothing. Thence, at Unthanke's my wife met me, and with our coach to my cozen Turner's and there dined, and after dinner with my wife alone to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mocke Astrologer," which I have often seen, and but an ordinary play; and so to my cozen Turner's again, where we met Roger Pepys, his wife, and two daughters, and there staid and talked a little, and then home, and there my wife to read to me, my eyes being sensibly hurt by the too great lights of the playhouse. So to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the Tower; and there find Sir W. Coventry alone, writing down his journal, which, he tells me, he now keeps of the material things; upon which I told him, and he is the only man I ever told it to, I think, that I kept it most strictly these eight or ten years; and I am sorry almost that I told it him, it not being necessary, nor may be convenient to have it known. Here he showed me the petition he had sent to the King by my Lord Keeper, which was not to desire any admittance to employment, but submitting himself therein humbly to his Majesty; but prayed the removal of his displeasure, and that he might be set free. He tells me that my Lord Keeper did acquaint the King with the substance of it, not shewing him the petition; who answered, that he was disposing of his employments, and when that was done, he might be led to discharge him: and this is what he expects, and what he seems to desire. But by this discourse he was pleased to take occasion to shew me and read to me his account, which he hath kept by him under his own hand, of all his discourse, and the King's answers to him, upon the great business of my Lord Clarendon, and how he had first moved the Duke of York with it twice, at good distance, one after another, but without success; shewing me thereby the simplicity and reasons of his so doing, and the manner of it; and the King's accepting it, telling him that he was not satisfied in his management, and did discover some dissatisfaction against him for his opposing the laying aside of my Lord Treasurer, at Oxford, which was a secret the King had not discovered. And really I was mighty proud to be privy to this great transaction, it giving me great conviction of the noble nature and ends of Sir W. Coventry in it, and considerations in general of the consequences of great men's actions, and the uncertainty of their estates, and other very serious considerations. From this to other discourse, and so to the Office, where we sat all the morning, and after dinner by coach to my cozen Turner's, thinking to have taken the young ladies to a play; but The. was let blood to-day; and so my wife and I towards the King's playhouse, and by the way found Betty [Turner], and Bab., and Betty Pepys staying for us; and so took them all to see "Claricilla," which do not please me almost at all, though there are some good things in it. And so to my cozen Turner's again, and there find my Lady Mordaunt, and her sister Johnson; and by and by comes in a gentleman, Mr. Overbury, a pleasant man, who plays most excellently on the flagelette, a little one, that sounded as low as one of mine, and mighty pretty. Hence by and by away, and with my wife, and Bab. and Betty Pepys, and W. Hewer, whom I carried all this day with me, to my cozen Stradwick's, where I have not been ever since my brother Tom died, there being some difference between my father and them, upon the account of my cozen Scott; and I was glad of this opportunity of seeing them, they being good and substantial people, and kind, and here met my cozen Roger and his wife, and my cozen Turner, and here, which I never did before, I drank a glass, of a pint, I believe, at one draught, of the juice of oranges, of whose peel they make comfits; and here they drink the juice as wine, with sugar, and it is very fine drink; but, it being new, I was doubtful whether it might not do me hurt. Having staid a while, my wife and I back, with my cozen Turner, etc., to her house, and there we took our leaves of my cozen Pepys, who goes with his wife and two daughters for Impington tomorrow. They are very good people, and people I love, and am obliged to, and shall have great pleasure in their friendship, and particularly in hers, she being an understanding and good woman. So away home, and there after signing my letters, my eyes being bad, to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by hackney-coach to Auditor Beale's Office, in Holborne, to look for records of the Navy, but he was out of the way, and so forced to go next to White Hall, to the Privy Seal; and, after staying a little there, then to Westminster, where, at the Exchequer, I met with Mr. Newport and Major Halsey; and, after doing a little business with Mr. Burges, we by water to White Hall, where I made a little stop: and so with them by coach to Temple Bar, where, at the Sugar Loaf we dined, and W. Hewer with me; and there comes a companion of theirs, Colonel Vernon, I think they called him; a merry good fellow, and one that was very plain in cursing the Duke of Buckingham, and discoursing of his designs to ruin us, and that ruin must follow his counsels, and that we are an undone people. To which the others concurred, but not so plain, but all vexed at Sir W. Coventry's being laid aside: but Vernon, he is concerned, I perceive, for my Lord Ormond's being laid aside; but their company, being all old cavaliers, were very pleasant to hear how they swear and talk. But Halsey, to my content, tells me that my Lord Duke of Albemarle says that W. Coventry being gone, nothing will be well done at the Treasury, and I believe it; but they do all talk as that Duncombe, upon some pretence or other, must follow him. Thence to Auditor Beale's, his house and office, but not to be found, and therefore to the Privy Seale at White Hall, where, with W. Hewer and Mr. Gibson, who met me at the Temple, I spent the afternoon till evening looking over the books there, and did find several things to my purpose, though few of those I designed to find, the books being kept there in no method at all. Having done there, we by water home, and there find my cozen Turner and her two daughters come to see us; and there, after talking a little, I had my coach ready, and my wife and I, they going home, we out to White Chapel to take a little ayre, though yet the dirtiness of the road do prevent most of the pleasure, which should have been from this tour. So home, and my wife to read to me till supper, and to bed. 11th. Up, and to Sir W. Coventry, to the Tower, where I walked and talked with him an hour alone, from one good thing to another: who tells me that he hears that the Commission is gone down to the King, with a blank to fill, for his place in the Treasury: and he believes it will be filled with one of our Treasurers of the Navy, but which he knows not, but he believes it will be Osborne. We walked down to the Stone Walk, which is called, it seems, my Lord of Northumberland's walk, being paved by some one of that title, that was prisoner there: and at the end of it, there is a piece of iron upon the wall, with, his armes upon it, and holes to put in a peg, for every turn that they make upon that walk. So away to the Office, where busy all the morning, and so to dinner, and so very busy all the afternoon, at my Office, late; and then home tired, to supper, with content with my wife, and so to bed, she pleasing me, though I dare not own it, that she hath hired a chambermaid; but she, after many commendations, told me that she had one great fault, and that was, that she was very handsome, at which I made nothing, but let her go on; but many times to-night she took occasion to discourse of her handsomeness, and the danger she was in by taking her, and that she did doubt yet whether it would be fit for her, to take her. But I did assure her of my resolutions to have nothing to do with her maids, but in myself I was glad to have the content to have a handsome one to look on. 12th. Up, and abroad, with my own coach, to Auditor Beale's house, and thence with W. Hewer to his Office, and there with great content spent all the morning looking over the Navy accounts of several years, and the several patents of the Treasurers, which was more than I did hope to have found there. About noon I ended there, to my great content, and giving the clerks there 20s. for their trouble, and having sent for W. Howe to me to discourse with him about the Patent Office records, wherein I remembered his brother to be concerned, I took him in my coach with W. Hewer and myself towards Westminster; and there he carried me to Nott's, the famous bookbinder, that bound for my Lord Chancellor's library; and here I did take occasion for curiosity to bespeak a book to be bound, only that I might have one of his binding. Thence back to Graye's Inne: and, at the next door, at a cook's-shop of Howe's acquaintance, we bespoke dinner, it being now two o'clock; and in the meantime he carried us into Graye's Inne, to his chamber, where I never was before; and it is very pretty, and little, and neat, as he was always. And so, after a little stay, and looking over a book or two there, we carried a piece of my Lord Coke with us, and to our dinner, where, after dinner, he read at my desire a chapter in my Lord Coke about perjury, wherein I did learn a good deal touching oaths, and so away to the Patent Office; in Chancery Lane, where his brother Jacke, being newly broke by running in debt, and growing an idle rogue, he is forced to hide himself; and W. Howe do look after the Office, and here I did set a clerk to look out some things for me in their books, while W. Hewer and I to the Crowne Offices where we met with several good things that I most wanted, and did take short notes of the dockets, and so back to the Patent Office, and did the like there, and by candle-light ended. And so home, where, thinking to meet my wife with content, after my pains all this day, I find her in her closet, alone, in the dark, in a hot fit of railing against me, upon some news she has this day heard of Deb.'s living very fine, and with black spots, and speaking ill words of her mistress, which with good reason might vex her; and the baggage is to blame, but, God knows, I know nothing of her, nor what she do, nor what becomes of her, though God knows that my devil that is within me do wish that I could. Yet God I hope will prevent me therein, for I dare not trust myself with it if I should know it; but, what with my high words, and slighting it, and then serious, I did at last bring her to very good and kind terms, poor heart! and I was heartily glad of it, for I do see there is no man can be happier than myself, if I will, with her. But in her fit she did tell me what vexed me all the night, that this had put her upon putting off her handsome maid and hiring another that was full of the small pox, which did mightily vex me, though I said nothing, and do still. So down to supper, and she to read to me, and then with all possible kindness to bed. 13th. Up, and to the Tower, to see Sir W. Coventry, and with him talking of business of the Navy, all alone, an hour, he taking physic. And so away to the Office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, with my people, and so to the Office again, and there all the afternoon till night, when comes, by mistake, my cozen Turner, and her two daughters, which love such freaks, to eat some anchovies and ham of bacon with me, instead of noon, at dinner, when I expected them. But, however, I had done my business before they come, and so was in good humour enough to be with them, and so home to them to supper, and pretty merry, being pleased to see Betty Turner, which hath something mighty pretty. But that which put me in good humour, both at noon and night, is the fancy that I am this day made a Captain of one of the King's ships, Mr. Wren having this day sent me, the Duke of York's commission to be Captain of "The Jerzy," in order to my being of a Court-martiall for examining the loss of "The Defyance," and other things; which do give me occasion of much mirth, and may be of some use to me, at least I shall get a little money by it for the time I have it; it being designed that I must really be a Captain to be able to sit in this Court. They staid till about eight at night, and then away, and my wife to read to me, and then to bed in mighty good humour, but for my eyes. 14th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office with Tom, whom I made to read to me the books of Propositions in the time of the Grand Commission, which I did read a good part of before church, and then with my wife to church, where I did see my milliner's wife come again, which pleased me; but I durst not be seen to mind her for fear of my wife's seeing me, though the woman I did never speak twenty words to, and that but only in her husband's shop. But so fearful I am of discontenting my wife, or giving her cause of jealousy. But here we heard a most excellent good sermon of Mr. Gifford's, upon the righteousness of Scribes and Pharisees. So home to dinner and to work again, and so till dinner, where W. Howe come and dined with me, and staid and read in my Lord Cooke upon his chapter of perjury again, which pleased me, and so parted, and I to my office, and there made an end of the books of Propositions, which did please me mightily to hear read, they being excellently writ and much to the purpose, and yet so as I think I shall make good use of his defence of our present constitution. About four o'clock took coach to visit my cozen Turner, and I out with her to make a visit, but the lady she went to see was abroad. So back and to talk with her and her daughters, and then home, and she and I to walk in the garden, the first time this year, the weather being mighty temperate; and then I to write down my Journall for the last week, my eyes being very bad, and therefore I forced to find a way to use by turns with my tube, one after another, and so home to supper and to bed. Before I went from my office this night I did tell Tom my resolution not to keep him after Jane was gone, but shall do well by him, which pleases him; and I think he will presently marry her, and go away out of my house with her. 15th. Up, and by water with W. Hewer to the Temple; and thence to the Rolls, where I made inquiry for several rolls, and was soon informed in the manner of it: and so spent the whole morning with W. Hewer, he taking little notes in short-hand, while I hired a clerk there to read to me about twelve or more several rolls which I did call for: and it was great pleasure to me to see the method wherein their rolls are kept; that when the Master of the Office, one Mr. Case, do call for them, who is a man that I have heretofore known by coming to my Lord of Sandwich's, he did most readily turn to them. At noon they shut up; and W. Hewer and I did walk to the Cocke, at the end of Suffolke Streete, where I never was, a great ordinary, mightily cried up, and there bespoke a pullett; which while dressing, he and I walked into St. James's Park, and thence back, and dined very handsome, with a good soup, and a pullet, for 4s. 6d. the whole. Thence back to the Rolls, and did a little more business: and so by water to White Hall, whither. I went to speak with Mr. Williamson, that if he hath any papers relating to the Navy I might see them, which he promises me: and so by water home, with great content for what I have this day found, having got almost as much as I desire of the history of the Navy, from 1618 to 1642, when the King and Parliament fell out. So home, and did get my wife to read, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and to the office, after having visited Sir W. Coventry at the Tower, and walked with him upon the Stone Walk, alone, till other company come to him, and had very good discourse with him. At noon home, where my wife and Jane gone abroad, and Tom, in order to their buying of things for their wedding, which, upon my discourse the last night, is now resolved to be done, upon the 26th of this month, the day of my solemnity for my cutting of the stone, when my cozen Turner must be with us. My wife, therefore, not at dinner; and comes to me Mr. Evelyn of Deptford, a worthy good man, and dined with me, but a bad dinner; who is grieved for, and speaks openly to me his thoughts of, the times, and our ruin approaching; and all by the folly of the King. His business to me was about some ground of his, at Deptford, next to the King's yard: and after dinner we parted. My sister Michell coming also this day to see us, whom I left there, and I away down by water with W. Hewer to Woolwich, where I have not been I think more than a year or two, and here I saw, but did not go on board, my ship "The Jerzy," she lying at the wharf under repair. But my business was to speak with Ackworth, about some old things and passages in the Navy, for my information therein, in order to my great business now of stating the history of the Navy. This I did; and upon the whole do find that the late times, in all their management, were not more husbandly than we; and other things of good content to me. His wife was sick, and so I could not see her. Thence, after seeing Mr. Sheldon, I to Greenwich by water, and there landed at the King's house, which goes on slow, but is very pretty. [The old palace at Greenwich had just been pulled down, and a new building commenced by Charles II., only one wing of which was completed, at the expense of L36,000, under the auspices of Webb, Inigo Jones's kinsman and executor. In 1694 the unfinished edifice was granted by William and Mary to trustees for the use and service of a Naval Hospital; and it has been repeatedly enlarged and improved till it has arrived at its present splendour.--B.] I to the Park, there to see the prospect of the hill, to judge of Dancre's picture, which he hath made thereof for me: and I do like it very well: and it is a very pretty place. Thence to Deptford, but staid not, Uthwayte being out of the way: and so home, and then to the Ship Tavern, Morrice's, and staid till W. Hewer fetched his uncle Blackburne by appointment to me, to discourse of the business of the Navy in the late times; and he did do it, by giving me a most exact account in writing, of the several turns in the Admiralty and Navy, of the persons employed therein, from the beginning of the King's leaving the Parliament, to his Son's coming in, to my great content; and now I am fully informed in all I at present desire. We fell to other talk; and I find by him that the Bishops must certainly fall, and their hierarchy; these people have got so much ground upon the King and kingdom as is not to be got again from them: and the Bishops do well deserve it. But it is all the talk, I find, that Dr. Wilkins, my friend, the Bishop of Chester, shall be removed to Winchester, and be Lord Treasurer. Though this be foolish talk, yet I do gather that he is a mighty rising man, as being a Latitudinarian, and the Duke of Buckingham his great friend. Here we staid talking till to at night, where I did never drink before since this man come to the house, though for his pretty wife's sake I do fetch my wine from this, whom I could not nevertheless get para see to-night, though her husband did seem to call for her. So parted here and I home, and to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and by water to see Mr. Wren, and then Mr. Williamson, who did shew me the very original bookes of propositions made by the Commissioners for the Navy, in 1618, to my great content; but no other Navy papers he could now shew me. Thence to Westminster by water and to the Hall, where Mrs. Michell do surprize me with the news that Doll Lane is suddenly brought to bed at her sister's lodging, and gives it out that she is married, but there is no such thing certainly, she never mentioning it before, but I have cause to rejoice that I have not seen her a great while, she having several times desired my company, but I doubt to an evil end. Thence to the Exchequer, where W. Hewer come to me, and after a little business did go by water home, and there dined, and took my wife by a hackney to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Coxcomb," the first time acted, but an old play, and a silly one, being acted only by the young people. Here met cozen Turner and The. So parted there from them, and home by coach and to my letters at the office, where pretty late, and so to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and walked with him a good while in the Stone Walk: and brave discourse about my Lord Chancellor, and his ill managements and mistakes, and several things of the Navy, and thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, and so home to dinner, where my wife mighty finely dressed, by a maid that she hath taken, and is to come to her when Jane goes; and the same she the other day told me of, to be so handsome. I therefore longed to see her, but did not till after dinner, that my wife and I going by coach, she went with us to Holborne, where we set her down. She is a mighty proper maid, and pretty comely, but so so; but hath a most pleasing tone of voice, and speaks handsomely, but hath most great hands, and I believe ugly; but very well dressed, and good clothes, and the maid I believe will please me well enough. Thence to visit Ned Pickering and his lady, and Creed and his wife, but the former abroad, and the latter out of town, gone to my Lady Pickering's in Northamptonshire, upon occasion of the late death of their brother, Oliver Pickering, a youth, that is dead of the smallpox. So my wife and I to Dancre's to see the pictures; and thence to Hyde Park, the first time we were there this year, or ever in our own coach, where with mighty pride rode up and down, and many coaches there; and I thought our horses and coach as pretty as any there, and observed so to be by others. Here staid till night, and so home, and to the office, where busy late, and so home to supper and to bed, with great content, but much business in my head of the office, which troubles me. 19th. Up, and by water to White Hall, there to the Lords of the Treasury, and did some business, and here Sir Thomas Clifford did speak to me, as desirous that I would some time come and confer with him about the Navy, which I am glad of, but will take the direction of the Duke of York before I do it, though I would be glad to do something to secure myself, if I could, in my employment. Thence to the plaisterer's, and took my face, and my Lord Duke of Albemarle's, home with me by coach, they being done to my mind; and mighty glad I am of understanding this way of having the pictures of any friends. At home to dinner, where Mr. Sheres dined with us, but after dinner I left him and my wife, and with Commissioner Middleton and Kempthorne to a Court-martiall, to which, by virtue of my late Captainship, I am called, the first I was ever at; where many Commanders, and Kempthorne president. Here was tried a difference between Sir L. Van Hemskirke, the Dutch Captain who commands "The Nonsuch," built by his direction, and his Lieutenant; a drunken kind of silly business. We ordered the Lieutenant to ask him pardon, and have resolved to lay before the Duke of York what concerns the Captain, which was striking of his Lieutenant and challenging him to fight, which comes not within any article of the laws martiall. But upon discourse the other day with Sir W. Coventry, I did advise Middleton, and he and I did forbear to give judgment, but after the debate did withdraw into another cabin, the Court being held in one of the yachts, which was on purpose brought up over against St. Katharine's, it being to be feared that this precedent of our being made Captains, in order to the trying of the loss of "The Defyance," wherein we are the proper persons to enquire into the want of instructions while ships do lie in harbour, evil use might be hereafter made of the precedent by putting the Duke of Buckingham, or any of these rude fellows that now are uppermost, to make packed Courts, by Captains made on purpose to serve their turns. The other cause was of the loss of "The Providence" at Tangier, where the Captain's being by chance on shore may prove very inconvenient to him, for example's sake, though the man be a good man, and one whom, for Norwood's sake, I would be kind to; but I will not offer any thing to the excusing such a miscarriage. He is at present confined, till he can bring better proofs on his behalf of the reasons of his being on shore. So Middleton and I away to the Office; and there I late busy, making my people, as I have done lately, to read Mr. Holland's' Discourse of the Navy, and what other things I can get to inform me fully in all; and here late, about eight at night, comes Mr. Wren to me, who had been at the Tower to Coventry. He come only to see how matters go, and tells me, as a secret, that last night the Duke of York's closet was broken open, and his cabinets, and shut again, one of them that the rogue that did it hath left plate and a watch behind him, and therefore they fear that it was only for papers, which looks like a very malicious business in design, to hurt the Duke of York; but they cannot know that till the Duke of York comes to town about the papers, and therefore make no words of it. He gone, I to work again, and then to supper at home, and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the Tower, to W. Coventry, and there walked with him alone, on the Stone Walk, till company come to him; and there about the business of the Navy discoursed with him, and about my Lord Chancellor and Treasurer; that they were against the war [with the Dutch] at first, declaring, as wise men and statesmen, at first to the King, that they thought it fit to have a war with them at some time or other, but that it ought not to be till we found the Crowns of Spain and France together by the Bares, the want of which did ruin our war. But then he told me that, a great deal before the war, my Lord Chancellor did speak of a war with some heat, as a thing to be desired, and did it upon a belief that he could with his speeches make the Parliament give what money he pleased, and do what he would, or would make the King desire; but he found himself soon deceived of the Parliament, they having a long time before his removal been cloyed with his speeches and good words, and were come to hate him. Sir W. Coventry did tell me it, as the wisest thing that ever was said to the King by any statesman of his time, and it was by my Lord Treasurer that is dead, whom, I find, he takes for a very great statesman--that when the King did shew himself forward for passing the Act of Indemnity, he did advise the King that he would hold his hand in doing it, till he had got his power restored, that had been diminished by the late times, and his revenue settled in such a manner as he might depend on himself, without resting upon Parliaments,--and then pass it. But my Lord Chancellor, who thought he could have the command of Parliaments for ever, because for the King's sake they were awhile willing to grant all the King desired, did press for its being done; and so it was, and the King from that time able to do nothing with the Parliament almost. Thence to the office, where sat all the forenoon, and then home to dinner, and so to the office, where late busy, and so home, mightily pleased with the news brought me to-night, that the King and Duke of York are come back this afternoon, and no sooner come, but a warrant was sent to the Tower for the releasing Sir W. Coventry; which do put me in some hopes that there may be, in this absence, some accommodation made between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham and; Arlington. So home, to supper, and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and by water over to Southwarke; and then, not getting a boat, I forced to walk to Stangate; and so over to White Hall, in a scull; where up to the Duke of York's dressing-room, and there met Harry Saville, and understand that Sir W. Coventry is come to his house last night. I understand by Mr. Wren that his friends having, by Secretary Trevor and my Lord Keeper, applied to the King upon his first coming home, and a promise made that he should be discharged this day, my Lord Arlington did anticipate them, by sending a warrant presently for his discharge which looks a little like kindness, or a desire of it; which God send! though I fear the contrary: however, my heart is glad that he is out. Thence up and down the House. Met with Mr. May, who tells me the story of his being put by Sir John Denham's place, of Surveyor of the King's Works, who it seems, is lately dead, by the unkindness of the Duke Buckingham, who hath brought in Dr. Wren: though, he tells me, he hath been his servant for twenty years together in all his wants and dangers, saving him from want of bread by his care and management, and with a promise of having his help in his advancement, and an engagement under his hand for L1000 not yet paid, and yet the Duke of Buckingham so ungrateful as to put him by: which is an ill thing, though Dr. Wren is a worthy man. But he tells me that the King is kind to him, and hath promised him a pension of L300 a-year out of the Works; which will be of more content to him than the place, which, under their present wants of money, is a place that disobliges most people, being not able to do what they desire to their lodgings. Here meeting with Sir H. Cholmly and Povy, that tell me that my Lord Middleton is resolved in the Cabal that he shall not go to Tangier; and that Sir Edward Harlow [Harley], whom I know not, is propounded to go, who was Governor of Dunkirke, and, they say, a most worthy brave man, which I shall be very glad of. So by water (H. Russell coming for me) home to dinner, where W. Howe comes to dine with me; and after dinner propounds to me my lending him L500, to help him to purchase a place--the Master of the Patent Office, of Sir Richard Piggott. I did give him a civil answer, but shall think twice of it; and the more, because of the changes we are like to have in the Navy, which will not make it fit for me to divide the little I have left more than I have done, God knowing what my condition is, I having not attended, and now not being able to examine what my state is, of my accounts, and being in the world, which troubles me mightily. He gone, I to the office to enter my journall for a week. News is lately come of the Algerines taking L3000 in money, out of one of our Company's East India ships, outward bound, which will certainly make the war last; which I am sorry for, being so poor as we are, and broken in pieces. At night my wife to read to me, and then to supper, where Pelling comes to see and sup with us, and I find that he is assisting my wife in getting a licence to our young people to be married this Lent, which is resolved shall be done upon Friday next, my great day, or feast, for my being cut of the stone. So after supper to bed, my eyes being very bad. 22nd. Up, and by water, with W. Newer, to White Hall, there to attend the Lords of the Treasury; but, before they sat, I did make a step to see Sir W. Coventry at his house, where, I bless God! he is come again; but in my way I met him, and so he took me into his coach and carried me to White Hall, and there set me down where he ought not--at least, he hath not yet leave to come, nor hath thought fit to ask it, hearing that Henry Saville is not only denied to kiss the King's hand, but the King, being asked it by the Duke of York, did deny it, and directed that the Duke shall not receive him, to wait upon him in his chamber, till further orders. Sir W. Coventry told me that he was going to visit Sir John Trevor, who hath been kind to him; and he shewed me a long list of all his friends that he must this week make visits to, that come to visit him in the Tower; and seems mighty well satisfied with his being out of business, but I hope he will not long be so; at least, I do believe that all must go to rat if the King do not come to see the want of such a servant. Thence to the Treasury-Chamber, and there all the morning to my great grief, put to do Sir G. Downing's work of dividing the Customes for this year, between the Navy, the Ordnance and Tangier: but it did so trouble my eyes, that I had rather have given L20 than have had it to do; but I did thereby oblige Sir Thomas Clifford and Sir J. Duncombe, and so am glad of the opportunity to recommend myself to the former for the latter I need not, he loving me well already. At it till noon, here being several of my brethren with me but doing nothing, but I all. But this day I did also represent to our Treasurers, which was read here, a state of the charge of the Navy, and what the expence of it this year would likely be; which is done so as it will appear well done and to my honour, for so the Lords did take it: and I oblige the Treasurers by doing it, at their request. Thence with W. Hewer at noon to Unthanke's, where my wife stays for me and so to the Cocke, where there was no room, and thence to King Street, to several cook's shops, where nothing to be had; and at last to the corner shop, going down Ivy Lane, by my Lord of Salisbury's, and there got a good dinner, my wife, and W. Newer, and I: and after dinner she, with her coach, home; and he and I to look over my papers for the East India Company, against the afternoon: which done, I with them to White Hall, and there to the Treasury-Chamber, where the East India Company and three Councillors pleaded against me alone, for three or four hours, till seven at night, before the Lords; and the Lords did give me the conquest on behalf of the King, but could not come to any conclusion, the Company being stiff: and so I think we shall go to law with them. This done, and my eyes mighty bad with this day's work, I to Mr. Wren's, and then up to the Duke of York, and there with Mr. Wren did propound to him my going to Chatham to-morrow with Commissioner Middleton, and so this week to make the pay there, and examine the business of "The Defyance" being lost, and other businesses, which I did the rather, that I might be out of the way at the wedding, and be at a little liberty myself for a day, or two, to find a little pleasure, and give my eyes a little ease. The Duke of York mightily satisfied with it; and so away home, where my wife troubled at my being so late abroad, poor woman! though never more busy, but I satisfied her; and so begun to put things in order for my journey to-morrow, and so, after supper, to bed. 23rd. Up, and to my office to do a little business there, and so, my things being all ready, I took coach with Commissioner Middleton, Captain Tinker, and Mr. Huchinson, a hackney coach, and over the bridge, and so out towards Chatham, and; dined at Dartford, where we staid an hour or two, it being a cold day; and so on, and got to Chatham just at night, with very good discourse by the way, but mostly of matters of religion, wherein Huchinson his vein lies. After supper, we fell to talk of spirits and apparitions, whereupon many pretty, particular stories were told, so as to make me almost afeard to lie alone, but for shame I could not help it; and so to bed and, being sleepy, fell soon to rest, and so rested well. 24th. Up, and walked abroad in the garden, and find that Mrs. Tooker has not any of her daughters here as I expected and so walked to the yard, leaving Middleton at the pay, and there I only walked up and down the yard, and then to the Hill-House, and there did give order for the coach to be made ready; and got Mr. Gibson, whom I carried with me, to go with me and Mr. Coney, the surgeon, towards Maydston which I had a mighty mind to see, and took occasion, in my way, at St. Margett's, to pretend to call to see Captain Allen to see whether Mrs. Jowles, his daughter, was there; and there his wife come to the door, he being at London, and through a window, I spied Jowles, but took no notice of he but made excuse till night, and then promised to come and see Mrs. Allen again, and so away, it being a mighty cold and windy, but clear day; and had the pleasure of seeing the Medway running, winding up and down mightily, and a very fine country; and I went a little out of the way to have visited Sir John Bankes, but he at London; but here I had a sight of his seat and house, the outside, which is an old abbey just like Hinchingbroke, and as good at least, and mighty finely placed by the river; and he keeps the grounds about it, and walls and the house, very handsome: I was mightily pleased with the sight of it. Thence to Maydstone, which I had a mighty mind to see, having never been there; and walked all up and down the town, and up to the top of the steeple, and had a noble view, and then down again: and in the town did see an old man beating of flax, and did step into the barn and give him money, and saw that piece of husbandry which I never saw, and it is very pretty: in the street also I did buy and send to our inne, the Bell, a dish of fresh fish. And so, having walked all round the town, and found it very pretty, as most towns I ever saw, though not very big, and people of good fashion in it, we to our inne to dinner, and had a good dinner; and after dinner a barber come to me, and there trimmed me, that I might be clean against night, to go to Mrs. Allen. And so, staying till about four o'clock, we set out, I alone in the coach going and coming; and in our way back, I 'light out of the way to see a Saxon monument, [Kits-Cotty House, a cromlech in Aylesford parish, Kent, on a hillside adjacent to the river Medway, three and a half miles N. by W. of Maidstone. It consists of three upright stones and an overlying one, and forms a small chamber open in front. It is supposed to have been the centre of a group of monuments indicating the burial-place of the Belgian settlers in this part of Britain. Other stones of a similar character exist in the neighbourhood.] as they say, of a King, which is three stones standing upright, and a great round one lying on them, of great bigness, although not so big as those on Salisbury Plain; but certainly it is a thing of great antiquity, and I mightily glad to see it; it is near to Aylesford, where Sir John Bankes lives. So homeward, and stopped again at Captain Allen's, and there 'light, and sent the coach and Gibson home, and I and Coney staid; and there comes to us Mrs. Jowles, who is a very fine, proper lady, as most I know, and well dressed. Here was also a gentleman, one Major Manly, and his wife, neighbours; and here we staid, and drank, and talked, and set Coney and him to play while Mrs. Jowles and I to talk, and there had all our old stories up, and there I had the liberty to salute her often, and pull off her glove, where her hand mighty moist, and she mighty free in kindness to me, and je do not at all doubt that I might have had that that I would have desired de elle had I had time to have carried her to Cobham, as she, upon my proposing it, was very willing to go, for elle is a whore, that is certain, but a very brave and comely one. Here was a pretty cozen of hers come in to supper also, of a great fortune, daughter-in-law to this Manly, mighty pretty, but had now such a cold, she could not speak. Here mightily pleased with Mrs. Jowles, and did get her to the street door, and there to her su breasts, and baiser her without any force, and credo that I might have had all else, but it was not time nor place. Here staid till almost twelve at night, and then with a lanthorn from thence walked over the fields, as dark as pitch, and mighty cold, and snow, to Chatham, and Mr. Coney with great kindness to me: and there all in bed before I come home, and so I presently to bed. 25th. Up, and by and by, about eight o'clock, come Rear-Admiral Kempthorne and seven Captains more, by the Duke of York's order, as we expected, to hold the Court-martiall about the loss of "The Defyance;" and so presently we by boat to "The Charles," which lies over against Upnor Castle, and there we fell to the business; and there I did manage the business, the Duke of York having, by special order, directed them to take the assistance of Commissioner Middleton and me, forasmuch as there might be need of advice in what relates to the government of the ships in harbour. And so I did lay the law open to them, and rattle the Master Attendants out of their wits almost; and made the trial last till seven at night, not eating a bit all the day; only when we had done examination, and I given my thoughts that the neglect of the Gunner of the ship was as great as I thought any neglect could be, which might by the law deserve death, but Commissioner Middleton did declare that he was against giving the sentence of death, we withdrew, as not being of the Court, and so left them to do what they pleased; and, while they were debating it, the Boatswain of the ship did bring us out of the kettle a piece of hot salt beef, and some brown bread and brandy; and there we did make a little meal, but so good as I never would desire to eat better meat while I live, only I would have cleaner dishes. By and by they had done, and called us down from the quarterdeck; and there we find they do sentence that the Gunner of "The Defyance" should stand upon "The Charles" three hours with his fault writ upon his breast, and with a halter about his neck, and so be made incapable of any office. The truth is, the man do seem, and is, I believe, a good man; but his neglect, in trusting a girl to carry fire into his cabin, is not to be pardoned. This being done, we took boat and home; and there a good supper was ready for us, which should have been our dinner. The Captains, desirous to be at London, went away presently for Gravesend, to get thither by this night's tide; and so we to supper, it having been a great snowy and mighty cold, foul day; and so after supper to bed. 26th. Up, and with Middleton all the morning at the Docke, looking over the storehouses and Commissioner Pett's house, in order to Captain Cox's coming to live there in his stead, as Commissioner. But it is a mighty pretty house; and pretty to see how every thing is said to be out of repair for this new man, though L10 would put it into as good condition in every thing as it ever was in, so free every body is of the King's money. By and by to Mr. Wilson's, and there drank, but did not see his wife, nor any woman in the yard, and so to dinner at the Hill-House; and after dinner, till eight at night, close, Middleton and I, examining the business of Mr. Pett, about selling a boat, and we find him a very knave; and some other quarrels of his, wherein, to justify himself, he hath made complaints of others. This being done, we to supper, and so to talk, Commissioner Middleton being mighty good company upon a journey, and so to bed, thinking how merry my people are at this time, putting Tom and Jane to bed, being to have been married this day, it being also my feast for my being cut of the stone, but how many years I do not remember, but I think it to be about ten or eleven. 27th. Up, and did a little business, Middleton and I, then; after drinking a little buttered ale, he and Huchinson and: I took coach, and, exceeding merry in talk, to Dartford: Middleton finding stories of his own life at Barbadoes, and up and down at Venice, and elsewhere, that are mighty pretty, and worth hearing; and he is a strange good companion, and; droll upon the road, more than ever I could have thought to have been in him. Here we dined and met Captain Allen of Rochester, who dined with us, and so went on his journey homeward, and we by and by took coach again and got home about six at night, it being all the morning as cold, snowy, windy, and rainy day, as any in the whole winter past, but pretty clear in the afternoon. I find all well, but my wife abroad with Jane, who was married yesterday, and I to the office busy, till by and by my wife comes home, and so home, and there hear how merry they were yesterday, and I glad at it, they being married, it seems, very handsomely, at Islington; and dined at the old house, and lay in our blue chamber, with much company, and wonderful merry. The Turner and Mary Batelier bridesmaids, and Talbot Pepys and W. Hewer bridesmen. Anon to supper and to bed, my head a little troubled with the muchness of the business I have upon me at present. So to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Lay long talking with pleasure with my wife, and so up and to the Office with Tom, who looks mighty smug upon his marriage, as Jane also do, both of whom I did give joy, and so Tom and I at work at the Office all the morning, till dinner, and then dined, W. Batelier with us; and so after dinner to work again, and sent for Gibson, and kept him also till eight at night, doing much business. And so, that being done, and my journal writ, my eyes being very bad, and every day worse and worse, I fear: but I find it most certain that stronge drinks do make my eyes sore, as they have done heretofore always; for, when I was in the country, when my eyes were at the best, their stronge beere would make my eyes sore: so home to supper, and by and by to bed. 29th. Up, and by water to White Hall; and there to the Duke of York, to shew myself, after my journey to Chatham, but did no business to-day with him: only after gone from him, I to Sir T. Clifford's; and there, after an hour's waiting, he being alone in his closet, I did speak with him, and give him the account he gave me to draw up, and he did like it very well: and then fell to talk of the business of the Navy and giving me good words, did fall foul of the constitution [of the Board], and did then discover his thoughts, that Sir J. Minnes was too old, and so was Colonel Middleton, and that my Lord Brouncker did mind his mathematics too much. I did not give much encouragement to that of finding fault with my fellow-officers; but did stand up for the constitution, and did say that what faults there were in our Office would be found not to arise from the constitution, but from the failures of the officers in whose hands it was. This he did seem to give good ear to; but did give me of myself very good words, which pleased me well, though I shall not build upon them any thing. Thence home; and after dinner by water with Tom down to Greenwich, he reading to me all the way, coming and going, my collections out of the Duke of York's old manuscript of the Navy, which I have bound up, and do please me mightily. At Greenwich I come to Captain Cocke's, where the house full of company, at the burial of James Temple, who, it seems, hath been dead these five days here I had a very good ring, which I did give my wife as soon as I come home. I spent my time there walking in the garden, talking with James Pierce, who tells me that he is certain that the Duke of Buckingham had been with his wenches all the time that he was absent, which was all the last week, nobody knowing where he was. The great talk is of the King's being hot of late against Conventicles, and to see whether the Duke of Buckingham's being returned will turn the King, which will make him very popular: and some think it is his plot to make the King thus, to shew his power in the making him change his mind. But Pierce did tell me that the King did certainly say, that he that took one stone from the Church, did take two from his Crown. By and by the corpse come out; and I, with Sir Richard Browne and Mr. Evelyn, in their coach to the church, where Mr. Plume preached. But I, in the midst of the sermon, did go out, and walked all alone, round to Deptford, thinking para have seen the wife of Bagwell, which I did at her door, but I could not conveniently go into her house, and so lost my labour: and so to the King's Yard, and there my boat by order met me; and home, where I made my boy to finish the my manuscript, and so to supper and to bed my new chamber-maid, that comes in the room of Jane; is come, Jane and Tom lying at their own lodging this night: the new maid's name is Matt, a proper and very comely maid... This day also our cook-maid Bridget went away, which I was sorry for; but, just at her going she was found to be a thief, and so I was the less trouble for it; but now our whole house will, in a manner, be new which, since Jane is gone, I am not at all sorry for, for that my late differences with my wife about poor Deb. will not be remembered. So to bed after supper, and to sleep with great content. 30th. Up, and to Sir W. Coventry, to see and discourse with him; and he tells me that he hath lately been with my Lord Keeper, and had much discourse about the Navy; and particularly he tells me that he finds they are divided touching me and my Lord Brouncker; some are for removing; and some for keeping us. He told my Lord Keeper that it would cost the King L10,000 before he hath made another as fit to serve him in the Navy as I am; which, though I believe it is true, yet I am much pleased to have that character given me by W. Coventry, whatever be the success of it. But I perceive they do think that I know too much, and shall impose upon whomever shall come next, and therefore must be removed, though he tells me that Sir T. Clifford is inclined well enough to me, and Sir T. Osborne; by what I have lately done, I suppose. This news do a little trouble me, but yet, when I consider it, it is but what I ought not to be much troubled for, considering my incapacity, in regard to my eyes, to continue long at this work, and this when I think of and talk with my wife do make me the less troubled for it. After some talk of the business of the navy more with him, I away and to the Office, where all the morning; and Sir W. Pen, the first time that he hath been here since his being last sick, which, I think, is two or three months; and I think will be the last that he will be here as one of the Board, he now inviting us all to dine with him, as a parting dinner, on Thursday next, which I am glad of, I am sure; for he is a very villain. At noon home to dinner, where, and at the office, all the afternoon, troubled at what I have this morning heard, at least my mind full of thoughts upon it, and so at night after supper to bed. 31st. Up, and by water to Sir W. Coventry's, there to talk with him about business of the Navy, and received from him direction what to advise the Duke of York at this time, which was, to submit and give way to the King's naming a man or two, that the people about him have a mind should be brought into the Navy, and perhaps that may stop their fury in running further against the whole; and this, he believes, will do it. After much discourse with him, I walked out with him into St. James's Park, where, being afeard to be seen with him, he having not leave yet to kiss the King's hand, but notice taken, as I hear, of all that go to him, I did take the pretence of my attending the Tangier Committee, to take my leave, though to serve him I should, I think, stick at nothing. At the Committee, this morning, my Lord Middleton declares at last his being ready to go, as soon as ever money can be made ready to pay the garrison: and so I have orders to get money, but how soon I know not. Thence home, and there find Mr Sheres, for whom I find my moher of late to talk with mighty kindness; and particularly he hath shewn himself to be a poet, and that she do mightily value him for. He did not stay to dine with us, but we to dinner; and then, in the afternoon, my wife being very well dressed by her new maid, we abroad, to make a visit to Mrs. Pickering; but she abroad again, and so we never yet saw her. Thence to Dancre's, and there, saw our pictures which are in doing; and I did choose a view of Rome instead of Hampton Court; and mightily pleased I shall be in them. Here were Sir Charles Cotterell and his son bespeaking something; both ingenious men. Thence my wife and I to the Park; and pretty store of company; and so home with great content the month, my mind in pretty good content for all things, but the designs on foot to bring alterations in the Office, which troubles me. APRIL 1669 April 1st. Up, and with Colonel Middleton, at the desire of Rear-Admiral Kempthorne, the President, for our assisting them, to the Court-martiall on board a yacht in the River here, to try the business of the Purser's complaints, Baker against Trevanion, his Commander, of "The Dartmouth." But, Lord! to see what wretched doings there were among all the Commanders to ruin the Purser, and defend the Captain in all his rogueries, be it to the prejudice of the King or Purser, no good man could bear! I confess I was pretty high, which did not at least the young gentlemen Commander like; and Middleton did the like. But could not bring it to any issue this day, sitting till two o'clock; and therefore we being sent for, went to Sir W. Pen's by invitation to dine; where my wife was, and my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, and Sir J. Minnes and his niece; and here a bad dinner, and little mirth, I being little pleased with my host. However, I made myself sociable; and so, after dinner, my wife and I, with my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, they set us down at my cozen Turner's, and there we staid awhile and talked; and particularly here we met with Dr. Ball, the Parson of the Temple, who did tell me a great many pretty stories about the manner of the Parsons being paid for their preaching at Paul's heretofore, and now, and the ground of the Lecture, and heretofore the names of the founders thereof, which were many, at some 5s., some 6s. per annum towards it: and had their names read in the pulpit every sermon among those holy persons that the Church do order a collect for, giving God thanks for. By and by comes by my desire Commissioner Middleton's coach and horses for us, and we went with it towards the Park, thinking to have met The. Turner and Betty, but did not; so turned back again to their lodging, and there found them and Mr. Batelier, and there, after a little talk, we took leave, and carry Batelier home with us. So to supper, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there with the Office attended the Duke of York, and staid in White Hall till about noon, and so with W. Hewer to the Cocke, and there he and I dined alone with great content, he reading to me, for my memory's sake, my late collections of the history of the Navy, that I might represent the same by and by to the Duke of York; and so, after dinner, he and I to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York's lodgings, whither he, by and by, by his appointment come: and alone with him an hour in his closet, telling him mine and W. Coventry's advice touching the present posture of the Navy, as the Duke of Buckingham and the rest do now labour to make changes therein; and that it were best for him to suffer the King to be satisfied with the bringing in of a man or two which they desire. I did also give the Duke of York a short account of the history of the Navy, as to our Office, wherewith he was very well satisfied: but I do find that he is pretty stiff against their bringing in of men against his mind, as the Treasures were, and particularly against Child's' coming in, because he is a merchant. After much discourse with him, we parted; and [he to] the Council, while I staid waiting for his telling me when I should be ready to give him a written account of the administration of the Navy. This caused me to wait the whole afternoon, till night. In the mean time, stepping to the Duchess of York's side to speak with Lady Peterborough; I did see the young Duchess, [The Princess Mary, afterwards Queen of England.] a little child in hanging sleeves; dance most finely, so as almost to ravish me, her ears were so good: taught by a Frenchman that did heretofore teach the King, and all the King's children, and the Queen-Mother herself, who do still dance well. Thence to the council door and Mr. Chevins took me into the back stairs, and they with his friend, Mr. Fowkes, for whom he is very solicitous in some things depending in this Office, he did make me, with some others that he took in (among others, Alderman Back well), eat a pickled herring, the largest I ever saw, and drink variety of wines till I was almost merry; but I did keep in good tune; and so, after the Council was up, I home; and there find my wife not yet come home from Deptford, he she hath been all this day to see her mother, but she come and by, and so to talk, and supper, and to bed. This night I did bring home from the King's potticary's, in White Hall by Mr. Cooling's direction, a water that he says did him mighty good for his eyes. I pray God it may do me good; but, by his description, his disease was the same as mine, and this do encourage me to use it. 3rd. Up, and to the Council of War again, with Middleton: but the proceedings of the Commanders so devilishly bad, and so professedly partial to the Captain, that I could endure it no longer, but took occasion to pretend business at the Office, and away, and Colonel Middleton with me, who was of the same mind, and resolved to declare our minds freely to the Duke of York about it. So to the office, where we sat all the morning. Then home to dinner, and so back to the office, where busy late till night, and so home to supper and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where Alderman Backewell's wife, by my invitation with my head, come up with her mother, and sat with us, and after sermon I did walk with them home, and there left them, and home to dinner, and after dinner with Sir J. Minnes and T. Middleton to White Hall, by appointment; and at my Lord Arlington's the Office did attend the King and Cabal, to discourse the further quantity of victuals fit to be declared for, which was 2,000 men for six months; and so without more ado or stay, there, hearing no news but that Sir Thomas Allen is to be expected every hour at home with his fleete, or news of his being gone back to Algier, and so home, where got my wife to read to me; and so after supper to bed. The Queen-Mother hath been of late mighty ill, and some fears of her death. 5th. Up, and by coach, it being very cold, to White Hall, expecting a meeting of Tangier, but it did not. But, however, did wait there all the morning, and, among other things, I spent a little time with Creed walking in the garden, and talking about our Office, and Child's coming in to be a Commissioner; and, being his friend, I did think he might do me a kindness to learn of him what the Duke of Buckingham and the faction do design touching me, and to instil good words concerning me, which he says, and I believe he will: and it is but necessary; for I have not a mind indeed at this time to be put out of my Office, if I can make any shift that is honourable to keep it; but I will not do it by deserting the Duke of York. At noon by appointment comes Mr. Sheres, and he and I to Unthanke's, where my wife stays for us in our coach, and Betty Turner with her; and we to the Mulberry Garden, where Sheres is to treat us with a Spanish Olio, [An olio is a mixed dish of meat and vegetables, and, secondarily, mixture or medley.] by a cook of his acquaintance that is there, that was with my Lord in Spain: and without any other company, he did do it, and mighty nobly; and the Olio was indeed a very noble dish, such as I never saw better, or any more of. This, and the discourse he did give us of Spain, and description of the Escuriall, was a fine treat. So we left other good things, that would keep till night, for a collation; and, with much content, took coach again, and went five or six miles towards Branford, the Prince of Tuscany, who comes into England only to spend money and see our country, comes into the town to-day, and is much expected; and we met him, but the coach passing by apace, we could not see much of him but he seems a very jolly and good comely man. By the way, we overtook Captain Ferrers upon his fine Spanish horse, and he is a fine horse indeed; but not so good, I think, as I have seen some. He did ride by us most of the way, and with us to the Park, and there left us, where we passed the evening, and meeting The. Turner, Talbot, W. Batelier, and his sister, in a coach, we anon took them with us to the Mulberry Garden; and there, after a walk, to supper upon what was left at noon; and very good; only Mr. Sheres being taken suddenly ill for a while, did spoil our mirth; but by and by was well again, and we mighty merry: and so broke up, and left him at Charing Cross, and so calling only at my cozen Turner's, away home, mightily pleased with the day's work, and this day come another new mayd, for a middle mayd, but her name I know not yet; and, for a cookmaid, we have, ever since Bridget went, used a blackmoore of Mr. Batelier's, Doll, who dresses our meat mighty well, and we mightily pleased with her. So by and by to bed. 6th. Up, and to the Office, and thence to the Excise Office about some business, and so back to the office and sat till late, end thence to Mr. Batelier's to dinner, where my cozen Turner and both her daughters, and Talbot Pepys and my wife, and a mighty fine dinner. They at dinner before I come; and, when I had dined, I away home, and thence to White Hall, where the Board waited on the Duke of York to discourse about the disposing of Sir Thomas Allen's fleete, which is newly come home to Portsmouth; and here Middleton and I did in plain terms acquaint the Duke of York what we thought and had observed in the late Court-martiall, which the Duke did give ear to; and though he thinks not fit to revoke what is already done in this case by a Court-martiall, yet it shall bring forth some good laws in the behaviour of Captains to their under Officers for the time to come. Thence home, and there, after a while at the Office, I home, and there come home my wife, who hath been with Batelier's late, and been dancing with the company, at which I seemed a little troubled, not being sent for thither myself, but I was not much so, but went to bed well enough pleased. 7th. Up, and by coach to my cozen Turner's, and invited them to dine at the Cocke to-day, with my wife and me; and so to the Lords of the Treasury, where all the morning, and settled matters to their liking about the assignments on the Customes, between the Navy Office and Victualler, and to that end spent most of the morning there with D. Gawden, and thence took him to the Cocke, and there left him and my clerk Gibson together evening their reckonings, while I to the New Exchange to talk with Betty, my little sempstress; and so to Mrs. Turner's, to call them to dinner, but my wife not come, I back again, and was overtaken by a porter, with a message from my wife that she was ill, and could not come to us: so I back again to Mrs. Turner's, and find them gone; and so back again to the Cocke, and there find Mr. Turner, Betty, and Talbot Pepys, and they dined with myself Sir D. Gawden and Gibson, and mighty merry, this house being famous for good meat, and particularly pease-porridge and after dinner broke up, and they away; and I to the Council-Chamber, and there heard the great complaint of the City, tried against the gentlemen of the Temple, for the late riot, as they would have it, when my Lord Mayor was there. But, upon hearing the whole business, the City was certainly to blame to charge them in this manner as with a riot: but the King and Council did forbear to determine any thing it, till the other business of the title and privilege be decided which is now under dispute at law between them, whether Temple be within the liberty of the City or no. But I, sorry to see the City so ill advised as to complain in a thing where their proofs were so weak. Thence to my cousin Turner's, and thence with her and her daughters, and her sister Turner, I carrying Betty in my lap, to Talbot's chamber at the Temple, where, by agreement, the poor rogue had a pretty dish of anchovies and sweetmeats for them; and hither come Mr. Eden, who was in his mistress's disfavour ever since the other night that he come in thither fuddled, when we were there. But I did make them friends by my buffoonery, and bringing up a way of spelling their names, and making Theophila spell Lamton, which The. would have to be the name of Mr. Eden's mistress, and mighty merry we were till late, and then I by coach home, and so to bed, my wife being ill of those, but well enough pleased with my being with them. This day I do hear that Betty Turner is to be left at school at Hackney, which I am mightily pleased with; for then I shall, now and then, see her. She is pretty, and a girl for that, and her relations, I love. 8th. Up, and to White Hall, to the King's side, to find Sir T. Clifford, where the Duke of York come and found me, which I was sorry for, for fear he should think I was making friends on that side. But I did put it off the best I could, my being there: and so, by and by, had opportunity alone to shew Sir T. Clifford the fair account I had drawn up of the Customes, which he liked, and seemed mightily pleased with me; and so away to the Excise-Office, to do a little business there, and so to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again till the evening, and then with my wife by coach to Islington, to pay what we owe there, for the late dinner at Jane's wedding; and so round by Kingsland and Hogsden home, pleased with my wife's singing with me, by the way, and so to the office again a little, and then home to supper and to bed. Going this afternoon through Smithfield, I did see a coach run over the coachman's neck, and stand upon it, and yet the man rose up, and was well after it, which I thought a wonder. 9th. Up, and by water to White Hall, end there, with the Board, attended the Duke of York, and Sir Thomas Allen with us (who come to town yesterday); and it is resolved another fleete shall go to the Streights forthwith, and he command it. But his coming home is mighty hardly talked on by the merchants, for leaving their ships there to the mercy of the Turks: but of this more in my White-Booke. Thence out, and slipped out by water to Westminster Hall and there thought to have spoke with Mrs. Martin, but she was not there, nor at home. So back again, and with W. Hewer by coach home and to dinner, and then to the office, and out again with W. Hewer to the Excise-Office, and to several places; among others, to Mr. Faythorne's, to have seen an instrument which he was said to have, for drawing perspectives, but he had it not: but here I did see his work-house, and the best things of his doing he had by him, and so to other places among others to Westminster Hall, and I took occasion to make a step to Mrs. Martin's, the first time I have been with her since her husband went last to sea, which is I think a year since.... But, Lord! to hear how sillily she tells the story of her sister Doll's being a widow and lately brought to bed; and her husband, one Rowland Powell, drowned, sea with her husband, but by chance dead at sea, cast When God knows she hath played the whore, and forced at this time after she was brought to bed, this story. Thence calling at several places by the home, and there to the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Excise-Office, and thence to White Hall a little, and so back again to the 'Change, but nobody there, it being over, and so walked home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Seymour to visit me, a talking fellow: but I hear by him that Captain Trevanion do give it out every where, that I did overrule the whole Court-martiall against him, as long as I was there; and perhaps I may receive, this time, some wrong by it: but I care not, for what I did was out of my desire of doing justice. So the office, where late, and then home to supper and to bed. 11th (Lord's day. Easter day). Up, and to Church; where Alderman Backewell's wife, and mother, and boy, and another gentlewoman, did come, and sit in our pew; but no women of our own there, and so there was room enough. Our Parson made a dull sermon, and so home to dinner; and, after dinner, my wife and I out by coach, and Balty with us, to Loton, the landscape-drawer, a Dutchman, living in St. James's Market, but there saw no good pictures. But by accident he did direct us to a painter that was then in the house with him, a Dutchman, newly come over, one Evarelst, who took us to his lodging close by, and did shew us a little flower-pot of his doing, the finest thing that ever, I think, I saw in my life; the drops of dew hanging on the leaves, so as I was forced, again and again, to put my finger to it, to feel whether my eyes were deceived or no. He do ask L70 for it: I had the vanity to bid him L20; but a better picture I never saw in my whole life; and it is worth going twenty miles to see it. Thence, leaving Balty there, I took my wife to St. James's, and there carried her to the Queen's Chapel, the first time I ever did it; and heard excellent musick, but not so good as by accident I did hear there yesterday, as I went through the Park from White Hall to see Sir W. Coventry, which I have forgot to set down in my journal yesterday. And going out of the Chapel, I did see the Prince of Tuscany' come out, a comely, black, fat man, in a mourning suit; and my wife and I did see him this afternoon through a window in this Chapel. All that Sir W. Coventry yesterday did tell me new was, that the King would not yet give him leave to come to kiss his hand; and he do believe that he will not in a great while do it, till those about him shall see fit, which I am sorry for. Thence to the Park, my wife and I; and here Sir W. Coventry did first see me and my wife in a coach of our own; and so did also this night the Duke of York, who did eye my wife mightily. But I begin to doubt that my being so much seen in my own coach at this time, may be observed to my prejudice; but I must venture it now. So home, and by night home, and so to my office, and there set down my journal, with the help of my left eye through my tube, for fourteen days' past; which is so much, as, I hope, I shall not run in arrear again, but the badness of my eyes do force me to it. So home to supper and to bed. 12th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where I of the whole Office attended the Duke of York at his meeting with Sir Thomas Allen and several flag-officers, to consider of the manner of managing the war with Algiers; and, it being a thing I was wholly silent in, I did only observe; and find that; their manner of discourse on this weighty affair was very mean and disorderly, the Duke of York himself being the man that I thought spoke most to the purpose. Having done here, I up and down the house, talking with this man and that, and: then meeting Mr. Sheres, took him to see the fine flower-pot I saw yesterday, and did again offer L20 for it; but he [Verelst] insists upon L50. Thence I took him to St. James's, but there was no musique, but so walked to White Hall, and, by and by to my wife at Unthanke's, and with her was Jane, and so to the Cocke, where they, and I, and Sheres, and Tom dined, my wife having a great desire to eat of their soup made of pease, and dined very well, and thence by water to the Bear-Garden, and there happened to sit by Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who is still full of his vain-glorious and prophane talk. Here we saw a prize fought between a soldier and country fellow, one Warrell, who promised the least in his looks, and performed the most of valour in his boldness and evenness of mind, and smiles in all he did, that ever I saw and we were all both deceived and infinitely taken with him. He did soundly beat the soldier, and cut him over the head. Thence back to White Hall, mightily pleased, all of us, with this sight, and particularly this fellow, as a most extraordinary man for his temper and evenness in fighting. And there leaving Sheres, we by our own coach home, and after sitting an hour, thrumming upon my viall, and singing, I to bed, and left my wife to do something to a waistcoat and petticoat she is to wear to-morrow. This evening, coming home, we overtook Alderman Backewell's coach and his lady, and followed them to their house, and there made them the first visit, where they received us with extraordinary civility, and owning the obligation. But I do, contrary to my expectation, find her something a proud and vain-glorious woman, in telling the number of her servants and family and expences: he is also so, but he was ever of that strain. But here he showed me the model of his houses that he is going to build in Cornhill and Lumbard Street; but he hath purchased so much there, that it looks like a little town, and must have cost him a great deal of money. 13th. Up, and at the Office a good while, and then, my wife going down the River to spend the day with her mother at Deptford, I abroad, and first to the milliner's in Fenchurch Street, over against Rawlinson's, and there, meeting both him and her in the shop, I bought a pair of gloves, and fell to talk, and found so much freedom that I stayed there the best part of the morning till towards noon, with great pleasure, it being a holiday, and then against my will away and to the 'Change, where I left W. Hewer, and I by hackney-coach to the Spittle, and heard a piece of a dull sermon to my Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and thence saw them all take horse and ride away, which I have not seen together many a-day; their wives also went in their coaches; and, indeed, the sight was mighty pleasing. Thence took occasion to go back to this milliner's [in Fenchurch Street], whose name I now understand to be Clerke; and there, her husband inviting me up to the balcony, to see the sight go by to dine at Clothworker's-Hall, I did go up and there saw it go by: and then; there being a good piece of cold roast beef upon the tables and one Margetts, a young merchant that lodges there, and is likely to marry a sister of hers, I staid and eat, and had much good conversation with her, who hath the vanity to talk of her great friends and father, one Wingate, near Welling;, that hath been a Parliament-man. Here also was Stapely: the rope-merchant, and dined with us; and, after spending most of the afternoon also, I away home, and there sent for W. Hewer, and he and I by water to White Hall to loop among other things, for Mr. May, to unbespeak his dining with me to-morrow. But here being in the court-yard, God would have it, I spied Deb., which made my heart and head to work, and I presently could not refrain, but sent W. Hewer away to look for Mr. Wren (W. Hewer, I perceive, did see her, but whether he did see me see her I know not, or suspect my sending him away I know not, but my heart could not hinder me), and I run after her and two women and a man, more ordinary people, and she in her old clothes, and after hunting a little, find them in the lobby of the chapel below stairs, and there I observed she endeavoured to avoid me, but I did speak to her and she to me, and did get her pour dire me ou she demeurs now, and did charge her para say nothing of me that I had vu elle, which she did promise, and so with my heart full of surprize and disorder I away, and meeting with Sir H. Cholmley walked into the Park with him and back again, looking to see if I could spy her again in the Park, but I could not. And so back to White Hall, and then back to the Park with Mr. May, but could see her, no more, and so with W. Hewer, who I doubt by my countenance might see some disorder in me, we home by water, and there I find Talbot Pepys, and Mrs. Turner, and Betty, come to invite us to dinner on Thursday; and, after drinking, I saw them to the water-side, and so back home through Crutched Friars, and there saw Mary Mercer, and put off my hat to her, on the other side of the way, but it being a little darkish she did not, I think, know me well, and so to my office to put my papers in order, they having been removed for my closet to be made clean, and so home to my wife, who is come home from Deptford. But, God forgive me, I hardly know how to put on confidence enough to speak as innocent, having had this passage to-day with Deb., though only, God knows, by accident. But my great pain is lest God Almighty shall suffer me to find out this girl, whom indeed I love, and with a bad amour, but I will pray to God to give me grace to forbear it. So home to supper, where very sparing in my discourse, not giving occasion of any enquiry where I have been to-day, or what I have done, and so without any trouble to-night more than my fear, we to bed. 14th. Up, and with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there I did speak with the Duke of York, the Council sitting in the morning, and it was to direct me to have my business ready of the Administration of the Office against Saturday next, when the King would have a hearing of it. Thence home, W. Hewer with me, and then out with my own coach to the Duke of York's play-house, and there saw "The Impertinents," a play which pleases me well still; but it is with great trouble that I now see a play, because of my eyes, the light of the candles making it very troublesome to me. After the play; my wife and I towards the Park, but it being too late we to Creed's, and there find him and her [his wife] together alone, in their new house, where I never was before, they lodging before at the next door, and a pretty house it is; but I do not see that they intend to keep any coach. Here they treat us like strangers, quite according to the fashion--nothing to drink or eat, which is a thing that will spoil our ever having any acquaintance with them; for we do continue the old freedom and kindness of England to all our friends. But they do here talk mightily of my Lady Paulina making a very good end, and being mighty religious in her lifetime; and hath left many good notes of sermons and religion; wrote with her own hand, hand, which nobody ever knew of; which I am glad of: but she was always a peevish lady. Thence home, and there to talk and to supper and to bed, all being very safe as to my seeing of poor Deb. yesterday. 15th. Up, and to the office, and thence before the office sat to the Excise Office with W. Hewer, but found some occasion to go another way to the Temple upon business, and I by Deb.'s direction did know whither in Jewen Street to direct my hackney coachman, while I staid in the coach in Aldgate Street, to go thither just to enquire whether Mrs. Hunt, her aunt, was in town, who brought me word she was not; thought this was as much as I could do at once, and therefore went away troubled through that I could do no more but to the office I must go and did, and there all the morning, but coming thither I find Bagwell's wife, who did give me a little note into my hand, wherein I find her para invite me para meet her in Moorfields this noon, where I might speak with her, and so after the office was up, my wife being gone before by invitation to my cozen Turner's to dine, I to the place, and there, after walking up and down by the windmills, I did find her and talk with her, but it being holiday and the place full of people, we parted, leaving further discourse and doing to another time. Thence I away, and through Jewen Street, my mind, God knows, running that way, but stopped not, but going down Holborne hill, by the Conduit, I did see Deb. on foot going up the hill. I saw her, and she me, but she made no stop, but seemed unwilling to speak to me; so I away on, but then stopped and 'light, and after her and overtook her at the end of Hosier lane in Smithfield, and without standing in the street desired her to follow me, and I led her into a little blind alehouse within the walls, and there she and I alone fell to talk and baiser la and toker su mammailles, but she mighty coy, and I hope modest.... I did give her in a paper 20s., and we did agree para meet again in the Hall at Westminster on Monday next; and so giving me great hopes by her carriage that she continues modest and honest, we did there part, she going home and I to Mrs. Turner's, but when I come back to the place where I left my coach it was gone, I having staid too long, which did trouble me to abuse the poor fellow, so that taking another coach I did direct him to find out the fellow and send him to me. At my cozen Turner's I find they are gone all to dinner to Povy's, and thither I, and there they were all, and W. Batelier and his sister, and had dined; but I had good things brought me, and then all up and down the house, and mightily pleased to see the fine rooms: but, the truth is, there are so many bad pictures, that to me make the good ones lose much of the pleasure in seeing them. The. and Betty Turner in new flowered tabby gowns, and so we were pretty merry, only my fear upon me for what I had newly done, do keep my content in. So, about five or six o'clock, away, and I took my wife and the two Bateliers, and carried them homeward, and W. Batelier 'lighting, I carried the women round by Islington, and so down Bishopsgate Street home, and there to talk and sup, and then to bed. 16th. Up, and to my chamber, where with Mr. Gibson all the morning, and there by noon did almost finish what I had to write about the Administration of the Office to present to the Duke of York, and my wife being gone abroad with W. Hewer, to see the new play to-day, at the Duke of York's house, "Guzman," I dined alone with my people, and in the afternoon away by coach to White Hall; and there the Office attended the Duke of York; and being despatched pretty soon, and told that we should not wait on the King, as intended, till Sunday, I thence presently to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, in the 18d. seat, did get room to see almost three acts of the play; but it seemed to me but very ordinary. After the play done, I into the pit, and there find my wife and W. Hewer; and Sheres got to them, which, so jealous is my nature, did trouble me, though my judgment tells me there is no hurt in it, on neither side; but here I did meet with Shadwell, the poet, who, to my great wonder, do tell me that my Lord of [Orrery] did write this play, trying what he could do in comedy, since his heroique plays could do no more wonders. This do trouble me; for it is as mean a thing, and so he says, as hath been upon the stage a great while; and Harris, who hath no part in it, did come to me, and told me in discourse that he was glad of it, it being a play that will not take. Thence home, and to my business at the office, to finish it, but was in great pain about yesterday still, lest my wife should have sent her porter to enquire anything, though for my heart I cannot see it possible how anything could be discovered of it, but yet such is fear as to render me full of doubt and disgust. At night to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon at home to dinner, and there find Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and he dined with us; and there hearing that "The Alchymist" was acted, we did go, and took him with us to the King's house; and it is still a good play, having not been acted for two or three years before; but I do miss Clun, for the Doctor. But more my eyes will not let me enjoy the pleasure I used to have in a play. Thence with my wife in hackney to Sir W. Coventry's, who being gone to the Park we drove after him, and there met him coming out, and followed him home, and there sent my wife to Unthanke's while I spent on hour with him reading over first my draught of the Administration of the Navy, which he do like very well; and so fell to talk of other things, and among the rest of the story of his late disgrace, and how basely and in what a mean manner the Duke of Buckingham hath proceeded against him--not like a man of honour. He tells me that the King will not give other answer about his coming to kiss his hands, than "Not yet." But he says that this that he desires, of kissing the King's hand, is only to show to the world that he is not discontented, and not in any desire to come again into play, though I do perceive that he speaks this with less earnestness than heretofore: and this, it may be, is, from what he told me lately, that the King is offended at what is talked, that he hath declared himself desirous not to have to do with any employment more. But he do tell me that the leisure he hath yet had do not at all begin to be burdensome to him, he knowing how to spend his time with content to himself; and that he hopes shortly to contract his expence, so as that he shall not be under any straits in that respect neither; and so seems to be in very good condition of content. Thence I away over the Park, it being now night, to White Hall, and there, in the Duchess's chamber, do find the Duke of York; and, upon my offer to speak with him, he did come to me, and withdrew to his closet, and there did hear and approve my paper of the Administration of the Navy, only did bid me alter these words, "upon the rupture between the late King and the Parliament," to these, "the beginning of the late Rebellion;" giving it me as but reason to shew that it was with the Rebellion that the Navy was put by out of its old good course, into that of a Commission. Having done this, we fell to other talk; he with great confidence telling me how matters go among our adversaries, in reference to the Navy, and that he thinks they do begin to flag; but then, beginning to talk in general of the excellency of old constitutions, he did bring out of his cabinet, and made me read it, an extract out of a book of my late Lord of Northumberland's, so prophetic of the business of Chatham, as is almost miraculous. I did desire, and he did give it me to copy out, which pleased me mightily, and so, it being late, I away and to my wife, and by hackney; home, and there, my eyes being weary with reading so much: but yet not so much as I was afeard they would, we home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning till 2 o'clock at my Office, with Gibson and Tom, about drawing up fair my discourse of the Administration of the Navy, and then, Mr. Spong being come to dine with me, I in to dinner, and then out to my Office again, to examine the fair draught; and so borrowing Sir J. Minnes's coach, he going with Colonel Middleton, I to White Hall, where we all met and did sign it and then to my Lord Arlington's, where the King, and the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, as also Ormond and the two Secretaries, with my Lord Ashly and Sir T. Clifton was. And there, by and by, being called in, Mr. Williamson did read over our paper, which was in a letter to the Duke of York, bound up in a book with the Duke of York's Book of Instructions. He read it well; and, after read, we were bid to withdraw, nothing being at all said to it. And by and by we were called in again, and nothing said to that business; but another begun, about the state of this year's action, and our wants of money, as I had stated the same lately to our Treasurers; which I was bid, and did largely, and with great content, open. And having so done, we all withdrew, and left them to debate our supply of money; to which, being called in, and referred to attend on the Lords of the Treasury, we all departed. And I only staid in the House till the Council rose; and then to the Duke of York, who in the Duchess's chamber come to me, and told me that the book was there left with my Lord Arlington, for any of the Lords to view that had a mind, and to prepare and present to the King what they had to say in writing, to any part of it, which is all we can desire, and so that rested. The Duke of York then went to other talk; and by and by comes the Prince of Tuscany to visit him, and the Duchess; and I find that he do still remain incognito, and so intends to do all the time he stays here, for avoiding trouble to the King and himself, and expence also to both. Thence I to White Hall Gate, thinking to have found Sir J. Minnes's coach staying for me; but, not being there, and this being the first day of rain we have had many a day, the streets being as dusty as in summer, I forced to walk to my cozen Turner's, and there find my wife newly gone home, which vexed me, and so I, having kissed and taken leave of Betty, who goes to Putney to school to-morrow, I walked through the rain to the Temple, and there, with much ado, got a coach, and so home, and there to supper, and Pelling comes to us, and after much talk, we parted, and to bed. 19th. Up, and with Tom (whom, with his wife, I, and my wife, had this morning taken occasion to tell that I did intend to give him L40 for himself, and L20 to his wife, towards their setting out in the world, and that my wife would give her L20 more, that she might have as much to begin with as he) by coach to White Hall, and there having set him work in the Robe Chamber, to write something for me, I to Westminster Hall, and there walked from 10 o'clock to past 12, expecting to have met Deb., but whether she had been there before, and missing me went away, or is prevented in coming, and hath no mind to come to me (the last whereof, as being most pleasing, as shewing most modesty, I should be most glad of), I know not, but she not then appearing, I being tired with walking went home, and my wife being all day at Jane's, helping her, as she said, to cut out linen and other things belonging to her new condition, I after dinner out again, and, calling for my coach, which was at the coachmaker's, and hath been for these two or three days, to be new painted, and the window-frames gilt against May-day, went on with my hackney to White Hall, and thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there did beckon to Doll Lane, now Mrs. Powell, as she would have herself called, and went to her sister Martin's lodgings, the first time I have been there these eight or ten months, I think, and her sister being gone to Portsmouth to her Y husband, I did stay and talk and drink with Doll.... So away:; and to White Hall, and there took my own coach, which was now come, and so away home, and there to do business, and my wife being come home we to talk and to sup, there having been nothing yet like discovery in my wife of what hath lately passed with me about Deb., and so with great content to bed 20th. Up; and to the Office, and my wife abroad with Mary Batelier, with our own coach, but borrowed Sir J Minnes's coachman, that so our own might stay at home, to attend at dinner; our family being mightily disordered by our little boy's falling sick the last night; and we fear it will prove the small-pox. At noon comes my guest, Mr. Hugh May, and with him Sir Henry Capell, my old Lord Capel's son, and Mr. Parker; and I had a pretty dinner for them; and both before and after dinner had excellent discourse; and shewed them my closet and my Office, and the method of it to their great content; and more extraordinary, manly discourse and opportunity of shewing myself, and learning from others, I have not, in ordinary discourse, had in my life, they being all persons of worth, but especially Sir H. Capell, whose being a Parliament-man, and hearing my discourse in the Parliament-house, hath, as May tells me, given him along desire to know and discourse with me. In the afternoon we walked to the Old Artillery-Ground' near the Spitalfields, where I never was before, but now, by Captain Deane's invitation, did go to see his new gun tryed, this being the place where the Officers of the Ordnance do try all their great guns; and when we come, did find that the trial had been made; and they going away with extraordinary report of the proof of his gun, which, from the shortness and bigness, they do call Punchinello. But I desired Colonel Legg to stay and give us a sight of her performance, which he did, and there, in short, against a gun more than as long and as heavy again, and charged with as much powder again, she carried the same bullet as strong to the mark, and nearer and above the mark at a point blank than theirs, and is more easily managed, and recoyles no more than that, which is a thing so extraordinary as to be admired for the happiness of his invention, and to the great regret of the old Gunners and Officers of the Ordnance that were there, only Colonel Legg did do her much right in his report of her. And so, having seen this great and first experiment, we all parted, I seeing my guests into a hackney coach, and myself, with Captain Deane, taking a hackney coach, did go out towards Bow, and went as far as Stratford, and all the way talking of this invention, and he offering me a third of the profit of the invention; which, for aught I know, or do at present think, may prove matter considerable to us: for either the King will give him a reward for it, if he keeps it to himself, or he will give us a patent to make our profit of it: and no doubt but it will be of profit to merchantmen and others, to have guns of the same force at half the charge. This was our talk: and then to talk of other things, of the Navy in general: and, among other things, he did tell me that he do hear how the Duke of Buckingham hath a spite at me, which I knew before, but value it not: and he tells me that Sir T. Allen is not my friend; but for all this I am not much troubled, for I know myself so usefull that, as I believe, they will not part with me; so I thank God my condition is such that I can; retire, and be able to live with comfort, though not with abundance. Thus we spent the evening with extraordinary good discourse, to my great content, and so home to the Office, and there did some business, and then home, where my wife do come home, and I vexed at her staying out so late, but she tells me that she hath been at home with M. Batelier a good while, so I made nothing of it, but to supper and to bed. 21st. Up; and with my own coach as far as the Temple, and thence sent it to my cozen Turner, who, to ease her own horses, that are going with her out of town, do borrow mine to-day. So I to Auditor Wood's, and thereto meet, and met my Lord Bellassis upon some business of his accounts, and having done that did thence go to St. James's, and attended the Duke of York a little, being the first time of my waiting on him at St. James's this summer, whither he is now newly gone and thence walked to White Hall; and so, by and by, to the Council-Chamber, and heard a remarkable cause pleaded between the Farmers of the Excise of Wiltshire, in complaint against the justices of Peace of Salisbury: and Sir H. Finch was for the former. But, Lord! to see how he did with his admirable eloquence order the matter, is not to be conceived almost: so pleasant a thing it is to hear him plead. Then at noon by coach home, and thither by and by comes cozen Turner, and The., and Joyce, in their riding-clod: they being come from their lodgings to her husbands chamber, at the Temple, and there do lie, and purpose to go out of town on Friday next; and here I had a good dinner for them. After dinner by water to White Hall, where the Duke of York did meet our Office, and went with us to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury; and there we did go over all the business of the state I had drawn up, of this year's action and expence, which I did do to their satisfaction, and convincing them of the necessity of providing more money, if possible, for us. Thence the Duke of York being gone, I did there stay walking with Sir H. Cholmly in the Court, talking of news; where he told me, that now the great design of the Duke of Buckingham is to prevent the meeting, since he cannot bring about with the King the dissolving, of this Parliament, that the King may not need it; and therefore my Lord St. Albans is hourly expected with great offers of a million of money,--[From Louis XIV. See April 28th]--to buy our breach with the Dutch: and this, they do think, may tempt the King to take the money, and thereby be out of a necessity of calling the Parliament again, which these people dare not suffer to meet again: but this he doubts, and so do I, that it will be to the ruin of the nation if we fall out with Holland. This we were discoursing when my boy comes to tell me that his mistress was at the Gate with the coach, whither I went, and there find my wife and the whole company. So she, and Mrs. Turner, and The., and Talbot, in mine: and Joyce, W. Batelier, and I, in a hackney, to Hyde Park, where I was ashamed to be seen; but mightily pleased, though troubled, with a drunken coachman that did not remember when we come to 'light, where it was that he took us up; but said at Hammersmith, and thither he was carrying of us when we come first out of the Park. So I carried them all to Hercules-Pillars, and there did treat them: and so, about ten at night, parted, and my wife, and I, and W. Batelier, home; and he gone, we to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and Captain Deane with us; and very good discourse, and particularly about my getting a book for him to draw up his whole theory of shipping, which, at my desire, he hath gone far in, and hath shewn me what he hath done therein, to admiration. I did give him a Parallelogram, which he is mightily taken with; and so after dinner to the Office, where all the afternoon till night late, and then home. Vexed at my wife's not being come home, she being gone again abroad with M. Batelier, and come not home till ten at night, which vexed me, so that I to bed, and lay in pain awake till past one, and then to sleep. 23rd. Going to rise, without saying anything, my wife stopped me; and, after a little angry talk, did tell me how she spent all day yesterday with M. Batelier and her sweetheart, and seeing a play at the New Nursery, which is set up at the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, which was formerly the King's house. So that I was mightily pleased again, and rose a with great content; and so by water to White Hall, and there to the Council-Chamber, and heard two or three causes: among others, that of the complaint of Sir Philip Howard and Watson, the inventors, as they pretend, of the business of varnishing and lackerworke, against the Company of Painters, who take upon them to do the same thing; where I saw a great instance of the weakness of a young Counsel not used to such an audience, against the Solicitor-General and two more able Counsel used to it. Though he had the right of, his side, and did prevail for what he pretended to against the rest, yet it was with much disadvantage and hazard. Here, also I heard Mr. Papillion' make his defence to the King, against some complaints of the Farmers of Excise; but it was so weak, and done only by his own seeking, that it was to his injury more than profit, and made his case the worse, being ill managed, and in a cause against the King. Thence at noon, the Council rising, I to Unthanke's, and there by agreement met my wife, and with her to the Cocke, and did give her a dinner, but yet both of us but in an ill humour, whatever was the matter with her, but thence to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Generous Portugalls," a play that pleases me better and better every time we see it; and, I thank God! it did not trouble my eyes so much as I was afeard it would. Here, by accident, we met Mr. Sheres, and yet I could not but be troubled, because my wife do so delight to talk of him, and to see him. Nevertheless, we took him with us to our mercer's, and to the Exchange, and he helped me to choose a summer-suit of coloured camelott, coat and breeches, and a flowered tabby vest very rich; and so home, where he took his leave, and down to Greenwich, where he hath some friends; and I to see Colonel Middleton, who hath been ill for a day or two, or three; and so home to supper, and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, Mr. Sheres dining with us by agreement; and my wife, which troubled me, mighty careful to have a handsome dinner for him; but yet I see no reason to be troubled at it, he being a very civil and worthy man, I think; but only it do seem to imply some little neglect of me. After dinner to the King's house, and there saw "The General" revived--a good play, that pleases me well, and thence, our coach coming for us, we parted and home, and I busy late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. Well pleased to-night to have Lead, the vizard-maker, bring me home my vizard, with a tube fastened in it, which, I think, will do my business, at least in a great measure, for the easing of my eyes. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and to my Office awhile, and thither comes Lead with my vizard, with a tube fastened within both eyes; which, with the help which he prompts me to, of a glass in the tube, do content me mightily. So to church, where a stranger made a dull sermon, but I mightily pleased to looks upon Mr. Buckworth's little pretty daughters, and so home to, dinner, where W. Howe come and dined with us; and then I to my Office, he being gone, to write down my journal for the last twelve days: and did it with the help of my vizard and tube fixed to it, and do find it mighty manageable, but how helpfull to my eyes this trial will shew me. So abroad with my wife, in the afternoon, to the Park, where very much company, and the weather very pleasant. I carried my wife to the Lodge, the first time this year, and there in our coach eat a cheese-cake and drank a tankard of milk. I showed her this day also first the Prince of Tuscany, who was in the Park, and many very fine ladies, and so home, and after supper to bed. 26th. Up, having lain long, and then by coach with W. Hewer to the Excise Office, and so to Lilly's, the Varnishes; who is lately dead, and his wife and brother keep up the trade, and there I left my French prints to be put on boards:, and, while I was there, a fire burst out in a chimney of a house over against his house, but it was with a gun quickly put out. So to White Hall, and did a little business there at the Treasury chamber, and so homeward, calling at the laceman's for some lace for my new suit, and at my tailor's, and so home, where to dinner, and Mr. Sheres dined, with us, who come hither to-day to teach my wife the rules of perspective; but I think, upon trial, he thinks it too hard to teach her, being ignorant of the principles of lines. After dinner comes one Colonel Macnachan, one that I see often at Court, a Scotchman, but know him not; only he brings me a letter from my Lord Middleton, who, he says, is in great distress for L500 to relieve my Lord Morton with, but upon, what account I know not; and he would have me advance it without order upon his pay for Tangier, which I was astonished at, but had the grace to deny him with an excuse. And so he went away, leaving me a little troubled that I was thus driven, on a sudden, to do any thing herein; but Creed, coming just now to see me, he approves of what I have done. And then to talk of general matters, and, by and by, Sheres being gone, my wife, and he, and I out, and I set him down at Temple Bar, and myself and wife went down the Temple upon seeming business, only to put him off, and just at the Temple gate I spied Deb. with another gentlewoman, and Deb. winked on me and smiled, but undiscovered, and I was glad to see her. So my wife and I to the 'Change, about things for her; and here, at Mrs. Burnett's shop, I am told by Betty, who was all undressed, of a great fire happened in Durham-Yard last night, burning the house of one Lady Hungerford, who was to come to town to it this night; and so the house is burned, new furnished, by carelessness of the girl sent to take off a candle from a bunch of candles, which she did by burning it off, and left the rest, as is supposed, on fire. The King and Court were here, it seems, and stopped the fire by blowing up of the next house. The King and Court went out of town to Newmarket this morning betimes, for a week. So home, and there to my chamber, and got my wife to read to me a little, and so to supper and to bed. Coming home this night I did call at the coachmaker's, and do resolve upon having the standards of my coach gilt with this new sort of varnish, which will come but to 40s.; and, contrary to my expectation, the doing of the biggest coach all over comes not to above L6, which is [not] very much. 27th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office again, where the afternoon busy till late, and then home, and got my wife to read to me in the Nepotisme, [The work here mentioned is a bitter satire against the Court Rome, written in Italian, and attributed to Gregorio Leti. It was first printed in 1667, without the name or place of printer, but it is from the press of the Elzevirs. The book obtained by Pepys was probably the anonymous English translation, "Il Nipotismo di Roma: or the history of the Popes nephews from the time of Sixtus the IV. to the death the last Pope Alexander the VII. In two parts. Written originally Italian in the year 1667 and Englished by W. A. London, 1669" 8vo. From this work the word Nepotism is derived, and is applied to the bad practice of statesmen, when in power, providing lucrative places for their relations.] which is very pleasant, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon was brought to me a fresh Distringas upon the score of the Tangier accounts which vexes me, though I hope it will not turn to my wrong. 28th. Up, and was called upon by Sir H. Cholmly to discourse about some accounts of his, of Tangier: and then other talk; and I find by him that it is brought almost effect ([through] the late endeavours of the Duke of York Duchess, the Queen-Mother, and my Lord St. Albans, together with some of the contrary faction, my Lord Arlington), that for a sum of money we shall enter into a league with the King of France, wherein, he says, my Lord Chancellor--[Clarendon; then an exile in France.]--is also concerned; and that he believes that, in the doing hereof, it is meant that he [Clarendon] shall come again, and that this sum of money will so help the King that he will not need the Parliament; and that, in that regard it will be forwarded by the Duke of Buckingham and his faction, who dread the Parliament. But hereby we must leave the Dutch, and that I doubt will undo us; and Sir H. Cholmly says he finds W. Coventry do think the like. Lady Castlemayne is instrumental in this matter, and, he say never more great with the King than she is now. But this a thing that will make the Parliament and kingdom mad, and will turn to our ruine: for with this money the King shall wanton away his time in pleasures, and think nothing of the main till it be too late. He gone, I to the office, where busy till noon, and then home to dinner, where W. Batelier dined with us, and pretty merry, and so I to the office again. This morning Mr. Sheres sent me, in two volumes, Mariana his History of Spaine, in Spanish, an excellent book; and I am much obliged for it to him. 29th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning, and at noon dined at home, and then to the Office again, there to despatch as much business as I could, that I might be at liberty to-morrow to look after my many things that I have to do, against May-day. So at night home to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and by coach to the coachmaker's: and there I do find a great many ladies sitting in the body of a coach that must be ended by to-morrow: they were my Lady Marquess of Winchester, Bellassis, and other great ladies; eating of bread and butter, and drinking ale. I to my coach, which is silvered over, but no varnish yet laid on, so I put it in a way of doing; and myself about other business, and particularly to see Sir W. Coventry, with whom I talked a good while to my great content; and so to other places-among others, to my tailor's: and then to the belt-maker's, where my belt cost me 55s., of the colour of my new suit; and here, understanding that the mistress of the house, an oldish woman in a hat hath some water good for the eyes, she did dress me, making my eyes smart most horribly, and did give me a little glass of it, which I will use, and hope it will do me good. So to the cutler's, and there did give Tom, who was with me all day a sword cost me 12s. and a belt of my owne; and set my own silver-hilt sword a-gilding against to-morrow. This morning I did visit Mr. Oldenburgh, and did see the instrument for perspective made by Dr. Wren, of which I have one making by Browne; and the sight of this do please me mightily. At noon my wife come to me at my tailor's, and I sent her home and myself and Tom dined at Hercules' Pillars; and so about our business again, and particularly to Lilly's, the varnisher about my prints, whereof some of them are pasted upon the boards, and to my full content. Thence to the frame-maker's one Morris, in Long Acre, who shewed me several forms of frames to choose by, which was pretty, in little bits of mouldings, to choose by. This done, I to my coach-maker's, and there vexed to see nothing yet done to my coach, at three in the afternoon; but I set it in doing, and stood by it till eight at night, and saw the painter varnish which is pretty to see how every doing it over do make it more and more yellow; and it dries as fast in the sun as it can be laid on almost; and most coaches are, now-a-days done so, and it is very pretty when laid on well, and not pale, as some are, even to shew the silver. Here I did make the workmen drink, and saw my coach cleaned and oyled; and, staying among poor people there in the alley, did hear them call their fat child Punch, which pleased me mightily that word being become a word of common use for all that is thick and short. At night home, and there find my wife hath been making herself clean against to-morrow; and, late as it was, I did send my coachman and horses to fetch home the coach to-night, and so we to supper, myself most weary with walking and standing so much, to see all things fine against to-morrow, and so to bed. God give a blessing to it! Meeting with Mr. Sheres, he went with me up and down to several places, and, among others, to buy a perriwig, but I bought none; and also to Dancre's, where he was about my picture of Windsor, which is mighty pretty, and so will the prospect of Rome be. MAY 1669 May 1st. Up betimes. Called up by my tailor, and there first put on a summer suit this year; but it was not my fine one of flowered tabby vest, and coloured camelott tunique, because it was too fine with the gold lace at the hands, that I was afeard to be seen in it; but put on the stuff suit I made the last year, which is now repaired; and so did go to the Office in it, and sat all the morning, the day looking as if it would be fowle. At noon home to dinner, and there find my wife extraordinary fine, with her flowered tabby gown that she made two years ago, now laced exceeding pretty; and, indeed, was fine all over; and mighty earnest to go, though the day was very lowering; and she would have me put on my fine suit, which I did. And so anon we went alone through the town with our new liveries of serge, and the horses' manes and tails tied with red ribbons, and the standards there gilt with varnish, and all clean, and green refines, that people did mightily look upon us; and, the truth is, I did not see any coach more pretty, though more gay, than ours, all the day. But we set out, out of humour--I because Betty, whom I expected, was not come to go with us; and my wife that I would sit on the same seat with her, which she likes not, being so fine: and she then expected to meet Sheres, which we did in the Pell Mell, and, against my will, I was forced to take him into the coach, but was sullen all day almost, and little complaisant: the day also being unpleasing, though the Park full of coaches, but dusty and windy, and cold, and now and then a little dribbling rain; and, what made it worst, there were so many hackney-coaches as spoiled the sight of the gentlemen's; and so we had little pleasure. But here was W. Batelier and his sister in a borrowed coach by themselves, and I took them and we to the lodge; and at the door did give them a syllabub, and other things, cost me 12s., and pretty merry. And so back to the coaches, and there till the evening, and then home, leaving Mr. Sheres at St. James's Gate, where he took leave of us for altogether, he; being this night to set out for Portsmouth post, in his way to Tangier, which troubled my wife mightily, who is mighty, though not, I think, too fond of him. But she was out of humour all the evening, and I vexed at her for it, and she did not rest almost all the night, so as in the night I was forced; to take her and hug her to put her to rest. So home, and after a little supper, to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and there visit my Lord Sandwich, who, after about two months' absence at Hinchingbroke, come to town last night. I saw him, and very kind; and I am glad he is so, I having not wrote to him all the time, my eyes indeed not letting me. Here with Sir Charles Herbert [Harbord], and my Lord Hinchingbroke, and Sidney, we looked upon the picture of Tangier, designed: by Charles Herbert [Harbord], and drawn by Dancre, which my Lord Sandwich admires, as being the truest picture that ever he's saw in his life: and it is indeed very pretty, and I will be at the cost of having one of them. Thence with them to White Hall, and there walked out the sermon, with one or other; and then saw the Duke of York after sermon, and he talked to me a little; and so away back by water home, and after dinner got my wife to read, and then by coach, she and I, to the Park, and there spent the evening with much pleasure, it proving clear after a little shower, and we mighty fine as yesterday, and people mightily pleased with our coach, as I perceived; but I had not on my fine suit, being really afeard to wear it, it being so fine with the gold lace, though not gay. So home and to supper, and my wife to read, and Tom, my Nepotisme, and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to my Lord Brouncker's, where Sir G. Carteret did meet Sir J. Minnes and me, to discourse upon Mr. Deering's business, who was directed, in the time of the war, to provide provisions at Hamburgh, by Sir G. Carteret's direction; and now G. Carteret is afeard to own it, it being done without written order. But by our meeting we do all begin to recollect enough to preserve Mr. Deering, I think, which, poor silly man! I shall be glad of, it being too much he should suffer for endeavouring to serve us. Thence to St. James's, where the Duke of York was playing in the Pell Mell; and so he called me to him most part of the time that he played, which was an hour, and talked alone to me; and, among other things, tells me how the King will not yet be got to name anybody in the room of Pen, but puts it off for three or four days; from whence he do collect that they are brewing something for the Navy, but what he knows not; but I perceive is vexed that things should go so, and he hath reason; for he told me that it is likely they will do in this as in other things--resolve first, and consider it and the fitness of it afterward. Thence to White Hall, and met with Creed, and I took him to the Harp and Balls, and there drank a cup of ale, he and I alone, and discoursed of matters; and I perceive by him that he makes no doubt but that all will turn to the old religion, for these people cannot hold things in their hands, nor prevent its coming to that; and by his discourse fits himself for it, and would have my Lord Sandwich do so, too, and me. After a little talk with him, and particularly about the ruinous condition of Tangier, which I have a great mind to lay before the Duke of York, before it be too late, but dare not, because of his great kindness to Lord Middleton, we parted, and I homeward; but called at Povy's, and there he stopped me to dinner, there being Mr. Williamson, the Lieutenant of the Tower, Mr. Childe, and several others. And after dinner, Povy and I together to talk of Tangier; and he would have me move the Duke of York in it, for it concerns him particularly, more than any, as being the head of us; and I do think to do it. Thence home, and at the office busy all the afternoon, and so to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, and then my wife being gone to see her mother at Deptford, I before the office sat went to the Excise Office, and thence being alone stepped into Duck Lane, and thence tried to have sent a porter to Deb.'s, but durst not trust him, and therefore having bought a book to satisfy the bookseller for my stay there, a 12d. book, Andronicus of Tom Fuller, I took coach, and at the end of Jewen Street next Red Cross Street I sent the coachman to her lodging, and understand she is gone for Greenwich to one Marys's, a tanner's, at which I, was glad, hoping to have opportunity to find her out; and so, in great fear of being seen, I to the office, and there all the morning, dined at home, and presently after dinner comes home my wife, who I believe is jealous of my spending the day, and I had very good fortune in being at home, for if Deb. had been to have been found it is forty to one but I had been abroad, God forgive me. So the afternoon at the office, and at night walked with my wife in the garden, and my Lord Brouncker with us, who is newly come to W. Pen's lodgings; and by and by comes Mr. Hooke; and my Lord, and he, and I into my Lord's lodgings, and there discoursed of many fine things in philosophy, to my great content, and so home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and thought to have gone with Lord Brouncker to Mr. Hooke this morning betimes; but my Lord is taken ill of the gout, and says his new lodgings have infected him, he never having had any symptoms of it till now. So walked to Gresham College, to tell Hooke that my Lord could not come; and so left word, he being abroad, and I to St. James's, and thence, with the Duke of York, to White Hall, where the Board waited on him all the morning: and so at noon with Sir Thomas Allen, and Sir Edward Scott, and Lord Carlingford, to the Spanish Embassador's, where I dined the first time. The Olio not so good as Sheres's. There was at the table himself and a Spanish Countess, a good, comely, and witty lady-three Fathers and us. Discourse good and pleasant. And here was an Oxford scholar in a Doctor of Law's gowne, sent from the College where the Embassador lay, when the Court was there, to salute him before his return to Spain: This man, though a gentle sort of scholar, yet sat like a fool for want of French or Spanish, but [knew] only Latin, which he spoke like an Englishman to one of the Fathers. And by and by he and I to talk, and the company very merry at my defending Cambridge against Oxford: and I made much use of my French and Spanish here, to my great content. But the dinner not extraordinary at all, either for quantity or quality. Thence home, where my wife ill of those upon the maid's bed, and troubled at my being abroad. So I to the office, and there till night, and then to her, and she read to me the Epistle of Cassandra, which is very good indeed; and the better to her, because recommended by Sheres. So to supper, and to bed. 6th. Up, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, but he gone out. I by water back to the Office, and there all the morning; then to dinner, and then to the Office again, and anon with my wife by coach to take the ayre, it being a noble day, as far as the Greene Man, mightily pleased with our journey, and our condition of doing it in our own coach, and so home, and to walk in the garden, and so to supper and to bed, my eyes being bad with writing my journal, part of it, to-night. 7th. Up, and by coach to W. Coventry's; and there to talk with him a great deal with great content; and so to the Duke of York, having a great mind to speak to him about Tangier; but, when I come to it, his interest for my Lord Middleton is such that I dare not. So to the Treasury chamber, and then walked home round by the Excise Office, having by private vows last night in prayer to God Almighty cleared my mind for the present of the thoughts of going to Deb. at Greenwich, which I did long after. I passed by Guildhall, which is almost finished, and saw a poor labourer carried by, I think, dead with a fall, as many there are, I hear. So home to dinner, and then to the office a little, and so to see my Lord Brouncker, who is a little ill of the gout; and there Madam Williams told me that she heard that my wife was going into France this year, which I did not deny, if I can get time, and I pray God I may. But I wondering how she come to know it, she tells me a woman that my wife spoke to for a maid, did tell her so, and that a lady that desires to go thither would be glad to go in her company. Thence with my wife abroad, with our coach, most pleasant weather; and to Hackney, and into the marshes, where I never was before, and thence round about to Old Ford and Bow; and coming through the latter home, there being some young gentlewomen at a door, and I seeming not to know who they were, my wife's jealousy told me presently that I knew well enough it was that damned place where Deb. dwelt, which made me swear very angrily that it was false, as it was, and I carried [her] back again to see the place, and it proved not so, so I continued out of humour a good while at it, she being willing to be friends, so I was by and by, saying no more of it. So home, and there met with a letter from Captain Silas Taylor, and, with it, his written copy of a play that he hath wrote, and intends to have acted.--It is called "The Serenade, or Disappointment," which I will read, not believing he can make any good of that kind. He did once offer to show Harris it, but Harris told him that he would judge by one Act whether it were good or no, which is indeed a foolish saying, and we see them out themselves in the choice of a play after they have read the whole, it being sometimes found not fit to act above three times; nay, and some that have been refused at one house is found a good one at the other. This made Taylor say he would not shew it him, but is angry, and hath carried it to the other house, and he thinks it will be acted there, though he tells me they are not yet agreed upon it. But I will find time to get it read to me, and I did get my wife to begin a little to-night in the garden, but not so much as I could make any judgment of it. So home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the Office, and there comes Lead to me, and at last my vizards are done, and glasses got to put in and out, as I will; and I think I have brought it to the utmost, both for easiness of using and benefit, that I can; and so I paid him 15s. for what he hath done now last, in the finishing them, and they, I hope, will do me a great deal of ease. At the Office all the morning, and this day, the first time, did alter my side of the table, after above eight years sitting on that next the fire. But now I am not able to bear the light of the windows in my eyes, I do begin there, and I did sit with much more content than I had done on the other side for a great while, and in winter the fire will not trouble my back. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon within, with Mr. Hater, Gibson, and W. Hewer, reading over and drawing up new things in the Instructions of Commanders, which will be good, and I hope to get them confirmed by the Duke of York, though I perceive nothing will effectually perfect them but to look over the whole body of the Instructions, of all the Officers of a ship, and make them all perfect together. This being done, comes my bookseller, and brings me home bound my collection of papers, about my Addresse to the Duke of York in August, which makes me glad, it being that which shall do me more right many years hence than, perhaps, all I ever did in my life: and therefore I do, both for my own and the King's sake, value it much. By and by also comes Browne, the mathematical instrument maker, and brings me home my instrument for perspective, made according to the description of Dr. Wren's, in the late Transactions; and he hath made it, I think, very well, and that, that I believe will do the thing, and therein gives me great content; but have I fear all the content that must be received by my eyes is almost lost. So to the office, and there late at business, and then home to supper and to bed. 9th (Lord's day). Up; and, after dressing in my best suit with gold trimming, I to the Office, and there with Gibson and Tom finishing against to-morrow my notes upon Commanders' Instructions; and, when church-time, to church with my wife, leaving them at work. Dr. Mills preached a dull sermon, and so we home to dinner; and thence by coach to St. Andrew's, Holborne, thinking to have heard Dr. Stillingfleete preach, but we could not get a place, and so to St. Margaret's, Westminster, and there heard a sermon, and did get a place, the first we have heard there these many years, and here at a distance I saw Betty Michell, but she is become much a plainer woman than she was a girl. Thence towards the Park, but too soon to go in, so went on to Knightsbridge, and there eat and drank at "The World's End," where we had good things, and then back to the Park, and there till night, being fine weather, and much company, and so home, and after supper to bed. This day I first left off both my waistcoats by day, and my waistcoat by night, it being very hot weather, so hot as to make me break out, here and there, in my hands, which vexes me to see, but is good for me. 10th. Troubled, about three in the morning, with my wife's calling her maid up, and rising herself, to go with her coach abroad, to gather May-dew, which she did, and I troubled for it, for fear of any hurt, going abroad so betimes, happening to her; but I to sleep again, and she come home about six, and to bed again all well, and I up and with Mr. Gibson by coach to St. James's, and thence to White Hall, where the Duke of York met the Office, and there discoursed of several things, particularly the Instructions of Commanders of ships. But here happened by chance a discourse of the Council of Trade, against which the Duke of York is mightily displeased, and particularly Mr. Child, against whom he speaking hardly, Captain Cox did second the Duke of York, by saying that he was talked of for an unfayre dealer with masters of ships, about freight: to which Sir T. Littleton very hotly and foolishly replied presently, that he never heard any honest man speak ill of Child; to which the Duke of York did make a smart reply, and was angry; so as I was sorry to hear it come so far, and that I, by seeming to assent to Cox, might be observed too much by Littleton, though I said nothing aloud, for this must breed great heart-burnings. After this meeting done, the Duke of York took the Treasurers into his closet to chide them, as Mr. Wren tells me; for that my Lord Keeper did last night at the Council say, when nobody was ready to say any thing against the constitution of the Navy, that he did believe the Treasurers of the Navy had something to say, which was very foul on their part, to be parties against us. They being gone, Mr. Wren [and I] took boat, thinking to dine with my Lord of Canterbury; but, when we come to Lambeth, the gate was shut, which is strictly done at twelve o'clock, and nobody comes in afterwards: so we lost our labour, and therefore back to White Hall, and thence walked my boy Jacke with me, to my Lord Crew, whom I have not seen since he was sick, which is eight months ago, I think and there dined with him: he is mightily broke. A stranger a country gentleman, was with him: and he pleased with my discourse accidentally about the decay of gentlemen's families in the country, telling us that the old rule was, that a family might remain fifty miles from London one hundred years, one hundred miles from London two hundred years, and so farther, or nearer London more or less years. He also told us that he hath heard his father say, that in his time it was so rare for a country gentleman to come to London, that, when he did come, he used to make his will before he set out. Thence: to St. James's, and there met the Duke of York, who told me, with great content, that he did now think he should master our adversaries, for that the King did tell him that he was; satisfied in the constitution of the Navy, but that it was well to give these people leave to object against it, which they having not done, he did give order to give warrant to the Duke of York to direct Sir Jeremy Smith to be a Commissioner of the Navy in the room of Pen; which, though he be an impertinent fellow, yet I am glad of it, it showing that the other side is not so strong as it was: and so, in plain terms, the Duke of York did tell me, that they were every day losing ground; and particularly that he would take care to keep out Child: at all which I am glad, though yet I dare not think myself secure, as the King may yet be wrought upon by these people to bring changes in our Office, and remove us, ere it be long. Thence I to White Hall, an there took boat to Westminster, and to Mrs. Martin's, who is not come to town from her husband at Portsmouth. So drank only at Cragg's with Doll, and so to the Swan, and there baiser a new maid that is there, and so to White Hall again, to a Committee of Tangier, where I see all things going to rack in the business of the Corporation, and consequently in the place, by Middleton's going. Thence walked a little with Creed, who tells me he hears how fine my horses and coach are, and advises me to avoid being noted for it, which I was vexed to hear taken notice of, it being what I feared and Povy told me of my gold-lace sleeves in the Park yesterday, which vexed me also, so as to resolve never to appear in Court with them, but presently to have them taken off, as it is fit I should, and so to my wife at Unthanke's, and coach, and so called at my tailor's to that purpose, and so home, and after a little walk in the garden, home to supper and to bed. 11th. My wife again up by four o'clock, to go to gather May-dew; and so back home by seven, to bed, and by and by I up and to the office, where all the morning, and dined at noon at home with my people, and so all the afternoon. In the evening my wife and I all alone, with the boy, by water, up as high as Putney almost, with the tide, and back again, neither staying going nor coming; but talking, and singing, and reading a foolish copy of verses upon my Lord Mayor's entertaining of all the bachelors, designed in praise to my Lord Mayor, and so home and to the office a little, and then home to bed, my eyes being bad. Some trouble at Court for fear of the Queen's miscarrying; she being, as they all conclude, far gone with child. 12th. Up, and to Westminster Hall, where the term is, and this the first day of my being there, and here by chance met Roger Pepys, come to town the last night: I was glad to see him. After some talk with him and others, and among others Sir Charles Harbord and Sidney Montagu, the latter of whom is to set out to-morrow towards Flanders and Italy, I invited them to dine with me to-morrow, and so to Mrs. Martin's lodging, who come to town last night, and there je did hazer her, she having been a month, I think, at Portsmouth with her husband, newly come home from the Streights. But, Lord! how silly the woman talks of her great entertainment there, and how all the gentry come to visit her, and that she believes her husband is worth L6 or L700, which nevertheless I am glad of, but I doubt they will spend it a fast. Thence home, and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there, in the side balcony, over against the musick, did hear, but not see, a new play, the first day acted, "The Roman Virgin," an old play, and but ordinary, I thought; but the trouble of my eyes with the light of the candles did almost kill me. Thence to my Lord Sandwich's, and there had a promise from Sidney to come and dine with me to-morrow; and so my wife and I home in our coach, and there find my brother John, as I looked for, come to town from Ellington, where, among other things, he tell me the first news that my [sister Jackson] is with child, and fat gone, which I know not whether it did more trouble or please me, having no great care for my friends to have children; though I love other people's. So, glad to see him, we to supper, and so to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, it being a rainy foul day. But at noon comes my Lord Hinchingbroke, and Sidney, and Sir Charles Harbord, and Roger Pepys, and dined with me; and had a good dinner, and very merry with; us all the afternoon, it being a farewell to Sidney; and so in the evening they away, and I to my business at the Office and so to supper, and talk with my brother, and so to bed. 14th. Up, and to St. James's to the Duke of York, and thence to White Hall, where we met about office business, and then at noon with Mr. Wren to Lambeth, to dinner with the Archbishop of Canterbury; the first time I was ever there and I have long longed for it; where a noble house, and well furnished with good pictures and furniture, and noble attendance in good order, and great deal of company, though an ordinary day; and exceeding great cheer, no where better, or so much, that ever I think I saw, for an ordinary table: and the Bishop mighty kind to me, particularly desiring my company another time, when less company there. Most of the company gone, and I going, I heard by a gentleman of a sermon that was to be there; and so I staid to hear it, thinking it serious, till by and by the gentleman told me it was a mockery, by one Cornet Bolton, a very gentleman-like man, that behind a chair did pray and preach like a Presbyter Scot that ever I heard in my life, with all the possible imitation in grimaces and voice. And his text about the hanging up their harps upon the willows: and a serious good sermon too, exclaiming against Bishops, and crying up of my good Lord Eglinton, a till it made us all burst; but I did wonder to have the Bishop at this time to make himself sport with things of this kind, but I perceive it was shewn him as a rarity; and he took care to have the room-door shut, but there were about twenty gentlemen there, and myself, infinitely pleased with the novelty. So over to White Hall, to a little Committee of Tangier; and thence walking in the Gallery, I met Sir Thomas Osborne, who, to my great content, did of his own accord fall into discourse with me, with so much professions of value and respect, placing the whole virtue of the Office of the Navy upon me, and that for the Comptroller's place, no man in England was fit for it but me, when Sir J. Minnes, as he says it is necessary, is removed: but then he knows not what to do for a man in my place; and in discourse, though I have no mind to the other, I did bring in Tom Hater to be the fittest man in the world for it, which he took good notice of. But in the whole I was mightily pleased, reckoning myself now fifty per cent. securer in my place than I did before think myself to be. Thence to Unthanke's, and there find my wife, but not dressed, which vexed me, because going to the Park, it being a most pleasant day after yesterday's rain, which lays all the dust, and most people going out thither, which vexed me. So home, sullen; but then my wife and I by water, with my brother, as high as Fulham, talking and singing, and playing the rogue with the Western barge-men, about the women of Woolwich, which mads them, an so back home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and at the Office all the morning. Dined at home and Creed with me home, and I did discourse about evening some reckonings with him in the afternoon; but I could not, for my eyes, do it, which troubled me, and vexed him that would not; but yet we were friends, I advancing him more without it, and so to walk all the afternoon together in the garden; and I perceive still he do expect a change in of matters, especially as to religion, and fits himself for it by professing himself for it in his discourse. He gone, I to my business at my Office, and so at night home to supper, and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). My wife and I at church, our pew filled with Mrs. Backewell, and six more that she brought with her, which vexed me at her confidence. Dined at home and W. Batelier with us, and I all the afternoon drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York, about my eyes, for leave to spend three or four months out of the Office, drawing it so as to give occasion to a voyage abroad which I did, to my pretty good liking; and then with my wife to Hyde Park, where a good deal of company, and good weather, and so home to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to several places doing business, and the home to dinner, and then my wife and I and brother John by coach to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Spanish Curate" revived, which is a pretty good play, but my eyes troubled with seeing it, mightily. Thence carried them and Mr. Gibson, who met me at my Lord Brouncker's with a fair copy of my petition, which I thought to shew the Duke of York this night, but could not, and therefore carried them to the Park, where they had never been, and so home to supper and to bed. Great the news now of the French taking St. Domingo, in Spaniola, from the Spaniards, which troubles us, that they should have it, and have the honour of taking it, when we could not. 18th. Up, and to St. James's and other places, and then to the office, where all the morning. At noon home and dined in my wife's chamber, she being much troubled with the tooth-ake, and I staid till a surgeon of hers come, one Leeson, who hath formerly drawn her mouth, and he advised her to draw it: so I to the Office, and by and by word is come that she hath drawn it, which pleased me, it being well done. So I home, to comfort her, and so back to the office till night, busy, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. With my coach to St. James's; and there finding the Duke of York gone to muster his men, in Hyde Park, I alone with my boy thither, and there saw more, walking out of my coach as other gentlemen did, of a soldier's trade, than ever I did in my life: the men being mighty fine, and their Commanders, particularly the Duke of Monmouth; but me-thought their trade but very easy as to the mustering of their men, and the men but indifferently ready to perform what was commanded, in the handling of their arms. Here the news was first talked of Harry Killigrew's being wounded in nine places last night, by footmen, in the highway, going from the Park in a hackney-coach towards Hammersmith, to his house at Turnham Greene: they being supposed to be my Lady Shrewsbury's men, she being by, in her coach with six horses; upon an old grudge of his saying openly that he had lain with her. Thence by and by to White Hall, and there I waited upon the King and Queen all dinner-time, in the Queen's lodgings, she being in her white pinner and apron, like a woman with child; and she seemed handsomer plain so, than dressed. And by and by, dinner done, I out, and to walk in the Gallery, for the Duke of York's coming out; and there, meeting Mr. May, he took me down about four o'clock to Mr. Chevins's lodgings, and all alone did get me a dish of cold chickens, and good wine; and I dined like a prince, being before very hungry and empty. By and by the Duke of York comes, and readily took me to his closet, and received my petition, and discoursed about my eyes, and pitied me, and with much kindness did give me his consent to be absent, and approved of my proposition to go into Holland to observe things there, of the Navy; but would first ask the King's leave, which he anon did, and did tell me that the King would be a good master to me, these were his words, about my eyes, and do like of my going into Holland, but do advise that nobody should know of my going thither, but pretend that I did go into the country somewhere, which I liked well. Glad of this, I home, and thence took out my wife, and to Mr. Holliard's about a swelling in her cheek, but he not at home, and so round by Islington and eat and drink, and so home, and after supper to bed. In discourse this afternoon, the Duke of York did tell me that he was the most amazed at one thing just now, that ever he was in his life, which was, that the Duke of Buckingham did just now come into the Queen's bed-chamber, where the King was, and much mixed company, and among others, Tom Killigrew, the father of Harry, who was last night wounded so as to be in danger of death, and his man is quite dead; and [Buckingham] there in discourse did say that he had spoke with some one that was by (which all the world must know that it must be his whore, my Lady Shrewsbury), who says that they did not mean to hurt, but beat him, and that he did run first at them with his sword; so that he do hereby clearly discover that he knows who did it, and is of conspiracy with them, being of known conspiracy with her, which the Duke of York did seem to be pleased with, and said it might, perhaps, cost him his life in the House of Lords; and I find was mightily pleased with it, saying it was the most impudent thing, as well as the most foolish, that ever he knew man do in all his life. 20th. Up and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon, the whole Office--Brouncker, J. Minnes, T. Middleton, Samuel Pepys, and Captain Cox to dine with the Parish, at the Three Tuns, this day being Ascension-day, where exceeding good discourse among the merchants, and thence back home, and after a little talk with my wife, to my office did a great deal of business, and so with my eyes might weary, and my head full of care how to get my accounts and business settled against my journey, home to supper, and bed. Yesterday, at my coming home, I found that my wife had, on a sudden, put away Matt upon some falling out, and I doubt my wife did call her ill names by my wife's own discourse; but I did not meddle to say anything upon it, but let her go, being not sorry, because now we may get one that speaks French, to go abroad with us. 21st. I waited with the Office upon the Duke of York in the morning. Dined at home, where Lewis Phillips the friend of his, dined with me. In the afternoon at the Office. In the evening visited by Roger Pepys and Philip Packer and so home. 22nd. Dined at home, the rest of the whole day at office. 23rd (Lord's day). Called up by Roger Pepys and his son who to church with me, and then home to dinner. In the afternoon carried them to Westminster, and myself to James's, where, not finding the Duke of York, back home, and with my wife spent the evening taking the ayre about Hackney, with great pleasure, and places we had never seen before. 24th. To White Hall, and there all the morning, and they home, and giving order for some business and setting my brother to making a catalogue of my books, I back again to W. Hewer to White Hall, where I attended the Duke of York and was by him led to [the King], who expressed great sense of my misfortune in my eyes, and concernment for their recovery; and accordingly signified, not only his assent to desire therein, but commanded me to give them rest summer, according to my late petition to the Duke of York. W. Hewer and I dined alone at the Swan; and thence having thus waited on the King, spent till four o'clock in St. James's Park, when I met my wife at Unthanke's, and so home. 25th. Dined at home; and the rest of the day, morning and afternoon, at the Office. 26th. To White Hall, where all the morning. Dined with Mr. Chevins, with Alderman Backewell, and Spragg. The Court full of the news from Captain Hubbert, of "The Milford," touching his being affronted in the Streights, shot at, and having eight men killed him by a French man-of-war, calling him "English dog," and commanding him to strike, which he refused, and, as knowing himself much too weak for him, made away from him. The Queen, as being supposed with child, fell ill, so as to call for Madam Nun, Mr. Chevins's sister, and one of her women, from dinner from us; this being the last day of their doubtfulness touching her being with child; and they were therein well confirmed by her Majesty's being well again before night. One Sir Edmund Bury Godfry, a woodmonger and justice of Peace in Westminster, having two days since arrested Sir Alexander Frazier for about L30 in firing, the bailiffs were apprehended, committed to the porter's lodge, and there, by the King's command, the last night severely whipped; from which the justice himself very hardly escaped, to such an unusual degree was the King moved therein. But he lies now in the lodge, justifying his act, as grounded upon the opinion of several of the judges, and, among others, my Lord Chief-Justice; which makes the King very angry with the Chief-Justice, as they say; and the justice do lie and justify his act, and says he will suffer in the cause for the people, and do refuse to receive almost any nutriment. The effects of it may be bad to the Court. Expected a meeting of Tangier this afternoon, but failed. So home, met by my wife at Unthanke's. 27th. At the office all the morning, dined at home, Mr. Hollier with me. Presented this day by Mr. Browne with a book of drawing by him, lately printed, which cost me 20s. to him. In the afternoon to the Temple, to meet with Auditor Aldworth about my interest account, but failed meeting him. To visit my cozen Creed, and found her ill at home, being with child, and looks poorly. Thence to her husband, at Gresham College, upon some occasions of Tangier; and so home, with Sir John Bankes with me, to Mark Lane. 28th. To St. James's, where the King's being with the Duke of York prevented a meeting of the Tangier Commission. But, Lord! what a deal of sorry discourse did I hear between the King and several Lords about him here! but very mean methought. So with Creed to the Excise Office, and back to White Hall, where, in the Park, Sir G. Carteret did give me an account of his discourse lately, with the Commissioners of Accounts, who except against many things, but none that I find considerable; among others, that of the Officers of the Navy selling of the King's goods, and particularly my providing him with calico flags, which having been by order, and but once, when necessity, and the King's apparent profit, justified it, as conformable to my particular duty, it will prove to my advantage that it be enquired into. Nevertheless, having this morning received from them a demand of an account of all monies within their cognizance, received and issued by me, I was willing, upon this hint, to give myself rest, by knowing whether their meaning therein might reach only to my Treasurership for Tangier, or the monies employed on this occasion. I went, therefore, to them this afternoon, to understand what monies they meant, where they answered me, by saying, "The eleven months' tax, customs, and prizemoney," without mentioning, any more than I demanding, the service they respected therein; and so, without further discourse, we parted, upon very good terms of respect, and with few words, but my mind not fully satisfied about the monies they mean. At noon Mr. Gibson and I dined at the Swan, and thence doing this at Brook house, and thence caking at the Excise Office for an account of payment of my tallies for Tangier, I home, and thence with my wife and brother spent the evening on the water, carrying our supper with us, as high as Chelsea; so home, making sport with the Westerne bargees, and my wife and I singing, to my great content. 29th. The King's birth-day. To White Hall, where all very gay; and particularly the Prince of Tuscany very fine, and is the first day of his appearing out of mourning, since he come. I heard the Bishop of Peterborough' preach but dully; but a good anthem of Pelham's. Home to dinner, and then with my wife to Hyde Park, where all the evening; great store of company, and great preparations by the Prince of Tuscany to celebrate the night with fire-works, for the King's birth-day. And so home. 30th (Whitsunday). By water to White Hall, and thence to Sir W. Coventry, where all the morning by his bed-side, he being indisposed. Our discourse was upon the notes I have lately prepared for Commanders' Instructions; but concluded that nothing will render them effectual, without an amendment in the choice of them, that they be seamen, and not gentleman above the command of the Admiral, by the greatness of their relations at Court. Thence to White Hall, and dined alone with Mr. Chevins his sister: whither by and by come in Mr. Progers and Sir Thomas Allen, and by and by fine Mrs. Wells, who is a great beauty; and there I had my full gaze upon her, to my great content, she being a woman of pretty conversation. Thence to the Duke of York, who, with the officers of the Navy, made a good entrance on my draught of my new Instructions to Commanders, as well expressing general [views] of a reformation among them, as liking of my humble offers towards it. Thence being called by my wife, Mr. Gibson and I, we to the Park, whence the rain suddenly home. 31st. Up very betimes, and so continued all the morning with W. Hewer, upon examining and stating my accounts, in order to the fitting myself to go abroad beyond sea, which the ill condition of my eyes, and my neglect for a year or two, hath kept me behindhand in, and so as to render it very difficult now, and troublesome to my mind to do it; but I this day made a satisfactory entrance therein. Dined at home, and in the afternoon by water to White Hall, calling by the way at Michell's, where I have not been many a day till just the other day, and now I met her mother there and knew her husband to be out of town. And here je did baiser elle, but had not opportunity para hazer some with her as I would have offered if je had had it. And thence had another meeting with the Duke of York, at White Hall, on yesterday's work, and made a good advance: and so, being called by my wife, we to the Park, Mary Batelier, and a Dutch gentleman, a friend of hers, being with us. Thence to "The World's End," a drinking-house by the Park; and there merry, and so home late. And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now so long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand; and, therefore, whatever comes of it, I must forbear: and, therefore, resolve, from this time forward, to have it kept by my people in long-hand, and must therefore be contented to set down no more than is fit for them and all the world to know; or, if there be any thing, which cannot be much, now my amours to Deb. are past, and my eyes hindering me in almost all other pleasures, I must endeavour to keep a margin in my book open, to add, here and there, a note in short-hand with my own hand. And so I betake myself to that course, which is almost as much as to see myself go into my grave: for which, and all the discomforts that will accompany my being blind, the good God prepare me! May 31, 1669. END OF THE DIARY. PREFACE [This moved, by the editor, to the end where it seems to fit more comfortably.] First issue of this edition June, 1896. Reprinted 1897. In the present volume the Diary is completed, and we here take leave of a writer who has done so much to interest and enlighten successive generations of English readers, and who is now for the first time presented to the world as he really drew his own portrait day by day. No one who has followed the daily notes of Samuel Pepys from January, 1660, to May, 1669, but must feel sincere regret at their abrupt conclusion, more particularly as the writer lays down his pen while in an unhappy temper. It is evident from the tone of his later utterances that Pepys thought that he was going blind, a belief which was happily falsified. The holiday tour in which Charles II. and James, Duke of York, took so much interest appears to have had its desired effect in restoring the Diarist to health. The rest of his eventful life must be sought in the history of the English Navy which he helped to form, and in his numerous letters, which on some future occasion the present editor hopes to annotate. The details to be obtained from these sources form, however, but a sorry substitute for the words written in the solitude of his office by Pepys for his own eye alone, and we cannot but feel how great is the world's loss in that he never resumed the writing of his journal. All must agree with Coleridge when he wrote on the margin of a copy of the Diary: "Truly may it be said that this was a greater and more grievous loss to the mind's eye of posterity than to the bodily organs of Pepys himself. It makes me restless and discontented to think what a Diary equal in minuteness and truth of portraiture to the preceding from 1669 to 1688 or 1690 would have been for the true causes, process and character of the Revolution." Most works of this nature are apt to tire when they are extended over a certain length of time, but Pepys's pages are always fresh, and most readers wish for more. For himself the editor can say that each time he has read over the various proofs he has read with renewed interest, so that it is with no ordinary feelings of regret that he comes to the end of his task, and he believes that every reader will feel the same regret that he has no more to read. In reviewing the Diary it is impossible not to notice the growth of historical interest as it proceeds. In the earlier period we find Pepys surrounded by men not otherwise known, but as the years pass, and his position becomes more assured, we find him in daily communication with the chief men of his day, and evidently every one who came in contact with him appreciated his remarkable ability. The survival of the Diary must ever remain a marvel. It could never have been intended for the reading of others, but doubtless the more elaborate portraits of persons in the later pages were intended for use when Pepys came to write his projected history of the Navy. The only man who is uniformly spoken well of in the Diary is Sir William Coventry, and many of the characters introduced come in for severe castigation. It is therefore the more necessary to remember that many of the judgments on men were set down hastily, and would probably have been modified had occasion offered. At all events, we know that, however much he may have censured them, Pepys always helped on those who were dependent upon him. H. R. W. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, 1969 N.S. Broken sort of people, that have not much to lose But so fearful I am of discontenting my wife By her wedding-ring, I suppose he hath married her at last Dine with them, at my cozen Roger's mistress's Drawing up a foul draught of my petition to the Duke of York Dutchmen come out of the mouth and tail of a Hamburgh sow Fain to keep a woman on purpose at 20s. a week Find it a base copy of a good originall, that vexed me Found in my head and body about twenty lice, little and great Have not much to lose, and therefore will venture all His satisfaction is nothing worth, it being easily got I have itched mightily these 6 or 7 days I know I have made myself an immortal enemy by it Lady Castlemayne is now in a higher command over the King Last day of their doubtfulness touching her being with child Mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will Nor was there any pretty woman that I did see, but my wife Observing my eyes to be mightily employed in the playhouse Proud, carping, insolent, and ironically-prophane stile Quite according to the fashion--nothing to drink or eat She finds that I am lousy Unquiet which her ripping up of old faults will give me Up, and with W. Hewer, my guard, to White Hall Weeping to myself for grief, which she discerning, come to bed With egg to keep off the glaring of the light 
46028	----	http://mormontextsproject.org/ for a complete list of Mormon texts available on Project Gutenberg, to help proofread similar books, or to report typos. Special thanks to Benjamin Keogh and Elissa Nysetvold for proofreading. LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL THIRD BOOK OF THE FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES By President W. Woodruff _DESIGNED FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND ENCOURAGEMENT OF YOUNG LATTER-DAY SAINTS_ SECOND EDITION. JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE, Salt Lake City, Utah. 1882. PREFACE About nine months have elapsed since the first edition of this work was published, and now the whole number issued--over 4,000 copies--are exhausted, and there is a demand for more. We, therefore, have much pleasure in offering the Second Edition of LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL for public consideration, and trust that the young people who pursue it will be inspired to emulate in their lives the faith, perseverance and integrity that so distinguish its author. Brother Woodruff is a remarkable man. Few men now living, who have followed the quiet and peaceful pursuits of life, have had such an interesting and eventful experience as he has. Few, if any in this age, have spent a more active and useful life. Certainly no man living has been more particular about recording with his own hand, in a daily journal, during half a century, the events of his own career and the things that have come under his observation. His elaborate journal has always been one of the principal sources from which the Church history has been compiled. Possessed of wonderful energy and determination, and mighty faith, Brother Woodruff has labored long and with great success in the Church. He has ever had a definite object in view--to know the will of the Almighty and to do it. No amount of self-denial has been too great for him to cheerfully endure for the advancement of the cause of God. No labor required of the Saints has been considered by him too onerous to engage in with his own hands. Satan, knowing the power for good that Brother Woodruff would be, if permitted to live, has often sought to effect his destruction. The adventures, accidents and hair-breath escapes that he has met with, are scarcely equalled by the record that the former apostle, Paul, has left us of his life. The power of God has been manifested in a most remarkable manner in preserving Brother Woodruff's life. Considering the number of bones he has had broken, and the other bodily injuries he has received, it is certainly wonderful that now, at the age of seventy-five years, he is such a sound, well-preserved man. God grant that his health and usefulness may continue for many years to come. Of course, this volume contains but a small portion of the interesting experience of Brother Woodruff's life, but very many profitable lessons may be learned from it, and we trust at some future time to be favored with other sketches from his pen. THE PUBLISHER CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Strictness of the "Blue Laws" of Connecticut--The Old Prophet Mason--His Vision--His Prophecy--Hear the Gospel, and Embrace it--Visit Kirtland, and see Joseph Smith--A Work for the Old Prophet. CHAPTER II. Preparing to go up to Zion--First Meeting with President Young-Camp of Zion Starts--Numbers Magnified in the Eyes of Beholders--Remarkable Deliverance-Selfishness, and its Reward. CHAPTER III. Advised to Remain in Missouri--A Desire to Preach--Pray to the Lord for a Mission--Prayer Answered--Sent on a Mission to Arkansas--Dangerous Journey through Jackson County--Living on Raw Corn, and Sleeping on the Ground--My First Sermon--Refused Food and Shelter by a Presbyterian Preacher--Wander through Swamps--Entertained by Indians. CHAPTER IV. A Journey of Sixty Miles without Food--Confronted by a Bear--Pass by Unharmed--Surrounded by Wolves--Lost in Darkness--Reach a Cabin--Its Inmates--No Supper--Sleep on the Floor--The Hardest Day's Work of my Life--Twelve Miles more without Breakfast--Breakfast and Abuse Together. CHAPTER V. Our Anxiety to Meet a Saint--Journey to Akeman's--A Dream--Find Mr. Akeman a Rank Apostate--He Raises a Mob--Threatened with Tar, Feathers, etc.--I Warn Mr. Akeman to Repent--He Falls Down Dead at my Feet--I Preach his Funeral Sermon. CHAPTER VI. Make a Canoe--Voyage down the Arkansas River--Sleep in a Deserted Tavern--One Hundred and Seventy Miles through Swamps--Forty Miles a Day in Mud Knee-deep--A Sudden Lameness--Left alone in an Alligator Swamp--Healed, in Answer to Prayer--Arrival an Memphis--An Odd-looking Preacher--Compelled to Preach--Powerful Aid from the Spirit--Not what the Audience Expected. CHAPTER VII. Curious Worship--Meet Elder Parrish--Labor Together in Tenessee--Adventure in Bloody River--A Night of Peril--Providential Light--Menaced by a Mob--Good Advice of a Baptist Preacher--Summary of my Labors during the Year. CHAPTER VIII. Studying Grammar--Meet Elder Patten--Glorious News--Labor with A. O. Smoot--Turned out of a Meeting House by a Baptist Preacher--Preach in the Open Air--Good Result--Adventure on the Tennesse River--A Novel Charge to Arrest and Condemn Men upon--Mob Poison Our Horses. CHAPTER IX. Attending School--Marriage--Impressed to take a Mission to Fox Islands--Advised to go--Journey to Canada--Cases of Healing--Journey to Connecticut--My Birthplace--My Mother's Grave--Baptize some Relatives--Joined by my Wife--Journey on Foot to Maine--Arrival at Fox Island. CHAPTER X. Description of Vinal Haven--Population and Pursuit of the People--Great Variety of Fish--The Introduction of the Gospel. CHAPTER XI. Mr. Newton, the Baptist Preacher, Wrestling with out Testimony--Rejects it, and Begins to Oppose--Sends for a Methodist Minister to Help Him--Mr. Douglass' Speech--Our Great Success on the North Island--Go to the South Island, and baptise Mr. Douglass' Flock--Great Number of Islands--Boiled Clams--Day of Prayer--Codfish Flakes. CHAPTER XII. Return to Mainland--Parting with Brother Hale--My Second Visit to the Islands--Visit to the Isle of Holt--A Sign Demanded by Mr. Douglass--A Prediction about him--It's Subsequent Fulfillment--Spirit of Opposition--Firing of Cannons and Guns to Disturb my Meeting. CHAPTER XIII. Meeting with James Townsend--Decide to go to Bangor--Long Journey through Deep Snow--Curious Phenomenon--Refused Lodging at Eight Houses--Entertained by Mr. Teppley--Curious Coincidence--Mr Teppley's Despondence--Arrival at Bangor--Return to the Islands--Adventure with the Tide. CHAPTER XIV. Counseled to Gather with the Saints--Remarkable Manifestation--Case of Healing--Efforts of Apostates--Visit from Elders--A Conference--Closing my Labors on the Islands for a Season. CHAPTER XV. Return to Scarboro--Journey South--Visit to A. P. Rockwood in Prison--Incidents of Prison Life--Journey to Connecticut--Baptize my Father's Household. CHAPTER XVI. Taking Leave of my Old Home--Return to Maine--Birth of my First Child--Appointment to the Apostleship and to a Foreign Mission--Preparations for the Journey to Zion. CHAPTER XVII. Start upon out Journey. A Hazardous Undertaking--Sickness--Severe Weather--My wife and Child Stricken--A Trying Experience--My Wife Continues to Fail--Her Spirit Leaves her Body--Restored by the Power of God--Her Spirit's Experience while Separated from the Body--Death of my Brother--Arrival at Rochester--Removal to Quincy. CHAPTER XVIII. A Peculiar Revelation--Determination of Enemies to Prevent its Fulfillment--Start to Far West to Fulfill Revelation--Our Arrival There--Hold a Council--Fulfill the Revelation--Corner Stone of the Temple Laid--Ordained to the Apostleship--Leave Far West--Meet the Prophet Joseph--Conference Held--Settle Our Families in Nauvoo. CHAPTER XIX. A Day of God's Power with the Prophet Joseph Smith--A Great Number of Sick Persons Healed--The Mob becomes Alarmed--They try to Interfere with the Healing of the Sick--The Mob Sent Out of the House--Twin Children Healed. CHAPTER XX. Preparing for our Journey and Mission--The Blessing of the Prophet Joseph upon our Heads, and his Promises unto us--The Power of the Devil manifested to Hinder us in the Performance of our Journey. CHAPTER XXI. Leaving my Family--Start Upon my Mission--Our Condition--Elder Taylor the only One not Sick--Reproof from the Prophet--Incidents upon the Journey--Elder Taylor Stricken--I Leave him Sick. CHAPTER XXII. Continue my Journey--Leave Elder Taylor in Germantown--Arrival in Cleveland--Take Steamer from There to Buffalo--Delayed by a Storm--Go to Farmington, my Father's Home--Death of my Grandmother--My Uncle Dies--I Preach his Funeral Sermon--Arrive in New York--Sail for Liverpool--Encounter Storms and Rough Weather--Arrive in Liverpool. CHAPTER XXIII. Our visit to Preston--Our First Council in England, in 1840--We Take Different Fields of Labor--A Women Possessed of the Devil--Attempt to Cast it Out and Fail--Turn Out the Unbelievers, and then Succeed--The Evil Spirit Enters her Child--Commence Baptizing--The Lord Makes Known His Will to me. CHAPTER XXIV. My Journey to Herefordshire--Interview with John Benbow--The Word of the Lord Fulfilled to me--The Greatest Gathering into the Church Known among the Gentiles since its organisation in this Dispensation--A Constable Sent to Arrest me--I Convert and Baptize Him--Two Clerks Sent as Detectives to Hear me Preach, and both Embrace the Truth--Rectors Petition to have out Preaching Prohibited--The Archbishop's Reply--Book of Mormon and Hymn Book Printed--Case of healing. CHAPTER XXV. Closing Testimony--Good and Evil Spirits. CHAPTER XXVI. How to Obtain Revelation from God--Joseph Smith's Course--Saved from Death by a falling Tree, by Obeying the Voice of the Spirit--A Company of Saints Saved from a Steam-boat Disaster by the Spirit's Warning--Plot to Waylay Elder C. C. Rich and Party Foiled by the same Power. CHAPTER XXVII. Result of not Obeying the Voice of the Spirit--Lost in a Snowstorm--Saved, in answer to Prayer--Revelation to Missionaries Necessary--Revelation in the St. George Temple. CHAPTER XXVIII. Patriarchal Blessings and their Fulfillment--Predictions in my own Blessing--Gold-dust from California--Taught by an Angel--Struggle with Evil Spirits--Administered to by Angels--What Angels are sent to the Earth for. LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL CHAPTER I. STRICTNESS OF THE "BLUE LAWS" OF CONNECTICUT--THE OLD PROPHET, MASON--HIS VISION--HIS PROPHECY--HEAR THE GOSPEL, AND EMBRACE IT--VISIT KIRTLAND AND SEE JOSEPH SMITH--A WORK FOR THE OLD PROPHET. For the benefit of the young Latter-day Saints, for whom the Faith-Promoting Series is especially designed, I will relate some incidents from my experience. I will commence by giving a short account of some events of my childhood and youth. I spent the first years of my life under the influence of what history has called the "Blue Laws" of Connecticut. No man, boy, or child of any age was permitted to play, or do any work from sunset Saturday night, until Sunday night. After sunset on Sunday evening, men might work, and boys might jump, shout, and play as much as they pleased. Our parents were very strict with us on Saturday night, and all day Sunday we had to sit very still and say over the Presbyterian catechism and some passages in the Bible. The people of Connecticut in those days thought it wicked to believe in any religion, or belong to any church, except the Presbyterian. They did not believe in having any prophets, apostles, or revelations, as they had in the days of Jesus, and as we now have in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There was an aged man in Connecticut, however, by the name of Robert Mason, who did not believe like the rest of the people. He believed it was necessary to have prophets, apostles, dreams, visions and revelations in the church of Christ, the same as they had who lived in ancient days; and he believed the Lord would raise up a people and a church, in the last days, with prophets, apostles and all the gifts, powers and blessings, which it ever contained in any age of the world. The people called this man, the old prophet Mason. He frequently came to my father's house when I was a boy, and taught me and my brothers those principles; and I believed him. This prophet prayed a great deal, and he had dreams and visions, and the Lord showed him many things, by visions, which were to come to pass in the last days. I will here relate one vision, which he related to me. The last time I ever saw him, he said: "I was laboring in my field at mid-day when I was enwrapped in a vision. I was placed in the midst of a vast forest of fruit trees: I was very hungry, and walked a long way through the orchard, searching for fruit to eat; but I could not find any in the whole orchard, and I wept because I could find no fruit. While I stood gazing at the orchard, and wondering why there was no fruit, the trees began to fall to the ground upon every side of me, until there was not one tree standing in the whole orchard; and while I was marveling at the scene, I saw young sprouts start up from the roots of the trees which had fallen, and they opened into young, thrifty trees before my eyes. They budded, blossomed, and bore fruit until the trees were loaded with the finest fruit I ever beheld, and I rejoiced to see so much fine fruit. I stepped up to a tree and picked my hands full of fruit, and marveled at its beauty, and as I was about to taste of it the vision closed, and I found myself in the field in the same place I was at the commencement of the vision. "I then knelt upon the ground, and prayed unto the Lord, and asked Him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to show me the meaning of the vision. The Lord said unto me: 'This is the interpretation of the vision: the great trees of the forest represented the generation of men in which you live. There is no church of Christ, or kingdom of God upon the earth in your generation. There is no fruit of the church of Christ upon the earth. There is no man ordained of God to administer in any of the ordinances of the gospel of salvation upon the earth in this day and generation. But, in the next generation, I the Lord will set up my kingdom and my church upon the earth, and the fruits of the kingdom and church of Christ, such as have followed the prophets, apostles and saints in every dispensation, shall again be found in all their fullness upon the earth. You will live to see the day, and handle the fruit; but will never partake of it in the flesh.'" When the old prophet had finished relating the vision and interpretation, he said to me, calling me by my christian name: "I shall never partake of this fruit in the flesh; but you will, and you will become a conspicuous actor in that kingdom." He then turned and left me. These were the last words he ever spoke to me upon the earth. This was a very striking circumstance, as I had spent many hours and days, during twenty years, with this old Father Mason, and he had never named this vision to me before. But at the beginning of this last conversation, he told me that he felt impelled by the Spirit of the Lord to relate it to me. He had the vision about the year 1800, and he related it to me in 1830--the same spring that the Church was organized. This vision, with his other teachings to me, made a great impression upon my mind, and I prayed a great deal to the Lord to lead me by His Spirit, and prepare me for His church when it did come. In 1832, I left Connecticut, and traveled with my eldest brother to Oswego County, New York; and in the winter of 1833, I saw, for the first time in my life, an Elder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He preached in a school-house near where I lived. I attended the meeting, and the Spirit of the Lord bore record to me that what I heard was true. I invited the Elder to my house, and next day I, with my eldest brother, went down into the water and was baptized. We were the first two baptized in Oswego County, New York. When I was baptized I thought of what the old prophet had said to me. In the spring of 1834, I went to Kirtland, saw the Prophet Joseph Smith, and went with him, and with more than two hundred others in Zion's Camp, up to Missouri. When I arrived, at my journey's end, I took the first opportunity and wrote a long letter to Father Mason, and told him I had found the church of Christ that he had told me about. I told him about its organization and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon; that the Church had Prophets, Apostles, and all the gifts and blessings in it, and that the true fruit of the kingdom and church of Christ were manifest among the Saints as the Lord had shown him in the vision. He received my letter and read it over many times, and handled it as he had handled the fruit in the vision; but he was very aged, and soon died. He did not live to see any Elder to administer the ordinances of the gospel unto him. The first opportunity I had, after the doctrine of baptism for the dead was revealed, I went forth and was baptized for him. He was a good man and a true prophet, for his prophecies have been fulfilled. CHAPTER II. PREPARING TO GO UP TO ZION--FIRST MEETING WITH PRESIDENT YOUNG--CAMP OF ZION STARTS--NUMBERS MAGNIFIED IN THE EYES OF BEHOLDERS--REMARKABLE DELIVERANCE--SELFISHNESS, AND ITS REWARD. I arrived at Kirtland on the 25th of April, 1834, and for the first time saw the Prophet Joseph Smith. He invited me to his house. I spent about a week with him, and became acquainted with him and his family, also with many of the Elders and Saints living in Kirtland, quite a number of whom were preparing to go up to Zion. On Sunday, the 27th of April, I attended a meeting in a school-house in Kirtland, and for the first time heard Elders Sidney Rigdon, Orson Hyde, Orson Pratt and others speak and bear testimony to the work of God, and much of the Spirit of God was poured out upon the Saints. It was the 26th of April, 1834, that I was first introduced to Elders Brigham Young and H. C. Kimball. When I met Brother Brigham, he had his hands full of butcher knives; he gave me one, and told me to go and put a good handle on it, which I did. I also had a good sword, which Brother Joseph wanted, and I gave it to him. He carried it all the way in Zion's camp to Missouri, and when he returned home he gave it back to me. When I was called to go on a mission to the South I left the sword and knife with Lyman Wight. When he was taken prisoner at Far West, with Joseph and Hyrum, he had both the sword and the knife with him. All their weapons were taken from them, so were the arms of many of the Saints at Far West, under promise that they should be returned to them when they were prepared to leave the State. When the brethren went to get their arms, Father James Allred saw my sword, which Lyman Wight had laid down, and took it and left his own, and afterwards gave it to me and I still have it. I prize it because the Prophet Joseph carried it in Zion's Camp. The knife I never regained. The first day of May, 1834, was appointed for the Camp of Zion to start from Kirtland to go up to Missouri for the redemption of their brethren. Only a small portion of the Camp was ready. The Prophet told those who were ready, to go to New Portage and wait for the remainder. I left, in company with about twenty men, with the baggage wagons. At night we pitched our tents. I went to the top of the hill and looked down upon the camp of Israel. I knelt upon the ground and prayed. I rejoiced and praised the Lord that I had lived to see some of the tents of Israel pitched, and a company gathered by the commandment of God to go up and help redeem Zion. We tarried at New Portage until the 6th, when we were joined by the Prophet and eighty-five more men. The day before they arrived, while passing through the village of Middlebury, the people tried to count them; but the Lord multiplied them in the eyes of the people, so that those who numbered them said there were four hundred of them. On the 7th, Brother Joseph organized the camp, which consisted of about one hundred and thirty men. On the following day we continued our journey. We pitched our tents at night and had prayers night and morning. The Prophet told us every day what we should do. We were nearly all young men, gathered from all parts of the country, and strangers to each other; but we got acquainted very soon, and had a happy time together. It was a great school for us to be led by a Prophet of God a thousand miles, through cities, towns, villages, and through the wilderness. When persons stood by to count us they could not tell how many we numbered; some said five hundred, others one thousand. Many were astonished as we passed through their towns. One lady ran to her door, pushed her spectacles to the top of her head, raised her hands, and exclaimed: "What under heavens has broken loose?" She stood in that position the last I saw of her. The published history of Zion's Camp gives an account of the bones of a man which we dug out of a mound. His name was Zelph. The Lord showed the Prophet the history of the man in a vision. The arrow, by which he was killed, was found among his bones. One of his thigh bones was broken by a stone slung in battle. The bone was put into my wagon, and I carried it to Clay County, Missouri, and buried it in the earth. The Lord delivered Israel in the days of Moses by dividing the Red Sea, so they went over dry shod. When their enemies tried to do the same, the water closed upon them and they were drowned. The Lord delivered Zion's Camp from their enemies on the 19th of June, 1834, by piling up the waters in Fishing River forty feet in one night, so our enemies could not cross. He also sent a great hail-storm which broke them up and sent them seeking for shelter. The camp of Zion arrived at Brother Burk's, in Clay County, Missouri, on the 24th of June, 1834, and we pitched our tents on the premises. He told some of the brethren of my company that he had a spare room that some of us might occupy if we would clean it. Our company accepted the offer, and, fearing some other company would get it first, left all other business and went to work, cleaning out the room, and immediately spread down our blankets, so as to hold a right to the room. It was but a short time afterwards that our brethren, who were attacked by cholera, were brought in and laid upon our beds. None of us ever used those blankets again, for they were buried with the dead. So we gained nothing but experience by being selfish, and we lost our bedding. I will exhort all my young friends to not cherish selfishness; but if you have any, get rid of it as soon as possible. Be generous and noble-hearted, kind to your parents, brothers, sisters and play-mates. Never contend with them; but try to make peace whenever you can. Whenever you are blessed with any good thing, be willing to share it with others. By cultivating these principles while you are young, you will lay a foundation to do much good through your lives, and you will be beloved and respected of the Lord and all good men. CHAPTER III. ADVISED TO REMAIN IN MISSOURI--A DESIRE TO PREACH--PRAY TO THE LORD FOR A MISSION--PRAYER ANSWERED--SENT ON A MISSION TO ARKANSAS--DANGEROUS JOURNEY THROUGH JACKSON COUNTY--LIVING ON RAW CORN, AND SLEEPING ON THE GROUND--MY FIRST SERMON--REFUSED FOOD AND SHELTER BY A PRESBYTERIAN PREACHER--WANDER THROUGH SWAMPS--ENTERTAINED BY INDIANS. After Joseph, the Prophet, had led Zion's Camp to Missouri, and we had passed through all the trials of that journey, and had buried a number of our brethren, as recorded in history, the Prophet called the Camp together, and organized the Church in Zion, and gave much good counsel to all. He advised all the young men, who had no families, to stay in Missouri and not return to Kirtland. Not having any family, I stopped with Lyman Wight, as did Milton Holmes and Heman Hyde. We spent the summer together, laboring hard, cutting wheat, quarrying rock, making brick, or anything else we could find to do. In the fall I had a desire to go and preach the gospel. I knew the gospel which the Lord had revealed to Joseph Smith was true, and of such great value that I wanted to tell it to the people who had not heard it. It was so good and plain, it seemed to me I could make the people believe it. I was but a Teacher, and it is not a Teacher's office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office. I went into the woods where no one could see me, and I prayed to the Lord to open my way so that I could go and preach the gospel. While I was praying, the Spirit of the Lord came upon me, and told me my prayer was heard and that my request should be granted. I felt very happy, and got up and walked out of the woods into the traveled road, and there I met a High Priest who had lived in the same house with me some six months. He had not said a word to me about preaching the gospel; but now, as soon as I met him, he said, "The Lord has revealed to me that it is your privilege to be ordained, and to go and preach the gospel." I told him I was willing to do whatever the Lord required of me. I did not tell him I had just asked the Lord to let me go and preach. In a few days a council was called at Lyman Wight's, and I was ordained a Priest and sent on a mission into Arkansas and Tennessee, in company with an Elder. This mission was given us by Elder Edward Partridge, who was the first Bishop ordained in the Church. The law of God to us in those days was to go without purse or scrip. Our journey lay through Jackson County, from which the Saints had just been driven, and it was dangerous for a "Mormon" to be found in that part of the State. We put some Books of Mormon and some clothing into our valises, strapped them on our backs, and started on foot. We crossed the ferry into Jackson County, and went through it. In some instances the Lord preserved us, as it were by miracle, from the mob. We dared not go to houses and get food, so we picked and ate raw corn, and slept on the ground, and did any way we could until we got out of the county. We dared not preach while in that county, and we did but little preaching in the State of Missouri. The first time I attempted to preach was on Sunday, in a tavern, in the early part of December, 1834. It was snowing at the time, and the room was full of people. As I commenced to speak the landlord opened the door, and the snow blew on the people; and when I inquired the object of having the door opened in a snowstorm, he informed me that he wanted some light on the subject. I found that it was the custom of the country. How much good I did in that sermon I never knew, and probably never shall know until I meet that congregation in judgment. In the southern portion of Missouri and the northern part of Arkansas, in 1834, there were but very few inhabitants. We visited a place called Harmony Mission, on the Osage river, one of the most crooked rivers in the west. This mission was kept by a Presbyterian minister and his family. We arrived there on Sunday night at sunset. We had walked all day with nothing to eat, and were very hungry and tired. Neither the minister nor his wife would give us anything to eat, nor let us stay over night, because we were "Mormons," and the only chance we had was to go twelve miles farther down the river, to an Osage Indian trading post, kept by a Frenchman named Jereu. And this wicked priest, who would not give us a piece of bread, lied to us about the road, and sent us across the swamp, and we wallowed knee deep in mud and water till ten o'clock at night in trying to follow this crooked river. We then left the swamp, and put out into the prairie, to lie in the grass for the night. When we came out of the swamp, we heard an Indian drumming on a tin pail and singing. It was very dark, but we traveled towards the noise, and when we drew near the Indian camp quite a number of large Indian dogs came out to meet us. They smelt us, but did not bark nor bite. We were soon surrounded by Osage Indians, and kindly received by Mr. Jereu and his wife, who was an Indian. She gave us an excellent supper and a good bed, which we were thankful for after the fatigue of the day. As I laid my head on the pillow I felt to thank God, from the bottom of my heart, for the exchange of the barbarous treatment of a civilized Presbyterian priest, for the humane, kind and generous treatment of the savage Osage Indians. May God reward them both according to their deserts. CHAPTER IV. A JOURNEY OF SIXTY MILES WITHOUT FOOD--CONFRONTED BY A BEAR--PASS BY UNHARMED--SURROUNDED BY WOLVES--LOST IN DARKNESS--REACH A CABIN--ITS INMATES--NO SUPPER--SLEEP ON THE FLOOR--THE HARDEST DAY'S WORK OF MY LIFE--TWELVE MILES MORE WITHOUT BREAKFAST--BREAKFAST AND ABUSE TOGETHER. We arose in the morning, after a good night's rest. I was somewhat lame, from wading in the swamp the night before. We had a good breakfast. Mr. Jereu sent an Indian to see us across the river, and informed us that it was sixty miles to the nearest settlement of either white or red men. We were too bashful to ask for anything to take with us to eat; so we crossed the river and started on our day's journey of sixty miles without a morsel of food of any kind. What for? To preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, to save this generation. Think of this, children; think of what the Presidency, the Apostles, and the Elders of this Church have passed through to give you the homes and comforts you now enjoy. Think of this, ye statesmen and judges of this American nation; ye who are now seeking to destroy God's people in the wilderness, who have gone hungry and naked and have labored for fifty years to save this nation and generation. Cease your exertions to destroy this people, or God will bring you to judgment and destroy your nation, and cast you into outer darkness, where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth; for the Lord God has spoken it. I must pause; I almost forgot I was writing a narrative. We started about sunrise and crossed a thirty-mile prairie, apparently as level as a house floor, without shrub or water. We arrived at timber about two o'clock in the afternoon. As we approached the timber a large black bear came out towards us. We were not afraid of him, for we were on the Lord's business, and had not mocked God's prophets as did the forty-two wicked children who said to Elisha, "Go up thou bald head," for which they were torn by bears. When the bear got within eight rods of us he sat on his haunches and looked at us a moment, and then ran away; and we went on our way rejoicing. We had to travel in the night, which was cloudy and very dark, so we had great difficulty to keep the road. Soon a large drove of wolves gathered around, and followed us. They came very close, and at times it seemed as though they would eat us up. We had materials for striking a light, and at ten o'clock, not knowing where we were, and the wolves becoming so bold, we thought it wisdom to make a fire; so we stopped and gathered a lot of oak limbs that lay on the ground, and lit them, and as our fire began to burn the wolves left us. As we were about to lay down on the ground--for we had no blankets--we heard a dog bark. My companion said it was a wolf; I said it was a dog: but soon we heard a cow bell. Then we each took a firebrand and went about a quarter of a mile, and found the house, which was sixty miles from where we started that morning. It was an old log cabin, about twelve feet square, with no door, but an old blanket was hung up in the door-way. There was no furniture except one bedstead, upon which lay a woman, several children and several small dogs. A man lay on the bare floor with his feet to the fire-place, and all were asleep. I went in and spoke to the man, but did not wake him. I stepped to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder. The moment he felt the weight of my hand he jumped to his feet, and ran around the room as though he was frightened; but he was quieted when we informed him we were friends. The cause of his fright was, he had shot a panther a few nights before, and he thought its mate had jumped upon him. He asked us what we wanted; we told him we wished to stop with him all night, and would like something to eat. He informed us we might lay on the floor as he did, but that he had not a mouthful for us to eat, as he had to depend on his gun to get breakfast for his family in the morning. So we lay on the bare floor, and slept through a long, rainy night, which was pretty hard after walking sixty miles without anything to eat. That was the hardest day's work of my life. The man's name was Williams. He was in the mob in Jackson County; and after the Saints were driven out, he, with many others, went south. We got up in the morning and walked in the rain twelve miles to the house of a man named Bemon, who was also one of the mob from Jackson County. They were about sitting down to breakfast as we came in. In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even if they intended to cut your throat as soon as you got through; so he asked us to take breakfast, and we were very glad of the invitation. He knew we were "Mormons;" and as soon as we began to eat he began to swear about the "Mormons." He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, thanked him for our breakfast, and the last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast. CHAPTER V. OUR ANXIETY TO MEET A SAINT--JOURNEY TO AKEMAN'S--A DREAM--FIND MR. AKEMAN A RANK APOSTATE--HE RAISES A MOB--THREATENED WITH TAR, FEATHERS, ETC.--I WARN MR. AKEMAN TO REPENT--HE FALLS DEAD AT MY FEET--I PREACH HIS FUNERAL SERMON. In the early days of the Church, it was a great treat to an Elder in his travels through the country to find a "Mormon;" it was so with us. We were hardly in Arkansas when we heard of a family named Akeman. They were in Jackson County in the persecutions. Some of the sons had been tied up there and whipped on their bare backs with hickory switches by the mob. We heard of their living on Petit Jean River, in the Arkansas Territory, and we went a long way to visit them. There had recently been heavy rains, and a creek that we had to cross was swollen to a rapid stream of eight rods in width. There was no person living nearer than two miles from the crossing, and no boat. The people living at the last house on the road, some three miles from the crossing, said we would have to tarry till the water fell before we could cross. We did not stop, feeling to trust in God. Just as we arrived at the rolling flood a negro, on a powerful horse, entered the stream on the opposite side and rode through it. On our making our wants known to him, he took us, one at a time, behind him and carried us safely over, and we went on our way rejoicing. We arrived that night within five miles of Mr. Akeman's, and were kindly entertained by a stranger. During the night I had the following dream: I thought an angel came to us, and told us we were commanded of the Lord to follow a certain straight path, which was pointed out to us, let it lead us wherever it might. After we had walked in it awhile we came to the door of a house, which was in the line of a high wall running north and south, so that we could not go around. I opened the door and saw the room was filled with large serpents, and I shuddered at the sight. My companion said he would not go into the room for fear of the serpents. I told him I should try to go through the room though they killed me, for the Lord had commanded it. As I stepped into the room the serpents coiled themselves up, and raised their heads some two feet from the floor, to spring at me. There was one much larger than the rest in the center of the room, which raised its head nearly as high as mine and made a spring at me. At that instant I felt as though nothing but the power of God could save me, and I stood still. Just before the serpent reached me he dropped dead at my feet; all the rest dropped dead, swelled up, turned black, burst open, took fire and were consumed before my eyes, and we went through the room unharmed, and thanked God for our deliverance. I awoke in the morning and pondered upon the dream. We took breakfast, and started on our journey on Sunday morning, to visit Mr. Akeman. I related to my companion my dream, and told him we should see something strange. We had great anticipations of meeting Mr. Akeman, supposing him to be a member of the Church. When we arrived at his house he received us very coldly, and we soon found that he had apostatized. He brought railing accusations against the Book of Mormon and the authorities of the Church. Word was sent through all the settlements on the river for twenty miles that two "Mormon" preachers were in the place. A mob was soon raised, and warning sent to us to leave immediately or we would be tarred and feathered, ridden on a rail and hanged. I soon saw where the serpents were. My companion wanted to leave; I told him no, I would stay and see my dream fulfilled. There was an old gentleman and lady, named Hubbel, who had read the Book of Mormon and believed. Father Hubbel came to see us, and invited us to make our home with him while we stayed in the place. We did so, and labored for him some three weeks with our axes, clearing land, while we were waiting to see the salvation of God. I was commanded of the Lord by the Holy Ghost to go and warn Mr. Akeman to repent of his wickedness. I did so, and each time he railed against me, and the last time he ordered me out of his house. When I went out he followed me and was very angry. When he came up to me, about eight rods from the house, he fell dead at my feet, turned black and swelled up, as I saw the serpents do in my dream. His family, as well as ourselves, felt it was the judgment of God upon him. I preached his funeral sermon. Many of the mob died suddenly. We stayed about two weeks after Akeman's death and preached, baptized Mr. Hubbel and his wife, and then continued on our journey. CHAPTER VI. MAKE A CANOE--VOYAGE DOWN THE ARKANSAS RIVER--SLEEP IN A DESERTED TAVERN--ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY MILES THROUGH SWAMPS--FORTY MILES A DAY IN MUD KNEE-DEEP--A SUDDEN LAMENESS--LEFT ALONE IN AN ALLIGATOR SWAMP--HEALED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER--ARRIVAL IN MEMPHIS--AN ODD-LOOKING PREACHER--COMPELLED TO PREACH--POWERFUL AID FROM THE SPIRIT--NOT WHAT THE AUDIENCE EXPECTED. We concluded to go down the Arkansas river and cross into Tennessee. We could not get passage on the boat, because of the low water, so we went on the bank of the river and cut down a sound cottonwood tree, three feet through, and cut off a twelve-foot length from the butt end; and in two days we dug out a canoe. We made a pair of oars and a rudder, and on the 11th of March, 1835, we launched our canoe, and commenced our voyage down the Arkansas river, without provisions. The first day we sailed twenty-five miles, and stopped at night with a poor family who lived on the bank of the river. These kind folks gave us supper and breakfast, and, in the morning, gave us a johnny-cake and piece of pork to take with us on our journey. We traveled about fifty miles that day, and at night stopped at an old tavern, in a village called Cadron, which was deserted because it was believed to be haunted by evil spirits. We made a fire in the tavern, roasted a piece of our pork, ate our supper, said our prayers, went into a chamber, lay down on the bare floor, and were soon asleep. I dreamed I was at my father's house in a good feather bed, and I had a good night's rest. When I awoke the bed vanished, and found myself on the bare floor and well rested, not having been troubled with evil spirits or anything else. We thanked the Lord for His goodness to us, ate the remainder of our provisions and continued our journey down the river to Little Rock, the capital of Arkansas, which then consisted of only a few cabins. After visiting the place, we crossed the river and tied up our canoe, which had carried us safely one hundred and fifty miles. We then took the old military road, leading from Little Rock to Memphis, Tennessee. This road lay through swamps, and was covered with mud and water most of the way, for one hundred and seventy miles. We walked forty miles in a day through mud and water knee-deep. On the 24th of March, after traveling some ten miles through mud, I was taken lame with a sharp pain in my knee. I sat down on a log. My companion, who was anxious to get to his home in Kirtland, left me sitting in an alligator swamp. I did not see him again for two years. I knelt down in the mud and prayed, and the Lord healed me, and I went on my way rejoicing. On the 27th of March, I arrived at Memphis, weary and hungry. I went to the best tavern in the place, kept by Mr. Josiah Jackson. I told him I was a stranger, and had no money. I asked him if he would keep me over night. He inquired of me what my business was. I told him I was a preacher of the gospel. He laughed, and said that I did not look much like a preacher. I did not blame him, as all the preachers he had ever been acquainted with rode on fine horses or in fine carriages, clothed in broadcloth, and had large salaries, and would see this whole world sink to perdition before they would wade through one hundred and seventy miles of mud to save the people. The landlord wanted a little fun, so he said he would keep me if I would preach. He wanted to see if I could preach. I must confess that by this time I became a little mischievous, and pleaded with him not to set me preaching. The more I plead to be excused, the more determined Mr. Jackson was that I should preach. He took my valise, and the landlady got me a good supper. I sat down in a large hall to eat supper. Before I got through, the room began to be filled with some of the rich and fashionable of Memphis, dressed in their broadcloth and silk, while my appearance was such as you can imagine, after traveling through the mud as I had been. When I had finished eating, the table was carried out of the room over the heads of the people. I was placed in the corner of the room, with a stand having a Bible, hymn book and candle on it, hemmed in by a dozen men, with the landlord in the center. There were present some five hundred persons who had come together, not to hear a gospel sermon, but to have some fun. Now, boys, how would you like this position? On your first mission, without a companion or friend, and to be called upon to preach to such a congregation? With me it was one of the most pleasing hours of my life, although I felt as though I should like company. I read a hymn, and asked them to sing. Not a soul would sing a word. I told them had not the gift of singing; but with the help of the Lord, I would both pray and preach. I knelt down to pray, and the men around me dropped on their knees. I prayed to the Lord to give me His Spirit and to show me the hearts of the people. I promised the Lord in my prayer I would deliver to that congregation whatever He would give to me. I arose and spoke one hour and a half and it was one of the best sermons of my life. The lives of the congregation were opened to the vision of my mind, and I told them of their wicked deeds and the reward they would obtain. The men who surrounded me dropped their heads. Three minutes after I closed I was the only person in the room. Soon I was shown to a bed, in a room adjoining a large one in which were assembled many of the men whom I had been preaching to. I could hear their conversation. One man said he would like to know how that "Mormon" boy knew of their past lives. In a little while they got to disputing about some doctrinal point. One suggested calling me to decide the point. The landlord said, "no; we have had enough for once." In the morning, I had a good breakfast. The landlord said if I came that way again to stop at his house, and stay as long as I might choose. CHAPTER VII. CURIOUS WORSHIP--MEET ELDER PARRISH--LABOR TOGETHER IN TENNESSE--ADVENTURE IN BLOODY RIVER--A NIGHT OF PERIL--PROVIDENTIAL LIGHT--MENACED BY A MOB--GOOD ADVICE OF A BAPTIST PREACHER--SUMMARY OF MY LABORS DURING THE YEAR. After leaving Memphis, I traveled through the country to Benton County, and preached on the way as I had opportunity. I stopped one night with a Squire Hardman, an Episcopalian. Most of the night was spent by the family in music and dancing. In the morning, at the breakfast table, Mr. Hardman asked me if we believed in music and dancing. I told him we did not really consider them essential to salvation. He said he did, and therefore should not join our Church. On the 4th of April, 1835, I had the happy privilege of meeting Elder Warren Parrish at the house of Brother Frys. He had been preaching in that part of Tennessee, in company with David W. Patten, and had baptized a number and organized several small branches. Brother Patten had returned home, and Brother Parish was laboring alone. I joined him in the ministry, and we labored together three months and nineteen days, when he was called to Kirtland. During the time we were together we traveled through several counties in Tennessee for the distance of seven hundred and sixty miles, and preached the gospel daily, as we had opportunity. We baptized some twenty persons. By the counsel of the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, Elder Parrish ordained me an Elder, and left me to take charge of the branches that had been raised up in that neighborhood. As soon as I was left alone I extended my circuit and labors. For a season I had large congregations; many seemed to believe, and I baptized a number. On the 15th of August I had an appointment at the house of Brother Taylor, the step-father of Abraham O. Smoot. I had to cross Bloody River, which I had to swim in consequence of heavy rains. While crossing, my horse became entangled in a tree top, and almost drowned; but I succeeded in getting him loose. We swam to the shore separately. He reached the shore first, and waited till I came out. I got into the saddle, and went on my way in good spirits, and had a good meeting. On the 20th of October I baptized three Campbellites, one of whom was a deacon. I then rode twelve miles to Mr. Greenwood's, who was eighty years old, and had been a soldier under General Washington. His wife, who was ninety-three years old, I found quite smart, and busy carding wool. I preached at their house and baptized both of them. On the following day I preached at the house of Benjamin L. Clapp and baptized seven Campbellites and one Baptist. On the 16th of November I preached at Brother Camp's and baptized three. On the day following, it being Sunday, I preached again at Brother Clapp's and baptized five. At the close of the meeting I mounted my horse to ride to Clark's River, in company with Seth Utley, four other brethren and two sisters. The distance was twenty miles. We came to a stream, which was so swollen by rains, that we could not cross without swimming our horses. To swim would not be safe for the females, so we went up the stream to find a ford. In the attempt we were overtaken by a severe storm of wind and rain, and lost our way in the darkness, and wandered through creeks and mud. But the Lord does not forsake His Saints in any of their troubles. While we were in the woods suffering under the blast of the storm, groping like the blind for the wall, a bright light suddenly shone around us and revealed to us our dangerous situation on the edge of a gulf. The light continued with us until we found the road; we then went on our way rejoicing, though the darkness returned and the rain continued. We reached Brother Henry Thomas' in safety about nine o'clock at night, having been five hours in the storm and forded streams many times. None of us felt to complain, but were thankful to God for His preserving care. On the following day I preached in Damon Creek and organized a branch called the Damon Creek Branch, and ordained Daniel Thomas a Teacher. On the 19th of December I again preached at the house of Brother Clapp, and baptized five persons; one was a Campbellite preacher. On the following day I preached at the house of Brother Henry Thomas, when a mob of about fifty persons collected, headed by a Baptist preacher, who, after asking one question, advised the mob to not lay hands on any man on account of his principles. The advice was good and well taken. At the close of the meeting I baptized three persons, one seventy-eight years old. This brings the year 1835 to a close--the first year of my mission--during which time I had traveled three thousand two hundred and forty-eight miles, held one hundred and seventy meetings, baptized forty-three persons--three of whom were Campbellite preachers--assisted Elder Parish to baptize twenty more, confirmed thirty-five, organized three branches, ordained two Teachers and one Deacon, procured thirty subscribers for the _Messenger and Advocate_, one hundred and seventy-three signers to the petition to the governor of Missouri for redress of wrongs done the Saints in Jackson County, had three mobs rise against me--but was not harmed, wrote eighteen letters, received ten, and, finally, closed the labors of the year 1835, by eating johnny-cake, butter and honey, at Brother A. O. Smoot's. CHAPTER VIII. STUDYING GRAMMAR--MEET ELDER PATTEN--GLORIOUS NEWS--LABOR WITH A. O. SMOOT--TURNED OUT OF A MEETING HOUSE BY A BAPTIST PREACHER--PREACH IN THE OPEN AIR--GOOD RESULT--ADVENTURE ON THE TENNESSEE RIVER--A NOVEL CHARGE TO ARREST AND CONDEMN MEN UPON--MOB POISON OUR HORSES. I spent the fore part of January, 1836, (the weather being very cold) at the house of A. O. Smoot, in Kentucky, studying Kirkham's English Grammar. I continued to travel and preach in Kentucky and Tennessee and baptized all that would believe my testimony. On the 26th of February we held a conference at the house of Brother Lewis Clapp (father of B. L. Clapp). There were represented one hundred and three members in that mission. I ordained A. O. Smoot and Benjamin Boyston Elders, and Daniel Thomas and Benjamin L. Clapp Priests. I also ordained one Teacher and two Deacons. After conference I took Brothers Smoot and Clapp with me to preach. The former traveled with me constantly till the 21st of April, when we had the privilege of meeting with Elder David W. Patten, who had come direct from Kirtland, and who had been ordained one of the Twelve Apostles. It was a happy meeting. He gave us an account of the endowments at Kirtland, the glorious blessings received, the ministration of angels, the organization of the Twelve Apostles and Seventies, and informed me that I was appointed a member of the second quorum of Seventies. All of this was glorious news to me, and caused my heart to rejoice. On the 27th of May we were joined by Elder Warren Parrish, direct from Kirtland. We had a happy time together. On the 28th, we held a conference at Brother Seth Utley's, where were represented all the branches of the Church in the South. I was ordained on the 31st of May a member of the second quorum of Seventies under the hands of David W. Patten and Warren Parrish. At the close of the conference we separated for a short time. Elders Patten and Parrish labored in Tennessee, Brother Smoot and myself in Kentucky. On the 9th of June we all met at Damon Creek branch, where Brother Patten baptized two. One was Father Henry Thomas, who had been a revolutionary soldier under General Washington, and father of Daniel and Henry Thomas. A warrant was issued, on the oath of a priest, against D. W. Patten, W. Parrish and myself. We were accused in the warrant of the great "crime" of testifying that Christ would come in this generation, and that we promised the Holy Ghost to those whom we baptized. Brothers Patten and Parrish were taken on the 19th of June. I being in another county, escaped being arrested. The brethren were put under two thousand dollars bond to appear at court. Albert Petty and Seth Utley were their bondsmen. They were tried on the 22nd of June. They pleaded their own cause. Although men came forward and testified they did receive the Holy Ghost after they were baptized, the brethren were condemned; but were finally released by paying the expense of the mob court. There was one peculiar circumstance connected with this trial by a mob court, which was armed to the teeth. When the trial was through with, the people were not willing to permit more than one to speak. Warren Parrish had said but few words, and they were not willing to let David Patten speak. But he, feeling the injustice of the court, and being filled with the power of God, arose to his feet and delivered a speech of about twenty minutes, holding them spell-bound while he told them of their wickedness and the abominations that they were guilty of, also of the curse of God that awaited them, if they did not repent, for taking up two harmless, inoffensive men for preaching the gospel of Christ. When he got through his speech the judge said, "You must be armed with secret weapons, or you would not talk in this fearless manner to an armed court." Brother Patten replied: "I have weapons that you know not of, and they are given me of God, for He gives me all the power I have." The judge seemed willing to get rid of them almost upon any terms, and offered to dismiss them if their friends would pay the costs, which the brethren present freely offered to do. When the two were released, they mounted their horses and rode a mile to Seth Utley's; but, as soon as they had left, the court became ashamed that they had been let go so easily and the whole mob mounted their horses to follow them to Utley's. One of the Saints, seeing the state of affairs, went on before the mob to notify the brethren, so that they had time to ride into the woods near by. They traveled along about three miles to Brother Albert Petty's, and went to bed. The night was dark, and they went to sleep. But Brother Patten was warned in a dream to get up and flee, as the mob would soon be there. They both arose, saddled their animals, and rode into the adjoining county. The house they had just left was soon surrounded by the mob, but the brethren had escaped through the mercy of God. I was invited to hold a meeting at a Baptist meeting-house on the 27th of June. On my arrival I met a large congregation; but, on commencing meeting, Parson Browning ordered the meeting to be closed. I told the people I had come ten miles to preach the gospel to them, and was willing to stand in a cart, on a pile of wood, on a fence, or any other place they would appoint, to have that privilege. One man said he owned the fence and land in front of the meeting-house, and we might use both, for he did not believe "Mormonism" would hurt either. So the congregation crossed the road, took down the fence and made seats of it, and I preached to them one hour and a half. At the close Mr. Randolph Alexander bore testimony to the truth of what had been said. He invited me home with him, bought a Book of Mormon, and was baptized, and I organized a branch in that place. On the 18th of July, Brother A. O. Smoot and I arrived at a ferry on the Tennessee river, and, as the ferryman was not at home, the woman kindly gave us permission to use the ferryboat. We led our horses on board, and took the oars to cross the river. Brother Smoot had never used an oar, and I had not for some years, so we made awkward work of it. Soon he broke one oar, and I let another fall overboard, which left us only one broken oar to get to shore with. We narrowly escaped running into a steamboat. We struck shore half a mile below the landing place, tied up the boat, jumped on the bank with our horses, and went on our way with blistered hands, thankful to get off so well. On Sunday, the 31st of July, A. O. Smoot and I preached at Mr. David Crider's, Weakly County, Tennessee. After the meeting Mr. Crider was baptized. A mob gathered and threatened us, and poisoned our horses so that the one I rode, belonging to Samuel West, died a few days after. This horse had carried me thousands of miles while preaching the gospel. I continued to travel with Brothers Smoot, Patten and Parrish in Tennessee and Kentucky, and we baptized all who would receive our testimony. On the 2nd day of September we held a general conference at the Damon Creek Branch. Elder Thomas B. Marsh President of the Twelve Apostles, presided. All the branches in Tennessee and Kentucky were represented. Brothers Randolph Alexander, Benjamin L. Clapp and Johnson F. Lane were ordained Elders and Lindsay Bradey was ordained to the lesser Priesthood. I assisted President Marsh to obtain fifteen hundred dollars from the Southern brethren, to enter land in Missouri for the Church. The brethren made me a present of fifty dollars, which I sent by President Marsh to enter forty acres of land for me. Elder Smoot and I were released from the Southern mission with permission to go to Kirtland. CHAPTER IX. ATTENDING SCHOOL--MARRIAGE--IMPRESSED TO TAKE A MISSION TO FOX ISLANDS--ADVISED TO GO--JOURNEY TO CANADA--CASES OF HEALING--JOURNEY TO CONNECTICUT--MY BIRTHPLACE--MY MOTHER'S GRAVE--BAPTIZE SOME RELATIVES--JOINED BY MY WIFE--JOURNEY ON FOOT TO MAINE--ARRIVAL AT FOX ISLAND. Having returned from my Southern mission in the autumn of 1836, in company with Elders A. O. Smoot and Jesse Turpin, I spent the following winter in Kirtland. During this time I received my endowments and attended the school of Professor Haws, who taught Greek, Latin and English grammar. I confined my studies mostly to Latin and English grammar. This winter and the following spring, in some respects, may be regarded as one of the most interesting periods of the history of the Church, when we consider the endowments and teachings given in the temple, and the great apostasy which followed. I was married to Miss Phoebe Whitmore Carter, on the 13th of April, 1837, and received my patriarchal blessing under the hands of Father Joseph Smith, the Patriarch, two days after. I felt impressed by the Spirit of God to take a mission to the Fox Islands, situated east of the Maine shore, a country I knew nothing about. I made my feelings known to the Apostles, and they advised me to go. Feeling that it was my duty to go upon this mission, I did not tarry at home one year after having married a wife, as the law of Moses would have allowed. On the contrary, I started just one month and one day after that important event, leaving my wife with Sister Hale, with whom she expected to stay for a season. I left Kirtland in good spirits, in company with Elder Jonathan H. Hale, and walked twelve miles to Fairport, where we were joined by Elder Milton Holmes. There we went aboard the steamer _Sandusky_, and made our way to Buffalo, and proceeded thence to Syracuse, by way of the Erie Canal. We then walked to Richland, Oswego Co., N. Y., where I met my two brothers, whom I had not seen for several years. After spending one night there, we continued our journey to Sackett's Harbor, and crossed Lake Ontario on the steamer _Oneida_, to Kingston, Upper Canada, and from there also by steamer along the canal to Jones' Falls, whence we walked to a place called Bastard, Leeds County. Here we found a branch of the Church, presided over by John E. Page and James Blakesly. We accompanied them to their place of meeting, and attended a conference with them, at which three hundred members of the Church were represented. Thirty-two persons presented themselves for ordination, whom I was requested to ordain, in company with Elder Wm. Draper. We ordained seven Elders, nine Priests, eleven Teachers and five Deacons. We spoke to the people several times during this conference, and at its close we were called upon to administer to a woman who was possessed of the devil. At times she was dumb, and greatly afflicted with the evil spirits that dwelt in her. She believed in Jesus and in us as His servants, and wished us to administer to her. Four of us laid our hands upon her head and commanded the devil, in the name of Jesus Christ, to depart out of her. It was immediately done, and the woman arose with great joy, and gave thanks and praise unto God; for, according to her faith, she was made whole from that hour. A child, also, that was sick, was healed by the laying on of hands, according to the word of God. We walked thirty miles to visit another branch of the Saints at Leeds, where we met with John Gordon and John Snider. Here we held a meeting and bore our testimony to the people. A Sister Carns here came to us and requested to have the ordinance for the healing of the sick performed for two of her children who were afflicted. One was a suckling child, which was lying at the point of death. I took it in my arms and presented it before the Elders, who laid their hands upon it, and it was made whole immediately, and I handed it back to the mother entirely healed. We afterwards laid hands upon the other, when it was also healed. It was done by the power of God, in the name of Jesus Christ, and the parents praised God for His goodness. After leaving the Saints in this place, we returned to Kingston, and crossed Lake Ontario in company with Isaac Russell, John Goodson and John Snider. Brother Russell seemed to be constantly troubled with evil spirits, which followed him when he subsequently went upon a mission to England, where Apostles Orson Hyde and Heber C. Kimball, when administering to him, had a severe contest with them, as Brother Kimball has related in his history. Brothers Russell, Goodson and Snider continued with us to Schenectady, where they left us to proceed to New York, to join Elders Kimball and Hyde to go upon their mission to England. After leaving these brethren we traveled by rail to Albany, and walked from there to Canaan, Conn., where we found a branch of the Church, including Jesse and Julian Moses and Francis K. Benedict. We held a two-days' meeting with the Saints in Canaan, and I ordained Julian Moses and Francis K. Benedict Elders. After holding several meetings in the town of Colebrook, and visiting my half sister, Eunice Woodruff, who was teaching school there, I proceeded to Avon, the place of my birth. There I visited many of my former neighbors and relatives, and the grave of my mother, Bulah Woodruff, who died June 11th, 1808, when twenty-six years of age. The following verse was upon her tombstone: "A pleasing form, a generous heart, A good companion, just without art; Just in her dealings, faithful to her friend, Beloved through life, lamented in the end." At the close of the day I walked six miles to Farmington, where my father, Aphek Woodruff, was living, and I had the happy privilege of once more meeting with him and my step-mother, whom I had not seen for seven years. They greeted me with great kindness, and it was a happy meeting. After visiting with my father a day or two, I returned to Avon, where most of my relatives lived, and held meetings with them, and on the 12th of June, 1837, I baptized my uncle, Ozem Woodruff, his wife Hannah, and his son John, and we rejoiced together, for this was in fulfillment of a dream I had in 1818, when I was eleven years of age. On the 15th of July I had an appointment to preach at the house of my uncle, Adna Hart. While there I had the happy privilege of meeting with my wife, Phoebe W. Woodruff, who had come from Kirtland to meet me and accompany me to her father's home in Scarboro, Maine. Those who had assembled to hear me preach were relatives, neighbors and former friends. After meeting, we returned to Farmington to my father's home, where I spent the night with my father, step-mother, sister and wife. Elder Hale was also with us. On the 19th of July, Elder Hale left us to go to his friends in New Rowley, Mass., and on the same evening I held a meeting in the Methodist meeting-house in the town of Farmington. I had a large congregation of citizens, with whom I had been acquainted from my youth. My parents, wife and sister attended the meeting. The congregation seemed satisfied with the doctrines I taught, and they requested me to hold another meeting; but I felt anxious to continue my journey, and on the 20th of July I parted with my father, step-mother and sister, and took stage for Hartford with my wife. On my arrival at Hartford, not having money to pay the fare of both of us, I paid my wife's fare to Rowley, Mass., where there was a branch of the Church, presided over by Brother Nathaniel Holmes, father of Jonathan and Milton Holmes, and I journeyed on foot. The first day I walked fifty-two miles, the second forty-eight, and the third day thirty-six miles, and arrived at Rowley at two o'clock, making 136 miles in a little over two and a half days. I spent eight days at New Rowley, holding meetings and visiting the Saints, including the Holmes family, and left there on the 1st of August. On the 8th of August, in company with my wife and Elder Hale, I visited my wife's father, Ezra Carter, and his family in Scarboro, Maine, it being the first time I had ever seen any of her relatives. We were very kindly received. My wife had been absent from her father's home about one year. I spent eight days with Father Carter and household, and one day I went to sea with Fabian and Ezra Carter, my brothers-in-law, in a boat, to fish with hooks. We caught 250 cod, haddock and hake, and we saw four whales, two at a time, it being the first time in my life I had ever seen the kind of a fish which is said to have swallowed Jonah. On the 18th of August, 1837, I parted with my wife and her father's household, leaving her with them, and, in company with Jonathan H. Hale, started upon the mission that I had in view when I left Kirtland. We walked ten miles to Portland, and took passage on the steamboat _Bangor_, which carried us to Owl's Head, where we went on board of a sloop which landed us on North Fox Island at 2 o'clock, a.m., on the 20th. CHAPTER X. DESCRIPTION OF VINAL HAVEN--POPULATION AND PURSUIT OF THE PEOPLE--GREAT VARIETY OF FISH--THE INTRODUCTION OF THE GOSPEL. The town of Vinal Haven includes both North and South Fox Islands, in lat. 44° north, and long. 69° 10' east. The population numbered, at the time of my visit, about 1,800. The inhabitants were intelligent and industrious, and hospitable to strangers. They got most of their wealth and living by fishing. The town fitted out over one hundred licensed sailing vessels, besides smaller craft. North Fox Island is nine miles long by two miles in width and had a population of 800. They had a post office, one store, a Baptist church and meeting-house, four school-houses, and a tide grist mill. The land was rather poor, yet there were some good farms. The products were wheat, barley, oats, potatoes and grass. The principal timber was fir, spruce, hemlock and birch. Raspberries and gooseberries grew in great abundance, and some up-land cranberries were raised. The principal stock of the island were sheep. South Fox Island comes as near being without any definite form as any spot on earth I ever saw. It would be difficult for any person to describe it. It is about ten miles in length by five in width, and is one universal mass of rocks, formed into shelves, hills, and valleys, and cut up into necks and points to make room for the coves and harbors that run through and through the island. The population was 1,000. The inhabitants got their living entirely by fishing. There is no chance for farming upon the island, and but a few garden patches, which are cultivated at great expense. Some few sheep are raised there. Many of the inhabitants fish in the region of Newfoundland, and bring their fish home and cure them on flakes and prepare them for the market. They supply the market with great quantities of cod, mackerel and boxed herring. Upon this island there were two stores, three tide saw mills, six school houses and a small branch of the Methodist church, presided over by a priest. What timber there is upon this island, such as pine, fir, spruce, hemlock and birch, and the whortleberries, raspberries and gooseberries, mostly grows out of the cracks of the rocks. Great quantities of fish, and in almost endless variety, inhabit the coves and harbors around the island. The whale, blackfish, shark, ground shark, pilot-fish, horse mackerel, sturgeon, salmon, halibut, cod, pollock, tom cod, hake, haddock, mackerel, shad bass, alewife, herring, pohagen, dolphin, whiting, frost-fish, flounders, smelt, skate, shrimp, skid, cusk, blueback, scollop, dogfish, muttonfish, lumpfish, squid, five-fingers, monkfish, horsefish, sunfish, swordfish, thresher, cat, scuppog, tootog, eyefish, cunner, ling, also the eel, lobster, clam, muscle, periwinkle, porpoise, seal, etc., are found there. Thus I have given a brief description of Vinal Haven. It was quite dark when we landed there, without a farthing in money. We made our way over the rocks and through the cedars the best way we could, until we found a house, when we rapped at the door. A woman put her head out of the window and asked who was there and what was wanted. I told her we were two strangers, and wanted a bed to lie down upon until morning. She let us in and gave us a bed, and we slept until quite late, it being Sunday morning. When we came out and took breakfast it was nearly noon. I asked what she charged for our entertainment, and she replied that we were welcome. I then asked her if there was any religion or minister or church on the island. She informed me there was a Baptist minister, by the name of Newton, who had a congregation and a meeting-house about five miles from there. We thanked her for her kindness, walked to the meeting-house and stepped inside the doorway. We stood there until a deacon came to the door, when I asked him to go and tell the minister in the pulpit that there were two servants of God at the door, who had a message to deliver to that people and wished the privilege of delivering it. He sent for us to come to the pulpit, so we walked through the congregation with our valises under our arms, and took a seat by the side of the minister, who was about to speak as we came to the door. He arose and delivered his discourse to the people, occupying about half an hour. When he closed he asked me what was my wish. I told him we wished to speak to the people at any hour that would suit his or their convenience; so he gave notice that there were two strangers present who would speak to the people at five o'clock that evening. We were quite a source of wonderment to the people, as they had no idea who we were. Mr. Newton asked us to go home to tea with him, and we gladly accepted the invitation. When we arrived at his house I opened my valise and took out the Bible, Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants, laid them upon the table, and took my seat. Mr. Newton took up the books and looked at them, but said nothing. I then asked him if there were any school houses upon the island, and if so, whether they were free to preach in. He answered that there were four, numbered respectively from one to four, and that they were free. Mr. Newton and family accompanied us to the meeting-house, where we met a large congregation, none of whom knew who we were or anything about our profession, except the minister. Elder Hale and I went to the stand, and I arose with peculiar feelings, and addressed the congregation for one hour, taking for my text _Galatians_ i. 8-9. This was the first time that I or any other Elder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had (to my knowledge) attempted to preach the fullness of the gospel and the Book of Mormon to the inhabitants of any island of the sea. I had much liberty in speaking, and informed the people that the Lord had raised up a prophet and organized His Church as in the days of Christ and the ancient apostles, with prophets, apostles and the gifts as anciently, and that He had brought forth the Book of Mormon. At the close of my remarks Elder Hale bore testimony. I gave liberty for any one to speak that might wish to. As no one responded, I announced that we would hold meetings the next four evenings in the school-houses, beginning at No. 1. CHAPTER XI. MR. NEWTON, THE BAPTIST PREACHER, WRESTLING WITH OUR TESTIMONY--REJECTS IT, AND BEGINS TO OPPOSE--SENDS TO A METHODIST MINISTER TO HELP HIM--MR. DOUGLASS' SPEECH--OUR GREAT SUCCESS ON THE NORTH ISLAND--GO TO THE SOUTH ISLAND AND BAPTIZE MR DOUGLASS' FLOCK--GREAT NUMBER OF ISLANDS--BOILED CLAMS--DAY OF PRAYER--CODFISH FLAKES. During the first thirteen days of our sojourn upon the island we preached seventeen discourses, being invited by the people to tarry with them. I left a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants with Mr. Newton for his perusal. He read it, and the Spirit of God bore testimony to him of its truth. He pondered over it for days, and he walked his room until midnight trying to decide whether to receive or reject it. He and his family attended about a dozen of my first meetings, and then he made up his mind, contrary to the dictation of the Spirit of God to him, to reject the testimony, and come out against me. However, we commenced baptizing his flock. The first two we baptized were a sea captain, by the name of Justin Eames, and his wife. Brother Jonathan H. Hale went down into the sea and baptized them on the 3rd of September, and these were the first baptisms performed by proper authority upon any of the islands of the sea (to my knowledge) in this dispensation. Before we left Kirtland some of the leading apostates there had tried to discourage Brother Hale about going upon his mission, telling him he would never baptize any one, and he had better remain at home. When Captain Eames offered himself for baptism, I told Brother Hale to go and baptize him, and prove those men false prophets, and he did so. On the following Sabbath I baptized his brother, Ebenezer Eames, another sea captain, and a young lady. Mr. Newton, the Baptist minister, now commenced a war against us, and sent to the South Island for a Mr. Douglass, a Methodist minister (with whom he had been at variance for years) to come over and help him put down "Mormonism." Mr. Douglass came over, and they got as many people together as they could and held a conference. He railed against Joseph, the prophet, and the Book of Mormon, and, taking that book in his hand, with out-stretched arm, declared that he feared none of the judgments of God that would come upon him for rejecting it as the word of God. (I never heard what his sentiments upon this subject were at the end of his term of fourteen years' imprisonment in the Thomaston Penitentiary, for an outrage upon his daughter, the judgment of which was given upon the testimony of his wife and daughter.) I was present and heard Mr. Douglass' speech upon this occasion, and took minutes of the same. When he closed I arose and informed the people that I would meet with them next Sunday in the meeting-house, and answer Mr. Douglass, and wished him as well as the people to be present. I informed the people that Mr. Douglass had made false statements against Joseph Smith and the Latter-day Saints, with whom he had no acquaintance, and he had misquoted much scripture, all of which I could correct. We continued to baptize the people of the North Island until we had baptized every person who owned an interest in the Baptist meeting-house. I then followed Mr. Douglass home to the South Island and preached the gospel to and baptized nearly all the members of his church. The excitement became great upon both islands, and on Sunday, the 17th of September, I met a large assembly from both Islands, and took the same subject that Mr. Douglass had dwelt upon in his remarks against the Book of Mormon and our principles. I spoke two-and-a-half hours, and answered every objection against the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith or our principles. I had good attention, and the people seemed satisfied. At the close of the meeting Elder Hale administered the ordinance of baptism. Mr. Newton, in order to save his cause, went to the mainland and brought over several ministers with him and held a protracted meeting. They hoped by this to stop the work of God, but all to no avail, for the whole people would attend our meeting and receive the word of God, and we continued to baptize. We visited the dwellings of most of the inhabitants during our sojourn there. Upon one occasion, while standing upon Mr. Carver's farm on the east end of the North Island, we counted fifty-five islands in that region, the majority of which were not inhabited. We also saw twenty ships under sail at the same time. We had no lack for food while upon the island, for if we did not wish to trouble our friends for a dinner, we only had to borrow a spade or a hoe and a kettle and go to the beach and dig a peck of clams. These, when boiled, would make a delicious meal, which we often availed ourselves of. One day, Elder Hale and I ascended to the top of a high granite rock upon the South Island, for prayer and supplication. We sat down under the shade of a pine tree which grew out of a fissure in a rock, and Elder Hale read the 16th chapter of Jeremiah, where mention is made of the hunters and fishers that God would send in the last days to gather Israel. Of a truth here we were upon an Island of the sea, standing upon a rock where we could survey the gallant ships and also the islands, which were as full of rocks, ledges and caves as any part of the earth. And what had brought us here? To search out the blood of Ephraim, the honest and meek of the earth, and gather them from those islands, rocks, holes and caves of the earth unto Zion. We prayed, and rejoiced together. The Spirit of God rested upon us; we spoke of Christ and the ancient prophets and apostles in Jerusalem; of Nephi, Alma, Mormon and Moroni in America; Joseph, Hyrum, Oliver and the apostles in our own day, and we rejoiced that we were upon the islands of the sea searching out the blood of Israel. While being filled with these meditations and the Spirit of God, we fell upon our knees and gave thanks to the God of heaven, and felt to pray for all Israel. After spending most of the day in praise and thanksgiving, we descended to the settlement and held a meeting with the people. On the 6th of September we called upon Captain Benjamin Coombs, and visited his flakes, where he had one thousand quintals of codfish drying for the market. They had mostly been caught in the region of Newfoundland. While we were passing Carvey's Wharf our attention was called to a large school of mackerel playing by the side of the wharf. Several men were pitching them out with hooks. We also flung in a hook and caught all we wanted, then went on our way. CHAPTER XII. RETURN TO THE MAINLAND--PARTING WITH BROTHER HALE--MY SECOND VISIT TO THE ISLANDS--VISIT TO THE ISLE OF HOLT--A SIGN DEMANDED BY MR. DOUGLASS--A PREDICTION ABOUT HIM--ITS SUBSEQUENT FULFILLMENT--SPIRIT OF OPPOSITION--FIRING OFF CANNONS AND GUNS TO DISTURB MY MEETING. We continued to labor, preaching and baptizing, and organized a branch of the Church upon each island, and, finally, on the 2nd of October, we parted from the Saints on the North Island to return to Scarboro for a short time. We walked from Thomaston to Bath, a distance of forty-six miles, in one day, and at the latter place attended a Baptist convention. I also preached there to a large congregation in the evening, and the people gave good attention and wished to learn more about our doctrines. On the following day we walked thirty-six miles to Portland, and the next day to Scarboro. Here I again met with my wife and her father's family. The time had come for me to give the parting hand to Brother Jonathan H. Hale. We had traveled during the season over two thousand miles together, with our hearts and spirits well united. He felt it his duty to return to his family in Kirtland, but duty called me to return to my field of labor upon the islands. On the 9th of October I accompanied Brother Hale one mile upon his journey. We retired to a grove and knelt down and prayed together, and had a good time, and, after commending each other to God, we parted, he to return to Kirtland and I to Fox Islands. I spent fourteen days visiting the Saints and friends, and holding meetings among them, and on the 28th of October I took leave of Father Carter and family, and in company with my wife rode to Portland, and spent the night with my brother-in-law, Ezra Carter. A severe storm arose, so we could not go to sea until November 1st, when we took steamer to Owl's Head, carriage to Thomaston and sloop to Fox Islands. My second visit to these islands was made under very different circumstances to the first. On my first visit I was an entire stranger to the people, and they were strangers to the gospel, but upon my second I met many Saints who had received the gospel, and who hailed me, and my companion also, with glad hearts. On Sunday, the 5th of November, I met with a large assembly of Saints and friends, and again commenced baptizing such as would receive my testimony. After visiting the North Island and holding meetings with the Saints there, and baptizing two after meeting, I embarked on board a sloop, with Captain Coombs, for another island called the Isle of Holt. We arrived at noon, and I preached to the people at night in their school-house, and had an attentive audience. I spent the night with John Turner, Esq., who purchased a copy of the Book of Mormon. On the following day we returned to Fox Islands, and as St. Paul once had to row hard to make the land in a storm, we had to row hard to make it in a calm. After preaching on the North Island again and baptizing two persons at the close of the meeting, I returned again to the mainland in company with Mrs. Woodruff and others, where I spent fifteen days, during which time I visited among the people, held twelve meetings and baptized several persons. On the 13th of December I returned again to the North Island, where I held several meetings, and then crossed over to South Island. On the 20th of December I spent an hour with Mr. Isaac Crockett in clearing away large blocks of ice from the water in a cove, in order to baptize him, which I did when the tide came in. I also baptized two more in the same place on the 26th, and again two others on the 27th. On the 28th I held a meeting at a school-house, when William Douglass, the Methodist minister, came and wanted me to work a miracle, that he might believe, and otherwise railed against me. I told him what class of men asked for signs, and that he was a wicked and adulterous man, and predicted that the curse of God would rest upon him, and that his wickedness would be made manifest in the eyes of the people. (While visiting these islands several years afterwards I learned that the prediction had really been fulfilled, and that he was serving out a fourteen years' term of imprisonment for a beastly crime.) Mrs. Woodruff crossed the thoroughfare in a boat and walked ten miles, the length of the island, to meet me, on the last day of the year. I held a meeting the same day in the school-house, and at the close of the meeting baptized two persons in the sea, at full tide before a large assembly. January 1st, 1838, found me standing upon one of the islands of the sea, a minister of the gospel of life and salvation unto the people, laboring alone, though blessed with the society of Mrs. Woodruff, my companion. I had been declaring the word of the Lord through the islands many days, the Spirit of God was working among the people, prejudice was giving way, and the power of God was manifest by signs following those who believed. I spent this New Year's Day visiting the Saints and their neighbors, and met a congregation at Captain Chas. Brown's, where I spoke to them for awhile, and at the close of my remarks led three persons down into the sea and baptized them. Two of these were sea captains, namely, Charles Brown, and Jesse Coombs, and the third was the wife of Captain Coombs. After confirming them we spent the evening in preaching, singing and praying. I held meetings almost daily with the Saints up to the 13th, when I crossed to the North Island. Here I found that the seed I had sown was bringing forth fruit. Six persons were ready for baptism. But my mission upon these islands was not an exception to the general rule; success did not come without many obstacles presenting themselves. Those who rejected the word were frequently inspired by the evil one to make an attempt at persecution. Some of those who felt to oppose me went down to the harbor and got a swivel and small arms, and planted them close by the school-house, near the seashore, and while I was speaking, they commenced firing their cannon and guns. I continued speaking in great plainness, but my voice was mingled with the report of musketry. I told the people my garments were clear of the blood of the inhabitants of that island, and asked if any wished to embrace the gospel. Two persons came forward and wished to be baptized, and I baptized them. On the following day when I went down to the seaside to baptize a man, the rabble commenced firing guns again, as on the previous night. I afterwards learned that notices were posted up, warning me to leave the town, but I thought it was better to obey God than man, and, therefore, did not go. The next day I baptized three persons, and two days subsequently a couple of others. I had ample evidence of the fact that lying spirits had gone out into the world, for three persons whom I had baptized had been visited by Mr. Douglass, who told them that I denied the Bible and could not be depended upon; and they yielded to his insinuations until the devil took possession of them, and they were in a disaffected condition. and sent for me. When I met them they were in great affliction, but when I instructed them in regard to the principles of the gospel, and administered to them, they were delivered from the evil influence and rejoiced. CHAPTER XIII. MEETING WITH JAMES TOWNSEND--DECIDE TO GO TO BANGOR--A LONG JOURNEY THROUGH THE DEEP SNOW--CURIOUS PHENOMENON--REFUSED LODGING AT EIGHT HOUSES--ENTERTAINED BY MR. TEPPLEY--CURIOUS COINCIDENCE--MR. TEPPLEY'S DESPONDENCY--ARRIVAL AT BANGOR--RETURN TO THE ISLANDS--ADVENTURE WITH THE TIDE. On the 15th of February I again crossed to the North Island, and after remaining there seven days visiting, we returned to Camden. Here I met Brother James Townsend, who had just arrived from Scarboro. I ordained Brother Townsend to the office of an Elder, and we concluded to take a journey to Bangor, and offer the gospel to the inhabitants of that city. We undertook the journey on foot in the dead of winter, when the snow was very deep, and the first day broke the road for seven miles to Scarsmont. The day following, it being Sunday, we held two meetings, preached the gospel to the people, and were kindly entertained. On the evening of the next day we wallowed through snowdrifts for a mile, to meet an appointment to preach in a school-house, and I got one of my ears frozen on the way; but notwithstanding the severity of the weather, we had quite a large and attentive audience. We also spent the next two days with the people there and held meetings. On the evening of the 21st of February, as we came out of the school-house, a light appeared in the north-eastern horizon, and spread to the west and soon rolled over our heads. It had the appearance of fire, blood and smoke, and at times resembled contending armies. The heavens were illuminated for the space of half an hour. It seemed at times as though the veil was about to rend in twain and the elements were contending with each other. We looked upon it as one of the signs in the heavens predicted by the prophets of old, as to appear in the last days. We were wading through deep snowdrifts most of the time while witnessing this remarkable scene. The following day we walked fifteen miles through deep snow to Belfast, and, after being refused lodging for the night by eight families, we were kindly entertained by Mr. Thomas Teppley. There was an interesting incident connected with our stay at his house. After eating supper, it being late in the evening, Mr. Teppley placed a stand before me with a Bible upon it, asking me to read a chapter and have prayers with them, he being a religious man. I opened the Bible mechanically, when, the 25th chapter of Matthew being the first to catch my eye, I read it, and, as I closed the book Mr. Teppley turned to his wife and said, "Is not this a strange thing?" Then he explained to us that he had just read that chapter and closed the book when we rapped at the door, and he felt impressed to say, "Walk in, gentlemen." There is probably no other chapter in the whole book that would have the same influence in causing any one to feed a person who professed to be a servant of God, and asked for bread. After becoming acquainted with his circumstances I thought it providential that we were led to his house, for although he was a professor of religion and a Methodist, he was in a state of despair, believing he had committed the unpardonable sin. However, I told him what the unpardonable sin was, and that he had not committed it; but that it was a trick of the devil to make him think so, in order to torment him. He then acknowledged that he went down to the wharf a few evenings before, with the intention of drowning himself, but when he looked into the cold, dark water he desisted and returned home, and had said nothing previous to anyone about it. I taught him the principles of the gospel, which proved a comfort to him. We spent the following day in visiting the people of Belfast, and in the evening preached in a brick school-house, provided by Mr. Teppley, and many wished to hear more from us. We next visited Northport and Frankfort, holding meetings at both places, and on the 1st of March, 1838, we entered Bangor, which at that time had a population of ten thousand. This was my birthday, I being thirty-one years of age. I visited some of the leading men of Bangor, and they granted me the use of the City Hall, where I preached to good audiences for two successive evenings. This was the first time a Latter-day Saint Elder had preached in that town. Many were anxious to learn more about our principles, but our visits through all the towns from Thompaston to Bangor were necessarily brief, owing to our appointments upon the islands. It was like casting our bread upon the waters and trusting in God for the result. On the 5th of March we sailed from Penobscot for the Isle of Holt, where I held a meeting on the following evening. The next day I took passage on the mail boat for the North Island, where I again had the privilege of meeting with the Saints for prayer and praise before the Lord. On my arrival I received a package of letters from friends abroad. One was from Kirtland, and gave an account of the apostasy and tribulations which the Saints were passing through. Joseph the Prophet and others, with their families, had gone to Far West, and the Saints were following them. Brother Townsend returned home, and I was again left alone in the ministry. On the afternoon of the 22nd of March, Brother Sterrett and I, accompanied by our wives, went several hundred yards from shore to a sand bar (it being low tide), to dig clams. The ground near the shore was very much lower than the bar we were on, and while we were all busy digging clams and talking "Mormonism," the dashing of the waves of the incoming tide against the shore suddenly made us conscious that we had fifty yards of water between us and the shore. The surf waves also added to our difficulty, and as we had no boat, our only alternative was to cross our four arms, thus forming a kind of arm-chair for our wives to sit upon, and carry them in turn to the shore, wading through two-and-a-half feet of water. By the time we got our wives and clams safely landed, the truth of the maxim was firmly impressed upon our minds, that "Time and tide wait for no man," not even for a preacher of the gospel. CHAPTER XIV. COUNSELED TO GATHER WITH THE SAINTS--REMARKABLE MANIFESTATIONS--CASE OF HEALING--EFFORTS OF APOSTATES--VISIT FROM ELDERS--A CONFERENCE--CLOSING MY LABORS ON THE ISLANDS FOR A SEASON. On the 28th of March I received a letter from Zion, requesting me to counsel the Saints I had baptized to sell their property and gather up to Zion. About this time the Lord was manifesting Himself upon the islands in various ways, by dreams, visions, healings, signs and wonders. I will relate one peculiar circumstance of this kind that occurred. Mr. Ebenezer Carver had been investigating our doctrines for quite a length of time, and, having a great desire to know the truth of our religion, he walked to the sea shore, wishing that he might have some manifestation in proof of its truth. The passage of scripture came to his mind that there would be no sign given "but the sign of the prophet Jonas," and while this thought was in his mind a large fish arose to the top of the water, a distance from him in the sea, and suddenly sank out of sight. He much desired to see it again, and soon it arose to the top of the water, accompanied by another fish of about the same size, and one of them swam on the water in a straight line towards Mr. Carver as he stood upon the shore. It came as near to him as the water would permit, and then stopped and gazed at him with a penetrating eye, as though it had a message for him. It then returned to its mate in the ocean and swam out of sight. Mr. Carver retraced his steps homeward, meditating upon the scene and the wonderful condescension of the Lord. It is proper to remark that this was at a season of the year when fish of that size are never known upon those shores or seas, and they are never, at any season, known to come ashore as in the case mentioned. Mr. Carver was convinced that it was intended by the Lord as a sign to him. Two days after the event I visited Mr. Carver at his house, and found his wife confined to her bed with a fever, and she requested me to administer to her. I placed my hands upon her head, the power of God rested upon me, and I commanded her in the name of Jesus Christ to arise and walk. She arose and was healed from that instant, and she walked down to the sea and I baptized her in the same place where the fish visited her husband. I confirmed her there, and she was filled with the Holy Ghost and returned to her home rejoicing. I now called the people together and exhorted them to sell their property and prepare to accompany me to the land of Zion. I had labored hard for many days for the temporal and spiritual welfare of the inhabitants of those islands, and the Lord had blessed my labors and given me many souls as seals of my ministry, for which I felt to praise Him; and now I felt to labor quite as zealously to gather out those who had embraced the gospel, and lead them to Zion. The worst difficulty which the Saints had to contend with in that day was from false brethren. Warren Parrish, who had been a prominent Elder in the Church, and had labored with me as a missionary, had apostatized and been cut off from the Church. Learning that I was building up branches of the Church upon the island, he and other apostates conspired to block up my way by writing lies to the people and stirring up a spirit of mobocracy upon the islands. They succeeded in exerting a strong influence with the wicked, but I knew they could not hinder the work of God. On the 6th of April I held a meeting at Brother Ebenezer Carver's, and, though the hearts of the wicked were stirred up in bitterness against me, the Spirit of God was with me, and at the close of the meeting I baptized three persons. One of these was Mrs. Abigail Carver, the mother of Ebenezer Carver, who was seventy years of age and in poor health. She had not so much as visited a neighbor's house for six years, but upon this occasion she walked with boldness to the sea shore and I baptized her, and she returned rejoicing. On the 11th of April I had the happy privilege of again meeting with Elders Milton Holmes, James Townsend and Abner Rogers, who had come to the islands to attend conference with me. We held our conference on the 13th of April, on North Fox Island, and had a representation of the different branches on the islands. We also preached and bore our testimony, ordained several and baptized one person at the close of the meeting. On the 17th of April Mrs. Woodruff left the islands to return to her father's home in Scarboro, Maine, and a few days afterwards I called the Saints of the North Island together and communed with and instructed them. I also informed them that the Spirit of God bore record to me that it was our duty to leave the islands for a season and take a western mission. They had been faithfully warned and the Saints were established in the truth, while the wicked were contending against us, and some were disposed to take our lives if they had the power. CHAPTER XV. RETURN TO SCARBORO--JOURNEY SOUTH--VISIT TO A. P. ROCKWOOD IN PRISON--INCIDENT OF PRISON LIFE--JOURNEY TO CONNECTICUT--BAPTIZE MY FATHER'S HOUSEHOLD. On the 28th of April we left the island in an open sail-boat and made our way to Owl's Head, and then walked twenty miles. The following day we walked forty miles and suffered some with weary limbs and blistered feet, but we felt that it was for the gospel's sake and did not choose to complain. The next day a walk of thirty miles brought us to Scarboro, where we spent the night at Father Carter's. On the 8th of May I parted with Mrs. Woodruff and Father Carter and family, and in company with Milton Holmes walked thirty-three miles towards Portsmouth, which city we reached the following day and spent several hours there, visiting the navy yard. We then walked to Georgetown, formerly New Rowley, and spent the night with Father Nathaniel Holmes. On the 11th of May I visited Charleston and Bunker Hill monument, and also spent several hours in the city of Boston, which then contained a population of one hundred thousand. I ascended to the cupola of the court-house, from which I had a fine view of the city. I visited several of the Saints in the city, and walked over the long bridge to Cambridge and Cambridgeport. I visited the jail there in order to have an interview with Brother A. P. Rockwood, who had been cast into prison on the plea of debt, in order to trouble and distress him, because he was a "Mormon." This was the first time we had ever met. The jailor permitted me to enter the room where he was. It was the first time in my life I had ever entered a prison. The jailor turned the key upon us and locked us both in. I found Brother Rockwood strong in the faith of the gospel. He had the Bible, Book of Mormon, Voice of Warning, and _Evening and Morning Star_ as his companions, which he read daily. We conversed together for three hours in this solitary abode. He informed me of many things which had transpired while he was confined there as a prisoner. Among other things, he mentioned that the jail had taken fire a few days previous to my visit. He said it looked a little like a dark hour. The fire was roaring over his head, while uproar and confusion were upon every hand. Fire engines were rapidly playing around the building, with water pouring into every room. The people were hallooing in the streets. Prisoners were begging for mercy's sake to be let out, or they would be consumed in the fire. One was struggling in the agonies of death, while others were cursing and swearing. Brother Rockwood said he felt composed in the midst of it until the fire was extinguished. At eight o'clock the jailor unlocked the prison door to let me out, and I gave the parting hand to the prisoner of hope. We had spent a pleasant time together, and he rejoiced at my visit; and who would not, to meet with a friend in a lonely prison? I left him in good spirits, and wended my way back to Boston. I spent several days in Boston, holding meetings with the Saints there, and then walked to Providence, Rhode Island, preaching by the way. I there took steamer and arrived in New York on the 18th of May, where I met with Elder Orson Pratt and his family, and Elijah Fordham and near one hundred Saints who had been baptized in the city of New York. I spent three days in New York visiting the Saints and holding meetings. Several new converts were baptized while I was there. Leaving New York, I traveled through New Jersey, and returned to Farmington, Connecticut, the residence of my father. I arrived at his house on the 12th of June. It was with peculiar sensations that I walked over my native land, where I spent my youth, and cast my eyes over the Farmington meadows and the hills and dales where I had roamed in my boyhood with my father, stepmother, brothers and half-sister. On my arrival at my father's home I had the happy privilege of once more taking my parents and sisters by the hand, also my uncle, Ozem Woodruff, who was among the number I had baptized the year before. After spending an hour in conversation, we sat down around our father's table and supped together and were refreshed. Then we bowed upon our knees together in the family circle and offered up the gratitude of our hearts to God for preserving our lives and reuniting us. I spent the next eighteen days in Farmington and Avon, visiting my father's household, my uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors and friends, preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ unto them and striving to bring them into the kingdom of God. On the 1st of July, 1838, one of the most interesting events transpired of my whole life in the ministry. When Father Joseph Smith gave me my patriarchal blessing, among the many wonderful things of my life, he promised me that I should bring my father's household into the kingdom of God, and I felt that if I ever obtained the blessing, the time had come for me to perform it. By the help of God, I preached the gospel faithfully to my father's household and to all that were with him, as well as to my other relatives, and I had appointed a meeting on Sunday, the 1st of July, at my father's home. My father was believing my testimony, as were all in his household, but upon this occasion the devil was determined to hinder the fulfillment of the promise of the patriarch unto me. It seemed as though Lucifer, the son of the morning, had gathered together the hosts of hell and exerted his powers upon us all. Distress overwhelmed the whole household, and all were tempted to reject the work. And it seemed as though the same power would devour me. I had to take to my bed for an hour before the time of meeting. I there prayed unto the Lord with my whole soul for deliverance, for I knew the power of the devil was exercised to hinder me from accomplishing what God had promised me. The Lord heard my prayer and answered my petition, and when the hour of meeting had come I arose from my bed, and could sing and shout for joy to think I had been delivered from the power of the evil one. Filled with the power of God, I stood up in the midst of the congregation and preached the gospel of Jesus Christ unto the people in great plainness. At the close of the meeting we assembled on the banks of the Farmington river, "because there was much water there," and I led six of my friends into the river and baptized them for the remission of their sins. All of my father's household were included in this number, according to the promise of the Patriarch. They were all relatives except Dwight Webster, who was a Methodist class-leader and was boarding with my father's family. I organized the small number of nine persons, eight of whom were my relatives, into a branch of the Church, and ordained Dwight Webster to the office of a Priest and administered the sacrament unto them. It was truly a day of joy to my soul. My father, stepmother and sister were among the number baptized. I afterwards added a number of relatives. I felt that this day's work alone amply repaid me for all my labor in the ministry. Who can comprehend the joy, the glory, the happiness and consolation that an Elder of Israel feels in being an instrument in the hands of God of bringing his father, mother, sister, brother, or any of the posterity of Adam through the door that enters into life and salvation? No man can, unless he has experienced these things, and possesses the testimony of Jesus Christ and the inspiration of Almighty God. CHAPTER XVI. TAKING LEAVE OF MY OLD HOME--RETURN TO MAINE--BIRTH OF MY FIRST CHILD--APPOINTMENT TO THE APOSTLESHIP AND TO A FOREIGN MISSION--PREPARATION FOR THE JOURNEY TO ZION. Now, as my mission to my native land was accomplished, which I felt impressed to take while upon the islands, I felt it my duty to return here. Monday, July 2nd, 1838, was the last day and night I spent at my father's home while upon this mission. At the setting of the sun I took the last walk with my sister I ever had with her while in my native State. We walked by the canal and viewed the river and fields, and conversed upon our future destiny. After evening prayer with the family, my father retired to rest, and I spent a season with my step-mother who had reared me from my infancy. In conversation we felt sensibly the weight of the power of temptation, out of which the Lord had delivered us. I also spent a short time with my sister Eunice, the only sister I was ever blessed with in my father's family. I had baptized her into the Church and Kingdom of God, and we mingled our sympathies, prayers and tears together before the throne of grace. How truly are the bonds of consanguinity and of the blood of Christ united in binding the hearts of the Saints of God together, and "how blessings brighten as they take their flight!" This being the last night I was to spend beneath my father's roof while upon this mission, I felt the weight of it, and my prayer was, "O, Lord, protect my father's house, and bring him to Zion!" (which prayer was granted.) On the morning of July 3rd, I took leave of my relatives and my native land, and started on my return to Maine. I arrived in Scarboro on the 6th, and on the 14th my first child--a daughter--was born, at Father Carter's house. We named her Sarah Emma. On the 30th of July, I left my wife and child at Father Carter's and started once more to visit Fox Islands. While holding meeting with the Saints at North Vinal Haven on the 9th of August, I received a letter from Thomas B. Marsh, who was then President of the Twelve Apostles, informing me that Joseph Smith, the Prophet, had received a revelation, naming as persons to be chosen to fill the places of those who had fallen; John E. Page, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff and Willard Richards. President Marsh added, in his letter, "Know then, Brother Woodruff, by this, that you are appointed to fill the place of one of the Twelve Apostles, and that it is agreeable to the word of the Lord, given very lately, that you should come speedily to Far West, and, on the 26th of April next, take your leave of the Saints here and depart for other climes across the mighty deep." The substance of this letter had been revealed to me several weeks before, but I had not named it to any person. The time having now come for me to prepare for leaving the islands, I had a desire to take with me all the Saints I could get to go to Zion. There had already been a line drawn upon the islands between the Saints and those who had rejected the gospel, and the enemies were very bitter against me and the work of God I had labored to establish. They threatened my life, but the Saints were willing to stand by me. I spent four days with the Saints visiting them, holding meetings and encouraging them, while the devil was raging upon every hand. I had baptized and organized into the Church nearly one hundred persons while upon the islands, and there seemed a prospect of gathering about half of them with me, but the devil raged to such an extent that quite a number were terrified. The inhabitants of the islands had but little acquaintance with the management of horses or wagons; in fact, most of them knew more about handling a shark than a horse. However, in company with Nathaniel Thomas, who had sold his property and had money, I went to the mainland and purchased ten new wagons, ten sets of harness and twenty horses. When I got everything prepared for the company to start, I left the affairs with Brother Thomas, and went on ahead of the company to Scarboro, to prepare my own family for the journey. The outfit which I purchased for the company cost about $2,000.00. Before leaving Brother Thomas, I counselled him in regard to the course to pursue, and charged him not to be later than the 1st of September in starting for the mainland. I arrived at Father Carter's on the 19th of August, and waited with great anxiety for the arrival of the company from the islands, but instead of reaching there by the 1st of September they did not arrive till the 3rd of October; and when they did arrive the wagon covers were all flying in the breeze. It took a good day's work to nail down the covers, paint the wagons and get prepared for the journey. CHAPTER XVII. START UPON OUR JOURNEY--A HAZARDOUS UNDERTAKING--SICKNESS---SEVERE WEATHER--MY WIFE CONTINUES TO FAIL--HER SPIRIT LEAVES HER BODY--RESTORED BY THE POWER OF GOD--HER SPIRIT'S EXPERIENCE WHILE SEPARATED FROM THE BODY--DEATH OF MY BROTHER--ARRIVAL AT ROCHESTER--REMOVAL TO QUINCY. On the afternoon of the 9th of October, we took leave of Father Carter and family, and started upon our journey of 2,000 miles at this late season of the year, taking my wife with a suckling babe at her breast with me, to lead a company of fifty-three souls from Maine to Illinois, and to spend nearly three months in traveling in wagons, through rain, mud, snow and frost. It was such a trial as I never before had attempted during my experience as a minister of the gospel. On our arrival at Georgetown we were joined by Elder Milton Holmes. We traveled each day as far as we could go, and camped wherever night overtook us. On the 13th of October, while crossing the Green Mountains, I was attacked with something resembling the cholera. I was very sick. I stopped at a house for about two hours, but the Elders administered to me, and I revived. On the 24th I was again taken sick, and my wife and child were also stricken down. We also had several others sick in the company, through the exposure of the journey. On the 31st we had our first snow storm, and the horses dragged our wagons all day through mud, snow and water. On the 2nd of November Elder Milton Holmes left us, and took steamer for Fairport; and two days afterwards a little boy of Nathaniel Holmes', about six years of age, died, and we had to bury him at Westfield. The roads finally became so bad and the cold so severe that Nathaniel Thomas and James Townsend concluded to stop for the winter. We parted with them on the 21st of November, near New Portage, Ohio. On the 23rd of November my wife, Phoebe, was attacked with a severe headache, which terminated in brain fever. She grew more and more distressed daily as we continued our journey. It was a terrible ordeal for a woman to travel in a wagon over rough roads, afflicted as she was. At the same time our child was also very sick. The 1st of December, was a trying day to my soul. My wife continued to fail, and in the afternoon, about 4 o'clock, she appeared to be struck with death. I stopped my team, and it seemed as though she would breath her last lying in the wagon. Two of the sisters sat beside her, to see if they could do anything for her in her last moments. I stood upon the ground, in deep affliction, and meditated. I cried unto the Lord, and prayed that she might live and not be taken from me. I claimed the promises the Lord had made unto me through the prophets and patriarchs, and soon her spirit revived, and I drove a short distance to a tavern, and got her into a room and worked over her and her babe all night, and prayed to the Lord to preserve her life. In the morning the circumstances were such that I was under the necessity of removing my wife from the inn, as there was so much noise and confusion at the place that she could not endure it. I carried her out to her bed in the wagon and drove two miles, when I alighted at a house and carried my wife and her bed into it, with a determination to tarry there until she either recovered her health or passed away. This was on Sunday morning, December 2nd. After getting my wife and things into the house and wood provided to keep up a fire, I employed my time in taking care of her. It looked as though she had but a short time to live. She called me to her bedside in the evening and said she felt as though a few moments more would end her existence in this life. She manifested great confidence in the cause she had embraced, and exhorted me to have confidence in God and to keep His commandments. To all appearances, she was dying. I laid hands upon her and prayed for her, and she soon revived and slept some during the night. December 3rd found my wife very low. I spent the day in taking care of her, and the following day I returned to Eaton to get some things for her. She seemed to be gradually sinking and in the evening her spirit apparently left her body, and she was dead. The sisters gathered around her body, weeping, while I stood looking at her in sorrow. The spirit and power of God began to rest upon me until, for the first time during her sickness faith filled my soul, although she lay before me as one dead. I had some oil that was consecrated for my anointing while in Kirtland. I took it and consecrated it again before the Lord for anointing the sick. I then bowed down before the Lord and prayed for the life of my companion, and I anointed her body with the oil in the name of the Lord. I laid my hands upon her, and in the name of Jesus Christ I rebuked the power of death and the destroyer, and commanded the same to depart from her, and the spirit of life to enter her body. Her spirit returned to her body, and from that hour she was made whole; and we all felt to praise the name of God, and to trust in Him and to keep His commandments. While this operation was going on with me (as my wife related afterwards) her spirit left her body, and she saw it lying upon the bed, and the sisters weeping. She looked at them and at me, and upon her babe, and, while gazing upon this scene, two personages came into the room carrying a coffin and told her they had come for her body. One of these messengers informed her that she could have her choice: she might go to rest in the spirit world, or, on one condition she could have the privilege of returning to her tabernacle and continuing her labors upon the earth. The condition was, if she felt that she could stand by her husband, and with him pass through all the cares, trials, tribulation and afflictions of life which he would be called to pass through for the gospel's sake unto the end. When she looked at the situation of her husband and child she said: "Yes, I will do it!" At the moment that decision was made the power of faith rested upon me, and when I administered unto her, her spirit entered her tabernacle, and she saw the messengers carry the coffin out at the door. On the morning of the 6th of December, the Spirit said to me: "Arise, and continue thy journey!" and through the mercy of God my wife was enabled to arise and dress herself and walked to the wagon, and we went on our way rejoicing. On the night of the 11th I stopped for the night at an inn, the weather being very cold. I there learned of the sudden death of my brother, Asahel H. Woodruff, a merchant of Terre Haute, Ind. I had anticipated a joyful meeting with this brother on the following day. Instead of this, I only had the privilege of visiting his grave, in company with my wife, and examining a little into his business. I was offered the position of administrator of his affairs, but I was leading a company of Saints to Zion, and could not stop to attend to his temporal business. Strangers settled his affairs, and took possession of his property. His relatives obtained nothing from his effects except a few trifling mementos. I left this place and crossed into Illinois on the 13th of December, and arrived at Rochester on the 19th, and, getting information of the severe persecutions of the Saints in Missouri and the unsettled state of the Church at that time, we concluded to stop at Rochester and spend the winter. Thus ended my journey of two months and sixteen days, leading the Fox Island Saints to the west, through all the perils of a journey of nearly two thousand miles, in the midst of sickness and great severity of weather. I took my family in the spring and removed to Quincy, Illinois, where I could mingle with my brethren, and I felt to praise God for His protecting care over me and my family in all our afflictions. CHAPTER XVIII. A PECULIAR REVELATION--DETERMINATION OF ENEMIES TO PREVENT ITS FULFILLMENT--START TO FAR WEST TO FULFILL REVELATION--OUR ARRIVAL THERE--HOLD A COUNCIL--FULFILL REVELATION--CORNER STONE OF THE TEMPLE LAID--ORDAINED TO THE APOSTLESHIP--LEAVE FAR WEST--MEET THE PROPHET JOSEPH--A CONFERENCE HELD--SETTLE OUR FAMILIES IN NAUVOO. Joseph Smith, the Prophet, asked the Lord what His will was concerning the Twelve, and the Lord answered in a revelation, given July 8th, 1838, in which He says: "Let them take leave of my Saints in the city Far West, on the 26th day of April next, on the building spot of my house, saith the Lord. Let my servant John Taylor, and also my servant John E. Page, and also my servant Wilford Woodruff, and also my servant Willard Richards, be appointed to fill the places of those who have fallen, and be officially notified of their appointment." It will be observed that this differs from nearly all other revelations in this respect: a fixed day and a stated place were given for the commencement of the mission. When the revelation was given, all was peace and quietude in Far West, Missouri, the city where most of the Latter-day Saints dwelt; but before the time came for its fulfillment, the Saints of God had been driven out of the State of Missouri into the State of Illinois, under the edict of Governor Boggs; and the Missourians had sworn that if all the other revelations of Joseph Smith were fulfilled, that should not be. It stated that the day and the place where the Twelve Apostles should take leave of the Saints, to go on their missions across the great waters, and the mobocrats of Missouri had declared that they would see that it should not be fulfilled. It seemed as though the Lord, having a foreknowledge of what would take place, had given the revelation in this manner to see whether the Apostles would obey it at the risk of their lives. When the time drew near for the fulfillment of this commandment of the Lord, Brigham Young was the President of the Twelve Apostles; Thos. B. Marsh, who was the senior Apostle, had fallen. Brother Brigham called together those of the Twelve who were then at Quincy, Illinois, to see what their minds would be about going to Far West, to fulfill the revelation. The Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum, Sidney Rigdon, Lyman Wight and Parley P. Pratt were in prison in Missouri, at the time; but Father Joseph Smith, the Patriarch, was at Quincy, Illinois. He and others who were present did not think it wisdom for us to attempt the journey, as our lives would be in great jeopardy. They thought the Lord would take the will for the deed. But when President Young asked the Twelve what our feelings were upon the subject, we all of us, as the voice of one man, said the Lord God had spoken, and it was for us to obey. It was the Lord's business to take care of His servants, and we would fulfill the commandment, or die trying. To fully understand the risk the Twelve Apostles ran in making this journey, my readers should remember that Lilburn W. Boggs, governor of the State of Missouri, had issued a proclamation, in which all the Latter-day Saints were required to leave that State or be exterminated. Far West had been captured by the militia, who were really only an organized mob; the citizens had been compelled to give up their arms; all the leading men who could be got hold of had been taken prisoners; the rest of the Saints--men women and children--had to flee as best they could out of the State to save their lives, leaving all their houses, lands and other property which they could not carry with them to be taken by the mob. In fact they shot down the cattle and hogs of the Saints wherever they could find them, and robbed them of nearly everything they could lay their hands upon. Latter-day Saints were treated with merciless cruelty and had to endure the most outrageous abuses. It was with the greatest difficulty that many of them got out of the State, especially the prominent men; for there were many men of that State at that time, who acted as though they thought it no more harm to shoot a "Mormon" than a mad dog. From this brief explanation you will be able to understand why some of the brethren thought we were not required to go back to Far West to start from there upon our mission across the ocean to Europe. Having determined to carry out the requirement of the revelation, on the 18th of April, 1839, I took into my wagon Brigham Young and Orson Pratt; and Father Cutler took into his wagon John Taylor and George A. Smith, and we started for Far West. On the way we met John E. Page, who was going with his family, to Quincy, Illinois. His wagon had turned over, and when we met him he was trying to gather up a barrel of soft soap with his hands. We helped him get up his wagon. He drove down into the valley below, left his wagon, and accompanied us on our way. On the night of the 25th of April, we arrived at Far West, and spent the night at the home of Morris Phelps, who was not there, however, himself; he, having been taken prisoner by the mob, was still in prison. On the morning of the 26th of April, 1839, notwithstanding the threats of our enemies that the revelation which was to be fulfilled this day should not be, and notwithstanding that ten thousand of the Saints had been driven out of the State by the edict of the governor, and though the Prophet Joseph and his brother, Hyrum Smith, with other leading men were in the hands of our enemies, in chains and in prison, we moved on to the temple grounds in the city of Far West, and held a council, and fulfilled the revelation and commandment given unto us, and we performed many other things at this council. We excommunicated from the Church thirty-one persons, who had apostatized and become its enemies. The "Mission of the Twelve" was sung, and we then repaired to the south-east corner of the temple ground, and, with the assistance of Elder Alpheus Cutler, the master workman of the building committee, laid the south-east chief corner stone of the temple, according to revelation. There were present of the Twelve Apostles: Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, John E. Page and John Taylor, who proceeded to ordain Wilford Woodruff and Geo. A. Smith, to the apostleship, and as members of the quorum of the Twelve, in the places of those who had fallen, as they had been called by revelation. Darwin Chase and Norman Shearer, who had just been liberated from Richmond prison, were also ordained to the office of Seventies. The Twelve then offered up vocal prayer in the following order: Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, John E. Page, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff and George A. Smith, after which we sang "Adam-ondi-Ahman." The Twelve then took their leave of, and gave the parting hand to, the following Saints, agreeable to revelation: A. Butler, Elias Smith, Norman Shearer, Wm. Burton, Stephen Markham, Shadrach Roundy, Wm. O. Clark, John W. Clark, Hezekiah Peck, Darwin Chase, Richard Howard, Mary Ann Peck, Artimesia Granger, Martha Peck, Sarah Granger, Theodore Turley, Hiram Clark, and Daniel Shearer. Bidding good-by to the small remnant of the Saints who remained on the temple ground to see us fulfill the revelation and commandments of God, we turned our backs on Far West and Missouri, and returned to Illinois. We had accomplished the mission without a dog moving his tongue at us, or any man saying, "Why do you do so?" We crossed the Mississippi river on the steam ferry, entered Quincy on the 2nd of May, and all had the joy of reaching our families once more in peace and safety. There was an incident connected with our journey that is worthy of record. While we were on our way to fulfill the revelation, Joseph, the Prophet, and his companions in chains had been liberated, through the blessings of God, from their enemies and prison, and they passed us. We were not far distant from each other, but neither party knew it. They were making their way to their families in Illinois, while we were traveling to Far West into the midst of our enemies. So they came home to their families and friends before our return. May the 3rd was a very interesting day to me, as well as to others. In company with five others of the quorum of the Twelve, I rode four miles out of town to Mr. Cleveland's, to visit Brother Joseph Smith and his family. Once more I had the happy privilege of taking Brother Joseph by the hand. Two years had rolled away since I had seen his face. He greeted us with great joy, as did Hyrum Smith and Lyman Wight, all of whom had escaped from their imprisonment together. They had been confined in prison six months, and had been under sentence of death three times; yet their lives were in the hands of God, and He had delivered them, and they were now mingling with their wives, children and friends, and out of the reach of the mob. Joseph was frank, open and familiar as usual, and our rejoicing was great. No man can understand the joyful sensations created by such a meeting, except those who have been in tribulation for the gospel's sake. After spending the day together, we returned to our families at night. On the day following, May 4th, we met in conference at Quincy, the Prophet Joseph presiding, which caused great joy and rejoicing to all the Saints. On Sunday, May 5th, Joseph Smith addressed the assembly, followed by Sidney Rigdon and the Twelve Apostles. The Spirit of the Lord was poured out upon us, and we had a glorious day. On May 6th, I met with the Seventies, and we ordained sixty men into the quorums of Elders and Seventies. Brother Joseph met with the Twelve, Bishops and Elders, at Bishop Partridge's house; and there were a number with us who were wounded at Haun's Mill. Among them was Isaac Laney, who had been, in company with about twenty others, at the mill, when a large armed mob fired among them with rifles and other weapons, and shot down seventeen of the brethren, and wounded more. Brother Laney fled from the scene, but they poured a shower of lead after him, which pierced his body through and through. He showed me eleven bullet holes in his body. There were twenty-seven in his shirt, seven in his pantaloons, and his coat was literally cut to pieces. One ball entered one arm-pit and came out at the other. Another entered his back and came out at the breast. A ball passed through each hip, each leg and each arm. All these shots were received while he was running for life, and, strange as it may appear, though he had also one of his ribs broken, he was able to outrun his enemies, and his life was saved. We can only acknowledge this deliverance to be by the power and mercy of God. President Joseph Young was also among the number. He also fled, and although the balls flew around him like hail, he was not wounded. How mysterious are the ways of the Lord! Before starting on our missions to England, we were under the necessity of settling our families. A place called Commerce, afterwards named Nauvoo, was selected as the place at which our people should settle. I left Quincy, in company with Brother Brigham Young and our families on the 15th of May, and arrived in Commerce on the 18th. After an interview with Joseph we crossed the river at Montrose, Iowa. President Brigham Young and myself, with our families, occupied one room about fourteen feet square. Finally Brother Young obtained another room and moved into it by himself. Then Brother Orson Pratt and family moved into the same room with myself and family. CHAPTER XIX. A DAY OF GOD'S POWER WITH THE PROPHET JOSEPH SMITH--A GREAT NUMBER OF SICK PERSONS HEALED--THE MOB BECOMES ALARMED--THEY TRY TO INTERFERE WITH THE HEALING OF THE SICK--THE MOB SENT OUT OF THE HOUSE--TWIN CHILDREN HEALED. While I was living in this cabin in the old barracks, we experienced a day of God's power with the Prophet Joseph. It was a very sickly time and Joseph had given up his home in Commerce to the sick, and had a tent pitched in his door-yard and was living in that himself. The large number of Saints who had been driven out of Missouri, were flocking into Commerce; but had no homes to go into, and were living in wagons, in tents, and on the ground. Many, therefore, were sick through the exposure they were subjected to. Brother Joseph had waited on the sick, until he was worn out and nearly sick himself. On the morning of the 22nd of July, 1839, he arose, reflecting upon the situation of the Saints of God in their persecutions and afflictions, and he called upon the Lord in prayer, and the power of God rested upon him mightily, and as Jesus healed all the sick around Him in His day, so Joseph, the Prophet of God, healed all around on this occasion. He healed all in his house and door-yard, then, in company with Sidney Rigdon and several of the Twelve, he went through among the sick lying on the bank of the river, and he commanded them in a loud voice, in the name of Jesus Christ, to come up and be made whole, and they were all healed. When he healed all that were sick on the east side of the river, they crossed the Mississippi river in a ferry-boat to the west side, to Montrose, where we were. The first house they went into was President Brigham Young's. He was sick on his bed at the time. The Prophet went into his house and healed him, and they all came out together. As they were passing by my door, Brother Joseph said: "Brother Woodruff, follow me." These were the only words spoken by any of the company from the time they left Brother Brigham's house till we crossed the public square, and entered Brother Fordham's house. Brother Fordham had been dying for an hour, and we expected each minute would be his last. I felt the power of God that was overwhelming His Prophet. When we entered the house, Brother Joseph walked up to Brother Fordham, and took him by the right hand; in his left hand he held his hat. He saw that Brother Fordham's eyes were glazed, and that he was speechless and unconscious. After taking hold of his hand, he looked down into the dying man's face and said: "Brother Fordham, do you not know me?" At first he made no reply; but we could all see the effect of the Spirit of God resting upon him. He again said: "Elijah, do you not know me?" With a low whisper, Brother Fordham answered, "Yes!" The Prophet then said, "Have you not faith to be healed?" The answer, which was a little plainer than before, was: "I am afraid it is too late. If you had come sooner, I think I might have been." He had the appearance of a man waking from sleep. It was the sleep of death. Joseph then said: "Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?" "I do, Brother Joseph," was the response. Then the Prophet of God spoke with a loud voice, as in the majesty of the Godhead: "Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole!" The words of the Prophet were not like the words of man, but like the voice of God. It seemed to me that the house shook from its foundation. Elijah Fordham leaped from his bed like a man raised from the dead. A healthy color came to his face, and life was manifested in every act. His feet were done up in Indian meal poultices. He kicked them off his feet, scattered the contents, and then called for his clothes and put them on. He asked for a bowl of bread and milk, and ate it; then put on his hat and followed us into the street, to visit others who were sick. The unbeliever may ask: "Was there not deception in this?" If there is any deception in the mind of the unbeliever, there was certainly none with Elijah Fordham, the dying man, nor with those who were present with him, for in a few minutes more he would have been in the spirit world, had he not been rescued. Through the blessing of God, he lived up till 1880, in which year he died in Utah, while all who were with him on that occasion, with the exception of one, are in the spirit world. Among the number, were Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Sidney Rigdon, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, George A. Smith, Parley P. Pratt and Orson Pratt. Wilford Woodruff is the only one living who was present at the time, and he will soon mingle with those who have gone. As soon as we left Brother Fordham's house, we went into the house of Joseph B. Noble, who was very low and dangerously sick. When we entered the house, Brother Joseph took him by the hand, and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. He did arise and was immediately healed. While this was going on, the wicked mob in the place, led by one Kilburn, had become alarmed, and followed us into Brother Noble's house. Before they arrived there, Brother Joseph had called upon Brother Fordham to offer prayer. While he was praying, the mob entered, with all the evil spirits accompanying them. As soon as they entered, Brother Fordham, who was praying, fainted and sank to the floor. When Joseph saw the mob in the house, he arose and had the room cleared of both that class of men and their attendant devils. Then Brother Fordham immediately revived and finished his prayer. This shows what power evil spirits have upon the tabernacles of men. The Saints are only saved from the power of the devil by the power of God. This case of Brother Noble's was the last one of healing upon that day. It was the greatest day for the manifestation of the power of God through the gift of healing since the organization of the Church. When we left Brother Noble, the Prophet Joseph went, with those who accompanied him from the other side, to the banks of the river, to return home. While waiting for the ferry-boat, a man of the world, knowing of the miracles which had been performed, came to him and asked him if he would not go and heal two twin children of his, about five months old, who were both lying sick nigh unto death. They were some two miles from Montrose. The Prophet said he could not go; but, after pausing some time, he said he would send some one to heal them; and he turned to me and said: "You go with the man and heal his children." He took a red silk handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to me, and told me to wipe their faces with the handkerchief when I administered to them, and they should be healed. He also said unto me: "As long as you will keep that handkerchief, it shall remain a league between you and me." I went with the man, and did as the Prophet commanded me, and the children were healed. I have possession of the handkerchief unto this day. CHAPTER XX. PREPARING FOR OUR JOURNEY AND MISSION--THE BLESSING OF THE PROPHET JOSEPH UPON OUR HEADS, AND HIS PROMISES UNTO US--THE POWER OF THE DEVIL MANIFESTED TO HINDER US UN THE PERFORMANCE OF OUR JOURNEY. On the first of July, 1839, Joseph Smith and his counselors, Sidney Rigdon and Hyrum Smith, crossed the river to Montrose, to spend the day with the Twelve, and set them apart and bless them, before they started upon their missions. There were twelve of us who met there, and we all dined in my house. After dinner, we assembled at Brother Brigham Young's house for our meeting. Brother Hyrum Smith opened by prayer; after which the Presidency laid their hands upon our heads and gave each of us a blessing. President Rigdon was mouth in blessing me, and also blessed Sisters Young, Taylor and Woodruff. The Prophet Joseph promised us if we would be faithful, we should be blessed upon our mission, have many souls as seals of our ministry, and return again in peace and safety to our families and friends; all of which was fulfilled. Brother Hyrum advised me to preach the first principles of the gospel; he thought that was about as much as this generation could endure. Then Joseph arose and preached some precious things of the Kingdom of God unto us, in the power of the Holy Ghost; some of which I here copy from my journal: "Ever keep in exercise the principle of mercy, and be ready to forgive our brethren on the first intimation of their repentance and desire for forgiveness; for our Heavenly Father will be equally as merciful unto us. We also ought to be willing to repent of and confess our sins, and keep nothing back. Let the Twelve be humble and not be exalted, and beware of pride and not seek to excel one another, but act for each other's good, and honorably make mention of each other's names in prayer before the Lord and before your fellow-men. Do not backbite or devour a brother. The Elders of Israel should seek to learn by precept and example in this late age of the world and not be obliged to learn everything we know by sad experience. I trust the remainder of the Twelve will learn wisdom and not follow the example of those who have fallen. When the Twelve, or any other witnesses of Jesus Christ, stand before the congregations of the earth, and they preach in the power and demonstration of the Holy Ghost, and the people are astonished and confounded at the doctrine, and say, 'That man has preached a powerful sermon,' then let that man or those men take care that they do not ascribe the glory unto themselves, but be careful that they are humble, and ascribe the glory to God and the Lamb; for it is by the power of the Holy Priesthood and the Holy Ghost that they have power thus to speak. "Who art thou, O man, but dust! and from whom dost thou receive thy power and blessings, but from God? "Then let the Twelve Apostles and Elders of Israel observe this key, and be wise: _Ye are not sent out to be taught, but to teach_. "Let every man be sober, be vigilant, and let all his words be seasoned with grace, and keep in mind it is a day of warning, and not of many words. "Act honestly before God and man; beware of sophistry, such as bowing and scraping unto men in whom you have no confidence. Be honest, open, and frank in all your intercourse with mankind. "I wish to say to the Twelve and all the Saints, to profit by this important key, that in all your trials, troubles, temptations, afflictions, bonds, imprisonments and deaths, see to it that you do not betray Jesus Christ, that you do not betray the revelations of God, whether in the Bible, Book of Mormon, or Doctrine and Covenants, or any of the words of God. "Yea, in all your troubles, see that you do not this thing, lest innocent blood be found upon your skirts, and ye go down to hell. "We may ever know by this sign that there is danger of our being led to a fall and apostasy when we give way to the devil, so as to neglect the first known duty; but whatever you do, do not betray your friend." The foregoing are some of the instructions given to the Twelve by the Prophet Joseph, before they started upon their missions. Inasmuch as the devil had been in a measure thwarted by the Twelve going to Far West, and returning without harm, it seemed as though the destroyer was determined to make some other attempt upon us to hinder us from performing our missions; for it seemed that as soon as any one of the Apostles began to prepare for starting, he was smitten with chills and fever or sickness of some kind. Nearly all of the quorum of the Twelve or their families began to be sick, so it still required the exercise of a good deal of faith and perseverance to start off on a mission. On the 25th of July, for the first time in my life, I was attacked with chills and fever; and this I had every other day, and, whenever attacked, I was laid prostrate. My wife, Phoebe, was also soon taken down with the chills and fever, as were quite a number of the Twelve. I passed thirteen days in Montrose with my family, after I was taken sick, before I started on my mission. The 7th of August was the last day I spent at home in Montrose, and although sick with the chills and fever the most of the day, I made what preparations I could to start on the morrow on a mission of four thousand miles, to preach the gospel to the nations of the earth, and this, too, without purse or scrip, with disease resting upon me, and a stroke of fever and ague once every two days. Yet I did this freely, for Christ's sake, trusting in Him for the recompense or reward. My prayer was: "May the Lord give me grace according to my day and souls for my hire, and a safe return to my family and friends, which favor I ask in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen." CHAPTER XXI. LEAVE MY FAMILY--START UPON MY MISSION--OUR CONDITION--ELDER TAYLOR THE ONLY ONE NOT SICK--REPROOF FROM THE PROPHET--INCIDENTS UPON THE JOURNEY--ELDER TAYLOR STRICKEN--I LEAVE HIM SICK. Early upon the morning of the 8th of August, 1839, I arose from my bed of sickness, laid my hands upon the head of my sick wife, Phoebe, and blessed her. I then departed from the embrace of my companion, and left her almost without food or the necessaries of life. She parted from me with the fortitude that becomes a Saint, realizing the responsibilities of her companion. I quote from my journal: "Phoebe, farewell! Be of good cheer; remember me in your prayers. I leave these pages for your perusal when I am gone. I shall see thy face again in the flesh. I go to obey the commands of Jesus Christ." Although feeble, I walked to the banks of the Mississippi river. There President Brigham Young took me in a canoe (having no other conveyance) and paddled me across the river. When we landed, I lay down on a side of sole leather, by the post office, to rest. Brother Joseph, the Prophet of God, came along and looked at me. "Well, Brother Woodruff," said he, "you have started upon your mission." "Yes," said I, "but I feel and look more like a subject for the dissecting room than a missionary." Joseph replied: "What did you say that for? Get up, and go along; all will be right with you!" I name these incidents that the reader may know how the brethren of the Twelve Apostles started upon their missions to England, in 1839. Elder John Taylor was going with me, and we were the first two of the quorum of the Twelve who started on their mission. Brother Taylor was about the only man in the quorum that was not sick. Soon a brother came along with a wagon, and took us in. As we were driving through the place, we came to Parley P. Pratt, who was stripped to the shirt and pants with his head and feet bare. He was hewing a log, preparing to build a cabin. He said: "Brother Woodruff, I have no money, but I have an empty purse, which I will give you." He brought it to me, and I thanked him for it. We went a few rods further, and met Brother Heber C. Kimball, in the same condition, also hewing a log, towards building a cabin. He said: "As Parley has given you a purse, I have got a dollar I will give you to put in it." He gave me both a dollar and a blessing. We drove sixteen miles across a prairie, and spent the night with a Brother Merrill. The day following we rode ten miles, to a Brother Perkins', and he took us in his wagon to Macomb, and from thence to Brother Don Carlos Smith's. I rode four hours during the day over a very rough road of stones and stumps, lying on my back in the bottom of the wagon, shaking with the ague, and I suffered much. We held a meeting in a grove near Don Carlos Smith's and here Elder Taylor baptized George Miller, who afterwards was ordained a Bishop. At the meeting the Saints gave us nine dollars, and George Miller gave us a horse to help us on our journey. I rode to Rochester with Father Coltrin, where I had an interview with several families of the Fox Island Saints, whom I had brought up with me from Fox Islands, in 1838. I spent several days with them and at Springfield, where Elder Taylor published fifteen hundred copies, in pamphlet form, of a brief sketch of the persecutions and sufferings of the Latter-day Saints, inflicted by the inhabitants of Missouri. We sold our horse, and in company with Father Coltrin, Brother Taylor and myself left Springfield, and continued our journey. I had the chills and fever nearly every other day, which made riding in a lumber wagon very distressing to me, especially when I shook with the ague. On the 24th of August, we rode to Terre Haute, and spent the night with Dr. Modisett. I suffered much with the chills and fever. Elder John Taylor up to this time had appeared to enjoy excellent health, but the destroyer did not intend to make him an exception to the rest of the Apostles. On the 28th of August, he fell to the ground as though he had been knocked down. He fainted away, but soon revived. On the following day, however, the enemy made a powerful attack upon his life. He fainted away several times, and it seemed as though he would die. We stopped several hours with him at a house by the wayside. We then took him into the wagon and drove to Horace S. Eldredge's, and spent the remainder of the day and night doctoring him. In the morning Brother Taylor was so far recovered that he thought he would be able to ride. So we started on our journey on the morning of the 30th, and we traveled forty miles, to Louisville, and spent the night with the family of Brother James Townsend. We felt terribly shaken up, being in such a weak state. Brother Townsend was away from home, but we were kindly entertained by Sister Townsend. In the morning, Elder Taylor, though very weak, felt disposed to continue his journey. We traveled fourteen miles to Germantown. He was quite sick at night, and the bilious fever seemed to settle upon him. I was also very feeble, myself. On the day following, September 1st, being Sunday, Brother Taylor concluded to remain there for the day, and hold a meeting. It was a German settlement. He wished me to speak, and I spoke upon the first principles of the gospel. He followed me, and spoke until he was exhausted. After we returned to the inn where we were stopping, I was taken with a chill and fever, and had a very bad night. Brother Taylor was also very sick. The following day, September 2nd, was a painful day to my feelings. It was evident that Brother Taylor had a settled fever upon him, and would not be able to travel. Father Coltrin was resolved to continue his journey, and, in conversing with Brother Taylor, he thought it better for one sick man to be left than for two, as I was so sick with the chills and fever that I was not able to render him any assistance, nor, indeed, to take care of myself. Under these circumstances, Brother Taylor advised me to continue my journey with Brother Coltrin, and make the best of my way to New York. CHAPTER XXII. CONTINUE MY JOURNEY--LEAVE ELDER TAYLOR IN GERMANTOWN--ARRIVE IN CLEVELAND--TAKE STEAMER FROM THERE TO BUFFALO--DELAYED BY A STORM--GO TO FARMINGTON, MY FATHER'S HOME--DEATH OF MY GRANDMOTHER--MY UNCLE DIES--I PREACH HIS FUNERAL SERMON--ARRIVE IN NEW YORK--SAIL FOR LIVERPOOL--ENCOUNTER STORMS AND ROUGH WEATHER--ARRIVE IN LIVERPOOL. After committing Elder Taylor into the hands of the Lord, though painful to me, I gave him the parting hand, and started. I left him in Germantown, Wayne County, Indiana, in the hands of a merciful God and a kind and benevolent family, who promised to do everything in their power to make him comfortable until his recovery. This they did, though he passed through a severe course of the bilious fever, and was sick nigh unto death. Through the mercy of God, however, he recovered from his sickness, and continued his journey. We next met in the city of New York. I continued my journey with Father Coltrin, and we reached Cleveland on the 18th of September. We there took steamer for Buffalo, but were three days and a night in a storm before we made the harbor. We landed at midnight, and in doing so we ran into a schooner, and stove it in. From Buffalo I traveled to Albany in a canal boat, and had a stroke of the ague daily. While on my journey, at Albany, I took a stage in the night, and rode to my father's home in Farmington, on the 21st of September. I was glad to meet with my father's family and the other members of the small branch of the Church which existed there upon this occasion, as I found them all strong in the faith of the gospel, and glad to meet with me. I was still suffering with the ague daily. On the 27th of September, my grandmother (on my mother's side), Anna Thompson, died at Avon. She was eighty-four years of age. It was a singular coincidence that she, with her husband, Lot Thompson, also Mercy Thompson and Samuel Thompson, all of one family, died when they were eighty-four years of age. I was not able to attend my grandmother's funeral. On the 4th of October, 1839, my uncle, Adna Hart, died, aged forty-three years. I had visited him in his sickness, and preached the gospel to him, and he was believing. I had also been associated with him from my youth up. On his death-bed he sent me a request that I would preach his funeral sermon. I was having the chills and fever daily at the time, attended with a very severe cough, so much so, that my father thought that I would never leave his home alive. But when they brought me the request of my dying uncle, and the day came for his burial, I told my father to get his horse and buggy ready, for I was going to attend the funeral. He thought I was very reckless in regard to my own life, as I had suffered with the chills and fever some fifteen days, and to attempt to speak in my weak state, and to begin at the same hour that my chill was to come on, seemed to him foolhardy. My parents were quite alarmed, yet according to my request my father got up his team, and I rode with him and my step-mother five miles, through a cold, chilly wind, and I commenced speaking to a large congregation, at the same hour that my chill had been in the habit of coming on. I spoke over an hour with great freedom, and my chill left me from that hour, and I had no more attacks for many days. On the Monday following, October 17th, I felt sufficiently restored to health to continue my journey. I took leave of my father and sister, and left for New York, where I arrived on the morning of the 8th of November. I spent two months and seven days after my arrival in New York, in traveling and preaching in that city, New Jersey and Long Island, a portion of the time with Parley and Orson Pratt. I had frequent attacks during this time of the chills and fever, but I preached almost daily. On the 13th of December I attended our conference in New York City, with Parley P. Pratt, and on this day Elder John Taylor arrived in our midst, and it was a happy meeting. He had passed through a severe siege of sickness after we parted, but through the mercy of God had been preserved, and was able to continue his journey. He also informed us that others of the quorum of the Twelve had suffered a great deal of sickness, and that it was with difficulty that they could travel. After spending six days in New York, Elder John Taylor, in company with Elder Theodore Turley and myself sailed out of New York Harbor for Liverpool, on board the packet ship _Oxford_, on the 19th of December, 1839. We took the steerage passage, which cost fifteen dollars each. We had storms and rough weather, but most of the winds were favorable for a quick passage. While on the ship a Methodist minister got into a discussion with some Catholics who were in the company, and the arguments of the minister ran rather more into abuse than sound argument. Elder Taylor told the Methodist minister that he did not think it was becoming in a daughter to find so much fault with the mother as they did, for as the Methodists came out of the Catholics, Elder Taylor thought the mother had as much right to enjoy her religion unmolested as the daughter had. That ended the argument. Our company consisted of 109 souls, composed of Americans, English, Scotch, Irish, Welsh and Dutch. We arrived in Liverpool dock on the 11th day of January, 1840, having made the voyage from New York in twenty-three days. CHAPTER XXIII. OUR FIRST VISIT TO PRESTON--OUR FIRST COUNCIL IN ENGLAND, IN 1840--WE TAKE DIFFERENT FIELDS OF LABOR--A WOMAN POSSESSED OF THE DEVIL--ATTEMPT TO CAST IT OUT AND FAIL--TURN OUT THE UNBELIEVERS, AND THEN SUCCEED--THE EVIL SPIRIT ENTERS HER CHILD--COMMENCE BAPTIZING--THE LORD MAKES KNOWN HIS WILL TO ME. On January 13th, 1840, after visiting Mr. George Cannon, the father of President George Q. Cannon, and his family, we took cars in the evening, and arrived in the midst of the Preston branch of the Saints, built up in 1837, by Elders Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde and Willard Richards. We very soon had a pleasant interview with Elder Willard Richards, who had remained in Preston to take care of the Church, while the rest had returned home to America. We spent three days at Preston in visiting the Saints, and on the 17th we held a council at Elder Richards' home in that place. After consulting upon the best course for us to pursue, it was finally resolved that Elder John Taylor and Joseph Fielding go to Liverpool, Elder Woodruff to Staffordshire Potteries, Theodore Turley to Birmingham, Elder Richards wherever the Spirit might direct him, and that Wm. Clayton preside over the branch in Manchester. After various principles of the Church had been expounded by the Apostles present, the council adjourned. Elder Willard Richards had been called to be one of the quorum of the Twelve Apostles, but had not yet received his ordination. On the day following I parted with Elders Taylor and Fielding, who went to Liverpool, and with Elder Richards, who tarried in Preston. Elder Turley and I went to Manchester. It was the first time I ever visited that city. I here first met with Elder Wm. Clayton. As soon as I had an introduction to him, he informed me that one of the sisters in that place was possessed of the devil, and he asked me to go and cast it out of her, thinking that one of the Twelve Apostles could do anything in this line he might wish to. However, I went with him to the house where the woman lay, in the hands of three men, in a terrible rage, and trying to tear her clothing from her. I also found quite a number of Saints present, and some unbelievers, who had come to see the devil cast out and a miracle wrought. If I had acted upon my own judgment I should not have attempted to administer to her with the company present, but as I was a stranger there, and Brother Clayton presided over the branch, I joined him in administering to the woman. But the unbelief of the wicked present was so great, we could not cast the devil out of her, and she raged worse than ever. I then ordered the room to be cleared, and when the company left the house, except the few attending to her, we laid hands upon her, and I commanded the devil to come out of her, in the name of Jesus Christ. The devil left her, and she was entirely cured and fell asleep. The next day being the Sabbath, she came before a large congregation of people, and bore testimony to what the Lord had done for her. We had a large assemblage through the day and evening, to whom I preached the gospel. On Monday morning, the devil, not being satisfied with being cast out of the woman, entered into her little child, which was but a few months old. I was called upon to visit the child. I found it in great distress, writhing in its mother's arms. We laid hands upon it and cast the devil out of it, and the evil spirits had no power over the household afterwards. This was done by the power of God, and not of man. We laid hands upon twenty in Manchester who were sick, and they were mostly healed. On the 21st, I arrived in Burslem by coach, and met, for the first time, with Elder Alfred Cordon. This being my field of labor, I stopped and commenced work. Elder Turley stopped in the pottery district some eight days, then went to Birmingham, his field of labor. I received a letter on the 10th of February, from Elder John Taylor, who was at Liverpool, saying they had commenced there and baptized ten persons. I labored in the Staffordshire Potteries, in Burslem, Hanley, Stoke, Lane End, and several other villages, from the 22nd of January until the 2nd of March, preaching every night in the week and two or three times on the Sabbath. I baptized, confirmed and blessed many, and we had a good field open for labor. Many were believing, and it appeared as though we had a door open to bring many into the Church in that part of the vineyard. March 1st, 1840, was my birthday, when I was thirty-three years of age. It being Sunday, I preached twice through the day to a large assembly in the City Hall, in the town of Hanley, and administered the sacrament unto the Saints. In the evening I again met with a large assembly of the Saints and strangers, and while singing the first hymn the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and the voice of God said to me, "This is the last meeting that you will hold with this people for many days." I was astonished at this, as I had many appointments out in that district. When I arose to speak to the people, I told them that it was the last meeting I should hold with them for many days. They were as much astonished as I was. At the close of the meeting four persons came forward for baptism, and we went down into the water and baptized them. In the morning I went in secret before the Lord, and asked Him what His will was concerning me. The answer I got was, that I should go to the south, for the Lord had a great work for me to perform there, as many souls were waiting for the word of the Lord. CHAPTER XXIV. MY JOURNEY TO HEREFORDSHIRE--INTERVIEW WITH JOHN BENBOW--THE WORD OF THE LORD FULFILLED TO ME--THE GREATEST GATHERING INTO THE CHURCH KNOWN AMONG THE GENTILES SINCE THE ORGANIZATION OF THE CHURCH IN THIS DISPENSATION--A CONSTABLE SENT TO ARREST ME--I CONVERT AND BAPTIZE HIM--TWO CLERKS SENT AS DETECTIVES HEAR ME PREACH, AND BOTH EMBRACE THE TRUTH--RECTORS PETITION TO HAVE OUR PREACHING PROHIBITED--THE ARCHBISHOP'S REPLY--BOOK OF MORMON AND HYMN BOOK PRINTED--CASE OF HEALING. On the 3rd of March, 1840, in fulfillment of the word of the Lord to me, I took coach and rode to Wolverhampton, twenty-six miles, and spent the night there. On the morning of the 4th I again took coach, and rode through Dudley, Stourbridge, Stourport and Worcester, and then walked a number of miles to Mr. John Benbow's, Hill Farm, Castle Frome, Ledbury, Herefordshire. This was a farming country in the south of England, a region where no Elder of the Latter-day Saints had visited. I found Mr. Benbow to be a wealthy farmer, cultivating three hundred acres of land, occupying a good mansion, and having plenty of means. His wife, Jane, had no children. I presented myself to him as a missionary from America, an Elder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, who had been sent to him by the commandment of God as a messenger of salvation, to preach the gospel of life unto him and his household, and the inhabitants of the land. Mr. Benbow and his wife received me with glad hearts and thanksgiving. It was in the evening when I arrived, having traveled forty-eight miles by coach and on foot during the day, but after receiving refreshments we sat down together, and conversed until two o'clock in the morning. Mr. Benbow and his wife rejoiced greatly at the glad tidings which I brought unto them of the fullness of the everlasting Gospel, which God had revealed through the mouth of His Prophet, Joseph Smith, in these last days. I rejoiced greatly at the news that Mr. Benbow gave me, that there was a company of men and women--over six hundred in number--who had broken off from the Wesleyan Methodists, and taken the name of United Brethren. They had forty-five preachers among them, and had chapels and many houses that were licensed according to the law of the land for preaching in. This body of United Brethren were searching for light and truth, but had gone as far as they could, and were continually calling upon the Lord to open the way before them, and send them light and knowledge that they might know the true way to be saved. When I heard these things I could clearly see why the Lord had commanded me, while in the town of Hanley, to leave that place of labor and go to the south, for in Herefordshire there was a great harvest-field for gathering many Saints into the kingdom of God. I retired to my bed with joy after offering my prayers and thanksgiving to God, and slept sweetly until the rising of the sun. I arose on the morning of the 5th, took breakfast, and told Mr. Benbow I would like to commence my Master's business, by preaching the gospel to the people. He had a large hall in his mansion which was licensed for preaching, and he sent word through the neighborhood that an American missionary would preach at his house that evening. As the time drew nigh many of the neighbors came in, and I preached my first gospel sermon in the house. I also preached on the following evening at the same place, and baptized six persons, including Mr. John Benbow and his wife, and four preachers of the United Brethren. I spent most of the following day in clearing out a pool of water, and preparing it for baptizing in, as I saw many to be baptized there. I afterwards baptized six hundred in that pool of water. On Sunday, the 8th, I preached at Frome's Hill in the morning, at Standley Hill in the afternoon, and at John Benbow's, Hill Farm, in the evening. The parish church that stood in the neighborhood of Brother Benbow's, presided over by the rector of the parish, was attended during the day by only fifteen persons, while I had a large congregation, estimated to number a thousand, attend my meeting through the day and evening. When I arose in the evening to speak at Brother Benbow's house, a man entered the door and informed me that he was a constable, and had been sent by the rector of the parish with a warrant to arrest me. I asked him "For what crime?" He said, "For preaching to the people." I told him that I, as well as the rector, had a license for preaching the gospel to the people, and that if he would take a chair I would wait upon him after meeting. He took my chair and sat beside me. I preached the first principles of the everlasting gospel for an hour and a quarter. The power of God rested upon me, the Spirit filled the house, and the people were convinced. At the close of the meeting I opened a door for baptism, and seven offered themselves. Among the number were four preachers and the constable. The latter arose and said, "Mr. Woodruff, I would like to be baptized." I told him I would like to baptize him. I went down to the pool and baptized the seven. We then met together and I confirmed thirteen, and broke bread unto the Saints and we all rejoiced together. The constable went to the rector and told him if he wanted Mr. Woodruff taken up for preaching the gospel, he must go himself and serve the writ, for he had heard him preach the only true gospel sermon he had ever listened to in his life. The rector did not know what to make of it, so he sent two clerks of the Church of England as spies, to attend our meeting, and find out what we did preach. But they were both pricked in their hearts and received the word of the Lord gladly, and were baptized and confirmed members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The rector became alarmed and did not dare to send anybody else. The ministers and rectors of the South of England called a convention and sent a petition to the Archbishop of Canterbury, to request Parliament to pass a law prohibiting the "Mormons" from preaching in the British dominion. In this petition the rector stated that one "Mormon" missionary had baptized fifteen hundred persons, mostly members of the English church, during the last seven months. But the archbishop and council, knowing well that the laws of England gave free toleration to all religions under the British flag, sent word to the petitioners that if they had the worth of souls at heart as much as they had the ground where hares, foxes and hounds ran, they would not lose so many of their flock. I continued to preach and baptize daily. On the 21st day of March I baptized Elder Thomas Kingston. He was the superintendent of both preachers and members of the United Brethren. The first thirty days after my arrival in Herefordshire, I had baptized forty-five preachers and one hundred and sixty members of the United Brethren, who put into my hands one chapel and forty-five houses, which were licensed according to law to preach in. This opened a wide field of labor, and enabled me to bring into the Church, through the blessing of God, over eight hundred souls during eight months, including all of the six hundred United Brethren except one person; also including some two hundred preachers of various denominations. This field of labor embraced Herefordshire, Gloucestershire and Worcestershire, and formed the conferences of Garway, Godfield Elm and Frome's Hill. I was visited by President Young and Dr. Richards. Brother Benbow furnished us with £300 to print the first Book of Mormon that was published in England: and on the 20th of May, 1840, Brigham Young, Willard Richards and I held a council on the top of Malvern Hill, and there decided that Brigham Young go direct to Manchester and publish 3,000 copies of the Hymn Book and 3,000 copies of the Book of Mormon, this being the first publication of these books in England. The power of God rested upon us and upon the mission. The sick were healed, devils were cast out, and the lame were made to walk. One case I will mention: Mary Pitt, who died in Nauvoo, sister of Wm. Pitt, who died in Salt Lake City, had not walked upon her feet for eleven years. We carried her into the water and I baptized her. On the evening of the 18th of May, 1840, at Brother Kingston's house in Dymock, Elders Brigham Young, Willard Richards and I laid hands upon her head and confirmed her. Brigham Young, being mouth, rebuked her lameness, and commanded her to arise and walk, in the name of the Lord. The lameness then left her, and she never afterwards used a staff or crutch. She walked through the town of Dymock next day, which created a stir among the people; but the wicked did not feel to give God the glory. The whole history of this Herefordshire mission shows the importance of listening to the still small voice of the Spirit of God and the revelations of the Holy Ghost. The Lord had a people there prepared for the gospel. They were praying for light and truth, and the Lord sent me to them, and I declared the gospel of life and salvation unto them, and some eighteen hundred souls received it, and many of them have been gathered to Zion in these mountains. Many of them have also been called to officiate in the bishopric, and have done much good in Zion. But in all these things we should ever acknowledge the hand of God, and give Him the honor, praise and glory, forever and ever. Amen. CHAPTER XXV. CLOSING TESTIMONY--GOOD AND EVIL SPIRITS Before closing this little book, as a reader for our children, I wish to bear my testimony upon several principles, to the Latter-day Saints, especially to the rising generation, the young men of Israel. First, I wish to speak of the spirits of good and evil. The Lord says, whatever leads to good is of God, and whatever leads to do evil is of the devil. This is a very important subject for us to understand. The scriptures again tell us that there are many spirits gone out into the world; and that we should try the spirits, to prove which are of God and which are of the evil one. The New Testament says that every spirit that confesses that Jesus is the Christ, is born of God; and every spirit that denieth that Jesus is the Christ is anti-Christ, and is not of God. I will also add that every spirit that confesses that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God, and that the _Book of Mormon_, _Bible_ and _Doctrine and Covenants_ are true, is of God; and every spirit that denieth this is not of God, but is of the evil one. I wish here to ask our young friends as well as the older ones, the question: Do you ever consider or contemplate anything about the number of evil spirits that occupy the earth, who are at war against God and against all good, and who seek to destroy all the children of men in every age of the world? Let us reason together a moment upon this subject. It may be impossible for any man, without direct revelation from God, to get to know the exact number, but we may approximate towards it. The Lord has said by revelation that Lucifer, an angel in authority, rebelled against God, and drew away one-third part of the hosts of heaven; and he was cast down to the earth and the heavens wept over him. How many were cast out of heaven down to the earth? We suppose that the inhabitants of heaven here referred to were the spirits begotten of our Father in heaven who were to come dawn to the earth and take tabernacles. How many were there to come down and take tabernacles? This, again, may be difficult to tell, yet perhaps we may come near enough for the purpose. It has generally been conceded that there are about 1,000,000,000 persons on the earth at a time, though the late statistics make out 1,400,000,000 at the present time. But we will say 1,000,000,000. It is also said that a generation passes off the earth every thirty-three and one-third years, making three generations in a century, which would be 3,000,000,000 in one hundred years. Multiply this by ten and it will make 30,000,000,000 in 1,000 years. Multiply again by seven and it will make 210,000,000,000 in 7,000 years. The argument might be used that when our earth was first peopled there were but two persons on the earth, and after the flood but eight souls were left alive, but the probability is that during the millennium the inhabitants will increase very fast as the age of children will be as the age of a tree, and the inhabitants of the earth will not die off as they do now. But we will suppose that there were 100,000,000,000 of fallen spirits sent down from heaven to earth, and that there are, 1,000,000,000 of inhabitants upon the face of the earth to-day, that would make one hundred evil spirits to every man, woman and child living on the earth; and the whole mission and labor of these spirits is to lead all the children of men to do evil and to effect their destruction. Now, I want all our boys and girls to reflect upon this, and to see what danger they are in, and the warfare they have to pass through. These one hundred evil spirits to each one of the children of men seek to lead them into every temptation possible, to use tobacco, smoke, drink whisky, get drunk, curse, swear, lie, steal, and commit adultery and murder, and do every evil to cut them off from exaltation as far as possible. On the other hand, the Spirit of God labors and strives to preserve all the children of men from these evils; and the Lord has given His angels charge concerning us, and they do all they can for our salvation. But yet we all have our agency, to choose the good and refuse the evil, or choose the evil and refuse the good. The Lord forces no man to heaven; neither does the Lord tempt any man to do evil. When a man is tempted to do evil, it is by the power of the devil, who is an enemy to all righteousness. I feel very anxious to have our boys and girls, our young men and maidens, seek for that which is good. Whenever you are tempted to do evil, turn from it. Never make light of any of the commandments or ordinances of the gospel of Christ, and when you meet with any persons who do it, shun their society. Avoid the use of tobacco and strong drink, for they lead to evil. You are laying the foundation while in the days of your youth, for a character which will decide your destiny through all time and throughout all eternity, either for good or evil. The Lord has told us by revelation (See _Doc. and Cov. Sec._ 130) that whatever knowledge or principle of intelligence we attain to in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection, and any person who gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, will have so much the advantage in the world to come. Therefore, we should all strive to be diligent in obtaining intelligence, and bringing to pass righteousness upon our agency, and not wait to be commanded in all things, and great will be our reward in so doing. CHAPTER XXVI. HOW TO OBTAIN REVELATION FROM GOD--JOSEPH SMITH'S COURSE--SAVED FROM DEATH BY A FALLING TREE, BY OBEYING THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT--A COMPANY OF SAINTS SAVED FROM A STEAMBOAT DISASTER BY THE SPIRIT'S WARNING--PLOT TO WAYLAY ELDER C. C. RICH AND PARTY FOILED BY THE SAME POWER. In order to obtain revelation from God, and in order to know, when we do obtain revelation, whether it is from God or not, we must follow the teachings of the revelations of God unto us. St. James says: "If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him." Again, it is said, "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." It was upon this promise that Joseph Smith went before the Lord and prayed in the name of Jesus Christ, and asked for knowledge, wisdom and understanding, in order to know what to do to be saved; and he proved the promise of St. James before the Lord, and the heavens were opened to his view, and the Father and Son were revealed unto him, and the voice of the great Eloheim unto him was: "This is my beloved Son, hear ye Him." This was the first revelation of God to him. He did hearken to the voice of Jesus Christ all his life afterwards, and received a code of revelations and the word of the Lord unto him as long as he dwelt in the flesh. Joseph Smith left as strong a testimony as was ever given to the human family, and sealed that testament with his own life and blood. We all have to pursue the very same course in order to obtain revelations from God. But I wish to impress this truth upon the rising generation and all who read this testimony, that the Lord does not give revelations or send angels to men or work miracles to accommodate the notions of any man who is seeking for a sign. When we have the principles of the gospel revealed to us through the mouth of the Savior, or by inspired prophets or apostles, we have no need to ask the Lord to reveal that unto us again. While the priesthood is restored to the earth, and the revelations of God are revealed to us through the mouths of prophets and apostles concerning the fullness of the gospel--doctrine, ordinances and principles, we should study them, and treasure up knowledge by faith. We should study out of the best books, and the Holy Ghost will bring to our remembrance those things which we stand in need of, in the self-same hour that we are called to teach the people. But when any priest, elder, prophet, apostle, or messenger is sent of God to preach the gospel, gather the Saints, work in temples or perform any work for the Lord, and that man is faithful and humble before the Lord, in his prayers and duty, and there is any snare or evil in his path, or the righteous to be sought out, or danger to the emigration of the Saints either by sea or land, or knowledge needed in a temple, then the Lord will reveal to him all that is necessary to meet the emergency. The teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith to President John Taylor and the rest of us was to obtain the Holy Spirit, get acquainted with it and its operations, and listen to the whisperings of that Spirit and obey its voice, and it soon will become a principle of revelation unto us. We have found this true in our experience, and in order to prove whether a revelation is from God or not we follow out the principles revealed to us, and if we find that which was manifested to us proves true, we know it is from God; for truth is one of His attributes, and the Holy Ghost deceiveth no man. When a man becomes acquainted with the whisperings of the Holy Ghost, which is revelation, he should be very careful to obey it, for his life may depend upon it. Revelation is one of the gifts of the Holy Ghost, and for the benefit of my young friends who may read this work, I will give an account of a few instances from my own experience of listening to the revelations of the Holy Ghost to me. In 1848, after my return to Winter Quarters from our pioneer journey, I was appointed by the Presidency of the Church to take my family and go to Boston, to gather up the remnant of the Latter-day Saints and lead them to the valleys of the mountains. While on my way east I put my carriage into the yard of one of the brethren in Indiana, and Brother Orson Hyde set his wagon by the side of mine, and not more than two feet from it. Dominicus Carter, of Provo, and my wife and four children were with me. My wife, one child and I went to bed in the carriage, the rest sleeping in the house. I had been in bed but a short time when a voice said to me: "Get up, and move your carriage." It was not thunder, lightning or an earthquake, but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God--the Holy Ghost. I told my wife I must get up and move my carriage. She asked: "What for?" I told her I did not know, only the Spirit told me to do it. I got up and moved my carriage several rods, and set it by the side of the house. As I was returning to bed, the same Spirit said to me, "Go and move your mules away from that oak tree," which was about one hundred yards north of our carriage. I moved them to a young hickory grove and tied them up. I then went to bed. In thirty minutes a whirlwind caught the tree to which my mules had been fastened, broke it off near the ground and carried it one hundred yards, sweeping away two fences in its course, and laid it prostrate through that yard where my carriage stood, and the top limbs hit my carriage as it was. In the morning I measured the trunk of the tree which fell where my carriage had stood, and I found it to be five feet in circumference. It came within a foot of Brother Hyde's wagon, but did not touch it. Thus by obeying the revelation of the Spirit of God to me I saved my life and the lives of my wife and child, as well as my animals. In the morning I went on my way rejoicing. While returning to Utah in 1850 with a large company of Saints from Boston and the east, on my arrival at Pittsburg I engaged a passage for myself and company on a steamer to St. Louis. But no sooner had I engaged the passage than the Spirit said to me, "Go not on board of that steamer, neither you nor your company." I obeyed the revelation to me, and I did not go on board, but took another steamer. The first steamer started at dark, with two hundred passengers on board. When five miles down the Ohio river it took fire and burned the tiller ropes, so that the vessel could not reach the shore, and the lives of nearly all on board were lost either by fire or water. We arrived in safety at our destination, by obeying the revelation of the Spirit of God to us. In another instance, after attending a large annual conference in Salt Lake City, and, having a good deal of business to attend to, I was somewhat weary, and at the close of the conference I thought I would repair to my home and have a rest. As I went into the yard the Spirit said to me, "Take your team and go to the farm," which is some three miles south of the Tabernacle. As I was hitching the horse to the wagon Mrs. Woodruff asked where I was going. I said, "To the farm." "What for?" she asked. "I do not know," I replied; but when I arrived there I found out. The creek had overflowed, broken through my ditch, surrounded my home and filled my barn-yard and pig pen. My wife was wading in the water, trying to turn it from the lot to save the home and family. Through my own exertions I soon turned it, and prevented much damage that might have occurred had I not obeyed the voice of the Spirit. This same Spirit of revelation has been manifested to many of my brethren in their labors in the kingdom of God, one of which I will here name. Elder Chas. C. Rich was going from Sacramento to San Bernardino with a company of brethren. He had in his possession a large amount of money to make payment on their land purchase. This was known to some road agents in the vicinity, who gathered a company of robbers and went on ahead of Brother Rich and lay in ambush, intending to kill the "Mormons" and rob them of their money. Before reaching the company of robbers Brother Rich came to a by-path or trail. The Spirit then told him to take that path. The brethren with him marveled at his course, not knowing that enemies awaited them, but they arrived in safety at San Bernardino with their lives and their money, while the robbers wondered why their prey did not come. CHAPTER XXVII. RESULT OF NOT OBEYING THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT--LOST IN A SNOWSTORM--SAVED IN ANSWER TO PRAYER--REVELATION TO MISSIONARIES NECESSARY--REVELATIONS IN THE ST. GEORGE TEMPLE. I will now give an example from my own experience of the result of not obeying the voice of the Spirit. Some years since I had part of my family living in Randolph, Rich County. I was there on a visit, with my team in the month of December. One Monday morning my monitor, the Spirit watching over me, said: "Take your team and go home to Salt Lake City." When I named it to my family who were at Randolph they urged me strongly to stop longer. Through their persuasion I stayed until Saturday morning, with the Spirit continually prompting me to go home. I then began to feel ashamed to think that I had not obeyed the whisperings of the Spirit to me before. I took my team and started early on Saturday morning. When I arrived at Woodruff, the Bishop urged me to stop until Monday and he would go with me. I told him, "No, I had tarried too long already." I drove on sprightly, and when within fifteen miles of Wasatch, a furious snow storm overtook me, the wind blowing heavily in my face. In fifteen minutes I could not see any road whatever, and knew not how or where to guide my horses. I left my lines loosely on my animals, went inside my wagon, tied down the cover, and committed my life and guidance into the hands of the Lord, trusting to my horses to find the way, as they had twice before passed over that road. I prayed to the Lord to forgive my sin in not obeying the voice of the Spirit to me, and implored Him to preserve my life. My horses brought me into the Wasatch station at 9 o'clock in the evening, with the hubs of my wagon dragging in the snow. I got my horses under cover and had to remain there until next Monday night, with the snow six feet deep on the level, and still snowing. It was with great difficulty at last that I saved the lives of my horses by getting them into a box car and taking them to Ogden; while, if I had obeyed the revelation of the Spirit of God to me, I should have traveled to Salt Lake City over a good road without any storm. As I have received the good and the evil, the fruits of obedience and disobedience, I think I am justified in exhorting all my young friends to always obey the whisperings of the Spirit of God, and they will always be safe. The Spirit of God will rule over and guide all men who will permit it and seek for it, and this is especially necessary for young Elders who are laboring in the vineyard of the Lord. For the Lord knows where the righteous, honest and meek of the earth are, and will lead the Elders to them. I have already related a remarkable instance of this in my own experience, when the voice of the Lord came to me in the town of Hanley, England, in 1840. In that case it dictated me quite contrary to my expectations, for I had appointments out for a week ahead. But I obeyed the voice of the Spirit, went south as I was directed to, and my readers know the result. I will refer to one more instance in my experience upon the subject of revelation: All the Latter-day Saints understand that we build temples for the purpose of administering ordinances for the dead as well as for the living. The Lord has opened the way in a remarkable manner for many of the members of the Church to obtain records of the names of their dead for several generations. I had also obtained a record of somewhat over three thousand of my father and mother's families. After the dedication of the temple at St. George, President Young appointed me to preside over it. When we commenced work in the temple I began to reflect: "How can I redeem my dead? I have some three thousand names of the dead who have been baptized for, and how can I get endowments for them?" I had none of my family there, and if any had been there they would not have been able to get endowments for so many. While praying to the Lord to show me how to redeem my dead, the Spirit of God rested upon me, and the voice of the Spirit said to me, "Go and call upon the sons and daughters of Zion in St. George, to come into the temple of the Lord and get endowments for your dead; and it shall be acceptable unto me, saith the Lord." This filled my soul with joy, and I saw that it opened a field as wide as eternity for the salvation of our dead and the redemption of man, that we might magnify our calling as saviors upon Mount Zion. On my birthday, March 1, 1877, the day that I was seventy years old, one hundred and fifty-four sisters at St. George went into the temple to get endowments for the same number of the female portion of my dead. This principle was received by President Young and adopted from that hour, and through the kindness of friends I have had nearly two thousand of my friends receive endowments in the temple of the Lord; and thousands of others have received the same blessings in the same way. President Young received revelations in the temple, and there are yet many revelations to be received in the last days, concerning the redemption of the dead and many other subjects, but they will all be manifest in due time through the proper authority unto the Church and Kingdom of God. There are many other manifestations of the power of God and the revelations of Jesus Christ to us in our lives. We have been called by revelation to give endowments for many persons now dead, who, when living, were honorable men of the earth, and some who were prominent in our nation, but who were not members of our family. But I have said sufficient upon this branch of the subject. CHAPTER XXVIII. PATRIARCHAL BLESSINGS AND THEIR FULFILLMENT--PREDICTIONS IN MY OWN BLESSING--GOLD-DUST FROM CALIFORNIA--TAUGHT BY AN ANGEL--STRUGGLE WITH EVIL SPIRITS--ADMINISTERED TO BY ANGELS--WHAT ANGELS ARE SENT TO THE EARTH FOR. The duty of a Patriarch is to bestow blessings upon his posterity and the children of men. In a revelation (_Doc. and Cov_., sec. 107) the Lord says that "Three years previous to the death of Adam, he called Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, Jared, Enoch and Methuselah, who were all High Priests, with the residue of his posterity who were righteous into the valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman, and there bestowed upon them his last blessings. * * And Adam * * predicted whatsoever should befall his posterity unto the last generation. These things are all written in the book of Enoch, and are to be testified of in due time." Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were patriarchs, and blessed their posterity. All that Jacob said and sealed upon the heads of his twelve sons has been fulfilled to the very letter, so far as time has permitted. We also have patriarchs in our day. Father Joseph Smith, the father of the Prophet Joseph Smith, was the first Patriarch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He gave a great many blessings unto the Saints, which are recorded, and many of them have seen their fulfillment. When he put his hands on the head of a person to bless him, it seemed as though the heavens were opened, and he could reveal the whole life of that person. He gave me my patriarchal blessing in the Temple of the Lord at Kirtland, on the 15th day of April, 1837. Many marvelous things which he sealed upon my head, for which I could then see no earthly chance of fulfillment, have already been fulfilled to the very letter. One or two instances I will name. He said I should have access to the treasures hid in the ground to assist me in getting myself and others to Zion. When in Cambridgeport gathering up the Saints, in 1850, Alexander Badlam went to California on business, and the Saints who were digging gold filled a little sack with gold dust and sent it to me to assist me on my mission. By the sale of this treasure from California I was enabled to emigrate myself, family and a number of others to Zion in the mountains. He also said I should have power to bring my father and his family into the Church. This was fulfilled when I visited them during my mission to the Fox Islands, as previously related. My father gathered to Salt Lake City with the Saints, and he died there, aged 83 years. The Patriarch also said that I should be wrapt in the visions of heaven, and an angel of God should teach me many things. This was literally fulfilled. Again, he told me I should be delivered from my enemies (who would seek my destruction) by the mighty power of God and the administrations of angels. This was marvelously fulfilled while in the city of London in 1840. Brothers Heber C. Kimball, Geo. A. Smith and I went to London together in the winter of 1840, being the first Elders who had attempted to establish the gospel in that great and mighty city. As soon as we commenced we found the devil was manifest; the evil spirits gathered for our destruction, and at times they had great power. They would destroy all the Saints if they were not restrained by the power of God. Brother Smith and myself, were together, and had retired to our rest, each occupying a cot, and but three feet apart. We had only just lain down, when it seemed as if a legion of devils made war upon us, to destroy us, and we were struggling for our lives in the midst of this warfare of evil spirits until we were nearly choked to death. I began to pray the best that I could in the midst of this struggle and asked the Father in the name of Jesus Christ to spare our lives. While thus praying three personages entered the room, clothed in white and encircled with light. They walked to our bedside, laid hands upon our heads and we were instantly delivered; and from that time forth we were no more troubled with evil spirits while in the city of London. As soon as they administered unto us they withdrew from the room, the lights withdrew with them and darkness returned. Many other sayings of the Patriarch Joseph Smith in my blessing have been fulfilled in my experience, but I have said sufficient on this subject. All the blessings that are sealed upon our heads will be fulfilled, and many more, if we are faithful and live for them. In closing my testimony I wish to say that I do not think that the Lord ever sends an angel to the earth to visit the children of men, unless it is necessary to introduce a dispensation of the gospel, or deliver a message, or perform a work that cannot be done otherwise. It required an angel of God to deliver the gospel to Joseph Smith because it was not then upon the earth, and that was in fulfillment of the word of the Lord through John the Revelator (_Revelations xiv_. 6). And so in regard to the administrations of angels in all ages of the world; it is to deliver a message and perform a work which cannot otherwise be accomplished. 
4195	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1968 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1667-1668 January 1st. Up, and all the morning in my chamber making up some accounts against this beginning of the new year, and so about noon abroad with my wife, who was to dine with W. Hewer and Willet at Mrs. Pierces, but I had no mind to be with them, for I do clearly find that my wife is troubled at my friendship with her and Knepp, and so dined with my Lord Crew, with whom was Mr. Browne, Clerk of the House of Lords, and Mr. John Crew. Here was mighty good discourse, as there is always: and among other things my Lord Crew did turn to a place in the Life of Sir Philip Sidney, wrote by Sir Fulke Greville, which do foretell the present condition of this nation, in relation to the Dutch, to the very degree of a prophecy; and is so remarkable that I am resolved to buy one of them, it being, quite throughout, a good discourse. Here they did talk much of the present cheapness of corne, even to a miracle; so as their farmers can pay no rent, but do fling up their lands; and would pay in corne: but, which I did observe to my Lord, and he liked well of it, our gentry are grown so ignorant in every thing of good husbandry, that they know not how to bestow this corne: which, did they understand but a little trade, they would be able to joyne together, and know what markets there are abroad, and send it thither, and thereby ease their tenants and be able to pay themselves. They did talk much of the disgrace the Archbishop is fallen under with the King, and the rest of the Bishops also. Thence I after dinner to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Sir Martin Mar-all;" which I have seen so often, and yet am mightily pleased with it, and think it mighty witty, and the fullest of proper matter for mirth that ever was writ; and I do clearly see that they do improve in their acting of it. Here a mighty company of citizens, 'prentices, and others; and it makes me observe, that when I begun first to be able to bestow a play on myself, I do not remember that I saw so many by half of the ordinary 'prentices and mean people in the pit at 2s. 6d. a-piece as now; I going for several years no higher than the 12d. and then the 18d. places, though, I strained hard to go in then when I did: so much the vanity and prodigality of the age is to be observed in this particular. Thence I to White Hall, and there walked up and down the house a while, and do hear nothing of anything done further in this business of the change of Privy-counsellors: only I hear that Sir G. Savile, one of the Parliament Committee of nine, for examining the Accounts, is by the King made a Lord, the Lord Halifax; which, I believe, will displease the Parliament. By and by I met with Mr. Brisband; and having it in my mind this Christmas to (do what I never can remember that I did) go to see the manner of the gaming at the Groome-Porter's, I having in my coming from the playhouse stepped into the two Temple-halls, and there saw the dirty 'prentices and idle people playing; wherein I was mistaken, in thinking to have seen gentlemen of quality playing there, as I think it was when I was a little child, that one of my father's servants, John Bassum, I think, carried me in his arms thither. I did tell Brisband of it, and he did lead me thither, where, after staying an hour, they begun to play at about eight at night, where to see how differently one man took his losing from another, one cursing and swearing, and another only muttering and grumbling to himself, a third without any apparent discontent at all: to see how the dice will run good luck in one hand, for half an hour together, and another have no good luck at all: to see how easily here, where they play nothing but guinnys, a L100 is won or lost: to see two or three gentlemen come in there drunk, and putting their stock of gold together, one 22 pieces, the second 4, and the third 5 pieces; and these to play one with another, and forget how much each of them brought, but he that brought the 22 thinks that he brought no more than the rest: to see the different humours of gamesters to change their luck, when it is bad, how ceremonious they are as to call for new dice, to shift their places, to alter their manner of throwing, and that with great industry, as if there was anything in it: to see how some old gamesters, that have no money now to spend as formerly, do come and sit and look on, as among others, Sir Lewis Dives, who was here, and hath been a great gamester in his time: to hear their cursing and damning to no purpose, as one man being to throw a seven if he could, and, failing to do it after a great many throws, cried he would be damned if ever he flung seven more while he lived, his despair of throwing it being so great, while others did it as their luck served almost every throw: to see how persons of the best quality do here sit down, and play with people of any, though meaner; and to see how people in ordinary clothes shall come hither, and play away 100, or 2 or 300 guinnys, without any kind of difficulty: and lastly, to see the formality of the groome-porter, who is their judge of all disputes in play and all quarrels that may arise therein, and how his under-officers are there to observe true play at each table, and to give new dice, is a consideration I never could have thought had been in the world, had I not now seen it. And mighty glad I am that I did see it, and it may be will find another evening, before Christmas be over, to see it again, when I may stay later, for their heat of play begins not till about eleven or twelve o'clock; which did give me another pretty observation of a man, that did win mighty fast when I was there. I think he won L100 at single pieces in a little time. While all the rest envied him his good fortune, he cursed it, saying, "A pox on it, that it should come so early upon me, for this fortune two hours hence would be worth something to me, but then, God damn me, I shall have no such luck." This kind of prophane, mad entertainment they give themselves. And so I, having enough for once, refusing to venture, though Brisband pressed me hard, and tempted me with saying that no man was ever known to lose the first time, the devil being too cunning to discourage a gamester; and he offered me also to lend me ten pieces to venture; but I did refuse, and so went away, and took coach and home about 9 or to at night, where not finding my wife come home, I took the same coach again, and leaving my watch behind me for fear of robbing, I did go back and to Mrs. Pierces, thinking they might not have broken up yet, but there I find my wife newly gone, and not going out of my coach spoke only to Mr. Pierce in his nightgown in the street, and so away back again home, and there to supper with my wife and to talk about their dancing and doings at Mrs. Pierces to-day, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, and there attended the King and the Duke of York in the Duke of York's lodgings, with the rest of the Officers and many of the Commanders of the fleete, and some of our master shipwrights, to discourse the business of having the topmasts of ships made to lower abaft of the mainmast; a business I understand not, and so can give no good account; but I do see that by how much greater the Council, and the number of Counsellors is, the more confused the issue is of their councils; so that little was said to the purpose regularly, and but little use was made of it, they coming to a very broken conclusion upon it, to make trial in a ship or two. From this they fell to other talk about the fleete's fighting this late war, and how the King's ships have been shattered; though the King said that the world would not have it that about ten or twenty ships in any fight did do any service, and that this hath been told so to him himself, by ignorant people. The Prince, who was there, was mightily surprised at it, and seemed troubled: but the King told him that it was only discourse of the world. But Mr. Wren whispered me in the eare, and said that the Duke of Albemarle had put it into his Narrative for the House, that not above twenty-five ships fought in the engagement wherein he was, but that he was advised to leave it out; but this he did write from sea, I am sure, or words to that effect: and did displease many commanders, among others, Captain Batts, who the Duke of York said was a very stout man, all the world knew; and that another was brought into his ship that had been turned out of his place when he was a boatswain, not long before, for being a drunkard. This the Prince took notice of, and would have been angry, I think, but they let their discourse fall: but the Duke of York was earnest in it. And the Prince said to me, standing by me, "God damn me, if they will turn out every man that will be drunk, they must turn out all the commanders in the fleete. What is the matter if he be drunk, so when he comes to fight he do his work? At least, let him be punished for his drunkenness, and not put out of his command presently." This he spoke, very much concerned for this idle fellow, one Greene. After this the King began to tell stories of the cowardice of the Spaniards in Flanders, when he was there, at the siege of Mardike and Dunkirke; which was very pretty, though he tells them but meanly. This being done I to Westminster Hall, and there staid a little: and then home, and by the way did find with difficulty the Life of Sir Philip Sidney (the book I mentioned yesterday). And the bookseller told me that he had sold four, within this week or two, which is more than ever he sold in all his life of them; and he could not imagine what should be the reason of it: but I suppose it is from the same reason of people's observing of this part therein, touching his prophesying our present condition here in England in relation to the Dutch, which is very remarkable. So home to dinner, where Balty's wife is come to town; she come last night and lay at my house, but being weary was gone to bed before I come home, and so I saw her not before. After dinner I took my wife and her girl out to the New Exchange, and there my wife bought herself a lace for a handkercher, which I do give her, of about L3, for a new year's gift, and I did buy also a lace for a band for myself, and so home, and there to the office busy late, and so home to my chamber, where busy on some accounts, and then to supper and to bed. This day my wife shows me a locket of dyamonds worth about L40, which W. Hewer do press her to accept, and hath done for a good while, out of his gratitude for my kindness and hers to him. But I do not like that she should receive it, it not being honourable for me to do it; and so do desire her to force him to take it back again, he leaving it against her will yesterday with her. And she did this evening force him to take it back, at which she says he is troubled; but, however, it becomes me more to refuse it, than to let her accept of it. And so I am well pleased with her returning it him. It is generally believed that France is endeavouring a firmer league with us than the former, in order to his going on with his business against Spayne the next year; which I am, and so everybody else is, I think, very glad of, for all our fear is, of his invading us. This day, at White Hall, I overheard Sir W. Coventry propose to the King his ordering of some particular thing in the Wardrobe, which was of no great value; but yet, as much as it was, it was of profit to the King and saving to his purse. The King answered to it with great indifferency, as a thing that it was no great matter whether it was done or no. Sir W. Coventry answered: "I see your Majesty do not remember the old English proverb, 'He that will not stoop for a pin, will never be worth a pound.'" And so they parted, the King bidding him do as he would; which, methought, was an answer not like a King that did intend ever to do well. 3rd. At the office all the morning with Mr. Willson and my clerks, consulting again about a new contract with the Victualler of the Navy, and at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, where busy all the afternoon preparing something for the Council about Tangier this evening. So about five o'clock away with it to the Council, and there do find that the Council hath altered its times of sitting to the mornings, and so I lost my labour, and back again by coach presently round by the city wall, it being dark, and so home, and there to the office, where till midnight with Mr. Willson and my people to go through with the Victualler's contract and the considerations about the new one, and so home to supper and to bed, thinking my time very well spent. 4th. Up, and there to the office, where we sat all the morning; at noon home to dinner, where my clerks and Mr. Clerke the sollicitor with me, and dinner being done I to the office again, where all the afternoon till late busy, and then home with my mind pleased at the pleasure of despatching my business, and so to supper and to bed, my thoughts full, how to order our design of having some dancing at our house on Monday next, being Twelfth-day. It seems worth remembering that this day I did hear my Lord Anglesey at the table, speaking touching this new Act for Accounts, say that the House of Lords did pass it because it was a senseless, impracticable, ineffectual, and foolish Act; and that my Lord Ashly having shown this that it was so to the House of Lords, the Duke of Buckingham did stand up and told the Lords that they were beholden to my Lord Ashly, that having first commended them for a most grave and honourable assembly, he thought it fit for the House to pass this Act for Accounts because it was a foolish and simple Act: and it seems it was passed with but a few in the House, when it was intended to have met in a grand Committee upon it. And it seems that in itself it is not to be practiced till after this session of Parliament, by the very words of the Act, which nobody regarded, and therefore cannot come in force yet, unless the next meeting they do make a new Act for the bringing it into force sooner; which is a strange omission. But I perceive my Lord Anglesey do make a mere laughing-stock of this Act, as a thing that can do nothing considerable, for all its great noise. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready, and disappointed of a coach, it breaking a wheel just as it was coming for me, I walked as far as the Temple, it being dirty, and as I went out of my doors my cozen Anthony Joyce met me, and so walked part of the way with me, and it was to see what I would do upon what his wife a little while since did desire, which was to supply him L350 to enable him to go to build his house again. I (who in my nature am mighty unready to answer no to anything, and thereby wonder that I have suffered no more in my life by my easiness in that kind than I have) answered him that I would do it, and so I will, he offering me good security, and so it being left for me to consider the manner of doing it we parted. Taking coach as I said before at the Temple, I to Charing Cross, and there went into Unthanke's to have my shoes wiped, dirty with walking, and so to White Hall, where I visited the Vice-Chamberlain, who tells me, and so I find by others, that the business of putting out of some of the Privy-council is over, the King being at last advised to forbear it; for whereas he did design it to make room for some of the House of Commons that are against him, thereby to gratify them, it is believed that it will but so much the more fret the rest that are not provided for, and raise a new stock of enemies by them that are displeased, and so all they think is over: and it goes for a pretty saying of my Lord Anglesey's up and down the Court, that he should lately say to one of them that are the great promoters of this putting him and others out of the Council, "Well," says he, "and what are we to look for when we are outed? Will all things be set right in the nation?" The other said that he did believe that many things would be mended: "But," says my Lord, "will you and the rest of you be contented to be hanged, if you do not redeem all our misfortunes and set all right, if the power be put into your hands?" The other answered, "No, I would not undertake that:"--"Why, then," says my Lord, "I and the rest of us that you are labouring to put out, will be contented to be hanged, if we do not recover all that is past, if the King will put the power into our hands, and adhere wholly to our advice;" which saying as it was severe, so generally people have so little opinion of those that are likely to be uppermost that they do mightily commend my Lord Anglesey for this saying. From the Vice-Chamberlain up and down the house till Chapel done, and then did speak with several that I had a mind to, and so intending to go home, my Lady Carteret saw and called me out of her window, and so would have me home with her to Lincoln's Inn Fields to dinner, and there we met with my Lord Brereton, and several other strangers, to dine there; and I find him a very sober and serious, able man, and was in discourse too hard for the Bishop of Chester, who dined there; and who, above all books lately wrote, commending the matter and style of a late book, called "The Causes of the Decay of Piety," I do resolve at his great commendation to buy it. Here dined also Sir Philip Howard, a Barkeshire Howard, whom I did once hear swear publickly and loud in the matted gallery that he had not been at a wench in so long a time. He did take occasion to tell me at the table that I have got great ground in the Parliament, by my ready answers to all that was asked me there about the business of Chatham, and they would never let me be out of employment, of which I made little; but was glad to hear him, as well as others, say it. And he did say also, relating to Commissioner Pett, that he did not think that he was guilty of anything like a fault, that he was either able or concerned to amend, but only the not carrying up of the ships higher, he meant; but he said, three or four miles lower down, to Rochester Bridge, which is a strange piece of ignorance in a Member of Parliament at such a time as this, and after so many examinations in the house of this business; and did boldly declare that he did think the fault to lie in my Lord Middleton, who had the power of the place, to secure the boats that were made ready by Pett, and to do anything that he thought fit, and was much, though not altogether in the right, for Spragg, that commanded the river, ought rather to be charged with the want of the boats and the placing of them. After dinner, my Lord Brereton very gentilely went to the organ, and played a verse very handsomely. Thence after dinner away with Sir G. Carteret to White Hall, setting down my Lord Brereton at my Lord Brouncker's, and there up and down the house, and on the Queen's side, to see the ladies, and there saw the Duchesse of York, whom few pay the respect they used, I think, to her; but she bears all out, with a very great deal of greatness; that is the truth of it. And so, it growing night, I away home by coach, and there set my wife to read, and then comes Pelling, and he and I to sing a little, and then sup and so to bed. 6th. Up, leaving my wife to get her ready, and the maids to get a supper ready against night for our company; and I by coach to White Hall, and there up and down the house, and among others met with Mr. Pierce, by whom I find, as I was afeard from the folly of my wife, that he understood that he and his wife was to dine at my house to-day, whereas it was to sup; and therefore I, having done my business at court, did go home to dinner, and there find Mr. Harris, by the like mistake, come to dine with me. However, we did get a pretty dinner ready for him; and there he and I to discourse of many things, and I do find him a very excellent person, such as in my whole [acquaintances] I do not know another better qualified for converse, whether in things of his own trade, or of other kinds, a man of great understanding and observation, and very agreeable in the manner of his discourse, and civil as far as is possible. I was mightily pleased with his company; and after dinner did take coach with him, and my wife and girl, to go to a play, and to carry him thither to his own house. But I 'light by the way to return home, thinking to have spoke with Mrs. Bagwell, who I did see to-day in our entry, come from Harwich, whom I have not seen these twelve months, I think, and more, and voudrai avoir hazer alcun with her, sed she was gone, and so I took coach and away to my wife at the Duke of York's house, in the pit, and so left her; and to Mrs. Pierce, and took her and her cozen Corbet, Knepp and little James, and brought them to the Duke's house; and, the house being full, was forced to carry them to a box, which did cost me 20s., besides oranges, which troubled me, though their company did please me. Thence, after the play, stayed till Harris was undressed, there being acted "The Tempest," and so he withall, all by coach, home, where we find my house with good fires and candles ready, and our Office the like, and the two Mercers, and Betty Turner, Pendleton, and W. Batelier. And so with much pleasure we into the house, and there fell to dancing, having extraordinary Musick, two viollins, and a base viollin, and theorbo, four hands, the Duke of Buckingham's musique, the best in towne, sent me by Greeting, and there we set in to dancing. By and by to my house, to a very good supper, and mighty merry, and good musick playing; and after supper to dancing and singing till about twelve at night; and then we had a good sack posset for them, and an excellent cake, cost me near 20s., of our Jane's making, which was cut into twenty pieces, there being by this time so many of our company, by the coming in of young Goodyer and some others of our neighbours, young men that could dance, hearing of our dancing; and anon comes in Mrs. Turner, the mother, and brings with her Mrs. Hollworthy, which pleased me mightily. And so to dancing again, and singing, with extraordinary great pleasure, till about two in the morning, and then broke up; and Mrs. Pierce and her family, and Harris and Knepp by coach home, as late as it was. And they gone, I took Mrs. Turner and Hollworthy home to my house, and there gave wine and sweetmeats; but I find Mrs. Hollworthy but a mean woman, I think, for understanding, only a little conceited, and proud, and talking, but nothing extraordinary in person, or discourse, or understanding. However, I was mightily pleased with her being there, I having long longed for to know her, and they being gone, I paid the fiddlers L3 among the four, and so away to bed, weary and mightily pleased, and have the happiness to reflect upon it as I do sometimes on other things, as going to a play or the like, to be the greatest real comfort that I am to expect in the world, and that it is that that we do really labour in the hopes of; and so I do really enjoy myself, and understand that if I do not do it now I shall not hereafter, it may be, be able to pay for it, or have health to take pleasure in it, and so fill myself with vain expectation of pleasure and go without it. 7th. Up, weary, about 9 o'clock, and then out by coach to White Hall to attend the Lords of the Treasury about Tangier with Sir Stephen Fox, and having done with them I away back again home by coach time enough to dispatch some business, and after dinner with Sir W. Pen's coach (he being gone before with Sir D. Gawden) to White Hall to wait on the Duke of York, but I finding him not there, nor the Duke of York within, I away by coach to the Nursery, where I never was yet, and there to meet my wife and Mercer and Willet as they promised; but the house did not act to-day; and so I was at a loss for them, and therefore to the other two playhouses into the pit, to gaze up and down, to look for them, and there did by this means, for nothing, see an act in "The Schoole of Compliments" at the Duke of York's house, and "Henry the Fourth" at the King's house; but, not finding them, nor liking either of the plays, I took my coach again, and home, and there to my office to do business, and by and by they come home, and had been at the King's House, and saw me, but I could [not] see them, and there I walked with them in the garden awhile, and to sing with Mercer there a little, and so home with her, and taught her a little of my "It is decreed," which I have a mind to have her learn to sing, and she will do it well, and so after supper she went away, and we to bed, and there made amends by sleep for what I wanted last night. 8th. Up, and it being dirty, I by coach (which I was forced to go to the charge for) to White Hall, and there did deliver the Duke of York a memorial for the Council about the case of Tangiers want of money; and I was called in there and my paper was read. I did not think fit to say much, but left them to make what use they pleased of my paper; and so went out and waited without all the morning, and at noon hear that there is something ordered towards our help, and so I away by coach home, taking up Mr. Prin at the Court-gate, it raining, and setting him down at the Temple: and by the way did ask him about the manner of holding of Parliaments, and whether the number of Knights and Burgesses were always the same? And he says that the latter were not; but that, for aught he can find, they were sent up at the discretion, at first, of the Sheriffes, to whom the writs are sent, to send up generally the Burgesses and citizens of their county: and he do find that heretofore the Parliament-men being paid by the country, several burroughs have complained of the Sheriffes putting them to the charge of sending up Burgesses; which is a very extraordinary thing to me, that knew not this, but thought that the number had been known, and always the same. Thence home to the office, and so with my Lord Brouncker and his mistress, Williams, to Captain Cocke's to dinner, where was Temple and Mr. Porter, and a very good dinner, and merry. Thence with Lord Brouncker to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury at their sending for us to discourse about the paying of tickets, and so away, and I by coach to the 'Change, and there took up my wife and Mercer and the girl by agreement, and so home, and there with Mercer to teach her more of "It is decreed," and to sing other songs and talk all the evening, and so after supper I to even my journall since Saturday last, and so to bed. Yesterday Mr. Gibson, upon his discovering by my discourse to him that I had a willingness, or rather desire, to have him stay with me, than go, as he designed, on Sir W. Warren's account, to sea, he resolved to let go the design and wait his fortune with me, though I laboured hard to make him understand the uncertainty of my condition or service, but however he will hazard it, which I take mighty kindly of him, though troubled lest he may come to be a loser by it, but it will not be for want of my telling him what he was to think on and expect. However, I am well pleased with it, with regard to myself, who find him mighty understanding and acquainted with all things in the Navy, that I should, if I continue in the Navy, make great use of him. 9th. Up, and to the office, having first been visited by my cozen Anthony Joyce about the L350 which he desires me to lend him, and which I have a mind enough to do, but would have it in my power to call it out again in a little time, and so do take a little further time to consider it. So to the office, where all the morning busy, and so home at noon to dinner with my people, where Mr. Hollier come and dined with me, and it is still mighty pleasant to hear him talk of Rome and the Pope, with what hearty zeal and hatred he talks against him. After dinner to the office again, where busy till night, very busy, and among other things wrote to my father about lending Anthony Joyce the money he desires; and I declare that I would do it as part of Pall's portion, and that Pall should have the use of the money till she be married, but I do propose to him to think of Mr. Cumberland rather than this Jackson that he is upon; and I confess I have a mighty mind to have a relation so able a man, and honest, and so old an acquaintance as Mr. Cumberland. I shall hear his answer by the next [post]. At night home and to cards with my wife and girle, and to supper late, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and with Sir Denis Gawden, who called me, to White Hall, and there to wait on the Duke of York with the rest of my brethren, which we did a little in the King's Greenroom, while the King was in Council: and in this room we found my Lord Bristoll walking alone; which, wondering at, while the Council was sitting, I was answered that, as being a Catholique, he could not be of the Council, which I did not consider before. After broke up and walked a turn or two with Lord Brouncker talking about the times, and he tells me that he thinks, and so do every body else, that the great business of putting out some of the Council to make room for some of the Parliament men to gratify and wheedle them is over, thinking that it might do more hurt than good, and not obtain much upon the Parliament either. This morning there was a Persian in that country dress, with a turban, waiting to kiss the King's hand in the Vane-room, against he come out: it was a comely man as to features, and his dress, methinks, very comely. Thence in Sir W. Pen's coach alone (he going with Sir D. Gawden) to my new bookseller's, Martin's; and there did meet with Fournier, [George Fournier, a Jesuit, born at Caen in 1569, was the author of several nautical works. His chief one, "L'Hydrographie," was published at Paris in folio in 1663. A second edition appeared in 1667.] the Frenchman, that hath wrote of the Sea and Navigation, and I could not but buy him, and also bespoke an excellent book, which I met with there, of China. The truth is, I have bought a great many books lately to a great value; but I think to buy no more till Christmas next, and those that I have will so fill my two presses that I must be forced to give away some to make room for them, it being my design to have no more at any time for my proper library than to fill them. Thence home and to the Exchange, there to do a little business, where I find everybody concerned whether we shall have out a fleete this next year or no, they talking of a peace concluded between France and Spayne, so that the King of France will have nothing to do with his army unless he comes to us; but I do not see in the world how we shall be able to set out a fleete for want of money to buy stores and pay men, for neither of which we shall be any more trusted. So home to dinner, and then with my wife and Deb. to the King's house, to see "Aglaura," which hath been always mightily cried up; and so I went with mighty expectation, but do find nothing extraordinary in it at all, and but hardly good in any degree. So home, and thither comes to us W. Batelier and sat with us all the evening, and to cards and supper, passing the evening pretty pleasantly, and so late at night parted, and so to bed. I find him mightily troubled at the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury opposing him in the business he hath a patent for about the business of Impost on wine, but I do see that the Lords have reason for it, it being a matter wherein money might be saved to his Majesty, and I am satisfied that they do let nothing pass that may save money, and so God bless them! So he being gone we to bed. This day I received a letter from my father, and another from my cozen Roger Pepys, who have had a view of Jackson's evidences of his estate, and do mightily like of the man, and his condition and estate, and do advise me to accept of the match for my sister, and to finish it as soon as I can; and he do it so as, I confess, I am contented to have it done, and so give her her portion; and so I shall be eased of one care how to provide for her, and do in many respects think that it may be a match proper enough to have her married there, and to one that may look after my concernments if my father should die and I continue where I am, and there[fore] I am well pleased with it, and so to bed. 11th. Lay some time, talking with my wife in bed about Pall's business, and she do conclude to have her married here, and to be merry at it; and to have W. Hewer, and Batelier, and Mercer, and Willet bridemen and bridemaids, and to be very merry; and so I am glad of it, and do resolve to let it be done as soon as I can. So up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and thence home to dinner, and from dinner with Mercer, who dined with us, and wife and Deb. to the King's house, there to see "The Wild-goose Chase," which I never saw, but have long longed to see it, being a famous play, but as it was yesterday I do find that where I expect most I find least satisfaction, for in this play I met with nothing extraordinary at all, but very dull inventions and designs. Knepp come and sat by us, and her talk pleased me a little, she telling me how Mis Davis is for certain going away from the Duke's house, the King being in love with her; and a house is taken for her, and furnishing; and she hath a ring given her already worth L600: that the King did send several times for Nelly, and she was with him, but what he did she knows not; this was a good while ago, and she says that the King first spoiled Mrs. Weaver, which is very mean, methinks, in a prince, and I am sorry for it, and can hope for no good to the State from having a Prince so devoted to his pleasure. She told me also of a play shortly coming upon the stage, of Sir Charles Sidly's, which, she thinks, will be called "The Wandering Ladys," a comedy that, she thinks, will be most pleasant; and also another play, called "The Duke of Lerma;" besides "Catelin," which she thinks, for want of the clothes which the King promised them, will not be acted for a good while. Thence home, and there to the office and did some business, and so with my wife for half an hour walking in the moonlight, and it being cold, frosty weather, walking in the garden, and then home to supper, and so by the fireside to have my head combed, as I do now often do, by Deb., whom I love should be fiddling about me, and so to bed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and to dress myself, and then called into my wife's chamber, and there she without any occasion fell to discourse of my father's coming to live with us when my sister marries. This, she being afeard of declaring an absolute hatred to him since his falling out with her about Coleman's being with her, she declares against his coming hither, which I not presently agreeing to, she declared, if he come, she would not live with me, but would shame me all over the city and court, which I made slight of, and so we fell very foul; and I do find she do keep very bad remembrances of my former unkindness to her, and do mightily complain of her want of money and liberty, which I will rather hear and bear the complaint of than grant the contrary, and so we had very hot work a great while: but at last I did declare as I intend, that my father shall not come, and that he do not desire and intend it; and so we parted with pretty good quiet, and so away, and being ready went to church, where first I saw Alderman Backewell and his lady come to our church, they living in Mark Lane; and I could find in my heart to invite her to sit with us, she being a fine lady. I come in while they were singing the 19th Psalm, while the sexton was gathering to his box, to which I did give 5s., and so after sermon home, my wife, Deb., and I all alone and very kind, full of good discourses, and after dinner I to my chamber, ordering my Tangier accounts to give to the Auditor in a day or two, which should have been long ago with him. At them to my great content all the afternoon till supper, and after supper with my wife, W. Hewer and Deb. pretty merry till 12 at night, and then to bed. 13th. Up, and Mr. Gibbs comes to me, and I give him instructions about the writing fair my Tangier accounts against to-morrow. So I abroad with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there did with the rest attend the Duke of York, where nothing extraordinary; only I perceive there is nothing yet declared for the next, year, what fleete shall be abroad. Thence homeward by coach and stopped at Martin's, my bookseller, where I saw the French book which I did think to have had for my wife to translate, called "L'escholle des filles," ["L'Escole des Filles," by Helot, was burnt at the foot of the gallows in 1672, and the author himself was burnt in effigy.] but when I come to look in it, it is the most bawdy, lewd book that ever I saw, rather worse than "Putana errante," so that I was ashamed of reading in it, and so away home, and there to the 'Change to discourse with Sir H. Cholmly, and so home to dinner, and in the evening, having done some business, I with my wife and girl out, and left them at Unthanke's, while I to White Hall to the Treasury Chamber for an order for Tangier, and so back, took up my wife, and home, and there busy about my Tangier accounts against tomorrow, which I do get ready in good condition, and so with great content to bed. 14th. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner with Mr. Clerke and Gibson to the Temple (my wife and girle going further by coach), and there at the Auditor's did begin the examining my Tangier accounts, and did make a great entry into it and with great satisfaction, and I am glad I am so far eased. So appointing another day for further part of my accounts, I with Gibson to my bookseller, Martin, and there did receive my book I expected of China, a most excellent book with rare cuts; and there fell into discourse with him about the burning of Paul's when the City was burned; his house being in the church-yard. And he tells me that it took fire first upon the end of a board that, among others, was laid upon the roof instead of lead, the lead being broke off, and thence down lower and lower: but that the burning of the goods under St. Fayth's arose from the goods taking fire in the church-yard, and so got into St. Fayth's Church; and that they first took fire from the Draper's side, by some timber of the houses that were burned falling into the church. He says that one warehouse of books was saved under Paul's; and he says that there were several dogs found burned among the goods in the church-yard, and but one man, which was an old man, that said he would go and save a blanket which he had in the church, and, being a weak old man, the fire overcome him, and was burned. He says that most of the booksellers do design to fall a-building again the next year; but he says that the Bishop of London do use them most basely, worse than any other landlords, and says he will be paid to this day the rent, or else he will not come to treat with them for the time to come; and will not, on that condition either, promise them any thing how he will use them; and, the Parliament sitting, he claims his privilege, and will not be cited before the Lord Chief justice, as others are there, to be forced to a fair dealing. Thence by coach to Mrs. Pierce's, where my wife and Deb. is; and there they fell to discourse of the last night's work at Court, where the ladies and Duke of Monmouth and others acted "The Indian Emperour;" wherein they told me these things most remark able: that not any woman but the Duchesse of Monmouth and Mrs. Cornwallis did any thing but like fools and stocks, but that these two did do most extraordinary well: that not any man did any thing well but Captain O'Bryan, who spoke and did well, but, above all things, did dance most incomparably. That she did sit near the players of the Duke's house; among the rest, Mis Davis, who is the most impertinent slut, she says, in the world; and the more, now the King do show her countenance; and is reckoned his mistress, even to the scorne of the whole world; the King gazing on her, and my Lady Castlemayne being melancholy and out of humour, all the play, not smiling once. The King, it seems, hath given her a ring of L700, which she shews to every body, and owns that the King did give it her; and he hath furnished a house for her in Suffolke Street most richly, which is a most infinite shame. It seems she is a bastard of Colonell Howard, my Lord Berkshire, and that he do pimp to her for the King, and hath got her for him; but Pierce says that she is a most homely jade as ever she saw, though she dances beyond any thing in the world. She tells me that the Duchesse of Richmond do not yet come to the Court, nor hath seen the King, nor will not, nor do he own his desire of seeing her; but hath used means to get her to Court, but they do not take. Thence home, and there I to my chamber, having a great many books brought me home from my bookbinder's, and so I to the new setting of my books against the next year, which costs me more trouble than I expected, and at it till two o'clock in the morning, and then to bed, the business not being yet done to my mind. This evening come Mr. Mills and his wife to see and sit and talk with us, which they did till 9 o'clock at night, and then parted, and I to my books. 15th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office again, where we met about some business of D. Gawden's till candle-light; and then, as late as it was, I down to Redriffe, and so walked by moonlight to Deptford, where I have not been a great while, and my business I did there was only to walk up and down above la casa of Bagwell, but could not see her, it being my intent to have spent a little time con her, she being newly come from her husband; but I did lose my labour, and so walked back again, but with pleasure by the walk, and I had the sport to see two boys swear, and stamp, and fret, for not being able to get their horse over a stile and ditch, one of them swearing and cursing most bitterly; and I would fain, in revenge, have persuaded him to have drove his horse through the ditch, by which I believe he would have stuck there. But the horse would not be drove, and so they were forced to go back again, and so I walked away homeward, and there reading all the evening, and so to bed. This afternoon my Lord Anglesey tells us that it is voted in Council to have a fleete of 50 ships out; but it is only a disguise for the Parliament to get some money by; but it will not take, I believe, and if it did, I do not think it will be such as he will get any of, nor such as will enable us to set out such a fleete. 16th. Up, after talking with my wife with pleasure, about her learning on the flageolet a month or two again this winter, and all the rest of the year her painting, which I do love, and so to the office, where sat all the morning, and here Lord Anglesey tells us again that a fleete is to be set out; and that it is generally, he hears, said, that it is but a Spanish rhodomontado; and that he saying so just now to the Duke of Albemarle, who come to town last night, after the thing was ordered, he told him a story of two seamen: one wished all the guns of the ship were his, and that they were silver; and says the other, "You are a fool, for, if you can have it for wishing, why do you not wish them gold?"--"So," says he, "if a rhodomontado will do any good, why do you not say 100 ships?" And it is true; for the Dutch and French are said to make such preparations as 50 sail will do no good. At noon home to dinner with my gang of clerks, in whose society I am mightily pleased, and mightily with Mr. Gibson's talking; [Richard Gibson, so frequently noticed by Pepys, was a clerk in the Navy Office. His collection of papers relating to the navy of England A.D. 1650-1702, compiled, as he states, from the Admiralty books in the Navy Office, are in the British Museum.--B.] he telling me so many good stories relating to the warr and practices of commanders, which I will find a time to recollect; and he will be an admirable help to my writing a history of the Navy, if ever I do. So to the office, where busy all the afternoon and evening, and then home. My work this night with my clerks till midnight at the office was to examine my list of ships I am making for myself and their dimensions, and to see how it agrees or differs from other lists, and I do find so great a difference between them all that I am at a loss which to take, and therefore think mine to be as much depended upon as any I can make out of them all. So little care there has been to this day to know or keep any history of the Navy. 17th. Up, and by coach to White Hall to attend the Council there, and here I met first by Mr. Castle the shipwright, whom I met there, and then from the whole house the discourse of the duell yesterday between the Duke of Buckingham, Holmes, and one Jenkins, on one side, and my Lord of Shrewsbury, Sir John Talbot, and one Bernard Howard, on the other side: and all about my Lady Shrewsbury, [Anna Maria, daughter of Robert Brudenel, second Earl of Cardigan. Walpole says she held the Duke of Buckingham's horse, in the habit of a page, while he was fighting the duel with her husband. She married, secondly, George Rodney Bridges, son of Sir Thomas Bridges of Keynsham, Somerset, Groom of the Bedchamber to Charles IL, and died April 20th, 1702. A portrait of the Countess of Shrewsbury, as Minerva, by Lely.] who is a whore, and is at this time, and hath for a great while been, a whore to the Duke of Buckingham. And so her husband challenged him, and they met yesterday in a close near Barne-Elmes, and there fought: and my Lord Shrewsbury is run through the body, from the right breast through the shoulder: and Sir John Talbot all along up one of his armes; and Jenkins killed upon the place, and the rest all, in a little measure, wounded. This will make the world think that the King hath good councillors about him, when the Duke of Buckingham, the greatest man about him, is a fellow of no more sobriety than to fight about a whore. And this may prove a very bad accident to the Duke of Buckingham, but that my Lady Castlemayne do rule all at this time as much as ever she did, and she will, it is believed, keep all matters well with the Duke of Buckingham: though this is a time that the King will be very backward, I suppose, to appear in such a business. And it is pretty to hear how the King had some notice of this challenge a week or two ago, and did give it to my Lord Generall to confine the Duke, or take security that he should not do any such thing as fight: and the Generall trusted to the King that he, sending for him, would do it, and the King trusted to the Generall; and so, between both, as everything else of the greatest moment do, do fall between two stools. The whole House full of nothing but the talk of this business; and it is said that my Lord Shrewsbury's case is to be feared, that he may die too; and that may make it much the worse for the Duke of Buckingham: and I shall not be much sorry for it, that we may have some sober man come in his room to assist in the Government. Here I waited till the Council rose, and talked the while, with Creed, who tells me of Mr. Harry Howard's' giving the Royal Society a piece of ground next to his house, to build a College on, which is a most generous act. And he tells me he is a very fine person, and understands and speaks well; and no rigid Papist neither, but one that would not have a Protestant servant leave his religion, which he was going to do, thinking to recommend himself to his master by it; saying that he had rather have an honest Protestant than a knavish Catholique. I was not called into the Council; and, therefore, home, first informing myself that my Lord Hinchingbroke hath been married this week to my Lord Burlington's daughter; so that that great business is over; and I mighty glad of it, though I am not satisfied that I have not a Favour sent me, as I see Attorney Montagu and the Vice-Chamberlain have. But I am mighty glad that the thing is done. So home, and there alone with my wife and Deb. to dinner, and after dinner comes Betty Turner, and I carried them to the New Exchange, and thence I to White Hall and did a little business at the Treasury, and so called them there, and so home and to cards and supper, and her mother come and sat at cards with us till past 12 at night, and then broke up and to bed, after entering my journall, which made it one before I went to bed. 18th. At the office all the morning busy sitting. At noon home to dinner, where Betty Turner dined with us, and after dinner carried my wife, her and Deb. to the 'Change, where they bought some things, while I bought "The Mayden Queene," a play newly printed, which I like at the King's house so well, of Mr. Dryden's, which he himself, in his preface, seems to brag of, and indeed is a good play. So home again, and I late at the office and did much business, and then home to supper and to bed. 19th (Lord's day). My wife the last night very ill of those, and waked me early, and hereupon I up and to church, where a dull sermon by our lecturer, and so home to dinner in my wife's chamber, which she is a little better. Then after dinner with Captain Perryman down to Redriffe, and so walked to Deptford, where I sent for Mr. Shish out of the Church to advise about my vessel, "The Maybolt," and I do resolve to sell, presently, for any thing rather than keep her longer, having already lost L100 in her value, which I was once offered and refused, and the ship left without any body to look to her, which vexes me. Thence Perryman and I back again, talking of the great miscarriages in the Navy, and among the principal that of having gentlemen commanders. I shall hereafter make use of his and others' help to reckon up and put down in writing what is fit to be mended in the Navy after all our sad experience therein. So home, and there sat with my wife all the evening, and Mr. Pelting awhile talking with us, who tells me that my Lord Shrewsbury is likely to do well, after his great wound in the late dwell. He gone, comes W. Hewer and supped with me, and so to talk of things, and he tells me that Mr. Jessop is made Secretary to the Commissions of Parliament for Accounts, and I am glad, and it is pretty to see that all the Cavalier party were not able to find the Parliament nine Commissioners, or one Secretary, fit for the business. So he gone, I to read a little in my chamber, and so to bed. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office very busy, and at noon by coach to Westminster, to the 'Chequer, about a warrant for Tangier money. In my way both coming and going I did stop at Drumbleby's, the pipe-maker, there to advise about the making of a flageolet to go low and soft; and he do shew me a way which do do, and also a fashion of having two pipes of the same note fastened together, so as I can play on one, and then echo it upon the other, which is mighty pretty. So to my Lord Crew's to dinner, where we hear all the good news of our making a league now with Holland against the French power coming over them, or us which is the first good act that hath been done a great while, and done secretly, and with great seeming wisdom; and is certainly good for us at this time, while we are in no condition to resist the French, if they should come over hither; and then a little time of peace will give us time to lay up something, which these Commissioners of the Treasury are doing; and the world do begin to see that they will do the King's work for him, if he will let them. Here dined Mr. Case, the minister, who, Lord! do talk just as I remember he used to preach, and did tell a pretty story of a religious lady, Queen of Navarre; [Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre, sister of Francis I. of France. The "pretty story" was doubtless from her "Heptameron," a work imitating in title and matter the "Decameron" of Boccaccio. She is said to be the heroine of some of the adventures. It is fair to add that she wrote also the "Miroir dune Ame Pecheresse," translated into English by Queen Elizabeth, the title of whose book was "A Godly Medytacyon of the Christian Soules," published by John Bale in 1548.--B.] and my Lord also told a good story of Mr. Newman, the Minister in New England, who wrote the Concordance, of his foretelling his death and preaching a funeral sermon, and did at last bid the angels do their office, and died. It seems there is great presumption that there will be a Toleration granted: so that the Presbyterians do hold up their heads; but they will hardly trust the King or the Parliament what to yield them, though most of the sober party be for some kind of allowance to be given them. Thence and home, and then to the 'Change in the evening, and there Mr. Cade told me how my Lord Gerard is likely to meet with trouble, the next sitting of Parliament, about [Carr] being set in the pillory; and I am glad of it; and it is mighty acceptable to the world to hear, that, among other reductions, the King do reduce his Guards, which do please mightily. So to my bookbinder's with my boy, and there did stay late to see two or three things done that I had a mind to see done, and among others my Tangier papers of accounts, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and while at the office comes news from Kate Joyce that if I would see her husband alive, I must come presently. So, after the office was up, I to him, and W. Hewer with me, and find him in his sick bed (I never was at their house, this Inne, before) very sensible in discourse and thankful for my kindness to him, and his breath rattled in his throate, and they did lay pigeons to his feet while I was in the house, and all despair of him, and with good reason. But the story is that it seems on Thursday last he went sober and quiet out of doors in the morning to Islington, and behind one of the inns, the White Lion, did fling himself into a pond, was spied by a poor woman and got out by some people binding up hay in a barn there, and set on his head and got to life, and known by a woman coming that way; and so his wife and friends sent for. He confessed his doing the thing, being led by the Devil; and do declare his reason to be, his trouble that he found in having forgot to serve God as he ought, since he come to this new employment: and I believe that, and the sense of his great loss by the fire, did bring him to it, and so everybody concludes. He stayed there all that night, and come home by coach next morning, and there grew sick, and worse and worse to this day. I stayed awhile among the friends that were there, and they being now in fear that the goods and estate would be seized on, though he lived all this while, because of his endeavouring to drown himself, my cozen did endeavour to remove what she could of plate out of the house, and desired me to take my flagons; which I was glad of, and did take them away with me in great fear all the way of being seized; though there was no reason for it, he not being dead, but yet so fearful I was. So home, and there eat my dinner, and busy all the afternoon, and troubled at this business. In the evening with Sir D. Gawden, to Guild Hall, to advise with the Towne-Clerke about the practice of the City and nation in this case: and he thinks that it cannot be found self-murder; but if it be, it will fall, all the estate, to the King. So we parted, and I to my cozens again; where I no sooner come but news was brought down from his chamber that he was departed. So, at their entreaty, I presently took coach to White Hall, and there find Sir W. Coventry; and he carried me to the King, the Duke of York being with him, and there told my story which I had told him: [This was not the only time that Pepys took trouble to save the estate of a friend who had committed suicide. In the "Caveat Book" in the Record Office, p. 42 of the volume for 1677, is the following entry: "That no grant pass of the Estate of Francis Gurney of Maldon in Essex, who drowned himself in his own well on Tuesday night ye 12th of this instant August, at the desire of Samuel Pepys, Esquire, August 20, 1677."] and the King, without more ado, granted that, if it was found, the estate should be to the widow and children. I presently to each Secretary's office, and there left caveats, and so away back again to my cozens, leaving a chimney on fire at White Hall, in the King's closet; but no danger. And so, when I come thither, I find her all in sorrow, but she and the rest mightily pleased with my doing this for them; and, indeed, it was a very great courtesy, for people are looking out for the estate, and the coroner will be sent to, and a jury called to examine his death. This being well done to my and their great joy, I home, and there to my office, and so to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, mightily busy all the morning at the office. At noon with Lord Brouncker to Sir D. Gawden's, at the Victualling-Office, to dinner, where I have not dined since he was Sheriff: He expected us; and a good dinner, and much good company; and a fine house, and especially two rooms, very fine, he hath built there. His lady a good lady; but my Lord led himself and me to a great absurdity in kissing all the ladies, but the finest of all the company, leaving her out, I know not how; and I was loath to do it, since he omitted it. Here little Chaplin dined, who is like to be Sheriff the next year; and a pretty humoured little man he is. I met here with Mr. Talents, the younger, of Magdalene College, Chaplain here to the Sheriff; which I was glad to see, though not much acquainted with him. This day come the first demand from the Commissioners of Accounts to us, and it contains more than we shall ever be able to answer while we live, and I do foresee we shall be put to much trouble and some shame, at least some of us. Thence stole away after dinner to my cozen Kate's, and there find the Crowner's jury sitting, but they could not end it, but put off the business to Shrove Tuesday next, and so do give way to the burying of him, and that is all; but they all incline to find it a natural death, though there are mighty busy people to have it go otherwise, thinking to get his estate, but are mistaken. Thence, after sitting with her and company a while, comforting her: though I can find she can, as all other women, cry, and yet talk of other things all in a breath. So home, and thereto cards with my wife, Deb., and Betty Turner, and Batelier, and after supper late to sing. But, Lord! how did I please myself to make Betty Turner sing, to see what a beast she is as to singing, not knowing how to sing one note in tune; but, only for the experiment, I would not for 40s. hear her sing a tune: worse than my wife a thousand times, so that it do a little reconcile me to her. So late to bed. 23rd. At the Office all the morning; and at noon find the Bishop of Lincolne come to dine with us; and after him comes Mr. Brisband; and there mighty good company. But the Bishop a very extraordinary good-natured man, and one that is mightily pleased, as well as I am, that I live so near Bugden, the seat of his bishopricke, where he is like to reside: and, indeed, I am glad of it. In discourse, we think ourselves safe for this year, by this league with Holland, which pleases every body, and, they say, vexes France; insomuch that D'Estrades; the French Embassador in Holland, when he heard it, told the States that he would have them not forget that his master is at the head of 100,000 men, and is but 28 years old; which was a great speech. The Bishop tells me he thinks that the great business of Toleration will not, notwithstanding this talk, be carried this Parliament; nor for the King's taking away the Deans' and Chapters' lands to supply his wants, they signifying little to him, if he had them, for his present service. He gone, I mightily pleased with his kindness, I to the office, where busy till night, and then to Mrs. Turner's, where my wife, and Deb., and I, and Batelier spent the night, and supped, and played at cards, and very merry, and so I home to bed. She is either a very prodigal woman, or richer than she would be thought, by her buying of the best things, and laying out much money in new-fashioned pewter; and, among other things, a new-fashioned case for a pair of snuffers, which is very pretty; but I could never have guessed what it was for, had I not seen the snuffers in it. 24th. Up before day to my Tangier accounts, and then out and to a Committee of Tangier, where little done but discourse about reduction of the charge of the garrison, and thence to Westminster about orders at the Exchequer, and at the Swan I drank, and there met with a pretty ingenious young Doctor of physic, by chance, and talked with him, and so home to dinner, and after dinner carried my wife to the Temple, and thence she to a play, and I to St. Andrew's church, in Holburne, at the 'Quest House, where the company meets to the burial of my cozen Joyce; and here I staid with a very great rabble of four or five hundred people of mean condition, and I staid in the room with the kindred till ready to go to church, where there is to be a sermon of Dr. Stillingfleete, and thence they carried him to St. Sepulchre's. But it being late, and, indeed, not having a black cloak to lead her [Kate Joyce] with, or follow the corps, I away, and saw, indeed, a very great press of people follow the corps. I to the King's playhouse, to fetch my wife, and there saw the best part of "The Mayden Queene," which, the more I see, the more I love, and think one of the best plays I ever saw, and is certainly the best acted of any thing ever the House did, and particularly Becke Marshall, to admiration. Found my wife and Deb., and saw many fine ladies, and sat by Colonell Reames, who understands and loves a play as well as I, and I love him for it. And so thence home; and, after being at the Office, I home to supper, and to bed, my eyes being very bad again with overworking with them. 25th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, and then at noon to the 'Change with Mr. Hater, and there he and I to a tavern to meet Captain Minors, which we did, and dined; and there happened to be Mr. Prichard, a ropemaker of his acquaintance, and whom I know also, and did once mistake for a fiddler, which sung well, and I asked him for such a song that I had heard him sing, and after dinner did fall to discourse about the business of the old contract between the King and the East India Company for the ships of the King that went thither, and about this did beat my brains all the afternoon, and then home and made an end of the accounts to my great content, and so late home tired and my eyes sore, to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to Church, and at noon home to dinner. No strangers there; and all the afternoon and evening very late doing serious business of my Tangier accounts, and examining my East India accounts, with Mr. Poynter, whom I employed all this day, to transcribe it fair; and so to supper, W. Hewer with us, and so the girl to comb my head till I slept, and then to bed. 27th. It being weather like the beginning of a frost and the ground dry, I walked as far as the Temple, and there took coach and to White Hall, but the Committee not being met I to Westminster, and there I do hear of the letter that is in the pamphlet this day of the King of France, declaring his design to go on against Flanders, and the grounds of it, which do set us mightily at rest. So to White Hall, and there a committee of Tangier, but little done there, only I did get two or three little jobs done to the perfecting two or three papers about my Tangier accounts. Here Mr. Povy do tell me how he is like to lose his L400 a-year pension of the Duke of York, which he took in consideration of his place which was taken from him. He tells me the Duchesse is a devil against him, and do now come like Queen Elizabeth, and sits with the Duke of York's Council, and sees what they do; and she crosses out this man's wages and prices, as she sees fit, for saving money; but yet, he tells me, she reserves L5000 a-year for her own spending; and my Lady Peterborough, by and by, tells me that the Duchesse do lay up, mightily, jewells. Thence to my Lady Peterborough's, she desiring to speak with me. She loves to be taken dressing herself, as I always find her; and there, after a little talk, to please her, about her husband's pension, which I do not think he will ever get again, I away thence home, and all the afternoon mighty busy at the office, and late, preparing a letter to the Commissioners of Accounts, our first letter to them, and so home to supper, where Betty Turner was (whose brother Frank did set out toward the East Indies this day, his father and mother gone down with him to Gravesend), and there was her little brother Moses, whom I examined, and he is a pretty good scholar for a child, and so after supper to talk and laugh, and to bed. 28th. Up, and to the office, and there with W. Griffin talking about getting the place to build a coach-house, or to hire one, which I now do resolve to have, and do now declare it; for it is plainly for my benefit for saving money. By and by the office sat, and there we concluded on our letter to the Commissioners of Accounts and to the several officers of ours about the work they are to do to answer their late great demands. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner set my wife and girl down at the Exchange, and I to White Hall; and, by and by, the Duke of York comes, and we had a little meeting, Anglesey, W. Pen, and I there, and none else: and, among other things, did discourse of the want of discipline in the fleete, which the Duke' of York confessed, and yet said that he, while he was there, did keep it in a good measure, but that it was now lost when he was absent; but he will endeavour to have it again. That he did tell the Prince and Duke of Albemarle they would lose all order by making such and such men commanders, which they would, because they were stout men: he told them that it was a reproach to the nation, as if there were no sober men among us, that were stout, to be had. That they did put out some men for cowards that the Duke of York had put in, but little before, for stout men; and would now, were he to go to sea again, entertain them in his own division, to choose: and did put in an idle fellow, Greene, who was hardly thought fit for a boatswain by him: they did put him from being a lieutenant to a captain's place of a second-rate ship; as idle a drunken fellow, he said, as any was in the fleete. That he will now desire the King to let him be what he is, that is, Admirall; and he will put in none but those that he hath great reason to think well of; and particularly says, that; though he likes Colonell Legg well, yet his son that was, he knows not how, made a captain after he had been but one voyage at sea, he should go to sea another apprenticeship, before ever he gives him a command. We did tell him of the many defects and disorders among the captains, and I prayed we might do it in writing to him, which he liked; and I am glad of an opportunity of doing it. Thence away, and took up wife and girl, and home, and to the office, busy late, and so to supper and to bed. My wife this day hears from her father and mother: they are in France, at Paris; he, poor good man! I think he is, gives her good counsel still, which I always observed of him, and thankful for my small charities to him. I could be willing to do something for them, were I sure not to bring them over again hither. Coming home, my wife and I went and saw Kate Joyce, who is still in mighty sorrow, and the more from something that Dr. Stillingfleete should simply say in his sermon, of her husband's manner of dying, as killing himself. 29th. Up betimes, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry, whom I found in his chamber, and there stayed an hour and talked with him about several things of the Navy, and our want of money, which they indeed do supply us with a little, but in no degree likely to enable us to go on with the King's service. He is at a stand where to have more, and is in mighty pain for it, declaring that he believes there never was a kingdom so governed as this was in the time of the late Chancellor and the Treasurer, nobody minding or understanding any thing how things went or what the King had in his Treasury, or was to have, nothing in the world of it minded. He tells me that there are still people desirous to overthrow him; he resolving to stick at nothing nor no person that stands in his way against bringing the King out of debt, be it to retrench any man's place or profit, and that he cares not, for rather than be employed under the King, and have the King continue in this condition of indigence, he desires to be put out from among them, thinking it no honour to be a minister in such a government. He tells me he hath no friends in the whole Court but my Lord Keeper and Sir John Duncomb. He tells me they have reduced the charges of Ireland above L70,000 a-year, and thereby cut off good profits from my Lord Lieutenant; which will make a new enemy, but he cares not. He tells me that Townsend, of the Wardrobe, is the eeriest knave and bufflehead that ever he saw in his life, and wonders how my Lord Sandwich come to trust such a fellow, and that now Reames and--------are put in to be overseers there, and do great things, and have already saved a great deal of money in the King's liverys, and buy linnen so cheap, that he will have them buy the next cloth he hath, for shirts. But then this is with ready money, which answers all. He do not approve of my letter I drew and the office signed yesterday to the Commissioners of Accounts, saying that it is a little too submissive, and grants a little too much and too soon our bad managements, though we lay on want of money, yet that it will be time enough to plead it when they object it. Which was the opinion of my Lord Anglesey also; so I was ready to alter it, and did so presently, going from him home, and there transcribed it fresh as he would have it, and got it signed, and to White Hall presently and shewed it him, and so home, and there to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon and till 12 o'clock at night with Mr. Gibson at home upon my Tangier accounts, and did end them fit to be given the last of them to the Auditor to-morrow, to my great content. This evening come Betty Turner and the two Mercers, and W. Batelier, and they had fiddlers, and danced, and kept a quarter,--[A term for making a noise or disturbance.]--which pleased me, though it disturbed me; but I could not be with them at all. Mr. Gibson lay at my house all night, it was so late. 30th. Up, it being fast day for the King's death, and so I and Mr. Gibson by water to the Temple, and there all the morning with Auditor Wood, and I did deliver in the whole of my accounts and run them over in three hours with full satisfaction, and so with great content thence, he and I, and our clerks, and Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, to a little ordinary in Hercules-pillars Ally--the Crowne, a poor, sorry place, where a fellow, in twelve years, hath gained an estate of, as he says, L600 a-year, which is very strange, and there dined, and had a good dinner, and very good discourse between them, old men belonging to the law, and here I first heard that my cozen Pepys, of Salisbury Court, was Marshal to my Lord Cooke when he was Lord Chief justice; which beginning of his I did not know to be so low: but so it was, it seems. After dinner I home, calling at my bookbinder's, but he not within. When come home, I find Kate Joyce hath been there, with sad news that her house stands not in the King's liberty, but the Dean of Paul's; and so, if her estate be forfeited, it will not be in the King's power to do her any good. So I took coach and to her, and there found her in trouble, as I cannot blame her. But I do believe this arises from somebody that hath a mind to fright her into a composition for her estate, which I advise her against; and, indeed, I do desire heartily to be able to do her service, she being, methinks, a piece of care I ought to take upon me, for our fathers' and friends' sake, she being left alone, and no friend so near as me, or so able to help her. After having given her my advice, I home, and there to my office and did business, and hear how the Committee for Accounts are mighty active and likely to examine every thing, but let them do their worst I am to be before them with our contract books to-morrow. So home from the office, to supper, and to bed. 31st. Up; and by coach, with W. Griffin with me, and our Contract-books, to Durham Yard, to the Commissioners for Accounts; the first time I ever was there; and staid awhile before I was admitted to them. I did observe a great many people attending about complaints of seamen concerning tickets, and, among others, Mr. Carcasse, and Mr. Martin, my purser. And I observe a fellow, one Collins, is there, who is employed by these Commissioners particularly to hold an office in Bishopsgate Street, or somewhere thereabouts, to receive complaints of all people about tickets: and I believe he will have work enough. Presently I was called in, where I found the whole number of Commissioners, and was there received with great respect and kindness; and did give them great satisfaction, making it my endeavour to inform them what it was they were to expect from me, and what was the duty of other people; this being my only way to preserve myself, after all my pains and trouble. They did ask many questions, and demanded other books of me, which I did give them very ready and acceptable answers to; and, upon the whole, I observe they do go about their business like men resolved to go through with it, and in a very good method; like men of understanding. They have Mr. Jessop, their secretary: and it is pretty to see that they are fain to find out an old-fashioned man of Cromwell's to do their business for them, as well as the Parliament to pitch upon such, for the most part, in the list of people that were brought into the House, for Commissioners. I went away, with giving and receiving great satisfaction; and so away to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury; where, waiting some time, I there met with Colonel Birch; and he and I fell into discourse; and I did give him thanks for his kindness to me in the Parliament-house, both before my face and behind my back. He told me that he knew me to be a man of the old way for taking pains, and did always endeavour to do me right, and prevent any thing that was moved that might tend to my injury; which I was obliged to him for, and thanked him. Thence to talk of other things, and the want of money and he told me of the general want of money in the country; that land sold for nothing, and the many pennyworths he knows of lands and houses upon them, with good titles in his country, at 16 years' purchase: "and," says he, "though I am in debt, yet I have a mind to one thing, and that is a Bishop's lease;" but said, "I will yet choose such a lease before any other, yes," says he, plainly, "because I know they cannot stand, and then it will fall into the King's hands, and I in possession shall have an advantage by it." "And," says he, "I know they must fall, and they are now near it, taking all the ways they can to undo themselves, and showing us the way;" and thereupon told the a story of the present quarrel between the Bishop and Deane of Coventry and Lichfield; the former of which did excommunicate the latter, and caused his excommunication to be read in the Church while he was there; and, after it was read, the Deane made the service be gone through with, though himself, an excommunicate, was present, which is contrary to the Canon, and said he would justify the quire therein against the Bishop; and so they are at law in the Arches about it; which is a very pretty story. He tells me that the King is for Toleration, though the Bishops be against it: and that he do not doubt but it will be carried in Parliament; but that he fears some will stand for the tolerating of Papists with the rest; and that he knows not what to say, but rather thinks that the sober party will be without it, rather than have it upon those terms; and I do believe so. Here we broke off, and I home to dinner, and after dinner set down my wife and Deb. at the 'Change, and I to make a visit to Mr. Godolphin [William Godolphin, descended from a younger branch of that family, which was afterwards ennobled in the person of Sidney, Earl Godolphin, Lord Treasurer. William Godolphin was of Christ Church, Oxford, and graduated M.A., January 14th, 1660-61. He was afterwards secretary to Sir H. Bennet (Lord Arlington), and M.P. for Camelford. He was a great favourite at Court, and was knighted on August 28th, 1668. In the spring of 1669 he returned to Spain as Envoy Extraordinary, and in 1671 he became Ambassador. On July 11th, 1696, he died at Madrid, having been for some years a Roman Catholic.] at his lodgings, who is lately come from Spain from my Lord Sandwich, and did, the other day, meeting me in White Hall, compliment me mightily, and so I did offer him this visit, but missed him, and so back and took up my wife and set her at Mrs. Turner's, and I to my bookbinder's, and there, till late at night, binding up my second part of my Tangier accounts, and I all the while observing his working, and his manner of gilding of books with great pleasure, and so home, and there busy late, and then to bed. This day Griffin did, in discourse in the coach, put me in the head of the little house by our garden, where old goodman Taylor puts his brooms and dirt, to make me a stable of, which I shall improve, so as, I think, to be able to get me a stable without much charge, which do please me mightily. He did also in discourse tell me that it is observed, and is true, in the late fire of London, that the fire burned just as many Parish-Churches as there were hours from the beginning to the end of the fire; and, next, that there were just as many Churches left standing as there were taverns left standing in the rest of the City that was not burned, being, I think he told me, thirteen in all of each: which is pretty to observe. FEBRUARY 1667-1668 February 1st. Up, and to the office pretty betimes, and the Board not meeting as soon as I wished, I was forced to go to White Hall in expectation of a Committee for Tangier, but when I come it was put off, and so home again to the office, and sat till past two o'clock; where at the Board some high words passed between Sir W. Pen and I, begun by me, and yielded to by him, I being in the right in finding fault with him for his neglect of duty. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner out with my wife, thinking to have gone to the Duke of York's playhouse, but was, to my great content in the saving my vow, hindered by coming a little too late; and so, it being a fine day, we out to Islington, and there to the old house and eat cheese-cakes and drank and talked, and so home in the evening, the ways being mighty bad, so as we had no pleasure in being abroad at all almost, but only the variety of it, and so to the office, where busy late, and then home to supper and to bed, my head mighty full of business now on my hands: viz., of finishing my Tangier Accounts; of auditing my last year's Accounts; of preparing answers to the Commissioners of Accounts; of drawing up several important letters to the Duke of York and the Commissioners of the Treasury; the marrying of my sister; the building of a coach and stables against summer, and the setting many things in the Office right; and the drawing up a new form of Contract with the Victualler of the Navy, and several other things, which pains, however, will go through with, among others the taking care of Kate Joyce in that now she is in at present for saving her estate. 2nd (Lord's day). Wife took physick this day, I all day at home, and all the morning setting my books in order in my presses, for the following year, their number being much increased since the last, so as I am fain to lay by several books to make room for better, being resolved to keep no more than just my presses will contain. At noon to dinner, my wife coming down to me, and a very good dinner we had, of a powdered leg of pork and a loin of lamb roasted, and with much content she and I and Deb. After dinner, my head combed an hour, and then to work again, and at it, doing many things towards the setting my accounts and papers in order, and so in the evening Mr. Pelling supping with us, and to supper, and so to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where with my clerks all the morning very busy about several things there wherein I was behindhand. At noon home to dinner, and thence after dinner to the Duke of York's house, to the play, "The Tempest," which we have often seen, but yet I was pleased again, and shall be again to see it, it is so full of variety, and particularly this day I took pleasure to learn the tune of the seaman's dance, which I have much desired to be perfect in, and have made myself so. So home with my wife and Deb., and there at the office met to my trouble with a warrant from the Commissioners of Accounts for my attending them and Cocke two days hence, which I apprehend by Captain Cocke's being to go also, to be about the prizes. But, however, there is nothing of crime can be laid to my charge, and the worst that can be is to refund my L500 profit, and who can help it. So I resolve not to be troubled at it, though I fear I cannot bear it so, my spirit being very poor and mean as to the bearing with trouble that I do find of myself. So home, and there to my chamber and did some business,--and thence to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, where a full Board sat all the morning, busy among other things concerning a solemn letter we intend to write to the Duke of York about the state of the things of the Navy, for want of money, though I doubt it will be to little purpose. After dinner I abroad by coach to Kate Joyce's, where the jury did sit where they did before, about her husband's death, and their verdict put off for fourteen days longer, at the suit of somebody, under pretence of the King; but it is only to get money out of her to compound the matter. But the truth is, something they will make out of Stillingfleete's sermon, which may trouble us, he declaring, like a fool, in his pulpit, that he did confess that his losses in the world did make him do what he did. This do vex me to see how foolish our Protestant Divines are, while the Papists do make it the duty of Confessor to be secret, or else nobody would confess their sins to them. All being put off for to-day, I took my leave of Kate, who is mightily troubled at it for her estate sake, not for her husband; for her sorrow for that, I perceive, is all over. I home, and, there to my office busy till the evening, and then home, and there my wife and Deb. and I and Betty Turner, I employed in the putting new titles to my books, which we proceeded on till midnight, and then being weary and late to bed. 5th. Up, and I to Captain Cocke's, where he and I did discourse of our business that we are to go about to the Commissioners of Accounts about our prizes, and having resolved to conceal nothing but to confess the truth, the truth being likely to do us most good, we parted, and I to White Hall, where missing of the Commissioners of the Treasury, I to the Commissioners of Accounts, where I was forced to stay two hours before I was called in, and when come in did take an oath to declare the truth to what they should ask me, which is a great power; I doubt more than the Act do, or as some say can, give them, to force a man to swear against himself; and so they fell to enquire about the business of prize-goods, wherein I did answer them as well as I could, answer them in everything the just truth, keeping myself to that. I do perceive at last, that, that they did lay most like a fault to me was, that I did buy goods upon my Lord Sandwich's declaring that it was with the King's allowance, and my believing it, without seeing the King's allowance, which is a thing I will own, and doubt not to justify myself in. That that vexed me most was, their having some watermen by, to witness my saying that they were rogues that they had betrayed my goods, which was upon some discontent with one of the watermen that I employed at Greenwich, who I did think did discover the goods sent from Rochester to the Custom-House officer; but this can do me no great harm. They were inquisitive into the minutest particulars, and the evening great information; but I think that they can do me no hurt, at the worst, more than to make me refund, if it must be known, what profit I did make of my agreement with Captain Cocke; and yet, though this be all, I do find so poor a spirit within me, that it makes me almost out of my wits, and puts me to so much pain, that I cannot think of anything, nor do anything but vex and fret, and imagine myself undone, so that I am ashamed of myself to myself, and do fear what would become of me if any real affliction should come upon me. After they had done with me, they called in Captain Cocke, with whom they were shorter; and I do fear he may answer foolishly, for he did speak to me foolishly before he went in; but I hope to preserve myself, and let him shift for himself as well as he can. So I away, walked to my flageolet maker in the Strand, and there staid for Captain Cocke, who took me up and carried me home, and there coming home and finding dinner done, and Mr. Cooke, who come for my Lady Sandwich's plate, which I must part with, and so endanger the losing of my money, which I lent upon my thoughts of securing myself by that plate. But it is no great sum--but L60: and if it must be lost, better that, than a greater sum. I away back again, to find a dinner anywhere else, and so I, first, to the Ship Tavern, thereby to get a sight of the pretty mistress of the house, with whom I am not yet acquainted at all, and I do always find her scolding, and do believe she is an ill-natured devil, that I have no great desire to speak to her. Here I drank, and away by coach to the Strand, there to find out Mr. Moore, and did find him at the Bell Inn, and there acquainted him with what passed between me and the Commissioners to-day about the prize goods, in order to the considering what to do about my Lord Sandwich, and did conclude to own the thing to them as done by the King's allowance, and since confirmed. Thence to other discourse, among others, he mightily commends my Lord Hinchingbroke's match and Lady, though he buys her L10,000 dear, by the jointure and settlement his father makes her; and says that the Duke of York and Duchess of York did come to see them in bed together, on their wedding-night, and how my Lord had fifty pieces of gold taken out of his pocket that night, after he was in bed. He tells me that an Act of Comprehension is likely to pass this Parliament, for admitting of all persuasions in religion to the public observation of their particular worship, but in certain places, and the persons therein concerned to be listed of this, or that Church; which, it is thought, will do them more hurt than good, and make them not own, their persuasion. He tells me that there is a pardon passed to the Duke of Buckingham, my Lord of Shrewsbury, and the rest, for the late duell and murder; [The royal pardon was thus announced in the "Gazette" of February 24th, 1668: "This day his Majesty was pleased to declare at the Board, that whereas, in contemplation of the eminent services heretofore done to his Majesty by most of the persons who were engaged in the late duel, or rencounter, wherein William Jenkins was killed, he Both graciously pardon the said offence: nevertheless, He is resolved from henceforth that on no pretence whatsoever any pardon shall be hereafter granted to any person whatsoever for killing of any man, in any duel or rencounter, but that the course of law shall wholly take place in all such cases." The warrant for a pardon to George, Duke of Buckingham, is dated January 27th, 1668; and on the following day was issued, "Warrant for a grant to Francis, Earl of Shrewsbury, of pardon for killing William Jenkins, and for all duels, assaults, or batteries on George, Duke of Buckingham, Sir John Talbot, Sir Robert Holmes, or any other, whether indicted or not for the same, with restitution of lands, goods, &c." ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667-68, pp. 192,193).] which he thinks a worse fault than any ill use my late Lord Chancellor ever put the Great Seal to, and will be so thought by the Parliament, for them to be pardoned without bringing them to any trial: and that my Lord Privy-Seal therefore would not have it pass his hand, but made it go by immediate warrant; or at least they knew that he would not pass it, and so did direct it to go by immediate warrant, that it might not come to him. He tells me what a character my Lord Sandwich hath sent over of Mr. Godolphin, as the worthiest man, and such a friend to him as he may be trusted in any thing relating to him in the world; as one whom, he says, he hath infallible assurances that he will remaine his friend which is very high, but indeed they say the gentleman is a fine man. Thence, after eating a lobster for my dinner, having eat nothing to-day, we broke up, here coming to us Mr. Townsend of the Wardrobe, who complains of the Commissioners of the Treasury as very severe against my Lord Sandwich, but not so much as they complain of him for a fool and a knave, and so I let him alone, and home, carrying Mr. Moore as far as Fenchurch Street, and I home, and there being vexed in my mind about my prize businesses I to my chamber, where my wife and I had much talk of W. Hewer, she telling me that he is mightily concerned for my not being pleased with him, and is herself mightily concerned, but I have much reason to blame him for his little assistance he gives me in my business, not being able to copy out a letter with sense or true spelling that makes me mad, and indeed he is in that regard of as little use to me as the boy, which troubles me, and I would have him know it,--and she will let him know it. By and by to supper, and so to bed, and slept but ill all night, my mind running like a fool on my prize business, which according to my reason ought not to trouble me at all. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning,, and among other things Sir H. Cholmly comes to me about a little business, and there tells me how the Parliament, which is to meet again to-day, are likely to fall heavy on the business of the Duke of Buckingham's pardon; and I shall be glad of it: and that the King hath put out of the Court the two Hides, my Lord Chancellor's two sons, and also the Bishops of Rochester and Winchester, the latter of whom should have preached before him yesterday, being Ash Wednesday, and had his sermon ready, but was put by; which is great news: He gone, we sat at the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and my wife being gone before, I to the Duke of York's playhouse; where a new play of Etherige's, called "She Would if she Could;" and though I was there by two o'clock, there was 1000 people put back that could not have room in the pit: and I at last, because my wife was there, made shift to get into the 18d. box, and there saw; but, Lord! how full was the house, and how silly the play, there being nothing in the world good in it, and few people pleased in it. The King was there; but I sat mightily behind, and could see but little, and hear not all. The play being done, I into the pit to look (for) my wife, and it being dark and raining, I to look my wife out, but could not find her; and so staid going between the two doors and through the pit an hour and half, I think, after the play was done; the people staying there till the rain was over, and to talk with one another. And, among the rest, here was the Duke of Buckingham to-day openly sat in the pit; and there I found him with my Lord Buckhurst, and Sidly, and Etherige, the poet; the last of whom I did hear mightily find fault with the actors, that they were out of humour, and had not their parts perfect, and that Harris did do nothing, nor could so much as sing a ketch in it; and so was mightily concerned while all the rest did, through the whole pit, blame the play as a silly, dull thing, though there was something very roguish and witty; but the design of the play, and end, mighty insipid. At last I did find my wife staying for me in the entry; and with her was Betty Turner, Mercer, and Deb. So I got a coach, and a humour took us, and I carried them to Hercules Pillars, and there did give them a kind of a supper of about 7s., and very merry, and home round the town, not through the ruines; and it was pretty how the coachman by mistake drives us into the ruines from London-wall into Coleman Street: and would persuade me that I lived there. And the truth is, I did think that he and the linkman had contrived some roguery; but it proved only a mistake of the coachman; but it was a cunning place to have done us a mischief in, as any I know, to drive us out of the road into the ruines, and there stop, while nobody could be called to help us. But we come safe home, and there, the girls being gone home, I to the office, where a while busy, my head not being wholly free of my trouble about my prize business, I home to bed. This evening coming home I did put my hand under the coats of Mercer and did touch her thigh, but then she did put by my hand and no hurt done, but talked and sang and was merry. 7th. Up, and to the office, to the getting of my books in order, to carry to the Commissioners of Accounts this morning. This being done, I away first to Westminster Hall, and there met my cozen, Roger Pepys, by his desire, the first time I have seen him since his coming to town, the Parliament meeting yesterday and adjourned to Monday next; and here he tells me that Mr. Jackson, my sister's servant, is come to town, and hath this day suffered a recovery on his estate, in order to the making her a settlement. The young man is gone out of the Hall, so I could not now see him, but here I walked a good while with my cozen, and among other things do hear that there is a great triall between my Lord Gerard and Carr to-day, who is indicted for his life at the King's Bench, for running from his colours; but all do say that my Lord Gerard, though he designs the ruining of this man, will not get any thing by it. Thence to the Commissioners of Accounts, and there presented my books, and was made to sit down, and used with much respect, otherwise than the other day, when I come to them as a criminal about the business of the prizes. I sat here with them a great while, while my books were inventoried. And here do hear from them by discourse that they are like to undo the Treasurer's instruments of the Navy by making it a rule that they shall repay all money paid to wrong parties, which is a thing not to be supported by these poor creatures the Treasurer's instruments, as it is also hard for seamen to be ruined by their paying money to whom they please. I know not what will be the issue of it. I find these gentlemen to sit all day, and only eat a bit of bread at noon, and a glass of wine; and are resolved to go through their business with great severity and method. Thence I, about two o'clock, to Westminster Hall, by appointment, and there met my cozen Roger again, and Mr. Jackson, who is a plain young man, handsome enough for Pall, one of no education nor discourse, but of few words, and one altogether that, I think, will please me well enough. My cozen had got me to give the odd sixth L100 presently, which I intended to keep to the birth of the first child: and let it go--I shall be eased of the care, and so, after little talk, we parted, resolving to dine together at my house tomorrow. So there parted, my mind pretty well satisfied with this plain fellow for my sister, though I shall, I see, have no pleasure nor content in him, as if he had been a man of reading and parts, like Cumberland, and to the Swan, and there sent for a bit of meat and eat and drank, and so to White Hall to the Duke of York's chamber, where I find him and my fellows at their usual meeting, discoursing about securing the Medway this year, which is to shut the door after the horse is stole. However, it is good. Having done here, my Lord Brouncker, and W. Pen, and I, and with us Sir Arnold Breames, to the King's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Love in a Maze," a dull, silly play, I think; and after the play, home with W. Pen and his son Lowther, whom we met there, and then home and sat most of the evening with my wife and Mr. Pelting, talking, my head being full of business of one kind or other, and most such as do not please me, and so to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where sat all day, and at noon home, and there find cozen Roger and Jackson by appointment come to dine with me, and Creed, and very merry, only Jackson hath few words, and I like him never the worse for it. The great talk is of Carr's coming off in all his trials, to the disgrace of my Lord Gerard, to that degree, and the ripping up of so many notorious rogueries and cheats of my Lord's, that my Lord, it is thought, will be ruined; and, above all things, do skew the madness of the House of Commons, who rejected the petition of this poor man by a combination of a few in the House; and, much more, the base proceedings (just the epitome of all our publick managements in this age), of the House of Lords, that ordered him to stand in the pillory for those very things, without hearing and examining what he hath now, by the seeking of my Lord Gerard himself, cleared himself of, in open Court, to the gaining himself the pity of all the world, and shame for ever to my Lord Gerard. We had a great deal of good discourse at table, and after dinner we four men took coach, and they set me down at the Old Exchange, and they home, having discoursed nothing today with cozen or Jackson about our business. I to Captain Cocke's, and there discoursed over our business of prizes, and I think I shall go near to state the matter so as to secure myself without wrong to him, doing nor saying anything but the very truth. Thence away to the Strand, to my bookseller's, and there staid an hour, and bought the idle, rogueish book, "L'escholle des filles;" which I have bought in plain binding, avoiding the buying of it better bound, because I resolve, as soon as I have read it, to burn it, that it may not stand in the list of books, nor among them, to disgrace them if it should be found. Thence home, and busy late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. My wife well pleased with my sister's match, and designing how to be merry at their marriage. And I am well at ease in my mind to think that that care will be over. This night calling at the Temple, at the Auditor's, his man told me that he heard that my account must be brought to the view of the Commissioners of Tangier before it can be passed, which though I know no hurt in it, yet it troubled me lest there should be any or any designed by them who put this into the head of the Auditor, I suppose Auditor Beale, or Creed, because they saw me carrying my account another way than by them. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the morning and the office doing business, and also reading a little of "L'escholle des filles," which is a mighty lewd book, but yet not amiss for a sober man once to read over to inform himself in the villainy of the world. At noon home to dinner, where by appointment Mr. Pelting come and with him three friends, Wallington, that sings the good base, and one Rogers, and a gentleman, a young man, his name Tempest, who sings very well indeed, and understands anything in the world at first sight. After dinner we into our dining-room, and there to singing all the afternoon. (By the way, I must remember that Pegg Pen was brought to bed yesterday of a girl; and, among other things, if I have not already set it down, that hardly ever was remembered such a season for the smallpox as these last two months have been, people being seen all up and down the streets, newly come out after the smallpox.) But though they sang fine things, yet I must confess that I did take no pleasure in it, or very little, because I understood not the words, and with the rests that the words are set, there is no sense nor understanding in them though they be English, which makes me weary of singing in that manner, it being but a worse sort of instrumental musick. We sang until almost night, and drank mighty good store of wine, and then they parted, and I to my chamber, where I did read through "L'escholle des filles," a lewd book, but what do no wrong once to read for information sake.... And after I had done it I burned it, that it might not be among my books to my shame, and so at night to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and by coach to Westminster, and there made a visit to Mr. Godolphin, at his chamber; and I do find him a very pretty and able person, a man of very fine parts, and of infinite zeal to my Lord Sandwich; and one that says he is, he believes, as wise and able a person as any prince in the world hath. He tells me that he meets with unmannerly usage by Sir Robert Southwell, in Portugall, who would sign with him in his negociations there, being a forward young man: but that my Lord mastered him in that point, it being ruled for my Lord here, at a hearing of a Committee of the Council. He says that if my Lord can compass a peace between Spain and Portugall, and hath the doing of it and the honour himself, it will be a thing of more honour than ever any man had, and of as much advantage. Thence to Westminster Hall, where the Hall mighty full: and, among other things, the House begins to sit to-day, and the King come. But, before the King's coming, the House of Commons met; and upon information given them of a Bill intended to be brought in, as common report said, for Comprehension, they did mightily and generally inveigh against it, and did vote that the King should be desired by the House (and the message delivered by the Privy-counsellers of the House) that the laws against breakers of the Act of Uniformity should be put in execution: and it was moved in the House that, if any people had a mind to bring any new laws into the House, about religion, they might come, as a proposer of new laws did in Athens, with ropes about their necks. By and by the King comes to the Lords' House, and there tells them of his league with Holland, and the necessity of a fleete, and his debts; and, therefore, want of money; and his desire that they would think of some way to bring in all his Protestant subjects to a right understanding and peace one with another; meaning the Bill of Comprehension. The Commons coming to their House, it was moved that the vote passed this morning might be suspended, because of the King's speech, till the House was full and called over, two days hence: but it was denied, so furious they are against this Bill: and thereby a great blow either given to the King or Presbyters, or, which is the rather of the two, to the House itself, by denying a thing desired by the King, and so much desired by much the greater part of the nation. Whatever the consequence be, if the King be a man of any stomach and heat, all do believe that he will resent this vote. Thence with Creed home to my house to dinner, where I met with Mr. Jackson, and find my wife angry with Deb., which vexes me. After dinner by coach away to Westminster; taking up a friend of Mr. Jackson's, a young lawyer, and parting with Creed at White Hall. They and I to Westminster Hall, and there met Roger Pepys, and with him to his chamber, and there read over and agreed upon the Deed of Settlement to our minds: my sister to have L600 presently, and she to be joyntured in L60 per annum; wherein I am very well satisfied. Thence I to the Temple to Charles Porter's lodgings, where Captain Cocke met me, and after long waiting, on Pemberton, [Francis Pemberton, afterwards knighted, and made Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench in 1679. His career was a most singular one, he having been twice removed from the Bench, and twice imprisoned by the House of Commons. He twice returned to the bar, and after his second return he practised with great success as a serjeant for the next fourteen years till his death, June 10th, 1697. Evelyn says, "He was held to be the most learned of the judges and an honest man" ("Diary," October 4th, 1683).] an able lawyer, about the business of our prizes, and left the matter with him to think of against to-morrow, this being a matter that do much trouble my mind, though there be no fault in it that I need fear the owning that I know of. Thence with Cocke home to his house and there left him, and I home, and there got my wife to read a book I bought to-day, and come out to-day licensed by Joseph Williamson for Lord Arlington, shewing the state of England's affairs relating to France at this time, and the whole body of the book very good and solid, after a very foolish introduction as ever I read, and do give a very good account of the advantage of our league with Holland at this time. So, vexed in my mind with the variety of cares I have upon me, and so to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning, where comes a damned summons to attend the Committee of Miscarriages to-day, which makes me mad, that I should by my place become the hackney of this Office, in perpetual trouble and vexation, that need it least. At noon home to dinner, where little pleasure, my head being split almost with the variety of troubles upon me at this time, and cares, and after dinner by coach to Westminster Hall, and sent my wife and Deb. to see "Mustapha" acted. Here I brought a book to the Committee, and do find them; and particularly Sir Thomas Clarges, mighty hot in the business of tickets, which makes me mad to see them bite at the stone, and not at the hand that flings it, and here my Lord Brouncker unnecessarily orders it that he is called in to give opportunity to present his report of the state of the business of paying by ticket, which I do not think will do him any right, though he was made believe that it did operate mightily, and that Sir Fresh. Hollis did make a mighty harangue and to much purpose in his defence, but I believe no such effects of it, for going in afterward I did hear them speak with prejudice of it, and that his pleading of the Admiral's warrant for it now was only an evasion, if not an aspersion upon the Admirall, and therefore they would not admit of this his report, but go on with their report as they had resolved before. The orders they sent for this day was the first order that I have yet met with about this business, and was of my own single hand warranting, but I do think it will do me no harm, and therefore do not much trouble myself with it, more than to see how much trouble I am brought to who have best deported myself in all the King's business. Thence with Lord Brouncker, and set him down at Bow Streete, and so to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw the last act for nothing, where I never saw such good acting of any creature as Smith's part of Zanger; and I do also, though it was excellently acted by---------, do yet want Betterton mightily. Thence to the Temple, to Porter's chamber, where Cocke met me, and after a stay there some time, they two and I to Pemberton's chamber, and there did read over the Act of calling people to account, and did discourse all our business of the prizes; and, upon the whole, he do make it plainly appear, that there is no avoiding to give these Commissioners satisfaction in everything they will ask; and that there is fear lest they may find reason to make us refund for all the extraordinary profit made by those bargains; and do make me resolve rather to declare plainly, and, once for all, the truth of the whole, and what my profit hath been, than be forced at last to do it, and in the meantime live in gain, as I must always do: and with this resolution on my part I departed, with some more satisfaction of mind, though with less hopes of profit than I expected. It was pretty here to see the heaps of money upon this lawyer's table; and more to see how he had not since last night spent any time upon our business, but begun with telling us that we were not at all concerned in that Act; which was a total mistake, by his not having read over the Act at all. Thence to Porter's chamber, where Captain Cocke had fetched my wife out of the coach, and there we staid and talked and drank, he being a very generous, good-humoured man, and so away by coach, setting Cocke at his house, and we with his coach home, and there I to the office, and there till past one in the morning, and so home to supper and to bed, my mind at pretty good ease, though full of care and fear of loss. This morning my wife in bed told me the story of our Tom and Jane:--how the rogue did first demand her consent to love and marry him, and then, with pretence of displeasing me, did slight her; but both he and she have confessed the matter to her, and she hath charged him to go on with his love to her, and be true to her, and so I think the business will go on, which, for my love to her, because she is in love with him, I am pleased with; but otherwise I think she will have no good bargain of it, at least if I should not do well in my place. But if I do stand, I do intend to give her L50 in money, and do them all the good I can in my way. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning drawing up my narrative of my proceedings and concernments in the buying of prize-goods, which I am to present to the Committee for Accounts; and being come to a resolution to conceal nothing from them, I was at great ease how to draw it up without any inventions or practise to put me to future pain or thoughts how to carry on, and now I only discover what my profit was, and at worst I suppose I can be made but to refund my profit and so let it go. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Jackson dined with me, and after dinner I (calling at the Excise Office, and setting my wife and Deb. at her tailor's) did with Mr. Jackson go to find my cozen Roger Pepys, which I did in the Parliament House, where I met him and Sir Thomas Crew and Mr. George Montagu, who are mighty busy how to save my Lord's name from being in the Report for anything which the Committee is commanded to report to the House of the miscarriages of the late war. I find they drive furiously still in the business of tickets, which is nonsense in itself and cannot come to any thing. Thence with cozen Roger to his lodgings, and there sealed the writings with Jackson, about my sister's marriage: and here my cozen Roger told me the pleasant passage of a fellow's bringing a bag of letters to-day, into the lobby of the House, and left them, and withdrew himself without observation. The bag being opened, the letters were found all of one size, and directed with one hand: a letter to most of the Members of the House. The House was acquainted with it, and voted they should be brought in, and one opened by the Speaker; wherein if he found any thing unfit to communicate, to propose a Committee to be chosen for it. The Speaker opening one, found it only a case with a libell in it, printed: a satire most sober and bitter as ever I read; and every letter was the same. So the House fell a-scrambling for them like boys: and my cozen Roger had one directed to him, which he lent me to read. So away, and took up my wife, and setting Jackson down at Fetter Lane end, I to the old Exchange to look Mr. Houblon, but, not finding him, did go home, and there late writing a letter to my Lord Sandwich, and to give passage to a letter of great moment from Mr. Godolphin to him, which I did get speedy passage for by the help of Mr. Houblon, who come late to me, and there directed the letter to Lisbon under cover of his, and here we talked of the times, which look very sad and distracted, and made good mirth at this day's passage in the House, and so parted; and going to the gate with him, I found his lady and another fine lady sitting an hour together, late at night, in their coach, while he was with me, which is so like my wife, that I was mighty taken with it, though troubled for it. So home to supper and to bed. This day Captain Cocke was with the Commissioners of Accounts to ask more time for his bringing in his answer about the prize goods, and they would not give him 14 days as he asks, but would give only two days, which was very hard, I think, and did trouble me for fear of their severity, though I have prepared my matter so as to defy it. 13th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to White Hall, setting, them at her tailor's, and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where myself alone did argue the business of the East India Company against their whole Company on behalf of the King before the Lords Commissioners, and to very good effect, I think, and with reputation. That business being over, the Lords and I had other things to talk about, and among the rest, about our making more assignments on the Exchequer since they bid us hold, whereat they were extraordinary angry with us, which troubled me a little, though I am not concerned in it at all. Waiting here some time without, I did meet with several people, among others Mr. Brisband, who tells me in discourse that Tom Killigrew hath a fee out of the Wardrobe for cap and bells, [The Lord Chamberlain's Records contain a copy of a warrant dated July 12th, 1661, "to deliver to Mr. Killegrew thirty yards of velvett, three dozen of fringe, and sixteene yards of Damaske for the year 1661." The heading of this entry is "Livery for ye jester" (Lowe's "Betterton," p. 70).] under the title of the King's Foole or jester; and may with privilege revile or jeere any body, the greatest person, without offence, by the privilege of his place. Thence took up my wife, and home, and there busy late at the office writing letters, and so home to supper and to bed. The House was called over to-day. This morning Sir G. Carteret come to the Office to see and talk with me: and he assures me that to this day the King is the most kind man to my Lord Sandwich in the whole world; that he himself do not now mind any publick business, but suffers things to go on at Court as they will, he seeing all likely to come to ruin: that this morning the Duke of York sent to him to come to make up one of a Committee of the Council for Navy Affairs; where, when he come, he told the Duke of York that he was none of them: which shews how things are now-a-days ordered, that there should be a Committee for the Navy; and the Lord Admiral not know the persons of it! And that Sir G. Carteret and my Lord Anglesey should be left out of it, and men wholly improper put into it. I do hear of all hands that there is a great difference at this day between my Lord Arlington and Sir W. Coventry, which I am sorry for. 14th (Valentine's day). Up, being called up by Mercer, who come to be my Valentine, and so I rose and my wife, and were merry a little, I staying to talk, and did give her a guinny in gold for her Valentine's gift. There comes also my cozen Roger Pepys betimes, and comes to my wife, for her to be his Valentine, whose Valentine I was also, by agreement to be so to her every year; and this year I find it is likely to cost L4 or L5 in a ring for her, which she desires. Cozen Roger did come also to speak with Sir W. Pen, who was quoted, it seems, yesterday by Sir Fr. Hollis to have said that if my Lord Sandwich had done so and so, we might have taken all the Dutch prizes at the time when he staid and let them go. But Sir W. Pen did tell us he should say nothing in it but what would do my Lord honour, and he is a knave I am able to prove if he do otherwise. He gone, I to my Office, to perfect my Narrative about prize-goods; and did carry it to the Commissioners of Accounts, who did receive it with great kindness, and express great value of, and respect to me: and my heart is at rest that it is lodged there, in so full truth and plainness, though it may hereafter prove some loss to me. But here I do see they are entered into many enquiries about prizes, by the great attendance of commanders and others before them, which is a work I am not sorry for. Thence I away, with my head busy, but my heart at pretty good ease, to the Old Exchange, and there met Mr. Houblon. I prayed him to discourse with some of the merchants that are of the Committee for Accounts, to see how they do resent my paper, and in general my particular in the relation to the business of the Navy, which he hath promised to do carefully for me and tell me. Here it was a mighty pretty sight to see old Mr. Houblon, whom I never saw before, and all his sons about him, all good merchants. Thence home to dinner, and had much discourse with W. Hewer about my going to visit Colonel Thomson, one of the Committee of Accounts, who, among the rest, is mighty kind to me, and is likely to mind our business more than any; and I would be glad to have a good understanding with him. Thence after dinner to White Hall, to attend the Duke of York, where I did let him know, too, the troublesome life we lead, and particularly myself, by being obliged to such attendances every day as I am, on one Committee or another. And I do find the Duke of York himself troubled, and willing not to be troubled with occasions of having his name used among the Parliament, though he himself do declare that he did give directions to Lord Brouncker to discharge the men at Chatham by ticket, and will own it, if the House call for it, but not else. Thence I attended the King and Council, and some of the rest of us, in a business to be heard about the value of a ship of one Dorrington's:--and it was pretty to observe how Sir W. Pen making use of this argument against the validity of an oath, against the King, being made by the master's mate of the ship, who was but a fellow of about 23 years of age--the master of the ship, against whom we pleaded, did say that he did think himself at that age capable of being master's mate of any ship; and do know that he, himself, Sir W: Pen, was so himself, and in no better degree at that age himself: which word did strike Sir W. Pen dumb, and made him open his mouth no more; and I saw the King and Duke of York wink at one another at it. This done, we into the gallery; and there I walked with several people, and among others my Lord Brouncker, who I do find under much trouble still about the business of the tickets, his very case being brought in; as is said, this day in the Report of the Miscarriages. And he seems to lay much of it on me, which I did clear and satisfy him in; and would be glad with all my heart to serve him in, and have done it more than he hath done for himself, he not deserving the least blame, but commendations, for this. I met with my cozen Roger Pepys and Creed; and from them understand that the Report was read to-day of the Miscarriages, wherein my Lord Sandwich is [named] about the business I mentioned this morning; but I will be at rest, for it can do him no hurt. Our business of tickets is soundly up, and many others: so they went over them again, and spent all the morning on the first, which is the dividing of the fleete; wherein hot work was, and that among great men, Privy-Councillors, and, they say, Sir W. Coventry; but I do not much fear it, but do hope that it will shew a little, of the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince to have been advisers in it: but whereas they ordered that the King's Speech should be considered today, they took no notice of it at all, but are really come to despise the King in all possible ways of chewing it. And it was the other day a strange saying, as I am told by my cozen Roger Pepys, in the House, when it was moved that the King's speech should be considered, that though the first part of the Speech, meaning the league that is there talked of, be the only good publick thing that hath been done since the King come into England, yet it might bear with being put off to consider, till Friday next, which was this day. Secretary Morrice did this day in the House, when they talked of intelligence, say that he was allowed but L70 a-year for intelligence,--[Secret service money]--whereas, in Cromwell's time, he [Cromwell] did allow L70,000 a-year for it; and was confirmed therein by Colonel Birch, who said that thereby Cromwell carried the secrets of all the princes of Europe at his girdle. The House is in a most broken condition; nobody adhering to any thing, but reviling and finding fault: and now quite mad at the Undertakers, as they are commonly called, Littleton, Lord Vaughan, Sir R. Howard, and others that are brought over to the Court, and did undertake to get the King money; but they despise, and would not hear them in the House; and the Court do do as much, seeing that they cannot be useful to them, as was expected. In short, it is plain that the King will never be able to do any thing with this Parliament; and that the only likely way to do better, for it cannot do worse, is to break this and call another Parliament; and some do think that it is intended. I was told to-night that my Lady Castlemayne is so great a gamester as to have won L5000 in one night, and lost L25,000 in another night, at play, and hath played L1000 and L1500 at a cast. Thence to the Temple, where at Porter's chamber I met Captain Cocke, but lost our labour, our Counsellor not being within, Pemberton, and therefore home and late at my office, and so home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up betimes, and with Captain Cocke my coach to the Temple to his Counsel again about the prize goods in order to the drawing up of his answer to them, where little done but a confirmation that our best interest is for him to tell the whole truth, and so parted, and I home to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon and evening till midnight almost, and till I had tired my own backe, and my wife's, and Deb.'s, in titleing of my books for the present year, and in setting them in order, which is now done to my very good satisfaction, though not altogether so completely as I think they were the last year, when my mind was more at leisure to mind it. So about midnight to bed, where my wife taking some physic overnight it wrought with her, and those coming upon her with great gripes, she was in mighty pain all night long, yet, God forgive me! I did find that I was most desirous to take my rest than to ease her, but there was nothing I could do to do her any good with. 16th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, where all the morning making a catalogue of my books, which did find me work, but with great pleasure, my chamber and books being now set in very good order, and my chamber washed and cleaned, which it had not been in some months before, my business and trouble having been so much. At noon Mr. Holliard put in, and dined with my wife and me, who was a little better to-day. His company very good. His story of his love and fortune, which hath been very good and very bad in the world, well worth hearing. Much discourse also about the bad state of the Church, and how the Clergy are come to be men of no worth in the world; and, as the world do now generally discourse, they must be reformed; and I believe the Hierarchy will in a little time be shaken, whether they will or no; the King being offended with them, and set upon it, as I hear. He gone, after dinner to have my head combed, and then to my chamber and read most of the evening till pretty late, when, my wife not being well, I did lie below stairs in our great chamber, where I slept well. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning till noon getting some things more ready against the afternoon for the Committee of Accounts, which did give me great trouble, to see how I am forced to dance after them in one place, and to answer Committees of Parliament in another. At noon thence toward the Committee, but meeting with Sir W. Warren in Fleet Street he and I to the Ordinary by Temple Bar and there dined together, and to talk, where he do seem to be very high now in defiance of the Board, now he says that the worst is come upon him to have his accounts brought to the Committee of Accounts, and he do reflect upon my late coldness to him, but upon the whole I do find that he is still a cunning fellow, and will find it necessary to be fair to me, and what hath passed between us of coldness to hold his tongue, which do please me very well. Thence to the Committee, where I did deliver the several things they expected from me, with great respect and show of satisfaction, and my mind thereby eased of some care. But thence I to Westminster Hall, and there spent till late at night walking to and again with many people, and there in general I hear of the great high words that were in the House on Saturday last, upon the first part of the Committee's Report about the dividing of the fleete; wherein some would have the counsels of the King to be declared, and the reasons of them, and who did give them; where Sir W. Coventry laid open to them the consequences of doing that, that the King would never have any honest and wise men ever to be of his Council. They did here in the House talk boldly of the King's bad counsellors, and how they must be all turned out, and many of them, and better; brought in: and the proceedings of the Long-Parliament in the beginning of the war were called to memory: and the King's bad intelligence was mentioned, wherein they were bitter against my Lord Arlington, saying, among other things, that whatever Morrice's was, who declared he had but L750 a-year allowed him for intelligence, the King paid too dear for my Lord Arlington's, in giving him L10,000 and a barony for it. Sir W. Coventry did here come to his defence, in the business of the letter that was sent to call back Prince Rupert, after he was divided from the fleete, wherein great delay was objected; but he did show that he sent it at one in the morning, when the Duke of York did give him the instructions after supper that night, and did clear himself well of it: only it was laid as a fault, which I know not how he removes, of not sending it by an express, but by the ordinary post; but I think I have heard he did send it to my Lord Arlington's; and that there it lay for some hours; it coming not to Sir Philip Honiwood's hand at Portsmouth till four in the afternoon that day, being about fifteen or sixteen hours in going; and about this, I think, I have heard of a falling out between my Lord Arlington, heretofore, and W. Coventry. Some mutterings I did hear of a design of dissolving the Parliament; but I think there is no ground for it yet, though Oliver would have dissolved them for half the trouble and contempt these have put upon the King and his councils. The dividing of the fleete, however, is, I hear, voted a miscarriage, and the not building a fortification at Sheernesse: and I have reason every hour to expect that they will vote the like of our paying men off by ticket; and what the consequence of that will be I know not, but I am put thereby into great trouble of mind. I did spend a little time at the Swan, and there did kiss the maid, Sarah. At noon home, and there up to my wife, who is still ill, and supped with her, my mind being mighty full of trouble for the office and my concernments therein, and so to supper and talking with W. Hewer in her chamber about business of the office, wherein he do well understand himself and our case, and it do me advantage to talk with him and the rest of my people. I to bed below as I did last night. 18th. Up by break of day, and walked down to the old Swan, where I find little Michell building, his booth being taken down, and a foundation laid for a new house, so that that street is like to be a very fine place. I drank, but did not see Betty, and so to Charing Cross stairs, and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's, [Sir William Coventry's love of money is said by Sir John Denham to have influenced him in promoting naval officers, who paid him for their commissions. "Then Painter! draw cerulian Coventry Keeper, or rather Chancellor o' th' sea And more exactly to express his hue, Use nothing but ultra-mariuish blue. To pay his fees, the silver trumpet spends, And boatswain's whistle for his place depends. Pilots in vain repeat their compass o'er, Until of him they learn that one point more The constant magnet to the pole doth hold, Steel to the magnet, Coventry to gold. Muscovy sells us pitch, and hemp, and tar; Iron and copper, Sweden; Munster, war; Ashley, prize; Warwick, custom; Cart'ret, pay; But Coventry doth sell the fleet away."--B.] and talked with him, who tells me how he hath been persecuted, and how he is yet well come off in the business of the dividing of the fleete, and the sending of the letter. He expects next to be troubled about the business of bad officers in the fleete, wherein he will bid them name whom they call bad, and he will justify himself, having never disposed of any but by the Admiral's liking. And he is able to give an account of all them, how they come recommended, and more will be found to have been placed by the Prince and Duke of Albemarle than by the Duke of York during the war, and as no bad instance of the badness of officers he and I did look over the list of commanders, and found that we could presently recollect thirty-seven commanders that have been killed in actuall service this war. He tells me that Sir Fr. Hollis is the main man that hath persecuted him hitherto, in the business of dividing the fleete, saying vainly that the want of that letter to the Prince hath given him that, that he shall remember it by to his grave, meaning the loss of his arme; when, God knows! he is as idle and insignificant a fellow as ever come into the fleete. He tells me that in discourse on Saturday he did repeat Sir Rob. Howard's words about rowling out of counsellors, that for his part he neither cared who they rowled in, nor who they rowled out, by which the word is become a word of use in the House, the rowling out of officers. I will remember what, in mirth, he said to me this morning, when upon this discourse he said, if ever there was another Dutch war, they should not find a Secretary; "Nor," said I, "a Clerk of the Acts, for I see the reward of it; and, thanked God! I have enough of my own to buy me a good book and a good fiddle, and I have a good wife;"--"Why," says he, "I have enough to buy me a good book, and shall not need a fiddle, because I have never a one of your good wives." I understand by him that we are likely to have our business of tickets voted a miscarriage, but [he] cannot tell me what that will signify more than that he thinks they will report them to the King and there leave them, but I doubt they will do more. Thence walked over St. James's Park to White Hall, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked all the morning, and did speak with several Parliament-men-among others, Birch, who is very kind to me, and calls me, with great respect and kindness, a man of business, and he thinks honest, and so long will stand by me, and every such man, to the death. My business was to instruct them to keep the House from falling into any mistaken vote about the business of tickets, before they were better informed. I walked in the Hall all the morning with my Lord Brouncker, who was in great pain there, and, the truth is, his business is, without reason, so ill resented by the generality of the House, that I was almost troubled to be seen to walk with him, and yet am able to justify him in all, that he is under so much scandal for. Here I did get a copy of the report itself, about our paying off men by tickets; and am mightily glad to see it, now knowing the state of our case, and what we have to answer to, and the more for that the House is like to be kept by other business to-day and to-morrow, so that, against Thursday, I shall be able to draw up some defence to put into some Member's hands, to inform them, and I think we may [make] a very good one, and therefore my mind is mightily at ease about it. This morning they are upon a Bill, brought in to-day by Sir Richard Temple, for obliging the King to call Parliaments every three years; or, if he fail, for others to be obliged to do it, and to keep him from a power of dissolving any Parliament in less than forty days after their first day of sitting, which is such a Bill as do speak very high proceedings, to the lessening of the King; and this they will carry, and whatever else they desire, before they will give any money; and the King must have money, whatever it cost him. I stepped to the Dog Tavern, and thither come to me Doll Lane, and there we did drink together, and she tells me she is my valentine.... Thence, she being gone, and having spoke with Mr. Spicer here, whom I sent for hither to discourse about the security of the late Act of 11 months' tax on which I have secured part of my money lent to Tangier. I to the Hall, and there met Sir W. Pen, and he and I to the Beare, in Drury Lane, an excellent ordinary, after the French manner, but of Englishmen; and there had a good fricassee, our dinner coming to 8s., which was mighty pretty, to my great content; and thence, he and I to the King's house, and there, in one of the upper boxes, saw "Flora's Vagarys," which is a very silly play; and the more, I being out of humour, being at a play without my wife, and she ill at home, and having no desire also to be seen, and, therefore, could not look about me. Thence to the Temple, and there we parted, and I to see Kate Joyce, where I find her and her friends in great ease of mind, the jury having this day given in their verdict that her husband died of a feaver. Some opposition there was, the foreman pressing them to declare the cause of the feaver, thinking thereby to obstruct it: but they did adhere to their verdict, and would give no reason; so all trouble is now over, and she safe in her estate, which I am mighty glad of, and so took leave, and home, and up to my wife, not owning my being at a play, and there she shews me her ring of a Turky-stone set with little sparks of dyamonds, [The turquoise. This stone was sometimes referred to simply as the turkey, and Broderip ("Zoological Recreations") conjectured that the bird (turkey) took its name from the blue or turquoise colour of the skin about its head.] which I am to give her, as my Valentine, and I am not much troubled at it. It will cost me near L5--she costing me but little compared with other wives, and I have not many occasions to spend on her. So to my office, where late, and to think upon my observations to-morrow, upon the report of the Committee to the Parliament about the business of tickets, whereof my head is full, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning drawing up an answer to the Report of the Committee for miscarriages to the Parliament touching our paying men by tickets, which I did do in a very good manner I think. Dined with my clerks at home, where much good discourse of our business of the Navy, and the trouble now upon us, more than we expected. After dinner my wife out with Deb., to buy some things against my sister's wedding, and I to the office to write fair my business I did in the morning, and in the evening to White Hall, where I find Sir W. Coventry all alone, a great while with the Duke of York, in the King's drawing-room, they two talking together all alone, which did mightily please me. Then I did get Sir W. Coventry (the Duke of York being gone) aside, and there read over my paper, which he liked and corrected, and tells me it will be hard to escape, though the thing be never so fair, to have it voted a miscarriage; but did advise me and my Lord Brouncker, who coming by did join with us, to prepare some members in it, which we shall do. Here I do hear how La Roche, a French captain, who was once prisoner here, being with his ship at Plymouth, hath played some freakes there, for which his men being beat out of the town, he hath put up his flag of defiance, and also, somewhere thereabout, did land with his men, and go a mile into the country, and did some pranks, which sounds pretty odd, to our disgrace, but we are in condition now to bear any thing. But, blessed be God! all the Court is full of the good news of my Lord Sandwich's having made a peace between Spain and Portugall, which is mighty great news, and, above all, to my Lord's honour, more than any thing he ever did; and yet I do fear it will not prevail to secure him in Parliament against incivilities there. Thence, took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, and there my mind being full of preparing my paper against to-morrow for the House, with an address from the office to the House, I to the office, very late, and then home to supper and to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office a while, and thence to White Hall by coach with Mr. Batelier with me, whom I took up in the street. I thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there with Lord Brouncker, Sir T. Harvy, Sir J. Minnes, did wait all the morning to speak to members about our business, thinking our business of tickets would come before the House to-day, but we did alter our minds about the petition to the House, sending in the paper to them. But the truth is we were in a great hurry, but it fell out that they were most of the morning upon the business of not prosecuting the first victory; which they have voted one of the greatest miscarriages of the whole war, though they cannot lay the fault anywhere yet, because Harman is not come home. This kept them all the morning, which I was glad of. So down to the Hall, where my wife by agreement stayed for me at Mrs. Michell's, and there was Mercer and the girl, and I took them to Wilkinson's the cook's in King Street (where I find the master of the house hath been dead for some time), and there dined, and thence by one o'clock to the King's house: a new play, "The Duke of Lerma," of Sir Robert Howard's: where the King and Court was; and Knepp and Nell spoke the prologue most excellently, especially Knepp, who spoke beyond any creature I ever, heard. The play designed to reproach our King with his mistresses, that I was troubled for it, and expected it should be interrupted; but it ended all well, which salved all. The play a well-writ and good play, only its design I did not like of reproaching the King, but altogether a very good and most serious play. Thence home, and there a little to the office, and so home to supper, where Mercer with us, and sang, and then to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning to get a little business done, I having, and so the whole office, been put out of doing any business there for this week by our trouble in attending the Parliament. Hither comes to me young Captain Beckford, the slopseller, and there presents me a little purse with gold in it, it being, as he told me, for his present to me, at the end of the last year. I told him I had not done him any service I knew of. He persisted, and I refused, but did at several denials; and telling him that it was not an age to take presents in, he told me he had reason to present me with something, and desired me to accept of it, which, at his so urging me, I did, and so fell to talk of his business, and so parted. I do not know of any manner of kindness I have done him this last year, nor did expect any thing. It was therefore very welcome to me, but yet I was not fully satisfied in my taking it, because of my submitting myself to the having it objected against me hereafter, and the rather because this morning Jacke Fen come and shewed me an order from the Commissioners of Accounts, wherein they demand of him an account upon oath of all the sums of money that have been by him defalked or taken from any man since their time, of enquiry upon any payments, and if this should, as it is to be feared, come to be done to us, I know not what I shall then do, but I shall take counsel upon it. At noon by coach towards Westminster, and met my Lord Brouncker, and W. Pen, and Sir T. Harvey, in King's Street, coming away from the Parliament House; and so I to them, and to the French ordinary, at the Blue Bells, in Lincolne's Inn Fields, and there dined and talked. And, among other things, they tell me how the House this day is still as backward for giving any money as ever, and do declare they will first have an account of the disposals of the last Poll-bill, and eleven months' tax: and it is pretty odde that the very first sum mentioned in the account brought in by Sir Robert Long, of the disposal of the Poll-bill money, is L5000 to my Lord Arlington for intelligence; which was mighty unseasonable, so soon after they had so much cried out against his want of intelligence. The King do also own but L250,000, or thereabouts, yet paid on the Poll-bill, and that he hath charged L350,000 upon it. This makes them mad; for that the former Poll-bill, that was so much less in its extent than the last, which took in all sexes and qualities, did come to L350,000. Upon the whole, I perceive they are like to do nothing in this matter to please the King, or relieve the State, be the case never so pressing; and, therefore, it is thought by a great many that the King cannot be worse if he should dissolve them: but there is nobody dares advise it, nor do he consider any thing himself. Thence, having dined for 20s., we to the Duke of York at White Hall, and there had our usual audience, and did little but talk of the proceedings of the Parliament, wherein he is as much troubled as we; for he is not without fears that they do ayme at doing him hurt; but yet he declares that he will never deny to owne what orders he hath given to any man to justify him, notwithstanding their having sent to him to desire his being tender to take upon him the doing any thing of that kind. Thence with Brouncker and T. Harvey to Westminster Hall, and there met with Colonel Birch and Sir John Lowther, and did there in the lobby read over what I have drawn up for our defence, wherein they own themselves mightily satisfied; and Birch, like a particular friend, do take it upon him to defend us, and do mightily do me right in all his discourse. Here walked in the Hall with him a great while, and discoursed with several members, to prepare them in our business against to-morrow, and meeting my cozen Roger Pepys, he showed me Granger's written confession, [Pepys here refers to the extraordinary proceedings which occurred between Charles, Lord Gerard, and Alexander Fitton, of which a narrative was published at the Hague in 1665. Granger was a witness in the cause, and was afterwards said to be conscience-stricken from his perjury. Some notice of this case will be found in North's "Examen," p. 558; but the copious and interesting note in Ormerod's "History of Cheshire," Vol. iii., p. 291, will best satisfy the reader, who will not fail to be struck by the paragraph with which it is closed-viz., "It is not improbable that Alexander Fitton, who, in the first instance, gained rightful possession of Gawsworth under an acknowledged settlement, was driven headlong into unpremeditated guilt by the production of a revocation by will which Lord Gerard had so long concealed. Having lost his own fortune in the prosecution of his claims, he remained in gaol till taken out by James II. to be made Chancellor of Ireland (under which character Hume first notices him), was knighted, and subsequently created Lord Gawsworth after the abdication of James, sat in his parliament in Dublin in 1689, and then is supposed to have accompanied his fallen master to France. Whether the conduct of Fitton was met, as he alleges, by similar guilt on the part of Lord Gerard, God only can judge; but his hand fell heavily on the representatives of that noble house. In less than half a century the husbands of its two co-heiresses, James, Duke of Hamilton, and Charles, Lord Mohun, were slain by each other's hands in a murderous duel arising out of a dispute relative to the partition of the Fitton estates, and Gawsworth itself passed to an unlineal hand, by a series of alienations complicated beyond example in the annals of this country."--B.] of his being forced by imprisonment, &c., by my Lord Gerard, most barbarously to confess his forging of a deed in behalf of Fitton, in the great case between him [Fitton] and my Lord Gerard; which business is under examination, and is the foulest against my Lord Gerard that ever any thing in the world was, and will, all do believe, ruine him; and I shall be glad of it. Thence with Lord Brouncker and T. Harvey as far as the New Exchange, and there at a draper's shop drawing up a short note of what they are to desire of the House for our having a hearing before they determine any thing against us, which paper is for them to show to what friends they meet against to-morrow, I away home to the office, and there busy pretty late, and here comes my wife to me, who hath been at Pegg Pen's christening, which, she says, hath made a flutter and noise; but was as mean as could be, and but little company, just like all the rest that that family do. So home to supper and to bed, with my head full of a defence before the Parliament tomorrow, and therein content myself very well, and with what I have done in preparing some of the members thereof in order thereto. 22nd. Up, and by coach through Ducke Lane, and there did buy Kircher's Musurgia, cost me 35s., a book I am mighty glad of, expecting to find great satisfaction in it. Thence to Westminster Hall and the lobby, and up and down there all the morning, and to the Lords' House, and heard the Solicitor-General plead very finely, as he always do; and this was in defence of the East India Company against a man that complains of wrong from them, and thus up and down till noon in expectation of our business coming on in the House of Commons about tickets, but they being busy about my Lord Gerard's business I did give over the thoughts of ours coming on, and so with my wife, and Mercer, and Deb., who come to the Hall to me, I away to the Beare, in Drury Lane, and there bespoke a dish of meat; and, in the mean time, sat and sung with Mercer; and, by and by, dined with mighty pleasure, and excellent meat, one little dish enough for us all, and good wine, and all for 8s., and thence to the Duke's playhouse, and there saw "Albumazar," an old play, this the second time of acting. It is said to have been the ground of B. Jonson's "Alchymist;" but, saving the ridicuiousnesse of Angell's part, which is called Trinkilo, I do not see any thing extraordinary in it, but was indeed weary of it before it was done. The King here, and, indeed, all of us, pretty merry at the mimique tricks of Trinkilo. So home, calling in Ducke Lane for the book I bought this morning, and so home, and wrote my letters at the office, and then home to supper and to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up, and, being desired by a messenger from Sir G. Carteret, I by water over to Southwarke, and so walked to the Falkon, on the Bank-side, and there got another boat, and so to Westminster, where I would have gone into the Swan; but the door was locked; and the girl could not let me in, and so to Wilkinson's in King Street, and there wiped my shoes, and so to Court, where sermon not yet done I met with Brisband; and he tells me, first, that our business of tickets did come to debate yesterday, it seems, after I was gone away, and was voted a miscarriage in general. He tells me in general that there is great looking after places, upon a presumption of a great many vacancies; and he did shew me a fellow at Court, a brother of my Lord Fanshaw's, a witty but rascally fellow, without a penny in his purse, that was asking him what places there were in the Navy fit for him, and Brisband tells me, in mirth, he told him the Clerke of the Acts, and I wish he had it, so I were well and quietly rid of it; for I am weary of this kind of trouble, having, I think, enough whereon to support myself. By and by, chapel done, I met with Sir W. Coventry, and he and I walked awhile together in the Matted Gallery; and there he told me all the proceedings yesterday: that the matter is found, in general, a miscarriage, but no persons named; and so there is no great matter to our prejudice yet, till, if ever, they come to particular persons. He told me Birch was very industrious to do what he could, and did, like a friend; but they were resolved to find the thing, in general, a miscarriage; and says, that when we shall think fit to desire its being heard, as to our own defence, it will be granted. He tells me how he hath, with advantage, cleared himself in what concerns himself therein, by his servant Robson, which I am glad of. He tells me that there is a letter sent by conspiracy to some of the House, which he hath seen, about the matter of selling of places, which he do believe he shall be called upon to-morrow for: and thinks himself well prepared to defend himself in it; and then neither he, nor his friends for him, are afeard of anything to his prejudice. Thence by coach, with Brisband, to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there dined: a good dinner and good company; and after dinner he and I alone, discoursing of my Lord Sandwich's matters; who hath, in the first business before the House, been very kindly used beyond expectation, the matter being laid by, till his coming home and old Mr. Vaughan did speak for my Lord, which I am mighty glad of. The business of the prizes is the worst that can be said, and therein I do fear something may lie hard upon him; but, against this, we must prepare the best we can for his defence. Thence with G. Carteret to White Hall, where I, finding a meeting of the Committee of the Council for the Navy, his Royal Highness there, and Sir W. Pen, and, some of the Brethren of the Trinity House to attend, I did go in with them; and it was to be informed of the practice heretofore, for all foreign nations, at enmity one with another, to forbear any acts of hostility to one another, in the presence of any of the King of England's ships, of which several instances were given: and it is referred to their further enquiry, in order to the giving instructions accordingly to our ships now, during the war between Spain and France. Would to God we were in the same condition as heretofore, to challenge and maintain this our dominion! Thence with W. Pen homeward, and quite through to Mile End, for a little ayre; the days being now pretty long, but the ways mighty dirty, and here we drank at the Rose, the old house, and so back again, talking of the Parliament and our trouble with them and what passed yesterday. Going back again, Sir R. Brookes overtook us coming to town; who hath played the jacke with us all, and is a fellow that I must trust no more, he quoting me for all he hath said in this business of tickets; though I have told him nothing that either is not true, or I afeard to own. But here talking, he did discourse in this stile: "We,"--and "We" all along,--"will not give any money, be the pretence never so great, nay, though the enemy was in the River of Thames again, till we know what is become of the last money given;" and I do believe he do speak the mind of his fellows, and so let them, if the King will suffer it. He gone, we home, and there I to read, and my belly being full of my dinner to-day, I anon to bed, and there, as I have for many days, slept not an hour quietly, but full of dreams of our defence to the Parliament and giving an account of our doings. This evening, my wife did with great pleasure shew me her stock of jewells, encreased by the ring she hath made lately as my Valentine's gift this year, a Turky stone' set with diamonds: and, with this and what she had, she reckons that she hath above L150 worth of jewells, of one kind or other; and I am glad of it, for it is fit the wretch should have something to content herself with. 24th. Up, and to my office, where most of the morning, entering my journal for the three days past. Thence about noon with my wife to the New Exchange, by the way stopping at my bookseller's, and there leaving my Kircher's Musurgia to be bound, and did buy "L'illustre Bassa," in four volumes, for my wife. Thence to the Exchange and left her; while meeting Dr. Gibbons there, he and I to see an organ at the Dean of Westminster's lodgings at the Abby, the Bishop of Rochester's; where he lives like a great prelate, his lodgings being very good; though at present under great disgrace at Court, being put by his Clerk of the Closet's place. I saw his lady, of whom the 'Terrae Filius' of Oxford was once so merry; [A scholar appointed to make a satirical and jesting speech at an Act in the University of Oxford. Mr. Christopher Wordsworth gives, in his "Social Life at the English Universities in the Eighteenth Century," 1874, a list of terra-filii from 1591 to 1713 (pp. 296- 298, 680). The 'terrae filius' was sometimes expelled the university on account of the licence of his speech. The practice was discontinued early in the eighteenth century.] and two children, whereof one a very pretty little boy, like him, so fat and black. Here I saw the organ; but it is too big for my house, and the fashion do not please me enough; and therefore will not have it. Thence to the 'Change back again, leaving him, and took my wife and Deb. home, and there to dinner alone, and after dinner I took them to the Nursery,--[Theatre company of young actors in training.]--where none of us ever were before; where the house is better and the musique better than we looked for, and the acting not much worse, because I expected as bad as could be: and I was not much mistaken, for it was so. However, I was pleased well to see it once, it being worth a man's seeing to discover the different ability and understanding of people, and the different growth of people's abilities by practise. Their play was a bad one, called "Jeronimo is Mad Again," a tragedy. Here was some good company by us, who did make mighty sport at the folly of their acting, which I could not neither refrain from sometimes, though I was sorry for it. So away hence home, where to the office to do business a while, and then home to supper and to read, and then to bed. I was prettily served this day at the playhouse-door, where, giving six shillings into the fellow's hand for us three, the fellow by legerdemain did convey one away, and with so much grace faced me down that I did give him but five, that, though I knew the contrary, yet I was overpowered by his so grave and serious demanding the other shilling, that I could not deny him, but was forced by myself to give it him. After I come home this evening comes a letter to me from Captain Allen, formerly Clerk of the Ropeyard at Chatham, and whom I was kind to in those days, who in recompense of my favour to him then do give me notice that he hears of an accusation likely to be exhibited against me of my receiving L50 of Mason, the timber merchant, and that his wife hath spoke it. I am mightily beholden to Captain Allen for this, though the thing is to the best of my memory utterly false, and I do believe it to be wholly so, but yet it troubles me to have my name mentioned in this business, and more to consider how I may be liable to be accused where I have indeed taken presents, and therefore puts me on an enquiry, into my actings in this kind and prepare against a day of accusation. 25th. Up, having lain the last night the first night that I have lain with my wife since she was last ill, which is about eight days. To the office, where busy all the morning. At noon comes W. Howe to me, to advise what answer to give to the business of the prizes, wherein I did give him the best advice I could; but am sorry to see so many things, wherein I doubt it will not be prevented but Sir Roger Cuttance and Mr. Pierce will be found very much concerned in goods beyond the distribution, and I doubt my Lord Sandwich too, which troubles me mightily. He gone I to dinner, and thence set my wife at the New Exchange, and I to Mr. Clerke, my solicitor, to the Treasury chamber, but the Lords did not sit, so I by water with him to the New Exchange, and there we parted, and I took my wife and Deb. up, and to the Nursery, where I was yesterday, and there saw them act a comedy, a pastorall, "The Faythful Shepherd," having the curiosity to see whether they did a comedy better than a tragedy; but they do it both alike, in the meanest manner, that I was sick of it, but only for to satisfy myself once in seeing the manner of it, but I shall see them no more, I believe. Thence to the New Exchange, to take some things home that my wife hath bought, a dressing-box, and other things for her chamber and table, that cost me above L4, and so home, and there to the office, and tell W. Hewer of the letter from Captain Allen last night, to give him caution if any thing should be discovered of his dealings with anybody, which I should for his sake as well, or more than for my own, be sorry for; and with great joy I do find, looking over my memorandum books, which are now of great use to me, and do fully reward me for all my care in keeping them, that I am not likely to be troubled for any thing of the kind but what I shall either be able beforehand to prevent, or if discovered, be able to justify myself in, and I do perceive, by Sir W. Warren's discourse, that they [the House] do all they can possibly to get out of him and others, what presents they have made to the Officers of the Navy; but he tells me that he hath denied all, though he knows that he is forsworn as to what relates to me. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and by water to Charing Cross stairs, and thence to W. Coventry to discourse concerning the state of matters in the Navy, where he particularly acquainted me with the trouble he is like to meet with about the selling of places, all carried on by Sir Fr. Hollis, but he seems not to value it, being able to justify it to be lawful and constant practice, and never by him used in the least degree since he upon his own motion did obtain a salary of L500 in lieu thereof. Thence to the Treasury Chamber about a little business, and so home by coach, and in my way did meet W. Howe going to the Commissioners of Accounts. I stopped and spoke to him, and he seems well resolved what to answer them, but he will find them very strict, and not easily put off: So home and there to dinner, and after dinner comes W. Howe to tell me how he sped, who says he was used civilly, and not so many questions asked as he expected; but yet I do perceive enough to shew that they do intend to know the bottom of things, and where to lay the great weight of the disposal of these East India goods, and that they intend plainly to do upon my Lord Sandwich. Thence with him by coach and set him down at the Temple, and I to Westminster Hall, where, it being now about six o'clock, I find the House just risen; and met with Sir W. Coventry and the Lieutenant of the Tower, they having sat all day; and with great difficulty have got a vote for giving the King L300,000, not to be raised by any land-tax. The sum is much smaller than I expected, and than the King needs; but is grounded upon Mr. Wren's reading our estimates the other day of L270,000, to keep the fleete abroad, wherein we demanded nothing for setting and fitting of them out, which will cost almost L200,000, I do verily believe: and do believe that the King hath no cause to thank Wren for this motion. I home to Sir W. Coventry's lodgings, with him and the Lieutenant of the Tower, where also was Sir John Coventry, and Sir John Duncomb, and Sir Job Charleton. And here a great deal of good discourse: and they seem mighty glad to have this vote pass, which I did wonder at, to see them so well satisfied with so small a sum, Sir John Duncomb swearing, as I perceive he will freely do, that it was as much as the nation could beare. Among other merry discourse about spending of money, and how much more chargeable a man's living is now more than it was heretofore, Duncomb did swear that in France he did live of L100 a year with more plenty, and wine and wenches, than he believes can be done now for L200, which was pretty odd for him, being a Committee-man's son, to say. Having done here, and supped, where I eat very little, we home in Sir John Robinson's coach, and there to bed. 27th. All the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife and Deb. to the King's House, to see "The Virgin Martyr," the first time it hath been acted a great while: and it is mighty pleasant; not that the play is worth much, but it is finely acted by Becke Marshall. But that which did please me beyond any thing in, the whole world was the wind-musique when the angel comes down, which is so sweet that it ravished me, and indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have formerly been when in love with my wife; that neither then, nor all the evening going home, and at home, I was able to think of any thing, but remained all night transported, so as I could not believe that ever any musick hath that real command over the soul of a man as this did upon me: and makes me resolve to practice wind-musique, and to make my wife do the like. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and after dinner with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we and the rest of us presented a great letter of the state of our want of money to his Royal Highness. I did also present a demand of mine for consideration for my travelling-charges of coach and boat-hire during the war, which, though his Royal Highness and the company did all like of, yet, contrary to my expectation, I find him so jealous now of doing any thing extraordinary, that he desired the gentlemen that they would consider it, and report their minds in it to him. This did unsettle my mind a great while, not expecting this stop: but, however, I shall do as well, I know, though it causes me a little stop. But that, that troubles me most is, that while we were thus together with the Duke of York, comes in Mr. Wren from the House, where, he tells us, another storm hath been all this day almost against the Officers of the Navy upon this complaint,--that though they have made good rules for payment of tickets, yet that they have not observed them themselves, which was driven so high as to have it urged that we should presently be put out of our places: and so they have at last ordered that we shall be heard at the bar of the House upon this business on Thursday next. This did mightily trouble me and us all; but me particularly, who am least able to bear these troubles, though I have the least cause to be concerned in it. Thence, therefore, to visit Sir H. Cholmly, who hath for some time been ill of a cold; and thence walked towards Westminster, and met Colonel Birch, who took me back to walk with him, and did give me an account of this day's heat against the Navy Officers, and an account of his speech on our behalf, which was very good; and indeed we are much beholden to him, as I, after I parted with him, did find by my cozen Roger, whom I went to: and he and I to his lodgings. And there he did tell me the same over again; and how much Birch did stand up in our defence; and that he do see that there are many desirous to have us out of the Office; and the House is so furious and passionate, that he thinks nobody can be secure, let him deserve never so well. But now, he tells me, we shall have a fair hearing of the House, and he hopes justice of them: but, upon the whole, he do agree with me that I should hold my hand as to making any purchase of land, which I had formerly discoursed with him about, till we see a little further how matters go. He tells me that that made them so mad to-day first was, several letters in the House about the Fanatickes, in several places, coming in great bodies, and turning people out of the churches, and there preaching themselves, and pulling the surplice over the Parsons' heads: this was confirmed from several places; which makes them stark mad, especially the hectors and bravadoes of the House, who shew all the zeal on this occasion. Having done with him, I home vexed in my mind, and so fit for no business, but sat talking with my wife and supped with her; and Nan Mercer come and sat all the evening with us, and much pretty discourse, which did a little ease me, and so to bed. 29th. Up, and walked to Captain Cocke's, where Sir G. Carteret promised to meet me and did come to discourse about the prize-business of my Lord Sandwich's, which I perceive is likely to be of great ill consequence to my Lord, the House being mighty vehement in it. We could say little but advise that his friends should labour to get it put off, till he comes. We did here talk many things over, in lamentation of the present posture of affairs, and the ill condition of all people that have had anything to do under the King, wishing ourselves a great way off: Here they tell me how Sir Thomas Allen hath taken the Englishmen out of "La Roche," and taken from him an Ostend prize which La Roche had fetched out of our harbours; and at this day La Roche keeps upon our coasts; and had the boldness to land some men and go a mile up into the country, and there took some goods belonging to this prize out of a house there; which our King resents, and, they say, hath wrote to the King of France about; and everybody do think a war will follow; and then in what a case we shall be for want of money, nobody knows. Thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and to the office again in the afternoon, where we met to consider of an answer to the Parliament about the not paying of tickets according to our own orders, to which I hope we shall be able to give a satisfactory answer, but that the design of the House being apparently to remove us, I do question whether the best answer will prevail with them. This done I by coach with my wife to Martin, my bookseller's, expecting to have had my Kercher's Musurgia, but to my trouble and loss of trouble it was not done. So home again, my head full of thoughts about our troubles in the office, and so to the office. Wrote to my father this post, and sent him now Colvill's--[The Goldsmith.]--note for L600 for my sister's portion, being glad that I shall, I hope, have that business over before I am out of place, and I trust I shall be able to save a little of what I have got, and so shall not be troubled to be at ease; for I am weary of this life. So ends this month, with a great deal of care and trouble in my head about the answerings of the Parliament, and particularly in our payment of seamen by tickets. MARCH 1667-1668 March 1st (Lord's day). Up very betimes, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's; and there, largely carrying with me all my notes and papers, did run over our whole defence in the business of tickets, in order to the answering the House on Thursday next; and I do think, unless they be set without reason to ruin us, we shall make a good defence. I find him in great anxiety, though he will not discover it, in the business of the proceedings of Parliament; and would as little as is possible have his name mentioned in our discourse to them; and particularly the business of selling places is now upon his hand to defend himself in; wherein I did help him in his defence about the flag-maker's place, which is named in the House. We did here do the like about the complaint of want of victuals in the fleete in the year 1666, which will lie upon me to defend also. So that my head is full of care and weariness in my employment. Thence home, and there my mind being a little lightened by my morning's work in the arguments I have now laid together in better method for our defence to the Parliament, I to talk with my wife; and in lieu of a coach this year, I have got my wife to be contented with her closet being made up this summer, and going into the country this summer for a month or two, to my father's, and there Mercer and Deb. and Jane shall go with her, which I the rather do for the entertaining my wife, and preventing of fallings out between her and my father or Deb., which uses to be the fate of her going into the country. After dinner by coach to Westminster, and there to St. Margaret's church, thinking to have seen Betty Michell, but she was not there, but met her father and mother and with them to her father's house, where I never was before, but was mighty much made of, with some good strong waters, which they have from their son Michell, and mighty good people they are. Thence to Mrs. Martin's, where I have not been also a good while, and with great difficulty, company being there, did get an opportunity to hazer what I would con her, and here I was mightily taken with a starling which she hath, that was the King's, which he kept in his bedchamber; and do whistle and talk the most and best that ever I heard anything in my life. Thence to visit Sir H. Cholmly, who continues still sick of his cold, and thence calling, but in vain, to speak with Sir G. Carteret at his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I spoke with nobody, but home, where spent the evening talking with W. Hewer about business of the House, and declaring my expectation of all our being turned out. Hither comes Carcasse to me about business, and there did confess to me of his own accord his having heretofore discovered as a complaint against Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen and me that we did prefer the paying of some men to man "The Flying Greyhound" to others, by order under our hands. The thing upon recollection I believe is true, and do hope no great matter can be made of it, but yet I would be glad to have my name out of it, which I shall labour to do; in the mean time it weighs as a new trouble on my mind, and did trouble me all night. So without supper to bed, my eyes being also a little overwrought of late that I could not stay up to read. 2nd. Up and betimes to the office, where I did much business, and several come to me, and among others I did prepare Mr. Warren, and by and by Sir D. Gawden, about what presents I have had from them, that they may not publish them, or if they do, that in truth I received none on the account of the Navy but Tangier, and this is true to the former, and in both that I never asked any thing of them. I must do the like with the rest. Mr. Moore was with me, and he do tell me, and so W. Hewer tells me, he hears this morning that all the town is full of the discourse that the Officers of the Navy shall be all turned out, but honest Sir John Minnes, who, God knows, is fitter to have been turned out himself than any of us, doing the King more hurt by his dotage and folly than all the rest can do by their knavery, if they had a mind to it. At noon home to dinner, where was Mercer, and very merry as I could be with my mind so full of business, and so with my wife, her and the girl, to the King's house to see the "Virgin Martyr" again, which do mightily please me, but above all the musique at the coming down of the angel, which at this hearing the second time, do still commend me as nothing ever did, and the other musique is nothing to it. Thence with my wife to the 'Change, and so, calling at the Cocke ale house, we home, and there I settle to business, and with my people preparing my great answer to the Parliament for the office about tickets till past 1 a o'clock at night, and then home to supper and to bed, keeping Mr. Gibson all night with me. This day I have the news that my sister was married on Thursday last to Mr. Jackson; so that work is, I hope, well over. 3rd. Up betimes to work again, and then met at the Office, where to our great business of this answer to the Parliament; where to my great vexation I find my Lord Brouncker prepared only to excuse himself, while I, that have least reason to trouble myself, am preparing with great pains to defend them all: and more, I perceive, he would lodge the beginning of discharging ships by ticket upon me; but I care not, for I believe I shall get more honour by it when the Parliament, against my will, shall see how the whole business of the Office was done by me. At noon rose and to dinner. My wife abroad with Mercer and Deb. buying of things, but I with my clerks home to dinner, and thence presently down with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, T. Harvy, T. Middleton, and Mr. Tippets, who first took his place this day at the table, as a Commissioner, in the room of Commissioner Pett. Down by water to Deptford, where the King, Queene, and Court are to see launched the new ship built by Mr. Shish, called "The Charles." 2 God send her better luck than the former! Here some of our brethren, who went in a boat a little before my boat, did by appointment take opportunity of asking the King's leave that we might make full use of the want of money, in our excuse to the Parliament for the business of tickets, and other things they will lay to our charge, all which arose from nothing else: and this the King did readily agree to, and did give us leave to make our full use of it. The ship being well launched, I back again by boat, setting [Sir] T. Middleton and Mr. Tippets on shore at Ratcliffe, I home and there to my chamber with Mr. Gibson, and late up till midnight preparing more things against our defence on Thursday next to my content, though vexed that all this trouble should be on me. So to supper and to bed. 4th. Up betimes and with Sir W. Pen in his coach to White Hall, there to wait upon the Duke of York and the Commissioners of the Treasury, [Sir] W. Coventry and Sir John Duncombe, who do declare that they cannot find the money we demand, and we that less than what we demand will not set out the fleet intended, and so broke up, with no other conclusion than that they would let us have what they could get and we would improve that as well as we could. So God bless us, and prepare us against the consequences of these matters. Thence, it being a cold wet day, I home with Sir J. Minnes in his coach, and called by the way at my bookseller's and took home with me Kercher's Musurgia--very well bound, but I had no comfort to look upon them, but as soon as I come home fell to my work at the office, shutting the doors, that we, I and my clerks, might not be interrupted, and so, only with room for a little dinner, we very busy all the day till night that the officers met for me to give them the heads of what I intended to say, which I did with great discontent to see them all rely on me that have no reason at all to trouble myself about it, nor have any thanks from them for my labour, but contrarily Brouncker looked mighty dogged, as thinking that I did not intend to do it so as to save him. This troubled me so much as, together with the shortness of the time and muchness of the business, did let me be at it till but about ten at night, and then quite weary, and dull, and vexed, I could go no further, but resolved to leave the rest to to-morrow morning, and so in full discontent and weariness did give over and went home, with[out] supper vexed and sickish to bed, and there slept about three hours, but then waked, and never in so much trouble in all my life of mind, thinking of the task I have upon me, and upon what dissatisfactory grounds, and what the issue of it may be to me. 5th. With these thoughts I lay troubling myself till six o'clock, restless, and at last getting my wife to talk to me to comfort me, which she at last did, and made me resolve to quit my hands of this Office, and endure the trouble of it no longer than till I can clear myself of it. So with great trouble, but yet with some ease, from this discourse with my wife, I up, and to my Office, whither come my clerks, and so I did huddle the best I could some more notes for my discourse to-day, and by nine o'clock was ready, and did go down to the Old Swan, and there by boat, with T. H[ater] and W. H[ewer] with me, to Westminster, where I found myself come time enough, and my brethren all ready. But I full of thoughts and trouble touching the issue of this day; and, to comfort myself, did go to the Dog and drink half-a-pint of mulled sack, and in the Hall [Westminster] did drink a dram of brandy at Mrs. Hewlett's; and with the warmth of this did find myself in better order as to courage, truly. So we all up to the lobby; and between eleven and twelve o'clock, were called in, with the mace before us, into the House, where a mighty full House; and we stood at the bar, namely, Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, Sir T. Harvey, and myself, W. Pen being in the House, as a Member. I perceive the whole House was full, and full of expectation of our defence what it would be, and with great prejudice. After the Speaker had told us the dissatisfaction of the House, and read the Report of the Committee, I began our defence most acceptably and smoothly, and continued at it without any hesitation or losse, but with full scope, and all my reason free about me, as if it had been at my own table, from that time till past three in the afternoon; and so ended, without any interruption from the Speaker; but we withdrew. And there all my Fellow-Officers, and all the world that was within hearing, did congratulate me, and cry up my speech as the best thing they ever heard; and my Fellow-Officers overjoyed in it; we were called in again by and by to answer only one question, touching our paying tickets to ticket-mongers; and so out; and we were in hopes to have had a vote this day in our favour, and so the generality of the House was; but my speech, being so long, many had gone out to dinner and come in again half drunk; and then there are two or three that are professed enemies to us and every body else; among others, Sir T. Littleton, Sir Thomas Lee, Mr. Wiles, the coxcomb whom I saw heretofore at the cock-fighting, and a few others; I say, these did rise up and speak against the coming to a vote now, the House not being full, by reason of several being at dinner, but most because that the House was to attend the King this afternoon, about the business of religion, wherein they pray him to put in force all the laws against Nonconformists and Papists; and this prevented it, so that they put it off to to-morrow come se'nnight. However, it is plain we have got great ground; and everybody says I have got the most honour that any could have had opportunity of getting; and so with our hearts mightily overjoyed at this success, we all to dinner to Lord Brouncker's--that is to say, myself, T. Harvey, and W. Pen, and there dined; and thence with Sir Anthony Morgan, who is an acquaintance of Brouncker's, a very wise man, we after dinner to the King's house, and there saw part of "The Discontented Colonel," but could take no great pleasure in it, because of our coming in in the middle of it. After the play, home with W. Pen, and there to my wife, whom W. Hewer had told of my success, and she overjoyed, and I also as to my particular; and, after talking awhile, I betimes to bed, having had no quiet rest a good while. 6th. Up betimes, and with Sir D. Gawden to Sir W, Coventry's chamber: where the first word he said to me was, "Good-morrow, Mr. Pepys, that must be Speaker of the Parliament-house:" and did protest I had got honour for ever in Parliament. He said that his brother, that sat by him, admires me; and another gentleman said that I could not get less than L1000 a-year if I would put on a gown and plead at the Chancery-bar; but, what pleases me most, he tells me that the Sollicitor-Generall did protest that he thought I spoke the best of any man in England. After several talks with him alone, touching his own businesses, he carried me to White Hall, and there parted; and I to the Duke of York's lodgings, and find him going to the Park, it being a very fine morning, and I after him; and, as soon as he saw me, he told me, with great satisfaction, that I had converted a great many yesterday, and did, with great praise of me, go on with the discourse with me. And, by and by, overtaking the King, the King and Duke of York come to me both; and he--[The King]--said, "Mr. Pepys, I am very glad of your success yesterday;" and fell to talk of my well speaking; and many of the Lords there. My Lord Barkeley did cry the up for what they had heard of it; and others, Parliament-men there, about the King, did say that they never heard such a speech in their lives delivered in that manner. Progers, of the Bedchamber, swore to me afterwards before Brouncker, in the afternoon, that he did tell the King that he thought I might teach the Sollicitor-Generall. Every body that saw me almost come to me, as Joseph Williamson and others, with such eulogys as cannot be expressed. From thence I went to Westminster Hall, where I met Mr. G. Montagu, who come to me and kissed me, and told me that he had often heretofore kissed my hands, but now he would kiss my lips: protesting that I was another Cicero, and said, all the world said the same of me. Mr. Ashburnham, and every creature I met there of the Parliament, or that knew anything of the Parliament's actings, did salute me with this honour:--Mr. Godolphin;--Mr. Sands, who swore he would go twenty mile, at any time, to hear the like again, and that he never saw so many sit four hours together to hear any man in his life, as there did to hear me; Mr. Chichly,--Sir John Duncomb,--and everybody do say that the kingdom will ring of my abilities, and that I have done myself right for my whole life: and so Captain Cocke, and others of my friends, say that no man had ever such an opportunity of making his abilities known; and, that I may cite all at once, Mr. Lieutenant of the Tower did tell me that Mr. Vaughan did protest to him, and that, in his hearing it, said so to the Duke of Albemarle, and afterwards to W. Coventry, that he had sat twenty-six years in Parliament and never heard such a speech there before: for which the Lord God make me thankful! and that I may make use of it not to pride and vain-glory, but that, now I have this esteem, I may do nothing that may lessen it! I spent the morning thus walking in the Hall, being complimented by everybody with admiration: and at noon stepped into the Legg with Sir William Warren, who was in the Hall, and there talked about a little of his business, and thence into the Hall a little more, and so with him by coach as far as the Temple almost, and there 'light, to follow my Lord Brouncker's coach, which I spied, and so to Madam Williams's, where I overtook him, and agreed upon meeting this afternoon, and so home to dinner, and after dinner with W. Pen, who come to my house to call me, to White Hall, to wait on the Duke of York, where he again and all the company magnified me, and several in the Gallery: among others, my Lord Gerard, who never knew me before nor spoke to me, desires his being better acquainted with me; and [said] that, at table where he was, he never heard so much said of any man as of me, in his whole life. We waited on the Duke of York, and thence into the Gallery, where the House of Lords waited the King's coming out of the Park, which he did by and by; and there, in the Vane-room, my Lord Keeper delivered a message to the King, the Lords being about him, wherein the Barons of England, from many good arguments, very well expressed in the part he read out of, do demand precedence in England of all noblemen of either of the King's other two kingdoms, be their title what it will; and did shew that they were in England reputed but as Commoners, and sat in the House of Commons, and at conferences with the Lords did stand bare. It was mighty worth my hearing: but the King did only say that he would consider of it, and so dismissed them. Thence Brouncker and I to the Committee of Miscarriages sitting in the Court of Wards, expecting with Sir D. Gawden to have been heard against Prince Rupert's complaints for want of victuals. But the business of Holmes's charge against Sir Jer. Smith, which is a most shameful scandalous thing for Flag officers to accuse one another of, and that this should be heard here before men that understand it not at all, and after it hath been examined and judged in before the King and Lord High Admirall and other able seamen to judge, it is very hard. But this business did keep them all the afternoon, so we not heard but put off to another day. Thence, with the Lieutenant of the Tower, in his coach home; and there, with great pleasure, with my wife, talking and playing at cards a little--she, and I, and W. Hewer, and Deb., and so, after a little supper, I to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, at noon home to dinner, where Mercer with us, and after dinner she, my wife, Deb., and I, to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Spanish Gipsys," the second time of acting, and the first that I saw it. A very silly play, only great variety of dances, and those most excellently done, especially one part by one Hanes, only lately come thither from the Nursery, an understanding fellow, but yet, they say, hath spent L1000 a-year before he come thither. This day my wife and I full of thoughts about Mrs. Pierces sending me word that she, and my old company, Harris and Knipp, would come and dine with us next Wednesday, how we should do-to receive or put them off, my head being, at this time, so full of business, and my wife in no mind to have them neither, and yet I desire it. Come to no resolution tonight. Home from the playhouse to the office, where I wrote what I had to write, and among others to my father to congratulate my sister's marriage, and so home to supper a little and then to bed. 8th (Lord's day). At my sending to desire it, Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, did call me with his coach, and carried me to White Hall, where met with very many people still that did congratulate my speech the other day in the House of Commons, and I find all the world almost rings of it. Here spent the morning walking and talking with one or other, and among the rest with Sir W. Coventry, who I find full of care in his own business, how to defend himself against those that have a mind to choke him; and though, I believe, not for honour and for the keeping his employment, but for his safety and reputation's sake, is desirous to preserve himself free from blame, and among other mean ways which himself did take notice to me to be but a mean thing he desires me to get information against Captain Tatnell, thereby to diminish his testimony, who, it seems, hath a mind to do W. Coventry hurt: and I will do it with all my heart; for Tatnell is a very rogue. He would be glad, too, that I could find anything proper for his taking notice against Sir F. Hollis. At noon, after sermon, I to dinner with Sir G. Carteret to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I find mighty deal of company--a solemn day for some of his and her friends, and dine in the great dining-room above stairs, where Sir G. Carteret himself, and I, and his son, at a little table by, the great table being full of strangers. Here my Lady Jem. do promise to come, and bring my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady some day this week, to dinner to me, which I am glad of. After dinner, I up with her husband, Sir Philip Carteret, to his closet, where, beyond expectation, I do find many pretty things, wherein he appears to be ingenious, such as in painting, and drawing, and making of watches, and such kind of things, above my expectation; though, when all is done, he is a shirke, who owns his owing me L10 for his lady two or three years ago, and yet cannot provide to pay me. The company by and by parted, and G. Carteret and I to White Hall, where I set him down and took his coach as far as the Temple, it raining, and there took a hackney and home, and so had my head combed, and then to bed. 9th. Up betimes, and anon with Sir W. Warren, who come to speak with me, by coach to White Hall, and there met Lord Brouncker: and he and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where I find them mighty kind to me, more, I think, than was wont. And here I also met Colvill, the goldsmith; who tells me, with great joy, how the world upon the 'Change talks of me; and how several Parliamentmen, viz., Boscawen and Major [Lionel] Walden, of Huntingdon, who, it seems, do deal with him, do say how bravely I did speak, and that the House was ready to have given me thanks for it; but that, I think, is a vanity. Thence I with Lord Brouncker, and did take up his mistress, Williams, and so to the 'Change, only to shew myself, and did a little business there, and so home to dinner, and then to the office busy till the evening, and then to the Excize Office, where I find Mr. Ball in a mighty trouble that he is to be put out of his place at Midsummer, the whole Commission being to cease, and the truth is I think they are very fair dealing men, all of them. Here I did do a little business, and then to rights home, and there dispatched many papers, and so home late to supper and to bed, being eased of a great many thoughts, and yet have a great many more to remove as fast as I can, my mind being burdened with them, having been so much employed upon the public business of the office in their defence before the Parliament of late, and the further cases that do attend it. 10th. Up, and to the office betimes, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my clerks, and after dinner comes Kate Joyce, who tells me she is putting off her house, which I am glad of, but it was pleasant that she come on purpose to me about getting a ticket paid, and in her way hither lost her ticket, so that she is at a great loss what to do.--There comes in then Mrs. Mercer, the mother, the first time she has been here since her daughter lived with us, to see my wife, and after a little talk I left them and to the office, and thence with Sir D. Gawden to Westminster Hall, thinking to have attended the Committee about the Victualling business, but they did not meet, but here we met Sir R. Brookes, who do mightily cry up my speech the other day, saying my fellow-officers are obliged to me, as indeed they are. Thence with Sir D. Gawden homewards, calling at Lincolne's Inn Fields: but my Lady Jemimah was not within: and so to Newgate, where he stopped to give directions to the jaylor about a Knight, one Sir Thomas Halford brought in yesterday for killing one Colonel Temple, falling out at a taverne. So thence as far as Leadenhall, and there I 'light, and back by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields; but my Lady was not come in, and so I am at a great loss whether she and her brother Hinchingbroke and sister will dine with me to-morrow or no, which vexes me. So home; and there comes Mr. Moore to me, who tells me that he fears my Lord Sandwich will meet with very great difficulties to go through about the prizes, it being found that he did give orders for more than the King's letter do justify; and then for the Act of Resumption, which he fears will go on, and is designed only to do him hurt, which troubles me much. He tells me he believes the Parliament will not be brought to do anything in matters of religion, but will adhere to the Bishops. So he gone, I up to supper, where I find W. Joyce and Harman come to see us, and there was also Mrs. Mercer and her two daughters, and here we were as merry as that fellow Joyce could make us with his mad talking, after the old wont, which tired me. But I was mightily pleased with his singing; for the rogue hath a very good eare, and a good voice. Here he stayed till he was almost drunk, and then away at about ten at night, and then all broke up, and I to bed. 11th. Up, and betimes to the office, where busy till 8 o'clock, and then went forth, and meeting Mr. Colvill, I walked with, him to his building, where he is building a fine house, where he formerly lived, in Lumbard Street: and it will be a very fine street. Thence walked down to the Three Cranes and there took boat to White Hall, where by direction I waited on the Duke of York about office business, and so by water to Westminster, where walking in the Hall most of the morning, and up to my Lady Jem. in Lincoln's Inn Fields to get her to appoint the day certain when she will come and dine with me, and she hath appointed Saturday next. So back to Westminster; and there still walked, till by and by comes Sir W. Coventry, and with him Mr. Chichly and Mr. Andrew Newport, I to dinner with them to Mr. Chichly's, in Queene Street, in Covent Garden. A very fine house, and a man that lives in mighty great fashion, with all things in a most extraordinary manner noble and rich about him, and eats in the French fashion all; and mighty nobly served with his servants, and very civilly; that I was mighty pleased with it: and good discourse. He is a great defender of the Church of England, and against the Act for Comprehension, which is the work of this day, about which the House is like to sit till night. After dinner, away with them back to Westminster, where, about four o'clock, the House rises, and hath done nothing more in the business than to put off the debate to this day month. In the mean time the King hath put out his proclamations this day, as the House desired, for the putting in execution the Act against Nonconformists and Papists, but yet it is conceived that for all this some liberty must be given, and people will have it. Here I met with my cozen Roger Pepys, who is come to town, and hath been told of my performance before the House the other day, and is mighty proud of it, and Captain Cocke met me here to-day, and told me that the Speaker says he never heard such a defence made; in all his life, in the House; and that the Sollicitor-Generall do commend me even to envy. I carried cozen Roger as far as the Strand, where, spying out of the coach Colonel Charles George Cocke, formerly a very great man, and my father's customer, whom I have carried clothes to, but now walks like a poor sorry sneake, he stopped, and I 'light to him. This man knew me, which I would have willingly avoided, so much pride I had, he being a man of mighty height and authority in his time, but now signifies nothing. Thence home, where to the office a while and then home, where W. Batelier was and played at cards and supped with us, my eyes being out of order for working, and so to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, at noon home, and after dinner with wife and Deb., carried them to Unthanke's, and I to Westminster Hall expecting our being with the Committee this afternoon about Victualling business, but once more waited in vain. So after a turn or two with Lord Brouncker, I took my wife up and left her at the 'Change while I to Gresham College, there to shew myself; and was there greeted by Dr. Wilkins, Whistler, and others, as the patron of the Navy Office, and one that got great fame by my late speech to the Parliament. Here I saw a great trial of the goodness of a burning glass, made of a new figure, not spherical (by one Smithys, I think, they call him), that did burn a glove of my Lord Brouncker's from the heat of a very little fire, which a burning glass of the old form, or much bigger, could not do, which was mighty pretty. Here I heard Sir Robert Southwell give an account of some things committed to him by the Society at his going to Portugall, which he did deliver in a mighty handsome manner. [At the meeting of the Royal Society on March 12th, 1668, "Mr. Smethwick's glasses were tried again; and his telescope being compared with another longer telescope, and the object-glasses exchanged, was still found to exceed the other in goodness; and his burning concave being compared with a spherical burning-glass of almost twice the diameter, and held to the fire, it burnt gloves, whereas the other spherical ones would not burn at all."--"Sir Robert Southwell being lately returned from Portugal, where he had been ambassador from the king, and being desired to acquaint the society with what he had done with respect to the instructions, which he had received from them before his departure from England, related, that he had lodged the astronomical quadrant, which the society had sent to Portugal to make observations with there, with a body of men at Lisbon, who had applied themselves among other kinds of literature to mathematics" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., p. 256).] Thence went away home, and there at my office as long as my eyes would endure, and then home to supper, and to talk with Mr. Pelling, who tells me what a fame I have in the City for my late performance; and upon the whole I bless God for it. I think I have, if I can keep it, done myself a great deal of repute. So by and by to bed. 13th. Up betimes to my office, where to fit myself for attending the Parliament again, not to make any more speech, which, while my fame is good, I will avoid, for fear of losing it; but only to answer to what objections will be made against us. Thence walked to the Old Swan and drank at Michell's, whose house is going up apace. Here I saw Betty, but could not baiser la, and so to Westminster, there to the Hall, where up to my cozen Roger Pepys at the Parliament door, and there he took me aside, and told me how he was taken up by one of the House yesterday, for moving for going on with the King's supply of money, without regard to the keeping pace therewith, with the looking into miscarriages, and was told by this man privately that it did arise because that he had a kinsman concerned therein; and therefore he would prefer the safety of his kinsman to the good of the nation, and that there was great things against us and against me, for all my fine discourse the other day. But I did bid him be at no pain for me; for I knew of nothing but what I was very well prepared to answer; and so I think I am, and therefore was not at all disquieted by this. Thence he to the House, and I to the Hall, where my Lord Brouncker and the rest waiting till noon and not called for by the House, they being upon the business of money again, and at noon all of us to Chatelin's, the French house in Covent Garden, to dinner--Brouncker, J. Minnes, W. Pen, T. Harvey, and myself--and there had a dinner cost us 8s. 6d. a-piece, a damned base dinner, which did not please us at all, so that I am not fond of this house at all, but do rather choose the Beare. After dinner to White Hall to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business, complaining of our standing still in every-respect for want of money, but no remedy propounded, but so I must still be. Thence with our company to the King's playhouse, where I left them, and I, my head being full of to-morrow's dinner, I to my Lord Crew's, there to invite Sir Thomas Crew; and there met with my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady, the first time I spoke to her. I saluted her; and she mighty civil and; with my Lady Jemimah, do all resolve to be very merry to-morrow at my house. My Lady Hinchingbroke I cannot say is a beauty, nor ugly; but is altogether a comely lady enough, and seems very good-humoured, and I mighty glad of the occasion of seeing her before to-morrow. Thence home; and there find one laying of my napkins against tomorrow in figures of all sorts, which is mighty pretty; and, it seems, it is his trade, and he gets much money by it; and do now and then furnish tables with plate and linnen for a feast at so much, which is mighty pretty, and a trade I could not have thought of. I find my wife upon the bed not over well, her breast being broke out with heat, which troubles her, but I hope it will be for her good. Thence I to Mrs. Turner, and did get her to go along with me to the French pewterer's, and there did buy some new pewter against to-morrow; and thence to White Hall, to have got a cook of her acquaintance, the best in England, as she says. But after we had with much ado found him, he could not come, nor was Mr. Gentleman in town, whom next I would have had, nor would Mrs. Stone let her man Lewis come, whom this man recommended to me; so that I was at a mighty loss what in the world to do for a cooke, Philips being out of town. Therefore, after staying here at Westminster a great while, we back to London, and there to Philips's, and his man directed us to Mr. Levett's, who could not come, and he sent to two more, and they could not; so that, at last, Levett as a great kindness did resolve he would leave his business and come himself, which set me in great ease in my mind, and so home, and there with my wife setting all things in order against to-morrow, having seen Mrs. Turner at home, and so late to bed. 14th. Up very betimes, and with Jane to Levett's, there to conclude upon our dinner; and thence to the pewterer's, to buy a pewter sesterne, [A pewter cistern was formerly part of the furniture of a well- appointed dining-room; the plates were rinsed in it, when necessary, during the meal. A magnificent silver cistern is still preserved in the dining-room at Burghley House, the seat of the Marquis of Exeter. It is said to be the largest piece of plate in England, and was once the subject of a curious wager.--B.] which I have ever hitherto been without, and so up and down upon several occasions to set matters in order, and that being done I out of doors to Westminster Hall, and there met my Lord Brouncker, who tells me that our business is put off till Monday, and so I was mighty glad that I was eased of my attendance here, and of any occasion that might put me out of humour, as it is likely if we had been called before the Parliament. Therefore, after having spoke with Mr. Godolphin and cozen Roger, I away home, and there do find everything in mighty good order, only my wife not dressed, which troubles me. Anon comes my company, viz., my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady, Sir Philip Carteret and his, lady, Godolphin and my cozen Roger, and Creed: and mighty merry; and by and by to dinner, which was very good and plentifull: (I should have said, and Mr. George Montagu), who come at a very little warning, which was exceeding kind of him. And there, among other things, my Lord had Sir Samuel Morland's late invention for casting up of sums of L. s. d.; [The same as Morland's so-called calculating machine. Sir Samuel published in 1673 "The Description and Use of two Arithmetick Instruments, together with a short Treatise of Arithmetic, as likewise a Perpetual Almanack and severall useful tables."] which is very pretty, but not very useful. Most of our discourse was of my Lord Sandwich and his family, as being all of us of the family; and with extraordinary pleasure all the afternoon, thus together eating and looking over my closet: and my Lady Hinchingbroke I find a very sweet-natured and well-disposed lady, a lover of books and pictures, and of good understanding. About five o'clock they went; and then my wife and I abroad by coach into Moorefields, only for a little ayre, and so home again, staying no where, and then up to her chamber, there to talk with pleasure of this day's passages, and so to bed. This day I had the welcome news of our prize being come safe from Holland, so as I shall have hopes, I hope, of getting my money of my Lady Batten, or good part of it. 15th (Lord's day). Up and walked, it being fine dry weather, to Sir W. Coventry's, overtaking my boy Ely (that was), and he walked with me, being grown a man, and I think a sober fellow. He parted at Charing Cross, and I to Sir W. Coventry's, and there talked with him about the Commissioners of Accounts, who did give in their report yesterday to the House, and do lay little upon us as aggravate any thing at present, but only do give an account of the dissatisfactory account they receive from Sir G. Carteret, which I am sorry for, they saying that he tells them not any time when he paid any sum, which is fit for them to know for the computing of interest, but I fear he is hardly able to tell it. They promise to give them an account of the embezzlement of prizes, wherein I shall be something concerned, but nothing that I am afeard of, I thank God. Thence walked with W. Coventry into the Park, and there met the King and the Duke of York, and walked a good while with them: and here met Sir Jer. Smith, who tells me he is like to get the better of Holmes, and that when he is come to an end of that, he will do Hollis's business for him, in the House, for his blasphemies, which I shall be glad of. So to White Hall, and there walked with this man and that man till chapel done, and, the King dined and then Sir Thomas Clifford, the Comptroller, took me with him to dinner to his lodgings, where my Lord Arlington and a great deal of good and great company; where I very civilly used by them, and had a most excellent dinner: and good discourse of Spain, Mr. Godolphin being there; particularly of the removal of the bodies of all the dead Kings of Spain that could be got together, and brought to the Pantheon at the Escuriall, when it was finished, and there placed before the altar, there to lie for ever; and there was a sermon made to them upon this text, "Arida ossa, audite verbum Dei;" and a most eloquent sermon, as they say, who say they have read it. After dinner, away hence, and I to Mrs. Martin's, and there spent the afternoon, and did hazer con elle, and here was her sister and Mrs. Burrows, and so in the evening got a coach and home, and there find Mr. Pelting and W. Hewer, and there talked and supped, Pelting being gone, and mightily pleased with a picture that W. Hewer brought hither of several things painted upon a deale board, which board is so well painted that in my whole life I never was so well pleased or surprized with any picture, and so troubled that so good pictures should be painted upon a piece of bad deale. Even after I knew that it was not board, but only the picture of a board, I could not remove my fancy. After supper to bed, being very sleepy, and, I bless God, my mind being at very good present rest. 16th. Up, to set my papers and books in order, and put up my plate since my late feast, and then to Westminster, by water, with Mr. Hater, and there, in the Hall, did walk all the morning, talking with one or other, expecting to have our business in the House; but did now a third time wait to no purpose, they being all this morning upon the business of Barker's petition about the making void the Act of Settlement in Ireland, which makes a great deal of hot work: and, at last, finding that by all men's opinion they could not come to our matter today, I with Sir W. Pen home, and there to dinner, where I find, by Willet's crying, that her mistress had been angry with her: but I would take no notice of it. Busy all the afternoon at the office, and then by coach to the Excize Office, but lost my labour, there being nobody there, and so back again home, and after a little at the office I home, and there spent the evening with my wife talking and singing, and so to bed with my mind pretty well at ease. This evening W. Pen and Sir R. Ford and I met at the first's house to talk of our prize that is now at last come safe over from Holland, by which I hope to receive some if not all the benefit of my bargain with W. Batten for my share in it, which if she had miscarried I should have doubted of my Lady Batten being left little able to have paid me. 17th. Up betimes and to the office, where all the morning busy, and then at noon home to dinner, and so again to the office awhile, and then abroad to the Excize-Office, where I met Mr. Ball, and did receive the paper I went for; and there fell in talk with him, who, being an old cavalier, do swear and curse at the present state of things, that we should be brought to this, that we must be undone and cannot be saved; that the Parliament is sitting now, and will till midnight, to find how to raise this L300,000, and he doubts they will not do it so as to be seasonable for the King: but do cry out against our great men at Court; how it is a fine thing for a Secretary of State to dance a jigg, and that it was not so heretofore; and, above all, do curse my Lord of Bristoll, saying the worst news that ever he heard in his life, or that the Devil could ever bring us, was this Lord's coming to prayers the other day in the House of Lords, by which he is coming about again from being a Papist, which will undo this nation; and he says he ever did say, at the King's first coming in, that this nation could not be safe while that man was alive. Having done there, I away towards Westminster, but seeing by the coaches the House to be up, I stopped at the 'Change (where, I met Mrs. Turner, and did give her a pair of gloves), and there bought several things for my wife, and so to my bookseller's, and there looked for Montaigne's Essays, [This must have been Florio's translation, as Cotton's was not published until 1685.] which I heard by my Lord Arlington and Lord Blaney so much commended, and intend to buy it, but did not now, but home, where at the office did some business, as much as my eyes would give leave, and so home to supper, Mercer with us talking and singing, and so to bed. The House, I hear, have this day concluded upon raising L100,000 of the L300,000 by wine, and the rest by a poll-[tax], and have resolved to excuse the Church, in expectation that they will do the more of themselves at this juncture; and I do hear that Sir W. Coventry did make a speech in behalf of the Clergy. 18th. Up betimes to Westminster, where met with cozen Roger and Creed and walked with them, and Roger do still continue of the mind that there is no other way of saving this nation but by dissolving this Parliament and calling another; but there are so many about the King that will not be able to stand, if a new Parliament come, that they will not persuade the King to it. I spent most of the morning walking with one or other, and anon met Doll Lane at the Dog tavern, and there je did hater what I did desire with her... and I did give her as being my valentine 20s. to buy what elle would. Thence away by coach to my bookseller's, and to several places to pay my debts, and to Ducke Lane, and there bought Montaigne's Essays, in English, and so away home to dinner, and after dinner with W. Pen to White Hall, where we and my Lord Brouncker attended the Council, to discourse about the fitness of entering of men presently for the manning of the fleete, before one ship is in condition to receive them. W. Coventry did argue against it: I was wholly silent, because I saw the King, upon the earnestness of the Prince, was willing to it, crying very sillily, "If ever you intend to man the fleete, without being cheated by the captains and pursers, you may go to bed, and resolve never to have it manned;" and so it was, like other things, over-ruled that all volunteers should be presently entered. Then there was another great business about our signing of certificates to the Exchequer for [prize] goods, upon the L1,20,000 Act, which the Commissioners of the Treasury did all oppose, and to the laying fault upon us. But I did then speak to the justifying what we had done, even to the angering of Duncomb and Clifford, which I was vexed at: but, for all that, I did set the Office and myself right, and went away with the victory, my Lord Keeper saying that he would not advise the Council to order us to sign no more certificates. But, before I began to say anything in this matter, the King and the Duke of York talking at the Council-table, before all the Lords, of the Committee of Miscarriages, how this entering of men before the ships could be ready would be reckoned a miscarriage; "Why," says the King, "it is then but Mr. Pepys making of another speech to them;" which made all the Lords, and there were by also the Atturny and Sollicitor-Generall, look upon me. Thence Sir W. Coventry, W. Pen and I, by hackney-coach to take a little ayre in Hyde Parke, the first time I have been there this year; and we did meet many coaches going and coming, it being mighty pleasant weather; and so, coming back again, I 'light in the Pell Mell; and there went to see Sir H. Cholmly, who continues very ill of his cold. And there come in Sir H. Yelverton, whom Sir H. Cholmly commended me to his acquaintance, which the other received, but without remembering to me, or I him, of our being school-fellows together; and I said nothing of it. But he took notice of my speech the other day at the bar of the House; and indeed I perceive he is a wise man by his manner of discourse, and here he do say that the town is full of it, that now the Parliament hath resolved upon L300,000, the King, instead of fifty, will set out but twenty-five ships, and the Dutch as many; and that Smith is to command them, who is allowed to have the better of Holmes in the late dispute, and is in good esteem in the Parliament, above the other. Thence home, and there, in favour to my eyes, stayed at home, reading the ridiculous History of my Lord Newcastle, wrote by his wife, which shews her to be a mad, conceited, ridiculous woman, and he an asse to suffer her to write what she writes to him, and of him. ["The Life of the thrice noble, high, and puissant Prince, William Cavendish, Duke... of Newcastle," by his duchess, of which the first edition, in folio, was published in 1667.] Betty Turner sent my wife the book to read, and it being a fair print, to ease my eyes, which would be reading, I read that. Anon comes Mrs. Turner and sat and talked with us, and most about the business of Ackworth, [William Acworth, storekeeper at Woolwich, was accused of converting stores to his own use (see "Calendar of State Papers," 1667-68, p. 279).] which comes before us to-morrow, that I would favour it, but I do not think, notwithstanding all the friendship I can shew him, that he can escape, and therefore it had been better that he had followed the advice I sent him the other day by Mrs. Turner, to make up the business. So parted, and I to bed, my eyes being very bad; and I know not how in the world to abstain from reading. 19th. Up, and betimes to the Old Swan, and by water to White Hall, and thence to W. Coventry's, where stayed but a little to talk with him, and thence by water back again, it being a mighty fine, clear spring morning. Back to the Old Swan, and drank at Michell's, whose house goes up apace, but I could not see Betty, and thence walked all along Thames Street, which I have not done since it was burned, as far as Billingsgate; and there do see a brave street likely to be, many brave houses being built, and of them a great many by Mr. Jaggard; but the raising of the street will make it mighty fine. So to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence to the office, very busy till five o'clock, and then to ease my eyes I took my wife out and Deb. to the 'Change, and there bought them some things, and so home again and to the office, ended my letters, and so home to read a little more in last night's book, with much sport, it being a foolish book, and so to supper and to bed. This afternoon I was surprized with a letter without a name to it, very well writ, in a good stile, giving me notice of my cozen Kate Joyce's being likely to ruin herself by marriage, and by ill reports already abroad of her, and I do fear that this keeping of an inne may spoil her, being a young and pretty comely woman, and thought to be left well. I did answer the letter with thanks and good liking, and am resolved to take the advice he gives me, and go see her, and find out what I can: but if she will ruin herself, I cannot help it, though I should be troubled for it. 20th. Up betimes, and to my Office, where we had a meeting extraordinary to consider of several things, among others the sum of money fit to be demanded ready money, to enable us to set out 27 ships, every body being now in pain for a fleete, and everybody endeavouring to excuse themselves for the not setting out of one, and our true excuse is lack of money. At it all the morning, and so at noon home to dinner with my clerks, my wife and Deb. being busy at work above in her chamber getting things ready and fine for her going into the country a week or two hence. I away by coach to White Hall, where we met to wait on the Duke of York, and, soon as prayers were done, it being Good Friday, he come to us, and we did a little business and presented him with our demand of money, and so broke up, and I thence by coach to Kate Joyce's, being desirous and in pain to speak with her about the business that I received a letter yesterday, but had no opportunity of speaking with her about it, company being with her, so I only invited her to come and dine with me on Sunday next, and so away home, and for saving my eyes at my chamber all the evening pricking down some things, and trying some conclusions upon my viall, in order to the inventing a better theory of musique than hath yet been abroad; and I think verily I shall do it. So to supper with my wife, who is in very good humour with her working, and so am I, and so to bed. This day at Court I do hear that Sir W. Pen do command this summer's fleete; and Mr. Progers of the Bedchamber, as a secret, told me that the Prince Rupert is troubled at it, and several friends of his have been with him to know the reason of it; so that he do pity Sir W. Pen, whom he hath great kindness for, that he should not at any desire of his be put to this service, and thereby make the Prince his enemy, and contract more envy from other people. But I am not a whit sorry if it should be so, first for the King's sake, that his work will be better done by Sir W. Pen than the Prince, and next that Pen, who is a false rogue, may be bit a little by it. 21st. Up betimes to the office, and there we sat all the morning, at noon home with my clerks, a good dinner, and then to the Office, and wrote my letters, and then abroad to do several things, and pay what little scores I had, and among others to Mrs. Martin's, and there did give 20s. to Mrs. Cragg, her landlady, who was my Valentine in the house, as well as Doll Lane.... So home and to the office, there to end my letters, and so home, where Betty Turner was to see my wife, and she being gone I to my chamber to read a little again, and then after supper to bed. 22nd (Easter day). I up, and walked to the Temple, and there got a coach, and to White Hall, where spoke with several people, and find by all that Pen is to go to sea this year with this fleete; and they excuse the Prince's going, by saying it is not a command great enough for him. Here I met with Brisband, and, after hearing the service at the King's chapel, where I heard the Bishop of Norwich, Dr. Reynolds, the old presbyterian, begin a very plain sermon, he and I to the Queen's chapel, and there did hear the Italians sing; and indeed their musick did appear most admirable to me, beyond anything of ours: I was never so well satisfied in my life with it. So back to White Hall, and there met Mr. Pierce, and adjusted together how we should spend to-morrow together, and so by coach I home to dinner, where Kate Joyce was, as I invited her, and had a good dinner, only she and us; and after dinner she and I alone to talk about her business, as I designed; and I find her very discreet, and she assures me she neither do nor will incline to the doing anything towards marriage, without my advice, and did tell me that she had many offers, and that Harman and his friends would fain have her; but he is poor, and hath poor friends, and so it will not be advisable: but that there is another, a tobacconist, one Holinshed, whom she speaks well of, to be a plain, sober man, and in good condition, that offers her very well, and submits to me my examining and inquiring after it, if I see good, which I do like of it, for it will be best for her to marry, I think, as soon as she can--at least, to be rid of this house; for the trade will not agree with a young widow, that is a little handsome, at least ordinary people think her so. Being well satisfied with her answer, she anon went away, and I to my closet to make a few more experiments of my notions in musique, and so then my wife and I to walk in the garden, and then home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and after discoursing with my wife about many things touching this day's dinner, I abroad, and first to the taverne to pay what I owe there, but missed of seeing the mistress of the house, and there bespoke wine for dinner, and so away thence, and to Bishopsgate Streete, thinking to have found a Harpsicon-maker that used to live there before the fire, but he is gone, and I have a mind forthwith to have a little Harpsicon made me to confirm and help me in my musique notions, which my head is now-a-days full of, and I do believe will come to something that is very good. Thence to White Hall, expecting to have heard the Bishop of Lincolne, my friend, preach, for so I understood he would do yesterday, but was mistaken, and therefore away presently back again, and there find everything in good order against dinner, and at noon come Mr. Pierce and she, and Mrs. Manuel, the Jew's wife, and Mrs. Corbet, and Mrs. Pierces boy and girl. But we are defeated of Knepp, by her being forced to act to-day, and also of Harris, which did trouble me, they being my chief guests. However, I had an extraordinary good dinner, and the better because dressed by my own servants, and were mighty merry; and here was Mr. Pelling by chance come and dined with me; and after sitting long at dinner, I had a barge ready at Tower-wharfe, to take us in, and so we went, all of us, up as high as Barne-Elms, a very fine day, and all the way sang; and Mrs. Manuel sings very finely, and is a mighty discreet, sober-carriaged woman, that both my wife and I are mightily taken with her, and sings well, and without importunity or the contrary. At Barne-Elms we walked round, and then to the barge again, and had much merry talk, and good singing; and come before it was dark to the New Exchange stairs, and there landed, and walked up to Mrs. Pierces, where we sat awhile, and then up to their dining-room. And so, having a violin and theorbo, did fall to dance, here being also Mrs. Floyd come hither, and by and by Mr. Harris. But there being so few of us that could dance, and my wife not being very well, we had not much pleasure in the dancing: there was Knepp also, by which with much pleasure we did sing a little, and so, about ten o'clock, I took coach with my wife and Deb., and so home, and there to bed. 24th. Up pretty betimes, and so there comes to me Mr. Shish, to desire my appearing for him to succeed Mr. Christopher Pett, lately dead, in his place of Master-Shipwright of Deptford and Woolwich, which I do resolve to promote what I can. So by and by to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York's chamber, where I understand it is already resolved by the King and Duke of York that Shish shall have the place. From the Duke's chamber Sir W. Coventry and I to walk in the Matted Gallery; and there, among other things, he tells me of the wicked design that now is at last contriving against him, to get a petition presented from people that the money they have paid to W. Coventry for their places may be repaid them back; and that this is set on by Temple and Hollis of the Parliament, and, among other mean people in it, by Captain Tatnell: and he prays me that I will use some effectual way to sift Tatnell what he do, and who puts him on in this business, which I do undertake, and will do with all my skill for his service, being troubled that he is still under this difficulty. Thence up and down Westminster by Mrs. Burroughes her mother's shop, thinking to have seen her, but could not, and therefore back to White Hall, where great talk of the tumult at the other end of the town, about Moore-fields, among the 'prentices, taking the liberty of these holydays to pull down bawdy-houses. [It was customary for the apprentices of the metropolis to avail themselves of their holidays, especially on Shrove Tuesday, to search after women of ill fame, and to confine them during the season of Lent. See a "Satyre against Separatists," 1642. "Stand forth, Shrove Tuesday, one a' the silenc'st bricklayers; 'Tis in your charge to pull down bawdy-houses." Middleton's Inner Temple Masque, 1619, Works, ed. Bullen, vii., 209.] And, Lord! to see the apprehensions which this did give to all people at Court, that presently order was given for all the soldiers, horse and foot, to be in armes! and forthwith alarmes were beat by drum and trumpet through Westminster, and all to their colours, and to horse, as if the French were coming into the town! So Creed, whom I met here, and I to Lincolne's Inn-fields, thinking to have gone into the fields to have seen the 'prentices; but here we found these fields full of soldiers all in a body, and my Lord Craven commanding of them, and riding up and down to give orders, like a madman. And some young men we saw brought by soldiers to the Guard at White Hall, and overheard others that stood by say, that it was only for pulling down the bawdy-houses; and none of the bystanders finding fault with them, but rather of the soldiers for hindering them. And we heard a justice of the Peace this morning say to the King, that he had been endeavouring to suppress this tumult, but could not; and that, imprisoning some [of them] in the new prison at Clerkenwell, the rest did come and break open the prison and release them; and that they do give out that they are for pulling down the bawdy-houses, which is one of the greatest grievances of the nation. To which the King made a very poor, cold, insipid answer: "Why, why do they go to them, then?" and that was all, and had no mind to go on with the discourse. Mr. Creed and I to dinner to my Lord Crew, where little discourse, there being none but us at the table, and my Lord and my Lady Jemimah, and so after dinner away, Creed and I to White Hall, expecting a Committee of Tangier, but come too late. So I to attend the Council, and by and by were called in with Lord Brouncker and Sir W. Pen to advise how to pay away a little money to most advantage to the men of the yards, to make them dispatch the ships going out, and there did make a little speech, which was well liked, and after all it was found most satisfactory to the men, and best for the king's dispatch, that what money we had should be paid weekly to the men for their week's work until a greater sum could be got to pay them their arrears and then discharge them. But, Lord! to see what shifts and what cares and thoughts there was employed in this matter how to do the King's work and please the men and stop clamours would make a man think the King should not eat a bit of good meat till he has got money to pay the men, but I do not see the least print of care or thoughts in him about it at all. Having done here, I out and there met Sir Fr. Hollis, who do still tell me that, above all things in the world, he wishes he had my tongue in his mouth, meaning since my speech in Parliament. He took Lord Brouncker and me down to the guards, he and his company being upon the guards to-day; and there he did, in a handsome room to that purpose, make us drink, and did call for his bagpipes, which, with pipes of ebony, tipt with silver, he did play beyond anything of that kind that ever I heard in my life; and with great pains he must have obtained it, but with pains that the instrument do not deserve at all; for, at the best, it is mighty barbarous musick. So home and there to my chamber, to prick out my song, "It is Decreed," intending to have it ready to give Mr. Harris on Thursday, when we meet, for him to sing, believing that he will do it more right than a woman that sings better, unless it were Knepp, which I cannot have opportunity to teach it to. This evening I come home from White Hall with Sir W. Pen, who fell in talk about his going to sea this year, and the difficulties that arise to him by it, by giving offence to the Prince, and occasioning envy to him, and many other things that make it a bad matter, at this time of want of money and necessaries, and bad and uneven counsels at home,--for him to go abroad: and did tell me how much with the King and Duke of York he had endeavoured to be excused, desiring the Prince might be satisfied in it, who hath a mind to go; but he tells me they will not excuse him, and I believe it, and truly do judge it a piece of bad fortune to W. Pen. 25th. Up, and walked to White Hall, there to wait on the Duke of York, which I did: and in his chamber there, first by hearing the Duke of York call me by my name, my Lord Burlington did come to me, and with great respect take notice of me and my relation to my Lord Sandwich, and express great kindness to me; and so to talk of my Lord Sandwich's concernments. By and by the Duke of York is ready; and I did wait for an opportunity of speaking my mind to him about Sir J. Minnes, his being unable to do the King any service, which I think do become me to do in all respects, and have Sir W. Coventry's concurrence therein, which I therefore will seek a speedy opportunity to do, come what will come of it. The Duke of York and all with him this morning were full of the talk of the 'prentices, who are not yet [put] down, though the guards and militia of the town have been in armes all this night, and the night before; and the 'prentices have made fools of them, sometimes by running from them and flinging stones at them. Some blood hath been spilt, but a great many houses pulled down; and, among others, the Duke of York was mighty merry at that of Damaris Page's, the great bawd of the seamen; and the Duke of York complained merrily that he hath lost two tenants, by their houses being pulled down, who paid him for their wine licenses L15 a year. But here it was said how these idle fellows have had the confidence to say that they did ill in contenting themselves in pulling down the little bawdyhouses, and did not go and pull down the great bawdy-house at White Hall. And some of them have the last night had a word among them, and it was "Reformation and Reducement." This do make the courtiers ill at ease to see this spirit among people, though they think this matter will not come to much: but it speaks people's minds; and then they do say that there are men of understanding among them, that have been of Cromwell's army: but how true that is, I know not. Thence walked a little to Westminster, but met with nobody to spend any time with, and so by coach homeward, and in Seething Lane met young Mrs. Daniel, and I stopt, and she had been at my house, but found nobody within, and tells me that she drew me for her Valentine this year, so I took her into the coach, and was going to the other end of the town, thinking to have taken her abroad, but remembering that I was to go out with my wife this afternoon,... and so to a milliner at the corner shop going into Bishopsgate and Leadenhall Street, and there did give her eight pair of gloves, and so dismissed her, and so I home and to dinner, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse to see "The Storme," which we did, but without much pleasure, it being but a mean play compared with "The Tempest," at the Duke of York's house, though Knepp did act her part of grief very well. Thence with my wife and Deb. by coach to Islington, to the old house, and there eat and drank till it was almost night, and then home, being in fear of meeting the 'prentices, who are many of them yet, they say, abroad in the fields, but we got well home, and so I to my chamber a while, and then to supper and to bed. 26th. Up betimes to the office, where by and by my Lord Brouncker and I met and made an end of our business betimes. So I away with him to Mrs. Williams's, and there dined, and thence I alone to the Duke of York's house, to see the new play, called "The Man is the Master," where the house was, it being not above one o'clock, very full. But my wife and Deb. being there before, with Mrs. Pierce and Corbet and Betty Turner, whom my wife carried with her, they made me room; and there I sat, it costing me 8s. upon them in oranges, at 6d. a-piece. By and by the King come; and we sat just under him, so that I durst not turn my back all the play. The play is a translation out of French, and the plot Spanish, but not anything extraordinary at all in it, though translated by Sir W. Davenant, and so I found the King and his company did think meanly of it, though there was here and there something pretty: but the most of the mirth was sorry, poor stuffe, of eating of sack posset and slabbering themselves, and mirth fit for clownes; the prologue but poor, and the epilogue little in it but the extraordinariness of it, it being sung by Harris and another in the form of a ballet. Thence, by agreement, we all of us to the Blue Balls, hard by, whither Mr. Pierce also goes with us, who met us at the play, and anon comes Manuel, and his wife, and Knepp, and Harris, who brings with him Mr. Banister, the great master of musique; and after much difficulty in getting of musique, we to dancing, and then to a supper of some French dishes, which yet did not please me, and then to dance and sing; and mighty merry we were till about eleven or twelve at night, with mighty great content in all my company, and I did, as I love to do, enjoy myself in my pleasure as being the height of what we take pains for and can hope for in this world, and therefore to be enjoyed while we are young and capable of these joys. My wife extraordinary fine to-day, in her flower tabby suit, bought a year and more ago, before my mother's death put her into mourning, and so not worn till this day: and every body in love with it; and indeed she is very fine and handsome in it. I having paid the reckoning, which come to almost L4., we parted: my company and William Batelier, who was also with us, home in a coach, round by the Wall, where we met so many stops by the Watches, that it cost us much time and some trouble, and more money, to every Watch, to them to drink; this being encreased by the trouble the 'prentices did lately give the City, so that the Militia and Watches are very strict at this time; and we had like to have met with a stop for all night at the Constable's watch, at Mooregate, by a pragmatical Constable; but we come well home at about two in the morning, and so to bed. This noon, from Mrs. Williams's, my Lord Brouncker sent to Somersett House to hear how the Duchess of Richmond do; and word was brought him that she is pretty well, but mighty full of the smallpox, by which all do conclude she will be wholly spoiled, which is the greatest instance of the uncertainty of beauty that could be in this age; but then she hath had the benefit of it to be first married, and to have kept it so long, under the greatest temptations in the world from a King, and yet without the least imputation. This afternoon, at the play, Sir Fr. Hollis spoke to me as a secret, and matter of confidence in me, and friendship to Sir W. Pen, who is now out of town, that it were well he were made acquainted that he finds in the House of Commons, which met this day, several motions made for the calling strictly again upon the Miscarriages, and particularly in the business of the Prises, and the not prosecuting of the first victory, only to give an affront to Sir W. Pen, whose going to sea this year do give them matter of great dislike. So though I do not much trouble myself for him, yet I am sorry that he should have this fall so unhappily without any fault, but rather merit of his own that made him fitter for this command than any body else, and the more for that this business of his may haply occasion their more eager pursuit against the whole body of the office. 27th. Up, and walked to the waterside, and thence to White Hall to the Duke of York's chamber, where he being ready he went to a Committee of Tangier, where I first understand that my Lord Sandwich is, in his coming back from Spayne, to step over thither, to see in what condition the place is, which I am glad of, hoping that he will be able to do some good there, for the good of the place, which is so much out of order. Thence to walk a little in Westminster Hall, where the Parliament I find sitting, but spoke with nobody to let me know what they are doing, nor did I enquire. Thence to the Swan and drank, and did baiser Frank, and so down by water back again, and to the Exchange a turn or two, only to show myself, and then home to dinner, where my wife and I had a small squabble, but I first this day tried the effect of my silence and not provoking her when she is in an ill humour, and do find it very good, for it prevents its coming to that height on both sides which used to exceed what was fit between us. So she become calm by and by and fond, and so took coach, and she to the mercer's to buy some lace, while I to White Hall, but did nothing, but then to Westminster Hall and took a turn, and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did sit a little and talk and drink, and did hazer con her, and so took coach and called my wife at Unthanke's, and so up and down to the Nursery, where they did not act, then to the New Cockpit, and there missed, and then to Hide Parke, where many coaches, but the dust so great, that it was troublesome, and so by night home, where to my chamber and finished my pricking out of my song for Mr. Harris ("It is decreed"), and so a little supper, being very sleepy and weary since last night, and so by to o'clock to bed and slept well all night. This day, at noon, comes Mr. Pelling to me, and shews me the stone cut lately out of Sir Thomas Adams' (the old comely Alderman's) body, which is very large indeed, bigger I think than my fist, and weighs above twenty-five ounces and, which is very miraculous, he never in all his life had any fit of it, but lived to a great age without pain, and died at last of something else, without any sense of this in all his life. This day Creed at White Hall in discourse told me what information he hath had, from very good hands, of the cowardice and ill-government of Sir Jer. Smith and Sir Thomas Allen, and the repute they have both of them abroad in the Streights, from their deportment when they did at several times command there; and that, above all Englishmen that ever were there, there never was any man that behaved himself like poor Charles Wager, whom the very Moores do mention, with teares sometimes. 28th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and at noon home to dinner with my clerks; and though my head full of business, yet I had a desire to end this holyday week with a play; and so, with my wife and Deb., to the King's house, and there saw "The Indian Emperour," a very good play indeed, and thence directly home, and to my writing of my letters, and so home to supper and to bed for fearing my eyes. Our greatest business at the office to-day is our want of money for the setting forth of these ships that are to go out, and my people at dinner tell me that they do verily doubt that the want of men will be so great, as we must press; and if we press, there will be mutinies in the town; for the seamen are said already to have threatened the pulling down of the Treasury Office; and if they do once come to that, it will not be long before they come to ours. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and I to Church, where I have not been these many weeks before, and there did first find a strange Reader, who could not find in the Service-book the place for churching women, but was fain to change books with the clerke: and then a stranger preached, a seeming able man; but said in his pulpit that God did a greater work in raising of an oake-tree from an akehorne, than a man's body raising it, at the last day, from his dust (shewing the possibility of the Resurrection): which was, methought, a strange saying. At home to dinner, whither comes and dines with me W. Howe, and by invitation Mr. Harris and Mr. Banister, most extraordinary company both, the latter for musique of all sorts, the former for everything: here we sang, and Banister played on the theorbo, and afterwards Banister played on his flageolet, and I had very good discourse with him about musique, so confirming some of my new notions about musique that it puts me upon a resolution to go on and make a scheme and theory of musique not yet ever made in the world. Harris do so commend my wife's picture of Mr. Hales's, that I shall have him draw Harris's head; and he hath also persuaded me to have Cooper draw my wife's, which, though it cost L30, yet I will have done. Thus spent the afternoon most deliciously, and then broke up and walked with them as far as the Temple, and there parted, and I took coach to Westminster, but there did nothing, meeting nobody that I had a mind to speak with, and so home, and there find Mr. Pelling, and then also comes Mrs. Turner, and supped and talked with us, and so to bed. I do hear by several that Sir W. Pen's going to sea do dislike the Parliament mightily, and that they have revived the Committee of Miscarriages to find something to prevent it; and that he being the other day with the Duke of Albemarle to ask his opinion touching his going to sea, the Duchess overheard and come in to him, and asks W. Pen how he durst have the confidence to offer to go to sea again, to the endangering the nation, when he knew himself such a coward as he was, which, if true, is very severe. 30th. Up betimes, and so to the office, there to do business till about to o'clock, and then out with my wife and Deb. and W. Hewer by coach to Common-garden Coffee-house, where by appointment I was to meet Harris; which I did, and also Mr. Cooper, the great painter, and Mr. Hales: and thence presently to Mr. Cooper's house, to see some of his work, which is all in little, but so excellent as, though I must confess I do think the colouring of the flesh to be a little forced, yet the painting is so extraordinary, as I do never expect to see the like again. Here I did see Mrs. Stewart's picture as when a young maid, and now just done before her having the smallpox: and it would make a man weep to see what she was then, and what she is like to be, by people's discourse, now. Here I saw my Lord Generall's picture, and my Lord Arlington and Ashly's, and several others; but among the rest one Swinfen, that was Secretary to my Lord Manchester, Lord Chamberlain, with Cooling, done so admirably as I never saw any thing: but the misery was, this fellow died in debt, and never paid Cooper for his picture; but, it being seized on by his creditors, among his other goods, after his death, Cooper himself says that he did buy it, and give L25 out of his purse for it, for what he was to have had but L30. Being infinitely satisfied with this sight, and resolving that my wife shall be drawn by him when she comes out of the country, I away with Harris and Hales to the Coffee-house, sending my people away, and there resolve for Hales to begin Harris's head for me, which I will be at the cost of. After a little talk, I away to White Hall and Westminster, where I find the Parliament still bogling about the raising of this money: and every body's mouth full now; and Mr. Wren himself tells me that the Duke of York declares to go to sea himself this year; and I perceive it is only on this occasion of distaste of the Parliament against W. Pen's going, and to prevent the Prince's: but I think it is mighty hot counsel for the Duke of York at this time to go out of the way; but, Lord! what a pass are all our matters come to! At noon by appointment to Cursitor's Alley, in Chancery Lane, to meet Captain Cocke and some other creditors of the Navy, and their Counsel, Pemberton, North, Offly, and Charles Porter; and there dined, and talked of the business of the assignments on the Exchequer of the L1,250,000 on behalf of our creditors; and there I do perceive that the Counsel had heard of my performance in the Parliamenthouse lately, and did value me and what I said accordingly. At dinner we had a great deal of good discourse about Parliament: their number being uncertain, and always at the will of the King to encrease, as he saw reason to erect a new borough. But all concluded that the bane of the Parliament hath been the leaving off the old custom of the places allowing wages to those that served them in Parliament, by which they chose men that understood their business and would attend it, and they could expect an account from, which now they cannot; and so the Parliament is become a company of men unable to give account for the interest of the place they serve for. Thence, the meeting of the Counsel with the King's Counsel this afternoon being put off by reason of the death of Serjeant Maynard's lady, I to White Hall, where the Parliament was to wait on the King; and they did: and it was to be told that he did think fit to tell them that they might expect to be adjourned at Whitsuntide, and that they might make haste to raise their money; but this, I fear, will displease them, who did expect to sit as long as they pleased, and whether this be done by the King upon some new counsel I know not, for the King must be beholding to them till they do settle this business of money. Great talk to-day as if Beaufort was come into the Channel with about 20 ships, and it makes people apprehensive, but yet the Parliament do not stir a bit faster in the business of money. Here I met with Creed, expecting a Committee of Tangier, but the Committee met not, so he and I up and down, having nothing to do, and particularly to the New Cockpit by the King's Gate in Holborne, but seeing a great deal of rabble we did refuse to go in, but took coach and to Hide Park, and there till all the tour was empty, and so he and I to the Lodge in the Park, and there eat and drank till it was night, and then carried him to White Hall, having had abundance of excellent talk with him in reproach of the times and managements we live under, and so I home, and there to talk and to supper with my wife, and so to bed. 31st. Up pretty betimes and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I home to dinner, where uncle Thomas dined with me, as he do every quarter, and I paid him his pension; and also comes Mr. Hollier a little fuddled, and so did talk nothing but Latin, and laugh, that it was very good sport to see a sober man in such a humour, though he was not drunk to scandal. At dinner comes a summons for this office and the Victualler to attend a Committee of Parliament this afternoon, with Sir D. Gawden, which I accordingly did, with my papers relating to the sending of victuals to Sir John Harman's fleete; and there, Sir R. Brookes in the chair, we did give them a full account, but, Lord! to see how full they are and immoveable in their jealousy that some means are used to keep Harman from coming home, for they have an implacable desire to know the bottom of the not improving the first victory, and would lay it upon Brouncker. Having given them good satisfaction I away thence, up and down, wanting a little to see whether I could get Mrs. Burroughes out, but elle being in the shop ego did speak con her much, she could not then go far, and so I took coach and away to Unthanke's, and there took up my wife and Deb., and to the Park, where, being in a hackney, and they undressed, was ashamed to go into the tour, but went round the park, and so with pleasure home, where Mr. Pelting come and sat and talked late with us, and he being gone, I called Deb. to take pen, ink, and paper and write down what things come into my head for my wife to do in order to her going into the country, and the girl, writing not so well as she would do, cried, and her mistress construed it to be sullenness, and so away angry with her too, but going to bed she undressed me, and there I did give her good advice and baiser la, elle weeping still. APRIL 1668 April 1st. Up, and to dress myself, and call as I use Deb. to brush and dress me..., and I to my office, where busy till noon, and then out to bespeak some things against my wife's going into the country to-morrow, and so home to dinner, my wife and I alone, she being mighty busy getting her things ready for her journey, I all the afternoon with her looking after things on the same account, and then in the afternoon out and all alone to the King's house, and there sat in an upper box, to hide myself, and saw "The Black Prince," a very good play; but only the fancy, most of it, the same as in the rest of my Lord Orrery's plays; but the dance very stately; but it was pretty to see how coming after dinner and with no company with me to talk to, and at a play that I had seen, and went to now not for curiosity but only idleness, I did fall asleep the former part of the play, but afterward did mind it and like it very well. Thence called at my bookseller's, and took Mr. Boyle's Book of Formes, newly reprinted, and sent my brother my old one. So home, and there to my chamber till anon comes Mr. Turner and his wife and daughter, and Pelting, to sup with us and talk of my wife's journey to-morrow, her daughter going with my wife; and after supper to talk with her husband about the Office, and his place, which, by Sir J. Minnes's age and inability, is very uncomfortable to him, as well as without profit, or certainty what he shall do, when Sir J. Minnes dies, which is a sad condition for a man that hath lived so long in the Office as Mr. Turner hath done. But he aymes, and I advise him to it, to look for Mr. Ackworth's place, in case he should be removed. His wife afterwards did take me into my closet, and give me a cellar [A box to hold bottles. "Run for the cellar of strong waters quickly" --Ben Jonson, Magnetic Lady, act iii., sc. r.] of waters of her own distilling for my father, to be carried down with my wife and her daughter to-morrow, which was very handsome. So broke up and to bed. 2nd. Up, after much pleasant talk with my wife, and upon some alterations I will make in my house in her absence, and I do intend to lay out some money thereon. So she and I up, and she got her ready to be gone, and by and by comes Betty Turner and her mother, and W. Batelier, and they and Deb., to whom I did give 10s. this morning, to oblige her to please her mistress (and ego did baiser her mouche), and also Jane, and so in two coaches set out about eight o'clock towards the carrier, there for to take coach for my father's, that is to say, my wife and Betty Turner, Deb., and Jane; but I meeting my Lord Anglesey going to the Office, was forced to 'light in Cheapside, and there took my leave of them (not baisado Deb., which je had a great mind to), left them to go to their coach, and I to the office, where all the morning busy, and so at noon with my other clerks (W. Hewer being a day's journey with my wife) to dinner, where Mr. Pierce come and dined with me, and then with Lord Brouncker (carrying his little kinswoman on my knee, his coach being full), to the Temple, where my Lord and I 'light and to Mr. Porter's chamber, where Cocke and his counsel, and so to the attorney's, whither the Sollicitor-Generall come, and there, their cause about their assignments on the L1,250,000 Act was argued, where all that was to be said for them was said, and so answered by the Sollicitor-Generall beyond what I expected, that I said not one word all my time, rather choosing to hold my tongue, and so mind my reputation with the Sollicitor-Generall, who did mightily approve of my speech in Parliament, than say anything against him to no purpose. This I believe did trouble Cocke and these gentlemen, but I do think this best for me, and so I do think that the business will go against them, though it is against my judgment, and I am sure against all justice to the men to be invited to part with their goods and be deceived afterward of their security for payment. Thence with Lord Brouncker to the Royall Society, where they were just done; but there I was forced to subscribe to the building of a College, and did give L40; and several others did subscribe, some greater and some less sums; but several I saw hang off: and I doubt it will spoil the Society, for it breeds faction and ill-will, and becomes burdensome to some that cannot, or would not, do it. Here, to my great content, I did try the use of the Otacousticon,--[Ear trumpet.]--which was only a great glass bottle broke at the bottom, putting the neck to my eare, and there I did plainly hear the dashing of the oares of the boats in the Thames to Arundell gallery window, which, without it, I could not in the least do, and may, I believe, be improved to a great height, which I am mighty glad of. Thence with Lord Brouncker and several of them to the King's Head Taverne by Chancery Lane, and there did drink and eat and talk, and, above the rest, I did hear of Mr. Hooke and my Lord an account of the reason of concords and discords in musique, which they say is from the equality of vibrations; but I am not satisfied in it, but will at my leisure think of it more, and see how far that do go to explain it. So late at night home with Mr. Colwell, and parted, and I to the office, and then to Sir W. Pen to confer with him, and Sir R. Ford and Young, about our St. John Baptist prize, and so home, without more supper to bed, my family being now little by the departure of my wife and two maids. 3rd. Up, and Captain Perryman come to me to tell me how Tatnell told him that this day one How is to charge me before the Commissioners of Prizes to the value of L8000 in prizes, which I was troubled to hear, so fearful I am, though I know that there is not a penny to be laid to my charge that I dare not own, or that I have not owned under my hand, but upon recollection it signifies nothing to me, and so I value it not, being sure that I can have nothing in the world to my hurt known from the business. So to the office, where all the morning to despatch business, and so home to dinner with my clerks, whose company is of great pleasure to me for their good discourse in any thing of the navy I have a mind to talk of. After dinner by water from the Tower to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York as usual, and particularly in a fresh complaint the Commissioners of the Treasury do make to him, and by and by to the Council this day of our having prepared certificates on the Exchequer to the further sum of near L50,000, and soon as we had done with the Duke of York we did attend the Council; and were there called in, and did hear Mr. Sollicitor [General] make his Report to the Council in the business; which he did in a most excellent manner of words, but most cruelly severe against us, and so were some of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, as men guilty of a practice with the tradesmen, to the King's prejudice. I was unwilling to enter into a contest with them; but took advantage of two or three words last spoke, and brought it to a short issue in good words, that if we had the King's order to hold our hands, we would, which did end the matter: and they all resolved we should have it, and so it ended: and so we away; I vexed that I did not speak more in a cause so fit to be spoke in, and wherein we had so much advantage; but perhaps I might have provoked the Sollicitor and the Commissioners of the Treasury, and therefore, since, I am not sorry that I forbore. Thence my Lord Brouncker and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw the latter part of "The Master and the Man," and thence by coach to Duck Lane, to look out for Marsanne, in French, a man that has wrote well of musique, but it is not to be had, but I have given order for its being sent for over, and I did here buy Des Cartes his little treatise of musique, and so home, and there to read a little, and eat a little, though I find that my having so little taste do make me so far neglect eating that, unless company invite, I do not love to spend time upon eating, and so bring emptiness and the Cholique. So to bed. This day I hear that Prince Rupert and Holmes do go to sea: and by this there is a seeming friendship and peace among our great seamen; but the devil a bit is there any love among them, or can be. 4th. Up betimes, and by coach towards White Hall, and took Aldgate Street in my way, and there called upon one Hayward, that makes virginalls, and did there like of a little espinette, and will have him finish it for me; for I had a mind to a small harpsichon, but this takes up less room, and will do my business as to finding out of chords, and I am very well pleased that I have found it. Thence to White Hall, and after long waiting did get a small running Committee of Tangier, where I staid but little, and little done but the correcting two or three egregious faults in the Charter for Tangier after it had so long lain before the Council and been passed there and drawn up by the Atturney Generall, so slightly are all things in this age done. Thence home to the office by water, where we sat till noon, and then I moved we might go to the Duke of York and the King presently to get out their order in writing that was ordered us yesterday about the business of certificates, that we might be secure against the tradesmen who (Sir John Banks by name) have told me this day that they will complain in Parliament against us for denying to do them right. So we rose of a sudden, being mighty sensible of this inconvenience we are liable to should we delay to give them longer, and yet have no order for our indemnity. I did dine with Sir W. Pen, where my Lady Batten did come with desire of meeting me there, and speaking with me about the business of the L500 we demand of her for the Chest. She do protest, before God, she never did see the account, but that it was as her husband in his life-time made it, and he did often declare to her his expecting L500, and that we could not deny it him for his pains in that business, and that he hath left her worth nothing of his own in the world, and that therefore she could pay nothing of it, come what will come, but that he hath left her a beggar, which I am sorry truly for, though it is a just judgment upon people that do live so much beyond themselves in housekeeping and vanity, as they did. I did give her little answer, but generally words that might not trouble her, and so to dinner, and after dinner Sir W. Pen and I away by water to White Hall, and there did attend the Duke of York, and he did carry us to the King's lodgings: but he was asleep in his closet; so we stayed in the Green-Roome, where the Duke of York did tell us what rules he had, of knowing the weather, and did now tell us we should have rain before to-morrow, it having been a dry season for some time, and so it did rain all night almost; and pretty rules he hath, and told Brouncker and me some of them, which were such as no reason seems ready to be given. By and by the King comes out, and he did easily agree to what we moved, and would have the Commissioners of the Navy to meet us with him to-morrow morning: and then to talk of other things; about the Quakers not swearing, and how they do swear in the business of a late election of a Knight of the Shire of Hartfordshire in behalf of one they have a mind to have; and how my Lord of Pembroke says he hath heard him (the Quaker) at the tennis-court swear to himself when he loses: and told us what pretty notions my Lord Pembroke hath of the first chapter of Genesis, how Adam's sin was not the sucking (which he did before) but the swallowing of the apple, by which the contrary elements begun to work in him, and to stir up these passions, and a great deal of such fooleries, which the King made mighty mockery at. Thence my Lord Brouncker and I into the Park in his coach, and there took a great deal of ayre, saving that it was mighty dusty, and so a little unpleasant. Thence to Common Garden with my Lord, and there I took a hackney and home, and after having done a few letters at the office, I home to a little supper and so to bed, my eyes being every day more and more weak and apt to be tired. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there to the writing fair some of my late musique notions, and so to church, where I have not been a good while, and thence home, and dined at home, with W. Hewer with me; and after dinner, he and I a great deal of good talk touching this Office, how it is spoiled by having so many persons in it, and so much work that is not made the work of any one man, but of all, and so is never done; and that the best way to have it well done, were to have the whole trust in one, as myself, to set whom I pleased to work in the several businesses of the Office, and me to be accountable for the whole, and that would do it, as I would find instruments: but this is not to be compassed; but something I am resolved to do about Sir J. Minnes before it be long. Then to my chamber again, to my musique, and so to church; and then home, and thither comes Captain Silas Taylor to me, the Storekeeper of Harwich, where much talk, and most of it against Captain Deane, whom I do believe to be a high, proud fellow; but he is an active man, and able in his way, and so I love him. He gone, I to my musique again, and to read a little, and to sing with Mr. Pelling, who come to see me, and so spent the evening, and then to supper and to bed. I hear that eight of the ringleaders in the late tumults of the 'prentices at Easter are condemned to die. [Four were executed on May 9th, namely, Thomas Limmerick, Edward Cotton, Peter Massenger, and Richard Beasley. They were drawn, hanged, and quartered at Tyburn, and two of their heads fixed upon London Bridge ("The London Gazette," No. 259). See "The Tryals of such persons as under the notion of London Apprentices were tumultuously assembled in Moore Fields, under colour of pulling down bawdy-houses," 4to., London, 1668. "It is to be observed," says "The London Gazette," "to the just vindication of the City, that none of the persons apprehended upon the said tumult were found to be apprentices, as was given out, but some idle persons, many of them nursed in the late Rebellion, too readily embracing any opportunity of making their own advantages to the disturbance of the peace, and injury of others."] 6th. Betimes I to Alderman Backewell, and with him to my Lord Ashly's, where did a little business about Tangier, and to talk about the business of certificates, wherein, contrary to what could be believed, the King and Duke of York themselves, in my absence, did call for some of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and give them directions about the business [of the certificates], which I, despairing to do any thing on a Sunday, and not thinking that they would think of it themselves, did rest satisfied, and stayed at home all yesterday, leaving it to do something in this day; but I find that the King and Duke of York had been so pressing in it, that my Lord Ashly was more forward with the doing of it this day, than I could have been. And so I to White Hall with Alderman Backewell in his coach, with Mr. Blany; my Lord's Secretary: and there did draw up a rough draught of what order I would have, and did carry it in, and had it read twice and approved of, before my Lord Ashly and three more of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and then went up to the Council-chamber, where the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, and the rest of the Committee of the Navy were sitting: and I did get some of them to read it there: and they would have had it passed presently, but Sir John Nicholas desired they would first have it approved by a full Council: and, therefore, a Council Extraordinary was readily summoned against the afternoon, and the Duke of York run presently to the King, as if now they were really set to mind their business, which God grant! So I thence to Westminster, and walked in the Hall and up and down, the House being called over to-day, and little news, but some talk as if the agreement between France and Spain were like to be, which would be bad for us, and at noon with Sir Herbert Price to Mr. George Montagu's to dinner, being invited by him in the hall, and there mightily made of, even to great trouble to me to be so commended before my face, with that flattery and importunity, that I was quite troubled with it. Yet he is a fine gentleman, truly, and his lady a fine woman; and, among many sons that I saw there, there was a little daughter that is mighty pretty, of which he is infinite fond: and, after dinner, did make her play on the gittar and sing, which she did mighty prettily, and seems to have a mighty musical soul, keeping time with most excellent spirit. Here I met with Mr. Brownlow, my old schoolfellow, who come thither, I suppose, as a suitor to one of the young ladies that were there, and a sober man he seems to be. But here Mr. Montagu did tell me how Mr. Vaughan, in that very room, did say that I was a great man, and had great understanding, and I know not what, which, I confess, I was a little proud of, if I may believe him. Here I do hear, as a great secret, that the King, and Duke of York and Duchesse, and my Lady Castlemayne, are now all agreed in a strict league, and all things like to go very current, and that it is not impossible to have my Lord Clarendon, in time, here again. But I do hear that my Lady Castlemayne is horribly vexed at the late libell, ["The Poor Whores' Petition to the most splendid, illustrious, serene and eminent Lady of Pleasure the Countess of Castlemayne, &c., signed by us, Madam Cresswell and Damaris Page, this present 25th day of March, 1668." This sham petition occasioned a pretended answer, entitled, "The Gracious Answer of the Most Illustrious Lady of Pleasure, the Countess of Castlem.... to the Poor Whores' Petition." It is signed, "Given at our Closset, in King Street, Westminster, die Veneris, April 24, 1668. Castlem...." Compare Evelyn, April 2nd, 1668.] the petition of the poor whores about the town, whose houses were pulled down the other day. I have got one of them, but it is not very witty, but devilish severe against her and the King and I wonder how it durst be printed and spread abroad, which shews that the times are loose, and come to a great disregard of the King, or Court, or Government. Thence I to White Hall to attend the Council, and when the Council rose we find my order mightily enlarged by the Sollicitor Generall, who was called thither, making it more safe for him and the Council, but their order is the same in the command of it that I drew, and will I think defend us well. So thence, meeting Creed, he and I to the new Cocke-pitt by the King's gate, and there saw the manner of it, and the mixed rabble of people that come thither; and saw two battles of cocks, wherein is no great sport, but only to consider how these creatures, without any provocation, do fight and kill one another, and aim only at one another's heads, and by their good will not leave till one of them be killed; and thence to the Park in a hackney coach, so would not go into the tour, but round about the Park, and to the House, and there at the door eat and drank; whither come my Lady Kerneagy, of whom Creed tells me more particulars; how her Lord, finding her and the Duke of York at the King's first coming in too kind, did get it out of her that he did dishonour him, and so bid her continue..., which is the most pernicious and full piece of revenge that ever I heard of; and he at this day owns it with great glory, and looks upon the Duke of York and the world with great content in the ampleness of his revenge. Thence (where the place was now by the last night's rain very pleasant, and no dust) to White Hall, and set Creed down, and I home and to my chamber, and there about my musique notions again, wherein I take delight and find great satisfaction in them, and so, after a little supper, to bed. This day, in the afternoon, stepping with the Duke of York into St. James's Park, it rained: and I was forced to lend the Duke of York my cloak, which he wore through the Park. 7th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where great hurry to be made in the fitting forth of this present little fleet, but so many rubs by reason of want of money, and people's not believing us in cases where we had money unless (which in several cases, as in hiring of vessels, cannot be) they be paid beforehand, that every thing goes backward instead of forward. At noon comes Mr. Clerke, my solicitor, and the Auditor's men with my account drawn up in the Exchequer way with their queries, which are neither many nor great, or hard to answer upon it, and so dined with me, and then I by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The English Monsieur;"' sitting for privacy sake in an upper box: the play hath much mirth in it as to that particular humour. After the play done, I down to Knipp, and did stay her undressing herself; and there saw the several players, men and women go by; and pretty to see how strange they are all, one to another, after the play is done. Here I saw a wonderful pretty maid of her own, that come to undress her, and one so pretty that she says she intends not to keep her, for fear of her being undone in her service, by coming to the playhouse. Here I hear Sir W. Davenant is just now dead; and so who will succeed him in the mastership of the house is not yet known. The eldest Davenport is, it seems, gone from this house to be kept by somebody; which I am glad of, she being a very bad actor. I took her then up into a coach and away to the Park, which is now very fine after some rain, but the company was going away most, and so I took her to the Lodge, and there treated her and had a deal of good talk, and now and then did baiser la, and that was all, and that as much or more than I had much mind to because of her paint. She tells me mighty news, that my Lady Castlemayne is mightily in love with Hart of their house: and he is much with her in private, and she goes to him, and do give him many presents; and that the thing is most certain, and Becke Marshall only privy to it, and the means of bringing them together, which is a very odd thing; and by this means she is even with the King's love to Mrs. Davis. This done, I carried her and set her down at Mrs. Manuel's, but stayed not there myself, nor went in; but straight home, and there to my letters, and so home to bed. 8th. Up, and at my office all the morning, doing business, and then at noon home to dinner all alone. Then to White Hall with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to attend the Duke of York upon our usual business, which was this day but little, and thence with Lord Brouncker to the Duke of York's playhouse, where we saw "The Unfortunate Lovers," no extraordinary play, methinks, and thence I to Drumbleby's, and there did talk a great deal about pipes; and did buy a recorder, which I do intend to learn to play on, the sound of it being, of all sounds in the world, most pleasing to me. Thence home, and to visit Mrs. Turner, where among other talk, Mr. Foly and her husband being there, she did tell me of young Captain Holmes's marrying of Pegg Lowther last Saturday by stealth, which I was sorry for, he being an idle rascal, and proud, and worth little, I doubt; and she a mighty pretty, well-disposed lady, and good fortune. Her mother and friends take on mightily; but the sport is, Sir Robert Holmes do seem to be mad too with his brother, and will disinherit him, saying that he hath ruined himself, marrying below himself, and to his disadvantage; whereas, I said, in this company, that I had married a sister lately, with little above half that portion, that he should have kissed her breech before he should have had her, which, if R. Holmes should hear, would make a great quarrel; but it is true I am heartily sorry for the poor girl that is undone by it. So home to my chamber, to be fingering of my Recorder, and getting of the scale of musique without book, which I at last see is necessary for a man that would understand musique, as it is now taught to understand, though it be a ridiculous and troublesome way, and I know I shall be able hereafter to show the world a simpler way; but, like the old hypotheses in philosophy, it must be learned, though a man knows a better. Then to supper, and to bed. This morning Mr. Christopher Pett's widow and daughter come to me, to desire my help to the King and Duke of York, and I did promise, and do pity her. 9th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, then at noon home to dinner with my people, and so to the office again writing of my letters, and then abroad to my bookseller's, and up and down to the Duke of York's playhouse, there to see, which I did, Sir W. Davenant's corpse carried out towards Westminster, there to be buried. Here were many coaches and six horses, and many hacknies, that made it look, methought, as if it were the buriall of a poor poet. He seemed to have many children, by five or six in the first mourning-coach, all boys. And there I left them coming forth, and I to the New Exchange, there to meet Mrs. Burroughs, and did take her in a carosse and carry elle towards the Park, kissing her..., but did not go into any house, but come back and set her down at White Hall, and did give her wrapt in paper for my Valentine's gift for the last year before this, which I never did yet give her anything for, twelve half-crowns, and so back home and there to my office, where come a packet from the Downes from my brother Balty, who, with Harman, is arrived there, of which this day come the first news. And now the Parliament will be satisfied, I suppose, about the business they have so long desired between Brouncker and Harman about not prosecuting the first victory. Balty is very well, and I hope hath performed his work well, that I may get him into future employment. I wrote to him this night, and so home, and there to the perfecting my getting the scale of musique without book, which I have done to perfection backward and forward, and so to supper and to bed. 10th (Friday) All the morning at Office. At noon with W. Pen to Duke of York, and attended Council. So to piper and Duck Lane, and there kissed bookseller's wife, and bought Legend. So home, coach. Sailor. Mrs. Hannam dead. News of Peace. Conning my gamut. [The entries from April 10th to April 19th are transcribed from three leaves (six pages) of rough notes, which are inserted in the MS. The rough notes were made to serve for a sort of account book, but the amounts paid are often not registered in the fair copy when he came to transcribe his notes into the Diary.] 12th (Sunday). Dined at Brouncker's, and saw the new book. Peace. Cutting away sails. 13th (Monday). Spent at Michel's 6d.; in the Folly, 1s.; [The Folly was a floating house of entertainment on the Thames, which at this time was a fashionable resort.] oysters, 1s.; coach to W. Coventry about Mrs. Pett, 1s.; thence to Commissioners of Treasury, and so to Westminster Hall by water, 6d. With G. Montagu and Roger Pepys, and spoke with Birch and Vaughan, all in trouble about the prize business. So to Lord Crew's (calling for a low pipe by the way), where Creed and G. M. and G. C. come, 1s. So with Creed to a play. Little laugh, 4s. Thence towards the Park by coach, 2s. 6d. Come home, met with order of Commissioners of Accounts, which put together with the rest vexed me, and so home to supper and to bed. 14th (Tuesday). Up betimes by water to the Temple. In the way read the Narrative about prizes; and so to Lord Crew's bedside, and then to Westminster, where I hear Pen is, and sent for by messenger last night. Thence to Commissioners of Accounts and there examined, and so back to Westminster Hall, where all the talk of committing all to the Tower, and Creed and I to the Quaker's, dined together. Thence to the House, where rose about four o'clock; and, with much ado, Pen got to Thursday to bring in his answer; so my Lord escapes to-day. Thence with Godage and G. Montagu to G. Carteret's, and there sat their dinner-time: and hear myself, by many Parliament-men, mightily commended. Thence to a play, "Love's Cruelty," and so to my Lord Crew's, who glad of this day's time got, and so home, and there office, and then home to supper and to bed, my eyes being the better upon leaving drinking at night. Water, 1s. Porter, 6d. Water, 6d. Dinner, 3s. 6d. Play part, 2s. Oranges, 1s. Home coach, 1s. 6d. 15th. After playing a little upon my new little flageolet, that is so soft that pleases me mightily, betimes to my office, where most of the morning. Then by coach, 1s., and meeting Lord Brouncker, 'light at the Exchange, and thence by water to White Hall, 1s., and there to the Chapel, expecting wind musick and to the Harp-and-Ball, and drank all alone, 2d. Back, and to the fiddling concert, and heard a practice mighty good of Grebus, and thence to Westminster Hall, where all cry out that the House will be severe with Pen; but do hope well concerning the buyers, that we shall have no difficulty, which God grant! Here met Creed, and, about noon, he and I, and Sir P. Neale to the Quaker's, and there dined with a silly Executor of Bishop Juxon's, and cozen Roger Pepys. Business of money goes on slowly in the House. Thence to White Hall by water, and there with the Duke of York a little, but stayed not, but saw him and his lady at his little pretty chapel, where I never was before: but silly devotion, God knows! Thence I left Creed, and to the King's playhouse, into a corner of the 18d. box, and there saw "The Maid's Tragedy," a good play. Coach, 1s.: play and oranges, 2s. 6d. Creed come, dropping presently here, but he did not see me, and come to the same place, nor would I be seen by him. Thence to my Lord Crew's, and there he come also after, and there with Sir T. Crew bemoaning my Lord's folly in leaving his old interest, by which he hath now lost all. An ill discourse in the morning of my Lord's being killed, but this evening Godolphin tells us here that my Lord is well. Thence with Creed to the Cock ale-house, and there spent 6d., and so by coach home, 2s. 6d., and so to bed. 16th. Th[ursday]. Greeting's book, is. Begun this day to learn the Recorder. To the office, where all the morning. Dined with my clerks: and merry at Sir W. Pen's crying yesterday, as they say, to the King, that he was his martyr. So to White Hall by coach to Commissioners of [the] Treasury about certificates, but they met not, 2s. To Westminster by water. To Westminster Hall, where I hear W. Pen is ordered to be impeached, 6d. There spoke with many, and particularly with G. Montagu: and went with him and Creed to his house, where he told how W. Pen hath been severe to Lord Sandwich; but the Coventrys both labouring to save him, by laying it on Lord Sandwich, which our friends cry out upon, and I am silent, but do believe they did it as the only way to save him. It could not be carried to commit him. It is thought the House do coole: W. Coventry's being for him, provoked Sir R. Howard and his party; Court, all for W. Pen. Thence to White Hall, but no meeting of the Commissioners, and there met Mr. Hunt, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and, there did what I would, she troubled for want of employ for her husband, spent on her 1s. Thence to the Hall to walk awhile and ribbon, spent is. So [to] Lord Crew's, and there with G. Carteret and my Lord to talk, and they look upon our matters much the better, and by this and that time is got, 1s. So to the Temple late, and by water, by moonshine, home, 1s. Cooks, 6d. Wrote my letters to my Lady Sandwich, and so home, where displeased to have my maid bring her brother, a countryman, to lye there, and so to bed. 17th (Friday). Called up by Balty's coming, who gives me a good account of his voyage, and pleases me well, and I hope hath got something. This morning paid the Royall Society L1 6s., and so to the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my people, and there much pretty discourse of Balty's. So by coach to White Hall: the coachman on Ludgate Hill 'lighted, and beat a fellow with a sword, 2s. 6d. Did little business with the Duke of York. Hear that the House is upon the business of Harman, who, they say, takes all on himself. Thence, with Brouncker, to the King's house, and saw "The Surprizall," where base singing, only Knepp,' who come, after her song in the clouds, to me in the pit, and there, oranges, 2s. After the play, she, and I, and Rolt, by coach, 6s. 6d., to Kensington, and there to the Grotto, and had admirable pleasure with their singing, and fine ladies listening to us: with infinite pleasure, I enjoyed myself: so to the tavern there, and did spend 16s. 6d., and the gardener 2s. Mighty merry, and sang all the way to the town, a most pleasant evening, moonshine, and set them at her house in Covent Garden, and I home and to bed. 18th (Saturday). Up, and my bookseller brought home books, bound--the binding comes to 17s. Advanced to my maid Bridget L1. Sir W. Pen at the Office, seemingly merry. Do hear this morning that Harman is committed by the Parliament last night, the day he come up, which is hard; but he took all upon himself first, and then when a witness come in to say otherwise, he would have retracted; and the House took it so ill, they would commit him. Thence home to dinner with my clerks, and so to White Hall by water, 1s., and there a short Committee for Tangier, and so I to the King's playhouse, 1s., and to the play of the "Duke of Lerma," 2s. 6d., and oranges, 1s. Thence by coach to Westminster, 1s., and the House just up, having been about money business, 1s. So home by coach, 3s., calling in Duck Lane, and did get Des Cartes' Musique in English,' and so home and wrote my letters, and then to my chamber to save my eyes, and to bed. 19th (Sunday). Lay long. Roger Pepys and his son come, and to Church with me, where W. Pen was, and did endeavour to shew himself to the Church. Then home to dinner, and Roger Pepys did tell me the whole story of Harman, how he prevaricated, and hath undoubtedly been imposed on, and wheedled; and he is called the miller's man that, in Richard the Third's time, was hanged for his master. [The story alluded to by Pepys, which belongs not to the reign of Richard III., but to that of Edward VI., occurred during a seditious outbreak at Bodmin, in Cornwall, and is thus related by Holinshed: "At the same time, and neare the same place [Bodmin], dwelled a miller, that had beene a greate dooer in that rebellion, for whom also Sir Anthonie Kingston sought: but the miller being thereof warned, called a good tall fellow that he had to his servant, and said unto him, 'I have business to go from home; if anie therefore come to ask for me, saie thou art the owner of the mill, and the man for whom they shall so aske, and that thou hast kept this mill for the space of three yeares; but in no wise name me.' The servant promised his maister so to doo. And shortlie after, came Sir Anthonie Kingston to the miller's house, and calling for the miller, the servant came forth, and answered that he was the miller. 'How long,' quoth Sir Anthonie, 'hast thou kept this mill?' He answered, 'Three years.'--'Well, then,' said he, 'come on: thou must go with me;' and caused his men to laie hands on him, and to bring him to the next tree, saieing to him, 'Thou hast been a busie knave, and therefore here shalt thou hang.' Then cried the fellow out, and saide that he was not the miller, but the miller's man. 'Well, then,' said Sir Anthonie, 'thou art a false knave to be in two tales: therefore,' said he, 'hang him up;' and so incontinentlie hanged he was indeed. After he was dead, one that was present told Sir Anthonie, 'Surelie, sir, this was but the miller's man.'--'What then!' said he, 'could he ever have done his maister better service than to hang for him?'"--B.] So after dinner I took them by water to White Hall, taking in a very pretty woman at Paul's Wharf, and there landed we, and I left Roger Pepys and to St. Margaret's Church, and there saw Betty, and so to walk in the Abbey with Sir John Talbot, who would fain have pumped me about the prizes, but I would not let him, and so to walk towards Michell's to see her, but could not, and so to Martin's, and her husband was at home, and so took coach and to the Park, and thence home and to bed betimes. Water 1s., coach 5s. Balty borrowed L2. 20th. Up betimes and to the getting ready my answer to the Committee of Accounts to several questions, which makes me trouble, though I know of no blame due to me from any, let them enquire what they can out. [The first part of the entry for April 20th is among the rough notes, and stands as follows: "Monday 20. Up and busy about answer to Committee of Accounts this morning about several questions which vexed me though in none I have reason to be troubled. But the business of The Flying Greyhound begins to find me some care, though in that I am wholly void of blame." This may be compared with the text.] I to White Hall, and there hear how Henry Brouncker is fled, which, I think, will undo him: but what good it will do Harman I know not, he hath so befooled himself; but it will be good sport to my Lord Chancellor to hear how his great enemy is fain to take the same course that he is. There met Robinson, who tells me that he fears his master, W. Coventry, will this week have his business brought upon the stage again, about selling of places, which I shall be sorry for, though the less, since I hear his standing for Pen the other day, to the prejudice, though not to the wrong, of my Lord Sandwich; and yet I do think what he did, he did out of a principle of honesty. Thence to Committee of Accounts, and delivered my paper, and had little discourse, and was unwilling to stay long with them to enter into much, but away and glad to be from them, though very civil to me, but cunning and close I see they are. So to Westminster Hall, and there find the Parliament upon the Irish business, where going into the Speaker's chamber I did hear how plainly one lawyer of counsel for the complainants did inveigh by name against all the late Commissioners there. Thence with Creed, thinking, but failed, of dining with Lord Crew, and so he and I to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence home by coach, and so with Jack Fenn to the Chamberlain of London to look after the state of some Navy assignments that are in his hands, and thence away, and meeting Sir William Hooker, the Alderman, he did cry out mighty high against Sir W. Pen for his getting such an estate, and giving L15,000 with his daughter, which is more, by half, than ever he did give; but this the world believes, and so let them. Thence took coach and I all alone to Hyde Park (passing through Duck Lane among the booksellers, only to get a sight of the pretty little woman I did salute the other night, and did in passing), and so all the evening in the Park, being a little unwilling to be seen there, and at night home, and thereto W. Pen's and sat and talked there with his wife and children a good while, he being busy in his closet, I believe preparing his defence in Parliament, and so home to bed. 21st. Up, and at the office all the morning, at noon dined at home, and thence took Mrs. Turner out and carried her to the King's house, and saw "The Indian Emperour;" and after that done, took Knepp out, and to Kensington; and there walked in the garden, and then supped, and mighty merry, there being also in the house Sir Philip Howard, and some company, and had a dear reckoning, but merry, and away, it being quite night, home, and dark, about 9 o'clock or more, and in my coming had the opportunity the first time in my life to be bold with Knepp..., and so left her at home, and so Mrs. Turner and I home to my letters and to bed. Here hear how Sir W. Pen's impeachment was read, and agreed to, in the House this day, and ordered to be engrossed; and he suspended the House--[From sitting as a member pending the impeachment.-B.]--Harman set at liberty; and Brouncker put out of the House, and a writ for a new election, and an impeachment ordered to be brought in against him, he being fled! [Sir Charles Berkeley, jun. was chosen in his room. In the sea- fight off Southwold Bay on June 3rd, 1665, the English triumphed over the Dutch, but the very considerable victory was not followed up. During the night, while the Duke of York slept, Henry Brouncker, his groom of the bedchamber, ordered the lieutenant to shorten sail, by which means the progress of the whole fleet was retarded, the Duke of York's being the leading ship. The duke affirmed that he first heard of Brouncker's unjustifiable action in July, and yet he kept the culprit in his service for nearly two years after the offence had come to his knowledge. After Brouncker had been dismissed from the duke's service, the House of Commons ejected him. The whole matter is one of the unsolved difficulties of history. See Lister's "Life of Clarendon," ii., 334 335] 22nd. Up, and all the morning at my office busy. At noon, it being washing day, I toward White Hall, and stopped and dined all alone at Hercules Pillars, where I was mighty pleased to overhear a woman talk to her counsel how she had troubled her neighbours with law, and did it very roguishly and wittily. Thence to White Hall, and there we attended the Duke of York as usual; and I did present Mrs. Pett, the widow, and her petition to the Duke of York, for some relief from the King. Here was to-day a proposition made to the Duke of York by Captain Von Hemskirke for L20,000, to discover an art how to make a ship go two foot for one what any ship do now, which the King inclines to try, it costing him nothing to try; and it is referred to us to contract with the man. Thence to attend the Council about the business of certificates to the Exchequer, where the Commissioners of the Treasury of different minds, some would, and my Lord Ashly would not have any more made out, and carried it there should not. After done here, and the Council up, I by water from the Privy-stairs to Westminster Hall; and, taking water, the King and the Duke of York were in the new buildings; and the Duke of York called to me whither I was going? and I answered aloud, "To wait on our maisters at Westminster;" at which he and all the company laughed; but I was sorry and troubled for it afterwards, for fear any Parliament-man should have been there; and will be a caution to me for the time to come. Met with Roger Pepys, who tells me they have been on the business of money, but not ended yet, but will take up more time. So to the fishmonger's, and bought a couple of lobsters, and over to the 'sparagus garden, thinking to have met Mr. Pierce, and his wife and Knepp; but met their servant coming to bring me to Chatelin's, the French house, in Covent Garden, and there with musick and good company, Manuel and his wife, and one Swaddle, a clerk of Lord Arlington's, who dances, and speaks French well, but got drunk, and was then troublesome, and here mighty merry till ten at night, and then I away, and got a coach, and so home, where I find Balty and his wife come to town, and did sup with them, and so they to bed. This night the Duke of Monmouth and a great many blades were at Chatelin's, and I left them there, with a hackney-coach attending him. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon comes Knepp and Mrs. Pierce, and her daughter, and one Mrs. Foster, and dined with me, and mighty merry, and after dinner carried them to the Tower, and shewed them all to be seen there, and, among other things, the Crown and Scepters and rich plate, which I myself never saw before, and indeed is noble, and I mightily pleased with it. Thence by water to the Temple, and thereto the Cocke alehouse, and drank, and eat a lobster, and sang, and mighty merry. So, almost night, I carried Mrs. Pierce home, and then Knepp and I to the Temple again, and took boat, it being darkish, and to Fox Hall, it being now night, and a bonfire burning at Lambeth for the King's coronation-day. And there she and I drank;.... and so back, and led her home, it being now ten at night; and so got a link; and, walking towards home, just at my entrance into the ruines at St. Dunstan's, I was met by two rogues with clubs, who come towards us. So I went back, and walked home quite round by the wall, and got well home, and to bed weary, but pleased at my day's pleasure, but yet displeased at my expence, and time I lose. 24th. Up betimes, and by water to White Hall, to the Duke of York, and there hear that this day Hopis and Temple purpose to bring in the petition against Sir W. Coventry, which I am sorry for, but hope he will get out of it. Here I presented Mrs. Pett and her condition to Mr. Wren for his favour, which he promised us. Thence to Lord Brouncker and sat and talked with him, who thinks the Parliament will, by their violence and delay in money matters, force the King to run any hazard, and dissolve them. Thence to Ducke Lane, and there did overlook a great many of Monsieur Fouquet's library, that a bookseller hath bought, and I did buy one Spanish [work], "Los Illustres Varones." [Nicholas Fouquet, "Surintendant des Finances" in France, had built at Vaux a house which surpassed in magnificence any palace belonging to Louis XIV., prior to the erection of Versailles, and caused much envy to all the Court, especially to Colbert. Fouquet died at Pignerol in 1680, after nineteen years' incarceration; and whilst Pepys was buying his books in London, Colbert had become prime minister in France, and Colbert's brother ambassador in England. The 'viper' had caught the 'squirrel'!--B.] Here did I endeavour to see my pretty woman that I did baiser in las tenebras a little while depuis. And did find her sofa in the book[shop], but had not la confidence para alter a elle. So lost my pains. But will another time, and so home and to my office, and then to dinner. After dinner down to the Old Swan, and by the way called at Michell's, and there did see Betty, and that was all, for either she is shy or foolish, and su mardi hath no mind para laiser me see su moher. To White Hall by water, and there did our business with the Duke of York, which was very little, only here I do hear the Duke of York tell how Sir W. Pen's impeachment was brought into the House of Lords to-day; and spoke with great kindness of him: and that the Lords would not commit him till they could find precedent for it, and did incline to favour him. Thence to the King's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Beggar's Bush," which I have not seen some years, and thence home, and there to Sir W. Pen's and supped and sat talking there late, having no where else to go, and my eyes too bad to read right, and so home to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to my Lord Brouncker, and with him all of us to my Lord Ashly to satisfy him about the reason of what we do or have done in the business of the tradesmen's certificates, which he seems satisfied with, but is not, but I believe we have done what we can justify, and he hath done what he cannot in stopping us to grant them, and I believe it will come into Parliament and make trouble. So home and there at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence after dinner to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all," which, the more I see, the more I like, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with Roger Pepys; and he tells me that nothing hath lately passed about my Lord Sandwich, but only Sir Robert Carr did speak hardly of him. But it is hoped that nothing will be done more, this meeting of Parliament, which the King did, by a message yesterday, declare again, should rise the 4th of May, and then only adjourne for three months: and this message being only adjournment, did please them mightily, for they are desirous of their power mightily. Thence homeward by the Coffee House in Covent Garden, thinking to have met Harris here but could not, and so home, and there, after my letters, I home to have my hair cut by my sister Michell and her husband, and so to bed. This day I did first put off my waste-coate, the weather being very hot, but yet lay in it at night, and shall, for a little time. 26th (Lord's day). Lay long, and then up and to Church, and so home, where there come and dined with me Harris, Rolt, and Bannister, and one Bland, that sings well also, and very merry at dinner, and, after dinner, to sing all the afternoon. But when all was done, I did begin to think that the pleasure of these people was not worth so often charge and cost to me, as it hath occasioned me. They being gone I and Balty walked as far as Charing Cross, and there got a coach and to Hales's the painter, thinking to have found Harris sitting there for his picture, which is drawing for me. But he, and all this day's company, and Hales, were got to the Crown tavern, at next door, and thither I to them and stayed a minute, leaving Captain Grant telling pretty stories of people that have killed themselves, or been accessory to it, in revenge to other people, and to mischief other people, and thence with Hales to his house, and there did see his beginning of Harris's picture, which I think will be pretty like, and he promises a very good picture. Thence with Balty away and got a coach and to Hide Park, and there up and down and did drink some milk at the Lodge, and so home and to bed. 27th. Up, and Captain Deane come to see me, and he and I toward Westminster together, and I set him down at White Hall, while I to Westminster Hall, and up to the Lords' House, and there saw Sir W. Pen go into the House of Lords, where his impeachment was read to him, and he used mighty civilly, the Duke of York being there; and two days hence, at his desire, he is to bring in his answer, and a day then to be appointed for his being heard with Counsel. Thence down into the Hall, and with Creed and Godolphin walked; and do hear that to-morrow is appointed, upon a motion on Friday last, to discourse the business of my Lord Sandwich, moved by Sir R. Howard, that he should be sent for, home; and I fear it will be ordered. Certain news come, I hear, this day, that the Spanish Plenipotentiary in Flanders will not agree to the peace and terms we and the Dutch have made for him and the King of France; and by this means the face of things may be altered, and we forced to join with the French against Spain, which will be an odd thing. At noon with Creed to my Lord Crew's, and there dined; and here was a very fine-skinned lady dined, the daughter of my Lord Roberts, and also a fine lady, Mr. John Parkhurst his wife, that was but a boy the other day. And after dinner there comes in my Lady Roberts herself, and with her Mr. Roberts's daughter, that was Mrs. Boddevill, the great beauty, and a fine lady indeed, the first time I saw her. My Lord Crew, and Sir Thomas, and I, and Creed, all the afternoon debating of my Lord Sandwich's business, against to-morrow, and thence I to the King's playhouse, and there saw most of "The Cardinall," a good play, and thence to several places to pay my debts, and then home, and there took a coach and to Mile End to take a little ayre, and thence home to Sir W. Pen's, where I supped, and sat all the evening; and being lighted homeward by Mrs. Markham, I blew out the candle and kissed her, and so home to bed. 28th. Up betimes, and to Sir W. Coventry's by water, but lost my labour, so through the Park to White Hall, and thence to my Lord Crew's to advise again with him about my Lord Sandwich, and so to the office, where till noon, and then I by coach to Westminster Hall, and there do understand that the business of religion, and the Act against Conventicles, have so taken them up all this morning, and do still, that my Lord Sandwich's business is not like to come on to-day, which I am heartily glad of. This law against Conventicles is very severe; but Creed, whom I met here, do tell me that, it being moved that Papists' meetings might be included, the House was divided upon it, and it was carried in the negative; which will give great disgust to the people, I doubt. Thence with Creed to Hercules Pillars by the Temple again, and there dined he and I all alone, and thence to the King's house, and there did see "Love in a Maze," wherein very good mirth of Lacy, the clown, and Wintersell, the country-knight, his master. Thence to the New Exchange to pay a debt of my wife's there, and so home, and there to the office and walk in the garden in the dark to ease my eyes, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and to my office, where all the morning busy. At noon dined at home, and my clerks with me, and thence I to White Hall, and there do hear how Sir W. Pen hath delivered in his answer; and the Lords have sent it down to the Commons, but they have not yet read it, nor taken notice of it, so as, I believe, they will by design defer it till they rise, that so he, by lying under an impeachment, may be prevented in his going to sea, which will vex him, and trouble the Duke of York. Did little business with the Duke of York, and then Lord Brouncker and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "Love in a Tubb;" and, after the play done, I stepped up to Harris's dressing-room, where I never was, and there I observe much company come to him, and the Witts, to talk, after the play is done, and to assign meetings. Mine was to talk about going down to see "The Resolution," and so away, and thence to Westminster Hall, and there met with Mr. G. Montagu, and walked and talked; who tells me that the best fence against the Parliament's present fury is delay, and recommended it to me, in my friends' business and my own, if I have any; and is that, that Sir W. Coventry do take, and will secure himself; that the King will deliver up all to the Parliament; and being petitioned the other day by Mr. Brouncker to protect him, with teares in his eyes, the King did say he could not, and bid him shift for himself, at least till the House is up. Thence I away to White Hall, and there took coach home with a stranger I let into the coach, to club with me for it, he going into London, I set him down at the lower end of Cheapside, and I home, and to Sir W. Pen's, and there sat, and by and by, it being now about nine o'clock at night, I heard Mercer's voice, and my boy Tom's singing in the garden, which pleased me mightily, I longing to see the girl, having not seen her since my wife went; and so into the garden to her and sang, and then home to supper, and mightily pleased with her company, in talking and singing, and so parted, and to bed. 30th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon Sir J. Minnes and I to the Dolphin Tavern, there to meet our neighbours, all of the Parish, this being Procession-day, to dine. And did; and much very good discourse; they being, most of them, very able merchants as any in the City: Sir Andrew Rickard, Mr. Vandeputt, Sir John Fredericke, Harrington, and others. They talked with Mr. Mills about the meaning of this day, and the good uses of it; and how heretofore, and yet in several places, they do whip a boy at each place they stop at in their procession. Thence I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Tempest," which still pleases me mightily, and thence to the New Exchange, and then home, and in the way stopped to talk with Mr. Brisband, who gives me an account of the rough usage Sir G. Carteret and his Counsel had the other day, before the Commissioners of Accounts, and what I do believe we shall all of us have, in a greater degree than any he hath had yet with them, before their three years are out, which are not yet begun, nor God knows when they will, this being like to be no session of Parliament, when they now rise. So home, and there took up Mrs. Turner and carried her to Mile End and drank, and so back talking, and so home and to bed, I being mighty cold, this being a mighty cold day, and I had left off my waistcoat three or four days. This evening, coming home in the dusk, I saw and spoke to our Nell, Pain's daughter, and had I not been very cold I should have taken her to Tower hill para together et toker her. Thus ends this month; my wife in the country, myself full of pleasure and expence; and some trouble for my friends, my Lord Sandwich, by the Parliament, and more for my eyes, which are daily worse and worse, that I dare not write or read almost any thing. The Parliament going in a few days to rise; myself so long without accounting now, for seven or eight months, I think, or more, that I know not what condition almost I am in, as to getting or spending for all that time, which troubles me, but I will soon do it. The kingdom in an ill state through poverty; a fleete going out, and no money to maintain it, or set it out; seamen yet unpaid, and mutinous when pressed to go out again; our Office able to do little, nobody trusting us, nor we desiring any to trust us, and yet have not money for any thing, but only what particularly belongs to this fleete going out, and that but lamely too. The Parliament several months upon an Act for L300,000, but cannot or will not agree upon it, but do keep it back, in spite of the King's desires to hasten it, till they can obtain what they have a mind, in revenge upon some men for the late ill managements; and he is forced to submit to what they please, knowing that, without it, he shall have no money, and they as well, that, if they give the money, the King will suffer them to do little more; and then the business of religion do disquiet every body, the Parliament being vehement against the Nonconformists, while the King seems to be willing to countenance them. So we are all poor, and in pieces--God help us! while the peace is like to go on between Spain and France; and then the French may be apprehended able to attack us. So God help us! MAY 1668 May 1st, 1668. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. Then to Westminster Hall, and there met Sir W. Pen, who labours to have his answer to his impeachment, and sent down from the Lords' House, read by the House of Commons; but they are so busy on other matters, that he cannot, and thereby will, as he believes, by design, be prevented from going to sea this year. Here met my cozen Thomas Pepys of Deptford, and took some turns with him; who is mightily troubled for this Act now passed against Conventicles, and in few words, and sober, do lament the condition we are in, by a negligent Prince and a mad Parliament. Thence I by coach to the Temple, and there set him down, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dine, but he not being at home, I back again to the New Exchange a little, and thence back again to Hercules Pillars, and there dined all alone, and then to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Surprizall;" and a disorder in the pit by its raining in, from the cupola at top, it being a very foul day, and cold, so as there are few I believe go to the Park to-day, if any. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there I understand how the Houses of Commons and Lords are like to disagree very much, about the business of the East India Company and one Skinner; to the latter of which the Lords have awarded L5000 from the former, for some wrong done him heretofore; and the former appealing to the Commons, the Lords vote their petition a libell; and so there is like to follow very hot work. Thence by water, not being able to get a coach, nor boat but a sculler, and that with company, is being so foul a day, to the Old Swan, and so home, and there spent the evening, making Balty read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon with Lord Brouncker in his coach as far as the Temple, and there 'light and to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence to the Duke of York's playhouse, at a little past twelve, to get a good place in the pit, against the new play, and there setting a poor man to keep my place, I out, and spent an hour at Martin's, my bookseller's, and so back again, where I find the house quite full. But I had my place, and by and by the King comes and the Duke of York; and then the play begins, called "The Sullen Lovers; or, The Impertinents," having many good humours in it, but the play tedious, and no design at all in it. But a little boy, for a farce, do dance Polichinelli, the best that ever anything was done in the world, by all men's report: most pleased with that, beyond anything in the world, and much beyond all the play. Thence to the King's house to see Knepp, but the play done; and so I took a hackney alone, and to the park, and there spent the evening, and to the lodge, and drank new milk. And so home to the Office, ended my letters, and, to spare my eyes, home, and played on my pipes, and so to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I saw Sir A. Rickard, though he be under the Black Rod, by order of the Lords' House, upon the quarrel between the East India Company and Skinner, which is like to come to a very great heat between the two Houses. At noon comes Mr. Mills and his wife, and Mr. Turner and his wife, by invitation to dinner, and we were mighty merry, and a very pretty dinner, of my Bridget and Nell's dressing, very handsome. After dinner to church again.... So home and with Sir W. Pen took a hackney, and he and I to Old Street, to a brew-house there, to see Sir Thomas Teddiman, who is very ill in bed of a fever, got, I believe, by the fright the Parliament have put him into, of late. But he is a good man, a good seaman, and stout. Thence Pen and I to Islington, and there, at the old house, eat, and drank, and merry, and there by chance giving two pretty fat boys each of them a cake, they proved to be Captain Holland's children, whom therefore I pity. So round by Hackney home, having good discourse, he [Pen] being very open to me in his talk, how the King ought to dissolve this Parliament, when the Bill of Money is passed, they being never likely to give him more; how he [the King] hath great opportunity of making himself popular by stopping this Act against Conventicles; and how my Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, if the Parliament continue, will undoubtedly fall, he having managed that place with so much self-seeking, and disorder, and pleasure, and some great men are designing to overthrow [him], as, among the rest, my Lord Orrery; and that this will try the King mightily, he being a firm friend to my Lord Lieutenant. So home; and to supper a little, and then to bed, having stepped, after I come home, to Alderman Backewell's about business, and there talked a while with him and his wife, a fine woman of the country, and how they had bought an estate at Buckeworth, within four mile of Brampton. 4th. Up betimes, and by water to Charing Cross, and so to W. Coventry, and there talked a little with him, and thence over the Park to White Hall, and there did a little business at the Treasury, and so to the Duke, and there present Balty to the Duke of York and a letter from the Board to him about him, and the Duke of York is mightily pleased with him, and I doubt not his continuance in employment, which I am glad of. Thence with Sir H. Cholmly to Westminster Hall talking, and he crying mightily out of the power the House of Lords usurps in this business of the East India Company. Thence away home and there did business, and so to dinner, my sister Michell and I, and thence to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Impertinents" again, and with less pleasure than before, it being but a very contemptible play, though there are many little witty expressions in it; and the pit did generally say that of it. Thence, going out, Mrs. Pierce called me from the gallery, and there I took her and Mrs. Corbet by coach up and down, and took up Captain Rolt in the street; and at last, it being too late to go to the Park, I carried them to the Beare in Drury Lane, and there did treat them with a dish of mackrell, the first I have seen this year, and another dish, and mighty merry; and so carried her home, and thence home myself, well pleased with this evening's pleasure, and so to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner and Creed with me, and after dinner he and I to the Duke of York's playhouse; and there coming late, he and I up to the balcony-box, where we find my Lady Castlemayne and several great ladies; and there we sat with them, and I saw "The Impertinents" once more, now three times, and the three only days it hath been acted. And to see the folly how the house do this day cry up the play more than yesterday! and I for that reason like it, I find, the better, too; by Sir Positive At-all, I understand, is meant Sir Robert Howard. My Lady [Castlemaine] pretty well pleased with it; but here I sat close to her fine woman, Willson, who indeed is very handsome, but, they say, with child by the King. I asked, and she told me this was the first time her Lady had seen it, I having a mind to say something to her. One thing of familiarity I observed in my Lady Castlemayne: she called to one of her women, another that sat by this, for a little patch off her face, and put it into her mouth and wetted it, and so clapped it upon her own by the side of her mouth, I suppose she feeling a pimple rising there. Thence with Creed to Westminster Hall, and there met with cozen Roger, who tells me of the great conference this day between the Lords and Commons, about the business of the East India Company, as being one of the weightiest conferences that hath been, and managed as weightily. I am heartily sorry I was not there, it being upon a mighty point of the privileges of the subjects of England, in regard to the authority of the House of Lords, and their being condemned by them as the Supreme Court, which, we say, ought not to be, but by appeal from other Courts. And he tells me that the Commons had much the better of them, in reason and history there quoted, and believes the Lords will let it fall. Thence to walk in the Hall, and there hear that Mrs. Martin's child, my god-daughter, is dead, and so by water to the Old Swan, and thence home, and there a little at Sir W. Pen's, and so to bed. 6th. Up, and to the office, and thence to White Hall, but come too late to see the Duke of York, with whom my business was, and so to Westminster Hall, where met with several people and talked with them, and among other things understand that my Lord St. John is meant by Mr. Woodcocke, in "The Impertinents." ["Whilst Positive walks, like Woodcock in the park, Contriving projects with a brewer's clerk." Andrew Marvell's "Instructions to a Painter," part iii., to which is subjoined the following note: "Sir Robert Howard, and Sir William Bucknell, the brewer."--Works, ed. by Capt. E. Thompson, vol. iii., p. 405.--B.] Here met with Mrs. Washington, my old acquaintance of the Hall, whose husband has a place in the Excise at Windsor, and it seems lives well. I have not seen her these 8 or 9 years, and she begins to grow old, I perceive, visibly. So time do alter, and do doubtless the like in myself. This morning the House is upon the City Bill, and they say hath passed it, though I am sorry that I did not think to put somebody in mind of moving for the churches to be allotted according to the convenience of the people, and not to gratify this Bishop, or that College. Thence by water to the New Exchange, where bought a pair of shoe-strings, and so to Mr. Pierces, where invited, and there was Knepp and Mrs. Foster and here dined, but a poor, sluttish dinner, as usual, and so I could not be heartily merry at it: here saw her girl's picture, but it is mighty far short of her boy's, and not like her neither; but it makes Hales's picture of her boy appear a good picture. Thence to White Hall, walked with Brisband, who dined there also, and thence I back to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Virgin Martyr," and heard the musick that I like so well, and intended to have seen Knepp, but I let her alone; and having there done, went to Mrs. Pierces back again, where she was, and there I found her on a pallet in the dark..., that is Knepp. And so to talk; and by and by did eat some curds and cream, and thence away home, and it being night, I did walk in the dusk up and down, round through our garden, over Tower Hill, and so through Crutched Friars, three or four times, and once did meet Mercer and another pretty lady, but being surprized I could say little to them,, although I had an opportunity of pleasing myself with them, but left them, and then I did see our Nell, Payne's daughter, and her je did desire venir after me, and so elle did see me to, Tower Hill to our back entry there that comes upon the degres entrant into nostra garden..., and so parted, and je home to put up things against to-morrow's carrier for my wife; and, among others, a very fine salmon-pie, sent me by Mr. Steventon, W. Hewer's uncle, and so to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thither I sent for Mercer to dine with me, and after dinner she and I called Mrs. Turner, and I carried them to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Man's the Master," which proves, upon my seeing it again, a very good play. Thence called Knepp from the King's house, where going in for her, the play being done, I did see Beck Marshall come dressed, off of the stage, and looks mighty fine, and pretty, and noble: and also Nell, in her boy's clothes, mighty pretty. But, Lord! their confidence! and how many men do hover about them as soon as they come off the stage, and how confident they are in their talk! Here I did kiss the pretty woman newly come, called Pegg, that was Sir Charles Sidly's mistress, a mighty pretty woman, and seems, but is not, modest. Here took up Knepp into our coach, and all of us with her to her lodgings, and thither comes Bannister with a song of hers, that he hath set in Sir Charles Sidly's play for her, which is, I think, but very meanly set; but this he did, before us, teach her, and it being but a slight, silly, short ayre, she learnt it presently. But I did get him to prick me down the notes of the Echo in "The Tempest," which pleases me mightily. Here was also Haynes, the incomparable dancer of the King's house, and a seeming civil man, and sings pretty well, and they gone, we abroad to Marrowbone, and there walked in the garden, the first time I ever was there; and a pretty place it is, and here we eat and drank and stayed till 9 at night, and so home by moonshine.... And so set Mrs. Knepp at her lodging, and so the rest, and I home talking with a great deal of pleasure, and so home to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Towards noon I to Westminster and there understand that the Lords' House did sit till eleven o'clock last night, about the business in difference between them and the Commons, in the matter of the East India Company. Here took a turn or two, and up to my Lord Crew's, and there dined; where Mr. Case, the minister, a dull fellow in his talk, and all in the Presbyterian manner; a great deal of noise and a kind of religious tone, but very dull. After dinner my Lord and I together. He tells me he hears that there are great disputes like to be at Court, between the factions of the two women, my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Stewart, who is now well again, and the King hath made several public visits to her, and like to come to Court: the other is to go to Barkeshire-house, which is taken for her, and they say a Privy-Seal is passed for L5000 for it. He believes all will come to ruin. Thence I to White Hall, where the Duke of York gone to the Lords' House, where there is to be a conference on the Lords' side to the Commons this afternoon, giving in their Reasons, which I would have been at, but could not; for, going by direction to the Prince's chamber, there Brouncker, W. Pen, and Mr. Wren, and I, met, and did our business with the Duke of York. But, Lord! to see how this play of Sir Positive At-all,--["The Impertinents."]--in abuse of Sir Robert Howard, do take, all the Duke's and every body's talk being of that, and telling more stories of him, of the like nature, that it is now the town and country talk, and, they say, is most exactly true. The Duke of York himself said that of his playing at trap-ball is true, and told several other stories of him. This being done, Brouncker, Pen, and I to Brouncker's house, and there sat and talked, I asking many questions in mathematics to my Lord, which he do me the pleasure to satisfy me in, and here we drank and so spent an hour, and so W. Pen and I home, and after being with W. Pen at his house an hour, I home and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning we sat. Here I first hear that the Queene hath miscarryed of a perfect child, being gone about ten weeks, which do shew that she can conceive, though it be unfortunate that she cannot bring forth. Here we are told also that last night the Duchesse of Monmouth, dancing at her lodgings, hath sprained her thigh. Here we are told also that the House of Commons sat till five o'clock this morning, upon the business of the difference between the Lords and them, resolving to do something therein before they rise, to assert their privileges. So I at noon by water to Westminster, and there find the King hath waited in the Prince's chamber these two hours, and the Houses are not ready for him. The Commons having sent this morning, after their long debate therein the last night, to the Lords, that they do think the only expedient left to preserve unity between the two Houses is, that they do put a stop to any proceedings upon their late judgement against the East India Company, till their next meeting; to which the Lords returned answer that they would return answer to them by a messenger of their own, which they not presently doing, they were all inflamed, and thought it was only a trick, to keep them in suspense till the King come to adjourne them; and, so, rather than lose the opportunity of doing themselves right, they presently with great fury come to this vote: "That whoever should assist in the execution of the judgement of the Lords against the Company, should be held betrayers of the liberties of the people of England, and of the privileges of that House." This the Lords had notice of, and were mad at it; and so continued debating without any design to yield to the Commons, till the King come in, and sent for the Commons, where the Speaker made a short but silly speech, about their giving Him L300,000; and then the several Bills, their titles were read, and the King's assent signified in the proper terms, according to the nature of the Bills, of which about three or four were public Bills, and seven or eight private ones, the additional Bills for the building of the City and the Bill against Conventicles being none of them. The King did make a short, silly speech, which he read, giving them thanks for the money, which now, he said, he did believe would be sufficient, because there was peace between his neighbours, which was a kind of a slur, methought, to the Commons; and that he was sorry for what he heard of difference between the two Houses, but that he hoped their recesse would put them into a way of accommodation; and so adjourned them to the 9th of August, and then recollected himself, and told them the 11th; so imperfect a speaker he is. So the Commons went to their House, and forthwith adjourned; and the Lords resumed their House, the King being gone, and sat an hour or two after, but what they did, I cannot tell; but every body expected they would commit Sir Andrew Rickard, Sir Samuel Barnardiston, Mr. Boone, and Mr. Wynne, who were all there, and called in, upon their knees, to the bar of the House; and Sir John Robinson I left there, endeavouring to prevent their being committed to the Tower, lest he should thereby be forced to deny their order, because of this vote of the Commons, whereof he is one, which is an odde case. [This "odd case" was that of Thomas Skinner and the East India Company. According to Ralph, the Commons had ordered Skinner, the plaintiff, into the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms, and the Lords did the same by Sir Samuel Barnadiston, deputy-governor of the company, as likewise Sir Andrew Rickard, Mr. Rowland Gwynn, and Mr. Christopher Boone.--B.] Thence I to the Rose Taverne in Covent Garden, and there sent for a pullet and dined all alone, being to meet Sir W. Pen, who by and by come, and he and I into the King's house, and there "The Mayd's Tragedy," a good play, but Knepp not there; and my head and eyes out of order, the first from my drinking wine at dinner, and the other from my much work in the morning. Thence parted, and I towards the New Exchange and there bought a pair of black silk stockings at the hosier's that hath the very pretty woman to his wife, about ten doors on this side of the 'Change, and she is indeed very pretty, but I think a notable talking woman by what I heard to others there. Thence to Westminster Hall, where I hear the Lords are up, but what they have done I know not, and so walked toward White Hall and thence by water to the Tower, and so home and there to my letters, and so to Sir W. Pen's; and there did talk with Mrs. Lowther, who is very kind to me, more than usual, and I will make use of it. She begins to draw very well, and I think do as well, if not better, than my wife, if it be true that she do it herself, what she shews me, and so to bed, and my head akeing all night with the wine I drank to-day, and my eyes ill. So lay long, my head pretty well in the morning. 10th (Lord's day). Up, and to the office, there to do, business till church time, when Mr. Shepley, newly come to town, come to see me, and we had some discourse of all matters, and particularly of my Lord Sandwich's concernments, and here did by the by as he would seem tell me that my Lady--[Lady Sandwich.]--had it in her thoughts, if she had occasion, to, borrow L100 of me, which I did not declare any opposition to, though I doubt it will be so much lost. But, however, I will not deny my Lady, if she ask it, whatever comes of it, though it be lost; but shall be glad that it is no bigger sum. And yet it vexes me though, and the more because it brings into my head some apprehensions what trouble I may here after be brought to when my Lord comes home, if he should ask me to come into bonds with him, as I fear he will have occasions to make money, but I hope I shall have the wit to deny it. He being gone, I to church, and so home, and there comes W. Hewer and Balty, and by and by I sent for Mercer to come and dine with me, and pretty merry, and after dinner I fell to teach her "Canite Jehovae," which she did a great part presently, and so she away, and I to church, and from church home with my Lady Pen; and, after being there an hour or so talking, I took her, and Mrs. Lowther, and old Mrs. Whistler, her mother-in-law, by water with great pleasure as far as Chelsy, and so back to Spring Garden, at Fox-hall, and there walked, and eat, and drank, and so to water again, and set down the old woman at home at Durham Yard:' and it raining all the way, it troubled us; but, however, my cloak kept us all dry, and so home, and at the Tower wharf there we did send for a pair of old shoes for Mrs. Lowther, and there I did pull the others off and put them on, elle being peu shy, but do speak con mighty kindness to me that she would desire me pour su mari if it were to be done..... Here staid a little at Sir W. Pen's, who was gone to bed, it being about eleven at night, and so I home to bed. 11th. Up, and to my office, where alone all the morning. About noon comes to me my cousin Sarah, and my aunt Livett, newly come out of Gloucestershire, good woman, and come to see me; I took them home, and made them drink, but they would not stay dinner, I being alone. But here they tell me that they hear that this day Kate Joyce was to be married to a man called Hollingshed, whom she indeed did once tell me of, and desired me to enquire after him. But, whatever she said of his being rich, I do fear, by her doing this without my advice, it is not as it ought to be; but, as she brews, let her bake. They being gone, I to dinner with Balty and his wife, who is come to town to-day from Deptford to see us, and after dinner I out and took a coach, and called Mercer, and she and I to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Tempest," and between two acts, I went out to Mr. Harris, and got him to repeat to me the words of the Echo, while I writ them down, having tried in the play to have wrote them; but, when I had done it, having done it without looking upon my paper, I find I could not read the blacklead. But now I have got the words clear, and, in going in thither, had the pleasure to see the actors in their several dresses, especially the seamen and monster, which were very droll: so into the play again. But there happened one thing which vexed me, which is, that the orange-woman did come in the pit, and challenge me for twelve oranges, which she delivered by my order at a late play, at night, to give to some ladies in a box, which was wholly untrue, but yet she swore it to be true. But, however, I did deny it, and did not pay her; but, for quiet, did buy 4s. worth of oranges of her, at 6d. a-piece. Here I saw first my Lord Ormond since his coming from Ireland, which is now about eight days. After the play done, I took Mercer by water to Spring Garden; and there with great pleasure walked, and eat, and drank, and sang, making people come about us, to hear us, and two little children of one of our neighbours that happened to be there, did come into our arbour, and we made them dance prettily. So by water, with great pleasure, down to the Bridge, and there landed, and took water again on the other side; and so to the Tower, and I saw her home, I myself home to my chamber, and by and by to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat, and sat all the morning. Here Lord Anglesey was with us, and in talk about the late difference between the two Houses, do tell us that he thinks the House of Lords may be in an error, at least, it is possible they may, in this matter of Skinner; and he doubts they may, and did declare his judgement in the House of Lords against their proceedings therein, he having hindered 100 originall causes being brought into their House, notwithstanding that he was put upon defending their proceedings: but that he is confident that the House of Commons are in the wrong, in the method they take to remedy an error of the Lords, for no vote of theirs can do it; but, in all like cases, the Commons have done it by petition to the King, sent up to the Lords, and by them agreed to, and so redressed, as they did in the Petition of Right. He says that he did tell them indeed, which is talked of, and which did vex the Commons, that the Lords were "Judices nati et Conciliarii nati;" but all other judges among us are under salary, and the Commons themselves served for wages; and therefore the Lords, in reason, were the freer judges. At noon to dinner at home, and after dinner, where Creed dined with me, he and I, by water to the Temple, where we parted, and I both to the King's and Duke of York's playhouses, and there went through the houses to see what faces I could spy that I knew, and meeting none, I away by coach to my house, and then to Mrs. Mercer's, where I met with her two daughters, and a pretty-lady I never knew yet, one Mrs. Susan Gayet, a very pretty black lady, that speaks French well, and is a Catholick, and merchant's daughter, by us, and here was also Mrs. Anne Jones, and after sitting and talking a little, I took them out, and carried them through Hackney to Kingsland, and there walked to Sir G. Whitmore's house, where I have not been many a day; and so to the old house at Islington, and eat, and drank, and sang, and mighty merry; and so by moonshine with infinite pleasure home, and there sang again in Mercer's garden. And so parted, I having there seen a mummy in a merchant's warehouse there, all the middle of the man or woman's body, black and hard. I never saw any before, and, therefore, it pleased me much, though an ill sight; and he did give me a little bit, and a bone of an arme, I suppose, and so home, and there to bed. 13th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and so to Sir H. Cholmly's, who not being up I made a short visit to Sir W. Coventry, and he and I through the Park to White Hall, and thence I back into the Park, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Sir Stephen Fox's, where we met and considered the business of the Excise, how far it is charged in reference to the payment of the Guards and Tangier. Thence he and I walked to Westminster Hall and there took a turn, it being holyday, and so back again, and I to the mercer's, and my tailor's about a stuff suit that I am going to make. Thence, at noon, to Hercules Pillars, and there dined all alone, and so to White Hall, some of us attended the Duke of York as usual, and so to attend the Council about the business of Hemskirke's project of building a ship that sails two feet for one of any other ship, which the Council did agree to be put in practice, the King to give him, if it proves good, L5000 in hand, and L15,000 more in seven years, which, for my part, I think a piece of folly for them to meddle with, because the secret cannot be long kept. So thence, after Council, having drunk some of the King's wine and water with Mr. Chevins, my Lord Brouncker, and some others, I by water to the Old Swan, and there to Michell's, and did see her and drink there, but he being there je ne baiser la; and so back again by water to Spring Garden all alone, and walked a little, and so back again home, and there a little to my viall, and so to bed, Mrs. Turner having sat and supped with me. This morning I hear that last night Sir Thomas Teddiman, poor man! did die by a thrush in his mouth: a good man, and stout and able, and much lamented; though people do make a little mirth, and say, as I believe it did in good part, that the business of the Parliament did break his heart, or, at least, put him into this fever and disorder, that caused his death. 14th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my people, but did not stay to dine out with them, but rose and straight by water to the Temple, and so to Penny's, my tailor's, where by and by by agreement Mercer, and she, to my great content, brings Mrs. Gayet, and I carried them to the King's house; but, coming too soon, we out again to the Rose taverne, and there I did give them a tankard of cool drink, the weather being very hot, and then into the playhouse again, and there saw "The Country Captain," a very dull play, that did give us no content, and besides, little company there, which made it very unpleasing. Thence to the waterside, at Strand bridge, and so up by water and to Fox-hall, where we walked a great while, and pleased mightily with the pleasure thereof, and the company there, and then in, and eat and drank, and then out again and walked, and it beginning to be dark, we to a corner and sang, that everybody got about us to hear us; and so home, where I saw them both at their doors, and, full of the content of this afternoon's pleasure, I home and to walk in the garden a little, and so home to bed. 15th. Up, and betimes to White Hall, and there met with Sir H. Cholmly at Sir Stephen Fox's, and there was also the Cofferer, and we did there consider about our money and the condition of the Excise, and after much dispute agreed upon a state thereof and the manner of our future course of payments. Thence to the Duke of York, and there did a little navy business as we used to do, and so to a Committee for Tangier, where God knows how my Lord Bellasses's accounts passed; understood by nobody but my Lord Ashly, who, I believe, was mad to let them go as he pleased. But here Sir H. Cholmly had his propositions read, about a greater price for his work of the Mole, or to do it upon account, which, being read, he was bid to withdraw. But, Lord! to see how unlucky a man may be, by chance; for, making an unfortunate minute when they were almost tired with the other business, the Duke of York did find fault with it, and that made all the rest, that I believe he had better have given a great deal, and had nothing said to it to-day; whereas, I have seen other things more extravagant passed at first hearing, without any difficulty. Thence I to my Lord Brouncker's, at Mrs. Williams's, and there dined, and she did shew me her closet, which I was sorry to see, for fear of her expecting something from me; and here she took notice of my wife's not once coming to see her, which I am glad of; for she shall not--a prating, vain, idle woman. Thence with Lord Brouncker to Loriners'-hall, [The Loriners, or Lorimers (bit-makers), of London are by reputation an ancient mistery, but they were first incorporated by letters patent of 10 Queen Anne (December 3rd, 1711). Their small hall was at the corner of Basinghall Street in London Wall. The company has no hall now.] by Mooregate, a hall I never heard of before, to Sir Thomas Teddiman's burial, where most people belonging to the sea were. And here we had rings: and here I do hear that some of the last words that he said were, that he had a very good King, God bless him! but that the Parliament had very ill rewarded him for all the service he had endeavoured to do them and his country; so that, for certain, this did go far towards his death. But, Lord! to see among [the company] the young commanders, and Thomas Killigrew and others that come, how unlike a burial this was, O'Brian taking out some ballads out of his pocket, which I read, and the rest come about me to hear! and there very merry we were all, they being new ballets. By and by the corpse went; and I, with my Lord Brouncker, and Dr. Clerke, and Mr. Pierce, as far as the foot of London-bridge; and there we struck off into Thames Street, the rest going to Redriffe, where he is to be buried. And we 'light at the Temple, and there parted; and I to the King's house, and there saw the last act of "The Committee," thinking to have seen Knepp there, but she did not act. And so to my bookseller's, and there carried home some books-among others, "Dr. Wilkins's Reall Character," and thence to Mrs. Turner's, and there went and sat, and she showed me her house from top to bottom, which I had not seen before, very handsome, and here supped, and so home, and got Mercer, and she and I in the garden singing till ten at night, and so home to a little supper, and then parted, with great content, and to bed. The Duchesse of Monmouth's hip is, I hear, now set again, after much pain. I am told also that the Countess of Shrewsbury is brought home by the Duke of Buckingham to his house, where his Duchess saying that it was not for her and the other to live together in a house, he answered, Why, Madam, I did think so, and, therefore, have ordered your coach to be ready, to carry you to your father's, which was a devilish speech, but, they say, true; and my Lady Shrewsbury is there, it seems. 16th. Up; and to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and at noon, home with my people to dinner; and thence to the Office all the afternoon, till, my eyes weary, I did go forth by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw the best part of "The Sea Voyage," where Knepp I see do her part of sorrow very well. I afterwards to her house; but she did not come presently home; and there je did kiss her ancilla, which is so mighty belle; and I to my tailor's, and to buy me a belt for my new suit against to-morrow; and so home, and there to my Office, and afterwards late walking in the garden; and so home to supper, and to bed, after Nell's cutting of my hair close, the weather being very hot. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new stuff-suit, with a shoulder-belt, according to the new fashion, and the bands of my vest and tunique laced with silk lace, of the colour of my suit: and so, very handsome, to Church, where a dull sermon and of a stranger, and so home; and there I find W. Howe, and a younger brother of his, come to dine with me; and there comes Mercer, and brings with her Mrs. Gayet, which pleased me mightily; and here was also W. Hewer, and mighty merry; and after dinner to sing psalms. But, Lord! to hear what an excellent base this younger brother of W. Howe's sings, even to my astonishment, and mighty pleasant. By and by Gayet goes away, being a Catholick, to her devotions, and Mercer to church; but we continuing an hour or two singing, and so parted; and I to Sir W. Pen's, and there sent for a hackney-coach; and he and she [Lady Pen] and I out, to take the gyre. We went to Stepney, and there stopped at the Trinity House, he to talk with the servants there against to-morrow, which is a great day for the choice of a new Master, and thence to Mile End, and there eat and drank, and so home; and I supped with them--that is, eat some butter and radishes, which is my excuse for not eating any other of their victuals, which I hate, because of their sluttery: and so home, and made my boy read to me part of Dr. Wilkins's new book of the "Real Character;" and so to bed. 18th. Up, and to my office, where most of the morning doing business and seeing my window-frames new painted, and then I out by coach to my Lord Bellasses, at his new house by my late Lord Treasurer's, and there met him and Mr. Sherwin, Auditor Beale, and Creed, about my Lord's accounts, and here my Lord shewed me his new house, which, indeed, is mighty noble, and good pictures--indeed, not one bad one in it. Thence to my tailor's, and there did find Mercer come with Mrs. Horsfield and Gayet according to my desire, and there I took them up, it being almost twelve o'clock, or a little more, and carried them to the King's playhouse, where the doors were not then open; but presently they did open; and we in, and find many people already come in, by private ways, into the pit, it being the first day of Sir Charles Sidly's new play, so long expected, "The Mullberry Guarden," of whom, being so reputed a wit, all the world do expect great matters. I having sat here awhile, and eat nothing to-day, did slip out, getting a boy to keep my place; and to the Rose Tavern, and there got half a breast of mutton, off of the spit, and dined all alone. And so to the play again, where the King and Queen, by and by, come, and all the Court; and the house infinitely full. But the play, when it come, though there was, here and there, a pretty saying, and that not very many neither, yet the whole of the play had nothing extraordinary in it, at all, neither of language nor design; insomuch that the King I did not see laugh, nor pleased the whole play from the beginning to the end, nor the company; insomuch that I have not been less pleased at a new play in my life, I think. And which made it the worse was, that there never was worse musick played--that is, worse things composed, which made me and Captain Rolt, who happened to sit near me, mad. So away thence, very little satisfied with the play, but pleased with my company. I carried them to Kensington, to the Grotto, and there we sang, to my great content, only vexed, in going in, to see a son of Sir Heneage Finch's beating of a poor little dog to death, letting it lie in so much pain that made me mad to see it, till, by and by, the servants of the house chiding of their young master, one of them come with a thong, and killed the dog outright presently. Thence to Westminster palace, and there took boat and to Fox Hall, where we walked, and eat, and drank, and sang, and very merry. But I find Mrs. Horsfield one of the veriest citizen's wives in the world, so full of little silly talk, and now and then a little sillily bawdy, that I believe if you had her sola a man might hazer all with her. So back by water to Westminster Palace, and there got a coach which carried us as far as the Minorys, and there some thing of the traces broke, and we forced to 'light, and walked to Mrs. Horsfield's house, it being a long and bad way, and dark, and having there put her in a doors, her husband being in bed, we left her and so back to our coach, where the coachman had put it in order, but could not find his whip in the dark a great while, which made us stay long. At last getting a neighbour to hold a candle out of their window Mercer found it, and so away we home at almost 12 at night, and setting them both at their homes, I home and to bed. 19th. Up, and called on Mr. Pierce, who tells me that after all this ado Ward is come to town, and hath appeared to the Commissioners of Accounts and given such answers as he thinks will do every body right, and let the world see that their great expectations and jealousies have been vain in this matter of the prizes. The Commissioners were mighty inquisitive whether he was not instructed by letters or otherwise from hence from my Lord Sandwich's friends what to say and do, and particularly from me, which he did wholly deny, as it was true, I not knowing the man that I know of. He tells me also that, for certain, Mr. Vaughan is made Lord Chief justice, which I am glad of. He tells me, too; that since my Lord of Ormond's coming over, the King begins to be mightily reclaimed, and sups every night with great pleasure with the Queene: and yet, it seems, he is mighty hot upon the Duchess of Richmond; insomuch that, upon Sunday was se'nnight, at night, after he had ordered his Guards and coach to be ready to carry him to the Park, he did, on a sudden, take a pair of oars or sculler, and all alone, or but one with him, go to Somersett House, and there, the garden-door not being open, himself clamber over the walls to make a visit to her, which is a horrid shame. He gone, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, Sir W. Pen sick of the gout comes not out. After dinner at home, to White Hall, it being a very rainy day, and there a Committee for Tangier, where I was mightily pleased to see Sir W. Coventry fall upon my Lord Bellasses' business of the 3d. in every piece of it which he would get to himself, making the King pay 4s. 9d, while he puts them off for 4s. 6d., so that Sir W. Coventry continues still the same man for the King's good. But here Creed did vex me with saying that I ought first to have my account past by the Commissioners of Tangier before in the Exchequer. Thence W. Coventry and I in the Matted gallery, and there he did talk very well to me about the way to save the credit of the officers of the Navy, and their places too, by making use of this interval of Parliament to be found to be mending of matters in the Navy, and that nothing but this will do it, and gives an instance in themselves of the Treasury, whereof himself and Sir John Duncombe all the world knows have enemies, and my Lord Ashly a man obnoxious to most, and Sir Thomas Clifford one that as a man suddenly rising and a creature of my Lord Arlington's hath enemies enough (none of them being otherwise but the Duke of Albemarle), yet with all this fault they hear nothing of the business of the Treasury, but all well spoken of there. He is for the removal of Sir John Minnes, thinking that thereby the world will see a greater change in the hands than now they do; and I will endeavour it, and endeavour to do some good in the office also. So home by coach, and to the office, where ended my letters, and then home, and there got Balty to read to me out of Sorbiere's Observations in his Voyage into England, and then to bed. 20th. Up, and with Colonell Middleton, in a new coach he hath made him, very handsome, to White Hall, where the Duke of York having removed his lodgings for this year to St. James's, we walked thither; and there find the Duke of York coming to White Hall, and so back to the Council-chamber, where the Committee of the Navy sat; and here we discoursed several things; but, Lord! like fools; so as it was a shame to see things of this importance managed by a Council that understand nothing of them: and, among other things, one was about this building of a ship with Hemskirke's secret, to sail a third faster than any other ship; but he hath got Prince Rupert on his side, and by that means, I believe, will get his conditions made better than he would otherwise, or ought indeed. Having done there, I met with Sir Richard Browne, and he took me to dinner with him to a new tavern, above Charing Cross, where some clients of his did give him a good dinner, and good company; among others, one Bovy, a solicitor, and lawyer and merchant all together, who hath travelled very much, did talk some things well; but only he is a "Sir Positive:" but the talk of their travels over the Alps very fine. Thence walked to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Mulberry Garden" again, and cannot be reconciled to it, but only to find here and there an independent sentence of wit, and that is all. Here met with Creed; and took him to Hales's, and there saw the beginnings of Harris's head which he draws for me, which I do not yet like. So he and I down to the New Exchange, and there cheapened ribbands for my wife, and so down to the Whey house and drank some and eat some curds, which did by and by make my belly ake mightily. So he and I to White Hall, and walked over the Park to the Mulberry-Garden, [On the site of the present Buckingham Palace and gardens. Originally a garden of mulberry trees, planted by James I. in 1609 with the intention of cultivating the manufacture of English silks.] where I never was before; and find it a very silly place, worse than Spring-garden, and but little company, and those a rascally, whoring, roguing sort of people, only a wilderness here, that is somewhat pretty, but rude. Did not stay to drink, but walked an hour and so away to Charing Cross, and there took coach and away home, in my way going into Bishopsgate Street, to bespeak places for myself and boy to go to Cambridge in the coach this week, and so to Brampton, to see my wife. So home, and to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and busy to send some things into the country, and then to the Office, where meets me Sir Richard Ford, who among other things congratulates me, as one or two did yesterday, [on] my great purchase; and he advises me rather to forbear, if it be not done, as a thing that the world will envy me in: and what is it but my cozen Tom Pepys's buying of Martin Abbey, in Surry! which is a mistake I am sorry for, and yet do fear that it may spread in the world to my prejudice. All the morning at the office, and at noon my clerks dined with me, and there do hear from them how all the town is full of the talk of a meteor, or some fire, that did on Saturday last fly over the City at night, which do put me in mind that, being then walking in the dark an hour or more myself in the garden, after I had done writing, I did see a light before me come from behind me, which made me turn back my head; and I did see a sudden fire or light running in the sky, as it were towards Cheapside ward, and it vanished very quick, which did make me bethink myself what holyday it was, and took it for some rocket, though it was much brighter than any rocket, and so thought no more of it, but it seems Mr. Hater and Gibson going home that night did meet with many clusters of people talking of it, and many people of the towns about the city did see it, and the world do make much discourse of it, their apprehensions being mighty full of the rest of the City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats. Which God prevent! Thence after dinner I by coach to the Temple, and there bought a new book of songs set to musique by one Smith of Oxford, some songs of Mr. Cowley's, and so to Westminster, and there to walk a little in the Hall, and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did hazer cet que je voudrai mit her, and drank and sat most of the afternoon with her and her sister, and here she promises me her fine starling, which was the King's, and speaks finely, which I shall be glad of, and so walked to the Temple, meeting in the street with my cozen Alcocke, the young man, that is a good sober youth, I have not seen these four or five years, newly come to town to look for employment: but I cannot serve him, though I think he deserves well, and so I took coach and home to my business, and in the evening took Mrs. Turner and Mercer out to Mile End and drank, and then home, and sang; and eat a dish of greene pease, the first I have seen this year, given me by Mr. Gibson, extraordinary young and pretty, and so saw them at home, and so home to bed. Sir W. Pen continues ill of the gout. 22nd. Up, and all the morning at the office busy. At noon home with my people to dinner, where good discourse and merry. After dinner comes Mr. Martin, the purser, and brings me his wife's starling, which was formerly the King's bird, that do speak and whistle finely, which I am mighty proud of and shall take pleasure in it. Thence to the Duke of York's house to a play, and saw Sir Martin Marr-all, where the house is full; and though I have seen it, I think, ten times, yet the pleasure I have is yet as great as ever, and is undoubtedly the best comedy ever was wrote. Thence to my tailor's and a mercer's for patterns to carry my wife of cloth and silk for a bed, which I think will please her and me, and so home, and fitted myself for my journey to-morrow, which I fear will not be pleasant, because of the wet weather, it raining very hard all this day; but the less it troubles me because the King and Duke of York and Court are at this day at Newmarket, at a great horse-race, and proposed great pleasure for two or three days, but are in the same wet. So from the office home to supper, and betimes to bed. 23rd. Up by four o'clock; and, getting my things ready, and recommending the care of my house to W. Hewer, I with my boy Tom, whom I take with me, to the Bull, in Bishopsgate Street, and there, about six, took coach, he and I, and a gentleman and his man, there being another coach also, with as many more, I think, in it; and so away to Bishop's Stafford, and there dined, and changed horses and coach, at Mrs. Aynsworth's; but I took no knowledge of her. Here the gentleman and I to dinner, and in comes Captain Forster, an acquaintance of his, he that do belong to my Lord Anglesey, who had been at the late horse-races at Newmarket, where the King now is, and says that they had fair weather there yesterday, though we here, and at London, had nothing but rain, insomuch that the ways are mighty full of water, so as hardly to be passed. Here I hear Mrs. Aynsworth is going to live at London: but I believe will be mistaken in it; for it will be found better for her to be chief where she is, than to have little to do at London. There being many finer than she there. After dinner away again and come to Cambridge, after much bad way, about nine at night; and there, at the Rose, I met my father's horses, with a man, staying for me. But it is so late, and the waters so deep, that I durst not go to-night; but after supper to bed; and there lay very ill, by reason of some drunken scholars making a noise all night, and vexed for fear that the horses should not be taken up from grass, time enough for the morning. Well pleased all this journey with the conversation of him that went with me, who I think is a lawyer, and lives about Lynne, but his name I did not ask. 24th (Lord's day). I up, at between two and three in the morning, and, calling up my boy, and father's boy, we set out by three o'clock, it being high day; end so through the water with very good success, though very deep almost all the way, and got to Brampton, where most of them in bed, and so I weary up to my wife's chamber, whom I find in bed, and pretended a little not well, and indeed she hath those upon her, but fell to talk and mightily pleased both of us, and upgot the rest, Betty Turner and Willet and Jane, all whom I was glad to see, and very merry, and got me ready in my new stuff clothes that I send down before me, and so my wife and they got ready too, while I to my father, poor man, and walked with him up and down the house--it raining a little, and the waters all over Portholme and the meadows, so as no pleasure abroad. Here I saw my brothers and sister Jackson, she growing fat, and, since being married, I think looks comelier than before: but a mighty pert woman she is, and I think proud, he keeping her mighty handsome, and they say mighty fond, and are going shortly to live at Ellington of themselves, and will keep malting, and grazing of cattle. At noon comes Mr. Phillips and dines with us, and a pretty odd-humoured man he seems to be; but good withal, but of mighty great methods in his eating and drinking, and will not kiss a woman since his wife's death. After dinner my Lady Sandwich sending to see whether I was come, I presently took horse, and find her and her family at chapel; and thither I went in to them, and sat out the sermon, where I heard Jervas Fullwood, now their chaplain, preach a very good and seraphic kind of sermon, too good for an ordinary congregation. After sermon, I with my Lady, and my Lady Hinchingbroke, and Paulina, and Lord Hinchingbroke, to the dining-room, saluting none of them, and there sat and talked an hour or two, with great pleasure and satisfaction, to my Lady, about my Lord's matters; but I think not with that satisfaction to her, or me, that otherwise would, she knowing that she did design tomorrow, and I remaining all the while in fear, of being asked to lend her some money, as I was afterward, when I had taken leave of her, by Mr. Shepley, L100, which I will not deny my Lady, and am willing to be found when my Lord comes home to have done something of that kind for them, and so he riding to Brampton and supping there with me he did desire it of me from my Lady, and I promised it, though much against my will, for I fear it is as good as lost. After supper, where very merry, we to bed, myself very weary and to sleep all night. 25th. Waked betimes, and lay long.... and there fell to talking, and by and by rose, it being the first fair day, and yet not quite fair, that we have had some time, and so up, and to walk with my father again in the garden, consulting what to do with him and this house when Pall and her husband go away; and I think it will be to let it, and he go live with her, though I am against letting the house for any long time, because of having it to retire to, ourselves. So I do intend to think more of it before I resolve. By and by comes Mr. Cooke to see me and so spent the morning, and he gone by and by at noon to dinner, where Mr. Shepley come and we merry, all being in good humour between my wife and her people about her, and after dinner took horse, I promising to fetch her away about fourteen days hence, and so calling all of us, we men on horseback, and the women and my father, at Goody Gorum's, and there in a frolic drinking I took leave, there going with me and my boy, my two brothers, and one Browne, whom they call in mirth Colonell, for our guide, and also Mr. Shepley, to the end of Huntingdon, and another gentleman who accidentally come thither, one Mr. Castle; and I made them drink at the Chequers, where I observed the same tapster, Tom, that was there when I was a little boy and so we, at the end of the town, took leave of Shepley and the other gentleman, and so we away and got well to Cambridge, about seven to the Rose, the waters not being now so high as before. And here 'lighting, I took my boy and two brothers, and walked to Magdalene College: and there into the butterys, as a stranger, and there drank my bellyfull of their beer, which pleased me, as the best I ever drank: and hear by the butler's man, who was son to Goody Mulliner over against the College, that we used to buy stewed prunes of, concerning the College and persons in it; and find very few, only Mr. Hollins and Pechell, I think, that were of my time. But I was mightily pleased to come in this condition to see and ask, and thence, giving the fellow something, away walked to Chesterton, to see our old walk, and there into the Church, the bells ringing, and saw the place I used to sit in, and so to the ferry, and ferried over to the other side, and walked with great pleasure, the river being mighty high by Barnewell Abbey: and so by Jesus College to the town, and so to our quarters, and to supper, and then to bed, being very weary and sleepy and mightily pleased with this night's walk. 26th. Up by four o'clock; and by the time we were ready, and had eat, we were called to the coach, where about six o'clock we set out, there being a man and two women of one company, ordinary people, and one lady alone, that is tolerably handsome, but mighty well spoken, whom I took great pleasure in talking to, and did get her to read aloud in a book she was reading, in the coach, being the King's Meditations;--[The meditations on death, and prayers used by Charles I. shortly before his execution]--and then the boy and I to sing, and so about noon come to Bishop's Stafford, to another house than what we were at the other day, and better used. And here I paid for the reckoning 11s., we dining together, and pretty merry; and then set out again, sleeping most part of the way; and got to Bishopsgate Street before eight o'clock, the waters being now most of them down, and we avoiding the bad way in the forest by a privy way, which brought us to Hodsden; and so to Tibalds, that road, which was mighty pleasant. So home, where we find all well, and brother Balty and his wife looking to the house, she mighty fine, in a new gold-laced 'just a cour'. I shifted myself, and so to see Mrs. Turner, and Mercer appearing over the way, called her in, and sat and talked, and then home to my house by and by, and there supped and talked mighty merry, and then broke up and to bed, being a little vexed at what W. Hewer tells me Sir John Shaw did this day in my absence say at the Board, complaining of my doing of him injury and the board permitting it, whereas they had more reason to except against his attributing that to me alone which I could not do but with their condent and direction, it being to very good service to the King, and which I shall be proud to have imputed to me alone. The King I hear come to town last night. 27th. Up, and to the office, where some time upon Sir D. Gawden's accounts, and then I by water to Westminster for some Tangier orders, and so meeting with Mr. Sawyers my old chamber-fellow, he and I by water together to the Temple, he giving me an account of the base, rude usage, which he and Sir G. Carteret had lately, before the Commissioners of Accounts, where he was, as Counsel to Sir G. Carteret, which I was sorry to hear, they behaving themselves like most insolent and ill-mannered men. Thence by coach to the Exchange, and there met with Sir H. Cholmly at Colvill's; and there did give him some orders, and so home, and there to the office again, where busy till two o'clock, and then with Sir D. Gawden to his house, with my Lord Brouncker and Sir J. Minnes, to dinner, where we dined very well, and much good company, among others, a Dr., a fat man, whom by face I know, as one that uses to sit in our church, that after dinner did take me out, and walked together, who told me that he had now newly entered himself into Orders, in the decay of the Church, and did think it his duty so to do, thereby to do his part toward the support and reformation thereof; and spoke very soberly, and said that just about the same age Dr. Donne did enter into Orders. I find him a sober gentleman, and a man that hath seen much of the world, and I think may do good. Thence after dinner to the office, and there did a little business, and so to see Sir W. Pen, who I find still very ill of the goute, sitting in his great chair, made on purpose for persons sick of that disease, for their ease; and this very chair, he tells me, was made for my Lady Lambert! Thence I by coach to my tailor's, there to direct about the making of me another suit, and so to White Hall, and through St. James's Park to St. James's, thinking to have met with Mr. Wren, but could not, and so homeward toward the New Exchange, and meeting Mr. Creed he and I to drink some whey at the whey-house, and so into the 'Change and took a walk or two, and so home, and there vexed at my boy's being out of doors till ten at night, but it was upon my brother Jackson's business, and so I was the less displeased, and then made the boy to read to me out of Dr. Wilkins his "Real Character," and particularly about Noah's arke, where he do give a very good account thereof, shewing how few the number of the several species of beasts and fowls were that were to be in the arke, and that there was room enough for them and their food and dung, which do please me mightily and is much beyond what ever I heard of the subject, and so to bed. 28th. Up, to set right some little matters of my Tangier accounts, and so to the office, where busy all the morning, and then home with my people to dinner, and after dinner comes about a petition for a poor woman whose-ticket she would get paid, and so talked a little and did baiser her, and so to the office, being pleased that this morning my bookseller brings me home Marcennus's book of musick,' which costs me L3 2s.; but is a very fine book. So to the office and did some business, and then by coach to the New Exchange, and there by agreement at my bookseller's shop met Mercer and Gayet, and took them by water, first to one of the Neat-houses, where walked in the garden, but nothing but a bottle of wine to be had, though pleased with seeing the garden; and so to Fox Hall, where with great pleasure we walked, and then to the upper end of the further retired walk, and there sat and sang, and brought great many gallants and fine people about us, and, upon the bench, we did by and by eat and drink what we had, and very merry: and so with much pleasure to the Old Swan, and walked with them home, and there left them, and so I home to my business at the office a little, and so to bed. 29th. Betimes up, and up to my Tangier accounts, and then by water to the Council Chamber, and there received some directions from the Duke of York and the Committee of the Navy there about casting up the charge of the present summer's fleete, that so they may come within the bounds of the sum given by the Parliament. But it is pretty to see how Prince Rupert and other mad, silly people, are for setting out but a little fleete, there being no occasion for it; and say it will be best to save the money for better uses. But Sir W. Coventry did declare that, in wisdom, it was better to do so; but that, in obedience to the Parliament, he was [for] setting out the fifty sail talked on, though it spent all the money, and to little purpose; and that this was better than to leave it to the Parliament to make bad construction of their thrift, if any trouble should happen. Thus wary the world is grown! Thence back again presently home, and did business till noon: and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, with much good company, it being the King's birthday, and many healths drunk: and here I did receive another letter from my Lord Sandwich, which troubles me to see how I have neglected him, in not writing, or but once, all this time of his being abroad; and I see he takes notice, but yet gently, of it, that it puts me to great trouble, and I know not how to get out of it, having no good excuse, and too late now to mend, he being coming home. Thence home, whither, by agreement, by and by comes Mercer and Gayet, and two gentlemen with them, Mr. Monteith and Pelham, the former a swaggering young handsome gentleman, the latter a sober citizen merchant. Both sing, but the latter with great skill-the other, no skill, but a good voice, and a good basse, but used to sing only tavern tunes; and so I spent all this evening till eleven at night singing with them, till I was tired of them, because of the swaggering fellow with the base, though the girl Mercer did mightily commend him before to me. This night je had agreed par' alter at Deptford, there par' avoir lain con the moher de Bagwell, but this company did hinder me. 30th. Up, and put on a new summer black bombazin suit, and so to the office; and being come now to an agreement with my barber, to keep my perriwig in good order at 20s. a-year, I am like to go very spruce, more than I used to do. All the morning at the office and at noon home to dinner, and so to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Philaster;" where it is pretty to see how I could remember almost all along, ever since I was a boy, Arethusa, the part which I was to have acted at Sir Robert Cooke's; and it was very pleasant to me, but more to think what a ridiculous thing it would have been for me to have acted a beautiful woman. Thence to Mr. Pierces, and there saw Knepp also, and were merry; and here saw my little Lady Katherine Montagu come to town, about her eyes, which are sore, and they think the King's evil, poor, pretty lady. Here I was freed from a fear that Knepp was angry or might take advantage to declare the essay that je did the other day, quand je was con her ... Thence to the New Exchange, and there met Harris and Rolt, and one Richards, a tailor and great company-keeper, and with these over to Fox Hall, and there fell into the company of Harry Killigrew, a rogue newly come back out of France, but still in disgrace at our Court, and young Newport and others, as very rogues as any in the town, who were ready to take hold of every woman that come by them. And so to supper in an arbour: but, Lord! their mad bawdy talk did make my heart ake! And here I first understood by their talk the meaning of the company that lately were called Ballets; Harris telling how it was by a meeting of some young blades, where he was among them, and my Lady Bennet [Evidently adopted as a cant expression. The woman here alluded to was a procuress well known in her day, and described in the "Tatler" (No. 84) as "the celebrated Madam Bennet." We further learn, from the "Spectator" (No. 266), that she was the Lady B. to whom Wycherley addressed his ironical dedication of "The Plain Dealer," which is considered as a masterpiece of raillery. It is worthy of remark that the fair sex may justly complain of almost every word in the English language designating a woman having, at some time or another, been used as a term of reproach; for we find Mother, Madam, Mistress, and Miss, all denoting women of bad character; and here Pepys adds the title of my Lady to the number, and completes the ungracious catalogue.--B.] and her ladies; and their there dancing naked, and all the roguish things in the world. But, Lord! what loose cursed company was this, that I was in to-night, though full of wit; and worth a man's being in for once, to know the nature of it, and their manner of talk, and lives. Thence set Rolt and some of [them] at the New Exchange, and so I home, and my business being done at the office, I to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and to church in the morning. At noon I sent for Mr. Mills and his wife and daughter to dine, and they dined with me, and W. Hewer, and very good company, I being in good humour. They gone to church, comes Mr. Tempest, and he and I sang a psalm or two, and so parted, and I by water to the New Exchange, and there to Mrs. Pierces, where Knepp, and she, and W. Howe, and Mr. Pierce, and little Betty, over to Fox Hall, and there walked and supped with great pleasure. Here was Mrs. Manuel also, and mighty good company, and good mirth in making W. Howe spend his six or seven shillings, and so they called him altogether "Cully." So back, and at Somerset-stairs do understand that a boy is newly drowned, washing himself there, and they cannot find his body. So seeing them home, I home by water, W. Howe going with me, and after some talk he lay at my house, and all to bed. Here I hear that Mrs. Davis is quite gone from the Duke of York's house, and Gosnell comes in her room, which I am glad of. At the play at Court the other night, Mrs. Davis was there; and when she was to come to dance her jigg, the Queene would not stay to see it, which people do think it was out of displeasure at her being the King's whore, that she could not bear it. My Lady Castlemayne is, it seems, now mightily out of request, the King coming little to her, and thus she mighty melancholy and discontented. JUNE 1668 June 1st. Up and with Sir J. Minnes to Westminster, and in the Hall there I met with Harris and Rolt, and carried them to the Rhenish wine-house, where I have not been in a morning--nor any tavern, I think, these seven years and more. Here I did get the words of a song of Harris that I wanted. Here also Mr. Young and Whistler by chance met us, and drank with us. Thence home, and to prepare business against the afternoon, and did walk an hour in the garden with Sir W. Warren, who do tell me of the great difficulty he is under in the business of his accounts with the Commissioners of Parliament, and I fear some inconveniences and troubles may be occasioned thereby to me. So to dinner, and then with Sir J. Minnes to White Hall, and there attended the Lords of the Treasury and also a committee of Council with the Duke of York about the charge of this year's fleete, and thence I to Westminster and to Mrs. Martin's, and did hazer what je would con her, and did once toker la thigh de su landlady, and thence all alone to Fox Hall, and walked and saw young Newport, and two more rogues of the town, seize on two ladies, who walked with them an hour with their masks on; perhaps civil ladies; and there I left them, and so home, and thence to Mr. Mills's, where I never was before, and here find, whom I indeed saw go in, and that did make me go thither, Mrs. Hallworthy and Mrs. Andrews, and here supped, and, extraordinary merry till one in the morning, Mr. Andrews coming to us: and mightily pleased with this night's company and mirth I home to bed. Mrs. Turner, too, was with us. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there dined with me, besides my own people, W. Batelier and Mercer, and we very merry. After dinner, they gone, only Mercer and I to sing a while, and then parted, and I out and took a coach, and called Mercer at their back-door, and she brought with her Mrs. Knightly, a little pretty sober girl, and I carried them to Old Ford, a town by Bow, where I never was before, and there walked in the fields very pleasant, and sang: and so back again, and stopped and drank at the Gun, at Mile End, and so to the Old Exchange door, and did buy them a pound of cherries, cost me 2s., and so set them down again; and I to my little mercer's Finch, that lives now in the Minories, where I have left my cloak, and did here baiser su moher, a belle femme, and there took my cloak which I had left there, and so by water, it being now about nine o'clock, down to Deptford, where I have not been many a day, and there it being dark I did by agreement aller a la house de Bagwell, and there after a little playing and baisando we did go up in the dark a su camera... and to my boat again, and against the tide home. Got there by twelve o'clock, taking into my boat, for company, a man that desired a passage--a certain western bargeman, with whom I had good sport, talking of the old woman of Woolwich, and telling him the whole story. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy till g o'clock, and then to White Hall, to the Council-chamber, where I did present the Duke of York with an account of the charge of the present fleete, to his satisfaction; and this being done, did ask his leave for my going out of town five or six days, which he did give me, saying, that my diligence in the King's business was such, that I ought not to be denied when my own business called me any whither. Thence with Sir D. Gawden to Westminster, where I did take a turn or two, and met Roger Pepys, who is mighty earnest for me to stay from going into the country till he goes, and to bring my people thither for some time: but I cannot, but will find another time this summer for it. Thence with him home, and there to the office till noon, and then with Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir G. Carteret, upon whose accounts they have been this day to the Three Tuns to dinner, and thence back again home, and after doing a little business I by coach to the King's house, and there saw good, part of "The Scornfull Lady," and that done, would have takn out Knepp, but she was engaged, and so to my Lord Crew's to visit him; from whom I learn nothing but that there hath been some controversy at the Council-table, about my Lord Sandwich's signing, where some would not have had him, in the treaty with Portugall; but all, I think, is over in it. Thence by coach to Westminster to the Hall, and thence to the Park, where much good company, and many fine ladies; and in so handsome a hackney I was, that I believe Sir W. Coventry and others, who looked on me, did take me to be in one of my own, which I was a little troubled for. So to the lodge, and drank a cup of new milk, and so home, and there to Mrs. Turner's, and sat and talked with her, and then home to bed, having laid my business with W. Hewer to go out of town Friday next, with hopes of a great deal of pleasure. 4th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, dined with me and my clerks. After dinner I carried and set him down at the Temple, he observing to me how St. Sepulchre's church steeple is repaired already a good deal, and the Fleet Bridge is contracted for by the City to begin to be built this summer, which do please me mightily. I to White Hall, and walked through the Park for a little ayre; and so back to the Council-chamber, to the Committee of the Navy, about the business of fitting the present fleete, suitable to the money given, which, as the King orders it, and by what appears, will be very little; and so as I perceive the Duke of York will have nothing to command, nor can intend to go abroad. But it is pretty to see how careful these great men are to do every thing so as they may answer it to the Parliament, thinking themselves safe in nothing but where the judges, with whom they often advise, do say the matter is doubtful; and so they take upon themselves then to be the chief persons to interpret what is doubtful. Thence home, and all the evening to set matters in order against my going to Brampton to-morrow, being resolved upon my journey, and having the Duke of York's leave again to-day; though I do plainly see that I can very ill be spared now, there being much business, especially about this, which I have attended the Council about, and I the man that am alone consulted with; and, besides, my Lord Brouncker is at this time ill, and Sir W. Pen. So things being put in order at the Office, I home to do the like there; and so to bed. 5th (Friday). [The rough notes for the journal from this time to the 17th of June are contained on five leaves, inserted in the book; and after them follow several pages left blank for the fair copy which was never made.] At Barnet, for milk, 6d. On the highway, to menders of the highway, 6d. Dinner at Stevenage, 5s. 6d. 6th (Saturday). Spent at Huntingdon with Bowles, and Appleyard, and Shepley, 2s. 7th (Sunday). My father, for money lent, and horse-hire L1 11s. 8th (Monday). Father's servants (father having in the garden told me bad stories of my wife's ill words), 14s.; one that helped at the horses, 2s.; menders of the highway, 2s. Pleasant country to Bedford, where, while they stay, I rode through the town; and a good country-town; and there, drinking, 1s. We on to Newport; and there 'light, and I and W. Hewer to the Church, and there give the boy 1s. So to Buckingham, a good old town. Here I to see the Church, which very good, and the leads, and a school in it: did give the sexton's boy 1s. A fair bridge here, with many arches: vexed at my people's making me lose so much time; reckoning, 13s. 4d. Mighty pleased with the pleasure of the ground all the day. At night to Newport Pagnell; and there a good pleasant country-town, but few people in it. A very fair--and like a Cathedral--Church; and I saw the leads, and a vault that goes far under ground, and here lay with Betty Turner's sparrow: the town, and so most of this country, well watered. Lay here well, and rose next day by four o'clock: few people in the town: and so away. Reckoning for supper, 19s. 6d.; poor, 6d. Mischance to the coach, but no time lost. 9th (Tuesday). When come to Oxford, a very sweet place: paid our guide, L1 2s. 6d.; barber, 2s. 6d.; book, Stonage, 4s. [This must have been either Inigo Jones's "The most notable Antiquity of Great Britain vulgarly called Stonehenge," printed in 1655, or "Chorea Gigantum, or the most famous Antiquity of Great Britain, vulgarly called Stones Heng, standing on Salisbury Plain, restor'd to the Danes," by Walter Charleton, M.D., and published in 1663.] To dinner; and then out with my wife and people, and landlord: and to him that showed us the schools and library, 10s.; to him that showed us All Souls' College, and Chichly's picture, 5s. So to see Christ Church with my wife, I seeing several others very fine alone, with W. Hewer, before dinner, and did give the boy that went with me 1s. Strawberries, 1s. 2d. Dinner and servants, L1 0s. 6d. After come home from the schools, I out with the landlord to Brazen-nose College;--to the butteries, and in the cellar find the hand of the Child of Hales,... long. Butler, 2s. Thence with coach and people to Physic-garden, 1s. So to Friar Bacon's study: I up and saw it, and give the man 1s. Bottle of sack for landlord, 2s. Oxford mighty fine place; and well seated, and cheap entertainment. At night come to Abingdon, where had been a fair of custard; and met many people and scholars going home; and there did get some pretty good musick, and sang and danced till supper: 5s. 10th (Wednesday). Up, and walked to the Hospitall:--[Christ's Hospital]--very large and fine; and pictures of founders, and the History' of the Hospitall; and is said to be worth; L700 per annum; and that Mr. Foly was here lately to see how their lands were settled; and here, in old English, the story of the occasion of it, and a rebus at the bottom. So did give the poor, which they would not take but in their box, 2s. 6d. So to the inn, and paid the reckoning and what not, 13s. So forth towards Hungerford, led this good way by our landlord, one Heart, an old but very civil and well-spoken man, more than I ever heard, of his quality. He gone, we forward; and I vexed at my people's not minding the way. So come to Hungerford, where very good trouts, eels, and crayfish. Dinner: a mean town. At dinner there, 12s. Thence set out with a guide, who saw us to Newmarket-heath, and then left us, 3s. 6d. So all over the Plain by the sight of the steeple, the Plain high and low, to Salisbury, by night; but before I come to the town, I saw a great fortification, and there 'light, and to it and in it; and find it prodigious, so as to frighten me to be in it all alone at that time of night, it being dark. I understand, since, it to be that, that is called Old Sarum. Come to the George Inne, where lay in a silk bed; and very good diet. To supper; then to bed. 11th (Thursday). Up, and W. Hewer and I up and down the town, and find it a very brave place. The river goes through every street; and a most capacious market-place. The city great, I think greater than Hereford. But the Minster most admirable; as big, I think, and handsomer than Westminster: and a most large Close about it, and houses for the Officers thereof, and a fine palace for the Bishop. So to my lodging back, and took out my wife and people to shew them the town and Church; but they being at prayers, we could not be shown the Quire. A very good organ; and I looked in, and saw the Bishop, my friend Dr. Ward. Thence to the inne; and there not being able to hire coach-horses, and not willing to use our own, we got saddle-horses, very dear. Boy that went to look for them, 6d. So the three women behind W. Hewer, Murford, and our guide, and I single to Stonage; over the Plain and some great hills, even to fright us. Come thither, and find them as prodigious as any tales I ever heard of them, and worth going this journey to see. God knows what their use was! they are hard to tell, but yet maybe told. Give the shepherd-woman, for leading our horses, 4d. So back by Wilton, my Lord Pembroke's house, which we could not see, he being just coming to town; but the situation I do not like, nor the house promise much, it being in a low but rich valley. So back home; and there being 'light, we to the Church, and there find them at prayers again, so could not see the Quire; but I sent the women home, and I did go in, and saw very many fine tombs, and among the rest some very ancient, of the Montagus. [The Montacutes, from whom Lord Sandwich's family claimed descent: --B.] So home to dinner; and, that being done, paid the reckoning, which was so exorbitant; and particular in rate of my horses, and 7s. 6d. for bread and beer, that I was mad, and resolve to trouble the master about it, and get something for the poor; and come away in that humour: L2 5s. 6d. Servants, 1s. 6d.; poor, 1s.; guide to the Stones, 2s.; poor woman in the street, 1s.; ribbands, 9d.; washwoman, 1s.; sempstress for W. Hewer, 3s.; lent W. Hewer, 3s. Thence about six o'clock, and with a guide went over the smooth Plain indeed till night; and then by a happy mistake, and that looked like an adventure, we were carried out of our way to a town where we would lye, since we could not go so far as we would. And there with great difficulty come about ten at night to a little inn, where we were fain to go into a room where a pedlar was in bed, and made him rise; and there wife and I lay, and in a truckle-bed Betty Turner and Willett. But good beds, and the master of the house a sober, understanding man, and I had good discourse with him about this country's matters, as wool, and corne, and other things. And he also merry, and made us mighty merry at supper, about manning the new ship, at Bristol, with none but men whose wives do master them; and it seems it is become in reproach to some men of estate that are such hereabouts, that this is become common talk. By and by to bed, glad of this mistake, because, it seems, had we gone on as we intended, we could not have passed with our coach, and must have lain on the Plain all night. This day from Salisbury I wrote by the post my excuse for not coming home, which I hope will do, for I am resolved to see the Bath, and, it may be, Bristol. 12th (Friday). Up, finding our beds good, but lousy; which made us merry. We set out, the reckoning and servants coming to 9s. 6d.; my guide thither, 2s.; coachman, advanced, 10s. So rode a very good way, led to my great content by our landlord to Philips-Norton, with great pleasure, being now come into Somersetshire; where my wife and Deb. mightily joyed thereat,--[They were natives of that county.-B.]--I commending the country, as indeed it deserves. And the first town we came to was Brekington, where, we stopping for something for the horses, we called two or three little boys to us, and pleased ourselves with their manner of speech, and did make one of them kiss Deb., and another say the Lord's Prayer (hallowed be thy kingdom come). At Philips-Norton I walked to the Church, and there saw a very ancient tomb of some Knight Templar, I think; and here saw the tombstone whereon there were only two heads cut, which, the story goes, and credibly, were two sisters, called the Fair Maids of Foscott, that had two bodies upward and one belly, and there lie buried. Here is also a very fine ring of six bells, and they mighty tuneable. Having dined very well, 10s., we come before night to the Bath; where I presently stepped out with my landlord, and saw the baths, with people in them. They are not so large as I expected, but yet pleasant; and the town most of stone, and clean, though the streets generally narrow. I home, and being weary, went to bed without supper; the rest supping. 13th (Saturday). Up at four o'clock, being by appointment called up to the Cross Bath, where we were carried one after one another, myself, and wife, and Betty Turner, Willet, and W. Hewer. And by and by, though we designed to have done before company come, much company come; very fine ladies; and the manner pretty enough, only methinks it cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water. Good conversation among them that are acquainted here, and stay together. Strange to see how hot the water is; and in some places, though this is the most temperate bath, the springs so hot as the feet not able to endure. But strange to see, when women and men herein, that live all the season in these waters, that cannot but be parboiled, and look like the creatures of the bath! Carried away, wrapped in a sheet, and in a chair, home; and there one after another thus carried, I staying above two hours in the water, home to bed, sweating for an hour; and by and by, comes musick to play to me, extraordinary good as ever I heard at London almost, or anywhere: 5s. Up, to go to Bristol, about eleven o'clock, and paying my landlord that was our guide from Chiltern, 10s., and the serjeant of the bath, 10s., and the man that carried us in chairs, 3s. 6d. Set out towards Bristoll, and come thither (in a coach hired to spare our own horses); the way bad, but country good, about two o'clock, where set down at the Horse'shoe, and there, being trimmed by a very handsome fellow, 2s., walked with my wife and people through the city, which is in every respect another London, that one can hardly know it, to stand in the country, no more than that. No carts, it standing generally on vaults, only dog-carts. ["They draw all their heavy goods here on sleds, or sledges, which they call 'gee hoes,' without wheels, which kills a multitude of horses." Another writer says, "They suffer no carts to be used in the city, lest, as some say, the shake occasioned by them on the pavement should affect the Bristol milk (the sherry) in the vaults, which is certainly had here in the greatest perfection." An order of Common Council occurs in 1651 to prohibit the use of carts and waggons-only suffering drays. "Camden in giving our city credit for its cleanliness in forming 'goutes,' says they use sledges here instead of carts, lest they destroy the arches beneath which are the goutes."--Chilcott's New Guide to Bristol, &c.,] So to the Three..Crowns Tavern I was directed; but, when I come in, the master told me that he had newly given over the selling of wine; it seems, grown rich; and so went to the Sun; and there Deb. going with W. Hewer and Betty Turner to see her uncle [Butts], and leaving my wife with the mistress of the house, I to see the quay, which is a most large and noble Vlace; and to see the new ship building by Bally, neither he nor Furzer being in town. It will be a fine ship. Spoke with the foreman, and did give the boys that kept the cabin 2s. Walked back to the Sun, where I find Deb. come back, and with her, her uncle, a sober merchant, very good company, and so like one of our sober, wealthy, London merchants, as pleased me mightily. Here we dined, and much good talk with him, 7s. 6d.: a messenger to Sir John Knight, who was not at home, 6d. Then walked with him [Butts] and my wife and company round the quay, and to the ship; and he shewed me the Custom-house, and made me understand many things of the place, and led us through Marsh Street, where our girl was born. But, Lord! the joy that was among the old poor people of the place, to see Mrs. Willet's daughter, it seems her mother being a brave woman and mightily beloved! And so brought us a back way by surprize to his house, where a substantial good house, and well furnished; and did give us good entertainment of strawberries, a whole venison-pasty, cold, and plenty of brave wine, and above all Bristoll milk, [A sort of rum punch (milk punch), which, and turtle, were products of the trade of Bristol with the West Indies. So Byron says in the first edition of his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" "Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight, Too much oer bowls of rack prolong the night." These lines will not be found in the modern editions; but the following are substituted: "Four turtle feeder's verse must needs he flat, Though Bristol bloat him with the verdant fat." Lord Macaulay says of the collations with which the sugar-refiners of Bristol regaled their visitors: "The repast was dressed in the furnace, And was accompanied by a rich brewage made of the best Spanish wine, and celebrated over the whole kingdom as Bristol milk" ("Hist. of England," vol. i., p. 335)--B.] where comes in another poor woman, who, hearing that Deb. was here, did come running hither, and with her eyes so lull of tears, and heart so full of joy, that she could not speak when she come in, that it made me weep too: I protest that I was not able to speak to her, which I would have done, to have diverted her tears. His wife a good woman, and so sober and substantiall as I was never more pleased anywhere. Servant-maid, 2s. So thence took leave, and he with us through the city, where in walking I find the city pay him great respect, and he the like to the meanest, which pleased me mightily. He shewed us the place where the merchants meet here, and a fine Cross yet standing, like Cheapside. And so to the Horseshoe, where paid the reckoning, 2s. 6d. We back, and by moonshine to the Bath again, about ten-o'clock: bad way; and giving the coachman 1s., went all of us to bed. 14th (Sunday). Up, and walked up and down the town, and saw a pretty good market-place, and many good streets, and very fair stone-houses. And so to the great Church, and there saw Bishop Montagu's tomb; [James Montagu, Bishop of Bath and Wells in 1608, and of Winchester in 1616--died 1618. He was uncle to the Earl of Sandwich, whose mother was Pepys's aunt. Hence Pepys's curiosity respecting the tomb.--B.] and, when placed, did there see many brave people come, and, among others, two men brought in, in litters, and set down in the chancel to hear: but I did not know one face. Here a good organ; but a vain, pragmatical fellow preached a ridiculous, affected sermon, that made me angry, and some gentlemen that sat next me, and sang well. So home, walking round the walls of the City, which are good, and the battlements all whole. The sexton of the church is. So home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Butts again to see me, and he and I to church, where the same idle fellow preached; and I slept most of the sermon. Thence home, and took my wife out and the girls, and come to this church again, to see it, and look over the monuments, where, among others, Dr. Venner and Pelting, and a lady of Sir W. Walter's; he lying with his face broken. So to the fields a little and walked, and then home and had my head looked [at], and so to supper, and then comes my landlord to me, a sober understanding man, and did give me a good account of the antiquity of this town and Wells; and of two Heads, on two pillars, in Wells church. But he a Catholick. So he gone, I to bed. 15th (Monday). Up, and with Mr. Butts to look into the baths, and find the King and Queen's full of a mixed sort, of good and bad, and the Cross only almost for the gentry. So home and did the like with my wife, and did pay my guides, two women, 5s.; one man, 2s. 6d.; poor, 6d.; woman to lay my foot-cloth, 1s. So to our inne, and there eat and paid reckoning, L1 8s. 6d.; servants, 3s.; poor, 1s.; lent the coach man, 10s. Before I took coach, I went to make a boy dive in the King's bath, 1s. I paid also for my coach and a horse to Bristol, L1 1s. 6d. Took coach, and away, without any of the company of the other stage-coaches, that go out of this town to-day; and rode all day with some trouble, for fear of being out of our way, over the Downes, where the life of the shepherds is, in fair weather only, pretty. In the afternoon come to Abebury, where, seeing great stones like those of Stonage standing up, I stopped, and took a countryman of that town, and he carried me and shewed me a place trenched in, like Old Sarum almost, with great stones pitched in it, some bigger than those at Stonage in figure, to my great admiration: and he told me that most people of learning, coming by, do come and view them, and that the King did so: and that the Mount cast hard by is called Selbury, from one King Seall buried there, as tradition says. I did give this man 1s. So took coach again, seeing one place with great high stones pitched round, which, I believe, was once some particular building, in some measure like that of Stonage. But, about a mile off, it was prodigious to see how full the Downes are of great stones; and all along the vallies, stones of considerable bigness, most of them growing certainly out of the ground so thick as to cover the ground, which makes me think the less of the wonder of Stonage, for hence they might undoubtedly supply themselves with stones, as well as those at Abebury. In my way did give to the poor and menders of the highway 3s. Before night, come to Marlborough, and lay at the Hart; a good house, and a pretty fair town for a street or two; and what is most singular is, their houses on one side having their pent-houses supported with pillars, which makes it a good walk. My wife pleased with all, this evening reading of "Mustapha" to me till supper, and then to supper, and had musique whose innocence pleased me, and I did give them 3s. So to bed, and lay well all night, and long, so as all the five coaches that come this day from Bath, as well as we, were gone out of the town before six. 16th (Tuesday). So paying the reckoning, 14s. 4d., and servants, 2s., poor 1s., set out; and overtook one coach and kept a while company with it, till one of our horses losing a shoe, we stopped and drank and spent 1s. So on, and passing through a good part of this county of Wiltshire, saw a good house of Alexander Popham's, and another of my Lord Craven's, I think in Barkeshire. Come to Newbery, and there dined, which cost me, and musick, which a song of the old courtier of Queen Elizabeth's, and how he was changed upon the coming in of the King, did please me mightily, and I did cause W. Hewer to write it out, 3s. 6d. Then comes the reckoning, forced to change gold, 8s. 7d.; servants and poor, 1s. 6d. So out, and lost our way, which made me vexed, but come into it again; and in the evening betimes come to Reading, and there heard my wife read more of "Mustapha," and then to supper, and then I to walk about the town, which is a very great one, I think bigger than Salsbury: a river runs through it, in seven branches, and unite in one, in one part of the town, and runs into the Thames half-a-mile off one odd sign of the Broad Face. W. Hewer troubled with the headake we had none of his company last night, nor all this day nor night to talk. Then to my inn, and so to bed. 17th (Wednesday). Rose, and paying the reckoning, 12s. 6d.; servants and poor, 2s. 6d.; musick, the worst we have had, coming to our chamber-door, but calling us by wrong names, we lay; so set out with one coach in company, and through Maydenhead, which I never saw before, to Colebrooke by noon; the way mighty good; and there dined, and fitted ourselves a little to go through London, anon. Somewhat out of humour all day, reflecting on my wife's neglect of things, and impertinent humour got by this liberty of being from me, which she is never to be trusted with; for she is a fool. Thence pleasant way to London, before night, and find all very well, to great content; and there to talk with my wife, and saw Sir W. Pen, who is well again. I hear of the ill news by the great fire at Barbados. By and by home, and there with my people to supper, all in pretty good humour, though I find my wife hath something in her gizzard, that only waits an opportunity of being provoked to bring up; but I will not, for my content-sake, give it. So I to bed, glad to find all so well here, and slept well. [The rough notes end here.] 18th. Up betimes and to the office, there to set my papers in order and books, my office having been new whited and windows made clean, and so to sit, where all the morning, and did receive a hint or two from my Lord Anglesey, as if he thought much of my taking the ayre as I have done; but I care not a turd; but whatever the matter is, I think he hath some ill-will to me, or at least an opinion that I am more the servant of the Board than I am. At noon home to dinner, where my wife still in a melancholy, fusty humour, and crying, and do not tell me plainly what it is; but I by little words find that she hath heard of my going to plays, and carrying people abroad every day, in her absence; and that I cannot help but the storm will break out, I think, in a little time. After dinner carried her by coach to St. James's, where she sat in the coach till I to my Lady Peterborough's, who tells me, among other things, her Lord's good words to the Duke of York lately, about my Lord Sandwich, and that the Duke of York is kind to my Lord Sandwich, which I am glad to hear: my business here was about her Lord's pension from Tangier. Here met with Povy, who tells me how hard Creed is upon him, though he did give him, about six months since, I think he said, fifty pieces in gold; and one thing there is in his accounts that I fear may touch me, but I shall help it, I hope. So my wife not speaking a word, going nor coming, nor willing to go to a play, though a new one, I to the Office, and did much business. At night home, where supped Mr. Turner and his wife, and Betty and Mercer and Pelling, as merry as the ill, melancholy humour that my wife was in, would let us, which vexed me; but I took no notice of it, thinking that will be the best way, and let it wear away itself. After supper, parted, and to bed; and my wife troubled all night, and about one o'clock goes out of the bed to the girl's bed, which did trouble me, she crying and sobbing, without telling the cause. By and by she comes back to me, and still crying; I then rose, and would have sat up all night, but she would have me come to bed again; and being pretty well pacified, we to sleep. 19th. When between two and three in the morning we were waked with my maids crying out, "Fire, fire, in Markelane!" So I rose and looked out, and it was dreadful; and strange apprehensions in me, and us all, of being presently burnt. So we all rose; and my care presently was to secure my gold, and plate, and papers, and could quickly have done it, but I went forth to see where it was; and the whole town was presently in the streets; and I found it in a new-built house that stood alone in Minchin-lane, over against the Cloth-workers'-hall, which burned furiously: the house not yet quite finished; and the benefit of brick was well seen, for it burnt all inward, and fell down within itself; so no fear of doing more hurt. So homeward, and stopped at Mr. Mills's, where he and she at the door, and Mrs. Turner, and Betty, and Mrs. Hollworthy, and there I stayed and talked, and up to the church leads, and saw the fire, which spent itself, till all fear over. I home, and there we to bed again, and slept pretty well, and about nine rose, and then my wife fell into her blubbering again, and at length had a request to make to me, which was, that she might go into France, and live there, out of trouble; and then all come out, that I loved pleasure and denied her any, and a deal of do; and I find that there have been great fallings out between my father and her, whom, for ever hereafter, I must keep asunder, for they cannot possibly agree. And I said nothing, but, with very mild words and few, suffered her humour to spend, till we begun to be very quiet, and I think all will be over, and friends, and so I to the office, where all the morning doing business. Yesterday I heard how my Lord Ashly is like to die, having some imposthume in his breast, that he hath been fain to be cut into the body. ["Such an operation was performed in this year, after a consultation of medical men, and chiefly by Locke's advice, and the wound was afterwards always kept open, a silver pipe being inserted. This saved Lord Ashley's life, and gave him health"--Christie's Life of the first Earl of Shaftesbury, vol. ii., p. 34. 'Tapski' was a name given to Shaftesbury in derision, and vile defamers described the abscess, which had originated in a carriage accident in Holland, as the result of extreme dissipation. Lines by Duke, a friend and imitator of Dryden: "The working ferment of his active mind, In his weak body's cask with pain confined, Would burst the rotten vessel where 'tis pent, But that 'tis tapt to give the treason vent."] At noon home to dinner, and thence by coach to White Hall, where we attended the Duke of York in his closet, upon our usual business. And thence out, and did see many of the Knights of the Garter, with the King and Duke of York, going into the Privychamber, to elect the Elector of Saxony into that Order, who, I did hear the Duke of York say, was a good drinker: I know not upon what score this compliment is done him. Thence with W. Pen, who is in great pain of the gowte, by coach round by Holborne home, he being at every kennel full of pain. Thence home, and by and by comes my wife and Deb. home, have been at the King's playhouse to-day, thinking to spy me there; and saw the new play, "Evening Love," of Dryden's, which, though the world commends, she likes not. So to supper and talk, and all in good humour, and then to bed, where I slept not well, from my apprehensions of some trouble about some business of Mr. Povy's he told me of the other day. 20th. Up, and talked with my wife all in good humour, and so to the office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and so she and I alone to the King's house, and there I saw this new play my wife saw yesterday, and do not like it, it being very smutty, and nothing so good as "The Maiden Queen," or "The Indian Emperour," of his making, that I was troubled at it; and my wife tells me wholly (which he confesses a little in the epilogue) taken out of the "Illustre Bassa." So she to Unthanke's and I to Mr. Povy, and there settled some business; and here talked of things, and he thinks there will be great revolutions, and that Creed will be a great man, though a rogue, he being a man of the old strain, which will now be up again. So I took coach, and set Povy down at Charing Cross, and took my wife up, and calling at the New Exchange at Smith's shop, and kissed her pretty hand, and so we home, and there able to do nothing by candlelight, my eyes being now constantly so bad that I must take present advice or be blind. So to supper, grieved for my eyes, and to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and home and dined with my wife and Deb. alone, but merry and in good humour, which is, when all is done, the greatest felicity of all, and after dinner she to read in the "Illustre Bassa" the plot of yesterday's play, which is most exactly the same, and so to church I alone, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is ill again, and then home, and there get my wife to read to me till supper, and then to bed. 22nd. Up, and with Balty to St. James's, and there presented him to Mr. Wren about his being Muster-Master this year, which will be done. So up to wait on the Duke of York, and thence, with W. Coventry, walked to White Hall good discourse about the Navy, where want of money undoes us. Thence to the Harp and Ball I to drink, and so to the Coffee-house in Covent Garden; but met with nobody but Sir Philip Howard, who shamed me before the whole house there, in commendation of my speech in Parliament, and thence I away home to dinner alone, my wife being at her tailor's, and after dinner comes Creed, whom I hate, to speak with me, and before him comes Mrs. Daniel about business.... She gone, Creed and I to the King's playhouse, and saw an act or two of the new play ["Evening's Love"] again, but like it not. Calling this day at Herringman's, he tells me Dryden do himself call it but a fifth-rate play. Thence with him to my Lord Brouncker's, where a Council of the Royall Society; and there heard Mr. Harry Howard's' noble offers about ground for our College, and his intentions of building his own house there most nobly. My business was to meet Mr. Boyle, which I did, and discoursed about my eyes; and he did give me the best advice he could, but refers me to one Turberville, of Salsbury, lately come to town, which I will go to. [Daubigny Turberville, of Oriel College; created M.D. at Oxford,1660. He was a physician of some eminence, and, dying at Salisbury on the 21st April, 1696, aged eighty-five, he was buried in the cathedral, where his monument remains. Cassan, in his "Lives of the Bishops of Sarum," part iii., p. 103, has reprinted an interesting account of Turberville, from the "Memoir of Bishop Seth Ward," published in 1697, by Dr. Walter Pope. Turberville was born at Wayford, co. Somerset, in 1612, and became an expert oculist; and probably Pepys received great benefit from his advice, as his vision does not appear to have failed during the many years that he lived after discontinuing the Diary. The doctor died rich, and subsequently to his decease his sister Mary, inheriting all his prescriptions, and knowing how to use them, practised as an oculist in London with good reputation.--B.] Thence home, where the streets full, at our end of the town, removing their wine against the Act begins, which will be two days hence, to raise the price. I did get my store in of Batelier this night. So home to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, and so to the office again all the afternoon, and then to Westminster to Dr. Turberville about my eyes, whom I met with: and he did discourse, I thought, learnedly about them; and takes time before he did prescribe me any thing, to think of it. So I away with my wife and Deb., whom I left at Unthanke's, and so to Hercules Pillars, and there we three supped on cold powdered beef, and thence home and in the garden walked a good while with Deane, talking well of the Navy miscarriages and faults. So home to bed. 24th. Up, and Creed and Colonell Atkins come to me about sending coals to Tangier: and upon that most of the morning. Thence Creed and I to Alderman Backewell's about Tangier business of money, and thence I by water (calling and drinking, but not baisado, at Michell's) to Westminster, but it being holyday did no business, only to Martin's... and so home again by water, and busy till dinner, and then with wife, Mercer, Deb., and W. Hewer to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Impertinents," a pretty good play; and so by water to Spring Garden, and there supped, and so home, not very merry, only when we come home, Mercer and I sat and sung in the garden a good while, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office all the morning, and after dinner at home to the office again, and there all the afternoon very busy till night, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. All the morning doing business at the office. At noon, with my Fellow-Officers, to the Dolphin, at Sir G. Carteret's charge, to dinner, he having some accounts examined this morning. All the afternoon we all at Sir W. Pen's with him about the Victuallers' accounts, and then in the evening to Charing Cross, and there took up my wife at her tailor's, and so home and to walk in the garden, and then to sup and to bed. 27th. At the office all the morning, at noon dined at home, and then my wife, and Deb., and I to the King's playhouse, and saw "The Indian Queene," but do not doat upon Nan Marshall's acting therein, as the world talks of her excellence therein. Thence with my wife to buy some linnen, L13 worth, for sheets, &c., at the new shop over against the New Exchange; [and the master, who is] come out of London--[To the Strand.]--since the fire, says his and other tradesmen's retail trade is so great here, and better than it was in London, that they believe they shall not return, nor the city be ever so great for retail as heretofore. So home and to my business, and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and then home to dinner, where Betty Turner, Mercer, and Captain Deane, and after dinner to sing, Mr. Pelting coming. Then, they gone, Deane and I all the afternoon till night to talk of navy matters and ships with great pleasure, and so at night, he gone, I to supper, Pelling coming again and singing a while, then to bed. Much talk of the French setting out their fleete afresh; but I hear nothing that our King is alarmed at it, at all, but rather making his fleete less. 29th. Called up by my Lady Peterborough's servant about some business of hers, and so to the office. Thence by and by with Sir J. Minnes toward St. James's, and I stop at Dr. Turberville's, and there did receive a direction for some physic, and also a glass of something to drop into my eyes: who gives me hopes that I may do well. Thence to St. James's, and thence to White Hall, where I find the Duke of York in the Council-chamber; where the Officers of the Navy were called in about Navy business, about calling in of more ships; the King of France having, as the Duke of York says, ordered his fleete to come in, notwithstanding what he had lately ordered for their staying abroad. Thence to the Chapel, it being St. Peter's day, and did hear an anthem of Silas Taylor's making; a dull, old-fashioned thing, of six and seven parts, that nobody could understand: and the Duke of York, when he come out, told me that he was a better store-keeper than anthem-maker, and that was bad enough, too. This morning Mr. May' shewed me the King's new buildings at White Hall, very fine; and among other things, his ceilings, and his houses of office. So home to dinner, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse--"The Mulberry Garden," which she had not seen. So by coach to Islington, and round by Hackney home with much pleasure, and to supper and bed. 30th. Up, and at the Office all the morning: then home to dinner, where a stinking leg of mutton, the weather being very wet and hot to keep meat in. Then to the Office again, all the afternoon: we met about the Victualler's new contract. And so up, and to walk all the evening with my wife and Mrs. Turner in the garden, till supper, about eleven at night; and so, after supper, parted, and to bed, my eyes bad, but not worse, only weary with working. But, however, I very melancholy under the fear of my eyes being spoiled, and not to be recovered; for I am come that I am not able to readout a small letter, and yet my sight good for the little while I can read, as ever they were, I think. JULY 1668 July 1st. Up; and all the morning we met at the office about the Victualler's contract. At noon home to dinner, my Cozen Roger, come newly to town, dined with us, and mighty importunate for our coming down to Impington, which I think to do, this Sturbridge fair. Thence I set him down at the Temple, and Commissioner Middleton dining the first time with me, he and I to White Hall, and so to St. James's, where we met; and much business with the Duke of York. And I find the Duke of York very hot for regulations in the Navy; and, I believe, is put on it by W. Coventry; and I am glad of it; and particularly, he falls heavy on Chatham-yard,, and is vexed that Lord Anglesey did, the other day, complain at the Council-table of disorders in the Navy, and not to him. So I to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier; and there vexed, with the importunity and clamours of Alderman Backewell, for my acquittance for money supplied by him to the garrison, before I have any order for paying it: so home, calling at several places-among others, the 'Change, and on Cooper, to know when my wife shall come to sit for her picture, which will be next week, and so home and to walk with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. 2nd. Called up by a letter from W. Coventry telling me that the Commissioners of Accounts intend to summons me about Sir W. Warren's Hamburg contract, and so I up and to W. Coventry's (he and G. Carteret being the party concerned in it), and after conference with him about it to satisfaction I home again to the office. At noon home to dinner, and then all the afternoon busy to prepare an answer to this demand of the Commissioners of Accounts, and did discourse with Sir W. Warren about it, and so in the evening with my wife and Deb. by coach to take ayre to Mile-end, and so home and I to bed, vexed to be put to this frequent trouble in things we deserve best in. 3rd. Betimes to the office, my head full of this business. Then by coach to the Commissioners of Accounts at Brooke House, the first time I was ever there, and there Sir W. Turner in the chair; and present, Lord Halifax, Thoms[on], Gregory, Dunster, and Osborne. I long with them, and see them hot set on this matter; but I did give them proper and safe answers. Halifax, I perceive, was industrious on my side, in behalf of his uncle Coventry, it being the business of fir W. Warren. Vexed only at their denial of a copy of what I set my hand to, and swore. Here till almost two o'clock, and then home to dinner, and set down presently what I had done and said this day, and so abroad by water to Eagle Court in the Strand, and there to an alehouse: met Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon, and Dr. Clerke, Waldron, Turberville, my physician for the eyes, and Lowre, to dissect several eyes of sheep and oxen, with great pleasure, and to my great information. But strange that this Turberville should be so great a man, and yet, to this day, had seen no eyes dissected, or but once, but desired this Dr. Lowre to give him the opportunity to see him dissect some. Thence to Unthanke's, to my wife, and carried her home, and there walked in the garden, and so to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and give him account of my doings yesterday, which he well liked of, and was told thereof by my Lord Halifax before; but I do perceive he is much concerned for this business. Gives me advice to write a smart letter to the Duke of York about the want of money in the Navy, and desire him to communicate it to the Commissioners of the Treasury; for he tells me he hath hot work sometimes to contend with the rest for the Navy, they being all concerned for some other part of the King's expenses, which they would prefer to this, of the Navy. He shewed me his closet, with his round table, for him to sit in the middle, very convenient; and I borrowed several books of him, to collect things out of the Navy, which I have not, and so home, and there busy sitting all the morning, and at noon dined, and then all the afternoon busy, till night, and then to Mile-End with my wife and girl, and there drank and eat a joie of salmon, at the Rose and Crown, our old house; and so home to bed. 5th (Lord's day). About four in the morning took four pills of Dr. Turberville's prescribing, for my eyes, and they wrought pretty well most of the morning, and I did get my wife to spend the morning reading of Wilkins's Reall Character. At noon comes W. Hewer and Pelling, and young Michell and his wife, and dined with us, and most of the afternoon talking; and then at night my wife to read again, and to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to St. James's, and there attended the Duke of York, and was there by himself told how angry he was, and did declare to my Lord Anglesey, about his late complaining of things of the Navy to the King in Council, and not to him; and I perceive he is mightily concerned at it, and resolved to reform things therein. Thence with W. Coventry walked in the Park together a good while, he mighty kind to me. And hear many pretty stories of my Lord Chancellor's being heretofore made sport of by Peter Talbot the priest, in his story of the death of Cardinall Bleau; [It is probable these stories, in ridicule of Clarendon, are nowhere recorded. Cardinal Jean Balue was the minister of Louis XI. of France. The reader will remember him in Sir W. Scott's "Quentin Durward." He was confined for eleven years in an iron cage invented by himself in the Chateau de Loches, and died soon after he regained his liberty.--B.] by Lord Cottington, in his 'Dolor de las Tyipas'; [Gripes. It was a joke against Lord Cottington that whenever he was seriously ill he declared himself a Roman Catholic, when he was well again he returned to the Protestant faith.] and Tom Killigrew, in his being bred in Ram Ally, and now bound prentice to Lord Cottington, going to Spain with L1000, and two suits of clothes. Thence home to dinner, and thence to Mr. Cooper's, and there met my wife and W. Hewer and Deb.; and there my wife first sat for her picture: but he is a most admirable workman, and good company. Here comes Harris, and first told us how Betterton is come again upon the stage: whereupon my wife and company to the [Duke's] house to see "Henry the Fifth;" while I to attend the Duke of York at the Committee of the Navy, at the Council, where some high dispute between him and W. Coventry about settling pensions upon all Flag-Officers, while unemployed: W. Coventry against it, and, I think, with reason. Thence I to the playhouse, and saw a piece of the play, and glad to see Betterton; and so with wife and Deb. to Spring-garden, and eat a lobster, and so home in the evening and to bed. Great doings at Paris, I hear, with their triumphs for their late conquests! The Duchesse of Richmond sworn last week of the queen's Bedchamber, and the King minding little else but what he used to do--about his women. 7th. Up, and to the office, where Kate Joyce come to me about some tickets of hers, but took no notice to me of her being married, but seemed mighty pale, and doubtful what to say or do, expecting, I believe, that I should begin; and not finding me beginning, said nothing, but, with trouble in her face, went away. At the office all the morning, and after dinner also all the afternoon, and in the evening with my wife and Deb. and Betty Turner to Unthanke's, where we are fain to go round by Newgate, because of Fleet Bridge being under rebuilding. They stayed there, and I about some business, and then presently back and brought them home and supped and Mrs. Turner, the mother, comes to us, and there late, and so to bed. 8th. Betimes by water to Sir W. Coventry, and there discoursed of several things; and I find him much concerned in the present enquiries now on foot of the Commissioners of Accounts, though he reckons himself and the rest very safe, but vexed to see us liable to these troubles, in things wherein we have laboured to do best. Thence, he being to go out of town to-morrow, to drink Banbury waters, I to the Duke of York, to attend him about business of the Office; and find him mighty free to me, and how he is concerned to mend things in the Navy himself, and not leave it to other people. So home to dinner; and then with my wife to Cooper's, and there saw her sit; and he do do extraordinary things indeed. So to White Hall; and there by and by the Duke of York comes to the Robe-chamber, and spent with us three hours till night, in hearing the business of the Master-Attendants of Chatham, and the Store-keeper of Woolwich; and resolves to displace them all; so hot he is of giving proofs of his justice at this time, that it is their great fate now, to come to be questioned at such a time as this. Thence I to Unthanke's, and took my wife and Deb. home, and to supper and to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and after noon to the office again till night, mighty busy getting Mr. Fist to come and help me, my own clerks all busy, and so in the evening to ease my eyes, and with my wife and Deb. and Betty Turner, by coach to Unthanke's and back again, and then to supper and to bed. 10th. Up, and to attend the Council, but all in vain, the Council spending all the morning upon a business about the printing of the Critickes, a dispute between the first Printer, one Bee that is dead, and the Abstractor, who would now print his Abstract, one Poole. So home to dinner, and thence to Haward's to look upon an Espinette, and I did come near the buying one, but broke off. I have a mind to have one. So to Cooper's; and there find my wife and W. Hewer and Deb., sitting, and painting; and here he do work finely, though I fear it will not be so like as I expected: but now I understand his great skill in musick, his playing and setting to the French lute most excellently; and speaks French, and indeed is an excellent man. Thence, in the evening, with my people in a glass hackney-coach to the park, but was ashamed to be seen. So to the lodge, and drank milk, and so home to supper and to bed. 11th. At the office all the morning. After dinner to the King's playhouse, to see an old play of Shirly's, called "Hide Parker" the first day acted; where horses are brought upon the stage but it is but a very moderate play, only an excellent epilogue spoke by Beck Marshall. Thence home and to my office, and then to supper and to bed, and overnight took some pills, 12th. Which work with me pretty betimes, being Lord's day, and so I within all day. Busy all the morning upon some accounts with W. Hewer, and at noon, an excellent dinner, comes Pelling and W. Howe, and the latter staid and talked with me all the afternoon, and in the evening comes Mr. Mills and his wife and supped and talked with me, and so to bed. This last night Betty Michell about midnight cries out, and my wife goes to her, and she brings forth a girl, and this afternoon the child is christened, and my wife godmother again to a Betty. 13th. Up, and to my office, and thence by water to White Hall to attend the Council, but did not, and so home to dinner, and so out with my wife, and Deb., and W. Hewer towards Cooper's, but I 'light and walked to Ducke Lane, and there to the bookseller's; at the Bible, whose moher je have a mind to, but elle no erat dentro, but I did there look upon and buy some books, and made way for coming again to the man, which pleases me. Thence to Reeves's, and there saw some, and bespoke a little perspective, and was mightily pleased with seeing objects in a dark room. And so to Cooper's, and spent the afternoon with them; and it will be an excellent picture. Thence my people all by water to Deptford, to see Balty, while I to buy my espinette, [Espinette is the French term for a small harpsichord, at that time called in England a spinet. It was named from a fancied resemblance of its quill plectra to spines or thorns.] which I did now agree for, and did at Haward's meet with Mr. Thacker, and heard him play on the harpsicon, so as I never heard man before, I think. So home, it being almost night, and there find in the garden Pelling, who hath brought Tempest, Wallington, and Pelham, to sings and there had most excellent musick late, in the dark, with great pleasure. Made them drink and eat; and so with much pleasure to bed, but above all with little Wallington. This morning I was let blood, and did bleed about fourteen ounces, towards curing my eyes. 14th. Up, and to my office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence all the afternoon hard at the office, we meeting about the Victualler's new contract; and so into the garden, my Lady Pen, Mrs. Turner and her daughter, my wife and I, and there supped in the dark and were merry, and so to bed. This day Bossc finished his copy of my picture, which I confess I do not admire, though my wife prefers him to Browne; nor do I think it like. He do it for W. Hewer, who hath my wife's also, which I like less. This afternoon my Lady Pickering come to see us: I busy, saw her not. But how natural it is for us to slight people out of power, and for people out of power to stoop to see those that while in power they contemned! 15th. Up, and all the morning busy at the office to my great content, attending to the settling of papers there that I may have the more rest in winter for my eyes by how much I do the more in the settling of all things in the summer by daylight. At noon home to dinner, where is brought home the espinette I bought the other day of Haward; costs me L5. So to St. James's, where did our ordinary business with the Duke of York. So to Unthanke's to my wife, and with her and Deb. to visit Mrs. Pierce, whom I do not now so much affect, since she paints. But stayed here a while, and understood from her how my Lady Duchesse of Monmouth is still lame, and likely always to be so, which is a sad chance for a young [lady] to get, only by trying of tricks in dancing. So home, and there Captain Deane come and spent the evening with me, to draw some finishing lines on his fine draught of "The Resolution," the best ship, by all report, in the world, and so to bed. Wonderful hot all day and night, and this the first night that I remember in my life that ever I could lie with only a sheet and one rug. So much I am now stronger than ever I remember myself, at least since before I had the stone. 16th. Up, and to the office, where Yeabsly and Lanyon come to town and to speak with me about a matter wherein they are accused of cheating the King before the Lords' Commissioners of Tangier, and I doubt it true, but I have no hand in it, but will serve them what I can. All the morning at the office, and at noon dined at home, and then to the office again, where we met to finish the draft of the Victualler's contract, and so I by water with my Lord Brouncker to Arundell House, to the Royall Society, and there saw an experiment of a dog's being tied through the back, about the spinal artery, and thereby made void of all motion; and the artery being loosened again, the dog recovers. Thence to Cooper's, and saw his advance on my wife's picture, which will be indeed very fine. So with her to the 'Change, to buy some things, and here I first bought of the sempstress next my bookseller's, where the pretty young girl is, that will be a great beauty. So home, and to supper with my wife in the garden, it being these two days excessively hot, and so to bed. 17th. Up, and fitted myself to discourse before the Council about business of tickets. So to White Hall, where waited on the Duke of York, and then the Council about that business; and I did discourse to their liking, only was too high to assert that nothing could be invented to secure the King more in the business of tickets than there is; which the Duke of Buckingham did except against, and I could have answered, but forbore; but all liked very well. Thence home, and with my wife and Deb. to the King's House to see a play revived called The------, a sorry mean play, that vexed us to sit in so much heat of the weather to hear it. Thence to see Betty Michell newly lain in, and after a little stay we took water and to Spring Garden, and there walked, and supped, and staid late, and with much pleasure, and to bed. The weather excessive hot, so as we were forced to lie in two beds, and I only with a sheet and rug, which is colder than ever I remember I could bear. 18th. At the office all the morning. At noon dined at home and Creed with me, who I do really begin to hate, and do use him with some reservedness. Here was also my old acquaintance, Will Swan, to see me, who continues a factious fanatick still, and I do use him civilly, in expectation that those fellows may grow great again. Thence to the office, and then with my wife to the 'Change and Unthanke's, after having been at Cooper's and sat there for her picture, which will be a noble picture, but yet I think not so like as Hales's is. So home and to my office, and then to walk in the garden, and home to supper and to bed. They say the King of France is making a war again, in Flanders, with the King of Spain; the King of Spain refusing to give him all that he says was promised him in the treaty. Creed told me this day how when the King was at my Lord Cornwallis's when he went last to Newmarket, that being there on a Sunday, the Duke of Buckingham did in the afternoon to please the King make a bawdy sermon to him out of Canticles, and that my Lord Cornwallis did endeavour to get the King a whore, and that must be a pretty girl the daughter of the parson of the place, but that she did get away, and leaped off of some place and killed herself, which if true is very sad. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, and there I up and down in the house spent the morning getting things ready against noon, when come Mr. Cooper, Hales, Harris, Mr. Butler, that wrote Hudibras, and Mr. Cooper's cozen Jacke; and by and by comes Mr. Reeves and his wife, whom I never saw before: and there we dined: a good dinner, and company that pleased me mightily, being all eminent men in their way. Spent all the afternoon in talk and mirth, and in the evening parted, and then my wife and I to walk in the garden, and so home to supper, Mrs. Turner and husband and daughter with us, and then to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office, where Mrs. Daniel comes.... All the morning at the office. Dined at home, then with Mr. Colvill to the new Excise Office in Aldersgate Street, and thence back to the Old Exchange, to see a very noble fine lady I spied as I went through, in coming; and there took occasion to buy some gloves, and admire her, and a mighty fine fair lady indeed she was. Thence idling all the afternoon to Duck Lane, and there saw my bookseller's moher, but get no ground there yet; and here saw Mrs. Michell's daughter married newly to a bookseller, and she proves a comely little grave woman. So to visit my Lord Crew, who is very sick, to great danger, by an irisipulus;--[Erysipelas.]--the first day I heard of it, and so home, and took occasion to buy a rest for my espinette at the ironmonger's by Holborn Conduit, where the fair pretty woman is that I have lately observed there, and she is pretty, and je credo vain enough. Thence home and busy till night, and so to bed. 21st. Up, and to St. James's, but lost labour, the Duke abroad. So home to the office, where all the morning, and so to dinner, and then all the afternoon at the office, only went to my plate-maker's, and there spent an hour about contriving my little plates, [This passage has been frequently quoted as referring to Pepys's. small bookplate, with his initials S. P. and two anchors and ropes entwined; but if looked at carefully with the further reference on the 27th, it will be seen that it merely describes the preparation of engravings of the four dockyards.] for my books of the King's four Yards. At night walked in the garden, and supped and to bed, my eyes bad. 22nd. All the morning at the office. Dined at home, and then to White Hall with Symson the joyner, and after attending at the Committee of the Navy about the old business of tickets, where the only expedient they have found is to bind the Commanders and Officers by oaths. The Duke of York told me how the Duke of Buckingham, after the Council the other day, did make mirth at my position, about the sufficiency of present rules in the business of tickets; and here I took occasion to desire a private discourse with the Duke of York, and he granted it to me on Friday next. So to shew Symson the King's new lodgings for his chimnies, which I desire to have one built in that mode, and so I home, and with little supper, to bed. This day a falling out between my wife and Deb., about a hood lost, which vexed me. 23rd. Up, and all day long, but at dinner, at the Office, at work, till I was almost blind, which makes my heart sad. 24th. Up, and by water to St. James's, having, by the way, shewn Symson Sir W. Coventry's chimney-pieces, in order to the making me one; and there, after the Duke of York was ready, he called me to his closet; and there I did long and largely show him the weakness of our Office, and did give him advice to call us to account for our duties, which he did take mighty well, and desired me to draw up what I would have him write to the Office. I did lay open the whole failings of the Office, and how it was his duty to find them, and to find fault with them, as Admiral, especially at this time, which he agreed to, and seemed much to rely on what I said. Thence to White Hall, and there waited to attend the Council, but was not called in, and so home, and after dinner back with Sir J. Minnes by coach, and there attended, all of us, the Duke of York, and had the hearing of Mr. Pett's business, the Master-Shipwright at Chatham, and I believe he will be put out. But here Commissioner. Middleton did, among others, shew his good-nature and easiness to the Masters-Attendants, by mitigating their faults, so as, I believe, they will come in again. So home, and to supper and to bed, the Duke of York staying with us till almost night. 25th. Up, and at the Office all the morning; and at noon, after dinner, to Cooper's, it being a very rainy day, and there saw my wife's picture go on, which will be very fine indeed. And so home again to my letters, and then to supper and to bed. 26th (Lord's day). Up, and all the morning and after dinner, the afternoon also, with W. Hewer in my closet, setting right my Tangier Accounts, which I have let alone these six months and more, but find them very right, and is my great comfort. So in the evening to walk with my wife, and to supper and to bed. 27th. Busy all the morning at my office. At noon dined, and then I out of doors to my bookseller in Duck Lane, but su moher not at home, and it was pretty here to see a pretty woman pass by with a little wanton look, and je did sequi her round about the street from Duck Lane to Newgate Market, and then elle did turn back, and je did lose her. And so to see my Lord Crew, whom I find up; and did wait on him; but his face sore, but in hopes to do now very well again. Thence to Cooper's, where my wife's picture almost done, and mighty fine indeed. So over the water with my wife, and Deb., and Mercer, to Spring-Garden, and there eat and walked; and observe how rude some of the young gallants of the town are become, to go into people's arbours where there are not men, and almost force the women; which troubled me, to see the confidence of the vice of the age: and so we away by water, with much pleasure home. This day my plate-maker comes with my four little plates of the four Yards, cost me L5, which troubles me, but yet do please me also. 28th. All the morning at the office, and after dinner with my wife and Deb. to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Slighted Maid," but a mean play; and thence home, there being little pleasure now in a play, the company being but little. Here we saw Gosnell, who is become very homely, and sings meanly, I think, to what I thought she did. 29th. Busy all the morning at the office. So home to dinner, where Mercer, and there comes Mr. Swan, my old acquaintance, and dines with me, and tells me, for a certainty, that Creed is to marry Betty Pickering, and that the thing is concluded, which I wonder at, and am vexed for. So he gone I with my wife and two girls to the King's house, and saw "The Mad Couple," a mean play altogether, and thence to Hyde Parke, where but few coaches, and so to the New Exchange, and thence by water home, with much pleasure, and then to sing in the garden, and so home to bed, my eyes for these four days being my trouble, and my heart thereby mighty sad. 30th. Up, and by water to White Hall. There met with Mr. May, who was giving directions about making a close way for people to go dry from the gate up into the House, to prevent their going through the galleries; which will be very good. I staid and talked with him about the state of the King's Offices in general, and how ill he is served, and do still find him an excellent person, and so back to the office. So close at my office all the afternoon till evening, and then out with my wife to the New Exchange, and so back again. 31st. Up, and at my office all the morning. About noon with Mr. Ashburnham to the new Excise Office, and there discoursed about our business, and I made him admire my drawing a thing presently in shorthand: but, God knows! I have paid dear for it, in my eyes. Home and to dinner, and then my wife and Deb. and I, with Sir J. Minnes, to White Hall, she going hence to the New Exchange, and the Duke of York not being in the way, Sir J. Minnes and I to her and took them two to the King's house, to see the first day of Lacy's "Monsieur Ragou," now new acted. The King and Court all there, and mighty merry--a farce. Thence Sir J. Minnes giving us, like a gentleman, his coach, hearing we had some business, we to the Park, and so home. Little pleasure there, there being little company, but mightily taken with a little chariot that we saw in the street, and which we are resolved to have ours like it. So home to walk in the garden a little, and then to bed. The month ends mighty sadly with me, my eyes being now past all use almost; and I am mighty hot upon trying the late printed experiment of paper tubes. [An account of these tubulous spectacles ("An easy help for decayed sight") is given in "The Philosophical Transactions," No. 37, pp. 727,731 (Hutton's Abridgment, vol. i., p. 266). See Diary, August 12th and 23rd, post.] AUGUST 1668 August 1st. All the morning at the office. After dinner my wife, and Deb., and I, to the King's house again, coming too late yesterday to hear the prologue, and do like the play better now than before; and, indeed, there is a great deal of true wit in it, more than in the common sort of plays, and so home to my business, and at night to bed, my eyes making me sad. 2nd. (Lord's day). Up and at home all the morning, hanging, and removing of some pictures, in my study and house. At noon Pelling dined with me. After dinner, I and Tom, my boy, by water up to Putney, and there heard a sermon, and many fine people in the church. Thence walked to Barne Elmes, and there, and going and coming, did make the boy read to me several things, being now-a-days unable to read myself anything, for above two lines together, but my eyes grow weary. Home about night, and so to supper and then to bed. 3rd. Up, and by water to White Hall and St. James's, where I did much business, and about noon meeting Dr. Gibbons, carried him to the Sun taverne, in King Street, and there made him, and some friends of his, drink; among others, Captain Silas Taylor, and here did get Gibbons to promise me some things for my flageolets. So to the Old Exchange, and then home to dinner, and so, Mercer dining with us, I took my wife and her and Deb. out to Unthanke's, while I to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and so back to them and took them out to Islington, where we met with W. Joyce and his wife and boy, and there eat and drank, and a great deal of his idle talk, and so we round by Hackney home, and so to sing a little in the garden, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and to my office a little, and then to White Hall about a Committee for Tangier at my Lord Arlington's, where, by Creed's being out of town, I have the trouble given me of drawing up answers to the complaints of the Turks of Algiers, and so I have all the papers put into my hand. Here till noon, and then back to the Office, where sat a little, and then to dinner, and presently to the office, where come to me my Lord Bellassis, Lieutenant-Colonell Fitzgerald, newly come from Tangier, and Sir Arthur Basset, and there I received their informations, and so, they being gone, I with my clerks and another of Lord Brouncker's, Seddon, sat up till two in the morning, drawing up my answers and writing them fair, which did trouble me mightily to sit up so long, because of my eyes. 5th. So to bed about two o'clock, and then up about seven and to White Hall, where read over my report to Lord Arlington and Berkeley, and then afterward at the Council Board with great good liking, but, Lord! how it troubled my eyes, though I did not think I could have done it, but did do it, and was not very bad afterward. So home to dinner, and thence out to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw "The Guardian;" formerly the same, I find, that was called "Cutter of Coleman Street;" a silly play. And thence to Westminster Hall, where I met Fitzgerald; and with him to a tavern, to consider of the instructions for Sir Thomas Allen, against his going to Algiers; he and I being designed to go down to Portsmouth by the Council's order, and by and by he and I went to the Duke of York, who orders me to go down to-morrow morning. So I away home, and there bespeak a coach; and so home and to bed, my wife being abroad with the Mercers walking in the fields, and upon the water. 6th. Waked betimes, and my wife, at an hour's warning, is resolved to go with me, which pleases me, her readiness. But, before ready, comes a letter from Fitzgerald, that he is seized upon last night by an order of the General's by a file of musqueteers, and kept prisoner in his chamber. The Duke of York did tell me of it to-day: it is about a quarrel between him and Witham, and they fear a challenge: so I to him, and sent my wife by the coach round to Lambeth. I lost my labour going to his lodgings, and he in bed: and, staying a great while for him, I at last grew impatient, and would stay no longer; but to St. James's to Mr. Wren, to bid him "God be with you!" and so over the water to Fox Hall; and there my wife and Deb. come and took me up, and we away to Gilford, losing our way for three or four mile, about Cobham. At Gilford we dined; and, I shewed them the hospitall there of Bishop Abbot's, and his tomb in the church, which, and the rest of the tombs there, are kept mighty clean and neat, with curtains before them. So to coach again, and got to Lippock,2 late over Hindhead, having an old man, a guide, in the coach with us; but got thither with great fear of being out of our way, it being ten at night. Here good, honest people; and after supper, to bed.... 7th. Up, and to coach, and with a guide to Petersfield, where I find Sir Thomas Allen and Mr. Tippets come; the first about the business, the latter only in respect to me; as also Fitzgerald, who come post all last night, and newly arrived here. We four sat down presently to our business, and in an hour despatched all our talk; and did inform Sir Thomas Allen well in it, who, I perceive, in serious matters, is a serious man: and tells me he wishes all we are told be true, in our defence; for he finds by all, that the Turks have, to this day, been very civil to our merchant-men everywhere; and, if they would have broke with us, they never had such an opportunity over our rich merchant-men, as lately, coming out of the Streights. Then to dinner, and pretty merry: and here was Mr. Martin, the purser, and dined with us, and wrote some things for us. And so took coach again back; Fitzgerald with us, whom I was pleased with all the day, with his discourse of his observations abroad, as being a great soldier and of long standing abroad: and knows all things and persons abroad very well--I mean, the great soldiers of France, and Spain, and Germany; and talks very well. Come at night to Gilford, where the Red Lyon so full of people, and a wedding, that the master of the house did get us a lodging over the way, at a private house, his landlord's, mighty neat and fine; and there supped and talked with the landlord and his wife: and so to bed with great content, only Fitzgerald lay at the Inne. So to bed. 8th. Up, and I walked out, and met Uncle Wight, whom I sent to last night, and Mr. Wight coming to see us, and I walked with them back to see my aunt at Katherine Hill, and there walked up and down the hill and places, about: but a dull place, but good ayre, and the house dull. But here I saw my aunt, after many days not seeing her--I think, a year or two; and she walked with me to see my wife. And here, at the Red Lyon, we all dined together, and mighty merry, and then parted: and we home to Fox Hall, where Fitzgerald and I 'light, and by water to White Hall, where the Duke of York being abroad, I by coach and met my wife, who went round, and after doing at the office a little, and finding all well at home, I to bed. I hear that Colbert, the French Ambassador, is come, and hath been at Court incognito. When he hath his audience, I know not. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to Holborne, where got John Powell's coach at the Black Swan, and he attended me at St. James's, where waited on the Duke of York: and both by him and several of the Privy-Council, beyond expectation, I find that my going to Sir Thomas Allen was looked upon as a thing necessary: and I have got some advantage by it, among them. Thence to White Hall, and thence to visit Lord Brouncker, and back to White Hall, where saw the Queen and ladies; and so, with Mr. Slingsby, to Mrs. Williams's, thinking to dine with Lord Brouncker there, but did not, having promised my wife to come home, though here I met Knepp, to my great content. So home; and, after dinner, I took my wife and Deb. round by Hackney, and up and down to take the ayre; and then home, and made visits to Mrs. Turner, and Mrs. Mercer, and Sir W. Pen, who is come from Epsom not well, and Sir J. Minnes, who is not well neither. And so home to supper, and to set my books a little right, and then to bed. This day Betty Michell come and dined with us, the first day after her lying in, whom I was glad to see. 10th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence to Sir W. Coventry, but he is gone out of town this morning, so thence to my Lord Arlington's house, the first time I there since he come thither, at Goring House, a very fine, noble place; and there he received me in sight of several Lords with great respect. I did give him an account of my journey; and here, while I waited for him a little, my Lord Orrery took notice of me, and begun discourse of hangings, and of the improvement of shipping: I not thinking that he knew me, but did then discover it, with a mighty compliment of my abilities and ingenuity, which I am mighty proud of; and he do speak most excellently. Thence to Westminster Hall, and so by coach to the old Exchange, and there did several businesses, and so home to dinner, and then abroad to Duck Lane, where I saw my belle femme of the book vendor, but had no opportunity para hazer con her. So away to Cooper's, where I spent all the afternoon with my wife and girl, seeing him-make an end of her picture, which he did Jo my great content, though not so great as, I confess, I expected, being not satisfied in the greatness of the resemblance, nor in the blue garment: but it is most certainly a most rare piece of work, as to the painting. He hath L30 for his work--and the chrystal, and case, and gold case comes to L8 3s. 4d.; and which I sent him this night, that I might be out of debt. Thence my people home, and I to Westminster Hall about a little business, and so by water home [to] supper, and my wife to read a ridiculous book I bought today of the History of the Taylors' Company, [The title of this book was, "The Honour of the Merchant Taylors." Wherein is set forth the noble acts, valliant deeds, and heroick performances of Merchant Taylors in former ages; their honourable loves, and knightly adventures, their combating of foreign enemies and glorious successes in honour of the English nation: together with their pious....] and all the while Deb. did comb my head, and I did toker her with my main para very great pleasure, and so to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to Sir W. Coventry to visit him, whom I find yet troubled at the Commissioners of Accounts, about this business of Sir W. Warren, which is a ridiculous thing, and can come to nothing but contempt, and thence to Westminster Hall, where the Parliament met enough to adjourne, which they did, to the 10th of November next, and so by water home to the office, and so to dinner, and thence at the Office all the afternoon till night, being mightily pleased with a little trial I have made of the use of a tube-spectacall of paper, tried with my right eye. This day I hear that, to the great joy of the Nonconformists, the time is out of the Act against them, so that they may meet: and they have declared that they will have a morning lecture [During the troubled reign of Charles I., the House of Commons gave parishioners the right of appointing lecturers at the various churches without the consent of rector or vicar, and this naturally gave rise to many quarrels. In the early period of the war between the king and the parliament, a course of sermons or lectures was projected in aid of the parliamentary cause. These lectures, which were preached by eminent Presbyterian divines at seven o'clock on the Sunday mornings, were commenced in the church of St. Mary Magdalen in Milk Street, but were soon afterwards removed to St. Giles's, Cripplegate. After the Restoration the lectures were collected in four volumes, and published under the title of the "Cripplegate Morning Exercises," vol. i. in 1661; vol. ii. in 1674; vol. iii. in 1682; and vol. iv. in 1690. In addition there were two volumes which form a supplement to the work, viz., "The Morning Exercises methodized," preached at St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, edited by the Rev. Thomas Case in 1660, and the "Exercises against Popery," preached in Southwark, and published in 1675 (see Demon's "Records of St. Giles's, Crinnlegate," 1883, pp. 55-56).] up again, which is pretty strange; and they are connived at by the King every where, I hear, in City and country. So to visit W. Pen, who is yet ill, and then home, where W. Batelier and Mrs. Turner come and sat and supped with us, and so they gone we to bed. This afternoon my wife, and Mercer, and Deb., went with Pelting to see the gypsies at Lambeth, and have their fortunes told; but what they did, I did not enquire. 12th. Up, and all the morning busy at my office. Thence to the Excise Office, and so to the Temple to take counsel about Major Nicholls's business for the King. So to several places about business, and among others to Drumbleby's about the mouths for my paper tubes, and so to the 'Change and home. Met Captain Cocke, who tells me that he hears for certain the Duke of York will lose the authority of an Admiral, and be governed by a Committee: and all our Office changed; only they are in dispute whether I shall continue or no, which puts new thoughts in me, but I know not whether to be glad or sorry. Home to dinner, where Pelting dines with us, and brings some partridges, which is very good meat; and, after dinner, I, and wife, and Mercer, and Deb., to the Duke of York's house, and saw "Mackbeth," to our great content, and then home, where the women went to the making of my tubes, and I to the office, and then come Mrs. Turner and her husband to advise about their son, the Chaplain, who is turned out of his ship, a sorrow to them, which I am troubled for, and do give them the best advice I can, and so they gone we to bed. 13th. Up, and Greeting comes, and there he and I tried some things of Mr. Locke's for two flageolets, to my great content, and this day my wife begins again to learn of him; for I have a great mind for her to be able to play a part with me. Thence I to the Office, where all the afternoon [morning??], and then to dinner, where W. Howe dined with me, who tells me for certain that Creed is like to speed in his match with Mrs. Betty Pickering. Here dined with me also Mr. Hollier, who is mighty vain in his pretence to talk Latin. So to the Office again all the afternoon till night, very busy, and so with much content home, and made my wife sing and play on the flageolet to me till I slept with great pleasure in bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall and St. James's, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and discourse about business of our Office, telling him my trouble there, to see how things are ordered. I told him also what Cocke told me the other day, but he says there is not much in it, though he do know that this hath been in the eye of some persons to compass for the turning all things in the navy, and that it looks so like a popular thing as that he thinks something may be done in it, but whether so general or no, as I tell it him, he knows not. Thence to White Hall, and there wait at the Council-chamber door a good while, talking with one or other, and so home by water, though but for a little while, because I am to return to White Hall. At home I find Symson, putting up my new chimney-piece, in our great chamber, which is very fine, but will cost a great deal of money, but it is not flung away. So back to White Hall, and after the council up, I with Mr. Wren, by invitation, to Sir Stephen Fox's to dinner, where the Cofferer and Sir Edward Savage; where many good stories of the antiquity and estates of many families at this day in Cheshire, and that part of the kingdom, more than what is on this side, near London. My Lady [Fox] dining with us; a very good lady, and a family governed so nobly and neatly as do me good to see it. Thence the Cofferer, Sir Stephen, and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury about business: and so I up to the Duke of York, who enquired for what I had promised him, about my observations of the miscarriages of our Office; [This refers to the letter on the affairs of the office which Pepys prepared, and respecting which, and the proceedings which grew out of it, so many references are made in future pages of the Diary.] and I told him he should have it next week, being glad he called for it; for I find he is concerned to do something, and to secure himself thereby, I believe: for the world is labouring to eclipse him, I doubt; I mean, the factious part of the Parliament. The Office met this afternoon as usual, and waited on him; where, among other things, he talked a great while of his intentions of going to Dover soon, to be sworn as Lord Warden, which is a matter of great ceremony and state, and so to the Temple with Mr. Wren, to the Attorney's chamber, about business, but he abroad, and so I home, and there spent the evening talking with my wife and piping, and pleased with our chimney-piece, and so to bed. 15th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and after dinner with my wife, Mercer, and Deb., to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Love's Mistresse" revived, the thing pretty good, but full of variety of divertisement. So home and to my business at the office, my eyes bad again, and so to bed. 16th (Lord's day). All the morning at my Office with W. Hewer, there drawing up my Report to the Duke of York, as I have promised, about the faults of this Office, hoping thereby to have opportunity of doing myself [something]. At noon to dinner, and again with him to work all the afternoon till night, till I was weary and had despatched a good deal of business, and so to bed after hearing my wife read a little. 17th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and so to St. James's, and thence with Mr. Wren by appointment in his coach to Hampstead, to speak with the Atturney-general, whom we met in the fields, by his old route and house; and after a little talk about our business of Ackeworth, went and saw the Lord Wotton's house and garden, which is wonderfull fine: too good for the house the gardens are, being, indeed, the most noble that ever I saw, and brave orange and lemon trees. Thence to Mr. Chichley's by invitation, and there dined with Sir John, his father not coming home. And while at dinner comes by the French Embassador Colbert's mules, the first I eversaw, with their sumpter-clothes mighty rich, and his coaches, he being to have his entry to-day: but his things, though rich, are not new; supposed to be the same his brother [A mistake of Pepys's. Colbert de Croissy, then in England, had himself been the French Plenipotentiary at Aix-la-Chapelle.--B.] had the other day, at the treaty at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Flanders. Thence to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Cupid's Revenge," under the new name of "Love Despised," that hath something very good in it, though I like not the whole body of it. This day the first time acted here. Thence home, and there with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer late, reading over all the principal officers' instructions in order to my great work upon my hand, and so to bed, my eyes very ill. 18th. Up, and to my office about my great business betimes, and so to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined, and then to the office all the afternoon also, and in the evening to Sir W. Coventry's, but he not within, I took coach alone to the Park, to try to meet him there, but did not; but there were few coaches, but among the few there were in two coaches our two great beauties, my Lady Castlemayne and Richmond; the first time I saw the latter since she had the smallpox. I had much pleasure to see them, but I thought they were strange one to another. Thence going out I met a coach going, which I thought had Knepp in it, so I went back, but it was not she. So back to White Hall and there took water, and so home, and busy late about my great letter to the Duke of York, and so to supper and to bed.... 19th. Up betimes, and all day and afternoon without going out, busy upon my great letter to the Duke of York, which goes on to my content. W. Hewer and Gibson I employ with me in it. This week my people wash, over the water, and so I little company at home. In the evening, being busy above, a great cry I hear, and go down; and what should it be but Jane, in a fit of direct raving, which lasted half-an-hour. Beyond four or five of our strength to keep her down; and, when all come to all, a fit of jealousy about Tom, with whom she is in love. So at night, I, and my wife, and W. Hewer called them to us, and there I did examine all the thing, and them, in league. She in love, and he hath got her to promise him to marry, and he is now cold in it, so that I must rid my hands of them, which troubles me, and the more because my head is now busy upon other greater things. I am vexed also to be told by W. Hewer that he is summoned to the Commissioners of Accounts about receiving a present of L30 from Mr. Mason, the timber merchant, though there be no harm in it, that will appear on his part, he having done them several lawful kindnesses and never demanded anything, as they themselves have this day declared to the Commissioners, they being forced up by the discovery of somebody that they in confidence had once told it to. So to supper vexed and my head full of care, and so to bed. 20th. Betimes at my business again, and so to the office, and dined with Brouncker and J. Minnes, at Sir W. Pen's at a bad pasty of venison, and so to work again, and at it till past twelve at night, that I might get my great letter [In the Pepysian Library is a MS. (No. 2242), entitled, "Papers conteyning my addresse to his Royall Highnesse James Duke of Yorke, Lord High Admirall of England, &c., by letter dated the 20th of August, 1668, humbly tendering him my advice touching the present State of the Office of the Navy, with his Royall Highness's proceedings upon the same, and their result."] to the Duke of York ready against to-morrow, which I shall do, to my great content. So to bed. 21st. Up betimes, and with my people again to work, and finished all before noon: and then I by water to White Hall, and there did tell the Duke of York that I had done; and he hath to my great content desired me to come to him at Sunday next in the afternoon, to read it over, by which I have more time to consider and correct it. So back home and to the 'Change, in my way calling at Morris', my vintner's, where I love to see su moher, though no acquaintance accostais this day con her. Did several things at the 'Change, and so home to dinner. After dinner I by coach to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and there did spend a little time and regarder su moher, and so to St. James's, where did a little ordinary business; and by and by comes Monsieur Colbert, the French Embassador, to make his first visit to the Duke of York, and then to the Duchess: and I saw it: a silly piece of ceremony, he saying only a few formal words. A comely man, and in a black suit and cloak of silk, which is a strange fashion, now it hath been so long left off: This day I did first see the Duke of York's room of pictures of some Maids of Honour, done by Lilly: good, but not like. [The set of portraits known as "King Charles's Beauties," formerly in Windsor Castle, but now at Hampton Court.--B.] Thence to Reeves's, and bought a reading-glass, and so to my bookseller's again, there to buy a Book of Martyrs, [The popular name of John Fox's "Acts and Monuments," first published in 1562-63.] which I did agree for; and so, after seeing and beginning acquaintance con his femme, but very little, away home, and there busy very late at the correcting my great letter to the Duke of York, and so to bed. 22nd. Up betimes, at it again with great content, and so to the Office, where all the morning, and did fall out with W. Pen about his slight performance of his office, and so home to dinner, fully satisfied that this Office must sink or the whole Service be undone. To the office all the afternoon again, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well at ease, my great letter being now finished to my full content; and I thank God I have opportunity of doing it, though I know it will set the Office and me by the ears for ever. This morning Captain Cocke comes, and tells me that he is now assured that it is true, what he told me the other day, that our whole Office will be turned out, only me, which, whether he says true or no, I know not, nor am much concerned, though I should be better contented to have it thus than otherwise. This afternoon, after I was weary in my business of the office, I went forth to the 'Change, thinking to have spoke with Captain Cocke, but he was not within. So I home, and took London-bridge in my way; walking down Fish Street and Gracious Street, to see how very fine a descent they have now made down the hill, that it is become very easy and pleasant, and going through Leaden-Hall, it being market-day, I did see a woman catched, that had stolen a shoulder of mutton off of a butcher's stall, and carrying it wrapt up in a cloth, in a basket. The jade was surprised, and did not deny it, and the woman so silly, as to let her go that took it, only taking the meat. 23rd (Lord's day). Up betimes, my head busy in my great letter, and I did first hang up my new map of Paris in my green room, and changed others in other places. Then to Captain Cocke's, thinking to have talked more of what he told me yesterday, but he was not within. So back to church, and heard a good sermon of Mr. Gifford's at our church, upon "Seek ye first the kingdom of Heaven and its righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you." A very excellent and persuasive, good and moral sermon. Shewed, like a wise man, that righteousness is a surer moral way of being rich, than sin and villainy. Then home to dinner, where Mr. Pelting, who brought us a hare, which we had at dinner, and W. Howe. After dinner to the Office, Mr. Gibson and I, to examine my letter to the Duke of York, which, to my great joy, I did very well by my paper tube, without pain to my eyes. And I do mightily like what I have therein done; and did, according to the Duke of York's order, make haste to St. James's, and about four o'clock got thither: and there the Duke of York was ready, to expect me, and did hear it all over with extraordinary content; and did give me many and hearty thanks, and in words the most expressive tell me his sense of my good endeavours, and that he would have a care of me on all occasions; and did, with much inwardness,--[i.e., intimacy.]--tell me what was doing, suitable almost to what Captain Cocke tells me, of designs to make alterations in the Navy; and is most open to me in them, and with utmost confidence desires my further advice on all occasions: and he resolves to have my letter transcribed, and sent forthwith to the Office. So, with as much satisfaction as I could possibly, or did hope for, and obligation on the Duke of York's side professed to me, I away into the Park, and there met Mr. Pierce and his wife, and sister and brother, and a little boy, and with them to Mulberry Garden, and spent I 18s. on them, and there left them, she being again with child, and by it, the least pretty that ever I saw her. And so I away, and got a coach, and home, and there with my wife and W. Hewer, talking all the evening, my mind running on the business of the Office, to see what more I can do to the rendering myself acceptable and useful to all and to the King. We to supper, and to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning upon considerations on the Victualler's contract, and then home to dinner, where my wife is upon hanging the long chamber where the girl lies, with the sad stuff that was in the best chamber, in order to the hanging that with tapestry. So to dinner, and then to the office again, where all the afternoon till night, we met to discourse upon the alterations which are propounded to be made in the draft of the victualler's contract which we did lately make, and then we being up comes Mr. Child, Papillion and Littleton, his partners, to discourse upon the matter with me, which I did, and spent all the evening with them at the office, and so, they being gone, I to supper and talk with my wife, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and by water to St. James's, and there, with Mr. Wren, did discourse about my great letter, which the Duke of York hath given him: and he hath set it to be transcribed by Billings, his man, whom, as he tells me, he can most confide in for secresy, and is much pleased with it, and earnest to have it be; and he and I are like to be much together in the considering how to reform the Office, and that by the Duke of York's command. Thence I, mightily pleased with this success, away to the Office, where all the morning, my head full of this business. And it is pretty how Lord Brouncker this day did tell me how he hears that a design is on foot to remove us out of the Office: and proposes that we two do agree to draw up a form of a new constitution of the Office, there to provide remedies for the evils we are now under, so that we may be beforehand with the world, which I agreed to, saying nothing of my design; and, the truth is, he is the best man of them all, and I would be glad, next myself, to save him; for, as he deserves best, so I doubt he needs his place most. So home to dinner at noon, and all the afternoon busy at the office till night, and then with my mind full of business now in my head, I to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning almost, busy about business against the afternoon, and we met a little to sign two or three things at the Board of moment, and thence at noon home to dinner, and so away to White Hall by water. In my way to the Old Swan, finding a great many people gathered together in Cannon Street about a man that was working in the ruins, and the ground did sink under him, and he sunk in, and was forced to be dug out again, but without hurt. Thence to White Hall, and it is strange to say with what speed the people employed do pull down Paul's steeple, and with what ease: it is said that it, and the choir are to be taken down this year, and another church begun in the room thereof, the next. At White Hall we met at the Treasury chamber, and there before the Lords did debate our draft of the victualling contract with the several bidders for it, which were Sir D. Gawden, Mr. Child and his fellows, and Mr. Dorrington and his, a poor variety in a business of this value. There till after candle-lighting, and so home by coach with Sir D. Gawden, who, by the way, tells me how the City do go on in several things towards the building of the public places, which I am glad to hear; and gives hope that in a few years it will be a glorious place; but we met with several stops and new troubles in the way in the streets, so as makes it bad to travel in the dark now through the City. So I to Mr. Batelier's by appointment, where I find my wife, and Deb., and Mercer; Mrs. Pierce and her husband, son, and daughter; and Knepp and Harris, and W. Batelier, and his sister Mary, and cozen Gumbleton, a good-humoured, fat young gentleman, son to the jeweller, that dances well; and here danced all night long, with a noble supper; and about two in the morning the table spread again for a noble breakfast beyond all moderation, that put me out of countenance, so much and so good. Mrs. Pierce and her people went home betimes, she being big with child; but Knepp and the rest staid till almost three in the morning, and then broke up. 27th. Knepp home with us, and I to bed, and rose about six, mightily pleased with last night's mirth, and away by water to St. James's, and there, with Mr. Wren, did correct his copy of my letter, which the Duke of York hath signed in my very words, without alteration of a syllable. [A copy of this letter is in the British Museum, Harl. MS. 6003. See July 24th, ante, and August 29th, Post. In the Pepysian Collection are the following: An Inquisition, by his Royal Highness the Duke of York, when Lord High Admiral of England, into the Management of the Navy, 1668, with his Regulations thereon, fol. Also Mr. Pepys's Defence of the same upon an Inquisition thereunto by Parliament, 1669, fol.--B.] And so pleased therewith, I to my Lord Brouncker, who I find within, but hath business, and so comes not to the Office to-day. And so I by water to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and, just as the Board rises, comes the Duke of York's letter, which I knowing, and the Board not being full, and desiring rather to have the Duke of York deliver it himself to us, I suppressed it for this day, my heart beginning to falsify in this business, as being doubtful of the trouble it may give me by provoking them; but, however, I am resolved to go through it, and it is too late to help it now. At noon to dinner to Captain Cocke's, where I met with Mr. Wren; my going being to tell him what I have done, which he likes, and to confer with Cocke about our Office; who tells me that he is confident the design of removing our Officers do hold, but that he is sure that I am safe enough. Which pleases me, though I do not much shew it to him, but as a thing indifferent. So away home, and there met at Sir Richard Ford's with the Duke of York's Commissioners about our Prizes, with whom we shall have some trouble before we make an end with them, and hence, staying a little with them, I with my wife, and W. Batelier, and Deb.; carried them to Bartholomew Fayre, where we saw the dancing of the ropes and nothing else, it being late, and so back home to supper and to bed, after having done at my office. 28th. Busy at the office till toward 10 o'clock, and then by water to White Hall, where attending the Council's call all the morning with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, and the rest, about the business of supernumeraries in the fleete, but were not called in. But here the Duke of York did call me aside, and told me that he must speak with me in the afternoon, with Mr. Wren, for that now he hath got the paper from my Lord Keeper about the exceptions taken against the management of the Navy; and so we are to debate upon answering them. At noon I home with W. Coventry to his house; and there dined with him, and talked freely with him; and did acquaint him with what I have done, which he is well pleased with, and glad of: and do tell me that there are endeavours on foot to bring the Navy into new, but, he fears, worse hands. After much talk with great content with him, I walked to the Temple, and staid at Starky's, my bookseller's (looking over Dr. Heylin's new book of the Life of Bishop Laud, a strange book of the Church History of his time), till Mr. Wren comes, and by appointment we to the Atturney General's chamber, and there read and heard the witnesses in the business of Ackeworth, most troublesome and perplexed by the counter swearing of the witnesses one against the other, and so with Mr. Wren away thence to St. [James's] for his papers, and so to White Hall, and after the Committee was done at the Council chamber about the business of Supernumeraries, wherein W. Pen was to do all and did, but like an ignorant illiterate coxcomb, the Duke of York fell to work with us, the Committee being gone, in the Council-chamber; and there, with his own hand, did give us his long letter, telling us that he had received several from us, and now did give us one from him, taking notice of our several duties and failures, and desired answer to it, as he therein desired; this pleased me well; and so fell to other business, and then parted. And the Duke of York, and Wren, and I, it being now candle-light, into the Duke of York's closet in White Hall; and there read over this paper of my Lord Keeper's, wherein are laid down the faults of the Navy, so silly, and the remedies so ridiculous, or else the same that are now already provided, that we thought it not to need any answer, the Duke of York being able himself to do it: that so it makes us admire the confidence of these men to offer things so silly, in a business of such moment. But it is a most perfect instance of the complexion of the times! and so the Duke of York said himself, who, I perceive, is mightily concerned in it, and do, again and again, recommend it to Mr. Wren and me together, to consider upon remedies fit to provide for him to propound to the King, before the rest of the world, and particularly the Commissioners of Accounts, who are men of understanding and order, to find our faults, and offer remedies of their own, which I am glad of, and will endeavour to do something in it. So parted, and with much difficulty, by candle-light, walked over the Matted Gallery, as it is now with the mats and boards all taken up, so that we walked over the rafters. But strange to see what hard matter the plaister of Paris is, that is there taken up, as hard as stone! And pity to see Holben's work in the ceiling blotted on, and only whited over! Thence; with much ado, by several coaches home, to supper and to bed. My wife having been this day with Hales, to sit for her hand to be mended, in her picture. 29th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where the Duke of York's long letter was read, to their great trouble, and their suspecting me to have been the writer of it. And at noon comes, by appointment, Harris to dine with me and after dinner he and I to Chyrurgeon's-hall, where they are building it new, very fine; and there to see their theatre; which stood all the fire, and, which was our business, their great picture of Holben's, thinking to have bought it, by the help of Mr. Pierce, for a little money: I did think to give L200 for it, it being said to be worth L1000; but it is so spoiled that I have no mind to it, and is not a pleasant, though a good picture. Thence carried Harris to his playhouse, where, though four o'clock, so few people there at "The Impertinents," as I went out; and do believe they did not act, though there was my Lord Arlington and his company there. So I out, and met my wife in a coach, and stopped her going thither to meet me; and took her, and Mercer, and Deb., to Bartholomew Fair, and there did see a ridiculous, obscene little stage-play, called "Marry Andrey;" a foolish thing, but seen by every body; and so to Jacob Hall's dancing of the ropes; a thing worth seeing, and mightily followed, and so home and to the office, and then to bed. Writing to my father to-night not to unfurnish our house in the country for my sister, who is going to her own house, because I think I may have occasion myself to come thither; and so I do, by our being put out of the Office, which do not at all trouble me to think of. 30th (Lord's day). Walked to St. James's and Pell Mell, and read over, with Sir W. Coventry, my long letter to the Duke of York, and which the Duke of York hath, from mine, wrote to the Board, wherein he is mightily pleased, and I perceive do put great value upon me, and did talk very openly on all matters of State, and how some people have got the bit into their mouths, meaning the Duke of Buckingham and his party, and would likely run away with all. But what pleased me mightily was to hear the good character he did give of my Lord Falmouth for his generosity, good-nature, desire of public good, and low thoughts of his own wisdom; his employing his interest in the King to do good offices to all people, without any other fault than the freedom he, do learn in France of thinking himself obliged to serve his King in his pleasures: and was W. Coventry's particular friend: and W. Coventry do tell me very odde circumstances about the fatality of his death, which are very strange. Thence to White Hall to chapel, and heard the anthem, and did dine with the Duke of Albemarle in a dirty manner as ever. All the afternoon, I sauntered up and down the house and Park. And there was a Committee for Tangier met, wherein Lord Middleton would, I think, have found fault with me for want of coles; but I slighted it, and he made nothing of it, but was thought to be drunk; and I see that he hath a mind to find fault with me and Creed, neither of us having yet applied ourselves to him about anything: but do talk of his profits and perquisites taken from him, and garrison reduced, and that it must be increased, and such things, as; I fear, he will be just such another as my Lord Tiviott and the rest, to ruin that place. So I to the Park, and there walk an hour or two; and in the King's garden, and saw the Queen and ladies walk; and I did steal some apples off the trees; and here did see my Lady Richmond, who is of a noble person as ever I saw, but her face worse than it was considerably by the smallpox: her sister' is also very handsome. Coming into the Park, and the door kept strictly, I had opportunity of handing in the little, pretty, squinting girl of the Duke of York's house, but did not make acquaintance with her; but let her go, and a little girl that was with her, to walk by themselves. So to White Hall in the evening, to the Queen's side, and there met the Duke of York; and he did tell me and W. Coventry, who was with me, how that Lord Anglesey did take notice of our reading his long and sharp letter to the Board; but that it was the better, at least he said so. The Duke of York, I perceive, is earnest in it, and will have good effects of it; telling W. Coventry that it was a letter that might have come from the Commissioners of Accounts, but it was better it should come first from him. I met Lord Brouncker, who, I perceive, and the rest, do smell that it comes from me, but dare not find fault with it; and I am glad of it, it being my glory and defence that I did occasion and write it. So by water home, and did spend the evening with W. Hewer, telling him how we are all like to be turned out, Lord Brouncker telling me this evening that the Duke of Buckingham did, within few hours, say that he had enough to turn us all out which I am not sorry for at all, for I know the world will judge me to go for company; and my eyes are such as I am not able to do the business of my Office as I used, and would desire to do, while I am in it. So with full content, declaring all our content in being released of my employment, my wife and I to bed, and W. Hewer home, and so all to bed. 31st. Up, and to my office, there to set my journal for all the last week, and so by water to Westminster to the Exchequer, and thence to the Swan, and there drank and did baiser la fille there, and so to the New Exchange and paid for some things, and so to Hercules Pillars,' and there dined all alone, while I sent my shoe to have the heel fastened at Wotton's, and thence to White Hall to the Treasury chamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Duke of York's playhouse and there met my wife and Deb. and Mary Mercer and Batelier, where also W. Hewer was, and saw "Hamlet," which we have not seen this year before, or more; and mightily pleased with it; but, above all, with Betterton, the best part I believe, that ever man acted. Thence to the Fayre, and saw "Polichinelle," and so home, and after a little supper to bed. This night lay the first night in Deb.'s chamber, which is now hung with that that hung our great chamber, and is now a very handsome room. This day Mrs. Batelier did give my wife a mighty pretty Spaniel bitch [Flora], which she values mightily, and is pretty; but as a new comer, I cannot be fond of her. SEPTEMBER 1668 September 1st. Up and all the morning at the office busy, and after dinner to the office again busy till about four, and then I abroad (my wife being gone to Hales's about drawing her hand new in her picture) and I to see Betty Michell, which I did, but su mari was dentro, and no pleasure. So to the Fair, and there saw several sights; among others, the mare that tells money, [This is not the first learned horse of which we read. Shakespeare, "Love's Labour's Lost," act i., SC. 2, mentions "the dancing horse,"' and the commentators have added many particulars of Banks's bay horse.] and many things to admiration; and, among others, come to me, when she was bid to go to him of the company that most loved a pretty wench in a corner. And this did cost me 12d. to the horse, which I had flung him before, and did give me occasion to baiser a mighty belle fille that was in the house that was exceeding plain, but fort belle. At night going home I went to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and find her weeping in the shop, so as ego could not have any discourse con her nor ask the reason, so departed and took coach home, and taking coach was set on by a wench that was naught, and would have gone along with me to her lodging in Shoe Lane, but ego did donner her a shilling... and left her, and home, where after supper, W. Batelier with us, we to bed. This day Mrs. Martin come to see us, and dined with us. 2nd. Fast-day for the burning of London, strictly observed. I at home at the office all day, forenoon and afternoon, about the Victualler's contract and other things, and at night home to supper, having had but a cold dinner, Mr. Gibson with me; and this evening comes Mr. Hill to discourse with me about Yeabsly and Lanyon's business, wherein they are troubled, and I fear they have played the knave too far for me to help or think fit to appear for them. So he gone, and after supper, to bed, being troubled with a summons, though a kind one, from Mr. Jessop, to attend the Commissioners of Accounts tomorrow. 3rd. Up, and to the Office, where busy till it was time to go to the Commissioners of Accounts, which I did about noon, and there was received with all possible respect, their business being only to explain the meaning of one of their late demands to us, which we had not answered in our answer to them, and, this being done, I away with great content, my mind being troubled before, and so to the Exchequer and several places, calling on several businesses, and particularly my bookseller's, among others, for "Hobbs's Leviathan," ["Leviathan: or the matter, forme and power of a Commonwealth ecclesiasticall and civill," by Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, first published in 1651. It was reprinted in 1680, with its old date. Hobbes's complete works, English and Latin, were published by Sir William Molesworth in sixteen volumes 8vo. between 1839 and 1845.] which is now mightily called for; and what was heretofore sold for 8s. I now give 24s. for, at the second hand, and is sold for 30s., it being a book the Bishops will not let be printed again, and so home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon, and towards evening by water to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and presently back again, and there met a little with W. Pen and the rest about our Prize accounts, and so W. Pen and Lord Brouncker and I at the lodging of the latter to read over our new draft of the victualler's contract, and so broke up and home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and met at the Office all the morning; and at noon my wife, and Deb., and Mercer, and W. Hewer and I to the Fair, and there, at the old house, did eat a pig, and was pretty merry, but saw no sights, my wife having a mind to see the play "Bartholomew-Fayre," with puppets. Which we did, and it is an excellent play; the more I see it, the more I love the wit of it; only the business of abusing the Puritans begins to grow stale, and of no use, they being the people that, at last, will be found the wisest. And here Knepp come to us, and sat with us, and thence took coach in two coaches, and losing one another, my wife, and Knepp, and I to Hercules Pillars, and there supped, and I did take from her mouth the words and notes of her song of "the Larke," which pleases me mightily. And so set her at home, and away we home, where our company come home before us. This night Knepp tells us that there is a Spanish woman lately come over, that pretends to sing as well as Mrs. Knight; both of which I must endeavour to hear. So, after supper, to bed. 5th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and to the office to work all the afternoon again till the evening, and then by coach to Mr. Hales's new house, where, I find, he hath finished my wife's hand, which is better than the other; and here I find Harris's picture, done in his habit of "Henry the Fifth;" mighty like a player, but I do not think the picture near so good as any yet he hath made for me: however, it is pretty well, and thence through the fair home, but saw nothing, it being late, and so home to my business at the office, and thence to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and got myself ready to go by water, and about nine o'clock took boat with Henry Russell to Gravesend, coming thither about one, where, at the Ship, I dined; and thither come to me Mr. Hosier, whom I went to speak with, about several businesses of work that he is doing, and I would have him do, of writing work, for me. And I did go with him to his lodging, and there did see his wife, a pretty tolerable woman, and do find him upon an extraordinary good work of designing a method of keeping our Storekeeper's Accounts, in the Navy. Here I should have met with Mr. Wilson, but he is sick, and could not come from Chatham to me. So, having done with Hosier, I took boat again the beginning of the flood, and come home by nine at night, with much pleasure, it being a fine day. Going down I spent reading of the "Five Sermons of Five Several Styles," worth comparing one with another: but I do think, when all is done, that, contrary to the design of the book, the Presbyterian style and the Independent are the best of the five sermons to be preached in; this I do, by the best of my present judgment think, and coming back I spent reading of a book of warrants of our office in the first Dutch war, and do find that my letters and warrants and method will be found another gate's business than this that the world so much adores, and I am glad for my own sake to find it so. My boy was with me, and read to me all day, and we sang a while together, and so home to supper a little, and so to bed. 7th. At the office all the morning, we met, and at noon dined at home, and after dinner carried my wife and Deb. to Unthanke's, and I to White Hall with Mr. Gibson, where the rest of our officers met us, and to the Commissioners of the Treasury about the Victualling contract, but staid not long, but thence, sending Gibson to my wife, I with Lord Brouncker (who was this day in an unusual manner merry, I believe with drink), J. Minnes, and W. Pen to Bartholomew-Fair; and there saw the dancing mare again, which, to-day, I find to act much worse than the other day, she forgetting many things, which her master beat her for, and was mightily vexed; and then the dancing of the ropes, and also the little stage-play, which is very ridiculous, and so home to the office with Lord Brouncker, W. Pen, and myself (J. Minnes being gone home before not well), and so, after a little talk together, I home to supper and to bed. 8th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and to St. James's, there to talk a little with Mr. Wren about the private business we are upon, in the Office, where he tells me he finds that they all suspect me to be the author of the great letter, which I value not, being satisfied that it is the best thing I could ever do for myself; and so, after some discourse of this kind more, I back to the Office, where all the morning; and after dinner to it again, all the afternoon, and very late, and then home to supper, where met W. Batelier and Betty Turner; and, after some talk with them, and supper, we to bed. This day, I received so earnest an invitation again from Roger Pepys, to come to Sturbridge-Fair [at Cambridge] that I resolve to let my wife go, which she shall do the next week, and so to bed. This day I received two letters from the Duke of Richmond about his yacht, which is newly taken into the King's service, and I am glad of it, hoping hereby to oblige him, and to have occasions of seeing his noble Duchess, which I admire. 9th. Up, and to the office, and thence to the Duke of Richmond's lodgings by his desire, by letter, yesterday. I find him at his lodgings in the little building in the bowling-green, at White Hall, that was begun to be built by Captain Rolt. They are fine rooms. I did hope to see his lady, the beautiful Mrs. Stuart, but she, I hear, is in the country. His business was about his yacht, and he seems a mighty good-natured man, and did presently write me a warrant for a doe from Cobham, when the season comes, bucks season being past. I shall make much of this acquaintance, that I may live to see his lady near. Thence to Westminster, to Sir R. Longs Office: and, going, met Mr. George Montagu, who talked and complimented me mightily; and long discourse I had with him, who, for news, tells me for certain that Trevor do come to be Secretary at Michaelmas, and that Morrice goes out, and he believes, without any compensation. He tells me that now Buckingham does rule all; and the other day, in the King's journey he is now on, at Bagshot, and that way, he caused Prince Rupert's horses to be turned out of an inne, and caused his own to be kept there, which the Prince complained of to the King, and the Duke of York seconded the complaint; but the King did over-rule it for Buckingham, by which there are high displeasures among them; and Buckingham and Arlington rule all. Thence by water home and to dinner, and after dinner by water again to White Hall, where Brouncker, W. Pen, and I attended the Commissioners of the Treasury about the victualling-contract, where high words between Sir Thomas Clifford and us, and myself more particularly, who told him that something, that he said was told him about this business, was a flat untruth. However, we went on to our business in, the examination of the draught, and so parted, and I vexed at what happened, and Brouncker and W. Pen and I home in a hackney coach. And I all that night so vexed that I did not sleep almost all night, which shows how unfit I am for trouble. So, after a little supper, vexed, and spending a little time melancholy in making a base to the Lark's song, I to bed. 10th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's house, where I staid in his dining-room two hours thinking to speak with him, but I find Garraway and he are private, which I am glad of, Captain Cocke bringing them this day together. Cocke come out and talked to me, but it was too late for me to stay longer, and therefore to the Treasury chamber, where the rest met, and W. Coventry come presently after. And we spent the morning in finishing the Victualler's contract, and so I by water home, and there dined with me Batelier and his wife, and Mercer, and my people, at a good venison-pasty; and after dinner I and W. Howe, who come to see me, by water to the Temple, and met our four women, my wife, M. Batelier, Mercer, and Deb., at the Duke's play-house, and there saw "The Maid in the Mill," revived--a pretty, harmless old play. Thence to Unthanke's, and 'Change, where wife did a little business, while Mercer and I staid in the coach; and, in a quarter of an hour, I taught her the whole Larke's song perfectly, so excellent an eare she hath. Here we at Unthanke's 'light, and walked them to White Hall, my wife mighty angry at it, and did give me ill words before Batelier, which vexed me, but I made no matter of it, but vexed to myself. So landed them, it being fine moonshine, at the Bear, and so took water to the other side, and home. I to the office, where a child is laid at Sir J. Minnes's door, as there was one heretofore. So being good friends again, my wife seeking, it, by my being silent I overcoming her, we to bed. 11th. Up, and at my Office all the morning, and after dinner all the afternoon in my house with Batelier shut up, drawing up my defence to the Duke of York upon his great letter, which I have industriously taken this opportunity of doing for my future use. At it late, and my mind and head mighty full of it all night. 12th. At it again in the morning, and then to the Office, where till noon, and I do see great whispering among my brethren about their replies to the Duke of York, which vexed me, though I know no reason for it; for I have no manner of ground to fear them. At noon home to dinner, and, after dinner, to work all the afternoon again. At home late, and so to bed. 13th (Lord's day). The like all this morning and afternoon, and finished it to my mind. So about four o'clock walked to the Temple, and there by coach to St. James's, and met, to my wish, the Duke of York and Mr. Wren; and understand the Duke of York hath received answers from Brouncker, W. Pen, and J. Minnes; and as soon as he saw me, he bid Mr. Wren read them over with me. So having no opportunity of talk with the Duke of York, and Mr. Wren some business to do, he put them into my hands like an idle companion, to, take home with me before himself had read them, which do give me great opportunity of altering my answer, if there was cause. So took a hackney and home, and after supper made my wife to read them all over, wherein she is mighty useful to me; and I find them all evasions, and in many things false, and in few, to the full purpose. Little said reflective on me, though W. Pen and J. Minnes do mean me in one or two places, and J. Minnes a little more plainly would lead the Duke of York to question the exactness of my keeping my records; but all to no purpose. My mind is mightily pleased by this, if I can but get time to have a copy taken of them, for my future use; but I must return them tomorrow. So to bed. 14th. Up betimes, and walked to the Temple, and stopped, viewing the Exchange, and Paul's, and St. Fayth's, where strange how the very sight of the stones falling from the top of the steeple do make me sea-sick! But no hurt, I hear, hath yet happened in all this work of the steeple, which is very much. So from the Temple I by coach to St. James's, where I find Sir W. Pen and Lord Anglesey, who delivered this morning his answer to the Duke of York, but I could not see it. But after being above with the Duke of York, but said nothing, I down with Mr. Wren; and he and I read all over that I had, and I expounded them to him, and did so order it that I had them home with me, so that I shall, to my heart's wish, be able to take a copy of them. After dinner, I by water to, White Hall; and there, with the Cofferer and Sir Stephen Fox, attended the Commissioners of the Treasury, about bettering our fund; and are promised it speedily. Thence by water home, and so all the afternoon and evening late busy at the office, and then home to supper, and Mrs. Turner comes to see my wife before her journey to-morrow, but she is in bed, and so sat talking to little purpose with me a great while, and, she gone, I to bed. 15th. Up mighty betimes, my wife and people, Mercer lying here all night, by three o'clock, and I about five; and they before, and I after them, to the coach in Bishopsgate Street, which was not ready to set out. So took wife and Mercer and Deb. and W. Hewer (who are all to set out this day for Cambridge, to cozen Roger Pepys's, to see Sturbridge Fayre); and I shewed them the Exchange, which is very finely carried on, with good dispatch. So walked back and saw them gone, there being only one man in the coach besides them; and so home to the Office, where Mrs. Daniel come and staid talking to little purpose with me to borrow money, but I did not lend her any, having not opportunity para hater allo thing mit her. At the office all the morning, and at noon dined with my people at home, and so to the office again a while, and so by water to the King's playhouse, to see a new play, acted but yesterday, a translation out of French by Dryden, called "The Ladys a la Mode:" so mean a thing as, when they come to say it would be acted again to-morrow, both he that said it, Beeson, and the pit fell a-laughing, there being this day not a quarter of the pit full. Thence to St. James's and White Hall to wait on the Duke of York, but could not come to speak to him till time to go home, and so by water home, and there late at the office and my chamber busy, and so after a little supper to bed. 16th. Up; and dressing myself I did begin para toker the breasts of my maid Jane, which elle did give way to more than usual heretofore, so I have a design to try more when I can bring it to. So to the office, and thence to St. James's to the Duke of York, walking it to the Temple, and in my way observe that the Stockes are now pulled quite down; and it will make the coming into Cornhill and Lumber Street mighty noble. I stopped, too, at Paul's, and there did go into St. Fayth's Church, and also in the body of the west part of the Church; and do see a hideous sight of the walls of the Church ready to fall, that I was in fear as long as I was in it: and here I saw the great vaults underneath the body of the Church. No hurt, I hear, is done yet, since their going to pull down the Church and steeple; but one man, on Monday this week, fell from the top to a piece of the roof, of the east end, that stands next the steeple, and there broke himself all to pieces. It is pretty here to see how the late Church was but a case wrought over the old Church; for you may see the very old pillars standing whole within the wall of this. When I come to St. James's, I find the Duke of York gone with the King to see the muster of the Guards in Hyde Park; and their Colonel, the Duke of Monmouth, to take his command this day of the King's Life-Guard, by surrender of my Lord Gerard. So I took a hackney-coach and saw it all: and indeed it was mighty noble, and their firing mighty fine, and the Duke of Monmouth in mighty rich clothes; but the well-ordering of the men I understand not. Here, among a thousand coaches that were there, I saw and spoke to Mrs. Pierce: and by and by Mr. Wren hunts me out, and gives me my Lord Anglesey's answer to the Duke of York's letter, where, I perceive, he do do what he can to hurt me, by bidding the Duke of York call for my books: but this will do me all the right in the world, and yet I am troubled at it. So away out of the Park, and home; and there Mr. Gibson and I to dinner: and all the afternoon with him, writing over anew, and a little altering, my answer to the Duke of York, which I have not yet delivered, and so have the opportunity of doing it after seeing all their answers, though this do give me occasion to alter very little. This done, he to write it over, and I to the Office, where late, and then home; and he had finished it; and then he to read to me the life of Archbishop Laud, wrote by Dr. Heylin; which is a shrewd book, but that which I believe will do the Bishops in general no great good, but hurt, it pleads for so much Popish. So after supper to bed. This day my father's letters tell me of the death of poor Fancy, in the country, big with puppies, which troubles me, as being one of my oldest acquaintances and servants. Also good Stankes is dead. 17th. Up, and all the morning sitting at the office, where every body grown mighty cautious in what they do, or omit to do, and at noon comes Knepp, with design to dine with Lord Brouncker, but she being undressed, and there being: much company, dined with me; and after dinner I out with her, and carried her to the playhouse; and in the way did give her five guineas as a fairing, I having given her nothing a great while, and her coming hither sometimes having been matter of cost to her, and so I to St. James's, but missed of the Duke of York, and so went back to the King's playhouse, and saw "Rollo, Duke of Normandy," which, for old acquaintance, pleased me pretty well, and so home and to my business,. and to read again, and to bed. This evening Batelier comes to tell me that he was going down to Cambridge to my company, to see the Fair, which vexed me, and the more because I fear he do know that Knepp did dine with me to-day.--[And that he might tell Mrs. Pepys.--B.] 18th. Up, and to St. James's, and there took a turn or two in the Park; and then up to the Duke of York, and there had opportunity of delivering my answer to his late letter, which he did not read, but give to Mr. Wren, as looking on it as a thing I needed not have done, but only that I might not give occasion to the rest to suspect my communication with the Duke of York against them. So now I am at rest in that matter, and shall be more, when my copies are finished of their answers, which I am now taking with all speed. Thence to my several booksellers and elsewhere, about several errands, and so at noon home, and after dinner by coach to White Hall, and thither comes the Duke of York to us, and by and by met at the robe chamber upon our usual business, where the Duke of York I find somewhat sour, and particularly angry with Lord Anglesey for his not being there now, nor at other times so often as he should be with us. So to the King's house, and saw a piece of "Henry the Fourth;" at the end of the play, thinking to have gone abroad with Knepp, but it was too late, and she to get her part against to-morrow, in "The Silent Woman," and so I only set her at home, and away home myself, and there to read again and sup with Gibson, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and so dined with my people at home, and then to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Silent Woman;" the best comedy, I think, that ever was wrote; and sitting by Shadwell the poet, he was big with admiration of it. Here was my Lord Brouncker and W. Pen and their ladies in the box, being grown mighty kind of a sudden; but, God knows, it will last but a little while, I dare swear. Knepp did her part mighty well. And so home straight, and to work, and particularly to my cozen Roger, who, W. Hewer and my wife writes me, do use them with mighty plenty and noble entertainment: so home to supper, and to bed. All the news now is, that Mr. Trevor is for certain now to be Secretary, in Morrice's place, which the Duke of York did himself tell me yesterday; and also that Parliament is to be adjourned to the 1st of March, which do please me well, hoping thereby to get my things in a little better order than I should have done; and the less attendances at that end of the town in winter. So home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and to set some papers to rights in my chamber, and the like in my office, and so to church, at our own church, and heard but a dull sermon of one Dr. Hicks, who is a suitor to Mrs. Howell, the widow of our turner of the Navy; thence home to dinner, staying till past one o'clock for Harris, whom I invited, and to bring Shadwell the poet with him; but they come not, and so a good dinner lost, through my own folly. And so to dinner alone, having since church heard the boy read over Dryden's Reply to Sir R. Howard's Answer, about his Essay of Poesy, and a letter in answer to that; the last whereof is mighty silly, in behalf of Howard. [The title of the letter is as follows: "A Letter from a Gentleman to the Honourable Ed. Howard, Esq., occasioned by a Civiliz'd Epistle of Mr. Dryden's before his Second Edition of his Indian Emperour. In the Savoy, printed by Thomas Newcomb, 1668." The "Civiliz'd Epistle" was a caustic attack on Sir Robert Howard; and the Letter is signed, "Sir, your faithful and humble servant, R. F."--i.e., Richard Flecknoe.] Thence walked forth and got a coach and to visit Mrs. Pierce, with whom, and him, I staid a little while, and do hear how the Duchesse of Monmouth is at this time in great trouble of the shortness of her lame leg, which is likely to grow shorter and shorter, that she will never recover it. Thence to St. Margaret's Church, thinking to have seen Betty Michell, but she was not there. So back, and walked to Gray's Inn walks a while, but little company; and so over the fields to Clerkenwell, to see whether I could find that the fair Botelers do live there still, I seeing Frances the other day in a coach with Cary Dillon, her old servant, but know not where she lives. So walked home, and there walked in the garden an hour, it being mighty pleasant weather, and so took my Lady Pen and Mrs. Markham home with me and sent for Mrs. Turner, and by and by comes Sir W. Pen and supped with me, a good supper, part of my dinner to-day. They gone, Mrs. Turner staid an hour talking with me.... So parted, and I to bed. 21st. Up, and betimes Sir D. Gawden with me talking about the Victualling business, which is now under dispute for a new contract, or whether it shall be put into a Commission. He gone, comes Mr. Hill to talk with me about Lanyon's business, and so being in haste I took him to the water with me, and so to White Hall, and there left him, and I to Sir W. Coventry, and shewed him my answer to the Duke of York's great letter, which he likes well. We also discoursed about the Victualling business, which he thinks there is a design to put into a way of Commission, but do look upon all things to be managed with faction, and is grieved under it. So to St. James's, and there the Duke of York did of his own accord come to me, and tell me that he had read, and do like of, my answers to the objections which he did give me the other day, about the Navy; and so did W. Coventry too, who told me that the Duke of York had shown him them: So to White Hall a little and the Chequer, and then by water home to dinner with my people, where Tong was also this day with me, whom I shall employ for a time, and so out again and by water to Somerset House, but when come thither I turned back and to Southwarke-Fair, very dirty, and there saw the puppet-show of Whittington, which was pretty to see; and how that idle thing do work upon people that see it, and even myself too! And thence to Jacob Hall's dancing on the ropes, where I saw such action as I never saw before, and mightily worth seeing; and here took acquaintance with a fellow that carried me to a tavern, whither come the musick of this booth, and by and by Jacob Hall himself, with whom I had a mind to speak, to hear whether he had ever any mischief by falls in his time. He told me, "Yes, many; but never to the breaking of a limb:" he seems a mighty strong man. So giving them a bottle or two of wine, I away with Payne, the waterman. He, seeing me at the play, did get a link to light me, and so light me to the Beare, where Bland, my waterman, waited for me with gold and other things he kept for me, to the value of L40 and more, which I had about me, for fear of my pockets being cut. So by link-light through the bridge, it being mighty dark, but still weather, and so home, where I find my draught of "The Resolution" come, finished, from Chatham; but will cost me, one way or other, about L12 or L13, in the board, frame, and garnishing, which is a little too much, but I will not be beholden to the King's officers that do it. So to supper, and the boy to read to me, and so to bed. This day I met Mr. Moore in the New Exchange, and had much talk of my Lord's concernments. This day also come out first the new five-pieces in gold, coined by the Guiny Company; and I did get two pieces of Mr. Holder. [Guineas took their name from the gold brought from Guinea by the African Company in 1663, who, as an encouragement to bring over gold to be coined, were permitted by their charter from Charles II. to have their stamp of an elephant upon the coin. When first coined they were valued at 20s., but were worth 30s. in 1695. There were likewise fivepound pieces, like the guinea, with the inscription upon the rim.] 22nd. Up, and to the Office, where sitting all the morning at noon, home to dinner, with my people, and so to the Office again, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening spent my time walking in the dark, in the garden, to favour my eyes, which I find nothing but ease to help. In the garden there comes to me my Lady Pen and Mrs. Turner and Markham, and we sat and talked together, and I carried them home, and there eat a bit of something, and by and by comes Sir W. Pen, and eat with us, and mighty merry-in appearance, at least, he being on all occasions glad to be at friendship with me, though we hate one another, and know it on both sides. They gone, Mrs. Turner and I to walk in the garden.... So led her home, and I back to bed. This day Mr. Wren did give me, at the Board, Commissioner Middleton's answer to the Duke of York's great letter; so that now I have all of them. 23rd. At my office busy all the morning. At noon comes Mr. Evelyn to me, about some business with the Office, and there in discourse tells me of his loss, to the value of F 500, which he hath met with, in a late attempt of making of bricks [At the end of the year 1666 a Dutchman of the Prince of Orange's party, named Kiviet, came over to England with proposals for embanking the river from the Temple to the Tower with brick, and was knighted by the king. He was introduced to Evelyn, whom he persuaded to join with him in a great undertaking for the making of bricks. On March 26th, 1667, the two went in search of brick-earth, and in September articles were drawn up between them for the purpose of proceeding in the manufacture. In April, 1668, Evelyn subscribed 50,000 bricks for the building of a college for the Royal Society, in addition to L50 given previously for the same purpose. No more information on the subject is given in Evelyn's "Diary."] upon an adventure with others, by which he presumed to have got a great deal of money: so that I see the most ingenious men may sometimes be mistaken. So to the 'Change a little, and then home to dinner, and then by water to White Hall, to attend the Commissioners of the Treasury with Alderman Backewell, about L10,000 he is to lend us for Tangier, and then up to a Committee of the Council, where was the Duke of York, and they did give us, the Officers of the Navy, the proposals of the several bidders for the victualling of the Navy, for us to give our answer to, which is the best, and whether it be better to victual by commission or contract, and to bring them our answer by Friday afternoon, which is a great deal of work. So thence back with Sir J. Minnes home, and come after us Sir W. Pen and Lord Brouncker, and we fell to the business, and I late when they were gone to digest something of it, and so to supper and to bed. 24th. Up betimes and Sir D. Gawden with me, and I told him all, being very desirous for the King's sake, as well as my own, that he may be kept in it, and after consulting him I to the Office, where we met again and spent most of the morning about this business, and no other, and so at noon home to dinner, and then close with Mr. Gibson till night, drawing up our answer, which I did the most part by seven at night, and so to Lord Brouncker and the rest at his lodgings to read it, and they approved of it. So back home to supper, and made my boy read to me awhile, and then to bed. 25th. Up, and Sir D. Gawden with me betimes to confer again about this business, and he gone I all the morning finishing our answer, which I did by noon, and so to dinner, and W. Batelier with me, who is lately come from Impington, beyond which I perceive he went not, whatever his pretence at first was; and so he tells me how well and merry all are there, and how nobly used by my cozen. He gone, after dinner I to work again, and Gibson having wrote our answer fair and got Brouncker and the rest to sign it, I by coach to White Hall to the Committee of the Council, which met late, and Brouncker and J. Minnes with me, and there the Duke of York present (but not W. Coventry, who I perceive do wholly avoid to have to do publickly in this business, being shy of appearing in any Navy business, which I telling him the other day that I thought the King might suffer by it, he told me that the occasion is now so small that it cannot be fatal to the service, and for the present it is better for him not to appear, saying that it may fare the worse for his appearing in it as things are now governed), where our answer was read and debated, and some hot words between the Duke of York and Sir T. Clifford, the first for and the latter against Gawden, but the whole put off to to-morrow's Council, for till the King goes out of town the next week the Council sits every day. So with the Duke of York and some others to his closet, and Alderman Backewell about a Committee of Tangier, and there did agree upon a price for pieces of eight at 4s. 6d. Present the Duke of York, Arlington, Berkeley, Sir J. Minnes, and myself. They gone, the Duke of York did tell me how hot Clifford is for Child, and for removing of old Officers, he saying plainly to-night, that though D. Gawden was a man that had done the best service that he believed any man, or any ten men, could have done, yet that it was for the King's interest not to let it lie too long in one hand, lest nobody should be able to serve him but one. But the Duke of York did openly tell him that he was not for removing of old servants that have done well, neither in this place, nor in any other place, which is very nobly said. It being 7 or 8 at night, I home with Backewell by coach, and so walked to D. Gawden's, but he not at home, and so back to my chamber, the boy to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. 26th. Could sleep but little last night, for my concernments in this business of the victualling for Sir D. Gawden, so up in the morning and he comes to me, and there I did tell him all, and give him my advice, and so he away, and I to the office, where we met and did a little business, and I left them and by water to attend the Council, which I did all the morning, but was not called in, but the Council meets again in the afternoon on purpose about it. So I at noon to Westminster Hall and there stayed a little, and at the Swan also, thinking to have got Doll Lane thither, but elle did not understand my signs; and so I away and walked to Charing Cross, and there into the great new Ordinary, by my Lord Mulgrave's, being led thither by Mr. Beale, one of Oliver's, and now of the King's Guards; and he sat with me while I had two grilled pigeons, very handsome and good meat: and there he and I talked of our old acquaintances, W. Clerke and others, he being a very civil man, and so walked to Westminster and there parted, and I to the Swan again, but did nothing, and so to White Hall, and there attended the King and Council, who met and heard our answer. I present, and then withdrew; and they sent two hours at least afterwards about it, and at last rose; and to my great content, the Duke of York, at coming out, told me that it was carried for D. Gawden at 6d. 8d., and 8 3/4d.; but with great difficulty, I understand, both from him and others, so much that Sir Edward Walker told me that he prays to God he may never live to need to plead his merit, for D. Gawden's sake; for that it hath stood him in no stead in this business at all, though both he and all the world that speaks of him, speaks of him as the most deserving man of any servant of the King's in the whole nation, and so I think he is: but it is done, and my heart is glad at it. So I took coach and away, and in Holborne overtook D. Gawden's coach, and stopped and went home, and Gibson to come after, and to my house, where D. Gawden did talk a little, and he do mightily acknowledge my kindness to him, and I know I have done the King and myself good service in it. So he gone, and myself in mighty great content in what is done, I to the office a little, and then home to supper, and the boy to read to me, and so to bed. This noon I went to my Lady Peterborough's house, and talked with her about the money due to her Lord, and it gives me great trouble, her importunity and impertinency about it. This afternoon at Court I met with Lord Hinchingbroke, newly come out of the country, who tells me that Creed's business with Mrs. Pickering will do, which I am neither troubled nor glad at. 27th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office to finish my journall for five days past, and so abroad and walked to White Hall, calling in at Somerset House Chapel, and also at the Spanish Embassador's at York House, and there did hear a little masse: and so to White Hall; and there the King being gone to Chapel, I to walk all the morning in the Park, where I met Mr. Wren; and he and I walked together in the Pell-Mell, it being most summer weather that ever was seen: and here talking of several things: of the corruption of the Court, and how unfit it is for ingenious men, and himself particularly, to live in it, where a man cannot live but he must spend, and cannot get suitably, without breach of his honour: and did thereupon tell me of the basest thing of my Lord Barkeley, one of the basest things that ever was heard of of a man, which was this: how the Duke of York's Commissioners do let his wine-licenses at a bad rate, and being offered a better, they did persuade the Duke of York to give some satisfaction to the former to quit it, and let it to the latter, which being done, my Lord Barkeley did make the bargain for the former to have L1500 a-year to quit it; whereof, since, it is come to light that they were to have but L800 and himself L700, which the Duke of York hath ever since for some years paid, though this second bargain hath been broken, and the Duke of York lost by it, [half] of what the first was. He told me that there hath been a seeming accommodation between the Duke of York and the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington, the two latter desiring it; but yet that there is not true agreement between them, but they do labour to bring in all new creatures into play, and the Duke of York do oppose it, as particularly in this of Sir D. Gawden. Thence, he gone, I to the Queen's Chapel, and there heard some good singing; and so to White Hall, and saw the King and Queen at dinner and thence with Sir Stephen Fox to dinner: and the Cofferer with us; and there mighty kind usage, and good discourse. Thence spent all the afternoon walking in the Park, and then in the evening at Court, on the Queen's side; and there met Mr. Godolphin, who tells me that the news, is true we heard yesterday, of my Lord Sandwich's being come to Mount's Bay, in Cornwall, and so I heard this afternoon at Mrs. Pierce's, whom I went to make a short visit to. This night, in the Queen's drawing-room, my Lord Brouncker told me the difference that is now between the three Embassadors here, the Venetian, French, and Spaniard; the third not being willing to make a visit to the first, because he would not receive him at the door; who is willing to give him as much respect as he did to the French, who was used no otherwise, and who refuses now to take more of him, upon being desired thereto, in order to the making an accommodation in this matter, which is very pretty. So a boat staying for me all this evening, I home in the dark about eight at night, and so over the ruins from the Old Swan home with great trouble, and so to hear my boy read a little, and supper and to bed. This evening I found at home Pelling and Wallington and one Aldrige, and we supped and sung. 28th. Up betimes, and Knepp's maid comes to me, to tell me that the women's day at the playhouse is to-day, and that therefore I must be there, to encrease their profit. I did give the pretty maid Betty that comes to me half-a-crown for coming, and had a baiser or two-elle being mighty jolie. And so I about my business. By water to St. James's, and there had good opportunity of speaking with the Duke of York, who desires me again, talking on that matter, to prepare something for him to do for the better managing of our Office, telling me that, my Lord Keeper and he talking about it yesterday, my Lord Keeper did advise him to do so, it being better to come from him than otherwise, which I have promised to do. Thence to my Lord Burlington's houses the first time I ever was there, it being the house built by Sir John Denham, next to Clarendon House; and here I visited my Lord Hinchingbroke and his lady; Mr. Sidney Montagu being come last night to town unexpectedly from Mount's Bay, where he left my Lord well, eight days since, so as we may now hourly expect to hear of his arrival at Portsmouth. Sidney is mighty grown; and I am glad I am here to see him at his first coming, though it cost me dear, for here I come to be necessitated to supply them with L500 for my Lord. He sent him up with a declaration to his friends, of the necessity of his being presently supplied with L2000; but I do not think he will get one. However, I think it becomes my duty to my Lord to do something extraordinary in this, and the rather because I have been remiss in writing to him during this voyage, more than ever I did in my life, and more indeed than was fit for me. By and by comes Sir W. Godolphin to see Mr. Sidney, who, I perceive, is much dissatisfied that he should come to town last night, and not yet be with my Lord Arlington, who, and all the town, hear of his being come to town, and he did, it seems, take notice of it to Godolphin this morning: so that I perceive this remissness in affairs do continue in my Lord's managements still, which I am sorry for; but, above all, to see in what a condition my Lord is for money, that I dare swear he do not know where to take up L500 of any man in England at this time, upon his word, but of myself, as I believe by the sequel hereof it will appear. Here I first saw and saluted my Lady Burlington, a very fine-speaking lady, and a good woman, but old, and not handsome; but a brave woman in her parts. Here my Lady Hinchingbroke tells me that she hath bought most of the wedding-clothes for Mrs. Dickering, so that the thing is gone through, and will soon be ended; which I wonder at, but let them do as they will. Here I also, standing by a candle that was brought for sealing of a letter, do set my periwigg a-fire, which made such an odd noise, nobody could tell what it was till they saw the flame, my back being to the candle. Thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, and to the Exchequer, and so home by water, and after eating a bit I to my vintner's, and there did only look upon su wife, which is mighty handsome; and so to my glove and ribbon shop, in Fenchurch Street, and did the like there. And there, stopping against the door of the shop, saw Mrs. Horsfall, now a late widow, in a coach. I to her, and shook her by the hand, and so she away; and I by coach towards the King's playhouse, and meeting W. Howe took him with me, and there saw "The City Match;" not acted these thirty years, and but a silly play: the King and Court there; the house, for the women's sake, mighty full. So I to White Hall, and there all the evening on the Queen's side; and it being a most summerlike day, and a fine warm evening, the Italians come in a barge under the leads, before the Queen's drawing-room; and so the Queen and ladies went out, and heard them, for almost an hour: and it was indeed very good together; but yet there was but one voice that alone did appear considerable, and that was Seignor Joanni. This done, by and by they went in; and here I saw Mr. Sidney Montagu kiss the Queen's hand, who was mighty kind to him, and the ladies looked mightily on him; and the King come by and by, and did talk to him. So I away by coach with Alderman Backewell home, who is mighty kind to me, more than ordinary, in his expressions. But I do hear this day what troubles me, that Sir W. Coventry is quite out of play, the King seldom speaking to him; and that there is a design of making a Lord Treasurer, and that my Lord Arlington shall be the man; but I cannot believe it. But yet the Duke of Buckingham hath it in his mind, and those with him, to make a thorough alteration in things; and, among the rest, Coventry to be out. The Duke of York did this day tell me how hot the whole party was in the business of Gawden; and particularly, my Lord Anglesey tells me, the Duke of Buckingham, for Child against Gawden; but the Duke of York did stand stoutly to it. So home to read and sup, and to bed. 29th (Tuesday, Michaelmas day). Up, and to the Office, where all the morning. OCTOBER 1668 [In this part of the "Diary" no entry occurs for thirteen days, though there are several pages left blank. During the interval Pepys went into the country, as he subsequently mentions his having been at Saxham, in Suffolk, during the king's visit to Lord Crofts, which took place at this time (see October 23rd, host). He might also probably have gone to Impington to fetch his wife. The pages left blank were never filled up.--B.] October 11th (Lord's day'). Up and to church, where I find Parson Mills come to town and preached, and the church full, most people being now come home to town, though the season of year is as good as summer in all respects. At noon dined at home with my wife, all alone, and busy all the afternoon in my closet, making up some papers with W. Hewer and at night comes Mr. Turner and his wife, and there they tell me that Mr. Harper is dead at Deptford, and so now all his and my care is, how to secure his being Storekeeper in his stead; and here they and their daughter, and a kinswoman that come along with them, did sup with me, and pretty merry, and then, they gone, and my wife to read to me, and to bed. 12th. Up, and with Mr. Turner by water to White Hall, there to think to enquire when the Duke of York will be in town, in order to Mr. Turner's going down to Audley Ends about his place; and here I met in St. James's Park with one that told us that the Duke of York would be in town to-morrow, and so Turner parted and went home, and I also did stop my intentions of going to the Court, also this day, about securing Mr. Turner's place of Petty-purveyor to Mr. Hater. So I to my Lord Brouncker's, thinking to have gone and spoke to him about it, but he is gone out to town till night, and so, meeting a gentleman of my Lord Middleton's looking for me about the payment of the L1000 lately ordered to his Lord, in advance of his pay, which shall arise upon his going Governor to Tangier, I did go to his Lord's lodgings, and there spoke the first time with him, and find him a shrewd man, but a drinking man, I think, as the world says; but a man that hath seen much of the world, and is a Scot. I offered him my service, though I can do him little; but he sends his man home with me, where I made him stay, till I had gone to Sir W. Pen, to bespeak him about Mr. Hater, who, contrary to my fears, did appear very friendly, to my great content; for I was afraid of his appearing for his man Burroughs. But he did not; but did declare to me afterwards his intentions to desire an excuse in his own business, to be eased of the business of the Comptroller, his health not giving him power to stay always in town, but he must go into the country. I did say little to him but compliment, having no leisure to think of his business, or any man's but my own, and so away and home, where I find Sir H. Cholmly come to town; and is come hither to see me: and he is a man that I love mightily, as being, of a gentleman, the most industrious that ever I saw. He staid with me awhile talking, and telling me his obligations to my Lord Sandwich, which I was glad of; and that the Duke of Buckingham is now chief of all men in this kingdom, which I knew before; and that he do think the Parliament will hardly ever meet again; which is a great many men's thoughts, and I shall not be sorry for it. He being gone, I with my Lord Middleton's servant to Mr. Colvill's, but he was not in town, and so he parted, and I home, and there to dinner, and Mr. Pelling with us; and thence my wife and Mercer, and W. Hewer and Deb., to the King's playhouse, and I afterwards by water with them, and there we did hear the Eunuch (who, it seems, is a Frenchman, but long bred in Italy) sing, which I seemed to take as new to me, though I saw him on Saturday last, but said nothing of it; but such action and singing I could never have imagined to have heard, and do make good whatever Tom Hill used to tell me. Here we met with Mr. Batelier and his sister, and so they home with us in two coaches, and there at my house staid and supped, and this night my bookseller Shrewsbury comes, and brings my books of Martyrs, and I did pay him for them, and did this night make the young women before supper to open all the volumes for me. So to supper, and after supper to read a ridiculous nonsensical book set out by Will. Pen, for the Quakers; but so full of nothing but nonsense, that I was ashamed to read in it. So they gone, we to bed. [Penn's first work, entitled, "Truth exalted, in a short but sure testimony against all those religions, faiths, and worships, that have been formed and followed, in the darkness of apostacy; and for that glorious light which is now risen, and shines forth, in the life and doctrine of the despised Quakers.... by W. Penn, whom divine love constrains, in holy contempt, to trample on Egypt's glory, not fearing the King's wrath, having beheld the Majesty of Him who is invisible:" London, 1668.--B.] 13th. Up, and to the office, and before the office did speak with my Lord Brouncker, and there did get his ready assent to T. Hater's having of Mr. Turner's place, and so Sir J. Minnes's also: but when we come to sit down at the Board, comes to us Mr. Wren this day to town, and tells me that James Southern do petition the Duke of York for the Storekeeper's place of Deptford, which did trouble me much, and also the Board, though, upon discourse, after he was gone, we did resolve to move hard for our Clerks, and that places of preferment may go according to seniority and merit. So, the Board up, I home with my people to dinner, and so to the office again, and there, after doing some business, I with Mr. Turner to the Duke of Albemarle's at night; and there did speak to him about his appearing to Mr. Wren a friend to Mr. Turner, which he did take kindly from me; and so away thence, well pleased with what we had now done, and so I with him home, stopping at my Lord Brouncker's, and getting his hand to a letter I wrote to the Duke of York for T. Hater, and also at my Lord Middleton's, to give him an account of what I had done this day, with his man, at Alderman Backewell's, about the getting of his L1000 paid; [It was probably for this payment that the tally was obtained, the loss of which caused Pepys so much anxiety. See November 26th, 1668] and here he did take occasion to discourse about the business of the Dutch war, which, he says, he was always an enemy to; and did discourse very well of it, I saying little, but pleased to hear him talk; and to see how some men may by age come to know much, and yet by their drinking and other pleasures render themselves not very considerable. I did this day find by discourse with somebody, that this nobleman was the great Major-General Middleton; that was of the Scots army, in the beginning of the late war against the King. Thence home and to the office to finish my letters, and so home and did get my wife to read to me, and then Deb to comb my head. ... 14th. Up, and by water, stopping at Michell's, and there saw Betty, but could have no discourse with her, but there drank. To White Hall, and there walked to St. James's, where I find the Court mighty full, it being the Duke or York's birthday; and he mighty fine, and all the musick, one after another, to my great content. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly; and he and I to walk, and to my Lord Barkeley's new house; there to see a new experiment of a cart, which; by having two little wheeles fastened to the axle-tree, is said to make it go with half the ease and more, than another cart but we did not see the trial made. Thence I home, and after dinner to St. James's, and there met my brethren; but the Duke of York being gone out, and to-night being a play there; and a great festival, we would not stay, but went all of us to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Faythful Shepherdess" again, that we might hear the French Eunuch sing, which we did, to our great content; though I do admire his action as much as his singing, being both beyond all I ever saw or heard. Thence with W. Pen home, and there to get my people to read, and to supper, and so to bed. 15th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at home at dinner, where, after dinner, my wife and I and Deb. out by coach to the upholsters in Long Lane, Alderman Reeve's, and then to Alderman Crow's, to see variety of hangings, and were mightily pleased therewith, and spent the whole afternoon thereupon; and at last I think we shall pitch upon the best suit of Apostles, where three pieces for my room will come to almost L80: so home, and to my office, and then home to supper and to bed. This day at the Board comes unexpected the warrants from the Duke of York for Mr. Turner and Hater, for the places they desire, which contents me mightily. 16th. Up, and busy all the morning at the office, and before noon I took my wife by coach, and Deb., and shewed her Mr. Wren's hangings and bed, at St. James's, and Sir W. Coventry's in the Pell Mell, for our satisfaction in what we are going to buy; and so by Mr. Crow's, home, about his hangings, and do pitch upon buying his second suit of Apostles-the whole suit, which comes to L83; and this we think the best for us, having now the whole suit, to answer any other rooms or service. So home to dinner, and with Mr. Hater by water to St. James's: there Mr. Hater, to give Mr. Wren thanks for his kindness about his place that he hath lately granted him, of Petty Purveyor of petty emptions, upon the removal of Mr. Turner to be Storekeeper at Deptford, on the death of Harper. And then we all up to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business, and so I with J. Minnes home, and there finding my wife gone to my aunt Wight's, to see her the first time after her coming to town, and indeed the first time, I think, these two years (we having been great strangers one to the other for a great while), I to them; and there mighty kindly used, and had a barrel of oysters, and so to look up and down their house, they having hung a room since I was there, but with hangings not fit to be seen with mine, which I find all come home to-night, and here staying an hour or two we home, and there to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and at noon home to dinner, and to the office all the afternoon, and then late home, and there with much pleasure getting Mr. Gibbs, that writes well, to write the name upon my new draught of "The Resolution;" and so set it up, and altered the situation of some of my pictures in my closet, to my extraordinary content, and at it with much pleasure till almost 12 at night. Mr. Moore and Seymour were with me this afternoon, who tell me that my Lord Sandwich was received mighty kindly by the King, and is in exceeding great esteem with him, and the rest about him; but I doubt it will be hard for him to please both the King and the Duke of York, which I shall be sorry for. Mr. Moore tells me the sad condition my Lord is in, in his estate and debts; and the way he now lives in, so high, and so many vain servants about him, that he must be ruined, if he do not take up, which, by the grace of God, I will put him upon, when I come to see him. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and with my boy Tom all the morning altering the places of my pictures with great pleasure, and at noon to dinner, and then comes Mr. Shales to see me, and I with him to recommend him to my Lord Brouncker's service, which I did at Madam Williams's, and my Lord receives him. Thence with Brouncker to Lincolne's Inn, and Mr. Ball, to visit Dr. Wilkins, now newly Bishop of Chester: and he received us mighty kindly; and had most excellent discourse from him about his Book of Reall Character: and so I with Lord Brouncker to White Hall, and there saw the Queen and some ladies, and with Lord Brouncker back, it again being a rainy evening, and so my Lord forced to lend me his coach till I got a hackney, which I did, and so home and to supper, and got my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and to my office to set down my Journall for some days past, and so to other business. At the office all the morning upon some business of Sir W. Warren's, and at noon home to dinner, and thence out by coach with my wife and Deb. and Mr. Harman, the upholster, and carried them to take measure of Mr. Wren's bed at St. James's, I being resolved to have just such another made me, and thence set him down in the Strand, and my wife and I to the Duke of York's playhouse; and there saw, the first time acted, "The Queene of Arragon," an old Blackfriars play, but an admirable one, so good that I am astonished at it, and wonder where it hath lain asleep all this while, that I have never heard of it before. Here met W. Batelier and Mrs. Hunt, Deb.'s aunt; and saw her home--a very witty woman, and one that knows this play, and understands a play mighty well. Left her at home in Jewen Street, and we home, and to supper, and my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 20th. Up, and to the office all the morning, and then home to dinner, having this day a new girl come to us in the room of Nell, who is lately, about four days since, gone away, being grown lazy and proud. This girl to stay only till we have a boy, which I intend to keep when I have a coach, which I am now about. At this time my wife and I mighty busy laying out money in dressing up our best chamber, and thinking of a coach and coachman and horses, &c.; and the more because of Creed's being now married to Mrs. Pickering; a thing I could never have expected, but it is done about seven or ten days since, as I hear out of the country. At noon home to dinner, and my wife and Harman and girl abroad to buy things, and I walked out to several places to pay debts, and among other things to look out for a coach, and saw many; and did light on one for which I bid L50, which do please me mightily, and I believe I shall have it. So to my tailor's, and the New Exchange, and so by coach home, and there, having this day bought "The Queene of Arragon" play, I did get my wife and W. Batelier to read it over this night by 11 o'clock, and so to bed. 21st. Lay pretty long talking with content with my wife about our coach and things, and so to the office, where Sir D. Gawden was to do something in his accounts. At noon to dinner to Mr. Batelier's, his mother coming this day a-housewarming to him, and several friends of his, to which he invited us. Here mighty merry, and his mother the same; I heretofore took her for a gentlewoman, and understanding. I rose from table before the rest, because under an obligation to go to my Lord Brouncker's, where to meet several gentlemen of the Royal Society, to go and make a visit to the French Embassador Colbert, at Leicester House, he having endeavoured to make one or two to my Lord Brouncker, as our President, but he was not within, but I come too late, they being gone before: but I followed to Leicester House; but they are gore in and up before me; and so I away to the New Exchange, and there staid for my wife, and she come, we to Cow Lane, and there I shewed her the coach which I pitch on, and she is out of herself for joy almost. But the man not within, so did nothing more towards an agreement, but to Mr. Crow's about a bed, to have his advice, and so home, and there had my wife to read to me, and so to supper and to bed. Memorandum: that from Crow's, we went back to Charing Cross, and there left my people at their tailor's, while I to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, who come to town the last night, and is come thither to lye: and met with him within: and among others my new cozen Creed, who looks mighty soberly; and he and I saluted one another with mighty gravity, till we come to a little more freedom of talk about it. But here I hear that Sir Gilbert Pickering is lately dead, about three days since, which makes some sorrow there, though not much, because of his being long expected to die, having been in a lethargy long. So waited on my Lord to Court, and there staid and saw the ladies awhile: and thence to my wife, and took them up; and so home, and to supper and bed. 22nd. Up, and W. Batelier's Frenchman, a perriwigg maker, comes and brings me a new one, which I liked and paid him for: a mighty genteel fellow. So to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and thence with wife and Deb. to Crow's, and there did see some more beds; and we shall, I think, pitch upon a camlott one, when all is done. Thence sent them home, and I to Arundell House, where the first time we have met since the vacation, and not much company: but here much good discourse, and afterwards my Lord and others and I to the Devil tavern, and there eat and drank, and so late, with Mr. Colwell, home by coach; and at home took him with me, and there found my uncle Wight and aunt, and Woolly and his wife, and there supped, and mighty merry. And anon they gone, and Mrs. Turner staid, who was there also to talk of her husband's business; and the truth is, I was the less pleased to talk with her, for that she hath not yet owned, in any fit manner of thanks, my late and principal service to her husband about his place, which I alone ought to have the thanks for, if they know as much as I do; but let it go: if they do not own it, I shall have it in my hand to teach them to do it. So to bed. This day word come for all the Principal Officers to bring them [the Commissioners of Accounts] their patents, which I did in the afternoon, by leaving it at their office, but am troubled at what should be their design therein. 23rd. Up, and plasterers at work and painters about my house. Commissioner Middleton and I to St. James's, where with the rest of our company we attended on our usual business the Duke of York. Thence I to White Hall, to my Lord Sandwich's, where I find my Lord within, but busy, private; and so I staid a little talking with the young gentlemen: and so away with Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, towards Tyburne, to see the people executed; but come too late, it being done; two men and a woman hanged, and so back again and to my coachmaker's, and there did come a little nearer agreement for the coach, and so to Duck Lane, and there my bookseller's, and saw his moher, but elle is so big-bellied that elle is not worth seeing. So home, and there all alone to dinner, my wife and W. Hewer being gone to Deptford to see her mother, and so I to the office all the afternoon. In the afternoon comes my cozen, Sidney Pickering, to bring my wife and me his sister's Favour for her wedding, which is kindly done, and he gone, I to business again, and in the evening home, made my wife read till supper time, and so to bed. This day Pierce do tell me, among other news, the late frolick and debauchery of Sir Charles Sidly and Buckhurst, running up and down all the night with their arses bare, through the streets; and at last fighting, and being beat by the watch and clapped up all night; and how the King takes their parts; and my Lord Chief Justice Keeling hath laid the constable by the heels to answer it next Sessions: which is a horrid shame. How the King and these gentlemen did make the fiddlers of Thetford, this last progress, to sing them all the bawdy songs they could think of. How Sir W. Coventry was brought the other day to the Duchesse of York by the Duke, to kiss her hand; who did acknowledge his unhappiness to occasion her so much sorrow, declaring his intentions in it, and praying her pardon; which she did give him upon his promise to make good his pretences of innocence to her family, by his faithfulness to his master, the Duke of York. That the Duke of Buckingham is now all in all, and will ruin Coventry, if he can: and that W. Coventry do now rest wholly upon the Duke of York for his standing, which is a great turn. He tells me that my Lady Castlemayne, however, is a mortal enemy to the Duke of Buckingham, which I understand not; but, it seems, she is disgusted with his greatness, and his ill usage of her. That the King was drunk at Saxam with Sidly, Buckhurst, &c., the night that my Lord Arlington come thither, and would not give him audience, or could not which is true, for it was the night that I was there, and saw the King go up to his chamber, and was told that the King had been drinking. He tells me, too, that the Duke of York did the next day chide Bab. May for his occasioning the King's giving himself up to these gentlemen, to the neglecting of my Lord Arlington: to which he answered merrily, that, by God, there was no man in England that had heads to lose, durst do what they do, every day, with the King, and asked the Duke of York's pardon: which is a sign of a mad world. God bless us out of it! 24th. This morning comes to me the coachmaker, and agreed with me for L53, and stand to the courtesy of what more I should give him upon the finishing of the coach: he is likely also to fit me with a coachman. There comes also to me Mr. Shotgrave, the operator of our Royal Society, to show me his method of making the Tubes for the eyes, which are clouterly done, so that mine are better, but I have well informed myself in several things from him, and so am glad of speaking with him. So to the office, where all the morning, and then to dinner, and so all the afternoon late at the office, and so home; and my wife to read to me, and then with much content to bed. This day Lord Brouncker tells me that the making Sir J. Minnes a bare Commissioner is now in doing, which I am glad of; but he speaks of two new Commissioners, which I do not believe. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and discoursing with my wife about our house and many new things we are doing of, and so to church I, and there find Jack Fenn come, and his wife, a pretty black woman: I never saw her before, nor took notice of her now. So home and to dinner, and after dinner all the afternoon got my wife and boy to read to me, and at night W. Batelier comes and sups with us; and, after supper, to have my head combed by Deb., which occasioned the greatest sorrow to me that ever I knew in this world, for my wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl.... I was at a wonderful loss upon it, and the girle also, and I endeavoured to put it off, but my wife was struck mute and grew angry, and so her voice come to her, grew quite out of order, and I to say little, but to bed, and my wife said little also, but could not sleep all night, but about two in the morning waked me and cried, and fell to tell me as a great secret that she was a Roman Catholique and had received the Holy Sacrament, which troubled me, but I took no notice of it, but she went on from one thing to another till at last it appeared plainly her trouble was at what she saw, but yet I did not know how much she saw, and therefore said nothing to her. But after her much crying and reproaching me with inconstancy and preferring a sorry girl before her, I did give her no provocation, but did promise all fair usage to her and love, and foreswore any hurt that I did with her, till at last she seemed to be at ease again, and so toward morning a little sleep, and so I with some little repose and rest 26th. Rose, and up and by water to White Hall, but with my mind mightily troubled for the poor girle, whom I fear I have undone by this, my [wife] telling me that she would turn her out of doors. However, I was obliged to attend the Duke of York, thinking to have had a meeting of Tangier to-day, but had not; but he did take me and Mr. Wren into his closet, and there did press me to prepare what I had to say upon the answers of my fellow-officers to his great letter, which I promised to do against his coming to town again, the next week; and so to other discourse, finding plainly that he is in trouble, and apprehensions of the Reformers, and would be found to do what he can towards reforming, himself. And so thence to my Lord Sandwich's, where, after long stay, he being in talk with others privately, I to him; and there he, taking physic and keeping his chamber, I had an hour's talk with him about the ill posture of things at this time, while the King gives countenance to Sir Charles Sidly and Lord Buckhurst, telling him their late story of running up and down the streets a little while since all night, and their being beaten and clapped up all night by the constable, who is since chid and imprisoned for his pains. He tells me that he thinks his matters do stand well with the King, and hopes to have dispatch to his mind; but I doubt it, and do see that he do fear it, too. He told me my Lady Carteret's trouble about my writing of that letter of the Duke of York's lately to the Office, which I did not own, but declared to be of no injury to G. Carteret, and that I would write a letter to him to satisfy him therein. But this I am in pain how to do, without doing myself wrong, and the end I had, of preparing a justification to myself hereafter, when the faults of the Navy come to be found out however, I will do it in the best manner I can. Thence by coach home and to dinner, finding my wife mightily discontented, and the girle sad, and no words from my wife to her. So after dinner they out with me about two or three things, and so home again, I all the evening busy, and my wife full of trouble in her looks, and anon to bed, where about midnight she wakes me, and there falls foul of me again, affirming that she saw me hug and kiss the girle; the latter I denied, and truly, the other I confessed and no more, and upon her pressing me did offer to give her under my hand that I would never see Mrs. Pierce more nor Knepp, but did promise her particular demonstrations of my true love to her, owning some indiscretions in what I did, but that there was no harm in it. She at last upon these promises was quiet, and very kind we were, and so to sleep, and 27th. In the morning up, but my mind troubled for the poor girle, with whom I could not get opportunity to speak, but to the office, my mind mighty full of sorrow for her, to the office, where all the morning, and to dinner with my people, and to the office all the afternoon, and so at night home, and there busy to get some things ready against to-morrow's meeting of Tangier, and that being done, and my clerks gone, my wife did towards bedtime begin to be in a mighty rage from some new matter that she had got in her head, and did most part of the night in bed rant at me in most high terms of threats of publishing my shame, and when I offered to rise would have rose too, and caused a candle to be light to burn by her all night in the chimney while she ranted, while the knowing myself to have given some grounds for it, did make it my business to appease her all I could possibly, and by good words and fair promises did make her very quiet, and so rested all night, and rose with perfect good peace, being heartily afflicted for this folly of mine that did occasion it, but was forced to be silent about the girle, which I have no mind to part with, but much less that the poor girle should be undone by my folly. So up with mighty kindness from my wife and a thorough peace, and being up did by a note advise the girle what I had done and owned, which note I was in pain for till she told me she had burned it. This evening Mr. Spong come, and sat late with me, and first told me of the instrument called parallelogram, [This useful instrument, used for copying maps, plans, drawings, &c. either of the same size, or larger or smaller than the originals, is now named a pantograph.] which I must have one of, shewing me his practice thereon, by a map of England. 28th. So by coach with Mr. Gibson to Chancery Lane, and there made oath before a Master of Chancery to the Tangier account of fees, and so to White Hall, where, by and by, a Committee met, my Lord Sandwich there, but his report was not received, it being late; but only a little business done, about the supplying the place with victuals. But I did get, to my great content, my account allowed of fees, with great applause by my Lord Ashly and Sir W. Pen. Thence home, calling at one or two places; and there about our workmen, who are at work upon my wife's closet, and other parts of my house, that we are all in dirt. So after dinner with Mr. Gibson all the afternoon in my closet, and at night to supper and to bed, my wife and I at good peace, but yet with some little grudgings of trouble in her and more in me about the poor girle. 29th. At the office all the morning, where Mr. Wren first tells us of the order from the King, came last night to the Duke of York, for signifying his pleasure to the Sollicitor-General for drawing up a Commission for suspending of my Lord Anglesey, and putting in Sir Thomas. Littleton and Sir Thomas Osborne, the former a creature of Arlington's, and the latter of the Duke of Buckingham's, during the suspension. The Duke of York was forced to obey, and did grant it, he being to go to Newmarket this day with the King, and so the King pressed for it. But Mr. Wren do own that the Duke of York is the most wounded in this, in the world, for it is done and concluded without his privity, after his appearing for Lord Anglesey, and that it is plain that they do ayme to bring the Admiralty into Commission too, and lessen the Duke of York. This do put strange apprehensions into all our Board; only I think I am the least troubled at it, for I care not at all for it: but my Lord Brouncker and Pen do seem to think much of it. So home to dinner, full of this news, and after dinner to the office, and so home all the afternoon to do business towards my drawing up an account for the Duke of York of the answers of this office to his late great letter, and late at it, and so to bed, with great peace from my wife and quiet, I bless God. 30th. Up betimes; and Mr. Povy comes to even accounts with me, which we did, and then fell to other talk. He tells, in short, how the King is made a child of, by Buckingham and Arlington, to the lessening of the Duke of York, whom they cannot suffer to be great, for fear of my Lord Chancellor's return, which, therefore, they make the King violent against. That he believes it is impossible these two great men can hold together long: or, at least, that the ambition of the former is so great, that he will endeavour to master all, and bring into play as many as he can. That Anglesey will not lose his place easily, but will contend in law with whoever comes to execute it. That the Duke of York, in all things but in his cod-piece, is led by the nose by his wife. That W. Coventry is now, by the Duke of York, made friends with the Duchess; and that he is often there, and waits on her. That he do believe that these present great men will break in time, and that W. Coventry will be a great man again; for he do labour to have nothing to do in matters of the State, and is so usefull to the side that he is on, that he will stand, though at present he is quite out of play. That my Lady Castlemayne hates the Duke of Buckingham. That the Duke of York hath expressed himself very kind to my Lord Sandwich, which I am mighty glad of. That we are to expect more changes if these men stand. This done, he and I to talk of my coach, and I got him to go see it, where he finds most infinite fault with it, both as to being out of fashion and heavy, with so good reason that I am mightily glad of his having corrected me in it; and so I do resolve to have one of his build, and with his advice, both in coach and horses, he being the fittest man in the world for it, and so he carried me home, and said the same to my wife. So I to the office and he away, and at noon I home to dinner, and all the afternoon late with Gibson at my chamber about my present great business, only a little in the afternoon at the office about Sir D. Gawden's accounts, and so to bed and slept heartily, my wife and I at good peace, but my heart troubled and her mind not at ease, I perceive, she against and I for the girle, to whom I have not said anything these three days, but resolve to be mighty strange in appearance to her. This night W. Batelier come and took his leave of us, he setting out for France to-morrow. 31st. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home to dinner with my people, and afternoon to the office again, and then to my chamber with Gibson to do more about my great answer for the Duke of York, and so at night after supper to bed well pleased with my advance thereon. This day my Lord Anglesey was at the Office, and do seem to make nothing of this business of his suspension, resolving to bring it into the Council, where he seems not to doubt to have right, he standing upon his defence and patent, and hath put in his caveats to the several Offices: so, as soon as the King comes back again, which will be on Tuesday next, he will bring it into the Council. So ends this month with some quiet to my mind, though not perfect, after the greatest falling out with my poor wife, and through my folly with the girl, that ever I had, and I have reason to be sorry and ashamed of it, and more to be troubled for the poor girl's sake, whom I fear I shall by this means prove the ruin of, though I shall think myself concerned both to love and be a friend to her. This day Roger Pepys and his son Talbot, newly come to town, come and dined with me, and mighty glad I am to see them. NOVEMBER 1668 November 1st (Lord's day). Up, and with W. Hewer at my chamber all this morning, going further in my great business for the Duke of York, and so at noon to dinner, and then W. Hewer to write fair what he had writ, and my wife to read to me all the afternoon, till anon Mr. Gibson come, and he and I to perfect it to my full mind, and so to supper and to bed, my mind yet at disquiet that I cannot be informed how poor Deb. stands with her mistress, but I fear she will put her away, and the truth is, though it be much against my mind and to my trouble, yet I think that it will be fit that she should be gone, for my wife's peace and mine, for she cannot but be offended at the sight of her, my wife having conceived this jealousy of me with reason, and therefore for that, and other reasons of expense, it will be best for me to let her go, but I shall love and pity her. This noon Mr. Povy sent his coach for my wife and I to see, which we like mightily, and will endeavour to have him get us just such another. 2nd. Up, and a cold morning, by water through bridge without a cloak, and there to Mr. Wren at his chamber at White Hall, the first time of his coming thither this year, the Duchess coming thither tonight, and there he and I did read over my paper that I have with so much labour drawn up about the several answers of the officers of this Office to the Duke of York's reflections, and did debate a little what advice to give the Duke of York when he comes to town upon it. Here come in Lord Anglesy, and I perceive he makes nothing of this order for his suspension, resolving to contend and to bring it to the Council on Wednesday when the King is come to town to-morrow, and Mr. Wren do join with him mightily in it, and do look upon the Duke of York as concerned more in it than he. So to visit Creed at his chamber, but his wife not come thither yet, nor do he tell me where she is, though she be in town, at Stepney, at Atkins's. So to Mr. Povy's to talk about a coach, but there I find my Lord Sandwich, and Peterborough, and Hinchingbroke, Charles Harbord, and Sidney Montagu; and there I was stopped, and dined mighty nobly at a good table, with one little dish at a time upon it, but mighty merry. I was glad to see it: but sorry, methought, to see my Lord have so little reason to be merry, and yet glad, for his sake, to have him cheerful. After dinner up, and looked up and down the house, and so to the cellar; and thence I slipt away, without taking leave, and so to a few places about business, and among others to my bookseller's in Duck Lane, and so home, where the house still full of dirt by painters and others, and will not be clean a good while. So to read and talk with my wife till by and by called to the office about Sir W. Warren's business, where we met a little, and then home to supper and to bed. This day I went, by Mr. Povy's direction, to a coachmaker near him, for a coach just like his, but it was sold this very morning. 3rd. Up, and all the morning at the Office. At noon to dinner, and then to the Office, and there busy till 12 at night, without much pain to my eyes, but I did not use them to read or write, and so did hold out very well. So home, and there to supper, and I observed my wife to eye my eyes whether I did ever look upon Deb., which I could not but do now and then (and to my grief did see the poor wretch look on me and see me look on her, and then let drop a tear or two, which do make my heart relent at this minute that I am writing this with great trouble of mind, for she is indeed my sacrifice, poor girle); and my wife did tell me in bed by the by of my looking on other people, and that the only way is to put things out of sight, and this I know she means by Deb., for she tells me that her Aunt was here on Monday, and she did tell her of her desire of parting with Deb., but in such kind terms on both sides that my wife is mightily taken with her. I see it will be, and it is but necessary, and therefore, though it cannot but grieve me, yet I must bring my mind to give way to it. We had a great deal of do this day at the Office about Clutterbucke,--[See note to February 4th, 1663-64]--I declaring my dissent against the whole Board's proceedings, and I believe I shall go near to shew W. Pen a very knave in it, whatever I find my Lord Brouncker. 4th. Up, and by coach to White Hall; and there I find the King and Duke of York come the last night, and every body's mouth full of my Lord Anglesey's suspension being sealed; which it was, it seems, yesterday; so that he is prevented in his remedy at the Council; and, it seems, the two new Treasurers did kiss the King's hand this morning, brought in by my Lord Arlington. They walked up and down together the Court this day, and several people joyed them; but I avoided it, that I might not be seen to look either way. This day also I hear that my Lord Ormond is to be declared in Council no more Deputy Governor of Ireland, his commission being expired: and the King is prevailed with to take it out of his hands; which people do mightily admire, saying that he is the greatest subject of any prince in Christendome, and hath more acres of land than any, and hath done more for his Prince than ever any yet did. But all will not do; he must down, it seems, the Duke of Buckingham carrying all before him. But that, that troubles me most is, that they begin to talk that the Duke of York's regiment is ordered to be disbanded; and more, that undoubtedly his Admiralty will follow: which do shake me mightily, and I fear will have ill consequences in the nation, for these counsels are very mad. The Duke of York do, by all men's report, carry himself wonderfull submissive to the King, in the most humble manner in the world; but yet, it seems, nothing must be spared that tends to, the keeping out of the Chancellor; and that is the reason of all this. The great discourse now is, that the Parliament shall be dissolved and another called, which shall give the King the Deane and Chapter lands; and that will put him out of debt. And it is said that Buckingham do knownly meet daily with Wildman and other Commonwealth-men; and that when he is with them, he makes the King believe that he is with his wenches; and something looks like the Parliament's being dissolved, by Harry Brouncker's being now come back, and appears this day the first day at White Hall; but hath not been yet with the King, but is secure that he shall be well received, I hear. God bless us, when such men as he shall be restored! But that, that pleases me most is, that several do tell me that Pen is to be removed; and others, that he hath resigned his place; and particularly Spragg tells me for certain that he hath resigned it, and is become a partner with Gawden in the Victualling: in which I think he hath done a very cunning thing; but I am sure I am glad of it; and it will be well for the King to have him out of this Office. Thence by coach, doing several errands, home and there to dinner, and then to the Office, where all the afternoon till late at night, and so home. Deb. hath been abroad to-day with her friends, poor girle, I believe toward the getting of a place. This day a boy is sent me out of the country from Impington by my cozen Roger Pepys' getting, whom I visited this morning at his chamber in the Strand and carried him to Westminster Hall, where I took a turn or two with him and Sir John Talbot, who talks mighty high for my Lord of Ormond: and I perceive this family of the Talbots hath been raised by my Lord. When I come home to-night I find Deb. not come home, and do doubt whether she be not quite gone or no, but my wife is silent to me in it, and I to her, but fell to other discourse, and indeed am well satisfied that my house will never be at peace between my wife and I unless I let her go, though it grieves me to the heart. My wife and I spent much time this evening talking of our being put out of the Office, and my going to live at Deptford at her brother's, till I can clear my accounts, and rid my hands of the town, which will take me a year or more, and I do think it will be best for me to do so, in order to our living cheap, and out of sight. 5th. Up, and Willet come home in the morning, and, God forgive me! I could not conceal my content thereat by smiling, and my wife observed it, but I said nothing, nor she, but away to the office. Presently up by water to White Hall, and there all of us to wait on the Duke of York, which we did, having little to do, and then I up and down the house, till by and by the Duke of York, who had bid me stay, did come to his closet again, and there did call in me and Mr. Wren; and there my paper, that I have lately taken pains to draw up, was read, and the Duke of York pleased therewith; and we did all along conclude upon answers to my mind for the Board, and that that, if put in execution, will do the King's business. But I do now more and more perceive the Duke of York's trouble, and that he do lie under great weight of mind from the Duke of Buckingham's carrying things against him; and particularly when I advised that he would use his interest that a seaman might come into the room of W. Pen, who is now declared to be gone from us to that of the Victualling, and did shew how the Office would now be left without one seaman in it, but the Surveyour and the Controller, who is so old as to be able to do nothing, he told me plainly that I knew his mind well enough as to seamen, but that it must be as others will. And Wren did tell it me as a secret, that when the Duke of York did first tell the King about Sir W. Pen's leaving of the place, and that when the Duke of York did move the King that either Captain Cox or Sir Jer. Smith might succeed him, the King did tell him that that was a matter fit to be considered of, and would not agree to either presently; and so the Duke of York could not prevail for either, nor knows who it shall be. The Duke of York did tell me himself, that if he had not carried it privately when first he mentioned Pen's leaving his place to the King, it had not been done; for the Duke of Buckingham and those of his party do cry out upon it, as a strange thing to trust such a thing into the hands of one that stands accused in Parliament: and that they have so far prevailed upon the King that he would not have him named in Council, but only take his name to the Board; but I think he said that only D. Gawden's name shall go in the patent; at least, at the time when Sir Richard Browne asked the King the names of D. Gawden's security, the King told him it was not yet necessary for him to declare them. And by and by, when the Duke of York and we had done, and Wren brought into the closet Captain Cox and James Temple About business of the Guiney Company, and talking something of the Duke of Buckingham's concernment therein, and says the Duke of York, "I will give the Devil his due, as they say the Duke of Buckingham hath paid in his money to the Company," or something of that kind, wherein he would do right to him. The Duke of York told me how these people do begin to cast dirt upon the business that passed the Council lately, touching Supernumeraries, as passed by virtue of his authority there, there being not liberty for any man to withstand what the Duke of York advises there; which, he told me, they bring only as an argument to insinuate the putting of the Admiralty into Commission, which by all men's discourse is now designed, and I perceive the same by him. This being done, and going from him, I up and down the house to hear news: and there every body's mouth full of changes; and, among others, the Duke of York's regiment of Guards, that was raised during the late war at sea, is to be disbanded: and also, that this day the King do intend to declare that the Duke of Ormond is no more Deputy of Ireland, but that he will put it into Commission. This day our new Treasurers did kiss the King's hand, who complimented them, as they say, very highly, that he had for a long time been abused in his Treasurer, and that he was now safe in their hands. I saw them walk up and down the Court together all this morning; the first time I ever saw Osborne, who is a comely gentleman. This day I was told that my Lord Anglesey did deliver a petition on Wednesday in Council to the King, laying open, that whereas he had heard that his Majesty had made such a disposal of his place, which he had formerly granted him for life upon a valuable consideration, and that, without any thing laid to his charge, and during a Parliament's sessions, he prayed that his Majesty would be pleased to let his case be heard before the Council and the judges of the land, who were his proper counsel in all matters of right: to which, I am told, the King, after my Lord's being withdrawn, concluded upon his giving him an answer some few days hence; and so he was called in, and told so, and so it ended. Having heard all this I took coach and to Mr. Povy's, where I hear he is gone to the Swedes Resident in Covent Garden, where he is to dine. I went thither, but he is not come yet, so I to White Hall to look for him, and up and down walking there I met with Sir Robert Holmes, who asking news I told him of Sir W. Pen's going from us, who ketched at it so as that my heart misgives me that he will have a mind to it, which made me heartily sorry for my words, but he invited me and would have me go to dine with him at the Treasurer's, Sir Thomas Clifford, where I did go and eat some oysters; which while we were at, in comes my Lord Keeper and much company; and so I thought it best to withdraw. And so away, and to the Swedes Agent's, and there met Mr. Povy; where the Agent would have me stay and dine, there being only them, and Joseph Williamson, and Sir Thomas Clayton; but what he is I know not. Here much extraordinary noble discourse of foreign princes, and particularly the greatness of the King of France, and of his being fallen into the right way of making the kingdom great, which [none] of his ancestors ever did before. I was mightily pleased with this company and their discourse, so as to have been seldom so much in all my life, and so after dinner up into his upper room, and there did see a piece of perspective, but much inferior to Mr. Povy's. Thence with Mr. Povy spent all the afternoon going up and down among the coachmakers in Cow Lane, and did see several, and at last did pitch upon a little chariott, whose body was framed, but not covered, at the widow's, that made Mr. Lowther's fine coach; and we are mightily pleased with it, it being light, and will be very genteel and sober: to be covered with leather, and yet will hold four. Being much satisfied with this, I carried him to White Hall; and so by coach home, where give my wife a good account of my day's work, and so to the office, and there late, and so to bed. 6th. Up, and presently my wife up with me, which she professedly now do every day to dress me, that I may not see Willet, and do eye me, whether I cast my eye upon her, or no; and do keep me from going into the room where she is among the upholsters at work in our blue chamber. So abroad to White Hall by water, and so on for all this day as I have by mistake set down in the fifth day after this mark. [In the margin here is the following: "Look back one leaf for my mistake."] In the room of which I should have said that I was at the office all the morning, and so to dinner, my wife with me, but so as I durst not look upon the girle, though, God knows, notwithstanding all my protestations I could not keep my mind from desiring it. After dinner to the office again, and there did some business, and then by coach to see Roger Pepys at his lodgings, next door to Arundell House, a barber's; and there I did see a book, which my Lord Sandwich hath promised one to me of, "A Description of the Escuriall in Spain;" which I have a great desire to have, though I took it for a finer book when he promised it me. With him to see my cozen Turner and The., and there sat and talked, they being newly come out of the country; and here pretty merry, and with The. to shew her a coach at Mr. Povy's man's, she being in want of one, and so back again with her, and then home by coach, with my mind troubled and finding no content, my wife being still troubled, nor can be at peace while the girle is there, which I am troubled at on the other side. We past the evening together, and then to bed and slept ill, she being troubled and troubling me in the night with talk and complaints upon the old business. This is the day's work of the 5th, though it stands under the 6th, my mind being now so troubled that it is no wonder that I fall into this mistake more than ever I did in my life before. 7th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and so to it again after dinner, and there busy late, choosing to employ myself rather than go home to trouble with my wife, whom, however, I am forced to comply with, and indeed I do pity her as having cause enough for her grief. So to bed, and there slept ill because of my wife. This afternoon I did go out towards Sir D. Gawden's, thinking to have bespoke a place for my coach and horses, when I have them, at the Victualling Office; but find the way so bad and long that I returned, and looked up and down for places elsewhere, in an inne, which I hope to get with more convenience than there. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the morning, setting papers to rights, with my boy; and so to dinner at noon. The girle with us, but my wife troubled thereat to see her, and do tell me so, which troubles me, for I love the girle. At my chamber again to work all the afternoon till night, when Pelling comes, who wonders to find my wife so dull and melancholy, but God knows she hath too much cause. However, as pleasant as we can, we supped together, and so made the boy read to me, the poor girle not appearing at supper, but hid herself in her chamber. So that I could wish in that respect that she was out of the house, for our peace is broke to all of us while she is here, and so to bed, where my wife mighty unquiet all night, so as my bed is become burdensome to me. 9th. Up, and I did by a little note which I flung to Deb. advise her that I did continue to deny that ever I kissed her, and so she might govern herself. The truth is that I did adventure upon God's pardoning me this lie, knowing how heavy a thing it would be for me to the ruin of the poor girle, and next knowing that if my wife should know all it were impossible ever for her to be at peace with me again, and so our whole lives would be uncomfortable. The girl read, and as I bid her returned me the note, flinging it to me in passing by. And so I abroad by [coach] to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York to wait on him, who told me that Sir W. Pen had been with him this morning, to ask whether it would be fit for him to sit at the Office now, because of his resolution to be gone, and to become concerned in the Victualling. The Duke of York answered, "Yes, till his contract was signed:" Thence I to Lord Sandwich's, and there to see him; but was made to stay so long, as his best friends are, and when I come to him so little pleasure, his head being full of his own business, I think, that I have no pleasure [to] go to him. Thence to White Hall with him, to the Committee of Tangier; a day appointed for him to give an account of Tangier, and what he did, and found there, which, though he had admirable matter for it, and his doings there were good, and would have afforded a noble account, yet he did it with a mind so low and mean, and delivered in so poor a manner, that it appeared nothing at all, nor any body seemed to value it; whereas, he might have shewn himself to have merited extraordinary thanks, and been held to have done a very great service: whereas now, all that cost the King hath been at for his journey through Spain thither, seems to be almost lost. After we were up, Creed and I walked together, and did talk a good while of the weak report my Lord made, and were troubled for it; I fearing that either his mind and judgment are depressed, or that he do it out of his great neglect, and so my fear that he do all the rest of his affairs accordingly. So I staid about the Court a little while, and then to look for a dinner, and had it at Hercules-Pillars, very late, all alone, costing me 10d. And so to the Excise Office, thinking to meet Sir Stephen Fox and the Cofferer, but the former was gone, and the latter I met going out, but nothing done, and so I to my bookseller's, and also to Crow's, and there saw a piece of my bed, and I find it will please us mightily. So home, and there find my wife troubled, and I sat with her talking, and so to bed, and there very unquiet all night. 10th. Up, and my wife still every day as ill as she is all night, will rise to see me out doors, telling me plainly that she dares not let me see the girle, and so I out to the office, where all the morning, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife mightily troubled again, more than ever, and she tells me that it is from her examining the girle and getting a confession now from her of all.... which do mightily trouble me, as not being able to foresee the consequences of it, as to our future peace together. So my wife would not go down to dinner, but I would dine in her chamber with her, and there after mollifying her as much as I could we were pretty quiet and eat, and by and by comes Mr. Hollier, and dines there by himself after we had dined, and he being gone, we to talk again, and she to be troubled, reproaching me with my unkindness and perjury, I having denied my ever kissing her. As also with all her old kindnesses to me, and my ill-using of her from the beginning, and the many temptations she hath refused out of faithfulness to me, whereof several she was particular in, and especially from my Lord Sandwich, by the sollicitation of Captain Ferrers, and then afterward the courtship of my Lord Hinchingbrooke, even to the trouble of his lady. All which I did acknowledge and was troubled for, and wept, and at last pretty good friends again, and so I to my office, and there late, and so home to supper with her, and so to bed, where after half-an-hour's slumber she wakes me and cries out that she should never sleep more, and so kept raving till past midnight, that made me cry and weep heartily all the while for her, and troubled for what she reproached me with as before, and at last with new vows, and particularly that I would myself bid the girle be gone, and shew my dislike to her, which I will endeavour to perform, but with much trouble, and so this appeasing her, we to sleep as well as we could till morning. 11th. Up, and my wife with me as before, and so to the Office, where, by a speciall desire, the new Treasurers come, and there did shew their Patent, and the Great Seal for the suspension of my Lord Anglesey: and here did sit and discourse of the business of the Office: and brought Mr. Hutchinson with them, who, I hear, is to be their Paymaster, in the room of Mr. Waith. For it seems they do turn out every servant that belongs to the present Treasurer: and so for Fenn, do bring in Mr. Littleton, Sir Thomas's brother, and oust all the rest. But Mr. Hutchinson do already see that his work now will be another kind of thing than before, as to the trouble of it. They gone, and, indeed, they appear, both of them, very intelligent men, I home to dinner, and there with my people dined, and so to my wife, who would not dine with [me] that she might not have the girle come in sight, and there sat and talked a while with her and pretty quiet, I giving no occasion of offence, and so to the office [and then by coach to my cozen Roger Pepys, who did, at my last being with him this day se'nnight, move me as to the supplying him with L500 this term, and L500 the next, for two years, upon a mortgage, he having that sum to pay, a debt left him by his father, which I did agree to, trusting to his honesty and ability, and am resolved to do it for him, that I may not have all I have lie in the King's hands. Having promised him this I returned home again, where to the office], and there having done, I home and to supper and to bed, where, after lying a little while, my wife starts up, and with expressions of affright and madness, as one frantick, would rise, and I would not let her, but burst out in tears myself, and so continued almost half the night, the moon shining so that it was light, and after much sorrow and reproaches and little ravings (though I am apt to think they were counterfeit from her), and my promise again to discharge the girle myself, all was quiet again, and so to sleep. 12th. Up, and she with me as heretofore, and so I to the Office, where all the morning, and at noon to dinner, and Mr. Wayth, who, being at my office about business, I took him with me to talk and understand his matters, who is in mighty trouble from the Committee of Accounts about his contracting with this Office for sayle-cloth, but no hurt can be laid at his door in it, but upon us for doing it, if any, though we did it by the Duke of York's approval, and by him I understand that the new Treasurers do intend to bring in all new Instruments, and so having dined we parted, and I to my wife and to sit with her a little, and then called her and Willet to my chamber, and there did, with tears in my eyes, which I could not help, discharge her and advise her to be gone as soon as she could, and never to see me, or let me see her more while she was in the house, which she took with tears too, but I believe understands me to be her friend, and I am apt to believe by what my wife hath of late told me is a cunning girle, if not a slut. Thence, parting kindly with my wife, I away by coach to my cozen Roger, according as by mistake (which the trouble of my mind for some days has occasioned, in this and another case a day or two before) is set down in yesterday's notes, and so back again, and with Mr. Gibson late at my chamber making an end of my draught of a letter for the Duke of York, in answer to the answers of this Office, which I have now done to my mind, so as, if the Duke likes it, will, I think, put an end to a great deal of the faults of this Office, as well as my trouble for them. So to bed, and did lie now a little better than formerly, but with little, and yet with some trouble. 13th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to White Hall, where to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business; and thence I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, where I staid, and heard an excellent case argued between my Lord Gerard and the Town of Newcastle, about a piece of ground which that Lord hath got a grant of, under the Exchequer Seal, which they were endeavouring to get of the King under the Great Seal. I liked mightily the Counsel for the town, Shaftow, their Recorder, and Mr. Offly. But I was troubled, and so were the Lords, to hear my Lord fly out against their great pretence of merit from the King, for their sufferings and loyalty; telling them that they might thank him for that repute which they have for their loyalty, for that it was he that forced them to be so, against their wills, when he was there: and, moreover, did offer a paper to the Lords to read from the Town, sent in 1648; but the Lords would not read it; but I believe it was something about bringing the King to trial, or some such thing, in that year. Thence I to the Three Tuns Tavern, by Charing Cross, and there dined with W. Pen, Sir J. Minnes, and Commissioner Middleton; and as merry as my mind could be, that hath so much trouble upon it at home. And thence to White Hall, and there staid in Mr. Wren's chamber with him, reading over my draught of a letter, which Mr. Gibson then attended me with; and there he did like all, but doubted whether it would be necessary for the Duke to write in so sharp a style to the Office, as I had drawn it in; which I yield to him, to consider the present posture of the times and the Duke of York and whether it were not better to err on that hand than the other. He told me that he did not think it was necessary for the Duke of York to do so, and that it would not suit so well with his nature nor greatness; which last, perhaps, is true, but then do too truly shew the effects of having Princes in places, where order and discipline should be. I left it to him to do as the Duke of York pleases; and so fell to other talk, and with great freedom, of public things; and he told me, upon my several inquiries to that purpose, that he did believe it was not yet resolved whether the Parliament should ever meet more or no, the three great rulers of things now standing thus:--The Duke of Buckingham is absolutely against their meeting, as moved thereto by his people that he advises with, the people of the late times, who do never expect to have any thing done by this Parliament for their religion, and who do propose that, by the sale of the Church-lands, they shall be able to put the King out of debt: my Lord Keeper is utterly against putting away this and choosing another Parliament, lest they prove worse than this, and will make all the King's friends, and the King himself, in a desperate condition: my Lord Arlington know not which is best for him, being to seek whether this or the next will use him worst. He tells me that he believes that it is intended to call this Parliament, and try them with a sum of money; and, if they do not like it, then to send them going, and call another, who will, at the ruin of the Church perhaps, please the King with what he will for a time. And he tells me, therefore, that he do believe that this policy will be endeavoured by the Church and their friends--to seem to promise the King money, when it shall be propounded, but make the King and these great men buy it dear, before they have it. He tells me that he is really persuaded that the design of the Duke of Buckingham is, by bringing the state into such a condition as, if the King do die without issue, it shall, upon his death, break into pieces again; and so put by the Duke of York, who they have disobliged, they know, to that degree, as to despair of his pardon. He tells me that there is no way to rule the King but by brisknesse, which the Duke of Buckingham hath above all men; and that the Duke of York having it not, his best way is what he practices, that is to say, a good temper, which will support him till the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Arlington fall out, which cannot be long first, the former knowing that the latter did, in the time of the Chancellor, endeavour with the Chancellor to hang him at that time, when he was proclaimed against. And here, by the by, he told me that the Duke of Buckingham did, by his friends, treat with my Lord Chancellor, by the mediation of Matt. Wren and Matt. Clifford, to fall in with my Lord Chancellor; which, he tells me, he did advise my Lord Chancellor to accept of, as that, that with his own interest and the Duke of York's, would undoubtedly have assured all to him and his family; but that my Lord Chancellor was a man not to be advised, thinking himself too high to be counselled: and so all is come to nothing; for by that means the Duke of Buckingham became desperate, and was forced to fall in with Arlington, to his [the Chancellor's] ruin. Thence I home, and there to talk, with great pleasure all the evening, with my wife, who tells me that Deb, has been abroad to-day, and is come home and says she has got a place to go to, so as she will be gone tomorrow morning. This troubled me, and the truth is, I have a good mind to have the maidenhead of this girl, which I should not doubt to have if je could get time para be con her. But she will be gone and I not know whither. Before we went to bed my wife told me she would not have me to see her or give her her wages, and so I did give my wife L10 for her year and half a quarter's wages, which she went into her chamber and paid her, and so to bed, and there, blessed be God! we did sleep well and with peace, which I had not done in now almost twenty nights together. This afternoon I went to my coachmaker and Crow's, and there saw things go on to my great content. This morning, at the Treasury-chamber, I did meet Jack Fenn, and there he did shew me my Lord Anglesey's petition and the King's answer: the former good and stout, as I before did hear it: but the latter short and weak, saying that he was not, by what the King had done, hindered from taking the benefit of his laws, and that the reason he had to suspect his mismanagement of his money in Ireland, did make him think it unfit to trust him with his Treasury in England, till he was satisfied in the former. 14th. Up, and had a mighty mind to have seen or given her a little money, to which purpose I wrapt up 40s. in paper, thinking to have given her a little money, but my wife rose presently, and would not let me be out of her sight, and went down before me into the kitchen, and come up and told me that she was in the kitchen, and therefore would have me go round the other way; which she repeating and I vexed at it, answered her a little angrily, upon which she instantly flew out into a rage, calling me dog and rogue, and that I had a rotten heart; all which, knowing that I deserved it, I bore with, and word being brought presently up that she was gone away by coach with her things, my wife was friends, and so all quiet, and I to the Office, with my heart sad, and find that I cannot forget the girl, and vexed I know not where to look for her. And more troubled to see how my wife is by this means likely for ever to have her hand over me, that I shall for ever be a slave to her--that is to say, only in matters of pleasure, but in other things she will make [it] her business, I know, to please me and to keep me right to her, which I will labour to be indeed, for she deserves it of me, though it will be I fear a little time before I shall be able to wear Deb, out of my mind. At the Office all the morning, and merry at noon, at dinner; and after dinner to the Office, where all the afternoon, doing much business, late. My mind being free of all troubles, I thank God, but only for my thoughts of this girl, which hang after her. And so at night home to supper, and then did sleep with great content with my wife. I must here remember that I have lain with my moher as a husband more times since this falling out than in I believe twelve months before. And with more pleasure to her than I think in all the time of our marriage before. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and after long lying with pleasure talking with my wife, and then up to look up and down our house, which will when our upholster hath done be mighty fine, and so to my chamber, and there did do several things among my papers, and so to the office to write down my journal for 6 or 7 days, my mind having been so troubled as never to get the time to do it before, as may appear a little by the mistakes I have made in this book within these few days. At noon comes Mr. Shepley to dine with me and W. Howe, and there dined and pretty merry, and so after dinner W. Howe to tell me what hath happened between him and the Commissioners of late, who are hot again, more than ever, about my Lord Sandwich's business of prizes, which I am troubled for, and the more because of the great security and neglect with which, I think, my Lord do look upon this matter, that may yet, for aught I know, undo him. They gone, and Balty being come from the Downs, not very well, is come this day to see us, I to talk with him, and with some pleasure, hoping that he will make a good man. I in the evening to my Office again, to make an end of my journall, and so home to my chamber with W. Hewer to settle some papers, and so to supper and to bed, with my mind pretty quiet, and less troubled about Deb. than I was, though yet I am troubled, I must confess, and would be glad to find her out, though I fear it would be my ruin. This evening there come to sit with us Mr. Pelling, who wondered to see my wife and I so dumpish, but yet it went off only as my wife's not being well, and, poor wretch, she hath no cause to be well, God knows. 16th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there at the robe chamber at a Committee for Tangier, where some of us--my Lord Sandwich, Sir W. Coventry, and myself, with another or two--met to debate the business of the Mole, and there drew up reasons for the King's taking of it into his own hands, and managing of it upon accounts with Sir H. Cholmley. This being done I away to Holborne, about Whetstone's Park, where I never was in my life before, where I understand by my wife's discourse that Deb. is gone, which do trouble me mightily that the poor girle should be in a desperate condition forced to go thereabouts, and there not hearing of any such man as Allbon, with whom my wife said she now was, I to the Strand, and there by sending Drumbleby's boy, my flageolet maker, to Eagle Court, where my wife also by discourse lately let fall that he did lately live, I find that this Dr. Allbon is a kind of poor broken fellow that dare not shew his head nor be known where he is gone, but to Lincoln's Inn Fields I went to Mr. Povy's, but missed him, and so hearing only that this Allbon is gone to Fleet Street, I did only call at Martin's, my bookseller's, and there bought "Cassandra," and some other French books for my wife's closet, and so home, having eat nothing but two pennyworths of oysters, opened for me by a woman in the Strand, while the boy went to and again to inform me about this man, and therefore home and to dinner, and so all the afternoon at the office, and there late busy, and so home to supper, and pretty pleasant with my wife to bed, rested pretty well. 17th. Up, and to the Office all the morning, where the new Treasurers come, their second time, and before they sat down, did discourse with the Board, and particularly my Lord Brouncker, about their place, which they challenge, as having been heretofore due, and given to their predecessor; which, at last, my Lord did own hath been given him only out of courtesy to his quality, and that he did not take it as a right at the Board: so they, for the present, sat down, and did give him the place, but, I think, with an intent to have the Duke of York's directions about it. My wife and maids busy now, to make clean the house above stairs, the upholsters having done there, in her closet and the blue room, and they are mighty pretty. At my office all the afternoon and at night busy, and so home to my wife, and pretty pleasant, and at mighty ease in my mind, being in hopes to find Deb., and without trouble or the knowledge of my wife. So to supper at night and to bed. 18th. Lay long in bed talking with my wife, she being unwilling to have me go abroad, saying and declaring herself jealous of my going out for fear of my going to Deb., which I do deny, for which God forgive me, for I was no sooner out about noon but I did go by coach directly to Somerset House, and there enquired among the porters there for Dr. Allbun, and the first I spoke with told me he knew him, and that he was newly gone into Lincoln's Inn Fields, but whither he could not tell me, but that one of his fellows not then in the way did carry a chest of drawers thither with him, and that when he comes he would ask him. This put me into some hopes, and I to White Hall, and thence to Mr. Povy's, but he at dinner, and therefore I away and walked up and down the Strand between the two turnstiles, hoping to see her out of a window, and then employed a porter, one Osberton, to find out this Doctor's lodgings thereabouts, who by appointment comes to me to Hercules pillars, where I dined alone, but tells me that he cannot find out any such, but will enquire further. Thence back to White Hall to the Treasury a while, and thence to the Strand, and towards night did meet with the porter that carried the chest of drawers with this Doctor, but he would not tell me where he lived, being his good master, he told me, but if I would have a message to him he would deliver it. At last I told him my business was not with him, but a little gentlewoman, one Mrs. Willet, that is with him, and sent him to see how she did from her friend in London, and no other token. He goes while I walk in Somerset House, walk there in the Court; at last he comes back and tells me she is well, and that I may see her if I will, but no more. So I could not be commanded by my reason, but I must go this very night, and so by coach, it being now dark, I to her, close by my tailor's, and she come into the coach to me, and je did baiser her.... I did nevertheless give her the best council I could, to have a care of her honour, and to fear God, and suffer no man para avoir to do con her as je have done, which she promised. Je did give her 20s. and directions para laisser sealed in paper at any time the name of the place of her being at Herringman's, my bookseller in the 'Change, by which I might go para her, and so bid her good night with much content to my mind, and resolution to look after her no more till I heard from her. And so home, and there told my wife a fair tale, God knows, how I spent the whole day, with which the poor wretch was satisfied, or at least seemed so, and so to supper and to bed, she having been mighty busy all day in getting of her house in order against to-morrow to hang up our new hangings and furnishing our best chamber. 19th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, with my heart full of joy to think in what a safe condition all my matters now stand between my wife and Deb, and me, and at noon running up stairs to see the upholsters, who are at work upon hanging my best room, and setting up my new bed, I find my wife sitting sad in the dining room; which enquiring into the reason of, she begun to call me all the false, rotten-hearted rogues in the world, letting me understand that I was with Deb. yesterday, which, thinking it impossible for her ever to understand, I did a while deny, but at last did, for the ease of my mind and hers, and for ever to discharge my heart of this wicked business, I did confess all, and above stairs in our bed chamber there I did endure the sorrow of her threats and vows and curses all the afternoon, and, what was worse, she swore by all that was good that she would slit the nose of this girle, and be gone herself this very night from me, and did there demand 3 or L400 of me to buy my peace, that she might be gone without making any noise, or else protested that she would make all the world know of it. So with most perfect confusion of face and heart, and sorrow and shame, in the greatest agony in the world I did pass this afternoon, fearing that it will never have an end; but at last I did call for W. Hewer, who I was forced to make privy now to all, and the poor fellow did cry like a child, [and] obtained what I could not, that she would be pacified upon condition that I would give it under my hand never to see or speak with Deb, while I live, as I did before with Pierce and Knepp, and which I did also, God knows, promise for Deb. too, but I have the confidence to deny it to the perjury of myself. So, before it was late, there was, beyond my hopes as well as desert, a durable peace; and so to supper, and pretty kind words, and to bed, and there je did hazer con eile to her content, and so with some rest spent the night in bed, being most absolutely resolved, if ever I can master this bout, never to give her occasion while I live of more trouble of this or any other kind, there being no curse in the world so great as this of the differences between myself and her, and therefore I do, by the grace of God, promise never to offend her more, and did this night begin to pray to God upon my knees alone in my chamber, which God knows I cannot yet do heartily; but I hope God will give me the grace more and more every day to fear Him, and to be true to my poor wife. This night the upholsters did finish the hanging of my best chamber, but my sorrow and trouble is so great about this business, that it puts me out of all joy in looking upon it or minding how it was. 20th. This morning up, with mighty kind words between my poor wife and I; and so to White Hall by water, W. Hewer with me, who is to go with me every where, until my wife be in condition to go out along with me herself; for she do plainly declare that she dares not trust me out alone, and therefore made it a piece of our league that I should alway take somebody with me, or her herself, which I am mighty willing to, being, by the grace of God, resolved never to do her wrong more. We landed at the Temple, and there I bid him call at my cozen Roger Pepys's lodgings, and I staid in the street for him, and so took water again at the Strand stairs; and so to White Hall, in my way I telling him plainly and truly my resolutions, if I can get over this evil, never to give new occasion for it. He is, I think, so honest and true a servant to us both, and one that loves us, that I was not much troubled at his being privy to all this, but rejoiced in my heart that I had him to assist in the making us friends, which he did truly and heartily, and with good success, for I did get him to go to Deb. to tell her that I had told my wife all of my being with her the other night, that so if my wife should send she might not make the business worse by denying it. While I was at White Hall with the Duke of York, doing our ordinary business with him, here being also the first time the new Treasurers. W. Hewer did go to her and come back again, and so I took him into St. James's Park, and there he did tell me he had been with her, and found what I said about my manner of being with her true, and had given her advice as I desired. I did there enter into more talk about my wife and myself, and he did give me great assurance of several particular cases to which my wife had from time to time made him privy of her loyalty and truth to me after many and great temptations, and I believe them truly. I did also discourse the unfitness of my leaving of my employment now in many respects to go into the country, as my wife desires, but that I would labour to fit myself for it, which he thoroughly understands, and do agree with me in it; and so, hoping to get over this trouble, we about our business to Westminster Hall to meet Roger Pepys, which I did, and did there discourse of the business of lending him L500 to answer some occasions of his, which I believe to be safe enough, and so took leave of him and away by coach home, calling on my coachmaker by the way, where I like my little coach mightily. But when I come home, hoping for a further degree of peace and quiet, I find my wife upon her bed in a horrible rage afresh, calling me all the bitter names, and, rising, did fall to revile me in the bitterest manner in the world, and could not refrain to strike me and pull my hair, which I resolved to bear with, and had good reason to bear it. So I by silence and weeping did prevail with her a little to be quiet, and she would not eat her dinner without me; but yet by and by into a raging fit she fell again, worse than before, that she would slit the girl's nose, and at last W. Hewer come in and come up, who did allay her fury, I flinging myself, in a sad desperate condition, upon the bed in the blue room, and there lay while they spoke together; and at last it come to this, that if I would call Deb. whore under my hand and write to her that I hated her, and would never see her more, she would believe me and trust in me, which I did agree to, only as to the name of whore I would have excused, and therefore wrote to her sparing that word, which my wife thereupon tore it, and would not be satisfied till, W. Hewer winking upon me, I did write so with the name of a whore as that I did fear she might too probably have been prevailed upon to have been a whore by her carriage to me, and therefore as such I did resolve never to see her more. This pleased my wife, and she gives it W. Hewer to carry to her with a sharp message from her. So from that minute my wife begun to be kind to me, and we to kiss and be friends, and so continued all the evening, and fell to talk of other matters, with great comfort, and after supper to bed. This evening comes Mr. Billup to me, to read over Mr. Wren's alterations of my draught of a letter for the Duke of York to sign, to the Board; which I like mighty well, they being not considerable, only in mollifying some hard terms, which I had thought fit to put in. From this to other discourse; and do find that the Duke of York and his master, Mr. Wren, do look upon this service of mine as a very seasonable service to the Duke of York, as that which he will have to shew to his enemies in his own justification, of his care of the King's business; and I am sure I am heartily glad of it, both for the King's sake and the Duke of York's, and my own also; for, if I continue, my work, by this means, will be the less, and my share in the blame also. He being gone, I to my wife again, and so spent the evening with very great joy, and the night also with good sleep and rest, my wife only troubled in her rest, but less than usual, for which the God of Heaven be praised. I did this night promise to my wife never to go to bed without calling upon God upon my knees by prayer, and I begun this night, and hope I shall never forget to do the like all my life; for I do find that it is much the best for my soul and body to live pleasing to God and my poor wife, and will ease me of much care as well as much expense. 21st. Up, with great joy to my wife and me, and to the office, where W. Hewer did most honestly bring me back the part of my letter to Deb. wherein I called her whore, assuring me that he did not shew it her, and that he did only give her to understand that wherein I did declare my desire never to see her, and did give her the best Christian counsel he could, which was mighty well done of him. But by the grace of God, though I love the poor girl and wish her well, as having gone too far toward the undoing her, yet I will never enquire after or think of her more, my peace being certainly to do right to my wife. At the Office all the morning; and after dinner abroad with W. Hewer to my Lord Ashly's, where my Lord Barkeley and Sir Thomas Ingram met upon Mr. Povy's account, where I was in great pain about that part of his account wherein I am concerned, above L150, I think; and Creed hath declared himself dissatisfied with it, so far as to desire to cut his "Examinatur" out of the paper, as the only condition in which he would be silent in it. This Povy had the wit to yield to; and so when it come to be inquired into, I did avouch the truth of the account as to that particular, of my own knowledge, and so it went over as a thing good and just--as, indeed, in the bottom of it, it is; though in strictness, perhaps, it would not so well be understood. This Committee rising, I, with my mind much satisfied herein, away by coach home, setting Creed into Southampton Buildings, and so home; and there ended my letters, and then home to my wife, where I find my house clean now, from top to bottom, so as I have not seen it many a day, and to the full satisfaction of my mind, that I am now at peace, as to my poor wife, as to the dirtiness of my house, and as to seeing an end, in a great measure, to my present great disbursements upon my house, and coach and horses. 22nd (Lord's day). My wife and I lay long, with mighty content; and so rose, and she spent the whole day making herself clean, after four or five weeks being in continued dirt; and I knocking up nails, and making little settlements in my house, till noon, and then eat a bit of meat in the kitchen, I all alone. And so to the Office, to set down my journall, for some days leaving it imperfect, the matter being mighty grievous to me, and my mind, from the nature of it; and so in, to solace myself with my wife, whom I got to read to me, and so W. Hewer and the boy; and so, after supper, to bed. This day my boy's livery is come home, the first I ever had, of greene, lined with red; and it likes me well enough. 23rd. Up, and called upon by W. Howe, who went, with W. Hewer with me, by water, to the Temple; his business was to have my advice about a place he is going to buy--the Clerk of the Patent's place, which I understand not, and so could say little to him, but fell to other talk, and setting him in at the Temple, we to White Hall, and there I to visit Lord Sandwich, who is now so reserved, or moped rather, I think, with his own business, that he bids welcome to no man, I think, to his satisfaction. However, I bear with it, being willing to give him as little trouble as I can, and to receive as little from him, wishing only that I had my money in my purse, that I have lent him; but, however, I shew no discontent at all. So to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier expected, but none met. I met with Mr. Povy, who I discoursed with about publick business, who tells me that this discourse which I told him of, of the Duke of Monmouth being made Prince of Wales, hath nothing in it; though he thinks there are all the endeavours used in the world to overthrow the Duke of York. He would not have me doubt of my safety in the Navy, which I am doubtful of from the reports of a general removal; but he will endeavour to inform me, what he can gather from my Lord Arlington. That he do think that the Duke of Buckingham hath a mind rather to overthrow all the kingdom, and bring in a Commonwealth, wherein he may think to be General of their Army, or to make himself King, which, he believes, he may be led to, by some advice he hath had with conjurors, which he do affect. Thence with W. Hewer, who goes up and down with me like a jaylour, but yet with great love and to my great good liking, it being my desire above all things to please my wife therein. I took up my wife and boy at Unthank's, and from there to Hercules Pillars, and there dined, and thence to our upholster's, about some things more to buy, and so to see our coach, and so to the looking-glass man's, by the New Exchange, and so to buy a picture for our blue chamber chimney, and so home; and there I made my boy to read to me most of the night, to get through the Life of the Archbishop of Canterbury. At supper comes Mary Batelier, and with us all the evening, prettily talking, and very innocent company she is; and she gone, we with much content to bed, and to sleep, with mighty rest all night. 24th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Gentleman, the cook, and an old woman, his third or fourth wife, come and dined with us, to enquire about a ticket of his son's, that is dead; and after dinner, I with Mr. Hosier to my closet, to discourse of the business of balancing Storekeeper's accounts, which he hath taken great pains in reducing to a method, to my great satisfaction; and I shall be glad both for the King's sake and his, that the thing may be put in practice, and will do my part to promote it. That done, he gone, I to the Office, where busy till night; and then with comfort to sit with my wife, and get her to read to me, and so to supper, and to bed, with my mind at mighty ease. 25th. Up, and by coach with W. Hewer to see W. Coventry; but he gone out, I to White Hall, and there waited on Lord Sandwich, which I have little encouragement to do, because of the difficulty of seeing him, and the little he hath to say to me when I do see him, or to any body else, but his own idle people about him, Sir Charles Harbord, &c. Thence walked with him to White Hall, where to the Duke of York; and there the Duke, and Wren, and I, by appointment in his closet, to read over our letter to the Office, which he heard, and signed it, and it is to my mind, Mr. Wren having made it somewhat sweeter to the Board, and yet with all the advice fully, that I did draw it up with. He [the Duke] said little more to us now, his head being full of other business; but I do see that he do continue to put a value upon my advice; and so Mr. Wren and I to his chamber, and there talked: and he seems to hope that these people, the Duke of Buckingham and Arlington, will run themselves off of their legs; they being forced to be always putting the King upon one idle thing or other, against the easiness of his nature, which he will never be able to bear, nor they to keep him to, and so will lose themselves. And, for instance of their little progress, he tells me that my Lord of Ormond is like yet to carry it, and to continue in his command in Ireland; at least, they cannot get the better of him yet. But he tells me that the Keeper is wrought upon, as they say, to give his opinion for the dissolving of the Parliament, which, he thinks, will undo him in the eyes of the people. He do not seem to own the hearing or fearing of any thing to be done in the Admiralty, to the lessening of the Duke of York, though he hears how the town talk's full of it. Thence I by coach home, and there find my cozen Roger come to dine with me, and to seal his mortgage for the L500 I lend him; but he and I first walked to the 'Change, there to look for my uncle Wight, and get him to dinner with us. So home, buying a barrel of oysters at my old oyster-woman's, in Gracious Street, but over the way to where she kept her shop before. So home, and there merry at dinner; and the money not being ready, I carried Roger Pepys to Holborn Conduit, and there left him going to Stradwick's, whom we avoided to see, because of our long absence, and my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, to see "The Duchesse of Malfy," a sorry play, and sat with little pleasure, for fear of my wife's seeing me look about, and so I was uneasy all the while, though I desire and resolve never to give her trouble of that kind more. So home, and there busy at the Office a while, and then home, where my wife to read to me, and so to supper, and to bed. This evening, to my great content, I got Sir Richard Ford to give me leave to set my coach in his yard. 26th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, where I was to have delivered the Duke of York's letter of advice to the Board, in answer to our several answers to his great letter; but Lord Brouncker not being there, and doubtful to deliver it before the new Treasurers, I forbore it to next sitting. So home at noon to dinner, where I find Mr. Pierce and his wife but I was forced to shew very little pleasure in her being there because of my vow to my wife; and therefore was glad of a very bad occasion for my being really troubled, which is, at W. Hewer's losing of a tally of L1000, which I sent him this day to receive of the Commissioners of Excise. So that though I hope at the worst I shall be able to get another, yet I made use of this to get away as soon as I had dined, and therefore out with him to the Excise Office to make a stop of its payment, and so away to the coachmaker's and several other places, and so away home, and there to my business at the office, and thence home, and there my wife to read to me, and W. Hewer to set some matters of accounts right at my chamber, to bed. 27th. Up, and with W. Hewer to see W. Coventry again, but missed him again, by coming too late, the man of [all] the world that I am resolved to preserve an interest in. Thence to White Hall, and there at our usual waiting on the Duke of York; and that being done, I away to the Exchequer, to give a stop, and take some advice about my lost tally, wherein I shall have some remedy, with trouble, and so home, and there find Mr. Povy, by appointment, to dine with me; where a pretty good dinner, but for want of thought in my wife it was but slovenly dressed up; however, much pleasant discourse with him, and some serious; and he tells me that he would, by all means, have me get to be a Parliament-man the next Parliament, which he believes there will be one, which I do resolve of. By and by comes my cozen Roger, and dines with us; and, after dinner, did seal his mortgage, wherein I do wholly rely on his honesty, not having so much as read over what he hath given me for it, nor minded it, but do trust to his integrity therein. They all gone, I to the office and there a while, and then home to ease my eyes and make my wife read to me. 28th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where, while I was sitting, one comes and tells me that my coach is come. So I was forced to go out, and to Sir Richard Ford's, where I spoke to him, and he is very willing to have it brought in, and stand there; and so I ordered it, to my great content, it being mighty pretty, only the horses do not please me, and, therefore, resolve to have better. At noon home to dinner, and so to the office again all the afternoon, and did a great deal of business, and so home to supper and to bed, with my mind at pretty good ease, having this day presented to the Board the Duke of York's letter, which, I perceive, troubled Sir W. Pen, he declaring himself meant in that part, that concerned excuse by sickness; but I do not care, but am mightily glad that it is done, and now I shall begin to be at pretty good ease in the Office. This morning, to my great content, W. Hewer tells me that a porter is come, who found my tally in Holborne, and brings it him, for which he gives him 20s. 29th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed with pleasure with my wife, with whom I have now a great deal of content, and my mind is in other things also mightily more at ease, and I do mind my business better than ever and am more at peace, and trust in God I shall ever be so, though I cannot yet get my mind off from thinking now and then of Deb., but I do ever since my promise a while since to my wife pray to God by myself in my chamber every night, and will endeavour to get my wife to do the like with me ere long, but am in much fear of what she lately frighted me with about her being a Catholique; and I dare not, therefore, move her to go to church, for fear she should deny me; but this morning, of her own accord, she spoke of going to church the next Sunday, which pleases me mightily. This morning my coachman's clothes come home; and I like the livery mightily, and so I all the morning at my chamber, and dined with my wife, and got her to read to me in the afternoon, till Sir W. Warren, by appointment, comes to me, who spent two hours, or three, with me, about his accounts of Gottenburgh, which are so confounded, that I doubt they will hardly ever pass without my doing something, which he desires of me, and which, partly from fear, and partly from unwillingness to wrong the King, and partly from its being of no profit to me, I am backward to give way to, though the poor man do indeed deserve to be rid of this trouble, that he hath lain so long under, from the negligence of this Board. We afterwards fell to other talk, and he tells me, as soon as he saw my coach yesterday, he wished that the owner might not contract envy by it; but I told him it was now manifestly for my profit to keep a coach, and that, after employments like mine for eight years, it were hard if I could not be justly thought to be able to do that. [Though our journalist prided himself not a little upon becoming possessed of a carriage, the acquisition was regarded with envy and jealousy by his enemies, as will appear by the following extract from the scurrilous pamphlet, "A Hue and Cry after P. and H. and Plain Truth (or a Private Discourse between P. and H.)," in which Pepys and Hewer are severely handled: "There is one thing more you must be mightily sorry for with all speed. Your presumption in your coach, in which you daily ride, as if you had been son and heir to the great Emperor Neptune, or as if you had been infallibly to have succeeded him in his government of the Ocean, all which was presumption in the highest degree. First, you had upon the fore part of your chariot, tempestuous waves and wrecks of ships; on your left hand, forts and great guns, and ships a-fighting; on your right hand was a fair harbour and galleys riding, with their flags and pennants spread, kindly saluting each other, just like P[epys] and H[ewer]. Behind it were high curled waves and ships a-sinking, and here and there an appearance of some bits of land."] He gone, my wife and I to supper; and so she to read, and made an end of the Life of Archbishop Laud, which is worth reading, as informing a man plainly in the posture of the Church, and how the things of it were managed with the same self-interest and design that every other thing is, and have succeeded accordingly. So to bed. 30th. Up betimes, and with W. Hewer, who is my guard, to White Hall, to a Committee of Tangier, where the business of Mr. Lanyon [John Lanyon, agent of the Navy Commissioners at Plymouth. The cause of complaint appears to have been connected with his contract for Tangier. In 1668 a charge was made against Lanyon and Thomas Yeabsley that they had defrauded the king in the freighting of the ship "Tiger" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1668-69, p. 138).] took up all the morning; and where, poor man! he did manage his business with so much folly, and ill fortune to boot, that the Board, before his coming in, inclining, of their own accord, to lay his cause aside, and leave it to the law, but he pressed that we would hear it, and it ended to the making him appear a very knave, as well as it did to me a fool also, which I was sorry for. Thence by water, Mr. Povy, Creed, and I, to Arundell House, and there I did see them choosing their Council, it being St. Andrew's-day; and I had his Cross [The cross of St. Andrew, like that of St. Patrick, is a saltire. The two, combined with the red cross of St. George, form the Union flag.] set on my hat, as the rest had, and cost me 2s., and so leaving them I away by coach home to dinner, and my wife, after dinner, went the first time abroad to take the maidenhead of her coach, calling on Roger Pepys, and visiting Mrs. Creed, and my cozen Turner, while I at home all the afternoon and evening, very busy and doing much work, to my great content. Home at night, and there comes Mrs. Turner and Betty to see us, and supped with us, and I shewed them a cold civility for fear of troubling my wife, and after supper, they being gone, we to bed. Thus ended this month, with very good content, that hath been the most sad to my heart and the most expenseful to my purse on things of pleasure, having furnished my wife's closet and the best chamber, and a coach and horses, that ever I yet knew in the world: and do put me into the greatest condition of outward state that ever I was in, or hoped ever to be, or desired: and this at a time when we do daily expect great changes in this Office: and by all reports we must, all of us, turn out. But my eyes are come to that condition that I am not able to work: and therefore that, and my wife's desire, make me have no manner of trouble in my thoughts about it. So God do his will in it! DECEMBER 1668 December 1st. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, and at noon with my people to dinner, and so to the office, very busy till night, and then home and made my boy read to me Wilkins's Reall Character, which do please me mightily, and so after supper to bed with great pleasure and content with my wife. This day I hear of poor Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, being dead, of a cold, after being not above two days ill, which troubles me mightily, poor man! 2nd. Up, and at the office all the morning upon some accounts of Sir D. Gawden, and at noon abroad with W. Hewer, thinking to have found Mr. Wren at Captain Cox's, to have spoke something to him about doing a favour for Will's uncle Steventon, but missed him. And so back home and abroad with my wife, the first time that ever I rode in my own coach, which do make my heart rejoice, and praise God, and pray him to bless it to me and continue it. So she and I to the King's playhouse, and there sat to avoid seeing Knepp in a box above where Mrs. Williams happened to be, and there saw "The Usurper;" a pretty good play, in all but what is designed to resemble Cromwell and Hugh Peters, which is mighty silly. The play done, we to White Hall; where my wife staid while I up to the Duchesse's and Queen's side, to speak with the Duke of York: and here saw all the ladies, and heard the silly discourse of the King, with his people about him, telling a story of my Lord Rochester's having of his clothes stole, while he was with a wench; and his gold all gone, but his clothes found afterwards stuffed into a feather bed by the wench that stole them. I spoke with the Duke of York, just as he was set down to supper with the King, about our sending of victuals to Sir Thomas Allen's fleet hence to Cales [Cadiz] to meet him. And so back to my wife in my coach, and so with great content and joy home, where I made my boy to make an end of the Reall Character, which I begun a great while ago, and do please me infinitely, and indeed is a most worthy labour, and I think mighty easy, though my eyes make me unable to attempt any thing in it. To-day I hear that Mr. Ackworth's cause went for him at Guildhall, against his accusers, which I am well enough pleased with. 3rd. Up betimes, and by water with W. Hewer to White Hall, and there to Mr. Wren, who gives me but small hopes of the favour I hoped for Mr. Steventon, Will's uncle, of having leave, being upon the point of death, to surrender his place, which do trouble me, but I will do what I can. So back again to the Office, Sir Jer. Smith with me; who is a silly, prating, talking man; but he tells me what he hears, that Holmes and Spragg now rule all with the Duke of Buckingham, as to seabusiness, and will be great men: but he do prophesy what will be the fruit of it; so I do. So to the Office, where we sat all the morning; and at noon home to dinner, and then abroad again, with my wife, to the Duke of York's playhouse, and saw "The Unfortunate Lovers;" a mean play, I think, but some parts very good, and excellently acted. We sat under the boxes, and saw the fine ladies; among others, my Lady Kerneguy, a who is most devilishly painted. And so home, it being mighty pleasure to go alone with my poor wife, in a coach of our own, to a play, and makes us appear mighty great, I think, in the world; at least, greater than ever I could, or my friends for me, have once expected; or, I think, than ever any of my family ever yet lived, in my memory, but my cozen Pepys in Salisbury Court. So to the office, and thence home to supper and to bed. 4th. Up, and with W. Hewer by water to White Hall, and there did wait as usual upon the Duke of York, where, upon discoursing something touching the Ticket-Office, which by letter the Board did give the Duke of York their advice, to be put upon Lord Brouncker, Sir J. Minnes did foolishly rise up and complain of the Office, and his being made nothing of; and this before Sir Thomas Littleton, who would be glad of this difference among us, which did trouble me mightily; and therefore I did forbear to say what I otherwise would have thought fit for me to say on this occasion, upon so impertinent a speech as this doting fool made--but, I say, I let it alone, and contented myself that it went as I advised, as to the Duke of York's judgment, in the thing disputed. And so thence away, my coach meeting me there and carrying me to several places to do little jobs, which is a mighty convenience, and so home, where by invitation I find my aunt Wight, who looked over all our house, and is mighty pleased with it, and indeed it is now mighty handsome, and rich in furniture. By and by comes my uncle, and then to dinner, where a venison pasty and very merry, and after dinner I carried my wife and her to Smithfield, where they sit in the coach, while Mr. Pickering, who meets me there, and I, and W. Hewer, and a friend of his, a jockey, did go about to see several pairs of horses, for my coach; but it was late, and we agreed on none, but left it to another time: but here I do see instances of a piece of craft and cunning that I never dreamed of, concerning the buying and choosing of horses. So Mr. Pickering, to whom I am much beholden for his kindness herein, and I parted; and I with my people home, where I left them, and I to the office, to meet about some business of Sir W. Warren's accounts, where I vexed to see how ill all the Comptroller's business is likely to go on, so long as ever Sir J. Minnes lives; and so troubled I was, that I thought it a good occasion for me to give my thoughts of it in writing, and therefore wrote a letter at the Board, by the help of a tube, to Lord Brouncker, and did give it him, which I kept a copy of, and it may be of use to me hereafter to shew, in this matter. This being done, I home to my aunt, who supped with us, and my uncle also: and a good-humoured woman she is, so that I think we shall keep her acquaintance; but mighty proud she is of her wedding-ring, being lately set with diamonds; cost her about L12: and I did commend it mightily to her, but do not think it very suitable for one of our quality. After supper they home, and we to bed. 5th. Up, after a little talk with my wife, which troubled me, she being ever since our late difference mighty watchful of sleep and dreams, and will not be persuaded but I do dream of Deb., and do tell me that I speak in my dreams and that this night I did cry, Huzzy, and it must be she, and now and then I start otherwise than I used to do, she says, which I know not, for I do not know that I dream of her more than usual, though I cannot deny that my thoughts waking do run now and then against my will and judgment upon her, for that only is wanting to undo me, being now in every other thing as to my mind most happy, and may still be so but for my own fault, if I be catched loving any body but my wife again. So up and to the office, and at noon to dinner, and thence to office, where late, mighty busy, and despatching much business, settling papers in my own office, and so home to supper, and to bed. No news stirring, but that my Lord of Ormond is likely to go to Ireland again, which do shew that the Duke of Buckingham do not rule all so absolutely; and that, however, we shall speedily have more changes in the Navy: and it is certain that the Nonconformists do now preach openly in houses, in many places, and among others the house that was heretofore Sir G. Carteret's, in Leadenhall Streete, and have ready access to the King. And now the great dispute is, whether this Parliament or another; and my great design, if I continue in the Navy, is to get myself to be a Parliament-man. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church; which pleases me mightily, I being full of fear that she would never go to church again, after she had declared to me that she was a Roman Catholique. But though I do verily think she fears God, and is truly and sincerely righteous, yet I do see she is not so strictly so a Catholique as not to go to church with me, which pleases me mightily. Here Mills made a lazy sermon, upon Moses's meeknesse, and so home, and my wife and I alone to dinner, and then she to read a little book concerning speech in general, a translation late out of French; a most excellent piece as ever I read, proving a soul in man, and all the ways and secrets by which nature teaches speech in man, which do please me most infinitely to read. By and by my wife to church, and I to my Office to complete my Journall for the last three days, and so home to my chamber to settle some papers, and so to spend the evening with my wife and W. Hewer talking over the business of the Office, and particularly my own Office, how I will make it, and it will become, in a little time, an Office of ease, and not slavery, as it hath for so many years been. So to supper, and to bed. 7th. Up by candlelight, the first time I have done so this winter, but I had lost my labour so often to visit Sir W. Coventry, and not visited him so long, that I was resolved to get time enough, and so up, and with W. Hewer, it being the first frosty day we have had this winter, did walk it very well to W. Coventry's, and there alone with him an hour talking of the Navy, which he pities, but says he hath no more mind to be found meddling with the Navy, lest it should do it hurt, as well as him, to be found to meddle with it. So to talk of general things: and telling him that, with all these doings, he, I thanked God, stood yet; he told me, Yes, but that he thought his continuing in, did arise from his enemies my Lord of Buckingham and Arlington's seeing that he cared so little if he was out; and he do protest to me that he is as weary of the Treasury, as ever he was of the Navy. He tells me that he do believe that their heat is over almost, as to the Navy, there being now none left of the old stock but my Lord Brouncker, J. Minnes, who is ready to leave the world, and myself. But he tells me that he do foresee very great wants and great disorders by reason thereof; insomuch, as he is represented to the King by his enemies as a melancholy man, and one that is still prophesying ill events, so as the King called him Visionaire, which being told him, he said he answered the party, that, whatever he foresaw, he was not afeard as to himself of any thing, nor particularly of my Lord Arlington, so much as the Duke of Buckingham hath been, nor of the Duke of Buckingham, so much as my Lord Arlington at this time is. But he tells me that he hath been always looked upon as a melancholy man; whereas, others that would please the King do make him believe that all is safe: and so he hath heard my Lord Chancellor openly say to the King, that he was now a glorious prince, and in a glorious condition, because of some one accident that hath happened, or some one rub that hath been removed; "when," says W. Coventry, "they reckoned their one good meal, without considering that there was nothing left in the cup board for to-morrow." After this and other discourse of this kind, I away, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's, and walked with him to White Hall, and took a quarter of an hour's walk in the garden with him, which I had not done for so much time with him since his coming into England; and talking of his own condition, and particularly of the world's talk of his going to Tangier. I find, if his conditions can be made profitable and safe as to money, he would go, but not else; but, however, will seem not averse to it, because of facilitating his other accounts now depending, which he finds hard to get through, but yet hath some hopes, the King, he says, speaking very kindly to him. Thence to a Committee of Tangier, and so with W. Hewer to Westminster to Sir R. Longs office, and so to the Temple, but did nothing, the Auditor not being within, and so home to dinner, and after dinner out again with my wife to the Temple, and up and down to do a little business, and back again, and so to my office, and did a little business, and so home, and W. Hewer with me, to read and talk, and so to supper, and then to bed in mighty good humour. This afternoon, passing through Queen's Street, I saw pass by our coach on foot Deb., which, God forgive me, did put me into some new thoughts of her, and for her, but durst not shew them, and I think my wife did not see her, but I did get my thoughts free of her soon as I could. 8th. Up, and Sir H. Cholmly betimes with me, about some accounts and moneys due to him: and he gone, I to the Office, where sat all the morning; and here, among other things, breaks out the storm W. Hewer and I have long expected from the Surveyor,--[Colonel Middleton.]--about W. Hewer's conspiring to get a contract, to the burdening of the stores with kerseys and cottons, of which he hath often complained, and lately more than ever; and now he did it by a most scandalous letter to the Board, reflecting on my Office: and, by discourse, it fell to such high words between him and me, as can hardly ever be forgot; I declaring I would believe W. Hewer as soon as him, and laying the fault, if there be any, upon himself; he, on the other hand, vilifying of my word and W. Hewer's, calling him knave, and that if he were his clerk, he should lose his ears. At last, I closed the business for this morning with making the thing ridiculous, as it is, and he swearing that the King should have right in it, or he would lose his place. The Office was cleared of all but ourselves and W. Hewer; but, however, the world did by the beginning see what it meant, and it will, I believe, come to high terms between us, which I am sorry for, to have any blemish laid upon me or mine, at this time, though never so unduly, for fear of giving occasion to my real discredit: and therefore I was not only all the rest of the morning vexed, but so went home to dinner, where my wife tells me of my Lord Orrery's new play "Tryphon," at the Duke of York's house, which, however, I would see, and therefore put a bit of meat in our mouths, and went thither; where, with much ado, at half-past one, we got into a blind hole in the 18d. place, above stairs, where we could not hear well, but the house infinite full, but the prologue most silly, and the play, though admirable, yet no pleasure almost in it, because just the very same design, and words, and sense, and plot, as every one of his plays have, any one of which alone would be held admirable, whereas so many of the same design and fancy do but dull one another; and this, I perceive, is the sense of every body else, as well as myself, who therefore showed but little pleasure in it. So home, mighty hot, and my mind mightily out of order, so as I could not eat any supper, or sleep almost all night, though I spent till twelve at night with W. Hewer to consider of our business: and we find it not only most free from any blame of our side, but so horrid scandalous on the other, to make so groundless a complaint, and one so shameful to him, that it could not but let me see that there is no need of my being troubled; but such is the weakness of my nature, that I could not help it, which vexes me, showing me how unable I am to live with difficulties. 9th. Up, and to the Office, but did little there, my mind being still uneasy, though more and more satisfied that there is no occasion for it; but abroad with my wife to the Temple, where I met with Auditor Wood's clerk, and did some business with him, and so to see Mr. Spong, and found him out by Southampton Market, and there carried my wife, and up to his chamber, a bye place, but with a good prospect of the fields; and there I had most infinite pleasure, not only with his ingenuity in general, but in particular with his shewing me the use of the Parallelogram, by which he drew in a quarter of an hour before me, in little, from a great, a most neat map of England--that is, all the outlines, which gives me infinite pleasure, and foresight of pleasure, I shall have with it; and therefore desire to have that which I have bespoke, made. Many other pretty things he showed us, and did give me a glass bubble, to try the strength of liquors with. [This seems to refer to the first form of the Hon. Robert Boyle's hydrometer, which he described in a paper in the "Philosophical Transactions" for June, 1675, under the title of a "New Essay instrument." In this paper the author refers to a glass instrument exhibited many years before by himself, "consisting of a bubble furnished with a long and slender stem, which was to be put into several liquors to compare and estimate their specific gravity." Boyle describes this glass bubble in a paper in "Philosophical Transactions," vol. iv., No. 50, p. 1001, 1669, entitled, "The Weights of Water in Water with ordinary Balances and Weights."] This done, and having spent 6d. in ale in the coach, at the door of the Bull Inn, with the innocent master of the house, a Yorkshireman, for his letting us go through his house, we away to Hercules Pillars, and there eat a bit of meat: and so, with all speed, back to the Duke of York's house, where mighty full again; but we come time enough to have a good place in the pit, and did hear this new play again, where, though I better understood it than before, yet my sense of it and pleasure was just the same as yesterday, and no more, nor any body else's about us. So took our coach and home, having now little pleasure to look about me to see the fine faces, for fear of displeasing my wife, whom I take great comfort now, more than ever, in pleasing; and it is a real joy to me. So home, and to my Office, where spent an hour or two; and so home to my wife, to supper and talk, and so to bed. 10th. Up, and to the Office, where busy all the morning: Middleton not there, so no words or looks of him. At noon, home to dinner; and so to the Office, and there all the afternoon busy; and at night W. Hewer home with me; and we think we have got matter enough to make Middleton appear a coxcomb. But it troubled me to have Sir W. Warren meet me at night, going out of the Office home, and tell me that Middleton do intend to complain to the Duke of York: but, upon consideration of the business, I did go to bed, satisfied that it was best for me that he should; and so my trouble was over, and to bed, and slept well. 11th. Up, and with W. Hewer by water to Somerset House; and there I to my Lord Brouncker, before he went forth to the Duke of York, and there told him my confidence that I should make Middleton appear a fool, and that it was, I thought, best for me to complain of the wrong he hath done; but brought it about, that my Lord desired me I would forbear, and promised that he would prevent Middleton till I had given in my answer to the Board, which I desired: and so away to White Hall, and there did our usual attendance and no word spoke before the Duke of York by Middleton at all; at which I was glad to my heart, because by this means I have time to draw up my answer to my mind. So with W. Hewer by coach to Smithfield, but met not Mr. Dickering, he being not come, and so he [Will] and I to a cook's shop, in Aldersgate Street; and dined well for 19 1/2 d., upon roast beef, pleasing ourselves with the infinite strength we have to prove Middleton a coxcomb; and so, having dined, we back to Smithfield, and there met Dickering, and up and down all the afternoon about horses, and did see the knaveries and tricks of jockeys. Here I met W. Joyce, who troubled me with his impertinencies a great while, and the like Mr. Knepp, who, it seems, is a kind of a jockey, and would fain have been doing something for me, but I avoided him, and the more for fear of being troubled thereby with his wife, whom I desire but dare not see, for my vow to my wife. At last went away and did nothing, only concluded upon giving L50 for a fine pair of black horses we saw this day se'nnight; and so set Mr. Dickering down near his house, whom I am much beholden to, for his care herein, and he hath admirable skill, I perceive, in this business, and so home, and spent the evening talking and merry, my mind at good ease, and so to bed. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and so the like mighty busy, late, all the afternoon, that I might be ready to go to the drawing up of my answer to Middleton to-morrow, and therefore home to supper and to bed. I hear this day that there is fallen down a new house, not quite finished, in Lumbard Street, and that there have been several so, they making use of bad mortar and bricks; but no hurt yet, as God hath ordered it. This day was brought home my pair of black coach-horses, the first I ever was master of. They cost me L50, and are a fine pair. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and with W. Hewer to the Office, where all the morning, and then home to a little dinner, and presently to it again all alone till twelve at night, drawing up my answer to Middleton, which I think I shall do to very good purpose--at least, I satisfy myself therein; and so to bed, weary with walking in my Office dictating to him [Hewer]. In the night my wife very ill, vomited, but was well again by and by. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall to a Committee of Tangier, where, among other things, a silly account of a falling out between Norwood, at Tangier, and Mr. Bland, the mayor, who is fled to Cales [Cadiz]. His complaint is ill-worded, and the other's defence the most ridiculous that ever I saw; and so everybody else that was there, thought it; but never did I see so great an instance of the use of grammar, and knowledge how to tell a man's tale as this day, Bland having spoiled his business by ill-telling it, who had work to have made himself notorious by his mastering Norwood, his enemy, if he had known how to have used it. Thence calling Smith, the Auditor's clerk at the Temple, I by the Exchange home, and there looked over my Tangier accounts with him, and so to dinner, and then set him down again by a hackney, my coachman being this day about breaking of my horses to the coach, they having never yet drawn. Left my wife at Unthank's, and I to the Treasury, where we waited on the Lords Commissioners about Sir D. Gawden's matters, and so took her up again at night, and home to the office, and so home with W. Hewer, and to talk about our quarrel with Middleton, and so to supper and to bed. This day I hear, and am glad, that the King hath prorogued the Parliament to October next; and, among other reasons, it will give me time to go to France, I hope. 15th. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning, and the new Treasurers there; and, for my life, I cannot keep Sir J. Minnes and others of the Board from shewing our weakness, to the dishonour of the Board, though I am not concerned but it do vex me to the heart to have it before these people, that would be glad to find out all our weaknesses. At noon Mrs. Mary Batelier with us, and so, after dinner, I with W. Hewer all the afternoon till night beginning to draw up our answer to Middleton, and it proves troublesome, because I have so much in my head at a time to say, but I must go through with it. So at night to supper and to bed. 16th. I did the like all day long, only a little at dinner, and so to work again, and were at it till 2 in the morning, and so W. Hewer, who was with me all day, home to his lodging, and I to bed, after we had finished it. 17th. Up, and set my man Gibson and Mr. Fists to work to write it over fair, while I all the morning at the office sitting. At noon home to them, and all the afternoon looking over them and examining with W. Hewer, and so about to at night I to bed, leaving them to finish the writing it fair, which they did by sitting up most of the night, and so home to bed. 18th. All the morning at the office about Sir W. Warren's accounts, my mind full of my business, having before we met gone to Lord Brouncker, and got him to read over my paper, who owns most absolute content in it, and the advantage I have in it, and the folly of the Surveyor. At noon home to dinner; and then again to the office a while, and so by hackney coach to Brooke House, and there spoke with Colonel Thomson, I by order carrying them [the Commissioners of Accounts] our Contract-books, from the beginning to the end of the late war. I found him finding of errors in a ship's book, where he shewed me many, which must end in the ruin, I doubt, of the Controller, who found them not out in the pay of the ship, or the whole Office. But I took little notice of them to concern myself in them, but so leaving my books I home to the Office, where the office met, and after some other business done, fell to mine, which the Surveyor begun to be a little brisk at the beginning; but when I come to the point to touch him, which I had all the advantages in the world to do, he become as calm as a lamb, and owned, as the whole Board did, their satisfaction, and cried excuse: and so all made friends; and their acknowledgment put into writing, and delivered into Sir J. Minnes's hand, to be kept there for the use of the Board, or me, when I shall call for it; they desiring it might be so, that I might not make use of it to the prejudice of the Surveyor, whom I had an advantage over, by his extraordinary folly in this matter. But, besides this, I have no small advantage got by this business, as I have put several things into my letter which I should otherwise have wanted an opportunity of saying, which pleases me mightily. So Middleton desiring to be friends, I forgave him; and all mighty quiet, and fell to talk of other stories, and there staid, all of us, till nine or ten at night, more than ever we did in our lives before, together. And so home, where I have a new fight to fight with my wife, who is under new trouble by some news she hath heard of Deb.'s being mighty fine, and gives out that she has a friend that gives her money, and this my wife believes to be me, and, poor wretch! I cannot blame her, and therefore she run into mighty extremes; but I did pacify all, and were mighty good friends, and to bed, and I hope it will be our last struggle from this business, for I am resolved never to give any new occasion, and great peace I find in my mind by it. So to supper, she and I to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon, eating very little dinner, my wife and I by hackney to the King's playhouse, and there, the pit being full, satin a box above, and saw "Catiline's Conspiracy," yesterday being the first day: a play of much good sense and words to read, but that do appear the worst upon the stage, I mean, the least diverting, that ever I saw any, though most fine in clothes; and a fine scene of the Senate, and of a fight, that ever I saw in my life. But the play is only to be read, and therefore home, with no pleasure at all, but only in sitting next to Betty Hall, that did belong to this house, and was Sir Philip Howard's mistress; a mighty pretty wench, though my wife will not think so; and I dare neither commend, nor be seen to look upon her, or any other now, for fear of offending her. So, our own coach coming for us, home, and to end letters, and so home, my wife to read to me out of "The Siege of Rhodes," and so to supper, and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and then home, and there found W. Joyce come to dine with me, as troublesome a talking coxcombe as ever he was, and yet once in a year I like him well enough. In the afternoon my wife and W. Hewer and I to White Hall, where they set me down and staid till I had been with the Duke of York, with the rest of us of the Office, and did a little business, and then the Duke of York in good humour did fall to tell us many fine stories of the wars in Flanders, and how the Spaniards are the [best] disciplined foot in the world; will refuse no extraordinary service if commanded, but scorn to be paid for it, as in other countries, though at the same time they will beg in the streets: not a soldier will carry you a cloak-bag for money for the world, though he will beg a penny, and will do the thing, if commanded by his Commander. That, in the citadel of Antwerp, a soldier hath not a liberty of begging till he hath served three years. They will cry out against their King and Commanders and Generals, none like them in the world, and yet will not hear a stranger say a word of them but he will cut his throat. That, upon a time, some of the Commanders of their army exclaiming against their Generals, and particularly the Marquis de Caranen, the Confessor of the Marquis coming by and hearing them, he stops and gravely tells them that the three great trades of the world are, the lawyers, who govern the world; the churchmen, who enjoy the world; and a sort of fools whom they call souldiers, who make it their work to defend the world. He told us, too, that Turenne being now become a Catholique, he is likely to get over the head of Colbert, their interests being contrary; the latter to promote trade [This reminds us of the famous reply, 'Laissez nous affaire', made to Colbert by the French merchants, whose interests he thought to promote by laws and regulations.--B.] and the sea, which, says the Duke of York, is that that we have most cause to fear; and Turenne to employ the King and his forces by land, to encrease his conquests. Thence to the coach to my wife, and so home, and there with W. Hewer to my office and to do some business, and so set down my Journall for four or five days, and then home to supper and read a little, and to bed. W. Hewer tells me to-day that he hears that the King of France hath declared in print, that he do intend this next summer to forbid his Commanders to strike--[Strike topsails]--to us, but that both we and the Dutch shall strike to him; and that he hath made his captains swear it already, that they will observe it: which is a great thing if he do it, as I know nothing to hinder him. 21st. My own coach carrying me and my boy Tom, who goes with me in the room of W. Hewer, who could not, and I dare not go alone, to the Temple, and there set me down, the first time my fine horses ever carried me, and I am mighty proud of them, and there took a hackney and to White Hall, where a Committee of Tangier, but little to do, and so away home, calling at the Exchange and buying several little things, and so home, and there dined with my wife and people and then she, and W. Hewer, and I by appointment out with our coach, but the old horses, not daring yet to use the others too much, but only to enter them, and to the Temple, there to call Talbot Pepys, and took him up, and first went into Holborne, and there saw the woman that is to be seen with a beard. She is a little plain woman, a Dane: her name, Ursula Dyan; about forty years old; her voice like a little girl's; with a beard as much as any man I ever saw, black almost, and grizly; they offered to shew my wife further satisfaction if she desired it, refusing it to men that desired it there, but there is no doubt but by her voice she is a woman; it begun to grow at about seven years old, and was shaved not above seven months ago, and is now so big as any man's almost that ever I saw; I say, bushy and thick. It was a strange sight to me, I confess, and what pleased me mightily. Thence to the Duke's playhouse, and saw "Macbeth." The King and Court there; and we sat just under them and my Lady Castlemayne, and close to the woman that comes into the pit, a kind of a loose gossip, that pretends to be like her, and is so, something. And my wife, by my troth, appeared, I think, as pretty as any of them; I never thought so much before; and so did Talbot and W. Hewer, as they said, I heard, to one another. The King and Duke of York minded me, and smiled upon me, at the handsome woman near me but it vexed me to see Moll Davis, in the box over the King's and my Lady Castlemayne's head, look down upon the King, and he up to her; and so did my Lady Castlemayne once, to see who it was; but when she saw her, she looked like fire; which troubled me. The play done, took leave of Talbot, who goes into the country this Christmas, and so we home, and there I to work at the office late, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. At the office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, thinking to meet with Langford about my father's house in Fleet Streete, but I come too late, and so home to dinner, and all the afternoon at the office busy, and at night home to supper and talk, and with mighty content with my wife, and so to bed. 23rd. Met at the Office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, and there met with Langford and Mr. Franke, the landlord of my father's house in Fleet Streete, and are come to an arbitration what my father shall give him to be freed of his lease and building the house again. Walked up and down the 'Change, and among others discoursed with Sir John Bankes, who thinks this prorogation will please all but the Parliament itself, which will, if ever they meet, be vexed at Buckingham, who yet governs all. He says the Nonconformists are glad of it, and, he believes, will get the upperhand in a little time, for the King must trust to them or nobody; and he thinks the King will be forced to it. He says that Sir D. Gawden is mightily troubled at Pen's being put upon him, by the Duke of York, and that he believes he will get clear of it, which, though it will trouble me to have Pen still at the Office, yet I shall think D. Gawden do well in it, and what I would advise him to, because I love him. So home to dinner, and then with my wife alone abroad, with our new horses, the beautifullest almost that ever I saw, and the first time they ever carried her, and me but once; but we are mighty proud of them. To her tailor's, and so to the 'Change, and laid out three or four pounds in lace, for her and me; and so home, and there I up to my Lord Brouncker, at his lodgings, and sat with him an hour, on purpose to talk over the wretched state of this Office at present, according to the present hands it is made up of; wherein he do fully concur with me, and that it is our part not only to prepare for defending it and ourselves, against the consequences of it, but to take the best ways we can, to make it known to the Duke of York; for, till Sir J. Minnes be removed, and a sufficient man brought into W. Pen's place, when he is gone, it is impossible for this Office ever to support itself. So home, and to supper and to bed. 24th. A cold day. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning alone at the Office, nobody meeting, being the eve of Christmas. At noon home to dinner, and then to the Office busy, all the afternoon, and at night home to supper, and it being now very cold, and in hopes of a frost, I begin this night to put on a waistcoat, it being the first winter in my whole memory that ever I staid till this day before I did so. So to bed in mighty good humour with my wife, but sad, in one thing, and that is for my poor eyes. 25th (Christmas-day). Up, and continued on my waistcoat, the first day this winter, and I to church, where Alderman Backewell, coming in late, I beckoned to his lady to come up to us, who did, with another lady; and after sermon, I led her down through the church to her husband and coach, a noble, fine woman, and a good one, and one my wife shall be acquainted with. So home, and to dinner alone with my wife, who, poor wretch! sat undressed all day, till ten at night, altering and lacing of a noble petticoat: while I by her, making the boy read to me the Life of Julius Caesar, and Des Cartes' book of Musick ["Musicae Compendium." By Rene Des Cartes, Amsterdam, 1617; rendered into English, London, 1653, 4to. The translator, whose name did not appear on the title, was William, Viscount Brouncker, Pepys's colleague, who proved his knowledge of music by the performance.] --the latter of which I understand not, nor think he did well that writ it, though a most learned man. Then, after supper, I made the boy play upon his lute, which I have not done twice before since he come to me; and so, my mind in mighty content, we to bed. 26th. Lay long with pleasure, prating with my wife, and then up, and I a little to the Office, and my head busy setting some papers and accounts to rights, which being long neglected because of my eyes will take me up much time and care to do, but it must be done. So home at noon to dinner, and then abroad with my wife to a play, at the Duke of York's house, the house full of ordinary citizens. The play was "Women Pleased," which we had never seen before; and, though but indifferent, yet there is a good design for a good play. So home, and there to talk, and my wife to read to me, and so to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Walked to White Hall and there saw the King at chapel; but staid not to hear anything, but went to walk in the Park, with W. Hewer, who was with me; and there, among others, met with Sir G. Downing, and walked with him an hour, talking of business, and how the late war was managed, there being nobody to take care of it, and telling how, when he was in Holland, what he offered the King to do, if he might have power, and they would give him power, and then, upon the least word, perhaps of a woman, to the King, he was contradicted again, and particularly to the loss of all that we lost in Guinny. He told me that he had so good spies, that he hath had the keys taken out of De Witt's [The celebrated John de Witt, Grand Pensionary of Holland, who, a few years afterwards, was massacred, with his brother Cornelius, by the Dutch mob, enraged at their opposition to the elevation of William of Orange to the Stadtholdership, when the States were overrun by the French army, and the Dutch fleets beaten at sea by the English. The murder of the De Witts forms one of the main incidents of Alexandre Dumas's "Black Tulip."] pocket when he was a-bed, and his closet opened, and papers brought to him, and left in his hands for an hour, and carried back and laid in the place again, and keys put into his pocket again. He says that he hath always had their most private debates, that have been but between two or three of the chief of them, brought to him in an hour after, and an hour after that, hath sent word thereof to the King, but nobody here regarded them. But he tells me the sad news, that he is out of all expectations that ever the debts of the Navy will be paid, if the Parliament do not enable the King to do it by money; all they can hope for to do out of the King's revenue being but to keep our wheels a-going on present services, and, if they can, to cut off the growing interest: which is a sad story, and grieves me to the heart. So home, my coach coming for me, and there find Balty and Mr. How, who dined with me; and there my wife and I fell out a little about the foulness of the linen of the table, but were friends presently, but she cried, poor heart! which I was troubled for, though I did not give her one hard word. Dinner done, she to church, and W. How and I all the afternoon talking together about my Lord Sandwich's suffering his business of the prizes to be managed by Sir R. Cuttance, who is so deep in the business, more than my Lord knows of, and such a loggerhead, and under such prejudice, that he will, we doubt, do my Lord much wrong. In the evening, he gone, my wife to read to me and talk, and spent the evening with much pleasure, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, called up by drums and trumpets; these things and boxes [??] having cost me much money this Christmas already, and will do more. My wife down by water to see her mother, and I with W. Hewer all day together in my closet making some advance in the settling of my accounts, which have been so long unevened that it troubles me how to set them right, having not the use of my eyes to help me. My wife at night home, and tells me how much her mother prays for me and is troubled for my eyes; and I am glad to have friendship with them, and believe they are truly glad to see their daughter come to live so well as she do. So spent the night in talking, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and at the Office all the morning, and at noon to dinner, and there, by a pleasant mistake, find my uncle and aunt Wight, and three more of their company, come to dine with me to-day, thinking that they had been invited, which they were not; but yet we did give them a pretty good dinner, and mighty merry at the mistake. They sat most of the afternoon with us, and then parted, and my wife and I out, thinking to have gone to a play, but it was too far begun, and so to the 'Change, and there she and I bought several things, and so home, with much pleasure talking, and then to reading, and so to supper and to bed. 30th. Up, and vexed a little to be forced to pay 40s. for a glass of my coach, which was broke the other day, nobody knows how, within the door, while it was down; but I do doubt that I did break it myself with my knees. After dinner, my wife and I to the Duke's playhouse, and there did see King Harry the Eighth; and was mightily pleased, better than I ever expected, with the history and shows of it. We happened to sit by Mr. Andrews, our neighbour, and his wife, who talked so fondly to his little boy. Thence my wife and I to the 'Change; but, in going, our neere horse did fling himself, kicking of the coachbox over the pole; and a great deal of trouble it was to get him right again, and we forced to 'light, and in great fear of spoiling the horse, but there was no hurt. So to the 'Change, and then home, and there spent the evening talking, and so to supper and to bed. 31st. Up, and at the Office all the morning. At noon Capt. Ferrers and Mr. Sheres [Henry Sheres accompanied Lord Sandwich in his embassy to Spain, and returned to England in September, 1667, bearing letters from the ambassador (see September 8th, 22nd, 27th). He was an officer in the Ordnance, and served under Lord Dartmouth at the demolition of the Mole at Tangier in 1683. He was knighted about 1684. He translated Polybius (2 vols. 8vo., 1693), and also some of the "Dialogues" of Lucian, included in the translation published in 1711 (3 vols. 8vo.). Pepys bequeathed him a ring, and he died about 1713.] come to me to dinner, who did, and pretty pleased with their talk of Spayne; but my wife did not come down, I suppose because she would not, Captain Ferrers being there, to oblige me by it. They gone, after dinner, I to the office, and then in the evening home, being the last day of the year, to endeavour to pay all bills and servants' wages, &c., which I did almost to L5 that I know that I owe in the world, but to the publique; and so with great pleasure to supper and to bed, and, blessed be God! the year ends, after some late very great sorrow with my wife by my folly, yet ends, I say, with great mutual peace and content, and likely to last so by my care, who am resolved to enjoy the sweet of it, which I now possess, by never giving her like cause of trouble. My greatest trouble is now from the backwardness of my accounts, which I have not seen the bottom of now near these two years, so that I know not in what condition I am in the world, but by the grace of God, as far as my eyes will give me leave, I will do it. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, 1668 N.S., COMPLETE: A book the Bishops will not let be printed again Act against Nonconformists and Papists All things to be managed with faction And will not kiss a woman since his wife's death And the woman so silly, as to let her go that took it And they did lay pigeons to his feet As all other women, cry, and yet talk of other things At work, till I was almost blind, which makes my heart sad Beating of a poor little dog to death, letting it lie Being very poor and mean as to the bearing with trouble Being the people that, at last, will be found the wisest Best fence against the Parliament's present fury is delay Bite at the stone, and not at the hand that flings it Bookseller's, and there looked for Montaigne's Essays Bought Montaigne's Essays, in English Bristol milk (the sherry) in the vaults Burned it, that it might not be among my books to my shame Business of abusing the Puritans begins to grow stale But get no ground there yet But this the world believes, and so let them But what they did, I did not enquire But if she will ruin herself, I cannot help it Calling me dog and rogue, and that I had a rotten heart Cannot get suitably, without breach of his honour Cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water Carry them to a box, which did cost me 20s., besides oranges Caustic attack on Sir Robert Howard City to be burned, and the Papists to cut our throats City pay him great respect, and he the like to the meanest Coach to W. Coventry about Mrs. Pett, 1s. Come to see them in bed together, on their wedding-night Cost me L5, which troubles me, but yet do please me also Craft and cunning concerning the buying and choosing of horses Declared, if he come, she would not live with me Did see the knaveries and tricks of jockeys Disorder in the pit by its raining in, from the cupola Doe from Cobham, when the season comes, bucks season being past Down to the Whey house and drank some and eat some curds Eat some butter and radishes Endangering the nation, when he knew himself such a coward Espinette is the French term for a small harpsichord Ever have done his maister better service than to hang for him? Family governed so nobly and neatly as do me good to see it Fear what would become of me if any real affliction should come Fear that the goods and estate would be seized (after suicide) Fears some will stand for the tolerating of Papists Force a man to swear against himself Forced to change gold, 8s. 7d.; servants and poor, 1s. 6d. Forgetting many things, which her master beat her for Frequent trouble in things we deserve best in Glad to be at friendship with me, though we hate one another Greater number of Counsellors is, the more confused the issue Hath not a liberty of begging till he hath served three years Have me get to be a Parliament-man the next Parliament He that will not stoop for a pin, will never be worth a pound He told me that he had so good spies How natural it is for us to slight people out of power I know not how in the world to abstain from reading I have a good mind to have the maidenhead of this girl I could have answered, but forbore I away with great content, my mind being troubled before I know not whether to be glad or sorry In my nature am mighty unready to answer no to anything Inventing a better theory of musique It may be, be able to pay for it, or have health King, "it is then but Mr. Pepys making of another speech to them" L'escholle des filles, a lewd book Lady Castlemayne do rule all at this time as much as ever Laissez nous affaire--Colbert Little company there, which made it very unpleasing Little pleasure now in a play, the company being but little Live of L100 a year with more plenty, and wine and wenches Made him admire my drawing a thing presently in shorthand Making their own advantages to the disturbance of the peace My wife having a mind to see the play "Bartholomew-Fayre" My wife hath something in her gizzard, that only waits My wife, coming up suddenly, did find me embracing the girl My wife's neglect of things, and impertinent humour My heart beginning to falsify in this business Never saw so many sit four hours together to hear any man No pleasure--only the variety of it No man was ever known to lose the first time Nonconformists do now preach openly in houses Not eat a bit of good meat till he has got money to pay the men Offered to shew my wife further satisfaction if she desired Parliament being vehement against the Nonconformists Pictures of some Maids of Honor: good, but not like Presbyterian style and the Independent are the best Resolve never to give her trouble of that kind more Resolved to go through it, and it is too late to help it now Ridiculous nonsensical book set out by Will. Pen, for the Quaker Rough notes were made to serve for a sort of account book Saw two battles of cocks, wherein is no great sport Saw "Mackbeth," to our great content Seeing that he cared so little if he was out She loves to be taken dressing herself, as I always find her Should alway take somebody with me, or her herself Shows how unfit I am for trouble Sir, your faithful and humble servant Slabbering themselves, and mirth fit for clownes So out, and lost our way, which made me vexed So time do alter, and do doubtless the like in myself Suffered her humour to spend, till we begun to be very quiet Tell me that I speak in my dreams The factious part of the Parliament The manner of the gaming The most ingenious men may sometimes be mistaken The devil being too cunning to discourage a gamester Their ladies in the box, being grown mighty kind of a sudden There being no curse in the world so great as this There setting a poor man to keep my place This kind of prophane, mad entertainment they give themselves Though I know it will set the Office and me by the ears for ever To be enjoyed while we are young and capable of these joys Tried the effect of my silence and not provoking her Trouble, and more money, to every Watch, to them to drink Troubled me, to see the confidence of the vice of the age Turn out every man that will be drunk, they must turn out all Uncertainty of beauty Up, finding our beds good, but lousy; which made us merry Vexed me, but I made no matter of it, but vexed to myself Weather being very wet and hot to keep meat in. When he was seriously ill he declared himself a Roman Catholic Where I expect most I find least satisfaction Where a pedlar was in bed, and made him rise Whip a boy at each place they stop at in their procession Whom I find in bed, and pretended a little not well With hangings not fit to be seen with mine Without importunity or the contrary Work that is not made the work of any one man 
42856	----	JOURNALS OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH VOL. I [Illustration: _Dorothy Wordsworth_] JOURNALS OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH EDITED BY WILLIAM KNIGHT VOL. I [Illustration: Rock of Names. Thirlmere.] London MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. 1897 _All rights reserved_ CONTENTS PAGE PREFATORY NOTE vii I. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN (FROM 20TH JANUARY TO 22ND MAY 1798) 1 II. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF DAYS SPENT AT HAMBURGH IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798 19 III. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (14TH MAY TO 21ST DECEMBER 1800) 29 IV. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (FROM 10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH DECEMBER 1801) 61 V. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802 TO 8TH JULY 1802) 77 VI. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH JANUARY 1803) 139 VII. RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND (A.D. 1803) 159 PREFATORY NOTE The Journals written by Dorothy Wordsworth, and her reminiscences of Tours made with her brother, are more interesting to posterity than her letters. A few fragments from her Grasmere Journal were included by the late Bishop of Lincoln in the _Memoirs_ of his uncle, published in 1850. The _Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland_ in 1803, were edited in full by the late Principal Shairp in the year 1874 (third edition 1894). In 1889, I included in my _Life of William Wordsworth_ most of the Journal written at Alfoxden, much of that referring to Hamburg, and the greater part of the longer Grasmere Journal. Some extracts from the Journal of a Tour on the Continent made in 1820 (and of a similar one written by Mrs. Wordsworth), as well as short records of subsequent visits to Scotland and to the Isle of Man, were printed in the same volume. None of these, however, were given in their entirety; nor is it desirable now to print them _in extenso_, except in the case of the _Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland_ in 1803. All the Journals contain numerous trivial details, which bear ample witness to the "plain living and high thinking" of the Wordsworth household--and, in this edition, samples of these details are given--but there is no need to record all the cases in which the sister wrote, "To-day I mended William's shirts," or "William gathered sticks," or "I went in search of eggs," etc. etc. In all cases, however, in which a sentence or paragraph, or several sentences and paragraphs, in the Journals are left out, the omission is indicated by means of asterisks. Nothing is omitted of any literary or biographical value. Some persons may think that too much has been recorded, others that everything should have been printed. As to this, posterity must judge. I think that many, in future years, will value these Journals, not only as a record of the relations existing between Wordsworth and his sister, his wife, her family and his friends, but also as an illustration of the remarkable literary brotherhood and sisterhood of the period. Coming now to details. I I do not know of any Journal written at Racedown, and I do not think that Dorothy kept one while she and her brother lived in Dorsetshire. In July 1797 they took up their residence at Alfoxden; but, so far as is known, it was not till the 20th of January 1798 that Dorothy began to write a Journal of her own and her brother's life at that place. It was continued uninterruptedly till Thursday, 22nd May 1798. It gives numerous details as to the visits of Coleridge to Alfoxden, and the Wordsworths' visits to him at Nether-Stowey, as well as of the circumstances under which several of their poems were composed. Many sentences in the Journal present a curious resemblance to words and phrases which occur in the poems; and there is no doubt that, as brother and sister made use of the same note-book--some of Wordsworth's own verses having been written by him in his sister's journal--the copartnery may have extended to more than the common use of the same MS. The archaic spellings which occur in this Journal are retained; but inaccuracies--such as Bartelmy for Bartholemew, Crewkshank for Cruikshank--are corrected. In the edition of 1889 the words were printed as written in MS.; but it is one thing to reproduce the _bona fide_ text of a journal, or the _ipsissima verba_ of a poet, and quite another to reproduce the incorrect spellings of his sister. II From the Journal of the days spent at Hamburg in 1798--when the Wordsworths were on their way to Goslar, and Coleridge to Ratzeburg--only a few extracts are given, dating from 14th September to 3rd October of that year. These explain themselves. III-VI Of the Grasmere Journals much more is given, and a great deal that was omitted from the first volume of the _Life of Wordsworth_ in 1889, is now printed. To many readers this will be by far the most interesting section of all Dorothy Wordsworth's writings. It not only contains exquisite descriptions of Grasmere and its district--a most felicitous record of the changes of the seasons and the progress of the year, details as to flower and tree, bird and beast, mountain and lake--but it casts a flood of light on the circumstances under which her brother's poems were composed. It also discloses much as to the doings of the Wordsworth household, of the visits of Coleridge and others, while it vividly illustrates the peasant life of Westmoreland at the beginning of this century. What I have seen of this Journal extends from 14th May to 21st December 1800, and from 10th October 1801 to 16th January 1803. It is here printed in four sections. VII When the late Principal Shairp edited the _Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland_ in 1803, he inserted an elaborate and valuable introduction, with a few explanatory and topographical notes. With the consent of Mrs. Shairp, and of the Principal's son, Sheriff J. C. Shairp, many of them are now reproduced, with the initials J. C. S. appended. As some notes were needed at these places, and I could only have slightly varied the statements of fact, it seemed better for the reader, and more respectful to the memory of such a Wordsworthian as the late Principal was, to record them as his. I cordially thank Mrs. Shairp, and her son, for their kindness in this matter. It should be added that Dorothy Wordsworth's archaic spelling of many of the names of places, such as--Lanerk, Ulswater, Strath Eyer, Loch Ketterine, Inversneyde, etc., are retained. These Recollections of the Tour made in Scotland were not all written down at the time during the journey. Many of them were "afterthoughts." The Alfoxden and Grasmere Journals were "diaries," in the sense that--except when the contrary is stated--they were written down day by day; but certain portions of the Scottish Journal suggest either that they were entirely written after the return to Grasmere, or were then considerably expanded. I have not seen the original MS. Dorothy transcribed it in full for her friend Mrs. Clarkson, commencing the work in 1803, and finishing it on 31st May 1805 (see vol. ii. p. 78). This transcript I have seen. It is the only one now traceable. It should be mentioned that Dorothy Wordsworth was often quite incorrect in her dates, both as to the day of the week and the month. Minute accuracy on these points did not count for much at that time; and very often a mistake in the date of one entry in her Journal brought with it a long series of future errors. The same remark applies to the Grasmere Journal, and to the record of the Continental Tour of 1820. Many friends and students of Wordsworth regretted the long delay in the publication of the Tour made in Scotland in 1803. In the _Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers_ (1856), p. 208, we find the following: "I do indeed regret that Wordsworth has printed only fragments of his sister's journal; it is most excellent, and ought to have been published entire." It will always hold a place of honour in itinerary literature. It possesses a singular charm, and has abiding interest, not only as a record of travel, but also as a mirror of Scottish life and character nearly a hundred years ago. VIII The Journal of a Mountain Ramble, by William and Dorothy Wordsworth in November 1805, calls for no special remark. The ramble was from Grasmere by Rydal and Kirkstone Pass to Patterdale and Ullswater, thence to the top of Place Fell, at the foot of which Wordsworth thought of buying--and did afterwards buy--a small property near the Lake, thence to Yanworth, returning to Grasmere by Kirkstone again. The story of this "ramble," written by Dorothy, was afterwards incorporated in part by William Wordsworth in his prose _Description of the Scenery of the Lakes_--another curious instance of their literary copartnery. IX In 1820 the poet, his wife, and sister, along with Mr. and Mrs. Monkhouse, and Miss Horrocks (a sister of Mrs. Monkhouse), spent more than three months on the Continent. They left Lambeth on the 10th of July, and returned to London in November. Starting from Dover on 11th July, they went by Brussels to Cologne, up the Rhine to Switzerland, were joined by Henry Crabb Robinson at Lucerne, crossed over to the Italian Lakes, visited Milan, came back to Switzerland, and passed through France to Paris, where they spent a month. Dorothy Wordsworth wrote a minute and very careful Journal of this tour, taking notes at the time, and extending them on her return to Westmoreland. Mrs. Wordsworth kept a shorter record of the same journey. Crabb Robinson also wrote a diary of it. Wordsworth recorded and idealised his tour in a series of poems, named by him "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820," very few of which were written on the spot; and when, in the after-leisure of Rydal Mount, he set to work upon them, it is evident that he consulted, and made frequent use of, the two family Journals, particularly the one written by his sister. In a letter to Mrs. Clarkson from Coblentz, dated 22nd July, Dorothy said: "Journals we shall have in abundance; for all, except my brother and Mrs. Monkhouse, keep a journal. Mine is nothing but notes, unintelligible to any one but myself. I look forward, however, to many a pleasant hour's employment at Rydal Mount in filling up the chasms." The originals of these two Journals still exist, and it is hard to say whether the jottings taken at the time by the wife, or the extended Journal afterwards written by the sister, is the more admirable, both as a record of travel and as a commentary on the poet's work. Dorothy's MS. is nearly as long as her Recollections of the Scottish Tour of 1803. Extracts from both Journals were published in the library edition of the Poems in 1884, and in the _Life of William Wordsworth_ in 1889; but these were limited to passages illustrative of the Poems. It is not expedient to print either Journal in full. There are, however, so many passages of interest and beauty in each--presenting a vivid picture of the towns and countries through which the Wordsworths passed, and of the style of continental travelling in those days--that it seems desirable to insert more numerous extracts from them than those which have been already printed. They will be found to illustrate much of the state of things in Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France in the first quarter of the present century; while they afford an interesting contrast to that which meets the eye of the traveller, and ministers to his wants, at the present day. In the 80 pages extracted from Dorothy's Journal alone, it is such passages that have, in the main, been selected. In October 1821, Mr. Robinson was a visitor at Rydal Mount; and after reading over the Journals of Mrs. and Dorothy Wordsworth, he wrote thus in his _Diary_:-- "_2nd Oct. '21._--I read to-day part of Miss, and also Mrs. W.'s Journal in Switzerland. They put mine to shame.[1] They had adopted a plan of journalising which could not fail to render the account amusing and informing. Mrs. W., in particular, frequently described, as in a panorama, the objects around her; and these were written on the spot: and I recollect her often sitting on the grass, not aware of what kind of employment she had. Now it is evident that a succession of such pictures must represent the face of the country. Their Journals were alike abundant in observation (in which the writers showed an enviable faculty), and were sparing of reflections, which ought rather to be excited by than obtruded in a book of travels. I think I shall profit on some future occasion by the hint I have taken." [Footnote 1: Perhaps the most interesting entry in Henry Crabb Robinson's Journal of the tour is the following: "_26th June 1820._--I made some cheap purchases: if anything _not wanted_ can be cheap."] Again, in November 1823, Robinson wrote:-- "Finished Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal. I do not know when I have felt more humble than in reading it. It is so superior to my own. She saw so much more than I did, though we were side by side during a great part of the time." Robinson advised Dorothy Wordsworth to publish her Journal of this Continental Tour, and she replied to him, 23rd May 1824:-- "... Your advice respecting my Continental Journal is, I am sure, very good, provided it were worth while to make a book of it, _i.e._ provided I _could_ do so, and provided it were my wish; but it is not. 'Far better,' I say, 'make another tour, and write the Journal on a different plan!' In recopying it, I should, as you advise, omit considerable portions of the description.... But, observe, my object is not to make a book, but to leave to my niece a neatly-penned memorial of those few interesting months of our lives...." X In 1822, Dorothy Wordsworth went with Joanna Hutchinson to Scotland, for change of air and scene. She wrote of this journey:-- "I had for years promised Joanna to go with her to Edinburgh--that was her object; but we planned a little tour, up the Forth to Stirling, thence by track-boat to Glasgow; from Dumbarton to Rob Roy's cave by steam; stopping at Tarbet; thence in a cart to Inverary; back again to Glasgow, down Loch Fyne, and up the Clyde; thence on the coach to Lanark; and from Lanark to Moffat in a cart. There we stopped two days, my companion being an invalid; and she fancied the waters might cure her, but a bathing-place which nobody frequents is never in order; and we were glad to leave Moffat, crossing the wild country again in a cart, to the banks of the river Esk. We returned to Edinburgh for the sake of warm baths. We were three weeks in lodgings at Edinburgh. Joanna had much of that sort of pleasure which one has in first seeing a foreign country; and in our travels, whether on the outside of a coach, on the deck of a steamboat, or in whatever way we got forward, she was always cheerful, never complaining of bad fare, bad inns, or anything else...." It was a short excursion, but was memorialised in the usual way by Dorothy's ever ready pen. XI In the following year, 1823, Wordsworth and his wife left Lee Priory, "for a little tour in Flanders and Holland," as he phrased it in a letter to John Kenyon. He wrote 16th May:-- "We shall go to Dover, with a view to embark for Ostend to-morrow, unless detained by similar obstacles. From Ostend we mean to go to Ghent, to Antwerp, Breda, Utrecht, Amsterdam--to Rotterdam by Haarlem, the Hague, and Leyden--thence to Antwerp by another route, and perhaps shall return by Mechlin, Brussels, Lille, and Ypres to Calais--or direct to Ostend as we came. We hope to be landed in England within a month. We shall hurry through London homewards, where we are naturally anxious already to be, having left Rydal Mount so far back as February...." The extracts taken from Mary Wordsworth's Journal show how far they conformed to, and how far they departed from, their original plan of travel. In them will be found the same directness and simplicity, the same vividness of touch, as are seen in her Journal of the longer tour taken in 1820. XII In 1828, Dorothy Wordsworth went to the Isle of Man, accompanied by Mrs. Wordsworth's sister Joanna, to visit her brother Henry Hutchinson. This was a visit, earlier by five years than that which the poet took with his sister to the Isle of Man, before proceeding to Scotland, a tour which gave rise to so many sonnets. Of the later tour she kept no Journal, but of the earlier one some records survive, from which a few extracts have been made. In conclusion, I must mention the special kindness of the late Mrs. Wordsworth, the daughter-in-law of the poet, and of Mr. Gordon Wordsworth his grandson, in granting free access to all the Journals and MSS. they possessed, and now possess. Without their aid the publication of these volumes would have been impossible. WILLIAM KNIGHT. I DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN FROM 20TH JANUARY TO 22ND MAY 1798 DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN IN 1798[2] [Footnote 2: In the original MS. there is no title. The above is a descriptive one, given by the editor.--ED.] Alfoxden, _January 20th 1798_.--The green paths down the hill-sides are channels for streams. The young wheat is streaked by silver lines of water running between the ridges, the sheep are gathered together on the slopes. After the wet dark days, the country seems more populous. It peoples itself in the sunbeams. The garden, mimic of spring, is gay with flowers. The purple-starred hepatica spreads itself in the sun, and the clustering snow-drops put forth their white heads, at first upright, ribbed with green, and like a rosebud when completely opened, hanging their heads downwards, but slowly lengthening their slender stems. The slanting woods of an unvarying brown, showing the light through the thin net-work of their upper boughs. Upon the highest ridge of that round hill covered with planted oaks, the shafts of the trees show in the light like the columns of a ruin. _21st._ Walked on the hill-tops--a warm day. Sate under the firs in the park. The tops of the beeches of a brown-red, or crimson. Those oaks, fanned by the sea breeze, thick with feathery sea-green moss, as a grove not stripped of its leaves. Moss cups more proper than acorns for fairy goblets. _22nd._--Walked through the wood to Holford. The ivy twisting round the oaks like bristled serpents. The day cold--a warm shelter in the hollies, capriciously bearing berries. Query: Are the male and female flowers on separate trees? _23rd._--Bright sunshine, went out at 3 o'clock. The sea perfectly calm blue, streaked with deeper colour by the clouds, and tongues or points of sand; on our return of a gloomy red. The sun gone down. The crescent moon, Jupiter, and Venus. The sound of the sea distinctly heard on the tops of the hills, which we could never hear in summer. We attribute this partly to the bareness of the trees, but chiefly to the absence of the singing of birds, the hum of insects, that noiseless noise which lives in the summer air.[3] The villages marked out by beautiful beds of smoke. The turf fading into the mountain road. The scarlet flowers of the moss. [Footnote 3: Compare Keats, _Miscellaneous Poems_-- There crept A little noiseless noise amongst the leaves Born of the very sigh that silence heaves. ED. And Coleridge, _The �olian Harp_-- The stilly murmur of the distant sea Tells us of silence. ED.] _24th._--Walked between half-past three and half-past five. The evening cold and clear. The sea of a sober grey, streaked by the deeper grey clouds. The half dead sound of the near sheep-bell, in the hollow of the sloping coombe, exquisitely soothing. _25th._--Went to Poole's after tea. The sky spread over with one continuous cloud, whitened by the light of the moon, which, though her dim shape was seen, did not throw forth so strong a light as to chequer the earth with shadows. At once the clouds seemed to cleave asunder, and left her in the centre of a black-blue vault. She sailed along, followed by multitudes of stars, small, and bright, and sharp. Their brightness seemed concentrated, (half-moon). _26th._--Walked upon the hill-tops; followed the sheep tracks till we overlooked the larger coombe. Sat in the sunshine. The distant sheep-bells, the sound of the stream; the woodman winding along the half-marked road with his laden pony; locks of wool still spangled with the dewdrops; the blue-grey sea, shaded with immense masses of cloud, not streaked; the sheep glittering in the sunshine. Returned through the wood. The trees skirting the wood, being exposed more directly to the action of the sea breeze, stripped of the net-work of their upper boughs, which are stiff and erect, like black skeletons; the ground strewed with the red berries of the holly. Set forward before two o'clock. Returned a little after four. _27th._--Walked from seven o'clock till half-past eight. Upon the whole an uninteresting evening. Only once while we were in the wood the moon burst through the invisible veil which enveloped her, the shadows of the oaks blackened, and their lines became more strongly marked. The withered leaves were coloured with a deeper yellow, a brighter gloss spotted the hollies; again her form became dimmer; the sky flat, unmarked by distances, a white thin cloud. The manufacturer's dog makes a strange, uncouth howl, which it continues many minutes after there is no noise near it but that of the brook. It howls at the murmur of the village stream. _28th._--Walked only to the mill. _29th._--A very stormy day. William walked to the top of the hill to see the sea. Nothing distinguishable but a heavy blackness. An immense bough riven from one of the fir trees. _30th._--William called me into the garden to observe a singular appearance about the moon. A perfect rainbow, within the bow one star, only of colours more vivid. The semi-circle soon became a complete circle, and in the course of three or four minutes the whole faded away. Walked to the blacksmith's and the baker's; an uninteresting evening. _31st._--Set forward to Stowey at half-past five. A violent storm in the wood; sheltered under the hollies. When we left home the moon immensely large, the sky scattered over with clouds. These soon closed in, contracting the dimensions of the moon without concealing her. The sound of the pattering shower, and the gusts of wind, very grand. Left the wood when nothing remained of the storm but the driving wind, and a few scattering drops of rain. Presently all clear, Venus first showing herself between the struggling clouds; afterwards Jupiter appeared. The hawthorn hedges, black and pointed, glittering with millions of diamond drops; the hollies shining with broader patches of light. The road to the village of Holford glittered like another stream. On our return, the wind high--a violent storm of hail and rain at the Castle of Comfort. All the Heavens seemed in one perpetual motion when the rain ceased; the moon appearing, now half veiled, and now retired behind heavy clouds, the stars still moving, the roads very dirty. _February 1st._--About two hours before dinner, set forward towards Mr. Bartholemew's.[4] The wind blew so keen in our faces that we felt ourselves inclined to seek the covert of the wood. There we had a warm shelter, gathered a burthen of large rotten boughs blown down by the wind of the preceding night. The sun shone clear, but all at once a heavy blackness hung over the sea. The trees almost _roared_, and the ground seemed in motion with the multitudes of dancing leaves, which made a rustling sound, distinct from that of the trees. Still the asses pastured in quietness under the hollies, undisturbed by these forerunners of the storm. The wind beat furiously against us as we returned. Full moon. She rose in uncommon majesty over the sea, slowly ascending through the clouds. Sat with the window open an hour in the moonlight. [Footnote 4: Mr. Bartholemew rented Alfoxden, and sub-let the house to Wordsworth.--ED.] _2nd._--Walked through the wood, and on to the Downs before dinner; a warm pleasant air. The sun shone, but was often obscured by straggling clouds. The redbreasts made a ceaseless song in the woods. The wind rose very high in the evening. The room smoked so that we were obliged to quit it. Young lambs in a green pasture in the Coombe, thick legs, large heads, black staring eyes. _3rd._--A mild morning, the windows open at breakfast, the redbreasts singing in the garden. Walked with Coleridge over the hills. The sea at first obscured by vapour; that vapour afterwards slid in one mighty mass along the sea-shore; the islands and one point of land clear beyond it. The distant country (which was purple in the clear dull air), overhung by straggling clouds that sailed over it, appeared like the darker clouds, which are often seen at a great distance apparently motionless, while the nearer ones pass quickly over them, driven by the lower winds. I never saw such a union of earth, sky, and sea. The clouds beneath our feet spread themselves to the water, and the clouds of the sky almost joined them. Gathered sticks in the wood; a perfect stillness. The redbreasts sang upon the leafless boughs. Of a great number of sheep in the field, only one standing. Returned to dinner at five o'clock. The moonlight still and warm as a summer's night at nine o'clock. _4th._--Walked a great part of the way to Stowey with Coleridge. The morning warm and sunny. The young lasses seen on the hill-tops, in the villages and roads, in their summer holiday clothes--pink petticoats and blue. Mothers with their children in arms, and the little ones that could just walk, tottering by their side. Midges or small flies spinning in the sunshine; the songs of the lark and redbreast; daisies upon the turf; the hazels in blossom; honeysuckles budding. I saw one solitary strawberry flower under a hedge. The furze gay with blossom. The moss rubbed from the pailings by the sheep, that leave locks of wool, and the red marks with which they are spotted, upon the wood. _5th._--Walked to Stowey with Coleridge, returned by Woodlands; a very warm day. In the continued singing of birds distinguished the notes of a blackbird or thrush. The sea overshadowed by a thick dark mist, the land in sunshine. The sheltered oaks and beeches still retaining their brown leaves. Observed some trees putting out red shoots. Query: What trees are they? _6th._--Walked to Stowey over the hills, returned to tea, a cold and clear evening, the roads in some parts frozen hard. The sea hid by mist all the day. _7th._--Turned towards Potsdam, but finding the way dirty, changed our course. Cottage gardens the object of our walk. Went up the smaller Coombe to Woodlands, to the blacksmith's, the baker's, and through the village of Holford. Still misty over the sea. The air very delightful. We saw nothing very new, or interesting. _8th._--Went up the Park, and over the tops of the hills, till we came to a new and very delicious pathway, which conducted us to the Coombe. Sat a considerable time upon the heath. Its surface restless and glittering with the motion of the scattered piles of withered grass, and the waving of the spiders' threads. On our return the mist still hanging over the sea, but the opposite coast clear, and the rocky cliffs distinguishable. In the deep Coombe, as we stood upon the sunless hill, we saw miles of grass, light and glittering, and the insects passing. _9th._--William gathered sticks.... _10th._--Walked to Woodlands, and to the waterfall. The adder's-tongue and the ferns green in the low damp dell. These plants now in perpetual motion from the current of the air; in summer only moved by the drippings of the rocks. A cloudy day. _11th._--Walked with Coleridge near to Stowey. The day pleasant, but cloudy. _12th._--Walked alone to Stowey. Returned in the evening with Coleridge. A mild, pleasant, cloudy day. _13th._--Walked with Coleridge through the wood. A mild and pleasant morning, the near prospect clear. The ridges of the hills fringed with wood, showing the sea through them like the white sky, and still beyond the dim horizon of the distant hills, hanging as it were in one undetermined line between sea and sky. _14th._--Gathered sticks with William in the wood, he being unwell and not able to go further. The young birch trees of a bright red, through which gleams a shade of purple. Sat down in a thick part of the wood. The near trees still, even to their topmost boughs, but a perpetual motion in those that skirt the wood. The breeze rose gently; its path distinctly marked, till it came to the very spot where we were. _15th._--Gathered sticks in the further wood. The dell green with moss and brambles, and the tall and slender pillars of the unbranching oaks. I crossed the water with letters; returned to Wm. and Basil. A shower met us in the wood, and a ruffling breeze. _16th._--Went for eggs into the Coombe, and to the baker's; a hail shower; brought home large burthens of sticks, a starlight evening, the sky closed in, and the ground white with snow before we went to bed. _17th._--A deep snow upon the ground. Wm. and Coleridge walked to Mr. Bartholemew's, and to Stowey. Wm. returned, and we walked through the wood into the Coombe to fetch some eggs. The sun shone bright and clear. A deep stillness in the thickest part of the wood, undisturbed except by the occasional dropping of the snow from the holly boughs; no other sound but that of the water, and the slender notes of a redbreast, which sang at intervals on the outskirts of the southern side of the wood. There the bright green moss was bare at the roots of the trees, and the little birds were upon it. The whole appearance of the wood was enchanting; and each tree, taken singly, was beautiful. The branches of the hollies pendent with their white burden, but still showing their bright red berries, and their glossy green leaves. The bare branches of the oaks thickened by the snow. _18th._--Walked after dinner beyond Woodlands.[5] A sharp and very cold evening; first observed the crescent moon, a silvery line, a thready bow, attended by Jupiter and Venus in their palest hues. [Footnote 5: This house was afterwards John Kenyon's,--to whom _Aurora Leigh_ is dedicated,--and was subsequently the residence of the Rev. William Nichols, author of _The Quantocks and their Associations_.--ED.] _19th._--I walked to Stowey before dinner; Wm. unable to go all the way. Returned alone; a fine sunny, clear, frosty day. The sea still, and blue, and broad, and smooth. _20th._--Walked after dinner towards Woodlands. _21st._--Coleridge came in the morning, which prevented our walking. Wm. went through the wood with him towards Stowey; a very stormy night. _22nd._--Coleridge came in the morning to dinner. Wm. and I walked after dinner to Woodlands; the moon and two planets; sharp and frosty. Met a razor-grinder with a soldier's jacket on, a knapsack upon his back, and a boy to drag his wheel. The sea very black, and making a loud noise as we came through the wood, loud as if disturbed, and the wind was silent. _23rd._--William walked with Coleridge in the morning. I did not go out. _24th._--Went to the hill-top. Sat a considerable time overlooking the country towards the sea. The air blew pleasantly round us. The landscape mildly interesting. The Welsh hills capped by a huge range of tumultuous white clouds. The sea, spotted with white, of a bluish grey in general, and streaked with darker lines. The near shores clear; scattered farm houses, half-concealed by green mossy orchards, fresh straw lying at the doors; hay-stacks in the fields. Brown fallows, the springing wheat, like a shade of green over the brown earth, and the choice meadow plots, full of sheep and lambs, of a soft and vivid green; a few wreaths of blue smoke, spreading along the ground; the oaks and beeches in the hedges retaining their yellow leaves; the distant prospect on the land side, islanded with sunshine; the sea, like a basin full to the margin; the dark fresh-ploughed fields; the turnips of a lively rough green. Returned through the wood. _25th._--I lay down in the morning, though the whole day was very pleasant, and the evening fine. We did not walk. _26th._--Coleridge came in the morning, and Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank[6]; walked with Coleridge nearly to Stowey after dinner. A very clear afternoon. We lay sidelong upon the turf, and gazed on the landscape till it melted into more than natural loveliness. The sea very uniform, of a pale greyish blue, only one distant bay, bright and blue as a sky; had there been a vessel sailing up it, a perfect image of delight. Walked to the top of a high hill to see a fortification. Again sat down to feed upon the prospect; a magnificent scene, _curiously_ spread out for even minute inspection, though so extensive that the mind is afraid to calculate its bounds. A winter prospect shows every cottage, every farm, and the forms of distant trees, such as in summer have no distinguishing mark. On our return, Jupiter and Venus before us. While the twilight still overpowered the light of the moon, we were reminded that she was shining bright above our heads, by our faint shadows going before us. We had seen her on the tops of the hills, melting into the blue sky. Poole called while we were absent. [Footnote 6: Of Nether-Stowey, the agent of the Earl of Egmont.--ED.] _27th._--I walked to Stowey in the evening. Wm. and Basil went with me through the wood. The prospect bright, yet _mildly_ beautiful. The sea big and white, swelled to the very shores, but round and high in the middle. Coleridge returned with me, as far as the wood. A very bright moonlight night. Venus almost like another moon. Lost to us at Alfoxden long before she goes down the large white sea. * * * * * * _March 1st._--We rose early. A thick fog obscured the distant prospect entirely, but the shapes of the nearer trees and the dome of the wood dimly seen and dilated. It cleared away between ten and eleven. The shapes of the mist, slowly moving along, exquisitely beautiful; passing over the sheep they almost seemed to have more of life than those quiet creatures. The unseen birds singing in the mist.[7] [Footnote 7: Compare _The Recluse_, 1. 91-- Her Voice was like a hidden Bird that sang. ED.] _2nd._--Went a part of the way home with Coleridge in the morning. Gathered fir apples afterwards under the trees. _3rd._--I went to the shoemaker's. William lay under the trees till my return. Afterwards went to the secluded farm house in search of eggs, and returned over the hill. A very mild, cloudy evening. The rose trees in the hedges and the elders budding. _4th._--Walked to Woodlands after dinner, a pleasant evening. _5th._--Gathered fir-apples. A thick fog came on. Walked to the baker's and the shoemaker's, and through the fields towards Woodlands. On our return, found Tom Poole in the parlour. He drank tea with us. _6th._--A pleasant morning, the sea white and bright, and full to the brim. I walked to see Coleridge in the evening. William went with me to the wood. Coleridge very ill. It was a mild, pleasant afternoon, but the evening became very foggy; when I was near Woodlands, the fog overhead became thin, and I saw the shapes of the Central Stars. Again it closed, and the whole sky was the same. _7th._--William and I drank tea at Coleridge's. A cloudy sky. Observed nothing particularly interesting--the distant prospect obscured. One only leaf upon the top of a tree--the sole remaining leaf--danced round and round like a rag blown by the wind.[8] [Footnote 8: Did this suggest the lines in _Christabel_?-- The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. ED.] _8th._--Walked in the Park in the morning. I sate under the fir trees. Coleridge came after dinner, so we did not walk again. A foggy morning, but a clear sunny day. _9th._--A clear sunny morning, went to meet Mr. and Mrs. Coleridge. The day very warm. _10th._--Coleridge, Wm., and I walked in the evening to the top of the hill. We all passed the morning in sauntering about the park and gardens, the children playing about, the old man at the top of the hill gathering furze; interesting groups of human creatures, the young frisking and dancing in the sun, the elder quietly drinking in the life and soul of the sun and air. _11th._--A cold day. The children went down towards the sea. William and I walked to the top of the hills above Holford. Met the blacksmith. Pleasant to see the labourer on Sunday jump with the friskiness of a cow upon a sunny day. _12th._--Tom Poole returned with Coleridge to dinner, a brisk, cold, sunny day; did not walk. _13th._--Poole dined with us. William and I strolled into the wood. Coleridge called us into the house. * * * * * * _15th._--I have neglected to set down the occurrences of this week, so I do not recollect how we disposed of ourselves to-day. _16th._--William, and Coleridge, and I walked in the Park a short time. I wrote to ----. William very ill, better in the evening; and we called round by Potsdam. _17th._--I do not remember this day. _18th._--The Coleridges left us. A cold, windy morning. Walked with them half way. On our return, sheltered under the hollies, during a hail-shower. The withered leaves danced with the hailstones. William wrote a description of the storm.[9] [Footnote 9: See "A whirl-blast from behind the hill" in the "Poetical Works," vol. i. p. 238.--ED.] _19th._--Wm. and Basil and I walked to the hill-tops, a very cold bleak day. We were met on our return by a severe hailstorm. William wrote some lines describing a stunted thorn.[10] [Footnote 10: See _The Thorn_, "Poetical Works," vol. i. p. 239.--ED.] _20th._--Coleridge dined with us. We went more than half way home with him in the evening. A very cold evening, but clear. The spring seemingly very little advanced. No green trees, only the hedges are budding, and looking very lovely. _21st._--We drank tea at Coleridge's. A quiet shower of snow was in the air during more than half our walk. At our return the sky partially shaded with clouds. The horned moon was set. Startled two night birds from the great elm tree. _22nd._--I spent the morning in starching and hanging out linen; walked _through_ the wood in the evening, very cold. _23rd._--Coleridge dined with us. He brought his ballad finished.[11] We walked with him to the Miner's house. A beautiful evening, very starry, the horned moon. [Footnote 11: The ballad was finished by February 18, 1798. See _Early Recollections_, etc., by Joseph Cottle, vol. i. p. 307 (1837).--ED.] _24th._--Coleridge, the Chesters, and Ellen Cruikshank called. We walked with them through the wood. Went in the evening into the Coombe to get eggs; returned through the wood, and walked in the park. A duller night than last night: a sort of white shade over the blue sky. The stars dim. The spring continues to advance very slowly, no green trees, the hedges leafless; nothing green but the brambles that still retain their old leaves, the evergreens, and the palms, which indeed are not absolutely green. Some brambles I observed to-day budding afresh, and those have shed their old leaves. The crooked arm of the old oak tree points upwards to the moon. _25th._--Walked to Coleridge's after tea. Arrived at home at one o'clock. The night cloudy but not dark. _26th._--Went to meet Wedgwood at Coleridge's after dinner. Reached home at half-past twelve, a fine moonlight night; half moon. _27th._--Dined at Poole's. Arrived at home a little after twelve, a partially cloudy, but light night, very cold. _28th._--Hung out the linen. _29th._--Coleridge dined with us. _30th._--Walked I know not where. _31st._--Walked. _April 1st._--Walked by moonlight. _2nd._--A very high wind. Coleridge came to avoid the smoke; stayed all night. We walked in the wood, and sat under the trees. The half of the wood perfectly still, while the wind was making a loud noise behind us. The still trees only gently bowed their heads, as if listening to the wind. The hollies in the thick wood unshaken by the blast; only, when it came with a greater force, shaken by the rain drops falling from the bare oaks above. _3rd._--Walked to Crookham, with Coleridge and Wm., to make the appeal. Left Wm. there, and parted with Coleridge at the top of the hill. A very stormy afternoon.... _4th._--Walked to the sea-side in the afternoon. A great commotion in the air, but the sea neither grand nor beautiful. A violent shower in returning. Sheltered under some fir trees at Potsdam. _5th._--Coleridge came to dinner. William and I walked in the wood in the morning. I fetched eggs from the Coombe. _6th._--Went a part of the way home with Coleridge. A pleasant warm morning, but a showery day. Walked a short distance up the lesser Coombe, with an intention of going to the source of the brook, but the evening closing in, cold prevented us. The Spring still advancing very slowly. The horse-chestnuts budding, and the hedgerows beginning to look green, but nothing fully expanded. _7th._--Walked before dinner up the Coombe, to the source of the brook, and came home by the tops of the hills; a showery morning, at the hill-tops; the view opened upon us very grand. _8th._--Easter Sunday. Walked in the morning in the wood, and half way to Stowey; found the air at first oppressively warm, afterwards very pleasant. _9th._--Walked to Stowey, a fine air in going, but very hot in returning. The sloe in blossom, the hawthorns green, the larches in the park changed from black to green in two or three days. Met Coleridge in returning. _10th._--I was hanging out linen in the evening. We walked to Holford. I turned off to the baker's, and walked beyond Woodlands, expecting to meet William, met him on the hill; a close warm evening ... in bloom. _11th._--In the wood in the morning, walked to the top of the hill, then I went down into the wood. A pleasant evening, a fine air, the grass in the park becoming green, many trees green in the dell. _12th._--Walked in the morning in the wood. In the evening up the Coombe, fine walk. The Spring advances rapidly, multitudes of primroses, dog-violets, periwinkles, stitchwort. _13th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening went to Stowey. I staid with Mr. Coleridge. Wm. went to Poole's. Supped with Mr. Coleridge. _14th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. The evening very stormy, so we staid within doors. Mary Wollstonecraft's life, etc., came. _15th._--Set forward after breakfast to Crookham, and returned to dinner at three o'clock. A fine cloudy morning. Walked about the squire's grounds. Quaint waterfalls about, about which Nature was very successfully striving to make beautiful what art had deformed--ruins, hermitages, etc. etc. In spite of all these things, the dell romantic and beautiful, though everywhere planted with unnaturalised trees. Happily we cannot shape the huge hills, or carve out the valleys according to our fancy. _16th._--New moon. William walked in the wood in the morning. I neglected to follow him. We walked in the park in the evening.... _17th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening upon the hill. Cowslips plentiful. _18th._--Walked in the wood, a fine sunny morning, met Coleridge returned from his brother's. He dined with us. We drank tea, and then walked with him nearly to Stowey.... _19th._-- ... _20th._--Walked in the evening up the hill dividing the Coombes. Came home the Crookham way, by the thorn, and the "little muddy pond." Nine o'clock at our return. William all the morning engaged in wearisome composition. The moon crescent. _Peter Bell_ begun. _21st_, _22nd_, _23rd_.-- ... _24th._--Walked a considerable time in the wood. Sat under the trees, in the evening walked on the top of the hill, found Coleridge on our return and walked with him towards Stowey. _25th._--Coleridge drank tea, walked with him to Stowey. _26th._--William went to have his picture taken.[12] I walked with him. Dined at home. Coleridge and he drank tea. [Footnote 12: This was the earliest portrait of Wordsworth by W. Shuter. It is now in the possession of Mrs. St. John, Ithaca, U.S.A.--ED.] _27th._--Coleridge breakfasted and drank tea, strolled in the wood in the morning, went with him in the evening through the wood, afterwards walked on the hills: the moon, a many-coloured sea and sky. _28th, Saturday._--A very fine morning, warm weather all the week. _May 6th, Sunday._--Expected the painter, and Coleridge. A rainy morning--very pleasant in the evening. Met Coleridge as we were walking out. Went with him to Stowey; heard the nightingale; saw a glow-worm. _7th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening, to Stowey with Coleridge who called. _8th._--Coleridge dined, went in the afternoon to tea at Stowey. A pleasant walk home. _9th._-- ... Wrote to Coleridge. _Wednesday, 16th May._--Coleridge, William, and myself set forward to the Chedder rocks; slept at Bridgewater. _22nd, Thursday._[13]--Walked to Chedder. Slept at Cross. [Footnote 13: It is thus written in the MS., but the 22nd May 1798 was a _Tuesday_. If the entry refers to a _Thursday_, the day of the month should have been written 24th. Dorothy Wordsworth was not exact as to dates.--ED.] II DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF DAYS SPENT AT HAMBURGH IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798 EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF DAYS SPENT AT HAMBURGH, IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798[14] [Footnote 14: This is not Dorothy's own title. Her Journal has no title.--ED.] Quitted London, Friday, 14th September 1798. Arrived at Yarmouth on Saturday noon, and sailed on Sunday morning at eleven o'clock. Before we heaved the anchor I was consigned to the cabin, which I did not quit till we were in still water at the mouth of the Elbe, on Tuesday morning at ten o'clock. I was surprised to find, when I came upon deck, that we could not see the shores, though we were in the river. It was to my eyes a still sea. But oh! the gentle breezes and the gentle motion!... As we advanced towards Cuxhaven the shores appeared low and flat, and thinly peopled; here and there a farm-house, cattle feeding, hay-stacks, a cottage, a windmill. Some vessels were at anchor at Cuxhaven, an ugly, black-looking place. Dismissed a part of our crew, and proceeded in the packet-boat up the river. Cast anchor between six and seven o'clock. The moon shone upon the waters. The shores were visible rock; here and there a light from the houses. Ships lying at anchor not far from us. We[15] drank tea upon deck by the light of the moon. I enjoyed solitude and quietness, and many a recollected pleasure, hearing still the unintelligible jargon of the many tongues that gabbled in the cabin. Went to bed between ten and eleven. The party playing at cards, but they were silent, and suffered us to go to sleep. At four o'clock in the morning we were awakened by the heaving of the anchor, and till seven, in the intervals of sleep, I enjoyed the thought that we were advancing towards Hamburgh; but what was our mortification on being told that there was a thick fog, and that we could not sail till it was dispersed. I went on to the deck. The air was cold and wet, the decks streaming, the shores invisible, no hope of clear weather. At ten however the sun appeared, and we saw the green shores. All became clear, and we set sail. Churches very frequent on the right, with spires red, blue, sometimes green; houses thatched or tiled, and generally surrounded with low trees. A beautiful low green island, houses, and wood. As we advanced, the left bank of the river became more interesting. [Footnote 15: _i.e._ William and Dorothy Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Chester.--ED.] The houses warm and comfortable, sheltered with trees, and neatly painted. Blankenese, a village or town scattered over the sides of three hills, woody where the houses lie and sleep down below, the houses half-concealed by, and half-obtruding themselves from, the low trees. Naked boats with masts lying at the bare feet of the Blankenese hills. Houses more and more frequent as we approach Hamburgh. The banks of the Elbe more steep. Some gentlemen's seats after the English fashion. The spires of Altona and Hamburgh visible a considerable time. At Altona we took a boat, and rowed through the narrow passages of the Elbe, crowded with vessels of all nations. Landed at the Boom House, where we were received by porters, ready to carry our luggage to any part of the town. William went to seek lodgings, and the rest of the party guarded the luggage. Two boats were about to depart. An elegant English carriage was placed in one, and presently a very pretty woman, conducted by a gentleman, seated herself in it, and they rowed off. The other contained a medley crew of all ages. There was an old woman, with a blue cap trimmed with broad silver lace, and tied under her chin. She had a short coloured cloak, etc. While we stood in the street, which was open on one side to the Elbe, I was much amused by the various employments and dresses of the people who passed before us.... There were Dutch women with immense straw bonnets, with flat crowns and rims in the shape of oyster shells, without trimming, or with only a plain riband round the crown, and literally as large as a small-sized umbrella. Hamburgher girls with white caps, with broad overhanging borders, crimped and stiff, and long lappets of riband. Hanoverians with round borders, showing all the face, and standing upright, a profusion of riband.... Fruit-women, with large straw hats in the shape of an inverted bowl, or white handkerchiefs tied round the head like a bishop's mitre. Jackets the most common, often the petticoat and jacket of different colours. The ladies without hats, in dresses of all fashions. Soldiers with dull-looking red coats, and immense cocked hats. The men little differing from the English, except that they have generally a pipe in their mouths. After waiting about an hour we saw Wm. appear. Two porters carried our luggage upon a sort of wheelbarrow, and we were conducted through dirty, ill-paved streets to an inn, where, with great difficulty, and after long seeking, lodgings had been procured for us. * * * * * * Breakfasted with Mons. de Loutre. Chester and I went to the promenade. People of all ranks, and in various dresses, walking backwards and forwards. Ladies with small baskets hanging on their arms, long shawls of various colours thrown over their shoulders. The women of the lower order dressed with great modesty.... Went to the French theatre in the evening.... The piece a mixture of dull declamation and unmeaning rant. The ballet unintelligible to us, as the story was carried on in singing. The body of the house very imperfectly lighted, which has a good effect in bringing out the stage, but the acting was not very amusing.... _Sunday._--William went in the boat to Harburgh. In our road to the boat we looked into one of the large churches. Service was just ended. The audience appeared to be simply composed of singing boys dressed in large cocked hats, and a few old women who sat in the aisles.... Met many bright-looking girls with white caps, carrying black prayer-books in their hands.... Coleridge went to Ratzeberg at five o'clock in the diligence. Chester accompanied me towards Altona. The streets wide and pleasant in that quarter of the town. Immense crowds of people walking for pleasure, and many pleasure-waggons passing and repassing. Passed through a nest of Jews. Were invited to view an exhibition of waxwork. The theatres open, and the billiard-tables attended. The walks very pleasing between Hamburgh and Altona. A large piece of ground planted with trees, and intersected by gravel walks. Music, cakes, fruit, carriages, and foot-passengers of all descriptions. A very good view of the shipping, and of Altona and the town and spires of Hamburgh. I could not but remark how much the prospect would have suffered by one of our English canopies of coal smoke. The ground on the opposite side of the Elbe appears marshy. There are many little canals or lines of water. While the sun was yet shining pleasantly, we were obliged to blink perpetually to turn our eyes to the church clock. The gates are shut at half-past six o'clock, and there is no admittance into the city after that time. This idea deducts much from the pleasure of an evening walk. You are haunted by it long before the time has elapsed.... _Wednesday._--Dined with Mr. Klopstock. Had the pleasure of meeting his brother the poet, a venerable old man, retaining the liveliness and alertness of youth, though he evidently cannot be very far from the grave.... The party talked with much interest of the French comedy, and seemed fond of music. The poet and his lady were obliged to depart soon after six. He sustained an animated conversation with William during the whole afternoon. Poor old man! I could not look upon him, the benefactor of his country, the father of German poetry, without emotion.... During my residence in Hamburgh I have never seen anything like a quarrel in the streets but once, and that was so trifling that it would scarcely have been noticed in England.... In the shops (except the established booksellers and stationers) I have constantly observed a disposition to cheat, and take advantage of our ignorance of the language and money.... _Thursday, 28th September._--William and I set forward at twelve o'clock to Altona.... The Elbe in the vicinity of Hamburgh is so divided, and spread out, that the country looks more like a plain overflowed by heavy rain than the bed of a great river. We went about a mile and a half beyond Altona: the roads dry and sandy, and a causeway for foot-passengers.... The houses on the banks of the Elbe, chiefly of brick, seemed very warm and well built.... The small cottage houses seemed to have little gardens, and all the gentlemen's houses were surrounded by gardens quaintly disposed in beds and curious knots, with ever-twisting gravel walks and bending poplars. The view of the Elbe and the spreading country must be very interesting in a fine sunset. There is a want of some atmospherical irradiation to give a richness to the view. On returning home we were accosted by the first beggar whom we have seen since our arrival at Hamburgh. _Friday, 29th._--Sought Coleridge at the bookseller's, and went to the Promenade.... All the Hamburghers full of Admiral Nelson's victory. Called at a baker's shop. Put two shillings into the baker's hands, for which I was to have had four small rolls. He gave me two. I let him understand that I was to have four, and with this view I took one shilling from him, pointed to it and to two loaves, and at the same time offering it to him. Again I took up two others. In a savage manner he half knocked the rolls out of my hand, and when I asked him for the other shilling he refused to return it, and would neither suffer me to take bread, nor give me back my money, and on these terms I quitted the shop. I am informed that it is the boast and glory of these people to cheat strangers, that when a feat of this kind is successfully performed the man goes from the shop into his house, and triumphantly relates it to his wife and family. The Hamburgher shopkeepers have three sorts of weights, and a great part of their skill, as shopkeepers, consists in calculating upon the knowledge of the buyer, and suiting him with scales accordingly.... _Saturday, 30th September._--The grand festival of the Hamburghers, dedicated to Saint Michael, observed with solemnity, but little festivity. Perhaps this might be partly owing to the raininess of the evening. In the morning the churches were opened very early. St. Christopher's was quite full between eight and nine o'clock. It is a large heavy-looking building, immense, without either grandeur or beauty; built of brick, and with few windows.... There are some pictures, ... one of the Saint fording the river with Christ upon his back--a giant figure, which amused me not a little.... Walked with Coleridge and Chester upon the promenade.... We took places in the morning in the Brunswick coach for Wednesday. _Sunday, 1st October._--Coleridge and Chester went to Ratzeberg at seven o'clock in the morning.... William and I set forward at half-past eleven with an intention of going to Blankenese.... The buildings all seem solid and warm in themselves, but still they look cold from their nakedness of trees. They are generally newly built, and placed in gardens, which are planted in front with poplars and low shrubs, but the possessors seem to have no prospective view to a shelter for their children. They do not plant behind their houses. All the buildings of this character are near the road which runs at different distances from the edge of the bank which rises from the river. This bank is generally steep, scattered over with trees which are either not of ancient growth, or from some cause do not thrive, but serve very well to shelter and often conceal the more humble dwellings, which are close to the sandy bank of the river.... We saw many carriages. In one of them was Klopstock, the poet. There are many inns and eating-houses by the roadside. We went to a pretty village, or nest of houses about a league from Blankenese, and beyond to a large open field, enclosed on one side with oak trees, through which winds a pleasant gravel walk. On the other it is open to the river.... When we were within about a mile and a half or two miles of Altona, we turned out of the road to go down to the river, and pursued our way along the path that leads from house to house. These houses are low, never more than two storeys high, built of brick, or a mixture of brick and wood, and thatched or tiled. They have all window-shutters, which are painted frequently a grey light green, but always painted. We were astonished at the excessive neatness which we observed in the arrangement of everything within these houses. They have all window curtains as white as snow; the floors of all that we saw were perfectly clean, and the brass vessels as bright as a mirror.... I imagine these houses are chiefly inhabited by sailors, pilots, boat-makers, and others whose business is upon the water. _Monday, October 2nd._--William called at Klopstock's to inquire the road into Saxony. Bought Burgher's poems, the price 6 marks. Sate an hour at Remnant's. Bought Percy's ancient poetry, 14 marks. Walked on the ramparts; a very fine morning. III DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (14TH MAY TO 21ST DECEMBER 1800) EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE _May 14th, 1800._--Wm. and John set off into Yorkshire after dinner at half-past two o'clock, cold pork in their pockets. I left them at the turning of the Low-wood bay under the trees. My heart was so full that I could hardly speak to W. when I gave him a farewell kiss. I sate a long time upon a stone at the margin of the lake, and after a flood of tears my heart was easier. The lake looked to me, I knew not why, dull and melancholy, and the weltering on the shores seemed a heavy sound. I walked as long as I could amongst the stones of the shore. The wood rich in flowers; a beautiful yellow (palish yellow) flower, that looked thick, round, and double--the smell very sweet (I supposed it was a ranunculus), crowfoot, the grassy-leaved rabbit-looking white flower, strawberries, geraniums, scentless violets, anemones, two kinds of orchises, primroses, the heckberry very beautiful, the crab coming out as a low shrub. Met an old man, driving a very large beautiful bull, and a cow. He walked with two sticks. Came home by Clappersgate. The valley very green; many sweet views up to Rydale, when I could juggle away the fine houses; but they disturbed me, even more than when I have been happier; one beautiful view of the bridge, without Sir Michael's.[16] Sate down very often, though it was cold. I resolved to write a journal of the time, till W. and J. return, and I set about keeping my resolve, because I will not quarrel with myself, and because I shall give William pleasure by it when he comes home again. At Rydale, a woman of the village, stout and well dressed, begged a half-penny. She had never she said done it before, but these hard times! Arrived at home, set some slips of privet, the evening cold, had a fire, my face now flame-coloured. It is nine o'clock. I shall now go to bed.... Oh that I had a letter from William. [Footnote 16: _i.e._ Rydal Hall, the residence of Sir Michael le Fleming.--ED.] * * * * * * _Friday Morning, 16th._--Warm and mild, after a fine night of rain.... The woods extremely beautiful with all autumnal variety and softness. I carried a basket for mosses, and gathered some wild plants. Oh! that we had a book of botany. All flowers now are gay and deliciously sweet. The primrose still prominent; the later flowers and the shiny foxgloves very tall, with their heads budding. I went forward round the lake at the foot of Loughrigg Fell. I was much amused with the busyness of a pair of stone-chats; their restless voices as they skimmed along the water, following each other, their shadows under them, and their returning back to the stones on the shore, chirping with the same unwearied voice. Could not cross the water, so I went round by the stepping-stones.... Rydale was very beautiful, with spear-shaped streaks of polished steel.... Grasmere very solemn in the last glimpse of twilight. It calls home the heart to quietness. I had been very melancholy. In my walk back I had many of my saddest thoughts, and I could not keep the tears within me. But when I came to Grasmere I felt that it did me good. I finished my letter to M. H.... _Saturday._--Incessant rain from morning till night.... Worked hard, and read _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and ballads. Sauntered a little in the garden. The blackbird sate quietly in its nest, rocked by the wind, and beaten by the rain. _Sunday, 18th._--Went to church, slight showers, a cold air. The mountains from this window look much greener, and I think the valley is more green than ever. The corn begins to shew itself. The ashes are still bare. A little girl from Coniston came to beg. She had lain out all night. Her step-mother had turned her out of doors; her father could not stay at home "she flights so." Walked to Ambleside in the evening round the lake, the prospect exceeding beautiful from Loughrigg Fell. It was so green that no eye could weary of reposing upon it. The most beautiful situation for a home, is the field next to Mr. Benson's. I was overtaken by two Cumberland people who complimented me upon my walking. They were going to sell cloth, and odd things which they make themselves, in Hawkshead and the neighbourhood.... Letters from Coleridge and Cottle. John Fisher[17] overtook me on the other side of Rydale. He talked much about the alteration in the times, and observed that in a short time there would be only two ranks of people, the very rich and the very poor, "for those who have small estates," says he, "are forced to sell, and all the land goes into one hand." Did not reach home till ten o'clock. [Footnote 17: Their neighbour at Town-End, who helped Wordsworth to make the steps up to the orchard, in Dove Cottage garden.--ED.] _Monday._--Sauntered a good deal in the garden, bound carpets, mended old clothes, read _Timon of Athens_, dried linen.... Walked up into the Black Quarter.[18] I sauntered a long time among the rocks above the church. The most delightful situation possible for a cottage, commanding two distinct views of the vale and of the lake, is among those rocks.... The quietness and still seclusion of the valley affected me even to producing the deepest melancholy. I forced myself from it. The wind rose before I went to bed.... [Footnote 18: I think that this name was given to a bit of the valley to the north-east of Grasmere village; but Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's opinion is that "'The Black Quarter' was simply the family nickname for Easedale. The phrase seems to disappear from the Journals as they got more accustomed to local names. It is an excellent description of the usual appearance of these fells, and makes a contrast to the name of the White Moss, which lay behind Dove Cottage; as Easedale lay in front, and was equally in their thoughts."--ED.] _Tuesday Morning._--A fine mild rain.... Everything green and overflowing with life, and the streams making a perpetual song, with the thrushes, and all little birds, not forgetting the stone-chats. The post was not come in. I walked as far as Windermere, and met him there. * * * * * * _Saturday, May 24th._--Walked in the morning to Ambleside. I found a letter from Wm. and one from Mary Hutchinson. Wrote to William after dinner, worked in the garden, sate in the evening under the trees. _Sunday._-- ... Read _Macbeth_ in the morning; sate under the trees after dinner.... I wrote to my brother Christopher.... On my return found a letter from Coleridge and from Charles Lloyd, and three papers. _Monday, May 26th._-- ... Wrote letters to J. H., Coleridge, Col. Ll., and W. I walked towards Rydale, and turned aside at my favourite field. The air and the lake were still. One cottage light in the vale, and so much of day left that I could distinguish objects, the woods, trees, and houses. Two or three different kinds of birds sang at intervals on the opposite shore. I sate till I could hardly drag myself away, I grew so sad. "When pleasant thoughts," etc.[19]... [Footnote 19: Compare _Lines written in Early Spring_, "Poetical Works," vol. i. p. 269-- In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. ED.] _Tuesday, 27th._--I walked to Ambleside with letters ... only a letter from Coleridge. I expected a letter from Wm. It was a sweet morning, the ashes in the valley nearly in full leaf, but still to be distinguished, quite bare on the higher ground.... _Wednesday._--In the morning walked up to the rocks above Jenny Dockeray's. Sate a long time upon the grass; the prospect divinely beautiful. If I had three hundred pounds, and could afford to have a bad interest for my money, I would buy that estate, and we would build a cottage there to end our days in. I went into her garden and got white and yellow lilies, etc., periwinkle, etc., which I planted. Sate under the trees with my work. Worked between 7 and 8, and then watered the garden. A beautiful evening. The crescent moon hanging above Helm Crag. _Thursday._--In the morning worked in the garden a little. Read _King John_. Miss Simpson, and Miss Falcon, and Mr. S. came very early. Went to Mr. Gill's boat. Before tea we fished upon the lake, and amongst us caught 13!... _Friday._--In the morning went to Ambleside, forgetting that the post does not come till the evening. How was I grieved when I was so informed. I walked back, resolving to go again in the evening. It rained very mildly and sweetly in the morning as I came home, but came on a wet afternoon and evening, and chilly. I caught Mr. Olliff's lad as he was going for letters. He brought me one from Wm. and 12 papers. I planted London Pride upon the wall, and many things on the borders. John sodded the wall. As I came past Rydale in the morning, I saw a heron swimming with only its neck out of water. It beat and struggled amongst the water, when it flew away, and was long in getting loose. _Saturday._--A sweet mild rainy morning. Grundy the carpet man called. I paid him £1: 10s. Went to the blind man's for plants. I got such a load that I was obliged to leave my basket in the road, and send Molly for it.... _Sunday, June 1st._--Rain in the night. A sweet mild morning. Read ballads. Went to church. Singers from Wytheburn. Walked upon the hill above the house till dinner time. Went again to church. After tea, went to Ambleside, round the Lakes. A very fine warm evening. Upon the side of Loughrigg my heart dissolved in what I saw: when I was not startled, but called from my reverie by a noise as of a child paddling without shoes. I looked up, and saw a lamb close to me. It approached nearer and nearer, as if to examine me, and stood a long time. I did not move. At last, it ran past me, and went bleating along the pathway, seeming to be seeking its mother. I saw a hare on the high road.... _Monday._--A cold dry windy morning. I worked in the garden, and planted flowers, etc. Sate under the trees after dinner till tea time.... I went to Ambleside after tea, crossed the stepping-stones at the foot of Grasmere, and pursued my way on the other side of Rydale and by Clappersgate. I sate a long time to watch the hurrying waves, and to hear the regularly irregular sound of the dashing waters. The waves round about the little Island seemed like a dance of spirits that rose out of the water, round its small circumference of shore. Inquired about lodgings for Coleridge, and was accompanied by Mrs. Nicholson as far as Rydale. This was very kind, but God be thanked, I want not society by a moonlit lake. It was near eleven when I reached home. I wrote to Coleridge, and went late to bed. _Wednesday._-- ... I walked to the lake-side in the morning, took up plants, and sate upon a stone reading ballads. In the evening I was watering plants, when Mr. and Miss Simpson called, and I accompanied them home, and we went to the waterfall at the head of the valley. It was very interesting in the twilight. I brought home lemon-thyme, and several other plants, and planted them by moonlight. I lingered out of doors in the hope of hearing my brother's tread. _Thursday._--I sate out of doors great part of the day, and worked in the garden. Had a letter from Mr. Jackson, and wrote an answer to Coleridge. The little birds busy making love, and pecking the blossoms and bits of moss off the trees. They flutter about and about, and beneath the trees as I lie under them.[20] I would not go far from home, expecting my brother. I rambled on the hill above the house, gathered wild thyme, and took up roots of wild columbine. Just as I was returning with my load, Mr. and Miss Simpson called. We went again upon the hill, got more plants, set them, and then went to the blind man's, for London Pride for Miss Simpson. I went up with them as far as the blacksmith's, a fine lovely moonlight night. [Footnote 20: Compare _The Green Linnet_, in the "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 367.--ED.] _Friday._--Sate out of doors reading the whole afternoon, but in the morning I wrote to my aunt Cookson. In the evening I went to Ambleside with Coleridge's letter. It was a lovely night as the day had been. I went by Loughrigg and Clappersgate and just met the post at the turnpike. He told me there were two letters but none for me, so I was in no hurry and went round again by Clappersgate, crossed the stepping-stones and entered Ambleside at Matthew Harrison's. A letter from Jack Hutchinson, and one from Montagu, enclosing a £3 note. No William! I slackened my pace as I came near home, fearing to hear that he was not come. I listened till after one o'clock to every barking dog, cock-fighting, and other sports. Foxgloves just coming into blossom. _Saturday._--A very warm cloudy morning, threatening to rain. I walked up to Mr. Simpson's to gather gooseberries. It was a very fine afternoon. Little Tommy came down with me. We went up the hill, to gather sods and plants; and went down to the lake side, and took up orchises, etc. I watered the garden and weeded. I did not leave home, in the expectation of Wm. and John, and sitting at work till after 11 o'clock I heard a foot at the front of the house, turn round, and open the gate. It was William! After our first joy was over, we got some tea. We did not go to bed till 4 o'clock in the morning, so he had an opportunity of seeing our improvements. The buds were staying; and all looked fresh, though not gay. There was a greyness on earth and sky. We did not rise till near 10 in the morning. We were busy all day in writing letters to Coleridge, Montagu, etc. Mr. and Miss Simpson called in the evening. The little boy carried our letters to Ambleside. We walked with Mr. and Miss S. home, on their return.... We met John on our return home. _Monday 9th._--In the morning W. cut down the winter cherry tree. I sowed French beans and weeded. A coronetted landau went by, when we were sitting upon the sodded wall. The ladies (evidently tourists) turned an eye of interest upon our little garden and cottage. Went round to Mr. Gill's boat, and on to the lake to fish. We caught nothing. It was extremely cold. The reeds and bullrushes or bullpipes of a tender soft green, making a plain whose surface moved with the wind. The reeds not yet tall. The lake clear to the bottom, but saw no fish. In the evening I stuck peas, watered the garden, and planted brocoli. Did not walk, for it was very cold. A poor girl called to beg, who had no work, and was going in search of it to Kendal. She slept in Mr. Benson's ... and went off after breakfast in the morning with 7d. and a letter to the Mayor of Kendal. _Tuesday 10th._--A cold, yet sunshiny morning. John carried letters to Ambleside. Wm. stuck peas. After dinner he lay down. John not at home. I stuck peas alone. Cold showers with hail and rain, but at half-past five, after a heavy rain, the lake became calm and very beautiful. Those parts of the water which were perfectly unruffled lay like green islands of various shapes. William and I walked to Ambleside to seek lodgings for C. No letters. No papers. It was a very cold cheerless evening. John had been fishing in Langdale and was gone to bed. A very tall woman, tall much beyond the measure of tall women, called at the door. She had on a very long brown cloak and a very white cap, without bonnet. Her face was excessively brown, but it had plainly once been fair. She led a little bare-footed child about two years old by the hand, and said her husband, who was a tinker, was gone before with the other children. I gave her a piece of bread. Afterwards on my way to Ambleside, beside the bridge at Rydale, I saw her husband sitting by the roadside, his two asses feeding beside him, and the two young children at play upon the grass. The man did not beg. I passed on and about a quarter of a mile further I saw two boys before me, one about 10, the other about 8 years old, at play chasing a butterfly. They were wild figures, not very ragged, but without shoes and stockings. The hat of the elder was wreathed round with yellow flowers, the younger whose hat was only a rimless crown, had stuck it round with laurel leaves. They continued at play till I drew very near, and then they addressed me with the begging cant and the whining voice of sorrow. I said "I served your mother this morning." (The boys were so like the woman who had called at ... that I could not be mistaken.) "O!" says the elder, "you could not serve my mother for she's dead, and my father's on at the next town--he's a potter." I persisted in my assertion, and that I would give them nothing. Says the elder, "Let's away," and away they flew like lightning. They had however sauntered so long in their road that they did not reach Ambleside before me, and I saw them go up to Matthew Harrison's house with their wallet upon the elder's shoulder, and creeping with a beggar's complaining foot. On my return through Ambleside I met in the street the mother driving her asses, in the two panniers of one of which were the two little children, whom she was chiding and threatening with a wand which she used to drive on her asses, while the little things hung in wantonness over the pannier's edge. The woman had told me in the morning that she was of Scotland, which her accent fully proved, but that she had lived (I think at Wigtoun), that they could not keep a house and so they travelled.[21] [Footnote 21: Compare the poem _Beggars_, in the "Poetical Works" vol. ii. pp. 276-281.--ED.] _Wednesday, 13th June._[22]--A very cold morning. We went on the lake to set pike floats with John's fish. W. and J. went ... alone. Mr. Simpson called, and I accompanied him to the lake side. My brothers and I again went upon the water, and returned to dinner. We landed upon the island where I saw the whitest hawthorn I have seen this year, the generality of hawthorns are bloomless. I saw wild roses in the hedges. Wm. and John went to the pike floats. They brought in two pikes. I sowed kidney beans and spinnach. A cold evening. Molly stuck the peas. I weeded a little. Did not walk. [Footnote 22: This and the two following dates are incorrectly given. They should be "Wednesday 11th, Thursday 12th, and Friday 13th June."--ED.] _Thursday, 14th June._--William and I went upon the water to set pike floats. John fished under Loughrigg. We returned to dinner, two pikes boiled and roasted. A very cold air but warm sun. W. and I again went upon the water. We walked to Rydale after tea, and up to potter's. A cold night, but warmer. _Friday, 15th June._--A rainy morning. W. and J. went upon the lake. Very warm and pleasant, gleams of sunshine. Caught a pike 7-1/2 lbs. Went upon the water after tea, Mr. Simpson trolling. _Saturday._--A fine morning but cloudy. W. and John went upon the lake. I staid at home. We drank tea at Mr. Simpson's. Stayed till after 10 o'clock. _Sunday._--John walked to Coniston. W. and I sauntered in the garden. Afterwards walked by the lake side. A cold air. We pushed through the wood. Walked behind the fir grove, and returned to dinner. The farmer and the blacksmith from Hawkshead called. _Monday._--Wm. and I went to Brathay by Little Langdale and Collath, and ... It was a warm mild morning with threatening rain. The vale of Little Langdale looked bare and unlovely. Collath was wild and interesting, from the peat carts and peat gatherers. The valley all perfumed with the gale and wild thyme. The woods about the waterfall bright with rich yellow broom. A succession of delicious views from ... to Brathay. We met near ... a pretty little boy with a wallet over his shoulder. He came from Hawkshead and was going to sell a sack of meal. He spoke gently and without complaint. When I asked him if he got enough to eat, he looked surprised, and said Nay. He was 7 years old but seemed not more than 5. We drank tea at Mr. Ibbetson's, and returned by Ambleside. Lent £3: 9s. to the potter at Kendal. Met John on our return home at about 10 o'clock. Saw a primrose in blossom. _Tuesday._--We put the new window in. I ironed, and worked about a good deal in house and garden. In the evening we walked for letters. Found one for Coleridge at Rydale, and I returned much tired. _Wednesday._--We walked round the lake in the morning and in the evening to the lower waterfall at Rydale. It was a warm, dark, lowering evening. _Thursday._--A very hot morning. W. and I walked up to Mr. Simpson's. W. and old Mr. S. went to fish in Wytheburn water. I dined with John and lay under the trees. The afternoon changed from clear to cloudy, and to clear again. John and I walked up to the waterfall, and to Mr. Simpson's, and with Miss Simpson. Met the fishers. W. caught a pike weighing 4-3/4 lbs. There was a gloom almost terrible over Grasmere water and vale. A few drops fell but not much rain. No Coleridge, whom we fully expected. _Friday._--I worked in the garden in the morning. Wm. prepared pea sticks. Threatening for rain, but yet it comes not. On Wednesday evening a poor man called--a hatter. He had been long ill, but was now recovered. The parish would not help him, because he had implements of trade, etc. etc. We gave him 6d. _Saturday._--Walked up the hill to Rydale lake. Grasmere looked so beautiful that my heart was almost melted away. It was quite calm, only spotted with sparkles of light; the church visible. On our return all distant objects had faded away, all but the hills. The reflection of the light bright sky above Black Quarter was very solemn.... _Sunday._-- ... In the evening I planted a honeysuckle round the yew tree.... No news of Coleridge.... _Monday._--Mr. Simpson called in the morning. W. and I went into Langdale to fish. The morning was very cold. I sate at the foot of the lake, till my head ached with cold. The view exquisitely beautiful, through a gate, and under a sycamore tree beside the first house going into Loughrigg. Elter-water looked barren, and the view from the church less beautiful than in winter. When W. went down to the water to fish, I lay under the wind, my head pillowed upon a mossy rock, and slept about 10 minutes, which relieved my headache. We ate our dinner together, and parted again.... W. went to fish for pike in Rydale. John came in when I had done tea and he and I carried a jug of tea to William. We met him in the old road from Rydale. He drank his tea upon the turf. The setting sun threw a red purple light upon the rocks, and stone walls of Rydale, which gave them a most interesting and beautiful appearance. _Tuesday._--W. went to Ambleside. John walked out. I made tarts, etc. Mrs. B. Simpson called and asked us to tea. I went to the view of Rydale, to meet William. W. and I drank tea at Mr. Simpson's. Brought down lemon-thyme, greens, etc. The old woman was very happy to see us, and we were so in the pleasure we gave. She was an affecting picture of patient disappointment, suffering under no particular affliction. _Wednesday._--A very rainy day. I made a shoe. Wm. and John went to fish in Langdale. In the evening I went above the house, and gathered flowers, which I planted, foxgloves, etc. On Sunday[23] Mr. and Mrs. Coleridge and Hartley came. The day was very warm. We sailed to the foot of Loughrigg. They staid with us three weeks, and till the Thursday following, from 1st till the 23rd of July.[24] On the Friday preceding their departure, we drank tea at the island. The weather was delightful, and on the Sunday we made a great fire, and drank tea in Bainriggs with the Simpsons. I accompanied Mrs. C. to Wytheburne, and returned with W. to tea at Mr. Simpson's. It was exceedingly hot, but the day after, Friday 24th July,[25] still hotter. All the morning I was engaged in unpacking our Somersetshire goods. The house was a hot oven. I was so weary, I could not walk: so I went out, and sate with Wm. in the orchard. We had a delightful half-hour in the warm still evening. [Footnote 23: Coleridge arrived at Grasmere on Sunday 29th June.--ED.] [Footnote 24: The dates here given are confusing. S. T. C. says he was ill at Grasmere, and stayed a fortnight. In a letter to Tom Poole he says he arrived at Keswick on 24th July, which was a Thursday.--ED.] [Footnote 25: That Friday was the 25th July. The two next dates were incorrectly entered by Dorothy.--ED.] * * * * * * _Saturday, 26th._--Still hotter. I sate with W. in the orchard all the morning, and made my shoe.... _Sunday, 27th._--Very warm.... I wrote out _Ruth_ in the afternoon. In the morning, I read Mr. Knight's _Landscape_.[26] After tea we rowed down to Loughrigg Fell, visited the white foxglove, gathered wild strawberries, and walked up to view Rydale. We lay a long time looking at the lake; the shores all dim with the scorching sun. The ferns were turning yellow, that is, here and there one was quite turned. We walked round by Benson's wood home. The lake was now most still, and reflected the beautiful yellow and blue and purple and grey colours of the sky. We heard a strange sound in the Bainriggs wood, as we were floating on the water; it _seemed_ in the wood, but it must have been above it, for presently we saw a raven very high above us. It called out, and the dome of the sky seemed to echo the sound. It called again and again as it flew onwards, and the mountains gave back the sound, seeming as if from their centre; a musical bell-like answering to the bird's hoarse voice. We heard both the call of the bird, and the echo, after we could see him no longer....[27] [Footnote 26: _The Landscape: a Didactic Poem in three Books._ By Richard Payne Knight. 1794.--ED.] [Footnote 27: Compare _The Excursion_, book iv. II. 1185-1195.--ED.] _Monday._--Received a letter from Coleridge enclosing one from Mr. Davy about the _Lyrical Ballads_. Intensely hot.... William went into the wood, and altered his poems.... * * * * * * _Thursday._--All the morning I was busy copying poems. Gathered peas, and in the afternoon Coleridge came. He brought the 2nd volume of Anthology. The men went to bathe, and we afterwards sailed down to Loughrigg. Read poems on the water, and let the boat take its own course. We walked a long time upon Loughrigg. I returned in the grey twilight. The moon just setting as we reached home. _Friday, 1st August._--In the morning I copied _The Brothers_. Coleridge and Wm. went down to the lake. They returned, and we all went together to Mary Point, where we sate in the breeze, and the shade, and read Wm.'s poems. Altered _The Whirlblast_, etc. We drank tea in the orchard. _Saturday Morning, 2nd._--Wm. and Coleridge went to Keswick. John went with them to Wytheburn, and staid all day fishing, and brought home 2 small pikes at night. I accompanied them to Lewthwaite's cottage, and on my return papered Wm.'s rooms.... About 8 o'clock it gathered for rain, and I had the scatterings of a shower, but afterwards the lake became of a glassy calmness, and all was still. I sate till I could see no longer, and then continued my work in the house. _Sunday Morning, 3rd._-- ... A heavenly warm evening, with scattered clouds upon the hills. There was a vernal greenness upon the grass, from the rains of the morning and afternoon. Peas for dinner. _Monday 4th._--Rain in the night. I tied up scarlet beans, nailed the honeysuckles, etc. etc. John was prepared to walk to Keswick all the morning. He seized a returned chaise and went after dinner. I pulled a large basket of peas and sent to Keswick by a returned chaise. A very cold evening. Assisted to spread out linen in the morning. _Tuesday 5th._--Dried the linen in the morning. The air still cold. I pulled a bag full of peas for Mrs. Simpson. Miss Simpson drank tea with me, and supped, on her return from Ambleside. A very fine evening. I sate on the wall making my shifts till I could see no longer. Walked half-way home with Miss Simpson. _Wednesday, 6th August._-- ... William came home from Keswick at eleven o'clock. _Thursday Morning, 7th August._-- ... William composing in the wood in the morning. In the evening we walked to Mary Point. A very fine sunset. _Friday Morning._--We intended going to Keswick, but were prevented by the excessive heat. Nailed up scarlet beans in the morning.... Walked over the mountains by Wattendlath.... A most enchanting walk. Wattendlath a heavenly scene. Reached Coleridge's at eleven o'clock. _Saturday Morning._--I walked with Coleridge in the Windy Brow woods. _Sunday._--Very hot. The C.'s went to church. We sailed upon Derwent in the evening. _Monday Afternoon._--Walked to Windy Brow. _Tuesday._-- ... Wm. and I walked along the Cockermouth road. He was altering his poems. _Wednesday._--Made the Windy Brow seat. _Thursday Morning._--Called at the Speddings. In the evening walked in the wood with W. Very very beautiful the moon. * * * * * * _Sunday, 17th August._-- ... William read us _The Seven Sisters_. * * * * * * _Saturday, 23rd._--A very fine morning. Wm. was composing all the morning. I shelled peas, gathered beans, and worked in the garden till 1/2 past 12. Then walked with Wm. in the wood.... The gleams of sunshine, and the stirring trees, and gleaming boughs, cheerful lake, most delightful.... Wm. read _Peter Bell_ and the poem of _Joanna_, beside the Rothay by the roadside. * * * * * * _Tuesday, 26th._-- ... A very fine solemn evening. The wind blew very fierce from the island, and at Rydale. We went on the other side of Rydale, and sate a long time looking at the mountains, which were all black at Grasmere, and very bright in Rydale; Grasmere exceedingly dark, and Rydale of a light yellow green. * * * * * * _Friday Evening_ [29th August].--We walked to Rydale to inquire for letters. We walked over the hill by the firgrove. I sate upon a rock, and observed a flight of swallows gathering together high above my head. They flew towards Rydale. We walked through the wood over the stepping-stones. The lake of Rydale very beautiful, partly still. John and I left Wm. to compose an inscription; that about the path. We had a very fine walk by the gloomy lake. There was a curious yellow reflection in the water, as of corn fields. There was no light in the clouds from which it appeared to come. _Saturday Morning, 30th August._-- ... William finished his Inscription of the Pathway,[28] then walked in the wood; and when John returned, he sought him, and they bathed together. I read a little of Boswell's _Life of Johnson_. I went to lie down in the orchard. I was roused by a shout that Anthony Harrison was come. We sate in the orchard till tea time. Drank tea early, and rowed down the lake which was stirred by breezes. We looked at Rydale, which was soft, cheerful, and beautiful. We then went to peep into Langdale. The Pikes were very grand. We walked back to the view of Rydale, which was now a dark mirror. We rowed home over a lake still as glass, and then went to George Mackareth's to hire a horse for John. A fine moonlight night. The beauty of the moon was startling, as it rose to us over Loughrigg Fell. We returned to supper at 10 o'clock. Thomas Ashburner brought us our 8th cart of coals since May 17th. [Footnote 28: Professor Dowden thinks that this refers to the poem on John's Grove. But a hitherto unpublished fragment will soon be issued by the Messrs. Longman, which may cast fresh light on this "Inscription of the Pathway."--ED.] _Sunday, 31st._-- ... A great deal of corn is cut in the vale, and the whole prospect, though not tinged with a general autumnal yellow, yet softened down into a mellowness of colouring, which seems to impart softness to the forms of hills and mountains. At 11 o'clock Coleridge came, when I was walking in the still clear moonshine in the garden. He came over Helvellyn. Wm. was gone to bed, and John also, worn out with his ride round Coniston. We sate and chatted till half-past three, ... Coleridge reading a part of _Christabel_. Talked much about the mountains, etc. etc.... _Monday Morning, 1st September._--We walked in the wood by the lake. W. read _Joanna_, and the _Firgrove_, to Coleridge. They bathed. The morning was delightful, with somewhat of an autumnal freshness. After dinner, Coleridge discovered a rock-seat in the orchard. Cleared away brambles. Coleridge went to bed after tea. John and I followed Wm. up the hill, and then returned to go to Mr. Simpson's. We borrowed some bottles for bottling rum. The evening somewhat frosty and grey, but very pleasant. I broiled Coleridge a mutton chop, which he ate in bed. Wm. was gone to bed. I chatted with John and Coleridge till near 12. _Tuesday, 2nd._--In the morning they all went to Stickle Tarn. A very fine, warm, sunny, beautiful morning.... The fair-day.... There seemed very few people and very few stalls, yet I believe there were many cakes and much beer sold. My brothers came home to dinner at 6 o'clock. We drank tea immediately after by candlelight. It was a lovely moonlight night. We talked much about a house on Helvellyn. The moonlight shone only upon the village. It did not eclipse the village lights, and the sound of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with Coleridge and Wm. up the lane and by the church, and then lingered with Coleridge in the garden. John and Wm. were both gone to bed, and all the lights out. _Wednesday, 3rd September._--Coleridge, Wm., and John went from home, to go upon Helvellyn with Mr. Simpson. They set out after breakfast. I accompanied them up near the blacksmith's.... I then went to a funeral at John Dawson's. About 10 men and 4 women. Bread, cheese, and ale. They talked sensibly and cheerfully about common things. The dead person, 56 years of age, buried by the parish. The coffin was neatly lettered and painted black, and covered with a decent cloth. They set the corpse down at the door; and, while we stood within the threshold, the men, with their hats off, sang, with decent and solemn countenances, a verse of a funeral psalm. The corpse was then borne down the hill, and they sang till they had passed the Town-End. I was affected to tears while we stood in the house, the coffin lying before me. There were no near kindred, no children. When we got out of the dark house the sun was shining, and the prospect looked as divinely beautiful as I ever saw it. It seemed more sacred than I had ever seen it, and yet more allied to human life. The green fields, in the neighbourhood of the churchyard, were as green as possible; and, with the brightness of the sunshine, looked quite gay. I thought she was going to a quiet spot, and I could not help weeping very much. When we came to the bridge, they began to sing again, and stopped during four lines before they entered the churchyard.... Wm. and John came home at 10 o'clock. * * * * * * _Friday, 12th September._-- ... The fern of the mountains now spreads yellow veins among the trees; the coppice wood turns brown. William observed some affecting little things in Borrowdale. A decayed house with the tall, silent rocks seen through the broken windows. A sort of rough column put upon the gable end of a house, with a ball stone, smooth from the river-island, upon it for ornament. Near it, a stone like it, upon an old mansion, carefully hewn. _Saturday, 13th September._--Morning. William writing his Preface[29]--did not walk. Jones, and Mr. Palmer came to tea.... [Footnote 29: The Preface to the second edition of _Lyrical Ballads_.--ED.] _Sunday morning, 14th._-- ... A lovely day. Read Boswell in the house in the morning, and after dinner under the bright yellow leaves of the orchard. The pear trees a bright yellow. The apple trees still green. A sweet lovely afternoon.... Here I have long neglected my Journal. John came home in the evening, after Jones left. Jones returned again on the Friday, the 19th September. Jones stayed with us till Friday, 26th September. Coleridge came in. _Tuesday, 23rd._--I went home with Jones. Charles Lloyd called on Tuesday, 23rd. _Sunday, 28th._--We heard of the Abergavenny's arrival.... _Monday, 29th._--John left us. Wm. and I parted with him in sight of Ullswater. It was a fine day, showery, but with sunshine and fine clouds. Poor fellow, my heart was right sad. I could not help thinking we should see him again, because he was only going to Penrith. _Tuesday, 30th September._--Charles Lloyd dined with us. We walked homewards with him after dinner. It rained very hard. Rydale was extremely wild, and we had a fine walk. We sate quietly and comfortably by the fire. I wrote the last sheet of Notes and Preface.[30a] Went to bed at twelve o'clock. [Footnote 30a: _i.e._ of the Notes and Preface to the second edition of _Lyrical Ballads_.--ED.] _Wednesday, 1st October._--A fine morning, a showery night. The lake still in the morning; in the forenoon flashing light from the beams of the sun, as it was ruffled by the wind. We corrected the last sheet.[30] [Footnote 30: _i.e._ of the Notes and Preface to the second edition of _Lyrical Ballads_.--ED.] _Thursday, 2nd October._--A very rainy morning. We walked after dinner to observe the torrents. I followed Wm. to Rydale. We afterwards went to Butterlip How. The Black Quarter looked marshy, and the general prospect was cold, but the _force_ was very grand. The lichens are now coming out afresh. I carried home a collection in the afternoon. We had a pleasant conversation about the manners of the rich; avarice, inordinate desires, and the effeminacy, unnaturalness, and unworthy objects of education. The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow. _Friday, 3rd October._--Very rainy all the morning. Wm. walked to Ambleside after dinner. I went with him part of the way. He talked much about the object of his essay for the second volume of "L. B." ... Amos Cottle's death in the _Morning Post_. _N.B._--When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an old man almost double. He had on a coat, thrown over his shoulders, above his waistcoat and coat. Under this he carried a bundle, and had an apron on and a night-cap. His face was interesting. He had dark eyes and a long nose. John, who afterwards met him at Wytheburn, took him for a Jew. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He had had a wife, and "she was a good woman, and it pleased God to bless us with ten children." All these were dead but one, of whom he had not heard for many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches, but now leeches were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He lived by begging, and was making his way to Carlisle, where he should buy a few godly books to sell. He said leeches were very scarce, partly owing to this dry season, but many years they have been scarce. He supposed it owing to their being much sought after, that they did not breed fast, and were of slow growth. Leeches were formerly 2s. 6d. per 100; they are now 30s. He had been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broken, his body driven over, his skull fractured. He felt no pain till he recovered from his first insensibility. It was then late in the evening, when the light was just going away.[31] [Footnote 31: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, in the "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 312.--ED.] _Saturday, 4th October 1800._--A very rainy, or rather showery and gusty, morning; for often the sun shines. Thomas Ashburner could not go to Keswick. Read a part of Lamb's Play.[32] The language is often very beautiful, but too imitative in particular phrases, words, etc. The characters, except Margaret, unintelligible, and, except Margaret's, do not show themselves in action. Coleridge came in while we were at dinner, very wet. We talked till twelve o'clock. He had sate up all the night before, writing essays for the newspaper.... Exceedingly delighted with the second part of _Christabel_. [Footnote 32: _Pride's Cure._ The title was afterwards changed to _John Woodvill_.--ED.] _Sunday Morning, 5th October._--Coleridge read _Christabel_ a second time; we had increasing pleasure. A delicious morning. Wm. and I were employed all the morning in writing an addition to the Preface. Wm. went to bed, very ill after working after dinner. Coleridge and I walked to Ambleside after dark with the letter. Returned to tea at 9 o'clock. Wm. still in bed, and very ill. Silver How in both lakes. _Monday._--A rainy day. Coleridge intending to go, but did not go off. We walked after dinner to Rydale. After tea read _The Pedlar_. Determined not to print _Christabel_ with the L. B. _Tuesday._--Coleridge went off at eleven o'clock. I went as far as Mr. Simpson's. Returned with Mary. _Wednesday._--Frequent threatening of showers. Received a £5 note from Montagu. Wm. walked to Rydale. I copied a part of _The Beggars_ in the morning.... A very mild moonlight night. Glow-worms everywhere. * * * * * * _Friday, 10th October._--In the morning when I arose the mists were hanging over the opposite hills, and the tops of the highest hills were covered with snow. There was a most lively combination at the head of the vale of the yellow autumnal hills wrapped in sunshine, and overhung with partial mists, the green and yellow trees, and the distant snow-topped mountains. It was a most heavenly morning. The Cockermouth traveller came with thread, hardware, mustard, etc. She is very healthy; has travelled over the mountains these thirty years. She does not mind the storms, if she can keep her goods dry. Her husband will not travel with an ass, because it is the tramper's badge; she would have one to relieve her from the weary load. She was going to Ulverston, and was to return to Ambleside Fair.... The fern among the rocks exquisitely beautiful.... Sent off _The Beggars_, etc., by Thomas Ashburner.... William sat up after me, writing _Point Rash Judgment_. _Saturday, 11th._--A fine October morning. Sat in the house working all the morning. William composing.... After dinner we walked up Greenhead Gill in search of a sheepfold. We went by Mr. Olliff's, and through his woods. It was a delightful day, and the views looked excessively cheerful and beautiful, chiefly that from Mr. Olliff's field, where our own house is to be built. The colours of the mountains soft, and rich with orange fern; the cattle pasturing upon the hilltops; kites sailing in the sky above our heads; sheep bleating, and feeding in the water courses, scattered over the mountains. They come down and feed, on the little green islands in the beds of the torrents, and so may be swept away. The sheepfold is falling away. It is built nearly in the form of a heart unequally divided. Looked down the brook, and saw the drops rise upwards and sparkle in the air at the little falls. The higher sparkled the tallest. We walked along the turf of the mountain till we came to a track, made by the cattle which come upon the hills.... _Sunday, October 12th._--Sate in the house writing in the morning while Wm. went into the wood to compose. Wrote to John in the morning; copied poems for the L. B. In the evening wrote to Mrs. Rawson. Mary Jameson and Sally Ashburner dined. We pulled apples after dinner, a large basket full. We walked before tea by Bainriggs to observe the many-coloured foliage. The oaks dark green with yellow leaves, the birches generally still green, some near the water yellowish, the sycamore crimson and crimson-tufted, the mountain ash a deep orange, the common ash lemon-colour, but many ashes still fresh in their peculiar green, those that were discoloured chiefly near the water. Wm. composing in the evening. Went to bed at 12 o'clock. _Monday, October 13th._--A grey day. Mists on the hills. We did not walk in the morning. I copied poems on the Naming of Places. A fair at Ambleside. Walked in the Black Quarter at night. * * * * * * _Wednesday._--A very fine clear morning. After Wm. had composed a little, I persuaded him to go into the orchard. We walked backwards and forwards. The prospect most divinely beautiful from the seat; all colours, all melting into each other. I went in to put bread in the oven, and we both walked within view of Rydale. Wm. again composed at the sheepfold after dinner. I walked with Wm. to Wytheburn, and he went on to Keswick. I drank tea, and supped at Mr. Simpson's. A very cold frosty air in returning. Mr. and Miss S. came with me. Wytheburn looked very wintry, but yet there was a foxglove blossoming by the roadside. * * * * * * _Friday, 17th._--A very fine grey morning. The swan hunt.... I walked round the lake between 1/2 past 12, and 1/2 past one.... In my walk in the morning, I observed Benson's honey-suckles in flower, and great beauty. I found Wm. at home, where he had been almost ever since my departure. Coleridge had done nothing for the L. B. Working hard for Stuart.[33] Glow-worms in abundance. [Footnote 33: The editor of _The Morning Post_.--ED.] _Saturday._--A very fine October morning. William worked all the morning at the sheepfold, but in vain. He lay down in the afternoon till 7 o'clock, but could not sleep.... We did not walk all day.... _Sunday Morning._--We rose late, and walked directly after breakfast. The tops of Grasmere mountains cut off. Rydale very beautiful. The surface of the water quite still, like a dim mirror. The colours of the large island exquisitely beautiful, and the trees, still fresh and green, were magnified by the mists. The prospects on the west side of the Lake were very beautiful. We sate at the "two points"[34] looking up to Parks. The lowing of the cattle was echoed by a hollow voice in the vale. We returned home over the stepping-stones. Wm. got to work.... [Footnote 34: Mary Point and Sarah Point.--ED.] _Monday, 20th._--William worked in the morning at the sheepfold. After dinner we walked to Rydale, crossed the stepping-stones, and while we were walking under the tall oak trees the Lloyds called out to us. They went with us on the western side of Rydale. The lights were very grand upon the woody Rydale hills. Those behind dark and tipped with clouds. The two lakes were divinely beautiful. Grasmere excessively solemn, the whole lake calm, and dappled with soft grey ripples. The Lloyds staid with us till 8 o'clock. We then walked to the top of the hill at Rydale. Very mild and warm. Beheld 6 glow-worms shining faintly. We went up as far as the Swan. When we came home the fire was out. We ate our supper in the dark, and went to bed immediately. William was disturbed in the night by the rain coming into his room, for it was a very rainy night. The ash leaves lay across the road. _Tuesday, 21st._-- ... Wm. had been unsuccessful in the morning at the sheepfold. The reflection of the ash scattered, and the tree stripped. _Wednesday Morning._-- ... Wm. composed without much success at the sheepfold. Coleridge came in to dinner. He had done nothing. We were very merry. C. and I went to look at the prospect from his seat.... Wm. read _Ruth_, etc., after supper. Coleridge read _Christabel_. _Thursday, 23rd._--Coleridge and Stoddart went to Keswick. We accompanied them to Wytheburn. A wintry grey morning from the top of the Raise. Grasmere looked like winter, and Wytheburn still more so.... Wm. was not successful in composition in the evening. _Friday, 24th._--A very fine morning. We walked, before Wm. began to work, to the top of the Rydale hill. He was afterwards only partly successful in composition. After dinner we walked round Rydale lake, rich, calm, streaked, very beautiful. We went to the top of Loughrigg. Grasmere sadly inferior.... The ash in our garden green, one close to it bare, the next nearly so. _Saturday._--A very rainy day. Wm. again unsuccessful. We could not walk, it was so very rainy. We read Rogers, Miss Seward, Cowper, etc. _Sunday._--Heavy rain all night, a fine morning after 10 o'clock. Wm. composed a good deal in the morning.... _Monday, 27th October._-- ... Wm. in the firgrove. I had before walked with him there for some time. It was a fine shelter from the wind. The coppices now nearly of one brown. An oak tree in a sheltered place near John Fisher's, not having lost any of its leaves, was quite brown and dry.... It was a fine wild moonlight night. Wm. could not compose much. Fatigued himself with altering. _Tuesday, 28th._-- ... We walked out before dinner to our favourite field. The mists sailed along the mountains, and rested upon them, enclosing the whole vale. In the evening the Lloyds came. We played a rubber at whist.... _Wednesday._--William worked at his poem all the morning. After dinner, Mr. Clarkson called.... Played at cards.... Mr. Clarkson slept here. _Thursday._--A rainy morning. W. C. went over Kirkstone. Wm. talked all day, and almost all night, with Stoddart. Mrs. and Miss H. called in the morning. I walked with them to Tail End.[35] [Footnote 35: On the western side of Grasmere Lake.--ED.] _Friday Night._-- ... W. and I did not rise till 10 o'clock.... A very fine moonlight night. The moon shone like herrings in the water. * * * * * * _Tuesday._-- ... Tremendous wind. The snow blew from Helvellyn horizontally like smoke.... * * * * * * _Thursday, 6th November._-- ... Read _Point Rash Judgment_.... _Friday, 7th November._-- ... I working and reading _Amelia_. The Michaelmas daisy droops, the pansies are full of flowers, the ashes still green all but one, but they have lost many of their leaves. The copses are quite brown. The poor woman and child from Whitehaven drank tea.... _Saturday, 8th November._--A rainy morning. A whirlwind came that tossed about the leaves, and tore off the still green leaves of the ashes. Wm. and I walked out at 4 o'clock. Went as far as Rothay Bridge.... The whole face of the country in a winter covering. * * * * * * _Monday._-- ... Jupiter over the hilltops, the only star, like a sun, flashed out at intervals from behind a black cloud. _Tuesday Morning._-- ... William had been working at the sheepfold.... Played at cards. A mild night, partly clouded, partly starlight. The cottage lights. The mountains not very distinct. * * * * * * _Thursday._--We sate in the house all the morning. Rainy weather, played at cards. A poor woman from Hawkshead begged, a widow of Grasmere. A merry African from Longtown.... _Friday._--Much wind, but a sweet mild morning. I nailed up trees.... Two letters from Coleridge, very ill. One from Sara H.... _Saturday Morning._--A terrible rain, so prevented William from going to Coleridge's. The afternoon fine.... We both set forward at five o'clock. A fine wild night. I walked with W. over the Raise. It was starlight. I parted with him very sad, unwilling not to go on. The hills, and the stars, and the white waters, with their ever varying yet ceaseless sound, were very impressive. I supped at the Simpsons'. Mr. S. walked home with me. _Sunday, 16th November._--A very fine warm sunny morning. A letter from Coleridge, and one from Stoddart. Coleridge better.... One beautiful ash tree sheltered, with yellow leaves, one low one quite green. A noise of boys in the rocks hunting some animal. Walked a little in the garden when I came home. Very pleasant now. Rain comes on. Mr. Jackson called in the evening, brought me a letter from C. and W. _Monday Morning._--A fine clear frosty morning with a sharp wind. I walked to Keswick. Set off at 5 minutes past 10, and arrived at 1/2 past 2. I found them all well. On _Tuesday_ morning W. and C. set off towards Penrith. Wm. met Sara Hutchinson at Threlkeld. They arrived at Keswick at tea time. _Wednesday._--We walked by the lake side and then went to Mr. Denton's. I called upon the Miss Cochyns. _Thursday._--We spent the morning in the town. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Peach dined with us. _Friday._--A very fine day. Went to Mrs. Greaves'. Mrs. C. and I called upon the Speddings. A beautiful crescent moon. _Saturday Morning._--After visiting Mr. Peach's Chinese pictures we set off to Grasmere. A threatening and rather rainy morning. Arrived at G. Very dirty and a little wet at the closing in of evening. _Sunday._--Wm. not well. I baked bread and pie for dinner. _Monday._--A fine morning. Sara and I walked to Rydale. After dinner we went to Lloyd's, and drank tea, and supped. A sharp cold night, with sleet and snow. _Tuesday._--Read _Tom Jones_. _Wednesday._-- ... Wm. very well. We had a delightful walk up into Easedale. The tops of the mountains covered with snow, frosty and sunny, the roads slippery. A letter from Mary. The Lloyds drank tea. We walked with them near to Ambleside. A beautiful moonlight night. Sara and I walked home. William very well, and highly poetical. _Thursday, 27th November._--Wrote to Tom Hutchinson to desire him to bring Mary with him. A thaw, and the ground covered with snow. Sara and I walked before dinner. _Friday._--Coleridge walked over. Miss Simpson drank tea with us. William walked home with her. Coleridge was very unwell. He went to bed before Wm.'s return. * * * * * * _Sunday, 30th November._--A very fine clear morning. Snow upon the ground everywhere. Sara and I walked towards Rydale by the upper road, and were obliged to return, because of the snow. Walked by moonlight. _Monday._--A thaw in the night, and the snow was entirely gone. Coleridge unable to go home. We walked by moonlight. _Tuesday, 2nd December._--A rainy morning. Coleridge was obliged to set off. Sara and I met C. Lloyd and S. turned back with him. I walked round the 2 lakes with Charles, very pleasant. We all walked to Ambleside. A pleasant moonlight evening, but not clear. It came on a terrible evening. Hail, and wind, and cold, and rain. _Wednesday, 3rd December._--We lay in bed till 11 o'clock. Wrote to John, and M. H. William and Sara and I walked to Rydale after tea. A very fine frosty night. Sara and W. walked round the other side. _Thursday._--Coleridge came in, just as we finished dinner. We walked after tea by moonlight to look at Langdale covered with snow, the Pikes not grand, but the Old Man[36] very expressive. Cold and slippery, but exceedingly pleasant. Sat up till half-past one. [Footnote 36: Coniston 'Old Man.'--ED.] _Friday Morning._--Terribly cold and rainy. Coleridge and Wm. set forward towards Keswick, but the wind in Coleridge's eyes made him turn back. Sara and I had a grand bread and cake baking. We were very merry in the evening, but grew sleepy soon, though we did not go to bed till twelve o'clock. _Saturday._--Wm. accompanied Coleridge to the foot of the Raise. A very pleasant morning. Sara and I accompanied him half-way to Keswick. Thirlemere was very beautiful, even more so than in summer. William was not well, had laboured unsuccessfully.... A letter from M. H. _Sunday._--A fine morning. I read. Sara wrote to Hartley, Wm. to Mary, I to Mrs. C. We walked just before dinner to the lakeside, and found out a seat in a tree. Windy, but very pleasant. Sara and Wm. walked to the waterfalls at Rydale. _Monday, 8th December._--A sweet mild morning. I wrote to Mrs. Cookson, and Miss Griffith. _Tuesday, 9th._--I dined at Lloyd's. Wm. drank tea. Walked home. A pleasant starlight frosty evening. Reached home at one o'clock. Wm. finished his poem to-day. _Wednesday, 10th._--Walked to Keswick. Snow upon the ground. A very fine day. Ate bread and ale at John Stanley's. Found Coleridge better. Stayed at Keswick till Sunday 14th December. _Wednesday._--A very fine day. Writing all the morning for William. _Thursday._--Mrs. Coleridge and Derwent came. Sweeping chimneys. _Friday._--Baking. _Saturday._--Coleridge came. Very ill, rheumatic fever. Rain incessantly. _Monday._--S. and Wm. went to Lloyd's. Wm. dined. It rained very hard when he came home. IV DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (FROM 10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH DECEMBER 1801) EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE, FROM 10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH DECEMBER 1801 _Saturday, 10th October 1801._--Coleridge went to Keswick, after we had built Sara's seat. _Thursday, 15th._-- ... Coleridge came in to Mr. Luff's while we were at dinner. William and I walked up Loughrigg Fell, then by the waterside.... _Saturday, 24th._--Attempted Fairfield, but misty, and we went no further than Green Head Gill to the sheepfold; mild, misty, beautifully soft. Wm. and Tom put out the boat.... _Sunday, 25th._--Rode to Legberthwaite with Tom, expecting Mary.... Went upon Helvellyn. Glorious sights. The sea at Cartmel. The Scotch mountains beyond the sea to the right. Whiteside large, and round, and very soft, and green, behind us. Mists above and below, and close to us, with the sun amongst them. They shot down to the coves. Left John Stanley's[37] at 10 minutes past 12. Returned thither 1/4 past 4, drank tea, ate heartily. Before we went on Helvellyn we got bread and cheese. Paid 4/ for the whole. Reached home at nine o'clock. A soft grey evening; the light of the moon, but she did not shine on us. Mary and I sate in C.'s room a while. [Footnote 37: The landlord of Wytheburn Inn.--ED.] * * * * * * _Tuesday, 10th_ [_November_].--Poor C. left us, and we came home together. We left Keswick at 2 o'clock and did not arrive at Grasmere till 9 o'clock. I burnt myself with Coleridge's aquafortis. C. had a sweet day for his ride. Every sight and every sound reminded me of him--dear, dear fellow, of his many talks to us, by day and by night, of all dear things. I was melancholy, and could not talk, but at last I eased my heart by weeping--nervous blubbering says William. It is not so. O! how many, many reasons have I to be anxious for him. _Wednesday, 11th._-- ... Put aside dearest C.'s letters, and now, at about 7 o'clock, we are all sitting by a nice fire. Wm. with his book and a candle, and Mary writing to Sara. _November 16th._-- ... Wm. is now, at 7 o'clock, reading Spenser. Mary is writing beside me. The little syke[38] murmurs.[39a] We are quiet and happy, but poor Peggy Ashburner coughs, as if she would cough her life away. I am going to write to Coleridge and Sara. Poor C.! I hope he was in London yesterday.... [Footnote 38: A Cumberland word for a rillet.--ED.] [Footnote 39a: Probably some of the lines afterwards included in _The Excursion._--ED.] _Tuesday, 17th._--A very rainy morning. We walked into Easedale before dinner. The coppices a beautiful brown. The oaks many, a very fine leafy shade. We stood a long time to look at the corner birch tree. The wind was among the light thin twigs, and they yielded to it, this way and that. _Wednesday, 18th._--We sate in the house in the morning reading Spenser. Wm. and Mary walked to Rydale. Very pleasant moonlight. The lakes beautiful. The church an image of peace. Wm. wrote some lines upon it.[40] Mary and I walked as far as the Wishing Gate before supper. We stood there a long time, the whole scene impressive. The mountains indistinct, the Lake calm and partly ruffled. A sweet sound of water falling into the quiet Lake.[39] A storm was gathering in Easedale, so we returned; but the moon came out, and opened to us the church and village. Helm Crag in shade, the larger mountains dappled like a sky. We stood long upon the bridge. Wished for Wm.... [Footnote 39: Compare _To a Highland Girl_, 1. 8-- A murmur near the silent lake. ED.] [Footnote 40: Probably some of the lines afterwards included in _The Excursion._--ED.] * * * * * * _Friday, 20th._--We walked in the morning to Easedale. In the evening we had cheerful letters from Coleridge and Sara. _Saturday, 21st._--We walked in the morning, and paid one pound and 4d. for letters. William out of spirits. We had a pleasant walk and spent a pleasant evening. There was a furious wind and cold at night. Mr. Simpson drank tea with us, and helped William out with the boat. Wm. and Mary walked to the Swan, homewards, with him. A keen clear frosty night. I went into the orchard while they were out. _Sunday, 22nd._--We wrote to Coleridge. * * * * * * _Tuesday, 24th._-- ... It was very windy, and we heard the wind everywhere about us as we went along the lane, but the walls sheltered us. John Green's house looked pretty under Silver How. As we were going along we were stopped at once, at the distance perhaps of 50 yards from our favourite birch tree. It was yielding to the gusty wind with all its tender twigs. The sun shone upon it, and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny shower. It was a tree in shape, with stem and branches, but it was like a spirit of water. The sun went in, and it resumed its purplish appearance, the twigs still yielding to the wind, but not so visibly to us. The other birch trees that were near it looked bright and cheerful, but it was a creature by its own self among them.... We went through the wood. It became fair. There was a rainbow which spanned the lake from the island-house to the foot of Bainriggs. The village looked populous and beautiful. Catkins are coming out; palm trees budding; the alder, with its plum-coloured buds. We came home over the stepping-stones. The lake was foamy with white waves. I saw a solitary butter-flower in the wood.... Reached home at dinner time. Sent Peggy Ashburner some goose. She sent me some honey, with a thousand thanks. "Alas! the gratitude of men has," etc.[41] I went in to set her right about this, and sate a while with her. She talked about Thomas's having sold his land. "I," says she, "said many a time he's not come fra London to buy our land, however." Then she told me with what pains and industry they had made up their taxes, interest, etc. etc., how they all got up at 5 o'clock in the morning to spin and Thomas carded, and that they had paid off a hundred pounds of the interest. She said she used to take much pleasure in the cattle and sheep. "O how pleased I used to be when they fetched them down, and when I had been a bit poorly I would gang out upon a hill and look over't fields and see them, and it used to do me so much good you cannot think." Molly said to me when I came in, "Poor body! she's very ill, but one does not know how long she may last. Many a fair face may gang before her." We sate by the fire without work for some time, then Mary read a poem of Daniel.... Wm. read Spenser, now and then, a little aloud to us. We were making his waistcoat. We had a note from Mrs. C., with bad news from poor C.--very ill. William went to John's Grove. I went to find him. Moonlight, but it rained.... He had been surprised, and terrified, by a sudden rushing of winds, which seemed to bring earth, sky, and lake together, as if the whole were going to enclose him in. He was glad he was in a high road. [Footnote 41: See, in the "Poetical Works," _Simon Lee_, II. 95, 96, vol. i. p. 268.--ED.] In speaking of our walk on Sunday evening, the 22nd November, I forgot to notice one most impressive sight. It was the moon and the moonlight seen through hurrying driving clouds immediately behind the Stone-Man upon the top of the hill, on the forest side. Every tooth and every edge of rock was visible, and the Man stood like a giant watching from the roof of a lofty castle. The hill seemed perpendicular from the darkness below it. It was a sight that I could call to mind at any time, it was so distinct. _Wednesday, 25th November._--It was a showery morning and threatened to be a wettish day, but the sun shone once or twice. We were engaged to Mr. Lloyd's and Wm. and Mary were determined to go that it might be over. I accompanied them to the thorn beside Rydale water. I parted from them first at the top of the hill, and they called me back. It rained a little, and rained afterwards all the afternoon. I baked bread, and wrote to Sara Hutchinson and Coleridge. I passed a pleasant evening, but the wind roared so, and it was such a storm that I was afraid for them. They came in at nine o'clock, no worse for their walk, and cheerful, blooming, and happy. _Thursday, 26th._--Mr. Olliff called before Wm. was up to say that they would drink tea with us this afternoon. We walked into Easedale, to gather mosses, and to fetch cream. I went for the cream, and they sate under a wall. It was piercing cold. * * * * * * _Thursday, 3rd December 1801._--Wm. walked into Easedale. Hail and snow.... I wrote a little bit of my letter to Coleridge.... _Friday, 4th._-- ... Wm. translating _The Prioress's Tale_. William and Mary walked after tea to Rydale. I finished the letter to Coleridge, and we received a letter from him and Sara. C.'s letter written in good spirits. A letter of Lamb's about George Dyer with it.[42] [Footnote 42: An unprinted letter.--ED.] _Saturday, 5th._-- ... Wm. finished _The Prioress's Tale_, and after tea Mary and he wrote it out.... _Sunday, 6th._--A very fine beautiful sunshiny morning. Wm. worked a while at Chaucer, then we set forward to walk into Easedale.... We walked backwards and forwards in the flat field, which makes the second course of Easedale, with that beautiful rock in the field beside us, and all the rocks and the woods and the mountains enclosing us round. The sun was shining among them, the snow thinly scattered upon the tops of the mountains. In the afternoon we sate by the fire: I read Chaucer aloud, and Mary read the first canto of _The Fairy Queen_. After tea Mary and I walked to Ambleside for letters.... It was a sober starlight evening. The stars not shining as it were with all their brightness when they were visible, and sometimes hiding themselves behind small greying clouds, that passed soberly along. We opened C.'s letter at Wilcock's door. We thought we saw that he wrote in good spirits, so we came happily homewards where we arrived 2 hours after we left home. It was a sad melancholy letter, and prevented us all from sleeping. _Monday Morning, 7th._--We rose by candlelight. A showery unpleasant morning, after a downright rainy night. We determined, however, to go to Keswick if possible, and we set off a little after 9 o'clock. When we were upon the Raise, it snowed very much; and the whole prospect closed in upon us, like a moorland valley, upon a moor very wild. But when we were at the top of the Raise we saw the mountains before us. The sun shone upon them, here and there; and Wytheburn vale, though wild, looked soft. The day went on cheerfully and pleasantly. Now and then a hail shower attacked us; but we kept up a good heart, for Mary is a famous jockey.... We reached Greta Hall at about one o'clock. Met Mrs. C. in the field. Derwent in the cradle asleep. Hartley at his dinner. Derwent the image of his father. Hartley well. We wrote to C. Mrs. C. left us at 1/2 past 2. We drank tea by ourselves, the children playing about us. Mary said to Hartley, "Shall I take Derwent with me?" "No," says H., "I cannot spare my little brother," in the sweetest tone possible, "and he can't do without his mamma." "Well," says Mary, "why can't I be his mamma? Can't he have more mammas than one?" "No," says H. "What for?" "Because they do not love, and mothers do." "What is the difference between mothers and mammas?" Looking at his sleeves, "Mothers wear sleeves like this, pulling his own tight down, and mammas" (pulling them up, and making a bustle about his shoulders) "so." We parted from them at 4 o'clock. It was a little of the dusk when we set off. Cotton mills lighted up. The first star at Nadel Fell, but it was never dark. We rode very briskly. Snow upon the Raise. Reached home at seven o'clock. William at work with Chaucer, _The God of Love_. Sate latish. I wrote a letter to Coleridge. _Tuesday, 8th December 1801._--A dullish, rainyish morning. Wm. at work with Chaucer. I read Bruce's _Lochleven_.... William worked at _The Cuckoo and the Nightingale_ till he was tired.... _Wednesday Morning, 9th December._-- ... I read _Palemon and Arcite_.... William writing out his alteration of Chaucer's _Cuckoo and Nightingale_.... When I had finished a letter to C., ... Mary and I walked into Easedale, and backwards and forwards in that large field under George Rawson's white cottage. We had intended gathering mosses, and for that purpose we turned into the green lane, behind the tailor's, but it was too dark to see the mosses. The river came galloping past the Church, as fast as it could come; and when we got into Easedale we saw Churn Milk Force, like a broad stream of snow at the little foot-bridge. We stopped to look at the company of rivers, which came hurrying down the vale, this way and that. It was a valley of streams and islands, with that great waterfall at the head, and lesser falls in different parts of the mountains, coming down to these rivers. We could hear the sound of the lesser falls, but we could not see them. We walked backwards and forwards till all distant objects, except the white shape of the waterfall and the lines of the mountains, were gone. We had the crescent moon when we went out, and at our return there were a few stars that shone dimly, but it was a grey cloudy night. _Thursday, 10th December._-- ... We walked into Easedale to gather mosses, and then we went ... up the Gill, beyond that little waterfall. It was a wild scene of crag and mountain. One craggy point rose above the rest irregular and rugged, and very impressive it was. We were very unsuccessful in our search after mosses. Just when the evening was closing in, Mr. Clarkson came to the door. It was a fine frosty evening. We played at cards. * * * * * * _Saturday, 12th._-- ... Snow upon the ground.... All looked cheerful and bright. Helm Crag rose very bold and craggy, a Being by itself, and behind it was the large ridge of mountain, smooth as marble and snow white. All the mountains looked like solid stone, on our left, going from Grasmere, _i.e._ White Moss and Nab Scar. The snow hid all the grass, and all signs of vegetation, and the rocks showed themselves boldly everywhere, and seemed more stony than rock or stone. The birches on the crags beautiful, red brown and glittering. The ashes glittering spears with their upright stems. The hips very beautiful, and so good!! and, dear Coleridge! I ate twenty for thee, when I was by myself. I came home first. They walked too slow for me. Wm. went to look at Langdale Pikes. We had a sweet invigorating walk. Mr. Clarkson came in before tea. We played at cards. Sate up late. The moon shone upon the waters below Silver How, and above it hung, combining with Silver How on one side, a bowl-shaped moon, the curve downwards, the white fields, glittering roof of Thomas Ashburner's house, the dark yew tree, the white fields gay and beautiful. Wm. lay with his curtains open that he might see it. _Sunday, 13th._--Mr. Clarkson left us, leading his horse.... The boy brought letters from Coleridge, and from Sara. Sara in bad spirits about C. _Monday, 14th December._--Wm. and Mary walked to Ambleside in the morning to buy mouse-traps.... I wrote to Coleridge a very long letter while they were absent. Sate by the fire in the evening reading. * * * * * * _Thursday, 17th._--Snow in the night and still snowing.... Ambleside looked excessively beautiful as we came out--like a village in another country; and the light cheerful mountains were seen, in the long distance, as bright and as clear as at mid-day, with the blue sky above them. We heard waterfowl calling out by the lake side. Jupiter was very glorious above the Ambleside hills, and one large star hung over the corner of the hills on the opposite side of Rydale water. _Friday, 18th December 1801._--Mary and Wm. walked round the two lakes. I staid at home to make bread. I afterwards went to meet them, and I met Wm. Mary had gone to look at Langdale Pikes. It was a cheerful glorious day. The birches and all trees beautiful, hips bright red, mosses green. I wrote to Coleridge. * * * * * * _Sunday, 20th December._--It snowed all day. It was a very deep snow. The brooms were very beautiful, arched feathers with wiry stalks pointed to the end, smaller and smaller. They waved gently with the weight of the snow. _Monday 21st_ being the shortest day, Mary walked to Ambleside for letters. It was a wearisome walk, for the snow lay deep upon the roads and it was beginning to thaw. I stayed at home. Wm. sate beside me, and read _The Pedlar_. He was in good spirits, and full of hope of what he should do with it. He went to meet Mary, and they brought four letters--two from Coleridge, one from Sara, and one from France. Coleridge's were melancholy letters. He had been very ill. We were made very unhappy. Wm. wrote to him, and directed the letter into Somersetshire. I finished it after tea. In the afternoon Mary and I ironed. _Tuesday, 22nd._-- ... Wm. composed a few lines of _The Pedlar_. We talked about Lamb's tragedy as we went down the White Moss. We stopped a long time in going to watch a little bird with a salmon-coloured breast, a white cross or T upon its wings, and a brownish back with faint stripes.... It began to pick upon the road at the distance of four yards from us, and advanced nearer and nearer till it came within the length of W.'s stick, without any apparent fear of us. As we came up the White Moss, we met an old man, who I saw was a beggar by his two bags hanging over his shoulder; but, from half laziness, half indifference, and wanting to _try_ him, if he would speak, I let him pass. He said nothing, and my heart smote me. I turned back, and said, "You are begging?" "Ay," says he. I gave him something. William, judging from his appearance, joined in, "I suppose you were a sailor?" "Ay," he replied, "I have been 57 years at sea, 12 of them on board a man-of-war under Sir Hugh Palmer." "Why have you not a pension?" "I have no pension, but I could have got into Greenwich hospital, but all my officers are dead." He was 75 years of age, had a freshish colour in his cheeks, grey hair, a decent hat with a binding round the edge, the hat worn brown and glossy, his shoes were small thin shoes low in the quarters, pretty good. They had belonged to a gentleman. His coat was frock shaped, coming over his thighs. It had been joined up at the seams behind with paler blue, to let it out, and there were three bell-shaped patches of darker blue behind, where the buttons had been. His breeches were either of fustian, or grey cloth, with strings hanging down, whole and tight. He had a checked shirt on, and a small coloured handkerchief tied round his neck. His bags were hung over each shoulder, and lay on each side of him, below his breast. One was brownish and of coarse stuff, the other was white with meal on the outside, and his blue waistcoat was whitened with meal. * * * * * * We overtook old Fleming at Rydale, leading his little Dutchman-like grandchild along the slippery road. The same face seemed to be natural to them both--the old man and the little child--and they went hand in hand, the grandfather cautious, yet looking proud of his charge. He had two patches of new cloth at the shoulder-blades of his faded claret-coloured coat, like eyes at each shoulder, not worn elsewhere. I found Mary at home in her riding-habit, all her clothes being put up. We were very sad about Coleridge.... We stopped to look at the stone seat at the top of the hill. There was a white cushion upon it, round at the edge like a cushion, and the rock behind looked soft as velvet, of a vivid green, and so tempting! The snow too looked as soft as a down cushion. A young foxglove, like a star, in the centre. There were a few green lichens about it, and a few withered brackens of fern here and there upon the ground near, all else was a thick snow; no footmark to it, not the foot of a sheep.... We sate snugly round the fire. I read to them the Tale of Constance and the Syrian monarch, in the _Man of Lawe's Tale_, also some of the _Prologue_.... _Wednesday, 23rd._-- ... Mary wrote out the Tales from Chaucer for Coleridge. William worked at _The Ruined Cottage_ and made himself very ill.... A broken soldier came to beg in the morning. Afterwards a tall woman, dressed somewhat in a tawdry style, with a long checked muslin apron, a beaver hat, and throughout what are called good clothes. Her daughter had gone before, with a soldier and his wife. She had buried her husband at Whitehaven, and was going back into Cheshire. _Thursday, 24th._--Still a thaw. Wm., Mary, and I sate comfortably round the fire in the evening, and read Chaucer. Thoughts of last year. I took out my old Journal. _Friday, 25th._--_Christmas Day._ We received a letter from Coleridge. His letter made us uneasy about him. I was glad I was not by myself when I received it. _Saturday, 26th._-- ... We walked to Rydale. Grasmere Lake a beautiful image of stillness, clear as glass, reflecting all things. The wind was up, and the waters sounding. The lake of a rich purple, the fields a soft yellow, the island yellowish-green, the copses red-brown, the mountains purple, the church and buildings, how quiet they were! Poor Coleridge, Sara, and dear little Derwent here last year at this time. After tea we sate by the fire comfortably. I read aloud _The Miller's Tale_. Wrote to Coleridge.... Wm. wrote part of the poem to Coleridge.[43] [Footnote 43: See _Stanzas, written in my Pocket Copy of Thomson's Castle of Indolence_, "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 305.--ED.] _Sunday, 27th._--A fine soft beautiful mild day, with gleams of sunshine. William went to take in his boat. I sate in John's Grove a little while. Mary came home. Mary wrote some lines of the third part of his poem, which he brought to read to us, when we came home.... _Monday, 28th of December._--William, Mary, and I set off on foot to Keswick. We carried some cold mutton in our pockets, and dined at John Stanley's, where they were making Christmas pies. The sun shone, but it was coldish. We parted from Wm. upon the Raise. He joined us opposite Sara's rock. He was busy in composition, and sate down upon the wall. We did not see him again till we arrived at John Stanley's. There we roasted apples in the room. After we had left John Stanley's, Wm. discovered that he had lost his gloves. He turned back, but they were gone. Wm. rested often. Once he left his Spenser, and Mary turned back for it, and found it upon the bank, where we had last rested.... We reached Greta Hall at about 1/2 past 5 o'clock. The children and Mrs. C. well. After tea, message came from Wilkinson, who had passed us on the road, inviting Wm. to sup at the Oak. He went. Met a young man (a predestined Marquis) called Johnston. He spoke to him familiarly of the L. B. He had seen a copy presented by the Queen to Mrs. Harcourt. Said he saw them everywhere, and wondered they did not sell. We all went weary to bed.... _Tuesday, 29th._--A fine morning. A thin fog upon the hills which soon disappeared. The sun shone. Wilkinson went with us to the top of the hill. We turned out of the road at the second mile stone, and passed a pretty cluster of houses at the foot of St. John's Vale. The houses were among tall trees, partly of Scotch fir, and some naked forest trees. We crossed a bridge just below these houses, and the river winded sweetly along the meadows. Our road soon led us along the sides of dreary bare hills, but we had a glorious prospect to the left of Saddleback, half-way covered with snow, and underneath the comfortable white houses and the village of Threlkeld. These houses and the village want trees about them. Skiddaw was behind us, and dear Coleridge's desert home. As we ascended the hills it grew very cold and slippery. Luckily, the wind was at our backs, and helped us on. A sharp hail shower gathered at the head of Martindale, and the view upwards was very grand--wild cottages, seen through the hurrying hail-shower. The wind drove, and eddied about and about, and the hills looked large and swelling through the storm. We thought of Coleridge. O! the bonny nooks, and windings, and curlings of the beck, down at the bottom of the steep green mossy banks. We dined at the public-house on porridge, with a second course of Christmas pies. We were well received by the landlady, and her little Jewish daughter was glad to see us again. The husband a very handsome man. While we were eating our dinner a traveller came in. He had walked over Kirkstone, that morning. We were much amused by the curiosity of the landlord and landlady to learn who he was, and by his mysterious manner of letting out a little bit of his errand, and yet telling nothing. He had business further up in the vale. He left them with this piece of information to work upon, and I doubt not they discovered who he was and all his business before the next day at that hour. The woman told us of the riches of a Mr. Walker, formerly of Grasmere. We said, "What, does he do nothing for his relations? He has a sickly sister at Grasmere." "Why," said the man, "I daresay if they had any sons to put forward he would do it for them, but he has children of his own." (_N.B._--His fortune is above £60,000, and he has two children!!) The landlord went about a mile and a half with us to put us in the right way. The road was often very slippery, the wind high, and it was nearly dark before we got into the right road. I was often obliged to crawl on all fours, and Mary fell many a time. A stout young man whom we met on the hills, and who knew Mr. Clarkson, very kindly set us into the right road, and we inquired again near some houses and were directed, by a miserable, poverty-struck, looking woman, who had been fetching water, to go down a miry lane. We soon got into the main road and reached Mr. Clarkson's at tea time. Mary H. spent the next day with us, and we walked on Dunmallet before dinner, but it snowed a little. The day following, being New Year's Eve, we accompanied Mary to Howtown Bridge. V DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802 TO 8TH JULY 1802) EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL (FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802 TO 8TH JULY 1802) _New Year's Day._--We walked, Wm. and I, towards Martindale. _January 2nd._--It snowed all day. We walked near to Dalemain in the snow. _January 3rd._--Sunday. Mary brought us letters from Sara and Coleridge and we went with her homewards to ... Parted at the stile on the Pooley side. Thomas Wilkinson dined with us and stayed supper. I do not recollect how the rest of our time was spent exactly. We had a very sharp frost which broke on Friday the 15th January, or rather on the morning of Saturday 16th. On Sunday the 17th we went to meet Mary. It was a mild gentle thaw. She stayed with us till Friday, 22nd January. On Thursday we dined at Mr. Myers's, and on Friday, 22nd, we parted from Mary. Before our parting we sate under a wall in the sun near a cottage above Stainton Bridge. The field in which we sate sloped downwards to a nearly level meadow, round which the Emont flowed in a small half-circle as at Lochleven.[44] The opposite bank is woody, steep as a wall, but not high, and above that bank the fields slope gently, and irregularly down to it. These fields are surrounded by tall hedges, with trees among them, and there are clumps or grovelets of tall trees here and there. Sheep and cattle were in the fields. Dear Mary! there we parted from her. I daresay as often as she passes that road she will turn in at the gate to look at this sweet prospect. There was a barn and I think two or three cottages to be seen among the trees, and slips of lawn and irregular fields. During our stay at Mr. Clarkson's we walked every day, except that stormy Thursday. We dined at Thomas Wilkinson's on Friday the 15th, and walked to Penrith for Mary. The trees were covered with hoar-frost--grasses, and trees, and hedges beautiful; a glorious sunset; frost keener than ever. Next day thaw. Mrs. Clarkson amused us with many stories of her family and of persons whom she had known. I wish I had set them down as I heard them, when they were fresh in my memory.... Mrs. Clarkson knew a clergyman and his wife who brought up ten children upon a curacy, sent two sons to college, and he left £1000 when he died. The wife was very generous, gave food and drink to all poor people. She had a passion for feeding animals. She killed a pig with feeding it over much. When it was dead she said, "To be sure it's a great loss, but I thank God it did not die _clemmed_" (the Cheshire word for starved). Her husband was very fond of playing back-gammon, and used to play whenever he could get anybody to play with him. She had played much in her youth, and was an excellent player; but her husband knew nothing of this, till one day she said to him, "You're fond of back-gammon, come play with me." He was surprised. She told him she had kept it to herself, while she had a young family to attend to, but that now she would play with him! So they began to play, and played every night. Mr. C. told us many pleasant stories. His journey from London to Wisbeck on foot when a schoolboy, knife and stick, postboy, etc., the white horse sleeping at the turnpike gate snoring, the turnpike man's clock ticking, the burring story, the story of the mastiff, bull-baiting by men at Wisbeck. [Footnote 44: This refers probably to Loch Leven in Argyll, but its point is not obvious, and Dorothy Wordsworth had not then been in Scotland.--ED.] On Saturday, January 23rd, we left Eusemere at 10 o'clock in the morning, I behind Wm. Mr. Clarkson on his Galloway.[45] The morning not very promising, the wind cold. The mountains large and dark, but only thinly streaked with snow; a strong wind. We dined in Grisdale on ham, bread, and milk. We parted from Mr. C. at one o'clock. It rained all the way home. We struggled with the wind, and often rested as we went along. A hail shower met us before we reached the Tarn, and the way often was difficult over the snow; but at the Tarn the view closed in. We saw nothing but mists and snow: and at first the ice on the Tarn below us cracked and split, yet without water, a dull grey white. We lost our path, and could see the Tarn no longer. We made our way out with difficulty, guided by a heap of stones which we well remembered. We were afraid of being bewildered in the mists, till the darkness should overtake us. We were long before we knew that we were in the right track, but thanks to William's skill we knew it long before we could see our way before us. There was no footmark upon the snow either of man or beast. We saw four sheep before we had left the snow region. The vale of Grasmere, when the mists broke away, looked soft and grave, of a yellow hue. It was dark before we reached home. O how happy and comfortable we felt ourselves, sitting by our own fire, when we had got off our wet clothes. We talked about the Lake of Como, read the description, looked about us, and felt that we were happy.... [Footnote 45: A Galloway pony.--ED.] _Sunday, 24th._--We went into the orchard as soon as breakfast was over. Laid out the situation for our new room, and sauntered a while. Wm. walked in the morning. I wrote to Coleridge.... _Monday, 25th January._-- ... Wm. tired with composition.... _Tuesday, 26th._-- ... We are going to walk, and I am ready and waiting by the kitchen fire for Wm. We set forward intending to go into Easedale, but the wind being loudish, and blowing down Easedale, we walked under Silver How for a shelter. We went a little beyond the syke; then up to John's Grove, where the storm of Thursday has made sad ravages. Two of the finest trees are uprooted, one lying with the turf about its root, as if the whole together had been pared by a knife. The other is a larch. Several others are blown aside, one is snapped in two. We gathered together a faggot. Wm. had tired himself with working.... We received a letter from Mary with an account of C.'s arrival in London. I wrote to Mary before bedtime.... Wm. wrote out part of his poem, and endeavoured to alter it, and so made himself ill. I copied out the rest for him. We went late to bed. Wm. wrote to Annette.[46] [Footnote 46: See the "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 335.--ED.] _Wednesday, 27th._--A beautiful mild morning; the sun shone; the lake was still, and all the shores reflected in it. I finished my letter to Mary. Wm. wrote to Stuart. I copied sonnets for him. Mr. Olliff called and asked us to tea to-morrow. We stayed in the house till the sun shone more dimly and we thought the afternoon was closing in, but though the calmness of the Lake was gone with the bright sunshine, yet it was delightfully pleasant. We found no letter from Coleridge. One from Sara which we sate upon the wall to read; a sweet long letter, with a most interesting account of Mr. Patrick. We cooked no dinner. Sate a while by the fire, and then drank tea at Frank Raty's. As we went past the Nab I was surprised to see the youngest child amongst them running about by itself, with a canny round fat face, and rosy cheeks. I called in. They gave me some nuts. Everybody surprised that we should come over Grisdale. Paid £1: 3: 3 for letters come since December 1st. Paid also about 8 shillings at Penrith. The bees were humming about the hive. William raked a few stones off the garden, his first garden labour this year. I cut the shrubs. When we returned from Frank's, Wm. wasted his mind in the Magazines. I wrote to Coleridge, and Mrs. C., closed the letters up to Samson. Then we sate by the fire, and were happy, only our tender thoughts became painful.[47] Went to bed at 1/2 past 11. [Footnote 47: Compare, in _Lines written in Early Spring_, vol. i. p. 269-- In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. ED.] _Thursday, 28th._--A downright rain. A wet night. Wm. wrote an epitaph, and altered one that he wrote when he was a boy. It cleared up after dinner. We were both in miserable spirits, and very doubtful about keeping our engagements to the Olliffs. We walked first within view of Rydale then to Lowthwaite, then we went to Mr. Olliff. We talked a while. Wm. was tired. We then played at cards. Came home in the rain. Very dark. Came with a lantern. Wm. out of spirits and tired. He called at 1/4 past 3 to know the hour. _Friday, 29th January._--Wm. was very unwell. Worn out with his bad night's rest. I read to him, to endeavour to make him sleep. Then I came into the other room, and I read the first book of _Paradise Lost_. After dinner we walked to Ambleside.... A heart-rending letter from Coleridge. We were sad as we could be. Wm. wrote to him. We talked about Wm.'s going to London. It was a mild afternoon. There was an unusual softness in the prospects as we went, a rich yellow upon the fields, and a soft grave purple on the waters. When we returned many stars were out, the clouds were moveless, and the sky soft purple, the lake of Rydale calm, Jupiter behind. Jupiter at least _we_ call him, but William says we always call the largest star Jupiter. When we came home we both wrote to C. I was stupefied. _Saturday, January 30th._--A cold dark morning. William chopped wood. I brought it in a basket.... He asked me to set down the story of Barbara Wilkinson's turtle dove. Barbara is an old maid. She had two turtle doves. One of them died, the first year I think. The other continued to live alone in its cage for nine years, but for one whole year it had a companion and daily visitor--a little mouse, that used to come and feed with it; and the dove would carry it and cover it over with its wings, and make a loving noise to it. The mouse, though it did not testify equal delight in the dove's company, was yet at perfect ease. The poor mouse disappeared, and the dove was left solitary till its death. It died of a short sickness, and was buried under a tree, with funeral ceremony by Barbara and her maidens, and one or two others. On _Saturday, 30th_, Wm. worked at _The Pedlar_ all the morning. He kept the dinner waiting till four o'clock. He was much tired.... _Sunday, 31st._--Wm. had slept very ill. He was tired. We walked round the two lakes. Grasmere was very soft, and Rydale was extremely beautiful from the western side. Nab Scar was just topped by a cloud which, cutting it off as high as it could be cut off, made the mountain look uncommonly lofty.[48] We sate down a long time with different plans. I always love to walk that way, because it is the way I first came to Rydale and Grasmere, and because our dear Coleridge did also. When I came with Wm., 6 and 1/2 years ago, it was just at sunset. There was a rich yellow light on the waters, and the islands were reflected there. To-day it was grave and soft, but not perfectly calm. William says it was much such a day as when Coleridge came with _him_. The sun shone out before we reached Grasmere. We sate by the roadside at the foot of the Lake, close to Mary's dear name, which she had cut herself upon the stone. Wm. cut at it with his knife to make it plainer.[49] We amused ourselves for a long time in watching the breezes, some as if they came from the bottom of the lake, spread in a circle, brushing along the surface of the water, and growing more delicate as it were thinner, and of a _paler_ colour till they died away. Others spread out like a peacock's tail, and some went right forward this way and that in all directions. The lake was still where these breezes were not, but they made it all alive. I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for _they_ were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can. We found Calvert here. I brought a handkerchief full of mosses, which I placed on the chimneypiece when Calvert was gone. He dined with us, and carried away the encyclopædias. After they were gone, I spent some time in trying to reconcile myself to the change, and in rummaging out and arranging some other books in their places. One good thing is this--there is a nice elbow place for Wm., and he may sit for the picture of John Bunyan any day. Mr. Simpson drank tea with us. We paid our rent to Benson.... [Footnote 48: Compare the poem _To the Clouds_, vol. viii. p. 142, and the Fenwick note to that poem.--ED.] [Footnote 49: This still exists, but is known to few.--ED.] _Monday, February 1st._--Wm. slept badly. I baked bread. William worked hard at _The Pedlar_, and tired himself.... There was a purplish light upon Mr. Olliff's house, which made me look to the other side of the vale, when I saw a strange stormy mist coming down the side of Silver How of a reddish purple colour. It soon came on a heavy rain.... A box with books came from London. I sate by W.'s bedside, and read in _The Pleasures of Hope_ to him, which came in the box. He could not fall asleep. _Tuesday, 2nd February._-- ... Wm. went into the orchard after breakfast, to chop wood. We walked into Easedale.... Walked backwards and forwards between Goody Bridge and Butterlip How. William wished to break off composition, but was unable, and so did himself harm. The sun shone, but it was cold. William worked at _The Pedlar_. After tea I read aloud the eleventh book of _Paradise Lost_. We were much impressed, and also melted into tears. The papers came in soon after I had laid aside the book--a good thing for my Wm.... _Wednesday, 3rd._--A rainy morning. We walked to Rydale for letters. Found one from Mrs. Cookson and Mary H. It snowed upon the hills. We sate down on the wall at the foot of White Moss. Sate by the fire in the evening. Wm. tired, and did not compose. He went to bed soon, and could not sleep. I wrote to Mary H. Sent off the letter by Fletcher. Wrote also to Coleridge. Read Wm. to sleep after dinner, and read to him in bed till 1/2 past one. _Thursday, 4th._-- ... Wm. thought a little about _The Pedlar_. Read Smollet's life. _Friday, 5th._--A cold snowy morning. Snow and hail showers. We did not walk. Wm. cut wood a little. Sate up late at _The Pedlar_. _Saturday, 6th February._-- ... Two very affecting letters from Coleridge; resolved to try another climate. I was stopped in my writing, and made ill by the letters.... Wrote again after tea, and translated two or three of Lessing's _Fables_. _Sunday, 7th._--A fine clear frosty morning. The eaves drop with the heat of the sun all day long. The ground thinly covered with snow. The road black, rocks black. Before night the island was quite green. The sun had melted all the snow. Wm. working at his poem. We sate by the fire, and did not walk, but read _The Pedlar_, thinking it done; but W. could find fault with one part of it. It was uninteresting, and must be altered. Poor Wm.! _Monday Morning, 8th February 1802._--It was very windy and rained hard all the morning. William worked at his poem and I read a little in Lessing and the grammar. A chaise came past. After dinner (_i.e._ we set off at about 1/2 past 4) we went towards Rydale for letters. It was a "_cauld clash_." The rain had been so cold that it hardly melted the snow. We stopped at Park's to get some straw round Wm.'s shoes. The young mother was sitting by a bright wood fire, with her youngest child upon her lap, and the other two sate on each side of the chimney. The light of the fire made them a beautiful sight, with their innocent countenances, their rosy cheeks, and glossy curling hair. We sate and talked about poor Ellis, and our journey over the Hawes. Before we had come to the shore of the Lake, we met our patient bow-bent friend, with his little wooden box at his back. "Where are you going?" said he. "To Rydale for letters." "I have two for you in my box." We lifted up the lid, and there they lay. Poor fellow, he straddled and pushed on with all his might; but we outstripped him far away when we had turned back with our letters.... I could not help comparing lots with him. He goes at that slow pace every morning, and after having wrought a hard day's work returns at night, however weary he may be, takes it all quietly, and, though perhaps he neither feels thankfulness nor pleasure, when he eats his supper, and has nothing to look forward to but falling asleep in bed, yet I daresay he neither murmurs nor thinks it hard. He seems mechanised to labour. We broke the seal of Coleridge's letters, and I had light enough just to see that he was not ill. I put it in my pocket. At the top of the White Moss I took it to my bosom,--a safer place for it. The sight was wild. There was a strange mountain lightness, when we were at the top of the White Moss. I have often observed it there in the evenings, being between the two valleys. There is more of the sky there than any other place. It has a strange effect. Sometimes, along with the obscurity of evening, or night, it seems almost like a peculiar sort of light. There was not much wind till we came to John's Grove, then it roared right out of the grove, all the trees were tossing about. Coleridge's letter somewhat damped us. It spoke with less confidence about France. Wm. wrote to him. The other letter was from Montagu, with £8. Wm. was very unwell, tired when he had written. He went to bed and left me to write to M. H., Montagu, and Calvert, and Mrs. Coleridge. I had written in his letter to Coleridge. We wrote to Calvert to beg him not to fetch us on Sunday. Wm. left me with a little peat fire. It grew less. I wrote on, and was starved. At 2 o'clock I went to put my letters under Fletcher's door. I never felt such a cold night. There was a strong wind and it froze very hard. I gathered together all the clothes I could find (for I durst not go into the pantry for fear of waking Wm.). At first when I went to bed I seemed to be warm. I suppose because the cold air, which I had just left, no longer touched my body; but I soon found that I was mistaken. I could not sleep from sheer cold. I had baked pies and bread in the morning. Coleridge's letter contained prescriptions. _N.B._--The moon came out suddenly when we were at John's Grove, and a star or two besides. _Tuesday._--Wm. had slept better. He fell to work, and made himself unwell. We did not walk. A funeral came by of a poor woman who had drowned herself, some say because she was hardly treated by her husband; others that he was a very decent respectable man, and _she_ but an indifferent wife. However this was, she had only been married to him last Whitsuntide and had had very indifferent health ever since. She had got up in the night, and drowned herself in the pond. She had requested to be buried beside her mother, and so she was brought in a hearse. She was followed by some very decent-looking men on horseback, her sister--Thomas Fleming's wife--in a chaise, and some others with her, and a cart full of women. Molly says folks thinks o' their mothers. Poor body, _she_ has been little thought of by any body else. We did a little of Lessing. I attempted a fable, but my head ached; my bones were sore with the cold of the day before, and I was downright stupid. We went to bed, but not till Wm. had tired himself. _Wednesday, 10th._--A very snowy morning.... I was writing out the poem, as we hoped for a final writing.... We read the first part and were delighted with it, but Wm. afterwards got to some ugly place, and went to bed tired out. A wild, moonlight night. _Thursday, 11th._-- ... Wm. sadly tired and working at _The Pedlar_.... We made up a good fire after dinner, and Wm. brought his mattress out, and lay down on the floor. I read to him the life of Ben Jonson, and some short poems of his, which were too interesting for him, and would not let him go to sleep. I had begun with Fletcher, but he was too dull for me. Fuller says, in his _Life of Jonson_ (speaking of his plays), "If his latter be not so spriteful and vigorous as his first pieces, all that are old, and all who desire to be old, should excuse him therein." He says he "beheld" wit-combats between Shakespeare and Jonson, and compares Shakespeare to an English man-of-war, Jonson to a great Spanish galleon. There is one affecting line in Jonson's epitaph on his first daughter-- Here lies to each her parents ruth, Mary the daughter of their youth. At six months' end she parted hence, In safety of her innocence. Two beggars to-day. I continued to read to Wm. We were much delighted with the poem of _Penshurst_.[50] Wm. rose better. I was cheerful and happy. He got to work again. [Footnote 50: By Ben Jonson.--ED.] _Friday, 12th._--A very fine, bright, clear, hard frost. Wm. working again. I recopied _The Pedlar_, but poor Wm. all the time at work.... In the afternoon a poor woman came, she said, to beg, ... but she has been used to go a-begging, for she has often come here. Her father lived to the age of 105. She is a woman of strong bones, with a complexion that has been beautiful, and remained very fresh last year, but now she looks broken, and her little boy--a pretty little fellow, and whom I have loved for the sake of Basil--looks thin and pale. I observed this to her. "Aye," says she, "we have all been ill. Our house was nearly unroofed in the storm, and we lived in it so for more than a week." The child wears a ragged drab coat and a fur cap. Poor little fellow, I think he seems scarcely at all grown since the first time I saw him. William was with me when we met him in a lane going to Skelwith Bridge. He looked very pretty. He was walking lazily, in the deep narrow lane, overshadowed with the hedgerows, his meal poke hung over his shoulder. He said he "was going a laiting." Poor creature! He now wears the same coat he had on at that time. When the woman was gone, I could not help thinking that we are not half thankful enough that we are placed in that condition of life in which we are. We do not so often bless God for this, as we wish for this £50, that £100, etc. etc. We have not, however, to reproach ourselves with ever breathing a murmur. This woman's was but a common case. The snow still lies upon the ground. Just at the closing in of the day, I heard a cart pass the door, and at the same time the dismal sound of a crying infant. I went to the window, and had light enough to see that a man was driving a cart, which seemed not to be very full, and that a woman with an infant in her arms was following close behind and a dog close to her. It was a wild and melancholy sight. Wm. rubbed his tables after candles were lighted, and we sate a long time with the windows unclosed, and almost finished writing _The Pedlar_; but poor Wm. wore himself out, and me out, with labour. We had an affecting conversation. Went to bed at 12 o'clock. _Saturday, 13th._--It snowed a little this morning. Still at work at _The Pedlar_, altering and refitting. We did not walk, though it was a very fine day. We received a present of eggs and milk from Janet Dockeray, and just before she went, the little boy from the Hill brought us a letter from Sara H., and one from the Frenchman in London. I wrote to Sara after tea, and Wm. took out his old newspapers, and the new ones came in soon after. We sate, after I had finished the letter, talking; and Wm. read parts of his _Recluse_ aloud to me.... _Sunday, 14th February._--A fine morning. The sun shines out, but it has been a hard frost in the night. There are some little snowdrops that are afraid to put their white heads quite out, and a few blossoms of hepatica that are half-starved. Wm. left me at work altering some passages of _The Pedlar_, and went into the orchard. The fine day pushed him on to resolve, and as soon as I had read a letter to him, which I had just received from Mrs. Clarkson, he said he would go to Penrith, so Molly was despatched for the horse. I worked hard, got the writing finished, and all quite trim. I wrote to Mrs. Clarkson, and put up some letters for Mary H., and off he went in his blue spencer, and a pair of new pantaloons fresh from London.... I then sate over the fire, reading Ben Jonson's _Penshurst_, and other things. Before sunset, I put on my shawl and walked out. The snow-covered mountains were spotted with rich sunlight, a palish buffish colour.... I stood at the wishing-gate, and when I came in view of Rydale, I cast a long look upon the mountains beyond. They were very white, but I concluded that Wm. would have a very safe passage over Kirkstone, and I was quite easy about him. After dinner, a little before sunset, I walked out about 20 yards above Glow-worm Rock. I met a carman, a Highlander I suppose, with four carts, the first three belonging to himself, the last evidently to a man and his family who had joined company with him, and who I guessed to be potters. The carman was cheering his horses, and talking to a little lass about ten years of age who seemed to make him her companion. She ran to the wall, and took up a large stone to support the wheel of one of his carts, and ran on before with it in her arms to be ready for him. She was a beautiful creature, and there was something uncommonly impressive in the lightness and joyousness of her manner. Her business seemed to be all pleasure--pleasure in her own motions, and the man looked at her as if he too was pleased, and spoke to her in the same tone in which he spoke to his horses. There was a wildness in her whole figure, not the wildness of a Mountain lass, but of the Road lass, a traveller from her birth, who had wanted neither food nor clothes. Her mother followed the last cart with a lovely child, perhaps about a year old, at her back, and a good-looking girl, about fifteen years old, walked beside her. All the children were like the mother. She had a very fresh complexion, but she was blown with fagging up the steep hill, and with what she carried. Her husband was helping the horse to drag the cart up by pushing it with his shoulder. I reached home, and read German till about 9 o'clock. I wrote to Coleridge. Went to bed at about 12 o'clock.... I slept badly, for my thoughts were full of Wm. _Monday, 15th February._--It snowed a good deal, and was terribly cold. After dinner it was fair, but I was obliged to run all the way to the foot of the White Moss, to get the least bit of warmth into me. I found a letter from C. He was much better, this was very satisfactory, but his letter was not an answer to Wm.'s which I expected. A letter from Annette. I got tea when I reached home, and then set on reading German. I wrote part of a letter to Coleridge, went to bed and slept badly. _Tuesday, 16th._--A fine morning, but I had persuaded myself not to expect Wm., I believe because I was afraid of being disappointed. I ironed all day. He came just at tea time, had only seen Mary H. for a couple of hours between Eamont Bridge and Hartshorn Tree. Mrs. C. better. He had had a difficult journey over Kirkstone, and came home by Threlkeld. We spent a sweet evening. He was better, had altered _The Pedlar_. We went to bed pretty soon. Mr. Graham said he wished Wm. had been with him the other day--he was riding in a post-chaise and he heard a strange cry that he could not understand, the sound continued, and he called to the chaise driver to stop. It was a little girl that was crying as if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise, and her cloak had been caught by the wheel, and was jammed in, and it hung there. She was crying after it, poor thing. Mr. Graham took her into the chaise, and her cloak was released from the wheel, but the child's misery did not cease, for her cloak was torn to rags; it had been a miserable cloak before, but she had no other, and it was the greatest sorrow that could befall her. Her name was Alice Fell.[51] She had no parents, and belonged to the next town. At the next town, Mr. G. left money with some respectable people in the town, to buy her a new cloak. [Footnote 51: See the poem _Alice Fell_, in the "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 273.--ED.] _Wednesday, 17th._--A miserable nasty snowy morning. We did not walk, but the old man from the hill brought us a short letter from Mary H. I copied the second part of _Peter Bell_.... _Thursday, 18th._--A foggy morning. I copied new part of _Peter Bell_ in W.'s absence, and began a letter to Coleridge. Wm. came in with a letter from Coleridge.... We talked together till 11 o'clock, when Wm. got to work, and was no worse for it. Hard frost. * * * * * * _Saturday, 20th._-- ... I wrote the first part of _Peter Bell_.... _Sunday, 21st._--A very wet morning. I wrote the 2nd prologue to _Peter Bell_.... After dinner I wrote the 1st prologue.... Snowdrops quite out, but cold and winterly; yet, for all this, a thrush that lives in our orchard has shouted and sung its merriest all day long ... _Monday, 22nd._--Wm. brought me 4 letters to read--from Annette and Caroline,[52] Mary and Sara, and Coleridge.... In the evening we walked to the top of the hill, then to the bridge. We hung over the wall, and looked at the deep stream below. It came with a full, steady, yet a very rapid flow down to the lake. The sykes made a sweet sound everywhere, and looked very interesting in the twilight, and that little one above Mr. Olliff's house was very impressive. A ghostly white serpent line, it made a sound most distinctly heard of itself. The mountains were black and steep, the tops of some of them having snow yet visible. [Footnote 52: See "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 335.--ED.] _Tuesday, 23rd._-- ... When we came out of our own doors, that dear thrush was singing upon the topmost of the smooth branches of the ash tree at the top of the orchard. How long it had been perched on that same tree I cannot tell, but we had heard its dear voice in the orchard the day through, along with a cheerful undersong made by our winter friends, the robins. As we came home, I picked up a few mosses by the roadside, which I left at home. We then went to John's Grove. There we sate a little while looking at the fading landscape. The lake, though the objects on the shore were fading, seemed brighter than when it is perfect day, and the island pushed itself upwards, distinct and large. All the shores marked. There was a sweet, sea-like sound in the trees above our heads. We walked backwards and forwards some time for dear John's sake, then walked to look at Rydale. Wm. now reading in Bishop Hall, I going to read German. We have a nice singing fire, with one piece of wood.... _Wednesday, 24th._--A rainy morning. William returned from Rydale very wet, with letters. He brought a short one from C., a very long one from Mary. Wm. wrote to Annette, to Coleridge.... I wrote a little bit to Coleridge. We sent off these letters by Fletcher. It was a tremendous night of wind and rain. Poor Coleridge! a sad night for a traveller such as he. God be praised he was in safe quarters. Wm. went out. He never felt a colder night. _Thursday, 25th._--A fine, mild, gay, beautiful morning. Wm. wrote to Montagu in the morning.... I reached home just before dark, brought some mosses and ivy, and then got tea, and fell to work at German. I read a good deal of Lessing's Essay. Wm. came home between 9 and 10 o'clock. We sat together by the fire till bedtime. Wm. not very much tired. _Friday, 26th._--A grey morning till 10 o'clock, then the sun shone beautifully. Mrs. Lloyd's children and Mrs. Luff came in a chaise, were here at 11 o'clock, then went to Mrs. Olliff. Wm. and I accompanied them to the gate. I prepared dinner, sought out _Peter Bell_, gave Wm. some cold meat, and then we went to walk. We walked first to Butterlip How, where we sate and overlooked the dale, no sign of spring but the red tints of the woods and trees. Sate in the sun. Met Charles Lloyd near the Bridge.... Mr. and Mrs. Luff walked home, the Lloyds stayed till 8 o'clock. Wm. always gets on better with conversation at home than elsewhere. The chaise-driver brought us a letter from Mrs. H., a short one from C. We were perplexed about Sara's coming. I wrote to Mary. Wm. closed his letter to Montagu, and wrote to Calvert and Mrs. Coleridge. Birds sang divinely to-day. Wm. better. _Sunday, 28th February._--Wm. employed himself with _The Pedlar_. We got papers in the morning. _Monday._--A fine pleasant day, we walked to Rydale. I went on before for the letters, brought two from M. and S. H. We climbed over the wall and read them under the shelter of a mossy rock. We met Mrs. Lloyd in going. Mrs. Olliff's child ill. The catkins are beautiful in the hedges, the ivy is very green. Robert Newton's paddock is greenish--that is all we see of Spring; finished and sent off the letter to Sara, and wrote to Mary. Wrote again to Sara, and Wm. wrote to Coleridge. Mrs. Lloyd called when I was in bed. _Tuesday._[53]--A fine grey morning.... I read German, and a little before dinner Wm. also read. We walked on Butterlip How under the wind. It rained all the while, but we had a pleasant walk. The mountains of Easedale, black or covered with snow at the tops, gave a peculiar softness to the valley. The clouds hid the tops of some of them. The valley was populous and enlivened with streams.... [Footnote 53: March 2nd.--ED.] _Wednesday._--I was so unlucky as to propose to rewrite _The Pedlar_. Wm. got to work, and was worn to death. We did not walk. I wrote in the afternoon. _Thursday._--Before we had quite finished breakfast Calvert's man brought the horses for Wm. We had a deal to do, pens to make, poems to put in order for writing, to settle for the press, pack up; and the man came before the pens were made, and he was obliged to leave me with only two. Since he left me at half-past 11 (it is now 2) I have been putting the drawers into order, laid by his clothes which he had thrown here and there and everywhere, filed two months' newspapers and got my dinner, 2 boiled eggs and 2 apple tarts. I have set Molly on to clean the garden a little, and I myself have walked. I transplanted some snowdrops--the Bees are busy. Wm. has a nice bright day. It was hard frost in the night. The Robins are singing sweetly. Now for my walk. I _will_ be busy. I _will_ look well, and be well when he comes back to me. O the Darling! Here is one of his bitter apples. I can hardly find it in my heart to throw it into the fire.... I walked round the two Lakes, crossed the stepping-stones at Rydale foot. Sate down where we always sit. I was full of thought about my darling. Blessings on him. I came home at the foot of our own hill under Loughrigg. They are making sad ravages in the woods. Benson's wood is going, and the woods above the River. The wind has blown down a small fir tree on the Rock, that terminates John's path. I suppose the wind of Wednesday night. I read German after tea. I worked and read the L. B., enchanted with the _Idiot Boy_. Wrote to Wm. and then went to bed. It snowed when I went to bed. _Friday._--First walked in the garden and orchard, a frosty sunny morning. After dinner I gathered mosses in Easedale. I saw before me sitting in the open field, upon his pack of rags, the old Ragman that I know. His coat is of scarlet in a thousand patches. When I came home Molly had shook the carpet and cleaned everything upstairs. When I see her so happy in her work, and exulting in her own importance, I often think of that affecting expression which she made use of to me one evening lately. Talking of her good luck in being in this house, "Aye, Mistress, them 'at's low laid would have been proud creatures could they but have seen where I is now, fra what they thought wud be my doom." I was tired when I reached home. I sent Molly Ashburner to Rydale. No letters. I was sadly mortified. I expected one fully from Coleridge. Wrote to William, read the L. B., got into sad thoughts, tried at German, but could not go on. Read L. B. Blessings on that brother of mine! Beautiful new moon over Silver How. _Friday Morning._--A very cold sunshiny frost. I wrote _The Pedlar_, and finished it before I went to Mrs. Simpson's to drink tea. Miss S. at Keswick, but she came home. Mrs. Jameson came in and stayed supper. Fletcher's carts went past and I let them go with William's letter. Mr. B. S. came nearly home with me. I found letters from Wm., Mary, and Coleridge. I wrote to C. Sat up late, and could not fall asleep when I went to bed. * * * * * * _Sunday Morning._--A very fine, clear frost. I stitched up _The Pedlar_; wrote out _Ruth_; read it with the alterations, then wrote Mary H. Read a little German, ... and in came William, I did not expect him till to-morrow. How glad I was. After we had talked about an hour, I gave him his dinner. We sate talking and happy. He brought two new stanzas of _Ruth_.... _Monday Morning._--A soft rain and mist. We walked to Rydale for letters. The Vale looked very beautiful in excessive simplicity, yet, at the same time, in uncommon obscurity. The Church stood alone--mountains behind. The meadows looked calm and rich, bordering on the still lake. Nothing else to be seen but lake and island.... On Friday evening the moon hung over the northern side of the highest point of Silver How, like a gold ring snapped in two, and shaven off at the ends. Within this ring lay the circle of the round moon, as distinctly to be seen as ever the enlightened moon is. William had observed the same appearance at Keswick, perhaps at the very same moment, hanging over the Newland Fells. Sent off a letter to Mary H., also to Coleridge, and Sara, and rewrote in the evening the alterations of _Ruth_, which we sent off at the same time. _Tuesday Morning._--William was reading in Ben Jonson. He read me a beautiful poem on Love.... We sate by the fire in the evening, and read _The Pedlar_ over. William worked a little, and altered it in a few places.... _Wednesday._-- ... Wm. read in Ben Jonson in the morning. I read a little German. We then walked to Rydale. No letters. They are slashing away in Benson's wood. William has since tea been talking about publishing the Yorkshire Wolds Poem with _The Pedlar_. _Thursday._--A fine morning. William worked at the poem of _The Singing Bird_.[54] Just as we were sitting down to dinner we heard Mr. Clarkson's voice. I ran down, William followed. He was so finely mounted that William was more intent upon the horse than the rider, an offence easily forgiven, for Mr. Clarkson was as proud of it himself as he well could be.... [Footnote 54: First published in 1807, under the title of _The Sailor's Mother_.--ED.] _Friday._--A very fine morning. We went to see Mr. Clarkson off. The sun shone while it rained, and the stones of the walls and the pebbles on the road glittered like silver.... William finished his poem of _The Singing Bird_. In the meantime I read the remainder of Lessing. In the evening after tea William wrote _Alice Fell_. He went to bed tired, with a wakeful mind and a weary body.... _Saturday Morning._--It was as cold as ever it has been all winter, very hard frost.... William finished _Alice Fell_, and then wrote the poem of _The Beggar Woman_, taken from a woman whom I had seen in May (now nearly two years ago) when John and he were at Gallow Hill. I sate with him at intervals all the morning, took down his stanzas, etc.... After tea I read to William that account of the little boy belonging to the tall woman, and an unlucky thing it was, for he could not escape from those very words, and so he could not write the poem. He left it unfinished, and went tired to bed. In our walk from Rydale he had got warmed with the subject, and had half cast the poem. _Sunday Morning._--William ... got up at nine o'clock, but before he rose he had finished _The Beggar Boy_, and while we were at breakfast ... he wrote the poem _To a Butterfly_! He ate not a morsel, but sate with his shirt neck unbuttoned, and his waistcoat open while he did it. The thought first came upon him as we were talking about the pleasure we both always felt at the sight of a butterfly. I told him that I used to chase them a little, but that I was afraid of brushing the dust off their wings, and did not catch them. He told me how he used to kill all the white ones when he went to school because they were Frenchmen.... I wrote it down and the other poems, and I read them all over to him.... William began to try to alter _The Butterfly_, and tired himself.... _Monday Morning._--We sate reading the poems, and I read a little German.... During W.'s absence a sailor who was travelling from Liverpool to Whitehaven called, he was faint and pale when he knocked at the door--a young man very well dressed. We sate by the kitchen fire talking with him for two hours. He told us interesting stories of his life. His name was Isaac Chapel. He had been at sea since he was 15 years old. He was by trade a sail-maker. His last voyage was to the coast of Guinea. He had been on board a slave ship, the captain's name Maxwell, where one man had been killed, a boy put to lodge with the pigs and was half eaten, set to watch in the hot sun till he dropped down dead. He had been away in North America and had travelled thirty days among the Indians, where he had been well treated. He had twice swam from a King's ship in the night and escaped. He said he would rather be in hell than be pressed. He was now going to wait in England to appear against Captain Maxwell. "O he's a Rascal, Sir, he ought to be put in the papers!" The poor man had not been in bed since Friday night. He left Liverpool at 2 o'clock on Saturday morning; he had called at a farm house to beg victuals and had been refused. The woman said she would give him nothing. "Won't you? Then I can't help it." He was excessively like my brother John. _Tuesday._-- ... William went up into the orchard, ... and wrote a part of _The Emigrant Mother_. After dinner I read him to sleep. I read Spenser.... We walked to look at Rydale. The moon was a good height above the mountains. She seemed far distant in the sky. There were two stars beside her, that twinkled in and out, and seemed almost like butterflies in motion and lightness. They looked to be far nearer to us than the moon. _Wednesday._--William went up into the orchard and finished the poem. I went and sate with W. and walked backwards and forwards in the orchard till dinner time. He read me his poem. I read to him, and my Beloved slept. A sweet evening as it had been a sweet day, and I walked quietly along the side of Rydale lake with quiet thoughts--the hills and the lake were still--the owls had not begun to hoot, and the little birds had given over singing. I looked before me and saw a red light upon Silver How as if coming out of the vale below, There was a light of most strange birth, A light that came out of the earth, And spread along the dark hill-side. Thus I was going on when I saw the shape of my Beloved in the road at a little distance. We turned back to see the light but it was fading--almost gone. The owls hooted when we sate on the wall at the foot of White Moss; the sky broke more and more, and we saw the moon now and then. John Gill passed us with his cart; we sate on. When we came in sight of our own dear Grasmere, the vale looked fair and quiet in the moonshine, the Church was there and all the cottages. There were huge slow-travelling clouds in the sky, that threw large masses of shade upon some of the mountains. We walked backwards and forwards, between home and Olliff's, till I was tired. William kindled, and began to write the poem. We carried cloaks into the orchard, and sate a while there. I left him, and he nearly finished the poem. I was tired to death, and went to bed before him. He came down to me, and read the poem to me in bed. A sailor begged here to-day, going to Glasgow. He spoke cheerfully in a sweet tone. _Thursday._--Rydale vale was full of life and motion. The wind blew briskly, and the lake was covered all over with bright silver waves, that were there each the twinkling of an eye, then others rose up and took their place as fast as they went away. The rocks glittered in the sunshine. The crows and the ravens were busy, and the thrushes and little birds sang. I went through the fields, and sate for an hour afraid to pass a cow. The cow looked at me, and I looked at the cow, and whenever I stirred the cow gave over eating.... A parcel came in from Birmingham, with Lamb's play for us, and for C.... As we came along Ambleside vale in the twilight, it was a grave evening. There was something in the air that compelled me to various thoughts--the hills were large, closed in by the sky.... Night was come on, and the moon was overcast. But, as I climbed the moss, the moon came out from behind a mountain mass of black clouds. O, the unutterable darkness of the sky, and the earth below the moon, and the glorious brightness of the moon itself! There was a vivid sparkling streak of light at this end of Rydale water, but the rest was very dark, and Loughrigg Fell and Silver How were white and bright, as if they were covered with hoar frost. The moon retired again, and appeared and disappeared several times before I reached home. Once there was no moonlight to be seen but upon the island-house and the promontory of the island where it stands. "That needs must be a holy place," etc. etc. I had many very exquisite feelings, and when I saw this lofty Building in the waters, among the dark and lofty hills, with that bright, soft light upon it, it made me more than half a poet. I was tired when I reached home, and could not sit down to reading. I tried to write verses, but alas! I gave up, expecting William, and went soon to bed. _Friday._--A very rainy morning. I went up into the lane to collect a few green mosses to make the chimney gay against my darling's return. Poor C., I did not wish for, or expect him, it rained so.... Coleridge came in. His eyes were a little swollen with the wind. I was much affected by the sight of him, he seemed half-stupefied. William came in soon after. Coleridge went to bed late, and William and I sate up till four o'clock. A letter from Sara sent by Mary. They disputed about Ben Jonson. My spirits were agitated very much. _Saturday._-- ... When I awoke the whole vale was covered with snow. William and Coleridge walked.... We had a little talk about going abroad. After tea William read _The Pedlar_. Talked about various things--christening the children, etc. etc. Went to bed at 12 o'clock. _Sunday._--Coleridge and William lay long in bed. We sent up to George Mackareth's for the horse to go to Keswick, but we could not have it. Went with C. to Borwick's where he left us. William very unwell. We had a sweet and tender conversation. I wrote to Mary and Sara. _Monday._--A rainy day. William very poorly. 2 letters from Sara, and one from poor Annette. Wrote to my brother Richard. We talked a good deal about C. and other interesting things. We resolved to see Annette, and that Wm. should go to Mary. Wm. wrote to Coleridge not to expect us till Thursday or Friday. _Tuesday._--A mild morning. William worked at _The Cuckoo_ poem. I sewed beside him.... I read German, and, at the closing-in of day, went to sit in the orchard. William came to me, and walked backwards and forwards. We talked about C. Wm. repeated the poem to me. I left him there, and in 20 minutes he came in, rather tired with attempting to write. He is now reading Ben Jonson. I am going to read German. It is about 10 o'clock, a quiet night. The fire flickers, and the watch ticks. I hear nothing save the breathing of my Beloved as he now and then pushes his book forward, and turns over a leaf.... _Wednesday._--It was a beautiful spring morning, warm, and quiet with mists. We found a letter from M. H. I made a vow that we would not leave this country for G. Hill.[55] ... William altered _The Butterfly_ as we came from Rydale.... [Footnote 55: Gallow Hill, Yorkshire.--ED.] _Thursday._-- ... No letter from Coleridge. _Friday._-- ... William wrote to Annette, then worked at _The Cuckoo_.... After dinner I sate 2 hours in the orchard. William and I walked together after tea, to the top of White Moss. I left Wm. and while he was absent I wrote out poems. I grew alarmed, and went to seek him. I met him at Mr. Olliff's. He has been trying, without success, to alter a passage--his _Silver How_ poem. He had written a conclusion just before he went out. While I was getting into bed, he wrote _The Rainbow_. _Saturday._--A divine morning. At breakfast William wrote part of an ode.... We sate all day in the orchard. _Sunday._--We went to Keswick. Arrived wet to the skin.... _Monday._--Wm. and C. went to Armathwaite. _Tuesday, 30th March._--We went to Calvert's. _Wednesday, 31st March._-- ... We walked to Portinscale, lay upon the turf, and looked into the Vale of Newlands; up to Borrowdale, and down to Keswick--a soft Venetian view. Calvert and Wilkinsons dined with us. I walked with Mrs. W. to the Quaker's meeting, met Wm., and we walked in the field together. _Thursday, 1st April._--Mrs. C, Wm. and I went to the How. We came home by Portinscale. _Friday, 2nd._--Wm. and I sate all the morning in the field. _Saturday, 3rd._--Wm. went on to Skiddaw with C. We dined at Calvert's.... _Sunday, 4th._--We drove by gig to Water End. I walked down to Coleridge's. Mrs. Calvert came to Greta Bank to tea. William walked down with Mrs. Calvert, and repeated his verses to them.... _Monday, 5th._--We came to Eusemere. Coleridge walked with us to Threlkeld.... * * * * * * _Monday, 12th._-- ... The ground covered with snow. Walked to T. Wilkinson's and sent for letters. The woman brought me one from William and Mary. It was a sharp, windy night. Thomas Wilkinson came with me to Barton, and questioned me like a catechiser all the way. Every question was like the snapping of a little thread about my heart. I was so full of thought of my half-read letter and other things. I was glad when he left me. Then I had time to look at the moon while I was thinking my own thoughts. The moon travelled through the clouds, tinging them yellow as she passed along, with two stars near her, one larger than the other. These stars grew and diminished as they passed from, or went into, the clouds. At this time William, as I found the next day, was riding by himself between Middleham and Barnard Castle.... _Tuesday, 13th April._--Mrs. C. waked me from sleep with a letter from Coleridge.... I walked along the lake side. The air was become still, the lake was of a bright slate colour, the hills darkening. The bays shot into the low fading shores. Sheep resting. All things quiet. When I returned _William_ was come. The surprise shot through me.... * * * * * * _Thursday, 15th._--It was a threatening, misty morning, but mild. We set off after dinner from Eusemere. Mrs. Clarkson went a short way with us, but turned back. The wind was furious, and we thought we must have returned. We first rested in the large boathouse, then under a furze bush opposite Mr. Clarkson's. Saw the plough going in the field. The wind seized our breath. The lake was rough. There was a boat by itself floating in the middle of the bay below Water Millock. We rested again in the Water Millock Lane. The hawthorns are black and green, the birches here and there greenish, but there is yet more of purple to be seen on the twigs. We got over into a field to avoid some cows--people working. A few primroses by the roadside--woodsorrel flower, the anemone, scentless violets, strawberries, and that starry, yellow flower which Mrs. C. calls pile wort. When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow Park we saw a few daffodils close to the water-side. We fancied that the sea had floated the seeds ashore, and that the little colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more and yet more; and at last, under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones about and above them; some rested their heads upon these stones, as on a pillow, for weariness; and the rest tossed and reeled and danced, and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind, that blew upon them over the lake; they looked so gay, ever glancing, ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot, and a few stragglers higher up; but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity, unity, and life of that one busy highway. We rested again and again. The bays were stormy, and we heard the waves at different distances, and in the middle of the water, like the sea.... All was cheerless and gloomy, so we faced the storm. At Dobson's I was very kindly treated by a young woman. The landlady looked sour, but it is her way.... William was sitting by a good fire when I came downstairs. He soon made his way to the library, piled up in a corner of the window. He brought out a volume of Enfield's _Speaker_, another miscellany, and an odd volume of Congreve's plays. We had a glass of warm rum and water. We enjoyed ourselves, and wished for Mary. It rained and blew, when we went to bed. _Friday, 16th April_ (_Good Friday_).--When I undrew curtains in the morning, I was much affected by the beauty of the prospect, and the change. The sun shone, the wind had passed away, the hills looked cheerful, the river was very bright as it flowed into the lake. The church rises up behind a little knot of rocks, the steeple not so high as an ordinary three-story house. Trees in a row in the garden under the wall. The valley is at first broken by little woody knolls that make retiring places, fairy valleys in the vale, the river winds along under these hills, travelling, not in a bustle but not slowly, to the lake. We saw a fisherman in the flat meadow on the other side of the water. He came towards us, and threw his line over the two-arched bridge. It is a bridge of a heavy construction, almost bending inwards in the middle, but it is grey, and there is a look of ancientry in the architecture of it that pleased me. As we go on the vale opens out more into one vale, with somewhat of a cradle bed. Cottages, with groups of trees, on the side of the hills. We passed a pair of twin children, two years old. Sate on the next bridge which we crossed--a single arch. We rested again upon the turf, and looked at the same bridge. We observed arches in the water, occasioned by the large stones sending it down in two streams. A sheep came plunging through the river, stumbled up the bank, and passed close to us. It had been frightened by an insignificant little dog on the other side. Its fleece dropped a glittering shower under its belly. Primroses by the road-side, pile wort that shone like stars of gold in the sun, violets, strawberries, retired and half-buried among the grass. When we came to the foot of Brothers Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along the path on the right side of the lake through the wood. I was delighted with what I saw. The water under the boughs of the bare old trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of the path. There was one grey cottage. I repeated _The Glow-worm_, as I walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive of the sights and sounds we saw and heard.[56] There was the gentle flowing of the stream, the glittering, lively lake, green fields without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat pasture with forty-two cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The people were at work ploughing, harrowing, and sowing; ... a dog barking now and then, cocks crowing, birds twittering, the snow in patches at the top of the highest hills, yellow palms, purple and green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak. The moss of the oak glossy. We went on. Passed two sisters at work (they first passed us), one with two pitchforks in her hand, the other had a spade. We had come to talk with them. They laughed long after we were gone, perhaps half in wantonness, half boldness. William finished his poem.[56] Before we got to the foot of Kirkstone, there were hundreds of cattle in the vale. There we ate our dinner. The walk up Kirkstone was very interesting. The becks among the rocks were all alive. William showed me the little mossy streamlet which he had before loved when he saw its bright green track in the snow. The view above Ambleside very beautiful. There we sate and looked down on the green vale. We watched the crows at a little distance from us become white as silver as they flew in the sunshine, and when they went still further, they looked like shapes of water passing over the green fields. The whitening of Ambleside church is a great deduction from the beauty of it, seen from this point. We called at the Luffs, the Roddingtons there. Did not go in, and went round by the fields. I pulled off my stockings, intending to wade the beck, but I was obliged to put them on, and we climbed over the wall at the bridge. The post passed us. No letters. Rydale Lake was in its own evening brightness: the Island, and Points distinct. Jane Ashburner came up to us when we were sitting upon the wall.... The garden looked pretty in the half-moonlight, half-daylight, as we went up the vale.... [Footnote 56: See "The Cock is crowing," etc., vol. ii. p. 293.--ED.] _Saturday, 17th._--A mild warm rain. We sate in the garden all the morning. William dug a little. I transplanted a honey-suckle. The lake was still. The sheep on the island, reflected in the water, like the grey-deer we saw in Gowbarrow Park. We walked after tea by moonlight. I had been in bed in the afternoon, and William had slept in his chair. We walked towards Rydale backwards and forwards below Mr. Olliff's. The village was beautiful in the moonlight. Helm Crag we observed very distinct. The dead hedge round Benson's field bound together at the top by an interlacing of ash sticks, which made a chain of silver when we faced the moon. A letter from C. and also one from S. H. I saw a robin chasing a scarlet butterfly this morning. _Sunday, 18th._--Again a mild grey morning, with rising vapours. We sate in the orchard. William wrote the poem on _The Robin and the Butterfly_.[57] ... William met me at Rydale ... with the conclusion of the poem of the Robin. I read it to him in bed. We left out some lines. [Footnote 57: See vol. ii. p. 295.--ED.] * * * * * * _Tuesday, 20th._--A beautiful morning. The sun shone. William wrote a conclusion to the poem of the Butterfly:-- I've watched you now a full half-hour.[58] [Footnote 58: Published as a separate poem.--ED.] I was quite out of spirits, and went into the orchard. When I came in, he had finished the poem. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun shone upon the level fields, and they grew greener beneath the eye. Houses, village, all cheerful--people at work. We sate in the orchard and repeated _The Glow-worm_ and other poems. Just when William came to a well or trough, which there is in Lord Darlington's park, he began to write that poem of _The Glow-worm_; ... interrupted in going through the town of Staindrop, finished it about 2 miles and a half beyond Staindrop. He did not feel the jogging of the horse while he was writing; but, when he had done, he felt the effect of it, and his fingers were cold with his gloves. His horse fell with him on the other side of St. Helens, Auckland. So much for _The Glow-worm_. It was written coming from Middleham on Monday, 12th April 1802.... On Tuesday 20th, when we were sitting after tea, Coleridge came to the door. I startled him with my voice. C. came up fatigued, but I afterwards found he looked well. William was not well, and I was in low spirits. _Wednesday, 21st._--William and I sauntered a little in the garden. Coleridge came to us, and repeated the verses he wrote to Sara. I was affected with them, and in miserable spirits.[59] The sunshine, the green fields, and the fair sky made me sadder; even the little happy, sporting lambs seemed but sorrowful to me. The pile wort spread out on the grass a thousand shiny stars. The primroses were there, and the remains of a few daffodils. The well, which we cleaned out last night, is still but a little muddy pond, though full of water.... Read Ferguson's life and a poem or two.... [Footnote 59: Can these "Verses" have been the first draft of _Dejection, an Ode_, in its earliest and afterwards abandoned form? It is said to have been written on 2nd April 1802.--ED.] _Thursday, 22nd._--A fine mild morning. We walked into Easedale. The sun shone. Coleridge talked of his plan of sowing the laburnum in the woods. The waters were high, for there had been a great quantity of rain in the night. I was tired and sate under the shade of a holly tree that grows upon a rock, and looked down the stream. I then went to the single holly behind that single rock in the field, and sate upon the grass till they came from the waterfall. I saw them there, and heard William flinging stones into the river, whose roaring was loud even where I was. When they returned, William was repeating the poem:-- I have thoughts that are fed by the sun. It had been called to his mind by the dying away of the stunning of the waterfall when he got behind a stone.... _Friday, 23rd April 1802._--It being a beautiful morning we set off at 11 o'clock, intending to stay out of doors all the morning. We went towards Rydale, and before we got to Tom Dawson's we determined to go under Nab Scar. Thither we went. The sun shone, and we were lazy. Coleridge pitched upon several places to sit down upon, but we could not be all of one mind respecting sun and shade, so we pushed on to the foot of the Scar. It was very grand when we looked up, very stony, here and there a budding tree. William observed that the umbrella yew tree, that breasts the wind, had lost its character as a tree, and had become something like to solid wood. Coleridge and I pushed on before. We left William sitting on the stones, feasting with silence; and Coleridge and I sat down upon a rocky seat--a couch it might be under the bower of William's eglantine, Andrew's Broom. He was below us, and we could see him. He came to us, and repeated his poems[60] while we sate beside him upon the ground. He had made himself a seat in the crumbling ground. Afterwards we lingered long, looking into the vales; Ambleside vale, with the copses, the village under the hill, and the green fields; Rydale, with a lake all alive and glittering, yet but little stirred by breezes; and our dear Grasmere, making a little round lake of nature's own, with never a house, never a green field, but the copses and the bare hills enclosing it, and the river flowing out of it. Above rose the Coniston Fells, in their own shape and colour--not man's hills, but all for themselves, the sky and the clouds, and a few wild creatures. C. went to search for something new. We saw him climbing up towards a rock. He called us, and we found him in a bower--the sweetest that was ever seen. The rock on one side is very high, and all covered with ivy, which hung loosely about, and bore bunches of brown berries. On the other side it was higher than my head. We looked down on the Ambleside vale, that seemed to wind away from us, the village lying under the hill. The fir-tree island was reflected beautifully. About this bower there is mountain-ash, common-ash, yew-tree, ivy, holly, hawthorn, grasses, and flowers, and a carpet of moss. Above, at the top of the rock, there is another spot. It is scarce a bower, a little parlour only, not enclosed by walls, but shaped out for a resting-place by the rocks, and the ground rising about it. It had a sweet moss carpet. We resolved to go and plant flowers in both these places to-morrow. We wished for Mary and Sara. Dined late. After dinner Wm. and I worked in the garden. C. received a letter from Sara. [Footnote 60: See _The Waterfall and the Eglantine_, and _The Oak and the Broom_, vol. ii. pp. 170, 174.--ED.] _Saturday, 24th._--A very wet day. William called me out to see a waterfall behind the barberry tree. We walked in the evening to Rydale. Coleridge and I lingered behind. C. stopped up the little runnel by the road-side to make a lake. We all stood to look at Glow-worm Rock--a primrose that grew there, and just looked out on the road from its own sheltered bower.[61] The clouds moved, as William observed, in one regular body like a multitude in motion--a sky all clouds over, not one cloud.[62] On our return it broke a little out, and we saw here and there a star. One appeared but for a moment in a pale blue sky. [Footnote 61: See _The Primrose of the Rock_, vol. vii. p. 274.--ED.] [Footnote 62: Compare _To the Clouds_, vol. viii. p. 142.--ED.] _Sunday, 25th April._--After breakfast we set off with Coleridge towards Keswick. Wilkinson overtook us near the Potter's, and interrupted our discourse. C. got into a gig with Mr. Beck, and drove away from us. A shower came on, but it was soon over. We spent the morning in the orchard reading the _Epithalamium_ of Spenser; walked backwards and forwards.... _Monday, 26th._--I copied Wm.'s poems for Coleridge.... _Tuesday, 27th._--A fine morning. Mrs. Luff called. I walked with her to the boat-house. William met me at the top of the hill with his fishing-rod in his hand. I turned with him, and we sate on the hill looking to Rydale. I left him, intending to join him, but he came home, and said his loins would not stand the pulling he had had. We sate in the orchard. In the evening W. began to write _The Tinker_; we had a letter and verses from Coleridge. _Wednesday, 28th April._-- ... I copied _The Prioress's Tale_. William was in the orchard. I went to him; he worked away at his poem.... I happened to say that when I was a child I would not have pulled a strawberry blossom. I left him, and wrote out _The Manciple's Tale_. At dinner time he came in with the poem of _Children gathering Flowers_,[63] but it was not quite finished, and it kept him long off his dinner. It is now done. He is working at _The Tinker_. He promised me he would get his tea, and do no more, but I have got mine an hour and a quarter, and he has scarcely begun his. We have let the bright sun go down without walking. Now a heavy shower comes on, and I guess we shall not walk at all. I wrote a few lines to Coleridge. Then we walked backwards and forwards between our house and Olliff's. We called upon T. Hutchinson, and Bell Addison. William left me sitting on a stone. When we came in we corrected the Chaucers, but I could not finish them to-night. [Footnote 63: See _Foresight_, vol. ii. p. 298.--ED.] _Thursday, 29th._-- ... After I had written down _The Tinker_, which William finished this morning, Luff called. He was very lame, limped into the kitchen. He came on a little pony. We then went to John's Grove, sate a while at first; afterwards William lay, and I lay, in the trench under the fence--he with his eyes shut, and listening to the waterfalls and the birds. There was no one waterfall above another--it was a sound of waters in the air--the voice of the air. William heard me breathing, and rustling now and then, but we both lay still, and unseen by one another. He thought that it would be so sweet thus to lie in the grave, to hear the peaceful sounds of the earth, and just to know that our dear friends were near. The lake was still; there was a boat out. Silver How reflected with delicate purple and yellowish hues, as I have seen spar; lambs on the island, and running races together by the half-dozen, in the round field near us. The copses greenish, hawthorns green, ... cottages smoking. As I lay down on the grass, I observed the glittering silver line on the ridge of the backs of the sheep, owing to their situation respecting the sun, which made them look beautiful, but with something of strangeness, like animals of another kind, as if belonging to a more splendid world.... I got mullins and pansies.... _Friday, April 30th._--We came into the orchard directly after breakfast, and sate there. The lake was calm, the day cloudy.... Two fishermen by the lake side. William began to write the poem of _The Celandine_.[64] ... Walked backwards and forwards with William--he repeated his poem to me, then he got to work again and would not give over. He had not finished his dinner till 5 o'clock. After dinner we took up the fur gown into the Hollins above. We found a sweet seat, and thither we will often go. We spread the gown, put on each a cloak, and there we lay. William fell asleep, he had a bad headache owing to his having been disturbed the night before, with reading C.'s letter. I did not sleep, but lay with half-shut eyes looking at the prospect as on a vision almost, I was so resigned[65] to it. Loughrigg Fell was the most distant hill, then came the lake, slipping in between the copses. Above the copse, the round swelling field; nearer to me, a wild intermixture of rocks, trees, and patches of grassy ground. When we turned the corner of our little shelter, we saw the church and the whole vale. It is a blessed place. The birds were about us on all sides. Skobbies, robins, bull-finches, and crows, now and then flew over our heads, as we were warned by the sound of the beating of the air above. We stayed till the light of day was going, and the little birds had begun to settle their singing. But there was a thrush not far off, that seemed to sing louder and clearer than the thrushes had sung when it was quite day. We came in at 8 o'clock, got tea, wrote to Coleridge, and I wrote to Mrs. Clarkson part of a letter. We went to bed at 20 minutes past 11, with prayers that William might sleep well. [Footnote 64: See vol. ii. p. 300.--ED.] [Footnote 65: "Resigned" is curiously used in the Lake District. A woman there once told me that Mr. Ruskin was "very much resigned to his own company."--ED.] _Saturday, May 1st._--Rose not till half-past 8, a heavenly morning. As soon as breakfast was over, we went into the garden, and sowed the scarlet beans about the house. It was a clear sky. I sowed the flowers, William helped me. We then went and sate in the orchard till dinner time. It was very hot. William wrote _The Celandine_.[66] We planned a shed, for the sun was too much for us. After dinner, we went again to our old resting-place in the Hollins under the rock. We first lay under the Holly, where we saw nothing but the holly tree, and a budding elm tree mossed, with the sky above our heads. But that holly tree had a beauty about it more than its own, knowing as we did when we arose. When the sun had got low enough, we went to the Rock Shade. Oh, the overwhelming beauty of the vale below, greener than green! Two ravens flew high, high in the sky, and the sun shone upon their bellies and their wings, long after there was none of his light to be seen but a little space on the top of Loughrigg Fell. Heard the cuckoo to-day, this first of May. We went down to tea at 8 o'clock, and returned after tea. The landscape was fading: sheep and lambs quiet among the rocks. We walked towards King's, and backwards and forwards. The sky was perfectly cloudless. _N.B._ it is often so. Three solitary stars in the middle of the blue vault, one or two on the points of the high hills. [Footnote 66: Doubtless the second of the two poems, beginning thus-- Pleasures newly found are sweet. ED.] _Tuesday, 4th May._--Though William went to bed nervous, and jaded in the extreme, he rose refreshed. I wrote out _The Leech Gatherer_ for him, which he had begun the night before, and of which he wrote several stanzas in bed this morning. [They started to walk to Wytheburn.] It was very hot.... We rested several times by the way,--read, and repeated _The Leech Gatherer_.... We saw Coleridge on the Wytheburn side of the water; he crossed the beck to us. Mr. Simpson was fishing there. William and I ate luncheon, and then went on towards the waterfall. It is a glorious wild solitude under that lofty purple crag. It stood upright by itself; its own self, and its shadow below, one mass; all else was sunshine. We went on further. A bird at the top of the crag was flying round and round, and looked in thinness and transparency, shape and motion like a moth.... We climbed the hill, but looked in vain for a shade, except at the foot of the great waterfall. We came down, and rested upon a moss-covered rock rising out of the bed of the river. There we lay, ate our dinner, and stayed there till about four o'clock or later. William and Coleridge repeated and read verses. I drank a little brandy and water, and was in heaven. The stag's horn is very beautiful and fresh, springing upon the fells; mountain ashes, green. We drank tea at a farm house.... We parted from Coleridge at Sara's crag, after having looked for the letters which C. carved in the morning. I missed them all. William deepened the X with C.'s pen-knife. We sate afterwards on the wall, seeing the sun go down, and the reflections in the still water. C. looked well, and parted from us cheerfully, hopping upon the side stones. On the Raise we met a woman with two little girls, one in her arms, the other, about four years old, walking by her side, a pretty little thing, but half-starved.... Young as she was, she walked carefully with them. Alas, too young for such cares and such travels. The mother, when we accosted her, told us how her husband had left her, and gone off with another woman, and how she "_pursued_" them. Then her fury kindled, and her eyes rolled about. She changed again to tears. She was a Cockermouth woman, thirty years of age--a child at Cockermouth when I was. I was moved, and gave her a shilling.... We had the crescent moon with the "auld moon in her arms." We rested often, always upon the bridges. Reached home at about ten o'clock.... We went soon to bed. I repeated verses to William while he was in bed; he was soothed, and I left him. "This is the spot" over and over again. _Wednesday, 5th May._--A very fine morning, rather cooler than yesterday. We planted three-fourths of the bower. I made bread. We sate in the orchard. The thrush sang all day, as he always sings. I wrote to the Hutchinsons, and to Coleridge. Packed off _Thalaba_. William had kept off work till near bed-time, when we returned from our walk. Then he began again, and went to bed very nervous. We walked in the twilight, and walked till night came on. The moon had the old moon in her arms, but not so plain to be seen as the night before. When we went to bed it was a boat without the circle. I read _The Lover's Complaint_ to William in bed, and left him composed. _Thursday, 6th May._--A sweet morning. We have put the finishing stroke to our bower, and here we are sitting in the orchard. It is one o'clock. We are sitting upon a seat under the wall, which I found my brother building up, when I came to him.... He had intended that it should have been done before I came. It is a nice, cool, shady spot. The small birds are singing, lambs bleating, cuckoos calling, the thrush sings by fits, Thomas Ashburner's axe is going quietly (without passion) in the orchard, hens are cackling, flies humming, the women talking together at their doors, plum and pear trees are in blossom--apple trees greenish--the opposite woods green, the crows are cawing, we have heard ravens, the ash trees are in blossom, birds flying all about us, the stitchwort is coming out, there is one budding lychnis, the primroses are passing their prime, celandine, violets, and wood sorrel for ever more, little geraniums and pansies on the wall. We walked in the evening to Tail End, to inquire about hurdles for the orchard shed.... When we came in we found a magazine, and review, and a letter from Coleridge, verses to Hartley, and Sara H. We read the review, etc. The moon was a perfect boat, a silver boat, when we were out in the evening. The birch tree is all over green in _small_ leaf, more light and elegant than when it is full out. It bent to the breezes, as if for the love of its own delightful motions. Sloe-thorns and hawthorns in the hedges. _Friday, 7th May._--William had slept uncommonly well, so, feeling himself strong, he fell to work at _The Leech Gatherer_; he wrote hard at it till dinner time, then he gave over, tired to death--he had finished the poem. I was making Derwent's frocks. After dinner we sate in the orchard. It was a thick, hazy, dull air. The thrush sang almost continually; the little birds were more than usually busy with their voices. The sparrows are now full fledged. The nest is so full that they lie upon one another; they sit quietly in their nest with closed mouths. I walked to Rydale after tea, which we drank by the kitchen fire. The evening very dull; a terrible kind of threatening brightness at sunset above Easedale. The sloe-thorn beautiful in the hedges, and in the wild spots higher up among the hawthorns. No letters. William met me. He had been digging in my absence, and cleaning the well. We walked up beyond Lewthwaites. A very dull sky; coolish; crescent moon now and then. I had a letter brought me from Mrs. Clarkson while we were walking in the orchard. I observed the sorrel leaves opening at about nine o'clock. William went to bed tired with thinking about a poem. _Saturday Morning, 8th May._--We sowed the scarlet beans in the orchard, and read _Henry V._ there. William lay on his back on the seat, and wept.... After dinner William added one to the orchard steps. _Sunday Morning, 9th May._--The air considerably colder to-day, but the sun shone all day. William worked at _The Leech Gatherer_ almost incessantly from morning till tea-time. I copied _The Leech Gatherer_ and other poems for Coleridge. I was oppressed and sick at heart, for he wearied himself to death. After tea he wrote two stanzas in the manner of Thomson's _Castle of Indolence_, and was tired out. Bad news of Coleridge. _Monday, 10th May._--A fine clear morning, but coldish. William is still at work, though it is past ten o'clock; he will be tired out, I am sure. My heart fails in me. He worked a little at odd things, but after dinner he gave over. An affecting letter from Mary H. We sate in the orchard before dinner.... I wrote to Mary H.... I wrote to Coleridge, sent off reviews and poems. Went to bed at twelve o'clock. William did not sleep till three o'clock. _Tuesday, 11th May._--A cool air. William finished the stanzas about C. and himself. He did not go out to-day. Miss Simpson came in to tea, which was lucky enough, for it interrupted his labours. I walked with her to Rydale. The evening cool; the moon only now and then to be seen; the lake purple as we went; primroses still in abundance. William did not meet me. He completely finished his poem, I finished Derwent's frocks. We went to bed at twelve o'clock.... _Wednesday, 12th May._--A sunshiny, but coldish morning. We walked into Easedale.... We brought home heckberry blossom, crab blossom, the anemone nemorosa, marsh marigold, speedwell,--that beautiful blue one, the colour of the blue-stone or glass used in jewellery--with the beautiful pearl-like chives. Anemones are in abundance, and still the dear dear primroses, violets in beds, pansies in abundance, and the little celandine. I pulled a bunch of the taller celandine. Butterflies of all colours. I often see some small ones of a pale purple lilac, or emperor's eye colour, something of the colour of that large geranium which grows by the lake side.... William pulled ivy with beautiful berries. I put it over the chimney-piece. Sate in the orchard the hour before dinner, coldish.... In the evening we were sitting at the table writing, when we were roused by Coleridge's voice below. He had walked; looked palish, but was not much tired. We sate up till one o'clock, all together, then William went to bed, and I sate with C. in the sitting-room (where he slept) till a quarter past two o'clock. Wrote to M. H. _Thursday, 13th May._--The day was very cold, with snow showers. Coleridge had intended going in the morning to Keswick, but the cold and showers hindered him. We went with him after tea as far as the plantations by the roadside descending to Wytheburn. He did not look well when we parted from him.... _Friday, 14th May._--A very cold morning--hail and snow showers all day. We went to Brothers wood, intending to get plants, and to go along the shore of the lake to the foot. We did go a part of the way, but there was no pleasure in stepping along that difficult sauntering road in this ungenial weather. We turned again, and walked backwards and forwards in Brothers wood. William tired himself with seeking an epithet for the cuckoo. I sate a while upon my last summer seat, the mossy stone. William's, unoccupied, beside me, and the space between, where Coleridge has so often lain. The oak trees are just putting forth yellow knots of leaves. The ashes with their flowers passing away, and leaves coming out; the blue hyacinth is not quite full blown; gowans are coming out; marsh marigolds in full glory; the little star plant, a star without a flower. We took home a great load of gowans, and planted them about the orchard. After dinner, I worked bread, then came and mended stockings beside William; he fell asleep. After tea I walked to Rydale for letters. It was a strange night. The hills were covered over with a slight covering of hail or snow, just so as to give them a hoary winter look with the black rocks. The woods looked miserable, the coppices green as grass, which looked quite unnatural, and they seemed half shrivelled up, as if they shrank from the air. O, thought I! what a beautiful thing God has made winter to be, by stripping the trees, and letting us see their shapes and forms. What a freedom does it seem to give to the storms! There were several new flowers out, but I had no pleasure in looking at them. I walked as fast as I could back again with my letter from S. H.... Met William at the top of White Moss.... Near ten when we came in. William and Molly had dug the ground and planted potatoes in my absence. We wrote to Coleridge; sent off bread and frocks to the C.'s. Went to bed at half-past eleven. William very nervous. After he was in bed, haunted with altering _The Rainbow_. * * * * * * _Saturday, 15th._--A very cold and cheerless morning. I sate mending stockings all the morning. I read in Shakespeare. William lay very late because he slept ill last night. It snowed this morning just like Christmas. We had a melancholy letter from Coleridge at bedtime. It distressed me very much, and I resolved upon going to Keswick the next day. (The following is written on the blotting-paper opposite this date:--) S. T. Coleridge. Dorothy Wordsworth. William Wordsworth. Mary Hutchinson. Sara Hutchinson. William. Coleridge. Mary. Dorothy. Sara. 16th May 1802. John Wordsworth. _Sunday, 16th._--William was at work all the morning. I did not go to Keswick. A sunny, cold, frosty day. A snowstorm at night. We were a good while in the orchard in the morning. _Monday, 17th May._--William was not well, he went with me to Wytheburn water, and left me in a post-chaise. Hail showers, snow, and cold attacked me. The people were graving peats under Nadel Fell. A lark and thrush singing near Coleridge's house. Bancrofts there. A letter from M. H. _Tuesday, 18th May._--Terribly cold, Coleridge not well. Froude called, Wilkinsons called, C. and I walked in the evening in the garden. Warmer in the evening. Wrote to M. and S. _Wednesday, 19th May._--A grey morning--not quite so cold. C. and I set off at half-past nine o'clock. Met William near the six-mile stone. We sate down by the road-side, and then went to Wytheburn water. Longed to be at the island. Sate in the sun. We drank tea at John Stanley's. The evening cold and clear. A glorious light on Skiddaw. I was tired. Brought a cloak down from Mr. Simpson's. Packed up books for Coleridge, then got supper, and went to bed. _Thursday, 20th May._--A frosty, clear morning. I lay in bed late. William got to work. I was somewhat tired. We sate in the orchard sheltered all the morning. In the evening there was a fine rain. We received a letter from Coleridge telling us that he wished us not to go to Keswick. _Friday, 21st May._--A very warm gentle morning, a little rain. William wrote two sonnets on Buonaparte, after I had read Milton's sonnets to him. In the evening he went with Mr. Simpson with Borwick's boat to gather ling in Bainrigg's. I plashed about the well, was much heated, and I think I caught cold. _Saturday, 22nd May._--A very hot morning. A hot wind, as if coming from a sand desert. We met Coleridge. He was sitting under Sara's rock. When we reached him he turned with us. We sate a long time under the wall of a sheep-fold. Had some interesting, melancholy talk, about his private affairs. We drank tea at a farmhouse. The woman was very kind. There was a woman with three children travelling from Workington to Manchester. The woman served them liberally. Afterwards she said that she never suffered any to go away without a trifle "sec as we have." The woman at whose house we drank tea the last time was rich and senseless--she said "she never served any but their own poor." C. came home with us. We sate some time in the orchard.... Letters from S. and M. H. _Sunday._--I sat with C. in the orchard all the morning.... We walked in Bainrigg's after tea. Saw the juniper--umbrella shaped. C. went to the Points,[67] joined us on White Moss. [Footnote 67: Mary Point and Sara Point; the "two heath-clad rocks" referred to in one of the "Poems on the Naming of Places."--ED.] _Monday, 24th May._--A very hot morning. We were ready to go off with Coleridge, but foolishly sauntered, and Miss Taylor and Miss Stanley called. William and Coleridge and I went afterwards to the top of the Raise. I had sent off a letter to Mary by C. I wrote again, and to C. _Tuesday, 25th._-- ... Papers and short note from C.; again no sleep for William. * * * * * * _Friday, 28th._-- ... William tired himself with hammering at a passage. ... We sate in the orchard. The sky cloudy, the air sweet and cool. The young bullfinches, in their party-coloured raiment, bustle about among the blossoms, and poise themselves like wire-dancers or tumblers, shaking the twigs and dashing off the blossoms.[68] There is yet one primrose in the orchard. The stitchwort is fading. The vetches are in abundance, blossoming and seeding. That pretty little wavy-looking dial-like yellow flower, the speedwell, and some others, whose names I do not yet know. The wild columbines are coming into beauty; some of the gowans fading. In the garden we have lilies, and many other flowers. The scarlet beans are up in crowds. It is now between eight and nine o'clock. It has rained sweetly for two hours and a half; the air is very mild. The heckberry blossoms are dropping off fast, almost gone; barberries are in beauty; snowballs coming forward; May roses blossoming. [Footnote 68: Compare _The Green Linnett_, vol. ii. p. 367.--ED.] _Saturday, 29th._-- ... William finished his poem on going for Mary. I wrote it out. I wrote to Mary H., having received a letter from her in the evening. A sweet day. We nailed up the honeysuckles, and hoed the scarlet beans. * * * * * * _Monday, 31st._-- ... We sat out all the day.... I wrote out the poem on "Our Departure," which he seemed to have finished. In the evening Miss Simpson brought us a letter from M. H., and a complimentary and critical letter to W. from John Wilson of Glasgow.[69]... [Footnote 69: Christopher North.--ED.] _Tuesday._--A very sweet day, but a sad want of rain. We went into the orchard after I had written to M. H. Then on to Mr. Olliff's intake.... The columbine was growing upon the rocks; here and there a solitary plant, sheltered and shaded by the tufts and bowers of trees. It is a graceful slender creature, a female seeking retirement, and growing freest and most graceful where it is most alone. I observed that the more shaded plants were always the tallest. A short note and gooseberries from Coleridge. We walked upon the turf near John's Grove. It was a lovely night. The clouds of the western sky reflected a saffron light upon the upper end of the lake. All was still. We went to look at Rydale. There was an Alpine, fire-like red upon the tops of the mountains. This was gone when we came in view of the lake. But we saw the lake from a new and most beautiful point of view, between two little rocks, and behind a small ridge that had concealed it from us. This White Moss, a place made for all kinds of beautiful works of art and nature, woods and valleys, fairy valleys and fairy tarns, miniature mountains, alps above alps. _Wednesday, 2nd June._--In the morning we observed that the scarlet beans were drooping in the leaves in great numbers, owing, we guess, to an insect.... Yesterday an old man called, a grey-headed man, above seventy years of age. He said he had been a soldier, that his wife and children had died in Jamaica. He had a beggar's wallet over his shoulders; a coat of shreds and patches, altogether of a drab colour; he was tall, and though his body was bent, he had the look of one used to have been upright. I talked a while, and then gave him a piece of cold bacon and some money. Said he, "You're a fine woman!" I could not help smiling; I suppose he meant, "You're a kind woman." Afterwards a woman called, travelling to Glasgow. After dinner we went into Frank's field, crawled up the little glen, and planned a seat; ... found a beautiful shell-like purple fungus in Frank's field. After tea we walked to Butterlip How, and backwards and forwards there. All the young oak tree leaves are dry as powder. A cold south wind, portending rain.... _Thursday, 3rd June 1802._--A very fine rain. I lay in my bed till ten o'clock. William much better than yesterday. We walked into Easedale.... The cuckoo sang, and we watched the little birds as we sate at the door of the cow-house. The oak copses are brown, as in autumn, with the late frosts.... We have been reading the life and some of the writings of poor Logan since dinner. There are many affecting lines and passages in his poem, _e.g._ And everlasting longings for the lost. ... William is now sleeping with the window open, lying on the window seat. The thrush is singing. There are, I do believe, a thousand buds on the honeysuckle tree, all small and far from blowing, save one that is retired behind the twigs close to the wall, and as snug as a bird nest. John's rose tree is very beautiful, blended with the honeysuckle. Yesterday morning William walked as far as the Swan with Aggy Fisher, who was going to attend upon Goan's dying infant. She said, "There are many heavier crosses than the death of an infant;" and went on, "There was a woman in this vale who buried four grown-up children in one year, and I have heard her say, when many years were gone by, that she had more pleasure in thinking of those four than of her living children, for as children get up and have families of their own, their duty to their parents _wears out and weakens_. She could trip lightly by the graves of those who died when they were young ... as she went to church on a Sunday." ... A very affecting letter came from M. H., while I was sitting in the window reading Milton's _Penseroso_ to William. I answered this letter before I went to bed. * * * * * * _Saturday, 5th._--A fine showery morning. I made both pies and bread; but we first walked into Easedale, and sate under the oak trees, upon the mossy stones. There were one or two slight showers. The gowans were flourishing along the banks of the stream. The strawberry flower hanging over the brook; all things soft and green. In the afternoon William sate in the orchard. I went there; was tired, and fell asleep. William began a letter to John Wilson. _Sunday, 6th June._--A showery morning. We were writing the letter to John Wilson when Ellen came.... After dinner I walked into John Fisher's intake with Ellen. He brought us letters from Coleridge, Mrs. Clarkson, and Sara Hutchinson.... _Monday, 7th June._--I wrote to Mary H. this morning; sent the C. "Indolence" poem. Copied the letter to John Wilson, and wrote to my brother Richard and Mrs. Coleridge. In the evening I walked with Ellen to Butterlip How.... It was a very sweet evening; there was the cuckoo and the little birds; the copses still injured, but the trees in general looked most soft and beautiful in tufts.... I went with Ellen in the morning to Rydale Falls.... _Tuesday, 8th June._--Ellen and I rode to Windermere. We had a fine sunny day, neither hot nor cold. I mounted the horse at the quarry. We had no difficulties or delays but at the gates. I was enchanted with some of the views. From the High Ray the view is very delightful, rich, and festive, water and wood, houses, groves, hedgerows, green fields, and mountains; white houses, large and small. We passed two or three new-looking statesmen's houses. The Curwens' shrubberies looked pitiful enough under the native trees. We put up our horses, ate our dinner by the water-side, and walked up to the Station. We went to the Island, walked round it, and crossed the lake with our horse in the ferry. The shrubs have been cut away in some parts of the island. I observed to the boatman that I did not think it improved. He replied: "We think it is, for one could hardly see the house before." It seems to me to be, however, no better than it was. They have made no natural glades; it is merely a lawn with a few miserable young trees, standing as if they were half-starved. There are no sheep, no cattle upon these lawns. It is neither one thing nor another--neither natural, nor wholly cultivated and artificial, which it was before. And that great house! Mercy upon us! if it _could_ be concealed, it would be well for all who are not pained to see the pleasantest of earthly spots deformed by man. But it _cannot_ be covered. Even the tallest of our old oak trees would not reach to the top of it. When we went into the boat, there were two men standing at the landing-place. One seemed to be about sixty, a man with a jolly red face; he looked as if he might have lived many years in Mr. Curwen's house. He wore a blue jacket and trousers, as the people who live close by Windermere, particularly at the places of chief resort.... He looked significantly at our boatman just as we were rowing off, and said, "Thomas, mind you take the directions off that cask. You know what I mean. It will serve as a blind for them. _You_ know. It was a blind business, both for you, and the coachman, ... and all of us. Mind you take off the directions. 'A wink's as good as a nod with some folks;'" and then he turned round, looking at his companion with an air of self-satisfaction, and deep insight into unknown things! I could hardly help laughing outright at him. The laburnums blossom freely at the island, and in the shrubberies on the shore; they are blighted everywhere else. Roses of various sorts now out. The brooms were in full glory everywhere, "veins of gold" among the copses. The hawthorns in the valley fading away; beautiful upon the hills. We reached home at three o'clock. After tea William went out and walked and wrote that poem, The sun has long been set, etc. He ... walked on our own path and wrote the lines; he called me into the orchard, and there repeated them to me.... _Wednesday, 9th June._-- ... The hawthorns on the mountain sides like orchards in blossom.... _Thursday, 10th June._-- ... Coleridge came in with a sack full of books, etc., and a branch of mountain ash. He had been attacked by a cow. He came over by Grisdale. A furious wind.... * * * * * * _Saturday, 12th June._--A rainy morning. Coleridge set off before dinner. We went with him to the Raise, but it rained, so we went no further. Sheltered under a wall. He would be sadly wet, for a furious shower came on just when we parted.... _Sunday, 13th June._--A fine morning. Sunshiny and bright, but with rainy clouds. William ... has been altering the poem to Mary this morning.... I wrote out poems for our journey.... Mr. Simpson came when we were in the orchard in the morning, and brought us a beautiful drawing which he had done. In the evening we walked, first on our own path.... It was a silent night. The stars were out by ones and twos, but no cuckoo, no little birds; the air was not warm, and we have observed that since Tuesday, 8th, when William wrote, "The sun has long been set," that we have had no birds singing after the evening is fairly set in. We walked to our new view of Rydale, but it put on a sullen face. There was an owl hooting in Bainrigg's. Its first halloo was so like a human shout that I was surprised, when it gave its second call tremulous and lengthened out, to find that the shout had come from an owl. The full moon (not quite full) was among a company of shady island clouds, and the sky bluer about it than the natural sky blue. William observed that the full moon, above a dark fir grove, is a fine image of the descent of a superior being. There was a shower which drove us into John's Grove before we had quitted our favourite path. We walked upon John's path before we went to view Rydale.... _Monday, 14th._-- ... William wrote to Mary and Sara about _The Leech Gatherer_, and wrote to both of them in one ... and to Coleridge also.... I walked with William ... on our own path. We were driven away by the horses that go on the commons; then we went to look at Rydale; walked a little in the fir grove; went again to the top of the hill, and came home. A mild and sweet night. William stayed behind me. I threw him the cloak out of the window. The moon overcast. He sate a few minutes in the orchard; came in sleepy, and hurried to bed. I carried him his bread and butter. _Tuesday, 15th._--A sweet grey, mild morning. The birds sing soft and low. William has not slept all night; it wants only ten minutes of ten, and he is in bed yet. After William rose we went and sate in the orchard till dinner time. We walked a long time in the evening upon our favourite path; the owls hooted, the night hawk sang to itself incessantly, but there were no little birds, no thrushes. I left William writing a few lines about the night hawk and other images of the evening, and went to seek for letters.... _Wednesday, 16th._--We walked towards Rydale for letters.... One from Mary. We went up into Rydale woods and read it there. We sate near the old wall, which fenced a hazel grove, which William said was exactly like the filbert grove at Middleham. It is a beautiful spot, a sloping or rather steep piece of ground, with hazels growing "tall and erect" in clumps at distances, almost seeming regular, as if they had been planted.... I wrote to Mary after dinner, while William sate in the orchard.... I spoke of the little birds keeping us company, and William told me that that very morning a bird had perched upon his leg. He had been lying very still, and had watched this little creature. It had come under the bench where he was sitting.... He thoughtlessly stirred himself to look further at it, and it flew on to the apple tree above him. It was a little young creature that had just left its nest, equally unacquainted with man, and unaccustomed to struggle against the storms and winds. While it was upon the apple tree the wind blew about the stiff boughs, and the bird seemed bemazed, and not strong enough to strive with it. The swallows come to the sitting-room window as if wishing to build, but I am afraid they will not have courage for it; but I believe they will build in my room window. They twitter, and make a bustle, and a little cheerful song, hanging against the panes of glass with their soft white bellies close to the glass and their forked fish-like tails. They swim round and round, and again they come.... I do not now see the brownness that was in the coppices. The bower hawthorn blossoms passed away. Those on the hills are a faint white. The wild guelder-rose is coming out, and the wild roses. I have seen no honey-suckles yet.... Foxgloves are now frequent. _Thursday, 17th._-- ... When I came home I found William at work attempting to alter a stanza in the poem on our going for Mary, which I convinced him did not need altering. We sate in the house after dinner. In the evening walked on our favourite path. A short letter from Coleridge. William added a little to the Ode he is writing.[70] [Footnote 70: Doubtless the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_.--ED.] _Friday, 18th June._--When we were sitting after breakfast ... Luff came in. He had rode over the Fells. He brought news about Lord Lowther's intention to pay all debts, etc., and a letter from Mr. Clarkson. He saw our garden, was astonished at the scarlet beans, etc. etc. etc. When he was gone, we wrote to Coleridge, M. H., and my brother Richard about the affair. William determined to go to Eusemere on Monday.... _Saturday, 19th._--The swallows were very busy under my window this morning.... Coleridge, when he was last here, told us that for many years, there being no Quaker meeting at Keswick, a single old Quaker woman used to go regularly alone every Sunday to attend the meeting-house, and there used to sit and perform her worship alone, in that beautiful place among those fir trees, in that spacious vale, under the great mountain Skiddaw!!!... On Thursday morning Miss Hudson of Workington called. She said, "... I sow flowers in the parks several miles from home, and my mother and I visit them, and watch them how they grow." This may show that botanists may be often deceived when they find rare flowers growing far from houses. This was a very ordinary young woman, such as in any town in the North of England one may find a score. I sate up a while after William. He then called me down to him. (I was writing to Mary H.) I read Churchill's _Rosciad_. Returned again to my writing, and did not go to bed till he called to me. The shutters were closed, but I heard the birds singing. There was our own thrush, shouting with an impatient shout; so it sounded to me. The morning was still, the twittering of the little birds was very gloomy. The owls had hooted a quarter of an hour before, now the cocks were crowing, it was near daylight, I put out my candle, and went to bed.... _Sunday, 20th._-- ... We were in the orchard a great part of the morning. After tea we walked upon our own path for a long time. We talked sweetly together about the disposal of our riches. We lay upon the sloping turf. Earth and sky were so lovely that they melted our very hearts. The sky to the north was of a chastened yet rich yellow, fading into pale blue, and streaked and scattered over with steady islands of purple, melting away into shades of pink. It was like a vision to me.... * * * * * * _Tuesday morning._-- ... I walked to Rydale. I waited long for the post, lying in the field, and looking at the distant mountains, looking and listening to the river. I met the post. Letters from Montagu and Richard. I hurried back, forwarded these to William, and wrote to Montagu. When I came home I wrote to my brother Christopher. I could settle to nothing.... I read the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and began _As You Like It_. _Wednesday, 23rd June._-- ... A sunshiny morning. I walked to the top of the hill and sate under a wall near John's Grove, facing the sun. I read a scene or two in _As You Like It_.... Coleridge and Leslie came just as I had lain down after dinner. C. brought me William's letter. He had got well to Eusemere. Coleridge and I accompanied Leslie to the boat-house. It was a sullen, coldish evening, no sunshine; but after we had parted from Leslie a light came out suddenly that repaid us for all. It fell only upon one hill, and the island, but it arrayed the grass and trees in gem-like brightness. I cooked Coleridge's supper. We sate up till one o'clock. _Thursday, 24th June._--I went with C. half way up the Raise. It was a cool morning.... William came in just when M. had left me. It was a mild, rainy evening.... We sate together talking till the first dawning of day; a happy time. _Friday, 25th June._-- ... I went, just before tea, into the garden. I looked up at my swallow's nest, and it was gone. It had fallen down. Poor little creatures, they could not themselves be more distressed than I was. I went upstairs to look at the ruins. They lay in a large heap upon the window ledge; these swallows had been ten days employed in building this nest, and it seemed to be almost finished. I had watched them early in the morning, in the day many and many a time, and in the evenings when it was almost dark. I had seen them sitting together side by side in their unfinished nest, both morning and night. When they first came about the window they used to hang against the panes, with their white bellies and their forked tails, looking like fish; but then they fluttered and sang their own little twittering song. As soon as the nest was broad enough, a sort of ledge for them, they sate both mornings and evenings, but they did not pass the night there. I watched them one morning, when William was at Eusemere, for more than an hour. Every now and then there was a motion in their wings, a sort of tremulousness, and they sang a low song to one another. * * * * * * ... It is now eight o'clock; I will go and see if my swallows are on their nest. Yes! there they are, side by side, both looking down into the garden. I have been out on purpose to see their faces. I knew by looking at the window that they were there.... Coleridge and William came in at about half-past eleven. They talked till after twelve. _Wednesday, 30th June._-- ... We met an old man between the Raise and Lewthwaites. He wore a rusty but untorn hat, an excellent blue coat, waistcoat, and breeches, and good mottled worsted stockings. His beard was very thick and grey, of a fortnight's growth we guessed; it was a regular beard, like grey _plush_. His bundle contained Sheffield ware. William said to him, after we had asked him what his business was, "You are a very old man?" "Aye, I am eighty-three." I joined in, "Have you any children?" "Children? Yes, plenty. I have children and grand-children, and great grand-children. I have a great grand-daughter, a fine lass, thirteen years old." I then said, "Won't they take care of you?" He replied, much offended, "Thank God, I can take care of myself." He said he had been a servant of the Marquis of Granby--"O he was a good man; he's in heaven; I hope he is." He then told us how he shot himself at Bath, that he was with him in Germany, and travelled with him everywhere. "He was a famous boxer, sir." And then he told us a story of his fighting with his farmer. "He used always to call me bland and sharp." Then every now and then he broke out, "He was a good man! When we were travelling he never asked at the public-houses, as it might be there" (pointing to the "Swan"), "what we were to pay, but he would put his hand into his pocket and give them what he liked; and when he came out of the house he would say, Now, they would have charged me a shilling or tenpence. God help them, poor creatures!" I asked him again about his children, how many he had. Says he, "I cannot tell you" (I suppose he confounded children and grand-children together); "I have one daughter that keeps a boarding-school at Skipton, in Craven. She teaches flowering and marking. And another that keeps a boarding-school at Ingleton. I brought up my family under the Marquis." He was familiar with all parts of Yorkshire. He asked us where we lived. At Grasmere. "The bonniest dale in all England!" says the old man. I bought a pair of slippers from him, and we sate together by the road-side. When we parted I tried to lift his bundle, and it was almost more than I could do.... After tea I wrote to Coleridge, and closed up my letter to M. H. We went soon to bed. A weight of children a poor man's blessing!... * * * * * * _Friday, 2nd July._--A very rainy morning.... I left William, and wrote a short letter to M. H. and to Coleridge, and transcribed the alterations in _The Leech Gatherer_. * * * * * * _Sunday, 4th July._-- ... William finished _The Leech Gatherer_ to-day. _Monday, 5th July._--A very sweet morning. William stayed some time in the orchard.... I copied out _The Leech Gatherer_ for Coleridge, and for us. Wrote to Mrs. Clarkson, M. H., and Coleridge.... _Tuesday, 6th July._-- ... We set off towards Rydale for letters. The rain met us at the top of the White Moss, and it came on very heavily afterwards. It drove past Nab Scar in a substantial shape, as if going to Grasmere was as far as it could go.... The swallows have completed their beautiful nest.... _Wednesday, 7th._-- ... Walked on the White Moss. Glow-worms. Well for them children are in bed when they shine. _Thursday, 8th._-- ... When I was coming home, a post-chaise passed with a little girl behind in a patched, ragged cloak. In the afternoon, after we had talked a little, William fell asleep. I read the _Winter's Tale_; then I went to bed, but did not sleep. The swallows stole in and out of their nest, and sate there, _whiles_ quite still, _whiles_ they sung low for two minutes or more, at a time just like a muffled robin. William was looking at _The Pedlar_ when I got up. He arranged it, and after tea I wrote it out--280 lines.... The moon was behind. William hurried me out in hopes that I should see her. We walked first to the top of the hill to see Rydale. It was dark and dull, but our own vale was very solemn--the shape of Helm Crag was quite distinct, though black. We walked backwards and forwards on the White Moss path; there was a sky-like white brightness on the lake. The Wyke cottage right at the foot of Silver How. Glow-worms out, but not so numerous as last night. O, beautiful place! Dear Mary, William. The hour is come ... I must prepare to go. The swallows, I must leave them, the wall, the garden, the roses, all. Dear creatures! they sang last night after I was in bed; seemed to be singing to one another, just before they settled to rest for the night. Well, I must go. Farewell.[71] [Footnote 71: Several of the poems, referred to in this Journal, are difficult, if not impossible, to identify. _The Inscription of the Pathway_, finished on the 28th of August 1800; _The Epitaph_, written on the 28th January 1801; _The Yorkshire Wolds poem_, referred to on March 10th, 1802; also _The Silver Howe poem_, and that known in the Wordsworth household as _The Tinker_. It is possible that some of them were intentionally suppressed. The _Inscription of the Pathway_ and _The Tinker_ will, however, soon be published.--ED.] VI DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL WRITTEN AT GRASMERE (9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH JANUARY 1803) EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL (9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH JANUARY 1803) On Friday morning, July 9th, William and I set forward to Keswick on our road to Gallow Hill. We had a pleasant ride, though the day was showery.... Coleridge met us at Sara's Rock.... We had been told by a handsome man, an inhabitant of Wytheburn, with whom he had been talking (and who seemed, by the bye, much pleased with his companion), that C. was waiting for us. We reached Keswick against tea-time. We called at Calvert's on the Saturday evening.... On Monday, 12th July, we went to Eusemere. Coleridge walked with us six or seven miles. He was not well, and we had a melancholy parting after having sate together in silence by the road-side. We turned aside to explore the country near Hutton-John, and had a new and delightful walk. The valley, which is subject to the decaying mansion that stands at its head, seems to join its testimony to that of the house, to the falling away of the family greatness, and the hedges are in bad condition. The land wants draining, and is overrun with brackens; yet there is a something everywhere that tells of its former possessors. The trees are left scattered about as if intended to be like a park, and these are very interesting, standing as they do upon the sides of the steep hills that slope down to the bed of the river, a little stony-bedded stream that spreads out to a considerable breadth at the village of Dacre. A little above Dacre we came into the right road to Mr. Clarkson's, after having walked through woods and fields, never exactly knowing whether we were right or wrong. We learnt, however, that we had saved half-a-mile. We sate down by the river-side to rest, and saw some swallows flying about and under the bridge, and two little schoolboys were loitering among the scars seeking after their nests. We reached Mr. Clarkson's at about eight o'clock after a sauntering walk, having lingered and loitered and sate down together that we might be alone. Mr. and Mrs. C. were just come from Luff's. We spent Tuesday, the 13th of July, at Eusemere; and on Wednesday morning, the 14th, we walked to Emont Bridge, and mounted the coach between Bird's Nest and Hartshorn Tree.... At Greta Bridge the sun shone cheerfully, and a glorious ride we had over Gaterly Moor. Every building was bathed in golden light. The trees were more bright than earthly trees, and we saw round us miles beyond miles--Darlington spire, etc. etc. We reached Leeming Lane at about nine o'clock: supped comfortably, and enjoyed our fire. On Thursday morning, at a little before seven, being the 15th July, we got into a post-chaise and went to Thirsk to breakfast. We were well treated, but when the landlady understood that we were going to _walk_ off, and leave our luggage behind, she threw out some saucy words in our hearing. The day was very hot, and we rested often and long before we reached the foot of the Hambledon Hills, and while we were climbing them, still oftener.... We were almost overpowered with thirst, when I heard the trickling of a little stream of water. I was before William, and I stopped till he came up to me. We sate a long time by this water, and climbed the hill slowly. I was footsore; the sun shone hot; the little Scotch cattle panted and tossed fretfully about. The view was hazy, and we could see nothing from the top of the hill but an undistinct wide-spreading country, full of trees, but the buildings, towns, and houses were lost. We stopped to examine that curious stone, then walked along the flat common.... Arrived very hungry at Rivaux. Nothing to eat at the Millers, as we expected, but at an exquisitely neat farm-house we got some boiled milk and bread. This strengthened us, and I went down to look at the ruins. Thrushes were singing; cattle feeding among green-grown hillocks about the ruins. The hillocks were scattered over with _grovelets_ of wild roses and other shrubs, and covered with wild flowers. I could have stayed in this solemn quiet spot till evening, without a thought of moving, but William was waiting for me, so in a quarter of an hour I went away. We walked upon Mr. Duncombe's terrace and looked down upon the Abbey. It stands in a larger valley among a brotherhood of valleys, of different length and breadth,--all woody, and running up into the hills in all directions. We reached Helmsly just at dusk. We had a beautiful view of the castle from the top of the hill, and slept at a very nice inn, and were well treated; floors as smooth as ice. On Friday morning, 16th July, we walked to Kirby. Met people coming to Helmsly fair. Were misdirected, and walked a mile out of our way.... A beautiful view above Pickering.... Met Mary and Sara seven miles from G. H. Sheltered from the rain; beautiful glen, spoiled by the large house; sweet church and churchyard. Arrived at Gallow Hill at seven o'clock. _Friday Evening, 16th July._-- ... Sara, Tom, and I rode up Bedale. Wm., Mary, Sara, and I went to Scarborough, and we walked in the Abbey pasture, and to Wykeham; and on Monday, the 26th, we went off with Mary in a post-chaise. We had an interesting ride over the Wolds, though it rained all the way. Single thorn bushes were scattered about on the turf, sheep-sheds here and there, and now and then a little hut. Swelling grounds, and sometimes a single tree or a clump of trees.... We passed through one or two little villages, embosomed in tall trees. After we had parted from Mary, there were gleams of sunshine, but with showers. We saw Beverley in a heavy rain, and yet were much pleased with the beauty of the town. Saw the minster--a pretty, clean building, but injured very much with Grecian architecture. The country between Beverley and Hull very rich, but miserably flat--brick houses, windmills, houses again--dull and endless. Hull a frightful, dirty, brickhousey, tradesmanlike, rich, vulgar place; yet the river--though the shores are so low that they can hardly be seen--looked beautiful with the evening lights upon it, and boats moving about. We walked a long time, and returned to our dull day-room but quiet evening one, to supper. _Tuesday, 20th._--Market day. Streets dirty, very rainy, did not leave Hull till four o'clock, and left Barton at about six; rained all the way almost. A beautiful village at the foot of a hill with trees. A gentleman's house converted into a lady's boarding-school.... We left Lincoln on Wednesday morning, 27th July, at six o'clock. It rained heavily, and we could see nothing but the antientry of some of the buildings as we passed along. The night before, however, we had seen enough to make us regret this. The minster stands at the edge of a hill overlooking an immense plain. The country very flat as we went along; the day mended. We went to see the outside of the minster while the passengers were dining at Peterborough; the west end very grand.... On Thursday morning, 29th, we arrived in London. Wm. left me at the Sun.... After various troubles and disasters, we left London on Saturday morning at half-past five or six, the 31st of July. We mounted the Dover coach at Charing Cross. It was a beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river, and a multitude of little boats, made a most beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not overhung by their cloud of smoke, and they were spread out endlessly, yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a fierce light, that there was even something like the purity of one of nature's own grand spectacles.[72] [Footnote 72: Compare the sonnet _Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802_, in vol. ii. p. 328.--ED.] We rode on cheerfully, now with the Paris diligence before us, now behind. We walked up the steep hills, a beautiful prospect everywhere, till we even reached Dover. At first the rich, populous, wide-spreading, woody country about London, then the River Thames, ships sailing, chalk cliffs, trees, little villages. Afterwards Canterbury, situated on a plain, rich and woody, but the city and cathedral disappointed me. Hop grounds on each side of the road some miles from Canterbury; then we came to a common, the race ground, an elevated plain, villages among trees in the bed of a valley at our right, and, rising above this valley, green hills scattered over with wood, neat gentlemen's houses. One white house, almost hid with green trees, which we longed for, and the parson's house, as neat a place as could be, which would just have suited Coleridge. No doubt we may have found one for Tom Hutchinson and Sara, and a good farm too. We halted at a half-way house--fruit carts under the shade of trees, seats for guests, a tempting place to the weary traveller. Still, as we went along, the country was beautiful and hilly, with cottages lurking under the hills, and their little plots of hop ground like vineyards. It was a bad hop year. A woman on the top of the coach said to me, "It is a sad thing for the poor people, for the hop-gathering is the woman's harvest; there is employment about the hops for women and children." We saw the castle of Dover, and the sea beyond, four or five miles before we reached it. We looked at it through a long vale, the castle being upon an eminence, as it seemed, at the end of this vale, which opened to the sea. The country now became less fertile, but near Dover it seemed more rich again. Many buildings stand on the flat fields, sheltered with tall trees. There is one old chapel that might have been there just in the same state in which it now is when this vale was as retired, and as little known to travellers as our own Cumberland mountain wilds thirty years ago. There was also a very old building on the other side of the road, which had a strange effect among the many new ones that are springing up everywhere. It seemed odd that it could have kept itself pure in its ancientry among so many upstarts. It was near dark when we reached Dover. We were told that a packet was about to sail, so we went down to the custom-house in half-an-hour--had our luggage examined, etc. etc., and then we drank tea with the Honourable Mr. Knox and his tutor. We arrived at Calais at four o'clock on Sunday morning, the 31st of July. We stayed in the vessel till half-past seven; then William went for letters at about half-past eight or nine. We found out Annette and C. chez Madame Avril dans la Rue de la Tête d'or. We lodged opposite two ladies, in tolerably decent-sized rooms, but badly furnished.... The weather was very hot. We walked by the sea-shore almost every evening with Annette and Caroline, or William and I alone. I had a bad cold, and could not bathe at first, but William did. It was a pretty sight to see as we walked upon the sands when the tide was low, perhaps a hundred people bathing about a quarter of a mile distant from us. And we had delightful walks after the heat of the day was passed--seeing far off in the west the coast of England like a cloud crested with Dover castle, which was but like the summit of the cloud--the evening star and the glory of the sky,[73] the reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself, purple waves brighter than precious stones, for ever melting away upon the sands. The fort, a wooden building, at the entrance of the harbour at Calais, when the evening twilight was coming on, and we could not see anything of the building but its shape, which was far more distinct than in perfect daylight, seemed to be reared upon pillars of ebony, between which pillars the sea was seen in the most beautiful colours that can be conceived. Nothing in romance was ever half so beautiful. Now came in view, as the evening star sunk down, and the colours of the west faded away, the two lights of England, lighted up by Englishmen in our country to warn vessels off rocks or sands. These we used to see from the pier, when we could see no other distant objects but the clouds, the sky, and the sea itself--all was dark behind. The town of Calais seemed deserted of the light of heaven, but there was always light, and life, and joy upon the sea. One night I shall never forget--the day had been very hot, and William and I walked alone together upon the pier. The sea was gloomy, for there was a blackness over all the sky, except when it was overspread with lightning, which often revealed to us a distant vessel near, as the waves roared and broke against the pier, and they were interfused with greenish fiery light. The more distant sea always black and gloomy. It was also beautiful, on the calm hot night, to see the little boats row out of harbour with wings of fire, and the sail boats with the fiery track which they cut as they went along, and which closed up after them with a hundred thousand sparkles, and streams of glow-worm light. Caroline was delighted. [Footnote 73: Compare the sonnet ("Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 330) beginning-- Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west. ED.] On Sunday, the 29th of August, we left Calais at twelve o'clock in the morning, and landed at Dover at one on Monday the 30th.... It was very pleasant to me, when we were in the harbour at Dover, to breathe the fresh air, and to look up, and see the stars among the ropes of the vessel. The next day was very hot. We ... bathed, and sate upon the Dover Cliffs, and looked upon France with many a melancholy and tender thought. We could see the shores almost as plain as if it were but an English lake. We mounted the coach, and arrived in London at six, the 30th August. It was misty, and we could see nothing. We stayed in London till Wednesday the 22nd of September, and arrived at Gallow Hill on Friday. _September 24th._--Mary first met us in the avenue. She looked so fat and well that we were made very happy by the sight of her; then came Sara, and last of all Joanna. Tom was forking corn, standing upon the corn cart. We dressed ourselves immediately and got tea. The garden looked gay with asters and sweet peas. Jack and George came on Friday evening, 1st October. On Saturday, 2nd, we rode to Hackness, William, Jack, George, and Sara single. I behind Tom. On Sunday 3rd, Mary and Sara were busy packing. On Monday, 4th October 1802, my brother William was married to Mary Hutchinson.[74] I slept a good deal of the night, and rose fresh and well in the morning. At a little after eight o'clock, I saw them go down the avenue towards the church. William had parted from me upstairs. When they were absent, my dear little Sara prepared the breakfast. I kept myself as quiet as I could, but when I saw the two men running up the walk, coming to tell us it was over, I could stand it no longer, and threw myself on the bed, where I lay in stillness, neither hearing nor seeing anything till Sara came upstairs to me, and said, "They are coming." This forced me from the bed where I lay, and I moved, I knew not how, straight forward, faster than my strength could carry me, till I met my beloved William, and fell upon his bosom. He and John Hutchinson led me to the house, and there I stayed to welcome my dear Mary. As soon as we had breakfasted, we departed. It rained when we set off. Poor Mary was much agitated, when she parted from her brothers and sisters, and her home. Nothing particular occurred till we reached Kirby. We had sunshine and showers, pleasant talk, love and cheerfulness. We were obliged to stay two hours at K. while the horses were feeding. We wrote a few lines to Sara, and then walked out; the sun shone, and we went to the churchyard after we had put a letter into the post-office for the _York Herald_. We sauntered about, and read the grave-stones. There was one to the memory of five children, who had all died within five years, and the longest lived had only lived four years.... [Footnote 74: It may not be a too trivial detail to note that Coleridge's _Dejection, an Ode_, appeared in _The Morning Post_ on Wordsworth's marriage day.--ED.] We left Kirby at about half-past two. There is not much variety of prospect from K. to Helmsley, but the country is very pleasant, being rich and woody, and Helmsley itself stands very sweetly at the foot of the rising grounds of Duncombe Park, which is scattered over with tall woods; and, lifting itself above the common buildings of the town, stands Helmsley Castle, now a ruin, formerly inhabited by the gay Duke of Buckingham. Every foot of the road was of itself interesting to us, for we had travelled along it on foot, William and I, when we went to fetch our dear Mary, and had sate upon the turf by the roadside more than once. Before we reached Helmsley, our driver told us that he could not take us any further, so we stopped at the same inn where we had slept before. My heart danced at the sight of its cleanly outside, bright yellow walls, casements overshadowed with jasmine, and its low, double gavel-ended front.... Mary and I warmed ourselves at the kitchen fire. We then walked into the garden, and looked over a gate, up to the old ruin which stands at the top of the mount, and round about it the moats are grown up into soft green cradles, hollows surrounded with green grassy hillocks, and these are overshadowed by old trees, chiefly ashes. I prevailed upon William to go up with me to the ruins.... The sun shone, it was warm and very pleasant. One part of the castle seems to be inhabited. There was a man mowing nettles in the open space which had most likely once been the castle-court. There is one gateway exceedingly beautiful. Children were playing upon the sloping ground. We came home by the street. After about an hour's delay, we set forward again; had an excellent driver, who opened the gates so dexterously that the horses never stopped. Mary was very much delighted with the view of the castle from the point where we had seen it before. I was pleased to see again the little path which we had walked upon, the gate I had climbed over, and the road down which we had seen the two little boys drag a log of wood, and a team of horses struggle under the weight of a great load of timber. We had felt compassion for the poor horses that were under the governance of oppression and ill-judging drivers, and for the poor boys, who seemed of an age to have been able to have dragged the log of wood merely out of the love of their own activity, but from poverty and bad food they panted for weakness, and were obliged to fetch their father from the town to help them. Duncombe house looks well from the road--a large building, though I believe only two-thirds of the original design are completed. We rode down a very steep hill to Rivaux valley, with woods all round us. We stopped upon the bridge to look at the Abbey, and again when we had crossed it. Dear Mary had never seen a ruined abbey before except Whitby. We recognised the cottages, houses, and the little valleys as we went along. We walked up a long hill, the road carrying us up the cleft or valley with woody hills on each side of us. When we went to G. H. I had walked down the valley alone. William followed me. Before we had crossed the Hambledon Hill, and reached the point overlooking Yorkshire, it was quite dark. We had not wanted, however, fair prospects before us, as we drove along the flat plain of the high hill. Far far off from us, in the western sky, we saw shapes of castles, ruins among groves, a great spreading wood, rocks, and single trees, a minster with its tower unusually distinct, minarets in another quarter, and a round Grecian Temple also; the colours of the sky of a bright grey, and the forms of a sober grey, with a dome. As we descended the hill there was no distinct view, but of a great space; only near us we saw the wild (and as the people say) bottomless tarn in the hollow at the side of the hill. It seemed to be made visible to us only by its own light, for all the hill about us was dark. Before we reached Thirsk we saw a light before us, which we at first thought was the moon, then lime-kilns; but when we drove into the market-place it proved a large bonfire, with lads dancing round it, which is a sight I dearly love. The inn was like an illuminated house--every room full. We asked the cause, and were told by the girl that it was "Mr. John Bell's birthday, that he had heired his estate." The landlady was very civil. She did not recognise the despised foot-travellers. We rode on in the dark, and reached Leeming Lane at eleven o'clock.... The next morning we set off at about half-past eight o'clock. It was a cheerful, sunny morning.... We had a few showers, but when we came to the green fields of Wensley, the sun shone upon them all, and the Ure in its many windings glittered as it flowed along under the green slopes of Middleham Castle. Mary looked about for her friend Mr. Place, and thought she had him sure on the contrary side of the vale from that on which we afterwards found he lived. We went to a new built house at Leyburn, the same village where William and I had dined on our road to Grasmere two years and three-quarters ago, but not the same house. The landlady was very civil, giving us cake and wine, but the horses being out we were detained at least two hours, and did not set off till two o'clock. We paid for thirty-five miles, _i.e._ to Sedbergh, but the landlady did not encourage us to hope to get beyond Hawes.... When we passed through the village of Wensley my heart melted away, with dear recollections--the bridge, the little waterspout, the steep hill, the church. They are among the most vivid of my own inner visions, for they were the first objects that I saw after we were left to ourselves, and had turned our whole hearts to Grasmere as a home in which we were to rest. The vale looked most beautiful each way. To the left the bright silver stream inlaid the flat and very green meadows, winding like a serpent. To the right, we did not see it so far, it was lost among trees and little hills. I could not help observing, as we went along, how much more varied the prospects of Wensley Dale are in the summer time than I could have thought possible in the winter. This seemed to be in great measure owing to the trees being in leaf, and forming groves and screens, and thence little openings upon recesses and concealed retreats, which in winter only made a part of the one great vale. The beauty of the summer time here as much excels that of the winter, as the variety (owing to the excessive greenness) of the fields, and the trees in leaf half concealing, and--where they do not conceal--softening the hard bareness of the limey white roofs. One of our horses seemed to grow a little restive as we went through the first village, a long village on the side of a hill. It grew worse and worse, and at last we durst not go on any longer. We walked a while, and then the post boy was obliged to take the horse out, and go back for another. We seated ourselves again snugly in the post-chaise. The wind struggled about us and rattled the window, and gave a gentle motion to the chaise, but we were warm and at our ease within. Our station was at the top of a hill, opposite Bolton Castle, the Ure flowing beneath. William has since written a sonnet on this our imprisonment. Hard was thy durance, poor Queen Mary! compared with ours....[75] [Footnote 75: This sonnet was not thought worthy of being preserved.--ED.] We had a sweet ride till we came to a public-house on the side of a hill, where we alighted and walked down to see the waterfalls. The sun was not set, and the woods and fields were spread over with the yellow light of evening, which made their greenness a thousand times more green. There was too much water in the river for the beauty of the falls, and even the banks were less interesting than in winter. Nature had entirely got the better in her struggles against the giants who first cast the mould of these works; for, indeed, it is a place that did not in winter remind one of God, but one could not help feeling as if there had been the agency of some "mortal instruments," which Nature had been struggling against without making a perfect conquest. There was something so wild and new in this feeling, knowing, as we did in the inner man, that God alone had laid his hand upon it, that I could not help regretting the want of it; besides, it is a pleasure to a real lover of Nature to give winter all the glory he can, for summer _will_ make its own way, and speak its own praises. We saw the pathway which William and I took at the close of evening, the path leading to the rabbit warren where we lost ourselves. Sloe farm, with its holly hedges, was lost among the green hills and hedgerows in general, but we found it out, and were glad to look at it again. William left us to seek the waterfalls.... At our return to the inn, we found new horses and a new driver, and we went on nicely to Hawes, where we arrived before it was quite dark.... We rose at six o'clock--a rainy morning.... There was a very fine view about a mile from Hawes, where we crossed a bridge; bare and very green fields with cattle, a glittering stream, cottages, a few ill-grown trees, and high hills. The sun shone now. Before we got upon the bare hills, there was a hunting lodge on our right, exactly like Greta Hill, with fir plantations about it. We were very fortunate in the day, gleams of sunshine, passing clouds, that travelled with their shadows below them. Mary was much pleased with Garsdale. It was a dear place to William and me. We noted well the public-house (Garsdale Hall) where we had baited, ... and afterwards the mountain which had been adorned by Jupiter in his glory when we were here before. It was midday when we reached Sedbergh, and market day. We were in the same room where we had spent the evening together in our road to Grasmere. We had a pleasant ride to Kendal, where we arrived at two o'clock. The day favoured us. M. and I went to see the house where dear Sara had lived.... I am always glad to see Staveley; it is a place I dearly love to think of--the first mountain village that I came to with William when we first began our pilgrimage together.... Nothing particular occurred till we reached Ings chapel. The door was open, and we went in. It is a neat little place, with a marble floor and marble communion table, with a painting over it of the last supper, and Moses and Aaron on each side. The woman told us that "they had painted them as near as they could by the dresses as they are described in the Bible," and gay enough they are. The marble had been sent by Richard Bateman from Leghorn. The woman told us that a man had been at her house a few days before, who told her he had helped to bring it down the Red Sea, and she believed him gladly!... We ... arrived at Grasmere at about six o'clock on Wednesday evening, the 6th of October 1802.... I cannot describe what I felt.... We went by candle light into the garden, and were astonished at the growth of the brooms, Portugal laurels, etc. etc. etc. The next day, Thursday, we unpacked the boxes. On Friday, 8th, ... Mary and I walked first upon the hill-side, and then in John's Grove, then in view of Rydale, the first walk that I had taken with my sister. * * * * * * _Monday, 11th._--A beautiful day. We walked to the Easedale hills to hunt waterfalls. William and Mary left me sitting on a stone on the solitary mountains, and went to Easedale tarn.... The approach to the tarn is very beautiful. We expected to have found Coleridge at home, but he did not come till after dinner. He was well, but did not look so. _Tuesday, 12th October._--We walked with Coleridge to Rydale. _Wednesday, 13th._--Set forwards with him towards Keswick, and he prevailed us to go on. We consented, Mrs. C. not being at home. The day was delightful.... _Thursday, 14th._--We went in the evening to Calvert's. Moonlight. Stayed supper. * * * * * * _Saturday, 16th._--Came home, Mary and I. William returned to Coleridge before we reached Nadel Fell. Mary and I had a pleasant walk. The day was very bright; the people busy getting in their corn. Reached home at about five o'clock.... _Sunday, 17th._--We had thirteen of our neighbours to tea. William came in just as we began tea. * * * * * * _Saturday, 30th October._--William is gone to Keswick. Mary went with him to the top of the Raise. She is returned, and is now sitting near me by the fire. It is a breathless, grey day, that leaves the golden woods of autumn quiet in their own tranquillity, stately and beautiful in their decaying. The lake is a perfect mirror. William met Stoddart at the bridge at the foot of Legberthwaite dale.... They surprised us by their arrival at four o'clock in the afternoon.... After tea, S. read Chaucer to us. _Monday, 31st October._[76]-- ... William and S. went to Keswick. Mary and I walked to the top of the hill and looked at Rydale. I was much affected when I stood upon the second bar of Sara's gate. The lake was perfectly still, the sun shone on hill and vale, the distant birch trees looked like large golden flowers. Nothing else in colour was distinct and separate, but all the beautiful colours seemed to be melted into one another, and joined together in one mass, so that there were no differences, though an endless variety, when one tried to find it out. The fields were of one sober yellow brown.... [Footnote 76: This should have been entered 1st November.--ED.] * * * * * * _Tuesday, 2nd November._--William returned from Keswick. * * * * * * _Friday, 5th._-- ... I wrote to Montagu, ... and sent off letters to Miss Lamb and Coleridge.... * * * * * * _Sunday, 7th._--Fine weather. Letters from Coleridge that he was gone to London. Sara at Penrith. I wrote to Mrs. Clarkson. William began to translate Ariosto. _Monday, 8th._--A beautiful day. William got to work again at Ariosto, and so continued all the morning, though the day was so delightful that it made my very heart long to be out of doors, and see and feel the beauty of the autumn in freedom. The trees on the opposite side of the lake are of a yellow brown, but there are one or two trees opposite our windows (an ash tree, for instance) quite green, as in spring. The fields are of their winter colour, but the island is as green as ever it was.... William is writing out his stanzas from Ariosto.... The evening is quiet. Poor Coleridge! Sara is at Keswick, I hope.... I have read one canto of Ariosto to-day.... * * * * * * _24th December._--Christmas Eve. William is now sitting by me, at half-past ten o'clock. I have been ... repeating some of his sonnets to him, listening to his own repeating, reading some of Milton's, and the _Allegro_ and _Penseroso_. It is a quick, keen frost.... Coleridge came this morning with Wedgwood. We all turned out ... one by one, to meet him. He looked well. We had to tell him of the birth of his little girl, born yesterday morning at six o'clock. William went with them to Wytheburn in the chaise, and M. and I met W. on the Raise. It was not an unpleasant morning.... The sun shone now and then, and there was no wind, but all things looked cheerless and distinct; no meltings of sky into mountains, the mountains like stone work wrought up with huge hammers. Last Sunday was as mild a day as I ever remember.... Mary and I went round the lakes. There were flowers of various kinds--the topmost bell of a foxglove, geraniums, daisies, a buttercup in the water (but this I saw two or three days before), small yellow flowers (I do not know their name) in the turf. A large bunch of strawberry blossoms.... It is Christmas Day, Saturday, 25th December 1802. I am thirty-one years of age. It is a dull, frosty day. ... On Thursday, 30th December, I went to Keswick. William rode before me to the foot of the hill nearest K. There we parted close to a little watercourse, which was then noisy with water, but on my return a dry channel.... We stopped our horse close to the ledge, opposite a tuft of primroses, three flowers in full blossom and a bud. They reared themselves up among the green moss. We debated long whether we should pluck them, and at last left them to live out their day, which I was right glad of at my return the Sunday following; for there they remained, uninjured either by cold or wet. I stayed at Keswick over New Year's Day, and returned on Sunday, the 2nd January.... William was alarmed at my long delay, and came to within three miles of Keswick.... Coleridge stayed with us till Tuesday, January 4th. W. and I ... walked with him to Ambleside. We parted with him at the turning of the lane, he going on horseback to the top of Kirkstone. On Thursday 6th, C. returned, and on Friday, the 7th, he and Sara went to Keswick. W. accompanied them to the foot of Wytheburn.... It was a gentle day, and when William and I returned home just before sunset, it was a heavenly evening. A soft sky was among the hills, and a summer sunshine above, and blending with this sky, for it was more like sky than clouds; the turf looked warm and soft. * * * * * * _Monday, January 10th 1803._--I lay in bed to have a drench of sleep till one o'clock. Worked all day.... Ominously cold. _Tuesday, January 11th._--A very cold day, ... but the blackness of the cold made us slow to put forward, and we did not walk at all. Mary read the Prologue to Chaucer's tales to me in the morning. William was working at his poem to C. Letter from Keswick and from Taylor on William's marriage. C. poorly, in bad spirits.... Read part of _The Knights Tale_ with exquisite delight. Since tea Mary has been down stairs copying out Italian poems for Stuart. William has been working beside me, and here ends this imperfect summary.... VII RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND (A.D. 1803) CONTENTS =First Week= DAY PAGE 1. Left Keswick--Grisdale--Mosedale--Hesket Newmarket--Caldbeck Falls 163 2. Rose Castle--Carlisle--Hatfield--Longtown 164 3. Solway Moss--Enter Scotland--Springfield-- Gretna Green--Annan--Dumfries 165 4. Burns's Grave 166 Ellisland--Vale of Nith 168 Brownhill 169 Poem to Burns's Sons 171 5. Thornhill--Drumlanrigg--River Nith 171 Turnpike house 172 Sportsman 173 Vale of Menock 174 Wanlockhead 175 Leadhills 178 Miners 178 Hopetoun mansion 179 Hostess 180 6. Road to Crawfordjohn 183 Douglas Mill 187 Clyde--Lanerk 189 Boniton Linn 191 =Second Week= 7. Falls of the Clyde 193 Cartland Crags 197 Fall of Stonebyres--Trough of the Clyde 200 Hamilton 201 8. Hamilton House 202 Baroncleugh--Bothwell Castle 204 Glasgow 208 9. Bleaching ground (Glasgow Green) 209 Road to Dumbarton 211 10. Rock and Castle of Dumbarton 213 Vale of Leven 217 Smollett's Monument 218 Loch Lomond 218 Luss 221 11. Islands of Loch Lomond 225 Road to Tarbet 230 The Cobbler 231 Tarbet 231 12. Left Tarbet for the Trossachs 233 Rob Roy's Caves 235 Inversneyde Ferryhouse and Waterfall 235 Singular building 236 Loch Ketterine 238 Glengyle 240 Mr. Macfarlane's 241 13. Breakfast at Glengyle 243 Lairds of Glengyle--Rob Roy 244 Burying-ground 246 Ferryman's hut 246 Trossachs 248 Loch Achray 252 Return to Ferryman's hut 253 RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND. A.D. 1803 _FIRST WEEK_ William and I parted from Mary on Sunday afternoon, August 14th 1803; and William, Coleridge, and I left Keswick on Monday morning, the 15th, at twenty minutes after eleven o'clock. The day was very hot; we walked up the hills, and along all the rough road, which made our walking half the day's journey. Travelled under the foot of Carrock, a mountain covered with stones on the lower part; above, it is very rocky, but sheep pasture there; we saw several where there seemed to be no grass to tempt them. Passed the foot of Grisdale and Mosedale, both pastoral valleys, narrow, and soon terminating in the mountains--green, with scattered trees and houses, and each a beautiful stream. At Grisdale our horse backed upon a steep bank where the road was not fenced, just above a pretty mill at the foot of the valley; and we had a second threatening of a disaster in crossing a narrow bridge between the two dales; but this was not the fault of either man or horse. Slept at Mr. Younghusband's public-house, Hesket Newmarket. In the evening walked to Caldbeck Falls, a delicious spot in which to breathe out a summer's day--limestone rocks, hanging trees, pools, and water-breaks--caves and caldrons which have been honoured with fairy names, and no doubt continue in the fancy of the neighbourhood to resound with fairy revels. _Tuesday, August 16th._--Passed Rose Castle upon the Caldew, an ancient building of red stone with sloping gardens, an ivied gateway, velvet lawns, old garden walls, trim flower-borders with stately and luxuriant flowers. We walked up to the house and stood some minutes watching the swallows that flew about restlessly, and flung their shadows upon the sunbright walls of the old building; the shadows glanced and twinkled, interchanged and crossed each other, expanded and shrunk up, appeared and disappeared every instant; as I observed to William and Coleridge, seeming more like living things than the birds themselves. Dined at Carlisle; the town in a bustle with the assizes; so many strange faces known in former times and recognised, that it half seemed as if I ought to know them all, and, together with the noise, the fine ladies, etc., they put me into confusion. This day Hatfield was condemned. I stood at the door of the gaoler's house, where he was; William entered the house, and Coleridge saw him; I fell into conversation with a debtor, who told me in a dry way that he was "far over-learned," and another man observed to William that we might learn from Hatfield's fate "not to meddle with pen and ink." We gave a shilling to my companion, whom we found out to be a friend of the family, a fellow-sailor with my brother John "in Captain Wordsworth's ship." Walked upon the city walls, which are broken down in places and crumbling away, and most disgusting from filth. The city and neighbourhood of Carlisle disappointed me; the banks of the river quite flat, and, though the holms are rich, there is not much beauty in the vale from the want of trees--at least to the eye of a person coming from England, and, I scarcely know how, but to me the holms had not a _natural_ look; there was something townish in their appearance, a dulness in their strong deep green. To Longtown--not very interesting, except from the long views over the flat country; the road rough, chiefly newly mended. Reached Longtown after sunset, a town of brick houses belonging chiefly to the Graham family. Being in the form of a cross and not long, it had been better called Crosstown. There are several shops, and it is not a very small place; but I could not meet with a silver thimble, and bought a half-penny brass one. Slept at the Graham's Arms, a large inn. Here, as everywhere else, the people seemed utterly insensible of the enormity of Hatfield's offences; the ostler told William that he was quite a gentleman, paid every one genteelly, etc. etc. He and "Mary" had walked together to Gretna Green; a heavy rain came on when they were there; a returned chaise happened to pass, and the driver would have taken them up; but "Mr. Hope's" carriage was to be sent for; he did not choose to accept the chaise-driver's offer. _Wednesday, August 17th._--Left Longtown after breakfast. About half a mile from the town a guidepost and two roads, to Edinburgh and Glasgow; we took the left-hand road, to Glasgow. Here saw a specimen of the luxuriance of the heath-plant, as it grows in Scotland; it was in the enclosed plantations--perhaps sheltered by them. These plantations appeared to be not well grown for their age; the trees were stunted. Afterwards the road, treeless, over a peat-moss common--the Solway Moss; here and there an earth-built hut with its peat stack, a scanty growing willow hedge round the kail-garth, perhaps the cow pasturing near,--a little lass watching it,--the dreary waste cheered by the endless singing of larks. We enter Scotland by crossing the river Sark; on the Scotch side of the bridge the ground is unenclosed pasturage; it was very green, and scattered over with that yellow flowered plant which we call grunsel; the hills heave and swell prettily enough; cattle feeding; a few corn fields near the river. At the top of the hill opposite is Springfield, a village built by Sir William Maxwell--a dull uniformity in the houses, as is usual when all built at one time, or belonging to one individual, each just big enough for two people to live in, and in which a family, large or small as it may happen, is crammed. There the marriages are performed. Further on, though almost contiguous, is Gretna Green, upon a hill and among trees. This sounds well, but it is a dreary place; the stone houses dirty and miserable, with broken windows. There is a pleasant view from the churchyard over Solway Firth to the Cumberland mountains. Dined at Annan. On our left as we travelled along appeared the Solway Firth and the mountains beyond, but the near country dreary. Those houses by the roadside which are built of stone are comfortless and dirty; but we peeped into a clay "biggin" that was very "canny," and I daresay will be as warm as a swallow's nest in winter. The town of Annan made me think of France and Germany; many of the houses large and gloomy, the size of them outrunning the comforts. One thing which was like Germany pleased me: the shopkeepers express their calling by some device or painting; bread-bakers have biscuits, loaves, cakes, painted on their window-shutters; blacksmiths horses' shoes, iron tools, etc. etc.; and so on through all trades. Reached Dumfries at about nine o'clock--market-day; met crowds of people on the road, and every one had a smile for us and our car.... The inn was a large house, and tolerably comfortable; Mr. Rogers and his sister, whom we had seen at our own cottage at Grasmere a few days before, had arrived there that same afternoon on their way to the Highlands; but we did not see them till the next morning, and only for about a quarter of an hour. _Thursday, August 18th._--Went to the churchyard where Burns is buried. A bookseller accompanied us. He showed us the outside of Burns's house, where he had lived the last three years of his life, and where he died. It has a mean appearance, and is in a bye situation, whitewashed; dirty about the doors, as almost all Scotch houses are; flowering plants in the windows. Went on to visit his grave. He lies at a corner of the churchyard, and his second son, Francis Wallace, beside him. There is no stone to mark the spot; but a hundred guineas have been collected, to be expended on some sort of monument. "There," said the bookseller, pointing to a pompous monument, "there lies Mr. Such-a-one"--I have forgotten his name,--"a remarkably clever man; he was an attorney, and hardly ever lost a cause he undertook. Burns made many a lampoon upon him, and there they rest, as you see." We looked at the grave with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses:-- Is there a man whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs himself life's mad career Wild as the wave?-- Here let him pause, and through a tear Survey this grave. The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know And keenly felt the friendly glow And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name. The churchyard is full of grave-stones and expensive monuments in all sorts of fantastic shapes--obelisk-wise, pillar-wise, etc. In speaking of Gretna Green, I forgot to mention that we visited the churchyard. The church is like a huge house; indeed, so are all the churches, with a steeple, not a square tower or spire,--a sort of thing more like a glass-house chimney than a Church of England steeple; grave-stones in abundance, few verses, yet there were some--no texts. Over the graves of married women the maiden name instead of that of the husband, "spouse" instead of "wife," and the place of abode preceded by "in" instead of "of." When our guide had left us, we turned again to Burns's house. Mrs. Burns was gone to spend some time by the sea-shore with her children. We spoke to the servant-maid at the door, who invited us forward, and we sate down in the parlour. The walls were coloured with a blue wash; on one side of the fire was a mahogany desk, opposite to the window a clock, and over the desk a print from the _Cotter's Saturday Night_, which Burns mentions in one of his letters having received as a present. The house was cleanly and neat in the inside, the stairs of stone, scoured white, the kitchen on the right side of the passage, the parlour on the left. In the room above the parlour the poet died, and his son after him in the same room. The servant told us she had lived five years with Mrs. Burns, who was now in great sorrow for the death of "Wallace." She said that Mrs. Burns's youngest son was at Christ's Hospital. We were glad to leave Dumfries, which is no agreeable place to them who do not love the bustle of a town that seems to be rising up to wealth. We could think of little else but poor Burns, and his moving about on that unpoetic ground. In our road to Brownhill, the next stage, we passed Ellisland at a little distance on our right, his farmhouse. We might there have had more pleasure in looking round, if we had been nearer to the spot; but there is no thought surviving in connexion with Burns's daily life that is not heart-depressing. Travelled through the vale of Nith, here little like a vale, it is so broad, with irregular hills rising up on each side, in outline resembling the old-fashioned valances of a bed. There is a great deal of arable land; the corn ripe; trees here and there--plantations, clumps, coppices, and a newness in everything. So much of the gorse and broom rooted out that you wonder why it is not all gone, and yet there seems to be almost as much gorse and broom as corn; and they grow one among another you know not how. Crossed the Nith; the vale becomes narrow, and very pleasant; corn fields, green hills, clay cottages; the river's bed rocky, with woody banks. Left the Nith about a mile and a half, and reached Brownhill, a lonely inn, where we slept. The view from the windows was pleasing, though some travellers might have been disposed to quarrel with it for its general nakedness; yet there was abundance of corn. It is an open country--open, yet all over hills. At a little distance were many cottages among trees, that looked very pretty. Brownhill is about seven or eight miles from Ellisland. I fancied to myself, while I was sitting in the parlour, that Burns might have caroused there, for most likely his rounds extended so far, and this thought gave a melancholy interest to the smoky walls. It was as pretty a room as a thoroughly dirty one could be--a square parlour painted green, but so covered over with smoke and dirt that it looked not unlike green seen through black gauze. There were three windows, looking three ways, a buffet ornamented with tea-cups, a superfine largeish looking-glass with gilt ornaments spreading far and wide, the glass spotted with dirt, some ordinary alehouse pictures, and above the chimney-piece a print in a much better style--as William guessed, taken from a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds--of some lady of quality, in the character of Euphrosyne. "Ay," said the servant-girl, seeing that we looked at it, "there's many travellers would give a deal for that, it's more admired than any in the house." We could not but smile; for the rest were such as may be found in the basket of any Italian image and picture hawker. William and I walked out after dinner; Coleridge was not well, and slept upon the carriage cushions. We made our way to the cottages among the little hills and knots of wood, and then saw what a delightful country this part of Scotland might be made by planting forest trees. The ground all over heaves and swells like a sea; but for miles there are neither trees nor hedgerows, only "mound" fences and tracts; or slips of corn, potatoes, clover--with hay between, and barren land; but near the cottages many hills and hillocks covered with wood. We passed some fine trees, and paused under the shade of one close by an old mansion that seemed from its neglected state to be inhabited by farmers. But I must say that many of the "gentlemen's" houses which we have passed in Scotland have an air of neglect, and even of desolation. It was a beech, in the full glory of complete and perfect growth, very tall, with one thick stem mounting to a considerable height, which was split into four "thighs," as Coleridge afterwards called them, each in size a fine tree. Passed another mansion, now tenanted by a schoolmaster; many boys playing upon the lawn. I cannot take leave of the country which we passed through to-day, without mentioning that we saw the Cumberland mountains within half a mile of Ellisland, Burns's house, the last view we had of them. Drayton has prettily described the connexion which this neighbourhood has with ours when he makes Skiddaw say-- Scurfell[77] from the sky, That Anadale[78] doth crown, with a most amorous eye, Salutes me every day, or at my pride looks grim, Oft threat'ning me with clouds, as I oft threat'ning him. [Footnote 77: Criffel.--J. C. S.] [Footnote 78: Annandale.--J. C. S.] These lines recurred to William's memory, and we talked of Burns, and of the prospect he must have had, perhaps from his own door, of Skiddaw and his companions, indulging ourselves in the fancy that we _might_ have been personally known to each other, and he have looked upon those objects with more pleasure for our sakes. We talked of Coleridge's children and family, then at the foot of Skiddaw, and our own new-born John a few miles behind it; while the grave of Burns's son, which we had just seen by the side of his father, and some stories heard at Dumfries respecting the dangers his surviving children were exposed to, filled us with melancholy concern, which had a kind of connexion with ourselves. In recollection of this, William long afterwards wrote the following Address to the sons of the ill-fated poet:-- Ye now are panting up life's hill, 'Tis twilight time of good and ill, And more than common strength and skill Must ye display, If ye would give the better will Its lawful sway. Strong-bodied if ye be to bear Intemperance with less harm, beware, But if your Father's wit ye share, Then, then indeed, Ye Sons of Burns, for watchful care There will be need. For honest men delight will take To shew you favour for his sake, Will flatter you, and Fool and Rake Your steps pursue, And of your Father's name will make A snare for you. Let no mean hope your souls enslave, Be independent, generous, brave; Your Father such example gave, And such revere, But be admonished by his grave, And think and fear. _Friday, August 19th._--Open country for a considerable way. Passed through the village of Thornhill, built by the Duke of Oueensberry; the "brother-houses" so small that they might have been built to stamp a character of insolent pride on his own huge mansion of Drumlanrigg, which is full in view on the opposite side of the Nith. This mansion is indeed very large; but to us it appeared like a gathering together of little things. The roof is broken into a hundred pieces, cupolas, etc., in the shape of casters, conjuror's balls, cups, and the like. The situation would be noble if the woods had been left standing; but they have been cut down not long ago, and the hills above and below the house are quite bare. About a mile and a half from Drumlanrigg is a turnpike gate at the top of a hill. We left our car with the man, and turned aside into a field where we looked down upon the Nith, which runs far below in a deep and rocky channel; the banks woody; the view pleasant down the river towards Thornhill, an open country--corn fields, pastures, and scattered trees. Returned to the turnpike house, a cold spot upon a common, black cattle feeding close to the door. Our road led us down the hill to the side of the Nith, and we travelled along its banks for some miles. Here were clay cottages perhaps every half or quarter of a mile. The bed of the stream rough with rocks; banks irregular, now woody, now bare; here a patch of broom, there of corn, then of pasturage; and hills green or heathy above. We were to have given our horse meal and water at a public-house in one of the hamlets we passed through, but missed the house, for, as is common in Scotland, it was without a sign-board. Travelled on, still beside the Nith, till we came to a turnpike house, which stood rather high on the hill-side, and from the door we looked a long way up and down the river. The air coldish, the wind strong. We asked the turnpike man to let us have some meal and water. He had no meal, but luckily we had part of a feed of corn brought from Keswick, and he procured some hay at a neighbouring house. In the meantime I went into the house, where was an old man with a grey plaid over his shoulders, reading a newspaper. On the shelf lay a volume of the Scotch Encyclopædia, a History of England, and some other books. The old man was a caller by the way. The man of the house came back, and we began to talk. He was very intelligent; had travelled all over England, Scotland, and Ireland as a gentleman's servant, and now lived alone in that lonesome place. He said he was tired of his bargain, for he feared he should lose by it. And he had indeed a troublesome office, for coal-carts without number were passing by, and the drivers seemed to do their utmost to cheat him. There is always something peculiar in the house of a man living alone. This was but half-furnished, yet nothing seemed wanting for _his_ comfort, though a female who had travelled half as far would have needed fifty other things. He had no other meat or drink in the house but oat bread and cheese--the cheese was made with the addition of seeds--and some skimmed milk. He gave us of his bread and cheese, and milk, which proved to be sour. We had yet ten or eleven miles to travel, and no food with us. William lay under the wind in a corn-field below the house, being not well enough to partake of the milk and bread. Coleridge gave our host a pamphlet, "The Crisis of the Sugar Colonies"; he was well acquainted with Burns's poems. There was a politeness and a manly freedom in this man's manners which pleased me very much. He told us that he had served a gentleman, a captain in the army--he did not know who he was, for none of his relations had ever come to see him, but he used to receive many letters--that he had lived near Dumfries till they would let him stay no longer, he made such havoc with the game; his whole delight from morning till night, and the long year through, was in field sports; he would be on his feet the worst days in winter, and wade through snow up to the middle after his game. If he had company he was in tortures till they were gone; he would then throw off his coat and put on an old jacket not worth half-a-crown. He drank his bottle of wine every day, and two if he had better sport than usual. Ladies sometimes came to stay with his wife, and he often carried them out in an Irish jaunting-car, and if they vexed him he would choose the dirtiest roads possible, and spoil their clothes by jumping in and out of the car, and treading upon them. "But for all that"--and so he ended all--"he was a good fellow, and a clever fellow, and he liked him well." He would have ten or a dozen hares in the larder at once, he half maintained his family with game, and he himself was very fond of eating of the spoil--unusual with true heart-and-soul sportsmen. The man gave us an account of his farm where he had lived, which was so cheap and pleasant that we thought we should have liked to have had it ourselves. Soon after leaving the turnpike house we turned up a hill to the right, the road for a little way very steep, bare hills, with sheep. After ascending a little while we heard the murmur of a stream far below us, and saw it flowing downwards on our left, towards the Nith, and before us, between steep green hills, coming along a winding valley. The simplicity of the prospect impressed us very much. There was a single cottage by the brook side; the dell was not heathy, but it was impossible not to think of Peter Bell's Highland Girl. We now felt indeed that we were in Scotland; there was a natural peculiarity in this place. In the scenes of the Nith it had not been the same as England, but yet not simple, naked Scotland. The road led us down the hill, and now there was no room in the vale but for the river and the road; we had sometimes the stream to the right, sometimes to the left. The hills were pastoral, but we did not see many sheep; green smooth turf on the left, no ferns. On the right the heath-plant grew in abundance, of the most exquisite colour; it covered a whole hill-side, or it was in streams and patches. We travelled along the vale without appearing to ascend for some miles; all the reaches were beautiful, in exquisite proportion, the hills seeming very high from being so near to us. It might have seemed a valley which nature had kept to herself for pensive thoughts and tender feelings, but that we were reminded at every turning of the road of something beyond by the coal-carts which were travelling towards us. Though these carts broke in upon the tranquillity of the glen, they added much to the picturesque effect of the different views, which indeed wanted nothing, though perfectly bare, houseless, and treeless. After some time our road took us upwards towards the end of the valley. Now the steeps were heathy all around. Just as we began to climb the hill we saw three boys who came down the cleft of a brow on our left; one carried a fishing-rod, and the hats of all were braided with honeysuckles; they ran after one another as wanton as the wind. I cannot express what a character of beauty those few honeysuckles in the hats of the three boys gave to the place: what bower could they have come from? We walked up the hill, met two well-dressed travellers, the woman barefoot. Our little lads before they had gone far were joined by some half-dozen of their companions, all without shoes and stockings. They told us they lived at Wanlockhead, the village above, pointing to the top of the hill; they went to school and learned Latin, Virgil, and some of them Greek, Homer, but when Coleridge began to inquire further, off they ran, poor things! I suppose afraid of being examined. When, after a steep ascent, we had reached the top of the hill, we saw a village about half a mile before us on the side of another hill, which rose up above the spot where we were, after a descent, a sort of valley or hollow. Nothing grew upon this ground, or the hills above or below, but heather, yet round about the village--which consisted of a great number of huts, all alike, and all thatched, with a few larger slated houses among them, and a single modern-built one of a considerable size--were a hundred patches of cultivated ground, potatoes, oats, hay, and grass. We were struck with the sight of haycocks fastened down with aprons, sheets, pieces of sacking--as we supposed, to prevent the wind from blowing them away. We afterwards found that this practice was very general in Scotland. Every cottage seemed to have its little plot of ground, fenced by a ridge of earth; this plot contained two or three different divisions, kail, potatoes, oats, hay; the houses all standing in lines, or never far apart; the cultivated ground was all together also, and made a very strange appearance with its many greens among the dark brown hills, neither tree nor shrub growing; yet the grass and the potatoes looked greener than elsewhere, owing to the bareness of the neighbouring hills; it was indeed a wild and singular spot--to use a woman's illustration, like a collection of patchwork, made of pieces as they might have chanced to have been cut by the mantua-maker, only just smoothed to fit each other, the different sorts of produce being in such a multitude of plots, and those so small and of such irregular shapes. Add to the strangeness of the village itself, that we had been climbing upwards, though gently, for many miles, and for the last mile and a half up a steep ascent, and did not know of any village till we saw the boys who had come out to play. The air was very cold, and one could not help thinking what it must be in winter, when those hills, now "red brown," should have their three months' covering of snow. The village, as we guessed, is inhabited by miners; the mines belong to the Duke of Queensberry. The road to the village, down which the lads scampered away, was straight forward. I must mention that we met, just after we had parted from them, another little fellow, about six years old, carrying a bundle over his shoulder; he seemed poor and half starved, and was scratching his fingers, which were covered with the itch. He was a miner's son, and lived at Wanlockhead; did not go to school, but this was probably on account of his youth. I mention him because he seemed to be a proof that there was poverty and wretchedness among these people, though we saw no other symptom of it; and afterwards we met scores of the inhabitants of this same village. Our road turned to the right, and we saw, at the distance of less than a mile, a tall upright building of grey stone, with several men standing upon the roof, as if they were looking out over battlements. It stood beyond the village, upon higher ground, as if presiding over it,--a kind of enchanter's castle, which it might have been, a place where Don Quixote would have gloried in. When we drew nearer we saw, coming out of the side of the building, a large machine or lever, in appearance like a great forge-hammer, as we supposed for raising water out of the mines. It heaved upwards once in half a minute with a slow motion, and seemed to rest to take breath at the bottom, its motion being accompanied with a sound between a groan and "jike." There would have been something in this object very striking in any place, as it was impossible not to invest the machine with some faculty of intellect; it seemed to have made the first step from brute matter to life and purpose, showing its progress by great power. William made a remark to this effect, and Coleridge observed that it was like a giant with one idea. At all events, the object produced a striking effect in that place, where everything was in unison with it--particularly the building itself, which was turret-shaped, and with the figures upon it resembled much one of the fortresses in the wooden cuts of Bunyan's _Holy War_. After ascending a considerable way we began to descend again; and now we met a team of horses dragging an immense tree to the lead mines, to repair or add to the building, and presently after we came to a cart, with another large tree, and one horse left in it, right in the middle of the highway. We were a little out of humour, thinking we must wait till the team came back. There were men and boys without number all staring at us; after a little consultation they set their shoulders to the cart, and with a good heave all at once they moved it, and we passed along. These people were decently dressed, and their manners decent; there was no hooting or impudent laughter. Leadhills, another mining village, was the place of our destination for the night; and soon after we had passed the cart we came in sight of it. This village and the mines belong to Lord Hopetoun; it has more stone houses than Wanlockhead, one large old mansion, and a considerable number of old trees--beeches, I believe. The trees told of the coldness of the climate; they were more brown than green--far browner than the ripe grass of the little hay-garths. Here, as at Wanlockhead, were haycocks, hay-stacks, potato-beds, and kail-garths in every possible variety of shape, but, I suppose from the irregularity of the ground, it looked far less artificial--indeed, I should think that a painter might make several beautiful pictures in this village. It straggles down both sides of a mountain glen. As I have said, there is a large mansion. There is also a stone building that looks like a school, and the houses are single, or in clusters, or rows as it may chance. We passed a decent-looking inn, the Hopetoun Arms; but the house of Mrs. Otto, a widow, had been recommended to us with high encomiums. We did not then understand Scotch inns, and were not quite satisfied at first with our accommodations, but all things were smoothed over by degrees; we had a fire lighted in our dirty parlour, tea came after a reasonable waiting; and the fire with the gentle aid of twilight, burnished up the room into cheerful comfort. Coleridge was weary; but William and I walked out after tea. We talked with one of the miners, who informed us that the building which we had supposed to be a school was a library belonging to the village. He said they had got a book into it a few weeks ago, which had cost thirty pounds, and that they had all sorts of books. "What! have you Shakespeare?" "Yes, we have that," and we found, on further inquiry, that they had a large library, of long standing, that Lord Hopetoun had subscribed liberally to it, and that gentlemen who came with him were in the habit of making larger or smaller donations. Each man who had the benefit of it paid a small sum monthly--I think about fourpence. The man we talked with spoke much of the comfort and quiet in which they lived one among another; he made use of a noticeable expression, saying that they were "very peaceable people considering they lived so much under-ground";--wages were about thirty pounds a year; they had land for potatoes, warm houses, plenty of coals, and only six hours' work each day, so that they had leisure for reading if they chose. He said the place was healthy, that the inhabitants lived to a great age; and indeed we saw no appearance of ill-health in their countenances; but it is not common for people working in lead mines to be healthy; and I have since heard that it is _not_ a healthy place. However this may be, they are unwilling to allow it; for the landlady the next morning, when I said to her "You have a cold climate," replied, "Ay, but it is _varra halesome_." We inquired of the man respecting the large mansion; he told us that it was built, as we might see, in the form of an H, and belonged to the Hopetouns, and they took their title from thence,[79] and that part of it was used as a chapel. We went close to it, and were a good deal amused with the building itself, standing forth in bold contradiction of the story which I daresay every man of Leadhills tells, and every man believes, that it is in the shape of an H; it is but half an H, and one must be very accommodating to allow it even _so_ much, for the legs are far too short. [Footnote 79: There is some mistake here. The Hopetoun title was not taken from any place in the Leadhills, much less from the house shaped like an H.--J. C. S.] We visited the burying-ground, a plot of land not very small, crowded with graves, and upright grave-stones, over-looking the village and the dell. It was now the closing in of evening. Women and children were gathering in the linen for the night, which was bleaching by the burn-side;--the graves overgrown with grass, such as, by industrious culture, had been raised up about the houses; but there were bunches of heather here and there, and with the blue-bells that grew among the grass the small plot of ground had a beautiful and wild appearance. William left me, and I went to a shop to purchase some thread; the woman had none that suited me; but she would send a "_wee_ lad" to the other shop. In the meantime I sat with the mother, and was much pleased with her manner and conversation. She had an excellent fire, and her cottage, though very small, looked comfortable and cleanly; but remember I saw it only by firelight. She confirmed what the man had told us of the quiet manner in which they lived; and indeed her house and fireside seemed to need nothing to make it a cheerful happy spot, but health and good humour. There was a bookishness, a certain formality in this woman's language, which was very remarkable. She had a dark complexion, dark eyes, and wore a very white cap, much over her face, which gave her the look of a French woman, and indeed afterwards the women on the roads frequently reminded us of French women, partly from the extremely white caps of the elder women, and still more perhaps from a certain gaiety and party-coloured appearance in their dress in general. White bed-gowns are very common, and you rarely meet a young girl with either hat or cap; they buckle up their hair often in a graceful manner. I returned to the inn, and went into the kitchen to speak with the landlady; she had made a hundred hesitations when I told her we wanted three beds. At last she confessed she _had_ three beds, and showed me into a parlour which looked damp and cold, but she assured me in a tone that showed she was unwilling to be questioned further, that all _her_ beds were well aired. I sat a while by the kitchen fire with the landlady, and began to talk to her; but, much as I had heard in her praise--for the shopkeeper had told me she was a varra discreet woman--I cannot say that her manners pleased me much. But her servant made amends, for she was as pleasant and cheerful a lass as was ever seen; and when we asked her to do anything, she answered, "Oh yes," with a merry smile, and almost ran to get us what we wanted. She was about sixteen years old: wore shoes and stockings, and had her hair tucked up with a comb. The servant at Brownhill was a coarse-looking wench, barefoot and bare-legged. I examined the kitchen round about; it was crowded with furniture, drawers, cupboards, dish-covers, pictures, pans, and pots, arranged without order, except that the plates were on shelves, and the dish-covers hung in rows; these were very clean, but floors, passages, staircase, everything else dirty. There were two beds in recesses in the wall; above one of them I noticed a shelf with some books:--it made me think of Chaucer's Clerke of Oxenforde:-- Liever had he at his bed's head Twenty books clothed in black and red. They were baking oat-bread, which they cut into quarters, and half-baked over the fire, and half-toasted before it. There was a suspiciousness about Mrs. Otto, almost like ill-nature; she was very jealous of any inquiries that might appear to be made with the faintest idea of a comparison between Leadhills and any other place, except the advantage was evidently on the side of Leadhills. We had nice honey to breakfast. When ready to depart, we learned that we might have seen the library, which we had not thought of till it was too late, and we were very sorry to go away without seeing it. _Saturday, August 20th._--Left Leadhills at nine o'clock, regretting much that we could not stay another day, that we might have made more minute inquiries respecting the manner of living of the miners, and been able to form an estimate, from our own observation, of the degree of knowledge, health, and comfort that there was among them. The air was keen and cold; we might have supposed it to be three months later in the season and two hours earlier in the day. The landlady had not lighted us a fire; so I was obliged to get myself toasted in the kitchen, and when we set off I put on both grey cloak and spencer. Our road carried us down the valley, and we soon lost sight of Leadhills, for the valley made a turn almost immediately, and we saw two miles, perhaps, before us; the glen sloped somewhat rapidly--heathy, bare, no hut or house. Passed by a shepherd, who was sitting upon the ground, reading, with the book on his knee, screened from the wind by his plaid, while a flock of sheep were feeding near him among the rushes and coarse grass--for, as we descended we came among lands where grass grew with the heather. Travelled through several reaches of the glen, which somewhat resembled the valley of Menock on the other side of Wanlockhead; but it was not near so beautiful; the forms of the mountains did not melt so exquisitely into each other, and there was a coldness, and, if I may so speak, a want of simplicity in the surface of the earth; the heather was poor, not covering a whole hill-side; not in luxuriant streams and beds interveined with rich verdure; but patchy and stunted, with here and there coarse grass and rushes. But we soon came in sight of a spot that impressed us very much. At the lower end of this new reach of the vale was a decayed tree, beside a decayed cottage, the vale spreading out into a level area which was one large field, without fence and without division, of a dull yellow colour; the vale seemed to partake of the desolation of the cottage, and to participate in its decay. And yet the spot was in its nature so dreary that one would rather have wondered how it ever came to be tenanted by man, than lament that it was left to waste and solitude. Yet the encircling hills were so exquisitely formed that it was impossible to conceive anything more lovely than this place would have been if the valley and hill-sides had been interspersed with trees, cottages, green fields, and hedgerows. But all was desolate; the one large field which filled up the area of the valley appeared, as I have said, in decay, and seemed to retain the memory of its connexion with man in some way analogous to the ruined building; for it was as much of a field as Mr. King's best pasture scattered over with his fattest cattle. We went on, looking before us, the place losing nothing of its hold upon our minds, when we discovered a woman sitting right in the middle of the field, alone, wrapped up in a grey cloak or plaid. She sat motionless all the time we looked at her, which might be nearly half an hour. We could not conceive why she sat there, for there were neither sheep nor cattle in the field; her appearance was very melancholy. In the meantime our road carried us nearer to the cottage, though we were crossing over the hill to the left, leaving the valley below us, and we perceived that a part of the building was inhabited, and that what we had supposed to be _one_ blasted tree was eight trees, four of which were entirely blasted; the others partly so, and round about the place was a little potato and cabbage garth, fenced with earth. No doubt, that woman had been an inhabitant of the cottage. However this might be, there was so much obscurity and uncertainty about her, and her figure agreed so well with the desolation of the place, that we were indebted to the chance of her being there for some of the most interesting feelings that we had ever had from natural objects connected with man in dreary solitariness. We had been advised to go along the _new_ road, which would have carried us down the vale; but we met some travellers who recommended us to climb the hill, and go by the village of Crawfordjohn as being much nearer. We had a long hill, and after having reached the top, steep and bad roads, so we continued to walk for a considerable way. The air was cold and clear--the sky blue. We walked cheerfully along in the sunshine, each of us alone, only William had the charge of the horse and car, so he sometimes took a ride, which did but poorly recompense him for the trouble of driving. I never travelled with more cheerful spirits than this day. Our road was along the side of a high moor. I can always walk over a moor with a light foot; I seem to be drawn more closely to nature in such places than anywhere else; or rather I feel more strongly the power of nature over me, and am better satisfied with myself for being able to find enjoyment in what unfortunately to many persons is either dismal or insipid. This moor, however, was more than commonly interesting; we could see a long way, and on every side of us were larger or smaller tracts of cultivated land. Some were extensive farms, yet in so large a waste they did but look small, with farm-houses, barns, etc., others like little cottages, with enough to feed a cow, and supply the family with vegetables. In looking at these farms we had always one feeling. Why did the plough stop there? Why might not they as well have carried it twice as far? There were no hedgerows near the farms, and very few trees. As we were passing along, we saw an old man, the first we had seen in a Highland bonnet, walking with a staff at a very slow pace by the edge of one of the moorland corn-fields; he wore a grey plaid, and a dog was by his side. There was a scriptural solemnity in this man's figure, a sober simplicity which was most impressive. Scotland is the country above all others that I have seen, in which a man of imagination may carve out his own pleasures. There are so many _inhabited_ solitudes, and the employments of the people are so immediately connected with the places where you find them, and their dresses so simple, so much alike, yet, from their being folding garments, admitting of an endless variety, and falling often so gracefully. After some time we descended towards a broad vale, passed one farm-house, sheltered by fir trees, with a burn close to it; children playing, linen bleaching. The vale was open pastures and corn-fields unfenced, the land poor. The village of Crawfordjohn on the slope of a hill a long way before us to the left. Asked about our road of a man who was driving a cart; he told us to go through the village, then along some fields, and we should come to a "herd's house by the burn side." The highway was right through the vale, unfenced on either side; the people of the village, who were making hay, all stared at us and our carriage. We inquired the road of a middle-aged man, dressed in a shabby black coat, at work in one of the hay fields; he looked like the minister of the place, and when he spoke we felt assured that he was so, for he was not sparing of hard words, which, however, he used with great propriety, and he spoke like one who had been accustomed to dictate. Our car wanted mending in the wheel, and we asked him if there was a blacksmith in the village. "Yes," he replied, but when we showed him the wheel he told William that he might mend it himself without a blacksmith, and he would put him in the way; so he fetched hammer and nails and gave his directions, which William obeyed, and repaired the damage entirely to his own satisfaction and the priest's, who did not offer to lend any assistance himself; not as if he would not have been willing in case of need; but as if it were more natural for him to dictate, and because he thought it more fit that William should do it himself. He spoke much about the propriety of every man's lending all the assistance in his power to travellers, and with some ostentation of self-praise. Here I observed a honeysuckle and some flowers growing in a garden, the first I had seen in Scotland. It is a pretty cheerful-looking village, but must be very cold in winter; it stands on a hillside, and the vale itself is very high ground, unsheltered by trees. Left the village behind us, and our road led through arable ground for a considerable way, on which were growing very good crops of corn and potatoes. Our friend accompanied us to show us the way, and Coleridge and he had a scientific conversation concerning the uses and properties of lime and other manures. He seemed to be a well-informed man; somewhat pedantic in his manners; but this might be only the difference between Scotch and English.[80] [Footnote 80: Probably the Rev. John Aird, minister of the parish, 1801-1815.--J. C. S.] Soon after he had parted from us, we came upon a stony, rough road over a black moor; and presently to the "herd's house by the burn side." We could hardly cross the burn dry-shod, over which was the only road to the cottage. In England there would have been stepping-stones or a bridge; but the Scotch need not be afraid of wetting their bare feet. The hut had its little kail-garth fenced with earth; there was no other enclosure--but the common, heathy with coarse grass. Travelled along the common for some miles, before we joined the great road from Longtown to Glasgow--saw on the bare hill-sides at a distance, sometimes a solitary farm, now and then a plantation, and one very large wood, with an appearance of richer ground above; but it was so very high we could not think it possible. Having descended considerably, the common was no longer of a peat-mossy brown heath colour, but grass with rushes was its chief produce; there was sometimes a solitary hut, no enclosures except the kail-garth, and sheep pasturing in flocks, with shepherd-boys tending them. I remember one boy in particular; he had no hat on, and only had a grey plaid wrapped about him. It is nothing to describe, but on a bare moor, alone with his sheep, standing, as he did, in utter quietness and silence, there was something uncommonly impressive in his appearance, a solemnity which recalled to our minds the old man in the corn-field. We passed many people who were mowing, or raking the grass of the common; it was little better than rushes; but they did not mow straight forward, only here and there, where it was the best; in such a place hay-cocks had an uncommon appearance to us. After a long descent we came to some plantations which were not far from Douglas Mill. The country for some time had been growing into cultivation, and now it was a wide vale with large tracts of corn; trees in clumps, no hedgerows, which always make a country look bare and unlovely. For my part, I was better pleased with the desert places we had left behind, though no doubt the inhabitants of this place think it "a varra bonny spot," for the Scotch are always pleased with their own abode, be it what it may; and afterwards at Edinburgh, when we were talking with a bookseller of our travels, he observed that it was "a fine country near Douglas Mill." Douglas Mill is a single house, a large inn, being one of the regular stages between Longtown and Glasgow, and therefore a fair specimen of the best of the country inns of Scotland. As soon as our car stopped at the door we felt the difference. At an English inn of this size, a waiter, or the master or mistress, would have been at the door immediately, but we remained some time before anybody came; then a barefooted lass made her appearance, but she only looked at us and went away. The mistress, a remarkably handsome woman, showed us into a large parlour; we ordered mutton-chops, and I finished my letter to Mary; writing on the same window-ledge on which William had written to me two years before. After dinner, William and I sat by a little mill-race in the garden. We had left Leadhills and Wanlockhead far above us, and now were come into a warmer climate; but there was no richness in the face of the country. The shrubs looked cold and poor, and yet there were some very fine trees within a little distance of Douglas Mill, so that the reason, perhaps, why the few low shrubs and trees which were growing in the gardens seemed to be so unluxuriant, might be, that there being no hedgerows, the general appearance of the country was naked, and I could not help seeing the same coldness where, perhaps, it did not exist in itself to any great degree, for the corn crops are abundant, and I should think the soil is not bad. While we were sitting at the door, two of the landlady's children came out; the elder, a boy about six years old, was running away from his little brother, in petticoats; the ostler called out, "Sandy, tak' your wee brither wi' you"; another voice from the window, "Sawny, dinna leave your wee brither"; the mother then came, "Alexander, tak' your wee brother by the hand"; Alexander obeyed, and the two went off in peace together. We were charged eightpence for hay at this inn, another symptom of our being in Scotland. Left Douglas Mill at about three o'clock; travelled through an open corn country, the tracts of corn large and unenclosed. We often passed women or children who were watching a single cow while it fed upon the slips of grass between the corn. William asked a strong woman, about thirty years of age, who looked like the mistress of a family--I suppose moved by some sentiment of compassion for her being so employed,--if the cow would eat the corn if it were left to itself: she smiled at his simplicity. It is indeed a melancholy thing to see a full-grown woman thus waiting, as it were, body and soul devoted to the poor beast; yet even this is better than working in a manufactory the day through. We came to a moorish tract; saw before us the hills of Loch Lomond, Ben Lomond and another, distinct each by itself. Not far from the roadside were some benches placed in rows in the middle of a large field, with a sort of covered shed like a sentry-box, but much more like those boxes which the Italian puppet-showmen in London use. We guessed that it was a pulpit or tent for preaching, and were told that a sect met there occasionally, who held that toleration was unscriptural, and would have all religions but their own exterminated. I have forgotten what name the man gave to this sect; we could not learn that it differed in any other respect from the Church of Scotland. Travelled for some miles along the open country, which was all without hedgerows, sometimes arable, sometimes moorish, and often whole tracts covered with grunsel.[81] There was one field, which one might have believed had been sown with grunsel, it was so regularly covered with it--a large square field upon a slope, its boundary marked to our eyes only by the termination of the bright yellow; contiguous to it were other fields of the same size and shape, one of clover, the other of potatoes, all equally regular crops. The oddness of this appearance, the grunsel being uncommonly luxuriant, and the field as yellow as gold, made William laugh. Coleridge was melancholy upon it, observing that there was land enough wasted to rear a healthy child. [Footnote 81: Ragweed.--J. C. S.] We left behind us, considerably to the right, a single high mountain;[82] I have forgotten its name; we had had it long in view. Saw before us the river Clyde, its course at right angles to our road, which now made a turn, running parallel with the river; the town of Lanerk in sight long before we came to it. I was somewhat disappointed with the first view of the Clyde: the banks, though swelling and varied, had a poverty in their appearance, chiefly from the want of wood and hedgerows. Crossed the river and ascended towards Lanerk, which stands upon a hill. When we were within about a mile of the town, William parted from Coleridge and me, to go to the celebrated waterfalls. Coleridge did not attempt to drive the horse; but led him all the way. We inquired for the best inn, and were told that the New Inn was the best; but that they had very "genteel apartments" at the Black Bull, and made less charges, and the Black Bull was at the entrance of the town, so we thought we would stop there, as the horse was obstinate and weary. But when we came to the Black Bull we had no wish to enter the apartments; for it seemed the abode of dirt and poverty, yet it was a large building. The town showed a sort of French face, and would have done much more, had it not been for the true British tinge of coal-smoke; the doors and windows dirty, the shops dull, the women too seemed to be very dirty in their dress. The town itself is not ugly; the houses are of grey stone, the streets not very narrow, and the market-place decent. The New Inn is a handsome old stone building, formerly a gentleman's house. We were conducted into a parlour, where people had been drinking; the tables were unwiped, chairs in disorder, the floor dirty, and the smell of liquors was most offensive. We were tired, however, and rejoiced in our tea. [Footnote 82: Tinto.--J. C. S.] The evening sun was now sending a glorious light through the street, which ran from west to east; the houses were of a fire red, and the faces of the people as they walked westward were almost like a blacksmith when he is at work by night. I longed to be out, and meet with William, that we might see the Falls before the day was gone. Poor Coleridge was unwell, and could not go. I inquired my road, and a little girl told me she would go with me to the porter's lodge, where I might be admitted. I was grieved to hear that the Falls of the Clyde were shut up in a gentleman's grounds, and to be viewed only by means of lock and key. Much, however, as the pure feeling with which one would desire to visit such places is disturbed by useless, impertinent, or even unnecessary interference with nature, yet when I was there the next morning I seemed to feel it a less disagreeable thing than in smaller and more delicate spots, if I may use the phrase. My guide, a sensible little girl, answered my inquiries very prettily. She was eight years old, read in the "Collection," a book which all the Scotch children whom I have questioned read in. I found it was a collection of hymns; she could repeat several of Dr. Watts'. We passed through a great part of the town, then turned down a steep hill, and came in view of a long range of cotton mills,[83] the largest and loftiest I had ever seen; climbed upwards again, our road leading us along the top of the left bank of the river; both banks very steep and richly wooded. The girl left me at the porter's lodge. Having asked after William, I was told that no person had been there, or could enter but by the gate. The night was coming on, therefore I did not venture to go in, as I had no hope of meeting William. I had a delicious walk alone through the wood; the sound of the water was very solemn, and even the cotton mills in the fading light of evening had somewhat of the majesty and stillness of the natural objects. It was nearly dark when I reached the inn. I found Coleridge sitting by a good fire, which always makes an inn room look comfortable. In a few minutes William arrived; he had heard of me at the gate, and followed as quickly as he could, shouting after me. He was pale and exceedingly tired. [Footnote 83: New Lanark, Robert Owen's mills.--J. C. S.] After he had left us he had taken a wrong road, and while looking about to set himself right had met with a barefooted boy, who said he would go with him. The little fellow carried him by a wild path to the upper of the Falls, the Boniton Linn, and coming down unexpectedly upon it, he was exceedingly affected by the solemn grandeur of the place. This fall is not much admired or spoken of by travellers; you have never a full, breast view of it; it does not make a complete self-satisfying place, an abode of its own, as a perfect waterfall seems to me to do; but the river, down which you look through a long vista of steep and ruin-like rocks, the roaring of the waterfall, and the solemn evening lights, must have been most impressive. One of the rocks on the near bank, even in broad daylight, as we saw it the next morning, is exactly like the fractured arch of an abbey. With the lights and shadows of evening upon it, the resemblance must have been much more striking. William's guide was a pretty boy, and he was exceedingly pleased with him. Just as they were quitting the waterfall, William's mind being full of the majesty of the scene, the little fellow pointed to the top of a rock, "There's a fine slae-bush there." "Ay," said William, "but there are no slaes upon it," which was true enough; but I suppose the child remembered the slaes of another summer, though, as he said, he was but "half seven years old," namely, six and a half. He conducted William to the other fall, and as they were going along a narrow path, they came to a small cavern, where William lost him, and looking about, saw his pretty figure in a sort of natural niche fitted for a statue, from which the boy jumped out laughing, delighted with the success of his trick. William told us a great deal about him, while he sat by the fire, and of the pleasure of his walk, often repeating, "I wish you had been with me." Having no change, he gave the boy sixpence, which was certainly, if he had formed any expectations at all, far beyond them; but he received it with the utmost indifference, without any remark of surprise or pleasure; most likely he did not know how many halfpence he could get for it, and twopence would have pleased him more. My little girl was delighted with the sixpence I gave her, and said she would buy a book with it on Monday morning. What a difference between the manner of living and education of boys and of girls among the lower classes of people in towns! she had never seen the Falls of the Clyde, nor had ever been further than the porter's lodge; the boy, I daresay, knew every hiding-place in every accessible rock, as well as the fine "slae bushes" and the nut trees. _SECOND WEEK_ _Sunday, August 21st._--The morning was very hot, a morning to tempt us to linger by the water-side. I wished to have had the day before us, expecting so much from what William had seen; but when we went there, I did not desire to stay longer than till the hour which we had prescribed to ourselves; for it was a rule not to be broken in upon, that the person who conducted us to the Falls was to remain by our side till we chose to depart. We left our inn immediately after breakfast. The lanes were full of people going to church; many of the middle-aged women wore long scarlet cardinals, and were without hats: they brought to my mind the women of Goslar as they used to go to church in their silver or gold caps, with their long cloaks, black or coloured. The banks of the Clyde from Lanerk to the Falls rise immediately from the river; they are lofty and steep, and covered with wood. The road to the Falls is along the top of one of the banks, and to the left you have a prospect of the open country, corn fields and scattered houses. To the right, over the river, the country spreads out, as it were, into a plain covered over with hills, no one hill much higher than another, but hills all over; there were endless pastures overgrown with broom, and scattered trees, without hedges or fences of any kind, and no distinct footpaths. It was delightful to see the lasses in gay dresses running like cattle among the broom, making their way straight forward towards the river, here and there as it might chance. They waded across the stream, and, when they had reached the top of the opposite bank, sat down by the road-side, about half a mile from the town, to put on their shoes and cotton stockings, which they brought tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs. The porter's lodge is about a mile from Lanerk, and the lady's house--for the whole belongs to a lady, whose name I have forgotten[84]--is upon a hill at a little distance. We walked, after we had entered the private grounds, perhaps two hundred yards along a gravel carriage-road, then came to a little side gate, which opened upon a narrow gravel path under trees, and in a minute and a half, or less, were directly opposite to the great waterfall. I was much affected by the first view of it. The majesty and strength of the water, for I had never before seen so large a cataract, struck me with astonishment, which died away, giving place to more delightful feelings; though there were some buildings that I could have wished had not been there, though at first unnoticed. The chief of them was a neat, white, lady-like house,[85] very near to the waterfall. William and Coleridge however were in a better and perhaps wiser humour, and did not dislike the house; indeed, it was a very nice-looking place, with a moderate-sized garden, leaving the green fields free and open. This house is on the side of the river opposite to the grand house and the pleasure-grounds. The waterfall Cora Linn is composed of two falls, with a sloping space, which _appears_ to be about twenty yards between, but is much more. The basin which receives the fall is enclosed by noble rocks, with trees, chiefly hazels, birch, and ash growing out of their sides whenever there is any hold for them; and a magnificent resting-place it is for such a river; I think more grand than the Falls themselves. [Footnote 84: Lady Mary Ross.--J. C. S.] [Footnote 85: Corehouse.--J. C. S.] After having stayed some time, we returned by the same footpath into the main carriage-road, and soon came upon what William calls an ell-wide gravel walk, from which we had different views of the Linn. We sat upon a bench, placed for the sake of one of these views, whence we looked down upon the waterfall, and over the open country, and saw a ruined tower, called Wallace's Tower, which stands at a very little distance from the fall, and is an interesting object. A lady and gentleman, more expeditious tourists than ourselves, came to the spot; they left us at the seat, and we found them again at another station above the Falls. Coleridge, who is always good-natured enough to enter into conversation with anybody whom he meets in his way, began to talk with the gentleman, who observed that it was a _majestic_ waterfall. Coleridge was delighted with the accuracy of the epithet, particularly as he had been settling in his own mind the precise meaning of the words grand, majestic, sublime, etc., and had discussed the subject with William at some length the day before. "Yes, sir," says Coleridge, "it _is_ a majestic waterfall." "Sublime and beautiful," replied his friend. Poor Coleridge could make no answer, and, not very desirous to continue the conversation, came to us and related the story, laughing heartily. The distance from one Linn to the other may be half a mile or more, along the same ell-wide walk. We came to a pleasure-house, of which the little girl had the key; she said it was called the Fog-house, because it was lined with "fog," namely moss. On the outside it resembled some of the huts in the prints belonging to Captain Cook's Voyages, and within was like a hay-stack scooped out. It was circular, with a dome-like roof, a seat all round fixed to the wall, and a table in the middle,--seat, wall, roof, and table all covered with moss in the neatest manner possible. It was as snug as a bird's nest; I wish we had such a one at the top of our orchard, only a great deal smaller. We afterwards found that huts of the same kind were common in the pleasure-grounds of Scotland; but we never saw any that were so beautifully wrought as this. It had, however, little else to recommend it, the situation being chosen without judgment; there was no prospect from it, nor was it a place of seclusion and retirement, for it stood close to the ell-wide gravel walk. We wished we could have shoved it about a hundred yards further on, when we arrived at a bench which was also close to the walk, for just below the bench, the walk elbowing out into a circle, there was a beautiful spring of clear water, which we could see rise up continually, at the bottom of a round stone basin full to the brim, the water gushing out at a little outlet and passing away under the walk. A reason was wanted for placing the hut where it is; what a good one would this little spring have furnished for bringing it hither! Along the whole of the path were openings at intervals for views of the river, but, as almost always happens in gentlemen's grounds, they were injudiciously managed; you were prepared for a dead stand--by a parapet, a painted seat, or some other device. We stayed some time at the Boniton Fall, which has one great advantage over the other falls, that it is at the termination of the pleasure-grounds, and we see no traces of the boundary-line; yet, except under some accidental circumstances, such as a sunset like that of the preceding evening, it is greatly inferior to the Cora Linn. We returned to the inn to dinner. The landlord set the first dish upon the table, as is common in England, and we were well waited upon. This first dish was true Scottish--a boiled sheep's head, with the hair singed off; Coleridge and I ate heartily of it; we had barley broth, in which the sheep's head had been boiled. A party of tourists whom we had met in the pleasure-grounds drove from the door while we were waiting for dinner; I guess they were fresh from England, for they had stuffed the pockets of their carriage with bundles of heather, roots and all, just as if Scotland grew no heather but on the banks of the Clyde. They passed away with their treasure towards Loch Lomond. A party of boys, dressed all alike in blue, very neat, were standing at the chaise-door; we conjectured they were charity scholars; but found on inquiry that they were apprentices to the cotton factory; we were told that they were well instructed in reading and writing. We had seen in the morning a flock of girls dressed in grey coming out of the factory, probably apprentices also. After dinner set off towards Hamilton, but on foot, for we had to turn aside to the Cartland Rocks, and our car was to meet us on the road. A guide attended us, who might almost in size, and certainly in activity, have been compared with William's companion who hid himself in the niche of the cavern. His method of walking and very quick step soon excited our attention. I could hardly keep up with him; he paddled by our side, just reaching to my shoulder, like a little dog, with his long snout pushed before him--for he had an enormous nose, and walked with his head foremost. I said to him, "How quick you walk!" he replied, "_That_ was _not_ quick walking," and when I asked him what he called so, he said "Five miles an hour," and then related in how many hours he had lately walked from Lanerk to Edinburgh, done some errands, and returned to Lanerk--I have forgotten the particulars, but it was a very short time--and added that he had an old father who could walk at the rate of four miles an hour, for twenty-four miles, any day, and had never had an hour's sickness in his life. "Then," said I, "he has not drunk much strong liquor?" "Yes, enough to drown him." From his eager manner of uttering this, I inferred that he himself was a drinker; and the man who met us with the car told William that he gained a great deal of money as an errand-goer, but spent it all in tippling. He had been a shoe-maker, but could not bear the confinement on account of a weakness in his chest. The neighbourhood of Lanerk is exceedingly pleasant; we came to a sort of district of glens or little valleys that cleave the hills, leaving a cheerful, open country above them, with no superior hills, but an undulating surface. Our guide pointed to the situation of the Cartland Crags. We were to cross a narrow valley, and walk down on the other side, and then we should be at the spot; but the little fellow made a sharp turn down a footpath to the left, saying, "We must have some conversation here." He paddled on with his small pawing feet till we came right opposite to a gentleman's house on the other side of the valley, when he halted, repeating some words, I have forgotten what, which were taken up by the most distinct echo I ever heard--this is saying little: it was the most distinct echo that it is possible to conceive. It shouted the names of our fireside friends in the very tone in which William and Coleridge spoke; but it seemed to make a joke of me, and I could not help laughing at my own voice, it was so shrill and pert, exactly as if some one had been mimicking it very successfully, with an intention of making me ridiculous. I wished Joanna had been there to laugh, for the echo is an excellent laugher, and would have almost made her believe that it was a true story which William has told of her and the mountains. We turned back, crossed the valley, went through the orchard and plantations belonging to the gentleman's house. By the bye, we observed to our guide that the echo must bring many troublesome visitors to disturb the quiet of the owner of that house, "Oh no," said he, "he glories in much company." He was a native of that neighbourhood, had made a moderate fortune abroad, purchased an estate, built the house, and raised the plantations; and further, had made a convenient walk through his woods to the Cartland Crags. The house was modest and neat, and though not adorned in the best taste, and though the plantations were of fir, we looked at it with great pleasure, there was such true liberality and kind-heartedness in leaving his orchard path open, and his walks unobstructed by gates. I hope this goodness is not often abused by plunderers of the apple-trees, which were hung with tempting apples close to the path. At the termination of the little valley, we descended through a wood along a very steep path to a muddy stream running over limestone rocks; turned up to the left along the bed of the stream, and soon we were closed in by rocks on each side. They were very lofty--of limestone, trees starting out of them, high and low, overhanging the stream or shooting up towards the sky. No place of the kind could be more beautiful if the stream had been clear, but it was of a muddy yellow colour; had it been a large river, one might have got the better of the unpleasantness of the muddy water in the grandeur of its roaring, the boiling up of the foam over the rocks, or the obscurity of its pools. We had been told that the Cartland Crags were better worth going to see than the Falls of the Clyde. I did not think so; but I have seen rocky dells resembling this before, with clear water instead of that muddy stream, and never saw anything like the Falls of the Clyde. It would be a delicious spot to have near one's house; one would linger out many a day in the cool shade of the caverns, and the stream would soothe one by its murmuring; still, being an old friend, one would not love it the less for its homely face. Even we, as we passed along, could not help stopping for a long while to admire the beauty of the lazy foam, for ever in motion, and never moved away, in a still place of the water, covering the whole surface of it with streaks and lines and ever-varying circles. Wild marjoram grew upon the rocks in great perfection and beauty; our guide gave me a bunch, and said he should come hither to collect a store for tea for the winter, and that it was "varra halesome": he drank none else. We walked perhaps half a mile along the bed of the river; but it might _seem_ to be much further than it was, owing to the difficulty of the path, and the sharp and many turnings of the glen. Passed two of Wallace's Caves. There is scarce a noted glen in Scotland that has not a cave for Wallace or some other hero. Before we left the river the rocks became less lofty, turned into a wood through which was a convenient path upwards, met the owner of the house and the echo-ground, and thanked him for the pleasure which he had provided for us and other travellers by making such pretty pathways. It was four o'clock when we reached the place where the car was waiting. We were anxious to be off, as we had fifteen miles to go; but just as we were seating ourselves we found that the cushions were missing. William was forced to go back to the town, a mile at least, and Coleridge and I waited with the car. It rained, and we had some fear that the evening would be wet, but the rain soon ceased, though the sky continued gloomy--an unfortunate circumstance, for we had to travel through a beautiful country, and of that sort which is most set off by sunshine and pleasant weather. Travelled through the Vale or _Trough_ of the Clyde, as it is called, for ten or eleven miles, having the river on our right. We had fine views both up and down the river for the first three or four miles, our road being not close to it, but above its banks, along the open country, which was here occasionally intersected by hedgerows. Left our car in the road, and turned down a field to the Fall of Stonebyres, another of the falls of the Clyde, which I had not heard spoken of; therefore it gave me the more pleasure. We saw it from the top of the bank of the river at a little distance. It has not the imposing majesty of Cora Linn; but it has the advantage of being left to itself, a grand solitude in the heart of a populous country. We had a prospect above and below it, of cultivated grounds, with hay-stacks, houses, hills; but the river's banks were lonesome, steep, and woody, with rocks near the fall. A little further on, came more into company with the river; sometimes we were close to it, sometimes above it, but always at no great distance; and now the vale became more interesting and amusing. It is very populous, with villages, hamlets, single cottages, or farm-houses embosomed in orchards, and scattered over with gentlemen's houses, some of them very ugly, tall and obtrusive, others neat and comfortable. We seemed now to have got into a country where poverty and riches were shaking hands together; pears and apples, of which the crop was abundant, hung over the road, often growing in orchards unfenced; or there might be bunches of broom along the road-side in an interrupted line, that looked like a hedge till we came to it and saw the gaps. Bordering on these fruitful orchards perhaps would be a patch, its chief produce being gorse or broom. There was nothing like a moor or common anywhere; but small plots of uncultivated ground were left high and low, among the potatoes, corn, cabbages, which grew intermingled, now among trees, now bare. The Trough of the Clyde is, indeed, a singular and very interesting region; it is somewhat like the upper part of the vale of Nith, but above the Nith is much less cultivated ground--without hedgerows or orchards, or anything that looks like a rich country. We met crowds of people coming from the kirk; the lasses were gaily dressed, often in white gowns, coloured satin bonnets, and coloured silk handkerchiefs, and generally with their shoes and stockings in a bundle hung on their arm. Before we left the river the vale became much less interesting, resembling a poor English country, the fields being large, and unluxuriant hedges. It had been dark long before we reached Hamilton, and William had some difficulty in driving the tired horse through the town. At the inn they hesitated about being able to give us beds, the house being brim-full--lights at every window. We were rather alarmed for our accommodations during the rest of the tour, supposing the house to be filled with _tourists_; but they were in general only regular travellers; for out of the main road from town to town we saw scarcely a carriage, and the inns were empty. There was nothing remarkable in the treatment we met with at this inn, except the lazy impertinence of the waiter. It was a townish place, with a great larder set out; the house throughout dirty. _Monday, August 22nd._--Immediately after breakfast walked to the Duke of Hamilton's house to view the picture-gallery, chiefly the famous picture of Daniel in the Lions' Den, by Rubens. It is a large building, without grandeur, a heavy, lumpish mass, after the fashion of the Hopetoun H,[86] only five times the size, and with longer legs, which makes it gloomy. We entered the gate, passed the porter's lodge, where we saw nobody, and stopped at the front door, as William had done two years before with Sir William Rush's family. We were met by a little mean-looking man, shabbily dressed, out of livery, who, we found, was the porter. After scanning us over, he told us that we ought not to have come to that door. We said we were sorry for the mistake, but as one of our party had been there two years before, and was admitted by the same entrance, we had supposed it was the regular way. After many hesitations, and having kept us five minutes waiting in the large hall, while he went to consult with the housekeeper, he informed us that we could not be admitted at that time, the housekeeper being unwell; but that we might return in an hour: he then conducted us through long gloomy passages to an obscure door at the corner of the house. We asked if we might be permitted to walk in the park in the meantime; and he told us that this would not be agreeable to the Duke's family. We returned to the inn discontented enough, but resolved not to waste an hour, if there were anything else in the neighbourhood worth seeing. The waiter told us there was a curious place called Baroncleugh, with gardens cut out in rocks, and we determined to go thither. We had to walk through the town, which may be about as large as Penrith, and perhaps a mile further, along a dusty turnpike road. The morning was hot, sunny, and windy, and we were half tired before we reached the place; but were amply repaid for our trouble. [Footnote 86: The house belonging to the Earls of Hopetoun at Leadhills, not that which bears this name about twelve miles from Edinburgh.--J. C. S.] The general face of the country near Hamilton is much in the ordinary English style; not very hilly, with hedgerows, corn fields, and stone houses. The Clyde is here an open river with low banks, and the country spreads out so wide that there is no appearance of a regular vale. Baroncleugh is in a beautiful deep glen through which runs the river Avon, a stream that falls into the Clyde. The house stands very sweetly in complete retirement; it has its gardens and terraces one above another, with flights of steps between, box-trees and yew-trees cut in fantastic shapes, flower-borders and summer-houses; and, still below, apples and pears were hanging in abundance on the branches of large old trees, which grew intermingled with the natural wood, elms, beeches, etc., even to the water's edge. The whole place is in perfect harmony with the taste of our ancestors, and the yews and hollies are shaven as nicely, and the gravel walks and flower-borders kept in as exact order, as if the spirit of the first architect of the terraces still presided over them. The opposite bank of the river is left in its natural wildness, and nothing was to be seen higher up but the deep dell, its steep banks being covered with fine trees, a beautiful relief or contrast to the garden, which is one of the most elaborate old things ever seen, a little hanging garden of Babylon. I was sorry to hear that the owner of this sweet place did not live there always. He had built a small thatched house to eke out the old one: it was a neat dwelling, with no false ornaments. We were exceedingly sorry to quit this spot, which is left to nature and past times, and should have liked to have pursued the glen further up; we were told that there was a ruined castle; and the walk itself must be very delightful; but we wished to reach Glasgow in good time, and had to go again to Hamilton House. Returned to the town by a much shorter road, and were very angry with the waiter for not having directed us to it; but he was too great a man to speak three words more than he could help. We stopped at the proper door of the Duke's house, and seated ourselves humbly upon a bench, waiting the pleasure of the porter, who, after a little time, informed us that we could not be admitted, giving no reason whatever. When we got to the inn, we could just gather from the waiter that it was not usual to refuse admittance to strangers; but that was all: he could not, or would not, help us, so we were obliged to give it up, which mortified us, for I had wished much to see the picture. William vowed that he would write that very night to Lord Archibald Hamilton, stating the whole matter, which he did from Glasgow. I ought to have mentioned the park, though, as we were not allowed to walk there, we saw but little of it. It looked pleasant, as all parks with fine trees must be, but, as it seemed to be only a large, nearly level, plain, it could not be a particularly beautiful park, though it borders upon the Clyde, and the Avon runs, I believe, through it, after leaving the solitude of the glen of Baroncleugh. Quitted Hamilton at about eleven o'clock. There is nothing interesting between Hamilton and Glasgow till we came to Bothwell Castle, a few miles from Hamilton. The country is cultivated, but not rich, the fields large, a perfect contrast to the huddling together of hills and trees, corn and pasture grounds, hay-stacks, cottages, orchards, broom and gorse, but chiefly broom, that had amused us so much the evening before in passing through the Trough of the Clyde. A native of Scotland would not probably be satisfied with the account I have given of the Trough of the Clyde, for it is one of the most celebrated scenes in Scotland. We certainly received less pleasure from it than we had expected; but it was plain that this was chiefly owing to the unfavourable circumstances under which we saw it--a gloomy sky and a cold blighting wind. It is a very beautiful district, yet there, as in all the other scenes of Scotland celebrated for their fertility, we found something which gave us a notion of barrenness, of what was not altogether genial. The new fir and larch plantations, here as in almost every other part of Scotland, contributed not a little to this effect. Crossed the Clyde not far from Hamilton, and had the river for some miles at a distance from us, on our left; but after having gone, it might be, three miles, we came to a porter's lodge on the left side of the road, where we were to turn to Bothwell Castle, which is in Lord Douglas's grounds. The woman who keeps the gate brought us a book, in which we wrote down our names. Went about half a mile before we came to the pleasure-grounds. Came to a large range of stables, where we were to leave the car; but there was no one to unyoke the horse, so William was obliged to do it himself, a task which he performed very awkwardly, being then new to it. We saw the ruined castle embosomed in trees, passed the house, and soon found ourselves on the edge of a steep brow immediately above and overlooking the course of the river Clyde through a deep hollow between woods and green steeps. We had approached at right angles from the main road to the place over a flat, and had seen nothing before us but a nearly level country terminated by distant slopes, the Clyde hiding himself in his deep bed. It was exceedingly delightful to come thus unexpectedly upon such a beautiful region. The Castle stands nobly, overlooking the Clyde. When we came up to it I was hurt to see that flower-borders had taken place of the natural overgrowings of the ruin, the scattered stones and wild plants. It is a large and grand pile, of red freestone, harmonizing perfectly with the rocks of the river, from which, no doubt, it has been hewn. When I was a little accustomed to the unnaturalness of a modern garden, I could not help admiring the excessive beauty and luxuriance of some of the plants, particularly the purple-flowered clematis, and a broad-leaved creeping plant without flowers, which scrambled up the castle wall along with the ivy, and spread its vine-like branches so lavishly that it seemed to be in its natural situation, and one could not help thinking that, though not self-planted among the ruins of this country, it must somewhere have its natural abode in such places. If Bothwell Castle had not been close to the Douglas mansion we should have been disgusted with the possessor's miserable conception of "adorning" such a venerable ruin; but it is so very near to the house that of necessity the pleasure-grounds must have extended beyond it, and perhaps the neatness of a shaven lawn and the complete desolation natural to a ruin might have made an unpleasing contrast; and besides, being within the precincts of the pleasure-grounds, and so very near to the modern mansion of a noble family, it has forfeited in some degree its independent majesty, and becomes a tributary to the mansion; its solitude being interrupted, it has no longer the same command over the mind in sending it back into past times, or excluding the ordinary feelings which we bear about us in daily life. We had then only to regret that the castle and house were so near to each other; and it was impossible _not_ to regret it; for the ruin presides in state over the river, far from city or town, as if it might have had a peculiar privilege to preserve its memorials of past ages and maintain its own character and independence for centuries to come. We sat upon a bench under the high trees, and had beautiful views of the different reaches of the river above and below. On the opposite bank, which is finely wooded with elms and other trees, are the remains of an ancient priory, built upon a rock: and rock and ruin are so blended together that it is impossible to separate the one from the other. Nothing can be more beautiful than the little remnants of this holy place; elm trees--for we were near enough to distinguish them by their branches--grow out of the walls, and overshadow a small but very elegant window. It can scarcely be conceived what a grace the castle and priory impart to each other; and the river Clyde flows on smooth and unruffled below, seeming to my thoughts more in harmony with the sober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a rocky channel, forcing its sound upon the ear. It blended gently with the warbling of the smaller birds and chattering of the larger ones that had made their nests in the ruins. In this fortress the chief of the English nobility were confined after the battle of Bannockburn. If a man is to be a prisoner, he scarcely could have a more pleasant place to solace his captivity; but I thought that for close confinement I should prefer the banks of a lake or the sea-side. The greatest charm of a brook or river is in the liberty to pursue it through its windings; you can then take it in whatever mood you like; silent or noisy, sportive or quiet. The beauties of a brook or river must be sought, and the pleasure is in going in search of them; those of a lake or of the sea come to you of themselves. These rude warriors cared little perhaps about either; and yet if one may judge from the writings of Chaucer and from the old romances, more interesting passions were connected with natural objects in the days of chivalry than now, though going in search of scenery, as it is called, had not then been thought of. I had heard nothing of Bothwell Castle, at least nothing that I remembered, therefore, perhaps, my pleasure was greater, compared with what I received elsewhere, than others might feel. At our return to the stables we found an inferior groom, who helped William to yoke the horse, and was very civil. We grew hungry before we had travelled many miles, and seeing a large public-house--it was in a walled court some yards from the road--Coleridge got off the car to inquire if we could dine there, and was told we could have nothing but eggs. It was a miserable place, very like a French house; indeed we observed, in almost every part of Scotland, except Edinburgh, that we were reminded ten times of France and Germany for once of England. Saw nothing remarkable after leaving Bothwell, except the first view of Glasgow, at some miles distance, terminated by the mountains of Loch Lomond. The suburbs of Glasgow extend very far, houses on each side of the highway,--all ugly, and the inhabitants dirty. The roads are very wide; and everything seems to tell of the neighbourhood of a large town. We were annoyed by carts and dirt, and the road was full of people, who all noticed our car in one way or other; the children often sent a hooting after us. Wearied completely, we at last reached the town, and were glad to walk, leading the car to the first decent inn, which was luckily not far from the end of the town. William, who gained most of his road-knowledge from ostlers, had been informed of this house by the ostler at Hamilton; it proved quiet and tolerably cheap, a new building--the Saracen's Head. I shall never forget how glad I was to be landed in a little quiet back-parlour, for my head was beating with the noise of carts which we had left, and the wearisomeness of the disagreeable objects near the highway; but with my first pleasant sensations also came the feeling that we were not in an English inn--partly from its half-unfurnished appearance, which is common in Scotland, for in general the deal wainscots and doors are unpainted, and partly from the dirtiness of the floors. Having dined, William and I walked to the post-office, and after much seeking found out a quiet timber-yard wherein to sit down and read our letter. We then walked a considerable time in the streets, which are perhaps as handsome as streets can be, which derive no particular effect from their situation in connexion with natural advantages, such as rivers, sea, or hills. The Trongate, an old street, is very picturesque--high houses, with an intermixture of gable fronts towards the street. The New Town is built of fine stone, in the best style of the very best London streets at the west end of the town, but, not being of brick, they are greatly superior. One thing must strike every stranger in his first walk through Glasgow--an appearance of business and bustle, but no coaches or gentlemen's carriages; during all the time we walked in the streets I only saw three carriages, and these were travelling chaises. I also could not but observe a want of cleanliness in the appearance of the lower orders of the people, and a dulness in the dress and outside of the whole mass, as they moved along. We returned to the inn before it was dark. I had a bad headache, and was tired, and we all went to bed soon. _Tuesday, August 23rd._--A cold morning. Walked to the bleaching-ground,[87] a large field bordering on the Clyde, the banks of which are perfectly flat, and the general face of the country is nearly so in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. This field, the whole summer through, is covered with women of all ages, children, and young girls spreading out their linen, and watching it while it bleaches. The scene must be very cheerful on a fine day, but it rained when we were there, and though there was linen spread out in all parts, and great numbers of women and girls were at work, yet there would have been many more on a fine day, and they would have appeared happy, instead of stupid and cheerless. In the middle of the field is a wash-house, whither the inhabitants of this large town, rich and poor, send or carry their linen to be washed. There are two very large rooms, with each a cistern in the middle for hot water; and all round the rooms are benches for the women to set their tubs upon. Both the rooms were crowded with washers; there might be a hundred, or two, or even three; for it is not easy to form an accurate notion of so great a number; however, the rooms were large, and they were both full. It was amusing to see so many women, arms, head, and face all in motion, all busy in an ordinary household employment, in which we are accustomed to see, at the most, only three or four women employed in one place. The women were very civil. I learnt from them the regulations of the house; but I have forgotten the particulars. The substance of them is, that "so much" is to be paid for each tub of water, "so much" for a tub, and the privilege of washing for a day, and, "so much" to the general overlookers of the linen, when it is left to be bleached. An old man and woman have this office, who were walking about, two melancholy figures. [Footnote 87: Glasgow Green.--J. C. S.] The shops at Glasgow are large, and like London shops, and we passed by the largest coffee-room I ever saw. You look across the piazza of the Exchange, and see to the end of the coffee-room, where there is a circular window, the width of the room. Perhaps there might be thirty gentlemen sitting on the circular bench of the window, each reading a newspaper. They had the appearance of figures in a fantoccine, or men seen at the extremity of the opera-house, diminished into puppets. I am sorry I did not see the High Church: both William and I were tired, and it rained very hard after we had left the bleaching-ground; besides, I am less eager to walk in a large town than anywhere else; so we put it off, and I have since repented of my irresolution. Dined, and left Glasgow at about three o'clock, in a heavy rain. We were obliged to ride through the streets to keep our feet dry, and, in spite of the rain, every person as we went along stayed his steps to look at us; indeed, we had the pleasure of spreading smiles from one end of Glasgow to the other--for we travelled the whole length of the town. A set of schoolboys, perhaps there might be eight, with satchels over their shoulders, and, except one or two, without shoes and stockings, yet very well dressed in jackets and trousers, like gentlemen's children, followed us in great delight, admiring the car and longing to jump up. At last, though we were seated, they made several attempts to get on behind; and they looked so pretty and wild, and at the same time so modest, that we wished to give them a ride, and there being a little hill near the end of the town, we got off, and four of them who still remained, the rest having dropped into their homes by the way, took our places; and indeed I would have walked two miles willingly, to have had the pleasure of seeing them so happy. When they were to ride no longer, they scampered away, laughing and rejoicing. New houses are rising up in great numbers round Glasgow, citizen-like houses, and new plantations, chiefly of fir; the fields are frequently enclosed by hedgerows, but there is no richness, nor any particular beauty for some miles. The first object that interested us was a gentleman's house upon a green plain or holm, almost close to the Clyde, sheltered by tall trees, a quiet modest mansion, and, though white-washed, being an old building, and no other house near it, or in connexion with it, and standing upon the level field, which belonged to it, its own domain, the whole scene together brought to our minds an image of the retiredness and sober elegance of a nunnery; but this might be owing to the greyness of the afternoon, and our having come immediately from Glasgow, and through a country which, till now, had either had a townish taint, or at best little of rural beauty. While we were looking at the house we overtook a foot-traveller, who, like many others, began to talk about our car. We alighted to walk up a hill, and, continuing the conversation, the man told us, with something like a national pride, that it belonged to a Scotch Lord, Lord Semple; he added, that a little further on we should see a much finer prospect, as fine a one as ever we had seen in our lives. Accordingly, when we came to the top of the hill, it opened upon us most magnificently. We saw the Clyde, now a stately sea-river, winding away mile after mile, spotted with boats and ships, each side of the river hilly, the right populous with single houses and villages--Dunglass Castle upon a promontory, the whole view terminated by the rock of Dumbarton, at five or six miles' distance, which stands by itself, without any hills near it, like a sea-rock. We travelled for some time near the river, passing through clusters of houses which seemed to owe their existence rather to the wealth of the river than the land, for the banks were mostly bare, and the soil appeared poor, even near the water. The left side of the river was generally uninhabited and moorish, yet there are some beautiful spots: for instance, a nobleman's house,[88] where the fields and trees were rich, and, in combination with the river, looked very lovely. As we went along William and I were reminded of the views upon the Thames in Kent, which, though greatly superior in richness and softness, are much inferior in grandeur. Not far from Dumbarton, we passed under some rocky, copse-covered hills, which were so like some of the hills near Grasmere that we could have half believed they were the same. Arrived at Dumbarton before it was dark, having pushed on briskly that we might have start of a traveller at the inn, who was following us as fast as he could in a gig. Every front room was full, and we were afraid we should not have been admitted. They put us into a little parlour, dirty, and smelling of liquors, the table uncleaned, and not a chair in its place; we were glad, however, of our sorry accommodations. [Footnote 88: No doubt Erskine House, the seat of Lord Blantyre. --J.C. S.] While tea was preparing we lolled at our ease, and though the room-window overlooked the stable-yard, and at our entrance there appeared to be nothing but gloom and unloveliness, yet while I lay stretched upon the carriage cushions on three chairs, I discovered a little side peep which was enough to set the mind at work. It was no more than a smoky vessel lying at anchor, with its bare masts, a clay hut and the shelving bank of the river, with a green pasture above. Perhaps you will think that there is not much in this, as I describe it: it is true; but the effect produced by these simple objects, as they happened to be combined, together with the gloom of the evening, was exceedingly wild. Our room was parted by a slender partition from a large dining-room, in which were a number of officers and their wives, who, after the first hour, never ceased singing, dancing, laughing, or loud talking. The ladies sang some pretty songs, a great relief to us. We went early to bed; but poor Coleridge could not sleep for the noise at the street door; he lay in the parlour below stairs. It is no uncommon thing in the best inns of Scotland to have shutting-up beds in the sitting-rooms. _Wednesday, August 24th._--As soon as breakfast was over, William and I walked towards the Castle, a short mile from the town. We overtook two young men, who, on our asking the road, offered to conduct us, though it might seem it was not easy to miss our way, for the rock rises singly by itself from the plain on which the town stands. The rock of Dumbarton is very grand when you are close to it, but at a little distance, under an ordinary sky, and in open day, it is not grand, but curiously wild. The castle and fortifications add little effect to the general view of the rock, especially since the building of a modern house, which is white-washed, and consequently jars, wherever it is seen, with the natural character of the place. There is a path up to the house, but it being low water we could walk round the rock, which we resolved to do. On that side next the town green grass grows to a considerable height up the rock, but wherever the river borders upon it, it is naked stone. I never saw rock in nobler masses, or more deeply stained by time and weather; nor is this to be wondered at, for it is in the very eye of sea-storms and land-storms, of mountain winds and water winds. It is of all colours, but a rusty yellow predominates. As we walked along, we could not but look up continually, and the mass above being on every side so huge, it appeared more wonderful than when we saw the whole together. We sat down on one of the large stones which lie scattered near the base of the rock, with sea-weed growing amongst them. Above our heads the rock was perpendicular for a considerable height, nay, as it seemed, to the very top, and on the brink of the precipice a few sheep, two of them rams with twisted horns, stood, as if on the look-out over the wide country. At the same time we saw a sentinel in his red coat, walking backwards and forwards between us and the sky, with his firelock over his shoulder. The sheep, I suppose owing to our being accustomed to see them in similar situations, appeared to retain their real size, while, on the contrary, the soldier seemed to be diminished by the distance till he almost looked like a puppet moved with wires for the pleasure of children, or an eight years' old drummer in his stiff, manly dress beside a company of grenadiers. I had never before, perhaps, thought of sheep and men in soldiers' dresses at the same time, and here they were brought together in a strange fantastic way. As will be easily conceived, the fearlessness and stillness of those quiet creatures, on the brow of the rock, pursuing their natural occupations, contrasted with the restless and apparently unmeaning motions of the dwarf soldier, added not a little to the general effect of this place, which is that of wild singularity, and the whole was aided by a blustering wind and a gloomy sky. Coleridge joined us, and we went up to the top of the rock. The road to a considerable height is through a narrow cleft, in which a flight of steps is hewn; the steps nearly fill the cleft, and on each side the rocks form a high and irregular wall; it is almost like a long sloping cavern, only that it is roofed by the sky. We came to the barracks; soldiers' wives were hanging out linen upon the rails, while the wind beat about them furiously--there was nothing which it could set in motion but the garments of the women and the linen upon the rails; the grass--for we had now come to green grass--was close and smooth, and not one pile an inch above another, and neither tree nor shrub. The standard pole stood erect without a flag. The rock has two summits, one much broader and higher than the other. When we were near to the top of the lower eminence we had the pleasure of finding a little garden of flowers and vegetables belonging to the soldiers. There are three distinct and very noble prospects--the first up the Clyde towards Glasgow--Dunglass Castle, seen on its promontory--boats, sloops, hills, and many buildings; the second, down the river to the sea--Greenock and Port-Glasgow, and the distant mountains at the entrance of Loch Long; and the third extensive and distant view is up the Leven, which here falls into the Clyde, to the mountains of Loch Lomond. The distant mountains in all these views were obscured by mists and dingy clouds, but if the grand outline of any one of the views can be seen, it is sufficient recompense for the trouble of climbing the rock of Dumbarton. The soldier who was our guide told us that an old ruin which we came to at the top of the higher eminence had been a wind-mill--an inconvenient station, though certainly a glorious place for wind; perhaps if it really had been a wind-mill it was only for the use of the garrison. We looked over cannons on the battery-walls, and saw in an open field below the yeomanry cavalry exercising, while we could hear from the town, which was full of soldiers, "Dumbarton's drums beat bonny, O!" Yet while we stood upon this eminence, rising up so far as it does--inland, and having the habitual old English feeling of our own security as islanders--we could not help looking upon the fortress, in spite of its cannon and soldiers, and the rumours of invasion, as set up against the hostilities of wind and weather rather than for any other warfare. On our return we were invited into the guard-room, about half-way down the rock, where we were shown a large rusty sword, which they called Wallace's Sword, and a trout boxed up in a well close by, where they said he had been confined for upwards of thirty years. For the pleasure of the soldiers, who were anxious that we should see him, we took some pains to spy him out in his black den, and at last succeeded. It was pleasing to observe how much interest the poor soldiers--though themselves probably new to the place--seemed to attach to this antiquated inhabitant of their garrison. When we had reached the bottom of the rock along the same road by which we had ascended, we made our way over the rough stones left bare by the tide, round the bottom of the rock, to the point where we had set off. This is a wild and melancholy walk on a blustering cloudy day: the naked bed of the river, scattered over with sea-weed; grey swampy fields on the other shore; sea-birds flying overhead; the high rock perpendicular and bare. We came to two very large fragments, which had fallen from the main rock; Coleridge thought that one of them was as large as Bowder-Stone,[89] William and I did not; but it is impossible to judge accurately; we probably, without knowing it, compared them with the whole mass from which they had fallen, which, from its situation, we consider as one rock or stone, and there is no object of the kind for comparison with the Bowder-Stone. When we leave the shore of the Clyde grass begins to show itself on the rock; go a considerable way--still under the rock--along a flat field, and pass immediately below the white house, which wherever seen looks so ugly. [Footnote 89: A rock in Borrowdale, Cumberland.--ED.] Left Dumbarton at about eleven o'clock. The sky was cheerless and the air ungenial, which we regretted, as we were going to Loch Lomond, and wished to greet the first of the Scottish lakes with our cheerfullest and best feelings. Crossed the Leven at the end of Dumbarton, and, when we looked behind, had a pleasing view of the town, bridge, and rock; but when we took in a reach of the river at the distance of perhaps half a mile, the swamp ground, being so near a town, and not in its natural wildness, but seemingly half cultivated, with houses here and there, gave us an idea of extreme poverty of soil, or that the inhabitants were either indolent or miserable. We had to travel four miles on the banks of the "Water of Leven" before we should come to Loch Lomond. Having expected a grand river from so grand a lake, we were disappointed; for it appeared to me not to be very much larger than the Emont, and is not near so beautiful; but we must not forget that the day was cold and gloomy. Near Dumbarton it is like a river in a flat country, or under the influence of tides; but a little higher up it resembles one of our rivers, flowing through a vale of no extreme beauty, though prettily wooded; the hills on each side not very high, sloping backwards from the bed of the vale, which is neither very narrow nor very wide; the prospect terminated by Ben Lomond and other mountains. The vale is populous, but looks as if it were not inhabited by cultivators of the earth; the houses are chiefly of stone; often in rows by the river-side; they stand pleasantly, but have a tradish look, as if they might have been off-sets from Glasgow. We saw many bleach-yards, but no other symptom of a manufactory, except something in the houses that was not rural, and a want of independent comforts. Perhaps if the river had been glittering in the sun, and the smoke of the cottages rising in distinct volumes towards the sky, as I have seen in the vale or basin below Pillsden in Dorsetshire, when every cottage, hidden from the eye, pointed out its lurking-place by an upright wreath of white smoke, the whole scene might have excited ideas of perfect cheerfulness. Here, as on the Nith, and much more than in the Trough of the Clyde, a great portion of the ground was uncultivated, but the hills being less wild, the river more stately, and the ground not heaved up so irregularly and tossed about, the imperfect cultivation was the more to be lamented, particularly as there were so many houses near the river. In a small enclosure by the wayside is a pillar erected to the memory of Dr. Smollett, who was born in a village at a little distance, which we could see at the same time, and where, I believe, some of the family still reside. There is a long Latin inscription, which Coleridge translated for my benefit. The Latin is miserably bad[90]--as Coleridge said, such as poor Smollett, who was an excellent scholar, would have been ashamed of. [Footnote 90: The inscription on the pillar was written by Professor George Stuart of Edinburgh, John Ramsay of Ochtertyre and Dr. Samuel Johnson; for Dr. Johnson's share in the work see Croker's Boswell, p. 392.--J. C. S.] Before we came to Loch Lomond the vale widened, and became less populous. We climbed over a wall into a large field to have a better front view of the lake than from the road. This view is very much like that from Mr. Clarkson's windows: the mountain in front resembles Hallan; indeed, is almost the same; but Ben Lomond is not seen standing in such majestic company as Helvellyn, and the meadows are less beautiful than Ulswater. The reach of the lake is very magnificent; you see it, as Ulswater is seen beyond the promontory of Old Church, winding away behind a large woody island that looks like a promontory. The outlet of the lake--we had a distinct view of it in the field--is very insignificant. The bulk of the river is frittered away by small alder bushes, as I recollect; I do not remember that it was reedy, but the ground had a swampy appearance; and here the vale spreads out wide and shapeless, as if the river were born to no inheritance, had no sheltering cradle, no hills of its own. As we have seen, this does not continue long; it flows through a distinct, though not a magnificent vale. But, having lost the pastoral character which it had in the youthful days of Smollett--if the description in his ode to his native stream be a faithful one--it is less interesting than it was then. The road carried us sometimes close to the lake, sometimes at a considerable distance from it, over moorish grounds, or through half-cultivated enclosures; we had the lake on our right, which is here so wide that the opposite hills, not being high, are cast into insignificance, and we could not distinguish any buildings near the water, if any there were. It is however always delightful to travel by a lake of clear waters, if you see nothing else but a very ordinary country; but we had some beautiful distant views, one in particular, down the high road, through a vista of over-arching trees; and the near shore was frequently very pleasing, with its gravel banks, bendings, and small bays. In one part it was bordered for a considerable way by irregular groups of forest trees or single stragglers, which, although not large, seemed old; their branches were stunted and knotty, as if they had been striving with storms, and had half yielded to them. Under these trees we had a variety of pleasing views across the lake, and the very rolling over the road and looking at its smooth and beautiful surface was itself a pleasure. It was as smooth as a gravel walk, and of the bluish colour of some of the roads among the lakes of the north of England. Passed no very remarkable place till we came to Sir James Colquhoun's house, which stands upon a large, flat, woody peninsula, looking towards Ben Lomond. There must be many beautiful walks among the copses of the peninsula, and delicious views over the water; but the general surface of the country is poor, and looks as if it ought to be rich and well peopled, for it is not mountainous; nor had we passed any hills which a Cumbrian would dignify with the name of mountains. There was many a little plain or gently-sloping hill covered with poor heath or broom without trees, where one should have liked to see a cottage in a bower of wood, with its patch of corn and potatoes, and a green field with a hedge to keep it warm. As we advanced we perceived less of the coldness of poverty, the hills not having so large a space between them and the lake. The surface of the hills being in its natural state, is always beautiful; but where there is only a half cultivated and half peopled soil near the banks of a lake or river, the idea is forced upon one that they who do live there have not much of cheerful enjoyment. But soon we came to just such a place as we had wanted to see. The road was close to the water, and a hill, bare, rocky, or with scattered copses rose above it. A deep shade hung over the road, where some little boys were at play; we expected a dwelling-house of some sort; and when we came nearer, saw three or four thatched huts under the trees, and at the same moment felt that it was a paradise. We had before seen the lake only as one wide plain of water; but here the portion of it which we saw was bounded by a high and steep, heathy and woody island opposite, which did not appear like an island, but the main shore, and framed out a little oblong lake apparently not so broad as Rydale-water, with one small island covered with trees, resembling some of the most beautiful of the holms of Windermere, and only a narrow river's breadth from the shore. This was a place where we should have liked to have lived, and the only one we had seen near Loch Lomond. How delightful to have a little shed concealed under the branches of the fairy island! the cottages and the island might have been made for the pleasure of each other. It was but like a natural garden, the distance was so small; nay, one could not have forgiven any one living there, not compelled to daily labour, if he did not connect it with his dwelling by some feeling of domestic attachment, like what he has for the orchard where his children play. I thought, what a place for William! he might row himself over with twenty strokes of the oars, escaping from the business of the house, and as safe from intruders, with his boat anchored beside him, as if he had locked himself up in the strong tower of a castle. We were unwilling to leave this sweet spot; but it was so simple, and therefore so rememberable, that it seemed almost as if we could have carried it away with us. It was nothing more than a small lake enclosed by trees at the ends and by the way-side, and opposite by the island, a steep bank on which the purple heath was seen under low oak coppice-wood, a group of houses over-shadowed by trees, and a bending road. There was one remarkable tree, an old larch with hairy branches, which sent out its main stem horizontally across the road, an object that seemed to have been singled out for injury where everything else was lovely and thriving, tortured into that shape by storms, which one might have thought could not have reached it in that sheltered place. We were now entering into the Highlands. I believe Luss is the place where we were told that country begins; but at these cottages I would have gladly believed that we were there, for it was like a new region. The huts were after the Highland fashion, and the boys who were playing wore the Highland dress and philabeg. On going into a new country I seem to myself to waken up, and afterwards it surprises me to remember how much alive I have been to the distinctions of dress, household arrangements, etc. etc., and what a spirit these little things give to wild, barren, or ordinary places. The cottages are within about two miles of Luss. Came in view of several islands; but the lake being so very wide, we could see little of their peculiar beauties, and they, being large, hardly looked like islands. Passed another gentleman's house, which stands prettily in a bay,[91] and soon after reached Luss, where we intended to lodge. On seeing the outside of the inn we were glad that we were to have such pleasant quarters. It is a nice-looking white house, by the road-side; but there was not much promise of hospitality when we stopped at the door: no person came out till we had shouted a considerable time. A barefooted lass showed me up-stairs, and again my hopes revived; the house was clean for a Scotch inn, and the view very pleasant to the lake, over the top of the village--a cluster of thatched houses among trees, with a large chapel in the midst of them. Like most of the Scotch kirks which we had seen, this building resembles a big house; but it is a much more pleasing building than they generally are, and has one of our rustic belfries, not unlike that at Ambleside, with two bells hanging in the open air. We chose one of the back rooms to sit in, being more snug, and they looked upon a very sweet prospect--a stream tumbling down a cleft or glen on the hill-side, rocky coppice ground, a rural lane, such as we have from house to house at Grasmere, and a few out-houses. We had a poor dinner, and sour ale; but as long as the people were civil we were contented. [Footnote 91: Camstraddan House and bay.--J. C. S.] Coleridge was not well, so he did not stir out, but William and I walked through the village to the shore of the lake. When I came close to the houses, I could not but regret a want of loveliness correspondent with the beauty of the situation and the appearance of the village at a little distance; not a single ornamented garden. We saw potatoes and cabbages, but never a honeysuckle. Yet there were wild gardens, as beautiful as any that ever man cultivated, overgrowing the roofs of some of the cottages, flowers and creeping plants. How elegant were the wreaths of the bramble that had "built its own bower" upon the riggins in several parts of the village; therefore we had chiefly to regret the want of gardens, as they are symptoms of leisure and comfort, or at least of no painful industry. Here we first saw houses without windows, the smoke coming out of the open window-places; the chimneys were like stools with four legs a hole being left in the roof for the smoke, and over that a slate placed upon four sticks--sometimes the whole leaned as if it were going to fall. The fields close to Luss lie flat to the lake, and a river, as large as our stream near the church at Grasmere, flows by the end of the village, being the same which comes down the glen behind the inn; it is very much like our stream--beds of blue pebbles upon the shores. We walked towards the head of the lake, and from a large pasture field near Luss, a gentle eminence, had a very interesting view back upon the village and the lake and islands beyond. We then perceived that Luss stood in the centre of a spacious bay, and that close to it lay another small one, within the larger, where the boats of the inhabitants were lying at anchor, a beautiful natural harbour. The islands, as we look down the water, are seen in great beauty. Inch-ta-vannach, the same that framed out the little peaceful lake which we had passed in the morning, towers above the rest. The lake is very wide here, and the opposite shores not being lofty the chief part of the permanent beauty of this view is among the islands, and on the near shore, including the low promontories of the bay of Luss, and the village; and we saw it under its dullest aspect--the air cold, the sky gloomy, without a glimpse of sunshine. On a splendid evening, with the light of the sun diffused over the whole islands, distant hills, and the broad expanse of the lake, with its creeks, bays, and little slips of water among the islands, it must be a glorious sight. Up the lake there are no islands; Ben Lomond terminates the view, without any other large mountains; no clouds were upon it, therefore we saw the whole size and form of the mountain, yet it did not appear to me so large as Skiddaw does from Derwent-water. Continued our walk a considerable way towards the head of the lake, and went up a high hill, but saw no other reach of the water. The hills on the Luss side become much steeper, and the lake, having narrowed a little above Luss, was no longer a very wide lake where we lost sight of it. Came to a bark hut by the shores, and sate for some time under the shelter of it. While we were here a poor woman with a little child by her side begged a penny of me, and asked where she could "find quarters in the village." She was a travelling beggar, a native of Scotland, had often "heard of that water," but was never there before. This woman's appearance, while the wind was rustling about us, and the waves breaking at our feet, was very melancholy: the waters looked wide, the hills many, and dark, and far off--no house but at Luss. I thought what a dreary waste must this lake be to such poor creatures, struggling with fatigue and poverty and unknown ways! We ordered tea when we reached the inn, and desired the girl to light us a fire; she replied, "I dinna ken whether she'll gie fire," meaning her mistress. We told her we did not wish her mistress to give fire, we only desired her to let _her_ make it and we would pay for it. The girl brought in the tea-things, but no fire, and when I asked if she was coming to light it, she said "her mistress was not varra willing to gie fire." At last, however, on our insisting upon it, the fire was lighted: we got tea by candlelight, and spent a comfortable evening. I had seen the landlady before we went out, for, as had been usual in all the country inns, there was a demur respecting beds, notwithstanding the house was empty, and there were at least half-a-dozen spare beds. Her countenance corresponded with the unkindness of denying us a fire on a cold night, for she was the most cruel and hateful-looking woman I ever saw. She was overgrown with fat, and was sitting with her feet and legs in a tub of water for the dropsy,--probably brought on by whisky-drinking. The sympathy which I felt and expressed for her, on seeing her in this wretched condition--for her legs were swollen as thick as mill-posts--seemed to produce no effect; and I was obliged, after five minutes' conversation, to leave the affair of the beds undecided. Coleridge had some talk with her daughter, a smart lass in a cotton gown, with a bandeau round her head, without shoes and stockings. She told Coleridge with some pride that she had not spent all her time at Luss, but was then fresh from Glasgow. It came on a very stormy night; the wind rattled every window in the house, and it rained heavily. William and Coleridge had bad beds, in a two-bedded room in the garrets, though there were empty rooms on the first floor, and they were disturbed by a drunken man, who had come to the inn when we were gone to sleep. _Thursday, August 25th._--We were glad when we awoke to see that it was a fine morning--the sky was bright blue, with quick-moving clouds, the hills cheerful, lights and shadows vivid and distinct. The village looked exceedingly beautiful this morning from the garret windows--the stream glittering near it, while it flowed under trees through the level fields to the lake. After breakfast, William and I went down to the water-side. The roads were as dry as if no drop of rain had fallen, which added to the pure cheerfulness of the appearance of the village, and even of the distant prospect, an effect which I always seem to perceive from clearly bright roads, for they are always brightened by rain, after a storm; but when we came among the houses I regretted even more than last night, because the contrast was greater, the slovenliness and dirt near the doors; and could not but remember, with pain from the contrast, the cottages of Somersetshire, covered with roses and myrtle, and their small gardens of herbs and flowers. While lingering by the shore we began to talk with a man who offered to row us to Inch-ta-vannach; but the sky began to darken; and the wind being high, we doubted whether we should venture, therefore made no engagement; he offered to sell me some thread, pointing to his cottage, and added that many English ladies carried thread away from Luss. Presently after Coleridge joined us, and we determined to go to the island. I was sorry that the man who had been talking with us was not our boatman; William by some chance had engaged another. We had two rowers and a strong boat; so I felt myself bold, though there was a great chance of a high wind. The nearest point of Inch-ta-vannach is not perhaps more than a mile and a quarter from Luss; we did not land there, but rowed round the end, and landed on that side which looks towards our favourite cottages, and their own island, which, wherever seen, is still their own. It rained a little when we landed, and I took my cloak, which afterwards served us to sit down upon in our road up the hill, when the day grew much finer, with gleams of sunshine. This island belongs to Sir James Colquhoun, who has made a convenient road, that winds gently to the top of it. We had not climbed far before we were stopped by a sudden burst of prospect, so singular and beautiful that it was like a flash of images from another world. We stood with our backs to the hill of the island, which we were ascending, and which shut out Ben Lomond entirely, and all the upper part of the lake, and we looked towards the foot of the lake, scattered over with islands without beginning and without end. The sun shone, and the distant hills were visible, some through sunny mists, others in gloom with patches of sunshine; the lake was lost under the low and distant hills, and the islands lost in the lake, which was all in motion with travelling fields of light, or dark shadows under rainy clouds. There are many hills, but no commanding eminence at a distance to confine the prospect, so that the land seemed endless as the water. What I had heard of Loch Lomond, or any other place in Great Britain, had given me no idea of anything like what we beheld: it was an outlandish scene--we might have believed ourselves in North America. The islands were of every possible variety of shape and surface--hilly and level, large and small, bare, rocky, pastoral, or covered with wood. Immediately under my eyes lay one large flat island, bare and green, so flat and low that it scarcely appeared to rise above the water, with straggling peat-stacks and a single hut upon one of its out-shooting promontories--for it was of a very irregular shape, though perfectly flat. Another, its next neighbour, and still nearer to us, was covered over with heath and coppice-wood, the surface undulating, with flat or sloping banks towards the water, and hollow places, cradle-like valleys, behind. These two islands, with Inch-ta-vannach, where we were standing, were intermingled with the water, I might say interbedded and interveined with it, in a manner that was exquisitely pleasing. There were bays innumerable, straits or passages like calm rivers, landlocked lakes, and, to the main water, stormy promontories. The solitary hut on the flat green island seemed unsheltered and desolate, and yet not wholly so, for it was but a broad river's breadth from the covert of the wood of the other island. Near to these is a miniature, an islet covered with trees, on which stands a small ruin that looks like the remains of a religious house; it is overgrown with ivy, and were it not that the arch of a window or gateway may be distinctly seen, it would be difficult to believe that it was not a tuft of trees growing in the shape of a ruin, rather than a ruin overshadowed by trees. When we had walked a little further we saw below us, on the nearest large island, where some of the wood had been cut down, a hut, which we conjectured to be a bark hut. It appeared to be on the shore of a little forest lake, enclosed by Inch-ta-vannach, where we were, and the woody island on which the hut stands. Beyond we had the same intricate view as before, and could discover Dumbarton rock with its double head. There being a mist over it, it had a ghost-like appearance--as I observed to William and Coleridge, something like the Tor of Glastonbury from the Dorsetshire hills. Right before us, on the flat island mentioned before, were several small single trees or shrubs, growing at different distances from each other, close to the shore, but some optical delusion had detached them from the land on which they stood, and they had the appearance of so many little vessels sailing along the coast of it. I mention the circumstance, because, with the ghostly image of Dumbarton Castle, and the ambiguous ruin on the small island, it was much in the character of the scene, which was throughout magical and enchanting--a new world in its great permanent outline and composition, and changing at every moment in every part of it by the effect of sun and wind, and mist and shower and cloud, and the blending lights and deep shades which took the place of each other, traversing the lake in every direction. The whole was indeed a strange mixture of soothing and restless images, of images inviting to rest, and others hurrying the fancy away into an activity still more pleasing than repose. Yet, intricate and homeless, that is, without lasting abiding-place for the mind, as the prospect was, there was no perplexity; we had still a guide to lead us forward. Wherever we looked, it was a delightful feeling that there was something beyond. Meanwhile, the sense of quiet was never lost sight of; the little peaceful lakes among the islands might make you forget that the great water, Loch Lomond, was so near; and yet are more beautiful, because you know that it is so: they have their own bays and creeks sheltered within a shelter. When we had ascended to the top of the island we had a view up to Ben Lomond, over the long, broad water without spot or rock; and, looking backwards, saw the islands below us as on a map. This view, as may be supposed, was not nearly so interesting as those we had seen before. We hunted out all the houses on the shore, which were very few: there was the village of Luss, the two gentlemen's houses, our favourite cottages, and here and there a hut; but I do not recollect any comfortable-looking farm-houses, and on the opposite shore not a single dwelling. The whole scene was a combination of natural wildness, loveliness, beauty, and barrenness, or rather bareness, yet not comfortless or cold; but the whole was beautiful. We were too far off the more distant shore to distinguish any particular spots which we might have regretted were not better cultivated, and near Luss there was no want of houses. After we had left the island, having been so much taken with the beauty of the bark hut and the little lake by which it appeared to stand, we desired the boatman to row us through it, and we landed at the hut. Walked upon the island for some time, and found out sheltered places for cottages. There were several woodmen's huts, which, with some scattered fir-trees, and others in irregular knots, that made a delicious murmuring in the wind, added greatly to the romantic effect of the scene. They were built in the form of a cone from the ground, like savages' huts, the door being just large enough for a man to enter with stooping. Straw beds were raised on logs of wood, tools lying about, and a forked bough of a tree was generally suspended from the roof in the middle to hang a kettle upon. It was a place that might have been just visited by new settlers. I thought of Ruth and her dreams of romantic love: And then he said how sweet it were, A fisher or a hunter there, A gardener in the shade, Still wandering with an easy mind, To build a household fire, and find A home in every glade.[92] [Footnote 92: See _Ruth_, stanza xiii.--ED.] We found the main lake very stormy when we had left the shelter of the islands, and there was again a threatening of rain, but it did not come on. I wanted much to go to the old ruin, but the boatmen were in a hurry to be at home. They told us it had been a stronghold built by a man who lived there alone, and was used to swim over and make depredations on the shore,--that nobody could ever lay hands on him, he was such a good swimmer, but at last they caught him in a net. The men pointed out to us an island belonging to Sir James Colquhoun, on which were a great quantity of deer. Arrived at the inn at about twelve o'clock, and prepared to depart immediately: we should have gone with great regret if the weather had been warmer and the inn more comfortable. When we were leaving the door, a party with smart carriage and servants drove up, and I observed that the people of the house were just as slow in their attendance upon them as on us, with one single horse and outlandish Hibernian vehicle. When we had travelled about two miles the lake became considerably narrower, the hills rocky, covered with copses, or bare, rising more immediately from the bed of the water, and therefore we had not so often to regret the want of inhabitants. Passed by, or saw at a distance, sometimes a single cottage, or two or three together, but the whole space between Luss and Tarbet is a solitude to the eye. We were reminded of Ulswater, but missed the pleasant farms, and the mountains were not so interesting: we had not seen them in companies or brotherhoods rising one above another at a long distance. Ben Lomond stood alone, opposite to us, majestically overlooking the lake; yet there was something in this mountain which disappointed me,--a want of massiveness and simplicity, perhaps from the top being broken into three distinct stages. The road carried us over a bold promontory by a steep and high ascent, and we had a long view of the lake pushing itself up in a narrow line through an avenue of mountains, terminated by the mountains at the head of the lake, of which Ben Lui, if I do not mistake, is the most considerable. The afternoon was showery and misty, therefore we did not see this prospect so distinctly as we could have wished, but there was a grand obscurity over it which might make the mountains appear more numerous. I have said so much of this lake that I am tired myself, and I fear I must have tired my friends. We had a pleasant journey to Tarbet; more than half of it on foot, for the road was hilly, and after we had climbed one small hill we were not desirous to get into the car again, seeing another before us, and our path was always delightful, near the lake, and frequently through woods. When we were within about half a mile of Tarbet, at a sudden turning looking to the left, we saw a very craggy-topped mountain amongst other smooth ones; the rocks on the summit distinct in shape as if they were buildings raised up by man, or uncouth images of some strange creature. We called out with one voice, 'That's what we wanted!' alluding to the frame-like uniformity of the side-screens of the lake for the last five or six miles. As we conjectured, this singular mountain was the famous Cobbler, near Arrochar. Tarbet was before us in the recess of a deep, large bay, under the shelter of a hill. When we came up to the village we had to inquire for the inn, there being no signboard. It was a well-sized white house, the best in the place. We were conducted up-stairs into a sitting-room that might make any good-humoured travellers happy--a square room, with windows on each side, looking, one way, towards the mountains, and across the lake to Ben Lomond, the other. There was a pretty stone house before (_i.e._ towards the lake) some huts, scattered trees, two or three green fields with hedgerows, and a little brook making its way towards the lake; the fields are almost flat, and screened on that side nearest the head of the lake by a hill, which, pushing itself out, forms the bay of Tarbet, and, towards the foot, by a gentle slope and trees. The lake is narrow, and Ben Lomond shuts up the prospect, rising directly from the water. We could have believed ourselves to be by the side of Ulswater, at Glenridden, or in some other of the inhabited retirements of that lake. We were in a sheltered place among mountains; it was not an open joyous bay, with a cheerful populous village, like Luss; but a pastoral and retired spot, with a few single dwellings. The people of the inn stared at us when we spoke, without giving us an answer immediately, which we were at first disposed to attribute to coarseness of manners, but found afterwards that they did not understand us at once, Erse being the language spoken in the family. Nothing but salt meat and eggs for dinner--no potatoes; the house smelt strongly of herrings, which were hung to dry over the kitchen fire. Walked in the evening towards the head of the lake; the road was steep over the hill, and when we had reached the top of it we had long views up and down the water. Passed a troop of women who were resting themselves by the roadside, as if returning from their day's labour. Amongst them was a man, who had walked with us a considerable way in the morning, and told us he was just come from America, where he had been for some years,--was going to his own home, and should return to America. He spoke of emigration as a glorious thing for them who had money. Poor fellow! I do not think that he had brought much back with him, for he had worked his passage over: I much suspected that a bundle, which he carried upon a stick, tied in a pocket-handkerchief, contained his all. He was almost blind, he said, as were many of the crew. He intended crossing the lake at the ferry; but it was stormy, and he thought he should not be able to get over that day. I could not help smiling when I saw him lying by the roadside with such a company about him, not like a wayfaring man, but seeming as much at home and at his ease as if he had just stepped out of his hut among them, and they had been neighbours all their lives. Passed one pretty house, a large thatched dwelling with out-houses, but the prospect above and below was solitary. The sun had long been set before we returned to the inn. As travellers, we were glad to see the moon over the top of one of the hills, but it was a cloudy night, without any peculiar beauty or solemnity. After tea we made inquiries respecting the best way to go to Loch Ketterine; the landlord could give but little information, and nobody seemed to know anything distinctly of the place, though it was but ten miles off. We applied to the maid-servant who waited on us: she was a fine-looking young woman, dressed in a white bed-gown, her hair fastened up by a comb, and without shoes and stockings. When we asked her about the Trossachs she could give us no information, but on our saying, "Do you know Loch Ketterine?" she answered with a smile, "I _should_ know that loch, for I was bred and born there." After much difficulty we learned from her that the Trossachs were at the foot of the lake, and that by the way we were to go we should come upon them at the head, should have to travel ten miles to the foot[93] of the water, and that there was no inn by the way. The girl spoke English very distinctly; but she had few words, and found it difficult to understand us. She did not much encourage us to go, because the roads were bad, and it was a long way, "and there was no putting-up for the like of us." We determined, however, to venture, and throw ourselves upon the hospitality of some cottager or gentleman. We desired the landlady to roast us a couple of fowls to carry with us. There are always plenty of fowls at the doors of a Scotch inn, and eggs are as regularly brought to table at breakfast as bread and butter. [Footnote 93: This distinction between the foot and head is not very clear. What is meant is this: They would have to travel the whole length of the lake, from the west to the east end of it, before they came to the Trossachs, the pass leading away from the east end of the lake.--J. C. S.] _Friday, August 26th._--We did not set off till between ten and eleven o'clock, much too late for a long day's journey. Our boatman lived at the pretty white house which we saw from the windows: we called at his door by the way, and, even when we were near the house, the outside looked comfortable; but within I never saw anything so miserable from dirt, and dirt alone: it reminded one of the house of a decayed weaver in the suburbs of a large town, with a sickly wife and a large family; but William says it was far worse, that it was quite Hottentotish. After long waiting, and many clumsy preparations, we got ourselves seated in the boat; but we had not floated five yards before we perceived that if any of the party--and there was a little Highland woman who was going over the water with us, the boatman, his helper, and ourselves--should stir but a few inches, leaning to one side or the other, the boat would be full in an instant, and we at the bottom; besides, it was very leaky, and the woman was employed to lade out the water continually. It appeared that this crazy vessel was not the man's own, and that _his_ was lying in a bay at a little distance. He said he would take us to it as fast as possible, but I was so much frightened I would gladly have given up the whole day's journey; indeed not one of us would have attempted to cross the lake in that boat for a thousand pounds. We reached the larger boat in safety after coasting a considerable way near the shore, but just as we were landing, William dropped the bundle which contained our food into the water. The fowls were no worse, but some sugar, ground coffee, and pepper-cake seemed to be entirely spoiled. We gathered together as much of the coffee and sugar as we could and tied it up, and again trusted ourselves to the lake. The sun shone, and the air was calm--luckily it had been so while we were in the crazy boat--we had rocks and woods on each side of us, or bare hills; seldom a single cottage, and there was no rememberable place till we came opposite to a waterfall of no inconsiderable size, that appeared to drop directly into the lake: close to it was a hut, which we were told was the ferry-house. On the other side of the lake was a pretty farm under the mountains, beside a river, the cultivated grounds lying all together, and sloping towards the lake from the mountain hollow down which the river came. It is not easy to conceive how beautiful these spots appeared after moving on so long between the solitary steeps. We went a considerable way further, and landed at Rob Roy's Caves, which are in fact no caves, but some fine rocks on the brink of the lake, in the crevices of which a man might hide himself cunningly enough; the water is very deep below them, and the hills above steep and covered with wood. The little Highland woman, who was in size about a match for our guide at Lanerk, accompanied us hither. There was something very gracious in the manners of this woman; she could scarcely speak five English words, yet she gave me, whenever I spoke to her, as many intelligible smiles as I had needed English words to answer me, and helped me over the rocks in the most obliging manner. She had left the boat out of good-will to us, or for her own amusement. She had never seen these caves before; but no doubt had heard of them, the tales of Rob Roy's exploits being told familiarly round the "ingles" hereabouts, for this neighbourhood was his home. We landed at Inversneyde, the ferry-house by the waterfall, and were not sorry to part with our boatman, who was a coarse hard-featured man, and, speaking of the French, uttered the basest and most cowardly sentiments. His helper, a youth fresh from the Isle of Skye, was innocent of this fault, and though but a bad rower, was a far better companion; he could not speak a word of English, and sang a plaintive Gaelic air in a low tone while he plied his oar. The ferry-house stood on the bank a few yards above the landing-place where the boat lies. It is a small hut under a steep wood, and a few yards to the right, looking towards the hut, is the waterfall. The fall is not very high, but the stream is considerable, as we could see by the large black stones that were lying bare, but the rains, if they had reached this place, had had little effect upon the waterfall; its noise was not so great as to form a contrast with the stillness of the bay into which it falls, where the boat, and house, and waterfall itself seemed all sheltered and protected. The Highland woman was to go with us the two first miles of our journey. She led us along a bye foot-path a shorter way up the hill from the ferry-house. There is a considerable settling in the hills that border Loch Lomond, at the passage by which we were to cross to Loch Ketterine; Ben Lomond, terminating near the ferry-house, is on the same side of the water with it, and about three miles above Tarbet. We had to climb right up the hill, which is very steep, and, when close under it, seemed to be high, but we soon reached the top, and when we were there had lost sight of the lake; and now our road was over a moor, or rather through a wide moorland hollow. Having gone a little way, we saw before us, at the distance of about half a mile, a very large stone building, a singular structure, with a high wall round it, naked hill above, and neither field nor tree near; but the moor was not overgrown with heath merely, but grey grass, such as cattle might pasture upon. We could not conjecture what this building was; it appeared as if it had been built strong to defend it from storms; but for what purpose? William called out to us that we should observe that place well, for it was exactly like one of the spittals of the Alps, built for the reception of travellers, and indeed I had thought it must be so before he spoke. This building, from its singular structure and appearance, made the place, which is itself in a country like Scotland nowise remarkable, take a character of unusual wildness and desolation--this when we first came in view of it; and afterwards, when we had passed it and looked back, three pyramidal mountains on the opposite side of Loch Lomond terminated the view, which under certain accidents of weather must be very grand. Our Highland companion had not English enough to give us any information concerning this strange building; we could only get from her that it was a "large house," which was plain enough. We walked about a mile and a half over the moor without seeing any other dwelling but one hut by the burn-side, with a peat-stack and a ten-yards-square enclosure for potatoes; then we came to several clusters of houses, even hamlets they might be called, but where there is any land belonging to the Highland huts there are so many out-buildings near, which differ in no respect from the dwelling-houses except that they send out no smoke, that one house looks like two or three. Near these houses was a considerable quantity of cultivated ground, potatoes and corn, and the people were busy making hay in the hollow places of the open vale, and all along the sides of the becks. It was a pretty sight altogether--men and women, dogs, the little running streams, with linen bleaching near them, and cheerful sunny hills and rocks on every side. We passed by one patch of potatoes that a florist might have been proud of; no carnation-bed ever looked more gay than this square plot of ground on the waste common. The flowers were in very large bunches, and of an extraordinary size, and of every conceivable shade of colouring from snow-white to deep purple. It was pleasing in that place, where perhaps was never yet a flower cultivated by man for his own pleasure, to see these blossoms grow more gladly than elsewhere, making a summer garden near the mountain dwellings. At one of the clusters of houses we parted with our companion, who had insisted on bearing my bundle while she stayed with us. I often tried to enter into conversation with her, and seeing a small tarn before us, was reminded of the pleasure of fishing and the manner of living there, and asked her what sort of food was eaten in that place, if they lived much upon fish, or had mutton from the hills; she looked earnestly at me, and shaking her head, replied, "Oh yes! eat fish--no papists, eat everything." The tarn had one small island covered with wood; the stream that runs from it falls into Loch Ketterine, which, after we had gone a little beyond the tarn, we saw at some distance before us. Pursued the road, a mountain horse-track, till we came to a corner of what seemed the head of the lake, and there sate down completely tired, and hopeless as to the rest of our journey. The road ended at the shore, and no houses were to be seen on the opposite side except a few widely parted huts, and on the near side was a trackless heath. The land at the head of the lake was but a continuation of the common we had come along, and was covered with heather, intersected by a few straggling foot-paths. Coleridge and I were faint with hunger, and could go no further till we had refreshed ourselves, so we ate up one of our fowls, and drank of the water of Loch Ketterine; but William could not be easy till he had examined the coast, so he left us, and made his way along the moor across the head of the lake. Coleridge and I, as we sate, had what seemed to us but a dreary prospect--a waste of unknown ground which we guessed we must travel over before it was possible for us to find a shelter. We saw a long way down the lake; it was all moor on the near side; on the other the hills were steep from the water, and there were large coppice-woods, but no cheerful green fields, and no road that we could see; we knew, however, that there must be a road from house to house; but the whole lake appeared a solitude--neither boats, islands, nor houses, no grandeur in the hills, nor any loveliness in the shores. When we first came in view of it we had said it was like a barren Ulswater--Ulswater dismantled of its grandeur, and cropped of its lesser beauties. When I had swallowed my dinner I hastened after William, and Coleridge followed me. Walked through the heather with some labour for perhaps half a mile, and found William sitting on the top of a small eminence, whence we saw the real head of the lake, which was pushed up into the vale a considerable way beyond the promontory where we now sate. The view up the lake was very pleasing, resembling Thirlemere below Armath. There were rocky promontories and woody islands, and, what was most cheering to us, a neat white house on the opposite shore; but we could see no boats, so, in order to get to it we should be obliged to go round the head of the lake, a long and weary way. After Coleridge came up to us, while we were debating whether we should turn back or go forward, we espied a man on horseback at a little distance, with a boy following him on foot, no doubt a welcome sight, and we hailed him. We should have been glad to have seen either man, woman, or child at this time, but there was something uncommon and interesting in this man's appearance, which would have fixed our attention wherever we had met him. He was a complete Highlander in dress, figure, and face, and a very fine-looking man, hardy and vigorous, though past his prime. While he stood waiting for us in his bonnet and plaid, which never look more graceful than on horseback, I forgot our errand, and only felt glad that we were in the Highlands. William accosted him with, "Sir, do you speak English?" He replied, "A little." He spoke however, sufficiently well for our purpose, and very distinctly, as all the Highlanders do who learn English as a foreign language; but in a long conversation they want words; he informed us that he himself was going beyond the Trossachs, to Callander, that no boats were kept to "let"; but there were two gentlemen's houses at this end of the lake, one of which we could not yet see, it being hidden from us by a part of the hill on which we stood. The other house was that which we saw opposite to us; both the gentlemen kept boats, and probably might be able to spare one of their servants to go with us. After we had asked many questions, which the Highlander answered with patience and courtesy, he parted from us, going along a sort of horse-track, which a foot-passenger, if he once get into it, need not lose if he be careful. When he was gone we again debated whether we should go back to Tarbet, or throw ourselves upon the mercy of one of the two gentlemen for a night's lodging. What we had seen of the main body of the lake made us little desire to see more of it; the Highlander upon the naked heath, in his Highland dress, upon his careful-going horse, with the boy following him, was worth it all; but after a little while we resolved to go on, ashamed to shrink from an adventure. Pursued the horse-track, and soon came in sight of the other gentleman's house, which stood on the opposite side of the vale, a little above the lake. It was a white house; no trees near it except a new plantation of firs; but the fields were green, sprinkled over with hay-cocks, and the brook which comes down the valley and falls into the lake ran through them. It was like a new-made farm in a mountain vale, and yet very pleasing after the depressing prospect which had been before us. Our road was rough, and not easy to be kept. It was between five and six o'clock when we reached the brook side, where Coleridge and I stopped, and William went up towards the house, which was in a field, where about half a dozen people were at work. He addressed himself to one who appeared like the master, and all drew near him, staring at William as nobody could have stared but out of sheer rudeness, except in such a lonely place. He told his tale, and inquired about boats; there were no boats, and no lodging nearer than Callander, ten miles beyond the foot of the lake. A laugh was on every face when William said we were come to see the Trossachs; no doubt they thought we had better have stayed at our own homes. William endeavoured to make it appear not so very foolish, by informing them that it was a place much celebrated in England, though perhaps little thought of by them, and that we only differed from many of our countrymen in having come the wrong way in consequence of an erroneous direction. After a little time the gentleman said we should be accommodated with such beds as they had, and should be welcome to rest in their house if we pleased. William came back for Coleridge and me; the men all stood at the door to receive us, and now their behaviour was perfectly courteous. We were conducted into the house by the same man who had directed us hither on the other side of the lake, and afterwards we learned that he was the father of our hostess. He showed us into a room up-stairs, begged we would sit at our ease, walk out, or do just as we pleased. It was a large square deal wainscoted room, the wainscot black with age, yet had never been painted: it did not look like an English room, and yet I do not know in what it differed, except that in England it is not common to see so large and well-built a room so ill-furnished: there were two or three large tables, and a few old chairs of different sorts, as if they had been picked up one did not know how, at sales, or had belonged to different rooms of the house ever since it was built. We sat perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and I was about to carry down our wet coffee and sugar and ask leave to boil it, when the mistress of the house entered, a tall fine-looking woman, neatly dressed in a dark-coloured gown, with a white handkerchief tied round her head; she spoke to us in a very pleasing manner, begging permission to make tea for us, an offer which we thankfully accepted. Encouraged by the sweetness of her manners, I went down-stairs to dry my feet by the kitchen fire; she lent me a pair of stockings, and behaved to me with the utmost attention and kindness. She carried the tea-things into the room herself, leaving me to make tea, and set before us cheese and butter and barley cakes. These cakes are as thin as our oat-bread, but, instead of being crisp, are soft and leathery, yet we, being hungry, and the butter delicious, ate them with great pleasure, but when the same bread was set before us afterwards we did not like it. After tea William and I walked out; we amused ourselves with watching the Highlanders at work: they went leisurely about everything, and whatever was to be done, all followed, old men, and young, and little children. We were driven into the house by a shower, which came on with the evening darkness, and the people leaving their work paused at the same time. I was pleased to see them a while after sitting round a blazing fire in the kitchen, father and son-in-law, master and man, and the mother with her little child on her knee. When I had been there before tea I had observed what a contrast there was between the mistress and her kitchen; she did not differ in appearance from an English country lady; but her kitchen, roof, walls, and floor of mud, was all black alike; yet now, with the light of a bright fire upon so many happy countenances, the whole room made a pretty sight. We heard the company laughing and talking long after we were in bed; indeed I believe they never work till they are tired.[94] The children could not speak a word of English: they were very shy at first; but after I had caressed the eldest, and given her a red leather purse, with which she was delighted, she took hold of my hand and hung about me, changing her side-long looks for pretty smiles. Her mother lamented they were so far from school, they should be obliged to send the children down into the Lowlands to be taught reading and English. Callander, the nearest town, was twenty miles from them, and it was only a small place: they had their groceries from Glasgow. She said that at Callander was their nearest church, but sometimes "got a preaching at the Garrison." In explaining herself she informed us that the large building which had puzzled us in the morning had been built by Government, at the request of one of the Dukes of Montrose, for the defence of his domains against the attacks of Rob Roy. I will not answer for the truth of this; perhaps it might have been built for this purpose, and as a check on the Highlands in general; certain it is, however, that it was a garrison; soldiers used to be constantly stationed there, and have only been withdrawn within the last thirteen or fourteen years. Mrs. Macfarlane attended me to my room; she said she hoped I should be able to sleep upon blankets, and said they were "fresh from the fauld." [Footnote 94: She means that they stop work before they are tired.--ED.] _Saturday, August 27th._--Before I rose, Mrs. Macfarlane came into my room to see if I wanted anything, and told me she should send the servant up with a basin of whey, saying, "We make very good whey in this country"; indeed, I thought it the best I had ever tasted; but I cannot tell how this should be, for they only make skimmed-milk cheeses. I asked her for a little bread and milk for our breakfast, but she said it would be no trouble to make tea, as she must make it for the family; so we all breakfasted together. The cheese was set out, as before, with plenty of butter and barley-cakes, and fresh baked oaten cakes, which, no doubt, were made for us: they had been kneaded with cream, and were excellent. All the party pressed us to eat, and were very jocose about the necessity of helping out their coarse bread with butter, and they themselves ate almost as much butter as bread. In talking of the French and the present times, their language was what most people would call Jacobinical. They spoke much of the oppressions endured by the Highlanders further up, of the absolute impossibility of their living in any comfort, and of the cruelty of laying so many restraints on emigration. Then they spoke with animation of the attachment of the clans to their lairds: "The laird of this place, Glengyle, where we live, could have commanded so many men who would have followed him to the death; and now there are none left." It appeared that Mr. Macfarlane, and his wife's brother, Mr. Macalpine, farmed the place, inclusive of the whole vale upwards to the mountains, and the mountains themselves, under the lady of Glengyle, the mother of the young laird, a minor. It was a sheep-farm. Speaking of another neighbouring laird, they said he had gone, like the rest of them, to Edinburgh, left his lands and his own people, spending his money where it brought him not any esteem, so that he was of no value either at home or abroad. We mentioned Rob Roy, and the eyes of all glistened; even the lady of the house, who was very diffident, and no great talker, exclaimed, "He was a good man, Rob Roy! he had been dead only about eighty years, had lived in the next farm, which belonged to him, and there his bones were laid."[95] He was a famous swordsman. Having an arm much longer than other men, he had a greater command with his sword. As a proof of the length of his arm, they told us that he could garter his tartan stockings below the knee without stooping, and added a dozen different stories of single combats, which he had fought, all in perfect good-humour, merely to prove his prowess. I daresay they had stories of this kind which would hardly have been exhausted in the long evenings of a whole December week, Rob Roy being as famous here as ever Robin Hood was in the Forest of Sherwood; _he_ also robbed from the rich, giving to the poor, and defending them from oppression. They tell of his confining the factor of the Duke of Montrose in one of the islands of Loch Ketterine, after having taken his money from him--the Duke's rents--in open day, while they were sitting at table. He was a formidable enemy of the Duke, but being a small laird against a greater, was overcome at last, and forced to resign all his lands on the Braes of Loch Lomond, including the caves which we visited, on account of the money he had taken from the Duke and could not repay. [Footnote 95: There is a mistake here. His bones were laid about fifteen or twenty miles from thence, in Balquhidder kirkyard. But it was under the belief that his "grave is near the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those pinfold-like burial grounds, of neglected and desolate appearance, which the traveller meets with in the Highlands of Scotland," that the well-known poem on _Rob Roy's Grave_ was composed.--J. C. S.] When breakfast was ended the mistress desired the person whom we took to be her husband to "return thanks." He said a short grace, and in a few minutes they all went off to their work. We saw them about the door following one another like a flock of sheep, with the children after, whatever job they were engaged in. Mrs. Macfarlane told me she would show me the burying-place of the lairds of Glengyle, and took me to a square enclosure like a pinfold, with a stone ball at every corner; we had noticed it the evening before, and wondered what it could be. It was in the middle of a "planting," as they call plantations, which was enclosed for the preservation of the trees, therefore we had to climb over a high wall: it was a dismal spot, containing four or five graves overgrown with long grass, nettles, and brambles. Against the wall was a marble monument to the memory of one of the lairds, of whom they spoke with veneration: some English verses were inscribed upon the marble, purporting that he had been the father of his clan, a brave and good man. When we returned to the house she said she would show me what curious feathers they had in their country, and brought out a bunch carefully wrapped up in paper. On my asking her what bird they came from, "Oh!" she replied, "it is a great beast." We conjectured it was an eagle, and from her description of its ways, and the manner of destroying it, we knew it was so. She begged me to accept of some of the feathers, telling me that some ladies wore them in their heads. I was much pleased with the gift, which I shall preserve in memory of her kindness and simplicity of manners, and the Highland solitude where she lived. We took leave of the family with regret: they were handsome, healthy, and happy-looking people. It was ten o'clock when we departed. We had learned that there was a ferry-boat kept at three miles' distance, and if the man was at home he would row us down the lake to the Trossachs. Our walk was mostly through coppice-woods, along a horse-road, upon which narrow carts might travel. Passed that white house which had looked at us with such a friendly face when we were on the other side; it stood on the slope of a hill, with green pastures below it, plots of corn and coppice-wood, and behind, a rocky steep covered with wood. It was a very pretty place, but the morning being cold and dull the opposite shore appeared dreary. Near to the white house we passed by another of those little pinfold squares, which we knew to be a burying-place; it was in a sloping green field among woods, and within sound of the beating of the water against the shore, if there were but a gentle breeze to stir it: I thought if I lived in that house, and my ancestors and kindred were buried there, I should sit many an hour under the walls of this plot of earth, where all the household would be gathered together. We found the ferryman at work in the field above his hut, and he was at liberty to go with us, but, being wet and hungry, we begged that he would let us sit by his fire till we had refreshed ourselves. This was the first genuine Highland hut we had been in. We entered by the cow-house, the house-door being within, at right angles to the outer door. The woman was distressed that she had a bad fire, but she heaped up some dry peats and heather, and, blowing it with her breath, in a short time raised a blaze that scorched us into comfortable feelings. A small part of the smoke found its way out of the hole of the chimney, the rest through the open window-places, one of which was within the recess of the fireplace, and made a frame to a little picture of the restless lake and the opposite shore, seen when the outer door was open. The woman of the house was very kind: whenever we asked her for anything it seemed a fresh pleasure to her that she had it for us; she always answered with a sort of softening down of the Scotch exclamation, "Hoot!" "Ho! yes, ye'll get that," and hied to her cupboard in the spence. We were amused with the phrase "Ye'll get that" in the Highlands, which appeared to us as if it came from a perpetual feeling of the difficulty with which most things are procured. We got oatmeal, butter, bread and milk, made some porridge, and then departed. It was rainy and cold, with a strong wind. Coleridge was afraid of the cold in the boat, so he determined to walk down the lake, pursuing the same road we had come along. There was nothing very interesting for the first three or four miles on either side of the water: to the right, uncultivated heath or poor coppice-wood, and to the left, a scattering of meadow ground, patches of corn, coppice-woods, and here and there a cottage. The wind fell, and it began to rain heavily. On this William wrapped himself in the boatman's plaid, and lay at the bottom of the boat till we came to a place where I could not help rousing him. We were rowing down that side of the lake which had hitherto been little else than a moorish ridge. After turning a rocky point we came to a bay closed in by rocks and steep woods, chiefly of full-grown birch. The lake was elsewhere ruffled, but at the entrance of this bay the breezes sunk, and it was calm: a small island was near, and the opposite shore, covered with wood, looked soft through the misty rain. William, rubbing his eyes, for he had been asleep, called out that he hoped I had not let him pass by anything that was so beautiful as this; and I was glad to tell him that it was but the beginning of a new land. After we had left this bay we saw before us a long reach of woods and rocks and rocky points, that promised other bays more beautiful than what we had passed. The ferryman was a good-natured fellow, and rowed very industriously, following the ins and outs of the shore; he was delighted with the pleasure we expressed, continually repeating how pleasant it would have been on a fine day. I believe he was attached to the lake by some sentiment of pride, as his own domain--his being almost the only boat upon it--which made him, seeing we were willing gazers, take far more pains than an ordinary boatman; he would often say, after he had compassed the turning of a point, "This is a bonny part," and he always chose the bonniest, with greater skill than our prospect-hunters and "picturesque travellers"; places screened from the winds--that was the first point; the rest followed of course,--richer growing trees, rocks and banks, and curves which the eye delights in. The second bay we came to differed from the rest; the hills retired a short space from the lake, leaving a few level fields between, on which was a cottage embosomed in trees: the bay was defended by rocks at each end, and the hills behind made a shelter for the cottage, the only dwelling, I believe, except one, on this side of Loch Ketterine. We now came to steeps that rose directly from the lake, and passed by a place called in the Gaelic the Den of the Ghosts,[96] which reminded us of Lodore; it is a rock, or mass of rock, with a stream of large black stones like the naked or dried-up bed of a torrent down the side of it; birch-trees start out of the rock in every direction, and cover the hill above, further than we could see. The water of the lake below was very deep, black, and calm. Our delight increased as we advanced, till we came in view of the termination of the lake, seeing where the river issues out of it through a narrow chasm between the hills. [Footnote 96: Goblins' Cave.--J. C. S.] Here I ought to rest, as we rested, and attempt to give utterance to our pleasure: but indeed I can impart but little of what we felt. We were still on the same side of the water, and, being immediately under the hill, within a considerable bending of the shore, we were enclosed by hills all round, as if we had been upon a smaller lake of which the whole was visible. It was an entire solitude; and all that we beheld was the perfection of loveliness and beauty. We had been through many solitary places since we came into Scotland, but this place differed as much from any we had seen before, as if there had been nothing in common between them; no thought of dreariness or desolation found entrance here; yet nothing was to be seen but water, wood, rocks, and heather, and bare mountains above. We saw the mountains by glimpses as the clouds passed by them, and were not disposed to regret, with our boatman, that it was not a fine day, for the near objects were not concealed from us, but softened by being seen through the mists. The lake is not very wide here, but appeared to be much narrower than it really is, owing to the many promontories, which are pushed so far into it that they are much more like islands than promontories. We had a longing desire to row to the outlet and look up into the narrow passage through which the river went; but the point where we were to land was on the other side, so we bent our course right across, and just as we came in sight of two huts, which have been built by Lady Perth as a shelter for those who visit the Trossachs, Coleridge hailed us with a shout of triumph from the door of one of them, exulting in the glory of Scotland. The huts stand at a small distance from each other, on a high and perpendicular rock, that rises from the bed of the lake. A road, which has a very wild appearance, has been cut through the rock; yet even here, among these bold precipices, the feeling of excessive beautifulness overcomes every other. While we were upon the lake, on every side of us were bays within bays, often more like tiny lakes or pools than bays, and these not in long succession only, but all round, some almost on the broad breast of the water, the promontories shot out so far. After we had landed we walked along the road to the uppermost of the huts, where Coleridge was standing. From the door of this hut we saw Benvenue opposite to us--a high mountain, but clouds concealed its top; its side, rising directly from the lake, is covered with birch-trees to a great height, and seamed with innumerable channels of torrents; but now there was no water in them, nothing to break in upon the stillness and repose of the scene; nor do I recollect hearing the sound of water from any side, the wind being fallen and the lake perfectly still; the place was all eye, and completely satisfied the sense and the heart. Above and below us, to the right and to the left, were rocks, knolls, and hills, which, wherever anything could grow--and that was everywhere between the rocks--were covered with trees and heather; the trees did not in any place grow so thick as an ordinary wood; yet I think there was never a bare space of twenty yards: it was more like a natural forest where the trees grow in groups or singly, not hiding the surface of the ground, which, instead of being green and mossy, was of the richest purple. The heather was indeed the most luxuriant I ever saw; it was so tall that a child of ten years old struggling through it would often have been buried head and shoulders, and the exquisite beauty of the colour, near or at a distance, seen under the trees, is not to be conceived. But if I were to go on describing for evermore, I should give but a faint, and very often a false, idea of the different objects and the various combinations of them in this most intricate and delicious place; besides, I tired myself out with describing at Loch Lomond, so I will hasten to the end of my tale. This reminds me of a sentence in a little pamphlet written by the minister of Callander, descriptive of the environs of that place. After having taken up at least six closely-printed pages with the Trossachs, he concludes thus, "In a word, the Trossachs beggar all description,"--a conclusion in which everybody who has been there will agree with him. I believe the word Trossachs signifies "many hills": it is a name given to all the eminences at the foot of Loch Ketterine, and about half a mile beyond. We left the hut, retracing the few yards of road which we had climbed; our boat lay at anchor under the rock in the last of all the compartments of the lake, a small oblong pool, almost shut up within itself, as several others had appeared to be, by jutting points of rock; the termination of a long out-shooting of the water, pushed up between the steps of the main shore where the huts stand, and a broad promontory which, with its hillocks and points and lesser promontories, occupies the centre of the foot of the lake. A person sailing through the lake up the middle of it, would just as naturally suppose that the outlet was here as on the other side; and so it might have been, with the most trifling change in the disposition of the ground, for at the end of this slip of water the lake is confined only by a gentle rising of a few yards towards an opening between the hills, a narrow pass or valley through which the river might have flowed. The road is carried through this valley, which only differs from the lower part of the vale of the lake in being excessively narrow, and without water; it is enclosed by mountains, rocky mounds, hills and hillocks scattered over with birch-trees, and covered with Dutch myrtle and heather, even surpassing what we had seen before. Our mother Eve had no fairer, though a more diversified garden, to tend, than we found within this little close valley. It rained all the time, but the mists and calm air made us ample amends for a wetting. At the opening of the pass we climbed up a low eminence, and had an unexpected prospect suddenly before us--another lake, small compared with Loch Ketterine, though perhaps four miles long, but the misty air concealed the end of it. The transition from the solitary wildness of Loch Ketterine and the narrow valley or pass to this scene was very delightful: it was a gentle place, with lovely open bays, one small island, corn fields, woods, and a group of cottages. This vale seemed to have been made to be tributary to the comforts of man, Loch Ketterine for the lonely delight of Nature, and kind spirits delighting in beauty. The sky was grey and heavy,--floating mists on the hill-sides, which softened the objects, and where we lost sight of the lake it appeared so near to the sky that they almost touched one another, giving a visionary beauty to the prospect. While we overlooked this quiet scene we could hear the stream rumbling among the rocks between the lakes, but the mists concealed any glimpse of it which we might have had. This small lake is called Loch Achray. We returned, of course, by the same road. Our guide repeated over and over again his lamentations that the day was so bad, though we had often told him--not indeed with much hope that he would believe us--that we were glad of it. As we walked along he pulled a leafy twig from a birch-tree, and, after smelling it, gave it to me, saying, how "sweet and halesome" it was, and that it was pleasant and very halesome on a fine summer's morning to sail under the banks where the birks are growing. This reminded me of the old Scotch songs, in which you continually hear of the "pu'ing the birks." Common as birches are in the north of England, I believe their sweet smell is a thing unnoticed among the peasants. We returned again to the huts to take a farewell look. We had shared our food with the ferryman and a traveller whom we had met here, who was going up the lake, and wished to lodge at the ferry-house, so we offered him a place in the boat. Coleridge chose to walk. We took the same side of the lake as before, and had much delight in visiting the bays over again; but the evening began to darken, and it rained so heavily before we had gone two miles that we were completely wet. It was dark when we landed, and on entering the house I was sick with cold. The good woman had provided, according to her promise, a better fire than we had found in the morning; and indeed when I sate down in the chimney-corner of her smoky biggin, I thought I had never been more comfortable in my life. Coleridge had been there long enough to have a pan of coffee boiling for us, and having put our clothes in the way of drying, we all sate down, thankful for a shelter. We could not prevail upon the man of the house to draw near the fire, though he was cold and wet, or to suffer his wife to get him dry clothes till she had served us, which she did, though most willingly, not very expeditiously. A Cumberland man of the same rank would not have had such a notion of what was fit and right in his own house, or if he had, one would have accused him of servility; but in the Highlander it only seemed like politeness, however erroneous and painful to us, naturally growing out of the dependence of the inferiors of the clan upon their laird; he did not, however, refuse to let his wife bring out the whisky-bottle at our request: "She keeps a dram," as the phrase is; indeed, I believe there is scarcely a lonely house by the wayside in Scotland where travellers may not be accommodated with a dram. We asked for sugar, butter, barley-bread, and milk, and with a smile and a stare more of kindness than wonder, she replied, "Ye'll get that," bringing each article separately. We caroused our cups of coffee, laughing like children at the strange atmosphere in which we were: the smoke came in gusts, and spread along the walls and above our heads in the chimney, where the hens were roosting like light clouds in the sky. We laughed and laughed again, in spite of the smarting of our eyes, yet had a quieter pleasure in observing the beauty of the beams and rafters gleaming between the clouds of smoke. They had been crusted over and varnished by many winters, till, where the firelight fell upon them, they were as glossy as black rocks on a sunny day cased in ice. When we had eaten our supper we sate about half an hour, and I think I had never felt so deeply the blessing of a hospitable welcome and a warm fire. The man of the house repeated from time to time that we should often tell of this night when we got to our homes, and interposed praises of this, his own lake, which he had more than once, when we were returning in the boat, ventured to say was "bonnier than Loch Lomond." Our companion from the Trossachs, who it appeared was an Edinburgh drawing-master going during the vacation on a pedestrian tour to John o' Groat's House, was to sleep in the barn with William and Coleridge, where the man said he had plenty of dry hay. I do not believe that the hay of the Highlands is often very dry, but this year it had a better chance than usual: wet or dry, however, the next morning they said they had slept comfortably. When I went to bed, the mistress, desiring me to "go ben," attended me with a candle, and assured me that the bed was dry, though not "sic as I had been used to." It was of chaff; there were two others in the room, a cupboard and two chests, on one of which stood the milk in wooden vessels covered over; I should have thought that milk so kept could not have been sweet, but the cheese and butter were good. The walls of the whole house were of stone unplastered. It consisted of three apartments,--the cow-house at one end, the kitchen or house in the middle, and the spence at the other end. The rooms were divided, not up to the rigging, but only to the beginning of the roof, so that there was a free passage for light and smoke from one end of the house to the other. I went to bed some time before the family. The door was shut between us, and they had a bright fire, which I could not see; but the light it sent up among the varnished rafters and beams, which crossed each other in almost as intricate and fantastic a manner as I have seen the under-boughs of a large beech-tree withered by the depth of the shade above, produced the most beautiful effect that can be conceived. It was like what I should suppose an underground cave or temple to be, with a dripping or moist roof, and the moonlight entering in upon it by some means or other, and yet the colours were more like melted gems. I lay looking up till the light of the fire faded away, and the man and his wife and child had crept into their bed at the other end of the room. I did not sleep much, but passed a comfortable night, for my bed, though hard, was warm and clean: the unusualness of my situation prevented me from sleeping. I could hear the waves beat against the shore of the lake; a little "syke" close to the door made a much louder noise; and when I sate up in my bed I could see the lake through an open window-place at the bed's head. Add to this, it rained all night. I was less occupied by remembrance of the Trossachs, beautiful as they were, than the vision of the Highland hut, which I could not get out of my head. I thought of the Fairyland of Spenser, and what I had read in romance at other times, and then, what a feast would it be for a London pantomime-maker, could he but transplant it to Drury Lane, with all its beautiful colours! END OF VOL. I _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. Transcriber's Note Footnotes have been moved below the paragraph to which they relate. Both Footnote 30 on Page 50 and Footnote 39 on Page 65 refer to two items rather than one. I have repeated these footnotes below their respective paragraphs in order to accommodate the repetition. "=" is used in the text to indicate that a fancy font was used. Inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, formatting, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - Comma added after "wife" on Page viii - Period removed after "III" on Page ix - Comma removed after "Mrs." on Page xiv - Comma changed to a period after "Ed" on Page 21 - Period added after "us" on Page 23 - Period added after "morning" on Page 27 - "pen-knive" changed to "pen-knife" on Page 117 - "w th" changed to "with" on Page 134 - Footnote number was missing and has been added for Footnote 77 - Footnote anchor added to "glade" on Page 229 - "he" changed to "the" on Page 251 - Apostrophe changed to a comma after "biggin" on Page 253 
42522	----	[Illustration: Truly Yours Amos Lawrence R Andrews Print.] EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THE LATE AMOS LAWRENCE; WITH A +Brief Account of Some Incidents in his Life.+ EDITED BY HIS SON, WILLIAM R. LAWRENCE, M. D. BOSTON: GOULD AND LINCOLN, 59 WASHINGTON STREET. NEW YORK: SHELDON, LAMPORT & BLAKEMAN. LONDON: TRUBNER & CO. 1856. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by WILLIAM R. LAWRENCE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts BOSTON: Stereotyped by HOBART & ROBBINS, New England Type and Stereotype Foundery. Press of George C. Rand & Avery. +To his+ ONLY SURVIVING BROTHER, A M O S A. L A W R E N C E, OF BOSTON, +This Volume is Affectionately Inscribed+, BY THE EDITOR. PREFACE. Among the papers of the late Amos Lawrence were found copies of a large number of letters addressed to his children. With the hope that the good counsels there given, during a succession of years, extending from their childhood to adult age, might still be made profitable to their descendants, he had caused them to be carefully preserved. These letters, as well as an irregular record of his daily experience, were scattered through many volumes, and required arrangement before they could be of use to those for whom they were intended. As no one else of the immediate family could conveniently undertake the task, the editor considered it his duty to do that which could not properly be committed to one less nearly connected with the deceased. The present volume, containing what was thought most interesting among those letters and extracts, was accordingly prepared for private circulation; and an edition of one hundred copies was printed and distributed among the nearest relatives and friends. It has been thought by many that the record of such a life as is here portrayed would be useful to other readers, and especially to young men,--a class in whom Mr. Lawrence was deeply interested, and with whom circumstances in his own life had given him a peculiar bond of sympathy. Although many, among both friends and strangers, have urged the publication of the present memorial, and some have even questioned the moral right of withholding from the view of others the light of an example so worthy of imitation, much hesitation has been felt in submitting to the public the recital of such domestic incidents as are treasured in the memory of every family; those incidents which cast a sunbeam or a shadow across every fireside, and yet possess little or no interest for the busy world without. At the solicitation of the "Boston Young Men's Christian Union," the "Boston Young Men's Christian Association," and the students of Williams College, through their respective committees, and at the request of many esteemed citizens, the pages which were prepared for the eye of kindred and friends alone are now submitted to the public. Personal feeling is forgotten in the hope that the principles here inculcated may tend to promote the ends for which the subject of this memorial lived and labored. The interest manifested in his life, and the tributes rendered to his memory, have been a source of sincere gratification to his family; and they would here tender their acknowledgments to all those who have expressed their interest and their wishes in regard to this publication. The present volume is submitted with a few unimportant omissions, and with the addition of some materials, received after the issue of the first edition, which will throw light upon the character and principles of Mr. Lawrence during his early business career. His course was that of a private citizen, who took but little part in public measures or in public life. To the general reader, therefore, there may be but little to amuse in a career so devoid of incident, and so little connected with the stirring events of his times; but there cannot fail to be something to interest those who can appreciate the spirit which, in this instance, led to a rare fidelity in the fulfilment of important trusts, and the consecration of a life to the highest duties. Mr. Lawrence was eminently a religious man, and a deep sense of accountability may be discovered at the foundation of those acts of beneficence, which, during his lifetime, might have been attributed to a less worthy motive. It has been the object of the editor to allow the subject of this memorial to tell his own story, and to add merely what is necessary to preserve the thread of the narrative, or to throw light upon the various matters touched upon in the correspondence. It is designed to furnish such materials as will afford a history of Mr. Lawrence's charitable efforts, rather than give a detailed account of what was otherwise an uneventful career. Such selections from his correspondence are made as seemed best adapted to illustrate the character of the man; such as exhibit his good and valuable traits, without attempting to conceal those imperfections, an exemption from which would elevate him above the common sphere of mortals. Most of his letters are of a strictly private nature, and involve the record of many private details. His domestic tastes, and his affection for his family, often led him to make mention of persons and events in such a way that few letters could be wholly given without invading the precincts of the family circle. The engraving at the commencement of the volume is from an original portrait, by Harding, in the possession of the editor, a copy of which hangs in the library of Williams College. It seems also fitting to include a portrait of the Hon. Abbott Lawrence, who, for forty-three years, was so intimately associated with the subject of this memorial in all the trials, as well as in the triumphs, of business life, and who was still more closely connected by the bonds of fraternal affection and sympathy. A few days only have elapsed since he was removed from the scene of his earthly labors. The grave has rarely closed over one who to such energy of character and strength of purpose united a disposition so gentle and forbearing. Amidst the perplexities attending his extended business relations, and in the excitement of the political struggles in which he was called to take part, he was never tempted to overstep the bounds of courtesy, or to regard his opponents otherwise than with feelings of kindness. His wealth was used freely for the benefit of others, and for the advancement of all those good objects which tended to promote the welfare of his fellow-men. That divine spark of charity, which burned with such ceaseless energy in the bosom of his elder brother, was caught up by him, and exhibited its fruits in those acts of munificence which will make him long remembered as a benefactor of his race. BOSTON, _September_ 1st, 1855. LETTERS, REQUESTING PUBLICATION. _Rooms of the Boston Young Men's Christian Union, 6 Bedford-street, Boston, June 22, 1855._ WILLIAM R. LAWRENCE, ESQ. DEAR SIR: The undersigned, members of the Government of the Boston Young Men's Christian Union, some of whom have perused the excellent memoir of your honored father, feel deeply impressed with the desire that it should be published and circulated, knowing that its publication and perusal would greatly benefit the young, the old, and all classes of our busy mercantile community. Remembering with pleasure the friendship which your father expressed, not only in kind words, but in substantial offerings to the treasury and library of our Society, the Union would be most happy, should it comport with your feelings, to be made the medium of the publication and circulation of the memoir, which you have compiled with so much ability and faithfulness. Hoping to receive a favorable response to our desire, We are most truly yours, THOMAS GAFFIELD, H. K. WHITE, JOHN SWEETSER, J. F. AINSWORTH, JOSEPH H. ALLEN, W. H. RICHARDSON, CHAS. C. SMITH, FRANCIS S. RUSSELL, C. J. BISHOP, FREDERIC H. HENSHAW, F. H. PEABODY, CHARLES F. POTTER, W. IRVING SMITH, THORNTON K. LOTHROP, ARTHUR W. HOBART. GEO. S. HALE. * * * * * _Rooms of the Boston Young Men's Christian Association, Tremont Temple, Boston, July 10, 1855._ DEAR SIR: The Committee on the Library of the Boston Young Men's Christian Association beg leave, in its behalf, to tender you sincere thanks for your donation of a copy of the "Diary and Correspondence of Amos Lawrence." It will remain to the members of the Association a valued memorial of one of its earliest benefactors. It will be yet more prized for its record of his invaluable legacy,--the history of a long life--a bright example. The Committee, uniting with the subscribers, managers of the Association, are happy to improve this opportunity to express the hope that you may be induced to give the book a more general circulation. The kindly charities of your late lamented parent are still fresh in impressions of gratitude upon their recipients. They require no herald to give them publicity. The voice of fame would do violence to their spirit. Yet, now that "the good man" can no more utter his words of sympathy and counsel,--that his pen can no more subscribe its noble benefactions, or indite its lessons of wisdom and experience,--the press may silently perpetuate those which survive him. We must assure you of our pleasure in the knowledge that the liberal interest in the Association, so constantly manifested by your revered father, is actively maintained by yourself. We remain, in the fraternal bonds of Christian regard, Yours, truly, JACOB SLEEPER, FRANCIS D. STEDMAN, J. S. WARREN, ELIJAH SWIFT, SAMUEL GREGORY, B. C. CLARK, JR., LUTHER L. TARBELL, JOSEPH P. ELLICOTT, ALONZO C. TENNEY, GEO. N. NOYES, MOSES W. POND, PEARL MARTIN, STEPHEN G. DEBLOIS, W. H. JAMESON, HENRY FURNAS, W. F. STORY. FRANKLIN W. SMITH, } E. M. PUTNAM, } _Committee CHAS. L. ANDREWS, } on GEO. C. RAND, } Library and Rooms_ H. C. GILBERT, } To WILLIAM R. LAWRENCE, M.D. * * * * * _Williams College, June 30, 1855._ DEAR SIR: The students of Williams College having learned that you have prepared, for private distribution, a volume illustrating the character of the late Amos Lawrence, whose munificence to this Institution they appreciate, and whose memory they honor; the undersigned, a Committee appointed for the purpose, express to you their earnest desire that you would allow it to be published. Very truly yours, SAMUEL B. FORBES, E. C. SMITH, FRED. W. BEECHER, HENRY HOPKINS. To W. R. LAWRENCE, M.D., _Boston_. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. BIRTH.--ANCESTRY.--PARENTS, 15 CHAPTER II. EARLY YEARS.--SCHOOL DAYS.--APPRENTICESHIP, 20 CHAPTER III. ARRIVAL IN BOSTON.--CLERKSHIP.--COMMENCES BUSINESS.--HABITS, 28 CHAPTER IV. BUSINESS HABITS.--HIS FATHER'S MORTGAGE.--RESOLUTIONS.--ARRIVAL OF BROTHERS IN BOSTON, 35 CHAPTER V. VISITS AT GROTON.--SICKNESS.--LETTER FROM DR. SHATTUCK.-- ENGAGEMENT.--LETTER TO REV. DR. GANNETT.--MARRIAGE, 40 CHAPTER VI. BRAMBLE NEWS.--JUNIOR PARTNER GOES TO ENGLAND.--LETTERS TO BROTHER, 47 CHAPTER VII. DEATH OF SISTER.--LETTERS, 54 CHAPTER VIII. DOMESTIC HABITS.--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF WIFE, 59 CHAPTER IX. JOURNEYS.--LETTERS.--JOURNEY TO NEW YORK, 68 CHAPTER X. MARRIAGE.--ELECTED TO LEGISLATURE.--ENGAGES IN MANUFACTURES.-- REFLECTIONS, 77 CHAPTER XI. REFLECTIONS.--BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.--LETTERS, 82 CHAPTER XII. JOURNEY TO CANADA.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--CHARITIES, 89 CHAPTER XIII. CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. WEBSTER.--LETTERS, 96 CHAPTER XIV. TESTIMONIAL TO MR. WEBSTER.--DANGEROUS ILLNESS.--LETTERS, 102 CHAPTER XV. JOURNEY TO NEW HAMPSHIRE.--LETTERS.--RESIGNS OFFICE OF TRUSTEE AT HOSPITAL.--LETTERS, 109 CHAPTER XVI. DAILY EXERCISE.--REGIMEN.--IMPROVING HEALTH.--LETTERS, 122 CHAPTER XVII. REFLECTIONS.--VISIT TO WASHINGTON.--VISIT TO RAINSFORD ISLAND.--REFLECTIONS.--VIEW OF DEATH.--REFLECTIONS, 137 CHAPTER XVIII. BROTHER'S DEATH.--LETTERS.--GIFTS.--LETTERS.--BIRTH-PLACE.-- DIARY.--APPLICATIONS FOR AID.--REFLECTIONS.--LETTER FROM REV. DR. STONE.--DIARY, 147 CHAPTER XIX. REFLECTIONS.--LETTERS.--ACCOUNT OF EFFORTS TO COMPLETE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT, 165 CHAPTER XX. INTEREST IN MOUNT AUBURN.--REV. DR. SHARP.--LETTER FROM BISHOP McILVAINE.--LETTER FROM JUDGE STORY, 175 CHAPTER XXI. ACQUAINTANCE WITH PRESIDENT HOPKINS.--LETTERS.--AFFECTION FOR BRATTLE-STREET CHURCH.--DEATH OF MRS. APPLETON.-- LETTERS.--AMESBURY CO., 182 CHAPTER XXII. DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.--LETTERS.--DONATION TO WILLIAMS COLLEGE.--BENEFICENCE.--LETTERS, 193 CHAPTER XXIII. LETTER FROM DR. SHARP.--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF HIS SON.-- LETTERS.--AFFLICTIONS, 203 CHAPTER XXIV. REFLECTIONS.--EXPENDITURES.--LETTERS.--DONATION FOR LIBRARY AT WILLIAMS COLLEGE.--VIEWS ON STUDY OF ANATOMY, 212 CHAPTER XXV. DONATION TO LAWRENCE ACADEMY.--CORRESPONDENCE WITH R. G. PARKER.--SLEIGH-RIDES.--AVERSION TO NOTORIETY.--CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, 221 CHAPTER XXVI. CAPTAIN A. S. MCKENZIE.--DIARY.--AID TO IRELAND.--MADAM PRESCOTT.--SIR WILLIAM COLEBROOKE, 234 CHAPTER XXVII. MR. LAWRENCE AS AN APPLICANT.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--PRAYER AND MEDITATIONS.--FAC-SIMILE OF HAND-WRITING.--LIBERALITY TO A CREDITOR.--LETTERS, 242 CHAPTER XXVIII. REFLECTIONS.--VIEWS ON HOLDING OFFICE.--LETTERS.--CAPT. A. SLIDELL McKENZIE.--DEATH OF BROTHER AND OF HON. J. MASON, 255 CHAPTER XXIX. SYSTEM IN ACCOUNTS.--LETTER FROM PROF. STUART--LETTERS.-- DIARY.--DR. HAMILTON.--FATHER MATHEW, 264 CHAPTER XXX. CODICIL TO WILL.--ILLNESS--GEN. WHITING.--LETTERS.--DIARY, 271 CHAPTER XXXI. DIARY.--REFLECTIONS.--SICKNESS.--LETTER FROM DR. SHARP.-- CORRESPONDENCE, 278 CHAPTER XXXII. AMIN BEY.--AMOUNT OF DONATIONS TO WILLIAMS COLLEGE, 285 CHAPTER XXXIII. LETTERS--LIKENESS OF ABBOTT LAWRENCE.--DIARY, 292 CHAPTER XXXIV. SIR T. F. BUXTON.--LETTER FROM LADY BUXTON.--ELLIOTT CRESSON.--LETTERS, 298 CHAPTER XXXV. LETTERS.--REV. DR. SCORESBY.--WABASH COLLEGE, 304 CHAPTER XXXVI. DIARY.--AMOUNT OF CHARITIES.--LETTERS.--THOMAS TARBELL.-- UNCLE TOBY.--REV. DR. LOWELL, 311 CHAPTER XXXVII. CORRESPONDENCE.--DIARY, 324 CHAPTER XXXVIII. MR. LAWRENCE SERVES AS PRESIDENTIAL ELECTOR.--GEN. FRANKLIN PIERCE--SUDDEN DEATH.--FUNERAL, 334 CHAPTER XXXIX. SKETCH OF CHARACTER BY REV. DRS. LOTHROP AND HOPKINS, 343 CHAPTER XL. CONCLUSION, 352 INDEX, 361 DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE. CHAPTER I. BIRTH.--ANCESTRY.--PARENTS. Amos Lawrence was born in Groton, Mass., on the 22d of April, 1786. His ancestor, John Lawrence, was baptized, according to the records, on the 8th of October, 1609, at Wisset, County of Suffolk, England, where the family had resided for a long period, though originally from the County of Lancaster. Butler, in his "History of Groton," has, among other details, the following: "The first account of the ancestor of the numerous families of this name in Groton and Pepperell, which can be relied upon as certain, is, that he was an inhabitant of Watertown as early as 1635. He probably came in the company which came with Governor Winthrop, in 1630. His given name was John, and that of his wife was Elizabeth. Whether they were married in England or not, has not been ascertained. Their eldest child was born in Watertown, January 14, 1635. He removed to Groton, with probably all his family, at an early period of its settlement, as his name is found in the records there in 1663. He was an original proprietor, having a twenty-acre right." Of the parents of the subject of this memoir, the same author writes: "Samuel Lawrence, the son of Captain Amos Lawrence, sen., was an officer in the continental army, in the former part of the Revolutionary War. He was in the battle of Bunker Hill, where a musket-ball passed through his beaver hat. He was also in the battle in Rhode Island, where he served as adjutant under General Sullivan. On the 22d day of July, 1777, being at home, on a furlough, for the express purpose, he was married to Susanna Parker. * * * * "Having faithfully served in the cause of his country during the term of his engagement, he returned to his native town, to enjoy the peace and quiet of domestic life on his farm. He was elected by his townsmen to some of the highest offices in their gift; he was a deacon of the church, and a justice of the peace _quorum unus_. He took a deep interest in providing means for the education of youth, particularly in establishing and supporting the seminary in Groton, which now, in gratitude to him and his sons, bears the family name. Of this institution he was a trustee thirty-three years, and in its benefits and advantages he gave ample opportunities for all his children to participate. Here their minds undoubtedly received some of those early impressions, the developments and consequences of which it will be the work of their biographers hereafter to portray. No deduction, however, should here be made from the importance of parental instruction, to add to the merit of academical education. The correct lessons given by the mother in the nursery are as necessary to give the right inclination to the tender mind as are those of the tutor in the highest seminary to prepare it for the business of life and intellectual greatness. In the present case, all the duties incumbent on a mother to teach her offspring to be good, and consequently great, were discharged with fidelity and success. Both parents lived to see, in the subject of their care, all that they could reasonably hope or desire. He died November 8, 1827, æt. seventy-three; and his venerable widow, May 2, 1845, æt. eighty-nine." Mr. Lawrence writes, in 1849, to a friend: "My father belonged to a company of _minute-men_ in Groton, at the commencement of the Revolution. On the morning of the 19th of April, 1775, when the news reached town that the British troops were on the road from Boston, General Prescott, who was a neighbor, came towards the house on horseback, at rapid speed, and cried out, 'Samuel, notify your men: _the British are coming_.' My father mounted the general's horse, rode a distance of seven miles, notified the men of his circuit, and was back again at his father's house in forty minutes. In three hours the company was ready to march, and on the next day (the 20th) reached Cambridge. My father was in the battle of Bunker Hill; received a bullet through his cap, which cut his hair from front to rear; received a spent grape-shot upon his arm, without breaking the bone; and lost a large number of men. His veteran Captain Farwell was shot through the body, was taken up for dead, and was so reported by the man who was directed to carry him off. This report brought back the captain's voice, and he exclaimed, with his utmost power, '_It an't true; don't let my poor wife hear of this; I shall live to see my country free._' And so it turned out. This good man, who had served at the capture of Cape Breton in 1745, again in 1755, and now on Bunker Hill in 1775, is connected with everything interesting in my early days. The bullet was extracted, and remains, as a memento, with his descendants. My father and mother were acquainted from their childhood, and engaged to be married some time in 1775. They kept up a correspondence through 1776, when he was at New York; but, on a visit to her, in 1777 (his mother having advised them to be married, as Susan had better be Sam's widow than his forlorn damsel), they were married; but, while the ceremony was going forward, the signal was given to call all soldiers to their posts; and, within the hour, he left his wife, father, mother, and friends, to join his regiment, then at Cambridge. This was on the 22d day of July, 1777. In consideration of the circumstances, his colonel allowed him to return to his wife, and to join the army at Rhode Island in a brief time (two or three days). He did so, and saw nothing more of home until the last day of that year. The army being in winter quarters, he got a furlough for a short period, and reached home in time to assist at the ordination of the Rev. Daniel Chaplin, of whose church both my parents were then members. His return was a season of great joy to all his family. His stay was brief, and nothing more was seen of him until the autumn of 1778, when he retired from the army, in time to be with his wife at the birth of their first child. From that time he was identified with everything connected with the good of the town. As we children came forward, we were carefully looked after, but were taught to use the talents intrusted to us; and every nerve was strained to provide for us the academy which is now doing so much there. We _sons_ are doing less for education _for our means_ than our father for his means." Of his mother Mr. Lawrence always spoke in the strongest terms of veneration and love, and in many of his letters are found messages of affection, such as could have emanated only from a heart overflowing with filial gratitude. Her form bending over their bed in silent prayer, at the hour of twilight, when she was about leaving them for the night, is still among the earliest recollections of her children. She was a woman well fitted to train a family for the troubled times in which she lived. To the kindest affections and sympathies she united energy and decision, and in her household enforced that strict and unhesitating obedience, which she considered as the foundation of all success in the education of children. Her hands were never idle, as may be supposed, when it is remembered that in those days, throughout New England, in addition to the cares of a farming establishment, much of the material for clothing was manufactured by the inmates of the family. Many hours each day she passed at the hand-loom, and the hum of the almost obsolete spinning-wheel even now comes across the memory like the remembrance of a pleasant but half-forgotten melody. CHAPTER II. EARLY YEARS.--SCHOOL DAYS.--APPRENTICESHIP. The first public instruction received by Mr. Lawrence was at the district school kept at a short distance from his father's house. Possessing a feeble constitution, he was often detained at home by sickness, where he employed himself industriously with his books and tools, in the use of which he acquired a good degree of skill, as may be seen from a letter to his son, at Groton, in 1839: "Near the barn used to be an old fort, where the people went to protect themselves from the Indians; and, long since my remembrance, the old cellar was there, surrounded by elder-bushes and the like. I made use of many a piece of the elder for pop-guns and squirts, in the preparation of which I acquired a strong taste for the use of the pen-knife and jack-knife. I like the plan of boys acquiring the taste for tools, and of their taking pains to learn their use; for they may be so situated as to make a very slight acquaintance very valuable to them. And, then, another advantage is that they may have exercise of body and mind in some situations where they would suffer without. How do you employ yourself? Learn as much as you can of farming; for the work of your hands in this way may prove the best resource in securing comfort to you. The beautiful images of early life come up in these bright moonlight nights, the like of which I used to enjoy in the fields below our old mansion, where I was sent to watch the cattle. There I studied astronomy to more account than ever afterwards; for the heavens were impressive teachers of the goodness of that Father who is ever near to each one of his children. May you never lose sight of this truth, and so conduct yourself that at any moment you may be ready to answer when He calls!" He did not allow himself to be idle, but, from his earliest years, exhibited the same spirit of industry which led to success in after life. With a natural quickness of apprehension, and a fondness for books, he made commendable progress, in spite of his disadvantages. His father's social disposition and hospitable feelings made the house a favorite resort for both friends and strangers; and among the most welcome were old messmates and fellow-soldiers, to whose marvellous adventures and escapes the youthful listener lent a most attentive ear. In after life he often alluded to the intense interest with which he hung upon these accounts of revolutionary scenes, and times which "tried men's souls." The schoolmaster was usually billeted upon the family; and there are now living individuals high in political and social life who served in that capacity, and who look back with pleasure to the days passed under that hospitable roof. At a later period, he seems to have been transferred to another school, in the adjoining district, as will be seen by the following extract of a letter, written in 1844, to a youth at the Groton Academy: "More than fifty years ago, your father and I were school children together. I attended then at the old meeting-house, or North Barn, as it was called, by way of derision, where I once remember being in great tribulation at having lost my spelling-book on the way. It was afterwards restored to me by Captain Richardson, who found it under his pear-tree, where I had been, without leave, on my way to school, and with the other children helped myself to his fruit." From the district school, Mr. Lawrence entered the Groton Academy, of which all his brothers and sisters were members at various times. As his strength was not sufficient to make him useful upon the farm, in the autumn of 1799 he was placed in a small store, in the neighboring town of Dunstable. There he passed but a few months; and, on account, perhaps, of greater facilities for acquiring a knowledge of business, he was transferred to the establishment of James Brazer, Esq., of Groton, an enterprising and thrifty country merchant, who transacted a large business, for those times, with his own and surrounding towns. The store was situated on the high road leading from Boston to New Hampshire and Canada, and was, consequently, a place of much resort, both for travellers and neighbors who took an interest in passing events. Several clerks were employed; and, as Mr. Brazer did not take a very active part in the management of the business, after a year or two nearly the whole responsibility of the establishment rested upon young Lawrence. The stock consisted of the usual variety kept in the country stores of those days, when neighbors could not, as now, run down to the city, thirty or forty miles distant, for any little matter of fancy, and return before dinner-time. Puncheons of rum and brandy, bales of cloth, kegs of tobacco, with hardware and hosiery, shared attention in common with silks and thread, and all other articles for female use. Among other duties, the young clerk was obliged to dispense medicines, not only to customers, but to all the physicians within twenty miles around, who depended on this establishment for their supply. The confidence in his good judgment was such that he was often consulted, in preference to the physician, by those who were suffering from minor ails; and many were the extemporaneous doses which he administered for the weal or woe of the patient. The same confidence was extended to him in all other matters, no one doubted his assertion; and the character for probity and fairness which accompanied him through life was here established. The quantity of rum and brandy sold would surprise the temperance men of modern days. At eleven o'clock, each forenoon, some stimulating beverage, according to the taste of the clerk who compounded it, was served out for the benefit of clerks and customers. Mr. Lawrence partook with the others; but, soon finding that the desire became more pressing at the approach of the hour for indulgence, he resolved to discontinue the habit altogether: "His mind was soon made up. Understanding perfectly the ridicule he should meet with, and which for a time he did meet with in its fullest measure, he yet took at once the ground of _total abstinence_. Such a stand, taken at such an age, in such circumstances of temptation, before temperance societies had been heard of, or the investigations had been commenced on which they are based, was a practical instance of that judgment and decision which characterized him through life."[1] [1] President Hopkins's Sermon in commemoration of Amos Lawrence In regard to this resolution, he writes, many years afterward, to a young student in college: "In the first place, take this for your motto at the commencement of your journey, that the difference of going _just right_, or a _little wrong_, will be the difference of finding yourself in good quarters, or in a miserable bog or slough, at the end of it. Of the whole number educated in the Groton stores for some years before and after myself, no one else, to my knowledge, escaped the bog or slough; and my escape I trace to the simple fact of my having put a restraint upon my appetite. We five boys were in the habit, every forenoon, of making a drink compounded of rum, raisins, sugar, nutmeg, &c., with biscuit,--all palatable to eat and drink. After being in the store four weeks, I found myself admonished by my appetite of the approach of the hour for indulgence. Thinking the habit might make trouble if allowed to grow stronger, without further apology to my seniors I declined partaking with them. My first resolution was to abstain for a week, and, when the week was out, for a month, and then for a year. Finally, I resolved to abstain for the rest of my apprenticeship, which was for five years longer. During that whole period, I never drank a spoonful, though I mixed gallons daily for my old master and his customers. I decided not to be a slave to tobacco in any form, though I loved the odor of it then, and even now have in my drawer a superior Havana cigar, given me, not long since, by a friend, but only to smell of. I have never in my life smoked a cigar; never chewed but one quid, and that was before I was fifteen; and never took an ounce of snuff, though the scented rappee of forty years ago had great charms for me. Now, I say, to this simple fact of starting _just right_ am I indebted, with God's blessing on my labors, for my present position, as well as that of the numerous connections sprung up around me. I have many details that now appear as plain to me as the sun at noonday, by which events are connected together, and which have led to results that call on me to bless the Lord for all his benefits, and to use the opportunities thus permitted to me in cheering on the generation of young men who have claims upon my sympathies as relations, fellow-townsmen, or brethren on a more enlarged scale." Of this period he writes elsewhere, as follows: "When I look back, I can trace the small events which happened at your age as having an influence upon all the after things. My academy lessons, little academy balls, and eight-cent expenses for music and gingerbread, the agreeable partners in the hall, and pleasant companions in the stroll, all helped to make me feel that I had a character even then; and, after leaving school and going into the store, there was not a month passed before I became impressed with the opinion that restraint upon appetite was necessary to prevent the slavery I saw destroying numbers around me. Many and many of the farmers, mechanics, and apprentices, of that day, have filled drunkards' graves, and have left destitute families and friends. "The knowledge of every-day affairs which I acquired in my business apprenticeship in Groton has been a source of pleasure and profit even in my last ten years' discipline." The responsibility thrown upon the young clerk was very great; and he seems cheerfully to have accepted it, and to have given himself up entirely to the performance of his business duties. His time, from early dawn till evening, was fully taken up; and, although living in the family of his employer, and within a mile of his father's house, a whole week would sometimes pass without his having leisure to pay even a flying visit. But few details of his apprenticeship can now be gathered either from his contemporaries or from any allusions in his own writings. He was disabled for a time by an accident which came near being fatal. In assisting an acquaintance to unload a gun, by some means the charge exploded, and passed directly through the middle of his hand, making a round hole like that of a bullet. Sixty-three shot were picked out of the floor after the accident, and it seemed almost a miracle that he ever again had the use of his hand. CHAPTER III. ARRIVAL IN BOSTON.--CLERKSHIP.--COMMENCES BUSINESS.--HABITS.--LETTERS. On the 22d of April, 1807, Mr. Lawrence became of age; and his apprenticeship, which had lasted seven years, was terminated. On the 29th of the same month, he took his father's horse and chaise, and engaged a neighbor to drive him to Boston, with, as he says, many years afterwards,-- "Twenty dollars in my pocket, but feeling richer than I had ever felt before, or have felt since; so rich that I gave the man who came with me two dollars to save him from any expense, and insure him against loss by his spending two days on the journey here and back (for which he was glad of an excuse)." His object was to make acquaintances, and to establish a credit which would enable him to commence business in Groton on his own account, in company with a fellow-apprentice. A few days after his arrival in Boston, he received the offer of a clerkship from a respectable house; and, wishing to familiarize himself with the modes of conducting mercantile affairs in the metropolis, and with the desire of extending his acquaintance with business men, he accepted the offer. His employers were so well satisfied with the capacity of their new clerk, that, in the course of a few months, they made a proposition to admit him into partnership. Without any very definite knowledge of their affairs, he, much to their surprise, declined the offer. He did not consider the principles on which the business was conducted as the true ones. The result showed his sagacity; for, in the course of a few months, the firm became insolvent, and he was appointed by the creditors to settle their affairs. This he did to their satisfaction; and, having no further occupation, decided upon commencing business on his own account. He accordingly hired a small store in what was then called Cornhill, and furnished it by means of the credit which he had been able to obtain through the confidence with which he had inspired those whose acquaintance he had made during his brief sojourn in Boston. On the 17th of December, 1807, he commenced business, after having engaged as his clerk Henry Whiting, in after years well and honorably known as Brigadier-General Whiting, of the United States Army. Mr. Lawrence writes to General Whiting, in 1849, as follows: "I have just looked into my first sales-book, and there see the entries made by you more than forty-one years ago. Ever since, you have been going up from the cornet of dragoons to the present station. Abbott, who took your place, is now the representative of his country at the Court of St. James." In a memorandum in one of his account-books, he thus alludes to his condition at that time: "I was then, in the matter of property, not worth a dollar. My father was comfortably off as a farmer, somewhat in debt; with perhaps four thousand dollars. My brother Luther was in the practice of law, getting forward, but not worth two thousand dollars; William had nothing; Abbott, a lad just fifteen years old, at school; and Samuel, a child seven years old." Of the manner in which he occupied himself when not engaged about his business, he writes to his son in 1832: "When I first came to this city, I took lodgings in the family of a widow who had commenced keeping boarders for a living. I was one of her first, and perhaps had been in the city two months when I went to this place; and she, of course, while I remained, was inclined to adopt any rules for the boarders that I prescribed. The only one I ever made was, that, after supper, all the boarders who remained in the public room should remain quiet at least for one hour, to give those who chose to study or read an opportunity of doing so without disturbance. The consequence was, that we had the most quiet and improving set of young men in the town. The few who did not wish to comply with the regulation went abroad after tea, sometimes to the theatre, sometimes to other places, but, to a man, became bankrupt in after life, not only in fortune, but in reputation; while a majority of the other class sustained good characters, and some are now living who are ornaments to society, and fill important stations. The influence of this small measure will perhaps be felt throughout generations. It was not less favorable on myself than on others." Mr. Lawrence was remarkable through life for the most punctilious exactness in all matters relating to business. Ever prompt himself in all that he undertook, he submitted with little grace to the want of the same good trait in others. He writes to a friend: "And now having delivered the message, having the power at the present moment, and not having the assurance that I shall be able to do it the next hour, I will state that I practised upon the maxim, '_Business before friends_,' from the commencement of my course. During the first seven years of my business in this city, I never allowed a bill against me to stand unsettled over the Sabbath. If the purchase of goods was made at auction on Saturday, and delivered to me, I always examined and settled the bill by note or by crediting it, and having it clear, so that, in case I was not on duty on Monday, there would be no trouble for my boys; thus keeping the business _before_ me, instead of allowing it to _drive_ me." Absence from his home seemed only to strengthen the feelings of attachment with which he regarded its inmates. "My interest in home, and my desire to have something to tell my sisters to instruct and improve them, as well as to hear their comments upon whatever I communicated, was a powerful motive for me to spend a portion of each evening in my boarding-house, the first year I came to Boston, in reading and study." During the same month in which he commenced his business, he opened a correspondence with one of his sisters by the following letter: "BOSTON, December, 1807. "DEAR E.: Although the youngest, you are no less dear to me than the other sisters. To you, therefore, I ought to be as liberal in affording pleasure (if you can find any in reading my letters) as to S. and M.; and, if there is any benefit resulting from them, you have a claim to it as well as they. From these considerations, and with the hope that you will write to me whenever you can do so with convenience, I have begun a correspondence which I hope will end only with life. To be able to write a handsome letter is certainly a very great accomplishment, and can best be attained by practice; and, if you now begin, I have no hesitation in saying, that, by the time you are sixteen, you will be mistress of a handsome style, and thrice the quantity of ideas you would otherwise possess, by omitting this part of education. At present, you can write about any subject that will afford you an opportunity of putting together a sentence, and I shall read it with pleasure. I mention this, that you need not fear writing on subjects not particularly interesting to me; the manner at present being of as much consequence as the matter. "For our mutual pleasure and benefit, dear E., I hope you will not fail to gratify your affectionate brother AMOS." To show the nature of the correspondence between the parties, extracts are given below from a letter dated within a few days of the preceding, and addressed to another sister: "From you, my dear sister, the injunction not to forget the duties of religion comes with peculiar grace. You beg I will pardon you for presuming to offer good advice. Does a good act require pardon? Not having committed an offence, I can grant you no pardon; but my thanks I can give, which you will accept, with an injunction never to withhold any caution or advice which you may think necessary or beneficial on account of fewer years having passed over your head. * * * * "Many, when speaking of perfection, say it is not attainable, or hitherto unattainable, and it is therefore vain to try or hope for it. To such I would observe, that, from motives of duty to our Creator, and ambition in ourselves, we ought to strive for it, at least so far as not to be distanced by those who have preceded us. Morality is strict justice between man and man; therefore, a man being moral does not imply he is a Christian, but being a Christian implies he is a moral man. * * * * "We ought to use our utmost endeavors to conquer our passions and evil propensities, to conform our lives to the strict rules of morality and the best practice of Christianity. I cannot go further, without introducing the subject of evil speaking, which you will perhaps think I have exhausted. * * * "I do not, my dear M., set myself up as a reformer of human nature, or to find fault with it; but these observations (which have occurred to me as I am writing) may serve to show how apt we are to do things which afford us no pleasure, and which oftentimes are attended with the most disagreeable consequences. If you receive any improvement from the sentiments, or pleasure from the perusal, of this letter, the time in writing will be considered as well spent by your affectionate brother AMOS." CHAPTER IV. BUSINESS HABITS.--HIS FATHER'S MORTGAGE.--RESOLUTIONS.--ARRIVAL OF BROTHERS IN BOSTON. Mr. Lawrence had early formed, in the management of his affairs, certain principles, to which he rigidly adhered till the close of life. He writes: "I adopted the plan of keeping an accurate account of merchandise bought and sold each day, with the profit as far as practicable. This plan was pursued for a number of years; and I never found my merchandise fall short in taking an account of stock, which I did as often at least as once in each year. I was thus enabled to form an opinion of my actual state as a business man. I adopted also the rule always to have property, after my second year's business, to represent forty per cent. at least more than I owed; that is, never to be in debt more than two and a half times my capital. This caution saved me from ever getting embarrassed. If it were more generally adopted, we should see fewer failures in business. Excessive credit is the rock on which so many business men are broken. "When I commenced, the embargo had just been laid, and with such restrictions on trade that many were induced to leave it. But I felt great confidence, that, by industry, economy, and integrity, I could get a living; and the experiment showed that I was right. Most of the young men who commenced at that period failed by spending too much money, and using credit too freely. "I made about fifteen hundred dollars the first year, and more than four thousand the second. Probably, had I made four thousand the first year, I should have failed the second or third year. I practised a system of rigid economy, and never allowed myself to spend a fourpence for unnecessary objects until I had acquired it." It is known to many of Mr. Lawrence's friends that his father mortgaged his farm, and loaned the proceeds to his son; thereby enabling him, as some suppose, to do what he could not have done by his own unaided efforts. To show how far this supposition is correct, the following extract is given. It is copied from the back of the original mortgage deed, now lying before the writer, and bearing date of September 1, 1807. The extract is dated March, 1847: "The review of this transaction always calls up the deep feelings of my heart. My honored father brought to me the one thousand dollars, and asked me to give him my note for it. I told him he did wrong to place himself in a situation to be made unhappy, if I lost the money. He told me he _guessed I wouldn't lose it_, and I gave him my note. The first thing I did was to take four per cent. premium on my Boston bills (the difference then between passable and Boston money), and send a thousand dollars in bills of the Hillsborough Bank to Amherst, New Hampshire, by my father, to my brother L. to carry to the bank and get specie, as he was going there to attend court that week. My brother succeeded in getting specie, principally in silver change, for the bills, and returned it to me in a few days. In the mean time, or shortly after, the bank had been sued, the bills discredited, and, in the end, proved nearly worthless. I determined not to use the money, except in the safest way; and therefore loaned it to Messrs. Parkman, in whom I had entire confidence. After I had been in business, and had made more than a thousand dollars, I felt that I could repay the money, come what would of it; being insured against fire, and trusting nobody for goods. I used it in my business, but took care to pay off the mortgage as soon as it would be received. The whole transaction is deeply interesting, and calls forth humble and devout thanksgiving to that merciful Father who has been to us better than our most sanguine hopes." In alluding to this transaction in another place, he says: "This incident shows how dangerous it is to the independence and comfort of families, for parents to take pecuniary responsibilities for their sons in trade, beyond their power of meeting them without embarrassment. Had my Hillsborough Bank notes not been paid as they were, nearly the whole amount would have been lost, and myself and family might probably have been ruined. The incident was so striking, that I have uniformly discouraged young men who have applied to me for credit, offering their fathers as bondsmen; and, by doing so, I have, I believe, saved some respectable families from ruin. My advice, however, has been sometimes rejected with anger. A young man who cannot get along without such aid will not be likely to get along with it. On the first day of January, 1808, I had been but a few days in business; and the profits on all my sales to that day were one hundred and seventy-five dollars and eighteen cents. The expenses were to come out, and the balance was my capital. In 1842, the sum had increased to such an amount as I thought would be good for my descendants; and, from that time, I have been my own executor. How shall I show my sense of responsibility? Surely by active deeds more than by unmeaning words. God grant me to be true and faithful in his work!" Having become fairly established in Boston, Mr. Lawrence concluded to take his brother Abbott, then fifteen years of age, as an apprentice. On the 8th of October, 1808, Abbott accordingly joined his brother, who says of him: "In 1808, he came to me as my apprentice, bringing his bundle under his arm, with less than three dollars in his pocket (and this was his fortune); a first-rate business lad he was, but, like other bright lads, needed the careful eye of a senior to guard him from the pitfalls that he was exposed to." In his diary of February 10, 1847, he writes: "In the autumn of 1809, I boarded at Granger's Coffee House, opposite Brattle-street Church; and, in the same house, Mr. Charles White took up his quarters, to prepare his then new play, called the 'Clergyman's Daughter.' He spent some months in preparing it to secure a _run_ for the winter; and used to have Tennett, Canfield, Robert Treat Paine, and a host of others, to dine with him very often. I not unfrequently left the party at the dinner-table, and found them there when I returned to tea. Among the boarders was a fair proportion of respectable young men, of different pursuits; and, having got somewhat interested for White, we all agreed to go, and help bring out his 'Clergyman's Daughter.' Mrs. Darley was the lady to personate her, and a more beautiful creature could not be found. She and her husband (who sung his songs better than any man I had ever heard then) had all the spirit of parties in interest. We filled the boxes, and encored, and all promised a great run. After three nights, we found few beside the friends, and it was laid aside a failure. In looking back, the picture comes fresh before me; and, among all, I do not recollect one who was the better, and most were ruined. The theatre is no better now." In 1849, he resumes: "About this time, my brother William made me a little visit to recruit his health, which he had impaired by hard work on the farm, and by a generous attention to the joyous meetings of the young folks of both sexes, from six miles around, which meetings he never allowed to break in upon his work. He continued his visit through the winter, and became so much interested in my business that I agreed to furnish the store next my own for his benefit. Soon after that, I was taken sick; and he bought goods for himself to start with, and pushed on without fear. From that time, he was successful as a business man. He used his property faithfully, and I trust acceptably to the Master, who has called him to account for his talents. Our father's advice to us was, "'Do not fall out by the way, for a three-fold cord is not quickly broken.'" CHAPTER V. VISITS AT GROTON.--SICKNESS.--LETTER FROM DR. SHATTUCK.--ENGAGEMENT.--LETTER TO REV. DR. GANNETT.--MARRIAGE. During these years, Mr. Lawrence was in the habit of making occasional visits to his parents in Groton, thirty-five miles distant. His custom was to drive himself, leaving Boston at a late hour on Saturday afternoon, and often, as he says, encroaching upon the Sabbath before reaching home. After midnight, on Sunday, he would leave on his return; and thus was enabled to reach Boston about daybreak on Monday morning, without losing a moment's time in his business. In 1810, Mr. Lawrence was seized with an alarming illness, through which he enjoyed the care and skill of his friend and physician, the late Dr. G. C. Shattuck, who, shortly before his own death, transmitted the following account of this illness to the editor of these pages, who also had the privilege of enjoying a friendship so much prized by his father: "Feb. 28, 1853. "More than forty years ago, New England was visited with a pestilence. The people were stricken with panic. The first victims were taken off unawares. In many towns in the interior of the commonwealth, the people assembled in town meeting, and voted to pay, from the town treasury, physicians to be in readiness to attend on any one assailed with the premonitory symptoms of disease. The distemper was variously named, cold plague, spotted fever, and malignant remittent fever. After a day of unusual exercise, your father was suddenly taken ill. The worthy family in which he boarded were prompt in their sympathy. A physician was called: neighbors and friends volunteered their aid. Remedies were diligently employed. Prayers in the church were offered up for the sick one. A pious father left his home, on the banks of the Nashua, to be with his son. To the physician in attendance he gave a convulsive grasp of the hand, and, with eyes brimful of tears, and choked utterance, articulated, 'Doctor, if Amos has not money enough, I have!' To the anxious father his acres seemed like dust in the balance contrasted with the life of his son. He was a sensible man, acting on the principle that the stimulus of reward is a salutary adjunct to the promptings of humanity. God rebuked the disorder, though the convalescence was slow. A constitution with an originally susceptible nervous temperament had received a shock which rendered him a long time feeble. An apprentice, with a discretion beyond his years, maintained a healthy activity in his mercantile operations, to the quiet of his mind. He did not need great strength; for sagacity and decision supplied every other lack. Supply and demand were as familiar to him as the alphabet. He knew the wants of the country, and sources of supply. Accumulation followed his operations, and religious principle regulated the distribution of the cumbrous surplus. A sensible and pious father, aided by a prudent mother, had trained the child to become the future man. You will excuse my now addressing you, when you recur to the tradition that I had participated in the joy of the house when you first opened your eyes to the light. That God's promises to the seed of the righteous may extend to you and yours, is the prayer of your _early_ acquaintance, "GEORGE C. SHATTUCK." But few details of Mr. Lawrence's business from this date until 1815 are now found. Suffice it to say, that, through the difficult and troubled times in which the United States were engaged in the war with England, his efforts were crowned with success. Dark clouds sometimes arose in the horizon, and various causes of discouragement from time to time cast a gloom over the mercantile world; but despondency formed no part of his character, while cool sagacity and unceasing watchfulness and perseverance enabled him to weather many a storm which made shipwreck of others around him. Amidst the engrossing cares of business, however, Mr. Lawrence found time to indulge in more genial pursuits, as will be seen from the following lines, addressed to his sister: "BOSTON, March 17, 1811. "My not having written to you since your return, my dear M., has proceeded from my having other numerous avocations, and partly from a carelessness in such affairs reprehensible in me. You will, perhaps, be surprised to learn the extent and importance of my avocations; for, in addition to my usual routine of mercantile affairs, I have lately been engaged in a negotiation of the first importance, and which I have accomplished very much to my own satisfaction. It is no other than having offered myself as a husband to your very good friend Sarah Richards, which offer she has agreed to accept. So, next fall, you must set your mind on a wedding. Sarah I have long known and esteemed: there is such a reciprocity of feelings, sentiments, and principles, that I have long thought her the most suitable person I have seen for me to be united with. Much of my time, as you may well suppose, is spent in her society; and here I cannot but observe the infinite advantage of good sense and good principles over the merely elegant accomplishments of fashionable education. By the latter we may be fascinated for a time; but they will afford no satisfaction on retrospection. The former you are compelled to respect and to love. Such qualities are possessed by Sarah; and, were I to say anything further in her favor, it would be that she is beloved by you. Adieu, my dear sister, A. L." As this volume is intended only for the perusal of the family and friends of the late Amos Lawrence, no apology need be made for introducing such incidents of his life, of a domestic nature, as may be thought interesting, and which it might not seem advisable to introduce under other circumstances. Of this nature are some details connected with this engagement. The young lady here alluded to, whose solid qualities he thus, at the age of twenty-five and in the first flush of a successful courtship, so calmly discusses, in addition to these, possessed personal charms sufficient to captivate the fancy of even a more philosophical admirer than himself. Her father, Giles Richards, was a man of great ingenuity, who resided in Boston at the close of the Revolutionary War. He owned an establishment for the manufactory of cards for preparing wool. A large number of men were employed; and, at that time, it was considered one of the objects worthy of notice by strangers. As such, it was visited by General Washington on his northern tour; and may be found described, in the early editions of Morse's Geography, among the industrial establishments of Boston. As in the case of many more noted men of inventive genius, his plans were more vast than the means of accomplishment; and the result was, loss of a handsome competency, and embarrassment in business, from which he retired with unsullied reputation, and passed his latter years in the vicinity of Boston. Here the evening of his life was cheered by the constant and watchful care of his wife, whose cheerful and happy temperament shed a radiance around his path, which, from a naturally desponding character, might otherwise have terminated in gloom. She had been the constant companion of her husband in all his journeyings and residences in nearly every State in the Union, where his business had called him; and, after forty years, returned to die in the house where she was born,--the parsonage once occupied by her father, the Rev. Amos Adams, of Roxbury, who, at the time of the Revolution, was minister of the church now under the pastoral care of the Rev. Dr. Putnam. Sarah had been placed in the family of the Rev. Dr. Chaplin, minister of the church at Groton, and was a member of the academy when Mr. Lawrence first made her acquaintance. "The academy balls, the agreeable partners in the hall, the pleasant companions in the stroll," remembered with so much pleasure in after life, were not improbably associated with this acquaintance, who had become a visitor and friend to his own sisters. After a separation of four years, the acquaintance was accidentally renewed in the year 1807. Sarah was on a visit at Cambridge to the family of Caleb Gannett, Esq., then and for many years afterwards Steward of Harvard University. In a letter to Rev. Dr. Gannett, dated February 15, 1845, Mr. Lawrence thus alludes to this interview: "My first interview with you, thirty-eight years ago, when you were led by the hand into the store where I then was, in Cornhill, by that friend (who was afterwards my wife), unconscious of my being within thirty miles, after a four years' separation, connects you in my thoughts with her, her children and grandchildren, in a way that no one can appreciate who has not had the experience." Enclosed in this letter was a faded paper, on which were written several verses of poetry, with the following explanation: "Only think of your sainted mother writing this little scrap thirty-eight years ago, when on her death-bed, for her young friend, then on a visit to her, to teach to you, who could not read; and this scrap, written upon a blank term-bill without premeditation, being preserved by that friend while she lived, and, after her death, by her daughter while she lived, and, after her death, being restored to me as the rightful disposer of it; and my happening, within four days after, to meet you under such circumstances as made it proper to show it to you." MRS. GANNETT'S HYMN FOR HER LITTLE BOY IN 1807. How can a child forgetful prove Of all that wakes the heart to love, And from the path of duty stray, To spend his time in sport and play; Neglectful of the blessing given, Which marks the path to peace and heaven? O! how can I, who daily share A mother's kind, assiduous care, Be idle, and ungrateful too; Forsake the good, the bad pursue; Neglectful of the blessings given, Which mark the path to peace and heaven? O! how can I such folly show, When faults indulged to vices grow,-- Who know that idle days ne'er make Men that are useful, good, or great? Dear mother, still be thou my guide, Nor suffer me my faults to hide; And O may God his grace impart To fix my feeble, foolish heart, That I may wait the blessing given, Which marks the path to peace and heaven! MEM.--Mrs. Gannett died soon after writing this on a blank term-bill of Harvard College, in 1807.--A. L., 1847. The marriage of Mr. Lawrence took place in Boston, on the 6th of June, 1811, three months after announcing his engagement to his sister. CHAPTER VI. BRAMBLE NEWS.--JUNIOR PARTNER GOES TO ENGLAND.--LETTERS TO BROTHER. In 1849, Mr. Lawrence writes as follows: "On the 1st of January, 1814, I took my brother Abbott into partnership on equal shares, putting fifty thousand dollars, that I had then earned, into the concern. Three days afterwards, the 'Bramble News' came, by which the excessive high price of goods was knocked down. Our stock was then large, and had cost a high price. He was in great anguish, considering himself a bankrupt for at least five thousand dollars. I cheered him by offering to cancel our copartnership indentures, give him up his note, and, at the end of the year, pay him five thousand dollars. He declined the offer, saying I should lose that, and more beside, and, as he had enlisted, would do the best he could. This was in character, and it was well for us both. He was called off to do duty as a soldier, through most of the year. I took care of the business, and prepared to retreat with my family into the country whenever the town seemed liable to fall into the hands of the British, who were very threatening in their demonstrations. We still continue mercantile business under the first set of indentures, and under the same firm, merely adding '& Co.,' as new partners have been admitted." In March, 1815, the junior partner embarked on board the ship Milo, the first vessel which sailed from Boston for England after the proclamation of peace. On the eve of his departure, he received from his brother and senior partner a letter containing many good counsels for his future moral guidance, as well as instructions in relation to the course of business to be pursued. From that letter, dated March 11th, the following extracts are taken: "MY DEAR BROTHER: I have thought best, before you go abroad, to suggest a few hints for your benefit in your intercourse with the people among whom you are going. As a first and leading principle, let every transaction be of that pure and honest character that you would not be ashamed to have appear before the whole world as clearly as to yourself. In addition to the advantages arising from an honest course of conduct with your fellow-men, there is the satisfaction of reflecting within yourself that you have endeavored to do your duty; and, however greatly the best may fall short of doing all they ought, they will be sure not to do more than their principles enjoin. "It is, therefore, of the highest consequence that you should not only cultivate correct principles, but that you should place your standard of action so high as to require great vigilance in living up to it. "In regard to your business transactions, let everything be so registered in your books, that any person, without difficulty, can understand the whole of your concerns. You may be cut off in the midst of your pursuits, and it is of no small consequence that your temporal affairs should always be so arranged that you may be in readiness. "If it is important that you should be well prepared in this point of view, how much more important is it that you should be prepared in that which relates to eternity! "You are young, and the course of life seems open, and pleasant prospects greet your ardent hopes; but you must remember that the race is not always to the swift, and that however flattering may be your prospects, and however zealously you may seek pleasure, you can never find it except by cherishing pure principles, and practising right conduct. My heart is full on this subject, my dear brother, and it is the only one on which I feel the least anxiety. "While here, your conduct has been such as to meet my entire approbation; but the scenes of another land may be more than your principles will stand against. I say, _may be_, because young men, of as fair promise as yourself, have been lost by giving a small latitude (innocent in the first instance) to their propensities. But I pray the Father of all mercies to have you in his keeping, and preserve you amid temptations. * * * * * "I can only add my wish to have you write me frequently and particularly, and that you will embrace every opportunity of gaining information. Your affectionate brother, "AMOS LAWRENCE. "TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE." Again, on the 28th of the month, he writes to the same, after his departure: "I hope you will have arrived in England early in April; and if so, you will be awaiting with anxious solicitude the arrival of the 'Galen,' by which vessel you will receive letters from _home_, a word which brings more agreeable associations to the mind and feelings of a young stranger in a foreign land than any other in our language. I have had many fears that you have had a rough passage, as the weather on the Friday following your departure was very boisterous, and continued so for a number of days, and much of the time since has been uncomfortable. I trust, however, that the same good Hand which supplies our daily wants has directed your course to the desired port. "With a just reliance on that Power, we need have no fear, though winds and waves should threaten our destruction. The interval between the time of bidding adieu and of actual departure called into exercise those fine feelings which those only have who can prize friends, and on that account I was happy to see so much feeling in yourself. "Since your departure nothing of a public nature has transpired of particular interest. All that there is of news or interest among us you will gather from the papers forwarded. "Those affairs which relate particularly to ourselves will be of as much interest as any; I shall therefore detail our business operations. * * * * * "My next and constant direction will be to keep a particular watch over yourself, that you do not fall into any habits of vice; and, as a means of preserving yourself, I would most strictly enjoin that your Sabbaths be not spent in noise and riot, but that you attend the public worship of God. This you may think an unnecessary direction to you, who have always been in the habit of doing so. I hope it may be; at any rate, it will do no harm. "That you may be blessed with health, and enjoy properly the blessings of life, is the wish of your ever affectionate brother, "A. L. "TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE." (TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE.) "BOSTON, April 15th, 1815. "MY DEAR BROTHER: By the favor of Heaven I trust ere this you have landed upon the soil from which sprang our forefathers. In the contemplation of that wonderful 'Isle' on your first arrival, there must be a feeling bordering on devotion. The thousand new objects, which make such constant demand on your attention, will not, I hope, displace the transatlantic friends from the place they should occupy in your remembrance. Already do I begin to count the days when I may reasonably hear from you. "I pray you to let no opportunity pass without writing, as you will be enabled to appreciate the pleasure your letters will give by those which you receive from home. Since your departure, our father has been dangerously ill; he seems fast recovering, but we much fear a relapse, when he would, in all probability, be immediately deprived of life, or his disease would so far weaken him as to terminate his usefulness. Our mother continues as comfortable as when you left us. Should you live to return, probably one or both our parents may not be here to welcome you; we have particular reason for thankfulness that they have both been spared to us so long, and have been so useful in the education of their children. "All others of our connection have been in health since your departure, and a comfortable share of happiness seems to have been enjoyed by all. * * * * * "Now for advice: you are placed in a particularly favorable situation, my dear brother, for improving yourself in the knowledge of such things as will hereafter be useful to you. Let no opportunity pass without making the most of it. There are necessarily many vacant hours in your business, which ought not to pass unemployed. I pretend not to suggest particular objects for your attention, but only the habit generally of active employment, which, while making your time useful and agreeable to yourself, will be the best safeguard to your virtue. The American character, I trust, is somewhat respected in England at this time, notwithstanding it was lately at so low an ebb; and I would wish every American to endeavor to do something to improve it. Especially do I wish you, my dear A., who visit that country under circumstances so favorable, to do your part in establishing a character for your country as well as for yourself. Thus prays your affectionate brother, A. L." To his wife, at Groton, Mr. Lawrence writes, under date of June 4, 1815: "The Milo got in yesterday, and brought letters from Abbott, dated 4th April. He was then in Manchester, and enjoyed the best health. He wrote to our father, which letter, I hope, will arrive at Groton by to-morrow's mail. I received from him merchandise, which I hope to get out of the ship and sell this week. I suspect there are few instances of a young man leaving this town, sending out goods, and having them sold within ninety days from the time of his departure. It is eighty-four days this morning since he left home." (TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE.) "BOSTON, June 7, 1815. "DEAR BROTHER: By the arrival of the Milo last Saturday, and packet on Monday, I received your several letters, giving an account of your proceedings. You are as famous among your acquaintances here for the rapidity of your movements as Bonaparte. Mr. ---- thinks that you leave Bonaparte entirely in the background. I really feel a little proud, my dear brother, of your conduct. Few instances of like despatch are known. "The sensations you experienced in being greeted so heartily by the citizens of Liverpool, were not unlike those you felt on hearing the news of peace. I am happy to state to you that our father has so far recovered from his illness as to be able to attend to his farm. Our mother's health is much as when you left. "Your friends here feel a good deal of interest in your welfare, and read with deep interest your letters to them. The opportunity is peculiarly favorable for establishing a reputation as a close observer of men and manners, and for those improvements which travelling is reputed to give. "When writing to you sentences of advice, my heart feels all the tender sympathies and affections which bind me to my own children. This is my apology, if any be necessary, for so frequently touching on subjects for your moral improvement. "In any condition I can subscribe myself no other than your ever affectionate brother, A. L." CHAPTER VII. DEATH OF SISTER.--LETTERS. On the 19th of August, 1815, Mr. Lawrence, in the following letter to his brother, announced the sudden death of a sister, who to youth and beauty united many valuable qualities of mind and character: "To you, who are at such a distance from home, and employed in the busy pursuits of life, the description of domestic woe will not come with such force as on us who were eye-witnesses to an event which we and all our friends shall not cease to deplore. We have attended this morning to the last sad office of affection to our loved sister S. Although for ourselves we mourn the loss of so much excellence, yet for her we rejoice that her race is so soon run. We are permitted to hope that she is now a saint in heaven, celebrating before the throne of her Father the praises of the redeemed. She met death in the enjoyment of that hope which is the peculiar consolation of the believer. This event, I know, my dear brother, is calculated to awaken all the tender recollections of home, and to call forth all your sympathy for the anguish of friends; but it is also calculated to soften the heart, and to guide you in your own preparation for that great day of account. The admonition, I hope, may not be lost on any of us, and happy will it be for us if we use it aright." (TO THE SAME.) "BOSTON, October 19, 1815. "DEAR ABBOTT: By this vessel I have written to you, but am always desirous of communicating the last intelligence from home, therefore I write again. The situation of our town, our country, our friends, and all the objects of endearment, continues the same as heretofore. We are, to be sure, getting into a religious controversy which does not promise to increase the stock of charity among us, but good will undoubtedly arise from it. The passions of some of our brethren are too much engaged, and it would seem from present appearances that consequences unfavorable to the cause of our Master may ensue; but the wrath of man is frequently made subservient to the best purposes, and the good of mankind may in this case be greatly promoted by what at present seems a great evil. Men's passions are but poor guides to the discovery of truth, but they may sometimes elicit light by which others may get at the truth. "It does seem to me that a man need only use his common sense, and feel a willingness to be instructed in the reading of the Scriptures, and there is enough made plain to his understanding to direct him in the way he should go. "Others, however, think differently; but that should not be a reason with me for calling them hard names, especially if by their lives they show that they are followers of the same Master." On December 2d, he writes again: "I heard from you verbally on the 1st of October, in company with a platoon of New England Guards; and hope the head of the corps allowed Lord Wellington the honor of an introduction, and of inspecting this choice corps, which once had the honor of protecting the constitution and independence of the United States, when menaced by the 'proud sons of Britain.' This is a theme on which _you_ may be allowed to dwell with some delight, although there are no recitals of hair-breadth escapes and hard-fought actions, when numbers bit the dust. Yet to you, who were active in performing duty, this should be a source of comfortable feeling, as the amount of human misery has not been increased by your means. Shakspeare's knight of sack thought 'the better part of valor was discretion,' but I do not believe the Guards would have confirmed this sentiment, had the opportunity offered for a trial. I am really glad to hear of you in Paris, and hope you will improve every moment of your time in acquiring information that will be agreeable and interesting; and, more particularly, I hope you will have gone over the ground where the great events have happened that now allow Europe to repose in peace. How much should I delight in a few hours' intercourse with you; but that must be deferred to another period, perhaps to a very distant period. "I feel very healthy and very happy; my wife and children all enjoying health, and a good share of the bounties of Providence in various ways. Well you may be contented, you will say. What more is wanting? Such is not always the lot of man possessing those blessings. There is often a voracious appetite for other and greater blessings. The desire for more splendor, the possession of more wealth, is coveted, without the disposition to use it as an accountable creature; and too late the poor man finds that all his toil for these earthly objects of his worship fails in satisfying or giving a good degree of content. I, therefore, have reason for thankfulness that I am blessed with a disposition to appreciate tolerably the temporal blessings I enjoy. To the Father of all mercies I am indebted for this and every other good thing; even for the increased affection with which I think of you. That he may bless and keep you, dear Abbott, is the prayer of your brother, A. L." On June 6th, 1817, a few days after the birth of a daughter, he writes to a friend: "I am the richest man, I suppose, that there is on this side of the water, and the richest because I am the happiest. On the 23d ult. I was blessed by the birth of a fine little daughter; this, as you may well suppose, has filled our hearts with joy. S. is very comfortable, and is not less gratified than I am. I wish you were a married man, and then (if you had a good wife) you would know how to appreciate the pleasures of a parent. I have lately thought more than ever of the propriety of your settling soon. It is extremely dangerous to defer making a connection until a late period; for a man is in more and more danger of not forming one the longer he puts it off; and any man who does not form this connection grossly miscalculates in the use of the means which God has given him to supply himself with pleasures in the downhill journey of life. "He is also foolish to allow himself to be cheated in this connection by the prospect of a few present advantages, to the exclusion of the more permanent ones. Every man's best pleasures should be at home; for there is the sphere for the exercise of his best virtues; and he should be particularly careful, in the selection of a partner, to get one who will jeopardize neither. On this subject, you know, I am always eloquent. But, at this time, there is reason for my being so, as it is the anniversary of my wedding day. "S. has put her eye on a _rib_ for you. The said person, you must know, is of a comely appearance (not beautiful), is rather taller than ----, has a good constitution, is perfectly acquainted with domestic economy, and has all the most desirable of the fashionable accomplishments, such as music, painting &c.; and my only objection to her is, as far as I have observed her, that she has a few thousand dollars in cash. This, however, might be remedied; for, after furnishing a house, the balance might be given to her near connections, or to some public institution. I will give no further description, but will only say that her connections are such as you would find pleasure in. No more on this subject. The subject of principal interest among us now is the new tariff of duties." * * * * CHAPTER VIII. DOMESTIC HABITS.--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF WIFE. In searching for records of the business at this period, the first copied letters are found in a volume commencing with the date of March 10, 1815; since which period the correspondence, contained in many volumes, is complete. On the first page of this volume is a letter from the senior partner somewhat characteristic. It relates to a bill of exchange for two thousand rupees, which he knew was a doubtful one, but which he had taken to relieve the pressing necessities of a young Englishwoman from Calcutta, with a worthless husband. He writes to his friends in that city: "We have been so particular as to send a clerk to her with the money, that we might be sure of her receiving it. Previous to her receiving the money from us, we were told her children were ragged, barefooted, and hungry; afterwards we knew they were kept comfortably clad." In tracing the course of business as revealed by the perusal of the correspondence, it is evident that Mr. Lawrence's time and attention must have been engrossed by the increasing importance and magnitude of the mercantile operations of his firm. The cares and perplexities of the day did not, however, unfit him for the quiet enjoyments of domestic life; and, however great and urgent were the calls upon his time and his thoughts from abroad, home, with its endearments, occupied the first place in his affections. So much did its interests transcend all others in his feelings, that he speaks in after life of having "watched night and day without leaving, for a fortnight," a sick child; and then being rewarded for his care by having it restored to him after the diligent application of remedies, when the physician and friends had given up all hope of recovery. With such affections and sources of happiness, connected with prosperity in his affairs, it may well be supposed that the current of life flowed smoothly on. His evenings were passed at home; and urgent must have been the call which could draw him from his fireside, where the social chat or friendly book banished the cares of the day. A gentleman, now a prominent merchant in New York, who was a clerk with Mr. Lawrence at this time, says of him: "When the business season was over, he would sit down with me, and converse freely and familiarly, and would have something interesting and useful to say. I used to enjoy these sittings; and, while I always feared to do anything, or leave anything undone, which would displease him, I at the same time had a very high regard, and I may say love, for him, such as I never felt for any other man beside my own father. He had a remarkable faculty of bringing the sterling money into our currency, with any advance, by a calculation in his mind, and would give the result with great accuracy in one quarter of the time which it took me to do it by figures. I used to try hard to acquire this faculty, but could not, and never saw any other person who possessed it to the degree he did. His mind was remarkably vigorous and accurate; and consequently his business was transacted in a prompt and correct manner. Nothing was left undone until to-morrow which could be done to-day. He was master of and controlled his business, instead of allowing his business to master and control him. When I took charge of the books, they were kept by single entry; and Mr. Lawrence daily examined every entry to detect errors. He was dissatisfied with this loose way of keeping the books; and, at his request, I studied book-keeping by double entry with Mr. Gershom Cobb, who had just introduced the new and shorter method of double entry. I then transferred the accounts into a new set of books on this plan, and well remember his anxiety during the process, and his expression of delight when the work was completed, and I had succeeded in making the first trial-balance come out right. This was the first set of books opened in Boston on the new system. While Mr. Lawrence required all to fulfil their engagements fully and promptly, so long as they were able to do so, he was lenient to those who were unfortunate, and always ready to compromise demands against such. No case occurred, while I was with him, which I thought he dealt harshly with a debtor who had failed in business." The year 1818 opened with cheering prospects; but a cloud was gathering which was destined to cast a shadow over all these pleasant hopes. During the spring, Mrs. Lawrence was troubled with a cough, which became so obstinate at the beginning of the summer, that she was persuaded to remain at Groton for a short period, in order to try the benefit of country air. Mr. Lawrence writes to her, July 16: "I am forcibly reminded of the blessings of wife, children, and friends, by the privation of wife and children; and, when at home, I really feel homesick and lonesome. Here I am, in two great rooms, almost alone; so you must prepare at a minute's notice to follow your husband." She remained in the country for several weeks, and was summoned suddenly home by the alarming illness of her husband; the result of which, for a time, seemed very doubtful. After a season of intense anxiety and unremitted watchings at his bedside, Mrs. Lawrence was seized during the night with a hemorrhage from the lungs. This symptom, which so much alarmed her friends, was hailed by herself with joy, as she now had no wish to outlive her husband, whose life she had despaired of. Mr. Lawrence's recovery was slow; and, as soon as it was deemed prudent, he was sent to Groton to recruit his strength. He writes, under date of November 5, 1818: "DEAREST SARAH: We have heard of the fire on Tuesday evening, and hope the alarm has not impaired your health. I enjoy myself here as much as it is possible for any one to do under like circumstances: The idea of leaving the objects most dear to me, a wife and child sick, is too great a drawback upon my happiness to allow me as much quiet as is desirable. Yet I have great reason for thankfulness that I am at this time able to enjoy the society of friends, and that you are so comfortable as to give good reason to hope that the next season will restore to you a tolerable share of health." Mrs. Lawrence writes, in reply to his letter: "I have just received yours, and feel better to hear that you are so well. I hope that you will leave no means unimproved to regain health. Do not allow unreasonable fears on my account. I am as well as I was the week past; but we are uneasy mortals, and I do not improve as I could wish. You know me: therefore make all allowances. It is a cloudy day." It soon became evident to all that the disease under which Mrs. Lawrence labored was a settled consumption, and that there could be little hope of recovery. To her mother Mr. Lawrence writes, Dec. 7: "Since I last wrote to you, there has been no material change in Sarah's situation. She suffers less pain, and has more cheerful spirits than when you were here. She is very well apprised of her situation, and complains that those who are admitted to see her look so sorrowful, that it has a painful effect upon her feelings. She is desirous of being kept cheerful and happy; and, as far as I am capable of making her so, I do it. Yet I am a poor hand to attempt doing, with my feeble health, what is so foreign to my feelings. Although she is much more comfortable than she was, I cannot flatter myself that she is any better. She still retains a faint hope that she may be so; yet it is but a faint one. It takes much from my distress to see her so calm, and so resigned to the will of the Almighty. Although her attachments to life are as strong and as numerous as are the attachments of most, I believe the principle of resignation is stronger. She is a genuine disciple of Christ; and, if my children walk in her steps, they will all be gathered among the blest, and sing the song of the redeemed. Should it be the will of God that we be separated for a season, there is an animation in the hope that we shall meet again, purified from the grossness of the flesh, and never to be parted. 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.' I shall have, therefore, no more put upon me than I am able to bear; yet I know not how to bring my mind to part with so excellent a friend, and so good a counsellor." On Jan. 13, 1819, he writes: "Sarah has continued to sink since you left, and is now apparently very easy, and very near the termination of her earthly career. She may continue two or three days; but the prospect is, that she will not open her eyes upon another morning. She suffers nothing, and it is, therefore, no trial to our feelings, compared with what it would be did she suffer. Her mind is a little clouded at times, but, in the main, quite clear. We shall give you early information of the event which blasts our dearest earthly hopes. _But God reigns: let us rejoice._" A few hours before her death, she called for a paper (now in possession of the writer), and, with a pencil, traced, in a trembling hand, some directions respecting small memorials to friends, and then added: "Feeling that I must soon depart from this, I trust, to a better world, I resign very dear friends to God, who has done so much for me. I am in ecstacies of love. How can I praise him enough! To my friends I give these tokens of remembrance." On the 14th of January, 1819, Mr. Lawrence closed the eyes of this most beloved of all his earthly objects, and immediately relapsed into a state of melancholy and gloom, which was, no doubt, greatly promoted by the peculiar state of health and physical debility under which he had labored since his last illness. A valued friend writes, a few days after the death of Mrs. L.: "It was my privilege to witness the closing scene; to behold faith triumphing over sense, and raising the soul above this world of shadows. It was a spectacle to convince the sceptic, and to animate and confirm the Christian. About a week before her death, her increasing weakness taught her the fallacy of all hope of recovery. From this time, it was the business of every moment to prepare herself and her friends for the change which awaited her. Serene, and even cheerful, she could look forward without apprehension into the dark valley, and beyond it she beheld those bright regions where she should meet her Saviour, through whose mediation she had the blessed assurance that her sins were pardoned, and her inheritance secure. God permitted a cloud to obscure the bright prospect; it was but for a moment, and the sun broke forth with redoubled splendor. On the last night of her life, she appeared to suffer extremely, though, when asked, she constantly replied in the negative. She repeated, in a feeble voice, detached portions of hymns of which she had been fond. Towards morning, as she appeared nearly insensible, Mrs. R. was persuaded to lie down and rest. Shortly after, Sarah roused herself, and said to L., 'I am going; call my mother.' Mrs. R. was at her bedside immediately, and asked her if she was sensible that she was leaving the world. She answered 'Yes,' and expressed her resignation. "Mrs. R. then repeated a few lines of Pope's Dying Christian, and the expiring saint, in broken accents, followed her. On her mother's saying 'the world recedes,' she added, 'It disappears,--heaven opens.' These were the last words I heard her utter. She then became insensible, and in about ten minutes expired. Not a sound interrupted the sacred silence; the tear of affection was shed, but no lamentation was heard. The eye of affection dwelt on the faded form, but faith pointed to those regions where the blessed spirit was admitted to those joys which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive. Mr. L. is wonderfully supported. He feels as a man and a Christian." Upon this letter Mr. Lawrence has endorsed the following memorandum: "I saw this letter to-day for the first time. My son-in-law handed to me yesterday a number of memorials of my beloved daughter, who was called home on the second day of December last, when only a few months younger than her mother, whose death is so beautifully described within. The description brought the scene back to my mind with a force that unmanned me for a time, and leads me to pray most earnestly and humbly that I may be found worthy to join them through the beloved, when my summons comes. A. L. "February 5th, 1845." CHAPTER IX. JOURNEYS.--LETTERS.--JOURNEY TO NEW YORK. The sense of loss and the state of depression under which Mr. Lawrence labored were so great, that he was advised to try a change of scene; and accordingly, after having placed his three children with kind relatives in the country, he left Boston, on a tour, which lasted some weeks, through the Middle States and Virginia. He wrote many letters during this time, describing the scenes which he daily witnessed, and particularly the pleasure which he experienced in Virginia from the unbounded hospitality with which he was welcomed by those with whom he had become acquainted. He also visited Washington, and listened to some important debates on the admission of Missouri into the Union, which produced a strong and lasting influence upon his mind respecting the great questions then discussed. In a letter to his brother from the latter city, dated Feb. 25th, after describing a visit to the tomb of Washington at Mount Vernon, he writes: "Friend Webster has taken a stand here which no man can surpass; very few are able to keep even with him. He has made a wonderful argument for the United States Bank. If he does not stand confessedly first among the advocates here, he does not stand second. Tell brother L. of this; it will do him good." On March 30, he writes to his sister, after his return to Boston: "I am once more near the remains of her who was lately more dear to me than any other earthly object, after an absence of two months; my health much improved,--I may say restored; my heart filled with gratitude to the Author of all good for so many and rich blessings, so rapidly succeeding such severe privations and trials." A few days later, he writes to his sister-in-law: "Sunday evening, April 4, 1819. "DEAR S.: It is proper that I should explain to you why my feelings got so much the better of my reason at the celebration of the sacrament this morning. The last time I attended that service was with my beloved S., after an absence on her part of fifteen months, during which period you well know what passed in both our minds. On this occasion our minds and feelings were elevated with devotion, and (as I trust) suitably affected with gratitude to the Father of mercies for once more permitting her to celebrate with her husband this memorial of our Saviour. Then, indeed, were our hearts gladdened by the cheering prospect of her returning health and continued life. The consideration that I had since this period been almost within the purlieu of the grave, that my beloved Sarah had fallen a sacrifice to her care and anxiety for me, and that I was for the first time at the table of the Lord without her, with a view to celebrate the most solemn service of our religion, overwhelmed me as a torrent, and my feelings were too powerful to be restrained; I was almost suffocated in the attempt. "Comment is unnecessary. God grant us a suitable improvement of the scene! "Your affectionate brother, A. L." On April 6, he writes to a friend in England: "Since I last wrote, family misfortunes, of which you have from time to time been apprised, have pressed heavily upon me. I am now in tolerable health, and hope soon to see it entirely confirmed." After a visit to his parents, at Groton, he says, on April 9: "I arrived at home last Saturday night, at eleven o'clock, after rather an uncomfortable ride. However, I had the satisfaction on Monday of exercising my right of suffrage, which, had I not done, I should have felt unpleasantly. I wrote to M., on Tuesday, under a depression of spirits altogether greater than I have before felt. The effect of hope upon my feelings, before I saw the little ones, was very animating; since that time (although I found them all I could desire), the stimulus is gone, and I have been very wretched. The principles I cherish will now have their proper effect, although nature must first find its level. Do not imagine I feel severely depressed all the time; although I certainly have much less of animal spirits than I had before my return, I do not feel positively unhappy. Under all the circumstances it is thought best for me to journey. Hitherto, I have experienced the kind protection of an almighty Friend; it will not hereafter be withheld. Commending all dear friends and myself to Him, I remain your truly affectionate brother, "A. L." To another sister he writes five days afterwards, before commencing a second journey: "In a few moments I am off. I gladly seize the leisure they furnish me, to tell you I feel well, and have no doubt of having such a flow of spirits as will make my journey pleasant. At any rate, I start with this determination. You know not, dear E., the delight I feel in contemplating the situation of my little ones; this (if no higher principle) should be sufficient to do away all repining and vain regrets for the loss of an object so dear as was their mother. In short, her own wishes should operate very strongly against these regrets. I hope to be forgiven the offence, if such it be; and to make such improvement of it as will subserve the purposes of my heavenly Father, who doth not willingly afflict the children of men, but for their improvement. My prayer to God is, that the affliction may not be lost upon me; but that it may have the effect of making me estimate more justly the value of all temporal objects, and, by thus softening the heart, open it to the kind influences of our holy religion, and produce that love and charity well pleasing to our Father. I have no object in view further south than Baltimore; from thence I shall go across the Alleghanies, or journey through the interior to the northern border of this country. At Baltimore I remain a few days; my business there is as delegate from Brattle-street Church, in the settlement of a minister, a young gentleman named Sparks, from Connecticut." (TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE.) "PHILADELPHIA, April 26, 1819. "DEAR BROTHER: When I see how people in other places are doing business, I feel that we have reason to thank God that we are not obliged to do as they do, but are following that regular and profitably safe business that allows us to sleep well o' nights, and eat the bread of industry and quietness. The more I see of the changes produced by violent speculation, the more satisfied I am that our maxims are the only true ones for a life together. Different maxims may prove successful for a part of life, but will frequently produce disastrous results just at the time we stand most in need; that is, when life is on the wane, and a family is growing around us. "Two young brokers in ---- have played a dashing game. They have taken nearly one hundred thousand dollars from the bank, without the consent of the directors. A clerk discounted for them. They have lost it by United States Bank speculations. "Look after clerks well, if you wish to keep them honest. Too good a reputation sometimes tempts men to sin, upon the strength of their reputation. "As to business, it must be bad enough; that is nothing new; but patience and perseverance will overcome all obstacles, and, notwithstanding all things look so dark, I look for a good year's work. "You must remember that I have done nothing yet, and I have never failed of accomplishing more than my expectations; so I say again, we will make a good year's work of it yet, by the blessing of Heaven." From Lancaster, Penn., April 29, he writes to his sister: "My feelings are usually buoyant, except occasionally when imagination wanders back to departed days; then comes over me a shadow, which, by its frequency, I am now enabled to dispel without violence, and even to dwell upon without injury." (TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE.) "BALTIMORE, May 25, 1819. "DEAR BROTHER: I arrived in this city this morning, in the steamboat, from Norfolk, and have found a number of letters from you and brother W. From the present aspect of affairs in this city, I fear that I shall make but a short stay. At no period has the face of affairs been more trying to the feelings of the citizens. Baltimore has never seen but two days which will compare with last Friday: one of those was the mob day, the other was the day of the attack by the British. "Nearly one half the city, embracing its most active and hitherto wealthiest citizens, have stopped or must stop payment. Confidence is prostrated, capital vanished. "I am rejoiced to hear of your easy situation, and hope it may continue. Avoid responsibilities, and all is well with us. I am in no wise avaricious, and of course care not whether we make five thousand dollars more or less, if we risk twenty thousand to do it. "I have a high eulogium to pay the Virginians, which I must reserve for another letter; as also an account of my travels from Petersburg." In a letter to a friend, dated at Baltimore, he says: "Since I have been here, I have been constantly occupied; and, although the heavy cloud which overhangs this city is discharging its contents upon their heads, they bear it well, resolving that, if they are poor, they will not be unsocial, nor uncivil, and on this principle they meet in little groups, without much style or ceremony, and pass sensible and sociable evenings together. "I have really become very much interested in some of the people here. "And now my advice to you is, get married, and have no fear about the expense being too great. If you have two children born unto you within a twelve-month, you will be the richer man for it. Nothing sharpens a man's wits, in earning property and using it, better than to see a little flock growing up around him. So I say again, man, fear not." On his return, it seems to have been his object to interest himself as much as possible in business, and thus endeavor to divert his mind from those painful associations, which, in spite of all his efforts, would sometimes obtain the mastery. In the mean time, he had given up his house, and resided in the family of his brother Abbott; where he was welcomed as an inmate, and treated with so much sympathy and considerate kindness, that his mind, after a time, recovered its tone: his health was restored, and he was once more enabled to give his full powers to the growing interests of his firm. For the few succeeding years, he was engaged in the usual routine of mercantile affairs, and has left but few memorials or letters, except those relating to his business. In the winter of 1820, he made a visit to New York, which he describes in his diary under date of February 15, 1846: "Yesterday was one of the most lovely winter days. To-day the snow drives into all the cracks and corners, it being a boisterous easterly snow-storm, which recalls to my mind a similar one, which I shall never forget, in February, 1820. "I went to New York during that month, for the New England Bank, with about one hundred thousand dollars in foreign gold, the value of which by law at the mint was soon to be reduced from eighty-seven to eighty-five cents per pennyweight, or about that. I also had orders to buy bills with it, at the best rate I could. Accordingly I invested it, and had to analyze the standing of many who offered bills, as drawers or endorsers. "Some of the bills were protested for non-acceptance, and were returned at once, and damages claimed. This was new law in New York, and resisted; but the merchants were convinced by suits, and paid the twenty per cent. damages. The law of damage was altered soon after. "On my return, I took a packet for Providence, and came at the rate of ten knots an hour for the first seven hours of the night. I was alarmed by a crash, which seemed to me to be breaking in the side of the ship, within a few inches of my head. I ran upon deck, and it was a scene to be remembered. Beside the crew, on board were the officers of a wrecked vessel from Portsmouth, N. H., and some other old ship-masters, all at work, and giving directions to a coaster, which had run foul of us, and had lost its way. By favor and labor, we were saved from being wrecked; but were obliged to land at some fifteen miles from Providence, and get there as we could through the snow. I arrived there almost dead with headache and sickness. Madam Dexter and her daughter left the day before, and reached home in perfect safety before the storm. Such are the scenes of human life! Here am I enjoying my own fireside, while all who were then active with me in the scenes thus recalled are called to their account, excepting Philip Hone, M. Van Schaick, N. Goddard, Chancellor Kent, and his son-in-law, Isaac Hone." CHAPTER X. MARRIAGE.--ELECTED TO LEGISLATURE.--ENGAGES IN MANUFACTURES.--REFLECTIONS. In April, 1821, Mr. Lawrence was married to Mrs. Nancy Ellis, widow of the late Judge Ellis, of Claremont, N. H., and daughter of Robert Means, Esq., of Amherst, in the same State. His children, who had been placed with his parents and sisters at Groton, were brought home; and he was now permitted again to unite his family under his own roof, and to enjoy once more those domestic comforts so congenial to his taste, and which each revolving year seemed to increase until the close of his life. Mr. Lawrence was elected a representative from Boston to the Legislature for the session of 1821 and 22; and this was the only occasion on which he ever served in a public legislative body. Although deeply engaged in his own commercial pursuits, he was constantly at his post in the House of Representatives; and attended faithfully to the duties of his office, although with much sacrifice to his own personal interests. Very little is found among his memoranda relating to this new experience. As a member of a committee of the Legislature having in charge the subject of the erection of wooden buildings in Boston, he seems to have had a correspondence with the late Hon. John Lowell, who took strong ground before the committee against the multiplication of buildings of this material, and backed his arguments with some very characteristic statements and observations. On one of these letters Mr. Lawrence made a memorandum, dated March, 1845, as follows: "The _Boston Rebel_ was a true man, such as we need more of in these latter days. The open-mouthed lovers of the _dear people_ are self-seekers in most instances. Beware of such." The following extract is taken from a letter, dated January 4th, 1822, addressed by Mr. Lawrence to Hon. Frederic Wolcott, of Connecticut, respecting a son who was about to be placed in his counting-room, and who, in after years, became his partner in business: "H. will have much leisure in the evening, which, if he choose, may be profitably devoted to study; and we hope he will lay out such a course for himself, as to leave no portion of his time unappropriated. It is on account of so much leisure, that so many fine youths are ruined in this town. The habit of industry once well fixed, the danger is over. "Will it not be well for him to furnish you, at stated periods, an exact account of his expenditures? The habit of keeping such an account will be serviceable, and, if he is prudent, the satisfaction will be great, ten years hence, in looking back and observing the process by which his character has been formed. If he does as well as he is capable, we have no doubt of your experiencing the reward of your care over him." For the several following years, Mr. Lawrence was deeply engaged in business; and the firm of which he was the senior partner became interested in domestic manufactures, which, with the aid of other capitalists, afterwards grew into so much importance, until now it has become one of the great interests of the country. Apart from all selfish motives, he early became one of the strongest advocates for the protection of American industry, believing that the first duty of a government is to advance the interests of its own citizens, when it can be accomplished with justice to others; and in opposition to the system of free trade, which, however plausible in theory, he considered prejudicial to the true interests of our own people. He was conscientious in these opinions; and, in their support, corresponded largely with some of the leading statesmen at Washington, as well as with prominent opponents at the South, who combatted his opinions while they respected the motives by which he was actuated. He tested his sincerity, by embarking a large proportion of his property in these enterprises; and, to the last, entertained the belief that the climate, the soil, and the habits of the people, rendered domestic manufactures one of the permanent and abiding interests of New England. During seasons of high political excitement and sectional strife, he wrote to various friends at the South, urging them to discard all local prejudices, and to enter with the North into manly competition in all those branches of domestic industry which would tend, not only to enrich, but also to improve the moral and intellectual character of their people. He watched, with increasing interest, the progress of Lowell and other manufacturing districts, and was ever ready to lend a helping hand to any scheme which tended to advance their welfare. Churches, hospitals, libraries, in these growing communities, had in him a warm and earnest advocate; and it was always with honest pride that he pointed out to the intelligent foreigner the moral condition of the operative here, when compared with that of the same class in other countries. On the 1st of January, in each year, Mr. Lawrence was in the habit of noting down, in a small memorandum-book, an accurate account of all his property, in order that he might have a clear view of his own affairs, and also as a guide to his executors in the settlement of his estate, in case of his death. This annual statement commences in 1814, and, with the exception of 1819, when he was in great affliction on account of the death of his wife, is continued every year until that of his own death, in 1852. In this little volume the following memorandum occurs, dated January 1, 1826: "I have been extensively engaged in business during the last two years, and have added much to my worldly possessions; but have come to the same conclusions in regard to them that I did in 1818. I feel distressed in mind that the resolutions then made have not been more effectual in keeping me from this _overengagedness_ in business. I now find myself so engrossed with its cares, as to occupy my thoughts, waking or sleeping, to a degree entirely disproportioned to its importance. The quiet and comfort of home are broken in upon by the anxiety arising from the losses and mischances of a business so extensive as ours; and, above all, that communion which ought ever to be kept free between man and his Maker is interrupted by the incessant calls of the multifarious pursuits of our establishment." After noting down several rules for curtailing his affairs, he continues: "Property acquired at such sacrifices as I have been obliged to make the past year costs more than it's worth; and the anxiety in protecting it is the extreme of folly." * * * * * _1st of January, 1827._--"The principles of business laid down a year ago have been very nearly practised upon. Our responsibilities and anxieties have greatly diminished, as also have the accustomed profits of business; but there is sufficient remaining for the reward of our labor to impose on us increased responsibilities and duties, as agents who must at last render an account. God grant that mine be found correct!" CHAPTER XI. REFLECTIONS.--BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.--LETTERS. _1st of January, 1828._--After an account of his affairs, he remarks: "The amount of property is great for a young man under forty-two years of age, who came to this town when he was twenty-one years old with no other possessions than a common country education, a sincere love for his own family, and habits of industry, economy, and sobriety. Under God, it is these same self-denying habits, and a desire I always had to please, so far as I could without sinful compliance, that I can now look back upon and see as the true ground of my success. I have many things to reproach myself with; but among them is not idling away my time, or spending money for such things as are improper. My property imposes upon me many duties, which can only be known to my Maker. May a sense of these duties be constantly impressed upon my mind; and, by a constant discharge of them, God grant me the happiness at last of hearing the joyful sound, 'Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!' Amen. Amen." Previous to this date, but few private letters written by Mr. Lawrence were preserved. From that time, however, many volumes have been collected, a greater part of them addressed to his children. Out of a very large correspondence with them and with friends, such selections will be made as are thought most interesting, and most worthy to be preserved by his family and their descendants. The nature of this correspondence is such, involving many personal matters of transient interest that often scraps of letters only can be given; and, although it will be the aim of the editor to give an outline of the life of the author of these letters, it will be his object to allow him to speak for himself, and to reveal his own sentiments and character, rather than to follow out, from year to year, the details of his personal history. This correspondence commences with a series of letters extending through several years, and addressed to his eldest son, who was, during that time, at school in France and Spain. "BOSTON, November 11, 1828. "I trust that you will have had favoring gales and a pleasant passage, and will be safely landed at Havre within twenty days after sailing. You will see things so different from what you have been accustomed to, that you may think the French are far before or behind us in the arts of life, and formation of society. But you must remember that what is best for one people may be the worst for another; and that it is true wisdom to study the character of the people among whom you are, before adopting their manners, habits, or feelings, and carrying them to another people. I wish to see you, as long as you live, a well-bred, upright _Yankee_. Brother Jonathan should never forget his self-respect, nor should he be impertinent in claiming more for his country or himself than is due; but on no account should he speak ungraciously of his country or its friends abroad, whatever may be said by others. Lafayette in France is not what he is here; and, whatever may be said of him there, he is an ardent friend of the United States; and I will venture to say, if you introduce yourself to him as a grandson of one of his old Yankee officers, he will treat you with the kindness of a father. You must visit La Grange, and G. will go with you. He will not recollect your grandfather, or any of us. But tell him that your father and three uncles were introduced to him here in the State House; that they are much engaged in forwarding the Bunker Hill Monument; and, if ever he return to this country, it will be the pride of your father to lead him to the top of it." Among Mr. Lawrence's papers, this is the first allusion to the Bunker Hill Monument, in the erection of which he afterwards took so prominent a part, and to which he most liberally contributed both time and money. From early associations, perhaps from the accounts received from his father, who was present during the battle, his mind became strongly interested in the project of erecting a monument, and particularly in that of reserving the whole battle-ground for the use of the public forever. He had been chosen one of the Building Committee of the Board of Directors in October, 1825, in company with Dr. John C. Warren, General H. A. S. Dearborn, George Blake, and William Sullivan. From this time until the completion of the monument, the object occupied a prominent place in his thoughts; and allusion to his efforts in its behalf during the succeeding years will, from time to time, be introduced. On December 13, 1828, he thus alludes to the death of an invalid daughter six years of age: "She was taken with lung fever on the 4th, and died, after much suffering and distress, on the 8th. Nothing seemed to relieve her at all; and I was thankful when the dear child ceased to suffer, and was taken to the bosom of her Saviour, where sickness and suffering will no more reach her, and the imperfections of her earthly tenement will be corrected, and her mind and spirit will be allowed to expand and grow to their full stature in Christ. In his hands I most joyfully leave her, hoping that I may rejoin her with the other children whom it has pleased God to give me." (TO HIS SON.) "December 29. "My thoughts are often led to contemplate the condition of my children in every variety of situation, more especially in sickness, since the death of dear M. Although I do not allow myself to indulge in melancholy or fearful forebodings, I cannot but feel the deepest solicitude that their minds and principles should be so strengthened and stayed upon their God and Saviour as to give them all needed support in a time of such trial and suffering. You are so situated as perhaps not to recall so frequently to your mind as may be necessary the principles in which you have been educated. But let me, in the absence of these objects, remind you that God is ever present, and sees the inmost thoughts; and, while he allows every one to act freely, he gives to such as earnestly and honestly desire to do right all needed strength and encouragement to do it. Therefore, my dear son, do not cheat yourself by doing what you suspect _may_ be wrong. You are as much accountable to your Maker for an enlightened exercise of your conscience, as you would be to me to use due diligence in taking care of a bag of money which I might send by you to Mr. W. If you were to throw it upon deck, or into the bottom of the coach, you would certainly be culpable; but, if you packed it carefully in your trunk, and placed the trunk in the usual situation, it would be using common care. So in the exercise of your conscience: if you refuse to examine whether an action is right or wrong, you voluntarily defraud yourself of the guide provided by the Almighty. If you do wrong, you have no better excuse than he who had done so willingly and wilfully. It is the sincere desire that will be accepted." To his second son, then at school in Andover, he writes: "I received your note yesterday, and was prepared to hear your cash fell short, as a dollar-bill was found in your chamber on the morning you left home. You now see the benefit of keeping accounts, as you would not have been sure about this loss without having added up your account. Get the habit firmly fixed of putting down every cent you receive and every cent you expend. In this way you will acquire some knowledge of the relative value of things, and a habit of judging and of care which will be of use to you during all your life. Among the numerous people who have failed in business within my knowledge, a prominent cause has been a want of system in their affairs, by which to know when their expenses and losses exceeded their profits. This habit is as necessary for professional men as for a merchant; because, in their business, there are numerous ways to make little savings, if they find their income too small, which they would not adopt without looking at the detail of all their expenses. It is the habit of consideration I wish you to acquire; and the habit of being accurate will have an influence upon your whole character in life." (TO HIS SON IN FRANCE.) "April 28, 1829. "I beseech you to consider well the advantages you enjoy, and to avail yourself of your opportunities to give your manners a little more ease and polish; for, you may depend upon it, manners are highly important in your intercourse with the world. Good principles, good temper, and good manners, will carry a man through the world much better than he can get along with the absence of either. The most important is good principles. Without these, the best manners, although, for a time, very acceptable, cannot sustain a person in trying situations. "If you live to attain the age of thirty, the interim will appear but a span; and yet at that time you will be in the full force of manhood. To look forward to that period, it seems very long; and it is long enough to make great improvement. Do not omit the opportunity to acquire a character and habits that will continue to improve during the remainder of life. At its close, the reflection that you have thus done will be a support and stay worth more than any sacrifice you may ever feel called on to make in acquiring these habits." (TO THE SAME.) "June 7, 1829. "I was forcibly reminded, on entering our tomb last evening, of the inroads which death has made in our family since 1811, at the period when I purchased it. How soon any of us who survive may mingle our dust with theirs, is only known to Omniscience; but, at longest, it can be in his view but a moment, a mere point of time. How important, then, to us who can use this mere point for our everlasting good, that we should do it, and not squander it as a thing without value! Think upon this, my son; and do not merely admit the thought into your mind and drive it out by vain imaginations, but give it an abiding and practical use. To set a just value upon time, and to make a just use of it, deprives no one of any rational pleasure: on the contrary, it encourages temperance in the enjoyment of all the good things which a good Providence has placed within our reach, and thankfulness for all opportunities of bestowing happiness on our fellow-beings. Thus you have an opportunity of making me and your other friends happy, by diligence in your studies, temperance, truth, integrity, and purity of life and conversation. I may not write to you again for a number of weeks, as I shall commence a journey to Canada in a few days. You will get an account of the journey from some of the party." CHAPTER XII. JOURNEY TO CANADA.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--CHARITIES. Mr. Lawrence, with a large party, left Boston on the 13th of June, and passed through Vermont, across the Green Mountains, to Montreal and Quebec. Compared with these days of railroad facilities, the journey was slow. It was performed very leisurely in hired private vehicles, and seems to have been much enjoyed. He gives a glowing account of the beauty of the country through which he passed, as well as his impressions of the condition of the population. From Quebec the party proceeded to Niagara Falls, and returned through the State of New York to Boston, "greatly improved in health and spirits." This, with one other visit to Canada several years before, was the only occasion on which Mr. Lawrence ever left the territory of the United States; for, though sometimes tempted, in after years, to visit the Old World, his occupations and long-continued feeble health prevented his doing so. (TO HIS SON.) "July 27. "If, in an endeavor to do right, we fall short, we shall still be in the way of duty; and that is first to be looked at. We must keep in mind that we are to render an account of the use of those talents which are committed to us; and we are to be judged by unerring Wisdom, which can distinguish all the motives of action, as well as weigh the actions. As our stewardship has been faithful or otherwise, will be the sentence pronounced upon us. Give this your best thoughts, for it is a consideration of vast importance." "August 27. "Bring home no foreign fancies which are inapplicable to our state of society. It is very common for our young men to come home and appear quite ridiculous in attempting to introduce their foreign fashions. It should be always kept in mind that the state of society is widely different here from that in Europe; and our comfort and character require it should long remain so. Those who strive to introduce many of the European habits and fashions, by displacing our own, do a serious injury to the republic, and deserve censure. An idle person, with good powers of mind, becomes torpid and inactive after a few years of indulgence, and is incapable of making any high effort; highly important it is, then, to avoid this enemy of mental and moral improvement. I have no wish that you pursue trade. I would rather see you on a farm, or studying any profession." "October 16. "It should always be your aim so to conduct yourself that those whom you value most in the world would approve your conduct, if all your actions were laid bare to their inspection; and thus you will be pretty sure that He who sees the motive of all our actions will accept the good designed, though it fall short in its accomplishment. You are young, and are placed in a situation of great peril, and are perhaps sometimes tempted to do things which you would not do if you knew yourself under the eye of your guardian. The blandishments of a beautiful city may lead you to forget that you are always surrounded, supported, and seen, by that best Guardian." "December 27. "I suppose Christmas is observed with great pomp in France. It is a day which our Puritan forefathers, in their separation from the Church of England, endeavored to blot out from the days of religious festivals; and this because it was observed with so much pomp by the Romish Church. In this, as well as in many other things, they were as unreasonable as though they had said they would not eat bread because the Roman Catholics do. I hope and trust the time is not far distant when Christmas will be observed by the descendants of the Puritans with all suitable respect, as the first and highest holiday of Christians; combining all the feelings and views of New England Thanksgiving with all the other feelings appropriate to it." "January 31, 1830. "You have seen, perhaps, that the Directors of the Bunker Hill Monument Association have applied to the Legislature for a lottery. I am extremely sorry for it. I opposed the measure in all its stages, and feel mortified that they have done so. They cannot get it, and I desire that General Lafayette may understand this; and, if he will write us a few lines during the coming year, it will help us in getting forward a subscription. When our citizens shall have had one year of successful business, they will be ready to give the means to finish the monument. My feelings are deeply interested in it, believing it highly valuable as a nucleus for the affections of the people in after time; and, if my life be spared and my success continue, I will never cease my efforts until it be completed." Further details will be given in this volume to show now nobly Mr. Lawrence persevered in the resolution thus deliberately formed; and, though he was destined to witness many fruitless efforts, he had the satisfaction at last of seeing the completion of the monument, and from its summit of pointing out the details of the battle to the son of one of the British generals in command[2] on that eventful day. [2] Lord Prudhoe, now Duke of Northumberland. On the same page with the estimate of his property for the year 1830, he writes: "With a view to know the amount of my expenditures for objects other than the support of my family, I have, for the year 1829, kept a particular account of such other expenses as come under the denomination of charities, and appropriations for the benefit of others not of my own household, for many of whom I feel under the same obligation as for my own family." This memorandum was commenced on the 1st of January, 1829, and is continued until December 30, 1852, the last day of his life. It contains a complete statement of his charities during that whole period, including not only what he contributed in money, but also all other donations, in the shape of clothing materials, books, provisions, &c. His custom was to note down at cost the value of the donation, after it had been despatched; whether in the shape of a book, a turkey, or one of his immense bundles of varieties to some poor country minister's family, as large, as he says in addressing one, "as a small haycock." Two rooms in his house, and sometimes three, were used principally for the reception of useful articles for distribution. There, when stormy weather or ill health prevented him from taking his usual drive, he was in the habit of passing hours in selecting and packing up articles which he considered suitable to the wants of those whom he wished to aid. On such days, his coachman's services were put in requisition to pack and tie up "the small haycocks;" and many an illness was the result of over-exertion and fatigue in supplying the wants of his poorer brethren. These packages were selected according to the wants of the recipients, and a memorandum made of the contents. In one case, he notifies Professor ----, of ---- College, that he has sent by railroad "a barrel and a bundle of books, with broadcloth and pantaloon stuffs, with odds and ends for poor students when they go out to keep school in the winter." Another, for the president of a college at the West, one piece of silk and worsted, for three dresses; one piece of plaid, for "M. and mamma;" a lot of pretty books; a piece of lignum-vitæ from the Navy Yard, as a text for the support of the navy; and various items for the children: value, twenty-five dollars. To a professor in a college in a remote region he sends a package containing "dressing-gown, vest, hat, slippers, jack-knife, scissors, pins, neck-handkerchiefs, pantaloons, cloth for coat, 'History of Groton,' lot of pamphlets," &c. Most of the packages forwarded contained substantial articles for domestic use, and were often accompanied by a note containing from five to fifty dollars in money. The distribution of books was another mode of usefulness to which Mr. Lawrence attached much importance. In his daily drives, his carriage was well stored with useful volumes, which he scattered among persons of all classes and ages as he had opportunity. These books were generally of a religious character, while others of a miscellaneous nature were purchased in large numbers, and sent to institutions, or individuals in remote parts of the country. He purchased largely the very useful as well as tasteful volumes of the American Tract Society and the Sunday-School Union. An agent of the latter society writes: "I had almost felt intimately acquainted with him, as nearly every pleasant day he visited the depository to fill the front seat of his coach with books for distribution." Old and young, rich and poor, shared equally in these distributions; and he rarely allowed an occasion to pass unimproved when he thought an influence could be exerted by the gift of an appropriate volume. While waiting one day in his carriage with a friend, in one of the principal thoroughfares of the city, he beckoned to a genteelly-dressed young man who was passing, and handed him a book. Upon being asked whether the young man was an acquaintance, he replied: "No, he is not; but you remember where it is written, 'Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.'" "A barrel of books" is no uncommon item found in his record of articles almost daily forwarded to one and another of his distant beneficiaries. CHAPTER XIII. CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. WEBSTER.--LETTERS. (TO HIS SON.) "February 5, 1830. "Be sure and visit La Grange before you return; say to General Lafayette that the Bunker Hill Monument will _certainly be finished_, and that the foolish project of a lottery has been abandoned. If, in the course of Providence, I should be taken away, I hope my children will feel it a duty to continue the efforts that are made in this work, which I have had so much at heart, and have labored so much for." To his son, then at school at Versailles, he writes on Feb. 26, 1830: "After hearing from you again, I can judge better what to advise respecting your going into Spain. At all events, let no hope of going, or seeing, or doing anything else, prevent your using the present time for improving yourself in whatever you find to do. My greatest fear is, that you may form a wrong judgment of what constitutes your true respectability, happiness, and usefulness. To a youth just entering on the scenes of life, the roses on the wayside appear without thorns; but, in the eagerness to snatch them, many find, to their sorrow, that all which appears so fair is not in possession what it was in prospect, and that beneath the rose there is a thorn that sometimes wounds like a serpent's bite. Let not appearances deceive you; for, when once you have strayed, the second temptation is more likely to be fallen into than the first." "March 6, 1830. "We are all in New England deeply interested by Mr. Webster's late grand speech in the Senate, vindicating New England men and New England measures from reproach heaped upon them by the South; it was his most powerful effort, and you will see the American papers are full of it. You should read the whole debate between him and Mr. Hayne of South Carolina; you will find much to instruct and interest you, and much of what you ought to know. Mr. Webster never stood so high in this country as, at this moment; and I doubt if there be any man, either in Europe or America, his superior. The doctrines upon the Constitution in this speech should be read as a text-book by all our youth." After reading the great speech of Mr. Webster, Mr. Lawrence addressed to that gentleman a letter, expressing his admiration of the manner in which New England had been vindicated, and also his own personal feelings of gratitude for the proud stand thus taken. Mr. Webster replied as follows: "WASHINGTON, March 8, 1830. "DEAR SIR: I thank you very sincerely for your very kind and friendly letter. The sacrifices made in being here, and the mortifications sometimes experienced, are amply compensated by the consciousness that my friends at home feel that I have done some little service to our New England. I pray you to remember me with very true regard to Mrs. Lawrence, and believe me "Very faithfully and gratefully yours, "DANIEL WEBSTER. "TO AMOS LAWRENCE, Esq." EXTRACTS OF LETTERS TO HIS SON. "April 13, 1830. "You may feel very sure that any study which keeps your mind engaged will be likely to strengthen it; and that, if you leave your mind inactive, it will run to waste. Your arm is strengthened by wielding a broadsword, or even a foil. Your legs by various gymnastic exercises, and the organs of sight and hearing by careful and systematic use, are greatly improved; even the finger is trained, by the absence of sight, to perform almost the service of the eye. All this shows how natural it is for all the powers to grow stronger by use. You needed not these examples to convince you; but my desire to have you estimate your advantages properly induces me to write upon them very often. Every American youth owes his country his best talents and services, and should devote them to the country's welfare. In doing that, you will promote not only your own welfare, but your highest enjoyment. "The duty of an American citizen, at this period of the world, is that of a responsible agent; and he should endeavor to transmit to the next age the institutions of our country uninjured and improved. We hope, in your next letter, to hear something more of General Lafayette. The old gentleman is most warm in his affection for Americans. May he live long to encourage and bless by his example the good of all countries! In contemplating a life like his, who can say that compensation even here is not fully made for all the anguish and suffering he has formerly endured? Long life does not consist in many years; but in the period being filled with good services to our fellow-beings. He whose life ends at thirty may have done much, while he who has reached the age of one hundred may have done little. With the Almighty, a thousand years are a moment; and he will therefore give no credit to any talents not used to his glory; which use is the same thing as promoting, by all means in our power, the welfare and happiness of the beings among whom we are placed." "May 7, 1830. "I have been pretty steady at my business, without working hard, or having anxious feelings about it. It is well to have an agreeable pursuit to employ the mind and body. I think that I can work for the next six years with as good a relish as ever I did; but I make labor a pleasure. I have just passed into my forty-fifth year, you know. At my age, I hope you will feel as vigorous and youthful as I now do. A temperate use of the good things of life, and a freedom from anxious cares, tend, as much as anything, to keep off old age." "June 17, 1830. "To-day completes fifty-five years since the glorious battle of Bunker Hill, and five years since the nation's guest assisted at the laying of the corner-stone of the monument which is to commemorate to all future times the events which followed that battle. If it should please God to remove me before this structure is completed, I hope to remember it in my will, and that my sons will live to see it finished. But what I deem of more consequence is to retain for posterity the battle-field, now in the possession of the Bunker Hill Monument Association. The Association is in debt, and a part of the land may pass out of its possession; but I hope, if it do, there will be spirit enough among individuals to purchase it and restore it again; for I would rather the whole work should not be resumed for twenty years, than resume it by parting with the land. I name this to you now, that you may have a distinct intimation of my wishes to keep the land open for our children's children to the end of time." "July 17, 1830. "Temptation, if successfully resisted, strengthens the character; but it should always be avoided. 'Lead us not into temptation' are words of deep meaning, and should always carry with them corresponding desires of obedience. At a large meeting of merchants and others held ten days ago, it was resolved to make an effort to prevent the licensing of such numbers of soda-shops, retailers of spirits and the like, which have, in my opinion, done more than anything else to debase and ruin the youth of our city. It is a gross perversion of our privileges to waste and destroy ourselves in this way. God has given us a good land and many blessings. We misuse them, and make them minister to our vices. We shall be called to a strict account. Every good citizen owes it to his God and his country to stop, as far as he can, this moral desolation. Let me see you, on your return, an advocate of good order and good morals. * * * "Our old neighbor the sea-serpent was more than usually accommodating the day after we left Portsmouth. He exhibited himself to a great number of people who were at Hampton Beach last Saturday. They had a full view of his snakeship from the shore. He was so civil as to raise his head about four feet, and look into a boat, where were three men, who thought it the wisest way to retreat to their cabin. His length is supposed to be about one hundred feet, his head the size of a ten-gallon cask, and his body, in the largest part, about the size of a barrel. I have never had any more doubt respecting the existence of this animal, since he was seen here eleven years ago, than I have had of the existence of Bonaparte. The evidence was as strong to my mind of the one as of the other. I had never seen either; but I was as well satisfied of the existence of both, as I should have been had I seen both. And yet the idea of the sea-serpent's existence has been scouted and ridiculed." "September 25. "The events of the late French Revolution have reached us up to the 17th August. The consideration of them is animating, and speaks in almost more than human language. We are poor, frail, and mortal beings; but there is something elevating in the thought of a whole people acting as with the mind and the aim of one man, a part which allies man to a higher order of beings. I confess it makes me feel a sort of veneration for them; and trust that no extravagance will occur to mar the glory and the dignity of this enterprise. Our beloved old hero, too, acting as the guiding and presiding genius of this wonderful event! May God prosper them, and make it to the French people what it is capable of being, if they make a right use of it! I hope that you have been careful to see and learn everything, and that you will preserve the information you obtain in such a form as to recall the events to your mind a long time hence. We are all very well and very busy, and in fine spirits, here in the old town of Boston. Those who fell behind last year have some of them placed themselves in the rear rank, and are again on duty. Others are laid up, unfit for duty; and the places of all are supplied with fresh troops. We now present as happy and as busy a community as you would desire to see." CHAPTER XIV. TESTIMONIAL TO MR. WEBSTER.--DANGEROUS ILLNESS.--LETTERS. During the autumn of 1830, in order to testify in a more marked manner his appreciation of Mr. Webster's distinguished services in the Senate of the United States, Mr. Lawrence presented to that gentleman a service of silver plate, accompanied by the following note: "BOSTON, October 23, 1830. "HON. DANIEL WEBSTER. "DEAR SIR: Permit me to request your acceptance of the accompanying small service of plate, as a testimony of my gratitude for your services to the country in your late efforts in the Senate; especially for your vindication of the character of Massachusetts and of New England. "From your friend and fellow-citizen, "AMOS LAWRENCE. "P. S.--If by any emblem or inscription on any piece of this service, referring to the circumstances of which this is a memorial, the whole will be made more acceptable, I shall be glad to have you designate what it shall be, and permit me the opportunity of adding it." To which Mr. Webster replied, on the same evening, as follows: "SUMMER-STREET, October 23, 1830. "MY DEAR SIR: I cannot well express my sense of your kindness, manifested in the present of plate, which I have received this evening. I know that, from you, this token of respect is sincere; and I shall ever value it, and be happy in leaving it to my children, as a most gratifying evidence of your friendship. The only thing that can add to its value is your permission that it may be made to bear an inscription expressive of the donation. "I am, dear sir, with unfeigned esteem, "Your friend and obedient servant, "DANIEL WEBSTER. "AMOS LAWRENCE, Esq." (TO HIS SON.) "BOSTON, January 16, 1831. "Our local affairs are very delightful in this state and city. We have no violent political animosities; and the prosperity of the people is very great. In our city, in particular, the people have not had greater prosperity for twenty years. There is a general industry and talent in our population, that is calculated to produce striking results upon their character. In your reflections upon your course, you may settle it as a principle, that no man can attain any valuable influence or character among us, who does not labor with whatever talents he has to increase the sum of human improvement and happiness. An idler, who feels that he has no responsibilities, but is contriving to get rid of time without being useful to any one, whatever be his fortune, can find no comfort in staying here. We have not enough such to make up a society. We are literally all working-men; and the attempt to get up a 'Working-men's party' is a libel upon the whole population, as it implies that there are among us large numbers who are not working-men. He is a working-man whose mind is employed, whether in making researches into the meaning of hieroglyphics or in demonstrating any invention in the arts, just as much as he who cuts down the forests, or holds the plough, or swings the sledge-hammer. Therefore let it be the sentiment of your heart to use all the talents and powers you may possess in the advancement of the moral and political influence of New England. New England, I say; for here is to be the stronghold of liberty, and the seat of influence to the vast multitude of millions who are to people this republic." At the period when the preceding letter was written, the manufacturing interests had become of vast importance in this community; and the house of which Mr. Lawrence was the senior partner had identified itself with many of the great manufacturing corporations already created, or then in progress. With such pecuniary interests at stake, and with a sense of responsibility for the success of these enterprises, which had been projected on a scale and plan hitherto unknown, it may be supposed that his mind and energies were fully taxed, and that he could be fairly ranked among the working-men alluded to. While in the full tide of active life, and, as it were, at the crowning point of a successful career, the hand of Providence was laid upon him to remove him, for the rest of his days, from this sphere of honor and activity to the chamber of the invalid, and the comparatively tame and obscure walks of domestic life. Ever after this, his life hung upon a thread; and its very uncertainty, far from causing him to despond and rest from future effort, seemed only to excite the desire to work while the day lasted. The discipline thus acquired, instead of consigning him to the inglorious obscurity of a sick chamber, was the means of his entering upon that career of active philanthropy which is now the great source of whatever distinction there may be attached to his memory. His business life was ended; and, though he was enabled to advise with others, and give sometimes a direction to the course of affairs, he assumed no responsibility, and had virtually retired from the field. On the 1st of June, 1831, the weather being very warm, Mr. Lawrence, while engaged in the business of his counting-room, drank moderately of cold water, and, soon after, was seized with a violent and alarming illness. The functions of the stomach seemed to have been destroyed; and, for many days, there remained but small hope of his recovery. Much sympathy was expressed by his friends and the public, and in such a manner as to afford gratification to his family, as well as surprise to himself when sufficiently recovered to be informed of it. He had not yet learned the place which he had earned, in the estimation of those around him, as a merchant and a citizen; and it was, not improbably, a stimulus to merit, by his future course, the high encomiums which were then lavished upon him. Mr. Lawrence announced his sickness to his son, then in Spain, in the following letter, dated "BOSTON, June 27, 1831. "I desire to bless God for being again permitted to address you in this way. On the 1st day of this month, I was seized with a violent illness, which caused both myself and my friends almost to despair of my life. But, by the blessing of God, the remedies proved efficacious; and I am still in the land of the living, with a comfortable prospect of acquiring my usual health, although, thus far, not allowed to leave my chamber. In that dread hour when I thought that the next perhaps would be my last on earth,--my thoughts resting upon my God and Saviour, then upon the past scenes of my life, then upon my dear children,--the belief that their minds are well directed, and that they will prove blessings to society, and fulfil, in some good degree, the design of Providence in placing them here, was a balm to my spirits that proved more favorable to my recovery than any of the other remedies. May you never forget that every man is individually responsible for his actions, and must be held accountable for his opportunities! Thus he who has ten talents will receive a proportionate reward, if he makes a right use of them; and he who receives one will be punished, if he hides it in a napkin." "June 29, 1831. "MY DEAR AND EVER-HONORED MOTHER: Through the divine goodness, I am once more enabled to address you by letter, after having passed through a sickness alarming to my friends, although to myself a comparatively quiet one. I cannot in words express my grateful sense of God's goodness in thus carrying me, as it were, in his hand, and lighting the way by the brightness of his countenance. During that period in which I considered my recovery as hardly probable, my mind was calm; and, while in review of the past I found many things to lament, and in contemplation of the future much to fear, but more to hope, I could find no other words in which to express my thoughts than the words of the publican, 'God be merciful to me a sinner!' All the small distinctions of sects and forms dwindled into air, thin air, and seemed to me even more worthless than ever. The cares and anxieties of the world did not disturb me, believing it to be of small moment whether I should be taken now or spared a few years longer. With returning health and strength, different prospects open, and different feelings take the place of those which were then so appropriate; and the social feelings and sympathies have their full share in their hold upon me. * * * * "From your ever-loving and dutiful son, A. L." (TO HIS SON.) "July 14. "I have been constantly gaining since my last to you, and with constant care, hope to acquire my usual health. I am, however, admonished, by the two attacks I have experienced within a month, that the continuance of my life for any considerable period will be very likely to depend upon a rigid prudence in my labor and living. The recovery from this last sickness is almost like being restored to life; and I hope the span that may be allowed me may be employed in better service than any period of my past life. We are placed here to be disciplined for another and higher state; and whatever happens to us makes a part of this discipline. In this view, we ought never to murmur, but to consider, when ills befall us, how we can make them subserve our highest good. What I am more desirous than anything else for you is, that you may feel that you are accountable for all your talents, and that you may so use them as to have an approving conscience, and the final recompense of a faithful servant at last. The period of trial is short; but the consequences are never-ending. How important to each individual, then,--to you and to me,--that we use aright the period assigned us!" CHAPTER XV. JOURNEY TO NEW HAMPSHIRE.--LETTERS.--RESIGNS OFFICE OF TRUSTEE AT HOSPITAL.--LETTERS. A few days after the date of the preceding letter, a change was thought desirable for the improvement of Mr. Lawrence's health; and he accordingly, with Mrs. L., went to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and remained a week with his friend and brother-in-law, the late Hon. Jeremiah Mason. From thence he proceeded to visit friends in Amherst, New Hampshire, where he was attacked by a severe rheumatic fever, which confined him for several weeks; and it was with great difficulty that he succeeded in reaching home about the 20th of September, after an absence of nearly two months. On the 27th of September, he writes to his son: "It is only within a few days that I have been able to be removed to my own house. I am now able to walk my chamber, and sit up half the day; and, by the best care in the world, I have a fair hope of again enjoying so much health as to feel that I may yet be of some use in the world. My bodily sufferings have been great during this last sickness; but my mind in general has been quiet. I seem to want nothing which this world can give to make me an enviably happy man, but your presence and a return of my health; but these last are wisely withheld. We are apt, in the abundance of the gift, to lose the recollection whence it came, and feel that by our own power we can go forward. Happy for us that we are thus made to feel that all we have is from God; this recurrence to the Source of all our blessings makes us better men. I do not expect to be able to leave the house before the next spring; and, in the mean time, must be subject to the casualties incident to a person in my situation." On October 29, Mr. Lawrence, in a letter to the same son, expresses his gratitude for the enjoyment of life, "even in a sick chamber, as mine must be termed." "I receive my friends here, and once only have walked abroad for a few minutes. I drive in a carriage every pleasant day, and I can truly say that my days pass in the full enjoyment of more than the average of comfort. 'My mind is as easy as it ever is, and as active as is safe for the body. I employed myself yesterday in looking over your letters since you left home three years ago, and was reminded by them that the fourth year of your absence has just commenced. Although a brief space since it is passed, an equal time, if we look forward, appears to be far distant. The question you will naturally ask yourself is, How has the time been spent? and from the answer you may gather much instruction for the future. If you have made the best use of this period, happy is it for you, as the habit of the useful application of your time will make its continuance more natural and easy. If you have misused and abused your opportunities, there is not a moment to be lost in retracing your steps, and making good, by future effort, what has been lost by want of it. In short, we can none of us know that a future will be allowed us to amend and to correct our previous misdoings and omissions; and it is not less the part of wisdom than of duty to be always up and doing, that whenever our Master comes we may be ready. I never was made so sensible before of the power of the mind over the body. It is a matter of surprise to some of my friends, who have known my constant habits of business for a quarter of a century, that I can find so much comfort and quiet in the confinement of my house, when I feel so well, and there are so many calls for my labors abroad. I hope to pursue such a discreet course as shall allow me to come forth in the spring with my poor frame so far renovated and restored as to enable me to take my place among the active laborers of the day, and do what little I may for the advancement and well-being of my generation. If, however, I should, by any accident or exposure, be again brought to a bed of pain and suffering, may God grant me a patient and submissive temper to bear whatever may be put upon me, with a full conviction that such chastisements will tend to my good, if I make a right use of them!" The first of January, 1832, found Mr. Lawrence confined to his sick room, and unable, from bodily weakness, to drive out in the open air, as he had hitherto done. He writes to his son: "I am reminded, by the new year, that another portion of time has passed, by which we are accustomed to measure in prospect the space that is allotted us here; and the reflections at the close of the old and the commencement of the new year are calculated, if we do not cheat ourselves, to make us better than we otherwise should be. I am enjoying myself highly under the close confinement of two parlor chambers, from which I have only travelled into the entry since November. I have lived pretty much as other prisoners of a different character live, as regards food; namely, on bread and water, or bread and coffee or cocoa. I have come to the conclusion that the man who lives on bread and water, if he have enough, is the genuine epicure, according to the original and true meaning. I am favored with the visits of more pretty and interesting ladies than any _layman_ in the city, I believe. My rooms are quite a resort; and, old fellow as I am, I have the vanity to suppose I render myself quite agreeable to them." On the same day, in a letter of sympathy to his sister-in-law, whose invalid son was about to leave for a long voyage, he writes: "While my family are all absent at church, I am sitting alone, my mind going back to the beginning of the year just ended and forward through that just commenced; and, in view of both periods, I can see nothing but the unbounded goodness of our heavenly Father and best friend, in all that has been taken from me, as well as in all that is left to me. I can say, with sincerity, that I never have had so much to call forth my warmest and deepest gratitude for favors bestowed as at the present time. Among my sources of happiness is a settled conviction that, in chastening his children, God desires their good; and if his chastisements are thus viewed, we cannot receive them in any other light than as manifestations of his fatherly care and kindness. Although, at times, 'clouds and darkness are round about him,' we do certainly know, by the words of inspiration, 'that justice and judgment are the habitation of his throne,' and goodness and mercy the attributes of his character; and if it should please him further to try me with disease during the period of my probation, my prayer to him is that my mind and heart may remain stayed on him, and that I may practically illustrate those words of our blessed Saviour, 'Not my will, but thine be done.' It is quite possible that there may still be a few years of probation for me; but it is more probable that I may not remain here to the close of the present; but whether I remain longer or shorter is of little consequence, compared with the preparation or the dress in which I may be found when called away. It has seemed to me that the habit of mind we cultivate here will be that which will abide with us hereafter; and that heaven is as truly begun here as that the affections which make us love our friends grow stronger by use, and improve by cultivation. We are here in our infancy; the feelings cherished at this period grow with our growth, and, in the progress of time, will fit us for the highest enjoyments of the most distant future. I say, then, what sources of happiness are open to us, not only for the present, but for all future time! These hasty remarks are elicited on occasion of the separation so soon to take place from your son. I know full well the anxieties of a parent on such an occasion. "His health cannot, of course, be certainly predicted; but you will have the comfort of knowing that you have done everything that the fondest parents could do in this particular, whatever effect the absence may have upon him. "---- should feel that his obligations are increased, with his means and opportunities for improvement. If by travel he acquire a better education, and can make himself more useful on his return, he can no more divest himself of his increased duties, than he can divest himself of his duty to be honest. The account is to be rendered for the use of the talents, whether they be ten, or five, or one. If I have opportunity, I shall write a few lines to ---- before he leaves. If I should not, I desire him to feel that I have great affection for him, and deep interest in his progress, and an ardent hope that his health, improvement, and knowledge, may be commensurate with the rare advantages he will enjoy for the acquisition of all. "I know the tender feelings of your husband on all things touching his family or friends; and perhaps I may find opportunity to speak a word of comfort to him. But I know not what more to say than to reiterate the sentiment here expressed. Nature will have its way for a time, but I hope reason will be sufficient to make that time very short. Whatever time it may be, of this I feel confident, that, after the feelings have once subsided, ---- will have all the sunshine and joy which the event is calculated to produce. He cannot know until he has realized the pleasure of hearing the absent ones speak, as it were, in his ear, from a distance of three thousand miles. "May the best blessings of the Almighty rest on you and yours! From your ever affectionate A. L." (TO HIS SON.) "Sunday morning, Feb. 5, 1832. "I have seated myself at my writing-desk, notwithstanding it is holy time, in the hope and belief that I am in the way of duty. This consecration of one day in seven to the duties of religion,--comprising, as these do, every duty,--and if they be well performed, to self-examination, is a glorious renovation of the world. Who that has witnessed the effects of this rest upon the moral and physical condition of a people, can doubt the wisdom of the appointment? Wherever we turn our eyes or our thoughts, if we only will be as honest and candid, in our estimate of the value of the provision made for us, as we ordinarily are in our estimate of the character and conduct of our fellow-men, we must be struck with admiration and gratitude to that merciful Father who has seen our wants, and provided for our comfort to an extent to which the care and provision of the best earthly parents for their children hardly gives the name of resemblance." In speaking of some application for aid which he had received from a charitable institution, he writes to his son: "Our people are liberally disposed, and contribute to most objects which present a fair claim to their aid. I think you will find great advantage in doing this part of your duty upon a system which you can adopt; thus, for instance, divide your expenses into ten parts, nine of which may be termed for what is considered necessary, making a liberal calculation for such as your situation would render proper, and one part applied for the promotion of objects not directly or legally claiming your support, but such as every good citizen would desire to have succeed. This, I think, you will find the most agreeable part of your expense; and, if you should be favored with an abundance of means later in life, you may enlarge your appropriations of this sort, so as to be equal to one tenth of your income. Neither yourself nor those who depend upon you will ever feel the poorer. I assume that you have plenty, in thus fixing the proportion. I believe the rule might be profitably adopted by many who have small means; for they would save more by method than they would be required to pay. "To-morrow completes a hundred years since the birth of Washington. The day will be celebrated, from one end of the country to the other, with suitable demonstrations of respect, by processions, orations, and religious ceremonies, according to the feelings of the people who join in it. I think the spectacle will be a grand one, of a whole people brought together to commemorate the birth of one of their fellow-mortals, who by his virtues and his talents has made his memory immortal, and whose precepts and example are calculated to secure happiness to the countless millions of his fellow-beings who are to people this vast empire through all future time. It is permitted to few to have open to them such a field as Washington had; but no one since the Christian era has filled his sphere so gloriously. We are jogging along, in political, theological and commercial affairs, very much as usual." During the month of January, Mr. Lawrence, on account of ill health, resigned his seat in the Board of Trustees of the Massachusetts General Hospital, in which he had served for several years. This duty had always been one of unmingled pleasure to him; and, by means of his visits there, and at the McLean Asylum for the Insane, under the management of the same board, he became conversant with a class of sufferers who had excited a great interest in his mind, and whom he often visited during the remainder of his life, to cheer them in their sadness, and to convey to them such little tokens of kindness as assured them of his interest and sympathy. In a letter to his second son, at Andover, he writes, April 21: "You will be glad to hear I have got along very well through the wet, cold weather of the week, and am looking forward with cheerful hope to the sunny days to come. If it were not for my faculty of turning present disappointments to future pleasures in prospect, I should run down in spirits. I have always indulged myself in castle-building; but have generally taken care so to build as to be in no danger of their falling on my head, so that when I have gone as far with one as is safe, if it does not promise well, I transfer my labor to another, and thus am always supplied with objects. The last one finished was commenced last May, and it is one I delight to think of. It was then I determined to get your Uncle Mason[3] here. N. thought it a castle without foundation, but the result shows otherwise. "I send some of W.'s late letters, by which you perceive he is not idle; the thought of the dear fellow makes the tears start. God in mercy grant him a safe return, fully impressed with his obligations as a man and a Christian! That I am now living in the enjoyment of so much health, surrounded by so many blessings, is overpowering to my feelings. What shall I render unto God for all these benefits? I feel my unworthiness, and devoutly pray him that I may never lose sight of the great end of my being; and that, whenever it shall please him to call me hence, I may be found in the company of the redeemed through the merits and mediation of the Son of his love. If there is any one thing I would impress on your mind more strongly than another, it is to give good heed to the religious impressions with which you may be imbued; and, at a future day, these may prove a foundation that will support you when all other supports would fail. The youthful imagination frequently magnifies objects at a distance; experience is an able teacher, and detects, too late, perhaps, the fraud upon youth. Be wise in time, and avoid this fraud." [3] Hon. Jeremiah Mason, of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, who passed the rest of his life in Boston. A few days later, he writes to the same son, on the subject of systematic charity: "It is one of my privileges, not less than one of my duties, to be able thus to administer to the comfort of a circle of very dear friends. I hope you will one day have the delightful consciousness of using a portion of your means in a way to give you as much pleasure as I now experience. Your wants may be brought within a very moderate compass; and I hope you will never feel yourself at liberty to waste on yourself such means, as, by system and right principles, may be beneficially applied to the good of those around you. Providence has given us unerring principles to guide us in our duties of this sort. Our first duty is to those of our own household, then extending to kindred, friends, neighbors (and the term 'neighbor' may, in its broadest sense, take in the whole human family), citizens of our state, then of our country, then of the other countries of the world." In another letter, written soon after the preceding, he speaks of certain principles of business which governed him in early life, and adds: "The secret of the whole matter was, that we had formed the habit of promptly acting, thus taking the _top of the tide_; while the habit of some others was to delay until about _half-tide_, thus getting on the flats; while we were all the time prepared for action, and ready to put into any port that promised well. I wish, by all these remarks, to impress upon you the necessity of qualifying yourself to support yourself. The best education that I can secure shall be yours, and such facilities for usefulness as may be in my power shall be rendered; but no food to pamper idleness or wickedness will I ever supply willingly to any connection, however near. I trust I have none who will ever misuse so basely anything that may come to them as a blessing. This letter, you may think, has an undue proportion of advice. 'Line upon line, precept upon precept,' is recommended by one wiser than I am." (TO HIS DAUGHTER.) "Sunday morn. "MY DEAR DAUGHTER: In the quiet of this morning, my mind naturally rests on those objects nearest and dearest to me; and you, my child, are among the first. "The family are all at church, but the weather is not such as to permit my going; and the season by them employed in the service of the sanctuary will by me be employed in communicating with you. "You have now arrived at an age when the mind and heart are most susceptible of impressions for weal or woe; and the direction which may be given to them is what no parent can view with indifference, or pass over without incurring the guilt of being unfaithful in his duties. My earnest desire for you is, that you may fully appreciate your opportunities and responsibilities, and so use them that you may acquire a reasonable hope that you may secure the object for which we are placed here. The probation is short, but long enough to do all that is required of us, if faithfully used; the consequences are never-ending. "These simple views are such as any child of your age can comprehend, and should be made as familiar to your mind as the every-day duties of life. If the mind, from early days, be thus accustomed to look upon life as a school of preparation for higher services, then the changes and adversities to which we are all liable can only be viewed as necessary discipline to fit us for those higher services, and as such be considered as applied for our good, however painful they may seem at first. There is no truth better settled than this: that all the discipline of our heavenly Parent, if rightly used, will eventuate in our good. How, then, can we murmur and repine at his dealings with us? This conduct only shows our weakness and folly, and illustrates the better care of us than we should take of ourselves. "We are in the condition of the sick man, who sometimes craves that which, if given him by his friend, would cause his certain death; but he is not aware at the time that it is withheld for his good. The importance, then, of cultivating a right understanding of the things of which our duties and our happiness are composed, is second to no object which can employ the mind; for, with this knowledge, we must suppose that no one can be so lost to his own interest as not to feel that in the performance of these duties is to result the possession of those riches which are promised to the faithful by our Father in heaven, through the Son of his love. In the preparation which awaits you, do not stop at the things which are seen, but look to those which are unseen. These views, perhaps, may be profitably pondered long after I have been gathered to my fathers. "The tenure of my life seems very frail; still it may continue longer than the lives of my children; but, whenever it shall please God to call me hence, I hope to feel resigned to his will, and to leave behind me such an influence as shall help forward the timid and faint-hearted in the path of duty; and particularly on you, my child, do I urge these views. They debar you from no real or reasonable pleasure; they speak to you, in strong language, to enjoy all those blessings which a bountiful Parent has scattered in your path with unsparing plenty, and admonish you that to enjoy is not to abuse them; when abused, they cease to be enjoyed." CHAPTER XVI. DAILY EXERCISE.--REGIMEN.--IMPROVING HEALTH.--LETTERS. During the summer and autumn of 1832, Mr. Lawrence's health and strength were so much improved, that he was enabled to take exercise on horseback; and almost daily he took long rides, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend, about the environs of the city. This habit he was enabled to continue, with some intermissions, for two or three years, through summer and winter. The effect of the exercise amidst the beautiful scenery of the environs of Boston, of which he was an enthusiastic admirer, was most beneficial to his health, and, it is believed, was a great means of prolonging his life. Whenever he could do so, he secured the company of a friend, and kept a horse expressly for the purpose. As the ride was taken in the morning, when his business acquaintances were occupied, his most usual companion was some one of the city clergy, whom he secured for the occasion, or one of his sons. No denominational distinctions seemed to regulate his choice on these occasions. His own beloved pastor and friend, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, Rev. Drs. Stone and Greenwood, and Father Taylor, the seamen's chaplain, were often his companions. Occasionally a stray merchant or lawyer was engaged; and, as was sometimes the case where they had not been much accustomed to the exercise, a long trot of many miles in the sun, or in the face of a keen winter north-wester, would severely tax their own strength, while they wondered how so frail a figure as that of Mr. Lawrence could possess so much endurance. With all this apparent energy and strength, he was extremely liable to illness, which would come when least expected, and confine him for days to his house. An item of bad news, some annoying incident, a little anxiety, or a slight cold, would, as it were, paralyze his digestive functions, and reduce his strength to the lowest point. It was this extreme sensitiveness which unfitted him to engage in the general current of business, and which compelled him to keep aloof from participation in commercial affairs, and to adopt that peculiar system in diet and living which he adhered to for the remainder of his life. This system limited him to the use of certain kinds of food, which, from time to time, was slightly modified, as was thought expedient. This food was of the most simple kind, and was taken in small quantities, after being weighed in a balance, which always stood before him upon his writing-table. To secure perfect quiet during his meals, and also that he might not be tempted to overstep the bounds of prudence, a certain amount was sent to him in his chamber, from which he took what was allowed. The amount of liquid was also weighed; and so rigid was he in this system of diet, that, for the last sixteen years of his life, he sat down at no meal with his family. The amount of food taken varied, of course, with his strength and condition. In a letter to his friend, President Hopkins, of Williams College, he says: "If your young folks want to know the meaning of epicureanism, tell them to take some, bits of coarse bread (one ounce and a little more), soak them in three gills of coarse-meal gruel, and make their dinner of them and nothing else; beginning very hungry, and leaving off more hungry. The food is delicious, and such as no modern epicureanism can equal." For a considerable period, he kept a regular diet-table, in which he noted down the quantity of solid and liquid food taken during the twenty-four hours. One of his memorandum-books, labelled "Record of Diet and Discipline for 1839 and 1840," contains accurate records of this sort. In October, 1832, in writing to his son in the country, he alludes to this improvement in his health and strength: "We are all doing as well as usual here, myself among them doing better than usual. My little 'Doctor'[4] does wonders for me. I ride so much, and so advantageously, that I do not know but I shall be bold enough, by and by, to ride to B---- and back in a day, but shall hardly dare do so until I have practised a little more in this neighborhood. "I want you to analyze more closely the tendency of principles, associations, and conduct, and strive to adopt such as will make it easier for you to go right than go wrong. The moral taste, like the natural, is vitiated by abuse. Gluttony, tobacco, and intoxicating drink, are not less dangerous to the latter, than loose principles, bad associations, and profligate conduct, are to the former. Look well to all these things." [4] The name of his horse. The year 1833 opened with bright and cheering prospects; for, with Mr. Lawrence's increasing strength and improved health, there seemed a strong ground of hope that he might yet recover all his powers, and once more take his place among his former business associates. He writes at this time to his son at Andover: "I am as light as a feather this morning, and feel as if I could mount upon a zephyr, and ride upon its back to A----; but I am admonished to be careful when my spirits are thus buoyant, lest I come down to the torpor of the insect, which is shut up by the frost. Extremes are apt to follow, unless I take great care. Last Sabbath, I kept my bed, most of the day, with a poor turn. Brother A. said, on Saturday, he knew I was going to have one, for I talked _right on_." In March, he writes: "The season is coming forward now so as to allow me the use of the roads around Roxbury and Dorchester. My 'Doctor' looks so altered by a two hours' canter, that his own mother would hardly know him at first sight. We continue excellent friends; and I think he has never used me better than during the last few days. We both 'feel our oats' and our youth. I feel like sweet twenty-five; and he, I judge, like vigorous seven." On April 28, he writes to a young friend: "When you get married, do not expect a higher degree of perfection than is consistent with mortality in your wife. If you do, you will be disappointed. Be careful, and do not choose upon a theory either. I dislike much of the nonsense and quackery that is dignified with the name of intellectual among people. Old-fashioned common sense is a deal better. * * * * "There was a part of Boston which used to be visited by young men out of curiosity when I first came here, into which I never set foot for the whole time I remained a single man. I avoided it, because I not only wished to keep clear of the temptations common in that part, but to avoid the appearance of evil. I never regretted it; and I would advise all young men to strengthen their good resolutions by reflection, and to plant deep and strong the principles of right, and to avoid temptation, as time gives them strength to stand against it." On December 23, he writes to his wife, who had been summoned to the bedside of a dying relative: "Your absence makes a great blank in the family; and I feel that I must be very careful lest any little accident should make me feel of a _deep blue_ while you are away. Confidence is a great matter, not only in curing, but in preventing disease, whether of the body or the mind; and I have somehow got the notion that I am more safe when you[5] are looking after me than when you are not, and that any trouble is sooner cured when you are present than when you are not. This is, I suppose, the true charm which some people have faith in to keep off their ills. I have been forcibly reminded of the passage of time, by reviewing the scenes of the last three years, and am deeply sensible of the mercies that have been extended to me. What little I do is a poor return: may a better spirit prompt and guide my future services! What few I have rendered are estimated by my brethren beyond their value, and of course tend to flatter my self-love. This should not be; and I ought to see myself as I am seen by that eye that never sleeps. The situation I occupy is one that I would not exchange, if I had the power, with any man living: it is full of agreeable incidents, and free from the toils and anxieties frequently attendant on a high state of prosperity; and is, beside, free from that jealousy, or from any other cause of uneasiness, so common among the ardent and successful in this world's race." [5] The editor, in justice to his own feelings, will here remark, that he believes the continuation of Mr. Lawrence's life, after he became a confirmed invalid, was, under Providence, in a great measure due to the care and faithful attentions of his wife. For more than twenty years, and during his frequent seasons of languor and sickness, she submitted to many sacrifices, and bestowed a degree of care and watchfulness such as affection alone could have enabled her to render. To his daughter, who was on a visit at Washington, he writes: "BOSTON, May 18th, 1834. Sunday evening. "MY DEAR CHILD: The contrast in the weather to-day with what it has been most of the time since you left home, is as great as is usual between a bleak November day and the soft air of June. To-day it is beautiful, but on Wednesday it snowed, hailed, and rained, and I am told, indeed, that a few miles beyond Amherst the snow fell four inches in depth. You have reason to be thankful that you have been in a milder climate, and, at the same time, are seeing all the wonders that open upon you in the new world on which you have entered. "I shall be expecting a letter from you within a day or two; there can be no want of materials where so many new objects are constantly presenting themselves, and there is a pleasure in receiving them just as they appear to you; so you need not be afraid to place before me the first sketches, precisely as you catch them. "To-day I suppose you are in Philadelphia, and, if so, I hope you have attended a Friends' meeting. The manner of worship and the appearance of the people are different from anything you have seen; and the influence of this sect upon the taste and manners of the people is very striking, particularly in the matter of their dress. It is said that you can judge something of the character of a lady from her dress. Without deeming it an essential, I think it of some consequence. This strikes the eye only, and may deceive; how much more important that the dress of the heart and mind and affections be right, and that no deception be found there! I do most earnestly pray God that every opportunity may be improved by you, my dear S., to adorn yourself with all those graces that shall not only charm the eye, but also with those that shall win the affections of those whose affection you would prize, and more especially that you will secure the approval of our best Friend. * * * * * "_Monday afternoon, May 19._--I have received your charming letter, dated on Thursday last. It is just the thing, a simple narrative of facts; and you will find plenty of materials of this sort, as I stated to you before. I have been in the saddle to-day nearly five hours with your Uncle W. and Father Taylor, and am very tired, but shall get refreshed by a night's rest. "The day is beautiful, finer than any we have had since you left home. We went to Mount Auburn, and it appears very lovely; how much better than the dreary resting-places for the dead so common in New England, overgrown with thistles, and the graves hardly designated by a rude stone! Our Puritan forefathers mistook very much, I think, in making the place of deposit for our mortal remains so forbidding in appearance to the living. A better taste is growing among us. It may become a matter of ostentation (we are so apt to go to extremes), to build sepulchres and monuments to hold our bodies, that will speak to our shame when we are no longer subjects of trial; when, in short, we shall have gone to our account. If these monuments could speak to their living owners, and induce them to labor to merit, while they may, a good word from the future lookers on, then they would be valuable indeed. As it is, I have no fault to find; it is decidedly better than the old fashion of making these tenements look as dreary as anything in this world can look." To the same he writes, a few days later: "Tell ---- that I saw little ---- this morning. She is the sweetest little creature that ever lived, and I find myself smiling whenever I think of the dear child in health. Sympathy is a powerful agent in illustrating through the countenance the feelings within. I believe my face is as arrant a tell-tale as ever was worn; and whenever I think of those I love, under happy circumstances, I am happy, too. So you may judge how much I enjoy in the belief that you are enjoying so much, and doing so well, in this journey." On February 8, 1835, he writes to a young friend: "Take care that fancy does not beguile you of your understanding in making your choice: a mere picture is not all that is needful in the up and down hills of life. The arrangements of the household and the sick room have more in them to fasten upon the heart than all the beauties and honors of the mere gala days, however successfully shown off. Be careful, when you pick, to get a heart, a soul, and a body; not a show of a body that has mere vitality. All this comes in _by the ears_; but it is in,--I will not blot it out." March 16, he writes to his sister. "I have had so much call for my sympathy, assistance, and advice, among my brethren in trade, that I have little inclination or spirit to write social or family letters since my last; but, in all this turmoil and trouble (and it really is as disastrous as a siege or a famine to the country), I have kept up a good heart, and have been able to view the work of destruction with as much composure as the nature of the case will allow. Whatever effects it shall produce on my property, I shall submit to, as the inevitable destruction that comes without any fault of my own, of course without any self-reproaches; but for the authors I feel a just indignation. As regards the pecuniary distress among us, it is subsiding: there have been fewer failures than were anticipated; but there have been numbers on the brink, who have been saved by the help of friends. A few persons have done great service in helping those who could not help themselves; and the consequences will be felt here for years to come in the credit and standing of many worthy people, who must otherwise have been broken down. Brother A. has had a load of care and responsibility much too severe for him, and has now agreed to throw off a part of the business as soon as the present pressure is past." April 29, he writes: "I am busy these days, but have no very important duties, except riding with the ministers and the young ladies." Again, a few days later: "I am completely on one side, while I appear to be quite busy in putting in an oar now and then." To his daughter, on her eighteenth birth-day, he writes: "BOSTON, May 23, 1835. "MY DEAR S.: You have been much in my mind to-day, and now that I am sitting alone this evening, I place myself at your writing-desk to communicate with you, and thus impart some portion of those feelings of interest and affection which a return of this day brings more strongly into play. Eighteen years of your life are now passed, and the events of this period have been deeply interesting to me, and have made such impressions on you, and have left such marks of progress, I hope, in the divine life, as will insure your onward and upward course, until you shall join that dear one whose home has been in heaven for nearly the whole period of your life. When I look upon you, or think of your appearance, the image of your mother is before me, and then I feel that deep solicitude that your mind and heart may be imbued with those heavenly influences that gave a grace and charm to all she did. "There is no substitute for those traits, and you may feel entire confidence that a practical use of them in prosperity will prove the best security against the changes which adversity brings about. If I were to select for you the richest portion which a fond father could choose, it would be that you might have a mind and a heart to perform all those duties which your station and condition in life require, upon the true Christian principle of using your one or more talents, and thus, at the day of account, receive the cheering sound of the Master's voice. "What treasure will compare with this? The charms of life are captivating to the imagination, but there are none more calculated to add to our joys here than elevated Christian principles, however they may be branded by the mere worldling as 'cold, unsocial,' and the like. You see how important it is to form a just estimate of the value of these different objects. When a mistake is made here, the consequences may be never-ending. Our danger is in cheating ourselves, by leaving undone those things our conscience tells us we ought to do, and doing others that it tells us we ought not to do. "I have thought, for some time past, my dear child, that your mind was laboring under the influence of religious truth, and I have been made most comfortable in this belief. "Cultivate those feelings, and study to make your example good to others, as well as safe for yourself. Our time here is short, but it is long enough to accomplish the work we are sent to perform, and the consequences will be on our own heads if we omit or neglect to do it." (TO THE SAME.) "GROTON, August 9, 1835. "DEAR S.: I have been talking with your grandmother, for the last hour, upon the events of her early days, and I feel (as I always do when I contrast our present condition with the past) that we, as a whole people, and as individuals, have more reasons for gratitude and obedience to our heavenly Father than have ever before been placed before any people; and it seems to me we are more likely to disregard them than any other people I have any knowledge of. The fact is, we are so prosperous that we seem to forget the source of our prosperity, and take it as a matter of course that the character and conduct of a people cannot influence their condition. We are ready to say of an individual when he has been reckless and extravagant, that he has brought destruction on himself. Why, then, may not a whole people be judged by the same standard? Our great danger arises from false principles. We never act above the standard we adopt; and if our standard be so low as to authorize the gratification of the basest passions, how natural that our tastes become conformed to this standard! "These reflections arose in my mind by hearing from my mother the stories of the 'times that tried men's souls;' how she was separated from her husband immediately after her marriage, when he joined the army in Rhode Island; how, after a battle, his mother said to her 'she did not know but Sam was killed;' how she fell instantly upon the floor, and how, within a day or two, after a separation of eight months, she was rejoiced to see her husband safe and sound (although at the time alluded to he had been in great peril, having been saved from captivity by the desperate efforts of a company of blacks, and by the fleetness and force of his fine charger); and how, by confidence in the justness of the cause and the aid of the Almighty, they trusted they should get through the contest, and be permitted to enjoy the fruits of their own labor in their own way. And now, what proportion of the people do you suppose refer to the aid of the Almighty, or to his justice or judgment as a motive to their actions, or how far does his fear or his love influence their conduct? These questions are more easily asked than answered; but they fill the mind with mournful forebodings of the necessary consequences to any people of forgetting God and departing from his love. You and I, and every individual, have it in our power to keep off in some degree this fatal consummation. Let us, therefore, examine well ourselves, and strive to be numbered among those faithful stewards who, at their Master's coming, shall be placed among the happy company who enter the joy of their Lord. "This morning is one of those delightful quiet Sabbaths that seem to be like the rest of the saints above. We are all soon to be on our way to public worship. * * * * (TO HIS MOTHER.) "Aug. 16, 1835. "MY DEAR AND HONORED MOTHER: My mind turns back to you almost as frequently as its powers are brought into separate action, and always with an interest that animates and quickens my pulse; for, under God, it is by your good influence and teachings that I am prepared to enjoy those blessings which he has so richly scattered in my path in all my onward progress in life. How could it be otherwise than that your image should be with me, unless I should prove wholly unworthy of you? Your journey is so much of it performed, that those objects which interested you greatly in its early stages have lost their charms; and well it is that they have; for they now would prove _clogs_ in the way and it is to your children, to your Saviour, and your God, that your mind and heart now turn as the natural sources of pleasure. Each of these, I trust, in their proper place and degree, supply all your wants. The cheering promise that has encouraged you when your powers were the highest, will not fail you when the weight of years and infirmities have made it more necessary to your comfort to get over the few remaining spans of the journey. To God I commend you; and pray him to make the path light, and your way confiding and joyful, until you shall reach that home prepared for the faithful." In a letter to his sister, dated Oct. 25, he further alludes to his mother, as follows "My thoughts this morning have been much engaged with my early home. I conclude it best to embody them in part, and send them forward to add (if they may) a token of gratitude and thankfulness to that dear one who is left to us, for her care of our early days, and her Christian instruction and example to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; each generation of whom, I trust, will be made better in some of its members by her. It is more natural, when in our weakness and want, to turn our thoughts to those whom they have been accustomed to look to for assistance; and thus to me the impression of the blessing I enjoy in having such a home as mine is, and the blessing I early enjoyed of having such a home as mine was under my father's roof, say to my heart: 'All these increase thy responsibilities, and for their use thou must account.' I have had one of my slight ill turns within the last two days, that has brought back all these feelings with increased force; and I look upon these as gentle monitors, calculated to make me estimate more fully my blessings and my duties. Frequently as I am admonished of the frail tenure by which I hold my life, I am negligent and careless in the performance of those high and every-day duties which I should never lose sight of for an hour. I have also such buoyancy of spirits, that life seems to me a very, very great blessing, and I do at times strive to make it useful to those around me." CHAPTER XVII. REFLECTIONS.--VISIT TO WASHINGTON.--VISIT TO RAINSFORD ISLAND.--VIEWS OF DEATH.--REFLECTIONS. From memorandum-book of property, December 31, 1835: "My expenses have been ---- thousand dollars this year; of which about one half went for persons and objects that make me feel that it has been well expended, and is better used than to remain in my possession. God grant that I may have the disposition to use these talents in such manner as to receive at last the joyful sound of 'Well done!'" On March 29, 1836, Mr. Lawrence writes: "My anxiety for a day or two about little things kept me from the enjoyment of those bright scenes that are so common to me when not oppressed by any of these _may_ be events. My nerves are in such a shattered state, that I am quite unfit to encounter the responsibilities incident to my station, and I am ashamed of myself thus to expose my weakness." During the spring, Mr. Lawrence's health was so feeble, and his nervous system so shattered, that a journey was recommended; and, in the month of May, in company with his friend and pastor, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, he paid a visit to his brother Abbott, at Washington, then the representative in Congress for Boston. During this journey, he experienced a severe illness, and was shortly joined by Mrs. Lawrence. The visit to Washington extended through several weeks: and, although his health remained feeble and the weather unfavorable, he seems to have been alive to objects around him, and interested in what was going forward in the halls of Congress as well as in the society of the capital. He speaks of visits to the houses of Congress, and pleasant rides on horseback, "with hosts of agreeable companions ready to sally forth when the weather shall permit." He also takes a survey of the general state of society in Washington, with an occasional allusion to some particular personage. He writes: "It used to be said that Washington and the Springs were the places for matrimonial speculations. I feel a natural dislike to a lady being brought out as an extraordinary affair, having all perfections, and having refused _forty-nine_ offers, and still being on the carpet. It shows that she is either very silly herself, or has very silly friends, or both. Good strong common sense is worth more than forty-nine offers, with any quantity of slaves, or bank-notes, or lands, without it. * * * * * "I have passed two hours in the Representatives' Hall and Senate Chamber to-day. I heard the usual sparring, and confess myself greatly interested in it. I could learn nothing of the merits of any of the questions; but I had a preference, such as one feels in seeing two dogs fight, that one should beat. It was very agreeable to me to see and hear those various distinguished characters, and goes to demonstrate the common saying, that some objects appear smaller by our getting nearer to them." During this absence, one of his family remaining at home had experienced a light attack of varioloid; and, according to the law then in force, was obliged to be transported to the Quarantine Hospital, situated in Boston Harbor. Soon after Mr. Lawrence's return from the South, he paid a visit to Rainsford Island, on the invitation of Dr. J. V. C. Smith, then Quarantine Physician, and there passed some weeks very pleasantly, riding about the island on his horse, and watching, from the shores, the sea-views, which, with the passing ships, here afford an endless variety. In August, he returned to his own house in Boston; and, on the 21st, writes to his sister as follows: "The scenery in front, side, and rear, and all within, is unrivalled, except by the charms of the dear old home of my mother and sister; in short, it seems to me that no two spots combine so many charms as my early and present homes; and they impress me more fully now by my being so well as to enjoy not only natural scenery, but the social intercourse with loved ones, that more than compensate for anything I may have lost by sickness and suffering. I yesterday was on horseback nearly three hours, but did not ride more than ten miles; and, in that distance, I went over some scenes that I felt unwilling to leave, especially some of the old works on and near Dorchester Heights, for they appeared more interesting than ever before, from the circumstance of your showing me that mass of original letters from Washington, Hancock, Samuel Adams, and various other revolutionary characters, to General Ward; some of them touching the occupation of these heights sixty years ago, and some of them alluding to scenes which have scarcely been noticed in the published histories of those days. All go to show, however, the whole souls of those men to have been engaged in their work; and, further, how vain it is for us of this day, who are ambitious of distinction, to found it on any other basis than uprightness of character, purity of life, and the active performance of all those duties included in 'the doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly.' How few of us remember this! I hardly know when I have been more forcibly impressed with a plain truth than I was yesterday, while sitting alone on horseback, on the top of the redoubt on Dorchester Heights, and the considerations of the past, the present, and the future, were the subject of my thoughts, connecting the men of those days with the present, and the men of these days with the future. The evidence is irresistible, that there is a downhill tendency in the character of the people, which, in sixty years more, will make us more corrupt than any other enlightened nation so young as ours, unless we are checked by adversity and suffering. But this is not what I intended to write about, so I will go to something else. The old revolutionary documents, memorials of our father, never appeared to me so interesting as now; and those I now return to you will be carefully preserved, and such others as you may find, added to them. I would give a great sum of money, if by it I could get all the documents I used to see when I was a child, and which we thought of so little value that we did not preserve them with that care which should have been used in a family which cherishes such deep feelings of respect and affection for parents." The year 1837 will be remembered as one of great pecuniary embarrassment and distress in the commercial world. Mr. Lawrence alludes to it as follows, on May 13 "The violent pecuniary revulsion that has been anticipated for more than a year has at length overtaken this country, and is more severe than our worst fears. In addition to the failure of people to pay their debts, in all sections of the country, for the last two months, the banks, from Baltimore to Boston, and probably throughout the Union, as fast as the intelligence spreads, have suspended specie payment, and will not probably resume again very soon." On December 17 of the same year, he writes to his mother as follows "This day completes thirty years since my commencing business, with the hope of acquiring no very definite amount of property, or having in my mind any anticipation of ever enjoying a tithe of that consideration my friends and the public are disposed to award me at this time. In looking back to that period, and reviewing the events as they come along, I can see the good hand of God in all my experience; and acknowledge, with deep humiliation, my want of gratitude and proper return for all his mercies. May each day I live impress me more deeply with a sense of duty, and find me better prepared to answer his call, and account for my stewardship! The changes in our family have been perhaps no greater than usual in other families in that period, excepting in the matter of the eminent success that has attended our efforts of a worldly nature. This worldly success is the great cause of our danger in its uses, and may prove a snare, unless we strive to keep constantly in mind, that to whom much is given, of him will much be required. I feel my own deficiencies, and lament them; but am encouraged and rewarded by the enjoyment, in a high degree, of all my well-meant efforts for the good of those around me. In short, I feel as though I can still do a little to advance the cause of human happiness while I remain here. My maxim is, that I ought to 'work while the day lasts; for the night of death will soon overtake me, when I can no more work.' I continue to mend in strength, and feel at times the buoyancy of early days. It is now raining in torrents, keeping us all within doors. I have been at work with gimblet, saw, fore-plane, and hammer, thus securing a good share of exercise without leaving my chamber." * * * * * "_January 1, 1838._--Bless the Lord, O my soul! and forget not all his benefits; for he has restored my life twice during the past year, when I was apparently dead, and has permitted me to live, and see and enjoy much, and has surrounded me with blessings that call for thankfulness. The possession of my mind, the intercourse with beloved friends, the opportunity of performing some labor as his steward (although imperfectly done), all call upon me for thanksgiving and praise. The violent revulsion in the business of the country during the past year has been ruinous to many; but, so far as my own interests are concerned, has been less than I anticipated. My property remains much as it was a year ago. Something beyond my income has been disposed of; and I have no debts against me, either as a partner in the firm or individually. Everything is in a better form for settlement than at any former period, and I hope to feel ready to depart whenever called." The following is copied from an account-book, presented at the commencement of the year to his youngest son, then twelve years of age: "MY DEAR SON: I give you this little book, that you may write in it how much money you receive, and how you use it. It is of much importance, in forming your early character, to have correct habits, and a strict regard to truth in all you do. For this purpose, I advise you never to cheat yourself by making a false entry in this book. If you spend money for an object you would not willingly have known, you will be more likely to avoid doing the same thing again if you call it by its right name here, remembering always that there is _One_ who cannot be deceived, and that _He_ requires his children to render an account of all their doings at last. I pray God so to guide and direct you that, when your stewardship here is ended, he may say to you that the talents intrusted to your care have been faithfully employed. "Your affectionate father, A. L." In transmitting to his sister a letter received from Baltimore, from a mutual friend, he writes, on March 12, in a postscript: "This morning seems almost like a foretaste of heaven. The sun shines bright, the air is soft; I am comfortable, and expect a pleasant drive in the neighborhood. It is indeed brilliant, beautiful, and interesting to me, beyond any former experience of my life. I am the happiest man alive, and yet would willingly exchange worlds this day, if it be the good pleasure of our best Friend and Father in heaven." The extract quoted above will give an idea of that state of mind in which Mr. Lawrence was often found by his friends, and which he unceasingly strove to cultivate. He could not always exult in the same buoyant and almost rapturous feelings here expressed; for, with his feeble frame and extreme susceptibility to outward influences, to believe such was the case would be to suppose him more than mortal. The willingness to exchange worlds was, however, a constant frame of mind; and the daily probability of such an event he always kept in view. The work of each day was performed with the feeling that it might be his last; and there is, throughout his correspondence and diary, frequent allusion to the uncertain tenure by which he held life, and his determination to work while the day lasted. If a matter was to be attended to, of great or little importance, whether the founding a professorship, signing a will, or paying a household bill, all was done at the earliest moment, with the habitual remark, "I may not be here to-morrow to do it." In the same cheerful spirit, he writes to his son a few days after his marriage, and then on a journey to Virginia: "The whole scene here on Thursday last was so delightful that I hardly knew whether I was on the earth, or floating between earth and heaven. I have been exalted ever since, and the group of happy friends will be a sunny spot in your no less than in their remembrance." To his sister he writes, Dec. 22: "It is thirty-one years this week since I commenced business on my own account, and the prospects were as gloomy at that period for its successful pursuit as at any time since; but I never had any doubt or misgiving as to my success, for I then had no more wants than my means would justify. The habits then formed, and since confirmed and strengthened by use, have been the foundation of my good name, good fortune, and present happy condition. At that time (when you know I used to visit you as often as I could, by riding in the night until I sometimes encroached upon the earliest hour of the Sabbath before reaching my beloved home, to be at my business at the dawn of day on Monday morning), my gains were more than my expenses; thus strengthening and encouraging me in the steady pursuit of those objects I had in view as a beginner. From that time to this, I am not aware of ever desiring or acquiring any great amount by a single operation, or of taking any part of the property of any other man and mingling it with my own, where I had the legal right to do so. I have had such uniform success as to make my fidelity a matter of deep concern to myself; and my prayer to God is, that I may be found to have acted a uniform part, and receive the joyful 'Well done,' which is substantial wealth, that no man can take away. If my experience could be made available by my successors, I sometimes feel that it would be a guaranty that they would keep in the best path; but, as they are to be fitted by discipline for the journey, it is perhaps a vain thing for me to allow any doubts to rest upon my mind that _that_ discipline is not for their highest good. The pleasures of memory have never been more highly enjoyed than during the period of my last sickness. They have solaced my pains, and supported me through numerous fainting fits, growing out of the surgical treatment I have endured. I would ask you, my dear sister, if a merciful Parent has not stretched forth his hand almost visibly to support me through this trying scene, by scattering in my path these flowers and fruits so freely as almost to make me forget bodily pains; and bless him for what is past, and trust that what is future will be the means of making me a better man." * * * * * "_December 31, 1838._--The business of the year now brought to a close has been unexpectedly productive, and the prospects of continued success are very flattering. At the commencement of the year, my life seemed a flickering light, with small hope of its continuance through the winter; but a merciful Providence has permitted a brighter view, and my happiness through the year has been superior to that of any year of my life." After enumerating some domestic events which had contributed to this result, he adds: "My own health is so far restored as to allow me the enjoyment of everything around me in perfection. May God in mercy keep me mindful of my duties, and prepared to surrender my account at any moment he may call me hence!" CHAPTER XVIII. BROTHER'S DEATH.--LETTERS.--GIFTS.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--APPLICANTS FOR AID.--REFLECTIONS.--LETTER FROM REV. DR. STONE.--DIARY. If, at the close of the last year, Mr. Lawrence could say that "his happiness had been superior to that of any year of his life," it could not be said that its successor was one of unmingled brightness. The unbroken band of brothers who had marched thus far hand in hand, united by a common bond of sympathy and affection, sustaining each other in all trials, and rejoicing together in their common prosperity, was about to be sundered. Since their earliest days, they had had but one interest, and, residing near each other after leaving their early home, had been in the habit of most constant and intimate intercourse. Many of their friends will well remember seeing four, and sometimes five, of them, on Sunday evening, after service, walking together abreast, arm in arm; and have been tempted to exclaim, "Behold how good and pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity." They had more than obeyed their father's injunction "not to fall out by the way, for a three-fold cord is not quickly broken." With them, it had been a five-fold cord; and, amidst all the perplexities of business, the management of important interests, and the various vicissitudes of domestic life, no strand had been broken until severed by the ruthless hand of death. The eldest brother, Luther, had been educated at Harvard College; had studied law with the Hon. Timothy Bigelow, then of Groton, afterwards of Medford, whose sister he subsequently married; and had commenced the practice of his profession in his native town. There he met with good success, and, for many years, represented the town in the House of Representatives, of which he was chosen Speaker for the session of 1821 and 1822. He was induced by his brothers, who had become largely interested in the new town of Lowell, to remove thither; and he accordingly took up his residence there in 1831, having accepted the presidency of the bank which had been lately established. In 1838, he had been elected Mayor of the city, and had given himself up to the pressing duties incident to the office in a new and growing community. While holding this office, he, on the 17th of April, 1839, accompanied an old friend and connection, who was on a visit at Lowell, to inspect the works of the Middlesex Manufacturing Company, recently erected by his brothers. In passing rapidly through one of the rooms, he made a misstep, and was precipitated many feet into a wheel-pit, causing almost instant death. This sad event was deeply felt by Mr. Lawrence, as well as by all who knew and appreciated the character of the deceased. In a letter to his sisters, dated April 22, he says: "I should have addressed a word of comfort to you before this. That he should be taken, and I left, is beyond my _ken_, and is a mystery which will be cleared up hereafter. I do, however, know _now_ that all is right, and better ordered than we could have done it. We _must_ submit, and _should_ be resigned. Brother L.'s death may, perhaps, be more efficient in instructing us in the path of duty than would have been his life; and the whole community around is admonished by this event in a way that I have rarely seen so marked. The homage to his character is a legacy to his children of more value than all the gold of the mint. Shall we, then, repine at his separation from us? Surely not. He has fulfilled his mission, and is taken home, with all his powers fresh and perfect, and with the character of having used these powers for the best and highest good of all around him. We shall all soon be called away, and should make his departure the signal to be also ready. This is the anniversary of my birth, and has been marked by many circumstances of peculiar interest." On the same date, he writes to a connection, who was about to take possession of his house on that day for the first time after his marriage: "I intended speaking a word in your ear before your leaving us for your own fireside and home, but have concluded to take this mode of doing it; and it is to say, that you possess a jewel in your wife, above price, which should be worn in such an atmosphere as will increase its purity and value the longer you possess it; and that is around the family altar. That you intend to establish it, I have no doubt; but, as to the precise time, you may not be fixed. What time so good as the present time, when the first evening of possession of this paradise on earth (a house and home of your own with such a wife), to make that offering to the Father of mercies which ascends to his throne as sweet incense from his children? It is the nutriment and efficient producing power of the best principles and the best fruits of our nature. Be wise in time, and strive to secure these, that you may go on from one degree to another, until you shall have reached our Father's house, and shall hear the cheering 'Well done!' promised to such as have used their talents without abusing them. My blessing attend you!" (TO HIS DAUGHTER.) "Monday evening. "DEAR S.: The admonition of the last week comes home to me in a way not to be neglected, and I hope to keep in mind that, in my best days, I am as likely to be called off, as in these days of anxious care, when pressed down with pain and weakness, and surrounded by those dear ones who look upon every emotion with deep solicitude. On comparing myself now with myself a year ago, I have much to animate and cheer in the increased strength of body and renewed powers, by which I can enjoy life; but I have also much to speak to the heart, and to tell me to be constantly ready to be called off without previous note of preparation. May I never lose sight, for a single hour, of the tenure by which I hold the privilege of seeing the dear ones settled so happily! It is more than I had reason to anticipate. "May you, dear child, never lose sight of the end for which your privileges are made so ample, nor forego the happiness of doing the best in your power at every stage of your journey, so that whenever you may be called hence, you may feel that you are ready, and that your work is done. It will not do for me to rely upon my every-day firmness to secure me against attacks of the kind last experienced. I do most fervently desire to be kept in mind of my exposure, and never for an hour forget that it may be my last." [Illustration: BIRTH PLACE AT GROTON.] Several passages in Mr. Lawrence's letters will show the attachment which he felt towards the place of his birth, connected as it was with so many associations and memories of the past. The old house, with the great elm in front and its welcome shade; the green meadow, stretching for a mile along a gentle declivity to the river; the range of mountains in the west, just distant enough to afford that tinge of blue which adds an indescribable charm to every landscape; the graceful undulations of the hills on the east, with the quiet village sleeping at their base, all seemed in his mind so associated with the loved inmates of his early home, that he ever contemplated the picture with delight. On June 4, in a letter to his sisters, he writes: "R. leaves us this morning, on his way to the old homestead, which, to my mind's eye, has all the charms of the most lovely associations of early days, with all the real beauty of those splendid descriptions given by the prophets of the holy city. I would earnestly impress all my children with a deep sense of the beauty and benefit of cherishing and cultivating a respect and affection for this dear spot, and for those more dear objects that have served to make it what it really is to all us children." In a letter to his son, whose visit is alluded to above, he says: "The beautiful scenery from Gibbet Hill, in Groton, and from the road from our old mansion south for a mile, towards the Wachusett and the Monadnock Mountains, comes next, in point of beauty, to my taste, to these views around the Boston Common. Be careful to do all things as you will wish you had done, that you may look back upon this visit with pleasure, and forward to another visit with increased relish. Remember that in the best performance of all your duties lies the highest enjoyment of all your pleasures. Those pleasures that flow from plans and doings that your conscience condemns are to be shunned as the net of the wicked one. When once entangled, the desire and effort to be released grow weaker, till, at length, conscience is put asleep, and the sleep of death comes over the soul. Be careful, therefore, to avoid evil, and not only so, but to avoid all appearance of evil. In this way, you will grow up with principles and fixed habits that will secure you against the ills of life, and supply a foretaste of the enjoyments of a better life to come." During a visit which he made to his early home a few months subsequent to the date of the preceding extract, he writes to his daughter: "I was very tired on arriving here last evening, but a quiet sleep has brought me into my best state. "This morning has allowed me to ride for two hours, and I have enjoyed everything and everybody here to the utmost. Groton is beautiful beyond any other place I have ever seen; but perhaps I am in the situation of old Mr. ----, whose opinion of his wife's beauty, when questioned of its accuracy, was justified by the declaration that the person must have his eyes to look through. "The whole country is full of charms; nothing seems wanting to impress upon the heart the goodness of that Parent who seeks by all means to bring us nearer to himself. "This visit has been full of interest, and it is a source of unfeigned thanksgiving that it has been permitted to me." Mr. Lawrence always took great delight in sending to friends and relatives, little and great, mementoes of his affection; and a great deal of time was spent in penning and reading the letters and notes which such transactions called forth. He had a rare faculty of adapting his gift to the peculiar necessities or tastes of the recipient; and, whether the matter treated of was a check for thousands or a bouquet of flowers, equal pleasure seemed to be given and received. In sending a gift of the former description, he notices the commencement of the year 1840 as follows: "January 1. "DEAR S.: W. will prize the enclosed more highly from your hand; for he will have proof that a good wife brings many blessings, that he never would know the value of but for you. May you experience many returns of the 'new year,' and each more happy than the past!" In a letter to his second son, then on a visit to Europe, he writes, under date of March 5, 1840: "We are all curious to know what impressions your visit to France and Italy produces, and still more what impressions a careful overlooking of our fatherland makes upon you. There is much food for reflection, and abundant material for the exercise of your powers of observation, in every league of the '_fast_-anchored isle,' especially in the scenes so beautifully portrayed in many of the books we have access to. In fact, I have an extensive collection of materials to renew your travels and observations, and shall value them more highly when you point out this or that seat or castle or abbey, which has arrested your notice. But the best scenes will be those in which the living souls of the present day are engaged. The habits and tastes of the people of England have doubtless much changed since the _Spectator_ days; but, in many important particulars, I should hope they had not. Some thirty years ago, I had a good specimen of the feelings and principles of a great variety of people, embracing almost all classes, from the year 1774 to 1776, in a multitude of letters that had accumulated in the post-office in this town, under Tuthill Hubbart. After his death, his house was pulled down; and, among the strange things found in it, were bushels of letters, of which I was permitted to take what I pleased. These letters showed a deeper religious feeling in the writers of those days, from England, Ireland, and Scotland, than I have seen in any miscellaneous collections of a later date. If that deep-toned piety which pervaded them has not been extinguished by the Jacobinism and freethinking of later days, happy for the people and the government! But I fear it has, in some great measure, been blotted out or obscured, as there seems to be a spirit of reckless adventure in politics and religion not contemplated seventy years ago. How far our experience in self-government in this country is going to advance the cause of good government, and the ultimate happiness of man, is yet a problem. Our principles are of the most elevating character; our practices under them, of the most debasing; and, if we continue in this way another generation, there will not be virtue enough in active use to save the forms of our government. We may hope that a better heart may be given us." In a letter to his son-in-law, the Rev. Charles Mason, who was at that time in company with his own son on a visit to England, he writes on June 28th, 1840: "I intended to defer writing until to-morrow morning; but the beauty of the western scenery and sunset is so striking, that I am strongly impelled to tell you that, much as you see, and highly as you enjoy the scenes of old England, there is nothing there more beautiful and sublime than this very scene from my chamber windows. It seems as though nature never was so beautifully dressed at this time of the year as at present. The season has been unusually favorable for the foliage, fruits, and flowers; and all around bears evidence of that goodness that never rests, and in my own person I feel that I am enjoying in a month what ought to content me for a year." The foregoing extract is selected from among many others of a similar nature, as an illustration of Mr. Lawrence's appreciation of the beauties of natural scenery. Towards the close of the day, his favorite seat was at a window, from which he could witness the glories of the setting sun, and, still later, the fading beauties of the twilight. Nature to him was no sealed volume; and with her, in all her phases, he loved to commune. The gorgeous hues of the western sky, the changing tints of the autumnal foliage, and the smiling features of the landscape, were in his mind typical of the more resplendent beauties of the future world. He writes: "To-day is one of those holy spring days which make us feel that, with right principles and conduct, we may enjoy a foretaste of that beautiful home we all long for. I have been over the Roxbury and Dorchester hills, which are a transcript of the beautiful scenery around Jerusalem. Mount Zion seemed before me, and by stretching my arms, I could almost fly upon its sides." He loved to think that the spirits of the departed may be permitted to hover around, and minister to those whom they have once loved on earth; and sometimes, as he viewed nature in her softer moods, he would imagine himself as holding communion with former cherished objects of affection. He writes to a friend: "Dear S. and R. speak in words without sounds, through every breeze and in every flower, and in the fragrance of every perfume from the field or the trees." And again: "Is there anything in Scripture to discourage the belief that the spirits of departed friends are still ministering spirits to such as are left here, and that a recognition and reünion will follow when we are called off? I believe fully in this happy reünion; and it is, next to the example of the beloved, the most animating feeling that prompts me through this wearisome journey." To a friend who had invited him to pay her a visit at her residence in the country, he writes: "N---- says I am like a child in the matter of the visit, and would be as much disappointed if it should not be accomplished; and I must admit that I am guilty of this weakness. There are so many loved ones on the old spot, so many lessons to be reviewed, and so many friends 'passed on,' whose spirits surround and fill the place with the peculiar halo and charm of the good angels (those ministering spirits in whose company we may ever find comfort, if we will think so). I say, with all these things, can I be blamed for being a child in this matter? You will all say No, and will love me the better for it." On the anniversary of his commencing his business, Dec. 17, Mr. Lawrence, as usual, reviews his past life and mercies, and adds: "My daily aspirations are for wisdom and integrity to do what is required of me; but the excuses for omissions, and the hidden promptings of pride or selfishness in the sins of commission, take away all confidence that all is done as it should be. I am in the enjoyment of as much as belongs to our condition here. Wife, children, and friends, those three little blessings that were spared to us after the fall, impart enjoyment that makes my home as near a heaven on earth as is allowed to mortals. "_Dec. 23._--This morning has been clear and beautiful, and I have enjoyed it highly. Have been sleigh-riding with Chancellor Kent. Went over to Bunker Hill Monument, and around by the river-side to Charlestown Neck, and had a regular old-fashioned talk with him. He gave me an account of the scenes which occurred where he was studying, in Connecticut, when the news came of the Lexington fight. As we parted, he promised to come again in the spring, take another ride, and resume the conversation. He leaves for New York at three o'clock, and is as bright and lively as a boy, though seventy-eight years old. The old gentleman attends to all his own affairs, had walked around the city this morning some miles, been to the Providence Railroad Dépôt for his ticket, overlooked divers bookstores, and so forth. He is very interesting, and has all the simplicity of a child." About this time, also, Mr. Lawrence seems to have had pleasant intercourse with the Chevalier Hulsemann, the Austrian Minister, so well known by his correspondence with Mr. Webster when the latter was Secretary of State. The minister was on a visit to Boston, and, from the correspondence which ensued, seems to have conceived a high regard for Mr. Lawrence, expressed in very kind and courteous terms; and this regard seems to have been fully reciprocated. "_April 1, 1841._--S. N., of T., an apprentice on board the United States ship 'Columbus,' in this harbor, thirteen years old, whom I picked up intoxicated in Beacon-street a month ago, and to whom I gave some books, with request to call and see me when on shore, came to-day, and appears very well. Gave him a Testament and some good counsel. "_June 6._--G. M. called to sell a lot of sermons called the ----, which he said he caused to be published to do good; he repeated it so often that I doubted him. He seems to me a _wooden nutmeg_ fellow, although he has the Rev. Mr. ----'s certificate." The preceding entry is given here merely as a sample of many such which are found in Mr. Lawrence's diary. Few who have not had the like experience can estimate the annoyance to which his reputation for benevolence and well-doing subjected him, in the shape of applications for aid in every imaginable form. His perceptions were naturally acute; and a long experience and intercourse with men enabled him to form, at a single glance, a pretty fair estimate of the merits of the applicant. He may sometimes have judged precipitately, and perhaps harshly; but, when he discovered that he had done so, no one could have been more ready to confess his fault and make reparation. A few years after this time, the annoyance became so serious, from the number and character of the applicants, that he felt obliged, on account of ill-health, to deny himself to all, unless personally known to him, or accredited by some one in whose statement he had confidence. Further than this, he was confirmed in his decision by actual abuse which had occasionally been administered to him by disappointed candidates for charitable aid. He kept upon his table a small memorandum-book, in which he recorded the names of those who sought aid, with their business, and often their age, the age and number of their children, sometimes facts in their past history, and any other information which could enable him to form an opinion of their claim upon him for assistance. He sometimes indulges also in somewhat quaint remarks respecting those who apply, or the manner in which they have presented their application. To the Rev. Robert Turnbull, a Baptist clergyman then settled in Boston, and who had sent to Mr. Lawrence a copy of his work entitled "Claims of Jesus," he writes under date of Nov. 2: "REV. AND DEAR SIR: I thank you for the little volume so kindly presented, and deem it the duty of all the friends of the Saviour to do what they can to stop the flood of infidelity and atheism that threatens such waste and devastation among us. However we may seem to be, I trust many may be found, in the ranks of my Unitarian friends, who admit the 'claims of Jesus' in their most elevated character, and who repudiate the doctrine of those who sink him to the level of a mere human teacher, as subversive of his authority and as nullifying his teachings. We take the record, and what is clearly declared; we do not go behind, even though we do not clearly comprehend it. It gives me pleasure to learn you are so well recovered from the injury you received from the overturn of your carriage near my house. "With great respect, believe me truly yours, A. L." "_January, 1842._--This year opens with renewed calls upon me to bless God for his mercies throughout its course. My family circle has not been broken by the death of any one of our whole number, and my own health has been better for the last half-year than for five years before. I have not had occasion to call a physician through the year. My brothers A. and W. have been dangerously sick, but are happily recovered; and both feel, I believe, that their hold on life is not as firm as they have felt it to be in former years. My dear children are growing up around me to bless and comfort me; and all I need is a right understanding of my duties, and a sincere purpose to fulfil them. I hope to have the will to continue them in as faithful a manner as heretofore, to say the least." Among the traits in Mr. Lawrence's character was that enlarged spirit of Christian feeling which enabled him to appreciate goodness in others, without reference to sect or denomination. This spirit of universal brotherhood was not in him a matter of mere theory, but was carried out in the practice of daily life, and was the means of cementing many and lasting friendships, especially among the clergy of various denominations around him. It may not be uninteresting in future years, for those now in childhood, for whom this volume has been prepared, to be reminded of the strong feeling of sympathy and affection which their grandfather entertained for the Rev. John S. Stone, D.D., once the Rector of St. Paul's Church, in Boston, and now the Rector of St. Paul's, in Brookline, Mass. The following is an extract from a letter written by that gentleman from Brooklyn, N. Y., daring the year 1842, with a memorandum endorsed by Mr. Lawrence, dated October, 1847, in which he says: "This letter was very interesting to me when received. I kept it in my pocket-book with one from Judge Story, which he had requested me to keep for my children. While son ---- was in Europe, I did not expect to live but a short time, and sent him the two letters, as the proper person to keep them for the use of his children." The letter commences by strong expressions of affection and regard, over which Mr. Lawrence's modesty had induced him to paste a slip of paper, endorsed as follows: "Personal matters between the writer and myself, covered up here, and not to be read by any of the friends to whom I may show this letter." The letter continues as follows: "Shall I ever forget the happy moments, hours, days, I may say weeks, which I have spent in riding with you, and chatting, as we rode, of all things as we passed them, till I seemed to myself to be living in the by-gone days of Boston and its neighborhood; and all its old families, houses, names, and anecdotes, became as familiar to my mind as the stories of my boyhood? Can I forget it all? I trow not. These things are all blended in with the beautiful scenery through which we used to ride, and associated with those graver lessons and reflections which you used to give me; insomuch that the picture which my memory retains of nature, society, history, and feeling, truth, friendship, and religion, and in which Boston and the living friends there are comprehended, has become imperishable. It never can fade out of my mind. It is a picture in which man has done much, friendship more, religion most, and God all; for religion is his, and friendship is from him, and man is his creature, and the green earth and glorious heavens are his home. There are many, very many, objects in this picture, which I contemplate with special delight; and few which give me pain, or which I would not have had there, had the whole ordering of its composition been left to me. Indeed, had this whole ordering been left to me, it may well be doubted whether, as a whole, it would have contained half of the beautiful and blessed things which it now contains. Taking it as it is, therefore, I am well content to receive it, hang it up in the choicest apartment of my memory, and keep it clean and in good order for use." * * * As an illustration of the pleasant intercourse alluded to above, among Mr. Lawrence's papers is found another most friendly letter from the Rev. Henry Ware, jun., dated a few days afterwards, with the following endorsement: "I went on Friday to Mr. Ware's house, and had a free, full, and deeply-interesting conversation upon the appointment of his successor; and was delighted to find him with the same views I have upon the necessity of removing the theological department from Cambridge." Dec. 2, Mr. Lawrence alludes to the probability of his own death taking place in the manner in which it actually occurred ten years afterwards, as follows: "Yesterday I was very well, and have been so for some time past. Experienced a severe ill turn this morning at five o'clock, more so than for years. This check brings me back to the reflection that, when I feel the best, I am most likely to experience one of my ill turns; some one of which will probably end my journey in this life. God grant me due preparation for the next!" CHAPTER XIX. REFLECTIONS.--LETTERS.--ACCOUNT OF EFFORTS TO COMPLETE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. In the memorandum-book of property for 1843 is found the usual estimate and list of expenditures; after which Mr. Lawrence writes as follows: "My outlay for other objects than my own family, for the last fourteen years, has been ---- dollars, which sum I esteem better invested than if in bond and mortgage in the city; and I have reason to believe many have been comforted and assisted by it, and its influence will be good on those who follow me. God grant me grace to be faithful to my trust!" To Hon. R. C. Winthrop, Member of Congress, at Washington, enclosing a letter from a young colored man: "BOSTON, Feb. 15, 1843. "DEAR SIR: This young man, as you will observe by his style, is well educated; and the circumstances he states, I have no doubt, are true. He applied to me, about two years since, for employment in writing or other business, to obtain means for further education; and I interested myself to secure to him what was required. A few months since, he started from here to go to Jamaica, to commence the practice of law, and was supplied by those who had taken an interest in him with a library suited to his wants. He received his early education in Indiana; and his parents were once slaves. He is a handsome colored fellow, better-mannered, better-looking, and more to be respected, than many young gentlemen who move in the higher walks of life, either in Carolina or Massachusetts. Now, I should like to know, if he should be admitted as an attorney to practice in our courts, and should take passage for Jamaica, and put into Charleston, would he be imprisoned, as is now the practice in regard to our black sailors? I feel a much stronger desire to see your report upon this subject of imprisoning our colored people, after the unfair course taken by the majority of your house to smother it; and I hope still to see it in print before the adjournment. I would further remark, that N. T. is a member of Grace Church in this city, I believe, under the care of Rev. T. M. Clark; and would, doubtless, bear affliction, if it should ever be his fortune to be afflicted by being imprisoned because his skin is dark, with a spirit becoming his profession. With great respect and esteem, believe me very truly yours, AMOS LAWRENCE." (TO HIS SISTER.) "BOSTON, April 19, 1843. "DEAR SISTER M.: When I heard a gun this morning, I was immediately transported back in imagination to the 19th of April, 1775, when our grandmother retreated from her house on the roadside in Concord, with her family, to keep out of the way of the 'regulars;' and that day and its scenes, as described, came back upon me with a force which kept me awake in considering whether the gun was fired to recall the facts to the people of this day; and, if recalled, whether we can profit by the events which followed. I found, however, on receiving my newspapers, that the gun was not for commemoration of Lexington and Concord, but to announce the arrival of the British steamer from Liverpool. The news by this steamer is of no more than common interest; and the intercourse is now so easy and rapid, that the interest felt to learn what is passing in Europe is not much greater than we used to feel on Call's stage-coach arriving at Groton from Boston once a week, fifty years ago. The changes within my own recollection are such as almost to make me distrust my own senses; and many of the changes are at the cost of much good. The downhill tendency in the standard of character is a bad sign, and threatens the prostration of our political fabric. Built as it is on the virtue and intelligence of the people, every waste of these endangers the stability of the whole structure." "_April 24._--I resume, though not in the same train of thought, which is slept off. My birth-day has passed since then; and I am now in my fifty-eighth year. This is the birth-day of our father, who would have been eighty-nine if living; and this week on Saturday will also complete thirty-six years since I left home to spend a few months in this city, preparatory to my commencing business in Groton. Here I have continued; and the consequences to our family seem to have stamped upon us such marks as make us objects of influence, for good or evil, to a much greater extent than if I had returned to commence my business career in my native town. I view in this a hand pointing upward,--'Seek me and ye shall find,'--and a caution to us to use without abusing the good things intrusted to us. How hard it is for those in prosperity to bring home to their feelings their dependence, their abuse of their privileges, their desires for objects wholly disproportionate to their value, their anxiety about trifles, while they are so utterly careless and indifferent about those of the highest moment! How we strive unceasingly to secure objects that can, at best, give us but a slight reward, and, in many cases, if attained to the full extent of our hopes, only serve to sharpen our appetite for more; thus demonstrating the benevolence of our heavenly Father in removing these obstacles to our progress in the ways and works of godliness! How important, then, for us to see a Father's hand in the disappointments, not less than in the success, of our plans! I now speak practically of those anxieties which I feel and condemn myself for, in looking forward to the condition of my family. This is all wrong; and I pray God to pardon me the want of faith this feeling implies. "I have thought much of your account of Mrs. N. going out, on the Sabbath after her husband's death, with her nine children. I remember her, and many others of my youthful schoolmates, with interest and regard. Please say so to her. And now, dear M., as the clouds seem thinner, I may hope to secure a little run, and shall take the post-office in my way; so must bid you adieu." (TO GENERAL ----.) "May 5, 1843. "MY DEAR OLD GENERAL: Our anticipated drive to-day is not to be: the weather settles it that I must keep house; and, to indemnify myself for the disappointment, will you allow me to feel that I have not gone too far in requesting you to receive the enclosed check? I am spared here for some object, and do not feel that to hoard money is that object. While I am in the receipt of an income so ample, I find it sometimes troublesome to invest exactly to my mind. In the present case, the hope that you may, by using this, add something to your enjoyment, makes me feel that it is one of my best investments; and for the reason that your proverbial good-will cannot refuse me such a boon, I have made this request. My heart yearns strongly toward the old-fashioned John Jay school in politics and morals; and, when I have an opportunity to minister in any way to one of the early members, it is a pleasure that sweetens my days as they pass." On the letter written in reply to the above, Mr. Lawrence has endorsed: "This letter from old General ----, now eighty-eight years old, and blind, is an acknowledgment of some little kindnesses I was enabled to render through the hand of Judge Story. It has afforded me more pleasure than it could have done either the Judge or the General. I am sure the good old man's feelings were gratified; and I am thankful that I could comfort him." On the 17th of June, 1843, took place the celebration in honor of the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument; an event which was regarded with no ordinary emotions by Mr. Lawrence, after so many years of effort and expectation. His only regret was that the whole battle-field could not have been preserved, and have remained, to use his own words, "a field-preacher for posterity." Eleven years before this, he had written to his son in Europe: "If we be true to ourselves, our city is destined to be the Athens of America, and the hallowed spots in our neighborhood to be the objects of interest throughout all future time. In this view, I would never permit a foot of the battle-field of Bunker Hill to be alienated; but keep it for your great-great-grandchildren, as a legacy of patriotism worth more than their portion of it, if covered with gold by measure. Until you are older, I do not expect you to feel as I do on this subject." This would seem to be the proper place to mention a few facts in regard to Mr. Lawrence's agency in securing the completion of the monument. It has already been mentioned that he was one of the earliest friends of the project to erect a monument, and, in 1825, had been placed upon the Standing Committee of Directors, with full powers to manage the affairs of the Association. In September, 1831, in a letter to his friend, Dr. J. C. Warren, who himself had been one of the warmest and most efficient advocates of the measure, he proposed to subscribe five thousand dollars, on condition that fifty thousand dollars should be raised within one year. The following passage occurs in that letter: "I think it inexpedient to allude to the sale of the land on Bunker Hill, as a resource for paying the debt, except in case of extreme necessity; and, at this time, I should personally sooner vote to sell ten acres of the Common, in front of my house, to pay the city debt (of Boston), than vote to sell the ten acres on Bunker Hill, until it shall appear that our citizens will not contribute the means of saving it." The proposition thus made was not responded to by the public.[6] As early as December, 1830, he had made provision by his will, in case of his own death, to secure the battle-field, liquidate the debts of the corporation, and complete the monument. These provisions were superseded by another will, executed April 1, 1833, after his health had failed, so as to forbid active participation in affairs. An extract from this document will show the views of the testator: "I am of opinion that the land owned by the Bunker Hill Monument Association, in Charlestown, will be of great value to posterity, if left as public ground. The spot is the most interesting in the country; and it seems to me it is calculated to impress the feelings of those who come after us with gratitude to the people of this generation, if we preserve it to them. The whole field contains about fifteen acres; and, in the hope of preserving it entire, either as the property of the State, of this city, or of any other competent body, and with the further view of insuring the completion of the monument, which now stands as a reproach to us, I have set apart a larger share of my property than would be necessary, had not the subject been presented to the public in such a manner as to discourage future attempts at raising the necessary funds by voluntary contribution." [6] For a history of the Bunker Hill Monument, see an article in collections of "Maine Historical Society," vol. iii., by Professor Packard, of Bowdoin College. The amount thus devised for the monument, in case that amount should not be raised in other ways, was fifty thousand dollars. In June, 1832, before the annual meeting of the Bunker Hill Monument Association, the same offer of five thousand dollars, as first named, was renewed, with an urgent appeal for the preservation of the land, and completion of the monument. A movement followed this appeal, but was not successful. In April, 1833, Mr. Lawrence proposed to the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association to attempt the raising of fifty thousand dollars, to be secured within three months, for completing the monument and preserving the field; accompanying the proposition was an offer of five thousand dollars, or ten per cent. on any less sum that might be raised, as a donation to the Association. A public meeting was held in Faneuil Hall in response to this proposition, at which Hon. Edward Everett made a most powerful appeal, which produced so great an effect upon his auditors that the object was considered as accomplished. The effort was again unsuccessful. Early in 1839, Mr. Lawrence addressed a letter to George Darracott, Esq., President of the Mechanic Association, in which, after expressing regret that his feeble and precarious health would not permit him to make personal application to the citizens of Boston, he adds: "The next best thing I can do is to give money. The Monument Association owes a debt. To discharge the debt, finish the monument, surround it with a handsome iron fence, and otherwise ornament the ground as it deserves, will require forty thousand dollars more than it now has. If the Association will collect thirty thousand dollars the present year, and pay off the debt, I will give to the Charitable Mechanic Association ten thousand dollars to enable it to complete the work in a manner which our fathers would have done, had they been here to direct it." A further donation of ten thousand dollars was made by Judah Touro, Esq., of New Orleans; five thousand dollars were received from other sources; and this, with thirty thousand dollars received at the great fair held in Quincy Hall, September, 1840, afforded the means of completing the monument according to the original design. Thus was consummated a work which had been very near to Mr. Lawrence's heart, and which had cost him many a sleepless night, as well as days of toil and perplexity. To his associates in this work too much credit cannot be awarded, discouraged, as they often were, by indifference, and even censure. Their names will be handed down for centuries, in connection with a monument, which, while it commemorates a nation's freedom, teaches also a practical lesson of the perseverance and energy of man. The following is an extract from a newspaper published about the time the monument was completed, giving an account of a festival held in commemoration of the event: "The president remarked, that, among the benefactors to whom the Association had been particularly indebted for the means of completing the monument, two, whose names were written on a scroll at the other end of the hall, were Amos Lawrence and Judah Touro, each of whom had made a donation of ten thousand dollars. He thought it proper they should be remembered at the festive board, and gave the following: "Amos and Judah! venerated names! Patriarch and prophet press their equal claims; Like generous coursers, running neck and neck, Each aids the work by giving it a check. Christian and Jew, they carry out a plan; For, though of different faith, each is in heart a man." CHAPTER XX. INTEREST IN MOUNT AUBURN.--REV. DR. SHARP.--LETTER FROM BISHOP McILVAINE.--LETTER FROM JUDGE STORY. After the establishment of the cemetery at Mount Auburn, Mr. Lawrence had taken a deep interest in its progress, as well as in every plan for its gradual improvement and embellishment. In connection with his brothers, he had purchased a large space, which had been enclosed by a permanent granite wall and iron railing. To this spot he habitually resorted, containing, as it did, the remains of some of the dearest earthly objects of his affection, and destined, as it was, to be the final resting-place of not only himself, but of the various branches of his family. When this enclosure had been finished, it became an object with him to gather around him in death those whom he had loved and honored in life. In this way, he had been instrumental in causing to be removed to a burial-lot adjoining his own the remains of the Rev. J. S. Buckminster, the former minister of Brattle-street Church; and had also presented another lot to his friend and pastor, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop. Another friend, whose grave he wished to have near his own, was the Rev. Daniel Sharp, D.D., minister of the Charles-street Baptist Church, in Boston. There were few in Boston who were not familiar with the appearance of this venerable clergyman, as he daily appeared in the streets; and fewer still who had not learned to appreciate the truly catholic and Christian spirit which animated him in his intercourse with men of all sects and parties. Mr. Lawrence had early entertained a great esteem for his character; and this esteem had become mutual, and had ripened into the closest intimacy and friendship. On receiving a deed of a lot at Mount Auburn, Dr. Sharp writes as follows: "BOSTON, August 23, 1843. "MY DEAR SIR: I cannot find words with which to express my sense of your unexpected and considerate kindness, in providing so beautiful a resting-place in Mount Auburn for me and my loved ones. It is soothing to me to anticipate that my grave will be so near your own. May the Almighty, in his infinite mercy, grant, that, when the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall awake, we may both rise together, to be forever with the Lord! If the proximity of my last place of repose to ministers of another denomination shall teach candor, charity, and peace, I enjoy the sweet consciousness that this will be in harmony with the object of my life. Yours, gratefully, "DANIEL SHARP. "AMOS LAWRENCE, Esq." The enlarged Christian spirit which formed so prominent a trait in Mr. Lawrence's character, and which enabled him to appreciate goodness wherever it could be found, without reference to nation, sect, or color, may be further illustrated by the following note of acknowledgment, received about the same time with the preceding, from Bishop McIlvaine, of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Ohio, who was then on a visit to Boston to procure funds in aid of Kenyon College: "Wednesday evening. "MY DEAR SIR: I have just received your very kind and grateful letter, with its cheering enclosure of a hundred dollars towards an object which engrosses me much just now. Thank you, dear sir, most truly, for your kindness, and the _first fruits_ of Boston, for I came only to-day. I trust the ingathering will not dispossess the first ripe sheaf. Coming from one not of my own church, it is the more kind and grateful. O, sir! if God shall so bless my present effort as to send me home with the sum I seek, I shall know a freedom of mind from care and anxiety such as I have not experienced for many years, during which our present crisis has been anticipated. I shall have great pleasure in riding with you, according to your note to Mr. R. To-morrow will probably be a day of more leisure to me than any other while I shall be in Boston. "Yours, very truly and respectfully, "CHARLES P. MCILVAINE." (TO ONE OF HIS PARTNERS.) "December 18, 1843. "DEAR MR. PARKER: I am _puffed up_ (with ague), but not in a manner to gratify my pride, as I am housed, and denied the sight of most of those who call, but not the privilege of reading their papers, and spending money. In short, I have more use for money when in the house than when able to be abroad. If you will tell Brother Sharp[7] his beautiful bills find an exceedingly ready use, I shall be glad of one hundred in ones and twos, two hundred in fives, and three hundred in tens and twenties; say six hundred dollars, just to keep me along till the end of the month. The calls are frequent and striking. 'Do with thy might what thy hand findeth to do; for the night cometh, when no man can work.' God grant me the blessing of being ready to answer the call, whether it be at noon or at midnight!" [7] For more than forty years Teller in Massachusetts Bank. Twelve days after, he writes to the same gentleman for another supply; the sum already received not having been sufficient apparently to carry him through the year: "December 30, 1843. "'The good there is in riches lieth altogether in their use, like the woman's box of ointment; if it be not broken and the contents poured out for the refreshment of Jesus Christ, in his distressed members, they lose their worth; the covetous man may therefore truly write upon his rusting heaps, "These are good for nothing." He is not rich who lays up much, but he who lays out much; for it is all one not to have, as not to use. I will therefore be the richer by charitable laying out, while the worldling will be poorer by his covetous hoarding up.' "Here is the embodiment of a volume, and whoever wrote it deserves the thanks of good men. I would fain be rich, according as he defines riches; but _possession, possession, is the devil_, as the old Frenchman at ---- said to George Cabot. This devil I would try to cast out; you will therefore please send me twelve hundred dollars, which may do something for the comfort of those who have seen better days. Your friend, A. L. "TO C. H. PARKER, Esq." The following letter from Judge Story was received at about the time the preceding letter was written; but no memorandum is found by which to ascertain the occasion which called it forth. It may be that he had been made the channel, as was the case a few months before, of some donation to a third person; a mode which Mr. Lawrence often adopted when he felt a delicacy in proffering direct aid to some one whose sensitiveness might be wounded in receiving assistance from a comparative stranger: "CAMBRIDGE, Saturday noon. "MY DEAR SIR: I have this moment finished reading your letter and its enclosures, which did not reach me until this noon, and I can scarcely describe to you how deeply I have been affected by them. I almost feel that you are too much oppressed by the constant calls for charitable purposes, and that your liberal and conscientious spirit is tasked to its utmost extent. 'The poor have ye always with you' is a Christian truth; and I know not, in the whole circle of my friends, any one who realizes it so fully, and acts upon it so nobly, as yourself. God, my dear sir, will reward you for all your goodness; man never can. And yet the gratitude of the many whom you relieve, their prayers for your happiness, their consciousness of your expanded benevolence, is of itself a treasure of inestimable value. It is a source of consolation, which you would not exchange for any earthly boon of equal value. Wealth is to you an enlightened trust, for the benefit of your race. You administer it so gracefully, as well as so justly, that I can only regret that your means are not ten times as great. Gracious Heavens! What a contrast is your life to that of some wealthy men, who have lived many years, and have yet to learn how to give, or, as you beautifully expressed it the other day, who have yet to learn to be their own executors! My heart is so full of you, and of the whole matter, that I would fain pour out my thoughts at large to you; for you understand _me_, and I can sympathize with _you_. But just now I am full of all sorts of business, and without a moment to spare, having many judicial opinions to prepare in the few remaining days before I go to Washington; and, withal, having Mrs. S. very ill, in respect to whom I feel a deep anxiety. But, wherever I am, I pray you to believe that you are always in my thoughts, with the warmest affection and dearest remembrance. And, if this hasty scrawl is not too slight for such a matter, pray preserve it among your papers, that your children may know what I thought of their father, when you and I shall be both in our graves. "I am most truly and faithfully your obliged friend, "JOSEPH STORY. "AMOS LAWRENCE, Esq. "P. S.--I have sent the letter and its accompaniments to Mr. ----. Think of ----. Think of those rich men in ----, who have never dreamed of the duties of charity. Cast a view to their own posterity. How striking a memento is the very case of ----, presented in his own letters, of the instability of human fortune!" Mr. Lawrence closes the year 1843 by a review of his temporal affairs, and by fresh resolutions of fidelity to his trusts. He then gives an estimate of his income and expenditures, showing a somewhat large excess of the latter, though, as he says, from the state of the times, not to the detriment of his property. (TO THE MECHANIC APPRENTICES' LIBRARY ASSOCIATION.) "MY YOUNG FRIENDS: It cheers and comforts me to learn of your well-doing, and encourages me to offer a word of counsel, as prosperity is often more dangerous in its time than adversity. Now is your seed-time. See to it that it is good; for 'whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' The integrity, intelligence, and elevated bearing, of the Boston mechanics, have been and are a property for each citizen of great value; inasmuch as the good name of our beloved city is a common property, that every citizen has an interest in, and should help to preserve. At your time of life, habits are formed that grow with your years. Avoid rum and tobacco, in all forms, unless prescribed as a medicine; and I will promise you better contracts, heavier purses, happier families, and a more youthful and vigorous old age, by thus avoiding the beginning of evil. God speed you, my young friends, in all your good works! With the enclosed, I pray you to accept the felicitations of the season. "AMOS LAWRENCE." CHAPTER XXI. ACQUAINTANCE WITH PRESIDENT HOPKINS.--LETTERS.--AFFECTION FOR BRATTLE-STREET CHURCH.--DEATH OF MRS. APPLETON.--LETTERS.--AMESBURY CO. At the commencement of the year 1844, President Hopkins, of Williams College, delivered a course of lectures on the "Evidences of Christianity," before the Lowell Institute, in Boston. Mr. Lawrence had previously seen him, and had thought that he detected, in some features of his face, a resemblance to the family of his first wife. In allusion to this acquaintance, he writes to his son about this period: "President H. has the family look of your mother enough to belong to them; and it was in consequence of that resemblance, when I was first introduced to him many years ago, that I inquired his origin, and found him to be of the same stock." The acquaintance was renewed, and an intimacy ensued, which was not only the cause of much happiness to Mr. Lawrence through the remainder of his life, but was also the means of directing his attention to the wants of Williams College, of which he eventually became the greatest benefactor. An active and constant correspondence followed this acquaintance, and was so much prized by Mr. Lawrence that he had most of the letters copied, thereby filling several volumes, from which extracts will from time to time be made. In one of his first letters to that gentleman, dated May 11, he says: "If, by the consecration of my earthly possessions to some extent, I can make the Christian character practically more lovely, and illustrate, in my own case, that the higher enjoyments here are promoted by the free use of the good things intrusted to me, what so good use can I make of them? I feel that my stewardship is a very imperfect one, and that the use of these good things might be extended profitably to myself; and, since I have known how much good the little donation did your college, I feel ashamed of myself it had not been larger,--at any rate, sufficient to have cleared the debt." To the same gentleman, who had informed Mr. Lawrence that an accident had befallen a plaster bust of himself, he writes, under date of May 16: "DEAR PRESIDENT: You know the phrase 'Such a man's head is full of notions' has a meaning that we all understand to be not to his credit for discretion, whatever else may be said of him. As I propose throwing in a caveat against this general meaning, I proceed to state my case. And, firstly, President H. is made debtor to the Western Railroad Corporation for the transportation of a barrel to Pittsfield. The bill is receipted, so that you can have the barrel to-morrow by sending for it; which barrel contains neither biscuit nor flour, but the clay image of your friend. In the head are divers notions that my hand fell upon as I was preparing it for the jaunt; and, when the head was filled with things new and old, I was careful to secure the region under the shoulders, especially on the _left side_, and near the heart, by placing there that part of a lady's dress which designates a government that we men are unwilling openly to acknowledge, but is, withal, very conservative. Within its folds I wrapped up very securely 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and stuffed the empty space between my shoulders, and near my heart, _brim full_, I hope my young friend will find a motive and a moral in the image and in the book, to cheer him on in his pilgrimage of life." * * * * * "_July 22, 1844._--Sixty-seven years ago this day, my mother, now living, was married; and, while standing up for the ceremony, the alarm-bell rang, calling all soldiers to their posts. My father left her within the hour, and repaired to Cambridge; but the colonel, in consideration of the circumstances, allowed him to return to Groton to his wife, and to join his regiment within three days at Rhode Island. This he did, spending but a few hours with his wife; and she saw nothing more of him until the last day of the year, when he made her a visit. I have ordered a thousand dollars paid to the Massachusetts General Hospital, to aid in enlarging its wings, and to commemorate this event. The girls of this day know nothing of the privations and trials of their grandmothers." On the same day with the above entry in his diary occurs another, in which he alludes to assistance afforded to some young persons in Brattle-street Church,--"sons of Brattle-street, and, as such, assisted by me." Mr. Lawrence's early religious associations were connected with this church, where, it is believed, he attended from the first Sunday after his coming to Boston. With such associations, and connected as they were with the most endeared recollections of those who had worshipped there with him in early days, all that pertained to this venerable church possessed a strong and abiding interest. In this connection is quoted the beautiful testimony of his pastor, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, furnished in the funeral sermon delivered by him, where he speaks of Mr. Lawrence's love for the church, as well as of his religious character: "The prominent feature in Mr. Lawrence's life and character, its inspiration and its guide, was religion,--religious faith, affection, and hope. He loved God, and therefore he loved all God's creatures. He believed in Christ as the Messiah and Saviour of the world, and therefore found peace and strength in his soul, amid all the perils, duties, and sorrows of life. His religious opinions lay distinct and clear in his own mind. They were the result of careful reading and of serious reflection, and were marked by a profound reverence for the Sacred Scriptures, and the divine authority of Jesus Christ. A constant worshipper here during the forty-six years of his residence in this city, for more than forty years of this period a communicant, and for more than ten a deacon of this church,--resigning the office, at length, because of his invalid state of health,--he had strong attachments to this house of God. 'Our venerable church,' he says in one of his notes to me, 'has in it deeply impressive, improving, instructive, and interesting associations, going back to the early days of my worshipping there; and the prayers of my friends and fellow-worshippers of three generations, in part now belonging there, come in aid of my weakness in time of need; and no other spot, but that home where I was first taught my prayers, and this my domestic fireside, where my children have been taught theirs, has the same interest as our own old Brattle-square Church.'" To an old business friend and acquaintance, Joshua Aubin, Esq., the agent of the Amesbury Company, who had from the beginning been associated with him in this first and favorite manufacturing enterprise in which he had engaged, he writes on September 18, after receiving a quantity of manufactured articles for distribution among the poor: "You are brought very near to me on such a day as this (when I am shut up in the house), by your work as well as by your words. "Now, as to your last consignment, I have derived, and expect to derive, as much comfort and enjoyment from it as I ordinarily should from a cash dividend on my shares. In truth, I am able to employ these _odds and ends_ to such uses and for such persons as will make me feel as though I were spared here for some use. "For instance, I had a call from a most respectable friend (president of one of the best colleges in the West) last week, who agreed to come again this week to do some shopping as soon as he got some money for preaching on Sunday, and look over my stock of goods. "I intend making him up a good parcel of your work, and, depend on it, it is good seed, and will take root at the West. He says that they have no money, but plenty of corn, and beef, and pork. Corn pays for growing at ten cents a bushel, and will not bring that in cash; and ten bushels will not pay for a calico gown, or a flannel petticoat. "With his large family of children, don't you think these _odds and ends_ will come as a blessing? Besides, he is an old-fashioned Massachusetts Whig; loves the old Bay State as well as ever the Jews loved their State, and is, through his college exercising an influence in ---- that no body of men in that State can do; and will, in the end, bring them into regular line, as to education and elevation of character. Send me some of your flannels to give to Madam ---- for her family of one or two hundred children in the Children's Friend Society. "---- will give them over to these poor little destitute, unclad creatures. They are taken and saved by this interesting society. "A rainy day like this is the very time for me to work among my household goods. Many a poor minister and his family, and many a needy student at school or college, fare the better for your spinning and weaving. "I am living in my chamber, and on very close allowance. Every day to me is a day of glorious anticipations, if I am free from bodily suffering, and if my mind is free." On another occasion he writes to the same gentleman: "I have your letter and package; the cold of this morning will make the articles doubly acceptable to the shivering and sick poor among us. J. C.'s case is one for sympathy and relief. Engage to supply him a hundred dollars, which I will hand to you when you visit me; and tell the poor fellow to keep in good heart, for our merciful Father afflicts in love, and thus I trust that this will prove a stepping-stone to the mansions of bliss. I shall never cease to remember with interest the veterans of the A. F. Co. How are my friends B. and others of early days? Also, how is old father F.? Does he need my warm outside coat, when I get supplied with a better? "After your call upon me a few weeks since, I went back in memory to scenes of olden times, which had an interest that you can sympathize in, and which I intended to express to you before this; but I have had one of those admonitory ill turns since, that kept me under the eye of the doctor for a number of days. "In reviewing my beginnings in manufacturing, under your recommendation and care, almost a quarter of a century ago, I can see the men, the machines, the wheel-pit, and the speed-gauge, and especially I can see our old friend W. lying on the bottom of the pit, lamp in hand, with his best coat on, eying the wheels and cogs as an astronomer makes observations in an observatory. All these scenes are as fresh in my memory as though seen but yesterday. "Do you remember C. B., the brother of J. and G. B.? All three of whom were business men here at the time you were, and all were unfortunate. C. tried his; hand in ----, and did not succeed there; returned to this country, and settled on a tract of land in ----, where he has been hard at work for ten years, and has maintained his family. His wife died a few months since. One after another of his family sickened, and he became somewhat straitened, and knew not what to do. He wrote to an old business friend, who was his debtor, and who had failed, had paid a part only, and was discharged thirty years ago, and who has since been prosperous. He stated his case, and asked me to say a good word for him. That person sent one half, and I sent the other half, the day before Thanksgiving. It will reach him on Monday next, and will make his eyes glisten with joy. "Remember me to Capt. ---- and J. C, and B., and any other of the veterans." Sept. 23, Mr. Lawrence receives from an old debtor, once a clerk in his establishment, a check for five hundred dollars, which a sense of justice had induced him to send, though the debt of some thousands had been long since legally discharged. On receiving it, he writes, in a memorandum at the bottom of the letter received, to his brother and partner: "DEAR ABBOTT: I have the money. J. D. was always a person of truth. I take the statement as true; but I had no recollection of the thing till recalled by his statement. What say you to putting this money into the life office, in trust for his sister? Your affectionate brother, AMOS." "MEMORANDUM. _November 23._--Done, and policy sent to the sister." There are but few men, distinguished in public or private life, who are burdened with an undue amount of praise from their contemporaries; and yet this was the case with Mr. Lawrence, who was often chagrined, after some deed of charity, or some written expression of sympathy, to see it emblazoned, with superadded colors, in the public prints. Some one had enclosed to him a newspaper from another city, which contained a most labored and flattering notice of the kind referred to, to which he writes the following reply: "September, 1844. "DEAR ----: I received the paper last evening, and have read and re-read it with deep interest and attention. However true it may he, it is not calculated to promote the ultimate good of any of us; for we are all inclined to think full well enough of ourselves; and such puffs should be left for our obituaries. Truth is not always to be pushed forward; and its advocates may sometimes retard it by injudicious urging. Such is the danger in the present case. The writer appears to be a young man who has received favors, and is laboring to repay them or secure more. He has told the truth; but, as I before said, neither you nor I, nor any one of our families, are improved or benefited in any degree by it. God grant us to be humble, diligent, and faithful to the end of our journey, that we may then receive his approval, and be placed among the good of all nations and times!" On the 29th. of October, Mrs. Appleton, his sister-in-law, and widow of the Rev. Jesse Appleton, D.D., formerly President of Bowdoin College, died at his house, after a lingering illness. In a letter to his son, after describing her character and peaceful death, he says: "With such a life and such hopes, who can view the change as any other than putting away the fugitive and restless pleasures of an hour for the quiet and fixed enjoyments of eternity? Let us, then, my dear children, not look upon the separation of a few short years as a calamity to be dreaded, should we not meet here again in any other way than as we now meet. While I am here, every joy and enjoyment you experience, and give us an account of, is not less so to us than if we were with you to partake, as we have done of all such heretofore; and, in this source of enjoyment, few people have such ample stores. Three families of children and grandchildren within my daily walk,--is not this enough for any man? And here I would impress upon my grandsons the importance of looking carefully to their steps. The difference between going just right and a little wrong in the commencement of the journey of life, is the difference between their finding a happy home or a miserable slough at the end of the journey. Teach them to avoid tobacco and intoxicating drink, and all temptations that can lead them into evil, as it is easier to prevent than to remedy a fault. 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.' I was going on to say that, according to my estimate of men and things, I would not change conditions with Louis Philippe if I could by a wish, rich as he is in the matter of good children. I have a great liking for him, and a sincere respect for his family, as they are reported to me; but I trust that mine will not be tried by the temptations of great worldly grandeur, but that they will be found faithful stewards of the talents intrusted to them. Bring up your boys to do their work first, and enjoy their play afterwards. Begin early to teach them habits of order, a proper economy, and exact accountability in their affairs. This simple rule of making a child, after he is twelve years old, keep an exact account of all that he wears, uses, or expends, in any and every way, would save more suffering to families than can fairly be estimated by those who have not observed its operation. "And now, to change the subject," he writes Nov. 15, "we have got through the elections, and are humbled as Americans. The questions affecting our local labor, produce, and pecuniary interests, are of small moment, compared with that of annexing Texas to this Union. I wrote a brief note yesterday to our friend Chapman, late Mayor of the city, and a member of the Whig Committee, which speaks the language of my heart. It was as follows: "'MY DEAR SIR: The result of the election in Massachusetts is matter of devout and grateful feelings to every good citizen, and, so far as pride is allowable, is a subject of pride to every citizen, whatever his politics; for, wherever he goes, and carries the evidence of belonging to the old Bay State, he may be sure of the respect of all parties. This glorious result has not been wrought "without works;" and for it we, the people, are greatly indebted to your committee. So far as may be needed, I trust you will find no backwardness on our part in putting matters right. I bless God for sparing my life to this time; and I humbly beseech him to crown your labors with success in future. If Texas can be kept off, there will be hope for our government. All other questions are insignificant in comparison with this. The damning sin of adding it to this nation to extend slavery will be as certain to destroy us as death is to overtake us. The false step, once taken, cannot be retraced, and will be to the people who occupy what rum is to the toper. It eats up and uproots the very foundation on which Christian nations are based, and will make us the scorn of all Christendom. Let us work, then, in a Christian spirit, as we would for our individual salvation, to prevent this sad calamity befalling us.'" CHAPTER XXII. DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.--LETTERS.--DONATION TO WILLIAMS COLLEGE.--BENEFICENCE.--LETTERS. On the 29th of November, Mr. Lawrence addressed to his son a most joyous letter, announcing the birth of twin-grand daughters, and the comfortable health of his daughter, the wife of the Rev. Charles Mason, Rector of St. Peter's Church, at Salem, Massachusetts. The letter is filled with the most devout expressions of gratitude at the event, and cheering anticipations for the future, and yet with some feelings of uneasiness lest the strength of his daughter should not be sufficient to sustain her in these trying circumstances. He adds: "Why, then, should I worry myself, about what I cannot help, and practically distrust that goodness that sustains and cheers and enlivens my days?" The fears expressed were too soon and sadly realized; the powers of her constitution had been too severely taxed, nature gave way, and, four days afterwards, she ceased to live. Mr. Lawrence announced the death of this cherished and only daughter in the following letter: "BOSTON, December 14, 1844. "MY DEAR SON: The joyous event I mentioned of S.'s twins has in it sad memorials of the uncertainty of all joys, excepting those arising from the happiness of friends whose journey is ended, and whose joys are commencing. Long life does not consist in many years, but in the use of the years allowed us; so that many a man who has seen his four-score has, for all the purposes of life, not lived at all. And, again, others, who have impressed distinct marks, and have been called away before twenty-eight years have passed over them, may have lived long lives, and have been objects of grateful interest to multitudes who hardly spoke to them while living. Such has been the case with our hearts' love and desire, Susan Mason. The giving birth to those two babes, either of whom would have been her pride and delight, was more than she could recruit from. The exhaustion and faintness at the time were great, but not alarming; and the joy of our hearts for a season seemed unmixed. After three days, the alarm for her safety had taken stronger hold of her other friends than of myself; and, at the time I wrote you last, I felt strong confidence in her recovery. On Sunday evening, at seven o'clock, a great change came over her, that precluded all hope, and she was told by C. how it was. She seemed prepared for it, was clear in her mind, and, with what little strength she had, sent messages of love. 'Give love to my father, and tell him I hope we shall meet in heaven,' was her graphic and characteristic message; and then she desired C. to lead and guide her thoughts in prayer, which he continued to do for as many as six times, until within the last half-hour of her life. At three o'clock on Monday morning, the 2d instant, her pure spirit passed out of its earthly tenement to its heavenly home, where our Father has called her to be secured from the trials and pains and exposures to which she was here liable. It is a merciful Father, who knows better than we do what is for our good. What is now mysterious will be made plain at the right time; for 'He doeth all things well.' Shall we, then, my dear children, doubt him in this? Surely not. S. was ripe for heaven, and, as a good scholar, has passed on in advance of her beloved ones; but beckons us on, to be reünited, and become joint heirs with her of those treasures provided for those who are found worthy. We are now to think of her as on the other side of Jordan, before the same altar that we worship at, without any of the alloy that mixes in ours; she praising, and we praying, and all hoping an interest in the Beloved that shall make all things seem less than nothing in comparison with this. We have had the sympathy of friends; and the circumstances have brought to light new friends, that make us feel our work here is not done. I feel called two ways at once: S. beckoning me to come up; the little ones appealing to the inmost recesses of my heart to stay, and lead them, with an old grandfather's fondest, strongest, tenderest emotions, as the embodiment of my child. Her remains are placed at the head of her mother's; and those two young mothers, thus placed, will speak to their kindred with an eloquence that words cannot. I try to say, in these renewed tokens of a Father's discipline, 'Thy will be done,' and to look more carefully after my tendency to have some idol growing upon me that is inconsistent with that first place _he_ requires; and I further try to keep in mind, that, if I loved S. much, _he_ loved her more, and has provided against the changes she was exposed to under the best care I could render. Let us praise God for her long life in a few years, and profit by the example she has left. The people of her own church are deeply afflicted, and not until her death were any of us aware of the strong hold she had upon them. Some touching incidents have occurred, which are a better monument to her memory than any marble that can be reared. * * * * "This morning opens most splendidly, and beautifully illustrates, in the appearance of the sky, that glorious eternity so much cherished in the mind of the believer. "With sincerest affection, your father, A. L." "TREMONT-STREET, Tuesday morning. "DEAR PARTNERS: The weather is such as to keep me housed to-day, and it is important to me to have something to think of beside myself. The sense of loss will press upon me more than I desire it, without the other side of the account. All is ordered in wisdom and in mercy; and we pay a poor tribute to our Father and best Friend in distrusting him. I do most sincerely hope that I may say, from the heart, 'Thy will be done.' Please send me a thousand dollars by G., in small bills, thus enabling me to fill up the time to some practical purpose. It is a painful thought to me that I shall see my beloved daughter no more on earth; but it is a happy one to think of joining her in heaven. Yours, ever, A. L. "A. & A. LAWRENCE & CO." On the last day of 1844, a date now to be remembered by his friends as that on which his own departure took place, eight years later, he writes to his children in France: "This last day of the year seems to have in it such tokens and emblems as are calculated to comfort and encourage the youthful pilgrim, just in his vigor, not less than the old one, near the end of his journey; for the sun in the heavens, the hills in the west, and the ocean on the east, all speak, in tones not to be mistaken, 'Be of good courage,' 'Work while it is day,' and receive, without murmuring, the discipline a Father applies; for he knows what is best for his children. Whether he plants thorns in the path, or afflicts them in any way, he does all for their good. Thus, my dear children, are we to view the removal of our beloved S. This year had been one of unusual prosperity and enjoyment, from the first day to the present month; and all seemed so lovely here that there was danger of our feeling too much reliance on these temporals. The gem in the centre has been removed, to show us the tenure by which we held the others." At the opening of the year 1845, Mr. Lawrence, after noting in his property-book the usual annual details, makes the following reflections: "The business of the past year has been eminently successful, and the increased value of many of the investments large. In view of these trusts, how shall we appear when the Master calls? I would earnestly strive to keep constantly in mind the fact that he _will_ call, and that speedily, upon each and all of us; and that, when he calls, the question will be, How have you used these? not How much have you hoarded?" With the new year, he set himself at work with renewed zeal to carry into effect his good resolutions. One of the first results was a donation of ten thousand dollars to Williams College, which he enters upon his book with the following memorandum: "I am so well satisfied with the appropriations heretofore made for the advancement and improvement of Williams College that I desire to make further investment in the same, to the amount of ten thousand dollars. In case any new professorship is established in the college, I should be gratified to have it called the Hopkins Professorship, entertaining, as I do, the most entire confidence and respect for its distinguished President." Nearly every day, at this period, bears some record of his charities; and among others was a considerable donation to a Baptist college, in another State, enclosed to a Baptist clergyman in Boston, with a check of fifty dollars for himself, to enable him to take a journey for recruiting his health and strength, of which he was much in need. Soon after Mr. Lawrence's death, an article appeared in an influential religious publication giving an estimate of the amount of his charities, and also stating that his pocket-book had written upon it a text of Scripture, calculated to remind him of his duties in the distribution of his wealth. The text was said to be, "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" After making diligent search, the editor of this volume, rather to correct the statement in regard to the amount of his charities than for any other object, contradicted the assertion, and also expressed the opinion that Mr. Lawrence needed no such memorial as this to remind him of his duties; for the law of charity was too deeply graven on his heart to require the insertion of the text in the manner described. Some time afterward, an old pocket-book was found, which had not probably been in use for many years, but which contained the text alluded to, inscribed in ink, though faded from the lapse of time and constant use. It may have been useful to him in early years, before he engaged systematically in the work of charity; but, during the latter years of his life, if we can judge from his writings, as well as from his daily actions, his sense of accountability was extreme, if there can be an extreme in the zealous performance of one's duty in this respect. If the class of politicians alluded to in the following extract could have foreseen the course of events with the same sagacity, it might have saved them from much uncertainty, and have been of service in their career: "We are in a poor way, politically, in this country. This practice of taking up demagogues for high office is no way to perpetuate liberty. The new party of Native Americans is likely to go forward, and will break up the Whig party, and where it will stop is to be learned." "_March 1._--Spring opens upon us this morning with a frowning face; the whole heaven is veiled, and the horizon dark and lowering." "_May 7._--My venerated mother finished her earthly course last Friday, with the setting sun, which was emblematic of her end. She was such a woman as I am thankful to have descended from. Many interesting circumstances connected with her life, before and after her marriage (in July, 1777), are worth recording. She was in her ninetieth year." (TO HIS SON.) "April 30 "I began a record yesterday morning, referring to my position and duties thirty-eight years ago, when I left my father's house (one week after I was free), with less than twenty dollars in my possession. I came an unknown and unfriended young man, but feeling richer the morning after I came than I have ever felt since; so that I gave the man who came with me, in my father's chaise, a couple of dollars to save him from any expense, and insure him against loss, by his spending two days on the journey, for which he was glad of an excuse. Had he been as industrious and temperate and frugal, he would have left his wife and children independent, instead of leaving them poor and dependent. These contrasts, and the duties they impose, have pressed heavily upon my strength for a few days past; and, in endeavoring to place in a clear view my hopes and wishes, I became pressed down, and, since yesterday, have been upon my abstinence remedy. My wish has been to do a good work for our Athenæum and our Institution for Savings, by making it the interest of the Savings Institution to sell their building to the Athenæum, so that a handsome and convenient building may be erected while we are about it. To this end, I have offered to supply the beautiful temple built for the Washington Bank, rent free, for one year, or a longer period to the end of time, while used as a Savings Bank; intending, by this, to express to those who deposit their money there that I feel deeply interested in their welfare, and would earnestly impress upon them the importance of saving, and, when they become rich, of spending for the good of their fellow-mortals the surplus which a bountiful Father in heaven allows them to acquire. This surplus with me, at the present time, will be sufficient to allow me to speak with earnestness, sincerity, and power, to the tens of thousands of industrious _Thomases_ and _Marthas_,[8] as well as to the young mechanics, or the youngsters who have had little sums deposited for their education. All these characters appreciate a kind act as fully as those who move in a different sphere in the world. "7 P. M.--I have just learned that there is some difficulty not easily overcome in this removal of the Bank; and, after all, nothing may come out of my offer. If not, I shall have more spare means for something else." [8] Names of two faithful domestics. The value of the building thus offered was about twenty thousand dollars. Owing to the difficulties alluded to in the preceding letter, the offer was declined, though the motive for the act was fully appreciated. (TO A FRIEND.) "MY DEAR FRIEND: I have this moment learned the death of your dear boy J. L., and am with you in spirit in this trying scene. Our Father adapts his discipline to our needs; and in this (although to our weak perception it may seem harsh discipline) he has a Father's love and care of and for you; and the time will come when all will be made clear to you. In this trust and confidence, I hope both your dear wife and self will be able to say from the heart, 'Thy will be done.' Our business in this world is to prepare for another; and, if we act wisely, we shall view aright the calls upon us to make this world our great object, by attaining its honors, its houses, its lands, its praises for generosity, disinterestedness, and divers other things that pass well among men. Where we hope to be welcomed, temptations are not needed. We pray, therefore, to be accepted, through the Beloved, and so make all things work together to help us safely through our course. Yours ever, A. L." To the agent of a manufactory in which he was largely interested he writes: "We must make a good thing out of this establishment, unless you ruin us by working on Sundays. Nothing but works of necessity should be done in holy time; and I am a firm believer in the doctrine that a blessing will more surely follow those exertions which are made with reference to our religious obligations, than upon those made without such reference. The more you can impress your people with a sense of religious obligation, the better they will serve you." CHAPTER XXIII. LETTER FROM DR. SHARP.--ILLNESS AND DEATH OF SON.--LETTERS.--AFFLICTIONS. The Rev. Dr. Sharp, of the Baptist denomination, who has been previously alluded to as a valued friend of Mr. Lawrence, had made a visit to England, the land of his birth, after an absence of forty years, and thus addresses him from Leeds, July 1: "I esteem it one of the happy events of my life that I have been made personally acquainted with you. Not certainly because of your kind benefactions to me and mine, but because I have enjoyed your conversation, and have been delighted with those manifestations of principle and conduct, which, let them grow under what Christian culture they may, I know how to honor, to knowledge, and to love." The same gentleman writes, shortly afterwards: "I thank you for the kind manner in which you express yourself in regard to my occasional sermons. I never had any taste for controversy, nor for theological speculation; although, as a Christian watchman, I have kept myself informed of the religious opinions that have been, and that are. I thank you, as does my dear wife, for your thoughtful concern of the sacred spot so dear both to my recollections and hopes. There, when life's journey is ended, I hope to rest by the side of those whose company and unfailing affection have gladdened so many of my years; and it has given me a subdued pleasure, when I have thought that my own bed of death would be so near that of the kind and gentle-hearted friend who provided me with mine. May all who shall repose near that interesting spot be imbued with a pure and loving Christian spirit, that, when the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall arise, we may all rise together in glorious forms, to be forever with the Lord!" (TO ONE OF HIS PARTNERS.) "Tremont-street, September 30, 1845. "DEAR MR. PARKER: I am buoyant and afloat again, and able to enjoy the good things you are so liberal in providing. The widow's box of ointment was broken before its value was learned. The sermon is significant and practical. I would be thankful to improve under its teaching. Will you send me two thousand dollars this morning in Mr. Sharp's clean money? thus allowing me the opportunity of expressing my gratitude to a merciful Father above, that he still permits me to administer the good things he has intrusted to me. Dear R. had a quiet night, although he did not sleep much during the first part. This experience is, indeed, the most trying; but I hope to be able to say truly, 'Thy will be done.' Your friend, "A. L. "C. H. PARKER, Esq." The trying experience alluded to was the serious illness of his youngest son, Robert, then a member of Harvard College. He had for some time been troubled by a cough, which had now become alarming, and excited the worst apprehensions of his friends. In relation to this sickness, he writes several letters to his son, from which the following extracts are made: "October 15 "We are in great anguish of spirit on account of dear R. We are getting reconciled to parting with the dear child, and to feel that he has done for us what any parents might feel thankful for, by living a good life, and in nineteen years giving us no cause to wish any one of them blotted out. If now called away, he will have lived a long life in a few years, and will be spared the trials and sufferings that flesh is heir to, and will be gathered like early fruit, before the blight or frost or mildew has marked it." "October 29. "R. remains gradually failing with consumption, but without much suffering, and perfectly aware of his situation. He never appeared so lovely as he has on his sick bed; so that his happy spirit and resignation, without a complaint or a wish that anything had been done differently, keep us as happy as we can be under such a weight of apprehension that we may so soon part with him. He asked me yesterday what I should write to you about him. I told him I should say that he was very sick, and might never be any better; but that he might also be better if the great Physician saw best, as it is only for him to speak, and the disease would be cured. If he were taken before me, I told him, it would be, I hoped, to welcome me to the company of the loved ones of our kindred and friends who have gone before, and to the society of angels and just men made perfect, who compose the great congregation that are gathered there from all the world, that God's love, through Christ, has redeemed. God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son to redeem it from sin; and his teachings should not be lost on us, while we have power to profit by them. In this spirit, we talked of the good men whose writings have an influence in helping on this good work; and especially we talked of Dr. Doddridge, and his 'Rise and Progress.' "P. M.--I have been with M. to Brookline since writing the above. The falling leaves teach a beautiful lesson. The green leaf, the rose, the cypress, now enclosed to you, and all from your grounds, are instructive. These were cut within the last two hours." "November 1. "Dear R. had a trying day yesterday, and we thought might not continue through the night. He is still alive, and may continue some time; was conscious and clear in his mind after he revived yesterday; feels ready and willing and hoping to be with his Saviour." "November 14. "We toil for treasure through our years of active labor, and, when acquired, are anxious to have it well secured against the time when we or our children may have need of it; and we feel entire confidence in this security. We allow the common flurries of the world to pass by without disturbing our quiet or comfort essentially. What treasure of a temporal character is comparable with a child who is everything a Christian parent could desire, and who is just coming into mature life universally respected and beloved, and who is taken before any cloud or spot has touched him, and who has left bright and clear marks upon those who have come within his sphere of influence? Such was R. The green earth of Mount Auburn covers his mortal remains; the heavens above have his immortal; he was a ripe child of God, and I therefore feel that blessed assurance of entire security which adds another charm to that blessed company to which I hope, through mercy, to be admitted in our Father's own good time. This early death of our beloved youngest comes upon us as an additional lesson, necessary, without doubt, to prepare us for our last summons; and the reasons which now seem mysterious will be fully understood, and will show us that our good required this safe keeping of this treasure, so liable to be made our idol. R. had passed the dangerous period of his college life without blemish, and was only absent from prayers three times (which were for good cause), and had a settled purpose, from the beginning of his college life, so to conduct in all respects as to give his parents no cause for anxiety; and, for the last year, I have felt perfectly easy in regard to him. We have visited his grave to-day. The teachings there are such as speak to the heart with an eloquence that language cannot. Dear S. and R.! She the only daughter, he the only son of his mother! and both placed there since you left!" "November 22. "President H., in a letter a few days before I wrote to you, had this sentiment: 'The old oak, shorn of its green branches, is more liable to decay.' Applying this to the old oak fronting the graves of those loved ones who have passed on, the outspread branches of which make the spot more lovely, I was more deeply impressed than mere words could have impressed me. A few months after the death of S., a violent storm tore off a main limb of the old oak about midway between the ground and the top, in such way as to mar its beauty, and endanger its life. The limb fell upon the graves, but avoided the injury to the monuments which might have been expected. Since then, I noticed that some of the lower limbs cast a sort of blight or mildew upon the pure white of your mother's monument, and they required dressing. I desired the 'master' to do this, and also to come and heal the wound occasioned by the loss of this main limb on that side of the tree. The trimming out was done at once; the other was left undone until the request was renewed. On my visit there last week, I discovered, for the first time, that the wound had been healed, and the body of the tree appeared smooth, and of its natural color, and its health such as to give good hope that its other branches will spread out their shade more copiously than before. What a lesson was here! The appeal was to the heart; and, in my whole life, I remember none more eloquent. To-day I have been to Mount Auburn again; and the spot seems to be none other than the gate of heaven.'" "December 22. "Twenty-five years ago this morning, I came home from Plymouth, where I had spent the night previous, and heard Webster's great address. He has never done anything to surpass it; and it now is a model and a text for the youth of our country. The people who then were present are principally taken hence; and the consideration of how the time allowed has been spent, and how it now fares with us, is of deep interest. God in mercy grant us to act our part so as to meet his approval, when called to answer for the trust in our hands! I have thought of the emblem of the 'old oak,' till it has assumed a beauty almost beyond anything in nature; and, if I live to see the fresh leaves of spring spreading their covering over the head of the stranger or the friend who may stop under its shade, I will have a sketch of the spot painted, if the right person can be found. There is in the spot and scene a touching eloquence that language can scarcely communicate. The dear child's expressive look, and motion of his finger, when he said 'I am going up,' will abide with me while I live. The dealings of a Father with me have been marked, but ofttimes mysterious for a season. Now many things are clear; and all others will be, I trust, when I am fitted to know them." (TO HIS GRANDSON.) "BOSTON, December 30, 1845. "MY DEAR F.: Your charming letter of 28th November reached me by last steamer, and showed, in a practical way, how important the lessons of childhood are to the proper performance of the duties of manhood. It carried me back to the time when my own mother taught me, and, from that period, forward through the early lessons inculcated upon your father, and especially to the time when he began to write me letters, which I always encouraged him in, and thus formed a habit which has been the best security for our home affections that can be devised when separated from those most dear to us. If the prayers and labors of your ancestors are answered by your good progress and good conduct in the use of the privileges you enjoy, you will come forth a better and more useful man than any of the generations preceding; for you enjoy advantages that none of us have enjoyed. My heart beats quicker and stronger whenever I think of you; and my prayers ascend for you at all hours, and through every scene connecting us. Last Saturday, I had the first sleigh-ride of the season. The day was beautiful; and there was just snow enough to make the sleigh run smoothly. I visited Mount Auburn; and the day and place, the 'old oak' standing in front of our graves leafless and apparently almost lifeless, spoke to me a language as intelligible as if utterance had been given in sounds. I thought of you, dear F., as my eldest grandson, and in a manner the representative of the family to future times, and asked myself whether I was doing all I ought to make you feel the force of your trusts. There lie the mortal parts of your dear aunt and uncle, both placed there since you left home; and the spirits of both, I trust, are now rejoicing with the multitude of the beloved ones, whose work here is well done, and whom the Saviour has bid to 'come unto him,' and through whom they hoped to be accepted. Dear R. seems to call to us to 'come up;' and, whether I ever see you again or not, I pray you never to forget that he was such an uncle as you might well feel anxious to copy in your conduct to your parents; for he had a settled principle to do nothing to cause his parents anxiety. So, if you see your young companions indulging in any evil practices which may lead to bad habits, avoid them; for prevention is better than remedy. When you stand near the 'old oak,' whether its branches are green with shady leaves, or dry from natural decay, let it speak to your conscience, 'Come up,' and receive the reward promised to the faithful. "Ever your affectionate grandfather, A. L." The year 1845 closed with many sad recollections; and nearly every letter written at this period dwells upon the mournful events which had marked its course. In one letter, he says, "Death has cut right and left in my family." In a little more than twelve months, ten of his own immediate family and near connections were removed, and most of them when least expected. Although bowed down, and penetrated with grief at each successive blow, there was a deep-seated principle in Mr. Lawrence's heart, which made him rise above them all, and receive each call in that spirit of submission which the Christian faith alone can give. His own sorrows seemed only to augment his sympathy for the woes of others, and to excite him to renewed efforts in the great cause of charity and truth, to which he had consecrated every talent he possessed. In this spirit he makes an entry in his memorandum-book on the first day of the opening year. CHAPTER XXIV. EXPENDITURES.--LETTERS.--DONATION FOR LIBRARY AT WILLIAMS COLLEGE.--VIEWS ON STUDY OF ANATOMY. "_January 1, 1846._--The business of the past year has been very prosperous in our country; and my own duties seem more clearly pointed out than ever before. What am I left here for, and the young branches taken home? Is it not to teach me the danger of being unfaithful to my trusts? Dear R. taken! the delight of my eyes, a treasure secured! which explains better than in any other way what my Father sees me in need of. I hope to be faithful in applying some of my trusts to the uses God manifestly explains to me by his dealings. I repeat, 'Thy will be done.'" That his trusts, so far as the use of his property was concerned, were faithfully performed, may be inferred from the fact that, in July, or at the termination of the half-year, in making up his estimate of income and expenditures, he remarks that the latter are nearly twenty thousand dollars in advance of the former. Mr. Lawrence was often much disturbed by the publicity which attended his benevolent operations. There are, perhaps, thousands of the recipients of his favors now living, who alone are cognizant of his bounty towards themselves; but when a public institution became the subject of his liberality, the name of the donor could not so easily be concealed. The following letter will illustrate the mode which he sometimes was obliged to adopt to avoid that publicity; and it was his custom not unfrequently to contribute liberally to objects of charity through some person on whom he wished the credit of the donation to fall. (TO PRESIDENT HOPKINS.) "BOSTON, Jan. 26, 1846. "MY DEAR FRIEND: Since Saturday, I have thought much of the best mode of helping your college to a library building without getting into the newspapers, and have concluded that you had better assume the responsibility of building it; and, if anybody objects that you can't afford it, you may say you have friends whom you hope to have aid from; and I will be responsible to you for the cost to an amount not exceeding five thousand dollars; so that you may feel at liberty to prepare such a building as you will be satisfied with, and which will do credit to your taste and judgment fifty years hence. If I am taken before this is finished, which must be this year, my estate will be answerable, as I have made an entry in my book, stating the case. I had written a longer story, after you left me, on Saturday evening, but have laid it aside to hand you this, with best wishes, and that all may be done 'decently and in order.' I will pay a thousand or two dollars whenever it is wanted for the work. "Your friend, A. L." Mr. Lawrence had read in the newspapers the memorial to Congress of Mrs. Martha Gray, widow of Captain Robert Gray, the well-known navigator, who discovered, first entered, and gave its present name to the Columbia River. Captain Gray had been in the naval service of his country; and his widow, who had survived him for forty years, amidst many difficulties and struggles for support, petitioned for a pension, in consideration of the important discovery, and for the services rendered by her husband. Mr. Lawrence sent to Mrs. Gray a memorial of his regard, with the following note: "As a token of respect to the widow of one whose name and fame make a part of the property of every American who has a true heart, will Mrs. Gray accept the accompanying trifle from one, who, though personally unknown, felt her memorial to Congress through every nerve, and will hope to be allowed the pleasure of paying his respects in person when his health permits." About the same date, he says to President Hopkins: "I am happily employed, these days, in administering upon my own earnings, and have hope of hearing soon from you and your good work. I am still on my good behavior, but have been able to chat a little with Mr. D., and administer to His Excellency Governor Briggs, who has had a severe trial of fever and ague. On Saturday he rode an hour with me, and returned with his face shortened considerably. I can only say to you that I believe I am left here to do something more to improve and help on the brethren and sons who have more mind and less money than I have; but the precise way to do it is not so clear to me as it may be by and by." After receiving the proposed plan of the library which he had authorized to be built at Williams College, Mr. Lawrence writes to the same, on May 15: "I left off, after a brief note to you, three hours since, furnishing you a text on epicureanism to preach from, which I trust will find favor and use. "What think you? Why, that I am interfering in your business. When I awoke this morning, thinks I to myself, My friend won't have elbow-room in the centre of his octagon; and, as there is plenty of land to build upon, he may as well make his outside to outside fifty feet as forty-four feet, and thus give himself more space in the centre. The alcoves appear to me to be very nice; and, in the matter of expense, my young friend A. L. H. will see to that, to the tune of one or two thousand dollars. So you may feel yourself his representative in acting in this matter." * * * * * "_April 22._--My birth-day! Three-score years old! My life, hanging by a thread for years, and apparently, at times, within a few hours of its close, still continued, while so many around in the prime of life and vigor have been called away!" (TO A FRIEND.) "Tremont-street, April, 1846. "MY FRIEND ----: I have arisen after my siesta, and, as the Quakers say, am moved by the spirit to speak. So you will give what I have to say the value you consider it worth. And, in the first place, I will say, that this period of the year is so full of deeply-interesting memories of the past, that I hardly know where to begin. From my earliest days, the story of the intelligence reaching Groton at ten o'clock on the 19th April, 1775, that the British were coming, was a most interesting one. My father mounted Gen. Prescott's horse, and rode, at a speed which young men even of the present day would think rapid, to the south end of the town, by Sandy Pond, and notified the minute-men to assemble at the centre of the town forthwith. He made a range of seven miles, calling on all the men, and was back at his father's house in forty minutes. At one o'clock, P. M., the company was in readiness to march, and under way to Concord to meet the British. They kept on until they reached Cambridge; but, before that, they had seen and heard all that had been done by the troops sent out to Concord. The plough was left in the field; and my grandfather, with his horse and wagon, brought provisions to his neighbors and his son shortly after. My grandmother on my mother's side, then living in Concord, has described to me over and over again the appearance of the British, as she first saw them coming over the bill from Lincoln, about two miles from the centre of Concord; the sun just rising; and the red coats, glittering muskets, and fearful array, so captivating to us in peace-times, appearing to her as the angel of destruction, to be loathed and hated. She therefore left her house with her children (the house was standing within the last thirty years, and may be now, near the turn to go through Bedford, half a mile or more this side of Concord meeting-house), and went through the fields, and over the hills, to a safe place of retreat. The British, you are aware, on their retreat, had a hard time of it. They were shot down like wild game, and left by the wayside to die or be taken up as it might happen. Three thus left within gun-shot of my grandmother's house were taken up, and died in the course of a very few hours. But what I am coming to is this: Lord Percy, you know, was sent out from Boston with a strong body of troops to protect those first sent out; and, but for this, the whole would have been destroyed or made prisoners. About three years ago, Lord Prudhoe, second son of Lord Percy, was here; and I had considerable delightful intercourse with him. He, as you may well suppose, was deeply interested in all that related to his father; and I met him in the library at Cambridge, where he was very observant of the order and arrangement, and especially of the curious old documents and books, so nicely arranged, touching the early history of the province. After leaving Cambridge, he went to Mr. Cushing's and Mr. Pratt's, at Watertown, and was much interested in all that we in this city are proud of. I had not strength to be devoted to him more than an hour or two at a time, having then some other strangers under my care, belonging to Gov. Colebrooke's family, Lady Colebrooke being a niece of Major André; so that I had only some half-dozen interviews with him, all of which were instructive and interesting." The dissection of human bodies by medical students has always been a subject of deep-rooted prejudice in New England; and, even to this day, it exists in so great a degree that the facilities for this important and absolutely essential branch of instruction are not nearly as great as they should be, nor such as are afforded in the schools of other countries. When these difficulties shall be removed, and the prejudice allayed against the acquisition of a kind of knowledge which it is of the utmost interest to every one that the surgeon and physician shall receive, many young men will remain at home, and acquire that education which, with few exceptions, might be attained here as well as by a resort to foreign schools. In this prejudice Mr. Lawrence could not sympathize, as will be seen in the following extract of a letter to a friend * * * * * "Many years ago, there was a great stir, on account of graves being robbed for subjects for dissection, and some laws were passed: the want became so pressing, that subjects were brought from a long distance, and in a very bad state. Dr. Warren was attending me, and said he had invited the Legislature, then in session, to attend a lecture in the Medical College. He told me he intended to explain the necessity of having fit subjects, he having been poisoned in his lecture to his students a few days before, and was then suffering from it. He invited me also to attend, which I did, and took with me my precious boy R. While lecturing, the doctor had a man's hand, which he had just taken off at the hospital, brought in, nicely wrapped up in a wet cloth, by his son J. M. W., then a youngster. There were present about two hundred representatives; and, as soon as they saw the real hand, two or three fainted nearly away, and a half-dozen or more made their escape from the room. The scene was so striking, that I told Dr. Warren it was a pity that such a prejudice should exist; and, as I was desirous to be of use as far as in my power, and probably should be a good subject for him, I would gladly have him use me in the way to instruct the young men; but to take care of my remains, and have them consumed or buried, unless my bones were kept. I also told him that I desired very much to have this false feeling corrected, and perhaps my example might do something toward it. Some time afterwards, I spoke to ---- upon the subject; but I found it gave pain, and the plan was given up. * * * A. L." "Outward gains are ordinarily attended with inward losses. He indeed is rich in grace whose graces are not hindered by his riches." In a letter, dated June 3, Mr. Lawrence bears testimony to the character and services of the late Louis Dwight, so long and favorably known as the zealous Secretary of the Massachusetts Prison Discipline Society: "I have this moment had an interview with Louis Dwight, who leaves for Europe in two days. My labors and experience with him for nearly a quarter of a century enable me to testify to his ability, and unceasing efforts in the cause." "_May 27, 1846._--The following commentary[9] on the Lectures of the Rev. Dr. ---- accompanied their return to me from one to whom I had loaned the volume. I have now no recollection who the person is; but the words are full, and to the point: "'This sucking the marrow all out of our Bible, and leaving it as dry as a husk, pray what good to man, or honor to God, does that do? If we are going to fling away the old book from which ten thousand thousand men have drawn and are still drawing the life of their souls, then let us stand boldly up, and fling it away, cover and all; unless, indeed, a better way would be to save the boards and gilding, and make a family checker-board of it.'" [9] Supposed to be by Hon. Jeremiah Mason. CHAPTER XXV. DONATION TO LAWRENCE ACADEMY.--CORRESPONDENCE WITH R. G. PARKER.--SLEIGH-RIDES.--LETTERS.--AVERSION TO NOTORIETY.--CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. Mr. Lawrence had always taken a deep interest in the academy at Groton, of which he, with all his brothers and sisters, had been members. The residence of his former master, James Brazer, Esq., with whom he lived when an apprentice, bordered on the academy grounds. It was a large, square, old-fashioned house, and easily convertible to some useful purpose, whenever the growing prosperity of the institution should require it. He accordingly purchased the estate; and, in July, 1846, presented it to the Board of Trustees by a deed, with the following preamble: "To all persons to whom these presents shall come, I, Amos Lawrence, of the City of Boston, in the County of Suffolk, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Esquire, send greeting: "Born and educated in Groton, in the County of Middlesex, in said Commonwealth, and deeply interested in the welfare of that town, and especially of the Lawrence Academy, established in it by my honored father, Samuel Lawrence, and his worthy associates, and grateful for the benefits which his and their descendants have derived from that institution, I am desirous to promote its future prosperity; trusting that those charged with the care and superintendence of it will ever strive zealously and faithfully to maintain it as a nursery of piety and sound learning." This had been preceded by a donation of two thousand dollars, with smaller gifts, at various dates, of valuable books, a telescope, etc., besides the foundation of several free scholarships. The present prosperity of the academy is, however, mainly due to his brother, William Lawrence, who has been by far its greatest benefactor; having, in 1844, made a donation of ten thousand dollars, followed by another, in 1846, of five thousand, and, finally, by will, bequeathed to it the sum of twenty thousand. The following memoranda are copied from Mr. Lawrence's donation-book: "_August 20, 1847._--I have felt a deep interest in Groton Academy for a long time; and while brother L. was living, and its president, he had it in charge to do what should be best to secure its greatest usefulness, and, while perfecting these plans, he was suddenly taken from this world. Since then, I have kept on doing for it; which makes my outlay for the school about twenty thousand dollars. I had prepared ten thousand dollars more, which brother William has assumed, and has taken the school upon himself, to give it such facilities as will make it a very desirable place for young men to enter to get a good preparation for business or college life." In an address[10] delivered at the jubilee celebration of the Lawrence Academy, held in Groton, July 12, 1854, the Rev. James Means, a former preceptor of the Institution, thus speaks of the benefactions of the two brothers: "It was my good fortune, after becoming the preceptor, in 1845, to have frequent intercourse with them in this particular regard,--the interests of the school. I shall never forget the impression made upon my mind by the depth of their feeling, and the strength of their attachment. They were both of them men of business; had been trained to business habits, and would not foolishly throw away the funds which God had intrusted to them as stewards. But it seemed to me then, as the event has proved, that they were willing to go as far as they could see their way clear before them to establish this school on a foundation that never should be shaken. "There was a singular difference in the character of these two brothers, and there is a similar difference in the results of their benefactions. I have reason personally to know that they conferred frequently and earnestly respecting the parts which they should severally perform in upbuilding this school. There was an emulation; but there was no selfishness, there was no difference of opinion. Both loved the academy, both wished to bless it and make it a blessing; each desired to accommodate the feelings of the other, each was unwilling to interfere with the other, each was ready to do what the other declined. Out of more than forty-five thousand dollars provided for the academy by Mr. William Lawrence, forty thousand still remain in the hands of the trustees for purposes of instruction. Of the library Mr. Amos Lawrence says, in one of his letters: 'I trust it will be second to no other in the country except that of Cambridge, and that the place will become a favorite resort of students of all ages before another fifty years have passed away. When he presented a cabinet of medals, he writes, 'I present them to the Institution in the name of my grandsons, F. W. and A. L., in the hope and expectation of implanting among their early objects of regard this school, so dear to us brothers of the old race, and which was more dear to our honored father, who labored with his hands, and gave from his scanty means, in the beginning, much more in proportion than we are required to do, if we place it at the head of this class of institutions, by furnishing all it can want.'" [10] See account of Jubilee of Lawrence Academy. At the same celebration, the Hon. John P. Bigelow, president of the day, in his opening address, said: "Charles Sprague, so loved and so honored as a man and a poet, was an intimate friend of the lamented William and Amos Lawrence. I invited him hither to-day. He cannot come, but sends a minstrel's tribute to their memory, from a harp, which, till now, has been silent for many years. 'These, these no marble columns need: Their monument is in the deed; A moral pyramid, to stand As long as wisdom lights the land. The granite pillar shall decay, The chisel's beauty pass away; But this shall last, in strength sublime, Unshaken through the storms of time.'" On July 15, Mr. Lawrence made a considerable donation of books to the Johnson School for girls, accompanied by a note to R. G. Parker, Esq., the Principal, from which the following extract is taken: "The sleigh-ride comes to me as though daguerreotyped, and I can hardly realize that I am here to enjoy still further the comfort that I then enjoyed. If the pupils of your school at that time were gratified, I was more than satisfied, and feel myself a debtor to your school of this day; and, in asking you to accept, for the use of the five hundred dear girls who attend upon your instruction, such of the books accompanying as you think proper for them, I only pay a debt which I feel to be justly due. The Johnson School is in my own district; and many a time, as I have passed it in my rides, have I enjoyed the appropriate animation and glee they have manifested in their gambols and sports during their intermission, and have felt as though I would gladly be among them to encourage them. Say to them, although personally unknown, I have looked on, and felt as though I wanted to put my hand upon their heads, and give them a word of counsel, encouragement, and my blessing. This is what I am left here for; and, when the Master calls, if I am only well enough prepared to pass examination, and receive the 'Well done' promised to such as are faithful, then I may feel that all things here are less than nothing in comparison to the riches of the future." The allusion to the sleigh-ride was called forth by a note received from Mr. Parker a day or two before, in which that gentleman writes: "As you have not the credit of a very good memory, so far as your own good actions are concerned, it will be proper that I should remind you that the occasion to which I refer was the time that the pupils of the Franklin School were about enjoying a sleigh-ride, from which pleasure a large number were excluded. On that occasion, as you were riding by, you were induced to inquire the reason of the exclusion of so many sad little faces; and, on learning that their inability to contribute to the expense of the excursion would cause them to be left behind, you very generously directed that all should be furnished with seats, and a draft made upon you for the additional expense." To a fondness for children, there seemed to be united in Mr. Lawrence a constant desire to exert an influence upon the youthful mind; and rarely was the opportunity passed over, when, by a word of advice or encouragement, or the gift of an appropriate book, he thought he could effect his object. His person was well known to the boys and girls who passed him in the streets; and, in the winter season, his large, open sleigh might often be seen filled with his youthful friends, whom he had allowed to crowd in to the utmost capacity of his vehicle. The acquaintances thus made would often, by his invitation, call to see him at his residence, and there would receive a kind notice, joined with such words of encouragement and advice as could not sometimes fail to have a lasting and beneficial influence. "_August 2._--'Give an account of thy stewardship, for thou mayest be no longer steward.'--Luke 16:2. "How ought this to be sounded in our ears! and how ought we to be influenced by the words! Surely there can be no double meaning here. The words are emphatic, clear, and of vast concern to every man. Let us profit by them while it is day, lest the night overtake us, when we can no longer do the work of the day." On the 22d of August, Mr. Lawrence sent a cane to Governor Briggs, at Pittsfield, with the following inscription graven upon it: FROM THE "OLD OAK" OF MOUNT AUBURN: +A Memento of Loved Ones gone before+. AMOS LAWRENCE TO GEORGE N. BRIGGS. 1846. The cane was accompanied by the following note: "MY DEAR FRIEND: Your letter of Monday last came, as all your letters do, just right as a comforter through a feeble week; for I have been confined to the house, and unable to speak above a whisper, most of the time, and am still not allowed to talk or work much. The corresponding week of the last year, when our precious R. was your guest, comes over my mind and heart, at all hours of the night and the day, in a manner I need not attempt to describe to _you_; and it is only distressing when I see the suffering of his dear mother. But we feel that he is now the guest of the Supreme Governor, whose care and kindness takes from him all that can interrupt his perfect happiness through all time; and this surely ought to satisfy us. The good opinion of good men you know how to value, and can therefore judge how much I prize yours. Acting upon the public mind for good as you do, the memorial from the old oak will not be without its use in your instruction and advice to the young, whose special improvement and safety you have so much at heart. The cane is a part of the same branch as that sent to President H., and came to me since noon to-day. Accept it with assurances of continued and increased affection and respect. Most sincerely yours, "A. L." "_August 28._--Called at ---- shop, Washington-street, and there saw a nice-looking boy seventeen or eighteen years old, named T. S., to whom I gave a word of good counsel and encouragement. Shall look after him a little, as I like his manners." "_August 29._--A woman writes a figuring letter, calling herself S. M.; says she is sixty years old; has lost her sons, and wants help; came from New Hampshire. Also, N. T. wants aid to study, or something else. Also, a Mr. F., with a great share of hair on his face, gold ring, and chains, wants to travel for his health; has a wife and child. Those three cases within twenty-four hours are very forbidding." In a letter of advice to a young gentleman who was a stranger to him, but who through a mutual friend had asked his opinion on a matter of business, he writes, on Sept. 19th: "Your letter of the 17th is a flattering token of confidence and respect, that I wish were better merited. Such as I am, I am at your service; _but there is nothing of me_. I have been stricken down within a few days, and am hardly able to stand up. A kind Father keeps me vigilant by striking without notice, and when least expected; and on some one of these occasions I am to close the account of my stewardship, and no matter when, if the accounts are right. I cannot advise you except in one particular: Do with your might what your hands find to do; spend no man's money but your own, and look carefully after little items that tempt you." The notoriety attendant upon acts of beneficence which Mr. Lawrence instinctively shrunk from, and which so often deters the sensitive from the good acts which, without this penalty, they would gladly perform, was, as has before been stated, a subject of serious annoyance. This is illustrated by the following note, written to Mr. Parker, the Principal of the Johnson School for girls: "October 2, 1846. "I hope to send a few volumes to help forward the young guides of the mind and heart of the sons of New England, wherever they may be; for it is the mothers who act upon their sons more than all others. I hope to be felt as long as I am able, to work, and am quite as vain as I ought to be of my name and fame, but am really afraid I shall wear out my welcome if my little paragraphs are printed so frequently in the newspapers. I gave some books last Monday, and saw them acknowledged yesterday in the newspaper, and since have received the letter from the children. Now, my dear sir, I merely want to say, that I hope you will not put me in the newspaper at present; and, when my work is done here, if you have anything to say about me that will not hurt my children and grandchildren, _say on_." A few days afterwards, Mr. Lawrence received a letter from the parties to whom the books above alluded to had been sent, inquiring if he could suggest the name of some benevolent individual, to whom application might be made for aid in furthering the objects of the Association. He writes: "In reply to yours of to-day, I know of no one, but must request that my name be not thrust forward, as though I was to be a byword for my vanity. I want to do good, but am sorry to be published, as in the recent case." During the autumn of this year, Mr. Lawrence purchased the large building in Mason-street, which had, for many years, been used as the Medical School of Harvard College, with the intention of founding a charitable hospital for children. He had heard of the manner in which such institutions were conducted in France, and believed that a great benefit would be conferred on the poorer classes by caring for their sick children when their own poverty or occupations prevented their giving them that attention which could be secured in an institution of this kind. The great object was to secure the confidence of that class, and to overcome their repugnance to giving up their children to the care of others. The plan had not been tried in this country; though in France, where there exists a much larger and more needy population, the system was completely successful. Although but an experiment, Mr. Lawrence considered the results which might be obtained of sufficient magnitude to warrant the large outlays required. He viewed it not only as a mode of relieving sickness and suffering, but as a means of exercising a humanizing effect upon those who should come directly under its influence, as well as upon that class of persons generally for whose benefit it was designed. His heart was ever open to the cry of suffering; and he was equally ready to relieve it, whether it came from native or foreigner, bond or free. The building which had been purchased for the object, from its internal arrangement, and from its too confined position, was found less suitable than another, in the southerly part of the city, where an open view and ample grounds were more appropriate for the purpose; while there was no cause for that prejudice which, it was found, existed toward the project in the situation first thought of. With characteristic liberality, Mr. Lawrence offered the Medical College, now not required, to the Boston Society of Natural History at the cost, with a subscription from himself of five thousand dollars. The offer was accepted. An effort was made by the Society to raise by subscription the necessary funds; and the result was their possession of the beautiful building since occupied by their various collections in the different departments of natural history. The large house on Washington-street was soon put in complete repair, suitably furnished, provided with physicians and nurses, and opened as the Children's Infirmary, with accommodations for thirty patients. The following spring was marked by a great degree of mortality and suffering among the emigrant passengers, and consequently the beds were soon occupied by whole families of children, who arrived in the greatest state of destitution and misery. Many cases of ship-fever were admitted; so that several of the attendants were attacked by it, and the service became one of considerable danger. Many now living in comfort attribute the preservation of their life to the timely succor then furnished; and, had no other benefits followed, the good bestowed during the few weeks of spring would have compensated for the labor and cost. This institution continued in operation for about eighteen months, during which time some hundreds of patients were provided for. The prejudices of parents, which had been foreseen, were found to exist, but disappeared with the benefits received; and the whole experiment proved conclusively that such an institution may be sustained in this community with vast benefit to a large class of the suffering; and it is hoped that it may one day lead to an establishment of the kind on a larger scale, and with a more extensive organization and means of usefulness. In this experiment, it was found, from the limited number of beds, that the cost of each patient was much greater than if four times the number had been provided for, and so large that Mr. Lawrence decided that the same amount of money could be made to afford relief to much larger numbers of the same class of sufferers applied in some other way. He was a constant visitor at the Infirmary, and took a deep interest in many of the patients, whose varied history had been recited to him; and in after years, as he passed through the streets, many an eye would brighten as it caught a glimpse of the kind friend who had whispered words of consolation and hope in the lonely hours of sickness. CHAPTER XXVI. CAPTAIN A. S. McKENZIE.--DIARY.--AID TO IRELAND.--MADAM PRESCOTT.--SIR WILLIAM COLEBROOKE. (TO CAPT. ALEXANDER SLIDELL MCKENZIE, U. S. N.) "November 2, 1846. "MY DEAR SIR: I was exceedingly gratified by your kind remembrance of me, a few days since, in sending me a copy of your 'Life of Decatur,' which to its merits as a biography adds the charm of bringing before me my old friend Bainbridge, and the writer, whom I have felt a strong interest in ever since reading his 'Year in Spain;' for my son resided in the same family soon after you left, and made me acquainted with you before I had seen you. I am a 'minute-man' in life, but, while I remain here, shall always be glad to take you by the hand when you visit us. Whether we meet here is of less importance than that our work be done, and be said by the Master to be well done, when called off. Respectfully and faithfully yours, "A. L." "_December 17._--Thirty-nine years have passed since my first entry in this book; and, in reviewing this period, I have abundant reason to bless God for his great mercies, and especially for continuing us four brothers, engaged as we have been in business, an unbroken band to this day, and for the success attending our labors. We have been blessed more than most men, and have the power, by our right use of these blessings, of benefiting our fellow-men. God grant that the spirits of our parents may be cheered in their heavenly home by our doing the work here that we ought to do! To my descendants I commend this memorial, with the prayer that they may each of them be better than I am." * * * "Fifteen years hence, and the chief interest in us will be found in our Mount Auburn enclosure; and we ought to look well to the comment." As an expression of the feeling here referred to, he purchased a gold box of beautiful workmanship, and forwarded it to his youngest brother, then a resident of Lowell, with the following inscription engraven upon it: "BEHOLD, HOW GOOD AND HOW PLEASANT IT IS FOR BRETHREN TO DWELL TOGETHER IN UNITY!" TO SAMUEL LAWRENCE, FROM HIS BROTHER AMOS. "_December 19._--Rode to-day to the Asylum for the Blind with Major Arthur Lawrence, of the Rifle Brigade, British Army, and had a very interesting visit. Dr. Howe very attentive; and Laura Bridgman and Oliver Caswell both appeared well." "_December 27._--Rev. Mr. Rogers said to-day, 'Gold is not the coin of heaven: if it had been, Christ would have been rich; but he was a poor man.'" "_January 1, 1847._--In July last, I had spent the advance of my income, but am thankful now to be able to state the case differently, being in the receipt of ample means to be a comfort to the needy." From the various entries quoted in his Diary, it will be inferred that Mr. Lawrence's means for charitable distribution varied considerably in amount from year to year. To explain this difference, it may not be amiss to state here, that he had, from the first efforts to establish home manufactures in New England, taken a deep interest in their success, and had consequently invested a large proportion of his property in the various manufacturing corporations which had been built up in Lowell and other towns in Massachusetts and New Hampshire. The great fluctuations in this department of industry are known to every one; for, while the returns of one year would be ample, those of the next year would, from embarrassments in the commercial world, or from some other cause, be little or nothing. "_January 8._--T. R. and S. J., two Englishmen in the employ of J. C., mended our pump to-day. I gave them some books and a word of counsel, and hope to observe their progress." "_February 15._--T. J. called, and is to embark to-morrow, on his way to the war in Mexico. He asked me to give him money to buy a pistol, which I declined, as I could not wish them success in Mexico; but gave him some books, a Bible, and good counsel." During the month of February, an appeal was made to the citizens of Boston in behalf of the famished population of Ireland, and resulted in the sending to that country a large quantity of food and clothing. Mr. Lawrence contributed himself towards the object, and, as was often the case, endeavored to interest others equally with himself. On the 24th of that month, he addressed a note to J. A. Stearns, Esq., Principal of the Mather School, at South Boston, for the pupils of his school composing the Lawrence Association. This Association, comprising a large number of boys and girls, had been formed for moral and intellectual improvement, and had been named in honor of Mr. Lawrence, who had, from its commencement, taken a deep interest in its success, and had often contributed books and money when needed. "Wednesday, March 2. "MY FRIENDS: The value of the offering to suffering Ireland from our city will be enhanced by the numbers contributing, as the offering will do more good as an expression of sympathy than as a matter of relief. The spirit of dear R. seems to speak through your 'Oak Leaf,'[11] and to say, 'Let all who will of the Association subscribe a half-dollar each, and all others a quarter each, for their suffering brethren, and children of a common Father.' A. L. "P. S.--The purses were presents to me, and must be returned. One of them from the lady of Sir John Strachan, herself a descendant of one of our Boston girls; the two open-work ones from ladies in this city. Take from them what is required, and return the balance, if any be left. If more is required, let me know, as I do not know the amount in the purses. "A. L." [11] A little newspaper published by the Association. One hundred and two members of the Association, and four hundred and thirty-eight other members of the school, in all five hundred and forty, availed themselves of the privilege thus offered them, and contributed the sum of one hundred and sixty dollars towards the object. At the church in Brattle-street, a collection was taken in aid of the same object; and, among other contributions, was a twenty-dollar bank-note, with the following attached to it, probably by Mr. Lawrence: "A ship of war to carry bread to the hungry and suffering, instead of powder and ball to inflict more suffering on our brethren,--children of the same Father,--is as it should be; and this is in aid of the plan." Among the most respected and valued friends of Mr. Lawrence was the venerable Madam Prescott, widow of the late Judge William Prescott, and mother of the distinguished historian of "Ferdinand and Isabella." Years seemed rather to quicken her naturally warm sympathies for the distresses of others; and, at the age of more than four-score, she was to be daily seen on foot in the streets, actively engaged upon her errands of mercy. Mr. Lawrence had, the year before, found a small volume, entitled the "Comforts of Old Age," by Sir Thomas Bernard; and had sent it to several of his friends, principally those in advanced age, asking for some record of their experience. His note to Madam Prescott on this subject was as follows. "March 8, 1847. "DEAR MADAM PRESCOTT: I have been a long time anxious to receive a favor from you, and have felt diffident in asking it; but am now at the required state of resolution. The book I send you is so much in character with your own life, that my grandchildren, who love you, will read to their grandchildren your words, written by your own hand in this book, if you will but place them there. I must beg you, my excellent friend, to believe that I am desirous of securing for my descendants some of your precious encouragements in the discipline of life. "Your friend, "AMOS LAWRENCE." The volume was returned with the following record: "BOSTON, March 10, 1847. "MY DEAR SIR: You ask me what are the comforts of old age. I answer, the retrospection of a well-spent life. The man who devotes himself to the cause of humanity, who clothes the naked, feeds the hungry, soothes the sorrows of the afflicted, and comforts the mourner,--whom each rising sun finds in the contemplation of some good deed, and each night closes with the assurance that it has been performed,--surely such a life must be the comfort of an old age. But where shall we find such a man? May I not be permitted to apply the character to my highly valued and respected friend, whose charities are boundless, and who daily dispenses blessings to all around him? May the enduring oak be emblematical of the continuance of your life! I depend much upon accompanying you to Mount Auburn, and to visit the spot which contains the precious relics of him whose life it is sweet to contemplate, and whose death has taught us how a Christian should die. The perusal of this little volume has increased my veneration and friendship for its owner. "Respectfully and affectionately, "C. G. PRESCOTT." "MEM. _by A. L., May 20, 1850._--Madam P., now much passed four-score years of age (born August 1, 1767), is as bright and active in body and mind as most ladies of fifty." * * * * * "_April 10._--Mrs. T. called to ask aid for a poor widow, which I declined, by telling her I did not hear or read people's stories from necessity, and I could not inquire this evening. She claims to be acquainted with Rev. Mr. ---- and Rev. Mr. ----. She gave me a severe lecture, and berated me soundly." "_April 19._--Mrs. C., of Lowell, asks me to loan her three hundred dollars to furnish a boarding-house for twelve young ladies at S., which I declined by mail this morning." In reply to Sir William Colebrooke, Governor of New Brunswick, who requested Mr. Lawrence to notify certain poor people in the neighborhood of Boston that their deposits in the Frederickstown Savings' Bank, which had been previously withheld, would be paid by means of an appropriation for the purpose recently made by the Provincial Assembly, he writes: "BOSTON, April 26, 1847. "MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM: Your kind letter of the 8th instant reached me on the 13th, and is most welcome and grateful, in making me the medium of so much solid comfort to the numerous people whose earnings are thus restored to them through your unceasing and faithful labors. May God reward you, and enable you to enjoy through life the elevated satisfaction that follows such good works to those who can give you nothing but their prayers! It is alike creditable to your Provincial Government and those true principles which are the best riches of all free governments; and I hope may exercise some good influence upon our State Governments, which have done injustice to many poor persons who have given credit to their promises. I have caused your notice to be scattered broadcast, and trust that all who have any interest in the Frederickstown Savings' Bank will know that their money and interest are ready for them. Pray present me most affectionately to Lady Colebrooke and your daughters; and assure her we shall take more comfort than ever in showing her over our beautiful hills, that have health and joy in every breeze. My own health continues as good as when you were last here; and my family (who have not been taken hence) seem devoted to my comfort. What reason have we for devout thanksgiving, that our two countries are not at swords' points, and that the true feeling of our common ancestry is now sweeping over our land! We are in deep disgrace on account of this wicked Mexican business. What the end is to be can only be known to Infinite Wisdom; but one thing is certain,--no good can come to us from it. "Again I pray you to be assured of my highest respect and regard, and am very faithfully yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." CHAPTER XXVII. MR. LAWRENCE AS AN APPLICANT.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--PRAYER AND MEDITATIONS.--LIBERALITY TO A CREDITOR.--LETTERS. It was not uncommon for Mr. Lawrence, when a good work was in progress, to give not only his own means, but to lend a helping hand by soliciting contributions from others. The following note, addressed to a wealthy bachelor, is a specimen: "BOSTON, June 11, 1847. "MY DEAR SIR: You will be surprised at this letter, coming as it does as a first; but I know, from my experience of your skill and talents as a business man, how pleasant it is to you to make good bargains and safe investments; and, although you are a bachelor, the early business habits you acquired are marked, and are to be carried forward till the footing up of the account, and the trial-balance presented to the Master at his coming. As I said before, you like safe investments, that shall be returned four-fold, if such can be made. Now, I am free to say to you, I know of such an one; and the promisor is a more secure one than A. & A. L. & Co., Uncle Sam, the Old Bay State, or bonds and mortgages in your own neighborhood. You ask, Then why not take it yourself? I answer, Because I have invested in advance in the same sort of stock in other quarters, but am willing to give my guaranty that you shall be satisfied that it is all I represent when you make your final settlement. It is this: Amherst College you know all about; and that is now in especial need of new instructors, and increased funds for their support. Twenty thousand dollars from you will place it on high ground, give a name to a professorship, make you feel happier and richer than you ever did in your life. What say you?--will you do it? The respect of good men will be of more value to you through your remaining days than any amount of increase, even if as vast as Girard's or Astor's. As I am a mere looker-on, you will take this, as I design it, as an expression of good-will to the college, no less than to you." "MEM. by A. L.--Received an answer on the 16th, very good and kind, from Mr. ----." In addition to the "very good answer," Mr. Lawrence had soon after the gratification of knowing that the application had been successful, and that the necessary sum had been contributed by his correspondent. About the same date, he writes to his friend, Professor Packard, of Bowdoin College, as follows: "Your visit to us the last week has opened new views and visions, that are better described in the last chapter of Revelations than in any account I can give. Bowdoin College is connected with all that is near and dear to President Appleton,--not only those on the stage of action with him, but all who came after, embracing in this latter class your own loved ones, who may continue to exercise an important agency in making the college what the good man, in his lifetime, strove to make it. The love, veneration, and respect, my dear wife had for him, makes her feel a peculiar pleasure in doing what would have cheered and comforted him so much had he lived till this time. The thousand dollars handed to you is a first payment of six thousand that she will give to the college in aid of the fund now in progress of collection; and she directs that the Lawrence Academy, at Groton, may be allowed to send one scholar each year to Bowdoin College, to be carried through the four years without charge for instruction; and that, whenever the trustees of the academy do not supply a pupil, the college may fill the place. I will hold myself responsible to make good Mrs. L.'s intentions, should she be deprived in any way of this privilege before the work is done." Early in the summer of this year, the Hon. Abbott Lawrence made his munificent donation of fifty thousand dollars to Harvard College, for the purpose of founding what was afterwards called, in honor of the donor, the Lawrence Scientific School. After reading the letter accompanying this donation, Mr. Lawrence addressed to his brother the following: "Wednesday morning, June 9, 1847. "DEAR BROTHER ABBOTT: I hardly dare trust myself to speak what I feel, and therefore write a word to say that I thank God I am spared to this day to see accomplished by one so near and dear to me this last best work ever done by one of our name, which will prove a better title to true nobility than any from the potentates of the world. It is more honorable, and more to be coveted, than the highest political station in our country, purchased as these stations often are by time-serving. It is to impress on unborn millions the great truth that our talents are trusts committed to us for use, and to be accounted for when the Master calls. This magnificent plan is the great thing that you will see carried out, if your life is spared; and you may well cherish it as the thing nearest your heart. It enriches your descendants in a way that mere money never can do, and is a better investment than any one you have ever made. "Your affectionate brother, AMOS. "TO ABBOTT LAWRENCE." To a friend he writes, soon after: "This noble plan is worthy of him; and I can say truly to you, that I feel enlarged by his doing it. Instead of our sons going to France and other foreign lands for instruction, here will be a place, second to no other on earth, for such teaching as our country stands now in absolute need of. Here, at this moment, it is not in the power of the great railroad companies to secure a competent engineer to carry forward their work, so much are the services of such men in demand." * * * * * "BOSTON, June 18, 1847. "DEAR PARTNERS: Please pass to the credit of my friend, the Rev. Mark Hopkins, two thousand dollars, to pay for four scholarships at Williams College, to be used through all time by the Trustees of Lawrence Academy, in Groton. The said trustees, or their representatives, may send and keep in college four pupils from the academy, without any charge for tuition; and, whenever they omit or decline keeping up their full number, the government or the proper authorities of the college are authorized to fill the vacancy or vacancies from their own college pupils. Charge the same to my account. A. L." "To A. & A. L. & Co." During the last twenty years of his life, Mr. Lawrence was unable to attend more than the morning services of the church on Sunday, on account of the state of his health. He was a most devout and constant worshipper, and many of those who have conducted the religious services of the church which he attended will well remember the upturned countenance, the earnest attention, and the significant motions of his head, as he listened with an expression of approval to the faithful declarations of the speaker. He loved to listen to those who "did not shun to declare all the counsel of God," and would sometimes express disappointment when the preacher failed to declare what he considered the important truths of the Gospel. In writing to a friend, after listening to a discourse of the latter description from a stranger, he compares it, in its adaptation to the spiritual wants of the hearers, to the nourishment which a wood-chopper would receive by placing him in the top of a flowering tree, and allowing him to feed only on the odor of its blossoms. His feelings on this subject are expressed in a letter to an esteemed clergyman, who had solicited his aid in behalf of a church in a distant city. "BOSTON, June 11, 1847. "MY FRIEND: I have your letter of yesterday; and, in reply, I offer it as my opinion that the Unitarianism growing up among us the few years past has so much philosophy as to endanger the Christian character of our denomination, and to make us mere rationalists of the German school, which I dread more than anything in the way of religious progress. The church at ---- may be of use in spreading Christianity; but it may also be a reproval to it. I do not feel sufficient confidence in it to give money to keep life in it until I see evidence of some of the conservative influences that my own beloved and honored pastor is calling back among us. Your well-wisher and friend, "A. L. "P. S.--I fully agree in the opinion that ---- is an important point for the dissemination of truth; and, before giving aid, I must know the man before I help support the minister, having small confidence in the teachings of many who enjoy considerable reputation as teachers of righteousness. I may have expressed doubts and fears that may not seem well founded; but I feel them." The following entry in his diary will give some idea of Mr. Lawrence's exactness in his daily business: "_Saturday, July 24, 1847._--Enclosed in a note to the Rev. ---- ----, of ----, a fifty-dollar bank-note, of the Atlantic Bank, No. 93, dated Jan. 1, 1846, payable to George William Dodd; letter A at each end of the bill, and A. P. P. in blue ink, in my writing, at the top. Sent the letter to the post-office by coachman, and paid the postage; he keeping a memorandum of his having delivered it, and paid for it. A. L." "_Sept. 14._--Professor ----, of the Baptist College in ----, has called, to whom I shall give a parcel of books for the use of the college, and also a good word, which I hope will make him remember in whose service he is engaged." "_Sept. 15._--Delivered him about two hundred and fifty volumes, various; all of value to him and his college, he said. He is a young man (under thirty years) and a minister." "_September 16, 1847, Sabbath-day._[12]--'O most blessed Lord and Saviour; thou who didst, by thy precious death and burial, take away the sting of death and the darkness of the grave! grant unto me the precious fruit of this holy triumph of thine, and be my guide both in life and in death. In thy name will I lay me down in peace and rest; for thou, O Lord, makest me to dwell in safety! Enlighten, O Lord, the eyes of my understanding, that I may not sleep the sleep of death! Into thy hands I commend my spirit; for thou hast redeemed me, O thou covenant-keeping God! Bless and preserve me, therefore, both now and forever! Amen!' "These are suitable thoughts and aspirations, such as every Christian may profitably indulge on retiring each night. His bed should remind him of his grave; and, as the day past brings him so much nearer to it, the appearance, when summoned hence, should be the point most distinctly before him. If he pass on with the 'Well done,' no time can be amiss when called up. O God! grant me to be ever ready; and, by thy blessing and thy mercy, grant me to be allowed to join company with those loved and precious ones whom I feel entirely assured are at thy right hand, then to be no more separated! AMOS LAWRENCE." [12] The opposite page is a fac-simile of the original manuscript found in Mr. Lawrence's pocket-book after his death. It may serve as a fair specimen of his chirography during his latter years. [Illustration: Fac-Simile of Mr Lawrence's Hand-writing in 1847.] The following note and memorandum by Mr. Lawrence will show how he dealt with an old debtor: (TO MR. G.) "MY DEAR SIR: If you have any mode by which I can have the pleasure of receiving your note and interest, amounting to twenty-three hundred dollars, to be vested by me for the benefit of your wife, I shall be pleased to do it, having long since determined to appropriate this money, whenever received, in this way "Yours, truly, A. L. "For himself and brother A." "MEM.--Mr. ---- was an invalid, and confined to his house at that period, and sent for me to call and see him. I did so, and he seemed much affected at my offer; but told me he was in better circumstances than I had supposed him, and declined the proffered aid. The information thus given me in this last interview was most welcome: from that time, I never mentioned his debt. After his decease, it was paid by his sons; and the family has been prosperous since. I spent the money for others in need, and am rejoiced that all his are so comfortable." Many of our readers who can look back a few years will recall to memory the manly form, and fine, open countenance, of William L. Green, who was so suddenly cut off at the very threshold of what promised to be an honorable and useful career. He had come to Boston from his native town of Groton; and, after serving an apprenticeship, had entered upon a successful business. He had endeared himself to a large circle of friends, and possessed such qualities of mind and heart as had made him the stay and hope of his parents in their declining years. Upon hearing of the death of this nephew, Mr. Lawrence addressed to his parents the following letter of sympathy: "BOSTON, October 22, 1847. "DEAR BROTHER AND SISTER: God speaks to us through the rustling of the leaves no less distinctly than in the voice of the whirlwind and the storm; and it is now our business and our privilege to look at him and to him for the lesson of yesterday. Dear W., as he parted from me the Sabbath noon before the last, looked the embodiment of health, long life, and happiness. Now, that noble figure, face, expression, and loved spirit, which lightened his path, is no longer among us, to be in danger of injury from our yielding him that which belongs to God only. Were we not liable, dear brother and sister, to interrupt those communings which God calls us to with himself? He is our merciful Father, and does for us what he sees is best; and, if we receive his teachings, however dark they may appear to us at present, all will be made clear at the right time. Your precious treasure is secured, I trust, and will prove an increased attraction to you to follow; and it seems to me that our children are uniting in their joyful meeting in heaven. May we see in this event, more clearly than ever, where we are to look for direction, instruction, and support! May we be ready when called! So prays your affectionate and afflicted brother, A. L." To a friend he writes, Dec. 27: "In our domestic relations, we are all as we could desire, save the individual case of my brother William, who is barely remaining this side Jordan, and in a happy state, I trust, to pass over. For a number of days, we have supposed each might be the last but he may continue for some days, or possibly weeks. Death strikes right and left, and takes from our midst the long-honored and beloved, in their maturity. Dr. Codman and Judge Hubbard are both to be buried to-day; two men whose places will not soon be filled, I fear. Only last Tuesday, in my ride with good Dr. Sharp, we agreed to call and pay our respects to Dr. C. on Thursday; but, on that morning, learned that he was dead. On Thursday, Judge Hubbard rode out, and transacted legal business as a magistrate; in the evening went to bed as usual; in the night-time was turned over in bed, as he requested to be, and ceased to breathe. How could a good man pass over Jordan more triumphantly and gloriously?" The reader will not fail to note the coïncidence, that, almost exactly five years later, Mr. Lawrence was summoned to "pass over" in the same manner, which, from the expression used, seems to have been to him so desirable; though his own departure was still more sudden and striking. (TO A PHYSICIAN.) "Sabbath evening, seven o'clock. "DEAR W.: I have been reading to ---- the last hour, beginning at the second chapter of Matthew, and so on in course. Please look at the fourth chapter, and the latter part of the twenty-third verse, and I think you will need no apology for doing what you do, with such instruction. Christ's example, no less than his precepts, is designed to be practically useful to the whole family of man; and I feel humbled and grieved that I have not followed him better, and preached better by all the motives he has thus spread out. I say, then, to you and yours, God bless you in your good work, and make you a worthy follower of the Beloved! A. L." CHAPTER XXVIII. REFLECTIONS.--VIEWS ON HOLDING OFFICE.--LETTERS.--CAPTAIN A. SLIDELL McKENZIE.--DEATH OF BROTHER, AND OF HON. J. MASON. "_Jan. 1, 1848._--In reviewing the scenes and the business of the past year, I have continued evidence of that mercy which a Father bestows on his children, and a louder call to yield more fully than I ever yet have done to the teachings he designs. Many things that seem dark, of which the reasons are not understood, will be made clear at the right time. It is manifest that my stewardship is not so far well done as to permit me to fold my arms and feel easy. No: my life is spared for more work. May its every day be marked by some token that shall meet Thine approval, when the final call shall come!" (TO PRESIDENT HOPKINS.) "BOSTON, March 9. "This religious awakening among your college students is among the blessings that our Father vouchsafes to his servants who labor faithfully in their work; and I can see his hand as plainly in it as though it were thrust before my face as I write this sentence. Let us, then, bless his holy name, and thank him, as disciples and followers of Christ the Beloved; and urge upon these young men to come forward, as doves to their windows. If my life and my trusteeship have been in any manner instrumental in this good work in your college, it will be matter of grateful thanksgiving while I live. Mrs. L. and myself both felt our hearts drawn out to you as we read your letter; and we commend you, and the good work of guiding these interesting young Christians in the ways and the works that lead to that blessed home to which our loved ones have been called, and to which we hope to be welcomed. To his grace and guidance we commend all things touching this onward and upward movement. I have been under the smarting-rod a few days within the past fortnight. Severe pain took all my courage and light-heartedness out of me, and made me a sorry companion; and my friends, seeing me in my every-day dress, would hardly know me in this sombre garb. Again, dear friend, I bid you God-speed in the good work; and, at last, may you receive the 'Well done' promised to the faithful!" In the presidential campaign of 1848, the Hon. Abbott Lawrence was made a prominent candidate of the Whig party for the Vice-Presidency; and, in the convention which assembled at Philadelphia in June, was voted for, and received but one vote short of that which would have secured the nomination. Mr. Fillmore, it will be recollected, was the successful candidate. During the canvass, a gentleman, editing a newspaper which strongly advocated the nomination of Taylor and Lawrence, addressed a very courteous letter to Mr. Amos Lawrence, asking for aid in supporting this movement, which he supposed he would of course be deeply interested in. The reply is given here, as an illustration of his views in regard to holding high political office: "DEAR SIR: In reply to yours, this moment handed me, I state that my income is so reduced, thus far, this year, that I am compelled to use prudence in the expenditure of money, and must therefore decline making the loan. If my vote would make my brother Vice-President, I would not give it, as I think it lowering his good name to accept office of any sort, by employing such means as are now needful to get votes. I hope 'Old Zack' will be President. "Respectfully yours, A. L." To President Hopkins he writes, April 15: "What should we do, if the Bible[13] were not the foundation of our system of self-government? and what will become of us, when we wilfully and wickedly cast it behind us? We have all more than common reason to pray, in the depths of our sins, God be merciful to us sinners. The efforts made to lessen respect for it, and confidence in it, will bring to its rescue multitudes who otherwise would not have learned how much they owe it. The 'Age of Reason,' fifty years ago, told, on the whole, in advancing truth, by bringing to its support the best minds of Christendom. I hope it may be so now. This is a theme for your head and heart and pen. No man in New England can make a deeper mark. What say ye? The Bible is our great charter, and does more than all others, written or unwritten." "W. C. writes from N., asking me to loan him three thousand dollars to buy a farm, and to improve his health and mind; stating that he is a cripple, but wants to do something for the world." "That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives, but nothing gives, Whom none can love, whom none can thank, Creation's blot, creation's blank." [13] In looking over the list of Life Directors of the American Bible Society, made such by the payment of one hundred and fifty dollars each, there are found at least ten who are known to have been constituted by Mr. Lawrence. (TO PRESIDENT HOPKINS.) "BOSTON, June 12, 1848 "MY DEAR FRIEND: Only think what changes a few weeks have produced in Europe, and the probable effects upon this country. It seems now certain that vast numbers will emigrate here, rich and poor, from the continent and from England. The question for us is, How shall we treat them? It is certain that foreigners will come here. We have land enough for them, but have not the needful discipline to make them safe associates in maintaining our system of government. Virtue and intelligence are our platform; but the base passions of our country have been ministered to so abundantly by unscrupulous politicians, that our moral sense has been blunted; and these poor, ignorant foreigners are brought into use for selfish purposes, and the prospects for the future are appalling. Yet a ray of light has just broken in upon us by the nomination of General Taylor for President; and my belief is, he is the best man for the place who can be named, with any prospect of success. He is not a politician, but a plain, straight-forward, honest man, anxious to do his duty in all his relations. As to my brother's nomination for Vice-President, I am thankful they did not make it in convention: he is in a higher position before the country than he would be if chosen Vice-President. His course has been elevated and magnanimous in this matter; for he might, by his personal influence and efforts, have received the nomination. "ADDITIONAL.--It is now almost two, P. M., and I have but just returned from Mount Auburn. The visit has been deeply interesting, on many accounts, and has almost unfitted me to finish this letter. However, there is nothing in the visit but what ought to make me thankful that my treasures, though removed, are secured; and, if my poor efforts can bring me again into their society through the blessed Saviour, I ought not allow this gush of feeling to unman me." A few days later, he writes to the same friend: "I have not as yet heard of the examination of yesterday at the Lawrence Academy, which son. A. A. attended, but hope for a good report. In truth, I feel as if that school and your college are to go hand in hand in making whole men for generations to come. There is a pleasant vision which opens to me when I look forward to the characters that the academy and the college are to send forth for the next hundred years. I bless God for my old home, and the great elm in front, which has a teaching and a significance that I shall endeavor to make use of in training my grandchildren and dear ones of my family connection. How important, then, that our places of education be sustained, as supplying the pure and living streams that shall irrigate every hill and valley of this vast empire, and train men to know and do their duty! I will not quarrel with a man's Presbyterian, Episcopal, or Baptist creed, so be he will act the part of a good soldier of Christ; for I verily believe great multitudes, of all creeds, desire to serve him faithfully." "_Aug. 23._--T. G. sent me a paper this morning, having many names on it, with a polite note. The paper I returned without reading; telling him I did not read such, or hear stories, and must be excused. He took the answer in high dudgeon, and sent another note, saying he had mistaken me, and desired that his first note should be returned. I wrote upon it that I lived by the day and hour, an invalid, and, for two years, had adopted this course, and had treated bishops, clergymen, and laymen, with the fewest words; that I intended no disrespect, and begged his pardon if I had done anything wrong. I also told him this course was urged upon me by my medical adviser; but, with all my care, there is now an average of six applications a day through the year." Mr. Lawrence had, many years previous to this date, formed an acquaintance with Captain Slidell McKenzie, of the United States Navy, which had been continued, and was a source of mutual pleasure. Among other relics in the possession of the writer, is a cane of palm-wood, presented by Capt. McKenzie, on his return from Mexico as commander of the United States Steamship "Mississippi," to Mr. Lawrence, who had caused to be engraven upon it, on a silver plate, the following inscription: ALEXANDER SLIDELL McKENZIE TO AMOS LAWRENCE. 1845. PALM-WOOD FROM THE BANKS OF THE TOBASCO RIVER. FROM THE UNITED STATES NAVAL COMMANDER WHO WAS NOT AFRAID TO DO HIS DUTY WHEN LIFE WAS REQUIRED AT THE YARD-ARM. The latter part of the inscription is in allusion to the course which Capt. McKenzie felt obliged to adopt in the mutiny on board the United States Brig "Somers," in 184--. On Sept. 15, he thus notices the death of that officer in his diary: "This, morning's newspapers give the intelligence that the excellent and accomplished Capt. McKenzie died at Sing Sing, N. Y., two days ago. He fell from his horse by an affection of the heart; and died almost instantly. Thus has departed a man whom I esteemed as among the best and purest I am acquainted with, and whose character should be a treasure for his family and the nation. I think him a model officer and a good Christian." * * * * * "_Oct. 11._-- CANADIAN BOAT-SONG. 'Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time; Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row: the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and daylight's past.' I first heard this song sung and played on the piano by ----, afterwards Mrs. ----, at her house in ---- street, in 1809. The song rang in my ears sweetly for weeks, as I was taken down with fever the next morning. I never think of it but with delight." "_Oct. 15._--My brother William died on Saturday, Oct. 14, at three, P. M., in the sixty-sixth year of his age; and my brother Mason died only five hours afterwards, in his eighty-first year,--within three doors of each other. Both were very dear to me in life, and both are very dear to me in death; and, in God's good time, I trust that I shall meet them again, not subject to the ills and changes of my present abode." In a letter of the same date to a friend, he says: "My letter of last Tuesday will have prepared you for the sad intelligence in this. Brother William continued without much suffering or consciousness till two o'clock yesterday, and then ceased breathing, without a groan. Yesterday morning, the hand of death was manifestly upon Brother Mason, who was conscious to objects around, and requested C. to pray with him; and, when asked if he understood what was said, answered, 'Yes,' and expressed by words and signs his wants and feelings. He continued in a quiet, humble, and hopeful frame, we judge, until just eight o'clock, when, with a single gasp and a slight noise, his mighty spirit passed out of its immense citadel of clay, to join the throng of the loved ones gone before. Brother W. was in his sixty-sixth year, Brother M. in his eighty-first; and both were such men as we need, true as steel in all good works and words. Mr. M. was never sick a day to disable him from attending to his professional and public duties in fifty years, and, until within a short time, never confined a day to his house by illness. On the last Sunday evening, I passed a most refreshing half-hour with him. He appeared as well as he had done for a year; inquired very particularly into Brother W.'s state; expressed the opinion that his own time was near at hand, and a hope that he might be taken without losing his mental and bodily powers. He remarked that protracted old age, after the loss of power to give and receive comfort, was not to be desired. He has often expressed to me the hope that he should be taken just as he has been. Have we not reason to praise and bless God in taking, no less than in sparing, these honored and loved ones?" CHAPTER XXIX. SYSTEM IN ACCOUNTS.--LETTER FROM PROF. STUART.--LETTERS.--DIARY.--DR. HAMILTON.--FATHER MATTHEW. "_January 1, 1849._--THE habit of keeping an account of my expenditures for objects other than for my family, and for strictly legal calls, I have found exceedingly convenient and satisfactory; as I have been sometimes encouraged, by looking back to some entry of aid to a needy institution or individual, to do twice as much for some other needy institution or individual. I can truly say, that I deem these outlays my best, and would not, if I could by a wish, have any of them back again. I adopted the practice, ten years ago, of spending my income. The more I give, the more I have; and do most devoutly and heartily pray God that I may be faithful in the use of the good things intrusted to me." "_January 2._--Yesterday, Peter C. Brooks died, aged eighty-two; a man who has minded his own business through life, and from a poor boy became the richest man in the city. I honor him as an honest man." (FROM PROF. STUART, OF ANDOVER.) "ANDOVER, January 23, 1849. "MY DEAR SIR: Soon after my daughter's return from Boston, I received a garment exceedingly appropriate to the severe cold to which I am daily exposed in my rides. Many, many hearty thanks for your kindness! To me the article in question is of peculiar value. The cold can hardly penetrate beneath such a garment. God has blessed you with wealth; but he has given you a richer blessing still; that is, a heart overflowing with kindness to your fellow-beings, and a willingness to do good to all as you have opportunity. I accept, with warm emotions of gratitude and thankfulness, the kindness you have done to me. I would not exchange your gift for a large lump of the California gold. Be assured you have my fervent prayer and wishes, that you may at last receive a thousand-fold for all the kindness that you have shown to your fellow-men. You and I are near our final account. May I not hope that this will also be entering on our final reward? I do hope this; I must hope it. What else is there in life that can make us patiently and submissively and calmly endure its ills? God Almighty bless and sustain and guide and comfort you until death; and then may you pass through the dark valley without a fear, cheerfully looking to what lies beyond it! "I am, my dear sir, with sincere gratitude, your friend and obedient servant, MOSES STUART." To President Hopkins he writes, Jan. 3: "Your letters always bring light to our path, and joy to our hearts, in one way or another. The two last seemed to come at the very time to do both, in a way to impress our senses and feelings, as the clear heavens, and brilliant sky, and exhilarating atmosphere, of this charming cold day, do mine, in contrast with a beautiful bouquet of flowers on my table as a love-token from some of my young sleigh-riding friends, and which makes me feel a boy with these boys, and an old man with such wise ones as you. "In the scenes of the past year, much that will mark its character stands out in bold relief; and, if we of this country are true to our principles, the great brotherhood of man will be elevated; for there have been overturns and overturns which will act until He whose right it is shall reign. If we live up to our political professions, our Protestant religion will elevate the millions who will be brought under our levelling process. 'Level up,' but not down, was Judge Story's maxim of democratic levelling, as he began his political career. In the business of levelling up, the Lawrence Academy, I trust, may do something. The late notices of it have been somewhat various by the newspaper editors to whom the preceptor sent catalogues." * * * * * "_February 25._--Attended Brattle-street Church this morning, and heard a consolatory sermon; and, at the closing prayer, the giving of thanks to our Father in heaven, through Jesus Christ, who lived to serve us, and died to save us." On the 28th, he writes to his brother Abbott, who had had tendered to him, by General Taylor, the office of Secretary of the Navy: "DEAR BROTHER: I have heard since noon that you have the invitation of General Taylor to take a seat in his cabinet, and that you will proceed to Washington forthwith to answer for yourself. I am not less gratified by the offer than you can be; but I should feel deep anguish, if I thought you could be induced to accept it, even for a brief period. Your name and fame as a private citizen is a better inheritance for your children than any distinction you may attain from official station; and the influence you can exercise for your country and friends, as you are, is higher and better than any you can exercise as an official of the government." On March 3, he writes to his brother at Washington: "I awoke this morning very early, and, after a while, fixed my mind in prayer to God, that your duty may be clearly seen, and that you may perform it in the spirit of a true disciple." And again on March 5, after hearing that his brother had declined the proffered seat in the cabinet, he writes to him: "The morning papers confirm my convictions of what you would do; and I do most heartily rejoice, and say that I never felt as proud before." * * * * * "_April 11._--A subscription paper, with an introductory letter from ----, was handed me, on which were seven or eight names for a hundred dollars each, to aid the family of ----, lately deceased. Not having any acquaintance with him or family, I did not subscribe. Applications come in from all quarters, for all objects. The reputation of giving freely is a very bad reputation, so far as my personal comfort is concerned." April 21, he writes to a friend: "The matters of deepest interest in my last were ----, the religious movement, ----'s ill-health, and ----'s accident. All these matters are presenting a sunny show now. Our dead Unitarianism of ten or fifteen years ago is stirred up, and the deep feelings of sin, and salvation through the Beloved, are awakened, where there seemed to be nothing but indifference and coldness; my hope and belief are that great good will follow. In the matter of the enjoyment of life, you judge me rightly; few men have so many and rich blessings to be thankful for; and, while I am spared with sufficient understanding to comprehend these, I pray that I may have the honesty to use them in the way that the Master will approve. Of what use will it be to have my thoughts directed to the increase of my property, at the cost of my hopes of heaven? There, a Lazarus is better off than a score of Dives. Pray without ceasing, that I may be faithful." The following extract of a letter is taken from a work entitled "A Romance of the Sea-Serpent, or the Ichthyosaurus," and will show Mr. Lawrence's views respecting the much contested subject of which it treats: "BOSTON, April 26, 1849. "I have never had any doubt of the existence of the _Sea-Serpent_ since the morning he was seen off Nahant by Martial Prince, through his famous mast-head spy-glass. For, within the next two hours, I conversed with Mr. Samuel Cabot, and Mr. Daniel P. Parker, I think, and one or more persons beside, who had spent a part of that morning in witnessing his movements. In addition, Colonel Harris, the commander at Fort Independence, told me that the creature had been seen by a number of his soldiers while standing sentry in the early dawn, some time before this show at Nahant; and Colonel Harris believed it as firmly as though the creature were drawn up before us in State-street, where we then were. "I again say, I have never, from that day to this, had a doubt of the _Sea-Serpent's existence_. The revival of the stories will bring out many facts that will place the matter before our people in such a light as will make them _as much ashamed_ to doubt, as _they formerly_ were to believe in its existence. "Yours truly, AMOS LAWRENCE." To a friend he writes, July 18: "Brother A. has received the place of Minister to the Court of St. James; the most flattering testimony of his worth and character that is within the gift of the present administration, and the only office that I would not advise against his accepting." About this time, Mr. Lawrence read a small work, entitled "Life in Earnest," by the Rev. James Hamilton, D.D., Minister of the Scotch Church, Regent's Square, London. The sentiments of this little volume were so much akin to his own, and were withal so forcibly exemplified, that he commenced a correspondence with the author, which became a most interesting one, and continued until the close of his life. "BOSTON, July 18, 1849. "TO REV. J. HAMILTON, D.D. "SIR: The few lines on the other side of this sheet are addressed to me by our excellent governor, whose good word may be grateful to you, coming as it does from a Christian brother across the Atlantic. If it should ever happen to you to visit this country, I need not say how great would be my pleasure to see you. I am a minute-man, living by the day and by the ounce; but am compensated for all privations, by reading such tracts as 'Life in Earnest,' in such a way that few are allowed. I have cleared out the Sunday-school depository three times in the last four weeks, and have scattered the work broadcast, and intend to continue to do so if my health allows. Among those to whom I have given one is my younger brother, who is soon to be with you in England, as Minister to your Court. I recommend him to your prayers and your confidence. "With great respect for your character, I am yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." "_July 23._--We are to have Father Matthew here to-morrow: he is a lion, but I probably shall only see him at a distance. The influence he is said to have upon his Irish people may result in making many of them industrious citizens, who would, without him, be criminals, and a pest to honest people. The evil of such masses being thrown upon us we must bear, and study how to relieve ourselves in any practicable way. I see none but to educate the children, and circulate the Bible and good books among them, which shall encourage them to do the best they can for themselves. "The Christian banner may have many local influences and teachings; but its broad folds, I trust, will cover many true followers, however exact its worldly interpreters may be of what constitutes a true follower. I saw, in the _New York Observer_ (I think it was), a statement of a district in the South-west, where were forty-one Christian denominations, and no two of whose ministers could exchange pulpit labors. Do not these people need a Christian teacher?" "_August 3_.--Father Matthew is doing a good work here; and the result of his power is in his benevolent and sincere expression, and charming head and face. He has called to see me twice, and I intend to call and see him to-morrow. His ease and eloquence could not do for him what his heavenly expression does." CHAPTER XXX. CODICIL TO WILL.--ILLNESS.--GEN. WHITING.--LETTERS.--DIARY. In August, 1849, Mr. Lawrence reviewed his will and added to it the following codicil: "Through the mercy of God, my life has been prolonged to this time, and my mental and bodily powers continued to me to an extent that has enabled me to see to the application of those trusts that have been confided to me; and, should my stewardship end now or next year, and the 'Well done' of the Master be pronounced upon my labors, all things here will seem nothing, and less than nothing, in comparison. "In short, my life, cheerful and happy as it is made by the three blessings conferred upon man after his fall (wife, children, and friends), is in the keeping of a merciful Father, who, by thus continuing it, allows me a foretaste of that future home I hope for whenever he calls. "In reviewing my will, above written, executed on the 21st day of February, A. D. 1846, I see nothing to alter, and everything to confirm. And I do hereby declare it still my will, and this codicil is to be taken as a confirmation of it; and I do earnestly hope all in interest will see clearly the meaning of every clause, and carry out my meaning without any quibbling, question, or controversy. I have been my own executor, for many years, of the surplus property I have received, and intend to be while my powers of mind will allow it. Many near and dear friends to whom I looked for counsel and direction, at the time my will was executed, have been taken hence, which makes me more desirous of giving a renewed expression at this time." In this connection was the following note to his sons, found in his pocket-book after his decease: "DEAR W. AND A.: In my will, I have made no bequests as tokens of remembrance, and have endeavored to do for all (whom I am interested in out of my own family connections) what is needful and proper and best; yet I wish some expression of kindness to M. and F., if in the family when I am taken." * * * * Here follow donations to domestics who had been for many years in his family. About the 20th of September, Mr. Lawrence experienced a severe attack of cholera morbus, which was then a sort of epidemic in the community. Of this attack, he writes to President Hopkins as follows: "I hardly know how to address you, since I find myself once more spared to lay open my heart to you; for I do indeed feel all the force of the words, What shall I render unto God for all his unspeakable goodness? I have been upon the brink of Jordan, and, with my outstretched hand, seized hold of our merciful Father's hand, that was held out towards me, and was supported by his grasp as plainly as I could have been by your own hand. I was waiting, and praying to him to conduct me to the other side and permit me to join the company of loved ones _passed on_, and felt almost sure I should never see the sunlight of this world again, when, to my amazement, I found my pains subsiding, and that I had not finished the work he had assigned. When you were here, I gave you some little outline of my plan of work for ----. On the 18th of September, I completed that work, and felt stronger on that day than on any day for a month. Under the excitement of the scene and a sudden change of weather, I took cold, and had a terrible attack of cholera, which, by the immediate administration of remedies, was in a degree quieted. Thus my poor old worn-out machine was still kept from parting, as the sole of the shoe is sometimes kept on by freezing snow and water upon it." In the beginning of this volume, mention is made of the first clerk whom Mr. Lawrence employed after entering business in the year 1807. To that gentleman, now Brigadier-General Whiting, was addressed the following letter, which was the recommencement of a correspondence which had ceased for many years: "BOSTON, November, 1849. "MY DEAR GENERAL: I have been deeply interested in overlooking your volume of revolutionary orders of Washington, selected from your father's manuscripts, as it brought back scenes and memories of forty years and more ago, when I used to visit at your house in Lancaster, and to read those papers with a relish that might well be coveted by the youth of the present day. I thank you for this token of auld lang syne, and shall feel the more thankful if you will come and see me. I would certainly go to you, if I had the strength, and could do it safely; but shall never go so far from home, being at any moment liable to be called off. My earnest desire is to be 'in line,' and to be able to answer, promptly, 'here.' I hope to hear from you and your wife and wee things: all have a hold upon me, and you will give them an old man's love. I have taken the opportunity to send you some little reminiscences of old times. Butler's 'History of Groton' (which connects Lancaster in early days) is a model for its exact truthfulness: he was the preceptor of the academy until long after you entered the army. Then I have sent a catalogue of the school, from its beginning for fifty years or more; 'History of Lowell as it Was, and Lowell as it Is,' well written and true; 'Boston Notions,' put together by old Mr. Dearborn, the printer, whom you knew; and some other little matters, which will serve to freshen old things, as your 'Evolutionary Orders of Washington' have done with me. I have just looked into my first sales-book, and there see the entries made by you more than forty years ago. Ever since, you have been going up, from the cornet of dragoons to the present station. "Farewell. Your old friend, AMOS LAWRENCE. "GEN. HENRY WHITING, Fort Hamilton, N. Y." (TO ROBERT BARNWELL RHETT, ESQ., OF SOUTH CAROLINA.) "BOSTON, Dec. 12, 1849. "MY DEAR SIR: Your letter of November 30 reached me in due course, and gave me unfeigned pleasure in seeing my hopes confirmed, that the practical common sense of South Carolina was returning, and that the use of their head and hands was getting to be felt among the citizens, as necessary to their salvation as common brethren in the great family of States. Without the use of those trusts placed in their hands by our common Father, the State will not be worth the parchment on which to draw the deeds fifty years hence; and I most earnestly pray God to guide, guard, and save the State from their childishness in their fears that our northern agitators can harm them. I spent the winter of 1819 in Washington, and heard the whole of the debate upon admitting Alabama and Missouri into the Union. Alabama was admitted, Missouri rejected; and I made up my mind then that I would never interfere until requested by my brethren of the Slave-holding States; which resolution I have carried out from that day to this; and I still hold to it. But I would not have admitted Alabama then or Missouri on the terms they were admitted. We of the North have windy, frothy politicians, who hope to make capital out of their ultraism; but, in the aggregate, they soon find their level. Now, of the point to which I desire to come, I do earnestly desire your State to carry out your prophecy, that, in ten years, you will spin all your own crop of cotton; for we of Massachusetts will gladly surrender to you the manufacture of coarse fabrics, and turn our industry to making fine articles. In short, we could now, if you are ready, give up to you the coarse fabrics, and turn one half of our machinery into spinning and weaving cotton hose; and nothing will help us all so much as specific duties. The whole kingdom of Saxony is employed at this moment in making cotton hose for the United States from yarns purchased in England, and made of your cotton. How much better would it be for you and for us to save these treble profits and transport, by making up the cotton at home! Think of these matters, and look at them without the prejudice that prevails so extensively in your State. A few years ago, I asked our kinsman, Gen. ----, of your State, how the forty-bale theory was esteemed at that time. His answer was, 'We all thought it true when it was started, and it had its effect; but nobody is of that mind now.' Still, I believe, when an error gets strong hold of the popular mind, it is much more difficult to eradicate it than it is to supply the truth in its place. If I know myself, I would not mete to you any different measure from what I would ask of you; and I must say to you, that your State and people have placed themselves in a false position, which will be as apparent to them in a few years as the sun is at noonday. My own family and friends are in usual health; and no man this side heaven enjoys earth better than I do. I do pray you to come and see us. I hope to see your son at Cambridge this week. Most respectfully yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." * * * * * "BOSTON, December 11, 1849. "To Gen. HENRY WHITING, U. S. A., Fort Hamilton, N. Y. "MY EARLY FRIEND: Forty years and more ago, we used to talk over together the dismemberment of Poland and the scenes that followed, and to pour out together our feelings for those martyrs of liberty. At the present moment, my feelings are deeply moved by taking by the hand Colonel P. and Major F., just landed here, and driven from their country, martyrs to the same cause. I need only say to you that they are strangers among us, and any attentions from you will be grateful to them, and duly felt by your old friend, A. L." * * * * * "_December 24, 1849._--I have been daily employed, of late, in accompanying visitors to our public institutions; among these, Mr. Charles Carroll, of Maryland, to the Mather School and the Perkins Asylum for the Blind. The effect of kindness upon the character of children is more strikingly illustrated in the Mather School than in any other I know of. Three fifths of the pupils are children of foreigners,--English, Irish, Scotch, German, Swiss, and the like,--mostly very poor. Two fifths are American; and these foreign children, after a few months, are ambitious to look as well and do as well as the best. The little Irish creatures are as anxious to have their faces clean, their hair smooth, their clothes mended, and to learn to read, write, and explain their lessons, as the upper children. These upper children, to the number of about one hundred, belong to the Lawrence Association." "_December 25, Christmas afternoon._--The following beautiful little note, accompanied by a silver cup, almost unmanned me. Forty-three girls signed the note; two others engaged in it are sick; and one died, and was buried at Mount Auburn by her particular request,--making forty-six of these children, who, of their own motion, got up this token. Their note is dated to-day, and runs thus: "'RESPECTED SIR: The misses of the Lawrence Association, anxious to testify their gratitude for the kind interest which you have ever manifested towards them, would most respectfully request your acceptance of this small token of their gratitude.'" (Signed by forty-three girls.) "_26._--We had great times with the children last evening at Sister M.'s. It really seemed to me that the entertainment gave me as much pleasure as any child among them; beside which, I went to the house of my old friend Dr. Bowditch (where I used to visit twenty-five years ago on like occasions), for a few minutes, and there found seventeen of his grandchildren enjoying the fruits of the Christmas-tree in the best manner possible." CHAPTER XXXI. DIARY.--REFLECTIONS.--SICKNESS.--LETTER PROM REV. DR. SHARP.--CORRESPONDENCE. On the first of January, 1850, Mr. Lawrence, as usual, reviews, in his property-book, the state of his affairs during the preceding year, with an estimate of his expenditures. The entry for the present year is as follows: "The amount of my expenditures for all objects (taxes included) is about one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. I consider the money well spent, and pray God constantly that I may be watchful in the use of the blessings he bestows, so that at last he may admit me among the faithful that surround his throne." The above entry will give some idea of the fidelity with which his trusts had been fulfilled, so far as regarded his worldly possessions. Each year, as it rolled by, as well as each successive attack of illness, seemed only to stimulate him in his efforts to accomplish what he could while the day lasted. No anxious fears disturbed him as he looked forward to the near approach of "that night when no man can work." That night to him was but a prelude of rest from bodily weakness and suffering, and the forerunner of a brighter day, of which, even in this world, he was sometimes permitted to obtain a glimpse. He says: "My own health and strength seem renewed. That cholera attack has changed the whole man; and it is only now and then I am brought to a pause that quickens me in my work when again started. A week since, I ventured on two ounces of solid food for my dinner, differing from what I have taken for many years. Nine hours after, in my sleep, I fainted, and was brought to life by dear N. standing over me, giving ammonia, rubbing, and the like. Fasting the day following brought me back to the usual vigor and enjoyments. Do you not see in this the sentence, 'Do with thy might what thy hand findeth to do,' stereotyped in large letters before me. This it is that brings me to the work at this hour in the morning." * * * * * "_March 24._--Received a letter from Rev. Mr. Hallock, Secretary of the American Tract Society, saying that the Society will publish Dr. Hamilton's lecture on the literary attractions of the Bible, which I had sent them a few weeks since; and will supply me with two thousand copies, as I requested. "Received also, this morning, another tract of Dr. H. from sister K., in London; called the 'Happy Home,' which finished that series to the working people. After reading this number, I feel a strong desire to see the preceding nine numbers." (TO THE REV. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.) "BOSTON, March 24, 1850. "REV. AND DEAR SIR: I need not repeat to you how deeply interesting all your writings which I have seen have been to me; but you may not feel indifferent to the fact that the lecture you delivered four months ago, on the literary attractions of the Bible (which I received from my sister, Mrs. Abbott Lawrence, a few weeks since), is now in process of republication by the American Tract Society, agreeably to my request. I hope to assist in scattering it broadcast over our broad land; and thus you will be speaking from your own desk, with the speed of light, to an audience from Passamaquoddy to Oregon. Will you do me the favor to give me a copy of 'Happy Home,' from which I may teach my children and grandchildren. "Respectfully your friend, and brother in Christ, "AMOS LAWRENCE." (TO A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN (ORTHODOX CONGREGATIONAL).) "BOSTON, May 16, 1850. "REV. AND DEAR SIR: I make no apology in asking your acceptance of the above, as I am quite sure it cannot come amiss to a poor clergyman, situated as you are. I pray that you will feel, in using it, you cheer my labors, and make me more happy while I am able to enjoy life, in thus sending an occasional remembrancer to one for whom I have always felt the highest respect and esteem. Your friend, "AMOS LAWRENCE." The above letter contained a draft for one hundred dollars, of which Mr. Lawrence makes the following memorandum, dated on the 18th: "Mr. ---- acknowledges the above letter in very grateful terms, being what his pressing wants require." In a letter to President Hopkins, dated June 22, Mr. Lawrence says: "If I cannot visit you bodily, as I had vainly hoped to do, I can convince you that the life and hope of younger days are still in me. Your parting word touched me to the quick, and I cannot repeat or read it without a sympathetic tear filling my own eye. I am not able to stand up; but am cheered by the hope that, before many weeks, I may be able to stand alone. Our good friend Governor Briggs called to see me this week, and was quite horrified to see me trundled about on a hospital chair; however, after a good talk, he concluded that what was cut off from the lower works was added to the upper, and the account in my favor. It has always been so with me; the dark places have been made clear at the right time; so I am no object of pity." The lameness here mentioned was caused by a slight sprain of the ankle, but was followed by great prostration of the bodily strength, and a feeble state of all the functions, resulting in that vitiated state of the blood called by physicians "purpura." Violent hemorrhages from the nose succeeded; and these, with the intense heat of the weather, so reduced his strength, that the only hope of recovery seemed to be in removing him from the city to the bracing air of the sea-shore. Towards the end of July, he was accordingly removed upon a mattress to the house of his son, at Nahant; and, from the moment he came within the influence of the fresh sea-breeze, he began to recover his spirits and his strength. A day or two after reaching Nahant, he received from his friend, the Rev. Dr. Sharp, the following letter, which is so characteristic, and reminds one so forcibly of the calm and staid manner of that venerable man, that it is given entire: "BOSTON, July 30, 1850. "MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: It was with deep regret I learned, on Friday last, that you were quite unwell, and at Nahant. It was in my mind yesterday morning to visit you; nothing prevented me but an apprehension that it might be deemed inexpedient to admit any one to your sick room, except your own family. But, although I have not seen you in person since your last sickness, yet I have been with you in spirit. I have felt exceedingly sad at the probability of your earthly departure. Seldom as we have seen each other, your friendship has been precious to me; and, to say nothing of your dear family, your continuance in life is of great importance to that large family of humanity, the poor, who have so often participated in your bounty. Indeed, as we cannot well spare you, I rather cherish the hope that, in his good providence, God will continue you to us a little longer. But, whatever may be the issue of your present illness, I trust that you, with all your friends, will be enabled to say, 'The will of the Lord be done.' If he 'lives the longest who answers life's great end,' your life, compared with most, has not been short. Not that any of us have done more than our duty. Nay, we have all come short, and may say, with all modesty and truthfulness, we are unprofitable servants; although, in some respects, and to our fellow-beings, we may have been profitable. I trust, my dear friend, you are looking for the mercy of God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, unto eternal life. Death is not an eternal sleep; no, it is the gate to life. It opens up a blessed immortality to all who, in this world, have feared God and wrought righteousness. This world is a probationary state; if we have been faithful, in some humble degree, to our convictions of duty; if we have regretted our follies and sins; if we have sought to do the will of our heavenly Father, and sought forgiveness through the mediation of his Son,--God will receive us to his heavenly glory. I believe, in his own good time, he will receive you, my very dear friend; although my prayer is, with submission, that he will restore you to comfortable health, and allow you to remain with us a little longer. May God be with you, and bless you, in life, in death, and forevermore! With most respectful regard to Mrs. L., and sympathy with you in your afflictions, in which my dear wife joins, I am truly yours, DANIEL SHARP." From Little Nahant, Mr. Lawrence writes to a friend, under date of Aug. 16: "I have just arisen from bed, and am full of the matter to tell you how much good your letter has done. I came here as the last remedy for a sinking man; and, blessed be God, it promises me renewed life and enjoyment. What is it for, that I am thus saved in life, as by a miracle? Surely it must be in mercy, to finish out my work begun (in your college and other places), yet unfinished. Pray, give us what time you can when you visit Andover. If I continue to improve as I have done for ten days, I hope to return home next week; but may have some drawback that will alter the whole aspect of affairs. This beautiful Little Nahant seems to have been purchased, built up, and provided, by the good influence of our merciful Father in heaven upon the heart of ----, that he might save me from death, when it was made certain I could not hold out many days longer. Surely I am called on by angel voices to render praise to God." The five weeks' residence upon the sea-shore was greatly enjoyed by Mr. Lawrence. As the weather was generally fine, much of his time was passed in the open air, in watching the ever-varying sea-views, in reading, or in receiving the visits of his friends. Near the end of August, his health and strength had become so far restored as to warrant his return to the city, and, as his memoranda show, to increased efforts in the field of charity. CHAPTER XXXII. AMIN BEY.--AMOUNT OF DONATIONS TO WILLIAMS COLLEGE. In November, 1850, Amin Bey, Envoy from the Sultan of Turkey to the United States, visited Boston. Among other attentions, Mr. Lawrence accompanied him on a visit to the Female Orphan Asylum, then containing about one hundred inmates; and the pleasant intercourse was continued by a visit of the minister at Mr. Lawrence's house. The following note accompanied a number of volumes relating to Boston and its vicinity: (TO HIS EXCELLENCY AMIN BEY.) "MY BROTHER: The manifest pleasure you felt in visiting our Female Orphan Asylum yesterday has left a sunbeam on my path, that will illumine my journey to our Father's house. When we meet there, may the joy of that reünion you hope for with the loved ones in your own country be yours and mine, and all the good of all the world be our companions for all time! With the highest respect, believe me your friend, A. L." (TO PRESIDENT HOPKINS.) "BOSTON, November 11, 1850. "MY DEAR FRIEND: My brief letter of introduction by my young friend S., and your answer to it, which I mislaid or lost soon after it came, has made me feel a wish to write every day since the first week after I received yours. S. made me out better than I was when he saw me. I could walk across the rooms, get down and up stairs without much aid, and bear my weight on each foot; having strength in my ankle-bones that enabled me to enter the temple walking, not leaping, but praising God. If ever I am able to walk so far as around the Common, what gratitude to God should I feel to take your arm as my support! I am frequently admonished by faint turns that I am merely a 'minute-man,' liable to be called for at any moment. Only a few days since, I had a charming call from Amin Bey and suite, whom I received in my parlors below, where were some friends to meet him. All seemed interested, and Amin as much so as a Turk ever does. When he left us, I went with him to the door, saw him out and in his carriage, turned to open the inner entry-door, became faint just as M. was leaving the party, and leaned on her to get into the parlor. I was laid on the sofa, insensible for a short time, but, by labor, abstinence, and great care, for two or three days, have got upon my high horse again, and rode with N. to make calls upon the good people of Cambridge. After dinner, when I awoke, I tried to go about my work, but was called off again, and, from that time to this, have been up a little, and then down a little; thus asking me, with angels' voices, Why are you left here? The answer is plain: You have more work to do. Pray, my dear friend, for me to be faithful while my powers are left with me. The reports of and from your college make me feel that my labors in helping it to get on its legs have been repaid four-fold. I am its debtor, and will allow the money out of the next year's income to be used for a telescope, if you deem it best. I have made no further inquiry for the one in progress here, but will ask W. to look and see what progress is making. When I leave off writing, I shall ride to the office in Court-square, and deposit my Whig vote for Governor Briggs and the others. We are so mixed up here as hardly to know who are supporters of the regular ticket, and who not. This fugitive-slave business will keep our people excited till the law is blotted out. In some of our best circles the law is pronounced unconstitutional; and my belief is that Franklin Dexter's argument on that point will settle the question by starting it, our great men to the contrary notwithstanding." In the above letter Mr. Lawrence speaks of the gratification which he had derived from the results of his efforts in behalf of Williams College; and, as there may be no more fitting place to give an account of these efforts, the following record is here introduced, from the pen of President Hopkins. It is found in his sermon commemorative of the donor, delivered at the request of the students, on February 21, 1853. "In October, 1841, the building known as the East College was burned. Needy as the institution was before, this rendered necessary an application to the Legislature for funds; and, when this failed, to the public at large. Owing to a panic in the money market, this application was but slightly responded to, except in this town. In Boston the sum raised was less than two thousand dollars; and the largest sum given by any individual was one hundred dollars. This sum was given by Mr. Lawrence, who was applied to by a friend of the college; and this, it is believed, was the only application ever made to him on our behalf. This directed his attention to the wants of the college; but nothing more was heard from him till January, 1844. At that time, I was delivering a course of the Lowell Lectures, in Boston, when his son, Mr. Amos A. Lawrence, called and informed me that his father had five thousand dollars which he wished to place at the disposal of the college. As I was previously but slightly acquainted with Mr. Lawrence, and had had no conversation with him on the subject, this was to me an entire surprise; and, embarrassed as the institution then was by its debt for the new buildings, the relief and encouragement which it brought to my own mind, and to the minds of others, friends of the college, can hardly be expressed. Still, this did not wholly remove the debt. On hearing this casually mentioned, he said, if he had known how we were situated, he thought he should have given us more; and the following July, without another word on the subject, he sent me a check for five thousand dollars. This put the college out of debt, and added two or three thousand dollars to its available funds. In January, 1846, he wrote, saying he wished to see me; and, on meeting him, he said his object was to consult me about the disposition of ten thousand dollars, which he proposed to give the college. He wished to know how I thought it would do the most good. I replied, at once, By being placed at the disposal of the trustees, to be used at their discretion. He said, 'Very well;' and that was all that passed on that point. So I thought; and, knowing his simplicity of character, and singleness of purpose, I felt no embarrassment in making that reply. Here was a beautiful exemplification of the precept of the apostle, 'He that giveth, let him do it with simplicity.' Such a man had a right to have, for one of his mottoes, 'Deeds, not words.' This was just what was needed; but it gave us some breadth and enlargement, and was a beginning in what it had long been felt must, sooner or later, be undertaken,--the securing of an available fund suitable as a basis for such an institution. His next large gift was the library. This came from his asking me, as I was riding with him the following winter, if we wanted anything. Nothing occurred to me at the time, and I replied in the negative; but, the next day, I remembered that the trustees had voted to build a library, provided the treasurer should find it could be done for twenty-five hundred dollars. This I mentioned to him. He inquired what I supposed it would cost. I replied, 'Five thousand dollars.' He said, at once, 'I will give it.' With his approbation, the plan of a building was subsequently adopted that would cost seven thousand dollars; and he paid that sum. A year or two subsequently, he inquired of me the price of tuition here, saying he should like to connect Groton Academy with Williams College; and he paid two thousand dollars to establish four scholarships for any one who might come from that institution. His next gift was the telescope, which cost about fifteen hundred dollars. The history of this would involve some details which I have not now time to give. In 1851, accompanied by Mrs. Lawrence, he made a visit here. This was the first time either of them had seen the place. In walking over the grounds, he said they had great capabilities, but that we needed more land; and authorized the purchase of an adjoining piece of four acres. This purchase was made for one thousand dollars; and, if the college can have the means of laying it out, and adorning it suitably, it will, besides furnishing scope for exercise, be a fit addition of the charms of culture to great beauty of natural scenery. In addition to these gifts, he has, at different times, enriched the library with costly books, of the expense of which I know nothing. Almost everything we have in the form of art was given by him. In December, 1845, I received a letter from him, dated the 22d, or 'Forefathers' Day,' which enclosed one hundred dollars, to be used for the aid of needy students in those emergencies which often arise. This was entirely at his own suggestion; and nothing could have been more timely or appropriate in an institution like this, where so many young men are struggling to make their own way. Since that time, he has furnished me with at least one hundred dollars annually for that purpose; and he regarded the expenditure with much interest. Thus, in different ways, Mr. Lawrence had given to the college between thirty and forty thousand dollars; and he had expressed the purpose, if he should live, of aiding it still further. Understanding as he did the position and wants of this college, he sympathized fully with the trustees in their purpose to raise the sum of fifty thousand dollars, and, at the time of his death, was exerting a most warm-hearted and powerful influence for its accomplishment. In reference to this great effort, we feel that a strong helper is taken away. The aid which Mr. Lawrence thus gave to the college was great and indispensable; and probably no memorial of him will be more enduring than what he has done here. By this, being dead, he yet speaks, and will continue to speak in all coming time. From him will flow down enjoyment and instruction to those who shall walk these grounds, and look at the heavens through this telescope, and read the books gathered in this library, and hear instruction from teachers sustained, wholly or in part, by his bounty. Probably he could not have spent this money more usefully; and there is reason to believe that he could have spent it in no way to bring to himself more enjoyment. The prosperity of the college was a source of great gratification to him; and he said, more than once, that he had been many times repaid for what he had done here. That he should have thus done what he did unsolicited, and that he--and, I may add, his family--should have continued to find in it so much of satisfaction, is most grateful to my own feelings, and must be so to every friend of the college. In doing it, he seemed to place himself in the relation, not so much of a patron of the college, as of a sympathizer and helper in a great and good work." CHAPTER XXXIII. LETTERS.--DIARY. At the beginning of the year 1851, Mr. Lawrence writes to President Hopkins: "The closing of the old year was like our western horizon after sunset, bright and beautiful; the opening of the new, radiant with life, light, and hope, and crowned with such a costume of love as few old fathers, grandfathers, and uncles, can muster; in short, my old sleigh is the pet of the season, and rarely appears without being well filled, outside and inside. It is a teacher to the school-children, no less than to my grandchildren; for they all understand that, if they are well-behaved, they can ride with me when I make the signal; and I have a strong persuasion that this attention to them, with a present of a book and a kind word now and then, makes the little fellows think more of their conduct and behavior. At any rate, it does me good to hear them call out, 'How do you do, Mr. Lawrence?' as I am driving along the streets and by-ways of the city." * * * To an aged clergyman in the country, who was blind and in indigent circumstances, he writes: "Jan. 14. "Your letter of last week reached me on Saturday, and was indeed a sunbeam, which quickened me to do what I had intended for a 'happy new-year,' before receiving yours. I trust you will have received a parcel sent by railroad, on Monday, directed to you, and containing such things as I deemed to be useful in your family; and I shall be more than paid, if they add one tint to the 'purple light' you speak of, that opens upon your further hopes of visiting us the coming season. For many months I was unable to walk; but my feet and ankle-bones have now received strength. I feel that the prayers of friends have been answered by my renewed power to do more work. How, then, can I enjoy life better than by distributing the good things intrusted to me among those who are comforted by receiving them? So you need not feel, my friend, that you are any more obliged than I am. The enclosed bank-bills may serve to fit up the materials for use; at any rate, will not be out of place in your pocket. I trust to see you again in this world, which has to me so many interesting connecting links between the first and only time I have ever seen you (thirty-five or more years ago, in Dr. Huntington's pulpit, Old South Church) and the present." (FROM REV. JAMES HAMILTON, D.D.) "42 GOWER-STREET, LONDON, Feb. 15, 1851. "MY DEAR SIR: No letter which authorship has brought to me ever gave me such pleasure as I received from yours of July, 1849, enclosing one which Governor Briggs had written to you. That strangers so distinguished should take such interest in my writings, and should express yourselves so kindly towards myself, overwhelmed me with a pleasing surprise, and with thankfulness to God who had given me such favor. I confess, too, it helped to make me love more the country which has always been to me the dearest next to my own. In conjunction with some much-prized friendships which I have formed among your ministers, it would almost tempt me to cross the Atlantic. But I am so bad a sailor that I fear I must postpone personal intercourse with those American friends who do not come to England, until we reach the land where there is no more sea. However feebly expressed, please accept my heartfelt thanks for all the cost and trouble you have incurred in circulating my publications. It is pleasant to me to think that your motive in distributing them, in the first instance, could not be friendship for the author; and to both of us it will be the most welcome result, if they promote the cause of practical Christianity. Owing to weakness in the throat and chest, I cannot preach so much as many of my neighbors, and therefore I feel the more anxious that my tracts should do something for the honor of the Saviour and the welfare of mankind. You were kind enough to reprint my last lecture to young men. I could scarcely wish the same distinction bestowed on its successor, because it is a fragment. I have some thoughts of extending it into a short exposition of Ecclesiastes, which is a book well suited to the times, and but little understood. * * * "Yours, most truly, JAMES HAMILTON." [Illustration: ABBOTT LAWRENCE Print. by R. Andrews.] In reply to the above letter, Mr. Lawrence writes, April 8: "I will not attempt to express to you in words my pleasure in receiving your letter of Feb. 15, with its accompaniments. The lecture delivered to the young men on the 4th of February, although designated by you as a fragment, I sent to my friend, with a copy of your letter, asking him whether he would advise its publication, and whether he would scatter it with its predecessor; and, if so, I would pay the expense. His answer you have here, and I have the pleasure of saying that the 'Fragment' will be ready to circulate by thousands the present week; and, when you shall have added your further comments upon Solomon and his works, our American Tract Society will be ready to publish the whole by hundreds of thousands, I trust, thus enabling you to preach through our whole country. The Memoir of Lady Colquhon is a precious jewel, which I shall keep among my treasures to leave my descendants. I had previously purchased a number of copies of the American edition, and scattered them among my friends, so that there is great interest to see your copy sent me. The part of your letter which touched my heart most was that in which you speak of my brother Abbott, and say of him that 'no foreign minister is such a favorite with the British public.' It brought him before me like a daguerreotype likeness, through every period of his life for fifty years. First, as the guiding spirit of the boys of our neighborhood, in breaking through the deep snow-drifts which often blocked up the roads in winter; then as my apprentice in the city; and, in a few years, as the young military champion, to watch night and day, under arms, on the point of Bunker Hill nearest the ocean, the movements of a British fleet lying within four or five miles of him, and threatening the storming of Boston; then, soon after, as embarking in the very first ship for England, after the close of the war, to purchase goods, which were received here in eighty-three days after he sailed. Since that time, our firm has never been changed, except by adding '& Co.,' when other partners were admitted. He has been making his way to the people's respect and affection from that time to this, and now fills the only public station I would not have protested against his accepting, feeling that _place_ cannot impart _grace_. My prayers ascend continually for him, that he may do his work under the full impression that he must give an account to Him whose eye is constantly upon him, and whose 'Well done' will be infinitely better than all things else. I believe he is awakening an interest to learn more about this country; and the people will be amazed to see what opportunities are here enjoyed for happiness for the great mass. What we most fear is _that_ ignorance which will bring everything down to its own level, instead of that true knowledge, which shall level up the lowest places, now inundated with foreign emigrants. Our duty is plain; and, if we do not educate and elevate this class of our people they will change our system of government within fifty years. Virtue and intelligence are the basis of this government; and the duty of all good men is to keep it pure. * * * "And now, my friend, what can I say that will influence you to come here, and enjoy with me the beautiful scenes upon and around our Mount Zion? "With the highest respect and affection, I am most truly yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE. "P. S.--Mrs. L. desires me to present to you and your lady her most respectful regard, with the assurance that your writings are very precious to her. She is a granddaughter to a clergyman of your 'Kirk,' and enjoys much its best writings." To the same gentleman he writes soon after: "And now let me speak about the 'Royal Preacher.'[14] I expected much, but not so much as I found in it. We, on this side the Atlantic, thank you; and the pictures of some of our own great men are drawn to the life, although their history and character could not have been in your eye. Truth is the same now as in Solomon's time; and it is surprising that the mass of men do not see and acknowledge that 'the saint is greater than the sage, and discipleship to Jesus the pinnacle of human dignity.' I have had, this morning, two calls, from different sections of our Union, for your 'Life in Earnest,' 'Literary Attractions of the Bible,' 'Solomon,' 'Redeemed in Glory,' &c., which I responded to with hearty good-will. Some of the books will go out of the country many thousand miles, and will do good. I must shake hands with you across the Atlantic, if you can't 'screw up' your courage to come here, and bid you God-speed in all your broad plans for the good of your fellow-men. "I have a great respect for deep religious feelings, even when I cannot see as my friends do; and therefore pray God to clear away, in his good time, all that is now dark and veiled. "It is time for me to say farewell." [14] A tract by Dr. Hamilton. CHAPTER XXXIV. SIR T. F. BUXTON.--LETTER FROM LADY BUXTON.--ELLIOTT CRESSON.--LETTERS. After the death of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Mr. Lawrence had read what had been published respecting his life and character, and had formed an exalted opinion of his labors in behalf of the African race. A small volume had been issued, entitled "A Study for Young Men, or a Sketch of Sir T. F. Buxton," by Rev. T. Binney, of London. Mr. Lawrence had purchased and circulated large numbers of this work, which recorded the deeds of one upon whom he considered the mantle of Wilberforce to have fallen; and, through a mutual friend, he had been made known to Lady Buxton, who writes to him as follows: "Very, very grateful am I for your love for him, and, through him, to me and my children. I desire that you may be enriched by all spiritual blessings; and that, through languor and illness and infirmity, the Lord may bless and prosper you and the work of your hands. I beg your acceptance of the third edition, in the large octavo, of the memoir of Sir Fowell." Those who have read the memoir referred to will remember the writer, before her marriage, as Miss Hannah Gurney, a member of that distinguished family of Friends of which Mrs. Fry was the elder sister. During the remaining short period of Mr. Lawrence's life, a pleasant correspondence was kept up, from which a few extracts will hereafter be given. To Elliott Cresson, of Philadelphia, the enthusiastic and veteran champion of the colonization cause, Mr. Lawrence writes, June 12, 1851: "MY DEAR OLD FRIEND CRESSON: I have just re-read your kind letter of June 2, and have been feasting upon the treasure you sent me in the interesting volume entitled 'Africa Redeemed.' I will set your heart at rest at once by assuring you that I feel just as you do towards that land. Do you remember visiting me, a dozen or more years ago, to get me to lead off with a thousand-dollar subscription for colonization, and my refusing by assuring you that I would not interfere with the burden of slavery, then pressing on our own Slave States, until requested by them? * * * * Liberia, in the mean time, has gone on, and now promises to be to the black man what New England has been to the Pilgrims, and Pennsylvania to the Friends. I say, with all my heart, to Gov. Roberts and his associates, God speed you, and carry onward and upward the glorious work of redeeming Africa! I had a charming message from a young missionary in Africa a few days since,--the Rev. Mr. Hoffman, of the Episcopal Mission; and you will be glad to hear that the good work of education for Liberia progresses surely and steadily here. My son A. is one of the trustees and directors (Prof. Greenleaf is president), and has given a thousand dollars from 'a young merchant;' and I bid him give another thousand from 'an old merchant,' which he will do as soon as he returns from our old home with his family. Now I say to you, my friend, I can sympathize and work with you while I am spared. God be praised! we are greatly favored in many things. No period of my life has been more joyous. "With constant affection, I am yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." Among other memoranda of the present month is found a cancelled note of five hundred dollars, which had been given by a clergyman in another State to a corporation, which, by reason of various misfortunes, he had not been able to pay. Mr. Lawrence had heard of the circumstance, and, without the knowledge of the clergyman, had sent the required sum to the treasurer of the corporation, with directions to cancel the obligation. (TO LADY BUXTON.) "BOSTON, July 8, 1851. "DEAR LADY BUXTON: Your letter, and the beautiful copy of the memoir of your revered and world-wide honored husband, reached me on the 26th of June. I have read and re-read your heart-touching note with an interest you can understand better than I can describe. I can say that I thank you, and leave you to imagine the rest. Sir Fowell was born the same year, and in the same month, that I was; and his character and his labors I have been well acquainted with since he came into public life; and no man of his time stood higher in my confidence and respect. Although I have never been in public life, I have been much interested in public men; and have sometimes had my confidence abused, but have generally given it to men who said what they meant, and did what they said. I feel no respect for the demagogue, however successful he may be; but am able to say, with the dear and honored friend whose mantle fell upon Sir Fowell, 'What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!' I feel pity for the man who sacrifices his hopes of heaven for such vain objects as end in the mere gaze of this world. The 'Study for Young Men,' republished here a short time since, is doing such work among us as must cheer the spirit of your husband in his heavenly home. "I enclose you a note from Laura Bridgman, a deaf, dumb, and blind girl, who has been educated at our asylum for the last twelve years or more (now about twenty-two years old), which may interest you from the fact of her extraordinary situation. "With great respect, I remain most truly yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." (TO A LADY IN PHILADELPHIA.) "DEAR L.: Your call on me to 'pay up' makes me feel that I had forgotten, and therefore neglected, my promise. I begin without preface. When a child, and all the way up to fifty years of age, the incidents of revolutionary history were so often talked over by the old soldiers who made our house their rendezvous whenever they came near it, that I feel as if I had been an actor in the scenes described. Among these, the Battle of Bunker Hill was more strongly impressed upon my mind than any other event. My father, then twenty-one years old, was in Captain Farwell's company, a subaltern, full of the right spirit, as you may know, having some sparks left when you used to ride on his sled and in his wagon, and eat his 'rattle apples,' which were coveted by all the children. He was in the breastwork; and his captain was shot through the body just before or just after Pitcairn was shot. My father did not know Major Pitcairn personally, but understood it was he who mounted the breastwork, calling to his soldiers to follow, when he pitched into the slight trench outside, riddled and dead, as my father always thought as long as he lived. But it turned out otherwise. He was brought from the field, and lodged in a house in Prince-street, now standing (the third from Charlestown Bridge); and the intelligence was immediately communicated to the Governor, then in the Royal House, now called the Province House. He sent Dr. Kast and an officer, accompanied by young Bowdoin as an amateur, to see to the major, and report. On entering the chamber, the doctor wished to examine the wound; but Pitcairn declined allowing him, saying it was of no use, as he should soon die. When pressed by the argument that his excellency desired it, he allowed Dr. Kast to open his vest, and the blood, which had been stanched, spirted out upon the floor; so that the room carried the mark, and was called 'Pitcairn's Chamber' until long after the peace. The doctor returned immediately to the Governor to report; and, before he could get back, life had fled. He was laid out in his regimentals, and was deposited in the vault of St. George's Church, now the Stone Chapel, and there remained until 1788, when Dr. Winship, of Roxbury, then on a visit to London, had occasion to call on Dr. C. Letsom, and informed him that he had in his possession the key of the vault; that he had examined the body, which was in so good a state of preservation, that he recognized the features; and that he had counted at least thirty marks of musket-balls in various parts of the body. An arrangement was made, through Dr. Winship, for the removal of the body to England. Dr. William Pitcairn built a vault in the Burying-ground of St. Bartholomew, near the hospital, for its reception. Capt. James Scott, the commander of a trading vessel between Boston and London at that period, undertook the service of removal, although he foresaw difficulty in undertaking the business, on account of the strong prejudice of sailors to having a corpse on board. With a view to concealment, the coffin was enclosed in a square deal case, containing the church-organ, which was to be sent to England for repairs. This case, with 'Organ' inscribed upon it, was placed, as it was said, for better security, in a part of the ship near the sailors' berths, and in that situation was used occasionally during the passage for their seat or table. On arrival of the ship in the river, an order was obtained for the landing of the case; and, as it was necessary to describe its contents, the order expressed permission to land a corpse. This revealed the stratagem of Capt. Scott, and raised such a feeling among the sailors as to show that they would not have been quiet had they known the truth respecting their fellow-lodger. Major Pitcairn was the only British officer particularly regarded by our citizens, as ready to listen to their complaints, and, as far as in his power, to relieve them, when not impeded by his military duties. Our excellent old friend B. will be interested in the 'Stone Chapel' part of this story, and probably can add particulars that I may have omitted. "Your affectionate AMOS LAWRENCE." CHAPTER XXXV. LETTERS--REV. DR. SCORESBY.--WABASH COLLEGE. After receiving a note from a relative of Lady Colebrooke, announcing her death, at Dunscombe, in the island of Barbadoes, Mr. Lawrence wrote the following note of sympathy to her husband, Sir William Colebrooke, then Governor of that island. She will be remembered as the lady who had formerly visited Boston, and who was alluded to in one of his letters, as a niece of Major André: "DEAR SIR WILLIAM: I lose no time in expressing to you the feelings of my heart, on reading the brief notice of the last hours of dear Lady Colebrooke. All my recollections and associations of her are of the most interesting character; and for yourself I feel more than a common regard. We may never meet again in this world; but it matters little, if, when we are called off, we are found 'in line,' and ready to receive the cheering 'Well done' when we reach that better world we hope for. I trust that you, and all your dear ones, have been in the hollow of our Father's hand, through the shadings of his face from you; and that, in his own good time, all will be cleared away. "Faithfully and respectfully yours, AMOS LAWRENCE. "BOSTON, Aug. 8, 1851." (TO THE HON. CHARLES B. HADDOCK, MINISTER OF THE UNITED STATES TO PORTUGAL.) "BOSTON, Aug. 19, 1851. "DEAR AND KIND-HEARTED FRIEND: Your letters to me before leaving the country, and after reaching England, awakened many tender remembrances of times past, and agreeable hopes of times to come. In that, I felt as though I had you by the hand, with that encouraging 'Go forward' in the fear of God, and confidence in his fatherly care and guidance. I know your views have always put this trust at the head of practical duties, and that you will go forward in your present duties, and do better service to the country than any man who could be sent. Portugal is a sealed book, in a great degree, to us. Who so able to unlock and lay open its history as yourself? Now, then, what leisure you have may be most profitably applied to the spreading out the treasures before us; and, my word for it, your reputation as a writer and a thinker will make whatever you may publish of this sort desirable to be read by the great mass of our reading population. * * * * * "I hold that God has given us our highest enjoyments, in every period, from childhood to old age, in the exercise of our talents and our feelings with reference to his presence and oversight; and that, at any moment, he may call us off, and that we may thus be left to be among the children of light or of darkness, according to his word and our preparation. These enjoyments of childhood, of middle age, of mature life, and of old age, are all greatly increased by a constant reference to the source from whence they come; and the danger of great success in life is more to be feared, in our closing account, than anything else. A brief space will find us in the earth, and of no further consequence than as we shall have marked for good the generation of men growing up to take our places. The title of an honest man, who feared God, is worth more than all the honors and distinction of the world. Pray, let me hear from you, and the dear lady, whom I hope to escort once more over the sides of our Mount Zion, and introduce to some of my children and grandchildren settled upon the borders; and, if any stranger coming this way from you will accept such facilities as I can give to our institutions, I shall gladly render them. It is now many years since I have sat at table with my family, and I am now better than I have been at any time during that period; in short, I am light-hearted as a child, and enjoy the children's society with all the zest of early days. I must say, 'God speed you, my friend,' and have you constantly in the hollow of his hand! In all kind remembrances, Mrs. L. joins me, to your lady and yourself. "Faithfully and respectfully your friend, "AMOS LAWRENCE." On the same day that the preceding letter was penned, Mr. Lawrence, in acknowledgment of some work sent to him by the Rev. Dr. Scoresby, of Bradford, England, wrote the following letter. That gentleman had visited this country twice, and had made many friends in Boston. Once an Arctic traveller, and a man of great scientific acquirement, he has now become an eminent and active clergyman in the Church of England, and has devoted all his energies to the task of elevating the lower orders of the population where his field of labor has been cast. "BOSTON, Aug. 19, 1851. "MY DEAR FRIEND: Your letter from Torquay, of ninth July, reached me on the sixth of this month. It brought to memory our agreeable intercourse of former years, and cheered me with the hope that I might again see you in this world, and again shake your hand in that cordial, social way that goes direct to the heart. I had been much interested in the account brought by ----, and in your kind messages by him. Your memorials of your father interest me exceedingly, and I thank you most sincerely for the volume and the sermon you sent. This sermon I sent to a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, who became such after hearing you preach in Liverpool. Professor ----, of ---- College, is a most talented, efficient, and popular teacher; and his present position he has attained by his industry and his merit. He was a poor youth, in Liverpool, who followed you in your preaching; came here, and went as an apprentice to a mechanical business; was noticed as a bright fellow; was educated by persons assisting him, and graduated at ---- College. He became a tutor, and is now a professor, and is an honor to the college and his nation. We are all at work in New England, and now feel a twinge from too fast driving in some branches of business; but, in the aggregate, our country is rapidly advancing in wealth, power, and strength, notwithstanding the discontent of our Southern brethren. We have allowed the 'black spot' to be too far spread over our land; it should have been restrained more than thirty years ago, and then our old Slave States would have had no just cause of complaint. I am called off, and must bid you farewell, with kind regards of Mrs. L., and my own most faithful and affectionate remembrance. AMOS LAWRENCE. "REV. WILLIAM SCORESBY, D.D., Torquay, Devonshire, Eng." (TO PRESIDENT HOPKINS.) "BOSTON, Nov. 15, 1851. "MY DEAR FRIEND: This is a rainy day, which keeps me housed; and, to improve it in 'pursuit,' I have a bundle made up, of the size of a small 'haycock,' and directed to you by railroad, with a few lines enclosed for the amusement of the children. I have told A. and L. that they couldn't jump over it; but H. could, by having a clear course of two rods. Louis Dwight has spent a half-hour with me this morning, exhibiting and explaining his plan for the new Lunatic Asylum of the State, which I think is the best model I have ever seen, and is a decided improvement on all our old ones. The committee, of which Governor Briggs is chairman, will give it a careful consideration and comparison with Dr. Bell's, and perhaps Dr. Butler's and others; and, with such an amount of talent and experience, the new asylum will be the best, I trust, that there is on this side of the Atlantic. Louis Dwight is in fine spirits, and in full employ in his peculiar line. The new institution in New York for vagrant children will very likely be built on his plan. He is really doing his work most successfully, in classing and separating these young sinners, so that they may be reclaimed, and trained to become useful citizens; in that light, he is a public benefactor. * * * "Faithfully and affectionately yours, "AMOS LAWRENCE." In a letter to a friend, written on Sunday, and within a few days of the preceding, Mr. Lawrence says, after describing one of his severe attacks: "I am not doing wrong, I think, in consecrating a part of the day to you, being kept within doors by one of those kindly admonitions which speaks through the body, and tells me that my home here is no shelter from the storm. I had been unusually well for some weeks past, and it seemed to me that my days passed with a rapidity and joyousness that nothing short of the intercourse with the loved ones around me could have caused. What can be more emphatic, until my final summons? If my work is done, and well done, I should not dread the summons; pray that it may be, and that we may meet again after a brief separation. I am hoping to be safely housed by and by where cold and heat, splendid furniture, luxurious living, and handsome houses, and attendants, will all be thought of as they really merit." Mr. Lawrence had, for a considerable time, been interested in the Wabash College, at Crawfordsville, Indiana; and, on the 24th of November, announced to the Trustees a donation from Mrs. L. of twelve hundred dollars, to found four free scholarships for the use of the academy at Groton. He adds: "I would recommend that candidates for the scholarships who abstain from the use of intoxicating drinks and tobacco always have a preference. This is not to be taken as a prohibition, but only as a condition to give a preference." Mr. Lawrence speaks of his interest in Wabash College, growing out of his affection and respect for its President, the Rev. Charles White, D.D., who went from New England, and with whom he had become acquainted during a visit which that gentleman had made to his native State. Eight days after this donation to Wabash College, Mr. Lawrence enclosed to Rev. Dr. Pond, of the Theological School at Bangor, Maine, the sum of five hundred dollars; which he says, with other sums already subscribed by others for new professorships, would "prove a great blessing to all who resort to the institution through all time." CHAPTER XXXVI. DIARY.--AMOUNT OF CHARITIES.--LETTERS.--THOMAS TARBELL.--UNCLE TOBY.--REV. DR. LOWELL. "_January 1, 1852._--The value of my property is somewhat more than it was a year ago, and I pray God that I may be faithful in its use. My life seems now more likely to be spared for a longer season than for many years past; and I never enjoyed myself more highly. Praise the Lord, O my soul! "P. S.--The outgoes for all objects since January 1, 1842 (ten years), have been six hundred and four thousand dollars more than five sixths of which have been applied in making other people happy; and it is no trouble to find objects for all I have to spare." This sum, in addition to the subscriptions and donations for the year 1852, makes the amount of his expenditures for charitable purposes, during the last eleven years of his life, to be about five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. From 1829 to 1842, the sum expended for like appropriations was, according to his memoranda, one hundred and fourteen thousand dollars; making, for the last twenty-three years of his life the sum of six hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars expended in charity. Taking the amount of his property at various times, as noted by himself, from the year 1807 to 1829, a period of twenty-two years, with his known liberality and habits of systematic charity, it would be safe to assert that during his life he expended seven hundred thousand dollars for the benefit of his fellow-men. Many persons have done more; but few perhaps have done as much in proportion to the means which they had to bestow. In a letter to President Hopkins, dated March 31, Mr. Lawrence writes: "I am interested in everything you write about in your last letter; but among the items of deepest interest is the fact of the religious feeling manifested by the young men; and I pray God it may take deep root, and grow, and become the controlling power in forming their character for immortality. I trust they will count the cost, and act consistently. May God speed them in this holy work!" A few days later, he writes on the same subject: "And now let us turn to matters of more importance; the awakening of the young men of your college to their highest interest,--the salvation of their souls. I have been moved to tears in reading the simple statement of the case, and I pray God to perfect the good work thus begun. I have much to think of to-day, this being my sixty-sixth birth-day. The question comes home to me, What I am rendering to the Lord for all his benefits; and the answer of conscience is, Imperfect service. If accepted, it will be through mercy; and, with this feeling of hope, I keep about, endeavoring to scatter good seed as I go forth in my daily ministrations." The following correspondence was not received in time to be placed in the order of its date, but is now given as an illustration of Mr. Lawrence's views on some important points, and also as an instance of his self-control. In the autumn of 1847, he became acquainted with the Rev. Dr. ----, a Scotch Presbyterian clergyman, then on a visit to some friends in Boston. During a drive in the environs, with this gentleman and the Rev. Dr. Blagden, Mr. Lawrence made a remark of a practical nature upon some religious topic, which did not coincide with the views of his Scotch friend; and a debate ensued, which was characterized by somewhat more of warmth than was warranted by the nature of the subject. Mutual explanations and apologies followed, and the correspondence, which was continued after the return of Dr. ---- to Scotland, shows that the discussion on the occasion referred to had caused no diminution of their mutual regard or good-will. The Rev. Dr. Blagden, in a note to the editor, dated Boston, April 18, 1855, writes as follows: "As the result of our incidental conversation on Monday last, let me say, that the facts of which we spoke occurred during a drive which the Rev. Dr. ----, of Scotland, and I were enjoying with your father, in his carriage, at his kind invitation, in October, 1847. "Without being able to recall the precise connection in which the remarks were made, I only now remember that Mr. Lawrence was led to speak with some degree of warmth, but with entire kindness, on the great error of relying on any idea of justification before God by faith, without corresponding works; so that, to one not familiar with the religious events in the history of this community, which, by operating on Mr. Lawrence's habits of thought, might well lead him to be jealous of any view of faith which did not directly express the necessity of good works, his remarks might very readily have seemed like a direct attack on that great truth of justification by faith, which Luther affirmed to be, as it was held or rejected, the test of a falling or rising church. "Immediately, that which the late Edward Irving, in one of his sermons, under the name of 'Orations,' calls the 'ingenium perfervidum Scotorum,' burst from the Rev. Dr. ----, with something of that zeal for the doctrines of Knox and Calvin for which I understand he has been somewhat remarkable in his own country. He vehemently declared his abhorrence of any such denial of the first and fundamental truth of the Gospel, evidently taking it somewhat in the light of an insult to us as the preachers of that truth. He ended by saying, with much force and warmth, that the apostle Paul sometimes condensed the whole of the Gospel into a single phrase; and one of these phrases, as expressed in the Epistle to the Philippians, he commended to the notice of Mr. Lawrence, namely, 'We are the circumcision which worship God in the spirit; and rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no confidence in the flesh.' "Mr. Lawrence met this strong, and apparently indignant and truly honest expression of feeling, with entire courtesy and self-command, but with evident and deep emotion; and, repressing all expression of displeasure, he gradually led the conversation to less unwelcome subjects, so that our ride ended pleasantly, though the embarrassment created by this event continued, in a lessening degree, to its close. "It will probably add to the interest of the whole transaction, in your own mind, if I state, not only what you seemed aware of on Monday, that your father sent me, a day or two after, 'Barr's Help' (I believe is the name of the volume), with a very kind and polite note, alluding to what had passed, and a paper containing some development of his own religious belief; but Rev. Dr. ----, also, soon after, in alluding to the circumstances in a note to me, on another subject, and which is now before me, wrote: "'I regret the warmth with which I did so. Alas! it is my infirmity; but it was only a momentary flash, for I was enabled, through a silent act of prayer, to get my mind purged of all heat, before I ventured to resume the conversation on the vital topic which our good and kind friend himself was led to introduce.' "I suspect this will reach you at an hour too late entirely for the use which you thought might possibly be made of it. It may, however, have some little interest, as a further development of the excellent character of your father; and it refers to a scene of which I have never been in the habit of speaking to others, but which I shall always remember with great interest, as one among many pleasing and profitable recollections of him." The following extracts are taken from the paper referred to in the preceding communication: "BOSTON, November 4, 1847. "To Rev. G. W. BLAGDEN, D.D. "REV. AND DEAR SIR: Our interesting ride last Thursday has peculiar claims upon me as a teacher and a preacher for a better world. To one who knows me well, my unceremonious manner to our friend would not seem so strange; but it was none the less unkind in me to treat him thus. "My first impressions are generally the right ones, and govern the actions of daily and hourly experience here; and these impressions were entirely favorable to our friend; and my treatment, up to the moment that you 'poured your oil upon the waters,' had been such as I am now well pleased with. But the conversation then commenced; and the lecture, illustrations, arguments, and consequences, were all stereotyped in my mind, having been placed there twenty-seven years ago by a learned and pious Scotchman, whose character came back to my memory like a flash of light. It is enough to say that a multitude of matters wholly adverse to my first impressions left me no command of my courtesies; and I stopped the conversation. * * * "I believe that our Saviour came among men to do them good, and, having performed his mission, has returned to his Father and to our Father, to his God and our God; and if, by any means, he will receive me as a poor and needy sinner with the 'Well done' into the society of those whom he shall have accepted, I care not what sort of _ism_ I am ranked under here. "There is much, I think, that may be safely laid aside among Christians who are honest, earnest, and self-denying. Again I say, I have no hope in _isms_, but have strong hope in the cross of Christ. "The little book[15] I send is a fuller exposition of the Kirk's doctrine than our friend's. I have reviewed it, and see no reason to alter a prayer or an expression. Return it at your leisure, with the two notes of our friend to me since our drive. Soon after I left you, I came home, sat down at my table to write a note as an apology to him for my rudeness in stopping his discourse, fainted, went to bed; next day, ate three ounces of crusts, rode out, and went to bed sick with a cold in my face. For the following forty-eight hours, I did not take an ounce of food; the slightest amount of liquid sustained me; and yesterday was the first day of my being a man. To-day, I called to see and apologize to you." * * * * * [15] "Help to Professing Christians. By Rev. John Barr. Published by Perkins and Marvin. Boston, 1831." (TO A FRIEND IN SOUTH CAROLINA.) "BOSTON, June 12, 1852. "MY DEAR FRIEND: The announcement of the death of your beloved wife, and the queries and suggestions you made, touched me in a tender place. You and your dear wife are separated, it is true; but she is in the upper room, you in the lower. She is with Jesus, where, with his disciples, he keeps the feast; and, not long hence, he will say to you, 'Come up hither.' Your spirit and hers meet daily at the same throne,--hers to praise, yours to pray; and, when you next join her in person, it will be to part no more. Is not the prospect such as to gild the way with all those charms, which, in our childhood, used to make our hours pass too slowly? * * * * * "My connection with the people of your State, growing out of my marriage, has brought me into personal intercourse, for more than thirty years past, with a great family connection, embracing in its circle many of your distinguished characters. All the M. family, of whom your present Governor is one, came from the same stock; and the various ramifications of that family at the South include, I suppose, a great many thousand souls. I, therefore take a lively interest in everything interesting to your people. We have hot heads, and so have you; but I think your people misjudge, when they think of setting up an independent government. The peculiar institution which is so dear to them will never be interfered with by sober, honest men; but will never be allowed to be carried where it is not now, under the Federal government. Politicians, like horse-jockeys, strive to cover up wind-broken constitutions, as though in full health; but hard driving reveals the defect, and, within thirty years, the old Slave States will feel compelled to send their chattels away to save themselves from bankruptcy and starvation. I have never countenanced these abolition movements at the North; and have lately lent a hand to the cause of Colonization, which is destined to make a greater change in the condition of the blacks than any event since the Christian era. * * * "You need no new assurance of my interest in, and respect for, yourself, and the loved ones around you. I enjoy life as few old men do, I believe; for my family seem to live around and for me. My nephew by marriage, Franklin Pierce, seems to be a prominent candidate for the 'White House' for the next four years. He is the soul of honor, and an old-fashioned Democrat, born and bred, and to be depended on as such; but, as I am an old-fashioned George Washington, John Jay Federalist, from my earliest days, and hope to continue to be, I shall prefer one of this stamp to him. * * * "With a heart overflowing, I hardly know where to stop. We shall meet in the presence of the Saviour, if we hold fast to the hem of his garment; and I hope may be of the number of those whose sins are forgiven. "Ever yours, AMOS LAWRENCE." During the summer, a small volume appeared, entitled "Uncle Toby's Stories on Tobacco." Mr. Lawrence read it; and the views there inculcated so nearly coincided with his own, so often expressed during his whole life, that he caused two editions, of some thousands of copies, to be published and circulated, principally by the boys of the Mather School. On this subject, he writes to President Hopkins, under date of Aug. 5: "My two last scraps told their own stories to the children, and to-day you will receive a package by express that may require explanation. Uncle Toby has hit the nail on the head in telling his tobacco stories to American lads; and I think your students will do good service in carrying them among their friends wherever they are, to show them how much better it is to prevent an evil than to remedy it; and, taking school-boys as they are, these stories will do more good than any that have been published. I met the author yesterday accidentally at the American Sabbath School Union Depository, where I had just paid for the fifty copies sent to you, and he was very earnest to have me write a few lines for him to publish in his book; but I referred him to the three hundred boys of the Mather School, who are full of the matter to help other school-boys to do as they are doing. However, I may say to him, that, as a school-boy, I was anxious to be _manly_, like the larger boys; and, by the advice of one, I took a quid, and kept it till I was very sick, but did not tell my parents what the matter was; and, from that time to this, have never chewed, smoked, or snuffed. To this abstinence from its use (and from spirit) I owe, under God, my present position in society. Further, I have always given the preference to such persons as I have employed, for more than forty years past, who have avoided rum and tobacco; and my experience has been such as to confirm me that it is true wisdom to have done so. The evil is growing in a fearfully rapid ratio among us; and requires the steady course of respected and honored men to prevent its spread, by influencing the school-children of our land against becoming its slaves. You will please use the fifty copies in the way you think best. If my life is spared, the Mather School boys will be allowed to tell their own experience to the boys of all the other public schools in this city and neighborhood. In short, I look to these boys influencing three millions of boys within the next thirty or forty years. Is not this work worth looking after?" The following well-merited tribute to the character of a respected citizen, who devoted his life to the promotion of every good object, is extracted from a note written by Mr. Lawrence to the Hon. Benjamin Seaver, then Mayor of the city, and dated Aug. 23: "MY FRIEND SEAVER: I have desired, for some weeks past, to inquire of you some further particulars of the disposition our friend Tarbell[16] made of his property. You mentioned that something would be paid over to A. & A. Lawrence, and something to the Old Ladies' Home, which institution he helped forward by his labors and his influence, in an important stage of its existence; and he was called off just as he was beginning to enjoy the fruits of his labor, in making a multitude of old ladies happy in thus supplying them a home for the remainder of their days on earth. Our friend has passed on; but I doubt not that his labors have prepared him to enter that world where there is no weariness or want, and all sufferings are at an end. I have journeyed side by side, for more than three-score years, with our friend; and can say, with truth, that I never knew him guilty of a dishonest or dishonorable act, and that his life was a practical exponent of his Christian principles. I pray to our Father to make me more faithful in doing the work our friend had so much at heart, while I can do it. My share of the money,[17] coming from his estate, I shall wish paid over to the Old Ladies' Home, and I doubt not brother A. will wish the same done with his share. This appropriation will increase our friend's happiness, even in his heavenly home; for the voice from Heaven proclaims, 'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; that they may rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.'" [16] The late Thomas Tarbell, originally from Groton, Mass. [17] This was a debt contracted by Mr. T., in 1826, amounting, at that time, to about fifteen hundred dollars, when he failed in business. The amount of the debt was soon after transferred to the "Old Ladies' Home." The editor feels some delicacy in inserting the following, from a gentleman still living, and in our own vicinity; but the tribute to Mr. Lawrence, coming, as it does, from a divine so distinguished in all those qualities which adorn his own profession, as well as for every Christian virtue, is too flattering to be omitted: "ELMWOOD, Sept. 3. "MY DEAR FRIEND: I take such paper as happens to be near me, in my sick chamber, to thank you for the books and pamphlets, which I have read as much as my dim sight and weak nerves will allow me at present to read. I wish, when you write to your friend Dr. Hamilton, you would thank him for me for his eloquent and evangelical appeals for Christian truth and duty. Tell him I am a Congregational Minister of Boston, but no sectarian; that I was matriculated at the University of Edinburgh, fifty years ago, and studied divinity there under Drs. Hunter, Micklejohn, Moodie, &c., and moral philosophy, under Dugald Stewart;--that my particular friends were David Dickson, since Minister of St. Cuthbert's, Edinburgh; David Wilkie, since Minister of Old Gray Friar's Church, Edinburgh; Patrick McFarlane, since Minister in Glasgow and Greenock; Thomas Brown, since Professor of Moral Philosophy at Edinburgh; David Brewster, since Sir David, &c.: most of whom he probably knows. Tell him I should be glad of his correspondence, as I have that of his friend, Principal Lee, of the University of Edinburgh; and that we should be glad to see him in Boston. I was happy to see your name appended to a petition on the subject of the liquor law, though I always expect to find it among the advocates of every benevolent enterprise within your reach. Your visit did me much good. I have much valued your friendship, and your manifestations of respect and regard for me. Heaven bless you and yours, and make you more and more a blessing! Come and see me when you can, my dear friend. With much affection and respect, "Your old friend, CHARLES LOWELL. "P. S.--I write with a feeble hand, dim sight, and nervous temperament." In enclosing the preceding note to the Rev. Dr. Hamilton, Mr. Lawrence writes, Sept. 4: "The writer of the foregoing is the Rev. Dr. Lowell, of this city, who is broken down in health, but not at all in his confidence and hope and joy in the beloved Jesus. Of all men I have ever known, Dr. Lowell is one of the brightest exemplars of the character and teachings of the Master; for all denominations respect him, and confide in him. For more than forty years I have known him; and, in all the relations of a good pastor to his people, I have never known a better. I have met him in the sick chamber, with the dying, and in the house of prayer. In the character of a teacher, and a leader of the people heavenward, no one among us has been more valued. Although I have not been a member of his church, he has, in times of great urgency, supplied our pulpit, and has always been ready to attend my family and friends when asked. I sent him such of your writings as I had in store for circulation, 'The Royal Preacher' among them; and I must say to you that I think no living man is preaching to greater multitudes than you are at this day. I have circulated tens of thousands of your tracts and volumes, and, if I am spared, hope to continue the good work. Millions of souls will be influenced by your labors." CHAPTER XXXVII. CORRESPONDENCE.--DIARY. (FROM LADY BUXTON.) "NORTHRUPP'S HILL, Sept. 8, 1852. "MY DEAR FRIEND: Again I have to thank you for your kind remembrance of me in your note and little book on the abuse of tobacco, and your sympathy with me in my late deep anxiety, ending in the removal of my most tenderly beloved and valued daughter Priscilla. It pleased God to take her to himself on June 18, to the inexpressible loss and grief of myself, and her husband and children. We surely sorrow with hope; for she had loved and followed the Lord Jesus from her childhood, and had known and obeyed the Holy Scriptures, which did make her, under the influence of the blessed Spirit, wise unto salvation. To her, to live was Christ, and therefore to die, gain; and we are thankful, and rejoice for her. Her spirit is with the Lord, beholding and sharing his glory, and reünited to her dearest father, brothers, and sisters, and many beloved on earth, in joy unspeakable. Still, we do and are permitted to mourn. * * "Priscilla traced the foundation of her illness to the great exertion she used in revising and altering her father's work on the remedy for the slave-trade. The stress upon her feelings and mind was too great for her susceptible nature. I believe it might be traced further back to her very great efforts to assist her father in his public business; so that I may say, I have had to part with the two most beloved, and gifted nearly, I have ever known, for the cause of God. But the comfort is intense that they cannot lose the abundant recompense of reward given through mercy and favor, not for any merits of their own, to those who love and serve the Lord. I must thank you most warmly again for the valuable gift of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' When it arrived, it was unknown in this country; now it is universally read, but sold at such a cheap rate, in such poor print, that this very beautiful copy is quite sought after. How wonderfully successful a work it has proved! I hope your little book upon tobacco may be of use here. I shall send it to my grandsons at Rugby. I fear you have been suffering much from bodily illness and infirmity, my dear friend. I trust your interesting circle about you are all well and prospering, and enjoying the blessing and presence of the Saviour. With kindest regards and affection, I am yours very sincerely, H. BUXTON." "_September 23, 1852._--By a singular coincidence, at the same time I received Lady Buxton's letter, I received one from 'Mrs. Sunny Side,'[18] from her sick chamber, asking the loan of some of Miss Edgeworth's works; also a note from Mrs. Stowe, giving me some information respecting the publication of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' in England and Germany; also a letter from our minister in Portugal; and, three or four hours later, 'Uncle Toby' called, having spent the day in the Mather School, lecturing on tobacco." [18] Mrs. Phelps, wife of Professor Phelps, of Andover, and daughter of Professor Stuart, the authoress of "Sunny Side," "Peep at Number Five," and other popular works. From a letter written about this time, an extract is made, which is interesting as showing his system of diet. "My own wants are next to nothing, as I live on the most simple food,--crusts and coffee for breakfast; crusts and champagne for dinner, with never more than three ounces of chicken, or two ounces of tender beef, without any vegetable, together eight ounces; coarse wheat-meal crusts, and two or three ounces of meat, in the twenty-four hours,--beginning hungry, and leaving off more hungry. I have not sat at table with my family for fifteen years, nor eaten a full meal during that time, and am now more hale and hearty than during that whole period." (TO A LADY IN FLORIDA.) "BOSTON, Oct. 14, 1852. "DEAR MRS. ----: Your deeply interesting note reached me within the last half-hour; and I feel that no time should be lost in my reply. My life has been protracted beyond all my friends' expectations, and almost beyond my own hopes; yet I enjoy the days with all the zest of early youth, and feel myself a spare hand to do such work as the Master lays out before me. This of aiding you is one of the things for which I am spared; and I therefore forward one hundred dollars, which, if you are not willing to accept, you may use for the benefit of some other person or persons, at your discretion. Your precious brother has passed on; and, in God's good time, I hope to see him face to face, and to receive, through the Beloved, the 'Well done' promised to such as have used their Lord's trusts as he approves. I enclose you Lieut. ----'s letter on his return from sea. * * * * "I had a charming ride yesterday with my nephew Frank Pierce, and told him I thought he must occupy the White House the next term, but that I should go for Scott. Pierce is a fine, spirited fellow, and will do his duty wherever placed; but Scott will be my choice for President of the United States. God bless you, my child, and have you in the hollow of his hand, in these days of trial. Your friend, A. L." (TO THE HON. JONATHAN PHILLIPS.) "BOSTON, Oct. 25, 1852. "TO MY RESPECTED AND HONORED FRIEND: The changing scenes of life sometimes recall with peculiar freshness the events and feelings of years long past; and such is the case with me, growing out of the death of our great New England statesman, who has, for a long period of years, been looked up to as preaching and teaching the highest duties of American citizens with a power rarely equalled, never surpassed. He is now suddenly called to the bar of that Judge who sees not as man sees, and where mercy, not merit, will render the cheering 'Well done' to all who have used their trusts as faithful stewards of their Lord,--the richest prize to be thought of. Our great man had great virtues, and, doubtless, some defects; and I pray God that the former may be written in the hearts of his countrymen, the latter in the sea. Here I begin the story that comes over my thoughts. "About forty years ago, walking past your father's house, with my wife and some of our family friends, on a bright, moonlight night, we were led to discuss the character of the owner (your honored father); some of the party wishing they might possess a small part of the property which would make them happy, others something else, when my own wish was expressed. It was, that I might use whatever Providence might allow me to possess as faithfully as your father used his possessions, and that I should esteem such a reputation as his a better inheritance for my children than the highest political honors the country could bestow. A few years later, I was visiting Stafford Springs with my wife, and there met you and Mrs. P., and first made your acquaintance. Still a few years later, I became personally acquainted with your father by being chosen a Director of the Massachusetts Bank, he being President. Still later, I became more intimate with yourself by being a member of the Legislature with you, when the seceders from Williams College petitioned to be chartered as Amherst College, which you opposed by the best speech that was made; and we voted against the separation, and, I believe, acted together on all the subjects brought up during that session. Since then, which is about thirty years, I have been a successful business man, although, for the last twenty years, I have been a broken machine, that, by all common experience, should have been cast aside. But I am still moving; and no period of my life has had more to charm, or has had more flowers by the wayside, than my every-day life, with all my privations. The great secret of the enjoyment is, that I am able to do some further work, as your father's example taught me, when the question was discussed near forty years ago. Can you wonder, then, my friend, that I wish our names associated in one of the best literary institutions in this country; viz., Williams College? My interest in it seemed to be accidental, but must have been providential; for we cannot tell, till we reach a better world, what influence your speech had in directing my especial attention to the noble head of the college, when I first met him in a private circle in this city; and, since then, my respect for his character, my love for him as a man and a brother, has caused me to feel an interest in his college that I never should have felt without this personal intercourse. The two hundred young men there need more teachers; and the college, in view of its wants has appealed to the public for fifty thousand dollars, to place it upon an independent footing. * * * * * "There is money enough for all these good objects; and, if our worthy citizens can only be made to see that it will be returned to them four-fold, in the enjoyment of life in the way that never clogs, it will not be thought presumptuous in me to advise to such investments. From long observation, I am satisfied that we do better by being our own executors, than by hoarding large sums for our descendants. Pardon me for thus writing to you; but knowing, as I do, that the college has commenced its appeal for aid, I am sure you will excuse me, whether you contribute to its aid or not. With great respect, I am, as I have always been, "Your friend, AMOS LAWRENCE. "P. S.--If you wish to talk with me, I shall be rejoiced to say what I know about the college." In his diary of the same date, Mr. Lawrence writes: "6 P. M.--My good old friend has called to see and talk with me, and a most agreeable conversation we have had. He expressed good wishes for the college, and will subscribe a thousand dollars at once, which is a cheering beginning in this city. The interest in the college will grow here, when people know more about it." "BOSTON, _Saturday morning, Nov. 13, 1852_.--The circumstances which have brought me the following letter from my valued friend, 'Honest John Davis,' are these: Many years ago, I learned, from undoubted sources, that his pecuniary losses, through the agency of others, had so straitened him as to decide him to take his two sons from Williams College, which seemed to me a pity; and I therefore enclosed to him five hundred dollars, with a request that he would keep his boys in college, and, when his affairs became right again, that he might pay the same to the college for some future needy pupils. Two or three years afterwards, he said he was intending to hand over to the college the five hundred dollars, which I advised not to do until it was perfectly convenient for him. The circumstances which now call him out are very interesting; and, to me, the money seems worth ten times the amount received in the common business of life. Within ten minutes after Mr. Davis's letter was read to me, Dr. Peters, the agent of the college to collect funds for its necessities, called in to report progress in his work. I immediately handed over the five hundred dollars from John Davis, with a request that he would acknowledge its reception to my friend at once." "WORCESTER, Nov. 12, 1852. "MY DEAR SIR: I have been in Boston but once since my return from Washington, and then failed to see you. Nevertheless, you are seldom absent from our thoughts; you do so much which reminds us of the duties of life, and fixes in our minds sentiments of cherished regard and unalterable affection. No one can desire a more enviable distinction, a more emphatic name, than he whom all tongues proclaim to be the good man; the man who comprehends his mission, and, with unvarying steadiness of purpose, fulfils it. There is such a thing as mental superiority, as elevated station, as commanding influence, as glory, as honor; and these are sometimes all centered in the same individual; but, if that individual has no heart; if humanity is not mixed in his nature; if he has no ear for the infirmities, the weaknesses, and sufferings of his fellow-beings,--he is like the massive, coarse walls of a lofty fortress, having strength, greatness, and power; but, as a man, he is unfinished. He may have much to excite surprise or to overawe, but nothing to awaken the finer sensibilities of our nature, or to win our love. The divine efflatus has never softened the soul of such a man. The heavenly attributes of mercy, brotherly love, and charity, have never touched his heart with sympathy for his race. He forgets that a fellow-being, however humble, is the work of the same God who made him, and that the work of the Almighty has a purpose. He forgets the great command to love our neighbor. He forgets that all who are stricken down with disease, poverty, affliction, or suffering, are our neighbors; and that he who ministers to such, be he Jew or Samaritan, is, in the lofty, scriptural sense, a neighbor. Neither the hereditary descent of the Levite, nor the purple of the priest, makes a neighbor; but it is he who binds up the bleeding wound. This is the act upon which Heaven places its seal of approval, as pleasing in the sight of him that is perfect. Where there is an absence of purity of heart or generous sympathy, the man lacks the most ornate embellishment of character, that lustrous brightness which is the type of heaven. To minister to the necessities of the humble and lowly is the work of God's angels; and the man who follows their example cannot be far from his Maker. You have the means of doing good; but have what is greater, and a more marked distinction, the disposition to do it when and where it is needed. Your heart is always alive, and your hand untiring. * * * * * "Some years ago, you did that for me and mine which will command my gratitude while I live. I needed aid to educate my children; and you, in a spirit of marked generosity, came unasked to my relief. I need not say how deeply, how sincerely thankful I was, that one, upon whom I had no claim, should manifest so generous a spirit. After a while, times changed somewhat for the better; and, feeling that I was able to do it, I asked permission to restore the sum advanced, that you, to whom it belonged, might have the disposition of it, since it had performed with me the good that was intended. You kindly gave me leave to hand it over to the college, but advised me to take my own time, and suit my convenience. That time has now come; and, as you are again extending to the college your sustaining arm, and may wish to take this matter into the account, I herewith enclose a check for five hundred dollars, with the renewed thanks of myself and my wife for the great and generous service which you have done us. We shall, in all respects, have profited greatly by it; and have no wish to cancel our obligations by this act, but to recognize them in their fullest extent. I am, most truly and faithfully, "Your friend and obedient servant, "JOHN DAVIS." Some inquiries having been made of Mr. Lawrence respecting the early history of the Bunker Hill Monument, he writes, on the 12th of November, in a short note: DEAR SON: You may be glad to copy the twelfth section of my will, executed in 1833. This information is not before the world, but may be interesting to your children. I could have finished the monument, sick as I was, at any time before Edmund Dwight's death, by enlisting with him, who made me the offer, to join a small number of friends (three Appletons, Robert G. Shaw, and us three Lawrences), without saying, 'by your leave,' to the public." * * * * * "Surety-ship is a dangerous craft to embark in. Avoid it as you would a sail-boat with no other fastenings than mere wooden pegs and cobweb sails." CHAPTER XXXVIII. MR. LAWRENCE SERVES AS PRESIDENTIAL ELECTOR.--GEN. FRANKLIN PIERCE.--SUDDEN DEATH.--FUNERAL. In November, Robert G. Shaw, Esq., and Mr. Lawrence, were chosen Presidential Electors for the district in which they resided. Both, at that time, were in the enjoyment of their usual health, and yet both were removed within a few months by death. The Electoral College was convened in the State House at Boston, in December; and Mr. Lawrence has noticed the event by a memorandum, endorsed upon his commission of Elector, as follows: "_December 1._--I have attended to the duty, and have given my vote to Winfield Scott for President, and William A. Graham for Vice-President." He did not add, that, before leaving the State House, he gave the customary fee paid in such cases towards freeing the family of a negro from slavery. But little is found in the handwriting of Mr. Lawrence for the month of December, except his usual record of donations to charitable objects. He seems to have written but few letters, which may in part be accounted for by having had his time much occupied by a most agreeable intercourse with Gen. Franklin Pierce, who, with his family, were his guests during a part of the month. That gentleman had for many years been on terms of intimate friendship with Mr. Lawrence, and had kept up a familiar correspondence from Washington and elsewhere, which no political differences had abated. He had always been a favorite; and now, having been elected to the Presidential chair, and engaged in plans for his future administration, it may be imagined what interest this intercourse excited in Mr. Lawrence, deeply concerned as he was in every movement that tended to promote the political and moral welfare of the country. Many excursions were made to the interesting spots and charitable institutions of Boston and its vicinity, during this visit, which has a melancholy interest from the events which immediately followed it. On the twenty-sixth, General and Mrs. Pierce left Boston for their home at Concord, N. H., with the intention of spending a few days with their friends at Andover. They were accompanied by their only child Benjamin, a bright and promising boy, twelve years of age, whose melancholy death, but a few days afterwards, will give an interest to the following note, which he wrote to Mr. Lawrence in acknowledgment of a little token of remembrance: "ANDOVER, Dec. 27, 1852. "DEAR UNCLE LAWRENCE: I admire the beautiful pencil you sent me, and I think I shall find it very useful. I shall keep it very carefully for your sake, and I hope that I may learn to write all the better with it. It was kind in you to write such a good little note, too; and I see that being industrious while you were young enables you to be kind and benevolent now that you are old. I think that you have given me very good advice, and I hope I shall profit by it. So, dear uncle, with much love to aunt, I am "Your affectionate nephew, "B. PIERCE." The brief history of this promising boy, who exhibited a maturity and thoughtfulness far beyond his years, is soon told. Nine days afterwards, in company with his father and mother, he left Andover on his return home. A few minutes after starting, the cars were precipitated down a steep bank, among the rocks, causing the instant death of Benjamin, and bruising the father and many other passengers severely. The accident sent a thrill of sympathy throughout the Union, and cast a withering blight upon the prospects of the bereaved parents, which, amidst all earthly distinctions, can never be forgotten, and which has perhaps rendered more irksome the great and unceasing responsibilities of high official station. "_Dec. 28._--I sent a large bundle of clothing materials, books, and other items, with sixty dollars, by steamer for Bangor, to Professor Pond, of Bangor Theological Seminary, for the students. Also gave a parcel, costing twenty-five dollars, to Mrs. ----, who is a Groton girl, and now having twins, making twenty children: is very poor. "_Dec. 30._--To Professor ----, by dear S., one hundred dollars. Books and items to-day, five dollars." These were his last entries. On the afternoon of the above date, the writer, in his usual walk, passed Mr. Lawrence's door with the intention of calling on his return, but, after proceeding a few steps, decided, from some unaccountable motive, to give up the accustomed exercise, and pass the time with his father. Mr. Lawrence appeared in excellent health and spirits; and nearly an hour was agreeably spent in discussing the topics of the day. He seemed more than usually communicative; and, although always kind and affectionate, there was, on this occasion, an unusual softness of manner, and tenderness of expression, which cannot be forgotten. The last topic touched upon was the character of a prominent statesman, just deceased, and the evidence which he had given of preparation for an exchange of worlds. He spoke somewhat fully upon the nature of such preparation, and expressed a strong hope, that, in the present instance, the exchange had been a happy one. In the latter part of the evening, Mr. Lawrence addressed to his friend, Prof. Packard, of Bowdoin College, the following note, in reply to some questions asked by that gentleman in regard to the Bunker Hill Monument, of which he was preparing a history for publication among the records of the Maine Historical Society: "BOSTON, December 30, 1852, evening. "MY DEAR FRIEND: Your letter of Tuesday reached me just before my morning excursion to Longwood to see our loved one there. In reply to your first query, I answer, that Mr. E. Everett presented a design of Bunker Hill Monument, which was very classic, and was supported by Col. Perkins and Gen. Dearborn, I believe, and perhaps one or two more. Young Greenough (Horatio), then a student of Harvard College, sent in a plan with an essay, that manifested extraordinary talents, and was substantially adopted, although the column was amended by the talents, taste, and influence of Loammi Baldwin, one of our directors. The discussion of the model was very interesting; and, among the whole mass of plans, this of Mr. Everett and Mr. Baldwin, or, as I before said, a modification of Greenough's, were the only ones that were thought of. Mr. Everett, and those who favored his classic plan, were very cordial in their support of the plan of the monument as it is, very soon after its adoption. Mr. Ticknor was very active in support of the plan as adopted; and I have a strong impression that young Greenough's arguments were wholly just, and, abating some assertions which seemed a little strong for a mere college-lad, were true and unexceptionable. I write from memory, and not from overlooking the plans carefully since the time they were considered. Young Greenough I felt a deep interest in, and advanced money to his father to allow him to go abroad to study, which has been repaid since his father's death. Here I have an interesting story to tell you of this debt, which I wished to cancel, that the widow might receive the amount. Mr. Greenough was near his end, and deeply affected, but fully persuaded that, by the provisions of his will, his widow would soon have an ample income, and declined the offer. It has turned out better than he ever anticipated. The books shall go forward, as you requested. All our family, 'kith and kin,' are pretty well. The President elect has, I think, the hardest time, being over-worked; and, as we are now without any one, we shall be rejoiced to see you here. Pray, come. I shall write again when I send the 'red book' you request. "With love to all, N. and I join; and I bid you adieu. "From your friend, "AMOS LAWRENCE. "To Prof. PACKARD, Brunswick, Me." The above letter was folded, directed, and left upon his table, and doubtless contained the last words he ever wrote. After the usual family devotions, he retired at about ten o'clock, and, before his attendant left the room, asked a few questions relating to the situation of a poor family which he had relieved a day or two before. Mrs. Lawrence had been in an adjoining room, and, on returning, found him lying quietly, and apparently engaged in silent prayer. She did not, therefore, disturb him, but retired for the night without speaking. In less than two hours, she was awakened by one of his usual attacks. Remedies were applied; but, no rallying symptoms appearing, the physician and family were summoned. All that medical skill could do was in vain; and, at a quarter past twelve, on the last day of the year, he quietly breathed his last, without having awakened to consciousness after his first sleep. All his temporal affairs seemed to have been arranged in view of this event. The partnership with his brother, which had existed for nearly forty years, was dissolved in that way which he had resolved in former years should alone terminate it. From various prudential reasons, however, he had changed his opinion, and had decided to withdraw from all business relations, and accordingly furnished the advertisement, which was to appear on the next day in the public prints, announcing his withdrawal. Four days previous, he had executed a codicil to his will; and thus seemed to have settled his concerns with the closing year. The summons did not find him unprepared; for it was such as he had long expected, and had alluded to many times in his conversation, as well as in his letters to friends. The plans of each day were made with reference to such a call. Nor can we doubt that he was, in the highest sense, prepared to exchange what he sometimes was permitted to call "the heaven on earth" for that higher heaven where so many of his most cherished objects of earthly affection had preceded him. On the morning of his death, the editor found upon his table the following lines, which had been copied by him a few days previous, and which are the more interesting from being a part of the same hymn containing the lines repeated by his wife upon her death-bed, thirty-three years before: "Vital spark of heavenly flame, Quit, O, quit this mortal frame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,-- O, the pain, the bliss, of dying! Cease, fond nature,--cease the strife, And let me languish into life. Hark!--------" It would almost seem that a vision of the angel-messenger had been afforded, and that the sound of his distant footsteps had fallen upon his ear; for, with the unfinished line, the pen thus abruptly stops. The funeral ceremonies were performed on Tuesday, the 4th of January. A prayer was first offered before the body was taken from the house, in the presence of the family and friends of the deceased, by the Rev. A. H. Vinton, D.D., Rector of St. Paul's Church. Public exercises in Brattle-street Church were then performed, in the presence of a crowded congregation, composed of the numerous friends and former associates of the deceased, clergymen of all denominations, and large numbers representing the various professions and trades of the community. The religious services were conducted by three of Mr. Lawrence's most intimate and valued friends, representing three different denominations. These were the Rev. Dr. Lothrop, pastor of Brattle-street Church; the Rev. Dr. Hopkins, President of Williams College; and the Rev. Dr. Sharp, pastor of the Baptist Society in Charles-street. A beautiful and appropriate hymn was sung by the members of the Lawrence Association, from the Mather School, who surrounded the coffin, and, at the conclusion of the hymn, covered it with flowers. The body, followed by a large procession of mourning friends, was then conveyed to Mount Auburn, and deposited by the side of the loved ones who had preceded him, and under the shade of the "Old Oak," where may it rest until summoned to the presence of that Saviour whose example and precepts he so much loved on earth, and through whom alone he looked for happiness in heaven! CHAPTER XXXIX. SKETCH OF CHARACTER BY REV. DRS. LOTHROP AND HOPKINS. The correspondence in the preceding pages will, perhaps, give a clearer view of the character of Mr. Lawrence than anything which can be adduced by others. It may not be amiss, however, to quote what has been written by two of his most intimate friends, who had the most ample means of forming a just estimate of the man, and of the motives by which he was actuated. Dr. Lothrop, in his sermon preached on the Sunday after the funeral, says: "I have intimated that Mr. Lawrence was intellectually great. I think he was so. By this, I do not mean he was a scholar or learned man, with a mind developed and disciplined by severe training, and enlarged and enriched by varied culture in the various departments of human thought and study. This, we know, he was not; although he was a man of considerable reading, who loved and appreciated the best books in English literature. But I mean that he was a man of great native vigor of intellect, whose mind was clear, strong, comprehensive in its grasp, penetrating, far-reaching in its observation, discerning and discriminating in its judgments, sagacious in its conclusions; a mind, which, if enriched by the requisite culture, and directed to such objects, would have made him eminent in any of the walks of literary or professional life, as, without that culture, it did make him eminent in those walks of practical, commercial life to which he did direct it. I mention this, not to dwell upon it, but simply because some who have known him little, and that only since disease had somewhat sapped his strength, may not do him justice in this respect. Those who remember his early manhood; who saw the strong, bold, and vigorous tread with which he walked forward to his rightful place among the merchants of the city; those who remember the sagacity of his enterprises, his quick and accurate discernment of character, and the commanding influence he exercised over others; the ease and rapidity with which he managed the concerns of a large commercial establishment, and decided and despatched the most important commercial negotiation,--these will be ready to admit that he was intellectually a strong man. To the last this vigor of intellect showed itself; if not always in his conversation, yet always in his letters, many of which will be found to have a force of thought, a fulness of wisdom and sound judgment, a terse, epigrammatic comprehensiveness of expression, of which no man, however distinguished by his learning and scholarship, would have need to be ashamed. The merchants of this city have ever been distinguished, I believe, for their integrity and benevolence. Nowhere is wealth acquired by a more honest and healthy activity; nowhere is a larger portion of it devoted to all the objects which a wise philanthropy, an extended patriotism, and a tender Christian sympathy, would foster and promote. Mr. Lawrence was conspicuous for these qualities. His integrity, I may venture to say, stands absolutely unimpeached, without spot or blemish. His history, as a merchant, from first to last, will bear the strictest scrutiny. Its minutest incidents, which have faded from the memory of those concerned; its most secret acts, those of which no human eye could take knowledge,--might all be brought into the light before us; and like those, I trust, of many of his fraternity, they would seem only to illustrate the purity and integrity of his principles, the conscientious regard to truth and right and justice with which he conducted all the negotiations of business, and all the affairs of his life. He seemed ever to me to have a reverence for right, unalloyed, unfaltering, supreme; a moral perception and a moral sensibility, which kept him from deviating a hair's breadth from what he saw and felt to be his duty. It was this that constituted the strength of his character, and was one of the great secrets of his success. It was this that secured him, when a young man, the entire confidence, and an almost unlimited use of capital, of some of the wealthiest and best men of that day. * * * * * "The prominent feature in Mr. Lawrence's life and character, its inspiration and its guide, was religion; religious faith, affection, and hope. He loved God, and therefore he loved all God's creatures. He believed in Christ, as the promised Messiah and Saviour of the world; and therefore found peace and strength to his soul, amid all the perils, duties, and sorrows of life. * * * * * "There was nothing narrow or sectarian about Mr. Lawrence's religious opinions or feelings. He had a large, catholic spirit, which embraced within the arms of its love, and of its pecuniary bounty also when needed, all denominations of Christians; and it is to be hoped that the influence of his example and character has done something, and will continue to do more, to rebuke that bigotry which 'makes its own light the measure of another's illumination.' He took no pleasure in religious disputes or discussions. The practical in Christianity was what interested him. His great aim was to illustrate his faith by his daily walk, and authenticate his creed by a life of practical usefulness, constant benevolence, and cheerful piety. This aim he successfully accomplished, to the conviction of persons of all creeds and of every name. These will all give him a name in the church universal; will all admit that he was a noble specimen of a true Christian,--a loving and believing disciple, who had the very spirit of his Master. That spirit pervaded his daily life, and formed the moral atmosphere in which he lived and breathed. It quickened in him all holy, devout, and pious affections; gave him a profound reverence, a cheerful submission, a bright and glorious hope,--a hope that crowned every hour with gladness, robbed death of all terrors, and, in _his_ soul, brought heaven down to earth." The following extracts are taken from the sermon, by President Hopkins, before the students of Williams College,--a sermon from which extracts have been already made: "Having thus spoken of the use of his property by Mr. Lawrence, I observe that it was distinguished by the three characteristics which seem to me essential to the most perfect accomplishment of the ends of benevolence, and that in two of these he was preëminent. "The first of these is, that he gave the money in his life-time. No man, I presume, has lived on this continent who has approximated him in the amount thus given; and in this course there are principles involved which deserve the careful attention of those who would act conscientiously, and with the highest wisdom. There may doubtless be good reasons why property destined for benevolent uses should be retained till death, and he is justly honored who then gives it a wise direction; but giving thus cannot furnish either the same test or discipline of character, or the same enjoyment, nor can it always accomplish the same ends. By his course, Mr. Lawrence put his money to its true work long before it could have done anything on the principle of accumulation; and to a work, too, to which it never could have been put in any other way. He made it sure, also, that that work should be done; and had the pleasure of seeing its results, and of knowing that through it he became the object of gratitude and affection. So doing, he showed that he stood completely above that tendency to accumulate which seems to form the chief end of most successful business men; and which, unless strongly counteracted, narrows itself into avarice, as old age comes on, almost with the certainty of a natural law. He did stand completely above this. No one could know him, without perceiving, that, in his giving, there was no remnant of grudging or reluctance; that he gave, not only freely, but with gladness, as if it were the appropriate action of a vital energy. And in so doing, and in witnessing the results, and in the atmosphere of sympathy and love thus created, there was a test and a discipline and an enjoyment, as well as a benefit to others, that could have been reached in no other way. "The second peculiarity in the bounty of Mr. Lawrence, and in which he was preëminent, was the personal attention and sympathy which he bestowed with it. He had in his house a room where he kept stores of useful articles for distribution. _He_ made up the bundle; _he_ directed the package. No detail was overlooked. He remembered the children, and designated for each the toy, the book, the elegant gift. He thought of every want, and was ingenious and happy in devising appropriate gifts. In this attention to the minutest token of regard, while, at the same time, he could give away thousands like a prince, I have known no one like him. And, if the gift was appropriate, the manner of giving was not less so. There was in this the nicest appreciation of the feelings of others, and an intuitive perception of delicacy and propriety. These were the characteristics that gave him a hold upon the hearts of many, and made his death really felt as that of few other men in Boston could have been. In this, we find not a little of the utility, and much of the beauty, of charity. Even in his human life, man does not live by bread alone, but by sympathy and the play of reciprocal affection, and is often more touched by the kindness than by the relief. Only this sympathy it is that can establish the right relation between the rich and the poor; and the necessity for this can be superseded by no legal provision. This only can neutralize the repellent and aggressive tendencies of individuals and of classes, and make society a brotherhood, where the various inequalities shall work out moral good, and where acts of mutual kindness and helpfulness may pass and repass, as upon a golden chain, during a brief pilgrimage and scene of probation. It is a great and a good thing for a rich man to set the stream of charity in motion, to employ an agent, to send a check, to found an asylum, to endow a professorship, to open a fountain that shall flow for ages; but it is as different from sympathy with present suffering, and the relief of immediate want, as the building of a dam to turn a factory by one great sluiceway is from the irrigation of the fields. By Mr. Lawrence both were done. "The third characteristic referred to of the bounty of Mr. Lawrence was, that he gave as a Christian man,--from a sense of religious obligation. Not that all his gifts had a religious aspect: he gave gifts of friendship and of affection. There was a large enclosure, where the affections walked foremost, and where, though they asked leave of Duty, they yet received no prompting from her. Whether he always drew this line rightly; whether, in the measure and direction of his charities, he was always right; whether so much of diffusion and individuality was wise,--it is not for me to say. Certain it is, that this form of charity holds a place in the church now less prominent relatively than it did in the early ages; and it may be that the proportions of Christian character, in portions of the church, need to be remodelled and recast in this respect. These are questions for each individual. It is sufficient to know that Mr. Lawrence looked the great doctrine of stewardship full in the face, and prayed earnestly over it, and responded to it practically, as few have done. * * * * "Undoubtedly, he was a man of great original powers. On this point, I have had but one opinion since knowing him. His mind was not speculative, discursive, metaphysical: but, in the high moral qualities; in decision and energy; in intuitive perception, and sound, practical judgment; in the sensibility and affections, and in the imagination,--he was great. Like all remarkable men who are not one-sided, he had large faculties, which found their harmony in their conflict, or rather in their balance. He was quick and tender in his feelings, yet firm; ardent in his affections, yet judicious; large in his gifts, yet discriminating; he was a keen observer, yet kind in his feelings; he had a fertile and shaping imagination: he built air-castles, and they vanished, and then he built others; but, when he decided to build anything on the ground, it was well-planned and promptly finished. His tastes were natural and simple, his habits plain, and his feelings always fresh, genuine, and youthful. Not even the smell of the fire of prosperity had passed on him. He shunned notoriety. He had a strong repugnance to all affectation and pretence and misplaced finery. A young man with rings on his fingers had small chance of favor or employment from him. He was impatient of talk when action was called for, and of all attempts to substitute talk for action. His command over the English language, especially in writing, indicated his power. Style is no mechanical product, that can be formed by rules, but is the outgrowth and image of the mind; and his had often great felicity and strength. When he wrote under the impulse of his feelings, he seemed to impregnate the very paper, and make it redolent of them. He loved nature; and, instead of becoming insensible to it as years came on, it seemed rather to open upon him like a new revelation. It was full of life and of teaching, and the charms of natural beauty were heightened by those associations which his quick imagination connected with its objects and scenes. After the death of two of his children, he says: 'Dear S. and R. speak in words without sound through every breeze, and in every flower, and in the fragrance of every perfume from the fields or the trees.' Years ago, after a long confinement, with little hope of recovery, he visited, when first able to get out, the Panorama of Jerusalem, then on exhibition in Boston, and remained there till the scene took full possession of his mind. Shortly after, on a fine day, he rode out to Brookline; and, as returning health threw over those hills a mantle of beauty that he had never seen before, they were immediately associated in his mind with the Panorama of Jerusalem, and then with the glories of the Jerusalem above. This association was indissoluble, and he would take his friends out to see his 'Mount Zion.' In 1850, he says, 'It really seems to me like the sides of Mount Zion, and that I can cling to them as I view them.' * * * * * "He was a deeply religious man. His trust in God, and his hope of salvation through Christ, were the basis of his character. He believed in the providence of God as concerned in all events, and as discriminating and retributive in this world. He felt that he could trust God in his providence, where he could not see. 'The events of my life,' he writes, 'have been so far ordered in a way to make me feel that I know nothing at the time, except that a Father rules; and his discipline, however severe, is never more so than is required.' He believed in the Bible, and saw rightly its relation to all our blessings. 'What,' he writes again, 'should we do, if the Bible were not the foundation of our self-government? and what will become of us, when we wilfully and wickedly past it behind us?' He read the Bible morning and evening in his family, and prayed with them; and it may aid those who are acquainted with the prayers of Thornton, in forming a conception of his religious character, to know that he used them. Family religion he esteemed as above all price; and, when he first learned that a beloved relative had established family worship, he wept for joy. He distributed religious books very extensively, chiefly those of the American Tract Society, and of the American Sunday School Union. * * * * Of creeds held in the understanding, but not influencing the life, he thought little; and the tendency of his mind was to practical rather than doctrinal views. He believed in our Lord Jesus Christ as a Saviour, and trusted in him for salvation. He was a man of habitual prayer. The last time I visited him, he said to me, that he had been restless during the night, and that the only way in which he could 'get quieted was by getting near to God,' and that he went to sleep repeating a prayer. During the same visit, he spoke strongly of his readiness, and even of his desire, to depart. He viewed death with tranquillity and hope and preparation, for it was habitual with him. What need I say more? At midnight the summons came, and his work was done." CHAPTER XL. CONCLUSION. Mr. Lawrence was of about the medium height, and, until reduced by sickness, was erect in person, and active and vigorous in his movements. The expression of his countenance was mild and cheerful, partaking of that benevolent cast which one would have been led to expect from the tenor of his daily life. His affections were warm, and his feelings quick and ardent. His temperament was of a nervous character, thereby inclining him to impatience. With this defect he had to struggle much in early life. It is related of him, that he once, by some hasty reply, wounded the sensitive feelings of a cherished sister, who afterwards died; and so much did he regret his impatience, that he made a resolution to persevere in his efforts until he had conquered the fault. A great change was soon remarked in him in this respect; so much so, that a relative, who passed several months under his roof during his early married life, was surprised at not seeing the least evidence of this tendency. During his latter years, when weakened by disease, and when his nervous system had been shattered by his violent and peculiar attacks of illness, he had more difficulty in controlling his feelings and expressions. On the second, sober thought, however, no one could have been more ready to confess the fault, and to make such reparation as the case demanded. His daily actions were guided by the most exalted sense of right and wrong; and in his strict sense of justice, Aristides himself could not surpass him. He was a living example of a successful merchant, who had, from the earliest period of his business career, risen above all artifice, and had never been willing to turn to his own advantage the ignorance or misfortune of others. He demonstrated in his own case the possibility of success, while practising the highest standard of moral obligation. He had ever commanded the confidence of those around him. When an apprentice in his native town, many of his customers relied upon his judgment rather than their own. He never deceived them, and early adopted as his rule of life, to do to others as he would have them do to him. Thus he stood high in the confidence, as well as in the estimation, of his neighbors. What "Amos" said was right, and no one could gainsay. If any one thing was, more than another, the means of promoting his success in life, we should say it was this faculty of commanding the confidence of others. To this can be traced the prosperity of his earliest business years; and, as his sphere enlarged, and his financial operations were extended, the same feeling of confidence gave him the unlimited command of the means of some of the wealthiest capitalists in New England, who, through the most critical seasons in the mercantile world, placed implicit confidence in the house of which he was the senior partner. Mr. Lawrence had no fluency in conversation. His mind was ever active; but the volume of thought found no corresponding channel of utterance. The very number of ideas seemed to impede the power of expression. Had his talents been devoted to literary or scientific pursuits, he would have earned distinction by his pen. His mind was not of that logical cast, which, from patient reasoning, can deduce effects from a succession of causes; but arrived at its conclusions by a kind of intuition, somewhat like those rare instances of mathematicians who solve a difficult problem, and yet can give no account of the mental process by which the solution has been reached. As a husband and father, he was ever kind and affectionate. He was domestic in his tastes, and found his greatest enjoyment in his home. Here he was eminently favored, and ever found the warmest sympathy, and that considerate care and kindness so necessary in latter years to his feeble health. No one who has read the preceding correspondence can have failed to see the interest which he ever took in all that concerned the welfare of those whom Providence had committed to his keeping. His letters to his children would fill many volumes, and are in themselves an enduring testimony to his fidelity and watchful care during a long series of years. His motto was, "Line upon line, precept upon precept;" and thus his constant aim was to impress upon their minds the great principles of religion and morality. No parent could be more indulgent when such indulgence was consistent with the true welfare of his children, or more resolute in denying what was hurtful. Their present happiness was a great object; but his desire for their ultimate good was still greater. As a friend, he was most faithful and sympathizing; and many now living can testify to the value of his friendship. Few, perhaps, have had more friends. Their affection for him was not founded so much upon gratitude for his constantly recurring favors, as upon the warm sympathy and affection with which his heart, was filled toward them and theirs. As a citizen, his views were comprehensive, and were bounded by no lines of sectional or party feeling. He was most deeply interested in all that concerned the honor and prosperity of his country, and keenly sensitive to the injury inflicted by such measures as tended to depreciate her standing in the estimation of other nations, or of good men among her own citizens. He was a true patriot, and had adopted the views and aims of the best men of the republic in former days, while he viewed with distrust many of the popular movements of more modern times. From his father he had inherited the most profound veneration for Gen. Washington, and faith in his public policy; while the political principles of Alexander Hamilton and John Jay were those alone by which he thought the permanent happiness and prosperity of the country could be secured. As a Christian, he endeavored to walk in the footsteps of his Master. He had no taste for the discussion of those minor points of doctrine upon which good men so often differ, but embraced with all his heart the revealed truths of the Gospel, which the great body of Christians can unite in upholding. He sought those fields of labor where all can meet, rather than those which are hedged in by the dividing lines of sect and party. He reverenced the Bible, and, from the first chapter of the Old Testament to the last chapter of the New, received it as the inspired Word of God. This was his sheet-anchor; and to doubt was, in his view, to leave a safe and peaceful haven, to embark upon an unknown ocean of danger and uncertainty. Religion was for him a practical thing for every-day use, consisting not so much in frames and emotions as in the steady and persevering performance of the daily duties of life. His view of duty did not limit him to the common obligations of morality, but included the highest sense of duty towards God; or, as he has expressed it in one of his early letters, "to be a moral man merely, is not to be a Christian." He was an active helper in all that tended to promote the cause of Christianity among nations, as well as to promote spiritual progress among individuals. The Christian banner, in his view, covered many denominations; and, with this belief, his charities were directed to the building up of institutions under the influence of the various sects differing from that under which he himself was classed. What has been said of John Thornton might be applied to him: "He was a merchant renowned in his generation for a munificence more than princely. He was one of those rare men in whom the desire to relieve distress assumes the form of a master-passion. Conscious of no aims but such as may invite the scrutiny of God and man, he pursued them after his own fearless fashion, yielding to every honest impulse, choosing his associates in scorn of mere worldly precepts, and worshipping with any fellow-Christian whose heart beat in unison with his own, however inharmonious might be some of the articles of their respective creeds. His benevolence was as unsectarian as his general habits; and he stood ready to assist a beneficent design in every party, but would be the creature of none. He not only gave largely, but he gave wisely. He kept a regular account (not for ostentation, or the gratification of vanity, but for method) of every pound he gave. With him, his givings were made a matter of business, as Cowper says, in an 'Elegy' he wrote upon him,-- 'Thou hadst an industry in doing good, Restless as his who toils and sweats for food'" Those who were not acquainted with Mr. Lawrence might suppose that his long continued ill-health, extending through a period of twenty-one years, permitted the formation of a character which few could attain who should not be called upon to pass through a similar discipline. That the isolation from the business-world, and freedom from the cares and struggles of active life, to which most men are subjected, tended to give him a more just and dispassionate view of his relations to God, as well as to his fellow-men, cannot be doubted. The peculiar elevation and spirituality of mind which he acquired must not, however, be looked upon as the hot-bed growth of the invalid's chamber; but rather as the gradual development of a character whose germ was planted far back in the years of childhood. The principles of religion and truth which were inculcated by a faithful and sensible mother upon the heart of the child, shone forth in all the events which marked the life of the future man. Of Mr. Lawrence's religious opinions respecting those doctrinal points upon which Christians are divided, the writer will not speak; though, from repeated conversations with his father on the subject, in the hours of health as well as of sickness, he might consistently do so. Rather than make assertions which might lead to discussion, it is more grateful to his feelings to leave the subject to the unbiassed judgment of those who shall read the preceding correspondence. Let it rather be the aim of those who loved and honored him in life to imitate his example, now that he is dead. They may rejoice that they were permitted to claim as a relative, and to have daily intercourse with, one who has exhibited, in such an abundant degree, those fruits which are the truest and best evidence of a genuine faith. In completing this volume, the editor feels that he has fulfilled a sacred trust; and his great regret is, that the work could not have been undertaken by some one more fitted, by his qualifications and past experience, to do justice to the subject. For reasons given in the Preface, this could not be; and it is, therefore, with great diffidence that these pages are submitted as a memorial of one whose life and character deserve more than a passing record. If, however, what has been done shall be the means of directing the attention of those for whom the volume has been prepared to the consideration of the precepts here recorded; and, above all, if those precepts shall be the means of influencing them for good in their future course in life,--the effort will not have been in vain. INDEX. Abstinence; total, from tobacco and intoxicating drinks, by Mr. Lawrence, 25 Accounts, benefit of keeping, illustrated, 86 Adams, Amos, 44 Adams, Samuel, 140 Advice, letters of, to Abbott Lawrence, 48-53 Amherst College, effort of Mr. Lawrence in behalf of, 243 Amin Bey, letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, 285 Anatomy, views of Mr. Lawrence respecting the dissection of human bodies, 218 André, Major, 217 Appleton, Jesse, 190 Appleton, Mrs., death of, 190 Athenæum, in Boston, Mr. Lawrence's plans for benefit of, 200 Baldwin, Loammi, 338 Baltimore, derangement of business in, 73 Bangor Theological Seminary, donation by Mr. Lawrence to, 310 donation for students in, 337 Banks, suspension of in 1837, 141 Bible, Mr. Lawrence's estimate of the, 257 Birth-place, attachment to expressed by Mr. Lawrence, 151 of Mr. Lawrence, engraving of, 151 Blagden, George W., note from, respecting Rev. Dr. ----, of Scotland, 313 letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 316 Blake, George, 84 Bondsmen, advice respecting fathers becoming, 37 Book-keeping by double entry, adopted by Mr. Lawrence, 61 Boston, religious controversy in, 65 Mr. Lawrence elected representative of, 77 wooden buildings in, 78 post-office, dead letters from, 154 Bowdoin College, donation by Mrs. Lawrence to, 244 Brattle-street Church, Mr. Lawrence's connection with, 184 Brazer, James, 22, 221 his store described, 23 Bridgman, Laura, 235 Briggs, George N., 214, 281 presentation of a cane to, by Mr. Lawrence, 227 Brooks, Peter C., death and character of, 263 Buckminster, J. S., remains of removed to Mount Auburn by Mr. Lawrence, 175 Bunker Hill, desire of Mr. Lawrence to retain for posterity the battlefield, 99 Bunker Hill Monument, Mr. Lawrence's interest in, 84 objection to a lottery for, 91 completion of, 169 Mr. Lawrence's agency in securing the completion of, 170-174 note from Mr. Lawrence respecting early history of, 332 history of the plan of, 338 Burial-places, Mr. Lawrence's views respecting, 129 Business, secret of Mr. Lawrence's success in, 145 Buxton, Lady, letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 298 letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 324 Buxton, Sir Thomas Fowell, 298 Cabot, Samuel, 268 Cambridge Theological School, views respecting, 163 Canada, journey of Mr. Lawrence to, 89 Canadian Boat-song, 261 Canfield, Mr., 38 Carroll, Charles, 276 Caswell, Oliver, 235 Chaplin, Daniel, 18 Chapman, Jonathan, 192 Charities, memorandum of, 92-95 proportion of, in 1835, 137 money for, 178 "odds and ends" for, 186-187 correction of a public statement respecting Mr. Lawrence's, 198 amount expended during ten years in, 311 total amount expended in, 312 Charity, systematic, inculcated by Mr. Lawrence, 118 Children, fondness of Mr. Lawrence for, 225-226 hospital for, founded by Mr. Lawrence, 230-233 Christ, object of his death, 266 Christmas, Mr. Lawrence's view of, 91 Cobb, Gershom, introduces book-keeping by double entry, 61 Codman, Dr., 253 Colebrooke, Lady, 217 death of, 304 Colebrooke, Sir William, letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, 240 letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 304 Colonization of Africa, aided by Mr. Lawrence, 299, 318 Concord, Mr. Lawrence's account of the fight in 1775 at, 215-217 Controversy, religious, in Boston, 55 Copartnership, offer of Amos Lawrence to dissolve,--declined by Abbott Lawrence, 47 Copartnership of A. & A. Lawrence dissolved by death, 340 Cornhill-street, store of Mr. Lawrence in, 29 Credit system, Mr. Lawrence's view of, 35 Cresson, Elliott, letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, 299 Darley, Mrs., 39 Darracott, George, 172 Davis, John, loan of $500 by Mr. Lawrence to, 330 letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 330 Dearborn, H. A. S., 84, 338 Debts, Mr. Lawrence's promptness in paying, 31 Dexter, Franklin, estimate of his argument on the fugitive slave law, 287 Dexter, Madam, 75 Diet of Mr. Lawrence, 123, 326 table of, kept by Mr. Lawrence, 124 Dorchester Heights, reflections on, 140 Drinking habits in Mr. Lawrence's early days, 23 Dwight, Edmund, 332 Dwight, Louis, 308 testimony of Mr. Lawrence respecting, 219 Ellis, Judge, 77 Ellis, Mrs. Nancy, marriage of Mr. Lawrence to, 77 Epicureanism, Mr. Lawrence's notion of, 124 European fashions, introduction of discountenanced, 90 Everett, Edward, 172, 338 Expenditures, by Mr. Lawrence, in 1849, 278 from 1842 to 1852, 311 Fac-simile of Mr. Lawrence's hand-writing, 248 Family worship, Mr. Lawrence's remarks on, 150 Farwell, Captain, 17, 301 Fillmore, Millard, 256 Foreign gold, exchange of negotiated, 75 Fraternal affection, example of, 147 French Revolution of 1830, Mr. Lawrence's sympathy with, 101 Fugitive slave law, Mr. Lawrence's opinion of the, 287 Funeral ceremonies at the death of Amos Lawrence, 341, 342 Gannett, Ezra S., letter to, 45 Gannett, Caleb, 45 Gannett, Mrs., hymn for her little boy by, 46 Goddard, N., 76 Granger's Coffee House, 38 Gray, Mrs. Martha, present from Mr. Lawrence to, 214 Gray, Robert, 214 Green, Wm. L., death of, 251 Greenough, Horatio, 338 Greenwood, Rev. Dr., 123 Groton, scenery in, 152, 153 Groton Academy, donations of Mr. Lawrence to, preamble of the deed, 221 amount of donations to, by Mr. Lawrence, 222 donations of $45,000 by William Lawrence to, 222 extract from address at jubilee of, 223 Gurney, Hannah (see Buxton, Lady), 299 Haddock, Charles B., letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 305 Hallock, Rev. Mr., 279 Hamilton, James, letters from Mr. Lawrence to, 269, 279, 322 letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 293 Hancock, John, 140 Harris, Colonel, 268 Harvard College, donation of $50,000 by Abbott Lawrence to, 244 Heaven, reunion of friends in, 157 Hillsborough Bank, Mr. Lawrence's draft on for specie, 36, 37 Hone, Isaac, 76 Hone, Philip, 76 Hopkins, Mark, President of Williams College, 341 letters to, from Mr. Lawrence, 124, 183, 213, 214, 255, 257, 258, 259, 265, 272, 280, 285, 292 lectures in Boston, 182 Hopkins, Mark, extract from his sermon on death of Mr. Lawrence, 287 peculiarities of Mr. Lawrence's bounty sketched by, 346-360 Howe, Dr., 235 Hubbard, Judge, 253 Hubbart, Tuthill, 154 Hulsemann, Chevalier, interview of Mr. Lawrence with, 158 Immigration from Europe, Mr. Lawrence's view of, 258, 270 Income, net, of Mr. Lawrence in the first two years, 36 practice of spending it, adopted by Mr. Lawrence, 263 Intoxicating liquors, total abstinence from, by Mr. Lawrence, 25 Ireland, Mr. Lawrence's contributions to the famished in, 236, 238 Johnson School, donation to, by Mr. Lawrence, 224 Kast, Dr., 302 Kent, Chancellor, 76 ride with--character of, 158 Kenyon College, aid to by Mr. Lawrence, 177 Lafayette, General, Mr. Lawrence's opinion of, 84 message to, 96 Lothrop, Samuel K., 122, 138, 175, 342 extract from his sermon on the death of Mr. Lawrence, 185 sketch of character of Mr. Lawrence by, 343-346 Lawrence, Abbott, 30, 131, 138 letters to, 48, 49, 51, 52, 55, 56, 72, 73, 189, 244, 266, 267 becomes partner with Amos, 38 character as an apprentice, 38 declines offer to dissolve copartnership, 47 sails for Europe, 48 his dispatch of business, 52 his military service in the last war with Great Britain, 56, 295 donation of $50,000 to Harvard College, 244 candidate for the Vice-Presidency, 256 tendered the office of Secretary of the Navy, 266 appointed Minister to the Court of St. James, 269 his popularity in Great Britain, 295 likeness of, 295 Lawrence, Mrs. Abbott, 280 Lawrence, Amos, when and where born, 15 ancestry of, 15 early instruction of, 20 his mechanical skill in boyhood, 20 anecdote of his school-days, 22 enters Groton Academy, 22 becomes a merchant's clerk, 22 adopts the principle and practice of total abstinence, 24 wounded by a gun-shot, 26 apprenticeship terminated, 28 accepts a clerkship in Boston, 29 commences business in Boston, 29 his boarding-house rule, 30 his promptness in paying bills, 31 motive for daily study, 32 his remarks on letter-writing, 32 his distinction between morality and religion, 34 his mercantile principles, 35 view of the credit system, 35 net income of first two years, 36 advice against parents becoming bondsmen for their sons, 37 his opinion of the theatre, 39 assists to establish his brother William in business, 39 flying visits to Groton, 40 alarming illness, 40 engagement of marriage, 43 marriage, 46 offer to dissolve copartnership declined, 47 letter on the death of his sister, 54 letter on the birth of his daughter, 57 recommends marriage, 57 domestic attachments, 60 adoption of book-keeping by double entry, 61 leniency to unfortunate debtors, 61 second alarming illness, 62 resignation in prospect of his wife's death, 64 tour through the Middle States, 68 appreciation of the right of suffrage, 70 delegate to assist in settlement of Jared Sparks, 71 becomes an inmate of his brother's family, 74 negotiates an exchange of foreign gold, 75 narrow escape from shipwreck, 75 second marriage of, 77 resumes housekeeping, 77 representative in the Legislature, 77 letter to Mr. Wolcott respecting his son, 78 becomes a manufacturer, 79 curtailment of his business, 81 extent of his correspondence, 83 opinion of Lafayette, 84 interest in Bunker Hill Monument, 84 journey to Canada, 89 objection to European fashions, 90 objection to a lottery for Bunker Hill Monument, 91 presentation of plate to Daniel Webster, 102, 103 dangerous illness of, 105 feelings in sickness, 106, 107, 111 visit to New Hampshire, 109 his life in a sick chamber, 112 his submission under divine chastisements, 112-114 inculcates systematic charity, 118 secret of his success, 118 exercise on horseback, 122 his diet, 123 improvement of health, 125 avoids the appearance of evil,126 his views of burial-places, 129 advice about selecting a wife, 130 advice to his daughter, 131, 132 gratitude towards his mother, 135 visit to Washington, 138 aversion to matrimonial speculations, 138 estimate of Congressional debates, 139 visit to Rainsford Island, 139 reflections on completing thirty years of business, 141 pecuniary condition, January 1st, 1838, 142 habits of promptness, 144 prospects on December 31st, 1838, 146 reflections on the death of his brother, 149 advocates family worship, 150 engraving of his birth-place, 151 character in the bestowal of gifts, 153 enjoyment of natural scenery, 155, 156 belief in reunion of friends hereafter, 157 annoyances arising from his reputation for benevolence, 159 his religious belief, 160 interest in a young colored lawyer, 165-6 reflections on his fifty-eighth birth-day, 167 his agency in securing completion of Bunker Hill Monument, 170-174 poetical toast to, 174 renders aid to Kenyon College, 177 acquaintance with Pres. Hopkins, 182 presents sent to President Hopkins, 183-4 his aversion to public commendation of himself, 189, 229 advice respecting his grandchildren, 191 opposes annexation of Texas, 192 joy at birth of twin granddaughters, 193 letter on death of his daughter, 194-196 sentiments in view of his prosperity, 197 his view of keeping the Sabbath, 202 offer of his remains for the dissecting-room, 218 his interest in the Johnson School, 224 fondness for children, 226 provides a hospital for sick children, 230 his gratitude for prosperity, 234 contributes to the famished in Ireland, 236 his application in behalf of Amherst College, 242 congratulates Abbott Lawrence on his donation to Harvard College, 244 his attendance at church, 246 his exactness in business, 247 kindness to an old debtor, 248 fac-simile of his hand-writing, 248 sentiments respecting a religious awakening in college, 255, 312 objects to his brother's taking political office, 256-257, 258, 266 estimate of the Bible, 257 prefers Gen. Taylor for President, 258 treatment of an applicant for aid, 260 joy at a revival of religion among Unitarians, 267 interview with Father Mathew, 270 adds a codicil to his will, 271 illness, 272 desire for death, 272 keeps Christmas with children, 277 circulates Dr. Hamilton's works, 279, 291, 292, 294 lameness, 281 attentions to children, 292 circulates Buxton's Life, 298 cancels a note for $500 against a clergyman, 300 interest in Wabash College, 309 controversy with a Scotch clergyman, 313-315 his ground of religious hope, 316 circulates Uncle Toby's Stories on Tobacco, 319 his diet, 326 prefers Scott for President, 327 solicits aid for Williams College, from Jonathan Phillips, 328 relieves the straitened circumstances of Gov. Davis, 330 chosen presidential elector, 333 votes for Scott and Graham, 334 intercourse with Franklin Pierce, 335 his last writing, 339 death of, 340 funeral ceremonies, 341, 342 sketches of his character, 343 personal appearance, 352 character of John Thornton applied to, 357 general character, 352-359 Lawrence, Amos A., 288 Lawrence, Arthur, 235 Lawrence, John, 15 Lawrence, Luther, value of his property, 30 Speaker of House of Representatives, 148 Mayor of Lowell, 148 death of, 148, 149 Lawrence, Robert, illness of, 205 letters of Mr. Lawrence respecting, 206-210 Lawrence, Samuel, Sen., 30 account of, 16 sketch of his military career, 17, 18 Lawrence, Samuel, presentation of a gold box to, by Mr. Lawrence, 235 Lawrence, Mrs. Sarah, illness of, 62 letter to her husband, 63 her condition described by Mr. Lawrence, 64 death of, 65 her death-bed scene described, 65-6 Lawrence, Mrs. Susanna, character of, 19 death of, 199 Lawrence, William, 30, 252 commences business in Boston, 39 donations of $45,000 to Groton Academy by, 222 death and character of, 261, 262 Lawrence Association, in the Mather School, note to, 237 contributions for Ireland by, 238 presentation of a silver cup to Mr. Lawrence by, 277 hymn sung at funeral of Mr. Lawrence by, 342 Letsom, Dr. C., 302 Letters from Amos Lawrence, 47 to a friend, 17, 57, 70, 73, 126, 130, 157, 186, 187, 190, 201, 215, 245, 246, 252, 262, 267, 283 to his son, 20, 30, 85, 99, 100, 101, 112, 114, 115, 124, 152, 190, 194, 200, 205, 206, 207, 332 to a college student, 24, 25 to Gen. Henry Whiting, 30, 273, 276 to a sister, 32, 33, 42, 68, 71, 73, 130, 166, 145 to Dr. Gannett, 45 to Abbott Lawrence, 48, 49, 51, 52, 55, 56, 72, 73, 189, 244, 266, 267 to his wife, 52, 63, 126 to a brother, 54, 68 to his mother-in-law, 63 to his sister-in-law, 69, 112 to Frederic Wolcott, 78 to his eldest son, abroad, 83, 87, 90, 91, 96, 98, 103, 106 to his second son, at Andover, 86, 117, 118, 125 to Daniel Webster, 97, 102 to his mother, 106, 107, 109, 110, 134, 141 to his daughter, 119, 127, 129, 131, 133, 150, 152 to his youngest son, 143 to his sisters, 149, 151 to a connection, 149 to his second son, in Europe, 154 to Rev. Charles Mason, 155 to Rev. Robert Turnbull, D.D., 160 to Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, 165 to General ----, 168 to Mr. Parker (a partner), 177, 204 to the Mechanic Apprentices' Library Association, 181 to President Hopkins, 183, 213, 214, 255, 257, 258, 259, 265, 272, 280, 285, 292 to his partners, 196, 245 to his children in France, 196 to his grandson, 209 to R. G. Parker, 224, 229 to Gov. Briggs, 227 to Alexander S. McKenzie, 234 to J. A. Stearns, for Lawrence Association, 237 to Madam Prescott, 239 to Sir Wm. Colebrooke, 240, 304 to a wealthy bachelor, 242 to Prof. Packard, 243, 338 to Mr. G----, 251 to Mr. and Mrs. Green, 252 to a physician, 253 to a newspaper editor, 257 to Rev. James Hamilton, D.D., 269, 279, 294, 296, 322 to his sons, 272 to Robert Barnwell Rhett, 274 to a country clergyman, 280 to an aged clergyman, 292 to Elliott Cresson, 299 to Lady Buxton, 300 to a lady in Philadelphia, 301 to Charles B. Haddock, 305 to Rev. Dr. Scoresby, 307 to. Rev. Geo. W. Blagden, D.D., 316 to a friend in South Carolina, 317 to Benjamin Seaver, 320 to a lady in Florida, 326 to Jonathan Phillips, 327 Levelling, Judge Story's maxim of, 266 Loan of money to Mr. Lawrence by his father, 36 Lowell, Charles, letter to Mr. Lawrence from, 321 Lowell, John, 78 Lunatic Asylum, plan for the new, 308 Manufactures, engagement of Mr. Lawrence in, 79 largeness of his interest in, 104 fluctuations in, 236 views of Mr. Lawrence respecting coarse and fine, 275 Marriage of Amos Lawrence, 46 Mason, Charles, 193 letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 155 Mason, Jeremiah, 109, 117 remarks of, on Rev, Dr. ----'s lectures, 219, 220 death and character of, 261, 262 Mason, Mrs. Susan, Mr. Lawrence's letter on the death of, 194-196 Massachusetts General Hospital, place of Trustee resigned by Mr. Lawrence, 116 Mather School, character of, 276 Mathew, Father, 270 Matrimonial speculations, aversion of Mr. Lawrence to, 138 Maxims of business--speculation condemned, 72 McIlvaine, Charles P., letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 177 McKenzie, Alexander S., letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, 234 present of a cane to Mr. Lawrence from, 260 death of, 261 Means, James, extract from address at jubilee of Groton Academy, by, 223 Means, Robert, 77 Mercantile principles adopted by Mr. Lawrence, 35 "Milo," arrival of ship, 52 Money, advice about spending, 143 Morality and religion, Mr. Lawrence's distinction between, 34 Mortgage of his father's farm, 36 Mount Auburn, interest taken in, by Mr. Lawrence, 175 National character, reflections upon, 133, 134 Native Americans, Mr. Lawrence's view of, 199 Natural History Society, donation to, by Mr. Lawrence, 231 Old Ladies' Home, donation to, by Mr. Lawrence, 321 "Old Oak," in Mount Auburn, 207, 208 Paine, Robert Treat, 38 Parker, C. H., letter to, 177 Parker, Daniel P., 268 Parker, R. G., letter from to Mr. Lawrence, 225 Parker, Susanna, 16 Parkman, Messrs., 37 Percy, Lord, 217 Perkins, Thomas H., 338 Pestilence, Dr. Shattuck's account of the, 40-42 Phelps, Mrs., 325 Phillips, Jonathan, letter from Mr. Lawrence to, respecting aid to Williams College, 327 donation from, to Williams College, 229 Pierce, Benjamin, son of President Pierce, note from, to Mr. Lawrence, 336 sudden death of, 336 Pierce, Franklin, character of, 318, 326 his intercourse with Mr. Lawrence, 335 Pitcairn, Major, account of his death, 302 removal of his remains to England, 303 Pitcairn, William, 302 Pond, Rev. Dr., 310 Prayer adopted by Mr. Lawrence, 248 Prescott, General, 17 Madam, note from Mr. Lawrence to, 239 her views on the comforts of old age, 239 Presidential Elector, Mr. Lawrence chosen in 1852, 334 Prince, Martial, 268 Property, memorandum-book of Mr. Lawrence respecting his, 80 Prudhoe, Lord, 217 Rainsford Island, visit to, and description of scenery, 139 Religion. (See Morality.) its cultivation urged upon his daughter, 119-121 Representative, Mr. Lawrence elected, 77 Richards, Giles, his card manufactory, 44 Richards, Sarah, Mr. Lawrence's engagement of marriage with, 43 Richardson, Captain, 22 Sabbath, Mr. Lawrence's view of keeping the, 202 Savings Institution. (See Athenæum.) Scenery, Mr. Lawrence's enjoyment of, 155, 156 Scoresby, Wm., letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 307 Sea-serpent seen at Hampton Beach in 1830, Mr. Lawrence's belief in the, 100 Mr. Lawrence's belief in the existence of the, 268 Sectarianism, Mr. Lawrence's freedom from, 161 Sharp, Daniel, 253, 342 letters from, to Mr. Lawrence, 176, 203, 282 Shattuck, George C, his account of the New England pestilence, 40-42 Shaw, Robert G., 333, 334 Shipwreck, narrow escape of Mr. Lawrence from, 75 Slavery, views of Mr. Lawrence on questions of, 275 view of its tendencies, 318 contribution for freeing a negro from, 334 South Carolina, manufactures in, encouraged by Mr. Lawrence, 275 Sparks, Jared, Mr. Lawrence a delegate to assist in the settlement of, 71 Story, Joseph, 169 letter from, to Mr. Lawrence, 179, 180 his maxim of "levelling," 266 Stone, John S., 123 letter from to Mr. Lawrence, 162 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 325 Strachan, Lady, 237 Stuart, Moses, letter of thanks from, 263 Sullivan, William, 84 Tarbell, Thomas, tribute to the memory of, 320 Taylor, Father, 123 Zachary, preferred for President by Mr. Lawrence, 258 Tennett, Mr., 38 Texas, letter of Mr. Lawrence to Mayor Chapman, on the annexation of, 192 Ticknor, George, 338 Tobacco, total abstinence from, by Mr. Lawrence, 25 book against, circulated by Mr. Lawrence, 319 letter respecting use of, 319 Touro, Judah, his donation for Bunker Hill Monument, 173 Turnbull, Robert, letter from Mr. Lawrence to, 160 Uncle Tom's Cabin, Lady Buxton's testimony respecting, 325 Unitarianism, Mr. Lawrence's opinion of, 246, 247 Van Schaick, M., 76 Vinton, Alexander H., 341 Wabash College, donation from Mrs. Lawrence to, 309 Ward, General, 140 Ware, Henry, Jr., 163 Warren, John C., 84, 170, 218 Washington, General, 44 celebration of his birth-day, 116 Webster, Daniel, letter from Mr. Lawrence respecting, 68, 69 Mr. Lawrence's view of his speech in reply to Hayne, 97 letter to Mr. Lawrence from, 97 letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, accompanying a presentation of plate, 102 letter from to Mr. Lawrence, 103 remarks on his address at Plymouth, 208 view of his character by Mr. Lawrence, 327 of his preparation for death, 337 White, Charles, account of his play, the "Clergyman's Daughter," 38, 39 White, Charles, President of Wabash College, 309 Whiting, Henry, clerk to Mr. Lawrence, 29 Will of Amos Lawrence, codicil to, 271 Williams College, Mr. Lawrence's interest in, 182 donation of $10,000 to, by Mr. Lawrence, 197 donation of $5,000 by Mr. Lawrence, for a library building at, 213 enlargement of library building proposed, 215 scholarships established in, by Mr. Lawrence, 245 account of Mr. Lawrence's benefactions to, 287-291 donation to, by Jonathan Phillips, 329 Winship, Dr., 302 Wolcott, Frederic, letter to, from Mr. Lawrence, 78 * * * * * IMPORTANT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC WORKS, PUBLISHED BY GOULD AND LINCOLN, 59 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON. ANNUAL OF SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERY; Or, Year Book of Facts in Science and Art. By DAVID A. WELLS, A. M. 12mo, cloth, $1.25. This work, commenced in the year 1850, and issued in the month of January, annually, embraces an enumeration and description of every important Invention, Discovery, or Scientific Theory, reported during the year. Each volume is distinct in itself, and contains ENTIRELY NEW MATTER, with a fine portrait of some person distinguished for his attainments in science and art. LAKE SUPERIOR; Its Physical Character, Vegetation, and Animals. By L. AGASSIZ, and others. One volume, octavo, elegantly Illustrated. Cloth, $3.50. THE PLURALITY OF WORLDS. New Edition. With a SUPPLEMENTARY DIALOGUE, in which the author's reviewers are reviewed. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. This masterly production, which has excited so much interest in this country and in Europe, will now have increased attraction in the SUPPLEMENT, in which the author's reviewers are triumphantly reviewed. 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Page 294: Abbott Lawrence's signature is handwritten below his picture. Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. 
42674	----	Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including some inconsistencies of hyphenation. Some changes have been made. They are listed at the end of the text. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. OE ligatures have been expanded. DIARY OF A HUNTER. THE DIARY OF A HUNTER FROM THE PUNJAB TO THE KARAKORUM MOUNTAINS. LONDON: LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, AND ROBERTS; NORWICH: HENRY W. STACY, HAYMARKET. M.DCCC.LXIII. NORWICH: PRINTED BY HENRY W. STACY, HAYMARKET. PREFACE. It is hoped that the circumstances under which this volume appears may be considered such as to excuse its imperfections. It is--with some omissions and completions of sentences but with hardly a verbal alteration--the copy of a journal, not written with a view to publication but simply as a private record, kept up from time to time as opportunity offered in the midst of the scenes which it describes. The hand that wrote it is now in the grave. And it is solely in compliance with the wishes of many relatives and friends who were anxious to obtain such a memorial of one whom they loved, that it is now committed to the press by a brother. CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. I. PREPARATIONS AND EQUIPMENTS 1 II. TO SIRINUGGUR 7 III. SIRINUGGUR--TO THE WURDWAN 28 IV. SHIKAR IN THE WURDWAN 48 V. DITTO 67 VI. DITTO 89 VII. SOOROO PASS TO LADÂK 109 VIII. LADÂK 135 IX. LEH 157 X. TO THE SHAYAK 176 XI. TO THE KARAKORUM 196 XII. SUGHEIT 225 XIII. THE YÂK 249 XIV. THE RETURN 264 XV. LEH AND LADÂK 285 XVI. THE BARA SING 302 XVII. CASHMERE 324 [Illustration: Browne. Lith. Norwich.] CHAPTER I. PREPARATIONS AND EQUIPMENTS. POSSIANAH, PIR PANJAL, 29th _April_, 1860. An attempt at a Diary, with the intention of recording my adventures and experiences in an excursion contemplated in Cashmere and adjacent countries--that of Ladâk being a principal object--during six months' leave from my duties at Amritsir. Several times in former days have I resolved to keep a journal, or jot down briefly the incidents and experiences of each passing day. But as often, after the lapse of a few days, have I failed to persist in the undertaking: whether from infirmity of purpose, or idleness, or from an utter contempt of the 'small beer' I had to chronicle, I do not myself know; and whether I shall be more successful in this present effort remains to be seen. Primary indications are not promising, as I have now been 'en route' from Amritsir, from the 16th to the 29th, thirteen days, and have excused myself, on one ground or other, from making a commencement until now. To be in order, I must note my preparatory arrangements, detail my supplies--their quality and quantity--the number and office of my attendants--the extent of my stud, and the amount and nature of my sporting equipments; especially this latter, as the chase, or, as it is called in India, 'shikar,' is with me a sort of mania, and all that appertains thereto is to me of very great importance. Therefore, as a guide for myself, or to advise others on some subsequent and similar occasion, I must minutely specify my shooting apparatus and fishing appointments, and, in the course of my diary, especially take note of efficiences and deficiences in this respect, as occasion may demand. To commence with the most important part of my travelling establishment,--the servants,--there was, First in consideration, the khansamah, who unites the duties of caterer, cook, and director general of the ways and means. Secondly, the sirdar or bearer,--the individual who, in this land of the minutest division of labour, looks after the clothes, bedding, &c., and assists in dressing and washing. He was a new hand, hired for the occasion, as my regular sirdar had to remain behind in charge of my property. Thirdly, the bheestie, who, in addition to his ordinary duties of fetching water, undertook to assist in cooking, washing up dishes, &c., for the consideration of three rupees additional wages, which I thought preferable to hiring a mussulchee, as the fewer attendants one has on the road to Ladâk the better, considering that for some marches all provisions and food have to be carried for the whole party. Fourthly, the classee, in whose charge were the tents and their belongings, &c.--his duty to accompany and pitch them. Fifthly and sixthly, two syces, grooms, in whose charge were my two ponies: one of which was a stout animal from Yarkand, a famous animal for mountain travelling: the other a good-looking, good sort of pony from Cabul, which I bought at hazard, taking him according to description in an advertisement, and he seems likely to justify fully the account given of him. In addition to these attendants, I agreed, after consultation with my excellent friends, the missionaries of Amritsir, to attach to my party a native Catechist, who by birth claims to be a Cashmiri. He has been, however, brought up and educated in the Punjab; where, when serving as a khitmudgur or sirdar, he became a convert to Christianity, and has for some years been in the employment of the Amritsir Mission. He has been in Cashmere and Ladâk, and understands the language of the former country. The object of his accompanying me is to circulate the Gospel in Bibles, Testaments, and tracts, which I received for that purpose from the missionaries, having myself first suggested the possibility of my being able to promote the spread and knowledge of the Christian Faith and Hope, by means of these books, in the heathen lands to which I was going,--intending to distribute them personally should opportunities offer. But the co-operation of the Catechist was a sudden after-thought of one of my good friends, the missionaries; which, as it only had birth two days before I started, was rather embarrassing to mature and act upon. But after the project had almost lapsed, owing to some misunderstanding resulting from the excited and unsettled state of mind of Suleiman, the Catechist, consequent on so sudden a summons to start, with little or no preparation, on such an arduous journey, leaving, too, a wife and family--she in a delicate state--it was finally arranged that Suleiman should accompany me at my charges. My retinue was again unexpectedly increased by engaging a Cashmiri who presented himself to me as I was returning home from breakfast at mess. He shewed me a certificate of character, stating him to be an useful servant, capable of any personal attendance required by a traveller and hunter. He had the strong recommendation, too, of an intimate acquaintance with the country of Ladâk, and the routes north and east of Cashmere, together with the sporting localities, the haunts of the yâk (wild cattle), and the kyang (wild horse); so thinking him an acquisition I closed with him at twelve rupees per month, and directed him to proceed to the rendezvous at Bhimber. Having thus enumerated my personal attendants, I must now mention my coolies, Cashmiries, twenty of whom I engaged at five rupees a month to convey my baggage to Sirinuggur, the capital of Cashmere. My stores, and all articles that could be so disposed, were packed in long baskets, called kheltas, which the Cashmiries hoist on their backs, strapping them to their shoulders: and with them they carry a stout crutch about two feet high, on the cross-piece of which they rest their load when pausing on the road, and taking breath in ascending mountains--an excellent mode of relief as it does not cause them to shift or put down their load. They only straighten their backs, so that the khelta rests on the crutch; and when refreshed again bend to their burden and trudge on, often--too often for the early arrival of one's baggage--repeating this process. This mode of hiring coolies answers admirably. They are returning to their homes in Cashmere from Amritsir, to which grand emporium for Cashmere goods they had brought loads of merchandise in the commencement of the cold season, and it is to them, of course, a piece of good luck getting return loads. They all appeared strong, sturdy, well-limbed men, and got away with my traps, my servants and horses in company, the whole under charge of my khansamah, Abdoolah, on the evening of the 8th April. I must not forget, in my catalogue of live stock, two little dogs, of no particular merit, but dear to me as affectionate companions after their kind. I had made ample provision for my creature comforts, having been told by an experienced traveller, and having gleaned from books of travel, that the Ladâk country is sterile in the extreme, and consequently possesses little of what constitutes by habit the necessaries of an European. I took 4 tins of bacon, 1 case of maccaroni, 1 ditto vermicelli, 2 ditto biscuits, 1 tin of cheese, 3 pots of jam, 7 bottles of pickles, 24 lbs. of tea in 3 tins, and 3 lbs. for immediate use, two 8-lb. boxes of China sugar, and some 5 or 6 lbs. I had by me, 3 bottles essence of coffee, 7 lbs. raw ditto, 2 bottles fish sauce, 4 various ditto, 3 bottles lime juice, 2 vinegar, 2 oil, 6 lbs. candles, besides which Clarke's patent lamp, and lots of candles, 6 bottles brandy, 12 sherry, 12 beer, to which I added, carrying with me, 6 bottles of hock and 6 claret--some of a batch arriving the day I left, which, having ordered expressly for the mess myself, I was anxious to taste. I took, by way of medicines, 12 drams of quinine, a box of Peake's pills, one phial chloridyne, some Holloway's ointment and sticking-plaister, with some odds and ends I do not remember. This was my stock. Of fire arms, I took a double rifle by Blissett, 10 bore--one heavy double Enfield, ditto--one rifle, military pattern, by Whitworth--one double-barrelled Westley Richards for shot; 8 lbs. powder, good supply of bullets, shot No 3 and 6, caps, wads, &c. These guns were taken from their cases and placed in a woollen case, then in a leathern case respectively, this being, I think, the most convenient way of carrying them, four of my servants having charge, each of one. Two Colt's revolvers and ammunition, shikar knife and belts, knives for skinning, four boxes arsenical paste, from Peake and Allen, cleaning rods, bullet moulds, and all the paraphernalia of a sportsman. Of fishing-tackle, a large salmon-rod, a common trout-rod, a gaff, two large winches, one small; stout plaited silk line, and hair for the small rod, a variety of flies, and a good supply of spinning tackle and hooks, on which, from past success, I principally depended. Being without good spinning gear, I had some hooks, or rather the spinning contrivance to which they were fitted, made by a 'maistry' in Amritsir, after a model I had given him; and very well he succeeded. The system of hooks was devised and fitted by a young brother officer, an ardent devotee of the gentle craft, and clever at all kinds of fishing gear. Having the year previous killed some good fish in a fine stream 'en route' to Cashmere, I anticipated some sport this time. My tents were, the one a small two-poled shikar tent made very light, about 12 ft. long by 7, which for the present trip I had covered so as to resemble, in some degree, what is called a Swiss cottage tent; the other was a small thing, just big enough to put a bed in, and carried altogether by one coolie: the bigger one takes four. I had also a folding wooden bed, and lots of bed clothes, &c. I have now enumerated all I recollect of my equipment, a good stock of suitable clothes being understood. CHAPTER II. TO SIRINUGGUR. I had hoped to have received intelligence of the Commander-in-Chief's sanction of my application for leave ere the 15th. I only heard from the Assistant Adjutant General at Lahore that it had been forwarded: so, being in command at Amritsir, I gave myself leave in anticipation, and, having some days previously arranged my 'palki dâk,' I entered it about 4.30 P.M. on Monday the 16th, and making up my mind for a grilling, it being extremely hot, off I started amid the farewell salaams of my deserted retainers. The heat was very great, but the prospect before me of, ere many days, plunging into the eternal snows rendered endurance easy. I reached the Sealkote bungalow about twelve next day: bathed, breakfasted, made another meal at 4 P.M., after which I again jogged on along the dusty road, keeping down my disgust and refreshing my weary spirits, by conjuring up visions of snowy regions, and glorious sport as before. And thus I arrived at Goojerat, after crossing the Chenab at 5 A.M. on the morning of the 18th. Here I halted, breakfasted, and dined. Pursuing my hot and dusty route at 4.30 P.M., I arrived at Bhimber about twelve midnight, received good accounts of my belongings from Abdoolah, was almost devoured by my two little pets, found Suleiman had arrived, but no tidings of the Cashmiri, Jamhal Khan. I turned into bed in my tent, feeling a delightful sensation at being really out of the scorching plains of the Punjab; though I could hardly be said to be so, for the following day,-- Thursday, 19th April, the heat was excessive, thermometer in the day 96°, and at 9 P.M. in my tent, 90°. This day was employed in arranging loads, and selecting such articles as I needed on the road. Jamhal Khan joined, and made salaam. Suleiman went into Bhimber, a large straggling town, and endeavoured to create a desire for the knowledge of the Gospel. He encountered opposition, and found none willing to receive books. 20th April. I made a good start before day had well dawned. It was a miserable day's march, having a river to be crossed about ten times, the bed of which, and indeed the road itself, is composed of boulders and stones innumerable. There is also a steep ascent to climb, which is no easy job, the path up it being merely indented in the naked rock by continual footsteps. I may as well remark here, that this road is the whole way abominable, nothing being ever done to improve it, although there is a large amount of traffic along it with the Punjab; and the Maharajah, with his usual avarice, takes good care to have heavy dues levied on all imports and exports--bad luck to him, for a horrid screw! The track is nothing more than a watercourse, and up and down the steep hills is really dangerous. The path this day leads over the said hill, on which is a station of the rajah's in a narrow pass, where are officials to examine passengers and take toll. The path thence descends roughly and irregularly to a small valley, in which is the halting place, the 'baraduri' being a repaired portion of one of the old 'serais,' built, I believe, by the Emperor Akbar. Many of them still exist, as also remnants of bridges, also the work of that mighty potentate. This place is called Saidabad, and though, perhaps, as hot as the Punjab, being very confined, the pines and firs, the variety of foliage, green crops, and verdant grassy slopes, with hills around you, and mountains in the distance, tend much to lessen the sense of heat. There are officials and sepoys here, and supplies in moderation--tattoos, perhaps, coolies, fowls, &c. to be had. 21st April. I made a good start for Nowshera, sending on a coolie with a basket containing breakfast. The first part of the road is rough and difficult, lying by the stream, interrupted by rocks; but it now opens into a pretty narrow valley, from which you ascend a stiff steep hill of rock, but well wooded, and, at this season, clothed with varieties of flowering shrubs and plants, dog-roses abounding, by which the air was pleasantly perfumed. On the summit of the hill is an old piece of solid masonry, now inhabited by an old couple who supply excellent milk and eggs to wayfarers. There is a beautiful and very extensive view from this eminence of a fertile valley in which, on a small hill, is situate Nowshera, its white buildings conspicuous. But the object of interest is the snowy ridge of the Panjal range, and interposing itself midway, so as to exclude from sight all but the upper ridges of the Pir Panjal, lies the Rattan Panjal, its upper crests partially and thinly covered with snow. The whole scene is charming as viewed at early morning, ere the dews, ascending in misty vapours--in themselves beautifying the landscape by their varied and many-tinted effects--are dissipated by the sun. At the foot of the hill the path proceeds through ups and downs of a more or less stony character, until you descend into the valley of the Tooey, a fine rapid brawling stream, in some places one hundred yards wide, but averaging perhaps fifty: possessing some deep still pools, at the turbulent entrances to which an angler would wager good fish would be found, were there any in these waters. Nor would he be far wrong. There are fish, and huge ones, too, in those promising pools. Nor are they quite insensible to the wiles of the crafty angler, who may with moderate skill enjoy good sport along this river. But here, as elsewhere, fish have their moods and whims, their times and seasons, so that some practice and observation are requisite. You cross this river, and some two hundred yards on the 'baraduri' is situated in the middle of a densely-planted garden. Not liking its appearance--thinking it would, at least, be prolific of insects and of fever--I went on through the town of Nowshera, and, descending again to the river, encamped under a 'tope' of mulberry trees, in a long grassy plain, lying between a range of hills of moderate height and the river. There is little to notice in Nowshera, a long street with the ordinary bazaar shops, and, on the right-hand, a castellated gateway, leading into an old serai, one of the series of Akbar, I suppose. I tried fishing in the evening at a splendid looking pool, very deep, in which the rushing waters bury themselves, as it were, for a time, pausing ere they again pursue their onward troubled course. This pool lies under a precipitous cliff, just beneath the town; it is of considerable extent, and of unknown depth, and in its dark recesses lurk mahseer of monstrous bulk, I am told. My fortunes were at their worst this evening, as far as catching a dish of fish went. I tried spinning, having been provided with most tempting minnow-like bait by some small boys, eager for 'backsheesh': and I tried 'atta' in a sticky lump on a large-sized salmon-hook--a bait of reputed irresistibility--but without effect. Numbers of fish, small and some evidently of goodly size, to set one longing, rose and actually floundered on the surface; but not a run could I get. A heavy thunderstorm, bursting in the distance, was rapidly approaching, which was, perhaps, the unlucky evil influence: so, tired of trying to get anything out of the water, I took a header in, and enjoyed a most refreshing and cooling swim. 22nd April. Sunday. Halted and passed the Sabbath in repose. 23rd April. To Chungir-ke-Serai--a long and tedious march, the path leading over rocks which hedge in the river, on turning an angle of which I overtook Abdoolah, who had preceded me with the breakfast things, standing gazing back in my direction. I told him it was not yet time for breakfast, supposing that to be his meaning, when he pointed upwards, and, suspended from the projecting limb of a tree, some little way up the hill shutting in the river, hung the still-mouldering body of a man, his lower limbs still in his clothes, the ghastly face denuded of flesh, yet with a matted felt of hair straggling here and there over the glistening bones, grinning horribly down upon us. This wretch, it appeared, had in the most treacherous, barbarous, and cowardly manner murdered an old man and child, close to the spot where he expiated his crime. Being a sort of rural policeman in the employ of the Maharajah, he was armed with a sword, which, of course, excited no suspicion in his victims, whom he joined on the road as they journeyed from Nowshera, and ascertaining that they possessed a few rupees' worth of property, the miserable caitiff, yielding to the suggestions of the Tempter, cut them down, and threw their bodies into the river. Suspicions followed their disappearance: other circumstances pointed to this man, who was arrested, and confessing his guilt was executed where the bloody deed was committed. I left this gloomy spot full of reflections of the most depressing nature: but with that rapidly revolving mental process, which so soon exchanges our train of thought, I was soon almost as though the repulsive object had not been met with. I soon afterwards arrived at a pool, where I proposed stopping to breakfast, and also to fish, having in this pool, when passing last year, whilst occupying a seat on a rock overhanging it, observed some monstrous great fish basking; for it was a scorching hot day, and the sun at high meridian at the time. I tried the 'atta' bait--merely paste made very adhesive--but without more than one or two nibbles which came to nothing: so knocked off and comforted the inner man. While so employed, came by a 'gent' riding, whom I saluted. I knew him to be in my rear, proceeding to join the Trig. survey party which was before me some days: asked him to dinner, and he accepted. Arrived at Chungir-ke-Serai, an old Akbar serai, on the top of a hill overhanging the river--a fine view of the snowy range--the features of the country rough, but picturesque. I tried fishing again without success: enjoyed a cool swim: returned and had to wait about three-quarters of an hour for my guest, although he was close at hand, and I sent to him two or three times. But, lo! he at length appeared, got up rather considerably, quite abashing me, who was sitting in a flannel shirt and corresponding nethers. We had a pleasant chat together. He informed me that he had never been out of India, was born in the country, and educated at Landour, whence he was appointed direct to the Survey department. I do not know his name. 24th April. Rijaori. I made an early start as usual, and had a rough scrambling march of it. The road following the trend of the river, here and there crosses steep stony hills, where the track is only a watercourse. We crossed the river just below Rijaori. This passage is at times very difficult and dangerous, and never very pleasant, as there is a great body of water, and strong current at all times, but after the rains a roaring flood. The camp-ground of Rijaori is very pretty, in a garden, one of much note, there being remains of aqueducts and fountains, a summer-house on an eminence overlooking the river, and the town on the other side. In the garden are some magnificent plane trees, called 'chunar' in Cashmere, affording good and pleasant protection from the sun. I found a young officer of the 24th encamped here, and asked him and my former guest to dinner. I prepared my tackle, and was provided with small fish by youngsters who remembered me the year before, and started to fish, full of expectation, at 4.30 P.M.--the sun broiling. I tried the nearest pool under the temple, where last year a mighty fish had got off, breaking my line and robbing me of my best spinning tackle--no run, nothing stirring. I went down to another fine pool, where two streams blend their waters, situated under a lofty hill, steep and well-wooded down to the precipitous rocky bank of the river--a lovely piece of water; had an offer or two, and hooked and landed an impudent little brat of 2-lb. weight; then had some little sport with a nice little chap of 5-lb. or so, when, having disturbed the pool, I went lower and fished two or three likely spots, without moving anything. So I struggled back over the bothering boulders to my pet pool, where I strove long and ineffectually, and was actually on the point of leaving off, when--Whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr went the reel, the rod bent double, the line smoked again, and the still waters of the pool rose in swells, as the sogdollager I had hold of darted violently down the stream. Fifty yards were out in no time, when I butted him strongly, and turned him, only then getting an idea of his weight, and joyfully exclaimed he was a twenty-pounder. The young officer of the 24th was with me; he and the native attendants were greatly excited. I was conscious of having work cut out for me, and intensely eager to secure the prize I knew to be at stake. The struggle was long and stout. At one time the fish turning up stream, made direct for the bank where 24th stood, about forty yards from me. A brawling cascade separated us, and I was over knees in water in another noisy rapid, so did not hear his remarks, but noticed his gesticulations, and judged from them, he was astonished at the monster I had hold of. Well, after a rare game of pully-hauly, my scaly enemy took the bottom, and I could not move him. 'Oh! what a weight he must be,' thought I; 'hold on good tackle!' I shook the bait, so as to make his jaws rattle and his teeth ache, when at last he moved with a vengeance, making a violent effort, up and down and all sides, to break away. Then he shewed his massive golden side--glorious sight! I hauled him towards a round hand-net a handy lad held ready in the water--no gaff with me--but too soon yet. Away he sped, bending the rod alarmingly, and making the winch talk loudly. I turned him again, and repeated the attempt to net him--away he rushed again. I then humoured him, and tired him with the rod and short line, until he was bagged, the lad going up to his middle, and when in the net he could not lift him out himself. He was a regular monster in size, but beautiful to behold--a truly handsome fish, of lustrous golden hues. He was carried off in triumph, suspended from my mountain staff across the shoulders of two well-sized youths, who could but just keep his tail off the ground. Great was the admiration in camp, and many and various the guesses at his weight. 24th and I each had a 24-lb. weighing hook: putting both together, a weight of 48 lb. was required to bring both indicators flush, which my captive did; so we rated him as a fifty-pounder. I must not dismiss this sporting incident without recording the excellent qualities of this fish when brought to table. He had hung all night, disembowelled: in the morning was not scaled, but skinned, and being cut in lateral scallops was simply fried, and without any exaggeration was delicious, only inferior to a good salmon. It was firm and rich, of a brown colour, flaked with curd, and though I was prepared with anchovy sauce, that was scouted. I never myself eat any mahseer, or other Indian river fish, anything like it. My two guests chatted away at dinner, a glass or two of ale being highly appropriate on the occasion of this huge success. We parted at nine, early hours being essential, they intending to proceed onwards at dawn, I to stop and try my luck again. 25th April. Rijaori. I tried the upper pool above the town, a beautiful and most promising-looking pool: but, after trying every persuasive and seducing attitude, failed to move an admirer, and being chilled returned to camp and breakfast, when I regaled upon the morsel I have above described. I passed the day reading, and anxious for the shades of evening to permit my further attempts on the fishes, but to cut short this evening's proceeding need only say that I fastened to another leviathan in the same pool, after many indecisive offers had been made; but, woe is me! he at once, after feeling himself fast and trying rod and line, bored straight down, and cutting my bottom-line over a stone got clear off with my set of spinning tackle. Let me draw a veil over my misery, nor again awake memory to the bitterness of my disappointment. 26th April. To Thanna. The road still running in company with the river, the courses only being reversed. This day's march was much pleasanter than any previous one, there being but little up and down comparatively, and the pathway in many places lying under shady wooded slopes, its sides fringed with numbers of sweet-smelling shrubs. The approach to Thanna presents a lovely view of the Rattan Panjal range in front; and on the left-hand is a well-wooded range of hills, beneath which are undulating slopes, whereon is a good deal of cultivation which is in some parts carried in terraces to the tops of the hills. There is an old fort-like building, formerly the habitation of some ruffian of a rajah, I presume. The camp was pitched close to a small village on the road to the Rattan Pir. At this place Suleiman had an attentive audience of some ten or twelve respectable natives, who listened to his account of our religion with pleasure, and were glad to accept some Gospels and tracts, never having, they said, obtained any accurate idea before of what the Christian Faith consisted. I have omitted to note the effect produced by Suleiman at the different stations, so will retrace my steps for that purpose. At Rijaori, the first day, he was not only repulsed, but threatened. On the second day, however, he had listeners, and distributed some books. At Nowshera, favourable results--being listened to calmly and attentively, some enquiries and discussions entered into, and some Gospels and tracts received. There was here a teacher in a school, who had been educated in the mission school of Lahore, and he it was whose influence operated favourably. He took some books for his school. I forgot to mention an occurrence at Bhimber. I had noticed in the day a man lying near the 'baraduri,' who was apparently suffering, and continually uttered cries and moans from the same spot. I called Suleiman, and with a light proceeded to make enquiries; when it appeared that this unfortunate man had fallen from a mulberry tree close by, and had disabled himself so much that he could not proceed on his way home to Cashmere. So there he was left to shift for himself, dependent on the charity of passers by, wholly unable to raise himself from the ground. I sent for the havildar of the guard, and giving the disabled man five rupees, which I understood to be ample for the purpose, ordered him to be removed to a house, to be cared for, and sent to his home when recovered. Thinking this a good opportunity, I called the attention of some thirty people, who were looking on, to the fact that the Christian religion thus enjoined its professors to obey their Lord's commands, and that the religion of Jesus Christ was love. Not being sufficiently fluent myself, I requested Suleiman to use this living text, and he addressed the assemblage, who seemed much impressed, and expressed their entire concurrence in the sentiments and principles uttered. But this is often the case without any further consequences. 27th April. From Thanna across the Rattin Pir pass to Byramgullah. This is a stiff pull, but not precipitous. The path winds about, taking advantage of the slopes of the mountain to gain the summit gradually. There is a faquir's establishment on the top, and the view on either side is very fine. That looking down over the plain past Rijaori and Nowshera--over the several wave-like lines of inferior hills into the plains of the Punjab of limitless extent, lost only in vapour and distance--is grand from its great extent, and beautiful in its varied features as in its colouring. The other side presents the masses of the Pir Panjal, covered with snow. This range is of bold massive proportions, and affords the traveller a truly sublime picture of mountain scenery. The descent to Byramgullah is steep and rugged, and altogether wearisome. But, when accomplished, one is amply compensated for one's toils. The road from the foot of the mountain crosses a bridge over a picturesque torrent, clear and rapid, rushing in roaring cascades below. There is here every component part of a beautiful landscape, but space. The valley is confined, there being but just room for the river and a small bit of level on an elevated bank. This is shut in by lofty hills, some entirely clothed with a rich mantle of foliage, others having intervals of grassy slopes. But the whole is singularly beautiful. There is a fort on an isolated hill, of curious structure, only capable of defence against bows and arrows, I should think; but it is a picturesque object, of a Swiss character as to architectural appearance. 28th April. Along the bed of the torrent to Possianah, crossing some thirty-five bridges (so called), very awkward for riding, but, on the whole, an easy march, the scenery of a romantic character. Possianah is a singularly built village, on the precipitous side of a mountain which is the vis-a-vis of the redoubtable Pir Panjal; which here, lifting his snowy summit to the clouds, frowns down upon you in all his majesty and grandeur, looking by no means affable to approach, and promising an arduous struggle to get the better of. The village is at this time more miserable than ever, its ordinary inhabitants having deserted it to escape the rigours of the winter; there remained or had returned only two or three. Many houses, being most inappropriately built with flat roofs, had fallen in, and altogether the place had anything but a cheerful aspect. Here, however, I must pass two days, the 29th being Sunday. So I had the hovel, used as a baraduri, cleaned out, and there ensconced myself and traps, and had nothing whatever to complain of,--the most magnificent scenery around me, a delightful climate (the wind, perhaps, a little too chill here), and no scarcity of creature comforts. 29th April. Sunday. I halted at Possianah. When at Byramgullah, I heard the Pir was not passable for tattoos, so left mine there to await orders, intending to leave them to come on in a few days, when the road would probably be open. But from a near reconnoitre of the mountain as to snow, and from information acquired, I determined to run the risk, and sent for my ponies. As I was at breakfast a saheb was announced, and a stout party made his appearance, a M. Olive, a French merchant in the shawl trade, who passes the winter season at Amritsir, returning to Cashmere, when the passes open, for business. The Maharajah does not permit Europeans to reside in the valley during the winter; perhaps, from jealousy of their becoming permanent residents, and finally annexing the country; perhaps, because the winter is the time for collecting his revenue, when, it is said, the most infamous oppression is practised, and complaints are rife and loud. I had seen the new comer, but was not acquainted with him, and could do no less than invite him to share my homely fare, and after some polite demur he fell to. He spoke no English, and my French had been lying 'perdue' a couple of years or so; but I assayed to converse, and eking out my French with Hindostani managed to keep up the conversation without difficulty. The stout gent had been carried all the way from Amritsir in a jan-pan--a sort of covered chair on poles--which four or six men at a time carry on their shoulders. How he could ever get up the Pir Panjal, I could not imagine. Another traveller had also arrived--one, by the bye, I should have previously noted as having arrived at Rijaori the day I halted there--an artillery Vet, who had been suffering from some affection of the head, and irritability of nerves. He dined with me at Rijaori, and highly approved the mahseer, which he pronounced equal to salmon, but far inferior in my opinion. In the course of the day I found the unfortunate Vet had sent his pony round by the Poonah pass from Baramoolah, and he lamented having done so, groaning over the prospect of the morrow's arduous exertions. I, therefore, placed mine at his disposal, as I prefer footing it, especially when the path is difficult. 30th April. From Possianah to Dupchin. The road from Possianah descends to the torrent roaring at a considerable depth below, from which the ascent recommences, so that you have to descend from a considerable elevation, perhaps a quarter of the height of the Pir, and then again ascend on the other side; which loss of way is provoking. From Possianah to the foot of the Pir is, I imagine, two miles, the latter part of the road very rough and stony. I started on this occasion without any refreshment, such as tea, thinking I should better husband my breath, and work my lungs more easily: and I think the idea a success, as I ascended with much more ease and comfort than on the former occasion, when I primed myself with tea, hard eggs, &c. It is, undoubtedly, a tremendous pull; and one meets with a provoking deception as to distance. For when about a quarter of the height has been ascended, the first flight, as it were, up to the snow drift, the traveller looking above him, puffing and panting with his violent efforts, sees above him what appears to be the summit close at hand, which is but the top of the lower ridge, from which runs a somewhat level path on the slope to the snow drift--an enormous mass of snow, some half-mile long, and, I suppose, from one to two hundred yards broad, and, I fancy, from fifty to a hundred feet deep, filling a gorge of the mountain which commences quite at the summit. Over this mass we struggled, a violent icy blast in our faces, to a point where the path turns off to the left, and climbs upwards by zigzags to the more gradual slope under the summit. Here I overtook a woman carrying a boy of, perhaps, five years old, who, poor little creature, was crying bitterly from cold, his teeth chattering, and presenting a forlorn appearance. The woman was sitting down disconsolate, unable to proceed. I tried to persuade her to put the lad down, and lead him, to restore circulation, but she did not adopt my suggestion; so, leaving a man to help them on, I continued my ascent, and finally reached the top. The height is, I believe, some 10,000 feet above the sea. The view, looking back, is magnificent--an endless succession of wave-like lines of hills terminating, as they gradually recede, in the hot vapours of the Punjab. It was pleasant to look down the steep and rugged path we had won our way up, there beholding others still toiling and struggling upwards, the coolies with their loads in a long-drawn straggling line, here coming into view, and quickly disappearing behind some projection or in some bend of the road, but constantly to be seen resting on their crutches. I watched my ponies with some anxiety. They had been stripped in order to give them every freedom of limb, and several coolies had been told off to assist them. They were more than half-way up when I saw them: it was just at a difficult point, where the snow was deep and soft, and the path hung on the side of the mountain. The old Yarkandi broke through the snow, and was plunging and struggling violently, but after three or four desperate efforts got out of trouble. The other avoided this place. I find the former from his very caution apt to go off the good path, and get himself into difficulties. When the snow gives, he goes down on his knees and so hobbles on. I did not wait longer, but strode away over the snowy plains, which descend in a very gentle incline to the Alliahabad Serai. The sensation was delightful after the troublesome ascent, and I enjoyed the change of play of muscles amazingly, as did my two little dogs to whom the snow was a novelty. They kept frisking and bounding about, rushing off to a distance, then occasionally taking a roll. The landscape, as a winter scene, was perfect,--one glittering field of snow, lofty hills on either side also covered with snow, the sun shining cheerily, and the difficult entrance to the valley achieved. But after a time my eyes ached from the glare, and I was glad when a mile or two of descent brought us to patches of brown hillside. There were two very awkward watercourses to cross, the banks high, precipitous, and covered with snow, giving every chance of a tumble. I got well over, and found the serai, where I had intended to halt, in such a state from snow, melted and unmelted, and the only place for camping in a similar condition that, shrinking from its chill uninviting aspect, I determined to push on; so after my usual breakfast of cold tea and hard eggs I again sped on my way--and a toilsome way it was. The sun was now very hot, and the path running over ridges and down gorges of rock on the slopes of the mountain, and encumbered with snow, in enormous drifts in some of the ravines, made this additional eight miles (I think it was) a formidable addition to the ascent of the Panjal. I forgot to mention that on the top of the Pir is a faquir's hut, where last year we were supplied with the most delicious draught of milk we had ever tasted. But the faquir had not yet ventured to face the inclement climate, so no milk this time. There is also a small watch tower of an octagonal form, of which there are several to be seen, here and there, along the route. This forms a very conspicuous object, being so distinctly seen at Possianah as to deceive one as to the distance; and I fancy that an European accustomed to the denser atmosphere of the mountain regions in that quarter of the globe would be astonished at the atmospheric effects here. Rarely, except in case of a thunderstorm, and in the rainy season which lasts about two months, is there any vapour to impede the vision, which roams over snowy peaks of various chains of mountains far on the other side of Cashmere. The beauties of this scenery, in its magnificence and colossal proportions, its illimitable extent and brilliancy of colouring, is far beyond any description. All around you nature exhibits herself in her most attractive forms, presenting almost every variety of shape and colour, mountain and valley, rock and dell, forests of noble pines and individual giants waving their monstrous arms overhead as you pursue your path, with foaming torrents dashing at the bottom of the precipices below you, gushing rills of purest water trickling from the hills on whose slopes you move, and from the path to the torrent below you stretch undulating grassy slopes, here steep, there gently inclining, occasionally intercepted by a rough ravine through which tumbles a torrent, and the whole surface gay with many flowers which the while perfume the air--the 'tout ensemble' is such as to send the observant traveller, however much his limbs may be taxed, exhilarated and rejoicing on his way. It is a new existence to any one coming from the depressing monotony of the interminable plains of the Punjab. I had a long time to wait at Dupchin before any of my followers arrived; so I took a snooze under a pine tree adjoining a fine stream, at which I had slaked my thirst. The whole of my effects did not arrive until about five o'clock. There was no village, no house here, it being simply used as a camp ground, for which it offered some facilities--a level surface, wood and water in abundance--food we had brought with us. The night was bitterly cold, but my servants managed tolerably, four or five sleeping in my smaller tent, as many as it would hold. Others and the coolies coiling themselves up in their warm blankets under a pine-clad bank, screening them from the wind, by the help of rousing fires of dry pine wood kept up through the night, if not perfectly comfortable, did not suffer: for they did not grumble--a good sign. 1st May. To Shupyim. The first part of the road is rough and difficult, through a pine forest. You then cross the river by a bridge, the scenery charming; emerge from the forest, and enter upon level grass lands. We halted at Heerpoor for breakfast, a small village where supplies are to be got: there is an old serai, one small room only habitable, but good ground for camping. The road from Heerpoor to Shupyim is good, over level grassy elevated land, park-like scenery on either hand, the valley of Cashmere widening before you, and a glorious display of mountains beyond it. One may consider oneself fairly in the valley here, having left the mountains behind; there remain only slight elevations between Shupyim and Sirinuggur. 2nd May. I followed the path to Sirinuggur which, although one of the principal roads to the capital, was but a bridle path, in some places difficult to find, and leading over rivers and streams, some of which, being without bridges, are awkward to cross. We halted at a village called Serai, from there being the remains of one there. Ramoo is the usual station, but it does not divide the distance so equally, being too near Shupyim. We had some difficulty in obtaining supplies, Jamhal Khan being compelled to resort to harsh measures, such as kicking and so forth, to bring the village official to a sense of his duties, and the importance of a 'burra saheb.' This discipline was that best adapted to his rude perceptions: and after some vociferations, and making as though he would apply to me, who cruelly stopped the address with threats of further coercive measures, he roused himself, and set to work with activity to get what was required. M. Olive came up: he had intended going right on to Sirinuggur, expecting horses out to meet him, with his city man of business. The latter did appear, and informed him that the ponies were sent the other road, it being understood he would enter the valley of Baramoolah. M. O. decided to remain, and readily accepted my invitation 'a gouter:' when with some biscuits and potted bloaters, washed down by a bottle of excellent hock, we contrived to open the sources of our eloquence, and sat out regardless of the sun which, though the air was pleasant and fresh, had a powerful tanning effect, as my face indicated on retiring to my tent. Previous to thus taking 'tiffin,' I proposed to M. Olive that we should unite our provisions and dine together, as I had some claret on which I wished to have his judgment pronounced. He readily assented, remarking that his khansamah should have orders to combine culinary operations with mine. I strolled out, and went in the direction of Sirinuggur, looking to obtain a view of that city, but could only discern its site, indicated by the fort of Hari-Parbut, conspicuous on a solitary hill, and by the poplar trees, forming avenues round the city. I returned and sat down to dinner with M. Olive, who, by the bye, added nothing to the repast, apologising as he had intended dining at Sirinuggur. However, I had abundance, and the claret was greatly admired, and fully appreciated, M. Olive declaring it to be 'une veritable acquisition': it had, however, considerable body, so we did not drink more than half the bottle--sufficient again to engage us in uninterrupted conversation. M. Olive became quite eloquent, and getting on some pet topics connected with France and her glories, Louis Nap. and his genius and policy, he launched out and discussed these matters with great intelligence. He is a very agreeable companion, having all the politeness of manner of the well-educated Frenchman, and being a man of sense and observation I found all he enlarged upon, and his views and opinions, interesting and instructive. CHAPTER III. SIRINUGGUR--TO THE WURDWAN. 3rd May. To the city of Sirinuggur--the immediate object and termination of the first part of my journey. The road was indifferent and uninteresting, running through a low level country with undulations, more or less elevated, and watercourses. We passed some splendid chunar trees, and occasional stretches of verdant turf; and on either side, adjoining the road, were growing large patches of lilies, blue and white, scenting the air with the most delicate perfume. About a mile from the city one enters an avenue of poplars, leading on to a bridge crossing the river Jhelum which flows through the midst of the city; and from this bridge one obtains a general idea of the city itself. The impression is far from favourable, the houses appearing mean and in a state of ruin and neglect, the population squalid and dirty. Nor does a more intimate acquaintance remove this impression. The site of the city is beautiful, the surrounding scenery all that could be wished, but man, in himself and his works, has disfigured and defiled as lovely a spot as could be anywhere selected in the universe. I was conducted to a small house on the Jhelum, called Colonel Browne's house, from his frequently residing there. It is kept for the senior officer arriving, and I happen at this time to be that important individual. There was no noticeable difference between this and the eight or nine small residences on either side. They are paltry buildings, only calculated for roughing it 'en garçon.' They are, however, pleasantly situated on the right bank of the Jhelum, at considerable intervals, shady groves in rear, and well removed from the smells and sounds of the city and its multitude. I was waited upon by the Maharajah's Vakeel, the Baboo, Mohur Chunder, a most intelligent, active, and obliging official, affording every information and every assistance possible in one's affairs. He is the 'factotum' as regards Europeans, being, I believe, retained on account of his tact in giving them satisfaction, and keeping things 'serene' between them and the residents. He provided me with a boat, partly thatched, and six men, to pull about and do the lions, the river being the highway. I had written to the Baboo to engage two shikarries whom I named, and he had despatched a 'purwanah' for their attendance, but had not yet heard of them. This I did not regret, as I wished to look about me a bit before starting upon any fresh excursion. In the afternoon I took boat, and descended the river, passing amid the city under some half-dozen bridges of, I think, four arches each, if arches they may be called, for the tops are flat. The piers are constructed of large rough timbers in the log, placed in layers transversely, and the roadway is formed of longitudinal and transverse timbers its whole length. The 'tetes-de-pont' are nearly all of wood, with a rough stone pediment. The Jhelum is very deep, and the stream strong, the water not clear. The city is, undoubtedly, interesting as viewed in this manner, and the buildings decidedly picturesque from the very irregularity of their dilapidations. They are built principally of timber, roofs slightly aslant covered with earth, on which is generally grass or other vegetation. Some buildings are of brick and wood; a few of stone, brick, and wood, the stone forming the foundation, and many of them bearing distinct signs of having been portions of other buildings of a by-gone age. The banks of the river are high and steep, built up in some places by stone facings. Houses with balconies projecting are supported by wooden props sloping to the wall, and there resting in what appears a very precarious manner--just stayed on an irregular ledge of the stone facing at hazard, and any interstice to make up the measurement filled in with chips. There are a few houses of more pretension and better finish, exhibiting more taste and elegance in their decoration in carved wood. These belong to wealthy merchants, and they have some nondescript sort of glazed windows; but the houses generally have only lattices. There are no buildings especially to notice, except the Rajah's residence, or fort, as they call it, a long, rambling string of buildings on the left bank, connected with which is the most conspicuous object in the city, a new Hindoo temple, with a gilt pyramido-conical cupola. This is new and glaring, and, therefore, quite out of harmony with the mass of buildings around it. There are also two or three old wooden 'musjeds,' constructed when the professors of Islam were in the ascendant, now in a state of rapid decay, as appears to be the race and religion they represent. We pulled down beyond the city to the new houses building by the Maharajah for Europeans, an out of the way place, though affording a fine view of the fort of Hari-Parbut and the mountain ranges looking N.E., but too remote from the bazaar to suit most visitors. I returned up the river, and enjoyed the trip much. The banks of the river and the houses overhanging are prettily diversified by trees, here and there. One sees some odd wooden buildings floating and attached to the shore, used for purposes of cleanliness, washing, &c.; yet is the city abominably dirty, beyond anything I ever saw. 4th May. I took my boat, and, on the representation of Jamhal Khan, gun and shot for wild fowl, and was pulled rapidly down stream. We turned up a canal, and passing under some beautiful trees, the air fresh and pure, lending a charm to everything, we entered a sort of sluice gate by which the waters of the Dal have exit, passing through this channel to the Jhelum. In this Dal are the far-famed floating gardens, in which vegetables are cultivated. There are also beautiful isles forming groves and gardens, which in the palmy days of the Mahomedan conquerors were places of constant resort for the indulgence of luxury and pleasure, and still attract numerous parties of pleasure, European, of course, and native, the latter adopting quite the pic-nic style. The floating gardens are formed of the weeds dragged up from the bottom, with which the lake is covered, with the exception of large open spaces under the mountains to whose sides sloping downwards it carries its waters. This lake is partly artificial, as it is pent in by embankments with sluice gates, the system of which, however, I am unacquainted with. This piece of water is of great extent, and is one of the most important features of the neighbouring scenery. I returned to the same outlet by a circuitous route among the weed islands and gardens: and when seated at breakfast in my upper-storied room, from which a beautifully diversified prospect was visible, I quite revelled in the delightful sensations of the delicious climate and surrounding loveliness of scenery. I called upon the Government Agent, a resident--an anomalous appointment. The individual holding it is a civilian, and his duties are to maintain amiable relations between English visitors and the inhabitants, adjust any disputes, and check irregularities; a duty--from the peculiar position which gives no direct authority over officers--calling for much tact and judgment. Had a long conversation with the present incumbent, Mr. Forde. I cruised down the river in the evening, and saw some decidedly pretty faces among the young girls washing or drawing water at the river side: but none appear to exhibit themselves but those of mature years and the very young. Probably the Hindoos adopt the custom of the Mahomedans in this respect. It is a mixed population, and it is reasonable to imagine such a fashion to prevail. I was disposed to reject the generally pronounced opinion that there is much female beauty among the Cashmiries, but I now consider it extremely probable there is. The features are of quite a distinct type from the Hindoos of the plains, as is the complexion which is a clear rich olive-brown--eyes dark and fine--mouths rather large, but teeth even and white. The hair, also, appears to be finer in fibre than that of the people of Hindostan. It is generally worn as far as I could see, in a number of small plaits, divided from the centre of the forehead, and falling regularly all round the head, their extremities being lengthened by some artificial hair or wool, which continues the plait. The centre plaits resting on the middle of the back are longest, and extend to the swell: all the points are worked into a sort of finishing plait, from the centre of which depends a large tassel. The effect, were the hair but clean, would, I think, be charming. Of the figures I can say nothing, as they are enveloped in a hideous, shapeless, woollen smock, of no pretension to form or fashion. This appears to be the only article of dress the lower classes wear, and I have seen no other. I have been much struck with the decidedly Jewish caste of countenance repeatedly exhibited. Some faces, I have noticed, would be positively affirmed to belong to that remarkable race, if in Europe. Another observation I made was, that the expression was quite different from other Asiatic races I am acquainted with, there being an open, frank, and agreeable intelligent look about the Cashmiries quite European, and such as you would expect to meet with only in a highly-civilized people. I should like to unravel the mystery of their origin, but that is lost in the mists of early traditions, not to be relied on: and their country has undergone so many changes of rulers, that the original race, though perhaps still retaining much of its own characteristics, has imbibed those of the races commingling with them. 5th May. I walked through the city to the Jumma Musjed, the principal place of Mahomedan worship, now much dilapidated and rapidly yielding to the desolating inroads of time, without any attempt, apparently, to check or repair its ravages. A complete panorama of the city is presented to the visitor from the top of the 'musjed.' The city, unworthy of the name, is only an irregular collection of wooden hovels, extending over some two hundred acres, its form undefined. The surrounding country is picturesque, presenting a pleasing variety of mountain and water, but deficient in timber. The beauty of the valley consists in what is really out of the valley, in the glorious range of mountains forming it, with their never-ending variety of form and colour. The valley is a dead flat, with uplands also level which, in their remarkable resemblance to shores, with other corresponding features, have given rise to the theory entertained by scientific men, that the valley was once a lake. And there is a tradition generally prevalent and confidently believed by the Cashmiries, that their valley was a lake, and they have legends as numerous as the Irish about it: and connected with every fountain and spring, and almost every remarkable natural feature in the country, is some wondrous fable of goblin, sprite, or fairy. The fort of Hari-Parbut overlooking the city is a fine object, and should form a part of every sketch of Sirinuggur and its environs. The famous Takt-i-Suleiman also claims especial notice. This is a very ancient Hindoo temple, crowning a hill of considerable height which bounds the eastern side of the Dal lake. I ascended to the Takt this afternoon, and enjoyed a beautiful and extensive panoramic view around, too lovely and varied for description. The ascent was steep, and the sun warm, but the air when on the summit, fresh and pure, soon refreshed me. I descended on the Jhelum side of the hill, and made for the boat which was to meet me, and so returned. 6th May. Sunday. I took a walk round the Jhelum side of the Takt-i-Suleiman to the Dal lake; and then made my way back by its shore. It appears to me advisable that both a chaplain and a surgeon should be provided by Government during the leave season in Sirinuggur, as so large a number of officers resort there. Suleiman has not succeeded in hiring a place in the city, as I had directed him; but has been stirring himself, and was waited upon here by some Affghans, who wished to possess the Scriptures, of which they had heard. 7th May. I took boat, and went down the river, and selected a place to sketch--the sun very hot, and the boat constantly in motion. One of the boatmen caught a fish; it was handsome in form and colour, bearing a resemblance to a trout, but without spots. I had him for breakfast--very bony, and not particularly good in flavour. I determined to make a start somewhere; heard nothing of my shikarries expected, so directed another to attend. I went down river, and got out to visit a shoemaker's shop, who was making some leather socks for me to wear with grass sandals, the best things for climbing slippery hills. They require socks to be divided to admit the great toe separately, as the bands of the sandal pass between that toe and the others; and as the grass thong is apt to chafe one unaccustomed to it, the protection of a leather over a thick worsted sock is desirable. 8th May. I employed the day in dividing my stock of stores, preparing clothes, &c.: had an interview with a shikarry, Subhan, who shewed good certificates from officers who had employed him. He recommended me to go to the Wurdwan, and I decided to do so. Phuttoo, and another shikarry who was with me last year, arrived; so all goes well. I agreed with Jamhal Khan, who is unfit for mountain work from asthma, to give him his discharge. I take with me Abdoolah, Ali Bucks, the 'bheestie,' and assistant scullion, and Buddoo, 'classee,' who is likewise personal attendant. The bearer and Suleiman remain behind with my effects, as do my ponies and 'syces'; also little Fan, who is about to increase the canine race, and needs quiet and nursing. I have engaged two large boats, which convey me and my staff and baggage as far as Islamabad, which will take two days to reach by their mode of progression--one man tracking, hauling the boat with a tow-rope, another steering with a paddle. But I am told they keep it up day and night. I made all arrangements with the invaluable Baboo, with reference to my servants and effects. I propose remaining in the Wurdwan valley above a month, and having my things sent on to meet me on the Ladâk road, to which I propose making my way by an outlet from the Wurdwan. The Wurdwan is reputed to be the best locality for shikar in Cashmere. Ibex are plentiful, bears also, and in the autumn, 'bara sing.' I went down river, and sent to the shoemaker, who was reported to have gone up to my place: had a pleasant row, and took a farewell view of the beauties of the landscape: had everything packed and ready for an early start in the morning. 9th May. Embarked myself and belongings--servants, shikarries, and baggage in separate boat. My folding bed had just room for it under the thatch. The boats are long, narrow for their length, and flat-bottomed; they are floored, and, barring the necessity of constantly stooping, not incommodious. We got off at last, after the usual delays, and made slowly up the stream, propelled by one-man power, a heavy prospect: but everything charming around, so I went in for pictorial enjoyment. After half an hour of this tedious confinement, I jumped ashore, and took my way by the river side, making short cuts at some of the bends and turns which are numerous; for, after toiling around them some six hours, we were within a quarter of a mile of the Takt-i-Suleiman, as the crow flies, though no doubt we had navigated twelve or fourteen miles. This did not look encouraging. Having made good headway, I sat under a noble 'chunar' tree, awaiting the arrival of the boats, when I breakfasted, and embarked, and we pursued our watery way. Again I went ashore, and walked through the country until stopped by a creek, and, the sun being very hot, then took shelter under my thatch, and so on until dusk, when I halted or anchored for dinner, turned in about nine, and roused at daybreak,-- 10th May. I went ashore, and walked from half-past five to half-past seven, and having cut off some tremendous 'detours,' as I thought, I sat down to await the boats. Nine o'clock, and no boats--saw two men hurrying: a sepoy, of whom two of the Maharajah's attend me, to assist in procuring supplies, &c., as is usual in this country, and Buddoo came up, and informed me that I had followed the wrong river. Here was a business. I ascertained the direction of the right one, got a boat, and crossing the deceptive stream, made across country to the boats, which we hit upon without difficulty; and without further adventure or mishap, but in dull and prosperous monotony, we punted our way to Islamabad, where we arrived about 4 P.M., and after some delay, procuring coolies, I was safely lodged in the 'baraduri' which Willis and I occupied last autumn. Everything the same, but now familiar and less interesting; I think some of the larger fishes have been taken out of the tank--my old acquaintance the kotwal officiously civil as usual--the vizier, my friend Ahmet Shah, the kardar, absent in the neighbourhood. I made all arrangements to go on towards the Wurdwan in the morning, and sent on a sepoy to arrange for coolies and supplies--which have to be carried with us--at Shanguz, the village we are to halt at to-morrow. May 11th. I got well away early, and had a pleasant march over a level grassy tract of country, crossing a deep watercourse now and then, and, passing through a very pretty village, stopped in a delightful spot under some giant chunars on a bank overhanging a rivulet, a village close at hand. Then, having breakfasted, I came on here to Shanguz, also a prettily situated village, with its stream, its irregular garden plats, grassy slopes, and noble chunar trees: under one of which leafy monsters, my humble tent, a little thing just containing my bed, is pitched. Ahmet Shah and the kotwal came all the way from Islamabad, the former to pay his respects and make his acknowledgments for a turban I sent him from the Punjab, as a recognition of his great civility and attention last year. He brought me a beautiful cock pheasant alive, one of the Meynahl: he had been caught about a month, so I hope he may live. I should like to take some of these birds home and naturalize them; they would be highly prized. They may be called a link between the pea-fowl and the pheasant. They have a delicate top knot, and their colour is the most brilliant deep blue, rifle-green, and bronze, of glossy and metallic sheen. The tail is plain buff; there he falls off in plumage. He is much larger than the English bird. He is to be put in a cage, and kept for me till I return to the Punjab. There is a thunder-storm, and rain now falling--a bore for my retinue, who have but a leafy canopy over them: but they have lots of covering. I purchased my three servants each a warm Cashmere blanket yesterday, four rupees each, rather a heavy pull as I had, previous to leaving Amritsir, given each of them a warm suit. But, poor chaps, they will have to rough it in the Wurdwan snows, so some additional warm wrapper is necessary. I am snug in my little canvas nutshell, though without room to turn round. I have now, to my surprise, brought up my diary to this date, and feel as if I could stick to it. To-morrow is my birthday: what a crowd of thoughts arise and connect themselves with it! 12th May. Nah-bugh. We arrived here at a quarter to nine, having in the earlier portion of the journey passed through a beautiful country. The path led along the slopes of some hills of moderate height, well-wooded and, here and there, opening out into smooth lawns; the woods were full of blossoms, a white clematis very plentiful and full of flower. The trees and shrubs, in their character and distribution, and indeed the whole scene, strongly resembled an extensive shrubbery or wilderness, intended to look wild and natural, such as we see in the domains of the wealthy in Old England. And to strengthen the resemblance, the well-remembered voice of the cuckoo resounded over hill and dale, and one remained perched on a tree near enough to be distinctly observed. Other birds were singing lustily: among them the blackbird's sweet melody was plainly distinguished. It is, I believe, the same bird, and sings the same notes as the English bird. The cuckoo, also, is precisely similar to our welcome spring visitor, and, curious enough, the Cashmiries also call him 'cuckoo.' How pleasant it was to traverse these lovely glades, lifting the eyes from which, mountain ranges presented themselves, the more distant rugged and bleak, and covered with snow, those nearer displaying their many diverging slopes in multiplied ramifications, some open and grassy, others with nearly all the ridges covered with pine forests, with which other trees mingling agreeably contrasted their diverse colours. I must not forget to note that this my birth-day was ushered in by a real May morning, much such in temperature as the finest and brightest in England would be; and abundance of May, the thorn being in full blossom, adorned and perfumed the way side. There was also white clover, and a veritable bumble-bee, with the same portly person and drab coloured behind as the common English one. The banks, also, sported their violets, but, alas! without fragrance, and the wild strawberry was peeping out of the bushes and grass all around. Who could fail to exult in exuberance of spirits, thus surrounded by nature's choicest beauties? Certainly not I. Rejoicing, and buoyant with vigorous health, my mind undisturbed, having a long holiday before me, and feeling within me the ability and taste, fresh and capable as ever of old, to appreciate and enjoy the blessings of Providence so amply vouchsafed me, I felt my whole being full to overflowing of joy, admiration, gratitude, and praise. I gave myself up to reflections suitable to the day-- --Was interrupted by the shikarries rushing into my tent, to apprise me of the arrival of another saheb with shikarries and guns. They were in great excitement, in consequence of the probability of the new comer interfering with their plans for my shooting operations, by occupying the localities they desired to hunt. I had, as usual, given notice of my intention to rest here to-morrow, Sunday. The shikarries tried to shake this resolve by pointing out the advantages to be gained by pushing on, and getting first into the Wurdwan valley; but I was proof against such arguments. The dreaded stranger proved to be an officer of the 79th from Lahore, on two months' leave. I asked him to dinner, and fortunately, in addition to my usual stew, had a rice pudding, to which I added guava jelly; a rich plumcake brought up the rear. These solids, with a glass or two of very fair sherry, was quite a feast in these wild regions, and my luxurious habits astonished my sporting companion; to whom, to save my character, I revealed that it was my birthday, and repeated my friend D----'s quaint apology for an unusual extravagance, "Sure, and it isn't every day that Shamus kills a bullock." My guest informed me that he had just missed two shots at bara sing near the village, the coolies having given him information of four or five of those animals having crossed their path. He intended going further to day, but I believe has halted for the night. He told me the spot in the Wurdwan he is making for, which my shikarries tell me is out of our beat; so all is serene, except the weather--a heavy thunder-shower, and more coming--the sky unsettled. This is a charming bivouac, my camp by a village, on a level spot of turf shaded by walnut trees. Below, in a cultivated valley, runs an inconsiderable river, divided into many channels. The stream runs towards the South, the valley of its formation disappearing in the distance, as shut in gradually by a succession of hills, prolongations of the spurs of the mountains. But a considerable extent of the valley is visible, and forms a lovely landscape. I strolled out after dinner, and remained gazing over its charms, till dusk warned me to return. I then sat outside reading by the light of my lantern, an honest stable utensil, broken in upon by a consultation with my shikarries, who are in good spirits, and anticipate great sport. An aspiration to heaven, a thought to home, and my birth-day, my forty-second is ended. What may not happen ere I see another--should such be the will of God! 13th May. Sunday. Nah-bugh. Rain continued to pour all day. I was visited, however, by the lumbadar of Eish Mackahm whose acquaintance I made last year, and the jolly, lusty-looking individual, hearing of my arrival at Islamabad, had come three days' journey to see me, bringing as a propitiatory 'nuzzur,' some of his cakes of bread, which I had formerly commended, and two jars of delicious honey. My stout friend is by no means loquacious, and is blind of one eye; but with the other he steadily contemplated me, appearing to receive much inward satisfaction therefrom. He brought with him, and introduced, a renowned shikarry, a fine-looking middle-aged man, who said he was desirous of an interview, as he had heard so much of my character as a hunter. It is true that in this country it needs but small exploits to win fame, so expansive is rumour, the inhabitants delighting in tattle, and magnifying their consequence by exalting the performances and success of the saheb they attend in the chase. But I suspect my sporting visitor had other views, more interested--perhaps, hoping for employment. I was really pleased to see the 'lumbadar,' who was most civil and obliging last year. He was detained by the continued rain, so I gave orders for the due entertainment of himself and followers, who found suitable accommodation in the village. 14th May. We moved on towards the Wurdwan, the path leading up the Nah-bugh valley, which gradually narrowed, cultivation appearing only at intervals, until it ceased altogether, as the valley became transformed into a wild, rugged ravine, shut in by steep and lofty hills, dotted with firs. We advanced to the foot of the pass, nearly to the snow, and there encamped. I went out in the afternoon to look for game, and ascended some steep hills, very hard work; having traversed much ground without seeing anything, I sat down, peering from an eminence, down on the slopes below, like an eagle from his eyrie. One of the shikarries went a little further on, and shortly gave notice of game in view: we rapidly closed with him, and learned that a bear with two cubs were in the adjoining ravine. Away, in pursuit--we sighted the chase, who were moving quickly away, here and there grubbing, routing, and feeding, as is the wont of these creatures. Over very rough ground we climbed, and scrambled; and descended to the bed of the ravine. The Bruin family, still going ahead, were concealed by a projecting ledge of rock, to which we hurried; and from the fall of stones down the hill on the other side the rock, we knew that we were close on our game. We turned the angle, and saw B. junior peeping. He did not see us; but a step or two further and B. major's acute nasal perceptions indicated danger; so, giving office to the young uns, off scuttled the trio at a good round pace up the hill. There was no time to lose, so rapidly aiming at the old bear, I struck her hard somewhere in the back; but, after stumbling and uttering a fierce growl, she went on, but was again descried, when I fired the second barrel ineffectually, then loaded and pursued up hill. The chase was soon in view, labouring heavily. We got to the top of the hill, and a few paces down the declivity was B. major alone, standing. Hearing her pursuers, she shuffled on, when I fired and brought her down, finishing her with another barrel. Leaving men to take the skin, we went after the Meynahl pheasants, some of which had been seen; and after trying in vain to get within shot of these beautiful birds, we descended the hill, and when near the bottom, the leading shikarry suddenly stopped, and directed me to prepare for action. I, supposing a Meynahl pheasant to be the object, took the double gun, but was told to change, and, following the direction of the shikarry, saw the great ugly head of a large bear, protruding from the bushes--only the head visible. I fired the single Whitworth, but ineffectually. The animal was about fifty yards off only, and I found the sight at two hundred yards, which accounted for the ball passing over his head. He hastened rapidly out of danger. Then we returned to camp. 15th May. Up and away, to mount the pass leading into the Wurdwan. It was laborious climbing, but after some half-dozen pauses, I reached the summit--glorious scenery all around, and a magnificent backward and downward view into the valley of Cashmere, passing over which the eye rested on the Pir Panjal range, which formed a fitting background to so splendid a picture. There was an extensive tract of snow to traverse, leading with a slight downward slope into the Wurdwan, which soon was partly indicated, rather than revealed, by the system of snowy mountains. I had two shots with the Whitworth at a small animal, the natives call 'drin,' which I suppose from its habits to be the marmot. It is of a dark red-brown, burrows, sits on a stone close to its hole, and chatters. The little animal was about one hundred and twenty yards from me: the first bullet passed about an inch over it. It soon took up the same position again, and the second missile struck the stone close under it; so that the fragments must have struck him. He made a precipitate dive, and we saw no more of him. I halted to breakfast; then pushed on, the path a tolerable one, following the windings of the hills on whose sides it hung--the scenery wild, and romantic, and full of interest. We crossed many ravines and snowdrifts. We met two coolies who had accompanied my late guest of the 79th, returning: they informed the shikarries that the saheb had not gone down the valley, but up to the ground that we had hoped to secure. Wrath of shikarries excessive--unmeasured abuse heaped upon conflicting party--all sorts of plans of retaliation suggested, and appeals made to me to exercise the authority of my superior rank and order the offender back. I took it all very quietly, and succeeded not only in calming the angry men, but put them in good humour by suggesting various problematical advantages to be derived from the presence of the other party. We came at length--and really at length, for it was a long stretch--in view of the Wurdwan, the valley opening out many thousand feet below, two or three small villages with their clustering hovels and irregular patches of cultivation shewing themselves. A rapid stream, of dimensions and volume claiming, perhaps, to be styled a river, was brawling and fighting its way against innumerable obstacles and impediments down the vale. A very steep winding path brought us down to its banks, and instead of crossing over to the village of Ainshin, as we should have done, had it not been already in possession of a hostile party, we moved along the right bank upwards. We went on some two or three miles to a village, where it was proposed to camp, but received information here that the other saheb had taken up position in a village just opposite,--indeed we saw his coolies arrive there--and had gone up the mountain, where four or five shots had been heard in rapid succession. Great jabber among the shikarries. I thought over the matter, and did not like to submit to be jockeyed and out-manoeuvred in such an underhand way; so, although we had already completed a very long and toilsome march, and the baggage must be far in the rear, I determined to make a forward movement, and turning the enemy's flank, take up position in front of him, on his line of march. The shikarries were full of glee at the idea of the long faces of the contending ones, when they should find themselves outwitted. We procured half-a-dozen fresh hands from the village, sent them to the rear to assist in bringing up the baggage, and then moved onwards; and, having gained some three miles, crossed the river by an ingenious bridge of some forty yards span, a considerable body of water of some depth rushing below, and took post at the village of Ofith, across the enemy's route, and securing possession of the Kuzuznai valley, whose overhanging cliffs are famous for ibex. The village is situated in the very mouth of the valley, the position, therefore, admirable. Heavy rain coming on, I got to leeward of a big tree, and in the course of two or three hours had the satisfaction of seeing my three personal attendants coming up, along the left side of the river. They had passed through the enemy's camp, their appearance producing consternation and serious enquiries as to where their saheb was, and where he was going to. The enquiring shikarry was informed that their saheb was not going to be done, but they did not know where he would stop, most likely in the best place. Expressions of astonishment at the length of our march, and ill-concealed signs of disappointment and defeat, on the part of shikarry, who threatened to give us the 'go-by' yet. Much merriment at this recital among my forces. Notwithstanding the (I should think) twenty-four miles rough march, I started off to hunt, information of the habitat of bears in the vicinity having been given. There were only about two hours of daylight before us; we recrossed the river, and two 'bara sing' were descried by the keen-sighted Subhan, feeding high up on a hill side. Pursuit was resolved--up a snow drift in a ravine, then up the steep side of the hill, crawling with hands and feet, literally clinging to the side of the hill. We made observations near the crest of this spur--the animals on the 'qui vive,' looking out, standing on a superior ridge. We paused, while a practicable route was sought for: then climbed onwards to more level ground, and saw the game, now three in number on the opposite height, perhaps three hundred yards off, but could not be sure, as there were boughs intervening. We tried for a better position, but our prey, declining nearer intimacy, absconded, and left us looking ruefully at each other, with a nasty descent before us. I got down safe, and on reaching camp found all my things safely arrived, and dinner ready:--turned in, hopeful for the following day's sport. CHAPTER IV. SHIKAR IN THE WURDWAN. 16th May. Off up the Wurdwan, not the Kuzuznai, the shikarries reserving that. We had a tremendous climb ere we even looked about for game, two hours, I should think, of exhausting efforts. I wore grass sandals, or could not have kept my footing. Subhan, the leader, the younger of my three shikarries, with astonishing acuteness of vision, at last suddenly dropped to game, and pointed out several bara sing feeding together. They were in a spot most difficult of approach without discovery; and these creatures at this season are wonderfully wary. There were no sheltering timbers under which stealthily to steal upon our prey. However, after consultation, leaving three attendants to remain behind in concealment, we climbed upwards, hoping to find covering ground, but had to stop, as we could not but discover ourselves. Here some of the deer were seen to lie down, one only standing, and great hopes were entertained of a successful stalk. Two other deer came into view higher up the mountain. We remained still, watching about an hour, when a backward movement, and then further ascent was determined on. As we turned about on our sides to move off, two does, that were close upon us in the rear, dashed off and away down hill, but without any sensible effect upon our hopes. It was a most arduous struggle up the hill side, slippery with hoar frost, and fearfully steep. With extreme difficulty we reached a narrow ledge, on which we all four could just cling, some one way, some another--a giddy height--when, to our infinite disgust, we saw the three attendants moving out below. All sorts of signs and gesticulations were made to stay them, but on they blundered. I had yesterday pointed out to the shikarries the folly of having these followers, as, forming with us a long line when ascending or crossing a hill, _we_ no sooner pass out of sight, than _they_ come into view; so that any animal getting a glimpse of us, and regarding the spot from which we have passed, sees the followers coming across the same place, and, of course, decamps. I had tried to impress the importance of this simple fact upon them; but they are so wedded to their own habits, and trust so entirely to luck, rather than skill, in approaching game that, though acknowledging the force of my observations, they did not act upon them. At last this blundering train, looking upwards, saw our impatient gestures, and, mistaking their meaning, only quickened their pace. At length they did understand, and lay down. We now descended, and crossed the face of the hill towards the deer. We discerned them now afoot, leisurely moving upwards, and cropping the fresh grass that came in their way. They were in a favourable place to approach now: but we had to be cautious, and keep out of sight. We moved with studied step, and reached the position from which we expected to open fire--nothing visible: we thought the prey probably behind some of the many inequalities of ground, peered everywhere, and shifted position, till the whole ground was closely scanned; but no game. They might have gently crossed the hill feeding: but no, they were clean gone. A misgiving now struck me, and, looking back, there were the abominable coolies plodding contentedly on. They had moved, when we descended, and came right out in sight of the deer which, of course, they had completely scared away. In this unsuccessful chase we crossed some fearful places, the most difficult being sloping masses of snow overlaying precipices, yawning for the unlucky wight whose feet might slip. I gave up the attempt to cross these unaided, after one narrow escape, having slipped and fallen, but fortunately recovered myself. The mode of crossing was by digging holes in the snow for the foot to cling to, as we slowly progressed. It was, without exaggeration, imminently hazardous, and I must own to have been unnerved more than once. I breakfasted, and lay down to wait until afternoon, when the animals, having reposed in some inaccessible lair during the day, again come forth, out into the grassy slopes, to feed. Subhan, the ever quick-sighted, espied two bara sing far distant and below us: the spy glass confirmed his vision. The plan of operations decided upon, we made our approaches over easier ground, being now lower down, yet some thousands of feet high, and gained a rising ground overlooking the place in which the animals had been seen feeding. We could not see them now, but saw a large stag high up above us, quite out of hope. We remained long watching, and saw nothing, so descended to move nearer, under the impression that the deer had gone lower down the hollow; making for the edge of which, we became suddenly conscious of the presence of our game, who had been all the time in front of our late position, concealed by the rising ground. One, a fine doe, turned round, pausing, and presenting a broadside, hurriedly I grasped a rifle, put up a sight, and fired, only to miss. The affrighted animal, giving a prodigious bound, hurried after the others up the hill, pausing and turning, now and again, to gaze back upon their intruders. I put the Whitworth up, once or twice, but forbore to fire. This great disappointment resulted from a mistake on the part of Subhan who, in his eagerness, did not exercise his usual cautious approach, reconnoitring all around, but advanced direct on the point where he thought to find the game. Following them, we came to a deep ravine, forbidding further advance in that direction: the chasm, coming down from the summit of the mountain, widening as it descended, defied, I thought, any efforts of mine. A violent shower of rain coming on, compelled us to seek shelter, such as we could find. The shikarries, all three, tried to screen themselves behind a large fir: I got capital shelter to leeward of a fallen pine, whose massive roots, upturned with the earth about them, afforded good covert. I was about twenty yards from the shikarries who suddenly all jumped up, calling out to me, "Saheb, Saheb," and rushed, terror stricken, each, gun in hand, to me for refuge, and squatted down, cowering and exclaiming, "Balloo, Balloo,"--the bear, the bear--pointing to the tree from which they had just bolted. I had already ordered them to be quiet and give me a gun, all of which they grasped, and, in their terror, made no effort to uncover; so that had Bruin, who shewed his ugly countenance, come right on, straight at us, he would have found us unprepared. But, catching a sight of my face, he altered his course, and, sheering off, rushed by us some fifty yards below. I hastily fired at him, but without effect. He was a very large bear. It is quite unaccountable, this attack of his. He was close on the shikarries, before they were aware of him. He came up the hill on the top of which their tree grew: they fled precipitately shouting, as I have said, their countenances exhibiting the utmost terror. The brute, also, gave a fierce roar, which certainly would lead one to think him bent on mischief. But there are few instances of their being the aggressors, I believe: so Bruin's intentions must ever remain a mystery. If, annoyed by the storm, and finding human beings in his way as he rushed blindly on, he instinctively held on his course, and uttered his angry threats, simply to frighten them out of his path, which I think probable, he certainly succeeded to a marvel: for I never saw fellows in a greater funk, helplessly unnerved. This ended the first day's hunt in the Wurdwan, when although we saw plenty of game, and three shots were expended, we had the misfortune to be unsuccessful. 17th May. Full of pleasing anticipations of success to-day from the favourable reports of game being abundant. We went up the Kuzuznai, a narrow valley with precipitous, inaccessible cliffs on the right-hand, and grassy slopes of a steep pitch running down from the mountains on the left, abundance of snow on either hand. We met a native, whose replies, when interrogated as to game, I judged from what I could gather to be rather discouraging. After having advanced two or three miles from Ofith, we reached a small farm, a couple of log houses--all the dwellings in this valley are of the same description, rough log houses roofed with slabs of timber--a few patches of ploughed land, but unlimited grazing. It was here thought advisable to send back, and order up camp to be nearer the shooting, which was done accordingly. A bear was seen in a hollow on the left hand. We went after him, but if there before, he was no where visible, when we had climbed up to greet him; so we descended, and pursued our way up the narrow valley, crossing repeatedly large masses of snow, much of which had accumulated by downward drifts, and some by slips from the overhanging mountains. It was in this very valley that, some few years ago, Dr. Rae and five native attendants were overwhelmed and swept to destruction by an avalanche; among the number was the brother of my shikarry, Phuttoo who himself, with an officer of the 87th R.I.F., narrowly escaped perishing also, by rushing forward as the great mass swept down with resistless force--thus avoiding the fate of the less fortunate, whose bodies remained buried under the superincumbent mass for many months, in spite of great exertions made by large bodies of labourers to exhume them. Whilst I am writing in my tent, thundering sounds of falling masses of snow are audible now and then, and, looking out, I see the 'debris' falling down the cliffs opposite. It is grand and imposing. We wended on our toilsome way, struggling across snow, and gradually ascending. Presently we descried a bear ahead, soon after another, both feeding on the slopes. We endeavoured to get at them, but whether they got wind of us, or what not, is matter for imagination, but we only arrived to see each successively leisurely taking his way up the mountain. We had now come to the end of our beat in this direction, further progress being forbidden by the snows: so we descended, and took possession of a mass of rock, isolated in an extensive tract of snow, filling the valley from side to side. Here we breakfasted. Rain came on. I wrapped myself in my 'choga,' warm Cashmere over coat, and lay down, falling into a disturbed and restless sleep, every now and then waking from the rain on my face, rapidly getting wet through, and this in the midst of snow. At length up got Subhan, who with the others had been sitting closely wrapped up in their blankets over a fire they had contrived to light, and proposed that I should remove below the rock. I had previously asked him, if there was no better place to put the guns than on the rock, and he had answered 'No'; so, surprised at this proposal, I followed him, and found a comparatively comfortable habitation formed by the projecting ledge of this massive rock, in which, late in the season, lambs are sheltered. There, in much hampered attitudes, the height being only three or four feet, and the floor formed of large pieces of rock that had fallen down, I endeavoured to make the best of things. A small fire, the space only admitting of a very small one, was lighted, and thereat we tried to warm our chilled limbs, and dry our dripping clothes. I had no idea that I could endure so much smoke: I sat right in the middle of it, there being no help for it. I chatted with the shikarries, who related anecdotes of the sahebs with whom they had hunted before. After a time they went to sleep, some sitting on the snow, others lying on the pieces of stone. The rain poured. I should have been quite dry, had I only come here at first: however, with an occasional shudder, more, I believe, from the knowledge that my outer garment was wet, and the extremely dismal effect of the combination of rain and snow without--dense clouds, too, actually enfolding us at this elevation, probably 15,000 feet--I bore up cheerily. I was at length left to myself, the shikarries preferring the larger fire outside, on the top of the rock, though exposed to wind and rain, to the small amount of caloric derivable from my few embers. I stirred up my fire occasionally, and sat, thinking and thinking, guiding my thoughts to pleasant subjects and agreeable recollections as much as possible, until I felt not only quite contented, but even disinclined to move. Thus I passed the time from 10 A.M. till 5 P.M. At that hour Subhan came to me, and said it had cleared up, and I should be better above. I obeyed. The clouds were still heavy and lowering, shifting up and down, breaking and allowing us occasional and most welcome glimpses of the sun, or rather, sunshine. The effect was striking and grand in the extreme. This rugged, wild gorge enveloped in ever-shifting, varying vapours of different degrees of density--now one peak visible, but to be obscured, and another to be ushered on the scene--it appeared as if all above was commotion, silent commotion, the clouds and mountain-summits playing at hide and seek. We took a final warm at the fire: I threw off my overcoat, and, shivering in my scanty shooting dress, started off over the tract of snow campwards, the shikarries ever looking about for game. We had advanced within a mile or two of the new site for the bivouac, when Mooktoo, this time, who was in his usual place behind me, exclaimed that animals were in sight. The spyglass was put in request, and sure enough, said Subhan, there were some ten or twelve keyl (ibex) disporting themselves on a distant mountain. It was long ere I caught sight of them, looking at the wrong place. But at last I did see them plainly: two were rearing up on their hind legs, fighting. Well--we sat there hopelessly gazing, until the snow, on which we were squatting, produced the natural effect, and, penetrating my frame, set my teeth chattering: so on we went, but some way further we came in sight of another flock of ibex, much nearer, though on the same mountain. They were plainly visible to the naked eye, and with the glass their horns and relative proportions were distinctly seen, and commented upon. This was an exciting sight. "Could nothing be done?" I asked anxiously. "Nothing this evening," was the reply. So, on we trudged, I submitting patiently to the fiat, and casting many a side glance upwards, causing me many a trip and stumble in my rough path. As we came more under the mountain on which the ibex were, a change of position on their part effected a change in the minds of the shikarries who, calling a halt, held a brief consultation together. Then, their eyes sparkling with excitement, they uncovered the guns, and off we started. I little thought, as I hastily followed the active Subhan, what work I had cut out for me. The place the ibex were in did not appear high up, nor did the ground appear very difficult from the distance; but when I began to breast it, I found out my mistake, both as to incline and altitude. I strove and struggled, scrambled and clawed my upward path, until quite breathless and exhausted, and found I was but at the very commencement of the ascent. Having gained breath, I went through the same severe efforts, to find apparently the same prospects, but with this terrible difference that, by my own exertions, I had now created a precipice below me, fearful to look upon. Subhan now suggested giving up the attempt: but a sort of infatuated obstinacy seized me. As well as the heaving of my distressed lungs permitted, I articulated, with an upward glance, 'Go on.' Indeed, I felt at the time a sort of necessity to move upwards, in spite of all difficulties, so appalling was the aspect of the descent now necessary; so clinging to the surface, embracing, as it were, as much of the mountain as I could clasp, and helping myself occasionally with my spiked staff, I still struggled upwards, coming to bare smooth places that I thought it impossible to climb over. At times, pausing at such critical spots, I felt my head wavering, my courage waning, and my nerves unstrung, my hold relaxing, my feet slipping, and then a sort of frenzy seized me, and, summoning every energy I possessed, I recklessly dashed on, on all fours, feeling that to hesitate for one moment, to keep hand or foot a second on one spot, would inevitably plunge me into the abyss below. The shikarries, each carrying a gun in one hand, made their way with extreme difficulty, and, I believe, not without trepidation. But they possess a clutch, and a tenacity, and adhesion of toe, peculiar to this variety of biped, which gives them firmness and confidence anywhere. It was a very different thing for me. At length, we gained the top of this spur of the mountain, which actually offered no footing, the ridge being sharp, and the other side not only precipitous, but hollowed out. Here lying, holding on tooth and nail, we observed the ibex, which had taken the alarm, and were rapidly moving away; and even had they remained, we could not have got at them. So all our trouble, and the horrible ordeal of fear I had undergone, were utterly thrown away. "Had we not better remain up?" I asked Phuttoo, as the evening was darkening apace. He shook his head, and said, it would never do: so without more ado, I nerved myself for the trial, and got down by slow degrees, wondering how I ever succeeded in getting up. I felt thankful for my safe return, and rejoiced at the sight of my tent, and a blazing fire before it, cheerfully lighting up the surrounding gloom: changed my dress--and that reminds me, that I have forgotten to note the presence in the herbage on these mountains of a most disagreeable insect, a species of tick or bug: the vile thing abounds, and seems to be ever on the look out for creatures passing by, for we were quite tormented by them. I have picked off a dozen at a time from my dress. They bite sharp, working their heads into your flesh, and there hooking on with their forceps. I, with much trouble, and no little smarting, detached three thus adhering to my person this evening, and many candidates for the same honours were discovered trespassing on my premises--a murrain on them! I enjoyed my dinner amazingly, the fright I had been in having, perhaps, stimulated my appetite. I realized the sensation, that to be alive, with a good appetite, and a savoury stew for its gratification, was vastly preferable to being a mangled mass of senseless humanity at the foot of a precipice, with ever so many big horned ibex at top. It was so late that I turned in very soon after dinner, and had some apprehensions of a disagreeable night, perhaps visitations of night-mare, repeating in my dreams the horrors of that terrible ascent, and waking up with that horrid, indescribable feeling experienced when one dreams one is precipitated from a great height, and whirling downwards, awake to find it is all a dream. However, I slept well, awaking occasionally, when I heard it raining hard, and rejoiced, hoping it would continue, as I felt that a day's rest would be beneficial, my feet having been considerably chafed by all the scratching and clawing they had been put to. 18th May. I lay in bed later than usual, intentionally, not at once obeying the call of the clamorous cock, or the blithely-singing birds, who begin their concert in these parts ere day-light does appear. When, however, day-light unmistakably forced its appearance under my tent, I up and dressed in shooting trim, resolute to tackle the mountain, however steep, and pursue the ibex anywhere and everywhere. Such was the effect of a good night's rest: so, summoning the drowsy classee, Buddoo, to throw open the closely folded entrance, I went outside, and found there a most unpromising morning, the mountains frowning grimly down, when occasionally visible through dense, chill-looking masses of fog, snow all over the heights, damp, slop, and general discomfort everywhere. Nature, however grand in features, looked uninviting and repulsive. I looked abroad, and shuddered at the prospect of breasting the hill side. Phuttoo came shivering towards me, and, making his salaam, told me we must not attempt the mountain in such weather. Quite satisfied with asking him, if such was really his advice, and being answered in the affirmative, I ordered Buddoo to close the tent, and pulled the blankets over me, really congratulating myself on being prevented fulfilling my desires and intentions. 19th May. The rain having fallen heavily during the night, the atmosphere, at the early hour in which I rose and peeped out of my tent, was laden with dense vapours which, heaving and swelling, moved up and down the valley, now revealing, now concealing portions of its bold features, and altogether creating a strikingly impressive and interesting effect on the beautiful, though rugged, scenery. The clouds of vapour, after an apparently internal struggle, would transform themselves into transparent draperies of varied form and strength of light--the rays of the rising sun struggling with the misty impediments to the general diffusion of his genial beams, here and there penetrating through them, then anon repulsed and excluded--when the curtain, as it were, dropped over the scene, and chill gloom again reigned around. The lower ranges of the mountains, which yesterday were free from snow, were now shrouded in its white mantle, what was rain below, falling as snow above; in consequence of which the ibex haunts were pronounced quite impracticable for the present. So I patiently awaited the favourable time, and rested quite satisfied in gazing on and admiring the ever-changing, and always beautiful, natural effects developing themselves around me, until breakfast; after which the shikarries came, and shouldering the guns, the hour being now propitious, we directed our steps for the mountain on which we had lately discovered the ibex. This time we ascended by the opposite side to the very summit of the mountain, our path lying nearly the whole distance over a snow-drift filling a ravine, down which, under the snow, rushed a roaring torrent, appearing at intervals of the ascent, where from sudden vertical descents it dashed down in foaming cascades, flashing, sparkling, glittering in open day for a moment, again to go muttering and rumbling under the super-incumbent masses of snow, again to gain partial freedom, until undergoing various similar alternations it emerged into the main torrent that, pursuing its troubled course down this small valley, adds its tributary waters to the Wurdwan river. Many fissures were crossed, disclosing the dark waters seething and hurtling below; and the whole struggle to the heights above, although perhaps not so arduous or dangerous as that of the previous day, was yet full of peril, and called for a stout heart and firm nerves to achieve. The most difficult and critical times were when, the course of the torrent making a rapid and regular turn and deep fall, it was necessary to leave the snow, ascend the bank, and make one's way along the smooth, wet, precipitous escarpment overhanging the fearful depths below, on which it would not do to look or think. A lesser evil was the terrible, blinding glare, reflected by the intensely white snow through which we ploughed. This, after a time, compelled me to close my eyes, and go floundering on, the best way I could, with an occasional squint to ascertain whether I was following my leader. At length we accomplished the ascent, and glad I was to sit down, and recruit my somewhat exhausted energies. The shikarries, reconnoitring, discovered ibex far down, below us, among the rifts and gorges into which the mountain, near its base, is severed. They were near the spot where they were first descried. After the usual consultation, the 'bunderbus' was determined, and a descent towards the game commenced. We had to cross patches of snow at a fearful degree of incline, and let ourselves down lying on our sides or backs, scotching ourselves with heels or staves as best we might, until we gained a shelf midway down, whence observations were again made, and plans concocted. A halt was here made, as the animals were not in sight, being, it was supposed, now taking their 'siesta' in some secure retirement. A watch was kept; and at length a shikarry, holding up one finger, indicated one animal having made his appearance, then two, then three, until they numbered five--the very five fine-horned fellows seen the other day, and so much coveted. Again the stalk was resumed with all guile and subtlety: but, in spite of every precaution, in such extremely difficult and dangerous ground some sounds would arise--a stone loosened, rolling down &c.--though we were well out of sight, nor on the same slope. We at last reached the crest of a slope, on the other side of which were the ibex within easy range, as was supposed. Cautiously, rifles ready, we slowly raised our heads to sight the intended victims--higher and higher, this side and that--but only a blank. Deep sighs of disappointment were audible. Every height was scrutinized, every hollow peered into, before the sad reality was fully admitted, that our prey had escaped, and without leaving a clue to their mode of exit. We sat disconsolate, and while wistfully gazing about saw a string of nine ibex calmly pursuing their way, taking a bite here and there on a mountain side opposite. Soon after, four or five cross a ravine on the snow far up above us; which I believe to have been the identical animals we were in search of, who had completely outwitted us, and gained an inaccessible refuge without our detecting them stealing away--so closely had we kept our concealment. It was not the most satisfactory prospect having to return and descend, every step risking life or limb. We had to reclimb the summit, and again descend, the path full of peril as before. When halfway, two young ibex were disturbed, and I ineffectually fired every barrel I had, as they bounded away. The suddenness of their appearance, and the nature of the ground giving me no footing, made my chances 'nil.' I got back weary, and had unfortunately reproduced an old injury by my slips and strenuous efforts to keep my footing, a large lump from some overtaxed muscle having formed immediately behind my right knee, giving no acute pain, but a sense of diminished strength, and a sensation that it would become worse. 20th May. Sunday. After breakfast, a lad, one of the valley, who accompanied us yesterday, found his way to me when unobserved by the shikarries, and criticised their method of approaching game, of which he disapproved. Having observed him to be active and intelligent, and knowing that he had been hunting with officers, I talked with him, and finally arranged for another attempt on the ibex, he leading and to have the entire control and management of the arrangements. He was much gratified. Anticipating jealousy, and, perhaps, obstruction on the part of my shikarries, I assembled them, and put the matter in such a light that they entered into the plan with perfect good humour. 21st May. Away under the auspices of the ambitious young Kamal to the same mountain, to ascend by the same route. Ere reaching the base, we observed three ibex on a snowy crest, I believe keeping watch and ward. We had not ascended far, when Kamal, all ardour and vigilance, leading the way, stopped suddenly, and announced ibex in sight, and near at hand. We prepared to attack. Leaving one of our number at this place, we set to work to climb, the ordinary difficulties being greatly augmented by a quantity of hail lying on the surface, and by a frost having made the grass, which had been wet with rain or melted snow, terribly slippery. As I toiled and struggled in agonies of partial suffocation from my exertions up the steep, a bear was reported in sight. I did not take notice of the ignoble beast, being then in hot chase of the much-coveted ibex, but was suddenly startled by a fierce growl, and saw Bruin rushing by, within a few yards. But I would not have fired in the attitude I was in, had the rifle been in my hand. We shortly got sight of an ibex on the look-out, on a prominent point affording a good view around. We lay still some time: the ibex fed, then quietly walked out of sight; when believing it was all as we could wish, we made what speed we could up the mountain to the look-out place of the sentinel. We could thence see nothing: so ascended higher, on to a place where the game must be, had they not taken alarm and fled. Every probable place was examined--but no occupants. At last we saw nine ibex on the summit of an adjoining eminence, far out of reach, and they leisurely making their retreat still further. Whether the beast of a bear had given the alarm, we could not tell. We descended, and took our former route. A small goat-like deer, called a 'kustoora,' was seen. We stalked up to within eighty yards, the animal up above and looking down. I changed my rifle for one carried by Mooktoo, the right barrel of which he had loaded this morning, so I thought it was sure to go off: the other had been loaded since Saturday. I aimed steadily--the cap only exploded--the animal bounded off, stopped, and gazed: I pulled the other trigger, when the powder went off hissing, fizzing, and smoking like a squib, and the bullet dropped about a yard from the muzzle. I suppose some snow had got into it. This was a dreadful disappointment. After breakfast we proceeded up among the snowy summits: we saw nothing, lay down, and went to sleep. Then on again to another point, and again stopped for observations: then we began to descend, pausing here and there, but not a vestige of an ibex to be seen: all had vanished, I scanned every possible spot with the glass, but saw none, so gave up all hopes of ibex, and later in the day descended to look for bears on the lower slopes. Kamal, away on the left, made signs of game, an old and a young bear down in a deep hollow. I got into position, and fired down, wounding the old bear: fired all my remaining barrels as she made off: then loaded, and off in pursuit--rugged ground, and two deep awkward ravines to cross. At last we sighted the chase, slowly crawling ahead, but a difficult ravine between us. We crossed it, and up the hill to intercept Bruin, but paused on the brink of a precipitous and impassable ravine. Subhan's keen eyes detected the bear pausing on a ledge, partially concealed by a bush. She half-turned to look back on her pursuers, when a ball struck her, and she toppled over, rolling down the hill-side. We had to make a considerable detour to get to her:--looked for others in vain, so returned to camp. It is supposed by the shikarries that a pack of wild dogs, whose tracks we found in the snow following on those of ibex, had driven those animals away. 22nd May. A long march up the Wurdwan. We passed Busman on the left-bank, crossed the river by a bridge at Goombrah--at which village my sporting rival of the 79th had bivouacked--and moved along the bank to a small village. We saw three bears feeding on a hill-side across the river. It was decided to stop here, and try to get these bears: so we halted. But Phuttoo failing to persuade the villagers to rebuild a bridge which had been washed away, and being unable to cross the river at any place nearer, we continued our route to our previous destination, Shugkenuz. The road lay along the bank of the river which had fallen in, so that we experienced much difficulty in getting on, the steep inaccessible hill precluding all chance of a route higher up: so, hanging on how we might, we scrambled across the face of the landslip, the rapid river rushing roaring below, and luckily without mishap reached and crossed a bridge, and on to the village, which is prettily situated--the bivouac charming. A mountain path from Palgham enters the Wurdwan here, but is impracticable now for all but mountaineers. We rested some hours; then went off to beat up the quarters of the three bears we had seen from the opposite side when on the march. We sighted our three acquaintances high up on a rock; prepared to meet them on the slope we supposed they would descend to; had a difficult, fatiguing climb. At last we gained a ridge from which the game was visible, all three feeding, distance about one hundred yards. I wished to wait for a chance of their coming nearer; but Subhan urged me to fire at once, and the largest bear, mother of the other two, I suppose, then looking up, I fired and hit her somewhere in front. Great confusion and discomfiture ensued. I fired and hit another, and discharged my other barrels as they slowly retreated; but, not being able to pursue from the difficulty of the ground, saw my wounded prey gradually disappear up the hill, just able to crawl away. I returned to camp, weary and lame. Regretting much wounding poor brutes thus, to escape only to die in agonies, I made some half-resolutions to give up shooting. Leg very bad, but not worse, I went to bed lamenting my ill success. CHAPTER V. SHIKAR IN THE WURDWAN. 23rd May. Ere thoroughly awakened this morning, I enjoyed pleasing fancies in a confused doze, under the influence of the soft notes of a cuckoo perched on a tree immediately over my head, whence he sweetly serenaded me, or rather treated me to a morning solo; which, though a monotonous performance, touched many a sympathetic and vibrating chord within, creating delicious harmonies, recalling old memories--the open window, dewy mornings, fresh summer-perfumed air, the welcome ringing of old Jonas' sharpening scythe, which operation has a remarkable charm for me, I suppose as essentially characteristic of summer seasons, and associated with the inhaled fragrance of new-mown hay, added to many a mingled note of thrush, linnet, and blackbird and other feathered songsters. Often, on such mornings, did the dear old man, according to agreement, lightly cast up gravel at my window to arouse me to be up and after my night-lines. Oh, happy memories!--The scythe of time has now done its work upon him, and gathered to the harvest one of the dearest associates of my youthful days: but there is another youth to come, an everlasting youth, to be enjoyed in an eternal spring--Oh! may we be there reunited, this humble follower, and all to whom my heart tenderly yearns! I made up some accounts, and paid sundry monies, wrote instructions to the Baboo, and despatched a messenger therewith, and, in the afternoon, went forth to hunt. A bear was in sight high up on the mountain which shelters the small cluster of huts constituting the village. He was reported to be a continual visitor to the same green spot. The climb was anything but inviting to a limping cripple; and the place looked so bare and unapproachable, that I felt convinced we should not succeed, and so assured the shikarries. But still we made the attempt, and, after a very fatiguing hour's ascent, had the poor reward of seeing the wary Bruin making off. But, uncertain as to the quarter whence the suspected danger threatened, he paused on the hill opposite to us, and we lay a long time hoping he would again descend to feed; which at last we thought he really had done, and so cautiously crawled to a shooting position. But Bruin had only concealed himself in order to unmask his enemies, as it would appear; for he displayed his person in the same place, and then sat partially concealed by boughs. At last, seeing no probable change in our relative positions, I fired Whitworth, the bolt passing close beneath his stomach, also the other rifle without effect, the distance some three hundred yards. Bruin losing patience at this repeated annoyance, quietly jogged off up hill, and disappeared over the summit. We descended much more rapidly than we came up. Getting upon a snow drift, we ran and slid down merrily, and continued our hunt along the base of a range; and Subhan and a villager, who had gone to reconnoitre, declaring they saw a bear in a spot indicated, we proceeded to make his acquaintance, and after much toil found no trace of living creature, so concluded our informants to have mistaken a stone for a bear, an error the keenest-sighted are liable to. 24th May. Away in another direction up the valley. We soon saw two bears across the river moving ahead along the slope of the opposite hill. We crossed the river by a natural bridge of snow. One of the bears crossed the snow drift, up which we were pursuing our way to intercept them, about one hundred and fifty yards ahead of us. We lay still, screened by shrubs: followed on, and saw him grubbing among some bushes. I cocked the rifle, at the click of which the cautious beast became suspicious, and looked up, facing me. Thinking him about to abscond, I fired--and away he rushed, disappeared in the bushes, and we saw nothing more of him. I could not account for my failure: the shot was a fair one. After remaining some time on the look out without seeing any game, we returned to camp to breakfast; and by the advice of the shikarries, and in order to satisfy them, I discharged all my weapons at a mark, making fair practice: but decided on reducing the charge of powder. I cheered up the shikarries, saying we would now consign to oblivion our previous failures, and make a fresh start. In the afternoon, across the river, retracing the road we came by, we ascended the hill, and all lay down, shikarries together in whispering conversation. Suddenly I became aware of the presence of a bear in the jungle some distance off. He appeared contemplating an approach in our direction, but, hesitating, turned into the jungle, apparently to seek an open feeding ground just visible beyond, and where we expected him. Subhan went forward to watch him, and soon beckoned us on. We overtook him, and cautiously skirted a patch of jungle, prying into it; when Bruin, suddenly emerging from behind a projecting bank, twigged us, and was off as rapidly as his awkward gait permitted. He was noticed, however, pausing some distance off in the jungle up the hill. Putting up a sight, I fired, and down he came towards us, evidently hit we thought. I fired again at a glimpse of him through a bush: after which he was seen by the shikarries slowly trudging up the hill through the snow and bushes, shaking his head from side to side, as though, at least, highly disapproving our proceedings, if not actually a severe sufferer. Two shikarries, confident he was hit, entered the bushes to track him. Phuttoo and I remained: and presently we saw another bear a long way up the ravine scoring the mountain on whose side we were. We signalled the others to us, and then proceeded to stalk the new comer, who, however, on our raising our heads to arrange for assault and battery, had wisely disappeared; but in his place was a musk deer, 'kustoora,' which I wounded. The poor creature scrambled off, one hind leg broken. Subhan with a rifle pursued, and overtaking the chase fired both barrels at some ten yards without effect. He then got above the deer, and kept it down the hollow, the poor thing making astonishing efforts to escape; which it would have done down the valley, but for an attendant there stationed, who, being hailed, joined in the chase, and turned the animal up towards me who, by the help of two mountain staves, was descending rapidly to the scene of action, followed by Phuttoo. At last the persecuted creature came within range, paused, and a well-aimed Whitworth bolt rolled it lifeless down the hill, to the great satisfaction of the shikarries who, shouting triumphantly, dashed down to perform the necessary Mahomedan ceremony of cutting the throat with an invocation to Allah, without which the flesh would be to them unlawful; and they entertained a shrewd idea it would become their perquisite, the rather as I had a sheep slaughtered that morning for my own consumption. Heavy rain overtook us; but this little success cheered us up, and the prospect of a feast of flesh put the shikarries in high spirits. 25th May. Off in the direction taken the first evening, when I fired with such ill success. We did not catch a glimpse of a bear now, though on that occasion we saw five. In the evening, we went up the valley, and having met a pedlar merchant, and three coolies with his goods coming down we considered it of no use going on, so returned. I had some talk with these people, the ugliest imaginable. They had come from Ladâk, and described the road to be at present all but impassable from depth of snow, and do not think it will be safe for a month. We saw two bears far up a valley on the left hand, as we neared camp, and resolved to seek them the following morning. 26th May. We started as arranged, crossed the bridge, and as soon as we obtained a view into the vale were gratified by the sight of two bears quietly feeding, and in a favourable position. We made a long and careful stalk to the spot, and looking about found our expected prey had moved out of ken. We saw another bear higher up above us, but went in search of our former acquaintances, giving them the preference. After a time we spied them as yet free from suspicion; and got near enough to the larger which, however, just as I had gained breath and position to fire, got behind a bush which partially screened it: and the other one, occupying an open spot, whence our every move was conspicuous, I judged it best to wait a bit; and as the latter animal was slowly approaching the former as it fed, I felt secure of one or both, when, to my infinite disgust, the larger of the two suddenly scuttled off, alarmed, as I believe, by the noise of the third bear which was now nearing the others. However that may be, off it went. The other, catching the alarm, turned and fled too, but stopped to look about for the cause of alarm; so, taking advantage of this chance, I levelled Whitworth, and rolled him over, a long shot. Up he got, and hobbled off, his left shoulder apparently broken. I prepared to pursue; but seeing No. 3, confused and frightened, had turned, and was making off in our direction, I tried to intercept him, but he kept a long way off. However, taking aim at about two hundred and fifty yards, I hit him, and then pursued him, sending Subhan after the other with a rifle. I had three shots at my retreating game, without any apparent effect, and then returned towards camp. Subhan overtaking us, having been equally unsuccessful, gloom and despondency pervaded the party. I half try to dissuade myself from trying the chase again, and take to sketching instead. In the evening a bear was visible on another portion of the mountain over the village, high up near the summit. It was proposed to try and stalk him. Professing my confirmed opinion we could never get at him, I, however, fell in with the wishes of the shikarries, and with complete indifference as to the result toiled up the hill-side: and with our best tactics and every effort to circumvent Bruin, he was too many for us, and betook himself to a timely retreat, ere we had approached within five hundred yards of him. I enjoyed a magnificent prospect from the height we had reached, which gave a beautiful view right down the Wurdwan, for I should think, twenty or thirty miles; and the effects of the lengthening shadows of declining day were extremely fine. How I wished I was an artist, to be able to possess myself of that lovely scene. I was amply repaid for the fatigues I had undergone, and became perfectly reconciled to my ill luck, and felt quite content and thankful for the blessings I enjoy so abundantly. 27th May. Sunday. At daybreak this morning, when in that state of indecision so often felt at that hour, even by practical early risers like myself, as to turning out forthwith to the raw and frosty air, or indulging in the snug comforts of bed and blankets, Mooktoo intruded his head into my canvas sanctum, and, with sparkling eyes, said there was a bear on the hill side close by. I replied, "It matters not; I am not going after him;" on which he retired. I shortly got up and went out. Sure enough, there was Bruin, as if conscious of security, quietly selecting his herbage on the hill opposite my tent. I could, by walking down to the river's bank--he was on the other side--have got within eighty yards of him, but allowed him the enjoyment of his Sabbath privileges, and saw him, ere long, retire into the jungle. 28th May. Off betimes up the Palgham path, a heavy, steady pull, principally over snow, which at this early hour was firm and afforded tolerable footing, but after being subjected to the heat of the sun becomes soft and treacherous, and very slippery. We came across the tracks of ibex, with those of dogs in pursuit. Several spots renowned for the former animals were closely reconnoitred, but nothing was stirring. As we ascended, the snow increased, and the chance of game became less. We paused awhile in an open space among lofty mountains, clad in their white wintry drapery, which here and there receding and opening out, and in other parts cleft into deep and rugged ravines, looked the "beau ideal" of an ibex ground. But still all was lifeless. It was an admirable picture of a winter scene, in all its congealed desolation. Here we turned, and, retracing our steps some distance, entered another narrow valley, and sending Subhan ahead to observe the condition and prospects of the new route as to snow, he returned, shaking his head and saying there was no open ground in that direction. So nothing remained to be done, but to return to the bivouac. The snow had by this time become difficult to traverse, lying as the path did on the steep slope of the mountain, at the bottom of which foamed a rapid torrent, and though advancing with cautious and measured steps suddenly my foot slipped, and down I went rapidly, sliding on my side over the smooth surface to the depths below. But a projecting fragment of rock, fallen from above, presented just enough irregularity for me to clutch hold of as I reached it, which luckily I got firm hold of; for Subhan, launching himself after me, came down with such an impetus that, had I not been thus fortified, we should both of us have been inevitably precipitated into the river beneath, which would in all probability have put a finale to my excursion. We picked ourselves up, and our way on, now with our staves forming steps for my footing. I found the grass sandals here, in the slippery soft snow, worse than ordinary boots, as they gave no hold such as the raised heel does. The shikarries, of course, though they slipped about, and fell too, found no real difficulty in getting on. I have addressed myself to discovering what can be the cause of such a marked difference, giving them such very superior power of adherence to a smooth, slippery, surface. The reason of this difference is, I believe, in the formation and use of the toes. The feet are remarkably short, and spread out at the toes like half a fan. These mountaineers have never cramped their feet by the use of such distorting leathern bondage, as we torture ourselves with; so that the toes, instead of being strained to a point, are spread out, and every one of them becomes practically a finger, affording clutch and support, which enables the possessors to move with confidence on any inclined surface, however smooth and steep, when, if they slip with one foot, they can easily recover themselves with the other: while we, having rendered our toes useless but as a lever 'en masse,' depend upon the ball of the foot for our hold, which gives, indeed, ample support on smooth level ground, but is quite inadequate for safe progress amid the dangerous paths that ibex hunting leads to. The latter part of our way lay over a snow drift inclining rapidly, down which we sped at a smart pace, digging in our heels, occasionally getting too much way on, and having to make considerable exertions to steer clear of danger. The exercise was exhilarating. Arrived in the village, I was met by Abdoolah, khansamah who, much excited, declared that thirteen animals, which he thought to be 'kustoora,' had just passed along the path on the other side the river, and were now in sight. We were much puzzled at this confident statement, and on bringing the spyglass to bear found the visitors to be a pack of wild dogs. There the destructive rascals were, some standing, some reclining, looking as though quite at home, and ready for anything. They were a bright light-red, with sharp noses and pricked ears and long bushy tails, almost the size, and somewhat resembling, a middle-sized red Irish setter. I moved towards them, but they were off immediately, though quite leisurely. There was great consternation and uproar in the village during the day. This troop of marauders, it would appear, crossed the river over the snow, some three or four miles up, and slinking down had audaciously attacked the cattle grazing within a few hundred yards of my tent. They had bitten two severely, and dispersed the others: but, being disturbed by the enraged peasants, had made off. In the afternoon we went down the river after bears, of which I had myself seen four yesterday, in my evening stroll, on the opposite hill; and my servants reported two to have been feeding a long time just opposite my tent, while I was away on my fruitless expedition. As we wended our way towards a new bridge the villagers were putting up, we saw two bears across the river. We had to wait some time for the completion of the bridge: then crossed, and away up the hill, and had a hard difficult climb to the spot where I shot the 'kustoora,' after the bear that had led me there on that occasion: but the cunning fellow was "up to snuff," and we only saw his hind parts as he retreated in the distance. Much toil for nought. Descending to the river, Subhan, ever keen and vigilant, descried a bear up the hill near by. All dropped. The bear, unconscious of the neighbourhood of enemies, continued to feed. I adjusted Whitworth with much care, and, firing, rolled Bruin headlong down the hills where we despatched him. Leaving the 'melster' to skin him, it being now late and raining hard, we went on to camp. Soon after we got in, the night closed on us. We heard loud shouts across the river from the 'melster,' to whom assistance was sent. He had been terrified out of his senses by the sudden appearance of the pack of wild dogs come to dispute the possession of the carcase with him, or even to worry him--all one to them. No wonder he sung out lustily. A fire soon gleamed there and the work was safely accomplished. Great encouragement felt by the shikarries at this small success. 29th May. We had determined to push far up the valley, so started early. We saw an old and a young bear far up out of reach, and again saw the pack of wild dogs, whose presence sufficiently accounts for the small number of animals seen, and their extreme wariness. These brutes have been all over the valley: we find their traces in every direction we go. The shikarries tell me they hunt most systematically, and in a manner so well planned and carried out as to be nearly always successful. When the presence and position of their prey is ascertained, they divide into couples, and take up their several allotted positions so as to cut off the animal pursued. Some run straight, relieving each other alternately; and whether going up or down fresh relays are at hand, so that the object they pursue has little chance of escape. We reached the end of the valley, passing most likely spots for game, but all blank. We stopped till 3 P.M.; then retraced our steps, and when nearing camp a bear was perceived some way up the mountain. The stalk was arranged, and so successfully that we arrived within one hundred and fifty yards of Bruin, unannounced by smell or sound. I waited for breath; then, poising Whitworth, despatched the leaden messenger, which created much confusion in poor Bruin's mind and person. He rushed off: a ball from the Enfield smote him through the snout, and another so bewildered him that he turned and crossed us: two more missiles were discharged at him, but only shrinking he retreated out of sight. Guns loaded, pursuit took place, and the chase was soon seen, evidently in considerable difficulties, pausing at steep pitches of the hill. Up we pursued through the snow, puffing, gasping, slipping about, but in the ardour of the chase heedless of danger. I got a position, and was aiming as well as my rapidly-heaving lungs permitted, when Phuttoo's staff escaping went rattling down the mountain, and the bear catching the clatter moved on, making for a narrow pass. We, too, pushed on, and, ascending the rock on one side of the pass with difficulty, saw our game resting evidently sick, having made his way across a ravine. He moved upwards, so, though breathless, panting, I was obliged to fire--distance perhaps one hundred and sixty yards or so: but Whitworth was true, and Bruin, struck in the back, retreated downwards, when a well-directed Enfield ball prostrated him lifeless. There was great rejoicing; for it had been a very exciting and arduous chase, calling for energies and skill. The victim was sent rolling down the mountain side to the bottom, where he was duly despoiled, and a very fine, furry skin he wore. The shikarries are now in great glee, and general congratulations, fun, and good humour, have replaced long faces, sighs, and melancholy. 30th May. Off to the place where I was so unfortunate the other morning, losing two wounded bears--a lovely, bright, frosty morning, following a bitter cold night. Nature was all smile and sparkle, the freshness of the air, and surrounding beauties of scenery, furnishing an ample stock from which to draw abundant enjoyment without the addition of other stimulus. But, from the first height on which we stopped to examine the surrounding ground a bear was espied in motion. He stopped in a grassy hollow to feed; so, the mode of approach having been determined, we ascended until in his immediate neighbourhood, and, it being ascertained he was still on that spot, I took up position, and saluted him with a missile from Whitworth. He flinched, and made off: but two successive shots from the Enfield rolled him over stone dead. The first shot had passed through his body. He was rolled down the hill-side to be skinned; and, there leaving him, we continued our search for more victims, but unsuccessfully, so returned to camp. 31st May. Before starting this morning I was informed by the sepoy attending me, who with two coolies had been sent yesterday down the valley to Busman to procure two sheep and other supplies for the onward journey, that he had selected--I suppose, seized on--two sheep, when the villagers collecting set upon him, abused and beat him and the coolies, setting his authority as the Maharajah's servant and my attendant at defiance. This outrage created intense indignation. The shikarries were profuse in their abuse, and suggested all sorts of retaliation. It being necessary that something should be done to vindicate my dignity, and also to prevent a repetition of such misconduct which, if permitted to go unpunished, would prevent Europeans coming into the valley at all, I announced my intention of sending in the sepoy, with coolies and skins, to carry my complaint and make his own statement to the Vizier at Sirinuggur. This was to be carried out after breakfast. The shikarries and other attendants were pacified with this decision. We then took the same direction as yesterday, and after a mile or two's trudge spied a bear in an open place, difficult of approach. We made a long circuit, and stalked up to his position with great caution and patience, but found his place vacant, and no clue to his retreat. We pursued our way, and discovered another hairy individual taking his morning meal in a ravine. I got within fifty yards of him, and knelt, awaiting a clear view of his person, now partially eclipsed by bushes. His whole broadside being presented, I fired and over he rolled--got up, made an approach to us, then disappeared up the hill-side. I had not the least doubt he was shot right through behind the shoulder. Subhan, after some little delay, went after him, but returned, not finding blood on the track, which is by no means an incontestible proof, as it is very difficult to detect blood in small quantities on the bare dark soil, and the thickness and length of the woolly coat of bears, at this season of the year, absorbs and staunches the blood which, thus congealing, does not in many cases reach the ground, until the wounded animal has gone some distance. I returned disconsolate, and wrote an official report to Punnoo, Vizier, of the misconduct of the Busman folk, recommending some check to be administered to them. Whilst writing, my messenger, whom I had despatched to Sirinuggur for lead, returned bringing that indispensable article with him, of which I had now quite run out, having expended so many bullets uselessly, firing all my barrels at wounded bears when at long distances, for the chance of a 'nailer' being administered. He brought me also letters and newspapers, a very seasonable supply; for in this solitary mode of life these links, which connect one with absent friends and keep one 'au fait' of passing occurrences, are invaluable. In the evening we went down valley and across the river after a bear on the opposite hill. We were cut off from him, when in sight, by a deep hollow which we could not cross without exposing ourselves, and the brute was even now uneasy, looking up, and sticking up his ugly snout in the air to catch any objectionable savour. We drew back, and made a long detour, and arrived to find Bruin's place void. We went on through some jungle, and suddenly started a bear to the surprise of both parties. He scuttled off in their usual clumsy style, and pulled up on the hill behind a large tree whose branches protected him. With studious care I endeavoured to open his position, and at last got sight of his forehand; he was from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards off. I rested the Enfield, and, taking steady aim, fired, and evidently hit. He scrambled up the rocks, I firing my other barrels at him, apparently striking him again, but not stopping him. I sent Subhan after him, and then moved slowly on, much dejected at such repeated failures, the more vexatious from the animals being badly wounded. After some time we heard a shot, and congratulated ourselves on Subhan's having retrieved the bear: but when he, after a long time, rejoined us, we found that he had fired at a 'kustoora,' and had not seen the bear. Back to camp:--Subhan and Mooktoo remaining unusually late at the fire, I went out, and they told me they had a proposal to make, viz. to leave me and Phuttoo to cast bullets in the morning, while they tried to find the wounded bear. I accepted readily this suggestion. 1st June. We converted all the lead into bullets before breakfast. I was reading the papers, when Subhan popped his head into the tent, and gave me the welcome intelligence, that they had brought back the skin of the bear, having tracked him high up the hill, where he was found under a rock, and he made a charge at them: they, however, killed him. My shot had entered immediately behind the left shoulder, passed through the body, and out behind the right shoulder. Yet he went off as described; and would have been lost, as many others have been, had he not been thus tracked up. It is wonderful what they carry away. By advice of the shikarries I resolved to move to-morrow down to Goombrah, now evacuated by t'other hunter, who is said to have killed only two or three bears there, and not to have climbed the hills at all; so, as ibex are said to be tolerably numerous among the mountain summits, I may have a chance of getting a shot at those much-prized animals--but I quite dread the work. 2nd June. I was informed by Phuttoo at an early hour, that it was raining and cloudy, so countermanded the move for the present, hoping that the day might clear. At 1 P.M. the weather mended; the clouds broke, the sun appeared, and we thought we were sure of a fine afternoon. I struck tent, packed up and started all the things, remaining myself behind for an hour or two, for the chance of a meeting with Bruin. We were miserably deceived in the weather; black clouds rolled up, thunder crashed overhead, and down descended the rain in torrents. We waited some time under shelter for a lull; then set forth, soon to experience a down-pour as heavy as ever. We trudged grimly through it. Having crossed the river, we saw an old and two young bears on the side we had left--soon after, another on the same side. We could not retrace our steps in such weather--all the hunt washed out of us. We arrived at our new bivouac, draggled and wet--found the tent just up, but nothing yet in it--got under the eaves of a house, and patiently abided the announcement of the tent being ready; then changed clothes, had a roaring fire lit close to my tent, and made a hearty dinner. The night bitterly cold. 3rd June. Sunday. The ground was white with snow, there having been a considerable fall during the night. I strolled up the narrow valley, which is similar to that of Kuzuznai, leading from the Wurdwan in an easterly direction--a brawling stream dashing down it, the mountains steep, and their lower portions covered with pines on the southern side; more accessible, bare, and open, on the north. I enjoyed a delightful stroll. The sunlit features of the romantic scenery, bright and glowing, though wintry, harmonizing with my feelings, suggested a happy train of meditation which accompanied me back to my tent. The afternoon was dismal and sloppy, rain continuing on and off till night. A noisy brawl was occasioned by my people having gone out to procure a sheep, and having, after much trouble and search, succeeded in discovering at a neighbouring hamlet the place where they had been concealed, 'nolens volens,' brought off two fine ewes, the ostensible proprietors following with a 'posse comitatus', clamorous and loudly vociferating remonstrances, and indulging in their choicest abuse. It certainly goes much against my grain to sanction any forcible appropriation: but what to do? These Wurdwanites are the most impracticable of savages. It is quite useless treating them with the kindness, liberality, and consideration one practises to civilized people. They neither understand nor appreciate it. They refuse to part with their stock or produce, as it would appear, solely to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of asserting a right, and the privilege of giving a refusal; which they think they may do with impunity in the case of a saheb, but would crouch and fawn in the most abject servility, were it one of the native officials. This is a noticeable trait in the character of this rude people. I am, therefore, compelled to exercise arbitrary authority over them, or I should not be able to procure supplies. Their ungracious denials do not proceed from any wish to retain their property in expectation of higher profit: for I, as do others I understand, pay them nearly double the price the articles are worth, or would realise if disposed of to native dealers in the usual course of sale. So that one can only attribute their rejection of liberal trading offers to churlish brutish perversity. The shikarries affirm this to be the real state of the case, so I feel little compunction in allowing things to take their course, always insisting conscientiously on a liberal rate of payment being actually made. I do not know either the extent, or the amount of population, of this valley: but the latter must be inconsiderable, as the soil, though extremely fertile, is limited as regards facilities for cultivation. The valley and its ramifications being narrow, with sides steeply shelving, offer few and small level spots for raising grain: and the whole surface is covered with rocks and stones, the 'debris' of the impending mountains, shattered at periods by convulsions of nature; and every winter greatly increases these impediments to husbandry, when the accumulated snows, becoming detached, are precipitated into the valleys, carrying with them countless stones which, gathering as they descend, are scattered below in all directions. The small patches of arable are, therefore, cleared with great labour, the stones being collected in heaps: and some idea may be formed of their quantity by the fact that spaces of only a yard in width, intervening between these heaps, are ploughed and sown. The cultivated lands, viewed from the heights above, may be likened to a piece of cloth on which a child, having spilt ink, has amused itself by tracing it all over, in charming varieties of lineal figures, with its fingers. Barley is principally, if not altogether, the produce, and its farina, with curds, the staple food of the people. Though agricultural efforts are thus necessarily restricted, ample scope is given for the depasturing of flocks and herds, the mountains up to a great height being well covered with a rich earth yielding an abundant vegetation, suitable in its varieties to all animals, and offering not a few edible productions to man; such for example, as leeks, garlic, carrots, and other roots, and several sorts of substitutes for greens, whose species and names I am ignorant of, but which I daily devour. The cattle are small, and by the laws of the ruler of these realms, a Hindoo, are strictly forbidden to be killed. The penalty for disobedience was, until recently, death; and many instances of its fulfilment have been related to me, Mussulmen being the victims of this iniquitous system. But since British influence has been brought to bear upon the Prince of this territory, and a wholesome respect for our government, and dread of its displeasure, established, "nous avons changé toute cela." It is not now a life for a life, but the punishment is the next in severity in the penal code. Cattle are used for carriage, countless droves being employed in the conveyance of salt, and every other article of merchandise between Cashmere and the adjoining countries. As food the milk is eaten when curdled, and some 'ghee' is made, but not for the market. Sheep are plentiful and large flocks are brought into the valley to depasture from Cashmere. Their fleece is their chief remunerating property. A few goats are reared, and at every village I have met with a score or so of ponies of an indifferent, leggy breed. Fowls are not plentiful, and gardens appear nowhere. The inhabitants are very low in the scale of civilization, but as they have little acquaintance with things beyond their valley, they have few wants or desires which it does not supply. Their existence is patriarchal and simple. Either sex have but one style of garment, a baggy, shapeless smock of warm woollen homespun, the produce of their own flocks, and the work of their own hands. Their houses, or hovels, are of wood, the sides of logs, the interstices filled with clay, the roofs of split slabs. No care is taken in their construction to fit them for protection from the extreme rigours of the winter; so I conclude their inmates suffer much at that season, as do their flocks and herds, as their unthrifty, apathetic habits do not allow them to store up sufficient dry fodder to support them, while the deep snows cover the ground. Dirt and filth abound in the villages and their precincts; and the people are martyrs to hydrophobia. The males are stout, hale, and well-looking: the females, as far as my limited opportunities of observation permitted an opinion, are haggard and ugly. They, poor creatures! as in all races where man's nature is least refined, have the greater portion of the labours of life to endure. The males give me the idea of being contented and happy enough in their ignorance. They profess Mahomedanism, and in each hamlet is a small musjed, with either a resident moulvie, or an itinerant one, to officiate. They complain much, as do all the Maharajah's subjects, of the heavy imposts levied on them, and to this attribute their indifference to bettering their condition, asserting that if they increased their substance, they would be only the marks for the rapacity of the government screws. This is, no doubt, in part true; but I think their natural indisposition to exertion is now the main hindrance to industry and enterprise. These poor peasants have to pay the Maharajah five rupees per annum for every hundred head of sheep, cattle, &c., and three rupees for every measure of ground computed to yield one maund (eighty lbs) of grain. This latter burden they bitterly complain of, as whatever the harvest the full amount is exacted: and when it is considered that the intrinsic value of the maund of grain,--the marketable price--is but one rupee, it does appear abominably rapacious to extort three times the value, and whether the harvest fails or not. Formerly, under a system but lately changed, the cultivators paid in kind, equally dividing the produce, and with this they were, they say, satisfied. At any rate, they now view its abrogation with regret. As regards the sporting resources and capabilities of the Wurdwan, they no longer exist, but in the traditions and memories of by-gone days. These grounds have been now so constantly hunted, and the animals yet surviving, so harassed and disturbed, that with the exception of a few bears--ignoble game--there remains hardly an animal to reward the toil of the hunter. After my present experience, I would not myself again, nor would I recommend any other sportsman to try his chance in the Wurdwan, unless in the autumn, when the stags bellow; there may be, possibly, good sport then, but I should be disposed to try elsewhere. CHAPTER VI. SHIKAR IN THE WURDWAN 4th June. Up the valley, through some beautiful grassy bottoms along the stream, most likely places for the resort of game. But we got over some miles of ground, ere any glimpse of an animal was obtained: then some ibex were seen up the mountain, which before long, scared by some cause unknown, were seen in rapid career to the inaccessible summits. We soon moved on: but in the gorge where the ibex were seen a bear was descried, and the ground being favourable we gained his neighbourhood, and a shot from the Enfield smote him in the shoulder. He made off, but after receiving several more shots was brought rolling down. We continued our course up the valley, still through most promising coverts, far the prettiest shooting ground I had seen; we saw traces of bara sing, and numerous of bears, and halted for the day in a clear space, there to await the evening. Snow fell, and it became bitterly cold. We took shelter under some firs, and after a time had a fire, round which we squatted comfortably chatting. In due time we moved back towards camp--saw a bear, and were about the right place, when getting our wind he fled amain. Continuing our beat carefully through the jungle, Subhan dropped to game, and, following his indicator, I saw a dark coloured animal raise up its head. I said, "it is a bullock": but no, it was a bear, an unusually large and dark one, and when he looked up, with his ears pricked up, they looking like short horns gave him the momentary appearance of some species of 'bos,' such as the musk ox. But bear, and nothing else, was he. We stalked, and raising our heads saw him immediately below us, not half a dozen paces off, in a hollow. I aimed to take him between the shoulders--off went the gun, and off went the bear, another shot striking him; then he disappeared. I pursued with Phuttoo--lost all traces, and turned, when we saw Subhan and Mooktoo in hot chase across a snowdrift bridging the stream, on which we soon detected the bloody tracks of the bear. Hopes were raised. The rocky, precipitous mountain side was difficult to surmount, but I had faith in Subhan, especially on a bloody trail. Phuttoo and I, reconnoitring from below, espied the chase high up, crossing the side of the hill at a slow walk. We hailed the pursuing hunters, encouraging them in their efforts; saw them emerge, and enter faithfully on the trail. Then we moved further on, and again I viewed the chase higher up still, slowly making for a pine-clad crag where, from its appearance, I judged he would pull up. Anxiety now became extreme. The ground presented such difficulties, and I had lost sight of the hunters, who I feared might have given up the chase in despair. I sat in suspense, gazing upwards, and expressing hopes hardly entertained to Phuttoo, when crack! went a rifle, the whereabouts denoted by a small puff of smoke on the top of the crag mentioned. Now all was serene. I felt sure of victory: when another shot, resounding from a more distant spot, dimmed my bright hopes, and doubts again assailed me--another shot, hopes again brightened--an exclamation from an attendant behind, and the bear was seen clearly defined on the snow, in a ravine leading down from the crag, evidently dropping. Suddenly he rolled over, and simultaneously a shot rung out, and smoke appeared from above him. He slid down the snow: the hunters came in view following cautiously, and soon after we saw one discharge two shots at the prostrate, but still formidable brute. Then huge stones were cast at him, and he was pushed and hustled, till, getting way on, he came rolling and sliding on the snow to the bottom of the ravine; to which place we now made our way, and found our prey a monster for these parts, by far the largest bear I have seen here. He was riddled with bullets; my first shot had entered between the shoulders, at the base of the neck, and came out at the belly: the second struck him well in the middle of the shoulder. Yet he went off as described, and was nearly lost, as many an one has been before. I returned very "koosh"--the shikarries, too, proud of this capture, and their share in it. The bear, they say, turned on them, and put them to flight. They are great cowards these men, as, I believe, all the Cashmiries are. Phuttoo, however, is an exception. 5th June. Again, up the valley some distance beyond yesterday's beat--some most likely places for game. We saw some ibex in an inaccessible place, and halted for the day. At 2 P.M. we ascended, and gained a view of a fine stretch of open grassy slope beyond our halting place, where the valley makes a bend to the left. Here we stopped a couple of hours: nothing seen but a bear out of reach. We descended, and wended our way down valley. A bear was seen: we went after him, and disturbed two bara sing hinds which were too knowing for us, so to our first attraction, whom we saw disporting himself on the snow which he cantered across. We were after him, when Subhan recoiled, saying there was another bear in the same spot just quitted by the first. True enough--so after him; and I was crawling to a position about one hundred and twenty yards from him, when he twigged something wrong, and looked up. He cocked his ears, when I cocked the rifle, and fearing his flight I fired hurriedly, but hit him, I believe, well behind the shoulder. He started, and staggered--then came straight for us. I waited, prepared to give him second barrel. Passing a few paces above us on the side of the hill, he gave an angry roar as he cast a passing glance at us, and I gave him No. 2 somewhere in the ribs, whereat he winced, but rolled on his course and vanished, Mooktoo on his tracks, then the rest of us. But, sending Subhan to assist the former, Phuttoo and I went after the first bear on our homeward route, but saw nothing of him. When a couple of miles or so from camp, a breathless villager met us, and said there was a bara sing down by the river, not far from camp. Much excited, he started off at a run. I made him walk, but talk, and that loudly, he would; and when he suddenly pointed out the bara sing in the valley below, he loudly proclaimed its presence. The animal was evidently attentive and alarmed; so an attempt we made to approach it was unsuccessful. We made the bivouac; and from the prolonged absence of the two hunters we entertained delusive hopes that they had secured the wounded bear. But not so: they came in presently, having failed to get near the brute, which had betaken itself to a steep craggy height. I regret this loss much: he was a very large bear, of an unusually light colour, hair very long. 6th June. Off in a direction towards my late bivouac, a sharp frost and very cold. By the way, the frost was so severe on Monday, that the water just poured out in a pewter cup to clean my teeth was frozen over by the time I had washed my hands and face--pretty well for the 4th of June. I saw nothing at all; went nearly as far as the bridge, and then returned to breakfast. Bear skins were laid out to dry--a sudden thought striking me, I told Mooktoo I would give five rupees 'backsheesh' for the skin of the wounded bear, escaped yesterday. He and Subhan have accordingly gone to try their luck, and I mean to go with Phuttoo in the evening to look for the bara sing in the willow bottom. We went a short distance, but it did not put in an appearance this time when wanted. The two hunters returned in the evening reporting the bear to have gone miles away; but they had killed a female ibex, of which feat they were very proud, and the camp and the village rejoiced in the prospect of a feast of flesh; which, however, looked so uninviting that I declined it, and my servants, Hindoo fashion, would not eat it, because I would not; so the villagers had the more. I tipped the shikarries one rupee each; but doubt much if they took up the trail of the bear. 7th June. Remained in camp: resolved on an attempt on the ibex to-morrow. 8th June. An early start, and a stiff job climbing the mountain, which took us nearly two hours, and our toil was unrewarded by the sight of a single ibex. The hunters carefully reconnoitred the whole neighbourhood ineffectually. Whilst at breakfast, they came and reported a bear in view, asleep under a tree. I descended to the assault over difficult ground; and Bruin, asleep with one eye open, was distrustful, and hearing the click of my rifle, when cocking, made off. I fired three shots, all striking him, and quite disabling him; two shikarries after him, who fired three shots close by, and after some time I saw the wounded bear crawling along, a considerable way off: after some time, three or four shots more, then silence--again, a shot or two. Phuttoo and I remained on the look out, wondering what the issue was; and thus for two hours, I think, we waited, once getting a glimpse of the hunters far below us in some jungle. They did, at length, return, bringing the bear's skin, upon which some ten bullets were expended, and reporting that they had wounded a female bara sing. We remained up all day, though all hopes of ibex had been destroyed by the noise of the repeated discharges: descended in the afternoon, and going through some jungle I espied a deer, but could not get Subhan, who was leading, to acknowledge my low signal which a brawling stream close by drowned the sound of. I seized a rifle from Mooktoo, and fired: the animal bounded out of sight. Subhan followed to see the effect, and stopped, beckoning me on, so I knew the shot had told. Hurrying to him, he pointed to the animal stretched on the ground, and advised another shot which hitting the back, traversed the body, coming out at the left shoulder. It was but a kustoora after all, but a fine specimen, with long teeth protruding from the upper jaw. 9th June. Phuttoo and Mooktoo complaining of head aches, &c., Subhan came at dawn to my tent, suggesting remaining in camp till evening. I readily acquiesced, having had a hard day's work yesterday. I started in the afternoon in a new direction; climbing the steep fir-clad hill opposite the village, we reached the crest where we hoped to meet with bara sing, but only saw their fresh tracks, so sat down to watch. Subhan ascended higher with the telescope, and returned after some time reporting a bear as big as a bullock in sight, so we addressed ourselves to approach him. Descending the hill-side, a splendid and extensive grassy slope presented itself, along which we wended our way, and after about a mile's walk came upon the bear, truly a very large one, and justifying Subhan's comparison. I took my time to gain breath, and as we were well placed as regards covert and wind did not hurry; but, shifting position once or twice till satisfied, let drive Enfield, upon which Bruin turned bewildered, and dashed down hill, partly in our direction. I discharged the other barrel, also rifle, as he crossed a snow drift filling the bottom of a ravine. He still held on, and was commencing the ascent of the opposite hill, when I levelled Whitworth, and down he came spinning, rolling over and over, to the snow, and then slipping and sprawling down that, until he lay still, breathing his last. The whole party was triumphant: the shikarries got down to him: his sides still heaved: the coolies came up, and, Subhan having by my order cut the animal's throat to extinguish the remaining sparks of life, they proceeded to take off the skin, and had opened it down the belly, when, to their terror and my horror, the poor beast came to life again, as it were, and with a violent movement uttered such a growl as sent his tormenters flying in all directions. I put an end to him by a ball in the head. This is another proof of their surprising tenacity of life. He was truly a monstrous bear with huge limbs. This formidable beast, it was stated, was the terror of the villagers, having devoured many of their sheep, and put to flight some score of them, who with dogs, &c. attempted his destruction. There was great rejoicing over his destruction. 10th June. Sunday. Remained in camp as usual. 11th June. We moved camp this morning, as previously arranged to Busman, the opposite side of the valley, and I pitched my tent in a very picturesque spot, overlooking the village. In the afternoon I went down valley, and killed a large doe bara sing, which unfortunately was heavy with young. I much regretted this, but the shikarries had no such scruples. They were delighted at possession of so much meat, and set to work 'con amore' to break up the carcase, a messenger being despatched to bring men from camp to carry in the flesh. I did not feel at all elated at this success; but general satisfaction pervaded my party. One of the coolies, who accompanied the sepoy to Sirinuggur, arrived, bringing nothing whatever with him. He said the sepoy would be detained some days, until the Maharajah's arrival in the city, to whom he would make his statement personally. The Baboo, too prudent would not trust my letters to this coolie, by which I am much inconvenienced and vexed. The Kardar of Palgham would not either trust him with the rice, &c., which had been ordered; and further said he could not supply it, as there were five sahebs there to provide for. We, therefore, made arrangements for a man to start early to-morrow to Shanguz, to procure supplies there. 12th June. Up the valley leading to Bodicote in expectation of finding ibex. We had a tremendous climb which, though very toilsome, was not dangerous, but saw not a single ibex; we halted in a suitable spot to wait until evening, in hopes of game appearing. There was a bear in sight feeding below us, which, after some discussion, it was decided ought to be left unmolested, for fear the report of the guns might disturb ibex within hearing. Subhan went off to reconnoitre. After breakfast I sat watching the bear which, having finished his meal, came in our direction, and on to the snow in the ravine below us, where, to my astonishment, he stretched himself out composedly to snooze, apparently approving of cool applications to a distended stomach. Subhan returned, and reported that he could see no ibex in any direction, but had seen their tracks with those of dogs in pursuit; so, auguring ill for our chance of those animals, we resolved to attack our unconscious neighbour below, and descended for that purpose, but could not get within a hundred yards of him; at which distance, aiming at his head, I despatched an Enfield, which just missed him, and off he went down the snow in the utmost amazement, and came nigh to breaking his neck, but pulled up, ploughing deep into the snow with his long claws, and sliding some distance--a most ridiculous object. Having gained some three hundred yards thus, he stopped and looked all round. We remained quite still, concealed by a rock. He then slowly descended the rocks on our side, and, choosing a good site, there he seated himself, looking anxiously from side to side. We waited, hoping for an opportunity of quitting our position undiscovered: and so we remained for half an hour at least, when Subhan, thinking we could withdraw backwards out of sight, tried if it would do, and beckoning us we stealthily followed, and, having gained a screen, turned and again tried to renew our acquaintance with Bruin, who from the nature of the ground could not now be seen. We continued to descend the rocks towards his supposed position, and had got close upon it without discovering him. Mooktoo, from behind, made signals of seeing him, but Subhan and I could not catch a glimpse of him, until we gained the projecting rock under which he was sleeping, again thinking himself secure. The wind lifting his long hair betrayed him. He was lying with his head towards us, not four yards off, his head concealed by the rock, so I struck him between the shoulders, when he dropped backwards, and away he rolled over and over, in a most surprising manner. I saw him at one time high in mid air, as he bounded from a projecting rock, as though he had been discharged from a mortar: and he went rolling down the precipitous ravine for, I should think, three quarters of a mile, much to the disgust of those who had to descend and skin him,--a very fine large skin, with long yellowish fur. We saw other bears as we descended in the evening, but out of reach, so we got nothing more. It was a very hard day's work. We had to cross a snowdrift over the river, in which was a large fissure, which, however, only required nerve to cross safely. 13th June. Off to the place where I killed the doe bara sing. After some time we saw a bear apparently in retreat up hill. Thinking it useless pursuing, I turned towards camp; but Subhan pointed out the bear stopping on the precise spot on which the bara sing had been cut up, probably picking up the refuse. I resolved to try for him, so we ascended, and, having gained our point, thought him clean gone, when I saw something move in the bushes--again thought I was deceived, when the shikarries twigged him in some bushes across the ravine--a long shot. I struck him with an Enfield, evidently a severe wound, bringing him down, and fired other guns at him, as after deceiving us, making as though he were going to die on the spot, he went off in the jungle. I sent the shikarries in pursuit, and ere long they appeared with the dead bear, drawing him down the snow--a small brute riddled with bullets. On our way to camp we saw a fox with a splendid brush. I got within some eighty yards of him, and levelled Whitworth, steadying him on a rock--bang! and away went renard. Asking where the ball struck, the shikarries said, high up above the fox. I thought this very odd, and accused Phuttoo of putting in too much powder, who declared he had only put in the regular charge. Meantime, the fox was running up and down, and round and round, in an absurd manner, Mooktoo laughing at him, who sung out he had dropped dead, and ran off to secure him. Phuttoo and I, looking on, saw, as we thought, the animal betaking himself to the hills at a good pace, and called out to Mooktoo to come back, saying it was of no use. But on he went, not heeding us, and was soon seen striking something, and then held up the dead fox, another having run off, and deceived Phuttoo and me. The victim was shot right through behind the shoulders. 14th June. A rainy morning, with every appearance of a continuance--so, not unwillingly, I betook myself again to the comfortable warmth of my blankets. In the afternoon I went in the same direction as yesterday, and seeing a bear high up on a hill, attempted to get at him--but in vain; scrambled about the heights, but, seeing nothing more, gave up and returned to bivouac. 15th June. Up ere dawn, a long day in prospect, it having been determined to shift camp to a village on the opposite side of the valley, and we hunters to climb a mountain, from which we should descend to the bridge leading to our new quarters in the afternoon. When rather more than half-way up a bear was descried, to which we approached with due caution, but owing to the formation of the ground could not get nearer than some hundred and fifty yards; so that I fired at that distance, and struck him well in the middle of the shoulder. Recoiling from the blow, he then made straight for our position, and gained a rising ground just over us, when seeing us he paused, looking very ugly, then turned, when trying my other barrel, it missed fire, the cap being bad. We pursued and soon sighted the chase, in pursuit of which Subhan and Mooktoo continued, Phuttoo and I looking on--the mountain side, up which Bruin held his limping course, being spread out plainly before us; and we had the unsatisfactory view of the abortive efforts made to secure the wounded animal. The two hunters, not being able to see the wounded bear as we did, made slow progress, expecting to meet their foe at every step behind some rock; so Bruin, though slowly dragging along, and occasionally pausing to look back, made two paces to their one, and so disappeared over the crest of the mountain. Whereupon, Phuttoo and I set off to climb up and rejoin the others. And sharp work we had; but finally reached our two companions who, not sighting the game, had given up the chase in despair. We again set forward to gain a favourable spot to pass the day in, where I proceeded to breakfast, the others retiring somewhere out of sight. Rain and sleet driven by a furious wind now set in, with thunder roaring majestically immediately above us. I screened myself as well as I could under a fir tree, and passed the chill hours, some two or three, reading. A hind is seen coming forth to graze down below us; and the rain now ceasing we descended in chase, but could not get near the wary creature which, winding us, I imagine, from afar, was seen cantering smartly away, ere we were within long shot of it. On reaching camp we found the man, despatched on the 12th for provisions, returned, having made a rapid journey. He had met the sepoy who had been detained at Sirinuggur, and they had made arrangements for the supplies required, now difficult to obtain from some unexplained cause. They had, therefore, to be collected from different villages, and the sepoy remained to convoy the bulk, Kamal, a trusty quiet-mannered fellow, bringing three coolies laden with him, also a complimentary note and presents from Ahmet Shah--some cherries and cakes--and from my stout friend of Eish Mackahm some of his bread cakes, before commended. By the way, he sent me a pair of gloves and socks by the coolie last coming. 16th June. Much rain during the night, but a fair fresh morning which I enjoyed much, reading. In the afternoon, forth to hunt. Two hinds, young ones apparently, were seen descending the mountain. We tried to intercept them; but a ravine divided us. Lying concealed, we watched them gamboling beyond our savage hand's reach. They finally ascended the hill, and gradually retired from our sight. A plan was then formed to follow them, which took us up the mountain in a direction to cut their route. A stiff and smart climb landed us on the top; Subhan and Mooktoo went off to scout, Phuttoo and I lying in wait. Two bears came in sight. Phuttoo and I, taking the rifles, moved towards them. The others joined us, having seen nothing: but not having yet examined the ground where the two deer must have passed, or might yet be, I ordered it to be reconnoitred 'en route' after the bears, and there was seen one deer lying down, its head and ridge of back only shewing--distance about eighty yards. I paused for breath behind a rise, the deer looking towards me; prepared rifle, and advanced a little on my knees to get a firmer footing: the deer rose, and standing erect presented its dun side full before me. Taking deadly aim I pulled trigger, when--horror and disgust--the cap only exploded. Away bounded the deer, and also the other--till now unseen, but lying still nearer to us. I fired the other barrel as they gently moved up hill, but ineffectually I believe. Away they went. The guns had been kept all night in the covers which they were in during yesterday's rain. I had directed the shikarries always to take the leathern covers in the day time, and to put the woollen ones on at night, and had for some time enforced compliance. But of late they had departed from this rule. Finding the woollen covers more easily disposed about their persons, they had carried them in the day, and left them on at night. I think a strong impression was made upon them by to-day's mishap, as thereby they lose a good supply of meat, which is to them a great disappointment. The two bears of course fled. And other game, both deer and bears, on the side from which we had come up, seen while in the ascent, had also vanished. I determined to try another entire day on the same mountain on Monday, and then to move forward by the Sooroo Pass towards Ladâk, supposing the sepoy to arrive to-morrow. With him I expect a bullet mould for the Whitworth, having sent in one of the smooth cylindrical bolts as a pattern, the easiest of the two to manufacture, and which Phuttoo and the others assure me can be easily made in the city; so I left the matter in their hands. I did not bring a mould, thinking I had bolts enough with me for that weapon, but had not calculated on the astonishing vitality of the bears. 17th June. Sunday. A walk in the morning; and a delightful one it proved. On returning, the long absent sepoy and some coolies were in sight on the opposite side of the river, and in due time arrived with letters, newspapers, supplies, &c. 18th June. We made a very early start to carry out a plan arranged on Saturday night, to hunt a mountain on which we had seen bara sing. But, from some whimsical notion or other, the shikarries had altered their minds, and, passing by this spot, went on to where we stalked the deer on Saturday, attended by such bad luck. They are queer fellows, possessed of remarkably odd notions on hunting, quite at variance with the true science of the chase. They trust so much to luck, to 'kizmet.' I suppose, being Mahomedans, and hence fatalists, influences them on these points. I cannot say there is any charm in the character of these men, such as one might, perhaps, be disposed to attribute to the hunters of the Cashmere mountains. They are too strongly imbued with the duplicity and covetousness of their race, and they are deficient in those characteristics one loves to ascribe to the mountaineer and hunter--courage, truth, and candour. They do not ever like to exert themselves over much, and have a great regard for the comforts of a house, so that it is difficult to get them well away from the inhabited districts. They are, moreover, constantly begging for something; and, though one may give them double what they are entitled to, they will scheme to dupe you into giving them more, quoting fabulous experiences of the generosity and munificence of saheb so and so. Nor do I consider them by any means good hunters, their talents being confined to a knowledge of the country, and a quick sharp eye. They possess none of that pertinacity and resource which enable hunters to find game when scarce and wild, and to capture it with certainty when severely wounded. They are but poor trackers, and quickly give up all efforts at the pursuit of a wounded animal, if they think it may have gone far. How often I have longed for one or two of my old Australian native hunters! _They_ were the fellows to run a tangled trail through bush or over bare rock, like hounds with the chase in view. Of my three shikarries, Phuttoo, Mooktoo, and Subhan, the latter is far the best and more attractive in character. He is young and willing, and is not yet spoiled, not having hitherto acquired all the wiles and tricks of such men as the other two, who are old allies, and work together for their mutual advantage. It is a great drawback to my pleasure in this excursion, not being able to repose confidence in these associates. We went over a deal of ground, but arrived at the end of our beat without seeing anything; then pulled up for the day. Just as I was finishing breakfast, the hunters came, and informed me there was a bear in sight. I got up and accompanied them a short way up hill. Puffing and blowing, distended with tea and dough cakes, I made heavy way, and, having ascertained the bear to be a long way off in rough and difficult ground, I declined going after him, but sanctioned the attempt on the part of Subhan and Mooktoo, Phuttoo and I taking up a good position to see the fun. After a time we heard three shots in rapid succession; then saw the bear coming towards us. He sheered off, and went best pace up hill, evidently unscathed. Soon after, the hunters appeared, Mooktoo as usual shirking the hard work, and Subhan climbing the heights manfully, as though he intended to catch Bruin. At last they rejoined us. In the evening we retraced our steps, and at length saw an old and a young bear far ahead of us. Having reached their whereabouts at dusk, I doubted whether to go after them; but, Subhan catching sight of them, I buckled to, and climbed the steep. We found our game, the young one only being visible at first, right under us: then the old one was detected also, and I fired down on her, aiming at and striking her between the shoulders, knocking her over: then, aiming at the young one, the gun did not go off, the cap, I fancy, having fallen off. The old bear scrambled up close to us, uttering fierce growls; then turned and made off. I fired two shots, one breaking a hind leg. Subhan pursued. The young one, a queer looking little brute, sat eyeing us from a height opposite, and I would not allow Mooktoo to fire at him. We followed the chase, and found the bear had fallen down hill into the jungle close by the river. It was too late and too dark to look for her then, so we took the route to camp, all feeling sure of finding her dead in the morning. 19th June. Off to retrieve the wounded bear. We got on its tracks, there being much blood on the trail, and tracked through a bit of jungle into some wet bushy ground, where the shikarries, no longer finding blood to guide them, gave up the chase, and, without examining the neighbouring bushes, turned back towards camp. Aware of the utter uselessness, from former experience, of endeavouring to incline them to continue the search, I went silently back. 20th June. We made an early start towards Shugkenuz. Mooktoo espied two bears in the old place where three were seen on our first coming this way, and on that evening I wounded two. We resolved to try for them, and, continuing our route on towards the bridge, I discovered another high up on our right. We started up, a long and tiresome climb before us; when, getting near the place where we had seen the bear, we found it had moved to the opposite side of the ravine. Our side was very difficult to move on, having a very steep and smooth surface, but bushes to screen us. The bear was wonderfully 'cute of hearing, turning at every snap of a dry twig. I made sure it would be off, but advanced with every caution to a spot where some slight noise was unavoidable, and could not get nearer without being exposed to view. Here Bruin, having looked up and reconnoitred repeatedly, moved upwards; then across the ravine, heading towards us. Mooktoo, excited, declared it to be coming towards us, so I took up as comfortable a position as I could, and prepared rifle. Sure enough Bruin's head appeared over a ridge, coming right for us. He halted, and scrutinized our locality, then advanced and paused; when--crack!--and over and over it rolled down the ravine. It was a female. And the hunters account for its strange approach to us, by its having from the sound imagined its male friend to be at hand, which individual I had the honour to represent, so little to the satisfaction of the expectant fair one. Leaving Phuttoo and Kamal to take the spoils, we continued our way, and, crossing the ridge, went in search of the bears first seen. Their place was vacant: no signs of them. But Subhan, having gone ahead, signalled us, and we found he had discovered a bear on the other side the stream which tumbled down this valley. Its movements were eccentric, and again ascribed to its being under the influence of the tender passion. However that may be, the lone one came down to the edge of the stream, there pausing awhile amid the bushes; when an Enfield ball took effect on its shoulder, and ere it recovered its surprise another followed. It was then discovered lying apparently dying under some bushes. Mooktoo went in pursuit, and shortly fired two shots. I then sent Subhan across to help, knowing Mr. Mooktoo to entertain the utmost reverence for a wounded bear, always preserving a respectful distance. Subhan crossed the stream, disappearing in the bushes, which were seen much agitated, bending to and fro, here and there,--a rush and the thwack of sticks being audible even above the roar of the torrent. Then all was still. Next, Subhan appeared at my side; he had settled the bear, with the result of which he was much pleased. It was but a small animal, but a very vicious young female. We proceeded on to Shugkenuz: in the evening visited the same spot, but saw nothing. 21st June. I had determined yesterday to remain a day here, in order to make complete arrangements for coolies and supplies, as no village is met with between this and Sooroo; and we propose stopping to hunt midway some days, there being good ground for ibex there. I also expect the coolies back from Sirinuggur, a matter of consequence as lead is again running short, those tough bears causing such a consumption of that precious metal. I started in the morning to hunt a valley across the river, and had proceeded far up the valley, when I perceived the back of a bear shewing above some high rank herbage up the hill-side. Up we went, and came on our prey, and a shot, entering just behind the shoulder, sent him rolling head over heels down hill: but I had to put a ball through his head to finish him. Mooktoo had not accompanied us, having been lame the last two days from a boil. It is surprising how absurdly ignorant they are of the simplest principles of curative measures and remedies. His were wet gunpowder--because it was an European production, I imagine--and a bandage of woollen stuff. All ready for a move on the morrow. CHAPTER VII. SOOROO PASS TO LADÂK. 22nd June. A march, and a long and fatiguing one to the northern extremity of the Wurdwan valley proper, where it narrows to a mere gorge, the mountains closing in and overhanging the pent up torrent, frowning down in savage grandeur--the scenery very wild and striking. We had to cross the river on the snow, and to move over extensive snow drifts covering the steep slope of the bank: the very precarious footing, and the torrent roaring below, made this part of the journey exciting. I was troubled with a badly-fitting sandal which much impeded my movements, and increased the danger of falling, at the same time fatiguing me greatly. Subhan did what he could for me, but was unable altogether to remedy the evil. The river made a sudden turn, coming from due east at right angles into the valley, (which runs, I imagine, pretty direct north and south) up which we continued our course, now very rugged, and at length, to my relief and comfort, halted in a small, irregular, up and down opening, by a large piece of rock which afforded us some protection from the sun, now become excessively hot after ten o'clock. A great but gradual change has taken place as the season has advanced. The mornings and evenings are now cool, not cold, and the days very hot, the sun so powerful as to render my small shuldary tent quite an oven. I try to diminish the temperature by putting my double blanket on the top; but still I suffer much, and find a tree, where there is one at hand, better protection by far. My followers were very long in appearing, and I felt some anxiety for my servants' safety in so hazardous a path, but was gratified by the simultaneous presence of all three, as I awoke from a troubled doze. The coolies also arrived without accident of any sort. I went in the afternoon up river to reconnoitre, and had the pleasure of seeing some half-dozen ibex, venerable fellows, with long horns and beards, but on the opposite side of the river, and in a place the approach to which made me shudder to look at. But the attempt must be made to-morrow. One coolie arrived from Sirinuggur, bringing lead; the other, the duly deputed one, remaining behind to see the Baboo, and deliver his credentials, that individual being absent at some devotional gathering of the pundits at some sacred shrine, most likely devising roguery--therefore, no letters, papers, or bullet mould. Ibex had been seen from camp. 23rd June. Off in pursuit of the ibex seen yesterday. We descended to the river which we crossed on the snow, and up the opposite side,--ibex seen above us. We lay down to reconnoitre. Two ibex, male and female, were coming in our direction from the heights in the rear. Their intention becoming apparent to continue in our direction, we climbed up to intercept them, and a rough scramble it was. After raising our hopes to the utmost, they turned aside and disappeared. On again--crossing a remarkable place of semicircular form, where the earth appeared to have parted from the mountain, and slipped sheer down into the river, so that an extensive indent of semicircular form remained, its surface loose and smooth, with a harder gravelly ridge forming a ledge, from which it descended sheer to the river. The mountains were of bare rock, rearing sharp peaks of every form high into the heavens. In the further angle, however, of this crescent of desolation, was a knoll covered with gnarled dwarf birch trees and rough underwood. To this we directed our course, and, when gained, it was as nice a spot as could be desired for a hunter's watch stand. In the course of the day several ibex were seen crossing the slope, having been alarmed by the fall of some pieces of rock which, detached from above, came rattling down near them. We watched them anxiously, hoping they might come our way. But no: they chose the crags. A bear and two 'wee' cubs also came seeking more secure quarters, and evidently bound for our trees; but, winding us some five hundred yards distant, the anxious dam turned about, after several long sniffs, and went off in a different direction. But one ibex, a buck, remained on the slope where he employed himself, I believe, in licking salt, of which the shikarries tell me there is much in the earth, and which attracts the ibex to this remarkable spot in numbers. After watching his movements for a long time, and it appearing pretty sure that he meant to remain there some time, Subhan and I started on the forlorn hope of stalking him; a feat of great difficulty, as, though the wind was in our favour, the quantity of stones and detritus we had to pass over to get to him--there being in fact no other footing--rendered it impossible to move without sending some detached fragments from this huge loose mass rattling below. Then, the difficulty of moving at all on this steep surface was great. We took advantage of the stunted brushwood to screen our approach, moving on only when the animal, ever looking around after a bite or two, put down his head. This tedious mode of advance under a broiling sun continued some time; when the animal, being satiated, suddenly descended behind the low ridge on the top of which he had hitherto held post. Then we pushed on, Subhan too impetuous, the loose stones talking loudly. However, we got to fifty yards of the spot, Subhan still going ahead, head down, when I saw the horns, then the head, of the suspicious chase appear above the ridge. Checking Subhan, down we lay, the forepart of our bodies only screened by some dry twigs of brushwood. I took the rifle, and, raising it, found the ramrod hanging out. Putting my hand to the muzzle, I drew it in--the ibex now in full view, shewing his breast, a fine mark. But from the attitude I was in, lying on my right side, with nothing but loose stones to scratch at, I could not, for the life of me, find means to poise the gun and take aim. Subhan lying in front of me on his side, I tried to rest the gun on him, but could only bring it to bear by pressing on the slope of his shoulder as he lay, which afforded no rest. The animal's quick eye now detected the convulsive twitchings of my limbs, and, giving a shrill whistle, he presented his side at which I pulled trigger as he bounded away. A smack was heard, which we hoped was the ball telling, and away we went, but saw the ibex slowly bounding away. He paused at the foot of a rock, wagged his tail rapidly, and vanished with a dive into a gulley. Subhan, thinking him wounded, pursued. I had also great hopes from the sound, notwithstanding the difficulty of my position; but, on examining the ground whereon the animal stood, I found the spot where the ball struck at his feet, the rifle having slipped down the slope of Subhan's shoulder as I hastily pulled trigger on the startled animal. Subhan returned, discomforted exceedingly. And, repining at the extreme ill luck at being surprised in such an impracticable position, we rejoined our equally disappointed comrades who had been eagerly following our every movement through the telescope. We gained the ground on which the fine old patriarchal long-beards had been seen yesterday--now, alas! where? Far beyond our ken. We returned on our steps; had terrific hard climbing up and down; and I arrived at the bivouac thoroughly done up, with a pain in the back from straining up hill, which may necessitate rest. While lying waiting on the mountain side, I observed a spot on the river below us, where from the contiguity of certain rocks dividing the stream, it appeared feasible to throw a bridge over, plenty of wood being within reach. But I observe that almost close to this spot the pines and firs cease, and nothing but the dwarf birch appears; and a mile or two further on even this wood ceases, and only bare rock is visible. The shikarries promise to have a bridge made, which will then afford us easy access to some good ibex grounds, now very difficult to get to. 24th June. Sunday. I was very well inclined to enjoy the repose this day brings with it: my back stiff, and an occasional sharp twinge in the lumbar regions, painfully reminded me of my fruitless exertions yesterday. I took a stroll in the afternoon. The shikarries and coolies went to build the bridge. 25th June. I started off to the place where the bridge had been commenced yesterday, but could not be completed owing to the quantity of water, from the melted snows. It was to be finished this morning, the coolies first bringing my things here. We saw some fine ibex on the very crest of the mountain opposite, and resolved to try and get at them in the evening. The things arrived, and the coolies set to work at the bridge. I made a hearty breakfast, and afterwards went to watch the operations. The rough poles were now across, and the shikarries proposed starting at once. I did not much relish the thoughts of the climb just after breakfast, and the sun exceedingly warm, but acquiesced; so off we went, and crossing this apology for a bridge over the furious torrent was no easy matter. I had to collect my nerves for the attempt. The poles were laid first from one bank to a large, high piece of rock, and from that down to another much lower, and then from that to the other bank: they were very crooked and loose, and moved about and sprung under the pressure of the foot. But I crossed safely, and then breasted the mountain. It was dreadful hard work. After many halts we reached the upper regions, where we found it quite cold, a strong sharp wind blowing. The shikarries went to scout, and returned with the provoking information, that they had watched the ibex which had betaken themselves to a distant and inaccessible portion of the mountain. Something must be attempted after such an arduous ascent. I determined not to go down without an effort at any rate, so proposed to sleep up on the mountain, sending a coolie to bring some clothes and eatables. This was decided on. Then, looking for a place to wait in till evening, I descended a short way towards a tremendous ravine which cleft the mountain from crest to base, running nearly in a direct line for a couple of miles, its sides of bare rock, precipitous, and rugged. Above this I lay down in no very agreeable state of mind at the prospects before me. About 3 P.M. I saw the identical five fine ibex emerge, and file slowly across the opposite hill-side. I watched them eagerly without a movement, lying on my back, till they disappeared over the ridge. One was a splendid old fellow, with huge horns, and moved very leisurely behind the others. How I longed to be within reach of him! The shikarries, who had occupied other places to watch, soon joined me, excited by the same sight. We were preparing to move, when two more ibex were seen following in the track of the others. We had to wait till they were out of sight: then, off we went, and had hard work to cross the ravine, and ascend the opposite hill of slate and snow, steeply scarped. We gained the crest, and found the ibex were down on a level open slope, far out of reach, and hardly possible to approach. Here was a disappointment. After a long consultation a plan was formed, we hunters to make a 'detour,' and then the coolies to descend towards the game, and let them be aware of his presence. It being so arranged, up and away: and after further violent exertions we reached the part of the mountain under which the ibex had been seen feeding--most difficult ground, being very steep, and either of smooth slate, or fragments affording no footing. We gained the top of the ridge. Subhan unfortunately did not reconnoitre, but made a turn to the left to gain a passage through the much-broken rock, when suddenly he shrunk to the ground, as the horns and heads of two magnificent ibex came into view, emerging from a narrow cleft and coming towards us. They, of course, saw us. We were not thirty-five yards apart. Now, to record what took place I can hardly undertake, nor do I exactly know how it happened. The heads, and necks, and ridge of back, of the ibex were alone visible, a piece of rock screening their bodies. No doubt, I was discomposed and flurried by their unexpected appearance so near, and under some unaccountable influence did not at once take aim, from some undefined notion that they would offer a better mark immediately, and for fear of frightening them by any movement. I was, moreover, in a most uncomfortable squatting position on a steep slope. After a second or two one moved forward, and, unfortunately, instead of the movement bringing him better into view, it had the opposite effect, for the ground dipped so that the animal was instantly out of sight; the other moving on, I fired and missed. I was then obliged to rise up to see him. He had not dashed off at the discharge, but moved on at a slow pace, as though quite unconcerned. His whole side was presented as I rose in much agitation to aim, and just as I raised the rifle he dashed down hill, my bullet passing harmlessly over his back. I rushed after him, risking neck or limbs, heedless of every thing but the chase, my second gun in hand: sighted him--on again, when I was brought up by a fearful precipice, a huge abrupt chasm severing the mountain: leaning and peering over, I saw the two ibex below, but was so blown I vainly tried to take aim, so, as the distance was great, gave it up. I was still looking after the retreating game, when Subhan signalled something exciting, and we found he had spied other four ibex in sight, far off. We assayed to get at them. Our coolie was in sight, and the ibex, taking fright, after a turn or two, made off in our direction, but far away below us. Down we dashed in chase to cut them off. But, ignorant of their point, we failed--with our utmost efforts, and after many slips and escapes, arriving to see them, having crossed the lower end of this chasm, canter off up the opposite hill-side. The shikarries urged me to fire, so putting up sights, hopeless myself, I sent two or three bullets very close to them--that was all. It was no use to remain up now, so I decided to return to camp, a long and difficult step. We saw coolies down below with the things, descended to them, and found the long absent messenger from Sirinuggur there. He had letters, newspapers, and the bullet mould for me. This somewhat allayed the unpleasant reflections I was a prey to, and broke in upon my brooding over my mishap; and, on Subhan expressing an intention to move camp onwards in the morning, I suggested that he and Mooktoo should instead try and get at these ibex. They did not appear half inclined for the job, I thought. And no wonder, considering the amount of work we had done. All the camp was out in evident expectation of our success, hoping for meat. Long faces, when the result was known. My mishap did not prevent my eating my dinner; but it was interrupted oft-times by melancholy ejaculations, and sighs, and groans. I had confessed all to the sympathising Abdoolah, and told him my heart was pained at losing such fine ibex. My Hindostani was not equal to the requisite idiomatic phraseology, I suppose; for, on my shortly retiring to my tent, he followed me, and put his head into my tent. On enquiring what he wanted, "he had come," he said, "to offer to rub my stomach to relieve the pain I complained of." I know I said 'heart,' and not 'stomach.' But this circumstance operated beneficially, and I retired to bed thoroughly knocked up, but mentally serene. 26th June. I was disturbed at an early hour by a rumbling under my bed: the two hunters were getting out the guns. "Mind you bring back the big horned one," I said, and again relapsed into peaceful, strength-restoring slumbers. When up, I set to work to cast bullets, and found the mould for the Whitworth most ingeniously constructed, but with a great deal more art than was actually necessary. The bolt was not true, however, the base of the cylinder being larger than the upper part; but I thought that this could be remedied by the use of the knife and file, though at considerable expense of time and trouble. And so it turned out. There were letters from Punnoo, Vizier, assuring me the offending villagers should be punished, and from the Baboo on matters of business, and lots of newspapers which were most acceptable. About 2 P.M. I saw Mooktoo returning alone. He immediately beckoned me. I guessed his object, and called out to the coolies to bustle up and be off to help the shikarries--that they would now find lots of meat. There was a general stir and excitement in the bivouac, all turning out to gaze upon the approaching Mooktoo, still a long way off on the other side the river. He carried something evidently; and, on one of the coolies reaching him, he threw down his load which we then perceived to be the head of an ibex, with fine horns. He shortly joined us, and proclaimed the welcome news of four fine ibex being the result of their chase. All the coolies were despatched to help Subhan who, in the course of three or four hours, made his appearance with a long train of followers bearing heads and limbs. There were great rejoicings at this great success, and the prospect of a general feast of flesh. I looked mournfully on the unfortunate victims, taking little pleasure in their destruction, as I had not enjoyed the excitement of the chase which was, by the hunters' accounts, a most arduous and perilous one. They had been long traversing the mountains without a sign of game, and were returning, when an ibex was viewed, and following him they had to climb terrific crags; to do which they had even to take off their sandals, and, slinging their guns, climb up on all fours. They became separated, and were in much apprehension for each other's safety. But all turned out most happily for their sport; for Subhan was surprised by a fine buck coming out of a ravine, and presenting him a fair broadside. He knocked him over; when another took his place. He then disposed of that one, and others were thus turned down to Mooktoo who floored his brace, and wounded another. Two or three fell down the precipitous crags, and were consequently much knocked about, but the horns were luckily uninjured. I decided to halt tomorrow to prepare the heads, &c. 27th June. All remained busy in camp, stretching skins, and preparing heads. Rain fell during the day. In the afternoon, it having cleared up, leaving Phuttoo working at the heads, the other two and I went off on the chance of seeing something; but heavy rain again set in, and we returned drenched to camp. 28th June. We struck camp, and set off to next ground. The morning was heavy and cloudy, and it was an uninteresting march along the river bed, here very shallow, and broken into many streams. The mountains, on either hand, were steep and craggy, and their lower slopes, on the southern side, clothed with underwood, dwarf birch, &c., but, on the north side, covered with grass, not a tree or shrub to be seen there. The slopes came right down to the river banks, affording hardly a spot, here or there, on which to pitch a tent. The valley, running east and west, is narrow and wild. We arrived at the camp ground, a rough spot, completely covered with wild leeks or onions, like a cultivated bed. Rain came on, and we hunters were in a poor plight--no shelter whatever, and all the wood and herbage so wet we could not raise a fire for an hour, though every dodge was resorted to: my feet, being saturated, were miserably cold. The tent and other things were late arriving: the rain turned to snow, and it became bitterly cold; and in the afternoon the snow lay three or four inches deep, even on the low ground. 29th June. I awoke after a bitter cold night, which much interfered with my sleep and comfort. The snow still lay on the ground; but the clouds breaking, giving an occasional gleam of sunshine, every thing was put out to dry. My dog Sara had been very busy yesterday working, scratching, and digging, at a marmot's burrow. There are numbers of these quaint creatures here constantly seen sitting upright, and uttering a shrill whistle, like the sound of a dog whistle. He continued his operations in the most indefatigable manner to-day; and, having nothing else to do, all set to work to help him unearth the 'varmint'--no easy job, as his earth was under a huge piece of rock. However, at last the poor little beast was assailed in his citadel, and he fought viciously, tooth and claw, but was finally secured by nooses passed over his hind feet, and then dragged ignominiously out to the public gaze. Sara made a rush on him, and tackled him, but not relishing his teeth withdrew from the contest, and I put the poor thing out of further pain by two or three blows on the head. 30th June. We moved on to new ground reported to be frequented by ibex. Several parties, coming down this path, profess to have seen them. Phuttoo, who has been ailing some days, I think from rheumatism, remained to accompany the main body. We, of the light division, came on ahead, and found the carcase of an ibex fresh killed, and partly devoured by wild dogs. This is a terrible blow to our hopes, as in all probability the ibex have been harassed and frightened away from this place. From the camp ground nothing whatever can be seen in the way of game, though the hills look very likely. In the course of the day some excitement was created by Ali Bucks asserting he saw an ibex. After enquiry and much useless reconnoitring, it was decided to have been a marmot. Soon afterwards I was examining the features of the mountains, and laying out plans for our route in the afternoon with Mooktoo, when we both became aware of real ibex being visible in the very spot I was pointing out as that we should make for. The ibex were numerous, and some large horns among them. They appeared to be excited by something, supposed to be a fight among them. They soon disappeared. But the knowledge that they were actually on the mountain was a great relief, as we feared those rascally dogs had driven them away. About 2 P.M. we prepared for the chase, and, moving up the valley, reached the glacier from under and out of which the main Wurdwan river flows. This enormous mass of ice and snow fills the upper end of the valley, extending many miles right through the Sooroo Pass, the path running over it. It was awkward work crossing the chasms and rents in it; but it was our only means of getting to the other side of the river. Rain set in, making our anticipated hard labour in ascending the mountain still more formidable and disagreeable. We paused at the base of the hill to reconnoitre with the glass, and after some time had the satisfaction of seeing the ibex emerge from a hollow, quietly feeding. We counted thirteen. Thus cheered, a plan of attack was considered and fixed. We had as usual a tremendously heavy pull up hill, crossing a place in a ravine much frequented by the ibex; indeed, in smell and appearance like a place where sheep had been folded. Everything tended to raise our hopes. We worked steadily on, until we reached a good elevation, when Subhan went ahead to scout, and returned with the pleasing intelligence that the ibex were in sight, and undisturbed. We mounted higher with great caution. Subhan, again scouting, made signs to us--the game was lying down. On, again--excitement becoming great, as we neared our intended prey. Subhan peeped over the crest of the sharp rocky ridge, under shelter of which we were stealthily advancing, and made unmistakable signs of something unexpected and exciting. He beckoned me to bring a rifle; so I climbed to his look-out place, and was gratified by the sight of a single ibex, a large buck, with a magnificent pair of horns. Taking time for breath--the animal evidently unconscious of danger--I fired, the ball apparently striking the shoulder, and breaking the off leg. The animal--wonderful to relate--hardly noticed the wound or the noise, and, to our infinite astonishment, began to eat again. I fired another shot, again striking the shoulder--the animal again shewing little signs of concern, but shortly, with great deliberation, lay down. Not knowing what to make of such strange conduct, I fired another shot, which effectually did the business. The guns being reloaded, we looked about, and saw a large flock of ibex startled at the reports, but puzzled to know their meaning. Following Subhan, I advanced to intercept them, and gained an eminence overlooking their position which was in a grassy hollow. It was a stirring sight. I suppose there were thirty or forty of them. And leading the way was the master of the herd, a very large buck, with splendid horns. This one I singled out, but was some time ere I could adjust my rifle, and get a steady aim, as he moved on, here and there, over the uneven ground. I was lying down; but, as he was increasing his distance, there was no time to lose, and I fired, the missile apparently striking him well behind the shoulder. He started, and recoiled, and made off down hill; and at the discharge a regular hurry-skurry took place among the others who, crowding together, took downwards. Two shots brought down one, and wounded others, and away they all went. I loaded and pursued; but they had got across a huge ravine, and were about six hundred yards off. I tried the Enfield; but the bullets struck close to them, and that was all. I loaded, and turned back to the victims, and found the first a very old animal with only one tooth in his head, his horns very long, but somewhat worn and dilapidated. He was as thin as could be. The other was a young buck. I now bethought me of the fine fellow I had taken such pains about, and had wounded. We found his bloody trail, and sighted him a long way off, slowly moving on up the mountain. I sent Subhan and a coolie in pursuit, and returned with Mooktoo to skin the others. Heavy rain descended, then snow, with loud peals of thunder over head. A coolie descended the mountain to hail the encampment for assistance. We were in sight of our tents, though miles away, far above them. A shot was heard in the direction Subhan had taken; and, just as the second animal was skinned, he returned, saying he had killed the wounded ibex, but it was not the big one. This I could not understand, being sure _that_ we saw was the identical leader of the herd. We now descended, again crossed the glacier, and were welcomed in camp, where universal glee prevailed at our success. Poor old Phuttoo was much delighted, and chattering away gaily, calling to mind how he had told me that some day I should have great sport with the ibex. When the ibex that Subhan had finished was brought in--it was brought in bodily--I exclaimed at once that it was not the one we had seen retreating, not a doubt of it. Subhan declared it was wounded, however. That is probable enough: but the animal we saw was the big buck, the size and colour quite unmistakable--nothing like this little bit of a creature. Subhan acknowledged that owing to the snow, rain, and dense clouds, he could not follow the trail; and, seeing this wounded ibex before him, thought that must be the one he was following, so finished it, and came back. This was very unsatisfactory, as I gave up a capital chance at the main body to try for this big fellow. I told Subhan that I thought it ought to be retrieved; so he and Mooktoo are going to try and find him to-morrow. I distributed 'backsheesh,' and this being the Mahomedan great day, the 'Eed,' I had in the morning given the shikarries a leg of mutton, tea and sugar, &c.; and now they are singing away merrily. 1st July. Sunday. Much rain fell during the night. Subhan went off to try and discover the wounded ibex. Heavy rain set in, in the afternoon, and continued without intermission until dark. It was very cold. Subhan returned quite unsuccessful, the rain having obliterated the tracks. I regret this loss much. It was such a splendid animal, the pick of the herd. 2nd July. On turning out of my tent, dressed and ready to march, I found that a hard frost had come on in the night, and much snow had fallen on the mountains; in consequence of which the glacier was declared to be too dangerous to attempt to cross, as the numerous rents and fissures would be thinly coated over with frozen snow, rendering it impossible to detect and avoid them. I submitted the more patiently to this delay, as the swelling behind my knee was considerably enlarged by my struggles over the slippery ground on Saturday; and I, somehow or other, clung to the forlorn hope of there being a chance of retrieving the lost ibex, if we remained here; that a flight of vultures, buzzards, or crows might point out the carcase. But no such good fortune appears to await me, as I have been scanning the mountain side till almost blind, but no favourable augury in the skies. The ibex must now be given up as irretrievable. 3rd July. Although rain had fallen, and at early dawn the weather was very unsettled, the shikarries roused me up. I had made up my mind that they would not think it advisable to move, so had composed myself to another allowance of sleep; but was soon dressed, and on the march. The glacier, which we now had to cross, has all the disagreeables of that peculiarity without its redeeming features, its varied and brilliant tints, such as are renowned in Alpine scenery. This was an ugly, dull, dirty, stony mass of ice and snow filling up the gorge in the chain of mountains, forming the pass through its ridge from the Wurdwan to Sooroo. The ascent was not difficult, except from the cumbering rocks and stones which, brought down from the heights, the accumulation of centuries, lie in heaps and masses, huge and unsightly, nothing picturesque about them. Even their colours are dull and repulsive. And here and there is a yawning chasm, descending into depths unknown, very hideous when looked into. We had barely reached the general level, when a violent snow-storm burst upon us. The heavens were black, the wind howled in furious gusts, the weather and accompaniments enabling one to realise one's fancies and ideas of a mountain pass in a storm. We battled manfully against it, diverging here and there to avoid danger; and so toiling on reached the most elevated part, the ascent gradual. Here we were free from the rocks and stones, there being only the ice and snow, a layer of fresh-fallen snow having re-carpeted the surface. We crossed many a gaping fissure, and proved that the precaution of the shikarries in not starting the other day was reasonable; for our guide, a Wurdwan peasant, suddenly plunged down, but recovered himself. He had fallen through a crust of drifted snow concealing one of those ugly rents which stretch across from side to side of the gorge. Our path led to the left. The snow-storm had subsided, and the sun was now shining. The direct course of the pass, hitherto followed, appeared to be obstructed by insurmountable obstacles in the shape of ice and snow, ranged in tiers and ridges to a great height. The mountains, on either side, had been throughout precipitous and extremely rugged--huge crags without a vestige of vegetation. We had now to ascend, and laborious work it was, the snow being soft, and the sun now hot; in addition to which, one's power of breathing was much affected by the extremely rarefied air at this great elevation. The summit gained, the descent was tolerably easy to us more practised mountaineers; but the glare of the snow was terrible. Mooktoo was attacked by severe pains in the head, and lagged behind. I, after stopping to rest a few minutes, and watching four ibex which shewed on the left, when I got up, was almost blind. Luckily we had nearly passed over the snow, and I recovered immediately on quitting it; and about two miles on we reached our destined bivouac, when I was glad to breakfast. We were now in a narrow valley with the usual mountain torrent, fed by tributaries joining from other like valleys. The mountains were rugged and almost bare, yielding only patches of brushwood here and there, and some scanty herbage, but looked likely for ibex, were it not that a number of tattoos had been brought here to pick up a hard-earned subsistence. The sun now poured down its vertical rays upon us with tremendous effect, and I took up a position alongside a piece of rock to screen myself as well as I could. Of my party the three servants first appeared. Long afterwards the coolies came straggling in; they had a hard day's work. I arranged to hunt in the morning, though predicting a total failure, tattoos being in all directions. 4th July. A sharp frost during the night, and lots of ice in the morning. I was only informed, when starting, that three coolies were missing, supposed to have been obliged to remain on the glacier from snow-blindness. I ascertained that they had provisions with them, and assistance had gone. Buddoo, classee, and most of the coolies were more or less blind from inflamed eyes. We went up a valley westward, and before we had gone above four miles found the tracks of numerous dogs--hateful sight--then those of ibex, also numerous. I despaired of seeing any, but still pushed on to a decided bend in the valley, whence a scout could obtain a view of the whole ground. Here we stopped, and the country being reconnoitred without a sign of animals we retraced our steps to camp. The shikarries were much put out, as they had been confident of finding much game in this spot, and had predicted great success. I was the sooner reconciled to the disappointment from learning that the ibex of this region are a short horned breed, as are those of Thibet and Ladâk generally, they tell me. I found Abdoolah doctoring all the bad eyes, and a most forlorn spectacle the sufferers presented, their eyes smeared with some ochre-coloured mixture, groping their way about as in the dark. 5th July. Up early, and off down the valley in an easterly direction, the valley very narrow, the slopes running down sharp to the river. The heights after a few miles, gradually receding, opened into a transverse valley in which is situated Sooroo and its fort. A few hamlets are scattered here and there on the lower and level slopes nearer the river. The fort is a square with four small corner turrets. Some half-dozen sepoys hold watch and ward there, I believe. The sun was very powerful. It was a new atmosphere, country, and people. The country--but that it is mountains, and mountains only, except the divisions of the mountains which form the valleys--is bare and uninteresting, the denizens thereof of small stout frame, and strongly marked Tartar physiognomy--pukka Thibetans. I paid off the Wurdwan coolies, and proceed to-morrow on the ordinary 'bunderbus' of coolies from stage to stage, except the five entertained for the campaign. [Illustration: Browne. Lith. Norwich.] 6th July. We were off soon after daylight, following so followers, scaled the mountain, and so commanded the fortress below. Then, a few musket shots being fired, the valiant Bhooties fled manfully. Under the young trees on an island, gained by stepping stones, I halted to breakfast. Pleased with the picturesque aspect, the cool shade, and fresh moist air, I determined to rest till the sun's abated heat rendered trudging less disagreeable. In the course of the day my attendants passed on; and in due time we also toiled up the zigzag path to the old fort, and travelling over a very stony valley, with a patch of cultivation here and there, reached our quarters, a charming spot for these barbarous regions, a considerable expanse of richly cultivated land, the crops now forward and high. The mountains here receding yield a large space for cultivation, of which the inhabitants have availed themselves to the utmost, running their fields and terraces high up the steep slopes, and by means of conduits, ingeniously and laboriously constructed, contrive to compel reluctant nature to bring forth abundant vegetation. The whole landscape is dotted with fine willow trees of large growth, and lines of them flourish thickly planted along the watercourses. And, greatly adding to the beauty and charm of these attractive hamlets, are found a profusion of wild roses, single-blossomed like our red dog-rose, but of powerful perfume. These delicious shrubs line many of the channels for irrigation, reminding one of many a village lane in a far distant land. The houses of these rude people--rude only in their condition, otherwise personally civil--are rough solid structures of stone, flat-roofed, with a mere hole for a window which, like the door, is closed by a wattled shutter. On the roof is stored the highly-valued, hard-to-be-got supply of fuel, some few fagots, the clippings of the willows, the only species of tree affording anything like timber, and of which their entire stock of implements of husbandry and utensils are formed. Well may they protect and cherish these invaluable trees. They must have some stringent laws for their preservation, and rules for their lopping and felling; the latter extreme measure, I believe, being rarely resorted to, as the branches being lopped, and the very vitals, as it were, of the trunk pared and scooped out, the frame, just the cuticle, clings to life, and again does good service, recovering from its hacking, and putting forth shoots, and putting on branches, times unreckoned. My tent was pitched on a patch of beautiful greensward, adjoining a square stone building of some pretensions in these parts, a sort of stronghold in days past, and uniting that character with that of a store for grain in the present day, the Maharajah's dues in the various produce being gathered in here from the neighbouring districts. There was but one sepoy here, and a remarkably handsome pleasing-looking young fellow he was. If the aspect of the villages at this season is charming, that of the inhabitants is, and must at all times be, repulsive. Their features are hideous, excepting an occasional good open forehead, a redeeming feature, giving a look of intelligence to otherwise brutish countenances. Their want of attraction is increased by the state of filth they wallow in. The men are clothed in a sort of loose tunic of dark brown woollen, felt leggings wound round by garters, and felt boots with leathern feet. These are large canoe-shaped things, having no reference to the size or shape of the foot, but are wadded with old shreds and woollen rags to make them fit. A close-fitting skullcap, with an upturned rim, crowns their greasy heads. Then, the females--can they be the fair sex, these hideous specimens of creation human? They wear, also, a dark woollen tunic reaching to the knees, with continuations of the same materials. As far as I have seen they have no head covering, but wear their greasy hair in plaits and tresses, and actually adorn their chevelure with the wild flowers, roses, &c., with all the vanity that might an European beauty. These ill-placed ornaments are disposed over either temple. They also wear felt boots; theirs, as the men's, being wide at top, and reaching above the ancle, giving to both sexes a clumsiness about the feet, which adds to their uncouth, ungraceful appearance. Both sexes wear a goat skin with the hair on, as a cloak. They have some rude gewgaws by way of jewellery; and where are the females found who have not? The Australian aboriginal ladies, who may be quoted as in the most humble circumstances, wear a white bone thrust through the cartilage of the nose-bones, shells, or stones in their ears--and a dab of raw meat fat, by preference, in their locks, and think it the 'ne plus ultra' of feminine adornment. It remains only to note, that so valued and valuable are these creatures here, that one individual is allotted to two or three husbands--one wife to a family of brothers--which of itself sufficiently establishes their utter barbarism. A young official, a Cashmiri, the moonshi of the Sooroo kardar, had come on with us to make the necessary arrangements for coolies and tattoos. One of the latter had been provided for me to-day, but looked such a woe-begone thing that I did not like to entrust it with my person, somewhat too weighty for such a bit of a steed; so I trudged it out. But, feeling considerable fatigue and soreness of foot from the long rough journey, I assented to a tattoo being provided for the morrow, and several were now paraded for choice, mostly mares with foals beside them. By the bye, I must note that a mile from Sooroo we had to cross a torrent--all torrents here--by one of those ingenious and curious suspension bridges, doubtless the originals from which our magnificent structures were conceived and framed, made of twigs of willow woven into ropes, and the ropes into large cables. They are thus constructed. A pier of stones is built up without mortar, on either side, close to the water: within the pier are planted two upright stems of trees about two feet apart, and a transverse one secured on the top, over which the suspension cables are hauled and strained, and fastened down by large stones piled on them: the footway is a plait of this twig work about ten inches wide, suspended from the two side cables by numerous connecting ropes of like manufacture, of about three feet depth. One ascends the pile of stones, stooping low, creeps through the two uprights, and with a hand on each side-cable performs a sort of acrobatic 'pas' on the slack rope, swinging about uncomfortably. However, I relished the novelty of the thing, this being the first of these bridges I had come across. My little dog, Sara, did not relish it at all, but, having assayed a step or two, retreated in a very ridiculous, nervous manner, and was then ignominiously carried over, enveloped in a cloth, on the sepoy's shoulders, whence he anxiously watched the passage. And how he did skip and jump, when he was safe over! I must also remember to note that many birds of European kinds were met with, some of which I had not found before, as magpies, and the pretty little goldfinch. There are larks too, which are common enough, and enliven these regions with their merry notes, warbling until quite dark at evening, and again, ere coming day, cheering one with their quick trilling chirp and song. The homely sparrow, too, was present, and also the solemn old crow. A couple of the former quaint, pert, little birds attended most familiarly at my dinner, coming fearlessly close to the table to receive fragments, only temporarily routed by the sudden desperate onslaughts of Sara at them, who pursued them with relentless animosity, they just keeping beyond his reach, and again returning when he, out of breath, was busily occupied with his bone. They were merely birds attached to the village, quite at large, yet wonderfully tame, and treating me as an old acquaintance, jumping to catch bits thrown to them, their bright, little, black eyes glittering and rolling, as they appeared as though they were saucily winking at me--the jolly old birds! The name of this village was Sarkur, as near as I can define the sound. CHAPTER VIII. LADÂK. 7th July. Up at the earliest dawn, and off, with a string of tattoos and foals following. I did not understand the meaning of this, but ere the journey had well commenced discovered that the shikarries had craftily schemed to save their shoe leather, and through the influence of my 'purwanah' had persuaded the moonshi to press these animals into our service. Poor Subhan, however, had as leader to march before me who had resolved not to ride before breakfast at any rate. The road was very fair, always accompanying the river, and leading through hamlets such as have been already described, some of much interest, with their narrow lanes of rose bushes which were one mass of blossom, and delightfully fragrant. In one place, was a hedge of yellow roses covered with blossoms which were, unlike the red, double and well-formed, but of inferior perfume. The red rose hedge on one side, and yellow on the other, had a pretty effect; and I imagine their being thus placed to be purely accidental. We tramped on manfully, Subhan and I, the other fellows riding with the moonshi in the rear, for some three or four hours, when arriving at a thriving village where we were to change coolies, not horses, I stopped to breakfast, and on the arrival of attendants started afresh about noon, it being cloudy and tolerably cool. I mounted the moonshi's tattoo, a well-bred, nice looking mare; and oh! the bother of regulating the stirrups, or trying to do so, for I had to ride, after all, with one some eight or nine inches longer than the other; and such a hard scrimpy, little bit of a saddle--I should have been better off, had I walked the whole distance, long though it was, I believe. Soon after leaving this village we passed through another, and left a large cultivated valley on our right, entering upon a track of rocky desolation. From the base of the mountains to the river's brink was nothing but heaps of stones, apparently water-worn stones, a very wilderness of stones--ten thousand Londons might have been paved from them, and they would not have been missed. The mountains, big, brown, and ugly, towered behind them; the sun came out fiercely, the saddle pinched, the stirrup leather galled, the little mare, weary, fumbled drearily along through the loose stones, and I did not altogether feel as though I liked it. However, I was charitable to the poor little nag, and, barring an occasional impatient jerk of the bridle and a mild jog of the heel, took no steps to urge her to greater exertions. So, on we slowly wended our weary way, the country after a while improving, and again presenting verdant stretches of cultivation with the usual accompaniment of willow trees, and now, not unfrequently, poplars, most of which, like Greenwich pensioners, had lost a limb or two, or been otherwise maimed. Hedgerows of roses became more abundant, and one or two small villages were lovely with them, and their rich crops of grain--beans, peas, and lucerne, all in bloom--adding beauty and fragrance to the scene. Bright sparkling water, too, in plenty trickled across and down our path. But, though I tried hard, I could not properly enjoy all these charms: I was so weary and uncomfortable. Some five or six miles beyond where I looked for our halting-place, Kargyl, we at length reached it--an irregular basin, into which flows the river I have been following, and another from the east, both united flowing out in a northerly direction as a large rapid river. A square fort with corner turrets is the principle feature, glaring with whitewash. The crops all around are fresh and green, the whole surrounded by massive mountains of varied form, but of one hue of sombre brown. 8th July. Sunday. A delightful fresh morning, which induced me to take a stroll before breakfast, feeling now perfectly recovered from yesterday's fatigues. I had pitched my tent in a small tope of young poplars, in the midst of which some clear water, escaped from a channel in the hill above, had found its way moistening the ground and producing fine green turf, but leaving a dry sandy space for a tent. Sand-flies were numerous and pertinacious. During the night I was suddenly roused with a sensation of something in my hair; raising my hand I clutched something of peculiar substance, but felt it had legs. I threw it on one side shuddering, and was amused this morning at seeing the object of my fright on the canvas over my head--a large, fat, green caterpillar, with a pair of tweezers at his tail, with which he held on. My stroll led through the small fields hanging on the hill-side, supported by rough stone walls in terraces, the crops rich and beautifully green. My path was agreeably lined by rose bushes. Many flowers and sweet scented herbs were also on either hand, and some poplars and a fine mulberry tree or two were a great addition to the general features of the landscape. I turned here or there, following the windings, and ups and downs, of the borders of the field, until I had gained an eminence overhanging the valley down which the river rushed and foamed, fields lining its banks. It was a very beautiful view, the lofty mountains exhibiting their massive proportions well-defined at this early hour of the day, a haze in the distance improving the effect. The air was cool, balmy, and delicious, fragrant with the perfume of flowers. Long I gazed around, and much I mused. There was much in the scene before me, and its fresh, sweet, mild atmosphere, that reminded me strongly of other lands that I had visited--Madeira, Malta, the Cape. There appeared to me a decided blending of similarity with the two former, and also a trait or two undefinable of the latter. I was amused by the manoeuvres of a startled child, too small to run away, who had been deserted by his companions, in alarm at my approach. The 'wee' chap was squatted amid some tussocks, and clumps of flag, the blue Iris, I think; and, as I advanced, he turned himself round one, believing that he was effectually concealing himself from the formidable monster approaching. But my sharp hunter's eye had at once detected him, and without stopping, lest he might be too much terrified, I spoke to him caressingly--at least, I tried to. This was before I paused and mused, as above. When I returned, he was still beside his fancied screen, but no longer performed his evolutions. He gazed on me still with evident wonder and awe, though at the same time somewhat reassured, so I did not approach too near. This slight incident, somehow or other, had a pleasing influence on me, and sent me back cheerful to camp. The sky became overcast, and in the afternoon there was a violent wind, and at last rain, so I kept my covering. 9th July. A very cloudy morning saw me under-weigh at 5 A.M. We crossed the river by a good wooden bridge on rough stone piers, situated just below my tent. Then, ascending the other side, and mounting a stiffish hill, we found ourselves on a table land--open undulating downs--closed in, of course, by mountains. These downs had but a tinge of green, as from the sandy soil and want of water there was but a very light, sparse herbage on them. The air was delicious, cool, and fresh, the rain of yesterday having purified the atmosphere, and brought out all the latent perfume of the plants around. I tramped gaily on, chatting with Subhan, the other shikarries keeping in the rear on tattoos. I had given no permission or authority for engaging these ponies, and was rather puzzled to know how they were provided. However, I said nothing, intending to ascertain in the evening, as I had no notion of paying for ponies for these lazy scamps. Knowing the parties, I suspected some underhand tricks. The path for some miles led up a stream bordered by fields interspersed with roses, a few houses here and there; then, leaving the village of Pashgyam, it entered upon a barren ravine, running along the hill-side; and so on, until we came upon more cultivation and a pretty village, where in a charming spot under some willows, by a clear brawling brook, I stopped for breakfast, having been on the march four hours. My food was not altogether satisfactory; half my tea had oozed out of the bottle; one egg was all yellow, instead of that colour being confined to the yolk. This was pitched into the stream. Another with a slight touch of the jaundice I devoured reluctantly, and repented having done so afterwards. And from the condition of my dough cakes I think Ali Bucks must be moulting, the black hairs are so numerous, and being long they cannot be extracted. Small matters these to an old campaigner. I got some good fresh milk, and the fine air was 'edibles.' After a while, I noticed the arrival of a sepoy with a native who remained discussing something with the shikarries, Mr. Phuttoo being principal. This lasted some time, and they, perceiving that I noticed what was going on, moved away. I called Subhan, and asked him what the sepoy wanted, and what they discussed. Nothing at all, he assured me. Shortly after, a Thibetan came rushing down to me, vociferating and claiming protection; and it turned out that these rascally shikarries had pressed his tattoos by some connivance of the moonshi at Kargyl. I directed them to be given up at once, and turned away in disgust from these lying knaves. It is no use saying any thing. They tell you that it is the 'dustoor,' the custom of the country; and they all practise oppression over each other, whenever they possibly can. I forgot to record before, that the shikarries told me on the morning I left the camp before reaching Sooroo, a place where they had assured me we should have two or three days' good sport with ibex, that a man, a friend of Subhan's, tending ponies pasturing there, had confided to him the previous night, that the Sooroo kardar, hearing that a 'burra saheb' was coming to 'shikar,' and apprehending that if he found sport he would stop some days and would be troublesome to him for supplies, had sent men with guns and dogs to hunt and scare away the game; that they had killed one ibex, and only left the place the evening we arrived. On first hearing this, I scouted the idea; it was so very improbable. But Subhan and the others repeated the story with such asseverations, and so many plausible corroborations, that I partly believed them. On arriving at Sooroo these knaves assumed a high tone, and frightened the poor old kardar who did not come near me for some time; but having appeased the shikarries by a 'douceur,' as I suppose, they told him I would receive him, and forgive him on apologising. Now I believe the whole story to have been false from beginning to end, and actually plotted and devised to extort something from the kardar. Verily, in these parts, all men are liars. We continued our route, and plodded on, the sun now hot, finally arriving at our camping place, the village of Shazgool, a Buddhist place, with the lama's house curiously built into the face of a perpendicular rock looking down on the village, a shabby tumble-down place, and some tombs or shrines tawdrily painted with clumsy devices of hideous demons on them. These are paltry looking constructions, of mud principally. This was a small village of some nine or ten houses in a dilapidated condition; but they are all apparently in like bad case, the inhabitants miserably poor, judging from their appearance and surrounding indications. But they seem to be stout, healthy, and cheerful. The women, I fancy, do most of the work, as with all barbarians. A large wicker basket seems to be a fixture on their backs, and with this appendage they are seen busy in the fields, weeding, putting every shred of herbage so gathered into the said basket which by evening is filled, when they return, and the produce of their industry serves for fodder for cow, sheep, or goat, every blade of vegetation being of value in these barren regions, where nothing grows but what is actually extorted from reluctant nature. How different from the adjoining country of Cashmere, where, on the other hand, nature is profuse in her gifts, covering mountain and valley with the richest herbage, and yielding heavy crops of cereals to the merest scratches of the plough. Both are wonderful countries: Cashmere, for its beauty and fertility; Thibet, for its savage desolation and sterility. The natives of each land, too, partake strongly of the relative characteristics of their native land: the Cashmiries, famous for personal beauty,--the Thibetans, as notorious for ugliness. Strange, though, they possess some taste; for almost every individual of the numbers met travelling yesterday and to-day had a bunch of yellow roses, or other bright flowers stuck in his greasy cap. 10th July. On the march at 5 A.M.--the path as ever in these mountainous regions running by a stream threading the narrow valley. Here and there was a strip of green cultivation, with brown mountains, mounts, huge hillocks, all barren, some craggy, others smoothly rounded, heap on heap, pile on pile, here falling sloping back, allowing the eye to range over many successive wave-like summits, there rising up abruptly with crags, and clefts, and dark ravines, closing in upon and overshadowing the narrow valley. I tried to find some mode of description by which one might give a person verbally some tolerable idea of the combined desolation and grandeur of these scenes; but all in vain. We had a long and fatiguing ascent, prior to which we passed through the village of Waka, near which abutting on the path, is a sculptured rock standing alone, representing a Hindoo deity. The figure is carved on the face of the rock which is of granite, I think, the height about thirty feet, and the workmanship the average of what one sees in Hindostan. A small mud building closes in the lower extremities of this idol, in which is a shrine; and I found within garlands, and signs of recent worship, some few professors of Hindooism residing close by. The natives call this idol, Mohir Chamba, and say it is of great antiquity; but to me the chiselling appeared fresh and sharp. This, however, from the hard quality of the stone would be the case for a length of time, especially in this dry climate. There are few Hindoos now in Thibet, Buddhism being the prevailing creed. Many mussulmans are scattered among them. Men are now met with wearing pig-tails, Chinese fashion. They have a different cap, too--a long bag of black woollen stuff which is turned over, covering the top and one side of the head. The Maltese, if I recollect right, wear one precisely similar. Finding no shelter from the sun after breakfast, having halted an hour we continued our route, now downwards, until we descried one or two willows in a hamlet; for which we made, and glad enough we were to escape the sun's scorching rays, and rest ourselves. We moved on again about two o'clock--much too soon; and, after two or three miles, further grilling, we stopped at Karbo, our halt. There are many Buddhist monuments here, rude tombs of mud and loose stones. The principal feature is a thing like a great sugared cake, perhaps intended to represent an urn: adjoining and connected with this is a raised oblong, varying in length--some are ten feet, some twenty, others fifty--built up of stones, about four feet high, the top flattish, and covered all over with loose flat stones, all sculptured, both in figures and letters. These tombs contain the bones of sainted lamas, I believe. They are very inferior to the tombs and pagodas met with in Burmah, some of which are beautiful specimens of architecture, and extremely picturesque. All I have seen here as yet are mean and paltry. These monuments are whitewashed, the wash remarkable for its lustrous quality. I questioned Phuttoo as to the composition. He said it was a substance dug out of the earth. I observed that it differed much from that in use in India. He said, it was not 'chunani.' I imagine it to be a kind of chalky pigment. 11th July. Away, with the dawn, though we had not so long a march in prospect as those of the two previous days, which must have been over twenty miles. But it is well to start early to enjoy the freshness of morn, and avoid the excessive heat of the sun which I really think I endure better than the shikarries. The scenery of to-day was similar to that of yesterday, which is, I imagine, the type of the entire region, unless the banks of the Indus present any variety: if so, it will only be in the height and formation of the mountains. There was a gradual ascent, with a sharp pitch at the end, to the summit of the hill on which was a stone Buddhist monument, and in its shade I stopped to breakfast. From this eminence the view was extensive and interesting, the adjacent mountains possessing peculiar features, and being so distributed as to afford good distances. I stopped till the small building no longer protected me from the sun; then, perforce, braved his potent rays, and pursued my route on to Lama Yurru, our intended bivouac. As we descended to the level of the valley, opening a bend I detected some wild looking animals moving from among some cattle. Subhan, after a while, declared them to be shâpu, wild sheep; so guns were got ready, and with small prospect of success, the ground being level and bare, we prepared to stalk them. The game, numbering some twenty-five head, rufous coloured animals, of deer-like form and action, with two small upright horns curving backwards, were gamboling, moving here and there; nor did they become aware of dangerous neighbours, until we were about a hundred yards from them, when they stood gazing for some seconds, presenting a fair mark. But, alas! my lungs were heaving so that I could not take aim, Subhan, in spite of my oft-repeated lectures and warnings, hurrying on 'ventre a terre,' so that with the attitude I was quite distressed, and only looked and longed at the inviting target before me, entertaining a sort of hope that they would give me time. But not so; a few seconds only to gaze, and away they cantered in a string across us. Rising, I aimed at the line; the ball struck true in direction but low, I think, the scared animals dashing aside right and left. A thud, however, was heard, and we all thought that one was hit; when looking some little distance beyond, there stood an unfortunate bullock, one hind leg slightly raised from the ground, and blood trickling down. There was only time for an exclamation or two as we followed the herd now making for a hill, when they were on which I fired my battery at them, the distance three or four hundred yards, the balls striking right amongst them--wonderful how they all missed! Now came full upon me the sense of my misfortune and ill luck. There stood the hapless bullock patiently and silently enduring his wrongs, his poor wounded leg still shrinking from the ground on which the oozing blood was frothing. I was much annoyed and grieved at this mishap. The poor wounded creature looked so melancholy in its patient, silent attitude, and I feared the wound was mortal. The ball from Whitworth, striking the ground, had doubtless glanced, and so struck the wrong animal. I loudly deplored my ill luck: the shikarries dumbfounded muttered together, attributing such a strange accident to the undue influence of evil spirits; and we pursued our way down the dusty path, until the green vale of Lama Yurru greeted our aching eyes--a remarkable place, a stronghold of Buddhism, a monastery and other dwellings of lamas being perched on the top of a singular ridge of rocks of some hundred and fifty feet perpendicular, scooped and hollowed out here and there, divided into buttresses over which were laid the floors of these curious buildings which themselves appear well constructed of sun-dried brick, of two or three stories in height--one the principal mansion of four. Some have little balconies projecting; all have windows, some good-sized and regularly placed, while a number of small loopholes are scattered about the walls. These buildings slope inwards from the base slightly, on the pyramid principle, as I believe all the houses of this country do. Many monuments and tombs are here. Long rows of them stretch along parallel with the path, looking just like a line of huge chess pawns with square pedestals. A considerable extent of terraced fields along the stream attest the comfortable circumstances of this community. Clumps of yellow and common roses are numerous; but sad havoc has been played with the willows, the stump of many a fine tree recently felled being conspicuous: but about half-a-dozen remain standing. I have not ascertained for what purpose this unusual cutting has taken place: perhaps, some new building or extensive repairs are in contemplation. My tent is pitched on a nice bit of turf, a stream of clear water close at hand, guided to turn a small mill which rumbles away beside me. On reaching this place I threw myself down disconsolate beneath a shady willow, the shikarries endeavouring to divert me from my gloomy mood by anecdotes of accidents and mishaps of a far more melancholy colour than mine;--how a shikarry had shot a man in his own field for a bear, this very man having indicated that identical spot as the place the bear would be found in, then by fate being led thither himself, and, concealed by the high grain, there slain. Several similar instances were narrated. Phuttoo, the most eloquent and storied of the trio, winding up with an astounding accident that befell his father who, when with Golab Sing and his army, in some unaccountable manner shot a bear; the ball, passing clean through the bear, killed outright six sepoys, all in a lump, and wounded a seventh in the arm. The Maharajah conducted an inquest personally on this lamentable slaughter of his warriors, and found the circumstances so marvellous, and Phuttoo senior's 'kizmet' so wonderful in effecting such destruction with one ball, that he over-looked the loss of his men, and presented him with two hundred rupees, backsheesh;--a nice, veracious, little narrative this. The other shikarries, of course, vouched for its accuracy. On arrival I despatched a man to ascertain the nature of the wound of the bullock, and to whom it belonged, in order to compensate the owner. Resolved not to hunt to-morrow, needing some repose after these long marches, I arranged to send out two villagers to scout. After dinner the messenger returned, bringing intelligence of the wounded beast which turned out to be a cow, less valuable in these parts than a bullock; which latter, being used for carriage of merchandise, are more highly prized. The wound he seemed to think not mortal. I differ: a Whitworth bolt is no trifle, and the frothing blood a bad symptom. All the natives of the place came to look at us, and visit the shikarries, Phuttoo being known to some of them. One of the group had in his waist-belt a double flageolet, or rather whistle, which I requested him to play. He made an attempt or two, but failed except to produce some unsatisfactory notes, excusing himself on the plea of nervousness and alarm at performing before so great a dignitary. The two pipes are in unison, I think. I am going to remain here three or four days; certainly over Sunday, whether sport is found or not, as I want my servants and things from Sirinuggur to join me. My original plan was for them to meet me at Kargyl; but the shikarries made such a bad bunderbus, dissuading me from sending orders from Shugkenuz, as I proposed, that they could only have started from Sirinuggur on the 6th, and we reached Kargyl on the 8th, to which place it is ordinarily eight days' march from the former place. A longer delay is likely to take place owing to a deficiency of coolies, as the messenger of a saheb 'en route' to Ladâk informed us. He said, the Maharajah was sending his whole army to subdue the Gylghit tribes who were in open revolt against his authority, and that all available means of transport had been taken up to accompany the force. He told me there were fears entertained that my baggage could not be sent on at present. This would be unfortunate as I am out of powder nearly, and should have to send in and wait the return of the messenger ere proceeding further. But the Baboo would have written in such an extremity: so I hope, four or five days hence, to welcome my belongings. This messenger overtook us on the march from Kargyl: he is in the employment of Lieut. Brinckman, 94th, who has gone into Chan-than, beyond Ladâk, on a shooting expedition; where I had thought of going but for the strong dissuasions of Phuttoo who represented that country as a most sterile, dusty, and difficult region to traverse, everything--even to grass--having to be carried, and the wild yâk, the only object worth the trouble and risk, even if seen, which was exceedingly doubtful, a most difficult creature to approach. On these and other similar representations, I abandoned the idea, limiting my travels eastward to Leh and its environs, where I propose remaining a few days, giving Suleiman an opportunity of offering his Scriptures, &c.; thence to make my way to Iskardo, returning to Cashmere through the Tilyl valley, by which time the bara sing will be in season. 12th July. I took a saunter along under the lamas' dwellings, then down into the barley fields--very pleasant this leisurely stroll after my three days' hard, broiling work. The two villagers, sent out at dawn to scout, returned with the unsatisfactory information that they had searched far and wide, but seen nothing. However, we did not place much dependence on them. In the evening, taking my glass, I went off myself in the direction in which it was stated the game would be found, if anywhere. But not a vestige of shikar could I discover. I saw Subhan go by on the same errand, and returned to dinner. On coming back he reported a barren country without a trace of game. I had great doubt about trying to-morrow, but after some consultation determined to convince myself on the question of game or no game; and, if none should be found, to shift camp on Saturday across the Indus to Kalsee, reported by the shikarries to be a nice village, with many trees, and undoubted shikar in the neighbourhood; so that will be a pleasanter locale in which to await my things, and it is but eight or nine miles off. The owner of the wounded cow came to report on the health of that unfortunate quadruped which by his statement is alive, but in a bad way, lying down and eating nothing. I fancy something definite will be known to-morrow. 13th July. I started at dawn with not very pleasant anticipations of my day's work, expecting very hard walking in a barren stony country, with hardly a chance of sport. And so it turned out. We ascended hills, and traversed table lands, and peered into gullies right and left, but saw not a glimpse of game: so, after some three hours and a half of this unsatisfactory toil, we descended to a stream on the road, hard by where I shot the cow; there breakfasted, and returned to camp. We again passed some of those curious Buddhist erections--long, oblong, tomb-shaped piles. There were two about fifty yards long each, with an interval of some thirty yards. The tops were slightly slanted from the centre, and covered with the smooth, flat, water-worn stones, except a few yards left to be filled in by them. These stones were all inscribed with figures, or Thibetan characters; and I endeavoured to ascertain from the two native attendants, through the interpretation of the shikarries, the meaning of the inscriptions, and the object with which they were so placed. But my gleanings were very scanty, the shikarries having but a limited stock of Hindostani phrases, not a general knowledge of the language, and only a few words of Thibetan. But thus much I made out; that every stone was similar in its inscription, bearing the words--as well as I can letter the sounds--Mâni, Pâni, Pudma-hoo--which I understood to be one of the titles of their divinity, and that these engraved stones were thus presented as an oblation and offering acceptable to their god--being an act of faith and devotion from which as a consequence prosperity is looked for. More I could not discover, the shikarries being very obtuse in apprehending an idea on such subjects. These are not tombs, then, but rather altars. On return I announced my intention to move to-morrow. The lumbadar came to see me. He had just returned from Leh, had a decided Thibetan face, and wore some ornaments, necklace, ear-rings &c., of red coral and turquoise. These appear to be the fashionable jewels here, nearly all--the poorest even, in rags and tatters--having a bit or two stuck about them. He showed me a card written by poor Moorcroft who perished so sadly in Bokhara, bearing date June 16th, 1822, stating that he had presented a coral to the monastery, as a token of his visit. This lumbadar was an interesting fellow, evidently very bashful and sensitive, but quick in apprehension and intelligent. The cow case came up for final adjudication, the animal in the same condition; so after some discussion I gave the owner the full price of the cow, as stated, _viz_: six Maharajah rupees--only five shillings English--and, if it recovered, so much the better, he would be a lucky fellow. So ends this sporting episode. It has not been without its good results in establishing the European character for justice. 14th July. We got away at 5 A.M., and took the path onwards to Kalsee. It threads a narrow gorge giving exit to the waters of a torrent, the scenery grand and savage--towering cliffs, beetling crags, shutting out the sky. The path was conducted in the most irregular evolutions and zigzags, and occasionally running almost into the river; so much so that I was reduced to mounting Subhan at two places to keep dry. We crossed several well-constructed bridges, and came upon a much larger stream, which we followed through its devious windings to the Indus. In one place it rushed along a channel cut in the solid rock, each side level and scarped as though by man, the depth being some twelve feet, and the width about six. At length this ravine, opening out a little, debouched upon the valley of the Indus running at right angles to our course, and here a dirty, shabby-looking river, of some twenty or thirty yards in width, in a narrow and sterile valley, the mountains on either side shelving down so close to the river as to leave little more than a few yards of level on which was the path. We saw on the opposite side men working at a hole, and on our own met others with gold-washing implements,--a wooden, flat, boat-shaped affair, with a cane-work frame, and ladles of gourd. I believe the yield is very scanty. On, about a mile, to a bridge over the Indus, on this side of which is a Buddhist shrine; on the Ladâk side is a small fort of sun-dried brick, very insignificant--a three-pounder would knock it into 'smithereens' in half a dozen rounds. There are three or four sepoys here. All goods are weighed here, and pay duty before crossing. It was about half a mile further to Kalsee: and pleasant, indeed, it was to see the green trees and fields. The place appeared quite civilised after the savage country we had traversed. There were large gardens and fields fenced in by stone walls, fruit trees thickly interspersed amid the grain, principally standard peaches, the fruit now at about half its size. The whole wore a charming aspect of industry and improvement. Passing along the walls, we came under the village which, built on the side of a rocky hill, overlooks its smiling terraced fields and orchards, now beautifully green. The path now led under some fine spreading walnuts, affording delicious shade, a most grateful relief to my aching eyes, parched and bloodshot from the burning glare of the barren rocky regions I have been crossing. No level spot of sufficient space, devoid of grain, being available for my tent, I resolved to purchase the crop under a walnut tree, so ordered the attendance of the Zemindar, with whom the shikarries and sepoy bargained, the price being fixed at a pukka rupee. While this was going on, an alarming attack was made upon the intruders from above. The proprietor's better half, having got tidings from some busy-body of what was going on, descending took up a position above us, and began to wag her tongue violently, as some of the dear creatures can do. Not relishing this music, and fearing that, if she was not satisfied, we should have a constant repetition of it, I offered an additional half-rupee, explaining my reason for this excessive liberality. This being interpreted to the Zemindar caused him and the bystanders much merriment, for I fancy that I made a hit in attributing a voluble tongue to this howling harridan. All was now serene, and I was installed in my barley field under the fine walnut tree; and much did I relish my homely meal, reposing under its pleasant shade. We had some talk on the prospect of sport here. There are ibex and shâpu a few miles off, but not in any numbers, and the ground very difficult: the latter information I regard little, feeling now equal to anything. I despatched a villager, professing to know the haunts of the animals, to procure accurate information; and on Monday mean to try my fortunes in the chase again. I fancy myself now inured to disappointment and ill-luck. My tree did not effectually protect me from the sun when declining from its meridian height; so about 2 P.M. it was oppressively hot, and continued so long after sunset. I had not calculated on so sudden a change of temperature, and was really unwell from its effects. Lama Yurru always afforded a cool refreshing breeze; and there is a considerable difference in the altitude of the two places, which gives that place the advantage of the cooling influence of the snows on the neighbouring mountain heights, from which Kalsee is too distant to benefit at this season. I turned into my little oven of a tent, the heat very great, and innumerable sandflies adding their torments to its discomforts. 15th July. Sunday. After a restless night I arose not feeling much refreshed, but taking a stroll, and ascending a hill, the fresh morning air and fine bold scenery gradually had its beneficial effect on mind and body. I mounted some distance, expecting a prospect in the direction we should proceed to-morrow, where, by the way, Subhan and Mooktoo have gone on their own suggestion to look about and make enquiries. I found the view intercepted by an elevation too considerable to encounter as I felt, so sat down amid the boulders, still having a splendid prospect up the Indus, not seeing much of the river but the adjacent mountains which were more varied in form and broken up than usual here; and the colouring was this morning rich, and yet subdued and toned down under the effects of a delicious haze, the soft morning light sobering the too glaring browns of these naked rocks, leading them away from the foreground by imperceptible variations of shade--here and there a suspicion of olive green--until they were lost in the pervading blues and greys of distance. The tone was soft and mellow yet cool. I was charmed; and my mind soon took that devotional phase which such influences are so apt to produce. I returned in mind serene and cheerful to camp. I had directed my tent to be shifted a few feet, by which move it was in shade all day, and consequently I felt the heat less. Indeed, I did not experience any discomfort from it, as a strong breeze from northward was blowing, rustling among the leaves overhead, and sweeping with pleasant music over the green crops bending and waving to its pressure, which would have imparted an idea, if not a reality, of coolness to one, had it been actually hotter. The shikarries returned, reporting the ground to be entirely devoid of even the tracks of game. They had extended their search over an extensive range, and had interrogated some native shikarries shooting partridges, but the result ever the same--nothing. We agreed, therefore, to shift camp to-morrow some eight miles further towards Leh, and there try our luck. This country, however, is so barren and desolate that I despair of sport here. After dinner the shikarries came for a chat. I was interested in their account of the brothers Schlagentweit who were some time in Cashmere, prosecuting their explorations in natural science. Subhan had been in their employ for some months, collecting specimens for them; and his account thereof, and his amazement at such, to him, worthless rubbish being thus treasured and sent to Europe, was very droll. It escaped in the course of his narrative, that these talented naturalists were, from their mysterious experiments, more than suspected of connection with the Evil One, and of practising sorceries, &c. Subhan, trying to put on an air of unconcern and incredulity, evident uncertainty and suspicion evincing themselves in his tone and manner, described how these 'savans' mysteriously and with cautious secrecy dug holes in a garden at night, covering them over, and leaving a candle or lamp burning near, he and others being ordered to watch and see that no one meddled. "Nobody," said Subhan, "was ever allowed to see what was put into these holes, and, when questioned, the sahebs told them the matter was beyond their comprehension," But, he added, it got about, and was confidently asserted, that these strange operators had purchased a slave to whom they administered doses of 'shrâb' (spirits) till he was insensible: they then buried him in the ground, in order to make a good specimen to add to their collection. The shikarries all eyed me in that peculiar manner denoting a partial belief in a wonder, with a certain sense of its improbability. I burst out laughing, of course, at this extraordinary misconception of some scientific experiments, and believe I removed this lurking suspicion of black deeds on the part of the innocent philosophers from their deluded minds. I understand that search is still being made after the effects of the unfortunate one of these three, whose death in the wild regions north-east of Simla is yet enveloped in obscurity. I heard just before leaving the Punjab, that some tidings had been received, and there were hopes of recovering the poor fellow's effects and papers, the latter of which would, doubtless, prove valuable to science. All arranged for a move to-morrow. CHAPTER IX. LEH. 16th July. We got off early as usual on such occasions: without making any effort to start at a fixed time, we are always punctual to 5 A.M. within a minute or two. It was a cloudy morning, such as in any other country would indicate rain. Our route lay along the Indus, the surrounding scenery mountainous and barren, with no redeeming features, until we had completed some six miles, which brought us to the considerable village of Noorla, looking nice and flourishing with its green fields and abundant fruit trees, apple and peach, scattered about. We passed through this village, and then turned up a watercourse to the left--north-east--and a mile or two further on arrived at the village of Tahmoos, exhibiting a long stretch of corn fields along the stream, with numbers of apple and peach trees generally interspersed, also some fine flourishing walnuts. Houses were grouped here and there, some on the hill-sides on whose summits are visible what appear to be remains of an extensive fort, but may only be the appurtenances of the Buddhist monasteries and shrines which stand out conspicuously amongst them. The lamas are evidently strong in this neighbourhood. They, like the monks of old in our native land, are to be found congregated in the most fertile and richest spots in the country. The mode of life and habits of these Buddhist recluses assimilate very much also to those of the monks. They live in sloth and idleness on the labours of an ignorant and superstitious population, in requital for their maintenance and comfort performing such religious rites as their formulary directs, and repeating prayers. But their principle occupation, I am told, is blowing copper horns--from which I have experience of their producing awful sounds--and drinking tea, which they render a substantial article of food by mixing it with butter to the consistency of batter. They wear a monastic dress of a dull red colour. I saw one of the fraternity to-day--and a very ugly specimen he was--pass by, two or three times, with a bright copper concern in his hand about the size and shape of a cook's flour-dredging tin, to which a string and tassel were attached which he kept twirling round as he went. This was probably some devotional act. We took up a narrow strip of ground shaded by walnut and peach trees--not bad quarters--and here I breakfasted; which meal did not pass over so pleasantly as usual. My milk brought with me was sour: it was carried as usual in a soda-water bottle. I directed fresh to be brought, and when it arrived it was very dirty, as is everything here. Mooktoo and Subhan set to work to prepare it for my use, the process as follows:--Subhan's turban was taken off and two end folds used as a strainer, a portion being depressed into the neck of the soda-water bottle; but as the milk did not run through freely Mooktoo expedited its progress by stirring it up with his finger. This not answering their expectations, the milk was strained into an utensil belonging to them, and then poured into the bottle, Mooktoo's fist encircling the neck answering the purpose of a funnel. All this was openly operated before me, and the bottle, thus 'nicely' replenished, presented to me with a satisfied smile of successful ingenuity. Well, it was as good as usual. Believing that such modes of remedying difficulties are constantly in use with our servants, I determined not to be squeamish,--but must confess that my dog, Sara, had most of the milk. This spot is surrounded by rocky mountains, huge, bare, and rugged. Little prospect of shikar, I think: so I declined Subhan's suggestion to go forth and try my luck to-morrow, not relishing the thoughts of the tremendous exertions with so little hope to cheer me up, but preferring that Subhan and Mooktoo should experimentalise alone, and on their report I go or not. I expect nothing from their explorations. 17th July. I enjoyed a pleasant stroll before breakfast, descending to the stream and following its course upwards some little distance, then turning and passing through the verdant crops, so fresh and pleasant, with their many willow trees and numerous rose-bushes scattered about in the divisions or fences. The fields were full of people industriously engaged weeding, &c., all of whom saluted me respectfully. Mooktoo, pleading illness, had not accompanied Subhan in the exploration; following whose direction in the afternoon I thought I might meet him on return, but having gone two or three miles I returned and found him at camp, he having come back by a different route. He had seen neither animals nor their traces throughout the wide tract he had examined. There was no use remaining here, so I gave directions for moving on to-morrow to Hemschi, a place reported to be good for shikar. But we have information of a saheb being there, who has come from Simla by the Roopschoo road. After dinner Subhan and Mooktoo came to chat; and as we discussed the demerits of this miserable country, Subhan hinted the advantage of a trip to the Karakorum mountains on the road from Leh to Yarkand, provided we could procure authentic information of the shikar being as abundant there as travellers reported. A friend of Mooktoo, a merchant whom he met in the Wurdwan, had recommended him to take me there, assuring him that animals of several kinds were not only very abundant but tame. I readily entertained this project; and we remained considering and planning a long time, all three quite elated by the glowing pictures of successful sport we conjured up. We set down Phuttoo as too old and unsound for this arduous enterprise, strengthening this disqualification by a strong suspicion we all held of his bad luck, as, somehow or other, my failures always take place when he is present, my successes during his absence--strong presumptive evidence of his kizmet not being prosperous. I turned in, excited by the visions of the mighty yâks I should encounter in this field unexplored by European hunter. 18th July. A long, tedious ascent of some six or seven miles, and then a moderate descent brought us to Hemschi, a straggling village in a wilderness of stones covering a valley through which a stream wanders to the Indus. The fields have been cleared with immense labour, and are fenced in by the rounded stones simply placed one on the other to the height of three feet. Just as we arrive at the cultivation, are found surrounding a small rocky eminence a number of strange looking trees of the fir species, which at first I conceived to be cedars, but on a close examination in the evening believe them to be junipers of unusual proportions and of an antiquity dating centuries back. These are the first trees of the sort I have seen in the country, and there are none others to be heard of. This would induce the belief that they are not indigenous. I fixed the site of my bivouac on a barren rocky hill, the best the place afforded, and breakfasted beneath the shade of a spreading rose bush, bearing an abundance of fine blossoms of a large, full, double kind, but wanting in fragrance--still a most agreeable canopy. My effects to day, as yesterday, were in part borne on the shoulders, not delicate, of women, they always bearing their share of like burdens, their share by far the largest. They appeared quite at home at the labour, and seemed rather to like it, laughing and chatting cheerfully--the hideous, good-humoured wretches. They, one and all, here wear a remarkable coiffure:--a black leather or cloth flap or lappet being worn under the hair so as to protect the ears, to this a fringe is appended, and the frowzy locks in plaits are brought over it in loops, and are tucked up behind, having much the appearance our own dames might have, if after adjusting their chevelure they rubbed their heads for a considerable time in the coal skuttle, and then were dragged through a furze bush. Still there was a sort of resemblance to the style. In every individual the hair is parted in the centre, and over this central division is placed an ornament, a black band on which are fastened pieces of turquoise, some very large--the biggest often as large as a walnut--in front over the forehead, from which they are continued in regular order to the nape of the neck, where further observation is cut short by the goat skin cloak from beneath which a tuft appears, which is to all appearance the tail appendage of the hair and said band which, I fancy, are in some measure connected and twisted together, hanging down the back, like that of the Cashmiries. No prospect of sport here, the saheb we had heard of having, as we were informed, unsuccessfully hunted the neighbourhood. 19th July. The early part of to-day's march was very trying and fatiguing. The road, crossing two or three minor ranges of the system of mountains, was nothing but climbing steep hills--again, after descending, to repeat the same monotonous toil; all around barren and desolate as usual. We passed two small cultivated patches, and reached Leiker, a good-sized village with one or two quite imposing looking houses, well-built of sun-dried brick, with rows of small windows. Subhan reported this to be Bazgoo, the place we designed to halt at. But after breakfast it was discovered to be Leiker, and Bazgoo some distance on. About half-past ten we again set out, and endured a dreadful scorching over some arid sandy plains. A village, seen far in the distance, seemed to fly from us. I supposed it to be Bazgoo, and was surprised to find on reaching the top of a gentle rise a sudden deep declivity descending into an extensive valley, and immediately below us a large thriving village. This was Bazgoo. But we had to proceed, passing along by houses and many Buddhist structures of more than ordinary size and dignity, until gaining the end of the village we halted under a fine large apple tree, offering the only shade in an uncultivated spot. We were huddled up close together, which was not satisfactory, and led to my having to enforce silence after enduring the annoyance of much jabber passively, long after I had retired to bed. 20th July. We got away this morning at half-past four, having a long and difficult march to accomplish. About four miles of level sandy plain, passing some Buddhist monuments of very great length, some three or four hundred yards long, the extremities finished by large urnlike masses of masonry on step-formed pedestals, the sides of the latter ornamented with figures in plaister--many of these structures were met with during the day, all being covered with the sculptured stones already described--to a large and flourishing village, that seen from the distance yesterday, Mimah. We then ascended through a ravine twisting and winding, ploughing our way through heavy sand and grit--three-quarters of an hour's most tiresome labour--when, reaching the top, a more open, level country presented itself; which gradually widening opened out into extensive plains of barren sand gradually dipping the Indus, and what looked like a swampy country in the distance, with many snow-capped mountains filling in the background. We passed a lama fort-like building perched on a hill in the middle of cultivation, on the left, and a small village, on the right (Piang); then descended to the very brink of the Indus which here, instead of rushing violently between high precipitous banks, meanders in divided waters through an expanse of flat meadows covered with grassy turf, a small village dotting the surface here and there. An enormous bank, of miles in length apparently, and one or two in breadth, slopes down in one unbroken line from the mountains to the river's brink on the other (the southern) side; producing a singular effect, looking like an enormous mud bank solidified--brown, barren, and stony. Turning the spur of a range coming right down to the river, an expanse of green turf opens before one, a fort-like building on a high rock in front, and an enclosed garden near it. For this I made, now rather knocked up, my right foot being sore from chafing, causing me to limp heavily. I forced open the door of the garden which only contained willows and poplars, and, finding a tolerable house in the middle empty, took possession of the same, well satisfied with such good shelter, and anxious for refreshment after five hours' most fatiguing tramp. I sent out to find some messenger to send in to Leh with orders to the thanadar, Basti Ram, to send me a tattoo on which to complete my journey in the afternoon. Coolies under the sepoy made their appearance, and were ordered on, but exchanged at a village close by--this was the third change to day--and, soon after, Subhan trotted up with four tattoos which he had engaged for our party. I remained under shelter till 4 P.M.; then mounted and took the route to Leh; which place we soon sighted on crossing an elevation, its remarkable fort, formerly the palace of the Rajahs of Ladâk, standing out conspicuous, looking out from the top of a rocky hill under which the city appears to repose. There was now a dreary plain of gritty sand to be traversed which was unspeakably tiresome, being four or five miles in extent, the sun and glare cruelly strong. This passed, we reached rugged, irregular, cultivated ground, where a good strong nag, of the Bokhara breed, I fancy, sent by Basti Ram, met me; on which I was glad to mount, having with difficulty urged the little mare I was on to a smart walk, she constantly stopping to look after the safety of a small foal, following whinnying behind. Some way further on a 'posse' appeared, comprising the two sons of Basti Ram in gay attire, with some sepoys in dirty ditto, waiting to receive and welcome me to the city of Leh. We exchanged courteous greeting; and I pursued my way thus escorted to the outskirts of the city (so called), over an infamous path of stones, ditches, and drains, running over the partitions of the fields, when I accorded 'congée' to the gentlemen attending me, and, preceded by an official, made my way to a garden, or enclosure, containing poplars and willow trees, where I found my tent and belongings awaiting me, and was heartily glad of a good wash, nor at all disinclined for dinner afterwards. This was a very long day. I have now reached another prominent point in my travels, where I must, perforce, remain some days, until my effects from Sirinuggur arrive, of which I have no tidings. Leh is certainly picturesque, but further than that I can say nothing at present in its favour: but imagine it to be a dirty, insignificant place, the fitting capital of a miserable country, and a low degraded population. We shall see. By the way, I must not omit that, in the narrow ravine on this side Mimah, whose sandy depths caused us so much exertion to traverse, we overtook a party of villagers proceeding with asses laden with firewood to Leh. This being distant some fourteen miles was pretty strong testimony to the nakedness of the environs of Leh. With this party was one in ordinary attire as themselves, but of the clergy--in fact, a lama; and in his hand he carried one of those bright copper affairs I had noticed at Tahmoos. This article was in shape like a child's rattle of large size, the upper or box portion revolving on its axis, the handle. To the box was attached a string some two or three inches long, with a tassel at the end. I now had a good opportunity of ascertaining the use of this singular instrument; and the lama without more ado sat down by the way, and commenced revolving the box, at the same time rolling his eyes about, and mumbling uncouth sounds, stated to be sentences of prayer and adoration, the number of which were calculated by the revolutions of the instrument, indicated by the swinging tassel. 21st July. I arose vigorous and fresh, the night having been cool and pleasant, and just loitered about this enclosure in which I find a tent, horse, and dogs, and attendants of Major Tryon, 7th R.F., who, they tell me, has been in these parts some twenty days, and is now across the Indus shooting, having been away eight days. About eleven o'clock a saheb rode into the enclosure with many attendants. He turned out to be a Mr. Johnstone, of the Survey, at work in this vicinity. I asked him up to my tent, where we had a long chat; to me a great treat, as I have not seen an European since I left Sirinuggur, now nearly ten weeks. I asked my new acquaintance to share my humble fare at 6 P.M. I was visited by a nephew of my friend Ahmet Shah of Islamabad, who is in a similar position here to his uncle at that place, being kardar of a large pergunnah, adding to this office the important duties of government moonshi. This rencontre is fortunate as he can give me reliable information of the Karakorum road and country, and also aid me in my purchases and arrangements. As yet the caravan of merchants from Yarkand has not arrived; but they are within five or six stages of Leh. On their arrival he will make searching enquiries as to the chance of success in those regions. The shikarries, it strikes me, are not so keen now the time approaches to carry out our project, as they were when it was only in embryo. I notice a perceptible lengthening of visage and a melancholy tone in discussing the question, which I attribute to rumours afloat of the Yarkand road being frequented by robbers. It is certain that a merchant of this place was, not long since, plundered of all his property somewhere between here and Yarkand. But that they are afraid of my reproaches, and aware of the uselessness of such a course, I verily believe they would attempt to dissuade me from going now, and I must be careful not to let them humbug me with false reports. I know them to be capable of any amount of falsehoods, of any calibre. Phuttoo wears a particularly suspicious sneaking look to-day, from which I surmise him to be plotting some deceitful trick or other. I strolled just outside the enclosure in the afternoon, and find Leh to be situated within an arc, almost a complete circle, formed by rugged, naked hills, spurs of a lofty range of mountains--running to all appearance north and south, or thereabouts, in the rear of Leh--from which these spurs stretch down to the Indus, embracing the plain of Leh, leaving open the space debouching on the Indus, up which I came. Leh itself is built upon a ridge which projects from the centre of this arc some short distance into the plain, occupying its extremity--that is, the large building before-mentioned does; but the town is placed on the southern face of the ridge. With the exception of the comparatively small extent of irrigated fields, all around is bare and desolate. Looking from Leh across the Indus, is seen a tract of cultivation of considerable extent, running up into a valley, clusters of houses here and there giving it a cheerful, prosperous aspect. This, I am told, is the village of the rightful owner of Ladâk, where he resides in humble obscurity. 22nd July. Sunday. I find no place to walk to out of this enclosure, all outside being either fields or rough barren ground with difficult paths. The town looks uninviting, so I remained in my tent. The jemadar, a civil, obliging, intelligent man, in the afternoon informed me that Basti Ram, the thanadar, was waiting in his house, prepared to pay me a visit, if I could receive him. I, of course, assented; and ere long, preceded by a dirty band of soldiery, he made his appearance, seated in a janpan, which being halted at the requisite respectful distance, the old gentleman was assisted forward, and I requested him to be seated on a 'rizai' which had been spread for him. He is a pleasing-looking old man, of mild aspect, bodily infirm, but with a voice still strong. We chatted a long time; and I hinted at the Karakorum with regard to shikar, but he evidently disapproves of my going in that direction, saying, that the road was bad, the country barren, and no shikar, but that in the Chan-than and Roopschoo country game abounded. He politely assured me of his desire to furnish me with all I required, to any extent, in money, horses, or men. I questioned him about the sad fate of the poor Schlagentweit brother; and he gave me a long narrative, from which I gather that the unfortunate traveller was plundered on the way to Yarkand; that he reached that place, and thence proceeded on to the Kokand country, where he rode into the presence of a chief, Walli Khan, who, feeling or pretending to feel insulted, ordered his attendants to cut him down, which was instantly done; and thus the unfortunate M. Schlagentweit was murdered, and all his effects plundered. But these had been previously seized, and probably he was then in search of justice, and the restoration of his property. Walli Khan has since denied all share in the death of the saheb; and as he is a powerful chief, with a strong fortress on a steep hill, the thanadar said, "What can be done?" Several men have been sent to try and recover the effects, and procure unmistakable testimony to the circumstances of the murder; but they state all the property to have been scattered here and there in remote parts of Turkistan, and have discovered nothing further as to the foul deed. I am in hopes of yet ascertaining more, when the Yarkand merchants arrive, but it must be acquired through tact and judgment, all enquiries being regarded suspiciously, as perhaps connected with ulterior designs. After a satisfactory interview Basti Ram took leave, the jemadar remaining behind, and giving some interesting particulars of the country north of Leh, through part of which the road to Yarkand runs. The district is called the Lobrah pergunnah; and the jemadar, who once travelled there with a saheb, Dr. Thomson, declares it to abound with game. It is a fertile country, he says, highly cultivated, with abundance of everything. It is reached in three days; in three more a place, called Gopoor, where are upland plains abounding with wild animals; but the yâk is not there met with. Four or five days further travelling in an uninhabited tract will bring one to grassy plains, called Moorgaby: there are yâk, and kyang, and other animals. I requested the jemadar to try and find a resident of Lobrah, who could give me precise information as to the best shooting grounds. This he promised to do. 23rd July. I sent the shikarries and Abdoolah into the town to try and get good reliable information about the Lobrah country, roads, &c. They still bring only vague reports; but all unite in describing the country as possessing much game. There is an evident disinclination to supply information of this part of the country; but through Ahmet Shah's relative, and the jemadar, his friend and subordinate, I believe that I shall succeed in extracting it. A cloudy day, and a heavy thunderstorm across the Indus, which in time found its way here, describing a semicircular sweep, and coming down upon us with violent gusts of wind, making the poplars and willows bend double. After a time there were heavy drops; then an undecided rain keeping on and off, ever threatening to come down in torrents. After dinner the jemadar came to report progress; but, further than that the thanadar was willing to further my views in that direction, he merely repeated what he had said before as to game in the Lobrah country. But the bridge over a large river on the way having been broken down, the thanadar had sent his son to have it repaired, and to give orders for my reception, as also to get ready some men acquainted with the haunts of game. So all goes well--if my things would but arrive, of which as yet no tidings. A rainy evening keeping me in till bed-time, I took refuge early in my blankets. 24th July. There was much rain during the night, and a cloudy morning of which I took advantage to visit the town, with a view to select a site for a sketch. The air was cool and fresh, and the roads cleansed by the rain. There are some curious buildings in the town which is very small--a mere village: but there is a good wide street in which is the bazaar,--the shops, small dens in an uniform row on either side. This street is about three hundred yards long, and opens into the serai, a yard surrounded by other dens in which were some dirty travellers. Through this we went, and, passing by the burial ground, ascended a small isolated hill on the top of which is a nondescript building. From the side of this hill is a good view of the town, with the Rajah's residence towering over it; and higher again than that, some way removed up the same ridge, is a lama monastery. Others are on the side of the hill. The whole scene is extremely curious and picturesque. I peeped into some of the little shops, and saw there, of course, Manchester cottons of the most brilliant hues. But nearly every shop was empty, this place being really but an 'entrepôt' affording accommodation to the traffic between Yarkand, Cashmere, and the plains. By all accounts Yarkand is a place of much importance, and a great mart, merchants from all the surrounding regions meeting there for trade and exchange of commodities. I visited Bella Shah, the principal merchant, who has a comfortable house in the Eastern style--an intelligent-looking man. I had an interesting conversation with him. By the way, had I not applied myself to the study of Hindostani, how much I should have lost. He had been to Yarkand, and described the country as most fertile, the town as a grand place, rich and populous. He further told me that, eight days' journey from Yarkand, on this side, large herds of yâk are met with, and that the country generally abounds with game; that the road is not so very difficult; wood scarce certainly in places, but always something, sticks, weeds, or horsedung to be got for a fire large enough to cook with. This is the information I was wanting; and my mind is now settled to cross the Karakorum range, the pass over which, he assures me, is a very easy one. After a long and profitable visit I departed, the shikarries, who had attended me, greatly elated at the news. I returned to breakfast very 'koosh,' my domestics listening with glistening eyes to Bella Shah's 'kubbur,' evidently sharing the pleasure I experienced. I was busy writing after breakfast, preparing letters, and bringing up journal to this point, when consciousness of some one near me caused me to look up, and there stood Suleiman, Catechist. I was delighted to see him. He had preceded my baggage, being mounted. He was well, and reported well of my other people, animals and property. He had distributed nearly all the books in Sirinuggur, both to Cashmiries and others: he had once been all but involved in a serious disturbance, some bigoted mussulman, with whom he was disputing, having denounced him as an enemy of the faith, worthy of death. But a pundit, whose friendship he had happily acquired, interfered, and peace was restored. There was heavy rain in the afternoon; such a down-pour is very rare here. My things did not arrive until five; my two tattoos in fair condition, considering the journey and privations endured in such a country. Little Fan, thin and amazed, did not recognise me: her three pups are thriving. I received some letters, and lots of papers; favourable reports of all my property from the sirdar. About dinner time Bella Shah was announced, and with him a propitiatory 'nuzzur' of sugar candy and dried fruit. We had a long conversation, in the course of which he confirmed the account given by Basti Ram of the fate of poor Schlagentweit; and again gave me glowing accounts of the abundance of yâk on the other side the Karakorum range. Most exciting were his reminiscences. He laughed at the idea of danger from the Yarkandies; who, he said, came constantly to hunt the yâk, taking the flesh back to Yarkand for sale. He declared that, far from interfering with me, if I offered them a rupee or so, they would shew me the best grounds, and assist me in my hunting. He said that the Yarkand people would never attack an European, though close to the town, or even in the streets; but if he entered a house, then they would set upon him. The shikarries, who were listening attentively to all that was said, and occasionally joining in, became very merry at this welcome intelligence; and after Bella Shah's departure were vehement in their desire and determination to go over the Karakorum. Before leaving, Bella Shah promised to find me a man well acquainted with the road, and the places where the yâk are to be found; though he assures me there is no difficulty about that, as they abound everywhere. We are all very 'koosh,' every thing promising auspiciously, and so much unexpected aid offering in furtherance of my project. 25th July. I set to work casting bullets before breakfast. It is strange, but these shikarries cannot be trusted to cast any but ordinary spherical bullets. They are too indolent to learn anything, and too careless to be depended upon. I had to dismiss Phuttoo from even attending the ladle to clear away the dross, and install Buddoo in his place, so negligent was he. I continued at this tedious work till breakfast time, by which time I was quite baked, the fire blazing in front of me, and the sun equally hot on my back. Buddoo and my bearer continued the operation, and, to my relief and satisfaction, succeeded capitally. Suleiman and my servants being urgent for me to send off letters, including theirs, I set to work and wrote for six hours at a stretch, which, as I wrote with paper on knee, stooping over it, gave me a headache; but I managed to finish nine letters in all, including one to General Windham urgently soliciting a month's extension of leave, to enable me to carry out my schemes comfortably. I continued very dizzy; talked over arrangements, and decided to settle and pack up to-morrow, and start the day following. 26th July. An awful night, never to be forgotten! Having read till I was sleepy, I gave way to nature, glad enough to feel the inclination; but awoke after an hour or two with a racking head-ache--terrible agony--such as I remember to have experienced only twice before, and then was driven nearly mad. I tried in vain to find alleviation, or to court repose. Hours passed in agony indescribable; when, as a last resource, hoping to obtain relief in sleep, I got up, and in the dark helped myself to brandy and water. Had I had laudanum, I should have swallowed it readily. This remedy seemed only to increase the malady; but, after a time, its influence threw me into a slumber, and I awoke at daylight--and how thankful to find on collecting myself that the acute pains had subsided, and but an ordinary head-ache remained! I had a cup of tea, and strolled about inspecting my property. Having had everything unpacked for selection, I set aside as few things as possible, wishing to avoid the necessity of many coolies in the inhospitable deserts we should traverse. I was looking at my tattoo, when two respectable-looking natives approached, and divining their purpose I entered into conversation with them. They were merchants from Kokand, now five years from their native country, having been impeded in their trade and movements by the late rebellion. They described their country as a delightful region, abounding in the most delicious fruits, &c. After breakfast I called Suleiman, and, taking with me some physic and Holloway's ointment, went to see a servant of Major Tryon's, who, they told me, had some days since run a nail into his hand, which had caused him much suffering. We found the unfortunate man in a dreadful state--I fear hopeless--the flesh having sloughed away, &c. We thoroughly cleaned the sores, spread ointment on linen covering them, then bound the arm up with a layer of cotton to prevent harsh contact, and placed the limb in a sling. The poor suffering creature said he enjoyed great relief, when all this was concluded. I left medicine and ointment with Suleiman to continue the applications; he, good soul! evincing here how thoroughly the religion of our Saviour has converted his heart; for this man was a sweeper, an outcast, not to be approached without defilement. Suleiman promised (and I fully confide in him) to take every care of the miserable being, whose case I look upon as hopeless. His master being absent shooting, I ordered him to be furnished with anything necessary. Bella Shah again came to visit me, and with him some friends, desirous of a talk I presume, a considerable attendance around. He told me that one man he was engaging to accompany me, when he heard that I was going to shoot wild cattle, refused to go, being a Hindoo; but he had engaged another, a man of even higher qualifications, both in point of familiarity with the localities, and acquaintance with the language required. His name is Abdool. He again assured me of meeting with the yâk in numbers, and we parted promising ourselves an interview on my return. I had felt wrong in the head all day, but could discover no other symptoms of sickness. All ready for a start in the morning. CHAPTER X. TO THE SHAYAK. 27th July. There was considerable delay occasioned by the coolies coming late, and the jemadar not appearing. Neither did the expected guide from Bella Shah appear; and the tattoo provided for me was such a feeble animal that I scorned to bestride him. Having decided to leave my own nags to be fresh for my return, I had been led to expect better things by the jemadar, he having declared that the thanadar would furnish me with horses like my own. Without waiting for the jemadar, I gave the word to be off, not disliking being compelled to resort to my usual means of locomotion, my legs; and hardly had we left the enclosure than we were entangled in fields, amid the partitions of which the path was lost. An unwilling guide, in the person of a villager whom we appropriated 'sans ceremonie,' conducted us out of the fields to a plain much-worn track, when, concluding that our way was straight before us, I permitted him to abscond. On we trudged, and had made some way, when shouts behind us attracted our notice, and, stopping, we saw a man pursuing. He was one I have omitted to mention as having been provided by the jemadar as agreed, being competent to shew the shooting grounds in the Lobrah district. He fully corroborated the jemadar's statement of the quantities of game to be there met with, ibex, shâpu, and nâpu; and he seemed delighted at the idea of taking service, enforcing upon the shikarries the necessity of taking lots of powder, lead, and the moulds. This looked well. He now overtook us, and told us we were in the wrong path, and must cross a rough hill to get to the right one. This done, we pursued our way, and had again to look back to ascertain why we were assailed behind by shouts. It was my sepoy with a horse, the one sent by the thanadar on the first day. Putting Mooktoo up, I walked on. We stopped to examine some of the singular altar-like buildings so numerous in this country, around the urnlike top of which were piled a number of the horns of the wild sheep--why, is beyond me; unless they were offerings of successful hunters. Here we were again overtaken by a queer-looking individual who announced himself as Abdool, the man engaged as guide by Bella Shah. He looks a likely chap; quietly sent the other man, whose name is Tar-gness, to the rear, and took upon himself the duties of guide. A gradual, but rough and fatiguing, ascent brought us to our halting place on the mountain-side, whence we were to climb the summit on the morrow. It is a melancholy spot--only a few stones heaped on one another, as a shelter for travellers or shepherds--distinguishing it from the surrounding waste of rocks and stones. But there is a beautiful clear stream at hand. I was just at the end of my breakfast, when a stir took place, and, looking about, a score or so of laden horses appeared descending from a slope close by, headed by their owner, a Yarkand merchant, whom we hastened to greet, and to overwhelm with questions. He was a jolly, good-humoured old man, of a ruddy countenance, and readily entered at large into conversation, detailing his journey, the obstacles met with, &c. First of all, the yâk were met with in great herds two or three days' journey beyond the Karakorum. Of this there was no doubt. But there was a band of freebooters, some two hundred strong, somewhere on the Yarkand road, lying in wait for merchants. He had evaded them; but he did not know what had befallen other merchants who were to leave Yarkand about the same time: of them he had heard nothing. He gave us most valuable information of the road to follow, the places to halt at, and certain spots where the yâk would certainly be found; in describing which he mentioned one at the ziarat, or shrine, erected where the marble and alabaster were quarried, with which Shah Jehan, and other of the Mogul emperors, constructed the magnificent edifices, palatial and sepulchral, which still adorn Delhi and Agra, to the astonishment and admiration of all. This was news to me, as I had fancied that the place whence this material had been procured was quite unknown. It is an interesting spot to visit, let alone the yâk there frequenting. The old gentleman told me he had some gold coins bearing the stamp, and date corresponding, of Alexander the Great. These he had got at great expense, and I understood him expressly for some saheb in the Punjab where he is going. I bought some felt nambas of him to serve as blankets for my servants and shikarries, and for myself, paying 1. 8 rupees Cos. each, and two rupees for a red one of superior fabrique, but damaged. I endeavoured to deal with him for a couple of his ill-conditioned, raw-backed, galled tattoos, intending to send them to Leh to pick up and gain condition by my return, and take on my own with me. The unconscionable old chap, on my pointing out two, asked two hundred rupees for one, and three hundred for the other. I said, a deal was out of the question. After a time I offered him one hundred rupees for the two, through the shikarries. No; he wouldn't think of it. Well, his team went on, he having to remain till my servants came, to be paid for the nambas. Thinking how pleasant it would be to have my own hard-conditioned nags with me--perchance, to pursue thereon some wounded yâks--I called Subhan, and directed him to offer one hundred and fifty rupees for the two; but the obstinate old man would not accept the offer. This was an outside price for the animals, if in condition for work; so I made no further attempt to persuade the reluctant proprietor to part with his quads. He had long to wait for his rupees: but on the arrival of my servants, having paid him, I offered him a rupee, 'backsheesh,' he having given me some dried fruit. At this he demurred, and actually needed remonstrance to make him accept. Then, with many polite salaams, he went on his way. My khansamah and the shikarries had blundered sadly about arrangements; for, although they knew that there was no village, no supplies or wood here, they had not taken care to ascertain that due provision had been made for our necessities, trusting all to the jemadar without enquiring at starting. Messengers had been despatched, but night approached without their returning; and Abdoolah was warming me some food by the scanty fire some horse-dung, chips, and bits of matting afforded, when a portion of wood arrived, and in the course of an hour the other things. The night was very cold, a violent hailstorm having burst upon us in the afternoon. 28th July. We got off by 5 A.M., Phuttoo on the horse, and Mooktoo, who complained of severe headache, on a tattoo ridden yesterday by Abdoolah. The ascent of the mountain was most arduous, the natural difficulties being much increased by the difficulty of respiration. All suffered much from this. The mountain being extremely steep and rugged, the path necessarily running into innumerable zigzags to render the ascent at all practicable was cumbered with sharp stones, as was the entire mountain-side. Indeed, this is the characteristic of the range. From summit to base these mountains are thickly covered with fragments crumbled from their massive bodies, which by the action of the weather, intense frosts, &c. are splintered up and strewn with the débris, as though the stone breakers had been busily at work all over the surface, not leaving a square yard vacant. Many a time had I to pause for breath ere the summit was reached; and we had some snow hard-frozen to cross, covering the whole northern face of the mountain, at the base of which was a small lake, formed by the melted snow filling a basin. The descent was more abrupt than the ascent, but except that the snow was hard and slippery, it was much easier to accomplish. Heavy rain set in below, which was hail and sleet above. I was glad to be out of that. We met a train of laden yâks, the property of my merchant friend of yesterday, whose name, by the way, is Nassir Khan. A jolly, ruddy, round-faced young man, quite plebeian-English in appearance, was in charge of them; and, in reply to queries from Abdool and myself, he assured us that the yâk and other game abounded where Nassir Khan had told us. Joyfully commenting on the coincidence of testimony we jogged on, and halted at a stone shed, where by a fire smoking was a Yarkandi, left behind to tend two of Nassir Khan's disabled horses. This man also gave us, and others who followed, similar glowing accounts of the quantities of yâk met with near the Karakorum, himself getting quite excited by the recollection of them. The sun now shone out, and finding our destination, Karbong, still some miles off, I determined to breakfast; after which I mounted the nag, preceded by Abdool and Phuttoo, leaving poor Subhan, just come up and quite knocked up, to repose, and Kamal to attend him. I rode slowly on, the road execrable, and passed herds of yâk and flocks of sheep. The sun came out, and seemed to take vengeance on us for having hitherto escaped him; the rays, reflected from the white sandy soil and stones, not only roasted, but blinded one. We passed a horrid idol, the head of some deity, rudely moulded in clay, of hideous features painted red, occupying a niche in one of those altar-buildings, the tops of which were piled with wild sheeps-horns; and the bushy tails of the yâk were waving thereon, suspended from poles. Some fresh flowers were deposited in the niche before this ugly demon--a recent devotional offering. At last we reached Karbong, a few scattered stone houses in irrigated fields in a valley of stones, or rather on the slopes of the mountain, the valley lying apparently further on, where huge mountains, rounded and abrupt, not in a range, but individual masses, presented their curved outlines rapidly inclining downwards to depths shut out from view. I had hoped for a somewhat level country, but as yet it is, if possible, more mountainous, and of huger masses than ever. On arrival I took especial care of my horse, getting him lots of grain and grass of which he stood much in need. I could find no shelter from the sun, but a namba spread on sticks, which was better than nothing. Subhan came in after some time, better after his repose: he could give no intelligence of Mooktoo and the others. My three servants next came, all right, Abdoolah telling me with a grin, that he had left Mooktoo and the Cashmere coolies, five of them, on the top of the mountain, blubbering. This afforded him much amusement. These Cashmiries are certainly wretched cowardly creatures--no energy about them, once in difficulties. All came in towards evening, when Abdoolah quizzed them unmercifully. Mooktoo complaining much, I determined to physic him, and gave him three Peake's pills at night. Abdoolah, the hard-hearted, scouts the idea of fever, asserting his ailment to be the result of eight days' idleness and good living; and this is my opinion too. To-morrow being Sunday offers an acceptable day of rest to all parties. I sent off a messenger with an order written by the village gyalpo, at the dictation of Phuttoo, assisted by Abdool, the guide, to the thanadar's son, directing him to provide everything requisite in tattoos, food, &c., for a month's excursion to the Karakorum. He is at present two stages off, at Diskit. I desired the stock to be gathered at Chanloong, five stages off, and the last village on our route. Here I paid off and dismissed the Leh coolies who tendered their salaam, apparently thankful for their payment and release. I have now the satisfaction of having accomplished one of the greatest difficulties in my way. Abdool says there is another awkward mountain to cross at Sassar, but that the Karakorum pass is not difficult, though long and tedious. We ought to reach the pass in twelve days now: it generally occupies fifteen with laden animals to or from Leh. 29th July. Sunday. I allowed the day to open fully ere I turned out, after having enjoyed a good night's rest. The mountains are truly grand and majestic, as viewed from this spot; and during the changing effects of a humid atmosphere they presented some magnificent pictures. Again I longed to be able truly to depict them. The three Peake's pills having had no effect on Mooktoo, I gave him two more; nor did this additional motive power produce any result, yet he says he feels much better. A messenger passed through, bearing instructions from the thanadar to his son to take care that my wishes were attended to, and no trouble given me--very civil, indeed, of the old gentleman. I have nothing particular to note of the day, but may remark how soon a man left to himself, without the aids and influences of Christian ministry and communion, becomes listless and indifferent in religious observances, and neglects the appointed means for the strengthening and refreshing of his soul. We need the stimulus of the example and offices of others, and especially those of the Church, to keep us up to the standard of vital Christianity. 30th July. I arose at earliest dawn, wishing, if possible, to reach the next camp ere the sun should attain his full power. The path led down a narrow valley, threading some ravines, and penetrating some remarkable defiles, then passing over table lands, until we stood looking down upon the river Shayak and its valley, which lies at right angles to that down which we had come, the distance some six miles. The Shayak's course here I judge to be N.W. A small hamlet with its green crops greeted our sight from the eastern side; all else was bare rock and barren slopes. I had hoped for better things. We turned to the left, following the river's course, but high up on the rocky mountain-side overhanging it, and, plunging down a deep gorge, came upon Kalsar, our destination, placed as usual by a stream, and looking cool and inviting with its fruit trees, and green crops, and beautiful clear water. We were guided to a nice bit of ground in a small orchard shaded by peach or apricot trees, very large, and one fine walnut tree. I enjoyed the comfort of the foliage after the three days without a tree, and sat down to breakfast enjoying the 'dolce far niente' thoroughly after my exercise. We were three hours and a half on the road without a halt; so I suppose, allowing for the ups and downs which were continual, we must have come about ten miles. 31st July. The morning being cloudy, and my tent under the shade of the walnut tree, I did not notice the first blush of dawn. We got off at a quarter to five. A difficult climb immediately awaited me, the ascent abrupt and the path deep in sand. Nevertheless I got on famously, finding myself, both to-day and yesterday, in excellent working order, and in good wind. I put Mooktoo, still ailing, on the horse. After an hour's travelling over a plateau intersected with deep ravines we descended to the bed of the Shayak, along which the path now led in a direction due west. A level waste of sand had now to be crossed, its width occupying the valley or river-bed, some three-quarters of a mile in width here; its length interminable as the river, perhaps, which here was a rapid turbid stream of forty or fifty yards in width, depth unknown. On the other side was a village in a small spot of cultivation recovered from the surrounding waste. There was a decided improvement in the scenery, the mountains falling back as the valley extended, giving good distances. Had the valley, or river-bed, been full of water, when it would have had the appearance of an extensive lake, the scene would have been magnificent. But the flat waste of sand destroyed it. We had to quit the sand, and ascend a steep, rugged spur of the mountain, immediately under the foot of which the river rushed, making a bend S.W. Then down again we went, and had to toil over a good three miles of sand and shingle, our halting place always in view, but seeming never attainable. We crossed a beautiful clear stream, a bit more shingle, and then up a slope to the village of Diskit, a straggling place on a stony plateau looking down on the valley, here some mile and a half wide. Opposite is a valley partly revealed, down which, from the northward, flows another stream, tributary to the Shayak. Up that stream our route lies. The gopal came to pay his respects, bringing some fruit--very small apricots, about the size of a marble and insipid. I learned to my sorrow that the river was impassable at present, and had been so the last three days. The sun was very hot, and but little shade was afforded by the ragged peach trees. The thanadar's son came to offer his salaam, also bringing fruit--apricots, peaches, and nectarines, all very small and unripe, also some cherries of the colour of greengage. He assured me that the river was impracticable, but might possibly be passable in three or four days. He made difficulties at first about horses; but on Abdoolah speaking somewhat sharply and authoritatively, quoting the thanadar's assurances, the young man gradually softened his objections, and after a time promised that everything should be ready for me, but pointed out that the state of the river was unfavourable, as all communication with the villages on the other side was cut off. He proposed that I should take shelter in a house which, however, when inspected by Buddoo, was reported too dirty and offensive for my occupation: so I turned into a small paddock instead, finding tolerable shelter under a large peach-tree, the trunk of which, I should say, was three feet in diameter. I could not remain in my tent, the heat was so great; so I sat under the tree, where it was more endurable. It had been agreed that I should inspect the river to-morrow morning with the thanadar's son who promised to have four or five horses ready this evening: but nothing further than reports of their being on the way eventuated, and from this and other significant indications I am of opinion that, under all the superficial demonstrations of anxiety to assist me on my way, runs a strong reflux of concealed opposition. But, if so, I think I can either turn it aside, or surmount it. This delay is vexatious, as I have not a day to spare. I must try and recover the day lost by a double march or two, which will be easy enough as I purpose mounting all my attendants. It was a beautiful sunset; such as I have not seen for a long time, having been for the most part so closely shut in by mountains as to have had no view whatever of the declining sun; and, moreover, were there distances, there has been usually too little vapour for effect. To-night good distances and a cloudy sky lent their aid to the mountainous landscape. The huge rugged mountains, softened in the subdued evening light, suffused with mellow glowing tints, were certainly arrayed to the best advantage--their massive proportions and gaunt nakedness toned down into pleasing harmonies of form and colour. Long I sat gazing, admiring, and musing--long after all beauty of external landscape had vanished, but enjoying mental visions of charms surpassing even the reality, now faded into the past--when Buddoo broke in upon my reveries with the lantern, and in obedience to the mandate I was soon ensconced in my canvas nutshell, in which confined space I was soon made very sensible of the true littleness of myself and my sphere. 1st August. A cloudy morning--which was welcomed as conveying an increased chance of an early abatement of the floods: because, the sun's powers being intercepted and diminished, the snows on the distant lofty mountains, on the solvency of which the state of the river depends, would be subject to a much reduced action of that consuming orb. Some wretched tats were sent by the than's son, for which I abused the gopal who brought them; and perceiving it to be necessary to assume a more commanding tone, when the above-mentioned official sent his salaam by a sepoy, I returned him a sharp rebuke which operated favourably, as the sepoy soon returned with explanations and assurances of every effort being made to comply with my desires; that active trustworthy men had been sent to ascertain the state of the river, and orders for horses had been despatched in all directions. Notwithstanding, I thought it advisable to adopt precautionary measures to ensure a true report of the river's condition, so sent off the shikarries on the tattoos to examine it thoroughly up and down; who after some hours absence returned, and stated confidently that the water was going down fast, and that the river would be easily forded to-morrow. They had crossed many mullahs into which it was divided, and had gone through much hard work. They were proud of their performances, exhibiting their wet clothes, and helping each other to exaggerate their aquatic feats. Much pleased with the information, I gave orders for the move on the morrow at 10 A.M., considering that the water would be at its lowest about 11. The thanadar junior came to pay his respects, and received the news of the river being passable without placing much reliance on it, cautioning us to avoid risking the lives of any of the people. I had a long talk with him. He appeared reconciled to the necessity of forwarding my plans, and promised every assistance. He had with him a brown spaniel, a good looking dog, which was given him, he said, by Colonel Markham, whose promising career was so suddenly cut short, when to human apprehension he appeared to be just at the attainment of a soldier's highest ambition, having been called for from India, it is supposed, to succeed to the command of our army before Sabastopol. He travelled through this country from Kulu through Leh some seven years ago--it must have been just before that summons to the Crimea--and then made this present. I looked with much interest upon this relic of a man whose fate was so remarkable. Numerous coolies are in attendance, and all things arranged for the morrow's enterprise. 2nd August. Notwithstanding my repeated directions fully explained that we should not start early, the whole camp was astir earlier than usual, everything packed, tats saddled and bridled, coolies ready, and all waiting in expectation of the word, 'March.' This was at 6 A.M. I sat reading, and took no notice for some time, but did at last call Abdoolah, and remind him of the hour fixed for departure, and the reasons, as before given. Then the coolies were dismissed for a time. Now ensued a loud and angry quarrel between Phuttoo and Mooktoo, in the heat of which the former ass threatened the other with bringing his influence with the Maharajah to bear, and having him put in prison; upon which Mooktoo chaffed him with great effect. Phuttoo's conceit is outrageous. I started between eight and nine, and found the space to traverse to the river much greater than I had imagined--quite three miles, perhaps four--and for the most part over shingle. The river was here divided into many streams, varying from fifty to a hundred yards in width, the current being strong. I had formed no idea of the volume of water from the glimpse of the river I had gained higher up. All the coolies stripped. Four or five men with poles preceded us, sounding; then I followed, and then came the shikarries mounted, with two men to each tattoo, and, far behind, my servants also mounted, and the coolies. An amusing scene took place with my little dog who had swam one or two minor streams, and followed me into a larger, where the current was very strong. A native tried to get hold of him, but the little fellow growled and bit at him viciously, swimming away bravely. The man then put his stick over him to draw him towards him: this he resisted, and was completely submerged. After several unsuccessful attempts the man succeeded in subduing and capturing the poor half-suffocated Sara who made a gallant fight; but the man, the stick, and the water combined were too much for him. The two former opponents bore marks of his vigorous resistance. He then quietly submitted to be conveyed by Subhan in front of him, following my every move with wistful eyes, and trembling violently with excitement. My little nag had never encountered such a flood, and was quite bewildered by the glare and the rapid passage of the rushing waters; and I had much ado to guide him, ever giving way to the current. Abdool, the guide--not so on this occasion--preceded me, exhibiting in his nude state a sad specimen of legs, spindle-shanks, which were ill calculated for this arduous work: and the poor fellow was obliged to stop in mid-stream, supporting himself with difficulty by his stick. My horse, thus checked, turned aside and got into deep water, but I recovered and held him together: then, passing Abdool, he stuck to the shikarries who kept with their supporters all together. It was hard work, and certainly not without danger, as a stumble would have sent man and horse down the flood. We thus fought our way on, crossing some score of these streams; in one of which, the widest--I should think two hundred yards across--I got into difficulties. By taking a lower course than the guide had done, I bungled into a sand-bed--quicksand--but my little nag exerted himself vigorously. The shikarries and others were vociferating loudly, 'kubber dar;' as if that was any good when we were in the thick of it. We struggled to firmer ground, and then got to a high bank of shingle with bushes on it. I had hoped that the main stream was crossed, but to my vexation found the great difficulty still to be overcome. A mighty flood swept by, which if we could get over, the passage was virtually accomplished. But was it fordable? We now saw a party, horse and foot, on the other side making their way towards us. They, too, were brought up by the formidable volume of turbid water rushing between us. We were within hail of each other, but any words indistinguishable, and they were not to be induced by any sign to tempt their fate by showing us the way over. Things now came to a dead-lock. The river guide funking--and no wonder--moved here and there, up and down, making as though he were desperately in earnest, but ever recoiling from the main rush of the torrent. The servants and coolies now arrived all safe, after some few narrow escapes, as Abdoolah informed me--the Cashmiries, poor creatures! of whom there were five, having to be held up in the water, even when without loads: they lost their heads and legs immediately. What despicable poltroons they are! I am confident that my three Punjabies would 'leather' the three shikarries and five coolies combined; though of them Abdoolah is the only one of true 'grit.' He is a first-rate fellow, rough and ready, honest and plucky. I followed the guide, going up the river, then descending on a bank which divided the main current, the water flowing over it in diminished strength. I was in great hopes we were about to triumph, as we now neared the opposite party; but on reaching the tail of the bank we found the two currents there united which, sweeping roaring through a deep channel of a hundred yards wide, again effectually opposed us. I could have pushed my horse through swimming; and perhaps the tats with the shikarries might have got safe through, though very doubtful: but the coolies and baggage, never. We, therefore, retraced our weary, watery way, and again took downwards below the aforesaid bank, and got into the main stream; but our bewildered guide again retreated. He and others much amused me by their idea of sounding the depth--just taking stones, and pitching them in, with the notion of judging the depth by the splash and sound; and this in a roaring flood. I now looked upon the passage to day as hopeless, for we had now tried up and down a mile in length; but the goose of a guide still rushed wildly about, entering the water where he could have no real intention of going on: so I hailed Abdoolah from the depth in which I was floundering to beat a retreat, and with Subhan, my only adherent, turned backward--a most disagreeable alternative. I could not halt on that bank in the middle of the waters, though apparently safe, as I know the dangers and uncertainties of floods in mountain regions. And to fight our way back, over ground it had cost such exertions to win, was most disheartening. Another party of horse and foot had joined mine on the bank, the young relative of Ahmet Shah and attendants, who I forgot to mention came to pay his respects to me, being at Diskit detained by the flood from proceeding on to the Lobrah district of which he is kardar. He is a most prepossessing young man in physiognomy and manner, and is going to his district principally on my account, to aid my arrangements. It was now half-past twelve; and the flood's might, augmented as usual at this time of day by the melted snow, cut off our retreat, so I was the more anxious for my party and effects to hasten their movements, and saw with vexation that there they stuck, like Asiatics, irresolute on the bank. But, seeing me resolutely fighting my way back, they at last got under weigh, and, I am glad to say, all got back safe and sound, men and baggage. The latter had narrow escapes; four coolies, becoming bothered and frightened, lost their way in the middle of the current of one of the biggest channels, and had to be rescued. I settled down again in my former ground, giving directions for further examination of the river to-morrow; but am resolved not to attempt the passage again, till some one has actually crossed. The delay is very vexatious, but I must endeavour to make up for it by expedition. If I get my extension of leave, it will not matter in the least; but should that be unattainable, I shall have to ride, night and day, through Roopschoo and Kulu from Leh to save my distance. But I must get to these Karakorum mountains, whatever may betide. We saw numerous trees and pieces of timber remnants of the bridge once spanning the river somewhere above this, which was carried away some months since by the floods. The thanadar junior is here, I believe, to reconstruct it; but that will be a most difficult job from the distance the timber will have to be brought. There is stone enough and to spare; but they are not architects good enough to make use of it. Yet their houses are fairly put together of stone and sun-brick, but the stone rough certainly. They could never form a durable arch, even if they contrived tetes-de-pont, and piers. And now to wait as patiently as may be the subsidence of the waters. 3rd August. Cloudy and showery. I was informed that men had been sent to get information of the state of the river, and in the evening they returned, stating there was little or no change since yesterday. There was rain in the evening, and a heavy storm apparently bursting over the mountains east of us. 4th August. Again a cloudy day. I sent off Phuttoo and Subhan with the Lobrah man, Tar-gness, to get news of the river, and employed the morning in writing. About 2 P.M. Subhan returned with the welcome news of the waters having subsided, and Phuttoo and Tar-gness having gone across to the other side to the village of Lanjoong, he hastening back to give me the information: he said also, that he had marked down some wild fowl in the watery meadows. I despatched my letters carefully sewn up in a bit of sheepskin, being assured that they would be safely delivered at Sirinuggur, under cover to the Baboo; then took gun and shot, and went with Subhan after the ducks which we soon found, and I knocked down one, and wounded another, but, unfortunately, we could not get either. We tried all about, and saw others, but could not get near them, so, after an hour and a half's fruitless endeavours, returned in heavy rain. 5th August. Sunday. A cloudy morning. I took a ramble before breakfast, and enjoyed it much, finding more beauty than I thought the place possessed, but could not select a site that satisfied me for a sketch. The scene is too extended for any view that would include the principal features. There is a picturesque lama monastery high above the village on the mountain; but the village itself is such a scattered, stony, tumble-down place as to defy a definite representation. The valley, looking either way, when lighted, is beautiful--the mountains of fine and varied forms. The effects this morning were very striking, as the fitful gleams of sunshine, struggling through the heavy clouds, threw their shifting light here and there. Looking west, a considerable expanse of rich cultivated plain occupies the valley; east, all is sand and shingle. I scrambled up the rock over the village, and thence contemplated the scene below me, and did not omit to turn my grateful heart to the adorable Creator of the beauties around me. I wandered leisurely among the rough winding field-tracks; and so came back crossing the brawling rivulet which dashes in several rocky channels through the village. There was no news from over the river; but the gopal came to obtain his dismissal, being ready to start. With many injunctions and oft-repeated warnings from my various followers, by which the poor man, from his perplexed visage, must have been sorely bothered, he withdrew about 11 A.M. Tar-gness made his appearance, reporting the road to be 'chungy,' that is, comfortable. Phuttoo remained, and I fancy, from observations I so understood, is exercising an assumed authority to a great extent, as I thought he would. I hope to get well across early to-morrow morning, and then proceed on some six miles to a village called Chamseen. It appears that the gopal of this village is the actual kardar of Lobrah, and Ahmet Shah's relative the government moonshi. After dinner I was talking with the shikarries about the roads and which way we should return, and we discussed the possibility of a road, marked in my map as leading from Kopalu to the Yarkand road, being practicable. A native of Kopalu told us he believed there was a path, but that it was a very difficult one, quite impracticable for horses; but that it was only five or six days from the Karakorum to Kopalu. This would suit me capitally, if we could but get sure information, and make fitting arrangements. Then I should save fifteen days or so of a dismal and uninteresting road. Abdool, guide, sitting with the others, amused us all much by the vehemence with which he denounced the project of this route, declaring it to be terrible, both from its natural obstacles and supernatural; relating how two Bhooties were mysteriously killed by evil spirits who overwhelmed them with sand and stones. He further stated that 'shaitan' himself inhabited those regions, and assailed travellers, tooth and nail: and, while spinning this marvellous yarn, he illustrated it by action and gestures in a truly ludicrous manner. He has a very comical 'phiz' at all times; and when he takes off a large slouching felt hat he wears, leaving his queer comical-shaped cranium (closely shaved) bare, and in excitement indulges in involuntary grimace, he is a certain antidote to melancholy. He is a valuable adherent, always busy at something; even immediately after a long day's march he bustles about, and seems never to think of rest or refreshment. How different from the lazy Cashmiries! Orders were issued for an early start, as I wish to make up for lost time, and, having crossed the river, to push on another stage. CHAPTER XI. TO THE KARAKORUM. 6th August. Away in good time, and high spirits at the prospect of resuming my travels. I found the river very much altered as to its channels, and reduced in volume; but still it was a work of time and labour to cross over. The main channel was considerably enlarged, and I should think some eight hundred yards in width, with here and there a current of tremendous force; the average depth was not above the knees, but in the rushes up to the middle. I got across without misadventure, leaving servants and baggage to follow, and made for a village called Thaga, over a sandy road: in one place the sand, by the action of wind or water, was heaped up in successive ridges, like the sea in a stiff breeze. I found Phuttoo and the moonshi at this village: the former assured me, with much volubility, that everything was ready at Panamik. The servants and baggage having come up, we moved on to Chamseen, which is, I should think, eight miles from Lanjoong, the path rough and stony. We passed through one village and an agreeable stretch of cultivation, the valley generally as barren as ever, and bivouacked in an orchard, my tent being pitched under a fine spreading peach tree, the shade of which was very enjoyable. 7th August. We quitted this pleasant bivouac before 5 A.M., and travelled over a country in this narrow valley similar to that crossed yesterday, a barren stony hollow, with a hamlet occasionally on either side, where man's ingenuity and industry, invading this domain of rock, has won a hard fought footing. My shikarries and servants are now all on tattoos, and will be thus assisted all the way to the yâk country. We saw two or three hares in the thorn thickets now met with. This rugged valley runs, I think, almost N.W. Some lofty snow-capped mountains close in the upward view. We arrived at Panamik at half-past eight, the distance not more than ten miles. It is a small village as to residences, but with a large extent of rich cultivation, and a good number of fine fruit trees, and also large willows. I took up my quarters under some peach trees, the fruit abundant; not as we see it in our gardens in England, a solitary specimen here and there on a wall, but depending in bunches numbering some dozens together--small certainly, and nothing to be compared in flavour. They are yet generally unripe. The kardar and moonshi attended to report that all was prepared: I was, therefore, the more vexed and disappointed, when in the middle of the day Abdoolah told me that, owing to a mistake in the maund--the kardar having willfully, as I believe, mistaken the amount which was ordered to be in 'cucha' maunds--there would not be half enough flour provided for rations, and that, as it had to be ground, another day's delay was unavoidable. There was no help for it, so I submitted to stern necessity as tranquilly as possible. We had great work shoeing the thanadar's horse which I must take with me in default of any other fit for my use. There was no professional 'nahlband' here, nor the usual implements of that operative; but luckily 'a handy-man,' as they call a bungler at several trades in a regiment, turned up--one accustomed to accompany kafilas to and from Yarkand, and look after the horses. I was much taken with the man's expression and manner, and became more interested in him, when Subhan informed me that he was well acquainted with the localities the yâk frequented, and, moreover, was willing to join my expedition--a most valuable recruit, I think. He reminds me strongly of some acquaintance or other, I cannot think who: his voice and way of speaking are peculiar, slow and deliberate: he is the son of a Cashmiri by a Bhoot mother, and I should fancy some twenty-five years old. The kardar produced two sets of shoes, made in the neighbourhood, of such inferior workmanship and bad metal that, taking one in my hands, I broke it in two to the dismay of the kardar, who beat a retreat, and after a time came back with a set of Yarkand shoes, as light as racing plates, but of the best quality of iron, and a lot of nails to match. Then the work began. A pair of pincers, a hammer, and, after much research, a mortising chisel, were produced, and satisfied with these rude tools my new man set to work with confidence, and, I may add, skill. The old shoes were soon ripped off--there being no file to take off the clench of the nails, I apprehended some damage to the hoof, but all turned out well; then, the hoof being placed on a piece of timber, the other leg hoisted up by the active, useful Abdool, the chisel was applied, and the hoof, bereft of its superabundance, roughly rounded to the form desired, the inner surface and the bridge, frog, and heel, slightly pared with one of my pocket knives, and the shoe affixed in a workman-like manner, the nails right well driven and firmly clenched. Abdool's ingenuity in steadying the hind leg was admirable. He took the long tail of the nag, and wound two turns round the pastern, so getting a good purchase: he then held the leg out at full stretch, and another help placed his shoulders against the other ham to control any attempt at violence, and so the astonished animal was newly provided all round. I ordered dinner at five punctually to enable me to stroll out and look for a hare in the neighbouring thickets afterwards. At dinner Abdoolah informed me that the rascal of a kardar was intending all sorts of frauds and tricks in respect of the price of the rations and hire of horses, having told him that he had established a tariff differing much from that of Leh, and most exorbitant. As the principal town gives the standard, I told Abdoolah that I would take measures to bring the kardar to his senses, and directed the horses for selection and the officials to be in attendance to-morrow at my breakfast hour. I thought over my plans, and prepared my speeches, enriching my vocabulary from my Hindostani Hand-book. I went out with Subhan, and killed one hare, and wounded another, the only two we saw. On my return Mooktoo and Subhan attended, and informed me that the moonshi had confided to them, that the kardar had collected a wretched batch of incapable horses for me, and that there were some good serviceable animals to be had, if I insisted upon it. He could not speak out himself, he said, but urged them to advise me to assume a high hand, as these people will do nothing unless driven. 8th August. Taking my gun, Subhan, and Sara, I went to look at some hot springs of which Abdoolah had told me, he having visited them yesterday. They were about a mile off: our way lay through the thicket where I shot the hare yesterday. We found the springs gurgling up from under a limestone rock on the side of the mountain, and flowing copiously down into the valley, lining its channel at first with a white incrustation, then further on with a bright ochrous sediment. The difference of atmosphere was very perceptible on approach, a hot steam being generated around. The heat of the water, where bubbling out, was very great; one could not suffer one's hand in it a second. The water was limpid and tasteless; the earth for a considerable space around was coated with a white efflorescence, slightly saline; the grass seemed to thrive in the immediate vicinity. I fancy there was a good deal of soda in the subsidence of the evaporation, but am too ignorant to offer more than a conjecture thereon. The natives ascribe valuable medicinal properties to this water, and, for the purpose of utilising it, have put up a very rough little bathing shed close to the well. I shot a hare returning, my dog Sara behaving with the most surprising intelligence, considering that she has never been taught, nor has she ever seen game before. Her spaniel blood here shows itself, though sadly contaminated by mongrel admixture. On return I refreshed my mind for the assault of the kardar. Some time after breakfast I saw the horses being got together, my attendants present, so betook myself to the place, and out of some fifteen animals could only pass three, the others being miserable creatures, wretchedly thin, and with terribly galled backs. The kardar and retinue kept on the opposite side. Having commented on the miserable condition of these animals offered for my use, I let out at the unhappy kardar, alluding to my possessing the Maharajah's purwanah, and the express orders of Basti Ram enjoining on all officials the duty of supplying my wants, and specially, in this instance, good horses, which, I said, I knew were to be had. Then, assuming wrathful indignation, I observed that I had hitherto waited patiently, and submitted with the utmost moderation to the kardar's trickery and evasions, but that I must now adopt other measures, and I declared that if a sufficient number of serviceable horses were not speedily forthcoming, I would seize the kardar, and strap a load on his back, and compel him to come with me. This braggadocio style was the thing. Consternation fell upon kardar, his followers, and all the villagers standing looking on. I remained scowling at them in truly mock heroic style to allow of no hope of my relenting: then, seeing that orders were given, and messengers hurried off in all directions, I retired from the scene; and in the course of an hour or so a capital lot of serviceable-looking nags were paraded, on inspecting which I told the kardar that there was proof positive of the correctness of my information. He, in a deprecating tone, assured me that these were the property of merchants, and depasturing here. I must have them anyhow; and the custom of the country, and the purwanahs I bear, entitle me to them. And I cannot see any difference between a zemindar's and a sandagur's horse, only that the latter is the richer of the two, and can better remedy any inconvenience that he may be subjected to. But I have positive information that these horses have been detained by the government, until some transactions of a suspicious character, smuggling or fraudulent, on the part of the owners (brothers) have been cleared up, of which there seems no present prospect; so, meantime, they may as well serve my turn. I shall have in all nineteen or twenty horses and some twenty-four men in my expedition, for all of which, biped and quadruped, I must carry food, making this a rather expensive as well as arduous expedition. Tar-gness has now, in addition to his matchlock, added a large, rough, black-and-tan dog to his sporting equipment, which he avers to be no end of a shikarry, and especially good at shâpu and nâpu. I am glad to have him, if only as a watch at nights. I am now told that we must advance four days' journey beyond the Karakorum range for the yâk. I care not if to the gates of Yarkand, if I do but get my extension of leave. I should rather like the fun of a 'chappar' there; but my gunners are such horrid cowards. The additional rations and some tattoos were promised this evening; and Abdoolah reporting everything delivered, and the officials waiting for my receipt and their congèe, I accordingly summoned them to the presence, and the moonshi reading out all the articles supplied I put them down verbatim, and gave him the receipt, settlement to be made on my return; so I avoided all disputes as to price, and now relieved the kardar from the sense of my displeasure, and we parted apparently mutually gratified. 9th August. I roused my camp, and, after seeing preparations going on for packing and loading, set off as usual ahead. The route was similar to the former, but with more cultivation and grass meadows, and also large patches of thorn thickets, about which we saw many hares, two or three together. The last four miles to Chanloong were very barren and sandy. We crossed a large stream which Abdool said flowed from Sassar, a mountain we have to cross. We arrived at Chanloong at ten, the distance some twelve miles. There was only one hut that I could see, and an enclosure containing a number of willow trees, and some patches of grain. I was very glad to shelter myself from the sun and glare, the latter being excessive. My followers and luggage arrived all safe at 2 P.M. A tremendous dust-storm assailed us in the afternoon, rushing up the valley with prodigious violence, and filling the air with clouds of sand and dust, obscuring everything, and particularly disagreeable. It lulled about 5 P.M. Just as I had finished dinner, Buddoo informed me that Tar-gness was going to display his skill with his matchlock, firing at a mark; so I joined the group of spectators. He set to work in a very methodical manner, carefully loading the gun, and, having adjusted the match, he put another man in a befitting attitude to do duty as rest; then, placing the barrel on his shoulder, aimed and fired. The ball struck very low: the mark was a piece of paper on a stone, about eighty yards off. Poor Tar-gness was much chaffed by the shikarries and bystanders, and all his implements examined and criticised with much ridicule. He bore it all with the greatest good-humour, and proceeded to try his luck a second time. His rest was too lively, and could be got into position with difficulty. This time the ball struck only a foot below the mark. Tar-gness was encouraged to try again. He now put in more powder, loading more deliberately than ever, testing the amount of charge by the finger measurement on the ramrod. And now, his looks denoting determination and confidence, he posted his rest, aimed carefully, and fired--when down came the mark. "Sha-bash!" was the exclamation; and the triumphant marksman looked round with conscious skill upon his quizzing tormentors of whom Abdool had been prominent, taking a stick and imitating Tar-gness' motions to the great amusement of the lookers-on, his queer little wizened face being irresistibly comic. The sporting appointments were all home-made and very ingenious; the bullet-mould of a black soft stone in two pieces, fastened by wooden pegs; the bullet was an elongated sphere, crossed in its length and breadth by thin raised bands, the spaces they left containing an ornamental dot. This was Tar-gness' talisman--very curious. I passed a disturbed night, noises in every direction around me; men and horses passing to and fro all night; a dog barking in a desperate manner; and a shrill cock, mistaking the moonlight and the unusual movements for dawn, keeping up a horrid chanticleering. 10th August. I was glad of the first symptoms of dawn to rise and rouse the camp. We had a tough job before us as I knew; but I had not quite reckoned the full extent of it. The path now turned abruptly from Chanloong to the right, out of the valley, over the eastern range which, seen from our camp, did not look formidable, but was in fact the stiffest climb I have had. It occupied us three hours, of which I walked two, and then, seeing the summit still high above us, I mounted, which was a great relief to me and to Abdool who was pulling on my horse. The difference in the dispositions of the three shikarries was here noticeable in their treatment of their ponies. Subhan got off, and led his nearly half-way; the other two never once got off, but when compelled to adjust their saddle-gear, or something of that kind. An hour after we had started, the baggage animals were still to be seen down below stationary in the enclosure--provoking sight. The crest of the mountain was very grand; but the view from it, however magnificent in its scenery, was by no means inviting to travellers. We looked down a very steep descent of rugged and sandy slopes, into a valley of utter sterility up which we had to make our way. Nor did near approach improve it; for the heaps and masses of stones, through which we had to scramble and pick our way, were strewed with the skeletons of the unfortunate horses that had succumbed to the terrible difficulties of the road. Numbers of them lay bleaching on either hand; sometimes singly, and at others in dismal groups of four or five, making this unattractive valley horrid with their ugliness. We stopped on the bare stones to breakfast, there being nothing better in prospect, a stream dashing by to the river flowing down the valley; then, on through the same wilderness of stones. I cannot think how they came there in the positions and proportions they exhibit. It appears as though the sides of the mountains had been forced open, and torrents of rock and stone vomited violently out, and hurled into the valley; or that the mountain peaks had been riven and shattered by some tremendous shocks of earthquake, and toppling down had spread their fragments all around. We crossed the river by a bridge, and arrived at twelve o'clock at a shepherd's encampment, our halting place, close to a huge mass of ice and snow, filling the end of the valley, miles in length. Some rough loose stone enclosures constituted the abodes of men and cattle; of the former some half-dozen presented themselves and salaam'd. The whole place was redolent of the strong smell of goats. There appeared nothing whatever in the vicinity to eat. All was wild desolation. I took shelter under a huge stone, the shikarries putting up some wrappers on sticks to form a screen; and but for the essence of billy-goat, so pungent as to take one's breath away, I should have done well enough. Hours passed, and there were no signs of my traps. I became extremely anxious as the road was so bad, and at five o'clock went off to reconnoitre alone, and took post on an elevation from which, through my glass, I descried three horses on a green patch the other side the river, some three or four miles off, but far above the bridge. This I could not understand. After a time I saw three men, my servants, mount these horses, and deliberately ride up along the river the wrong side, on which the path was but a sheep track, and terminated in the river at a point where it would be hazardous to attempt to ford. A coolie appeared in sight on the right side, so I was comforted in the belief that it was only my three servants that had gone astray. I watched them anxiously. They rode down to the river, and there stopped a long time; then into it, but kept in to their own bank. I became quite nervous for them--quite painfully alarmed lest the poor fellows should try to remedy their mistake by risking the passage. They were far beyond sound or sign from me; so I made my way back to camp, and sent off two Bhooties to render assistance. I found the shepherds milking their goats, and suddenly bethought me of a syllabub which, as I was hungry and should not in all probability get my dinner for hours, would be a pleasant refreshment; so with a modicum of brandy from the flask and a spoonful of sugar I concocted a pleasant cheering beverage, vulgarly called 'doctor'--from its medicinal properties, no doubt. I felt much comforted thereby; and when the coolies arrived and told us that the servants had turned back to cross the bridge, and that the animals and baggage had met with no mishap, but were coming on, I felt I could wait most contentedly their arrival. We lighted fires both as beacons and for warmth, and also to be ready for cooking. It was now bitterly cold, and black dark. The coolies came straggling in; then Abdoolah and Buddoo who reported that Ali Bucks had got a fall and a ducking, but no harm done. At last all the baggage came in, at 8.30, and I had a stew warmed up and dined. I ordered every horse two seers of corn, and went after dinner to see if it had been given. The grain had been issued, but most of the rascally drivers had gone off to the Bhoot huts, and left their disconsolate horses famishing. I kicked up a great row, and Abdoolah and others rushed about frantically, lugging, hauling, and abusing, until I saw each 'quad' munching his feed. Poor things! they have hard times of it. These Bhooties have a most absurd idea which Abdool revealed, he firmly believing in it, that in this country the horses should never be allowed grass until sunset, or they swell up and die. He would have starved my horse on this principle, but that I overruled his stupid attempt; and the poor baggage cattle would have got nothing till morning, after their great fatigues and long fast---another idea--had I not interfered. 11th August. At the first inkling of dawn I halloo'd loudly for Buddoo: they were all fast asleep, and, after I was ready to start, Abdoolah and others were still ensconced in their blankets. It was a cold raw morning, which made me anxious to be moving. The horses were all astray, except mine, no one having had the sense to send for them. Mooktoo came to me with a whine, saying that his horse had not eaten half his corn: I took the opportunity of rebuking him for his selfish want of consideration to the poor beast yesterday, attributing its being amiss thereto. I left the shikarries to await their horses, and went on with Abdool. It was bitter cold, and I walked long ere the circulation was in full play, and longed for the sun's now genial beams. The path was a great improvement on yesterday's, and there was a good deal of grass scattered about. The route lay due east. Ascending a stiff rocky hill, an opening in the mountain peaks appeared, which I found to be the pass of Sassar. I had decided last night to halt at the bottom of the pass, by the advice of Abdool, and there to pass Sunday, enabling the poor cattle to rest and pick up a bellyfull of grass which Abdool stated to be plentiful there; but if it turned out that there was no grass, we should cross the pass on Sunday morning to the next halt, where grass was abundant, and wood also. We are carrying wood with us at present. The valley, as we approached the pass, was blocked up by masses of stones, in the midst of which were occasional pools of water. Clambering over these rough heaps, we came in sight of the grand obstruction to our progress, in an enormous glacier which completely choked up the valley. Masses of snow lay in all directions, and several pools of clear water; around which, and elsewhere, I was glad to see a sufficiency of grass for the horses. I selected a spot for the camp, and then the shikarries came up, and I found that Phuttoo and Mooktoo had changed their horses, having knocked theirs up yesterday. I gave them a bit of my mind, and forbade such tricks in future. The wind was very cold, blowing off the masses of snow, but the sun excessively hot--a most unpleasant contrast. This being a short march of about eight miles, all the baggage came up in good time. Abdool had tied up the shikarries' tats, and remonstrated at my orders to loose them: the silly fellow would have kept all the animals fasting during the day. No wonder so many perish under such cruel privations. Subhan is unwell, complaining of headache--the effects of the sun and wind, no doubt. I had the foot of my shuldary closed in with turf-clods to exclude the biting blast, and prepared plenty of clothes to weather out the night. 12th August. Sunday. I had a very uneasy night of it, suffering from indigestion, although I dined at five--hare stew too rich, perhaps--but the principal disturbing cause was the difficulty of respiration, owing to the extreme rarification of the air at this great height, many thousands of feet. I waited in painful disquiet till the sun rose; then turned out, the thermometer in my tent 33°. From the past night's experience I was doubtful of my health, but after a wash and a cup of tea found myself all right. Abdoolah told me they had all suffered from shortness of breath as I had done; so, quite reassured, I went forth to stroll. We are in a basin formed by rugged mountains whose many gorges are filled with immense masses of snow, in ridge and furrow, having the appearance of mighty rivers suddenly congealed in all the irregularity of their downward rush. In this basin are many stony hillocks; at their bases clear pools. I wished to see how the poor horses fared, and was much pleased to see them apparently enjoying their repose and pasturage, many lying down, their stomachs proving by their rotundity that they had made good use of their time. I sat down and watched them, and was forcibly struck by the wisdom and mercy of the Sabbath ordinance. Poor wearied beasts! your aching limbs and galled smarting backs would now be causing you renewed tortures, but for that merciful decree of the Divine Will. I enjoyed a grateful, peaceful sensation at my heart in this recognition of the Almighty Creator's loving-kindness. I came back to camp and enquired after Subhan, who emerged from the shuldary, and reported himself somewhat better, but that Phuttoo and Mooktoo were ill; the latter's whining voice was heard in corroboration, complaining of the cold. These men are in every respect as comfortable as my domestics, and have the advantage of being inured to the rigours of a cold climate; whereas the others are denizens of the sultry plains of the Punjab, and yet they do not complain; though shivering, they are content and cheery, and, I believe, quite despise these unmanly hunters. I continued my stroll up the valley, and ascended a high hillock near the glacier which presents a truly formidable aspect, its congealed masses being broken into a multitude of conical peaks which look as though they bid defiance to any attempt to scale them. Viewed from this eminence, the icy scene around was grand in the extreme. I overlooked the upper gorges of the highest mountains, all of which appeared to converge towards a centre, their immense contents of snow and ice radiating, as it were, and uniting, the distance blending them and mysteriously concealing the vast and irregular spaces that really separated them. The sun was warm and genial, the air sharp and fresh, under which influences I felt simple existence delightful, and rejoiced devoutly in being the creature of the Beneficent Creator of these mighty works. In the afternoon I walked to the foot of the glacier to examine the path, and went over a considerable tract of snow, but could not discover the track up the glacier, which must be very steep and difficult. On my return the unhappy shikarries, who had remained all day rolled up in their blankets, crawled to my tent and expressed their shame at being 'hors-de-combat' without any apparent reason. They all complained of severe headache, which I attribute to rheumatic pains contracted from exposure to the bitter cold blasts here blowing. The stupid fellows have left their tent-poles too high; so that the foot of their shuldary allows a space of two feet open for the draft to rush through, and as they sleep on the ground the effect must be striking. I had advised them on this point, but Asiatic-like they would adopt no precaution. I again pointed out to them this objectionable gap, and cheered them up--the miserable beings!--telling them they would be all right to-morrow, as we expected to meet game. I got them out of the dumps, and gave them some sugar for their tea, and they retired, and immediately docked their poles. It was intensely cold, so I retreated early to the shelter of my canvas. 13th August. I got comfortably through the night under piles of clothes, and roused up at dawn, the thermometer in my tent at freezing point. The shikarries had allowed their tats, after being driven in, to run off again, so I started with Abdool. We got well across the snow to the foot of the glacier, where we found no regular path, but had to scramble up a mass of stones and débris on one side of the ice, almost perpendicular. I feared for the baggage animals. The road was execrable; nothing but rugged masses of loose sharp-pointed stones. Of course, riding was out of the question. One side of the pass--the northern--was free from snow, but piled on high with these masses of stone: the south side was filled with snow to the consistency of ice a foot or so from the surface. I should calculate its extent to have been some four or five miles, with an occasional break where was a basin and a pool of green water. The route was most uneven, presenting a succession of ups and downs all but impracticable from the stones. This gorge was strewed with the skeletons of horses, of which we must have passed a hundred or more. When I thought that we must have got over the worst, I found the whole pass blocked up with a distinct glacier over which we had to climb. But it was less difficult than it looked, the surface being rough, and crumbling under the tread. There was about a mile of this; and then a gradual descent to masses of stones similar to those already passed, through which we scrambled and stumbled until well down the pass, where the path appeared again, and I mounted. As we rode down towards the camp, Tar-gness' dog, which was a little ahead of us with Kamal who carried my breakfast, pursued a large flock of shâpu, scattering them here and there: a large body of them, however, stopped and recommenced feeding high up above us. This looked promising for sport. I alighted at half-past nine, after five hours' hard work. We found some stone screens, and, piled up by one, a number of bags of 'charras,' there deposited by some merchant whose horses had died. I am told that an immense quantity of valuable merchandise is thus lying about on the Karakorum mountains, awaiting the owners' leisure for removal. They say it is never robbed, which says much for the honesty of the natives who pass to and fro; though I suppose the fact is that none but merchants _do_ travel this road, and they naturally respect each other's rights, and compassionate their misfortunes. The scenery was very grand. Immediately in front rose two enormous mountains looking black like coal, composed of a slate-like stone; and beyond them was a broken range of light sand-coloured mountains, seen through the gorge dividing the former, where I believe our path runs. Right and left of us lies a valley of the usual sterile appearance, huge snow-capped mountains shutting it in. It lies, I think, north and south. A kafila was announced; and in time there arrived a merchant from Buduckshan. He had about twenty-five laden horses--small, well-formed, compact animals. He pitched his tent, a gay, green, flimsy thing; but, after some conversation with the shikarries, he struck it, and pursued his way. And a horrible rough one he will find it, poor man! He has never travelled this road before. I fear he must lose some of those nice horses, although they are in marvellous good condition. He halted ten days to refresh them at a place called Sugheit, where is abundance of grass, and for which I am now making. My servants and horses arrived all safe, after much difficulty and one or two falls. I went with Subhan to look for game, and after a length of time we found, in a deep nullah. I stalked carefully up the stony hill, and was but just in time, as the herd of nâpu were on the alert, and fled as I arrived. But I struck true, and saw one lag behind as they darted down the steep. Blood shewed on the side, and it just crossed the ravine, and dropped. I fired into the lot going up the opposite side, and dropped another. We made our way to the prey, two female nâpu, on which Subhan performed the 'hallal' duly; then, placing a conspicuous mark by the carcases, we returned to camp, where our success was a subject of much rejoicing, and sent for the meat. Two merchants journeying to Yarkand had followed me closely, and joined my camp. They came to see me while at dinner, and on my jokingly proposing to accompany them into Yarkand they assured me I might do it with perfect safety; they would answer for it with their lives. I talked with them for some time, and felt quite elated at the idea of visiting that famed city, hitherto hermetically closed to Europeans. I was quite resolved to attempt the adventure, and what with the day's sport, this exciting object, and a glass of sherry, I turned in quite jolly. When the two animals were brought in, the coolies petitioned for a halt to mend their shoes, and Tar-gness, who had been out on the other side after shikar, coming back with the news that he had seen some fine large-horned nâpu, I consented to a day's halt, and ordered an early start to hunt. 14th August. A bitter cold morning: and there was a stream to cross, the stones of which were coated with ice, so that Subhan, the plucky Subhan, who volunteered to carry me across, fell just on reaching the other side. We had most difficult climbing up stony steeps: found a herd of nâpu, male and female, but tried in vain to approach them, as they first got our wind, and then sighted us; so we descended again to breakfast near a rivulet. From this spot we descried the herd crossing a ridge on the mountain, and the males, some ten, remained behind and lay down. I gazed at them through the glass, and admired their massive horns. After a time we determined to try and circumvent them, and pursued our way along the stony slope of the mountain, low down. But these 'cute creatures spied us, and, I believe, detected our plot, which was to station ourselves in a ravine crossing their probable line of retreat, when roused by Tar-gness who was to approach them by a long detour down wind. I noticed that the suspicious animals had already faced about in the direction of the new danger. I had hardly any hopes of success, and told Subhan that I feared Tar-gness would never go back far enough to drive them in our direction: but the attempt must be made, and a terrible struggle we had up a ravine, the surface of which was one mass of loose sharp stones, causing one to slip back every step. After many a pause to take breath we reached the requisite height, and I posted the shikarries--Subhan and the guns with me commanding the passes, Phuttoo and Mooktoo guarding the two ends. A bitter keen wind nearly blew Subhan and me off our perch, to which we had climbed with difficulty. Here we waited perhaps two hours, and then, neither hearing nor seeing anything, descended; which was not effected without danger. Indeed, I was nearly coming to grief getting up, as Subhan ahead of me detached a large stone which, by a convulsive effort, I avoided: had it struck me, it must have hurled me down below, when nothing less than a broken limb would have resulted. We made our way down the stony ravine, Subhan and Mooktoo having their sandals cut off their feet, and completing the day barefooted. We went back by the river bank, the sand of which better suited the shoeless pair, and on the way fell in with some ten pair of nâpu horns, some very fine ones, the animals supposed to have perished in the snows. It was a bitter cold night, snow and sleet driven by a furious blast sweeping over the encampment. The poor coolies, how I pitied them! It was lucky they had a good feast of flesh to keep them in heart. 15th August. To Moorgaby: a march of some twelve miles, rendered very uncomfortable by having to cross the river which came up to my knees on my horse, and was very rapid, nearly carrying the horse off his legs. The shikarries' tattoos, with supporters, got through with difficulty. The water was as cold as ice, and my extremities being saturated I dismounted, and tried in vain to recover a pleasant warmth; so sat down and wrung the water from my socks, and then got on better; but had soon to remount as the path lay between the two huge black mountains, up a narrow, savage gorge down which flowed a torrent. This we had to cross continually. And as, each time, my wetting was renewed by the splashing of my high-stepping nag, and it was freezing, I endured agonies of cold, which quite blinded me to the magnificence of the savage grandeur of the scenery. After two hours of this misery we turned abruptly from the ravine, and ascended by a gulley to the hill-side, and, surmounting a stiffish ascent, found a fine open valley before us. I now thoroughly restored the circulation, and strode on vigorously. A caravan came in sight; on arriving at which, composed of about twenty horses, we pulled up, and I chatted some time with the proprietor, and tried to deal for a horse. But the price did not suit. Some fifty more laden horses came up; and I tried to bargain for some Thibet boots for my followers. The first merchant was reasonable, but had no stock for sale; the others were exorbitant, and the business concluded by the former, after much altercation with his partners (I presume), presenting me with two pair, saying he had received more kindness from the 'saheb-logue' than he could ever repay. He is an Affghan. The merchants accompanying my party are from Cabul, and also profess the utmost regard and respect for the English. This liberal fellow gave us most encouraging accounts of the abundance of game at Sugheit, and at another place nearer, where he himself had killed a fine antelope which intruded amongst and frightened his horses. There were numbers of kyang there. This place is three or four stages off. My new acquaintance is going to Lahore, where he promises to pay his respects to me, should he have left Ladâk before my return. We continued our march, much exhilarated by the reports of shikar; and after some three or four miles of level ground, the valley narrowing to a mere ravine, we halted in a sort of swamp affording a good bite of grass. We found five or six pair of nâpu horns, but could perceive no recent traces of those animals. The baggage arrived in good time, except the sheep and goats which had to be carried across stream, a work of much time and trouble. When they did arrive at night, one of the poor goats appeared with a horn broken, and evidently suffering much. The evening set in very cold. A storm driven by a furious blast roared down the valley; but shortly expending itself, the swift-passing clouds made way for the welcome sun whose departing beams were most cheering. After dinner, which I eat shivering with cold, and at which, by-the-bye, figured a dish of rhubarb I had gathered on the hill-side, of which there is abundance, I went to warm myself at the small fires of my followers, where they were preparing their frugal fare; that of the Bhooties consisting of simple hot water and bread. A large copper vessel was on the fire round which they sat, and one ladled out this mild liquor into the cups of the squatting group. These cups are remarkable, being carved from a very handsome brown striped satin-wood. They come from our hill-states. Each Bhoot carries one which constitutes his entire stock of _crockery_. From this party I turned to my kitchen fire, where cakes were in course of preparation. I got a plate of tea, and returned to the Bhoot party, and, to their infinite delight, produced the tea which, however, they intercepted as I was pouring it into the vessel, reserving half for a future meal. They greeted me with many 'johoos,' and eyes glistening with pleasure. Poor creatures! a little kindness is excessively appreciated by them. Now took place a very curious and important operation--the brewing the real tea--not the 'make-believe,' as the Marchioness styled the choice liquors she concocted for Dick Swiveller. The tea being immersed, a ladle of ghee is put in, and four or five table-spoons of salt added: then much stirring and mixing takes place, a curious implement being used to froth the beverage, like what in the navy in my younger days--perhaps, the very name now forgotten--was called a 'swizzle-stick' which, by rapid revolution between the hands, aerated the grog in the tumbler, giving it a pleasant sparkling appearance and freshness of flavour. Many a time I applied it in my first voyage from England to Hobart Town, viâ Canada, instructed by the veteran purser, Tucker; and a by no means contemptible beverage it made in tropical latitudes at eight bells. Well, the tea well mixed, and frothed, and repeatedly tasted, was ladled out to the anxious party, and much relished; of whom some, opening their flour-sacks alongside of them, concluded their meal by mixing up as much flour as would soak up the tea, and form a paste which was kneaded with the fingers, and then devoured with much relish. This is the ordinary mode of tea-drinking among this people; but when a tea-fight is given, the compos is, of course, entirely prepared in the one vessel, and served out, of the consistency of strong gruel. 16th August. To Bursey: a long fatiguing march of about fifteen miles. Our route now lay north, and led up the sandy bed of a much-divided river. We ascended and descended two formidable heights, bulging out from the mountains, which was very laborious work, the path being deep in grit. About twelve o'clock, from the wide sandy channel we were moving up some animals were discovered, which on examination turned out to be shâpu. They looked as large as bara sing. I dismounted, and, leaving the horses with the trusty Abdool, went in pursuit with every prospect of success. We followed a nullah, screening us and leading to the rear of the position; from this we cautiously emerged, but our advanced scout, Subhan, in vain strained his eyes for a sight of our game. We moved from place to place, and at last were compelled to accept the unwelcome conviction that the quadrupeds had instinctively outwitted the reasoning bipeds, and defeated their well-contrived plot. And, indeed, we soon saw them far in the distance; so we made straight for our horses, and resumed our weary way up the sandy plain--excessively wearisome--every hundred yards crossing the stream, or one of its innumerable offsets. My endurance was greatly taxed by holding in front the fidgetty Sara whose feet, poor little fellow! were very sore from the stones. We passed one or two places which we thought would prove the halt, but the inexorable Abdool, his thin wiry limbs apparently unsusceptible of fatigue, pointing ahead, still strode on, helping himself over the streams with a staff, and grinning and muttering something unintelligible when addressed, like a menagerie baboon. At length, we did halt on a bare expanse of shingle under a rock, without a vestige of vegetation--a bad look-out for the cattle. It was now about 3.30 P.M. The equestrian party arrived about five; but the coolies, carrying the kheltas and provisions, were far in the rear, nor did they come in till eight or nine. Luckily I had some remnants of cold meat from my breakfast, on which, with some fresh chupatties and tea, I dined as well as though I had been at mess. I attended the Bhoot tea-party again, and watched their operations, warming myself by their fire. I also had another confab with the merchants about Yarkand, and the feasibility of an invasion on my part: they are not so encouraging as they were. I saw each horse provided with two seers of grain (wheat), and turned in. An exceedingly sharp frost. 17th August. To Pulu: a long march of, I should think, little under eighteen miles. There was a great improvement in the road, the first part of which led up the wide sandy channel as yesterday: the running waters were covered with ice, and the air was bitterly cold. The many streams necessitated riding, the consequence being extreme suffering from cold in hands and feet. After four or five miles, a tract less intersected by streams allowed me to dismount, when I led off at a sharp trot, but had hardly sped sixty paces, when I was summarily checked by suffocation, my lungs heaving up and down violently, craving for inflation, but deriving no relief from the thin atmosphere. I fell leaning upon a large stone luckily at hand, and then underwent something very like death. I asked myself, 'Is this death seizing me?' The paroxysm did not--nor could it--last more than a few seconds, when with many long-continued gasps I gradually felt my lungs in play again, and will take good care not to put them out of gear again in a hurry. We threaded some wild narrow ravines, only allowing the torrent which cleft them passage; then we emerged into sunshine, a valley opening out, and hills and peaks stooping down, until we found ourselves ascending a smooth gradual elevation, from the top of which, rolling away from our feet, was an immense, wavy, undulating table-land, stretching away on all sides, bounded in the distance by much-broken ranges of snow-clad mountains, but presenting no remarkable features. This elevated plain being some 17,000 feet above the sea, its excrescences did not, I imagine, protrude more than 1000 or 2000 feet out of its surface. The utmost sterility imaginable held desolate sway around. But the vast expanse spread out, after our long intercepted vision, and the beautiful tints and varied forms of the distant mountains, composed a magnificent landscape. Abdool, recognising some familiar features, broke out into exclamations, hailing the objects interesting him, and turning round to us with a glowing face--if such an expression can be applied to such a mummy-like phiz--to notice the impression made upon us. There is some enthusiasm in that scarecrow, I do believe. The track through this desert was lined by the bleached bones of horses, strongly recalling the old route from Suez to Cairo, and, here and there, large fragments of a skeleton form--portions of the vertebræ, for instance--were propped up by stones to serve as landmarks to the traveller. On mounting the crest of a rise, I noticed an object in the path below, which looked like a huge animal, by the side of the remains of a horse. It proved to be an enormous hyena: from its size and appearance, I should think a rare species. After a short scrutiny it leisurely cantered away, giving many a backward glance at the unwelcome disturbers of its morning meal. From many tracks of these animals on the path, I suppose them to be numerous here, following the caravans, and revelling on the carcases of horses, victims to the privations of the journey. This unclean beast was a fitting object to complete the dismal 'ensemble' of this dreary waste. Looming in the distance fronting us now appeared an approaching caravan, undergoing those strange transitions of appearance, those transformations under the mysterious effects of mirage, so common in the atmosphere of the desert--now swelling out laterally, then diminishing and towering aloft to most unnatural proportions, all the time swayed and agitated by glimmering waves of chiaraoscura, defying the eye in its attempt to define the forms immersed in this ever-oscillating, quivering, atmospheric flood. Startled by this alarming vision, a dozen or so of antelopes came trooping down, giving our party a wide berth. And having now been some four hours on foot, and there being appearance of water at hand, we determined to halt and make an attempt on the antelope, pending the arrival of the far-behind Kamal with the breakfast. The leaders of the caravan came up, with some thirty horses, and we exchanged courteous greetings, and received confirmatory intelligence of the merits of Sugheit, both as a place of refreshment and shikar. One of the sandagurs carried in front of him a large bundle of clothing containing a child--a boy, I imagine--looking, poor little chap! pale and sick with cold. It was an uninteresting, mealy-faced child, with a very marked obliquity of vision, but I felt much compassion for him; he wore such a look of patient suffering. They vanished in space: and we, leaving Abdool in charge of the horses--what a desolate, forlorn creature he looked thus forsaken!--set off on our excursion. And far we wandered, but only on our return saw animals far in the distance--perhaps of the herd before seen, or may be others--when we turned our steps towards our living mark just visible, an undefined, quivering heap. The remainder of the caravan hove in sight, a seemingly long string of horses, also exaggerated and palsied by the flickering medium through which we looked on them. I sent off Subhan to bring Abdool and Co. to a point we would make for, intersecting the road, and so saving us a long round: we then continued our route towards the mountains, and on arriving at their lower spurs connecting them with this table-land we descended to an extensive valley, watered by a rapid and a wide, but shallow, river. Some patches of grass were visible, on which were some animals grazing here and there. The ground was too level and void of covert to admit of much hope of stalking them; but I made the attempt with Subhan, and in spite of every precaution of tactics experience lent us--crawling a long distance on all fours, much to our personal inconvenience--the wary creatures (antelope) kept out of reach of harm, contenting themselves with keeping us at arm's length, as it were. Thus baffled, we rejoined our party, and pursued our journey, I resolving after these repeated discomfitures not to attempt again to approach these knowing inhabitants of the desert, they being as wild as though they had been hunted every day the last six months. A gradual ascent crossing two shallow rivers brought us to Pulu, where on a bare plain, under a spur projecting into it, and under its angle abutting on the bed of a stream, are three rude huts; all around which are closely strewed the bones of horses, of which I counted fifty from one spot. A whole caravan must have perished here in the snow, I should think. The baggage (equestrian) arrived about five, but there was no hope of the coolies for hours. Abdoolah, however, had provided against such a contingency, having with him a reserved portion of the game killed the other day, and the canteen for cooking; so I fared excellently well, the chops being exceedingly good and tender. I ordered each horse two seers of grain, and one in the morning, this being the second day without a bit of grass. The cold was excessive; the huts a great comfort to my retinue. We cross the mighty Karakorum range to-morrow--a great event. The ascent is said to be easy, and the road good. Indeed, I believe the great difficulties in our journey to have been surmounted at Bursey. But the want of grass and fuel still attends us. The night was horridly cold, the difficulty of breathing great. I heaped all the clothes on I possessed; but the keen frosty wind would not be denied, and found entrance through the chinks of my armour. CHAPTER XII. SUGHEIT. 18th August. The passage of the Karakorum mountains effected--and no great feat either, as the heavier work had been already accomplished 'en route.' On turning out of my tent this morning, everything congealable was frozen. I was informed that a horse was down very ill, and went to see him; and there the poor creature lay in agony, a nice creature in good condition, which I had noticed as one of my best. There he lay struggling, the steam of the death-sweat exhaling on the cold frosty air: his nostrils were full of blood. Alas! I could do nothing for him. And even while I turned to move away, death seized him, his teeth set, an universal shudder convulsed him, his legs were stretched out stark and stiff, and with a hollow groan he expired. Poor creature! it was a distressing sight. I attribute his death to inflammation from the severe cold. This is the second casualty, as I had to consent to the maimed goat being put out of its misery at Bursey: its moans were shocking. The coolies made a good meal of the poor thing. And so I added my contribution to the piles of bones at this melancholy spot. Some six miles of tolerable travelling, mostly along the watercourse, brought us to the foot of the Karakorum, up which a portion of the winding path was seen, nothing formidable about it. I breakfasted, and then rode up the mountain, pausing every twenty paces or so to breathe the nags. Here we passed our mercantile companions who had given us the go-by, when at breakfast. A zyarat--a pile of stones with some rags on sticks--was on the top of the pass. I thought it was Buddhist, and rebuked Abdool for doing reverence to it, but was informed that it was a Mahomedan pir. We descended into a level valley, watered by a stream which Abdool states to be the source of the Yarkand river. Bones and carcases of horses lay in all directions, the loads of many left beside their bearer's remains. Huge bloated ravens flapped and croaked around. Footprints of the hyena, too, were seen, which foul ugly beast had skulked from the glare of day to some lone den in the rocks around. I rode slowly on ahead of my party, pondering on subjects suggested by the savage wildness of the scene, when I was quite startled by the rushing sound of two monstrous ravens which, quarrelling for a morsel of carrion, swooped down close by my head. I thought how, in darker ages, this would have been regarded as an augury for good or evil. We descended gradually, following the watercourse, the valley widening to some two or three miles extent; at a bend in which, taking us to the eastward, our course having been hitherto north, we saw some of the wild horse (kyang)--two or three in the valley, others on the hill-side, and some up a creek down which came a tributary stream. Exciting as this sight was, nothing could be done. To attempt to stalk such wild, sagacious creatures, with every natural condition in their favour, was hopeless; so gazing in despair I rode on, and saw two large antelopes equally unassailable. The valley narrowed to a gorge; then opened out on to an extensive plain of shingle, miles broad and more in length, intersected in all directions by streams which, if united, must form a large river. We crossed over this plain to a grassy bank, lying between it and the sandy hills which represent, as it were, the projected roots of the mountains, stretching out far and irregularly from the main body. The country is now evidently opening out, showing wide expanses between the mountains, and giving hopes of better lands to be soon reached. Another caravan passed on its upward course, but some way from us. We saw some startled antelope hastening from them, and went after them; but after having toiled long, performing a circuitous course to reach them, we viewed them where, from the direction of the wind and absence of all covert could not approach. I sent Phuttoo to try to drive them to us, but he failed entirely. We wandered about this shingly plain, viewing other antelope equally unapproachable; then returned to camp ground. None of my people had arrived. Nor did they till 5 P.M.; when I learned that another horse had knocked up, and was apparently in a hopeless state, but the blood being extracted from its nostrils, and its burden removed, it recovered and was being led on. After night had closed in, I was sitting anxiously awaiting the arrival of the coolies still behind, when I heard sounds of human voices in distress, faint and distant. There were answering calls from camp. This continued a long time. I then enquired if any one had been despatched to direct the wanderers to our haven, and was told one had; but think not till I spoke. A long time elapsed; and then the voices drew nearer, and at nine o'clock all had come in safe, to my great relief. They had naturally followed on the main track, from which we had turned off to camp, and so they had strayed some miles beyond us. I had given orders for an entertainment to be prepared for all hands to-morrow, including our mercantile friends, to commemorate the passage of the Karakorum, as also to freshen up my exhausted coolies, who have had four consecutive hard days' work. The whole party look worn and haggard. Much pleasure was evinced at the prospect of the morrow's rest and refreshment. I got out additional clothes to sleep in, and, having carefully scraped up the dirt and stones against my tent-foot to exclude the piercing wind, hope to make out the night comfortably. 19th August. Sunday. I enjoyed a tolerable night's repose, thanks to the precautions taken to render my shuldary proof against the icy blasts coming down from the snowy summits around. I strolled out, and selected as favourable a site as this wild offered, where to sit and ruminate. My reflections were not altogether satisfactory, not unmixed with growing apprehensions of disaster, from loss of cattle extending to loss of men. I have reduced the coolies' loads to a mere trifle; still they get on with difficulty. It is not the burden, but the difficulty of respiration, that oppresses them. Another goat was obliged to be killed on the road yesterday. The want of natural nourishment is terrible: and the fact of this region not producing sufficient herbage to support a goat may well define its inhospitable sterility. The few wild animals existing must pick up a precarious and meagre sustenance in and about the watercourses, where alone a vegetation, coarse and scanty, may be found. The horse that knocked up yesterday was led in at night, and having fed we hope to save him. From these gloomy forebodings I turned me to the more cheerful subject of to-day's festivity, and descended to carry out with Abdoolah the designs already chalked out. I desired that all the mussulmans should eat together, merchants, shikarries, domestics, and Bhooties--the Hindoos separately--and the Buddhist Bhooties. About 12 P.M., Abdoolah reported that the banquet was spread, and going out I found the party busily employed on an ample provision of well-cooked pillau, helped into its resting-place by tea and coffee. All seemed much pleased and thankful. In the evening a large caravan of some eighty horses came in. The principal man was a Cashmiri of Kishtewar, and being slightly acquainted with one of his countrymen, the shikarries, he was most accessible to all our queries, and most voluble in his replies. He had not come by the Sugheit road; had seen numbers of antelope to-day. He entered into a long history of the murder of the brother Schlagentweit, which agrees in the main with that already known, but with the important difference that the bulk of the victim's property, including his papers, was with him when Walli Khan so brutally murdered him, and is still in that ruffian's possession. A few things were previously 'looted' on the road, which were following in the rear of the ill-fated traveller. I enquired as to the probability of obtaining the effects, at least the papers of the unfortunate naturalist, and was told that certainly, if I wrote authoritatively to the khaltai newab, or hakim, who rules Yarkand, he would cause their restoration; though it must be a work of time, as all sorts of evasions and falsehoods would be put in practice to mislead me, and induce the belief that the effects were beyond recovery. Here is a matter for serious consideration. A great advantage to the public may be obtained by my instrumentality, but can I, a servant of the government, take upon myself the responsibility, wholly unauthorised, of using my influence as belonging to the government, in a direction altogether beyond my office and functions? 20th August. To Waad Jilgo: a pleasant march of some ten or eleven miles, in my case agreeably diversified by good sport with antelope. Our route lay down the extensive plain of shingle, the streams of which were thickly coated with ice which jingled merrily under our trampling feet. A smart pace was necessary to keep up the circulation, so I strode on ahead of Abdool. The shikarries were detained, waiting till their tats had finished their seer of corn. The poor animal that knocked up on Saturday disappointed our hopes and expectations, after all his improving symptoms dying in the course of the night. He was one of the strongest of the lot, and in fair condition. Many antelope were seen on either hand; but the ground presented no facilities for stalking, so I did not check my course for them. After about five miles' tramp, the shikarries came up. We now left the shingly watercourse, ascending on to some uplands yielding, here and there, a light sprinkling of grass, the blades few and far between, but just tinting the spot where they grew. A fine buck antelope suddenly stepped into view, as he surmounted a rise; gazed at us a second or two, and leisurely took himself off. This was tantalising. I dismounted, and with Subhan sought to circumvent him; but he had put many a hundred yards between us. We again descended to a bed of shingle of wide-stretching dimensions, on which moving objects were indistinctly seen in the uncertain hazy light, at first thought to be kyang, then decided to be antelope. Two peculiar features were now observable in our direct route, lying close together, apparently rocks which would be islets when the floods were out. For these we steered, determining there to breakfast. As we alighted, a buck antelope sped along far on the other side, coming down a shelving bank on to the shingle, as though he were about to cross it. He was far away; but Phuttoo handed me the Whitworth. I said, "Well, we have lots of bullets and lead; how far off is he?" They said, "three hundred yards;" so, putting the sight to three hundred, I rested the rifle against a rock, and aimed high and forward. The ball was seen ricochetting far beyond the buck, which had started, and then stood, head drooping. "Mara, mara," exclaimed the shikarries in great excitement. And so it appeared. The animal did not move: so, making arrangements, I advanced on him, and, as I neared him, he lay down--evidence enough of his being mortally wounded. Gaining his rear, I finished him; and a fine, handsome animal he proved, in prime condition, a different species from the black buck, the antelope of the plains; being of a rufous colour, with a thick felt of fur, the winter coat, and fine tapering horns with sharp points bending forwards, with regularly placed transverse bars from the base to six inches from the tip in front, smoothing off to the rear: there was a curious puffy lump at the nostrils. Continuing our way, I observed something shewing above the level of the gravelly plain, so checked my horse, and called the attention of the shikarries, and asked if it were not the horns of an antelope. They said, it was a stick. But, while thus conjecturing in an under tone, the single object doubled, and proclaimed its character beyond any further doubt. I dismounted, and prepared for action. The buck, benefiting by our audible doubts, aware of danger, sprang up, and moved away, but not rapidly; so, using Subhan's shoulder as a rest, I levelled Whitworth, and with similar effect to the former shot, the missile being seen skipping far away, and the animal stopping with drooping head. He soon lay down, and on our approach rose and made off at a laboured trot; when an Enfield bullet, striking him in the rear, and traversing his body, stretched him lifeless. We had ridden on some eight hundred yards, when another buck suddenly rose, and stood bewildered, beholding us. Phuttoo fumbled so long with the Whitworth ere handing it to me, that the buck had turned, and was going off at a brisk pace, when I aimed and fired. "Mara, mara," was again the exclamation. We thought he was another victim. But it was only to this extent; his left horn was struck off close to his head, to the intense discomfiture of the poor beast, which threw itself into all sorts of contortions as it dashed away. We left the carcases in Kamal's custody to be cleaned and brought to camp; where we shortly pulled up in a bight of an indent, down which trickled a thread of clear water which produced a patch of unhealthy-looking turf, and some scattered blades of grass in the vicinity. Subhan and I started after an antelope we had seen near by. He had vanished. We saw others--but does, too wary to get near. We wandered up and down; found tracks of kyang, and made for a gorge, where they might harbour. There we spied a buck; and, as he appeared to have spied us, retreated, and, creeping up the dry watercourse, surprised him feeding on the bank, and rolled him over. Now we turned towards camp; on reaching which I was informed that another horse had knocked up, and been left on the road. It was a poor, lanky, diseased animal, but had stood out well hitherto, although I had, from the first, predicted its giving in. I sent two men to try and lead it in; but they could not succeed, so I fear, though there is both grass and water close to it, the poor creature is doomed. Just before dinner I climbed a hill overhanging the bivouac, on which I found the head and horns of a yâk, a truly massive head. This had probably been killed by a shikarry, there being no other bones near. From this eminence I noticed antelope in to-morrow's line of march, and anticipate sport. There is now great frizzling and kabobbing of flesh. 21st August. I did not turn out very early, but, when I did, found that the horses had not yet been driven in, the Bhooties continuing their cooking. I took the Whitworth from Phuttoo, and, followed by Abdool and nag, started off. We saw antelope on every side in numbers, but could not get within five hundred yards, so wild were they. There were fine grassy uplands for this barren country, _i.e._, sandy downs bearing a greenish hue, caused by a blade of grass every square yard or so. But it was extremely agreeable to see even this scanty herbage--a wonderful relief to the aching eye. We could not get near the antelope; so, after footing it some five miles, I took the path, as usual, in a wide river-bed, and mounted. I rode on some five or six miles, and then, finding water, halted for breakfast, when Phuttoo and Subhan came up on foot, having tired of waiting for their tats. After an hour's rest, leaving them till the nags arrived, I pursued my journey, and about 3 P.M., after a most wearisome five hours of foot's pace under a burning sun and intense glare, pulled up in a dismal hollow under the mountain leading to Sugheit. This spot, being soon in shade, was bitterly cold, and it soon froze sharp. These rapid alternations of heat and cold are very trying. It was long before any of my people arrived. I then learned that four horses were left behind, having strayed away--Moosa, Ali Bucks, and Mooktoo remaining behind to bring them on. These came in during the night, but several coolies did not arrive. I gave orders not to move till after breakfast, having on enquiry been assured both by Moosa and Abdool that it was but three hours to Sugheit, and I wished to get all the people together. 22nd August. A bitterly cold morning, and the coolies still absent. I was, notwithstanding, in good spirits from the near prospect of reaching our shooting quarters, the far-famed oasis of Sugheit, rich in grass and timber, and abounding in game, only three hours off; and I cheered up my shivering followers with visions of unlimited quantities of meat. The coolies came in at seven, looking only a little pinched. We set off at 8.30, and had a steady, even pull for some three miles up a hill, from the top of which we understood we were to gaze upon the verdant charms of Sugheit; when, to our utter dismay we looked down upon a long valley of complete nakedness, shut in by mountains equally devoid of clothing. Moosa and Abdool endeavoured to explain that 'the happy land' was not distant, pointing down the valley. But I now thought it prudent to reduce my expectations, although I had received such glowing descriptions, from so many, of the surpassing merits of the fertile Sugheit. We went some six dreary miles down this vale of disappointment, in which, however, we saw some traces of yâk; and then we turned easterly over another mile or so of barrenness, with an occasional patch of grass by the stream. Then, coming to very rough, broken, rocky ground, the stream became our road; and a very awkward one it was, full of boulders, and the incline now very great. Grass began to form a regular border on the bank, gradually widening until we descended into a narrow valley, or rather gorge, and the grass filled the bottom. The stream was fringed with willow-like bushes, which also grew here and there in large patches. And this was the much-vaunted Sugheit. But it is not to be wondered at, that the natives of this desolate region should imagine this strip of fertility a perfect paradise, and magnify its beauties and merits accordingly. We passed a Yarkand merchant with a few horses, who stated that he had seen a dozen or so of yâk in a spot known to Moosa. We had noticed tracks of those animals, as also of shâpu, on first entering the valley. We passed on through some fine rich herbage--a sort of lucerne abundant--and finally dismounted at a spot where were two Yarkandies, apparently known to Moosa and Abdool. Here we were to halt. These men did not give a cheery account of our prospects, as they had seen no game. Thoroughly down-hearted at having come thus far to so little purpose, I took my choga and namba, and lay me down moodily under a bush, and went to sleep. When I awoke, Subhan and Moosa came and begged me not give way to despondency. These Yarkandies, they said, had at first been alarmed at the awful apparition of a saheb; but, having recovered, had declared there were plenty of yâk in the neighbourhood; and one of them, though now doing a mercantile turn, was a professional shikarry, thoroughly acquainted with this country and the haunts of the yâk, and as one of his mares had recently foaled, and he must be detained some days, he would accompany the saheb, and shew him plenty of yâk for a consideration. Ample 'backsheesh' was promised, and things looked brighter. But the wretched aspect of the land, as compared with my anticipations, still kept me down-hearted. I took Subhan with me in the downward direction in which we were to move to-morrow; but there was no improvement visible in the country. This valley debouched upon another which crossed it at right angles, its enclosing mountains as bald as ever. I announced my resolve to prosecute my travels on to Yarkand, if we found no game, and questioned the Yarkandi as to the reception I was likely to meet with, and whether he would accompany me. He replied that, as Yarkand was ruled by the khaltai padshah people, he could not answer for his accompanying me, his present business would not permit it: he would shew me shikar, that was all. A 'bunderbus' was made to move camp into the transverse valley to-morrow, to a place on the river affording grass and wood in plenty; and in the afternoon the hunting party, equipped for two days' excursion, were to start for the yâk grounds--the place where the merchant and the Yarkandies said they had seen yâk three days back. 23rd August. I passed a pleasant night of undisturbed repose, the air here being soft and mild compared with that we have recently been subject to. After breakfast we moved off, and, passing down a declivity of some three miles, crossed a fine clear stream into a sort of wild meadow bottom, producing a good crop of grass and abundant thick-growing bushes. It looked a nice place to camp. On the way we found a yâk's head, and at this place other remains of the same animal, a large bull, apparently victim to some shikarry. On arrival of equipage, we selected clothing, bedding, and victuals; but on mustering the party I found, to my astonishment, that the Yarkandi was not coming, shuffling off his engagement under pretext of headache. I do not know to what to attribute this breach of engagement. Our party rode off, following the regular road; then turned into a narrow defile up which ran a rocky track, occasionally used by travellers. Old tracks of yâk were visible. Having made some three miles, we dismounted and sent back our horses; fixed on our bivouac; and, leaving Phuttoo and coolies to arrange it, climbed a hill-side to reconnoitre. We looked over a table-land, and into a valley threaded by a stream, but found only old tracks; those very numerous. We returned, doubtful of our chances; but thought that, if our informants had not deceived us, we must find game or fresh tracks on the morrow. I supped, and turned into my bed, snugly occupying a space between some bushes, the air fresh and cool, the night bright, recalling many an 'al fresco' couch in Australia. I enjoyed it amazingly, awaking occasionally, and fully appreciating my comfortable position--bright starlight, a young declining moon, a fresh breeze rustling amid my protecting screen of bushes, and plenty of warm bed-clothes; all but the leaves still as silence; no voices of the night here, save an occasional dissonant grunt from the direction of the sleeping attendants. 24th August. We were up at daybreak, and soon off; and made for a grassy bottom by the stream, where Moosa made sure of a find. But there were no fresh tracks: old innumerable. We followed up river, and crossed over, Mooktoo carrying me; still only signs of distant date. And so on; until I called a halt for breakfast and a consultation, all now growing despondent. Poor Mooktoo was barefooted, Tar-gness having carelessly lost one of his shoes which he was carrying across the river. And it was no joke traversing this rough stony ground shoeless. I resolved to penetrate some distance further, to a point giving a long view up the valley. There I halted the party, and sent on Subhan and Moosa to search for sign, and Tar-gness in another direction; deciding, if they found fresh sign, to send for camp things. The two former returned on the opposite side of the river, and beckoned me. I rode Mooktoo across, noticing pleasure beaming on their faces. They had discovered one fresh track of a well-grown male, and thought they had found tracks of the lot seen by the merchant; so I sent back Kamal for the traps, and after a bit started off on the trail. This we ran some six miles; and as it did not lead to others, and a long distance visible presented nothing, we pulled up in despair, and I announced my opinion to be that it was useless to try further in that direction, the yâk, which had the previous year crowded this locality, having certainly found other feeding grounds. To this all assented; and it was decided to move back, meet the coolies, then halt for the night, and move on to standing camp in the morning; and thence make a fresh start in the opposite direction, which will lead to the grounds where Nassir Khan and his followers told us they saw yâk in hundreds. Moosa had deferred leading us there, because, when tending horses two years back in this valley, the yâk pastured here in herds, and fed mingling daily with his horses. This the tracks abounding verified. Back we went. And, no way discouraged by this failure, I trudged on ahead, and selected a snug turfy retreat, amid thick overhanging bushes, for our bivouac; and then discussed our prospects and projects with my retainers. Yarkand, and the possibility of recovering poor Schlagentweit's effects--his papers useless to the barbarians amongst whom he fell a victim--a favourite every day topic of mine, was renewed; and Subhan told me, to my surprise, that Moosa, my Panamik recruit, had been employed together with his father by government agents to obtain intelligence, and procure any effects possible of the murdered saheb; that he had discovered the saheb's servant in Yarkand, and got from him a boot and a book, which he had delivered to a Mr. Leake in Kulu, who had rewarded him, and given him the black tattoo now with us, and a certificate which was at Ladâk. He further stated, that this servant had in his possession the saheb's head, which he had sought for and found where he was slain, some months after the event, he having been imprisoned, and only having escaped death by turning mussulman. Much astonished at this unexpected revelation, only now divulged, I sent for Moosa who distinctly affirmed the above to be strictly true: he added minute particulars fully bearing out his story. My interest in this sad affair was much augmented by this fresh and important intelligence, and I questioned Moosa on the possibility of my obtaining an interview with the ruler of Yarkand. Moosa now confessed that he dare not venture, as had been decided, to procure fresh supplies for my party, as the Affghan merchants now gone ahead would have given information of a saheb having come to hunt at Sugheit, and the destination of such supplies would be at once suspected. Here was an additional argument for me to risk the adventure; so, after much cross-questioning, I find that five days' journey from Sugheit--the road rough, but grass at each halt--is an outpost, or thanna, where are stationed five or six Chinese soldiers, whose duty is to detain travellers, merchants, and others, sending information to the authorities in Yarkand of any unusual arrival; and according to the orders returned is the party permitted to proceed, or detained, or repulsed. Moosa thinks that, if I give notice of my arrival, and explain to the officials at this thanna my desire for a friendly interview with the ruler of Yarkand, that functionary will accord it, and will assist my enquiries after this servant and any effects of the saheb to be had, and will also order supplies for my party to any extent. The Yarkand people had nothing to do with the assassination of poor Schlagentweit, so will the more readily co-operate, perhaps. I fully determined to try and carry out this scheme. I must allow the poor, galled, jaded horses some few days' rest and refreshment, in the meanwhile hunting; then, selecting followers and the best cattle, will move on Khylian, this outpost, giving entrance to the Yarkand territories. It is a ticklish adventure, as we are at war with China; but I trust to the ignorance of these singular people, either not to know or to recognise this fact. Moosa and my whole council seem much pleased with this resolution; and the more so, as I tell them that, in all probability, if I succeed in recovering the papers of the deceased, government will reward any native assistants liberally; if not, I will myself. I talked this project over at length, and retired, my mind full of it and its execution. 25th August. We had a long stiff pull up hill, of some five miles, ere we descended to our former bivouac; then on, down the rough glen, till we debouched on the valley where was our standing camp. Crossing some level sand through which the path runs, Subhan gave a low peculiar whistle, and pointed to fresh tracks of yâk, some four or five, and two of them bulls. Much struck by the oddity of the animals we had taken such trouble about having thus in my absence gone straight to my camp, and cheered by the omen, I strode merrily on, and followed the tracks right into our bivouac, expressing astonishment thereat, and laughing over the consternation they must have created in the dead of night. But Abdoolah at once dispelled our illusive thoughts by the information that a Yarkandi had come in yesterday with four bullocks, tame yâks, whose tracks had so excited us. The newcomer was an old man with two servants, a gun, and a dog, and was proceeding to the syarat of which Nassir Khan had spoken, whence the stone of the Delhi musjed had been quarried; his object being to possess himself of a supply of specimens of this holy stone which, conveyed to Yarkand, was bought at a ridiculously high price by devout mussulmans. It was also the old gentleman's intention to hunt yâk which were there plentiful: but, finding a saheb in his path also after those animals, he had most courteously expressed his intention to await my return, accompany me, and aid me to his utmost in procuring sport, which I should enjoy to my satisfaction. This quite compensated for the mistake of the tracks, and, summoning the stranger to an audience, he came and confirmed his good intents on my behalf. I stepped to his fire close by, where was a large rough dog, useful in the chase of the yâk, which he attacks, and so distracting his attention from the hunters gives them the chance of getting a good shot. He had a long matchlock with rifled barrel, and a forked rest attached. This, he said, was of Russian manufacture, and cost only twenty-four rupees--£2. 8_s._ We could not do it cheaper in Birmingham. He said it shot right well. I sent him a leg of venison, an acceptable supply of meat; and in the course of the day the good man appeared with a return present of a pair of ornamented saddle-bags and a dish of flour. The bags being a necessary part of his equipment, I declined them with thanks. He said, were he but at home, he would have offered me something really worth having. He is the lumbadar of his place, only some four days' journey, whence he says he can supply my party with any supplies required. This is well. I retired to my tent, and was writing up journal, when Subhan appeared, and to my enquiry as to his wants, he said, "The saheb's servant, of whom we were talking last night, is here." Thinking that I must have misunderstood him, I repeated his words interrogatively, "Here, in camp?" "Yes; and awaiting an interview." I was amazed at this extraordinary coincidence with my wishes and designs, as were all my followers who had been made aware of my intention to proceed in search of this very man. A feeling of awe seemed to hold them all in silent expectation, from which they were released by exclaiming at my wonderful 'kizmet.' I now took my chair outside, a circle of anxious attendants sitting round; when the cause of all this excitement appeared on the scene--a stout burly man, with a round red face and grizzled beard, wearing a red cloth skull-cap, fringed with black curly wool. He was agitated at the meeting, and enquired if I was a countryman of his late master's. He spoke no Hindostani, only Persian and Toorki; so the interpretation necessary was tedious--Moosa first interpreting into Cashmiri, then one of the Cashmiries into indifferent Hindostani, which Abdoolah helped me to understand. The gist of the narrative was as follows. This man, a native of Bokhara, was travelling from Delhi to Yarkand with merchandise, being a regular trader, when in Kulu he fell in with M. Schlagentweit who entered into some agreement with him, by which they became apparently connected in some speculation in furs--ermine I imagine--as M. Schlagentweit gave Murad an acknowledgment for three hundred skins, value six hundred tillahs, which was dated July 3rd, 1857, and written at that place: a concluding paragraph states that the amount was to be paid on arrival at Kokand, or, in case of the writer's death, by the government treasury at Kangra. This bond is somewhat obscure, as it makes some reference in favour of the reverend missionaries of Lahoul, which I could not make out. This is probably owing to the writer using a foreign language. The party arrived at this place, Sugheit, M. Schlagentweit having many attendants and several horses with him; and from this place he despatched his khansamah to Leh with his journal and letters, and, while asleep at night, his property was plundered, and his servants ran away, and deserted. M. Schlagentweit, it would appear, had determined to personate the character of a merchant, and had with him much valuable cloth, and some forty horses. Over this business transaction a complete mystery hangs. The probability seems that M. Schlagentweit, fully aware of the difficulty of travelling through a country reputed so barbarous and hostile to Europeans as Yarkand, adopted the disguise of a merchant: but the bond in question shows some transaction ostensibly undertaken on account of Government. The robbery was effected with such dexterity, it would appear, that it was only discovered in the morning, and then reported by Murad to M. Schlagentweit who ordered him to search out which way the robbers' tracks led. They pointed to Kargalik, a district of Yarkand. The robbery was committed in the ravine where I encamped on Thursday night. M. Schlagentweit, Murad, and a Yarkand servant, by name Mahomed Dahomey, and a Bhooti, proceeded onwards on the Yarkand road. Arriving in Kargalik, they found the whole country in anarchy, one Walli Khan, with a considerable force of some fanatical tribes, being arrayed in hostility against the Yarkand authorities who, in that city and elsewhere, had shut themselves up. This news troubled M. Schlagentweit, and he hesitated how to act. But Mahomed Dahomey informed him that Walli Khan was a native of Kokand, which country was under the British government, and therefore there could be nothing to apprehend from him; on the contrary, he ought to apply to him for assistance. M. Schlagentweit was persuaded to write to Walli Khan, reporting the robbery of his property, and its having been tracked into Kargalik--the thieves had taken off eleven of the best horses with their loads. This letter was entrusted to Murad who preceded M. Schlagentweit, and despatched to Walli Khan; who causing search to be made, the goods were found exposed for sale, and the whole restored to M. Schlagentweit to whom Walli Khan sent most courteous messages and invitations to visit him. He was then in Andejan. Mahomed Dahomey tried to persuade M. Schlagentweit to go to Walli Khan, but he expressed his desire to go straight on to Kokand, saying, "My road lies here: why should I go out of my way to see Walli Khan, into the midst of fighting?" But by some fatality he did yield to this man's persuasions, and arrived at Walli Khan's quarter's; where, his arrival being reported, that villain ordered his boxes and packages to be opened and examined. The keys were taken from the khansamah, a Cashmiri, and everything looked at; and a report being made to Walli Khan, he ordered that the saheb should pay duty upon them. Mahomed Dahomey went into the presence of Walli Khan--no one else of M. Schlagentweit's attendants--and spoke two or three words to him. M. Schlagentweit expostulated at the demand made upon him, saying, "he was on his road to Kokand, and this exaction was unjust," or expressions of like character. At this time the horses setting-to fighting, M. Schlagentweit directed Murad to go and quiet them. He did so, and on his coming back M. Schlagentweit was lying murdered by his property. Murad, the Cashmere khansamah, and the Bhooti, were imprisoned. The Cashmiri was released after some few days' confinement, and went in guise of a faquir to Cabul. The Bhootie was killed: and Murad, after some three months' lying in irons, embraced Mahomedanism, being a Jew, and was then released. For six months Walli Khan held possession of the country, but the cities and the forts held out against him; when, a strong Chinese force being despatched to the aid of their beleaguered countrymen, Walli Khan's force broke up and dispersed. He himself is now in prison under authority of the ruler of Kokand. Murad's brother was resident in Yarkand, and now befriended him. He now made search for the remains of his late employer, and found the head, which had been severed from the body, near the place where the murder was perpetrated. Though much decayed, he identified it by a remarkably prominent foretooth; the other portions it was impossible to recognise, as some hundreds of men had been slain in battle on that ground. He made search for property, and bought a horse, an instrument, and a book, that had been the saheb's, and was now on his way, accompanied by his brother to Kangra, where he hoped to find the brothers of his deceased master, and deliver these relics to them. The head of the unfortunate gentleman is wrapped up in wool, and sewn up in a bag, with a view to avoid unpleasant scrutiny, looking like a pillow. The narrative is here given in a much more connected form than that in which I received it, having asked many explanatory questions. When Murad described the horrid deed, or rather his finding his master murdered, he burst into tears, sobbing violently. Phuttoo and Subhan, in deep sympathy, wept aloud, and all the listeners were much affected. From the difficulty of understanding the expressions, the narrative fell with less force upon me. There is much in Murad's statement which one would wish clearer. Why has he so long delayed communicating with the friends of the deceased? Merchants have gone to and fro, and enquiries have been made by government, but now three years have elapsed he turns up with a bond worth 3,600 rupees, and otherwise in good circumstances. His brother's aid may account for this, certainly. I hate to suspect any one. Bella Shah and the thanadar, Basti Ram, stated the Bokhara servant to have been an accomplice to the theft and murder. However, I have taken the man's statement for truth, and lest he should meet with molestation at Ladâk, or elsewhere, on his journey down, have offered him my protection, giving him clearly to understand that he is perfectly free to pursue his journey and objects, if he chooses. He expresses himself most anxious to stay with me; saying, he feels sure that Basti Ram would seize the relics, and send them to the British government on his own account. Not improbable. Murad, therefore, leaves the party of merchants with whom he has hitherto travelled--and they number some two or three hundred horses, I am told--and joins my party to-morrow. After dinner I went out to a fire lit for me, it being excessively cold, a bitter wind still blowing, the concluding blast of a storm which has covered the adjoining mountains with snow. My principal retainers gathered round, and talked over the story of Murad, and canvassed its merits. Many doubts were expressed as to his veracity and complete innocence. I now sent for the Yarkandi, thinking it advisable to lose no time in sending for additional supplies, as some twelve days must elapse ere their arrival. The old man came, and took up a berth among the others, and negociations went on rapidly. He entered into our views with alacrity, and promised to procure the flour and corn we required, some rice, and a quantity of fruit, apples, grapes, apricots, and melons, as a present for me. He said, this stock should be laden on horses which I might purchase, if I pleased. He was to receive six rupees in advance, for which I went to my tent, and on my rejoining the group he had withdrawn to give directions to one of his servants to start on this business in the morning. Everything now seemed to work smoothly, and promise success. 26th August. Sunday. I slept well, and waited to gain a glimpse of sunshine under the tent ere turning out. There had been a sharp frost during the night, and it was a beautiful, clear, fresh morning. I sat in my chair idly sunning myself, when a sense of the sanctity of the day, and an imperative impulse to express it, took hold of me; and I made my way through the thick bushes to the river, where its divided waters poured noisily over many boulders, and, selecting a stone for a seat, gave myself up to devotion. Coming back to camp, I was met by Abdoolah who told me that the old man, who had promised to do so much, now declared that he dared not venture to send for any supplies for me, lest the Yarkand authorities, hearing of it, might wreak their vengeance upon him. He had come to this conclusion on consulting his servants. This was most unexpected. Food for man and beast must be had; so, enquiring of Moosa the distance to this man's residence, I resolved to fulfil my hunting plans, then to return, bringing the patriarch with me 'nolens volens,' and, so accompanied, proceed to his village, and there obtain supplies by force, if needs must: the constraint put upon the old man would secure him from harm. I then bethought me of ascertaining what stock should remain, and found by my account that there should be twenty days' rations for men, but very little for horses. Thus there would be enough for ten days shikar, and ten days to Panamik, and then corn might be procured from some kafila. I now directed an order to be written to the gopal of Panamik to send out a horse-load of flour and corn to the foot of Sassar, on this side; which note was despatched to the merchants just starting for delivery, and I hope we shall have enough without adopting my scheme of violence and rapine. Murad joined my party with his brother and three horses, and, to my dismay, has brought with him neither atta nor corn. I have directed him to obtain stock from some of the passing travellers who are yet expected in numbers--crowds of hajis now proceeding to Mecca, their pious pilgrimage having been checked these last three years by the mutinies, perhaps. This he promises to do. He brought a German book, a volume of scientific geography, having no owner's name in it, but being purchased, he said, in the bazaar of Andejan, doubtless poor Schlagentweit's property. He brought the pillow containing the head, and was proceeding to open it, but I desired him to desist. The bunderbus is complete for a move to-morrow, the old Yarkandi expressing the utmost willingness to shew me the hunting grounds. I take provisions for four days, and look for sport ere my return; until when, I must leave this my diary. CHAPTER XIII. THE YÂK. 27th August. Under the guidance of the old Yarkandi's servant who bore the long rifle, with only my bedding and three days' provision, we started on our hunting excursion up the valley. We had but about five miles to go, then bivouacked amid the brushwood opposite a deep gorge running far back into the mountains, where we were to try our luck after the yâk. I had expected to commence operations this afternoon, but the Yarkand hunter objected, on the just ground of the wind blowing up the ravines in the day time, and down them early in the morning, therefore advising a very early start. I dined at five, and at sunset went to the fire, where, summoning the Yarkandi and Moosa to interpret, we questioned him as to the nature of the ground we were to go over to-morrow, the habits of the kutass, as he calls the yâk, and the prospects of sport. He said, the place was not far, and the yâk plentiful, and that we were sure of finding them, as he had never yet failed to do in this spot; he had been hunting here some three months back, and with two other men had killed nine, three of them close by us. This intelligence set us quite cock-a-hoop. 28th August. We were all afoot ere dawn, and off up the mountain. Having gained some distance, we came upon tracks which in the dull light we pronounced recent, and continued our toilsome ascent, cheered by the discovery. A bitter sharp wind came off the snows, cutting one's face like a knife, and here, as in all this region, respiration was most difficult. The Yarkandi, to my surprise, suffered more than any of us from this inconvenience, stopping every ten or a dozen paces for relief. We reached the grassy slopes under the snows, where yâk were wont to be invariably found; but, one after the other, they were anxiously reconnoitred, and found blank. As the light had increased, I carefully examined the tracks, and felt sure they were many days old. The Cashmiries were quite at fault here; they are truly indifferent hunters. We now ascended a steep sharp ridge which gained us admission to a lot of ravines, in which the Yarkandi made sure of a find; but these we traversed with like ill success, and then, having stopped an hour for refreshment, went on to a third favourite haunt, equally empty, and the signs of the same date. While resting on a ridge, we saw a kyang crossing a hill-side behind us: he looked like a large donkey, with a disproportionately large head. The wind being adverse, we could not attempt to do anything with him. The traps and attendants had been ordered up the main valley to the entrance of another gorge, for which we now directed our steps; and, after a tiresome descent, and a long tramp over a shelving flat of some six miles, we reached our camp, much beat, and our anticipations greatly reduced: yet the Yarkandi persisted in the most confident assurances of success, and said we must inevitably find to-morrow. I turned in, in a snug bower which Buddoo had constructed for me in the bushes. 29th August. We were off again, ere the first blush of dawn, and, entering a wide ravine, held our course up it. Numerous tracks of yâk were seen, but none fresh. After two hours' gradual ascent came the pinch, a steep slope up the mountain, on which, to our joy, we met with fresh tracks, unmistakably fresh, and our spirits rose accordingly. Our path lay up a wide ravine, penetrating into the mountain-side, and giving entrance to a wide basin-like indent, on the level bottom of which were extensive patches of grass, on which were plainly visible recent signs of yâk. We crossed a steep rocky ridge, abutting into the basin, and shutting one re-entering angle from view, but, to our infinite chagrin, all was void as before--signs fresh and plentiful. Here we halted for breakfast. It was now proposed to ascend one side enclosing this basin, and, resting on the summit, examine the adjoining ravines, and wait the probable appearance of yâk, from out some retreat or other, to feed on the grass below us. We climbed accordingly, and found a yâk path leading over the ridge, and fresh signs of their passage. Here we lay down some couple of hours. Looking about, I saw a ravine towards which I felt sure the yâk had gone, from the converging tendency of their footprints, and communicated my ideas to Phuttoo who made an examination, and confirmed my suspicions; and we decided that we would explore that spot after a while. Shortly after came Subhan, all excitement and pleasure; he had from a high point, commanding the said ravine, therein distinctly made out the objects of our search. Now all was bustle and preparation. Subhan described the animals to be so situated that there appeared no reasonable doubt of complete success; and I only thought of how many I should knock over, and told Subhan he must scrutinise the herd, and discover the position of a huge bull whose enormous footprints had been the object of our admiration. We held much sanguine talk of this kind, as we descended towards the prey in expectation. But, alas! it turned out that the game was far away up the ravine, some three miles; that the wind blew strongly straight on them; and there was but the one direct path up to them--no side-slip by which to turn their flanks. But yet, there they were; and, scanning them through my glass, I counted, big and little, sixty-three. There being apparently nothing else for it, we advanced, hoping from the favourable direction in which the clouds moved there might be also a favourable current of wind further up the ravine: so we made the attempt to stalk these wary animals whose power of scent, their principal security, it is said is wonderfully acute and far-reaching. And so we found it. We approached right well, as far as concealment from sight went; but the brutes winded us, and gradually drew away. This leisurely retreat deceived the shikarries who pressed me to pursue, in spite of my repeated assurances that it would be utterly futile. Having hunted the bison in the west of India, I was up to this seeming apathy to our approach. Subhan, as always, eagerly leading, kept on the advance, until we suddenly viewed the whole herd, closely packed together, moving slowly forward, out of shot. The shikarries would have it that they were not alarmed; so we made an onward move again to gain a rise, whence they hoped my battery might open with effect, though at a long range, on so dense a mass. We gained the stony height, but found the herd again scattered, some still retiring in the distance, others lying down, some feeding at some six hundred yards off, but with a smooth slope separating us, which offered no chance of getting at them. Here we lay behind stones, watching, admiring, and longing. From hence I saw the huge old bull of the enormous foot-prints, carrying a very heavy pair of horns, slowly and, as I thought, feebly descending behind a rise: others, fine fellows, lay down on the rise. We waited long, hoping against hope; till at last evening, growing apace, and the frosty air admonished us that we must make up our minds what to do. I had no covering but the suit I wore, and nothing to eat, so that passing the night here on guard was out of the question. Subhan proposed a dash at the enemy for a chance shot--so like him! I proposed to withdraw quietly, and seek the foe next day; so the decision was left to Moosa who directed the retreat. Back we went; and now a terrible long trudge awaited us, and it was long after dark ere the straggling party following Subhan and self had come in, some quite sick, Mooktoo and the Yarkandi 'hors-de-combat,' and all thoroughly fatigued. I, therefore, proposed to remain in camp to-morrow, and send back for more provisions, on arrival of which in the afternoon we would shift quarters, moving up the mountain near to the place the yâk were left in. 30th August. Moosa returned about 4 P.M.; and as soon as the fasting hunters had cooked some bread, we started for our new quarters which we reached at dusk. We were yet a long way from the yâk ravine, but at any rate two hours nearer. There were no bushes here for shelter, so I selected a hollow trench-like place for my couch, Subhan digging up the ground to soften it; and, on arrival of the traps, I was not long ere I sought the protection of my blankets, first fortifying the inner man with a little well-diluted eau-de-vie, there being no fire, no tea. I rose up once or twice, and looked around on the imposing mountain scenery which the moon lit up with her softly bright clear beams; and again dived into the woolly comforts of my blankets. But ere the night was half spent, a change came over it. I awoke feeling that something unusual was taking place, and lo! the surface of the earth was sheeted with snow, and I was fast disappearing under its fleecy mantle. I luckily had a long felt namba which extended beyond my pillow, covering my head, and I drew the blankets over and round my shoulders, and quite closed myself in. The snow drifting pressed upon me, and kept me warm. But I got too hot from the confinement of my breath, and was forced to stir myself, and open a hole for ventilation; when unluckily moving the namba over my pillow, down came an avalanche of cold snow about my shoulders. Clearing this away as well as I could, I made a hole on one side at which to place my mouth, and once more resigned myself to await events--not, perhaps, thoroughly comfortable, yet enjoying the novelty of the situation. I gave many an anxious thought to my poor attendants whose voices reached me occasionally. Perceiving dawn approaching, through my peep-hole, August 31st, I at once disencumbered myself of namba and snow, and proceeded to survey the surrounding scene. Everything was buried. My followers looked miserable enough, poor fellows! but there was no real suffering. All was soon recovered, and in marching trim, and we set off for our hunting ground. It was very bad travelling, the natural difficulties being much increased by the melting snow. The wind blew downwards, and we augured favourably of our day's chances. But hardly had we gained the long ravine, where we hoped to find the game, than the wind shifting blew directly upwards. We halted some time hoping for a favourable change, as the clouds, as on the previous day, were sailing towards us rapidly. But we waited in vain: so, there being nothing in sight, we went on upwards, and reached a point whence a general view being obtained revealed bare grounds only. Here we breakfasted in a storm of sleet; and then we spread ourselves out to search for tracks, which appeared to take downwards some two or three miles, then across the high ridge westward; in which direction Moosa and the Yarkandi said there was no knowing were to find the animals. We continued looking for tracks, hoping that some of the yâk might have separated, and gone to the place we searched the other day. For this we pointed, and I had given orders to climb the high ridge intervening, when the wind suddenly shifted, coming down upon us violently with a fall of sleet, and from a quarter that would have given the yâk, if any, our wind. I then said it was useless going on, and the shikarries, dreading the fatigue, cheerfully assented; but there being a yâk's head and horns on the other side, poor Tar-gness, much against his will, was directed to make his way over, and bring the same to camp, we ourselves turning at once in that direction. We reached our bivouac, having passed, in an angle of the torrent's bed, under a precipitous cliff, a number of nâpu horns, none of which animals we have seen. I ordered the traps to be packed and taken below, intending to go into standing camp to-morrow. Snow had long since disappeared, save on the mountain summits, and the descent was tolerably easy. Soon after our arrival came Tar-gness in great excitement, having seen no less than thirteen yâk, of sizes, in the basin we had intended visiting, when that untoward change of wind made us give up our intention, and return. A consultation decided that Abdoolah should go in for provisions tomorrow, and bring out the shikarries' ponies, and we ourselves resolved to start at 3 A.M. for the yâk. By the way, I have omitted to mention that Kamal was sent on Thursday with orders that, if on reaching camp he found they had not been able to procure supplies from passing travellers, he was to make the best of his way, with a Bhooti, to Chanloong, and there having got three mds darra, and two mds atta, to bring the same on tattoos with all despatch to meet us; so that with this, and that previously written for, we ought to manage well. We chatted long at the fire, hoping that our luck was at last turning. I told the shikarries that to-morrow was the first of September, and explained to them our game laws in respect thereof; and I myself really, amid all my disappointments, had a sort of superstitious feeling that this sporting date would be signalised by the slaughter of yâk. Impressing upon the shikarries the necessity of as early a start as possible, not later than 3 A.M., I turned in, and, awaking once or twice, examined my watch by the bright moonlight; the first time it was 12--then, 2--then, 2.30, when I roused myself, 1st September, And was up, and dressed before 3. The moon was beautifully bright, and full, or almost so; our path, therefore, opened plainly before us. It was, however, very cold, and freezing sharp; and the way was long, and the ascent laborious. On reaching the base of the steep slope, leading direct to the basin, we stopped some time; then, slowly struggling upwards, pausing every fifty paces, we gained the upland, the light now becoming dawn well opened. Nothing met our view on attaining the general level of the basin. But there were many dips and hollows: cautiously advancing, we examined them, and they were all empty. Tar-gness was sent up the ridge, and had gained such an elevation as I thought would discover every nook; and, saying so to Subhan, I proposed to move on to the spot where the head and horns, before mentioned, lay. As we moved on, Tar-gness broke into violent gesticulations, and came springing down; and, when we could get an intelligible reply from him, informed us that he had discovered two yâk moving up a hollow near us. Now all was excitement and preparation; guns were uncased, and the shikarries only to the front. The wind was right, and everything seemed such as to ensure success; when, as we stole forward, we saw a yâk on the hill-side over the hollow; another, and another, came in view, moving upwards, cropping a blade of grass here and there, and looking about them. I fully believe they were systematically reconnoitring, having acquired some suspicions. They turned, and three of them lay down on the hill-side. Here was a predicament. We could not stir without certain discovery; so we squatted as patiently as we might. It was bitterly cold, the ground covered with hoar frost. We waited and watched, and watched and waited, when all but one impracticable animal moved down into the hollow. This one, in the most elevated position, commanding a view of the whole plateau, remained watchful, and, I believe, uneasy, every now and then giving an impatient flourish of its bushy tail. All we had yet seen were females. What was to be done? I proposed to station myself in the line of their probable retreat, and send men round to give them the wind. Subhan disapproved, and the other two seemed to have no idea of their own on the subject, trusting all to luck, to 'kizmet,' not even venturing an opinion. Well, we waited some hours in this icy locality, not being able to stir for cloaks or breakfast. Looking up from a doze, into which all had fallen under the sun's genial influence, I saw yâk moving upwards--one, two, three--then off bounded our persevering sentry, cantering off, whisking her tail, and leading the way over the ridge. Then out came others in succession, to the number of twenty-five, old and young, a fine bull in rear, and took their way up the ridge, disappearing over its crest. This was the ridge running into, and dividing, this plateau; so, as there was a nice grassy flat on the other side, we were charmed with the move, and our improved prospects. Away we went, making the best of our way over the stones, and crossed the spur of the hill, instead of the crest--fatal error of our leader, Subhan--and, gaining the reverse, to our surprise saw nothing. The herd had vanished. We moved along the hill-side, and found the tracks leading into the bight of the bay, as it were; and there, sure enough, was our chase. But the wind was now blowing direct to them, and our wary, active, suspicious foe already indicating alarm, and mischievously elevating her tail. There were only about twelve in view; the others must, therefore, be concealed by the ground, and be somewhere nearer, below us; so we pushed on and down, no concealment possible from the first lot, now much agitated. Now we opened the others, among them a fine bull. We were some four hundred yards off, and above the animals, but their alarm was so evident that Subhan advised me to fire at the bull; but the brute kept his stern to me. However, waiting, my rifle resting on a stone, he turned, disturbed by the agitated flurry going on around him. I fired, and evidently hit. He thundered down the slope, passing from view, and then coming out of a nullah, his left fore-leg apparently broken, and, by his puffing and roaring, his lungs injured. "He's hit, he's hit, all right," were the exclamations. The herd, with tails aloft, scampered about, and finally halted nigh together, bull and all, some five or six hundred yards off, and I discharged my whole battery at the group, certainly striking one, if not more. Then, away they all careered, the big bull hanging behind, and labouring heavily. They gained the opposite hill-side, and seemed undecided how to act, which way to turn, and broke into two parties, one pausing, the other making backwards along the hill-side to gain the place they had originally come from. The guns being reloaded, Subhan proposed a chase--he to cut off the lot on the hill-side, we to advance on the other. Away we went best pace, but that very bad. Our lot soon followed the other, the wounded bull limping, and labouring heavily in rear. I sung out to Mooktoo to run and intercept him; but there was no 'go' in Mooktoo. After running a dozen yards, he was as done up as the bull. Subhan was now seen on our right, gaining a position cutting the path of the retreating foe. He struggles on--the first batch pass him, some two hundred yards off. On, then, comes the second--they go by--and we shout to him to await the bull, lumbering behind. He drops to a position. On comes the huge brute, and bang! bang! go both barrels, only accelerating his flight though he flourishes his tail frantically. Phuttoo and I now make for a point to cut him off, which he divining leaves the herd, and slowly goes straight up the hill, now and again stopping and looking back on his pursuers, his roaring lungs audible a mile off at least. Subhan slowly follows--Oh! how he crawls! I shout to him to follow on, _close_. Mooktoo seems shirking the work, stopping at the foot of the hill. I yell at him, calling him no shikarry, a soor, &c., and, in a frantic state, urge them on. The bull, ever gaining ground upwards, at last disappears over the ridge. Subhan, having gained but half-way, there stops, and halloos Phuttoo down below, and a short conversation takes place. Mooktoo, of course, stops and joins in. I vociferate, and abuse them all. Subhan is asking Phuttoo to send a man with food after him. Now they crawled on, seeming to make no progress, and constantly pausing; and, full half an hour after the bull, Subhan went over the ridge on his tracks--Mooktoo in another half-hour. Phuttoo and I sat down. He said, they must secure the brute, there could be no doubt of it. Having known them fail so often in pursuit of mortally wounded animals, I had my doubts. Phuttoo was sanguine. Now came up Tar-gness and the coolie with breakfast; the former, remarking on the roaring breath of the bull, which he had heard a mile off, said he was hit in the lungs, and must die. We despatched him also in pursuit, and, when half-way up, he turned to tell us there was a quantity of blood. We waited here till 4 P.M.; and then, believing the hunters would return by another route, whether successful or not, we moved down to camp. The Yarkandi had joined in the pursuit, so we were satisfied on the score of their coming back the best road. We gained the bivouac, and Abdool, soon after, hove in sight. He said, they had as yet received no supplies whatever from passers by, and I now learned that there were but some six seers of corn. I made up my mind to go to the old Yarkandi's village, and there obtain supplies; dined, and remained anxiously looking for the hunters. About six o'clock the Yarkandi came in alone. The bull, he said, had escaped, and the shikarries had stopped behind; he, being cold, had come in; they were, no doubt, following. All our hopes were now at an end. The others came in about seven, looking very woe-begone, Subhan declaring that the bull had been only struck somewhere below the knee, and slightly injured. He had followed him, I can't say how far, and he stopped every now and then to eat grass, and moved away, when gained upon. Whether true or false, it mattered little now. The chase was over, my chance of a yâk ended. I felt, of course, much disappointed, and, sitting with my melancholy group round the fire, discussed my plans of going into the Yarkand territory for supplies. Moosa and the Yarkandi were called into council, and the latter was delighted at the idea of shewing us the way, if ordered, describing his land as one flowing with milk and honey, corn and wine; so we considered the matter settled, and I determined those to go, and the number of horses, as also the formation of our depôt. 2nd September. Sunday. I allowed the sun to shed his first ruddy beams abroad, ere emerging from my retreat, my coverings white and hard with frost. Taking a stroll to look at my nag, I passed some swampy ground, out of which silently sprung a snipe, a true snipe, and, settling again, permitted a close inspection. His colour and markings were duller than those of the English bird--like the Indian--and his bill somewhat shorter. There were snippets also here, so I could compare them. I also saw a couple of teal; these, with some hares and chakores, are all the small game seen; except, by-the-bye, the gigantic chakore which are in numbers on the mountains. One day I saw, I should think, from one spot a dozen coveys, each numbering nine or ten birds, fly over; they appear as large as a full grown hen. 3rd September. We returned to standing camp, and found all well. I had the amount of flour and corn correctly ascertained, and found that we had of the former ten days' supply, with economy, and five and half mds. of the latter; quite enough for our wants, until we should meet with the stock ordered out. I had no idea that we were so well off in point of rations; and now came the necessity of again taking into consideration the propriety of my contemplated expedition into an enemy's country. The actual necessity no longer existed, and although I would have given much to have carried out this plan, and obtained a glimpse of the Yarkand territory, the question of right or wrong, after mature deliberation, was given against it. There was the uncertainty of the extension of leave, and the trip to and fro would extend over twelve days. I should have no valid reason to urge for not returning now. I had food for my party, and my horses were sufficiently in condition to commence the return route, excepting two, which from bad galls would not be well for a month or six weeks. I had, therefore, no justification for the gratification of my curiosity, and accordingly gave orders for the return march to-morrow morning, deciding to take the route up the valley we had just come down, thinking that there must be some good reason for so many caravans as we had observed taking it, and our experience of the other left anything but pleasing recollections. All was now preparation. A caravan being reported at hand, I sent Abdoolah and the shikarries to endeavour to coax the merchants out of some atta and corn. They returned laughing, the newcomers having fled on their appearance, leaving their property to its fate. They were soon recalled, and their alarm dispelled. They are hajis all, and journeying to Mecca. In the evening they sent a deputation to pay their respects, bringing with them a dish of rice, and, with Moosa's assistance, I conversed with them. They are quite in ignorance of the nature of the countries through which they have to pass, and the length of the journey; but they know that the greater part is under the rule of the 'saheb-logue,' and, therefore, feel sure of good treatment, and prefer this route, in consequence, to any other. The justice and liberality of the 'saheb-logue,' they say, is proverbial in the most distant provinces of Asia: they, as have others, expressed a desire to see their countries in possession of the English. They requested my sanction to their travelling in my company, and, of course, I acquiesced. With regard to the supplies requested, they replied, that they had only brought their own stock, but that we should be together, and should I run out, then they would supply me. This was satisfactory. In the evening I summoned the Yarkandi to receive 'backsheesh.' He had toiled hard, and done his best, to obtain sport: he was delighted with two Co.'s rupees, and made a profound salaam, with more grace in it than I could have imagined him capable of. The Yarkandies I have seen are very like Europeans, quite as fair, the climate considered, and exhibiting great variety of feature and style. This man had the most decided snub nose I ever saw, completing a good-humoured face. All is prepared for the return to-morrow. What a distance I have come, and through what a horrid country, only to meet with disappointment! And the prospect of retracing my steps amid such dreary scenes is not cheering. I have added to my geographical or topographical knowledge at any rate, and shall be the first European, I believe, who has penetrated thus far, and returned to tell it--should it please God to spare me. CHAPTER XIV. THE RETURN. 4th September. There was a great to-do with the horses, which were anything but disposed to resign the life of ease and good cheer which they had recently been enjoying: they careered about in every direction, Murad's being the most intractable. I left the Bhooties in hot pursuit, and, starting ahead, breakfasted at our first bivouac, and halted for the night at our second. While waiting the arrival of the baggage, Subhan came and reported a 'jamwar' present. I supposed it was an animal, of course; but it was a bird of the curlew kind, glossy black. I took the Whitworth, and, retiring to about eighty yards, squatted down, fired, and the bird subsided on its tracks, shot exactly through the middle. Subhan rushed up, and performed 'hallal,' and accepted the bird joyfully, as they had had no flesh for many days. The things came up in good time, horses fresh and strong. 5th September. We continued our journey up the valley, the route due east, for some ten miles, with occasional patches of grass and bushes of considerable extent; then turned up a defile to the right (southerly), which leads out of this valley, and gives us a passage through the mountains to Waad Jilgo, where we meet and pursue our former route. Neither Moosa nor Abdool have been this road, so all is conjecture as to distance and quality. I believe it will prove a march longer. After ascending a couple of miles or so, we halted in a glen affording grass, wood, and water, essentials for a camp not always forthcoming in this desolate region. The baggage arrived in due time. I admired two ghoonts of Murad's, and accepted his offer to ride one to-morrow. Abdoolah telling us that a sandagur had told him the distance to Waad Jilgo this way was but three marches, I determined to try and reach there to-morrow. It will be a great thing, if we are able to get from this place to another yielding grass, without a halt in a complete desert as on the other road. 6th September. We have severe frosts every night now, and the mountains are coated with snow from summit to base, from recent falls. This looks like the beginning of winter here, and, if so, summer must be short indeed, of but a few days' duration; and it is well I did not fulfil my project of entering the Yarkand country, for twelve days may make a serious difference in these mountain regions. The scenery is magnificent in its canopy of snow which removes the unpleasant impression created by the universal sterility, the pure mantle of snow leaving ample scope to the imagination. All around was exceedingly beautiful in the early doubtful lights. I set off, attended as usual by the shikarries and one coolie with breakfast, Abdool leading Murad's ghoont. A stiff climb at once awaited us; then down into a narrow rocky ravine, up which we scrambled, and became aware we were off the horse-track, having been misled by a yâk path. Much delay took place ere we hit off the track. Then we had a gradual ascent of some six miles over a barren stony tract, a nullah on our left hand. The morning, hitherto sparkling and fresh, now became overcast, and a violent storm of sleet assailed us. I know nothing more miserable in travelling, than riding at a foot's pace, your horse stumbling at every other step or so, and a chilling blast cutting you to pieces, with its horrid accompaniment of stinging sleet and hail. The wind, which had been behind, now veered round and blew direct in our faces, as we descended into a desert plain of boundless extent. My borrowed nag's pace was so far from agreeable that I dismounted, and trudged doggedly on, head down. Gaining a little warmth, I got on better as the storm abated; but that coming on again with increased bitterness, I at last pulled up, and sat down with my back to it. After a time, I again trudged on. How this 'maidan' seemed interminable! But at length we came to a deep gorge with a stream running down it. It was now about one o'clock; and, but for the idea I entertained that we must be getting near Waad Jilgo, I had stopped here. Being far ahead of the riding trio, I was forced to follow my own ideas, and pressed onwards. Another interminable plain presenting itself, on, on I trudged, without any seeming alteration in its extent, until half-past three, when the shikarries overtook me with the ghoont, thinking I must be tired. I did mount, and rode on some six miles. There was now a ridge of low hills in front of us, and a range of higher ones immediately on our left. I hoped we might find water at any rate on the other side, intending to stop at the first place where was water. We had come a long distance, and there was hardly a chance of the coolies coming up. Abdool, being questioned, could give no information about the localities, nor could we understand his gibberish. We reached the hills in front, and looked into a low flat, where was every appearance of a watercourse, for which we made, but found it dry. A violent snow-storm now setting in, and, having no knowledge of what was before us--all our people and things miles behind--I thought it best to halt here. Bad as this choice was, there was something in favour of it; a quantity of roots for fuel were at hand; so here we dismounted, tied our horses together, and, collecting roots--we had some sticks with us--with some little trouble we got up a smoky dull fire, round which we sat shivering, our prospects for the night decidedly comfortless. The snow came thicker and thicker; there would be drink for man, if not for beast. Murad and a haji arrived, and joined our group, and at dusk the trusty Buddoo, with a horse carrying my bed, tent, &c., so I was all right. I had also a cake and bacon remaining from my breakfast. My tent erected, I turned into bed, the better to shield myself from the severe cold. I could not eat. Buddoo said that the other servants and baggage were far behind; so the probability was, what with the night and snow, that they would not be able to find the path or, therefore, camp. I had no fear for them; they had everything but water with them. But I felt deep anxiety for the poor coolies, with nothing but their loads; what would become of them? I felt truly miserable. I told Buddoo, that he and my other two servants, when they might arrive, should shelter themselves in my tent, there being just room for them to huddle themselves up on the floor, and the closer the better. Poor Buddoo was extremely thankful; remarking that the snow descended thicker than ever, and the cold was intense, he closed the entrance, and left me to my gloomy reflections. Sleep was beyond my reach: fretting and restless, I lay listening to outward sounds. Subhan brought the guns, and had no comfort to offer, on my questioning him, but that those of the party here would not die, as they had fire; for the others, the coolies, there was much danger. As he talked, a loud whistle came down the wind, some of the party approaching; and, ere long, I heard with delight the strong cheery tones of Abdoolah who, soon arriving, was bustling here and there, giving directions, and apparently making light of the difficulties that beset us. All with the horses had arrived safe; but of the coolies there were no tidings. There was strong reason to hope, however, that they would find shelter with the haji kafila, also on the road. The servants' shuldary was with them, so I sent an invitation to the shikarries to put up in mine; they, however, preferred a screen they had contrived, and a good fire. My mind to a great extent relieved, I tried to sleep, but the intense cold, in spite of all the clothes I could heap on, rendered my rest troubled and broken. 7th September. I heard the people quite merry and laughing in the morning. At the appearance of sunshine I turned out, and went to the fire, where I found all in good humour, though recalling bitter experiences of the past night. Snow, of course, lay thick all around. No tidings of the coolies. Abdoolah busied himself melting snow in the kettle to give me some tea (a tedious process, resulting in a smoky slop, for which, however, I was thankful), accompanied by the cake of yesterday. The poor horses stood coupled together, with heads drooping, and teeth grinding. I had ordered them each two seers of corn at night, and gave them one now. Some of them, by-the-bye, had augmented the influences disturbing my night's rest, by coming close to my tent, and grinding their hungry jaws, and uttering uncouth sounds, expressive of distress and suffering, as though to reproach me as the author of them. I did all I could for the poor things. It was supposed that we were distant from Waad Jilgo some two coss; so a move on was resolved, as water must be had, and the coolies might follow on. The sepoy was despatched to see after them. Hoping to kill an antelope or two, we hunters went on ahead, I as usual on foot. The exhilarating influences of the fresh sharp air, the sparkling snow, and surrounding, many-tinted, diverse-featured mountains and hills, soon dispelled all my gloom, and I trudged cheerily along, enjoying many a pleasant fancy and reflection. But we had short reckoned our distance. It was at least ten miles to the first water and grass; not the spot we had previously stopped at--a couple of miles short of that; but as the grass was abundant, there was every inducement to rest here, which we did. When the breakfast coolie arrived at twelve o'clock, I found that Abdoolah had put me up nothing, and I was now extremely hungry, having had very short allowance of late. The shikarries, however, soon cooked me a couple of cakes, and, Abdoolah and baggage arriving soon after, I started off with Subhan to try for antelope. We went a long way round, and saw numbers, but could not get near one, and came back, disappointed and weary. As we approached camp we saw sheep and goats nearing, a good sign; and I was told that the coolies were all right, except being hungry and thirsty, and were coming on. They did not arrive, however, till dusk, and then two were stated to have given in, and were remaining far behind, helpless. With some trouble and personal superintendence, I got off two Bhooties with a supply of water for them. The coolies had, as was supposed, stopped at the haji camp, and so were as well off as if they had reached ours, but that they assert that they could get no food from the hajis, which, however, I do not believe. 8th September. The night was bitterly cold. I could not sleep; experienced much oppression of chest, and could not contrive to keep my feet warm, all I could do--three pair of worsted socks on, drawers and trowsers, double blanket, felt namba, and flannel jacket and mackintosh over that, on the foot of the bed. In the night I got flannel trowsers, and wrapped my feet in them, but produced no warmth. The frost was very sharp, the stream turned to ice. The sun, however, was bright and cheery, and under its genial influence all were in good spirits. After breakfast we hunters started in advance. We soon saw a herd of antelope. But they also saw us, when we reached a low hill, behind which they slowly retired. I went after them with Subhan, and opened them about three hundred yards off. They soon increased that to four hundred, when some five or six being grouped together, I took a shot at them with Whitworth, and the bolt only just cleared their backs by an inch or so. Off they scudded, and I fired the Enfield, both balls seemingly falling right amidst them, but stopping none. We crossed the plain where, on coming, we were so fortunate, bucks jumping up under our very noses. Now we just caught a glimpse of some in the distance, which were off at once. A piercing blast, blowing off the snowy Karakorum, met us in the teeth, cutting us through and through. I never felt anything like it. It seemed to enter my eyes, and wither my brain. My nose and lips were in a terrible state. Moving on, head down, I was aroused by Subhan's signal, and saw in front, in a watercourse we were about to descend, five antelope apparently asleep. I dismounted, and strove to get at them; but, the ground offering no covert, no nullah, they soon saw us, and away they sped into space. I now walked on, and descended into the wide interminable shingle plain, stretching from the base of the Karakorum. On turning an angle, I saw something move. It was a miserable horse left here to linger out its last moments in agonies. Two days, I suppose, it must have lingered, deserted by the unfeeling owner, a Bokhara man, who had passed us at Sugheit. He must have suffered heavy loss, as we have already passed eight or nine of his dead horses. The throats of the others had been mercifully cut. I put this poor animal to rest with a bullet in his brain. Hence, on to our former bleak and dreary camp ground, the wind if possible more keen as we neared its primary source. I was glad to dismount, and wrap my head in a blanket, turning my back to this inhospitable blast. Soon up came Buddoo, the trusty, ever-cheerful, quiet Buddoo, and not very long after, the invaluable, energetic Abdoolah; and all the coolies came in by dusk. I have resolved, in consequence of our very limited quantity of rations, to make a short march to-morrow, though Sunday, to a place in the middle of the Karakorum gorge, where I hope to find a little sprinkling of grass, as we saw many antelope there, on coming through. This will give us an easy march over the pass to a spot beyond the wretched charnel-house, where we camped last time, and lost our first horse--offering the important advantage of a bite or two of grass, and, I think, fuel. I ordered a sheep to be killed, intending to regale my servants and shikarries with flesh, the better to enable them to stand the cold--an addition to their simple farinaceous diet most acceptable. Resorting to every possible precaution to promote warmth, I put on three flannel shirts, one amazingly thick, drawers, flannel trowsers, flannel coat, nightcap tied on by a voluminous merino neckcloth also encircling my throat, and on my feet, my principal place of suffering, three pair of woollen socks, then over all a woollen gun-cover, in which my feet are inserted, then the long ends folded round and secured. Thus clad, with double blanket, felt ditto, mackintosh, and warm choga enveloping me, I may surely hope for enough of caloric for comfort and repose; though that terrible wind is howling its menaces, and the frost set in hard. I wish I was safe in the Lobrah valley. Well, well, a few days--say seven--and we shall (please God) be at Chanloong; formerly, how despicable a place! now, how ardently longed for! 9th September. Sunday. A very indifferent night; my feet numbed and chill, in spite of all my manifold coverings; my lungs much oppressed, and continually calling me to consciousness by a sense of impending suffocation. On the sun's rays being distinctly recognised by the growing transparency of my tent, I emerged from my many wrappers. The outer atmosphere was intensely severe; ice everywhere it was possible; and a wind that found its way to one's marrow. My tent had been well secured at foot to exclude this assailant, as also, by-the-bye, the poor goats, which, unhappy sufferers, made several efforts to repeat their invasion of Friday night, when two of them established themselves under my bed, driven to this bold intrusion by the severe cold, and little Sara, as though in appreciation of their sufferings, and compassionating them, offered no opposition. Nor should I have taken measures to exclude them, poor things! but that they kept me awake by their constant restlessness and unusual noises. I attempted to be, and to look, cheerful--on the Mark Tapley principle. My attendants looked very black and pinched. No wonder; there is some difference between this temperature and that of their fervid plains. At breakfast Abdoolah told me, that the party generally would prefer halting here to-day, as they needed rest. The coolies wanted to mend their boots, and promised to go through to the halt I had designed to-morrow. He observed, too, that the flour was all but out, and as the Yarkand kafila would come up to-day, we could indent upon them for their promised contribution. I had no objection at all to remaining; on the contrary, it would enable me to maintain my Sunday practice, proposed to be interrupted only on necessity. I passed the day within, reading and writing; received report of the death of a horse, knocked up yesterday, one with a dreadful sore back, which I had remarked, and predicted its certain death. The Bhooties in attendance on the horses cannot be induced to look after them, or attempt to remedy the effects of the saddle-galls, by mending or altering, or applications of any sort. The loss will be theirs and their employers', as I have explained to them, with repeated injunctions to look after the animals; but all in vain. The Yarkandies came up in the afternoon. Abdoolah went to beg, and only succeeded in obtaining twenty-six seers of atta. I was angry with him for having either deceived me as to the quantity of flour in hand, on my making particular enquiries on Monday, or for having exceeded the proportion of issues he had then told me was necessary daily, having led me to expect that we had ten days' supply, when here on the sixth we were consuming the last day's rations. He made some unintelligible explanations of having omitted in his estimate some of the Bhooties who had hitherto subsisted on their own provision; but all this should have been correctly ascertained. I suspect that Abdoolah, in his anxiety to prevent my prosecuting my intended inroad into the Yarkand territory, rather exaggerated our resources, or under-reckoned our wants knowingly--a very grave fault in our circumstances. But we have the provisions, written and sent for, to hope and expect. Kamal is a thoroughly trustworthy messenger, and will be probably fallen in with at Bursey or Moorgaby. The thermometer this morning at 7 A.M. was six degrees below freezing in my tent. 10th September. While yet dark, poor shivering Buddoo came in to take out bullock-trunk and chair for the coolies, now ready to start. Oh! how cold the rush of external air! The tent again closed, I enjoyed a sort of sense of comfort by comparison, and waited till the first appearance of dawn; then speedily got ready, and, muffled up, moved off. All the streams, though rapid, were frozen over thickly. I tramped on as fast as the rough shingle and a pair of new ammunition-boots, of great strength and corresponding hardness and stiffness, allowed me. A gentle ascent of some eight miles, I think, had to be surmounted ere we reached the actual pass of the Karakorum, and this up a valley or river-way. Having gained partial warmth after two hours' walk, and my boots chafing, I mounted, and took Sara before me. But, though the sun was now illuming this valley, the frost did not yield, and my moustache and beard were firmly united in a mass of icicles from my congealing breath, so that it was inconvenient (to use no stronger term) to open my mouth, as it needed the parting or extraction of some hairs to effect. With every contrivance to wrap them up, and with two pair of woollen gloves--one, certainly, all rents--my hands became so painful I could no longer keep poor little Sara under my cloak before me, so set him down; and, soon after, we made a turn to the left, opening the pass, from the snowy peaks of which came rushing an icy blast that quite curdled my blood. My eyes ached, my brain seemed congealed, and a pain in my back and side, and every now and then a gasping for breath, completed my misery. I was soon obliged to dismount, in spite of sore feet, to endeavour to restore the circulation by walking as rapidly as possible. But the difficulty of breathing was terrible. On I struggled, until a bend to the right into a narrow ravine presented itself, whose lofty banks gave some promise of shelter from this killing blast. For this I hastened; and, finding a little nook in a bank, down I threw myself, lifting my face to the sun, and so sought, and soon found, partial relief. The shikarries came up, and we were all, I should think, half an hour before attempting a remark. Then, having thawed a little, we could find an objurgation or two against the country and climate. My breakfast bundle unfolded displayed milk frozen in bottle to a lump--tea, ditto. This was enveloped in a thick blanket, and carried on a man's shoulder. It was soon liquidized in the sun. I remained an hour or so basking: then, the worst over, away and up over the pass, and down, down into the valley beyond, where the temperature under the sun's increased power was tolerable. We passed the former halting-place, Pulu, and, after resting an hour, continued our course to Dupsang, where we chose our camp on an extensive plain, with a scanty patch or two of grass. The effects came up late, coolies later; but all got in. I determined to start the coolies very early, and leave, myself and mounted party, at 8.30, after breakfast, to give the horses more time to get a bite of grass. 11th September. On turning out I found a very severe frost, as I had expected from my experience within. Abdoolah proposed to give me an omelet for breakfast, but produced chops instead, explaining that the eggs were frozen into stones, and he had hard work to separate the meat. We had to cross the elevated table-land, before described, now just covered with a thin layer of snow. A bitter wind blew in our teeth, putting all enjoyment of the scenery, or any pleasing train of meditation, out of the question. All was silent endurance, grinning discomfort. Yet I did give a glance, and sentiment or so of admiration, to some magnificent forms of mountains in their pure and brilliant garb of snow. But I was glad to be rid of their frozen features, and descend into a narrow ravine, where, screened from the wind, and cheered by the sun, my temperature and temper regained their customary tone. Here we met a party conveying goods of Bella Shah's--dyed leather--to Yarkand; and one of them was the unfortunate owner of the horses with me, a merchant who had been long in prison at Leh, and recently released. On gaining freedom, he, of course, looked for his horses, and was very glad to hear that they had been engaged for me. He now collected his clothes, and turned back with my party, much questioning and answering going on between him and the shikarries; he had read my first note to the kardar at Panamik for supplies, and had pointed out to that individual the necessity of implicit compliance; had met Kamal on the hill over Chanloong, now six days back. This was satisfactory. We need now have no apprehensions, but of a day's scarcity--perhaps, a half ration. We continued on, far beyond our original halt, and finally pulled up on the shingle, near a small thread of a stream which was lost in the shingle. When we previously ascended, this water-bed was intersected in every direction by rapid streams: now water was difficult to find. The traps arrived late, and I did not enter my tent till dark. There was a perceptible difference in the atmosphere, though still frosty. 12th September. I intended to start the whole party early, in order to bring the horses to the grass at Moorgaby, as soon as possible, but found them all astray, having wandered away in search of grass during the night. I could not wait in the cold, so started, my horse at hand following as usual. I strode away best pace, and passed coolies and Murad's party, and was deep in thought, when a rattling of earth aroused my attention, and looking up, there were some thirty nâpu close by me, on the hill-side on my right hand, not above fifty yards off, all of a heap. They were leisurely moving upwards, a capital shot. No shikarry, no gun near, that wretched Mooktoo having lagged far behind. Abdool coming on, driving my horse before him, I made frantic gestures to him to stop; but, head down, eyes on the ground, not heeding, in stupid absorption, on he came, nor could I gain his attention, till I picked up a stone and threw it at his head. Then he ducked, and halted, and began to talk. Mooktoo, awake to the circumstances, now came running up, rifle in case; fumbled at that, then to cap--his fingers so numbed, I suppose, he bungled sadly. The animals were now far up the mountain. I got the rifle, and pulling trigger, no effects--the cap bad. At last I got off both barrels, but the objects were too far off for this weapon--a polygroove. We arrived at a point where the path, quitting the river-bed, ascended the rugged mountain-side to a great height, and re-descended. There being now no water, I thought we might go straight on, but Abdool would not hear of the horse going. He said, "man might go, but no horse could;" so Mooktoo and I, followed by Lussoo, breakfast-bearer, entered the defile which delighted us at first by its easy, accessible ingress. We soon, however, learned to respect Abdool's opinion, at which and his experience we had been scoffing. We found ourselves entangled in a confusion of rocks which at last quite blocked up the passage. There was nothing for it, then, but to retrace our steps, or climb the steep on either side. I set to work at one point, Mooktoo at another. Making slow progress, and slipping back often--for I had no staff to support me, and my boots were ill fitted for climbing--I gained the ledge with much exertion, and, after clambering along some hundred yards, found I must re-descend into the bed of the torrent, all further progress being cut off by a yawning precipice. Nerving myself for the attempt, I succeeded in getting down, showers of loose stones accompanying me. I could not pause for observation, but fixing my eyes on certain points apparently firm I dashed at them, and off again before my weight had detached them, leaving them to fall with awful resounding crashes into the depths below. I got down all right, not a little pleased and relieved thereat, and found the way now practicable. Looking up, there were Mooktoo and Lussoo craning over the chasm. I hailed them to try another place, and then went on, and heard stones and rocks thundering down the steep. Reaching the point where Abdool and horse should cross, they were not yet in sight, but soon appeared, and in due time joined me. Half an hour had elapsed since I left the other two in difficulties, and, becoming alarmed, I despatched Abdool to look after them; who after ten minutes or so reappeared, abusing them and Cashmiries in general as good for nothing. They were close at hand, and came up, Subhan and Phuttoo also. They had to extricate Lussoo who, terror-stricken, had stuck half-way down the steep. Here I breakfasted, and then went on to Moorgaby. No Kamal: but an encampment--some of the people, and horses, and goods of the Bokhara man. Horses lay dead around; and a man was engaged in skinning and cutting up one for meat. My people did not make their appearance till six or seven hours after me. 13th September. A cold frosty morning. I stepped out smartly for a couple of hours, and then mounted, and found the Bokhara man encamped, who to enquiries said that he had lost six horses, and the others were so feeble that he must leave his goods behind, and take them on to Lobrah to recover their condition. I found the torrent, from wading and crossing which so many times, when coming, I had suffered such agonies of cold, now a narrow gentle stream, much to my satisfaction. On nearing Sassar a man with a loaded ass appeared, who turned out to be one of the party come with my supplies: the others were at Sassar. Kamal remained at Panamik, footsore. We found the river at Sassar, so formidable when last crossed, now easily forded in any place. Men, donkeys, and loads there: others encamped with yâks designed for hire by merchants whose horses might knock up. Subhan rummaged out a sheepskin bag containing some dozen letters and heaps of papers for me. I greedily seized and ran through the former. Good news from home--all well, thank God! Excellent accounts of the corps at Amritsir; no casualties from the date of my leaving to the 20th July. The Baboo, writing the 20th ult., makes no allusion to the receipt of my packet from Leh, or from Diskit. This is perplexing and serious. If my letters, application for extension of leave, &c., have miscarried, I shall be in a considerable fix. He says, however, that he had previously despatched these letters by a coolie who, after twelve days' absence, returned, saying that he was taken ill on the road. Perhaps, in his letter first sent he mentioned the receipt of those packets, and forgot to note the same in his second. I hope so; but must suffer suspense and anxiety till my arrival at Leh. 14th September. Up betimes for the arduous passage of the Sassar, which I quite dreaded, so frightfully rough and fatiguing is it, without a redeeming feature. The coolies had preceded us, so we had no idea of meeting with shikar up the valley; but as I strode ahead, Subhan signalled me, and I at once saw a large flock of nâpu feeding in tranquillity on the steep hill-side on my right hand. They might have been three hundred yards off. I took the Whitworth from Phuttoo, and, followed by Subhan with the Enfield, moved gently up the hill, straight for the animals, there being no other course. Luckily the wind was down. I got to a big stone about a hundred and fifty yards from the flock, scattered feeding a few yards apart, and was obliged to wait some seconds for breath and composure. The animals were quite unconscious of our neighbourhood. At last, taking the opportunity of two coming together, one of which seemed to me the largest there, and to have horns, I aimed. It was most difficult to aim surely and with nicety, owing to the grey light of morning, the grey colour of the animals, and that of the ground, rendering the object very indistinct. Whispering this to Subhan, I let drive, and down rolled one of the animals; when, to my infinite astonishment, off dashed little Sara at speed, whose presence I was not aware of. He had, however, followed silently my every movement. He flew straight at the wounded animal, and seized it as it struggled. I called him to come back: but in vain. So, taking the double rifle, I looked for another shot, and fired at two passing nâpu, I believe without effect, but the ball seeming to go through one. And now ensued an exciting and ludicrous scene. The wounded nâpu, an animal as large as a fallow doe, partially recovered the blow, and, shaking off the worrying Sara violently, came with irregular bounds rapidly down the hill, pursued frantically by the gallant little dog close at its haunches. I raised the rifle. Subhan adjured me not to fire, lest I should injure the dog. But fearing that the animal, apparently yet vigorous, might escape, I aimed well forward, and over it rolled. Sara was at its head immediately, and seized it by the ear, when a desperate struggle took place. The animal bounded into the air; but the tenacious little rascal kept his hold firm. Down they came, the dog undermost, never relaxing but to get a better grip. And thus the contest continued, until I got hold of the hind legs of the violently-struggling creature, and Subhan the head. Then Sara, coming to my aid, fixed his teeth in the haunch, and there held on, never yielding till life was extinct. His excitement then subsided, and he lay down panting, and looking as if really ashamed of his exploits. Cheered by this incident, we pursued our way which was yet terribly trying. However, the passage was in time accomplished, and after reposing and refreshing for a couple of hours or so, during which time Buddoo and tent passed us, and the other servants came up, we went on and bivouacked on the hill above the Bhoot goatherds' encampment, a spot producing a fair supply of grass. At Abdoolah's suggestion I had engaged three of the yâks to relieve my tottering horses and carry the baggage, the horses coming on unloaded, by which plan I hope to save their lives. We intend to go through to Chanloong to-morrow--a stiff journey, with the tremendous mountain to get over, which, however, is not so bad from this side. We are all elated at the near prospects of a better land and a better climate than we have recently sojourned in. I hear a deal of good-natured banter going on around, and feel very 'koosh' myself, and have been congratulating everybody upon our having bid an eternal farewell to the Karakorum and Sassar horrors. The Bokhara man sent for some corn. He lost three horses yesterday. Two or three of mine look as though they would not survive, poor wretches! in spite of being freed from their burdens. 15th September. Still bitterly cold, my camp being close to enormous glaciers, in addition to the snow on the mountains. I led off at a round pace down to the shepherds' huts, and saw donkeys there loaded, which turned out to be an additional supply convoyed by the faithful Kamal who had been detained by a sore foot. I renewed the well-remembered horrors of this vale of stones and bones, to the latter of which there were now many additions. The air breathed on the mountain-side was quite pestiferous from the many rotting carcases. It was a terrible long drag up. Having reached the top, I ordered a general dismount, or Phuttoo and Mooktoo would have assuredly bestridden their poor jaded beasts all the way down. We stopped a few minutes at a fine clear spring to refresh; and then on to the willow groves of Chanloong. The descent occupied about an hour and a half, best pace. How delightful and refreshing appeared the struggling willows of this scrubby piece of cultivation! Selecting the most umbrageous, I threw myself under it, and experienced such delicious sensations as the privations I had recently undergone could alone have procured me. Bees and insects in numbers were buzzing and humming about, and the freshness of vivid vegetation was strongly perceptible in the atmosphere. Excepting the valley of Sugheit, the air of which was fine and agreeable, that I have been breathing and exposed to may well be likened to a perpetual east wind, the rawest and most intense experienced in March in England. I revelled in the pleasant change, lying down in the shade, giving the reins to memory and imagination, until gentle slumber stole over me. My attendants, baggage, and cattle, except one horse, came in. The absent animal was obliged to be deserted on the mountain summit. I ordered a man with corn to be sent up to make a last effort to save him. How delighted all the poor fellows were to get down! I eat my dinner again 'al fresco,' and sat out as long as the light enabled me to read, occasionally casting a glance over the scenery, always grand though savage, and in the evening-subdued light endued with softer beauties: then turned in anticipating a good night's rest. 16th September. I did enjoy an untroubled night of calm repose, such as I have not experienced since I left Sugheit; no violent palpitations and struggles for respiration, no biting wind penetrating my every covering, and--oh! satisfaction indescribable--warm feet. I rose early, the air cool and fresh, and just sauntered about among the straggling bushes, feeling truly sensible, I trust, of the mercies and blessings vouchsafed me. So far I had returned safe and sound. I now look forward with pleasure to my return to my duties and usual avocations. I passed a pleasant, cheerful day; and retired in suitable mood again to enjoy a night of delicious, healthy sleep. CHAPTER XV. LEH AND LADÂK. 17th September. Everybody astir early. Even the coolies were anxious for a start. Not their wont by any means: it has always been a hard matter to rouse them up. But they, poor mortals! have their affections, and are now looking forward to return to their homes and families. Having seen many hares and partridges when coming this stage, I had my gun and shot ready, wishing to give little Sara some diversion. Arriving at fields and cultivation after six or seven miles of horrid barren country, I dismounted, and flushed a snipe in some swampy ground, whilst a hare was visible running off in the distance. I thought Master Snipey a certain bag after the hare, so did not fire at him, though an easy shot. The hare made off through a fence, and a teal rising I knocked it over. Now I tried for the 'long-bill.' But whether the report of the gun had awakened dormant hereditary suspicions--for he could never have been shot at--I know not; but he proved himself the most 'cute and wide-awake creature imaginable, and, after many dodges, finally took flight. So I tried after the hare. No find. Then I took down a stream, and shot a long-billed bird which, when sitting, I thought must be a woodcock: but it was only some kind of plover, the head and bill exactly like the woodcock's. I saw the 'long-bill.' There was but this one, and again I sought his life. In vain: he was off long ere I got near him. Then I tried a swamp; found nothing, and stopped to breakfast. All the people and traps came up and passed. I felt resolved to have that snipe. And, as he had gone off in the direction of the spot first found in, I had no doubt of seeing him there, so went back. There he was, quite conspicuous, feeding about, but still wide-awake, and ever fluttering on out of shot; and at last, when my attentions became too pressing, he took a long flight, but came back a long round, and settled in some sedges. I was relentless, and resolved to compass his death by treachery; so, taking advantage of a fence covering my approach, I stole upon him. Reconnoitring carefully, I saw him evidently on the 'qui vive,' and had to advance still some way to make sure. I peeped again: he was not visible. Suspecting a 'ruse,' I went on a little further, and looking over the hedge saw my fine fellow, his head on one side, evidently listening. Without any compunction, I blew out his brains then and there. Soon after, I shot a hare, and then, turning towards the horses, a good long beat lying between, I fired at four others ineffectually; a just punishment for the persecution and murder of the solitary snipe. I found my tent pitched at Panamik in the old spot; and in the afternoon transacted a deal of business. The moonshi, Ahmet Shah's relative, met me on the road. He and Abdoolah had come to some understanding on prices and charges, and we got on very well. The horse left on the hill died yesterday, making five in all out of the seventeen taken from Panamik, which gives a fair idea of the nature of the journey. The hire of each horse for the forty days, after due deductions, is eight rupees, one anna. I was very glad to have the matter settled, and attacked my stew with additional zest. Some turnips and pumpkins obtained yesterday were a great treat after a month's forced abstinence from all vegetables. No fruit to be got here. I push on to-morrow beyond the corresponding stage when coming, and, as the river is now low, shall probably avoid Diskit altogether. 18th September. A more than usually tiresome march, the glare from the surrounding bare sandy ground excessively trying to the eyes. The moonshi overtook and accompanied me, and on arrival at Lanjoong procured me some melons and apples which, though indifferent of their kind, were most acceptable. Here I discharged Tar-gness who appeared delighted with his rate of wages, doing obeisance in a most servile manner. The kardar arrived from Diskit, and I tipped him five rupees, much to his satisfaction. 19th September. A long and most wearisome march, repeating all the disagreeables of yesterday in a magnified degree, the road lying through an interminable tract of shingle and deep sand by the river side. I shot a hare at the village where we stopped to breakfast, and disturbed a young brood of chakore there. The hen bird exposing herself to certain destruction to draw off attention from her nestlings, I forbore to injure her, respecting her maternal solicitude and magnanimous self-devotion. We finally brought up at a small village on the right bank, having passed by Diskit and Kalsar, and thus gaining a position almost opposite the ravine leading down from Karbong. The sheep arrived from Diskit looking well, all but the solitary survivor of the Wurdwan lot which, whether from pining in strange company in an uncongenial climate, or other cause unknown, is in very poor case. 20th September. After two or three miles of very deep sand, we crossed the river where divided into several channels. Its waters are diminished in depth and force, otherwise it is not fordable when comprised in its main channel. We had now a rough path up a rugged ravine, with some very steep pitches to ascend, and did not reach Karbong until eleven, and had to wait for breakfast till twelve. The owner of the horses of my expedition, who is accompanying me to Leh, there to receive his money, came up and reported that five of the coolies had bolted at our camp, and every male had disappeared from the village, so that Abdoolah had adopted the only course left, and gone back to another village with the sepoy to impress other coolies. This mishap compelled me to give up all thoughts of going further to-day, which will necessitate a double march to-morrow, including that horrid mountain. 21st September. A very severe frost, and the cold intense on this elevated plateau, surrounded by snow-covered mountains. I rose at the first glimpse of dawn, and tramped fast and long before acquiring any glow. After a heavy drag up hill for four hours I halted to breakfast about a mile and a half from the foot of the ascent; which I then accomplished, not without sundry slips and tumbles, the ice beneath the snow being hard and slippery. The descent was steep and rugged, down a horrid stony path running through corn fields now under the reapers' hands, to the immediate precincts of Leh, passing under the rock and its crowning palace; and thence turning across the fields we entered the enclosure where was our camp, and were warmly welcomed by Suleiman and domestics. The former was much relieved at our appearance, having suffered, he said, much suspense from want of authentic information regarding us, and flying rumours of misfortune. Major Tryon had taken his unfortunate servant with him in a doolie. He had lost some of his fingers which had dropped off, but was thought to be getting better. No letters or papers for me, nor any news of those transmitted hence having reached the Baboo. I am thus in a fix, not knowing whether I have leave or no, nor even if my application for leave was ever received. I must hasten on to Cashmere, expecting to meet the Baboo's explanations 'en route.' The thanadar was very civil in messages, sending apples and a sheep, bed and bedding too. Abdoolah arrived and reported things on the way, yet far behind. Buddoo and bedding arrived, so I was well provided for. I sat chatting by the fire some time, and then turned into my large tent, quite a mansion, and read for an hour or so. One small snooze--and then I was roused and kept awake for hours by an inharmonious combination of sounds--people wandering about, coolies arriving holloaing at each other, servants and followers all jabbering away together, horses neighing, a jackass braying, yâks grunting, and Sara and Fan rushing out of the tent and adding their shrill yelps to the general outcry. I summoned patience, and dwelling on my safety and comfort forbore to interrupt my retainers in the outpouring of their mutual gossip on reunion; but lay and endured it all, hoping for a lull in the storm, which at length arriving, I submitted joyfully to the sweet bonds of sleep. 22nd September. A delightful fresh morning. I just sauntered about around my tent, and ordered two sheep, rice, flour, and tea for the entertainment of my establishment, to commemorate the safe return of the expedition. Suleiman reports that he had distributed all the Scriptures and tracts, but a few which he had kept in reserve in case we should visit Kopalu. He had met with some attentive listeners, one a Sikh from Lucknow, now resident in this country, who said his mind was full and troubled after reading the Gospel, and wished he could consult with a 'padre.' He is going to Kopalu, and Suleiman was going to entrust him with some books for the Rajah of that place, a very intelligent man, and one with whom Suleiman, in his former travels in this country with Colonel Martin, had held communication and discourse, of whom too he was hopeful. But we learn that the Rajah is now in Sirinuggur attending the durbar, so we hope to meet him in person. There is also an old man, a bunga, native of Feruckabad, who has been here some years, and has married a native woman, by whom he has three young children: he is earnest in his enquiries, and professes a conviction of the truth of Christianity. He proposes to go under my escort to the mission at Amritsir. But to remove and deport a family of the Maharajah's subjects without full sanction would be going much too far. And, then, how would my friends, the missionaries, approve of my burdening them so heavily? After pondering over the subject, I resolved, if the customs and laws of the land permitted, to run all risks and encounter the trouble and expense, for the sake of the children--nice, lively, dirty, naked, little wretches, always merry and chattering. So I sent Abdoolah and the moonshi to enquire of the thanadar about the matter, who replies that, when a foreigner marries a native of the country, he ought not to quit without due authority from the Maharajah. So I thought the utmost prudence necessary in such a case. I was sorry to reject the poor man's petition, and, pitying his disappointment, said I would endeavour to get a purwanah from the Maharajah for his exit, should I have an interview with his highness. Poor old Basti Ram is ailing, and obliged to be bled, so I have announced my intention to pay him a visit. 23rd September. Sunday. A quiet morning. About breakfast time Bella Shah, the moonshi, Murad, and other folk and attendants came to see me. Murad, who looked remarkably down and conscious, excused himself from going on with me, stating that his horses were lame, and, when this was contradicted, he then declared that he owed Bella Shah money, which if I paid he would go. Bella Shah had then taken leave. I declined it, and told him he was at liberty to choose his own route, time, &c., and so dismissed him. 24th September. I paid all wages and claims before breakfast, and afterwards off to the town to Bella Shah's, and inspected some rugs, and damask silks, and other goods. The silks were described as from Russia, but had a stamp with the arms of England, lion and unicorn, on them. If they are from England, a far less circuitous route might be found for such merchandise. Questioning Bella Shah as to Murad's being indebted to him, he said it was true; he had borrowed money at Yarkand from his nephew to be repaid here, but that this should be no obstacle to his accompanying me. I had thought much last night over Murad's conduct, and the best course to take in regard to it, and had come to the conclusion that it was my duty to take possession of the head of the deceased gentleman, leaving the other things with Murad. I now went to Basti Ram's, and was ushered into the old gentleman's presence with due ceremony. He is feeble, but his eye is bright and his voice strong. A large group of slovenly attendants and my own suite were admitted to the presence. We had much chat about my journey, and then brought Murad upon the 'tapis.' Basti Ram became excited and energetic, declaring that he would force him along with me, and send an escort with him: had he not come under my protection, he would have been imprisoned immediately on his arrival, so strong were the suspicions entertained against him: there were merchants of the first respectability now in Leh aware of all the circumstances of M. Schlagentweit's murder, who distinctly taxed Murad with connivance and complicity in the treachery that betrayed him to Walli Khan. The old man was quite roused as he dwelt on this topic. I now made up my mind, and explained my wishes to Basti Ram that he should summons all the credible persons from Yarkand, who were cognisant of any of the facts of this wicked business, examine them, and duly and officially record their depositions in Persian, attaching his sign manual thereto; and that the same parties should also give evidence before me. To this he readily assented, issuing the necessary orders on the spot. He told me that there was a merchant, a man of importance, in the town, who was actually present when M. Schlagentweit was killed. This arranged, I took leave. There was food for reflection in the information just received, and my resolve thereupon at once taken I sent the jemadar, who followed me from Basti Ram, to bring me the head from Murad, and then returned to camp. After a while the jemadar arrived with Murad, the head, book, and instrument. The head, taken from the box and unwrapped, exhibited a skull complete with facial bones. Earth and dust adhered to it as when it was exhumed. The upper front teeth were remarkably prominent, the two centre ones large. The jemadar, who had been well acquainted with the deceased, had no doubt of the identity. There was a deep cut in the bone just above the nape of the neck. The few roots of hair on the skull were black. I ordered these relics to be placed in my tent, and Murad was made aware that he must accompany me. He only demurred at the difficulties of feeding himself and horses on the road. But this was at once overruled, as Basti Ram had engaged to settle all such matters, or I would have done so. The witnesses are to be paraded before me this evening, when something definite, one way or the other, may be elicited. I have taken measures to have them interrogated separately, and much ado I had to get this understood. Natives will follow their own train of ideas, and pervert one's words in conformity thereto. Murad and the witnesses having come, after fruitless efforts to conduct an examination in any useful form--it being impossible to obtain definite answers, and equally out of the question keeping a witness to the point, and preventing interruptions from my attendants, all wanting to have a say--I gave up the attempt in despair, and sent the whole party off to the thanadar to be examined on their oaths. Abdoolah returned from the inquisition with Murad and a paper containing the summary of evidence taken on oath before the thanadar, who sent me word that there was nothing whatever stated, which could in any way incriminate Murad; his suspicions against him were now entirely removed, and he believed his narrative to be substantially true. This result gives me the greatest satisfaction. I congratulated Murad upon it, and pointed out how necessary it was for his own sake that the rumours to his prejudice should have been sifted and refuted. He now holds up his head again, and is quite ready to accompany me, but requires an advance of cash; so I gave him the sum he asked, twenty rupees. 25th September. Bella Shah and his nephew and other people came to see me, and we had a long and interesting conversation on the circumstances connected with M. Schlagentweit's journey and death. Bella Shah's relative says, that the Chinese authorities of Yarkand are not inimical to the British, and would have treated M. Schlagentweit hospitably and with honour. The borders of the country of Andejan are three days' march from the city of Yarkand. This territory contains eleven large cities, is a month's journey in width, and joins its frontiers to the provinces of Russia, which country has recently erected and established a military cantonment on its frontier, after some opposition and fighting. Peace now prevails, and a large amount of trade is carried on. Even British goods find their way by this route through Bokhara, where only any duty is levied, and that light, computed at two and a half per cent. I questioned Bella Shah as to why he, an eminent merchant, did not introduce British manufacturers by the Ladâk route. He replied, that the exactions were too heavy, and the difficulties of the route caused heavy expenses. He did send calicoes and piece goods, but sometimes found the market overstocked by consignments from Russia. It was so at present: such goods were selling in Yarkand for half their original value. It seems unfortunate that the Indian government did not support Moorcroft in his schemes for opening up these vast regions to British commercial enterprise. Russia has now established her influence here, and makes a good thing of it. I have been purchasing some warm articles of felt clothing for my fat friend the lumbadar of Eish Mackahm; then took a warm farewell of Bella Shah. Yesterday evening, when Murad returned from the thanadar, that functionary sent with him a man denounced by Murad as having in his possession property to the value of 1008 rupees of M. Schlagentweit's. The man admitted to having been entrusted with goods to that amount by M. Schlagentweit who had sent him on arrival at Khylian to a neighbouring village to dispose of them. He followed M. Schlagentweit on to Yarkand, thinking to find him there, and was himself made prisoner. The goods, he said, were safe in the hands of other parties in Yarkand. Mahomed Dahomey had sent a sepahu to him from the Andejan country to give up this property, but he had refused to comply without due authority. The thanadar sent me word that, if the man did not give up the goods at my bidding, he would send him to Lahore to be dealt with. I sent directions to the thanadar to act himself in the matter, and take such steps as he deemed best to procure the property, and transmit it to British authority. He sent to me this morning to write him an order so to act. I have, therefore, given him an official authority, as a British officer, in the absence of other legitimate authority, to search for, and possess himself of, all or any effects or papers of the deceased, and duly apprise the Punjab government when he may succeed. This seemed to me the rational course to take. 26th September. Every one astir ere dawn amid a scene of bustle and confusion. The shikarries and even all my servants, Abdoolah told me, had resolved to indulge themselves with tattoos. Not the remotest objection on my part, as I would only pay for Abdoolah's and the moonshi's. I tipped jemadar, gopal, and the old bunga who was anxious that I should not forget his name, in order to bring his case before the Maharajah. Abdool, the whilom guide, appeared and undertook to lead the way out of the labyrinth of paths, and then took his leave with proper salaams. I believe the poor creature is really grateful for the treatment he has received from me, a rare feeling among Asiatics. We arrived without any adventure at Mimah, and camped in an enclosure. The evening was delightfully fresh, even rather chill, rendering a clear crackling fire pleasant to sit and think or chat over. My nights now, unbroken by that terrible oppression of lungs experienced further north, pass in tranquil and refreshing repose. If I do awake, it is but to enjoy the realisation of my condition of health and security under God's blessing and providence. 27th September. We altered our course from that in coming, Subhan recommending the road by Sassapool instead of Hemschi, the abatement of the waters of the Indus now having rendered the lower road practicable. No ways loath, mindful of the stony hilly demerits of the other, it was so ruled. The road as far as Sassapool was very fair. Subhan recommended a move on to Noorla, as it was yet early, about 9.30 A.M., and that place not distant. In this, however, he was much mistaken. The path led along the banks of the Indus, up and down precipitous rocks, rough, difficult, and most wearisome, the distance such that we did not reach Noorla till 4 P.M. There was little hope of the baggage coming up till night, and the Cashmere coolies could hardly be expected at all. I determined to make the best of the lots of walnuts to be had for the pelting, and some apples. At dusk Ali Bucks came up with the disagreeable news of all the Bhoot coolies, who were taken in relay at Sassapool, having bolted; that a few things only were coming on, and that Abdoolah and the sepoy were endeavouring to press other people. I soon had some chupatties made, which with some cold meat formed an excellent dinner: I got some Yarkand tea also which was quite flavourless, but being hot did well enough. Buddoo and the large tent now came up, but no bed or bedding. However, I contrived very well with part of the outer fly of the tent and one or two nambas spread on the ground; and Abdoolah, the sturdy, invincible Abdoolah, having arrived and reported things all on the way, though far distant, describing the difficulties and struggles attending the flight of the former coolies and the forcible enlistment of the new lot, I rolled myself up, little Fan nestled close on one side, and Sara stretched out under the covering on the other, and passed a fair night, though often disturbed by the irregular arrival of the grumbling coolies. The gopal of this place was reported to be drunk from 'bang,' when we arrived, and was not only useless, but saucy and obstructive. I sent him a threatening message, when the fumes were leaving his faculties somewhat clearer, which had the desired effect of providing for our wants. 28th September. Finding that everything had arrived during the night, I determined to reach Lama Yurru to-day. I enjoyed a pleasant walk at a good pace to Kalsee, to which place Kamal had been despatched an hour ere dawn to direct a relay of coolies. It was here that I purchased the crop of corn for my camp. On enquiring of the gopal, he pointed to the produce remaining stuck up in the walnut tree. I amused myself by the consternation with which he received my demand for the restitution of a rupee in consideration of this harvest. My followers, however, helped themselves liberally to walnuts on the strength of it. The jemadar of the bridge fort, who had been uncommonly civil and obliging when coming, advanced from his fortalice to salute me, and, on my entering the doorway, presented a tray of apples, congratulating me on my safe return. A Co. rupee 'backsheesh' called forth abundant thanks, and I passed the wooden bridge over the Indus, and was soon in that tremendous gorge leading up to Lama Yurru, the scenery truly magnificent in its savage grandeur, the road full of precipitous ups and downs, and running as a mere ledge over fearful depths and chasms. My old nag, on which I was mounted, was a little nervous at these slight shelves so projecting, some of which were formed on pieces of timber let into the smooth side of the perpendicular cliff, and, besides having an ominous leaning downwards, were very shaky and full of holes. The old Yarkandi snorted with alarm, craned in front, and dashed forward when urged, trying to jump the suspicious spots. But for this pusillanimous conduct he sought to make amends by dashing at the stairlike path up hill, and springing up at full gallop. I much enjoyed the excitement of this hap-hazard ride. The weather was delightful, and the surrounding scenery full of romantic charms. We reached the halting-place, and things arrived in due time. I made enquiries after the yâk I had wounded. The villagers interrogated pretended ignorance, which naturally persuaded us that the animal had recovered, and on the gopal arriving he at once told us that it was so. My ponies' shoes requiring replacing, nailing, &c., I had sent off for a smith who resided some six miles off. Night approached, but no man of iron. Lamenting this as a serious mishap, the gopal volunteered to do the job, and set to work, and in such a manner as to keep me on tenter hooks, lest he should lame my nags; his hammer, a little round-headed tool, falling with unsteady aim, driving the nail this way and that. One only having been driven home, and another with difficulty extracted, he relinquished the attempt until morning, daylight now quite failing. Should I ever undertake a similar journey in such barbarous regions, I will go provided with farrier's tools, shoes, and nails, and do my own shoeing. It was very cold here, snow falling on the mountains; and a bitter cutting wind blowing with sharp frost reminds me of the Karakorum. But I can find means here to repel the cold, which there no precaution could effect. 29th September. Leaving the gopal at work at the horses, I marched off, wishing to outstrip the coolies already started, as there was some chance of seeing shâpu as on the former occasion. But many people were passing to and fro, so that any animals were scared from the neighbourhood of the path. It was a stiff pull up the mountain to the pir, but I did not dislike the work, the lungs here playing freely; then, down again by a long slope into a valley where the trusty Kamal had provided a fire and fresh milk. Having breakfasted, I mounted and had gone but a few paces, when a duck rose from the stream and resettled. The gun was at hand, and the bird soon potted. On nearing Karbo, our halting place, as I was descending to the stream watering the valley, the shikarries signalled me and I was at once aware of a number of teal in the ford just under us. I got the gun, and creeping to a position to enfilade them delivered right and left as they rose, stopping six of their number. As they appeared to settle some way down stream, I followed along the bank, and again came upon them. Three fell to one barrel, the other did not go off. But I had committed slaughter enough. Waterfowl are not numerous in this country, there being no 'jheels' or feeding grounds for them apparently. But in Chan-than and Roopschoo, where these qualifications are plentiful, they abound. In Cashmere, at this season, they swarm in the lakes and rivers; snipe also are numerous, and that splendid bird, the woodcock, not rare in the jungles; so that, what with pheasants and partridges, the shot-sportsman may find ample amusement. Should I obtain my extension, I must try a day or two by way of experiment to see what there really is to be got. 30th September. Sunday. An exceedingly sharp frost. I took a stroll, morning and evening; the weather all that could be desired, and scenery magnificent, though monotonous in colour. The remains of an extensive fort crown the lofty height immediately over the village. One is led to wonder under what condition of circumstances this small valley could have been of sufficient importance to be worth such a considerable defensive work. Many like ruins are met with in these valleys, mostly perched on inaccessible rocks. The shikarries--not reliable historians--tell me that the population generally inhabited these strongholds, prior to the conquest of Lower Thibet by Golab Sing, being subject to frequent inroads and depredations by roving bands of freebooters. So, in fact, I suppose that the cultivators of every one of these strips of valleys retired from their daily labours to the security of these forts, their only residence. I enjoyed my day's halt and repose, and took the opportunity of pointing out to the shikarries and others assembled round the fire the wisdom and beneficence of the Sabbath ordinance, well exemplified in the enjoyment displayed by the coolies and horses in this respite from their toils. I tried to describe a Sunday in England, with the general stillness and tranquility prevailing, save the bells ringing out from the many churches, and the troops of worshippers to be seen wending their way in obedience to that cheerful mandate. My audience seemed to approve much of such a rule and practice, but did not, I imagine, think it applicable to themselves. CHAPTER XVI. THE BARA SING. 1st October. A fine, sharp, frosty morning. I got off at half-past five, my usual time of starting now, as the sun's fierceness is much abated at this season. The path followed the stream which was broken into many rivulets. A brace of teal were espied, which I potted at one shot. We had then a long hill to get up, and descending the other side came to a village where Kamal had prepared a fire and fresh milk. He goes on ahead for the purpose now every morning. We reached Shazgool at mid-day. Looking about over the valley, I saw some birds, and when viewing them through the glass found them to be chakore. I took the gun, and went after them, but they were on the alert and off ere we got well up to them. However, I knocked two over, right and left; but on Subhan running to pick them up, one found strength enough to fly away, and the other gave us a chase. At the report of the gun down came the dogs from camp, and commenced hunting: they would both do well with practice and teaching. 2nd October. To Kargyl: a long stage this, but midway very pleasant, traversing a cultivated vale, and passing under a long grove of trees whose shade was agreeable, although the air was fresh. Through Pashgyam, and then over the bare uplands where the sun was oppressive and the glare great, till we descended into the smiling valley of Kargyl, with its many willows, fine brawling river, and unsightly whitewashed fort. I noticed here, as several times previously 'en route,' some curious cooking vessels from Iskardo. They are chiselled out of solid stone, of various sizes, from half a gallon to two or three, are no thicker than the ordinary earthenware pots, and, I am told, stand the fire better. Although there must be much labour and skill required in their manufacture, though left quite rough, the price is but six annas or so, according to size. The colour of the stone is grey. Another description of vessel of smaller size is carved from stone at Iskardo, of a greenish-yellow colour, and soft in substance. These are more for ornament than use, I believe. The former are highly esteemed for ordinary purposes, and supply the place both of metal and earthenware utensils in these parts. 3rd October. To Tazgan: a long and very rough march, the path hanging on the mountain side over the torrent descending a narrow valley which leads to the pass of Soonamurgh. Some patches of cultivation with two or three huts here and there on either side--evident signs of increased fertility of soil--are now discernible. Straggling bushes, some stunted fir trees, and many deformed, limb-twisted junipers, dot the sides of the mountains, which are broken into stupendous ranges of magnificent forms, and shew bright tints in the watercourses seaming their declivities, where rank grasses and thick-growing shrubs find suitable soil and moisture. Other coarse herbage also gives a pleasant hue of green, though now yellowing, to the general surface--all being a prelude to the coming beauties of Cashmere. The halting place is by a sort of warehouse for the deposit of the Maharajah's merchandise in transit, who I find is the principal merchant of his realms, speculating largely in all produce, and exercising a monopoly of tea and pasham, chiefly imported from Las; yet, not to be called a speculation, because he must always make immense profits, as he pays no dues, fixes his own prices, and forces sales on his unwilling but submissive subjects. Thus he always ensures a winning game. 4th October. On turning out, I found that many coolies had deserted. They were engaged to complete this day's march to Dras. I thought there was something amiss last night, as the fellows kept up a jabbering uproar long after I had turned in. Leaving the energetic Abdoolah and the sepoy to extract other 'slavies' from the few houses straggling in the neighbourhood--which must shelter a population of forty or fifty, I imagine, exclusive of women and bairns--I stepped out quickly to the tune of the crackling ice and crisp ground under me. The scenery was similar to that of yesterday, except that more open levels were met with, and the path much improved. The valley widened, admitting a considerable extent of grassy undulations and flats as we neared Dras--a large maidan, boasting a fort of the usual form, in good repair and of unexceptionable whitewash. A large enclosure serves for camping. A jemadar and some twelve sepoys are here. Enquiring about my last letter forwarded, I learned to my vexation that it had only left Dras three days; so I arranged to send in Kamal by tattoo dâk to Sirinuggur, where he will probably arrive a day sooner than the so-called post, and rejoin me the other side Soonamurgh. The traps arrived in good time, coolies having been provided. 5th October. The people all astir unusually early, long before dawn. I turned out by moonlight--a severe frost, and so fine and fresh--and tramped away merrily over the frosty, ringing ground, and crossed many an ice-bound stream; and after some eight miles or so, during which I had left all my followers far behind, I reached a hamlet called Pendras, and sending for the head man (mukadam) requested fresh milk and firewood, shewing a 'jo' as the compensation, which I always find assists my vocal appeals admirably, and invariably succeeds in obtaining the trifles I require. After a bit, Mooktoo and others came up; and then, on again. Ere long a signal from Subhan, close behind me, brought to notice three fowl below us in the river, a duck and two teal. I stole down upon them, and dropped the duck as it neared the opposite bank, and the two teal with the other barrel. Further on I spied half a dozen teal across the river. We rode down to cross at a shallow, when a couple of ducks rose, and, having gone down stream, returned and were passing high over head, when aiming well forward I fired and down whirled the leader, falling into some bushes. On reaching him I found Sara already in full possession. I thought the teal seen were still undisturbed. Syces, Subhan, and moonshi came up and reported them still visible from above; so, cautiously stealing to the place, I found three remaining, and waiting till their dabbling brought them together knocked them all over. Sara, at the discharge, rushed into the stream, and dragged a struggling victim to shore. 'Sha-bash! Sara.' We had a stiff pull up a hill abutting into the valley, at the base of which two streams, issuing severally from deep narrow gorges, united; and following up the course of that on our right hand, high up above it, we wound along many a bend and turn. The mountains on our left were now well clothed with birch woods stretching downwards. Rich heavy growth of vegetation is now general from rocky summit to base, and the watercourses are distinguishable by the bright emerald tint of their grasses, diminishing in brilliancy outwardly, the colouring gradually assuming a yellowish hue as it recedes from the water. The foliage, generally, has now assumed a yellow hue from the effects of the severe frosts; and some of the more sensitive shrubs already glow in the deepest tints of orange, portions here and there showing like broad red stripes down the mountain; so vivid is the colour, and the whole effect of outline and detail is enchanting. Feasting my eyes on these lovely scenes, I suddenly became aware of an unusual object on one of those emerald slopes. A moment for the eye to dwell, and I was convinced, and shouted, "Balloo, balloo." There was the first bear. He was far away--high up on the other side the river. Now descending a bit, we came to three stone huts at the foot of an enormous glacier, whence issued a torrent from eastward. Our further route lay up the prolongation of the valley we were ascending, southward. But our day's march was terminated. The bear was on the opposite mountain-side, straight across; and lying down I watched its movements, not thinking it worth while to undergo the fatigue of an attempt on him, from the open character of the ground, and the extreme probability of his soon returning satiated to his lair. Still he grubbed, and now and again ascending a rise to reconnoitre returned to his repast. I dozed: woke up, and there he was still. And so the parties remained till the arrival of Mooktoo who bore the spyglass. Through this I now inspected the distant beast, and found it a very large one. Very soon he moved off; and, after patiently following his eccentric movements, I marked him down, behind a jutting rock high up on the mountain. Summoning Phuttoo and Mooktoo, I made my own bunderbus for the assault; rode Mooktoo across the river, and was obliged to ascend the mountain by a gulley to windward of the bear's retreat, but hoped, by getting above, to weather on him. It was hard work getting up--the grass very slippery, and I had only common shoes on. We reached right over the spot I thought Bruin occupied; closely examined the rock I thought he harboured by; but of him we saw nothing. Nor could we get a glimpse of him elsewhere; so, supposing he had withdrawn unobserved, we prepared for our difficult descent, in which we were engaged, Phuttoo assisting my sliding feet, when he uttered an exclamation, and, following his eye, I saw the dust flying, as the bear, till now in a fast snooze, scuttled off. Phuttoo handed me the Whitworth, and, luckily, the brute turned round on a rise far above us to have a look at the disturbers of his repose. That moment of curiosity was fatal; as, taking advantage of the glimpse of him, I sent a bolt into his neck, and staggered him. Growling savagely, he made his way some little distance, and climbed on to a prominent piece of rock--a fine mark, about a hundred and fifty yards off. Phuttoo, quickly loading, handed me the rifle, and the discharge of its contents brought Bruin from his lofty perch. Mooktoo, who was far above us, made for the spot, and dragging the carcase from a cleft in which it had lodged, it came spinning and rolling, over and over, on to a snowdrift in a ravine. I hastened to inspect it--a fine large female, in full fur, and fat as butter. I resolved to pack off all the traps, and wait till the skin and fat were brought in, in the morning. 6th October. All the baggage off, and Mooktoo with two coolies gone for the spoils, I sat by the fire two hours at least ere the skinning party returned; then off immediately, and crossed several snowdrifts--the valley narrow with a gradual, almost imperceptible ascent. We had arrived at an extensive mass of snow over which ran the path, when Subhan, as I was crossing it, pointed out some wild fowl on a frozen pool below. They were far off, and rose wild. As they squattered over the ice, I fired both barrels and dropped one bird, a duck; then crossed the snow, and scrutinising the stream saw wild fowl in a bend under some overhanging snow; crawled up and dropped five of them--a duck, a widgeon, and three teal. We continued our route, crossing over to the other side on an enormous mass of snow filling the ravine--no longer a valley--and bridging the torrent. A sharp climb up, then a gradual ascent, and we were on the top of the pass, though not on the top of the mountain. A view of transcendent magnificence and beauty opened upon us. Every conceivable form and colour of loveliness in landscape seemed here united. The mountains, opening out into valleys and dells clad in the richest verdure, with foliage of infinite variety--only, perhaps, rather too general a tint of yellow--stretched in ranges on either hand far away back, giving beautiful distances with their infinite shades of blue. Close at hand, their savage rugged crests, riven and split into all imaginable forms of pinnacle and peak, here and there a snow-covered mass more level separating them, frowned overhead. Lovely peeps downward to the torrent glistening below were offered through the vistas of the foliage. Indeed, all was seen from out a frame, and from under a canopy, of bright foliage. While from below was wafted up a delicious fresh fragrance of rich and abundant vegetation, giving an idea of teeming fertility, but all of nature's wildest. I felt that had I done nothing more in this long excursion than just bring myself to this spot to feast upon these charms of nature, I had been amply repaid. I had dismounted, and now descended, the way running down in short sharp zigzags, the declivity on this side being of great length and extremely steep. Pausing, now and again, on some prominence to gaze out upon the glorious picture around, thus I went down my way rejoicing into a fine grassy vale: then mounted and rode some ten miles along it, with an occasional stretch of intervening pine woods to cross--the mountains on either side glorious; those on the left more thickly timbered. Luxuriating in such scenery--so widely different from that recently quitted--I reached our halting place, a sweet spot, a level turf close by a river, over which is thrown a rude but picturesque bridge. A straggling hamlet being hard by, a few acres of cultivation, irregular and unfenced, are spread around, the grain now in sheaves. The valley has opened out into an expanse of downs; but lofty mountains, mostly covered to their summits with vegetation or timber, overlook and shut it in. One remarkable mountain, richly clad below, but his hoary summit bare rock broken into countless pinnacles, stands as a gaunt sentinel over the hamlet. I was charmed with so delightful a spot for a bivouac, and determined to halt to-morrow (Sunday), though I should have to send for provisions, that is, flour. Subhan went off on his tat to visit a shepherd on a neighbouring mountain, and obtain reliable information of shikar. He returned after my dinner, the moonshi Suleiman with him, who had taken a fancy to accompany him on foot. The shepherd declared he had heard the bellowing of a stag for the last four or five nights, and had seen several hinds with one enormous stag in their midst a few days since; and that there was a pool with a well-trodden track to it, where these animals passed constantly. Coming back Suleiman, having started before Subhan, encountered a bear midway. It was now dusk, and, being unarmed, he had fled amain. Subhan, just seeing him from an eminence going at top speed, and disappearing in the distance, could not imagine what possessed him. Poor Suleiman had evidently exerted himself. He was streaming with perspiration--his long locks in great disorder. He is too short and stout for continued speed without disagreeable consequences. I had a little fun with him, which he enjoyed too. The shepherd had promised to come to camp early in the morning, and bring further intelligence of the voices of the night. 7th October. Sunday. The morning very cold, a sharp frost as usual. The sun was well up, and the depths of the valley even smiling under his genial beams ere I set out for a stroll towards the place indicated as the shepherd's encampment. All around me replete with picturesque charms--a perfect landscape--and the atmosphere clear and deliciously invigorating, my mind could not divest itself of the thoughts and speculations conjured up by the previous day's reports of the game hereabouts, which the aspect of the surrounding scene was well calculated to encourage. It seemed the very 'beau ideal' of a sporting locality. I strolled on to the top of a hill overlooking a deep valley covered with rich vegetation, and the woods standing thick around it. This must be the haunt of the deer, I thought. An old deserted wooden hut stood on the left hand, but I saw no trace of the shepherd's camp. Retracing my steps I paused to admire one or two charming sites for a sketch, bringing in my camp, the village, river, and bridge, with a long perspective up the valley descended yesterday, and on the left the huge hoary-headed mountain, conspicuous above its fellows, and remarkable in its serrated ridge. What a picture it would have made! But I have quite given up sketching, feeling how entirely incapable I am of portraying such sublime magnificence--how inadequate would be my most successful efforts to represent such scenes! The shepherd had arrived. Indeed, I had met him, but took him for the mukadam. He had not noticed the bellowing of the stag during the night, but thought there was no doubt of his being still somewhere thereabout. I arranged to move up to his place in the evening after dinner, simply taking my bedding and food for the day following, and to give chase to the stag on Monday. In the middle of the day Subhan came, and said it would be well for himself and Phuttoo to start at once for the ground, and make a reconnaissance: to this I consented. After dinner I set out myself, and met the shepherd on the way, who whispered something in a peculiar manner to Mooktoo. On my enquiring what it was, he told me the bara sing was dead, shot by Subhan. I was exceedingly annoyed: the act was so altogether contrary to usage and orders. I was guided to the place, not more than two miles from my camp, and there lay the stag, a noble specimen with fine branching horns of great beauty, Subhan looking guilty and agitated, Phuttoo also putting on a demure look of doubtful expectation. Reprimanding my delinquent hunter, and much vexed, I went back and took up my night's quarters at the old wooden hut. From enquiry there appeared to be no chance of finding another bara sing; but there were numbers of bears, so I resolved to try and compass the destruction of some of those animals in the morning. As I sat cogitating over the fire, a woodcock came flitting about, uttering his peculiar grating croak. There was a plashy rivulet amid the rank vegetation just below us, which was a likely haunt for this long-billed visitor. 8th October. Though early astir, it was deemed useless to hunt before the sun had sufficiently displayed his power to warm the valley, and by melting the hoar frost rendered the herbage suitable for Bruin's early repast. So I first had breakfast, and then took my way up a narrow well-timbered valley in which the shepherd had, a few days since, viewed sixteen bears. There were plenty of tracks now, but only one bear seen far up on the hill-side. Having crossed much snow, we ascended a steep tortuous gorge which brought us to another long valley, where again signs of bears were abundant. After a considerable pause I descried one far up the hill-side. We watched him till he apparently retired to snooze. We then had to make a tremendous stiff ascent, terminating in a wall-like rock, up the face of which we had to pull ourselves by the bushes growing on the surface, hand over hand. At last we got over the spot we expected to find Bruin in, but fancying him gone began to talk, when a fierce growl answered us. I desired Phuttoo to throw a stone into the thicket, which done, out bolted Bruin, and growling savagely took up a grassy opening, leading straight to us. He was half covered by the long grass. I took a snap shot, and hit him hard, when, yelling out his extreme dissatisfaction, he made off down hill as fast as he could scuttle, and escaped. We now returned straight for camp, and saw nothing more. On arrival I was informed that Captain Austen had passed and left two newspapers--one containing my extension of leave, he said. I eagerly enquired, "How much?" "A month," replied Abdoolah. I was all exultation--alas! soon reduced by the gazette proving that I had got but to the thirty-first instant. However, there was yet time, perhaps, to kill a bara sing. There was a good locality ahead. 9th October. A very hard frost, and difficult to attain comfortable warmth by the most rapid walking, till the sun helped one. Bold romantic scenery, but a horrid road--I really think the worst four miles yet encountered. We met Kamal with letters, papers, and fruit. I sat down to read the former; Errington confirms gazette,--all well at home, thank God!--two brothers in Switzerland. The road improved as the valley widened. There was a good deal of cultivated land, but only a hovel or two here and there, the peasants, I believe, deserting this beautiful and fertile valley, in order to avoid the constant impressment they are subject to as coolies here on this highway to Iskardo and Ladâk. The walnut trees were very large and abundant. Bear sign everywhere. We halted at a picturesque hamlet from which every male, save an old infirm man, had fled to the jungle to escape being pressed for Austen's baggage, a quantity of which was here detained for lack of porters. This was a bad look out. I gave orders to make liberal promises to my Dras coolies to keep them in good humour, as I could not possibly discharge them. They remonstrated loudly; but there was no alternative. 10th October. Some ten coolies with one horse and yâk levanted during the night, and carried off Phuttoo's blanket; so he said. The silly fellows had thus sacrificed four days' hire. What could be done? The mukadam was found, and I got out of the way, leaving the energetic Abdoolah and the unscrupulous shikarries to practise such measures as they thought the case required. I followed a charming path through woodlands skirting a river--the Scind, I believe--to a small hamlet shaded by enormous, umbrageous walnuts. This is but half a march; but from hence we start up the mountains after the bara sing. It is a famous ground, and we have news of the stags being in numbers bellowing there. A native of this place confirmed the intelligence, telling us that he had a field high up the hill, and being there at work four days ago he had heard the bellowing. I engaged him as guide. Abdoolah and Co. had managed to obtain coolies and tats to bring in all the baggage, and from muttered conversation I fear that much oppression was exercised. However, I did not enquire too strictly into the case, but ordered liberal rewards. Arrangements were made to divide the party. Phuttoo goes on with the baggage to Sirinuggur. I take my bedding, canteen, a stew, &c., and Buddoo attends me. All the coolies were shut up in a house at night and guarded--a necessary precaution, but a most disagreeable one. 11th October. Up betimes, and parting directions given to Abdoolah to mind and pay the coolies liberally. I ordered the two dogs to be laid hold of, but poor Sara put on so piteous an air of dejection, looking so disappointed and miserable that I could not refuse his mute appeal, and he bounded frantically to my side on the hint to come. We had a heavy climb of some three miles up a well-wooded mountain, occasionally passing over open glades richly cropped with rank grass, and so on to the lower crest, whence slope very steep, smooth, grassy sides to a ravine, the other side of which was a mountain equally steep, but covered as thickly as possible with fir and other trees from crest to base. Just as we reached the top our ears were saluted by the welcome bellow of a stag. I went a little further ahead, and then went down the slope and heard two or three more bellowing lustily. I had a good idea of the exact spot where these angry challengers were, and longed to be at them, but the jungle was said to be impracticable. One animal had evidently shifted his quarters. Subhan now joined me; and, mentioning what I had observed, I suggested a move towards the neighbourhood of the moving stag. He was all for it, too. We gained the spot that we desired, and were greeted by lusty roars across a ravine, the voice issuing from the fir trees, now and again repeated. So on, for a couple of hours, when a gentle doe was spied amid the low bushes in the ravine. How stealthily and gently she moved about, her ears pricked, and restlessly reconnoitring all around! After a time she came a few yards up the slope, and, having paused under a tree, again took to the bushes and disappeared. Soon the stag's renewed bellowing betrayed him to be on the stir, seeking in agitation his flighty mistress, and he was suddenly viewed high up on our side the ravine, standing listening and looking for his lost mate. A rapid consultation and withdrawing from sight; and we then crept crouching to make a detour, and ascending the hill-side intercept our prey on a line it was thought that he would take. All was now subdued excitement. It was undoubtedly a bara sing of the largest size. We had some two hundred yards further to toil up, when suddenly a loud bellow resounded straight before us, proceeding from behind a clump of bushes crowning a knoll on our left. To drop and handle Whitworth was instantaneous. And hardly was I ready when Subhan whispered "there he comes", and truly, heralded by his huge antlers, he topped the rise, and was at once immersed in the bushes, his form too much concealed by boughs and foliage to risk a shot. Soon he emerged, forcing his way, and came on--verily, a royal beast! Once I aimed, but the inequality of the ground removed him. Then he again presented himself, almost fronting me. Now sped the deadly bolt, and over rolled this forest monarch; then, throwing himself violently forward, he struggled down the steep declivity, almost concealed in the high thick fern. Sara fearlessly rushed upon the prostrate beast, and assailed him in the rear, jumping about, and barking frantically, and now and again taking a bite at the haunch. The animal was quite safe; but, lest he might go to the bottom of the deep ravine, where his headlong struggles were leading him, I scrambled after him, and delivered three other shots, the last behind the neck, coming out at the mouth. The butcher's work finished, we ascended towards our bivouac, taking up a position whence an extensive view of the hill-side was obtained. Other stags were still audible, and suddenly Mooktoo started, and following his eye we saw a stag which had come over from behind us, out of the fir jungle which covered that side of our ridge. He did not see us, and passed downwards at a quick walk, in the direction we had recently come from. Of course, we were soon rapidly pursuing. The hill was steep, and I leading had just gained the top of the slope, when I was aware of the presence of the stag which, having just caught a glimpse of me, was standing erect, gazing at me. He had apparently just turned on his tracks, and thus met us face to face. He had probably been scared by the smell of blood. He was about two hundred yards off, his chest towards me; but unfortunately I was now lying down, completely blown, and my hand, in consequence, so unsteady that I would not risk a shot, hoping that he might yet come on. But no: he turned, and trotted up to the crest of the ridge to take covert. The case being urgent, I rested the Whitworth on Subhan's shoulder, and aiming forward and high struck him somewhere behind the shoulder, but high. He was then on the sharp ridge, and apparently flinched, and fell to the shot. We speeded up as fast as the steepness allowed, expecting to view the animal; but he had dived down the precipitous bank into the jungle. We were soon on his tracks, easily found and followed by the blood which appeared to have been spurting out of the wound. We thought we were sure of him; but daylight failing, and the blood diminishing, we came to a fault, and, though hitting off the slot again, could not work it out, so reluctantly gave it up, resolved to take up the pursuit in the morning. We climbed back, and made for our bivouac. It was now black dark, and our fires were blazing away famously, lighting up the black masses of firs in the midst of which was our camp. Dinner was soon ready. This was a bright hour of a hunter's existence. The day had been successful, and the morrow was full of hope and promise. The bivouac, with its romance of situation, its glowing fires, crackling and flickering, throwing a ruddy glare over all surrounding objects, and thereby revealing the black recesses of the forest--bringing prominently out the picturesque groups, the giant shadow of one or other of whom moving athwart, in execution of some culinary work, was occasionally cast across the scene--was in its way perfect. I adjourned to the fire, and chatted and planned with the two hunters: then retired to my lair, thinking in the words of the old song, "Oh! 'tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood." Mooktoo is to track up to-morrow with the guide and coolies; Subhan and I, Kamal attending, to look for fresh game. Subhan proposes going over the summit of the mountain in the middle of the day. 12th October. I was accoutring myself as day broke, and the two parties started together, our path being the same for some distance. We had not gone far ere Subhan spied a stag far down below us, standing up. He soon lay down, and there seemed a good chance of a successful stalk; but Subhan, the impetuous Subhan, taking the lead, descended straight down the steep slope towards the recumbent deer. I remonstrated at this barefaced attempt on so wary an animal--the wind was also unfavourable--but the wilful Subhan held on his course, sliding on his back, as did I and Kamal. Soon the stag showed signs of uneasiness, became restless, looked around him, then rose, and finally stept gracefully and quietly from our view. When we reached his ground, we found no clue to his retreat. Another was heard in the jungle, bellowing loudly, his deep, hoarse notes and powerful lungs bespeaking him a first-rate stag. I had noticed his voice yesterday in the same spot. Others were answering him. Thinking we might ascertain the precise spot he harboured in, and then stalk him through the jungle, we advanced on him, and lay down to listen and watch: from which time he kept mute. We remained thus about a couple of hours, and then returned to bivouac to breakfast. Mooktoo came back, also unsuccessful. He had followed the track right down to the river at the foot of the mountain, where the thick shrubs and matted underwood frustrated any further attempt. In this heavy thicket, close to water, the stricken deer had doubtless taken refuge to die. Oh! for an Australian native, or a good hound! But these Cashmere hunters are wretched creatures on a trail. I went down the slopes to listen. The stag before-noticed and others were again bellowing. I sat reading till Subhan called me, the coolies and whole party being on the way to the other place, and passing by me. I called attention to the fact of the certainty of game here, but Subhan said the place we were going to harboured more deer, and presented greater facilities for stalking, being more open and level, and the jungles so thin that if we heard a stag bellow we should certainly be able to approach and shoot him--and so forth. With great reluctance and serious misgivings I turned to leave this favourite haunt of the bara sing, where there could be no doubt of several harbouring, to proceed to one knew not what sort of place, notwithstanding the anticipations of the sanguine Subhan. We had a tremendous pull up the mountain, from the summit of which was presented a magnificent panoramic view of the valley of Cashmere, of which the eye could embrace the greater extent. Down immediately below the spurs of this vast mountain lay smooth and glittering the Dal lake, not a ripple disturbing its mirror-like surface, the reflections of the small islands with their noble chunar trees only distinguishable from the realities by the inverted position. Across the lake was the city--a confusion of trees, water, and dimly seen buildings, shrouded in smoke and haze. It being mid-day, a glare and a haze obscured the distant features; through it, however, the opposite range of hills enclosing the valley, with its countless sunny peaks, was plainly defined. It was a glorious landscape. Nothing earthly, I should imagine, could surpass it. Having gazed my fill, I thought of the shooting qualities of the new beat, and saw with disappointment that, though the slopes were extensive, they were very steep, and the ravines, though admirably adapted for coverts, were very rugged, precipitous, and inaccessible. There were probably many deer there, and we might see them; but to get at them, to cross from one slope to another, was out of the question. Many places, where deer had couched in the rank grass, were passed on the upper slopes, but still I felt a misgiving that we should do nothing there. We turned off the ridge to the left, to our camp ground which overhung the valley we had come from. In the afternoon I went out to watch and listen, and heard a stag bellow. We got opposite his position, a ravine dividing us, when we were compelled to leave him as it was now dusk, and returned to camp with the understanding that we would beat up his quarters in the morning. I could hear the stags in the deep vale below, and regretted having given them up. The night was very chill, and the forest damp with its dead leaves and decaying vegetation. But a rousing fire of dry fir spread a glow and warmth around. It is a delightful thing, a bright, crackling fire on a cold night in the forest. There are not many remaining for me to enjoy now, as to-morrow closes my hunting season: the next day is Sunday, and on Monday morning I must make tracks for Sirinuggur. 13th October. As previously agreed we were ready to start at earliest dawn, and on reaching the ravine, where we heard the stag last night, we stopped to listen. Ere long we were rewarded by the low bleat of a doe, which was once or twice repeated. Then came answering the hoarse cry of a stag. These animals would seem to be in some thick trees opposite us, across the ravine. Subhan, after a while, proposed that we should cross the head of the ravine to which we were close, and so reach the ridge over it, and above the deer, leaving Kamal and the guide who, when they saw us at a point determined, were to descend and move down the ravine; when, it was hoped, the deer alarmed would cross the ridge near us to enter another ravine. The plan was approved as the only one we could here adopt. We put it in force and gained the ridge, along which Subhan was advancing, and passing a clear, open, grassy dell leading from the ravine in which were the deer, when Mooktoo, greatly excited, signalled the game: but at that very moment they became concealed by the fir trees fringing the ridge over which they went, and we arrived in time to see a fine stag and hind far below us in the bottom of the adjoining ravine. We now descended some distance, hoping to catch a sight of the deer--but in vain; and as it was, in all probability, useless to look for game elsewhere at this hour we resolved to take up our quarters here for the day, thus reserving the chance of the deer coming out to feed in the evening. I, therefore, selected a seat in the rocks under a bush--just space enough for me to sit in--and what with a fine fat wild-duck for breakfast, and my newspapers afterwards, contrived to pass the time without weariness. About four o'clock we all roused ourselves to peer into the ravine, and Mooktoo soon detected a stag coming from under some trees. He, however, almost immediately passed from view downwards. Waiting some time without another glimpse of him, we moved upwards with the intention of trying to meet him, but found the sides of the hill so steep, and the dry herbage so noisy, that we thought it quite useless to proceed in that direction, so ascended to the top of the ridge, and moved along that downwards. Mooktoo and I went ahead of the others, and all took posts of observation. We two ere long saw a stag, in all probability that just seen. It appeared as though he would cross the ridge we were on far below us, so we hastened to intercept him. The ridge was sharp and rough, hardly giving space for the foot; but on we hastened, turning to the left as the ridge diverged at a right angle; now down some precipitous steps of rock, and we were over the dingle in which we had last observed the deer evidently making in this direction. We could not examine our side thoroughly from its roughness and extreme steepness. We could see nothing of the deer. Had he already crossed over? If so, he must have greatly quickened his pace. We went on a little, and then descended the slope a few yards to get a better view of the depths extending below us. Here I sat down, intending to await events, but Mooktoo urged me to go up again, and follow further on the ridge. We did so; but nothing could be seen of the deer. So, supposing he had in some manner given us the slip, we turned back, and were crossing the place where we first expected to meet him in his ascent, when little Sara, sniffing the air, all at once started off, taking short jumps into the air, and barking. Mooktoo ran after the dog, and in great excitement signalled the chase close at hand. The little dog gave tongue. I ran forward--but nothing was in sight. I paused for information, when from the bottom of the dell sounded the belling of the deer--a peculiar note, expressive, I fancy, of alarm and excitement. Only his head and back were visible above the high, thick fern. I hesitated to fire. He moved on up the opposite side, and as he paused, only showing his head and ridge of back, I fired. We thought him struck, as he drooped, and did not come in view for some seconds, when he was seen leisurely going off along the hill-side; but I believe the dip of the ground deceived us. There vanished my last chance of a bara sing. Sad, very sad, we wended our way back to camp, our last day's sport ended so unluckily. CHAPTER XVII. CASHMERE. 14th October. Sunday. I did not stir from the bivouac till the afternoon, passing the day reading, in pleasant enjoyment of my sylvan retreat. The coolies returned about 2 P.M., bringing some apples, pears, and grapes--a welcome supply, but the grapes small and flavourless. In the afternoon I rambled some distance downwards to a seat commanding, at the same time, the magnificent prospect of the valley spread out below, and some ravines and dells on either hand likely to contain bara sing. Here I sat long meditating--thinking over the incidents of my excursion, and casting reflections forward on my future route, and arrival below. Nothing was seen or heard. Retracing my steps, it occurred to me from examination of the range of hills I was traversing, that I might hunt the ravine tried yesterday, and descend from thence, while the coolies and traps took the ordinary and easier route. On proposing this, it was cordially welcomed by the two hunters. Buddoo and coolies would make straight for Shalimah Bagh to which a canal ran from the Dal lake. There he was to engage boats, and await our arrival. 15th October. We got away with earliest dawn--again heard the bara sing--again were they seen, and a shot all but obtained as they crossed the ridge as before. The guide was now sent down to drive the other ravine, and we kept along the ridge, and stopped in ambush a long time without seeing anything. Then, giving up, we resumed our downward course, and I had stopped to don another pair of grass sandals, when Mooktoo, looking down into the ravine, signalled game. On joining him, we saw a fine stag standing gazing at the guide who on the same level was trying to turn him up to us. But the provoking animal, as though quite up to the dodge and danger, preferred facing the guide and the stones he hurled to breasting the hill, and diving down took back up the bed of the river. This was the last episode of the chase of the bara sing. A steep and slippery descent, not accomplished without some half-dozen tumbles, landed us in the bed of a ravine which crossed that we had been hunting at right-angles, and with its brawling torrent debouched on the open cultivated undulations lying over the Dal lake. A path leading through two villages, as usual shaded by fine chunars, brought us to the Shalimah Bagh, a monument of former magnificence and luxury, now neglected and desolate. Some patchwork repairs have been made this year to its buildings by the Maharajah, only enough to check ruin and decay here and there, to which everything here seems rapidly hastening. Following the now empty aqueduct, we reached the canal, and found two boats awaiting us, into one of which I stepped, and gladly extended myself on the soft namba spread for me. The passage from the Shalimah Bagh to my former bungalow occupied about an hour and three-quarters. The Jhelum was now some six or seven feet lower than before, and the stream proportionably moderate. I found all my baggage stowed in the bungalow, and ordered it to be ready for a start on the seventeenth, intending to get off myself, if possible, on the eighteenth. 16th October. After breakfast I took boat, and went first to a shawl merchant's, Mirza Mahomed Shah, and purchased articles for presents to dear ones at home; then to a papier-machè shop. Coming back, I found a card from Captain Tulloh, 21st P.N.I. He left to-day, I understood. But as I was sitting shut up for the night, and reading, I heard sounds as of an arrival, and voices as of a saheb, and sure enough there was Tulloh come to claim shelter, as his jan-pan broke down shortly after starting. We sat long chatting over our mutual excursions. 17th October. Both of us astir early. A merchant employed by Tulloh had brought his own horse to take him to Ramoo, and on my mentioning a difficulty in procuring money, he readily engaged to supply. Tulloh off, I had a talk with the merchant, Samhed Shah, a most respectable-looking and pleasant-mannered man. I agreed to go to his shop after breakfast, and was aggravated into buying a scarf, caps, and black choga--the latter not yet ready. All my baggage left this morning; Murad and party also. Abdoolah and Buddoo only remain with me. Suleiman informed me that the Rajah of Kopalu was here, and had received the Testaments. He would like to see me, but feared the jealousy of the Maharajah. On my arrival I had been visited by an Affghan to whom I had before given ten rupees. He was, by his own report and that of many testimonials apparently genuine, of great service to our sick and wounded at the time of the Affghan disaster, for which humanity he had to flee his country on the withdrawal of the British troops, and (strange to say) has never been adequately rewarded by our Government, though his case has been brought forward and published. I promised to represent the matter to Sir R. Montgomery, in hopes of something being yet done for his benefit. 18th October. Samhed Shah not appearing by ten o'clock, I took boat and went down the river, and sent a man to his shop from which came a brother or partner and told me that the black choga would not be ready for three or four hours. On representing the delay and uncertainty to Abdoolah, he recommended putting off the start till to-morrow, and fetching Shupyim in one march. I now took leave of my three shikarries who had remained in order to escort me some miles out, but this further delay was too much for them, naturally enough as they had been more than five months absent from their families. I also took leave of the Baboo whose services have been invaluable. He refused any pecuniary reward, and I had difficulty in getting him to name any present from below that would be acceptable to him. After some time I suggested a revolver. This seemed to please him, so having two with my baggage, I engaged to send him one of them, and so we shook hands and parted. He has got a nag for me to take me to Ramoo, from the Maharajah's stud, he says. And now I have parted, I think, on the most friendly terms with my Cashmere allies and retainers. At length came the long expected choga, just from the dyer's and still moist, so it had to be hung up. And now this busy day draws to a close, and to-morrow I quit this lovely country, so full of natural charms, but through bad government with its vast resources so little developed. Would that it might fall into the hands of the British, without either usurpation or fraud such as we have been in the habit in India of pleasantly designating political necessity! 19th October. As I was still within the outskirts of Sirinuggur, a man halloaed to me to loose my dogs, little Sara and Fan, as there was shikar before me, and, looking up, there was a fine fox with a splendid brush scudding over the maidan, a great cur far behind him. My two little animals made a dash for him, but he just then crossed a bank; and they came back. I suppose the animal had escaped from trap or cage. I arrived at Ramoo heartily tired of the native saddle, and was glad to mount my own Cabulli. My saddle was like an armchair after the other, and though the mid-day sun was hot I jogged on contentedly to Shupyim, where all my baggage still waited. It was now three o'clock, and I immediately directed all to move to Heerpoor, in order to reach Alliahabad to-morrow, where I shall join them. The old kotwal, a most obliging old fellow, welcomed me warmly, mindful of former backsheesh. Buddoo and baggage not arriving till nine, he sent me his charpoy and bedding, and placed his choga from his own shoulders on to mine, notwithstanding my protestations against his so denuding himself. He insisted, having plenty more, he said, at home. Abdoolah cooked me some chops, so altogether I fared admirably, and was just turning in, when Buddoo arrived. He had been detained by the delay and difficulty in obtaining a change of coolies at Serai. 20th October. Up ere dawn, and everything made ready for a start, the kotwal very busy, lending a helping hand. I gave him a long certificate, of which testimonials he has hundreds, and takes much pleasure in exhibiting them to any saheb who may have sufficient patience and good temper to humour him. With a friendly farewell I set off on foot, and enjoyed a delightful march to Heerpoor, where I mounted Yarkandi who was full of spirits, and when in such a mood is very absurd with his clumsy frisking. The weather was lovely and scenery beautiful, admiring which and often dismounting from the very rocky and steep nature of the ground, I reached Alliahabad. My servants and coolies had been there some time. I ordered out my tent, but had better have put up in the old serai, for the wind outside was biting. The season, though, is much less advanced than last year, when the ground was covered with snow, and the undergrowth in the forests dead and prostrate as in mid-winter. Now the vegetation is only beginning to yield to the remorseless gripe of Jack Frost, enough still remaining to shelter a bear; though I saw none of those animals now, whereas last year I spied three on the bare ground. The wind was wondrous shrewd, and put me in mind of Karakorum. I gave orders to halt here to-morrow, Sunday. 21st October. A severe frost, and bitter cold wind. I kept my tent, and breakfasted within. Finding I had no less than forty coolies--just fifteen more than I required in coming up, with my full supply of liquors, stores, lead, shot, and books, &c.--in spite of Abdoolah's reluctance, I ordered all the baggage together, and examined the contents of the kheltas, when I found that I could with ease reduce the number of loads to thirty-five. Such a lot of rubbish of Abdoolah's stowed away; some in every khelta, I think. Excepting the above slight disturbance, I passed a pleasant, cheerful day. 22nd October. Much fuss and bawling at a very untimely hour, yet the baggage not off as early as intended. The coolies took such a time to fit their loads to their fancies that I passed them all within a mile of camp, and trudged steadily on for the Pir--a heavy, steady pull of three miles or so. Thence I enjoyed the superb view--the whole valley, through which my homeward route lies, being unrolled in all its windings before me. And beautiful it looked, now just lit up by the risen sun. A few minutes to take an impression, and down I sped, the path--bad enough in itself--made more difficult than usual by the number of tattoos and bullocks which appear at this season to throng the narrow paths. It took me about an hour to reach the bottom. I was surprised to find the huge snowdrift, which I thought to be inconsumable--some always remaining to be renewed each winter--entirely dissolved; the mass of earth and stones it had collected alone remaining to mark its position. I scrambled from the bed of the torrent up that horrid bit of road immediately above it, and there was completely checked by a continuous string of some two hundred laden bullocks. As it was very possible to be sent rolling down the precipitous bank by a rude shock from their hard mass of salt, I pulled up for half an hour, and then on to Possianah, where I was welcomed by the man and woman who attend to the wants of wayfarers. Though I carried my usual hunter's breakfast, I gratified the old importunate couple by directing some chupatties and eggs to be prepared, and did not fail to do justice to them. I gave the old fellow a pukka rupee, for which liberal donation the pair pretended to offer up prayers on my behalf. Alas! the hypocrites! When Abdoolah arrived, they claimed payment of him for my refreshment, assuring him that such was my order. But Abdoolah knew my ways better, and was not deceived, though the man followed him a long distance, urging his claim. I walked the whole distance to Byramgullah, and enjoyed the exercise amid such lovely scenery. On the arrival of Abdoolah, and learning from him the attempted fraud of the Possianah 'traiteur,' I ordered the kotwal to be informed of it, that he might be fined and checked in such malpractices. 23rd October. On setting off I was accosted by the old delinquent of Possianah, who, it seems, had been immediately on my report brought with his wife to answer the charge. They were astonished and terrified at the position into which they had brought themselves, and were profuse in all sorts of asseverations of innocent intention. They stated that my servants had been supplied after me, and for this they demanded remuneration, considering my rupee as my individual backsheesh, as indeed it was. If this were true, they had right on their side, and it is very probable that such were the facts. But it is impossible to arrive at the truth in such a case, the Hindoo servants being as great adepts at lying as these people, especially where their interests are at stake. I could not even rely upon Abdoolah in such a case. I desired the kotwal to pardon them; but they are sure to be forced to give up the rupee. This disposed of, I continued my progress, and was attended by a well-looking black-and-tan dog of the Ladâk breed, whose evident familiarity with Europeans made me think him a stray dog of the Survey department. He left me at the foot of the Rattan Panjal; up which steep mountain I ascended, and pausing to take a mental photograph of the splendid view presented from the top again pushed on, enjoying the beautiful scenery, varied at each turn of the winding path. I think nothing in the whole journey surpasses this. The forms of the hills are so fine and diversified, and the foliage so rich and abundant. I stopped by a bright gurgling stream in an enchanting spot. Reposing on a thick, soft turf, and canopied by sweet-smelling shrubs, I awaited the arrival of breakfast. In this locality, and on to Thanna, still bloom some deliciously-fragrant creepers, yielding a perfume like woodbine. With this exception, one misses the abounding fragrance enjoyed early in the year--one of the greatest charms of the journey to my mind. I finished the remaining mile or two riding. There was a very perceptible change of temperature here, which induced me on arrival of my traps to effect a thorough change of costume. I was well remembered and pestered by beggars--one, a blind man, with a fearful goitre: one sees but few so afflicted in these mountain regions. My servants, to my surprise, brought with them the Ladâk dog. He had followed them, and was so pleased with my notice that, feeling sure I was not committing a theft, but only securing a truant or wanderer, I ordered him to be tied up, and to be enrolled on our strength for rations. Poor Sara is so dreadfully jealous that he has gone and secluded himself in the tent, and actually shed tears in his distress: he refused his dinner also, till I took it into the tent for him, and coaxed him to eat it. A row just took place between the Maharajah's moonshi, or tax-gatherer, and some of my followers. I heard angry voices for some time, Suleiman appearing to be much aggrieved and loud in indignation. After repeatedly intimating his intention of appealing to me, he came and reported the said moonshi to be exceedingly intrusive and impertinent, insisting upon an examination of his bundles, and persevering therein in spite of his remonstrances and those of Abdoolah, as well as threats of my vengeance. This representation Abdoolah confirmed, and assured me that no obstacle had been placed in the way of the moonshi inspecting the goods of the numerous hangers-on of my party. So I sallied forth, and calling to the moonshi ordered him to approach, and he hesitating to obey, I sent my sepoys to bring him to me. He then advanced amid a general bully-ragging. Suleiman accused him of abusing him. Believing there had been loss of temper on both sides, I asked the moonshi if he had any complaint to make, or if any of the strangers, who had attached themselves to my company, had attempted to evade his scrutiny. He replied, 'No:' so I cautioned him to execute his duties in a more becoming manner, and not to interfere where he had no authority. And so amid general clamour the party dispersed, the moonshi strutting off with his myrmidons, with an air of immense importance and offended dignity. Suleiman did not meet with any of the enquiries met with when coming up. He was told they had dispersed here and there, in one employment or other. The Ladâk dog, dubbed 'Bhoota,' has taken to his new quarters by my tent, and commenced his duties as watch-dog, barking in a fine rich base voice. Sara still in the dumps. 24th October. A pleasant march to Rijaori. Excepting a few stony places, this is a tolerable path, much the best of the whole route. Once again I reclined under those fine chunars--the last I shall see, as they are the first when coming. The young fishermen were soon in attendance with bait, and gave me a full account of the great success of Bucksby White saheb (24th) who stopped here eight days, and caught many fish, some very large, but nothing like mine. They dwelt forcibly on his giving them five rupees, backsheesh--pukka rupees, too. I got my tackle in order, but from the report of the low state of the river and clearness of the water did not anticipate sport; still thought I ought to try, so started off at four, and tried two favourite pools which were so still and clear that I remained but a short time, judging that all attempts would be vain to catch a big one, and I cared not for a small one. So I wound up and returned, no ways disappointed, the sun now setting and the effects charming. I read to-day in a back number of the _Lahore Chronicle_ a letter signed 'Traveller,' purporting to be a just representation of the condition of the Cashmiries under the Maharajah's rule, which he describes to be most satisfactory--the whole country highly cultivated, inhabitants well off and contented, and signs of good government and prosperity everywhere. A man of small powers of observation might possibly be deceived to such an extent, however difficult, but when this scribbler comes to draw comparisons between the Maharajah's and the British government favourable to the former, especially in the matter of the repair of roads--a process altogether unknown in the Maharajah's dominions--one cannot help suspecting the writer to have been tempted by a douceur; to have been engaged by the Maharajah specially thus to misrepresent facts, and give a false colour to realities in Cashmere, in order to mislead the public, and blind distant enquirers as to the nature of the Maharajah's rule and the condition of his people. I can imagine no other reason for such a palpable perversion of truth than seeing objects through the golden hues of the Maharajah's spectacles. 25th October. I got a considerable wetting crossing the river which though now so low is full of irregularities, deep holes, and terrible smooth round stones. It is certainly a very awkward ford at the best of times. I discovered some duck in a deep pool, and dropped one wounded. The two little dogs gave chase, little Fan first plunging into the deep water at which the usually forward Sara hesitated. Away they went, and there was a grand duck hunt. The bird, as the dogs neared it, dived, and so crossed the width of the pool to my side, its course discovered by the tell-tale bubbles, and there it took refuge under the thick bushes fringing the bank. Now in plunged the sporting syce, Ruttoo, and was immediately up to his neck. He peered under the bushes as I made my way above, and we had gone their length without retrieving the bird, when a violent hurry-scurry took place forward, and the little dogs were full cry after their poor, quacking, hobbling victim which was secured just as it regained the brink of the water. There were a good many black partridges about here, and many fine fish seen basking. The Yarkandi lost a shoe, and believing him to be lame I dismounted, but think the cunning old fellow did it on purpose to humbug me as I noticed that he went all right when I was off him. Reaching the old Serai, I found a new baraduri erected on a fine airy prominence over the river, a great convenience to travellers. A havildar and six sepoys turned out in full fig to salute me, looking very clean and smart. I had a long chat with the havildar, a very civil fellow: he begged some powder as he is fond of shikar, and there are pea-fowl, wild-duck, jungle-fowl, and partridge in the neighbouring jungle. 26th October. The havildar provided me with a chuprassee who was to shew me a different and better road than that I had come by. But, excepting about a mile immediately on quitting the baraduri which lay by the river-side, he took me by the old stony route, there being no better, I presume. The skeleton of the murderer appeared to have fallen from the ropes which had suspended it, relieving the public of a most repulsive spectacle. I took up my old camp ground in preference to going on to the baraduri, at which, however, I understand all travellers stop and are satisfied. 27th October. In consequence of the increasing heat of the sun as we neared the plains, I made an earlier start than usual. It was still far from light as I crossed the river which, to my surprise, I was able to do on stepping stones, so low is it from the absence of rain, I suppose. As I was crossing, two duck flew by within easy shot, and as they returned I got my gun ready, and dropped one which fell some way off up stream. Reloading I went after it, and had almost given it up, when Sara tracked it up, and a hunt took place in the water, the two little dogs working well and securing the game. Mounting the hill I hailed the old couple at top, and ordered some milk: the old woman came forth with it, and we had a chat. These poor people were robbed of all their little wealth not long before I came this way, and have recovered nothing. The thief was one upon whom they had bestowed hospitality, a sort of faquir who are one and all impostors, if not rogues. The old lady, as though pleased with our colloquy, brought some ripe plantains, evidently rarities in these regions. Crossing another stream, a small flock of wild fowl flew over. I dismounted, and got my gun, and as good luck would have it they came back overhead, and firing both barrels one bird fell dead, a fine grey widgeon. Then I jogged on to Saidabad. It is now very hot in the middle of the day, so I put up in the baraduri, though there are many objections--a number of hornets in the roof, and a noisy party of natives in an adjoining part. Halting here the next day (Sunday), I was off on Monday morning ere the stars had disappeared, and surmounted the long and rugged ascent. The descent was tiresome--long, stony, and steep--but I hastened on without a pause till I emerged from the narrow ravine opening on to the level cultivated lands, the commencement of the interminable plains of the Punjab. I arrived in good time at Bhimber, and found to my satisfaction a chowdree from Lahore stationed here to arrange dâks for officers coming from Cashmere--a capital and considerate plan. My servants and baggage arriving, I arranged things for the journey, keeping the head with me; settled with servants and coolies, tipped sepoys, packed up the revolver with a letter for the Baboo, and having dined on wild duck, and taking an ample supply of 'vivers' for the road, entered my dooly, and was borne off with the uncomfortable prospect of a tedious and dusty two days' journey to Amritsir. And here I conclude my diary, having succeeded far beyond my expectations in maintaining it in some order and method. * * * * * NOTE.--The skull, on being examined by medical men, was pronounced to be that of an Asiatic. END OF DIARY. The sad task now remains of recording the death of the writer, which took place at Meean Meer on the 23rd of August, 1861, under the circumstances mentioned in the following extract from the _Lahore Chronicle_:-- "It is with deep grief that we announce the death last night from cholera of that admirable officer and most excellent man, AUGUSTUS HENRY IRBY, Lieutenant-Colonel Commanding the 51st King's Own Light Infantry. In him the public service and society have lost one of its most honourable members, and the officers and men whom he commanded one they esteemed as a warm-hearted comrade and true friend. In all relations of life, Colonel IRBY had won the esteem of those with whom he had connection. He knew his duty thoroughly and did it; when his regiment moved out of the cantonments to escape, if possible, from the pestilence which has struck down more than one hundred and twenty of them, he remained with the sick, caught the contagion, and died at his post." HENRY W. STACY, PRINTER, HAYMARKET, NORWICH. Transcriber's notes: The following is a list of changes made to the original. The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one. suggestion; so, leaving a man to help then on, I continued suggestion; so, leaving a man to help them on, I continued descended to the bed of the ravine, The Bruin family, descended to the bed of the ravine. The Bruin family, established, "nous avons changè toute cela." It is not established, "nous avons changé toute cela." It is not 8th June. An early start, and a stiff job climbing the the mountain, 8th June. An early start, and a stiff job climbing the mountain, and, Subhan having by my order cut the animals throat and, Subhan having by my order cut the animal's throat such a growl as sent his tormenters flying in all directions such a growl as sent his tormenters flying in all directions. a total failure, tattoos being in all directions, a total failure, tattoos being in all directions. ice in the morning, I was only informed, when starting, ice in the morning. I was only informed, when starting, loudy for Buddoo: they were all fast asleep, and, after loudly for Buddoo: they were all fast asleep, and, after the aid of their beleagured countrymen, Walli Khan's the aid of their beleaguered countrymen, Walli Khan's largely in all produce, and exercising a monoply of tea largely in all produce, and exercising a monopoly of tea 
42857	----	JOURNALS OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH VOL. II [Illustration: _William Wordsworth after Margaret Gillies_] JOURNALS OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH EDITED BY WILLIAM KNIGHT VOL. II [Illustration: _Grasmere Church and Churchyard._] London MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. 1897 _All rights reserved_ CONTENTS PAGE VII. RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND (A.D. 1803)--_Continued_ 1 VIII. JOURNAL OF A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE BY DOROTHY AND WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, NOVEMBER 7TH TO 13TH, 1805 151 IX. EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820 161 X. EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1822 261 XI. EXTRACTS FROM MARY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN BELGIUM IN 1823 269 XII. EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN THE ISLE OF MAN, 1828 281 VII RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND (A.D. 1803) (_Continued_) CONTENTS =Third Week= DAY PAGE 14. Left Loch Ketterine 5 Garrison House--Highland Girls 6 Ferry-House at Inversneyde 7 Poem to the Highland Girl 11 Return to Tarbet 13 15. Coleridge resolves to go home 14 Arrochar--Loch Long 15 Parted with Coleridge 17 Glen Croe--The Cobbler 18 Glen Kinglas--Cairndow 20 16. Road to Inverary 21 Inverary 22 17. Vale of Arey 27 Loch Awe 29 Kilchurn Castle 33 Dalmally 34 18. Loch Awe 36 Taynuilt 38 Bunawe--Loch Etive 39 Tinkers 43 19. Road by Loch Etive downwards 45 Dunstaffnage Castle 47 Loch Creran 49 Strath of Appin--Portnacroish 51 Islands of Loch Linnhe 52 Morven 52 Lord Tweeddale 53 Strath of Duror 55 Ballachulish 56 20. Road to Glen Coe up Loch Leven 57 Blacksmith's house 58 Glen Coe 62 Whisky hovel 65 King's House 65 =Fourth Week= 21. Road to Inveroran 70 Inveroran--Public-house 71 Road to Tyndrum 72 Tyndrum 73 Loch Dochart 74 22. Killin 75 Loch Tay 76 Kenmore 77 23. Lord Breadalbane's grounds 80 Vale of Tay--Aberfeldy--Falls of Moness 81 River Tummel--Vale of Tummel 82 Fascally--Blair 83 24. Duke of Athol's gardens 84 Falls of Bruar--Mountain-road to Loch Tummel 87 Loch Tummel 88 Rivers Tummel and Garry 90 Fascally 91 25. Pass of Killicrankie--Sonnet 92 Fall of Tummel 93 Dunkeld 94 Fall of the Bran 95 26. Duke of Athol's gardens 96 Glen of the Bran--Rumbling Brig 96 Narrow Glen--Poem 97 Crieff 99 27. Strath Erne 99 Lord Melville's house--Loch Erne 100 Strath Eyer--Loch Lubnaig 101 Bruce the Traveller--Pass of Leny-- Callander 102 =Fifth Week= 28. Road to the Trossachs--Loch Vennachar 103 Loch Achray--Trossachs--Road up Loch Ketterine 104 Poem: "Stepping Westward" 105 Boatman's hut 106 29. Road to Loch Lomond 106 Ferry-House at Inversneyde 107 Walk up Loch Lomond 108 Glenfalloch 109 Glengyle 111 Rob Roy's Grave--Poem 112 Boatman's hut 116 30. Mountain-Road to Loch Voil 117 Poem: "The Solitary Reaper" 118 Strath Eyer 119 31. Loch Lubnaig 121 Callander--Stirling--Falkirk 122 32. Linlithgow--Road to Edinburgh 123 33. Edinburgh 123 Roslin 125 34. Roslin--Hawthornden 126 Road to Peebles 127 =Sixth Week= 35. Peebles--Neidpath Castle--Sonnet 127 Tweed 129 Clovenford 130 Poem on Yarrow 131 36. Melrose--Melrose Abbey 133 37. Dryburgh 136 Jedburgh--Old Woman 138 Poem 140 38. Vale of Jed--Ferniehurst 142 39. Jedburgh--The Assizes 144 Vale of Teviot 145 Hawick 147 40. Vale of Teviot--Branxholm 147 Moss Paul 148 Langholm 148 41. Road to Longtown 149 River Esk--Carlisle 150 42. Arrival at home 150 RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND. A.D. 1803 (_Continued_) _THIRD WEEK_ _Sunday, August 28th._--We were desirous to have crossed the mountains above Glengyle to Glenfalloch, at the head of Loch Lomond, but it rained so heavily that it was impossible, so the ferryman engaged to row us to the point where Coleridge and I had rested, while William was going on our doubtful adventure. The hostess provided us with tea and sugar for our breakfast; the water was boiled in an iron pan, and dealt out to us in a jug, a proof that she does not often drink tea, though she said she had always tea and sugar in the house. She and the rest of the family breakfasted on curds and whey, as taken out of the pot in which she was making cheese; she insisted upon my taking some also; and her husband joined in with the old story, that it was "varra halesome." I thought it exceedingly good, and said to myself that they lived nicely with their cow: she was meat, drink, and company. Before breakfast the housewife was milking behind the chimney, and I thought I had seldom heard a sweeter fire-side sound; in an evening, sitting over a sleepy, low-burnt fire, it would lull one like the purring of a cat. When we departed, the good woman shook me cordially by the hand, saying she hoped that if ever we came into Scotland again, we would come and see her. The lake was calm, but it rained so heavily that we could see little. Landed at about ten o'clock, almost wet to the skin, and, with no prospect but of streaming rains, faced the mountain-road to Loch Lomond. We recognised the same objects passed before,--the tarn, the potato-bed, and the cottages with their burnies, which were no longer, as one might say, household streams, but made us only think of the mountains and rocks they came from. Indeed, it is not easy to imagine how different everything appeared; the mountains with mists and torrents alive and always changing: but the low grounds where the inhabitants had been at work the day before were melancholy, with here and there a few haycocks and hay scattered about. Wet as we were, William and I turned out of our path to the Garrison house. A few rooms of it seemed to be inhabited by some wretchedly poor families, and it had all the desolation of a large decayed mansion in the suburbs of a town, abandoned of its proper inhabitants, and become the abode of paupers. In spite of its outside bravery, it was but a poor protection against "the sword of winter, keen and cold." We looked at the building through the arch of a broken gateway of the courtyard, in the middle of which it stands. Upon that stormy day it appeared more than desolate; there was something about it even frightful. When beginning to descend the hill towards Loch Lomond, we overtook two girls, who told us we could not cross the ferry till evening, for the boat was gone with a number of people to church. One of the girls was exceedingly beautiful; and the figures of both of them, in grey plaids falling to their feet, their faces only being uncovered, excited our attention before we spoke to them; but they answered us so sweetly that we were quite delighted, at the same time that they stared at us with an innocent look of wonder. I think I never heard the English language sound more sweetly than from the mouth of the elder of these girls, while she stood at the gate answering our inquiries, her face flushed with the rain; her pronunciation was clear and distinct: without difficulty, yet slow, like that of a foreign speech. They told us we might sit in the ferry-house till the return of the boat, went in with us, and made a good fire as fast as possible to dry our wet clothes. We learnt that the taller was the sister of the ferryman, and had been left in charge with the house for the day, that the other was his wife's sister, and was come with her mother on a visit,--an old woman, who sate in a corner beside the cradle, nursing her little grand-child. We were glad to be housed, with our feet upon a warm hearth-stone; and our attendants were so active and good-humoured that it was pleasant to have to desire them to do anything. The younger was a delicate and unhealthy-looking girl; but there was an uncommon meekness in her countenance, with an air of premature intelligence, which is often seen in sickly young persons. The other made me think of Peter Bell's "Highland Girl:" As light and beauteous as a squirrel, As beauteous and as wild![1] [Footnote 1: See _Peter Bell_, part iii. stanza 31.--ED.] She moved with unusual activity, which was chastened very delicately by a certain hesitation in her looks when she spoke, being able to understand us but imperfectly. They were both exceedingly desirous to get me what I wanted to make me comfortable. I was to have a gown and petticoat of the mistress's; so they turned out her whole wardrobe upon the parlour floor, talking Erse to one another, and laughing all the time. It was long before they could decide which of the gowns I was to have; they chose at last, no doubt thinking that it was the best, a light-coloured sprigged cotton, with long sleeves, and they both laughed while I was putting it on, with the blue linsey petticoat, and one or the other, or both together, helped me to dress, repeating at least half a dozen times, "You never had on the like of that before." They held a consultation of several minutes over a pair of coarse woollen stockings, gabbling Erse as fast as their tongues could move, and looked as if uncertain what to do: at last, with great diffidence, they offered them to me, adding, as before, that I had never worn "the like of them." When we entered the house we had been not a little glad to see a fowl stewing in barley-broth; and now when the wettest of our clothes were stripped off, began again to recollect that we were hungry, and asked if we could have dinner. "Oh yes, ye may get that," the elder replied, pointing to the pan on the fire. Conceive what a busy house it was--all our wet clothes to be dried, dinner prepared and set out for us four strangers, and a second cooking for the family; add to this, two rough "callans," as they called them, boys about eight years old, were playing beside us; the poor baby was fretful all the while; the old woman sang doleful Erse songs, rocking it in its cradle the more violently the more it cried; then there were a dozen cookings of porridge, and it could never be fed without the assistance of all three. The hut was after the Highland fashion, but without anything beautiful except its situation; the floor was rough, and wet with the rain that came in at the door, so that the lasses' bare feet were as wet as if they had been walking through street puddles, in passing from one room to another; the windows were open, as at the other hut; but the kitchen had a bed in it, and was much smaller, and the shape of the house was like that of a common English cottage, without its comfort; yet there was no appearance of poverty--indeed, quite the contrary. The peep out of the open door-place across the lake made some amends for the want of the long roof and elegant rafters of our boatman's cottage, and all the while the waterfall, which we could not see, was roaring at the end of the hut, which seemed to serve as a sounding-board for its noise, so that it was not unlike sitting in a house where a mill is going. The dashing of the waves against the shore could not be distinguished; yet in spite of my knowledge of this I could not help fancying that the tumult and storm came from the lake, and went out several times to see if it was possible to row over in safety. After long waiting we grew impatient for our dinner; at last the pan was taken off, and carried into the other room; but we had to wait at least another half hour before the ceremony of dishing up was completed; yet with all this bustle and difficulty, the manner in which they, and particularly the elder of the girls, performed everything, was perfectly graceful. We ate a hearty dinner, and had time to get our clothes quite dry before the arrival of the boat. The girls could not say at what time it would be at home; on our asking them if the church was far off they replied, "Not very far"; and when we asked how far, they said, "Perhaps about four or five miles." I believe a Church of England congregation would hold themselves excused for non-attendance three parts of the year, having but half as far to go; but in the lonely parts of Scotland they make little of a journey of nine or ten miles to a preaching. They have not perhaps an opportunity of going more than once in a quarter of a year, and, setting piety aside, have other motives to attend: they hear the news, public and private, and see their friends and neighbours; for though the people who meet at these times may be gathered together from a circle of twenty miles' diameter, a sort of neighbourly connexion must be so brought about. There is something exceedingly pleasing to my imagination in this gathering together of the inhabitants of these secluded districts--for instance, the borderers of these two large lakes meeting at the deserted garrison which I have described. The manner of their travelling is on foot, on horseback, and in boats across the waters,--young and old, rich and poor, all in their best dress. If it were not for these Sabbath-day meetings one summer month would be like another summer month, one winter month like another--detached from the goings-on of the world, and solitary throughout; from the time of earliest childhood they will be like landing-places in the memory of a person who has passed his life in these thinly peopled regions; they must generally leave distinct impressions, differing from each other so much as they do in circumstances, in time and place, etc.,--some in the open fields, upon hills, in houses, under large rocks, in storms, and in fine weather. But I have forgotten the fireside of our hut. After long waiting, the girls, who had been on the look-out, informed us that the boat was coming. I went to the water-side, and saw a cluster of people on the opposite shore; but being yet at a distance, they looked more like soldiers surrounding a carriage than a group of men and women; red and green were the distinguishable colours. We hastened to get ourselves ready as soon as we saw the party approach, but had longer to wait than we expected, the lake being wider than it appears to be. As they drew near we could distinguish men in tartan plaids, women in scarlet cloaks, and green umbrellas by the half-dozen. The landing was as pretty a sight as ever I saw. The bay, which had been so quiet two days before, was all in motion with small waves, while the swoln waterfall roared in our ears. The boat came steadily up, being pressed almost to the water's edge by the weight of its cargo; perhaps twenty people landed, one after another. It did not rain much, but the women held up their umbrellas; they were dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, and, with their scarlet cardinals, the tartan plaids of the men, and Scotch bonnets, made a gay appearance. There was a joyous bustle surrounding the boat, which even imparted something of the same character to the waterfall in its tumult, and the restless grey waves; the young men laughed and shouted, the lasses laughed, and the elder folks seemed to be in a bustle to be away. I remember well with what haste the mistress of the house where we were ran up to seek after her child, and seeing us, how anxiously and kindly she inquired how we had fared, if we had had a good fire, had been well waited upon, etc. etc. All this in three minutes--for the boatman had another party to bring from the other side and hurried us off. The hospitality we had met with at the two cottages and Mr. Macfarlane's gave us very favourable impressions on this our first entrance into the Highlands, and at this day the innocent merriment of the girls, with their kindness to us, and the beautiful figure and face of the elder, come to my mind whenever I think of the ferry-house and waterfall of Loch Lomond, and I never think of the two girls but the whole image of that romantic spot is before me, a living image, as it will be to my dying day. The following poem[2] was written by William not long after our return from Scotland:-- [Footnote 2: _To a Highland Girl_, in "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803."--ED.] Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head: And these grey rocks; this household lawn; These trees, a veil just half withdrawn; This fall of water, that doth make A murmur near the silent Lake; This little Bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashion'd in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! Yet, dream and vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are filled with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away: For never saw I mien or face, In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here, scattered like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need Th' embarrass'd look of shy distress And maidenly shamefacedness; Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread! Sweet smiles, by human-kindness bred! And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cull For thee, who art so beautiful? O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways and dress, A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea: and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood. What joy to hear thee and to see! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father--anything to thee. Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place! Joy have I had; and going hence I bear away my recompence. In spots like these it is we prize Our memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loth to stir? I feel this place is made for her; To give new pleasure like the past Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl, from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old, As fair before me shall behold As I do now, the Cabin small, The Lake, the Bay, the Waterfall, And thee, the Spirit of them all. We were rowed over speedily by the assistance of two youths, who went backwards and forwards for their own amusement, helping at the oars, and pulled as if they had strength and spirits to spare for a year to come. We noticed that they had uncommonly fine teeth, and that they and the boatman were very handsome people. Another merry crew took our place in the boat. We had three miles to walk to Tarbet. It rained, but not heavily; the mountains were not concealed from us by the mists, but appeared larger and more grand; twilight was coming on, and the obscurity under which we saw the objects, with the sounding of the torrents, kept our minds alive and wakeful; all was solitary and huge--sky, water, and mountains mingled together. While we were walking forward, the road leading us over the top of a brow, we stopped suddenly at the sound of a half-articulate Gaelic hooting from the field close to us. It came from a little boy, whom we could see on the hill between us and the lake, wrapped up in a grey plaid. He was probably calling home the cattle for the night. His appearance was in the highest degree moving to the imagination: mists were on the hillsides, darkness shutting in upon the huge avenue of mountains, torrents roaring, no house in sight to which the child might belong; his dress, cry, and appearance all different from anything we had been accustomed to. It was a text, as William has since observed to me, containing in itself the whole history of the Highlander's life--his melancholy, his simplicity, his poverty, his superstition, and above all, that visionariness which results from a communion with the unworldliness of nature. When we reached Tarbet the people of the house were anxious to know how we had fared, particularly the girl who had waited upon us. Our praises of Loch Ketterine made her exceedingly happy, and she ventured to say, of which we had heard not a word before, that it was "bonnier to _her_ fancy than Loch Lomond." The landlord, who was not at home when we had set off, told us that if he had known of our going he would have recommended us to Mr. Macfarlane's or the other farm-house, adding that they were hospitable people in that vale. Coleridge and I got tea, and William and the drawing-master chose supper; they asked to have a broiled fowl, a dish very common in Scotland, to which the mistress replied, "Would not a 'boiled' one do as well?" They consented, supposing that it would be more easily cooked; but when the fowl made its appearance, to their great disappointment it proved a cold one that had been stewed in the broth at dinner. _Monday, August 29th._--It rained heavily this morning, and, having heard so much of the long rains since we came into Scotland, as well as before, we had no hope that it would be over in less than three weeks at the least, so poor Coleridge, being very unwell, determined to send his clothes to Edinburgh and make the best of his way thither, being afraid to face much wet weather in an open carriage. William and I were unwilling to be confined at Tarbet, so we resolved to go to Arrochar, a mile and a half on the road to Inverary, where there is an inn celebrated as a place of good accommodation for travellers. Coleridge and I set off on foot, and William was to follow with the car, but a heavy shower coming on, Coleridge left me to shelter in a hut and wait for William, while he went on before. This hut was unplastered, and without windows, crowded with beds, uncomfortable, and not in the simplicity of the ferryman's house. A number of good clothes were hanging against the walls, and a green silk umbrella was set up in a corner. I should have been surprised to see an umbrella in such a place before we came into the Highlands; but umbrellas are not so common anywhere as there--a plain proof of the wetness of the climate; even five minutes after this a girl passed us without shoes and stockings, whose gown and petticoat were not worth half a crown, holding an umbrella over her bare head. We turned at a guide-post, "To the New Inn," and, after descending a little, and winding round the bottom of a hill, saw, at a small distance, a white house half hidden by tall trees upon a lawn that slopes down to the side of Loch Long, a sea-loch, which is here very narrow. Right before us, across the lake, was the Cobbler, which appeared to rise directly from the water; but, in fact, it overtopped another hill, being a considerable way behind. The inn looked so much like a gentleman's house that we could hardly believe it was an inn. We drove down the broad gravel walk, and, making a sweep, stopped at the front door, were shown into a large parlour with a fire, and my first thought was, How comfortable we should be! but Coleridge, who had arrived before us, checked my pleasure: the waiter had shown himself disposed to look coolly upon us, and there had been a hint that we could not have beds;--a party was expected, who had engaged all the beds. We conjectured this might be but a pretence, and ordered dinner in the hope that matters would clear up a little, and we thought they could not have the heart to turn us out in so heavy a rain if it were possible to lodge us. We had a nice dinner, yet would have gladly changed our roasted lamb and pickles, and the gentleman-waiter with his napkin in his pocket, for the more homely fare of the smoky hut at Loch Ketterine, and the good woman's busy attentions, with the certainty of a hospitable shelter at night. After dinner I spoke to the landlord himself, but he was not to be moved: he could not even provide one bed for me, so nothing was to be done but either to return to Tarbet with Coleridge, or that William and I should push on the next stage, to Cairndow. We had an interesting close view from the windows of the room where we sate, looking across the lake, which did not differ in appearance, as we saw it here, from a fresh-water lake. The sloping lawn on which the house stood was prettily scattered over with trees; but we had seen the place to great advantage at our first approach, owing to the mists upon the mountains, which had made them seem exceedingly high, while the strange figures on the Cobbler appeared and disappeared, like living things; but, as the day cleared we were disappointed in what was more like the permanent effect of the scene: the mountains were not so lofty as we had supposed, and the low grounds not so fertile; yet still it is a very interesting, I may say beautiful, place. The rain ceased entirely, so we resolved to go on to Cairndow, and had the satisfaction of seeing that our landlord had not told us an untruth concerning the expected company; for just before our departure we saw, on the opposite side of the vale, a coach with four horses, another carriage, and two or three men on horseback--a striking procession, as it moved along between the bare mountain and the lake. Twenty years ago, perhaps, such a sight had not been seen here except when the Duke of Argyle, or some other Highland chieftain, might chance to be going with his family to London or Edinburgh. They had to cross a bridge at the head of the lake, which we could not see, so, after disappearing about ten minutes, they drove up to the door--three old ladies, two waiting-women, and store of men-servants. The old ladies were as gaily dressed as bullfinches in spring-time. We heard the next day that they were the renowned Miss Waughs of Carlisle, and that they enjoyed themselves over a game of cards in the evening. Left Arrochar at about four o'clock in the afternoon. Coleridge accompanied us a little way; we portioned out the contents of our purse before our parting; and, after we had lost sight of him, drove heavily along. Crossed the bridge, and looked to the right, up the vale, which is soon terminated by mountains: it was of a yellow green, with but few trees and few houses; sea-gulls were flying above it. Our road--the same along which the carriages had come--was directly under the mountains on our right hand, and the lake was close to us on our left, the waves breaking among stones overgrown with yellow sea-weed; fishermen's boats, and other larger vessels than are seen on fresh-water lakes were lying at anchor near the opposite shore; sea-birds flying overhead; the noise of torrents mingled with the beating of the waves, and misty mountains enclosed the vale;--a melancholy but not a dreary scene. Often have I, in looking over a map of Scotland, followed the intricate windings of one of these sea-lochs, till, pleasing myself with my own imaginations, I have felt a longing, almost painful, to travel among them by land or by water. This was the first sea-loch we had seen. We came prepared for a new and great delight, and the first impression which William and I received, as we drove rapidly through the rain down the lawn of Arrochar, the objects dancing before us, was even more delightful than we had expected. But, as I have said, when we looked through the window, as the mists disappeared and the objects were seen more distinctly, there was less of sheltered valley-comfort than we had fancied to ourselves, and the mountains were not so grand; and now that we were near to the shore of the lake, and could see that it was not of fresh water, the wreck, the broken sea-shells, and scattered sea-weed gave somewhat of a dull and uncleanly look to the whole lake, and yet the water was clear, and might have appeared as beautiful as that of Loch Lomond, if with the same pure pebbly shore. Perhaps, had we been in a more cheerful mood of mind we might have seen everything with a different eye. The stillness of the mountains, the motion of the waves, the streaming torrents, the sea-birds, the fishing-boats were all melancholy; yet still, occupied as my mind was with other things, I thought of the long windings through which the waters of the sea had come to this inland retreat, visiting the inner solitudes of the mountains, and I could have wished to have mused out a summer's day on the shores of the lake. From the foot of these mountains whither might not a little barque carry one away? Though so far inland, it is but a slip of the great ocean: seamen, fishermen, and shepherds here find a natural home. We did not travel far down the lake, but, turning to the right through an opening of the mountains, entered a glen called Glen Croe. Our thoughts were full of Coleridge, and when we were enclosed in the narrow dale, with a length of winding road before us, a road that seemed to have insinuated itself into the very heart of the mountains--the brook, the road, bare hills, floating mists, scattered stones, rocks, and herds of black cattle being all that we could see,--I shivered at the thought of his being sickly and alone, travelling from place to place. The Cobbler, on our right, was pre-eminent above the other hills; the singular rocks on its summit, seen so near, were like ruins--castles or watch-towers. After we had passed one reach of the glen, another opened out, long, narrow, deep, and houseless, with herds of cattle and large stones; but the third reach was softer and more beautiful, as if the mountains had there made a warmer shelter, and there were a more gentle climate. The rocks by the river-side had dwindled away, the mountains were smooth and green, and towards the end, where the glen sloped upwards, it was a cradle-like hollow, and at that point where the slope became a hill, at the very bottom of the curve of the cradle, stood one cottage, with a few fields and beds of potatoes. There was also another house near the roadside, which appeared to be a herdsman's hut. The dwelling in the middle of the vale was a very pleasing object. I said within myself, How quietly might a family live in this pensive solitude, cultivating and loving their own fields! but the herdsman's hut, being the only one in the vale, had a melancholy face; not being attached to any particular plot of land, one could not help considering it as just kept alive and above ground by some dreary connexion with the long barren tract we had travelled through. The afternoon had been exceedingly pleasant after we had left the vale of Arrochar; the sky was often threatening, but the rain blew off, and the evening was uncommonly fine. The sun had set a short time before we had dismounted from the car to walk up the steep hill at the end of the glen. Clouds were moving all over the sky--some of a brilliant yellow hue, which shed a light like bright moonlight upon the mountains. We could not have seen the head of the valley under more favourable circumstances. The passing away of a storm is always a time of life and cheerfulness, especially in a mountainous country; but that afternoon and evening the sky was in an extraordinary degree vivid and beautiful. We often stopped in ascending the hill to look down the long reach of the glen. The road, following the course of the river as far as we could see, the farm and cottage hills, smooth towards the base and rocky higher up, were the sole objects before us. This part of Glen Croe reminded us of some of the dales of the north of England--Grisdale above Ulswater, for instance; but the length of it, and the broad highway, which is always to be seen at a great distance, a sort of centre of the vale, a point of reference, gives to the whole of the glen, and each division of it, a very different character. At the top of the hill we came to a seat with the well-known inscription, "Rest and be thankful." On the same stone it was recorded that the road had been made by Col. Wade's regiment. The seat is placed so as to command a full view of the valley, and the long, long road, which, with the fact recorded, and the exhortation, makes it an affecting resting-place. We called to mind with pleasure a seat under the braes of Loch Lomond on which I had rested, where the traveller is informed by an inscription upon a stone that the road was made by Col. Lascelles' regiment. There, the spot had not been chosen merely as a resting-place, for there was no steep ascent in the highway, but it might be for the sake of a spring of water and a beautiful rock, or, more probably, because at that point the labour had been more than usually toilsome in hewing through the rock. Soon after we had climbed the hill we began to descend into another glen, called Glen Kinglas. We now saw the western sky, which had hitherto been hidden from us by the hill--a glorious mass of clouds uprising from a sea of distant mountains, stretched out in length before us, towards the west--and close by us was a small lake or tarn. From the reflection of the crimson clouds the water appeared of a deep red, like melted rubies, yet with a mixture of a grey or blackish hue: the gorgeous light of the sky, with the singular colour of the lake, made the scene exceedingly romantic; yet it was more melancholy than cheerful. With all the power of light from the clouds, there was an overcasting of the gloom of evening, a twilight upon the hills. We descended rapidly into the glen, which resembles the lower part of Glen Croe, though it seemed to be inferior in beauty; but before we had passed through one reach it was quite dark, and I only know that the steeps were high, and that we had the company of a foaming stream; and many a vagrant torrent crossed us, dashing down the hills. The road was bad, and, uncertain how we should fare, we were eager and somewhat uneasy to get forward; but when we were out of the close glen, and near to Cairndow, as a traveller had told us, the moon showed her clear face in the sky, revealing a spacious vale, with a broad loch and sloping corn fields; the hills not very high. This cheerful sight put us into spirits, and we thought it was at least no dismal place to sit up all night in, if they had no beds, and they could not refuse us a shelter. We were, however, well received, and sate down in a neat parlour with a good fire. _Tuesday, August 30th._--Breakfasted before our departure, and ate a herring, fresh from the water, at our landlord's earnest recommendation--much superior to the herrings we get in the north of England.[3] Though we rose at seven, could not set off before nine o'clock; the servants were in bed; the kettle did not boil--indeed, we were completely out of patience; but it had always been so, and we resolved to go off in future without breakfast. Cairndow is a single house by the side of the loch, I believe resorted to by gentlemen in the fishing season: it is a pleasant place for such a purpose; but the vale did not look so beautiful as by moonlight--it had a sort of sea-coldness without mountain grandeur. There is a ferry for foot-passengers from Cairndow to the other side of the water, and the road along which all carriages go is carried round the head of the lake, perhaps a distance of three miles. [Footnote 3: I should rather think so!--J. C. S.] After we had passed the landing-place of the ferry opposite to Cairndow we saw the lake spread out to a great width, more like an arm of the sea or a great river than one of our lakes; it reminded us of the Severn at the Chepstow passage; but the shores were less rich and the hills higher. The sun shone, which made the morning cheerful, though there was a cold wind. Our road never carried us far from the lake, and with the beating of the waves, the sparkling sunshiny water, boats, the opposite hills, and, on the side on which we travelled, the chance cottages, the coppice woods, and common business of the fields, the ride could not but be amusing. But what most excited our attention was, at one particular place, a cluster of fishing-boats at anchor in a still corner of the lake, a small bay or harbour by the wayside. They were overshadowed by fishermen's nets hung out to dry, which formed a dark awning that covered them like a tent, overhanging the water on each side, and falling in the most exquisitely graceful folds. There was a monastic pensiveness, a funereal gloom in the appearance of this little company of vessels, which was the more interesting from the general liveliness and glancing motions of the water, they being perfectly still and silent in their sheltered nook. When we had travelled about seven miles from Cairndow, winding round the bottom of a hill, we came in view of a great basin or elbow of the lake. Completely out of sight of the long track of water we had coasted, we seemed now to be on the edge of a very large, almost circular, lake, the town of Inverary before us, a line of white buildings on a low promontory right opposite, and close to the water's edge; the whole landscape a showy scene, and bursting upon us at once. A traveller who was riding by our side called out, "Can that be the Castle?" Recollecting the prints which we had seen, we knew it could not; but the mistake is a natural one at that distance: it is so little like an ordinary town, from the mixture of regularity and irregularity in the buildings. With the expanse of water and pleasant mountains, the scattered boats and sloops, and those gathered together, it had a truly festive appearance. A few steps more brought us in view of the Castle, a stately turreted mansion, but with a modern air, standing on a lawn, retired from the water, and screened behind by woods covering the sides of high hills to the top, and still beyond, by bare mountains. Our road wound round the semicircular shore, crossing two bridges of lordly architecture. The town looked pretty when we drew near to it in connexion with its situation, different from any place I had ever seen, yet exceedingly like what I imaged to myself from representations in raree-shows, or pictures of foreign places--Venice, for example--painted on the scene of a play-house, which one is apt to fancy are as cleanly and gay as they look through the magnifying-glass of the raree-show or in the candle-light dazzle of a theatre. At the door of the inn, though certainly the buildings had not that delightful outside which they appeared to have at a distance, yet they looked very pleasant. The range bordering on the water consisted of little else than the inn, being a large house, with very large stables, the county gaol, the opening into the main street into the town, and an arched gateway, the entrance into the Duke of Argyle's private domain. We were decently well received at the inn, but it was over-rich in waiters and large rooms to be exactly to our taste, though quite in harmony with the neighbourhood. Before dinner we went into the Duke's pleasure-grounds, which are extensive, and of course command a variety of lively and interesting views. Walked through avenues of tall beech-trees, and observed some that we thought even the tallest we had ever seen; but they were all scantily covered with leaves, and the leaves exceedingly small--indeed, some of them, in the most exposed situations, were almost bare, as if it had been winter. Travellers who wish to view the inside of the Castle send in their names, and the Duke appoints the time of their going; but we did not think that what we should see would repay us for the trouble, there being no pictures, and the house, which I believe has not been built above half a century, is fitted up in the modern style. If there had been any reliques of the ancient costume of the castle of a Highland chieftain, we should have been sorry to have passed it. Sate after dinner by the fireside till near sunset, for it was very cold, though the sun shone all day. At the beginning of this our second walk we passed through the town, which is but a doleful example of Scotch filth. The houses are plastered or rough-cast, and washed yellow--well built, well sized, and sash-windowed, bespeaking a connexion with the Duke, such a dependence as may be expected in a small town so near to his mansion; and indeed he seems to have done his utmost to make them comfortable, according to our English notions of comfort: they are fit for the houses of people living decently upon a decent trade; but the windows and door-steads were as dirty as in a dirty by-street of a large town, making a most unpleasant contrast with the comely face of the buildings towards the water, and the ducal grandeur and natural festivity of the scene. Smoke and blackness are the wild growth of a Highland hut: the mud floors cannot be washed, the door-steads are trampled by cattle, and if the inhabitants be not very cleanly it gives one little pain; but dirty people living in two-storied stone houses, with dirty sash windows, are a melancholy spectacle anywhere, giving the notion either of vice or the extreme of wretchedness. Returning through the town, we went towards the Castle, and entered the Duke's grounds by a porter's lodge, following the carriage-road through the park, which is prettily scattered over with trees, and slopes gently towards the lake. A great number of lime-trees were growing singly, not beautiful in their shape, but I mention them for the resemblance to one of the same kind we had seen in the morning, which formed a shade as impenetrable as the roof of any house. The branches did not spread far, nor any one branch much further than another; on the outside it was like a green bush shorn with shears, but when we sate upon a bench under it, looking upwards, in the middle of the tree we could not perceive any green at all; it was like a hundred thousand magpies' nests clustered and matted together, the twigs and boughs being so intertwined that neither the light of the mid-day sun nor showers of hail or rain could pierce through them. The lime-trees on the lawn resembled this tree both in shape and in the manner of intertwisting their twigs, but they were much smaller, and not an impenetrable shade. The views from the Castle are delightful. Opposite is the lake, girt with mountains, or rather smooth high hills; to the left appears a very steep rocky hill, called Duniquoich Hill, on the top of which is a building like a watch-tower; it rises boldly and almost perpendicular from the plain, at a little distance from the river Arey, that runs through the grounds. To the right is the town, overtopped by a sort of spire or pinnacle of the church, a thing unusual in Scotland, except in the large towns, and which would often give an elegant appearance to the villages, which, from the uniformity of the huts, and the frequent want of tall trees, they seldom exhibit. In looking at an extensive prospect, or travelling through a large vale, the Trough of the Clyde for instance, I could not help thinking that in England there would have been somewhere a tower or spire to warn us of a village lurking under the covert of a wood or bank, or to point out some particular spot on the distant hills which we might look at with kindly feelings. I well remember how we used to love the little nest of trees out of which Ganton spire rose on the distant Wolds opposite to the windows at Gallow Hill. The spire of Inverary is not of so beautiful a shape as those of the English churches, and, not being one of a class of buildings which is understood at once, seen near or at a distance, is a less interesting object; but it suits well with the outlandish trimness of the buildings bordering on the water; indeed, there is no one thing of the many gathered together in the extensive circuit of the basin or vale of Inverary, that is not in harmony with the effect of the whole place. The Castle is built of a beautiful hewn stone, in colour resembling our blue slates. The author-tourists have quarrelled with the architecture of it, but we did not find much that we were disposed to blame. A castle in a deep glen, overlooking a roaring stream, and defended by precipitous rocks, is, no doubt, an object far more interesting; but, dropping all ideas of danger or insecurity, the natural retinue in our minds of an ancient Highland chieftain,--take a Duke of Argyle at the end of the eighteenth century, let him have his house in Grosvenor Square, his London liveries, and daughters glittering at St. James's, and I think you will be satisfied with his present mansion in the Highlands, which seems to suit with the present times and its situation, and that is indeed a noble one for a modern Duke of the mountainous district of Argyleshire, with its bare valleys, its rocky coasts, and sea lochs. There is in the natural endowments of Inverary something akin to every feature of the general character of the county; yet even the very mountains and the lake itself have a kind of princely festivity in their appearance. I do not know how to communicate the feeling, but it seemed as if it were no insult to the hills to look on them as the shield and enclosure of the ducal domain, to which the water might delight in bearing its tribute. The hills near the lake are smooth, so smooth that they might have been shaven or swept; the shores, too, had somewhat of the same effect, being bare, and having no roughness, no woody points; yet the whole circuit being very large, and the hills so extensive, the scene was not the less cheerful and festive, rejoicing in the light of heaven. Behind the Castle the hills are planted to a great height, and the pleasure-grounds extend far up the valley of Arey. We continued our walk a short way along the river, and were sorry to see it stripped of its natural ornaments, after the fashion of Mr. Brown,[4] and left to tell its tale--for it would not be silent like the river at Blenheim--to naked fields and the planted trees on the hills. We were disgusted with the stables, out-houses, or farm-houses in different parts of the grounds behind the Castle: they were broad, out-spreading, fantastic, and unintelligible buildings. [Footnote 4: "Capability" Brown.--J. C. S.] Sate in the park till the moonlight was perceived more than the light of day. We then walked near the town by the water-side. I observed that the children who were playing did not speak Erse, but a much worse English than is spoken by those Highlanders whose common language is the Erse. I went into the town to purchase tea and sugar to carry with us on our journey. We were tired when we returned to the inn, and went to bed directly after tea. My room was at the very top of the house--one flight of steps after another!--but when I drew back the curtains of my window I was repaid for the trouble of panting up-stairs by one of the most splendid moonlight prospects that can be conceived: the whole circuit of the hills, the Castle, the two bridges, the tower on Duniquoich Hill, and the lake with many boats--fit scene for summer midnight festivities! I should have liked to have seen a bevy of Scottish ladies sailing, with music, in a gay barge. William, to whom I have read this, tells me that I have used the very words of Browne of Ottery, Coleridge's fellow-townsman:-- As I have seen when on the breast of Thames A heavenly bevy of sweet English dames, In some calm evening of delightful May, With music give a farewell to the day, Or as they would (with an admired tone) Greet night's ascension to her ebon throne. BROWNE'S _Britannia's Pastorals_. _Wednesday, August 31st._--We had a long day's journey before us, without a regular baiting-place on the road, so we breakfasted at Inverary, and did not set off till nine o'clock, having, as usual, to complain of the laziness of the servants. Our road was up the valley behind the Castle, the same we had gone along the evening before. Further up, though the plantations on the hills are noble, the valley was cold and naked, wanting hedgerows and comfortable houses. We travelled several miles under the plantations, the vale all along seeming to belong almost exclusively to the Castle. It might have been better distinguished and adorned, as we thought, by neater farm-houses and cottages than are common in Scotland, and snugger fields with warm hedgerows, at the same time testifying as boldly its adherence to the chief. At that point of the valley where the pleasure-grounds appear to end, we left our horse at a cottage door, and turned a few steps out of the road to see a waterfall, which roared so loud that we could not have gone by without looking about for it, even if we had not known that there was one near Inverary. The waterfall is not remarkable for anything but the good taste with which it has been left to itself, though there is a pleasure-road from the Castle to it. As we went further up the valley the roads died away, and it became an ordinary Scotch glen, the poor pasturage of the hills creeping down into the valley, where it was little better for the shelter, I mean little greener than on the hill-sides; but a man must be of a churlish nature if, with a mind free to look about, he should not find such a glen a pleasing place to travel through, though seeing little but the busy brook, with here and there a bush or tree, and cattle pasturing near the thinly-scattered dwellings. But we came to one spot which I cannot forget, a single green field at the junction of another brook with the Arey, a peninsula surrounded with a close row of trees, which overhung the streams, and under their branches we could just see a neat white house that stood in the middle of the field enclosed by the trees. Before us was nothing but bare hills, and the road through the bare glen. A person who has not travelled in Scotland can scarcely imagine the pleasure we have had from a stone house, though fresh from the workmen's hands, square and sharp; there is generally such an appearance of equality in poverty through the long glens of Scotland, giving the notion of savage ignorance--no house better than another, and barns and houses all alike. This house had, however, other recommendations of its own; even in the fertile parts of Somersetshire it would have been a delicious spot; here, "'Mid mountain wild set like a little nest," it was a resting-place for the fancy, and to this day I often think of it, the cottage and its green covert, as an image of romance, a place of which I have the same sort of knowledge as of some of the retirements, the little valleys, described so livelily by Spenser in his _Fairy Queen_. We travelled on, the glen now becoming entirely bare. Passed a miserable hut on a naked hill-side, not far from the road, where we were told by a man who came out of it that we might refresh ourselves with a dram of whisky. Went over the hill, and saw nothing remarkable till we came in view of Loch Awe, a large lake far below us, among high mountains--one very large mountain right opposite, which we afterwards found was called Cruachan. The day was pleasant--sunny gleams and a fresh breeze; the lake--we looked across it--as bright as silver, which made the islands, three or four in number, appear very green. We descended gladly, invited by the prospect before us, travelling downwards, along the side of the hill, above a deep glen, woody towards the lower part near the brook; the hills on all sides were high and bare, and not very stony: it made us think of the descent from Newlands into Buttermere, though on a wider scale, and much inferior in simple majesty. After walking down the hill a long way we came to a bridge, under which the water dashed through a dark channel of rocks among trees, the lake being at a considerable distance below, with cultivated lands between. Close upon the bridge was a small hamlet,[5] a few houses near together, and huddled up in trees--a very sweet spot, the only retired village we had yet seen which was characterized by "beautiful" wildness with sheltering warmth. We had been told at Inverary that we should come to a place where we might give our horse a feed of corn, and found on inquiry that there was a little public-house here, or rather a hut "where they kept a dram." It was a cottage, like all the rest, without a sign-board. The woman of the house helped to take the horse out of harness, and, being hungry, we asked her if she could make us some porridge, to which she replied that "we should get that," and I followed her into the house, and sate over her hearth while she was making it. As to fire, there was little sign of it, save the smoke, for a long time, she having no fuel but green wood, and no bellows but her breath. My eyes smarted exceedingly, but the woman seemed so kind and cheerful that I was willing to endure it for the sake of warming my feet in the ashes and talking to her. The fire was in the middle of the room, a crook being suspended from a cross-beam, and a hole left at the top for the smoke to find its way out by: it was a rude Highland hut, unadulterated by Lowland fashions, but it had not the elegant shape of the ferry-house at Loch Ketterine, and the fire, being in the middle of the room, could not be such a snug place to draw to on a winter's night. [Footnote 5: Cladich.--J. C. S.] We had a long afternoon before us, with only eight miles to travel to Dalmally, and, having been told that a ferry-boat was kept at one of the islands, we resolved to call for it, and row to the island, so we went to the top of an eminence, and the man who was with us set some children to work to gather sticks and withered leaves to make a smoky fire--a signal for the boatman, whose hut is on a flat green island, like a sheep pasture, without trees, and of a considerable size: the man told us it was a rabbit-warren. There were other small islands, on one of which was a ruined house, fortification, or small castle: we could not learn anything of its history, only a girl told us that formerly gentlemen lived in such places. Immediately from the water's edge rose the mountain Cruachan on the opposite side of the lake; it is woody near the water and craggy above, with deep hollows on the surface. We thought it the grandest mountain we had seen, and on saying to the man who was with us that it was a fine mountain, "Yes," he replied, "it is an excellent mountain," adding that it was higher than Ben Lomond, and then told us some wild stories of the enormous profits it brought to Lord Breadalbane, its lawful owner. The shape of Loch Awe is very remarkable, its outlet being at one side, and only about eight miles from the head, and the whole lake twenty-four miles in length. We looked with longing after that branch of it opposite to us out of which the water issues: it seemed almost like a river gliding under steep precipices. What we saw of the larger branch, or what might be called the body of the lake, was less promising, the banks being merely gentle slopes, with not very high mountains behind, and the ground moorish and cold. The children, after having collected fuel for our fire, began to play on the green hill where we stood, as heedless as if we had been trees or stones, and amused us exceedingly with their activity: they wrestled, rolled down the hill, pushing one another over and over again, laughing, screaming, and chattering Erse: they were all without shoes and stockings, which, making them fearless of hurting or being hurt, gave a freedom to the action of their limbs which I never saw in English children: they stood upon one another, body, breast, or face, or any other part; sometimes one was uppermost, sometimes another, and sometimes they rolled all together, so that we could not know to which body this leg or that arm belonged. We waited, watching them, till we were assured that the boatman had noticed our signal.--By the bye, if we had received proper directions at Loch Lomond, on our journey to Loch Ketterine, we should have made our way down the lake till we had come opposite to the ferryman's house, where there is a hut, and the people who live there are accustomed to call him by the same signal as here. Luckily for us we were not so well instructed, for we should have missed the pleasure of receiving the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Macfarlane and their family. A young woman who wanted to go to the island accompanied us to the water-side. The walk was pleasant, through fields with hedgerows, the greenest fields we had seen in Scotland; but we were obliged to return without going to the island. The poor man had taken his boat to another place, and the waters were swollen so that we could not go close to the shore, and show ourselves to him, nor could we make him hear by shouting. On our return to the public-house we asked the woman what we should pay her, and were not a little surprised when she answered, "Three shillings." Our horse had had a sixpenny feed of miserable corn, not worth threepence; the rest of the charge was for skimmed milk, oat-bread, porridge, and blue milk cheese: we told her it was far too much; and, giving her half-a-crown, departed. I was sorry she had made this unreasonable demand, because we had liked the woman, and we had before been so well treated in the Highland cottages; but, on thinking more about it, I satisfied myself that it was no scheme to impose upon us, for she was contented with the half-crown, and would, I daresay, have been so with two shillings, if we had offered it her at first. Not being accustomed to fix a price upon porridge and milk, to such as we, at least, when we asked her she did not know what to say; but, seeing that we were travelling for pleasure, no doubt she concluded we were rich, and that what was a small gain to her could be no great loss to us. When we had gone a little way we saw before us a young man with a bundle over his shoulder, hung on a stick, bearing a great boy on his back: seeing that they were travellers, we offered to take the boy on the car, to which the man replied that he should be more than thankful, and set him up beside me. They had walked from Glasgow, and that morning from Inverary; the boy was only six years old, "But," said his father, "he is a stout walker," and a fine fellow he was, smartly dressed in tight clean clothes and a nice round hat: he was going to stay with his grandmother at Dalmally. I found him good company; though I could not draw a single word out of him, it was a pleasure to see his happiness gleaming through the shy glances of his healthy countenance. Passed a pretty chapel by the lake-side, and an island with a farm-house upon it, and corn and pasture fields; but, as we went along, we had frequent reason to regret the want of English hedgerows and English culture; for the ground was often swampy or moorish near the lake where comfortable dwellings among green fields might have been. When we came near to the end of the lake we had a steep hill to climb, so William and I walked; and we had such confidence in our horse that we were not afraid to leave the car to his guidance with the child in it; we were soon, however, alarmed at seeing him trot up the hill a long way before us; the child, having raised himself up upon the seat, was beating him as hard as he could with a little stick which he carried in his hand; and when he saw our eyes were on him he sate down, I believe very sorry to resign his office: the horse slackened his pace, and no accident happened. When we had ascended half-way up the hill, directed by the man, I took a nearer footpath, and at the top came in view of a most impressive scene, a ruined castle on an island almost in the middle of the last compartment of the lake, backed by a mountain cove, down which came a roaring stream. The castle occupied every foot of the island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water; mists rested upon the mountain side, with spots of sunshine between; there was a mild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the castle was wild, yet stately, not dismantled of its turrets, nor the walls broken down, though completely in ruin. After having stood some minutes I joined William on the high road, and both wishing to stay longer near this place, we requested the man to drive his little boy on to Dalmally, about two miles further, and leave the car at the inn. He told us that the ruin was called Kilchurn Castle, that it belonged to Lord Breadalbane, and had been built by one of the ladies of that family for her defence during her Lord's absence at the Crusades, for which purpose she levied a tax of seven years' rent upon her tenants;[6] he said that from that side of the lake it did not appear, in very dry weather, to stand upon an island; but that it was possible to go over to it without being wet-shod. We were very lucky in seeing it after a great flood; for its enchanting effect was chiefly owing to its situation in the lake, a decayed palace rising out of the plain of waters! I have called it a palace, for such feeling it gave to me, though having been built as a place of defence, a castle or fortress. We turned again and reascended the hill, and sate a long time in the middle of it looking on the castle and the huge mountain cove opposite, and William, addressing himself to the ruin, poured out these verses:[7]-- [Footnote 6: Not very probable.--J. C. S.] [Footnote 7: _Address to Kilchurn Castle, upon Loch Awe._--ED.] Child of loud-throated War! the mountain stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thy age. We walked up the hill again, and, looking down the vale, had a fine view of the lake and islands, resembling the views down Windermere, though much less rich. Our walk to Dalmally was pleasant: the vale makes a turn to the right, beyond the head of the lake, and the village of Dalmally, which is, in fact, only a few huts, the manse or minister's house, the chapel, and the inn, stands near the river, which flows into the head of the lake. The whole vale is very pleasing, the lower part of the hill-sides being sprinkled with thatched cottages, cultivated ground in small patches near them, which evidently belonged to the cottages. We were overtaken by a gentleman who rode on a beautiful white pony, like Lilly, and was followed by his servant, a Highland boy, on another pony, a little creature, not much bigger than a large mastiff, on which were slung a pair of crutches and a tartan plaid. The gentleman entered into conversation with us, and on our telling him that we were going to Glen Coe, he advised us, instead of proceeding directly to Tyndrum, the next stage, to go round by the outlet of Loch Awe to Loch Etive, and thence to Glen Coe. We were glad to change our plan, for we wanted much to see more of Loch Awe, and he told us that the whole of the way by Loch Etive was pleasant, and the road to Tyndrum as dreary as possible; indeed, we could see it at that time several miles before us upon the side of a bleak mountain; and he said that there was nothing but moors and mountains all the way. We reached the inn a little before sunset, ordered supper, and I walked out. Crossed a bridge to look more nearly at the parsonage-house and the chapel, which stands upon a bank close to the river, a pretty stream overhung in some parts by trees. The vale is very pleasing; but, like all the other Scotch vales we had yet seen, it told of its kinship with the mountains and of poverty or some neglect on the part of man. _Thursday, September 1st._--We had been attended at supper by a civil boy, whom we engaged to rouse us at six o'clock, and to provide us each a basin of milk and bread, and have the car ready; all which he did punctually, and we were off in good time. The morning was not unpleasant, though rather cold, and we had some fear of rain. Crossed the bridge, and passed by the manse and chapel, our road carrying us back again in the direction we had come; but on the opposite side of the river. Passed close to many of the houses we had seen on the hill-side, which the lame gentleman had told us belonged to Lord Breadalbane, and were attached to little farms, or "crofts," as he called them. Lord Breadalbane had lately laid out a part of his estates in this way as an experiment, in the hope of preventing discontent and emigration. We were sorry we had not an opportunity of seeing into these cottages, and of learning how far the people were happy or otherwise. The dwellings certainly did not look so comfortable when we were near to them as from a distance; but this might be chiefly owing to what the inhabitants did not feel as an evil--the dirt about the doors. We saw, however--a sight always painful to me--two or three women, each creeping after her single cow, while it was feeding on the slips of grass between the corn-grounds. Went round the head of the lake, and onwards close to the lake-side. Kilchurn Castle was always interesting, though not so grand as seen from the other side, with its own mountain cove and roaring stream. It combined with the vale of Dalmally and the distant hills--a beautiful scene, yet overspread with a gentle desolation. As we went further down we lost sight of the vale of Dalmally. The castle, which we often stopped to look back upon, was very beautiful seen in combination with the opposite shore of the lake--perhaps a little bay, a tuft of trees, or a slope of the hill. Travelled under the foot of the mountain Cruachan, along an excellent road, having the lake close to us on our left, woods overhead, and frequent torrents tumbling down the hills. The distant views across the lake were not peculiarly interesting after we were out of sight of Kilchurn Castle, the lake being wide, and the opposite shore not rich, and those mountains which we could see were not high. Came opposite to the village where we had dined the day before, and, losing sight of the body of the lake, pursued the narrow channel or pass,[8] which is, I believe, three miles long, out of which issues the river that flows into Loch Etive. We were now enclosed between steep hills, on the opposite side entirely bare, on our side bare or woody; the branch of the lake generally filling the whole area of the vale. It was a pleasing, solitary scene; the long reach of naked precipices on the other side rose directly out of the water, exceedingly steep, not rugged or rocky, but with scanty sheep pasturage and large beds of small stones, purple, dove-coloured, or red, such as are called Screes in Cumberland and Westmoreland. These beds, or rather streams of stones, appeared as smooth as the turf itself, nay, I might say, as soft as the feathers of birds, which they resembled in colour. There was no building on either side of the water; in many parts only just room for the road, and on the other shore no footing, as it might seem, for any creature larger than the mountain sheep, and they, in treading amongst the shelving stones, must often send them down into the lake below. [Footnote 8: The Pass of Awe.--J. C. S.] After we had wound for some time through the valley, having met neither foot-traveller, horse, nor cart, we started at the sight of a single vessel, just as it turned round the point of a hill, coming into the reach of the valley where we were. She floated steadily through the middle of the water, with one large sail spread out, full swollen by the breeze, that blew her right towards us. I cannot express what romantic images this vessel brought along with her--how much more beautiful the mountains appeared, the lake how much more graceful. There was one man on board, who sate at the helm, and he, having no companion, made the boat look more silent than if we could not have seen him. I had almost said the ship, for on that narrow water it appeared as large as the ships which I have watched sailing out of a harbour of the sea. A little further on we passed a stone hut by the lake-side, near which were many charcoal sacks, and we conjectured that the vessel had been depositing charcoal brought from other parts of Loch Awe to be carried to the iron-works at Loch Etive. A little further on we came to the end of the lake, but where exactly it ended was not easy to determine, for the river was as broad as the lake, and we could only say when it became positively a river by the rushing of the water. It is, indeed, a grand stream, the quantity of water being very large, frequently forming rapids, and always flowing very quickly; but its greatness is short-lived, for, after a course of three miles, it is lost in the great waters of Loch Etive, a sea loch. Crossed a bridge, and climbing a hill towards Taynuilt, our baiting-place, we saw a hollow to the right below us, through which the river continued its course between rocks and steep banks of wood. William turned aside to look into the dell, but I was too much tired. We had left it, two or three hundred yards behind, an open river, the hills, enclosing the branch of the lake, having settled down into irregular slopes. We were glad when we reached Taynuilt, a village of huts, with a chapel and one stone house, which was the inn. It had begun to rain, and I was almost benumbed with the cold, besides having a bad headache; so it rejoiced me to see kind looks on the landlady's face, and that she was willing to put herself in a bustle for our comfort; we had a good fire presently, and breakfast was set out--eggs, preserved gooseberries, excellent cream, cheese, and butter, but no wheat bread, and the oaten cakes were so hard I could not chew them. We wished to go upon Loch Etive; so, having desired the landlady to prepare a fowl for supper, and engaged beds, which she promised us willingly--a proof that we were not in the great road--we determined to find our way to the lake and endeavour to procure a boat. It rained heavily, but we went on, hoping the sky would clear up. Walked through unenclosed fields, a sort of half-desolate country; but when we came to the mouth of the river which issues out of Loch Awe, and which we had to cross by a ferry, looking up that river we saw that the vale down which it flowed was richly wooded and beautiful. We were now among familiar fireside names. We could see the town of Bunawe, a place of which the old woman with whom William lodged ten years at Hawkshead used to tell tales half as long as an ancient romance. It is a small village or port on the same side of Loch Etive on which we stood, and at a little distance is a house built by a Mr. Knott of Coniston Water-head, a partner in the iron-foundry at Bunawe, in the service of whose family the old woman had spent her youth. It was an ugly yellow-daubed building, staring this way and that, but William looked at it with pleasure for poor Ann Tyson's sake.[9] We hailed the ferry-boat, and a little boy came to fetch us; he rowed up against the stream with all his might for a considerable way, and then yielding to it, the boat was shot towards the shore almost like an arrow from a bow. It was pleasing to observe the dexterity with which the lad managed his oars, glorying in the appearance of danger--for he observed us watching him, and afterwards, while he conveyed us over, his pride redoubled; for my part, I was completely dizzy with the swiftness of the motion. [Footnote 9: The village dame with whom he lived when a school-boy at Hawkshead.--ED.] We could not have a boat from the ferry, but were told that if we would walk to a house half a mile up the river, we had a chance of getting one. I went a part of the way with William, and then sate down under the umbrella near some houses. A woman came out to talk with me, and pressed me to take shelter in her house, which I refused, afraid of missing William. She eyed me with extreme curiosity, asking fifty questions respecting the object of our journey. She told me that it rained most parts of the year there, and that there was no chance of fine weather that day; and I believe when William came to tell me that we could have a boat, she thought I was half crazed. We went down to the shore of the lake, and, after having sate some time under a wall, the boatman came to us, and we went upon the water. At first it did not rain heavily, and the air was not cold, and before we had gone far we rejoiced that we had not been faint-hearted. The loch is of a considerable width, but the mountains are so very high that, whether we were close under them or looked from one shore to the other, they maintained their dignity. I speak of the higher part of the loch, above the town of Bunawe and the large river, for downwards they are but hills, and the water spreads out wide towards undetermined shores. On our right was the mountain Cruachan, rising directly from the lake, and on the opposite side another mountain, called Ben Durinish,[10] craggy, and exceedingly steep, with wild wood growing among the rocks and stones. [Footnote 10: Duirinnis.--ED.] We crossed the water, which was very rough in the middle, but calmer near the shores, and some of the rocky basins and little creeks among the rocks were as still as a mirror, and they were so beautiful with the reflection of the orange-coloured seaweed growing on the stones or rocks, that a child, with a child's delight in gay colours, might have danced with joy at the sight of them. It never ceased raining, and the tops of the mountains were concealed by mists, but as long as we could see across the water we were contented; for though little could be seen of the true shapes and permanent appearances of the mountains, we saw enough to give us the most exquisite delight: the powerful lake which filled the large vale, roaring torrents, clouds floating on the mountain sides, sheep that pastured there, sea-birds and land birds. We sailed a considerable way without coming to any houses or cultivated fields. There was no horse-road on either side of the loch, but a person on foot, as the boatman told us, might make his way at the foot of Ben Durinish, namely on that side of the loch on which we were; there was, however, not the least track to be seen, and it must be very difficult and laborious. We happened to say that we were going to Glen Coe, which would be the journey of a long day and a half, when one of the men, pointing to the head of the loch, replied that if we were there we should be but an hour's walk from Glen Coe. Though it continued raining, and there was no hope that the rain would cease, we could not help wishing to go by that way: it was an adventure; we were not afraid of trusting ourselves to the hospitality of the Highlanders, and we wanted to give our horse a day's rest, his back having been galled by the saddle. The owner of the boat, who understood English much better than the other man, his helper, said he would make inquiries about the road at a farm-house a little further on. He was very ready to talk with us, and was rather an interesting companion; he spoke after a slow and solemn manner, in book and sermon language and phrases: A stately speech, Such as grave livers do in Scotland use.[11] [Footnote 11: See _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiv.--ED.] When we came to the farm-house of which the man had spoken, William and he landed to make the necessary inquiries. It was a thatched house at the foot of the high mountain Ben Durinish--a few patches or little beds of corn belonging to it; but the spot was pastoral, the green grass growing to the walls of the house. The dwelling-house was distinguished from the outer buildings, which were numerous, making it look like two or three houses, as is common in Scotland, by a chimney and one small window with sash-panes; on one side was a little woody glen, with a precipitous stream that fell into the bay, which was perfectly still, and bordered with the rich orange-colour reflected from the sea-weed. Cruachan, on the other side of the lake, was exceedingly grand, and appeared of an enormous height, spreading out two large arms that made a cove down which fell many streams swoln by the rain, and in the hollow of the cove were some huts which looked like a village. The top of the mountain was concealed from us by clouds, and the mists floated high and low upon the sides of it. William came back to the boat highly pleased with the cheerful hospitality and kindness of the woman of the house, who would scarcely permit him and his guide to go away without taking some refreshment. She was the only person at home, so they could not obtain the desired information; but William had been well repaid for the trouble of landing; indeed, rainy as it was, I regretted that I had not landed also, for I should have wished to bear away in my memory a perfect image of this place,--the view from the doors, as well as the simple Highland comforts and contrivances which were near it. I think I never saw a retirement that would have so completely satisfied me, if I had wanted to be altogether shut out from the world, and at the same time among the grandest of the works of God; but it must be remembered that mountains are often so much dignified by clouds, mists, and other accidents of weather, that one could not know them again in the full sunshine of a summer's noon. But, whatever the mountains may be in their own shapes, the farm-house with its pastoral grounds and corn fields won from the mountain, its warm out-houses in irregular stages one above another on the side of the hill, the rocks, the stream, and sheltering bay, must at all times be interesting objects. The household boat lay at anchor, chained to a rock, which, like the whole border of the lake, was edged with sea-weed, and some fishing-nets were hung upon poles,--affecting images, which led our thoughts out to the wide ocean, yet made these solitudes of the mountains bear the impression of greater safety and more deep seclusion. The rain became so heavy that we should certainly have turned back if we had not felt more than usual courage from the pleasure we had enjoyed, which raised hope where none was. There were some houses a little higher up, and we determined to go thither and make further inquiries. We could now hardly see to the other side of the lake, yet continued to go on, and presently heard some people pushing through a thicket close to us, on which the boatman called out, "There's one that can tell us something about the road to Glen Coe, for he was born there." We looked up and saw a ragged, lame fellow, followed by some others, with a fishing-rod over his shoulder; and he was making such good speed through the boughs that one might have half believed he was the better for his lame leg. He was the head of a company of tinkers, who, as the men told us, travel with their fishing-rods as duly as their hammers. On being hailed by us the whole company stopped; and their lame leader and our boatmen shouted to each other in Erse--a savage cry to our ears, in that lonely and romantic place. We could not learn from the tinker all we wished to know, therefore when we came near to the houses William landed again with the owner of the boat. The rain was now so heavy that we could see nothing at all--not even the houses whither William was going. We had given up all thought of proceeding further at that time, but were desirous to know how far that road to Glen Coe was practicable for us. They met with an intelligent man, who was at work with others in a hay field, though it rained so heavily; he gave them the information they desired, and said that there was an acquaintance of his between that place and Glen Coe, who, he had no doubt, would gladly accommodate us with lodging and anything else we might need. When William returned to the boat we shaped our course back again down the water, leaving the head of Loch Etive not only unvisited, but unseen--to our great regret. The rain was very heavy; the wind had risen, and both wind and tide were against us, so that it was hard labour for the boatmen to push us on. They kept as close to the shore as they could, to be under the wind; but at the doubling of many of the rocky points the tide was so strong that it was difficult to get on at all, and I was sometimes afraid that we should be dashed against the rocks, though I believe, indeed, there was not much danger. Came down the same side of the lake under Ben Durinish, and landed at a ferry-house opposite to Bunawe, where we gave the men a glass of whisky; but our chief motive for landing was to look about the place, which had a most wild aspect at that time. It was a low promontory, pushed far into the water, narrowing the lake exceedingly; in the obscurity occasioned by the mist and rain it appeared to be an island; it was stained and weatherbeaten, a rocky place, seeming to bear no produce but such as might be cherished by cold and storms, lichens or the incrustations of sea rocks. We rowed right across the water to the mouth of the river of Loch Awe, our boat following the ferry-boat which was conveying the tinker crew to the other side, whither they were going to lodge, as the men told us, in some kiln, which they considered as their right and privilege--a lodging always to be found where there was any arable land--for every farm has its kiln to dry the corn in: another proof of the wetness of the climate. The kilns are built of stone, covered in, and probably as good a shelter as the huts in which these Highland vagrants were born. They gather sticks or heather for their fire, and, as they are obstinate beggars, for the men said they would not be denied, they probably have plenty of food with little other trouble than that of wandering in search of it, for their smutty faces and tinker equipage serve chiefly for a passport to a free and careless life. It rained very heavily, and the wind blew when we crossed the lake, and their boat and ours went tilting over the high waves. They made a romantic appearance; three women were of the party; two men rowed them over; the lame fellow sate at one end of the boat, and his companion at the other, each with an enormous fishing-rod, which looked very graceful, something like masts to the boat. When we had landed at the other side we saw them, after having begged at the ferry-house, strike merrily through the fields, no doubt betaking themselves to their shelter for the night. We were completely wet when we reached the inn; the landlady wanted to make a fire for me upstairs, but I went into her own parlour to undress, and her daughter, a pretty little girl, who could speak a few words of English, waited on me; I rewarded her with one of the penny books bought at Dumfries for Johnny, with which she was greatly delighted. We had an excellent supper--fresh salmon, a fowl, gooseberries and cream, and potatoes; good beds; and the next morning boiled milk and bread, and were only charged seven shillings and sixpence for the whole--horse, liquor, supper, and the two breakfasts. We thought they had made a mistake, and told them so--for it was only just half as much as we had paid the day before at Dalmally, the case being that Dalmally is in the main road of the tourists. The landlady insisted on my bringing away a little cup instead of our tin can, which she told me had been taken from the car by some children: we set no little value on this cup as a memorial of the good woman's honesty and kindness, and hoped to have brought it home.... _Friday, September 2nd._--Departed at about seven o'clock this morning, having to travel eight miles down Loch Etive, and then to cross a ferry. Our road was at first at a considerable distance from the lake, and out of sight of it, among undulating hills covered with coppice woods, resembling the country between Coniston and Windermere, but it afterwards carried us close to the water's edge; and in this part of our ride we were disappointed. We knew that the high mountains were all at the head of the lake, therefore had not expected the same awful grandeur which we beheld the day before, and perceived by glimpses; but the gentleman whom we met with at Dalmally had told us that there were many fine situations for gentlemen's seats on this part of the lake, which had made us expect greater loveliness near the shores, and better cultivation. It is true there are pleasant bays, with grounds prettily sloping to the water, and coppice woods, where houses would stand in shelter and sun, looking on the lake; but much is yet wanting--waste lands to be ploughed, peat-mosses drained, hedgerows reared; and the woods demand a grant of longer life than is now their privilege. But after we had journeyed about six miles a beautiful scene opened upon us. The morning had been gloomy, and at this time the sun shone out, scattering the clouds. We looked right down the lake, that was covered with streams of dazzling sunshine, which revealed the indentings of the dark shores. On a bold promontory, on the same side of the loch where we were, stood an old castle, an irregular tall building, not without majesty; and beyond, with leagues of water between, our eyes settled upon the island of Mull, a high mountain, green in the sunshine, and overcast with clouds,--an object as inviting to the fancy as the evening sky in the west, and though of a terrestrial green, almost as visionary. We saw that it was an island of the sea, but were unacquainted with its name; it was of a gem-like colour, and as soft as the sky. The shores of Loch Etive, in their moorish, rocky wildness, their earthly bareness, as they lay in length before us, produced a contrast which, with the pure sea, the brilliant sunshine, the long distance, contributed to the aërial and romantic power with which the mountain island was invested. Soon after, we came to the ferry. The boat being on the other shore, we had to wait a considerable time, though the water was not wide, and our call was heard immediately. The boatmen moved with surly tardiness, as if glad to make us know that they were our masters. At this point the lake was narrowed to the breadth of not a very wide river by a round ear or promontory on the side on which we were, and a low ridge of peat-mossy ground on the other. It was a dreary place, shut out from the beautiful prospect of the Isle of Mull, and Dunstaffnage Castle--so the fortress was called. Four or five men came over with the boat; the horse was unyoked, and being harshly driven over rough stones, which were as slippery as ice, with slimy seaweed, he was in terror before he reached the boat, and they completed the work by beating and pushing him by main force over the ridge of the boat, for there was no open end, or plank, or any other convenience for shipping either horse or carriage. I was very uneasy when we were launched on the water. A blackguard-looking fellow, blind of one eye, which I could not but think had been put out in some strife or other, held him by force like a horse-breaker, while the poor creature fretted, and stamped with his feet against the bare boards, frightening himself more and more with every stroke; and when we were in the middle of the water I would have given a thousand pounds to have been sure that we should reach the other side in safety. The tide was rushing violently in, making a strong eddy with the stream of the loch, so that the motion of the boat and the noise and foam of the waves terrified him still more, and we thought it would be impossible to keep him in the boat, and when we were just far enough from the shore to have been all drowned he became furious, and, plunging desperately, his hind-legs were in the water, then, recovering himself, he beat with such force against the boat-side that we were afraid he should send his feet through. All the while the men were swearing terrible oaths, and cursing the poor beast, redoubling their curses when we reached the landing-place, and whipping him ashore in brutal triumph. We had only room for half a heartful of joy when we set foot on dry land, for another ferry was to be crossed five miles further. We had intended breakfasting at this house if it had been a decent place; but after this affair we were glad to pay the men off and depart, though I was not well and needed refreshment. The people made us more easy by assuring us that we might easily swim the horse over the next ferry. The first mile or two of our road was over a peat-moss; we then came near to the sea-shore, and had beautiful views backwards towards the Island of Mull and Dunstaffnage Castle, and forward where the sea ran up between the hills. In this part, on the opposite side of the small bay or elbow of the sea, was a gentleman's house on a hillside,[12] and a building on the hill-top which we took for a lighthouse, but were told that it belonged to the mansion, and was only lighted up on rejoicing days--the laird's birthday, for instance. [Footnote 12: Lochnell House.--J. C. S.] Before we had left the peat-moss to travel close to the sea-shore we delighted ourselves with looking on a range of green hills, in shape like those bordering immediately upon the sea, abrupt but not high; they were, in fact, a continuation of the same; but retiring backwards, and rising from the black peat-moss. These hills were of a delicate green, uncommon in Scotland; a foaming rivulet ran down one part, and near it lay two herdsmen full in the sun, with their dogs, among a troop of black cattle which were feeding near, and sprinkled over the whole range of hills--a pastoral scene, to our eyes the more beautiful from knowing what a delightful prospect it must overlook. We now came under the steeps by the sea-side, which were bold rocks, mouldering scars, or fresh with green grass. Under the brow of one of these rocks was a burying-ground, with many upright grave-stones and hay-cocks between, and fenced round by a wall neatly sodded. Near it were one or two houses, with out-houses under a group of trees, but no chapel. The neatness of the burying-ground would in itself have been noticeable in any part of Scotland where we have been; but it was more interesting from its situation than for its own sake--within the sound of the gentlest waves of the sea, and near so many quiet and beautiful objects. There was a range of hills opposite, which we were here first told were the hills of Morven, so much sung of by Ossian. We consulted with some men respecting the ferry, who advised us by all means to send our horse round the loch, and go ourselves over in the boat: they were very civil, and seemed to be intelligent men, yet all disagreed about the length of the loch, though we were not two miles from it: one said it was only six miles long, another ten or fifteen, and afterwards a man whom we met told us it was twenty. We lost sight of the sea for some time, crossing a half-cultivated space, then reached Loch Creran, a large irregular sea loch, with low sloping banks, coppice woods, and uncultivated grounds, with a scattering of corn fields; as it appeared to us, very thinly inhabited: mountains at a distance. We found only women at home at the ferry-house. I was faint and cold, and went to sit by the fire, but, though very much needing refreshment, I had not heart to eat anything there--the house was so dirty, and there were so many wretchedly dirty women and children; yet perhaps I might have got over the dirt, though I believe there are few ladies who would not have been turned sick by it, if there had not been a most disgusting combination of laziness and coarseness in the countenances and manners of the women, though two of them were very handsome. It was a small hut, and four women were living in it: one, the mother of the children and mistress of the house; the others I supposed to be lodgers, or perhaps servants; but there was no work amongst them. They had just taken from the fire a great pan full of potatoes, which they mixed up with milk, all helping themselves out of the same vessel, and the little children put in their dirty hands to dig out of the mess at their pleasure. I thought to myself, How light the labour of such a house as this! Little sweeping, no washing of floors, and as to scouring the table, I believe it was a thing never thought of. After a long time the ferryman came home; but we had to wait yet another hour for the tide. In the meanwhile our horse took fright in consequence of his terror at the last ferry, ran away with the car, and dashed out umbrellas, greatcoats, etc.; but luckily he was stopped before any serious mischief was done. We had determined, whatever it cost, not to trust ourselves with him again in the boat; but sending him round the lake seemed almost out of the question, there being no road, and probably much difficulty in going round with a horse; so after some deliberation with the ferryman it was agreed that he should swim over. The usual place of ferrying was very broad, but he was led to the point of a peninsula at a little distance. It being an unusual affair,--indeed, the people of the house said that he was the first horse that had ever swum over,--we had several men on board, and the mistress of the house offered herself as an assistant: we supposed for the sake of a share in eighteen-pennyworth of whisky which her husband called for without ceremony, and of which she and the young lasses, who had helped to push the boat into the water, partook as freely as the men. At first I feared for the horse: he was frightened, and strove to push himself under the boat; but I was soon tolerably easy, for he went on regularly and well, and after from six to ten minutes' swimming landed in safety on the other side. Poor creature! he stretched out his nostrils and stared wildly while the man was trotting him about to warm him, and when he put him into the car he was afraid of the sound of the wheels. For some time our road was up a glen, the banks chiefly covered with coppice woods, an unpeopled, but, though without grandeur, not a dreary tract. Came to a moor and descended into a broad vale, which opened to Loch Linnhe, an arm of the sea, the prospect being shut in by high mountains, on which the sun was shining among mists and resting clouds. A village and chapel stood on the opposite hill; the hills sloped prettily down to the bed of the vale, a large level area--the grounds in general cultivated, but not rich. We went perhaps half a mile down the vale, when our road struck right across it towards the village on the hill-side. We overtook a tall, well-looking man, seemingly about thirty years of age, driving a cart, of whom we inquired concerning the road, and the distance to Portnacroish, our baiting-place. We made further inquiries respecting our future journey, which he answered in an intelligent manner, being perfectly acquainted with the geography of Scotland. He told us that the village which we saw before us and the whole tract of country was called Appin. William said that it was a pretty, wild place, to which the man replied, "Sir, it is a very bonny place if you did but see it on a fine day," mistaking William's praise for a half-censure; I must say, however, that we hardly ever saw a thoroughly pleasing place in Scotland, which had not something of wildness in its aspect of one sort or other. It came from many causes here: the sea, or sea-loch, of which we only saw as it were a glimpse crossing the vale at the foot of it, the high mountains on the opposite shore, the unenclosed hills on each side of the vale, with black cattle feeding on them, the simplicity of the scattered huts, the half-sheltered, half-exposed situation of the village, the imperfect culture of the fields, the distance from any city or large town, and the very names of Morven and Appin, particularly at such a time, when old Ossian's old friends, sunbeams and mists, as like ghosts as any in the mid-afternoon could be, were keeping company with them. William did all he could to efface the unpleasant impression he had made on the Highlander, and not without success, for he was kind and communicative when we walked up the hill towards the village. He had been a great traveller, in Ireland and elsewhere; but I believe that he had visited no place so beautiful to his eyes as his native home, the strath of Appin under the heathy hills. We arrived at Portnacroish soon after parting from this man. It is a small village--a few huts and an indifferent inn by the side of the loch. Ordered a fowl for dinner, had a fire lighted, and went a few steps from the door up the road, and turning aside into a field stood at the top of a low eminence, from which, looking down the loch to the sea through a long vista of hills and mountains, we beheld one of the most delightful prospects that, even when we dream of fairer worlds than this, it is possible for us to conceive in our hearts. A covering of clouds rested on the long range of the hills of Morven, mists floated very near to the water on their sides, and were slowly shifting about: yet the sky was clear, and the sea, from the reflection of the sky, of an ethereal or sapphire blue, which was intermingled in many places, and mostly by gentle gradations, with beds of bright dazzling sunshine; green islands lay on the calm water, islands far greener, for so it seemed, than the grass of other places; and from their excessive beauty, their unearthly softness, and the great distance of many of them, they made us think of the islands of the blessed in the _Vision of Mirza_--a resemblance more striking from the long tract of mist which rested on the top of the steeps of Morven. The view was endless, and though not so wide, had something of the intricacy of the islands and water of Loch Lomond as we saw them from Inch-ta-vannach; and yet how different! At Loch Lomond we could never forget that it was an inland lake of fresh water, nor here that it was the sea itself, though among multitudes of hills. Immediately below us, on an island a few yards from the shore, stood an old keep or fortress;[13] the vale of Appin opened to the water-side, with cultivated fields and cottages. If there were trees near the shore they contributed little to the delightful effect of the scene: it was the immeasurable water, the lofty mist-covered steeps of Morven to the right, the emerald islands without a bush or tree, the celestial colour and brightness of the calm sea, and the innumerable creeks and bays, the communion of land and water as far as the eye could travel. My description must needs be languid; for the sight itself was too fair to be remembered. We sate a long time upon the hill, and pursued our journey at about four o'clock. Had an indifferent dinner, but the cheese was so excellent that William wished to buy the remainder; but the woman would not consent to sell it, and forced us to accept a large portion of it. [Footnote 13: Castle Stalker.--J. C. S.] We had to travel up the loch, leaving behind us the beautiful scene which we had viewed with such delight before dinner. Often, while we were climbing the hill, did we stop to look back, and when we had gone twenty or thirty yards beyond the point where we had the last view of it, we left the car to the care of some children who were coming from school, and went to take another farewell, always in the hope of bearing away a more substantial remembrance. Travelled for some miles along a road which was so smooth it was more like a gravel walk in a gentleman's grounds than a public highway. Probably the country is indebted for this excellent road to Lord Tweeddale,[14] now a prisoner in France. His house stands upon an eminence within a mile of Portnacroish, commanding the same prospect which I have spoken of, except that it must lose something in not having the old fortress at the foot of it--indeed, it is not to be seen at all from the house or grounds. [Footnote 14: George, seventh Marquis of Tweeddale, being in France in 1803, was detained by Bonaparte, and died at Verdun, 9th August 1804.--J. C. S.] We travelled under steep hills, stony or smooth, with coppice-woods and patches of cultivated land, and houses here and there; and at every hundred yards, I may almost venture to say, a streamlet, narrow as a ribbon, came tumbling down, and, crossing our road, fell into the lake below. On the opposite shore, the hills--namely, the continuation of the hills of Morven--were stern and severe, rising like upright walls from the water's edge, and in colour more resembling rocks than hills, as they appeared to us. We did not see any house, or any place where it was likely a house could stand, for many miles; but as the loch was broad we could not perhaps distinguish the objects thoroughly. A little after sunset our road led us from the vale of the loch. We came to a small river, a bridge, a mill, and some cottages at the foot of a hill, and close to the loch. Did not cross the bridge, but went up the brook, having it on our left, and soon found ourselves in a retired valley, scattered over with many grey huts, and surrounded on every side by green hills. The hay grounds in the middle of the vale were unenclosed, which was enough to keep alive the Scottish wildness, here blended with exceeding beauty; for there were trees growing irregularly or in clumps all through the valley, rocks or stones here and there, which, with the people at work, hay-cocks sprinkled over the fields, made the vale look full and populous. It was a sweet time of the evening: the moon was up; but there was yet so much of day that her light was not perceived. Our road was through open fields; the people suspended their work as we passed along, and leaning on their pitchforks or rakes, with their arms at their sides, or hanging down, some in one way, some in another, and no two alike, they formed most beautiful groups, the outlines of their figures being much more distinct than by day, and all that might have been harsh or unlovely softened down. The dogs were, as usual, attendant on their masters, and, watching after us, they barked aloud; yet even their barking hardly disturbed the quiet of the place. I cannot say how long this vale was; it made the larger half of a circle, or a curve deeper than that of half a circle, before it opened again upon the loch. It was less thoroughly cultivated and woody after the last turning--the hills steep and lofty. We met a very tall stout man, a fine figure, in a Highland bonnet, with a little girl, driving home their cow: he accosted us, saying that we were late travellers, and that we had yet four miles to go before we should reach Ballachulish--a long way, uncertain as we were respecting our accommodations. He told us that the vale was called the Strath of Duror, and when we said it was a pretty place, he answered, Indeed it was, and that they lived very comfortably there, for they had a good master, Lord Tweeddale, whose imprisonment he lamented, speaking earnestly of his excellent qualities. At the end of the vale we came close upon a large bay of the loch, formed by a rocky hill, a continuation of the ridge of high hills on the left side of the strath, making a very grand promontory, under which was a hamlet, a cluster of huts, at the water's edge, with their little fleet of fishing-boats at anchor, and behind, among the rocks, a hundred slips of corn, slips and patches, often no bigger than a garden such as a child, eight years old, would make for sport: it might have been the work of a small colony from China. There was something touching to the heart in this appearance of scrupulous industry, and excessive labour of the soil, in a country where hills and mountains, and even valleys, are left to the care of nature and the pleasure of the cattle that feed among them. It was, indeed, a very interesting place, the more so being in perfect contrast with the few houses at the entrance of the strath--a sea hamlet, without trees, under a naked stony mountain, yet perfectly sheltered, standing in the middle of a large bay which half the winds that travel over the lake can never visit. The other, a little bowery spot, with its river, bridge, and mill, might have been a hundred miles from the sea-side. The moon was now shining, and though it reminded us how far the evening was advanced, we stopped for many minutes before we could resolve to go on; we saw nothing stirring, neither men, women, nor cattle; but the linen was still bleaching by the stony rivulet, which ran near the houses in water-breaks and tiny cataracts. For the first half mile after we had left this scene there was nothing remarkable; and afterwards we could only see the hills, the sky, the moon, and moonlight water. When we came within, it might be, half a mile of Ballachulish, the place where we were to lodge, the loch narrowed very much, the hills still continuing high. I speak inaccurately, for it split into two divisions, the one along which we went being called Loch Leven. The road grew very bad, and we had an anxious journey till we saw a light before us, which with great joy we assured ourselves was from the inn; but what was our distress when, on going a few steps further, we came to a bridge half broken down, with bushes laid across to prevent travellers from going over. After some perplexity we determined that I should walk on to the house before us--for we could see that the bridge was safe for foot-passengers--and ask for assistance. By great good luck, at this very moment four or five men came along the road towards us and offered to help William in driving the car through the water, which was not very deep at that time, though, only a few days before, the damage had been done to the bridge by a flood. I walked on to the inn, ordered tea, and was conducted into a lodging-room. I desired to have a fire, and was answered with the old scruple about "giving fire,"--with, at the same time, an excuse "that it was so late,"--the girl, however, would ask the landlady, who was lying-in; the fire was brought immediately, and from that time the girl was very civil. I was not, however, quite at ease, for William stayed long, and I was going to leave my fire to seek after him, when I heard him at the door with the horse and car. The horse had taken fright with the roughness of the river-bed and the rattling of the wheels--the second fright in consequence of the ferry--and the men had been obliged to unyoke him and drag the car through, a troublesome affair for William; but he talked less of the trouble and alarm than of the pleasure he had felt in having met with such true goodwill and ready kindness in the Highlanders. They drank their glass of whisky at the door, wishing William twenty good wishes, and asking him twice as many questions,--if he was married, if he had an estate, where he lived, etc. etc. This inn is the ferry-house on the main road up into the Highlands by Fort-William, and here Coleridge, though unknown to us, had slept three nights before. _Saturday, September 3rd._--When we have arrived at an unknown place by moonlight, it is never a moment of indifference when I quit it again with the morning light, especially if the objects have appeared beautiful, or in any other way impressive or interesting. I have kept back, unwilling to go to the window, that I might not lose the picture taken to my pillow at night. So it was at Ballachulish: and instantly I felt that the passing away of my own fancies was a loss. The place had appeared exceedingly wild by moonlight; I had mistaken corn-fields for naked rocks, and the lake had appeared narrower and the hills more steep and lofty than they really were. We rose at six o'clock, and took a basin of milk before we set forward on our journey to Glen Coe. It was a delightful morning, the road excellent, and we were in good spirits, happy that we had no more ferries to cross, and pleased with the thought that we were going among the grand mountains which we saw before us at the head of the loch. We travelled close to the water's edge, and were rolling along a smooth road, when the horse suddenly backed, frightened by the upright shafts of a roller rising from behind the wall of a field adjoining the road. William pulled, whipped, and struggled in vain; we both leapt upon the ground, and the horse dragged the car after him, he going backwards down the bank of the loch, and it was turned over, half in the water, the horse lying on his back, struggling in the harness, a frightful sight! I gave up everything; thought that the horse would be lamed, and the car broken to pieces. Luckily a man came up in the same moment, and assisted William in extricating the horse, and, after an hour's delay, with the help of strings and pocket-handkerchiefs, we mended the harness and set forward again, William leading the poor animal all the way, for the regular beating of the waves frightened him, and any little gushing stream that crossed the road would have sent him off. The village where the blacksmith lived was before us--a few huts under the mountains, and, as it seemed, at the head of the loch; but it runs further up to the left, being narrowed by a hill above the village, near which, at the edge of the water, was a slate quarry, and many large boats with masts, on the water below, high mountains shutting in the prospect, which stood in single, distinguishable shapes, yet clustered together--simple and bold in their forms, and their surfaces of all characters and all colours--some that looked as if scarified by fire, others green; and there was one that might have been blasted by an eternal frost, its summit and sides for a considerable way down being as white as hoar-frost at eight o'clock on a winter's morning. No clouds were on the hills; the sun shone bright, but the wind blew fresh and cold. When we reached the blacksmith's shop, I left William to help to take care of the horse, and went into the house. The mistress, with a child in her arms and two or three running about, received me very kindly, making many apologies for the dirty house, which she partly attributed to its being Saturday; but I could plainly see that it was dirt of all days. I sat in the midst of it with great delight, for the woman's benevolent, happy countenance almost converted her slovenly and lazy way of leaving all things to take care of themselves into a comfort and a blessing. It was not a Highland hut, but a slated house built by the master of the quarry for the accommodation of his blacksmith,--the shell of an English cottage, as if left unfinished by the workmen, without plaster, and with floor of mud. Two beds, with not over-clean bedclothes, were in the room. Luckily for me, there was a good fire and a boiling kettle. The woman was very sorry she had no butter; none was to be had in the village: she gave me oaten and barley bread. We talked over the fire; I answered her hundred questions, and in my turn put some to her. She asked me, as usual, if I was married, how many brothers I had, etc. etc. I told her that William was married, and had a fine boy; to which she replied, "And the man's a decent man too." Her next-door neighbour came in with a baby on her arm, to request that I would accept of some fish, which I broiled in the ashes. She joined in our conversation, but with more shyness than her neighbour, being a very young woman. She happened to say that she was a stranger in that place, and had been bred and born a long way off. On my asking her where, she replied, "At Leadhills"; and when I told her that I had been there, a joy lighted up her countenance which I shall never forget, and when she heard that it was only a fortnight before, her eyes filled with tears. I was exceedingly affected with the simplicity of her manners; her tongue was now let loose, and she would have talked for ever of Leadhills, of her mother, of the quietness of the people in general, and the goodness of Mrs. Otto, who, she told me, was a "varra discreet woman." She was sure we should be "well put up" at Mrs. Otto's, and praised her house and furniture; indeed, it seemed she thought all earthly comforts were gathered together under the bleak heights that surround the villages of Wanlockhead and Leadhills: and afterwards, when I said it was a wild country thereabouts, she even seemed surprised, and said it was not half so wild as where she lived now. One circumstance which she mentioned of Mrs. Otto I must record, both in proof of her "discretion," and the sobriety of the people at Leadhills, namely, that no liquor was ever drunk in her house after a certain hour of the night--I have forgotten what hour; but it was an early one, I am sure not later than ten. The blacksmith, who had come in to his breakfast, was impatient to finish our job, that he might go out into the hay-field, for, it being a fine day, every plot of hay-ground was scattered over with hay-makers. On my saying that I guessed much of their hay must be spoiled, he told me no, for that they had high winds, which dried it quickly,--the people understood the climate, "were clever at the work, and got it in with a blink." He hastily swallowed his breakfast, dry bread and a basin of weak tea without sugar, and held his baby on his knee till he had done. The women and I were again left to the fireside, and there were no limits to their joy in me, for they discovered another bond of connexion. I lived in the same part of England from which Mr. Rose, the superintendent of the slate-quarries, and his wife, had come. "Oh!" said Mrs. Stuart--so her neighbour called her, they not giving each other their Christian names, as is common in Cumberland and Westmoreland,--"Oh!" said she, "what would not I give to see anybody that came from within four or five miles of Leadhills?" They both exclaimed that I must see Mrs. Rose; she would make much of me--she would have given me tea and bread and butter and a good breakfast. I learned from the two women, Mrs. Stuart and Mrs. Duncan--so the other was called--that Stuart had come from Leadhills for the sake of better wages, to take the place of Duncan, who had resigned his office of blacksmith to the quarries, as far as I could learn, in a pet, intending to go to America, that his wife was averse to go, and that the scheme, for this cause and through other difficulties, had been given up. He appeared to be a good-tempered man, and made us a most reasonable charge for mending the car. His wife told me that they must give up the house in a short time to the other blacksmith; she did not know whither they should go, but her husband, being a good workman, could find employment anywhere. She hurried me out to introduce me to Mrs. Rose, who was at work in the hay-field; she was exceedingly glad to see one of her country-women, and entreated that I would go up to her house. It was a substantial plain house, that would have held half-a-dozen of the common huts. She conducted me into a sitting-room up-stairs, and set before me red and white wine, with the remnant of a loaf of wheaten bread, which she took out of a cupboard in the sitting-room, and some delicious butter. She was a healthy and cheerful-looking woman, dressed like one of our country lasses, and had certainly had no better education than Peggy Ashburner, but she was as a chief in this secluded place, a Madam of the village, and seemed to be treated with the utmost respect. In our way to and from the house we met several people who interchanged friendly greetings with her, but always as with one greatly superior. She attended me back to the blacksmith's, and would not leave me till she had seen us set forward again on our journey. Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Stuart shook me cordially, nay, affectionately, by the hand. I tried to prevail upon the former, who had been my hostess, to accept of some money, but in vain; she would not take a farthing, and though I told her it was only to buy something for her little daughter, even seemed grieved that I should think it possible. I forgot to mention that while the blacksmith was repairing the car, we walked to the slate-quarry, where we saw again some of the kind creatures who had helped us in our difficulties the night before. The hovel under which they split their slates stood upon an outjutting rock, a part of the quarry rising immediately out of the water, and commanded a fine prospect down the loch below Ballachulish, and upwards towards the grand mountains, and the other horn of the vale where the lake was concealed. The blacksmith drove our car about a mile of the road; we then hired a man and horse to take me and the car to the top of Glen Coe, being afraid that if the horse backed or took fright we might be thrown down some precipice. But before we departed we could not resist our inclination to climb up the hill which I have mentioned as appearing to terminate the loch. The mountains, though inferior to those of Glen Coe, on the other side are very majestic; and the solitude in which we knew the unseen lake was bedded at their feet was enough to excite our longings. We climbed steep after steep, far higher than they appeared to us, and I was going to give up the accomplishment of our aim, when a glorious sight on the mountain before us made me forget my fatigue. A slight shower had come on, its skirts falling upon us, and half the opposite side of the mountain was wrapped up in rainbow light, covered as by a veil with one dilated rainbow: so it continued for some minutes; and the shower and rainy clouds passed away as suddenly as they had come, and the sun shone again upon the tops of all the hills. In the meantime we reached the wished-for point, and saw to the head of the loch. Perhaps it might not be so beautiful as we had imaged it in our thoughts, but it was beautiful enough not to disappoint us,--a narrow deep valley, a perfect solitude, without house or hut. One of the hills was thinly sprinkled with Scotch firs, which appeared to be the survivors of a large forest: they were the first natural wild Scotch firs we had seen. Though thinned of their numbers, and left, comparatively, to a helpless struggle with the elements, we were much struck with the gloom, and even grandeur, of the trees. Hastened back again to join the car, but were tempted to go a little out of our way to look at a nice white house belonging to the laird of Glen Coe, which stood sweetly in a green field under the hill near some tall trees and coppice woods. At this house the horrible massacre of Glen Coe began, which we did not know when we were there; but the house must have been rebuilt since that time. We had a delightful walk through fields, among copses, and by a river-side: we could have fancied ourselves in some part of the north of England unseen before, it was so much like it, and yet so different. I must not forget one place on the opposite side of the water, where we longed to live--a snug white house on the mountain-side, surrounded by its own green fields and woods, the high mountain above, the loch below, and inaccessible but by means of boats. A beautiful spot indeed it was; but in the retired parts of Scotland a comfortable white house is itself such a pleasant sight, that I believe, without our knowing how or why, it makes us look with a more loving eye on the fields and trees than for their own sakes they deserve. At about one o'clock we set off, William on our own horse, and I with my Highland driver. He was perfectly acquainted with the country, being a sort of carrier or carrier-merchant or shopkeeper, going frequently to Glasgow with his horse and cart to fetch and carry goods and merchandise. He knew the name of every hill, almost every rock; and I made good use of his knowledge; but partly from laziness, and still more because it was inconvenient, I took no notes, and now I am little better for what he told me. He spoke English tolerably; but seldom understood what was said to him without a "What's your wull?" We turned up to the right, and were at the foot of the glen--the laird's house cannot be said to be _in_ the glen. The afternoon was delightful,--the sun shone, the mountain-tops were clear, the lake glittered in the great vale behind us, and the stream of Glen Coe flowed down to it glittering among alder-trees. The meadows of the glen were of the freshest green; one new-built stone house in the first reach, some huts, hillocks covered with wood, alder-trees scattered all over. Looking backward, we were reminded of Patterdale and the head of Ulswater, but forward the greatness of the mountains overcame every other idea. The impression was, as we advanced up to the head of this first reach, as if the glen were nothing, its loneliness and retirement--as if it made up no part of my feeling: the mountains were all in all. That which fronted us--I have forgotten its name--was exceedingly lofty, the surface stony, nay, the whole mountain was one mass of stone, wrinkled and puckered up together. At the second and last reach--for it is not a winding vale--it makes a quick turning almost at right angles to the first; and now we are in the depths of the mountains; no trees in the glen, only green pasturage for sheep, and here and there a plot of hay-ground, and something that tells of former cultivation. I observed this to the guide, who said that formerly the glen had had many inhabitants, and that there, as elsewhere in the Highlands, there had been a great deal of corn where now the lands were left waste, and nothing fed upon them but cattle. I cannot attempt to describe the mountains. I can only say that I thought those on our right--for the other side was only a continued high ridge or craggy barrier, broken along the top into petty spiral forms--were the grandest I had ever seen. It seldom happens that mountains in a very clear air look exceedingly high, but these, though we could see the whole of them to their very summits, appeared to me more majestic in their own nakedness than our imaginations could have conceived them to be, had they been half hidden by clouds, yet showing some of their highest pinnacles. They were such forms as Milton might be supposed to have had in his mind when he applied to Satan that sublime expression-- His stature reached the sky. The first division of the glen, as I have said, was scattered over with rocks, trees, and woody hillocks, and cottages were to be seen here and there. The second division is bare and stony, huge mountains on all sides, with a slender pasturage in the bottom of the valley; and towards the head of it is a small lake or tarn, and near the tarn a single inhabited dwelling, and some unfenced hay-ground--a simple impressive scene! Our road frequently crossed large streams of stones, left by the mountain-torrents, losing all appearance of a road. After we had passed the tarn the glen became less interesting, or rather the mountains, from the manner in which they are looked at; but again, a little higher up, they resume their grandeur. The river is, for a short space, hidden between steep rocks: we left the road, and, going to the top of one of the rocks, saw it foaming over stones, or lodged in dark black dens; birch-trees grew on the inaccessible banks, and a few old Scotch firs towered above them. At the entrance of the glen the mountains had been all without trees, but here the birches climb very far up the side of one of them opposite to us, half concealing a rivulet, which came tumbling down as white as snow from the very top of the mountain. Leaving the rock, we ascended a hill which terminated the glen. We often stopped to look behind at the majestic company of mountains we had left. Before us was no single paramount eminence, but a mountain waste, mountain beyond mountain, and a barren hollow or basin into which we were descending. We parted from our companion at the door of a whisky hovel, a building which, when it came out of the workmen's hands with its unglassed windows, would, in that forlorn region, have been little better than a howling place for the winds, and was now half unroofed. On seeing a smoke, I exclaimed, "Is it possible any people can live there?" when at least half a dozen, men, women, and children, came to the door. They were about to rebuild the hut, and I suppose that they, or some other poor creatures, would dwell there through the winter, dealing out whisky to the starved travellers. The sun was now setting, the air very cold, the sky clear; I could have fancied that it was winter-time, with hard frost. Our guide pointed out King's House to us, our resting-place for the night. We could just distinguish the house at the bottom of the moorish hollow or basin--I call it so, for it was nearly as broad as long--lying before us, with three miles of naked road winding through it, every foot of which we could see. The road was perfectly white, making a dreary contrast with the ground, which was of a dull earthy brown. Long as the line of road appeared before us, we could scarcely believe it to be three miles--I suppose owing to its being unbroken by any one object, and the moor naked as the road itself, but we found it the longest three miles we had yet travelled, for the surface was so stony we had to walk most of the way. The house looked respectable at a distance--a large square building, cased in blue slates to defend it from storms,--but when we came close to it the outside forewarned us of the poverty and misery within. Scarce a blade of grass could be seen growing upon the open ground; the heath-plant itself found no nourishment there, appearing as if it had but sprung up to be blighted. There was no enclosure for a cow, no appropriated ground but a small plot like a church-yard, in which were a few starveling dwarfish potatoes, which had, no doubt, been raised by means of the dung left by travellers' horses: they had not come to blossoming, and whether they would either yield fruit or blossom I know not. The first thing we saw on entering the door was two sheep hung up, as if just killed from the barren moor, their bones hardly sheathed in flesh. After we had waited a few minutes, looking about for a guide to lead us into some corner of the house, a woman, seemingly about forty years old, came to us in a great bustle, screaming in Erse, with the most horrible guinea-hen or peacock voice I ever heard, first to one person, then another. She could hardly spare time to show us up-stairs, for crowds of men were in the house--drovers, carriers, horsemen, travellers, all of whom she had to provide with supper, and she was, as she told us, the only woman there. Never did I see such a miserable, such a wretched place,--long rooms with ranges of beds, no other furniture except benches, or perhaps one or two crazy chairs, the floors far dirtier than an ordinary house could be if it were never washed,--as dirty as a house after a sale on a rainy day, and the rooms being large, and the walls naked, they looked as if more than half the goods had been sold out. We sate shivering in one of the large rooms for three-quarters of an hour before the woman could find time to speak to us again; she then promised a fire in another room, after two travellers, who were going a stage further, had finished their whisky, and said we should have supper as soon as possible. She had no eggs, no milk, no potatoes, no loaf-bread, or we should have preferred tea. With length of time the fire was kindled, and, after another hour's waiting, supper came,--a shoulder of mutton so hard that it was impossible to chew the little flesh that might be scraped off the bones, and some sorry soup made of barley and water, for it had no other taste. After supper, the woman, having first asked if we slept on blankets, brought in two pair of sheets, which she begged that I would air by the fire, for they would be dirtied below-stairs. I was very willing, but behold! the sheets were so wet, that it would have been at least a two-hours' job before a far better fire than could be mustered at King's House,--for, that nothing might be wanting to make it a place of complete starvation, the peats were not dry, and if they had not been helped out by decayed wood dug out of the earth along with them, we should have had no fire at all. The woman was civil, in her fierce, wild way. She and the house, upon that desolate and extensive Wild, and everything we saw, made us think of one of those places of rendezvous which we read of in novels--Ferdinand Count Fathom, or Gil Blas,--where there is one woman to receive the booty, and prepare the supper at night. She told us that she was only a servant, but that she had now lived there five years, and that, when but a "young lassie," she had lived there also. We asked her if she had always served the same master, "Nay, nay, many masters, for they were always changing." I verily believe that the woman was attached to the place like a cat to the empty house when the family who brought her up are gone to live elsewhere. The sheets were so long in drying that it was very late before we went to bed. We talked over our day's adventures by the fireside, and often looked out of the window towards a huge pyramidal mountain[15] at the entrance of Glen Coe. All between, the dreary waste was clear, almost, as sky, the moon shining full upon it. A rivulet ran amongst stones near the house, and sparkled with light: I could have fancied that there was nothing else, in that extensive circuit over which we looked, that had the power of motion. [Footnote 15: Buchail, the Shepherd of Etive.--J. C. S.] In comparing the impressions we had received at Glen Coe, we found that though the expectations of both had been far surpassed by the grandeur of the mountains, we had upon the whole both been disappointed, and from the same cause: we had been prepared for images of terror, had expected a deep, den-like valley with overhanging rocks, such as William has described in these lines, speaking of the Alps:-- Brook and road Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed! The stationary blasts of waterfalls; And everywhere along the hollow rent Winds thwarting winds, bewilder'd and forlorn; The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, The rocks that mutter'd close upon our ears, Black drizzling crags that spake by the way-side As if a voice were in them; the sick sight And giddy prospect of the raving stream; The unfetter'd clouds, and region of the heavens, Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light, Were all like workings of one mind, the features Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, Characters of the great Apocalypse, The Types and Symbols of Eternity, Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.[16] [Footnote 16: See _The Simplon Pass_, in "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 69.--ED.] The place had nothing of this character, the glen being open to the eye of day, the mountains retiring in independent majesty. Even in the upper part of it, where the stream rushed through the rocky chasm, it was but a deep trench in the vale, not the vale itself, and could only be seen when we were close to it. _FOURTH WEEK_ _Sunday, September 4th._--We had desired to be called at six o'clock, and rose at the first summons. Our beds had proved better than we expected, and we had not slept ill; but poor Coleridge had passed a wretched night here four days before. This we did not know; but since, when he told us of it, the notion of what he must have suffered, with the noise of drunken people about his ears all night, himself sick and tired, has made our discomfort cling to my memory, and given these recollections a twofold interest. I asked if it was possible to have a couple of eggs boiled before our departure: the woman hesitated; she thought I might, and sent a boy into the out-houses to look about, who brought in one egg after long searching. Early as we had risen it was not very early when we set off, for everything at King's House was in unison--equally uncomfortable. As the woman had told us the night before, "They had no hay and that was a loss." There were neither stalls nor bedding in the stable, so that William was obliged to watch the horse while it was feeding, for there were several others in the stable, all standing like wild beasts, ready to devour each other's portion of corn: this, with the slowness of the servant and other hindrances, took up much time, and we were completely starved, for the morning was very cold, as I believe all the mornings in that desolate place are. When we had gone about a quarter of a mile I recollected that I had left the little cup given me by the kind landlady at Taynuilt, which I had intended that John should hereafter drink out of, in memory of our wanderings. I would have turned back for it, but William pushed me on, unwilling that we should lose so much time, though indeed he was as sorry to part with it as myself. Our road was over a hill called the Black Mount. For the first mile, or perhaps more, after we left King's House, we ascended on foot; then came upon a new road, one of the finest that was ever trod; and, as we went downwards almost all the way afterwards, we travelled very quickly. The motion was pleasant, the different reaches and windings of the road were amusing; the sun shone, the mountain-tops were clear and cheerful, and we in good spirits, in a bustle of enjoyment, though there never was a more desolate region: mountains behind, before, and on every side; I do not remember to have seen either patch of grass, flower, or flowering heather within three or four miles of King's House. The low ground was not rocky, but black, and full of white frost-bleached stones, the prospect only varied by pools, seen everywhere both near and at a distance, as far as the ground stretched out below us: these were interesting spots, round which the mind assembled living objects, and they shone as bright as mirrors in the forlorn waste. We passed neither tree nor shrub for miles--I include the whole space from Glen Coe--yet we saw perpetually traces of a long decayed forest, pieces of black mouldering wood. Through such a country as this we had travelled perhaps seven and a half miles this morning, when, after descending a hill, we turned to the right, and saw an unexpected sight in the moorland hollow into which we were entering, a small lake bounded on the opposite side by a grove of Scotch firs, two or three cottages at the head of it, and a lot of cultivated ground with scattered hay-cocks. The road along which we were going, after having made a curve considerably above the tarn, was seen winding through the trees on the other side, a beautiful object, and, luckily for us, a drove of cattle happened to be passing there at the very time, a stream coursing the road, with off-stragglers to the borders of the lake, and under the trees on the sloping ground. In conning over our many wanderings I shall never forget the gentle pleasure with which we greeted the lake of Inveroran and its few grey cottages: we suffered our horse to slacken his pace, having now no need of the comfort of quick motion, though we were glad to think that one of those cottages might be the public-house where we were to breakfast. A forest--now, as it appeared, dwindled into the small grove bordering the lake--had, not many years ago, spread to that side of the vale where we were: large stumps of trees which had been cut down were yet remaining undecayed, and there were some single trees left alive, as if by their battered black boughs to tell us of the storms that visit the valley which looked now so sober and peaceful. When we arrived at the huts, one of them proved to be the inn, a thatched house without a sign-board. We were kindly received, had a fire lighted in the parlour, and were in such good humour that we seemed to have a thousand comforts about us; but we had need of a little patience in addition to this good humour before breakfast was brought, and at last it proved a disappointment: the butter not eatable, the barley-cakes fusty, the oat-bread so hard I could not chew it, and there were only four eggs in the house, which they had boiled as hard as stones. Before we had finished breakfast two foot-travellers came in, and seated themselves at our table; one of them was returning, after a long absence, to Fort-William, his native home; he had come from Egypt, and, many years ago, had been on a recruiting party at Penrith, and knew many people there. He seemed to think his own country but a dismal land. There being no bell in the parlour, I had occasion to go several times and ask for what we wanted in the kitchen, and I would willingly have given twenty pounds to have been able to take a lively picture of it. About seven or eight travellers, probably drovers, with as many dogs, were sitting in a complete circle round a large peat-fire in the middle of the floor, each with a mess of porridge, in a wooden vessel, upon his knee; a pot, suspended from one of the black beams, was boiling on the fire; two or three women pursuing their household business on the outside of the circle, children playing on the floor. There was nothing uncomfortable in this confusion: happy, busy, or vacant faces, all looked pleasant; and even the smoky air, being a sort of natural indoor atmosphere of Scotland, served only to give a softening, I may say harmony, to the whole. We departed immediately after breakfast; our road leading us, as I have said, near the lake-side and through the grove of firs, which extended backward much further than we had imagined. After we had left it we came again among bare moorish wastes, as before, under the mountains, so that Inveroran still lives in our recollection as a favoured place, a flower in the desert. Descended upon the whole, I believe very considerably, in our way to Tyndrum; but it was a road of long ups and downs, over hills and through hollows of uncultivated ground; a chance farm perhaps once in three miles, a glittering rivulet bordered with greener grass than grew on the broad waste, or a broken fringe of alders or birches, partly concealing and partly pointing out its course. Arrived at Tyndrum at about two o'clock. It is a cold spot. Though, as I should suppose, situated lower than Inveroran, and though we saw it in the hottest time of the afternoon sun, it had a far colder aspect from the want of trees. We were here informed that Coleridge, who, we supposed, was gone to Edinburgh, had dined at this very house a few days before, in his road to Fort-William. By the help of the cook, who was called in, the landlady made out the very day: it was the day after we parted from him; as she expressed it, the day after the "great speet," namely, the great rain. We had a moorfowl and mutton-chops for dinner, well cooked, and a reasonable charge. The house was clean for a Scotch inn, and the people about the doors were well dressed. In one of the parlours we saw a company of nine or ten, with the landlady, seated round a plentiful table,--a sight which made us think of the fatted calf in the alehouse pictures of the Prodigal Son. There seemed to be a whole harvest of meats and drinks, and there was something of festivity and picture-like gaiety even in the fresh-coloured dresses of the people and their Sunday faces. The white table-cloth, glasses, English dishes, etc., were all in contrast with what we had seen at Inveroran: the places were but about nine miles asunder, both among hills; the rank of the people little different, and each house appeared to be a house of plenty. We were I think better pleased with our treatment at this inn than any of the lonely houses on the road, except Taynuilt; but Coleridge had not fared so well, and was dissatisfied, as he has since told us, and the two travellers who breakfasted with us at Inveroran had given a bad account of the house. Left Tyndrum at about five o'clock; a gladsome afternoon; the road excellent, and we bowled downwards through a pleasant vale, though not populous, or well cultivated, or woody, but enlivened by a river that glittered as it flowed. On the side of a sunny hill a knot of men and women were gathered together at a preaching. We passed by many droves of cattle and Shetland ponies, which accident stamped a character upon places, else unrememberable--not an individual character, but the soul, the spirit, and solitary simplicity of many a Highland region. We had about eleven miles to travel before we came to our lodging, and had gone five or six, almost always descending, and still in the same vale, when we saw a small lake before us after the vale had made a bending to the left; it was about sunset when we came up to the lake; the afternoon breezes had died away, and the water was in perfect stillness. One grove-like island, with a ruin that stood upon it overshadowed by the trees, was reflected on the water. This building, which, on that beautiful evening, seemed to be wrapped up in religious quiet, we were informed had been raised for defence by some Highland chieftain. All traces of strength, or war, or danger are passed away, and in the mood in which we were we could only look upon it as a place of retirement and peace. The lake is called Loch Dochart. We passed by two others of inferior beauty, and continued to travel along the side of the same river, the Dochart, through an irregular, undetermined vale,--poor soil and much waste land. At that time of the evening when, by looking steadily, we could discover a few pale stars in the sky, we saw upon an eminence, the bound of our horizon, though very near to us, and facing the bright yellow clouds of the west, a group of figures that made us feel how much we wanted in not being painters. Two herdsmen, with a dog beside them, were sitting on the hill, overlooking a herd of cattle scattered over a large meadow by the river-side. Their forms, looked at through a fading light, and backed by the bright west, were exceedingly distinct, a beautiful picture in the quiet of a Sabbath evening, exciting thoughts and images of almost patriarchal simplicity and grace. We were much pleased with the situation of our inn, where we arrived between eight and nine o'clock. The river was at the distance of a broad field from the door; we could see it from the upper windows and hear its murmuring; the moon shone, enlivening the large corn fields with cheerful light. We had a bad supper, and the next morning they made us an unreasonable charge; and the servant was uncivil, because, forsooth! we had no wine. _N.B._--The travellers in the morning had spoken highly of this inn.[17] [Footnote 17: Suie.--J. C. S. _Quære_, Luib.--ED.] _Monday, September 5th._--After drinking a basin of milk we set off again at a little after six o'clock--a fine morning--eight miles to Killin--the river Dochart always on our left. The face of the country not very interesting, though not unpleasing, reminding us of some of the vales of the north of England, though meagre, nipped-up, or shrivelled compared with them. There were rocks, and rocky knolls, as about Grasmere and Wytheburn, and copses, but of a starveling growth; the cultivated ground poor. Within a mile or two of Killin the land was better cultivated, and, looking down the vale, we had a view of Loch Tay, into which the Dochart falls. Close to the town, the river took up a roaring voice, beating its way over a rocky descent among large black stones: islands in the middle turning the stream this way and that; the whole course of the river very wide. We crossed it by means of three bridges, which make one continued bridge of a great length. On an island below the bridge is a gateway with tall pillars, leading to an old burying-ground belonging to some noble family.[18] It has a singular appearance, and the place is altogether uncommon and romantic--a remnant of ancient grandeur: extreme natural wildness--the sound of roaring water, and withal, the ordinary half-village, half-town bustle of an every-day place. [Footnote 18: The burial-place of Macnab of Macnab.--J. C. S.] The inn at Killin is one of the largest on the Scotch road: it stands pleasantly, near the chapel, at some distance from the river Dochart, and out of reach of its tumultuous noise; and another broad, stately, and silent stream, which you cannot look at without remembering its boisterous neighbour, flows close under the windows of the inn, and beside the churchyard, in which are many graves. That river falls into the lake at the distance of nearly a mile from the mouth of the Dochart. It is bordered with tall trees and corn fields, bearing plentiful crops, the richest we had seen in Scotland. After breakfast we walked onwards, expecting that the stream would lead us into some considerable vale; but it soon became little better than a common rivulet, and the glen appeared to be short; indeed, we wondered how the river had grown so great all at once. Our horse had not been able to eat his corn, and we waited a long time in the hope that he would be better. At eleven o'clock, however, we determined to set off, and give him all the ease possible by walking up the hills, and not pushing beyond a slow walk. We had fourteen miles to travel to Kenmore, by the side of Loch Tay. Crossed the same bridge again, and went down the south side of the lake. We had a delightful view of the village of Killin, among rich green fields, corn and wood, and up towards the two horns of the vale of Tay, the valley of the Dochart, and the other valley with its full-grown river, the prospect terminated by mountains. We travelled through lanes, woods, or open fields, never close to the lake, but always near it, for many miles, the road being carried along the side of a hill, which rose in an almost regularly receding steep from the lake. The opposite shore did not much differ from that down which we went, but it seemed more thinly inhabited, and not so well cultivated. The sun shone, the cottages were pleasant, and the goings-on of the harvest--for all the inhabitants were at work in the corn fields--made the way cheerful. But there is an uniformity in the lake which, comparing it with other lakes, made it appear tiresome. It has no windings: I should even imagine, although it is so many miles long, that, from some points not very high on the hills, it may be seen from one end to the other. There are few bays, no lurking-places where the water hides itself in the land, no outjutting points or promontories, no islands; and there are no commanding mountains or precipices. I think that this lake would be the most pleasing in spring-time, or in summer before the corn begins to change colour, the long tracts of hills on each side of the vale having at this season a kind of patchy appearance, for the corn fields in general were very small, mere plots, and of every possible shade of bright yellow. When we came in view of the foot of the lake we perceived that it ended, as it had begun, in pride and loveliness. The village of Kenmore, with its neat church and cleanly houses, stands on a gentle eminence at the end of the water. The view, though not near so beautiful as that of Killin, is exceedingly pleasing. Left our car, and turned out of the road at about the distance of a mile from the town, and after having climbed perhaps a quarter of a mile, we were conducted into a locked-up plantation, and guessed by the sound that we were near the cascade, but could not see it. Our guide opened a door, and we entered a dungeon-like passage, and, after walking some yards in total darkness, found ourselves in a quaint apartment stuck over with moss, hung about with stuffed foxes and other wild animals, and ornamented with a library of wooden books covered with old leather backs, the mock furniture of a hermit's cell. At the end of the room, through a large bow-window, we saw the waterfall, and at the same time, looking down to the left, the village of Kenmore and a part of the lake--a very beautiful prospect. MEMORANDUM BY THE AUTHOR The transcript of the First Part of this Journal, and the Second as far as page 43, were written before the end of the year 1803. I do not know exactly when I concluded the remainder of the Second Part, but it was resumed on the 2nd of February 1804. The Third Part was begun at the end of the month of April 1805, and finished on the 31st of May.[19] [Footnote 19: It is difficult to know what the Author meant by the First, Second, and Third "Parts" of her Journal; as it is divided into separate "Weeks" throughout. It is not of much consequence however, and the above short "Memorandum"--inserted in the course of the transcript--has a special interest, as showing that the work of copying her Journal was carried on by Dorothy Wordsworth from 1803 to 1805.--ED.] On resuming her work of copying, the author wrote:-- _April 11th, 1805._--I am setting about a task which, however free and happy the state of my mind, I could not have performed well at this distance of time; but now, I do not know that I shall be able to go on with it at all. I will strive, however, to do the best I can, setting before myself a different object from that hitherto aimed at, which was, to omit no incident, however trifling, and to describe the country so minutely that you should, where the objects were the most interesting, feel as if you had been with us. I shall now only attempt to give you an idea of those scenes which pleased us most, dropping the incidents of the ordinary days, of which many have slipped from my memory, and others which remain it would be difficult, and often painful to me, to endeavour to draw out and disentangle from other thoughts. I the less regret my inability to do more, because, in describing a great part of what we saw from the time we left Kenmore, my work would be little more than a repetition of what I have said before, or, where it was not so, a longer time was necessary to enable us to bear away what was most interesting than we could afford to give. _Monday, September 5th._--We arrived at Kenmore after sunset. _Tuesday, September 6th._--Walked before breakfast in Lord Breadalbane's grounds, which border upon the river Tay. The higher elevations command fine views of the lake; and the walks are led along the river's banks, and shaded with tall trees: but it seemed to us that a bad taste had been at work, the banks being regularly shaven and cut as if by rule and line. One or two of such walks I should well have liked to see; but they are all equally trim, and I could not but regret that the fine trees had not been left to grow out of a turf that cattle were permitted to feed upon. There was one avenue which would well have graced the ruins of an abbey or some stately castle. It was of a very great length, perfectly straight, the trees meeting at the top in a cathedral arch, lessening in perspective,--the boughs the roof, the stems the pillars. I never saw so beautiful an avenue. We were told that some improver of pleasure-grounds had advised Lord B. to cut down the trees, and lay the whole open to the lawn, for the avenue is very near his house. His own better taste, or that of some other person, I suppose, had saved them from the axe. Many workmen were employed in building a large mansion something like that of Inverary, close to the old house, which was yet standing; the situation, as we thought, very bad, considering that Lord Breadalbane had the command of all the ground at the foot of the lake, including hills both high and low. It is in a hollow, without prospect either of the lake or river, or anything else--seeing nothing, and adorning nothing. After breakfast, left Kenmore, and travelled through the vale of Tay, I believe fifteen or sixteen miles; but in the course of this we turned out of our way to the Falls of Moness, a stream tributary to the Tay, which passes through a narrow glen with very steep banks. A path like a woodman's track has been carried through the glen, which, though the private property of a gentleman, has not been taken out of the hands of Nature, but merely rendered accessible by this path, which ends at the waterfalls. They tumble from a great height, and are indeed very beautiful falls, and we could have sate with pleasure the whole morning beside the cool basin in which the waters rest, surrounded by high rocks and overhanging trees. In one of the most retired parts of the dell, we met a young man coming slowly along the path, intent upon a book which he was reading: he did not seem to be of the rank of a gentleman, though above that of a peasant. Passed through the village of Aberfeldy, at the foot of the glen of Moness. The birks of Aberfeldy are spoken of in some of the Scotch songs, which no doubt grew in the stream of Moness; but near the village we did not see any trees that were remarkable, except a row of laburnums, growing as a common field hedge; their leaves were of a golden colour, and as lively as the yellow blossoms could have been in the spring. Afterwards we saw many laburnums in the woods, which we were told had been "planted"; though I remember that Withering speaks of the laburnum as one of the British plants, and growing in Scotland. The twigs and branches being stiff, were not so graceful as those of our garden laburnums, but I do not think I ever before saw any that were of so brilliant colours in their autumnal decay. In our way to and from Moness we crossed the Tay by a bridge of ambitious and ugly architecture. Many of the bridges in Scotland are so, having eye-holes between the arches, not in the battlements but at the outspreading of the pillar of the arch, which destroys its simplicity, and takes from the appearance of strength and security, without adding anything of lightness. We returned, by the same road, to the village of Weem, where we had left our car. The vale of Tay was very wide, having been so from within a short distance of Kenmore: the reaches of the river are long; and the ground is more regularly cultivated than in any vale we had yet seen--chiefly corn, and very large tracts. Afterwards the vale becomes narrow and less cultivated, the reaches shorter--on the whole resembling the vale of Nith, but we thought it inferior in beauty. One among the cottages in this narrow and wilder part of the vale fixed our attention almost as much as a Chinese or a Turk would do passing through the vale of Grasmere. It was a cottage, I believe, little differing in size and shape from all the rest; but it was like a visitor, a stranger come into the Highlands, or a model set up of what may be seen in other countries. The walls were neatly plastered or rough-cast, the windows of clean bright glass, and the door was painted--before it a flower-garden, fenced with a curiously-clipped hedge, and against the wall was placed the sign of a spinning-wheel. We could not pass this humble dwelling, so distinguished by an appearance of comfort and neatness, without some conjectures respecting the character and manner of life of the person inhabiting it. Leisure he must have had; and we pleased ourselves with thinking that some self-taught mind might there have been nourished by knowledge gathered from books, and the simple duties and pleasures of rural life. At Logierait, the village where we dined, the vale widens again, and the Tummel joins the Tay and loses its name; but the Tay falls into the channel of the Tummel, continuing its course in the same direction, almost at right angles to the former course of the Tay. We were sorry to find that we had to cross the Tummel by a ferry, and resolved not to venture in the same boat with the horse. Dined at a little public-house, kept by a young widow, very talkative and laboriously civil. She took me out to the back-door, and said she would show me a place which had once been very grand, and, opening a door in a high wall, I entered a ruinous courtyard, in which was a large old mansion, the walls entire and very strong, but the roof broken in. The woman said it had been a palace of one of the kings of Scotland. It was a striking and even an affecting object, coming upon it, as I did, unawares,--a royal residence shut up and hidden, while yet in its strength, by mean cottages; there was no appearance of violence, but decay from desertion, and I should think that it may remain many years without undergoing further visible change. The woman and her daughter accompanied us to the ferry and crossed the water with us; the woman said, but with not much appearance of honest heart-feeling, that she could not be easy to let us go without being there to know how we sped, so I invited the little girl to accompany her, that she might have a ride in the car. The men were cautious, and the horse got over with less alarm than we could have expected. Our way was now up the vale, along the banks of the Tummel, an impetuous river; the mountains higher than near the Tay, and the vale more wild, and the different reaches more interesting. When we approached near to Fascally, near the junction of the Garry with the Tummel, the twilight was far advanced, and our horse not being perfectly recovered, we were fearful of taking him on to Blair-Athole--five miles further; besides, the Pass of Killicrankie was within half a mile, and we were unwilling to go through a place so celebrated in the dark; therefore, being joined by a traveller, we inquired if there was any public-house near; he said there was; and that though the accommodations were not good, we might do well enough for one night, the host and his wife being very honest people. It proved to be rather better than a common cottage of the country; we seated ourselves by the fire, William called for a glass of whisky, and asked if they could give us beds. The woman positively refused to lodge us, though we had every reason to believe that she had at least one bed for me; we entreated again and again in behalf of the poor horse, but all in vain; she urged, though in an uncivil way, that she had been sitting up the whole of one or two nights before on account of a fair, and that now she wanted to go to bed and sleep; so we were obliged to remount our car in the dark, and with a tired horse we moved on, and went through the Pass of Killicrankie, hearing only the roaring of the river, and seeing a black chasm with jagged-topped black hills towering above. Afterwards the moon rose, and we should not have had an unpleasant ride if our horse had been in better plight, and we had not been annoyed, as we were almost at every twenty yards, by people coming from a fair held that day near Blair--no pleasant prognostic of what might be our accommodation at the inn, where we arrived between ten and eleven o'clock, and found the house in an uproar; but we were civilly treated, and were glad, after eating a morsel of cold beef, to retire to rest, and I fell asleep in spite of the noisy drunkards below stairs, who had outstayed the fair. _Wednesday, September 7th._--Rose early, and went before breakfast to the Duke of Athol's gardens and pleasure-grounds, where we completely tired ourselves with a three-hours' walk. Having been directed to see all the waterfalls, we submitted ourselves to the gardener, who dragged us from place to place, calling our attention to, it might be, half-a-dozen--I cannot say how many--dripping streams, very pretty in themselves, if we had had the pleasure of discovering them; but they were generally robbed of their grace by the obtrusive ornaments which were first seen. The whole neighbourhood, a great country, seems to belong to the Duke of Athol. In his domain are hills and mountains, glens and spacious plains, rivers and innumerable torrents; but near Blair are no old woods, and the plantations, except those at a little distance from the house, appear inconsiderable, being lost to the eye in so extensive a circuit. The castle stands on low ground, and far from the Garry, commanding a prospect all round of distant mountains, a bare and cold scene, and, from the irregularity and width of it, not so grand as one should expect, knowing the great height of some of the mountains. Within the Duke's park are three glens, the glen of the river Tilt and two others, which, if they had been planted more judiciously, would have been very sweet retirements; but they are choked up, the whole hollow of the glens--I do not speak of the Tilt, for that is rich in natural wood--being closely planted with trees, and those chiefly firs; but many of the old fir-trees are, as single trees, very fine. On each side of the glen is an ell-wide gravel walk, which the gardener told us was swept once a week. It is conducted at the top of the banks, on each side, at nearly equal height, and equal distance from the stream; they lead you up one of these paths, and down the other--very wearisome, as you will believe--mile after mile! We went into the garden, where there was plenty of fruit--gooseberries, hanging as thick as possible upon the trees, ready to drop off; I thought the gardener might have invited us to refresh ourselves with some of his fruit after our long fatigue. One part of the garden was decorated with statues, "images," as poor Mr. Gill used to call those at Racedown, dressed in gay painted clothes; and in a retired corner of the grounds, under some tall trees, appeared the figure of a favourite old gamekeeper of one of the former Dukes, in the attitude of pointing his gun at the game--"reported to be a striking likeness," said the gardener. Looking at some of the tall larches, with long hairy twigs, very beautiful trees, he told us that they were among the first which had ever been planted in Scotland, that a Duke of Athol had brought a single larch from London in a pot, in his coach, from which had sprung the whole family that had overspread Scotland. This, probably, might not be accurate, for others might afterwards have come, or seed from other trees. He told us many anecdotes of the present Duke, which I wish I could perfectly remember. He is an indefatigable sportsman, hunts the wild deer on foot, attended by twelve Highlanders in the Highland dress, which he himself formerly used to wear; he will go out at four o'clock in the morning, and not return till night. His fine family, "Athol's honest men, and Athol's bonny lasses," to whom Burns, in his bumpers, drank health and long life, are dwindled away: of nine, I believe only four are left: the mother of them is dead in a consumption, and the Duke married again. We rested upon the heather seat which Burns was so loth to quit that moonlight evening when he first went to Blair Castle, and had a pleasure in thinking that he had been under the same shelter, and viewed the little waterfall opposite with some of the happy and pure feelings of his better mind. The castle has been modernized, which has spoiled its appearance. It is a large irregular pile, not handsome, but I think may have been picturesque, and even noble, before it was docked of its battlements and whitewashed. The most interesting object we saw at Blair was the chapel, shaded by trees, in which the body of the impetuous Dundee lies buried. This quiet spot is seen from the windows of the inn, whence you look, at the same time, upon a high wall and a part of the town--a contrast which, I know not why, made the chapel and its grove appear more peaceful, as if kept so for some sacred purpose. We had a very nice breakfast, which we sauntered over after our weary walk. Being come to the most northerly point of our destined course, we took out the map, loth to turn our backs upon the Highlands, and, looking about for something which we might yet see, we fixed our eyes upon two or three spots not far distant, and sent for the landlord to consult with him. One of them was Loch Rannoch, a fresh-water lake, which he told us was bordered by a natural pine forest, that its banks were populous, and that the place being very remote, we might there see much of the simplicity of the Highlander's life. The landlord said that we must take a guide for the first nine or ten miles; but afterwards the road was plain before us, and very good, so at about ten o'clock we departed, having engaged a man to go with us. The Falls of Bruar, which we wished to visit for the sake of Burns, are about three miles from Blair, and our road was in the same direction for two miles. After having gone for some time under a bare hill, we were told to leave the car at some cottages, and pass through a little gate near a brook which crossed the road. We walked upwards at least three quarters of a mile in the hot sun, with the stream on our right, both sides of which to a considerable height were planted with firs and larches intermingled--children of poor Burns's song; for his sake we wished that they had been the natural trees of Scotland, birches, ashes, mountain-ashes, etc.; however, sixty or seventy years hence they will be no unworthy monument to his memory. At present, nothing can be uglier than the whole chasm of the hill-side with its formal walks. I do not mean to condemn them, for, for aught I know, they are as well managed as they could be; but it is not easy to see the use of a pleasure-path leading to nothing, up a steep and naked hill in the midst of an unlovely tract of country, though by the side of a tumbling stream of clear water. It does not surely deserve the name of a pleasure-path. It is three miles from the Duke of Athol's house, and I do not believe that one person living within five miles of the place would wish to go twice to it. The falls are high, the rocks and stones fretted and gnawed by the water. I do not wonder at the pleasure which Burns received from this stream; I believe we should have been much pleased if we had come upon it as he did. At the bottom of the hill we took up our car, and, turning back, joined the man who was to be our guide. Crossed the Garry, and went along a moor without any road but straggling cart-tracks. Soon began to ascend a high hill, and the ground grew so rough--road there was none--that we were obliged to walk most of the way. Ascended to a considerable height, and commanded an extensive prospect bounded by lofty mountains, and having crossed the top of the fell we parted with our guide, being in sight of the vale into which we were to descend, and to pursue upwards till we should come to Loch Rannoch, a lake, as described to us, bedded in a forest of Scotch pines. When left to ourselves we sate down on the hillside, and looked with delight into the deep vale below, which was exceedingly green, not regularly fenced or cultivated, but the level area scattered over with bushes and trees, and through that level ground glided a glassy river, not in serpentine windings, but in direct turnings backwards and forwards, and then flowed into the head of the Lake of Tummel; but I will copy a rough sketch which I made while we sate upon the hill, which, imperfect as it is, will give a better idea of the course of the river--which I must add is more curious than beautiful--than my description. The ground must be often overflowed in winter, for the water seemed to touch the very edge of its banks. At this time the scene was soft and cheerful, such as invited us downwards, and made us proud of our adventure. Coming near to a cluster of huts, we turned thither, a few steps out of our way, to inquire about the road; these huts were on the hill, placed side by side, in a figure between a square and a circle, as if for the sake of mutual shelter, like haystacks in a farmyard--no trees near them. We called at one of the doors, and three hale, stout men came out, who could speak very little English, and stared at us with an almost savage look of wonder. One of them took much pains to set us forward, and went a considerable way down the hill till we came in sight of the cart road, which we were to follow; but we had not gone far before we were disheartened. It was with the greatest difficulty William could lead the horse and car over the rough stones, and to sit in it was impossible; the road grew worse and worse, therefore we resolved to turn back, having no reason to expect anything better, for we had been told that after we should leave the untracked ground all would be fair before us. We knew ourselves where we stood to be about eight miles distant from the point where the river Tummel, after having left the lake, joins the Garry at Fascally near the Pass of Killicrankie, therefore we resolved to make our way thither, and endeavour to procure a lodging at the same public-house where it had been refused to us the night before. The road was likely to be very bad; but, knowing the distance, we thought it more prudent than to venture farther with nothing before us but uncertainty. We were forced to unyoke the horse, and turn the car ourselves, owing to the steep banks on either side of the road, and after much trouble we got him in again, and set our faces down the vale towards Loch Tummel, William leading the car and I walking by his side. For the first two or three miles we looked down upon the lake, our road being along the side of the hill directly above it. On the opposite side another range of hills rose up in the same manner,--farm-houses thinly scattered among the copses near the water, and cultivated ground in patches. The lake does not wind, nor are the shores much varied by bays,--the mountains not commanding; but the whole a pleasing scene. Our road took us out of sight of the water, and we were obliged to procure a guide across a high moor, where it was impossible that the horse should drag us at all, the ground being exceedingly rough and untracked: of course fatiguing for foot-travellers, and on foot we must travel. After some time, the river Tummel again served us for a guide, when it had left the lake. It was no longer a gentle stream, a mirror to the sky, but we could hear it roaring at a considerable distance between steep banks of rock and wood. We had to cross the Garry by a bridge, a little above the junction of the two rivers; and were now not far from the public-house, to our great joy, for we were very weary with our laborious walk. I do not think that I had walked less than sixteen miles, and William much more, to which add the fatigue of leading the horse, and the rough roads, and you will not wonder that we longed for rest. We stopped at the door of the house, and William entered as before, and again the woman refused to lodge us, in a most inhuman manner, giving no other reason than that she would not do it. We pleaded for the poor horse, entreated, soothed, and flattered, but all in vain, though the night was cloudy and dark. We begged to sit by the fire till morning, and to this she would not consent; indeed, if it had not been for the sake of the horse, I would rather have lain in a barn than on the best of feather-beds in the house of such a cruel woman. We were now, after our long day's journey, five miles from the inn at Blair, whither we, at first, thought of returning; but finally resolved to go to a public-house which we had seen in a village we passed through, about a mile above the ferry over the Tummel, having come from that point to Blair, for the sake of the Pass of Killicrankie and Blair itself, and had now the same road to measure back again. We were obliged to leave the Pass of Killicrankie unseen; but this disturbed us little at a time when we had seven miles to travel in the dark, with a poor beast almost sinking with fatigue, for he had not rested once all day. We went on spiritless, and at a dreary pace. Passed by one house which we were half inclined to go up to and ask for a night's lodging; and soon after, being greeted by a gentle voice from a poor woman, whom, till she spoke, though we were close to her, we had not seen, we stopped, and asked if she could tell us where we might stay all night, and put up our horse. She mentioned the public-house left behind, and we told our tale, and asked her if she had no house to which she could take us. "Yes, to be sure she had a house, but it was only a small cottage"; and she had no place for the horse, and how we could lodge in her house she could not tell; but we should be welcome to whatever she had, so we turned the car, and she walked by the side of it, talking to us in a tone of human kindness which made us friends at once. I remember thinking to myself, as I have often done in a stage-coach, though never with half the reason to prejudge favourably, What sort of countenance and figure shall we see in this woman when we come into the light? And indeed it was an interesting moment when, after we had entered her house, she blew the embers on the hearth, and lighted a candle to assist us in taking the luggage out of the car. Her husband presently arrived, and he and William took the horse to the public-house. The poor woman hung the kettle over the fire. We had tea and sugar of our own, and she set before us barley cakes, and milk which she had just brought in; I recollect she said she "had been west to fetch it." The Highlanders always direct you by east and west, north and south--very confusing to strangers. She told us that it was her business to "keep the gate" for Mr. ----, who lived at ----, just below,--that is, to receive messages, take in letters, etc. Her cottage stood by the side of the road leading to his house, within the gate, having, as we saw in the morning, a dressed-up porter's lodge outside; but within was nothing but the naked walls, unplastered, and floors of mud, as in the common huts. She said that they lived rent-free in return for their services; but spoke of her place and Mr. ---- with little respect, hinting that he was very proud; and indeed her appearance, and subdued manners, and that soft voice which had prepossessed us so much in her favour, seemed to belong to an injured and oppressed being. We talked a great deal with her, and gathered some interesting facts from her conversation, which I wish I had written down while they were fresh in my memory. They had only one child, yet seemed to be very poor, not discontented but languid, and willing to suffer rather than rouse to any effort. Though it was plain she despised and hated her master, and had no wish to conceal it, she hardly appeared to think it worth while to speak ill of him. We were obliged to sit up very late while our kind hostess was preparing our beds. William lay upon the floor on some hay, without sheets; my bed was of chaff; I had plenty of covering, and a pair of very nice strong clean sheets,--she said with some pride that she had good linen. I believe the sheets had been of her own spinning, perhaps when she was first married, or before, and she probably will keep them to the end of her life of poverty. _Thursday, September 8th._--Before breakfast we walked to the Pass of Killicrankie. A very fine scene; the river Garry forcing its way down a deep chasm between rocks, at the foot of high rugged hills covered with wood, to a great height. The Pass did not, however, impress us with awe, or a sensation of difficulty or danger, according to our expectations; but, the road being at a considerable height on the side of the hill, we at first only looked into the dell or chasm. It is much grander seen from below, near the river's bed. Everybody knows that this Pass is famous in military history. When we were travelling in Scotland an invasion was hourly looked for, and one could not but think with some regret of the times when from the now depopulated Highlands forty or fifty thousand men might have been poured down for the defence of the country, under such leaders as the Marquis of Montrose or the brave man who had so distinguished himself upon the ground where we were standing. I will transcribe a sonnet suggested to William by this place, and written in October 1803:-- Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tried men, at Killicrankie were array'd Against an equal host that wore the Plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen. Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders; the slaughter spread like flame, And Garry, thundering down his mountain road, Was stopp'd, and could not breathe beneath the load Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave: Like conquest might the men of England see, And her Foes find a like inglorious grave. We turned back again, and going down the hill below the Pass, crossed the same bridge we had come over the night before, and walked through Lady Perth's grounds by the side of the Garry till we came to the Tummel, and then walked up to the cascade of the Tummel. The fall is inconsiderable, scarcely more than an ordinary "wear"; but it makes a loud roaring over large stones, and the whole scene is grand--hills, mountains, woods, and rocks. ---- is a very pretty place, all but the house. Stoddart's print gives no notion of it. The house stands upon a small plain at the junction of the two rivers, a close deep spot, surrounded by high hills and woods. After we had breakfasted William fetched the car, and, while we were conveying the luggage to the outside of the gate, where it stood, Mr. ----, _mal apropos_, came very near to the door, called the woman out, and railed at her in the most abusive manner for "harbouring" people in that way. She soon slipped from him, and came back to us: I wished that William should go and speak to her master, for I was afraid that he might turn the poor woman away; but she would not suffer it, for she did not care whether they stayed or not. In the meantime, Mr. ---- continued scolding her husband; indeed, he appeared to be not only proud, but very ignorant, insolent, and low-bred. The woman told us that she had sometimes lodged poor travellers who were passing along the road, and permitted others to cook their victuals in her house, for which Mr. ---- had reprimanded her before; but, as she said, she did not value her place, and it was no matter. In sounding forth the dispraise of Mr. ----, I ought not to omit mentioning that the poor woman had great delight in talking of the excellent qualities of his mother, with whom she had been a servant, and lived many years. After having interchanged good wishes we parted with our charitable hostess, who, telling us her name, entreated us, if ever we came that way again, to inquire for her. We travelled down the Tummel till it is lost in the Tay, and then, in the same direction, continued our course along the vale of Tay, which is very wide for a considerable way, but gradually narrows, and the river, always a fine stream, assumes more dignity and importance. Two or three miles before we reached Dunkeld, we observed whole hill-sides, the property of the Duke of Athol, planted with fir-trees till they are lost among the rocks near the tops of the hills. In forty or fifty years these plantations will be very fine, being carried from hill to hill, and not bounded by a visible artificial fence. Reached Dunkeld at about three o'clock. It is a pretty, small town, with a respectable and rather large ruined abbey, which is greatly injured by being made the nest of a modern Scotch kirk, with sash windows,--very incongruous with the noble antique tower,--a practice which we afterwards found is not uncommon in Scotland. Sent for the Duke's gardener after dinner, and walked with him into the pleasure-grounds, intending to go to the Falls of the Bran, a mountain stream which here joins the Tay. After walking some time on a shaven turf under the shade of old trees, by the side of the Tay, we left the pleasure-grounds, and crossing the river by a ferry, went up a lane on the hill opposite till we came to a locked gate by the road-side, through which we entered into another part of the Duke's pleasure-grounds bordering on the Bran, the glen being for a considerable way--for aught I know, two miles--thridded by gravel walks. The walks are quaintly enough intersected, here and there by a baby garden of fine flowers among the rocks and stones. The waterfall, which we came to see, warned us by a loud roaring that we must expect it; we were first, however, conducted into a small apartment, where the gardener desired us to look at a painting of the figure of Ossian, which, while he was telling us the story of the young artist who performed the work, disappeared, parting in the middle, flying asunder as if by the touch of magic, and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid room, which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, that tumbled in all directions--the great cascade, which was opposite to the window that faced us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors upon the ceiling and against the walls. We both laughed heartily, which, no doubt, the gardener considered as high commendation; for he was very eloquent in pointing out the beauties of the place. We left the Bran, and pursued our walk through the plantations, where we readily forgave the Duke his little devices for their sakes. They are already no insignificant woods, where the trees happen to be oaks, birches, and others natural to the soil; and under their shade the walks are delightful. From one hill, through different openings under the trees, we looked up the vale of Tay to a great distance, a magnificent prospect at that time of the evening; woody and rich--corn, green fields, and cattle, the winding Tay, and distant mountains. Looked down the river to the town of Dunkeld, which lies low, under irregular hills, covered with wood to their rocky summits, and bounded by higher mountains, which are bare. The hill of Birnam, no longer Birnam "wood," was pointed out to us. After a very long walk we parted from our guide when it was almost dark, and he promised to call on us in the morning to conduct us to the gardens. _Friday, September 9th._--According to appointment, the gardener came with his keys in his hand, and we attended him whithersoever he chose to lead, in spite of past experience at Blair. We had, however, no reason to repent, for we were repaid for the trouble of going through the large gardens by the apples and pears of which he gave us liberally, and the walks through the woods on that part of the grounds opposite to where we had been the night before were very delightful. The Duke's house is neither large nor grand, being just an ordinary gentleman's house, upon a green lawn, and whitewashed, I believe. The old abbey faces the house on the east side, and appears to stand upon the same green lawn, which, though close to the town, is entirely excluded from it by high walls and trees. We had been undetermined respecting our future course when we came to Dunkeld, whether to go on directly to Perth and Edinburgh, or to make a circuit and revisit the Trossachs. We decided upon the latter plan, and accordingly after breakfast set forward towards Crieff, where we intended to sleep, and the next night at Callander. The first part of our road, after having crossed the ferry, was up the glen of the Bran. Looking backwards, we saw Dunkeld very pretty under the hills, and surrounded by rich cultivated ground, but we had not a good distant view of the abbey. Left our car, and went about a hundred yards from the road to see the Rumbling Brig, which, though well worth our going out of the way even much further, disappointed us, as places in general do which we hear much spoken of as savage, tremendous, etc.,--and no wonder, for they are usually described by people to whom rocks are novelties. The gardener had told us that we should pass through the most populous glen in Scotland, the glen of Amulree. It is not populous in the usual way, with scattered dwellings; but many clusters of houses, hamlets such as we had passed near the Tummel, which had a singular appearance, being like small encampments, were generally without trees, and in high situations--every house the same as its neighbour, whether for men or cattle. There was nothing else remarkable in the glen. We halted at a lonely inn at the foot of a steep barren moor, which we had to cross; then, after descending considerably, came to the narrow glen, which we had approached with no little curiosity, not having been able to procure any distinct description of it. At Dunkeld, when we were hesitating what road to take, we wished to know whether that glen would be worth visiting, and accordingly put several questions to the waiter, and, among other epithets used in the course of interrogation, we stumbled upon the word "grand," to which he replied, "No, I do not think there are any gentlemen's seats in it." However, we drew enough from this describer and the gardener to determine us finally to go to Callander, the Narrow Glen being in the way. Entered the glen at a small hamlet at some distance from the head, and turning aside a few steps, ascended a hillock which commanded a view to the top of it--a very sweet scene, a green valley, not very narrow, with a few scattered trees and huts, almost invisible in a misty gleam of afternoon light. At this hamlet we crossed a bridge, and the road led us down the glen, which had become exceedingly narrow, and so continued to the end: the hills on both sides heathy and rocky, very steep, but continuous; the rocks not single or overhanging, not scooped into caverns or sounding with torrents: there are no trees, no houses, no traces of cultivation, not one outstanding object. It is truly a solitude, the road even making it appear still more so: the bottom of the valley is mostly smooth and level, the brook not noisy: everything is simple and undisturbed, and while we passed through it the whole place was shady, cool, clear, and solemn. At the end of the long valley we ascended a hill to a great height, and reached the top, when the sun, on the point of setting, shed a soft yellow light upon every eminence. The prospect was very extensive; over hollows and plains, no towns, and few houses visible--a prospect, extensive as it was, in harmony with the secluded dell, and fixing its own peculiar character of removedness from the world, and the secure possession of the quiet of nature more deeply in our minds. The following poem was written by William on hearing of a tradition relating to it, which we did not know when we were there:-- In this still place remote from men Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen, In this still place where murmurs on But one meek streamlet, only one. He sung of battles and the breath Of stormy war, and violent death, And should, methinks, when all was pass'd, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent As by a spirit turbulent; Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And everything unreconciled, In some complaining, dim retreat Where fear and melancholy meet; But this is calm; there cannot be A more entire tranquillity. Does then the bard sleep here indeed? Or is it but a groundless creed? What matters it? I blame them not Whose fancy in this lonely spot Was moved, and in this way express'd Their notion of its perfect rest. A convent, even a hermit's cell Would break the silence of this Dell; It is not quiet, is not ease, But something deeper far than these; The separation that is here Is of the grave; and of austere And happy feelings of the dead: And therefore was it rightly said That Ossian, last of all his race, Lies buried in this lonely place. Having descended into a broad cultivated vale, we saw nothing remarkable. Observed a gentleman's house,[20] which stood pleasantly among trees. It was dark some time before we reached Crieff, a small town, though larger than Dunkeld. [Footnote 20: Monzie probably.--J. C. S.] _Saturday, September 10th._--Rose early, and departed without breakfast. We were to pass through one of the most celebrated vales of Scotland, Strath Erne. We found it a wide, long, and irregular vale, with many gentlemen's seats under the hills, woods, copses, frequent cottages, plantations, and much cultivation, yet with an intermixture of barren ground; indeed, except at Killin and Dunkeld, there was always something which seemed to take from the composure and simplicity of the cultivated scenes. There is a struggle to overcome the natural barrenness, and the end not attained, an appearance of something doing or imperfectly done, a passing with labour from one state of society into another. When you look from an eminence on the fields of Grasmere Vale, the heart is satisfied with a simple undisturbed pleasure, and no less, on one of the green or heathy dells of Scotland, where there is no appearance of change to be, or having been, but such as the seasons make. Strath Erne is so extensive a vale that, had it been in England, there must have been much inequality, as in Wensley Dale; but at Wensley there is a unity, a softness, a melting together, which in the large vales of Scotland I never perceived. The difference at Strath Erne may come partly from the irregularity, the undefined outline, of the hills which enclose it; but it is caused still more by the broken surface, I mean broken as to colour and produce, the want of hedgerows, and also the great number of new fir plantations. After some miles it becomes much narrower as we approach nearer the mountains at the foot of the lake of the same name, Loch Erne. Breakfasted at a small public-house, a wretchedly dirty cottage, but the people were civil, and though we had nothing but barley cakes we made a good breakfast, for there were plenty of eggs. Walked up a high hill to view the seat of Mr. Dundas, now Lord Melville--a spot where, if he have gathered much wisdom from his late disgrace or his long intercourse with the world, he may spend his days as quietly as he need desire. It is a secluded valley, not rich, but with plenty of wood: there are many pretty paths through the woods, and moss huts in different parts. After leaving the cottage where we breakfasted the country was very pleasing, yet still with a want of richness; but this was less perceived, being huddled up in charcoal woods, and the vale narrow. Loch Erne opens out in a very pleasing manner, seen from a hill along which the road is carried through a wood of low trees; but it does not improve afterwards, lying directly from east to west without any perceivable bendings: and the shores are not much broken or varied, not populous, and the mountains not sufficiently commanding to make up for the deficiencies. Dined at the head of the lake. I scarcely know its length, but should think not less than four or five miles, and it is wide in proportion. The inn is in a small village--a decent house. Walked about half a mile along the road to Tyndrum, which is through a bare glen,[21] and over a mountain pass. It rained when we pursued our journey again, and continued to rain for several hours. The road which we were to take was up another glen, down which came a stream that fell into the lake on the opposite side at the head of it, so, after having crossed the main vale, a little above the lake, we entered into the smaller glen. The road delightfully smooth and dry--one gentleman's house very pleasant among large coppice woods. After going perhaps three miles up this valley, we turned to the left into another, which seemed to be much more beautiful. It was a level valley, not--like that which we had passed--a wide sloping cleft between the hills, but having a quiet, slow-paced stream, which flowed through level green grounds tufted with trees intermingled with cottages. The tops of the hills were hidden by mists, and the objects in the valley seen through misty rain, which made them look exceedingly soft, and indeed partly concealed them, and we always fill up what we are left to guess at with something as beautiful as what we see. This valley seemed to have less of the appearance of barrenness or imperfect cultivation than any of the same character we had passed through; indeed, we could not discern any traces of it. It is called Strath Eyer. "Strath" is generally applied to a broad vale; but this, though open, is not broad. [Footnote 21: Glen Ogle.--J. C. S.] We next came to a lake, called Loch Lubnaig, a name which signifies "winding." In shape it somewhat resembles Ulswater, but is much narrower and shorter, being only four miles in length. The character of this lake is simple and grand. On the side opposite to where we were is a range of steep craggy mountains, one of which--like Place Fell--encroaching upon the bed of the lake, forces it to make a considerable bending. I have forgotten the name of this precipice: it is a very remarkable one, being almost perpendicular, and very rugged. We, on the other side, travelled under steep and rocky hills which were often covered with low woods to a considerable height; there were one or two farm-houses, and a few cottages. A neat white dwelling[22] on the side of the hill over against the bold steep of which I have spoken, had been the residence of the famous traveller Bruce, who, all his travels ended, had arranged the history of them in that solitude--as deep as any Abyssinian one--among the mountains of his native country, where he passed several years. Whether he died there or not we did not learn; but the manner of his death was remarkable and affecting,--from a fall down-stairs in his own house, after so many dangers through which fortitude and courage had never failed to sustain him. The house stands sweetly, surrounded by coppice-woods and green fields. On the other side, I believe, were no houses till we came near to the outlet, where a few low huts looked very beautiful, with their dark brown roofs, near a stream which hurried down the mountain, and after its turbulent course travelled a short way over a level green, and was lost in the lake. [Footnote 22: Ardhullary.--J. C. S.] Within a few miles of Callander we come into a grand region; the mountains to a considerable height were covered with wood, enclosing us in a narrow passage; the stream on our right, generally concealed by wood, made a loud roaring; at one place, in particular, it fell down the rocks in a succession of cascades. The scene is much celebrated in Scotland, and is called the Pass of Leny. It was nearly dark when we reached Callander. We were wet and cold, and glad of a good fire. The inn was comfortable; we drank tea; and after tea the waiter presented us with a pamphlet descriptive of the neighbourhood of Callander, which we brought away with us, and I am very sorry I lost it. _FIFTH WEEK_ _Sunday, September 11th._--Immediately after breakfast, the morning being fine, we set off with cheerful spirits towards the Trossachs, intending to take up our lodging at the house of our old friend the ferryman. A boy accompanied us to convey the horse and car back to Callander from the head of Loch Achray. The country near Callander is very pleasing; but, as almost everywhere else, imperfectly cultivated. We went up a broad vale, through which runs the stream from Loch Ketterine, and came to Loch Vennachar, a larger lake than Loch Achray, the small one which had given us such unexpected delight when we left the Pass of the Trossachs. Loch Vennachar is much larger, but greatly inferior in beauty to the image which we had conceived of its neighbour, and so the reality proved to us when we came up to that little lake, and saw it before us in its true shape in the cheerful sunshine. The Trossachs, overtopped by Benledi and other high mountains, enclose the lake at the head; and those houses which we had seen before, with their corn fields sloping towards the water, stood very prettily under low woods. The fields did not appear so rich as when we had seen them through the veil of mist; but yet, as in framing our expectations we had allowed for a much greater difference, so we were even a second time surprised with pleasure at the same spot. Went as far as these houses of which I have spoken, in the car, and then walked on, intending to pursue the road up the side of Loch Ketterine along which Coleridge had come; but we had resolved to spend some hours in the neighbourhood of the Trossachs, and accordingly coasted the head of Loch Achray, and pursued the brook between the two lakes as far as there was any track. Here we found, to our surprise--for we had expected nothing but heath and rocks like the rest of the neighbourhood of the Trossachs--a secluded farm, a plot of verdant ground with a single cottage and its company of out-houses. We turned back, and went to the very point from which we had first looked upon Loch Achray when we were here with Coleridge. It was no longer a visionary scene: the sun shone into every crevice of the hills, and the mountain-tops were clear. After some time we went into the pass from the Trossachs, and were delighted to behold the forms of objects fully revealed, and even surpassing in loveliness and variety what we had conceived. The mountains, I think, appeared not so high; but on the whole we had not the smallest disappointment; the heather was fading, though still beautiful. Sate for half-an-hour in Lady Perth's shed, and scrambled over the rocks and through the thickets at the head of the lake. I went till I could make my way no further, and left William to go to the top of the hill, whence he had a distinct view, as on a map, of the intricacies of the lake and the course of the river. Returned to the huts, and, after having taken a second dinner of the food we had brought from Callander, set our faces towards the head of Loch Ketterine. I can add nothing to my former description of the Trossachs, except that we departed with our old delightful remembrances endeared, and many new ones. The path or road--for it was neither the one nor the other, but something between both--is the pleasantest I have ever travelled in my life for the same length of way,--now with marks of sledges or wheels, or none at all, bare or green, as it might happen; now a little descent, now a level; sometimes a shady lane, at others an open track through green pastures; then again it would lead us into thick coppice-woods, which often entirely shut out the lake, and again admitted it by glimpses. We have never had a more delightful walk than this evening. Ben Lomond and the three pointed-topped mountains of Loch Lomond, which we had seen from the Garrison, were very majestic under the clear sky, the lake perfectly calm, the air sweet and mild. I felt that it was much more interesting to visit a place where we have been before than it can possibly be the first time, except under peculiar circumstances. The sun had been set for some time, when, being within a quarter of a mile of the ferryman's hut, our path having led us close to the shore of the calm lake, we met two neatly dressed women, without hats, who had probably been taking their Sunday evening's walk. One of them said to us in a friendly, soft tone of voice, "What! you are stepping westward?" I cannot describe how affecting this simple expression was in that remote place, with the western sky in front, yet glowing with the departed sun. William wrote the following poem long after, in remembrance of his feelings and mine:-- "What! you are stepping westward?" Yea, 'Twould be a wildish destiny If we, who thus together roam In a strange land, and far from home, Were in this place the guests of chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on? The dewy ground was dark and cold, Behind all gloomy to behold, And stepping westward seem'd to be A kind of heavenly destiny; I liked the greeting, 'twas a sound Of something without place or bound; And seem'd to give me spiritual right To travel through that region bright. The voice was soft; and she who spake Was walking by her native Lake; The salutation was to me The very sound of courtesy; Its power was felt, and while my eye Was fix'd upon the glowing sky, The echo of the voice enwrought A human sweetness with the thought Of travelling through the world that lay Before me in my endless way. We went up to the door of our boatman's hut as to a home, and scarcely less confident of a cordial welcome than if we had been approaching our own cottage at Grasmere. It had been a very pleasing thought, while we were walking by the side of the beautiful lake, that, few hours as we had been there, there was a home for us in one of its quiet dwellings. Accordingly, so we found it; the good woman, who had been at a preaching by the lake-side, was in her holiday dress at the door, and seemed to be rejoiced at the sight of us. She led us into the hut in haste to supply our wants; we took once more a refreshing meal by her fireside, and, though not so merry as the last time, we were not less happy, bating our regrets that Coleridge was not in his old place. I slept in the same bed as before, and listened to the household stream, which now only made a very low murmuring. _Monday, September 12th._--Rejoiced in the morning to see the sun shining upon the hills when I first looked out through the open window-place at my bed's head. We rose early, and after breakfast, our old companion, who was to be our guide for the day, rowed us over the water to the same point where Coleridge and I had sate down and eaten our dinner, while William had gone to survey the unknown coast. We intended to cross Loch Lomond, follow the lake to Glenfalloch, above the head of it, and then come over the mountains to Glengyle, and so down the glen, and passing Mr. Macfarlane's house, back again to the ferry-house, where we should sleep. So, a third time we went through the mountain hollow, now familiar ground. The inhabitants had not yet got in all their hay, and were at work in the fields; our guide often stopped to talk with them, and no doubt was called upon to answer many inquiries respecting us two strangers. At the ferry-house of Inversneyde we had not the happy sight of the Highland girl and her companion, but the good woman received us cordially, gave me milk, and talked of Coleridge, who, the morning after we parted from him, had been at her house to fetch his watch, which he had forgotten two days before. He has since told me that he questioned her respecting the miserable condition of her hut, which, as you may remember, admitted the rain at the door, and retained it in the hollows of the mud floor: he told her how easy it would be to remove these inconveniences, and to contrive something, at least, to prevent the wind from entering at the window-places, if not a glass window for light and warmth by day. She replied that this was very true, but if they made any improvements the laird would conclude that they were growing rich, and would raise their rent. The ferryman happened to be just ready at the moment to go over the lake with a poor man, his wife and child. The little girl, about three years old, cried all the way, terrified by the water. When we parted from this family, they going down the lake, and we up it, I could not but think of the difference in our condition to that poor woman, who, with her husband, had been driven from her home by want of work, and was now going a long journey to seek it elsewhere: every step was painful toil, for she had either her child to bear or a heavy burthen. _I_ walked as she did, but pleasure was my object, and if toil came along with it, even _that_ was pleasure,--pleasure, at least, it would be in the remembrance. We were, I believe, nine miles from Glenfalloch when we left the boat. To us, with minds at ease, the walk was delightful; it could not be otherwise, for we passed by a continual succession of rocks, woods, and mountains; but the houses were few, and the ground cultivated only in small portions near the water, consequently there was not that sort of variety which leaves distinct separate remembrances, but one impression of solitude and greatness. While the Highlander and I were plodding on together side by side, interspersing long silences with now and then a question or a remark, looking down to the lake he espied two small rocky islands, and pointing to them, said to me, "It will be gay[23] and dangerous sailing there in stormy weather when the water is high." In giving my assent I could not help smiling, but I afterwards found that a like combination of words is not uncommon in Scotland, for, at Edinburgh, William being afraid of rain, asked the ostler what he thought, who, looking up to the sky, pronounced it to be "gay and dull," and therefore rain might be expected. The most remarkable object we saw was a huge single stone, I believe three or four times the size of Bowder Stone. The top of it, which on one side was sloping like the roof of a house, was covered with heather. William climbed up the rock, which would have been no easy task but to a mountaineer, and we constructed a rope of pocket-handkerchiefs, garters, plaids, coats, etc., and measured its height. It was _so_ many times the length of William's walking-stick, but, unfortunately, having lost the stick, we have lost the measure. The ferryman told us that a preaching was held there once in three months by a certain minister--I think of Arrochar--who engages, as a part of his office, to perform the service. The interesting feelings we had connected with the Highland Sabbath and Highland worship returned here with double force. The rock, though on one side a high perpendicular wall, in no place overhung so as to form a shelter, in no place could it be more than a screen from the elements. Why then had it been selected for such a purpose? Was it merely from being a central situation and a conspicuous object? Or did there belong to it some inheritance of superstition from old times? It is impossible to look at the stone without asking, How came it hither? Had then that obscurity and unaccountableness, that mystery of power which is about it, any influence over the first persons who resorted hither for worship? Or have they now on those who continue to frequent it? The lake is in front of the perpendicular wall, and behind, at some distance, and totally detached from it, is the continuation of the ridge of mountains which forms the vale of Loch Lomond--a magnificent temple, of which this spot is a noble Sanctum Sanctorum. [Footnote 23: This is none other than the well-known Scottish word "_gey_,"--indifferently, tolerable, considerable.--J. C. S.] We arrived at Glenfalloch at about one or two o'clock. It is no village; there being only scattered huts in the glen, which may be four miles long, according to my remembrance: the middle of it is very green, and level, and tufted with trees. Higher up, where the glen parts into two very narrow ones, is the house of the laird; I daresay a pretty place. The view from the door of the public-house is exceedingly beautiful; the river flows smoothly into the lake, and the fields were at that time as green as possible. Looking backward, Ben Lomond very majestically shuts in the view. The top of the mountain, as seen here, being of a pyramidal form, it is much grander than with the broken outline, and stage above stage, as seen from the neighbourhood of Luss. We found nobody at home at the inn, but the ferryman shouted, wishing to have a glass of whisky, and a young woman came from the hay-field, dressed in a white bed-gown, without hat or cap. There was no whisky in the house, so he begged a little whey to drink with the fragments of our cold meat brought from Callander. After a short rest in a cool parlour we set forward again, having to cross the river and climb up a steep mountain on the opposite side of the valley. I observed that the people were busy bringing in the hay before it was dry into a sort of "fauld" or yard, where they intended to leave it, ready to be gathered into the house with the first threatening of rain, and if not completely dry brought out again. Our guide bore me in his arms over the stream, and we soon came to the foot of the mountain. The most easy rising, for a short way at first, was near a naked rivulet which made a fine cascade in one place. Afterwards, the ascent was very laborious, being frequently almost perpendicular. It is one of those moments which I shall not easily forget, when at that point from which a step or two would have carried us out of sight of the green fields of Glenfalloch, being at a great height on the mountain, we sate down, and heard, as if from the heart of the earth, the sound of torrents ascending out of the long hollow glen. To the eye all was motionless, a perfect stillness. The noise of waters did not appear to come this way or that, from any particular quarter: it was everywhere, almost, one might say, as if "exhaled" through the whole surface of the green earth. Glenfalloch, Coleridge has since told me, signifies the Hidden Vale; but William says, if we were to name it from our recollections of that time, we should call it the Vale of Awful Sound. We continued to climb higher and higher; but the hill was no longer steep, and afterwards we pursued our way along the top of it with many small ups and downs. The walk was very laborious after the climbing was over, being often exceedingly stony, or through swampy moss, rushes, or rough heather. As we proceeded, continuing our way at the top of the mountain, encircled by higher mountains at a great distance, we were passing, without notice, a heap of scattered stones round which was a belt of green grass--green, and as it seemed rich, where all else was either poor heather and coarse grass, or unprofitable rushes and spongy moss. The Highlander made a pause, saying, "This place is much changed since I was here twenty years ago." He told us that the heap of stones had been a hut where a family was then living, who had their winter habitation in the valley, and brought their goats thither in the summer to feed on the mountains, and that they were used to gather them together at night and morning to be milked close to the door, which was the reason why the grass was yet so green near the stones. It was affecting in that solitude to meet with this memorial of manners passed away; we looked about for some other traces of humanity, but nothing else could we find in that place. We ourselves afterwards espied another of those ruins, much more extensive--the remains, as the man told us, of several dwellings. We were astonished at the sagacity with which our Highlander discovered the track, where often no track was visible to us, and scarcely even when he pointed it out. It reminded us of what we read of the Hottentots and other savages. He went on as confidently as if it had been a turnpike road--the more surprising, as when he was there before it must have been a plain track, for he told us that fishermen from Arrochar carried herrings regularly over the mountains by that way to Loch Ketterine when the glens were much more populous than now. Descended into Glengyle, above Loch Ketterine, and passed through Mr. Macfarlane's grounds, that is, through the whole of the glen, where there was now no house left but his. We stopped at his door to inquire after the family, though with little hope of finding them at home, having seen a large company at work in a hay field, whom we conjectured to be his whole household--as it proved, except a servant-maid, who answered our inquiries. We had sent the ferryman forward from the head of the glen to bring the boat round from the place where he left it to the other side of the lake. Passed the same farm-house we had such good reason to remember, and went up to the burying-ground that stood so sweetly near the water-side. The ferryman had told us that Rob Roy's grave was there, so we could not pass on without going up to the spot. There were several tomb-stones, but the inscriptions were either worn-out or unintelligible to us, and the place choked up with nettles and brambles. You will remember the description I have given of the spot. I have nothing here to add, except the following poem[24] which it suggested to William:-- [Footnote 24: See _Rob Roy's Grave_, in "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 403.--ED.] A famous Man is Robin Hood, The English Ballad-singer's joy, And Scotland boasts of one as good, She has her own Rob Roy! Then clear the weeds from off his grave, And let us chaunt a passing stave In honour of that Outlaw brave. Heaven gave Rob Roy a daring heart And wondrous length and strength of arm, Nor craved he more to quell his foes, Or keep his friends from harm. Yet Robin was as wise as brave, As wise in thought as bold in deed, For in the principles of things He sought his moral creed. Said generous Rob, "What need of books? Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind, And worse, against ourselves. "We have a passion; make a law, Too false to guide us or control: And for the law itself we fight In bitterness of soul. "And puzzled, blinded thus, we lose Distinctions that are plain and few: These find I graven on my heart: That tells me what to do. "The Creatures see of flood and field, And those that travel on the wind! With them no strife can last; they live In peace, and peace of mind. "For why? Because the good old rule Suffices them, the simple plan That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can. "A lesson which is quickly learn'd, A signal this which all can see! Thus nothing here provokes the strong To tyrannous cruelty. "And freakishness of mind is check'd; He tamed who foolishly aspires, While to the measure of their might All fashion their desires. "All kinds and creatures stand and fall By strength of prowess or of wit, 'Tis God's appointment who must sway, And who is to submit. "Since then," said Robin, "right is plain, And longest life is but a day; To have my ends, maintain my rights, I'll take the shortest way." And thus among these rocks he lived Through summer's heat and winter's snow; The Eagle, he was lord above, And Rob was lord below. So was it--would at least have been But through untowardness of fate; For polity was then too strong: He came an age too late. Or shall we say an age too soon? For were the bold man living now, How might he flourish in his pride With buds on every bough? Then Rents and Land-marks, Rights of chase, Sheriffs and Factors, Lairds and Thanes, Would all have seem'd but paltry things Not worth a moment's pains. Rob Roy had never linger'd here, To these few meagre vales confined, But thought how wide the world, the times How fairly to his mind. And to his Sword he would have said, "Do thou my sovereign will enact From land to land through half the earth; Judge thou of law and fact. "'Tis fit that we should do our part; Becoming that mankind should learn That we are not to be surpass'd In fatherly concern. "Of old things all are over old, Of good things none are good enough; I'll shew that I can help to frame A world of other stuff. "I, too, will have my Kings that take From me the sign of life and death, Kingdoms shall shift about like clouds Obedient to my breath." And if the word had been fulfill'd As might have been, then, thought of joy! France would have had her present Boast, And we our brave Rob Roy. Oh! say not so, compare them not; I would not wrong thee, Champion brave! Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all Here, standing by thy Grave. For thou, although with some wild thoughts, Wild Chieftain of a savage Clan, Hadst this to boast of--thou didst love The Liberty of Man. And had it been thy lot to live With us who now behold the light, Thou wouldst have nobly stirr'd thyself, And battled for the right. For Robin was the poor man's stay; The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand, And all the oppress'd who wanted strength Had Robin's to command. Bear witness many a pensive sigh Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays Alone upon Loch Veol's heights, And by Loch Lomond's Braes. And far and near, through vale and hill, Are faces that attest the same; Kindling with instantaneous joy At sound of Rob Roy's name. Soon after we saw our boat coming over the calm water. It was late in the evening, and I was stiff and weary, as well I might, after such a long and toilsome walk, so it was no poor gratification to sit down and be conscious of advancing in our journey without further labour. The stars were beginning to appear, but the brightness of the west was not yet gone;--the lake perfectly still, and when we first went into the boat we rowed almost close to the shore under steep crags hung with birches: it was like a new-discovered country of which we had not dreamed, for in walking down the lake, owing to the road in that part being carried at a considerable height on the hill-side, the rocks and the indentings of the shore had been hidden from us. At this time, those rocks and their images in the calm water composed one mass, the surfaces of both equally distinct, except where the water trembled with the motion of our boat. Having rowed a while under the bold steeps, we launched out further when the shores were no longer abrupt. We hardly spoke to each other as we moved along receding from the west, which diffused a solemn animation over the lake. The sky was cloudless; and everything seemed at rest except our solitary boat, and the mountain-streams,--seldom heard, and but faintly. I think I have rarely experienced a more elevated pleasure than during our short voyage of this night. The good woman had long been looking out for us, and had prepared everything for our refreshment; and as soon as we had finished supper, or rather tea, we went to bed. William, I doubt not, rested well, and, for my part, I slept as soundly on my chaff bed as ever I have done in childhood after the long day's playing of a summer's holiday. _Tuesday, 13th September._--Again a fine morning. I strolled into the green field in which the house stands while the woman was preparing breakfast, and at my return found one of her neighbours sitting by the fire, a feeble paralytic old woman. After having inquired concerning our journey the day before, she said, "I have travelled far in my time," and told me she had married an English soldier who had been stationed at the Garrison; they had had many children, who were all dead or in foreign countries; and she had returned to her native place, where now she had lived several years, and was more comfortable than she could ever have expected to be, being very kindly dealt with by all her neighbours. Pointing to the ferryman and his wife, she said they were accustomed to give her a day of their labour in digging peats, in common with others, and in that manner she was provided with fuel, and, by like voluntary contributions, with other necessaries. While this infirm old woman was relating her story in a tremulous voice, I could not but think of the changes of things, and the days of her youth, when the shrill fife, sounding from the walls of the Garrison, made a merry noise through the echoing hills. I asked myself, if she were to be carried again to the deserted spot after her course of life, no doubt a troublesome one, would the silence appear to her the silence of desolation or of peace? After breakfast we took a final leave of our hostess, and, attended by her husband, again set forward on foot. My limbs were a little stiff, but the morning being uncommonly fine I did not fear to aim at the accomplishment of a plan we had laid of returning to Callander by a considerable circuit. We were to go over the mountains from Loch Ketterine, a little below the ferry-house on the same side of the water, descending to Loch Voil, a lake from which issues the stream that flows through Strath Eyer into Loch Lubnaig. Our road, as is generally the case in passing from one vale into another, was through a settling between the hills, not far from a small stream. We had to climb considerably, the mountain being much higher than it appears to be, owing to its retreating in what looks like a gradual slope from the lake, though we found it steep enough in the climbing. Our guide had been born near Loch Voil, and he told us that at the head of the lake, if we would look about for it, we should see the burying-place of a part of his family, the MacGregors, a clan who had long possessed that district, a circumstance which he related with no unworthy pride of ancestry. We shook hands with him at parting, not without a hope of again entering his hut in company with others whom we loved. Continued to walk for some time along the top of the hill, having the high mountains of Loch Voil before us, and Ben Lomond and the steeps of Loch Ketterine behind. Came to several deserted mountain huts or shiels, and rested for some time beside one of them, upon a hillock of its green plot of monumental herbage. William here conceived the notion of writing an ode upon the affecting subject of those relics of human society found in that grand and solitary region. The spot of ground where we sate was even beautiful, the grass being uncommonly verdant, and of a remarkably soft and silky texture. After this we rested no more till we came to the foot of the mountain, where there was a cottage, at the door of which a woman invited me to drink some whey: this I did, while William went to inquire respecting the road at a new stone house a few steps further. He was told to cross the brook, and proceed to the other side of the vale, and that no further directions were necessary, for we should find ourselves at the head of the lake, and on a plain road which would lead us downward. We waded the river and crossed the vale, perhaps half a mile or more. The mountains all round are very high; the vale pastoral and unenclosed, not many dwellings, and but few trees; the mountains in general smooth near the bottom. They are in large unbroken masses, combining with the vale to give an impression of bold simplicity. Near the head of the lake, at some distance from us, we discovered the burial-place of the MacGregors, and did not view it without some interest, with its ornamental balls on the four corners of the wall, which, I daresay, have been often looked at with elevation of heart by our honest friend of Loch Ketterine. The lake is divided right across by a narrow slip of flat land, making a small lake at the head of the large one. The whole may be about five miles long. As we descended, the scene became more fertile, our way being pleasantly varied--through coppices or open fields, and passing farm-houses, though always with an intermixture of uncultivated ground. It was harvest-time, and the fields were quietly--might I be allowed to say pensively?--enlivened by small companies of reapers. It is not uncommon in the more lonely parts of the Highlands to see a single person so employed. The following poem was suggested to William by a beautiful sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's _Tour in Scotland_:[25] [Footnote 25: See _The Solitary Reaper_, in "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 397, with note appended.--ED.] Behold her single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass, Reaping and singing by herself-- Stop here, or gently pass. Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain. Oh! listen, for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt So sweetly to reposing bands Of travellers in some shady haunt Among Arabian Sands; No sweeter voice was ever heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old unhappy far-off things, And battles long ago;-- Or is it some more humble lay-- Familiar matter of to-day-- Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sung As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; I listen'd till I had my fill, And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more. Towards the foot of the lake, on the opposite side, which was more barren than that on which we travelled, was a bare road up a steep hill, which leads to Glen Finlas, formerly a royal forest. It is a wild and rocky glen, as we had been told by a person who directed our notice to its outlet at Loch Achray. The stream which passes through it falls into that lake near the head. At the end of Loch Voil the vale is wide and populous--large pastures with many cattle, large tracts of corn. We walked downwards a little way, and then crossed over to the same road along which we had travelled from Loch Erne to Callander, being once again at the entrance of Strath Eyer. It might be about four or five o'clock in the afternoon; we were ten miles from Callander, exceedingly tired, and wished heartily for the poor horse and car. Walked up Strath Eyer, and saw in clear air and sunshine what had been concealed from us when we travelled before in the mist and rain. We found it less woody and rich than it had appeared to be, but, with all deductions, a very sweet valley. Not far from Loch Lubnaig, though not in view of it, is a long village, with two or three public-houses, and being in despair of reaching Callander that night without over-fatigue we resolved to stop at the most respectable-looking house, and, should it not prove wretched indeed, to lodge there if there were beds for us: at any rate it was necessary to take some refreshment. The woman of the house spoke with gentleness and civility, and had a good countenance, which reconciled me to stay, though I had been averse to the scheme, dreading the dirt usual in Scotch public-houses by the way-side. She said she had beds for us, and clean sheets, and we desired her to prepare them immediately. It was a two-storied house, light built, though in other respects no better than the huts, and--as all the slated cottages are--much more uncomfortable in appearance, except that there was a chimney in the kitchen. At such places it is fit that travellers should make up their minds to wait at least an hour longer than the time necessary to prepare whatever meal they may have ordered, which we, I may truly say, did with most temperate philosophy. I went to talk with the mistress, who was baking barley cakes, which she wrought out with her hands as thin as the oaten bread we make in Cumberland. I asked her why she did not use a rolling-pin, and if it would not be much more convenient, to which she returned me no distinct answer, and seemed to give little attention to the question: she did not know, or that was what they were used to, or something of the sort. It was a tedious process, and I thought could scarcely have been managed if the cakes had been as large as ours; but they are considerably smaller, which is a great loss of time in the baking. This woman, whose common language was the Gaelic, talked with me a very good English, asking many questions, yet without the least appearance of an obtrusive or impertinent curiosity; and indeed I must say that I never, in those women with whom I conversed, observed anything on which I could put such a construction. They seemed to have a faith ready for all; and as a child when you are telling him stories, asks for "more, more," so they appeared to delight in being amused without effort of their own minds. Among other questions she asked me the old one over again, if I was married; and when I told her that I was not, she appeared surprised, and, as if recollecting herself, said to me, with a pious seriousness and perfect simplicity, "To be sure, there is a great promise for virgins in Heaven"; and then she began to tell how long she had been married, that she had had a large family and much sickness and sorrow, having lost several of her children. We had clean sheets and decent beds. _Wednesday, September 14th._--Rose early, and departed before breakfast. The morning was dry, but cold. Travelled as before, along the shores of Loch Lubnaig, and along the pass of the roaring stream of Leny, and reached Callander at a little past eight o'clock. After breakfast set off towards Stirling, intending to sleep there; the distance eighteen miles. We were now entering upon a populous and more cultivated country, having left the mountains behind, therefore I shall have little to tell; for what is most interesting in such a country is not to be seen in passing through it as we did. Half way between Callander and Stirling is the village of Doune, and a little further on we crossed a bridge over a pleasant river, the Teith. Above the river stands a ruined castle of considerable size, upon a woody bank. We wished to have had time to go up to the ruin. Long before we reached the town of Stirling, saw the Castle, single, on its stately and commanding eminence. The rock or hill rises from a level plain; the print in Stoddart's book does indeed give a good notion of its form. The surrounding plain appears to be of a rich soil, well cultivated. The crops of ripe corn were abundant. We found the town quite full; not a vacant room in the inn, it being the time of the assizes: there was no lodging for us, and hardly even the possibility of getting anything to eat in a bye-nook of the house. Walked up to the Castle. The prospect from it is very extensive, and must be exceedingly grand on a fine evening or morning, with the light of the setting or rising sun on the distant mountains, but we saw it at an unfavourable time of day, the mid-afternoon, and were not favoured by light and shade. The Forth makes most intricate and curious turnings, so that it is difficult to trace them, even when you are overlooking the whole. It flows through a perfect level, and in one place cuts its way in the form of a large figure of eight. Stirling is the largest town we had seen in Scotland, except Glasgow. It is an old irregular place; the streets towards the Castle on one side very steep. On the other, the hill or rock rises from the fields. The architecture of a part of the Castle is very fine, and the whole building in good repair: some parts indeed, are modern. At Stirling we bought Burns's Poems in one volume, for two shillings. Went on to Falkirk, ten or eleven miles. I do not recollect anything remarkable after we were out of sight of Stirling Castle, except the Carron Ironworks, seen at a distance;--the sky above them was red with a fiery light. In passing through a turnpike gate we were greeted by a Highland drover, who, with many others, was coming from a fair at Falkirk, the road being covered all along with horsemen and cattle. He spoke as if we had been well known to him, asking us how we had fared on our journey. We were at a loss to conceive why he should interest himself about us, till he said he had passed us on the Black Mountain, near King's House. It was pleasant to observe the effect of solitary places in making men friends, and to see so much kindness, which had been produced in such a chance encounter, retained in a crowd. No beds in the inns at Falkirk--every room taken up by the people come to the fair. Lodged in a private house, a neat clean place--kind treatment from the old man and his daughter. _Thursday, September 15th._--Breakfasted at Linlithgow, a small town. The house is yet shown from which the Regent Murray was shot. The remains of a royal palace, where Queen Mary was born, are of considerable extent; the banks of gardens and fish-ponds may yet be distinctly traced, though the whole surface is transformed into smooth pasturage where cattle graze. The castle stands upon a gentle eminence, the prospect not particularly pleasing, though not otherwise; it is bare and wide. The shell of a small ancient church is standing, into which are crammed modern pews, galleries, and pulpit--very ugly, and discordant with the exterior. Nothing very interesting till we came to Edinburgh. Dined by the way at a small town or village upon a hill, the back part of the houses on one side overlooking an extensive prospect over flat corn fields. I mention this for the sake of a pleasant hour we passed sitting on the bank, where we read some of Burns's poems in the volume which we had bought at Stirling. Arrived at Edinburgh a little before sunset. As we approached, the Castle rock resembled that of Stirling--in the same manner appearing to rise from a plain of cultivated ground, the Firth of Forth being on the other side, and not visible. Drove to the White Hart in the Grassmarket, an inn which had been mentioned to us, and which we conjectured would better suit us than one in a more fashionable part of the town. It was not noisy, and tolerably cheap. Drank tea, and walked up to the Castle, which luckily was very near. Much of the daylight was gone, so that except it had been a clear evening, which it was not, we could not have seen the distant prospect. _Friday, September 16th._--The sky the evening before, as you may remember the ostler told us, had been "gay and dull," and this morning it was downright dismal: very dark, and promising nothing but a wet day, and before breakfast was over the rain began, though not heavily. We set out upon our walk, and went through many streets to Holyrood House, and thence to the hill called Arthur's Seat, a high hill, very rocky at the top, and below covered with smooth turf, on which sheep were feeding. We climbed up till we came to St. Anthony's Well and Chapel, as it is called, but it is more like a hermitage than a chapel,--a small ruin, which from its situation is exceedingly interesting, though in itself not remarkable. We sate down on a stone not far from the chapel, overlooking a pastoral hollow as wild and solitary as any in the heart of the Highland mountains: there, instead of the roaring of torrents, we listened to the noises of the city, which were blended in one loud indistinct buzz,--a regular sound in the air, which in certain moods of feeling, and at certain times, might have a more tranquillizing effect upon the mind than those which we are accustomed to hear in such places. The Castle rock looked exceedingly large through the misty air: a cloud of black smoke overhung the city, which combined with the rain and mist to conceal the shapes of the houses,--an obscurity which added much to the grandeur of the sound that proceeded from it. It was impossible to think of anything that was little or mean, the goings-on of trade, the strife of men, or every-day city business:--the impression was one, and it was visionary; like the conceptions of our childhood of Bagdad or Balsora when we have been reading the Arabian Nights' Entertainments. Though the rain was very heavy we remained upon the hill for some time, then returned by the same road by which we had come, through green flat fields, formerly the pleasure-grounds of Holyrood House, on the edge of which stands the old roofless chapel, of venerable architecture. It is a pity that it should be suffered to fall down, for the walls appear to be yet entire. Very near to the chapel is Holyrood House, which we could not but lament has nothing ancient in its appearance, being sash-windowed and not an irregular pile. It is very like a building for some national establishment,--a hospital for soldiers or sailors. You have a description of it in Stoddart's Tour, therefore I need not tell you what we saw there. When we found ourselves once again in the streets of the city, we lamented over the heavy rain, and indeed before leaving the hill, much as we were indebted to the accident of the rain for the peculiar grandeur and affecting wildness of those objects we saw, we could not but regret that the Firth of Forth was entirely hidden from us, and all distant objects, and we strained our eyes till they ached, vainly trying to pierce through the thick mist. We walked industriously through the streets, street after street, and, in spite of wet and dirt, were exceedingly delighted. The old town, with its irregular houses, stage above stage, seen as we saw it, in the obscurity of a rainy day, hardly resembles the work of men, it is more like a piling up of rocks, and I cannot attempt to describe what we saw so imperfectly, but must say that, high as my expectations had been raised, the city of Edinburgh far surpassed all expectation. Gladly would we have stayed another day, but could not afford more time, and our notions of the weather of Scotland were so dismal, notwithstanding we ourselves had been so much favoured, that we had no hope of its mending. So at about six o'clock in the evening we departed, intending to sleep at an inn in the village of Roslin, about five miles from Edinburgh. The rain continued till we were almost at Roslin; but then it was quite dark, so we did not see the Castle that night. _Saturday, September 17th._--The morning very fine. We rose early and walked through the glen of Roslin, past Hawthornden, and considerably further, to the house of Mr. Walter Scott at Lasswade. Roslin Castle stands upon a woody bank above a stream, the North Esk, too large, I think, to be called a brook, yet an inconsiderable river. We looked down upon the ruin from higher ground. Near it stands the Chapel, a most elegant building, a ruin, though the walls and roof are entire. I never passed through a more delicious dell than the glen of Roslin, though the water of the stream is dingy and muddy. The banks are rocky on each side, and hung with pine wood. About a mile from the Castle, on the contrary side of the water, upon the edge of a very steep bank, stands Hawthornden, the house of Drummond the poet, whither Ben Jonson came on foot from London to visit his friend. We did hear to whom the house at present belongs, and some other particulars, but I have a very indistinct recollection of what was told us, except that many old trees had been lately cut down. After Hawthornden the glen widens, ceases to be rocky, and spreads out into a rich vale, scattered over with gentlemen's seats. Arrived at Lasswade before Mr. and Mrs. Scott had risen, and waited some time in a large sitting-room. Breakfasted with them, and stayed till two o'clock, and Mr. Scott accompanied us back almost to Roslin, having given us directions respecting our future journey, and promised to meet us at Melrose two days after.[26] [Footnote 26: See Lockhart's _Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. i. pp. 402-7, for an account of this visit. Lockhart says, "I have drawn up the account of this meeting from my recollection, partly of Mr. W.'s conversation, partly from that of his sister's charming 'Diary,' which he was so kind as to read to me on the 16th May 1836."--ED.] We ordered dinner on our return to the inn, and went to view the inside of the Chapel of Roslin, which is kept locked up, and so preserved from the injuries it might otherwise receive from idle boys; but as nothing is done to keep it together, it must in the end fall. The architecture within is exquisitely beautiful. The stone both of the roof and walls is sculptured with leaves and flowers, so delicately wrought that I could have admired them for hours, and the whole of their groundwork is stained by time with the softest colours. Some of those leaves and flowers were tinged perfectly green, and at one part the effect was most exquisite: three or four leaves of a small fern, resembling that which we call adder's tongue, grew round a cluster of them at the top of a pillar, and the natural product and the artificial were so intermingled that at first it was not easy to distinguish the living plant from the other, they being of an equally determined green, though the fern was of a deeper shade. We set forward again after dinner. The afternoon was pleasant. Travelled through large tracts of ripe corn, interspersed with larger tracts of moorland--the houses at a considerable distance from each other, no longer thatched huts, but farm-houses resembling those of the farming counties in England, having many corn-stacks close to them. Dark when we reached Peebles; found a comfortable old-fashioned public-house, had a neat parlour, and drank tea. _SIXTH WEEK_ _Sunday, September 18th._--The town of Peebles is on the banks of the Tweed. After breakfast walked up the river to Neidpath Castle, about a mile and a half from the town. The castle stands upon a green hill, overlooking the Tweed, a strong square-towered edifice, neglected and desolate, though not in ruin, the garden overgrown with grass, and the high walls that fenced it broken down. The Tweed winds between green steeps, upon which, and close to the river-side, large flocks of sheep pasturing; higher still are the grey mountains; but I need not describe the scene, for William has done it better than I could do in a sonnet which he wrote the same day; the five last lines, at least, of his poem will impart to you more of the feeling of the place than it would be possible for me to do:[27]-- [Footnote 27: See in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803," the _Sonnet composed at ---- Castle_.--ED.] Degenerate Douglas! thou unworthy Lord Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, And love of havoc (for with such disease Fame taxes him) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable trees, Leaving an ancient Dome and Towers like these Beggar'd and outraged! Many hearts deplored The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain The Traveller at this day will stop and gaze On wrongs which Nature scarcely seems to heed; For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures yet remain. _I_ was spared any regret for the fallen woods when we were there, not then knowing the history of them. The soft low mountains, the castle, and the decayed pleasure-grounds, the scattered trees which have been left in different parts, and the road carried in a very beautiful line along the side of the hill, with the Tweed murmuring through the unfenced green pastures spotted with sheep, together composed an harmonious scene, and I wished for nothing that was not there. When we were with Mr. Scott he spoke of cheerful days he had spent in that castle not many years ago, when it was inhabited by Professor Ferguson and his family, whom the Duke of Queensberry, its churlish owner, forced to quit it. We discovered a very fine echo within a few yards of the building. The town of Peebles looks very pretty from the road in returning: it is an old town, built of grey stone, the same as the castle. Well-dressed people were going to church. Sent the car before, and walked ourselves, and while going along the main street William was called aside in a mysterious manner by a person who gravely examined him--whether he was an Irishman or a foreigner, or what he was; I suppose our car was the occasion of suspicion at a time when every one was talking of the threatened invasion. We had a day's journey before us along the banks of the Tweed, a name which has been sweet to my ears almost as far back as I can remember anything. After the first mile or two our road was seldom far from the river, which flowed in gentleness, though perhaps never silent; the hills on either side high and sometimes stony, but excellent pasturage for sheep. In some parts the vale was wholly of this pastoral character, in others we saw extensive tracts of corn ground, even spreading along whole hill-sides, and without visible fences, which is dreary in a flat country; but there is no dreariness on the banks of the Tweed,--the hills, whether smooth or stony, uncultivated or covered with ripe corn, had the same pensive softness. Near the corn tracts were large farm-houses, with many corn-stacks; the stacks and house and out-houses together, I recollect, in one or two places upon the hills, at a little distance, seemed almost as large as a small village or hamlet. It was a clear autumnal day, without wind, and, being Sunday, the business of the harvest was suspended, and all that we saw, and felt, and heard, combined to excite one sensation of pensive and still pleasure. Passed by several old halls yet inhabited, and others in ruin; but I have hardly a sufficiently distinct recollection of any of them to be able to describe them, and I now at this distance of time regret that I did not take notes. In one very sweet part of the vale a gate crossed the road, which was opened by an old woman who lived in a cottage close to it; I said to her, "You live in a very pretty place!" "Yes," she replied, "the water of Tweed is a bonny water." The lines of the hills are flowing and beautiful, the reaches of the vale long; in some places appear the remains of a forest, in others you will see as lovely a combination of forms as any traveller who goes in search of the picturesque need desire, and yet perhaps without a single tree; or at least if trees there are, they shall be very few, and he shall not care whether they are there or not. The road took us through one long village, but I do not recollect any other; yet I think we never had a mile's length before us without a house, though seldom several cottages together. The loneliness of the scattered dwellings, the more stately edifices decaying or in ruin, or, if inhabited, not in their pride and freshness, aided the general effect of the gently varying scenes, which was that of tender pensiveness; no bursting torrents when we were there, but the murmuring of the river was heard distinctly, often blended with the bleating of sheep. In one place we saw a shepherd lying in the midst of a flock upon a sunny knoll, with his face towards the sky,--happy picture of shepherd life. The transitions of this vale were all gentle except one, a scene of which a gentleman's house was the centre, standing low in the vale, the hills above it covered with gloomy fir plantations, and the appearance of the house itself, though it could scarcely be seen, was gloomy. There was an allegorical air--a person fond of Spenser will understand me--in this uncheerful spot, single in such a country, "The house was hearsed about with a black wood." We have since heard that it was the residence of Lord Traquair, a Roman Catholic nobleman, of a decayed family. We left the Tweed when we were within about a mile and a half or two miles of Clovenford, where we were to lodge. Turned up the side of a hill, and went along sheep-grounds till we reached the spot--a single stone house, without a tree near it or to be seen from it. On our mentioning Mr. Scott's name the woman of the house showed us all possible civility, but her slowness was really amusing. I should suppose it is a house little frequented, for there is no appearance of an inn. Mr. Scott, who she told me was a very clever gentleman, "goes there in the fishing season"; but indeed Mr. Scott is respected everywhere: I believe that by favour of his name one might be hospitably entertained throughout all the borders of Scotland. We dined and drank tea--did not walk out, for there was no temptation; a confined barren prospect from the window. At Clovenford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of the possibility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of reserving the pleasure for some future time, in consequence of which, after our return, William wrote the poem which I shall here transcribe:[28]-- [Footnote 28: See in "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803," _Yarrow Unvisited_.--ED.] From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravell'd, Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travell'd. And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my winsome Marrow, "Whate'er betide we'll turn aside And see the Braes of Yarrow." "Let Yarrow Folk frae Selkirk Town, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow:--'tis their own, Each Maiden to her dwelling. On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow, But we will downwards with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow. "There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us; And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed The lintwhites sing in chorus. There's pleasant Teviot Dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow, Why throw away a needful day, To go in search of Yarrow? "What's Yarrow but a river bare, That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere, As worthy of your wonder." Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn, My true-love sigh'd for sorrow, And look'd me in the face to think I thus could speak of Yarrow. "Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path and open Strath We'll wander Scotland thorough, But though so near we will not turn Into the Dale of Yarrow. "Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burnmill Meadow, The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow. We will not see them, will not go, To-day nor yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow. "Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown, It must, or we shall rue it, We have a vision of our own, Ah! why should we undo it? The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, 'winsome Marrow,' For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow. "If care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly, Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy, Should life be dull and spirits low, 'Twill sooth us in our sorrow That earth hath something yet to show-- The bonny Holms of Yarrow." The next day we were to meet Mr. Scott, and again join the Tweed. I wish I could have given you a better idea of what we saw between Peebles and this place. I have most distinct recollections of the effect of the whole day's journey; but the objects are mostly melted together in my memory, and though I should recognise them if we revisit the place, I cannot call them out so as to represent them to you with distinctness. William, in attempting in verse to describe this part of the Tweed, says of it, More pensive in sunshine Than others in moonshine, which perhaps may give you more power to conceive what it is than all I have said. _Monday, September 19th._--We rose early, and went to Melrose, six miles, before breakfast. After ascending a hill, descended, and overlooked a dell, on the opposite side of which was an old mansion, surrounded with trees and steep gardens, a curious and pleasing, yet melancholy spot; for the house and gardens were evidently going to decay, and the whole of the small dell, except near the house, was unenclosed and uncultivated, being a sheep-walk to the top of the hills. Descended to Gala Water, a pretty stream, but much smaller than the Tweed, into which the brook flows from the glen I have spoken of. Near the Gala is a large modern house, the situation very pleasant, but the old building which we had passed put to shame the fresh colouring and meagre outline of the new one. Went through a part of the village of Galashiels, pleasantly situated on the bank of the stream; a pretty place it once has been, but a manufactory is established there; and a townish bustle and ugly stone houses are fast taking place of the brown-roofed thatched cottages, of which a great number yet remain, partly overshadowed by trees. Left the Gala, and, after crossing the open country, came again to the Tweed, and pursued our way as before near the river, perhaps for a mile or two, till we arrived at Melrose. The valley for this short space was not so pleasing as before, the hills more broken, and though the cultivation was general, yet the scene was not rich, while it had lost its pastoral simplicity. At Melrose the vale opens out wide; but the hills are high all round--single distinct risings. After breakfast we went out, intending to go to the Abbey, and in the street met Mr. Scott, who gave us a cordial greeting, and conducted us thither himself. He was here on his own ground, for he is familiar with all that is known of the authentic history of Melrose and the popular tales connected with it. He pointed out many pieces of beautiful sculpture in obscure corners which would have escaped our notice. The Abbey has been built of a pale red stone; that part which was first erected of a very durable kind, the sculptured flowers and leaves and other minute ornaments being as perfect in many places as when first wrought. The ruin is of considerable extent, but unfortunately it is almost surrounded by insignificant houses, so that when you are close to it you see it entirely separated from many rural objects, and even when viewed from a distance the situation does not seem to be particularly happy, for the vale is broken and disturbed, and the Abbey at a distance from the river, so that you do not look upon them as companions of each other. And surely this is a national barbarism: within these beautiful walls is the ugliest church that was ever beheld--if it had been hewn out of the side of a hill it could not have been more dismal; there was no neatness, nor even decency, and it appeared to be so damp, and so completely excluded from fresh air, that it must be dangerous to sit in it; the floor is unpaved, and very rough. What a contrast to the beautiful and graceful order apparent in every part of the ancient design and workmanship! Mr. Scott went with us into the gardens and orchards of a Mr. Riddel, from which we had a very sweet view of the Abbey through trees, the town being entirely excluded. Dined with Mr. Scott at the inn; he was now travelling to the assizes at Jedburgh in his character of Sheriff of Selkirk, and on that account, as well as for his own sake, he was treated with great respect, a small part of which was vouchsafed to us as his friends, though I could not persuade the woman to show me the beds, or to make any sort of promise till she was assured from the Sheriff himself that he had no objection to sleep in the same room with William. _Tuesday, September 20th._--Mr. Scott departed very early for Jedburgh, and we soon followed, intending to go by Dryburgh to Kelso. It was a fine morning. We went without breakfast, being told that there was a public-house at Dryburgh. The road was very pleasant, seldom out of sight of the Tweed for any length of time, though not often close to it. The valley is not so pleasantly defined as between Peebles and Clovenford, yet so soft and beautiful, and in many parts pastoral, but that peculiar and pensive simplicity which I have spoken of before was wanting, yet there was a fertility chequered with wildness which to many travellers would be more than a compensation. The reaches of the vale were shorter, the turnings more rapid, the banks often clothed with wood. In one place was a lofty scar, at another a green promontory, a small hill skirted by the river, the hill above irregular and green, and scattered over with trees. We wished we could have brought the ruins of Melrose to that spot, and mentioned this to Mr. Scott, who told us that the monks had first fixed their abode there, and raised a temporary building of wood. The monastery of Melrose was founded by a colony from Rievaux Abbey in Yorkshire, which building it happens to resemble in the colour of the stone, and I think partly in the style of architecture, but is much smaller, that is, has been much smaller, for there is not at Rievaux any one single part of the ruin so large as the remains of the church at Melrose, though at Rievaux a far more extensive ruin remains. It is also much grander, and the situation at present much more beautiful, that ruin not having suffered like Melrose Abbey from the encroachments of a town. The architecture at Melrose is, I believe, superior in the exactness and taste of some of the minute ornamental parts; indeed, it is impossible to conceive anything more delicate than the workmanship, especially in the imitations of flowers. We descended to Dryburgh after having gone a considerable way upon high ground. A heavy rain when we reached the village, and there was no public-house. A well-dressed, well-spoken woman courteously--shall I say charitably?--invited us into her cottage, and permitted us to make breakfast; she showed us into a neat parlour, furnished with prints, a mahogany table, and other things which I was surprised to see, for her husband was only a day-labourer, but she had been Lady Buchan's waiting-maid, which accounted for these luxuries and for a noticeable urbanity in her manners. All the cottages in this neighbourhood, if I am not mistaken, were covered with red tiles, and had chimneys. After breakfast we set out in the rain to the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which are near Lord Buchan's house, and, like Bothwell Castle, appropriated to the pleasure of the owner. We rang a bell at the gate, and, instead of a porter, an old woman came to open it through a narrow side-alley cut in a thick plantation of evergreens. On entering, saw the thatch of her hut just above the trees, and it looked very pretty, but the poor creature herself was a figure to frighten a child,--bowed almost double, having a hooked nose and overhanging eyebrows, a complexion stained brown with smoke, and a cap that might have been worn for months and never washed. No doubt she had been cowering over her peat fire, for if she had emitted smoke by her breath and through every pore, the odour could not have been stronger. This ancient woman, by right of office, attended us to show off the curiosities, and she had her tale as perfect, though it was not quite so long a one, as the gentleman Swiss, whom I remember to have seen at Blenheim with his slender wand and dainty white clothes. The house of Lord Buchan and the Abbey stand upon a large flat peninsula, a green holm almost covered with fruit-trees. The ruins of Dryburgh are much less extensive than those of Melrose, and greatly inferior both in the architecture and stone, which is much mouldered away. Lord Buchan has trained pear-trees along the walls, which are bordered with flowers and gravel walks, and he has made a pigeon-house, and a fine room in the ruin, ornamented with a curiously-assorted collection of busts of eminent men, in which lately a ball was given; yet, deducting for all these improvements, which are certainly much less offensive than you could imagine, it is a very sweet ruin, standing so enclosed in wood, which the towers overtop, that you cannot know that it is not in a state of natural desolation till you are close to it. The opposite bank of the Tweed is steep and woody, but unfortunately many of the trees are firs. The old woman followed us after the fashion of other guides, but being slower of foot than a younger person, it was not difficult to slip away from the scent of her poor smoke-dried body. She was sedulous in pointing out the curiosities, which, I doubt not, she had a firm belief were not to be surpassed in England or Scotland. Having promised us a sight of the largest and oldest yew-tree ever seen, she conducted us to it; it was a goodly tree, but a mere dwarf compared with several of our own country--not to speak of the giant of Lorton. We returned to the cottage, and waited some time in hopes that the rain would abate, but it grew worse and worse, and we were obliged to give up our journey, to Kelso, taking the direct road to Jedburgh. We had to ford the Tweed, a wide river at the crossing-place. It would have been impossible to drive the horse through, for he had not forgotten the fright at Connel Ferry, so we hired a man to lead us. After crossing the water, the road goes up the bank, and we had a beautiful view of the ruins of the Abbey, peering above the trees of the woody peninsula, which, in shape, resembles that formed by the Tees at Lickburn, but is considerably smaller. Lord Buchan's house is a very neat, modest building, and almost hidden by trees. It soon began to rain heavily. Crossing the Teviot by a stone bridge--the vale in that part very wide--there was a great deal of ripe corn, but a want of trees, and no appearance of richness. Arrived at Jedburgh half an hour before the Judges were expected out of Court to dinner. We gave in our passport--the name of Mr. Scott, the Sheriff--and were very civilly treated, but there was no vacant room in the house except the Judge's sitting-room, and we wanted to have a fire, being exceedingly wet and cold. I was conducted into that room, on condition that I would give it up the moment the Judge came from Court.[29] After I had put off my wet clothes I went up into a bedroom, and sate shivering there, till the people of the inn had procured lodgings for us in a private house. [Footnote 29: Compare Lockhart's _Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. i. p. 403.--ED.] We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though above seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only seventeen. Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat and clean; she showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten minutes in the house, opened her very drawers that I might see what a stock of linen she had; then asked me how long we should stay, and said she wished we were come for three months. She was a most remarkable person; the alacrity with which she ran up-stairs when we rung the bell, and guessed at, and strove to prevent, our wants was surprising; she had a quick eye, and keen strong features, and a joyousness in her motions, like what used to be in old Molly when she was particularly elated. I found afterwards that she had been subject to fits of dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured that her overflowing gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to the same cause as her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm, and sate in a chair with scarcely the power to move a limb--an affecting contrast! The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair; they had wrought like slaves at their trade--her husband had been a currier; and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with money, and each a feather-bed, and that in their old age they had laid out the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house, and she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things; for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sate with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the Lay of the Last Minstrel. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted anything, and to wish us good-night. On all occasions her manners were governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards, thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh:[30]-- [Footnote 30: See in "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803," _The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband_.--ED.] Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And call a train of laughing Hours; And bid them dance, and bid them sing, And Thou, too, mingle in the Ring! Take to thy heart a new delight! If not, make merry in despite That one should breathe who scorns thy power. --But dance! for under Jedborough Tower A Matron dwells who, tho' she bears Our mortal complement of years, Lives in the light of youthful glee, And she will dance and sing with thee. Nay! start not at that Figure--there! Him who is rooted to his Chair! Look at him, look again; for He Hath long been of thy Family. With legs that move not, if they can, And useless arms, a Trunk of Man, He sits, and with a vacant eye; A Sight to make a Stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, such is now his doom; His world is in that single room-- Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here? The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate; He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp, He is as mute as Jedborough Tower, She jocund as it was of yore With all its bravery on, in times When all alive with merry chimes Upon a sun-bright morn of May It roused the Vale to holiday. I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise and true. With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent; This do I see, and something more, A strength unthought of heretofore. Delighted am I for thy sake, And yet a higher joy partake: Our human nature throws away Its second twilight, and looks gay, A Land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide. Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself as seems, composed; To fear of loss and hope of gain, The strife of happiness and pain-- Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of little Infants when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, quick or slow. Her buoyant spirits can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail. She strikes upon him with the heat Of July suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight, though dim! 'Tis all that now remains for him! I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er, And, looking, wondered more and more: When suddenly I seem'd to espy A trouble in her strong black eye, A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright! Not long this mystery did detain My thoughts. She told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body, and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. So be it!--but let praise ascend To Him who is our Lord and Friend! Who from disease and suffering As bad almost as Life can bring, Hath call'd for thee a second Spring; Repaid thee for that sore distress By no untimely joyousness; Which makes of thine a blissful state; And cheers thy melancholy Mate! _Wednesday, September 21st._--The house where we lodged was airy, and even cheerful, though one of a line of houses bordering on the churchyard, which is the highest part of the town, overlooking a great portion of it to the opposite hills. The kirk is, as at Melrose, within the walls of a conventual church; but the ruin is much less beautiful, and the church a very neat one. The churchyard was full of graves, and exceedingly slovenly and dirty; one most indecent practice I observed: several women brought their linen to the flat table-tombstones, and, having spread it upon them, began to batter as hard as they could with a wooden roller, a substitute for a mangle. After Mr. Scott's business in the Courts was over, he walked with us up the Jed--"sylvan Jed" it has been properly called by Thomson--for the banks are yet very woody, though wood in large quantities has been felled within a few years. There are some fine red scars near the river, in one or two of which we saw the entrances to caves, said to have been used as places of refuge in times of insecurity. Walked up to Ferniehurst, an old hall, in a secluded situation, now inhabited by farmers; the neighbouring ground had the wildness of a forest, being irregularly scattered over with fine old trees. The wind was tossing their branches, and sunshine dancing among the leaves, and I happened to exclaim, "What a life there is in trees!" on which Mr. Scott observed that the words reminded him of a young lady who had been born and educated on an island of the Orcades, and came to spend a summer at Kelso and in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. She used to say that in the new world into which she was come nothing had disappointed her so much as trees and woods; she complained that they were lifeless, silent, and, compared with the grandeur of the ever-changing ocean, even insipid. At first I was surprised, but the next moment I felt that the impression was natural. Mr. Scott said that she was a very sensible young woman, and had read much. She talked with endless rapture and feeling of the power and greatness of the ocean; and with the same passionate attachment returned to her native island without any probability of quitting it again.[31] [Footnote 31: Compare Lockhart's _Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott_, vol. i. p. 404.--ED.] The valley of the Jed is very solitary immediately under Ferniehurst; we walked down the river, wading almost up to the knees in fern, which in many parts overspread the forest-ground. It made me think of our walks at Alfoxden, and of _our own_ park--though at Ferniehurst is no park at present--and the slim fawns that we used to startle from their couching-places among the fern at the top of the hill. We were accompanied on our walk by a young man from the Braes of Yarrow, an acquaintance of Mr. Scott's,[32] who, having been much delighted with some of William's poems which he had chanced to see in a newspaper, had wished to be introduced to him; he lived in the most retired part of the dale of Yarrow, where he had a farm: he was fond of reading, and well-informed, but at first meeting as shy as any of our Grasmere lads, and not less rustic in his appearance. He had been in the Highlands, and gave me such an account of Loch Rannoch as made us regret that we had not persevered in our journey thither, especially as he told us that the bad road ended at a very little distance from the place where we had turned back, and that we should have come into another good road, continued all along the shore of the lake. He also mentioned that there was a very fine view from the steeple at Dunkeld. [Footnote 32: William Laidlaw.--ED.] The town of Jedburgh, in returning along the road, as it is seen through the gently winding narrow valley, looks exceedingly beautiful on its low eminence, surmounted by the conventual tower, which is arched over, at the summit, by light stone-work resembling a coronet; the effect at a distance is very graceful. The hills all round are high, and rise rapidly from the town, which though it stands considerably above the river, yet, from every side except that on which we walked, appears to stand in a bottom. We had our dinner sent from the inn, and a bottle of wine, that we might not disgrace the Sheriff, who supped with us in the evening,--stayed late, and repeated some of his poem. _Thursday, September 22nd._--After breakfast, the minister, Dr. Somerville, called upon us with Mr. Scott, and we went to the manse, a very pretty house, with pretty gardens, and in a beautiful situation, though close to the town. Dr. Somerville and his family complained bitterly of the devastation that had been made among the woods within view from their windows, which looked up the Jed. He conducted us to the church, which under his directions has been lately repaired, and is a very neat place within. Dr. Somerville spoke of the dirt and other indecencies in the churchyard, and said that he had taken great pains to put a stop to them, but wholly in vain. The business of the assizes closed this day, and we went into Court to hear the Judge pronounce his charge, which was the most curious specimen of old woman's oratory and newspaper-paragraph loyalty that was ever heard. When all was over they returned to the inn in procession, as they had come, to the sound of a trumpet, the Judge first, in his robes of red, the Sheriffs next, in large cocked hats, and inferior officers following, a show not much calculated to awe the beholders. After this we went to the inn. The landlady and her sister inquired if we had been comfortable, and lamented that they had not had it in their power to pay us more attention. I began to talk with them, and found out that they were from Cumberland: they knew Captain and Mrs. Wordsworth, who had frequently been at Jedburgh, Mrs. Wordsworth's sister having married a gentleman of that neighbourhood. They spoke of them with great pleasure. I returned to our lodgings to take leave of the old woman, who told me that I had behaved "very discreetly," and seemed exceedingly sorry that we were leaving her so soon. She had been out to buy me some pears, saying that I must take away some "Jeddered" pears. We learned afterwards that Jedburgh is famous in Scotland for pears, which were first cultivated there in the gardens of the monks. Mr. Scott was very glad to part from the Judge and his retinue, to travel with us in our car to Hawick; his servant drove his own gig. The landlady, very kindly, had put up some sandwiches and cheese-cakes for me, and all the family came out to see us depart. Passed the monastery gardens, which are yet gardens, where there are many remarkably large old pear-trees. We soon came into the vale of Teviot, which is open and cultivated, and scattered over with hamlets, villages, and many gentlemen's seats, yet, though there is no inconsiderable quantity of wood, you can never, in the wide and cultivated parts of the Teviot, get rid of the impression of barrenness, and the fir plantations, which in this part are numerous, are for ever at war with simplicity. One beautiful spot I recollect of a different character, which Mr. Scott took us to see a few yards from the road. A stone bridge crossed the water at a deep and still place, called Horne's Pool, from a contemplative schoolmaster, who had lived not far from it, and was accustomed to walk thither, and spend much of his leisure near the river. The valley was here narrow and woody. Mr. Scott pointed out to us Ruberslaw, Minto Crags, and every other remarkable object in or near the vale of Teviot, and we scarcely passed a house for which he had not some story. Seeing us look at one, which stood high on the hill on the opposite side of the river, he told us that a gentleman lived there who, while he was in India, had been struck with the fancy of making his fortune by a new speculation, and so set about collecting the gods of the country, with infinite pains and no little expense, expecting that he might sell them for an enormous price. Accordingly, on his return they were offered for sale, but no purchasers came. On the failure of this scheme, a room was hired in London in which to exhibit them as a show; but alas! nobody would come to see; and this curious assemblage of monsters is now, probably, quietly lodged in the vale of Teviot. The latter part of this gentleman's history is more affecting:--he had an only daughter, whom he had accompanied into Spain two or three years ago for the recovery of her health, and so for a time saved her from a consumption, which now again threatened her, and he was about to leave his pleasant residence, and attend her once more on the same errand, afraid of the coming winter. We passed through a village, whither Leyden, Scott's intimate friend, the author of _Scenes of Infancy_,[33] was used to walk over several miles of moorland country every day to school, a poor barefooted boy. He is now in India, applying himself to the study of Oriental literature, and, I doubt not, it is his dearest thought that he may come and end his days upon the banks of Teviot, or some other of the Lowland streams--for he is, like Mr. Scott, passionately attached to the district of the Borders. [Footnote 33: The full title was _Scenes of Infancy, descriptive of Teviotdale_, published in 1803.--ED.] Arrived at Hawick to dinner; the inn is a large old house with walls above a yard thick, formerly a gentleman's house. Did not go out this evening. _Friday, September 23rd._--Before breakfast, walked with Mr. Scott along a high road for about two miles, up a bare hill. Hawick is a small town. From the top of the hill we had an extensive view over the moors of Liddisdale, and saw the Cheviot Hills. We wished we could have gone with Mr. Scott into some of the remote dales of this country, where in almost every house he can find a home and a hearty welcome. But after breakfast we were obliged to part with him, which we did with great regret: he would gladly have gone with us to Langholm, eighteen miles further. Our way was through the vale of Teviot, near the banks of the river. Passed Branxholm Hall, one of the mansions belonging to the Duke of Buccleuch, which we looked at with particular interest for the sake of the Lay of the Last Minstrel. Only a very small part of the original building remains: it is a large strong house, old, but not ancient in its appearance--stands very near the river-side; the banks covered with plantations. A little further on, met the Edinburgh coach with several passengers, the only stage-coach that had passed us in Scotland. Coleridge had come home by that conveyance only a few days before. The quantity of arable land gradually diminishes, and the plantations become fewer, till at last the river flows open to the sun, mostly through unfenced and untilled grounds, a soft pastoral district, both the hills and the valley being scattered over with sheep: here and there was a single farm-house, or cluster of houses, and near them a portion of land covered with ripe corn. Near the head of the vale of Teviot, where that stream is but a small rivulet, we descended towards another valley, by another small rivulet. Hereabouts Mr. Scott had directed us to look about for some old stumps of trees, said to be the place where Johnny Armstrong was hanged; but we could not find them out. The valley into which we were descending, though, for aught I know, it is unnamed in song, was to us more interesting than the Teviot itself. Not a spot of tilled ground was there to break in upon its pastoral simplicity; the same soft yellow green spread from the bed of the streamlet to the hill-tops on each side, and sheep were feeding everywhere. It was more close and simple than the upper end of the vale of Teviot, the valley being much narrower, and the hills equally high and not broken into parts, but on each side a long range. The grass, as we had first seen near Crawfordjohn, had been mown in the different places of the open ground, where it might chance to be best; but there was no part of the surface that looked perfectly barren, as in those tracts. We saw a single stone house a long way before us, which we conjectured to be, as it proved, Moss Paul, the inn where we were to bait. The scene, with this single dwelling, was melancholy and wild, but not dreary, though there was no tree nor shrub; the small streamlet glittered, the hills were populous with sheep; but the gentle bending of the valley, and the correspondent softness in the forms of the hills, were of themselves enough to delight the eye. At Moss Paul we fed our horse;--several travellers were drinking whisky. We neither ate nor drank, for we had, with our usual foresight and frugality in travelling, saved the cheese-cakes and sandwiches which had been given us by our countrywoman at Jedburgh the day before. After Moss Paul, we ascended considerably, then went down other reaches of the valley, much less interesting, stony and barren. The country afterwards not peculiar, I should think, for I scarcely remember it. Arrived at Langholm at about five o'clock. The town, as we approached, from a hill, looked very pretty, the houses being roofed with blue slates, and standing close to the river Esk, here a large river, that scattered its waters wide over a stony channel. The inn neat and comfortable--exceedingly clean: I could hardly believe we were still in Scotland. After tea walked out; crossed a bridge, and saw, at a little distance up the valley, Langholm House, a villa of the Duke of Buccleuch: it stands upon a level between the river and a steep hill, which is planted with wood. Walked a considerable way up the river, but could not go close to it on account of the Duke's plantations, which are locked up. When they ended, the vale became less cultivated; the view through the vale towards the hills very pleasing, though bare and cold. _Saturday, September 24th._--Rose very early and travelled about nine miles to Longtown, before breakfast, along the banks of the Esk. About half a mile from Langholm crossed a bridge. At this part of the vale, which is narrow, the steeps are covered with old oaks and every variety of trees. Our road for some time through the wood, then came to a more open country, exceedingly rich and populous; the banks of the river frequently rocky, and hung with wood; many gentlemen's houses. There was the same rich variety while the river continued to flow through Scottish grounds; but not long after we had passed through the last turnpike gate in Scotland and the first in England--but a few yards asunder--the vale widens, and its aspect was cold, and even dreary, though Sir James Graham's plantations are very extensive. His house, a large building, stands in this open part of the vale. Longtown was before us, and ere long we saw the well-remembered guide-post, where the circuit of our six weeks' travels had begun, and now was ended. We did not look along the white line of the road to Solway Moss without some melancholy emotion, though we had the fair prospect of the Cumberland mountains full in view, with the certainty, barring accidents, of reaching our own dear home the next day. Breakfasted at the Graham's Arms. The weather had been very fine from the time of our arrival at Jedburgh, and this was a very pleasant day. The sun "shone fair on Carlisle's walls" when we first saw them from the top of the opposite hill. Stopped to look at the place on the sand near the bridge where Hatfield had been executed. Put up at the same inn as before, and were recognised by the woman who had waited on us. Everybody spoke of Hatfield as an injured man. After dinner went to a village six miles further, where we slept. _Sunday, September 25th, 1803._--A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home between eight and nine o'clock, where we found Mary in perfect health, Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the clothes-basket by the fire. SONNET[34] [Footnote 34: See "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803," "Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale!"--ED.] COMPOSED BETWEEN DALSTON AND GRASMERE, SEPTEMBER 25th, 1803 Fly, some kind spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale! Say that we come, and come by this day's light. Glad tidings!--spread them over field and height, But, chiefly, let one Cottage hear the tale! There let a mystery of joy prevail, The kitten frolic with unruly might, And Rover whine as at a second sight Of near-approaching good that will not fail: And from that Infant's face let joy appear; Yea, let our Mary's one companion child, That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled With intimations manifold and dear, While we have wander'd over wood and wild-- Smile on its Mother now with bolder cheer! VIII JOURNAL OF A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE BY DOROTHY AND WILLIAM WORDSWORTH NOVEMBER 7TH TO 13TH, 1805 JOURNAL OF A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE, WRITTEN BY DOROTHY WORDSWORTH[35] [Footnote 35: This title is given by the editor. There is none in the original MS.--ED.] * * * * * _Wednesday, November 7th._--On a damp and gloomy morning we set forward, William on foot, and I upon the pony, with William's greatcoat slung over the saddle crutch, and a wallet containing our bundle of "needments." As we went along the mist gathered upon the valleys, and it even rained all the way to the head of Patterdale; but there was never a drop upon my habit larger than the smallest pearls upon a lady's ring. The trees of the larger island upon Rydale Lake were of the most gorgeous colours; the whole island reflected in the water, as I remember once in particular to have seen it with dear Coleridge, when either he or William observed that the rocky shore, spotted and streaked with purplish brown heath, and its image in the water, together were like an immense caterpillar, such as, when we were children, we used to call _Woolly Boys_, from their hairy coats.... As the mist thickened, our enjoyments increased, and my hopes grew bolder; and when we were at the top of Kirkstone (though we could not see fifty yards before us) we were as happy travellers as ever paced side by side on a holiday ramble. At such a time and in such a place every scattered stone the size of one's head becomes a companion. There is a fragment of an old wall at the top of Kirkstone, which, magnified yet obscured as it was by the mist, was scarcely less interesting to us when we cast our eyes upon it, than the view of a noble monument of ancient grandeur has been--yet this same pile of stones we had never before observed. When we had descended considerably, the fields of Hartsop, below Brotherswater, were first seen like a lake, coloured by the reflection of yellow clouds. I mistook them for the water; but soon after we saw the lake itself gleaming faintly with a grey, steely brightness; then appeared the brown oaks, and the birches of splendid colour, and, when we came still nearer to the valley, the cottages under their tufts of trees and the old Hall of Hartsop with its long irregular front and elegant chimneys.... _Thursday, November 8th._--Incessant rain till eleven o'clock, when it became fair, and William and I walked to Blowick. Luff joined us by the way. The wind was strong, and drove the clouds forward along the side of the hill above our heads; four or five goats were bounding among the rocks; the sheep moved about more quietly, or cowered in their sheltering-places. The two storm-stiffened black yew-trees on the crag above Luff's house were striking objects, close under or seen through the flying mists.... When we stood upon the naked crag upon the common, overlooking the woods and bush-besprinkled fields of Blowick, the lake, clouds, and mists were all in motion to the sound of sweeping winds--the church and cottages of Patterdale scarcely visible from the brightness of the thin mist. Looking backwards towards the foot of the water, the scene less visionary. Place Fell steady and bold as a lion; the whole lake driving down like a great river, waves dancing round the small islands. We walked to the house. The owner was salving sheep in the barn; an appearance of poverty and decay everywhere. He asked us if we wanted to purchase the estate. We could not but stop frequently, both in going and returning, to look at the exquisite beauty of the woods opposite. The general colour of the trees was dark-brown, rather that of ripe hazel-nuts; but towards the water there were yet beds of green, and in some of the hollow places in the highest part of the woods the trees were of a yellow colour, and through the glittering light they looked like masses of clouds as you see them gathered together in the west, and tinged with the golden light of the sun. After dinner we walked with Mrs. Luff up the vale; I had never had an idea of the extent and width of it, in passing through along the road, on the other side. We walked along the path which leads from house to house; two or three times it took us through some of those copses or groves that cover every little hillock in the middle of the lower part of the vale, making an intricate and beautiful intermixture of lawn and woodland. We left William to prolong his walk, and when he came into the house he told us that he had pitched upon the spot where he should like to build a house better than in any other he had ever yet seen. Mrs. Luff went with him by moonlight to view it. The vale looked as if it were filled with white light when the moon had climbed up to the middle of the sky; but long before we could see her face a while all the eastern hills were in black shade, those on the opposite side were almost as bright as snow. Mrs. Luff's large white dog lay in the moonshine upon the round knoll under the old yew-tree, a beautiful and romantic image--the dark tree with its dark shadow, and the elegant creature as fair as a spirit. _Friday, November 9th._--It rained till near ten o'clock; but a little after that time, it being likely for a tolerably fine day, we packed up, and with Luff's servant to help to row, set forward in the boat. As we proceeded the day grew finer, clouds and sunny gleams on the mountains. In a grand bay under Place Fell we saw three fishermen with a boat dragging a net, and rowed up to them. They had just brought the net ashore, and hundreds of fish were leaping in their prison. They were all of one kind, what are called Skellies. After we had left them the fishermen continued their work, a picturesque group under the lofty and bare crags; the whole scene was very grand, a raven croaking on the mountain above our heads. Landed at Sanwick, the man took the boat home, and we pursued our journey towards the village along a beautiful summer path, at first through a copse by the lake-side, then through green fields. The village and brook very pretty, shut out from mountains and lake; it reminded me of Somersetshire. Passed by Harry Hebson's house; I longed to go in for the sake of former times. William went up one side of the vale, and we the other, and he joined us after having crossed the one-arched bridge above the church; a beautiful view of the church with its "base ring of mossy wall" and single yew-tree. At the last house in the vale we were kindly greeted by the master.... We were well prepared to face the mountain, which we began to climb almost immediately. Martindale divides itself into two dales at the head. In one of these (that to the left) there is no house to be seen, nor any building but a cattle-shed on the side of a hill which is sprinkled over with wood, evidently the remains of a forest, formerly a very extensive one. At the bottom of the other valley is the house of which I have spoken, and beyond the enclosures of this man's farm there are no other. A few old trees remain, relics of the forest; a little stream passes in serpentine windings through the uncultivated valley, where many cattle were feeding. The cattle of this country are generally white or light-coloured; but those were mostly dark-brown or black, which made the scene resemble many parts of Scotland. When we sat on the hillside, though we were well contented with the quiet everyday sounds, the lowing of cattle, bleating of sheep, and the very gentle murmuring of the valley stream, yet we could not but think what a grand effect the sound of the bugle-horn would have among these mountains. It is still heard once a year at the chase--a day of festivity for all the inhabitants of the district, except the poor deer, the most ancient of them all. The ascent, even to the top of the mountain, is very easy. When we had accomplished it we had some exceedingly fine mountain views, some of the mountains being resplendent with sunshine, others partly hidden by clouds. Ulswater was of a dazzling brightness bordered by black hills, the plain beyond Penrith smooth and bright (or rather _gleamy_) as the sea or sea-sands. Looked into Boar Dale above Sanwick--deep and bare, a stream winding down it. After having walked a considerable way on the tops of the hills, came in view of Glenridding and the mountains above Grisdale. Luff then took us aside, before we had begun to descend, to a small ruin, which was formerly a chapel or place of worship where the inhabitants of Martindale and Patterdale were accustomed to meet on Sundays. There are now no traces by which you could discover that the building had been different from a common sheepfold; the loose stones and the few which yet remain piled up are the same as those which lie about on the mountain; but the shape of the building being oblong is not that of a common sheepfold, and it stands east and west. Whether it was ever consecrated ground or not I know not; but the place may be kept holy in the memory of some now living in Patterdale; for it was the means of preserving the life of a poor old man last summer, who, having gone up the mountain to gather peats, had been overtaken by a storm, and could not find his way down again. He happened to be near the remains of the old chapel, and, in a corner of it, he contrived, by laying turf and ling and stones from one wall to the other, to make a shelter from the wind, and there he lay all night. The woman who had sent him on his errand began to grow uneasy towards night, and the neighbours went out to seek him. At that time the old man had housed himself in his nest, and he heard the voices of the men, but could not make _them_ hear, the wind being so loud, and he was afraid to leave the spot lest he should not be able to find it again, so he remained there all night; and they returned to their homes, giving him up for lost; but the next morning the same persons discovered him huddled up in the sheltered nook. He was at first stupefied and unable to move; but after he had eaten and drunk, and recollected himself a little, he walked down the mountain, and did not afterwards seem to have suffered.[36] As we descend, the vale of Patterdale appears very simple and grand, with its two heads, Deep Dale, and Brotherswater or Hartsop. It is remarkable that two pairs of brothers should have been drowned in that lake. There is a tradition, at least, that it took its name from two who were drowned there many years ago, and it is a fact that two others did meet that melancholy fate about twenty years since.... [Footnote 36: Compare the account given of this incident in _The Excursion_, towards the close of book ii.; also in the Fenwick note to _The Excursion_.--ED.] _Saturday, November 10th._--A beautiful morning. When we were at breakfast we heard suddenly the tidings of Lord Nelson's death and the victory of Trafalgar. Went to the inn to make further inquiries. Returned by William's rock and grove, and were so much pleased with the spot that William determined to buy it if possible, therefore we prepared to set off to Parkhouse that William might apply to Thomas Wilkinson to negotiate for him with the owner. We went down that side of the lake opposite to Stybarrow Crag. I dismounted, and we sat some time under the same rock as before, above Blowick. Owing to the brightness of the sunshine the church and other buildings were even more concealed from us than by the mists the other day. It had been a sharp frost in the night, and the grass and trees were yet wet. We observed the lemon-coloured leaves of the birches in the wood below, as the wind turned them to the sun, sparkle, or rather flash, like diamonds. The day continued unclouded to the end. _Monday, November 12th._--The morning being fine, we resolved to go to Lowther.... Crossed the ford at Yanworth. Found Thomas Wilkinson at work in one of his fields; he cheerfully laid down the spade and walked by our side with William. We left our horses at the mill below Brougham, and walked through the woods till we came to the quarry, where the road ends--the very place which has been the boundary of some of the happiest of the walks of my youth. The sun did not shine when we were there, and it was mid-day; therefore, if it had shone, the light could not have been the same; yet so vividly did I call to mind those walks, that, when I was in the wood, I almost seemed to see the same rich light of evening upon the trees which I had seen in those happy hours.... _Tuesday, November 13th._--A very wet morning; no hope of being able to return home. William read in a book lent him by Thomas Wilkinson. I read _Castle Rackrent_. The day cleared at one o'clock, and after dinner, at a little before three, we set forward.... Before we reached Ullswater the sun shone, and only a few scattered clouds remained on the hills, except at the tops of the very highest. The lake perfectly calm. We had a delightful journey.... The trees in Gowborough Park were very beautiful, the hawthorns leafless, their round heads covered with rich red berries, and adorned with arches of green brambles; and eglantine hung with glossy hips; many birches yet tricked out in full foliage of bright yellow; oaks brown or leafless; the smooth branches of the ashes bare; most of the alders green as in spring. At the end of Gowborough Park a large troop of deer were moving slowly, or standing still, among the fern. I was grieved when our companions startled them with a whistle, disturbing a beautiful image of grave simplicity and thoughtful enjoyment, for I could have fancied that even they were partaking with me a sensation of the solemnity of the closing day. I think I have more pleasure in looking at deer than any other animals, perhaps chiefly from their living in a more natural state. The sun had been set some time, though we could only just perceive that the daylight was partly gone, and the lake was more brilliant than before.... A delightful evening; the Seven Stars close to the hill-tops in Patterdale; all the stars seemed brighter than usual. The steeps were reflected in Brotherswater, and above the lake appeared like enormous black perpendicular walls. The torrents of Kirkstone had been swollen by the rains, and filled the mountain pass with their roaring, which added greatly to the solemnity of our walk. The stars in succession took their stations on the mountain-tops. Behind us, when we had climbed very high, we saw one light in the vale at a great distance, like a large star, a solitary one, in the gloomy region. All the cheerfulness of the scene was in the sky above us....[37] [Footnote 37: A curious _recast_ of this journal by his sister was published by Wordsworth, in his _Description of the Scenery of the Lakes_.--ED.] IX EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT 1820 EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820 _Monday, July 10th, 1820._--We--William, Mary, and Dorothy Wordsworth--left the Rectory House, Lambeth, at a quarter to eight o'clock. Had the "Union" coach to ourselves, till within two stages of Canterbury, when two young ladies demanded inside places.... The Cathedral of Canterbury, described by Erasmus as lifting itself up in "such majesty towards heaven, that it strikes religion into the beholders from a distance," looks stately on the plain, when first seen from the gently descending road, and appeared to me a much finer building than in former times; and I felt, as I had often done during my last abode in London, that, whatever change, tending to melancholy, twenty years might have produced, they had called forth the capacity of enjoying the sight of ancient buildings to which my youth was, comparatively, a stranger. Between London and Canterbury the scenes are varied and cheerful; first Blackheath, and its bordering villas, and shady trees; goats, asses, sheep, etc., pasturing at large near the houses. The Thames glorious; ships like castles, cutting their way as through green meadows, the river being concealed from view; then it spreads out like a wide lake, scattered over with vessels. _Dover, Tuesday, July 11th._--We walked to the Castle before breakfast. The building, when you are close to it, appears even _sublime_, from its immense height and bulk; but it is not rich or beautiful in architecture. The old warder stood in waiting upon the hill to lead us forward. After ascending above a hundred stone steps, we were greeted by the slender tinkling of a bell, a delicately wild sound in that place. It is fixed at the top of a pillar, on which is inscribed a poetical petition in behalf of the prisoners confined above in the Castle. _Calais, Tuesday, July 11th._--Landed on the shores of France at half-past one. What shall I say of Calais? I looked about for what I remembered, and looked for new things, and in both quests was gratified.... On my bedroom door is inscribed "Sterne's Room," and a print of him hangs over the fireplace. The walls painted in panels, handsome carpets, chimney-piece marble-coloured, hearth red, bed-curtains white, sheets coarse, coverlet a mixture of cotton and woollen, beautifully white; but how clumsy all contrivances of braziers and smiths! The bell hangs on the outside of the wall, and gives a single, loud, dull stroke when pulled by the string, so that you must stand and pull four or five times, as if you were calling the people to prayers. _Calais, Wednesday, July 12th._--We rose at five; sunshine and clear, but rather cold air. The Cathedral, a large edifice, not finely wrought; but the first effect is striking, from the size of the numerous pillars and arches, though they are paltry in the finishing, merely whitewashed and stuck over with bad pictures and tawdry images; yet the whole view at the entrance was affecting. Old men and women--_young_ women and girls kneeling at their silent prayers, and some we espied, in obscure recesses, before a concealed crucifix, image, or altar. One grey-haired man I cannot forget, whose countenance bore the impression of worldly cares subdued, and peace in heavenly aspiration.... Another figure I must not leave unnoticed, a squalid, ragged woman. She sate alone upon some steps at the side of the entrance to the quire. There she sate, with a white dog beside her; no one was near, and the dog and she evidently belonged to each other, probably her only friend, for never was there a more wretchedly forlorn and miserable-looking human being. She did not notice us; but her rags and her sickly aspect drew a penny from me, and the change in the woman's skinny, doleful face is not to be imagined: it was brightened by a light and gracious smile--the effect was almost as of something supernatural--she bowed her body, waved her hand, and, with a politeness of gesture unknown in England in almost any station of life, beckoned that we might enter the church, where the people were kneeling upon chairs, of which there might be a thousand--_two_ thousand--I cannot say how many--piled up in different parts of the Cathedral.... _9 o'clock, Inn-yard, Calais._--Off we drove, preceded by our friends, each postilion smacking his whip along the street with a dexterity truly astonishing. Never before did I know the power of a clumsy whip, in concert with the rattling of wheels upon rough pavement! The effect was certainly not less upon the spectators, and we jolted away as merry as children--showed our passports--passed the gateways, drawbridges, and shabby soldiers, and, fresh to the feeling of being in a foreign land, drove briskly forward, watchful and gay. The country for many miles populous; this makes it amusing, though sandy and flat; no trees worth looking at singly _as_ trees.... _Half-past 10._--The party gone to bed. This _salle_, where I sit, how unlike a parlour in an English inn! Yet the history of a sea-fight, or a siege, painted on the walls, with the costumes of Philip the Second, or even of our own time, would have better suited my associations, with the names of Gravelines and Dunkirk, than the story of Cupid and Psyche now before my eyes, as large as life, on French paper! The paper is in panels, with big mirrors between, in gilt frames. With all this taste and finery, and wax candles,[38] and Brussels carpets, what a mixture of troublesome awkwardness! They brought us a ponderous teapot that would not pour out the tea; the latches (with metal enough to fasten up a dungeon) can hardly, by unpractised hands, be made to open and shut the doors! I have seen the diligence come into the yard and unload--heavy, dirty, dusty--a lap-dog walking about the top, like a panther in its cage, and viewing the gulf below. A monkey was an outside passenger when it departed. [Footnote 38: A charge was made for wax candles.--D. W.] _Furnes, July 13th, Thursday, 5 o'clock._--I will describe this Square. Houses yellow, grey, white, and _there_ is a green one! Yet the effect is not gaudy--a half Grecian church, with Gothic spire; storks have built their nests, and are sitting upon the venerable tower of another church, a sight that pleasingly reminds us of our neighbourhood to Holland. The interior of that which outwardly mimics the Grecian is Gothic, and rather handsome in form, but whitewashed, and bedaubed with tinsel, and dolls, and tortured images.... Bells continually tinkling. _There_ goes a woman to her prayers, in a long black cloak, and bright blue stockings; _here_ comes a nicely-dressed old woman, leaning on her staff! Surely it is a blessing to the aged in Roman Catholic countries to have the churches always open for them, if it were only that it makes a variety in the course of a long day! How soothing, how natural to the aged, thus to withdraw from the stir of household cares, and occupations in which they can no longer take a part! and I must say (little as I have yet seen of this mode of worshipping God) I never beheld more of the expression of piety and earnest feeling than in some of the very old people in these churches. Every avenue of the square of this town presents some picturesque continuation of buildings. All is old, and old-_fashioned_; nothing to complain of but a want of Dutch cleanliness, yet it does not obtrude on the eye, out of doors, and the exterior is grave, decent, and quiet.... The priests in their gaudy attire, with their young white-robed attendants, made a solemn appearance, while clouds of incense were ascending over their heads to the large crucifix above the altar; and the "pealing organ" sounded to the "full-voiced quire." There was a beautiful nun in a grey garment with a long black scarf, white forehead band, belt, and rosary. Intent upon her devotions, she did not cast an eye towards us, and we stood to look at her. The faces of many of the women are handsome, but the steady grace, the chastened motions of their persons, and the mild seriousness of their countenances, are _most_ remarkable.... From Furnes to Bruges we had travelled through a flat country, yet with an endless variety, produced by the various produce of a beautiful soil carefully cultivated. We had been told that the country between Ghent and Bruges was much of the same kind, only not so interesting, therefore we were not sorry to interpose the variety of the packet-boat to Ghent.... And, when all was ready, took our places on the deck of the vessel. The tinkling of a bell, the signal for departure; and we glided gently away with motion only perceptible by the _eye_, looking at the retreating objects on the shore.... Two nuns and a priest (his prayer-book in his hand), an English dandy, a handsome lady-like Flemish girl, dressed in an elegant gauze mob-cap with flowers, and robe _à la française_, were the most noticeable people.... The groups under the awning would make a lively picture. The priest, in his cocked hat, standing at his prayers, the pretty maiden in her cap and flowers, and _there_ are the nuns. My brother and the nuns are very merry. _They_ seem to have left their prayer-books at home, and one of them has a pamphlet in her hand that looks like a magazine. Low cottages, pretty and clean, close to the bank; a woman scouring a copper vessel, in white jacket, red cap, blue petticoat, and clean sailcloth apron; the flat country to be seen over the low banks of the canal, spires and towers, and sometimes a village may be descried among trees; many little public-houses to tempt a landing; near one I see a pleasant arbour, with seats aloft for smoking.... The nuns are merry; so is the priest, in his spectacles; the dandy recommends shoes, in preference to boots, as more convenient. "There is nobody that can clean either on the Continent." For my part, I think they clean _them_ as well as anything else, except their vessels for cookery! they cannot get the dust out of a chair, or _rub_ a table!... William and I remained till the carriages were safely landed, amid a confusion of tongues, French, German, and English, and inarticulate shoutings, such as belong to all nations.... Canals round the town, rows of trees, fortifications converted into pleasure-grounds. We pass through old and picturesque streets, with an intermixture of houses of a later date, and showy shops; an appearance of commerce and bustle, which makes the contrast with Bruges the more striking, as the architecture of the ancient houses is of the same kind. William and I, with our English lady, reached first the appointed inn, though our friends had left the boat long before us.... _Ghent._--After tea, walked through the city. The buildings, streets, squares, all are picturesque. The houses, green, blue, pink, yellow, with richest ornaments still varying. Strange it is that so many and such strongly-contrasted colours should compose an undiscordant whole. Towers and spires overlook the lofty houses, and nothing is wanting of venerable antiquity at Ghent to give to the mind the same melancholy composure, which cannot but be felt in passing through the streets of Bruges--nothing but the impression that no change is going on, except through the silent progress of time. _There_ the very dresses of the women might have been the same for hundreds of years. _Here_, though the black cloak is prevalent, we see a mixture of all kinds, from the dress of the English or French belle to that of the poorest of our poor in a country town.... _Saturday, July 15th._--The architecture is a mixture of Gothic and Grecian. Three orders of pillars, one above another, the Gothic part very rich.... Multitudes of swallows were wheeling round the roof, regardless of carts and hammers, or whatever noise was heard below, and the effect was indescribably interesting. The restless motions and plaintive call of those little creatures seemed to impart a stillness to every other object, and had the power to lead the imagination gently on to the period when that once superb but now decaying structure shall be "lorded over and possessed by nature."... _Arrival at Brussels._--Light and shade very solemn upon the drawbridge. Passing through a heavy gateway, we entered the city, and drove through street after street with a pleasure wholly new to us. Garlands of fresh boughs and flowers in festoons hung on each side, and the great height of the houses, especially in the narrow streets (lighted as they were), gave a beautiful effect to the exhibition. Some of the streets were very steep, others long or winding; and in the triangular openings at the junction of different streets there was generally some stately ornament. For instance, in one place a canopy, with white drapery attached to the centre, and suspended in four inverted arches by means of four pillars at the distance of six or seven yards from the centre. _Sunday, July 16th._--_Brussels._--After breakfast, proceeded through the park, a very large open space with shady walks, statues, fountains, pools, arbours, and seats, and surrounded by palaces and fine houses--to the Cathedral, which, though immensely large, was so filled with people that we could scarcely make our way so as, by standing upon chairs (for which we paid two sous each), to have a view of the building over the multitudes of heads. The priests, at high mass, could not be seen; but the melody of human voices, accompanied by the organ, pierced through every recess--then came bursts of sound like thunder; and, at times, the solemn rousing of the trumpet. Powerful as was the effect of the music, the excessive heat and crowding after a short while overcame every other feeling, and we were glad to go into the open air. Our _laquais de place_ conducted us to the house of a shopkeeper, where, from a room in the attics, we might view the procession. It was close to one of the triangular openings with which most of the streets of Brussels terminate. To the right, we looked down the street along which the procession was to come, and, a little to the left below us, overlooked the triangles, in the centre of which was a fountain ornamented with three marble statues, and a pillar in the midst, topped by a golden ball--the whole decorated with festoons of holly, and large roses made of paper, alternately red and yellow. In like manner the garlands were composed in all the streets through which the procession was to pass; but in some parts there were also young fir-trees stuck in the pavement, leaving a foot-way between them and the houses. Paintings were hung out by such as possessed them, and ribands and flags. The street where we were was lined with people assembled like ourselves in expectation, all in their best attire. Peasants to be distinguished by their short jackets, petticoats of scarlet or some other bright colour (in contrast), crosses, or other ornament of gold or gilding; the bourgeoises, with black silk scarfs overhead, and reaching almost to their feet; ladies, a little too much of the French or English; little girls, with or without caps, and some in elegant white veils. The windows of all the houses open, and people seen at full length, or through doorways, sitting, or standing in patient expectation. It amused us to observe _them_, and the arrangements of their houses--which were even splendid, compared with those of persons of like condition in our own country--with an antique cast over all. Nor was it less amusing to note the groups or lines of people below us. Whether standing in the hot sunshine, or the shade, they appeared equally contented. Some approached the fountain--a sacred spot!--to drink of the pure waters, out of which rise the silent statues. The spot is sacred; for there, before the priests arrived in the procession, incense was kindled in the urns, and a pause was made with the canopy of the Host, while they continued chanting the service. But I am going too fast. The procession was, in its beginning, military, and its approach announced by sound of trumpets. Then came a troop of cavalry, four abreast, splendidly accoutred, dressed in blue and gold, and accompanied by a full band of music; next, I think, the magistrates and constituted authorities. But the order of the procession I do not recollect; only that the military, civil, and religious authorities and symbols were pleasingly combined, and the whole spectacle was beautiful. Long before the sound of the sacred service reached our ears, the martial music had died away in the distance, though there was no interruption in the line of the procession. The contrast was very pleasing when the solemn chaunting came along the street, with the stream of banners; priests and choristers in their appropriate robes; and not the least pleasing part of it was a great number of young girls, two and two, all dressed in white frocks. It was a day made on purpose for this exhibition; the sun seemed to be feasting on the gorgeous colours and glittering banners; and there was no breeze to disturb garland or flower. When all was passed away, we returned to the Cathedral, which we found not so crowded as much to interrupt our view: yet the whole effect of the interior was much injured by the decorations for the fête--especially by stiff orange-trees in tubs, placed between the pillars of the aisles. Though not equal to those of Bruges or Ghent, it is a very fine Gothic building, massy pillars and numerous statues, and windows of painted glass--an ornament which we have been so accustomed to in our own cathedrals that we lamented the want of it at Ghent and Bruges. _Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--Brussels exhibits in its different quarters the stateliness of the ancient and the princely splendour of modern times, mixed with an uncouth irregularity, resembling that of the lofty tiers of houses at Edinburgh; but the general style of building in the old streets is by no means so striking as in those of Ghent or Bruges.... _Waterloo._--Waterloo is a mean village; straggling on each side of the broad highway, children and poor people of all ages stood on the watch to conduct us to the church. Within the circle of its interior are found several mural monuments of our brave soldiers--long lists of naked names inscribed on marble slabs--not less moving than laboured epitaphs displaying the sorrow of surviving friends.... Here we took up the very man who was Southey's guide (Lacoste), whose name will make a figure in history. He bowed to us with French ceremony and liveliness, seeming proud withal to show himself as a sharer in the terrors of that time when Buonaparte's confusion and overthrow released him from unwilling service. He had been tied upon a horse as Buonaparte's guide through the country previous to the battle, and was compelled to stay by his side till the moment of flight.... _Monday, July 17th._--_Brussels._--The sky had been overshadowed by clouds during most of our journey, and now a storm threatened us, which helped our own melancholy thoughts to cast a gloom over the open country, where few trees were to be seen except forests on the distant heights. The ruins of the severely contested chateau of Hougomont had been ridded away since the battle, and the injuries done to the farm-house repaired. Even these circumstances, natural and trivial as they were, suggested melancholy thoughts, by furnishing grounds for a charge of ingratitude against the course of things, that was thus hastily removing from the spot all vestiges of so momentous an event. Feeble barriers against this tendency are the few frail memorials erected in different parts of the field of battle! and we could not but anticipate the time, when through the flux and reflux of war, to which this part of the Continent has always been subject, or through some turn of popular passion, _these_ also should fall; and "Nature's universal robe of green, humanity's appointed shroud," enwrap them:--and the very names of those whose valour they record be cast into shade, if not obliterated even in their own country, by the exploits of recent favourites in future ages. _Tuesday, July 18th._--_Namur._--Before breakfast we went to the church of the Jesuits; beautiful pillars of marble, roof of pumice-stone curiously wrought, the colour chaste and sombre. The churches of Ghent and Bruges are injured by being whitewashed: that of Brussels is of a pale grey, or stone-colour, which has a much better effect, though nothing equal to the roof of the Jesuits' church at Namur; yet in one point (_i.e._ the painted windows) the Cathedral of Brussels surpasses all the churches we have yet seen.... Several women passed us who had come thither to attend upon the labourers employed in repairing and enlarging the fortifications. Their dresses were neat and gay; and, in that place of which we had so often read in histories of battles and sieges, their appearance, while they struggled cheerfully with the blustering wind, was wild and romantic. The fondness for flowers appears in this country wherever you go. Nothing is more common than to see a man, driving a cart, with a rose in his mouth. At the very top of our ascent, I saw one at work with his spade, a full-blown rose covering his lips, which he must have brought up the hill,--or had some favourite lass there presented it to him?... _Wednesday, July 19th._--_Liége._--My first entrance into the market-place brought a shock of cheerful sensation. It was like the bursting into life of a Flemish picture. Such profusion of fruit! such outspreading of flowers! and heaps of vegetables! and such variety in the attire of the women! A curious and abundant fountain, surrounded with large stone basins, served to wash and refresh the vegetables. Torrents of voices assailed us while we threaded our way among the fruit and fragrant flowers; bouquets were held out to us by half a score of sunburnt arms at once. The women laughed--_we_ laughed, took one bouquet, and gave two sous, our all.... Left Liége about 9 o'clock--were recognised and greeted by many of the women at their stalls as we passed again through the market-place.... Ascended a very steep hill, on the top of which stands the ruined convent of the Chartreuse, and there we left our carriages to look back upon the fine view of the city, spreading from the ridge of the crescent hill opposite to us (which is, however, somewhat unpleasingly scarified by new fortifications), and over the central plain of the vale, to the magnificent river which, split into many channels, flows at the foot of the eminence where we stood.... Still, as we proceed, we are reminded of England--the fields, even the cottages, and large farm-houses, are English-like; country undulating, and prospects extensive, yet continually some pretty little spot detains the eye; groups of cottages, or single ones, green to the very door.[39] [Footnote 39: Compare in _Tintern Abbey_, ll. 16, 17-- "these pastoral farms, Green to the very door." ED.] _Thursday, July 20th._--_Aix-la-Chapelle._--I went to the Cathedral, a curious building, where are to be seen the chair of Charlemagne, on which the Emperors were formerly crowned, some marble pillars much older than _his_ time, and many pictures; but I could not stay to examine any of these curiosities, and gladly made my way alone back to the inn to rest there. The market-place is a fine old square; but at Aix-la-Chapelle there is always a mighty preponderance of poverty and dulness, except in a few of the showiest of the streets, and even there, a flashy meanness, a slight patchery of things falling to pieces, is everywhere visible.... _Road to Cologne._--At the distance of ten miles we saw before us, over an expanse of open country, the Towers of Cologne. Even at this distance they appeared very tall and bulky; and Mary pointed out that one of them was a ruin, which no other eyes could discover. To the left was a range of distant hills; and, to the right, in front of us, another range--rather a _cluster_--which we looked at with peculiar interest, as guardians and companions of the famous river Rhine, whither we were tending, and (sick and weary though I was) I felt as much of the glad eagerness of hope as when I first visited the Wye, and all the world was fresh and new. Having travelled over the intermediate not interesting country, the massy ramparts of Cologne, guarded by grotesque turrets, the bridges, and heavy arched gateways, the central towers and spires, rising above the concealed mass of houses in the city, excited something of gloomy yet romantic expectation. _Friday, July 21st._--_Cologne._--I busied myself repairing garments already tattered in the journey, at the same time observing the traffic and business of the river, here very wide, and the banks low. I was a prisoner; but really the heat this morning being oppressive, I felt not even a wish to stir abroad, and could, I believe, have been amused more days than one by the lading and unlading of a ferry-boat, which came to and started from the shore close under my window. Steadily it floats on the lively yet smooth water, a square platform, not unlike a section cut out of a thronged market-place, and the busy crowd removed with it to the plain of water. The square is enclosed by a white railing. Two slender pillars rise from the platform, to which the ropes are attached, forming between them an inverted arch, elegant enough. When the boat draws up to her mooring-place, a bell, hung aloft, is rung as a signal for a fresh freight. All walk from the shore, without having an inch to rise or to descend. Carts with their horses wheel away--rustic, yet not without parade of stateliness--the foreheads of the meanest being adorned with scarlet fringes. In the neighbourhood of Brussels (and indeed all through the _Low Countries_), we remarked the large size and good condition of the horses, and their studied decorations, but near Brussels those decorations were the _most_ splendid. A scarlet net frequently half-covered each of the six in procession. The frock of the driver, who paces beside the train, is often handsomely embroidered, and its rich colour (Prussian blue) enlivens the scarlet ornaments of his steeds. But I am straying from my ferry-boat. The first debarkation which we saw early in the morning was the most amusing. Peasants, male and female, sheep, and calves; the women hurrying away, with their cargoes of fruit and vegetables, as if eager to be beforehand with the market. But I will transcribe verbatim from my journal, "written at mid-day," the glittering Rhine spread out before me, in width that helped me to image forth an American lake. * * * * * "It has gone out with a fresh load, and returned every hour; the comers have again disappeared as soon as landed; and now, the goers are gathering together. Two young ladies trip forward, their dark hair _basketed_ round the crown of the head, green bags on their arms, two gentlemen of their party; next a lady with smooth black hair stretched upward from the forehead, and a skull-cap at the top, like a small dish. The gentry passengers seem to arrange themselves on one side, the peasants on the other;--how much more picturesque the peasants! _There_ is a woman in a sober dark-coloured dress; she wears no cap. Next, one with red petticoat, blue jacket, and cap as white as snow. Next, one with a red handkerchief over her head, and a long brown cloak. There a smart female of the bourgeoise--dark shawl, white cap, blue dress. Two women (now seated side by side) make a pretty picture: their attire is scarlet, a pure white handkerchief falling from the head of each over the shoulders. They keep watch beside a curiously constructed basket, large enough to contain the marketing of a whole village. A girl crosses the platform with a handsome brazen ewer hanging on her arm. Soldiers--a dozen at least--are coming in. They take the centre. Again two women in scarlet garb, with a great fruit basket. A white cap next; the same with a green shawl. _There_ is a sunburnt daughter of toil! her olive skin whitens her white head-dress, and she is decked in lively colours. One beside her, who, I see, counts herself of higher station, is distinguished by a smart French mob. I am brought round to the gentry side, which is filled up, as you may easily fancy, with much less variety than the other. A cart is in the centre, its peasant driver, not to be unnoticed, with a polished tobacco-pipe hung over his cleanly blue frock. Now they float away!" _Cologne, Friday, July 21st._--Before I left the interior of the Cathedral, I ought to have mentioned that the side-chapels contain some superb monuments. There is also a curious picture (marvellously rich in enamel and colouring) of the Three Kings of Cologne, and of a small number of the eleven thousand virgins, who were said, after shipwreck, to have landed at this city in the train of St. Ursula. The Huns, who had possession of the city, became enamoured of their beauty; and the fair bevy, to save themselves from persecution, took the veil; in commemoration of which event the convent of St. Ursula was founded, and within the walls of that church an immense number of their skulls (easily turned into eleven thousand), are ranged side by side dressed in green satin caps. We left these famous virgins (though our own countrywomen), unvisited, and many other strange sights; and what wonder? we had but one day; and _I_ saw nothing within gate or door except the Cathedral--not even Rubens's famous picture of the Crucifixion of St. Peter, a grateful offering presented by him as an altar-piece for the church in which he was baptized, and had served as a chorister. Among the outrages committed at Cologne during the Revolution, be it noted that the Cathedral, in 1800, was used as a granary, and that Buonaparte seized on the picture bestowed on his parish church by Rubens, and sent it to Paris. The Three Kings shared the same fate. The houses of Cologne are very old, overhanging, and uncouth; the streets narrow and gloomy in the cheerfulest of their corners or openings; yet oftentimes pleasing. Windows and balconies make a pretty show of flowers; and birds hang on the outside of houses in cages. These sound like cheerful images of active leisure; but with such feeling it is impossible to walk through these streets. Yet it is pleasing to note how quietly a dull life may be varied, and how innocently; though, in looking at the plants which yearly put out their summer blossoms to adorn these decaying walls and windows, I had something of the melancholy which I have felt on seeing a human being gaily dressed--a female tricked out with ornaments, while disease and death were on her countenance. _Cologne, Saturday, July 22nd._--Upon a bright sunny morning, driven by a civil old postilion, we turned our backs upon the cathedral tower of Cologne, an everlasting monument of riches and grandeur, and I fear of devotion passed away; of sublime designs unaccomplished--remaining, though not wholly developed, sufficient to incite and guide the dullest imagination,-- Call up him who left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold![40] [Footnote 40: See _Il Penseroso_, ll. 109, 110.--ED.] Feelingly has Milton selected this story, not from a preference to the subject of it (as has been suggested), but from its paramount accordance with the musings of a melancholy man--in being left _half_-told-- Foundations must be laid In Heaven; for, 'mid the wreck of _is_ and _was_, Things incomplete and purposes betrayed Make sadder transits o'er truth's mystic glass Than noblest objects utterly decayed.[41] [Footnote 41: Compare the sonnet _Malham Cove_, in "Poetical Works," vol. vi. p. 185.--ED.] _Bonn._--The great area of the vale here is a plain, covered with corn, vines, and fruit-trees: the impression is of richness, profusion, amplitude of space. The hills are probably higher than some of our own which we call mountains; but on the spot we named them hills. Such they appeared to our eyes; but when objects are all upon a large scale there is no means of comparing them accurately with others of their kind, which do not bear the same proportions to the objects with which they are surrounded. Those in the neighbourhood of Bonn are of themselves sufficiently interesting in shape and variety of surface: but what a dignity does the form of an ancient castle or tower confer upon a precipitous woody or craggy eminence! Well might this lordly river spare one or two of his castles,--which are too numerous for the most romantic fancy to hang its legends round each and all of them,--well might he spare, to our purer and more humble streams and lakes, one solitary ruin for the delight of our poets of the English mountains! To the right (but let him keep this to himself, it is too grand to be coveted by us) is the large ruined castle of Gottesberg, far-spreading on the summit of the hill--very light and elegant, with one massy tower.... For some miles, the traveller goes through the magnificent plain which from its great width, appears almost circular. Though _unseen_, the River Rhine, we never can forget that it is there! When the vale becomes narrower, one of the most interesting and beautiful of prospects opens on the view from a gentle rising in the road. On an island stands a large grey Convent--sadly pensive among its garden walls and embowering wood. The musket and cannon have spared that sanctuary; and we were told that, though the establishment is dissolved, a few of the Nuns still remain there, attached to the spot;--or probably having neither friends or other home to repair to. On the right bank of the river, opposite to us, is a bold precipice, bearing on its summit a ruined fortress which looks down upon the Convent; and the warlike and religious edifices are connected together by a chivalrous story of slighted, or luckless love, which caused the withdrawing of a fair damsel to the island, where she founded the monastery. Another bold ruin stands upon another eminence adjoining; and all these monuments of former times combine with villages and churches, and dells (between the steeps) green or corn-clad, and with the majestic river (here spread out like a lake) to compose a most affectingly beautiful scene, whether viewed in prospect or in retrospect. Still we rolled along (ah! far too swiftly! and often did I wish that I were a youthful traveller on foot)--still we rolled along--meeting the flowing river, smooth as glass, yet so rapid that the stream of motion is always perceptible, even from a great distance. The riches of this region are not easily to be fancied--the pretty paths--the gardens among plots of vineyard and corn--cottages peeping from the shade--villages and spires--in never-ending variety. The trees, however, in the whole of the country through which we have hitherto passed, are not to be compared with the trees of England, except on the banks of the Meuse. On the Rhine they are generally small in size; much of the wood appears to be cut when young, to spring again. In the little town of Remagan where we changed horses, crowds of people of all ages gathered round us; the beggars, who were indefatigable in clamour, might have been the only inhabitants of the place who had any work to do.... _Andernach._--Departed at about five o'clock. Andernach is an interesting place, both at its entrance from Cologne, and its outlet towards Coblentz. There is a commanding desolation in the first approach; the massy square tower of defence, though bearded by green shrubs, stands, as it were, untameable in its strength, overlooking the half-ruined gateway of the ramparts. Close to the other gate, leading to Coblentz, are seen many picturesque fragments and masses; and the ancient walls shelter and adorn fruitful gardens, cradled in the otherwise now useless trenches. The town itself appears so dull--the inhabitants so poor, that it was almost surprising to observe walks for public use and pleasure, with avenues and arbours on the level adjoining the ramparts. The struggle between melancholy and cheerfulness, fanciful improvements, and rapid decay, leisure and poverty, was very interesting. We had a fine evening; and the ride, though, in comparison with the last, of little interest--the vale of the Rhine being here wide and level, the hills lowered by distance--was far from being a dull one, as long as I kept myself awake. I was roused from sleep in crossing the bridge of the Moselle near Coblentz. _Coblentz, Sunday, July 23rd._--_Cathedral._--The music at our entrance fixed us to our places. The swell was solemn, even _aweful_, sinking into strains of delicious sweetness; and though the worship was to us wholly unintelligible, it was not possible to listen to it without visitings of devotional feeling. Mary's attention was entirely absorbed till the service ceased, and I think she never stirred from her seat. After a little while I left her, and drew towards the railing of the gallery, to look round on the congregation, among whom there appeared more of the old-fashioned gravity, and of antique gentility, than I have seen anywhere else; and the varieties of costume were infinite.... The area of the Cathedral, upon which we looked down from the crowded gallery, was filled with old, middle-aged, and young persons of both sexes; and at Coblentz, even the male dress, especially that of boys and youths, has a pleasing cast of antiquity, reminding one of old pictures--of assemblies in halls,--or of banquets as represented by the Flemish masters. The figure of a young girl tightly laced up in bodice and petticoat, with adornings of gold clasps and neck-chain, beside a youth with open throat and ornamented shirt-collar falling upon the shoulders of a coat of antique cut, especially when there chanced to be near them some matron in her costly robe of seventy years;--these, together, made an exhibition that even had I been a good Catholic, yet fresh from England, might have interfered with my devotions; but where all except the music was an unmeaning ceremony, what wonder that I should be amused in looking round as at a show!... All that we witnessed of bustle or gaiety was near the river, facing the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein; and upon the wide wooden bridge which we crossed in our way to the fortress. Fruit-women were seated on the bridge, and peasants, gentry, soldiers, continually passing to and fro. All but the soldiers paid toll. The citadel stands upon a very lofty bare hill, and the walk was fatiguing; but I beguiled my weariness with the company of a peasant lass, who took pains to understand my broken German, and contrived to make me acquainted with no small part of her family history.... This bonny maiden's complexion was as fresh as a rose, though no kerchief screened it from the sunshine. Many a fierce breeze, and many a burning sun must she have struggled with in her way from the citadel to the town; and, on looking at her, I fancied there must be a stirring and invigorating power in the wind to counteract the cankering effect of the sun, which is so noticeable in the French peasantry on their hot dry plains. No sooner do you set foot in the neighbourhood of Calais than you are struck with it; and, at the same time, with the insensibility of young and old to discomfort from glaring light and heat. Whatever slender shade of willows may be at the door of a hut on the flats between Calais and Gravelines, the female peasants, at their sewing or other work, choose it not, but seat themselves full in the sunshine. Thence comes a habit of wrinkling the cheeks and forehead, so that their faces are mostly ploughed with wrinkles before they are fifty years old. In this country, and all through the Netherlands, the complexions of the people are much fresher and fairer than in France, though _they_ also are much out of doors. This may perhaps be, in part, attributed to the greater quantity of wood scattered over the country, and to the shade of garden and orchard trees.... The view from the summit of the hill of Ehrenbreitstein is magnificent. Beneath, on a large, flat angle, formed by the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle, stands the city, its purple-slated roofs surrounded by many tall buildings--towers and spires, and big palaces among trees. The vale of the Moselle is deep and green, formed by vine-clad steeps, among which the eye, from the heights where we stood, espies many a pleasant village. That of the Rhine is more varied and splendid--with towns that, from their size, the irregularity of their buildings, and the numerous towers and spires, give dignity to the proud river itself, and to the prodigally scattered hills. Downwards we looked through the plain, along which we had travelled the evening before from the town of Andernach, which stands, as Coblentz does, upon a low bank of the Rhine: and there is no eminence between the two towns to obstruct the view. The course of the road, which is widely parted from that of the river, may be seen in a straight line for many miles. We behold below us the junction of the two great rivers; how steady and quiet is their meeting! A little while each goes in his own distinct path, side by side, yet one stream; and they slowly and by degrees unite, each lost in the other--happy type of a tranquil meeting, and joining together in the journey of life! * * * * * Coblentz, as every one knows, was for a long time the headquarters of the French _noblesse_, and other emigrants, during the Revolution; and it is surprising that in the exterior of manners and habits there should be so little to remind the passing traveller of the French. In Ghent and Brussels, it is impossible to forget that you are in towns _not_ making a part of France; yet, in both those places, the French have sown seeds which will never die--their manners, customs, and decorations are everywhere struggling with the native stiffness of the Flemish: but in _Coblentz_ it is merely incidentally that the French courtier or gentleman is brought to mind; and shops, houses, public buildings, are all of the soil where they have been reared--so at least they appeared to us, in our transient view. _St. Goar, Monday, July 24th._-- ... The town, seen from the heights, is very beautiful, with purple roofs, two tall spires, and one tower. On the opposite side of the river we peep into narrow valleys, formed by the lofty hills, on which stand two ruins called, as we were told by our lively attendant, the Katzen and Mausen Towers (_i.e._ the Towers of the Cat and the Mouse). They stare upon each other at safe distance, though near neighbours; and, across the river, the greater fortress of Rheinfels defies them both. A lovely dell runs behind one of the hills; at its opening where it pours out its stream into the Rhine we espied a one-arched Borrowdale bridge, and behind the bridge a village almost buried between the abruptly-rising steeps.... I will transcribe the few words I wrote in my memorandum-book, dated "Beside the Rhine, St. Goar":--"How shall I describe this soothing, this elegant place! The river flows on. I see it flow, yet it is like a lake--the bendings of the hills enclosing it at each end. Here I sit, half-way from the centre of the curve. At the turning of that semi-circular curve stands our Inn; near it is the Post-House, both rather handsome buildings. The town, softened white and purple, the green hills rising abruptly above it. Behind me (but I cannot see it) is the Castle of Rheinfels. On the opposite banks of the river, the vine-clad steeps appear as if covered with fern. It is a sweep of hills that from this point appear _even_-topped. At the foot of one of the dells which we noticed from the Castle eminence, there is a purple roofed town with one spire, and one church or convent tower; and I see the Borrowdale bridge beside the lowly hamlet in the cleft of the other dell. A ferry-boat has been approaching its landing-place with a crew of peasants. They come now slowly up from the shore, a picturesque train in grey attire--no showy colours; and at this moment I can fancy that even that circumstance gives a sweeter effect to the scene, though I have never wished to expel the crimson garments, or the blue, from any landscape." Here let me observe that grey clothing--the pastoral garb of _our_ mountains--does, when it is found on the banks of the Rhine, only look well at a certain distance. It seems not to be worn from choice, but poverty; and in this day's journey we have met with crowds of people whose dress was accordant with the appearance close at hand of their crumbling houses and fortifications. _Bingen, Tuesday, July 25th._--Most delightful to the imagination was our journey of yesterday, still tempting to hope and expectation! Yet wherever we passed through a village or small town the veil of romance was withdrawn, and we were compelled to think of human distress and poverty--their causes how various in a country where Nature has been so bountiful--and, even when removed from the immediate presence of painful objects, there is one melancholy thought which will attend the traveller along the ever-winding course of the Rhine--the thought that of those buildings, so lavishly scattered on the ridges of the heights or lurking in sheltering corners, many _have_ perished, all _are_ perishing, and _will entirely_ perish! Buildings that link together the Past and the Present--times of war and depredation, of piracy, of voyages by stealth and in fear, of superstitious ceremonies, of monastic life, of quiet, and of retreat from persecution! Yet some of the strongest of the fortresses may, for aught I know, endure as long as the rocks on which they have been reared, deserted as they are, and never more be tenanted by pirate, lord, or vassal. The parish churches are in bad repair, and many ruinous.... _Mayence._--I thought of some thriving friar of old times; but last night,[42] in reading Chaucer's Prologue to the _Canterbury Tales_, mine host of the _Tabard_ recalled to my memory our merry master in the dining-room at Mayence. [Footnote 42: This was when writing out her Journal, begun two months after her return to Rydal Mount.--ED.] A seemly man our Hoste was with alle To han bene a Marshal in an Halle; A large man he was--bold of his speech. _Frankfort, Wednesday, July 26th._--The town is large, though you do not feel as if you were walking in a large town. Standing on a perfect level you see no further than the street in which you are, or the one that leads to it; and there is little stirring of people. Two huge palaces are going to ruin. One of these (the Episcopal Palace) of red stone is very handsome in its style of heavy architecture, and there are many public buildings by the river-side. The quay is a cheerful and busy place. After driving a short way on the shore below those lofty buildings, we crossed a bridge of boats; and now (had we proceeded in the same direction as before) we should have had the Rhine on our right hand; but we turned back again, _i.e._ downwards, and still had it on our left for two miles (more or less), not close to us; but always in view broad and majestic, scattered over with vessels of various kinds. Large rafters piled with wood were by the shore, or floating with the stream; and a long row of mills (for grinding corn I suppose) made a curious appearance on the water. We had a magnificent prospect downwards in the _Rheingaw_ (stretching towards Bingen), a district famed for producing finer vines than any other country of the Rhine.[43] The broad hills are enlivened by hamlets, villas, villages, and churches. After about two miles, the road to Wisbaden turns from the river (to the right), and with regret did we part from our majestic companion to meet no more till we should rejoin him for one short day among the rocks of Schaffhausen.... We went to the Cathedral, a very large, but not otherwise remarkable building, in the interior. The people assembled at prayers, sate on benches as in our country churches, and accompanied by the organ were chaunting, and making the responses. We ascend the Tower. It is enormously high; and after an ascent of above five hundred steps, we found a family living in as neatly-furnished a set of apartments as need be seen in any street in Frankfort. A baby in the cradle smiled upon us, and played with the Kreutzers which we gave her. The mother was alert and cheerful--nay, she seemed to glory in her contentment, and in the snugness of her abode. I said to her, "but when the wind blows fiercely how terrible!" and she replied, "Oh nein! es thut nichts." "Oh no! it does no harm." The view from the Cathedral is very extensive. The windings of the river Maine; vessels in their harbours, or smoothly gliding, plains of corn, of forest, of fruit-trees, chateaus, villages, towns, towers and spires; the expanse irregularly bounded by distinct mountains.... [Footnote 43: Hockheim on the right bank of the Rhine, nearly opposite Mayence.--ED.] In the winding staircase, while descending from the Tower, met different people, who seemed to be going to make neighbourly visits to the family above. Passed through the market-place, very entertaining, and nowhere a greater variety of people and of head-dresses than there. The women's caps were high. My eye was caught by a tightly-clad, stiff-waisted lady who wore a gold cap (almost as lofty as a grenadier's) with long lappets of riband behind. I saw no reason why that cap (saving its silken ornaments) might not have belonged to her great grandmother's grandmother. The _Maison de Ville_ stands on one side of a handsome square, in the centre of which is a noble fountain, that used to flow with wine at the crowning of the Emperors. Oxen were roasted in the square, and, in memory of the same, two heads, with their horns, are preserved under the outside of a window of an old church adjoining the _Maison de Ville_. _Heidelberg, Thursday, July 27th._--After dinner, Mary, Miss H., and I set off towards the castle.... The ascent is long and steep, the way plain, and no guide needed, for the castle walks are free; and there--among treasures of art, decaying and decayed, and the magnificent bounties of nature--the stranger may wander the day through. The building is of various dates: it is not good in architecture _as a whole_, though very fine in parts. There is a noble round tower, and the remains of the chapel, and long ranges of lofty and massy wall, often adorned with ivy, the figure of a saint, a lady, or a warrior looking safely from their niches under the ivy bower. The moats, which must long ago have been drained, retain their shape, yet have now the wild luxuriance of sequestered dells. Fruit and forest trees, flowers and grass, are intermingled. I now speak of the more ruinous and the most ancient part of the castle.... We walked upon a platform before the windows, where a band of music used to be stationed, as on the terrace at Windsor--a fine place for festivals in time of peace, and to keep watch in time of war.... From the platform where we stood, the eye (overlooking the city, bridge, and the deep vale, to the point where the Neckar is concealed from view by its winding to the left) is carried across the plain to the dim stream of the Rhine, perceived under the distant hills. The pleasure-grounds are the most delightful I ever beheld; the happiest mixture of wildness, which no art could overcome, and formality, often necessary to conduct you along the ledge of a precipice--whence you may look down upon the river, enlivened by boats, and on the rich vale, or to the more distant scenes before mentioned. One long terrace is supported on the side of the precipice by arches resembling those of a Roman aqueduct; and from that walk the view of the Castle and the Town beneath it is particularly striking. I cannot imagine a more delightful situation than Heidelberg for a University--the pleasures, ceremonies, and distractions of a Court being removed. Parties of students were to be seen in all quarters of the groves and gardens. I am sorry, however, to say that their appearance was not very scholarlike. They wear whatever wild and coarse apparel pleases them--their hair long and disorderly, or rough as a water-dog, throat bare or with a black collar, and often no appearance of a shirt. Every one has his pipe, and they all talk loud and boisterously.... Never surely was any stream more inviting! It flows in its deep bed--stately, yet often turbulent; and what dells, cleaving the green hills, even close to the city! Looking down upon the purple roofs of Heidelberg variously tinted, the spectacle is curious--narrow streets, small squares, and gardens many and flowery. The main street, long and also narrow, is (though the houses are built after no good style) very pretty as seen from the heights, with its two gateways and two towers. The Cathedral (it has an irregular spire) overtops all other edifices, which, indeed, have no grace of architecture, and the University is even mean in its exterior; but, from a small distance, _any_ city looks well that is not modern, and where there is bulk and irregularity, with harmony of colouring. But we did not enter the cathedral, having so much to see out of doors. _Heidelberg, Friday, July 28th._-- ... The first reach of the river for a moment transported our imagination to the Vale of the Wye above Tintern Abbey. A single cottage, with a poplar spire, was the central object.... As we went further, villages appeared. But Mr. P. soon conducted us from the river up a steep hill, and, after a long ascent, he took us aside to a cone-shaped valley, a pleasure-dell--I call it so--for it was terminated by a rural tavern and gardens, seats and alcoves, placed close beside beautiful springs of pure water, spread out into pools and distributed by fountains. A grey stone statue, in its stillness, is a graceful object amid the rushing of water!... Our road along the side of the hill, that still rose high above our heads, led us through shady covert and open glade, over hillock or through hollow; at almost every turning convenient seats inviting us to rest, or to linger in admiration of the changeful prospects, where wild and cultivated grounds seemed equally the darlings of the fostering sun. Many of the hills are covered with forests, which are cut down after little more than thirty years' growth; the ground is then ploughed, and sown with buck-wheat, and afterwards with beech-nuts. The forests of _firs_ (numerous higher up, but not so here) are sown in like manner. Immense quantities of timber are floated down the river. Sometimes in our delightful walk we were led through tracts of vines, all belonging to the Grand Duke. They are as free as the forest thickets and flowery glades, and separated from them by no distinguishable boundary. Whichever way the eye turned, it settled upon some pleasant sight.... Passed through the walled town of Durlach (about two miles from Carlesrhue), the palace deserted by the Duke. Coffee-houses all full, windows open, billiards, wine and smoking, finery, shabbiness and idleness. Large pleasure gardens beyond the barrier-walls, and we enter an avenue of tall poplars, continued all the way to Carlesrhue. After a little while nothing was to be seen but the poplar stems in shape of columns on each side, the leafy part of the trees forming a long black wall above them, so lofty that it appeared to reach the sky, that pale blue roof of the Gothic aisle still contracting in the distance, and seemingly of interminable length. Such an avenue is truly a noble approach to the favoured residence of a _grand_ Duke. _Baden-Baden, July 29th (Saturday)._-- ... Met with old-fashioned civility in all quarters. This little town is a curious compound of rural life, German country-townishness, watering-place excitements, court stateliness, ancient mouldering towers, old houses and new, and a life and cheerfulness over all.... A bright reflection from the evening sky powdered with golden dust that distant vapoury plain, bounded by the chain of purple mountains. We quitted this spectacle with regret when it faded in the late twilight, struggling with the light of the moon. _Road to Homburg._--_Sunday, July 30th._--We were continually reminded of the vales of our own country in this lovely winding valley, where seven times we crossed the clear stream over strong wooden bridges; but whenever in our travels the streams and vales of England have been most called to mind there has been something that marks a difference. Here it is chiefly observable in the large brown wood houses, and in the people--the shepherd and shepherdess gaiety of their dress, with a sort of antiquated stiffness. Groups of children in rustic flower-crowned hats were in several places collected round the otherwise solitary swine-herd.... The sound of the stream (if there be any sound) is a sweet, unwearied, and unwearying under-song, to detain the pious passenger, which he cannot but at times connect with the silent object of his worship. _Road to Schaffhausen._--A part of the way through the uncleared forest was pleasingly wild; juniper bushes, broom, and other woodland plants, among the moss and flowery turf. Before we had finished our last ascent, the postilion told us what a glorious sight we _might_ have seen, in a few moments, had we been here early in the morning or on a fine evening; but, as it was mid-day, nothing was to be expected. That glorious sight which _should_ have been was no less than the glittering prospect of the mountains of Switzerland. We did burst upon an extensive view; but the mountains were hidden; and of the Lake of Constance we saw no more than a vapoury substance where it lay among apparently low hills. This first sight of that country, so dear to the imagination, though then of no peculiar grandeur, affected me with various emotions. I remembered the shapeless wishes of my youth--wishes without hope--my brother's wanderings thirty years ago,[44] and the tales brought to me the following Christmas holidays at Forncett, and often repeated while we paced together on the gravel walk in the parsonage garden, by moon or star light.[45] ... The towers of Schaffhausen appear under the shelter of woody and vine-clad hills, but no greetings from the river Rhine, which is not visible from this approach, yet flowing close to the town.... But at the entrance of the old city gates you cannot but be roused, and say to yourself, "Here is something which I have not seen before, yet I hardly know what." The houses are grey, irregular, dull, overhanging, and clumsy; streets narrow and crooked--the walls of houses often half-covered with rudely-painted representations of the famous deeds of the defenders of this land of liberty.... In place of the splendour of faded aristocracy, so often traceable in the German towns, there is a character of ruggedness over all that we see.... Never shall I forget the first view of the stream of the Rhine from the bank, and between the side openings of the bridge--rapid in motion, bright, and green as liquid emeralds! and wherever the water dashed against tree, stone, or pillar of the bridge, the sparkling and the whiteness of the foam, melting into and blended with the green, can hardly be imagined by any one who has not seen the Rhine, or some other of the great rivers of the Continent, before they are sullied in their course.... The first visible indication of our approach to the cataracts was the sublime tossing of vapour above them, at the termination of a curved reach of the river. Upon the woody hill, above that tossing vapour and foam, we saw the old chateau, familiar to us in prints, though there represented in connection with the falls themselves; and now seen by us at the end of the rapid, yet majestic, sweep of the river; where the ever-springing tossing clouds are all that the eye beholds of the wonderful commotion. But an awful sound ascends from the concealed abyss; and it would almost seem like irreverent intrusion if a stranger, at his first approach to this spot, should not pause and listen before he pushes forward to seek the revelation of the mystery.... We were gloriously wetted and stunned and deafened by the waters of the Rhine. It is impossible even to remember (therefore, how should I enable any one to imagine?) the power of the dashing, and of the sounds, the breezes, the dancing dizzy sensations, and the exquisite beauty of the colours! The whole stream falls like liquid emeralds--a solid mass of translucent green hue; or, in some parts, the green appears through a thin covering of snow-like foam. Below, in the ferment and hurly-burly, drifting snow and masses resembling collected snow mixed with sparkling green billows. We walked upon the platform, as dizzy as if we had been on the deck of a ship in a storm. Mary returned with Mrs. Monkhouse to Schaffhausen, and William recrossed in a boat with Mr. Monkhouse and me, near the extremity of the river's first sweep, after its fall, where its bed (as is usual at the foot of all cataracts) is exceedingly widened, and larger in proportion to the weight of waters. The boat is trusted to the current, and the passage, though long, is rapid. At first, when seated in that small unresisting vessel, a sensation of helplessness and awe (it was not fear) overcame me, but that was soon over. From the centre of the stream the view of the cataract in its majesty of breadth is wonderfully sublime. Being landed, we found commodious seats, from which we could look round at leisure, and we remained till the evening darkness revealed two intermitting columns of fire, which ascended from a forge close to the cataract. [Footnote 44: His first visit to the Alps, with Robert Jones, in 1790.--ED.] [Footnote 45: Compare Dorothy Wordsworth's letters written at Forncett rectory in 1790-91.--ED.] _Monday, July 31st._--_Hornberg._--After this, over the wide country to _Villengen_, a walled town upon the treeless waste, the way unvaried except by distant views of remnants of the forest, and towns or villages, shelterless, and at long distances from each other. They are very striking objects: they stand upon the waste in disconnection with everything else, and one is at a loss to conceive how any particular town came to be placed in _this_ spot or _that_, nature having framed no allurement of valley shelter among the undulations of the wide expanse. Each town stands upon its site, as if it might have been wheeled thither. There is no sympathy, no bond of connection with surrounding fields, not a fence to be seen, no woods for _shelter_, only the dreary black patches and lines of forest, used probably for fuel, and often far fetched. In short, it is an unnatural-looking region. In comparison with the social intermixture of towns, villages, cottages, fruit-trees, corn and meadow land, which we had so often travelled through, the feeling was something like what one has in looking at a dead yet gaudy picture painted by an untutored artist, who first _makes_ his country, then claps upon it, according to his fancy, such buildings as he thinks will adorn it. _Thursday, August 3rd._--_Zurich._--At a little distance from Zurich we remarked a very fine oak tree. Under its shade stood a little building like an oratory, but as we were not among the Roman Catholics it puzzled us. In front of the tree was an elevated platform, resembling the _Mount_ at Rydal, to be ascended by steps. The postilion told us the building was a Chapel whither condemned criminals retired to pray, and there had their hair cut off; and that the platform was the place of execution. _August 4th._--_Lenzburg_.... At six o'clock we caught a glimpse of the castle walls glittering in sunshine, a hopeful sign, and we set forward through the fog. The ruin stands at the brink of a more than perpendicular, an overhanging rock, on the top of a green hill, which rises abruptly from the town. The steepest parts are ascended by hundreds of stone steps, worn by age, often broken, and half-buried in turf and flowers. These steps brought us to a terrace bordered by neatly-trimmed vines; and we found ourselves suddenly in broad sunshine under the castle walls, elevated above an ocean of vapour, which was bounded on one side by the clear line of the Jura Mountains, and out of which rose at a distance what seemed an island, crested by another castle. We then ascended the loftiest of the towers, and the spectacle all around was magnificent, visionary--I was going to say endless, but on one side was the substantial barrier of the Jura. By degrees (the vapours settling or shifting) other castles were seen on island eminences; and the tops of bare or woody hills taking the same island form; while trees, resembling ships, appeared and disappeared, and rainbow lights (scarcely more visionary than the mimic islands) passed over, or for a moment rested on the breaking mists. On the other side the objects were more slowly developed. We looked long before we could distinguish the far-distant Alps, but by degrees discovered them, shining like silver among masses of clouds. The intervening wide space was a sea of vapour, but we stayed on the eminence till the sun had mastery of all beneath us, after a silent process of change and interchange--of concealing and revealing. I hope we were not ungrateful to the memory of past times when (standing on the summit of Helvellyn, Scaw Fell, Fairfield, or Skiddaw) we have felt as if the world itself could not present a more sublime spectacle.... _Herzogenboschee._--At length we dropped asleep, but were soon roused by a fitful sound of gathering winds, heavy rain followed, and vivid flashes of lightning, with tremendous thunder. It was very awful. Mary and I were sitting together, alone, in the open street; a strange situation! yet we had no personal fear. Before the storm began, all the lights had been extinguished except one opposite to us, and another at an inn behind, where were turbulent noises of merriment, with singing and haranguing, in the style of our village politicians. These ceased; and, after the storm, lights appeared in different quarters; pell-mell rushed the fountain; then came a watchman with his dismal recitative song, or lay; the church clock telling the hours and the quarters, and house clocks with their silvery tone; one scream we heard from a human voice; but no person seemed to notice _us_, except a man who came out upon the wooden gallery of his house right above our heads, looked down this way and that, and especially towards the _voitures_.... The beating of the rain, and the rushing of that fountain were continuous, and with the periodical and the irregular sounds (among which the howling of a dog was not the least dismal), completed the wildness of the awful scene, and of our strange situation; sheltered from wet, yet in the midst of it--and exposed to intermitting blasts, though struggling with excessive heat--while flashes of lightning at intervals displayed the distant mountains, and the wide space between; at other times a blank gloom. _Berne._--The fountains of Berne are ornamented with statues of William Tell and other heroes. There is a beautiful order, a solidity, a gravity in this city which strikes at first sight, and never loses its effect. The houses are of one grey hue, and built of stone. They are large and sober, but not heavy or barbarously elbowing each other. On each side is a covered passage under the upper stories, as at Chester, only wider, much longer, and with more massy supporters.... In all quarters we noticed the orderly decency of the passengers, the handsome public buildings, with appropriate decorations symbolical of a love of liberty, of order, and good government, with an aristocratic stateliness, yet free from show or parade.... The green-tinted river flows below--wide, full, and impetuous. I saw the snows of the Alps burnished by the sun about half an hour before his setting. After that they were left to their wintry marble coldness, without a farewell gleam; yet suddenly the city and the cathedral tower and trees were singled out for favour by the sun among his glittering clouds, and gilded with the richest light. A few minutes, and that glory vanished. I stayed till evening gloom was gathering over the city, and over hill and dale, while the snowy tops of the Alps were still visible. _Sunday, August 6th._--Upon a spacious level adjoining the cathedral are walks planted with trees, among which we sauntered, and were much pleased with the great variety of persons amusing themselves in the same way; and how we wished that one, at least, of our party had the skill to sketch rapidly with the pencil, and appropriate colours, some of the groups or single figures passing before us, or seated in sun or shade. Old ladies appeared on this summer parade dressed in flycaps, such as were worn in England fifty years ago, and broad-flowered chintz or cotton gowns; the bourgeoises, in grave attire of black, with tight white sleeves, yet seldom without ornament of gold lacing, or chain and ear-rings, and on the head a pair of stiff transparent butterfly wings, spread out from behind a quarter of a yard on each side, which wings are to appearance as thin as gauze, but being made of horse-hair, are very durable, and the larger are even made of wire. Among these were seen peasants in shepherdess hats of straw, decorated with flowers and coloured ribands, pretty little girls in grandmother's attire, and ladies _à la française_. We noticed several parties composed of persons dressed after these various modes, that seemed to indicate very different habits and stations in society--the peasant and the lady, the petty shopkeeper and the wealthy tradesman's wife, side by side in friendly discourse. But it is impossible by words to give a notion of the enlivening effect of these little combinations, which are also interesting as evidences of a state of society worn out in England. Here you see formality and simplicity, antiquated stateliness and decent finery brought together, with a pervading spirit of comfortable equality in social pleasures. * * * * * _Monday, August 7th._--I sate under an elm tree, looking down the woody steep to the lake, and across it, to a rugged mountain; no villages to be seen, no houses; the higher Alps shut out. I could have forgotten Switzerland, and fancied myself transported to one of the lonesome lakes of Scotland. I returned to my open station to watch the setting sun, and remained long after the glowing hues had faded from those chosen summits that were touched by his beams, while others were obscurely descried among clouds in their own dark or snowy mantle.... Met with an inscription on a grey stone in a little opening of the wood, and would have copied it, for it was brief, but could not see to read the letters, and hurried on, still choosing the track that seemed to lead most directly downwards, and was indeed glad when I found myself again in the public road to the town.... Late as it was, and although twilight had almost given place to the darkness of a fine August night, I was tempted aside into a broad flat meadow, where I walked under a row of tall poplars by the river-side. The castle, church, and town appeared before us in stately harmony, all hues of red roofs and painting having faded away. Two groups of giant poplars rose up, like Grecian temples, from the level between me and the mass of towers and houses. In the smooth water the lingering brightness of evening was reflected from the sky; and lights from the town were seen at different heights on the hill. _Thun, Tuesday, August 8th._--The Lake of Thun is essentially a lake of the Alps. Its immediate visible boundary, third or fourth-rate mountains; but overtopping these are seen the snowy or dark summits of the Jungfrau, the Eiger, the Stockhorn, the Blumlis Alp, and many more which I cannot name; while the Kander, and other raging streams, send their voices across the wide waters. The remains of a ruined castle are sometimes seen upon a woody or grassy steep--pleasing remembrances of distant times, but taking no primary place in the extensive landscape, where the power of nature is magisterial, and where the humble villages composed of numerous houses clustering together near the lake, do not interfere with the impressions of solitude and grandeur. Many of those villages must be more than half-deserted when the herdsmen follow their cattle to the mountains. Others of their numerous inhabitants find subsistence by fishing in the lake. We floated cheerfully along, the scene for ever changing. On the eastern side, to our left, the shores are more populous than on the western; one pretty village succeeded another, each with its spire, till we came to a hamlet, all of brown wood houses, except one large white dwelling, and no church. The villages are not, as one may say, in close neighbourhood; but a substantial solitary house is sometimes seen between them. The eminences on this side, as we advance, become very precipitous, and along the ridge of one of them appears a wall of rocks with turrets, resembling a mighty fortification. The boatmen directed our ears to the sound of waterfalls in a cleft of the mountain; but the _sight_ of them we must leave to other voyagers.... The broad pyramidal mountain, Niesen, rising directly from the lake on the western side towards the head, is always a commanding object. Its _form_ recalled to my remembrance some of the stony pyramids of Glencoe, but _only_ its form, the surface being covered with green pasturage. Sometimes, in the course of the morning, we had been reminded of our own country; but transiently, and never without a sense of characteristic difference. Many of the distinctions favourable to Switzerland I have noticed; and it seems as if I were ungrateful to our own pellucid lakes, those darlings of the summer breezes! But when floating on the Lake of Thun we did not forget them. The greenish hue of its waters is much less pleasing than the cerulean or purple of the lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland; the reflections are less vivid; shore and water do not so delicately blend together; hence a coasting voyage cannot be accompanied with an equal variety of minute objects. And I might add many other little circumstances or incidents that enliven the banks of our lakes. For instance, in a summer forenoon, the troops of cattle that are seen solacing themselves in the cool waters within the belt of a pebbly shore; or, if the season do not drive them thither, how they beautify the pastures, and rocky unenclosed grounds! While on the Lake of Thun we did not see a single group of cattle of any kind. I have not spoken of that _other_ sky, "received into the bosom" of our lakes, on tranquil summer evenings; for the time of day prevented our being reminded in the same degree of what we have so often beheld at such times; but it is obvious that, though the reflections from _masses_ of brilliant clouds must often be very grand, the clouds in their delicate hues and forms cannot be seen, in the same soft distinctness, "bedded in another sky."... In this pleasing valley we whirled away, again (as to the first sound of a Frenchman's whip in the streets of Calais) as blithe as children; when all at once, looking through a narrow opening of green and craggy mountains, the Jungfrau (the Virgin) burst upon our view, dazzling in brightness, which seemed rather heightened than diminished by a mantle of white clouds floating over the bosom of the mountain. The effect was indescribable. We had before seen the snows of the Alps at a distance, propped, as I may say, against the sky, or blending with, and often indistinguishable from it; and now, with the suddenness of a pantomimic change, we beheld a great mountain of snow, very near to us as it appeared, and in combination with hills covered with flourishing trees, in the pride of summer foliage. Our mirth was checked; and, awe-struck yet delighted, we stopped the car for some minutes. Soon after we discovered the town of Unterseen, which stands right under the hill, and close to the river Aar, a most romantic spot, the large, ancient wooden houses of the market-place joining each other, yet placed in wondrous disregard of order, and built with uncouth and grotesque variety of gallery and pent-house. The roofs are mostly secured from the wind by large rough stones laid upon them. At the end of the town we came to a bridge which we were to pass over; and here, almost as suddenly, was the river Aar presented to our view as the maiden-mountain in her resplendent garb had been before. Hitherto the river had been concealed by, or only partially seen through, the trees; but at Unterseen it is imperious, and will be heard, seen, and felt. In a fit of rage it tumbles over a craggy channel, spreading out and dividing into different streams, crossed by the long, ponderous wooden bridge, that, steady and rugged, adds to the wild grandeur of the spectacle.... I recollect one woody eminence far below us, about which we doubted whether the object on its summit was rock or castle, and the point remained undecided until, on our way to Lauterbrunnen, we saw the same above our heads, on its perpendicular steep, a craggy barrier fitted to war with the tempests of ten thousand years. If summer days had been at our command we should have remained till sunset upon our chosen eminence; but another, on the opposite side of the vale, named the Hohlbuhl, invited us, and we determined to go thither. Yet what could be looked for more delightful than the sights which, by stirring but a few yards from our elastic couch on the crags, we might see all round us? On one side, the river Aar streaming through the verdant vale; on the other, the pastoral, walnut-tree plain, with its one chapel and innumerable huts, bounded by varied steeps, and leading the eye, and still more the fancy, into its recesses and to the snowy barrier of the Jungfrau. We descended on the side opposite to that by which we climbed the hill, along an easy and delightful track, cut in the forest among noble trees, chiefly beeches. Winding round the hill, we saw the bridge above the inn, which we must cross to reach the foot of the other eminence. We hurried along, through fields, woody lanes, and beside cottages where children offered us nosegays gathered from their shady gardens. Every image, every object in the vale was soothing or cheerful: it seemed a paradise cradled in rugged mountains. At many a cottage door we could have loitered till daylight was gone. The way had appeared short at a distance, but we soon found out our want of skill in measuring the vales of Switzerland, and long before we had reached the foot of the hill, perceived that the sun was sinking, and would be gone before our labour was ended. The strong pushed forward; and by patience _I_ too, at last gained the desired point a little too late; for the brilliance had deserted all but the highest mountains. They presented a spectacle of heavenly glory; and long did we linger after the rosy lights had passed away from their summits, and taken a station in the calm sky above them.[46] It was ten o'clock when we reached the inn. [Footnote 46: After the sunshine has left the mountain-tops the sky frequently becomes brighter, and of the same hue as if the light from the hills had retreated thither.--D. W.] _Brienz, Wednesday, August 9th._-- ... There was something in the exterior of the people belonging to the inn at Brienz that reminded one of the ferry-houses in the Highlands--a sort of untamed familiarity with strangers, and an expression of savage fearlessness in danger. While we were waiting at the door, a company of females came up, returning from harvest labours in the Vale of Berne to their homes at the head of the lake. They gathered round, eyeing us steadily, and presently a girl began to sing, another joined, a third, a fourth, and then a fifth, their arms gracefully laid over each other's shoulders. Large black or straw hats shaded their heads, undecked with ribands, and their attire was grey; the air they sang was plaintive and wild, without sweetness, yet not harsh. The group collected round that lonely house on the river's edge would have made a pretty picture.... The shore of Brienz, as far as we saw it, is much richer in intricate graces than the shores of the Lake of Thun. Its little retiring bays and shaggy rocks reminded me sometimes of Loch Ketterine. Our minstrel peasants passed us on the water, no longer singing _plaintive_ ditties, such as inspired the little poem which I shall transcribe in the following page; but with bursts of merriment they rowed lustily away. The poet has, however, transported the minstrels in their gentle mood from the cottage door to the calm lake. "What know we of the Blest above But that they sing and that they love?" Yet if they ever did inspire A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir, Now, where those harvest Damsels float Homeward in their rugged Boat (While all the ruffling winds are fled, Each slumbering on some mountain's head) Now, surely, hath that gracious aid Been felt, that influence display'd. Pupils of Heaven, in order stand The rustic Maidens, every hand Upon a Sister's shoulders laid,-- To chant, as Angels do above, The melodies of Peace, in love![47] [Footnote 47: See the "Poetical Works," vol. vi. p. 315, in "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820," _Scene on the Lake of Brientz_.--ED.] _Interlachen, Thursday, August 10th._--Many a streamlet crossed our way, after tumbling down the hills--sometimes as clear as the springs of our Westmoreland mountains, but the instant they touched the glacier river of the valley their pure spirit was lost--annihilated by its angry waters. I have seen a muddy and a transparent streamlet at a few yards' distance hurrying down the same steep; in one instance the two joined at the bottom, travelled side by side in the same track, remaining distinct though joined together, as if each were jealous of its own character. Yielding to mild necessity, they slowly blended, ere both, in turbulent disrespect, were swallowed up by the master torrent. The Jungfrau (till then hidden except a small portion of its summit) burst upon our view, covered with snow from its _apparent_ base to its highest pike. We had been ascending nearly four hours; and all at once the wintery mountain appeared before us; of majestic bulk, though but a small part of that mass springing from the same foundation, some of the pikes of which are seen far and wide from every quarter of the compass; and we, after all this climbing, seemed not nearer to the top than when we had viewed what _appeared_ to be the highest summits from below. We were all on foot, and (at the moment when, about to turn to our left and coast along the side of the hill which, sloping down to the base of the snowy mountain, forms a hollow between) suddenly we heard a tremendous noise--loud like thunder; and all stood still. It was the most awful sound which had ever struck upon our ears. For some minutes, we did not utter a single word:--and when the sound was dying away exclaimed, "It is an avalanche!" eagerly asking "where?" and whence it had come. The guide pointed to a very small and almost perpendicular _rivulet_ (as it appeared to us) perfectly white--and dashing down the mountains--"That," said he, "is the Avalanche!" We could not _believe_ that such mighty tumult had proceeded from a little rill (to _our eyes_ it was nothing else, though composed of falling masses of snow, and probably ice), and I suspect we were loth to leave the mystery explained: however, we were compelled to yield to our guide's experience, seeing a few minutes after, the motion of the little white rill or torrent gradually settle till all was gone, and perfect silence succeeded, silence more awful even than the noise which had preceded it. The hollow alongside of which our course lay might be in length half a league. On our right was the Jungfrau in stillness of deepest winter; and the opposite hill, the Wengern, was carpeted with green grass and flowers. _These_ heights were pastured by cattle, and we began to hear the tinkling of their bells, and shouts from boys at a distance; but no other stirring till we reached a single hut near the end of the sloping hollow, the only one visible hereabouts. At the door of the hut, our steeds were let loose to pasture, and we entered. Two or three young men and boys displayed the stores of their cupboard--one little piece of wheaten bread to help out the small supply which we had brought, plenty of cheese, and milk in abundance. It was not better than a savage shelter; and the youths looked as if they had had no valley culture; simple goodwill, however, cheerful smiles and stores proffered without reserve made all delightful, and had a shower and a wintry blast visited us from the Jungfrau we should have rejoiced in the comfort of that shelter; but the sun shone with _peculiar_ brightness, enriching the soft green ground, and giving dazzling brilliancy to the snow. We desired our attendants to bring their stores into the open air, and seated ourselves on the turf beside the _household_ spring (so let me call it, though but a child of summer at the foot of the icy mountain), the warm sun shone upon us; the air invigorated our spirits and we were as gay as larks, that soar in a region far below _ours_ on that happy afternoon. Again we heard the thunder of avalanches, and saw them bursting out, fresh foaming springs. The sound is loud as thunder, but more metallic and musical. It also may be likened to the rattling of innumerable chariots passing over rocky places.... Soon the vale lay before us, with its two glaciers, and--as it might seem--its thousand cabins sown upon the steeps. The descent[48] became so precipitous that all were obliged to walk. Deep we go into the broad cradle-valley, every cottage we passed had its small garden, and cherry-trees sprinkled with leaves, bearing half-grown, half-ripe fruit. In plunging into this vale I was overcome with a sense of melancholy pervading the whole scene--not desolation, or dreariness. It is not the melancholy of the Scotch Highlands, but connected with social life in loneliness, not less than with the strife of all the seasons.... The sunshine had long deserted the valley, and was quitting the summits of the mountains behind the village; but red hues, dark as the red of rubies, settled in the clouds, and lingered there after the mountains had lost all but their cold whiteness, and the black hue of the crags. The gloomy grandeur of this spectacle harmonised with the melancholy of the vale; yet it was _heavenly glory_ that hung over those cold mountains. [Footnote 48: From the Wengern Alp.--D. W.] _Grindelwald, Friday, August 11th._--_Scheideck to Meiringen._--To our right, looking over the green cradle of the vale, we saw the glacier, with the stream issuing from beneath an arch of solid ice--the small pyramids around it of a greyish colour, mingled with vitriol green. The bed of icy snow above looked sullied, so that the glacier itself was not beautiful, like what we had read of; but the mass of mountains behind, their black crags and shadows, and the awful aspect of winter encroaching on the valley-domain (combinations so new to us) made ample amends for any disappointment we might feel.... The rain came on in heavy drops, but did not drive us to the closer shelter of the house. We heeded not the sprinkling which a gust of wind sometimes sent in upon us. Good fortune had hitherto favoured us; and, even if we had been detained at that house all night, the inconvenience would have been trifling. Our spirits were uplifted, and we felt as if it would be a privilege to be admitted to a near acquaintance with Alpine storms. This at least was my feeling, till the threatenings were over; and then, by happy transition, I gladly hailed the bursting light of the sun that flashed upon the crags, seen by glimpses between the dispersing clouds. The interior of the house was roomy and warm; and, though the floors were of the bare soil, everything looked cleanly; the wooden vessels were pretty, ladles and spoons curiously carved, and all neatly arranged on shelves. Three generations, making a numerous family, were there living together in the summer season, with their cattle on the rough pastures round them:[49] no doubt the main support of the household, but the gains from travellers must be considerable. We were surprised at being asked if we chose coffee. Hardly should we have deserved our welcome shelter had we not preferred the peasant's fare--cheese, milk, and cream, with the addition of bread fetched from the vale; and I must not omit a dish of fruit--bilberries--here very fine. Indeed most of our mountain plants, except the branchy fern and the common daisy (which we rarely saw), grow in lavish beauty, and many others unknown to us, that enamel the turf like gems. The monkshood of our gardens, growing at a great height on the Alps, has a brighter hue than elsewhere. It is seen in tufts, that to my fancy presented fairy groves upon the green grass, and in rocky places, or under trees. [Footnote 49: All these Alps are occupied by owners of land in the valleys, who have a right in common according to the quantity of their land. The cheeses, like the rest of the produce, are the property of all, and the distribution takes place at the end of the season.--D. W.] The storm over, we proceeded, still in the forest, which led us through different compartments of the vale, each of itself a little valley of the loveliest greenness, on all sides skirted with pine-trees, and often sprinkled with huts, the summer dwellings of the herdsmen. Sometimes (seen through a lateral opening) a meadow glade, not much larger than a calf-garth, would have its single dwelling; but the memory of one particular spot--the perfect image of peace and pastoral seclusion--remains with me as vividly as when, apart from my companions, I travelled over its soft carpet of turf. That valley-reach might be in length a quarter of a mile or more, and of proportionate width, surrounded by hills covered with pines, overtopped by craggy mountains. It was an apparently level plain, as smooth as velvet, and our course through the centre. On our right flowed the grey stream from the glaciers, with chastened voice and motion; and, on the other, were many cabins in an almost formal line, separated from each other, and elevated upon wooden pillars, the grass growing round and under them. There was not a sound except of the gushing stream; no cattle to be seen, nor any living creature. * * * * * Our way continued through interchange of pastoral and forest ground. Crossed a bridge, and then had the stream to our left in a rocky gulf overhung with trees, chiefly beeches and elms; sawing-mills on the river very picturesque. It is impossible to imagine a more beautiful descent than was before us to the vale of Hasli. The roaring stream was our companion; sometimes we looked down upon it from the edge of a lofty precipice; sometimes descended towards it, and could trace its furious course for a considerable way. The torrent bounded over rocks, and still went foaming on, no pausing-places, no gentle windings, no pools under the innumerable smaller cataracts; the substance and the grey hue still the same, whether the stream rushed in one impetuous current down a regularly rough part of its steep channel, or laboured among rocks in cloud-shaped heavings, or in boisterous fermentation.... We saw the cataract[50] through an open window. It is a tremendous one, but, wanting the accompaniments of overhanging trees, and all the minor graces which surround our waterfalls--overgrowings of lichen, moss, fern, and flowers--it gives little of what may be called pleasure. It was astonishment and awe--an overwhelming sense of the powers of nature for the destruction of all things, and of the helplessness of man--of the weakness of his will if prompted to make a momentary effort against such a force. What weight and speed of waters! and what a tossing of grey mist! Though at a considerable distance from the fall, when standing at the window, a shower of misty rain blew upon us. [Footnote 50: The Fall of the Reichenbach.--ED.] _Meiringen, Saturday, August 12th._--Again crossed the river; then up a bare precipice, and along a gallery hewn out of the rock. Downwards to the valley more bare and open; a sprinkling of pines, among which the peasants were making hay. Hamlets and single huts not far asunder: no thought of dreariness crossed my mind; yet a pensiveness was spread over the long valley, where, year by year, the same simple employments go on in succession, and where the tempests of winter are patiently endured, and thoughtfully guarded against.... The _châlet_ at Handek is large; four long apartments, in one of which our mules rested. Several men were living there for the summer season, but no women. They served us with the same kindliness we had experienced on the Wengern and Scheidegg Alps, but with slowness and gravity. These men were very tall, and had a sedate deportment, generally noticed I find by travellers in Ober Hasli, where the race has for centuries been distinguished by peculiar customs, manners, and habits.... From the brink of a rock we looked down the falls, and along the course of the torrent. The spectacle was tremendous, and, from that point, not less beautiful. The position of the sun here favoured us; and we beheld the arch of a bright rainbow, steadily poised on the cloud of vapour below us that burst out of the terrific waters. We looked down with awe upon the river, throwing His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink, yet at first hardly without personal fear. The noise was so great we could not help fancying it shook the very rock on which we stood. That feeling passed away.... While I lay on my bed, the terrible solitudes of the Wetterhorn were revealed to me by fits--its black chasms, and snowy, dark, grey summits. All night, and all day, and for ever, the vale of Meiringen is sounding with torrents. _Meiringen, Sunday, August 13th._--Rain over, and the storm past away, long before the sunshine had touched the top of any other mountain, the snow upon the Wetterhorn shone like silver, and its grey adamantine towers appeared in a soft splendour all their own. I looked in vain for the rosy tints of morning, of which I had so often heard; but they could not have been more beautiful than the silvery brightness.... _Lake of Lungern._--At an upper window of one of a cluster of houses at the foot of the valley, a middle-aged man, with a long beard, was kneeling with a book in his hand. He fixed his eyes upon us, and, while his devotions were still going on, made me a bow. I passed slowly, and looked into that house with prying eyes, it was so different from any other, and so much handsomer. The wooden ceiling of the room, where the friar or monk (such I suppose him to be) knelt at his prayers, was curiously inlaid and carved, and the walls hung with pictures. The picturesque accompaniments of the Roman Catholic religion, the elegant white chapels on the hills, the steady grave people going to church, and the cheerfulness of the valley, had put me into good humour with the religion itself; but, while we were passing through this very hamlet, and close to the mansion of the godly man, Mr. M. having lost the cork of a little flask, I asked the guide to buy or beg for us another at one of the cottages, and he shook his head, assuring me they would neither give nor sell anything to us Protestants, except in the regular way of trade. They would do nothing for us out of goodwill. I had been too happy in passing through the tranquil valley to be ready to trust my informer, and, having first obliged him to make the request, I asked myself at two respectable houses, and met with a refusal, and no very gracious looks.... _Sarnen, Monday, August 14th._--The road to the monastery is marked by small pillars of grey stone, not more than a quarter of a mile asunder. At the top of each pillar is a square cupboard, as I may call it, or it more resembles the head of a clock, where, secure from the rain, are placed paintings of the history of our Saviour from His birth to His ascension. Some of the designs are very pretty (taken, no doubt, from better pictures) and they generally tell their tale intelligibly. The pillars are in themselves pleasing objects in connection with the background of a crag or overhanging tree--a streamlet, or a bridge--and how touchingly must their pictured language have spoken to the heart of many a weary devotee! The ascent through the forest was interesting on every account. It led us sometimes along the brink of precipices, and always far above the boisterous river. We frequently met, or were overtaken, by peasants (mostly bearing heavy burthens). We spoke to each other; but here I could not understand three words of their language, nor they of mine. _Engelberg, Mount Titlis, Tuesday, August 15th._--We breakfasted in view of the flashing, silver-topped Mount Titlis, and its grey crags, a sight that roused William's youthful desires; and in spite of weak eyes, and the weight of fifty winters, he could not repress a longing to ascend that mountain.... But my brother had had his own visions of glory, and, had he been twenty years younger, sure I am that he would have trod the summit of the Titlis. Soon after breakfast we were warned to expect the procession, and saw it issuing from the church. Priests in their white robes, choristers, monks chanting the service, banners uplifted, and a full-dressed image of the Virgin carried aloft. The people were divided into several classes; the men, bareheaded; and maidens, taking precedency of the married women, I suppose, because it was the festival of the Virgin. The procession formed a beautiful stream upon the green level, winding round the church and convent. Thirteen hundred people were assembled at Engelberg, and joined in this service. The unmarried women wore straw hats, ornamented with flowers, white bodices, and crimson petticoats. The dresses of the elder people were curious. What a display of neck-chains and ear-rings! of silver and brocaded stomachers! Some old men had coats after the mode of the time of _The Spectator_, with worked seams. Boys, and even young men, wore flowers in their straw hats. We entered the convent; but were only suffered to go up a number of staircases, and through long whitewashed galleries, hung with portraits of saints, and prints of remarkable places in Switzerland, and particularly of the vale and convent of Engelberg, with plans and charts of the mountains, etc. There are now only eighteen monks; and the abbot no longer exists: his office, I suppose, became extinct with his temporal princedom.... I strolled to the chapel, near the inn, a pretty white edifice, entered by a long flight of steps. No priest, but several young peasants, in shepherdess attire of jackets, and showy petticoats, and flowery hats, were paying their vows to the Virgin. A colony of swallows had built their nests within the cupola, in the centre of the circular roof. They were flying overhead; and their voices seemed to me an harmonious accompaniment to the silent devotions of those rustics. _Lucerne, Wednesday, August 16th._--Lucerne stands close to the shore at the foot of the lake of the four cantons. The river Reuss, after its passage from the mountain of St. Gothard, falls into that branch called the Lake of Uri, and issues out of another branch at Lucerne, passing through the town. The river has three long wooden bridges; and another bridge, 1080 feet in length, called the Cathedral Bridge, crosses a part of the lake, and leads to the Cathedral. Thither we repaired, having first walked the streets, and purchased a straw hat for 12 francs, at the shop of a pleasant talkative milliner, on whose counter, taking up a small pamphlet (a German magazine), we were surprised at opening upon our own name, and, still more, surprised to find it in connection with my brother's poem on the Duddon, so recently published. But I was going to lead you to the end of the long bridge under a dark roof of wood, crossed and sustained by heavy beams, on each of which, on both sides--so that they face you both in going and returning--some portion of Scripture history is represented; beginning with Adam and Eve, and ending with the resurrection and ascension of Christ. These pictures, to the number of 230--though, to be sure, woful things as works of art--are by no means despicable daubs; and, while I looked at them myself, it pleased me much more to see the peasants, bringing their burthens to the city, often stay their steps, with eyes cast upwards. The lake is seen through the openings of the bridge; pleasant houses, not crowded, on its green banks.... It was dark when we reached the inn. We took tea at one end of the unoccupied side of the table in the _salle-à-manger_; while, on the other side, a large party were at supper. Before we had finished, a bustle at the door drew our attention to a traveller; rather an odd figure appeared in a greatcoat. Mary said, "He is like Mr. Robinson." He turned round while talking German, with loud voice, to the landlord; and, all at once, we saw that it was Mr. Robinson himself. Our joy cannot be expressed. If he had brought the half of old England along with him, we could not have been more glad. We started up with one consent; and, no doubt, all operations at the supper-table were suspended; but we had no eyes for that. Mr. Robinson introduced two young men, his companions, an American and a Scotchman--genteel, modest youths, who (the ceremony of introduction over) slipped away to the supper-table, wishing to leave us to ourselves. We were indeed happy--and Mr. Robinson was not less so. He seemed as if he had in one moment found two homes, his English home, and his home in Germany, though it were in the heart of Switzerland. _Lucerne, Friday, August 18th._--Merrily we floated between the soft banks of the first reach of the lake, keeping near the left shore.[51] Plots of corn interspersed among trees and green slopes, with pleasant houses, not neighbouring one another, as at Zurich, nor yet having a character of loneliness. Then we come to low shaggy rocks, forming pretty little bays, and a singular rock appears before us in the water, the terminating point of the promontory. That point passed, the Kusnach branch opening out on our left hand, we are soon on the body of the lake, from which the four smaller branches of Lucerne, Winkel, Alpnach, and Kusnach may be said to proceed. The lake is full and stately; the mountains are magnificent. The town of Lucerne, its red roofs softened (even in the sunshine of this bright day) by distance, is an elegant termination of its own compartment, backed by low hills. Rowing round the rocky point, we lose sight of that quarter: the long Reach of Kusnach is before us, bordered by soft shores with thinly-scattered villages, and but few detached cottages. Behind us, the lake stretches out to Mount Pilatus, dark, rugged, and lofty--the Sarnen and Meiringen mountains beyond; and the summits surrounding the hidden valley of Engelberg in the opposite quarter. [Footnote 51: Which is in fact the _right_ bank as we were going _up_ the Lake.--D. W.] _Top of Rigi, Saturday, August 19th._--At Goldau the valley desolation begins. It bears the name of the former village buried in ruins; and is now no more than three or four houses and a church built on the same site. Masses of barren rubbish lie close to the houses, where but a few years past, nothing was seen but fruitful fields. We dined at the inn, and were waited on by the landlady, whose head-dress was truly surprising. She wore from the back of the neck to the forehead a cap shaped like a one-arched bridge with high parapets of stiff muslin; the path of the bridge covered with artificial flowers--wonderously unbecoming; for she was a plain woman--not young--and her hair (I think powdered) was drawn tight up from the forehead. She served us with very small fish, from the lake, excellently cooked, boiled milk, eggs, an omelet, and dessert. From the room where we dined we had a view of the Lake of Zong, formerly separated from the small Lake of Lowertz only by _fertile_ grounds, such as we now beheld stretching down to its shores. Yes! from a window in that house on its desolate site we beheld this lovely prospect; and nothing of the desolation. _Seewen, August 20th, Sunday._--A small white Church, with a graceful Tower, mitre-topped and surmounted by a slender spire, was in prospect, upon an eminence in the Vale, and thitherward the people led us. Passing through the small village of Engelbole, at the foot of that green eminence, we ascended to the churchyard, where was a numerous assemblage (you must not forget it was Sunday) keeping festival. It was like a _Fair_ to the eye; but no squalls of trumpets or whistles--no battering of children's drums--all the people quiet, yet cheerful--cakes and fruit spread abundantly on the churchyard wall. A beautiful prospect from that spot--new scenes to tempt us forward! We descended, by a long flight of steps, into the Vale, and, after about half a mile's walking, we arrived at _Brunnen_. Espied Wm. and M. upon a crag above the village, and they directed us to the Eagle Inn, where I instantly seated myself before a window, with a long Reach of the Lake of Uri[52] before me, the magnificent commencement to our _regular_ approach to the St. Gothard Pass of the Alps. My first feeling was of extreme delight in the excessive _beauty_ of the scene;--I had expected something of a more awful impression from the Lake of Uri; but nothing so _beautiful_. [Footnote 52: The head Branch of the Lake of the Four Cantons.--D. W.] It was a moonlight night;--rather a night of fitful moonshine; for large clouds were driving rapidly over the narrow arch of sky above the town [Altorf]. A golden cross, upon one of the steeples, shone forth at times as bright as a star in heaven, against the black mountain-wall, while the transient touchings of the moonlight produced a most romantic effect upon the many-coloured paintings on the wall of the old Tower. I sate a long time at my window keeping watch, and wishing for a companion, that I might walk. At length, however, when I was preparing to go to bed (after ten o'clock) Mr. R. tapped at my door to tell me that Mr. M. was going out. I hastily re-dressed myself, and we two then sallied forth together. A fierce hot wind drove through the streets, whirling aloft the dust of the ruins, which almost blinded our eyes. We got a hasty glimpse of the moon perched on the head of a mountain pike--a moment and it was gone--then passed through the long street. Houses and ruins picturesque in the uncertain light--with a stateliness that does not belong to them by day--hurried on to the churchyard, which, being on an eminence, gave us another view of the moon wandering among clouds, above the jagged ridges of the steeps:--thence homewards struggling with the hot wind. _Some_ matters are curiously managed on the Continent, a folding door, the sole entrance to my chamber, only separated it from the salon where, at my return, guests were at supper. I heard every word they spoke as distinctly as if I had been of the party, though without understanding more than that a careful father was travelling with his two boys, to whom he talked incessantly; but so kindly and pleasantly that I hardly wished to get rid of his voice. We had broad flashes of lightning after I was in bed, but no thunder. This reminds me that we could have no fresh bread for breakfast in the morning, the bakers having, as we were told, been prohibited (since the destructive fire) under a heavy penalty, from heating their ovens except when the air is calm. I think it must often be the lot of the good people of Altorf to gnaw a hard crust; for these mountains are fine brewing-places for the winds; and the vale a very trough to receive and hold them fast. A smart young maiden was to introduce us to the interior of the ivied Tower, so romantic in its situation above the roaring stream, at the mouth of the glen, which, behind, is buried beneath overhanging woods. We ascended to the upper rooms by a blind staircase that might have belonged to a turret of one of our ancient castles, which conducted us into a Gothic room, where we found neither the ghost nor the armour of William Tell; but an artist at work with the pencil; with two or three young men, his pupils, from Altorf. No better introduction to the favour of one of those young men was required than that of our sprightly female attendant. From this little academy of the arts, drawings are dispersed, probably, to every country of the continent of Europe. Mr. M. selected two from a very large collection. _Monday, August 20th._[53]--_Altorf._--We found our own comfortable Inn, THE OX, near the fountain of William Tell. The buildings here are fortunately disposed--with a pleasing irregularity. Opposite to our Inn stands the Tower of the Arsenal, built upon the spot where grew the Linden-tree to which Tell's son is reported to have been bound when the arrow was shot. This tower was spared by the fire which consumed an adjoining building, _happily_ spared, if only for the sake of the rude paintings on its walls. I studied them with infinite satisfaction, especially the face of the innocent little boy with the apple on his head. After dinner we walked up the valley to the reputed birthplace of Tell: it is a small village at the foot of a glen, rich yet very wild. A rude unroofed modern bridge crosses the boisterous river, and, beside the bridge, is a fantastic mill-race constructed in the same rustic style--uncramped by apprehensions of committing waste upon the woods. At the top of a steep rising directly from the river, stands a square tower of grey stone, partly covered with ivy, in itself rather a striking object from the bridge; even if not pointed out for notice as being built on the site of the dwelling where William Tell was born. Near it, upon the same eminence, stands the white church, and a small chapel called by Tell's name, where we again found rough paintings of his exploits, mixed with symbols of the Roman Catholic faith. Our walk from Altorf to this romantic spot had been stifling; along a narrow road between old stone walls--nothing to be seen above them but the tops of fruit trees, and the imprisoning hills. No doubt when those walls were built, the lands belonged to the churches and monasteries. Happy were we when we came to the glen and rushing river, and still happier when, having clomb the eminence, we sate beside the churchyard, where kindly breezes visited us--the warm breezes of Italy! We had here a volunteer guide, a ragged child, voluble with his story trimmed up for the stranger. He could tell the history of the Hero of Uri and declare the import of each memorial;--while (not neglecting the saints) he proudly pointed out to our notice (what indeed could not have escaped it) a gigantic daubing of the figure of St. Christopher on the wall of the church steeple. But our smart young maiden was to introduce us to the interior of the ivied Tower, so romantic in its situation above the roaring stream, at the mouth of the glen, which, behind, is buried beneath overhanging woods. We ascended to the upper rooms by a blind staircase that might have belonged to a turret of one of our ancient castles, which conducted us into a gothic room, where we found neither the ghost nor the armour of William Tell; but an artist at work with the pencil; with two or three young men, his pupils, from Altorf--no better introduction to the favour of one of those young men was required than that of our sprightly female attendant. From this little academy of the arts, drawings are dispersed, probably, to every country of the continent of Europe. [Footnote 53: There is a mistake here as to the date, which renders all subsequent ones inaccurate.--ED.] _Wednesday, August 22nd._--_Amsteg._--After Wasen our road at times very steep;--rocky on both sides of the glen; and fewer houses than before. We had left the forest, but smaller fir-trees were thinly sprinkled on the hills. Looking northward, the church tower on its eminence most elegant in the centre of the glen backed by the bare pyramid of Meisen. Images by the wayside though not frequent, I recollect a poor idiot hereabouts, who with smiles and uncouth gestures placed himself under the Virgin and Child, pleading so earnestly that there was no resisting him. Soon after, when I was lingering behind upon a stone, beside a little streamlet of clear water, a procession of mules approached, laden with wine-casks--forty at least--which I had long seen winding like a creeping serpent along the side of the bare hill before me, and heard the stream of sound from their bells. Two neatly-dressed Italian women, who headed the cavalcade, spoke to me in their own sweet language; and one of them had the kindness to turn back to bring me a glove, which I had left on the stone where I had been sitting. I cannot forget her pretty romantic appearance--a perfect contrast to that of the poor inhabitants of her own sex in this district, no less than her soft speech! She was rather tall, and slender, and wore a small straw hat tied with coloured riband, different in shape from those worn in Switzerland. It was the first company of muleteers we had seen, though afterwards we met many. Recrossed the Reuss, and, ascending a very long and abrupt hill covered with impending and shattered crags, had again that river on our left, but the hill carried us out of sight of it. I was alone--the first in the ascent. A cluster of mountain masses, till then unseen, appeared suddenly before me, black--rugged--or covered with snow. I was indeed awe-struck; and, while I sate for some minutes, thought within myself, now indeed we are going among the terrors of the Alps; for the course of the Reuss being hidden, I imagined we should be led towards those mountains. Little expecting to discover traces of human habitations, I had gone but a little way before I beheld, stretching from the foot of the savage mountains, an oblong valley thickly strewn over with rocks, or, more accurately speaking, huge stones; and among them huts of the same hue, hardly to be distinguished, except by their shape. At the foot of the valley appeared a village beside a tall slender church tower;--every object of the same hue except the foaming glacier stream and the grassy ground, exquisitely green among the crags. The hills that flanked the dismal valley told its history:--their precipitous sides were covered with crags, mostly in detached masses, that seemed ready to be hurled down by avalanches. Descending about half a mile we were at the village,[54] and turning into the churchyard to the left, sate there, overlooking the pass of the torrent. Beside it lay many huge fragments of rock fallen from above, resembling one of still more enormous size, called the Devil's stone, which we had passed by on the right-hand side of the road near the entrance of the village. How lavishly does nature in these desolate places dispense _beautiful_ gifts! The craggy pass of the stream coming out of that valley of stones was decorated with a profusion of gorgeous bushes of the mountain ash, with delicate flowers, and with the richest mosses. And, even while looking upon the valley itself, it was impossible, amid all its images of desolation, not to have a mild pleasure in noticing the harmonious beauty of its form and proportions. Two or three women came to us to beg; and all the inhabitants seemed to be miserably poor. No wonder! for they are not merely _summer_ tenants of the village:--and who, that could find another hold in the land, would dwell there the year through? Near the church is a picturesque stone bridge, at the further end spanned by the arch of a ruined gateway (no gate is _there_ now), and its stone pillars are crested with flowers and grass. We cross the bridge; and, winding back again, come in sight of the Reuss far below, to our left, and were in that part of the pass especially called by Ebel the valley of Schöllenen,[55] so well known for its dangers at the time of the dissolving of the snow, when the muleteers muffle their bells and do not venture to speak a word, lest they should stir some loose masses overhead by agitating the air. Here we passed two muleteers stretched at ease upon a plot of verdant turf, under a gigantic crag, their mules feeding beside them. The road is now, almost continuously very steep--the hills rugged--often ruinous--yet straggling pine-trees are seen even to their summits; and goats fearlessly browsing upon the overhanging rocks. The distance from Ghestinen to the vale of Urseren is nearly two leagues. After we had been long ascending, I perceived on the crags on the opposite side of the glen two human figures. They were at about the same elevation as ourselves; yet looked no bigger than a boy and girl of five years' growth, a proof that, narrow as the glen appears to be, its width is considerable:--and this shows how high and steep must be the mountains. Those people carried each a large burthen, which we supposed to be of hay; but where was hay to be procured on these precipices? A little further--and the mystery was solved, when we discovered a solitary mower among slips of grass on the almost perpendicular side of the mountain. The man and woman must have been bearing their load to the desolate valley. Such are the summer labours of its poor inhabitants. In winter, their sole employment out of their houses and cattle-sheds must be the clearing away of snow, which would otherwise keep the doors barred up. But even at that season, I believe, seldom a week passes over their heads without tidings from the top of St. Gothard or the valley of Altorf, winter being the season when merchandise is constantly passing upon sledges between Italy and Switzerland:--and Ghestinen is one of the halting-places. The most dangerous time of travelling is the spring. For _us_ there were no dangers. The excellent paved road of granite masters all difficulties even up the steepest ascents; and from safe bridges crossing the torrents we looked without trepidation into their gulfs, or pondered over their hasty course to the Reuss. Yet in the Gorge of Schoellenen it is not easy to forget the terrors which visit that houseless valley. Frequent memorials of deaths on the spot are discovered by the way-side,--small wooden crosses placed generally under the shelter of an overhanging stone. They might easily be passed unnoticed; and are so slightly put together that a child might break them to pieces:--yet they lie from year to year, as safe as in a sanctuary. [Footnote 54: Named Göschenen. It is 2100 feet above the lake of Waldstelles and 3282 above the level of the Vierwaldstädtersee. --D. W.] [Footnote 55: Ramond gives this name to the whole valley from Amsteg to the entrance of Ursern. Ebel gives to it, altogether, the name of the Haute-Reuss; and says that it is called by the inhabitants the Graccenthal--Göschenen.--D. W.] _Thursday, August 23rd._--_Hopital._[56]--Mary and I were again the first to depart. Our little Trager had left us and we proceeded with another (engaged also for 9 francs the distance to Airola, one league less). Turned aside into one of the little chapels at the outskirts of the town. Two Italians were refreshing and repainting the Saints and Angels; we traced something of the style of their country (very different from what is seen in Switzerland) in the ornaments of the Chapel. Next we were invited to view a collection of minerals: and, avowing ignorance in these matters, passed on. The ascent is at once very steep. The sun shone full upon us, but the air was clear and cool, though perfectly calm. Straying from the paved road we walked on soft grass sprinkled with lowly flowers, and interwoven with the ground-loving thyme which (hardly to be discovered by the eye in passing) sent out gushes of aromatic odour. The Reuss rapidly descending in a rocky channel between green hills, hillocks, or knolls was on our left hand--not close to the road. Our first resting-place was beside a little company of its small cataracts--foaming and sparkling--such as we might have met with in the _ghyll_ of a Westmoreland mountain--scantily adorned with bushes, and liberally with bright flowers--cattle wandering on the hills; their bells made a soft jingling. The ascent becomes less steep. After ascending half a league, or more, having passed several painted oratories, but neither cottage nor cattle-shed--we came to a wide long hollow, so exactly resembling the upper reaches of our vales, especially Easedale, that we could have half believed ourselves there before the April sun had melted the snow on the mountain-tops, the clear river Reuss, flowing over a flat, though stony bed in the centre. M. and I were still alone with our guide; and here we met a French traveller, of whom Mr. R. told us he had afterwards inquired if he had seen two ladies, to which he rudely answered that he _had met two women_ a little above. This reminded me of an unwilling inclination of the head when I had spoken to this Frenchman in passing, as I do to all whom I meet in lonely places. He did not touch his hat: no doubt an intentional incivility, for, on the Continent, that mark of respect towards strangers is so general as to be often troublesome. Our fellow-travellers overtook us before we had ascended from the Westmoreland hollow, which had appeared to them, as to us, with the face of an old friend. No more bushes now to be seen--and not a single house or hut since we left Hopital. The ascent at times very rapid--hill bare--and very rocky. The Reuss (when seen at our right hand) was taking an open course, like a common mountain torrent, having no continuous glen of its own. Savage pikes in all directions:--but, altogether, the mountain ascent from Urseren not to be compared in awfulness and grandeur with the valley pass from Amsteg. I recollect no particular incidents by the way, except that, when far behind in discourse with a lame, and therefore slow-paced, foot-traveller (who intended to halt for the night at the Hospital of St. Gothard), he pointed out to me a patch of snow on the left side of the road at a distance, and a great stone on the right, which he told me was the spot where six travellers had been overwhelmed by an avalanche last February--they and the huge stone buried beneath the snow, I cannot say how many feet deep. I found our party examining the spot. The hill, from which the avalanche had fallen, was neither precipitous nor, to appearance, very lofty, nor was anything to be seen which could give the notion of peculiar hazard in that place; and this gave us, perhaps, a more vivid impression of what must be the dangers of the Alps, at one season of the year, than the most fearful crags and precipices. A wooden cross placed under the great stone by the brother of one of the deceased (an Italian gentleman) recorded the time and manner of his death. We tasted the cold snow near this spot, the first we had met with by the way-side, no doubt a remnant of the avalanche that had buried those unfortunate travellers. At the top of the ascent of St. Gothard a wide basin--a dreary valley of rocky ground--lies before us. [Footnote 56: Hospenthal.--ED.] An oratory, where no doubt thanksgivings have been often poured out for preservation from dangers encountered on a road which we had travelled, so gaily, stands beside a large pool of clear water, that lies just below us; and another pool, or little lake, the source of the Reuss, is discovered between an opening in the mountains to the right. The prospect is savage and grand; yet the grandeur chiefly arises from the consciousness of being on ground so elevated and so near to the sources of two great rivers, taking their opposite courses to the German Ocean, and the Mediterranean Sea: for the mountain summits which rise all round--some covered with snow--others of bare granite, being viewed from a base so lofty are not so commanding as when seen from below; and the _valley country_ is wholly hidden from view.--Unwilling to turn the mountain, I sate down upon a rock above the little lake; and thence saw (a quarter of a mile distant) the Hospital, or Inn, and, beside it, the ruins of a convent, destroyed by the French. A tinkling of bells suddenly warned me to look about, and there was a troop of goats; some of them close at hand among the crags and slips of turf; nor were there wanting, even here, a few bright lowly flowers. Entering into my brother's youthful feelings of sadness and disappointment when he was told unexpectedly that the Alps were crossed--the effort accomplished--I tardily descended towards the Hospital. I found Mary sitting on the lowest of a long flight of steps. She had lost her companions (my brother and a young Swiss who had joined us on the road). We mounted the steps; and, from within, their voices answered our call. Went along a dark, stone, _banditti_ passage, into a small chamber little less gloomy, where we found them seated with food before them, bread and cheese, with sour red wine--no milk. Hunger satisfied, Mary and I hastened to warm ourselves in the sunshine; for the house was as cold as a dungeon. We straightway greeted with joy the infant TESSINO which has its sources in the pools above. The gentlemen joined us, and we placed ourselves on a sunny bank, looking towards Italy; and the Swiss took out his flute, and played, and afterwards sang, the _Ranz des Vaches_, and other airs of his country. We, and especially our sociable friend R. (with his inexhaustible stock of kindness, and his German tongue) found him a pleasant companion. He was from the University of Heidelberg, and bound for Rome, on a visit to a brother, in the holidays; and, our mode of travelling, for a short way, being the same, it was agreed we should go on together: but before we reached Airola he left us, and we saw no more of him. _Friday, August 24th._--_Airola_ (3800 feet above the sea).--I walked out; but neglected to enter the church, and missed a pleasure which W. has often spoken of. He found a congregation of Rustics chanting the service--the men and women alternately--unaccompanied by a priest.... Cascades of pure unsullied water, tumble down the hills in every conceivable variety of form and motion--and never, I think, distant from each other a quarter of a mile in the whole of our course from Airola. Sometimes, those cascades are seen to fall in one snow-white line from the highest ridge of the steep; or, sometimes, gleaming through the woods (no traceable bed above them) they seem to start out at once from beneath the trees, as from their source, leaping over the rocks. One full cataract rose up like a geyser of Iceland, a silvery pillar that glittered, as it seemed, among lightly-tossing snow. Without remembering that the Tessino (of monotonous and muddy line) was seldom out of sight, it is not possible to have even a faint notion of the pleasure with which we looked at those bright rejoicing rivulets. The morning was sunny; but we felt no oppression from heat, walking leisurely, and resting long, especially at first, when expecting W. and R., who at length overtook us, bringing a comfort that would have cheered a _dreary_ road--letters from England. _Sunday, August 26th._--_Locarno._--We had resolved to ascend St. Salvador before sunrise; and, a contrary wind having sprung up, the boatmen wished to persuade us to stay all night at a town upon a low point of land pushed far into the Lake, which conceals from our view that portion of it, where, at the head of a large basin or bay, stands the town of Lugano. They told us we might thence ascend the mountain with more ease than from Lugano, a wile to induce us to stay; but we called upon them to push on. Having weathered this point, and left it some way behind, the place of our destination appears in view--(like Locarno and Luvino) within the semicircle of a bay--a wide basin of waters spread before it; and the reach of the lake towards Porlezza winding away to our right. That reach appeared to be of more grave and solemn character than any we had passed through--grey steeps enclosing it on each side. We now coasted beneath bare precipices at the foot of St. Salvador--shouted to the echoes--and were answered by travellers from the road far above our heads. Thence tended towards the middle of the basin; and the town of Lugano appeared in front of us, low green woody hills rising above it. Mild lightning fluttered like the northern lights over the steeps of St. Salvador, yet without threatening clouds; the wind had fallen; and no apprehensions of a storm disturbed our pleasures. It was 8 o'clock when we reached the Inn, where all things were on a large scale--splendid yet shabby. The landlord quite a fine gentleman. His brother gone to England as a witness on the Queen's trial. We had soon an excellent supper in a small salon where her present Majesty of England and Count Bergami had often feasted together. Mary had the honour of sleeping in the bed allotted to her Majesty, and I in that of which she herself had made choice, not being satisfied with her first accommodations. The boatman told us she was _una bravissima Principessa_ and spent much money. The lightning continued; but without thunder. We strayed again to the water-side while supper was in preparation. Everybody seems to be living out of doors; and long after I was in bed, I heard people in the streets singing, laughing, talking, and playing on the flute. _Monday, August 27th._--_Lugano._--Roused from sleep at a quarter before 4 o'clock, the moon brightly shining. At a quarter _past_ four set off on foot to ascend Mount St. Salvador. Though so early, people were stirring in the streets; our walk was by the shore, round the fine bay--solemn yet cheerful in the morning twilight. At the beginning of the ascent, passed through gateways and sheds among picturesque old buildings with overhanging flat roofs--vines hanging from the walls with the wildness of brambles or the untrained woodbine. The ascent from the beginning is exceedingly steep and without intermission to the very summit. Vines spreading from tree to tree, resting upon walls, or clinging to wooden poles, they creep up the steep sides of the hill, no boundary line between _them_ and the wild growth of the mountain, with which, at last, they are blended till no trace of cultivation appears. The road is narrow; but a path to the shrine of St. Salvador has been made with great pains, still trodden once in the year by crowds (probably, at this day, chiefly of peasantry) to keep the Festival of that Saint, on the summit of the mount. It winds along the declivities of the rocks--and, all the way, the views are beautiful. To begin with, looking backward to the town of Lugano, surrounded by villas among trees--a rich vale beyond the town, an ample tract bright with cultivation and fertility, scattered over with villages and spires--who could help pausing to look back on these enchanting scenes? Yet a still more interesting spectacle travels _with us_, at our side (but how far beneath us!) the Lake, winding at the base of the mountain, into which we looked from craggy forest precipices, apparently almost as steep as the walls of a castle, and a thousand times higher. We were bent on getting start of the rising sun, therefore none of the party rested longer than was sufficient to recover breath. I did so frequently, for a few minutes; it being my plan at all times to climb up with my best speed for the sake of those rests, whereas Mary, I believe, never once sate down this morning, perseveringly mounting upward. Meanwhile, many a beautiful flower was plucked among the mossy stones. One,[57] in particular, there was (since found wherever we have been in Italy). I helped Miss Barker to plant that same flower in her garden brought from Mr. Clarke's hot-house. In spite of all our efforts the sun was beforehand with us. _We_ were two hours in ascending. W. and Mr. R. who had pushed on before, were one hour and forty minutes. When we stood on the crown of that glorious Mount, we seemed to have attained a spot which commanded pleasures equal to all that sight could give on this terrestrial world. We beheld the mountains of Simplon--two brilliant shapes on a throne of clouds--_Mont Blanc_ (as the guide told us[58]) lifting his resplendent forehead above a vapoury sea--and the Monte Rosa a bright pyramid, how high up in the sky! The vision did not _burst_ upon us suddenly; but was revealed by slow degrees, while we felt so satisfied and delighted with what lay distinctly outspread around us, that we had hardly begun to look for objects less defined, in the far-distant horizon. I cannot describe the green hollows, hills, slopes, and woody plains--the towns, villages, and towers--the crowds of secondary mountains, substantial in form and outline, bounding the prospect in other quarters--nor the bewitching loveliness of the lake of Lugano lying at the base of Mount Salvador, and thence stretching out its arms between the bold steeps. My brother said he had never in his life seen so extensive a prospect at the expense only of two hours' climbing: but it must be remembered that the whole of the ascent is almost a precipice. Beyond the town of Lugano, the hills and wide vale are thickly sprinkled with towns and houses. Small lakes (to us their names unknown) were glittering among the woody steeps, and beneath lay the broad neck of the Peninsula of St. Salvador--a tract of hill and valley, woods and waters. Far in the distance on the other side, the towers of Milan might be descried. The river Po, a ghostly serpent-line, rested on the brown plains of Lombardy; and there again we traced the Tessino, departed from his mountain solitudes, where we had been his happy companions. [Footnote 57: Cyclamen.--D. W.] [Footnote 58: It was _not_ Mont Blanc. He was mistaken, or wanted to deceive us to give pleasure; but however we might have wished to believe that what he asserted was true, we could not think it possible.--D. W.] But I have yet only looked _beyond_ the mount. There is a house beside the Chapel, probably in former times inhabited by persons devoted to religious services--or it might be only destined for the same use for which it serves at present, a shelter for them who flock from the vallies to the yearly Festival. Repairs are going on in the Chapel, which was struck with lightning a few years ago, and all but the altar and its holy things, with the image of the Patron Saint, destroyed. Their preservation is an established miracle, and the surrounding peasantry consider the memorials as sanctified anew by that visitation from heaven. _Tuesday, August 28th._--_Menaggio._--We took the opposite (the eastern) side of the lake, intending to land, and ascend to the celebrated source of the _Fiume Latte_ (River of Milk). Following the curves of the shore came to a grey-white village, and landed upon the rocky bank (there is no road or pathway along this margin of the lake; and every village has its own boats). Mounting by a flight of rugged steps, we were at once under a line of houses fronting the water; and after climbing up the steep, walked below those houses, the lake beneath us on our left. All at once, from that sunny spot we came upon a rugged bridge; shady all round--cool breezes rising up from the rocky cleft where in twilight gloom (so it appears to eyes saturated with light) a copious stream--the _Fiume Latte_--is hurrying with leap and bound to the great lake. Our object, as I have said, was the fountain of that torrent. We mounted up the hill by rocky steeps, and pathways, in some places almost perpendicular, the precipice all the way being built up by low walls hung with vines. The earth thus supported is covered with melons, pumpkins, Indian corn, chestnut-trees, fig-trees, and trees now scattering ripe plums. The ascent was truly laborious. On the lake we had never been oppressed by the heat; _here_ it was almost too much even for _me_: but when we reached the desired spot, where the torrent drops from its marble cavern, as clear as crystal, how delicious the coolness of the breeze! The water issues silently from the cold cavern, slides but a very little way over the rock, then bounds in a short cataract, and rushes rapidly to the lake. The evergreen Arbutus and the prickly-leaved Alaturnus grow in profusion on the rocks bordering the Fiume Latte; and there, in remembrance of Rydal Mount, where we had been accustomed to see one or two bushes of those plants growing in the garden, we decked our bonnets, mingling the glossy leaves of those evergreen shrubs with that beautiful lilac flower first seen in the ascent of St. Salvador. An active youth was our guide, and a useful one in helping us over the rocks. A woman, too, had joined the train; but Mary and I showing her that she was neither useful nor welcome, she began to employ her time in plucking the bunches of Indian corn, laying them in a heap. We could have lingered a whole summer's day over the cascades and limpid pools of the Fiume Latte. _Saturday, September 1st._--_Milan._--Our object this morning was to ascend to the roof, where I remained alone, not venturing to follow the rest of the party to the top of the giddy, central spire, which is ascended by a narrow staircase twisted round the outside. Even W. was obliged to trust to a hand governed by a steadier head than his own. I wandered about with space spread around me, on the roof on which I trod, for streets and even squares of no very diminutive town. The floor on which I trod was all of polished marble, intensely hot, and as dazzling as snow; and instead of moving figures I was surrounded by groups and stationary processions of silent statues--saints, sages, and angels. It is impossible for me to describe the beautiful spectacle, or to give a notion of the delight I felt; therefore I will copy a sketch in verse composed from my brother's recollections of the view from the central spire. _Sunday, September 2nd._--_Milan._--A grand military Mass was to be administered at eight o'clock in the _Place d'Armes_, Buonaparte's field for reviewing his troops. Hitherward we set out at seven; but arrived a little too late. The ceremony was begun; and it was some time before we could obtain a better situation than among the crowds pressed together in the glaring sunshine, as close as they could come to the building where the temporary altar was placed. The ground being level nothing was to be seen but heads of people, and a few of the lines of soldiers, and their glittering fire-arms; but we could perceive that at one time they dropped down on their knees. At length, having got admittance into the building (le Palais des Rois), near which we stood, almost stifled with heat, we had a complete view from a balcony of all that remained to be performed of the ceremonies, military and religious; but of the latter, that part was over in which the soldiers took any visible share, though the service was still going on, at the altar below us, as was proclaimed by the sound of sacred music, which upon minds unfamiliarised to such scenes had an irresistible power to solemnise a spectacle more distinguished by parade, glitter, and flashy colours, than anything else. The richly caparisoned prancing steeds of the officers, their splendid dresses, the numerous lines of soldiers standing upon the green grass (though not of mountain hue it looked _green_ in contrast with their habiliments), and the immense numbers of men, women, and children gathered together upon a level space--where space was _left_ for thousands and tens of thousands more--all these may easily be imagined:--with the full concert of the military band, when the _sacred_ music ceased--the marching of the troops off the field--Austrians, Hungarians, and Italians--and, last of all, the cavalry with the heart-stirring blast of their trumpets. Before we left the field, the crowd was gone, the tinselled altar and other fineries taken down--and we saw people busied in packing them up, very much like a company of players with their paraphernalia. Went also to the Convent of Maria della Grazia to view that most famous picture of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci, painted on the wall at one end of the Refectory, a very large hall, hung along the sides with smaller pictures and, at the other end, that painting of the crucifixion of which we had seen a copy at Lugano. This Refectory was used in the days of Buonaparte as a military storehouse, and the mark of a musket-ball, fired in wantonness by a French soldier, is to be seen in one part of the painting of Leonardo da Vinci. Fortunately the ball hit where the injury was as small as it could have been; and it is only marvellous that this fine work was not wholly defaced during those times of military misrule and utter disregard of all sacred things.[59] Little conversant in pictures, I cannot take upon me to describe this, which impressed my feelings and imagination more than any picture I ever saw, though some of the figures are so injured by damp that they are only just traceable. The most important are, however, happily the least injured; and that of Our Saviour has only suffered from a general fading in the colours, yet, alas! the fading and vanishing must go on year after year till, at length, the whole group must pass away. Through the cloisters of the monastery, which are shattered and defaced, pictures are found in all parts, and there are some curious monuments. [Footnote 59: It is perfectly notorious that this picture suffered more from the negligence of the monks than from the scorn of the French. A hole was broken thro' the lower part of the centre of the picture to admit hot dishes from the Kitchen into the Refectory. --H. C. R.] _Wednesday, September 5th._--_Cadenabbia._--Bent our course toward Fuentes--and after a wearisome walk through damp and breathless heat (a full league or more) over a perfect level, we reached the foot of the eminence, which from the lake had appeared to be at a small distance, but it seemed to have retreated as we advanced. We had left the high road, and trudged over the swampy plain, through which the road must have been made with great expense and labour, as it is raised considerably all the way. The picturesque ruins of the Castle of Fuentes are at the top of the eminence--wild vines, the bramble and the clematis cling to the bushes; and beautiful flowers grow in the chinks of the rocks, and on every bed of grass. A _tempting_ though rugged ascent--yet (with the towers in sight above our heads, and two-thirds of the labour accomplished) Mary and I (Wm. having gone before to discover the nearest and least difficult way for us) sate down determined not to go a step further. We had a grand prospect; and, being exhausted by the damp heat, were willing for once to leave our final object unattained. However, while seated on the ground, two stout hard-laboured peasants chancing to come close to us on the path, invited us forward, and we could not resist--they led the way--two rough creatures. I said to Mary when we were climbing up among the rocks and bushes in that wild and lonely place, "What, you have no fear of trusting yourself to a pair of Italian Banditti?" I knew not their occupation, but an accurate description of their persons, would have fitted a novel-writer with ready-made attendants for a tribe of robbers--good-natured and kind, however, they were, nay, even polite in their rustic way as others tutored to city civility. _Cultivated_ vines grew upon the top of the hill; and they took pains to pluck for us the ripest grapes. We now had a complete view up the great vale of the Adda, to which the road that we had left conducts the traveller. Below us, on the other side, lay a wide green marshy plain, between the hill of Fuentes and the shores of the lake; which plain, spreading upwards, divides the lake; the upper small reach being called Chiavenna. The path which my brother had travelled, when bewildered in the night thirty years ago, was traceable through some parts of the forest on the opposite side:--and the very passage through which he had gone down to the shore of the lake--then most dismal with thunder, lightning, and rain. I hardly can conceive a place of more solitary aspect than the lake of Chiavenna: and the whole of the prospect on that direction is characterised by melancholy sublimity. We rejoiced, after our toil, at being favoured with a distinct view of those sublime heights, not, it is true, steeped in celestial hues of _sunny glory_, yet in communion with clouds, floating or stationary:--scatterings from heaven. The ruin itself is very interesting, both in the mass and in detail--an inscription is lying on the ground which records that the Castle was built by the Count of Fuentes in the year 1600, and the Chapel about twenty years after by one of his descendants. Some of the gateways are yet standing with their marble pillars, and a considerable part of the walls of the Chapel. A smooth green turf has taken the place of the pavement; and we could see no trace of altar or sacred image, but everywhere something to remind one of former grandeur and of destruction and tumult, while there was, in contrast with the imaginations so excited, a melancholy pleasure in contemplating the wild quietness of the present day. The vines, near the ruin, though ill tended, grow willingly, and rock, turf, and fragments of the stately pile are alike covered or adorned with a variety of flowers, among which the rose-coloured pink was in great beauty. In our descent we found a fair white cherub, uninjured by the explosion which had driven it a great way down the hill. It lay bedded like an infant in its cradle among low green bushes--W. said to us, "Could we but carry this pretty Image to our moss summer-house at Rydal Mount!" yet it seemed as if it would have been a pity that any one should remove it from its couch in the wilderness, which may be its own for hundreds of years. _Thursday, September 6th._--_Cadenabbia._--After a night of heavy rain, a bright morning. W., M., and I set off toward Menaggio along the terrace bordering the water, which led us to the bay at the foot of the rocky green hill of the Church of our Lady; and there we came upon the track of the old road, the very _same_ which my brother had paced! for there was no other, nor the possibility of one. That track, continued from the foot of the mountain, leads behind the town of Cadenabbia, cutting off the bending of the shore by which we had come to this point. From the bare precipice, we pass through shade and sunshine, among spreading vines, slips of green turf, or gardens of melons, gourds, maize, and fig-trees among the rocks; it was but for a little space, yet enough to make our regret even more lively than before that it had not been in our power to coast one reach at least of the lake on foot. We had been overtaken by a fine tall man, who somewhat proudly addressed us in English. After twenty years' traffic in our country he had been settled near his native place on the Banks of Como, having purchased an estate near Cadenabbia with the large sum of two thousand pounds, acquired by selling barometers, looking-glasses, etc. He had been used to return to his wife every third year in the month of October. He made preparations during the winter for fresh travels in the spring; at the same time working with her on the small portion of land which they then possessed. Portsmouth and Plymouth were the grand marts for his wares. He amused us with recitals of adventures among the sailors, who used to bully him with, "Come, you rogue, you get your money easily enough; spend it freely!" and he did not care if he got rid of a guinea or two; for he was sure to have it back again after one of the frolics--and much more. They would often clear away his whole stock of nick-nacks. This industrious trader used to travel on foot at the rate of from thirty to forty miles a day, and his expenses from London to Como were but three guineas, though it cost him one-third of that sum to get to Calais. He said he liked England because the people were _honest_, and told us some stories illustrative of English honesty and Italian over-reaching in bargains. This amusing and, I must say, interesting companion, turned from us by a side-path before we reached Menaggio, saying he would meet us again, as our road would lead us near his cottage on the heights, and he should see us from the fields. He had another dwelling on his estate beside Cadenabbia, where the land produced excellent wine. The produce of his farm on the _hills_ was chiefly hay, which they were then gathering in. _Sunday, September 9th._--_Domo d'Ossola._--We rose at 5 o'clock. The morning clear and very cold. Mr. M., R. and G. intended to take the diligence; W., Mary, and I to walk; for, having been so much gratified with our journey over St. Gothard, we had determined to cross the Simplon also on foot. M. set forward first; I followed a few minutes after defended from cold by my woollen cloak. W. was left to dispose of the luggage, which (except a small bundle carried by each) we intended to send by the diligence. Shops already open. Bought some bread, and made my way directly through the town. At the end of it, looked back upon its towers and large houses, prettily situated, as on a plain, under steep hills--some of them separate mounts, distinct in form. I could not but regret that we might not linger half a day, and ascend to the Chapel of Mount Calvary, still much resorted to for its peculiar sanctity. The view from that commanding eminence would have enabled us to bear away more distinct remembrances than _I_, at least, have done, of a town well deserving to be remembered, for it must for ages back have been of importance, as lying at the foot of this pass of the Alps. After a mile's quick walking I grew a little uneasy at not having overtaken Mary. Behind and before, Buonaparte's broad, unshaded road was stretched out in a right line. However convenient such roads for conquest or traffic, they are, of all others, the least pleasant to the foot-traveller, whose labours seem no nearer to their end till some natural impediment must be submitted to, and the road pursues another course. Looking forward I could see nothing of Mary, and the way being sprinkled with passengers, I was more perplexed, thinking it probable that her figure before me, or behind, might be undiscoverable among them, but my pace (to warm myself in the nipping air) had been so quick, it seemed more likely that she had not advanced so far; therefore I sate down: and glad I was, after some time, to espy her blue gown among the scatterings of women in scarlet garments. She had missed her way in the town and gone back in quest of me. The fresh morning air helped us cheerfully over the long line of road; and passengers whom we continually met amused us. Some were travellers from the Alps; but they were much more frequently peasants bent on Sunday's devotion and pleasure, chiefly women, awkward in appearance, short of stature, and deformed by their manner of fastening the full round petticoat lifted up almost to the shoulders. It pleased me now to review our course from Bavena, where this our second ascent of the Alps may be said to begin; the princely reach of the Lake then before us, with its palaces and towns, thence towards the mountains and the vale of Tusa, solitary churches on the steeps--ruins--embowered low stone cottages--vineyards and extensive lawns--cattle with their bells, and peasants tending them. The romantic village of Vergogne, its ruined fortress overlooking the narrow dell and torrent's bed--inhabited houses as grey with age as the ruin itself--and, upon the level below, how delightful was it, in our hour of rest and sauntering, to quit the sunshine, and walk under roofs of vines! Further on, the vale more wide and open--large meadows without trees. Hay-makers--straggling travellers on the outstretched road. Villages under green mountains--snowy mountains gilded by the light of the setting sun! _Now_, from Domo d'Ossola we were proceeding on the same unbending road, up the same vale, a scene of desolation and fertility, vines by the wayside, the grapes hardly ripening. Having ascended a long hill to _Crevola_, where there is a small public-house, at which we had thought of stopping to breakfast, the road crosses a remarkably high and massy bridge, over the chasm of Val di Vedro, whence the river Vedro takes its course down to the vale of Tusa, now below us on our right hand, where, towards the centre of the vale, the village of Crevola stands on an eminence, whence the morning sound of bells was calling the people together. We turned to the left, up the shady side of Val di Vedro; at first, the road led us high above the bed of the torrent. Being now enclosed between the barriers of that deep dell, we had left all traces of vineyards, fruit-trees, and fields. Beeches climb up among the crags to the summit of the steeps. The road descends; traces of the ancient track visible near a bridge of one lofty arch, no longer used by the traveller crossing the Alps, yet I went to the centre to look down on the torrent. Traces of the foundation of a former bridge remain in the chasm. Met a few peasants going to the vale below, and sometimes a traveller. Again we climb the hill, all craggy forest. At a considerable height from the river's bed an immense column of granite lies by the wayside, as if its course had been stopped there by tidings of Napoleon's overthrow. It was intended by him for his unfinished triumphal arch at Milan; and I wish it may remain prostrate on the mountain for ages to come. His bitterest foe could scarcely contrive a more impressive record of disappointed vanity and ambition. The sledge upon which it has been dragged from the quarry is rotted beneath it, while the pillar remains as fresh and sparkling as if hewn but yesterday. W., who came after us, said he had named it the "weary stone" in memory of that immense stone in the wilds of Peru, so called by the Indians because after 20,000 of them had dragged it over heights and hollows it tumbled down a precipice, and rested immovable at the bottom, where it must for ever remain. Ere long we come to the first passage _through_ the rocks, near the river's bed, and "Road and River" for some time fill the bottom of the valley. We miss the bright torrents that stream down the hills bordering the Tessino; but here is no want of variety. We are in closer neighbourhood with the crags; hence their shapes are continually changing, and their appearance is the more commanding; and, wherever an old building is seen, it is overspread with the hues of the natural crags, and is in form of accordant irregularity. The very road itself, however boldly it may bestride the hills or pierce the rocks, is yet the slave of nature, its windings often being governed as imperiously as those of the Vedra within the chasm of the glen. Suddenly the valley widens, opening out to the right in a semicircle. A sunny village with a white church appears before us, rather I should say numerous hamlets and scattered houses. Here again were vines, and grapes almost full grown, though none ripening. Leaving the sunshine, we again are enclosed between the steeps, a small ruined Convent on the right, the painting on the outside nearly effaced by damp. We come to the second passage, or gallery, through the rocks. It is not long, but very grand, especially viewed in combination with the crags, woods, and river, here tumbling in short cascades, its channel strewn with enormous ruins. W. had joined us about a league before we reached this point; and we sate long in admiration of the prospect up the valley, seen beyond the arch of the gallery which is supported by a pillar left in the rock out of which the passage has been hewn. A brown hamlet at the foot of the mountains terminates this reach of the valley, which has again widened a little. A steep glen to the left sends down a boisterous stream to the Vedra. We had walked three leagues; and were told we were near the Inn, where we were to breakfast, and, having left the gallery 200 yards behind, saw more of the village (called Isella) and a large, square, white building appeared, which proved to be a military station and the post-house, near which was our Inn.... Leaving now the Piedmontese dominions, we make our last entrance into the country of the Swiss. Deciduous trees gradually yield to pine-trees and larches, and through these forests, interspersed with awful crags, we pass on, still in cool shade, accompanied by the turbulent river. Here is hardly a slip of pasturage to be seen, still less a plot of tillage (how different from the Pass of the Ticino!) all is rocks, precipices, and forests. We pass several places of _Refuge_, as they are named, the word _refuge_ being inscribed upon their walls in large characters. They are small, square, white, unpicturesque buildings (erected by Buonaparte). The old road is not unfrequently traceable for a short way--Mary once detected it by noticing an Oratory above our heads that turned its back towards us, now neglected and facing the deserted track. _Sunday, September 9th._--_Domo d'Ossola._--Soon after, we perceive a large and very striking building terminating a narrow reach of the valley. A square tower at the further end of the roof; and, towards us, a lofty gable front, step-like on each steeply-sloping side, in the style of some of our old roofs in the north of England.[60] The building is eight stories high, and long and broad in proportion. We perceived at once that it must be a Spittal of the old times; and W., who had been lingering behind, when he came up to us, pronounced it to be the very same where he and his companion had passed an awful night. Unable to sleep from other causes, their ears were stunned by a tremendous torrent (then swollen by rainy weather) that came thundering down a chasm of the mountain on the opposite side of the glen. That torrent, still keeping the same channel, was now, upon this sunny clear day, a brisk rivulet, that cheerfully bounded down to the Vedro. A lowly Church stands within the shade of the huge Spittal, beside a single dwelling-house; small, yet larger than the Church. We entered that modest place of worship; and were charmed with its rustic splendours and humble neatness. Here were two very pretty well-executed pictures in the _Italian_ style, so much superior to anything of the kind in the country churches of Switzerland. Rested some while beside the Church and cottage, looking towards the Spittal on the opposite side of the road, the wildest of all harbours, yet even stately in its form, and seemingly fitted to war with the fiercest tempests. I now regret not having the courage to pass the threshold alone. I had a strong desire to see what was going on within doors for the sake of tales of thirty years gone by: but could not persuade W. to accompany me. Several foot or mule travellers were collected near the door, I bought some _poor_ peaches (very refreshing at that time) from a man who was carrying them and other things, to the village of Simplon--three sous the pound. Soon after leaving the Spittal, our path was between precipices still more gloomy and awful than before (what must they have been in the time of rain and vapour when my brother was here before--on the narrow track instead of our broad road that smooths every difficulty!) Skeletons of tall pine-trees beneath us in the dell, and above our heads,--their stems and shattered branches as grey as the stream of the Vedra or the crags strewn at their feet. The scene was truly sublime when we came in view of the finest of the galleries. We sate upon the summit of a huge precipice of stone to the left of the road--the river raging below after having tumbled in a tremendous cataract down the crags in front of our station. On entering the Gallery we cross a clear torrent pent up by crags. While pausing here, a step or two before we entered, a carriage full of gentlemen drove through: they just looked aside at the torrent; but stopped not; I could not but congratulate myself on our being on foot; for a hundred reasons the pleasantest mode of travelling in a mountainous country. After we had gone through the last, and least interesting, though the longest but one of the galleries, the vale (now grassy among scattered rocks, and wider--more of a hollow) bends to the left; and we see on the hill, in front of us, a long doubling of the road, necessary, from the steepness of the hill, to accomplish an easy ascent. At the angle, where, at the foot of the hill, this doubling begins, M. and I, being before W., sate and pondered. A foot-path leads directly upwards, cutting off at least a mile, and we perceived one of our young fellow-travellers climbing up it, but could not summon the courage to follow him, and took the circuit of Buonaparte's road. The bed of the river, far below to our left (wide and broken up by torrents), is crossed by a long wooden bridge from which a foot-path, almost perpendicular, ascends to a hamlet at a great height upon the side of the steep. A female crossing the bridge gave life and spirit to a scene characterised, in comparison with _other_ scenes, more by wildness than grandeur; and though presided over by a glacier mountain and craggy and snowy pikes (seemingly at the head of the hollow vale) less impressive, and less interesting to the imagination than the narrow passes through which we had been travelling. After some time the curve of the road carries us again backward on the mountain-side, _from_ the valley of the Tusa. Our eyes often turned towards the bridge and the upright path, little thinking that it was the same we had so often heard of, which misled my brother and Robert Jones in their way from Switzerland to Italy. They were pushing right upwards, when a peasant, having questioned them as to their object, told them they had no further ascent to make;--"The Alps were crossed!" The ambition of youth was disappointed at these tidings; and they remeasured their steps with sadness. At the point where our fellow-travellers had rejoined the road, W. was waiting to show us the track, on the green precipice. It was impossible for me to say how much it had moved him, when he discovered it was the very same which had tempted him in his youth. The feelings of that time came back with the freshness of yesterday, accompanied with a dim vision of thirty years of life between. We traced the path together, with our eyes, till hidden among the cottages, where they had first been warned of their mistake. [Footnote 60: In Troutbeck Valley especially.--D. W.] Hereabouts, a few peasants were on the hills with cattle and goats. In the narrow passage of the glen we had, for several miles together, seen no moving objects, except chance travellers, the streams, the clouds, and trees stirred sometimes by gentle breezes. At this spot we watched a boy and girl with bare feet running as if for sport, among the sharp stones, fearless as young kids. The round hat of the Valais tied with a coloured riband, looked shepherdess-like on the head of another, a peasant girl roaming on craggy pasture-ground, to whom I spoke, and was agreeably surprised at being answered in German (probably a barbarous dialect), but we contrived to understand one another. The valley of the Vedro now left behind, we ascend gradually (indeed the whole ascent is gradual) along the side of steeps covered with poor grass--an undulating hollow to the right--no trees--the prospect, in front, terminated by snow mountains and dark pikes. The air very cold when we reached the village of Simplon. There is no particular grandeur in the situation, except through the accompanying feeling of removal from the world and the near neighbourhood of summits so lofty, and of form and appearance only seen among the Alps. We were surprised to find a considerable village. The houses, which are of stone, are large, and strong built, and gathered together as if for shelter. The air, nipping even at this season, must be dreadfully cold in winter; yet the inhabitants weather all seasons. The Inn was filled with guests of different nations and of various degrees, from the muleteer and foot-traveller to those who loll at ease, whirling away as rapidly as their companion, the torrent of the Vedro. Our party of eleven made merry over as good a supper in this naked region (five or six thousand feet above the level of the sea) as we could have desired in the most fertile of the valleys, with a dessert of fruit and cakes. We were summoned out of doors to look at a living chamois, kept in the stable, more of a treat than the roasted flesh of one of its kind which we had tasted at Lucerne. Walked with some of the gentlemen about half a mile, after W. and M. were retired to rest. The stars were appearing above the black pikes, while the snow on others looked as bright as if a full moon were shining upon it. Our beds were comfortable. I was not at all fatigued, and had nothing to complain of but the cold, which did not hinder me from falling asleep, and sleeping soundly. The distance from Domo d'Ossola six leagues. _Monday, September 10th._--_Simplon._--Rose at five o'clock, as cold as a frosty morning in December. The eleven breakfasted together, and were ready--all but the lame one,--to depart on foot to Brieg in the Haut Valais (seven leagues). The distance from the village of Simplon to the highest point of the Pass is nearly two leagues. We set forward together, forming different companies--or sometimes solitary--the peculiar charm of pedestrian travelling, especially when the party is large--fresh society always ready--and solitude to be taken at will. In the latter part of the Pass of St. Gothard, on the Swiss side, the grandeur diminishes--and it is the same on the Italian side of the Pass of Simplon; yet when (after the gradual ascent from the village, the last inhabited spot) a turning of the road first presents to view in a clear atmosphere, beneath a bright blue sky (so we were favoured), the ancient _Spittal_ with its ornamented Tower standing at the further end of a wide oblong hollow, surrounded by granite pikes, snow pikes--masses of granite--cool, black, motionless shadows, and sparkling sunshine, it is not possible for the dullest imagination to be unmoved. When we found ourselves within that elevated enclosure, the eye and the ear were satisfied with perfect stillness. We might have supposed ourselves to be the only visible moving creatures; but ere long espied some cows and troops of goats which at first we could not distinguish from the scattered rocks! but by degrees tracked their motions, and perceived them in great numbers creeping over the yellow grass that grows among crags on the declivities above the Spittal and in the hollow below it; and we then began to discover a few brown _châlets_ or cattle-sheds in that quarter. The Spittal, that dismal, yet secure sheltering-place (inhabited the winter through), is approached by a side track from the present road; being built as much out of the way of storms as it could have been. Carts and carriages of different kinds (standing within and near the door of a shed, close to the road) called to mind the stir and traffic of the world in a place which might have been destined for perpetual solitude--where the thunder of heaven, the rattling of avalanches, and the roaring of winds and torrents seemed to be the only _turbulent_ sounds that had a right to take place of the calm and silence which surrounded us. _Wednesday, September 12th._--_Baths of Leuk._--Rose at 5 o'clock. From my window looked towards the crags of the Gemmi, then covered with clouds. Twilight seemed scarcely to have left the valley; the air was sharp, and the smoking channel of hot water a comfortable sight in the cold gloom of the village. But soon, with promise of a fine day, the vapours on the crescent of crags began to break, and its yellow towers, touched by the sunshine, gleamed through the edges of the floating masses; or appeared in full splendour for a moment, and were again hidden. After six o'clock, accompanied by a guide (who was by trade a shoemaker, and possessed a small stock of mountain cattle), we set forward on our walk of eight leagues, the turreted barrier facing us. Passed along a lane fenced by curiously crossed rails,--thence (still gently ascending) through rough ground scattered over with small pine-trees, and stones fallen from the mountains. No wilder object can be imagined than a shattered guidepost at the junction of one road with another, which had been placed there because travellers, intending to cross the Gemmi, had often been misled, and some had perished, taking the right-hand road toward the snow mountain, instead of that to the left. Even till we reached the base of that rocky rampart which we were to climb, the track of ascent, in front of us, had been wholly invisible. Sometimes it led us slanting along the bare side of the crags:--sometimes it was scooped out of them, and over-roofed, like an outside staircase of a castle or fortification: sometimes we came to a level gallery--then to a twisting ascent--or the path would take a double course--backwards and forwards,--the dizzy height of the precipices above our heads more awful even than the gulfs beneath us! Sometimes we might have imagined ourselves looking from a parapet into the inner space of a gigantic castle--a castle a thousand times larger than was ever built by human hands; while above our heads the turrets appeared as majestic as if we had not climbed a step nearer to their summits. A small plot or two of turf, never to be cropped by goat or heifer, on the ledge of a precipice; a bunch of slender flowers hanging from a chink--and one luxuriant plot of the bright blue monkshood, lodged like a little garden amid the stone-work of an Italian villa--were the sole marks of vegetation that met our eyes in the ascent, except a few distorted pine-trees on one of the summits, which reminded us of watchmen, on the look-out. A weather-beaten, complex, wooden frame, something like a large sentry-box, hanging on the side of one of the crags, helped out this idea, especially as we were told it had been placed there in troublesome times to give warning of approaching danger. It was a very wild object, that could not but be noticed; and _when_ noticed the question must follow--how came it there? and for what purpose? We were preceded by some travellers on mules, who often shouted as if for their own pleasure; and the shouts were echoed through the circuit of the rocks. Their guide afterwards sang a hymn, or pensive song: there was an aërial sweetness in the wild notes which descended to our ears. When _we_ had attained the same height, _our_ guide sang the same air, which made me think it might be a customary rite, or practice, in that part of the ascent. The Gemmi Pass is in the direct road from Berne to the Baths of Leuk. Invalids, unable to walk, are borne on litters by men, and frequently have their eyes blinded that they may not look down; and the most hardy travellers never venture to descend on their horses or mules. Those careful creatures make their way safely, though it is often like descending a steep and rugged staircase: and there is nothing to fear for foot-travellers if their heads be not apt to turn giddy. The path is seldom traceable, either up or down, further than along one of its zig-zags; and it will happen, when you are within a yard or two of the line which is before you, that you cannot guess what turning it shall make. The labour and ingenuity with which this road has been constructed are truly astonishing. The canton of Berne, eighty years ago, furnished gunpowder for blasting the rocks, and labourers were supplied by the district of the Valais. The former track (right up an apparently almost perpendicular precipice between overhanging crags) must have been utterly impassable for travellers such as we, if any such had travelled in those days, yet it was, even now, used in winter. The peasants ascend by it with pikes and snowshoes, and on their return to the valley slide down, an appalling thought when the precipice was before our eyes; and I almost shudder at the remembrance of it!... A glacier mountain appears on our left, the haunt of chamois, as our guide told us; he said they might often be seen on the brow of the Gemmi barrier in the early morning. We felt some pride in treading on the outskirts of the chamois' play-ground--and what a boast for us, could we have espied one of those light-footed creatures bounding over the crags! But it is not for them who have been laggards in the vale till 6 o'clock to see such a sight. The total absence of all _sound_ of living _creature_ was very striking: silent moths in abundance flew about in the sunshine, and the muddy Lake weltered below us; the only sound when we checked our voices to listen. Hence we continued to journey over rocky and barren ground till we suddenly looked down into a warm, green nook, into which we must descend. Twelve cattle were there enclosed by the crags, as in a field of their own choosing. We passed among them, giving no disturbance, and again came upon a tract as barren as before. After about two leagues from the top of the Gemmi crags, the summer chalet, our promised resting-place, was seen facing us, reared against the stony mountain, and overlooking a desolate round hollow. Winding along the side of the hill (that deep hollow beneath us to the right) a long half-mile brought us to the platform before the door of the hut. It was a scene of wild gaiety. Half-a-score of youthful travellers (military students from the College of Thun) were there regaling themselves. Mr. Robinson became sociable; and we, while the party stood round us talking with him, had our repast spread upon the same table where they had finished theirs. They departed; and we saw them winding away towards the Gemmi on the side of the precipice above the dreary hollow--a long procession, not less interesting than the group at our approach. But every object connected with animated nature (and human life especially) is interesting on such a road as this; we meet no one with a stranger's heart! I cannot forget with what pleasure, soon after leaving the hut, we greeted two young matrons, one with a child in her arms, the other with hers, a lusty babe, ruddy with mountain air, asleep in its wicker cradle on her back. Thus laden they were to descend the Gemmi Rocks, and seemed to think it no hardship, returning us cheerful looks while we noticed the happy burthens which they carried. Those peasant travellers out of sight, we go on over the same rocky ground, snowy pikes and craggy eminences still bounding the prospect. But ere long we approach the neighbourhood of trees, and overlooking a long smooth level covered with poor yellowish grass, saw at a distance, in the centre of the level, a group of travellers of a different kind--a party of gentry, male and female, on mules. On meeting I spoke to the two ladies in English, by way of trying their nation, and was pleased at being answered in the same tongue. The lawn here was prettily embayed, like a lake, among little eminences covered with dwarf trees, aged or blighted; thence, onward to another open space, where was an encampment of cattle sheds, the large plain spotted with heaps of stones at irregular distances, as we see lime, or manure, or hay-cocks in our cultivated fields. Those heaps had been gathered together by the industrious peasants to make room for a scanty herbage for their cattle. The turf was very poor, yet so lavishly overspread with close-growing flowers it reminded us of a Persian carpet. The _silver_ thistle, as we then named it, had a singularly beautiful effect; a glistering star lying on the ground, as if enwrought upon it. An avalanche had covered the surface with stones many years ago, and many more will it require for nature, aided by the mountaineers' industry, to restore the soil to its former fertility. On approaching the destined termination of our descent, we were led among thickets of Alpine Shrubs, a rich covering of berry-bearing plants overspreading the ground. We followed the ridge of this wildly beautiful tract, and it brought us to the brink of a precipice. On our right, when we looked into the savage valley of Gastron--upwards toward its head, and downwards to the point where the Gastron joins the Kandor, their united streams thence continuing a tumultuous course to the Lake of Thun. The head of the _Kandor Thal_ was concealed from us, to our left, by the ridge of the hill on which we stood. By going about a mile further along the ridge to the brow of its northern extremity, we might have seen the junction of the two rivers, but were fearful of being overtaken by darkness in descending the Gemmi, and were, indeed, satisfied with the prospect already gained. The river Gastron winds in tumult over a stony channel, through the apparently level area of a grassless vale, buried beneath stupendous mountains--not a house or hut to be seen. A roaring sound ascended to us on the eminence so high above the vale. How _awful_ the tumult when the river carries along with it the spring tide of melted snow! We had long viewed in our journey a snow-covered pike, in stateliness and height surpassing all the other eminences. The whole mass of the mountain now appeared before us, on the same side of the Gastron vale on which we were. It seemed very near to us, and as if a part of its base rose from that vale. We could hardly believe our guide when he told us that pike was one of the summits of the Jungfrau, took out maps and books, and found it could be no other mountain. I never before had a conception of the space covered by the bases of these enormous piles. After lingering as long as time would allow, we began to remeasure our steps, thankful for the privilege of again feeling ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Jungfrau, and of looking upon those heights that border the Lake of Thun, at the feet of which we had first entered among the inner windings of Switzerland. Our journey back to the chalet was not less pleasant than in the earlier part of the day. The guide, hurrying on before us, roused the large house-dog to give us a welcoming bark, which echoed round the mountains like the tunable voices of a full pack of hounds--a heart-stirring concert in that silent place where no waters were heard at that time--no tinkling of cattle-bells; indeed the barren soil offers small temptation for wandering cattle to linger there. In a few weeks our rugged path would be closed up with snow, the hut untenanted for the winter, and not a living creature left to rouse the echoes--echoes which our Bard would not suffer to die with us. _Friday, September 14th.--Martigny._--Oh! that I could describe,--nay, that I could _remember_ the sublime spectacle of the pinnacles and towers of Mont Blanc while we were travelling through the vale, long deserted of the sunshine that still lingered on those summits! A large body of moving clouds covered a portion of the side of the mountain. The pinnacles and towers above them seemed as if they stood in the sky;--of no soft aërial substance, but appearing, even at that great distance, as they really are, huge masses of solid stone, raised by Almighty Power, and never, but by the same Power, to be destroyed. The village of Chamouny is on the opposite (the north-western) side of the vale; in this part considerably widened. Having left the lanes and thickets, we slanted across a broad unfenced level, narrowing into a sort of village green, with its maypole, as in England, but of giant stature, a pine of the Alps. The collected village of Chamouny and large white Church appeared before us, above the river, on a gentle elevation of pasture ground, sloping from woody steeps behind. Our walk beside the suburban cottages was altogether new, and very interesting:--a busy scene of preparation for the night! Women driving home their goats and cows,--labourers returning with their tools,--sledges (an unusual sight in Alpine valleys) dragged by lusty men, the old looking on,--young women knitting; and ruddy children at play,--(a race how different from the languishing youth of the hot plains of the Valais!)--Cattle bells continually tinkling--no silence, no stillness here,--yet the bustle and the various sounds leading to thoughts of quiet, rest, and silence. All the while the call to the cattle is heard from different quarters; and the rapid Arve roars through the vale, among rocks and stones (its mountain spoils)--at one time split into divers branches--at another collected into one rough channel. Passing the turn of the ascent, we come to another cross (placed there to face the traveller ascending from the other side) and, from the brow of the eminence, behold! to our left, the huge Form of Mont Blanc--pikes, towers, needles, and wide wastes of everlasting snow in dazzling brightness. Below, is the river Arve, a grey-white line, winding to the village of Chamouny, dimly seen in the distance. Our station, though on a height so commanding, was on the lowest point of the eminence; and such as I have sketched (but how imperfectly!) was the scene uplifted and outspread before us. The higher parts of the mountain in our neighbourhood are sprinkled with brown chalets. So they were thirty years ago, as my brother well remembered; and he pointed out to us the very quarter from which a boy greeted him and his companion with an Alpine cry-- The Stranger seen below, the Boy Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy.[61] [Footnote 61: _Descriptive Sketches._--W. W.] _Sunday, September 16th._--_Chamouny._--There is no carriage road further than to Argentière.--When, having parted with our car and guide, we were slowly pursuing our way to the foot-path, between the mountains, which was to lead us to the Valorsine, and thence, by the Tète-noire, to Trient, we heard from the churchyard of Argentière, on the opposite side of the river, a sound of voices chanting a hymn, or prayer, and, turning round, saw in the green enclosure a lengthening procession--the priest in his robes, the host, and banners uplifted, and men following, two and two;--and, last of all, a great number of females, in like order; the head and body of each covered with a white garment. The stream continued to flow on for a long time, till all had paced slowly round the church, the men gathering close together, to leave unencumbered space for the women, the chanting continuing, while the voice of the Arve joined in accordant solemnity. The procession was grave and simple, agreeing with the simple decorations of a village church:--the banners made no glittering show:--the females composed a moving girdle round the church; their figures, from head to foot, covered with one piece of white cloth, resembled the small pyramids of the Glacier, which were before our eyes; and it was impossible to look at one and the other without fancifully connecting them together. Imagine the _moving_ figures, like a stream of pyramids--the white Church, the half-concealed Village, and the Glacier close behind among pine-trees,--a pure sun shining over all! and remember that these objects were seen at the base of those enormous mountains, and you may have some faint notion of the effect produced on us by that beautiful spectacle. It was a farewell to the Vale of Chamouny that can scarcely be less vividly remembered twenty years hence than when (that wondrous vale being just out of sight) after ascending a little way between the mountains, through a grassy hollow, we came to a small hamlet under shade of trees in summer foliage. A very narrow clear rivulet, beside the cottages, was hastening with its tribute to the Arve. This simple scene transported us instantly to our vallies of Westmoreland. A few quiet children were near the doors, and we discovered a young woman in the darkest, coolest nook of shade between two of the houses, seated on the ground, intent upon her prayer-book. The rest of the inhabitants were gone to join in the devotions at Argentière. The top of the ascent (not a long one) being gained, we had a second cheering companion in our downward way, another Westmoreland brook of larger size, as clear as crystal; open to the sun, and (bustling but not angry) it coursed by our side through a tract of craggy pastoral ground. I do not speak of the needles of Montanvert, behind; nor of other pikes up-rising before us. Such sights belong not to Westmoreland; and I could fancy that I then paid them little regard, it being for the sake of Westmoreland alone that I like to dwell on this short passage of our journey, which brought us in view of one of the most interesting of the vallies of the Alps. We descended with our little stream, and saw its brief life in a moment cut off, when it reached the _Berard_, the River of Black Water, which is seen falling, not in _black_ but _grey_ cataracts within the cove of a mountain that well deserves the former epithet, though a bed of _snow_ and glacier ice is seen among its piky and jagged ridges. Below those bare summits, pine forests and crags are piled together, with lawns and cottages between. We enter at the side of the valley, crossing a wooden bridge--then, turning our backs on the scene just described, we bend our course downward with the river, that is hurrying away, fresh from its glacier fountains; how different a fellow-traveller from that little rivulet we had just parted from, which we had seen--still bright as silver--drop into the grey stream! The descending vale before us beautiful--the high enclosing hills interspersed with woods, green pasturage, and cottages. The delight we had in journeying through the Valorsine is not to be imagined--sunshine and shade were alike cheering; while the very numerousness of the brown wood cottages (descried among trees, or outspread on the steep lawns), and the people enjoying their Sabbath leisure out of doors, seemed to make a quiet spot more quiet. _Wednesday, September 19th._--_Lausanne._--We met with some pleasant Englishmen, from whom we heard particulars concerning the melancholy fate of our young friend, the American, seen by us for the last time on the top of the Righi. The tidings of his death had been first communicated, but a few hours before, by Mr. Mulloch. We had the comfort of hearing that his friend had saved himself by swimming, and had paid the last duties to the stranger, so far from home and kindred, who lies quietly in the churchyard of Küsnacht on the shores of Zurich. _Saturday, September 29th._--_Fontainbleau._--In the very heart of the Alps, I never saw a more wild and lonely spot--yet _curious_ in the extreme, and even _beautiful_. Thousands of white bleached rocks, mostly in appearance not much larger than sheep, lay on the steep declivities of the dell among bushes and low trees, heather, bilberries, and other forest plants. The effect of loneliness and desert wildness was indescribably increased by the remembrance of the Palace we had left not an hour before. The spot on which we stood is said to have been frequented by Henry the IVth when he wished to retire from his court and attendants. A few steps more brought us in view of fresh ranges of the forest, hills, plains, and distant lonely dells. The sunset was brilliant--light clouds in the west, and overhead a spotless blue dome. As we wind along the top of the steep, the views are still changing--the plain expands eastward, and again appear the white buildings of Fontainbleau, with something of romantic brightness in the _fading_ light; for we had tarried till a star or two reminded us it was time to move away. In descending, we followed one of the long straight tracks that intersect the forest in all directions. Bewildered among those tracks, we were set right by a party of wood-cutters, going home from their labour. _Monday, October 29th._--_Boulogne._--We walked to Buonaparte's Pillar, which, on the day when he harangued his soldiers (pointing to the shores of England whither he should lead them to conquest), he decreed should be erected in commemoration of the Legion of Honour.[62] The pillar is seen far and wide, _unfinished_, as the intricate casing of a _scaffolding, loftier than itself, shows at whatever distance_ it is seen. It is said the Bourbons intend to complete the work, and give it a new name; but I think it more probable that the scaffolding may be left to fall away, and the pile of marble remain strewn round, as it is, with unfinished blocks, an undisputed monument of the Founder's vanity and arrogance; and _so_ it may stand as long as the brick towers of Caligula have done, a remnant of which yet appears on the cliffs. We walked on the ground which had been covered by the army that dreamt of conquering England, and were shown the very spot where their Leader made his boastful speech. [Footnote 62: Then established.--D. W.] On the day fixed for our departure from Boulogne, the weather being boisterous and wind contrary, the _Packet_ could not sail, and we trusted ourselves to a small vessel, with only one effective sailor on board. Even _Mary_ was daunted by the breakers outside the Harbour, and _I_ descended into the vessel as unwillingly as a criminal might go to execution, and hid myself in bed. Presently our little ship moved; and before ten minutes were gone she struck upon the sands. I felt that something disastrous had happened; but knew not what till poor Mary appeared in the cabin, having been thrown down from the top of the steps. There was again a frightful beating and grating of the bottom of the vessel--water rushing in very fast. A young man, an Italian, who had risen from a bed beside mine, as pale as ashes, groaned in agony, kneeling at his prayers. My condition was not much better than his; but I was more quiet. Never shall I forget the kindness of a little Irish woman who, though she herself, as she afterwards said, was much frightened, assured me even cheerfully that there was no danger. I cannot say that her words, as assurances of safety, had much effect upon me; but the example of her courage made me become more collected; and I felt her human kindness even at the moment when I believed that we might be all going to the bottom of the sea together; and the agonising thoughts of the distress at home were rushing on my mind. X EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN SCOTLAND 1822 EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1822 _Friday, 14th September 1822._--Cart at the door at nine o'clock with our pretty black-eyed boy, Leonard Backhouse, to drive the old grey horse.... Scene at Castlecary very pretty.... Nothing which we English call comfort within doors, but much better, civility and kindness. Old woman bringing home her son to die; left his wife, she will never see him again. [They seem to have gone by the Forth and Clyde Canal.] Scene at the day's end very pretty. The fiddler below,--his music much better there. A soldier at the boat's head; scarlet shawls, blue ribbons, something reminding me of Bruges; but we want the hum, and the fruit, and the Flemish girl with her flowers. The people talk cheerfully, and all is quiet; groups of cottages. Evening, with a town lying in view. Lassies in pink at the top of the bank; handsome boatman throws an apple to each; graceful waving of thanks. _Thursday morning [on the Clyde]._--Now we come to Lord Blantyre's house, as I remember it eighteen years ago.... Gradually appears the Rock of Dumbarton, very wild, low water, screaming birds, to me very interesting from recollections. Entrance to Loch Lomond grand and stately. Large hills before us, covered with heather, and sprinkled all over with wood. Deer on island, in shape resembling the isle at Windermere. Further on an island, of large size, curiously scattered over with yew-trees--more yews than are to be found together in Great Britain--wind blowing cold, waves like the sea. I could not find out our cottage isle. The bay at Luss even more beautiful than in imagination, thatched cottages, two or three slated houses. The little chapel, the sweet brook, and the pebbly shore, so well remembered. Ferry-house at Inversnaid just the same as before, excepting now a glass window. A girl now standing at the door, but her I cannot fancy our "Highland girl"; and the babe, while its granddame worked, now twenty, grown up to toil, and perhaps hardship; or, is it in a quiet grave? The whole waterfall drops into the lake as before. The tiny bay is calm, while the middle of the lake is stirred by breezes; but we have long left the sea-like region of Balloch. Our Highland musician tunes his pipes as we approach Rob Roy's cave. Grandeur of Nature, mixed with stage effect. Old Highlanders, with long grey locks, cap, and plaid; boys at different heights on the rocks. All crowd to Rob Roy's cave, as it is called, and pass under in interrupted succession, for the cave is too small to contain many at once. They stoop, yet come out all covered with dirt. We were wiser than this; for they seem to have no motive but to say they have been in Roy's cave, because Sir Walter has written about it. _Evening._--Now sitting at Cairndhu Inn after a delightful day. The house on the outside just the same as eighteen years ago--I suppose they new-whitewash every year--but within much smarter; carpets on every floor (that is the case everywhere in Scotland), even at that villainous inn at Tarbet, which we have just escaped from, which for scolding, and dirt, and litter, and damp, surely cannot be surpassed through all Scotland. Yet we had a civil repast; a man waited. People going to decay, children ill-managed, daughter too young for her work, father lamed, mother a whisky-drinker, two or three black big-faced servant-maids without caps, one barefoot, the other too lazy or too careless to fasten up her stockings, ceilings falling down, windows that endangered the fingers, and could only be kept open by props; and what a number of people in the kitchen, all in one another's way! We peeped into the empty rooms, unmade beds, carpeted floors, damp and dirty. They sweep stairs, floors, passages, with a little parlour hearth-brush; waiter blew the dust off the table before breakfast. I walked down to the lake; sunny morning; in the shady wood was overtaken by a woman. Her sudden coughing startled me. She was going to her day's work, with a bottle of milk or whey. "It's varra pleesant walkin' here." It was our first greeting. The church, she said, was at Arrochar.... After breakfast, we set off on our walk to Arrochar. The air fresh, sunshine cheerful, and Joanna seemed to gain strength, as she walked along between the steep hilly trough. The cradle-valley not so deep to the eye as last night, and not so quiet to the ear through the barking of dogs. These echoed through the vale, when I passed by some reapers, making haste to end their day's work. Gladly did I bend my course from this passage between the hills to Arrochar, remembering our descent in the Irish car. My approach now slower, and I was glad, both for the sake of past and present times. Wood thicker than then, and some of the gleaming of the lake shut out by young larch-trees. Sun declining upon the mountains of Glencroe, shining full on Cobbler. No touch of melancholy on the scene, all majesty and solemn grandeur, with loveliness in colouring, golden and green and grey crags. On my return to Loch Lomond, the sunlight streaming a veil of brightness, with slanting rays towards Arrochar, where I sate on the steeps opposite to Ben Lomond; and on Ben Lomond's top a pink light rested for a long time, till a cloud hid the pyramid from me. I stayed till moonlight was beginning.... _Friday morning._--The gently descending smooth road, the sea-breezes, the elegant house, with a foreign air, all put Joanna[63] into spirits and strength. "Cobbler," like a waggoner, his horse's head turned round from us, the waggon behind with a covered top.... Chapel like a neglected Italian chapel, a few melancholy graves and burial-places--pine-trees round. Fishermen's nets waving in the breeze; sombrous, yellow belt of shore, yellowish even in the mid-day light.... At the inn, went into the same parlour where William and I dined, after parting with Coleridge.... [Footnote 63: Joanna Hutchinson.--ED.] In Glencroe[64] huge stones scattered over the glen; one hut in first reach, none in second, white house in third; last reach rocky, green, deep.... When we came to the turning of the glen, where several waters join, formerly not seen distinctly, but heard very loud, the stream in the middle of the glen, a long winding line, was rosy red, the former line of Loch Restal. A glorious sky before us, with dark clouds, like islands in a sea of fire, purple hills below. Behind two _smooth_ pyramids. Soon they were cowled in white, long before the redness left the sky. After Glenfinlas, the road not so long, nor dreary, nor prospect so wild as at our first approach; uncertain whither tending. Church to right with steeple (surely more steeples in Scotland than formerly). Reached Cairndhu, excellent fire in kitchen, great kindness, still an unintelligible number of women, but all quiet.... [Footnote 64: They drove over from Arrochar to Cairndhu.--ED.] _Saturday morning._--Men, women, and children amongst the corn by the wayside, children's business chiefly play. Passed the church; the bridge like a Roman ruin--how grand in its desolation, the parapet on one side broken, the way across it grown over, like a common, with close grass and grunsel, only a faint foot-track on one side. Met a well-looking mother with bonny bairns. Spoke to her of them. "They would be weel eneuch," said she, "if they were weel skelpit!" The father seemed pleased, and left his work (running) to help us over the bridge. A shower; shelter under a bridge; sun and shadows on a smooth hill at head of loch; at a distance a single round-headed tree. Tree gorgeous yellow, and soft green, and many shadows. Now comes a slight rainbow. Towards Inveraray strong sunbeams, white misty rain, hills gleaming through it. Now I enter by the ferry-house, Glenfinlas opposite.... How quiet and still the road, now and then a solitary passenger. No sound but of the robins continually singing; sometimes a distant oar on the waters, and now and then reapers at work above on the hills. Barking dog, at empty cottage, chid us from above. The lake so still I cannot hear it, nor any sound of water, but at intervals rills trickling. I hasten on for boat for Inveraray; view splendid as Italy, only wanting more boats. There is a pleasure in the utter stillness of calm water. Sitting together on the rock, we hear the breeze rising; water now gently weltering.... How continually Highlanders say, "Ye're varra welcome." "This is more like an enchanted castle than anything we've seen," so says Joanna, now that we are seated, with one candle, in a large room, with black door, black chimney-piece, black moulding.... We enter, as abroad, into a useless space, turn to left, and a black-headed lass, with long hair and dirty face, meets us. We ask for lodgings, and she carries us from one narrow passage to another, and up a narrow staircase, and round another as narrow, only not so high as the broad ones at T----, just to the top of the house. We enter a large room with two beds, walls damp, no bell.... Reminded of foreign countries, as I walked along the shore; beside dirty houses. Long scarlet cloaks, women without caps; a mother on a log of wood in the sunshine, her face as yellow as gold, dress ragged; she holds her baby standing on the ground, while it laughs and plays with the bristles of a pig eating its breakfast.... Came along an avenue, one and a half miles at least, all beeches, some very fine, cathedral-fluted pillars. XI EXTRACTS FROM MARY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN BELGIUM IN 1823[65] [Footnote 65: The MS. is headed "Minutes collected from Mem. Book, etc., taken during a Tour in Holland, commenced May 16th, 1823."--ED.] EXTRACTS FROM MARY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN BELGIUM Left Lee. (I now transcribe what was dictated by William.) ... Dover, as interesting as ever, and the French coast very striking as we descended. Walked under Shakespear's Cliff by moonlight. Met several sailors, none of whom had ever asked himself the height of the cliff. I cannot think it can be more than 400 feet at the utmost; how odd that the description in Lear should ever have been supposed to have been meant for a reality. I know nothing that more forcibly shows the little reflection with which even men of sense read poetry. "How truly," exclaims the historian of Dover, "has Shakespear described the precipice." How much better would he (the historian) have done had he given us its actual elevation! The sky looked threatening, a wheel at a great distance round the moon, ominous according to our westland shepherds. The furze in full blossom.... _Ostend, half-past 8 o'clock, Sunday morning._-- ... We were driven at a fierce rate before the wind.... We proceeded till about four o'clock, when we were--had the same wind continued--within two hours of Ostend. But now, overhead was a bustle of quick steps, trailing and heaving of ropes, with voices in harmony. Below me, the vessel _slashed_ among the waters, quite different from the sound and driving motion I had become accustomed to.... The phosphorous lights from the oars were beautiful; and when we approached the harbour, these, in connection with the steady pillar streaming across the water from the lighthouse, upon the pier; and afterwards, still more beautiful, when these faded before a brilliant spectacle (caused by a parcel of carpenters and sailors burning the tar from the hulk of a large vessel under repair), upon the beach. I thought if we were to see nothing more this exhibition repaid us for our day of suffering. But we wished for the painter's skill to delineate the scene, the various objects illuminated by the burning ship, the glowing faces of the different figures--among which was a dog--the ropes, ladders, sands, and sea, with the body of intense bright fire spreading out and fading among the dim stars in the grey mottled sky.... Ostend looks well as to houses compared with one of our English towns of like importance. The tall windows, and the stature of the buildings, give them a dignity nowhere found with us; but it has no public buildings of interest. Climbing an oblique path which led up to the ramparts, a little boy called out in broken English, "Stop, or the soldiers will put you in prison." Not a living creature to be seen on that airy extensive walk, everybody cooped in the sultry flat. Melancholy enough at all times, but particularly so on this great day of annual celebration. But the joy, if any there is, is strictly confined to the doing of nothing. A few idle people were playing at a game of chance, under the green daisy-clad ramparts. I got a glimpse of the country by climbing the steps to a wind-mill, "snatching a fearful _joy_" I cannot call it, for the view was tame; the sun however shone bright on the fields, some of which were yellow as furze in blossom, with what produce I know not.... _Bruges, Hôtel de la Fleur de Blé; Monday, May 19th._-- ... Bruges loses nothing of its attractions upon a second visit as far as regards buildings, etc., but a bustling Fair is not the time to feel the natural sentiment of such a place. We crept about the shady parts, and among the booths, and traversed the cool extensive vault under the Hôtel de Ville, where the butcher's market is held (a thousand times the most commodious shambles I ever saw), and the bazaars above, and made some purchases. _Tuesday 20th._-- ... The thought of Bruges upon the Fair-day never can disturb the image of that spiritualised city, seen in 1820, under the subdued light and quiet of a July evening and early morning.... Nothing can be more refreshing than to flout thus at ease, the awning screening us from the sun, and the pleasant breezes fanning our temples; ... cottages constantly varying the shores, which are particularly gay at this season, interspersed with fruit-tree blossom and the broom flower; goats tethered on the grassy banks, under the thin line of elms; a village with a pretty church, midway on the journey; ... the air delightfully refreshed by the rain; the banks, again low, allow the eye to stretch beyond the avenue; corn looking well, rich daisy-clad pastures, and here alive with grasshoppers; large village on both sides of the canal, bridge between, from which letters are dropped into the barge, as we pass, by means of a shoe. A sale at a Thames-like chateau; we take on purchasers with their bargains--chests of drawers, bed and chamber furniture of all sorts--barge crowded; Catholic priests do not scruple to interlard their conversation with oaths; the three Towers of Ghent, seen through the misty air in the distance under the arch of the canal bridge, give a fine effect to this view; drawing nearer and gliding between villages and chateaux, the architecture looks very rich.... _Ghent, Thursday 22nd._--Left Ghent at 7 o'clock by diligence.... Paved road between trees; elms with scattered oaks; square fields divided by sluices, some dry, others with water bordered by willows, etc., thin and low; neat houses and villages, English-looking, only the windows and window-shutters gaily painted; labourers upon their knees weeding flax; some corn, very short, but shot into ear; broom here and there in flower, else a perfect uniformity of surface.... _Antwerp._-- ... Disappointed by the first view of Antwerp standing in nakedness.... Few travellers have been more gratified than we were during our two days' residence in this fine city, which we left, after having visited the Cathedral, and feasted our eyes on those magnificent pictures of Rubens, over and over again; and often was this great pleasure heightened almost to rapture, when, during mass, the full organ swelled and penetrated the remotest corners of that stately edifice--here we were never weary of lingering; but none of the churches did we leave unvisited; that of St. James was the next in interest to us, which contained Rubens' family monument; a chapel or _recess_ railed off, as others are, in which hung a beautiful painting by the great master himself bearing date 23rd May, --64; a mother presenting a child to an old man, said to be Rubens' father; three females behind the old man, and R. himself, in the character of St. George, holding a red flag among a group of angels hovering over the living child. The drapery of the principal female figure is a rich blue. R.'s three wives are represented in this exquisite picture. Besides the several churches, so rich in fine paintings, we spent much time in the museum--formerly the Convent des Recollects--an extremely interesting place, independent of the treasure now contained in it.... The picture by which _I_ was most impressed was a Christ on the Cross, by Van Dyck; there was a chaste simplicity about this piece which quite riveted me; the principal figure in the centre, St. Dominique in an attitude of contemplation; the St. Catherine embracing the foot of the Cross, and lifting a countenance of deep searching agony, which, compared with the expression of patient suffering in that of the Saviour, was almost too much to look upon, yet once seen it held me there.... _Saturday 24th._--At 9 o'clock we left Antwerp by the diligence.... Breda looked well by moonlight, crossed by steamboat the _Bies Bosch_ near Dort, which town we reached by half-past six on Sunday morning, May 26th. We are now in the country of many waters.... Mounted the tower, which bore the date 1626; an interesting command of prospect--Stad-house, Bourse, winding streets, trees and rivers (the Meuse) intermingled; walks, screened by trees, look cool. The eye follows five streams from different parts of the handsome town into the country; vessels moving upon them in all directions.... _Rotterdam._--Walked to the "Plantation," a sort of humble Vauxhall. About sunset, seated upon the banks of the Meuse; sails gliding down, white and red; the dark tower of the Cathedral; a glowing line of western sky, with twelve windmills as grand as castles, most of them at rest, but the arms of some languidly in motion, crimsoned by the setting sun. A file of grey clouds run southward from the Cathedral tower. The birds, which were faintly warbling in the pleasure-ground behind us when we sate down, have now ceased. Three very slender spires, one of which we know to be the Hôtel de Ville, denote, together with the Cathedral tower, the neighbourhood of a large town. _Tuesday 27th._-- ... Left Rotterdam at ten o'clock. As we crossed the bridge, the fine statue of Erasmus, rising silently, with eyes fixed upon his book, above the noisy crowd gathered round the booths and vehicles, which upon the market-day beset him, and backed by buildings and trees, intermingled with the fluttering pennons from vessels unloading their several cargoes into the warehouses, produced a curious and very striking contrast.... The stately stream down which we floated took us to the royal town of the Hague. Arriving there at five o'clock, we immediately walked to the wood, in which stands the Palace; charming promenades, pools of water, swans, stately trees, birds warbling, military music--the _Brae Bells_; the streets similar to those at Delf; screens of trees, sometimes on one side, but generally on both sides of the canal; bridges at convenient distances across.... Looked with interest upon the ground where the De Wits were massacred, to which we were conducted by a funny old man, of whom we purchased a box. The spot is a narrow space, passing from one square to another, if I recollect right, near to the public building, whence the brothers had been dragged by the infuriated rabble. Horse-chestnut trees in flower everywhere. _Wednesday 28th._-- ... Looked into the fine room where the lottery is kept, which interested us, as well as the countenances of those who were working at fortune's wheel, and those who were eagerly gaping for her favours. Above all, the King's Gallery most attracted us with its magnificent collection of pictures.... _Leyden, Thursday 29th._--Arose, and found that our commodious chamber looked upon pleasure-walks, which we at once determined must be the University garden, naturally giving to this place the sort of accommodations found in our own seats of learning, but no such luxury belongs to the students of Leyden. The ground with its plantations through which these walks are carried, and upon which the sun now so cheerfully shone, was formerly covered with buildings that were destroyed, together with the inhabitants, by an explosion which took place in a barge of gunpowder in 1806, then lying in the neighbouring canal.... There are no colleges, or separate dwellings, in Leyden, for the students; they are lodged with different families in the town. Our guide had three at his house from England, as he told us. A wandering sheep lying at the threshold, as we passed a good-looking house in the street; were told that this was a pensioner upon the public, that it would lie there till it was fed, and then would pass on to some other door. This animal had been brought up the pet of a soldier once quartered at Leyden, and when he changed his situation his favourite was sent into the fields, but preferring human society, it could not be confined amongst its fellows, but ever returned to the town, and, begging its daily food, it passed from door to door of those houses which its old master had frequented, obstinately keeping its station until an alms was bestowed--bread, vegetables, soup, nothing came wrong, and as soon as this was received, the patient mendicant walked quietly away. _Haarlem._-- ... Reached Haarlem at five o'clock; went directly to the Cathedral, mounted the tower, an hour too early for the sunset; a splendid and interesting view beyond any we have seen. Looking eastward, the canal seen stretching through houses and among the trees, to the spires of Amsterdam in the distance. A little to the right, the Mere of Haarlem spotted with vessels, the river Spaaren winding among trees through the town; steeple towers of Utrecht beyond the Mere. The Boss, a fine wood and elegant mansion built by ---- Hope, now a royal residence; new kirk, fine tower; the sea, and sand-hills beyond the flats glowing under a dazzling western sky. The winding Spaaren again among green fields brings the eye round to the Amsterdam canal, up which we shall glide.... _Friday 30th._-- ... We were floating between stunted willows towards Amsterdam, the birds sweetly warbling, but the same unvaried course before us. I have, however, a basket at my feet containing pots of fragrant geranium, and a beautiful flowering fern, brought, I suppose, from the market where we saw the commodities offered for sale. The groups of figures, with their baskets and stalls of vegetables, ranged along the shady avenues, have often a striking effect; the fanciful architecture towering above, as seen from the end of one of the market streets, especially if the view be terminated by a spire or a lofty tower.... The spires of Amsterdam, and different spires and shipping, rise beyond the flat line of the water. The same cold north wind is breathing in the sunshine, now that we are not within the screen of the trees. The plains are scattered with cattle, and a broken line of Dutch farm-houses, which we have hitherto in vain looked for, stretch at a field's distance from the canal. Having now resumed our seats, reeds and pools diversify our course; and drawing nearer Amsterdam, I must put away my book, to look after the pleasure-houses and gardens; the first presents a bed of full-blown China roses. _Amsterdam, Saturday 31st_.... _Brock._--After walking one hour and five minutes by the side of the canal, upon a good road, through a tract of peat-mossy rich pasturage, besprinkled with cattle, and bounded by a horizon broken by spires, steeple-towers, villages, scattered farms, and the unfailing windmill--seen single or in pairs, or clustered, at short distances everywhere--we are now seated beneath the shelter of a friendly windmill; the north wind bracing us, and the swallows twittering under a cloudless grey sky above our heads.... After twenty-six minutes' further walk, the canal spreads into a circular basin, upon the opposite margin of which stands the quaintly dressed little town of Brock. The church spire rises from amid elegantly neat houses, chiefly of wood, much carved and ornamented, and covered with glazed tiles.... In each of these houses is a certain elaborately ornamented door by which at their wedding the newly-married pair, and perhaps their friends, enter. It is then closed, and never opened again until the man or his wife is carried out a corpse.... The streets are paved with what are called Dutch tiles, but certainly not the polished slabs we have been accustomed to give this name to--more like our bricks, of various colours arranged in patterns, as Mr. B. would like the floors of his sheds, etc., to be. A piece of white marble often forms the centre to some device; where the flooring in a garden happens to be uniform in colour, a pattern is formed by a sprinkling of sand, which seems to lie as a part of the flooring unmoved under a fresh blowing wind.... _Saardam, Sunday evening, June 1st._--We have had a delightful trip to-day to Saardam, another North Holland town. Visited the hut, and workshop, in which Peter the Great wrought as a carpenter.... _Monday, June 2nd._--Am thankful to rest before we depart from Amsterdam, in which I would not live to be Queen of Holland; yet she is mistress of the most magnificent palace I ever saw, furnished substantially, and in excellent taste, by Louis Buonaparte. The edifice formerly belonged to the city, the Stad-house, and was presented to him as a compliment upon his elevation to the throne.... At five this day we are to depart for Utrecht, most happy to turn our faces homeward, and to leave this watery country, where there is not a drop fit to drink.... _Antwerp, June 5th._--Arose at seven, and have revisited most, indeed all, that best pleased us before--and accomplished our wish to mount the Cathedral tower, and under favourable skies; a glorious sunset upon the Scheldt; the clouds, the shadow of the spire, the spire itself, the town below, the country around, our own enjoyments--these we shall ever remember, but we are to be off to Malines, at seven o'clock in the morning.... _Wednesday 11th._-- ... Adventures we have had few; William's eyes being so much disordered, and so easily aggravated, naturally made him shun society, and crippled us in many respects; but I trust we have stored up thoughts, and images, that will not die. XII EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN THE ISLE OF MAN 1828 EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S TOUR IN THE ISLE OF MAN, 1828 _Thursday, June 26th, 1828._--Called at half-past two, and breakfasted by kitchen fire. Walked to the end of gravel terrace;[66] grey calm, and warbling birds; sad at the thought of my voyage, cheered only by the end of it. Sat long at Morris's door; grey and still; coach full, and sour looks within, for I made a fifth; won my way by civility, and communicating information to a sort of gentleman fisher going to Wytheburn. English manners ungracious: he left us at Nag's Head without a bow or good wish. Morning still foggy. Wytheburn, cliffs and trees. Stayed inside till reached an inn beside Bassenthwaite; only another lady in coach, so had a good view of the many cloudy summits and swelling breastworks of Skiddaw, and was particularly struck with the amplitude of style and objects, flat Italian foreground, large fields, and luxuriant hedges,--a perfect garden of Eden, rich as ivory and pearls. Dull and barish near Cockermouth. Town surprised me with its poor aspect. Old market-house to be pulled down. Sorry I could not study the old place. Life has gone from my Father's Court.[67] View from bridge beautiful. Ruin, castle, meadows with hay-cocks.... Again cold and dreary after river goes. Dorrington very dreary, yet fine trees. Dropped Mr. Lowther's sons from school. Busy-looking fresh-coloured aunt, looks managing and well satisfied with herself, but kind to the boys; little sister very glad, and brothers in a bustle of pleasure.... Workington very dismal; beautiful approach to Whitehaven; comfortless inn, but served by a German waiter; Buckhouse's daughter; a hall, a church; the sea, the castle; dirty women, ragged children; no shoes, no stockings; fine view of cliffs and stone quarry; pretty, smokeless, blue-roofed town; castle and inn a foreign aspect. Embarked at ten. Full moon; lighthouse; summer sky; moved away; and saw nothing till a distant view of Isle of Man. Hills cut off by clouds. Beautiful approach to Douglas harbour; wind fallen. Harry met me at inn; surprised with gay shops and store-houses; walk on the gardens of the hills; decayed houses, divided gardens; luxuriant flowers and shrubs, very like a French place; an Italian lady, the owner; air very clear, though hazy in Cumberland. Very fine walk after tea on the cliff; sea calm, and as if enclosed by haze; fishes sporting near the rocks; a few sea-birds to chatter and wail, but mostly silent rocks; two very grand masses in a little bay, a pellucid rivulet of sea-water between them; the hills mostly covered with cropped gorse, a very rich dark green. This gorse cropped in winter, and preserved for cattle fodder. The moon rose large and dull, like an ill-cleaned brass plate, slowly surmounts the haze, and sends over the calm sea a faint bright pillar. In the opposite quarter Douglas harbour; illuminated boats in motion, dark masts and eloquent ropes; noises from the town ascend to the commanding airy steeps where we rested. [Footnote 66: At Rydal Mount.--ED.] [Footnote 67: The house at Cockermouth where William and Dorothy Wordsworth were born. Compare _The Prelude_, book i.--ED.] _Saturday, 28th June._--Lovely morning; walked with Henry[68] to the nunnery; cool groves of young trees and very fine old ones. General Goulding has built a handsome house near the site of the old nunnery, on which stands a modern house (to be pulled down). The old convent bell, hung outside, is used as a house-bell; the valley very pretty, with a mill stream, and might be beautiful, if properly drained. The view of the nunnery charming from some points. [Footnote 68: Henry Hutchinson, Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, the "retired mariner" of the 9th Sonnet, composed during Wordsworth's subsequent tour in 1833.--ED.] Walked on to the old church, Kirk Bradden; handsome steeple. Burial-ground beautifully shaded, and full of tombstones. Tombstone or obelisk to the memory of a son of the Duke of Athole, commander of the Manx Fencibles. Douglas market very busy. Women often with round hats, like the Welsh; and girls without shoes and stockings, though otherwise not ill dressed. Panniers made of matted straw; country people speak more Manx than English; the sound is not hoarse nor harsh. Cliffs picturesque above Mona Castle; a waterfall (without water); the castle of very white stone from Scotland, after the style of Inveraray. How much handsomer and better suited to its site would be the native dark grey rock. The nunnery house is as it should be; and the castle, with stronger towers in the same style, would have been a noble object in the bay.... Road and flat sandy space to the sea; a beautiful sea residence for the solitary; pleasant breezes, and sky clear of haziness. _Sunday, 29th June._--A lovely bright morning; walk with H.; a fine view over the sky-blue sea; breezy on the heights. At Mr. Browne's church. Text from Isaiah, the "Shadow of a great Rock," etc., applied to our Saviour and the Christian dispensation. Marketplace and harbour cheerful, and, compared with yesterday, quiet. Gay pleasure-boats in harbour, from Liverpool and Scotland, with splendid flags. During service the noises of children and sometimes of carriages distressing. Mr. Browne a sensible and feeling, yet monotonous and weak-voiced, reader. His iron shoes clank along the aisle--the effect of this very odd. Called in the Post Office lane at the postmaster's, narrow as an Italian street, and the house low, cool, old-fashioned and cleanly. Stairs worn down with much treading, and everything reminding one of life at Penrith forty years back. A cheerful family of useful-looking, well-informed daughters; English father and Scotch mother. Crowds inquiring for letters. To Kirk Bradden, one and a half miles; arrived at second lesson. Funeral service for two children; the coffins in the church. Mr. Howard a fine-looking man and agreeable preacher. The condition of the righteous and of the ungodly after death was the subject. Groups sitting on the tombstones reminded me of the Continent. The churchyard shady and cool, a sweet resting-place. We lingered long, and walked home through the nunnery grounds. The congregation rustic, but very gay. There seems to be no room for the very poor people in either church, and in Douglas great numbers were about in the streets during service. Mr. Putman called, a gentlemanly man, faded, and delicate-looking; brought up at Dublin College for the bar, took to the stage, married a hotel lady, disapproved by her friends, gave lectures on elocution, had profits, but obliged to desist, having broken a blood-vessel; now living on a very small income at Douglas in lodgings; sighing for house-keeping, and they have bought the house we visited last night on the sands. After tea walked with Joanna on pier--a very gay and crowded scene. Saw the steam-packet depart for Liverpool. Ladies in immense hats, and as fine as millinery and their own various tastes can make them. Beauish tars; their pleasure-boats in harbour, with splendid flags; two or three worthy suitors in bright blue jackets, their badges on their breast, their hats trimmed with blue ribands. For the first time I saw the Cumberland hills; but dimly. Sea very bright; talked with old sailor and tried his spectacles. Went to the Douglas Head, very fine walk on the turf tracks among the horns gorse, bright green, studded with yellow flowers in bunches, the ladies'-bed-straw; the green sea-weed with the brown bed of the river produces a beautiful effect of colouring, and the numbers of well-dressed, or rather _showily_-dressed, people is astonishing, gathered together in the harbour, and sprinkled over the heights. Fine view of rocks below us on the lower road; lingered till near ten. Lovely moonlight when I went to bed; amused with Miss Fanny Buston, her conceit, her long, nose, her painted cheeks, _not_ painted but by nature. _Tuesday, July 1st._--With Joanna[69] to the shore, and alone on the pier. Very little air even there, but refreshing; and the water of the bay clear, and green as the Rhine; close and hot in the streets; but the sun gets out when the tide comes in; a breeze, and all is refreshed. [Footnote 69: Joanna Hutchinson.--ED.] _Wednesday morning, July 2nd._--In evening walked to Port-a-shee (the harbour of peace); foggy, and hills invisible, but stream very pretty. Shaggy banks; varied trees; splendid rosebushes and honeysuckles. Returned by sands; a beautiful playfield for children. The rocks of gorgeous colours--orange, brown, vivid green, in form resembling models of the Alps. The foggy air not oppressive. _Thursday, July 3rd._--A fine morning, but still misty on hills. On Douglas heights, the sea-rocks tremendous; wind high; a waterfowl sporting on the roughest part of the sea; flocks of jackdaws, very small; a few gulls; two men reclined at the top of a precipice with their dogs; small boats tossing in the eddy, and a pleasure-boat out with ladies; misery it would have been for me; guns fired from the ship, a fine echo in the harbour; saw the flash long before the report. Sir Wm. Hilary saved a boy's life to-day in the harbour. He raised a regiment for Government, and chose his own reward--a Baronetcy! _Friday, 4th July._--Walked with Henry to the Harbour of Peace, and up the valley; very pretty overarched bridge; neat houses, and hanging gardens, and blooming fences--the same that are so ugly seen from a distance: the wind sweeping those fences, they glance and intermingle colours as bright as gems. _Saturday._--Very bright morning. Went to the Duke's gardens, which are beautiful. I thought of Italian villas, and Italian bays, looking down on a long green lawn adorned with flower-beds, such as ours, at one end; a perfect level, with grand walks at the ends, woods rising from it up the steeps; and the dashing sea, boats, and ships, and ladies struggling with the wind; veils and gay shawls and waving flounces. The gardens beautifully managed,--wild, yet neat enough for plentiful produce; shrubbery, forest trees, vegetables, flowers, and hot-houses, all connected, yet divided by the form of the ground. Nature and art hand in hand, tall shrubs, and Spanish chestnut in great luxuriance. Lord Fitzallan's children keeping their mother's birthday in the strawberry beds. Loveliest of evenings. Isle perfectly clear, but no Cumberland; the sea alive with all colours, the eastern sky as bright as the west after sunset. _Monday, 7th July._--Departed for Castletown. Nothing very interesting except peeps of the sea. Well peopled and cultivated, yet generally naked. Earth hedges, yet thriving trees in white rows; descent of a little glen or large cliff very pleasing, with its small tribute to the ocean. One cottage, and a corn enclosure, wild-thyme, _sedum_, etc.; brilliant and dark-green gorse; the bay lovely on this sweet morning; narrow flowery lanes, wild sea-view, low peninsula of Long Ness, large round fort and ruined church: bay and port, cold, mean, comfortless; low walk at Castletown, drawbridge, river and castle, handsome strong fortress, soldiers pacing sentinel, officers and music, groups of women in white caps listening, very like a town in French Flanders, etc. etc. Civility, large rooms, no neatness. _Tuesday, 8th July._--Rose before six. Pleasant walk to Port Mary Kirk, along the bay before breakfast; well cultivated, very populous, but wanting trees; outlines of hills pleasing. Port Mary, harbour for Manx fleet; pretty green banks near the port, neat huts under those rocks, with flower-garden, fishing-nets, and sheep, really beautiful; a wild walk and beautiful descent to Port Erin; a fleet of nearly forty sails and nets in the circular rocky harbour, white houses at different heights on the bank. Then across the country past Castle Rushen--a white church, and standing low; cheerful country, a few good houses, but seldom pretty in architecture; children coming from school, schools very frequent: now we drag up the hill, an equal ascent; turf, and not bad road, but a weary way. But I ought to have before described our passage from Port Mary to Port Erin, over Spanish Head, to view the Calf, a high island, forty acres, partly cultivated, and peopled with rabbits--rent paid therewith; a stormy passage to the Calf, a boat hurrying through with tide, another small isle adjoining, very wild; I thought of the passage between Loch Awe and Loch Etive. To return to the mountain ascent from Castle Rushen: peat stacks all over, and a few warm snow huts; thatches secured by straw ropes, and the walls (in which was generally buried one window) cushioned all over with thyme in full blow, low _sedum_, and various other flowers. Called on Henry's friend beside the mountain gate; her house blinding with smoke. I sate in the doorway. She was affectionately glad to see Henry, shook hands and blessed us at parting--"God be with you, and prosper you on your journey!" Descend: more cottages, like waggon roofs of straw, chance-directed pipes of chimneys and flowery walls, not a shoe or a stocking to be seen. Dolby Glen, beautiful stream, and stone cottages, and gardens hedged with flowery elder, and mallows as beautiful as geraniums in a greenhouse. _Wednesday, 9th, Peele._--Morning bright, and all the town busy. Yesterday the first of the herring fishing, and black baskets laden with silvery herrings were hauled through the town, herrings in the hand on sticks, and huge black fish dragged through the dust. Sick at the sight, ferried across the harbour to the Island Castle, very grand and very wild, with cathedral, tower, and extensive ruins, and tombstones of recent date: several of shipwrecked men. Our guide showed us the place where, as Sir Walter Scott tells us, Captain Edward Christian was confined, and another dungeon where the Duchess of Gloucester was shut up fifteen years, and there died, and used to appear in the shape of a black dog; and a soldier who used to laugh at the story vowed he would speak to it and died raving mad. The Castle was built before artillery was used, and the walls are so thin that it is surprising that it has stood so long. The grassy floor of the hill delightful to rest on through a summer's day, to view the ships and sea, and hear the dashing waves, here seldom gentle, for the entrance to this narrow harbour is very rocky. Fine caves towards the north, but it being high water, we could not go to them. Our way to Kirk Michael, a delightful terrace; sea to our left, cultivated hills to the right, and views backwards to Peele charming. The town stands under a very steep green hill, with a watch-tower at the top, and the castle on its own rock in the sea--a sea as clear as any mountain stream. Fishing-vessels still sallying forth. Visited the good Bishop Wilson's grave, and rambled under the shade of his trees at Bishop's Court, a mile further. The whole country pleasant to Ramsey; steep red banks of river. The town close to the sea, within a large bay, formed to the north by a bare red steep, to the south by green mountain and glen and fine trees, with houses on the steep. Ships in harbour, a steam-vessel at a distance, and sea and hills bright in the evening-time. Pleasant houses overlooking the sea, but the cottage[70] all unsuspected till we reach a little spring, where it lurks at the foot of a glen, under green steeps. A low thatched white house dividing the grassy pleasure plot, adorned with flowers, and above it on one side a hanging garden--flowers, fruit, vegetables intermingled, and above all the orchard and forest trees; peeps of the sea and up the glen, and a full view of the green steep; a little stream murmuring below. We sauntered in the garden, and I paced from path to path, picked ripe fruit, ran down to the sands, there paced, watched the ships and steamboats--in short, was charmed with the beauty and novelty of the scene: the quiet rural glen, the cheerful shore, the solemn sea. To bed before day was gone. [Footnote 70: The house in which they were to stay at Ramsey.--ED.] _Thursday._--Rose early. Could not resist the sunny grass plot, the shady woody steeps, the bright flowers, the gentle breezes, the soft flowing sea. Walked to Manghold Head, and Manghold Kirk: the first where the cross was planted. The views of Ramsey Bay delightful from the Head: a fine green steep, on the edge of which stands the pretty chapel, with one bell outside, an ancient pedestal curiously carved, Christ on the cross, the mother and infant Jesus, the Manx arms, and other devices; near it the square foundation surrounded with steps of another cross, on which is now placed a small sundial, the whole lately barbarously whitewashed, with church and roof--a glaring contrast to the grey thatched cottages, and green trees, which partly embower the church. Numerous are the grave-stones surrounding that neat and humble building: a sanctuary taken from the waste, where fern and heath grow round, and _over_-grow the graves. I sate on the hill, while Henry sought the Holy Well, visited once a year by the Manx men and women, where they leave their offering--a pin, or any other trifle. Walked leisurely back to Ramsey; fine views of the bay, the orange-coloured buoy, the lovely town, the green steeps. The town very pretty seen from the quay as at the mountain's foot; rich wood climbing up the mountain glen, and spread along the hillsides. THE END _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. Transcriber's Note Footnotes have been moved below the paragraph to which they relate. There is a paragraph on Page 218 that is partially repeated on Page 219. Since there are minor differences to the text, I have left the two unchanged. "=" is used in the text to indicate that a fancy font was used. Inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, formatting, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - Period removed after "Church" on main title page - "Ferry house" changed to "Ferry-House" on Page 3 - "Crerar" changed to "Creran" on Page 3 - "Ferryhouse" changed to "Ferry-House" on Page 4 - Period added after "38" on Page 4 - "t" changed to "it" on Page 49 - Period added after "shade" on Page 127 - Hyphen changed to a dash after "pain" on Page 141 - Period added after "ED" on Footnote 36 - "Ullswater" changed to "Ulswater" on Page 157 - Quote removed after "Switzerland." on Page 215 
47519	----	(MormonTextsProject.org). PRESIDENT HEBER C. KIMBALL'S JOURNAL. SEVENTH BOOK OF THE FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES. Designed for the Instruction and Encouragement of Young Latter-day Saints. JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE. Salt Lake City, 1882. PREFACE No apology is necessary for publishing as a volume of the "FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES" some portion of the history of the late President Heber C. Kimball. Knowing the estimation in which he was held while living by the Latter day Saints universally, and that the memory of his virtues and life-long devotion to the cause of God is still fresh in their hearts, we feel assured that they will regard as an acceptable offering the brief account of his experience contained in this volume. We only regret that we cannot in the present work give a sketch of his entire life, or at least all of those incidents from it which would tend to promote faith in young readers. His was an exceedingly active and interesting life, and it is scarcely necessary to state that the sketch here published, covering a period of only a little over four years, contains but a fraction of that which is interesting and wonderful in his life's experience. However, what is here given will doubtless convey many valuable lessons to those who read it, and will serve to indicate the character of the great man of whom it treats. Heber Chase Kimball was one of the greatest men of this age. There was a certain nobility about his appearance as well as his disposition that would have made him conspicuous in any community, and the Church of Jesus Christ afforded ample scope for the exercise of his ability, and the trying scenes through which he passed called into play his best powers. He was a man of commanding presence, with eyes so keen as to almost pierce one through, and before which the guilty involuntarily quailed. He was fearless and powerful in rebuking the wrong-doer, but kind, benevolent and fatherly to the deserving. He possessed such wonderful control over the passions of men, combined with such wisdom and diplomacy that the Prophet Joseph Smith called him "the peace-maker." His great faith, zeal, earnestness, devotion to principle, cheerfulness under the most trying circumstances, energy, perseverance and honest simplicity marked him as no ordinary man. He possessed great natural force and strong will power, yet in his submission to the Priesthood and obedience to the laws of God he set a pattern to the whole Church. His example throughout life was one of which his posterity may ever think with pride, and which the Saints generally will do well to follow. No man, perhaps, Joseph Smith excepted, who has belonged to the Church in this generation, ever possessed the gift of prophecy to a greater degree than Brother Kimball. Although not at all pretentious, he was somewhat celebrated among his acquaintances for his prophetic inspiration. The prediction which he made soon after the arrival of the Pioneers in Salt Lake Valley, that the destitute Saints would soon be supplied with clothing, and that "States goods" would be sold in Salt Lake City as cheap as in New York, seemed most unreasonable at the time it was uttered. Its fulfillment, however, by the unexpected influx of gold-seekers, making their way to California, and anxious to lighten their loads by selling their goods at almost any price, is now a matter of history. Scores of other predictions were made by him and as literally fulfilled. Brother Kimball was the only one of his father's family who embraced the gospel, but now his is one of the most numerous families in the Church. At the time of his death, which occurred June 22, 1868, he was the father of sixty-five children, of whom thirty males and eleven females were then living. His direct descendants now number one hundred and seventy-two. The first ten chapters of this work were formerly published in pamphlet form by Elder R. B. Thompson in Nauvoo. Only a small edition, however, was printed, and it has now been out of print for a great many years. The next six chapters have been compiled from the manuscript history of Elder Kimball by his eldest daughter, Sister Helen Mar Whitney, to whom we are also indebted for the items contained in his letters from which the last chapter was written. THE PUBLISHER. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Called to go Upon a Mission to England--Appointed to Preside--The Journey. CHAPTER II. Timidity at the Thoughts of my Task--Prompted by the Spirit to go to Preston--"The Truth Will Prevail"--Meet Elder Fielding's Brother, a Preacher--Invited to Preach in his Chapel--Seeing his Craft Endangered, he Closes his Doors Against us--Another Minister Forbids us Baptizing his Church Members--Desperate Struggle with Evil Spirits--Commence Baptizing--Elders Separate--Opposed by a Minister--His Subsequent Shame. CHAPTER III. Meeting for Confirmation--Convert and Baptize Miss Richards--Her Father, a Minister, Invites me to Preach in his Chapel--Congregation Believe my Testimony--Mr. Richards Frightened--Closes his Chapel Against me--His Daughter Troubled--I Predict that he will Again Open his Chapel to me--Prediction Fulfilled--Other Elders Encouraged by the Rev. Mr. Matthews, who Afterwards Rejects their Testimony and Commences Preaching their Doctrines on his Own Account. CHAPTER IV. The People Eager to Hear us--We Rent "The Cock Pit" to Preach in--Obtain Licenses to Preach--Continued Success. CHAPTER V. First Conference in England--Word of Wisdom First Taught there--Enemies Active--Urgent Invitation from a Baptist Church--The Effect of our Preaching. CHAPTER VI. Impressed to Visit Downham and Chatburn--Bad Character of those Places--Warned Against Going--Joy with which the Gospel was Received--The People Eager to be Baptized--Loth to Part with me--Vain Opposition from a Minister--Affecting Conduct of Little Children. CHAPTER VII. Visit to the Moon Family--Prejudiced Against our Doctrine--A Prophecy about them--Impressed to Call at their House again--My Presence Hailed With Joy as an Answer to Prayer--The Prophecy Fulfilled; they Join the Church--A Dream and its Interpretation. CHAPTER VIII. Extraordinary Success--Very Cold Weather--Scenes of Suffering--Our Excessive Labors--A General Conference--Farewell Meeting--Affection Manifested for us--Elder Russell's Labors--Elder Goodson a Barrier. CHAPTER IX. Our Lodgings--Wants Supplied by Liberality of Saints--Journey to Liverpool--Contrast Between Arrival and Departure--Return Voyage--Meeting with Elders and Saints at New York--Arrival at Kirtland. CHAPTER X. Removal to Missouri--Sickness--Kindness of the Saints at Far West--Build a House, and then Have to Abandon it--Battle of Crooked River--Death and Final Testimony of Apostle David W. Patten--Corner Stone of Temple at Far West Laid--Removal to Illinois. CHAPTER XI. Far West Besieged--Joseph Smith and Brethren Betrayed by Apostates--Atrocities of Mob--Conversation with W. E. M'Lellin--Extermination Speech of General Clark. CHAPTER XII. Perils of the People--Cheerfulness of the Saints amidst their Troubles--Visit our Brethren in Prison--Apostles Ordained--Mock Distribution of State Appropriation--Letter from Joseph Smith and Brethren in Prison--Indifference of State Officials to our Appeals--Word of the Lord to me. CHAPTER XIII. Final Expulsion from Ear West--Destruction of Property--Escape of Joseph Smith and Brethren--Attempt to Visit Parley P. Pratt and Brethren in Prison--Forced to Flee to Escape Mob Violence--Assembly of Apostles and Others on Temple Site According to Revelation--Arrival in Illinois--Word of the Lord Fulfilled. CHAPTER XIV. Joyful Meeting with Joseph--First Conference in Illinois--First Visit to Commerce--My Impression Concerning the New Gathering Place--My Recommend--Struggle with Evil Spirits--Joseph Smith's Experience with Evil Spirits--P. P. Pratt's Escape from Prison--Building Houses--Prostrate with Sickness--Remarkable Manifestation of the Gift of Healing. CHAPTER XV. Start upon a Mission under Distressing Circumstances--Incidents of the Journey--A Drunken Doctor Gives me a Table-spoonful of Morphine--My Life Saved Through the Prayer of Faith--Brethren Leave me to Proceed to Kirtland--Their Fear that I would Die--I Predict that, I would Recover and Reach Kirtland Before Them. CHAPTER XVI. Further Incidents of the Journey--Money Increased by the Power of God--Arrival at Kirtland Ahead of Brethren, in Fulfillment of my Prediction--Services in the Temple--Visit my Old Home and my Relatives--Kind Treatment--Arrival in New York--Joyful Meeting with Brethren. CHAPTER XVII. Incidents of Elder Kimball's Mission, as Gleaned from his Letters--Some of his Prophecies Fulfilled--Elder Hyde's Account of the Contest with Evil Spirits--Great Success of the work Throughout England--A Testimonial--Summary of Labors--Return to Nauvoo. PRESIDENT H. C. KIMBALL'S JOURNAL. AN ACCOUNT OF HIS MISSION TO ENGLAND AND THE INTRODUCTION OF THE GOSPEL TO THAT LAND. CHAPTER I. CALLED TO GO UPON A MISSION TO ENGLAND--APPOINTED TO PRESIDE--THE JOURNEY. The labors of the Elders of the Church of Latter-day Saints in early days were confined to the United States of America, with the exception of the province of Upper Canada, where a great many persons embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ, and rejoiced in the blessings thereof. The majority of this latter class were originally from Great Britain, and they soon began to manifest a desire that their relatives and friends who were still residing there, might be privileged with hearing the glad tidings of salvation, and be made partakers of those gifts and blessings which are promised in obedience thereto. For the attainment of this object, their prayers were continually ascending to the Lord of sabaoth, that He would prepare the way, and hasten the time when "The servants of the Lord Soon should take their stand, And spread the glorious light of truth-- Throughout their native land." Notwithstanding this desire, the way was not open for the Elders until the spring of 1837, when the word of the Lord to the Elders of Israel was, that they might go forth to the distant nations of the earth, that the kingdom might roll forth, so that every heart might be penetrated. Prior to this, my labors had been confined to my own land, in which I had traveled about six thousand miles, preaching the gospel to the best of my ability, and had the pleasure of baptizing several of my countrymen for the remission of sins, and introducing them into the kingdom which the Lord has set up in these last days. I had frequently felt a desire to visit the shores of Europe, and believed that the time was fast approaching when I should take leave of my own country and lift up my voice to other nations, warning them of the things which were coming on the earth, and making known to them the great things which the Lord had brought to pass. Yet it never occurred to my mind that I should be one of the first commissioned to preach the everlasting gospel on the shores of Europe, and I can assure my friends I was taken by surprise when I was informed by Brother Hyrum Smith, one of the Presidency of the Church, that I had been designed by the Spirit, and, at a conference of the authorities of the Church which had been held, was appointed to take the charge of a mission to the kingdom of Great Britain. The idea of being appointed to such an important office and mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I felt my weakness and unworthiness, and was nearly ready to sink under the task which devolved upon me, and I could not help exclaiming: "O Lord I am a man of 'stammering tongue,' and altogether unfit for such a work. How can I go to preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for light, knowledge and piety, and as the nursery of religion; and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial?" Again, the idea of leaving my family for so long a time, which a mission to that country must necessarily require--of being separated from my friends whom I loved, and with whom I had enjoyed many blessings and happy seasons--of leaving my native land to sojourn among strangers in a strange land, was almost overwhelming. However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty. Neither did I confer with flesh and blood; but the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification I needed. Although my family were dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration; and I felt willing to leave them, believing that their wants would be provided for by that God who taketh care of sparrows and who feedeth the young ravens when they cry. I was then set apart, along with Elder Hyde, who was likewise appointed to that mission, by the laying on of the hands of the Presidency, who agreed that Elders Goodson, Russell, Richards, Fielding and Snider should accompany us. After spending a few days in arranging my affairs and settling my business, on the thirteenth day of June, A. D. 1837, I bade adieu to my family and friends, and the town of Kirtland, where the house of the Lord stood, in which I had received my anointing, and had seen such wonderful displays of the power and glory of God. In company with Elder Hyde and the other brethren, I arrived at Fairport, on Lake Erie, that afternoon, a distance of twelve miles; and about an hour after our arrival, took passage in a steam-boat for Buffalo, New York. We were accompanied by Brother R. B. Thompson and wife, who were on their way to Canada, from Kirtland, where he intended to labor in the ministry. After a pleasant voyage, we reached Buffalo the next day, at which place we expected to get some funds which were promised us, to assist us on our journey, but we were unfortunately disappointed. At that time we had but very little means, but still we determined to prosecute our journey, believing that the Lord would open our way. We accordingly continued our journey, and took our passage in a line boat on the Erie Canal to Utica, a distance of two hundred and fifty miles, and thence to Albany on the railroad. From this latter place I went with Brother Richards into the country about thirty miles, where we were successful in obtaining some means to enable us to prosecute our journey. We then returned and took passage on a steamboat for New York, at which place we arrived on the 22nd day of June. On our arrival we met with Brothers Goodson and Snider, according to appointment (they having gone round by the way of Canada), all in good health. When we arrived at New York we found a vessel ready to sail, but not having sufficient means we were obliged to wait until such time as we could obtain funds to pay our passage and buy provisions for the voyage. We rented a small room in a store house, hoping that some way would be provided for us to go forward and fulfill the mission whereunto we were sent. We spent considerable time while we were there in praying to our Heavenly Father for His guidance and protection, that He would make our way plain before us, bless us with a prosperous voyage across the billows of the mighty ocean, and make us a blessing to each other and to the captain and crew with whom we should sail. During our stay in that city, we were subject to many inconveniences. We had to lay upon the floor, and had to buy and cook our own victuals; yet none of these things moved us, neither did we feel discouraged, believing that the Lord would open our way and guide us to our destination. We conversed with many persons on the subject of the gospel, and distributed a large number of copies of the "Prophetic Warning" among all classes of the community; not forgetting the ministers of religion who abound in that city. We sent a copy to every one whose name we could ascertain through the medium of the post office. After remaining a few days, we were presented with sixty dollars to assist us. Brother Elijah Fordham made us a present of ten dollars, and concluded to accompany us on our mission, but upon more mature consideration, we thought it was best for him to stop in that place, believing that the Lord had a people in that city, and that a Church would be built up, which was afterwards done by the instrumentality of Elders Parley P. and Orson Pratt. Having obtained as much money as would pay our passage across the Atlantic, we laid in a stock of provisions, and on the first day of July went on board the ship _Garrick_, bound for Liverpool, and weighed anchor about ten o'clock, a. m., and about four o'clock, p. m. of the same day, lost sight of my native land. I had feelings which I cannot describe when I could no longer behold its shores, and when I bade adieu to the land of my birth, which was fast receding, I felt to exclaim: "Yes, my native land, I love thee: All thy scenes I love them well: Friends, connections, happy country, Can I bid you all farewell? Can I leave you Far in distant lands to dwell?" However, when I reflected on the causes which had induced me to leave it for a while, and the work which devolved upon me I could likewise say, "I go, but not to plough the main To ease a restless mind." No; I hope I was actuated by a different motive than either to please myself or to gain the riches and applause of the world; it was a higher consideration than these that induced me to leave my home. It was because a dispensation of the gospel had been committed to me, and I felt an ardent desire that my fellow-creatures in other lands, as well as those of the land of my birth, might hear the sound of the everlasting gospel, obey its requisitions, rejoice in the fullness and blessings thereof and escape the judgments which were threatened upon the ungodly. Our passage was very agreeable, and the winds for most part very favorable. On the banks of Newfoundland we saw several whales and many different species of fish. We were kindly treated while on board, both by the officers and crew, and their conduct was indeed praiseworthy; had we been their own relatives, they could not have behaved more kindly or have treated us better. Thus the Lord answered our prayers in this respect, for which I desire to praise His holy name. The Lord also gave us favor in the eyes of the passengers, who treated us with the greatest respect. During our voyage a child belonging to one of the passengers was very sick and was given up for dead by the doctor who attended it; consequently, its parents had given up all hopes of its recovery, and expected to have to commit their little one to the ocean. Feeling a great anxiety for the child, I went to its parents and reasoned with, and laid before them the principle of faith, and told them that the Lord was able to restore their child, notwithstanding there was no earthly prospect of its recovery, to which they listened with great interest. Having an opportunity shortly after, secretly to lay hands upon the child, I did so, and in the name of Jesus Christ rebuked the disease which preyed upon its system. The Spirit of the Lord attended the administration, and from that time the child began to recover, and two or three days after it was running about perfectly well. Its parents had to acknowledge that it was healed by the power of the Almighty. The last Sunday we were on the water I went to the captain and asked the privilege for one of us to preach on board. He very obligingly agreed, and appointed the time when it would be most suitable for himself and the crew to attend, which was at one o'clock p. m. We then appointed Brother Hyde to speak, and notified the crew and passengers of the circumstance. At the time appointed, there was a congregation of from two to three hundred persons assembled on the deck, who listened with great attention and deep interest to the discourse, which was delivered with great power. I think I never heard Brother Hyde speak with such power and eloquence as that time; he spoke on the subject of the resurrection. The time being limited on account of the duties of the ship's company, his subject was necessarily condensed. The congregation was composed of persons from different nations, and of different faiths, English, Irish, Scotch, Germans, French, etc., both Jews and Christians. A great feeling was produced upon the minds of the assembly, who had never heard the subject treated in like manner before, and from the conversation we afterwards had with several of them, I believe that good was done and many from that time began to search the scriptures for themselves, which are able to make men wise unto salvation. On the 15th of July we came in sight of land, which caused joy and gratitude to my Heavenly Father to arise in my bosom for the favorable passage we had had so far and the prospect of soon reaching our destination. We then sailed up the Irish channel, having Ireland on our left and Wales on our right. The scenery was very beautiful and imposing. Three days after first seeing land, being the 18th of July, we arrived in Liverpool, one of the largest ports in Great Britain, being just seventeen days and two hours from our departure from New York. The packet ship _South America_, which left New York the same time we did, came in a few lengths behind. The sight was very grand to see these two vessels enter port, with every inch of canvass spread. When we first got sight of Liverpool, I went to the side of the vessel and poured out my soul in praise and thanksgiving to God for the prosperous voyage and for all the mercies which He had vouchsafed to me, and while thus engaged, and while contemplating the scenery which then presented itself and the circumstances which had brought me thus far, the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me in a powerful manner; my soul was filled with love and gratitude, and was humbled within me, while I covenanted to dedicate myself to God and to love and serve Him with all my heart. Immediately after we anchored, a small boat came alongside, and several of the passengers, with Brothers Hyde, Richards, Goodson and myself got in and went on shore. When we were within six or seven feet from the pier, I leaped on shore, and for the first time in my life stood on British ground, among strangers whose manners and customs were different from my own. My feelings at that time were peculiar, particularly when I realized the object, importance and extent of my mission and the work to which I had been appointed and in which I was shortly to be engaged. CHAPTER II. TIMIDITY AT THE THOUGHTS OF MY TASK--PROMPTED BY THE SPIRIT TO GO TO PRESTON--THE "TRUTH WILL PREVAIL"--MEET ELDER FIELDING'S BROTHER, A PREACHER--INVITED TO PREACH IN HIS CHAPEL--SEEING HIS CRAFT ENDANGERED, HE CLOSES HIS DOORS AGAINST US--ANOTHER MINISTER FORBIDS US BAPTIZING HIS CHURCH MEMBERS--DESPERATE STRUGGLE WITH EVIL SPIRITS--COMMENCE BAPTIZING--ELDERS SEPARATE--OPPOSED BY A MINISTER--HIS SUBSEQUENT SHAME. The idea of standing forth and proclaiming the gospel in a land so much extolled for religion, which was constantly sending forth her ministers to almost every nation under heaven, and among a people who, of course, did not expect to be taught, but to teach others the principles of the gospel, and the consciousness of my own weakness and unfitness for such an undertaking, led me to cry mightily to the Lord for wisdom and for that comfort and support which I so much needed. At the same time I thought that if I could have been relieved from the responsibility which rested upon me, by fighting Goliath on as unequal terms as David did, I should have felt myself happy. However, I endeavored to put my trust in God, believing that He would assist me in publishing the truth and that He would be a present help in the time of need. Having no means, poor and penniless we wandered in the streets of that great city, where wealth and luxury, penury and want abound. I there met the rich attired in the most costly dresses, and the next moment was saluted with the cries of the poor, who were without covering sufficient to screen them from the weather. Such a distinction I never saw before. We then looked out for a place to lodge in, and found a room belonging to a widow which we engaged for a few days. The time we were in Liverpool was spent in council and in calling on the Lord for direction, so that we might be led to places where we should be most useful in proclaiming the gospel and in establishing and spreading His kingdom. While thus engaged, the Spirit of the Lord, the mighty power of God, was with us, and we felt greatly strengthened, and a determination to go forward, come life or death, honor or reproach, was manifested by us all. Our trust was in God, who we believed could make us as useful in bringing down the kingdom of Satan as He did the rams' horns, in bringing down the walls of Jericho and in gathering out a number of precious souls who were buried amidst the rubbish of tradition, and who had none to show them the way of truth. Feeling led by the Spirit of the Lord to go to Preston, a large manufacturing town in Lancashire, we started for that place three days after our arrival in Liverpool. We went by coach and arrived on Saturday afternoon about four o'clock. After unloading our trunks, Brother Goodson went in search of a place of lodging, and Brother Fielding went to seek a brother of his, who was a minister, residing in that place. It being the day on which their representatives were chosen, the streets presented a very busy scene; indeed I never witnessed anything like it before in my life. On one of the flags, which was just enrolled before us the moment the coach reached its destination, was the following motto: "TRUTH WILL PREVAIL," which was painted in large, gilt letters. It being so very seasonable and the sentiment being so appropriate to us in our situation, we were involuntarily led to exclaim, "Amen! So let it be." Brother Goodson having found a room where we could be accommodated, which belonged to a widow woman, situated in Wilford Street, we moved our baggage there. Shortly after, Brother. Fielding returned, having found his brother, who requested to have an interview with some of us that evening. Accordingly, Elders Hyde, Goodson and I went and were kindly received by him and Mr. Watson, his brother-in-law, who was present at the time. We gave them a short account of the object of our mission and the great work which the Lord had commenced, and conversed upon those subjects until a late hour. The next morning we were presented with half a crown, which Mr. Fielding's sister had sent us. It being Sunday, we went to hear Mr. Fielding preach. After he had finished his discourse, and without being requested by us, he gave out an appointment for some one of us to preach in the afternoon. It being noised abroad that some Elders from America were in town and were going to preach in the afternoon, a large concourse of people assembled to hear us. It falling to my lot to speak, I called their attention to the first principles of the gospel, and told them something of the nature of the work which the Lord had commenced on the earth. Brother Hyde afterwards bore testimony to the same, which I believe was received by many with whom I afterwards conversed. Another appointment was given out for us in the evening, at which time Brother Goodson preached and Brother Fielding bore testimony. An appointment was then made for us on Wednesday evening at the same place, at which time Elder Hyde preached. A number now being convinced of the truth, believed the testimony and began to praise God and rejoice exceedingly that the Lord had again visited His people, and sent His servants to lay before them the doctrine of the gospel "and the truth as it is in Jesus." The Rev. Mr. Fielding, who had kindly invited us to preach in his chapel, knowing that quite a number of his members believed our testimony and that some were wishful to be baptized, shut his doors against us and would suffer us to preach no more in his chapel. For an excuse, he said that we had preached the doctrine of baptism for the remission of sins, contrary to our arrangement with him. I need scarcely assure my friends that nothing was said to him from which any inference could be drawn that we should suppress the doctrine of baptism. No! We deemed it too important a doctrine to lay aside for any privilege we could receive from mortals. Mr. Fielding understood our doctrines even before we came there, having received several communications from his brother Joseph, who wrote to him from Canada, explaining the doctrines of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We likewise had conversed with him on the subject at our former interview. However, he having been traditioned to believe in infant baptism, and having preached and practiced the same a number of years, he saw the situation he would be placed in if he obeyed the gospel. Notwithstanding his talents and standing in society, he would have to come into the sheepfold by the door; and after all his preaching to others, have to be baptized himself for the remission of sins by those who were ordained to that power. These considerations undoubtedly had their weight upon his mind, and caused him to act as he did, and notwithstanding his former kindness he soon became one of our most violent opposers. An observation which escaped his lips shortly after this circumstance, I shall here mention. Speaking one day respecting the three first sermons which were preached in that place, he said that "Kimball bored the holes, Goodson drove the nails and Hyde clinched them." However, his congregation did not follow his example; they had for some time been praying for our coming, and had been assured by Mr. Fielding that he could not place more confidence in an angel than he did in the statements of his brother respecting this people. Consequently, they were in a great measure prepared for the reception of the gospel, probably as much so as Cornelius was anciently. Having now no public place to preach in, we began to preach in private houses, which were opened in every direction, while numbers believed the gospel. After we had been in that place eight days, we began to baptize in the name of the Lord Jesus for the remission of sins. One "reverend" gentleman came and forbid us baptizing any of his members; but we told him that all who were of age and requested baptism we should undoubtedly administer that ordinance to. One Saturday evening I was appointed by the brethren to baptize a number the next morning in the river Ribble, which runs through that place. By this time, the adversary of souls began to rage, and he felt a determination to destroy us before we had fully established the gospel in that land; and the next morning I witnessed such a scene of satanic power and influence as I shall never forget while memory lasts. About day-break, Brother Russell (who was appointed to preach in the market-place that day), who slept in the second story of the house in which we were entertained, came up to the room where Elder Hyde and I were sleeping and called upon us to arise and pray for him, for he was so afflicted with evil spirits that he could not live long unless he should obtain relief. We immediately arose, laid hands upon him and prayed that the Lord would have mercy on His servant and rebuke the devil. While thus engaged, I was struck with great force by some invisible power and fell senseless on the floor as if I had been shot, and the first thing that I recollected was, that I was supported by Brothers Hyde and Russell, who were beseeching a throne of grace in my behalf. They then laid me on the bed, but my agony was so great that I could not endure, and I was obliged to get out, and fell on my knees and began to pray. I then sat on the bed and could distinctly see the evil spirits, who foamed and gnashed their teeth upon us. We gazed upon them about an hour and a half, and I shall never forget the horror and malignity depicted on the countenances of these foul spirits, and any attempt to paint the scene which then presented itself, or portray the malice and enmity depicted in their countenances would be vain. I perspired exceedingly, and my clothes were as wet as if I had been taken out of the river. I felt exquisite pain, and was in the greatest distress for some time. However, I learned by it the power of the adversary, his enmity against the servants of God and got some understanding of the invisible world. The Lord delivered us from the wrath of our spiritual enemies and blessed us exceedingly that day, and I had the pleasure (notwithstanding my weakness of body from the shock I had experienced) of baptizing nine individuals and hailing them brethren in the kingdom of God. A circumstance took place while at the water side which I cannot refrain from mentioning, which will show the eagerness and anxiety of some in that land to obey the gospel. Two of the candidates who were changing their clothes and preparing for baptism at the distance of several rods from the place where I was standing in the water, were so anxious to obey the gospel, that they ran with all their might to the water, each wishing to be baptized first. The younger, being quicker on foot than the elder, out-ran him, and came first into the water. The circumstance reminded me of Peter and another disciple, who went to see the sepulchre where the Savior was laid: their anxiety was so great to find out whether He was yet there or not, that they had a race for it. The ceremony of baptizing being somewhat novel, a large concourse of people assembled on the banks of the river to witness the ceremony. In the afternoon, Elder Russell preached in the market-place, standing on a pedestal, to a very large congregation, numbers of whom were pricked to the heart. Thus the work of the Lord commenced in that land (notwithstanding the rage of the adversary and his attempt to destroy us)--a work which shall roll forth, not only in that land but upon all the face of the earth, even "in lands and isles unknown." The next morning we held a council, at which Elders Goodson and Richards were appointed to go to the city of Bedford, there being a good prospect, from the information received, of a Church being built up in that city. Elders Russell and Snider were appointed to go to Alston, in Cumberland, near the borders of Scotland, and Elders Hyde, Fielding and the writer were to remain in Preston and the regions round about. The next day, the brethren took their departure for the different fields of labor assigned them. Brothers Hyde, Fielding and I continued lifting up our voices in private houses, at the corners of the streets, in the market-place and wherever the Lord opened a door. The following Sabbath, Elder Hyde preached in the market-place to a numerous assemblage, both rich and poor, who flocked from all parts to hear "what these babblers had to say," hearing that we were "setters forth of strange doctrines." After Brother Hyde had got through, I gave an exhortation, and when I had concluded, a minister stepped forward to oppose us on the doctrines we advanced, but more particularly on the doctrine of baptism, he being a great stickler for infant baptism. The people, thinking he intended to offend us, would not let him proceed, but seemed determined to put him down, and undoubtedly would have done so had not Brother Hyde interposed and begged permission for the gentleman to speak, telling the congregation that he was prepared to meet any arguments he might advance. This appeased the people, who listened to the remarks of the reverend gentleman; after which Brother Hyde spoke in answer to the objections which had been offered, to the satisfaction of nearly all present. The minister felt somewhat ashamed. One individual came up to him and asked him what he now thought of his "baby baptism," while another came, took him by the hand and led him out of the throng. Indeed, all those who arose up to oppose the doctrines we taught were confounded, and could not with any success combat the truths we preached. CHAPTER III. MEETING FOR CONFIRMATION--CONVERT AND BAPTIZE MISS RICHARDS--HER FATHER, A MINISTER, INVITES ME TO PREACH IN HIS CHAPEL--CONGREGATION BELIEVE MY TESTIMONY--MR. RICHARDS FRIGHTENED--CLOSES HIS CHAPEL AGAINST ME--HIS DAUGHTER TROUBLED--I PREDICT THAT HE WILL AGAIN OPEN HIS CHAPEL TO ME--PREDICTION FULFILLED--OTHER ELDERS ENCOURAGED BY THE REV. MR. MATTHEWS, WHO AFTERWARDS REJECTS THEIR TESTIMONY AND COMMENCES PREACHING THEIR DOCTRINES ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT. Having had considerable success the short time we had labored in that place, and having baptized a number we requested them to meet at the house of Sister Dawson for confirmation on the evening of the second Sabbath after our arrival in Preston. The people having come together, we fully explained to them the nature of that ordinance about to be performed. We then laid our hands upon between forty and fifty for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and confirmed them members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. While attending to this ordinance the Spirit of the Lord rested down upon us in a powerful manner, which caused us to rejoice exceedingly. Thus the word of the Lord spread and prevailed. About this time, a young lady, the daughter of a minister of the Presbyterian order, who resided about fifteen miles from Preston, being on a visit to that place, happened to be at the house of a family with whom I was acquainted. Calling in to see them at the time she was there I was introduced to her, and we immediately entered into conversation on the subject of the gospel. I found her a very intelligent person, and she seemed very desirous to hear the things I had to teach and understand the doctrines of the gospel. I informed her of an appointment I had made to preach that evening, and invited her to attend. She did so, and likewise the evening following; and after attending these two services she was fully convinced of the truth, and the next morning sent for me, desiring to be baptized. I cheerfully complied with her request, and confirmed her at the water side. The following day, she started for home, requesting me to pray for her, and gave us some encouragement to expect that her father would open his chapel for me to preach in. I hastened to my brethren, told them of the circumstance and the result of my visit with the young lady, and then called upon them to unite in prayer that the Lord would soften the heart of her father, that he might be induced to open his chapel for us to preach in, and that our way might be opened in that place. The next week I received a letter from her, and one from her father, in which he informed me that I was expected to be at his place the following Saturday, as he had given out an appointment for me to preach in his chapel the next Sunday. The following is a copy of the letter: "_Sir_:--You are expected to be here next Saturday. You are given out to preach in the forenoon, afternoon and evening. Although we be strangers to one another, yet I hope we are not strangers to our blessed Redeemer, else I would not have given out for you to preach; our chapel is but little and the congregation but few--yet if one soul be converted, it is of more value than the whole world. I remain in haste, JOHN RICHARDS." Agreeable to the kind invitation, I made preparation to visit that place, and took coach on Saturday afternoon at Preston and arrived at his house a little before dark. On my entering, he arose and said, "I understand you are the minister lately from America!" I told him I was, whereupon he bade me welcome to his house, and seemed to rejoice at my arrival. After receiving refreshment at his hospitable board, we commenced a conversation which lasted till a late hour, which appeared satisfactory to the whole family. The next morning I accompanied the reverend gentleman to his chapel, and at the hour appointed commenced to preach to a crowded congregation on the principles of salvation. I likewise preached in the afternoon and evening, and my hearers seemed to manifest great interest in the things which I laid before them. Nearly the whole congregation shed tears of joy. After I had concluded the services of the day, Mr. Richards gave out another appointment for me to preach on Monday evening, which I attended to. I likewise, by request of the congregation, preached on Wednesday evening. A number now began to believe the doctrines I advanced, and on Thursday, six individuals, all members of Mr. Richards' church, came forward for baptism. Mr. Richards now, seeing the effect which my preaching produced, and fearing lest he should lose all his members and likewise the salary which was allowed him for preaching, told me that he must close the doors of his chapel against me; but at the same time his behavior was kind, and to his praise be it spoken, treated me with the greatest hospitality. I then began to preach in private houses, which were opened in that neighborhood, and I ceased not to declare to all who came to hear, both by night and by day, the glorious tidings of salvation, and that God had again restored the ordinances as at the first, and counselors as at the beginning. Notwithstanding Mr. Richards closed the door of his meeting house against me, he frequently came to hear me preach. His daughter felt very sorrowful on account of her father not allowing me to preach any more in his place of worship, and wept much; but I told her not to fear, for I believed that God would soften his heart and cause him to open his chapel for me to preach in again. During this time I was principally entertained at his house. The next Sunday I went along with him to his meeting, feeling a desire to hear him preach. After he had finished his discourse, I was surprised to hear him give out another appointment for me to preach in his chapel. I accordingly preached in the afternoon and in the evening, and the word seemed to be with power and the effect was great upon the people. The next day I baptized two more, both members of Mr. Richards' church. Mr. Richards had preached in that place upwards of thirty years, and his members, as well as the inhabitants of the place and vicinity, were very much attached to him. Yet, when the fullness of the gospel was preached, although in much weakness, the people, notwithstanding their attachment and regard for their venerable pastor, being convinced of their duty, came forward and followed the footsteps of the Savior by being buried in the likeness of His death. After laboring for some time in this neighborhood, I was warned by the Spirit to return to Preston, and there found that I was anxiously expected by the brethren. They had received letters from Brothers Richards and Russell, which gave an account of their proceedings since they left Preston. Brother Goodson had also returned from Bedfordshire, where he and Brother Richards had labored, and he gave us a relation of their mission and success. He informed us that a minister by the name of Matthews, brother-in-law to Elder Joseph Fielding, received them very kindly and invited them to preach in his church. The invitation was accepted, and they preached several times. The result was that a number, among whom was Mr. Matthews and his lady, believed their testimony and the things which they proclaimed. Mr. Matthews had likewise borne testimony to his congregation of the truth of these things and that they were the same principles as taught by the apostles in ancient days, and beseeched his church to receive the same. Several of his members went forward and obeyed the gospel, and the time was appointed when he was to be baptized. However, in the interval, something had caused him to stumble, and darkness had pervaded his mind, insomuch so that at the time specified he did not make his appearance, but went to a Baptist minister residing in that place whom he prevailed upon to baptize him. From that time he began to preach baptism for the remission of sins, and no longer walked with the Saints. However, a great part of his members left him and obeyed the truth, and in a letter which he wrote to his brother-in-law, the Rev. James Fielding, he stated that his best members had left him. It would probably be well to say a few words respecting Mr. Matthews and Mr. Fielding, and their congregations, also their situation prior to the time the gospel saluted their ears. Mr. Matthews, who was a gentleman of considerable learning and talents, had been a minister in the established church of England. Seeing a great many things in that church contrary to truth and righteousness, and moreover, believing that an overturn was at hand, and that the church was destitute of the gifts of the Spirit, and was not expecting the Savior to come to reign upon the earth, as had been spoken by the prophets, he felt led to withdraw from that body. He consequently gave up his prospects in that connection, and began to preach the things which he verily believed; and was instrumental in raising up quite a church in that place. Mr. J. Fielding had been a minister in the Methodist church, but for some of the causes mentioned, had withdrawn from that society, and had collected a considerable church in Preston. Those gentlemen, with their congregations, were, I believe, diligently contending for that faith which was once delivered to the Saints at the time we arrived, but afterwards rejected the truth. Yet, notwithstanding they did not obey the gospel, the greater portion of their members received our testimony, obeyed the ordinances we taught, and are now rejoicing in the blessings of the new and everlasting covenant. CHAPTER IV. THE PEOPLE EAGER TO HEAR US--WE RENT "THE COCK PIT" TO PREACH IN--OBTAIN LICENSES TO PREACH--CONTINUED SUCCESS. About this time, Brother Snider returned from the north, where he had been laboring in company with Brother Russell. He stated that they had met with considerable opposition while preaching the gospel, but that some had obeyed the truth and that others were investigating. After spending a few days with us, he and Brother Goodson took their leave of us and started for Liverpool about the first of October, on their way to America, having business of importance which called them home. Although we were deprived of the labors of these brethren, the work of the Lord continued to roll forth with great power. The news of our arrival in that city, spread both far and wide, and calls from all quarters, to go and preach, were constantly sounding in our ears. We labored both night and day, that we might satisfy the people, who manifested such a desire for the truth as I never saw before. We had to speak in small houses, to very large congregations, or else, to large assemblies in the open air; consequently, our lungs were very sore and our bodies considerably worn down with fatigue. Soon after this, we obtained a large and commodious place to preach in, called "The Cock Pit," which had formerly been used by the people to witness cocks fight and kill one another, and where hundreds of spectators had shouted in honor of the barbarous sport which was once the pride of Britains. And now, instead of the huzzas of the wicked and profane, the gospel of Christ and the voice of praise and thanksgiving was heard there. The building had also been used for a temperance hall. We had to pay seven shillings sterling per week for the use of it, and two shillings per week for the lighting, it being beautifully lit up with gas. It is situated in the center of the town, and about twenty rods from the "old church," probably the oldest in Lancashire. This church has twelve bells which are rung at every service, the noise of which was so great that we were unable to proceed in our services until they had done ringing them. Our meeting was once disturbed by some ministers belonging to the Methodist church; however we got our place licensed and two gentlemen, who were constables, proffered their services to keep the peace and protect us from any further disturbances, which they continued to do, as long as we stayed in that land. The effect of the gospel of Jesus Christ now began to be apparent, not only in the hearts of believers, but likewise in the conduct of those who rejected it and many began to threaten us with prosecution for preaching without having a license from the authorities of the nation. This idea of obtaining a license from the secular authorities was somewhat novel to us, but after consulting our friends, among whom was Mr. Richards' son, (the minister of whom I have made mention) an attorney, practicing in that neighborhood, we found that it was according to the laws of the land. Brother Hyde and I then made application to the quarter sessions for licenses and, by the assistance of Mr. Richards, obtained them. Having now obeyed the requisitions of the law, we felt ourselves tolerably safe, knowing that our enemies now could not lawfully make us afraid or harm us. Although we had many persecutors, who would have rejoiced at our destruction and who felt a determination to overthrow the work of the Lord, there were many who were very friendly, who would have stood by us under all circumstances, and would not have been afraid to hazard their lives in our behalf. After we had labored for some time in Preston, and had baptized a number into the kingdom of God, Brother Hyde and I went about ten miles into the country to preach, agreeably to an invitation we had received. We preached twice to very numerous congregations, who paid great attention to our word, and who marveled at the things we proclaimed. We soon returned to Preston after which I paid a visit to the church at Walker Fold, that being the name of the place where the Rev. Mr. Richards resided. I found the church prospering, and after laboring a few days, several more were added. From that place I went to Bashe Lees, where I preached, and baptized two persons. I continued my journey thence to Ribchester, situated on the river Ribble, where I preached to a very large congregation, and then returned to Preston. Having had some very pressing calls to go to some villages south of Preston, I accordingly started to visit those places, in company with Brother F. Moon, who had been baptized a short time previous. On arriving at our destination we gave out an appointment to preach, and, at the time appointed, the people flocked in crowds to hear me. Among the number were five preachers, who listened with great interest to my discourse, and who, with the greater part of the congregation, believed the doctrines I advanced. The next day I went to a village called Askin, and preached in the evening; and the following day went to Eccleston, where I had the privilege of preaching in a Methodist chapel. The last three times I preached I baptized ten individuals, of whom two were preachers belonging to the Association Methodists. After spending several days in that neighborhood I returned to Preston, where the church had now become numerous, and with the assistance of Elders Hyde and Fielding, proceeded to organize them. We divided the church into several branches, and appointed proper officers to preside over them. Thursday evenings were appointed for prayer meetings to be held in different parts, and Sundays for the whole church to assemble in the Cock Pit, where the sacrament was administered, and such instructions given as were thought necessary for their spiritual prosperity and advantage. While attending to this, the greatest harmony and love prevailed; and if ever any persons received the kingdom of heaven like little children it was those brethren. After having attended to this duty, I again went into the country, where I spent the principal part of my time, occasionally visiting Preston. During my labors, I was greatly assisted by the Spirit of the Lord, and my soul was comforted exceedingly. Churches were raised up in different directions, and many who had previously sat in darkness, upon them the true light shined, and before its benign and enlightening rays, the mists of darkness, the clouds of error and superstition fled; while "those who murmured learned doctrine, and those who erred in spirit came to understanding." I was instrumental in building up churches in Eccleston, Wrightington, Askin, Exton, Daubers Lane, Chorly, Whittle and Laland Moss, after laboring about four weeks, and baptized upwards of one hundred persons, which caused me to rejoice exceedingly in the God and Rock of my salvation, that I had not to labor in vain, or spend my strength for nought. More loving and affectionate Saints I never saw before, and they were patterns of humility. All the here-mentioned villages are within a very short distance of each other, and adjacent to Preston. After my return from those places, I took a tour to the north-east of Preston in company with Elder Fielding, where we labored together a short time with considerable success, and raised up churches in Ribchester, Thomly, Soney Gate Lane and at Clitheroe, a very large market town, containing several thousand inhabitants. At the latter place I baptized a preacher and six members of the Methodist church, immediately after I had preached the first time. We likewise baptized several in the town of Waddington and Downham. The day after we preached in Downham, we received a very pressing invitation to preach in Chatburn, but having given out an appointment to preach in Clitheroe that evening, I informed those who had invited me that I would not be able to comply with their request. This did not satisfy them, and they continued to solicit me with the greatest importunity, until I was obliged to consent to go with them, after requesting Elder Fielding to attend to the other appointment. On my arrival at the village I was cordially received by the inhabitants, who turned out in large numbers to hear me preach. I commenced my address to them in my usual manner, and the spirit of the Lord seemed to carry the word to the hearts of the congregation, who listened with great attention, and received the ingrafted word, which was able to make them wise unto salvation. Being satisfied in my mind, from the witness of the spirit, that numbers were believing, I gave an opportunity to those who wished to obey the gospel to do so, and immediately repaired to the water, although it was late in the evening. Before I was done I baptized twenty-five for the remission of their sins, and was engaged in this pleasing duty until one o'clock, the next morning. After being absent from Preston about seven days, in which time we had added eighty-three souls to the Church, we returned, praising God for all His mercies, and for visiting our labors with such abundant success. "No harvest joy can equal theirs Who see the fruit of all their cares." CHAPTER V. FIRST CONFERENCE IN ENGLAND--WORD OF WISDOM FIRST TAUGHT THERE--ENEMIES ACTIVE--URGENT INVITATION FROM A BAPTIST CHURCH--THE EFFECT OF OUR PREACHING. It being near Christmas, we agreed to hold a general conference in Preston on Christmas day, there being business of importance to the churches to be attended to; and likewise several to be ordained to the ministry. On Christmas day, the Saints assembled in the Cock Pit, and we then opened the conference, which was the first that was held by the Church of Christ in that country. There were about three hundred Saints present on the occasion, all of whom with the exception of three had been baptized within a very short time. Elders Hyde, Fielding and myself were present. The brethren were instructed in the principles of the gospel, and their several duties enjoined upon them, as Saints of the Most High. We then proceeded to ordain several of the brethren to the Lesser Priesthood, to take charge of the different branches where they resided. We confirmed fourteen who had previously been baptized, and blessed about one hundred children. At this conference, the Word of Wisdom was first publicly taught in that country; having previously taught it more by example than precept; and, from my own observation afterwards, I am happy to state that it was almost universally attended to by the brethren. The Spirit of the Lord was with us during our interview, and truly the hearts of the Elders were rejoiced beyond measure when we contemplated the glorious work which had begun. We had to exclaim, "It is the Lord's doings, and it is marvelous in our eyes! Blessed be the name of the Lord!" I felt greatly humbled before the Lord, who had crowned our labors with such signal success, and had prospered us far beyond my most sanguine expectations. Immediately after this conference, Elder Hyde and I went to a village called Longton, situated near the sea-shore, where we raised the standard of truth, and published to the listening crowds, the glad tidings of salvation. After delivering two discourses, several came to us and requested baptism. It being very cold weather, insomuch that the streams were all frozen up, we had to repair to the sea-shore to administer that ordinance, and immersed fifteen in the waters of the ocean. It would probably be too tedious, to enumerate all the particulars which occurred during the time we sojourned in that country; I shall therefore pass over many events which, though pleasing to us at that time, and which showed the kind dealings of our Heavenly Father, would not be sufficiently interesting to others. I shall therefore content myself by giving an outline of the principal circumstances attending our mission, which I have no doubt will be pleasing to the brethren, and to all who love the prosperity of Zion. From this time, until about five weeks previous to our departure from that land, we were continually engaged in the work of the ministry, proclaiming the everlasting gospel in all the region round about, and baptizing all such as believed the gospel and repented of their sins. And truly, "the Lord of Hosts was with us, the God of Jacob was our refuge." The Holy Ghost the Comforter was given to us and abode with us in a remarkable manner, while the people thronged to hear our addresses, and "numbers were added to the church daily, such as should be saved." We would baptize as many as fifty in Preston in a week, exclusive of those in the country. During one short mission which Brother Hyde and I took into the country, after preaching five discourses on the principles of our holy religion, we had the pleasure of immersing one hundred and thirty in the waters of baptism. Thus mightily ran the word of God and prospered to the joy and comfort of His servants, and to the salvation of precious and immortal souls; while the world was struck with amazement and surprise at the things which they saw and heard. During this state of things, our enemies were not idle, but heaped abuse upon us with an unsparing hand, and issued torrents of lies after us, which, however, I am thankful to say, did not sweep us away. Among those most active in publishing falsehoods against us and the truth, were many of the reverend clergy, who were afraid to meet us face to face in honorable debate, although particularly requested so to do, but sought every opportunity to destroy our characters, and propagate their lies concerning us, thus giving testimony that "they loved darkness rather than light." Although we frequently called upon the ministers of the different denominations, who had taken a stand against us, to come forward and investigate the subject of our religion before the world in an honorable manner, and bring forth their strong reasons to disprove the things we taught, and convince the people by sound argument and the word of God, if they could, that we did not preach the gospel of Christ, they altogether declined. This course we felt moved upon by the Spirit to adopt; but they kept at a respectful distance, and only came out when we were absent, with misrepresentations and abuse. It is true we suffered some from the statements which they thought proper to make, when we could get no opportunity to contradict them; but generally their reports were of such a character that they carried along with them their own refutation. The time when we expected to return to our native land, having now nearly arrived, it was thought necessary to spend the short time we had to remain in that country in visiting and organizing the churches; placing such officers over them, and giving such instructions as would be beneficial to them during our absence. Accordingly, Brothers Hyde, Fielding and I entered upon this duty, and we visited a Church nearly every day, and imparted such instructions as the Spirit directed. We first visited the Churches south of Preston, and after spending some time in that direction we journeyed to the north, accompanied by Brother Richards, who had just returned from the city of Bedford. While we were attending to our duties in that section, we received a very pressing invitation from a Baptist church, through the medium of their deacon, to pay them a visit, stating that the society was exceedingly anxious to hear from our own lips, the wonderful things we had proclaimed in the regions round about. We endeavored to excuse ourselves from going, as our engagements already were such that it would require the short time we had to stay to attend to them. But they seemed determined to take no denial, and plead with us with such earnestness that we could not resist their entreaties, and finally we consented to go and preach once. Having arrived at the place, we found a large congregation already assembled in the Baptist chapel, anxiously awaiting our arrival. The minister gave out the hymns for us, and Elder Hyde spoke on the subject of the resurrection with great effect; after which the minister gave out another hymn which was sung by the assembly, and then he requested me to address them. I arose and spoke briefly on the first principles of the gospel. During the services the congregation were overjoyed, the tears ran down their cheeks, and the minister could not refrain from frequently clapping his hands together for joy while in the meeting. After the service was over he took us to his house, where we were very kindly entertained. After partaking of his hospitality he with some more friends, accompanied us to our lodgings, where we remained in conversation until a very late hour. The next morning while we were preparing to depart we were waited upon by several of the citizens, who requested us to preach again that day, stating that great interest was felt by the inhabitants, many of whom were in tears, fearing they should hear us no more; and that a number of influential men, had suspended operations in their factories, to allow their workmen the privilege of hearing us preach. But we were obliged to deny them, as it was necessary to attend to the appointments we had previously made. We could scarcely tear ourselves away from them, and when we did so they wept like little children. Such a desire to hear the gospel, I never saw equalled before. After commending them to the grace and mercy of God, we went to Downham, where we preached in the afternoon, after which forty came forward and were baptized. In the evening we called the churches of Chatburn and Downham together, and after confirming forty-five who had previously been baptized, we appointed priests, teachers and deacons to preside over them. CHAPTER VI. IMPRESSED TO VISIT DOWNHAM AND CHATBURN--BAD CHARACTER OF THOSE PLACES--WARNED AGAINST GOING--JOY WITH WHICH THE GOSPEL WAS RECEIVED--THE PEOPLE EAGER TO BE BAPTIZED--LOTH TO PART WITH ME--VAIN OPPOSITION FROM A MINISTER--AFFECTING CONDUCT OF LITTLE CHILDREN. There being something interesting in the establishing of the gospel in Downham and Chatburn, I will relate the circumstances of my visit to those places, and the prospect we had of success prior to our proclaiming the truth to them. Having been preaching in the neighborhood of these villages, I felt it my duty to pay them a visit and tell them my mission. I mentioned my desires to several of the brethren, but they endeavored to dissuade me from going, informing me that there could be no prospect of success, as several ministers of different denominations had endeavored to raise churches in these places, and had frequently preached to them, but to no effect. They had resisted all the efforts and withstood the attempts of all sects and parties for thirty years, and the preachers had given them up to the hardness of their hearts. I was also informed that they were very wicked places and the inhabitants were hardened against the gospel. However, this did not discourage me in the least, believing that the gospel of Jesus Christ could reach the heart when the gospels of men were found abortive. I consequently told those who tried to dissuade me from going that these were the places I wanted to go to, and that it was my business "not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." Accordingly I went in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I soon procured a large barn to preach in, which was crowded to excess. Having taken my stand in the middle of the congregation so that all might be able to hear, I commenced my discourse, spoke with great simplicity on the subject of the gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the conditions of pardon for a fallen world, and the privileges and blessings of all those who embraced the truth. I likewise said a little on the subject of the resurrection. My remarks were accompanied by the spirit of the Lord and were received with joy, and these people, who were represented as being so hard and obdurate, were melted with tenderness and love, and such a feeling was produced as I never saw before; and the effect seemed to be general. I then told them that, being a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, I stood ready at all times to administer the ordinances of the gospel. After I had concluded, I felt some one pulling at my coat. I turned around and asked the person what it was he desired. The answer was "Please, sir, will you baptize me?" "and me!" "and me!" exclaimed more than a dozen voices. We accordingly went down into the water, and before I left, I baptized twenty-five for the remission of sins--and was thus engaged until four o'clock the next morning. Another evening the congregation was so numerous that I had to preach in the open air, and took my stand on a stone wall, and afterwards baptized a number. These towns seemed to be affected from one end to the other; parents called their children together, spoke to them of the subjects upon which I had preached, and warned them against swearing and all other evil practices, and instructed them in their duty, etc. Such a scene I presume was never witnessed in this place before; the hearts of the people appeared to be broken, and the next morning they were all in tears, thinking they should see my face no more. When I left them my feelings were such as I cannot describe. As I walked down the street, followed by numbers, the doors were crowded by the inmates of the houses, waiting to bid us a last farewell, who could only give vent to their grief in sobs and broken accents. While contemplating this scene we were induced to take off our hats, for we felt as if the place was holy ground. The Spirit of the Lord rested down upon us, and I was constrained to bless that whole region of country. We were followed a considerable distance from the villages by a great number, who could hardly separate themselves from us. My heart was like unto theirs, and I almost thought my head was a fountain of tears, for I wept for several miles after I bid them adieu. Some things transpired while I was in England which may be considered of but little importance by the world, but which will no doubt be appreciated by the Saints, who can not only mark the providence of God as displayed in nations and kingdoms, but can observe its workings in private life, and in affairs of but apparent small moment. Soon after our arrival in England a great many of the "Aikenites" embraced the gospel, which caused considerable ill feeling and opposition among the ministers belonging to that sect. Having lost quite a number, and seeing that many more were on the eve of being baptized, one of the ministers came to Preston and announced that he was going to put down "Mormonism," expose the doctrines and overthrow the Book of Mormon. He made a very long oration on the subject, and was very vehement in his manner, and pounded the Book of Mormon, which he held in his hand, on the pulpit a great many times. He then exhorted the people to pray that the Lord would drive us from their coasts, and if the Lord would not hear them in that petition, that he would smite the leaders. The next Sunday Elder Hyde and I, being in Preston, went to our meeting and read the 13th chapter of Corinthians. We strongly urged upon the Saints the grace of charity, which is so highly spoken of in that chapter, and took the liberty of making some remarks on the proceedings of Mr. Aiken, the gentleman who had abused us and the Book of Mormon so very much a few days before. In return for his railing, we exhorted our people to pray that the Lord would soften his heart and open his eyes, that he might see that it was "hard to kick against the pricks." The discourse had a very good effect, and that week we had the pleasure of baptizing about fifty into the kingdom of Jesus Christ, a large number of whom were members of Mr. Aiken's church. Thus the Lord blessed us exceedingly, notwithstanding the railing and abuse of the priests, and all things worked together for our good and the advancement of the cause of truth. I cannot refrain from relating a circumstance which took place, while Brother Fielding and I were passing through the village of Chatburn; having been observed drawing nigh to the town, the news ran from house to house, and immediately on our arrival, the noise of their looms was hushed, the people flocked to the doors to welcome us, and see us pass. The youth of the place ran to meet us, and took hold of our mantles and then of each other's hands. Several, having hold of hands, went before us, singing the songs of Zion, while their parents gazed upon the scene with delight, poured out their blessings upon our heads, and praised the God of heaven for sending us to unfold the principles of truth and the plan of salvation to them. Such a scene, and such gratitude, I never witnessed before. "Surely," my heart exclaimed, "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, thou has perfected praise!" What could have been more pleasing and delightful than such a manifestation of gratitude to Almighty God from those whose hearts were deemed too hard to be penetrated by the gospel, and who had been considered the most wicked and hardened people in that region of country! In comparison to the joy I then experienced, the grandeur, pomp and glory of the kingdoms of this world shrank into insignificance and appeared as dross, and all the honor of man, aside from the gospel, to be vain. CHAPTER VII. VISIT TO THE MOON FAMILY--PREJUDICED AGAINST OUR DOCTRINE--A PROPHECY ABOUT THEM--IMPRESSED TO CALL AT THEIR HOUSE AGAIN--MY PRESENCE HAILED WITH JOY AS AN ANSWER TO PRAYER--THE PROPHECY FULFILLED: THEY JOIN THE CHURCH--A DREAM AND ITS INTERPRETATION. Having an appointment to preach in the village of Wrightington, while on the way I stopped at the house of Brother Amos Fielding. When I arrived he informed me that a certain family by the name of Moon had sent a request by him for me to visit them, that they might have the privilege of conversing with me on the subject of the gospel. Accordingly, Brother Fielding and I paid them a visit that evening. We were very kindly received by the family, and had considerable conversation on the object of my mission to that country, and the great work of the last days. They listened with attention to my statements, but they appeared to be prejudiced against them rather than otherwise. We remained in conversation until a late hour, and then returned. On our way home, Brother Fielding observed that he thought our visit had been in vain, as the family seemed to have considerable prejudice. I replied, "Brother Fielding, be not faithless, but believing; we shall yet see great effects from this visit, for I know there are some of the family who have received the testimony and will shortly manifest the same." At this remark he appeared surprised. The next morning I continued my journey to Wrightington, and after spending two or three days in that vicinity, preaching the gospel, I returned by the way of Brother Fielding's, with whom I again tarried for the night. The next morning I commenced my journey, intending to go direct to Preston, but when I got opposite the road leading to Mr. Moon's, I was forcibly impressed by the Spirit of the Lord to call and see them again. I could not resist, and therefore directed my steps to the house, not knowing what it meant. On my arrival at the house, I knocked at the door, and Mrs. Moon from within exclaimed, "Come in! come in! you are welcome here! I and the lasses (meaning her daughters) have just been calling on the Lord, and praying that He would send you this way." She then informed me of her state of mind since I was there before, and said she at first rejected my testimony, and endeavored to think lightly of the things I had advanced, but on trying to pray, she said that "the heavens seemed to be like brass over her head, and it was like iron under her feet." She did not know what was the matter, and exclaimed, "Certainly the man has not bewitched me!" Upon inquiry she found it was the same with the "lasses." They had begun to reflect on the things I had told them, and, thinking it possible that I had told them the truth, they resolved to lay the case before the Lord, and beseech Him to give them a testimony concerning the things I had testified of. She then observed, that as soon as they did so, light broke in upon their minds, they were convinced that I was a messenger of salvation, and that it was the work of the Lord; and they had resolved to obey the gospel, which they did, for that evening I baptized father and mother and four of their daughters. Shortly after I visited them again, and baptized the remainder of the family, consisting of thirteen souls, the youngest of whom was over twenty years of age. They received the gospel as little children, and rejoiced exceedingly in its blessings. The sons were very good musicians, and the daughters excellent singers, and when they united their instruments and their voices in the songs of Zion, the effect was truly transporting. Before I left England, there were about thirty of that family and connections baptized, six of whom were ordained to be fellow-laborers with us in the vineyard, and I left them rejoicing in the truths they had embraced. One night, while at the village of Rochester, I dreamed that I, in company with another person, was walking out, and saw a very extensive field of wheat, more so than the eye could reach. Such a sight I never before witnessed. The wheat appeared to be perfectly ripe, and ready for harvest. I was very much rejoiced at the glorious sight which presented itself; but judge of my surprise, when, on taking some of the ears and rubbing them in my hands, I found nothing but smut. I marveled exceedingly, and felt very sorrowful, and exclaimed, "What will the people do for grain; here is a great appearance of plenty, but there is no sound wheat!" While contemplating the subject, I looked in another direction, and saw a small field in the form of the letter L, which had the appearance of something growing in it. I immediately directed my steps to it, and found that it had been sown with wheat, some of which had grown about six inches high, other parts of the field not quite so high, and some had only just sprouted. This gave me great encouragement to expect that at the harvest there would be some good grain. While thus engaged, a large bull, very fierce and angry, leaped over the fence, ran through the field, and stamped down a large quantity of that which had just sprouted, and after doing considerable injury he leaped over the fence and ran away. I felt very much grieved, that so much wheat should be destroyed, when there was such a prospect of scarcity. When I awoke next morning, the interpretation was given me. The large field with the great appearance of grain, so beautiful to look upon, represented the nation in which I then resided, which had a very pleasing appearance and a great show of religion, and made great pretensions to piety and godliness, but denied the power thereof. It was destitute of the principles of truth, and consequently of the gifts of the spirit. The small field I saw clearly represented the region of country where I was laboring, and where the word of truth had taken root, and was growing in the hearts of those who had the gospel, some places having grown a little more than others. The village I was in, was that part of the field where the bull did so much injury, for during my short visit there, most of the inhabitants were believing, but as soon as I departed, a clergyman belonging to the church of England, came out and violently attacked the truth, and made considerable noise, crying, "false prophet! delusion!" and after trampling on truth, and doing all the mischief he could, before I returned, he took shelter in his pulpit. However, he did not destroy all the seed, for after my return I was instrumental in building up a church in that place. CHAPTER VIII. EXTRAORDINARY SUCCESS--VERY COLD WEATHER--SCENES OF SUFFERING--OUR EXCESSIVE LABORS--A GENERAL CONFERENCE--FAREWELL MEETING--AFFECTION MANIFESTED FOR US--ELDER RUSSELL'S LABORS--ELDER GOODSON A BARRIER. It being known that we had but a short time to remain in that country, great numbers flocked to hear us preach, and many were baptized. Some days we went from house to house, conversing with the people on the things of the kingdom, and by such a course were instrumental in convincing many of the truth. I have known as many as twenty persons baptized in one day who have been convinced on such occasions. They were like Lydia of old, "who gladly received the word." I have had to go into the water to administer the ordinance of baptism six or seven times in a day, and frequently after having come out of the water and changed my clothes, I have had to return again before I reached my home; this, too, when the weather was extremely cold, the ice being from twelve to fourteen inches thick, which continued so about twelve weeks, during which time I think there were but ten days, in which we were not in the water. "The harvest was indeed plenteous but the laborers were few." This was very extraordinary weather for that country; as I was informed that some winters they had scarcely any frost or snow, and the oldest inhabitants told me that they never experienced such a winter before. In consequence of the inclemency of the weather, several manufacturing establishments were shut up, children were thrown out of employment, whose sufferings during that time were severe, and I was credibly informed, and verily believe, that numbers perished from starvation. Such sufferings I never witnessed in my life before, and the scenes which I daily beheld while in that country almost chilled the blood in my veins. The streets were crowded with men, women and children, who solicited alms from the passengers as they walked along. Numbers of those poor wretches were without shoes or stockings, and had scarcely any covering to screen them from the inclemency of the weather. Oh! when will distress and poverty and pain cease, and peace and plenty abound? When the Lord Jesus shall descend in the clouds of heaven--when the rod of the oppressor shall be broken. "Hasten the time, O Lord!" was frequently the language of my heart, when I contemplated the scenes of wretchedness and woe, which I daily witnessed, and my prayer to my Heavenly Father was, that if I had to witness a succession of such scenes of wretchedness and woe, that He would harden my heart, for those things were too much for me to bear. This is no exaggerated account; I have used no coloring here. They are facts which will meet the Elders of Israel when they shall go forth into that land, and then I can assure them they will not be surprised at my feelings. But to return. During this time not only were great numbers initiated into the kingdom of heaven, but those who were sick were healed, and those who were diseased flocked to us daily; and truly their faith was great, such as I hardly ever witnessed before, consequently many were healed of their infirmities and sickness. We were continually employed, and scarcely gave sleep to our eyes, and some nights we would hardly close them. The task was almost more than we could endure, but realizing the circumstances of this people, their love of the truth, their humility and unfeigned charity, we were constrained to use all diligence and make good use of every moment of time, for truly our bowels yearned over them. Notwithstanding our unwearied and unceasing labors, we could not fill the calls we had from day to day, for the work kept spreading, the prospect for usefulness grew brighter and brighter, and the field opened larger and larger. The reader will not, I think, accuse me of egotism, when I say that we were diligent; for I do not remember of retiring to my bed earlier than twelve o'clock p. m. during the last six months I spent in that country, which was also the case with Brothers Hyde and Fielding. Brother Hyde was laid up with sickness about six weeks, on account of his excessive labors, from which however he was happily restored. On the eighth day of April, A. D. 1838, it being Sunday, and the time appointed for a general conference of the Saints in that kingdom, and the day previous to our departure from them, they began to assemble at an early hour in the morning, and by nine o'clock there were from six to seven hundred of the Saints assembled from various parts of the country. Believing it necessary for the good of the kingdom to have some one to preside over the whole mission, we nominated Brother Joseph Fielding to be appointed to that office, and Brother Levi Richards and William Clayton to be his counselors. The nominations met with the approbation of the whole assembly, who agreed to harken to their instructions and uphold them in their offices. These brethren were then, with eight Elders, several Priests, Teachers and Deacons, set apart and ordained to the several offices to which they were called. One of the brethren who was ordained was going to Manchester, one of the largest manufacturing towns in England, and another to the city of London, and they undoubtedly would carry the glad tidings of salvation to those places. We then laid hands upon forty individuals, who had previously been baptized, for the gift of the Holy Ghost, after which about one hundred children were presented to us to receive a blessing, and the same day we baptized about twenty individuals for the remission of sins, and then proceeded to administer the sacrament to this numerous assembly. We then gave some general instructions to the whole Church respecting their duty to God and to one another, which were listened to with great attention and were treasured up in the hearts of most who were present. At five o'clock, p. m., we brought the conference to a close, it having continued without intermission from nine o'clock, a. m. We then appointed seven o'clock the same evening to deliver our farewell addresses. At the time appointed we repaired to the meeting, which was crowded to excess. Brother Hyde and myself then spoke to them respecting our labors in that land, the success of our ministry and the kindness we had experienced at their hands; told them that we hoped before long to see them again, after we had visited the Church and our families in America; but when we spoke of our departure their hearts were broken within them. They gave vent to their feelings and wept like children, and broke out in cries like the following: "How can we part with our beloved brethren!" "We may never see them again!" "O why can you leave us!" etc. I could not refrain; my feelings only found vent in a flood of tears. Some persons may be disposed to accuse me of weakness on this occasion, but if any should do so, I would say that I do not envy any man's feelings who could witness such a scene with all its associations, and the finer feelings of his heart not be touched on such an occasion; indeed it would have been almost an impossibility for us to have left this dear and affectionate people had we not had the most implicit confidence in the brethren who were appointed to preside over them in our absence; but knowing their faith and virtuous conversation, and that they had the confidence of the Church, we felt assured that the affairs of the Church would be conducted in righteousness; consequently we left them under different feelings than we otherwise could have done. Immediately after dismissing we met the official members, the number of whom were eighty, at a private house and instructed them further in their duties, and dismissed them at one o'clock the next morning. This was certainly one of the most interesting conferences I ever attended. The services were calculated to convince the honest and give joy to Saints, and will long be remembered by all those who attended, and I have no doubt was the means of great and lasting good. At this conference we were favored with the company of Elders Isaac Russell and Willard Richards. The latter had returned from the County of Bedford, where he had been proclaiming the gospel. In consequence of sickness his labors had not been so extensive as they otherwise would have been, and were confined within a short distance from the city of Bedford, where he raised up two small branches, which he set in order and ordained one Elder and other officers. He labored under considerable difficulty in consequence of the conduct of Elder Goodson, who accompanied him on that mission, who taught many things which were not in wisdom, which proved a barrier to the spread of the truth in that region. Elder Russell had returned from a mission to the north, having been laboring in the County of Cumberland, near the borders of Scotland, where numbers of his friends resided. While he was there he met with considerable opposition, even from those of his own family, as well as the ministers of the different denominations, who sought every opportunity to block up his way and to destroy his influence. However, notwithstanding the great opposition, he was instrumental in bringing upwards of sixty souls into the kingdom of God, and left them rejoicing in the truth and strong in the faith of the gospel. Thus the great work which is to go through the length and breadth of that land which will cause the hearts of thousands to rejoice, and the poor and meek to increase their joy in the Lord; which shall lead the honest-hearted to the foundation of truth; which shall prepare a holy company from that nation to meet the Lord Jesus when He shall descend from the mansions of glory and from the regions that are not known; which shall cause thousands to rail against the doctrines of Christ and His servants, and persecute the honest-in-heart; which shall prepare the ungodly for the day of vengeance of our God, and shall bind them together in the cords of darkness, was commenced in three places, viz: Preston, Bedford and Alston, which forcibly reminds me of the parable of the leaven which the woman cast into the three measures of meal. CHAPTER IX. OUR LODGINGS--WANTS SUPPLIED BY LIBERALITY OF SAINTS--JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL--CONTRAST BETWEEN ARRIVAL AND DEPARTURE--RETURN VOYAGE--MEETING WITH ELDERS AND SAINTS AT NEW YORK--ARRIVAL AT KIRTLAND. During our stay in Preston, we made our home at the house of Sister Dawson, in Pole Street. We purchased our provisions, and she cooked them for us, which is quite customary in that country. For our room, lodging and cooking and a good coal fire, we each paid the sum of two shillings sterling per week, which is but little more than half the usual charge. Sister Dawson was very kind to us. Indeed the hearts of all the Saints were open to liberality, and according to their circumstances they contributed liberally of their substance, and many blessings of a temporal nature we received from them, for which I pray that my Heavenly Father may reward them a hundred fold in this world, and in the world to come with life everlasting. During the time we labored in England, we made no public contributions except for the poor. When we were about taking our departure, the Church, knowing that we had no means to carry us to our native land, with a liberality characteristic of them, contributed to our necessities and provided us with means to take us as far as Kirtland, Ohio. The next day, being the ninth of April, we engaged our passage to Liverpool in a coach, which was to start at twelve o'clock the same day. At the time appointed we were at the place of starting, and were soon surrounded with the brethren, who felt determined to see us leave, many of whose countenances clearly showed their sorrow at our departure. However, we had to bid them farewell, and were soon out of sight. Their eyes followed us as long as they could see us. Notwithstanding the variegated scenery of the country, which in England is very beautiful, my mind reverted back to the time when I first arrived in that country, and the peculiar feelings I had when I traveled from Liverpool to Preston some months before. Then I was a stranger in a strange land, and had nothing to rely upon but the kindness and mercy of that God who had sent me there. While I mused on these things my soul was humbled within me, and I had to exclaim, "Surely this is the Lord's doings, and marvelous in my eyes!" for then I had hundreds of brethren to whom I was united in bonds the most endearing and sacred, and who loved me as their own souls, and whose prayers would be continually offered up for my welfare and prosperity. After a ride of about four hours, we arrived at Liverpool and ascertained that the ship in which we intended to sail would not leave that port as early as we expected, in consequence of a great storm which had taken place, in which several vessels had been wrecked and a number of lives lost. We took lodgings a few days until the vessels should depart. While in Liverpool, we were waited upon by Elders Fielding and Richards, who, feeling desirous to obtain all the information they could procure respecting the government of the church, thought that it would be a favorable time to do so, as our opportunities of instruction had been but limited while in Preston, and it being almost impossible to have much private intercourse, there being so many who wished to converse with us on the subject of the gospel, etc. But in this thing they were disappointed, for as soon as it was known in Preston and regions round about that our departure was delayed, numbers of the brethren came from thence to visit us in Liverpool before we left their shores. On the 20th, we went on board the ship _Garrick_ (the same ship in which we came), bound for New York, and the same day got under way. Soon after we left Liverpool a great storm came on, with a head wind, and continued without cessation for several days, which did considerable damage to the vessel. The bowsprit was broken twice by the force of the wind with only the gib sail set. The boom likewise came down with great force near the place where the captain was standing, but he fortunately escaped without injury. Several other parts of the rigging were much torn and injured. During the time the storm lasted, Brothers Hyde and Russell were very sick. After this we had more favorable weather. When we had been on the water two weeks, I asked permission of the captain for one of us to preach, which request was cheerfully complied with, and the second cabin was prepared for the occasion. Brother Russell preached, after which Brother Hyde made some observations. The discourses were listened to with great attention, and the congregation appeared very much satisfied. The Lord gave us favor in the eyes of the captain and the passengers, who treated us with respect and kindness. Those who were in the same cabin with ourselves, and with whom we had more frequent opportunities of conversing, treated us like brothers, and took pleasure in administering to our wants, and told us if they had anything we needed it was at our service. I hardly ever remembered traveling with more agreeable or kind-hearted people, and I pray that the Lord may bless them abundantly and reward them a hundred fold for all the kindness shown to His servants. Nothing very particular occurred during the remainder of the passage. The weather for the most part was favorable. On the twelfth day of May we came in sight of New York, and in the evening we secured a landing, after a passage of twenty-two and one-half days. The ship _New England_, which left Liverpool on the same day we did, came in about one hour afterwards. The sight of my native land filled my soul with gladness. We then went into the city with several of the passengers, who purchased some refreshments, and after we returned bade us partake with them, and we rejoiced together. We then bowed before the Lord and offered up the gratitude of our hearts for all His mercies, in prospering us in our mission and bringing us safely across the mighty deep, to behold once more the land of our nativity, and the prospect of soon embracing our families and friends. The next morning we went in search of Brother Fordham, whom we found after some trouble. He was rejoiced to see us and immediately took us to the house of Brother Mace, where we were glad to see our beloved Brother Orson Pratt, who was then laboring in that city, and who with Elder Parley P. Pratt, his brother, had been instrumental in bringing many into the kingdom in that city, which intelligence gave us great joy, for when we left New York for England, there was only one belonging to the church in that city. It being Sunday, we accompanied the Brothers Pratt to the house where the Saints were accustomed to assemble for worship. On entering the house we found about eighty persons assembled, all of whom had recently joined the Church. After singing and prayer, I was requested to give an account of our mission to England. I accordingly arose and told them the things which had happened to us since our departure, and the great and glorious work which our Heavenly Father had commenced on the islands of the sea, and the great desire of the English to hear the things which the Lord had brought to pass on this continent, and their ready reception of the truth of the gospel. The information gave great joy to the Saints, and they united with us in praising the name of the Lord for His wonderful works for the children of men. In the evening Elders Russell and Hyde preached, and a great effect was produced, and some came forward and offered themselves as candidates for baptism. The short time we were in New York was spent very agreeably with the Saints, who were indeed a kind and affectionate people. The next day we bade adieu to the brethren and commenced our journey to Kirtland by steamboat and railroad, and arrived there on the twenty-second day of May, A. D 1838, having been absent eleven months and nine days. CHAPTER X. REMOVAL TO MISSOURI--SICKNESS--KINDNESS OF THE SAINTS AT FAR WEST--BUILD A HOUSE, AND THEN HAVE TO ABANDON IT--BATTLE OF CROOKED RIVER--DEATH AND FINAL TESTIMONY OF APOSTLE DAVID W. PATTEN--CORNER STONE OF TEMPLE AT FAR WEST LAID--REMOVAL TO ILLINOIS. I found my family in good health, and as comfortably situated as I could expect; and our joy was mutual. The Saints in Kirtland also received us with joy and welcomed us home. But my journey was not yet ended. Soon after my arrival in Kirtland, I had to make preparation to move to the State of Missouri, where the greater part of the Church had already gone. One great cause of their removal to the west, was the persecutions to which they were subject in Kirtland. The brethren who yet resided there, although very kind and affectionate, were weak in the faith in consequence of trials and temptations. This caused us to grieve exceedingly, and we resolved to cheer them up as much as we possibly could. Being solicited to preach in the house or the Lord, we did so, and after preaching a few times, and recounting our travels and the great success which had attended our labors, and also the marvelous work which the Lord had commenced and was still carrying on in the old country, they began to take courage, their confidence increased, and their faith was strengthened, and they again realized the blessings of Jehovah. As soon as our circumstances would permit, we commenced our journey to the State of Missouri, by water, a distance of nearly eighteen hundred miles. After enduring considerable fatigue, we arrived safely at Far West, on the 25th of July. We had the pleasure of beholding the faces of numbers of our friends and brethren, some of whom were so glad to see us that tears started in their eyes when we took them by the hand. There is indeed something peculiarly pleasing to the Saint, who, after a long separation, beholds the friends to whom he is united in bonds the most sacred, and with whom he has probably traveled to preach the gospel, and with them passed through many scenes of sorrow and affliction. At that time every pleasing association is revived, and memory fondly clings to those scenes, the contemplation of which affords pleasure, while every thing of an opposite nature is forgotten and buried in oblivion. During our journey from Kirtland to Missouri, the weather was remarkably warm, in consequence of which I suffered very much, and my body was broken down by sickness, and I continued very feeble for a considerable length of time. The first Sunday after my arrival at Far West I was called upon to preach to the Saints, which I endeavored to do, although I was scarcely able to stand. I related many things respecting my mission and travels, which were gladly received by the brethren, whose hearts were cheered by the recital, while many of the Elders were stirred up to diligence, and expressed a great desire to accompany us when we should return to England. Soon after my arrival, I had a lot given me by Bishop Partridge, and also sufficient timber to build me a house. While it was being erected, I lived in a place I built for my cow, about eleven feet square, and in which I could hardly stand upright. The brethren were remarkably kind and contributed to my necessities. One of them by the name of Charles Hubbard, made me a present of forty acres of land, another gave me a cow, etc. When I had nearly finished my house, and after much labor, I was obliged to abandon it to the mob, who at that time commenced persecuting the Saints, driving off their cattle and destroying their property. It will not be expected that I should recapitulate the circumstances which then transpired, which were of an extraordinary character, as numbers have written on the subject. Suffice it to say, that the Saints suffered privations, hunger, abuse, cold, famine, and many of them death. Yes, the blood of the Saints has stained the soil of Missouri, for which the King of kings and Lord of hosts will recompense upon her the punishment of her crimes. From about the 6th of August until the 1st of November it was a continual scene of agitation and alarm, both by night and by day. The enemies of righteousness were determined to overthrow the Saints, and, regardless of all laws (which were trampled upon with impunity), they made every preparation, and used every means in their power to accomplish their unhallowed designs. The Saints, tenacious of their liberties and sacred rights, resisted these unlawful designs, and with courage worthy of them, they guarded their families and their homes from the aggressions of the mob, but not without the loss of several lives, among whom was my greatly esteemed and much lamented friend, Elder David W. Patten, who fell a sacrifice to the fell spirit of persecution, and a martyr to the cause of truth. The circumstances of his death I will briefly relate: It being ascertained that a mob had collected on Crooked River, in the County of Caldwell, a company of sixty or seventy persons immediately volunteered from Far West to watch their movements and repel their attacks, and chose Elder Patten for their commander. They commenced their march about midnight and came up to the mob very early next morning, and as soon as the brethren approached near to them, they were fired upon, when Captain Patten received a shot which proved fatal. The mob after firing ran away. Several others of the brethren were wounded at the same time, some of whom afterwards died. Immediately on receiving the intelligence that Brother Patten was wounded, I hastened to see him. When I arrived he appeared to be in great pain, but still was glad to see me. He was conveyed about four miles to the house of Brother Winchester. During his removal his sufferings were so excruciating, that he frequently desired us to lay him down that he might die. But being desirous to get him out of the reach of the mob and among friends, we prevailed upon him to let us convey him there. He lived about an hour after his arrival, and was perfectly sensible and collected until he breathed his last. He had medical assistance, yet his wound was such that there was no hope entertained of his recovery. This he was perfectly aware of. In this situation, while the shades of time were lowering and eternity with all its realities was opening to his view, he bore a strong testimony to the truth of the work of the Lord and the religion he had espoused. The principles of the gospel which were so precious to him before, were honorably maintained in nature's final hour, and afforded him that support and consolation at the time of his departure which deprived death of its sting and its horror. Speaking of those who had fallen from their steadfastness, he exclaimed, "O that they were in my situation; for I feel that I have kept the faith; I have finished my course; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give to me," etc. Speaking to his beloved partner, who was present, and who attended him in his dying moments, he said, "Whatever you do else, O, do not deny the faith!" He all the while expressed a great desire to depart. I spoke to him and said, "Brother David, when you get home I want you to remember me." He immediately exclaimed, "I will." At this time his sight was gone. We felt so very much attached to our beloved brother, that we beseeched the Lord to spare his life and endeavored to exercise faith in the Lord for his recovery. Of this he was perfectly aware, and expressed a wish that we should let him go, as his desire was to be with Christ. A few minutes before he died he prayed as follows: "Father, I ask thee, in the name of Jesus Christ, that thou wouldst release my spirit and receive it unto Thyself!" and then said to those who surrounded his dying bed, "Brethren, you have held me by your faith, but do give me up, and let me go, I beseech you." We then committed him to God, and he soon breathed his last, and slept in Jesus without a groan. This was the end of one who was an honor to the Church and a blessing to the Saints, and whose faith and virtues and diligence in the cause of truth will be long remembered by all who had the pleasure of his acquaintance; and his memory will be had in remembrance by the Church of Christ from generation to generation. It was indeed a painful circumstance to be deprived of the labors of this worthy servant of Christ, and it east a gloom over the Saints; yet the glorious and sealing testimony which he bore of his acceptance with heaven, and the truth of the gospel, was a matter of joy and satisfaction, not only to his immediate friends, but to the Saints at large. I remained in the State of Missouri until the 26th of April, A. D. 1839, it being the time appointed by revelation for the Twelve to take their leave of the building spot of the house of the Lord and take their journey across the ocean, and notwithstanding the threats of our enemies that this prophecy should fail, we assembled on the public square, at Far West, assisted Elder Alpheus Cutler to lay the corner foundation stone, sang a hymn and united in prayer to God that He would give us a prosperous mission. During my stay in Missouri, I frequently went to see the brethren who were confined in prison for the testimony of Jesus and for the word of God. Many times after I had traveled forty or fifty miles to see them, I was denied the privilege by the jailor and the guards. I was with the brethren in nearly all their movements in the west, and can bear testimony to their faith and virtues, and know they were entirely innocent of the crimes alleged against them, and that their persecutions were brought upon them on account of their attachment to the gospel and to the Saints of the Lord. Although they were in the Lands of their enemies, who threatened to kill them, I always had the testimony that they would be delivered and come forth victorious. After the 26th of April, A. D. 1839, I took leave of Far West, and in company with my brethren traveled to Illinois, where my family had removed some time previous, and I had the unspeakable pleasure of seeing my beloved friends, the First Presidency and others who had been delivered out of the hands of their enemies and had arrived safely in Illinois. Soon after a general conference of the Church was held near Quincy, at which the Saints from all the regions round about assembled. It was a time which will long be remembered by the Saints, it being the first conference held after their expulsion. CHAPTER XI. FAR WEST BESIEGED--JOSEPH SMITH AND BRETHREN BETRAYED BY APOSTATES--ATROCITIES OF MOB--CONVERSATION WITH W. E. M'LELLIN--EXTERMINATION SPEECH OF GENERAL CLARK. Before I proceed farther with my narrative, it may perhaps be as well to revert to some other things that transpired in Missouri: After witnessing the death of D. W. Patten, I took Dr. Avard with me to Far West, a distance of three miles, to Elder Rigdon's house, where we found Brother Patrick O'Banion, who was shot in nearly the same place as Brother Patten (he was a member of Zion's Camp in 1834). He also died in a short time, firm and steadfast in the faith, was perfectly calm and composed, and bore a strong testimony to the truth of "Mormonism." Gideon Carter, who was also a faithful Saint, was shot in the head and left dead on the ground, so defaced that the brethren did not at first know him. This was a gloomy time! On the 30th of October, 1838, we discovered several thousand of the mob coming to Far West, under pretense of being government troops. They passed through our corn and wheat fields, making a complete desolation of every thing in their way. Brother Brigham Young and I were appointed captains of fifty, in a hurry, and commanded to take our position right in the thoroughfare on which the mob were seen advancing to the city, momentarily anticipating the awful tragedy of a bloody massacre. Joseph was with us, giving counsel. The army came up to good rifle shot distance and halted. Seeing our temporary fortifications, which we had thrown up the night previous, by pulling down some of our houses, and fixing up our wagon, they dared not approach nearer, but retreated back to Goose Creek, about three-fourths of a mile, screaming, hallooing and screeching. The mob afterwards declared there were fifteen hundred of us stationed there to prevent their approach, but to my certain knowledge there were only about one hundred and fifty in that line. The word came that Joseph Smith and several others were to be given up; otherwise the mob would massacre every man, woman and child. In order to prevent the execution of this threat, Joseph gave himself up, with Elders Sidney Rigdon, P. P. Pratt, Lyman Wight and George W. Robinson, they having been betrayed into the camp by Col. George M. Hinkle and other apostates. On the 1st of November, the mob, professing to be the regular militia of the State of Missouri, numbering about seven thousand, surrounded Far West. Our men were all taken prisoners and then marched a short distance into a hollow, where Col. Lucas had previously pointed his cannon in full range, so that if we failed to lay down our arms, he could easily sweep us into eternity, which was his design. We were then formed into a hollow square and commanded by Col. Lucas to ground arms and deliver up our weapons of war, although they were our own private property. After being marched back a short distance, on the public square, we were again formed into a hollow square, near the house of Widow Beeman. The mob commenced plundering the citizens of their bedding, money, wearing apparel and everything of value they could lay their hands upon. Much property was destroyed by the burning of houses, logs, rails, corn cribs, boards, etc., the using of corn and hay, the killing of cattle, sheep and hogs, etc., and all this without regard to owners, or asking leave of any one. In the meantime, men were abused, and women insulted, and treated with violence by the troops, while the men were kept prisoners. We were compelled at the point of the bayonet to sign a deed of trust for the purpose of making our individual property liable, as they said, to pay all the debts of persons belonging to the Church, and also for all damages the old inhabitants of Daviess County might have sustained in consequence of the late difficulties in that County. When General Clark arrived, the first important move made by him, was collecting our men together on the square, and selecting about fifty of them, whom he immediately marched into a house and confined closely. This was done without the aid of the sheriff or any legal process. The next day, forty-six of those taken, with the Prophet Joseph, were driven, like a parcel of menial slaves, off to Richmond, not knowing why they were taken. When these troops surrounded us, and we were brought into a hollow square, the first persons that I knew, were men who had once professed to be our brethren. They were the men who piloted the mob into our city, namely: William E. McLellin and Lyman E. Johnson, two of the Twelve; John Whitmer and David Whitmer, two of the witnesses to the Book of Mormon; William W. Phelps, and scores of others, "hail fellows, well met." A portion of the troops were painted like Indians, and looked horrible. They were led by Niel Gillum, who styled himself "the Delaware chief," who, with many others, cocked his gun upon us and swore he would blow our brains out, although we were disarmed and helpless. William E. McLellin inquired where Heber C. Kimball was, and some one pointed me out to him. I was sitting on the ground. When he came up to me, he said, "Brother Heber, what do you think of Joseph Smith, the fallen prophet, now? Has he not led you blindfolded long enough? Look and see yourself poor, your family stripped and robbed, and your brethren in the same fix. Are you not satisfied with Joseph?" I replied, "Yes, I am more satisfied a hundred fold than I was before; for I see you in the very position that he foretold you would be in--a Judas to betray your brethren, if you did not forsake your adultery, fornication, lying and abominations. Where are you? What are you about--you, and Hinkle, and scores of others? Have you not betrayed Joseph and his brethren into the hands of the mob, as Judas did Jesus? Yes, verily, you have! I tell you 'Mormonism' is true, and Joseph is a true Prophet of the living God, and you with all others that turn therefrom will be damned and go to hell, and Judas will rule over you!" Soon after this, when things began to be a little more quiet, I desired to go to my home to get something to eat, many of us not having eaten any food for twenty-four hours. I asked some of the mob standing near if I could have the privilege of going to my house, a little distance off. They referred me to their captain, who was Bogart, the Methodist preacher. I went to him and told him what I wanted. He first spoke of sending some one with me, as I would be liable to be shot if found alone. In a short time, however, he said, "I will go with you." He went down to my house, and my wife got some dinner and he ate with me; then we returned, and I again took my seat on the ground with my brethren who were under guard. The next day I was permitted to return to my home, but told that I need not try to leave the city as it was surrounded with a strong guard to prohibit any one leaving the place. The mob were engaged taking every man a prisoner who seemed to have any influence, and putting him in chains to await a trial. It was rumored that all the men who were in the Crooked River battle would be taken prisoners; therefore, many of them fled to the north before the guards were placed around the city. The 6th of November, General Clark delivered his noted extermination speech, and read over the names of fifty-six brethren who were made prisoners, to await a trial for something they knew not what. In order that the tyrant may not be forgotten, I insert a portion of his speech: "GENTLEMEN:--You whose names are not attached to this list of names, will now have the privilege of going to your fields, and of providing corn, wood, etc., for your families. Those who are now taken will go from this to prison, be tried and receive the due demerit of their crimes; but you, (except such as charges may hereafter be preferred against,) are at liberty, as soon as the troops are removed that now guard the place, which I shall cause to be done immediately. It now devolves upon you to fulfil a treaty that you have entered into, the leading items of which I shall now lay before you. The first requires that your leading men be given up to be tried according to law; this you already have complied with. The second is, that you deliver up your arms; this has been attended to. The third stipulation is that you sign over your properties to defray the expenses of the war. This you have also done. Another article yet remains for you to comply with--and that is, that you leave the State forth with. And whatever may be your feelings concerning this, or whatever your innocence, it is nothing to me. General Lucas (whose military rank is equal with mine,) has made this treaty with you; I approve of it. I should have done the same had I been here. I am therefore determined to see it executed. The character of this State has suffered almost beyond redemption, from the character, conduct and influence that you have exerted; and we deem it an act of justice to restore her character to its former standing among the States by every proper means. The orders of the governor to me were, _that you should be exterminated, and not allowed to remain in the State_. And had not your leaders been given up, and the terms of the treaty complied with, before this time you and your families would have been destroyed, and your houses in ashes. There is a discretionary power vested in my hands, which, considering your circumstances, I shall exercise for a season. You are indebted to me for this clemency. I do not say that you shall go now, but you must not think of staying here another season or of putting in crops; for the moment you do this the citizens will be upon you; and if I am called here again in case of non-compliance of a treaty made, do not think that I shall do as I have done now. You need not expect any mercy, but _extermination, for I am determined the governor's order shall be executed_. As for your leaders, do not think, do not imagine for a moment, do not let it enter into your minds, that they will be delivered and restored to you again, for _their fate is fixed, their die is cast, their doom is sealed_. I am sorry, gentlemen, to see so many apparently intelligent men found in the situation that you are; and oh! if I could invoke that Great Spirit, THE UNKNOWN GOD, to rest upon and deliver you from that awful chain of superstition, and liberate you from those fetters of fanaticism with which you are bound--that you no longer do homage to a man. I would advise you to scatter abroad, and never again organize yourselves with Bishops, Presidents, etc., lest you excite the jealousies of the people and subject yourselves to the same calamities that have now come upon you. You have always been the aggressors--you have brought upon yourselves these difficulties, by being disaffected, and not being subject to rule. And my advice is, that you become as other citizens, least by a recurrence of these events you bring upon yourselves irretrievable ruin." He also said, "You must not be seen as many as five together; if you are, the citizens will be upon you and destroy you, but you should flee immediately out of the State. There is no alternative for you but to flee; you need not expect any redress; there is none for you." I was present when that speech was delivered, and I can truly say that he is a liar and the truth is not in him, for not one of us had made any such agreement with Lucas, or any other person. What we did was by compulsion in every sense of the word; and as for General Clark and his unknown god, they had nothing to do with our deliverance; but it was our Father in heaven, the God of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob, in whom we trust, who liveth and dwelleth in the heavens; and the day will come when our God will hold him in derision, with all of his coadjutors. CHAPTER XII. PERILS OF THE PEOPLE--CHEERFULNESS OF THE SAINTS AMIDST THEIR TROUBLES--VISIT OUR BRETHREN IN PRISON--APOSTLES ORDAINED--MOCK DISTRIBUTION OF STATE APPROPRIATION--LETTER FROM JOSEPH SMITH AND BRETHREN IN PRISON--INDIFFERENCE OF STATE OFFICIALS TO OUR APPEALS--WORD OF THE LORD TO ME. One afternoon, I sent my son William a short distance on an errand, when, on his return, one of the guards drew up his rifle and threatened to blow out his brains if he stepped one inch further towards the house. Through the agency of some of my brethren, I was notified of it. I went to the man and spoke to him in a friendly manner, and conversed with him about the beautiful country, it being more beautiful than England and the nations I had been traveling in. He became very much interested, and in a short time I pointed out my son William, who had stood still for some time after being warned not to approach, and was cold, as it was then dusk and the weather severe. Said I, "That is my son." "Oh!" he said, "if that is one of your sons, he may pass; he may go home." Afterwards the man left his post and came to my house and spent the evening and several times afterwards, and became very friendly, and told me he wished I would leave the "Mormons," as he liked me, and could not bear the thought of my following them with my family, for we were too good for them. I merely mention this to show the perils we were in, men, women and children, with death and destruction waiting on us, and this spirit aroused by apostates. The murders, house burnings, robberies, rapes, drivings, whippings, imprisonments, chainings and other sufferings and cruelties inflicted upon the people of God under illegal orders of Missouri's executive, have been only in part laid before the world, and form a page in history unparalleled in the records of religious persecution. This historic page alone can credit Lilburn W. Boggs and his minions with feeding the ministers of the proscribed religion on the flesh of their murdered brethren, the odium of which crime is shared fully by the professed ministers of different denominations who participated in these vile atrocities! If hell can furnish a parallel, where is it? For me to undertake to write what I saw, and felt and realized, I should utterly fail for lack of ability; I must let eternity reveal the scenes of those days. I can say before God, angels, heaven and earth, that I am innocent of violating any law of the State of Missouri, and I can say that my brethren are as pure and clean as I am, innocent and virtuous, true to their God and their country. With the measure they meted to the Latter-day Saints, it shall be measured to them again, or upon all those who had a hand in our persecution and expulsion, and those who consented to it, four fold, full, pressed down, and running over shall be their portion; and as the Lord God Almighty liveth, I shall live to see it come to pass. [A] [Footnote A: Elder Kimball lived to see the fulfillment of this prophecy.] When we walked up to sign the deeds of trust to pay these assassins for murdering our brethren and sisters and their children, ravishing some of our sisters to death, robbing us of our lands and possessions and all we had on earth, and other such _services_, they expected to see us cast down and sorrowful; but I testify as an eye-witness that the brethren rejoiced and praised the Lord and kicked up their heels, and thanked God, taking joyfully the despoiling of their goods. There were judges, magistrates and Methodist, Presbyterian, Campbellite and other sectarian priests who stood by and saw all this going on, exulting over us, and it seemed to make them more angry that we bore our misfortunes so cheerfully. Judge Cameron said, with an oath, "See them creatures laugh and kick up their heels! They are whipped but not conquered." I have no doubt that I would have been taken a prisoner had the mob known me, but I had not been there but three weeks when the mobbing commenced, and was only known by the brethren, and many of them I had not seen during my brief residence there. The mob had not become acquainted with Brother Brigham, either, as he lived three or four miles from the city on Mill Creek. After the mob departed, I accompanied Brother Brigham to Richmond jail to see our brethren. We found Joseph, Hyrum, Sidney and others chained together in one room, and others confined in other places among the worst demons living out of hell. We scarcely had the privilege of speaking to our brethren more than to say, "How do you do?" every eye being upon us with suspicion. We put up at a public house for the night, and I bear testimony, from our feelings and the spirit manifested in that house, that there were legions of devils present. I do not think that either of us slept any that night. On the 13th of December, Elder Brigham Young and I reorganized the High Council at Far West, when we expressed our fellowship with all those who desired to do right, and filled the vacancies occasioned by those brethren who had to flee from Missouri to save their lives. On the 19th of December, 1838, Brother Brigham and I ordained Elders John Taylor and John E. Page Apostles. The legislature of the State of Missouri appropriated two thousand dollars, to be distributed among the people of Daviess and Caldwell Counties, the "Mormons" not excepted. Judge Cameron, Mr. McHenry and others attended to the distribution. Judge Cameron drove in the hogs belonging to the brethren (many of which were identified), shot them down in the street, and without further bleeding, they were half dressed, cut up and distributed by Mr. McHenry to the poor, at the rate of four and five cents per pound, which, together with a few pieces of refuse calicoes at double and treble prices, soon consumed the appropriation. I received the following letter from the Prophet and his brethren while they were in prison. "LIBERTY, "Jan. 16th, 1839. "BROTHERS H. C. KIMBALL AND B. YOUNG: "_Joseph Smith, Jun., Sidney Rigdon and Hyrum Smith, prisoners for Jesus' sake, send greeting_:--In obedience to your request in your letter, we say to you as follows: It is not wisdom for you to go out of Caldwell with your families yet for a little season; until we are out of prison; after which you may act at your pleasure; but though you take your families out of the State, it will be necessary for you to return, and leave as before designed, on the 26th of April. "Inasmuch as we are in prison, for a little season, if need be, the management of the affairs of the Church devolves on you, that is the Twelve. "The gathering of necessity is stopped; but the conversion of the world need not stop, but under wise management can go on more rapidly than ever. "Where churches are built, let them continue where they are, until a door is open to do otherwise, and let every Elder occupy his own ground, and when he builds a church, let him preside over it, and let not others run in to trouble him; and thus let every man prove himself unto God, that he is worthy. If we live, we live; and if we die for the testimony of Jesus, we die; but whether we live or die, let the work of God go on. "Let the churches in England continue there till further orders--till a door can be opened for them, except they choose to come to America, and take their chance with the Saints here. If they will do that, let them come; and if they choose to come, they would do well to send their wise men before them, and buy out Kirtland, and the regions round about, or they may settle where they can till things may alter. "It will be necessary for you to get the Twelve together, ordain such as have not been ordained, or at least such of them as you can get, and proceed to regulate the Elders as the Lord may give you wisdom. We nominate George A. Smith and Lyman Sherman to take the places of Orson Hyde and Thomas B. Marsh. "Brethren, fear not, but be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. What is man that the servant of God should fear him, or the son of man, that he should tremble at him. Neither think it strange concerning the fiery trials with which we are tried, as though some strange thing had happened unto us. Remember that all have been partakers of like afflictions. Therefore, rejoice in our afflictions, by which you are perfected and through which the Captain of our Salvation was perfected also. Let your hearts and the hearts of all the Saints be comforted with you, and let them rejoice exceedingly, for great is our reward in heaven, for so the wicked persecuted the prophets which were before us. America will be a Zion to all that choose to come to it; and if the churches in foreign countries wish to come, let them do so. Say to brother P. P. Pratt that our feelings accord with his; he is as we are, and we as he. May peace rest upon him in life and in death. "Brethren, pray for us, and cease not till our deliverance comes, which we hope may come. We _hope_, we say, for our families' sake. "Let the Elders preach nothing but the first principles of the gospel, and let them publish our afflictions--the injustice and cruelty thereof, upon the house tops. Let them write it and publish it in all the papers where they go. Charge them particularly on this point. "Brethren we remain yours in hope of eternal life, "SIDNEY RIGDON. "JOSEPH SMITH JR. "HYRUM SMITH. "N. B. Appoint the oldest of those of the Twelve, who were first appointed, to be the president of your quorum. "J. S. "S. R. "H. S." On the 7th of February, 1839, I accompanied Brother Brigham to Liberty, to visit Joseph and the brethren in prison. We had the privilege of going in to see and converse with them. We stayed at Liberty over night, and the next morning we were permitted to visit the prisoners again, while they were at breakfast. We returned during the day to Far West. When we left there, Lyman Sherman was somewhat unwell, and in a few days after our return he died. We did not notify him of his appointment. I fitted up a small wagon, procured a span of ponies, and sent my wife and three children out of the State in company with Brother Brigham Young and his family, and several others, who left Far West February 14th. Everything my family took with them out of Missouri, could have been packed on the backs of two horses; the mob took all the rest. Being a stranger in Missouri, I was requested by Joseph, Brigham and others to tarry and assist the committee in getting the brethren and families out of the State, and in waiting upon those brethren who were confined in prison. On the 12th of March, I wrote to Joseph Fielding, Liverpool, England, saying: "I have only received two letters from you since I have come here. If you knew the feelings I have for the welfare of that people, your pen would not be so idle. May God stir you up to diligence to feed the sheep of God; for they are children of my begetting through the gospel. Think it not strange that I speak thus; for you know the feelings that a father has for his children. "Now, brethren, be faithful and visit the churches, and exhort the Saints to be faithful in all things, and not lay down their watch for a moment; for there is great danger of falling beneath the powers of darkness. Don't think hard of me, brethren, for my plainness, for I am a plain man, and God requires it of me, and the same of you. Don't keep the Saints in ignorance of those things I have made you acquainted with--that is, our sufferings, for they will know them when I come, and they will have to pass through similar scenes. Don't be selfish; for it will not impoverish you to tell them all that I tell you. "Your sister Mary left here about eight weeks ago, also the rest of the wives of the prisoners, thinking that they would be out in a few days. There are ten in prison; they are all well and in good spirits. I am going to see them to-morrow if the Lord will. "Mobs are common in this country; it is getting so that there is no safety anywhere in this land. Prepare yourselves for trouble wherever you go, for it awaits you and all others that love the Lord and keep His commandments. "Brethren, I want you to go to the north where Brother Russell labored, and see what situation the Saints are in, for I have some fears about them. Go and strengthen them in the name of the Lord. * * * * * * "Brethren, I can truly say that I have never seen the Church in a better state since I have been a member of it. What there are left are firm and steadfast, full of love and good works. They have lost all their earthly goods, and are now ready to go and preach the gospel to a dying world. We have ordained about one hundred Elders into the Seventies. There are about one hundred and fifty who have gone into the vineyard this winter to preach the gospel, and many more will go in the spring, and several will come to England with me in the summer or fall. Elder Rigdon was bailed out of prison, and has left Missouri. About ten thousand had gathered to this State. By the 1st of May next there will not be one left who has any faith. Not one-fourth part had any teams to move with, and we had two hundred miles to travel before we could get out of the State. I think their deliverance is a great miracle." About this time, Orson Hyde came to me, feeling very sorrowful for the course he had pursued the past few months. He said it was because of fear, and that he lamented his folly, and he asked me what he should do. I told him to give up his school, remove his family and gather with the Church. He wanted to know if I thought the brethren would forgive him. I said, "Yes." He then asked, "Will you defend my case?" and I promised him I would. On the 15th, the Prophet Joseph and others petitioned Judge Tompkins, or either of the supreme judges of the State of Missouri, for a States writ of _habeas corpus_, that he and his brethren might be brought before either of those judges, that justice might be administered. I was requested by Joseph to go to Jefferson and present the petition. Theodore Turley accompanied me. We took copies of the papers by which the prisoners were held, with the petition to the supreme judges, and immediately started a distance of three hundred miles. We visited the judges, and laid the whole matter before them individually, according to our best ability. Neither of them would take any action in the case, although they appeared friendly and acknowledged that they were illegally imprisoned. We also presented a petition to the secretary of state, the governor being absent. He appeared very kind, but like the other officers, he _had no power to do good_. We immediately returned to Liberty, where we arrived on the 3rd, and made Joseph and the prisoners acquainted with the result of our mission--through the gate of the dungeon, as we were not permitted to enter the prison. Joseph told us to be of good cheer, for the Lord would deliver him and his brethren in due time. He also told us to advise the brethren to keep up their spirits, and get all the Saints away as fast as possible. In company with Brother Turley, I visited Judge Austin A. King, who was vexed at us for presenting his illegal papers to the supreme judges. He treated us very roughly. I returned to Far West April 5th, and remained a few days. My family having been gone about two months (during which time I heard nothing from them), our brethren being in prison, and death and destruction following us wherever we went, I felt very sorrowful and lonely. While in this condition, the following words came to my mind, and the Spirit said unto me, "write." I obeyed by taking a piece of paper and writing on my knee, as follows: "FAR WEST, "April 6, 1839. "_A Word from the Spirit of the Lord to My Servant Heber C. Kimball_: "Verily, I say unto my servant Heber, thou art my son in whom I am well pleased; for thou art careful to hearken to my words, and not transgress my law nor rebel against my servant Joseph Smith; for thou hast a respect to the words of mine anointed, even from the least to the greatest of them; therefore, thy name is written in heaven, no more to be blotted out forever, because of these things; and this spirit and blessing shall rest down upon thy posterity forever and ever; for they shall be called after thy name, for thou shalt have many more sons and daughters, for thy seed shall be as numerous as the sands upon the sea shore. Therefore, my servant Heber, be faithful; go forth in my name and I will go with you, and be on your right hand and on your left, and my angels shall go before you and raise you up when you are cast down and afflicted. Remember that I am always with you, even to the end; therefore, be of good cheer, my son, and my Spirit shall be in your heart, to teach you the peaceable things of the kingdom. Trouble not thyself about thy family, for they are in my hands; I will feed them and clothe them and make unto them friends. They never shall want for food nor raiment, houses nor lands, fathers nor mothers, brothers nor sisters; and peace shall rest upon them forever, if thou wilt be faithful and go forth and preach my gospel to the nations of the earth; for thou shalt be blessed in this thing. Thy tongue shall be loosed to such a degree that has not entered into thy heart as yet, and the children of men shall believe thy words, and flock to the water, even as they did to my servant John; for thou shalt be great in winning souls to me, for this is thy gift and calling. And there shall be no gift withheld from thee, if thou art faithful; therefore, be faithful, and I will give thee favor in the eyes of the people. Be humble and kind, and thou shalt obtain kindness; be merciful, and thou shalt obtain mercy; and I will be with thee even unto the end. Amen." CHAPTER XIII. FINAL EXPULSION FROM FAR WEST--DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY--ESCAPE OF JOSEPH SMITH AND BRETHREN--ATTEMPT TO VISIT PARLEY P. PRATT AND BRETHREN IN PRISON--FORCED TO FLEE TO ESCAPE MOB VIOLENCE--ASSEMBLY OF APOSTLES AND OTHERS ON TEMPLE SITE ACCORDING TO REVELATION--ARRIVAL IN ILLINOIS--WORD OF THE LORD FULFILLED. Judge King having ordered the removal of the prisoners from Liberty to Daviess County, fearing that we might get a change of venue to some other place, Brother Daniel Shearer and I were appointed to visit Judge Hughes, who had formerly been an Indian agent, and get him to go to Daviess and attend the sitting of the court there. He expressed himself in friendly terms towards Joseph and the brethren. Being a very rough man in his language, he cursed the judges and the governor and everybody else that would not step forward and help our friends out of the hands of their persecutors, for he did not believe they were guilty of any of the crimes alleged against them. Said he, "There is no proof that these men have committed any crime worthy of imprisonment or death, and the Mormons have been treated mean." Looking us directly in the eye, he said, with an oath, "Look at their eyes; see how bright and keen they are! They are whipped but not conquered; you can see that in their eyes." There were several men in Liberty who were very friendly to the brethren. I called on them when I went there and they treated me with great civility. Among these were General Doniphan and Atchison and the keeper of the tavern where I put up at, and several of the foremost men who belonged to the masonic fraternity. Those men whom I have named, and several others, revolted at the scenes enacted against the "Mormons," and would have liberated the brethren, had it not been for the "outside pressure," that is, the strong prejudices imbibed by the people generally against us, and their blood-thirsty desire to kill the Prophets. I sent one hundred dollars by Brother Stephen Markham to Joseph, and also various sums at different times by other individuals. The mob continued to threaten the few Saints who remained in Far West, and accordingly on the 14th of April, 1838, the committee, who had been left there to look after the wants of the poor, removed thirty-six of the helpless families into Tenney's grove, about twenty-five miles from Far West. I was obliged to secrete myself in the corn-fields and woods during the day and only venture out in the evening, to counsel the committee and brethren in private houses. On the morning of the 18th, as I was going to the committee room to tell the brethren to wind up their affairs and be off, or their lives would be taken, I was met on the public square by several of the mob. One of them asked, with an oath, if I was a "Mormon." I replied, "I am a 'Mormon.'" With a series of blasphemous expressions, they then threatened to blow my brains out, and also tried to ride over me with their horses, in the presence of Elias Smith, Theodore Turley and others of the committee. It was but a few minutes after I had notified the committee to leave before the mob gathered at the tithing house, and began breaking clocks, chairs, windows, looking-glasses and furniture, and making a complete wreck of everything they could move, while Captain Bogart, the County judge, looked on and laughed. A mobber named Whittaker threw an iron pot at the head of Theodore Turley and hurt him considerably, when Whittaker jumped about and laughed like a mad man; and all this at the time when we were using our utmost endeavors to get the Saints away from Far West. The brethren gathered up what they could, and fled from Far West in one hour. The mob staid until the committee left, and then plundered thousands of dollars worth of property which had been left by the brethren and sisters to assist the poor to remove. One mobber rode up, and, finding no convenient place to fasten his horse to, shot a cow that was standing near, while a girl was milking her, and while the poor animal was struggling in death, he cut a strip of her hide from the nose to her tail, to which he fastened his halter. During the commotion of this day, a great portion of the records of the committee, accounts, history, etc., were destroyed or stolen. Hearing that Joseph and his brethren had escaped from their guard while they were on their way from Daviess to Boone County, to which place they had obtained a change of venue, I called on Shadrach Roundy, with whom I started immediately towards Quincy, Illinois. On reaching Keetsville I stopped at the house of Colonel Price. The Colonel hearing of my arrival, came directly into the house, and, discovering who I was, said, "Joseph and Hyrum Smith and the other prisoners have escaped." I enquired what he knew about them, and he answered, "Their guard took breakfast here this morning. They have turned back, saying they were going back to Richmond, by way of Tenney's grove. I know that the guards have been bribed, or they would evince more interest in pursuing them." After we had partaken of refreshments, Brother Roundy and I pursued our course towards Quincy about fourteen or fifteen miles, when, being thoroughly satisfied that the prisoners had escaped, we turned back towards Far West. When we arrived at Tenney's grove, a man came to me and presented an order drawn on me, by Joseph Smith, for five hundred dollars, saying it was for horses furnished him. I immediately raised four hundred dollars and paid him, when he proceeded to Richmond, Ray County, where he paid out the money to secure some of the lands that we had been driven from. Brother Roundy and I started a few hours afterwards for Richmond, being on our way to Far West, for the purpose of visiting Parley P. Pratt and others in jail. On our arrival at Richmond, I went directly to the prison to see Parley, but was prohibited by the guard, who said they would blow my brains out if I attempted to go near him. In a few minutes, Sister Morris Phelps came to me in great agitation and advised me to leave forthwith, as Brother Pratt had told her that a large body of men had assembled with tar, feathers and a rail, who swore they would tar and feather me, and ride me on the rail. They suspected I was the one who had assisted Joseph and the other prisoners to escape. I immediately informed Brother Roundy, and we jumped on our horses and fled towards Far West, which was forty miles distant. We rode all night and reached Far West about the break of day. Expecting Brother Brigham Young and the Twelve to arrive there that day, I kept myself concealed in the woods, and passed around the country notifying the brethren and sisters to be on hand at the appointed time to witness the work upon the temple. On the night of April 25th, which was pleasant, clear and moonlight, Elders Brigham Young, Orson Pratt, John E. Page, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, George A. Smith and Alphens Cutler arrived from Quincy, Illinois, and rode into the public square early on the morning of the 26th. All seemed still as death. We held a conference at the house of Brother Samuel Clark, cut off thirty-one persons from the Church, and then proceeded to the building spot of the Lord's house, where, after singing a hymn on the mission of the Twelve, we recommenced laying the foundation, agreeable to the revelation given July 8th, 1838, by rolling a stone, upwards of a ton in weight, upon or near the south-east corner. We ordained Wilford Woodruff and George A. Smith, who had been previously nominated by the First Presidency, accepted by the Twelve, and acknowledged by the Church at Quincy, members of the quorum of the Twelve Apostles. We ordained as Seventies, Darwin Chase and Norman Shearer, who had been liberated from Richmond prison two days previously, where they had been confined about six months for the cause of Christ. The Twelve then, individually called upon the Lord in prayer in the following order: Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Pratt, John E. Page, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff and George A. Smith, kneeling on the corner stone; after which "Adam-ondi-Ahman" was sung, when the Twelve took leave of the Saints, agreeable to the revelation. The brethren wandered among our deserted houses, many of which were in ruins, and saw the streets in many places grown over with grass. We went to Father Clark's, got breakfast, and before sunrise we departed. We rode thirty miles that day, and camped at night with the families of Elders Clark and Turley. On arriving at Quincy on the 2nd of May, I found my family well and in good spirits; and on reading the words of inspiration which I had written, my wife bore record to the truth of that part which says, "Trouble not thyself about thy family, for they are in my hands. I will feed them and clothe them and make unto them friends," etc. I learned from her that my family continued with Brother Brigham until they crossed the Mississippi to the town of Atlas, in Illinois, where, through the instrumentality of George Pitkin, my wife got introduced to a Widow Ross, who let her have a comfortably-fitted-up room, and the privilege of cooking by her fire, and who was as kind to her as an own mother or sister. Here my wife tarried seven weeks, and only had to pay fifty cents a week. At the end of that time, John P. Greene came with his wagon and horses and carried my family up to Quincy, forty miles, and rented a good room where I found her. She had had no lack of friends and had every comfort bestowed upon her that she could have had among her own kindred; and I can say in my heart, God bless all who aided and assisted my family. Jesus says every man shall be rewarded for every good deed that he doeth and even if a man giveth a cup of cold water to a disciple he shall receive a disciple's reward. In relation to that part of the Lord's word to me which said I should have many sons and daughters, my wife was rather in doubt, as she considered she was too advanced in years, and the thought had never entered our minds that the Lord would establish in this Church the doctrine of plurality of wives in my day; still I believed it would be restored to the earth in some future time. CHAPTER XIV. JOYFUL MEETING WITH JOSEPH--FIRST CONFERENCE IN ILLINOIS--FIRST VISIT TO COMMERCE--MY IMPRESSION CONCERNING THE NEW GATHERING PLACE--MY RECOMMEND--STRUGGLE WITH EVIL SPIRITS--JOSEPH SMITH'S EXPERIENCE WITH EVIL SPIRITS--P. P. PRATT'S ESCAPE FROM PRISON--BUILDING HOUSES--PROSTRATED WITH SICKNESS--REMARKABLE MANIFESTATION OF THE GIFT OF HEALING. On the 3rd of May, 1839, in company with Elders Brigham Young, O. Pratt, John Taylor, W. Woodruff and George A. Smith, I rode four miles to Mr. Cleaveland's, to visit Joseph and Hyrum, who were as glad to see us as we were to see them once more enjoying their liberty. I spent the day with them and it was one of the greatest days of rejoicing in my life to once more have the privilege of conversing with the Prophet in freedom. The next day I attended a general conference of the Church near Quincy, at which the Saints from all the regions round about assembled. It was a time which will long be remembered by the Saints, being the first conference held after their expulsion. The cases of Brothers William Smith and Orson Hyde were brought up. I had previously informed Brother Hyrum Smith of Orson Hyde's feelings of repentance, and desire to return to the Church. Hyrum partook of the spirit, and when Joseph presented the name of Orson Hyde before the Church, Hyrum and I plead for him according to the spirit that was in us. Joseph then remarked, "If my brother Hyrum and Heber C. Kimball will defend Orson Hyde, I will withdraw my motion." The conference granted them the privilege of appearing personally before the next conference of the Church, to give an account of their conduct, but required that in the meantime they both be suspended from executing the functions of their office. The conference sanctioned the proceeding of the Twelve on the temple block at Far West, on the 26th of April, and also the intended mission of the Twelve to Europe. The conference continued for three days, and a most agreeable time was enjoyed. Elder Rigdon was appointed delegate to go to Washington and lay the grievances of the Saints before the general government, and it was also resolved that a number of Elders should accompany the Twelve on their mission to Europe. On Sunday, the 12th of May, I went up to Commerce, in company with some of the Twelve, in a wagon. On the 25th I crossed the river with several of my brethren and spent the day in council with Joseph and others. While crossing the Mississippi, I was standing by the railing of the boat, looking at the beautiful site of Nauvoo, and remarked, "It is a very pretty place, but not a long abiding place for the Saints." These remarks reached the ears of Elder Rigdon and family, and caused them to feel somewhat sad, as they were well situated in a nice stone house. When we met in council, in the house of Joseph Smith, Elder Rigdon said he had some feelings toward Elder Kimball, and added, "I should suppose that Elder Kimball had passed through sufferings and privations and mobbings and drivings enough to learn to prophesy good concerning Israel." I saw that I was likely to receive quite a chastisement from Elder Rigdon, and knowing his peculiar temperament, I arose and said, "President Rigdon, I'll prophesy good concerning you all the time if you can get it!" On hearing that, Joseph had a hearty laugh with the brethren, and Elder Rigdon yielded the point. I here insert a recommend from the Presidency: "_To the Saints Scattered Abroad, to the Nations of Europe and to the World_: "Be it known unto you that Heber C. Kimball is fully authorized to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, and his testimony can be relied on. He is a man of unexceptionable character, and received his authority and Priesthood from under the hands of the presiding authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, who were called by actual revelation from God. Therefore, God will bless him, and bear record by His power, thereby confirming his word and ministry. Thus testifieth your humble servants, "SIDNEY RIGDON, "HYRUM SMITH, "JOSEPH SMITH, JR. "QUINCY, ILL., June 3, 1839." I wrote to P. P. Pratt, giving him the particulars of our conference at Far West on the 26th of April, and the resolution that the Twelve should have their shackles taken off, that they might go forth into the world to preach the gospel, and that the Bishops were to provide for our families, etc. I also added, "The Presidency feel well towards you. They say you must come out of that place, and so I say; for I do not feel as though I can go to England until I take you by the hand. When this takes place my joy will be full. Be of good cheer, brother; a few days now, and you shall see the salvation of God; and I shall see you in other lands, publishing peace to the captives. My determination is to be a man of God, and to try to save souls from their sins, let others do as they may. I will try to keep my eye on the mark, that is, Christ, the Son of the living God, His grace assisting me. The Twelve have all left Quincy. Orson is about twenty-five miles from here. Whatever you do, do quickly!" Joseph advised those of the Twelve whose families were not at Commerce to remove them immediately to the new gathering place. I accordingly went to Quincy and removed my family up to a place belonging to Brother Bozier, about one mile from Commerce, where I pulled down an old stable and laid up the logs at the back end of the Bozier house, putting a few shakes on to cover it; but it had no floor or chinking. In this condition I moved my family into it. Whenever it rained the water stood nearly ankle deep on the ground in the house. There were some half-a-dozen families in the Bozier house. The 25th, 26th and 27th of June I spent in council with the Presidency and Twelve, and received much valuable instruction from the Prophet. At this conference Orson Hyde appeared, made a humble confession, and was restored to the Priesthood. One night I was awakened out of my sleep by my wife making a noise as though she was nearly choking to death. I inquired the cause, and she replied that she had dreamed that a personage came and seized her by the throat and was choking her. I immediately lit a candle and saw that her eyes were sunken and her nose pinched in as though she was in the last stage of the cholera. I laid hands upon her and rebuked the evil spirit in the name of Jesus, and by the power of the holy Priesthood commanded it to depart. In a moment afterwards I heard some half a dozen children in different parts of the Bozier house crying as if in great distress. The cattle also began to bellow, the horses neighed, the dogs barked, the hogs squealed, the hens cackled and roosters crowed, and everything around seemed in great commotion. In a few minutes afterwards I was sent for to lay hands upon Sister Patten, the widow of David W. Patten, who was living in the room adjoining mine, and who was seized in a similar manner to my wife. My wife continued quite feeble for several days from the shock. One day while visiting Joseph, he took me for a walk by the river side, when he requested me to relate the occurrence at Brother Bozier's. After I had done so, I also told him the vision of evil spirits in England, on the opening of the gospel to that people. After I had done this, I asked him what all these things meant, and whether or not there was anything wrong in me. He said: "No, Brother Heber; at that time, when you were in England, you were nigh unto the Lord, there was only a veil between you and Him, but you could not see Him. When I heard of it, it gave me great joy; for I then knew that the work of God had taken root in that land. It was this that caused the devil to make a struggle to kill you." Joseph then said the nearer a person approached to the Lord, the greater power would be manifest by the devil to prevent the accomplishment of the purposes of God. He also gave me a relation of many contests that he had had with Satan, and his power that had been manifested from time to time since the commencement of bringing forth the Book of Mormon. I will relate one circumstance that took place in Far West, in a house which Joseph had purchased, which had been formerly occupied as a public house by some wicked people. A short time after he had moved into it, one of the children was taken very sick. He laid his hands upon the child, when it got better. As soon as he went outside, the child was taken sick again. He again laid his hands upon it, so that it again recovered. This transpired several times, and Joseph inquired of the Lord what it all meant, when he had an open vision, and saw the devil in person, who contended with Joseph face to face for some time. He said it was his house, it belonged to him, and Joseph had no right there. Then Joseph rebuked Satan in the name of the Lord, and he departed and troubled the child no more. On the 2nd of July, I went with Joseph, Hyrum, Sidney and others over the river to Montrose, after which we rode four miles and looked at the site for the town of Zarahemla. We dined at Brother Woodruff's. After dinner we all went to President Brigham Young's, where Brothers Woodruff and George A. Smith were blessed as two of the Twelve Apostles. Brother Hyrum Smith gave the Twelve some good advice on the nature of their mission--to practice prudence and humility in their preaching, and to strictly hold on to the authority of the Priesthood. Brother Joseph taught many glorious things and important principles to benefit and bless them on their mission; advising them to observe charity, wisdom and a fellow feeling for each other under all circumstances. He also unfolded the keys of knowledge, to detect Satan, and preserve us in the favor of God. On Sunday, the 7th of July, I was present at a large meeting of the Saints in the open air to listen to the farewell addresses of the Twelve. Many were present who did not belong to the Church. After the meeting was dismissed three persons went forward and were baptized and confirmed. On the 10th of July, Elder P. P. Pratt returned from his imprisonment in Missouri. When I heard that he was in Quincy I went there and assisted him and his brother Orson up to Commerce. His escape caused much rejoicing among the Saints. In a few days afterwards he and I purchased from Hyrum Kimball five acres each of woodland, situated one mile from the river, and went to work to cut each a set of logs to build a house 14 by 16 feet, which we cut in one day. We then invited some of the old citizens, such as Brother Bozier, 'Squire Wells, Louis Robinson and others, to come and assist us to put them up, as our people were mostly prostrate with sickness. I got a man to assist me to hew puncheons for the floor, and to make some shakes, that is, strips of timber similar to barrel staves, with which to cover the roof. I also drew the rock and built a chimney, and just got it built to the ridge of the house, when I was stricken down with the chills and fever. My wife was also laid prostrate with the same. A great amount of sickness prevailed among the inhabitants of Commerce, in consequence of the sufferings and hardships to which they had been subjected in being driven from Missouri; so that the time of those who were able to be about was generally spent in administering to the sick. Some had faith and were healed; to those who had not faith we administered mild herbs and nursed them as well as possible under the circumstances; but many died. On the morning of the 22nd, the Prophet Joseph Smith arose from his bed of sickness, when the power of God rested upon him, and he went forth administering to the sick. He commenced with the sick in his own house, then visited those who were tenting in his door-yard, commanding the sick in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to arise from their beds and be made whole, and they were healed according to his words. He then went from house to house and from tent to tent, on the bank of the river, healing the sick by the power of Israel's God as he went among them. He did not miss a single house, wagon or tent, and continued this work up to the "Upper Stone House," where he crossed the river, accompanied by P. P. Pratt, O. Pratt, John Taylor, John E. Page and myself, and walked into the cabin of Brother Brigham Young, who was lying very sick, and commanded him in the name of the Lord Jesus to arise and be made whole. He arose, healed of his sickness, and accompanied Joseph and his brethren of the Twelve. They went into the house of Brother Elijah Fordham, who was insensible and considered by his family and friends to be dying. Joseph stepped to his bedside, looked him in the eye for a minute without speaking, then took him by the hand and commanded him in the name of Jesus Christ to arise from his bed and walk. Brother Fordham instantly leaped out of his bed, threw off all his poultices and bandages, dressed himself, called for a bowl of bread and milk, which he ate, and then followed us into the street. We then went into the house of Joseph B. Noble, who was also very sick, and he was healed in the same manner. Joseph spoke with the voice and power of God. When he had healed all the sick by the power given unto him, he went down to the ferry boat, when a stranger rode up almost breathless and said he had heard that "Jo" Smith was raising the dead and healing all the sick, and his wife begged of him to ride up and get Mr. Smith to go down and heal his twin children, who were about five months old. Joseph replied, "I cannot go, but will send some one." In a few minutes he said to Elder Woodruff, who lived in Montrose, "You go and heal those children. Take this pocket handkerchief, and when you administer to them, wipe their faces with it, and they shall recover." Brother Woodruff did as he was commanded, and the children were healed. The mob leaders when they saw men, whom they thought were dying, arise from their beds and pray for others, stood paralyzed with fear, yet those same men would have killed Joseph and his brethren if they had had an opportunity. Joseph recrossed the river and returned to his own house, and I went to my home, rejoicing in the mercies and goodness of God. This was a day never to be forgotten by the Saints, nor by the wicked, for they saw the power of God manifest in the flesh. CHAPTER XV. START UPON A MISSION UNDER DISTRESSING CIRCUMSTANCES--INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY--A DRUNKEN DOCTOR GIVES ME A TABLE-SPOONFUL OF MORPHINE--MY LIFE SAVED THROUGH THE PRAYER OF FAITH--BRETHREN LEAVE ME TO PROCEED TO KIRTLAND--THEIR FEAR THAT I WOULD DIE--I PREDICT THAT I WOULD RECOVER AND REACH KIRTLAND BEFORE THEM. On the 4th of August, the Saints met to partake of the sacrament, and received an exhortation from the Prophet, impressing upon them the necessity of being righteous and clean of heart before the Lord, and commanding the Twelve to go forth without purse or scrip; according to the revelations of Jesus Christ. My son David Patten was born during the night of the 23d in the log cabin which I had put up at the end of the Bozier house, and during the night we had a heavy thunder storm, but the hand of the Lord was over us. As soon as my wife was able, I moved my family into the log house that I had built. Being without a house, Brother Orson Pratt moved his family in with mine. On the 4th of September, President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start upon his mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the river, a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river, he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only ten days old, and all his other children were sick and unable to wait upon one another. Not one of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a single change of clothes, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham to the hour of starting. On the 18th, Charles Hubbard sent a boy with a wagon and span of horses to my house to start us on our journey. Our trunks were put into the wagon by some of the brethren who had come to bid us farewell. I went to my bed and shook hands with my wife, who was then shaking with the ague, and had two of our children lying sick by her side. I embraced her and my children, and bade them farewell. The only child well was little Heber Parley, and it was with difficulty that he could carry a couple of quarts of water at a time, to assist in quenching their thirst. With some difficulty we got into the wagon and started down the hill about ten rods. It seemed to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at the thought of leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could scarcely endure it. I said to the teamster "hold up!" then turning to Brother Brigham I added, "This is pretty tough, but let's rise, and give them a cheer." We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, we cried, "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Israel!" My wife, hearing the noise, arose from her bed and came to the door to see what was up. She had a smile on her face. She and Sister Young then cried out to us, "Good bye; God bless you!" We returned the compliment, and were pleased to see that they were so cheerful. We then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude at having the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing well that I should not see her again for two or three years. We were without purse or scrip, and were carried across the prairie, about fourteen miles, to a shanty near the railway, where Brother O. M. Duell lived. On arriving there, we were unable to carry our small trunks into the house, and Sister Duell, seeing our feeble condition, assisted the boy to carry them in. We were very much fatigued, and as soon as we got into the house Sister Duell made us a cup of tea; which revived us, and prepared a bed for us on a one-legged bedstead in a corner of the house, having two poles running from the house logs to the leg. In the course of the night our bedstead broke through, and we found ourselves on the floor, between the poles and the side of the house. The following day Brother Duell took us in his wagon to Lima, about twelve miles, when he left us. He gave each of us a dollar to assist us on our journey. Brother Bidwell then carried us in his wagon to John A. Mikesell's, near Quincy, about twenty miles. The fatigue of this day's journey was too much for our feeble health; we were prostrated, and obliged to tarry a few days in Quincy to recruit. The brethren preached a few times in a meeting house close to the Congregational church. The members of the latter church were in the habit of commencing their meetings at different hours from the brethren, but they took a notion to disturb us, by ringing their bell furiously after we had commenced our meetings. At one time Elder John E. Page preached so loud as to drown the noise of the bell, and this brought some hundreds, who otherwise would not have come, to meeting. I was prostrate with the chills and fever, and stayed most of the time at the house of Sisters Laura and Abigail Pitkin, who bestowed every kindness upon me they possibly could. Dr. Orlando Hovey, and Sister Staley and her daughter were also very kind in administering to me in my feeble condition. We left Quincy September 25th, feeling much better. My sorrow was great to see so many of our brethren there sick and dying, in consequence of being driven and exposed to hunger and cold. Brother Lyman Wight took us in a one-horse wagon to Brother Charles C. Rich's, at Burton; where we stayed through the night. Brother Wight predicted many good things, and left this blessing with us, when he bade us farewell. The following day while Brother Rich was taking us to Brother Wilbur's, the chills came on me again, and I suffered much pain and fatigue. On the 27th, Brother Wilbur took us in a buggy about twenty-five miles to the house of James Allred, in Pittsfield, and the following day Father Allred conveyed us to the place where Brother Harlow Redfield lived, where we preached to a small branch of the Church on Sunday, the 29th. On the 30th, Brother Rodgers carried Brother Brigham to Brother Decker's, and me to the house of Mr. Roswell Murray, my father-in-law. They were living within a few rods of each other, near Winchester, in Scott County. Here we also found a few brethren in the Church, who had been smitten and robbed of their property in Missouri, but were once more in comfortable circumstances and rejoicing in the Lord. On the 1st of October, we were conveyed to Lorenzo D. Young's, where we remained and recruited our strength until the 4th, when he conveyed us to Jacksonville. On the 5th, a sister in the Church hired a horse and buggy to take us to Springfield, a distance of thirty-five miles, and Brother Babcock drove for us. There we were kindly received by brethren, and nursed. Brother Brigham being confined to his bed by sickness, Brother Libeus T. Coon, who was practicing medicine, waited upon him. Here we found Brothers G. A. Smith, T. Turley and R. Hedlock. I went from house to house strengthening and comforting the brethren, and teaching them the things of the kingdom. I was so far recovered that I preached on the Sabbath, which caused a great feeling of love towards us. The Saints got a two horse wagon and harness for us, for which they paid fifty-five dollars, and also collected thirty-five dollars in money for the company. Judge Adams, of the supreme court, took me to his house. I stayed with him three nights and the greater part of three days, and he gave me five dollars when I left. While we remained at Springfield, the sisters fitted up a bed in the wagon for Brother Brigham to ride on, as he was unable to sit up. On the 11th of October, I resumed my journey, in company with Brothers Young, Turley, Smith and Hedlock. We traveled eight miles and put up at the house of Father Draper. When we went into the house, Brother George A. Smith, while stooping down to warm at the fire, dropped a small flask bottle, containing tonic bitters, out of his pocket on the hearth, and broke it. At this occurrence, Father Draper was very much astonished, and said, "You are a pretty set of Apostles, to be carrying a bottle of whisky with you!" We explained to him that the bottle contained some bitters which the brethren at Springfield had prepared for Brother George A., because of his sickness. This appeased his righteous soul, so that he consented to allow us to stay through the night. On the following day, we pursued our journey towards Terre Haute, most of the brethren being very sick. Owing to the bad roads, I walked most of the way. At might I slept in a wagon and caught cold. The next morning I had to go till twelve o'clock before I had anything to eat, and then it was transparent pork and corn dodger. My health again began to fail. The wagon broke down twice and the chills came on me about two in the afternoon and held me till night, then the fever held me all night. I had the chills and fever three days, and lost my appetite. The third chill was so severe that it seemed as though I could not live till night. We arrived at Terre Haute about dusk on the 17th. Brother Young and I put up at Dr. Modisett's, and the other brethren and Father Murray, my father-in-law, who had accompanied us on a visit to his friends in the east, stayed at Milton Stowe's, who lived in one of the doctor's houses. In the evening the doctor went to see them, as they were quite ill, and Brother Stowe was very poor. The doctor expressed great sympathy for them when he returned to his house, * * seeing them in ill health and lying on a straw bed on the floor. He shed many tears at thoughts of the brethren going under such suffering circumstances upon such a long mission; but he did not have quite sympathy enough to buy them a chicken to make them some broth, or even give them a shilling, although he was worth four or five hundred thousand dollars. He said his taxes amounted to over four hundred dollars a year. In the evening I became very ill. The doctor said he could give me something that would do me good and relieve me of my distress, and I would probably get a nap; but the old man was so drunk that he did not know what he did, and he gave me a table-spoonfull of morphine. His wife saw him pour it out; but dared not say a word, although she believed it would kill me. In a few minutes after I took it, I straightened up in my chair, complaining of feeling very strangely, and as though I wanted to lie down. On my attempting to go to the bed, I reeled and fell to the floor. There was hardly a breath of life in my body. Brother Brigham rolled me over on my back, put a pillow under my head and inquired of the doctor what he had given me, and then learned that he had given me morphine. I lay there for a long time; when I came to, Brother Brigham was attending to me with a fatherly care, and manifesting much anxiety in my behalf. I remarked, "Don't be scared; for I shan't die." In a short time after, he got me on the bed, and nursed me through the night. I commenced vomiting and continued doing so most of the night. He changed my under-clothes five times, and washed me each time previous to changing, as I was covered with a cold sweat. It was through the closest attention of Brother Young and the family that my life was preserved through the night. I was scarcely able to speak so as to be understood. In the morning, Brothers Smith, Turley, Hedlock and Father Murray came to see us, and the brethren laid their hands upon me and prayed for me. When they left they wept like children. Father Murray felt very sorrowful. Said he, "We shall never see Heber again; he will die." I looked up at them and said, "Never mind, brethren; go ahead, for Brother Brigham and I will reach Kirtland before you will." Brother Brigham gave them all the money we had except five dollars, and told them to take good care of the team and make all possible speed to Kirtland. They started the same day. In about an hour after their departure I arose from my bed. CHAPTER XVI. FURTHER INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY--MONEY INCREASED BY THE POWER OF GOD--ARRIVE AT KIRTLAND AHEAD OF BRETHREN, IN FULFILLMENT OF MY PREDICTION--SERVICES IN THE TEMPLE--VISIT MY OLD HOME AND MY RELATIVES--KIND TREATMENT--ARRIVE IN NEW YORK--JOYFUL MEETING WITH BRETHREN. On the 22nd of October, Elder Almon W. Babbitt and Dr. Knight, an eminent physician, came from Pleasant Garden to see me, and the next day Brother James Modisett took us in his father's carriage twenty miles, to the house of Brother Addison Pratt. From there we were conveyed by Dr. Knight to Pleasant Garden, and put up with Brother Jonathan Crosby. We found a few brethren there, who were well and in good spirits. We remained three days, preaching to the few brethren and those who wished to hear. * * * Before leaving, Dr. Knight and some others gave us some money to assist us on our mission. While there I also received a letter from my wife, giving an account of her sickness since I left, also that of our children, William and Helen. I wrote her a comforting letter in reply, praying the Lord to bless her and the little ones. On the 26th, Brother Babbitt took us in his buggy twelve miles, to the house of Brother Scott, whose family was very glad to see us, and we tarried with them through the night, after which Brother Scott sent his little son, John, to convey us to Bellville, fifteen miles, several miles of the journey in a rain storm, which obliged us to put up at an inn for the remainder of the day and night. Brother Brigham was very sick, and had to go to bed. I sat up to wait upon him, and spent the evening with the landlord and his lady, preaching to them. They received our testimony, and were very kind to us. The following morning the landlord arose very early, and talked to the citizens about the travelers who had stayed with him the night previous, and what he had heard us say concerning the gospel. The neighbors flocked in; made many enquiries and were very anxious that we should tarry and preach in the place. Our host said several times he hoped the stage would not come, that we might stay and preach, as the people were very much excited on account of a great discussion which had recently occurred between two popular preachers. The stage, however, came along about ten o'clock, and we started on our way towards Kirtland, leaving the landlord in tears. The money given to us in Pleasant Garden added to the five dollars we had left when the brethren parted from us on the 18th, amounted to thirteen dollars and fifty cents. When we got into the stage we did not expect to ride many miles. We rode, however, as far as Indianapolis, paid our passage, and found we had sufficient means to carry us to Richmond, Indiana. When we arrived in Richmond, we found we had means to take us to Dayton, to which place we proceeded and tarried over night, waiting for another line of stages. We expected to stop here and preach until we got means to pursue our journey. Brother Brigham, however, went to his trunk to get money to pay the bill and found we had sufficient to pay our passage to Columbus, to which place we took passage in the stage and tarried over night. When he paid the next bill, he found he had sufficient means to pay our passage to Worcester, and accordingly we took passage for that place. When we arrived there, Brother Brigham went to his trunk again to get money to pay, and found sufficient to pay our passage to Cleveland. While on our way to Cleveland, and within about twenty miles of that place we passed a little town called Strongsville. Brother Brigham had a strong impression to stop at a tavern when we first came into that town; but as the stage did not stop there we went on. We arrived at Cleveland about eleven o'clock at night, took lodgings and remained till next morning. On the morning of November 3rd, it being Sunday, we went to the Episcopalian church, and while returning to the hotel, we met my father-in-law, and learned that Elders Smith, Turley and Hedlock had just arrived in Cleveland. Father Murray was as much astonished to see me alive as though he had seen one risen from the dead. I don't think I ever saw a man feel better than he did when I met him in the street. We walked with him a short distance and met the brethren, whose health was good compared with what it had been, and who were in fine spirits. We learned that they had stayed over night at the tavern in Strongsville, where Brother Brigham had such a strong impression to stop the night previous. They had picked up Elder John Taylor at Dayton, where he was left at a tavern very sick with the ague a few days before, by Father Coltrin, who proceeded to Kirtland. Brothers Taylor and Hedlock got into the stage with us, which left early in the afternoon, and rode as far as Willoughby. We proceeded to Kirtland and arrived the same evening, where we found a good many brethren and friends, who were glad to see us. Thus was the prediction fulfilled which I made on my sick bed, in regard to reaching Kirtland before my brethren. Brother Brigham had one York shilling left, and on looking over our expenses, we found we had paid out over eighty-seven dollars out of the thirteen dollars and fifty cents we had at Pleasant Garden, which was all the money we had to pay our passage with. We had traveled over four hundred miles by stage, for which we paid from eight to ten cents a mile, and had taken three meals a day, for each of which we were charged fifty cents, also fifty cents for our lodgings. Brother Brigham often suspected that I put the money in his trunk or clothes, thinking that I had a purse of money which I had not acquainted him with; but this was not so; the money could only have been put in his trunk by some heavenly messenger, who thus administered to our necessities daily as he knew we needed. There was a division of sentiment among the brethren in Kirtland, many of whom lacked the energy to move to Missouri, and some lacked the disposition. On Sunday, the 10th of November, Elder John Taylor preached in the temple in the forenoon, and I preached in the afternoon. I had great freedom in speaking, and compared my hearers to a parcel of old earthen pots that were cracked in burning, for they were mostly apostates who were living there. Immediately after I returned to the house of Ira Bond, Martin Harris, Cyrus Smalling and others came in and attacked me on what I had been saying, asking me who I referred to in my comparisons. I answered, "To no one in particular, but to anyone that the coat fits." I was so sick that I referred them to Brother Hedlock, who came in at that moment, to talk with, as I was lying on a bed, having a chill, and not able to talk. John Moreton and others declared I should never preach in the house again. Some of the people tried to make me angry, so as to quarrel with me, but they failed. I made my home at Dean Gould's, in the house of Ira Bond. They were all very kind to me. I staid with them most of the time I was in Kirtland, during which the weather was very stormy. I was thankful to get rid of the chills that time without the aid of medicine, but I continued afflicted with a cough which I caught by riding in the stage at night. On Sunday, the 17th, Brother Brigham preached in the forenoon, and Brother John Taylor in the afternoon. In the evening Brother Brigham anointed Brother John Taylor in the house of the Lord, he having previously washed himself in pure water; then we all went to the temple. I was called upon and opened the meeting by prayer, when Brigham anointed him with pure sweet oil and pronounced such blessings upon him as the Spirit gave utterance to, and Brother Taylor then arose and prayed. Brother Theodore Turley, one of the Seventies, was then anointed by Daniel S. Miles one of the presidents of the Seventies; both of which anointings were sealed by loud shouts of hosannah. Then their feet were washed and the meeting closed. A council was held with Brothers Kellog, Moreton and others, who took the lead in Kirtland. We proposed that some of the Elders should remain there and preach for a few weeks, but John Moreton replied that they had had many talented preachers, and he considered that men of such ordinary ability as the missionaries of our party possessed could do no good in Kirtland; he thought possibly that Brother John Taylor _might_ do, but he was not sure. Kirtland at that time was a desolate looking place, about one-half of the houses being empty and going to ruin. We had but little means to prosecute our journey, but, God being our helper, we felt to press our way onward. I left there with my brethren on the 22nd of November, and went to Fairport. There we were detained till the 26th on account of a tremendous snow storm. Our board cost us fifteen dollars while there. We boarded a boat and landed at Buffalo on the 27th, in the morning, and proceeded by stage to Batavia, where we arrived in the evening. The next afternoon, we took the cars for Rochester. When we got to Byron, I got out and left the brethren, supposing Harvy Hall, my brother-in-law, was living there. I had scarcely left the cars when I was informed that he had gone to Rochester. I think I never felt worse in my life, my anticipations were so great to see him, and I could not get away till the next night. Just at evening, I got aboard the cars and arrived at Hall's at eight the next evening, where I was joyfully received. I staid there one week, and was confined to my bed some of the time. I had to take deck passage on the steamboat for the want of means, and took cold and it settled in my right side. I was so bad that I could hardly draw my breath. A letter from my wife reached Mendon, my old home about three weeks before I did. Sister Hall was at my brother Solomon's, and advised him to take it out. He did so, and opened it, but could not tell where I was. Supposing that I was dead, my relatives were feeling very badly when I arrived there. I was taken to my brother Solomon's, and he and his family were all rejoiced to see me once more in the land of the living. Nathaniel Campbell, my wife's brother-in-law, came and took me home with him to Victor. I received great kindness from them and from all my old friends. Several of the neighbors came in while I was there, and my wife's sister introduced me as her "Mormon" brother. They seemed to take a great interest in our sufferings, and this seemed to be the feeling of all candid people. I was urged by my friends to return and bring my family, and remain with them, or at least to stop there till warm weather, on account of my poor health, as a little fatigue would bring me down again. However, I knew it would not do, as "no man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." I preached in Mendon school house Sunday, December 21st, at one o'clock. The house was full. Then in the evening again there was an appointment for their Methodist preacher, but as he did not come, nothing would do but I must preach. I also preached at Miller's Corner. There seemed to be a great desire to hear, but my health would not permit me to speak much. On the 29th, Brother William E. Murray came through the snow up to his horses' sides, determined to have me go home with him. It was as much as we could do to get to his house. It was a pleasure to me to see them. William said to me, "When you want to pray, Heber, use your liberty." He and his family seemed to take much pleasure in the things of God; and on the first day of the year 1840, I went into the water and baptized him and his wife. He gave me a little money, a pair of pantaloons and a pair of drawers, and would have given me fifty dollars if he had had it. My sister, Mrs. Wheeler, gave me another pair of drawers and two fine shirts, and a shawl to wear around my neck. An old friend, John E. Tomlinson, gave me a dollar and said if I would come again he'd give me more. These, with Brother Wheeler, were the only ones who would help me upon my mission. Others were willing to assist me if I would only forsake my "Mormonism" and come back and live with them; but I felt that I would rather live in a cave, or be driven with the Saints every other year while I lived, and be one with them, than to apostatize and have all the good things of the earth, for I would feel myself disgraced in the sight of God and man. On the 6th of January, I preached in Mendon for the fourth time. I also had calls to preach in other parts of the town, as well as other towns in that region. The Baptist church that I had formerly been a member of, had about died out. While in Victor, I had several calls to go to Pike. After being much wrought upon, I consented to go. William Murray and wife accompanied me. We got to the house of my old friend, Adolphus Huit, the first day of February. I never saw a person more pleased than his wife was to see me; she said that she had been calling on the Lord that He would send me there. On Sunday morning we went to the Christian chapel. After the meeting was through, an appointment was given out for me to preach on Monday evening. The church leaders said they were willing that I should preach, because the people were in such a cold state that I could not have any effect upon them. When the time came, I went and found the house crowded. My text was from the 2nd Epistle of John, 9th, 10th and 11th verses. When I was almost through, two of the ministers came into the pulpit. I gave them permission to speak, when one Baptist arose and found fault with me because I had preached from the Bible. When he had sat down, I answered him, and then three others followed his example, and I answered each in turn. They were confounded, and the discussion tended to open the eyes of the people. I afterwards baptized Mrs. Huit, and many others believed. I only preached once and then returned to Victor. On the 10th, I started for New York, and reached Albany on the 12th. Mr. Wheeler, my brother-in-law, stayed with me all night at the hotel and paid my bill. He thought me unwise to go any farther, but the next day I took coach for New York. I went up on the east side of the river, crossed the Catskill Mountains, and took three days to get to Jersey City, traveling part of the way by sleigh. When I arrived at Jersey City, I had not one penny left, and could not cross the river without paying twenty-five cents. I informed the person in charge of the boat that I was out of money, and a gentleman who overheard me gave me twenty-five cents. I crossed the river into New York at nine o'clock at night, went to the Western Hotel and pawned my trunk to pay for lodging. I had only eaten one meal a day while traveling to New York, for want of money to buy more, but I did not suffer from hunger. The next morning, I went in search of some of the Saints, and soon found Brothers Parley P. and Orson Pratt and Brigham Young, who were glad to see me. I went to meeting with them and found one hundred and fifty Saints assembled. It was a great pleasure to meet with them. They were very kind to me, and soon provided me with money to redeem my trunk. I found a letter in New York from my wife, which had lain in the office for a long time, and I was thankful to hear that she and our children were better. Soon after I arrived in New York, Orson Pratt and I were called upon to visit a sick woman, who was unable to turn herself in bed without assistance. We anointed her with oil in the name of the Lord, and she was made whole. She did not belong to the Church, nor did her husband, but in two days afterwards she and her husband were baptized, and fourteen others. I was detained in New York about four weeks, being unable to obtain passage on a packet ship, as the owners of vessels found it more profitable to carry freight than passengers. Brothers Woodruff, Taylor, Clark, Mulliner, White and Turley had already gone to England, and Brother George A. Smith, on account of sickness, had gone to Philadelphia. We were not idle, however, while we remained. We had calls to preach on every hand. I attended a meeting almost every night and was generally kept up talking till midnight or past. As a result of our labors, many new members were added to the Church and fresh zeal was infused into the old ones. The Saints were very kind to us, and provided liberally for our wants, and when we were ready to sail they supplied us with money to pay our passage, and many tempting delicacies as well as more substantial food to serve us on the voyage, besides clothing and bedding. In company with Elders Brigham Young, Orson Pratt, George A. Smith, Parley P. Pratt and R. Hedlock, I took passage for England on the ship _Patrick Henry_, on the 7th of March, 1840. A large number of the Saints came down to the wharf to bid us farewell. When we got into the small boat to go to the ship the Saints on shore sang "The Gallant Ship is Under Way," in which song we joined until the sound of our voices was lost in the distance. I may also add that previous to starting we held a conference with the Saints in New York, at which, by unanimous vote of those present, a "letter of recommendation" was given me, signed, in behalf of the Saints, by the presiding Elder of the Branch and clerk of the conference, testifying of my "wisdom, understanding, meekness and humility," and recommending me "as an upright, honest, candid man, and a faithful minister of the gospel." CHAPTER XVII. INCIDENTS OF ELDER KIMBALL'S MISSION, AS GLEANED FROM HIS LETTERS--SOME OF HIS PROPHECIES FULFILLED--ELDER HYDE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CONTEST WITH EVIL SPIRITS--GREAT SUCCESS OF THE WORK THROUGHOUT ENGLAND--A TESTIMONIAL--SUMMARY OF LABORS--RETURN TO NAUVOO. Elder Kimball's journal containing an account of his mission after leaving New York having been lost, it has been necessary to refer to letters written to his family for further particulars. After a very stormy passage, he and his brethren arrived in Liverpool on the 6th of the April, 1840, where they met Elders Taylor and Fielding. Three days later he went by train to Preston. On reaching Penwortham, three miles from Preston he learned that the Saints had been anxiously expecting him for months. He found many friends standing by the railway watching for him. It was a happy meeting. There was great rejoicing among the Saints, and no little excitement and disgust among their enemies, who had declared that he and his associate Elders should never come to that land again. Many ministers were very much exercised over their presence and were in favor of petitioning the heads of government to interfere with their proselyting. They had cause to fear, as the labors of the Elders had already resulted in breaking up many churches. On the 14th of April, the Elders met to organize, when Elder Willard Richards was ordained to the Apostleship and Brigham Young chosen President. The following day a general conference was held, at which one thousand seven hundred and twenty members of the Church were represented, exclusive of a large number scatted about in different parts of the land, whose standing was not known. On the 18th, he accompanied Elder Willard Richards to the little branch at Walkerford, where, it will be remembered, Elder Kimball was first invited to come and preach by the Rev. Mr. Richards, whose daughter he had previously baptized. This daughter in the meantime had been married to Elder Willard Richards. And right here it may be as well to remark, in illustration of Elder Kimball's prophetic character, that this marriage was in fulfillment of a prediction which he made immediately after baptizing Miss Jeannette Richards. On meeting Elder Richards, he exclaimed, "Willard, I have baptized your wife to day!" A similar prediction was made by him about the marriage of Elder Joseph Fielding, and as literally fulfilled. Since Elder Kimball's first visit to Walkerford, the few Saints there had suffered a great deal of persecution, still most of them had remained firm in the faith. It would appear, however, that Mr. John Richards had got to feel rather sore over the change in his prospects since having his church members converted to "Mormonism," for on seeing Elder Kimball again at his house in company with Elder Richards, he ordered him to leave. Brother Kimball, in writing of this, says: "I went out and pursued my journey. I could hear the old lady and Sister Richards crying when I got into the road. I felt to weep for them. She is a mother indeed, who has fed me and given me money and administered to my wants, and will not lose her reward." Elder Kimball makes frequent mention of the love which the Saints manifested for him. While staying at the house of Brother Thomas Smith, in Clitheroe, he one morning overheard one of the daughters of the house say to her mother, "I want you should make Brother Kimball as comfortable as possible, and I will work in the factory as hard as I can." His sympathy was frequently aroused by meeting with Saints who had been in comfortable circumstances when he knew them on his former mission, but who, through being thrown out of employment, were reduced to want, and would weep at not being able to set food before him as they had formerly done. In visiting Eccleston and Dauber's Lane and the surrounding region, he was received with a perfect ovation by the Saints, and they everywhere urged him to tarry with them. At a village called Chatburn, where he and Elder Fielding went to preach, no house could be found large enough for the people to convene in who turned out to hear them, and they held a meeting in a large barn, with most excellent results. Of this place and its people, he wrote: "Some who had left the Church wished they had been faithful; and some did return by humble repentance and being re-baptized. There appears to be something peculiar in the people of this place; others had tried in vain to enlist them in their folds, but on hearing the first preaching of the fullness of the gospel they were overwhelmed in tears of repentance and more than twenty were immediately baptized, which number was afterwards increased to about ninety, who have generally kept the faith. We have never received anything like an insult all the times we visited the village, and we feel bound to bless them." On visiting Southport, a celebrated bathing place, and a great resort for rich people in search of health, he says, "There I beheld halt and blind, deaf and maimed and leprous. Such a distressed set of beings I never saw before. At this place there was a sister sick, and not expected to live. She was healed by administering the ordinances, and the next day she went with us two miles on foot." Of the fraternal feeling that prevailed among the Saints, he says, "The rich love the poor so well they cannot bear to leave them behind. This is a celestial spirit; I would to God that all the Saints had it. There is one peculiarity about the people--just as soon as they come out of the water they want to go to America. When they begin to gather to Zion from this land, it will never stop till the salt is drained out of all nations. These are some of the jewels of the earth." On the 4th of August he started on a visit to London, calling on the way at Burslem, where he remained and spent a holiday with the Saints and preached to six or seven thousand people in the public park. He also stopped at West Bromwich, Birmingham, Ledbury, Cheltenham, and several other places, and visited with the Saints, held a number of meetings and baptized quite a number. On reaching London, he went in search of the officers of the Teetotal Society, on account of the kindness they had shown him on his first mission, in opening their halls for him to preach in when others refused to. He found them very friendly and willing to assist him in any way possible. In company with Elders Woodruff and George A. Smith, he also visited Westminister Abbey and the Queen's Palace. In alluding to the latter and the lavish extravagance that he witnessed, he wrote, "Americans would be astonished to see the stir there is made over a little queen; at the same time there are thousands starving to death for want of a little bread; but they have their reward: 'Blessed are the poor, for they shall rejoice in the Holy One of Israel.' The rich have their reward here, and we shall have ours hereafter; so I do not envy them." He found London the most difficult place to make any impression in of any that he had visited. It would seem as if the devil took special pains to do all he could to prevent the Elders from gaining a foothold there. On the 19th of September, while there, Elder Kimball was stricken with the cholera, and he felt as if he could not live till morning, but he rallied and commenced again as zealously as ever laboring for the conversion of the people. In writing of their discouraging labors, he said: "Brother Woodruff had been gone about two weeks and we had baptized only one here in the city before he left. He felt almost discouraged, and said he never saw such a hard case before--every door closed against us, and every heart. We have traveled from day to day, from one part of the city to the other, to find some one that would receive our testimony. It seemed all in vain for some time; at last we found one old Cornelius that was ready to receive our testimony as soon as he heard it. On Sunday, the morning after I was taken with cholera, I went forward and baptized four. I thought it would do me good to go into a cold bath. Last night I went into the water and baptized four more. Some more are going on Sunday. The ice is broken in London, and the gospel has got such a hold that the devil can not root it out; but he is very mad, and I am glad--I shall never try to please him, the Lord assisting me. I see nothing to discourage me but everything to the reverse." When the devil offers determined opposition, it may be considered as a sure indication that he is losing ground, and that his fears are awakened. Elder Kimball had had sufficient experience in contending with him to learn this fact, and to rejoice at seeing the evil one aroused. It will be remembered that the first success of the Elders in the English mission aroused hostility in that quarter, and Elders Kimball, Hyde and Russell had a personal contest with evil spirits. As the allusion to that occasion published on page 20 is quite brief [see chapter II, paragraph beginning with "One Saturday evening I was appointed by the brethren...."--Transcriber], it may be as well to insert here Elder Hyde's description of the scene, as contained in a letter to Elder Kimball, written May 22, 1856. He said: "Every circumstance that occurred at that scene of devils is just as fresh in my recollection at this moment as it was at the moment of its occurrence, and will ever remain so. After you were overcome by them and had fallen, their awful rush upon me with knives, threats, imprecations and hellish grins amply convinced me that they were no friends of mine. While you were apparently senseless and lifeless on the floor and upon the bed (after we laid you there), I stood between you and the devils and fought them and contended against them face to face until they began to diminish in number, and to retreat from the room. The last imp that left turned round to me as he was going out and said, as if to apologize and appease my determined opposition to them, 'I never said anything against you!' I replied to him thus: 'It matters not to me whether you have or have not; you are a liar from the beginning! In the name of Jesus Christ, depart!' He immediately left, and the room was clear. That closed the scene of devils for that time." In writing of London some time afterwards, Elder Kimball said, "The waters have begun to be troubled, and I pray that they may continue until the Lord gathers out His people from this city. I can say I never felt a greater desire for a place than I have for London, as it is the metropolis of the world and the depot of wickedness, for it don't seem as though any place could be any worse. All manner of debauchery that can be thought of is practiced here." Elders Kimball and George A. Smith left London October 1, 1840, to attend the third general conference in Manchester, at which five of the Apostles met with the Saints and had a time of rejoicing. At this conference three thousand six hundred and twenty-six members were represented, more than double the number reported at the conference held six months before. From this showing the readers can judge of the rapidity with which the work had increased, and new fields were constantly opening up. The Elders met with powerful opposition in many places, but the more they were opposed the faster the work grew. It would seem that among other things predicted upon the head of Elder Kimball by the Prophet previous to starting, was that he should see the queen of England. He records the fulfillment of this prediction as follows: "Elder Woodruff, Sister Ellen Redman, Dr. Copeland and wife, and I had a fair view of the queen. We saw her as the Prophet Joseph told us. * * * We stood within eight or nine feet of her when she passed and returned. She made her obeisance to us, and we returned it. She is a pleasant little body, but what a fuss there is made over one little girl; and how much more I would enjoy the privilege of sitting by my humble fireside with my wife and little children, and to see my brethren and sisters whom I have formed acquaintance with in days of affliction." Though averse to royalty, as might be inferred from the foregoing, it would seem that he had a high regard personally for the Queen and her consort, Prince Albert, and he and his brethren presented each of them with a handsomely bound copy of the Book of Mormon, with their names upon them. In February, 1841, in writing of the anxiety of the newly converted Saints to emigrate to America, he said, "I expect trouble is coming there as well as here. I feel as though I wanted to be there, and share with them, if they suffer. I would rather suffer affliction with the Saints of God than to have the pleasures of this world for a season; for to me it is all vanity. My prayer is that the Almighty will give me grace and patience to endure and hold on to the iron rod. If we do this, we shall do well. When He has spoken through His prophet or predicted anything on this Church, it has come to pass, and the honest have to suffer with the guilty. This has always been the case, but I pray the Lord to help me to fulfill, in all points of the law which leads to the celestial world." He mentions a visit which he made to Bedford, where he remained a week and preached every night to crowded assemblies. He also baptized many, among whom were a number of the followers of a Mr. Matthews, a spurious Latter-day Saint preacher, who had baptized himself, and started out preaching faith, repentance, baptism, etc. He was a partner of Mr. Aitkin in Liverpool, and a man of considerable natural ability. Elder Kimball denounced him publicly, and when he took leave of Bedford, he "left the whole town in an uproar." He also went to Birmingham, Manchester, Wales, Preston and Clitheroe, holding farewell meetings with the Saints, and baptizing more or less everywhere he went. At the latter place he was presented with the following TESTIMONIAL: "March 28, 1841. "_To all in these last days called to be Saints, and to the faithful in Christ Jesus, grace be to you, and peace from God, our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ_. "We, the brethren and sisters of the various churches associated in the conference assembling at Clitheroe, in the County of Lancaster, England, unitedly and with strong feelings of gratitude and affection, bear testimony that our brother, Elder Heber C. Kimball, has, in the midst of opposition and in the face of persecution and slander, diligently and faithfully labored as a servant of the Most High God; and we pray you in the name of Jesus Christ to receive him as such, rendering unto him every necessary assistance to aid him in the work of the Lord; and may the Spirit of Truth ever be with our brother, and with all the Saints of God. Amen. "Signed on behalf of the conference, "THOMAS WARD, Presiding Elder, "STEPHEN LANGSTROFF." On the 20th of April, 1841, he writes: "President Brigham Young, Orson Pratt, Wilford Woodruff, John Taylor, George A. Smith, Willard Richards and myself, with a company of one hundred and thirty Saints, are on board the ship _Rochester_, bound for New York. Brother P.P. Pratt and a multitude of the Saints came to bid us farewell, and many of them wept like children when we left them to return to our native land." The following is from President Brigham Young's journal: "It truly seems a miracle to look upon the contrast between our landing and departure from Liverpool. We landed in the spring of 1840, as strangers in a strange land, and penniless, but through the mercy of God we have gained many friends, established churches in almost every noted town and city of Great Britain, baptized between 7,000 and 8,000 souls, printed 5,000 Books of Mormon, 3,000 hymn books, 2,500 volumes of the _Millennial Star_ and 50,000 tracts; emigrated to Zion 1,000 souls, established a permanent shipping agency, which will be a great blessing to the Saints, and have left sown in the hearts of many thousands the seed of eternal life, which shall bring forth fruit to the honor and glory of God; and yet we have lacked nothing to eat, drink or wear; in all these things I acknowledge the hand of God." Of his return home Elder Kimball records: "On the 1st of July, President Brigham Young, John Taylor and myself landed at Nauvoo, where we were met by the Prophet and a host of friends who had gathered there to welcome us home again." Transcriber's Note: Some obvious printer's errors have been corrected as seems reasonable (e. g. riyer for river, yon for you, wth for with, rembembered for remembered, mismatched quotation marks, etc. etc.). The book used as a reference for this e-book was donated to the library of the University of California (Berkeley) in April 1886 by Pres. John Taylor and digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation. It can be viewed or downloaded at https://archive.org/details/presidentheberck00kimbrich. 
51910	----	provided by the Internet Archive A VOYAGE TO THE ARCTIC IN THE WHALER AURORA By David Moore Lindsay, F. R. G. S. "Our infant winter sinks, divested of its grandeur, should our eye astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone." BOSTON: DANA ESTES & COMPANY PUBLISHERS 1911 [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0010] [Illustration: 0011] DEDICATED TO SIR THOMAS MYLES A VOYAGE TO THE ARCTIC IN THE WHALER AURORA CHAPTER I--INTRODUCTION The following is little more than a diary of a voyage made by me on the whaler _Aurora_ of Dundee in 1884. I cannot imagine its being read by many, as the subject can only interest a few who have themselves gone down to the sea in ships. The Arctic whaling industry is I fear becoming a thing of the past, and this prompts me to have the record of our successful voyage printed. Some mention has been made of the Greely Relief Expedition, as the relief ships were with the whalers during the passage to Cape York from Newfoundland. We were not brought in contact with the _Chieftain_ at all during the cruise, but I have told the story of her disaster, as it was the most unfortunate occurrence of the year amongst the Arctic whalers, and for the data I am very much indebted to the _Dundee Advertiser_ and to Mr. Allen Bell and Mr. Harvey of that paper for the trouble they have taken about it. I am also indebted to Mr. Robert Kinnis of Dundee for much interesting whaling information in the Appendix. As that gentleman possesses the records of all catches taken by British ships for more than a hundred years, he is in a position to supply very valuable data on the subject. Mr. Walter Kinnis kindly supplied me with many photographs, as did Dr. Crawford, formerly of the _Arctic_, and Captain Murray of Dundee. It has given me great pleasure recalling the scenes described. As I was very young at the time of the voyage they produced an indelible impression. Often since have I longed for a few weeks in Lancaster Sound, and to hear once more the inspiring shout "A fall!" Being fond of adventure, and having read as many works on the subject as most boys of my age, it was with great pleasure that I looked forward to hearing a lecture delivered by Commander Cheyne, R.N. I was then at school, and our tutor thought it would be an education for us to hear him. The lecture was to me intensely interesting and the illustrations splendid. For days after I could not think of anything else. During study at night, I used to spend a good deal of time looking at a map of the Arctic seas, and picturing Melville Bay with its dangers. After leaving school, and while at college, I read Walter Scott's "Pirate." It told about the Orkneys and Shetlands, and its frequent allusions to the whaling industry set me thinking. I found myself often repeating: "The ship, well laden as barque need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea. The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft. Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jawbones are hanging from yard and mast; Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, And three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all." As there was no immediate chance of going to Greenland, why not see Shetland? So when the summer holidays came, I made my way to Edinburgh with two friends who had also read the "Pirate." We found that steamers sailed from Leith and that the best of the fleet, the _St. Magnus_, would leave the next morning at six, so we took passage in her and visited Orkney and Shetland, thoroughly enjoying being off the beaten track. One day we sat on the Nab Head at Lerwick and looked over a calm sea. In the distance a barque could be descried. Half an hour later we noticed her much closer, although no sails hung from her yards. Then we discovered that while barque rigged she could also steam, and when she anchored we found that she was a whaler, the _Eclipse_ of the Peter Head,--Captain Gray. We went on board and were shown over the ship. Polar bear skins were stretched in frames drying, and we learned that she had 3,500 seals on board and 17 bottle-nosed whales, and, what was of far more consequence to me, that she carried a surgeon. Years passed; I was a student at the University of Edinburgh and had every opportunity of learning about ships sailing from Scottish ports. One day in November, 1883, I went to Dundee and, leaving the Tay Bridge station, made my way along the docks to a basin in which were several whalers. They were discharging cargo, and it was unnecessary to see them to know of their presence. Two of the ships, though small, were very beautiful to look at. They were the _Jan Mayen_ and the _Nova Zembla_. Others, the _Narwhal, Polynia, Esquimaux, Active_, etc., were not so pretty, but they all had a fascination--they came from the romantic Arctic, and I went on board each one. Then I visited another dock where three ships lay together. They were the _Arctic_, the _Aurora_ and the _Thetis._ It required no expert to tell that they were vessels of superior quality. I went on board the one nearest the shore, the _Thetis_, and interviewed the mate. He told me that all three ships would carry surgeons. The _Arctic_ and _Thetis_ were bound for Davis Straits, the _Aurora_ for Greenland. [Illustration: 0025] The office of the company, Wm. Steven & Son, was near by, so I left the ship very much excited. Here was almost a chance to visit the Arctic regions. Going over to the office, I learned that the captain of a whaler selected his own surgeon, and that Captain James Fairweather of the _Aurora_ had just been there. I obtained his address, and calling a cab, was soon at his house. He was not in, but I waited. Seated in a room on the floor of which polar bear rugs were stretched, I began to realize that I was taking a rather serious step without consulting my parents. Before long the Captain entered, and after a little conversation, I arranged to sail as the _Aurora's_ surgeon the following January. So without really meaning to go when I left my rooms in the morning, I found myself in the railway carriage on the way back to Edinburgh, booked for an unusual voyage. During the winter I told some friends what I intended to do, and one of them at once went to Dundee and secured the _Arctic_, the captain of which was an Irishman. Another was also desirous of going, but said he would wait until I returned and told him how I liked it. However he too went in the end and we met in the north. The _Aurora_ was bound for the Newfoundland sealing first and afterwards for the Greenland whaling; that is to say, she would fish for bottlenosed whales on the east side of Greenland in the seas around Jan Mayen and Spitzbergen and make a shorter voyage of it than the Davis Straits ships. To prepare myself for the experience I read what I could about Greenland, and was fascinated by the prospect of seeing its icy mountains and possibly some of its inhabitants; while the very word Spitzbergen suggested to me polar bears and icebergs. In January, 1884, a letter from the Captain told me he would sail about the end of the month and requested me to be in Dundee by the 29th. [Illustration: 0029] I bought a lot of unnecessary clothing, such as pilot-cloth suits lined with flannel. When the flannel became wet afterwards it wonderfully altered the fit of the things, so I removed it with my knife. I also laid in a supply of literature, arms and ammunition, and left the Waverley station at six on the morning of the 29th. Arriving at Dundee, I went to a hotel and then to the office, where I met the Captain, and went with him to the place where the men were signing on. Here I heard some one reading rapidly a lot about the nature of the voyage and what we would have to eat. When I left the building, I was a legal member of the _Aurora's_ crew for the coming cruise, and my rating was that of surgeon, with pay as follows: £. s. d Monthly pay 2 0 0 Oil money per ton 2 0 Bone per ton 4 0 Seal skins per 1,000 1 0 I had to furnish my own cabin and to pay the market price for any trophy of my own shooting which I wanted to keep. As our voyage was in pursuit of Arctic animals and as I was a member of the crew sent for that purpose, of course this was quite right. It was possible for me to increase the above pay by being in fast boats. Let me explain what I mean: when a boat first strikes a fish it is called a fast boat; and if the whale is killed, every one in the boat receives what is called striking money. The harpooner gets ten shillings for putting in the gun harpoon, and ten and six pence for the hand, or a guinea for both, while every member of the crew receives half a crown in either case. It was my good fortune during the following eight months to increase my wages by two shillings and six pence in this way. Having fixed terms and other details I went on board the ship which was to be my home for some months to come. She was a pretty auxiliary barque of 386 tons registered. Her engines were about a hundred horse power. She had a top-gallant forecastle and a raised poop. Running forward from the poop was the engine room skylight, which ended at the funnel casing, and steps led from the poop to the main deck on each side of it. The funnel was painted buff, the ship outside was black, and the bulwarks inside white and blue. The bridge was across the engine room skylight and in front of the mizzenmast, an iron railing around the poop, offering no protection from the weather, while a companion opened aft in front of our two wheels. The pretty little cabin was furnished in pitch pine and leather. The Captain's room occupied the starboard side, while mine was on the port, both opening into the cabin. Forward of my room was that occupied by the first and second mates, and this looked into the passage at the foot of the stairs. Forward of the passage was the pantry and also the engineer's room. A locker in which things were stowed occupied the stern and opened into the cabin. Forward of the cabin table was a stove in which there was a cheerful fire, and in the square skylight hung a bird's cage and a garland, also some plants. Finding out what I wanted for my room, I went into the town, ordered the things and had them sent down. _January 30_. Two acquaintances, whose identity I may indicate by the initials H. and P., turned up this day to see me off. I took them over the ship, but they were not very enthusiastic. We afterwards went around the docks and saw the other whalers getting ready for sea. Quantities of marmalade and dozens of hams were being put on board the _Esquimaux_. Two of the whalers had already departed, the _Narwhal_ and _Polynia_, while others were not starting for a week to come; but as there were uncertainties about the western ocean's passage in winter, Captain Fairweather had decided not to wait longer than the 31st. It snowed a little, which made the docks look dreary. I met the Captain's wife on board during the afternoon, also his brother, who had command of the _Thetis_. The following day Armitage arrived. He brought me a big meerschaum pipe, and was delighted with the ship, so pleased that he visited many others to see if he could not secure a berth on one of them. But those carrying surgeons had their medical officers engaged. We wandered around the docks all the morning and at noon I went on board. The _Aurora_ left the dock at one P. M. and anchored for a short time in the river to pick up a few belated and more or less incapable members of the crew, and to land some stowaways. My friends stood on the dockhead with hundreds of others to see us off, and as we passed through the gate, old shoes, oranges and other things were thrown on board. [Illustration: 0033] I was walking about the poop with my hands deep in the pockets of my pilot coat and looking at the sea of faces on the dock, when, stumbling over a chain, down I came with a crash in the most ignominious way. However a stumble and fall on board a whaler putting to sea generally passes unnoticed; one would attract more attention by standing up all the time! Thus the voyage began,--my position flat on deck, being in keeping with the best traditions of the trade! CHAPTER II--VOYAGE TO NEWFOUNDLAND "A thousand miles from land are we, Tossing about on the roaring sea; From billow to bounding billow cast Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast." |Steaming down the river we landed quite a lot of stowaways at Broughty Perry about 4.30 P. M., just as it was becoming dark. Tea was served at five,--my first meal on board the _Aurora_. The Captain and myself sat on the starboard side of the table. Wm. Adam, the mate, Alexander McKechnie, second mate, and Wm. Smith, chief engineer, sat on the other side. Immediately after tea, I went to my room as we were crossing the bar and going out into a gale of wind. Everything was tumbling about, and knowing that in a very short time I should lose all interest in my surroundings, I began making things secure. There were two berths. My bed was in the upper as it had a porthole, and most of my belongings were stowed in the lower. A lot of tobacco had become loose, so I put the little packages of it between my bed and the side of the ship. The port was not screwed very tight and leaked badly for a week or so. This saturated the tobacco and generated an odor which added nothing to my comfort. The motion becoming very pronounced, I turned in, and being tired, slept well. [Illustration: 0038] _February 1st_. Footsteps overhead and the singing of shanties on deck awoke me at daybreak, but I was intensely ill, so stayed in bed all day. My room was illuminated by a small light set in the deck overhead and by a partially submerged port, so it was not cheerful. Above my head there was a book shelf. I tried to read, but could not feel interested as it was so very depressing to look forward to months and months of this sort of thing. Matters grew worse as the day went on, the climax being reached when rounding Duncansby Head; but respite came about midnight, when we crept into Long Hope and let go our anchor. _February 2nd._ Shouting and crying awoke me in the morning, and opening the door of my cabin, I saw the Captain teaching two boys that the sea was a bad place to run away to. They had been under an upturned boat and the seas coming on board had almost drowned them out. Each boy promised that he would never do it again. They were given two tins of mutton and a small sack of ship's bread, and put on shore. Long Hope is a well sheltered harbor, between the islands of Hoy and South Walls. There was a pronounced smell of turf smoke about the place and the land was half covered with snow. Two other whalers were at anchor near by, the _Narwhal_ and _Polynia._ They had left Dundee ten days before us and bad been weather bound here for that length of time. I brought my gun up as there were some Richardson's skuas flying about, but I did not get a shot at one. The mate, however, shot a herring gull with it and this was the first splash of the ocean of blood shed by us during the voyage. Breakfast was a cheerful meal and the horrors of the North Sea were soon forgotten. At noon, the tide being favorable and the wind having gone down greatly, we all three steamed out into the Pentland Firth. The _Polynia_ was the first to move; I heard her anchor chain clanking on board to a well-sung shanty. We started next, and as there were some good voices forward we tried to outdo the others. The _Narwhal_ followed, never to return, as she was lost during the summer. Turning Brims Ness sharp, we kept on the Orcadian side of the firth; and after passing Turn Ness, we laid our course for Cape Wrath. Across the water we could barely make out Thurso. The land lies rather low about the mouth of the Thurso river; but on the Hoy side the scenery was fine and we soon sighted the Old Man of Hoy. During my trip to Orkney and Shetland a few years before, I had spent several days on this island, so was interested in seeing it now from the sea on this dismal February afternoon. Its sombre cliffs are always grand, but the present atmospheric condition made the scene impressive. [Illustration: 0043] The Old Man of Hoy, in the simple language of the guide book, is, "An insular pillar composed of flagstones and shales. Across their denuded edges there stretches the band of amygdaloidal lava which is capped by the red sandstones to the height of four hundred fifty feet." I could make out the Ward Hill, but clouds lay low on its summit. Near there I had visited the celebrated Dwarfie Stone made famous by Scott in his "Pirate." It is a huge block of rock twenty-two feet by seventeen and seven deep. There is a passage in it with a bed like a ship's berth hewn out on each side, and it had been, of course, the home of a Trold. I turned my back on this land of Trolds, and went down the quarter-hatch to see the second mate serving out lime-juice, tea, coffee, tobacco and sugar to the men. I heard their names called and had a good look at them as they came up. Our crew was a fine looking lot and the most respectable body of men one could find on any ship, unlike the New Bedford or San Francisco South Sea whalers, which carried very mixed crews of every color. Most of our men had spent the greater part of their lives in Greenland waters, and though not well informed on current topics and very superstitious, they were self-respecting to a degree and absolutely fearless, and they were all of the same nationality. Of course, life on board a whaler is much pleasanter than on any other sort of merchantman, because the ships are well found and the crews very large so that, except when actually engaged in sealing or whaling, they have an easy enough time. The captains in the trade were very humane men, many of them scientific, and they treated their crews well. Amongst the harpooners were often found men who had themselves commanded ships and whose stars, no doubt, would again be in the ascendancy. A few unsuccessful years, or the loss of a ship or two, would probably cost a man his command, and bad luck cannot be avoided. Before the second mate had finished serving out I retired, as the ship was beginning to feel the heavy swell that was coming in, and by six P. M. I was absolutely "under the weather," and it was blowing hard from the northwest. We passed Cape Wrath about midnight. The following day a strong gale was blowing with snow and the engines were slowed down. _February 4th_. Blowing a gale, reefed mizzen set and main topmast staysail, with the engines slowed down. During the morning a man was hurt. He was carried aft and held on the cabin table while I--very ill--and also held, sewed his scalp and dressed the wound. _February 5th_. Strong gale. Ship under reefed mizzen and main staysail, steaming slow. High sea running and sun obscured all day. This applies to the state of affairs on the 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th, during all of which time I enjoyed the horrors of _mal de mer_. I saw by the log that we had spent our days under fore and afters with a heavy sea running, but I made no original observations, keeping in my berth all the time, wondering during my conscious moments what brought me to sea and vowing that I would never set foot on a vessel again if spared this time. The ship's dog (Jock) was a rather sociable and sympathetic collie. He spent a good deal of time with me, and I could not help admiring the old chap when I knew that he really did not belong to any one, but always turned up on the _Aurora_ about sailing time and made the voyage with her. At St. John's, Jock had lots of friends and visited a good deal, but he was always on board on sailing day. _February 11th_. A mere shadow of my former self, I got up and did not feel ill. My wash basin was in one corner of the room. I put my head against the corner above it and by sticking one foot against the side of the door and another against the lower berth, was able to apply a little water to my face, but the swing of the ship was so great that it swished nearly every drop out of the basin. I dressed and went to breakfast, feeling absolutely well and ravenously hungry. After breakfast, tucking my breeches inside my sea boots, I went on deck. The door opened aft. As I came out, the stem of the vessel sank low as the bows rose on the sea, and I saw a black mountain of water rolling from us. Getting to the mizzen rigging on the port side, I put my arms in the shrouds and stood on a spar lashed on deck. It was very dark for the hour and blowing the greatest storm that I had ever experienced, the wind fairly shrieking through the rigging. We were steaming half speed and had a reefed mizzen and main staysail set. Looking forward, I saw the little ship taking tons of dark water over her bows. It came off the forecastle in a cataract, and rushing aft between the engine room and bulwarks, it surged upon the poop. We only had a few feet of free board and were making terrible weather of it. The atmosphere was full of water, as the tops of the waves were blown off in sheets. A great splash came over the quarter about this time and fairly engulfed me. Then I learned that it was better to wear one's sea boots inside instead of outside the trousers. This was sufficient for the day, so I retired below to change and dry. During the evening, the Captain showed me our position on a chart which was glued to the cabin table under the cloth. We were not yet half way across. The 12th, 13th and 14th were all equally awful, but I had my sea legs and a good appetite, so was thankful. The only pleasure I had was standing on the bridge and watching the ship burying her bows into the big seas and the water coming in tons over the forecastle and filling the main deck. She was indeed a wet ship in bad weather. _February 15th_. The Captain said that he had never seen a lower barometer. A great gale was blowing and the ship was hove to. Bags of oil had been put out on the weather side, but the oil did not escape with sufficient freedom so they were hauled in and a lot of punctures made with a knife, but this did not improve matters much. It rendered the sea comparatively smooth to leeward and there was not so much spray flying, but tons of water tumbled over us and we spent a dreadful day. I tried the deck for awhile, but it was dangerous. At night the ship was laboring fearfully and continued to do so for days. _February 20th_. Another fearful day. I had occasion to visit the topgallant forecastle to see the ship-keeper, who had hurt his knee. There was a line from the forecastle door to the main rigging for safety, as one was almost sure to be caught by a sea while going the length of the deck. Two men came aft for me, and watching our chance, we reached the forecastle safe. Coming back, I decided to try it alone, so waited until a tremendous sea had broken over us, then before she had time to take another, I made a dash, but a body of water splashed over the starboard side and forced me to climb up the inside of the main rigging and stay there until some of it swept off the deck. Towards night the wind began to moderate a little. _February 21st_. Pitching and tossing as usual. Cloudy, but not much wind; a nasty sea, however, and the canvas did not hold her steady. Really in a heavy gale the storm holds a ship down to some extent. The next day, however, the weather had moderated, so I tried stoking and managed quite well. I also tried changing a fire, which was not such a success, but I kept steam up and it was an interesting experience. An end comes to all things. On the morning of the 23rd the ship for the first time was on an even keel and some sun was shining through my deck light. Hitherto attempts at washing had been unsatisfactory, as the motion of the ship in a sea was so quick. Now, however, I indulged in a complete toilet, and with a feeling of self-respect went on deck. The day was cloudless and beautiful, the sea smooth as glass, and dotted over it were white specks of ice. In a very short time the pieces of ice became more numerous and larger, and when we were at breakfast we heard and felt the ship crushing and bumping amongst them. By eleven A. M. a breeze came up from the southeast and all sail was set, but by noon the ship stuck hard and fast in the ice, and presented to me a wonderful and beautiful sight. Every stitch of canvas was set and drawing, and the engine going full speed, but still for a time we did not move. Now was my chance to walk about on the frozen sea, so I went out with the dog and we both enjoyed a race, keeping very close, however, for at any moment the Aurora might move. We came on board when the mate called, as a crack was appearing ahead of the ship. We were now two hundred twenty miles from St. John's, and expected to be in ice all the way. During the afternoon I went up to the foretop and Valentine thoroughly enjoyed a half hour gazing at the wonderful scene. We were very seldom stuck for any length of time, a few bumps from the ship being generally sufficient to open a crack. [Illustration: 0051] A great many of the men were on deck most of the day, and certainly she was a heavily manned ship with her crew of sixty-five. Six of them belonged to the engine room, eight were harpooners, who lived in the topgallant forecastle, as did some of our tradesmen. Of these we had two carpenters, a cooper, blacksmith, and sailmaker. The specksioneer also lived there. He was the chief of the harpooners, a splendid old man called George Lyon. Sixteen of our men were from Shetland, a quiet, sober, industrious lot. Standing on the forecastle, I watched the ship crunching through several miles of young ice. She never actually stopped once. Her bows would rise up on it, then huge slabs would tilt on end as she glided on. Sometimes a long crack would open and let her slide in to be almost stuck. By degrees she would gain way and probably steam into an open pool, to strike the opposite side with considerable force, thereby opening a crack in which she would repeat the performance. The engine is the secret of ice navigation. With canvas alone we would have been fast in the ice much of the time, while with heavier engines we could have gone through heavier ice. The night was fine, and we managed to keep moving on our course. _February 24th_ was a glorious day. One would scarcely expect to find such, weather in February in this neighborhood. In the morning we passed through rather smooth ice. Occasionally there were large ponds and in many of these I saw seals. Sometimes they were plunging about in numbers, but generally a few heads only were visible looking at us inquisitively as we passed. There were no bergs in sight, but during the afternoon we passed some rafted ice which was piled up six or seven feet above the floes, and once we were fast for an hour in a rather heavy place, when I again tried the walking, but there was snow on the ice which was slightly frozen on the surface, and this made it heavy as one went through the crust. Towards evening the sky became cloudy; it was very cold, and snow was falling when I turned in for the night. In the morning Cape Bonavista was in sight. It was my first view of this New World. All land was beautiful to me after a month at sea and this looked so attractive as we neared it that I wanted to settle on it for the rest of my life. However, we passed on, and during the day steamed through the narrows and tied up astern of the _Arctic_ on the south side of St. John's harbor at what was known as Stevens Wharf. The _Arctic_ had sailed ten days after us and had made good weather of it as she was a long ship of nearly double our tonnage, but of nothing like our strength of build. The Resolute's Wooden Funnel lute had also arrived. The latter on the way out had lost her funnel, so a pyramidal structure had been erected of wood lined with tin; this answered very well for a time. Some of her bulwarks had been carried away, especially forward of the main rigging on the port side. She was a fine ship, strong and well engined, but the North Atlantic in winter leaves its mark on the best. [Illustration: 0055] The _Resolute_ was owned in St. John's and commanded by a St. John's captain; but she came out from Dundee, where she had been overhauled. So ended my first trip across the Atlantic, and, until then, the most uncomfortable experience of my life. CHAPTER III--NEWFOUNDLAND "Such are the charms to barren states assyn'd, Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd." |Our first possession across the sea was Newfoundland, and I made the voyage to it 400 years after John Cabot, the discoverer. The _Mathew_ of Bristol first sighted Cape Bonavista, which was the first point seen by the _Aurora_. Cabot was a Venetian sailing out of Bristol for a time, and for his great discovery, which gave England her vast American possessions, King Henry gave John ten pounds a year. Cabot is to-day very well thought of, but nothing much is known of what became of him. The name makes an attractive one for a Newfoundland dog. I have known several of them bear it, and it is a sort of geographical education to have them running around; but there is not any place of importance in the world called after this great mariner. The coast of the country is forbidding, being rocky and bleak, except around some of the bays; the most beautiful of those seen by me being Bay of Islands on the west coast, which reminds one of Norway. Here and in the valley of the Humber, which runs into it, there is some very fertile land, and there are some scenes of peace and prosperity. But the general impression I have obtained after several visits to the country, is that life is a struggle for many of the inhabitants compared with what it is in any other colony which we possess. Newfoundlanders are true to the land of their birth, but one familiar with North America at large would never think of advising a colonist to push his fortune in this particular part of it, because the opportunities are comparatively few and the winters are too long for any working man to remain idle. In the interior the soil is as a rule shallow; there are thousands and thousands of acres of barrens, hundreds of lakes of different sizes and numbers of streams. Great areas of the country are grown over with small timber, the trees being so close together in places that one can hardly push through them. Much of the barren country is moss-grown and boggy, so that it cannot be travelled over by horses or mules; therefore, when one leaves the rivers, it is necessary to carry everything on one's back, and, as a result, travel in the interior is not much indulged in by the inhabitants. To add to the pleasure, mosquitoes and their cousins, the black flies, are in swarms. The whole interior is a deer forest of the first magnitude, teeming with caribou (Rangi-fer tarandus). These animals weigh about 300 pounds, and they are very gray about the head and shoulders. I have seen them standing among trees which were grown over with bearded moss, when it was difficult to tell the caribou from the trees. Some of the heads are splendid with a great deal of palmation and not at all like Greenland or polar American caribou in which the palmation is generally poor and the beam long and straggling, probably due to a difference of environment. Migrating to the northern part of the island in summer, they return in September and October to winter in the south, and the sportsman intercepting them on their autumnal trip can have his choice of heads. Another attraction is the salmon and trout fishing. The rivers, especially on the west coast, are well stocked, white trout being particularly numerous. St. John's harbor is entered through the narrows. On the left, going in, there is the lighthouse; and on the right, or north side, the signal station. On this side is the city, lying at the foot of low hills, its principal street, Water Street, being parallel with the shore. From it run side streets down to the wharves and up the hill to the residences and churches. The Dundee ships lay on the south side, our yard being nearest the narrows. From it a path led out to the lighthouse point. A hundred yards from the ship one was on the hillside and without the pale of everything, because only a narrow fringe of buildings separated the south shore from the wilds. Along the water edge, between our ship and the lighthouse, one passed lots of fish flakes. These were constructed of a framework of vertical and horizontal poles covered over with spruce boughs upon which the split codfish were laid after being salted. The air circulated under and around them well and they soon dried. I saw codfish being dried on the beach in Shetland, but they were only spread on the shingle. There are no trees in Shetland from which poles could be made, but there is less precipitation there than in Newfoundland, so the fish dry well upon the shingle. It is over 300 years since the Newfoundland fisheries began to be worked. They proved the country's first attraction and there is nothing of the sort in the world like them. For the five years 1871 to '75 the export of dried cod was 1,333,009 quintals of 112 pounds. The Basques first appeared on the scene and a port on the west coast to-day bears their name, Port aux Basques. As early as 1527 an English shipmaster, on entering St. John's harbor, found eleven ships from Norway, one from Breton and ten from Portugal, all fishing. In looking over the exports for 1881 one notices several interesting items; one is, 4,127 tons of cod-liver oil, another item is 300 barrels of cods' heads at $1.00 per barrel. I fancy, however, their use has not become very general yet when we know that only 300 barrels were exported, and that over sixty million cod were killed. When I speak of the cod fishing, I mean the Labrador as well as the Banks fishery. In fact, the former is probably the more fished of the two by the Newfoundlanders. The day after our arrival our ship began discharging cargo, that is to say, taking off our whale-boats and launch, and taking out all supplies for the whaling voyage. Then they began sheathing the deck and bulwarks--even the floor of the cabin was covered with plank. Bunks were erected for the men in the 'tween decks, all stores removed from the quarter hatch and bunks put in there for the quartermasters, and the crow's-nest was hoisted up and made fast to the main mast, a few feet below the truck. The crow's-nest or barrel was a most comfortable place. One entered through a trap door in the bottom, and when this was closed there was no draught. Around the edge of the barrel and sticking out some distance there was an iron rail upon which the glass could rest, the latter being kept in a canvas bag or pocket inside. From there the ship was navigated, a wire going to the engine room and ringing the bell, but orders to the man at the wheel were called down. While these changes were taking place, in company with the surgeon of the _Arctic_, I wandered all over St. John's and the neighborhood, and enjoyed the hospitality of many residents. It was some distance around the end of the harbor to the city, but we could skate across if we liked. The weather was intensely cold and the land was covered with deep snow. The _Aurora_ having been converted into a sealer, and having taken on board her supplies and exchanged her beautiful whale-boats for a number of very crude looking punts, moved over to the north side of the harbor, and waited for sailing day to take her crew on board. [Illustration: 0065] It may not be out of place to make a few remarks here about seals and sealing generally. Most people know that seal fisheries exist, but few have any idea of their extent. The ice-fields of Newfoundland and Labrador produce more than anywhere else; but Greenland, Northern Europe, the seas around Jan Mayen, Nova Zembla and Spitzbergen produce also a great harvest, and the fur-bearing seals of the Aleutian Islands must not be forgotten. Sealing on the east coast of Greenland is entirely in the hands of natives, but the industry in other places is chiefly prosecuted by Europeans and Americans. Lindeman tells us that in 1720 the ports of the Weser sent out ships, that in 1760 Hamburg sent nineteen which took 44,722 seals, that in 1862 five German ships took 17,000, five Danish 5,000, fifteen Norwegian 63,000 and twenty-two British 51,000; so this gives one an idea of the extent to which Great Britain was represented. In 1876 the Dundee ships alone took 53,000, valued at over £34,000. It was the custom for the British sealers to arrive in Bressa Sound, Shetland, about the end of February, and there pick up a considerable part of their crews, getting to the ice about the middle of March. The young seals were in good condition about this time and had not yet taken to the water, so afforded an easy prey to their foes. Around Newfoundland, sealing has gone on with great profit to all engaged for probably one hundred and fifty years, and a glance at the following table will give some idea of its extent: In 1805 81,088 were taken 1818 145,072 1822 306,982 1831 686,836 1840 631,385 1850 598,860 1860 444,202 1872 278,372 1881 447,903 Roughly, about 350,000 every year, the greatest catch being 685,530 in 1844. Harvey tells us that in 1857 there were nearly four hundred vessels of 80 to 200 tons burthen engaged in the industry, employing altogether 13,600 men, and that the year's catch was worth $1,700,000. Now, about eight to ten thousand men are engaged, and the seal fishing yields about one-eighth part of the entire exports of the country. Steam was first used in 1863 and then the sailing ships began to decrease in number. In 1884 more than thirty steamers were used, while the sailing ships had become scarce. With the advent of steam, the Dundee owners began casting covetous eyes at Newfoundland. The western ocean passage could be made early in the year, and the sealing taken in en route to the whaling. It became necessary to arrange with agents at St. John's, or to build yards where the cargo of seals could be taken care of, leaving the vessel free to proceed north. At this time six ships represented Dundee. _Arctic_, Captain Guy _Narwhal_, Captain Phillips _Aurora_, Captain Jas. Fairweather _Polynia_, Captain Walker _Esquimaux_, Captain Milne _Thetis_, Captain Alex. Fairweather The _Resolute_, Captain Jackman, could hardly be called a Dundee ship, and it so happened that the Thetis went on other business this year; but the above were the usual six. The seals forming our cargo from the Newfoundland ice were harps (Phoca Greenlandica), so called on account of a peculiar mark on each side of the adult, extending from near the shoulder to near the tail, and hoods (Cystophora Cristata), so called on account of a large inflatable sac on the nose of the male. On our trip to Labrador we secured quite a number of hoods, but on our first trip our cargo was practically one of harps. Both these species are migratory, coming south in winter and working north in summer as the ice recedes. As the banks of Newfoundland swarm with fish, they form a pleasant winter resort for the seals, and are very convenient to the floes on which they spend February and March. Harbor seals (Phoca vetulini) and square flippers (Phoca barbatus) are also found on the coast. The breeding ice of the seal is the goal of every master in the trade, but there are no rules for finding it. One may consider the influence of currents and winds, and may navigate accordingly only to find the seals are not found where expected. In our own case, the Captain told me the day we left St. John's that he had no definite idea of where to go. Nevertheless we awoke one morning to find ourselves surrounded by hundreds of thousands. [Illustration: 0073] Young seals are born on the Newfoundland ice February 15th to 25th, and are in perfect condition for the market by March 20th, as they have been well fed by their mothers until then. They are a yellowish white when born and remain so until they begin to take to the water, when the longish white hair is rapidly shed and the young one quickly loses its condition. Owing to the exciting nature of the work, a trip to the ice is the desire of nearly every Newfoundland boy. The great danger is fog coming down while the men are sealing far from the ship, and next comes the danger of losing the ship and drifting about on the floes until possibly death takes place from cold and starvation. In 1872 one hundred men perished, fifty going down with the _Huntsman_ on the coast of Labrador. The _Bloodhound_ and _Retriever_ were lost the same year, their crews escaping to Battle Harbor after terrible hardships. Scoresby tells us of the classical disaster which occurred in 1774 about sixty miles east of Jan Mayen. The sealing fleet, consisting of over fifty vessels, met at the ice edge on March the 29th. The whole fleet entered the ice streams and their boats went off sealing. A storm suddenly arose, destroying five of the ships and injuring many more, while most of the sealers who were far from their ships were never seen again, almost six hundred men being lost. One could not talk to a sealer long without learning of some horrible accident which had occurred to himself or a friend, and while some of them were given to romance, there could be no question about the perils they encountered or about their bravery and endurance. Toward the end of February, the sweilers, as they are called, began to arrive in St. John's looking for berths. As the steamers afforded better opportunities, the able men got them, while the older ones took to the sailing craft, where life was not so strenuous. These men were dressed very much alike and were most athletic; some of them were perfectly wonderful in the way they jumped from pan to pan, barely touching some of the smaller ones in passage. The owners did not overfeed the men on these trips, providing them with sea biscuits and pinnacle tea chiefly, pork and duff being served only three days a week and salt fish on Fridays. The water from which the tea was brewed was obtained by thawing pinnacles of ice. When ice floes came together they rafted one on to the other and shattered fragments stuck up in all directions. Snow piled upon these and was frozen. When water was wanted, a body of men with axes went on the ice and broke off the pinnacles, which were taken on board and stacked on deck. As water was required these were put into a tank and steam turned on. Tea was made with this water, and molasses added in place of cream and sugar. Our water for the cabin use was not obtained from this source. On steamers the crew received one-third of the catch, on sailing ships one-half. This was made to the Newfoundland men only on the Dundee ships, the Dundee crew getting paid so much a month, as well as a fraction of the catch. When a ship was amongst the white coats, as the young seals were called, the crew lived well, as they ate the livers, hearts and flippers of the seals. The men carried a supply of livers and hearts in their belts and ate them frozen or cooked as opportunity afforded. It is easy to see how little cooking can be done for a crew of three hundred men on a small ship. I have often seen a man tie a cord to a liver and drop it into a pot of tea sitting on the galley stove, drawing it out when warmed up or when the owner of the pot came for his tea. Sailing ships were allowed to leave port on March 1st, but steamers could not clear for the sealing until March 10th, and the laws were very strictly enforced. It was not unusual for a ship to have her pans of seals pilfered by another ship during a fog, and this often led to legal complications. I have frequently seen our men cut private marks on the fatty sides of the sculps so that they might be identified afterwards. Of course, any ship would pick up a pan which had lost its flag. Sometimes the sweilers had great luck, being gone only a week or two and coming back with their pockets full. A sculp was worth $2.00 to $3.00, and as the men received one-third of all taken, it amounted to a good deal for them, and as it came oft at a season when there was nothing else being done, it added greatly to its value. Ships engaging in this work had to have their hold hulkheaded off so that, should they encounter bad weather, the cargo would not shift. As the _Aurora_ was tanked, that was all that was necessary. If the ship were long in reaching port after taking her seals on hoard, the fat might break down and the oil flood everything, unless the ship had tanks. In our case the sculps were on board such a short time that they were as fresh looking when landed as when taken. The fat was separated from the skin on shore by a man with a long knife. He drew a sculp over a board and caught the edge of it with his left hand; using the knife with his right, in a few sweeps he removed all the blubber. This was thrown into a sausage machine and afterwards steamed in tanks to extract the oil, which was refined by exposure to the sun's rays. The oil was used for machinery and in lighthouses, and the skins were made into harness, boots, etc., farmers using the refuse for fertilizing purposes. When one saw this small army of fine looking, hard working and very poor men, he could not help being sorry that their forefathers in emigrating had not gone a little further and settled in Canada or the United States, instead of on this inhospitable land. Think of how comparatively easy their lives would have been, and what a return they would have reaped for their work. Newfoundland meant to every one of them a life of toil with not much more hope than the mother country could have given them. Poor soil and a relentless winter mean this as a rule in a country the mineral resources of which have not been developed. CHAPTER IV--NEWFOUNDLAND SEALING "The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around; It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound." _March 10th_. At five A. M. all was life on board the _Aurora_. On awaking, I had coffee, which was in the cabin, and, muffling up well, I went on deck, as it was bitterly cold. The night was cloudy and dark but the ship was illuminated with torches, and on each side of the gangway stood the mate and ice-master, calling the roll. The Newfoundland men came on board as their names were called, about three hundred in all, including the quartermasters, who lived down in the quarter-hatch. The men all wore boots made of untanned seal skin, from which the hair had been removed. They were very light and serviceable and came up to the knee. Spikes were driven into the soles to prevent slipping on the ice, and the decks were preserved from these by rough plank sheathing. There was great wrangling and disputing, as many of the men had been celebrating the occasion. At six A. M. we cast loose and by degrees broke our way from the wharf. The scene, when the sun arose, was intensely interesting; all the sealing ships were out, trying to crush their way towards the narrows, and, as the harbor was entirely frozen over, this was hard work. Two ships, the _Resolute_ and the _Polynia_, were behind us, and these last sent two or three hundred to assist our Newfoundland crew in pulling on a hawser over our bows, while our Scotch crew on board ran backwards and forwards across the deck to make the ship roll. This rolling often helped greatly when the ship put her bows in a crack. Our method was to go full speed astern for a few yards, and then full speed ahead, the eight or nine hundred men on the ice pulling for all they were worth at the same time, and the _Aurora's_ men on board running across the deck to keep up the roll. As there were thousands of men similarly employed on and about the other ships, and as they were all singing, the scene may be imagined. The _Nimrod_ and _Neptune_ were moving on, well ahead of us, and when we got into their wake, the _Aurora_ moved along faster. It was eight bells by the time we passed through the narrows; there the ice was much looser, so we all pushed off in our various directions to look for the breeding haunts of seals. Captain Fairweather kept a little nearer shore than the others, and by evening there were only a few ships in sight. I retired early, as I had been up for many hours, and even the bumping and thumping of the ship, as she went full speed ahead and full speed astern every few minutes all night, did not keep me awake. _March 11th_. When I went on deck, a wonderful Arctic scene presented itself. A snow storm was raging and the ship looked as though she had been fast there for years. She was literally buried in snow, and the weather was so cold that the snow had frozen on her yards and rigging. The morning was dark and one could not see very far. Under the starboard bow the ice was heavy, causing the ship to lie over to port. The wind was from the southeast and had driven the ice in on us. There was a great deal of creaking and crunching from moving floes and the wind made a lot of noise in the rigging. By noon the weather had moderated and the snow ceased; by night the wind was coming from the northeast and the ice slackened, the ship being upon an even keel. Of course, snow was not allowed to remain very long on deck, as our big crew had nothing to do but shovel it off. I looked into the 'tween-decks and saw a horrible mess. The bunks were full of men, many playing cards, as each bunk held four. They must have been stifled. For light, lamps burning seal oil were used, and the reek coming from the main hatch would almost have suggested fire. During the night, the ship got under way, and her bumping awoke me several times. _March 12th_. In the morning, we were again beset. Hearing a noise on deck, I went up. On the poop a lot of duffs were lying about like 64 lb. shot. A crowd of angry men could be seen on the main deck and facing them was the Captain. A big Newfoundland man came up the steps and, breaking a duff in two, held it up and asked the Captain to look at it. It was an awkward moment and called for immediate action. But the Captain was a man of action, so he planted a blow between the man's eyes and asked him to look at that; the man dropped back dazed and the trouble came to an end at once. The Captain told a story at breakfast about a steward once saying that more tea would not be required for the next voyage as he had been boiling the leaves from the cabin and giving it to the crew. An order was at once issued to serve out good tea of the proper strength instead. Next morning all hands came aft to complain about the black stuff the cook was serving out, and demanding that proper tea, such as they had been having, should be served. The weather was now fine, and the world very white, the only visible black being a pond of open water half a mile to the east of us. The wind was again from the east and the cold intense; in fact, one could hardly face it on account of small particles of ice driven by it. After breakfast I took my rifle and went to the lee side of the open water. It was perhaps a fourth of a mile long and a hundred and fifty yards wide. Every little while a few seals would bob up at one end of the hole and then, giving a few plunges, disappear. I crouched behind a pinnacle for shelter and, watching past the side of it, soon had a shot. I fancied I heard the bullet strike, but the seal disappeared; presently another came. This time I was sure that I saw the water around bloodstained, but there was a ripple and it was difficult to see anything lying low on it. I spent several hours at this work and was perfectly certain I had hit many seals. On one occasion, I saw the side of one I had shot, with the water breaking over it, but presently it disappeared. I knew that at this season the animals would float, and as I was on the lee side, why did they not drift down to me? Cold at last drove me back to the _Aurora_, and, on relating my experiences, the ice-master told me that I would find the dead animals at the weather side of the hole, as the ice, drifting before the wind, would travel faster than the dead and almost completely submerged seals. So taking a man with me, I had the satisfaction of seeing seven big male harps pulled out, the first I had ever killed and the first secured by the ship. During the afternoon the ice eased off and the ship again proceeded. She was getting along pretty well at bedtime, but not making any particular course. March 13th. It was about five A. M. when the steward came to my room and lit the lamp. He said we were among the "white coats" and he seemed greatly pleased. I dressed and, going up, found bright moonlight. The ship was hard and fast. In every direction I could hear sounds like the crying of children. I could also see gangs of men on the ice and some coming on board. The men had been taking advantage of the moonlight to begin their work, and all were in splendid spirits, as a full ship meant much to them. About six the whistle sounded for all hands to come on board for breakfast, and after that they were organized into companies, commanded by their own quartermasters, and proceeded about the slaughter in a well regulated manner. Each man carried a spruce pole, on the end of which was a sort of boat hook called a "gaff," and each also had a tow rope. The method of proceeding was as follows: A company would go in a certain direction and then scatter. A man would kill four or five whitecoats by hitting them on the head with his gaff. He would pull them together and sculp them, that is, with his sculping knife he would make an incision on the under surface of the body, its entire length, through the skin and fat. How the skin, with its subcutaneous fat, was very loosely adherent to the rest of the body of the young seal, so with a very few sweeps of the knife the body was separated and thrown away. He then made a few holes along each side of the sculp, which was oblong, and through these laced his tow rope. When the four or five had been thus arranged, he towed them to a selected pan, where they were piled with the others, a pole was stuck up, bearing a flag on which was the name of the ship, and this being done, the sealers moved on and established another pan. While the St. John's men were busy with the sealing, the Scotch crew remained on the ship, throwing the coal overboard. The ship, leaving Newfoundland, took a lot of coal, as she did not know where she might have to go or how long she might be away. In our case, we found the seals at once, so the coal, being of no further use and of no value, compared with the seals, was thrown overboard. I went aloft to have a look at our surroundings. We were in Bonavista Bay, and in the distance I saw the _Neptune_ sealing. She was a large ship and took an enormous cargo. It seemed too bad that these should be the only two vessels in the midst of this harvest. I saw, with the glass, seals by the thousand; they were principally to the north of us, and it was evident that we would fill the ship, unless a gale broke up the ice too soon. Astern, I noticed a patch of ice on which there were lots of old harps. Getting my rifle and going over to the place, I found a great many seal holes in the ice. I watched. A seal would stick its head out of one and, seeing me, would instantly go down again. This was going on all over the area before me. Sitting down, I decided to take the first head presenting itself. By watching any given hole, one would probably very soon have a shot, but it was more exciting to take the heads as they came up. It was very quick shooting and good sport. Every time I hit a seal, I killed it, because only the head could be seen. At this season, the animals, being in prime condition, floated; but getting one out of its hole was very difficult. If one turned it around and seized the hind flippers, the fore flippers caught the ice, and there was nothing to take hold of about its head. I found, that by sticking an empty cartridge through the nose and catching this at each side, a man could manage to pull the seal out by throwing himself back. I amused myself at this game until eight bells, when I went on board for dinner and found the Captain in splendid spirits. There was every chance of his filling his ship and being first in, and I questioned whether these honors had ever been obtained by any Scotch master at the Newfoundland sealing before. After dinner, I took a man with me who pulled out the seals and sculped them, hauling them to the ship, which remained fast. The crew got on well with the coal and soon had several tanks cleaned out and ready for the nearest pan, and by night we had about 2,500 on board. I went aloft again and saw our pan flags flying in great numbers, while the men were very busy several miles away. After dark, the sealers came on board and reported having killed probably 10,000. Many of the men had given themselves bad cuts with their sharp sculping knives, but all were very happy, forward and aft. [Illustration: 0093] _March 14th_. Every one up at dawn. The ship was alongside a pan when I came on deck, and the winch was going all the time, while the orders "Heave away port," "Heave away starboard," were being constantly given, and every few minutes a bunch of sculps would be hauled on board and thrown below by the men on deck. When this pan was cleaned up, the officer in the barrel directed the ship's course to the next, and so it went, all day long, a portion of the crew working coal as usual. I went aloft and saw our men, five or six miles away, piling up our cargo. In the afternoon, I went off: in the direction the men were and fortunately I had a gaff: with me. I had on very thick clothes and a pilot jacket over all. When about a mile from the ship, and while walking over a nice, smooth piece of ice, I noticed that it was bending under me. I turned and was getting back to the hummocks, when I went through. Fortunately, the gaff caught on both sides and I only went in up to my arms, so was able to climb out. The cold of the water was intense and I had a fright. Before reaching the ship, my clothes were frozen hard. One great comfort about the _Aurora_ was that she was a steamer, so when any accidents of this kind occurred, it was a great thing, having the top of the boiler to retire to. Here one had warmth at any rate. As there was nothing much separating the top of our boiler from the stoke hole, there was a deposit of ashes and soot, but a little thing like that did not much trouble a man fished out of a frozen sea. It was cold and dark when the sealers began coming on board and a fog was settling down, so about nine P. M. we were quite uneasy over some who bad not turned up. The whistle sounded frequently, and it was a relief when the last appeared. Some were really very much exhausted and were given rum. We took on board about five thousand seals and the men had killed many thousand more. _March 15th_. A snow storm blowing, so the men could not go to the sealing, and very little new work was accomplished. However, the ship managed to reach a lot of her pans, and the Newfoundland men hauled the sculps from others farther away, so that by night, four thousand more were on board. Coal was worked energetically all day. The barometer was rising at night and the snow had ceased, so the weather looked more settled. _March 16th_. Sealers away when I came on deck, and our own crew very busy with the seals and coal. The ice showed a lot of leads and there were seals in the open ponds, so I spent my time at them with the rifle and had some good shooting. At dinner the mate told us we had taken on board over three thousand sculps and by night two thousand more were added to these. About sixteen thousand five hundred were now on board. I spent some time aloft. The glare from the ice was fearfully trying as the sun was very bright. Owing to the open character of the ice, we followed the sealers quite well. We found several of our pans broken by the weight of seals on them; in every case we saw sharks in the open water beside the broken pan. Once the ship had her engines going ahead to keep her bows against the ice, while she took seals on board (I was looking over the rail aft), when I saw a shark gliding up to the propeller. It hit him on the side and cut a flap out about two feet long. He swam about with this mass hanging from him for awhile and then went back to the propeller, which finished him with an awful gash across the neck. This was the only one I saw killed. The night was clear and the men had no difficulty in getting on board. [Illustration: 0099] March 17th. It was blowing and the ice was rather tight; there was also some snow, so the sealers were employed bringing sculps on board, as pans were being broken. I saw one split in two. Half the sculps had been lost in the water, and there were numbers of sharks around. A man stuck his gaff into one several times, and it did not appear to mind. It was difficult getting the seals on board as the heavy snow squalls prevented our seeing the leads. However, twenty-five hundred more were secured from broken pans in our immediate neighborhood. The ship was drifting south all the time; and the _Neptune_ was still in sight when it cleared in the afternoon. _March 18th._ All hands up early and a good start made. Nearly all the coal over the side. I watched the men bringing on board pinnacles in the morning. As they had been sealing steadily for a week and had not paid much attention to their toilets, sleeping in their clothes, etc., and as each one had a fringe of frozen livers sticking in his belt, and the sheathed decks were soaking in oil, the pinnacles had a chance of acquiring a nutritious quality which must have given body to the tea manufactured out of them. However, the men did not mind, and as our cabin supply of water was all right, I did not mind either. The ship picked up a lot of pans and added five thousand more to our collection. Towards evening it became foggy and cold, and we had several frights about men being lost. One fellow came on board and stated that he had seen so and so two miles from the ship, unable to proceed. Some rum was given to him and with a couple of others he started off to bring the exhausted one in. All were on board safely by nine P. M. There was no doubt but that often the rum served out found its way into throats that were far from being too weak to swallow, but such dreadful accidents have occurred that one acts on the safe side. There was no abuse of liquor on board the _Aurora_, but the Captain did not hesitate to supply it when absolutely necessary. _March 19th._ A nice day for sealing, as there was no difficulty getting about to the pans. We brought on board about two thousand, and the ship was practically full. Now we began to clear out the 'tween-decks and to throw the men's bunks overboard. They did not object to a few days of supreme discomfort because they received one-third of the catch. We had the bunkers filled with coal and a lot of sacks piled upon the poop, and every available place was cleared out for this valuable cargo. The ship began to look dirty, as she had scraped off her paint, and the coal dust and oil bad been liberally applied. [Illustration: 0103] It began to blow in the afternoon, with snow squalls. All the men were on board in good time. During the day I caught a young seal. It had shed nearly all its long white hair and the short, silvery coat underneath looked very pretty. I amused myself plucking the balance of the original coat. The seal appeared to enjoy it. It was killed accidentally a few days later. _March 20th_. Blowing bard with snow squalls. A number of pans were broken and many sculps lost, but we secured all we wanted; about one thousand came on board and the 'tween-decks were nearly full. March 21st. A fine day, but the ship beset, so we cleaned up and finished off the 'tween-decks; then we put all on deck that we thought the ship would carry. This would not have been done had the ship had to go any distance, but all the time we were sealing we had been drifting south, so that we were now a very short distance from St. John's. The Captain and mate would stand on the ice and look her over and then decide that perhaps she would carry a few more, and so on, until there was not much of the _Aurora's_ bull above the water. The ice opened in the afternoon and we laid our course for St. John's, steaming half speed. The ship was decorated with flags, the men cheering and singing--at least two hundred of them without shelter; they stood upon the forecastle head and among the sculps on deck. The wind had died away and it was a beautiful afternoon. There were plenty of leads and the ice becoming more open every hour. _March 22nd_. During the night we passed through Baccalieu Tickle and in the morning we were close to the coast. As we steamed through the narrows, the men climbed the rigging and cheered. We had accomplished a wonderful thing. The ship was the first in of the year, and was also full. Soon we were tied up at our old berth on the south side, and our crew were busy discharging our cargo of about twenty-eight thousand seals. Each young seal counted one in settling with the crew and each old seal counted two; of course, an old seal took up much more room than two young ones, and on a voyage like this, where the ship could be filled with young, the crew were not anxious to kill old ones. On our two trips, the _Aurora_ actually killed 28,150, but the crew were paid for 29,300. CHAPTER V--THE LABRADOR SEALING "Now, Brothers, for the icebergs of frozen Labrador Floating spectral in the moonshine, along the low black shore! When the mist the rock is hiding and the sharp reef lurks below And the white squall smites in summer, and the autumn tempests blow." |The work of discharging our cargo began at once--first the sculps on deck, then those in the 'tween-decks and then those in the tanks. Thereafter the ship was given a rough cleaning; new berths were erected in the 'tween-decks and quarter-hatch but not so many as before. The bunkers and tanks were coaled and then we cast about for a crew. All the seals taken on this second cruise would have to be shot, so we did not expect to bring back very many; but the _Aurora_ had her own Scotch crew under pay, and they had to be fed, so she might as well be at sea picking up a few seals as lying in the harbor waiting for May 1st. It was not so very easy finding a crew as they would have little to eat and could not possibly earn much money. However, at last we were ready and on Wednesday, April 2nd, sailed. We had heard nothing of the _Arctic_, and very little of any of the other ships. The _Neptune_ came in after us with about 40,000, which was a tremendous cargo, but she was a big ship. There was much more room with our reduced Newfoundland crew, and we steamed out of the narrows for the second time with the ship very much more comfortable than on the first occasion. [Illustration: 0107] I must say the appearance of the _Aurora_ at this time was disreputable in the extreme. The paint had been scraped off by the ice, and the filthy sheathing covered the decks, while the fragrant bilge water flowed from her side in a pellucid stream. The Captain told me that he intended following the seals which were going north towards Labrador and that he expected to fall in with great herds of year-olds, called bedlamers. We left port after breakfast and steamed out onto a calm sea, shaping our course north. During the afternoon we saw patches of ice scattered about and when night came we slowed down and kept a bright lookout. _April 2nd_ was a blustery day with occasional snow showers. There was no sea, however, to tumble the ship about as there was a good deal of ice. We were easily able to avoid the fields by steaming around them. Some were very heavy looking, having quantities of rafted ice on them. Towards night, it became calm and thick. _April 4th_. Steamed dead slow all night as it was thick. In the morning the sea was calm but still foggy. This was pea-soup day. We always had pea soup on Fridays; we also always had fish for breakfast; it was salt cod. The salt was taken out in some way and then the fish was cut into very small pieces and boiled with broken up sea biscuits and butter, pepper, etc. I have never tasted anything so good since. In fact, I have never since tasted anything so good as the food on the whaler after the first month. There was an absurd arrangement about our meals; it was all right at sea, but in Greenland, when we walked about during the night perhaps as much as during the day, it was distressing. Breakfast was at eight, dinner at noon, and tea at five; there was no regulation meal between five P. M. and eight A. M. I modified this by having a special meal at eleven P. M. At that time I took a pot of coffee from the galley and retired to the pantry for a quiet half hour. _April 5th_. The day was fine. A good deal of ice was in sight and occasional seals could be seen. When one was seen ahead, or a few points on either bow, the ship bore down upon it. As we came close, the seal would first raise its head to see what was coming, then raise its body upon its flippers and stare. A number of men with rifles were always on the forecastle head and of this number I was generally one. If some one did not try too long a shot and frighten it, we always killed the seal. We had a large number of punts on board and one was towed astern in the daytime and with it every seal was picked up. They all counted. Some days we had very good sport and I enjoyed it. _April 6th. Sunday_. Huff day. We had plum pudding on Sundays and Thursdays. The puddings were not round, but oval. The steward made delicious sauce out of condensed milk and, of course, we had the Spartan sauce with everything. The Captain was very consistent in his observation of Sunday--no unnecessary work was done on that day. If there were whales, we fished, but I never saw a man kept at work on Sunday if it could be avoided. This day we did the usual shooting from the forecastle head. The temptation to shoot first was dreadful. I dare say we picked up fifteen or twenty seals. This was a sad Sunday because of the death of our canary. I was in the cabin when Jack, the steward, discovered the fact. He immediately took the seed box out of the cage to the pantry, filled it and brought it back. Captain Fairweather came down shortly after to breakfast and immediately noticed the absence of the bird, as it was always hopping about and making a noise. Jack was called. A look of surprise came over his face when asked about the canary and he immediately climbed on to the seat and, looking into the cage, said, with tears in his eyes, "Oh, Sir, the poor wee bird is deid;" adding, as he pulled out the drawer, "Well, it is not for want of plenty to eat." I don't think for a moment that the bird died of starvation, but Jack wanted to simplify the post-mortem inquiry by eliminating that possibility. Our steward was a remarkable man and eminently qualified by nature for his position. He could produce a look of absolute innocence or of sympathy at a moment's notice; his _suaviter in modo_ would have fitted him for the diplomatic service; and as a dreamer he was without a peer. [Illustration: 0111] There is a great knack about dreaming. To make a reputation and keep it up even on a whaler requires the judgment of a Delphic priest. It was the presence of Jack, the steward, that gave the atmosphere of a home to the _Aurora's_ cabin and we all liked him. _April 7th._ I saw a most interesting thing today. It was an old dog hood; to call it Cystophora Cristata might give the describer some relief; but it would convey no idea of this angry-looking creature as he reared up and gazed at us. How we all resisted firing until he had exhibited himself, I don't know; but when he was looking perfectly terrible and fifty yards away, a dozen copper-nosed bullets found their billets about his head and neck. He was 7 1/2 feet long and a tremendous size around the shoulders. The bag on his head, when fully distended, must have stood eight or nine inches, and extended from the muzzle to four inches behind the eyes. The hood is only found on the male. It is considered ornamental by the females of the same species, but horrible looking by all other animals, I am sure. The beast added about 400 pounds to our little cargo, but the animal, skin and all, certainly weighed seven or eight hundred. During the day we killed quite a number of hoods, but the first was the largest. We did not make much of a run, but dodged about and picked things up. A young hood is rather blue-looking on the back and white underneath. The engine slowed down at night, as usual. _April 8th_. This was one of the most lovely days, with bright sunshine, and there was dazzling ice in every direction. To the east of us we saw a beautiful barque under canvas; she was playing our game, dodging about and picking up seals. As she was not a steamer, and had a small crew, she was consequently inexpensive to work; there was no reason why she should not pay her owners well, especially if she got amongst the hoods, five or six of which would yield a ton of oil. We kept out to her, and finding she was the _Maud_ of Dundee, I was sent on board to hear the news. I was hospitably entertained by the captain, who gave me some old Dundee papers, but those I brought from the _Aurora_ were much more recent. When I returned, I saw a funny thing happen. We had a Newfoundland cook, Jack; he had a triangular face with the base up; a tuft of hair grew from the apex and was the only decoration. With his long shaved upper lip, he had an amusing look and he was a character. The ship was bearing down towards ice upon which there was a young hood. It had been injured and made no effort to escape. Thinking it dead, no one fired and we were almost on to it when Jack, looking over the side, saw it. He had not killed a seal that season, so, seizing a gaff, he leaped on to the pan and we all cheered. As Jack lit on the ice, it broke in two. The seal slid gracefully off its half, but Jack's half, almost submerged, swung around under the ship's quarter, where the propeller was threshing away. Jack paused for a moment between Scylla and Charybdis, and then giving a wild leap, he disappeared in the sea as far from the propeller as he could jump. It was most amusing to see this big man give his wild leap; he was fished out by the punt astern. A small matter, like a man being half drowned, always amused these simple people so much. I have said that the Newfoundlanders were not over-fed on this trip. We had, for cabin use, numerous quarters of Dundee beef lashed in our tops. They kept splendidly up there. One morning the steward reported a quarter of our Dundee beef stolen. One of the Newfoundland cooks was sent for at once and I heard the conversation between the angry Captain and the astonished cook. I heard the cook report every morning how he was on the track of a thief: "Begorra, sor, I have my eye on him;" or, "Begorra, sor, I could put my hand on the man," and so on until we got back without the thief having been turned over; I heard afterwards that the cook certainly could have at any moment put his hand on the man who took the beef. _April 9th_. This was one of the most interesting days I spent. At breakfast, I heard the captain and the mate discussing blinks, that is, reflections. For instance, an ice blink at sea would mean a sort of whitish reflection in the sky over an area of ice, or a water blink would be a dark reflection in the sky over a dark area. We were surrounded by ice and were approaching a dark blink. Was it water or seals? Before breakfast was over, the report came from the crow's-nest that the seals were ahead. I went aloft and saw an extraordinary sight. The ice ahead of us appeared to be positively black with seals. They covered acres and acres. We steamed right up to them and then about twenty men, with rifles, went on to the ice and a lot of others followed to sculp and haul the sculps to the ship. This ice was not solid but made up of thousands of pans all detached. They were generally touching in places, but two or three sprawls would bring any individual seal to some sort of a hole through which it could escape; therefore, it had to be killed instantly or it would disappear. The shooting began at once, the men kneeling down and opening up at the nearest animals. Just as fast as they could consume ammunition, they fired at seals close at hand, and, as these disappeared, at those farther away. There was far too much shooting for much result. Presently they began to get closer. A would kneel down and fire as fast as possible so as to use as much ammunition as he could before B would pass him. B would then rush past and begin shooting, and so on. Now, with regard to this rushing about,--we were travelling on pans of ice of all sizes, some a few feet square, some as large as a table, some twenty times that size, but we certainly had to watch where we were going. When the men scattered, they shot better, but it was much more dangerous, as the express bullets were singing about everywhere. I had two men who took me off to one side and who gave me the best shooting I ever enjoyed. The seals were inclined to bask in the sun and enjoy themselves; so, if we went about it quietly, we could easily stalk a pan and advance to within fifty or seventy-five yards; then, if we shot carefully and only hit heads, we would not disturb the others. Should we wound one, it would not only go down itself but would frighten the others on the same pan. I shot off a number of entire pans by quietly getting close and then picking them off. The seal, properly hit, just drops its head, while the others hold theirs up for you. This was warm work and the barrel of the rifle became so hot that I had constantly to put it on the snow to cool off. I watched some of the Newfoundland men shooting when we started and saw several of them miss every shot. All they did was to endanger their fellow men and wound an occasional seal; of course there were some crack shots among them, but it would have paid well to have tested the ability of all before serving out rifles to them. As there was not a cloud in the sky, we were greatly sunburnt and several had a touch of snow-blindness in spite of wearing colored glasses. We probably picked up three or four hundred seals, and had there been about eight or ten men who understood the use of firearms, they would have killed a thousand easily. The sealing cap worn by the Dundee men was very suitable. The peak was covered with lamb's wool dyed black, so when turned down it absorbed a great deal of the glare. Wool had to be wound around the metal work of the colored glasses we wore on account of the cold. _April 10th_. Nothing makes one rest like a hard day's work in the open air. My shoulder was black and blue with firing and my ears rang with the noise while my eyes smarted and my face burned, but I slept like a log until seven bells. The ship had not moved all night. We were off the coast of Labrador, but out of sight of land. There was a great deal of ice everywhere and by dawn we were steaming north as fast as possible in the effort to overtake our game. By noon the seals were in sight and we went through the same performance as the day before. I did not attempt it with the main body, but with two good men went off in a slightly different direction. The express was certainly a good rifle, and its trajectory very flat, when we consider the powder. I examined a great many wounds that day and in every case found the bullet had expanded well if it had hit anything hard. These seals were nearly all bedlamers and we did not kill any hoods either of these days, although we had picked up quite a number coming up the coast. This was a shorter day, and we did not kill so many. It was quite late when the ship took the last of her men on board, for they had become scattered. One man had fallen in several times and was very much exhausted. However, I was able to make him swallow some rum and he soon revived. A sailor is very feeble and dissolution near at hand when a little rum cannot be coaxed down with a spoon or other suitable instrument--even then I would not advise leaving the bottle close to him while looking for the spoon, lest, during his unconscious struggles, he should spill it. [Illustration: 0121] _April 11th_. We were always on the lookout for the _Arctic_, but saw nothing of her. Before leaving St. John's we heard that the _Thetis_ had been sold to the American Government for the Greely relief expedition, so she would not appear among the sealers that year. Captain Fairweather's brother was master of her, so he was disappointed. We kept north in our effort to overtake the seals, the barometer falling a little towards evening, and a swell coming in from the southeast. We were well on the outer or eastern edge of the ice, as the Captain did not want to take any chance of being jammed among heavy floes coming down the coast. During the evening we had a most wonderful sunset. The sky was red not only to the west, but nearly all over, and the reflection on the ice was magnificent. The frozen sea is fascinating when the sun goes down and before dark; also by moonlight, or bright starlight. During the day the glare is too great but a moonlight night on a frozen sea is the grandest sight possible. The weird sounds caused by the ever restless ice are a fitting accompaniment. On this Friday night, the sounds caused by the ever increasing sea, crunching the pack up, were rather startling at times, but we kept pretty well out of it, so we were safe. There was quite a little motion on board, owing to the swell, and we steamed easy ahead all night, going full speed at daybreak, and by noon had the satisfaction of finding our seals. We went oft, but not quite as usual. The roll of the sea had crunched the pack up and broken all the large sheets of ice, so we were obliged to jump from one pan to another while they were rising and falling on the long swell of the Atlantic. There was nothing sudden or uncertain about the motion. The long heavy rollers lifted one up and lowered one down, and when between them, one could not see very far. Now occurred a sort of stalking that I have never seen described, i. e., running after a large wave and keeping perfectly still when the following wave overtook one; then repeating the stalk, always running in the trough between the two waves. In this manner I did some efficient work and shot a great many seals. Most of the time was spent watching where to put my feet; but, on feeling the rise coming, I stood perfectly still and watched the seals. I was regaled with accounts of men who had been injured and cut in two by this sort of thing; but we did not meet with the slightest accident and every one was picked up by sundown. The ship managed to follow through the ice pretty well, picking up a few seals here and there, as they had been sculped, so that we added several hundreds to our collection. [Illustration: 0125] _April 13th. Sunday_. The day was fine and we picked up occasional seals but did not find a herd. It was a complete day of rest for all hands. The ice to the west of us looked very heavy and the Captain was careful to avoid it. We lay to at night, but by daybreak on Monday morning we were dodging north again. _April 14th_. I had my first shot at a walrus, sea-horse, as it is called. Shortly after breakfast the usual rifles were on the forecastle head when the officer in the crow's-nest called down that he saw a walrus. The ship was kept down on it, and presently we all saw the big animal with his long white tusks. In this case, they were very long and could be seen from a great distance. He was on a pan with open water all around, so we steamed straight at him. As we approached, he raised himself higher and higher on his flippers and disappeared after having received a fearful fusillade, at less than a ship's length. I would have liked the chance of examining his skin just to count the hits and see the effect. We heard the thud of striking bullets, but the walrus gave a plunge and was seen no more. We did the usual amount of sealing from the ship, but had not any men on the ice. Two or three times we had several punts out, but they did not pick up very many. _April 15th_. We dodged back and forth amongst the floating ice, keeping a little closer to land but not seeing much of interest. There was a very large floe which bore evidence of great rafting; between the hummocks on it there was fresh water, regular ponds with connecting channels. I was on this floe, as we shot a few seals on it, so tasted the water, which was sweet and good. I have often seen quite big ponds on floes fast to bergs, and we took water on board sometimes from these. For the next few days we steamed south without seeing anything of interest. The weather was cold, but fine, and the ice less as we neared St. John's. We were careful after dark and generally steamed slow. The crew were employed in cleaning up. April 19th. Saturday. Arrived at St. John's in the morning and took our usual berth. Our entire catch of seals for the two trips was 28,150, but the crew were paid for 29,300 as there were some large old seals and they counted more. There was great news for us on our arrival. I have already mentioned the sale of the _Thetis_ to the American Government. We now received orders from Dundee to take the place of the _Thetis_ and proceed to Davis Straits. The gear removed from this ship was being sent out to us by an Allan boat. We were to keep our eyes open for the lost Greely, as a reward had been offered by the United States for any whaler picking him up. [Illustration: 0130] I certainly never intended going on a long trip when sailing, and the Captain told me I could leave if I wished, but there was a fascination about the whole thing that I enjoyed. The _Aurora_ had been getting more comfortable all the time,--the first awful experience of a fearful Atlantic winter passage with the ship loaded, to the scuppers, then the crowded ship at the first sealing, and the much pleasanter trip to Labrador. Now I could see that the ship would be very comfortable with only her own crew, and the deck clear of boats, as it would be on the next part of the cruise, so I decided to go. It took a very short time to put our seals out, and, as it was Saturday afternoon by that time, all the work ceased until Monday morning. [Illustration: 0134] I heard an amusing story about a man being nearly drowned in a tank of oil. A sealer came in and four of her tanks nearest to the boiler had the sculps break down into oil, owing to the heat. When the crew were discharging cargo it was the custom for a man to jump into a tank and throw the sculps out. Coming to the first of these tanks, and looking in, some sculps could be seen, and, never suspecting that these were a few floating on the surface, the man jumped in and disappeared under, but was presently fished out, every one thoroughly enjoying the incident except, of course, the leading man. CHAPTER VI--SOMETHING ABOUT THE GREELY RELIEF EXPEDITION "But 'tis not mine to tell their tale of grief, Their constant peril and their scant relief, Their days of danger and their nights of pain; Their manly courage e'en when deemed in vain." |One of the interesting things about our trip to the Arctic Seas was the possibility of seeing Greely or of possibly finding him or something about him. I shall here give a brief outline of what had been done up to this time towards rescuing the gallant explorer and his intrepid followers. Every one I met in Newfoundland appeared to know a great deal about Greely, because he had started from there three years before in a St. John's ship, and because both of the previous relief expeditions had been in St. John's ships, and a great many of the Newfoundland men had been with them, and several of our crew at the sealing had been on the _Proteus_. One heard the Greely expedition and its relief discussed every day. The consensus of opinion was that as the navy had the matter in hand now, they would succeed. The Newfoundlanders, being a maritime people, could not understand how soldiers could be expected to make a success of a voyage of discovery or relief, and the two previous relief trips had been unfortunate. The _raison d'etre_ of the Greely expedition was briefly as follows: At a certain scientific conference held in Europe a series of circumpolar stations had been decided upon, from which, owing to their proximity to the revolutionary axis of our globe, interesting and useful observations could be made of physical phenomena. As these observations were to be made at the same time in a great many different places, they would probably prove of greater interest and value than those supplied intermittently by expeditions. Now the United States was to have two stations, one at Point Barrow on the Behring Sea side, and one at Lady Franklin Bay on the Davis Strait side. A young officer in the American army, Lieutenant Greely, had volunteered for and been selected to take charge of the Lady Franklin Bay expedition. The steamer _Proteus_, a Newfoundland sealer, had been chartered to convey the party north. She was a Dundee-built ship, about the size of the _Aurora_, and her captain and crew were St. John's men. They left St. John's on July 7,1881, having on board Lieutenant Greely and twenty-four men, with supplies for three years. They made the most unprecedented time going north. Crossing the dangerous Melville Bay in thirty-six hours and getting to within a few miles of her destination on August 4th, a few days later she landed the explorers, and having successfully accomplished her mission she returned to her home port. Melville Bay, the bugbear of many Arctic voyages, is a very different thing when crossed in June by whalers from what it is in July and August; but the whalers must reach their northern station by the end of June, so cannot wait for the ice to drift south. It was arranged that a relief expedition should go north in 1882 and another in 1883, while the third in 1884 should convey the party back. Now these two previous relief expeditions formed the topic of conversation in St. John's when the inhabitants became tired of discussing seals and politics, and I soon heard a good deal about them. For the first, in 1882, our friend and late neighbor, the _Neptune_, had been chartered. She was splendid in every way and did as much as any ship of the period could have done towards making the thing a success; but the orders were to leave two hundred fifty rations at Littleton Island and two hundred fifty at the furthest point reached if the ship failed to get to Lady Eranklin Bay, and that should they fail to reach the Bay, the balance of the stores were to be brought back to St. John's. A private in the army had been selected to take charge of this expedition. As he had been accustomed to obeying orders to the letter, he deposited the two hundred fifty rations at Littleton Island, and two hundred fifty at Cape Sabine, the most northern point reached. Then, as they were unable to reach Lady Franklin Bay, he carefully brought back all the balance of the cargo of food sent up for the starving Greely, twenty days' provisions only having been left in the Arctic and this according to orders and probably--"Well, though the soldier knew some one had blundered." The authorities were a little anxious now about the brave lieutenant, so they began to make preparations for the 1883 relief, and this time they chartered the _Proteus_ and also sent a small navy ship called the _Yantic_, a craft rather unfitted for Arctic work. The _Proteus_ was commanded by Captain Pike (the St. John's man who had made such a record taking Greely up) and had her Newfoundland crew. This expedition was in charge of a soldier, Lieutenant Garlington, as the Government wished it all to be an army affair. Owing to an accident, a sergeant selected to go on the _Proteus_ was disabled, and Lieutenant Colwell, U. S. N., was added to the expedition in his place. This was fortunate, as things turned out. One of our quartermasters on the _Aurora_ during the first sealing trip had been one of the crew of the _Proteus_, and he gave me a lot of interesting information about it. They left St. John's about the end of June and had a nice passage to Disco. In fact, they found the road so open that they reached Cape Sabine in about twenty-five days. As they were in a hurry to reach their destination, Lady Eranklin Bay, little time was spent here and no stores were landed. When the ship moved out into Kane Sea she was caught almost at once in heavy polar ice. The officers soon realized that the ship's position was serious, so began to take supplies out of the hold. While so engaged the side of the ship burst in and she filled. The pressure of the ice kept her from sinking for a few hours, then some change of wind or tide opened the ice and down she went. A great lot of provisions and stores had been thrown overboard on to the ice, much being lost in so doing. After the ship went down her crew took their own boats and the soldiers took theirs. Colwell, with the help of both parties, succeeded in landing a lot of provisions and stores at Cape Sabine, and here he cached five hundred rations. It was said that many of the soldiers did not know how to row, and that some members of the crew of the _Proteus_ behaved very badly after the loss of the ship. They probably did not consider that the saving of government supplies was any of their business, and some of them even are said to have looted these supplies. After a rest at Cape Sabine, the entire party proceeded south to meet the _Yantic_, the supporting vessel. Very little attention had been paid to her, as she was slow and ill adapted for the ice, and it was thought that she probably would never attempt Melville Bay. However, she had crossed this and was following them well, and the series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations of orders which prevented the _Proteus_ people going south from meeting the _Yantic_ coming north, makes a most remarkable story. [Illustration: 0140] Lieutenant Garlington and his party, being separated from the crew of the _Proteus_ for a time, crossed over to Littleton Island and left a record of the loss of their ship. They then joined the others and proceeded to Cape York. It was here decided to push on to the Danish settlements as they did not think the Y antic would come as far north as Cape York. In the meantime, the _Yantic_ had passed up to Littleton Island and picked up Garlington's record. She then zigzagged about looking for the boats, and passing Cape York on her way down without calling, she proceeded to Upernavik. As the boats were not there, her captain decided to push on home as the season was getting late, so sailed to Disco. The boat party at Cape York having decided to go south divided. Lieutenant Colwell, taking a whale boat and crew, struck across Melville Bay, and after a most difficult and dangerous passage succeeded in reaching Upernavik the day after the _Yantic_ had left. He followed her, however, for a week, and overtaking her at Disco, brought her back to Upernavik, where the balance of the _Proteus_ people had arrived, and from there they returned to St. John's. Now the result of all this had been, in 1882, the deposit of ten days' provisions at Littleton Island and ten days' provisions at Cape Sabine, the remainder being brought back. In 1883 the _Proteus_ had not deposited anything during her life, but after her destruction Lieutenant Colwell had succeeded in caching at Cape Sabine five hundred rations or twenty days' supplies saved from the _Proteus_. The _Yantic_ had been up to Littleton Island and back without leaving anything behind. Another year had passed and now the rescue of Greely became imperative. The affair had been handed over to the navy, and Commander Schley was taking command. The Dundee ship _Thetis_ and the sealer _Bear_ had been bought and added to the navy. A collier, the _Lough Garry_, had been chartered to take coal up for the expedition, and the _Alert_, given by the British Government, was also going. At the same time a reward was offered for any whaler picking Greely up. The relief ships, except the _Alert_, were coming to St. John's and would sail about the same time as the whalers, and as we all knew a good deal about the circumstances, we were certainly all deeply interested in the outcome. It was generally believed among our people that Greely would now be at Cape York or Carey Islands, and the _Aurora_ stood as good a chance as any other ship of getting there first. Commander Schley had charge of the expedition and would sail on the _Thetis_, while Lieutenant Emory would command the _Bear_, of which ship Lieutenant Colwell would be an officer. The whalers going to Davis Strait were-- Arctic, Narwhal, Aurora, Nova Zembla, Cornwallis, Polynia, Esquimaux, Triune, Jan Mayen, Wolf of St. John's. CHAPTER VII--THE BOTTLENOSE FISHING "The Arctic sun rose broad above the wave, The breeze now sank, now whispered from his cave." |Newfoundland looked more attractive in April than it did when we left, doing about was pleasanter and we saw everything worth seeing in the neighborhood of St John's. On board, great changes took place. All the sheathing was torn off and the ship cleaned inside and out. Her overhauling was complete. The rigging was set up, the masts were scraped and oiled and the ship painted. The punts were all cleared away and our beautiful whale-boats took their place. The _Aurora_ was peculiar in having two boats, one above the other, on each quarter. We fished ten boats altogether, four down each side and two upper quarter boats. The crew of a whale-boat is six, a harpooner, a boat-steerer and four men pulling. The harpooner rows until ordered by the boat-steerer to stand by his gun. In the bow the harpoon-gun is mounted on a swivel, and fast to the harpoon is the "foregoer." This is a very pliable, untarred rope, about two and a half inches in circumference and eighteen fathoms long. It is coiled in a tub, sitting on the port bow of the boat, while on the starboard side, in a convenient rest, lies the hand-harpoon. The bollard head, around which a turn of the line is taken, is an important structure; it stands in the bow, beside the gun. Many a boat has gone down through the line fouling at the bollard head. To the "foregoer" or "foreganger," is attached the whale line. The term "line" means, generally, one rope 120 fathoms long, and there are five of these carried in each boat, one and a half being stowed amidships and the rest aft. They are 2 1/2-inch ropes, and tarred. The greatest care must be observed in coiling these lines, and by the line manager in the boat as the line runs out. A struck whale generally starts at about seven or eight miles an hour. Should the rope, running out at this rate, uncoil unevenly, a kink in it might foul one of the crew and instantly take him down. This has often happened. Each boat has several six-foot lances ready for use when the whale is exhausted; the idea being, to sever with the long sharp lance some of the large vessels, thus bleeding the animal to death. The oars in a whale-boat work on mats on the gunwale, and a thole-pin is used instead of rowlocks. An arrangement on the oar keeps it from slipping through the grummet on the thole-pin, when it is let go. The mat is to prevent noise. A little piggin is used for bailing the boat, and, when hoisted on a boat hook, is the signal for more lines. The shaft of the harpoon is made of soft, Swedish iron, so that it can be twisted in any conceivable way without breaking. A little barrel of bread and cheese is carried in each boat and this must not be broached until after the boat has been away from the ship a considerable time; water is also carried. The great long steering oar is very important. With it a dexterous boat-steerer can do wonders. He can sweep the boat around very quickly or can scull noiselessly up to a whale when the oars or paddles would frighten it away. The steering oar works on a pin and mat, as do the others. The whale fisher has many incentives. As he is generally a man who has to labor for a living, and as he is partly paid by the result of his work, the capture of a whale means to him a good deal, probably several pounds. This stimulates him. Again, the sooner he fills the ship, the sooner he sails for home. While there is not much chance of filling the ship nowadays, the securing of a good summer catch probably saves him a weary, cold autumn, fishing on the west side. Last, but not least, the pursuit of whales is often attended with great danger, which is one of the principal factors of good sport. The average game hunter is not exposed to as great risk as the average whaler. What danger is there in the pursuit of any member of the deer or antelope family, and what chance has the animal in these days of high power rifles? Sometimes the whale has no chance for its life and the destruction of such a huge creature is not exciting, but, generally, there is danger, as the history of the industry proves. Hunting rhino or buffalo is better sport than hunting deer because the former may charge and kill one. The whale hunter may be snatched to instant death by a foul line, or starved to death in an open boat, and these possibilities elevate the sport greatly. One cannot help sometimes being sorry for the animal one has killed, the excitement of the chase over and the beast lying dead, especially when only the head is wanted, and when everything else must be left to spoil. A dead whale means creature comforts to many poor people; and I, personally, have had more qualms at the escape of a wounded buck than I have had over all the whales we killed. Fishing for bottlenose, the year before (1883), the _Aurora_ lost two men, and the _Esquimaux_ lost one this year. While we were killing our whales off Hudson Straits, he was snatched out of the boats and never seen again. A few years before, this man's father was lost from the same ship. In approaching a black fish, the eye must be avoided. Going "eye on" is a serious matter, as the whale is not such a fool as it looks, and the tremendously powerful tail can smite with terrific force. The lifting power of the tail has not been much studied; but a chance to observe it occurred on the _Nova Zembla_ some time ago when the mate got his boat over one. Those who saw the accident say that the tail was lifted without any apparent effort, throwing the boat many feet up and breaking the bottom out of it. Fortunately the occupants were spilt out, and fell clear of the danger zone, because the fish struck the boat again and reduced it to match wood. A week after our arrival, the _Aurora_ had been pretty well cleaned and greatly changed in appearance. A small spruce tree was fastened to each masthead, the end of each yard-arm, and to the point of the jib-boom. Every one now had an easy time until the actual sailing day. Quite a number of vessels of all sorts had arrived, as the ice had disappeared from the coast; amongst them was the Allen steamer _Newfoundland_, from Halifax, bringing us English mail. The Greely relief ship _Bear_ had also come in. _May 1st. Thursday_. The _Aurora_ was receiving finishing touches. We were lying at the south side but our launch had steam up and took us across when we wanted to go. _May 2_. Taking a gun, I went with Dr. Crawford, of the _Arctic_, straight up the hill from the ship and found on the other side a growth of little trees so dense as to be practically impenetrable in places. I shot a hare crossing a little open place, and saw a splendid big hawk flying about, but it never came within shot. Returning with the hare, the Captain stopped me just as I was going on board. A hare was too unlucky, so I gave it to a man on the wharf. Captain Guy was standing on the _Arctic_ and, seeing this, came on shore and cut the hare's feet off, throwing them on to the _Aurora_; he was ever fond of a joke. The most unlucky parts of this unlucky animal in no way interfered with our prosperity, however. _May 3rd._ As the _Lough Garry_ had come in I went on board. She was an ordinary iron or steel steamer of about 1,000 tons and had been chartered to take 500 tons of coal north for the relief expedition. She was not fortified or specially prepared in any way for the work, but still she managed to get along very well as far as her services were required. Going on board, I encountered the mate, who recognized me, he having been the mate of the _Thetis_ who had given me the information I sought about whaling while in Dundee the autumn before. He showed me over the ship and told me many interesting facts about a whaling voyage. The _Esquimaux_ sailed this day and the _Narwhal_ had already gone. The desire to find Greely was certainly starting us all north a couple of weeks before the usual time. _May 4th. Sunday._ The _Bear_ sailed. She was unlike any other ship going north this year, because she had her black funnel forward of the main mast and her crow's-nest on the foremast. The _Arctic_ had her funnel in the same place, but her crow's-nest was on the mainmast. Their rigs also differed. These are small matters, but we soon could recognize any of the ships a long way off by their little peculiarities. During the day I went on board the _Polynia_. She was ready for sea and lying in the harbor. Captain Walker, who had command of her, was a naturalist and sportsman and it was a pleasure meeting him. She proceeded north before morning. [Illustration: 0151] May 5th. Spent some time on board the _Arctic_. She was ready for sea and looked clean and nice with her spacious decks and cabins--very unlike a whaler. Her lines were graceful, and she had powerful engines, but she could not have stood as much in ice as the _Aurora_. Captain Guy told me about killing a whale with an old Eskimo harpoon buried in its blubber. He gave me this interesting souvenir of my voyage and told me about Captain McKay of Dundee killing a whale in which he found a harpoon with which the fish had been struck forty-two years before. This iron is now in the Dundee Museum. _May 6th and 7th_. Took my last look at St. John's and made my cabin comfortable. I had now been in it for three months, so knew exactly what was required. There does not seem to be any connection between a whaler and Florida water; but still I venture to say that there was not a sailor on our ship who had not from one to half a dozen bottles of this commodity. Some were for trade with the Eskimos and some for their sweethearts at home. The Captain had laid in a quantity of colored handkerchiefs and such things, which the men were permitted to purchase afterwards from the slop-chest for purposes of barter. The slop-chest was the ship's shop and was superintended by the second mate. One could purchase a wonderful lot of useful things from this institution. _May 8th_. After breakfast, all being ready, the _Aurora_ sailed for the whale fishing. In Scotland, a fish means a salmon, but in Greenland, a black whale is always spoken of as a fish, never anything else. We sailed out of the narrows and turned north. It was blowing a little from the southeast, so there was some swell. We got square sails on the ship presently, and with this breeze on her quarter, made good time, the engines going full speed. Our intention was to try the bottlenose whale fishing off Resolution Island at the mouth of Hudson's Straits, for a few days, then go over to the Greenland side and follow the usual route. As there were many bergs coming down and quantities of field ice at this season, we kept rather well away from the coast, along which it came. At night the canvas was taken off the ship and a bright lookout kept for ice. For the next three days we steered north. The weather was fine and the sea smooth. Going up the Labrador coast, we saw some heavy floes, but kept well to the east of them and did not sight land. We did not see anything of interest, so it was rather monotonous. _May 12th_. It was a lovely morning when I came on deck, with the wind from the southeast. We had our fore and afters set and were steaming full speed. Astern of us was the _Nova Zembla_ and we were towing her, an act of brotherly love. I had seen the ship in Dundee and was struck by her beauty. She and the _Jan Mayen_ were very handsome little ships, and she looked far better at sea than in dock. We towed her part of the day. During the afternoon, the wind died down and the evening was beautiful; not a breath of air, but some swell rolling in from the southeast and the surface of the sea like glass. The people to-day were employed coiling lines in boats and arranging fishing gear as we might see the bottlenose whales any time. [Illustration: 0155] May 13th. A beautiful calm day. The men were getting ready the whale-boats and filling the bunkers. We were well off Cape Chidley, the northeast corner of Labrador, in the morning. In the evening a school of bottlenose whales was seen, and six boats were lowered away. Two of the boats immediately filled as they had been out of the water so long, but the others pulled after the whales. I was oh the bridge watching the sport. It was splendid. The ship and boats rising and falling on a rather heavy swell, the surface of the water like oil, the boats freshly painted, and the harpoons glistening in the sun, presented an interesting picture of the sea; while the school of very lively little whales rolling about like porpoises and then disappearing, to come up suddenly, gave it animation. The boats had several shots, but they were quick and difficult. One, however, was captured by Alex. McKechnie, the second mate, and after a short play, killed and brought alongside. This beast (Hyperoodon Rostratus, or the northern sperm whale) is small, but of remarkable appearance, having a long round beak, which protrudes from the lower part of its large head. Its oil is very good; that flowing from the cancellous bones of the head solidifying on deck at a comparatively high temperature, and when solid, looking like spermaceti. Many of the men took bottles full of this oil for use in future sprains and bruises. Late in the evening another whale was killed by Thors, and, from the numbers we saw around, there was no reason why the _Aurora_ should not have picked up a profitable cargo in this neighborhood, but the desire for the valuable whalebone took us to the north. _May 14th._ We were off Frobisher's Bay and after the little whales again, and another was captured. I was not in the boats at all at this fishing, as the movement of the whales was so fast that they capsized boats frequently and only experienced oarsmen were wanted. I was told that more men lost their lives at this than at the right whale fishing. We learned afterwards that the _Nova Zembla_ picked up seven here, while the _Arctic bagged seventeen_. The whale killed in the morning by McLean was over twenty feet long. The other two were smaller. The heads were brought on board so I had a good look at them. I saw white stalactites of spermaceti hanging from them to stalagmite incrustations of the same on deck, and I noticed that the oil was free from smell. The neighborhood of Resolution Island was notorious for its awful currents, and the rise and fall of tide about the western end of Hudson Straits made navigation on these comparatively uncharted waters exceedingly dangerous. [Illustration: 0159] I once heard Captain Guy tell of a narrow escape he had in the neighborhood of the upper Savage Islands. From the barrel, he saw a rock ahead, and ordered the lead cast. Three fathoms was found, so he backed off and anchored. In a few hours he was astonished to find an island where the submerged rock had been, and he afterwards learned from a reliable source that the rise and fall of tide at this place was over forty feet. Caribou were abundant on the north coast of the straits, and musk-ox were also found. Sometimes whalers coming down for the southwest fishing, in the autumn, killed numbers of both. The caribou was the barren land variety, and some of the heads were enormous. In this species the beam was long and straggly, and the palmation was not very pronounced. CHAPTER VIII--THE CHIEFTAIN DISASTER "We have fed our sea for a thousand years, And she calls us, still unfed, Though there is never a wave of all our waves But marks our English dead." -- Kipling. It may be of interest to recount here the story of the _Chieftain's_ mishap, which was the worst accident of the year. The _Chieftain_ was one of the Dundee whaling fleet. When we left she was fitting out for the Greenland sealing and bottlenose whaling. Leaving Dundee on March 6th, under the command of Captain Gellatley, she lost four of her boats, on May 26th, in a fog. These made their way to Iceland. One, in charge of the captain, landed at Primness. A second, in charge of Alex. Bain, a harpooner, arrived at Tonsberg, having lost overboard her boat-steerer, David Buchan. A third landed at Ramfarhofu with all alive. The fourth was picked up, and in her there was but one survivor. When this boat left the ship there were three men in her. One died and was duly committed to the deep; another fell into a lethargy which continued so long that McIntosh, the survivor, though hardly able to move his benumbed legs, crawled to the bow of the boat to find out what was the trouble, but found him dead. Fearing lest he might yield to the temptation of using the body for food, by a great effort he succeeded in heaving it overboard. The boat was picked up on the fourteenth day off the Iceland coast by a passing ship; but McIntosh was compelled to have both legs amputated as mortification had set in. It is terrible to think of what this brave fellow must have endured drifting about in a small boat over this lonely and stormy sea, half frozen and with hardly any food. The following is the account given by Captain Gellatley of the cause of the accident, and of his experiences during the awful trip to Iceland. A school of whales was observed on Monday, 26th of May, and the afternoon being fine, four boats went out in pursuit--one under the command of Captain Gellatley; the second under the charge of Thomas Elder, the second mate; John Taylor, specksioneer, was in charge of the third; and Alexander Bain, harpooner, of the fourth. In the course of a short time the captain's boat got fast to a whale, and also the specksioneer's. The second mate assisted the captain. After some time the whale was killed and towed to the ship, which was reached about three o'clock in the morning. By this time a dense fog had settled down, and after his crew had breakfasted, Captain Gellatley set out to look for the three boats, giving directions that if the fog continued the vessel should be kept in her position, so as to enable them to find her; but that she was to bear down towards the boats if the mist lifted. Knowing the bearings of the boats, Captain Gellatley came up to them after rowing for fully two hours, and found that the whale was still alive and causing great trouble. Three additional harpoons were fired into it, and in the course of the forenoon it was killed, and the four boats started in the direction of the ship with the whale in tow. In the meantime the weather cleared, and the ship was descried at a distance of about five miles; but in the course of half an hour the fog again came down, and it was so dense that it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. Though they pulled from half past ten o'clock in the forenoon until half past four in the afternoon they failed to find the _Chieftain_, and no answering signals were returned to their blasts of fog horns. It was then resolved that one of the boats should proceed eastwards and another westwards for some distance, but they returned without having been able to discover the whereabouts of the ship, notwithstanding the most diligent search. At one time a sound like a whistle was heard in one direction and again in another, and the men got utterly fatigued by their protracted search, a fresh breeze springing up and adding to their discomfort. About eight o'clock in the evening a number of the men confidently declared that they heard a ship's whistle sounding in a northeasterly direction, and the second mate was sent away in the hope of finding the ship. Some time later Captain Grellatley decided to follow in the same direction, and accordingly the whale was buoyed and a lance with a handkerchief tied to the end of the handle was stuck into the carcass for identification. The three boats then followed in the course taken by the second mate, but they could never catch up to him, though they repeatedly heard the blast of his fog horn. Throughout the night the search was continued without success, and on the morning of the 28th, the crews being fatigued, the three boats were made fast to one another and a deep sea anchor thrown out for the purpose of stopping their way and allowing the men to rest. In the course of the morning James Cairns, an ordinary seaman, accidentally fell overboard, but he was promptly rescued. On the 28th matters began to assume a serious aspect. The crews had then been two days absent from the ship, and their slender stock of food--a small keg of provisions and a six pound tin of preserved meat in each boat--had become exhausted. In consequence of their privations the men became affected with stupor, and with the view of dispelling this the captain ordered the anchor to be hauled in and the boats to be rowed towards the ice. This exercise had a beneficial effect, and it seemed as if it were to result in a happy rescue, for a barque was noticed sailing away to the windward. Signals were made in the hope of attracting attention, but the crews were doomed to disappointment, the fog, which had temporarily cleared, having again fallen and obscured everything from sight. The weather, too, became boisterous, and the boats were in imminent danger of being crushed by the ice. To save the boats from destruction it was found necessary to row out from under the lee of the floes, and during this time Captain Gellatley narrowly escaped being drowned. Whale-boats are all steered by an oar, and while the captain was steering, his oar was struck by a wave and he was knocked overboard. Fortunately he was rescued before he had been long in the water, but he suffered much from having to remain in his wet clothes during the remainder of the time he was in the boat. All the men were by this time complaining of the benumbed condition of their hands and feet, and by the morning of Friday, 30th, it was hardly possible to keep them awake. That morning the wind shifted to the westward, and as all hope of falling in with the _Chieftain_ had been given up, it was decided, as the only chance of saving their lives, to endeavor to sail to Iceland, which was calculated to be about two hundred miles distant. Each of the boats possessed a compass, but there was neither mast nor sail, and in their place a couple of boat-hooks were erected by way of a mast, with the ramrod of the gun as a yard, and the line cover, a piece of canvas about five feet by three feet, had to do duty as a sail. Thus equipped, and with a supply of frozen snow and pieces of ice to quench their thirst, the crews of the three boats set out on their perilous journey, the master giving the directions for steering. They left the ice about five o'clock in the morning, and were soon scudding along at a rapid rate, there being a strong breeze blowing. About eight o'clock the boat which was in advance was seen to shorten sail, and when the captain came up he was informed that David Buchan, while steering, had been knocked overboard and drowned. An attempt was then made to tow this boat; but the sea was running so high that this jeopardized both. It soon became apparent that the boats would be swamped if they continued in tow, and the captain was obliged to cast the second one adrift, telling the crew they must either hoist sails and make for Iceland along with him or run back for the ice. They preferred to hold on their course, and the sail was again hoisted. The weather continued moderate until between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, when it shifted to the northward and began to blow hard. A heavy sea arose, and through the night it was with the utmost difficulty that the captain kept his boat afloat. At times she was nearly filled, and the men had to keep almost constantly bailing out the water. The stormy weather continued throughout the whole of Friday night and Saturday, and it was found necessary to throw the whale lines overboard to lighten the boat. In the meantime the condition of the men was becoming more and more alarming, and the captain was forced to employ various devices to prevent them from falling into a state of stupor, which would soon have proved fatal. To use the oars was an impossibility on account of the heavy seas and the rate at which the boat was sailing, and accordingly the captain persuaded the men to hold up their oars by way of exercise. This had the desired effect for some time, but by Sunday morning, the fourth day they had been without food, they were all ready to give up in despair. Captain Gellatley had been steering constantly from Friday morning till Sunday morning, and the fatigue, combined with the privations he endured in common with his crew, began to tell severely upon him. Only those who have had to steer such a boat in a seaway can understand the irksome and laborious nature of the work, and to this must be added the fact that he had to sit in a cramped position the whole time, his legs being bent under him. The captain stated that a peculiar sensation came over him, a haze gathered before his eyes, and an attack of dizziness obliged him to call the boatswain to take his place. After a brief space the boatswain, who was almost prostrated, had to relinquish the task, and the boat was then hove to, and a deep sea anchor, made up of a grappling iron and other articles, was thrown out, with fifty fathoms of line, by which means the boat's head was kept towards the sea. The weather was then moderating, but the waves continued to break over the boat, and it was as much as the men could do to keep her afloat. A few hours later and the gale sprang up afresh, and as there were still no signs of land, the crew resigned themselves to the fate which they deemed to be inevitable. From this state of despair they were ultimately aroused by the news that the land and a schooner were in sight, the sailmaker being the first to make the joyful announcement. This intelligence reanimated the despairing men, and signals were made to the schooner, but without succeeding in attracting the attention of the crew. A direct course was then steered for the land, but owing to the gale ten hours elapsed before it was reached. A new difficulty was then encountered, there being no visible landing-place along that rock-bound coast. A number of the islanders, however, had noticed the boat, and by means of signs they directed the crew to steer for the only available landing-place, a narrow passage with perpendicular rocks on either side, and a horizontal rock forming a sort of bar. The tide was then ebbing, but under the guidance of Captain Gellatley, the boat was safely steered into the narrow harbor. By the assistance of the islanders the crew, who had almost lost the power of their legs, were take to a farmer's hut adjoining, where they were hospitably entertained with such cheer as the house afforded; and the black bread and whale blubber which were set out before them proved a feast to the famishing sailors. The point at which they landed was Brimness, about ten miles distant from Langanaes, and after they had recovered somewhat the islanders made arrangements for transporting them on horseback to the nearest port. However, the Norwegian smack, _Jemima_, of Elekkefjord, hove in sight, and on being signalled, the captain, Bernard Olsen, readily agreed to take the crew to Seydisfjord, where a steamer was shortly to sail for Scotland. On their arrival at Seydisfjord on the 8th of June, the governor had them conveyed to a hotel, and a messenger was dispatched for a doctor, who arrived in the course of two days, his journey requiring twenty-four hours to accomplish. Under his treatment Captain Gellatley and his crew made a satisfactory recovery, and on the 12th they left Seydisfjord on board the mail steamer _Thym_, for Granton. CHAPTER IX--A GREENLAND SETTLEMENT "The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease." |We were now crossing Davis Straits and felt that the whaling voyage had fairly begun. Reference was seldom made to the places already visited, but those we expected to see were discussed, and stories told of previous experiences there. Nothing was spoken of but Greenland and its settlements. The weather was very cold and on Thursday, May 15th, snow squalls reminded us of our latitude. The wind was fair, however, and the ship made good time under steam and some canvas. _Friday, May 16th._ The morning was fine and the men of the watch were employed coaling the bunkers; coal dust was thick in the 'tween-decks and the tarts we had for tea were black with it as the galley opened oft the Tween-decks. In spite of their color, however, they were better tarts than any I ever tasted on shore. As we expected to be on the Greenland coast the following day, a few remarks about the country may not be out of place. The west coast settlements had prospered under the fostering care of the Moravian missionaries and the Danish Government and were divided into two districts, the northern and the southern, Holstenborg, to which we were bound, being the northern settlement of the southern district. The most northern settlements of the northern district had native governors, but the southern had Danish, and inspectors supervised the work of these. One or two ships from Copenhagen visited the coast every year with supplies, taking back oil and skins. We have all sung about the icy mountains of Greenland, and most of us have in a vague way connected the country with whales, without having any idea of how great this whaling industry was some years ago. In the appendix it will be seen that Great Britain alone sent one hundred and fifty-nine ships to Greenland waters in 1819, and, of course, the Norwegians and Dutch, the Danes, Germans and others also profited by the fisheries. Many words in the modern whaler's vocabulary are of Dutch origin, as these hardy people were conspicuous among the most daring followers of this dangerous trade. Greenland has a past, but its history, viewed through the mists of centuries, and always more or less traditional, is anything but distinct. The country was discovered toward the end of the tenth century; and a banished Norwegian, called Erick, wintered at what is now called Erick Sound, shortly after. The unscrupulous Erick, in order to promote colonization, called the new country Greenland. A fleet of twenty-five sail started for the country with colonists. Many were lost, but about half of them settled there and were joined by others, forming quite a colony. [Illustration: 0173] Christianity was introduced about 1121 and a bishop was appointed. By degrees the colonists in the south formed other colonies, churches were built, and the people prospered for a time. Grant tells us in his history of Greenland that there were about one hundred hamlets on these coasts. The colonies on the east coast have disappeared. Some ruins have been found, but where are the people? Nothing has been heard definitely from them since 1408, when the east Greenland trade ceased. Some think that black death destroyed them, others say that polar ice, coming down, closed the coast from intercourse with the parent country, so that they starved. According to one Kojake, who has written on the subject, they became eaters of human flesh, owing to a famine, but afterwards they are said to have relished it. That they were nice about it is evident when we read that they only consumed old people, forsaken orphans and unnecessary persons. A rumor reached Norway in 1718 about a vessel having been wrecked oft the coast of Greenland and of the crew having been eaten voraciously by savages. The word voracious suggests relish, and possibly these savages were descendants from the good, old Norwegian stock, who ate unnecessary persons only a few hundred years before and who had a bishop in 1121. _May 17th. Saturday_. We expected to sight the land, so were on the lookout. The weather was cloudy and there was a southeast breeze, so everything was set and drawing. The clouds lifted about noon and in the distance the snow-covered mountains of Greenland could be seen. At first it was difficult to tell which was mountain and which cloud. By and by, however, the forbidding coast grew distinct. Our objective point was Holstenborg and the mate was in the crow's-nest examining the shore for the Danish colors. Some small bergs were scattered over the water and a narrow shore floe was fast to the coast. To the north of us the Knights Reefs ran far out to sea and on these some larger bergs had grounded. The ship was slowed down and all her canvas stowed. Finally the engines were stopped, and after a little while, the captain ordered the ship put about as he could not pick up the settlement. I heard the order given and was greatly disappointed as I longed to see an Eskimo. Just then the mate called out that he saw a kayak coming off, so the ship lay to and waited. I repaired to the fore top and presently saw two kayaks coming toward us. There was quite a splash on, but the sun had now come out and the scene interested me intensely. The little boats were almost submerged and the occupants were wet and glistened in the sunlight. When they came alongside, I saw that the kayaks were about 15 feet long, with little knobs of ivory decorating bow and stern, and were about 18 inches wide at the widest part and covered with skin. One Eskimo sat in each. The edge of the hole in which he sat was raised a couple of inches and over this he had pulled his skin coat, wrapped a lash around it and made it water-tight. The paddle was trimmed with ivory and the dusky faces of the almond-eyed navigators were all smiles as they looked at us and showed their white teeth. A whale boat was lowered and each canoe lifted in, Eskimo and all, then they left their boats, shook hands with every one around and went on to the bridge, where they remained until the ship was at anchor off the village. Holstenborg consisted of a church, which was also a schoolhouse, a shop where the deputy governor lived, and the governor's house. There were a number of native houses--awful places, built of turf. A long low passage led to the door of each. As the weather was comparatively warm, this passage was generally very wet, and when the door of the house opened, the smell was overpowering. Inside sat women at work with their needles, or dressing skins. When the ship came to anchor off the shore floe, a boat-load of ladies came on board. A Greenland belle was a well dressed person. Her hair was folded several times and then wound about with a ribbon, so that it stood up upon the top of the head; the fold of the hair above the ribbon was rather fanshaped, and the color of the ribbon indicated whether the lady was married, single, or a widow. Possibly there were degrees of wrapping, and shades of the color, indicating the number of times she had been married, and the depths of despair into which her various bereavements had reduced her. This simple record of her past was an excellent arrangement in a country where there were no society papers,--a sort of personal totem carried on the head, so that he or she who ran might read. Of course, in lower latitudes, where high civilization and divorce courts exist, shortness of hair would render some records so incomplete that the Greenland method is never likely to supplant the present ready references to be found amongst interested and observing neighbors. A bodice was worn, made of some cheerful colored stuff procured at the shop or from whalers. Tight fitting trousers, made of bay seal skin and extending down to the knees, came next, and very gaudy boots of colored skin. Down the front of each leg of the trousers was a stripe 1 1/2 inches wide, of colored skin, and the boots, especially around the tops, were very ornate. Many of the girls were good-looking, and on their arrival a ball commenced in the 'tween-decks which lasted while they were there; fiddles and concertinas supplying the music. These instruments were played by whalers and Eskimos equally well, and they knew the same airs. Most of our visitors had articles to barter and they wanted bread in return more than anything else, but accepted colored handkerchiefs and other trifles. Slippers and tobacco pouches were their principal stock in trade, but there were some down quilts, prettily bordered with the green necks of the eider duck. Captain Fairweather and myself spent a pleasant evening with the governor and his deputy, and it was interesting to hear the music of civilization played on a piano by the wife of the latter. Coming away, they gave us a lot of quaint ivories made by the natives, from walrus tusks, such as brooches, pipes, paper knives, etc., etc. _May 18th. Sunday_. I went on shore early, and seeing a lot of snow buntings, spent some time looking for their nests, but without result. On the sunny sides of the rocks the snow had gone; there was some dead grass, but indeed the country was, for the most part, covered with it. There were several pairs of ravens about, but I could not find their nests, so I borrowed a pair of skies, and ascending a hill close by, enjoyed the exhilarating sport of sliding down its snowy slope. During the afternoon I made a house-to-house visitation in the native quarter and saw much of interest. The older portion of the population I found at home, but the youth and beauty of the place had gone on board the _Aurora._ About dinner time I came on board and acquired a further collection of Eskimo ware, including ladies' clothing, for which even my bed curtains were bartered. It was late when I retired for the night, surfeited with the pleasure of my first long day in Greenland. _May 19th. Monday_. I wrote letters home this morning and sent them on shore. During the summer they arrived via Copenhagen, having gone by the Danish mail ship which visited the settlement every year. By breakfast time we were under way. It was a beautiful day. There was a breeze from the southwest, so the ship soon had all her canvas set and we stood away, clear of the land. The Knights Reef, running out to sea north of Holstenborg, had to be weathered. On the heavy ice around there, we saw a number of walrus, but did not disturb them. By noon we were sailing up the coast amid floe ice, so the canvas was taken off and we steamed slowly through it. A sharp lookout was kept for whales, as we were then on a very good ground for spring fishing, sixty miles from Disco and sixty miles from Riffkol being the neighborhood where the ships in olden times killed fine cargoes. "With Riffkol hill and Disco Dipping, There you will find the whale fish skipping," is an old saying amongst whalers. [Illustration: 0184] CHAPTER X--POLAR BEAR SHOOTING "The shapeless bear With dangling ice, all horrid, stalks forlorn, Slow paced, and sourer as the storms increase, He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift, And with stem patience, scorning weak complaint, Hardens his heart against the assailing want." _May 20th. Tuesday._ We were quite close to Disco in the morning. However, the Captain decided not to go into the settlement, Godhaven, where many other ships lay, but to go west, as the straits appeared tolerably free from ice in that direction. Accordingly, about noon, we turned our bows westward, having a solid looking floe to the north of us and open water to the south. This was all good fishing ground and we might have picked up a big whale, but we did not see a single spout while we were in the neighborhood. Birds were getting numerous, now that we were amongst the ice, and the edge of the floe was lined with little auks in some places. They were important-looking fellows, like diminutive penguins. Disco looked wild and forbidding as we steamed away from it, with snow lodged in all the sheltered places. The island rose to a height of about three thousand feet and much of the coast on the west side of it was precipitous and exposed, so that there were always bare rock faces, which gave a patchy appearance to that place. To the north of us, many big bergs could be seen, which had come originally from Waggate Straits. Two tremendous ones were at one time aground in this place, in very deep water. They were described by Crants, who tells us that they were there for years. We had steamed for some distance to the west, along the floe edge, when the lookout called down that he saw a bear on an island of ice, a few points on our starboard bow. I heard him, so immediately went for my rifle. A boat was lowered and we rowed to the island. George Matheson, one of our harpooners, and myself immediately landed, and the boat left us, intending to row around the island so as to intercept bruin, should he attempt to swim to the main floe. As this was the first wild bear I had ever seen, I was unfamiliar with their ways, but learned afterwards that unless the hunter came suddenly upon one, or unless it had cubs, it would almost invariably retreat and probably take to the water. Of course, it might not know the whereabouts of the hunter, and in that case it would be as liable to go in his direction as any other. This particular animal was an exception to all rules; for before we had gone very far we found that he was coming straight toward us. Owing to the nature of the ice, he could not always be seen, but occasionally he would stand up and take his bearings, when we could see each other. I was an active youth, George was a heavy man in excellent condition, and if it came to running, he would have had no chance with me, and no sensible bear would pass him to pursue me. [Illustration: 0188] Realizing these things, I had no misgivings, so knelt down and put out a box of ten cartridges. The har-pooner, seeing my preparations, said: "For God's sake, don't shoot." He had had experiences with wounded bears before, which he did not wish to repeat. It seemed to me, however, that, between the two of us, we had things our own way as we had had such splendid practice at seals a short time before and our hands were in, so, when bruin stood up to have a look at us, less than a hundred yards away, I fired and hit him in the head. I was intensely pleased as it was my first bear and also the first seen that year by any of the ships. We had, as spectators, the entire crew, as the ship was not far away and every one on board was watching. A bear is considered lucky, considerable trouble being taken to pick one up. As they looked very yellow in the white ice, they were easily seen. Curiosity, no doubt, drew this one to us, as we were kneeling down and not moving when he stood up to look. Had we moved, he would probably have gone away. I kept the skull, the entire occipital portion of which was shattered, although the skin wound was small, as the copper-nosed bullets only expanded well on striking something hard. The boat came back for us and, after skinning the prize, we went on board. As there was much heavy ice to the west, we steamed back towards Disco, and a lead, opening to the north, later in the day, gave us a chance of going a few miles in the right direction. _May 21st. Wednesday_. We had come rather close to the land by morning and were off Disco Fiord. There was very heavy ice coming down and numbers of bergs about, so navigation was exceedingly difficult and dangerous, and we made little or no progress until noon, when the ice slackened and let us go ahead, the wind blowing from the north and loosening it. In the evening it was very cold, with snow squalls. I got an ivory gull this day (P. Eburnea) and also a glaucous gull (Larus Glaucus). The ivory gull positively looked like ivory as it stood on the ice, and the glaucous gull, with its great spread of snow-white wings, was beautiful. [Illustration: 0192] We were sorry that the ship did not stop at Godhaven, or Lieveley, as it was generally called, because of its importance as a point of departure for expeditions. They generally obtained dogs there, and whalers, for a century and more, had made it a port to call, but this was a race for the north and no time was to be wasted. We managed to work on our course all afternoon and during the night, as the wind had slackened the ice. _May 22nd. Thursday_. During the night, the ship had made considerable progress, so at noon we were off Hare Island. After tea, we were hooked on in a pool of water for several hours. I took my gun and went out for a stroll, killing a number of little auks (Alca Allé or Roach) and a Richardson's skua. These latter were called, by the sailors, boatswain birds, because of the long feathers in the tail, resembling a marlinspike. As at this time we had the sun night and day, it made me exceedingly restless. About ten P. M. we were fast again, so, taking my gun, I shot some black guillemot (U. Grylle), these birds being very numerous. I returned to the ship about midnight, when it was blowing rather hard. _May 23rd. Friday_. The wind had died down by morning and the day was beautiful. We were off Nugsuak Peninsula. There were many tremendous bergs about and the floe was heavy. In the dim distance we saw a ship and made our way towards her. To the east of us was the entrance to Hmanak Fiord, one of the largest on the west coast of Greenland. From where we were, all fiords looked alike, and it was impossible to tell islands from mainland. It resembled a sea of ice out of which protruded rocks and hills, which, excepting on the steep places, were covered with snow. Black guillemot and little auks were everywhere in thousands, and it was pretty to see rows of the latter along the ice edge. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the water, and were very indifferent to our presence. By night we had made little progress and the new ship was still far away. We had been about with the whalers enough by this time to recognize any of them a long way off by their rigging, smoke or funnel, so, long before we reached this new vessel, we recognized that she was a stranger, and she turned out to be the _Cornwallis_. When we left Dundee, she was outfitting for the Greenland fishing, that is, for the voyage we ourselves originally intended taking, after leaving Newfoundland. The high price of whalebone, however, had induced her owners to send her to Davis Straits instead. By tea time we were hooked on within a quarter of a mile of her, and after that meal the Captain sent me on board to see whether there was any mail for our ship. Climbing on board, I was amazed to find my friend Armitage there, with a yellow beard and sea boots; I would not have recognized him. He was greatly surprised to see me because he believed that I had gone from Newfoundland to the Jan Mayen fishing, not knowing of our altered arrangements. The _Cornwallis_ was an old barque, formerly in the South American trade. She had had engines put in, and been fortified for Arctic ice. After I sailed from Dundee, Armitage, in going around the docks, saw her. He went on board and, finding Captain Nicol, arranged to sail with him later in the year. Sending back to the _Aurora_ mail and papers, also some fresh mutton, which had been sent out to us, I remained on the _Cornwallis_ and heard the news. I saw her peculiar and useless engines. Captain Nicol said they spoilt her for sailing and she steamed badly. _May 24th. Saturday._ It was a beautiful Arctic day when I came on deck before breakfast. Ahead of us, the world was white, not a break to be seen anywhere, astern some open water. The _Cornwallis_ was lying on our port side a few hundred yards away, so that about eleven I went on board, and, with Armitage, started off to look for something to shoot, among the hummocks, three or four miles north of where we lay. We spent hours tramping over the ice, but did not see a track, so we returned to our ships about six P. M. This hummock belt extended east and west and had been caused by the rafting of great floes. It was quite smooth from the ship to the hummocks and also on the other side of them. Half a mile beyond the ridge, however, there was a great berg which appeared to be aground. When I returned on board the _Aurora_, the Captain told me to go below and have my tea and then to go with the mate back to where I had been, because he had seen a bear close to us all the time we were there. It certainly was curious that neither of us had seen him or his tracks. When we were about a mile away from the ships, I saw Armitage hurrying after us. I was anxious to wait for him, but the mate insisted on pushing on, as it would be a fearfully unlucky thing for a member of another crew to shoot a bear first seen by us. After a little, we reached a crack in the ice, about two feet wide, so we stepped across and hurried on. Armitage, coming up shortly after, was unable to cross as the crack was then eight or ten feet wide and extended indefinitely in each direction. So the situation righted itself, and my friend returned to the ship while the mate and I kept on to where the bear had been seen and there we found tracks in abundance, but no bear. After an hour's searching, we were returning to the ship when we saw her jib hauled up as a signal for us to go ahead again, the game having been spotted by the lookout in the crow's nest. Returning to the hummocks, we saw the bear strolling from behind the berg beyond. He was coming straight towards us, so we got down behind the rafted ice and awaited his approach. It was decided that I should have the first shot as the mate had killed so many. I allowed the bear to get about a hundred and fifty yards away before firing, and then put a bullet into him. I don't know where it hit, but he came down, to be up again at once and to keep on coming. The mate fired and down he went again, and we kept it up until the bear was hit many times. Sometimes he fell, sometimes he bit at the place, and by the time he reached the ridge he was very lame and badly shot up. He had gone some distance to the west of us, so I stood up on a slab of ice and finished him, as we thought, by putting a bullet in his shoulder and dropping him in his tracks. We hurried up our side of the ridge until we arrived at where he was. Then, climbing over, I was surprised to find him sitting up. This time my bullet finished him. Our shooting was nothing to be proud of, and went to show how careful one should be with bears, because if not hit right, they take a lot of lead. This was about the only one of those killed that took more than one or, at the most, two shots. [Illustration: 0198] As neither of us had a hunting knife, we had a long job skinning him with pocket knives. Then we started for the ship, towing the skin, but when we reached the crack in the ice, it had opened about twenty-five yards, so we were fairly caught. The mate, with his usual ingenuity, loosened a pan of ice, and on this we crossed, using the butts of our rifles as paddles. Arriving at the other side, we were met by two sailors, sent from the ship, as we were being watched from the barrel, and they took the bear skin in charge while we made our way on board. As it was late, we retired as soon as we had had something to eat. _May 25th.. Sunday._ In the morning, Armitage came on board and saw the bear skin. He had never seen a polar bear on the ice, so was very much disappointed that he had not been with us. Both ships unhooked about ten A. M. and stood north through a lead. We moved along fairly well and by evening were hooked on close to each other in a hole of water with a good ice edge. The _Bear_ and _Triune_ were now in sight, the latter having come from Dundee direct. We were off Svartin Huk, a great peninsula, but I only knew this by consulting the chart glued to the cabin table. The _Cornwallis_ was the "lame duck" of the fleet. Steaming in open water, she had not more than half our speed, and in heavy ice she could do little, as her power was so weak. Of course, she could wriggle her way around floes and along tortuous leads fairly well, especially if some of the better ships had just been through ahead of her and broken the trail. The _Cornwallis_ was the only one of the ships coming direct from Dundee which carried a surgeon, but there were three on the Newfoundland fleet. _May 26th. Monday_. We both moved a few miles north this day, but the ice was very heavy and the conditions for advance unfavorable. Some distance astern, we saw the _Bear_, but she was not making much headway and we all three were tied up by noon. A ship, when anchored to a floe, has her bows against it and a cable out to an ice anchor on one bow or on both, according to the weather. From the jib-boom a rope ladder always hangs, so that one can easily get on to or leave the floe. There is generally a man on the ladder when the ship approaches the ice, and as she touches, he drops off! and, with an ice drill, makes a hold for the ice anchor. Bringing Armitage, we went to a crack up which looms were flying, and had a pleasant afternoon shooting them. They were fast-flying birds, and the knowledge of the fact that they would not be wasted gave zest to our sport. Shooting guillemot rising off the water would not be much fun, but picking off single birds as they passed was good practice. The looms we saw in such thousands were, I believe, Uria Brunichii. The ships were tied up when I turned in. _May 27th. Tuesday_. The ice was slack, so we kept in a northerly direction, making good headway. We left the _Cornwallis_ and, following a good lead, passed the _Narwhal_, which had been the leading ship for some days. During the evening, the _Bear_ came after us, but we were able to keep ahead. Captain Fair-weather decided to give Upernivik a wide berth, as he once had had an unpleasant experience with the rocks of that charming Greenland summer resort, so we kept going north all night. There was a wonderful amount of life on board a whaler, on account of the crew being so large. In the 'tween-decks, one generally found a number of men at work, picking oakum, spinning rope yarn, or other yarns, and weaving sennet. The carpenter and his assistant were found at work in one place, the cooper busy in another, while the sailmaker sat and sewed. On the deck, in some sheltered corner, one found the blacksmith at work, and there were always jobs being done in the engine room. But it was easy work, none of the dog's life one saw on other ships. There are said to be runic monuments in the vicinity of Upernivik, and one on Woman's Island is said to bear the date of 1135. The early travellers, who are supposed to be responsible for these records, are also said to have visited Lancaster Sound. When one considers that Baffin circumnavigated the bay which bears his name, in 1616, in a craft of fifty-five tons, and when one examines a Viking ship of a thousand years ago and finds it a substantial clinker built boat, a hundred feet long with fine beam, one sees no reason why a twelfth century vessel could not make her way to Lancaster Sound. _May 28th. Wednesday_. We had a day racing with the Bear. She managed to pass us just before we reached Browns Island, and hooked on to the floe some distance from us. After a little, the _Narwhal_ joined us, and later the _Cornwallis_. Armitage and I went off in our dingey and had a few pleasant hours shooting looms. We shot a lot of them, which were divided between the two ships. It took me some time to overcome a prejudice and to become accustomed to seeing looms on the table in any shape or form, but they were really much better than any ducks we killed, because they were not at all fishy and our cook understood about skinning them. They tasted rather like roast hare. During the afternoon, the weather was thick and it was snowing. The coast of Greenland, at this point, was fringed by hundreds of islands of all sizes and shapes. They were everywhere and some had names while others had not. One navigated there by rule of thumb, only moving when landmarks could be seen, and avoiding visible dangers. Occasionally, something one did not see, destroyed the ship, as there were hundreds of uncharted rocks. In approaching a settlement, a native generally came on hoard and pointed out the way, but the coast was a dangerous one and the ships only kept close to it in order that they might avoid the terrible middle pack. [Illustration: 0204] _May 29th. Thursday._ We were bumping along towards the west when I came on deck, as the ice looked slacker in that direction, but we had to return shortly after breakfast and, after thrashing around for most of the morning, we managed to strike a good lead and gain a few miles. There was no shooting, as the ship did not stop. The _Cornwallis_ kept near us all day, and the _Narwhal_ was not far away. As we were now on the edge of the notorious Melville Bay, it became interesting. Greely's famous thirty-six hour passage was not going to be repeated by us, that was evident. I recalled Cheynes' account of its dangers, but we were so comfortable on board the _Aurora_, and meals were served with such regularity, that it was only possible to realize the danger by watching floes crunch into each other as they were pressed together by irresistible forces. We hooked on at night with little in sight but floes and bergs. It is a wonderful thing to see a berg ploughing its way through a frozen sea, slowly but surely, overcoming all obstacles, provided, always, that the water was deep enough to keep its mighty base from grounding. On this day there were dozens in sight. They were in every direction and one could easily understand the hopelessness of a sailing ship's position, beset in these waters, with a gale driving bergs down upon her. _May 30th. Friday_. We were lying, hooked on to the floe, in the forenoon, when I looked over the side and saw a beautiful male King eider duck (S. Spectabilis) sitting on the water within ten feet of the Captain's port. The Captain was in bed, as he had been in the crow's nest for days, nearly all the time. His port was open and I did not want to wake him, so, taking a gun, I went on the ice and, firing from there, killed the bird without the report being heard in the cabin, and the dog, Jock, went out and brought the bird in. It was the first King eider I had shot and it looked beautiful in its spring plumage. The striking thing about the bird was the enormous frontal processes bulging high above the bill and brightly colored. These were soft and shrank rapidly as they dried, losing their color. The plumage was a mixture of black, white, pearl gray and sea green, making a gorgeous whole. The first bird one sees of a beautiful species always excites more admiration than the others, and so I was delighted with this and carefully skinned it. The evening made no change in the conditions and we remained fast all night. _May 31st. Saturday_. All the ships were stuck in the morning. The _Cornwallis_ and _Narwhal_ were some distance astern, the _Arctic_ near the shore, the _Nova Zembla_ and _Polynia_ close together to the west of us. There were an immense number of bergs, some of them, no doubt, aground, as there were many islands and rocks. We were lying off Tassuisak, a not very populous place, and I was in hope that some natives, seeing the ships, would come off. [Illustration: 0208] During the afternoon, we got under way and poked about without moving much further north. When we were crossing any open places, the ship steamed very slowly and a man was kept forward, on the lookout for submerged rocks. CHAPTER XI--MELVILLE BAY "And hark! The lengthening roar continuous runs Athwart the rifted deep, at once it bursts And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds." _June 1st. Sunday_. Owing to a change of wind the ice had loosened and during the night we managed to push on to Berry Island. The _Bear_ and _Thetis_ appeared upon the scene during the afternoon, and we saw the _Bear_ strike a sunken rock. We hooked on to the small island with several of the other ships, the _Bear_ being on our starboard side, and the _Narwhal, Arctic and Thetis_ on the port. I saw Commander Schley going on board the _Bear_ and examining her with a water telescope. His boat passed very close to our quarter and the Captain spoke to him as he went. The ships were all lying close to the shore floe with this low island in front of them, and it looked as if they might be there some time, so I went on shore with the surgeon of the _Arctic_. There was a camera sitting on the ice near the _Thetis_, so the ships were evidently being photographed. We wandered about the inhospitable place for a time and came on board. The perpetual daylight made me very irregular in my movements, coming and going at all hours; my day was regulated by my meals. Those who had watches to keep slept and got up with their usual regularity. _June 2nd. Monday_. The day fine, and we were still tied up at the island. I took a gun and went on shore after breakfast, but there was not much to shoot. In a little valley I saw a quantity of dead grass sticking out of the ice. On going over and examining, I found a number of _human skeletons_. Wherever there was a big bunch of grass, there I found an ice-covered skeleton. Probably they were Eskimos. When I returned to the ship there were a number of natives on board. They came from Tassuisak and had some seal skins to trade. Some of our men had visited the _Arctic_. She had been in Godhaven, so had much trade and our men procured some of it. Afterwards I bought a kayak model from one of these. It was very beautifully made. The skin tobacco pouches and slippers made by natives in Godhaven looked nicer than any I saw from other settlements. The southern Greenland towns were better than those further north, but the whalers seldom called at any further south than Holstenborg. I went on board the _Bear_ for awhile during the evening with Dr. Crawford and met Lieutenant Emory. During the day I saw several very beautiful glaucous gulls. They are called burgomasters by the sailors. _June 3rd. Tuesday_. Immediately to the north of where we lay there were a great many icebergs. They presented a very fine appearance with the sun shining on them. The _Thetis_ and _Bear_ started off amongst these bergs. We tried to move out to the west, but did not accomplish much; for when evening came we were no further north than when we started. In the distance and to the west of us we saw a berg on the top of which there was a black spot. What could it be? From the crow's nest the telescope revealed nothing but a black spot on the icy slope. There was a narrow lead going in this direction, so the mate and myself went with a boat's crew to solve the mystery. We were able to take a whale boat a long distance through the lead, and then we walked the rest of the way. I had brought a rifle in case there should be a chance of a shot. On getting up to the berg we found that it was not fast, but that owing to its great depth in the water it had a motion independent of its floe. On one side there had been a great slide, and up this we proposed going. Just at this place the motion of the berg had ground up a lot of ice at its base, and also some of the floe, so that one had very unstable footing to jump to and from in crossing the surrounding fissure. However, we all managed without mishap and ascended the slide to within six or eight feet of the top. I was then pushed up this little cliff and found that, with the exception of the place we had come up, the sides were sheer precipices. It was necessary to traverse a snowy undulation before the black object came into view. The mate joined me with some of the others and it was exciting for a few minutes, but disappointing when we found only a big black stone which the berg had picked up probably during its glacial days. The islands of ice often turn over owing to the frost splitting them when the weather is cold. This frequent alteration of their centre of gravity makes them very undesirable neighbors, especially in the autumn. While it was disappointing finding only a stone when we expected something wonderful, yet the view from the summit was magnificent. Immediately around little but ice could be seen, with here and there some black threads of water and many great bergs scattered about. In the distance the coast of Greenland looked bold. It had been rather high all the way up from Upernivik, but Cape Shackleton, rising to a height of thirteen hundred feet, looked very imposing, being precipitous. There was a great loomery on its cliffs, which was probably the home of the thousands of those birds which we saw every day flying along the cracks, or about the pools of open water. There was much less trouble getting down the berg than getting up, but we were all tired when we reached the ship as we were not accustomed to long walks. _June 4th. Wednesday_. The morning was fine, and many ships were in sight. During the night we had passed Cape Shackleton. To the south we saw the _Thetis_, evidently in the rips off Horse Heade, with the _Bear_ astern of her. The _Nova_ _Zembla_ and _Triune_ were several miles to the west, and caught in the pack, while all the other ships were together. During the morning the _Thetis, Bear_ and _Polynia_ came up and joined us in our feeble attempt to push along. Later in the day the weather turned cold and cloudy, but no storm came, and the ice was very tight at bedtime. _June 5th. Thursday_. A beautiful day with sunshine and blue sky. Nearly all the ships were anchored to the ice or stuck in our immediate vicinity. We were hooked on in a large lake and close to us there were a number of great bergs. During the morning I took the dingey and rowed amongst them, as there was no floe ice near. The silence was very impressive, the only sound being that made by the splashing of water as it trickled down the icy sides of the bergs, or the cry of some seabird. I traced the base of one of these hoary giants a long way into the depths, but the water of the Arctic sea is by no means clear, owing to the vast numbers of animalculae which inhabit it. I shot a big bag of little auks here, but was careful not to do any shooting whilst close to the bergs, as the concussion might have brought down ice. During the afternoon the floe opened a little, and the expedition ships came close to us, but the _Nova Zembla_ and _Triune_ still appeared to be held in the pack. We all watched like hawks for a chance to reach the Duck Islands, now only a few miles ahead. Greely might have been there. [Illustration: 0216] _June 6th. Friday_. This was one of the most exciting days we had--eight of us all on edge and each trying to get ahead of his neighbor. This friendly rivalry added zest to the trip. We were quite close to the Duck Islands, which made the starting point of the Melville Bay passage. The day was glorious and we spent most of it fast to a floe. The exciting thing was when late in the evening a crack occurred near the Arctic. It was not more than a mile or two across the floe to the open water at the Duck Islands, and this crack appeared to extend the whole way. When it was wide enough the _Arctic_ and _Aurora_ immediately entered, but before we had gone any distance, the ice closed astern of us, preventing any of the others entering. For a short time we were caught, and it looked like the nips, then the floe seemed to swing, closing behind us and opening in front, so that we steamed away with a cheer, leaving the others barred out. The _Bear_, after a short time, succeeded in breaking a way for herself and the _Thetis_, and all the rest followed like ducks. I was aloft for a time watching this game of follow the leader and keenly interested in this Arctic race. We entered the patch of open water about midnight, and steaming across made fast to the ice at the islands. _June 7th. Saturday_. It was wonderful how little we slept when there was excitement. I enjoyed it' so much that I was afraid of missing anything by going below, but after the race we had just finished, as we had all hooked on, I felt that it was safe to turn in as there was nothing but dense pack ahead. The _Arctic_ and _Aurora_ were lying very close to the _Bear_, and the _Thetis_ was not far off. We were on the west side of the Middle Duck, the rest of the fleet being on the other side. It was evident that there were no explorers here to be rescued, for the approach of the fleet was rather imposing and they would have seen it. After a rest, taking a gun I made my way on shore. We were too early for eggs, but there were plenty of ducks and the shooting was rather good. Numbers of phalarope (Lobipes Hyperboreus) were about. They were graceful little birds and no doubt bred here later. Coming back for the dingey I rowed out to a point of ice past which there was a flight of ducks, but was astonished to find the birds so shy in such a quiet place. Perhaps the sight of the ships invading this sanctuary made them a little nervous. I managed, however, to add considerably to my bag. There did not appear to be any loosening of the ice, so none of the ships made any effort to move. I went on board the _Arctic_ during the afternoon and received a supply of apples from Captain Guy. The surgeon returned with me and spent the evening on the _Aurora_. As our boiler required some repair this was attended to during the day and it made a wonderful difference to the temperature of the cabin having no heat in the engine room for a few hours. _June 8th. Sunday_. A peaceful day and perfectly calm with some fog. All the ships were hooked on to the floe. Crawford of the _Arctic_ came on board and we took our dingey and went to one of the islands. Some men from the relief ships were there. They were shooting with eight bores, the first time I had ever seen guns of that calibre; I saw them make some long shots. We secured a few ducks, eider and long tailed. During the afternoon we went on board the _Bear_, and again met Lieutenant Emory and his officers. Lieutenant Colwell showed us the ship. The arrangement of the berths in the cabin was splendid; they were curtained off by drawing out poles, and by pushing these in the sleeping quarters were reduced in size, and the saloon enlarged. I should say that the _Bear_ was the fastest ship of the fleet, except, perhaps, the _Arctic_, which had powerful engines. The only thing against the _Arctic_ was her great length which made it difficult to turn her about in small water holes, and to manouvre amongst the ice as some of the others were able to do. The _Wolf_ and _Narwhal_ had moved off and were caught in the pack by bedtime. We were then on the threshold of Melville Bay, the reputation of which was most unsavory. Perhaps the most interesting occurrence there during historic times was the loss of nineteen ships and a total of £140,000 damage to the fleet on June 19th, 1830. This event has been called the Baffin's Bay Fair, because the one thousand men who suddenly found themselves homeless upon the ice, made the best of their circumstances and enjoyed themselves immensely. Before the ships went down they secured quantities of liquor and food and afterwards established comfortable camps. There was an abundance of wood from the wrecks, so they made bonfires around which they danced. The curious part of it was that no lives were lost, and that the entire party ultimately reached home safe. There is an interesting oil painting of this event in the museum at Peterhead. _June 9th. Monday_. We seemed permanent fixtures now and felt that we owned the place in spite of the ducks. I took the dingey with a boy and pulled off to a long point of ice on the west side of the island not far from where we lay. We were able to hide behind a heavy piece of ice with the boat and I shot a number of ducks in the handsome plumage of that season. Then landing, found numbers of old nests made of feathers and down. They had been driven into crevices of rock by storms and one could have collected a quantity of down. While on the island I saw and heard my first finner whale. He was making a great noise as he breathed. Finners have little oil and short bone, so they are not pursued. They are also very quick in their movements and consequently dangerous. This one came up several times in different water holes about the islands and then disappeared. At dinner we were discussing vegetables and all agreed that the best on board the ship were the tinned carrots. They were simply boiled and put up in pieces six or seven inches long. They were absolutely as fresh and sweet as the day on which they were prepared. We called them Carnoustie carrots, as they had come from that place. Our Dundee meat was excellent at this time. We had a good supply of it, and very seldom saw salt beef or salt pork on the cabin table during the voyage. The steak for breakfast was served on a sort of metal basket; a handle crossed the middle of this and on each side there was a lid. The steak was under one lid and fried onions under the other. We also had hot rolls every morning, although ship's bread was always on the table. _June 10th. Tuesday_. Early in the morning the _Aurora_ unhooked and for a little while managed to push her way northwest. The _Wolf_ and _Narwhal_ had gained by moving on. There was always a chance of a lead opening and letting one through. We had reached the Duck Islands first, by taking the lead while the others hesitated. We now entered the pack further than we wished to and then spent some time trying to extricate ourselves. There was always danger of being beset in the pack and carried down the straits again; in it there was no safe anchorage, as it might twist and turn in any direction, and a low temperature might even freeze the ship up, whereas following the shore floe gave one a lead of open water every time the pack floated off, and should it be driven in the ship could generally find a bay or indentation in which she was fairly safe. In consequence of this the captains became nervous when they found themselves beset in the pack. At night we were almost out of sight of the islands. The _Wolf_ and _Narwhal_ were not far from us. _June 11th. Wednesday_. Before morning we managed to work north some distance. The _Wolf_, _Narwhal_ and _Arctic_ were close to us. The relief ships during the day were joined by the _Triune, Cornwallis and Nova Zembla_. We all made some headway, but in the afternoon we were so nearly caught once or twice that we steamed back towards the islands and arrived almost at our old anchorage by the following morning. _June 12th. Thursday._ In the morning a lot of us were back at the old anchorage again, but the _Arctic_ was still to the north, close to the _Thetis and Bear_. The _Wolf and Narwhal_ were out in the pack to the west of us, but in the afternoon these last joined us. During the day I shot a lot of ducks, all eider and king eider, afterwards landing on a floe from which a peninsula ran out having a narrow isthmus covered with very high hummocks. Crossing this isthmus to the peninsula beyond, I came upon the perfectly fresh footprints of a bear and two cubs, leading from the water to the big hummocks over which I had come and over which my route back lay. Having only a sixteen bore and number four shot, this discovery was disquieting for a time, as a bear with cubs might fight. However, she did not materialize. All the other ships were closer inshore during the evening, while we moved west a little. During the night we moved off up a lead. [Illustration: 0224] _June 13th. Friday_. We were hard and fast, the _Cornwallis, Triune, Esquimaux and Narwhal_ in sight close inshore. The _Arctic and Wolf_ out with the expedition ships. They were apparently beset. We lay frozen up all day, with not even a duck to shoot. The Sugarloaf, a high mountain on the Greenland coast, showed up well and made a good landmark. _June 14th. Saturday_. The day began with a heavy snow storm, but shortly after breakfast it cleared off. The ice opened to the west, so we steamed in that direction, leaving the fleet of older ships apparently fast inshore, and we did not see any of them again for a long time. We made very little headway at first, but found the ice slack after dinner and managed to push through it. Later a series of good leads opened up and we worked a long way north. When I turned in, the relief ships with the _Arctic and Wolf_ were in sight ahead of us. We passed a curious pillar of rock called the Devil's Thumb; it was a long way off. Every one took off his hat to it as was the custom. Steering amongst ice was sometimes very dangerous for the man at the wheel, because the ship going astern was liable to bump her rudder against the ice. This, of course, sent the wheel flying around. We had a man hurt in this way by receiving a blow from the wheel during the afternoon. _June 15th. Sunday_. We had good leads all the morning and were never blocked for any length of time. By breakfast time we overtook the _Arctic and Wolf_ with relief ships. Then we all hooked on to a heavy floe in an open pool of water. Very shortly we were off again, but it looked dangerous, so we tied up. The _Wolf_ was the first to be free. She entered a lead and it closed behind her, exactly as it had done with us at the Duck Islands. However, later in the day the pack drew off and we all steamed along the edge of the shore floe, the _Thetis_ bringing up the rear. This was an exciting race, and no one turned in while the water remained open. The _Wolf_ had the lead, the _Arctic and Aurora_ being together. Occasionally some of us would diverge a little, but we were in line pretty well all the time. _June 16th. Monday._ I turned in when I found the way blocked and all the ships tied up, as everything seemed frozen solid, except the pool in which we lay. Seven bells awoke me to find things as they had been. Captain Fairweather shot a Sabine gull after breakfast and I shot some looms, which were picked out of the water by Jock the dog, who retrieved very well. I went on board the _Wolf_ with the Captain, and saw Captain Burnette. During the evening the Arctic steamed off and we followed with the _Wolf_, but the lead closed so we all were caught. The Aurora. managed to push out into the loose ice in a little while, but the Wolf remained and the Arctic was fairly in the nips. The evening was fine and we saw land to the north and dozens of bergs to the east of us. There was a crack running into the floe for two hundred yards close to our ship. It was probably twenty-five yards wide at the entrance. A great many looms flew up this and returned when they found it a blind lead. The dingey was lowered and the Captain and myself had a few hours' shooting and secured a great many. They were tied in bunches and hung upon the chains connecting the quarter davits. _June 17th. Tuesday_. All were frozen up. I tried stalking a seal, as there were several in sight, but I could not get near any of them. The _Arctic_ was still nipped, the _Wolf_ was with us and the relief ships a little way east. During the evening we were all moving around, except the _Arctic._ We were ahead and the _Wolf_ next, the _Bear_ bringing up the rear. Later the _Thetis_ fell back, for she could not keep up. Cape York was in sight and all four of us were rather close together. With the _Aurora_ leading, we kept this up all night, every one greatly excited. In the small hours we were all up to a barrier. Among the Arctic ice it would have been useless to roll the ship as we had done at Newfoundland, the young ice on that coast being very different from the Arctic floe met with in Melville Bay. _June 18th. Wednesday._ The race for Cape York and the north was far too exciting to permit of sleep, so for the following few days I never undressed, but kept going up and down all the time. If we stuck I lay down, and when the engine started I went up. At one A. M. we were with the _Wolf_ and relief ships, pounding away at the floe which separated us from the open water at Cape York. The _Aurora_ was the first to break through, when we all gave a great cheer and shouted, "The north water!" I immediately went forward, and sitting on the jib-boom, realized that I was the nearest white man to Greely, possibly the nearest to the pole. I sat there for a long time as we were steaming fast towards the land through open water. As we neared the shore the _Bear_ passed us. She was a faster ship and she reached the shore floe some minutes before us. Seeing a party land on the ice from the _Bear_, we turned off southwest. As the _Thetis and Wolf_ were coming up, the Captain went on board the former and bade the commander good-by, and good luck, then we crept off to the southwest with the _Wolf_. The _Bear_ having spoken the _Thetis_, steamed west after us, the weather being rather thick. Finding the ice heavy to the west, we tried a lead to the north, but were beset for some time. [Illustration: 0230] The fog was so thick that nothing could be seen ahead. We saw nothing further of the _Thetis_ as she remained at Cape York to pick up the party landed by the _Bear._ I turned in for a time during the night, as the ship was beset by heavy ice. We had now completed the passage of Melville Bay without accident and nearly every one on board felt that the greatest danger of the voyage was over, so we would work our way to the west and look for whales. In the race from St. John's to Cape York we had been beaten by the _Bear_ only, and that by just a few minutes. The _Arctic, Thetis and Wolf_ were all close, but in the last lap the _Aurora and Bear_ were neck and neck almost to the winning post. CHAPTER XII--CAPE YORK TO CAREY ISLANDS "And now there came both mist and snow And it grew wondrous cold, And ice, mast-high, came floating by As green as emerald." |I noticed a rather curious phenomenon while coming up the Greenland coast, but thinking that there was probably some simple explanation, made no note of it. One evening while in the passage at the foot of the stairs I heard a peculiar whistling. It was like the noise one sometimes hears when standing beside a telegraph pole. The steward was in the pantry and I drew his attention to it. The sound was very distinct in the pantry, and not noticeable in the saloon, which was on the same deck but a little further aft. The steward said he had heard it before and we concluded it was due to a vibration of the taut rigging conducted down the mizzenmast to this particular place. The engine was silent at the time, otherwise the noise of machinery would have drowned everything else. I listened to the peculiar whistle several times after and always heard it very distinctly in the pantry. The steward had sailed Arctic waters for years, but he made no comment on this subject and never mentioned having heard it on other ships, nor did any; one else on board the _Aurora_ speak of it at all; in fact, we were probably the only two who noticed it. Years after I came across the following passage in "Old Whaling Days," by Captain Barron: "From latitude 69 N. to latitude 74 N. on the east side and in Melville Bay, not far from the land, a strange phenomenon is heard resembling a very weird whistling in a high note and gradually dying away to a very low one. It is only heard when it is calm, and most distinctly when in a boat or in a ship's lazarette which is nearly level with the water. On deck it is seldom heard." The above interested me as it describes what I noticed. Captain Barron believes it to be connected with the Aurora Borealis, which he states can be heard but not seen when the sun shines on a summer's night in the Arctic. _June 19th. Thursday._ The engine starting up brought me on deck. The fog had lifted and the _Arctic and Wolf_ could be seen astern, while the _Bear_ was to the north of us. Some time after we were steaming through a nice lead into open water ahead. I was on the bridge, where the second mate was in charge, and the Captain was in the crow's nest, which he seldom left. Presently we noticed the lead very narrow, being little wider than the ship. A moment later we were among crunched up ice and within twenty or thirty yards of the open water and the ship was slowing up owing to her progress being impeded by the ice. The Captain called down, "Get over there, some of you men, and push that ice out of the way with poles." We were almost through, and it looked as though a few pieces pushed away would relieve the situation. Specksioneer Lyon and twenty others were immediately over, and began pushing. Almost at once Lyon called up, "It's coming together, sir," and sure enough we were caught between two points of great floes coming together and the _Aurora_ was in the greatest danger of being lost within the next few minutes. The Captain immediately came down and began giving orders. All boats were provisioned and lowered away. I rushed to my cabin and was rolling up my blankets, when he brought the log, which he asked me to put with my things. I took my bundles on deck with a rifle and gun, and by this time the ship was so squeezed that my door would not open or shut, and she had a heavy port list. As the _Arctic and Wolf_ were a short distance astern of us, there was no danger to life and I thoroughly enjoyed the excitement of being shipwrecked so comfortably. With a bump the ship righted herself greatly and presently, after straining and groaning, she slipped up considerably. Her water line was now above the crunching ice and she was for the time being tolerably safe. This all happened in a very short time and it was a wonderful escape. I went on to the ice forward with the mate and engineer; and while there the ship slipped up higher still, so that she was almost out of the water. [Illustration: 0236] The surgeon of the _Arctic_ paid us a visit at this time and took the two photographs here reproduced after some retouching. The first one shows the ship in the nips; in it I happened to be in the foreground. In the second she has slipped up and is almost out of the water. The mate, engineer and myself were on the ice in front at the time. Sailors were a little superstitious, and did not like their ship being photographed while in distress, so these pictures were very hurriedly taken. For some hours the _Aurora_ rested in this position and we knew that eventually the ice would open and let her into the water. Our principal anxiety was about the stem post and rudder; but these fortunately escaped injury. Our propeller had only two blades, so when the ship was sailing or stuck in the ice the propeller was always stopped with the blades up and down. While in this position the whole thing could easily be unshipped, and we carried an extra one. As looms were flying about in numbers along the floe edge just in front of the ship I shot a big bag of them. They fell into the water, but drifted against the ice edge where I picked them up. The _Arctic and Wolf_ were pretty tightly caught astern of us, but they had not to abandon the ships as we had. During the afternoon the pack was tighter than ever and it made weird sounds at times. We had our meals on board and were all very happy at our wonderful escape, especially the Captain, who was determined to take home a cargo of whales in his own ship instead of returning as passenger on one of the others. During the night a crack occurred under the bows. This opened by degrees, letting the ship down. We hoisted up our boats and the shipwreck was over. When whalers go into Melville Bay they generally arrange a quantity of provisions so that it can be easily reached in event of their suddenly having to leave the ship as we had done. _June 20th. Friday._ After our escaping from the nips, we steamed in a northerly direction, with the _Arctic and Wolf_ a heavy fog came on. I was very tired, so went and lay down. As the engine room was aft, a person in any of the staterooms could easily hear the bell there being rung from the crow's nest. How long I had been lying down, I don't know, but something awoke me. I knew, from the sound of the engine, we were going fast ahead, but I heard the bell ring, "stop her," and then immediately full speed astern. Knowing that something was wrong, I rushed on deck; it was very thick and I heard some one say, "O my God, we are lost!" and just then on the starboard side of the ship, I saw a great berg towering above us. We just missed it! All was well! We steamed dead slow for awhile and I realized that those who "went down to the sea in ships" could have a great deal of excitement in two days. About an hour after this a steam whistle blew right ahead. The fog instantly lifted a little and there was the Arctic shooting across our bows. We both stopped, and the Captain went over to her. When the Captain came on board again the fog was gone and we were off Conical Rock. The ice was loose here and the two ships kept together until we passed Cape Dudley Diggs. Here we drifted farther apart, but were within sight of each other all the way to Wolstenholm Island. During the night we arrived at the island, but found that the _Rear_ had been there ahead of us, so we directed our course towards Carey Islands, the ice being loose, but the weather pretty thick. June 21st. Saturday. Heavy fog and plenty of ice, so our speed was slow. Sometimes it cleared a little and we could see for several miles ahead. There were numbers of birds about, principally guillemot and eider duck. They probably had headquarters at Wolstenholm, and Carey Islands. Natives repaired to Wolstenholm at this season of the year and collected eggs; but Carey Islands were in the middle of the Sound and, I fancy, left pretty well undisturbed. During the afternoon it became very thick, and for a time we stopped steaming, as we could not make out the leads and there was some heavy ice about. Late in the evening it cleared a little and we ran in to Carey Island. The _Arctic_ was ahead of us, and the _Wolf_ in the distance. I wrote some letters in the evening as I thought there might be a chance of sending them on board the _Bear_. Our Captain had decided to go from this place to the whaling ground, and leave the Greely part of it to the expedition ships, as the owners would not thank him for risking the vessel in higher latitudes and possibly missing his chance for whales in Lancaster Sound. The _Arctic_ had a boat on shore, but saw nothing of explorers or records. The _Bear_ left the islands after midnight, but was not near us, so I had no chance of sending my letters. This was the last we saw of the relief ships. They picked Greely up within twenty-four hours at Cape Sabine. We knew nothing of it until later, when we heard the news from some of the slower ships, which met the expedition returning with the rescued, and their story was as follows: June 22nd. After the _Bear_ left Carey Islands, she joined the _Thetis_ and they proceeded to Cape Sabine, where they arrived during the evening. From records found on Brevoort Island near Cape Sabine, they knew where the explorer was, and he was picked up by Lieutenant Colwell of the _Bear_ almost at the place where he, Colwell, landed after the loss of the _Proteus_. Of the twenty-five who left with Greely a few years before, but seven were now alive, and the story they told of starvation and death was in tune with others we have all read of Arctic exploration and was doubly impressive when told to us, situated as we were in the dreary regions where the tragedy had been enacted. Greely had done his work well. His two years at Fort Conger had been well spent. Lockwood had attained latitude 83° 24' in 1882, beating all previous records. Most valuable magnetic observations had been made and the interior of Grinnell Land had been explored. The orders to abandon Fort Conger were carried out in 1883 and then their troubles began. Relief had not come, depots of provisions had not been established, and in a very dejected state they had arrived at Cape Sabine, where they established their final camp, the history of which supplies Arctic literature with its blackest chapter. [Illustration: 0242] On June 22nd Schley arrived at Cape Sabine. No Arctic expedition had ever done so well by this date, its first year. A week or two later there would probably not have been one survivor. This relief expedition had been perfectly successful in its gallant dash and had arrived not a minute too soon. CHAPTER XIII--CAREY ISLANDS TO LANCASTER SOUND "Here winter holds his unrejoicing court; And through his airy hall the loud misrule Of driving tempest is forever heard. Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath, Here arms his winds and all-subduing frost. Moulds his fierce hail and treasures up his snows With which he now oppresses half the globe." _June 22nd. Sunday_. It was blowing very hard from the south, and there was much ice, so we had a difficult time picking our way. The weather was also bitterly cold. Again birds were very numerous. We were making our way to Princess Charlotte's Monument on the west side, and it was slow work. The _Arctic_ was ahead of us and not moving on any faster. We felt the loss of the relief ships. They were always a cause of some excitement, and there was a chance of finding Greely so long as we kept going north. Now that that interest was removed, I consoled myself with the knowledge that we were nearing the magnetic pole, and would soon be steaming up Lancaster Sound, the highway to the northwest along which so many brave men had gone never to return. During the afternoon it became more squally, and when I turned in we were making little headway, but the wind was going down. _June 23rd. Monday_. We were steaming in tolerably open water when I came on deck. The _Arctic_ was ahead. Birds were numerous--some geese with hundreds of eider and guillemot. After breakfast we saw land ahead, that is, to the west, and during the afternoon were within a mile or so of it,--Princess Charlotte's Monument. There was much loose ice to the south and a straight floe edge to the north of us, and to this we hooked on two hundred yards to the east of the _Arctic_. We did not care to go closer to the rocks lest the ice should come in on us. I saw Dr. Crawford take the _Arctic's_ launch and go ashore to look for eggs. Returning a couple of hours after, steam went down and the _Arctic_ was obliged to unhook and go after them. It appeared that the boiler was too exposed and the cold so intense that they simply could not keep steam up. The launch had been keeping under the lee of the floe as much as possible, and when steam went down she began to drift away from this into rough water. For a few minutes things looked bad for her, as she was a wretched sea boat with her heavy boiler and engine. During the night we unhooked and worked our way towards the south. _June 24th. Tuesday._ Day fine, but blowing from the south. A lot of ice on the coast, and to the south and east all was white. We were now where whales might be seen and preparations were made. Foregoers and lines were tested, harpoons examined, guns cleaned and fired to make sure they would work, lines coiled away in boats, and every one was on the lookout. We never heard of Disco or Cape York now. All was Lancaster Sound and Pond's Bay, with weird tales of cold days spent rock-nosing off Cape Kater and in Cumberland Gulf. All these preparations did not hurry matters in the least. The king of this country decided that we should remain for a day or two where we were, and so in the evening we were hooked on almost where the morning found us. June 25th. Wednesday. About noon the wind died down and the currents, setting south, took the ice off the coast so that we were able to crawl along a little; but a few hours later we made fast to the land floe off Cape Horsburgh, as the pack was drifting in again. We saw many walrus here, but did not like to spend time at them, as we wanted to be the first ship up the Sound. At tea time we moved along a little further and by bedtime we tied up again. Some of our tanks were pumped out and cleaned, ready for the anticipated oil. There were a number of seals in sight, but they were left alone, as the time was precious. June 26th. Thursday. As the ship was hard and fast I took a rifle and went after some seals which were to be seen a mile away. Before going very far I found myself climbing over hummocks of old ice which had drifted down Jones Sound, and it was very difficult walking. On one side of a hummock the snow would be perfectly smooth and frozen hard, while on the other side it would be so soft that one at once went through the surface and had to clamber along in several feet of it. Again, one would come to a perfectly rotten and honeycombed piece of ice underneath which there was a foot or two of water, and below the water could be seen the solid old floe; this made walking so difficult that I returned to the ship without getting a shot. [Illustration: 0248] _June 27th and 28th_ were uneventful. We moved little, and Cape Horsburgh was in sight all the time, but on: _June 29th, Sunday,_ we had a good lead along the shore floe and were steaming fast through it when I came on deck. A number of bears were seen about noon, but the wind was from the south and the ice was coming in, so we hurried along. As there were a number of them, they were probably attracted by some dead beast. Barron tells of seeing once about one hundred bears around a dead whale. He also tells of men being devoured by these creatures. In the days of muzzle-loaders there was more risk than there is now, because if one came suddenly upon a bear with cubs and missed his shot, there might not be time to load again. Late in the evening we were off: Cape Warrender and were steaming amongst loose ice at bedtime. Several narwhals were seen during the afternoon, but we paid no attention to them. _June 30th. Monday._ Steaming up the Sound towards a solid floe at breakfast time with many white whales in sight. We steered south along the ice edge, and seeing an Eskimo standing on it, we sailed up to him. He was a very uncouth looking individual after the smartly dressed gentlemen on the Greenland side. His clothes did not fit and he was otherwise careless about his appearance. He had in his hand a narwhal's tusk, and as we came close we heard him singing "Bonny Laddie--Highland Laddie." This he had probably learned from his parents, they having learned it from the whalers in sailing-ship days. In old times it was customary to lower the boats and tow the ship through the leads to the above tune. I was told this, so it may be true. The native came on board. He was much more like an American Indian than a Greenland Eskimo. Before he had been many minutes on board he was taken aft and relieved of his tusk by the second mate, getting in return some trifle: the gentleman belonged to Navy Board Inlet, on the south side, and not far away. The Captain had had a lot of paddles made for some of the boats. It was possible to approach whales with very little noise when the paddles were used, so we tried them frequently for narwhal hunting. As there were numbers of these creatures in sight, we had a couple of boats out after them. A sharp lookout was kept from the crow's nest for whales coming up the Sound. We hooked on to the ice about two miles from the south shore, and put a boat out on either side of the ship and about a hundred yards away. These boats were hooked on by laying the long steering oar on the ice. Our narwhal hunters had no luck, so they came on board. _July 1st. Tuesday_. We were fast to the ice with a boat on each side all day. The Captain had a long interview with the native on the subject of whales. He seemed to understand maps well, and was able to point out where he had seen fish; from what I could make out, a good number had been in the Sound. I spent the afternoon in a boat with the Captain trying to get a narwhal. We saw dozens and came pretty close to several lots, but did not get one good shot, although we fired several times. The harpoons we used for this work were much smaller than the regular whaling harpoon and were made of the same tough Swedish iron. Before turning in I spent an hour on deck and heard narwhals and white whales breathing about us all the time. Everything looked propitious. _July 2nd. Wednesday._ I had a dream during the night that we had succeeded in killing a narwhal and that our youngest harpooner, Gyles, had killed it. Dreams were often recounted at the breakfast table, so I told this, and, as luck would have it, before dinner Gyles killed our first narwhal. My night visions were subsequently treated with great respect, except by the steward, who felt, no doubt, that I was infringing a little on his rights. A coldness sprang up between us such as only professional jealousy can create, and which evinced itself the following day when he did not ask me to help him to pick the raisins for the duff--Thursday being duff day. The forenoon success gave quite an impetus to the narwhal fishing, but no more were captured, as the elusive beasts always went down just as we were almost within shot. The narwhal (Monodon Monoceros) is to me the most beautiful of the whale species. The one captured by us was twelve feet long without the tusk. This measured four feet in length and about four inches around the base. It ended in a rather sharp point and had a spiral groove running from right to left. The horn, or rather tooth, protrudes from the upper jaw of the male, generally on the left side. It only protrudes from the female head as a freak. On the right side a small undeveloped horn is found embedded in the skull of the male, but two undeveloped teeth are found in the female. The narwhal is the only vertebrate animal in which bilateral symmetry is not the rule. The body is whitish, marbled with blackish brown, and about four of them yield a ton of oil. With an axe I easily split the cancellous skull and removed the embedded tusk. We saw hundreds of white whales this day (Delphinapterus leucas). These are cousins of the narwhals, but generally a little larger. The _Aurora_ had great luck the previous year up Prince Regent's Inlet in getting a good catch of them. This was managed by driving them ashore. They were skinned and the skin made into leather. Each side counted as one skin. They go in schools like porpoises, but generally only three or four abreast, therefore, it takes a large school a considerable time to go past. They are peculiar in having no dorsal fin, and their yellowish white colour makes them rather conspicuous. _July 3rd. Thursday._ 'Before breakfast a bear was seen in the water and shot by McLean from a boat. Bears are always lucky and we knew that something better would soon come. While at breakfast a female narwhal was killed. It must have been fourteen feet long. I removed the two little embedded horns. Narwhals were very difficult to capture with the appliances in use at this time, the harpoon gun being only effective at ten or fifteen yards. As the beast generally went down when one was about twenty yards away, a long shot had to be taken with a very clumsy gun. Very little of the narwhal showed above water, just the top of its head and back. Of course there was a good sized animal immediately under the water, so that a harpoon might miss the back and still lodge in the whale. It was very cold and we had several snow showers. The bear was skinned and the skin salted and put in a barrel, no attempt being made to dry or otherwise cure any of the bear skins taken during the voyage. They were kept green. _July 4th. Friday_. During the night there was a fall of snow and a breeze from the east had driven some loose ice up the Sound, and pieces were constantly breaking off the floe. These drifted down the Sound with the current; but when there was wind from the east much of this broken ice would drift up and surround us. We were dodging about under canvas in the morning, and the wind, which was bitterly cold, was going down. During the forenoon we sailed up to the floe edge and hooked on about eight miles from the south side, putting two boats on the bran, that is, one on each side of the ship. The loose ice had drifted away, and as the afternoon was very fine the Captain decided to try the unies, as the narwhals were called, and I went with him. One does not generally see very many unies together, but they were in fours and fives all over the place this afternoon and very shy. Just as the boat would get within twenty-five yards or so, off they would go. The Captain made a long shot at one and got fast. For a few minutes the line ran out rapidly, but the shot had been a long one and the harpoon drew, so we came on board disappointed. Paddles were used instead of oars, as they made less noise. On the fishing ground we avoided noise as much as possible and for this reason the ship seldom steamed, but kept her fires banked and moved about under canvas. CHAPTER XIV--OUR FIRST WHALE "Hoist out the boat at once and slacken sail." _July 5th. Saturday_. A beautiful day. After breakfast I was in a bran boat on the starboard side of the ship and one hundred and fifty yards away, when I heard a commotion on board, and in less time than it takes to tell, all our boats, except the upper quarter ones, were in the water and hurrying off: towards us. Our steering oar was holding the boat to the ice, so it did not take long to get away, and we pulled hard for several minutes before the boat-steerer whispered: "Avast pulling." At this time the boats were scattered along the ice edge a hundred yards apart. A whale had been seen coming up the Sound. We knew that it would continue up under the ice, and failing to find a hole through which it could breathe, it would turn and come to the surface near the edge of the ice and close to some of the boats, and that unless we had very bad luck, it was doomed. In a few minutes we saw it a quarter of a mile down the Sound; it looked like two black islands, one the head and the other the back. It lay there for several minutes and we could distinctly hear it breathe. We saw the spout, then it sank slowly and disappeared. The excitement was now' intense. The next time it would be beside a boat--which boat? Would it come up under us or beside us? Perfect silence was observed and the suspense of waiting for the first whale, I shall never forget. Probably ten minutes passed, when up came the fish almost beside the boat in which George Matheson was har-pooner. As he was already standing by his gun, no order was given, and one sweep of the boat-steerer's oar gave him his shot. The gun went off, the foregoer sprang into the air and every man shouted: "A fall! a fall!" The whale hesitated a few seconds before going down, and Matheson put in a hand-harpoon also. He was not ten feet from the whale when he fired, and almost touching when he put in the hand-harpoon. The fast boat now hoisted its jack and the fish went down and started towards the south side of the Sound, past the ship's stern. We pulled in this direction for all we were worth, the boat nearest the fast boat standing by it so as to supply more lines if necessary. When we had pulled hard for ten minutes, we slowed down, the boats keeping some distance apart, and shortly after, fifty yards from us, the whale came up. Immediately a second boat, the mate's, got fast, the huge creature going down at once, and away we went again. When our quarry next appeared, about fifteen or twenty minutes later, the nearest boat immediately began lancing, and presently we were at it. Unfortunately we all had our backs to the scene of action, except the boat-steerer and harpooner. The heavy blast, every time it breathed, sounded uncomfortably close. In a few minutes the boat-steerer called, "Back, all!" and we immediately backed water, the whale hitting the water once or twice with his tail and going down; again we were off, but not so far this time. When he next appeared he rolled about a good deal and we were afraid to go close, so the second mate fired a Welsh's rocket under one of his flukes and then we all backed off. The rocket was fired from a harpoon gun. It had a charge of powder in its trocar-shaped head, and a fuse running down the shaft. When this exploded the whale plunged fearfully and lashed the water with his huge horizontal tail. After this he was quiet and the water shot from his blow-hole was blood-stained. We now closed in again, and lances were plunged into his neck and churned up and down. Breathing became labored, and after a final flurry, his spirit passed and his blubber and bone were ours. What a cheer we gave! What a feeling of exultation! How near I felt to happy, unconventional, primitive man at that moment! As the whale was lying on its back with the flukes hanging out, a round hole was cut in each of these, through which a piece of rope was run and the flukes reverently folded across his breast; with a knife all lines attached to harpoons were cut free so that the fast boats might haul them in. The tail was fastened to the bow of a boat, and, getting in line, we all proceeded to tow the fish back to the ship, which, by the way, made no effort to help us, as the weather was fine and there was nothing in sight. Arriving alongside, the tail was fastened forward and the head aft along the port side. We went on board, and after dinner, as I sat smoking with the Captain on the cabin skylight, I could not help feeling that the life of a whaler was the only one for me. [Illustration: 0260] At 1.30 P. M., all hands were called to flense the whale alongside. By means of tackle made fast to the lower jaw, called the nose tackle, the mouth could be opened and the tongue and the bone removed. The right whale (Balaena Mysticetus), of which this was a specimen, supplies practically all the whalebone. It grows from the sides of the upper jaw, three hundred blades hanging down on each side. They are ten and twelve inches wide where inserted into the gum, and narrow as they descend. The inner edge is frayed and the outer unbroken. These frayed inner edges form a sort of sieve through which the water passes when the whale shuts its mouth, but through which the whale food cannot pass. The bone from each side is brought on board generally in one piece, sufficient gum being taken with it to hold the lamellae together. This is divided with a wedge into smaller pieces of about a dozen lamellae each, and subsequently each lamella is slit off with the wedge and freed from gum and oil. The longest blades are those in the centre on each side and they vary in length according to the size of the animal--twelve feet being large. The size of a whale is estimated by the length of the longest blade, "a twelve-foot fish" being one in which this measures twelve feet. The bone is about a quarter of an inch thick and tears easily into long pieces. It is an albuminous substance, containing calcium phosphate, and can be moulded when heated by steam, retaining its shape if cooled under pressure. [Illustration: 0264] The busy part of a whaler during flensing is the deck between the main mast and foremast. Between these masts is the blubber guy, a stout wire rope to which blocks are strapped, and through these are rove the tackles which haul the long strips of blubber on board as they are pulled off the whale. The specksioneer and all the harpooners except the mate get on to the whale or into the mollie boats in attendance; they have spikes on their boots to keep them from slipping; and they remove the blubber and bone with their knives and spades. The mate of a ship is a busy man, but the mate of our whaler flensing was, I think, the busiest person I ever saw. Acting under the captain's directions and from his own initiative, he was everywhere, giving orders and seeing them carried out. In removing the blubber the first thing done is to start cutting a ribbon of it around the neck, called the kant. This piece, probably two feet wide, when pulled upon, turns the carcass, and from it, running towards the tail, the long strips are cut and hauled on board. First the piece around the neck is well started. Then with spades a strip is started. As this is hauled on by the capstan the men with spades cut along each side and it is simply peeled off. When the piece raised up is several hundred pounds, it is cut off, hoisted on board, and the tackle refastened. When the exposed part has been flensed, the neck piece or kant is again pulled on by the windlass, which turns the whale over a little, and so on. When all the blubber has been removed, the head tackle is cut out and the carcass, or kreng as it is called, sinks as soon as the tail is cut off. The tail is taken on board and used afterwards for chopping blubber on. The blubber as it comes on board is cut into smaller pieces by the boat-steerers and thrown into the 'tween-decks by the line managers, from which it is taken a day or two later, cut small and put into tanks. Flensing a fish is a very cheerful occupation and the ship is certainly oily, but there is no unpleasant smell. As soon as a whale is killed, the fulmar petrels (P. Glacialis) come in swarms, and they gorge themselves with fat until they cannot sit up; then they become dreadfully ill and begin all over again. There was always a current where we flensed and this current would carry away a stream of overgorged birds, too full to do anything but drift. I sat in a boat one day and amused myself catching the birds as they paddled past until I had numbers in the boat. I found it better, however, to leave them in the water, or to let them stagger about among the men's feet at work. This was a ten-foot fish and would probably yield thirteen tons of oil. The following is a copy of the scale used long ago by whalers:-- [Illustration: 0271] Of course there are exceptions to this old rule. The afternoon clouded up while we were so busy, and by the time we had finished, it was blowing. When I turned in there was some snow and it was much colder. [Illustration: 0269] _July 6th. Sunday._ I found the ship with the main yard aback, dodging about in a rather choppy sea. The sky was cloudy and it looked like winter. Three ships were in sight down the Sound, all under canvas. We were quite close to the south side, as the captain believed that fish would come up that way, and it proved that he was correct. After breakfast a whale was seen blowing among some loose ice to the north of us. Six boats put off in pursuit, while the ship followed. Two of the boats kept straight to the ice while the other four, including Jack McLean's, in which I was, kept around it. The sea was quite choppy and the air cold, but we warmed up with the rowing. The boats going straight to the ice were able to pass through and entered open water beyond before we got around to it. The fish came up and gave the second mate a long shot just as she was going down; but a harpoon easily enters a whale's bent back so he got fast and "A fall! a fall!" was joyfully shouted by us all. As we passed the fast boat we saw her jack flying proudly and her bow enveloped in smoke as McKechnie tightened the line around the bollard head. Gyles was standing by, so with the other boats we pulled in the direction the fish had gone, and as we were getting close to more loose ice, those of us who were rowing and consequently looking astern saw the fast boat--which had been well down by the bow--right herself and we knew that the iron had drawn. We pulled away however in the hope of again getting fast, but this whale was only seen once more, a long way off, and after a hard row through loose ice we gave up. The ship had followed and she now picked us up. As the wind had gone down we sailed back towards the south side and made fast to the solid floe, getting our bran boats out before tea time. We picked up the fast boat on the way, she having her lines on board. The weather looked very settled at bedtime and the unusual exertion of the past two days made me sleep well. [Illustration: 0273] _July 7th. Monday_. Summer had returned by morning and the making off had already begun when I came on deck. We were lying almost opposite the mouth of Admiralty Inlet and fast to a nice straight floe edge with not a bit of loose ice any place. There was more life on deck at the "making off" than there was at the flensing and every one was busy. The blubber had been cut into pieces two or three feet square and put down the main hatch. These big cubes of a faint orange color were taken on deck with the winch, and any pieces of adherent flesh being removed they were cut into blocks of a few pounds each. Along each side of the deck stood uprights; on the top of each was a plate with spikes called a clash, and beside each stood a harpooner with a long sharp knife. A block of blubber was lifted by a man with clash hooks and stuck on the clash spikes, with the skin up. The harpooner cut the skin off and the piece was then thrown into a heap in front of the speck trough. The speck trough, which was about two and a half feet square, was placed across the deck over the hatch; forward of this stood the boat-steerers and in front of each was a block of whale's tail resting on the opened back lid of the trough. Each man had a chopper, and as the pieces of blubber from the heap were thrown to them, they chopped them into little bits and swept them into the speck trough, from which they were conducted to the tanks through a canvas tube attached to an opening underneath. A man in the 'tween-decks directed this tube to the tank he desired to fill. The bone was stowed down the quarter hatch. It was always important to keep the ship clean and get the blubber away, as there was no regularity about the appearance of fish. A number might come at once, and several being killed, the crew could be blocked with work, while again there might not be another seen for a month. When the making off was over, the decks were scrubbed down. _July 8th. Tuesday._ The _Arctic, Esquimaux and Narwhal_ were all in sight to the north of us. During the forenoon we lowered away for a fish, six boats going after it. We saw the spout near the ice edge and were ready for its return, but it came not, probably finding a breathing place somewhere and after resting coming out north of us. We waited a long time and had a tiresome row back. The native picked up by us when we first came had been landed near the south shore, where he had his dogs. Now we saw three coming along the floe and we picked them up, sledges, dogs and all. They belonged to Navy Board Inlet. Hardly were they on board when all hands were called and the boats were away, as spouting had been seen astern. I was in one of the four boats between the ship and the south coast, and we must have sat there half an hour before anything occurred; in fact, we thought the fish had gone elsewhere. The men were all pretty restless, when suddenly the water broke two boats from me and the report of a gun was followed by the cry--"A fall." I saw the whale throw its tail straight up as it went slowly down; then it started north and we pulled past the ship in that direction and scattered out to wait its reappearance. In the usual length of time the fish appeared in our midst and another iron was put in. Away we went again in the best of spirits. Of course, the fast boat in each case remained and moved only as towed by the whale. I was in Watson's boat, and at the whale's next appearance we were almost on the top of it and he immediately lanced, but the game stood very little tickling of that sort and was soon off. Again it came up beside us, and this time very breathless as it had such a short breathing spell before. Three boats were at once busy with lances, and in a very short time we registered a kill. When the lines were cut, and the flukes and tail attended to, we returned to the ship, pulling to the shanty, "A-roving, a-roving, since roving has been my ruin," and having the whale in tow, we were very much elated by our afternoon's work, but there was a great surprise in store for us. Arriving on board, the whale was made fast and I went down to have some coffee. When I came up I found that the crew of the first fast boat, having taken their line to the ice to facilitate pulling it in, had utterly failed to get it beyond a certain point. Thinking it had fouled something at the bottom, they were ordered to come on board and take their line in with the steam winch. This was done, and when after great pulling the very tight line was almost in, behold, there was a dead whale at the end of it. One must be on board a whaler to appreciate a pleasant surprise like this. It is not so much the extra money, as the satisfaction of success. What had happened was this. The first harpoon fortunately struck deep in the shoulder of whale No. 1, which immediately sounded in shallow water and broke its neck. No. 2 was not a fast fish at all when we first saw it. Now, we had a fish on each side, and as soon as the crew had refreshed themselves with supper, the work of flensing started with a will. When things were well under way I turned in, very tired, and when I tumbled out four hours after, one fish was on board. The men were now ordered to turn in for four hours, except, of course, the lookout and a few nondescript people like myself and the engineer. I learned another thing about the ways of the Arctic this morning; directly the crew had turned in, the clock in the companion was put forward an hour, and when two hours had passed it went on another hour, then all hands were called and our second whale taken on board. This fish was flensed in about three hours, the crew turning in, except a boat's crew on the bran and the lookout. The _Esquimaux_ came steaming towards us during the night, which annoyed us greatly, as the fish were coming up the south side and we thought our berth rather good. She steamed past and hooked on five or six hundred yards south of us. The Aurora immediately unhooked and passed her, while she repeated the performance mid a storm of abuse from both barrels. Our Captain was afraid to go closer to the shore, so we remained where we were. When we hooked on first, the natives had left us, going north to the other ships. We now saw a number of well loaded sledges coming up the south coast. It was evident that they would board the _Esquimaux_ first, so we would lose the chance of bartering with them. Consequently, we sent a boat off to pick them up and bring them on board. Our opponents saw what we were doing, so sent a boat also. As it had a shorter distance to go than ours, it picked up the whole caravan and brought it back. Our boat noticing a sledge far away with two people in it, waited for them and brought them to the Aurora. It happened that these two old natives owned all the barter on the other sledges, and as we kept them on board, everything had to be turned over to the Aurora by the other ship, greatly to their disgust. The Captain obtained from them quite a lot of narwhals' tusks and bear skins. The incident amused us very much. _July 9th. Wednesday._ Two boats on the bran and the balance of the crew washing down the ship. I had my first ride on an Eskimo sled. Giving a native a plug of tobacco, he removed from his sled all the movable things and I got on. Then addressing a few remarks to his dogs, off they started. As the ice was smooth I enjoyed it at first, but we came to a hummocky place where it was not so pleasant. I did my best to stop the dogs, but they followed their leader, and finally I tumbled off and returned to the ship, the dogs going on probably home. The runners of the sledge were made of whales' jaws with bone cross pieces lashed to them. When I went on board I found a boat just starting for a bear to the north of us. I don't think I ever saw one any distance from the water; this was along the floe edge and several miles away. Between us there was a peninsula of ice on which there were some hummocks. I landed here to try a stalk and the boat rowed around. For a time I did very well, the bear wandering aimlessly and slowly about, but before I got within three hundred yards of him, he had seen me and was off to the water. I fired several times, but without effect. He plunged in and started to swim across from the peninsula to the main floe. The boat had by this time doubled the cape and bruin had a bullet in his head before he had gone very far. We hauled him on to the ice and skinned him. The men cut some steaks for themselves, but I never had the pleasure of trying polar bear, as the Captain did not care for carnivorous animals as a food. A great many white whales were now around. I wished we could have driven a school of them up a fiord the way they drive the potheads up the Shetland voes. When we returned we found that a narwhal had been killed, but we did not like to disturb the right whales by hunting these very much. As the ship was generally hooked on to the floe which extended across the Sound, her bow was pointed up and her stern down, consequently astern nearly always meant down the Sound, as the current setting in that direction held the ship in that position. CHAPTER XV--FLOE EDGE FISHING "Look through the sleet and look through frost, Look to the Greenlands' caves and coast. By the iceberg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale; Mother doubtful, mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped?" _July 10th. Thursday._ We moved from our neighbor, the _Esquimaux_, and dodged north under canvas, hooking on five or six miles away. The Sound was frozen completely across this year, and during our stay, the ice never opened. Probably we could have forced our way in had we been bent on exploration, but the ice floe edge fishing was very desirable and suited us exactly. All hands were employed making off when I came up and we had a busy day getting two whales into our tanks. Although they were not very large, it took many hours and every one was tired when it was over. The Sound being frozen over was a great disappointment to me as it prevented our going up Barrow Strait, or visiting Beechy Island, where Sir John Franklin spent his last winter. There I was, within a few miles of the place consecrated to the memory of those heroes and doomed to return home without seeing it. Up this waterway, Sir James Ross and McClure had passed to make their great discoveries of the magnetic polar area and the northwest passage. There had been, at one time or another, nearly all the Arctic explorers, of whom I had ever heard. As the clock in the companion had been moved about so much lately, and as there was not a watch, on the ship, going, our ideas of time were vague in the extreme. _July 11th. Friday._ The weather was fine, and during the afternoon, positively warm. The boats spent the day on the bran, but there were no whales in sight. An interesting phenomenon was, however, in evidence, namely, refraction. Byam Martin's Mountains looked wild and precipitous, and the coast line appeared as a continuous high cliff, quite unlike the land we had been beside for the past week. What I found most interesting was to watch the _Narwhal_, which was lying not far off. At one moment her hull stretched up, making her look like an old line of battle ship, while her masts shrank down, then the hull would close down like a concertina and the masts would stretch up to the sky. Pieces of ice and little hummocks became great white chimneys and big icy mountains. I saw a row of white masses far above the ice. They looked like puffs of smoke from a battery, the guns being pointed up. Presently a white lump would appear on the ice underneath each puff and in a minute they would become connected and look like a row of top-heavy white pillars. The middle part would then become attenuated until it resembled a white thread and then the tops of the pillars would settle down and disappear. The changes were kaleidoscopic and one could watch them by the hour. When the sun was warm, we often had this phenomenon, owing to the different densities of the various atmospheric strata. _July 12th. Saturday._ Hearing "All hands" during the night, I tumbled out of bed, picked up my bundle of clothes, ran on deck and got into a lower quarter boat that was being lowered. Probably within sixty seconds after being asleep I was pulling for dear life towards some loose ice north of us, beyond which a whale had been seen. When we reached the ice, we rested and put on some clothes. The fish was just as likely to come up where we were as at any other place, so we did not want to frighten him by disturbing the ice. After a wait of ten minutes, we saw and heard the blast of a fish to the northeast. It had turned and was going out again. We pulled through the ice with difficulty; it cannot be pushed about by a whale boat, but we kept on in the direction in which the whale was last seen. However it did not come up again where we could see it, and so we returned to the ship. It was very cold coming back and had begun to blow. The sky was much overcast during the afternoon, and as it was blowing hard, the boats were taken in before bedtime. _July 13th. Sunday._ There was a regular little gale this day, so we kept in open water, with the main yard aback and the fires banked. We received news of the Greely party from the _Arctic_ as she had spoken some of the slower ships and heard it from them. During the afternoon quite a choppy sea was on and ice was coming in as the wind was blowing up the Sound. We dodged out through this ice and then sailed north, sighting nearly all the other ships of the fleet. Sundays were stormy days in this place, and to sit on a ship all day, listening to her strain, and to the wind howling through the shrouds, was not pleasant, especially when we were only killing time and accomplishing nothing. When I turned in, we were still under canvas. _July 14th, Monday_, was a gloomy day. We were hooked to the ice, with a boat out on each side. The crew were busy filling the bunkers and then cleaning up, also overhauling some fishing gear. The blacksmith was employed straightening out harpoons. The iron of which they are made is soft and tough. It bends and twists every way but does not break. I amused myself polishing little tusks which I had taken out of the female narwhals' heads. We were very restless, knowing that the _Arctic_ had more whales than we had. We heard from her that all the ships had fish a few days before. _Tuesday._ Two narwhals were killed, male and female. I was in a boat with the Captain, but we did not get any. We used paddles instead of oars, as we could approach more quietly with them. _July 16th. Wednesday_. We were still hanging on to the ice with a boat on the bran on each side. Again we pursued narwhals and secured another fine male with a four-foot horn. There were such crowds of these beautiful creatures that I wished the Captain would turn all hands after them, but he was afraid of disturbing any whales which might be around so we did not pursue them vigorously. Some white whales passed us, but we were not far enough up the Sound for white whaling. Narwhals are playful creatures and very noisy. The first thing any whale does on coming up is to blow most of the air out of its lungs, and this in a very noisy manner. For its size, the narwhal makes more noise than the others. Before going down, they generally take a deep, noisy inspiration. Nearly all the time we were in Lancaster Sound, if calm, we could hear whales of some kind puffing and blowing around. I often saw narwhals raise their tusks out of the water, and when black whales were taking a final header, on starting for a long dive, they generally threw the tail up in the air in a graceful manner. We did not like to see one going tail up, as it meant that probably we had seen the last of that particular fish. _July 17th, Thursday,_ was a fine day with mirage in the morning; the effects were wonderful. A small piece of ice, miles away, would look like a berg. About noon we made out that the _Polynia_ had a fish and this was more than we could bear. We decided that there was a Jonah on board and circumstances pointed strongly to one of the crew. A suit of his clothes was procured, with his cap, half a pound of powder was packed into it with a fuse attached and it was run up to the main yard arm. The Captain went below and turned in, but rifles and ammunition were supplied and we had a lively practice at the effigy for a time; then the fuse was touched off and bang went Jonah. This performance cleared the atmosphere forward completely, every one believing that the spell was broken and that we would now find fish. In the cabin, Jack, the steward, greased the horseshoe and that made the after guard feel better, and to crown it all, a bear was killed during the evening, in the water near the ship. Personally, I felt greatly encouraged by these ceremonies, and went to bed feeling that at any moment "A fall! a fall!" might be heard. If some misfortune happens to a whaler--such as having his harpoon gun passed to him through the rigging, instead of around it, or if his boat should start away from the ship stern first and not be brought back, hooked on, hauled up and lowered again--then he would go after a whale certain that he would miss it, whereas, should he dream the night before that he had got fast to a fish, then he would approach it with the utmost confidence. _July 18th. Friday_. I had an undisturbed night and awoke to find it blowing and the ship under sail. Going on deck, I found the topsails aback and much loose ice about. After breakfast, all hands were away after a whale seen among the loose ice. This was a hopeless kind of rowing, so we scattered about, following different leads. We saw the fish blowing in several different places, but could not get near it, so came on board. During the afternoon, the wind went down and the loose ice drifted out again, so we hooked on to the solid floe about three miles from the south side and a boat was put on each side, as usual. Numbers of narwhals around during the afternoon, induced a boat to follow them, and a big female was secured with a calf. The undeveloped tusks of the latter were hollow like cigarette holders. _July 19th. Saturday_. I had not been asleep long when I heard "All hands!" and, rushing up, went off in my usual boat, the lower quarter boat on the starboard side. I heard that a fish had been seen spouting down the Sound. In a few minutes, we all saw it off the south shore, a mile from the ship. We gave way with a will and soon had the boats in open order along the floe, where we thought it had passed under. Our patience was rewarded when it came up between the mate and Watson. Mr. Adam, being the nearer, swept down on its quarter and, as it made a back to sound, he gave it both gun and hand in the shoulder. This was a big fish and a fine chase began. I had seen the mate strike and I knew the irons would not draw. Straight down the Sound we went, the wounded animal taking out much line. Sometimes a fish goes deep and does not travel very far, but this one was a traveller. We pulled for about twenty minutes or more and then halted, the whale coming up ahead of us and going down again at once. The mate's boat had signalled for more lines by putting a piggin on a boat-hook, and another boat had stood by and bent on. Before long, the wounded one came up and another iron was put in; it was well puffed after its run and stayed up long enough to get some lances stuck in. A lance, cutting any large vessel in the neck or thorax, would cause it to bleed to death very quickly, but none of these lances touched vital parts, for the whale went down in a very lively way with four or five sticking in it, and it must have stayed down fifteen minutes, travelling fast all the time. When it reappeared, we were on to it at once, and it soon began to blow blood and give other evidences of approaching dissolution. Its plunges were dangerous and the reports caused by striking the water with its tail, were very loud. We always backed well off during one of these demonstrations, but were on to it at once when they ceased. There was much more danger from the flukes than the tail, as we were touching its sides with the boats. After one or two terrific blasts of blood and water, and a great flurry, it turned up its toes, and after the usual formalities, the long tow to the ship began. Shanties were sung with vigor and we pulled with a will. As I had not had anything to eat since ten P. M., the day before, and as we had been working hard all night, I was ready for breakfast when we reached the ship. The fast boats had come on board, taking their lines in with the winch. After breakfast all hands were called and it took many hours to flense this big fish, the bone of which was 10 1/2 feet. I examined the flukes after the blubber had been removed from them; they were like huge hands with nicely proportioned fingers. I entered in the log the death of the fish, and a little picture of its tail. This is the custom. In the log there was a paper model, which was held on the page with the finger and traced around the edge with a pencil. Then it was shaded, according to the ability of the artist, and the name of the harpooner was written above. On each side was stated whether killed by gun or hand, or both, and below was written the length of the bone. Should the harpoon draw, and the whale be lost, half a tail was sketched. [Illustration: 0289] During the flensing, one of our firemen, Bob Graham, appeared at the engine room door with six pieces of rope yarn tied together, and to the free end of each he had fastened a piece of blubber, just big enough to pass comfortably through the throat of a mollie (as fulmars are called), either way. Graham was an ingenious fellow and remarkable for his fertility of resource; he was always amusing himself by devising little surprises to make life pleasant for others. He threw this affair into the sea and the six pieces of fat were instantly swallowed by the same number of mollies. All went well until it became evident that the birds were not of the same opinion as to the direction of their next move. This performance seemed to me cruel at first, but after watching it for a little while, I decided that the exercise was good for the fulmars and did not hurt them. Of course, there were little disappointments connected with it, but then creatures, higher in the social scale, have their disappointments also. It is just possible that the bird which played the game out and eventually swallowed all six pieces and the string, may have had regrets, but from what I have seen of this particular species, I don't think it suffered much. When the flensing was over, every one was tired, and the men were ordered to turn in, excepting the lookout, all having been busy during the day. As whaling was a very irregular sort of life, it was the custom to sleep while one could, and as I had done a lot of rowing during the previous twenty-four hours, I sought my cabin. Our specksioneer, George Lyon, was an old man, but he was absolutely indefatigable, and when this order was given, he decided to go on the bran instead of to bed. Accordingly, he raised a crew of volunteers, but being short one man, he thought of me. There was one way of always bringing me on deck and that was to go to the companionway and shout down the word "bear." This George did and I at once appeared, rifle in hand. Seeing the boat being lowered, I tumbled in, and in a minute we were away; I then asked where the bear was and the specksioneer said that we might see one; so I knew his trick. We went some distance south of the ship and, hacking the boat up to the ice, laid the steering oar on it, which held us there, then we talked and smoked. About midnight all was quiet, except for the heavy breathing of the narwhals and white whales in the sea, and of those who slept in the boat; it was easy enough to sleep, sitting at an oar. I was awake, the boat-steerer was standing on the ice, and the man in the ship's barrel was scanning the Sound for fish, when suddenly, without the slightest warning, there was a great commotion in the water, at the side of our boat, and up came a whale with a fearful blast. This first blast of a whale, which has been holding its breath for a long time, sounds very loud, when one is within ten feet of it. It reminds one of a train coming suddenly out of a tunnel. The boat-steerer instantly pushed the boat well off, getting in at the same time He then said "Give way," which we did. The whale was moving very slowly, and one sweep of the boat-steerer's oar brought us around to it, then I heard the orders, "Stand by your gun!" and "Avast pulling!" I would have given anything for one look; but the lives of all the crew depended upon each man doing as he was told, so I sat perfectly still and leaned well away from the line running up the middle of the boat. Presently there was a bang, and the line began running out, while every one called "A fall." I was now in a boat, fast to a fresh whale, which was an experience the average amateur rarely had. As the harpooner took a turn of the line around the bollard head in the bows, and paid the line out through his hands, the bow of the boat was dragged very low and the stern tilted very high, but the speed we travelled at was not so great as I had expected. The whale came up between the boat and the ship, and we were being towed down the Sound. All the boats were away from the ship in a minute. We called out the number of lines out, and they had no difficulty in finding about where the whale was, and being ready for it when it came up. A second iron was put in when it appeared and off it went again. The water being absolutely free from ice, the chase was an easy one, as a boat could generally go faster than a whale. All I had to do was to sit quiet and keep well away from the line. As there was no ice to endanger the boat, the line was put several times around the bollard head and kept very tight, so we were towed much faster than if it had been loose. After the whale was killed and all the lines cut free, we were called on board to have or lines hauled in, after which the ship unhooked and steamed off to pick up her boats. The sky was very much overcast when we brought the whale alongside, and the tired crew, after getting some food, had to flense at once, as a change of weather might have been serious. The _Aurora_ now looked as a successful whaler should--a big whale in the 'tween-decks and another alongside tons and tons of blubber lying about everywhere, and the passage between the engine room and skylight, and the bulwarks, piled with bone. Before the flensing was over, it had commenced to blow and it was quite rough by the time we had finished. Then we unhooked and ran down the Sound a little way, while the crew turned in for a watch. As our main yard was aback, it required very few men to handle the ship. All night we were dodging about. _July 21st. Monday_. For some time, the clock had not been watched. Had it been, it would have conveyed little information, because, when it suited, it was put backward or forward. When a man going to bed saw by the clock that it was midnight, and when he arose and saw by the same clock that it was six, he probably felt refreshed. In the end, of course, it would tell on him if the full amount of rest registered had not been obtained; but for a time it worked very well. It certainly took a long time to make off our two whales, and it gave us a substantial feeling to be able to say, "Five fish on board." When the decks were cleared up, the crew were ordered below, excepting the lookout, but shortly after, it came on to blow hard and the sky was much overcast. Later, some rain fell, so we unhooked and lay off the ice edge with the main yard aback. CHAPTER XVI--WHALING IN LANCASTER SOUND "White, quiet sails from the grim icy coasts, That bear the battles of the whaling hosts, Whose homeward crews, with feet and flutes in tune, And spirits roughly blithe, make music to the moon." _July 22nd. Tuesday._ During the night the rain changed into snow and in the morning it was blowing a gale. In fact, it was a wild, winter's day. We were amongst loose ice, with our main yard aback and there was no open water to be seen anywhere. During the day the snow ceased but the wind kept up until late in the afternoon, when we found ourselves in a triangular pool of water, the sides of the triangle being about half a mile long and the base, three or four hundred yards. The ship was anchored to one side and she lay parallel with the base and twenty or thirty yards away from it. This hole appeared to have been formed by large floes. It was quite free from ice and afforded us an ideal harbor. _July 23rd. Wednesday_. All hands turned out shortly after four in the morning as a whale was seen at the apex of this triangle. One boat had been left fast to the ship's stern. This went in pursuit and the others lowered away, the one I was in being ordered to remain fast to a line from the ship's stem. Long before the boats reached the whale, it sounded and did not appear again, so they came on board, all but the one I was in. Our bows were towards the ship's stern and the boat's side was twenty yards from the ice edge. We had been there about an hour when, with a great commotion, a tremendous whale came up between the ship and the ice edge. Its head was alongside our boat before we realized what had happened; and by the time we had slipped the line the leviathan had passed us, as it was going fast. We could almost have touched him with the oars, but by the time we turned the boat and were under way, down went the fish to look for another breathing place elsewhere and we returned to our berths. Had the bow of the boat been the other way, we could have fastened the whale easily. At eight bells, we came on board for breakfast. Just as I entered the cabin, I heard the rushing on deck and, going up, found two boats off after a whale. It had simply come up to breathe and, having breathed, it went down again and disappeared from our harbor. One boat remained at the apex of the triangle and the other returned; and, on the way, a fish came up a hundred yards in front of it. They pulled hard and took a long shot as it humped its back going down. They got fast and the whale went off! under the ice. From the barrel, a small water hole could be seen half a mile away, and to this several ran, carrying a rocket gun which could be fired from the shoulder. Before they had gone very far, however, the harpoon drew and, as there was no use firing rockets into a free fish, they came on board again. It was now blowing pretty hard and very cold, but we still kept a boat at the apex of the triangle and one beside the ship. Now occurred a very exciting race. A whale came up half way along one side of the hole, and was travelling slowly towards the base. The boat at the apex followed, the one by the ship did not move, and every man on board was watching what would happen. Reaching the base, the whale halted to take a few long breaths before going down, the boat rapidly neared, the whale humped its back and the boat had to fire. From where we were, we saw the harpoon fly up into the air with the foregoer wriggling after it, then it fell, missing the whale as completely as if it had not been fired at it. I was sorry for that harpooner. He was a big man from Aberdeen, with a yellow beard, and he was a nervous wreck when he came on board. This fearfully bad luck was maddening, and we were all on edge; for, though the place was swarming with whales, we never got one. Had we got fast to half a dozen, we would have lost them all through lines being cut by the ice, or fouling. By the evening, the wind had gone down and the ice was slacker, the whole east side of our pool moving away. _July 24th, Thursday_, was a beautiful day after the storm and we had open water astern once more. We unhooked after breakfast and steamed slowly towards the south side again, and while steaming, we sighted a whale down the Sound. The ship was anchored to the ice and the boats distributed in the usual way. This whale did not come up after being first seen until it was at the ice edge, when one of our boats got fast. It then went under the floe--a most unusual proceeding when it had lots of open water. We were along the ice edge, nearly a mile from the fast boat, and wondering what would happen next, when, in a very small hole, 150 yards from my boat, up came the head of the whale. The hole was not many times larger than the head. The under surface of the lower jaw was towards us. It had a very white appearance. The head turned around very slowly presenting a wonderful sight. Gyles, the harpooner, in whose boat I was, seized a rocket gun and, running to the hole, fired, and the head went down as slowly as it came up. Presently the fish appeared in the open water and was immediately harpooned again. Its experience under the ice, or Gyle's rocket, had affected it so that it did not remain down but soon came up again and submitted patiently to the lancing operation which ended its life. This removed the gloom caused by the awful luck of the previous day. We had now more than three tons of bone, and that alone would be a fair voyage. The flensing began just as soon as the crew had food and was not finished until bedtime. _July 25th. Friday._ Every one was cheerful. Some of the hands were cleaning bone, two boats were on the bran, and one after narwhals, as there were many of them about. I painted the figurehead, as the _Aurora_ was looking a little dissipated with her out-stretched arm unhooked. This was only in commission when in port; consequently, it looked younger than her seagoing arm, which was a fixture across her breast and which had stood the brunt of many gales. _July 26th. Saturday._ All hands were "making off" the fish. They were at it early and had finished by noon, and then there was a general clean up for Sunday, but strict watch was kept. There were only white whales and some narwhals around. The tusks we took from those we killed and those we had bartered for, always lay on the after grating, which covered the well down which the auxiliary propeller went; there was never enough motion to roll them off. July 27th. The usual Sunday gale was blowing and we were dodging about under canvas all day. I was out on a yard during a snow squall and found it very exciting. This was my first attempt at taking in sails when there was much wind. We spoke the _Narwhal_; she had seven whales and reported the _Arctic_ as having eight and all the rest well fished. Towards evening we sailed to our favorite fishing ground on the south side. July 28th. Monday. All hands were away after a whale at six A. M. We had a long pull, and lost her for a time amongst the loose ice. Rounding tins, however, we reached her again and the mate got fast, McLean putting in a second. We passed both boats and were in at the kill. When we had backed off once for a flurry, I looked around and saw Watson lancing. I thought the flukes would have smashed his boat, he took such awful chances. This whale rolled about a great deal, and bristled with lances which she had torn from the men's hands by rolling. She was also dreadfully tangled up with lines which had caught on the lances. There is sometimes danger from being caught under these lines and cut in two. When a dead whale is lying on its back, the abdomen lies very low in the water, and, when freshly killed, sinks with a man when he walks along it. As we were a long way from the ship, she came after us and we soon had the whale alongside. The capstan was used for taking on board the big blanket pieces. At the order, "Heave away capstan," a shanty was struck up by the men marching around. [Illustration: 0301] They sang so loud that we could often hear their weird songs coming over the water from other ships similarly engaged. Our friends, the fulmar petrels, were always with us upon occasions of this kind, and all that were in the Sound, I think, spent the day with us. The outer skin of the whale is about as thick as stiff paper, and black. It peels off readily, and the men cut book markers out of it. Under this comes a layer, nearly an inch thick, of rather gelatinous stuff, which the Eskimos eat raw, then the blubber between this and the superficial fascia, by which the body heat is preserved. It took us practically all the rest of the day to flense. _July 29th. Tuesday_. We had a visit from two natives; they were prosperous looking people with a good sled and dogs. I admired the protection from the sun which they wore. It was a piece of wood with a slit cut in it. This was very efficacious, but unbecoming. We learned from these people that many whales had been seen by them this year. They had some bear skins with them for trade, and some walrus ivory. This was much inferior to the narwhal ivory, which was very fine and was worth, at this time, I think, one pound ten per pound, that of the walrus being only worth half a crown. I had a long walk with a gun but did not see anything. _July 30th. Wednesday_. All hands "making off." I tried to skin a fulmar, but could not do it, it was so fat. I wanted a skin badly, but this was too much for me. All the birds we killed were fat, a provision of nature against cold. The men said, however, that they could not wear oil soaked clothes in cold weather. I was in the "crow's nest" a good while. It was most difficult to see anything at a distance owing to the mirage. During the afternoon I tried to shoot some narwhal near us. I shot at their heads with a rifle from the boat, and although they had sometimes been killed with the rifle, so little of the head showed when the beast was lying on the surface, that I fancy they must have been shot from the ship, which stood high. _July 31st_. Immediately after breakfast, four boats were away after a whale. I remained on board and watched from the barrel. It was a long pull and the whale got away amongst loose ice without giving the boats a chance. We captured a female narwhal in the afternoon. _August 1st. Friday_. Lovely day but very cold. In the morning I was sitting on the after grating, scraping a bear's skull, when a hundred yards or so astern of us arose a whale with the usual blast. The water was like a mirror and the fish lay there for several minutes and breathed heavily. No one spoke or moved. There in front of us was a fine whale, its jet black head and back showing up well and reflected on the absolutely glassy surface of the sea. When it slowly sank with its head towards us, we knew it would go under the ice, but we would not lower away until we were sure it was under. I was leaning over the after rail, peering into the water, when I saw the whale coming slowly under where I was standing. I first noticed a large, gray bow coming towards me; it was the under jaw, and as it passed beneath the vessel I could see distinctly the large round, dark spots on the huge lower lip. It passed a very short distance under our keel. There was no movement of either flukes or tail. I watched the great horizontal tail in the hope of seeing some movement. Only the man in the "crow's nest" and I alone saw the fish passing under the ship, and as soon as we were sure that it was safe, the boats went away as noiselessly as possible and we waited for the result with bated breath. It came up almost beside the ship and Jimmy Watson put in both gun and hand harpoons, then came the joyful shout "A fall," and we started down the Sound. As the fish was well fastened, it was safe to snub the line around the bollard head of the boat; there was no fear of the irons drawing and it made a heavy drag on the whale. The line, in running out, passes through the hands of the har-pooner before going around the bollard head. Of course, he wears several pairs of mittens, but these are generally torn to pieces. Our friend shortly came to the surface rather exhausted, as the line had been well snubbed, but Thor put another iron into him. This smarted and one could have heard his tail strike the water miles away. He lashed it with such force that no boat could go close; and before a rocket could be fired into him, he was off. This time the drag was very heavy, for he had two boats. It did seem absurd that this huge monster, more than sixty feet long and forty around the waist, could be conquered by having those little bits of harpoons stuck in with their little threads of lines attached, but whales of this species are clumsy and stupid and turn very slowly, and it is this inability to turn fast that proves their undoing. Upon appearing the next time, a rocket was instantly fired into a vital place and the final flurry came at once and made lancing unnecessary. The row back was a pleasure, and our joyful shanties could be heard for a long distance. We were alongside by midday, and after dinner, flensing commenced. I amused myself again with the fulmars. Getting a boat, I laid my left elbow over the side so that I could look between it and the gunwale. Every time a fulmar came under, I darted my right hand over, catching him by the neck and taking him on board. When I had a great flock of them, I put them on the poop, around which there was a base board about four inches high, and above this the iron railing. The birds had eaten so much blubber that they could not get over the base board. One had to be careful of bites, as they had the curved, pointed bills peculiar to the albatross, shearwater and other birds of this tribe. It is curious that the great albatross and diminutive storm petrel, the wren of the sea, should belong to the same species. In a very short time, I saw the advisability of throwing my flock of pets overboard. We did not go below for supper until the fish was flensed. _August 2nd, Saturday,_ was cold and cloudy, but no wind. We were hooked on with two boats on the bran; all hands making off during the afternoon. _August 4th. Monday_. Three of the four boats were after a whale among some loose ice to the north of us. One boat got fast and all immediately lowered away. When we reached the ice, navigation became difficult and the fish came up where we could not touch it. Several boats came out of the ice and tried to row around. Ours was one of these; then we found that the harpoon had drawn and the whale had vanished. We pursued some distance down the Sound and had nothing for our trouble but exercise. _August 5th. Tuesday_. Much loose ice in the Sound, caused by wind during the night. Narwhal were abundant, and two boats went after them with no result. Later the ship unhooked and steamed east looking for open water. I spent a long time in the "crow's nest," and, as there was no mirage, got a beautiful view of the south coast--very wintry at bed time. _August 6th. Wednesday_. The rushing of feet overhead brought me to the deck on a gloomy cold morning, and before I had time to add anything to the clothes in which I slept, we were a mile from the ship. A whale had been seen some distance to the north and four boats pursuing it. We paused and put on some more clothes to keep out the keen Arctic air, and then we went off again, as the whale had come up. Long before the leading boat got near, it had disappeared, but we were not discouraged, so kept on, and this hard work continued until we were far from the ship and getting amongst pans of loose ice. The whale we were following was a fast traveller and we were ultimately obliged to give up the chase and return. The row back was long and wearisome, and when I reached the ship I had my long delayed breakfast and retired, but the moment I turned in to my berth, the rush above told of more whales in sight, so I went on deck. A fish had been seen blowing a long way down the Sound and six boats were away, but bed appealed to me more than another long pull, so I returned to it and remained there until the following morning. Our boats did not get a shot but had a long chase and did not return until very late. The day was cold and the density of the atmosphere uniform, so I was able to see all the other ships distinctly with the glass. Some swell had broken up the edge of our floe and some pieces had been driven up the Sound, so it looked more icy than any day since the time when all the whales came. During the afternoon we hooked on to a large floe. The _Polynia and Esquimaux_ were near us, but to the south; the _Arctic_ was some distance down the Sound. Swarms of white whales were about us in the open places. _August 7th. Thursday_. The loose ice was gone. We had unhooked during the night and steamed west to the fast floe. I went up to the barrel and the Captain went down to get his pipe. While gazing at distant things, I heard a noise on deck and, looking over, saw all hands lowering away for two whales astern of us. I must have been looking in another direction when they appeared, because the first I knew of it, was the noise below. Our boats lay about half on each side and were playing the usual waiting game. The Captain came up to the barrel and I went down, but too late to enter a boat, as they had all gone, except the two upper quarter boats. This was a great disappointment to me, as I had assisted in killing every whale we had taken on board. After a while, one fish came up on the south or port side and was fastened by the farthest south boat. The whale went under the ice, but came out nearer the ship and was fastened again. This proved the worst whale we had seen. It did not go down again but rolled about so much and slapped the water with its flukes to such an extent that the boats were rather afraid of it. This went on for a long time, when the Captain called out that he would kill it himself, so he came down and ordered the port upper quarter boat launched. All boats had their gear ready, whether we used them or not. A crew of irregulars was called, the Captain as harpooner, myself next, the sailmaker next, third engineer, cooper, etc. The Captain went up at once and, driving a lance into the whale's neck, began churning it up and down. The fish allowed itself to sink a few feet, and the bows of the boat glided over it as the Captain held on to the lance. Then coming to the surface again, it tumbled the boat over on its starboard side and instantly gave a great blast from its lungs. My oar came out of the water, so I let it go and, grasping the seat with my right hand and putting my left on the whale's back, I got the full charge of blood and water over my side and shoulder, as I was almost over the blow-hole, and such was the force, that my thick pilot coat was soaked with-blood, and also the thick coat underneath. I saw the sailmaker, who was in front of me, turn around; his face was green, in spite of the tan. He was almost in the water. The boat, fortunately, slid off the slippery neck and a serious accident was averted. The great danger would have been from being caught between the whale and the many lines it had wound around itself. After this, a couple of rockets were put in and the most troublesome fish of the season gave up its ghost. As all this happened beside the ship, we were saved the usual tedious tow, and in an hour flensing was commenced. It was six when we had all on board. The second whale did not reappear--probably finding a breathing place in the floe. The sky was overcast at bedtime and there was a bitterly cold wind. Having the engines aft made a great difference to the temperature of the cabin, as the bulkhead between the pantry and engine room was always hot. _August 8th. Friday_. We were off Cape Hay when I came on deck and sailing east under topsails. This cape was a wonderful place for looms. They bred there in thousands; but we did not land or go very close, so I had no chance of seeing much. Quite a number of the ships had already left the Sound, among others the _Arctic_. Her captain, having secured thirteen black whales, had decided to try his luck in Repulse Bay, Fox Channel, where he had had former success. Owing to the amount of ice in the Sound and on the west coast, he had come to this decision. Consequently he had sailed to Hudson's Straits, passing from Frobisher Bay through Gabriel Straits and encountering the dreadful current for which the neighborhood is noted. Ice was met with about Salisbury Island, and beyond this he was unable to take his ship, so he returned to Cumberland Gulf and from there home without adding to his cargo. Lancaster Sound was beginning to look and feel like winter, the weather being very frosty. The mountains on the south side, which are about two thousand feet high, were very white, as a number of snow storms had passed over them. We were anticipating with pleasure a visit to Pond's Bay and the points usually called at on the west coast. One can generally take a ship by Navy Board Inlet through Eclipse Sound to Ponds Bay, but this year the ice precluded such a trip. We kept under sail, to save our coal, and ended off Wollaston Islands at the entrance of Navy Board Inlet, without having seen any whales. Here we hooked on to a large floe. _August 9th. Saturday._ After breakfast all hands were called to make off. It was a very cheerful performance, our men being in good spirits. The day was bitterly cold, but work kept them warm. Ice formed where the sun did not strike the water as there was hardly any wind to disturb it. By dinner time the whale was made off and during the afternoon the watch employed cleaning up. We remained hooked on all night. Sunday was a bitterly cold day and blowing a little, so we went further down the sound under topsails. About ten A. M. we sighted a whale and sent four boats in pursuit. I was in the second mate's. After a long chase the mate got fast. There was much ice about, so it was dangerous work for the fast boat, as it was impossible to avoid the pieces when being towed, and should the boat strike a floe it would be smashed at once and all hands would have to jump. When the fish came up first there was no boat near, but on coming up a second time Watson got in an iron and we had a very lively run down the Sound. With two harpoons in, there was a considerable drag on, and in a short time she reappeared and a boat was soon lancing. Our boat had been delayed by pieces of ice, so that it was late when we arrived on the scene. However this was a very vital whale and difficult to kill. I saw our specksioneer Lyon's boat almost smashed by one of the flukes during a flurry. The perfectly fearless old man was so absorbed in his lancing operations that he did not notice the fluke coming, and but for the quick action of his boat-steerer, an accident would have occurred. The ship had followed us, so we had no towing when the battle was over, as she picked the boats up, taking the whale with her to a floe where she anchored. Two more boats had been lowered away when they heard "A fall" called. One had gone to help the mate with more line, and the other had taken part in the chase. After having something to eat, flensing was the order of the day, our cheerful crew singing with great spirit to the orders "Heave away capstan" and "Heave away windlass." This, our tenth whale, was a heavy one and it was late when we got it all on board. The ship remained at the floe all night, drifting with it down the Sound. _Monday, the 11th_, was a wintry day, bitterly cold and an overcast sky. During the afternoon we had some snow squalls. We dodged about under topsails, but did not see even a narwhal. It was evident that our chance of catching white whales this year in Prince Regent Inlet was small. We anchored to the ice off Cape Liverpool at night. _Tuesday, August 12th_, all hands were engaged making off in the morning and doing a general clean up during the afternoon. [Illustration: 0315] CHAPTER XVII--LANCASTER SOUND TO DUNDEE "To claim the Arctic came the sun, With banners of the burning zone Unrolled upon their airy spars. They froze beneath the light of stars, And there they float, those streamers old, Those Northern Lights, forever cold." |The neighborhood of Cape Byam Martin was considered good whaling ground, so we spent the next few days cruising off it and the coast further down, but without seeing anything of interest. Even seals were scarce. It was remarkable how few we saw north of the Arctic circle. By going aloft, one could always see, in some direction on the ice, a black dot, which represented a seal, but after the tens of thousands seen on the coasts of Newfoundland and Labrador, they were scarce indeed; in fact, I never shot one during the whole northern trip. We found Ponds Bay that paradise of the old whalers so full of ice that we were unable to visit the natives, which was a great disappointment to us all. It was a bad year for seeing much of the land as there was so much ice coming down. From the ship, the line of the shore looked straight, except off the bay, but there were great fiords running into the land for miles. One of them, known as "Hell's Kitchen," had been a noted place for whalers. Two branches of it, named respectively, "Morris" and "Cooney" extended far into the country, one of them having been navigated by Captain Guy for about forty miles. Ponds Bay was a celebrated place for salmon fishing, the whalers often getting wonderful catches there, thereby improving their menu greatly. At this time, the weather was very wintry, frost and snow reminding us of where we were, and by the night of Sunday, the 17th, we were only off Cape Bowen. Monday was a beautiful day and we were fast to the shore floe, a long way from the land. The Captain decided to improve the shining hour by having the ship painted, so the boats were put upon the ice and the men employed, cleaning and painting. The _Aurora_ was comparatively new, so it was very easy cleaning her, as her woodwork was good and she had been well kept up. Even washing her down with the alkaline solution used gave her a nice appearance. By evening, a great deal had been accomplished and inside she looked very neat. The little auks were numerous about here. One of our firemen killed three with a broom handle and I shot a fine bag. There was a good flight of ducks along the floe edge and I had several shots at them. As the birds were young, they were worth having, being free from the fishy flavor peculiar to their parents. [Illustration: 0319] _August 19th._ We finished painting the boats, but left them on the ice, excepting two from which the lines had not been removed. Our fishing, so far, had nearly all been floe edge. We had not entered the middle pack very far, where the whales were sometimes numerous at this season. The enormous amount of ice made the Captain think twice about pushing his ship, with her valuable cargo, into it, and so we kept quietly down the coast, occasionally going out a little where the ice was loose, but remembering Sir Leopold McClintock's winter in the middle pack with the _Fox._ The southwest fishing, to which we were now going, was generally prosecuted in the autumn. The ships lay at anchor in some harbor, and every morning the boats rowed out and watched for whales. It was cold, dreary work and very unpopular with the men; but whales killed late in the season were often large and well worth looking for. _August 20th. Wednesday_. The boats were hoisted up this day and, with the Captain, I went on the ice to look at the ship. It was cold and I had on half-boots, a thick double-breasted monkey jacket, with leather gauntlets and a leather sealing cap. We walked to where the painting had been done and there admired the ship. She looked well, sitting rather down by the stern. All the crew, practically, had been standing on this ice for the last two days and nothing had happened: I went rather close to the edge and the piece I was standing on gave way and I went down at once, but on coming up, with one or two strokes, reached the ice edge. It took some seconds for my clothes to soak as I had so much on, and by that time, one of the men, Jock Fairly, came with a boat hook, by the help of which I was pulled out. My clothes were so completely water-logged that, without assistance, getting out would have been impossible. Again the gentle warmth of the top of the boiler proved a comfort. _August 21st. Thursday_. Hooked on, with a stiff breeze blowing and the sky overcast. Ducks were flying in great numbers past a point half a mile away, so, taking the dingey, I went off to it. There was no shelter and, although every bird must have seen me, the silly things would not leave the ice edge, but would just swing out far enough to make my shots effective. This shooting both barrels into the "brown," as the ducks passed, was not so much fun as getting them in pairs, but one soon picks up a good bag, and as I was shooting for the pot, a bag was what I wanted. When I came on board, the birds were tied in bundles and hung up on the davit guys above the quarter boats. August 22nd. During the afternoon, a bear was seen, so we went off in a boat to capture it. As there was no solid ice, the beast had to get out of and into the water so many times that he could not escape, and he was killed from the boat by the mate. I landed and tried to stalk him, but he left my pan and I could not follow him. Two ships were in sight southeast of us. One of them was the _Cornwallis,_ which we had not seen for some time. I was anxious to get near her as Armitage was on hoard, but she was a long way off. We always knew the other, the _Esquimaux_, by her mizzentop, as she had once been a full-rigged ship, although now a barque. On Saturday, the wind blew a gale, which kept us dodging under the canvas; but by Sunday the weather had improved. During the morning we sailed up to the shore floe, as we saw some natives there, and picked them up. They had tusks and dog skins for trade. We took them, with their dogs and sledges, on board. One of them was a good-looking, pleasant native, called Enu. He added greatly to my Eskimo vocabulary during the next few days, and he told me that deer were plentiful in certain places and that salmon abounded. We steamed south all day, after picking up the natives, the weather being cold but fine. _August 25th. Monday_. Steaming down the coast and the weather quite fine. During the afternoon, a black spot inshore indicated the mouth of a river. The shore floe at this point was a mile wide, but the ice was smooth. A boat and the dingey with a net and ten men were sent to try to catch some salmon. A number of men were sent to haul the boats across the floe to the open water of the river mouth, and the natives came also. Mr. Adam took the boat and I took the dingey. We had a boat's sail, plenty of coal, two ship's kettles, coffee, sugar, salt, biscuits and tins of mutton. Arriving at the open water, our helpers returned to the ship, and the natives, after turning their sleds upside down, so that the dogs could not run away with them, came with us in the boats. We rowed into a river, which was about thirty or forty yards wide at the mouth, shallow and placid. We went up a short distance and camped on the right bank. Above our camp, the river was a nice-looking little salmon stream; but below, it was more pretentious looking on account of its width. The net was drawn, with no result. It was tried in another place without getting a fin. Then, as it was growing late, we returned to camp. Tying two oars together, with their blades crossed, we laid the end of the long steering oar between these and this gave us an excellent frame for our tent, completed by throwing the large square boat's sail over it and tucking two of the corners underneath. Then a fine coal fire was started, a kettle of coffee made, and an excellent hash prepared, by mixing tinned mutton, sea biscuits, snow, pepper and salt. We enjoyed this thoroughly and I sat by the camp fire afterwards and listened to these men tell tales of happenings in former years. Thus, on the unhospitable shores of Baffin Bay, I had my first experience of camp life. After awhile I noticed that in spite of my clothing, my back was cold, so I turned it to the fire. Then my face was nearly frozen, so I turned back. In the excitement of starting, I had thrown a rug into the boat and not thought of blankets. Now I began to wish I had brought some, for I spent a miserable night, waking up very often with the cold. _August 26th._ At last the tedious night came to an end, and breakfast thawed us out and made things look more cheerful. The day was fine, so the _Aurora_ was safe, and preparations were made for further fishing. Had the morning looked threatening, the ship would probably have signalled us to come on board. I am a keen fisherman, but the net did not appeal to me very much; so I decided to see what the country looked like and, taking Enu with me, went up the river. The bitterly cold night had caused some ice, so the men waited for a higher sun to dissipate this before we left camp. I found the country flat, as a whole, with low hills in the background. The native gave me to understand that beyond these hills was the caribou country, but one dared not risk going far from the ship, and so my chance of bagging a barren land head was small. Little gulches led away from the river, on the exposed sides of which there was no snow, but boggy ground and bad walking; while on the shady sides the ground was frozen and covered with patches of snow. I saw some places on the river which made me long to try the fly, and I am sure good sport could have been obtained. After a very tiresome walk of some hours, during which I did not see a bird or beast, I returned to camp. On coming close, I saw a man walking from the river with a salmon in each hand, the first two caught. They had tried a number of places and had caught only these, so they sent them to camp for dinner. One was put in a big ship's kettle to boil, and the other split and cut into pieces which were hung around the fire on stakes made from driftwood. Each salmon weighed about ten pounds, the flesh being very red, and while they did not compare with those from home rivers, we considered them excellent, as they were the first fresh fish we had had on the voyage. Leaving camp, I went down to the boat and found they had just taken a splendid haul; the net was shot several times and a grand total of 108 fish counted out. Dinner was ready when we reached the fire and some more fish were staked out to cook. This delicate repast over, our things were carried down to the boats and we made our way back as we had come. Seeing us from the ship, help had been sent to bring the boats across the ice. Many of the whalers fish for salmon every year and sometimes catch great numbers. The best place is, as stated before, a river flowing into Ponds Bay. Here several thousands are often taken. The Eskimo dogs had eaten their harness and gone away, excepting two lame fellows, and the natives made these pull them to the ship. [Illustration: 0327] _August 27th. Wednesday._ Enu, with his menage, left for home, and after breakfast we unhooked, and stood along the floe edge. From the "crow's nest" I saw with the glass a number of Eskimo sledges travelling north. They made no attempt to come near us, but kept close to the shore. At noon we were going among some loose ice, so hooked on. I had a very pleasant afternoon at the ducks and secured a good bag. All the birds killed were young eider. In fact, on the voyage, I only killed three varieties of duck, eider, king eider and long tail. _August 28th. Thursday_. Two sledges with natives came off. There was a very hungry woman with them. I saw her picking at everything soft on board. She found the side of a box in which plug tobacco had been packed, and picked it up; there were some leaves of tobacco adhering to it. I saw her picking pieces of them and eating them. [Illustration: 0331] Dividing the 'tween-decks from the lower forecastle, there was a partition with a door. Just outside of this door stood a barrel into which the cook threw refuse from the gallery, which was just within the forecastle. I saw this polar American beauty put her arm into the barrel and bring forth a duck's skin, which had a tremendous coating of fat. She seized the skin with both hands and pulled the fat off with her teeth, devouring it greedily. When she came to the neck, she chewed it, bones and all. There were some most interesting children on board and they thoroughly enjoyed the coffee and biscuit with which they were supplied by the Captain's orders. We got some dog skins and small articles from these people, but they had already been visited by some of the ships and their bear skins and horns taken. _August 29th_. On Friday the natives left us early. We unhooked and sailed east, with a breeze from the south. We saw a bear and cub on the ice, so lowered away and went after them. Both took to the water, and we had to go around a large island of ice before we could reach them. I landed on this, and running across, tried a shot at them in the water, but they had gone too far and were behind hummocks of ice, so that I could not see them. The boat then overtook them and the mate shot both. As nothing more was seen among the loose ice we steamed to the floe edge and hooked on. I bagged a few ducks in the evening. _August 30th. Saturday_. We steamed down the coast and hooked on off Cape Raper. Two natives came on board, and we bought a live fox from one of them. It was young and blue, and spent the rest of the voyage walking about the funnel casing, where its home was in a lime-juice box. The natives left during the afternoon and we remained at the floe edge all night. It was a beautiful calm Sunday and the last day of August on which we arrived at Cape Kater. The _Cornwallis_ very soon afterwards came in and I went on board at once. They had had a most unsuccessful voyage as the ship had been spoiled for sailing by having an engine put in which was of no use. They had killed a whale and picked up a dead one, having one ton of bone from the two. Poor old Captain Nichol was very much depressed. Every one said he was a fine sailor; that his blood was tar and his flesh rope yams. They told us that the other ships had done well, the _Nova Zembla_ having eight, the _Polynia_ six and the _Esquimaux_ ten whales when last seen. Armitage came on shore with me and we visited some native habitations. They were tents made of skin, and the sun beating on them made them warm inside; but as there was not a particle of ventilation, the odor was the worst possible. We saw in them the stone lamps in which the seal oil was burned, moss being used as a wick; sometimes old tins served the purpose instead of stone. [Illustration: 0335] This country is generally called Baffin Land. There is, however, no reason to believe that it is not divided up by channels into many islands. No doubt passages exist connecting Davis Straits with Fox Channel. Much of the coast line is uncharted, especially north of Fox Land. Fiords running south from Eclipse Sound have been visited by whalers, but not explored; possibly they could be traced to Fury and Hecla Straits. Whaling stations have several times been established on the west coast, at Exeter Sound and Cumberland Gulf--the first party wintering at the latter place in 1852, to the detriment of the natives. These improvident people with modern rifles would kill all the game they could shoot, use what they required at the time and waste the rest, whereas in old times they could just secure enough for their wants. Again, children were brought up formerly in a hardy way, and taught how to wrest a living from the inhospitable country. Now by loafing around a settlement they acquire some of the pernicious habits of civilized men, and learn to depend upon the European and his ship, forgetting that these might be withdrawn at any time. [Illustration: 0339] Monday was spent wandering about, but without seeing anything of interest. The _Cornwallis_ was still hooked on when we left Cape Kater, on Tuesday. We kept away from the coast to look for a berg from which we might water. The weather was clear and frosty, and at night the aurora borealis was very beautiful. _September 3rd. Wednesday._ We found a floe fast to the base of a very large berg, and on this there was a lake of fresh water frozen over. The ship being made fast, a hole was drilled in the ice and our water tanks filled. On the berg there was a white fox, but no shooting at it was allowed lest the concussion should bring down masses of ice. By evening we moved away and made fast to a floe far from our dangerous neighbor. The cold was intense and bay ice formed around the ship. I heard the thunder of splitting bergs several times during the night; they sounded like avalanches among the Alps in the springtime. At this season, especially on very cold nights, bergs often split and turn over owing to water freezing in crevices formed by the warm summer sun, and for this reason they are avoided as much as possible. We now spent five days dodging about under canvas with fires banked. Part of the time we were off Cape Hooper and part off Home Bay, but we did not see a single whale. The weather was for the most part fine, but bitterly cold. If a mist arose at night the ship presented a curious spectacle in the morning, her rigging being coated with ice. Our handy tradesmen during this period made some pretty things. The carpenter presented the Captain with a neat model of a ship, while the cooper turned out a tobacco box which was a work of art. _September 8th. Monday_. We bore up for home. What cheerful news it was! Passage sails were bent, boats taken in and placed on skids, bunkers were coaled and all was life and bustle. Every one was happy. The voyage had been a success, and we had not had a serious accident. The "crow's nest" was sent down, nautical time adopted and the watch set. To crown all, a fresh breeze sprang up, and with everything set and steaming full speed we started down the Straits. By bedtime we were in a heavy fog, so the canvas was taken off and the engines slowed down. During the night the phosphorescence was very beautiful. Pieces of ice thrown away by the propeller looked like balls of fire, while the water immediately around the stern seemed all aflame. For the next two days we had fog, so made little progress at night. During the day the men were employed washing lines and stowing them away. Guns and harpoons were cleaned and greased and the ship was thoroughly washed. On the 11th, we had a strong gale with a dark and cloudy sky. It was strange to be at sea and feel the motion of the ship after weeks of smooth water amidst the ice. After this the sea was smooth, and we had fog all the time until, off Cape Farewell on the 15th, the day being fine, the ship was hove to and painted outside. A dense fog came down that night, and we did not make another observation until off the Scottish coast. On Saturday, September 20th, the fog was very dense and we steamed slowly until noon, when it lifted for a short time and showed us the island of St. Kilda. I was sorry we could not land here as it was a wonderful breeding place for the fulmar petrels; but home was in sight, and Captain Fairweather did not want to linger on a rock-bound coast, so we steered north and on Sunday morning, the 21st, we were off the Butt of Lewis. It was thick at times during the morning, but cleared in the afternoon and gave us a view of the Orkneys. The Captain decided to go north of Orkney, as he did not like the Pentland Firth with so much fog about. At night the weather was perfectly clear. _September 22nd. Monday._ On deck in the morning every one was looking pleasant, and the ship neat. We were crossing the Moray Firth and coming close to the Aberdeen coast. A fishing boat from Fraserborough was hailed and an assortment of fish purchased for breakfast. These were paid for with tobacco, and the pay was liberal. The first question asked by us was, "Is England at war?" This being answered in the negative, greatly pleased those of the crew who were naval reserve men. Eight bells struck and my last breakfast on board the _Aurora_ was served. After breakfast we passed Peterhead, formerly a great port for whalers, and then we steamed south close to the coast. The yellow fields of grain and stubble, the cottages and the trees, looked to our snow-dazzled eyes like Fairy Land. We passed Aberdeen and Stonehaven. We were close enough to see Dunottar's grim ruin, then Montrose, and in a short time our pilot was on board with all the news, and we were at home. Of the Davis Straits ships in 1884 one was lost, the _Narwhal_; but now, with the exception of the _Active and Aurora_, the weed-grown ribs of the entire fleet rest beneath the waters of the cold northern seas and the records of their crews' escapes and hardships would fill volumes. APPENDIX Notice of arrival of whalers in _Dundee Advertiser_ of September 23rd: DUNDEE ADVERTISER, SEPTEMBER 23RD, 1884. The Esquimaux--The Loss of Two Men. The _Esquimaux_, Capt. Milne, arrived in the Tay last night from Davis Straits, and will be docked with this morning's tide. The Esquimaux was unsuccessful at the Newfoundland seal fishing, only 1,900 seals having been secured; but she has brought a fair cargo from Davis Straits, consisting of 11 whales, which will yield 140 tons of oil and 6 tons of whalebone. Two fatalities have, unfortunately, occurred during the voyage. Early in the season a young man named Allan Smith, a native of Dundee, was dragged overboard by the line catching him after a bottle-nosed whale had been struck, and he was never seen again. It is a painful circumstance that Smith's father was lost from the same ship several years ago. Another of the crew was lost during the passage home. He accidentally fell overboard, and a boat was sent in search of him. After some time he was picked up in semi-lifeless state, and all attempts to restore animation failed. Dundee Advertiser, September 23rd, 1884. DAVIS STRAITS WHALE FISHING--ARRIVAL OF AURORA. The steamer Aurora, belonging to Messrs. Alex. Stephen & Sons, arrived at Dundee yesterday afternoon from the Davis Straits whale fishing. The _Aurora_, commanded by Capt. Jas. Fair-weather, has had a very successful voyage. At Newfoundland 28,150 seals were secured during the two trips, the _Aurora_ being the only one of the Dundee fleet which was fortunate in securing a good catch. On the 8th May she left St. John's for Davis Straits, and on reaching Disco fell in with the _Thetis_ and _Bear_, on their way north in search of the Greely Expedition. The three ships thereafter kept in company until they reached the north water, when Capt. Fairweather steamed across to Lancaster Sound. An impenetrable barrier of ice blocked the Sound, a circumstance which told in favor of the fishing, as a large number of whales were secured at the edge of the ice. The crew were successful in capturing ten, and also three bottle-noses, which will yield 105 tons of oil and about 5 tons of whalebone. As the season advanced the fishing was prosecuted along the west coast of Davis Straits, but without success, owing to the immense quantities of ice, which seemed never to have been driven out of the Straits this year. The frost came on unusually early and very severe, 12 to 14 degrees being registered in August. Capt. Fairweather bore up for home on the 8th Sept, and experienced a good deal of foggy weather in crossing the Atlantic. He confirms the news previously received of the catches of the fleet, and mentions that the _Polynia_ is the only vessel which has added to her cargo, which now consists of 6 whales, equal to 60 tons of oil. The _Triune_ sailed for home on the 6th Sept. Capt. Fairweather has brought home a fine specimen of the Sabine gull, a bird rarely to be met with in Davis Straits. It ought to be mentioned that the crew of the _Aurora_, after receiving the news of the _Chieftain_ disaster from the pilot at the mouth of the river, subscribed the sum of £20 185s. to the fund. Whalers sailing from Dundee in 1884: [Illustration: 0345] A list of Greenland and Davis Straits ships sailing from Holland, from Dr. Lang's book: [Illustration: 0346] Ships at Greenland and Davis Straits, with number of whales killed: [Illustration: 0347] The above list shows how the trade changed in a few years from London to Hull, and it also shows how Scotland increased her fleet, while England reduced hers. In an old work--"McPherson's Annals of Commerce," is found the following list of ships sent to the whaling: [Illustration: 0348] Whaling was now confined to Dundee Peterhead, and remained so until 1900, when Peterhead sent her last whaler to sea, and since then the industry has been carried on by Dundee alone. In 1733 a bounty of twenty shillings a ton on ships over two hundred tons was given by the English Government, and in 1749 this was doubled to induce competition with the Dutch. [Illustration: 0349] 
43520	----	Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. Archaic spellings, such as antient, expence, shew, inrolment, chearfully & encrease, have been retained. Illustrations have been moved from mid-paragraph for ease of reading. (etext transcriber's note) THE WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING EDITED BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY IN TWELVE VOLUMES VOL. XI. MISCELLANIES VOL. I. [Illustration: frontispiece] A JOURNEY FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT AND A VOYAGE TO LISBON BY HENRY FIELDING ESQ [Illustration: text decoration] EDITED BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HERBERT RAILTON & F. J. WHEELER. LONDON PUBLISHED BY J. M. DENT & CO. AT ALDINE HOUSE IN GREAT EASTERN STREET MDCCCXCIII CONTENTS OF VOL. I. PAGE INTRODUCTION xi A JOURNEY FROM THIS WORLD TO THE NEXT, ETC. ETC. INTRODUCTION 1 BOOK I. CHAPTER I. _The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to the stage which sets out for the other world_ 4 CHAPTER II. _In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths_ 7 CHAPTER III. _The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases_ 12 CHAPTER IV. _Discourses on the road, and a description of the palace of Death_ 20 CHAPTER V. _The travellers proceed on their journey, and meet several spirits who are coming into the flesh_ 23 CHAPTER VI. _An account of the wheel of fortune, with a method of preparing a spirit for this world_ 28 CHAPTER VII. _The proceedings of judge Minos at the gate of Elysium_ 31 CHAPTER VIII. _The adventures which the author met on his first entrance into Elysium_ 37 CHAPTER IX. _More adventures in Elysium_ 40 CHAPTER X. _The author is surprised at meeting Julian the apostate in Elysium; but is satisfied by him by what means he procured his entrance there. Julian relates his adventures in the character of a slave_ 44 CHAPTER XI. _In which Julian relates his adventures in the character of an avaricious Jew_ 52 CHAPTER XII. _What happened to Julian in the characters of a general, an heir, a carpenter, and a beau_ 56 CHAPTER XIII. _Julian passes into a fop_ 61 CHAPTER XIV _Adventures in the person of a monk_ 62 CHAPTER XV. _Julian passes into the character of a fidler_ 64 CHAPTER XVI. _The history of the wise man_ 69 CHAPTER XVII. _Julian enters into the person of a king_ 77 CHAPTER XVIII. _Julian passes into a fool_ 84 CHAPTER XIX. _Julian appears in the character of a beggar_ 89 CHAPTER XX. _Julian performs the part of a statesman_ 95 CHAPTER XXI. _Julian's adventures in the post of a soldier_ 102 CHAPTER XXII. _What happened to Julian in the person of a taylor_ 108 CHAPTER XXIII. _The life of alderman Julian_ 112 CHAPTER XXIV. _Julian recounts what happened to him while he was a poet_ 118 CHAPTER XXV. _Julian performs the parts of a knight and a dancing-master_ 122 BOOK XIX. CHAPTER VII. _Wherein Anna Boleyn relates the history of her life_ 125 THE JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO LISBON. PAGE DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC 145 PREFACE 147 INTRODUCTION 156 THE VOYAGE 169 [Illustration: text decoration] LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FIELDING'S TOMB AT LISBON _Frontispiece_ I DESIRED HIM MUCH TO NAME A PRICE _Page 3_ HE ABJECTLY IMPLORED FOR MERCY _" 258_ [Illustration: text decoration] INTRODUCTION. When it was determined to extend the present edition of Fielding, not merely by the addition of _Jonathan Wild_ to the three universally popular novels, but by two volumes of _Miscellanies_, there could be no doubt about at least one of the contents of these latter. The _Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon_, if it does not rank in my estimation anywhere near to _Jonathan Wild_ as an example of our author's genius, is an invaluable and delightful document for his character and memory. It is indeed, as has been pointed out in the General Introduction to this series, our main source of indisputable information as to Fielding _dans son naturel_, and its value, so far as it goes, is of the very highest. The gentle and unaffected stoicism which the author displays under a disease which he knew well was probably, if not certainly, mortal, and which, whether mortal or not, must cause him much actual pain and discomfort of a kind more intolerable than pain itself; his affectionate care for his family; even little personal touches, less admirable, but hardly less pleasant than these, showing an Englishman's dislike to be "done" and an Englishman's determination to be treated with proper respect, are scarcely less noticeable and important on the biographical side than the unimpaired brilliancy of his satiric and yet kindly observation of life and character is on the side of literature. There is, as is now well known since Mr Dobson's separate edition of the _Voyage_, a little bibliographical problem about the first appearance of this _Journal_ in 1755. The best known issue of that year is much shorter than the version inserted by Murphy and reprinted here, the passages omitted being chiefly those reflecting on the captain, &c., and so likely to seem invidious in a book published just after the author's death, and for the benefit, as was expressly announced, of his family. But the curious thing is that there is _another_ edition, of date so early that some argument is necessary to determine the priority, which does give these passages and is identical with the later or standard version. For satisfaction on this point, however, I must refer readers to Mr Dobson himself. There might have been a little, but not much, doubt as to a companion piece for the _Journal_; for indeed, after we close this (with or without its "Fragment on Bolingbroke"), the remainder of Fielding's work lies on a distinctly lower level of interest. It is still interesting, or it would not be given here. It still has--at least that part which here appears seems to its editor to have--interest intrinsic and "simple of itself." But it is impossible for anybody who speaks critically to deny that we now get into the region where work is more interesting because of its authorship than it would be if its authorship were different or unknown. To put the same thing in a sharper antithesis, Fielding is interesting, first of all, because he is the author of _Joseph Andrews_, of _Tom Jones_, of _Amelia_, of _Jonathan Wild_, of the _Journal_. His plays, his essays, his miscellanies generally are interesting, first of all, because they were written by Fielding. Yet of these works, the _Journey from this World to the Next_ (which, by a grim trick of fortune, might have served as a title for the more interesting _Voyage_ with which we have yoked it) stands clearly first both in scale and merit. It is indeed very unequal, and as the author was to leave it unfinished, it is a pity that he did not leave it unfinished much sooner than he actually did. The first ten chapters, if of a kind of satire which has now grown rather obsolete for the nonce, are of a good kind and good in their kind; the history of the metempsychoses of Julian is of a less good kind, and less good in that kind. The date of composition of the piece is not known, but it appeared in the _Miscellanies_ of 1743, and may represent almost any period of its author's development prior to that year. Its form was a very common form at the time, and continued to be so. I do not know that it is necessary to assign any very special origin to it, though Lucian, its chief practitioner, was evidently and almost avowedly a favourite study of Fielding's. The Spanish romancers, whether borrowing it from Lucian or not, had been fond of it; their French followers, of whom the chief were Fontenelle and Le Sage, had carried it northwards; the English essayists had almost from the beginning continued the process of acclimatisation. Fielding therefore found it ready to his hand, though the present condition of this example would lead us to suppose that he did not find his hand quite ready to it. Still, in the actual "journey," there are touches enough of the master--not yet quite in his stage of mastery. It seemed particularly desirable not to close the series without some representation of the work to which Fielding gave the prime of his manhood, and from which, had he not, fortunately for English literature, been driven decidedly against his will, we had had in all probability no _Joseph Andrews_ and pretty certainly no _Tom Jones_. Fielding's periodical and dramatic work has been comparatively seldom reprinted, and has never yet been reprinted as a whole. The dramas indeed are open to two objections--the first, that they are not very "proper;" the second, and much more serious, that they do not redeem this want of propriety by the possession of any remarkable literary merit. Three (or two and part of a third) seemed to escape this double censure--the first two acts of the _Author's Farce_ (practically a piece to themselves, for the _Puppet Show_ which follows is almost entirely independent); the famous burlesque of _Tom Thumb_, which stands between the _Rehearsal_ and the _Critic_, but nearer to the former; and _Pasquin_, the maturest example of Fielding's satiric work in drama. These accordingly have been selected; the rest I have read, and he who likes may read. I have read many worse things than even the worst of them, but not often worse things by so good a writer as Henry Fielding. The next question concerned the selection of writings more miscellaneous still, so as to give in little a complete idea of Fielding's various powers and experiments. Two difficulties beset this part of the task--want of space and the absence of anything so markedly good as absolutely to insist on inclusion. The _Essay on Conversation_, however, seemed pretty peremptorily to challenge a place. It is in a style which Fielding was very slow to abandon, which indeed has left strong traces even on his great novels; and if its mannerism is not now very attractive, the separate traits in it are often sharp and well-drawn. The book would not have been complete without a specimen or two of Fielding's journalism. _The Champion_, his first attempt of this kind, has not been drawn upon in consequence of the extreme difficulty of fixing with absolute certainty on Fielding's part in it. I do not know whether political prejudice interferes, more than I have usually found it interfere, with my judgement of the two Hanoverian-partisan papers of the '45 time. But they certainly seem to me to fail in redeeming their dose of rancour and misrepresentation by any sufficient evidence of genius such as, to my taste, saves not only the party journalism in verse and prose of Swift and Canning and Praed on one side, but that of Wolcot and Moore and Sydney Smith on the other. Even the often-quoted journal of events in London under the Chevalier is overwrought and tedious. The best thing in the _True Patriot_ seems to me to be Parson Adams' letter describing his adventure with a young "bowe" of his day; and this I select, together with one or two numbers of the _Covent Garden Journal_. I have not found in this latter anything more characteristic than Murphy's selection, though Mr Dobson, with his unfailing kindness, lent me an original and unusually complete set of the _Journal_ itself. It is to the same kindness that I owe the opportunity of presenting the reader with something indisputably Fielding's and very characteristic of him, which Murphy did not print, and which has not, so far as I know, ever appeared either in a collection or a selection of Fielding's work. After the success of _David Simple_, Fielding gave his sister, for whom he had already written a preface to that novel, another preface for a set of _Familiar Letters_ between the characters of _David Simple_ and others. This preface Murphy reprinted; but he either did not notice, or did not choose to attend to, a note towards the end of the book attributing certain of the letters to the author of the preface, the attribution being accompanied by an agreeably warm and sisterly denunciation of those who ascribed to Fielding matter unworthy of him. From these the letter which I have chosen, describing a row on the Thames, seems to me not only characteristic, but, like all this miscellaneous work, interesting no less for its weakness than for its strength. In hardly any other instance known to me can we trace so clearly the influence of a suitable medium and form on the genius of the artist. There are some writers--Dryden is perhaps the greatest of them--to whom form and medium seem almost indifferent, their all-round craftsmanship being such that they can turn any kind and every style to their purpose. There are others, of whom I think our present author is the chief, who are never really at home but in one kind. In Fielding's case that kind was narrative of a peculiar sort, half-sentimental, half-satirical, and almost wholly sympathetic--narrative which has the singular gift of portraying the liveliest character and yet of admitting the widest digression and soliloquy. Until comparatively late in his too short life, when he found this special path of his (and it is impossible to say whether the actual finding was in the case of _Jonathan_ or in the case of _Joseph_), he did but flounder and slip. When he had found it, and was content to walk in it, he strode with as sure and steady a step as any other, even the greatest, of those who carry and hand on the torch of literature through the ages. But it is impossible to derive full satisfaction from his feats in this part of the race without some notion of his performances elsewhere; and I believe that such a notion will be supplied to the readers of his novels by the following volumes, in a very large number of cases, for the first time. [Illustration: text decoration] A Journey from This World to the Next, _ETC. ETC._ INTRODUCTION. Whether the ensuing pages were really the dream or vision of some very pious and holy person; or whether they were really written in the other world, and sent back to this, which is the opinion of many (though I think too much inclining to superstition); or lastly, whether, as infinitely the greatest part imagine, they were really the production of some choice inhabitant of New Bethlehem, is not necessary nor easy to determine. It will be abundantly sufficient if I give the reader an account by what means they came into my possession. Mr Robert Powney, stationer, who dwells opposite to Catherine-street in the Strand, a very honest man and of great gravity of countenance; who, among other excellent stationary commodities, is particularly eminent for his pens, which I am abundantly bound to acknowledge, as I owe to their peculiar goodness that my manuscripts have by any means been legible: this gentleman, I say, furnished me some time since with a bundle of those pens, wrapped up with great care and caution, in a very large sheet of paper full of characters, written as it seemed in a very bad hand. Now, I have a surprising curiosity to read everything which is almost illegible; partly perhaps from the sweet remembrance of the dear Scrawls, Skrawls, or Skrales (for the word is variously spelt), which I have in my youth received from that lovely part of the creation for which I have the tenderest regard; and partly from that temper of mind which makes men set an immense value on old manuscripts so effaced, bustoes so maimed, and pictures so black that no one can tell what to make of them. I therefore perused this sheet with wonderful application, and in about a day's time discovered that I could not understand it. I immediately repaired to Mr Powney, and inquired very eagerly whether he had not more of the same manuscript? He produced about one hundred pages, acquainting me that he had saved no more; but that the book was originally a huge folio, had been left in his garret by a gentleman who lodged there, and who had left him no other satisfaction for nine months' lodging. He proceeded to inform me that the manuscript had been hawked about (as he phrased it) among all the booksellers, who refused to meddle; some alledged that they could not read, others that they could not understand it. Some would have it to be an atheistical book, and some that it was a libel on the government; for one or other of which reasons they all refused to print it. That it had been likewise shewn to the R--l Society, but they shook their heads, saying, there was nothing in it wonderful enough for them. That, hearing the gentleman was gone to the West-Indies, and believing it to be good for nothing else, he had used it as waste paper. He said I was welcome to what remained, and he was heartily sorry for what was missing, as I seemed to set some value on it. [Illustration: '_I desired him to name a price_'] I desired him much to name a price: but he would receive no consideration farther than the payment of a small bill I owed him, which at that time he said he looked on as so much money given him. I presently communicated this manuscript to my friend parson Abraham Adams, who, after a long and careful perusal, returned it me with his opinion that there was more in it than at first appeared; that the author seemed not entirely unacquainted with the writings of Plato; but he wished he had quoted him sometimes in his margin, that I might be sure (said he) he had read him in the original: for nothing, continued the parson, is commoner than for men now-a-days to pretend to have read Greek authors, who have met with them only in translations, and cannot conjugate a verb in _mi_. To deliver my own sentiments on the occasion, I think the author discovers a philosophical turn of thinking, with some little knowledge of the world, and no very inadequate value of it. There are some indeed who, from the vivacity of their temper and the happiness of their station, are willing to consider its blessings as more substantial, and the whole to be a scene of more consequence than it is here represented: but, without controverting their opinions at present, the number of wise and good men who have thought with our author are sufficient to keep him in countenance: nor can this be attended with any ill inference, since he everywhere teaches this moral: That the greatest and truest happiness which this world affords, is to be found only in the possession of goodness and virtue; a doctrine which, as it is undoubtedly true, so hath it so noble and practical a tendency, that it can never be too often or too strongly inculcated on the minds of men. [Illustration: text decoration] BOOK I. Chapter i. _The author dies, meets with Mercury, and is by him conducted to the stage which sets out for the other world._ On the first day of December 1741[A] I departed this life at my lodgings in Cheapside. My body had been some time dead before I was at liberty to quit it, lest it should by any accident return to life: this is an injunction imposed on all souls by the eternal law of fate, to prevent the inconveniences which would follow. As soon as the destined period was expired (being no longer than till the body is become perfectly cold and stiff) I began to move; but found myself under a difficulty of making my escape, for the mouth or door was shut, so that it was impossible for me to go out at it; and the windows, vulgarly called the eyes, were so closely pulled down by the fingers of a nurse, that I could by no means open them. At last I perceived a beam of light glimmering at the top of the house (for such I may call the body I had been inclosed in), whither ascending, I gently let myself down through a kind of chimney, and issued out at the nostrils. No prisoner discharged from a long confinement ever tasted the sweets of liberty with a more exquisite relish than I enjoyed in this delivery from a dungeon wherein I had been detained upwards of forty years, and with much the same kind of regard I cast my eyes[B] backwards upon it. My friends and relations had all quitted the room, being all (as I plainly overheard) very loudly quarrelling below stairs about my will; there was only an old woman left above to guard the body, as I apprehend. She was in a fast sleep, occasioned, as from her savour it seemed, by a comfortable dose of gin. I had no pleasure in this company, and, therefore, as the window was wide open, I sallied forth into the open air: but, to my great astonishment, found myself unable to fly, which I had always during my habitation in the body conceived of spirits; however, I came so lightly to the ground that I did not hurt myself; and, though I had not the gift of flying (owing probably to my having neither feathers nor wings), I was capable of hopping such a prodigious way at once, that it served my turn almost as well. I had not hopped far before I perceived a tall young gentleman in a silk waistcoat, with a wing on his left heel, a garland on his head, and a caduceus in his right hand.[C] I thought I had seen this person before, but had not time to recollect where, when he called out to me and asked me how long I had been departed. I answered I was just come forth. "You must not stay here," replied he, "unless you had been murdered: in which case, indeed, you might have been suffered to walk some time; but if you died a natural death you must set out for the other world immediately." I desired to know the way. "O," cried the gentleman, "I will show you to the inn whence the stage proceeds; for I am the porter. Perhaps you never heard of me--my name is Mercury." "Sure, sir," said I, "I have seen you at the playhouse." Upon which he smiled, and, without satisfying me as to that point, walked directly forward, bidding me hop after him. I obeyed him, and soon found myself in Warwick-lane; where Mercury, making a full stop, pointed at a particular house, where he bad me enquire for the stage, and, wishing me a good journey, took his leave, saying he must go seek after other customers. I arrived just as the coach was setting out, and found I had no reason for enquiry; for every person seemed to know my business the moment I appeared at the door: the coachman told me his horses were to, but that he had no place left; however, though there were already six, the passengers offered to make room for me. I thanked them, and ascended without much ceremony. We immediately began our journey, being seven in number; for, as the women wore no hoops, three of them were but equal to two men. Perhaps, reader, thou mayest be pleased with an account of this whole equipage, as peradventure thou wilt not, while alive, see any such. The coach was made by an eminent toyman, who is well known to deal in immaterial substance, that being the matter of which it was compounded. The work was so extremely fine, that it was entirely invisible to the human eye. The horses which drew this extraordinary vehicle were all spiritual, as well as the passengers. They had, indeed, all died in the service of a certain post-master; and as for the coachman, who was a very thin piece of immaterial substance, he had the honour while alive of driving the Great Peter, or Peter the Great, in whose service his soul, as well as body, was almost starved to death. Such was the vehicle in which I set out, and now, those who are not willing to travel on with me may, if they please, stop here; those who are, must proceed to the subsequent chapters, in which this journey is continued. Chapter ii. _In which the author first refutes some idle opinions concerning spirits, and then the passengers relate their several deaths._ It is the common opinion that spirits, like owls, can see in the dark; nay, and can then most easily be perceived by others. For which reason, many persons of good understanding, to prevent being terrified with such objects, usually keep a candle burning by them, that the light may prevent their seeing. Mr Locke, in direct opposition to this, hath not doubted to assert that you may see a spirit in open daylight full as well as in the darkest night. It was very dark when we set out from the inn, nor could we see any more than if every soul of us had been alive. We had travelled a good way before any one offered to open his mouth; indeed, most of the company were fast asleep,[D] but, as I could not close my own eyes, and perceived the spirit who sat opposite to me to be likewise awake, I began to make overtures of conversation, by complaining _how dark it was_. "And extremely cold too," answered my fellow-traveller; "though, I thank God, as I have no body, I feel no inconvenience from it: but you will believe, sir, that this frosty air must seem very sharp to one just issued forth out of an oven; for such was the inflamed habitation I am lately departed from." "How did you come to your end, sir?" said I. "I was murdered, sir," answered the gentleman. "I am surprized then," replied I, "that you did not divert yourself by walking up and down and playing some merry tricks with the murderer." "Oh, sir," returned he, "I had not that privilege, I was lawfully put to death. In short, a physician set me on fire, by giving me medicines to throw out my distemper. I died of a hot regimen, as they call it, in the small-pox." One of the spirits at that word started up and cried out, "The small-pox! bless me! I hope I am not in company with that distemper, which I have all my life with such caution avoided, and have so happily escaped hitherto!" This fright set all the passengers who were awake into a loud laughter; and the gentleman, recollecting himself, with some confusion, and not without blushing, asked pardon, crying, "I protest I dreamt that I was alive." "Perhaps, sir," said I, "you died of that distemper, which therefore made so strong an impression on you." "No, sir," answered he, "I never had it in my life; but the continual and dreadful apprehension it kept me so long under cannot, I see, be so immediately eradicated. You must know, sir, I avoided coming to London for thirty years together, for fear of the small-pox, till the most urgent business brought me thither about five days ago. I was so dreadfully afraid of this disease that I refused the second night of my arrival to sup with a friend whose wife had recovered of it several months before, and the same evening got a surfeit by eating too many muscles, which brought me into this good company." "I will lay a wager," cried the spirit who sat next him, "there is not one in the coach able to guess my distemper." I desired the favour of him to acquaint us with it, if it was so uncommon. "Why, sir," said he, "I died of honour."--"Of honour, sir!" repeated I, with some surprize. "Yes, sir," answered the spirit, "of honour, for I was killed in a duel." "For my part," said a fair spirit, "I was inoculated last summer, and had the good fortune to escape with a very few marks on my face. I esteemed myself now perfectly happy, as I imagined I had no restraint to a full enjoyment of the diversions of the town; but within a few days after my coming up I caught cold by overdancing myself at a ball, and last night died of a violent fever." After a short silence which now ensued, the fair spirit who spoke last, it being now daylight, addressed herself to a female who sat next her, and asked her to what chance they owed the happiness of her company. She answered, she apprehended to a consumption, but the physicians were not agreed concerning her distemper, for she left two of them in a very hot dispute about it when she came out of her body. "And pray, madam," said the same spirit to the sixth passenger, "How came you to leave the other world?" But that female spirit, screwing up her mouth, answered, she wondered at the curiosity of some people; that perhaps persons had already heard some reports of her death, which were far from being true; that, whatever was the occasion of it, she was glad at being delivered from a world in which she had no pleasure, and where there was nothing but nonsense and impertinence; particularly among her own sex, whose loose conduct she had long been entirely ashamed of. The beauteous spirit, perceiving her question gave offence, pursued it no farther. She had indeed all the sweetness and good-humour which are so extremely amiable (when found) in that sex which tenderness most exquisitely becomes. Her countenance displayed all the cheerfulness, the good-nature, and the modesty, which diffuse such brightness round the beauty of Seraphina,[E] awing every beholder with respect, and, at the same time, ravishing him with admiration. Had it not been indeed for our conversation on the small-pox, I should have imagined we had been honoured with her identical presence. This opinion might have been heightened by the good sense she uttered whenever she spoke, by the delicacy of her sentiments, and the complacence of her behaviour, together with a certain dignity which attended every look, word, and gesture; qualities which could not fail making an impression on a heart[F] so capable of receiving it as mine, nor was she long in raising in me a very violent degree of seraphic love. I do not intend by this, that sort of love which men are very properly said to make to women in the lower world, and which seldom lasts any longer than while it is making. I mean by seraphic love an extreme delicacy and tenderness of friendship, of which, my worthy reader, if thou hast no conception, as it is probable thou mayest not, my endeavour to instruct thee would be as fruitless as it would be to explain the most difficult problems of Sir Isaac Newton to one ignorant of vulgar arithmetic. To return therefore to matters comprehensible by all understandings: the discourse now turned on the vanity, folly, and misery of the lower world, from which every passenger in the coach expressed the highest satisfaction in being delivered; though it was very remarkable that, notwithstanding the joy we declared at our death, there was not one of us who did not mention the accident which occasioned it as a thing we would have avoided if we could. Nay, the very grave lady herself, who was the forwardest in testifying her delight, confessed inadvertently that she left a physician by her bedside; and the gentleman who died of honour very liberally cursed both his folly and his fencing. While we were entertaining ourselves with these matters, on a sudden a most offensive smell began to invade our nostrils. This very much resembled the savour which travellers in summer perceive at their approach to that beautiful village of the Hague, arising from those delicious canals which, as they consist of standing water, do at that time emit odours greatly agreeable to a Dutch taste, but not so pleasant to any other. Those perfumes, with the assistance of a fair wind, begin to affect persons of quick olfactory nerves at a league's distance, and increase gradually as you approach. In the same manner did the smell I have just mentioned, more and more invade us, till one of the spirits, looking out of the coach-window, declared we were just arrived at a very large city; and indeed he had scarce said so before we found ourselves in the suburbs, and, at the same time, the coachman, being asked by another, informed us that the name of this place was the City of Diseases. The road to it was extremely smooth, and, excepting the above-mentioned savour, delightfully pleasant. The streets of the suburbs were lined with bagnios, taverns, and cooks' shops: in the first we saw several beautiful women, but in tawdry dresses, looking out at the windows; and in the latter were visibly exposed all kinds of the richest dainties; but on our entering the city we found, contrary to all we had seen in the other world, that the suburbs were infinitely pleasanter than the city itself. It was indeed a very dull, dark, and melancholy place. Few people appeared in the streets, and these, for the most part, were old women, and here and there a formal grave gentleman, who seemed to be thinking, with large tie-wigs on, and amber-headed canes in their hands. We were all in hopes that our vehicle would not stop here; but, to our sorrow, the coach soon drove into an inn, and we were obliged to alight. Chapter iii. _The adventures we met with in the City of Diseases._ We had not been long arrived in our inn, where it seems we were to spend the remainder of the day, before our host acquainted us that it was customary for all spirits, in their passage through that city, to pay their respects to that lady Disease, to whose assistance they had owed their deliverance from the lower world. We answered we should not fail in any complacence which was usual to others; upon which our host replied he would immediately send porters to conduct us. He had not long quitted the room before we were attended by some of those grave persons whom I have before described in large tie-wigs with amber-headed canes. These gentlemen are the ticket-porters in the city, and their canes are the _insignia_, or tickets, denoting their office. We informed them of the several ladies to whom we were obliged, and were preparing to follow them, when on a sudden they all stared at one another, and left us in a hurry, with a frown on every countenance. We were surprized at this behaviour, and presently summoned the host, who was no sooner acquainted with it than he burst into an hearty laugh, and told us the reason was, because we did not fee the gentlemen the moment they came in, according to the custom of the place. We answered, with some confusion, we had brought nothing with us from the other world, which we had been all our lives informed was not lawful to do. "No, no, master," replied the host; "I am apprized of that, and indeed it was my fault. I should have first sent you to my lord Scrape,[G] who would have supplied you with what you want." "My lord Scrape supply us!" said I, with astonishment: "sure you must know we cannot give him security; and I am convinced he never lent a shilling without it in his life." "No, sir," answered the host, "and for that reason he is obliged to do it here, where he is sentenced to keep a bank, and to distribute money _gratis_ to all passengers. This bank originally consisted of just that sum, which he had miserably hoarded up in the other world, and he is to perceive it decrease visibly one shilling a-day, till it is totally exhausted; after which he is to return to the other world, and perform the part of a miser for seventy years; then, being purified in the body of a hog, he is to enter the human species again, and take a second trial." "Sir," said I, "you tell me wonders: but if his bank be to decrease only a shilling a day, how can he furnish all passengers?" "The rest," answered the host, "is supplied again; but in a manner which I cannot easily explain to you." "I apprehend," said I, "this distribution of his money is inflicted on him as a punishment; but I do not see how it can answer that end, when he knows it is to be restored to him again. Would it not serve the purpose as well if he parted only with the single shilling, which it seems is all he is really to lose?" "Sir," cries the host, "when you observe the agonies with which he parts with every guinea, you will be of another opinion. No prisoner condemned to death ever begged so heartily for transportation as he, when he received his sentence, did to go to hell, provided he might carry his money with him. But you will know more of these things when you arrive at the upper world; and now, if you please, I will attend you to my lord's, who is obliged to supply you with whatever you desire." We found his lordship sitting at the upper end of a table, on which was an immense sum of money, disposed in several heaps, every one of which would have purchased the honour of some patriots and the chastity of some prudes. The moment he saw us he turned pale, and sighed, as well apprehending our business. Mine host accosted him with a familiar air, which at first surprized me, who so well remembered the respect I had formerly seen paid this lord by men infinitely superior in quality to the person who now saluted him in the following manner: "Here, you lord, and be dam--d to your little sneaking soul, tell out your money, and supply your betters with what they want. Be quick, sirrah, or I'll fetch the beadle to you. Don't fancy yourself in the lower world again, with your privilege at your a--." He then shook a cane at his lordship, who immediately began to tell out his money, with the same miserable air and face which the miser on our stage wears while he delivers his bank-bills. This affected some of us so much that we had certainly returned with no more than what would have been sufficient to fee the porters, had not our host, perceiving our compassion, begged us not to spare a fellow who, in the midst of immense wealth, had always refused the least contribution to charity. Our hearts were hardened with this reflection, and we all filled our pockets with his money. I remarked a poetical spirit, in particular, who swore he would have a hearty gripe at him: "For," says he, "the rascal not only refused to subscribe to my works, but sent back my letter unanswered, though I am a better gentleman than himself." We now returned from this miserable object, greatly admiring the propriety as well as justice of his punishment, which consisted, as our host informed us, merely in the delivering forth his money; and, he observed, we could not wonder at the pain this gave him, since it was as reasonable that the bare parting with money should make him miserable as that the bare having money without using it should have made him happy. Other tie-wig porters (for those we had summoned before refused to visit us again) now attended us; and we having fee'd them the instant they entered the room, according to the instructions of our host, they bowed and smiled, and offered to introduce us to whatever disease we pleased. We set out several ways, as we were all to pay our respects to different ladies. I directed my porter to shew me to the Fever on the Spirits, being the disease which had delivered me from the flesh. My guide and I traversed many streets, and knocked at several doors, but to no purpose. At one, we were told, lived the Consumption; at another, the Maladie Alamode, a French lady; at the third, the Dropsy; at the fourth, the Rheumatism; at the fifth, Intemperance; at the sixth, Misfortune. I was tired, and had exhausted my patience, and almost my purse; for I gave my porter a new fee at every blunder he made: when my guide, with a solemn countenance, told me he could do no more; and marched off without any farther ceremony. He was no sooner gone than I met another gentleman with a ticket, _i.e._, an amber-headed cane in his hand. I first fee'd him, and then acquainted him with the name of the disease. He cast himself for two or three minutes into a thoughtful posture, then pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, on which he writ something in one of the Oriental languages, I believe, for I could not read a syllable: he bade me carry it to such a particular shop, and, telling me it would do my business, he took his leave. Secure, as I now thought myself, of my direction, I went to the shop, which very much resembled an apothecary's. The person who officiated, having read the paper, took down about twenty different jars, and, pouring something out of every one of them, made a mixture, which he delivered to me in a bottle, having first tied a paper round the neck of it, on which were written three or four words, the last containing eleven syllables. I mentioned the name of the disease I wanted to find out, but received no other answer than that he had done as he was ordered, and the drugs were excellent. I began now to be enraged, and, quitting the shop with some anger in my countenance, I intended to find out my inn, but, meeting in the way a porter whose countenance had in it something more pleasing than ordinary, I resolved to try once more, and clapped a fee into his hand. As soon as I mentioned the disease to him he laughed heartily, and told me I had been imposed on, for in reality no such disease was to be found in that city. He then enquired into the particulars of my case, and was no sooner acquainted with them than he informed me that the Maladie Alamode was the lady to whom I was obliged. I thanked him, and immediately went to pay my respects to her. The house, or rather palace, of this lady was one of the most beautiful and magnificent in the city. The avenue to it was planted with sycamore-trees, with beds of flowers on each side; it was extremely pleasant but short. I was conducted through a magnificent hall, adorned with several statues and bustoes, most of them maimed, whence I concluded them all to be true antiques; but was informed they were the figures of several modern heroes, who had died martyrs to her ladyship's cause. I next mounted through a large painted staircase, where several persons were depictured in caricatura; and, upon enquiry, was told they were the portraits of those who had distinguished themselves against the lady in the lower world. I suppose I should have known the faces of many physicians and surgeons, had they not been so violently distorted by the painter. Indeed, he had exerted so much malice in his work, that I believe he had himself received some particular favours from the lady of this mansion: it is difficult to conceive a group of stranger figures. I then entered a long room, hung round with the pictures of women of such exact shapes and features that I should have thought myself in a gallery of beauties, had not a certain sallow paleness in their complexions given me a more distasteful idea. Through this I proceeded to a second apartment, adorned, if I may so call it, with the figures of old ladies. Upon my seeming to admire at this furniture, the servant told me with a smile that these had been very good friends of his lady, and had done her eminent service in the lower world. I immediately recollected the faces of one or two of my acquaintance, who had formerly kept bagnios; but was very much surprized to see the resemblance of a lady of great distinction in such company. The servant, upon my mentioning this, made no other answer than that his lady had pictures of all degrees. I was now introduced into the presence of the lady herself. She was a thin, or rather meagre, person, very wan in the countenance, had no nose, and many pimples in her face. She offered to rise at my entrance, but could not stand. After many compliments, much congratulation on her side, and the most fervent expressions of gratitude on mine, she asked me many questions concerning the situation of her affairs in the lower world; most of which I answered to her intire satisfaction. At last, with a kind of forced smile, she said, "I suppose the pill and drop go on swimmingly?" I told her they were reported to have done great cures. She replied she could apprehend no danger from any person who was not of regular practice; "for, however simple mankind are," said she, "or however afraid they are of death, they prefer dying in a regular manner to being cured by a nostrum." She then expressed great pleasure at the account I gave her of the beau monde. She said she had herself removed the hundreds of Drury to the hundreds of Charing-cross, and was very much delighted to find they had spread into St James's; that she imputed this chiefly to several of her dear and worthy friends, who had lately published their excellent works, endeavouring to extirpate all notions of religion and virtue; and particularly to the deserving author of the Bachelor's Estimate; "to whom," said she, "if I had not reason to think he was a surgeon, and had therefore written from mercenary views, I could never sufficiently own my obligations." She spoke likewise greatly in approbation of the method, so generally used by parents, of marrying children very young, and without the least affection between the parties; and concluded by saying that, if these fashions continued to spread, she doubted not but she should shortly be the only disease who would ever receive a visit from any person of considerable rank. While we were discoursing her three daughters entered the room. They were all called by hard names; the eldest was named Lepra, the second Chæras, and the third Scorbutia.[H] They were all genteel, but ugly. I could not help observing the little respect they paid their parent, which the old lady remarking in my countenance, as soon as they quitted the room, which soon happened, acquainted me with her unhappiness in her offspring, every one of which had the confidence to deny themselves to be her children, though she said she had been a very indulgent mother and had plentifully provided for them all. As family complaints generally as much tire the hearer as they relieve him who makes them, when I found her launching farther into this subject I resolved to put an end to my visit, and, taking my leave with many thanks for the favour she had done me, I returned to the inn, where I found my fellow-travellers just mounting into their vehicle. I shook hands with my host and accompanied them into the coach, which immediately after proceeded on its journey. Chapter iv. _Discourses on the road, and a description of the palace of Death._ We were all silent for some minutes, till, being well shaken into our several seats, I opened my mouth first, and related what had happened to me after our separation in the city we had just left. The rest of the company, except the grave female spirit whom our reader may remember to have refused giving an account of the distemper which occasioned her dissolution, did the same. It might be tedious to relate these at large; we shall therefore only mention a very remarkable inveteracy which the Surfeit declared to all the other diseases, especially to the Fever, who, she said, by the roguery of the porters, received acknowledgments from numberless passengers which were due to herself. "Indeed," says she, "those cane-headed fellows" (for so she called them, alluding, I suppose, to their ticket) "are constantly making such mistakes; there is no gratitude in those fellows; for I am sure they have greater obligations to me than to any other disease, except the Vapours." These relations were no sooner over than one of the company informed us we were approaching to the most noble building he had ever beheld, and which we learnt from our coachman was the palace of Death. Its outside, indeed, appeared extremely magnificent. Its structure was of the Gothic order; vast beyond imagination, the whole pile consisting of black marble. Rows of immense yews form an amphitheatre round it of such height and thickness that no ray of the sun ever perforates this grove, where black eternal darkness would reign was it not excluded by innumerable lamps which are placed in pyramids round the grove; so that the distant reflection they cast on the palace, which is plentifully gilt with gold on the outside, is inconceivably solemn. To this I may add the hollow murmur of winds constantly heard from the grove, and the very remote sound of roaring waters. Indeed, every circumstance seems to conspire to fill the mind with horrour and consternation as we approach to this palace, which we had scarce time to admire before our vehicle stopped at the gate, and we were desired to alight in order to pay our respects to his most mortal majesty (this being the title which it seems he assumes). The outward court was full of soldiers, and, indeed, the whole very much resembled the state of an earthly monarch, only more magnificent. We past through several courts into a vast hall, which led to a spacious staircase, at the bottom of which stood two pages, with very grave countenances, whom I recollected afterwards to have formerly been very eminent undertakers, and were in reality the only dismal faces I saw here; for this palace, so awful and tremendous without, is all gay and sprightly within; so that we soon lost all those dismal and gloomy ideas we had contracted in approaching it. Indeed, the still silence maintained among the guards and attendants resembled rather the stately pomp of eastern courts; but there was on every face such symptoms of content and happiness that diffused an air of chearfulness all round. We ascended the staircase and past through many noble apartments whose walls were adorned with various battle-pieces in tapistry, and which we spent some time in observing. These brought to my mind those beautiful ones I had in my lifetime seen at Blenheim, nor could I prevent my curiosity from enquiring where the Duke of Marlborough's victories were placed (for I think they were almost the only battles of any eminence I had read of which I did not meet with); when the skeleton of a beef-eater, shaking his head, told me a certain gentleman, one Lewis XIV., who had great interest with his most mortal majesty, had prevented any such from being hung up there. "Besides," says he, "his majesty hath no great respect for that duke, for he never sent him a subject he could keep from him, nor did he ever get a single subject by his means but he lost 1000 others for him." We found the presence-chamber at our entrance very full, and a buz ran through it, as in all assemblies, before the principal figure enters; for his majesty was not yet come out. At the bottom of the room were two persons in close conference, one with a square black cap on his head, and the other with a robe embroidered with flames of fire. These, I was informed, were a judge long since dead, and an inquisitor-general. I overheard them disputing with great eagerness whether the one had hanged or the other burnt the most. While I was listening to this dispute, which seemed to be in no likelihood of a speedy decision, the emperor entered the room and placed himself between two figures, one of which was remarkable for the roughness, and the other for the beauty of his appearance. These were, it seems, Charles XII. of Sweden and Alexander of Macedon. I was at too great a distance to hear any of the conversation, so could only satisfy my curiosity by contemplating the several personages present, of whose names I informed myself by a page, who looked as pale and meagre as any court-page in the other world, but was somewhat more modest. He shewed me here two or three Turkish emperors, to whom his most mortal majesty seemed to express much civility. Here were likewise several of the Roman emperors, among whom none seemed so much caressed as Caligula, on account, as the page told me, of his pious wish that he could send all the Romans hither at one blow. The reader may be perhaps surprized that I saw no physicians here; as indeed I was myself, till informed that they were all departed to the city of Diseases, where they were busy in an experiment to purge away the immortality of the soul. It would be tedious to recollect the many individuals I saw here, but I cannot omit a fat figure, well drest in the French fashion, who was received with extraordinary complacence by the emperor, and whom I imagined to be Lewis XIV. himself; but the page acquainted me he was a celebrated French cook. We were at length introduced to the royal presence, and had the honour to kiss hands. His majesty asked, us a few questions, not very material to relate, and soon after retired. When we returned into the yard we found our caravan ready to set out, at which we all declared ourselves well pleased; for we were sufficiently tired with the formality of a court, notwithstanding its outward splendour and magnificence. Chapter v. _The travellers proceed on their journey, and meet several spirits who are coming into the flesh._ We now came to the banks of the great river Cocytus, where we quitted our vehicle, and past the water in a boat, after which we were obliged to travel on foot the rest of our journey; and now we met, for the first time, several passengers travelling to the world we had left, who informed us they were souls going into the flesh. The two first we met were walking arm-in-arm, in very close and friendly conference; they informed us that one of them was intended for a duke, and the other for a hackney-coachman. As we had not yet arrived at the place where we were to deposit our passions, we were all surprized at the familiarity which subsisted between persons of such different degrees; nor could the grave lady help expressing her astonishment at it. The future coachman then replied, with a laugh, that they had exchanged lots; for that the duke had with his dukedom drawn a shrew for a wife, and the coachman only a single state. As we proceeded on our journey we met a solemn spirit walking alone with great gravity in his countenance: our curiosity invited us, notwithstanding his reserve, to ask what lot he had drawn. He answered, with a smile, he was to have the reputation of a wise man with £100,000 in his pocket, and was practising the solemnity which he was to act in the other world. A little farther we met a company of very merry spirits, whom we imagined by their mirth to have drawn some mighty lot, but, on enquiry, they informed us they were to be beggars. The farther we advanced, the greater numbers we met; and now we discovered two large roads leading different ways, and of very different appearance; the one all craggy with rocks, full as it seemed of boggy grounds, and everywhere beset with briars, so that it was impossible to pass through it without the utmost danger and difficulty; the other, the most delightful imaginable, leading through the most verdant meadows, painted and perfumed with all kinds of beautiful flowers; in short, the most wanton imagination could imagine nothing more lovely. Notwithstanding which, we were surprized to see great numbers crowding into the former, and only one or two solitary spirits chusing the latter. On enquiry, we were acquainted that the bad road was the way to greatness, and the other to goodness. When we expressed our surprize at the preference given to the former we were acquainted that it was chosen for the sake of the music of drums and trumpets, and the perpetual acclamations of the mob, with which those who travelled this way were constantly saluted. We were told likewise that there were several noble palaces to be seen, and lodged in, on this road, by those who had past through the difficulties of it (which indeed many were not able to surmount), and great quantities of all sorts of treasure to be found in it; whereas the other had little inviting more than the beauty of the way, scarce a handsome building, save one greatly resembling a certain house by the Bath, to be seen during that whole journey; and, lastly, that it was thought very scandalous and mean-spirited to travel through this, and as highly honourable and noble to pass by the other. We now heard a violent noise, when, casting our eyes forwards, we perceived a vast number of spirits advancing in pursuit of one whom they mocked and insulted with all kinds of scorn. I cannot give my reader a more adequate idea of this scene than by comparing it to an English mob conducting a pickpocket to the water; or by supposing that an incensed audience at a playhouse had unhappily possessed themselves of the miserable damned poet. Some laughed, some hissed, some squawled, some groaned, some bawled, some spit at him, some threw dirt at him. It was impossible not to ask who or what the wretched spirit was whom they treated in this barbarous manner; when, to our great surprize, we were informed that it was a king: we were likewise told that this manner of behaviour was usual among the spirits to those who drew the lots of emperors, kings, and other great men, not from envy or anger, but mere derision and contempt of earthly grandeur; that nothing was more common than for those who had drawn these great prizes (as to us they seemed) to exchange them with taylors and coblers; and that Alexander the Great and Diogenes had formerly done so; he that was afterwards Diogenes having originally fallen on the lot of Alexander. And now, on a sudden, the mockery ceased, and the king-spirit, having obtained a hearing, began to speak as follows; for we were now near enough to hear him distinctly:-- "GENTLEMEN,--I am justly surprized at your treating me in this manner, since whatever lot I have drawn, I did not chuse: if, therefore, it be worthy of derision, you should compassionate me, for it might have fallen to any of your shares. I know in how low a light the station to which fate hath assigned me is considered here, and that, when ambition doth not support it, it becomes generally so intollerable, that there is scarce any other condition for which it is not gladly exchanged: for what portion, in the world to which we are going, is so miserable as that of care? Should I therefore consider myself as become by this lot essentially your superior, and of a higher order of being than the rest of my fellow-creatures; should I foolishly imagine myself without wisdom superior to the wise, without knowledge to the learned, without courage to the brave, and without goodness and virtue to the good and virtuous; surely so preposterous, so absurd a pride, would justly render me the object of ridicule. But far be it from me to entertain it. And yet, gentlemen, I prize the lot I have drawn, nor would I exchange it with any of yours, seeing it is in my eye so much greater than the rest. Ambition, which I own myself possest of, teaches me this; ambition, which makes me covet praise, assures me that I shall enjoy a much larger proportion of it than can fall within your power either to deserve or obtain. I am then superior to you all, when I am able to do more good, and when I execute that power. What the father is to the son, the guardian to the orphan, or the patron to his client, that am I to you. You are my children, to whom I will be a father, a guardian, and a patron. Not one evening in my long reign (for so it is to be) will I repose myself to rest without the glorious, the heartwarming consideration, that thousands that night owe their sweetest rest to me. What a delicious fortune is it to him whose strongest appetite is doing good, to have every day the opportunity and the power of satisfying it! If such a man hath ambition, how happy is it for him to be seated so on high, that every act blazes abroad, and attracts to him praises tainted with neither sarcasm nor adulation, but such as the nicest and most delicate mind may relish! Thus, therefore, while you derive your good from me, I am your superior. If to my strict distribution of justice you owe the safety of your property from domestic enemies; if by my vigilance and valour you are protected from foreign foes; if by my encouragement of genuine industry, every science, every art which can embellish or sweeten life, is produced and flourishes among you; will any of you be so insensible or ungrateful as to deny praise and respect to him by whose care and conduct you enjoy these blessings? I wonder not at the censure which so frequently falls on those in my station; but I wonder that those in my station so frequently deserve it. What strange perverseness of nature! What wanton delight in mischief must taint his composition, who prefers dangers, difficulty, and disgrace, by doing evil, to safety, ease, and honour, by doing good! who refuses happiness in the other world, and heaven in this, for misery there and hell here! But, be assured, my intentions are different. I shall always endeavour the ease, the happiness, and the glory of my people, being confident that, by so doing, I take the most certain method of procuring them all to myself."--He then struck directly into the road of goodness, and received such a shout of applause as I never remember to have heard equalled. He was gone a little way when a spirit limped after him, swearing he would fetch him back. This spirit, I was presently informed, was one who had drawn the lot of his prime minister. Chapter vi. _An account of the wheel of fortune, with a method of preparing a spirit for this world._ We now proceeded on our journey, without staying to see whether he fulfilled his word or no; and without encountering anything worth mentioning, came to the place where the spirits on their passage to the other world were obliged to decide by lot the station in which every one was to act there. Here was a monstrous wheel, infinitely larger than those in which I had formerly seen lottery-tickets deposited. This was called the WHEEL OF FORTUNE. The goddess herself was present. She was one of the most deformed females I ever beheld; nor could I help observing the frowns she expressed when any beautiful spirit of her own sex passed by her, nor the affability which smiled in her countenance on the approach of any handsome male spirits. Hence I accounted for the truth of an observation I had often made on earth, that nothing is more fortunate than handsome men, nor more unfortunate than handsome women. The reader may be perhaps pleased with an account of the whole method of equipping a spirit for his entrance into the flesh. First, then, he receives from a very sage person, whose look much resembled that of an apothecary (his warehouse likewise bearing an affinity to an apothecary's shop), a small phial inscribed, THE PATHETIC POTION, to be taken just before you are born. This potion is a mixture of all the passions, but in no exact proportion, so that sometimes one predominates, and sometimes another; nay, often in the hurry of making up, one particular ingredient is, as we were informed, left out. The spirit receiveth at the same time another medicine called the NOUSPHORIC DECOCTION, of which he is to drink _ad libitum_. This decoction is an extract from the faculties of the mind, sometimes extremely strong and spirituous, and sometimes altogether as weak; for very little care is taken in the preparation. This decoction is so extremely bitter and unpleasant, that, notwithstanding its wholesomeness, several spirits will not be persuaded to swallow a drop of it, but throw it away, or give it to any other who will receive it; by which means some who were not disgusted by the nauseousness drank double and treble portions. I observed a beautiful young female, who, tasting it immediately from curiosity, screwed up her face and cast it from her with great disdain, whence advancing presently to the wheel, she drew a coronet, which she clapped up so eagerly that I could not distinguish the degree; and indeed I observed several of the same sex, after a very small sip, throw the bottles away. As soon as the spirit is dismissed by the operator, or apothecary, he is at liberty to approach the wheel, where he hath a right to extract a single lot: but those whom Fortune favours she permits sometimes secretly to draw three or four. I observed a comical kind of figure who drew forth a handful, which, when he opened, were a bishop, a general, a privy-counsellor, a player, and a poet-laureate, and, returning the three first, he walked off, smiling, with the two last. Every single lot contained two more articles, which were generally disposed so as to render the lots as equal as possible to each other; on one was written, _earl_, _riches_, _health_, _disquietude_; on another, _cobbler_, _sickness_, _good-humour_; on a third, _poet_, _contempt_, _self-satisfaction_; on a fourth, _general_, _honour_, _discontent_; on a fifth, _cottage_, _happy love_; on a sixth, _coach and six_, _impotent jealous husband_; on a seventh, _prime minister_, _disgrace_; on an eighth, _patriot_, _glory_; on a ninth, _philosopher_, _poverty_, _ease_; on a tenth, _merchant_, _riches_, _care_. And indeed the whole seemed to contain such a mixture of good and evil, that it would have puzzled me which to chuse. I must not omit here that in every lot was directed whether the drawer should marry or remain in celibacy, the married lots being all marked with a large pair of horns. We were obliged, before we quitted this place, to take each of us an emetic from the apothecary, which immediately purged us of all our earthly passions, and presently the cloud forsook our eyes, as it doth those of �neas in Virgil, when removed by Venus; and we discerned things in a much clearer light than before. We began to compassionate those spirits who were making their entry into the flesh, whom we had till then secretly envied, and to long eagerly for those delightful plains which now opened themselves to our eyes, and to which we now hastened with the utmost eagerness. On our way we met with several spirits with very dejected countenances; but our expedition would not suffer us to ask any questions. At length we arrived at the gate of Elysium. Here was a prodigious crowd of spirits waiting for admittance, some of whom were admitted, and some were rejected; for all were strictly examined by the porter, whom I soon discovered to be the celebrated judge Minos. Chapter vii. _The proceedings of judge Minos at the gate of Elysium._ I now got near enough to the gate to hear the several claims of those who endeavoured to pass. The first, among other pretensions, set forth that he had been very liberal to an hospital; but Minos answered, "Ostentation," and repulsed him. The second exhibited that he had constantly frequented his church, been a rigid observer of fast-days: he likewise represented the great animosity he had shewn to vice in others, which never escaped his severest censure; and as to his own behaviour, he had never been once guilty of whoring, drinking, gluttony, or any other excess. He said he had disinherited his son for getting a bastard. "Have you so?" said Minos; "then pray return into the other world and beget another; for such an unnatural rascal shall never pass this gate." A dozen others, who had advanced with very confident countenances, seeing him rejected, turned about of their own accord, declaring, if he could not pass, they had no expectation, and accordingly they followed him back to earth; which was the fate of all who were repulsed, they being obliged to take a further purification, unless those who were guilty of some very heinous crimes, who were hustled in at a little back gate, whence they tumbled immediately into the bottomless pit. The next spirit that came up declared he had done neither good nor evil in the world; for that since his arrival at man's estate he had spent his whole time in search of curiosities; and particularly in the study of butterflies, of which he had collected an immense number. Minos made him no answer, but with great scorn pushed him back. There now advanced a very beautiful spirit indeed. She began to ogle Minos the moment she saw him. She said she hoped there was some merit in refusing a great number of lovers, and dying a maid, though she had had the choice of a hundred. Minos told her she had not refused enow yet, and turned her back. She was succeeded by a spirit who told the judge he believed his works would speak for him. "What works?" answered Minos. "My dramatic works," replied the other, "which have done so much good in recommending virtue and punishing vice." "Very well," said the judge; "if you please to stand by, the first person who passes the gate by your means shall carry you in with him; but, if you will take my advice, I think, for expedition sake, you had better return, and live another life upon earth." The bard grumbled at this, and replied that, besides his poetical works, he had done some other good things: for that he had once lent the whole profits of a benefit-night to a friend, and by that means had saved him and his family from destruction. Upon this the gate flew open, and Minos desired him to walk in, telling him, if he had mentioned this at first, he might have spared the remembrance of his plays. The poet answered, he believed, if Minos had read his works, he would set a higher value on them. He was then beginning to repeat, but Minos pushed him forward, and, turning his back to him, applied himself to the next passenger, a very genteel spirit, who made a very low bow to Minos, and then threw himself into an erect attitude, and imitated the motion of taking snuff with his right hand. Minos asked him what he had to say for himself. He answered, he would dance a minuet with any spirit in Elysium: that he could likewise perform all his other exercises very well, and hoped he had in his life deserved the character of a perfect fine gentleman. Minos replied it would be great pity to rob the world of so fine a gentleman, and therefore desired him to take the other trip. The beau bowed, thanked the judge, and said he desired no better. Several spirits expressed much astonishment at this his satisfaction; but we were afterwards informed he had not taken the emetic above mentioned. A miserable old spirit now crawled forwards, whose face I thought I had formerly seen near Westminster Abbey. He entertained Minos with a long harangue of what he had done when in the HOUSE; and then proceeded to inform him how much he was worth, without attempting to produce a single instance of any one good action. Minos stopt the career of his discourse, and acquainted him he must take a trip back again. "What! to S---- house?" said the spirit in an ecstasy; but the judge, without making him any answer, turned to another, who, with a very solemn air and great dignity, acquainted him he was a duke. "To the right-about, Mr Duke," cried Minos, "you are infinitely too great a man for Elysium;" and then, giving him a kick on the b--- ch, he addressed himself to a spirit who, with fear and trembling, begged he might not go to the bottomless pit: he said he hoped Minos would consider that, though he had gone astray, he had suffered for it--that it was necessity which drove him to the robbery of eighteenpence, which he had committed, and for which he was hanged--that he had done some good actions in his life--that he had supported an aged parent with his labour--that he had been a very tender husband and a kind father--and that he had ruined himself by being bail for his friend. At which words the gate opened, and Minos bid him enter, giving him a slap on the back as he passed by him. A great number of spirits now came forwards, who all declared they had the same claim, and that the captain should speak for them. He acquainted the judge that they had been all slain in the service of their country. Minos was going to admit them, but had the curiosity to ask who had been the invader, in order, as he said, to prepare the back gate for him. The captain answered they had been the invaders themselves--that they had entered the enemy's country, and burnt and plundered several cities. "And for what reason?" said Minos. "By the command of him who paid us," said the captain; "that is the reason of a soldier. We are to execute whatever we are commanded, or we should be a disgrace to the army, and very little deserve our pay." "You are brave fellows indeed," said Minos; "but be pleased to face about, and obey my command for once, in returning back to the other world: for what should such fellows as you do where there are no cities to be burnt, nor people to be destroyed? But let me advise you to have a stricter regard to truth for the future, and not call the depopulating other countries the service of your own." The captain answered in a rage, "D--n me! do you give me the lie?" and was going to take Minos by the nose, had not his guards prevented him, and immediately turned him and all his followers back the same road they came. Four spirits informed the judge that they had been starved to death through poverty--being the father, mother, and two children; that they had been honest and as industrious as possible, till sickness had prevented the man from labour. "All that is very true," cried a grave spirit who stood by. "I know the fact; for these poor people were under my cure." "You was, I suppose, the parson of the parish," cries Minos; "I hope you had a good living, sir." "That was but a small one," replied the spirit; "but I had another a little better."--"Very well," said Minos; "let the poor people pass." At which the parson was stepping forwards with a stately gait before them; but Minos caught hold of him and pulled him back, saying, "Not so fast, doctor--you must take one step more into the other world first; for no man enters that gate without charity." A very stately figure now presented himself, and, informing Minos he was a patriot, began a very florid harangue on public virtue and the liberties of his country. Upon which Minos shewed him the utmost respect, and ordered the gate to be opened. The patriot was not contented with this applause; he said he had behaved as well in place as he had done in the opposition; and that, though he was now obliged to embrace the court measures, yet he had behaved very honestly to his friends, and brought as many in as was possible. "Hold a moment," says Minos: "on second consideration, Mr Patriot, I think a man of your great virtue and abilities will be so much missed by your country, that, if I might advise you, you should take a journey back again. I am sure you will not decline it; for I am certain you will, with great readiness, sacrifice your own happiness to the public good." The patriot smiled, and told Minos he believed he was in jest; and was offering to enter the gate, but the judge laid fast hold of him and insisted on his return, which the patriot still declining, he at last ordered his guards to seize him and conduct him back. A spirit now advanced, and the gate was immediately thrown open to him before he had spoken a word. I heard some whisper, "That is our last lord mayor." It now came to our company's turn. The fair spirit which I mentioned with so much applause in the beginning of my journey passed through very easily; but the grave lady was rejected on her first appearance, Minos declaring there was not a single prude in Elysium. The judge then addressed himself to me, who little expected to pass this fiery trial. I confessed I had indulged myself very freely with wine and women in my youth, but had never done an injury to any man living, nor avoided an opportunity of doing good; that I pretended to very little virtue more than general philanthropy and private friendship. I was proceeding, when Minos bid me enter the gate, and not indulge myself with trumpeting forth my virtues. I accordingly passed forward with my lovely companion, and, embracing her with vast eagerness, but spiritual innocence, she returned my embrace in the same manner, and we both congratulated ourselves on our arrival in this happy region, whose beauty no painting of the imagination can describe. [Illustration: text decoration] Chapter viii. _The adventures which the author met on his first entrance into Elysium._ We pursued our way through a delicious grove of orange-trees, where I saw infinite numbers of spirits, every one of whom I knew, and was known by them (for spirits here know one another by intuition). I presently met a little daughter whom I had lost several years before. Good gods! what words can describe the raptures, the melting passionate tenderness, with which we kissed each other, continuing in our embrace, with the most ecstatic joy, a space which, if time had been measured here as on earth, could not be less than half a year. The first spirit with whom I entered into discourse was the famous Leonidas of Sparta. I acquainted him with the honours which had been done him by a celebrated poet of our nation; to which he answered he was very much obliged to him. We were presently afterwards entertained with the most delicious voice I had ever heard, accompanied by a violin, equal to Signior Piantinida. I presently discovered the musician and songster to be Orpheus and Sappho. Old Homer was present at this concert (if I may so call it), and Madam Dacier sat in his lap. He asked much after Mr Pope, and said he was very desirous of seeing him; for that he had read his Iliad in his translation with almost as much delight as he believed he had given others in the original. I had the curiosity to enquire whether he had really writ that poem in detached pieces, and sung it about as ballads all over Greece, according to the report which went of him. He smiled at my question, and asked me whether there appeared any connexion in the poem; for if there did he thought I might answer myself. I then importuned him to acquaint me in which of the cities which contended for the honour of his birth he was really born? To which he answered, "Upon my soul I can't tell." Virgil then came up to me, with Mr Addison under his arm. "Well, sir," said he, "how many translations have these few last years produced of my �neid?" I told him I believed several, but I could not possibly remember; for that I had never read any but Dr Trapp's. "Ay," said he, "that is a curious piece indeed!" I then acquainted him with the discovery made by Mr Warburton of the Elusinian mysteries couched in his sixth book. "What mysteries?" said Mr Addison. "The Elusinian," answered Virgil, "which I have disclosed in my sixth book." "How!" replied Addison. "You never mentioned a word of any such mysteries to me in all our acquaintance." "I thought it was unnecessary," cried the other, "to a man of your infinite learning: besides, you always told me you perfectly understood my meaning." Upon this I thought the critic looked a little out of countenance, and turned aside to a very merry spirit, one Dick Steele, who embraced him, and told him he had been the greatest man upon earth; that he readily resigned up all the merit of his own works to him. Upon which Addison gave him a gracious smile, and, clapping him on the back with much solemnity, cried out, "Well said, Dick!" I then observed Shakspeare standing between Betterton and Booth, and deciding a difference between those two great actors concerning the placing an accent in one of his lines: this was disputed on both sides with a warmth which surprized me in Elysium, till I discovered by intuition that every soul retained its principal characteristic, being, indeed, its very essence. The line was that celebrated one in Othello-- _Put out the light, and then put out the light._ according to Betterton. Mr Booth contended to have it thus:-- _Put out the light, and then put out_ THE _light._ I could not help offering my conjecture on this occasion, and suggested it might perhaps be-- _Put out the light, and then put out_ THY _light._ Another hinted a reading very sophisticated in my opinion-- _Put out the light, and then put out_ THEE, _light._ making light to be the vocative case. Another would have altered the last word, and read-- _Put out thy light, and then put out thy sight._ But Betterton said, if the text was to be disturbed, he saw no reason why a word might not be changed as well as a letter, and, instead of "put out thy light," you may read "put out thy eyes." At last it was agreed on all sides to refer the matter to the decision of Shakspeare himself, who delivered his sentiments as follows: "Faith, gentlemen, it is so long since I wrote the line, I have forgot my meaning. This I know, could I have dreamt so much nonsense would have been talked and writ about it, I would have blotted it out of my works; for I am sure, if any of these be my meaning, it doth me very little honour." He was then interrogated concerning some other ambiguous passages in his works; but he declined any satisfactory answer; saying, if Mr Theobald had not writ about it sufficiently, there were three or four more new editions of his plays coming out, which he hoped would satisfy every one: concluding, "I marvel nothing so much as that men will gird themselves at discovering obscure beauties in an author. Certes the greatest and most pregnant beauties are ever the plainest and most evidently striking; and when two meanings of a passage can in the least ballance our judgments which to prefer, I hold it matter of unquestionable certainty that neither of them is worth a farthing." From his works our conversation turned on his monument; upon which, Shakspeare, shaking his sides, and addressing himself to Milton, cried out, "On my word, brother Milton, they have brought a noble set of poets together; they would have been hanged erst have [ere they had] convened such a company at their tables when alive." "True, brother," answered Milton, "unless we had been as incapable of eating then as we are now." Chapter ix. _More adventures in Elysium._ A crowd of spirits now joined us, whom I soon perceived to be the heroes, who here frequently pay their respects to the several bards the recorders of their actions. I now saw Achilles and Ulysses addressing themselves to Homer, and �neas and Julius Caesar to Virgil: Adam went up to Milton, upon which I whispered Mr Dryden that I thought the devil should have paid his compliments there, according to his opinion. Dryden only answered, "I believe the devil was in me when I said so." Several applied themselves to Shakspeare, amongst whom Henry V. made a very distinguishing appearance. While my eyes were fixed on that monarch a very small spirit came up to me, shook me heartily by the hand, and told me his name was THOMAS THUMB. I expressed great satisfaction in seeing him, nor could I help speaking my resentment against the historian, who had done such injustice to the stature of this great little man, which he represented to be no bigger than a span, whereas I plainly perceived at first sight he was full a foot and a half (and the 37th part of an inch more, as he himself informed me), being indeed little shorter than some considerable beaus of the present age. I asked this little hero concerning the truth of those stories related of him, viz., of the pudding, and the cow's belly. As to the former, he said it was a ridiculous legend, worthy to be laughed at; but as to the latter, he could not help owning there was some truth in it: nor had he any reason to be ashamed of it, as he was swallowed by surprize; adding, with great fierceness, that if he had had any weapon in his hand the cow should have as soon swallowed the devil. He spoke the last word with so much fury, and seemed so confounded, that, perceiving the effect it had on him, I immediately waved the story, and, passing to other matters, we had much conversation touching giants. He said, so far from killing any, he had never seen one alive; that he believed those actions were by mistake recorded of him, instead of Jack the giant-killer, whom he knew very well, and who had, he fancied, extirpated the race. I assured him to the contrary, and told him I had myself seen a huge tame giant, who very complacently stayed in London a whole winter, at the special request of several gentlemen and ladies; though the affairs of his family called him home to Sweden. I now beheld a stern-looking spirit leaning on the shoulder of another spirit, and presently discerned the former to be Oliver Cromwell, and the latter Charles Martel. I own I was a little surprized at seeing Cromwell here, for I had been taught by my grandmother that he was carried away by the devil himself in a tempest; but he assured me, on his honour, there was not the least truth in that story. However, he confessed he had narrowly escaped the bottomless pit; and, if the former part of his conduct had not been more to his honour than the latter, he had been certainly soused into it. He was, nevertheless, sent back to the upper world with this lot:--_Army_, _cavalier_, _distress_. He was born, for the second time, the day of Charles II.'s restoration, into a family which had lost a very considerable fortune in the service of that prince and his father, for which they received the reward very often conferred by princes on real merit, viz.--000. At 16 his father bought a small commission for him in the army, in which he served without any promotion all the reigns of Charles II. and of his brother. At the Revolution he quitted his regiment, and followed the fortunes of his former master, and was in his service dangerously wounded at the famous battle of the Boyne, where he fought in the capacity of a private soldier. He recovered of this wound, and retired after the unfortunate king to Paris, where he was reduced to support a wife and seven children (for his lot had horns in it) by cleaning shoes and snuffing candles at the opera. In which situation, after he had spent a few miserable years, he died half-starved and broken-hearted. He then revisited Minos, who, compassionating his sufferings by means of that family, to whom he had been in his former capacity so bitter an enemy, suffered him to enter here. My curiosity would not refrain asking him one question, _i.e._, whether in reality he had any desire to obtain the crown? He smiled, and said, "No more than an ecclesiastic hath to the mitre, when he cries _Nolo episcopari_." Indeed, he seemed to express some contempt at the question, and presently turned away. A venerable spirit appeared next, whom I found to be the great historian Livy. Alexander the Great, who was just arrived from the palace of death, past by him with a frown. The historian, observing it, said, "Ay, you may frown; but those troops which conquered the base Asiatic slaves would have made no figure against the Romans." We then privately lamented the loss of the most valuable part of his history; after which he took occasion to commend the judicious collection made by Mr Hook, which, he said, was infinitely preferable to all others; and at my mentioning Echard's he gave a bounce, not unlike the going off of a squib, and was departing from me, when I begged him to satisfy my curiosity in one point--whether he was really superstitious or no? For I had always believed he was till Mr Leibnitz had assured me to the contrary. He answered sullenly, "Doth Mr Leibnitz know my mind better than myself?" and then walked away. [Illustration: text decoration] Chapter x. _The author is surprised at meeting Julian the apostate in Elysium; but is satisfied by him by what means he procured his entrance there. Julian relates his adventures in the character of a slave._ As he was departing I heard him salute a spirit by the name of Mr Julian the apostate. This exceedingly amazed me; for I had concluded that no man ever had a better title to the bottomless pit than he. But I soon found that this same Julian the apostate was also the very individual archbishop Latimer. He told me that several lies had been raised on him in his former capacity, nor was he so bad a man as he had been represented. However, he had been denied admittance, and forced to undergo several subsequent pilgrimages on earth, and to act in the different characters of a slave, a Jew, a general, an heir, a carpenter, a beau, a monk, a fiddler, a wise man, a king, a fool, a beggar, a prince, a statesman, a soldier, a taylor, an alderman, a poet, a knight, a dancing-master, and three times a bishop, before his martyrdom, which, together with his other behaviour in this last character, satisfied the judge, and procured him a passage to the blessed regions. I told him such various characters must have produced incidents extremely entertaining; and if he remembered all, as I supposed he did, and had leisure, I should be obliged to him for the recital. He answered he perfectly recollected every circumstance; and as to leisure, the only business of that happy place was to contribute to the happiness of each other. He therefore thanked me for adding to his, in proposing to him a method of increasing mine. I then took my little darling in one hand, and my favourite fellow-traveller in the other, and, going with him to a sunny bank of flowers, we all sat down, and he began as follows:-- "I suppose you are sufficiently acquainted with my story during the time I acted the part of the emperor Julian, though I assure you all which hath been related of me is not true, particularly with regard to the many prodigies forerunning my death. However, they are now very little worth disputing; and if they can serve any purpose of the historian they are extremely at his service. "My next entrance into the world was at Laodicea, in Syria, in a Roman family of no great note; and, being of a roving disposition, I came at the age of seventeen to Constantinople, where, after about a year's stay, I set out for Thrace, at the time when the emperor Valens admitted the Goths into that country. I was there so captivated with the beauty of a Gothic lady, the wife of one Rodoric, a captain, whose name, out of the most delicate tenderness for her lovely sex, I shall even at this distance conceal; since her behaviour to me was more consistent with good-nature than with that virtue which women are obliged to preserve against every assailant. In order to procure an intimacy with this woman I sold myself a slave to her husband, who, being of a nation not over-inclined to jealousy, presented me to his wife, for those very reasons which would have induced one of a jealous complexion to have withheld me from her, namely, for that I was young and handsome. "Matters succeeded so far according to my wish, and the sequel answered those hopes which this beginning had raised. I soon perceived my service was very acceptable to her; I often met her eyes, nor did she withdraw them without a confusion which is scarce consistent with entire purity of heart. Indeed, she gave me every day fresh encouragement; but the unhappy distance which circumstances had placed between us deterred me long from making any direct attack; and she was too strict an observer of decorum to violate the severe rules of modesty by advancing first; but passion at last got the better of my respect, and I resolved to make one bold attempt, whatever was the consequence. Accordingly, laying hold of the first kind opportunity, when she was alone and my master abroad, I stoutly assailed the citadel and carried it by storm. Well may I say by storm; for the resistance I met was extremely resolute, and indeed as much as the most perfect decency would require. She swore often she would cry out for help; but I answered it was in vain, seeing there was no person near to assist her; and probably she believed me, for she did not once actually cry out, which if she had, I might very likely have been prevented. "When she found her virtue thus subdued against her will she patiently submitted to her fate, and quietly suffered me a long time to enjoy the most delicious fruits of my victory; but envious fortune resolved to make me pay a dear price for my pleasure. One day in the midst of our happiness we were suddenly surprized by the unexpected return of her husband, who, coming directly into his wife's apartment, just allowed me time to creep under the bed. The disorder in which he found his wife might have surprized a jealous temper; but his was so far otherwise, that possibly no mischief might have happened had he not by a cross accident discovered my legs, which were not well hid. He immediately drew me out by them, and then, turning to his wife with a stern countenance, began to handle a weapon he wore by his side, with which I am persuaded he would have instantly despatched her, had I not very gallantly, and with many imprecations, asserted her innocence and my own guilt; which, however, I protested had hitherto gone no farther than design. She so well seconded my plea (for she was a woman of wonderful art), that he was at length imposed upon; and now all his rage was directed against me, threatening all manner of tortures, which the poor lady was in too great a fright and confusion to dissuade him from executing; and perhaps, if her concern for me had made her attempt it, it would have raised a jealousy in him not afterwards to be removed. "After some hesitation Rodoric cried out he had luckily hit on the most proper punishment for me in the world, by a method which would at once do severe justice on me for my criminal intention, and at the same time prevent me from any danger of executing my wicked purpose hereafter. This cruel resolution was immediately executed, and I was no longer worthy the name of a man. "Having thus disqualified me from doing him any future injury, he still retained me in his family; but the lady, very probably repenting of what she had done, and looking on me as the author of her guilt, would never for the future give me either a kind word or look: and shortly after, a great exchange being made between the Romans and the Goths of dogs for men, my lady exchanged me with a Roman widow for a small lap-dog, giving a considerable sum of money to boot. "In this widow's service I remained seven years, during all which time I was very barbarously treated. I was worked without the least mercy, and often severely beat by a swinging maid-servant, who never called me by any other names than those of the Thing and the Animal. Though I used my utmost industry to please, it never was in my power. Neither the lady nor her woman would eat anything I touched, saying they did not believe me wholesome. It is unnecessary to repeat particulars; in a word, you can imagine no kind of ill usage which I did not suffer in this family. "At last an heathen priest, an acquaintance of my lady's, obtained me of her for a present. The scene was now totally changed, and I had as much reason to be satisfied with my present situation as I had to lament my former. I was so absolutely my master's favourite, that the rest of the slaves paid me almost as much regard as they shewed to him, well knowing that it was entirely in my power to command and treat them as I pleased. I was intrusted with all my master's secrets, and used to assist him in privately conveying away by night the sacrifices from the altars, which the people believed the deities themselves devoured. Upon these we feasted very elegantly, nor could invention suggest a rarity which we did not pamper ourselves with. Perhaps you may admire at the close union between this priest and his slave, but we lived in an intimacy which the Christians thought criminal; but my master, who knew the will of the gods, with whom he told me he often conversed, assured me it was perfectly innocent. "This happy life continued about four years, when my master's death, occasioned by a surfeit got by overfeeding on several exquisite dainties, put an end to it. "I now fell into the hands of one of a very different disposition, and this was no other than the celebrated St Chrysostom, who dieted me with sermons instead of sacrifices, and filled my ears with good things, but not my belly. Instead of high food to fatten and pamper my flesh, I had receipts to mortify and reduce it. With these I edified so well, that within a few months I became a skeleton. However, as he had converted me to his faith, I was well enough satisfied with this new manner of living, by which he taught me I might ensure myself an eternal reward in a future state. The saint was a good-natured man, and never gave me an ill word but once, which was occasioned by my neglecting to place Aristophanes, which was his constant bedfellow, on his pillow. He was, indeed, extremely fond of that Greek poet, and frequently made me read his comedies to him. When I came to any of the loose passages he would smile, and say. 'It was pity his matter was not as pure as his style;' of which latter he was so immoderately fond that, notwithstanding the detestation he expressed for obscenity, he hath made me repeat those passages ten times over. The character of this good man hath been very unjustly attacked by his heathen contemporaries, particularly with regard to women; but his severe invectives against that sex are his sufficient justification. "From the service of this saint, from whom I received manumission, I entered into the family of Timasius, a leader of great eminence in the imperial army, into whose favour I so far insinuated myself that he preferred me to a good command, and soon made me partaker of both his company and his secrets. I soon grew intoxicated with this preferment, and the more he loaded me with benefits the more he raised my opinion of my own merit, which, still outstripping the rewards he conferred on me, inspired me rather with dissatisfaction than gratitude. And thus, by preferring me beyond my merit or first expectation, he made me an envious aspiring enemy, whom perhaps a more moderate bounty would have preserved a dutiful servant. "I fell now acquainted with one Lucilius, a creature of the prime minister Eutropius, who had by his favour been raised to the post of a tribune; a man of low morals, and eminent only in that meanest of qualities, cunning. This gentleman, imagining me a fit tool for the minister's purpose, having often sounded my principles of honour and honesty, both which he declared to me were words without meaning, and finding my ready concurrence in his sentiments, recommended me to Eutropius as very proper to execute some wicked purposes he had contrived against my friend Timasius. The minister embraced this recommendation, and I was accordingly acquainted by Lucilius (after some previous accounts of the great esteem Eutropius entertained of me, from the testimony he had borne of my parts) that he would introduce me to him; adding that he was a great encourager of merit, and that I might depend upon his favour. "I was with little difficulty prevailed on to accept of this invitation. A late hour therefore the next evening being appointed, I attended my friend Lucilius to the minister's house. He received me with the utmost civility and chearfulness, and affected so much regard to me, that I, who knew nothing of these high scenes of life, concluded I had in him a most disinterested friend, owing to the favourable report which Lucilius had made of me. I was however soon cured of this opinion; for immediately after supper our discourse turned on the injustice which the generality of the world were guilty of in their conduct to great men, expecting that they should reward their private merit, without ever endeavouring to apply it to their use. 'What avail,' said Eutropius, 'the learning, wit, courage, or any virtue which a man may be possest of, to me, unless I receive some benefit from them? Hath he not more merit to me who doth my business and obeys my commands, without any of these qualities?' I gave such entire satisfaction in my answers on this head, that both the minister and his creature grew bolder, and after some preface began to accuse Timasius. At last, finding I did not attempt to defend him, Lucilius swore a great oath that he was not fit to live, and that he would destroy him. Eutropius answered that it would be too dangerous a task: 'Indeed' says he, 'his crimes are of so black a die, and so well known to the emperor, that his death must be a very acceptable service, and could not fail meeting a proper reward: but I question whether you are capable of executing it.' 'If he is not,' cried I, 'I am; and surely no man can have greater motives to destroy him than myself: for, besides his disloyalty to my prince, for whom I have so perfect a duty, I have private disobligations to him. I have had fellows put over my head, to the great scandal of the service in general, and to my own prejudice and disappointment in particular.' I will not repeat you my whole speech; but, to be as concise as possible, when we parted that evening the minister squeezed me heartily by the hand, and with great commendation of my honesty and assurances of his favour, he appointed me the next evening to come to him alone; when, finding me, after a little more scrutiny, ready for his purpose, he proposed to me to accuse Timasius of high treason, promising me the highest rewards if I would undertake it. The consequence to him, I suppose you know, was ruin; but what was it to me? Why, truly, when I waited on Eutropius for the fulfilling his promises, he received me with great distance and coldness; and, on my dropping some hints of my expectations from him, he affected not to understand me; saying he thought impunity was the utmost I could hope for on discovering my accomplice, whose offence was only greater than mine, as he was in a higher station; and telling me he had great difficulty to obtain a pardon for me from the emperor, which, he said, he had struggled very hardly for, as he had worked the discovery out of me. He turned away, and addressed himself to another person. "I was so incensed at this treatment, that I resolved revenge, and should certainly have pursued it, had he not cautiously prevented me by taking effectual means to despatch me soon after out of the world. "You will, I believe, now think I had a second good chance for the bottomless pit, and indeed Minos seemed inclined to tumble me in, till he was informed of the revenge taken on me by Rodoric, and my seven years' subsequent servitude to the widow; which he thought sufficient to make atonement for all the crimes a single life could admit of, and so sent me back to try my fortune a third time." Chapter xi. _In which Julian relates his adventures in the character of an avaricious Jew._ "The next character in which I was destined to appear in the flesh was that of an avaricious Jew. I was born in Alexandria in Egypt. My name was Balthazar. Nothing very remarkable happened to me till the year of the memorable tumult in which the Jews of that city are reported in history to have massacred more Christians than at that time dwelt in it. Indeed, the truth is, they did maul the dogs pretty handsomely; but I myself was not present, for as all our people were ordered to be armed, I took that opportunity of selling two swords, which probably I might otherwise never have disposed of, they being extremely old and rusty; so that, having no weapon left, I did not care to venture abroad. Besides, though I really thought it an act meriting salvation to murder the Nazarenes, as the fact was to be committed at midnight, at which time, to avoid suspicion, we were all to sally from our own houses, I could not persuade myself to consume so much oil in sitting up to that hour: for these reasons therefore I remained at home that evening. "I was at this time greatly enamoured with one Hypatia, the daughter of a philosopher; a young lady of the greatest beauty and merit: indeed, she had every imaginable ornament both of mind and body. She seemed not to dislike my person; but there were two obstructions to our marriage, viz., my religion and her poverty: both which might probably have been got over, had not those dogs the Christians murdered her; and, what is worse, afterwards burned her body: worse, I say, because I lost by that means a jewel of some value, which I had presented to her, designing, if our nuptials did not take place, to demand it of her back again. "Being thus disappointed in my love, I soon after left Alexandria and went to the imperial city, where I apprehended I should find a good market for jewels on the approaching marriage of the emperor with Athenais. I disguised myself as a beggar on this journey, for these reasons: first, as I imagined I should thus carry my jewels with greater safety; and, secondly, to lessen my expenses; which latter expedient succeeded so well, that I begged two oboli on my way more than my travelling cost me, my diet being chiefly roots, and my drink water. "But, perhaps, it had been better for me if I had been more lavish and more expeditious; for the ceremony was over before I reached Constantinople; so that I lost that glorious opportunity of disposing of my jewels with which many of our people were greatly enriched. "The life of a miser is very little worth relating, as it is one constant scheme of getting or saving money. I shall therefore repeat to you some few only of my adventures, without regard to any order. "A Roman Jew, who was a great lover of Falernian wine, and who indulged himself very freely with it, came to dine at my house; when, knowing he should meet with little wine, and that of the cheaper sort, sent me in half-a-dozen jars of Falernian. Can you believe I would not give this man his own wine? Sir, I adulterated it so that I made six jars of [them] three, which he and his friend drank; the other three I afterwards sold to the very person who originally sent them me, knowing he would give a better price than any other. "A noble Roman came one day to my house in the country, which I had purchased, for half the value, of a distressed person. My neighbours paid him the compliment of some music, on which account, when he departed, he left a piece of gold with me to be distributed among them. I pocketed this money, and ordered them a small vessel of sour wine, which I could not have sold for above two drachms, and afterwards made them pay in work three times the value of it. "As I was not entirely void of religion, though I pretended to infinitely more than I had, so I endeavoured to reconcile my transactions to my conscience as well as possible. Thus I never invited any one to eat with me, but those on whose pockets I had some design. After our collation it was constantly my method to set down in a book I kept for that purpose, what I thought they owed me for their meal. Indeed, this was generally a hundred times as much as they could have dined elsewhere for; but, however, it was _quid pro quo_, if not _ad valorem_. Now, whenever the opportunity offered of imposing on them I considered it only as paying myself what they owed me: indeed, I did not always confine myself strictly to what I had set down, however extravagant that was; but I reconciled taking the overplus to myself as usance. "But I was not only too cunning for others--I sometimes overreached myself. I have contracted distempers for want of food and warmth, which have put me to the expence of a physician; nay, I once very narrowly escaped death by taking bad drugs, only to save one seven-eighth per cent. in the price. "By these and such like means, in the midst of poverty and every kind of distress, I saw myself master of an immense fortune, the casting up and ruminating on which was my daily and only pleasure. This was, however, obstructed and embittered by two considerations, which against my will often invaded my thoughts. One, which would have been intolerable (but that indeed seldom troubled me), was, that I must one day leave my darling treasure. The other haunted me continually, viz., that my riches were no greater. However, I comforted myself against this reflection by an assurance that they would increase daily: on which head my hopes were so extensive that I may say with Virgil-- '_His ego nec metas rerum nec tempora pono._' Indeed I am convinced that, had I possessed the whole globe of earth, save one single drachma, which I had been certain never to be master of--I am convinced, I say, that single drachma would have given me more uneasiness than all the rest could afford me pleasure. "To say the truth, between my solicitude in contriving schemes to procure money and my extreme anxiety in preserving it, I never had one moment of ease while awake nor of quiet when in my sleep. In all the characters through which I have passed, I have never undergone half the misery I suffered in this; and, indeed, Minos seemed to be of the same opinion; for while I stood trembling and shaking in expectation of my sentence he bid me go back about my business, for that nobody was to be d----n'd in more worlds than one. And, indeed, I have since learnt that the devil will not receive a miser." Chapter xii. _What happened to Julian in the characters of a general, an heir, a carpenter, and a beau._ "The next step I took into the world was at Apollonia, in Thrace, where I was born of a beautiful Greek slave, who was the mistress of Eutyches, a great favourite of the emperor Zeno. That prince, at his restoration, gave me the command of a cohort, I being then but fifteen years of age; and a little afterwards, before I had even seen an army, preferred me, over the heads of all the old officers, to be a tribune. "As I found an easy access to the emperor, by means of my father's intimacy with him, he being a very good courtier--or, in other words, a most prostitute flatterer--so I soon ingratiated myself with Zeno, and so well imitated my father in flattering him, that he would never part with me from about his person. So that the first armed force I ever beheld was that with which Marcian surrounded the palace, where I was then shut up with the rest of the court. "I was afterwards put at the head of a legion and ordered to march into Syria with Theodoric the Goth; that is, I mean my legion was so ordered; for, as to myself, I remained at court, with the name and pay of a general, without the labour or the danger. "As nothing could be more gay, _i.e._, debauched, than Zeno's court, so the ladies of gay disposition had great sway in it; particularly one, whose name was Fausta, who, though not extremely handsome, was by her wit and sprightliness very agreeable to the emperor. With her I lived in good correspondence, and we together disposed of all kinds of commissions in the army, not to those who had most merit, but who would purchase at the highest rate. My levee was now prodigiously thronged by officers who returned from the campaigns, who, though they might have been convinced by daily example how ineffectual a recommendation their services were, still continued indefatigable in attendance, and behaved to me with as much observance and respect as I should have been entitled to for making their fortunes, while I suffered them and their families to starve. "Several poets, likewise, addressed verses to me, in which they celebrated my achievements; and what, perhaps, may seem strange to us at present, I received all this incense with most greedy vanity, without once reflecting that, as I did not deserve these compliments, they should rather put me in mind of my defects. "My father was now dead, and I became so absolute in the emperor's grace that one unacquainted with courts would scarce believe the servility with which all kinds of persons who entered the walls of the palace behaved towards me. A bow, a smile, a nod from me, as I past through cringing crouds, were esteemed as signal favours; but a gracious word made any one happy; and, indeed, had this real benefit attending it, that it drew on the person on whom it was bestowed a very great degree of respect from all others; for these are of current value in courts, and, like notes in trading communities, are assignable from one to the other. The smile of a court favourite immediately raises the person who receives it, and gives a value to his smile when conferred on an inferior: thus the smile is transferred from one to the other, and the great man at last is the person to discount it. For instance, a very low fellow hath a desire for a place. To whom is he to apply? Not to the great man; for to him he hath no access. He therefore applies to A, who is the creature of B, who is the tool of C, who is the flatterer of D, who is the catamite of E, who is the pimp of F, who is the bully of G, who is the buffoon of I, who is the husband of K, who is the whore of L, who is the bastard of M, who is the instrument of the great man. Thus the smile, descending regularly from the great man to A, is discounted back again, and at last paid by the great man. "It is manifest that a court would subsist as difficultly without this kind of coin as a trading city without paper credit. Indeed, they differ in this, that their value is not quite so certain, and a favourite may protest his smile without the danger of bankruptcy. "In the midst of all this glory the emperor died, and Anastasius was preferred to the crown. As it was yet uncertain whether I should not continue in favour, I was received as usual at my entrance into the palace to pay my respects to the new emperor; but I was no sooner rumped by him than I received the same compliment from all the rest; the whole room, like a regiment of soldiers, turning their backs to me all at once: my smile now was become of equal value with the note of a broken banker, and every one was as cautious not to receive it. "I made as much haste as possible from the court, and shortly after from the city, retreating to the place of my nativity, where I spent the remainder of my days in a retired life in husbandry, the only amusement for which I was qualified, having neither learning nor virtue. "When I came to the gate Minos again seemed at first doubtful, but at length dismissed me; saying though I had been guilty of many heinous crimes, in as much as I had, though a general, never been concerned in spilling human blood, I might return again to earth. "I was now again born in Alexandria, and, by great accident, entring into the womb of my daughter-in-law, came forth my own grandson, inheriting that fortune which I had before amassed. "Extravagance was now as notoriously my vice as avarice had been formerly; and I spent in a very short life what had cost me the labour of a very long one to rake together. Perhaps you will think my present condition was more to be envied than my former: but upon my word it was very little so; for, by possessing everything almost before I desired it, I could hardly ever say I enjoyed my wish: I scarce ever knew the delight of satisfying a craving appetite. Besides, as I never once thought, my mind was useless to me, and I was an absolute stranger to all the pleasures arising from it. Nor, indeed, did my education qualify me for any delicacy in other enjoyments; so that in the midst of plenty I loathed everything. Taste for elegance I had none; and the greatest of corporeal blisses I felt no more from than the lowest animal. In a word, as while a miser I had plenty without daring to use it, so now I had it without appetite. "But if I was not very happy in the height of my enjoyment, so I afterwards became perfectly miserable; being soon overtaken by disease, and reduced to distress, till at length, with a broken constitution and broken heart, I ended my wretched days in a gaol: nor can I think the sentence of Minos too mild, who condemned me, after having taken a large dose of avarice, to wander three years on the banks of Cocytus, with the knowledge of having spent the fortune in the person of the grandson which I had raised in that of the grandfather. "The place of my birth, on my return to the world, was Constantinople, where my father was a carpenter. The first thing I remember was, the triumph of Belisarius, which was, indeed, a most noble shew; but nothing pleased me so much as the figure of Gelimer, king of the African Vandals, who, being led captive on this occasion, reflecting with disdain on the mutation of his own fortune, and on the ridiculous empty pomp of the conqueror, cried out, 'VANITY, VANITY, ALL IS MERE VANITY.' "I was bred up to my father's trade, and you may easily believe so low a sphere could produce no adventures worth your notice. However, I married a woman I liked, and who proved a very tolerable wife. My days were past in hard labour, but this procured me health, and I enjoyed a homely supper at night with my wife with more pleasure than I apprehend greater persons find at their luxurious meals. My life had scarce any variety in it, and at my death I advanced to Minos with great confidence of entering the gate: but I was unhappily obliged to discover some frauds I had been guilty of in the measure of my work when I worked by the foot, as well as my laziness when I was employed by the day. On which account, when I attempted to pass, the angry judge laid hold on me by the shoulders, and turned me back so violently, that, had I had a neck of flesh and bone, I believe he would have broke it." Chapter xiii. _Julian passes into a fop._ "My scene of action was Rome. I was born into a noble family, and heir to a considerable fortune. On which my parents, thinking I should not want any talents, resolved very kindly and wisely to throw none away upon me. The only instructors of my youth were therefore one Saltator, who taught me several motions for my legs; and one Ficus, whose business was to shew me the cleanest way (as he called it) of cutting off a man's head. When I was well accomplished in these sciences, I thought nothing more wanting, but what was to be furnished by the several mechanics in Rome, who dealt in dressing and adorning the pope. Being therefore well equipped with all which their art could produce, I became at the age of twenty a complete finished beau. And now during forty-five years I drest, I sang and danced, and danced and sang, I bowed and ogled, and ogled and bowed, till, in the sixty-sixth year of my age, I got cold by overheating myself with dancing, and died. "Minos told me, as I was unworthy of Elysium, so I was too insignificant to be damned, and therefore bad me walk back again." Chapter xiv. _Adventures in the person of a monk._ "Fortune now placed me in the character of a younger brother of a good house, and I was in my youth sent to school; but learning was now at so low an ebb, that my master himself could hardly construe a sentence of Latin; and as for Greek, he could not read it. With very little knowledge therefore, and with altogether as little virtue, I was set apart for the church, and at the proper age commenced monk. I lived many years retired in a cell, a life very agreeable to the gloominess of my temper, which was much inclined to despise the world; that is, in other words, to envy all men of superior fortune and qualifications, and in general to hate and detest the human species. Notwithstanding which, I could, on proper occasions, submit to flatter the vilest fellow in nature, which I did one Stephen, an eunuch, a favourite of the emperor Justinian II., one of the wickedest wretches whom perhaps the world ever saw. I not only wrote a panegyric on this man, but I commended him as a pattern to all others in my sermons; by which means I so greatly ingratiated myself with him, that he introduced me to the emperor's presence, where I prevailed so far by the same methods, that I was shortly taken from my cell, and preferred to a place at court. I was no sooner established in the favour of Justinian than I prompted him to all kind of cruelty. As I was of a sour morose temper, and hated nothing more than the symptoms of happiness appearing in any countenance, I represented all kind of diversion and amusement as the most horrid sins. I inveighed against chearfulness as levity, and encouraged nothing but gravity, or, to confess the truth to you, hypocrisy. The unhappy emperor followed my advice, and incensed the people by such repeated barbarities, that he was at last deposed by them and banished. "I now retired again to my cell (for historians mistake in saying I was put to death), where I remained safe from the danger of the irritated mob, whom I cursed in my own heart as much as they could curse me. "Justinian, after three years of his banishment, returned to Constantinople in disguise, and paid me a visit. I at first affected not to know him, and without the least compunction of gratitude for his former favours, intended not to receive him, till a thought immediately suggesting itself to me how I might convert him to my advantage, I pretended to recollect him; and, blaming the shortness of my memory and badness of my eyes, I sprung forward and embraced him with great affection. "My design was to betray him to Apsimar, who, I doubted not, would generously reward such a service. I therefore very earnestly requested him to spend the whole evening with me; to which he consented. I formed an excuse for leaving him a few minutes, and ran away to the palace to acquaint Apsimar with the guest whom I had then in my cell. He presently ordered a guard to go with me and seize him; but, whether the length of my stay gave him any suspicion, or whether he changed his purpose after my departure, I know not; for at my return we found he had given us the slip; nor could we with the most diligent search discover him. "Apsimar, being disappointed of his prey, now raged at me; at first denouncing the most dreadful vengeance if I did not produce the deposed monarch. However, by soothing his passion when at the highest, and afterwards by canting and flattery, I made a shift to escape his fury. "When Justinian was restored I very confidently went to wish him joy of his restoration: but it seems he had unfortunately heard of my treachery, so that he at first received me coldly, and afterwards upbraided me openly with what I had done. I persevered stoutly in denying it, as I knew no evidence could be produced against me; till, finding him irreconcilable, I betook myself to reviling him in my sermons, and on every other occasion, as an enemy to the church and good men, and as an infidel, a heretic, an atheist, a heathen, and an Arian. This I did immediately on his return, and before he gave those flagrant proofs of his inhumanity which afterwards sufficiently verified all I had said. "Luckily I died on the same day when a great number of those forces which Justinian had sent against the Thracian Bosphorus, and who had executed such unheard-of cruelties there, perished. As every one of these was cast into the bottomless pit, Minos was so tired with condemnation, that he proclaimed that all present who had not been concerned in that bloody expedition might, if they pleased, return to the other world. I took him at his word, and, presently turning about, began my journey." Chapter xv. _Julian passes into the character of a fidler._ "Rome was now the seat of my nativity. My mother was an African, a woman of no great beauty, but a favourite, I suppose from her piety, of pope Gregory II. Who was my father I know not, but I believe no very considerable man; for after the death of that pope, who was, out of his religion, a very good friend of my mother, we fell into great distress, and were at length reduced to walk the streets of Rome; nor had either of us any other support but a fiddle, on which I played with pretty tolerable skill; for, as my genius turned naturally to music, so I had been in my youth very early instructed at the expense of the good pope. This afforded us but a very poor livelihood: for, though I had often a numerous croud of hearers, few ever thought themselves obliged to contribute the smallest pittance to the poor starving wretch who had given them pleasure. Nay, some of the graver sort, after an hour's attention to my music, have gone away shaking their heads, and crying it was a shame such vagabonds were suffered to stay in the city. "To say the truth, I am confident the fiddle would not have kept us alive had we entirely depended on the generosity of my hearers. My mother therefore was forced to use her own industry; and while I was soothing the ears of the croud, she applied to their pockets, and that generally with such good success that we now began to enjoy a very comfortable subsistence; and indeed, had we had the least prudence or forecast, might have soon acquired enough to enable us to quit this dangerous and dishonourable way of life: but I know not what is the reason that money got with labour and safety is constantly preserved, while the produce of danger and ease is commonly spent as easily, and often as wickedly, as acquired. Thus we proportioned our expenses rather by what we had than what we wanted or even desired; and on obtaining a considerable booty we have even forced nature into the most profligate extravagance, and have been wicked without inclination. "We carried on this method of thievery for a long time without detection: but, as Fortune generally leaves persons of extraordinary ingenuity in the lurch at last, so did she us; for my poor mother was taken in the fact, and, together with myself, as her accomplice, hurried before a magistrate. "Luckily for us, the person who was to be our judge was the greatest lover of music in the whole city, and had often sent for me to play to him, for which, as he had given me very small rewards, perhaps his gratitude now moved him: but, whatever was his motive, he browbeat the informers against us, and treated their evidence with so little favour, that their mouths were soon stopped, and we dismissed with honour; acquitted, I should rather have said, for we were not suffered to depart till I had given the judge several tunes on the fiddle. "We escaped the better on this occasion because the person robbed happened to be a poet; which gave the judge, who was a facetious person, many opportunities of jesting. He said poets and musicians should agree together, seeing they had married sisters; which he afterwards explained to be the sister arts. And when the piece of gold was produced he burst into a loud laugh, and said it must be the golden age, when poets had gold in their pockets, and in that age there could be no robbers. He made many more jests of the same kind, but a small taste will suffice. "It is a common saying that men should take warning by any signal delivery; but I cannot approve the justice of it; for to me it seems that the acquittal of a guilty person should rather inspire him with confidence, and it had this effect on us: for we now laughed at the law, and despised its punishments, which we found were to be escaped even against positive evidence. We imagined the late example was rather a warning to the accuser than the criminal, and accordingly proceeded in the most impudent and flagitious manner. "Among other robberies, one night, being admitted by the servants into the house of an opulent priest, my mother took an opportunity, whilst the servants were dancing to my tunes, to convey away a silver vessel; this she did without the least sacrilegious intention; but it seems the cup, which was a pretty large one, was dedicated to holy uses, and only borrowed by the priest on an entertainment which he made for some of his brethren. We were immediately pursued upon this robbery (the cup being taken in our possession), and carried before the same magistrate, who had before behaved to us with so much gentleness: but his countenance was now changed, for the moment the priest appeared against us, his severity was as remarkable as his candour had been before, and we were both ordered to be stript and whipt through the streets. "This sentence was executed with great severity, the priest himself attending and encouraging the executioner, which he said he did for the good of our souls; but, though our backs were both flead, neither my mother's torments nor my own afflicted me so much as the indignity offered to my poor fiddle, which was carried in triumph before me, and treated with a contempt by the multitude, intimating a great scorn for the science I had the honour to profess; which, as it is one of the noblest inventions of men, and as I had been always in the highest degree proud of my excellence in it, I suffered so much from the ill-treatment my fiddle received, that I would have given all my remainder of skin to have preserved it from this affront. "My mother survived the whipping a very short time; and I was now reduced to great distress and misery, till a young Roman of considerable rank took a fancy to me, received me into his family, and conversed with me in the utmost familiarity. He had a violent attachment to music, and would learn to play on the fiddle; but, through want of genius for the science, he never made any considerable progress. However, I flattered his performance, and he grew extravagantly fond of me for so doing. Had I continued this behaviour I might possibly have reaped the greatest advantages from his kindness; but I had raised his own opinion of his musical abilities so high, that he now began to prefer his skill to mine, a presumption I could not bear. One day as we were playing in concert he was horribly out; nor was it possible, as he destroyed the harmony, to avoid telling him of it. Instead of receiving my correction, he answered it was my blunder and not his, and that I had mistaken the key. Such an affront from my own scholar was beyond human patience; I flew into a violent passion, I flung down my instrument in a rage, and swore I was not to be taught music at my age. He answered, with as much warmth, nor was he to be instructed by a stroling fiddler. The dispute ended in a challenge to play a prize before judges. This wager was determined in my favour; but the purchase was a dear one, for I lost my friend by it, who now, twitting me with all his kindness, with my former ignominious punishment, and the destitute condition from which I had been by his bounty relieved, discarded me for ever. "While I lived with this gentleman I became known, among others, to Sabina, a lady of distinction, and who valued herself much on her taste for music. She no sooner heard of my being discarded than she took me into her house, where I was extremely well cloathed and fed. Notwithstanding which, my situation was far from agreeable; for I was obliged to submit to her constant reprehensions before company, which gave me the greater uneasiness because they were always wrong; nor am I certain that she did not by these provocations contribute to my death: for, as experience had taught me to give up my resentment to my bread, so my passions, for want of outward vent, preyed inwardly on my vitals, and perhaps occasioned the distemper of which I sickened. "The lady, who, amidst all the faults she found, was very fond of me, nay, probably was the fonder of me the more faults she found, immediately called in the aid of three celebrated physicians. The doctors (being well fee'd) made me seven visits in three days, and two of them were at the door to visit me the eighth time, when, being acquainted that I was just dead, they shook their heads and departed. "When I came to Minos he asked me with a smile whether I had brought my fiddle with me; and, receiving an answer in the negative, he bid me get about my business, saying it was well for me that the devil was no lover of music." Chapter xvi. _The history of the wise man._ "I now returned to Rome, but in a very different character. Fortune had now allotted me a serious part to act. I had even in my infancy a grave disposition, nor was I ever seen to smile, which infused an opinion into all about me that I was a child of great solidity; some foreseeing that I should be a judge, and others a bishop. At two years old my father presented me with a rattle, which I broke to pieces with great indignation. This the good parent, being extremely wise, regarded as an eminent symptom of my wisdom, and cried out in a kind of extasy, 'Well said, boy! I warrant thou makest a great man.' "At school I could never be persuaded to play with my mates; not that I spent my hours in learning, to which I was not in the least addicted, nor indeed had I any talents for it. However, the solemnity of my carriage won so much on my master, who was a most sagacious person, that I was his chief favourite, and my example on all occasions was recommended to the other boys, which filled them with envy, and me with pleasure; but, though they envied me, they all paid me that involuntary respect which it is the curse attending this passion to bear towards its object. "I had now obtained universally the character of a very wise young man, which I did not altogether purchase without pains; for the restraint I laid on myself in abstaining from the several diversions adapted to my years cost me many a yearning; but the pride which I inwardly enjoyed in the fancied dignity of my character made me some amends. "Thus I past on, without anything very memorable happening to me, till I arrived at the age of twenty-three, when unfortunately I fell acquainted with a young Neapolitan lady whose name was Ariadne. Her beauty was so exquisite that her first sight made a violent impression on me; this was again improved by her behaviour, which was most genteel, easy, and affable: lastly, her conversation compleated the conquest. In this she discovered a strong and lively understanding, with the sweetest and most benign temper. This lovely creature was about eighteen when I first unhappily beheld her at Rome, on a visit to a relation with whom I had great intimacy. As our interviews at first were extremely frequent, my passions were captivated before I apprehended the least danger; and the sooner probably, as the young lady herself, to whom I consulted every method of recommendation, was not displeased with my being her admirer. "Ariadne, having spent three months at Rome, now returned to Naples, bearing my heart with her: on the other hand, I had all the assurances consistent with the constraint under which the most perfect modesty lays a young woman, that her own heart was not entirely unaffected. I soon found her absence gave me an uneasiness not easy to be borne or to remove. I now first applied to diversions (of the graver sort, particularly to music), but in vain; they rather raised my desires and heightened my anguish. My passion at length grew so violent, that I began to think of satisfying it. As the first step to this, I cautiously enquired into the circumstances of Ariadne's parents, with which I was hitherto unacquainted: though, indeed, I did not apprehend they were extremely great, notwithstanding the handsome appearance of their daughter at Rome. Upon examination, her fortune exceeded my expectation, but was not sufficient to justify my marriage with her, in the opinion of the wise and prudent. I had now a violent struggle between wisdom and happiness, in which, after several grievous pangs, wisdom got the better. I could by no means prevail with myself to sacrifice that character of profound wisdom, which I had with such uniform conduct obtained, and with such caution hitherto preserved. I therefore resolved to conquer my affection, whatever it cost me; and indeed it did not cost me a little. "While I was engaged in this conflict (for it lasted a long time) Ariadne returned to Rome: her presence was a terrible enemy to my wisdom, which even in her absence had with great difficulty stood its ground. It seems (as she hath since told me in Elysium with much merriment) I had made the same impressions on her which she had made on me. Indeed, I believe my wisdom would have been totally subdued by this surprize, had it not cunningly suggested to me a method of satisfying my passion without doing any injury to my reputation. This was by engaging her privately as a mistress, which was at that time reputable enough at Rome, provided the affair was managed with an air of slyness and gravity, though the secret was known to the whole city. "I immediately set about this project, and employed every art and engine to effect it. I had particularly bribed her priest, and an old female acquaintance and distant relation of her's, into my interest: but all was in vain; her virtue opposed the passion in her breast as strongly as wisdom had opposed it in mine. She received my proposals with the utmost disdain, and presently refused to see or hear from me any more. "She returned again to Naples, and left me in a worse condition than before. My days I now passed with the most irksome uneasiness, and my nights were restless and sleepless. The story of our amour was now pretty public, and the ladies talked of our match as certain; but my acquaintance denied their assent, saying, 'No, no, he is too wise to marry so imprudently.' This their opinion gave me, I own, very great pleasure; but, to say the truth, scarce compensated the pangs I suffered to preserve it. "One day, while I was balancing with myself, and had almost resolved to enjoy my happiness at the price of my character, a friend brought me word that Ariadne was married. This news struck me to the soul; and though I had resolution enough to maintain my gravity before him (for which I suffered not a little the more), the moment I was alone I threw myself into the most violent fit of despair, and would willingly have parted with wisdom, fortune, and everything else, to have retrieved her; but that was impossible, and I had now nothing but time to hope a cure from. This was very tedious in performing it, and the longer as Ariadne had married a Roman cavalier, was now become my near neighbour, and I had the mortification of seeing her make the best of wives, and of having the happiness which I had lost, every day before my eyes. "If I suffered so much on account of my wisdom in having refused Ariadne, I was not much more obliged to it for procuring me a rich widow, who was recommended to me by an old friend as a very prudent match; and, indeed, so it was, her fortune being superior to mine in the same proportion as that of Ariadne had been inferior. I therefore embraced this proposal, and my character of wisdom soon pleaded so effectually for me with the widow, who was herself a woman of great gravity and discretion, that I soon succeeded; and as soon as decency would permit (of which this lady was the strictest observer) we were married, being the second day of the second week of the second year after her husband's death; for she said she thought some period of time above the year had a great air of decorum. "But, prudent as this lady was, she made me miserable. Her person was far from being lovely, but her temper was intolerable. During fifteen years' habitation, I never passed a single day without heartily cursing her, and the hour in which we came together. The only comfort I received, in the midst of the highest torments, was from continually hearing the prudence of my match commended by all my acquaintance. "Thus you see, in the affairs of love, I bought the reputation of wisdom pretty dear. In other matters I had it somewhat cheaper; not that hypocrisy, which was the price I gave for it, gives one no pain. I have refused myself a thousand little amusements with a feigned contempt, while I have really had an inclination to them. I have often almost choaked myself to restrain from laughing at a jest, and (which was perhaps to myself the least hurtful of all my hypocrisy) have heartily enjoyed a book in my closet which I have spoken with detestation of in public. To sum up my history in short, as I had few adventures worth remembering, my whole life was one constant lie; and happy would it have been for me if I could as thoroughly have imposed on myself as I did on others: for reflection, at every turn, would often remind me I was not so wise as people thought me; and this considerably embittered the pleasure I received from the public commendation of my wisdom. This self-admonition, like a _memento mori_ or _mortalis es_, must be, in my opinion, a very dangerous enemy to flattery: indeed, a weight sufficient to counterbalance all the false praise of the world. But whether it be that the generality of wise men do not reflect at all, or whether they have, from a constant imposition on others, contracted such a habit of deceit as to deceive themselves, I will not determine: it is, I believe, most certain that very few wise men know themselves what fools they are, more than the world doth. Good gods! could one but see what passes in the closet of wisdom! how ridiculous a sight must it be to behold the wise man, who despises gratifying his palate, devouring custard; the sober wise man with his dram-bottle; or, the anti-carnalist (if I may be allowed the expression) chuckling over a b--dy book or picture, and perhaps caressing his housemaid! "But to conclude a character in which I apprehend I made as absurd a figure as in any in which I trod the stage of earth, my wisdom at last put an end to itself, that is, occasioned my dissolution. "A relation of mine in the eastern part of the empire disinherited his son, and left me his heir. This happened in the depth of winter, when I was in my grand climacteric, and had just recovered of a dangerous disease. As I had all the reason imaginable to apprehend the family of the deceased would conspire against me, and embezzle as much as they could, I advised with a grave and wise friend what was proper to be done; whether I should go myself, or employ a notary on this occasion, and defer my journey to the spring. To say the truth, I was most inclined to the latter; the rather as my circumstances were extremely flourishing, as I was advanced in years, and had not one person in the world to whom I should with pleasure bequeath any fortune at my death. "My friend told me he thought my question admitted of no manner of doubt or debate; that common prudence absolutely required my immediate departure; adding, that if the same good luck had happened to him he would have been already on his journey; 'for,' continued he, 'a man who knows the world so well as you, would be inexcusable to give persons such an opportunity of cheating you, who, you must be assured, will be too well inclined; and as for employing a notary, remember that excellent maxim, _Ne facias per alium, quod fieri potest per te_. I own the badness of the season and your very late recovery are unlucky circumstances; but a wise man must get over difficulties when necessity obliges him to encounter them.' "I was immediately determined by this opinion. The duty of a wise man made an irresistible impression, and I took the necessity for granted without examination. I accordingly set forward the next morning; very tempestuous weather soon overtook me; I had not travelled three days before I relapsed into my fever, and died. "I was now as cruelly disappointed by Minos as I had formerly been happily so. I advanced with the utmost confidence to the gate, and really imagined I should have been admitted by the wisdom of my countenance, even without any questions asked: but this was not my case; and, to my great surprize, Minos, with a menacing voice, called out to me, 'You Mr there, with the grave countenance, whither so fast, pray? Will you please, before you move any farther forwards, to give me a short account of your transactions below?' I then began, and recounted to him my whole history, still expecting at the end of every period that the gate would be ordered to fly open; but I was obliged to go quite through with it, and then Minos after some little consideration spoke to me as follows:-- "'You, Mr Wiseman, stand forth if you please. Believe me, sir, a trip back again to earth will be one of the wisest steps you ever took, and really more to the honour of your wisdom than any you have hitherto taken. On the other side, nothing could be simpler than to endeavour at Elysium; for who but a fool would carry a commodity, which is of such infinite value in one place, into another where it is of none? But, without attempting to offend your gravity with a jest, you must return to the place from whence you came, for Elysium was never designed for those who are too wise to be happy.' "This sentence confounded me greatly, especially as it seemed to threaten me with carrying my wisdom back again to earth. I told the judge, though he would not admit me at the gate, I hoped I had committed no crime while alive which merited my being wise any longer. He answered me, I must take my chance as to that matter, and immediately we turned our backs to each other." Chapter xvii. _Julian enters into the person of a king._ "I was now born at Oviedo in Spain. My father's name was Veremond, and I was adopted by my uncle king Alphonso the chaste. I don't recollect in all the pilgrimages I have made on earth that I ever past a more miserable infancy than now; being under the utmost confinement and restraint, and surrounded with physicians who were ever dosing me, and tutors who were continually plaguing me with their instructions; even those hours of leisure which my inclination would have spent in play were allotted to tedious pomp and ceremony, which, at an age wherein I had no ambition to enjoy the servility of courtiers, enslaved me more than it could the meanest of them. However, as I advanced towards manhood, my condition made me some amends; for the most beautiful women of their own accord threw out lures for me, and I had the happiness, which no man in an inferior degree can arrive at, of enjoying the most delicious creatures, without the previous and tiresome ceremonies of courtship, unless with the most simple, young, and unexperienced. As for the court ladies, they regarded me rather as men do the most lovely of the other sex; and, though they outwardly retained some appearance of modesty, they in reality rather considered themselves as receiving than conferring favours. "Another happiness I enjoyed was in conferring favours of another sort; for, as I was extremely good-natured and generous, so I had daily opportunities of satisfying those passions. Besides my own princely allowance, which was very bountiful, and with which I did many liberal and good actions, I recommended numberless persons of merit in distress to the king's notice, most of whom were provided for. Indeed, had I sufficiently known my blest situation at this time, I should have grieved at nothing more than the death of Alphonso, by which the burden of government devolved upon me; but, so blindly fond is ambition, and such charms doth it fancy in the power and pomp and splendour of a crown, that, though I vehemently loved that king, and had the greatest obligations to him, the thoughts of succeeding him obliterated my regret at his loss, and the wish for my approaching coronation dried my eyes at his funeral. "But my fondness for the name of king did not make me forgetful of those over whom I was to reign. I considered them in the light in which a tender father regards his children, as persons whose wellbeing God had intrusted to my care; and again, in that in which a prudent lord respects his tenants, as those on whose wealth and grandeur he is to build his own. Both these considerations inspired me with the greatest care for their welfare, and their good was my first and ultimate concern. "The usurper Mauregas had impiously obliged himself and his successors to pay to the Moors every year an infamous tribute of an hundred young virgins: from this cruel and scandalous imposition I resolved to relieve my country. Accordingly, when their emperor Abderames the second had the audaciousness to make this demand of me, instead of complying with it I ordered his ambassadors to be driven away with all imaginable ignominy, and would have condemned them to death, could I have done it without a manifest violation of the law of nations. "I now raised an immense army; at the levying of which I made a speech from my throne, acquainting my subjects with the necessity and the reasons of the war in which I was going to engage: which I convinced them I had undertaken for their ease and safety, and not for satisfying any wanton ambition, or revenging any private pique of my own. They all declared unanimously that they would venture their lives and everything dear to them in my defence, and in the support of the honour of my crown. Accordingly, my levies were instantly complete, sufficient numbers being only left to till the land; churchmen, even bishops themselves, enlisting themselves under my banners. "The armies met at Alvelda, where we were discomfited with immense loss, and nothing but the lucky intervention of the night could have saved our whole army. "I retreated to the summit of a hill, where I abandoned myself to the highest agonies of grief, not so much for the danger in which I then saw my crown, as for the loss of those miserable wretches who had exposed their lives at my command. I could not then avoid this reflection--that, if the deaths of these people in a war undertaken absolutely for their protection could give me such concern, what horror must I have felt if, like princes greedy of dominion, I had sacrificed such numbers to my own pride, vanity, and ridiculous lust of power. "After having vented my sorrows for some time in this manner, I began to consider by what means I might possibly endeavour to retrieve this misfortune; when, reflecting on the great number of priests I had in my army, and on the prodigious force of superstition, a thought luckily suggested itself to me, to counterfeit that St James had appeared to me in a vision, and had promised me the victory. While I was ruminating on this the bishop of Najara came opportunely to me. As I did not intend to communicate the secret to him, I took another method, and, instead of answering anything the bishop said to me, I pretended to talk to St James, as if he had been really present; till at length, after having spoke those things which I thought sufficient, and thanked the saint aloud for his promise of the victory, I turned about to the bishop, and, embracing him with a pleased countenance, protested I did not know he was present; and then, informing him of this supposed vision, I asked him if he had not himself seen the saint? He answered me he had; and afterwards proceeded to assure me that this appearance of St James was entirely owing to his prayers; for that he was his tutelar saint. He added he had a vision of him a few hours before, when he promised him a victory over the infidels, and acquainted him at the same time of the vacancy of the see of Toledo. Now, this news being really true, though it had happened so lately that I had not heard of it (nor, indeed, was it well possible I should, considering the great distance of the way), when I was afterwards acquainted with it, a little staggered me, though far from being superstitious; till being informed that the bishop had lost three horses on a late expedition, I was satisfied. "The next morning, the bishop, at my desire, mounted the rostrum, and trumpeted forth this vision so effectually, which he said he had that evening twice seen with his own eyes, that a spirit began to be infused through the whole army which rendered them superior to almost any force: the bishop insisted that the least doubt of success was giving the lie to the saint, and a damnable sin, and he took upon him in his name to promise them victory. "The army being drawn out, I soon experienced the effect of enthusiasm, for, having contrived another stratagem[I] to strengthen what the bishop had said, the soldiers fought more like furies than men. My stratagem was this: I had about me a dexterous fellow, who had been formerly a pimp in my amours. Him I drest up in a strange antick dress, with a pair of white colours in his right hand, a red cross in his left, and having disguised him so that no one could know him, I placed him on a white horse, and ordered him to ride to the head of the army, and cry out, 'Follow St James!' These words were reiterated by all the troops, who attacked the enemy with such intrepidity, that, notwithstanding our inferiority of numbers, we soon obtained a complete victory. "The bishop was come up by the time that the enemy was routed, and, acquainting us that he had met St James by the way, and that he had informed him of what had past, he added that he had express orders from the saint to receive a considerable sum for his use, and that a certain tax on corn and wine should be settled on his church for ever; and lastly, that a horseman's pay should be allowed for the future to the saint himself, of which he and his successors were appointed receivers. The army received these demands with such acclamations that I was obliged to comply with them, as I could by no means discover the imposition, nor do I believe I should have gained any credit if I had. "I had now done with the saint, but the bishop had not; for about a week afterwards lights were seen in a wood near where the battle was fought; and in a short time afterwards they discovered his tomb at the same place. Upon this the bishop made me a visit, and forced me to go thither, to build a church to him, and largely endow it. In a word, the good man so plagued me with miracle after miracle, that I was forced to make interest with the pope to convey him to Toledo, to get rid of him. "But to proceed to other matters.--There was an inferior officer, who had behaved very bravely in the battle against the Moors, and had received several wounds, who solicited me for preferment; which I was about to confer on him, when one of my ministers came to me in a fright, and told me that he had promised the post I designed for this man to the son of count Alderedo; and that the count, who was a powerful person, would be greatly disobliged at the refusal, as he had sent for his son from school to take possession of it. I was obliged to agree with my minister's reasons, and at the same time recommended the wounded soldier to be preferred by him, which he faithfully promised he would; but I met the poor wretch since in Elysium, who informed me he was afterwards starved to death. "None who hath not been himself a prince, nor any prince till his death, can conceive the impositions daily put on them by their favourites and ministers; so that princes are often blamed for the faults of others. The count of Saldagne had been long confined in prison, when his son D. Bernard del Carpio, who had performed the greatest actions against the Moors, entreated me, as a reward for his service, to grant him his father's liberty. The old man's punishment had been so tedious, and the services of the young one so singularly eminent, that I was very inclinable to grant the request; but my ministers strongly opposed it; they told me my glory demanded revenge for the dishonour offered to my family; that so positive a demand carried with it rather the air of menace than entreaty; that the vain detail of his services, and the recompense due to them, was an injurious reproach; that to grant what had been so haughtily demanded would argue in the monarch both weakness and timidity; in a word, that to remit the punishment inflicted by my predecessors would be to condemn their judgment. Lastly, one told me in a whisper, 'His whole family are enemies to your house.' By these means the ministers prevailed. The young lord took the refusal so ill, that he retired from court, and abandoned himself to despair, whilst the old one languished in prison. By which means, as I have since discovered, I lost the use of two of my best subjects. "To confess the truth, I had, by means of my ministers, conceived a very unjust opinion of my whole people, whom I fancied to be daily conspiring against me, and to entertain the most disloyal thoughts, when, in reality (as I have known since my death), they held me in universal respect and esteem. This is a trick, I believe, too often played with sovereigns, who, by such means, are prevented from that open intercourse with their subjects which, as it would greatly endear the person of the prince to the people, so might it often prove dangerous to a minister who was consulting his own interest only at the expense of both. I believe I have now recounted to you the most material passages of my life; for I assure you there are some incidents in the lives of kings not extremely worth relating. Everything which passes in their minds and families is not attended with the splendour which surrounds their throne--indeed, there are some hours wherein the naked king and the naked cobbler can scarce be distinguished from each other. "Had it not been, however, for my ingratitude to Bernard del Carpio, I believe this would have been my last pilgrimage on earth; for, as to the story of St James, I thought Minos would have burst his sides at it; but he was so displeased with me on the other account, that, with a frown, he cried out, 'Get thee back again, king.' Nor would he suffer me to say another word." Chapter xviii. _Julian passes into a fool._ "The next visit I made to the world was performed in France, where I was born in the court of Lewis III., and had afterwards the honour to be preferred to be fool to the prince, who was surnamed Charles the Simple. But, in reality, I know not whether I might so properly be said to have acted the fool in his court as to have made fools of all others in it. Certain it is, I was very far from being what is generally understood by that word, being a most cunning, designing, arch knave. I knew very well the folly of my master, and of many others, and how to make my advantage of this knowledge. "I was as dear to Charles the Simple as the player Paris was to Domitian, and, like him, bestowed all manner of offices and honours on whom I pleased. This drew me a great number of followers among the courtiers, who really mistook me for a fool, and yet flattered my understanding. There was particularly in the court a fellow who had neither honour, honesty, sense, wit, courage, beauty, nor indeed any one good quality, either of mind or body, to recommend him; but was at the same time, perhaps, as cunning a monster as ever lived. This gentleman took it into his head to list under my banner, and pursued me so very assiduously with flattery, constantly reminding me of my good sense, that I grew immoderately fond of him; for though flattery is not most judiciously applied to qualities which the persons flattered possess, yet as, notwithstanding my being well assured of my own parts, I past in the whole court for a fool, this flattery was a very sweet morsel to me. I therefore got this fellow preferred to a bishopric, but I lost my flatterer by it; for he never afterwards said a civil thing to me. "I never baulked my imagination for the grossness of the reflection on the character of the greatest noble--nay, even the king himself; of which I will give you a very bold instance. One day his simple majesty told me he believed I had so much power that his people looked on me as the king, and himself as my fool. At this I pretended to be angry, as with an affront. 'Why, how now?' says the king; 'are you ashamed of being a king?' 'No, sir,' says I, 'but I am devilishly ashamed of my fool.' "Herbert, earl of Vermandois, had by my means been restored to the favour of the Simple (for so I used always to call Charles). He afterwards prevailed with the king to take the city of Arras from earl Baldwin, by which means, Herbert, in exchange for this city, had Peronne restored to him by count Altmar. Baldwin came to court in order to procure the restoration of his city; but, either through pride or ignorance, neglected to apply to me. As I met him at court during his solicitation, I told him he did not apply the right way; he answered roughly he should not ask a fool's advice. I replied I did not wonder at his prejudice, since he had miscarried already by following a fool's advice; but I told him there were fools who had more interest than that he had brought with him to court. He answered me surlily he had no fool with him, for that he travelled alone. 'Ay, my lord,' says I, 'I often travel alone, and yet they will have it I always carry a fool with me.' This raised a laugh among the bystanders, on which he gave me a blow. I immediately complained of this usage to the Simple, who dismissed the earl from court with very hard words, instead of granting him the favour he solicited. "I give you these rather as a specimen of my interest and impudence than of my wit--indeed, my jests were commonly more admired than they ought to be; for perhaps I was not in reality much more a wit than a fool. But, with the latitude of unbounded scurrility, it is easy enough to attain the character of wit, especially in a court, where, as all persons hate and envy one another heartily, and are at the same time obliged by the constrained behaviour of civility to profess the greatest liking, so it is, and must be, wonderfully pleasant to them to see the follies of their acquaintance exposed by a third person. Besides, the opinion of the court is as uniform as the fashion, and is always guided by the will of the prince or of the favourite. I doubt not that Caligula's horse was universally held in his court to be a good and able consul. In the same manner was I universally acknowledged to be the wittiest fool in the world. Every word I said raised laughter, and was held to be a jest, especially by the ladies, who sometimes laughed before I had discovered my sentiment, and often repeated that as a jest which I did not even intend as one. "I was as severe on the ladies as on the men, and with the same impunity; but this at last cost me dear: for once having joked on the beauty of a lady whose name was Adelaide, a favourite of the Simple's, she pretended to smile and be pleased at my wit with the rest of the company; but in reality she highly resented it, and endeavoured to undermine me with the king. In which she so greatly succeeded (for what cannot a favourite woman do with one who deserves the surname of Simple?) that the king grew every day more reserved to me, and when I attempted any freedom gave me such marks of his displeasure, that the courtiers who have all hawks' eyes at a slight from the sovereign, soon discerned it: and indeed, had I been blind enough not to have discovered that I had lost ground in the Simple's favour by his own change in his carriage towards me, I must have found it, nay even felt it, in the behaviour of the courtiers: for, as my company was two days before solicited with the utmost eagerness, it was now rejected with as much scorn. I was now the jest of the ushers and pages; and an officer of the guards, on whom I was a little jocose, gave me a box on the ear, bidding me make free with my equals. This very fellow had been my butt for many years, without daring to lift his hand against me. "But though I visibly perceived the alteration in the Simple, I was utterly unable to make any guess at the occasion. I had not the least suspicion of Adelaide; for, besides her being a very good-humoured woman, I had often made severe jests on her reputation, which I had all the reason imaginable to believe had given her no offence. But I soon perceived that a woman will bear the most bitter censures on her morals easier than the smallest reflection on her beauty; for she now declared publicly, that I ought to be dismissed from court, as the stupidest of fools, and one in whom there was no diversion; and that she wondered how any person could have so little taste as to imagine I had any wit. This speech was echoed through the drawing-room, and agreed to by all present. Every one now put on an unusual gravity on their countenance whenever I spoke; and it was as much out of my power to raise a laugh as formerly it had been for me to open my mouth without one. "While my affairs were in this posture I went one day into the circle without my fool's dress. The Simple, who would still speak to me, cried out, 'So, fool, what's the matter now?' 'Sir,' answered I, 'fools are like to be so common a commodity at court, that I am weary of my coat.' 'How dost thou mean?' answered the Simple; 'what can make them commoner now than usual?'--'O, sir,' said I, 'there are ladies here make your majesty a fool every day of their lives.' The Simple took no notice of my jest, and several present said my bones ought to be broke for my impudence; but it pleased the queen, who, knowing Adelaide, whom she hated, to be the cause of my disgrace, obtained me of the king, and took me into her service; so that I was henceforth called the queen's fool, and in her court received the same honour, and had as much wit, as I had formerly had in the king's. But as the queen had really no power unless over her own domestics, I was not treated in general with that complacence, nor did I receive those bribes and presents, which had once fallen to my share. "Nor did this confined respect continue long: for the queen, who had in fact no taste for humour, soon grew sick of my foolery, and, forgetting the cause for which she had taken me, neglected me so much, that her court grew intolerable to my temper, and I broke my heart and died. "Minos laughed heartily at several things in my story, and then, telling me no one played the fool in Elysium, bid me go back again." Chapter xix. _Julian appears in the character of a beggar._ "I now returned to Rome, and was born into a very poor and numerous family, which, to be honest with you, procured its livelyhood by begging. This, if you was never yourself of the calling, you do not know, I suppose, to be as regular a trade as any other; to have its several rules and secrets, or mysteries, which to learn require perhaps as tedious an apprenticeship as those of any craft whatever. "The first thing we are taught is the countenance miserable. This indeed nature makes much easier to some than others; but there are none who cannot accomplish it, if they begin early enough in youth, and before the muscles are grown too stubborn. "The second thing is the voice lamentable. In this qualification too, nature must have her share in producing the most consummate excellence: however, art will here, as in every other instance, go a great way with industry and application, even without the assistance of genius, especially if the student begins young. "There are many other instructions, but these are the most considerable. The women are taught one practice more than the men, for they are instructed in the art of crying, that is, to have their tears ready on all occasions: but this is attained very easily by most. Some indeed arrive at the utmost perfection in this art with incredible facility. "No profession requires a deeper insight into human nature than the beggar's. Their knowledge of the passions of men is so extensive, that I have often thought it would be of no little service to a politician to have his education among them. Nay, there is a much greater analogy between these two characters than is imagined; for both concur in their first and grand principle, it being equally their business to delude and impose on mankind. It must be confessed that they differ widely in the degree of advantage which they make by their deceit; for, whereas the beggar is contented with a little, the politician leaves but a little behind. "A very great English philosopher hath remarked our policy, in taking care never to address any one with a title inferior to what he really claims. My father was of the same opinion; for I remember when I was a boy, the pope happening to pass by, I tended him with 'Pray, sir;' 'For God's sake, sir;' 'For the Lord's sake, sir;'--To which he answered gravely, 'Sirrah, sirrah, you ought to be whipt for taking the Lord's name in vain;' and in vain it was indeed, for he gave me nothing. My father, overhearing this, took his advice, and whipt me very severely. While I was under correction I promised often never to take the Lord's name in vain any more. My father then said, 'Child, I do not whip you for taking his name in vain; I whip you for not calling the pope his holiness.' "If all men were so wise and good to follow the clergy's example, the nuisance of beggars would soon be removed. I do not remember to have been above twice relieved by them during my whole state of beggary. Once was by a very well-looking man, who gave me a small piece of silver, and declared he had given me more than he had left himself; the other was by a spruce young fellow, who had that very day first put on his robes, whom I attended with 'Pray, reverend sir, good reverend sir, consider your cloth.' He answered, 'I do, child, consider my office, and I hope all our cloth do the same.' He then threw down some money, and strutted off with great dignity. "With the women I had one general formulary: 'Sweet pretty lady,' 'God bless your ladyship,' 'God bless your handsome face.' This generally succeeded; but I observed the uglier the woman was, the surer I was of success. "It was a constant maxim among us, that the greater retinue any one travelled with the less expectation we might promise ourselves from them; but whenever we saw a vehicle with a single or no servant we imagined our booty sure, and were seldom deceived. "We observed great difference introduced by time and circumstance in the same person; for instance, a losing gamester is sometimes generous, but from a winner you will as easily obtain his soul as a single groat. A lawyer travelling from his country seat to his clients at Rome, and a physician going to visit a patient, were always worth asking; but the same on their return were (according to our cant phrase) untouchable. "The most general, and indeed the truest, maxim among us was, that those who possessed the least were always the readiest to give. The chief art of a beggar-man is, therefore, to discern the rich from the poor, which, though it be only distinguishing substance from shadow, is by no means attainable without a pretty good capacity and a vast degree of attention; for these two are eternally industrious in endeavouring to counterfeit each other. In this deceit the poor man is more heartily in earnest to deceive you than the rich, who, amidst all the emblems of poverty which he puts on, still permits some mark of his wealth to strike the eye. Thus, while his apparel is not worth a groat, his finger wears a ring of value, or his pocket a gold watch. In a word, he seems rather to affect poverty to insult than impose on you. Now the poor man, on the contrary, is very sincere in his desire of passing for rich; but the eagerness of this desire hurries him to over-act his part, and he betrays himself as one who is drunk by his overacted sobriety. Thus, instead of being attended by one servant well mounted, he will have two; and, not being able to purchase or maintain a second horse of value, one of his servants at least is mounted on a hired rascallion. He is not contented to go plain and neat in his cloathes; he therefore claps on some tawdry ornament, and what he adds to the fineness of his vestment he detracts from the fineness of his linnen. Without descending into more minute particulars, I believe I may assert it as an axiom of indubitable truth, that whoever shews you he is either in himself or his equipage as gaudy as he can, convinces you he is more so than he can afford. Now, whenever a man's expence exceeds his income, he is indifferent in the degree; we had therefore nothing more to do with such than to flatter them with their wealth and splendour, and were always certain of success. "There is, indeed, one kind of rich man who is commonly more liberal, namely, where riches surprize him, as it were, in the midst of poverty and distress, the consequence of which is, I own, sometimes excessive avarice, but oftener extreme prodigality. I remember one of these who, having received a pretty large sum of money, gave me, when I begged an obolus, a whole talent; on which his friend having reproved him, he answered, with an oath, 'Why not? Have I not fifty left?' "The life of a beggar, if men estimated things by their real essence, and not by their outward false appearance, would be, perhaps, a more desirable situation than any of those which ambition persuades us, with such difficulty, danger, and often villany, to aspire to. The wants of a beggar are commonly as chimerical as the abundance of a nobleman; for besides vanity, which a judicious beggar will always apply to with wonderful efficacy, there are in reality very few natures so hardened as not to compassionate poverty and distress, when the predominancy of some other passion doth not prevent them. "There is one happiness which attends money got with ease, namely, that it is never hoarded; otherwise, as we have frequent opportunities of growing rich, that canker care might prey upon our quiet, as it doth on others; but our money stock we spend as fast as we acquire it; usually at least, for I speak not without exception; thus it gives us mirth only, and no trouble. Indeed, the luxury of our lives might introduce diseases, did not our daily exercise prevent them. This gives us an appetite and relish for our dainties, and at the same time an antidote against the evil effects which sloth, united with luxury, induces on the habit of a human body. Our women we enjoy with ecstasies at least equal to what the greatest men feel in their embraces. I can, I am assured, say of myself, that no mortal could reap more perfect happiness from the tender passion than my fortune had decreed me. I married a charming young woman for love; she was the daughter of a neighbouring beggar, who, with an improvidence too often seen, spent a very large income which he procured by his profession, so that he was able to give her no fortune down; however, at his death he left her a very well accustomed begging-hut, situated on the side of a steep hill, where travellers could not immediately escape from us, and a garden adjoining, being the twenty-eighth part of an acre, well planted. She made the best of wives, bore me nineteen children, and never failed, unless on her lying-in, which generally lasted three days, to get my supper ready against my return home in an evening; this being my favourite meal, and at which I, as well as my whole family, greatly enjoyed ourselves; the principal subject of our discourse being generally the boons we had that day obtained, on which occasions, laughing at the folly of the donors made no inconsiderable part of the entertainment; for, whatever might be their motive for giving, we constantly imputed our success to our having flattered their vanity, or overreached their understanding. "But perhaps I have dwelt too long on this character; I shall conclude, therefore, with telling you that after a life of 102 years' continuance, during all which I had never known any sickness or infirmity but that which old age necessarily induced, I at last, without the least pain, went out like the snuff of a candle. "Minos, having heard my history, bid me compute, if I could, how many lies I had told in my life. As we are here, by a certain fated necessity, obliged to confine ourselves to truth, I answered, I believed about 50,000,000. He then replied, with a frown, 'Can such a wretch conceive any hopes of entering Elysium?' I immediately turned about, and, upon the whole, was rejoiced at his not calling me back." [Illustration: text decoration] Chapter xx. _Julian performs the part of a statesman._ "It was now my fortune to be born of a German princess; but a man-midwife, pulling my head off in delivering my mother, put a speedy end to my princely life. "Spirits who end their lives before they are at the age of five years are immediately ordered into other bodies; and it was now my fortune to perform several infancies before I could again entitle myself to an examination of Minos. "At length I was destined once more to play a considerable part on the stage. I was born in England, in the reign of Ethelred II. My father's name was Ulnoth: he was earl or thane of Sussex. I was afterwards known by the name of earl Goodwin, and began to make a considerable figure in the world in the time of Harold Harefoot, whom I procured to be made king of Wessex, or the West Saxons, in prejudice of Hardicanute, whose mother Emma endeavoured afterwards to set another of her sons on the throne; but I circumvented her, and, communicating her design to the king, at the same time acquainted him with a project which I had formed for the murder of these two young princes. Emma had sent for these her sons from Normandy, with the king's leave, whom she had deceived by her religious behaviour, and pretended neglect of all worldly affairs; but I prevailed with Harold to invite these princes to his court, and put them to death. The prudent mother sent only Alfred, retaining Edward to herself, as she suspected my ill designs, and thought I should not venture to execute them on one of her sons, while she secured the other; but she was deceived, for I had no sooner Alfred in my possession than I caused him to be conducted to Ely, where I ordered his eyes to be put out, and afterwards to be confined in a monastery. "This was one of those cruel expedients which great men satisfy themselves well in executing, by concluding them to be necessary to the service of their prince, who is the support of their ambition. "Edward, the other son of Emma, escaped again to Normandy; whence, after the death of Harold and Hardicanute, he made no scruple of applying to my protection and favour, though he had before prosecuted me with all the vengeance he was able, for the murder of his brother; but in all great affairs private relation must yield to public interest. Having therefore concluded very advantageous terms for myself with him, I made no scruple of patronizing his cause, and soon placed him on the throne. Nor did I conceive the least apprehension from his resentment, as I knew my power was too great for him to encounter. "Among other stipulated conditions, one was to marry my daughter Editha. This Edward consented to with great reluctance, and I had afterwards no reason to be pleased with it; for it raised her, who had been my favourite child, to such an opinion of greatness, that, instead of paying me the usual respect, she frequently threw in my teeth (as often at least as I gave her any admonition), that she was now a queen, and that the character and title of father merged in that of subject. This behaviour, however, did not cure me of my affection towards her, nor lessen the uneasiness which I afterwards bore on Edward's dismissing her from his bed. "One thing which principally induced me to labour the promotion of Edward was the simplicity or weakness of that prince, under whom I promised myself absolute dominion under another name. Nor did this opinion deceive me; for, during his whole reign, my administration was in the highest degree despotic: I had everything of royalty but the outward ensigns; no man ever applying for a place, or any kind of preferment, but to me only. A circumstance which, as it greatly enriched my coffers, so it no less pampered my ambition, and satisfied my vanity with a numerous attendance; and I had the pleasure of seeing those who only bowed to the king prostrating themselves before me. "Edward the Confessor, or St Edward, as some have called him, in derision I suppose, being a very silly fellow, had all the faults incident, and almost inseparable, to fools. He married my daughter Editha from his fear of disobliging me; and afterwards, out of hatred to me, refused even to consummate his marriage, though she was one of the most beautiful women of her age. He was likewise guilty of the basest ingratitude to his mother (a vice to which fools are chiefly, if not only, liable); and, in return for her endeavours to procure him a throne in his youth, confined her in a loathsome prison in her old age. This, it is true, he did by my advice; but as to her walking over nine ploughshares red-hot, and giving nine manors, when she had not one in her possession, there is not a syllable of veracity in it. "The first great perplexity I fell into was on the account of my son Swane, who had deflowered the abbess of Leon, since called Leominster, in Herefordshire. After this fact he retired into Denmark, whence he sent to me to obtain his pardon. The king at first refused it, being moved thereto, as I afterwards found, by some churchmen, particularly by one of his chaplains, whom I had prevented from obtaining a bishopric. Upon this my son Swane invaded the coasts with several ships, and committed many outrageous cruelties; which, indeed, did his business, as they served me to apply to the fear of this king, which I had long since discovered to be his predominant passion. And, at last, he who had refused pardon to his first offence submitted to give it him after he had committed many other more monstrous crimes; by which his pardon lost all grace to the offended, and received double censure from all others. "The king was greatly inclined to the Normans, had created a Norman archbishop of Canterbury, and had heaped extraordinary favours on him. I had no other objection to this man than that he rose without my assistance; a cause of dislike which, in the reign of great and powerful favourites, hath often proved fatal to the persons who have given it, as the persons thus raised inspire us constantly with jealousies and apprehensions. For when we promote any one ourselves, we take effectual care to preserve such an ascendant over him, that we can at any time reduce him to his former degree, should he dare to act in opposition to our wills; for which reason we never suffer any to come near the prince but such as we are assured it is impossible should be capable of engaging or improving his affection; no prime minister, as I apprehend, esteeming himself to be safe while any other shares the ear of his prince, of whom we are as jealous as the fondest husband can be of his wife. Whoever, therefore, can approach him by any other channel than that of ourselves, is, in our opinion, a declared enemy, and one whom the first principles of policy oblige us to demolish with the utmost expedition. For the affection of kings is as precarious as that of women, and the only way to secure either to ourselves is to keep all others from them. "But the archbishop did not let matters rest on suspicion. He soon gave open proofs of his interest with the Confessor in procuring an office of some importance for one Rollo, a Roman of mean extraction and very despicable parts. When I represented to the king the indecency of conferring such an honour on such a fellow, he answered me that he was the archbishop's relation. 'Then, sir,' replied I, 'he is related to your enemy.' Nothing more past at that time; but I soon perceived, by the archbishop's behaviour, that the king had acquainted him with our private discourse; a sufficient assurance of his confidence in him and neglect of me. "The favour of princes, when once lost, is recoverable only by the gaining a situation which may make you terrible to them. As I had no doubt of having lost all credit with this king, which indeed had been originally founded and constantly supported by his fear, so I took the method of terror to regain it. "The earl of Boulogne coming over to visit the king gave me an opportunity of breaking out into open opposition; for, as the earl was on his return to France, one of his servants, who was sent before to procure lodgings at Dover, and insisted on having them in the house of a private man in spite of the owner's teeth, was, in a fray which ensued, killed on the spot; and the earl himself, arriving there soon after, very narrowly escaped with his life. The earl, enraged at this affront, returned to the king at Gloucester with loud complaints and demands of satisfaction. Edward consented to his demands, and ordered me to chastise the rioters, who were under my government as earl of Kent: but, instead of obeying these orders, I answered, with some warmth, that the English were not used to punish people unheard, nor ought their rights and privileges to be violated; that the accused should be first summoned--if guilty, should make satisfaction both with body and estate, but, if innocent, should be discharged. Adding, with great ferocity, that as earl of Kent it was my duty to protect those under my government against the insults of foreigners. "This accident was extremely lucky, as it gave my quarrel with the king a popular colour, and so ingratiated me with the people, that when I set up my standard, which I soon after did, they readily and chearfully listed under my banners and embraced my cause, which I persuaded them was their own; for that it was to protect them against foreigners that I had drawn my sword. The word foreigners with an Englishman hath a kind of magical effect, they having the utmost hatred and aversion to them, arising from the cruelties they suffered from the Danes and some other foreign nations. No wonder therefore they espoused my cause in a quarrel which had such a beginning. "But what may be somewhat more remarkable is, that when I afterwards returned to England from banishment, and was at the head of an army of the Flemish, who were preparing to plunder the city of London, I still persisted that I was come to defend the English from the danger of foreigners, and gained their credit. Indeed, there is no lie so gross but it may be imposed on the people by those whom they esteem their patrons and defenders. "The king saved his city by being reconciled to me, and taking again my daughter, whom he had put away from him; and thus, having frightened the king into what concessions I thought proper, I dismissed my army and fleet, with which I intended, could I not have succeeded otherwise, to have sacked the city of London and ravaged the whole country. "I was no sooner re-established in the king's favour, or, what was as well for me, the appearance of it, than I fell violently on the archbishop. He had of himself retired to his monastery in Normandy; but that did not content me: I had him formally banished, the see declared vacant, and then filled up by another. "I enjoyed my grandeur a very short time after my restoration to it; for the king, hating and fearing me to a very great degree, and finding no means of openly destroying me, at last effected his purpose by poison, and then spread abroad a ridiculous story, of my wishing the next morsel might choak me if I had had any hand in the death of Alfred; and, accordingly, that the next morsel, by a divine judgment, stuck in my throat and performed that office. "This of a statesman was one of my worst stages in the other world. It is a post subjected daily to the greatest danger and inquietude, and attended with little pleasure and less ease. In a word, it is a pill which, was it not gilded over by ambition, would appear nauseous and detestable in the eye of every one; and perhaps that is one reason why Minos so greatly compassionates the case of those who swallow it: for that just judge told me he always acquitted a prime minister who could produce one single good action in his whole life, let him have committed ever so many crimes. Indeed, I understood him a little too largely, and was stepping towards the gate; but he pulled me by the sleeve, and, telling me no prime minister ever entered there, bid me go back again; saying, he thought I had sufficient reason to rejoice in my escaping the bottomless pit, which half my crimes committed in any other capacity would have entitled me to." [Illustration: text decoration] Chapter xxi. _Julian's adventures in the post of a soldier._ "I was born at Caen, in Normandy. My mother's name was Matilda; as for my father, I am not so certain, for the good woman on her deathbed assured me she herself could bring her guess to no greater certainty than to five of duke William's captains. When I was no more than thirteen (being indeed a surprising stout boy of my age) I enlisted into the army of duke William, afterwards known by the name of William the Conqueror, landed with him at Pemesey or Pemsey, in Sussex, and was present at the famous battle of Hastings. "At the first onset it was impossible to describe my consternation, which was heightened by the fall of two soldiers who stood by me; but this soon abated, and by degrees, as my blood grew warm, I thought no more of my own safety, but fell on the enemy with great fury, and did a good deal of execution; till, unhappily, I received a wound in my thigh, which rendered me unable to stand any longer, so that I now lay among the dead, and was constantly exposed to the danger of being trampled to death, as well by my fellow-soldiers as by the enemy. However, I had the fortune to escape it, and continued the remaining part of the day and the night following on the ground. "The next morning, the duke sending out parties to bring off the wounded, I was found almost expiring with loss of blood: notwithstanding which, as immediate care was taken to dress my wounds, youth and a robust constitution stood my friends, and I recovered after a long and tedious indisposition, and was again able to use my limbs and do my duty. "As soon as Dover was taken I was conveyed thither with all the rest of the sick and wounded. Here I recovered of my wound; but fell afterwards into a violent flux, which, when it departed, left me so weak that it was long before I could regain my strength. And what most afflicted me was, that during my whole illness, when I languished under want as well as sickness, I had daily the mortification to see and hear the riots and excess of my fellow-soldiers, who had happily escaped safe from the battle. "I was no sooner well than I was ordered into garrison at Dover Castle. The officers here fared very indifferently, but the private men much worse. We had great scarcity of provisions, and, what was yet more intolerable, were so closely confined for want of room (four of us being obliged to lie on the same bundle of straw), that many died, and most sickened. "Here I had remained about four months, when one night we were alarmed with the arrival of the earl of Boulogne, who had come over privily from France, and endeavoured to surprize the castle. The design proved ineffectual; for the garrison making a brisk sally, most of his men were tumbled down the precipice, and he returned with a very few back to France. In this action, however, I had the misfortune to come off with a broken arm; it was so shattered, that, besides a great deal of pain and misery which I endured in my cure, I was disabled for upwards of three months. "Soon after my recovery I had contracted an amour with a young woman whose parents lived near the garrison, and were in much better circumstances than I had reason to expect should give their consent to the match. However, as she was extremely fond of me (as I was indeed distractedly enamoured of her), they were prevailed on to comply with her desires, and the day was fixed for our marriage. "On the evening preceding, while I was exulting with the eager expectation of the happiness I was the next day to enjoy, I received orders to march early in the morning towards Windsor, where a large army was to be formed, at the head of which the king intended to march into the west. Any person who hath ever been in love may easily imagine what I felt in my mind on receiving those orders; and what still heightened my torments was, that the commanding officer would not permit any one to go out of the garrison that evening; so that I had not even an opportunity of taking leave of my beloved. "The morning came which was to have put me in the possession of my wishes; but, alas! the scene was now changed, and all the hopes which I had raised were now so many ghosts to haunt, and furies to torment me. "It was now the midst of winter, and very severe weather for the season; when we were obliged to make very long and fatiguing marches, in which we suffered all the inconveniences of cold and hunger. The night in which I expected to riot in the arms of my beloved mistress I was obliged to take up with a lodging on the ground, exposed to the inclemencies of a rigid frost; nor could I obtain the least comfort of sleep, which shunned me as its enemy. In short, the horrors of that night are not to be described, or perhaps imagined. They made such an impression on my soul, that I was forced to be dipped three times in the river Lethe to prevent my remembering it in the characters which I afterwards performed in the flesh." Here I interrupted Julian for the first time, and told him no such dipping had happened to me in my voyage from one world to the other: but he satisfied me by saying "that this only happened to those spirits which returned into the flesh, in order to prevent that reminiscence which Plato mentions, and which would otherwise cause great confusion in the other world." He then proceeded as follows: "We continued a very laborious march to Exeter, which we were ordered to besiege. The town soon surrendered, and his majesty built a castle there, which he garrisoned with his Normans, and unhappily I had the misfortune to be one of the number. "Here we were confined closer than I had been at Dover; for, as the citizens were extremely disaffected, we were never suffered to go without the walls of the castle; nor indeed could we, unless in large bodies, without the utmost danger. We were likewise kept to continual duty, nor could any solicitations prevail with the commanding officer to give me a month's absence to visit my love, from whom I had no opportunity of hearing in all my long absence. "However, in the spring, the people being more quiet, and another officer of a gentler temper succeeding to the principal command, I obtained leave to go to Dover; but alas! what comfort did my long journey bring me? I found the parents of my darling in the utmost misery at her loss; for she had died, about a week before my arrival, of a consumption, which they imputed to her pining at my sudden departure. "I now fell into the most violent and almost raving fit of despair. I cursed myself, the king, and the whole world, which no longer seemed to have any delight for me. I threw myself on the grave of my deceased love, and lay there without any kind of sustenance for two whole days. At last hunger, together with the persuasions of some people who took pity on me, prevailed with me to quit that situation, and refresh myself with food. They then persuaded me to return to my post, and abandon a place where almost every object I saw recalled ideas to my mind which, as they said, I should endeavour with my utmost force to expel from it. This advice at length succeeded; the rather, as the father and mother of my beloved refused to see me, looking on me as the innocent but certain cause of the death of their only child. "The loss of one we tenderly love, as it is one of the most bitter and biting evils which attend human life, so it wants the lenitive which palliates and softens every other calamity; I mean that great reliever, hope. No man can be so totally undone, but that he may still cherish expectation: but this deprives us of all such comfort, nor can anything but time alone lessen it. This, however, in most minds, is sure to work a slow but effectual remedy; so did it in mine: for within a twelvemonth I was entirely reconciled to my fortune, and soon after absolutely forgot the object of a passion from which I had promised myself such extreme happiness, and in the disappointment of which I had experienced such inconceivable misery. "At the expiration of the month I returned to my garrison at Exeter; where I was no sooner arrived than I was ordered to march into the north, to oppose a force there levied by the earls of Chester and Northumberland. We came to York, where his majesty pardoned the heads of the rebels, and very severely punished some who were less guilty. It was particularly my lot to be ordered to seize a poor man who had never been out of his house, and convey him to prison. I detested this barbarity, yet was obliged to execute it; nay, though no reward would have bribed me in a private capacity to have acted such a part, yet so much sanctity is there in the commands of a monarch or general to a soldier, that I performed it without reluctance, nor had the tears of his wife and family any prevalence with me. "But this, which was a very small piece of mischief in comparison with many of my barbarities afterwards, was however the only one which ever gave me any uneasiness; for when the king led us afterwards into Northumberland to revenge those people's having joined with Osborne the Dane in his invasion, and orders were given us to commit what ravages we could, I was forward in fulfilling them, and, among some lesser cruelties (I remember it yet with sorrow), I ravished a woman, murdered a little infant playing in her lap, and then burnt her house. In short, for I have no pleasure in this part of my relation, I had my share in all the cruelties exercised on those poor wretches; which were so grievous, that for sixty miles together, between York and Durham, not a single house, church, or any other public or private edifice, was left standing. "We had pretty well devoured the country, when we were ordered to march to the Isle of Ely, to oppose Hereward, a bold and stout soldier, who had under him a very large body of rebels, who had the impudence to rise against their king and conqueror (I talk now in the same style I did then) in defence of their liberties, as they called them. These were soon subdued; but as I happened (more to my glory than my comfort) to be posted in that part through which Hereward cut his way, I received a dreadful cut on the forehead, a second on the shoulder, and was run through the body with a pike. "I languished a long time with these wounds, which made me incapable of attending the king into Scotland. However, I was able to go over with him afterwards into Normandy, in his expedition against Philip, who had taken the opportunity of the troubles in England to invade that province. Those few Normans who had survived their wounds, and had remained in the Isle of Ely, were all of our nation who went, the rest of his army being all composed of English. In a skirmish near the town of Mans my leg was broke and so shattered that it was forced to be cut off. "I was now disabled from serving longer in the army; and accordingly, being discharged from the service, I retired to the place of my nativity, where, in extreme poverty, and frequent bad health from the many wounds I had received, I dragged on a miserable life to the age of sixty-three; my only pleasure being to recount the feats of my youth, in which narratives I generally exceeded the truth. "It would be tedious and unpleasant to recount to you the several miseries I suffered after my return to Caen; let it suffice, they were so terrible that they induced Minos to compassionate me, and, notwithstanding the barbarities I had been guilty of in Northumberland, to suffer me to go once more back to earth." Chapter xxii. _What happened to Julian in the person of a taylor._ "Fortune now stationed me in a character which the ingratitude of mankind hath put them on ridiculing, though they owe to it not only a relief from the inclemencies of cold, to which they would otherwise be exposed, but likewise a considerable satisfaction of their vanity. The character I mean was that of a taylor; which, if we consider it with due attention, must be confessed to have in it great dignity and importance. For, in reality, who constitutes the different degrees between men but the taylor? the prince indeed gives the title, but it is the taylor who makes the man. To his labours are owing the respect of crouds, and the awe which great men inspire into their beholders, though these are too often unjustly attributed to other motives. Lastly, the admiration of the fair is most commonly to be placed to his account. "I was just set up in my trade when I made three suits of fine clothes for king Stephen's coronation. I question whether the person who wears the rich coat hath so much pleasure and vanity in being admired in it, as we taylors have from that admiration; and perhaps a philosopher would say he is not so well entitled to it. I bustled on the day of the ceremony through the croud, and it was with incredible delight I heard several say, as my cloaths walked by, 'Bless me, was ever anything so fine as the earl of Devonshire? Sure he and Sir Hugh Bigot are the two best drest men I ever saw.' Now both those suits were of my making. "There would indeed be infinite pleasure in working for the courtiers, as they are generally genteel men, and shew one's clothes to the best advantage, was it not for one small discouragement; this is, that they never pay. I solemnly protest, though I lost almost as much by the court in my life as I got by the city, I never carried a suit into the latter with half the satisfaction which I have done to the former; though from that I was certain of ready money, and from this almost as certain of no money at all. "Courtiers may, however, be divided into two sorts, very essentially different from each other; into those who never intend to pay for their clothes; and those who do intend to pay for them, but never happen to be able. Of the latter sort are many of those young gentlemen whom we equip out for the army, and who are, unhappily for us, cut off before they arrive at preferment. This is the reason that taylors, in time of war, are mistaken for politicians by their inquisitiveness into the event of battles, one campaign very often proving the ruin of half-a-dozen of us. I am sure I had frequent reason to curse that fatal battle of Cardigan, where the Welsh defeated some of king Stephen's best troops, and where many a good suit of mine, unpaid for, fell to the ground. "The gentlemen of this honourable calling have fared much better in later ages than when I was of it; for now it seems the fashion is, when they apprehend their customer is not in the best circumstances, if they are not paid as soon as they carry home the suit, they charge him in their book as much again as it is worth, and then send a gentleman with a small scrip of parchment to demand the money. If this be not immediately paid the gentleman takes the beau with him to his house, where he locks him up till the taylor is contented: but in my time these scrips of parchment were not in use; and if the beau disliked paying for his clothes, as very often happened, we had no method of compelling him. "In several of the characters which I have related to you, I apprehend I have sometimes forgot myself, and considered myself as really interested as I was when I personated them on earth. I have just now caught myself in the fact; for I have complained to you as bitterly of my customers as I formerly used to do when I was the taylor: but in reality, though there were some few persons of very great quality, and some others, who never paid their debts, yet those were but a few, and I had a method of repairing this loss. My customers I divided under three heads: those who paid ready money, those who paid slow, and those who never paid at all. The first of these I considered apart by themselves, as persons by whom I got a certain but small profit. The two last I lumped together, making those who paid slow contribute to repair my losses by those who did not pay at all. Thus, upon the whole, I was a very inconsiderable loser, and might have left a fortune to my family, had I not launched forth into expenses which swallowed up all my gains. I had a wife and two children. These indeed I kept frugally enough, for I half starved them; but I kept a mistress in a finer way, for whom I had a country-house, pleasantly situated on the Thames, elegantly fitted up and neatly furnished. This woman might very properly be called my mistress, for she was most absolutely so; and though her tenure was no higher than by my will, she domineered as tyrannically as if my chains had been riveted in the strongest manner. To all this I submitted, not through any adoration of her beauty, which was indeed but indifferent. Her charms consisted in little wantonnesses, which she knew admirably well to use in hours of dalliance, and which, I believe, are of all things the most delightful to a lover. "She was so profusely extravagant, that it seemed as if she had an actual intent to ruin me. This I am sure of, if such had been her real intention, she could have taken no properer way to accomplish it; nay, I myself might appear to have had the same view: for, besides this extravagant mistress and my country-house, I kept likewise a brace of hunters, rather for that it was fashionable so to do than for any great delight I took in the sport, which I very little attended; not for want of leisure, for few noblemen had so much. All the work I ever did was taking measure, and that only of my greatest and best customers. I scarce ever cut a piece of cloth in my life, nor was indeed much more able to fashion a coat than any gentleman in the kingdom. This made a skilful servant too necessary to me. He knew I must submit to any terms with, or any treatment from, him. He knew it was easier for him to find another such a taylor as me than for me to procure such another workman as him: for this reason he exerted the most notorious and cruel tyranny, seldom giving me a civil word; nor could the utmost condescension on my side, though attended with continual presents and rewards, and raising his wages, content or please him. In a word, he was as absolutely my master as was ever an ambitious, industrious prime minister over an indolent and voluptuous king. All my other journeymen paid more respect to him than to me; for they considered my favour as a necessary consequence of obtaining his. "These were the most remarkable occurrences while I acted this part. Minos hesitated a few moments, and then bid me get back again, without assigning any reason." Chapter xxiii. _The life of alderman Julian._ "I now revisited England, and was born at London. My father was one of the magistrates of that city. He had eleven children, of whom I was the eldest. He had great success in trade, and grew extremely rich, but the largeness of his family rendered it impossible for him to leave me a fortune sufficient to live well on independent of business. I was accordingly brought up to be a fishmonger, in which capacity I myself afterwards acquired very considerable wealth. "The same disposition of mind which in princes is called ambition is in subjects named faction. To this temper I was greatly addicted from my youth. I was, while a boy, a great partisan of prince John's against his brother Richard, during the latter's absence in the holy war and in his captivity. I was no more than one-and-twenty when I first began to make political speeches in publick, and to endeavour to foment disquietude and discontent in the city. As I was pretty well qualified for this office, by a great fluency of words, an harmonious accent, a graceful delivery, and above all an invincible assurance, I had soon acquired some reputation among the younger citizens, and some of the weaker and more inconsiderate of a riper age. This, co-operating with my own natural vanity, made me extravagantly proud and supercilious. I soon began to esteem myself a man of some consequence, and to overlook persons every way my superiors. "The famous Robin Hood, and his companion Little John, at this time made a considerable figure in Yorkshire. I took upon me to write a letter to the former, in the name of the city, inviting him to come to London, where I assured him of very good reception, signifying to him my own great weight and consequence, and how much I had disposed the citizens in his favour. Whether he received this letter or no I am not certain; but he never gave me any answer to it. "A little afterwards one William Fitz-Osborn, or, as he was nicknamed, William Long-Beard, began to make a figure in the city. He was a bold and an impudent fellow, and had raised himself to great popularity with the rabble, by pretending to espouse their cause against the rich. I took this man's part, and made a public oration in his favour, setting him forth as a patriot, and one who had embarked in the cause of liberty: for which service he did not receive me with the acknowledgments I expected. However, as I thought I should easily gain the ascendant over this fellow, I continued still firm on his side, till the archbishop of Canterbury, with an armed force, put an end to his progress: for he was seized in Bow-church, where he had taken refuge, and with nine of his accomplices hanged in chains. "I escaped narrowly myself; for I was seized in the same church with the rest, and, as I had been very considerably engaged in the enterprize, the archbishop was inclined to make me an example; but my father's merit, who had advanced a considerable sum to queen Eleanor towards the king's ransom, preserved me. "The consternation my danger had occasioned kept me some time quiet, and I applied myself very assiduously to my trade. I invented all manner of methods to enhance the price of fish, and made use of my utmost endeavours to engross as much of the business as possible in my own hands. By these means I acquired a substance which raised me to some little consequence in the city, but far from elevating me to that degree which I had formerly flattered myself with possessing at a time when I was totally insignificant; for, in a trading society, money must at least lay the foundation of all power and interest. "But as it hath been remarked that the same ambition which sent Alexander into Asia brings the wrestler on the green; and as this same ambition is as incapable as quicksilver of lying still; so I, who was possessed perhaps of a share equal to what hath fired the blood of any of the heroes of antiquity, was no less restless and discontented with ease and quiet. My first endeavours were to make myself head of my company, which Richard I. had just published, and soon afterwards I procured myself to be chosen alderman. "Opposition is the only state which can give a subject an opportunity of exerting the disposition I was possessed of. Accordingly, king John was no sooner seated on his throne than I began to oppose his measures, whether right or wrong. It is true that monarch had faults enow. He was so abandoned to lust and luxury, that he addicted himself to the most extravagant excesses in both, while he indolently suffered the king of France to rob him of almost all his foreign dominions: my opposition therefore was justifiable enough, and if my motive from within had been as good as the occasion from without I should have had little to excuse; but, in truth, I sought nothing but my own preferment, by making myself formidable to the king, and then selling to him the interest of that party by whose means I had become so. Indeed, had the public good been my care, however zealously I might have opposed the beginning of his reign, I should not have scrupled to lend him my utmost assistance in the struggle between him and pope Innocent the third, in which he was so manifestly in the right; nor have suffered the insolence of that pope, and the power of the king of France, to have compelled him in the issue, basely to resign his crown into the hands of the former, and receive it again as a vassal; by means of which acknowledgment the pope afterwards claimed this kingdom as a tributary fief to be held of the papal chair; a claim which occasioned great uneasiness to many subsequent princes, and brought numberless calamities on the nation. "As the king had, among other concessions, stipulated to pay an immediate sum of money to Pandulph, which he had great difficulty to raise, it was absolutely necessary for him to apply to the city, where my interest and popularity were so high that he had no hopes without my assistance. As I knew this, I took care to sell myself and country as high as possible. The terms I demanded, therefore, were a place, a pension, and a knighthood. All those were immediately consented to. I was forthwith knighted, and promised the other two. "I now mounted the hustings, and, without any regard to decency or modesty, made as emphatical a speech in favour of the king as before I had done against him. In this speech I justified all those measures which I had before condemned, and pleaded as earnestly with my fellow-citizens to open their purses, as I had formerly done to prevail with them to keep them shut. But, alas! my rhetoric had not the effect I proposed. The consequence of my arguments was only contempt to myself. The people at first stared on one another, and afterwards began unanimously to express their dislike. An impudent fellow among them, reflecting on my trade, cryed out, 'Stinking fish;' which was immediately reiterated through the whole croud. I was then forced to slink away home; but I was not able to accomplish my retreat without being attended by the mob, who huzza'd me along the street with the repeated cries of 'Stinking fish.' "I now proceeded to court, to inform his majesty of my faithful service, and how much I had suffered in his cause. I found by my first reception he had already heard of my success. Instead of thanking me for my speech, he said the city should repent of their obstinacy, for that he would shew them who he was: and so saying, he immediately turned that part to me to which the toe of man hath so wonderful an affection, that it is very difficult, whenever it presents itself conveniently, to keep our toes from the most violent and ardent salutation of it. "I was a little nettled at this behaviour, and with some earnestness claimed the king's fulfilling his promise; but he retired without answering me. I then applied to some of the courtiers, who had lately professed great friendship to me, had eat at my house, and invited me to theirs: but not one would return me any answer, all running away from me as if I had been seized with some contagious distemper. I now found by experience that, as none can be so civil, so none can be ruder than a courtier. "A few moments after the king's retiring I was left alone in the room to consider what I should do or whither I should turn myself. My reception in the city promised itself to be equal at least with what I found at court. However, there was my home, and thither it was necessary I should retreat for the present. "But, indeed, bad as I apprehended my treatment in the city would be, it exceeded my expectation. I rode home on an ambling pad through crouds who expressed every kind of disregard and contempt; pelting me not only with the most abusive language, but with dirt. However, with much difficulty I arrived at last at my own house, with my bones whole, but covered over with filth. "When I was got within my doors, and had shut them against the mob, who had pretty well vented their spleen, and seemed now contented to retire, my wife, whom I found crying over her children, and from whom I had hoped some comfort in my afflictions, fell upon me in the most outrageous manner. She asked me why I would venture on such a step, without consulting her; she said her advice might have been civilly asked, if I was resolved not to have been guided by it. That, whatever opinion I might have conceived of her understanding, the rest of the world thought better of it. That I had never failed when I had asked her counsel, nor ever succeeded without it;--with much more of the same kind, too tedious to mention; concluding that it was a monstrous behaviour to desert my party and come over to the court. An abuse which I took worse than all the rest, as she had been constantly for several years assiduous in railing at the opposition, in siding with the court-party, and begging me to come over to it; and especially after my mentioning the offer of knighthood to her, since which time she had continually interrupted my repose with dinning in my ears the folly of refusing honours and of adhering to a party and to principles by which I was certain of procuring no advantage to myself and my family. "I had now entirely lost my trade, so that I had not the least temptation to stay longer in a city where I was certain of receiving daily affronts and rebukes. I therefore made up my affairs with the utmost expedition, and, scraping together all I could, retired into the country, where I spent the remainder of my days in universal contempt, being shunned by everybody, perpetually abused by my wife, and not much respected by my children. "Minos told me, though I had been a very vile fellow, he thought my sufferings made some atonement, and so bid me take the other trial." Chapter xxiv. _Julian recounts what happened to him while he was a poet._ "Rome was now the seat of my nativity, where I was born of a family more remarkable for honour than riches. I was intended for the church, and had a pretty good education; but my father dying while I was young, and leaving me nothing, for he had wasted his whole patrimony, I was forced to enter myself in the order of mendicants. "When I was at school I had a knack of rhiming, which I unhappily mistook for genius, and indulged to my cost; for my verses drew on me only ridicule, and I was in contempt called the poet. "This humour pursued me through my life. My first composition after I left school was a panegyric on pope Alexander IV., who then pretended a project of dethroning the king of Sicily. On this subject I composed a poem of about fifteen thousand lines, which with much difficulty I got to be presented to his holiness, of whom I expected great preferment as my reward; but I was cruelly disappointed: for when I had waited a year, without hearing any of the commendations I had flattered myself with receiving, and being now able to contain no longer, I applied to a Jesuit who was my relation, and had the pope's ear, to know what his holiness's opinion was of my work: he coldly answered me that he was at that time busied in concerns of too much importance to attend the reading of poems. "However dissatisfied I might be, and really was, with this reception, and however angry I was with the pope, for whose understanding I entertained an immoderate contempt, I was not yet discouraged from a second attempt. Accordingly, I soon after produced another work, entitled, The Trojan Horse. This was an allegorical work, in which the church was introduced into the world in the same manner as that machine had been into Troy. The priests were the soldiers in its belly, and the heathen superstition the city to be destroyed by them. This poem was written in Latin. I remember some of the lines:-- Mundanos scandit fatalis machina muros, Farta sacerdotum turmis: exinde per alvum Visi exire omnes, magno cum murmure olentes. Non aliter quàm cum humanis furibundus ab antris It sonus et nares simul aura invadit hiantes. Mille scatent et mille alii; trepidare timore Ethnica gens coepit: falsi per inane volantes Effugere Dei--Desertaque templa relinquunt. Jam magnum crepitavit equus, mox orbis et alti Ingemuere poli: tunc tu pater, ultimus omnium Maxime Alexander, ventrem maturus equinum Deseris, heu proles meliori digne parente." I believe Julian, had I not stopt him, would have gone through the whole poem (for, as I observed in most of the characters he related, the affections he had enjoyed while he personated them on earth still made some impression on him); but I begged him to omit the sequel of the poem, and proceed with his history. He then recollected himself, and, smiling at the observation which by intuition he perceived I had made, continued his narration as follows:-- "I confess to you," says he, "that the delight in repeating our own works is so predominant in a poet, that I find nothing can totally root it out of the soul. Happy would it be for those persons if their hearers could be delighted in the same manner: but alas! hence that _ingens solitudo_ complained of by Horace: for the vanity of mankind is so much greedier and more general than their avarice, that no beggar is so ill received by them as he who solicits their praise. "This I sufficiently experienced in the character of a poet; for my company was shunned (I believe on this account chiefly) by my whole house: nay, there were few who would submit to hearing me read my poetry, even at the price of sharing in my provisions. The only person who gave me audience was a brother poet; he indeed fed me with commendation very liberally: but, as I was forced to hear and commend in my turn, I perhaps bought his attention dear enough. "Well, sir, if my expectations of the reward I hoped from my first poem had baulked me, I had now still greater reason to complain; for, instead of being preferred or commended for the second, I was enjoined a very severe penance by my superior, for ludicrously comparing the pope to a f--t. My poetry was now the jest of every company, except some few who spoke of it with detestation; and I found that, instead of recommending me to preferment, it had effectually barred me from all probability of attaining it. "These discouragements had now induced me to lay down my pen and write no more. But, as Juvenal says, --Si discedas, Laqueo tenet ambitiosi Consuetudo mali. I was an example of the truth of this assertion, for I soon betook myself again to my muse. Indeed, a poet hath the same happiness with a man who is dotingly fond of an ugly woman. The one enjoys his muse, and the other his mistress, with a pleasure very little abated by the esteem of the world, and only undervalues their taste for not corresponding with his own. "It is unnecessary to mention any more of my poems; they had all the same fate; and though in reality some of my latter pieces deserved (I may now speak it without the imputation of vanity) a better success, as I had the character of a bad writer, I found it impossible ever to obtain the reputation of a good one. Had I possessed the merit of Homer I could have hoped for no applause; since it must have been a profound secret; for no one would now read a syllable of my writings. "The poets of my age were, as I believe you know, not very famous. However, there was one of some credit at that time, though I have the consolation to know his works are all perished long ago. The malice, envy, and hatred I bore this man are inconceivable to any but an author, and an unsuccessful one; I never could bear to hear him well spoken of, and writ anonymous satires against him, though I had received obligations from him; indeed I believe it would have been an absolute impossibility for him at any rate to have made me sincerely his friend. "I have heard an observation which was made by some one of later days, that there are no worse men than bad authors. A remark of the same kind hath been made on ugly women, and the truth of both stands on one and the same reason, viz., that they are both tainted with that cursed and detestable vice of envy; which, as it is the greatest torment to the mind it inhabits, so is it capable of introducing into it a total corruption, and of inspiring it to the commission of the most horrid crimes imaginable. "My life was but short; for I soon pined myself to death with the vice I just now mentioned. Minos told me I was infinitely too bad for Elysium; and as for the other place, the devil had sworn he would never entertain a poet for Orpheus's sake: so I was forced to return again to the place from whence I came." Chapter xxv. _Julian performs the parts of a knight and a dancing-master._ "I now mounted the stage in Sicily, and became a knight-templar; but, as my adventures differ so little from those I have recounted you in the character of a common soldier, I shall not tire you with repetition. The soldier and the captain differ in reality so little from one another, that it requires an accurate judgment to distinguish them; the latter wears finer cloaths, and in times of success lives somewhat more delicately; but as to everything else, they very nearly resemble one another. "My next step was into France, where fortune assigned me the part of a dancing-master. I was so expert in my profession that I was brought to court in my youth, and had the heels of Philip de Valois, who afterwards succeeded Charles the Fair, committed to my direction. "I do not remember that in any of the characters in which I appeared on earth I ever assumed to myself a greater dignity, or thought myself of more real importance, than now. I looked on dancing as the greatest excellence of human nature, and on myself as the greatest proficient in it. And, indeed, this seemed to be the general opinion of the whole court; for I was the chief instructor of the youth of both sexes, whose merit was almost entirely defined by the advances they made in that science which I had the honour to profess. As to myself, I was so fully persuaded of this truth, that I not only slighted and despised those who were ignorant of dancing, but I thought the highest character I could give any man was that he made a graceful bow: for want of which accomplishment I had a sovereign contempt for most persons of learning; nay, for some officers in the army, and a few even of the courtiers themselves. "Though so little of my youth had been thrown away in what they call literature that I could hardly write and read, yet I composed a treatise on education; the first rudiments of which, as I taught, were to instruct a child in the science of coming handsomely into a room. In this I corrected many faults of my predecessors, particularly that of being too much in a hurry, and instituting a child in the sublimer parts of dancing before they are capable of making their honours. "But as I have not now the same high opinion of my profession which I had then, I shall not entertain you with a long history of a life which consisted of borées and coupées. Let it suffice that I lived to a very old age and followed my business as long as I could crawl. At length I revisited my old friend Minos, who treated me with very little respect and bade me dance back again to earth. "I did so, and was now once more born an Englishman, bred up to the church, and at length arrived to the station of a bishop. "Nothing was so remarkable in this character as my always voting----[J]." [Illustration: text decoration] BOOK XIX. Chapter vii. _Wherein Anna Boleyn relates the history of her life._ "I am going now truly to recount a life which from the time of its ceasing has been, in the other world, the continual subject of the cavils of contending parties; the one making me as black as hell, the other as pure and innocent as the inhabitants of this blessed place; the mist of prejudice blinding their eyes, and zeal for what they themselves profess, making everything appear in that light which they think most conduces to its honour. "My infancy was spent in my father's house, in those childish plays which are most suitable to that state, and I think this was one of the happiest parts of my life; for my parents were not among the number of those who look upon their children as so many objects of a tyrannic power, but I was regarded as the dear pledge of a virtuous love, and all my little pleasures were thought from their indulgence their greatest delight. At seven years old I was carried into France with the king's sister, who was married to the French king, where I lived with a person of quality, who was an acquaintance of my father's. I spent my time in learning those things necessary to give young persons of fashion a polite education, and did neither good nor evil, but day passed after day in the same easy way till I was fourteen; then began my anxiety, my vanity grew strong, and my heart fluttered with joy at every compliment paid to my beauty: and as the lady with whom I lived was of a gay, chearful disposition, she kept a great deal of company, and my youth and charms made me the continual object of their admiration. I passed some little time in those exulting raptures which are felt by every woman perfectly satisfied with herself and with the behaviour of others towards her: I was, when very young, promoted to be maid of honour to her majesty. The court was frequented by a young nobleman whose beauty was the chief subject of conversation in all assemblies of ladies. The delicacy of his person, added to a great softness in his manner, gave everything he said and did such an air of tenderness, that every woman he spoke to flattered herself with being the object of his love. I was one of those who was vain enough of my own charms to hope to make a conquest of him whom the whole court sighed for. I now thought every other object below my notice; yet the only pleasure I proposed to myself in this design was, the triumphing over that heart which I plainly saw all the ladies of the highest quality and the greatest beauty would have been proud of possessing. I was yet too young to be very artful; but nature, without any assistance, soon discovers to a man who is used to gallantry a woman's desire to be liked by him, whether that desire arises from any particular choice she makes of him, or only from vanity. He soon perceived my thoughts, and gratified my utmost wishes by constantly preferring me before all other women, and exerting his utmost gallantry and address to engage my affections. This sudden happiness, which I then thought the greatest I could have had, appeared visible in all my actions; I grew so gay and so full of vivacity, that it made my person appear still to a better advantage, all my acquaintance pretending to be fonder of me than ever: though, young as I was, I plainly saw it was but pretence, for through all their endeavours to the contrary envy would often break forth in sly insinuations and malicious sneers, which gave me fresh matter of triumph, and frequent opportunities of insulting them, which I never let slip, for now first my female heart grew sensible of the spiteful pleasure of seeing another languish for what I enjoyed. Whilst I was in the height of my happiness her majesty fell ill of a languishing distemper, which obliged her to go into the country for the change of air: my place made it necessary for me to attend her, and which way he brought it about I can't imagine, but my young hero found means to be one of that small train that waited on my royal mistress, although she went as privately as possible. Hitherto all the interviews I had ever had with him were in public, and I only looked on him as the fitter object to feed that pride which had no other view but to shew its power; but now the scene was quite changed. My rivals were all at a distance: the place we went to was as charming as the most agreeable natural situation, assisted by the greatest art, could make it; the pleasant solitary walks, the singing of birds, the thousand pretty romantic scenes this delightful place afforded, gave a sudden turn to my mind; my whole soul was melted into softness, and all my vanity was fled. My spark was too much used to affairs of this nature not to perceive this change; at first the profuse transports of his joy made me believe him wholly mine, and this belief gave me such happiness that no language affords words to express it, and can be only known to those who have felt it. But this was of a very short duration, for I soon found I had to do with one of those men whose only end in the pursuit of a woman is to make her fall a victim to an insatiable desire to be admired. His designs had succeeded, and now he every day grew colder, and, as if by infatuation, my passion every day increased; and, notwithstanding all my resolutions and endeavours to the contrary, my rage at the disappointment at once both of my love and pride, and at the finding a passion fixed in my breast I knew not how to conquer, broke out into that inconsistent behaviour which must always be the consequence of violent passions. One moment I reproached him, the next I grew to tenderness and blamed myself, and thought I fancied what was not true: he saw my struggle and triumphed in it; but, as he had not witnesses enough there of his victory to give him the full enjoyment of it, he grew weary of the country and returned to Paris, and left me in a condition it is utterly impossible to describe. My mind was like a city up in arms, all confusion; and every new thought was a fresh disturber of my peace. Sleep quite forsook me, and the anxiety I suffered threw me into a fever which had like to have cost me my life. With great care I recovered, but the violence of the distemper left such a weakness on my body that the disturbance of my mind was greatly assuaged; and now I began to comfort myself in the reflection that this gentleman's being a finished coquet was very likely the only thing could have preserved me; for he was the only man from whom I was ever in any danger. By that time I was got tolerably well we returned to Paris; and I confess I both wished and feared to see this cause of all my pain: however, I hoped, by the help of my resentment, to be able to meet him with indifference. This employed my thoughts till our arrival. The next day there was a very full court to congratulate the queen on her recovery; and amongst the rest my love appeared dressed and adorned as if he designed some new conquest. Instead of seeing a woman he despised and slighted, he approached me with that assured air which is common to successful coxcombs. At the same time I perceived I was surrounded by all those ladies who were on his account my greatest enemies, and, in revenge, wished for nothing more than to see me make a ridiculous figure. This situation so perplexed my thoughts, that when he came near enough to speak to me, I fainted away in his arms. Had I studied which way I could gratify him most, it was impossible to have done anything to have pleased him more. Some that stood by brought smelling-bottles, and used means for my recovery; and I was welcomed to returning life by all those repartees which women enraged by envy are capable of venting. One cried, 'Well, I never thought my lord had anything so frightful in his person or so fierce in his manner as to strike a young lady dead at the sight of him.' 'No, no,' says another, 'some ladies' senses are more apt to be hurried by agreeable than disagreeable objects.' With many more such sort of speeches which shewed more malice than wit. This not being able to bear, trembling, and with but just strength enough to move, I crawled to my coach and hurried home. When I was alone, and thought on what had happened to me in a public court, I was at first driven to the utmost despair; but afterwards, when I came to reflect, I believe this accident contributed more to my being cured of my passion than any other could have done. I began to think the only method to pique the man who had used me so barbarously, and to be revenged on my spightful rivals, was to recover that beauty which was then languid and had lost its lustre, to let them see I had still charms enough to engage as many lovers as I could desire, and that I could yet rival them who had thus cruelly insulted me. These pleasing hopes revived my sinking spirits, and worked a more effectual cure on me than all the philosophy and advice of the wisest men could have done. I now employed all my time and care in adorning my person, and studying the surest means of engaging the affections of others, while I myself continued quite indifferent; for I resolved for the future, if ever one soft thought made its way to my heart, to fly the object of it, and by new lovers to drive the image from my breast. I consulted my glass every morning, and got such a command of my countenance that I could suit it to the different tastes of variety of lovers; and though I was young, for I was not yet above seventeen, yet my public way of life gave me such continual opportunities of conversing with men, and the strong desire I now had of pleasing them led me to make such constant observations on everything they said or did, that I soon found out the different methods of dealing with them. I observed that most men generally liked in women what was most opposite to their own characters; therefore to the grave solid man of sense I endeavoured to appear sprightly and full of spirit; to the witty and gay, soft and languishing; to the amorous (for they want no increase of their passions), cold and reserved; to the fearful and backward, warm and full of fire; and so of all the rest. As to beaus, and all those sort of men, whose desires are centred in the satisfaction of their vanity, I had learned by sad experience the only way to deal with them was to laugh at them and let their own good opinion of themselves be the only support of their hopes. I knew, while I could get other followers, I was sure of them; for the only sign of modesty they ever give is that of not depending on their own judgments, but following the opinions of the greatest number. Thus furnished with maxims, and grown wise by past errors, I in a manner began the world again: I appeared in all public places handsomer and more lively than ever, to the amazement of every one who saw me and had heard of the affair between me and my lord. He himself was much surprized and vexed at this sudden change, nor could he account how it was possible for me so soon to shake off those chains he thought he had fixed on me for life; nor was he willing to lose his conquest in this manner. He endeavoured by all means possible to talk to me again of love, but I stood fixed to my resolution (in which I was greatly assisted by the croud of admirers that daily surrounded me) never to let him explain himself: for, notwithstanding all my pride, I found the first impression the heart receives of love is so strong that it requires the most vigilant care to prevent a relapse. Now I lived three years in a constant round of diversions, and was made the perfect idol of all the men that came to court of all ages and all characters. I had several good matches offered me, but I thought none of them equal to my merit; and one of my greatest pleasures was to see those women who had pretended to rival me often glad to marry those whom I had refused. Yet, notwithstanding this great success of my schemes, I cannot say I was perfectly happy; for every woman that was taken the least notice of, and every man that was insensible to my arts, gave me as much pain as all the rest gave me pleasure; and sometimes little underhand plots which were laid against my designs would succeed in spite of my care: so that I really began to grow weary of this manner of life, when my father, returning from his embassy in France, took me home with him, and carried me to a little pleasant country-house, where there was nothing grand or superfluous, but everything neat and agreeable. There I led a life perfectly solitary. At first the time hung very heavy on my hands, and I wanted all kind of employment, and I had very like to have fallen into the height of the vapours, from no other reason but from want of knowing what to do with myself. But when I had lived here a little time I found such a calmness in my mind, and such a difference between this and the restless anxieties I had experienced in a court, that I began to share the tranquillity that visibly appeared in everything round me. I set myself to do works of fancy, and to raise little flower-gardens, with many such innocent rural amusements; which, although they are not capable of affording any great pleasure, yet they give that serene turn to the mind which I think much preferable to anything else human nature is made susceptible of. I now resolved to spend the rest of my days here, and that nothing should allure me from that sweet retirement, to be again tossed about with tempestuous passions of any kind. Whilst I was in this situation my lord Percy, the earl of Northumberland's eldest son, by an accident of losing his way after a fox-chase, was met by my father about a mile from our house; he came home with him, only with a design of dining with us, but was so taken with me that he stayed three days. I had too much experience in all affairs of this kind not to see presently the influence I had on him; but I was at that time so intirely free from all ambition, that even the prospect of being a countess had no effect on me; and I then thought nothing in the world could have bribed me to have changed my way of life. This young lord, who was just in his bloom, found his passion so strong, he could not endure a long absence, but returned again in a week, and endeavoured, by all the means he could think of, to engage me to return his affection. He addressed me with that tenderness and respect which women on earth think can flow from nothing but real love; and very often told me that, unless he could be so happy as by his assiduity and care to make himself agreeable to me, although he knew my father would eagerly embrace any proposal from him, yet he would suffer that last of miseries of never seeing me more rather than owe his own happiness to anything that might be the least contradiction to my inclinations. This manner of proceeding had something in it so noble and generous, that by degrees it raised a sensation in me which I know not how to describe, nor by what name to call it: it was nothing like my former passion: for there was no turbulence, no uneasy waking nights attending it, but all I could with honour grant to oblige him appeared to me to be justly due to his truth and love, and more the effect of gratitude than of any desire of my own. The character I had heard of him from my father at my first returning to England, in discoursing of the young nobility, convinced me that if I was his wife I should have the perpetual satisfaction of knowing every action of his must be approved by all the sensible part of mankind; so that very soon I began to have no scruple left but that of leaving my little scene of quietness, and venturing again into the world. But this, by his continual application and submissive behaviour, by degrees entirely vanished, and I agreed he should take his own time to break it to my father, whose consent he was not long in obtaining; for such a match was by no means to be refused. There remained nothing now to be done but to prevail with the earl of Northumberland to comply with what his son so ardently desired; for which purpose he set out immediately for London, and begged it as the greatest favour that I would accompany my father, who was also to go thither the week following. I could not refuse his request, and as soon as we arrived in town he flew to me with the greatest raptures to inform me his father was so good that, finding his happiness depended on his answer, he had given him free leave to act in this affair as would best please himself, and that he had now no obstacle to prevent his wishes. It was then the beginning of the winter, and the time for our marriage was fixed for the latter end of March: the consent of all parties made his access to me very easy, and we conversed together both with innocence and pleasure. As his fondness was so great that he contrived all the methods possible to keep me continually in his sight, he told me one morning he was commanded by his father to attend him to court that evening, and begged I would be so good as to meet him there. I was now so used to act as he would have me that I made no difficulty of complying with his desire. Two days after this, I was very much surprized at perceiving such a melancholy in his countenance, and alteration in his behaviour, as I could no way account for; but, by importunity, at last I got from him that cardinal Wolsey, for what reason he knew not, had peremptorily forbid him to think any more of me: and, when he urged that his father was not displeased with it, the cardinal, in his imperious manner, answered him, he should give his father such convincing reasons why it would be attended with great inconveniences, that he was sure he could bring him to be of his opinion. On which he turned from him, and gave him no opportunity of replying. I could not imagine what design the cardinal could have in intermeddling in this match, and I was still more perplexed to find that my father treated my lord Percy with much more coldness than usual; he too saw it, and we both wondered what could possibly be the cause of all this. But it was not long before the mystery was all made clear by my father, who, sending for me one day into his chamber, let me into a secret which was as little wished for as expected. He began with the surprizing effects of youth and beauty, and the madness of letting go those advantages they might procure us till it was too late, when we might wish in vain to bring them back again. I stood amazed at this beginning; he saw my confusion, and bid me sit down and attend to what he was going to tell me, which was of the greatest consequence; and he hoped I would be wise enough to take his advice, and act as he should think best for my future welfare. He then asked me if I should not be much pleased to be a queen? I answered, with the greatest earnestness, that, so far from it, I would not live in a court again to be the greatest queen in the world; that I had a lover who was both desirous and able to raise my station even beyond my wishes. I found this discourse was very displeasing; my father frowned, and called me a romantic fool, and said if I would hearken to him he could make me a queen; for the cardinal had told him that the king, from the time he saw me at court the other night, liked me, and intended to get a divorce from his wife, and to put me in her place; and ordered him to find some method to make me a maid of honour to her present majesty, that in the meantime he might have an opportunity of seeing me. It is impossible to express the astonishment these words threw me into; and, notwithstanding that the moment before, when it appeared at so great a distance, I was very sincere in my declaration how much it was against my will to be raised so high, yet now the prospect came nearer, I confess my heart fluttered, and my eyes were dazzled with a view of being seated on a throne. My imagination presented before me all the pomp, power, and greatness that attend a crown; and I was so perplexed I knew not what to answer, but remained as silent as if I had lost the use of my speech. My father, who guessed what it was that made me in this condition, proceeded to bring all the arguments he thought most likely to bend me to his will; at last I recovered from this dream of grandeur, and begged him, by all the most endearing names I could think of, not to urge me dishonourably to forsake the man who I was convinced would raise me to an empire if in his power, and who had enough in his power to give me all I desired. But he was deaf to all I could say, and insisted that by next week I should prepare myself to go to court: he bid me consider of it, and not prefer a ridiculous notion of honour to the real interest of my whole family; but, above all things, not to disclose what he had trusted me with. On which he left me to my own thoughts. When I was alone I reflected how little real tenderness this behaviour shewed to me, whose happiness he did not at all consult, but only looked on me as a ladder, on which he could climb to the height of his own ambitious desires: and when I thought on his fondness for me in my infancy I could impute it to nothing but either the liking me as a plaything or the gratification of his vanity in my beauty. But I was too much divided between a crown and my engagement to lord Percy to spend much time in thinking of anything else; and, although my father had positively forbid me, yet, when he came next, I could not help acquainting him with all that had passed, with the reserve only of the struggle in my own mind on the first mention of being a queen. I expected he would have received the news with the greatest agonies; but he shewed no vast emotion: however, he could not help turning pale, and, taking me by the hand, looked at me with an air of tenderness, and said, 'If being a queen would make you happy, and it is in your power to be so, I would not for the world prevent it, let me suffer what I will.' This amazing greatness of mind had on me quite the contrary effect from what it ought to have had; for, instead of increasing my love for him it almost put an end to it, and I began to think, if he could part with me, the matter was not much. And I am convinced, when any man gives up the possession of a woman whose consent he has once obtained, let his motive be ever so generous, he will disoblige her. I could not help shewing my dissatisfaction, and told him I was very glad this affair sat so easily on him. He had not power to answer, but was so suddenly struck with this unexpected ill-natured turn I gave his behaviour, that he stood amazed for some time, and then bowed and left me. Now I was again left to my own reflections; but to make anything intelligible out of them is quite impossible: I wished to be a queen, and wished I might not be one: I would have my lord Percy happy without me; and yet I would not have the power of my charms be so weak that he could bear the thought of life after being disappointed in my love. But the result of all these confused thoughts was a resolution to obey my father. I am afraid there was not much duty in the case, though at that time I was glad to take hold of that small shadow to save me from looking on my own actions in the true light. When my lover came again I looked on him with that coldness that he could not bear, on purpose to rid myself of all importunity: for since I had resolved to use him ill I regarded him as the monument of my shame, and his every look appeared to me to upbraid me. My father soon carried me to court; there I had no very hard part to act; for, with the experience I had had of mankind, I could find no great difficulty in managing a man who liked me, and for whom I not only did not care but had an utter aversion to: but this aversion he believed to be virtue; for how credulous is a man who has an inclination to believe! And I took care sometimes to drop words of cottages and love, and how happy the woman was who fixed her affections on a man in such a station of life that she might show her love without being suspected of hypocrisy or mercenary views. All this was swallowed very easily by the amorous king, who pushed on the divorce with the utmost impetuosity, although the affair lasted a good while, and I remained most part of the time behind the curtain. Whenever the king mentioned it to me I used such arguments against it as I thought the most likely to make him the more eager for it; begging that, unless his conscience was really touched, he would not on my account give any grief to his virtuous queen; for in being her handmaid I thought myself highly honoured; and that I would not only forego a crown, but even give up the pleasure of ever seeing him more, rather than wrong my royal mistress. This way of talking, joined to his eager desire to possess my person, convinced the king so strongly of my exalted merit, that he thought it a meritorious act to displace the woman (whom he could not have so good an opinion of, because he was tired of her), and to put me in her place. After about a year's stay at court, as the king's love to me began to be talked of, it was thought proper to remove me, that there might be no umbrage given to the queen's party. I was forced to comply with this, though greatly against my will; for I was very jealous that absence might change the king's mind. I retired again with my father to his country-seat, but it had no longer those charms for me which I once enjoyed there; for my mind was now too much taken up with ambition to make room for any other thoughts. During my stay here, my royal lover often sent gentlemen to me with messages and letters, which I always answered in the manner I thought would best bring about my designs, which were to come back again to court. In all the letters that passed between us there was something so kingly and commanding in his, and so deceitful and submissive in mine, that I sometimes could not help reflecting on the difference betwixt this correspondence and that with lord Percy; yet I was so pressed forward by the desire of a crown, I could not think of turning back. In all I wrote I continually praised his resolution of letting me be at a distance from him, since at this time it conduced indeed to my honour; but, what was of ten times more weight with me, I thought it was necessary for his; and I would sooner suffer anything in the world than be any means of hurt to him, either in his interest or reputation. I always gave some hints of ill health, with some reflections how necessary the peace of the mind was to that of the body. By these means I brought him to recal me again by the most absolute command, which I, for a little time, artfully delayed (for I knew the impatience of his temper would not bear any contradictions), till he made my father in a manner force me to what I most wished, with the utmost appearance of reluctance on my side. When I had gained this point I began to think which way I could separate the king from the queen, for hitherto they lived in the same house. The lady Mary, the queen's daughter, being then about sixteen, I sought for emissaries of her own age that I could confide in, to instil into her mind disrespectful thoughts of her father, and make a jest of the tenderness of his conscience about the divorce. I knew she had naturally strong passions, and that young people of that age are apt to think those that pretend to be their friends are really so, and only speak their minds freely. I afterwards contrived to have every word she spoke of him carried to the king, who took it all as I could wish, and fancied those things did not come at first from the young lady, but from her mother. He would often talk of it to me, and I agreed with him in his sentiments; but then, as a great proof of my goodness, I always endeavoured to excuse her, by saying a lady so long time used to be a royal queen might naturally be a little exasperated with those she fancied would throw her from that station she so justly deserved. By these sort of plots I found the way to make the king angry with the queen; for nothing is easier than to make a man angry with a woman he wants to be rid of, and who stands in the way between him and his pleasure; so that now the king, on the pretence of the queen's obstinacy in a point where his conscience was so tenderly concerned, parted with her. Everything was now plain before me; I had nothing farther to do but to let the king alone to his own desires; and I had no reason to fear, since they had carried him so far, but that they would urge him on to do everything I aimed at. I was created marchioness of Pembroke. This dignity sat very easy on me; for the thoughts of a much higher title took from me all feeling of this; and I looked upon being a marchioness as a trifle, not that I saw the bauble in its true light, but because it fell short of what I had figured to myself I should soon obtain. The king's desires grew very impatient, and it was not long before I was privately married to him. I was no sooner his wife than I found all the queen come upon me; I felt myself conscious of royalty, and even the faces of my most intimate acquaintance seemed to me to be quite strange. I hardly knew them: height had turned my head, and I was like a man placed on a monument, to whose sight all creatures at a great distance below him appear like so many little pigmies crawling about on the earth; and the prospect so greatly delighted me, that I did not presently consider that in both cases descending a few steps erected by human hands would place us in the number of those very pigmies who appeared so despicable. Our marriage was kept private for some time, for it was not thought proper to make it public (the affair of the divorce not being finished) till the birth of my daughter Elizabeth made it necessary. But all who saw me knew it; for my manner of speaking and acting was so much changed with my station, that all around me plainly perceived I was sure I was a queen. While it was a secret I had yet something to wish for; I could not be perfectly satisfied till all the world was acquainted with my fortune: but when my coronation was over, and I was raised to the height of my ambition, instead of finding myself happy, I was in reality more miserable than ever; for, besides that the aversion I had naturally to the king was much more difficult to dissemble after marriage than before, and grew into a perfect detestation, my imagination, which had thus warmly pursued a crown, grew cool when I was in the possession of it, and gave me time to reflect what mighty matter I had gained by all this bustle; and I often used to think myself in the case of the fox-hunter, who, when he has toiled and sweated all day in the chase as if some unheard-of blessing was to crown his success, finds at last all he has got by his labour is a stinking nauseous animal. But my condition was yet worse than his; for he leaves the loathsome wretch to be torn by his hounds, whilst I was obliged to fondle mine, and meanly pretend him to be the object of my love. For the whole time I was in this envied, this exalted state, I led a continual life of hypocrisy, which I now know nothing on earth can compensate. I had no companion but the man I hated. I dared not disclose my sentiments to any person about me, nor did any one presume to enter into any freedom of conversation with me; but all who spoke to me talked to the queen, and not to me; for they would have said just the same things to a dressed-up puppet, if the king had taken a fancy to call it his wife. And as I knew every woman in the court was my enemy, from thinking she had much more right than I had to the place I filled, I thought myself as unhappy as if I had been placed in a wild wood, where there was no human creature for me to speak to, in a continual fear of leaving any traces of my footsteps, lest I should be found by some dreadful monster, or stung by snakes and adders; for such are spiteful women to the objects of their envy. In this worst of all situations I was obliged to hide my melancholy and appear chearful. This threw me into an error the other way, and I sometimes fell into a levity in my behaviour that was afterwards made use of to my disadvantage. I had a son dead-born, which I perceived abated something of the king's ardour; for his temper could not brook the least disappointment. This gave me no uneasiness; for, not considering the consequences, I could not help being best pleased when I had least of his company. Afterwards I found he had cast his eyes on one of my maids of honour; and, whether it was owing to any art of hers, or only to the king's violent passions, I was in the end used even worse than my former mistress had been by my means. The decay of the king's affection was presently seen by all those court-sycophants who continually watch the motions of royal eyes; and the moment they found they could be heard against me they turned my most innocent actions and words, nay, even my very looks, into proofs of the blackest crimes. The king, who was impatient to enjoy his new love, lent a willing ear to all my accusers, who found ways of making him jealous that I was false to his bed. He would not so easily have believed anything against me before, but he was now glad to flatter himself that he had found a reason to do just what he had resolved upon without a reason; and on some slight pretences and hearsay evidence I was sent to the Tower, where the lady who was my greatest enemy was appointed to watch me and lie in the same chamber with me. This was really as bad a punishment as my death, for she insulted me with those keen reproaches and spiteful witticisms, which threw me into such vapours and violent fits that I knew not what I uttered in this condition. She pretended I had confessed talking ridiculous stuff with a set of low fellows whom I had hardly ever taken notice of, as could have imposed on none but such as were resolved to believe. I was brought to my trial, and, to blacken me the more, accused of conversing criminally with my own brother, whom indeed I loved extremely well, but never looked on him in any other light than as my friend. However, I was condemned to be beheaded, or burnt, as the king pleased; and he was graciously pleased, from the great remains of his love, to chuse the mildest sentence. I was much less shocked at this manner of ending my life than I should have been in any other station: but I had had so little enjoyment from the time I had been a queen, that death was the less dreadful to me. The chief things that lay on my conscience were the arts I made use of to induce the king to part with the queen, my ill usage of lady Mary, and my jilting lord Percy. However, I endeavoured to calm my mind as well as I could, and hoped these crimes would be forgiven me; for in other respects I had led a very innocent life, and always did all the good-natured actions I found any opportunity of doing. From the time I had it in my power, I gave a great deal of money amongst the poor; I prayed very devoutly, and went to my execution very composedly. Thus I lost my life at the age of twenty-nine, in which short time I believe I went through more variety of scenes than many people who live to be very old. I had lived in a court, where I spent my time in coquetry and gaiety; I had experienced what it was to have one of those violent passions which makes the mind all turbulence and anxiety; I had had a lover whom I esteemed and valued, and at the latter part of my life I was raised to a station as high as the vainest woman could wish. But in all these various changes I never enjoyed any real satisfaction, unless in the little time I lived retired in the country free from all noise and hurry, and while I was conscious I was the object of the love and esteem of a man of sense and honour." On the conclusion of this history Minos paused for a small time, and then ordered the gate to be thrown open for Anna Boleyn's admittance on the consideration that whoever had suffered being the queen for four years, and been sensible during all that time of the real misery which attends that exalted station, ought to be forgiven whatever she had done to obtain it.[K] [Illustration: text decoration] THE JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE TO LISBON. DEDICATION TO THE PUBLIC. Your candour is desired on the perusal of the following sheets, as they are the product of a genius that has long been your delight and entertainment. It must be acknowledged that a lamp almost burnt out does not give so steady and uniform a light as when it blazes in its full vigour; but yet it is well known that by its wavering, as if struggling against its own dissolution, it sometimes darts a ray as bright as ever. In like manner, a strong and lively genius will, in its last struggles, sometimes mount aloft, and throw forth the most striking marks of its original lustre. Wherever these are to be found, do you, the genuine patrons of extraordinary capacities, be as liberal in your applauses of him who is now no more as you were of him whilst he was yet amongst you. And, on the other hand, if in this little work there should appear any traces of a weakened and decayed life, let your own imaginations place before your eyes a true picture in that of a hand trembling in almost its latest hour, of a body emaciated with pains, yet struggling for your entertainment; and let this affecting picture open each tender heart, and call forth a melting tear, to blot out whatever failings may be found in a work begun in pain, and finished almost at the same period with life. It was thought proper by the friends of the deceased that this little piece should come into your hands as it came from the hands of the author, it being judged that you would be better pleased to have an opportunity of observing the faintest traces of a genius you have long admired, than have it patched by a different hand, by which means the marks of its true author might have been effaced. That the success of the last written, though first published, volume of the author's posthumous pieces may be attended with some convenience to those innocents he hath left behind, will no doubt be a motive to encourage its circulation through the kingdom, which will engage every future genius to exert itself for your pleasure. The principles and spirit which breathe in every line of the small fragment begun in answer to Lord Bolingbroke will unquestionably be a sufficient apology for its publication, although vital strength was wanting to finish a work so happily begun and so well designed. [Illustration: text decoration] PREFACE. There would not, perhaps, be a more pleasant or profitable study, among those which have their principal end in amusement, than that of travels or voyages, if they were writ, as they might be and ought to be, with a joint view to the entertainment and information of mankind. If the conversation of travellers be so eagerly sought after as it is, we may believe their books will be still more agreeable company, as they will in general be more instructive and more entertaining. But when I say the conversation of travellers is usually so welcome, I must be understood to mean that only of such as have had good sense enough to apply their peregrinations to a proper use, so as to acquire from them a real and valuable knowledge of men and things, both which are best known by comparison. If the customs and manners of men were everywhere the same, there would be no office so dull as that of a traveller, for the difference of hills, valleys, rivers, in short, the various views of which we may see the face of the earth, would scarce afford him a pleasure worthy of his labour; and surely it would give him very little opportunity of communicating any kind of entertainment or improvement to others. To make a traveller an agreeable companion to a man of sense, it is necessary, not only that he should have seen much, but that he should have overlooked much of what he hath seen. Nature is not, any more than a great genius, always admirable in her productions, and therefore the traveller, who may be called her commentator, should not expect to find everywhere subjects worthy of his notice. It is certain, indeed, that one may be guilty of omission, as well as of the opposite extreme; but a fault on that side will be more easily pardoned, as it is better to be hungry than surfeited; and to miss your dessert at the table of a man whose gardens abound with the choicest fruits, than to have your taste affronted with every sort of trash that can be picked up at the green-stall or the wheelbarrow. If we should carry on the analogy between the traveller and the commentator, it is impossible to keep one's eye a moment off from the laborious much-read doctor Zachary Gray, of whose redundant notes on Hudibras I shall only say that it is, I am confident, the single book extant in which above five hundred authors are quoted, not one of which could be found in the collection of the late doctor Mead. As there are few things which a traveller is to record, there are fewer on which he is to offer his observations: this is the office of the reader; and it is so pleasant a one, that he seldom chuses to have it taken from him, under the pretence of lending him assistance. Some occasions, indeed, there are, when proper observations are pertinent, and others when they are necessary; but good sense alone must point them out. I shall lay down only one general rule; which I believe to be of universal truth between relator and hearer, as it is between author and reader; this is, that the latter never forgive any observation of the former which doth not convey some knowledge that they are sensible they could not possibly have attained of themselves. But all his pains in collecting knowledge, all his judgment in selecting, and all his art in communicating it, will not suffice, unless he can make himself, in some degree, an agreeable as well as an instructive companion. The highest instruction we can derive from the tedious tale of a dull fellow scarce ever pays us for our attention. There is nothing, I think, half so valuable as knowledge, and yet there is nothing which men will give themselves so little trouble to attain; unless it be, perhaps, that lowest degree of it which is the object of curiosity, and which hath therefore that active passion constantly employed in its service. This, indeed, it is in the power of every traveller to gratify; but it is the leading principle in weak minds only. To render his relation agreeable to the man of sense, it is therefore necessary that the voyager should possess several eminent and rare talents; so rare indeed, that it is almost wonderful to see them ever united in the same person. And if all these talents must concur in the relator, they are certainly in a more eminent degree necessary to the writer; for here the narration admits of higher ornaments of stile, and every fact and sentiment offers itself to the fullest and most deliberate examination. It would appear, therefore, I think, somewhat strange if such writers as these should be found extremely common; since nature hath been a most parsimonious distributor of her richest talents, and hath seldom bestowed many on the same person. But, on the other hand, why there should scarce exist a single writer of this kind worthy our regard; and, whilst there is no other branch of history (for this is history) which hath not exercised the greatest pens, why this alone should be overlooked by all men of great genius and erudition, and delivered up to the Goths and Vandals as their lawful property, is altogether as difficult to determine. And yet that this is the case, with some very few exceptions, is most manifest. Of these I shall willingly admit Burnet and Addison; if the former was not, perhaps, to be considered as a political essayist, and the latter as a commentator on the classics, rather than as a writer of travels; which last title, perhaps, they would both of them have been least ambitious to affect. Indeed, if these two and two or three more should be removed from the mass, there would remain such a heap of dulness behind, that the appellation of voyage-writer would not appear very desirable. I am not here unapprized that old Homer himself is by some considered as a voyage-writer; and, indeed, the beginning of his Odyssey may be urged to countenance that opinion, which I shall not controvert. But, whatever species of writing the Odyssey is of, it is surely at the head of that species, as much as the Iliad is of another; and so far the excellent Longinus would allow, I believe, at this day. But, in reality, the Odyssey, the Telemachus, and all of that kind, are to the voyage-writing I here intend, what romance is to true history, the former being the confounder and corrupter of the latter. I am far from supposing that Homer, Hesiod, and the other antient poets and mythologists, had any settled design to pervert and confuse the records of antiquity; but it is certain they have effected it; and for my part I must confess I should have honoured and loved Homer more had he written a true history of his own times in humble prose, than those noble poems that have so justly collected the praise of all ages; for, though I read these with more admiration and astonishment, I still read Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon with more amusement and more satisfaction. The original poets were not, however, without excuse. They found the limits of nature too strait for the immensity of their genius, which they had not room to exert without extending fact by fiction: and that especially at a time when the manners of men were too simple to afford that variety which they have since offered in vain to the choice of the meanest writers. In doing this they are again excusable for the manner in which they have done it. Ut speciosa dehinc miracula promant. They are not, indeed, so properly said to turn reality into fiction, as fiction into reality. Their paintings are so bold, their colours so strong, that everything they touch seems to exist in the very manner they represent it; their portraits are so just, and their landscapes so beautiful, that we acknowledge the strokes of nature in both, without enquiring whether Nature herself, or her journeyman the poet, formed the first pattern of the piece. But other writers (I will put Pliny at their head) have no such pretensions to indulgence; they lye for lying sake, or in order insolently to impose the most monstrous improbabilities and absurdities upon their readers on their own authority; treating them as some fathers treat children, and as other fathers do laymen, exacting their belief of whatever they relate, on no other foundation than their own authority, without ever taking the pains of adapting their lies to human credulity, and of calculating them for the meridian of a common understanding; but, with as much weakness as wickedness, and with more impudence often than either, they assert facts contrary to the honour of God, to the visible order of the creation, to the known laws of nature, to the histories of former ages, and to the experience of our own, and which no man can at once understand and believe. If it should be objected (and it can nowhere be objected better than where I now write,[L] as there is nowhere more pomp of bigotry) that whole nations have been firm believers in such most absurd suppositions, I reply, the fact is not true. They have known nothing of the matter, and have believed they knew not what. It is, indeed, with me no matter of doubt but that the pope and his clergy might teach any of those Christian heterodoxies, the tenets of which are the most diametrically opposite to their own; nay, all the doctrines of Zoroaster, Confucius, and Mahomet, not only with certain and immediate success, but without one Catholick in a thousand knowing he had changed his religion. What motive a man can have to sit down, and to draw forth a list of stupid, senseless, incredible lies upon paper, would be difficult to determine, did not Vanity present herself so immediately as the adequate cause. The vanity of knowing more than other men is, perhaps, besides hunger, the only inducement to writing, at least to publishing, at all. Why then should not the voyage-writer be inflamed with the glory of having seen what no man ever did or will see but himself? This is the true source of the wonderful in the discourse and writings, and sometimes, I believe, in the actions of men. There is another fault, of a kind directly opposite to this, to which these writers are sometimes liable, when, instead of filling their pages with monsters which nobody hath ever seen, and with adventures which never have, nor could possibly have, happened to them, waste their time and paper with recording things and facts of so common a kind, that they challenge no other right of being remembered than as they had the honour of having happened to the author, to whom nothing seems trivial that in any manner happens to himself. Of such consequence do his own actions appear to one of this kind, that he would probably think himself guilty of infidelity should he omit the minutest thing in the detail of his journal. That the fact is true is sufficient to give it a place there, without any consideration whether it is capable of pleasing or surprising, of diverting or informing, the reader. I have seen a play (if I mistake not it is one of Mrs Behn's or of Mrs Centlivre's) where this vice in a voyage-writer is finely ridiculed. An ignorant pedant, to whose government, for I know not what reason, the conduct of a young nobleman in his travels is committed, and who is sent abroad to shew my lord the world, of which he knows nothing himself, before his departure from a town, calls for his journal to record the goodness of the wine and tobacco, with other articles of the same importance, which are to furnish the materials of a voyage at his return home. The humour, it is true, is here carried very far; and yet, perhaps, very little beyond what is to be found in writers who profess no intention of dealing in humour at all. Of one or other, or both of these kinds, are, I conceive, all that vast pile of books which pass under the names of voyages, travels, adventures, lives, memoirs, histories, &c., some of which a single traveller sends into the world in many volumes, and others are, by judicious booksellers, collected into vast bodies in folio, and inscribed with their own names, as if they were indeed their own travels: thus unjustly attributing to themselves the merit of others. Now, from both these faults we have endeavoured to steer clear in the following narrative; which, however the contrary may be insinuated by ignorant, unlearned, and fresh-water critics, who have never travelled either in books or ships, I do solemnly declare doth, in my own impartial opinion, deviate less from truth than any other voyage extant; my lord Anson's alone being, perhaps, excepted. Some few embellishments must be allowed to every historian; for we are not to conceive that the speeches in Livy, Sallust, or Thucydides, were literally spoken in the very words in which we now read them. It is sufficient that every fact hath its foundation in truth, as I do seriously aver is the case in the ensuing pages; and when it is so, a good critic will be so far from denying all kind of ornament of stile or diction, or even of circumstance, to his author, that he would be rather sorry if he omitted it; for he could hence derive no other advantage than the loss of an additional pleasure in the perusal. Again, if any merely common incident should appear in this journal, which will seldom I apprehend be the case, the candid reader will easily perceive it is not introduced for its own sake, but for some observations and reflexions naturally resulting from it; and which, if but little to his amusement, tend directly to the instruction of the reader or to the information of the public; to whom if I chuse to convey such instruction or information with an air of joke and laughter, none but the dullest of fellows will, I believe, censure it; but if they should, I have the authority of more than one passage in Horace to alledge in my defence. Having thus endeavoured to obviate some censures, to which a man without the gift of foresight, or any fear of the imputation of being a conjurer, might conceive this work would be liable, I might now undertake a more pleasing task, and fall at once to the direct and positive praises of the work itself; of which, indeed, I could say a thousand good things; but the task is so very pleasant that I shall leave it wholly to the reader, and it is all the task that I impose on him. A moderation for which he may think himself obliged to me when he compares it with the conduct of authors, who often fill a whole sheet with their own praises, to which they sometimes set their own real names, and sometimes a fictitious one. One hint, however, I must give the kind reader; which is, that if he should be able to find no sort of amusement in the book, he will be pleased to remember the public utility which will arise from it. If entertainment, as Mr Richardson observes, be but a secondary consideration in a romance; with which Mr Addison, I think, agrees, affirming the use of the pastry cook to be the first; if this, I say, be true of a mere work of invention, sure it may well be so considered in a work founded, like this, on truth; and where the political reflexions form so distinguishing a part. But perhaps I may hear, from some critic of the most saturnine complexion, that my vanity must have made a horrid dupe of my judgment, if it hath flattered me with an expectation of having anything here seen in a grave light, or of conveying any useful instruction to the public, or to their guardians. I answer, with the great man whom I just now quoted, that my purpose is to convey instruction in the vehicle of entertainment; and so to bring about at once, like the revolution in the Rehearsal, a perfect reformation of the laws relating to our maritime affairs: an undertaking, I will not say more modest, but surely more feasible, than that of reforming a whole people, by making use of a vehicular story, to wheel in among them worse manners than their own. [Illustration: text decoration] INTRODUCTION. In the beginning of August, 1753, when I had taken the duke of Portland's medicine, as it is called, near a year, the effects of which had been the carrying off the symptoms of a lingering imperfect gout, I was persuaded by Mr Ranby, the king's premier serjeant-surgeon, and the ablest advice, I believe, in all branches of the physical profession, to go immediately to Bath. I accordingly writ that very night to Mrs Bowden, who, by the next post, informed me she had taken me a lodging for a month certain. Within a few days after this, whilst I was preparing for my journey, and when I was almost fatigued to death with several long examinations, relating to five different murders, all committed within the space of a week, by different gangs of street-robbers, I received a message from his grace the duke of Newcastle, by Mr Carrington, the king's messenger, to attend his grace the next morning, in Lincoln's-inn-fields, upon some business of importance; but I excused myself from complying with the message, as, besides being lame, I was very ill with the great fatigues I had lately undergone added to my distemper. His grace, however, sent Mr Carrington, the very next morning, with another summons; with which, though in the utmost distress, I immediately complied; but the duke, happening, unfortunately for me, to be then particularly engaged, after I had waited some time, sent a gentleman to discourse with me on the best plan which could be invented for putting an immediate end to those murders and robberies which were every day committed in the streets; upon which I promised to transmit my opinion, in writing, to his grace, who, as the gentleman informed me, intended to lay it before the privy council. Though this visit cost me a severe cold, I, notwithstanding, set myself down to work; and in about four days sent the duke as regular a plan as I could form, with all the reasons and arguments I could bring to support it, drawn out in several sheets of paper; and soon received a message from the duke by Mr Carrington, acquainting me that my plan was highly approved of, and that all the terms of it would be complied with. The principal and most material of those terms was the immediately depositing six hundred pounds in my hands; at which small charge I undertook to demolish the then reigning gangs, and to put the civil policy into such order, that no such gangs should ever be able, for the future, to form themselves into bodies, or at least to remain any time formidable to the public. I had delayed my Bath journey for some time, contrary to the repeated advice of my physical acquaintance, and to the ardent desire of my warmest friends, though my distemper was now turned to a deep jaundice; in which case the Bath waters are generally reputed to be almost infallible. But I had the most eager desire of demolishing this gang of villains and cut-throats, which I was sure of accomplishing the moment I was enabled to pay a fellow who had undertaken, for a small sum, to betray them into the hands of a set of thief-takers whom I had enlisted into the service, all men of known and approved fidelity and intrepidity. After some weeks the money was paid at the treasury, and within a few days after two hundred pounds of it had come to my hands, the whole gang of cut-throats was entirely dispersed, seven of them were in actual custody, and the rest driven, some out of the town, and others out of the kingdom. Though my health was now reduced to the last extremity, I continued to act with the utmost vigour against these villains; in examining whom, and in taking the depositions against them, I have often spent whole days, nay, sometimes whole nights, especially when there was any difficulty in procuring sufficient evidence to convict them; which is a very common case in street-robberies, even when the guilt of the party is sufficiently apparent to satisfy the most tender conscience. But courts of justice know nothing of a cause more than what is told them on oath by a witness; and the most flagitious villain upon earth is tried in the same manner as a man of the best character who is accused of the same crime. Meanwhile, amidst all my fatigues and distresses, I had the satisfaction to find my endeavours had been attended with such success that this hellish society were almost utterly extirpated, and that, instead of reading of murders and street-robberies in the news almost every morning, there was, in the remaining part of the month of November, and in all December, not only no such thing as a murder, but not even a street-robbery committed. Some such, indeed, were mentioned in the public papers; but they were all found, on the strictest enquiry, to be false. In this entire freedom from street-robberies, during the dark months, no man will, I believe, scruple to acknowledge that the winter of 1753 stands unrivaled, during a course of many years; and this may possibly appear the more extraordinary to those who recollect the outrages with which it began. Having thus fully accomplished my undertaking, I went into the country, in a very weak and deplorable condition, with no fewer or less diseases than a jaundice, a dropsy, and an asthma, altogether uniting their forces in the destruction of a body so entirely emaciated that it had lost all its muscular flesh. Mine was now no longer what was called a Bath case; nor, if it had been so, had I strength remaining sufficient to go thither, a ride of six miles only being attended with an intolerable fatigue. I now discharged my lodgings at Bath, which I had hitherto kept. I began in earnest to look on my case as desperate, and I had vanity enough to rank myself with those heroes who, of old times, became voluntary sacrifices to the good of the public. But, lest the reader should be too eager to catch at the word _vanity_, and should be unwilling to indulge me with so sublime a gratification, for I think he is not too apt to gratify me, I will take my key a pitch lower, and will frankly own that I had a stronger motive than the love of the public to push me on: I will therefore confess to him that my private affairs at the beginning of the winter had but a gloomy aspect; for I had not plundered the public or the poor of those sums which men, who are always ready to plunder both as much as they can, have been pleased to suspect me of taking: on the contrary, by composing, instead of inflaming, the quarrels of porters and beggars (which I blush when I say hath not been universally practised), and by refusing to take a shilling from a man who most undoubtedly would not have had another left, I had reduced an income of about five hundred pounds[M] a-year of the dirtiest money upon earth to little more than three hundred pounds; a considerable proportion of which remained with my clerk; and, indeed, if the whole had done so, as it ought, he would be but ill paid for sitting almost sixteen hours in the twenty-four in the most unwholesome, as well as nauseous air in the universe, and which hath in his case corrupted a good constitution without contaminating his morals. But, not to trouble the reader with anecdotes, contrary to my own rule laid down in my preface, I assure him I thought my family was very slenderly provided for; and that my health began to decline so fast that I had very little more of life left to accomplish what I had thought of too late. I rejoiced therefore greatly in seeing an opportunity, as I apprehended, of gaining such merit in the eye of the public, that, if my life were the sacrifice to it, my friends might think they did a popular act in putting my family at least beyond the reach of necessity, which I myself began to despair of doing. And though I disclaim all pretence to that Spartan or Roman patriotism which loved the public so well that it was always ready to become a voluntary sacrifice to the public good, I do solemnly declare I have that love for my family. After this confession therefore, that the public was not the principal deity to which my life was offered a sacrifice, and when it is farther considered what a poor sacrifice this was, being indeed no other than the giving up what I saw little likelihood of being able to hold much longer, and which, upon the terms I held it, nothing but the weakness of human nature could represent to me as worth holding at all; the world may, I believe, without envy, allow me all the praise to which I have any title. My aim, in fact, was not praise, which is the last gift they care to bestow; at least, this was not my aim as an end, but rather as a means of purchasing some moderate provision for my family, which, though it should exceed my merit, must fall infinitely short of my service, if I succeeded in my attempt. To say the truth, the public never act more wisely than when they act most liberally in the distribution of their rewards; and here the good they receive is often more to be considered than the motive from which they receive it. Example alone is the end of all public punishments and rewards. Laws never inflict disgrace in resentment, nor confer honour from gratitude. "For it is very hard, my lord," said a convicted felon at the bar to the late excellent judge Burnet, "to hang a poor man for stealing a horse." "You are not to be hanged, sir," answered my ever-honoured and beloved friend, "for stealing a horse, but you are to be hanged that horses may not be stolen." In like manner it might have been said to the late duke of Marlborough, when the parliament was so deservedly liberal to him, after the battle of Blenheim, "You receive not these honours and bounties on account of a victory past, but that other victories may be obtained." I was now, in the opinion of all men, dying of a complication of disorders; and, were I desirous of playing the advocate, I have an occasion fair enough; but I disdain such an attempt. I relate facts plainly and simply as they are; and let the world draw from them what conclusions they please, taking with them the following facts for their instruction: the one is, that the proclamation offering one hundred pounds for the apprehending felons for certain felonies committed in certain places, which I prevented from being revived, had formerly cost the government several thousand pounds within a single year. Secondly, that all such proclamations, instead of curing the evil, had actually encreased it; had multiplied the number of robberies; had propagated the worst and wickedest of perjuries; had laid snares for youth and ignorance, which, by the temptation of these rewards, had been sometimes drawn into guilt; and sometimes, which cannot be thought on without the highest horror, had destroyed them without it. Thirdly, that my plan had not put the government to more than three hundred pound expence, and had produced none of the ill consequences above mentioned; but, lastly, had actually suppressed the evil for a time, and had plainly pointed out the means of suppressing it for ever. This I would myself have undertaken, had my health permitted, at the annual expense of the above-mentioned sum. After having stood the terrible six weeks which succeeded last Christmas, and put a lucky end, if they had known their own interests, to such numbers of aged and infirm valetudinarians, who might have gasped through two or three mild winters more, I returned to town in February, in a condition less despaired of by myself than by any of my friends. I now became the patient of Dr Ward, who wished I had taken his advice earlier. By his advice I was tapped, and fourteen quarts of water drawn from my belly. The sudden relaxation which this caused, added to my enervate, emaciated habit of body, so weakened me that within two days I was thought to be falling into the agonies of death. I was at the worst on that memorable day when the public lost Mr Pelham. From that day I began slowly, as it were, to draw my feet out of the grave; till in two months' time I had again acquired some little degree of strength, but was again full of water. During this whole time I took Mr Ward's medicines, which had seldom any perceptible operation. Those in particular of the diaphoretic kind, the working of which is thought to require a great strength of constitution to support, had so little effect on me, that Mr Ward declared it was as vain to attempt sweating me as a deal board. In this situation I was tapped a second time. I had one quart of water less taken from me now than before; but I bore all the consequences of the operation much better. This I attributed greatly to a dose of laudanum prescribed by my surgeon. It first gave me the most delicious flow of spirits, and afterwards as comfortable a nap. The month of May, which was now begun, it seemed reasonable to expect would introduce the spring, and drive off that winter which yet maintained its footing on the stage. I resolved therefore to visit a little house of mine in the country, which stands at Ealing, in the county of Middlesex, in the best air, I believe, in the whole kingdom, and far superior to that of Kensington Gravel-pits; for the gravel is here much wider and deeper, the place higher and more open towards the south, whilst it is guarded from the north wind by a ridge of hills, and from the smells and smoak of London by its distance; which last is not the fate of Kensington, when the wind blows from any corner of the east. Obligations to Mr Ward I shall always confess; for I am convinced that he omitted no care in endeavouring to serve me, without any expectation or desire of fee or reward. The powers of Mr Ward's remedies want indeed no unfair puffs of mine to give them credit; and though this distemper of the dropsy stands, I believe, first in the list of those over which he is always certain of triumphing, yet, possibly, there might be something particular in my case capable of eluding that radical force which had healed so many thousands. The same distemper, in different constitutions, may possibly be attended with such different symptoms, that to find an infallible nostrum for the curing any one distemper in every patient may be almost as difficult as to find a panacea for the cure of all. But even such a panacea one of the greatest scholars and best of men did lately apprehend he had discovered. It is true, indeed, he was no physician; that is, he had not by the forms of his education acquired a right of applying his skill in the art of physic to his own private advantage; and yet, perhaps, it may be truly asserted that no other modern hath contributed so much to make his physical skill useful to the public; at least, that none hath undergone the pains of communicating this discovery in writing to the world. The reader, I think, will scarce need to be informed that the writer I mean is the late bishop of Cloyne, in Ireland, and the discovery that of the virtues of tar-water. I then happened to recollect, upon a hint given me by the inimitable and shamefully-distressed author of the Female Quixote, that I had many years before, from curiosity only, taken a cursory view of bishop Berkeley's treatise on the virtues of tar-water, which I had formerly observed he strongly contends to be that real panacea which Sydenham supposes to have an existence in nature, though it yet remains undiscovered, and perhaps will always remain so. Upon the reperusal of this book I found the bishop only asserting his opinion that tar-water might be useful in the dropsy, since he had known it to have a surprising success in the cure of a most stubborn anasarca, which is indeed no other than, as the word implies, the dropsy of the flesh; and this was, at that time, a large part of my complaint. After a short trial, therefore, of a milk diet, which I presently found did not suit with my case, I betook myself to the bishop's prescription, and dosed myself every morning and evening with half a pint of tar-water. It was no more than three weeks since my last tapping, and my belly and limbs were distended with water. This did not give me the worse opinion of tar-water; for I never supposed there could be any such virtue in tar-water as immediately to carry off a quantity of water already collected. For my delivery from this I well knew I must be again obliged to the trochar; and that if the tar-water did me any good at all it must be only by the slowest degrees; and that if it should ever get the better of my distemper it must be by the tedious operation of undermining, and not by a sudden attack and storm. Some visible effects, however, and far beyond what my most sanguine hopes could with any modesty expect, I very soon experienced; the tar-water having, from the very first, lessened my illness, increased my appetite, and added, though in a very slow proportion, to my bodily strength. But if my strength had increased a little my water daily increased much more. So that, by the end of May, my belly became again ripe for the trochar, and I was a third time tapped; upon which, two very favourable symptoms appeared. I had three quarts of water taken from me less than had been taken the last time; and I bore the relaxation with much less (indeed with scarce any) faintness. Those of my physical friends on whose judgment I chiefly depended seemed to think my only chance of life consisted in having the whole summer before me; in which I might hope to gather sufficient strength to encounter the inclemencies of the ensuing winter. But this chance began daily to lessen. I saw the summer mouldering away, or rather, indeed, the year passing away without intending to bring on any summer at all. In the whole month of May the sun scarce appeared three times. So that the early fruits came to the fulness of their growth, and to some appearance of ripeness, without acquiring any real maturity; having wanted the heat of the sun to soften and meliorate their juices. I saw the dropsy gaining rather than losing ground; the distance growing still shorter between the tappings. I saw the asthma likewise beginning again to become more troublesome. I saw the midsummer quarter drawing towards a close. So that I conceived, if the Michaelmas quarter should steal off in the same manner, as it was, in my opinion, very much to be apprehended it would, I should be delivered up to the attacks of winter before I recruited my forces, so as to be anywise able to withstand them. I now began to recall an intention, which from the first dawnings of my recovery I had conceived, of removing to a warmer climate; and, finding this to be approved of by a very eminent physician, I resolved to put it into immediate execution. Aix in Provence was the place first thought on; but the difficulties of getting thither were insuperable. The journey by land, beside the expence of it, was infinitely too long and fatiguing; and I could hear of no ship that was likely to set out from London, within any reasonable time, for Marseilles, or any other port in that part of the Mediterranean. Lisbon was presently fixed on in its room. The air here, as it was near four degrees to the south of Aix, must be more mild and warm, and the winter shorter and less piercing. It was not difficult to find a ship bound to a place with which we carry on so immense a trade. Accordingly, my brother soon informed me of the excellent accommodations for passengers which were to be found on board a ship that was obliged to sail for Lisbon in three days. I eagerly embraced the offer, notwithstanding the shortness of the time; and, having given my brother full power to contract for our passage, I began to prepare my family for the voyage with the utmost expedition. But our great haste was needless; for the captain having twice put off his sailing, I at length invited him to dinner with me at Fordhook, a full week after the time on which he had declared, and that with many asseverations, he must and would weigh anchor. He dined with me according to his appointment; and when all matters were settled between us, left me with positive orders to be on board the Wednesday following, when he declared he would fall down the river to Gravesend, and would not stay a moment for the greatest man in the world. He advised me to go to Gravesend by land, and there wait the arrival of his ship, assigning many reasons for this, every one of which was, as I well remember, among those that had before determined me to go on board near the Tower. [Illustration: text decoration] THE VOYAGE. _Wednesday, June 26, 1754._--On this day the most melancholy sun I had ever beheld arose, and found me awake at my house at Fordhook. By the light of this sun I was, in my own opinion, last to behold and take leave of some of those creatures on whom I doated with a mother-like fondness, guided by nature and passion, and uncured and unhardened by all the doctrine of that philosophical school where I had learned to bear pains and to despise death. In this situation, as I could not conquer Nature, I submitted entirely to her, and she made as great a fool of me as she had ever done of any woman whatsoever; under pretence of giving me leave to enjoy, she drew me in to suffer, the company of my little ones during eight hours; and I doubt not whether, in that time, I did not undergo more than in all my distemper. At twelve precisely my coach was at the door, which was no sooner told me than I kissed my children round, and went into it with some little resolution. My wife, who behaved more like a heroine and philosopher, though at the same time the tenderest mother in the world, and my eldest daughter, followed me; some friends went with us, and others here took their leave; and I heard my behaviour applauded, with many murmurs and praises to which I well knew I had no title; as all other such philosophers may, if they have any modesty, confess on the like occasions. In two hours we arrived in Rotherhithe, and immediately went on board, and were to have sailed the next morning; but, as this was the king's proclamation-day, and consequently a holiday at the custom-house, the captain could not clear his vessel till the Thursday; for these holidays are as strictly observed as those in the popish calendar, and are almost as numerous. I might add that both are opposite to the genius of trade, and consequently _contra bonum publicum_. To go on board the ship it was necessary first to go into a boat; a matter of no small difficulty, as I had no use of my limbs, and was to be carried by men who, though sufficiently strong for their burthen, were, like Archimedes, puzzled to find a steady footing. Of this, as few of my readers have not gone into wherries on the Thames, they will easily be able to form to themselves an idea. However, by the assistance of my friend Mr Welch, whom I never think or speak of but with love and esteem, I conquered this difficulty, as I did afterwards that of ascending the ship, into which I was hoisted with more ease by a chair lifted with pulleys. I was soon seated in a great chair in the cabin, to refresh myself after a fatigue which had been more intolerable, in a quarter of a mile's passage from my coach to the ship, than I had before undergone in a land-journey of twelve miles, which I had travelled with the utmost expedition. This latter fatigue was, perhaps, somewhat heightened by an indignation which I could not prevent arising in my mind. I think, upon my entrance into the boat, I presented a spectacle of the highest horror. The total loss of limbs was apparent to all who saw me, and my face contained marks of a most diseased state, if not of death itself. Indeed, so ghastly was my countenance, that timorous women with child had abstained from my house, for fear of the ill consequences of looking at me. In this condition I ran the gauntlope (so I think I may justly call it) through rows of sailors and watermen, few of whom failed of paying their compliments to me by all manner of insults and jests on my misery. No man who knew me will think I conceived any personal resentment at this behaviour; but it was a lively picture of that cruelty and inhumanity in the nature of men which I have often contemplated with concern, and which leads the mind into a train of very uncomfortable and melancholy thoughts. It may be said that this barbarous custom is peculiar to the English, and of them only to the lowest degree; that it is an excrescence of an uncontrouled licentiousness mistaken for liberty, and never shews itself in men who are polished and refined in such manner as human nature requires to produce that perfection of which it is susceptible, and to purge away that malevolence of disposition of which, at our birth, we partake in common with the savage creation. This may be said, and this is all that can be said; and it is, I am afraid, but little satisfactory to account for the inhumanity of those who, while they boast of being made after God's own image, seem to bear in their minds a resemblance of the vilest species of brutes; or rather, indeed, of our idea of devils; for I don't know that any brutes can be taxed with such malevolence. A surloin of beef was now placed on the table, for which, though little better than carrion, as much was charged by the master of the little paltry ale-house who dressed it as would have been demanded for all the elegance of the King's Arms, or any other polite tavern or eating-house! for, indeed, the difference between the best house and the worst is, that at the former you pay largely for luxury, at the latter for nothing. _Thursday, June 27._--This morning the captain, who lay on shore at his own house, paid us a visit in the cabin, and behaved like an angry bashaw, declaring that, had he known we were not to be pleased, he would not have carried us for five hundred pounds. He added many asseverations that he was a gentleman, and despised money; not forgetting several hints of the presents which had been made him for his cabin, of twenty, thirty, and forty guineas, by several gentlemen, over and above the sum for which they had contracted. This behaviour greatly surprised me, as I knew not how to account for it, nothing having happened since we parted from the captain the evening before in perfect good-humour; and all this broke forth on the first moment of his arrival this morning. He did not, however, suffer my amazement to have any long continuance before he clearly shewed me that all this was meant only as an apology to introduce another procrastination (being the fifth) of his weighing anchor, which was now postponed till Saturday, for such was his will and pleasure. Besides the disagreeable situation in which we then lay, in the confines of Wapping and Rotherhithe, tasting a delicious mixture of the air of both these sweet places, and enjoying the concord of sweet sounds of seamen, watermen, fish-women, oyster-women, and of all the vociferous inhabitants of both shores, composing altogether a greater variety of harmony than Hogarth's imagination hath brought together in that print of his, which is enough to make a man deaf to look at--I had a more urgent cause to press our departure, which was, that the dropsy, for which I had undergone three tappings, seemed to threaten me with a fourth discharge before I should reach Lisbon, and when I should have nobody on board capable of performing the operation; but I was obliged to hearken to the voice of reason, if I may use the captain's own words, and to rest myself contented. Indeed, there was no alternative within my reach but what would have cost me much too dear. There are many evils in society from which people of the highest rank are so entirely exempt, that they have not the least knowledge or idea of them; nor indeed of the characters which are formed by them. Such, for instance, is the conveyance of goods and passengers from one place to another. Now there is no such thing as any kind of knowledge contemptible in itself; and, as the particular knowledge I here mean is entirely necessary to the well understanding and well enjoying this journal; and, lastly, as in this case the most ignorant will be those very readers whose amusement we chiefly consult, and to whom we wish to be supposed principally to write, we will here enter somewhat largely into the discussion of this matter; the rather, for that no antient or modern author (if we can trust the catalogue of doctor Mead's library) hath ever undertaken it, but that it seems (in the style of Don Quixote) a task reserved for my pen alone. When I first conceived this intention I began to entertain thoughts of enquiring into the antiquity of travelling; and, as many persons have performed in this way (I mean have travelled) at the expence of the public, I flattered myself that the spirit of improving arts and sciences, and of advancing useful and substantial learning, which so eminently distinguishes this age, and hath given rise to more speculative societies in Europe than I at present can recollect the names of--perhaps, indeed, than I or any other, besides their very near neighbours, ever heard mentioned--would assist in promoting so curious a work; a work begun with the same views, calculated for the same purposes, and fitted for the same uses, with the labours which those right honourable societies have so chearfully undertaken themselves, and encouraged in others; sometimes with the highest honours, even with admission into their colleges, and with inrolment among their members. From these societies I promised myself all assistance in their power, particularly the communication of such valuable manuscripts and records as they must be supposed to have collected from those obscure ages of antiquity when history yields us such imperfect accounts of the residence, and much more imperfect of the travels, of the human race; unless, perhaps, as a curious and learned member of the young Society of Antiquarians is said to have hinted his conjectures, that their residence and their travels were one and the same; and this discovery (for such it seems to be) he is said to have owed to the lighting by accident on a book, which we shall have occasion to mention presently, the contents of which were then little known to the society. The king of Prussia, moreover, who, from a degree of benevolence and taste which in either case is a rare production in so northern a climate, is the great encourager of art and science, I was well assured would promote so useful a design, and order his archives to be searched on my behalf. But after well weighing all these advantages, and much meditation on the order of my work, my whole design was subverted in a moment by hearing of the discovery just mentioned to have been made by the young antiquarian, who, from the most antient record in the world (though I don't find the society are all agreed on this point), one long preceding the date of the earliest modern collections, either of books or butterflies, none of which pretend to go beyond the flood, shews us that the first man was a traveller, and that he and his family were scarce settled in Paradise before they disliked their own home, and became passengers to another place. Hence it appears that the humour of travelling is as old as the human race, and that it was their curse from the beginning. By this discovery my plan became much shortened, and I found it only necessary to treat of the conveyance of goods and passengers from place to place; which, not being universally known, seemed proper to be explained before we examined into its original. There are indeed two different ways of tracing all things used by the historian and the antiquary; these are upwards and downwards. The former shews you how things are, and leaves to others to discover when they began to be so. The latter shews you how things were, and leaves their present existence to be examined by others. Hence the former is more useful, the latter more curious. The former receives the thanks of mankind; the latter of that valuable part, the virtuosi. In explaining, therefore, this mystery of carrying goods and passengers from one place to another, hitherto so profound a secret to the very best of our readers, we shall pursue the historical method, and endeavour to shew by what means it is at present performed, referring the more curious enquiry either to some other pen or to some other opportunity. Now there are two general ways of performing (if God permit) this conveyance, viz., by land and water, both of which have much variety; that by land being performed in different vehicles, such as coaches, caravans, waggons, &c.; and that by water in ships, barges, and boats, of various sizes and denominations. But, as all these methods of conveyance are formed on the same principles, they agree so well together, that it is fully sufficient to comprehend them all in the general view, without descending to such minute particulars as would distinguish one method from another. Common to all of these is one general principle, that, as the goods to be conveyed are usually the larger, so they are to be chiefly considered in the conveyance; the owner being indeed little more than an appendage to his trunk, or box, or bale, or at best a small part of his own baggage, very little care is to be taken in stowing or packing them up with convenience to himself; for the conveyance is not of passengers and goods, but of goods and passengers. Secondly, from this conveyance arises a new kind of relation, or rather of subjection, in the society, by which the passenger becomes bound in allegiance to his conveyer. This allegiance is indeed only temporary and local, but the most absolute during its continuance of any known in Great Britain, and, to say truth, scarce consistent with the liberties of a free people, nor could it be reconciled with them, did it not move downwards; a circumstance universally apprehended to be incompatible to all kinds of slavery; for Aristotle in his Politicks hath proved abundantly to my satisfaction that no men are born to be slaves, except barbarians; and these only to such as are not themselves barbarians; and indeed Mr Montesquieu hath carried it very little farther in the case of the Africans; the real truth being that no man is born to be a slave, unless to him who is able to make him so. Thirdly, this subjection is absolute, and consists of a perfect resignation both of body and soul to the disposal of another; after which resignation, during a certain time, his subject retains no more power over his own will than an Asiatic slave, or an English wife, by the laws of both countries, and by the customs of one of them. If I should mention the instance of a stage-coachman, many of my readers would recognise the truth of what I have here observed; all, indeed, that ever have been under the dominion of that tyrant, who in this free country is as absolute as a Turkish bashaw. In two particulars only his power is defective; he cannot press you into his service, and if you enter yourself at one place, on condition of being discharged at a certain time at another, he is obliged to perform his agreement, if God permit, but all the intermediate time you are absolutely under his government; he carries you how he will, when he will, and whither he will, provided it be not much out of the road; you have nothing to eat or to drink, but what, and when, and where he pleases. Nay, you cannot sleep unless he pleases you should; for he will order you sometimes out of bed at midnight and hurry you away at a moment's warning: indeed, if you can sleep in his vehicle he cannot prevent it; nay, indeed, to give him his due, this he is ordinarily disposed to encourage: for the earlier he forces you to rise in the morning, the more time he will give you in the heat of the day, sometimes even six hours at an ale-house, or at their doors, where he always gives you the same indulgence which he allows himself; and for this he is generally very moderate in his demands. I have known a whole bundle of passengers charged no more than half-a-crown for being suffered to remain quiet at an ale-house door for above a whole hour, and that even in the hottest day in summer. But as this kind of tyranny, though it hath escaped our political writers, hath been I think touched by our dramatic, and is more trite among the generality of readers; and as this and all other kinds of such subjection are alike unknown to my friends, I will quit the passengers by land, and treat of those who travel by water; for whatever is said on this subject is applicable to both alike, and we may bring them together as closely as they are brought in the liturgy, when they are recommended to the prayers of all Christian congregations; and (which I have often thought very remarkable) where they are joined with other miserable wretches, such as women in labour, people in sickness, infants just born, prisoners and captives. Goods and passengers are conveyed by water in divers vehicles, the principal of which being a ship, it shall suffice to mention that alone. Here the tyrant doth not derive his title, as the stage-coachman doth, from the vehicle itself in which he stows his goods and passengers, but he is called the captain--a word of such various use and uncertain signification, that it seems very difficult to fix any positive idea to it: if, indeed, there be any general meaning which may comprehend all its different uses, that of the head or chief of any body of men seems to be most capable of this comprehension; for whether they be a company of soldiers, a crew of sailors, or a gang of rogues, he who is at the head of them is always stiled the captain. The particular tyrant whose fortune it was to stow us aboard laid a farther claim to this appellation than the bare command of a vehicle of conveyance. He had been the captain of a privateer, which he chose to call being in the king's service, and thence derived a right of hoisting the military ornament of a cockade over the button of his hat. He likewise wore a sword of no ordinary length by his side, with which he swaggered in his cabin, among the wretches his passengers, whom he had stowed in cupboards on each side. He was a person of a very singular character. He had taken it into his head that he was a gentleman, from those very reasons that proved he was not one; and to shew himself a fine gentleman, by a behaviour which seemed to insinuate he had never seen one. He was, moreover, a man of gallantry; at the age of seventy he had the finicalness of Sir Courtly Nice, with the roughness of Surly; and, while he was deaf himself, had a voice capable of deafening all others. Now, as I saw myself in danger by the delays of the captain, who was, in reality, waiting for more freight, and as the wind had been long nested, as it were, in the south-west, where it constantly blew hurricanes, I began with great reason to apprehend that our voyage might be long, and that my belly, which began already to be much extended, would require the water to be let out at a time when no assistance was at hand; though, indeed, the captain comforted me with assurances that he had a pretty young fellow on board who acted as his surgeon, as I found he likewise did as steward, cook, butler, sailor. In short, he had as many offices as Scrub in the play, and went through them all with great dexterity; this of surgeon was, perhaps, the only one in which his skill was somewhat deficient, at least that branch of tapping for the dropsy; for he very ingenuously and modestly confessed he had never seen the operation performed, nor was possessed of that chirurgical instrument with which it is performed. _Friday, June 28._--By way of prevention, therefore, I this day sent for my friend Mr Hunter, the great surgeon and anatomist of Covent-garden; and, though my belly was not yet very full and tight, let out ten quarts of water; the young sea-surgeon attended the operation, not as a performer, but as a student. I was now eased of the greatest apprehension which I had from the length of the passage; and I told the captain I was become indifferent as to the time of his sailing. He expressed much satisfaction in this declaration, and at hearing from me that I found myself, since my tapping, much lighter and better. In this, I believe, he was sincere; for he was, as we shall have occasion to observe more than once, a very good-natured man; and, as he was a very brave one too, I found that the heroic constancy with which I had borne an operation that is attended with scarce any degree of pain had not a little raised me in his esteem. That he might adhere, therefore, in the most religious and rigorous manner to his word, when he had no longer any temptation from interest to break it, as he had no longer any hopes of more goods or passengers, he ordered his ship to fall down to Gravesend on Sunday morning, and there to wait his arrival. _Sunday, June 30._--Nothing worth notice passed till that morning, when my poor wife, after passing a night in the utmost torments of the toothache, resolved to have it drawn. I despatched therefore a servant into Wapping to bring in haste the best tooth-drawer he could find. He soon found out a female of great eminence in the art; but when he brought her to the boat, at the water-side, they were informed that the ship was gone; for indeed she had set out a few minutes after his quitting her; nor did the pilot, who well knew the errand on which I had sent my servant, think fit to wait a moment for his return, or to give me any notice of his setting out, though I had very patiently attended the delays of the captain four days, after many solemn promises of weighing anchor every one of the three last. But of all the petty bashaws or turbulent tyrants I ever beheld, this sour-faced pilot was the worst tempered; for, during the time that he had the guidance of the ship, which was till we arrived in the Downs, he complied with no one's desires, nor did he give a civil word, or indeed a civil look, to any on board. The tooth-drawer, who, as I said before, was one of great eminence among her neighbours, refused to follow the ship; so that my man made himself the best of his way, and with some difficulty came up with us before we were got under full sail; for after that, as we had both wind and tide with us, he would have found it impossible to overtake the ship till she was come to an anchor at Gravesend. The morning was fair and bright, and we had a passage thither, I think, as pleasant as can be conceived: for, take it with all its advantages, particularly the number of fine ships you are always sure of seeing by the way, there is nothing to equal it in all the rivers of the world. The yards of Deptford and of Woolwich are noble sights, and give us a just idea of the great perfection to which we are arrived in building those floating castles, and the figure which we may always make in Europe among the other maritime powers. That of Woolwich, at least, very strongly imprinted this idea on my mind; for there was now on the stocks there the Royal Anne, supposed to be the largest ship ever built, and which contains ten carriage-guns more than had ever yet equipped a first-rate. It is true, perhaps, that there is more of ostentation than of real utility in ships of this vast and unwieldy burthen, which are rarely capable of acting against an enemy; but if the building such contributes to preserve, among other nations, the notion of the British superiority in naval affairs, the expence, though very great, is well incurred, and the ostentation is laudable and truly political. Indeed, I should be sorry to allow that Holland, France, or Spain, possessed a vessel larger and more beautiful than the largest and most beautiful of ours; for this honour I would always administer to the pride of our sailors, who should challenge it from all their neighbours with truth and success. And sure I am that not our honest tars alone, but every inhabitant of this island, may exult in the comparison, when he considers the king of Great Britain as a maritime prince, in opposition to any other prince in Europe; but I am not so certain that the same idea of superiority will result from comparing our land forces with those of many other crowned heads. In numbers they all far exceed us, and in the goodness and splendour of their troops many nations, particularly the Germans and French, and perhaps the Dutch, cast us at a distance; for, however we may flatter ourselves with the Edwards and Henrys of former ages, the change of the whole art of war since those days, by which the advantage of personal strength is in a manner entirely lost, hath produced a change in military affairs to the advantage of our enemies. As for our successes in later days, if they were not entirely owing to the superior genius of our general, they were not a little due to the superior force of his money. Indeed, if we should arraign marshal Saxe of ostentation when he shewed his army, drawn up, to our captive general, the day after the battle of La Val, we cannot say that the ostentation was entirely vain; since he certainly shewed him an army which had not been often equalled, either in the number or goodness of the troops, and which, in those respects, so far exceeded ours, that none can ever cast any reflexion on the brave young prince who could not reap the lawrels of conquest in that day; but his retreat will be always mentioned as an addition to his glory. In our marine the case is entirely the reverse, and it must be our own fault if it doth not continue so; for continue so it will as long as the flourishing state of our trade shall support it, and this support it can never want till our legislature shall cease to give sufficient attention to the protection of our trade, and our magistrates want sufficient power, ability, and honesty, to execute the laws; a circumstance not to be apprehended, as it cannot happen till our senates and our benches shall be filled with the blindest ignorance, or with the blackest corruption. Besides the ships in the docks, we saw many on the water: the yatchts are sights of great parade, and the king's body yatcht is, I believe, unequalled in any country for convenience as well as magnificence; both which are consulted in building and equipping her with the most exquisite art and workmanship. We saw likewise several Indiamen just returned from their voyage. These are, I believe, the largest and finest vessels which are anywhere employed in commercial affairs. The colliers, likewise, which are very numerous, and even assemble in fleets, are ships of great bulk; and if we descend to those used in the American, African, and European trades, and pass through those which visit our own coasts, to the small craft that lie between Chatham and the Tower, the whole forms a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as highly warming to the heart of an Englishman who has any degree of love for his country, or can recognise any effect of the patriot in his constitution. Lastly, the Royal Hospital at Greenwich, which presents so delightful a front to the water, and doth such honour at once to its builder and the nation, to the great skill and ingenuity of the one, and to the no less sensible gratitude of the other, very properly closes the account of this scene; which may well appear romantic to those who have not themselves seen that, in this one instance, truth and reality are capable, perhaps, of exceeding the power of fiction. When we had past by Greenwich we saw only two or three gentlemen's houses, all of very moderate account, till we reached Gravesend: these are all on the Kentish shore, which affords a much drier, wholesomer, and pleasanter situation, than doth that of its opposite, Essex. This circumstance, I own, is somewhat surprising to me, when I reflect on the numerous villas that crowd the river from Chelsea upwards as far as Shepperton, where the narrower channel affords not half so noble a prospect, and where the continual succession of the small craft, like the frequent repetition of all things, which have nothing in them great, beautiful, or admirable, tire the eye, and give us distaste and aversion, instead of pleasure. With some of these situations, such as Barnes, Mortlake, &c., even the shore of Essex might contend, not upon very unequal terms; but on the Kentish borders there are many spots to be chosen by the builder which might justly claim the preference over almost the very finest of those in Middlesex and Surrey. How shall we account for this depravity in taste? for surely there are none so very mean and contemptible as to bring the pleasure of seeing a number of little wherries, gliding along after one another, in competition with what we enjoy in viewing a succession of ships, with all their sails expanded to the winds, bounding over the waves before us. And here I cannot pass by another observation on the deplorable want of taste in our enjoyments, which we shew by almost totally neglecting the pursuit of what seems to me the highest degree of amusement; this is, the sailing ourselves in little vessels of our own, contrived only for our ease and accommodation, to which such situations of our villas as I have recommended would be so convenient, and even necessary. This amusement, I confess, if enjoyed in any perfection, would be of the expensive kind; but such expence would not exceed the reach of a moderate fortune, and would fall very short of the prices which are daily paid for pleasures of a far inferior rate. The truth, I believe, is, that sailing in the manner I have just mentioned is a pleasure rather unknown, or unthought of, than rejected by those who have experienced it; unless, perhaps, the apprehension of danger or sea-sickness may be supposed, by the timorous and delicate, to make too large deductions--insisting that all their enjoyments shall come to them pure and unmixed, and being ever ready to cry out, ----Nocet empta dolore voluptas. This, however, was my present case; for the ease and lightness which I felt from my tapping, the gaiety of the morning, the pleasant sailing with wind and tide, and the many agreeable objects with which I was constantly entertained during the whole way, were all suppressed and overcome by the single consideration of my wife's pain, which continued incessantly to torment her till we came to an anchor, when I dispatched a messenger in great haste for the best reputed operator in Gravesend. A surgeon of some eminence now appeared, who did not decline tooth-drawing, though he certainly would have been offended with the appellation of tooth-drawer no less than his brethren, the members of that venerable body, would be with that of barber, since the late separation between those long-united companies, by which, if the surgeons have gained much, the barbers are supposed to have lost very little. This able and careful person (for so I sincerely believe he is) after examining the guilty tooth, declared that it was such a rotten shell, and so placed at the very remotest end of the upper jaw, where it was in a manner covered and secured by a large fine firm tooth, that he despaired of his power of drawing it. He said, indeed, more to my wife, and used more rhetoric to dissuade her from having it drawn, than is generally employed to persuade young ladies to prefer a pain of three moments to one of three months' continuance, especially if those young ladies happen to be past forty and fifty years of age, when, by submitting to support a racking torment, the only good circumstance attending which is, it is so short that scarce one in a thousand can cry out "I feel it," they are to do a violence to their charms, and lose one of those beautiful holders with which alone Sir Courtly Nice declares a lady can ever lay hold of his heart. He said at last so much, and seemed to reason so justly, that I came over to his side, and assisted him in prevailing on my wife (for it was no easy matter) to resolve on keeping her tooth a little longer, and to apply palliatives only for relief. These were opium applied to the tooth, and blisters behind the ears. Whilst we were at dinner this day in the cabin, on a sudden the window on one side was beat into the room with a crash as if a twenty-pounder had been discharged among us. We were all alarmed at the suddenness of the accident, for which, however, we were soon able to account, for the sash, which was shivered all to pieces, was pursued into the middle of the cabin by the bowsprit of a little ship called a cod-smack, the master of which made us amends for running (carelessly at best) against us, and injuring the ship, in the sea-way; that is to say, by damning us all to hell, and uttering several pious wishes that it had done us much more mischief. All which were answered in their own kind and phrase by our men, between whom and the other crew a dialogue of oaths and scurrility was carried on as long as they continued in each other's hearing. It is difficult, I think, to assign a satisfactory reason why sailors in general should, of all others, think themselves entirely discharged from the common bands of humanity, and should seem to glory in the language and behaviour of savages! They see more of the world, and have, most of them, a more erudite education than is the portion of landmen of their degree. Nor do I believe that in any country they visit (Holland itself not excepted) they can ever find a parallel to what daily passes on the river Thames. Is it that they think true courage (for they are the bravest fellows upon earth) inconsistent with all the gentleness of a humane carriage, and that the contempt of civil order springs up in minds but little cultivated, at the same time and from the same principles with the contempt of danger and death? Is it----? in short, it is so; and how it comes to be so I leave to form a question in the Robin Hood Society, or to be propounded for solution among the ænigmas in the Woman's Almanac for the next year. _Monday, July 1._--This day Mr Welch took his leave of me after dinner, as did a young lady of her sister, who was proceeding with my wife to Lisbon. They both set out together in a post-chaise for London. Soon after their departure our cabin, where my wife and I were sitting together, was visited by two ruffians, whose appearance greatly corresponded with that of the sheriffs, or rather the knight-marshal's bailiffs. One of these especially, who seemed to affect a more than ordinary degree of rudeness and insolence, came in without any kind of ceremony, with a broad gold lace on his hat, which was cocked with much military fierceness on his head. An inkhorn at his button-hole and some papers in his hand sufficiently assured me what he was, and I asked him if he and his companion were not custom-house officers: he answered with sufficient dignity that they were, as an information which he seemed to conclude would strike the hearer with awe, and suppress all further enquiry; but, on the contrary, I proceeded to ask of what rank he was in the custom-house, and, receiving an answer from his companion, as I remember, that the gentleman was a riding surveyor, I replied that he might be a riding surveyor, but could be no gentleman, for that none who had any title to that denomination would break into the presence of a lady without an apology or even moving his hat. He then took his covering from his head and laid it on the table, saying, he asked pardon, and blamed the mate, who should, he said, have informed him if any persons of distinction were below. I told him he might guess by our appearance (which, perhaps, was rather more than could be said with the strictest adherence to truth) that he was before a gentleman and lady, which should teach him to be very civil in his behaviour, though we should not happen to be of that number whom the world calls people of fashion and distinction. However, I said, that as he seemed sensible of his error, and had asked pardon, the lady would permit him to put his hat on again if he chose it. This he refused with some degree of surliness, and failed not to convince me that, if I should condescend to become more gentle, he would soon grow more rude. I now renewed a reflexion, which I have often seen occasion to make, that there is nothing so incongruous in nature as any kind of power with lowness of mind and of ability, and that there is nothing more deplorable than the want of truth in the whimsical notion of Plato, who tells us that "Saturn, well knowing the state of human affairs, gave us kings and rulers, not of human but divine original; for, as we make not shepherds of sheep, nor oxherds of oxen, nor goatherds of goats, but place some of our own kind over all as being better and fitter to govern them; in the same manner were demons by the divine love set over us as a race of beings of a superior order to men, and who, with great ease to themselves, might regulate our affairs and establish peace, modesty, freedom, and justice, and, totally destroying all sedition, might complete the happiness of the human race. So far, at least, may even now be said with truth, that in all states which are under the government of mere man, without any divine assistance, there is nothing but labour and misery to be found. From what I have said, therefore, we may at least learn, with our utmost endeavours, to imitate the Saturnian institution; borrowing all assistance from our immortal part, while we pay to this the strictest obedience, we should form both our private oeconomy and public policy from its dictates. By this dispensation of our immortal minds we are to establish a law and to call it by that name. But if any government be in the hands of a single person, of the few, or of the many, and such governor or governors shall abandon himself or themselves to the unbridled pursuit of the wildest pleasures or desires, unable to restrain any passion, but possessed with an insatiable bad disease; if such shall attempt to govern, and at the same time to trample on all laws, there can be no means of preservation left for the wretched people" Plato de Leg., lib. iv. p. 713, c. 714, edit. Serrani. It is true that Plato is here treating of the highest or sovereign power in a state, but it is as true that his observations are general and may be applied to all inferior powers; and, indeed, every subordinate degree is immediately derived from the highest; and, as it is equally protected by the same force and sanctified by the same authority, is alike dangerous to the well-being of the subject. Of all powers, perhaps, there is none so sanctified and protected as this which is under our present consideration. So numerous, indeed, and strong, are the sanctions given to it by many acts of parliament, that, having once established the laws of customs on merchandize, it seems to have been the sole view of the legislature to strengthen the hands and to protect the persons of the officers who became established by those laws, many of whom are so far from bearing any resemblance to the Saturnian institution, and to be chosen from a degree of beings superior to the rest of human race, that they sometimes seem industriously picked out of the lowest and vilest orders of mankind. There is, indeed, nothing so useful to man in general, nor so beneficial to particular societies and individuals, as trade. This is that _alma mater_ at whose plentiful breast all mankind are nourished. It is true, like other parents, she is not always equally indulgent to all her children, but, though she gives to her favourites a vast proportion of redundancy and superfluity, there are very few whom she refuses to supply with the conveniences, and none with the necessaries, of life. Such a benefactress as this must naturally be beloved by mankind in general; it would be wonderful, therefore, if her interest was not considered by them, and protected from the fraud and violence of some of her rebellious offspring, who, coveting more than their share or more than she thinks proper to allow them, are daily employed in meditating mischief against her, and in endeavouring to steal from their brethren those shares which this great _alma mater_ had allowed them. At length our governor came on board, and about six in the evening we weighed anchor, and fell down to the Nore, whither our passage was extremely pleasant, the evening being very delightful, the moon just past the full, and both wind and tide favourable to us. _Tuesday, July 2._--This morning we again set sail, under all the advantages we had enjoyed the evening before. This day we left the shore of Essex and coasted along Kent, passing by the pleasant island of Thanet, which is an island, and that of Sheppy, which is not an island, and about three o'clock, the wind being now full in our teeth, we came to an anchor in the Downs, within two miles of Deal.--My wife, having suffered intolerable pain from her tooth, again renewed her resolution of having it drawn, and another surgeon was sent for from Deal, but with no better success than the former. He likewise declined the operation, for the same reason which had been assigned by the former: however, such was her resolution, backed with pain, that he was obliged to make the attempt, which concluded more in honour of his judgment than of his operation; for, after having put my poor wife to inexpressible torment, he was obliged to leave her tooth in _statu quo_; and she had now the comfortable prospect of a long fit of pain, which might have lasted her whole voyage, without any possibility of relief. In these pleasing sensations, of which I had my just share, nature, overcome with fatigue, about eight in the evening resigned her to rest--a circumstance which would have given me some happiness, could I have known how to employ those spirits which were raised by it; but, unfortunately for me, I was left in a disposition of enjoying an agreeable hour without the assistance of a companion, which has always appeared to me necessary to such enjoyment; my daughter and her companion were both retired sea-sick to bed; the other passengers were a rude school-boy of fourteen years old and an illiterate Portuguese friar, who understood no language but his own, in which I had not the least smattering. The captain was the only person left in whose conversation I might indulge myself; but unluckily, besides a total ignorance of everything in the world but a ship, he had the misfortune of being so deaf, that to make him hear, I will not say understand, my words, I must run the risque of conveying them to the ears of my wife, who, though in another room (called, I think, the state-room--being, indeed, a most stately apartment, capable of containing one human body in length, if not very tall, and three bodies in breadth), lay asleep within a yard of me. In this situation necessity and choice were one and the same thing; the captain and I sat down together to a small bowl of punch, over which we both soon fell fast asleep, and so concluded the evening. _Wednesday, July 3._--This morning I awaked at four o'clock, for my distemper seldom suffered me to sleep later. I presently got up, and had the pleasure of enjoying the sight of a tempestuous sea for four hours before the captain was stirring; for he loved to indulge himself in morning slumbers, which were attended with a wind-music, much more agreeable to the performers than to the hearers, especially such as have, as I had, the privilege of sitting in the orchestra. At eight o'clock the captain rose, and sent his boat on shore. I ordered my man likewise to go in it, as my distemper was not of that kind which entirely deprives us of appetite. Now, though the captain had well victualled his ship with all manner of salt provisions for the voyage, and had added great quantities of fresh stores, particularly of vegetables, at Gravesend, such as beans and peas, which had been on board only two days, and had possibly not been gathered above two more, I apprehended I could provide better for myself at Deal than the ship's ordinary seemed to promise. I accordingly sent for fresh provisions of all kinds from the shore, in order to put off the evil day of starving as long as possible. My man returned with most of the articles I sent for, and I now thought myself in a condition of living a week on my own provisions. I therefore ordered my own dinner, which I wanted nothing but a cook to dress and a proper fire to dress it at; but those were not to be had, nor indeed any addition to my roast mutton, except the pleasure of the captain's company, with that of the other passengers; for my wife continued the whole day in a state of dozing, and my other females, whose sickness did not abate by the rolling of the ship at anchor, seemed more inclined to empty their stomachs than to fill them. Thus I passed the whole day (except about an hour at dinner) by myself, and the evening concluded with the captain as the preceding one had done; one comfortable piece of news he communicated to me, which was, that he had no doubt of a prosperous wind in the morning; but as he did not divulge the reasons of this confidence, and as I saw none myself besides the wind being directly opposite, my faith in this prophecy was not strong enough to build any great hopes upon. _Thursday, July 4._--This morning, however, the captain seemed resolved to fulfil his own predictions, whether the wind would or no; he accordingly weighed anchor, and, taking the advantage of the tide when the wind was not very boisterous, he hoisted his sails; and, as if his power had been no less absolute over �olus than it was over Neptune, he forced the wind to blow him on in its own despight. But as all men who have ever been at sea well know how weak such attempts are, and want no authorities of Scripture to prove that the most absolute power of a captain of a ship is very contemptible in the wind's eye, so did it befal our noble commander, who, having struggled with the wind three or four hours, was obliged to give over, and lost in a few minutes all that he had been so long a-gaining; in short, we returned to our former station, and once more cast anchor in the neighbourhood of Deal. Here, though we lay near the shore, that we might promise ourselves all the emolument which could be derived from it, we found ourselves deceived; and that we might with as much conveniency be out of the sight of land; for, except when the captain launched forth his own boat, which he did always with great reluctance, we were incapable of procuring anything from Deal, but at a price too exorbitant, and beyond the reach even of modern luxury--the fair of a boat from Deal, which lay at two miles' distance, being at least three half-crowns, and, if we had been in any distress for it, as many half-guineas; for these good people consider the sea as a large common appendant to their manor, in which when they find any of their fellow-creatures impounded, they conclude that they have a full right of making them pay at their own discretion for their deliverance: to say the truth, whether it be that men who live on the sea-shore are of an amphibious kind, and do not entirely partake of human nature, or whatever else may be the reason, they are so far from taking any share in the distresses of mankind, or of being moved with any compassion for them, that they look upon them as blessings showered down from above, and which the more they improve to their own use, the greater is their gratitude and piety. Thus at Gravesend a sculler requires a shilling for going less way than he would row in London for threepence; and at Deal a boat often brings more profit in a day than it can produce in London in a week, or perhaps in a month; in both places the owner of the boat founds his demand on the necessity and distress of one who stands more or less in absolute want of his assistance, and with the urgency of these always rises in the exorbitancy of his demand, without ever considering that, from these very circumstances, the power or ease of gratifying such demand is in like proportion lessened. Now, as I am unwilling that some conclusions, which may be, I am aware, too justly drawn from these observations, should be imputed to human nature in general, I have endeavoured to account for them in a way more consistent with the goodness and dignity of that nature. However it be, it seems a little to reflect on the governors of such monsters that they do not take some means to restrain these impositions, and prevent them from triumphing any longer in the miseries of those who are, in many circumstances at least, their fellow-creatures, and considering the distresses of a wretched seaman, from his being wrecked to his being barely wind-bound, as a blessing sent among them from above, and calling it by that blasphemous name. _Friday, July 5._--This day I sent a servant on board a man-of-war that was stationed here, with my compliments to the captain, to represent to him the distress of the ladies, and to desire the favour of his long-boat to conduct us to Dover, at about seven miles' distance; and at the same time presumed to make use of a great lady's name, the wife of the first lord commissioner of the admiralty, who would, I told him, be pleased with any kindness shewn by him towards us in our miserable condition. And this I am convinced was true, from the humanity of the lady, though she was entirely unknown to me. The captain returned a verbal answer to a long letter acquainting me that what I desired could not be complied with, it being a favour not in his power to grant. This might be, and I suppose was, true; but it is as true that, if he was able to write, and had pen, ink, and paper on board, he might have sent a written answer, and that it was the part of a gentleman so to have done; but this is a character seldom maintained on the watery element, especially by those who exercise any power on it. Every commander of a vessel here seems to think himself entirely free from all those rules of decency and civility which direct and restrain the conduct of the members of a society on shore; and each, claiming absolute dominion in his little wooden world, rules by his own laws and his own discretion. I do not, indeed, know so pregnant an instance of the dangerous consequences of absolute power, and its aptness to intoxicate the mind, as that of those petty tyrants, who become such in a moment, from very well-disposed and social members of that communion in which they affect no superiority, but live in an orderly state of legal subjection with their fellow-citizens. _Saturday, July 6._--This morning our commander, declaring he was sure the wind would change, took the advantage of an ebbing tide, and weighed his anchor. His assurance, however, had the same completion, and his endeavours the same success, with his formal trial; and he was soon obliged to return once more to his old quarters. Just before we let go our anchor, a small sloop, rather than submit to yield us an inch of way, ran foul of our ship, and carried off her bowsprit. This obstinate frolic would have cost those aboard the sloop very dear, if our steersman had not been too generous to exert his superiority, the certain consequence of which would have been the immediate sinking of the other. This contention of the inferior with a might capable of crushing it in an instant may seem to argue no small share of folly or madness, as well as of impudence; but I am convinced there is very little danger in it: contempt is a port to which the pride of man submits to fly with reluctance, but those who are within it are always in a place of the most assured security; for whosoever throws away his sword prefers, indeed, a less honourable but much safer means of avoiding danger than he who defends himself with it. And here we shall offer another distinction, of the truth of which much reading and experience have well convinced us, that as in the most absolute governments there is a regular progression of slavery downwards, from the top to the bottom, the mischief of which is seldom felt with any great force and bitterness but by the next immediate degree; so in the most dissolute and anarchical states there is as regular an ascent of what is called rank or condition, which is always laying hold of the head of him who is advanced but one step higher on the ladder, who might, if he did not too much despise such efforts, kick his pursuer headlong to the bottom. We will conclude this digression with one general and short observation, which will, perhaps, set the whole matter in a clearer light than the longest and most laboured harangue. Whereas envy of all things most exposes us to danger from others, so contempt of all things best secures us from them. And thus, while the dung-cart and the sloop are always meditating mischief against the coach and the ship, and throwing themselves designedly in their way, the latter consider only their own security, and are not ashamed to break the road and let the other pass by them. _Monday, July 8._--Having past our Sunday without anything remarkable, unless the catching a great number of whitings in the afternoon may be thought so, we now set sail on Monday at six o'clock, with a little variation of wind; but this was so very little, and the breeze itself so small, that the tide was our best and indeed almost our only friend. This conducted us along the short remainder of the Kentish shore. Here we past that cliff of Dover which makes so tremendous a figure in Shakspeare, and which whoever reads without being giddy, must, according to Mr Addison's observation, have either a very good head or a very bad one; but which, whoever contracts any such ideas from the sight of, must have at least a poetic if not a Shaksperian genius. In truth, mountains, rivers, heroes, and gods owe great part of their existence to the poets; and Greece and Italy do so plentifully abound in the former, because they furnish so glorious a number of the latter; who, while they bestowed immortality on every little hillock and blind stream, left the noblest rivers and mountains in the world to share the same obscurity with the eastern and western poets, in which they are celebrated. This evening we beat the sea of Sussex in sight of Dungeness, with much more pleasure than progress; for the weather was almost a perfect calm, and the moon, which was almost at the full, scarce suffered a single cloud to veil her from our sight. _Tuesday, Wednesday, July 9, 10._--These two days we had much the same fine weather, and made much the same way; but in the evening of the latter day a pretty fresh gale sprung up at N.N.W., which brought us by the morning in sight of the Isle of Wight. _Thursday, July 11._--This gale continued till towards noon; when the east end of the island bore but little ahead of us. The captain swaggered and declared he would keep the sea; but the wind got the better of him, so that about three he gave up the victory, and making a sudden tack stood in for the shore, passed by Spithead and Portsmouth, and came to an anchor at a place called Ryde on the island. A most tragical incident fell out this day at sea. While the ship was under sail, but making as will appear no great way, a kitten, one of four of the feline inhabitants of the cabin, fell from the window into the water: an alarm was immediately given to the captain, who was then upon deck, and received it with the utmost concern and many bitter oaths. He immediately gave orders to the steersman in favour of the poor thing, as he called it; the sails were instantly slackened, and all hands, as the phrase is, employed to recover the poor animal. I was, I own, extremely surprised at all this; less indeed at the captain's extreme tenderness than at his conceiving any possibility of success; for if puss had had nine thousand instead of nine lives, I concluded they had been all lost. The boatswain, however, had more sanguine hopes, for, having stripped himself of his jacket, breeches, and shirt, he leaped boldly into the water, and to my great astonishment in a few minutes returned to the ship, bearing the motionless animal in his mouth. Nor was this, I observed, a matter of such great difficulty as it appeared to my ignorance, and possibly may seem to that of my fresh-water reader. The kitten was now exposed to air and sun on the deck, where its life, of which it retained no symptoms, was despaired of by all. The captain's humanity, if I may so call it, did not so totally destroy his philosophy as to make him yield himself up to affliction on this melancholy occasion. Having felt his loss like a man, he resolved to shew he could bear it like one; and, having declared he had rather have lost a cask of rum or brandy, betook himself to threshing at backgammon with the Portuguese friar, in which innocent amusement they had passed about two-thirds of their time. But as I have, perhaps, a little too wantonly endeavoured to raise the tender passions of my readers in this narrative, I should think myself unpardonable if I concluded it without giving them the satisfaction of hearing that the kitten at last recovered, to the great joy of the good captain, but to the great disappointment of some of the sailors, who asserted that the drowning a cat was the very surest way of raising a favourable wind; a supposition of which, though we have heard several plausible accounts, we will not presume to assign the true original reason. _Friday, July 12._--This day our ladies went ashore at Ryde, and drank their afternoon tea at an ale-house there with great satisfaction: here they were regaled with fresh cream, to which they had been strangers since they left the Downs. _Saturday, July 13._--The wind seeming likely to continue in the same corner where it had been almost constantly for two months together, I was persuaded by my wife to go ashore and stay at Ryde till we sailed. I approved the motion much; for though I am a great lover of the sea, I now fancied there was more pleasure in breathing the fresh air of the land; but how to get thither was the question; for, being really that dead luggage which I considered all passengers to be in the beginning of this narrative, and incapable of any bodily motion without external impulse, it was in vain to leave the ship, or to determine to do it, without the assistance of others. In one instance, perhaps, the living luggage is more difficult to be moved or removed than an equal or much superior weight of dead matter; which, if of the brittle kind, may indeed be liable to be broken through negligence; but this, by proper care, may be almost certainly prevented; whereas the fractures to which the living lumps are exposed are sometimes by no caution avoidable, and often by no art to be amended. I was deliberating on the means of conveyance, not so much out of the ship to the boat as out of a little tottering boat to the land; a matter which, as I had already experienced in the Thames, was not extremely easy, when to be performed by any other limbs than your own. Whilst I weighed all that could suggest itself on this head, without strictly examining the merit of the several schemes which were advanced by the captain and sailors, and, indeed, giving no very deep attention even to my wife, who, as well as her friend and my daughter, were exerting their tender concern for my ease and safety, Fortune, for I am convinced she had a hand in it, sent me a present of a buck; a present welcome enough of itself, but more welcome on account of the vessel in which it came, being a large hoy, which in some places would pass for a ship, and many people would go some miles to see the sight. I was pretty easily conveyed on board this hoy; but to get from hence to the shore was not so easy a task; for, however strange it may appear, the water itself did not extend so far; an instance which seems to explain those lines of Ovid, Omnia pontus erant, deerant quoque littora ponto, in a less tautological sense than hath generally been imputed to them. In fact, between the sea and the shore there was, at low water, an impassable gulph, if I may so call it, of deep mud, which could neither be traversed by walking nor swimming; so that for near one half of the twenty-four hours Ryde was inaccessible by friend or foe. But as the magistrates of this place seemed more to desire the company of the former than to fear that of the latter, they had begun to make a small causeway to the low-water mark, so that foot passengers might land whenever they pleased; but as this work was of a public kind, and would have cost a large sum of money, at least ten pounds, and the magistrates, that is to say, the churchwardens, the overseers, constable, and tithing-man, and the principal inhabitants, had every one of them some separate scheme of private interest to advance at the expence of the public, they fell out among themselves; and, after having thrown away one half of the requisite sum, resolved at least to save the other half, and rather be contented to sit down losers themselves than to enjoy any benefit which might bring in a greater profit to another. Thus that unanimity which is so necessary in all public affairs became wanting, and every man, from the fear of being a bubble to another, was, in reality, a bubble to himself. However, as there is scarce any difficulty to which the strength of men, assisted with the cunning of art, is not equal, I was at last hoisted into a small boat, and, being rowed pretty near the shore, was taken up by two sailors, who waded with me through the mud, and placed me in a chair on the land, whence they afterwards conveyed me a quarter of a mile farther, and brought me to a house which seemed to bid the fairest for hospitality of any in Ryde. We brought with us our provisions from the ship, so that we wanted nothing but a fire to dress our dinner, and a room in which we might eat it. In neither of these had we any reason to apprehend a disappointment, our dinner consisting only of beans and bacon; and the worst apartment in his majesty's dominions, either at home or abroad, being fully sufficient to answer our present ideas of delicacy. Unluckily, however, we were disappointed in both; for when we arrived about four at our inn, exulting in the hopes of immediately seeing our beans smoking on the table, we had the mortification of seeing them on the table indeed, but without that circumstance which would have made the sight agreeable, being in the same state in which we had dispatched them from our ship. In excuse for this delay, though we had exceeded, almost purposely, the time appointed, and our provision had arrived three hours before, the mistress of the house acquainted us that it was not for want of time to dress them that they were not ready, but for fear of their being cold or overdone before we should come; which she assured us was much worse than waiting a few minutes for our dinner; an observation so very just, that it is impossible to find any objection in it; but, indeed, it was not altogether so proper at this time, for we had given the most absolute orders to have them ready at four, and had been ourselves, not without much care and difficulty, most exactly punctual in keeping to the very minute of our appointment. But tradesmen, inn-keepers, and servants, never care to indulge us in matters contrary to our true interest, which they always know better than ourselves; nor can any bribes corrupt them to go out of their way whilst they are consulting our good in our own despight. Our disappointment in the other particular, in defiance of our humility, as it was more extraordinary, was more provoking. In short, Mrs Francis (for that was the name of the good woman of the house) no sooner received the news of our intended arrival than she considered more the gentility than the humanity of her guests, and applied herself not to that which kindles but to that which extinguishes fire, and, forgetting to put on her pot, fell to washing her house. As the messenger who had brought my venison was impatient to be despatched, I ordered it to be brought and laid on the table in the room where I was seated; and the table not being large enough, one side, and that a very bloody one, was laid on the brick floor. I then ordered Mrs Francis to be called in, in order to give her instructions concerning it; in particular, what I would have roasted and what baked; concluding that she would be highly pleased with the prospect of so much money being spent in her house as she might have now reason to expect, if the wind continued only a few days longer to blow from the same points whence it had blown for several weeks past. I soon saw good cause, I must confess, to despise my own sagacity. Mrs Francis, having received her orders, without making any answer, snatched the side from the floor, which remained stained with blood, and, bidding a servant to take up that on the table, left the room with no pleasant countenance, muttering to herself that, "had she known the litter which was to have been made, she would not have taken such pains to wash her house that morning. If this was gentility, much good may it do such gentlefolks; for her part she had no notion of it." From these murmurs I received two hints. The one, that it was not from a mistake of our inclination that the good woman had starved us, but from wisely consulting her own dignity, or rather perhaps her vanity, to which our hunger was offered up as a sacrifice. The other, that I was now sitting in a damp room, a circumstance, though it had hitherto escaped my notice from the colour of the bricks, which was by no means to be neglected in a valetudinary state. My wife, who, besides discharging excellently well her own and all the tender offices becoming the female character; who, besides being a faithful friend, an amiable companion, and a tender nurse, could likewise supply the wants of a decrepit husband, and occasionally perform his part, had, before this, discovered the immoderate attention to neatness in Mrs Francis, and provided against its ill consequences. She had found, though not under the same roof, a very snug apartment belonging to Mr Francis, and which had escaped the mop by his wife's being satisfied it could not possibly be visited by gentlefolks. This was a dry, warm, oaken-floored barn, lined on both sides with wheaten straw, and opening at one end into a green field and a beautiful prospect. Here, without hesitation, she ordered the cloth to be laid, and came hastily to snatch me from worse perils by water than the common dangers of the sea. Mrs Francis, who could not trust her own ears, or could not believe a footman in so extraordinary a phenomenon, followed my wife, and asked her if she had indeed ordered the cloth to be laid in the barn? She answered in the affirmative; upon which Mrs Francis declared she would not dispute her pleasure, but it was the first time she believed that quality had ever preferred a barn to a house. She shewed at the same time the most pregnant marks of contempt, and again lamented the labour she had undergone, through her ignorance of the absurd taste of her guests. At length, we were seated in one of the most pleasant spots I believe in the kingdom, and were regaled with our beans and bacon, in which there was nothing deficient but the quantity. This defect was however so deplorable that we had consumed our whole dish before we had visibly lessened our hunger. We now waited with impatience the arrival of our second course, which necessity, and not luxury, had dictated. This was a joint of mutton which Mrs Francis had been ordered to provide; but when, being tired with expectation, we ordered our servants _to see for something else_, we were informed that there was nothing else; on which Mrs Francis, being summoned, declared there was no such thing as mutton to be had at Ryde. When I expressed some astonishment at their having no butcher in a village so situated, she answered they had a very good one, and one that killed all sorts of meat in season, beef two or three times a year, and mutton the whole year round; but that, it being then beans and peas time, he killed no meat, by reason he was not sure of selling it. This she had not thought worthy of communication, any more than that there lived a fisherman at next door, who was then provided with plenty of soles, and whitings, and lobsters, far superior to those which adorn a city feast. This discovery being made by accident, we completed the best, the pleasantest, and the merriest meal, with more appetite, more real solid luxury, and more festivity, than was ever seen in an entertainment at White's. It may be wondered at, perhaps, that Mrs Francis should be so negligent of providing for her guests, as she may seem to be thus inattentive to her own interest; but this was not the case; for, having clapped a poll-tax on our heads at our arrival, and determined at what price to discharge our bodies from her house, the less she suffered any other to share in the levy the clearer it came into her own pocket; and that it was better to get twelve pence in a shilling than ten pence, which latter would be the case if she afforded us fish at any rate. Thus we past a most agreeable day owing to good appetites and good humour; two hearty feeders which will devour with satisfaction whatever food you place before them; whereas, without these, the elegance of St James's, the charde, the perigord-pie, or the ortolan, the venison, the turtle, or the custard, may titillate the throat, but will never convey happiness to the heart or chearfulness to the countenance. As the wind appeared still immovable, my wife proposed my lying on shore. I presently agreed, though in defiance of an act of parliament, by which persons wandering abroad and lodging in ale-houses are decreed to be rogues and vagabonds; and this too after having been very singularly officious in putting that law in execution. My wife, having reconnoitred the house, reported that there was one room in which were two beds. It was concluded, therefore, that she and Harriot should occupy one and myself take possession of the other. She added likewise an ingenious recommendation of this room to one who had so long been in a cabin, which it exactly resembled, as it was sunk down with age on one side, and was in the form of a ship with gunwales too. For my own part, I make little doubt but this apartment was an ancient temple, built with the materials of a wreck, and probably dedicated to Neptune in honour of THE BLESSING sent by him to the inhabitants; such blessings having in all ages been very common to them. The timber employed in it confirms this opinion, being such as is seldom used by any but ship-builders. I do not find indeed any mention of this matter in Hearn; but perhaps its antiquity was too modern to deserve his notice. Certain it is that this island of Wight was not an early convert to Christianity; nay, there is some reason to doubt whether it was ever entirely converted. But I have only time to touch slightly on things of this kind, which, luckily for us, we have a society whose peculiar profession it is to discuss and develop. _Sunday, July 19._--This morning early I summoned Mrs Francis, in order to pay her the preceding day's account. As I could recollect only two or three articles I thought there was no necessity of pen and ink. In a single instance only we had exceeded what the law allows gratis to a foot-soldier on his march, viz., vinegar, salt, &c., and dressing his meat. I found, however, I was mistaken in my calculation; for when the good woman attended with her bill it contained as follows:-- £ _s._ _d._ Bread and beer 0 2 4 Wind 0 2 0 Rum 0 2 0 Dressing dinner 0 3 0 Tea 0 1 6 Firing 0 1 0 Lodging 0 1 6 Servants' lodging 0 0 6 __________ £0 13 10 Now that five people and two servants should live a day and night at a public-house for so small a sum will appear incredible to any person in London above the degree of a chimney-sweeper; but more astonishing will it seem that these people should remain so long at such a house without tasting any other delicacy than bread, small beer, a teacupfull of milk called cream, a glass of rum converted into punch by their own materials, and one bottle of _wind_, of which we only tasted a single glass, though possibly, indeed, our servants drank the remainder of the bottle. This _wind_ is a liquor of English manufacture, and its flavour is thought very delicious by the generality of the English, who drink it in great quantities. Every seventh year is thought to produce as much as the other six. It is then drank so plentifully that the whole nation are in a manner intoxicated by it; and consequently very little business is carried on at that season. It resembles in colour the red wine which is imported from Portugal, as it doth in its intoxicating quality; hence, and from this agreement in the orthography, the one is often confounded with the other, though both are seldom esteemed by the same person. It is to be had in every parish of the kingdom, and a pretty large quantity is consumed in the metropolis, where several taverns are set apart solely for the vendition of this liquor, the masters never dealing in any other. The disagreement in our computation produced some small remonstrance to Mrs Francis on my side; but this received an immediate answer: "She scorned to overcharge gentlemen; her house had been always frequented by the very best gentry of the island; and she had never had a bill found fault with in her life, though she had lived upwards of forty years in the house, and within that time the greatest gentry in Hampshire had been at it; and that lawyer Willis never went to any other when he came to those parts. That for her part she did not get her livelihood by travellers, who were gone and away, and she never expected to see them more, but that her neighbours might come again; wherefore, to be sure, they had the only right to complain." She was proceeding thus, and from her volubility of tongue seemed likely to stretch the discourse to an immoderate length, when I suddenly cut all short by paying the bill. This morning our ladies went to church, more, I fear, from curiosity than religion; they were attended by the captain in a most military attire, with his cockade in his hat and his sword by his side. So unusual an appearance in this little chapel drew the attention of all present, and probably disconcerted the women, who were in dishabille, and wished themselves drest, for the sake of the curate, who was the greatest of their beholders. While I was left alone I received a visit from Mr Francis himself, who was much more considerable as a farmer than as an inn-holder. Indeed, he left the latter entirely to the care of his wife, and he acted wisely, I believe, in so doing. As nothing more remarkable past on this day I will close it with the account of these two characters, as far as a few days' residence could inform me of them. If they should appear as new to the reader as they did to me, he will not be displeased at finding them here. This amiable couple seemed to border hard on their grand climacteric; nor indeed were they shy of owning enough to fix their ages within a year or two of that time. They appeared to be rather proud of having employed their time well than ashamed of having lived so long; the only reason which I could ever assign why some fine ladies, and fine gentlemen too, should desire to be thought younger than they really are by the contemporaries of their grandchildren. Some, indeed, who too hastily credit appearances, might doubt whether they had made so good a use of their time as I would insinuate, since there was no appearance of anything but poverty, want, and wretchedness, about their house; nor could they produce anything to a customer in exchange for his money but a few bottles of _wind_, and spirituous liquors, and some very bad ale, to drink; with rusty bacon and worse cheese to eat. But then it should be considered, on the other side, that whatever they received was almost as entirely clear profit as the blessing of a wreck itself; such an inn being the very reverse of a coffee-house; for here you can neither sit for nothing nor have anything for your money. Again, as many marks of want abounded everywhere, so were the marks of antiquity visible. Scarce anything was to be seen which had not some scar upon it, made by the hand of Time; not an utensil, it was manifest, had been purchased within a dozen years last past; so that whatever money had come into the house during that period at least must have remained in it, unless it had been sent abroad for food, or other perishable commodities; but these were supplied by a small portion of the fruits of the farm, in which the farmer allowed he had a very good bargain. In fact, it is inconceivable what sums may be collected by starving only, and how easy it is for a man to die rich if he will but be contented to live miserable. Nor is there in this kind of starving anything so terrible as some apprehend. It neither wastes a man's flesh nor robs him of his chearfulness. The famous Cornaro's case well proves the contrary; and so did farmer Francis, who was of a round stature, had a plump round face, with a kind of smile on it, and seemed to borrow an air of wretchedness rather from his coat's age than from his own. The truth is, there is a certain diet which emaciates men more than any possible degree of abstinence; though I do not remember to have seen any caution against it, either in Cheney, Arbuthnot, or in any other modern writer or regimen. Nay, the very name is not, I believe, in the learned Dr James's Dictionary; all which is the more extraordinary as it is a very common food in this kingdom, and the college themselves were not long since very liberally entertained with it by the present attorney and other eminent lawyers in Lincoln's-inn-hall, and were all made horribly sick by it. But though it should not be found among our English physical writers, we may be assured of meeting with it among the Greeks; for nothing considerable in nature escapes their notice, though many things considerable in them, it is to be feared, have escaped the notice of their readers. The Greeks, then, to all such as feed too voraciously on this diet, give the name of HEAUTOFAGI, which our physicians will, I suppose, translate _men that eat themselves_. As nothing is so destructive to the body as this kind of food, so nothing is so plentiful and cheap; but it was perhaps the only cheap thing the farmer disliked. Probably living much on fish might produce this disgust; for Diodorus Siculus attributes the same aversion in a people of �thiopia to the same cause; he calls them the fish-eaters, and asserts that they cannot be brought to eat a single meal with the Heautofagi by any persuasion, threat, or violence whatever, not even though they should kill their children before their faces. What hath puzzled our physicians, and prevented them from setting this matter in the clearest light, is possibly one simple mistake, arising from a very excusable ignorance; that the passions of men are capable of swallowing food as well as their appetites; that the former, in feeding, resemble the state of those animals who chew the cud; and therefore, such men, in some sense, may be said to prey on themselves, and as it were to devour their own entrails. And hence ensues a meagre aspect and thin habit of body, as surely as from what is called a consumption. Our farmer was one of these. He had no more passion than an Ichthuofagus or �thiopian fisher. He wished not for anything, thought not of anything; indeed, he scarce did anything or said anything. Here I cannot be understood strictly; for then I must describe a nonentity, whereas I would rob him of nothing but that free agency which is the cause of all the corruption and of all the misery of human nature. No man, indeed, ever did more than the farmer, for he was an absolute slave to labour all the week; but in truth, as my sagacious reader must have at first apprehended, when I said he resigned the care of the house to his wife, I meant more than I then expressed, even the house and all that belonged to it; for he was really a farmer only under the direction of his wife. In a word, so composed, so serene, so placid a countenance, I never saw; and he satisfied himself by answering to every question he was asked, "I don't know anything about it, sir; I leaves all that to my wife." Now, as a couple of this kind would, like two vessels of oil, have made no composition in life, and for want of all savour must have palled every taste; nature or fortune, or both of them, took care to provide a proper quantity of acid in the materials that formed the wife, and to render her a perfect helpmate for so tranquil a husband. She abounded in whatsoever he was defective; that is to say, in almost everything. She was indeed as vinegar to oil, or a brisk wind to a standing-pool, and preserved all from stagnation and corruption. Quin the player, on taking a nice and severe survey of a fellow-comedian, burst forth into this exclamation:--"If that fellow be not a rogue, God Almighty doth not write a legible hand." Whether he guessed right or no is not worth my while to examine; certain it is that the latter, having wrought his features into a proper harmony to become the characters of Iago, Shylock, and others of the same cast, gave us a semblance of truth to the observation that was sufficient to confirm the wit of it. Indeed, we may remark, in favour of the physiognomist, though the law has made him a rogue and vagabond, that Nature is seldom curious in her works within, without employing some little pains on the outside; and this more particularly in mischievous characters, in forming which, as Mr Derham observes, in venomous insects, as the sting or saw of a wasp, she is sometimes wonderfully industrious. Now, when she hath thus completely armed our hero to carry on a war with man, she never fails of furnishing that innocent lambkin with some means of knowing his enemy, and foreseeing his designs. Thus she hath been observed to act in the case of a rattlesnake, which never meditates a human prey without giving warning of his approach. This observation will, I am convinced, hold most true, if applied to the most venomous individuals of human insects. A tyrant, a trickster, and a bully, generally wear the marks of their several dispositions in their countenances; so do the vixen, the shrew, the scold, and all other females of the like kind. But, perhaps, nature hath never afforded a stronger example of all this than in the case of Mrs Francis. She was a short, squat woman; her head was closely joined to her shoulders, where it was fixed somewhat awry; every feature of her countenance was sharp and pointed; her face was furrowed with the small-pox; and her complexion, which seemed to be able to turn milk to curds, not a little resembled in colour such milk as had already undergone that operation. She appeared, indeed, to have many symptoms of a deep jaundice in her look; but the strength and firmness of her voice overbalanced them all; the tone of this was a sharp treble at a distance, for I seldom heard it on the same floor, but was usually waked with it in the morning, and entertained with it almost continually through the whole day. Though vocal be usually put in opposition to instrumental music, I question whether this might not be thought to partake of the nature of both; for she played on two instruments, which she seemed to keep for no other use from morning till night; these were two maids, or rather scolding-stocks, who, I suppose, by some means or other, earned their board, and she gave them their lodging _gratis_, or for no other service than to keep her lungs in constant exercise. She differed, as I have said, in every particular from her husband; but very remarkably in this, that, as it was impossible to displease him, so it was as impossible to please her; and as no art could remove a smile from his countenance, so could no art carry it into hers. If her bills were remonstrated against she was offended with the tacit censure of her fair-dealing; if they were not, she seemed to regard it as a tacit sarcasm on her folly, which might have set down larger prices with the same success. On this latter hint she did indeed improve, for she daily raised some of her articles. A pennyworth of fire was to-day rated at a shilling, to-morrow at eighteen-pence; and if she dressed us two dishes for two shillings on the Saturday, we paid half-a-crown for the cookery of one on the Sunday; and, whenever she was paid, she never left the room without lamenting the small amount of her bill, saying, "she knew not how it was that others got their money by gentlefolks, but for her part she had not the art of it." When she was asked why she complained, when she was paid all she demanded, she answered, "she could not deny that, nor did she know she had omitted anything; but that it was but a poor bill for gentlefolks to pay." I accounted for all this by her having heard, that it is a maxim with the principal inn-holders on the continent, to levy considerable sums on their guests, who travel with many horses and servants, though such guests should eat little or nothing in their houses; the method being, I believe, in such cases, to lay a capitation on the horses, and not on their masters. But she did not consider that in most of these inns a very great degree of hunger, without any degree of delicacy, may be satisfied; and that in all such inns there is some appearance, at least, of provision, as well as of a man-cook to dress it, one of the hostlers being always furnished with a cook's cap, waistcoat, and apron, ready to attend gentlemen and ladies on their summons; that the case therefore of such inns differed from hers, where there was nothing to eat or to drink, and in reality no house to inhabit, no chair to sit upon, nor any bed to lie in; that one third or fourth part therefore of the levy imposed at inns was, in truth, a higher tax than the whole was when laid on in the other, where, in order to raise a small sum, a man is obliged to submit to pay as many various ways for the same thing as he doth to the government for the light which enters through his own window into his own house, from his own estate; such are the articles of bread and beer, firing, eating and dressing dinner. The foregoing is a very imperfect sketch of this extraordinary couple; for everything is here lowered instead of being heightened. Those who would see them set forth in more lively colours, and with the proper ornaments, may read the descriptions of the Furies in some of the classical poets, or of the Stoic philosophers in the works of Lucian. _Monday, July 20._--This day nothing remarkable passed; Mrs Francis levied a tax of fourteen shillings for the Sunday. We regaled ourselves at dinner with venison and good claret of our own; and, in the afternoon, the women, attended by the captain, walked to see a delightful scene two miles distant, with the beauties of which they declared themselves most highly charmed at their return, as well as with the goodness of the lady of the mansion, who had slipt out of the way, that my wife and their company might refresh themselves with the flowers and fruits with which her garden abounded. _Tuesday, July 21._--This day, having paid our taxes of yesterday, we were permitted to regale ourselves with more venison. Some of this we would willingly have exchanged for mutton; but no such flesh was to be had nearer than Portsmouth, from whence it would have cost more to convey a joint to us than the freight of a Portugal ham from Lisbon to London amounts to; for though the water-carriage be somewhat cheaper here than at Deal, yet can you find no waterman who will go on board his boat, unless by two or three hours' rowing he can get drunk for the residue of the week. And here I have an opportunity, which possibly may not offer again, of publishing some observations on that political oeconomy of this nation, which, as it concerns only the regulation of the mob, is below the notice of our great men; though on the due regulation of this order depend many emoluments, which the great men themselves, or at least many who tread close on their heels, may enjoy, as well as some dangers which may some time or other arise from introducing a pure state of anarchy among them. I will represent the case, as it appears to me, very fairly and impartially between the mob and their betters. The whole mischief which infects this part of our oeconomy arises from the vague and uncertain use of a word called liberty, of which, as scarce any two men with whom I have ever conversed seem to have one and the same idea, I am inclined to doubt whether there be any simple universal notion represented by this word, or whether it conveys any clearer or more determinate idea than some of those old Punic compositions of syllables preserved in one of the comedies of Plautus, but at present, as I conceive, not supposed to be understood by any one. By liberty, however, I apprehend, is commonly understood the power of doing what we please; not absolutely, for then it would be inconsistent with law, by whose control the liberty of the freest people, except only the Hottentots and wild Indians, must always be restrained. But, indeed, however largely we extend, or however moderately we confine, the sense of the word, no politician will, I presume, contend that it is to pervade in an equal degree, and be, with the same extent, enjoyed by, every member of society; no such polity having been ever found, unless among those vile people just before commemorated. Among the Greeks and Romans the servile and free conditions were opposed to each other; and no man who had the misfortune to be enrolled under the former could lay any claim to liberty till the right was conveyed to him by that master whose slave he was, either by the means of conquest, of purchase, or of birth. This was the state of all the free nations in the world; and this, till very lately, was understood to be the case of our own. I will not indeed say this is the case at present, the lowest class of our people having shaken off all the shackles of their superiors, and become not only as free, but even freer, than most of their superiors. I believe it cannot be doubted, though perhaps we have no recent instance of it, that the personal attendance of every man who hath three hundred pounds per annum, in parliament, is indispensably his duty; and that, if the citizens and burgesses of any city or borough shall chuse such a one, however reluctant he appear, he may be obliged to attend, and be forcibly brought to his duty by the serjeant-at-arms. Again, there are numbers of subordinate offices, some of which are of burthen, and others of expence, in the civil government--all of which persons who are qualified are liable to have imposed on them, may be obliged to undertake and properly execute, notwithstanding any bodily labour, or even danger, to which they may subject themselves, under the penalty of fines and imprisonment; nay, and what may appear somewhat hard, may be compelled to satisfy the losses which are eventually incident, to that of sheriff in particular, out of their own private fortunes; and though this should prove the ruin of a family, yet the public, to whom the price is due, incurs no debt or obligation to preserve its officer harmless, let his innocence appear ever so clearly. I purposely omit the mention of those military or militiary duties which our old constitution laid upon its greatest members. These might, indeed, supply their posts with some other able-bodied men; but if no such could have been found, the obligation nevertheless remained, and they were compellable to serve in their own proper persons. The only one, therefore, who is possessed of absolute liberty is the lowest member of the society, who, if he prefers hunger, or the wild product of the fields, hedges, lanes, and rivers, with the indulgence of ease and laziness, to a food a little more delicate, but purchased at the expence of labour, may lay himself under a shade; nor can be forced to take the other alternative from that which he hath, I will not affirm whether wisely or foolishly, chosen. Here I may, perhaps, be reminded of the last Vagrant Act, where all such persons are compellable to work for the usual and accustomed wages allowed in the place; but this is a clause little known to the justices of the peace, and least likely to be executed by those who do know it, as they know likewise that it is formed on the antient power of the justices to fix and settle these wages every year, making proper allowances for the scarcity and plenty of the times, the cheapness and dearness of the place; and that _the usual and accustomed wages_ are words without any force or meaning, when there are no such; but every man spunges and raps whatever he can get; and will haggle as long and struggle as hard to cheat his employer of twopence in a day's labour as an honest tradesman will to cheat his customers of the same sum in a yard of cloth or silk. It is a great pity then that this power, or rather this practice, was not revived; but, this having been so long omitted that it is become obsolete, will be best done by a new law, in which this power, as well as the consequent power of forcing the poor to labour at a moderate and reasonable rate, should be well considered and their execution facilitated; for gentlemen who give their time and labour _gratis_, and even voluntarily, to the public, have a right to expect that all their business be made as easy as possible; and to enact laws without doing this is to fill our statute-books, much too full already, still fuller with dead letter, of no use but to the printer of the acts of parliament. That the evil which I have here pointed at is of itself worth redressing, is, I apprehend, no subject of dispute; for why should any persons in distress be deprived of the assistance of their fellow-subjects, when they are willing amply to reward them for their labour? or, why should the lowest of the people be permitted to exact ten times the value of their work? For those exactions encrease with the degrees of necessity in their object, insomuch that on the former side many are horribly imposed upon, and that often in no trifling matters. I was very well assured that at Deal no less than ten guineas was required, and paid by the supercargo of an Indiaman, for carrying him on board two miles from the shore when she was just ready to sail; so that his necessity, as his pillager well understood, was absolute. Again, many others, whose indignation will not submit to such plunder, are forced to refuse the assistance, though they are often great sufferers by so doing. On the latter side, the lowest of the people are encouraged in laziness and idleness; while they live by a twentieth part of the labour that ought to maintain them, which is diametrically opposite to the interest of the public; for that requires a great deal to be done, not to be paid, for a little. And moreover, they are confirmed in habits of exaction, and are taught to consider the distresses of their superiors as their own fair emolument. But enough of this matter, of which I at first intended only to convey a hint to those who are alone capable of applying the remedy, though they are the last to whom the notice of those evils would occur, without some such monitor as myself, who am forced to travel about the world in the form of a passenger. I cannot but say I heartily wish our governors would attentively consider this method of fixing the price of labour, and by that means of compelling the poor to work, since the due execution of such powers will, I apprehend, be found the true and only means of making them useful, and of advancing trade from its present visibly declining state to the height to which Sir William Petty, in his Political Arithmetic, thinks it capable of being carried. In the afternoon the lady of the above-mentioned mansion called at our inn, and left her compliments to us with Mrs Francis, with an assurance that while we continued wind-bound in that place, where she feared we could be but indifferently accommodated, we were extremely welcome to the use of anything which her garden or her house afforded. So polite a message convinced us, in spite of some arguments to the contrary, that we were not on the coast of Africa, or on some island where the few savage inhabitants have little of human in them besides their form. And here I mean nothing less than to derogate from the merit of this lady, who is not only extremely polite in her behaviour to strangers of her own rank, but so extremely good and charitable to all her poor neighbours who stand in need of her assistance, that she hath the universal love and praises of all who live near her. But, in reality, how little doth the acquisition of so valuable a character, and the full indulgence of so worthy a disposition, cost those who possess it! Both are accomplished by the very offals which fall from a table moderately plentiful. That they are enjoyed therefore by so few arises truly from there being so few who have any such disposition to gratify, or who aim at any such character. _Wednesday, July 22._--This morning, after having been mulcted as usual, we dispatched a servant with proper acknowledgments of the lady's goodness; but confined our wants entirely to the productions of her garden. He soon returned, in company with the gardener, both richly laden with almost every particular which a garden at this most fruitful season of the year produces. While we were regaling ourselves with these, towards the close of our dinner, we received orders from our commander, who had dined that day with some inferior officers on board a man-of-war, to return instantly to the ship; for that the wind was become favourable, and he should weigh that evening. These orders were soon followed by the captain himself, who was still in the utmost hurry, though the occasion of it had long since ceased; for the wind had, indeed, a little shifted that afternoon, but was before this very quietly set down in its old quarters. This last was a lucky hit for me; for, as the captain, to whose orders we resolved to pay no obedience, unless delivered by himself, did not return till past six, so much time seemed requisite to put up the furniture of our bed-chamber or dining-room, for almost every article, even to some of the chairs, were either our own or the captain's property; so much more in conveying it as well as myself, as dead a luggage as any, to the shore, and thence to the ship, that the night threatened first to overtake us. A terrible circumstance to me, in my decayed condition; especially as very heavy showers of rain, attended with a high wind, continued to fall incessantly; the being carried through which two miles in the dark, in a wet and open boat, seemed little less than certain death. However, as my commander was absolute, his orders peremptory, and my obedience necessary, I resolved to avail myself of a philosophy which hath been of notable use to me in the latter part of my life, and which is contained in this hemistich of Virgil:-- ----Superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est. The meaning of which, if Virgil had any, I think I rightly understood, and rightly applied. As I was therefore to be entirely passive in my motion, I resolved to abandon myself to the conduct of those who were to carry me into a cart when it returned from unloading the goods. But before this, the captain, perceiving what had happened in the clouds, and that the wind remained as much his enemy as ever, came upstairs to me with a reprieve till the morning. This was, I own, very agreeable news, and I little regretted the trouble of refurnishing my apartment, by sending back for the goods. Mrs Francis was not well pleased with this. As she understood the reprieve to be only till the morning, she saw nothing but lodging to be possibly added, out of which she was to deduct fire and candle, and the remainder, she thought, would scarce pay her for her trouble. She exerted therefore all the ill-humour of which she was mistress, and did all she could to thwart and perplex everything during the whole evening. _Thursday, July 23._--Early in the morning the captain, who had remained on shore all night, came to visit us, and to press us to make haste on board. "I am resolved," says he, "not to lose a moment now the wind is coming about fair: for my own part, I never was surer of a wind in all my life." I use his very words; nor will I presume to interpret or comment upon them farther than by observing that they were spoke in the utmost hurry. We promised to be ready as soon as breakfast was over, but this was not so soon as was expected; for, in removing our goods the evening before, the tea-chest was unhappily lost. Every place was immediately searched, and many where it was impossible for it to be; for this was a loss of much greater consequence than it may at first seem to many of my readers. Ladies and valetudinarians do not easily dispense with the use of this sovereign cordial in a single instance; but to undertake a long voyage, without any probability of being supplied with it the whole way, was above the reach of patience. And yet, dreadful as this calamity was, it seemed unavoidable. The whole town of Ryde could not supply a single leaf; for, as to what Mrs Francis and the shop called by that name, it was not of Chinese growth. It did not indeed in the least resemble tea, either in smell or taste, or in any particular, unless in being a leaf; for it was in truth no other than a tobacco of the mundungus species. And as for the hopes of relief in any other port, they were not to be depended upon, for the captain had positively declared he was sure of a wind, and would let go his anchor no more till he arrived in the Tajo. When a good deal of time had been spent, most of it indeed wasted on this occasion, a thought occurred which every one wondered at its not having presented itself the first moment. This was to apply to the good lady, who could not fail of pitying and relieving such distress. A messenger was immediately despatched with an account of our misfortune, till whose return we employed ourselves in preparatives for our departure, that we might have nothing to do but to swallow our breakfast when it arrived. The tea-chest, though of no less consequence to us than the military-chest to a general, was given up as lost, or rather as stolen; for though I would not, for the world, mention any particular name, it is certain we had suspicions, and all, I am afraid, fell on the same person. The man returned from the worthy lady with much expedition, and brought with him a canister of tea, despatched with so true a generosity, as well as politeness, that if our voyage had been as long again we should have incurred no danger of being brought to a short allowance in this most important article. At the very same instant likewise arrived William the footman with our own tea-chest. It had been, indeed, left in the hoy, when the other goods were re-landed, as William, when he first heard it was missing, had suspected; and whence, had not the owner of the hoy been unluckily out of the way, he had retrieved it soon enough to have prevented our giving the lady an opportunity of displaying some part of her goodness. To search the hoy was, indeed, too natural a suggestion to have escaped any one, nor did it escape being mentioned by many of us; but we were dissuaded from it by my wife's maid, who perfectly well remembered she had left the chest in the bed-chamber; for that she had never given it out of her hand in her way to or from the hoy; but William perhaps knew the maid better, and best understood how far she was to be believed; for otherwise he would hardly of his own accord, after hearing her declaration, have hunted out the hoy-man, with much pains and difficulty. Thus ended this scene, which begun with such appearance of distress, and ended with becoming the subject of mirth and laughter. Nothing now remained but to pay our taxes, which were indeed laid with inconceivable severity. Lodging was raised sixpence, fire in the same proportion, and even candles, which had hitherto escaped, were charged with a wantonness of imposition, from the beginning, and placed under the stile of oversight. We were raised a whole pound, whereas we had only burned ten, in five nights, and the pound consisted of twenty-four. Lastly, an attempt was made which almost as far exceeds human credulity to believe as it did human patience to submit to. This was to make us pay as much for existing an hour or two as for existing a whole day; and dressing dinner was introduced as an article, though we left the house before either pot or spit had approached the fire. Here I own my patience failed me, and I became an example of the truth of the observation, "That all tyranny and oppression may be carried too far, and that a yoke may be made too intolerable for the neck of the tamest slave." When I remonstrated, with some warmth, against this grievance, Mrs Francis gave me a look, and left the room without making any answer. She returned in a minute, running to me with pen, ink, and paper, in her hand, and desired me to make my own bill; "for she hoped," she said, "I did not expect that her house was to be dirtied, and her goods spoiled and consumed, for nothing. The whole is but thirteen shillings. Can gentlefolks lie a whole night at a public-house for less? If they can I am sure it is time to give off being a landlady: but pay me what you please; I would have people know that I value money as little as other folks. But I was always a fool, as I says to my husband, and never knows which side my bread is buttered of. And yet, to be sure, your honour shall be my warning not to be bit so again. Some folks knows better than other some how to make their bills. Candles! why yes, to be sure; why should not travellers pay for candles? I am sure I pays for my candles, and the chandler pays the king's majesty for them; and if he did not I must, so as it comes to the same thing in the end. To be sure I am out of sixteens at present, but these burn as white and as clear, though not quite so large. I expects my chandler here soon, or I would send to Portsmouth, if your honour was to stay any time longer. But when folks stays only for a wind, you knows there can be no dependence on such!" Here she put on a little slyness of aspect, and seemed willing to submit to interruption. I interrupted her accordingly by throwing down half a guinea, and declared I had no more English money, which was indeed true; and, as she could not immediately change the thirty-six shilling pieces, it put a final end to the dispute. Mrs Francis soon left the room, and we soon after left the house; nor would this good woman see us or wish us a good voyage. I must not, however, quit this place, where we had been so ill-treated, without doing it impartial justice, and recording what may, with the strictest truth, be said in its favour. First, then, as to its situation, it is, I think, most delightful, and in the most pleasant spot in the whole island. It is true it wants the advantage of that beautiful river which leads from Newport to Cowes; but the prospect here extending to the sea, and taking in Portsmouth, Spithead, and St Helen's, would be more than a recompence for the loss of the Thames itself, even in the most delightful part of Berkshire or Buckinghamshire, though another Denham, or another Pope, should unite in celebrating it. For my own part, I confess myself so entirely fond of a sea prospect, that I think nothing on the land can equal it; and if it be set off with shipping, I desire to borrow no ornament from the _terra firma_. A fleet of ships is, in my opinion, the noblest object which the art of man hath ever produced; and far beyond the power of those architects who deal in brick, in stone, or in marble. When the late Sir Robert Walpole, one of the best of men and of ministers, used to equip us a yearly fleet at Spithead, his enemies of taste must have allowed that he, at least, treated the nation with a fine sight for their money. A much finer, indeed, than the same expence in an encampment could have produced. For what indeed is the best idea which the prospect of a number of huts can furnish to the mind, but of a number of men forming themselves into a society before the art of building more substantial houses was known? This, perhaps, would be agreeable enough; but, in truth, there is a much worse idea ready to step in before it, and that is of a body of cut-throats, the supports of tyranny, the invaders of the just liberties and properties of mankind, the plunderers of the industrious, the ravishers of the chaste, the murderers of the innocent, and, in a word, the destroyers of the plenty, the peace, and the safety, of their fellow-creatures. And what, it may be said, are these men-of-war which seem so delightful an object to our eyes? Are they not alike the support of tyranny and oppression of innocence, carrying with them desolation and ruin wherever their masters please to send them? This is indeed too true; and however the ship of war may, in its bulk and equipment, exceed the honest merchantman, I heartily wish there was no necessity for it; for, though I must own the superior beauty of the object on one side, I am more pleased with the superior excellence of the idea which I can raise in my mind on the other, while I reflect on the art and industry of mankind engaged in the daily improvements of commerce to the mutual benefit of all countries, and to the establishment and happiness of social life. This pleasant village is situated on a gentle ascent from the water, whence it affords that charming prospect I have above described. Its soil is a gravel, which, assisted with its declivity, preserves it always so dry that immediately after the most violent rain a fine lady may walk without wetting her silken shoes. The fertility of the place is apparent from its extraordinary verdure, and it is so shaded with large and flourishing elms, that its narrow lanes are a natural grove or walk, which, in the regularity of its plantation, vies with the power of art, and in its wanton exuberancy greatly exceeds it. In a field in the ascent of this hill, about a quarter of a mile from the sea, stands a neat little chapel. It is very small, but adequate to the number of inhabitants; for the parish doth not seem to contain above thirty houses. At about two miles distant from this parish lives that polite and good lady to whose kindness we were so much obliged. It is placed on a hill whose bottom is washed by the sea, and which, from its eminence at top, commands a view of great part of the island as well as it does that of the opposite shore. This house was formerly built by one Boyce, who, from a blacksmith at Gosport, became possessed, by great success in smuggling, of forty thousand pound. With part of this he purchased an estate here, and, by chance probably, fixed on this spot for building a large house. Perhaps the convenience of carrying on his business, to which it is so well adapted, might dictate the situation to him. We can hardly, at least, attribute it to the same taste with which he furnished his house, or at least his library, by sending an order to a bookseller in London to pack him up five hundred pounds' worth of his handsomest books. They tell here several almost incredible stories of the ignorance, the folly, and the pride, which this poor man and his wife discovered during the short continuance of his prosperity; for he did not long escape the sharp eyes of the revenue solicitors, and was, by extents from the court of Exchequer, soon reduced below his original state to that of confinement in the Fleet. All his effects were sold, and among the rest his books, by an auction at Portsmouth, for a very small price; for the bookseller was now discovered to have been perfectly a master of his trade, and, relying on Mr Boyce's finding little time to read, had sent him not only the most lasting wares of his shop, but duplicates of the same, under different titles. His estate and house were purchased by a gentleman of these parts, whose widow now enjoys them, and who hath improved them, particularly her gardens, with so elegant a taste, that the painter who would assist his imagination in the composition of a most exquisite landscape, or the poet who would describe an earthly paradise, could nowhere furnish themselves with a richer pattern. We left this place about eleven in the morning, and were again conveyed, with more sunshine than wind, aboard our ship. Whence our captain had acquired his power of prophecy, when he promised us and himself a prosperous wind, I will not determine; it is sufficient to observe that he was a false prophet, and that the weathercocks continued to point as before. He would not, however, so easily give up his skill in prediction. He persevered in asserting that the wind was changed, and, having weighed his anchor, fell down that afternoon to St Helen's, which was at about the distance of five miles; and whither his friend the tide, in defiance of the wind, which was most manifestly against him, softly wafted him in as many hours. Here, about seven in the evening, before which time we could not procure it, we sat down to regale ourselves with some roasted venison, which was much better drest than we imagined it would be, and an excellent cold pasty which my wife had made at Ryde, and which we had reserved uncut to eat on board our ship, whither we all chearfully exulted in being returned from the presence of Mrs Francis, who, by the exact resemblance she bore to a fury, seemed to have been with no great propriety settled in paradise. _Friday, July 24._--As we passed by Spithead on the preceding evening we saw the two regiments of soldiers who were just returned from Gibraltar and Minorca; and this day a lieutenant belonging to one of them, who was the captain's nephew, came to pay a visit to his uncle. He was what is called by some a very pretty fellow; indeed, much too pretty a fellow at his years; for he was turned of thirty-four, though his address and conversation would have become him more before he had reached twenty. In his conversation, it is true, there was something military enough, as it consisted chiefly of oaths, and of the great actions and wise sayings of Jack, and Will, and Tom of our regiment, a phrase eternally in his mouth; and he seemed to conclude that it conveyed to all the officers such a degree of public notoriety and importance that it intitled him, like the head of a profession, or a first minister, to be the subject of conversation among those who had not the least personal acquaintance with him. This did not much surprise me, as I have seen several examples of the same; but the defects in his address, especially to the women, were so great that they seemed absolutely inconsistent with the behaviour of a pretty fellow, much less of one in a red coat; and yet, besides having been eleven years in the army, he had had, as his uncle informed me, an education in France. This, I own, would have appeared to have been absolutely thrown away had not his animal spirits, which were likewise thrown away upon him in great abundance, borne the visible stamp of the growth of that country. The character to which he had an indisputable title was that of a merry fellow; so very merry was he that he laughed at everything he said, and always before he spoke. Possibly, indeed, he often laughed at what he did not utter, for every speech begun with a laugh, though it did not always end with a jest. There was no great analogy between the characters of the uncle and the nephew, and yet they seemed intirely to agree in enjoying the honour which the red-coat did to his family. This the uncle expressed with great pleasure in his countenance, and seemed desirous of shewing all present the honour which he had for his nephew, who, on his side, was at some pains to convince us of his concurring in this opinion, and at the same time of displaying the contempt he had for the parts, as well as the occupation, of his uncle, which he seemed to think reflected some disgrace on himself, who was a member of that profession which makes every man a gentleman. Not that I would be understood to insinuate that the nephew endeavoured to shake off or disown his uncle, or indeed to keep him at any distance. On the contrary, he treated him with the utmost familiarity, often calling him Dick, and dear Dick, and old Dick, and frequently beginning an oration with D----n me, Dick. All this condescension on the part of the young man was received with suitable marks of complaisance and obligation by the old one; especially when it was attended with evidences of the same familiarity with general officers and other persons of rank; one of whom, in particular, I know to have the pride and insolence of the devil himself, and who, without some strong bias of interest, is no more liable to converse familiarly with a lieutenant than of being mistaken in his judgment of a fool; which was not, perhaps, so certainly the case of the worthy lieutenant, who, in declaring to us the qualifications which recommended men to his countenance and conversation, as well as what effectually set a bar to all hopes of that honour, exclaimed, "No, sir, by the d--I hate all fools--No, d----n me, excuse me for that. That's a little too much, old Dick. There are two or three officers of our regiment whom I know to be fools; but d----n me if I am ever seen in their company. If a man hath a fool of a relation, Dick, you know he can't help that, old boy." Such jokes as these the old man not only took in good part, but glibly gulped down the whole narrative of his nephew; nor did he, I am convinced, in the least doubt of our as readily swallowing the same. This made him so charmed with the lieutenant, that it is probable we should have been pestered with him the whole evening, had not the north wind, dearer to our sea-captain even than this glory of his family, sprung suddenly up, and called aloud to him to weigh his anchor. While this ceremony was performing, the sea-captain ordered out his boat to row the land-captain to shore; not indeed on an uninhabited island, but one which, in this part, looked but little better, not presenting us the view of a single house. Indeed, our old friend, when his boat returned on shore, perhaps being no longer able to stifle his envy of the superiority of his nephew, told us with a smile that the young man had a good five mile to walk before he could be accommodated with a passage to Portsmouth. It appeared now that the captain had been only mistaken in the date of his prediction, by placing the event a day earlier than it happened; for the wind which now arose was not only favourable but brisk, and was no sooner in reach of our sails than it swept us away by the back of the Isle of Wight, and, having in the night carried us by Christchurch and Peveral-point, brought us the next noon, _Saturday, July 25_, off the island of Portland, so famous for the smallness and sweetness of its mutton, of which a leg seldom weighs four pounds. We would have bought a sheep, but our captain would not permit it; though he needed not have been in such a hurry, for presently the wind, I will not positively assert in resentment of his surliness, shewed him a dog's trick, and slily slipt back again to his summer-house in the south-west. The captain now grew outrageous, and, declaring open war with the wind, took a resolution, rather more bold than wise, of sailing in defiance of it, and in its teeth. He swore he would let go his anchor no more, but would beat the sea while he had either yard or sail left. He accordingly stood from the shore, and made so large a tack that before night, though he seemed to advance but little on his way, he was got out of sight of land. Towards the evening the wind began, in the captain's own language, and indeed it freshened so much, that before ten it blew a perfect hurricane. The captain having got, as he supposed, to a safe distance, tacked again towards the English shore; and now the wind veered a point only in his favour, and continued to blow with such violence, that the ship ran above eight knots or miles an hour during this whole day and tempestuous night till bed-time. I was obliged to betake myself once more to my solitude, for my women were again all down in their sea-sickness, and the captain was busy on deck; for he began to grow uneasy, chiefly, I believe, because he did not well know where he was, and would, I am convinced, have been very glad to have been in Portland-road, eating some sheep's-head broth. Having contracted no great degree of good-humour by living a whole day alone, without a single soul to converse with, I took but ill physic to purge it off, by a bed-conversation with the captain, who, amongst many bitter lamentations of his fate, and protesting he had more patience than a Job, frequently intermixed summons to the commanding officer on the deck, who now happened to be one Morrison, a carpenter, the only fellow that had either common sense or common civility in the ship. Of Morrison he enquired every quarter of an hour concerning the state of affairs: the wind, the care of the ship, and other matters of navigation. The frequency of these summons, as well as the solicitude with which they were made, sufficiently testified the state of the captain's mind; he endeavoured to conceal it, and would have given no small alarm to a man who had either not learnt what it is to die, or known what it is to be miserable. And my dear wife and child must pardon me, if what I did not conceive to be any great evil to myself I was not much terrified with the thoughts of happening to them; in truth, I have often thought they are both too good and too gentle to be trusted to the power of any man I know, to whom they could possibly be so trusted. Can I say then I had no fear? indeed I cannot. Reader, I was afraid for thee, lest thou shouldst have been deprived of that pleasure thou art now enjoying; and that I should not live to draw out on paper that military character which thou didst peruse in the journal of yesterday. From all these fears we were relieved, at six in the morning, by the arrival of Mr Morrison, who acquainted us that he was sure he beheld land very near; for he could not see half a mile, by reason of the haziness of the weather. This land he said was, he believed, the Berry-head, which forms one side of Torbay: the captain declared that it was impossible, and swore, on condition he was right, he would give him his mother for a maid. A forfeit which became afterwards strictly due and payable; for the captain, whipping on his night-gown, ran up without his breeches, and within half an hour returning into the cabin, wished me joy of our lying safe at anchor in the bay. _Sunday, July 26._--Things now began to put on an aspect very different from what they had lately worn; the news that the ship had almost lost its mizen, and that we had procured very fine clouted cream and fresh bread and butter from the shore, restored health and spirits to our women, and we all sat down to a very chearful breakfast. But, however pleasant our stay promised to be here, we were all desirous it should be short: I resolved immediately to despatch my man into the country to purchase a present of cider, for my friends of that which is called Southam, as well as to take with me a hogshead of it to Lisbon; for it is, in my opinion, much more delicious than that which is the growth of Herefordshire. I purchased three hogsheads for five pounds ten shillings, all which I should have scarce thought worth mentioning, had I not believed it might be of equal service to the honest farmer who sold it me, and who is by the neighbouring gentlemen reputed to deal in the very best; and to the reader, who, from ignorance of the means of providing better for himself, swallows at a dearer rate the juice of Middlesex turnip, instead of that Vinum Pomonæ which Mr Giles Leverance of Cheeshurst, near Dartmouth in Devon, will, at the price of forty shillings per hogshead, send in double casks to any part of the world. Had the wind been very sudden in shifting, I had lost my cider by an attempt of a boatman to exact, according to custom. He required five shillings for conveying my man a mile and a half to the shore, and four more if he staid to bring him back. This I thought to be such insufferable impudence that I ordered him to be immediately chased from the ship, without any answer. Indeed, there are few inconveniences that I would not rather encounter than encourage the insolent demands of these wretches, at the expence of my own indignation, of which I own they are not the only objects, but rather those who purchase a paultry convenience by encouraging them. But of this I have already spoken very largely. I shall conclude, therefore, with the leave which this fellow took of our ship; saying he should know it again, and would not put off from the shore to relieve it in any distress whatever. It will, doubtless, surprise many of my readers to hear that, when we lay at anchor within a mile or two of a town several days together, and even in the most temperate weather, we should frequently want fresh provisions and herbage, and other emoluments of the shore, as much as if we had been a hundred leagues from land. And this too while numbers of boats were in our sight, whose owners get their livelihood by rowing people up and down, and could be at any time summoned by a signal to our assistance, and while the captain had a little boat of his own, with men always ready to row it at his command. This, however, hath been partly accounted for already by the imposing disposition of the people, who asked so much more than the proper price of their labour. And as to the usefulness of the captain's boat, it requires to be a little expatiated upon, as it will tend to lay open some of the grievances which demand the utmost regard of our legislature, as they affect the most valuable part of the king's subjects--those by whom the commerce of the nation is carried into execution. Our captain then, who was a very good and experienced seaman, having been above thirty years the master of a vessel, part of which he had served, so he phrased it, as commander of a privateer, and had discharged himself with great courage and conduct, and with as great success, discovered the utmost aversion to the sending his boat ashore whenever we lay wind-bound in any of our harbours. This aversion did not arise from any fear of wearing out his boat by using it, but was, in truth, the result of experience, that it was easier to send his men on shore than to recal them. They acknowledged him to be their master while they remained on shipboard, but did not allow his power to extend to the shores, where they had no sooner set their foot than every man became _sui juris_, and thought himself at full liberty to return when he pleased. Now it is not any delight that these fellows have in the fresh air or verdant fields on the land. Every one of them would prefer his ship and his hammock to all the sweets of Arabia the Happy; but, unluckily for them, there are in every seaport in England certain houses whose chief livelihood depends on providing entertainment for the gentlemen of the jacket. For this purpose they are always well furnished with those cordial liquors which do immediately inspire the heart with gladness, banishing all careful thoughts, and indeed all others, from the mind, and opening the mouth with songs of chearfulness and thanksgiving for the many wonderful blessings with which a sea-faring life overflows. For my own part, however whimsical it may appear, I confess I have thought the strange story of Circe in the Odyssey no other than an ingenious allegory, in which Homer intended to convey to his countrymen the same kind of instruction which we intend to communicate to our own in this digression. As teaching the art of war to the Greeks was the plain design of the Iliad, so was teaching them the art of navigation the no less manifest intention of the Odyssey. For the improvement of this, their situation was most excellently adapted; and accordingly we find Thucydides, in the beginning of his history, considers the Greeks as a sett of pirates or privateers, plundering each other by sea. This being probably the first institution of commerce before the Ars Cauponaria was invented, and merchants, instead of robbing, began to cheat and outwit each other, and by degrees changed the Metabletic, the only kind of traffic allowed by Aristotle in his Politics, into the Chrematistic. By this allegory then I suppose Ulysses to have been the captain of a merchant-ship, and Circe some good ale-wife, who made his crew drunk with the spirituous liquors of those days. With this the transformation into swine, as well as all other incidents of the fable, will notably agree; and thus a key will be found out for unlocking the whole mystery, and forging at least some meaning to a story which, at present, appears very strange and absurd. Hence, moreover, will appear the very near resemblance between the sea-faring men of all ages and nations; and here perhaps may be established the truth and justice of that observation, which will occur oftener than once in this voyage, that all human flesh is not the same flesh, but that there is one kind of flesh of landmen, and another of seamen. Philosophers, divines, and others, who have treated the gratification of human appetites with contempt, have, among other instances, insisted very strongly on that satiety which is so apt to overtake them even in the very act of enjoyment. And here they more particularly deserve our attention, as most of them may be supposed to speak from their own experience, and very probably gave us their lessons with a full stomach. Thus hunger and thirst, whatever delight they may afford while we are eating and drinking, pass both away from us with the plate and the cup; and though we should imitate the Romans, if, indeed, they were such dull beasts, which I can scarce believe, to unload the belly like a dung-pot, in order to fill it again with another load, yet would the pleasure be so considerably lessened that it would scarce repay us the trouble of purchasing it with swallowing a bason of camomile tea. A second haunch of venison, or a second dose of turtle, would hardly allure a city glutton with its smell. Even the celebrated Jew himself, when well filled with calipash and calipee, goes contentedly home to tell his money, and expects no more pleasure from his throat during the next twenty-four hours. Hence I suppose Dr South took that elegant comparison of the joys of a speculative man to the solemn silence of an Archimedes over a problem, and those of a glutton to the stillness of a sow at her wash. A simile which, if it became the pulpit at all, could only become it in the afternoon. Whereas in those potations which the mind seems to enjoy, rather than the bodily appetite, there is happily no such satiety; but the more a man drinks, the more he desires; as if, like Mark Anthony in Dryden, his appetite encreased with feeding, and this to such an immoderate degree, _ut nullus sit desiderio aut pudor aut modus_. Hence, as with the gang of Captain Ulysses, ensues so total a transformation, that the man no more continues what he was. Perhaps he ceases for a time to be at all; or, though he may retain the same outward form and figure he had before, yet is his nobler part, as we are taught to call it, so changed, that, instead of being the same man, he scarce remembers what he was a few hours before. And this transformation, being once obtained, is so easily preserved by the same potations, which induced no satiety, that the captain in vain sends or goes in quest of his crew. They know him no longer; or, if they do, they acknowledge not his power, having indeed as entirely forgotten themselves as if they had taken a large draught of the river of Lethe. Nor is the captain always sure of even finding out the place to which Circe hath conveyed them. There are many of those houses in every port-town. Nay, there are some where the sorceress doth not trust only to her drugs; but hath instruments of a different kind to execute her purposes, by whose means the tar is effectually secreted from the knowledge and pursuit of his captain. This would, indeed, be very fatal, was it not for one circumstance; that the sailor is seldom provided with the proper bait for these harpies. However, the contrary sometimes happens, as these harpies will bite at almost anything, and will snap at a pair of silver buttons, or buckles, as surely as at the specie itself. Nay, sometimes they are so voracious, that the very naked hook will go down, and the jolly young sailor is sacrificed for his own sake. In vain, at such a season as this, would the vows of a pious heathen have prevailed over Neptune, �olus, or any other marine deity. In vain would the prayers of a Christian captain be attended with the like success. The wind may change how it pleases while all hands are on shore; the anchor would remain firm in the ground, and the ship would continue in durance, unless, like other forcible prison-breakers, it forcibly got loose for no good purpose. Now, as the favour of winds and courts, and such like, is always to be laid hold on at the very first motion, for within twenty-four hours all may be changed again; so, in the former case, the loss of a day may be the loss of a voyage: for, though it may appear to persons not well skilled in navigation, who see ships meet and sail by each other, that the wind sometimes east and west, north and south, backwards and forwards, at the same instant; yet, certain it is that the land is so contrived, that even the same wind will not, like the same horse, always bring a man to the end of his journey; but, that the gale which the mariner prayed heartily for yesterday, he may as heartily deprecate to-morrow; while all use and benefit which would have arisen to him from the westerly wind of to-morrow may be totally lost and thrown away by neglecting the offer of the easterly blast which blows to-day. Hence ensues grief and disreputation to the innocent captain, loss and disappointment to the worthy merchant, and not seldom great prejudice to the trade of a nation whose manufactures are thus liable to lie unsold in a foreign warehouse, the market being forestalled by some rival whose sailors are under a better discipline. To guard against these inconveniences the prudent captain takes every precaution in his power; he makes the strongest contracts with his crew, and thereby binds them so firmly, that none but the greatest or least of men can break through them with impunity; but for one of these two reasons, which I will not determine, the sailor, like his brother fish the eel, is too slippery to be held, and plunges into his element with perfect impunity. To speak a plain truth, there is no trusting to any contract with one whom the wise citizens of London call a bad man; for, with such a one, though your bond be ever so strong, it will prove in the end good for nothing. What then is to be done in this case? What, indeed, but to call in the assistance of that tremendous magistrate, the justice of peace, who can, and often doth, lay good and bad men in equal durance; and, though he seldom cares to stretch his bonds to what is great, never finds anything too minute for their detention, but will hold the smallest reptile alive so fast in his noose, that he can never get out till he is let drop through it. Why, therefore, upon the breach of those contracts, should not an immediate application be made to the nearest magistrate of this order, who should be empowered to convey the delinquent either to ship or to prison, at the election of the captain, to be fettered by the leg in either place? But, as the case now stands, the condition of this poor captain without any commission, and of this absolute commander without any power, is much worse than we have hitherto shewn it to be; for, notwithstanding all the aforesaid contracts to sail in the good ship the Elizabeth, if the sailor should, for better wages, find it more his interest to go on board the better ship the Mary, either before their setting out or on their speedy meeting in some port, he may prefer the latter without any other danger than that of "doing what he ought not to have done," contrary to a rule which he is seldom Christian enough to have much at heart, while the captain is generally too good a Christian to punish a man out of revenge only, when he is to be at a considerable expense for so doing. There are many other deficiencies in our laws relating to maritime affairs, and which would probably have been long since corrected, had we any seamen in the House of Commons. Not that I would insinuate that the legislature wants a supply of many gentlemen in the sea-service; but, as these gentlemen are by their attendance in the house unfortunately prevented from ever going to sea, and there learning what they might communicate to their landed brethren, these latter remain as ignorant in that branch of knowledge as they would be if none but courtiers and fox-hunters had been elected into parliament, without a single fish among them. The following seems to me to be an effect of this kind, and it strikes me the stronger as I remember the case to have happened, and remember it to have been dispunishable. A captain of a trading vessel, of which he was part owner, took in a large freight of oats at Liverpool, consigned to the market at Bearkey: this he carried to a port in Hampshire, and there sold it as his own, and, freighting his vessel with wheat for the port of Cadiz, in Spain, dropt it at Oporto in his way; and there, selling it for his own use, took in a lading of wine, with which he sailed again, and, having converted it in the same manner, together with a large sum of money with which he was intrusted, for the benefit of certain merchants, sold the ship and cargo in another port, and then wisely sat down contented with the fortune he had made, and returned to London to enjoy the remainder of his days, with the fruits of his former labours and a good conscience. The sum he brought home with him consisted of near six thousand pounds, all in specie, and most of it in that coin which Portugal distributes so liberally over Europe. He was not yet old enough to be past all sense of pleasure, nor so puffed up with the pride of his good fortune as to overlook his old acquaintances the journeymen taylors, from among whom he had been formerly pressed into the sea-service, and, having there laid the foundation of his future success by his shares in prizes, had afterwards become captain of a trading vessel, in which he purchased an interest, and had soon begun to trade in the honourable manner above mentioned. The captain now took up his residence at an ale-house in Drury-lane, where, having all his money by him in a trunk, he spent about five pounds a day among his old friends the gentlemen and ladies of those parts. The merchant of Liverpool, having luckily had notice from a friend during the blaze of his fortune, did, by the assistance of a justice of peace, without the assistance of the law, recover his whole loss. The captain, however, wisely chose to refund no more; but, perceiving with what hasty strides Envy was pursuing his fortune, he took speedy means to retire out of her reach, and to enjoy the rest of his wealth in an inglorious obscurity; nor could the same justice overtake him time enough to assist a second merchant as he had done the first. This was a very extraordinary case, and the more so as the ingenious gentleman had steered entirely clear of all crimes in our law. Now, how it comes about that a robbery so very easy to be committed, and to which there is such immediate temptation always before the eyes of these fellows, should receive the encouragement of impunity, is to be accounted for only from the oversight of the legislature, as that oversight can only be, I think, derived from the reasons I have assigned for it. But I will dwell no longer on this subject. If what I have here said should seem of sufficient consequence to engage the attention of any man in power, and should thus be the means of applying any remedy to the most inveterate evils, at least, I have obtained my whole desire, and shall have lain so long wind-bound in the ports of this kingdom to some purpose. I would, indeed, have this work--which, if I should live to finish it, a matter of no great certainty, if indeed of any great hope to me, will be probably the last I shall ever undertake--to produce some better end than the mere diversion of the reader. _Monday._--This day our captain went ashore, to dine with a gentleman who lives in these parts, and who so exactly resembles the character given by Homer of Axylus, that the only difference I can trace between them is, the one, living by the highway, erected his hospitality chiefly in favour of land-travellers; and the other, living by the water-side, gratified his humanity by accommodating the wants of the mariner. In the evening our commander received a visit from a brother bashaw, who lay wind-bound in the same harbour. This latter captain was a Swiss. He was then master of a vessel bound to Guinea, and had formerly been a privateering, when our own hero was employed in the same laudable service. The honesty and freedom of the Switzer, his vivacity, in which he was in no respect inferior to his near neighbours the French, the aukward and affected politeness, which was likewise of French extraction, mixed with the brutal roughness of the English tar--for he had served under the colours of this nation and his crew had been of the same--made such an odd variety, such a hotchpotch of character, that I should have been much diverted with him, had not his voice, which was as loud as a speaking-trumpet, unfortunately made my head ach. The noise which he conveyed into the deaf ears of his brother captain, who sat on one side of him, the soft addresses with which, mixed with aukward bows, he saluted the ladies on the other, were so agreeably contrasted, that a man must not only have been void of all taste of humour, and insensible of mirth, but duller than Cibber is represented in the Dunciad, who could be unentertained with him a little while; for, I confess, such entertainments should always be very short, as they are very liable to pall. But he suffered not this to happen at present; for, having given us his company a quarter of an hour only, he retired, after many apologies for the shortness of his visit. _Tuesday._--The wind being less boisterous than it had hitherto been since our arrival here, several fishing-boats, which the tempestuous weather yesterday had prevented from working, came on board us with fish. This was so fresh, so good in kind, and so very cheap, that we supplied ourselves in great numbers, among which were very large soles at fourpence a pair, and whitings of almost a preposterous size at ninepence a score. The only fish which bore any price was a john dorée, as it is called. I bought one of at least four pounds weight for as many shillings. It resembles a turbot in shape, but exceeds it in firmness and flavour. The price had the appearance of being considerable when opposed to the extraordinary cheapness of others of value, but was, in truth, so very reasonable when estimated by its goodness, that it left me under no other surprise than how the gentlemen of this country, not greatly eminent for the delicacy of their taste, had discovered the preference of the dorée to all other fish: but I was informed that Mr Quin, whose distinguishing tooth hath been so justly celebrated, had lately visited Plymouth, and had done those honours to the dorée which are so justly due to it from that sect of modern philosophers who, with Sir Epicure Mammon, or Sir Epicure Quin, their head, seem more to delight in a fish-pond than in a garden, as the old Epicureans are said to have done. Unfortunately for the fishmongers of London, the dorée resides only in those seas; for, could any of this company but convey one to the temple of luxury under the Piazza, where Macklin the high-priest daily serves up his rich offerings to that goddess, great would be the reward of that fishmonger, in blessings poured down upon him from the goddess, as great would his merit be towards the high-priest, who could never be thought to overrate such valuable incense. And here, having mentioned the extreme cheapness of fish in the Devonshire sea, and given some little hint of the extreme dearness with which this commodity is dispensed by those who deal in it in London, I cannot pass on without throwing forth an observation or two, with the same view with which I have scattered my several remarks through this voyage, sufficiently satisfied in having finished my life, as I have probably lost it, in the service of my country, from the best of motives, though it should be attended with the worst of success. Means are always in our power; ends are very seldom so. Of all the animal foods with which man is furnished, there are none so plenty as fish. A little rivulet, that glides almost unperceived through a vast tract of rich land, will support more hundreds with the flesh of its inhabitants than the meadow will nourish individuals. But if this be true of rivers, it is much truer of the seashores, which abound with such immense variety of fish that the curious fisherman, after he hath made his draught, often culls only the daintiest part and leaves the rest of his prey to perish on the shore. If this be true it would appear, I think, that there is nothing which might be had in such abundance, and consequently so cheap, as fish, of which Nature seems to have provided such inexhaustible stores with some peculiar design. In the production of terrestrial animals she proceeds with such slowness, that in the larger kind a single female seldom produces more than one a-year, and this again requires three, four, or five years more to bring it to perfection. And though the lesser quadrupeds, those of the wild kind particularly, with the birds, do multiply much faster, yet can none of these bear any proportion with the aquatic animals, of whom every female matrix is furnished with an annual offspring almost exceeding the power of numbers, and which, in many instances at least, a single year is capable of bringing to some degree of maturity. What then ought in general to be so plentiful, what so cheap, as fish? What then so properly the food of the poor? So in many places they are, and so might they always be in great cities, which are always situated near the sea, or on the conflux of large rivers. How comes it then, to look no farther abroad for instances, that in our city of London the case is so far otherwise that, except that of sprats, there is not one poor palate in a hundred that knows the taste of fish? It is true indeed that this taste is generally of such excellent flavour that it exceeds the power of French cookery to treat the palates of the rich with anything more exquisitely delicate; so that was fish the common food of the poor it might put them too much upon an equality with their betters in the great article of eating, in which, at present, in the opinion of some, the great difference in happiness between man and man consists. But this argument I shall treat with the utmost disdain: for if ortolans were as big as bustards, and at the same time as plenty as sparrows, I should hold it yet reasonable to indulge the poor with the dainty, and that for this cause especially, that the rich would soon find a sparrow, if as scarce as an ortolan, to be much the greater, as it would certainly be the rarer, dainty of the two. Vanity or scarcity will be always the favourite of luxury; but honest hunger will be satisfied with plenty. Not to search deeper into the cause of the evil, I should think it abundantly sufficient to propose the remedies of it. And, first, I humbly submit the absolute necessity of immediately hanging all the fishmongers within the bills of mortality; and, however it might have been some time ago the opinion of mild and temporizing men that the evil complained of might be removed by gentler methods, I suppose at this day there are none who do not see the impossibility of using such with any effect. _Cuncta prius tentanda_ might have been formerly urged with some plausibility, but _cuncta prius tentata_ may now be replied: for surely, if a few monopolizing fishmongers could defeat that excellent scheme of the Westminster market, to the erecting which so many justices of peace, as well as other wise and learned men, did so vehemently apply themselves, that they might be truly said not only to have laid the whole strength of their heads, but of their shoulders too, to the business, it would be a vain endeavour for any other body of men to attempt to remove so stubborn a nusance. If it should be doubted whether we can bring this case within the letter of any capital law now subsisting, I am ashamed to own it cannot; for surely no crime better deserves such punishment; but the remedy may, nevertheless, be immediate; and if a law was made at the beginning of next session, to take place immediately, by which the starving thousands of poor was declared to be felony, without benefit of clergy, the fishmongers would be hanged before the end of the session. A second method of filling the mouths of the poor, if not with loaves at least with fishes, is to desire the magistrates to carry into execution one at least out of near a hundred acts of parliament, for preserving the small fry of the river of Thames, by which means as few fish would satisfy thousands as may now be devoured by a small number of individuals. But while a fisherman can break through the strongest meshes of an act of parliament, we may be assured he will learn so to contrive his own meshes that the smallest fry will not be able to swim through them. Other methods may, we doubt not, be suggested by those who shall attentively consider the evil here hinted at; but we have dwelt too long on it already, and shall conclude with observing that it is difficult to affirm whether the atrocity of the evil itself, the facility of curing it, or the shameful neglect of the cure, be the more scandalous or more astonishing. After having, however, gloriously regaled myself with this food, I was washing it down with some good claret with my wife and her friend, in the cabin, when the captain's valet-de-chambre, head cook, house and ship steward, footman in livery and out on't, secretary and fore-mast man, all burst into the cabin at once, being, indeed, all but one person, and, without saying by your leave, began to pack half a hogshead of small beer in bottles, the necessary consequence of which must have been either a total stop to conversation at that chearful season when it is most agreeable, or the admitting that polyonymous officer aforesaid to the participation of it. I desired him therefore to delay his purpose a little longer, but he refused to grant my request; nor was he prevailed on to quit the room till he was threatened with having one bottle to pack more than his number, which then happened to stand empty within my reach. With these menaces he retired at last, but not without muttering some menaces on his side, and which, to our great terror, he failed not to put into immediate execution. Our captain was gone to dinner this day with his Swiss brother; and, though he was a very sober man, was a little elevated with some champagne, which, as it cost the Swiss little or nothing, he dispensed at his table more liberally than our hospitable English noblemen put about those bottles, which the ingenious Peter Taylor teaches a led captain to avoid by distinguishing by the name of that generous liquor, which all humble companions are taught to postpone to the flavour of methuen, or honest port. While our two captains were thus regaling themselves, and celebrating their own heroic exploits with all the inspiration which the liquor, at least, of wit could afford them, the polyonymous officer arrived, and, being saluted by the name of Honest Tom, was ordered to sit down and take his glass before he delivered his message; for every sailor is by turns his captain's mate over a cann, except only that captain bashaw who presides in a man-of-war, and who upon earth has no other mate, unless it be another of the same bashaws. Tom had no sooner swallowed his draught than he hastily began his narrative, and faithfully related what had happened on board our ship; we say faithfully, though from what happened it may be suspected that Tom chose to add perhaps only five or six immaterial circumstances, as is always I believe the case, and may possibly have been done by me in relating this very story, though it happened not many hours ago. No sooner was the captain informed of the interruption which had been given to his officer, and indeed to his orders, for he thought no time so convenient as that of his absence for causing any confusion in the cabin, than he leapt with such haste from his chair that he had like to have broke his sword, with which he always begirt himself when he walked out of his ship, and sometimes when he walked about in it; at the same time, grasping eagerly that other implement called a cockade, which modern soldiers wear on their helmets with the same view as the antients did their crests--to terrify the enemy, he muttered something, but so inarticulately that the word _damn_ was only intelligible; he then hastily took leave of the Swiss captain, who was too well bred to press his stay on such an occasion, and leapt first from the ship to his boat, and then from his boat to his own ship, with as much fierceness in his looks as he had ever expressed on boarding his defenceless prey in the honourable calling of a privateer. Having regained the middle deck, he paused a moment while Tom and others loaded themselves with bottles, and then descending into the cabin exclaimed with a thundering voice, "D--n me, why arn't the bottles stoed in, according to my orders?" I answered him very mildly that I had prevented his man from doing it, as it was at an inconvenient time to me, and as in his absence, at least, I esteemed the cabin to be my own. "Your cabin!" repeated he many times; "no, d----n me! 'tis my cabin. Your cabin! d----n me! I have brought my hogs to a fair market. I suppose indeed you think it your cabin, and your ship, by your commanding in it; but I will command in it, d----n me! I will shew the world I am the commander, and nobody but I! Did you think I sold you the command of my ship for that pitiful thirty pounds? I wish I had not seen you nor your thirty pounds aboard of her." He then repeated the words thirty pounds often, with great disdain, and with a contempt which I own the sum did not seem to deserve in my eye, either in itself or on the present occasion; being, indeed, paid for the freight of ---- weight of human flesh, which is above fifty per cent. dearer than the freight of any other luggage, whilst in reality it takes up less room; in fact, no room at all. In truth, the sum was paid for nothing more than for a liberty to six persons (two of them servants) to stay on board a ship while she sails from one port to another, every shilling of which comes clear into the captain's pocket. Ignorant people may perhaps imagine, especially when they are told that the captain is obliged to sustain them, that their diet at least is worth something, which may probably be now and then so far the case as to deduct a tenth part from the neat profits on this account; but it was otherwise at present; for when I had contracted with the captain at a price which I by no means thought moderate, I had some content in thinking I should have no more to pay for my voyage; but I was whispered that it was expected the passengers should find themselves in several things; such as tea, wine, and such like; and particularly that gentlemen should stowe of the latter a much larger quantity than they could use, in order to leave the remainder as a present to the captain at the end of the voyage; and it was expected likewise that gentlemen should put aboard some fresh stores, and the more of such things were put aboard the welcomer they would be to the captain. I was prevailed with by these hints to follow the advice proposed; and accordingly, besides tea and a large hamper of wine, with several hams and tongues, I caused a number of live chickens and sheep to be conveyed aboard; in truth, treble the quantity of provisions which would have supported the persons I took with me, had the voyage continued three weeks, as it was supposed, with a bare possibility, it might. Indeed it continued much longer; but as this was occasioned by our being wind-bound in our own ports, it was by no means of any ill consequence to the captain, as the additional stores of fish, fresh meat, butter, bread, &c., which I constantly laid in, greatly exceeded the consumption, and went some way in maintaining the ship's crew. It is true I was not obliged to do this; but it seemed to be expected; for the captain did not think himself obliged to do it, and I can truly say I soon ceased to expect it of him. He had, I confess, on board a number of fowls and ducks sufficient for a West India voyage; all of them, as he often said, "Very fine birds, and of the largest breed." This I believe was really the fact, and I can add that they were all arrived at the full perfection of their size. Nor was there, I am convinced, any want of provisions of a more substantial kind; such as dried beef, pork, and fish; so that the captain seemed ready to perform his contract, and amply to provide for his passengers. What I did then was not from necessity, but, perhaps, from a less excusable motive, and was by no means chargeable to the account of the captain. But, let the motive have been what it would, the consequence was still the same; and this was such that I am firmly persuaded the whole pitiful thirty pounds came pure and neat into the captain's pocket, and not only so, but attended with the value of ten pound more in sundries into the bargain. I must confess myself therefore at a loss how the epithet _pitiful_ came to be annexed to the above sum; for, not being a pitiful price for what it was given, I cannot conceive it to be pitiful in itself; nor do I believe it is thought by the greatest men in the kingdom; none of whom would scruple to search for it in the dirtiest kennel, where they had only a reasonable hope of success. How, therefore, such a sum should acquire the idea of pitiful in the eyes of the master of a ship seems not easy to be accounted for; since it appears more likely to produce in him ideas of a different kind. Some men, perhaps, are no more sincere in the contempt for it which they express than others in their contempt of money in general; and I am the rather inclined to this persuasion, as I have seldom heard of either who have refused or refunded this their despised object. Besides, it is sometimes impossible to believe these professions, as every action of the man's life is a contradiction to it. Who can believe a tradesman who says he would not tell his name for the profit he gets by he selling such a parcel of goods, when he hath told a thousand lies in order to get it? Pitiful, indeed, is often applied to an object not absolutely, but comparatively with our expectations, or with a greater object: in which sense it is not easy to set any bounds to the use of the word. Thus, a handful of halfpence daily appear pitiful to a porter, and a handful of silver to a drawer. The latter, I am convinced, at a polite tavern, will not tell his name (for he will not give you any answer) under the price of gold. And in this sense thirty pound may be accounted pitiful by the lowest mechanic. One difficulty only seems to occur, and that is this, how comes it that, if the profits of the meanest arts are so considerable, the professors of them are not richer than we generally see them? One answer to this shall suffice. Men do not become rich by what they get, but by what they keep. He who is worth no more than his annual wages or salary, spends the whole; he will be always a beggar let his income be what it will, and so will be his family when he dies. This we see daily to be the case of ecclesiastics, who, during their lives, are extremely well provided for, only because they desire to maintain the honour of the cloth by living like gentlemen, which would, perhaps, be better maintained by living unlike them. But, to return from so long a digression, to which the use of so improper an epithet gave occasion, and to which the novelty of the subject allured, I will make the reader amends by concisely telling him that the captain poured forth such a torrent of abuse that I very hastily and very foolishly resolved to quit the ship. I gave immediate orders to summon a hoy to carry me that evening to Dartmouth, without considering any consequence. Those orders I gave in no very low voice, so that those above stairs might possibly conceive there was more than one master in the cabin. In the same tone I likewise threatened the captain with that which, he afterwards said, he feared more than any rock or quicksand. Nor can we wonder at this when we are told he had been twice obliged to bring to and cast anchor there before, and had neither time escaped without the loss of almost his whole cargo. The most distant sound of law thus frightened a man who had often, I am convinced, heard numbers of cannon roar round him with intrepidity. Nor did he sooner see the hoy approaching the vessel than he ran down again into the cabin, and, his rage being perfectly subsided, he tumbled on his knees, and a little too abjectly implored for mercy. I did not suffer a brave man and an old man to remain a moment in this posture, but I immediately forgave him. And here, that I may not be thought the sly trumpeter of my own praises, I do utterly disclaim all praise on the occasion. Neither did the greatness of my mind dictate, nor the force of my Christianity exact, this forgiveness. To speak truth, I forgave him from a motive which would make men much more forgiving if they were much wiser than they are, because it was convenient for me so to do. _Wednesday._--This morning the captain drest himself in scarlet in order to pay a visit to a Devonshire squire, to whom a captain of a ship is a guest of no ordinary consequence, as he is a stranger and a gentleman, who hath seen a great deal of the world in foreign parts, and knows all the news of the times. [Illustration: _He abjectly implored for mercy_] The squire, therefore, was to send his boat for the captain, but a most unfortunate accident happened; for, as the wind was extremely rough and against the hoy, while this was endeavouring to avail itself of great seamanship in hawling up against the wind, a sudden squall carried off sail and yard, or at least so disabled them that they were no longer of any use and unable to reach the ship; but the captain, from the deck, saw his hopes of venison disappointed, and was forced either to stay on board his ship, or to hoist forth his own long-boat, which he could not prevail with himself to think of, though the smell of the venison had had twenty times its attraction. He did, indeed, love his ship as his wife, and his boats as children, and never willingly trusted the latter, poor things! to the dangers of the seas. To say truth, notwithstanding the strict rigour with which he preserved the dignity of his station, and the hasty impatience with which he resented any affront to his person or orders, disobedience to which he could in no instance brook in any person on board, he was one of the best natured fellows alive. He acted the part of a father to his sailors; he expressed great tenderness for any of them when ill, and never suffered any the least work of supererogation to go unrewarded by a glass of gin. He even extended his humanity, if I may so call it, to animals, and even his cats and kittens had large shares in his affections. An instance of which we saw this evening, when the cat, which had shewn it could not be drowned, was found suffocated under a feather-bed in the cabin. I will not endeavour to describe his lamentations with more prolixity than barely by saying they were grievous, and seemed to have some mixture of the Irish howl in them. Nay, he carried his fondness even to inanimate objects, of which we have above set down a pregnant example in his demonstration of love and tenderness towards his boats and ship. He spoke of a ship which he had commanded formerly, and which was long since no more, which he had called the Princess of Brazil, as a widower of a deceased wife. This ship, after having followed the honest business of carrying goods and passengers for hire many years, did at last take to evil courses and turn privateer, in which service, to use his own words, she received many dreadful wounds, which he himself had felt as if they had been his own. _Thursday._--As the wind did not yesterday discover any purpose of shifting, and the water in my belly grew troublesome and rendered me short-breathed, I began a second time to have apprehensions of wanting the assistance of a trochar when none was to be found; I therefore concluded to be tapped again by way of precaution, and accordingly I this morning summoned on board a surgeon from a neighbouring parish, one whom the captain greatly recommended, and who did indeed perform his office with much dexterity. He was, I believe, likewise a man of great judgment and knowledge in the profession; but of this I cannot speak with perfect certainty, for, when he was going to open on the dropsy at large and on the particular degree of the distemper under which I laboured, I was obliged to stop him short, for the wind was changed, and the captain in the utmost hurry to depart; and to desire him, instead of his opinion, to assist me with his execution. I was now once more delivered from my burthen, which was not indeed so great as I had apprehended, wanting two quarts of what was let out at the last operation. While the surgeon was drawing away my water the sailors were drawing up the anchor; both were finished at the same time; we unfurled our sails and soon passed the Berry-head, which forms the mouth of the bay. We had not however sailed far when the wind, which had, though with a slow pace, kept us company about six miles, suddenly turned about, and offered to conduct us back again; a favour which, though sorely against the grain, we were obliged to accept. Nothing remarkable happened this day; for as to the firm persuasion of the captain that he was under the spell of witchcraft, I would not repeat it too often, though indeed he repeated it an hundred times every day; in truth, he talked of nothing else, and seemed not only to be satisfied in general of his being bewitched, but actually to have fixed with good certainty on the person of the witch, whom, had he lived in the days of Sir Matthew Hale, he would have infallibly indicted, and very possibly have hanged, for the detestable sin of witchcraft; but that law, and the whole doctrine that supported it, are now out of fashion; and witches, as a learned divine once chose to express himself, are put down by act of parliament. This witch, in the captain's opinion, was no other than Mrs Francis of Ryde, who, as he insinuated, out of anger to me for not spending more money in her house than she could produce anything to exchange for, or any pretence to charge for, had laid this spell on his ship. Though we were again got near our harbour by three in the afternoon, yet it seemed to require a full hour or more before we could come to our former place of anchoring, or berth, as the captain called it. On this occasion we exemplified one of the few advantages which the travellers by water have over the travellers by land. What would the latter often give for the sight of one of those hospitable mansions where he is assured _that there is good entertainment for man and horse_; and where both may consequently promise themselves to assuage that hunger which exercise is so sure to raise in a healthy constitution. At their arrival at this mansion, how much happier is the state of the horse than that of the master! The former is immediately led to his repast, such as it is, and, whatever it is, he falls to it with appetite. But the latter is in a much worse situation. His hunger, however violent, is always in some degree delicate, and his food must have some kind of ornament, or, as the more usual phrase is, of dressing, to recommend it. Now all dressing requires time, and therefore, though perhaps the sheep might be just killed before you came to the inn, yet in cutting him up, fetching the joint, which the landlord by mistake said he had in the house, from the butcher at two miles' distance, and afterwards warming it a little by the fire, two hours at least must be consumed, while hunger, for want of better food, preys all the time on the vitals of the man. How different was the case with us! we carried our provision, our kitchen, and our cook with us, and we were at one and the same time travelling on our road, and sitting down to a repast of fish, with which the greatest table in London can scarce at any rate be supplied. _Friday._--As we were disappointed of our wind, and obliged to return back the preceding evening, we resolved to extract all the good we could out of our misfortune, and to add considerably to our fresh stores of meat and bread, with which we were very indifferently provided when we hurried away yesterday. By the captain's advice we likewise laid in some stores of butter, which we salted and potted ourselves, for our use at Lisbon, and we had great reason afterwards to thank him for his advice. In the afternoon I persuaded my wife, whom it was no easy matter for me to force from my side, to take a walk on shore, whither the gallant captain declared he was ready to attend her. Accordingly the ladies set out, and left me to enjoy a sweet and comfortable nap after the operation of the preceding day. Thus we enjoyed our separate pleasures full three hours, when we met again, and my wife gave the foregoing account of the gentleman whom I have before compared to Axylus, and of his habitation, to both which she had been introduced by the captain, in the stile of an old friend and acquaintance, though this foundation of intimacy seemed to her to be no deeper laid than in an accidental dinner, eaten many years before, at this temple of hospitality, when the captain lay wind-bound in the same bay. _Saturday._--Early this morning the wind seemed inclined to change in our favour. Our alert captain snatched its very first motion, and got under sail with so very gentle a breeze that, as the tide was against him, he recommended to a fishing hoy to bring after him a vast salmon and some other provisions which lay ready for him on shore. Our anchor was up at six, and before nine in the morning we had doubled the Berry-head, and were arrived off Dartmouth, having gone full three miles in as many hours, in direct opposition to the tide, which only befriended us out of our harbour; and though the wind was perhaps our friend, it was so very silent, and exerted itself so little in our favour, that, like some cool partisans, it was difficult to say whether it was with us or against us. The captain, however, declared the former to be the case during the whole three hours; but at last he perceived his error, or rather, perhaps, this friend, which had hitherto wavered in chusing his side, became now more determined. The captain then suddenly tacked about, and, asserting that he was bewitched, submitted to return to the place from whence he came. Now, though I am as free from superstition as any man breathing, and never did believe in witches, notwithstanding all the excellent arguments of my lord chief-justice Hale in their favour, and long before they were put down by act of parliament, yet by what power a ship of burthen should sail three miles against both wind and tide, I cannot conceive, unless there was some supernatural interposition in the case; nay, could we admit that the wind stood neuter, the difficulty would still remain. So that we must of necessity conclude that the ship was either bewinded or bewitched. The captain, perhaps, had another meaning. He imagined himself, I believe, bewitched, because the wind, instead of persevering in its change in his favour, for change it certainly did that morning, should suddenly return to its favourite station, and blow him back towards the bay. But, if this was his opinion, he soon saw cause to alter; for he had not measured half the way back when the wind again declared in his favour, and so loudly, that there was no possibility of being mistaken. The orders for the second tack were given, and obeyed with much more alacrity than those had been for the first. We were all of us indeed in high spirits on the occasion; though some of us a little regretted the good things we were likely to leave behind us by the fisherman's neglect; I might give it a worse name, for he faithfully promised to execute the commission, which he had had abundant opportunity to do; but _nautica fides_ deserves as much to be proverbial as ever _Punica fides_ could formerly have done. Nay, when we consider that the Carthaginians came from the Phenicians, who are supposed to have produced the first mariners, we may probably see the true reason of the adage, and it may open a field of very curious discoveries to the antiquarian. We were, however, too eager to pursue our voyage to suffer anything we left behind us to interrupt our happiness, which, indeed, many agreeable circumstances conspired to advance. The weather was inexpressibly pleasant, and we were all seated on the deck, when our canvas began to swell with the wind. We had likewise in our view above thirty other sail around us, all in the same situation. Here an observation occurred to me, which, perhaps, though extremely obvious, did not offer itself to every individual in our little fleet: when I perceived with what different success we proceeded under the influence of a superior power, which, while we lay almost idle ourselves, pushed us forward on our intended voyage, and compared this with the slow progress which we had made in the morning, of ourselves, and without any such assistance, I could not help reflecting how often the greatest abilities lie wind-bound as it were in life; or, if they venture out and attempt to beat the seas, they struggle in vain against wind and tide, and, if they have not sufficient prudence to put back, are most probably cast away on the rocks and quicksands which are every day ready to devour them. It was now our fortune to set out _melioribus avibus_. The wind freshened so briskly in our poop that the shore appeared to move from us as fast as we did from the shore. The captain declared he was sure of a wind, meaning its continuance; but he had disappointed us so often that he had lost all credit. However, he kept his word a little better now, and we lost sight of our native land as joyfully, at least, as it is usual to regain it. _Sunday._--The next morning the captain told me he thought himself thirty miles to the westward of Plymouth, and before evening declared that the Lizard Point, which is the extremity of Cornwall, bore several leagues to leeward. Nothing remarkable passed this day, except the captain's devotion, who, in his own phrase, summoned all hands to prayers, which were read by a common sailor upon deck, with more devout force and address than they are commonly read by a country curate, and received with more decency and attention by the sailors than are usually preserved in city congregations. I am indeed assured, that if any such affected disregard of the solemn office in which they were engaged, as I have seen practised by fine gentlemen and ladies, expressing a kind of apprehension lest they should be suspected of being really in earnest in their devotion, had been shewn here, they would have contracted the contempt of the whole audience. To say the truth, from what I observed in the behaviour of the sailors in this voyage, and on comparing it with what I have formerly seen of them at sea and on shore, I am convinced that on land there is nothing more idle and dissolute; in their own element there are no persons near the level of their degree who live in the constant practice of half so many good qualities. They are, for much the greater part, perfect masters of their business, and always extremely alert, and ready in executing it, without any regard to fatigue or hazard. The soldiers themselves are not better disciplined nor more obedient to orders than these whilst aboard; they submit to every difficulty which attends their calling with chearfulness, and no less virtues and patience and fortitude are exercised by them every day of their lives. All these good qualities, however, they always leave behind them on shipboard; the sailor out of water is, indeed, as wretched an animal as the fish out of water; for though the former hath, in common with amphibious animals, the bare power of existing on the land, yet if he be kept there any time he never fails to become a nuisance. The ship having had a good deal of motion since she was last under sail, our women returned to their sickness, and I to my solitude; having, for twenty-four hours together, scarce opened my lips to a single person. This circumstance of being shut up within the circumference of a few yards, with a score of human creatures, with not one of whom it was possible to converse, was perhaps so rare as scarce ever to have happened before, nor could it ever happen to one who disliked it more than myself, or to myself at a season when I wanted more food for my social disposition, or could converse less wholesomely and happily with my own thoughts. To this accident, which fortune opened to me in the Downs, was owing the first serious thought which I ever entertained of enrolling myself among the voyage-writers; some of the most amusing pages, if, indeed, there be any which deserve that name, were possibly the production of the most disagreeable hours which ever haunted the author. _Monday._--At noon the captain took an observation, by which it appeared that Ushant bore some leagues northward of us, and that we were just entering the bay of Biscay. We had advanced a very few miles in this bay before we were entirely becalmed: we furled our sails, as being of no use to us while we lay in this most disagreeable situation, more detested by the sailors than the most violent tempest: we were alarmed with the loss of a fine piece of salt beef, which had been hung in the sea to freshen it; this being, it seems, the strange property of salt-water. The thief was immediately suspected, and presently afterwards taken by the sailors. He was, indeed, no other than a huge shark, who, not knowing when he was well off, swallowed another piece of beef, together with a great iron crook on which it was hung, and by which he was dragged into the ship. I should scarce have mentioned the catching this shark, though so exactly conformable to the rules and practice of voyage-writing, had it not been for a strange circumstance that attended it. This was the recovery of the stolen beef out of the shark's maw, where it lay unchewed and undigested, and whence, being conveyed into the pot, the flesh, and the thief that had stolen it, joined together in furnishing variety to the ship's crew. During this calm we likewise found the mast of a large vessel, which the captain thought had lain at least three years in the sea. It was stuck all over with a little shell-fish or reptile, called a barnacle, and which probably are the prey of the rock-fish, as our captain calls it, asserting that it is the finest fish in the world; for which we are obliged to confide entirely to his taste; for, though he struck the fish with a kind of harping-iron, and wounded him, I am convinced, to death, yet he could not possess himself of his body; but the poor wretch escaped to linger out a few hours with probably great torments. In the evening our wind returned, and so briskly, that we ran upwards of twenty leagues before the next day's [_Tuesday's_] observation, which brought us to lat. 47° 42´. The captain promised us a very speedy passage through the bay; but he deceived us, or the wind deceived him, for it so slackened at sunset, that it scarce carried us a mile in an hour during the whole succeeding night. _Wednesday._--A gale struck up a little after sun-rising, which carried us between three and four knots or miles an hour. We were this day at noon about the middle of the bay of Biscay, when the wind once more deserted us, and we were so entirely becalmed, that we did not advance a mile in many hours. My fresh-water reader will perhaps conceive no unpleasant idea from this calm; but it affected us much more than a storm could have done; for, as the irascible passions of men are apt to swell with indignation long after the injury which first raised them is over, so fared it with the sea. It rose mountains high, and lifted our poor ship up and down, backwards and forwards, with so violent an emotion, that there was scarce a man in the ship better able to stand than myself. Every utensil in our cabin rolled up and down, as we should have rolled ourselves, had not our chairs been fast lashed to the floor. In this situation, with our tables likewise fastened by ropes, the captain and myself took our meal with some difficulty, and swallowed a little of our broth, for we spilt much the greater part. The remainder of our dinner being an old, lean, tame duck roasted, I regretted but little the loss of, my teeth not being good enough to have chewed it. Our women, who began to creep out of their holes in the morning, retired again within the cabin to their beds, and were no more heard of this day, in which my whole comfort was to find by the captain's relation that the swelling was sometimes much worse; he did, indeed, take this occasion to be more communicative than ever, and informed me of such misadventures that had befallen him within forty-six years at sea as might frighten a very bold spirit from undertaking even the shortest voyage. Were these, indeed, but universally known, our matrons of quality would possibly be deterred from venturing their tender offspring at sea; by which means our navy would lose the honour of many a young commodore, who at twenty-two is better versed in maritime affairs than real seamen are made by experience at sixty. And this may, perhaps, appear the more extraordinary, as the education of both seems to be pretty much the same; neither of them having had their courage tried by Virgil's description of a storm, in which, inspired as he was, I doubt whether our captain doth not exceed him. In the evening the wind, which continued in the N.W., again freshened, and that so briskly that Cape Finisterre appeared by this day's observation to bear a few miles to the southward. We now indeed sailed, or rather flew, near ten knots an hour; and the captain, in the redundancy of his good-humour, declared he would go to church at Lisbon on Sunday next, for that he was sure of a wind; and, indeed, we all firmly believed him. But the event again contradicted him; for we were again visited by a calm in the evening. But here, though our voyage was retarded, we were entertained with a scene, which as no one can behold without going to sea, so no one can form an idea of anything equal to it on shore. We were seated on the deck, women and all, in the serenest evening that can be imagined. Not a single cloud presented itself to our view, and the sun himself was the only object which engrossed our whole attention. He did indeed set with a majesty which is incapable of description, with which, while the horizon was yet blazing with glory, our eyes were called off to the opposite part to survey the moon, which was then at full, and which in rising presented us with the second object that this world hath offered to our vision. Compared to these the pageantry of theatres, or splendour of courts, are sights almost below the regard of children. We did not return from the deck till late in the evening; the weather being inexpressibly pleasant, and so warm that even my old distemper perceived the alteration of the climate. There was indeed a swell, but nothing comparable to what we had felt before, and it affected us on the deck much less than in the cabin. _Friday._--The calm continued till sun-rising, when the wind likewise arose, but unluckily for us it came from a wrong quarter; it was S.S.E., which is that very wind which Juno would have solicited of �olus, had �neas been in our latitude bound for Lisbon. The captain now put on his most melancholy aspect, and resumed his former opinion that he was bewitched. He declared with great solemnity that this was worse and worse, for that a wind directly in his teeth was worse than no wind at all. Had we pursued the course which the wind persuaded us to take we had gone directly for Newfoundland, if we had not fallen in with Ireland in our way. Two ways remained to avoid this; one was to put into a port of Galicia; the other, to beat to the westward with as little sail as possible: and this was our captain's election. As for us, poor passengers, any port would have been welcome to us; especially, as not only our fresh provisions, except a great number of old ducks and fowls, but even our bread was come to an end, and nothing but sea-biscuit remained, which I could not chew. So that now for the first time in my life I saw what it was to want a bit of bread. The wind however was not so unkind as we had apprehended; but, having declined with the sun, it changed at the approach of the moon, and became again favourable to us, though so gentle that the next day's observation carried us very little to the southward of Cape Finisterre. This evening at six the wind, which had been very quiet all day, rose very high, and continuing in our favour drove us seven knots an hour. This day we saw a sail, the only one, as I heard of, we had seen in our whole passage through the bay. I mention this on account of what appeared to me somewhat extraordinary. Though she was at such a distance that I could only perceive she was a ship, the sailors discovered that she was a snow, bound to a port in Galicia. _Sunday._--After prayers, which our good captain read on the deck with an audible voice, and with but one mistake, of a lion for Elias, in the second lesson for this day, we found ourselves far advanced in 42°, and the captain declared we should sup off Porte. We had not much wind this day; but, as this was directly in our favour, we made it up with sail, of which we crowded all we had. We went only at the rate of four miles an hour, but with so uneasy a motion, continually rolling from side to side, that I suffered more than I had done in our whole voyage; my bowels being almost twisted out of my belly. However, the day was very serene and bright, and the captain, who was in high spirits, affirmed he had never passed a pleasanter at sea. The wind continued so brisk that we ran upward of six knots an hour the whole night. _Monday._--In the morning our captain concluded that he was got into lat. 40°, and was very little short of the Burlings, as they are called in the charts. We came up with them at five in the afternoon, being the first land we had distinctly seen since we left Devonshire. They consist of abundance of little rocky islands, a little distant from the shore, three of them only shewing themselves above the water. Here the Portuguese maintain a kind of garrison, if we may allow it that name. It consists of malefactors, who are banished hither for a term, for divers small offences--a policy which they may have copied from the Egyptians, as we may read in Diodorus Siculus. That wise people, to prevent the corruption of good manners by evil communication, built a town on the Red Sea, whither they transported a great number of their criminals, having first set an indelible mark on them, to prevent their returning and mixing with the sober part of their citizens. These rocks lie about fifteen leagues north-west of Cape Roxent, or, as it is commonly called, the Rock of Lisbon, which we past early the next morning. The wind, indeed, would have carried us thither sooner; but the captain was not in a hurry, as he was to lose nothing by his delay. _Tuesday._--This is a very high mountain, situated on the northern side of the mouth of the river Tajo, which, rising about Madrid, in Spain, and soon becoming navigable for small craft, empties itself, after a long course, into the sea, about four leagues below Lisbon. On the summit of the rock stands a hermitage, which is now in the possession of an Englishman, who was formerly master of a vessel trading to Lisbon; and, having changed his religion and his manners, the latter of which, at least, were none of the best, betook himself to this place, in order to do penance for his sins. He is now very old, and hath inhabited this hermitage for a great number of years, during which he hath received some countenance from the royal family, and particularly from the present queen dowager, whose piety refuses no trouble or expence by which she may make a proselyte, being used to say that the saving one soul would repay all the endeavours of her life. Here we waited for the tide, and had the pleasure of surveying the face of the country, the soil of which, at this season, exactly resembles an old brick-kill, or a field where the green sward is pared up and set a burning, or rather a smoaking, in little heaps to manure the land. This sight will, perhaps, of all others, make an Englishman proud of, and pleased with, his own country, which in verdure excels, I believe, every other country. Another deficiency here is the want of large trees, nothing above a shrub being here to be discovered in the circumference of many miles. At this place we took a pilot on board, who, being the first Portuguese we spoke to, gave us an instance of that religious observance which is paid by all nations to their laws; for, whereas it is here a capital offence to assist any person in going on shore from a foreign vessel before it hath been examined, and every person in it viewed by the magistrates of health, as they are called, this worthy pilot, for a very small reward, rowed the Portuguese priest to shore at this place, beyond which he did not dare to advance, and in venturing whither he had given sufficient testimony of love for his native country. We did not enter the Tajo till noon, when, after passing several old castles and other buildings which had greatly the aspect of ruins, we came to the castle of Bellisle, where we had a full prospect of Lisbon, and were, indeed, within three miles of it. Here we were saluted with a gun, which was a signal to pass no farther till we had complied with certain ceremonies which the laws of this country require to be observed by all ships which arrive in this port. We were obliged then to cast anchor, and expect the arrival of the officers of the customs, without whose passport no ship must proceed farther than this place. Here likewise we received a visit from one of those magistrates of health before mentioned. He refused to come on board the ship till every person in her had been drawn up on deck and personally viewed by him. This occasioned some delay on my part, as it was not the work of a minute to lift me from the cabin to the deck. The captain thought my particular case might have been excused from this ceremony, and that it would be abundantly sufficient if the magistrate, who was obliged afterwards to visit the cabin, surveyed me there. But this did not satisfy the magistrate's strict regard to his duty. When he was told of my lameness, he called out, with a voice of authority, "Let him be brought up," and his orders were presently complied with. He was, indeed, a person of great dignity, as well as of the most exact fidelity in the discharge of his trust. Both which are the more admirable as his salary is less than thirty pounds English per annum. Before a ship hath been visited by one of those magistrates no person can lawfully go on board her, nor can any on board depart from her. This I saw exemplified in a remarkable instance. The young lad whom I have mentioned as one of our passengers was here met by his father, who, on the first news of the captain's arrival, came from Lisbon to Bellisle in a boat, being eager to embrace a son whom he had not seen for many years. But when he came alongside our ship neither did the father dare ascend nor the son descend, as the magistrate of health had not yet been on board. Some of our readers will, perhaps, admire the great caution of this policy, so nicely calculated for the preservation of this country from all pestilential distempers. Others will as probably regard it as too exact and formal to be constantly persisted in, in seasons of the utmost safety, as well as in times of danger. I will not decide either way, but will content myself with observing that I never yet saw or heard of a place where a traveller had so much trouble given him at his landing as here. The only use of which, as all such matters begin and end in form only, is to put it into the power of low and mean fellows to be either rudely officious or grossly corrupt, as they shall see occasion to prefer the gratification of their pride or of their avarice. Of this kind, likewise, is that power which is lodged with other officers here, of taking away every grain of snuff and every leaf of tobacco brought hither from other countries, though only for the temporary use of the person during his residence here. This is executed with great insolence, and, as it is in the hands of the dregs of the people, very scandalously; for, under pretence of searching for tobacco and snuff, they are sure to steal whatever they can find, insomuch that when they came on board our sailors addressed us in the Covent-garden language: "Pray, gentlemen and ladies, take care of your swords and watches." Indeed, I never yet saw anything equal to the contempt and hatred which our honest tars every moment expressed for these Portuguese officers. At Bellisle lies buried Catharine of Arragon, widow of prince Arthur, eldest son of our Henry VII., afterwards married to, and divorced from, Henry VIII. Close by the church where her remains are deposited is a large convent of Geronymites, one of the most beautiful piles of building in all Portugal. In the evening, at twelve, our ship, having received previous visits from all the necessary parties, took the advantage of the tide, and having sailed up to Lisbon cast anchor there, in a calm and moonshiny night, which made the passage incredibly pleasant to the women, who remained three hours enjoying it, whilst I was left to the cooler transports of enjoying their pleasures at second-hand; and yet, cooler as they may be, whoever is totally ignorant of such sensation is, at the same time, void of all ideas of friendship. _Wednesday._--Lisbon, before which we now lay at anchor, is said to be built on the same number of hills with old Rome; but these do not all appear to the water; on the contrary, one sees from thence one vast high hill and rock, with buildings arising above one another, and that in so steep and almost perpendicular a manner, that they all seem to have but one foundation. As the houses, convents, churches, &c., are large, and all built with white stone, they look very beautiful at a distance; but as you approach nearer, and find them to want every kind of ornament, all idea of beauty vanishes at once. While I was surveying the prospect of this city, which bears so little resemblance to any other that I have ever seen, a reflexion occurred to me that, if a man was suddenly to be removed from Palmyra hither, and should take a view of no other city, in how glorious a light would the antient architecture appear to him! and what desolation and destruction of arts and sciences would he conclude had happened between the several æras of these cities! I had now waited full three hours upon deck for the return of my man, whom I had sent to bespeak a good dinner (a thing which had been long unknown to me) on shore, and then to bring a Lisbon chaise with him to the sea-shore; but it seems the impertinence of the providore was not yet brought to a conclusion. At three o'clock, when I was, from emptiness, rather faint than hungry, my man returned, and told me there was a new law lately made that no passenger should set his foot on shore without a special order from the providore, and that he himself would have been sent to prison for disobeying it, had he not been protected as the servant of the captain. He informed me likewise that the captain had been very industrious to get this order, but that it was then the providore's hour of sleep, a time when no man, except the king himself, durst disturb him. To avoid prolixity, though in a part of my narrative which may be more agreeable to my reader than it was to me, the providore, having at last finished his nap, dispatched this absurd matter of form, and gave me leave to come, or rather to be carried, on shore. What it was that gave the first hint of this strange law is not easy to guess. Possibly, in the infancy of their defection, and before their government could be well established, they were willing to guard against the bare possibility of surprise, of the success of which bare possibility the Trojan horse will remain for ever on record, as a great and memorable example. Now the Portuguese have no walls to secure them, and a vessel of two or three hundred tons will contain a much larger body of troops than could be concealed in that famous machine, though Virgil tells us (somewhat hyperbolically, I believe) that it was as big as a mountain. About seven in the evening I got into a chaise on shore, and was driven through the nastiest city in the world, though at the same time one of the most populous, to a kind of coffee-house, which is very pleasantly situated on the brow of a hill, about a mile from the city, and hath a very fine prospect of the river Tajo from Lisbon to the sea. Here we regaled ourselves with a good supper, for which we were as well charged as if the bill had been made on the Bath-road, between Newbury and London. And now we could joyfully say, Egressi optata Troes potiuntur arena. Therefore, in the words of Horace, --hic Finis chartæque viæque. END OF VOL. I. BALLANTYNE PRESS: EDINBURGH AND LONDON * * * * * FOOTNOTES: [A] Some doubt whether this should not be rather 1641, which is a date more agreeable to the account given of it in the introduction: but then there are some passages which seem to relate to transactions infinitely later, even within this year or two. To say the truth there are difficulties attending either conjecture; so the reader may take which he pleases [B] Eyes are not perhaps so properly adapted to a spiritual substance; but we are here, as in many other places, obliged to use corporeal terms to make ourselves the better understood. [C] This is the dress in which the god appears to mortals at the theatres. One of the offices attributed to this god by the ancients, was to collect the ghosts as a shepherd doth a flock of sheep, and drive them with his wand into the other world. [D] Those who have read of the gods sleeping in Homer will not be surprized at this happening to spirits. [E] A particular lady of quality is meant here; but every lady of quality, or no quality, are welcome to apply the character to themselves. [F] We have before made an apology for this language, which we here repeat for the last time; though the heart may, we hope, be metaphorically used here with more propriety than when we apply those passions to the body which belong to the soul. [G] That we may mention it once for all, in the panegyrical part of this work some particular person is always meant: but, in the satirical, nobody. [H] These ladies, I believe, by their names, presided over the _leprosy_, _king's-evil_, and _scurvy_. [I] This silly story is told as a solemn truth (_i.e._, that St James really appeared in the manner this fellow is described) by Mariana, I. 7, §78. [J] Here part of the manuscript is lost, and that a very considerable one, as appears by the number of the next book and chapter, which contains, I find, the history of Anna Boleyn; but as to the manner in which it was introduced, or to whom the narrative is told, we are totally left in the dark. I have only to remark, that this chapter is, in the original, writ in a woman's hand: and, though the observations in it are, I think, as excellent as any in the whole volume, there seems to be a difference in style between this and the preceding chapters; and, as it is the character of a woman which is related, I am inclined to fancy it was really written by one of that sex. [K] Here ends this curious manuscript; the rest being destroyed in rolling up pens, tobacco, &c. It is to be hoped heedless people will henceforth be more cautious what they burn, or use to other vile purposes; especially when they consider the fate which had likely to have befallen the divine Milton, and that the works of Homer were probably discovered in some chandler's shop in Greece. [L] At Lisbon. [M] A predecessor of mine used to boast that he made one thousand pounds a-year in his office; but how he did this (if indeed he did it) is to me a secret. His clerk, now mine, told me I had more business than he had ever known there; I am sure I had as much as any man could do. The truth is, the fees are so very low, when any are due, and so much is done for nothing, that, if a single justice of peace had business enough to employ twenty clerks, neither he nor they would get much by their labour. The public will not, therefore, I hope, think I betray a secret when I inform them that I received from the Government a yearly pension out of the public service-money; which, I believe, indeed, would have been larger had my great patron been convinced of an error, which I have heard him utter more than once, that he could not indeed say that the acting as a principal justice of peace in Westminster was on all accounts very desirable, but that all the world knew it was a very lucrative office. Now, to have shewn him plainly that a man must be a rogue to make a very little this way, and that he could not make much by being as great a rogue as he could be, would have required more confidence than, I believe, he had in me, and more of his conversation than he chose to allow me; I therefore resigned the office and the farther execution of my plan to my brother, who had long been my assistant. And now, lest the case between me and the reader should be the same in both instances as it was between me and the great man, I will not add another word on the subject. 
53093	----	available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original map. See 53093-h.htm or 53093-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53093/53093-h/53093-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53093/53093-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/TheDefenceOfLucknow Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Small capitals have been replaced by full capitals. [Illustration: PLAN OF THE ENTRENCHED POSITION OF THE BRITISH GARRISON AT LUCKNOW. 1857. Published by Smith, Elder & Co., Cornhill London 1858.] THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. A Diary Recording the Daily Events during the Siege of the European Residency From 31st May to 25th September, 1857. BY A STAFF OFFICER With a Plan of the Residency. SECOND EDITION. London: Smith, Elder, and Co., 65 Cornhill. 1858. The right of translation is reserved. London Printed by Spottiswoode and Co. New-Street Square. ADVERTISEMENT. The Author of this work desiring, for military reasons, to withhold his name, the Publishers feel it due to the public to vouch for the authenticity of the "Diary," by stating that the Author is an officer of the Staff of the Anglo-Indian Army, and was in Lucknow during the whole of the siege; as, indeed, will be apparent from the full details he has given of all that transpired in the garrison. They beg to add that the only alteration made by them is the substitution of the most recent and complete list of the killed and wounded during the defence, as given in the "Homeward Mail," for the list appended to the MS. They have also added the eloquent despatch of Brigadier Inglis, recording the services of the garrison. 65, CORNHILL: _Feb. 25th, 1858_. DIARY OF EVENTS AT LUCKNOW. For about ten days previous to the outbreak, daily reports were made that an _émeute_ was intended, and Sir H. M. Lawrence had ordered all kinds of stores to be purchased and stored in the "Muchee Bhawun" and the City Residency. But latterly the intelligence began to excite less attention, as so many days had passed away which had been named for the outbreak. On the evening of the 30th May, however, a sepoy of the 13th Native Infantry, who had shortly before received a reward from Sir Henry Lawrence for having assisted in the capture of a spy, came to Captain Wilson of the 13th Native Infantry, Assistant Adjutant-General, and said he could not help reporting that there would be a rising amongst the sepoy regiments, to be commenced in the lines of the 71st Native Infantry that evening at about 8 or 9 P.M.; but he was not certain at what hour. His manner in giving this information was _earnest_ and _impressive_. On that evening everything went on as usual; all remained quiet in the cantonments, where Sir Henry Lawrence was residing. Some days previously the ladies and children had been removed to the Residency in the city, which place had already been occupied by a party of the 32nd Foot and two guns. The 9 P.M. gun was fired, and was evidently the preconcerted signal for the mutiny; for a few minutes after, whilst Sir Henry Lawrence and his staff were at dinner at the Residency, a sepoy came running in and reported a disturbance in the lines. Two shots were heard in the 71st lines. The horses of the staff were at once ordered, and they proceeded to the lines. On the way, more dropping shots were heard from the left of the 71st lines. The party arrived in the camp, where about 300 men of Her Majesty's 32nd, with four guns of Major Kaye's battery, and two guns of the Oude Irregular Force were posted, and found them all on the alert. These were posted in a position on the extreme right of the 71st lines (the whole front of which they swept), and they were also contiguous to the road leading from cantonments to the city. Sir Henry Lawrence immediately took two guns and a company of the 32nd with him on the road leading to the town, and there took post; thereby blocking up the road, and effectually cutting off all access to the city. He sent back soon after for reinforcements of the Europeans and for two more guns. In the meantime, the officers of the several regiments had proceeded at once to their respective lines. Bands of insurgents had meanwhile made their way amongst the officers' bungalows, keeping up as they went a desultory fire, which prevented many from passing the roads towards the lines. One of the first of these parties made straight for the mess house of the 71st Native Infantry, whence the officers had escaped but a few minutes before. They exhibited great bloodthirstiness, making every search for the officers, and ending by firing the house. On several shots being fired from the 71st lines on the 32nd Foot and guns, the order was given to open with grape; on which a rush was made by the sepoys to the rear; when they passed the infantry picket, which is situate in the centre of cantonments. The picket was under the command of Lieutenant Grant of the 71st Native Infantry. His men remained with him till the mutineers were close upon him. They then broke; but the subadar of the guard, and some men of the 13th and 48th Regiments, composing the guard, tried to save him by placing him under a bed. A man of the 71st Native Infantry, who was on guard with him, however, discovered the place of his concealment to the mutineers, and he was there brutally murdered--receiving no less than fifteen bayonet wounds, besides some from musket balls. From the first, Lieutenant Hardinge, taking with him some few sowars of his Irregular Cavalry, patrolled up and down the main street of the cantonments, and went to the officers' messes on the chance of saving any lives. In the compound of the 71st mess, he was fired at by a mutineer, who then rushed upon him with his bayonet, which pierced his arm. More than once the cantonments were thus patrolled by Lieutenant Hardinge under a smart fire, with the same humane intentions; but not in sufficient force to prevent the burning and plundering of the officers' bungalows, and of the bazaars. The excitement in the lines continued; while the 32nd remained quietly in position, awaiting the advent of the remnants of the regiments who had remained true to their colours. A remnant of the 13th Native Infantry, about 200 men, with colours and treasure, came up; and, according to previous arrangement, joined and fell in on the right of the 32nd. A small portion of the 71st, without being able to save their colours or their treasure, (through the disaffection of the native officer on duty,) also came up and took post next the 32nd Foot. Of the 48th, nothing was heard till 10 A.M. next day. About 10 o'clock P.M. many of the mutineers had made their way up to some empty artillery lines, outside the 71st Native Infantry lines, whence they commenced firing. Brigadier Handscomb, who had come up from the rear of the 71st lines, was killed by a stray shot from this place: just as he had reached the left flank of the 32nd, he fell dead off his horse. The bungalows throughout the cantonments were most of them on fire. No attempt was subsequently made to attack the position. To secure the Residency bungalow, and that portion of the cantonment next the city road, 4 guns and a company and a half were taken up to the cantonment Residency, and the guns placed at each gate. All was now quiet, and the remainder of the night passed away without any further event. Nothing had been seen or heard of the 48th Native Infantry. Many officers had most wonderful escapes from death. Lieutenant and Adjutant Chambers of the 13th Native Infantry, was severely wounded in the leg, whilst effecting his escape from the magazine where he had taken a guard of his regiment. _May 31st._--At daylight, the force, consisting of some companies of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot, and the remnants of the native regiments, about 100 men 71st, and 220 men 13th Native Infantry, with part of the 7th Cavalry, and four guns, advanced down the parade in front of the lines of the several regiments. From the lines of the 13th Native Infantry about fifty men came, and said they had saved the magazine of that regiment. Hearing that the body of the rebels had retired towards the race course, where they had plundered the lines of the 7th Cavalry, and murdered Cornet Raleigh of that regiment (who had been left there sick) the whole force of cavalry and infantry, with four guns, proceeded thither, leaving Colonel Case with a portion of the 32nd in position in cantonments. On arriving in the open plain, a body of about 1200 men were seen in line in the distance, drawn up to the race course. Many of the cavalry galloped over at once to the insurgents. The guns then opened with round shot, which dispersed them, and they made the best of their way across country, followed immediately by the cavalry and guns, and, at a greater distance by the infantry. No opportunity offered for the guns to again open, owing to the celerity of their flight; but the cavalry hovered round and took about sixty prisoners, who were brought into cantonments. The pursuit continued in the same order until the guns were stopped by a nullah, over which they could not cross. The cavalry, however, continued their pursuit; and kept it up for some ten miles. By 10 A.M. the force had returned to cantonments, as the heat was excessive. As most of the bungalows were burned (the officers having lost everything) the troops were moved into camp,--the 32nd and guns into the position they held formerly; the native regiments next them on the right; and in the following order:--13th next the 32nd, the 71st next, then the 48th, with the 7th Cavalry on the extreme right. The usual guards were kept by the native regiments, and the cantonments regularly occupied. Owing to this, the neighbouring country seemed to be reassured. Supplies came in regularly, and in plenty. The exertions of all were redoubled to complete the defences, and collect stores and supplies in Muchee Bhawun and the city Residency. The former post, originally occupied by the dependants of the late king, had been selected by Sir Henry Lawrence as a fitting place of security and retreat, in case matters took an unfavourable turn. On the 16th of May, immediately on the receipt of intelligence from Meerut of the commencement of the outbreak, this stronghold, then in a very dilapidated condition, was occupied by the light company of the 13th and some guns, and measures were taken for its thorough cleansing. Supplies continued to be brought in and stored. On the evening of the day on which the troops returned from the pursuit of the rebels, an insurrection took place in the city towards Hosainabad; the standard of the prophet was raised, and other means of religious persuasion used to excite the populace. The police of the city, under the energetic superintendence of Captain Carnegie, behaved well, and the movement was at once quelled, and the standard taken. News of the _émeute_ at this place had by this time reached the district, and the rising of the neighbouring stations was to be looked for. On the afternoon of the 4th June, parties of ladies and officers of the 41st Native Infantry, escorted by about twenty-five men of the regiment, who had remained faithful, came in, bringing the news of the mutiny at Seetapore, and of the deaths of Lieutenant-Colonel Birch, commanding the regiment there, of Mr. Christian, and of other civilians and ladies. On the 5th, news came of the mutiny at Cawnpore, but no particulars. Reports of all kinds were rife among the Bazaars; but no authentic intelligence could be procured, as the telegraph wire was cut. From Benares the news came in of the 37th Native Infantry having mutinied, and of their having been overpowered by the rest of the force there. But nothing further transpired, for from that day to the 10th instant, the communication was _in toto_ interrupted. _June 10th._--The defences at the city Residency, as well as the Muchee Bhawun, were increased, and houses and buildings around them began at once to be demolished. Large stacks of firewood were made, and houses and tents set apart for the occupation of the European refugees, who were arriving from the districts daily. Provisions of all sorts continued to be stored, including 110 hogsheads of beer just arrived from Cawnpore. Besides the two important posts noted above, the range of buildings towards the Hosainabad quarter of the town were occupied by 2000 police under the direction of Captain Carnegie; a thousand more were ordered to be raised, and officers of the 41st were put in command of each of the police battalions. This day we heard, by native report, that General Wheeler was defending himself in the entrenchments at Cawnpore; but no letter was received. _June 11th._--Early this morning a false alarm was brought in from the Cawnpore road, that the enemy was upon us. Captain Evans, who had been sent out to gain information, returned with the above report, which created for a short period some needless alarm. We continued hard at work getting in supplies and adding to our defences. Many vague reports of disturbances were in circulation to-day. _June 12th._--On this day an instance of disaffection from within the camp occurred. The regiment of military police, commanded by Captain Orr, mutinied in a body, rushed to their lines, seized their arms, and then set off in the direction of Cawnpore, giving themselves no time to inflict any damage in their quarter of the city. So great was their haste, that they failed to empty their own barracks, and left behind them their clothes and baggage. Information of this was given to headquarters; on which two guns of Major Kaye's battery, two companies of Her Majesty's 32nd, and some seventy Seikhs of the 1st Oude Irregular Cavalry, the whole under the command of Colonel Inglis, were despatched after them. They were pursued for some eight miles before they were come up with, and it was only by pushing on the cavalry and guns, without waiting for the slower movements of the infantry, that they were overtaken at all. The guns opened fire as soon as practicable; they had come up well over some difficult ground, but their horses were, in consequence, so done up, that there was some difficulty in taking up the most desirable position. Once the cavalry charged well, but neither the result of their charge, nor of the practice of the artillery, was such as might have been expected. The enemy's loss was not exactly ascertained, but it was supposed that they had some twenty killed, and ten prisoners were brought in. Of Captain Forbes's men, two Pathans were killed on the spot; and some others, including a gallant old native officer, wounded. Mr. Thornhill, of the civil service, charging with them, was also wounded. All this time the infantry were far behind, unable to get up. A village lay to the front, in which many of the insurgents had taken refuge. Colonel Inglis forbade its bombardment, as it would have entailed much injury to innocent villagers; and the evening was, by that time, so far advanced, that the measure would probably not have sufficed to dislodge the mutineers. About an hour remained to sunset; the guns and cavalry were a long way from the infantry, and many miles further from home. A return movement was therefore ordered, and accomplished successfully: the whole force returned about 8 o'clock, having gone over some sixteen or eighteen miles of ground. The Europeans had marched well to the front. It was a hard day's work for them, and two men were lost from apoplexy, for the heat was dreadful. On this day the horses of the men of the 7th Cavalry were brought down and picketed close to the Baillie Guard; as, with a very few exceptions, the 13th, 48th, and 71st Regiments of Native Infantry and 7th Cavalry had been ordered to proceed on leave till October, and their arms and accoutrements were brought down and deposited in the Residency. (Vide No. 1 in the Appendix.) _June 13th._--Shot and shell both brought down to the garrison from Muchee Bhawun (about three-quarters of a mile). Unabated exertions to add to the defences of the garrison. The 13th Regiment of Native Infantry, 170 rank and file, came down from cantonments and encamped in the Residency compound. Ineffectual efforts to blow down the _Furrahd Buksh_ Gateway. Three or four cases of cholera occurred at Fort Muchee Bhawun. Officers' servants began to desert. Intelligence was received from Fyzabad of the mutiny of all the troops there. Heat beyond endurance. Garrison in good spirits, and much elated at the brush after the Police Corps. Little reliance was placed in natives, and every possible precaution was taken to prevent any treachery. The native gunners, both in the Residency and at the Muchee Bhawun, were so posted as to be under the immediate fire of the Europeans, who watched them carefully both day and night. An officer was on duty at the gate all day long, to observe all incomers, and to prevent arms being brought in by others than those who had received passes. _June 14th._--Supplies of shot and shell brought in from Muchee Bhawun. Every exertion made to increase the defences of the garrisons. No reliable intelligence was procurable of the state of affairs at Cawnpore. Many idle rumours afloat, but not corroborated, with regard to a reinforcement of Europeans having arrived at that station from the north-west. Heat excessive. Several cases of cholera and smallpox. A few cases of the former disease proved fatal in Muchee Bhawun. Hardinge's corps still steady. About 200 of the Oude Irregular Cavalry deserted last night. _June 15th._--A hundred barrels of gunpowder brought from the Muchee Bhawun, and buried in the Residency enclosure. Shot and shell continued to be brought into garrison from Muchee Bhawun. Uncovenanted servants were drilled with muskets. A tragic event occurred this day:--Serjeant-major K., 7th Light Cavalry, shot with a pistol, Riding-master Edridge, 7th Light Cavalry, in the heat of an argument. The riding-master died a few hours after. No reliable intelligence was procured from Cawnpore, though vague reports were in circulation. The death of Lieutenant-Colonel Fisher, commanding 15th Irregular Cavalry, by the hands of his own men, was reported. Captain Gall's servant returned to the garrison this day, reporting his master's death, which took place by stratagem, and by the hands of his own men. Captain Gall was proceeding in disguise _en route_ to Allahabad, with twelve sowars of his own corps, and had proceeded about fifty miles on his way, when his murder took place. All officers of the cantonments were ordered down to the garrison, with the exception of the commanding officers and regimental staff. Twenty-three lacs of rupees were buried close in front of the Residency, for security, and to avoid the necessity of guards and sentries over it. Rum and porter (one-half) was received into the Residency from Muchee Bhawun. Fever was prevalent. The Seikhs of the 13th Native Infantry, numbering about fifty men, were formed, at their own request, into a company, under the command of Captain Germon, and sent to Muchee Bhawun. Spare clothing of the 13th was brought in from cantonments. Continued efforts were made to blow up the Furrah Buksh Gate. The flooring of the first story fell in this day. _June 16th._--A quantity of shot and shells came in from Muchee Bhawun; also an 18-pounder gun. The shot was piled, as far as possible. On this date, there were seven 18-pounders in position. The whole day was expended in working hard at a battery in a position commanding the Cawnpore-road, and in unroofing houses, burying powder, &c. The gate leading into the Furrah Buksh came down in the course of the forenoon with a great crash, after many futile attempts had been made for its destruction. This was an important point gained, as the Residency compound was quite commanded from the top of this gate. This morning, twenty-two conspirators, emissaries from Benares and elsewhere, who had been sent to corrupt the troops at this place, were captured in a house in the centre of the city. Information having been given to Captain Hughes, commanding the 4th Irregular Infantry, he directed two staunch native officers to put themselves on the watch, and to pretend participation in the disaffection. This they did, and by this means, with Captain Carnegie's assistance, Captain Hughes was enabled to effect the capture of these inciters to mutiny. They were forthwith brought to a drum-head court-martial and the whole of them condemned to death. _June 17th._--This morning, four of the men sentenced yesterday, were hanged at the Muchee Bhawun; the remaining eighteen were liberated, as some doubts were entertained of their guilt. Vague and most contradictory rumours came in this day about Cawnpore, but no authentic intelligence could be gained. The intelligence department, under the supervision of Mr. Gubbins, with two assistants, seemed to experience great difficulty in procuring reliable intelligence. Amongst others, Colonel Palmer, commanding the 48th Regiment Native Infantry, came in from the cantonments, waited on the Brigadier-General, and reported large assemblies of men near cantonments, the immediate abandonment of which he most earnestly advocated. Although there yet remained some twenty-five lacs in the treasury, the expenditure had been on such an enormous scale during the last week, that cash payments were suspended, unless in exceptional cases. The money rewards, &c., promised to men of the several infantry regiments, whose good behaviour had been conspicuous on the night of the mutiny, were discharged by promissory notes. Major Apthorp of the 41st Native Infantry had an advance made to him to pay up and discharge twenty-five of his men who had escorted in the officers and ladies from Seetapore; as it was reported by one of his drummers, that even these faithful few, who had all been promised promotion by Sir Henry Lawrence for their fidelity on that occasion, had expressed themselves to the effect that if Rajah Maun Singh came against them, they would all have to go over, and would murder their officers. _June 18th._--The force at the Residency, consisting of the regular troops, civilians, volunteers of all sorts, and, in fact, every man within the defences not incapacitated by sickness, were ordered by Sir Henry Lawrence to parade at sunrise. Every man was to be at the post he was to occupy in case of an attack; and those to whom no posts had been assigned mustered in front of the Residency, for the purpose of having a post or duty assigned them. The Brigadier-General inspected the whole of them, and visited all the outposts and picquets. In the evening of the same day the force was paraded a second time, and minutely inspected by Colonel Inglis. A body of fifty volunteers, belonging to the several offices, had been trained and drilled to use firearms. To them was entrusted the defence of two outposts near the Post-office, which place had been made a very strong position. The officers comprising the volunteer corps of cavalry were also given arms, to be able to make a stand and defend themselves within their own quarters. They furnished sentries at night, and exercised a supervision over some seventy Seikh sowars, the remains of the Oude Irregular Cavalry. These, as well as the body of clerks, &c., mentioned above, were in all respects armed and accoutred like private soldiers. Besides this, many of the volunteers and officers were instructed in gun drill; and, at the Muchee Bhawun, by Sir Henry's directions, some fifty or sixty of the 32nd Foot were told off for the same work. A very strong battery (the Redan) was commenced this day; it completely commanded the iron bridge and the road leading to cantonments. The servants of Captains Staples, 7th Cavalry, and Burmester, 48th Native Infantry, returned and reported the murder of those officers whose heads, they stated, were carried to the Nana at Cawnpore; and that Lieutenant Boulton, of the 7th-Cavalry, jumped his horse into the river, and nothing further had been heard of him. Owing to the want of rain, the heat had now become intense. Cholera and dysentery were on the increase; chiefly at the Muchee Bhawun. Reports came in of some bodies of the enemy being at a place called Nawab Gunge, about eighteen miles from Lucknow, and Captain Forbes, with twenty Sikhs and ten of the volunteer cavalry corps, was sent out there to ascertain the presence or otherwise of the enemy. They returned in the evening bringing information that there was no one. The company of the 10th Oude Irregular Force was brought down from the Dâk Bungalow to the jail. This regiment was the last to give way at Seetapore, and it was reported they did not molest their officers. Quantities of bhoosa were collected and stored within the Racket Court, which was now half full. _June 19th._--This morning Sir Henry Lawrence inspected the Muchee Bhawun minutely. More small arm ammunition was brought in from thence to the Residency. A fresh case of smallpox occurred today (Mr. Bird, who was immediately removed to a tent in the compound). The uncovenanted volunteers were again minutely inspected this afternoon. The engineer officers were very hard at work completing the batteries and defences. Upwards of 3000 coolies were at work unroofing houses in the vicinity of our defences. From cantonments all the spare baggage, &c. was brought in, and every preparation made to prevent confusion in case the position there should be abandoned. In the city of Lucknow everything remained perfectly quiet,--the administration of justice was in no way impeded. Grain was stored in large quantities in the church. _June 20th._--This day, "the Redan" was completed. It consisted of one 18-pounder gun and one 9-pounder, with two mortars in their rear--the whole commanding the iron bridge and open country across the river. The Cawnpore 18-pounder battery was very nearly finished, and an expense magazine establishment near it. A letter bearing date the 18th instant was received from Cawnpore, written by Captain Moore of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot, by direction of General Wheeler,--it informed us, at last, of occurrences at that place. All the numerous previous reports regarding the reinforcements of European troops said to have been received, were thereby falsified. No such reinforcements had ever been received. The letter informed us of their ability to hold out for some fifteen days more. The dreadful news of a boat load of European ladies, women, and children, from Futteghurh, having been intercepted at Cawnpore and assassinated there, was confirmed by natives. Supplies continued to be stored, but they were collected with difficulty and at increased prices. Large stacks of firewood, which had been stored in case of difficulties, were regularly arranged in a semicircle, protecting the front of the Residency, and covered with earth; these formed an embankment six feet in height, and embrasures were cut through them for the guns, of which there were four 9-pounders on that side. _June 21st._--Two hundred guns, many of large calibre, were found in the gardens of the Seish Mahul, behind the Dowlut Khana (a large building on the north side of the city). There were no carriages to them. This startling discovery was luckily made in time. Twenty-seven guns were at once brought in, and arrangements made for parking the remainder. In the evening, as the church was full of grain, divine service was performed in Mr. Gubbins's garden; and, during the night, Sir Henry himself once more visited the outposts, which had, by this time, been brought to a satisfactory state. The guards of the uncovenanted service were well on the alert, and prepared for any emergency. The difficulty of procuring all kinds of grain daily increased. Many rumours of a strong force marching on Lucknow from Fyzabad. The force in cantonments held in readiness to march at one hour's notice, to the Residency and the Muchee Bhawun. _June 22nd._--This morning Captain Radcliffe's troop of volunteer cavalry were despatched, at 1 A.M., towards Nawab Gunge, to patrol the roads in that direction, in conjunction with the Seikhs, in order to gather information. About 4 o'clock A.M. a thunderstorm from the east, with the much wished for rain, came on. It lasted no very long time, and afforded only a temporary relief from the excessive heat. Sir Henry Lawrence made an excursion as far as the Husainabad Kolwallee, garrisoned by nearly 3000 police and others, and inspected them and the defences of that place. He also visited the Dowlut Khana, an old magazine, and on his return went over the Muchee Bhawun defences. All our available spare carts, hackeries, and wagons, were to-day employed in bringing in the guns found yesterday. Many of them were of large size. The unroofing and clearing away of houses continued without intermission, and every exertion was made to remove anything which might afford cover in the immediate vicinity of our defences. _June 23rd._--Two men executed this morning at the Muchee Bhawun,--the one a mutineer (a naick of the 71st Native Infantry), the other a man who had, on the night of the mutiny, threatened the life of Mr. Yarbury, a merchant. A large battery traced out, looking to the westward. It was to consist of at least two heavy guns, and to be raised so as to bombard the town in that direction. A considerable amount of labour would have been required to raise it to the necessary elevation. Altogether it was the most extensive work of the kind we had yet undertaken. An 8-inch howitzer, which had been discovered with the other guns at the Seesh Muhal, was mounted and placed in the Redan battery. Captain Radcliffe's troop of volunteers, numbering forty sabres, were drilled and exercised daily; and now that the majority of the Irregular Cavalry had deserted, and the remainder were not considered trustworthy, the troops supplied two mounted orderlies every morning to escort Sir Henry Lawrence into the city. The commanding officer of the 71st Regiment Native Infantry reported the remnant of the Seikhs of his regiment (about twenty men, who had remained true on the night of the _émeute_) as being in an insubordinate state, and no longer to be trusted. Sir Henry Lawrence desired them to be sent to him, and spoke to them. They had asked for their discharge before, and had very precipitately been disarmed by their commanding officer, without sufficient authority. After being spoken to by the Brigadier-General, they professed themselves quite willing to continue their services: they were taken at their word, their arms restored, and were kept at the Residency under the command of an officer. A letter was received yesterday from Cawnpore, written under the direction of General Sir H. M. Wheeler, K.C.B., giving very bad news indeed. It stated that the enemy shelled them for the last eight days, which had had fearful effect within their crowded trenches, and one third of their number had been killed. In the meantime, the Muchee Bhawun garrison had not been idle at their defences, and Sir Henry was constant in his visits there, as well as to the Seesh Muhal, and Dowlut Khana. On the westward side of the Muchee Bhawun, a heavy tower was commenced; a work of great labour, from which a flanking fire could be given. In the vicinity of the fort, as at the Residency, houses were unroofed, and walls pulled down, so as to leave as little shelter as we could. Magazines were constructed, and the powder placed in safety. _June 24th._--Heavy clouds, and every appearance of rain throughout the day, but none fell. Heat excessive. Sir Henry Lawrence proceeded at daybreak as usual, attended by his staff and two orderlies from the volunteer cavalry, and inspected the Dowlut Khana, Seesh Muhal, Imaumbarah Kolwallee, and Muchee Bhawun; and in the evening he proceeded five miles on the Fyzabad road, to ascertain if there was a good position we could take up, in case of an advance of the rebels in that direction. The last of the guns discovered in the Seesh Muhal garden were brought in to-day. Four of them were of very large calibre--two being 32-pounders. _Native_ reports describe the force at Cawnpore as being hard pressed. Native reports from Allahabad were good. Much progress made in knocking down and unroofing the houses in the _immediate_ vicinity of the Muchee Bhawun and Residency. The Racket Court was now filled with bhoosa for the cattle, and thatched in. We were supposed to have nearly three months' supply of provisions now stored. The mutineers were reported to have arrived at Nawabgunge (eighteen miles distant), and were said to have with them some sixteen guns. _June 25th._--The tower at the Muchee Bhawun was carried on this day with great ardour. Crowds of coolies were employed under the direction of Lieutenant Innes of the Engineers. This defence was to command the stone bridge, the Imaumbara, and a number of high mosques facing that side of the Muchee Bhawun. Elephants were yoked to one of the heaviest guns,--luckily there was some gear for the purpose, and the experiment turned out successful. A native rumour reported the arrival of a strong force of mutineers at Nawabgunge, where it was said they were to remain till they had consolidated their force. Good news came in to-day from Allahabad in a letter from the officer commanding the 1st Madras Fusileers, dated the 18th of June, in answer to one despatched from this place on the 15th instant. Colonel Neil's letter gave little or no detail, beyond stating that he assumed command of the fort on the 11th instant; that there had been much fighting, but all the mutineers were entirely broke and dispersed, and the cantonments reoccupied. Cholera broke out on the 18th among the Fusileers, who in two days had had amongst them 100 cases, forty of which had proved fatal. Every effort was being made to push on troops to Cawnpore, but the road was not open, and carriage was difficult to procure: also that Her Majesty's 84th were close at hand, and that the telegraphic communication had been re-established between Calcutta and Allahabad. No authentic intelligence from Cawnpore, and much anxiety was felt regarding the force there. All appearance of rain had gone off, and the heat was almost insupportable. The river had risen about a foot and a half, and was no longer fordable. A letter was received from Mrs. Dorin, stating that she was residing in a hut close to Seetapore, soliciting money and assistance, and reporting the murder of her husband. Numbers of gun-barrels and locks were brought in from the old magazine, where a great quantity of crowsfeet were found, and ordered to be brought in to-morrow. Behind Mr. Ommanney's house, a very large battery was commenced by Lieutenant Hutchinson. Quantities of grass and stores were brought in. _June 26th._--This morning Sir Henry Lawrence, accompanied by his staff, as usual inspected the principal buildings in the vicinity of the Muchee Bhauwn and the new round tower, at which great progress had been made, and in which not less than 300 coolies were at work. Proceeding thence he inspected the newly completed defences opposite the Kolwallee. On his return, Sir H. Lawrence received a letter from Major Raikes at Mynpoorie, giving intelligence of the capture of the city of Delhi on the 13th instant (this afterwards turned out to be a false report). A royal salute was ordered to be fired from the Residency, Muchee Bhawun, and cantonments, and a _feu-de-joie_ was fired by the Irregulars, who were quartered in the Dowlut Khana, under the command of Brigadier Gray. Many useful stores, consisting of unwrought materials, rope, and platforms, were brought in from the old magazine. Considerable progress was made in a new battery for heavy guns, which had been commenced in the rear of Mr. Ommanney's house. In the afternoon, a letter, dated June 23rd, was received from Colonel Neil, commanding at Allahabad, reporting all well there; that 750 Europeans had arrived, and that 1000 more would be with him on the next day; that every effort was being made to despatch 400 Europeans, two guns, and 300 Seikhs to Cawnpore, but that much difficulty was experienced in procuring carriage. Also, at sunset, a letter was received from Sir H. M. Wheeler, K.C.B., dated the 24th instant, detailing his losses, and giving an account of the outbreak, and stating that he had supplies for only eight or ten days at the farthest. His letter was replied to at once, and he was informed by Sir Henry Lawrence of the news received from Allahabad, and also that in ten days at the farthest he would receive aid from Allahabad, and that he must husband his resources as much as possible; that the force at Lucknow was threatened by an attack from eight or ten regiments, three or four of which were within twenty miles. A reward of one lac of rupees was offered this day for the capture, within a week, dead or alive, of the Nana, at Cawnpore, and means were taken to have the proclamation widely disseminated. With the larger battery commenced to the south, behind Mr. Ommanney's house, we had three large batteries in progress, and were also busily employed in destroying, as far as possible, any buildings that might give cover in the vicinity. Five or six elephants were in course of training to drag heavy guns, so as to enable us to move out without delay, should circumstances require a heavy gun to be taken out. _27th June._--This morning a letter from Lieutenant Burnes, Adjutant of the 10th Regiment Oude Irregular Infantry, late at Seetapore, was received. It gave an account of the mutiny at that place, and of the escape of himself, Sir M. Jackson, Bart., and sisters (one of whom had been carried off for some days by the sepoys and brought back), and some others, to a place called Mitowlee, where they claimed and received the protection (charily given) of a rajah: they were then all in the jungles, suffering the _greatest_ hardships. It also mentioned the safety of another party with Captain Hearsey; who, however, were also in the jungles. Many of these seem to have had the most hairbreadth escapes. No rain had yet fallen, and the heat was most oppressive. The cholera had abated during the past few days, but several cases of smallpox had, however, occurred. The river was reported to have fallen a foot since yesterday. A report was in circulation early in the day, that General Wheeler had made terms with "the Nana," at Cawnpore; but few believed it, and in the evening it was reported incorrect, as heavy firing had been heard yesterday at Cawnpore from Bunnee. Three boxes of crow's feet and a great number of musket-barrels and unwrought stores were brought in from the old magazine at the Dowlut-Khana; also a very large quantity of gun carriage-wheels. The force at Nawabgunge was said to be increasing, but very undecided as to what to do. A great force of coolies were at work, and much progress was made in the defences at Muchee Bhawun and the Residency. _28th June._--This morning, at about 3 A.M., we had a heavy fall of rain, which continued with slight intervals till 7 A.M. Sir Henry Lawrence proceeded to Hosainabad and examined the defensive preparations made there; returning by the Muchee Bhawun, he found that the buildings occupied by the 32nd had hardly leaked at all. Divine service was performed in the City Hospital (brigade mess), occupied by the officers of the 7th Cavalry, 13th, 48th, and 71st Native Infantry, at 7 A.M. Spies stated that the 17th Regiment Native Infantry, numbering between 250 and 300 men, had gone with five lacs of rupees to Onao on the Cawnpore road--it was believed with the intention of proceeding to Cawnpore. It having been reported that there were many jewels and valuables in the king's palace, which might fall into the hands of the mutineers, a party under Major Banks, consisting of fifty of the 13th, twenty Seikhs 71st Native Infantry, and the European Volunteer Cavalry, were sent out to fetch them in; which they did about 6 P.M., and reported that they had discovered a large gun. About 7 P.M. three different natives brought in the very sad and distressing news that the Cawnpore force, having no more ammunition left, had entered into a treaty with their enemies, after which they had all been treacherously murdered, as they embarked in boats to proceed down the river to Allahabad. Mrs. Dorin, wife of Lieutenant Dorin, who lately commanded the 10th Regiment Oude Irregular Forces, arrived this evening in a country cart, disguised as a native, and accompanied by some clerks. She was for very many days secreted in a village close to Seetapore, and her escape is wonderful. The Serjeant-Major's wife of the 9th Regiment Oude Irregular Infantry also arrived in a doolie, severely wounded. From 8 to 10 o'clock P.M. it rained heavily. A letter, dated the 21st June, received from Benares from Mr. Gubbins, giving an account of the number of Europeans coming up the country, and describing the state of Benares and Allahabad; reporting also an action at Delhi on the 8th instant, when the British troops captured twenty-six guns. News also received from Agra by letter from Captain Nixon, political agent. _June 29th._--This morning, a brass gun, a 21-pounder which had been accidentally discovered yesterday by the party who had been despatched under Major Banks, to bring in valuables from the palace (called the "Kiser Bagh,") was brought in, carriage and waggon all completely ready for immediate service. Some grape shot and powder, chiefly damaged, was also discovered in an adjacent house. The people in charge of the palace, without giving a thought to resistance as it was at first expected they might do, nevertheless showed an evident reluctance to give information where the arms, &c. were stored. However, it came out at last, that there were more arms within the palace, and a party was despatched to secure them. Seven cart-loads were brought in; chiefly flint muskets, with a few spears, &c.: 4 small guns were also discovered and brought in. A small party of volunteers, cavalry (twelve men including officers), were sent along the Cawnpore road to bring in information. After going some twelve miles, they returned, having learnt that there were some two or three regiments not far off them. Captain Forbes, with the Seikh Cavalry, was sent off at sunrise to patrol the Nawabgunge road. Six men were also sent on the Sultanpore road to gain information. Both the parties returned at sunset, Captain Forbes bringing intelligence that the enemy were at Chinât, nine miles off. Our defences progressed, but labour was not so easy to procure as it had been some days before. * * * * * The enemy being in strength so near, it was deemed advisable to withdraw the troops from cantonments, which was quietly done at sunset; and it being expected that the enemy would march on Lucknow, Sir Henry Lawrence thought it advisable to move out with a strong force, hoping to meet and oppose them before they entered the suburbs of the city. In order to prevent any notice reaching the enemy of the intended movement, the orders were not given out publicly till 3 o'clock on the following morning, and at the same hour twenty Seikhs under Lieutenant Birch were to be sent to the Iron Bridge, in order to prevent any one crossing over with intelligence of the movement to the enemy. _June 30th._--Pursuant to orders, a force, comprising 150 of the 32nd from the Muchee Bhawun, 130 of the 13th Native Infantry, forty Seikhs of the 13th Native Infantry, the 48th, numbering fifty bayonets, the European cavalry thirty-six strong, the Oude Irregular Cavalry, about ninety men, four of the guns of Kaye's battery (Europeans), two of Alexander's guns (natives), two of Bryce's guns (natives), and an eight-inch howitzer, found in the town a few days ago, and which was drawn by two elephants, assembled at the iron bridge at 5·45 A.M. The advance guard was composed of twenty-five Seikh Cavalry, and fifteen European Cavalry; twenty Seikh Infantry, and twenty of the 32nd Regiment, the whole under the command of Captain Stevens of the 32nd Foot. The eight-inch howitzer, two guns of Alexander's battery, two of Kaye's battery, the 13th Native Infantry, two of Bryce's guns, and the detachment of the 32nd Foot, formed the main body, and marched in the above order. The rear guard was composed of the 48th Native Infantry, under Colonel Palmer; the whole force being under the personal command of Sir Henry Lawrence. It was the Brigadier-General's original intention only to proceed to the end of the Pucka road, to the village of Kocaralee; and on their arrival there, our force was halted, and the Brigadier-General, with the advanced guard, proceeded about a mile to the front, whence no one was to be seen. The force was on the point of being ordered to return, when it was decided to make a further reconnaissance; and soon after the enemy were fallen in with, in overwhelming numbers, and the force was compelled to retire with the loss of the eight-inch howitzer, and three 9-pounders. The enemy came boldly on, and invested us on all sides, firing from all the houses round, which they rapidly loopholed; they also erected a hasty battery for the eight-inch howitzer across the river, from which they threw several well-directed shells; and they began to collect boats for a bridge across the river, the iron bridge being under fire from the Redan. _July 1st._--The enemy threw in a very heavy fire of musketry all day and night. Early in the morning they advanced to attack, but were repulsed on all sides with considerable loss from our shells, guns, and musketry. Mr. McRae, of the Civil Engineers Department, and Lieutenant Dashwood, 48th Native Infantry, were wounded, while assisting in working an 18-pounder in the Post Office Battery. During the day attempts were made to get messengers to cross over to the Muchee Bhawun fort; two or three men started, but as their success was very doubtful, it was determined to work the telegraph on the top of the Residency. This had been previously arranged by the engineer in concert with one on the Muchee Bhawun; it simply consisted of one post with a bar at the top, from which were suspended in one row black stuffed bags, each having its own pulley to work it. After having attracted the attention of the Muchee Bhawun Garrison, the greatest difficulty was found in working the telegraph, from various causes; the chief of which was the tremendous fire which the enemy opened on the spot directly they saw our people on the flat open roof of the Residency. It rained rifle balls, principally from the top of the jail, and some few of the ropes of the bags were actually cut by them; then the pulleys went wrong, and twice the whole machine had to be taken down, and after readjustment put up again. After three hours' hard work under a broiling sun and a heavy fire, the transfer of messages was at last completed. The message was simply an order to blow up the place and come to the Residency at 12 P.M., bringing the treasure and guns, and destroying as much as possible all spare ammunition. The night was anxiously looked for, as the retreat of the retiring force might be intercepted, and the enemy had the advantage of position. To help the movement, the Brigadier-General gave orders that shortly before 12 P.M., the different mortars and guns from our batteries should open fire, in order to distract the attention of the enemy. This was carried out; especially towards the iron bridge, by which the force must pass. The movement was most successfully performed; and so quick and noiseless was the march, that at 12·15 the head of the column was at the Lower Water Gate. Here there was some little delay, as the force not being so quickly expected, the gates had not been opened. A very serious accident had nearly happened in consequence of this, for the leading men, finding the gates closed, shouted out "Open the gates," and the artillerymen at the guns above, which, loaded with grape, covered the entrance, mistook the words for "Open with grape," and were already at the guns, when an officer put them right. The whole force came in without a shot being fired. The explosion had not yet taken place; but soon, a shake of the earth, a volume of fire, a terrific report, and an immense mass of black smoke shooting far up into the air, announced to Lucknow, that 240 barrels of gunpowder, and 594,000 rounds of ball and gun ammunition, had completed the destruction of Muchee Bhawun, which we had with so much labour provisioned and fortified. _July 2nd._--Arrangements were made for posting and stationing the Muchee Bhawun force which came in last night, and placing the field-pieces in position; all of which Sir H. Lawrence himself personally superintended. About 8 A.M. Sir Henry returned to the Residency, and, being much fatigued, laid down on his bed. Soon after an eight-inch shell from the eight-inch howitzer of the enemy, entered the room at the window, and exploding, a fragment struck the Brigadier-General on the upper part of the right thigh near the hip, inflicting a fearful wound. Captain Wilson, who was standing alongside the bed with one knee on it at the time, reading a memorandum to Sir Henry, was knocked down by falling bricks and slightly wounded in the back by a piece of shell. Sir H. Lawrence's nephew, Mr. Lawrence, had an equally narrow escape, being on another bed close by: he was not hurt; the fourth individual in the room was a native servant, who lost one of his feet by a fragment of the shell. It was at once pronounced that Sir Henry Lawrence's wound was mortal, and his sufferings were great. He immediately sent for Major Banks, and appointed him to succeed him as Chief-Commissioner, and appointed Colonel Inglis to command the troops. He was then removed to Dr. Fayrer's house, which was somewhat less under fire. About noon this day, a round shot came into a room on the lower story of the residency, and shattered the thigh of Miss Palmer (daughter of Colonel Palmer, 48th Regiment, Native Infantry) so dreadfully, that instant amputation was obliged to be resorted to. All the garrison were greatly grieved, and the Natives much dispirited at our severe loss, in that popular and very distinguished officer, Sir Henry Lawrence. A perfect hurricane of jinjal, round shot, and musketry all day and all night. Probably not less than 10,000 men fired into our position from the surrounding houses; the balls fell in showers, and hardly any place was safe from them. Many of the garrison were hit in places which, before the siege, it was considered would be perfectly safe; but the enemy fired some of them from a great distance out of the town, from the tops of high houses, and the balls fell everywhere. _July 3rd._--It is difficult to chronicle the proceedings of these few days, for everywhere confusion reigned supreme. That unfortunate day of Chinât precipitated everything, inasmuch as we were closely shut up several days before anything of the kind was anticipated. People had made no arrangements for provisioning themselves: many indeed never dreamt of such a necessity; and the few that had were generally too late. Again, many servants were shut out the first day, and all attempts to approach us were met by a never-ceasing fusilade. But though they could not get in, they succeeded in getting out; and after a few days, those who could boast of servants or attendants of any kind formed a very small and envied minority. The servants in many instances eased their masters of any superfluous article of value, easy of carriage. In fact, the confusion can be better imagined than described. The head of the Commissariat had, most unfortunately for the garrison, received a severe wound at Chinât, which effectually deprived them of his valuable aid. His office was all broken up; his goomastahs and baboos were not with us, and the officers appointed to assist him were all new hands. Besides all this, the first stores opened were approachable only by one of the most exposed roads, and very many of the camp followers preferred going without food to the chance of being shot. Some did not know where to apply, so that for three or four days, many went without rations; and this in no small degree added to the number of desertions. Owing to these desertions, the commissariat and battery bullocks had no attendants to look after them, and went wandering all over the place looking for food; they tumbled into, wells, were shot down in numbers by the enemy, and added greatly to the labour which fell on the garrison, as fatigue parties of civilians and officers, after being in the defences all day repelling the enemy's attack, were often employed six and seven hours burying cattle killed during the day, and which from the excessive heat became offensive in a few hours. The artillery and other horses were everywhere to be seen loose, fighting and tearing at one another, driven mad for want of food and water; the garrison being too busily employed in the trenches to be able to secure them. Poor Sir H. Lawrence suffered somewhat less to-day, but was sinking fast, and at times his mind wandered. A tremendous fire all day, more particularly on the Baillie Guard and Dr. Fayrer's house where Sir Henry was lying. We thus early in the siege learnt that all our proceedings inside were known (through some party or other) to our enemies. Miss Palmer died to-day, and Mr. Ommanney of the Civil Service, was dangerously wounded under the ear by a grape shot, while in the Redan battery. _July 4th._--A tremendous fire all night; but no effort was made to storm our position. To the great grief of our garrison, Sir Henry Lawrence died this morning about 8 o'clock, from the effects of his wound. Shortly before his death, Mr. G. H. Lawrence while standing in the front verandah of Dr. Fayrer's house, was wounded by a musket-ball through his right shoulder. At night, there was a great uproar in the city, which evidently underwent a thorough plundering. Notwithstanding this, the same heavy fire was kept up throughout the night. Every one at work trying to throw up some shelter for himself. In the course of the day, a 9-pounder, brought by the insurgents and placed behind a small mosque close to our furthest water-gate, was spiked by a private of the 32nd and four others from Innes' post, who shot four of the enemy. The enemy were taken by surprise while at their dinner. _July 5th._--From 2 till 6 o'clock A.M., heavy rain; and extremely heavy firing all day. Several casualties among our garrison. A soldier of the 32nd was said to have killed five men in ten shots from the Cawnpore battery, which was subjected to a very severe musketry fire. Continued efforts were made to collect all the horses and secure them, but it was impossible to do anything during the day. The fire was so heavy, and the night was so dark, it was difficult to get hold of the animals, who were half mad; added to which four or five horses were killed daily, which had to be buried at night by parties of officers, who, after being exposed to a fearful sun in the trenches all day, were often out in the rain till 12 and 1 o'clock in the morning, engaged in burying horses and bullocks, in order to prevent the dreadful stench which would otherwise have been increased, and which had already become almost insupportable. _July 6th._--The usual amount of musketry and cannon fire all the morning: about 2 o'clock in the afternoon it became very severe, especially towards the Baillie Guard, which seemed the favourite point to-day for the heaviest fire. A heavy cannonade heard about three miles off for about half an hour. About 4 _P.M._ the flashes of the guns were distinctly seen. The cause was unknown. The enemy digging trenches in all directions. The carriage of one of our 9-pounders was disabled by the enemy. _July 7th._--A heavy fire all the morning. A sortie was made by fifty of the 32nd and twenty Sikhs, led by Captain Lawrence, Captain Mansfield, Ensign Green, 13th Native Infantry, and Ensign Studdy,--the latter led. The storming took place at noon. The object was to examine M. Johannes' house, and discover if the enemy were driving mines: it was perfectly successful, and fifteen or twenty of the enemy were killed. Our loss was one Seikh and one 32nd slightly, and one 32nd severely wounded. This afternoon a very sad event occurred. Major Francis, 13th Native Infantry, who had commanded at the Muchee Bhawun, and who was in command of the brigade mess square, was struck in the legs by a round shot, which completely fractured both legs, rendering amputation of one _immediate_, and great fears were entertained for the other. He was a brave, good officer, and much respected by all, and one in whom Sir Henry Lawrence had much confidence. The calm manner in which he bore his misfortune, gained him the sympathies of all. Not a murmur escaped him; his only anxiety being a hope that the authorities would bear testimony that he had performed his duty. The Rev. Mr. Polehampton, military chaplain, was severely wounded in the side this day, by a rifle ball, while in hospital. One of the walls of the Racket Court, now used as a bhoosa gadown, fell in, and a quantity of the bhoosa became exposed in consequence. All spare tarpaulings were immediately supplied to cover, it, and officers and men worked hard for two hours, in a deluge of rain. The rains, so long expected, seem now fairly set in. It commenced raining heavily at 2 P.M., and continued pouring down the whole night. _July 8th._--All very much as usual, and very heavy rain fell, which somewhat abated the enemy's fire. Every effort was made to put the place in some kind of order and to feed the bullocks. Poor Major Francis insensible and sinking: he died at 7 P.M.; and was buried by a party of officers close to Mr. Ommanney's grave. Every effort was made to curtail the expenditure of provision, and officers were placed on half rations every third day. Very few servants remained, and most of the officers had none. All were on duty thirteen and twenty hours a day; and constant alarms took place at night, rendering it necessary for all to stand to their arms. Fears were entertained of the bhoosah stack taking fire, as the outer wall of the Racket Court had fallen down and left it exposed. All available officers and men worked hard, in heavy rain, to get it covered in again with tarpaulins. Twelve Seikhs of the 13th Native Infantry deserted last night. All the Hindoos and Mussulmans of the 13th, 48th, and 71st behaved nobly. _July 9th._--Much rain fell during the morning. About 4 A.M. the enemy made an attack on the Baillie Guard Gate, and about 300 showed themselves, shouting and sounding the "Advance," on the bugle; but being received with a few rounds of grape, and a steady fire from the 13th, they speedily disappeared. Very much the same thing occurred soon after at the Cawnpore battery. Continued firing all day. This was now the tenth day of the siege, and the heavy musketry fire on every side had never for an instant ceased night or day; and at times the fire was terrific. Many casualties occurred, and our want of protection at the different crossings over from one side of the Residency compound to the other, was very much felt. To-day, an excellent soldier, and a man greatly respected, Mr. Bryson, formerly Serjeant-major of the 16th Lancers, was shot through the head, while endeavouring to strengthen his post. The enemy appeared to have had some excellent marksmen. The commissariat began to work well, and all were well supplied. The officers were placed, however, on half rations every third day as a precautionary measure. Lieutenant Dashwood of the 48th Native Infantry, died of cholera after a few hours' illness. _July 10th._--This morning the enemy's fire was continued much as usual. A sepoy of the 13th was killed early in the morning, and later in the day a private of the 32nd Foot and an artilleryman were wounded. The horses of the cavalry and the artillery, which, during the first days of the siege, were loose and driven nearly mad from hunger and thirst, galloping about and creating the greatest confusion, had now been nearly all turned out, though not without much trouble; and fifty of the best were retained, and secured in the Seikh square. All the bullocks were now also secured, and arrangements made for feeding and watering them; but numbers of horses and bullocks died, and their burial at night by working parties, in addition to nightly fatigue parties for the purpose of burying the dead, carrying up supplies from exposed positions, repairing entrenchments, draining, and altering the position of guns, in addition to attending on the wounded, caused excessive fatigue to the thin garrison, who had but little rest night or day: there were few officers with more than one servant, and one third certainly had _none_. In all duties, the officers equally shared the labours with the men, carrying loads and digging pits for putrid animals, at night, in heavy rain. All exerted themselves to the utmost, alternately exposed to a burning sun and heavy rain. Towards the middle of the day, the enemy fired less than they had previously done on any occasion since the siege commenced. We received no news from any quarter, but sent off many letters. Every exertion was made to grind up the wheat in store by hand-mills; and this day thirteen maunds and two seers were ground. The firing towards the afternoon to-day was very slack, comparatively speaking. There was a comparatively slight cannonade. An injured 9-pounder in the Cawnpore battery was removed by us and replaced by another. _July 11th._--About 1 o'clock this morning the whole force stood to their arms, in consequence of some information which was received, reporting that an attack was immediately intended. The force remained prepared till daylight, when, as usual, a smart firing on all sides began. An artilleryman was killed at Captain Simmons's battery. The enemy fired several round shot, and were most persevering in keeping us on the alert, and worrying us as much as possible. Their fire had never yet ceased day or night: sometimes it was heavier than at others, but it never abated altogether on any side. At night the officers buried a horse which had died close to the brigade square; the night was intensely hot and close, and the labour was excessive:--the horse having died on the Pucka road, had to be dragged to a considerable distance before a grave could be dug. A great many of the stores were also brought up from the church by the assistance of a fatigue party of officers, who had all the carts to load and unload. Two of the 32nd Foot were killed during the night, which passed off with a heavy fire. _July 12th._--The heat still excessive, and the fatigue of the garrison was _very_ great. Enemy were most persevering, and loopholed every place within fifty or sixty yards of our defences. They were evidently determined to do their best to get into the position, and had closed in on every side. We had no intelligence from any quarter; for though we had sent out many messengers, not one returned. About 8 o'clock in the evening the enemy made an attempt to attack the Baillie Gate; but fell back, on being received with shells and musketry. About 12 P.M. they renewed their efforts on Mr. Gubbins's side with similar effect. They repeatedly sounded the advance, and were frequently heard abusing each other for not advancing. In half an hour they retired, and for the rest of the night they contented themselves with a heavy fire on the Cawnpore battery. _July 13th._--The heat was dreadful, and garrison were greatly fatigued. The enemy reoccupied Johannes's house, and fired smartly down the street, killing two sepoys and wounding a conductor: they also pushed close up under the Redan, and greatly annoyed our outposts. Lieutenant Charlton of the 32nd Foot was shot through the head in the church, and very dangerously wounded. Several shells were fired into Johannes's house, and the walls of the house opposite to it were loopholed. Nevertheless we could not dislodge them, and they annoyed us greatly. The Havildar-major of the 13th was wounded through the thigh to-day. The enemy possessed many excellent marksmen, and fired so many shots from every point that it was exceedingly dangerous to be seen anywhere, even for an instant: they fired several logs of wood bound with iron, and were evidently at this period hard up for round shot. In the evening they fired several carcases, and succeeded once in setting the Residency on fire; but it was soon extinguished. All the European officers laboured hard to get the supplies out of the church. _July 14th._--Heavy rain, thunder and lightning, and night intensely dark. No alarms, and less firing than usual. Heavy rain at daybreak, which cleared off at 9 o'clock, when the enemy assembled in force. They were apparently undecided how to act, for they moved about in various directions, and in about half an hour retired altogether; but they fired many carcases, shot, and logs of wood shod with iron, and displayed several new batteries. We threw up a traverse near the Post-office gate, in order to save our people from the fire from Johannes's house, which was very sharp. Our sharp-shooters killed four of the enemy in Johannes's house. Four Seikhs of the 13th deserted, leaving their arms and accoutrements. Still no information of any kind. Enemy erecting new batteries; one of which opened about 5 P.M. with a 9-pounder on the gable end of the brigade mess, occupied by the ladies and children, and the roof of which was held by a party of officers, assisted by six men of the 32nd. At the first discharge, a soldier of the 32nd had his thigh fractured, rendering amputation necessary. They fired several iron shot, which tore away the parapet; but fortunately no one else was hurt. The night was very dark, and the enemy fired a great deal; more particularly on Mr. Gubbins's post, where Lieutenant Lester was mortally wounded: towards daylight the fire abated. Several cases of cholera. The enemy's fire to-day destroyed a 9-pounder of ours, smashing the axle tree all to pieces. _July 15th._--The enemy opened fire from their 9-pounder battery, situated about fifty yards from the end of the brigade mess, and fired many shots; but the garrison laid close, and up to 3 P.M. no casualties occurred. Towards the middle of the day, the enemy's fire lulled to a greater extent than it had ever done since the siege commenced. The stores out of Anderson's house got in; the house being entirely destroyed by round shot; though still nobly held by the garrison. A mortar moved down to the gate of the Post-office, behind the traverse, and several shells were thrown into Johannes's house. All much as usual. The enemy fired three rounds of grape into the Redan battery during the night, but fortunately hit no one. _July 16th._--The heat during the night was fearful. A slight alarm about 2 A.M., but it was soon over. The enemy fired smartly throughout the night, and in the morning sent several round shot through the roof of the brigade mess, and hit the Residency. They were busy, besides, making batteries in the garden of Johannes's house, and opposite the 13th and the Cawnpore battery. We shelled the enemy heavily during the forenoon, throwing them far into the town and across the river. Lieutenant Bryce was badly wounded in the thigh early this morning; and later in the day, Lieutenant O'Brien of the 84th was shot through the arm. In the evening the enemy kept up a heavy fusilade, and we shelled them smartly; they fired a shell which narrowly escaped falling into our bhoosah stack. At half-past 11 o'clock, they fired a good deal on the Cawnpore battery, and made a feint of attacking, but finding us well on the alert did not do so. Our wheat-grinding operations continued, and we now had hand-mills sufficiently well worked to grind twenty maunds of atta daily. During the night we threw up a stockade and traverse, as a protection against the musketry which swept the entrance of the Residency. _July 17th._--The heat excessive. A very heavy fire during the night, and the garrison kept on the alert, preventing rest and greatly fatiguing all. Several cases of cholera and deaths of children occurred. Twenty-two maunds of wheat were ground. To-day a bad accident occurred: Lieutenant Alexander, of the Artillery, and Captain Barlow, 50th Native Infantry, in firing a mortar, were most severely burnt by the piece going off at the time of loading. The enemy sent two shells into the Residency which exploded, but fortunately caused no loss of life. The stench from putrid animals was most offensive. Painful boils about the head were very prevalent. The wounded doing well. The prisoners and main guard removed to another place, in order to give more room at the hospital. The enemy were busy making more batteries and intrenchments. In the night about 12 o'clock, the enemy made an attack on Mr. Gubbins's position, but were received with a steady fire, and soon driven back. _July 18th._--Rain began falling about 4 A.M. and continued to do so till 8 A.M., when the heat became insufferable. The enemy fired several round shot, which hit the brigade mess; and they also took up an annoying position in one of the towers which remained of the Ferad Buksh gate. They were, however, speedily dislodged by a few exceedingly well-directed shots from Lieutenant Bonham, from an 18-pounder in the Post-office. Two children died of cholera. In the evening the enemy fired many round shot into the Post-office, Dr. Fayrer's, Mr. Gubbins's and the brigade mess house: they evidently had been reinforced in guns. At night, Brigadier Inglis, Captain Wilson, Lieutenant Innes, and Ensign Birch, proceeded to the gate with eight Europeans, and dragged in a body that was seen lying near the gate, and which it was supposed might be the body of one of our spies shot coming in. It was safely brought in, and found to be the corpse of a woman. Nothing was found on the body. The enemy got into the turret on the top of Mr. Johannes' house, and fired into the Cawnpore battery: fortunately no casualties occurred, and the night, which was fearfully oppressive, passed away with a heavy fire from the enemy. _July 19th._--Dreadful heat: cloudy, but no rain. Enemy fired round shot all the morning. About half-past 9 a large shot passed through a room in the Residency, in which the officers were at breakfast, fracturing the leg of Lieutenant Harmer, 32nd Foot, but providentially injuring no one else; about the same time Lieutenant Arthur, 7th Cavalry, was shot dead (through the heart) in the Cawnpore battery. Our 18-pounder fired several shots, and we threw several shells. The enemy seemed to be at work at the Muchee Bhawun, probably looking for shot which had been buried in the ruins. About 12 o'clock to-day the enemy sounded the advance, and threatened an attack on the Redan. A few shells, however, soon made them give up all idea of coming on. They got into Johannes' house in force, and fired steadily into the cook-house of the brigade mess. Much drunkenness prevailed amongst a few of the garrison, who had stolen quantities of liquor, which could not be discovered. From the commencement of the siege, the large quantities of liquor in the hands of the merchants caused much anxiety, and every possible endeavour was made to get it all into safe custody. One or two alarms during the early part of the night. Mr. Polehampton (wounded and in hospital) died this day from cholera. _July 20th._--From midnight the enemy remained unusually quiet, and at daylight all seemed much as usual. About half-past 8 A.M. it was reported that a very large body of men could be seen marching about in different directions within a few hundred yards of our position. A sharp look-out was kept, and the garrison stood to their arms. At a quarter-past 10, the enemy sprung a mine inside the water gate, and about twenty-five yards from our inner defences: the explosion was great, and was evidently intended to have blown up our Redan battery, and also to act as a signal; for immediately the dust and smote subsided, a very heavy fire of round shot was commenced from every gun that the enemy possessed, followed immediately almost by a terrific fire of musketry, under which the enemy made an attempt to storm the Redan and Innes' house. The garrison were ready, and every one at his post, and the attack was coolly met and repulsed; however the enemy advanced boldly and came up within twenty-five yards of the battery in immense force, but were unable to withstand the fire of our men. They made a similar attempt on Innes' house, but were similarly repulsed by the garrison, consisting of twelve men of the 32nd, twelve of the 13th Native Infantry, and a few uncovenanted gentlemen, under Ensign Loughnan (who distinguished himself greatly): very great loss was inflicted on the enemy, who repeatedly tried to advance, but were driven back each time with much slaughter. Finding their efforts useless, the enemy fell back, and contented themselves with throwing in a terrific storm of musketry; from which we shielded our men as much as possible, by keeping them laid under our defences. Almost at the same time an attack was made on the Cawnpore Battery, but the enemy's standard-bearer (who advanced bravely) being shot in the ditch of the battery, the rest fell back. The enemy now moved towards Lieutenant Anderson's house and Captain Germon's post, with scaling-ladders, but were well received and fell back with much loss. The attack was now over, though for the rest of the day, until 4 P.M., the enemy threw in a heavy fire; when it gradually subsided: the attack was mostly confined to the points above noted. In the afternoon they succeeded in making a lodgment in some pucka cook-houses inside our abattis, and began to use a crowbar, which was distinctly heard. We made a hole through to them from above, through which they fired, injuring no one; but on our throwing down some hand grenades, they fled across the road, two being shot by the officers who were watching from above. The 13th, 71st, and 48th sepoys all behaved well, and the manner in which the outposts were held, was beyond all praise. The uncovenanted distinguished themselves greatly. We had fortunately only four men killed, and some twelve wounded: Captain Forbes, Lieutenant Grant, Lieutenant Edmonstone, and Mr. Hely, were wounded. All were under arms from eight in the morning until eight at night, and greatly fatigued and worn out. _July 21st._--All very quiet during the night. The enemy were probably fatigued with their exertions yesterday, for throughout the night only a few round shot were thrown in. About 10 A.M. the enemy lodged themselves in some force in the low buildings between the Seikh courtyard and Mr. Gubbins's post, but were driven out by a few shells, and were fired on by the officers of the brigade mess, as they ran across a small lane: they did not attempt to reoccupy the position during the day. About 12 o'clock, Major Banks was killed by a musket-shot through the head, as he was reconnoitring from the top of an outhouse. Mr. Gubbins's garrison was fired on smartly during the morning, and many round shot were sent into Mr. Gubbins's house; the garrison of which had many alarms during the day. Painful boils very prevalent. A dreadful stench pervaded the place in consequence of the number of dead horses and bullocks, which, lying direct under the fire of the enemy, we were unable to remove. Excessive heat, and several cases of cholera. Great fatigue; no news. Poor Dr. Brydon severely wounded in Mr. Gubbins's house. Two Europeans killed, and two wounded; also one of the 13th sepoys. _July 22nd._--Very heavy rain began to fall at 1 A.M., and continued till 8 A.M., when it cleared off. During the heavy rain, the enemy only fired slightly. After 8 A.M. it became more brisk, and they fired several round shot, but were not very active during the forenoon. Cholera still prevalent. Our numerical strength much diminished, as we had had 151 casualties in the 32nd Regiment alone. The enemy moved the 8-inch howitzer from its old position, and brought it across the river by elephants, with a tumbril behind it. Up to this date, we had no intelligence of any kind from any quarter, and, indeed, we had received none since the 27th ultimo. Many messengers were sent with letters, but not a single line did we receive in reply. A letter was sent off to Cawnpore to-day, and conveyed by a man named Ram Singh, a Seikh subadar of the 63rd Native Infantry. The enemy steadily loop-holing all the houses close round about, and evidently up to some new attempt at our position. At dusk heavy rain; we got out a strong working party, and opened our large powder magazine, and after much labour and exertion got up 150 barrels out of the 240 we had buried. The night was pitch dark, and the rain fell heavily, and the work being outside of our entrenchment, over which all the barrels had to be handed out of mud knee deep, rendered the work fearfully fatiguing. Many of the officers and civilians worked for five hours at this work. Only a few shots during the night. Boils still very prevalent. A Seikh from the cavalry deserted. One or two cases of cholera. Mortification having set in, Mr. Hely's arm was amputated. The buildings outside Mr. Gubbins's position were shelled at sunset, and after we had driven the enemy out, we made a sortie through the wall (in which we had cut a large hole), and rushed out and examined the houses in which the enemy had been. We failed to find any trace of mining. We lost one man of the 32nd, killed. Mrs. Dorin was killed dead by a musket ball in Mr. Gubbins's house to-day. _July 23rd._--Very heavy rain during the night. About 2 A.M. the enemy sounded the "turn out," and at 3 the "assembly." About 1 A.M. a native pensioner, who left us on the 27th to gain information, came in, and said he had been confined by the enemy thirteen days, but had been to Cawnpore and left it two days ago,--that a British force with twelve guns was there; that they had fought three times with the Nana's troops, and had completely beaten them, taking many guns, and that they were crossing the river preparatory to advancing to our assistance. He stated that he had not brought a letter, for fear of being detained by the enemy; he vouched to the truth of his statement, declined a pecuniary reward, and was urgent to go back quickly while it rained heavily and all was quiet comparatively. He left in two hours, taking a small note for the officer commanding the forces. At daylight there were fewer of the enemy than we had yet seen about, and those less active; though they still fired smartly all around. Stench from dead animals in some parts dreadful; as we had very few servants of any kind and our fighting men were so few and so harassed, that we were helpless to bury them. Heavy showers both day and night, keeping the garrison constantly drenched to the skin, and making all most uncomfortable; particularly as few had a change of clothes. Enemy fired slackly during the afternoon. Cannonaded their bridge of boats, which was broken by our 18-pounder shot. Several cases of smallpox. Sick and wounded much crowded. The upper story of the hospital being under fire of round shot, the wounded were, from the commencement of the siege, confined to the ground floor, which with difficulty contained their beds. At night it rained hard; and in spite of all difficulties, we succeeded in getting up the remaining ninety barrels of powder, and safely deposited them in the centre of our position. A false alarm about 12 o'clock at night, that the enemy had got into the churchyard. _July 24th._--Morning fair and cloudy. The enemy endeavoured to repair the bridge of boats, but were prevented by the fire of our 18-pounder. The heat and stench terrible, and the flies were beyond endurance, contesting every particle of food with us, and preventing all attempts at rest during the day. Only a few round shot thrown, but the enemy actively at work about forty yards from the Redan battery, in a deep trench. Advantage taken of the temporary lull to repair some of our defences, which had sunk a great deal in consequence of the heavy rain; but our men, reduced in numbers and harassed to death day and night, were not capable of any prolonged exertion. Every possible effort was made to grind wheat, and from twenty-five to thirty hand-mills were kept steadily at work, producing an average of twenty maunds of flour daily. The 48th Regiment Native Infantry have had seven, and the 71st Regiment, upwards of fifty desertions, since the commencement of the siege. About dusk, the enemy, for the first time, sent in many shells; which, however, caused no loss, fortunately. The commissariat department busy with the stores, getting ghee up from the Round House; while a fatigue party of officers, under Captain Radcliffe, threw up earth, and heightened the traverse across the road, near the Post-office gate. Lieutenant Hutchinson, of the Engineers, accompanied by Lieutenant Birch, crept down in the dark, and examined, as well as they could, the enemy's works in the immediate vicinity of the Redan. Night dark and cloudy. _July 25th._--The night passed away tolerably quietly; the enemy firing several 18-pound shot into the Cawnpore battery. At daylight they were tolerably quiet, contenting themselves with musketry; but about 8 A.M. they fired an 8-inch shell, which fell through the centre of the roof of the Post-office, and lodged on the table on which the officers of that post breakfasted; fortunately it did not explode, and no mischief was done. Immediately after, several shells, apparently thrown out of mortars, were thrown in, and continued to be so during the forenoon. One fell in the verandah of the Post-office, and shattered the hand of an artilleryman. Two men of the 32nd were shot this morning by the enemy's sharp-shooters. Still not one word of intelligence from any quarter, though this was now the twenty-sixth day we had been besieged. We knew nothing; but the most absurd rumours were afloat amongst the natives, and indeed among many of the Europeans, who were credulous enough to believe them. Removed the powder out of the place in which we had it, to a tykhana under the Begum Kotee which the engineers considered safer than where it was first removed to. Very slight firing on the river side, but the enemy still very active near the Redan. Much difference of opinion existed as to the object of the work; the majority believed that they were mining, while the engineers thought they were only making a trench. Although the earlier part of the morning had been quiet enough, towards 11 and 12 o'clock, a very sharp fire was opened and maintained on the side of the Post-office and Cawnpore battery. The casualties on this side alone amounted to six, besides three others in different places, which made the total of the day's casualties one of the heaviest on record. Towards evening the enemy commenced shelling us. Seven shells were sent in, but did no damage. Opinions differed whether they were discharged from howitzers or mortars. About 11 P.M. a pensioner, who had been sent out from this on the 22nd instant with a letter, effected his entrance into Mr. Gubbins's compound, and produced a letter which he had brought back from the camp. He was at once brought to Brigadier Inglis and examined. The letter proved to be one from Lieutenant-Colonel Fraser Tytler, Quartermaster-General with General Havelock's force. It was determined to transmit to General Havelock by this man a plan of our position and of the roads approaching it, with memoranda drawn up by the engineers. _July 26th._--At daybreak cloudy and sultry: enemy tolerably quiet, but about 8 A.M. they threw in several shells. From 11 to 1 very heavy rain, and a partial cessation from firing, during which Lieutenant Lewin of the Artillery, who was reconnoitring from the Cawnpore battery, was shot dead by one of the enemy's sharp-shooters. Enemy recommenced shelling from the city side: few of them to be seen, all being under cover. Supposed to be mining at the Cawnpore battery. A countermine commenced by us, out of the house next the battery; but having no workmen except our harassed soldiers, the work was slow; however, as the engineers seemed to entertain little or no doubt but that the enemy were mining, it was necessary to endeavour to counteract them. Little musketry fire during the afternoon; the enemy throwing in heavy shot, fired at a great elevation (apparently out of howitzer). One or two cases of cholera. Garrison in good spirits at the prospect of early relief. A letter and plan of our position forwarded at night by a messenger to the officer commanding the relieving force: 5000 rupees promised the messenger if he brought a reply. Suddenly at 10 P.M. the enemy commenced a heavy fire along the whole of the city front of our position; but nothing came of it, as after a few shells had been thrown amongst them, their fire gradually subsided, and all became tolerably quiet again. During this heavy firing, a sad accident occurred; Lieutenant Shepherd of the 7th Cavalry being shot dead in the brigade square, by a shot fired from the top of the brigade mess by one of our garrison. This was the only casualty of the night. _July 27th._--From midnight all quiet, save the usual musketry fire. Cloudy, sultry weather. About 7 A.M. two planks were observed laid across the road in front of Johannes' house. They were not seen the night before, and being carefully watched, a man's hand was seen coming up from below; and soon after some eight feet of earth fell in, showing the direction of a mine of the enemy right across the road, and pointing direct for our stockade, within six feet of which it had apparently reached. This was a most fortunate discovery for us: they had evidently kept this mine too near the surface, and the heavy rain had broken it in. Our mine continued to be pushed on as rapidly as possible, and our sharp-shooters from the top of the brigade mess kept up so hot a fire on the enemy's sap from above, that they could make no attempt to repair the mischief. Much fever prevalent, consequent on being constantly wet day and night. Towards the afternoon, the enemy again covered their trench with boards; but we got a mortar under our wall, and after one or two failures, a shell fell right into the hole and blew all the planks away, leaving the remains of the trench exposed to view, giving us no further anxiety. Fine weather in the afternoon. Enemy heard mining towards the brigadier mess; on which a shaft was commenced by the officers, and the enemy ceased working. Late in the evening, the enemy were very distinctly heard mining towards the Seikh lines; on which the Seikhs, under Lieutenant Hardinge, commenced and sunk an eight feet shaft; hearing us, the enemy seemed to stop working. All quiet, with the exception of the usual amount of firing. Fever, diarrhoea, dysentery, and painful boils, from constant wet and exposure, still prevalent amongst the garrison. Mrs. Grant (wife of Lieutenant Grant) died of cholera. Captain Boileau, 7th Cavalry, was wounded to-day. _July 28th._--Much shouting and bugling amongst the enemy during the early part of the morning: heavy rain at daylight. Made repairs to the Redan battery, also made a small field work for a 9-pounder. Sickness much increased, and for many days past only one engineer officer was available for duty: hard work, privation, and exposure day and night to wet and heat, few could long stand against. We had no further news of our coming friends, but trusted that to-day they would reach Bunnee. The enemy threw in several shells, also a number of stink-pots, which were a very curious composition of large pieces of our exploded iron shell sewn up in canvas, and surrounded by flax and resin, with dry powder in the centre: these, from the commencement of the siege, had been thrown in daily from a howitzer; they made a fearful hissing noise and great stench, and finally exploded. They were not very dangerous, unless they exploded _very_ close to a person. We also had a few rockets thrown in, but not many; and lately a number of shrapnel shells, fired apparently from a howitzer with a very great elevation. The enemy's miners could now be distinctly heard working close to the Seikh Square sap. The room in the Residency containing the jewellery and valuables belonging to the late King of Oude, was broken into last night by some of the garrison, and most of them stolen. Enemy tolerably quiet in the afternoon. About 5 P.M. our sap in the Seikh Square, which had been going on as fast as we could push it in the direction of the enemy's, met theirs, which they continued to work to the last moment. On our crowbar, however, going through into their gallery, they instantly fled out of it, and commenced to fill in their shaft. We immediately made use of their gallery, and blew the whole up with 100 lbs. of powder, which brought down all the adjacent houses, &c. After this the enemy tolerably quiet. Good progress made in our Cawnpore sap. _July 29th._--A fine moonlight night. Enemy fired many round shot about daylight, and also musketry from the houses across the road; they also threw in many carcases, which nearly all fell in the vicinity of the Cawnpore battery. No intelligence. All were anxious for the relieving force, which we thought could not be far off. Our Cawnpore sap loaded with 200lbs. of powder, ready to explode whenever it might be thought most advisable. Colonel Halford, 71st Regiment Native Infantry, who had been long ill, died this morning. A few convalescents joined the ranks, giving more room in the hospital, which was greatly overcrowded in consequence of all the patients being obliged to be kept on the ground floor, as also the state prisoners and their servants; the round shot passing so frequently through the upper story as to make it impossible to make use of it. Rumour stated that the enemy had gone out in force to meet our coming army, and had left two or three regiments of infantry, and a body of military police, to keep us in; but it was most difficult to tell what force we had opposed to us, as the enemy seldom or never showed in any number, but kept in the houses under cover, occasionally yelling, bugling, and throwing in a heavy fire, then subsiding into the usual steady fire which went on night and day. Firing of cannon heard in the direction of Cawnpore. We hoped it was our friends. All anxious, but all conjecture. Enemy recommenced mining towards our mine in the Cawnpore battery. About 6 P.M., a heavy firing was heard for about five minutes in the road from Cawnpore, and in about half an hour, several guns were heard in the direction of cantonments; this made us think it was a salute fired by the enemy for some reason or other; probably to reassure themselves. However, all is conjecture; but it threw our garrison into a great state of excitement, and many (indeed most) stoutly maintained it was our force. About 300 or 400 sepoys were seen at the same time running across the iron bridge towards cantonments in great haste. We fired two shots at them with an 18-pounder. The excitement gradually cooled down; the enemy keeping up their usual fire. Another mine was discovered this evening, by a portion of it falling in: it was running in the direction of Sago's house. Lieutenant Grant of the Bombay army, whose wife and child died a few days ago of cholera, died in hospital this night, from the effects of his wound: his right hand had been blown off by a hand-grenade. A fine moonlight night. _July 30th._--From 2 A.M. till daylight heavy rain. Enemy got in close under the wall of the Seikh lines, and began some kind of operations against it; they were so close that no musket could be fired, being under a projecting piece of the wall; they were, however, dislodged by a few pistol shots, and ran off. No further incident occurred during the night, beyond that there was the usual amount of firing into our position, and bugling on the part of the enemy. After daylight enemy fired slackly. Terrible stench in many parts of the garrison from half-buried corpses and animals, which we had no time or means to bury properly. Several cases of fever, cholera, and smallpox. About 9 A.M. a number of sepoys and matchlockmen were seen coming along the Cawnpore road, and for about an hour and a half a continuous stream of men came in in detached parties of twenty and thirty: some sepoys were among them. Slack firing during the forenoon, only a few shells and musketry. In the afternoon, heavy rain for an hour. Unable to discover what the enemy were about. Considerable progress made in a sap, which we had sunk in an outhouse close to the corner of the brigade mess-house, where most of the children and ladies were located. At first the enemy were heard mining towards us, but since yesterday we had not heard them. We continued, however, to steadily push our sap, hoping either to come across that of the enemy or succeed in getting under Johannes' house; from which they fired all day long on any one who showed himself. Yesterday an artillery sergeant, who incautiously crossed the road commanded from Johannes' house, was shot through both legs. The enemy had many riflemen, and some of them were most expert shots, firing through our loopholes. About 8 P.M., as Captain Wilson, Lieutenant Barwell, Lieutenant James, and Mr. Lawrence were sitting on the chubootra of the Begum Kotee, a shell came in and exploded as it struck the parapet of the wall under which they sat, bringing it down. Lieutenant James, who was lying wounded on his bed, had a most wonderful escape. A large piece of masonry, weighing upwards of a hundred weight, fell on his bed, breaking it to pieces, and bringing him down on the ground; but he was uninjured. Mr. Lawrence received a severe contusion on the back and head from falling masonry; and this was the extent of the damage. Mrs. Clarke, wife of Lieutenant Clarke of the 21st Native Infantry, died this evening: bad food, privation, confinement, and smells of all kinds, worked their effects. _July 31st._--A fine night, and the usual firing. At daylight, the enemy commenced firing heavily on the Church and Residency, from a 24-pounder planted in the neighbourhood of the iron bridge. They also threw in many shells, and fired their guns from the Clock Tower Gate. Our 18-pounders and mortars were employed until 10 A.M. in silencing the enemy's fire. Our sap from the brigade mess made good progress across the road, towards the outhouses occupied by the enemy. Several children have lately died: privation the chief cause. We had received no information whatever since the 26th instant, the date on which we received the only letter we had yet received since the 27th of June. Our reinforcements were due to-day, and their non-arrival led us to suppose that the enemy had succeeded in breaking down the bridge at Bunnee, and arresting the progress of our friends. The flies dreadful,--preventing all rest during the day, and disputing our food with us. The enemy continued to throw in shells all the forenoon, till 2 P.M. when we had a heavy shower: after that, the firing continued as before. In the evening we repaired our defences as far as we could, as, owing to the heavy rain, the earth had settled very considerably. A fine moonlight night, and all quiet, save the usual amount of round shot and musketry. _August 1st._--Still no intelligence of any kind, which caused much anxiety, more particularly as some of our supplies for natives were likely to be at an end in twenty days' time. Weather very hot and sultry; small painful boils, covering nearly the whole body, very prevalent. Many deaths among the children, and sickness on the increase. Great inconvenience felt in the hospital for want of space; the sick and wounded sadly crowded, and the building very badly ventilated, as the lower story was hardly safe from shots. Enemy threw in many shells this morning, and fired unusually sharp with their heavy guns, till about 10 A.M., keeping our guns and mortars fully employed in keeping down their fire. Heat very great; fire gradually slackened off towards noon, but recommenced sharply again about 5 P.M. Many round shot, shell, and carcases came in. One of the latter fell into the courtyard of the Begum Kotee, within a few feet of the table at which the staff and commissariat officers were at dinner; but no one was hurt. Several cases of cholera occurred to-day. Efforts made to improve and strengthen our defences during the moonlight nights; but the engineer officers were all sick, and little was done. Our sap in the brigade mess was pushed steadily on, and had attained thirty-eight feet from the shaft this evening. _August 2nd._--Fine moonlight night. Sharp firing during some portion of it. Many rockets were thrown in early in the morning. Mr. Hely of the 7th Cavalry died this day of the wound he received on the 20th ult. An artillery sergeant was mortally wounded this morning in the Redan. Enemy fired a salute of some forty guns about 11 A.M. A Seikh sowar of the 3rd Irregular Cavalry deserted to the enemy this morning. The Bhoosa stack fell down to-day, burying ten or twelve bullocks; which, after much labour, were got out. Seven of them were unfortunately dead; thus entailing more labour, as at night we had to bury them: no slight task in such weather, with our jaded and harassed garrison. Towards the evening a heavy cannonade was kept up on both sides. About 5·30 P.M. an eight-inch shell from the enemy struck the Begum Kotee, and, breaking right through the outside wall, exploded in the room in which Lieutenant James of the Commissariat and Mr. Lawrence of the Civil Service were lying on their beds wounded, with one or two servants in the room; providentially all escaped, though the room was set on fire. Heavy firing till midnight. _August 3rd._--Smart firing till daylight. Every possible effort was made to strengthen our position and raise the height of our defences. A soldier of the 32nd Foot was shot dead this morning in the centre room of the hospital; showing how little safety anywhere existed against the enemy's fire. A new loophole on the top of the brigade mess, which it was discovered commanded a distant and much frequented lane in the city, was made use of by Lieutenant Sewell, armed with his Enfield rifle; the distance being not above 750 yards, the conical bullets most effectually cleared the lanes of the sepoys, as they lounged up it, and quickened the paces of the citizens as they crossed and recrossed. Enemy unusually slack in firing after dark till about 10 P.M., when they recommenced firing, and continued it during the night. The engineers continued their endeavours to strengthen our position, by heightening the abattis near the Redan. A fine moonlight night. Several cannon shots were heard in the distance, but no intelligence of any kind reached us. _August 4th._--The enemy fired a great number of rounds from their guns at intervals during the night. Musketry fire was slack this morning. No news of any kind. Could get no messengers to go out with a letter, though it was made so small that it went into half a quill; but it had been spread abroad that the enemy would kill any one leaving the garrison, and this deterred any one from endeavouring to carry a letter to our friends, no matter how great the reward might be that was held out. Many officers and men are laid up with fever and dysentery. Our stored attah was nearly expended, and in a few days' time we should have to commence that which we had ground, which now amounted to about 500 maunds. At 2 P.M. the firing of all kinds was very slack; indeed, for long intervals, not a shot was to be heard. The officers, also, who relieve one another as look-outs on the top of the Residency, reported that a smaller number of men than usual were to be seen on the move. An Eurasian attached to the party working Dr. Fayrer's guns, was shot dead while working the 18-pounder guns this day, by a man said to be not sixty yards off. Several convalescents have been moved from the hospital to other quarters, and with happy results both as regards themselves and those left in the hospital, which greatly wanted a free circulation of air. Towards dusk many shells came in, and one exploded in the second brigade square; fortunately, it was seen coming, and no harm ensued. The powder magazine was made as secure as possible, by putting heavy beams across the roof, and covering them with two feet of earth. A fine night, but very much firing till midnight. _August 5th._--Sent off another letter to the officer commanding the relieving force, of which we could gain no intelligence; though we conjecture the advance of our force had been arrested by the enemy at the bridge of Bunnee. Heavy showers during the day. Musket-proof shutters were completed for the embrasure of the 18-pounders to the left of the hospital. Many of the convalescent patients removed to the Thug Gaol Barracks, which gave them a slight change, and created more room in the hospital. Efforts made to clear some of the drains, and reduce the stench which pervades the garrison. At sunset the enemy were seen at a distance in some force, with drums and fifes playing, marching from the direction of the river towards the Cawnpore road. Soon after, they threw many shells into us, and continued to do so for some time. About 8 P.M. all became tolerably quiet. _August 6th._--The enemy fired several shots, from a 24-pounder, at the Residency, one of which unfortunately fractured the arm of Ensign Studdy of the 32nd Foot, as he sat down to breakfast; rendering amputation necessary. This gun caused us great annoyance, from its calibre, and firing so frequently as it did into the Residency. Unfortunately its distance from our position, and its situation in the midst of buildings, rendered it impossible to take it by the bayonet; neither could our gunners see it, so that to shell it was our only resource. Less firing than usual. The enemy again ascended into the upper story of Johannes' house, and from thence caused much annoyance to the position of the brigade mess, where the cooking went on. They succeeded in killing a sweeper. Terrible heat; Brigadier Inglis suffered from its effects. Various rumours afloat in the garrison; some of which seemed to have originated either with a servant of Mr. Gubbins, or some member of his post. The Residency is at last to be entirely vacated by the officers of the 32nd and others now resident there. Last night was spent in earthing in the magazine, as several shots had lately gone unpleasantly near, A carcase came into the Begum Kotee in the afternoon, into the room in which Lieutenant James (wounded), Mr. Lawrence (wounded), and Ensign Keir (sick), were lying; it set some of the things in the room on fire, but was speedily extinguished without injury to any one. Much bugling, drumming, and firing towards evening. After dark the enemy fired heavily from their guns in front of the Residency. Our engineers and a working party were busy all this night at Innes' house, making a battery for an 18-pounder, to be moved down in order to endeavour to silence a 24-pounder of the enemy's, which had been doing much mischief by firing through the church and Residency. About 9 P.M. a sepoy of the 1st Oude Irregular Infantry, who took out a letter to the officer commanding the relieving force, came in; he stated that he had delivered it, and that he had received a letter in reply which he had lost in coming in to us. Half-an-hour later, another man, a sepoy of the 48th, who had been sent into the town two days previously to try and gain intelligence, returned, and stated he had been confined several days by the enemy; and he in a great measure corroborated the statement of the sepoy of the 1st Oude Irregular Infantry: this loss of the letter was a great mortification to us, as it might have explained what was at this time inexplicable--the retirement towards Cawnpore of General Havelock's force, after apparently the greatest success on this side the Ganges. _August 7th._--We worked hard at our new battery at Innes' house, and got it ready; an 18-pounder was taken down and in position by daylight, whence it commenced firing, and soon silenced the enemy's guns. The enemy, however, fired heavily from some others, and about 8 A.M. a shell burst close to the Residency and mortally wounded two of the best men in the 32nd, the one a colour-sergeant and the other an orderly-room clerk. Captain Waterman of the 13th was wounded through the hand by a musket ball at Innes' post this morning. Several cases of cholera. Every effort made to increase the number of men to grind wheat for the force. Exceedingly heavy rain during the middle of the day. The hose into our mine near Johannes's house got damped, and required all the tamping to be removed. Our position greatly flooded, which rendered it most wretched for those who had to be in trenches night and day. The artillery canteen closed, in consequence of the gross irregularities which prevailed, and its contents removed to the canteen of the 32nd Regiment, from which the artillery were in future supplied. The heavy rain seemed to make the stench which pervaded the place worse, and this evening it was fearful. Several cases of cholera occurred to-day. The enemy's cannon knocked down a portion of the verandah of the Residency, also the verandah of Delprat's house at the Cawnpore battery: a few shells came in in the evening. _August 8th._--A tolerably quiet night. Dr. McDonnell, of the 41st Native Infantry, died early this morning of cholera. A soldier of the 32nd was shot, and a native woman-servant of Mrs. Banks had her thigh broken by musketry at Mr. Gubbins's post this forenoon. A heavy smoke was distinctly seen in the far distance in the direction of the Cawnpore road. Many reports were made of heavy firing being heard in the same direction: a Sikh attached to the cavalry brought repeated accounts of it, but no European, save Captains Forbes and Hawes, of Mr. Gubbins's post, could say he heard it. The natives (some of them) very anxious about the arrival of the reinforcements, of whom we could hear nothing. In the afternoon, a regiment of infantry, about 600 strong, with drums beating, marching in quarter distance column with colours, was seen marching through the city, in the direction of the Cawnpore road. Seven hundred yards from the brigade-mess was a street in the city which was commanded by Lieutenant Sewell's double Enfield rifle, and on which spot he had killed several sepoys and others: this was this afternoon barricaded right across, which was a nuisance, as it entirely obstructed our view of what passed along. Lieutenant Bryce of the artillery, who had been severely wounded, died of cholera. No intelligence came in this evening, and much anxiety as to our reinforcements was evinced by some of our native troops and servants. Rice was served out to most of the natives in lieu of flour, and wheat to the native camp-followers, in order to husband our stock of flour. All the tea and coffee for the Europeans expended; the last issue being made yesterday. This was the first day on which we had no casualty. _August 9th._--The heat excessive, and children sank rapidly under the effects of want of good air, food and exercise: several deaths occurred among them, both yesterday and to-day. The enemy fired heavily in the morning, but providentially, no one was hurt. Ensign Studdy, who had had his arm amputated from the effects of a 24-pounder shot, died this morning. The enemy were thought to have recommenced mining near the Redan battery. Divine service was performed in the brigade mess-house to all officers not on duty. No signs or symptoms of our reinforcements. In the middle of the day Ensign Loughnan of the 13th (on duty at Innes' house) went out with a few men and quietly spiked a small gun of the enemy's, and returned without any loss. A very heavy shower in the evening, which filled our trenches. One or two doolies were seen going across the Goomtee, accompanied by sepoys. About 9 P.M. a Seikh sowar of the 3rd Oude Irregular Cavalry came in by the Seikh battery. His having been permitted to pass the enemy's outposts induced a belief that he had come in to try and make the other Seikhs desert; consequently he was placed under British bayonets, and not allowed to converse with any one. _August 10th._--About 10 A.M. a great number of sepoys, probably 1600, were seen, with two guns, marching up our left flank and across the Cawnpore road, behind their trenches. Very shortly after, a large force was seen to be approaching the bridge of boats from cantonments; and, in consequence, all were quickly at their posts. About half an hour after, the enemy fired a shell into the Begum Kotee, which appeared to be a signal; for the instant after, a mine was sprung opposite to Johannes's house, which blew in a great portion of the house occupied by Mr. Schilling and the Martiniere boys, and entirely destroyed our pallisades and defences for the space of sixty feet. One of the heaviest timbers was pitched right on the top of the brigade mess-house, among the officers and men of the 32nd, who occupied the post. As soon as the smoke blew away, the enemy pushed up, under a tremendous musketry fire, right into Johannes's house and garden, and into all the buildings close round the Cawnpore battery; but all their efforts to enter our position were met with such a steady fire, that they fell back, and kept up an incessant fire of musketry on our defences. About thirty of them, however, lodged themselves in the ditch of the Cawnpore battery, within a few feet of our guns. A hand grenade was rolled over right into the centre of them, on which they bolted and ran back, exposed to a sharp fusillade from our people on the top of the brigade-mess. While this was going on, a very sharp attack was made on Mrs. Sago's house, where the enemy blew up a mine, which destroyed some of the outhouses and blew two soldiers out into the road, outside our defences: extraordinary to relate, they fell unhurt, and got safely back to their posts. The enemy then made their attack, but were soon driven back with considerable loss, and confined themselves to keeping up a tremendous storm of round shot and musketry on our position, which after two hours, in a great measure, subsided. About 5 P.M., they made a sudden rush on Captain Saunders's post. One of the enemy even seized a bayonet of one of the 84th Foot, and tried to wrench it off through a loophole, but was instantly shot; after a smart fusillade, which lasted for about 25 minutes, they withdrew, and gradually the fire ceased. About 9 P.M. a third attack was made, and was similarly repulsed; nor were these efforts confined to the places above noted. At Innes' house, Anderson's, and Mr. Gubbins's post, large bodies of men came forward, bringing up large scaling-ladders, several of which they abandoned. During the day, we lost three Europeans and two sepoys killed, and about twice that number wounded. Our garrison were under arms the entire day, the heat was excessive, and all were greatly exhausted; nevertheless, every officer and man remained under arms all night: after 10 o'clock all became tolerably quiet. Captain Power, of the 32nd, who had been wounded early in the siege, died in hospital to-day, and Major Anderson, chief engineer, was reported very dangerously ill. The enemy must have had a considerable loss this day, as a great number of them were seen to fall; and we threw 150 shells, besides great quantities of round shot and grape, from which also many casualties must have occurred. _August 11th._--A slight alarm about 2 A.M., after which all subsided into the usual routine firing. A very fine morning, very little to be seen of the enemy, who however were not idle, as they were to-day busily employed constructing earthworks and trenches in various directions close to our position. Early in the morning the enemy fired many round shot, some of which struck the Residency, already much shattered; and about noon a very distressing accident took place. There was a high wind, and it brought down a great portion of the left wing, on the ground floor of which, in a room, six men of the 32nd were asleep. They were completely buried in the ruins. Two were got out alive after very great exertions, but the remaining four were left under the ruins. Immediate arrangements made for the removal of the few European women and children who still occupied one of the rooms on the ground floor. Major Anderson, chief engineer, died during the afternoon. He had been ailing before the siege, but on the commencement rallied somewhat, owing to the excitement and novelty of the position. Latterly he fell off again, and to-day expired; his death no doubt hastened by the impossibility of any change of air or diet. The look-out officers yesterday reported having seen some few doolies going across the river with sepoys after the day of attack, and to-day some dead and wounded were also seen being conveyed away. The enemy were busy close under Mr. Gubbins's ramparts, whence they had once before been expelled by some hand grenades. At the corner of the Seikh square also, from across the road, they amused themselves by pushing out over the wall bamboos with lighted straw at the end; but with what object was not very clear: in the meanwhile not one of them showed themselves, but kept well under cover. Smart firing in the evening. The corpse of a soldier of the 32nd was extricated from the ruins of the Residency; three others still remained. _August 12th._--A fine moonlight night. About 3·30 A.M. the enemy suddenly commenced a very heavy fire of round shot and musketry, which lasted for three-quarters of an hour. We kept close, and hardly fired a shot, beyond throwing a few shells. At day light, they commenced a very heavy cannonade and musketry fire on the Cawnpore battery; this gradually became so sharp, that it was impossible to work our guns, or even remain in the battery; and we were obliged to withdraw every one but the sentry, as the enemy's round shot had destroyed our musketry shutters, and completely swept the battery: later in the day, our sentry, the only man in the battery, was killed by a round shot. This portion of our position caused us great anxiety, as we were quite unable to hold it as it should be held; we would not withdraw our guns, for fear of giving the enemy confidence. The enemy were busily employed to-day also in digging close to Sago's house. In order to see what they were about, at 12 o'clock a sortie was made with twelve Europeans of the 32nd Foot under Lieutenant Clery, accompanied by Lieutenant Hutchinson of the Engineers. The enemy were, however, well on the alert, and had a large covering party over their work, and as our men appeared, they threw in such a heavy fire that our people were compelled to retire; this brought on a very great fire from all that side of the enemy's attack, and they kept up a smart fire of round shot and musketry for fully an hour, when it gradually subsided. Finding we were unequal to meet the enemy by a sortie, we determined to push on our mine as fast as possible, and continue working all day and night, hoping to blow them up. In the evening we had as strong working parties of Europeans as we could afford, and removed from the Cawnpore battery, a 9-pounder which had been disabled by a round shot of the enemy. We also dug a trench and threw up earth on the top of our parapets, and endeavoured to our utmost to repair the damage the enemy had done, and make the place as strong as possible. Several shells came in after dusk. The heat throughout the day was excessive, and there were several fatal cases of cholera, and also several deaths among the children, who were all greatly emaciated. In the evening, a letter to General Havelock, rolled up and put inside a quill, was despatched by the hands of an old woman; she left our position about 9 P.M., and we hoped, would be permitted to pass the enemy's sentries without being stopped. During the past forty-five days, we had sent by different hands, in a similar manner, some twenty letters, to only one of which was any reply received. The garrison, very greatly harassed and fatigued from continued exertion night and day and want of rest. _August 13th._--An excessively hot night. During the early part of the morning the enemy threw in a very heavy fire, which lasted for nearly half an hour, when all subsided into the usual routine firing. Our mine near Sago's house was pushed on all night with the greatest possible speed. Every possible means was adopted by the enemy to prevent our miners working, and as only a wall and a few feet of ground divided the two parties, they resorted to squibs, rockets, brickbats, and lights at the end of bamboos, to annoy our workmen. As the latter were thrust forward with the hope of setting fire to our tiled outhouses, the ends were successively cut off by us. Several reports alive in the garrison, but on what grounds, or how stated, no one could say. However, as these were all more or less favourable to us, and encouraging to the natives, if credited, no harm was done. Shortly before 10 A.M. the engineers reported our countermine as ready; the neighbouring outposts and garrisons were duly warned, and the mine fired, with the happiest results: the brick house in which the enemy was, and from which they had started their mine, settled down, burying all inside; the earth was thrown up to a considerable height, and only one outhouse of our own, of no consequence, destroyed. Up to the last moment, the people inside the enemy's mine were hard at work, and after the explosion the groans of the sufferers were plainly audible. In the course of the day, some few of the enemy were shot from Sago's post. In the afternoon, after several shells had been thrown in to drive as many out as possible, it was determined to go out and see what the enemy were doing near Mr. Gubbins's post. A hole being cut in the wall out of our defences, a party of Europeans, with the engineer officers, went out and found a deep trench dug through the outhouses for some distance towards our position. The work was not deemed of any great importance, and after it had been well examined, the party withdrew. Many cases of fever to-day, and four deaths in hospital among the Europeans. Enemy very quiet during the evening; unusually so, till about 10 P.M., when they threw an 8-inch shell into our position. This appeared to be a signal; for instantly they commenced a tremendous fire with round shot and musketry, which lasted half an hour, and completely lit up the darkness around. They were busy mining us in several places, and their workmen could be distinctly heard at work. Our engineers were hard at work, trying with the best means at their disposal to frustrate their efforts; but our people were so harassed that they were not capable of any prolonged exertion. A shaft, however, for a mine was made in Mr. Anderson's house, and sunk to the extent of eight feet, in view to running a sap to meet the enemy. Heat very great, and mosquitoes, bugs, and fleas most troublesome. _August 14th._--Enemy unusually quiet all the morning; more so than they had yet been. Our people were all busy preparing new sandbags, as the old ones were so rotten, from long exposure to the rain, that they would bear no removal: also in countermining the enemy from out of a corner of Anderson's house. A Mater came in this morning, but could give no information. Provision for the cattle growing short; and every means adopted to reduce the daily consumption. The various look-outs reported no movement of the enemy: in a word, it was the quietest day we had yet had. About 4 P.M. they began a more brisk fire. Many cases of fever and several deaths amongst the children. Many rumours abroad regarding our relieving force; but all was conjecture. Most of our outpost houses were now so riddled with round shot, that it was a wonder how any of them stood up at all: indeed most of them were in ruins, and at Mr. Anderson's house part of the garrison had been twice pulled out of the ruins which had suddenly fallen on them; nevertheless, these posts, in spite of many casualties, were held with the same courage and devotion as was displayed the first day of the siege. At dusk we had a severe thunderstorm, with exceedingly heavy rain, which lasted for several hours, falling in a complete deluge; the night was exceedingly dark, with extremely vivid lightning. Captain Fulton and Lieutenant Hutchinson of the Engineers went down and examined all the outhouses in Dr. Fayrer's premises, to see if any mining operations could be heard. They afterwards went down to the Buxee Khana, and examined the wall in front to some distance. _August 15th._--Heavy rain till about 3 A.M., when it cleared away, and the morning was beautifully clear and fine. The enemy fired salvos of two and three 18-pounders at once into the Cawnpore battery, and brought down all the outer wall of the house alongside it, which we used as a guardroom; making the place so hot we were obliged to retire our men from it during the heaviest part of the cannonade. Lieutenant Bonham received a severe contusion, from bricks knocked out on him by an 18-pound shot; and later in the day the sentry left in the front part of the battery was killed by a round shot. Lieutenant James Alexander was shot through the arm while laying an 18-pounder in the Hospital battery. Several servants and six bheesties of the 32nd deserted last night. At night, advantage taken of the dark to repair as much as possible the damage done to-day to the Cawnpore battery. About 9 P.M. a pensioner named Ungud, who had been sent out with a letter, returned, bringing a letter from Cawnpore. This was the first night since the siege began that no burial took place. _August 16th._--Great progress made in our mine out of Lieutenant Anderson's house, which had now reached a distance of twenty-five feet from the shaft. Also much done in the way of making the Cawnpore battery more secure. Brigadier Inglis slept in it himself. In the early morning the enemy fired a great many round shot, and brought a new gun into position, to play on the corner of the brigade mess-house; also one which fired on Mr. Gubbins's post, but which was soon silenced by a 9-pounder placed in position against it. Divine service performed in the brigade-mess to a few officers who were off duty, and to the ladies. Much round shot fired during the day, but fewer sepoys in sight than usual. Every possible effort was made to curtail the expenditure of our provisions, and make them last as long as possible. The enemy threw in three 8-inch shells during the evening, and fired several round shot during the night. _August 17th._--The remaining portion of the Residency was deemed unsafe by the engineers, from the number of round shot that had come through it; and arrangements were made to remove the Europeans. The heat extreme, a heavy cannonade from daylight till 9 A.M., when it gradually slackened. A few round shot were fired through the Residency during the morning. Much progress was made in the mine out of Lieutenant Anderson's house, and a new shaft sunk in the Martiniere School, in view to running a sap towards Johannes' house. The Seikhs mined well, and the payment in cash of two rupees per man for each night's work made the work popular. Between 4 and 5 P.M. the enemy recommenced a slight cannonade, doubtless stirred up by some shells which were thrown during the afternoon. Towards dusk the enemy threw in several shells, and at midnight an 8-inch, which nearly hit our laboratory. _August 18th._--At daylight the enemy exploded a large mine under one of our principal posts in the outer square, occupied by the Seikhs; the three officers and three sentries on the top of the house, were blown up into the air and fell among the debris. The guard below were all, however, buried in the ruins, and lost their lives: they were two bandsmen of the 41st, two of the 13th, and a sepoy of the 48th Native Infantry. The officers, though much stunned, on recovering themselves ran away, and all three escaped unhurt. When the smoke had blown away, we discovered that a clear breach had been made into our defences, to the extent of thirty feet in breadth. One of the enemy's leaders sprung on the top of the breach, brandishing his sword and calling on others to follow; but he fell dead instantly from the flank fire of the officers on the top of the brigade-mess. Another instantly followed and shared the same fate, when the rest of the force declined making a home rush. On the first springing of the mine, our garrison was at once under arms, and the reserve of the 84th Foot (eighteen men) were immediately sent down and placed in a position which commanded the breach from the right; while boxes, doors, planks, tents, &c., were rapidly carried down to make as much cover as possible to protect our men against musketry: also a house was pulled down and a road made for a gun; and, after incredible exertions, a 9-pounder was got into a position which commanded all the breach, and was loaded with a double charge of grape. The enemy, by means of some barricaded lanes, contrived to creep up and get possession of the right flank wall of the Seikh square; but our mortar and a 24-pounder howitzer drove the main body off, and a sudden rush at noon cleared away the rest. We reoccupied all the ground we had lost in the morning, and also took possession of the houses previously held by the enemy, and which were situated between the Seikh square and Mr. Gubbins's house. No time was lost in destroying them, and by sunset 400lbs. of gunpowder had cleared away many of the houses from which the enemy had most annoyed us. By this time the breach was securely barricaded against any sudden rush, and at night a working party completed it. In addition to the eight men lost in the explosion, we had this day one of the 32nd killed, and a volunteer (M. De Prât) and three of the 32nd wounded. Nothing could exceed the zeal with which _all_ the natives worked to secure the breach, and make a road for a gun. The heat was fearful, and this was one of the most harassing days we had, all ranks being hard at work from daylight till dark, under a dreadful sun. Lieutenant Fletcher, 48th Regiment Native Infantry, on look-out duty at the top of the Residency, was shot through the arm, and had his telescope shivered by a rifle-ball, while reconnoitring. Lieutenant Graham was also hit on the chest with a spent ball. For further accounts of the explosion of the mine, see the report of the disaster by an eye-witness, marked (II.) in the Appendix. _August 19th._--The enemy rather lively with their large guns this morning. Firing more particularly at the guard-rooms on the top of the brigade-mess, which were by this time well-riddled. About 2 P.M. the engineers, Messrs. Fulton, Hutchinson, and Anderson, with a small party, went out on the premises which we yesterday seized, for the purpose of blowing up some more houses and buildings. This party was supported by some Europeans and Seikhs, kept inside the square. The enemy showed nowhere, and save for a few dropping shots, their presence would not have been known. It is worthy of notice, that even through the Pucka buildings, the enemy dug communicating trenches, probably to escape the effects of our shells; which, however, they had not always been successful in doing, as several pools of blood showed us. In the afternoon we experienced a smart cannonade, and about dusk had a heavy shower which stayed it for a while, and after 8 P.M. it subsided nearly entirely into a musketry fire. _August 20th._--A heavy fire of musketry towards daylight, when the enemy began the heaviest cannonade we had yet had; particularly on the Cawnpore battery, in front of which they had put another gun in position. For three hours they fired continually, and a great portion of Mons. De Prât's house fell in. Their round shot came in through the Thug Jail, and enfiladed it; fortunately it struck high, and no casualty occurred: they also threw some shrapnel, as yesterday. Our guard rooms on the top of the brigade mess were now entirely demolished by round shot, which came through them almost unceasingly. An 8-inch shell went into the Residency, and exploded on the staircase. A soldier of the 32nd Foot was killed in the 18-pounder battery, at Dr. Fayrer's, by a musket-ball which struck him in the head. We were busy all night at our mine, which was now completed, and we hope to be able to load it and have it ready to fire by daylight to-morrow morning. Many men were seen in the early part of the day, moving about in the bazaar (most of them sepoys). It was difficult to say what they were about, as they were moving both ways. Lieutenant Cunliffe of the artillery was slightly wounded this morning in the knee by a musket ball. Great mortality amongst the children in the garrison, and a great deal of sickness prevailed, particularly fever. All the tea and sugar for the Europeans had been for some time expended, save a small supply which had been reserved for the use of the sick and wounded. The enemy again commenced to undermine the lane running from the Cawnpore battery behind the brigade-mess, and were also engaged in some other work to the right of Johannes' house. Much firing during the evening. Captain Lowe of the 32nd Foot, had a very narrow escape; an eight-inch shell burst close to him in the trenches, and slightly wounded him in the hand, and cut off the arm of a soldier alongside him. The enemy made an attempt to burn down the gates at the Baillie Guard, by eluding the vigilance of the sentries and piling up logs of wood and combustibles outside the gate. It burnt fiercely, but was soon extinguished by the water-carriers of the 13th, without damage to the gates: the fire was the signal for a heavy fusillade, which lasted nearly half an hour. _August 21st._--At daybreak all was prepared and ready for the blowing-up of our mine, and the simultaneous sortie of fifty Europeans under Captain M'Cabe and Lieutenant Browne (divided into two parties), for the purpose of spiking the enemy's guns which fired into the mess house, and in order to hold Johannes' house while the engineer officers blew it up. Precisely at 5 P.M. the mine, containing 400 lbs. of powder, was sprung, and as soon as the dust and smoke had in a measure subsided, the party ran out, drove the enemy (who were taken by surprise, and made but a slight show of resistance) from their guns (two), and spiked them both, and retained possession of Johannes' house, while the engineers made arrangements for blowing it up. These were soon completed, and the party withdrawn. A slow match was applied, and the house laid in ruins. Our losses were one of the 84th killed, one sergeant (84th) mortally wounded, one of the 32nd dangerously wounded, one slightly wounded, and a sergeant of the artillery killed. The operation was entirely successful, and rid us of a house from which the enemy had, from the commencement of the siege, annoyed us greatly. Captain Barlow, of the 50th Native Infantry, died somewhat suddenly in hospital this morning. The grass and jungle all round had grown to a very great height, and would have given cover to a number of men to approach close up to our position unobserved. In the afternoon, a boy about twelve years of age was seen close to the Baillie Guard gate, picking up bullets that had been fired. A sepoy of the 13th on sentry-duty saw him, covered him with his musket, and compelled him to come in. An eight-inch shell fell on the top of the Residency about 9 P.M., and exploded, fortunately without injuring any one. _August 22nd._--Mrs. Green, of the 48th Native Infantry, died early this morning. There had been also many deaths among children during the few previous days. Many of our supplies were entirely expended, and the garrison were put to great inconvenience for the want of tobacco, of which for some time past there had been none to issue. Still more stringent measures adopted to prevent the consumption of flour; and wheat was issued to all non-combatants who had time to grind it. A fine clear night, with less musketry and more cannon firing than usual. Many of our defences were greatly injured from the late heavy rain and the incessant cannonade of the enemy. Last night repairs were made to the Cawnpore and Redan batteries, both of which still required much to be done to them. To-day an European sentry inside the Baillie Guard gate, was shot dead by a rifleman: the ball went through some sand bags put up for his protection. A sepoy of the 13th was also hit in the knee this morning from the same loophole. Arrangements were made to knock the place down to-morrow morning at daylight with a 24-pounder howitzer. Sergeant Ryder, of the artillery, was killed dead by a musket ball to-day in the churchyard. Up to this date, we had lost since the siege commenced on the 30th of June, by killed, wounded, and sickness: 101 men of the 32nd Foot, not including officers; and of the detachment of the 84th, consisting originally of fifty men, eleven had been killed and died of wounds and disease since the above date. Reports of distant firing being heard, vague rumours were afloat; but these excited little attention _now_, so often had they been in circulation, giving rise to false hopes of our reinforcements being near. Captain Hawes, of the 63rd Native Infantry, was wounded this afternoon by a musket ball through the side and arm, while on the look-out from the top of the defences at Mr. Gubbins's post. After dark we had two eight-inch shells and several shrapnell sent in. One of the former carried off the leg of a native (who died soon after), and slightly wounded another. Repairs continued in the Cawnpore and Redan batteries. The want of tea and sugar much felt, and very large prices offered for stores of any kind. _August 23rd._--A heavy cannonade from the enemy, from daylight till about 10 P.M., when it slackened. Their principal efforts were against the brigade-mess house and Cawnpore battery; the former they seriously damaged, and succeeded in entirely levelling the guard-houses on the top; both of which had fallen in, and there was no longer any cover for our musketry to fire from. Our ranks were rapidly thinning. Two men were again this morning mortally wounded by musketry fire. The enemy were busily employed in digging on all sides, more particularly in front of the Redan; but it was very difficult to say what their object was, as they dug deep trenches in all directions. Continued reports of distant firing being heard. The enemy fired heavily from their guns in the afternoon, and did considerable damage to our defences. A working party employed after dark, making a magazine for the powder and shells lodged in the Post-office. We had work nightly for at least 300 men; as we had the defences to repair daily, supplies to remove from godowns which were fallen in from the effects of the enemy's shot, mines to countermine, guns to remove, barricades to erect, corpses to bury, and rations to serve out; but with our weak, harassed, and daily diminishing garrison, we could seldom produce as working parties more than three fatigue parties of eight or ten men each relief; and the Europeans were capable of but little exertion, as from want of sleep, hard work night and day, and constant exposure, their bodily strength was greatly diminished. The enemy threw in an 8-inch shell about 9 P.M. and fired all the evening. Divine service was performed at the brigade-mess in the morning, and in the afternoon, at Dr. Fayrer's; the sacrament was administered on both occasions. _August 24th._--This morning, at about 2 o'clock, the enemy opened a very heavy fire, both of round shot and musketry; commencing and concluding the same apparently on the signal of a fireball thrown up on each occasion. The Judicial Garrison house, under command of Captain Germon, being in a most dangerous state from the effects of round shot, all the women and wounded men, also children, were removed from that post, as well as from all the other outposts in that quarter, into the Begum Kotee in the neighbourhood. A sergeant of the 84th was dangerously wounded coming up from Mrs. Sago's house, by a sharp-shooter. Lieutenant Bonham, of the artillery, was busily employed perfecting his arrangements for using an 8-inch mortar as a howitzer. The experiment succeeded very well yesterday evening. The verandah of the Residency on the west side came entirely down this morning. The commissariat stores in the godown underneath were removed in the evening, as some of the arches of the lower story were cracked, and a heavy cannonade would have brought the whole place down. Arrangements were made this day for still further reducing the rations of Europeans. A kitmutghar came in from the city last night: his account was so suspicious, that he was placed under an European guard, as he might have tampered with the natives. To-day we threw two shells a long way into the city, in the direction of the palace. The enemy tolerably quiet; towards the middle of the day confining themselves to sharp-shooting at every one they saw move about in our position. Mr. MacRae of the Civil Engineer Department was very badly hit in the shoulder this afternoon, while assisting in laying a mortar in the Post-office; and a sergeant and a private were badly wounded early in the day, while going to their post. The enemy possessed many excellent rifle shots, and fired out of their loopholes from the houses around with great certainty; occasioning us a daily loss of from three to five men. Two sepoys of the 13th were also slightly wounded by random shots before daybreak this morning. Several shells came in this evening; and about 12 P.M. the enemy opened a tremendous fire on all sides, of round shot, grape, and musketry, which lasted for an hour: the fire was very heavy, but they made no effort to storm, though their bugles sounded the advance repeatedly. _August 25th._--There was the usual heavy cannonade this morning from the enemy, which continued from 5 to 9 A.M., when it slackened. All the remaining porter in store (thirty-nine casks) was got out of the Residency, and removed to another place, consequent on the unsafe state of the building; nearly one half of which had fallen from round shot, and the remaining portion was likely to follow. The magazine for the Post-office battery completed. In the night two sepoys of the 11th were slightly wounded by random shots. Several coolies were seen coming through the bazaar from the direction of the Cawnpore road. Sharp-shooting all day long from the enemy, who had also got a new gun in position to the right of Mr. Gubbins's post. One mine completed, and three others steadily progressing; the enemy digging on all sides. _August 26th._--The enemy commenced the day with a very heavy fire of round shot and musketry a little before daylight, which subsided in a great measure in about half an hour. Their earthworks had been added to during the night; but it was difficult to distinguish new work, as the whole of our position was now surrounded with them on every side quite close up to us. A jemadar of the 71st was shot dead near the Redan this morning by one of the enemy's riflemen. The house of Innes was reported to be in a dangerous state, in consequence of the repeated round shots through it. Also reports were made of the enemy mining at the Redan. The enemy unusually quiet, and very little firing went on during the middle of the day, but they were busily employed in making trenches round us in every direction, and worked particularly hard in front of the Redan, with many coolies. No intelligence whatever. One or two servants deserted last night, and there were reports that all the servants were thinking of leaving us, unless our reinforcements arrived soon. _August 27th._--A good deal of rain during the night. A heavy cannonade from the enemy, and the usual amount of musketry fire all the morning. To-day, the supplies of the late Brigadier-General Sir Henry Lawrence, K.C.B., were sold by auction. The brandy realised from 140 to 160 rupees (16_l._) per dozen; beer averaged from 60 to 70 rupees (7_l._); sherry 70 rupees; hermetically sealed hams from 70 to 75 rupees (7_l._ 10_s._) each; a bottle of honey 45 rupees (4_l._ 10_s._); rifle gunpowder, 16 rupees per lb. (1_l._ 12_s._); small cakes of chocolate, from 30 to 40 rupees (3_l._ to 4_l._); and other things in proportion. Sugar (had there been any for sale) would have commanded almost any price. The enemy brought another gun into position opposite the racket court, and where we had no means of replying to them. A soldier of the 32nd was very seriously wounded this morning by a musket-ball, while sitting in the verandah of Dr. Fayrer's house. In the evening a 3-pounder shot killed a soldier of the 32nd and carried away the arm of another. A native officer of the 13th was wounded through the foot by a musket-ball. Our miners (working in the gallery we had run out thirty-three feet to the right of the brigade mess-house) heard the enemy distinctly mining towards us. Their sap seemed to run for the centre of the brigade mess. _August 28th._--Heavy rain nearly all night, which considerably injured our sap to the right of the brigade mess, in consequence of it leaking; the rain ceasing at daylight, we set to work, and in a few hours got if cleared out, and had our people at work again. A good deal of fever prevalent, and great mortality among the children, who faded away rapidly from want of proper food. A smart cannonade at daylight from the enemy, who fired heavily with two guns on Mr. Gubbins's house; fortunately no casualties occurred. Last night, three men deserted to the enemy from Mr. Gubbins's post. One, a chuprassee of Mr. G.'s, took with him 400 rupees (40_l._) belonging to different people; four servants belonging to officers also deserted. Lieutenant Bonham fired his mortar, equipped as a howitzer, fourteen times during the day, against the new battery erected against Mr. Gubbins's post, and with considerable success, having struck it ten times; but their battery was of great strength, and required a good deal more battering to do it much mischief. We waited with impatience for the enemy's miners to break through our gallery, and were obliged to stop our own men, as the enemy left off work immediately they heard our people's pickaxe. This night we learnt, by a letter from General Havelock, dated Cawnpore, the 24th instant, that we had no hope of being relieved for another twenty-five days. _August 29th._--Cooler weather. Our miners busily employed endeavouring to break into the enemy's gallery, which, though quite close to our own, had not yet been found. The magazine sergeants at work, making an expence magazine in the Begum Kotee. The upper story of Mr. Gubbins's house was no longer safe, owing to the numbers of round shot through it, and the ladies were removed. Much difficulty was experienced in finding quarters for them, every place being so crowded, and the ladies were already four and five together in very small badly ventilated native buildings; dreadful smells pervading the whole place, from the half-buried bodies of men, horses, and bullocks, and also from the drains--some of which were fearfully offensive, as we had no means of attending to them. Several more servants deserted last night; which caused the very greatest inconvenience, as already very few officers had any. About 10 A.M. our miners broke into the enemy's gallery, which they immediately abandoned, and began to fill in the shaft; we as instantly applied a barrel of powder at the farther end of their sap, and blew up their work altogether. Our men brought away their lantern, tools, and a bottle of oil, which in their haste they had left. Very heavy rain all the forenoon. Sickness became daily more prevalent, and a number of officers and "the uncovenanted" were daily placed on the sick list. To-day it was decided to issue one month's pay after the 1st proximo, for the month of July. The heavy rain caused one of the enemy's mines, running towards the outpost called Mrs. Sago's house, to fall in. This mine was never known to us, or even suspected. Many and grave doubts and suspicions were entertained that the enemy were running a mine towards the Redan battery. Captain Fulton, Garrison Engineer, did not, however, share in this opinion. A native artilleryman, who belonged to a number entertained by Mr. Gubbins, deserted from his post while on sentry over one of the guns in Mr. G.'s compound. A European sentry fired at him, but did not succeed in hitting him. Now that it appeared evident that the siege must last in all probability another month, increased care and vigilance in the issuing of all stores was observed. The rain cleared off towards evening. A considerable cannonade all through the night. _August 30th._--A heavy cannonade all night. Four half-castes (Christians) one of whom had been made a local sergeant, and was head-writer in Captain Weston's office, deserted to the enemy; having broke open the door in the barrier they had to defend, and left the post unprotected. He took with him, in addition to Captain Boileau's gun, five drummers, formerly in the king of Oude's service, two drummers of the 48th, and some ten native servants. An eight-inch shell burst in the native hospital this morning, killing one native and wounding two others. An attack was expected to-day, and everything was prepared as far as possible to repel it. A good many cases of fever. Divine service was performed at the brigade mess at noon, and at Mr. Gubbins's house at 2 P.M., when the sacrament was administered, and at Dr. Fayrer's house at half-past 5 P.M. To-day, Lieut. Bonham, of the artillery, was very severely wounded by a musket-ball, while sitting in the doorway of the Post-office: he was a very great loss to the garrison, having very greatly distinguished himself throughout the siege; particularly in the accuracy with which he used his mortars, and the excellent practice he had made with a mortar which he had made to act as a howitzer. This was the third time he had been wounded since hostilities began on the 30th of June. Very little firing during the middle of the day, and not much movement observable among the enemy. A European soldier of the 32nd died very suddenly to-day; he lost the use of his side from sleeping in the wet trenches, and died in hospital a few hours after. Europeans and natives all greatly distressed on account of the want of tobacco, of which we have had none left for distribution for a considerable time past. Great difficulty was experienced in getting shelter for women and children; so many houses had been destroyed by the round shot and shells of the enemy: all suffered greatly from being crowded together in low, small, badly ventilated buildings. The dreadful stench which pervaded that part of the defences held by the commissariat officers and the uncovenanted service, exceeded all belief. It arose from the decayed entrails of the bullocks and sheep daily killed by the butchers, and of which we had no means of disposing, but by throwing them over the defences: the decayed boosah and vegetable matter which here also abounded, assisting in creating a stench which was probably never exceeded. Nearly every officer who slept at this post was laid up with fever at one time or another; but as it was one of the weakest parts of our defences, it was absolutely requisite that two officers should be ever with the party occupying it. A false alarm at sunset, and a heavy cannonade brought the day's proceedings to a close. _August 31st._--The enemy fired at intervals very hard, both guns and musketry, particularly towards daylight. Then we found they had got another very large gun, apparently a 32-pounder, in position under the Lutkun Durwaza, and about 100 yards from the Baillie Guard gates, on which it fired several times, smashing two ammunition waggons with which the gates were barricaded. Towards the middle of the day the enemy were unusually quiet, confining themselves to sharp-shooting. An excellent artillery sergeant was killed at Mr. Gubbins's post, by a rifle-ball, which struck him in the side. The heat excessive. In the evening, the kitmutghar of the late Captain Hayes, military secretary, who had come in some ten days before, and was believed to be a spy, escaped from the 84th Guard during the night, and contrived to get clear away. He had been kept in confinement from the time of his coming in, and had not been allowed to converse with any one; and therefore could give little or no information. About 10 P.M. the enemy very suddenly opened from nearly all their guns, and threw in a heavy fire of musketry, which subsided in about half an hour. All the 13th Native Infantry employed in making a new sunken battery to the right of the guard-room, in order to oppose the battery of the enemy which was located in the Lutkun Durwaza. Our people in the Redan battery had a narrow escape from an 8-inch shell, which just cleared the parapet and exploded outside. _September 1st._--A fine breezy morning. Not very much firing; but a great deal of bugling was heard among the enemy's troops during the early part of the morning. Rumours that the half-caste Christians who deserted had been murdered. The enemy's 24-pounder fired several shots during the morning, which took effect on the gates, smashing them considerably. The enemy reported to be running another mine towards the brigade mess. Our third sap from Anderson's post nearly completed, and considerable progress made in the one commenced out of Sago's house. All the boys in garrison above ten years of age were collected and set to work with hand-mills, to assist in grinding flour for the use of the garrison. Sickness showed itself amongst the bullocks; and in the last two days two bullocks had to be suddenly killed, in order to save the meat. This was most unfortunate, as the stock in hand would not last (even at the reduced rate of rations) the time we might probably be besieged. Arrangements were made to have some artillery and irregular cavalry horses that were wounded, or from want of condition were unserviceable, turned out on this evening. The last cook-boy of the artillery absconded last night. This put the men to much inconvenience, as they had now to draw their rations with Her Majesty's 32nd Regiment; but it was better for the service, as now there was no excuse for any of the guns' crews leaving their batteries for their food. This morning some fresh beef was accidentally removed from the slaughter-yard in one of the magazine carts. As these carts were used also for transporting grain, it excited remark amongst some Seikhs. The cart in question was immediately marked in the presence of the Commissariat Establishment, and strict orders were given that it should not be used again. This shows how careful we had to be with all the natives about their castes. In the evening, about dusk, two European artillerymen were struck in the Post-office battery by an 18-pounder shot, which killed both. Great progress was made in the battery which was erected by the 13th Native Infantry, for the 18-pounder to be placed in at the Baillie Guard gate. Two 8-inch shells exploded in the vicinity of our magazine, but without doing any injury. Our third mine from Anderson's house completed, but not charged, it being retained as a listening gallery. Another shaft for a mine was struck out from Captain Saunders' post, to be ready to meet the enemy's so soon as it could be ascertained which way they were mining. The cook-boys of two companies of the 32nd Foot deserted to-day, which caused extreme inconvenience. _2nd September._--Sounds of mining heard near the slaughter-house. This was quite a new direction for the enemy to commence this work at; but it had not yet been ascertained for a certainty, and appeared most unlikely. Last night three men of Her Majesty's 32nd Regiment died in hospital. About 9 A.M. this morning a mine of the enemy was discovered within thirty feet of Captain Saunders' post: they came up to a well, and, not knowing what it was, made a hole in the surface; when the smoke from their lamp became apparent. A countermine was immediately commenced and run out sixteen feet, and within two feet of the enemy; it was quickly loaded and tamped for about fourteen feet, and the head of their gallery was blown in. Their miners were heard at work when the hose of our mine was ignited; and it was believed they must have sustained some loss. Another of the enemy's mines was also discovered this morning, coming for the centre of the brigade mess-house; but we had a shaft and gallery ready to frustrate their efforts. One of the sepoys of the 13th Regiment Native Infantry was severely wounded this morning while standing sentry. We had a heavy cannonade from the enemy in the afternoon, and some alteration was made in the position of some of their guns on the Cawnpore side of our position. The advance of a month's pay, which had been offered to all natives, was declined by the 13th, 48th, and 71st, and pensioners, and only four rupees each was received by the Seikh Cavalry, as all preferred to receive it in arrears hereafter. This spoke volumes for their faithfulness. This evening a very sad event occurred. Lieut. Birch, of the 59th Regiment Native Infantry, attached to the Engineer department, went out at dusk, accompanied by four other officers, to explore some old ruins quite close to the north side of our position, in order to see if there were any traces of mining. The work had been most satisfactorily performed, and the party were returning, when a sentry of the 32nd Regiment, who, unfortunately, had not received the caution that a party was going out and to be careful not to fire, seeing objects moving in the dark outside our limits, fired his musket; lamentable to relate, it took effect, and the bullet passed through the lower part of the belly of Lieutenant Birch, who died two hours after. He was a gallant and efficient officer, and had only been married six months. His loss was greatly deplored by the garrison. Our miners were all hard at work all day, countermining the enemy, who still persevered in their efforts to blow us up. _September 3rd._--About 2 A.M. a very heavy cannonade from the enemy till 9 A.M. Unbarricaded a door leading out of our position, and turned loose during the night sixteen horses and a mule, which had been wounded, and were unfit for use. Further efforts made to limit the supply of flour, and issue wheat in lieu thereof. Advances of pay made to officers, ladies, the civil and uncovenanted service, and a few natives who desired it. The sun particularly powerful, and as during the nights a heavy dew fell, and occasionally the mornings were very cool, great fears were entertained for the health of our men; especially as nearly all had to sleep in the trenches. Consequently search was everywhere made for tents to shelter them; but the majority of these had been used as barricades and other defences, and were now, from exposure to the rain, &c., completely rotten and useless. The enemy commenced mining at Sago's garrison, and a shaft and gallery were made to meet them. In the evening there was a heavy cannonade on Mr. Gubbins's post. A soldier of the 32nd was dangerously wounded at Innes' house by an 18-pounder shot, and another slightly wounded by grape shot. Much heavy firing from the enemy. Very severe work at mining, as our people were employed at four different points. After 10 P.M. an exceedingly heavy cannonade accompanied by musketry. The enemy were distinctly heard repairing their batteries, and moving a heavy gun with elephants, in the direction of the Cawnpore battery. _September 4th._--The usual cannon and musketry throughout the night, which greatly increased after daylight, but gradually subsided after 9 A.M. into a few solitary discharges of cannon. The outer wall of the mess house was greatly injured by the constant firing from the enemy's guns, although it was of great solidity. Between 9 and 10 A.M. an unusual commotion was observable in the town, and the streets were much crowded, for which we were unable to account; whatever it was, the crowd gradually dispersed, and by 11 A.M. all was tranquil, and the enemy's guards were relieved as usual at that hour. Towards the middle of the day there was very little firing from the enemy: they could be distinctly heard in three of our listening galleries, sapping steadily towards us. A 32nd soldier was severely contused to-day by a round shot, while on duty in the Cawnpore battery, and another wounded by a musket-ball. About 4·30 P.M. Major Bruère, commanding the 13th Regiment Native Infantry, went on the top of the brigade mess to endeavour to pick off some of the enemy's gunners. Unfortunately, in his anxiety to get a shot at some riflemen, he somewhat unnecessarily exposed himself, and was hit by a rifle-ball through the chest, which almost immediately proved fatal. His death was very greatly lamented by the sepoys of the 13th, with whom he was very popular: they insisted on carrying his remains to the grave, and his funeral was attended by all the men of the 13th who could be permitted to leave their trenches. The eighteen-pounder battery made by the sepoys of the 13th, was now nearly completed, and was sixteen feet thick, besides the wall in front; the eighteen-pounder intended for it was got down, and put in position. The enemy were evidently aware of what we were about, as two shells fell quite close; one just inside, and the other outside the new battery. The outer wall and buildings on the top of the mess house fell in this evening, with a great crash, consequent on the outer wall having been completely breached; fortunately no one was hurt, and several ladies and children still clung to the inner rooms for shelter, preferring the chance of a round shot or musket-ball to the fetid close atmosphere of an already overcrowded hovel in the interior of our position; which, after all, was perhaps hardly any safer from the fire of the enemy. _September 5th._--A fine moonlight morning. Soon after daylight, the enemy commenced the severest cannonade we had yet had. About 8000 infantry and about 500 horse were by sunrise seen moving about round our position, and evidently preparing for an attack. The garrison were soon--every man--on the alert, and remained patiently under a tremendous fire of cannon, awaiting the enemy's onset. They soon opened fire from a new battery of two guns across the river; and about 10 A.M. exploded two mines, one (a large one), close to the 18-pounder battery, and the other, a smaller one, at the brigade-mess (which we had countermined and were about to blow up.) Providentially, the enemy had miscalculated their distance in both instances, and were just short of our defences, and neither explosion did us any harm. As soon as the cloud of dust and smoke had cleared away, they advanced under cover of a tremendous fire on several points--particularly at Mr. Gubbins's post--where they came on resolutely and planted an enormous ladder against the bastion to mount it. Several reached the top, but were so steadily received with musketry and hand grenades, that none could gain a footing: and after several leaders had fallen, the rest fell back to the cover of the neighbouring houses, where they kept up a tremendous fire. Their loss was very heavy, as they showed themselves well; particularly in the garden close to the brigade-mess and Sikh square, where they fell rapidly to our rifles and muskets. Long after the action, they could be seen carrying away their killed and wounded over the bridges. During the attack we only had one havildar of pensioners and two sepoys of the 13th killed, and one soldier of the 32nd wounded (loss of hand), from round shot. Eight sepoys of the 13th Native Infantry, assisted by three artillerymen, loaded and worked the 18-pounder in the 13th battery, and after three or four rounds succeeded in silencing the 18-pounder opposed to them. The sepoys were very proud of this battery, which was entirely under their charge, and constructed solely by them, under the superintendence of the Engineers. A fearfully hot-day, and a broiling sun, to which all were exposed for nearly the entire day. During last night another shaft, eight feet deep, was sunk by the officers of the brigade-mess as a listening gallery, in case the enemy should run a sap in that direction. In the evening, the enemy seemed disgusted with their want of success in the morning, and confined themselves to a few shots now and then from their batteries. An 18-pounder came right through the hospital from their new work across the river, and passed through the whole length of the building, which was crowded with patients, and very slightly wounded Lieutenant Charlton and a soldier of the 32nd, both of whom were lying there wounded. Passing as it did through the entire length of such a crowded space, it was perfectly extraordinary that this ball did not do more harm. After all attacks, the enemy were most determined in their efforts to carry off their dead, and generally contrived to do so at night. To-day, as usual, the leading men were most of them knocked over, which greatly discouraged their followers. All reports from positions which commanded any views of the enemy retreating, agreed in saying that they seemed to-day more thoroughly beaten than ever. Lieutenant James Graham, of the 4th Cavalry, shot himself through the head this morning with his revolver, in a fit of temporary insanity: he left a wife and child. _September 6th._--At 12 o'clock midnight, the garrison was aroused by a heavy cannonade from all sides, and much bugling and shouting; but it all gradually subsided in about half an hour, without any reply from our side: during it a soldier of the 32nd lost his leg from a round shot. This morning, the enemy were unusually quiet, and their guns more silent than it was remembered for a long time. The rains seemed to have cleared off, and the sun was most powerful. Our live stock was now fast diminishing in numbers, and had any disease broke out amongst them, it would have been a most serious loss. Our stock of rum and porter was also fast running very low. Now that the stagnant water was fast drying up, the miasmatic stenches in various parts of the garrison were of a morning almost insupportable; and it was greatly feared would produce much fever and other illness. About 1 P.M., the Engineers made a small sortie from Innes' post, and blew down a house which yesterday the enemy commenced to loophole; and which, had they succeeded in doing, would have been a most serious matter to Innes' garrison, in the present shattered and dilapidated state of the house they occupy, caused by the effects of round shot, which had steadily for the last month been fired into it from guns of heavy calibre. Captain Fulton of the Engineers was slightly contused by an explosion to-day. About 10 P.M. the enemy sent two men with loads of combustibles, to place under the entrance gates, to set fire to them; they were seen, and one was shot dead by the sentry, on which the other fled. An hour later, they made a very smart attack on the Baillie Guard gate, but were quickly driven back: during this affair, a very excellent native officer (a subadar), of the 13th Regiment Native Infantry, was killed in the 13th battery. _September 7th._--The enemy were unusually quiet with their cannon this morning, contenting themselves with mining, while we as busily endeavoured to countermine them. An unusual commotion among them: large numbers crossing and re-crossing the bridge of boats; and about 11 A.M. a regiment, with colours, and band playing, and about 1000 matchlockmen, passed from right to left of our position. About 5000 men passed during the afternoon from right to left; many of them seemed as though they had marched in from a distance. Heavy showers during the afternoon; the garrison constantly wet. Our miners, both European and native, were greatly done up with their day and night exertions, which were absolutely requisite for our preservation. In all these operations the Seikhs and Hindoostanee sepoys worked remarkably well. _September 8th._--Captain Simons of the Artillery, who had been long suffering from his wounds, died early this morning. A tolerable cannonade kept up all night. The enemy had now completed a breach in the wall enclosing the courtyard of the Martiniere School, broad enough for four or five men to pass through abreast, and which we were obliged to retrench and stockade. Nearly one-half of the officers were on the sick list, with fever and dysentery. The shot fired in by the enemy were yesterday collected, and 280 round shot, varying in size from a 24 to a 3-pounder, were gathered from the roof of the brigade-mess alone! In the evening we had heavy rain and a moderate cannonade. _September 9th._--During the night a shell exploded in a room occupied by a lady and some children, and though almost every article in the room was destroyed, yet all providentially escaped. Finding this morning that the enemy were rapidly mining towards the Cawnpore battery, it was deemed advisable that our mine, containing 200 lbs. of powder, which had been ready and charged for upwards of a month, should be exploded; and accordingly, at 10 A.M., it was sprung. The effect was tremendous, and it evidently astonished the enemy, whose miners must have been destroyed. They immediately beat to arms, and opened on us from most of their batteries on that side of our position. When the smoke and dust (which were tremendous) had blown away, it was seen that the explosion had destroyed all the front face of the outhouses opposite our battery. In the evening a body of 3000 men moved up to our right flank, which caused us all to keep particularly on the alert. About 11 P.M. very heavy rain began to fall, and the early part of the night passed away quietly. For the third time since the siege commenced there was no funeral on this day. _September 10th._--The rain cleared away towards morning, and all was moderately quiet till 6 A.M., from which hour till 10 A.M. an unusually heavy cannonade was kept up, and replied to by our guns and mortars. All the state jewels were brought over from the Residency, and put into the Begum Kotee for better security. Owing to the necessity for blowing up the Muchee Bhawun, the officers brought in with them nothing but the clothes they wore. Many others in this garrison had lost everything when their bungalows in cantonments were burnt; and a few better off had shared their wardrobes with them. As time went on, however, clothes wore out, and there were no means of providing others; and by this time officers might have been seen wearing the most extraordinary costumes; few, if any, had any semblance of a military uniform, and very many were in shirts, trowsers, and slippers only; one gallant civilian having found an old billiard-table cloth, had contrived to make himself a kind of loose coat out of it, while an officer wore a shirt made out of a floor cloth. All carried muskets, and were accoutred like the soldiers. At the auction of the effects of an officer recently killed, a single bottle of brandy realised seventeen rupees (thirty-four shillings). The soldiers had for a month past all been out of tobacco, and had taken to smoking dried tea and common leaves. Not very much firing in the evening. _September 11th._--This was a quieter night than usual with the garrison. Much disturbance was heard among the enemy, and the noise of elephants was distinctly heard, as if they were moving some of their guns into other positions. About sunrise, two sides of Innes' house, which had been steadily cannonaded daily with 18-pounder shot, fell in, and the two sentries on that side escaped with difficulty; the post was, however, still nobly held, and preparation made for making some kind of a defence out of the debris. Many bodies of armed men were seen moving about, and we had the usual three hours' morning cannonade. About 10 A.M., as our mine out of the Seikh square (which had been charged with 200 lbs. of powder) was ready, it was determined to explode it, as the enemy's miners could be very distinctly heard sapping quite close; it was very successful, completely destroying all their excavations, and buried the party who were at work, the groans and moans of some of whom were heard for some time after. Later in the day, another mine of the enemy was discovered in the churchyard. A sortie was made under Captain Fulton of the Engineers (the ground being open), and the working party were driven off and their work examined. It proved to be shaft and gallery, fully five feet high, and extended twenty-four feet, running in a straight line to the church: two barrels of powder were separately exploded in it, and completely destroyed the entire work. Two of the enemy were shot by Lieutenant Sewell this afternoon. At dusk, the enemy threw in (apparently from a howitzer) five hollow iron cylinders, filled with a composition (similar to that with which we are accustomed to fill our carcases) done up in strong canvas. On reaching the ground, the apparatus burst, and the five cylinders spouted forth fire without any further explosion: this, perhaps, was the most curious and complicated projectile that had yet been received by the garrison. At 7 P.M. very heavy rain, which lasted an hour and a half. _September 12th._--A tremendous row and noise in the city all night. A shaft sunk in the centre of the brigade-mess, in view to running a sap out across the road into the garden, in front of the enemy's battery. Rather less firing all day than usual. Very large bodies of matchlockmen were seen moving about, but a smaller proportion of sepoys. A soldier of the 32nd and an uncovenanted man were wounded; the former in the head, the latter through the hand. During the past few days no case of cholera occurred. In the evening after dark, the 71st sepoys were employed under Lieutenant Langmore in bringing in some tents which were piled up in the Residency garden; while so employed, one of the enemy came up, evidently having mistaken our party for one of his own. He was immediately seized by two sepoys and brought in. An European sentry was killed to-day through a small loophole in the Redan, out of which he was looking, and another in the same battery was wounded during the night. _September 12th._--A smart cannonade at daylight. Considerable progress was made in our new mines out of the Cawnpore battery and brigade-mess. Captain Mansfield was seized with cholera early this morning, and died a few hours after. A great number of matchlockmen seen moving about in the bazaar. Enormous prices offered in the garrison for all kinds of supplies. A small fowl was to-day purchased by a gentleman for his sick wife for 20 rupees (2_l._) A bottle of Curaçoa sold at auction a day or two ago for 16 rupees, and the same price was freely offered for two pounds of sugar. Divine service performed at the brigade-mess, and at Dr. Fayrer's to all who were able to attend. A man came in about 8 P.M. from the city. He could not or would not give any information, was looked upon as a spy, ironed and placed in the main-guard. A tolerably quiet evening. _September 14th._--A good many matchlockmen were seen coming into the town during the day, both over the stone bridge and the bridge of boats. For the last two days, the bugles of the enemy had not been heard, which led us to conclude that the head-quarters of regiments had probably left the city. A few doolies were seen passing down the Cawnpore road, and a man (apparently of some consequence) was observed haranguing a mob in the city. There was the usual amount of firing and sharp-shooting all day. A grievous occurrence took place in the afternoon. Captain Fulton of the Engineers, while reconnoitring from a battery in Mr. Gubbins's post, was killed dead by a round shot, which struck him on the head. He had conducted all the engineering operations of the siege for a considerable time previous to the death of his chief (Major Anderson). He was a highly gifted, cool, brave, and chivalrous officer, fertile in resources, and a favourite with both officers and men. His loss was acutely felt. _September 15th._--The 18-pounder battery beyond Innes' house fired heavily, and reduced Innes' house to almost a heap of ruins; the shot came right across the entire open space round the Residency, and one soldier of the 32nd was mortally and another slightly wounded. The breach in the Seikh square made by the enemy was now tolerably retrenched. The inner square was well loopholed and barricaded, so that even if the enemy had made their way in, they would have been unable to make a lodgment. The vicinity of the houses to our defences in the outer square rendered mining easy, and we took and blew up three of the enemy's mines at this point alone. Lieutenant Fullerton of the 16th Regiment Native Infantry, died in hospital this morning. To-day the verandah of the Residency fell in with a great crash, from the effects of the battering it had received from the enemy's 18-pound shot. This afternoon, a mortar, equipped as a howitzer (on Lieutenant Bonham's principle), was put in position against the 18-pounder battery opposite Innes' house, and fired several shots, which kept the enemy's gun in check; and one shell having blown away most of their parapet, they did not fire again from it during the evening. Under the direction of the garrison engineer, a shaft was commenced in the Baillie Guard gate by the sepoys of 13th Regiment Native Infantry, in order to run a sap out in the direction of the Lutkun Durwaza; eight feet and a half were this evening accomplished. It is intended as a safeguard, to cut off any mine that the enemy may be running towards the gateway. _September 16th._--A very sharp cannonade from daylight, for three hours. An 8-inch shell fell in the rear of the 13th battery, (for the second time since the commencement of hostilities) and mortally wounded a sepoy, and slightly wounded a subadar. Enemy were very busy erecting (apparently) a new battery, to the right of our Cawnpore battery; but it was difficult at the time to say what it was intended for: the people working at it were greatly annoyed by our shells, and it made but little progress, except during the night. They were also very hard at work in front of the Redan battery, where they had made deep trenches in all directions. Ungud, pensioner and spy, was sent out at about 10 P.M. with a letter, done up in a piece of quill, to take to General Havelock at Cawnpore, and was promised a large reward if he brought a reply. Preparations made for getting the mortar howitzer into the courtyard in rear of the brigade-mess, by cutting a road through the intermediate walls. The mine out of the brigade-mess building, and that out of the Cawnpore battery, were worked all night, and considerable progress was made in both. The rains seemed quite over, the sun was very powerful, and much fever prevailed. Not so much firing as usual in the evening, and only one shell came in. Much bugling among the enemy during the night. _September 17th._--All very much as usual, with rather less firing. Many vague rumours were abroad in the garrison, all without foundation. The mortar howitzer was got into position behind the brigade mess; the second shell thrown from it severely wounded two of our servants, in consequence of the shell having exploded before it cleared our defences. After the range was, however, once got, the practice was good, and several shells exploded in the embrasure of the enemy's battery. The mine out of the brigade-mess and that out of the Cawnpore battery, damaged during the day by round shot, was also repaired by a working party of sepoys from the 48th regiment Native Infantry. The sentry of the 32nd Foot, on duty at the church, had his head carried off by a round shot. Exactly at midnight the enemy made a demonstration on Saunders's post, and fired heavy volleys of musketry, but made no attempt to advance; in about half an hour, after a few shells had been thrown among them, they retired. Many cases of fever and dysentery. Two sepoys of the 13th died in hospital of their wounds. The Seikh cavalry sowars, under Lieutenant Hardinge, worked at the barricade across the breach in the third Seikh square, and still further strengthened it. _September 18th._--Nothing new to record. Each day passed away much like its predecessor, with the same amount of cannonading and musketry fire. Throughout the siege, a regular system of look-out was organised from the top of the tower in the Residency, which commanded a view of the river, the three bridges, and the open country beyond; and also from the roof of the Post-office, from which a great part of the city and the road to Cawnpore could be observed. At the former post the officers were relieved every two hours, and at the latter hourly. At each post a book was kept, in which whatever had been observed was noted down, and if anything unusual, or any new work of the enemy was seen, a report of it was instantly forwarded for Brigadier Inglis's information. A new truck was constructed to enable us to fit out another mortar as a howitzer, for it would be impossible to say how greatly we felt throughout the siege the want of a couple of 8-inch howitzers. To-day, the enemy threw in (evidently from a 13-inch mortar) a piece of wood of very great weight, which measured twelve inches in diameter and eighteen in length! It made a prodigious noise as it passed through the air. In consequence of the very small stock of rum left in store, all the Europeans were reduced to one dram each per day. This was perhaps the quietest day of the siege up to this date, as we had nothing but a few stray cannon shots and a slight musketry fire throughout the twenty-four hours. About 11 P.M. a very considerable noise was heard in the town, together with much bugling and shouting. _September 19th._--This morning, almost before daylight, we commenced a heavy cannonade from the Post-office on the battery in the square house opposite. During the morning the enemy kept up also a heavy fire all around; particularly on the Residency, which now wore a most desolate tumbledown and dilapidated appearance, from the effect of round shot which had been steadily poured into it daily from the commencement of the siege. About 10·30 A.M. the enemy's battery in the square house, opposite the Post-office was set on fire by our shot, and a pretty sharp fusillade and cannonade was kept up by us to prevent the enemy from distinguishing it; the fire however soon died out. An auction was held this day in the Residency of the property (clothes, &c.) of deceased officers, and the prices that all useful articles fetched was enormous: for instance, a new flannel shirt was knocked down for forty rupees, while five old ones were sold for 112 rupees, and a bottle of brandy brought twenty rupees. A man of the 84th was shot dead at Sago's post early this morning. During the day the enemy threw into our position, probably from an enormous mortar, six pieces of wood about the size and shape of a large oyster barrel; they were thrown up in the air to an enormous height, and came down with almost incredible force. _September 20th._--At 1 A.M. a smart musketry fire and cannonade took place, which lasted for about half an hour. At daylight discovered two new batteries, which the enemy had very nearly completed, and one of which contained a 32-pounder. We opened on them with a howitzer and an 18-pounder, but did them little mischief; the batteries having been made excessively strong, with enormous beams of wood and earth. We however, entirely prevented them from working at either battery during the ensuing night. The Cawnpore battery was repaired, and the centre mine from the brigade mess was connected with the one we had previously run out from the left. The guard-room at Anderson's house was lowered by digging out the floor, so as to keep the guard clear of the round shot which passed through it; the 13th mine was also worked eighteen feet further. A very considerable noise was heard in the city for some hours after dark. During the day nearly as many men as usual seen moving about. A private of Her Majesty's 32nd at Innes' post was killed by a round shot. _September 21st._--Between 12 and 1 o'clock A.M. the enemy suddenly began a very smart musketry fire all along the city side of our position, and opened from their guns. We threw a few shells amongst them; and their fire soon subsided into the usual steady fire which had gone on every night of the siege. About 4 A.M., we had very heavy rain which lasted till about 11 A.M. The heavy rain seemed to keep the enemy quiet, and there was little firing on either side till 1 P.M., when one of our 18-pounders at the Post-office opened on the enemy's new 32-pounder battery, and knocked their parapet about, leaving the gun greatly exposed; which enabled Captain Saunders's garrison to pick off two of the enemy's gunners at the gun, and keep it silent for the rest of the day. In the afternoon, the enemy battered down a great portion of the wall enclosing the building occupied by the Martiniere school-boys, and killed a water-carrier who was drawing water at the time, and who was knocked dead into the well; which was a great misfortune, as none of the natives would again use it. The body was got up soon after. Not many armed men were seen in the morning beyond the enemy's regular relief of guards and pickets. At 10 P.M. heavy rain came on. About 11 P.M. the enemy were reported to be in unusual strength near the Seikh square, on which all were kept well on the alert. A shell was thrown among them, but nothing further took place. _September 22nd._--Continued heavy rain, which fell without cessation till about 3 P.M. The garrison were in a great state of discomfort, as little shelter was to be had anywhere; the roofs of all the buildings were so injured from eighty-four days' constant cannonading that but few could boast of a waterproof residence. Lieutenant Cunliffe of the Artillery, died early this morning from fever; he had previously been wounded. A Seikh sepoy of the 13th, a native artilleryman, two private servants, and three grass-cutters deserted during the night; and in the course of the morning four cook boys contrived to desert during the heavy rain. The rain did considerable damage to various parts of our defences, washing down many of the fascines in the batteries, and causing several parts of the defences at Mr. Gubbins's and Innes' post to fall down. A great part of the outside wall of the brigade mess also fell from the same cause. Towards evening the enemy opened their guns, and we dismounted one of their 9-pounders by a shell, which fell on the top of one of them and killed two gunners. About 11 P.M. Ungud, pensioner, returned, bringing us a letter containing the glad tidings that our relieving force, under General Outram, had crossed the Ganges, and would arrive in a few days. His arrival, and the cheering news he brought of speedy aid, was well-timed; for neither our fast diminishing stores, the vague and uncertain rumours of the advent of reinforcements, nor the daily sights and sounds by which we were surrounded, were calculated to inspire confidence and check desertion among the servants and camp followers. All the garrison were greatly elated with the news, and on many of the sick and wounded, the speedy prospect of a change of air and security exercised a most beneficial effect. Heavy rain fell about 11 P.M. _September 23rd._--About 3 A.M. the rain cleared off, and at 11 A.M. the sun came out and the clouds dispersed, and gave promise of fair weather. A smart cannonade was heard in the direction of Cawnpore; several imagined they also heard musketry, and the sound was listened to with the most intense and even painful anxiety by the garrison, who felt assured it must be their friends advancing to their assistance. But it was hardly expected that our force could have advanced so far, owing to the heavy rain which had fallen, and the state in consequence that the roads and country were in; however at 5 P.M. another distant cannonade was heard which lasted for half an hour, and which appeared much nearer than before: this elicited many and divers opinions, and created the greatest possible excitement. Throughout the day, large bodies of troops with guns and ammunition waggons were seen moving about in the city, in the early part of the day to the right, and later, in large bodies to the left. In the afternoon, the enemy placed a gun in position facing down the Kass bazaar street, with what object it was impossible to say. We threw many shells into the city during the day among the parties of the enemy seen moving about. At 9 P.M. heavy rain began and fell for two hours. _September 24th._--Everything most unusually quiet throughout the night, and only one or two cannon shot were fired early in the morning. A considerable body of cavalry were seen moving to the right through the city, and about 8·30 A.M. a distant cannonade was heard, which continued nearly all day. We had no news of any kind, and the anxiety of the garrison was very great. During the morning, large bodies of the enemy were seen moving through the city to the right and left. Ensign Hewitt, of the 41st Regiment Native Infantry, was slightly contused on the head by bricks struck out of a wall by a round shot. At 8 P.M. the enemy made a false attack on the Cawnpore battery, keeping up a heavy cannonade and musketry fire which lasted for about half an hour, after which all became moderately quiet. During the night guns were heard in the direction of the Cawnpore road, and the flash of them could be very distinctly seen; they were supposed to be about seven miles distant. _September 25th._--A very unquiet night. Two alarms, one at 1·30 A.M. and another at 4 A.M. The whole garrison were under arms nearly the whole night. A very great disturbance in the city, in the direction of Mr. Gubbins's post especially. To the very great regret of the garrison, Captain Radcliffe of the 7th Light Cavalry was dangerously wounded while in command of the Cawnpore battery. About 10 A.M. a messenger came in bringing in a letter of the 16th instant from General Outram, dated Cawnpore, announcing his being about to cross over to this side of the Ganges, and march on to Lucknow. The messenger could give no account of our force, beyond its having reached the outskirts of the city. About 11 A.M. nearly all sound of firing had ceased, but increased agitation was visible among the people in the town, in which two large fires were seen. An hour later, the sound of musketry and the smoke of guns was distinctly perceived within the limits of the city. All the garrison was on the alert, and the excitement amongst many of the officers and soldiers was quite painful to witness. At 1·30 P.M. many of the people of the city commenced leaving, with bundles of clothes, &c. on their heads, and took the direction of cantonments across the different bridges. At 2 P.M. armed men and sepoys commenced to follow them, accompanied by large bodies of Irregular Cavalry. Every gun and mortar that could be brought to bear on the evidently retreating enemy, was fired as fast as possible, for at least an hour and a half. The enemy's bridge of boats had evidently been destroyed and broken away, for many were seen swimming across the river, most of them cavalry with their horses' bridles in their hands. Strange to relate, during all this apparent panic, the guns of the enemy in position all round us kept up a heavy cannonade, and the matchlockmen or riflemen never ceased firing from their respective loopholes. At 4 P.M. report was made that some officers dressed in shooting coats and solah caps, a regiment of Europeans in blue pantaloons and shirts, and a bullock battery were seen near Mr. Martin's house and the Motee Muhal. At 5 P.M. volleys of musketry, rapidly growing louder, were heard in the city. But soon the firing of a minié ball over our heads gave notice of the still nearer approach of our friends; of whom as yet little or nothing had been seen, though the enemy were to be seen firing heavily on them from many of the roofs of the houses. Five minutes later, and our troops were seen fighting their way through one of the principal streets; and though men fell at almost every step, yet nothing could withstand the headlong gallantry of our reinforcements. Once fairly SEEN, all our doubts and fears regarding; them were ended: and then the garrison's long pent-up feelings of anxiety and suspense burst forth in a succession of deafening cheers; from every pit, trench and battery--from behind the sandbags piled on shattered houses--from every post still held by a few gallant spirits, rose cheer on cheer--even from the hospital! Many of the wounded crawled forth to join in that glad shout of welcome to those who had so bravely come to our assistance. It was a moment never to be forgotten. Soon all the rear-guard and heavy guns were inside our position; and then ensued a scene which baffles description. For eighty-seven days the Lucknow garrison had lived in utter ignorance of all that had taken place outside. Wives who had long mourned their husbands as dead, were again restored to them; others, fondly looking forward to glad meetings with those near and dear to them, now for the first time learnt that they were alone. On all sides eager inquiries for relations and friends were made. Alas! in too many instances the answer was a painful one. The force under the command of General Sir James Outram, G.C.B., came to our assistance at a heavy sacrifice to themselves. Of 2600 who left Cawnpore, nearly one-third was either killed or wounded in forcing their way through the city: indeed, the losses were so heavy that they could effect nothing towards our relief; as the enemy were in overpowering force, and the position having been extended, in order to accommodate as far as possible our great increase in numbers, and the guns that were in our vicinity having been captured at considerable loss to ourselves, we remained on three-quarter rations, as closely besieged as before, until the 22nd November; when the garrison were finally relieved by the army under the Commander-in-Chief. APPENDIX. No. I. CAPTAIN RADCLIFFE'S (7th Light Cavalry) NARRATIVE. On the evening of the 30th May, about 9 o'clock, shots were heard at Moodkeepore (the cavalry station), in the direction of the infantry lines in Lucknow. The 7th Cavalry, consisting of about 150 sabres, immediately were turned out by their officers, and placed in three troops. On wheeling into line, about 30 men rushed out of the ranks, and rode furiously towards cantonments: they were not seen again. The corps advanced towards the race-course, towards the Residency, at a canter, which place they reached about half-past 9 or a quarter to 10. The regiment received orders to patrol round the Residency, and in the rear of Colonel Halford's house, which was done accordingly, and they afterwards formed up in rear of the lines stationed on the city road. About 11 o'clock the 7th Cavalry marched down to the Baillie Guard, patrolled towards Muchee Bhawun, and, finding all safe, returned _viâ_ the stone bridge through Mukka Gunge, warned all on duty at the elephant sheds to be on the alert, and reached the Residency in cantonments about 2 in the morning. At 3 o'clock the 4th troop arrived from Chinahut, under the command of Captain T. Boileau. At a quarter after gunfire the cavalry marched off with the two artillery guns from the Residency, and took up a position on the right of the line on the 32nd parade ground. The 7th were directed to move towards Moodkeepore, which place was reported to have fallen into the hands of the mutineers. The corps advanced at a canter, and on reaching the plain close to the race-course, a large body of armed infantry, amounting to some 1000 men, were seen advancing in skirmishing order towards the cavalry. The report was, as regarded Moodkeepore, too true, for the Standard Guard was looted, public and private property destroyed, and the 2nd Squadron standard was actually seized from the hands of the jemadar in charge, and dashed to pieces. Lieutenant Raleigh, who had lately joined the corps, was brutally murdered at 5 A.M. in front of the first troop lines. This officer was sick, and unable to join the regiment the night before when ordered out. The officer commanding ordered his men to form line to the front, which was done rather sullenly; but on his ordering the line to take ground to the right, a number of men broke out from the ranks, crying out that they _would_ charge, as their children, etc., were being murdered; they rode away towards the mutineers, having been beckoned to come over by a leader riding a horse and bearing a standard. Some thirty-five or forty men left their officers. At this time an officer was sent back towards cantonments to request Sir Henry Lawrence to send up some guns, as the small body of cavalry that were left alone in front of the insurgents were in danger of being driven back. The guns soon afterwards came up, and after a few rounds dispersed the enemy. The 7th Cavalry, in concert with the Irregulars, followed up the retreating mutineers, killed one or two, and sent in some ten or twelve prisoners. The corps returned to Moodkeepore about 10 o'clock, and marched into cantonments in the evening, and took up a position on the right of the line. Some 105 men remained with their officers up to the 12th June, on which date, by authority, they were given two months' pay, and allowed a furlough to their homes till the 15th October. The men remaining after the mutiny behaved admirably in quarters, and when told they were to go to their homes obeyed the order, quietly lodging their arms, and moving quietly homewards. The horses of the corps were marched down to the Residency at noon of the 12th, and in the evening the European and native officers, with the standards, repaired to the Baillie Guard, opposite to which the cavalry horses were ordered to be picketed. No. II. ACCOUNT OF THE EXPLOSION AT THE SEIKH SQUARE ON 18TH OF AUGUST. (Dated) Lucknow, 19th August, 1857. Yesterday morning, between the hours of 5 and 6, the enemy sprung a mine at the Seikh Square, blowing down the corner house, on the top of which Lieutenant Mecham and Captain Orr, with two sentries, were on the look out from the loopholes, Lieutenant Soppitt being below at the time. A few minutes before the explosion not a single individual was to be seen in the quarter occupied by the enemy. Suddenly, however, one man was discovered by a sentry, and Lieutenant Mecham fired at him, but missed; and immediately after the mine exploded, sending four of us, viz., Lieutenant Mecham, Band-sergeant Curtain, of the 41st Native Infantry, Drummer Ford, of the 13th Native Infantry, and Captain Orr up in the air, and burying underneath the ruins of the battery six drummers and one sepoy, _i. e._, Wiltshire, Williams, 13th Native Infantry, E. Curtain, A. Nugent, Rowlan, 41st Native Infantry, Fife-major Shipley, 4th Oude Irregular Force, and sepoy Heerah Sing, 48th Regiment Native Infantry. Of the former, I regret to state that Band-sergeant Curtain was thrown on the enemy's side and killed; Lieutenant Mecham and Drummer Ford were almost unhurt, and Captain Orr escaped with a few bruises. Every precaution had been taken by Lieutenants Mecham, Soppitt, and Captain Orr to guard against all contingencies, Lieutenant Mecham remaining at night with the sentries, Lieutenant Soppitt and Captain Orr being below with the guard, and occasionally visiting the sentries. Since on duty at the Seikh Battery we had already discovered two mines, one of which we countermined, and the other we found to be an abortive attempt at one. The above discoveries had the effect of making us doubly vigilant on this point. The new mine, which occasioned the calamity of yesterday, must have been worked by the enemy with sharp and noiseless tools; as--though a shaft was already sunk beneath the battery, over which a sentry was posted, and into which, during our respective tour of duty, we each occasionally descended for the purpose of listening whether mining was carried on by the enemy--not the slightest sound which in any way led us to suppose the same was the case, ever reached us. There was never perfect silence in the square, owing to the Seikhs' horses being picketed therein, the tramping of whose feet on the ground had more than once previously deceived us. The smoke and dust thrown up enveloping us for some moments in complete darkness, and the sudden shock of the explosion, prevented my personally knowing what subsequently happened. No. III. DIVISION ORDERS BY MAJOR-GENERAL SIR J. OUTRAM, G.C.B. Head Quarters, Lucknow, 5th October, 1857. The incessant and arduous duties which have devolved on Brigadier Inglis and his staff, since the arrival of the relieving force, had hitherto prevented him from furnishing to the Major-General Commanding the usual official documents relative to the siege of the garrison. In the absence of these the Major-General could not, with propriety, have indulged in any public declaration of the admiration with which he regards the heroism displayed by Brigadier Inglis and the glorious garrison he has so ably commanded during the last three months, and he has been reluctantly obliged therefore to defer so long the expression of the sentiments he was desirous to offer. But the Major-General having at length received Brigadier Inglis's reports, is relieved from the necessity of further silence, and he hastens to tender to the Brigadier, and to every individual member of the garrison, the assurance of his confidence that their services will be regarded by the Government under which they are immediately serving, by the British nation, and by Her Gracious Majesty, with equal admiration to that with which he is himself impressed. The Major-General believes that the annals of warfare contain no brighter page than that which will record the bravery, fortitude, vigilance, and patient endurance of hardships, privation, and fatigue, displayed by the garrison of Lucknow; and he is very conscious that his unskilled pen must needs fail adequately to convey to the Right Honourable the Governor-General of India, and his Excellency the Commander-in-Chief, the profound sense of the merits of that garrison which has been forced on his mind by a careful consideration of the almost incredible difficulties with which they have had to contend. The term "illustrious" was well and happily applied by a former Governor-General of India to the garrison of Jellalabad; but some far more laudatory epithet--if such the English language contains--is due, the Major-General considers, to the brave men whom Brigadier Inglis has commanded with undeviating success and untarnished honour through the late memorable siege. For while the devoted band of heroes who so nobly maintained the honour of their country's arms under Sir R. Sale were seldom exposed to actual attack, the Lucknow garrison, of inferior strength, have, in addition to a series of fierce assaults, gallantly and successfully repulsed, been for three months exposed to a nearly incessant fire from strong and commanding positions, held by an enemy of overwhelming force, possessing powerful artillery, having at their command the whole resources of what was but recently a kingdom, and animated by an insane and bloodthirsty fanaticism. It is a source of heartfelt satisfaction to the Major-General to be able, to a certain extent, to confer on the native portion of the garrison an instalment of those rewards which their gallant and grateful commander has sought for them, and which he is very certain the Governor-General will bestow in full; and though the Major-General, as regards the European portion of the garrison, cannot do more than give his most earnest and hearty support to the recommendations of the Brigadier, he feels assured that the Governor-General of India will fully and publicly manifest his appreciation of their distinguished services, and that our beloved Sovereign will herself deign to convey to them some gracious expression of royal approbation of their conduct. Brigadier Inglis has borne generous testimony to the bravery, vigilance, devotedness, and good conduct of all ranks; and to all ranks, as the local representative of the British Indian Government, the Major-General tenders his warmest acknowledgments,--he would fain offer his special congratulations and thanks to the European and Eurasian portion of the garrison whom Brigadier Inglis has particularly noticed, but, by doing so, he would forestall the Governor-General in the exercise of what, the Major-General is assured, will be one of the most pleasing acts of his official life. No. IV. FROM BRIGADIER INGLIS, COMMANDING GARRISON OF LUCKNOW, TO THE SECRETARY TO GOVERNMENT MILITARY DEPARTMENT, CALCUTTA. Lucknow, September 26th, 1857. SIR, In consequence of the very deeply-to-be-lamented death of Brigadier-General Sir H. M. Lawrence, K.C.B., late in command of the Oude Field Force, the duty of narrating the military events which have occurred at Lucknow since the 29th of June last has devolved upon myself. On the evening of that day several reports reached Sir Henry Lawrence that the rebel army, in no very considerable force, would march from Chinhut (a small village about eight miles distant, on the road to Fyzabad) on Lucknow on the following morning; and the late Brigadier-General therefore determined to make a strong reconnaissance in that direction, with the view, if possible, of meeting the force at a disadvantage, either at its entrance into the suburbs of the city, or at the bridge across the Gokral, which is a small stream intersecting Fyzabad road, midway between Lucknow and Chinhut. The force destined for this service, and which was composed as follows, moved out at 6 A.M. on the morning of the 30th of June:-- _Artillery._--Four guns of No. -- Horse Light Field Battery, four guns of No. 2 Oude Field Battery, two guns of No. 3 Oude Field Battery, and an 8-inch howitzer. _Cavalry._--Troop of Volunteer Cavalry, and 120 troopers of detachments belonging to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Regiments of Oude Irregular Cavalry. _Infantry._--Three hundred of Her Majesty's 32nd, 150 of the 13th Native Infantry, 60 of the 48th Native Infantry, and 20 of the 71st Native Infantry (Sikhs). The troops, misled by the reports of wayfarers--who stated that there were few or no men between Lucknow and Chinhut--proceeded somewhat farther than had been originally intended, and suddenly fell in with the enemy, who had up to that time eluded the vigilance of the advanced guard, by concealing themselves behind a long line of trees in overwhelming numbers. The European force and the howitzer, with the native infantry, held the foe in check for some time, and had the six guns of the Oude Artillery been faithful, and the Sikh cavalry shown a better front, the day would have been won, in spite of an immense disparity in numbers. But the Oude artillerymen and drivers were traitors. They overturned the guns into ditches, cut the traces of their horses, and abandoned them, regardless of the remonstrances and exertions of their own officers, and of those of Sir Henry Lawrence's staff, headed by the Brigadier-General in person, who himself drew his sword upon these rebels. Every effort to induce them to stand having proved ineffectual, the force, exposed to a vastly superior fire of artillery, and completely outflanked on both sides by an overpowering body of infantry and cavalry, which actually got into our rear, was compelled to retire with the loss of three pieces of artillery, which fell into the hands of the enemy, in consequence of the rank treachery of the Oude gunners, and with a very grievous list of killed and wounded. The heat was dreadful, the gun ammunition was expended, and the almost total want of cavalry to protect our rear made our retreat most disastrous. All the officers behaved well, and the exertions of the small body of Volunteer Cavalry--only forty in number--under Captain Radcliffe, 7th Light Cavalry, were most praiseworthy. Sir Henry Lawrence subsequently conveyed his thanks to myself, who had, at his request, accompanied him upon this occasion (Colonel Case being in command of Her Majesty's 32nd). He also expressed his approbation of the way in which his Staff--Captain Wilson, officiating deputy assistant adjutant-general; Lieutenant James, sub-assistant commissary-general; Captain Edgel, officiating military secretary; and Mr. Couper, C.S.--the last of whom had acted as Sir Henry Lawrence's A.D.C. from the commencement of the disturbances,--had conducted themselves throughout this arduous day. Sir Henry further particularly mentioned that he would bring the gallant conduct of Captain Radcliffe and of Lieutenant Bonham, of the Artillery, (who worked the howitzer successfully until incapacitated by a wound,) to the prominent notice of the Government of India. The manner in which Lieutenant Birch, 71st Native Infantry, cleared a village with a party of Sikh skirmishes, also elicited the admiration of the Brigadier-General. The conduct of Lieutenant Hardinge, who, with his handful of horse, covered the retreat of the rear-guard, was extolled by Sir Henry, who expressed his intention of mentioning the services of this gallant officer to his Lordship in Council. Lieutenant-Colonel Case, who commanded Her Majesty's 32nd Regiment, was mortally wounded whilst gallantly leading on his men. The service had not a more deserving officer. The command devolved on Captain Steevens, who also received a death-wound shortly afterwards. The command then fell to Captain Mansfield, who has since died of cholera. It will be in the recollection of his Lordship in Council that it was the original intention of Sir Henry Lawrence to occupy not only the Residency, but also the fort called Muchee Bhawun--an old dilapidated edifice, which had been hastily repaired for the occasion, though the defences were, even at the last moment, very far from complete, and were, moreover, commanded by many houses in the city. The situation of the Muchee Bhawun, with regard to the Residency, has already been described to the Government of India. The untoward event of June the 30th so far diminished the whole available force that we had not a sufficient number of men remaining to occupy both positions. The Brigadier-General, therefore, on the evening of July the 1st signalled to the garrison of the Muchee Bhawun to evacuate and blow up that fortress in the course of the night. The orders were ably carried out, and at 12 P.M. the force marched into the Residency, with their guns and treasure, without the loss of a man; and shortly afterwards the explosion of 240 barrels of gunpowder and 6,000,000 ball cartridges, which were lying in the magazine, announced to Sir Henry Lawrence and his officers, who were anxiously awaiting the report, the complete destruction of that post and all that it contained. If it had not been for this wise and strategic measure, no member of the Lucknow garrison, in all probability, would have survived to tell the tale; for, as has already been stated, the Muchee Bhawun was commanded from other parts of the town, and was, moreover, indifferently provided with heavy artillery ammunition; while the difficulty, suffering, and loss which the Residency garrison, even with the reinforcement thus obtained from the Muchee Bhawun, has undergone in holding the position, is sufficient to show that if the original intention of holding both posts had been adhered to, both would have inevitably fallen. It is now my very painful duty to relate the calamity which befell us at the commencement of the siege. On the 1st July an 8-inch shell burst in the room in the Residency in which Sir H. Lawrence was sitting. The missile burst between him and Mr. Couper, close to both; but without injury to either. The whole of his staff implored Sir Henry to take up other quarters, as the Residency had then become the special target for the round shot and shell of the enemy. This, however, he jestingly declined to do, observing that another shell would certainly never be pitched into that small room. But Providence had ordained otherwise, for on the very next day he was mortally wounded by the fragment of another shell which burst in the same room exactly at the same spot. Captain Wilson, deputy assistant adjutant-general, received a contusion at the same time. The late lamented Sir H. Lawrence, knowing that his last hour was rapidly approaching, directed me to assume command of the troops, and appointed Major Banks to succeed him in the office of Chief Commissioner. He lingered in great agony till the morning of the 4th July, when he expired, and the Government was thereby deprived, if I may venture to say so, of the services of a distinguished statesman and a most gallant soldier. Few men have ever possessed to the same extent the power he enjoyed of winning the hearts of all those with whom he came in contact, and thus ensuring the warmest and most zealous devotion for himself and for the Government which he served. The successful defence of the position has been, under Providence, solely attributable to the foresight which he evinced in the timely commencement of the necessary operations, and the great skill and untiring personal activity which he exhibited in carrying them into effect. All ranks possessed such confidence in his judgment and his fertility of resource, that the news of his fall was received throughout the garrison with feelings of consternation only second to the grief which was inspired in the hearts of all by the loss of a public benefactor and a warm personal friend. Feeling as keenly and as gratefully as I do the obligations that the whole of us are under to this great and good man, I trust the Government of India will pardon me for having attempted, however imperfectly, to portray them. In him every good and deserving soldier lost a friend and a chief capable of discriminating, and ever on the alert to reward merit, no matter how humble the sphere in which it was exhibited. The garrison had scarcely recovered the shock which it had sustained in the loss of its revered and beloved General, when it had to mourn the death of that able and respected officer, Major Banks, the officiating chief commissioner, who received a bullet through his head while examining a critical outpost on the 21st July, and died without a groan. The description of our position, and the state of our defences when the siege began, are so fully set forth in the memorandum furnished by the garrison engineer, that I shall content myself with bringing to the notice of his Lordship in Council the fact that when the blockade was commenced, only two of our batteries were completed, part of the defences were yet in an unfinished condition, and the buildings in the immediate vicinity, which gave cover to the enemy, were only very partially cleared away. Indeed, our heaviest losses have been caused by the fire from the enemy's sharp-shooters stationed in the adjoining mosques and houses of the native nobility, the necessity of destroying which had been repeatedly drawn to the attention of Sir Henry by the staff of engineers. But his invariable reply was, "Spare the holy places, and private property too, as much as possible;" and we have consequently suffered severely from our very tenderness to the religious prejudices and respect to the rights of our rebellious citizens and soldiery. As soon as the enemy had thoroughly completed the investment of the Residency, they occupied these houses, some of which were within easy pistol-shot of our barricades, in immense force, and rapidly made loopholes on those sides which bore on our post, from which they kept up a terrific and incessant fire day and night, which caused many daily casualties, as there could not have been less than 8,000 men firing at one time into our position. Moreover, there was no place in the whole of our works that could be considered safe, for several of the sick and wounded who were lying in the banqueting hall, which had been turned into a hospital, were killed in the very centre of the building, and the widow of Lieutenant Dorin and other women and children were shot dead in rooms into which it had not been previously deemed possible that a bullet could penetrate. Neither were the enemy idle in erecting batteries. They soon had from twenty to twenty-five guns in position, some of them of very large calibre. These were planted all round our post at small distances, some being actually within fifty yards of our defences, but in places where our own heavy guns could not reply to them, while the perseverance and ingenuity of the enemy in erecting barricades in front of, and around, their guns in a very short time, rendered all attempts to silence them by musketry unavailing. Neither could they be effectually silenced by shells, by reason of their extreme proximity to our position, and because, moreover, the enemy had recourse to digging very narrow trenches about eight feet in depth in rear of each gun, in which the men lay while our shells were flying, and which so effectually concealed them, even while working the gun, that our baffled sharp-shooters could only see their hands while in the act of loading. The enemy contented themselves with keeping up this incessant fire of cannon and musketry until the 20th July, on which day, at 10 A.M., they assembled in very great force all round our position, and exploded a heavy mine inside our outer line of defences at the Water Gate. The mine, however, which was close to the Redan, and apparently sprung with the intention of destroying that battery, did no harm. But as soon as the smoke had cleared away, the enemy boldly advanced under cover of a tremendous fire of cannon and musketry, with the object of storming the Redan. But they were received with such a heavy fire, that after a short struggle they fell back with much loss. A strong column advanced at the same time to attack Innes' post, and came on to within ten yards of the palisades, affording to Lieutenant Loughnan, 13th Native Infantry, who commanded the position, and his brave garrison, composed of gentlemen of the Uncovenanted Service, a few of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot and the 13th Native Infantry, an opportunity of distinguishing themselves, which they were not slow to avail themselves of, and the enemy were driven back with great slaughter. The insurgents made minor attacks at almost every outpost, but were invariably defeated, and at 2 P.M. they ceased their attempts to storm the place, although their musketry fire and cannonading continued to harass us unceasingly as usual. Matters proceeded in this manner until the 10th August, when the enemy made another assault, having previously sprung a mine close to the brigade mess, which entirely destroyed our defences for the space of twenty feet, and blew in a great portion of the outside wall of the house occupied by Mr. Shilling's garrison. On the dust clearing away, a breach appeared, through which a regiment could have advanced in perfect order, and a few of the enemy came on with the utmost determination, but were met with such a withering flank fire of musketry from the officers and men holding the top of the brigade mess, that they beat a speedy retreat, leaving the more adventurous of their numbers lying on the crest of the breach. While this operation was going on, another large body advanced on the Cawnpore battery, and succeeded in locating themselves for a few minutes in the ditch. They were, however, dislodged by hand-grenades. At Captain Anderson's post they also came boldly forward with scaling ladders, which they planted against the wall; but here, as elsewhere, they were met with the most indomitable resolution, and the leaders being slain, the rest fled, leaving the ladders, and retreated to their batteries and loopholed defences, from whence they kept up, for the rest of the day, an unusually heavy cannonade and musketry fire. On the 18th August the enemy sprang another mine in front of the Sikh lines with very fatal effect. Captain Orr (unattached), Lieutenants Mecham and Soppitt, who commanded the small body of drummers composing the garrison, were blown into the air; but providentially returned to earth with no further injury than a severe shaking. The garrison, however, were not so fortunate. No less than eleven men were buried alive under the ruins, from whence it was impossible to extricate them, owing to the tremendous fire kept up by the enemy from houses situated not ten yards in front of the breach. The explosion was followed by a general assault of a less determined nature than the two former efforts, and the enemy were consequently repulsed without much difficulty. But they succeeded, under cover of the breach, in establishing themselves in one of the houses in our position, from which they were driven in the evening by the bayonets of Her Majesty's 32nd and 84th Foot. On the 5th of September the enemy made their last serious assault. Having exploded a large mine, a few feet short of the bastion of the 18-pounder gun, in Major Apthorp's post, they advanced with large heavy scaling ladders, which they planted against the wall, and mounted, thereby gaining for an instant the embrasure of a gun. They were, however, speedily driven back with loss by hand-grenades and musketry. A few minutes subsequently they sprung another mine close to the brigade mess, and advanced boldly; but soon the corpses strewed in the garden in front of the post bore testimony to the fatal accuracy of the rifle and musketry fire of the gallant members of that garrison, and the enemy fed ignominiously, leaving their leader--a fine-looking old native officer--among the slain. At other posts they made similar attacks, but with less resolution, and everywhere with the same want of success. Their loss upon this day must have been very heavy, as they came on with much determination, and at night they were seen bearing large numbers of their killed and wounded over the bridges in the direction of cantonments. The above is a faint attempt at a description of the four great struggles which have occurred during this protracted season of exertion, exposure, and suffering. His Lordship in Council will perceive that the enemy invariably commenced his attacks by the explosion of a mine,--a species of offensive warfare, for the exercise of which our position was unfortunately peculiarly situated; and had it not been for the most untiring vigilance on our part, in watching and blowing up their mines before they were completed, the assaults would probably have been much more numerous, and might, perhaps, have ended in the capture of the place. But by countermining in all directions, we succeeded in detecting and destroying no less than four of the enemy's subterraneous advances towards important positions, two of which operations were eminently successful, as on one occasion not less than eighty of them were blown into the air, and twenty suffered a similar fate on the second explosion. The labour, however, which devolved upon us in making these counter-mines, in the absence of a body of skilled miners, was very heavy. The Right Honourable the Governor-General in Council will feel that it would be impossible to crowd, within the limits of a despatch, even the principal events, much more the individual acts of gallantry, which have marked this protracted struggle. But I can conscientiously declare my conviction, that few troops have ever undergone greater hardships, exposed as they have been to a never-ceasing musketry fire and cannonade. They have also experienced the alternate vicissitudes of extreme wet and intense heat, and that too with very insufficient shelter from either, and in many places without any shelter at all. In addition to having to repel real attacks, they have been exposed night and day to the hardly less harassing false alarms which the enemy have been constantly raising. The insurgents have frequently fired very heavily, sounded the advance, and shouted for several hours together, though not a man could be seen, with the view, of course, of harassing our small and exhausted force; in which object they succeeded, for no part has been strong enough to allow of a portion only of the garrison being prepared in the event of a false attack being turned into a real one. All, therefore, had to stand to their arms, and to remain at their posts until the demonstration had ceased; and such attacks were of almost nightly occurrence. The whole of the officers and men have been on duty night and day during the eighty-seven days which the siege had lasted, up to the arrival of Sir J. Outram, G.C.B. In addition to this incessant military duty, the force has been nightly employed in repairing defences, in moving guns, in burying dead animals, in conveying ammunition and commissariat stores from one place to another, and in other fatigue duties too numerous and too trivial to enumerate here. I feel, however, that any words of mine will fail to convey any adequate idea of what our fatigue and labours have been--labours in which all ranks and all classes, civilians, officers, and soldiers, have all borne an equally noble part. All have together descended into the mine; all have together handled the shovel for the interment of the putrid bullock; and all, accoutred with musket and bayonet, have relieved each other on sentry, without regard to the distinctions of rank, civil or military. Notwithstanding all these hardships, the garrison has made no less than five sorties, in which they spiked two of the enemy's heaviest guns, and blew up several of the houses from which they had kept up the most harassing fire. Owing to the extreme paucity of our numbers, each man was taught to feel that on his own individual efforts alone depended in no small measure the safety of the entire position. This consciousness incited every officer, soldier, and man to defend the post assigned to him with such desperate tenacity, and fight for the lives which Providence had intrusted to his care with such dauntless determination, that the enemy, despite their constant attacks, their heavy mines, their overwhelming numbers, and their incessant fire, could never succeed in gaining one inch of ground within the bounds of this straggling position, which was so feebly fortified, that had they once obtained a footing in any of the outposts, the whole place must inevitably have fallen. If further proof be wanting of the desperate nature of the struggle which we have, under God's blessing, so long and so successfully waged, I would point to the roofless and ruined houses, to the crumpled walls, to the exploded mines, to the open breaches, to the shattered and disabled guns and defences, and lastly to the long and melancholy list of the brave and devoted officers and men who have fallen. These silent witnesses bear sad and solemn testimony to the way in which this feeble position has been defended. During the early part of these vicissitudes, we were left without any information whatever regarding the posture of affairs outside. An occasional spy did indeed come in with the object of inducing our sepoys and servants to desert; but the intelligence derived from such sources was, of course, entirely untrustworthy. We sent our messengers, daily calling for aid and asking for information, none of whom ever returned until the 26th day of the siege, when a pensioner named Ungud came back with a letter from General Havelock's camp, informing us that they were advancing with a force sufficient to bear down all opposition, and would be with us in five or six days. A messenger was immediately despatched, requesting that on the evening of their arrival on the outskirts of the city, two rockets might be sent up, in order that we might take the necessary measures for assisting them in forcing their way in. The sixth day, however, expired, and they came not; but for many evenings after officers and men watched for the ascension of the expected rockets, with hopes such as make the heart sick. We knew not then, nor did we learn until the 29th of August--or thirty-five days later--that the relieving force, after having fought most nobly to effect our deliverance, had been obliged to fall back for reinforcements, and this was the last communication we received until two days before the arrival of Sir James Outram on Sept. 25th. Besides heavy visitations of cholera and smallpox, we have also had to contend against a sickness which has almost universally pervaded the garrison. Commencing with a very painful eruption it has merged into a low fever, combined with diarrhoea; and although few or no men have actually died from its effects, it leaves behind a weakness and lassitude which, in the absence of all material sustenance, save coarse beef and still coarser flour, none have been able entirely to get over. The mortality among the women and children, and especially among the latter, from these diseases and from other causes, has been perhaps the most characteristic of the siege. The want of native servants has also been a source of much privation. Owing to the suddenness with which we were besieged, many of these people who might perhaps have otherwise proved faithful to their employers, but who were outside of the defences at the time, were altogether excluded. Very many more deserted, and several families were consequently left without the services of a single domestic. Several ladies have had to tend their children, and even to wash their own clothes, as well as to cook their scanty meals entirely unaided. Combined with the absence of servants, the want of proper accommodation has probably been the cause of much of the disease with which we have been afflicted. I cannot refrain from bringing to the prominent notice of his Lordship in Council the patient endurance and the Christian resignation which have been evinced by the women of this garrison. They have animated us by their example. Many, alas! have been made widows and their children fatherless in this cruel struggle. But all such seem resigned to the will of Providence, and many, among whom may be mentioned the honoured names of Birch, of Polehampton, of Barbor, and of Gall, have, after the example of Miss Nightingale, constituted themselves the tender and solicitous nurses of the wounded and dying soldiers in the hospital. It only remains for me to bring to the favourable notice of his Lordship in Council the names of those officers who have most distinguished themselves, and afforded me the most valuable assistance in these operations. Many of the best and bravest of these now rest from their labours. Among them are Lieutenant-Colonel Case and Captain Radcliffe, whose services have already been narrated. Captain Francis, 13th Native Infantry--who was killed by a round shot--had particularly attracted the attention of Sir H. Lawrence for his conduct while in command of the Muchee Bhawun; Captain Fulton, of the Engineers, who also was struck by a round shot, had, up to the time of his early and lamented death, afforded me the most invaluable aid; he was indeed indefatigable; Major Anderson, the chief Engineer, though, from the commencement of the siege, incapable of physical exertion from the effects of the disease under which he eventually sank, merited my warm acknowledgments for his able counsel. Captain Simons, commandant of artillery, distinguished himself at Chinhut, where he received the two wounds which ended in his death; Lieutenants Shepherd and Arthur, 7th Light Cavalry, who were killed at their posts; Captain Hughes, 57th Native Infantry, who was mortally wounded at the capture of a house which formed one of the enemy's outposts; Captain M'Cabe, of the 32nd Foot, who was killed at the head of his men while leading his fourth sortie, as well as Captain Mansfield, of the same corps, who died of cholera--were all officers who had distinguished themselves highly. Mr. Lucas too, a gentleman volunteer, and Mr. Boyson, of the Uncovenanted Service--who fell when on the look-out at one of the most perilous outposts--had earned themselves reputations for coolness and gallantry. The officers who commanded outposts--Lieutenant-Colonel Master, 7th Light Cavalry; Major Apthorp, and Captain Sanders, 41st Native Infantry; Captain Boileau, 7th Light Cavalry; Captain Germon, 13th Native Infantry; Lieutenant Aitkin, and Lieutenant Loughnan, of the same corps; Captain Anderson, 25th Native Infantry; Lieutenant Graydon, 44th Native Infantry; Lieutenant Langmore, 71st Native Infantry; and Mr. Schilling, principal of the Martiniere College--have all conducted ably the duties of their onerous position. No further proof of this is necessary than the fact which I have before mentioned, that throughout the whole duration of the siege, the enemy were not only unable to take, but they could not even succeed in gaining, one inch of the posts commanded by these gallant gentlemen. Colonel Master commanded the critical and important post of the brigade mess, on either side of which was an open breach, only flanked by his handful of riflemen and musketeers. Lieutenant Aitkin, with the whole of the 13th Native Infantry, which remained to us with the exception of their Sikhs, commanded the Baillie Guard--perhaps the most important position in the whole of the defences; and Lieutenant Langmore, with the remnant of his regiment (the 71st), held a very exposed position between the Hospital and the Water Gate. This gallant and deserving young soldier and his men were entirely without shelter from the weather, both by night and by day. My thanks are also due to Lieutenants Anderson, Hutchinson, and Innes, of the Engineers, as well as Lieutenant Tulloch, 58th Native Infantry, and Lieutenant Hay, 48th Native Infantry, who were placed under them to aid in the arduous duties devolving upon that department. Lieutenant Thomas, Madras Artillery, who commanded that arm of the service for some weeks, and Lieutenants Macfarlane and Bonham, rendered me the most effectual assistance. I was, however, deprived of the services of the two latter, who were wounded, Lieutenant Bonham no less than three times, early in the siege. Captain Evans, 17th Bombay Native Infantry, who, owing to the scarcity of artillery officers, was put in charge of some guns, was ever to be found at his post. Major Lowe, commanding Her Majesty's 32nd Regiment; Captain Bassano, Lieutenants Lawrence, Edmonstoune, Foster, Harmar, Cooke, Clery, Browne, and Charlton, of that corps, have all nobly performed their duty. Every one of these officers, with the exception of Lieutenants Lawrence and Clery, have received one or more wounds of more or less severity. Quartermaster Stribbling, of the same corps, also conducted himself to my satisfaction. Captain O'Brien, Her Majesty's 84th Foot; Captain Kemble, 41st Native Infantry; Captain Edgell, 53rd Native Infantry; Captain Dinning, Lieutenant Sewell, and Lieutenant Worsley, of the 71st Native Infantry; Lieutenant Warner, 7th Local Corps; Ensign Ward, 48th Native Infantry (who, when most of our artillery officers were killed or disabled, worked the mortars with excellent effect); Lieutenant Graham, 11th Native Infantry; Lieutenant Mecham, 4th Oude Locals; and Lieutenant Keir, 41st Native Infantry, have all done good and willing service throughout the siege, and I trust that they will receive the favourable notice of his Lordship in Council. I beg particularly to call the attention of the Government of India to the untiring industry, the extreme devotion, and the great skill which have been evinced by Surgeon Scott (superintending surgeon), and Assistant-surgeon Boyd, of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot; Assistant-surgeon Bird, of the Artillery; Surgeon Campbell, 7th Light Cavalry; Surgeon Brydon, 7th Native Infantry; Surgeon Ogilvie, sanitary commissioner; Assistant-surgeon Fayrer, civil surgeon; Assistant-surgeon Partridge, 2nd Oude Irregular Cavalry; Assistant-surgeon Greenhow; Assistant-surgeon Darby, and by Mr. Apothecary Thompson, in the discharge of their onerous and most important duties. Messrs. Thornhill and Capper, of the Civil Service, have been both wounded, and the way in which they, as well as Mr. Martin, the deputy commissioner of Lucknow, conducted themselves, entitles them to a place in this despatch. Captain Carnegie, the special assistant commissioner, whose invaluable service previous to the commencement of the siege I have frequently heard warmly dilated upon, both by Sir H. Lawrence and by Major Banks, and whose exertions will probably be more amply brought to notice by the civil authorities on some future occasion, has conducted the office of provost marshal to my satisfaction. The Reverend Mr. Harris and the Reverend Mr. Polehampton, assistant chaplains, vied with each other in their untiring care and attention to the suffering men. The latter gentleman was wounded in the hospital, and subsequently unhappily died of cholera. Mr. M'Crae, of the Civil Engineers, did excellent service, at the guns, until he was severely wounded. Mr. Cameron, also, a gentleman who had come to Oude to inquire into the resources of the country, acquired the whole mystery of mortar practice, and was of the most signal service until incapacitated by sickness. Mr. Marshall, of the road department, and other members of the Uncovenanted Service, whose names will, on a subsequent occasion, be laid before the Government of India, conducted themselves bravely and steadily. Indeed, the entire body of these gentlemen have borne themselves well, and have evinced great coolness under fire. I have now only to bring to the notice of the Right Honourable the Governor-General in Council the conduct of the several officers who composed my staff:--Lieutenant James, sub-assistant commissary-general, was severely wounded by a shot through the knee at Chinhut, notwithstanding which he refused to go upon the sick list, and carried on his most trying duties throughout the entire siege. It is not too much to say that the garrison owe their lives to the exertions and firmness of this officer. Before the struggle commenced, he was ever in the saddle, getting in supplies, and his untiring vigilance in their distribution after our difficulties had begun, prevented a waste which otherwise, long before the expiration of the eighty-seven days, might have annihilated the force by the slow process of starvation. Captain Wilson, 13th Native Infantry, officiating deputy-assistant adjutant-general, was ever to be found where shot was flying thickest; and I am at a loss to decide whether his services were more invaluable owing to the untiring physical endurance and bravery which he displayed, or to his ever-ready and pertinent counsel and advice in moments of difficulty and danger. Lieutenant Hardinge, an officer whose achievements and antecedents are well known to the Government of India, has earned fresh laurels by his conduct throughout the siege. He was officiating as deputy-assistant quartermaster-general, and also commanded the Sikh portion of the cavalry of the garrison. In both capacities his services have been invaluable, especially in the latter, for it was owing alone to his tact, vigilance, and bravery, that the Sikh horsemen were induced to persevere in holding a very unprotected post under a heavy fire. Lieutenant Barwell, 71st Native Infantry, the fort adjutant and officiating major of brigade, has proved himself to be an efficient officer. Lieutenant Birch, of the 71st Native Infantry, has been my aide-de-camp throughout the siege. I firmly believe there never was a better aide-de-camp. He has been indefatigable, and ever ready to lead a sortie, or to convey an order to a threatened outpost under the heaviest fire. On one of these occasions he received a slight wound on the head. I beg to bring the services of this most promising and intelligent young officer to the favourable consideration of his Lordship in Council. I am also much indebted to Mr. Cooper, Civil Service, for the assistance he has on many occasions afforded me by his judicious advice. I have, moreover, ever found him most ready and willing in the performance of the military duties assigned to him, however exposed the post or arduous the undertaking. He commenced his career in Her Majesty's service, and consequently had had some previous experience of military matters. If the road to Cawnpore had been made clear by the advent of our troops, it was my intention to have deputed this officer to Calcutta, to detail in person the occurrences which have taken place, for the information of the Government of India. I still hope that when our communications shall be once more unopposed he may be summoned to Calcutta for this purpose. Lastly, I have the pleasure of bringing the splendid behaviour of the soldiers, viz., the men of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot, the small detachment of Her Majesty's 84th Foot, the European and Native Artillery, the 13th, 48th, and 71st Regiments of Native Infantry, and the Sikhs of the respective corps, to the notice of the Government of India. The losses sustained by Her Majesty's 32nd, which is now barely 300 strong; by Her Majesty's 84th, and by the European Artillery, show at least that they knew how to die in the cause of their countrymen. Their conduct under the fire, the exposure, and the privations which they had to undergo, has been throughout most admirable and praiseworthy. As another instance of the desperate character of our defence, and the difficulties we have had to contend with, I may mention that the number of our artillerymen was so reduced that on the occasion of an attack, the gunners, aided as they were by men of Her Majesty's 32nd Foot, and by volunteers of all classes, had to run from one battery to another, wherever the fire of the enemy was hottest, there not being nearly enough men to serve half the number of guns at the same time. In short, at last, the number of European gunners was only twenty-four, while we had, including mortars, no less than thirty guns in position. With respect to the native troops, I am of opinion that their loyalty has never been surpassed. They were indifferently fed and worse housed. They were exposed--especially the 13th Regiment--under the gallant Lieutenant Aitken, to a most galling fire of round shot and musketry, which materially decreased their numbers. They were so near the enemy that conversation could be carried on between them; and every effort, persuasion, promise, and threat was alternately resorted to, in vain, to seduce them from their allegiance to the handful of Europeans, who, in all probability, would have been sacrificed by their desertion. All the troops behaved nobly, and the names of those men of the native force who have particularly distinguished themselves, have been laid before Major-General Sir James Outram, G.C.B., who has promised to promote them. Those of the European force will be transmitted in due course for the orders of His Royal Highness the General Commanding-in-Chief. In conclusion, I beg leave to express, on the part of myself and the members of this garrison, our deep and grateful sense of the conduct of Major-General Sir J. Outram, G.C.B.; of Brigadier-General Havelock, C.B., and of the troops under those officers who so devotedly came to our relief at so heavy a sacrifice of life. We are also repaid for much suffering and privation by the sympathy which our brave deliverers say our perilous and unfortunate position has excited for us in the hearts of our countrymen throughout the length and breadth of Her Majesty's dominions.--I have, &c., (Signed) T. Inglis, Colonel, Her Majesty's 32nd, Brigadier. No. V. _From the Homeward Mail._ A COMPLETE NOMINAL LIST OF THE OFFICERS, MEMBERS OF THE UNCOVENANTED SERVICE, AND WOMEN AND CHILDREN OF THE LUCKNOW GARRISON; AND AS THE RETURN PROCEEDED FROM AN OFFICIAL SOURCE THE AUTHENTICITY MAY BE FULLY RELIED ON. _General Staff._ Brigadier-General Sir H. M. Lawrence, chief commissioner, killed; Lieutenant Hutchinson, aide-de-camp; Captain Hayes, military secretary, killed; Captain Edgell, officiating; Captain Wilson, deputy assistant-adjutant-general, contused, recovered; Lieutenant Hardinge, deputy assistant quartermaster-general, twice wounded, recovered; Lieutenant James, sub-assistant commissary general, wounded, doing well; Major Anderson, chief engineer, dead; Major Marriott, pension-paymaster. _Brigade Staff._ Brigadier Handscomb, commanding Oude brigade, killed; Brigadier Inglis, commanding the garrison; Lieutenant Birch, aide-de-camp, slightly wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Barwell, town and fort adjutant, officiating major of brigade; Captain Carnegie, provost marshal. _Artillery._ Captain Simons, wounded, since dead; First Lieutenant Alexander, wounded, recovered, since killed; First Lieutenant Thomas (Madras); Second Lieutenant Lewin, killed; Lieutenant Brice, wounded, since dead; Second Lieutenant Bonham, wounded three times, doing well; Second Lieutenant J. Alexander, slightly wounded, recovered; Second Lieutenant MacFarlan, wounded, doing well; Second Lieutenant Cunliffe, wounded, since dead. _Engineers._ Captain Fulton, garrison engineer, killed; Lieutenant Anderson (Madras) officiating; Lieutenant Innes. _7th Regiment Light Cavalry._ Lieutenant-Colonel Master; Captain Staples, killed; Captain Radcliffe, wounded, since dead; Captain Boileau, slightly wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Arthur, killed; Lieutenant Boulton, killed; Lieutenant Warner, adjutant; Lieutenant Martin, killed; Lieutenant Farquhar, wounded, convalescent; Lieutenant Raleigh, killed; Surgeon Campbell; veterinary surgeon Hely, killed; riding master Eldridge, killed. _Her Majesty's 32nd Foot._ Lieutenant-Colonel Case, killed; Major Lowe, commanding, twice wounded, doing well; Captain Stevens, killed; Captain Mansfield, dead; Captain Power, wounded, since dead; Captain Bassano, wounded, recovered; Captain M'Cabe, mortally wounded, since dead; Lieutenant Lawrence; Lieutenant Edmonstoune, twice wounded, doing well; Lieutenant Webb, killed; Lieutenant Foster, wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Clery; Lieutenant Brown; Lieutenant Brackenbury, killed; Lieutenant Harmer, wounded, doing well; Lieutenant Cook, slightly wounded, recovered; Ensign Charlton, wounded, doing well; Ensign Studdy, killed; Paymaster Giddings; Quartermaster Stribbling; Surgeon Scott, M.D.; Assistant-Surgeon Boyd. _Detachment of Her Majesty's 84th Foot._ Lieutenant O'Brien, wounded, recovered; Ensign McGrath. _13th Regiment Native Infantry._ Major Bruère, killed; Captain Waterman, wounded, recovered; Captain Germon; Captain Francis, killed; Lieutenant Aitken, Quartermaster; Lieutenant Chambers, adjutant, wounded, doing well; Lieutenant Thain; Lieutenant Loughnan; Ensign Green, dead; Surgeon Pitt. _41st Regiment Native Infantry._ Major Apthorp; Captain Kemble, wounded, recovered; Captain Sanders; Lieutenant Ruggles; Lieutenant Graves, dead; Lieutenant Darrah; Lieutenant Inglis, wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Keir; Ensign McGregor, dead; Ensign Hewitt, slightly wounded, recovered; Surgeon Macdonald, dead. _48th Regiment Native Infantry._ Lieutenant-Colonel Palmer; Major Bird; Captain Burmester, killed; Captain Green; Lieutenant Huxham, twice wounded, doing well; Lieutenant Smith, Adjutant, wounded (accidentally), doing well; Lieutenant Ouseley, Quartermaster; Lieutenant Fletcher, wounded, doing well; Lieutenant Dashwood, wounded, since dead; Lieutenant Hay, wounded slightly, recovered; Ensign Farquharson, killed; Ensign O'Dowda, slightly wounded, recovered; Ensign Ward; Surgeon Wells, wounded slightly, recovered. _71st Regiment Native Infantry._ Colonel Halford, dead; Captain Strangways, slightly wounded, recovered; Captain Dinning; Captain Maclean, killed; Lieutenant Langmore, Adjutant; Lieutenant Sewell; Lieutenant Grant, killed; Ensign Worsley; Ensign C. W. Campbell, wounded, doing well; Ensign W. Campbell; Surgeon Brydon, wounded, recovered. _Officers not belonging to the Oude Brigade._ Major Banks, Provisional Chief Commissioner, killed; Captain Stuart, 3rd Native Infantry; Captain H. Lloyd Evans, 17th Bombay Native Infantry; Lieutenant Fullerton, 44th Native Infantry, dead; Lieutenant Lester, 32nd Native Infantry, killed; Lieutenant Tullock, 58th Native Infantry; Lieutenant Birch, 59th Native Infantry, killed; Ensign Inglis, 63rd Native Infantry, doing duty 13th Native Infantry; Captain Weston, 65th Native Infantry, Oude Frontier Police; Ensign Dashwood, 18th Native Infantry, mortally wounded, since dead. _Oude Irregular Force._ Brigadier Gray, Commanding; Captain Barlow, Major of Brigade, wounded, since dead; Captain Forbes, 1st Oude Cavalry, slightly wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Bax, Second in Command, killed; Lieutenant Graham, Officiating Adjutant, dead; Assistant-Surgeon Greenhow; Major Gall, 2nd Oude Cavalry, killed; Lieutenant Shepherd, Second in Command, killed; Lieutenant Barbor, Adjutant, killed; Gentleman Volunteer Fayrer, killed; Assistant-Surgeon Partridge; Lieutenant Graham, Adjutant, 3rd Oude Cavalry, slightly wounded twice, recovered; Lieutenant Clarke, 1st Oude Infantry; Captain Hughes, 4th Oude Infantry, wounded, since dead; Lieutenant Soppitt, 4th Oude Infantry; Assistant-Surgeon Hadow; Captain Hawes, 6th Oude Infantry, wounded, recovered; Lieutenant Grant, Second in Command, wounded, since dead; Apothecary Thompson; Lieutenant Graydon, 7th Oude Infantry, very dangerously wounded, since dead; Lieutenant Watson, Second in Command; Lieutenant Mechamns, Adjutant; Lieutenant Vanrenen, 9th Oude Infantry; Assistant-Surgeon Darby, M.D., 10th Oude Infantry; Captain Hearsey, unattached; Captain Orr, unattached. _Assistant Chaplains of Lucknow._ The Reverend H. P. Harris; the Reverend H. S. Polehampton, wounded, since dead. _Civil Surgeons._ Surgeon Ogilvie, Superintendent of Jails; Assistant-Surgeon Fayrer, Residency Surgeon. _Gentlemen of the Civil Service._ Mr. Gubbins, Financial Commissioner; Mr. Ommanney, Judicial Commissioner, killed; Mr. Cooper, Secretary, Chief Commissioner; Mr. Martin, Deputy-Commissioner, Lucknow; Mr. Benson, Deputy-Commissioner, Durriabad; Mr. Capper, Deputy-Commissioner, Mullaon; Mr. Lawrence, Officiating Deputy-Commissioner, Gondah, wounded, recovered; Mr. Thornhill, Assistant-Commissioner, Lucknow, slightly wounded, recovered--dangerously wounded, since dead; Mr. Boulderson, Assistant-Commissioner, Lucknow, slightly wounded, recovered. _Ladies and Children in Garrison._ Mrs. Hayes and child, Mrs. Edgell and child, Mrs. Marriot, Mrs. Inglis and three children, Mrs. Barwell and child, Mrs. Thomas and child (Mrs. Thomas, dead), Mrs. Lewin and two children, Mrs. Staples, Mrs. Radcliffe and three children (one child dead), Mrs. Boileau and three children, Mrs. Case and sister, Mrs. Steeven, Mrs. Giddings, Mrs. Bruère and four children, Mrs. Germon, Mrs. Aitken, Mrs. Pitt and child, Mrs. Apthorp and child (child dead), Mrs. Darrah and two children, Miss Palmer killed, Mrs. Bird and two children (one child dead), Mrs. Green (dead), Mrs. Huxham and two children (one child dead), Mrs. Ouseley and three children (two children dead), Mrs. Dashwood and three children (one child dead), Mrs. Wells and child, Mrs. Halford, Miss Halford, Mrs. Strangways and four children (one child dead), Mrs. Brydon and two children, Mrs. Stuart and child, Mrs. Banks and child, Mrs. Birch, Mrs. Orr and child, Mrs. Hearsey, Mrs. Barlow, Mrs. Forbes and three children (two children dead), Mrs. Graham and two children (one child dead), Mrs. Gall, Mrs. Barbor, Mrs. Clarke, Mrs. Soppitt, Mrs. Grant and child (both dead), Mrs. Watson and child, Mrs. Harris, Mrs. Polehampton, Mrs. Ogilvie, Mrs. Fayrer and child, Mrs. Gubbins, Miss Nepean, Mrs. Ommaney, two Misses Ommaney, Mrs. Couper and three children, Mrs. Martin and two children (two children dead), Mrs. Benson and child (child dead), Mrs. Thornhill and child (child dead), Mrs. Schilling, Mrs. Hale and child, (both dead), Mrs. Fullerton and child (child dead), Mrs. Dorin, killed; Mrs Kendall and child (child dead), Mrs. Bartrum and child (child dead), Mrs. Clarke and child (both dead), Mrs. Anderson and child (both dead), Mrs. Anderson, Dr. Mrs. Boileau and four children (one child dead), Miss E. E. Birch. _European Women and Children in Garrison._ Mrs. Evans, dead; Mrs. Brett and child (child dead), Mrs. Ball and child; Mrs. Cane and three children; Mrs. Court and two children; Mrs. Connell and child; Mrs. Grant; Mrs. Abbott and child (child dead); Mrs. Hembro and three children; Mrs. Purcell and child; Mrs. Longton and child; Mrs. Morgan; Mrs. Sexton; Mrs. Ramsay; Mrs. Watson and child; Mrs. Ryder; Mrs. Wells and child; Mrs. Woods and three children (one child dead); Mrs. Morton and child (child dead); Mrs. Baxter and three children; Mrs. Fitzgerald and child; Mrs. Fitzgerald and three children (one child dead); Mrs. Martin; Mrs. Kinsley and four children; Mrs. Rae; Mrs. Gabriell and three children; Mrs. Pew, senior; Mrs. Pew, junior, and four children (two children dead); Mrs. Ireland and child; Mrs. Swarris and three children; Mrs. Gambooa; Mrs. Blyth and child (child dead); Mrs. Jones; Mrs. Luxted; Miss Luxted; Mrs. Catania; Mrs. Forbes; Mrs. Blaney; Mrs. Hyde and two children; Mrs. Sequera, senior; Mrs. Sequera, junior, killed; Mrs. Chrestien; Miss Sequera, Mrs. Vaughan and two children; Mrs. Beale; Mrs. Hardingham; Mrs. Sinclair; Miss Hampton; Mrs. Elliott; Mrs. Sangster and two children; Mrs. Barnett and child; Miss Sangster; Mrs. Browne; Mrs. Hamilton and three children (two children dead); Mrs. Velozo; Miss Velozo; Mrs. Horn and three children; Mrs. Parry and four children; Mrs. Ereth; Mrs. Bates; Mrs. Scott and child (child dead); Mrs. Need and three children; Mrs. Higgins, dead; Mrs. Williams and child (child dead); Mrs. Wilkinson, dead; Mrs. Allnutt and child (child dead); Mrs. Reilly and child (child dead); Mrs. Collins and child (both dead); Mrs. Macgrenan; Mrs. Garland and child; Miss Clarke; Mrs. J. J. Phillips; Mrs. W. Phillips and child; Mrs. Leslie; Mrs. Lincoln and child; Mrs. Chick and two children (one child dead); Mrs. Clancey and two children; Mrs. Joyce and child; Mrs. Best and child (child dead); Mrs. Pidgeon; Mrs. Todd and child; Mrs. Blunt; Mrs. Garrett and two children; Mrs. Pedron; Miss Marshall; Miss Savaille; Miss Campagnac; Mrs. Dudman and three children (two children dead); Mrs. Ward and child; Mrs. Dudman 2nd, Mrs. Rennick; Mrs. Derozario; Mrs. Dacosta; Mrs. Archer and two children; Mrs. Hilton and two children; Mrs. Dera Vara and two children; Mrs. Pender and four children; Mrs. McDonnough and two children; Mrs. Oliver and two children; Mrs. Brown; Mrs. Rontleff and child; Mrs. Curwan and child; Mrs. Lynch and child; Mrs. Moreton and two children (both children dead); Mrs. Smith and three children; Mrs. Brandoff; Mrs. Curtain and three children; Mrs. Kennedy; Mrs. Bally and two children; Mrs. Peter; Miss Kennedy; Mrs. Burnet and child; Mrs. Cook and four children (one child dead); Mrs. Bryson and four children (one child dead); Mrs. Marshall; Mrs. Rutledge and two children; Mrs. Lawrence and two children (one child dead); Mrs. Samson; Mrs. Horan and three children; Mrs. Kavanagh and four children (one child dead); Mrs. F. Marshall and two children; Mrs. Sago; Mrs. Virtue; Miss Virtue; Miss Brown; Mrs. F. Williams and two children; Mrs. Gordon and two children; Mrs. Hoff; Mrs. Wittenbaker and eight children; Mrs. Donnithorne and two children (one child dead); Mrs. Pearce and two children; Mrs. Mendes, dead; Miss Gardner; Miss Roberts; Mrs. Dubois, senior; Mrs. Dubois, junior; Mrs. Campagnac, senior; Mrs. Campagnac, junior, and four children; Miss Campagnac, 1st; Miss Campagnac, 2nd; Mrs. Mahar and two children; Mrs. Twitchem; Mrs. Marley and one child; Miss Hampton; Mrs. Longden; Miss Rodgers; Mrs. Duff and child; Mrs. Griffiths and three children; Mrs. Keogh and five children (three children dead); Mrs. Molloy and five children; Mrs. Hernon and four children; Mrs. Bickers and three children; Mrs. Barrett and three children (one child dead); Mrs. Casey and five children (one child dead); Mrs. Alone, Miss Alone; Miss Arno; Miss Robinson; Miss Bowhear; Mrs. Johannes and child; Mrs. Queiros and child; Mrs. Dias; Mrs. Pelling; Mrs. Nazareth and two children (Mrs. Nazareth, dead); Mrs. Nugent, junior, and three children; Mrs. Joseph and three children; Mrs. Hamilton; Mrs. Blenman; Mrs. Bates and child; Mrs. Barfoot. _Members of the Uncovenanted Service._ Messrs. J. F. Macgrenan, R. Garland, W. E. Fitzgerald, R. M. Collins, F. Leach, F. Williams, F. Knight, J. Gordon, E. Hoff, R. Dorrett, Anthony Wharton, Wittenbaker, Wittenbaker junior (killed), S. Williams, Donnithorne, Velozo, Pearce, Mendes (killed), Phillips, French, Leslie, Lincoln, Chick, W. Phillips, Clancey (killed), Ewart, Todd, R. Joyce, Thriepland Blund, Forrester (wounded), Potter, Kavanagh, Marshall, Forder, May, Martin, Morgan (wounded), McRae (wounded), Bryson (killed), J. Brown (killed), C. Brown (killed), O. Browne (dead), W. Marshall (killed), E. Sequera (killed), Blancey (wounded, recovered), Rutledge (wounded, recovered), Duhan, Hutton, Owen, Morgan, Lawrence, Sarle, Sequera, Parey, Allnutt, B. Alone, A. Alone (wounded), A. Bates, Blenham (wounded), Bailey (wounded, recovered), Bickers (wounded), Ereth (killed), T. Catania, C. Catania, Hardingham, Rees, J. Sinclair (wounded), McAuliffe (killed), Sinclair (pensioner), Rae, Gabriel, Samuels, Pew, sen., A. Pew, jun., G. Ireland, W. Ireland, Swarries (wounded, recovered), Fernandes, Blythe, Jones, Luxted (pensioner), Hyde (wounded, slightly recovered), Howard, Forbes, Blaney, Deprat (killed), W. Hamilton, Sequera, Sequera, jun. (wounded, recovered), Chrestien, Schmidth (wounded, since dead), Collins, Vaughan (wounded, recovered), Elliott, Sangster, Beale (killed), Queiros, Queiros junior, Queiros 3rd, Johannes, Nazareth, Dias, Signor Barsotelli, Jeoffry, W. Brown, Mitchell, Johnson, Symes, Wells (killed), Dubois, Campagnac, C. Campagnac, E. Dudman, Owen, Hill, Crabb (killed), Need (killed), Ward, Barry, Casey (dead), Barrett (dead), Wiltshire (dead), Macmanus (killed), Cameron (dead), Gerald Cameron (merchant), H. H. Birch (son of the late Lieut.-Col. F. W. Birch). _Martiniere School._ Mr. Schilling, Principal; Mr. Crank, Assistant; Messrs. Archer, Dodd, Wall, Hilton, Dera Vara, De Verrine, and boys. PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE, LONDON. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. The use of hyphens and of accents has been rationalised. One superscript and two "oe" ligatures have been removed. 
60343	----	Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 60343-h.htm or 60343-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60343/60343-h/60343-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/60343/60343-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/b2993090x A DOCTOR IN FRANCE 1917 · 1919 [Illustration] A DOCTOR IN FRANCE 1917 · 1919 The Diary of HAROLD BARCLAY Lieutenant-Colonel American Expeditionary Forces New York Privately Printed 1923 Copyright 1923 by Helen Barclay Printed in the United States of America EDITOR'S NOTE Harold Barclay, son of Sackett Moore and Cornelia Barclay Barclay, was born in New York City, August 14, 1872. At Cazenovia, N.Y., his parents had their country home and there by the beautiful Lake of Cazenovia he spent his early years and grew up with that great love for the country and dislike of cities which lasted all his life. He entered Harvard University (class of 1897) but left after the first year as he wished to go to Europe. After traveling a few months he went to Germany to study music. He had a beautiful voice and was a natural musician, and so great was the encouragement he received from his teachers that for some time he considered making music his life work. But other counsels prevailed and he finally chose the career of a physician--a choice which his great success fully justified. In 1899 he graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons. He had, however, found time to serve his country in the Spanish-American War, when he acted as medical assistant in Troop A, United States Volunteers in Porto Rico. In April, 1906, he married Helen Fuller Potter, daughter of the Rev. Dr. Eliphabet Nott Potter. During all these busy years, his love of music and travel continued and always when possible his holidays were spent in European travel or scientific studies in France or Germany. When in 1917 America entered the World War, Dr. Barclay received a commission as captain and went overseas in the Roosevelt Hospital Unit. Promoted to Major in February, 1918, he was later transferred to the 42nd (Rainbow) Division, in which he served during the heavy fighting at Château-Thierry and St.-Mihiel. In November, 1918, he became a Lieutenant-Colonel and was ordered home January 2, 1919. Dr. Barclay was traveling with his wife in France when his sudden death occurred at Biarritz in the summer of 1922. PART I _With the Roosevelt Hospital Unit_ 1917 _June 30th._ At last, after six weeks' waiting and more or less uncertainty of the time of departure, the call has come in the form of "Confidential Order No. 5" from the War Department. Hustle into uniform and report for duty to Major Hansell at Roosevelt Hospital. We are told to go home and report again Sunday, July 1st. _July 1st._ It really looks like business. The courtyard of the Hospital is full of enlisted men having their outfits handed out to them. The whole dispensary is littered with coats, trousers, blankets, etc. The men are having identification discs given them and are packing their kits and rolling blankets. They are really a fine-looking lot of men, and from their general appearance a good many college men are among them. We are told that we are really going to sail the following morning, and that we must go home, pack and have everything on the pier (Pier 60) before sundown that night. Max is packing my things for me--an officer's trunk, a Gladstone bag and a canvas roll with poncho blankets and a "Gold Medal" canvas cot. We hustle them down to Pier 60 and leave them standing there with a feeling that they will not be seen again, as the whole pier is a mass of motor trucks and boxes of every description. We are to sail on the S.S. "Lapland" on the south side of the pier. The "Baltic" has just docked and is discharging cargo at a tremendous rate. The rattle of the winches is deafening and there are literally hundreds of stevedores at work. With a silent farewell my baggage is left, and then back to the house where Helen and I lunch and start for Mt. Kisco for the afternoon. One still feels terribly conscious and queer in uniform. My memory keeps going back to the days when Rob and I enlisted for the Spanish War, a thousand little details keep coming up that I had long forgotten. Camp Alger and its chaos, Newport News, and the transport "Mississippi" and all its horrors. _July 2nd._ The order was to assemble at the Hospital at eight a.m. I got there at 8:20 and everything was stirring. There is really nothing for the majority of the officers to do. Rolfe Floyd is the busy one. The regular Army men, Major Hansell in charge, and his Adjutant, Captain Trinder, seem most efficient. They have really handled the whole affair wonderfully, never once getting excited and every one asking them hundreds of foolish questions. The amateur soldier is really a horrible thing. No one can appreciate the difference between military and civil life who has not tried them both. The enlisted men leave on sight-seeing coaches at 9:30, after a preliminary line-up in the courtyard, and cheers for Colonel Mackay and every one connected with the outfit. The officers get down as best they can, so I go down in Dr. Dowd's motor with Floyd, arriving on the pier at ten a.m. The "Lapland" has been painted war gray and is fitted with a new mine-sweeping device, of which more later. There was quite a crowd of people down there to see us off. Mrs. Vanderbilt, Clarence Mackay,--and dozens of others whom I do not know. Except for the uniforms and the gray paint on the ship, it seems just like a summer vacation trip. Our baggage is wonderfully handled and everything put on board in the same manner as in peace times. We are supposed to sail at twelve sharp. The heat is intolerable. Our staterooms are fine; No. 33, upper deck room. My lot was first cast with the Chaplain, but I told him McWilliams and I were old Spanish War veterans, and so he let McWilliams bunk with me. At one o'clock we are still at the pier. Two hundred and sixty-five, or some such number, of cots have not appeared and our indefatigable Quartermaster Ward will not leave without them, so sweat on, and the poor devils who came down to the pier wait on! About three thirty the cots are stowed on board, the whistle sounds long blasts, the hawsers are cast off, and the thud of the great engines begins. The crowd rush down to the end of the pier, where many have waited since nine thirty in the morning apparently without any lunch. They must be nearly dead. The thrill of other voyages comes back so vividly to my mind as the great ship slowly warps out into mid-channel, but I am alone now and all is so different, yet it is hard to realize it and I cannot help feeling it must be a great big holiday--the harbor seems so bright, gay and peaceful. We steam at a snail's pace down the bay, and in front of the Battery the ship seems to float for ten minutes or so, the engines just turning over. Officers, nurses and men gaze on the tall buildings as if they were things of stupendous beauty. Each man seems to identify some building that he knows about, or has worked in. I know none of them, and try to locate the Barclay Building, but cannot. Finally we slip by the Battery, Governors Island and into the Lower Bay. The waters seem crowded with shipping, the Dutch and English flags being especially in evidence. There is one converted German steamer flying the American flag. The "Vaterland" was lying quietly at her pier. The glasses Mr. Bird gave me were a source of great fun in trying to pick out the details of the ships. They practically all had stern guns, and the Dutch ships had great spears of national colors all over their sides. Off Tompkinsville, or rather St. George's, Staten Island, we passed the Dreadnought "Kansas," her decks crowded with jackies in white duck. She looked awfully spick and span. Just below Tompkinsville we went through the opening in the net. One could see distinctly the large buoys that marked its position, and the small blocks that separated it. At the opening a Monitor lay anchored and there were several motor-boats, of about forty to sixty feet long, with big markings of "S.P. No. so and so." It was the first real realization of war I had felt, and it gave one quite a little thrill. Steaming more rapidly down the channel now and passing numerous tugboats apparently commandeered for patrol duty. Finally the pilot boat comes in sight and the pilot slips down the side into the little rowboat. Full steam ahead is given and we at last feel the motion of the long Atlantic sweep. _July 3rd._ First day at sea and beautiful weather! The food and service are excellent. The whole ship is run in the usual routine manner, and it is increasingly hard to believe that the sea is filled with pirates bent on our destruction, or that we are on war bent. The nurses have taken off their street uniforms and donned summer girl clothes, which further adds to the delusion of a holiday excursion. At noon General Headquarters are established in the foyer on Deck 4, with typewriters clicking away. There is much issuing of order and proclamation. McWilliams is made officer of the day and totes a cumbersome revolver lent him by Floyd and which is the badge of office. Captain Trinder, the Adjutant--a bully fellow full of punch and go--gave the officers a talk on some of the elements of their duty in the lounge room, and was listened to with marked attention as every one is keen about mastering the details of his work. Thousands of questions are asked about the most elementary details, because we are an absolutely ignorant lot as far as the military end is concerned. What little drill knowledge I picked up in the Troop or in the Spanish War has absolutely vanished. An edict has been put out from G. H. Q. that no rum is to be sold on board and we are reduced to ginger ale and soda water. I managed to pinch just one cocktail the first night, and it was good. The afternoon dragged along. We were ordered to get out life-preservers and carry them with us wherever we go. This is an absolute rule and we cannot be separated from them for an instant. The officers and men walk around with the preservers strapped to their backs, carrying them even to meals, where one kicks them under the table between one's feet while eating. The rubber suits were gotten out and fixed on. I don't believe they can ever be adjusted in a general excitement which is bound to ensue in a smash-up, and then besides if there is any leak in the rubber, such as a pin prick, they would slowly fill with water. I shall depend on the old life-preserver. The night is wonderful. Officers and nurses sit on deck singing. And they sing well. A beautiful full moon. _July 4th._ My turn as officer of the day which, among its other duties, entailed dragging around "Rollo" Floyd's Colt automatic, and this blunderbuss grew heavier each hour of the day, so that by night-time it weighed nothing less than a ton. Was given a detail of twenty men out of which I appointed, as per instructions, two Acting Sergeants, one day and one night; two guards were assigned to Q. M. Ward; three to Headquarters and six to prison guard. It being a holiday the Headquarters and Q. M. guard were dismissed at noon, the prison guard being the only one maintained. Visiting our only prisoner, I found him to be a clean-cut, alert man of apparently more than average intelligence. I made the poor devil as comfortable as possible, but was obliged to go through his baggage in search of any incriminatory evidence and to take any weapons away from him. These consisted of three razors, which were turned over to H. Q. Thompson, the prisoner, is, I believe, an actor--probably a super. He expressed a strong desire for a bible, so sent him the Chaplain later. He thanked me very profusely for this. I exceeded orders and allowed him to be on deck four hours, instead of two, as the day was stifling and his cabin not the coolest place in the world. At night all singing was stopped as they say sound carries for a long distance over the water. The life boats have all been swung out and men assigned to them. I am commanding officer of boat No. 21, starboard side, or the alternate No. 22, port side. Which boat is launched depends upon which side we are struck and how the ship lists. Being the Fourth of July the dinner had an extra course and a few extra British and American flags about. In the evening we assembled in the Second Cabin for a smoker, only no one was allowed to smoke as all ports being closed you could cut the atmosphere. However, cigars and cigarettes were passed around and, I suppose, were used later. We had the usual burst of song, but it was such a beautiful warm night with a full moon that every one hurried on deck. I made my last round at eleven p.m. and turned in for a sound night's sleep. _July 5th._ Another wonderful, hot day with only a mere ripple on the ocean. I turned over the old shooting iron to Floyd, and was jolly well glad to be rid of it. We have boat drill at ten a.m. I am captain of my boat. The orders are that in case of torpedo we man the starboard side first; if the ship is so listed that we cannot launch that side we take the port side. My boats are 21 starboard and 22 alternate port. I have three lieutenants and fifteen men besides certain members of the ship's crew. My boat is farthest astern; we are cut off from all commands on the bridges, and if we have to go over will practically have to work on my own initiative. At four p.m. the stern gun fired three practice shots at a smoke target. The target was allowed to float about a mile leeward. The first shot was over, but the second and third were bull's-eyes. It was very pretty to see the shell ricochet. It made thin splashes in the water. In one it was markedly deflected to the left. No smoking on decks after nightfall, and the smoking-room is so hot with everything locked up that one rather went without than sit indoors. It was a beautiful moonlit night and Russell and I sat on deck till twelve p.m., then turned in where I found McWilliams snoring peacefully. _July 6th._ An uneventful day. Trinder is drilling the officers for an hour each afternoon. The parson tried to talk philosophy with me in the cabin. I was tired and these old sex problems bore me to death. He has just read one volume of Havelock Ellis and heard a lecture on psycho-analysis and is full of it. I told him the only philosophy I had was "live and let live," and all this analysis of a man's daily action was a damned bore as far as I was concerned. He left me in a huff. He is just bristling with uplift, but on the whole a good fellow. Turned in about eleven and read "Captains Courageous" for a couple of hours, but got dreaming about subs and could not sleep. The ship's company on the whole seem more or less concerned, but all keep cheerful. My only hope is, that if anything happens, I won't lose my head. _July 7th._ A cold, gray day, but a very pleasant change after the past six days of suffocation. General inspection in flannel shirts at nine a.m., and it was cold standing around. It was the first time I had seen the men all drawn up together and they looked well. The parson is peeved. He would hardly speak to me this morning, but it will probably wear off in time. This is an awfully good, tame crowd. There is none of the old freebooter spirit we had in '98. All older is probably the answer. But even the younger men are very quiet. The nurses had a party. There were shrieks of laughter until late in the night. _July 8th._ No drills nor work to-day. It is cloudy and very cold. At ten forty-five Divine Service on deck. All the enlisted men, nurses and officers were present. The service was quiet, impressive and very earnest. The tension is growing hourly. At five p.m. all the boat commanders were summoned to Colonel Winter's room to talk over final arrangements for boat personnel. They have not swung my boats out yet, although I have spoken several times to Trinder about it. They say that part of the ship is so much lower that if a sea kicked up they would have to swing them in again. I certainly have a mean station. At four p.m. we officers had a voluntary drill. I got a good bath afterwards. It may be the last for several days, as it is suggested that no one wants to get caught with clothes off. A good many men are sleeping partially dressed to-night. The rumor is, to-morrow we _wear_ preservers, not _carry_ them, and the time at meals is to be reduced to a minimum. We all sat around in the smoking-room this afternoon. The conversation was largely on submarines and army life. Colonel Winter tried to put a bit of cheer into things with a few stories, but it was hard. Outside the moon is trying to struggle out, the sea is dead calm, and the ship is bleak as perdition. No ports or ventilators are allowed to be opened. Fortunately, it is cold. _July 9th._ A day really of terrible suspense. We are in the danger zone. The life-boats have been partially lowered over the side. Every conceivable precaution is being taken. The nurses' suits are all laid out on deck. Every one is strung up to the breaking point. All the enlisted men have been moved up. Many are sleeping on deck. About five p.m. the Captain began his zig-zag course, making wide sweeps every five or ten minutes. There were rumors that a torpedo-boat would turn up late this afternoon, but now, at eleven p.m., there is nothing in sight. And with it all it is the most beautiful night ever conceived. A little moon half on the wane came peeping up out of a bank of clouds, about ten thirty, making its silver path of light and doubtless silhouetting us clearly against the sky. Passed a small freighter lower on the horizon before dinner. Everything is scanned with most suspicious glances and carefully shunned. Well, here it goes for a few hours' sleep, or an attempt at it, for it's up at the first break of dawn. _July 10th._ Jim woke me a little before four a.m. We went out on deck. A beautiful morning with the sun just rising. Peck was there and Miss Francis, the head nurse, had been sitting up all night. She looked it. I took a few turns and then turned in till eight thirty. Nothing of any particular interest, except we sighted another C. P. boat with a torpedo-boat escort. It was curious to watch her. First she was on one side and then the other. The zigzagging gets one completely confused as to position. About six this evening a speck on the horizon and we break our number from the fore truck and in a few minutes we come in plain view of our convoy. She is a torpedo-boat destroyer, No. 38, with the "Stars and Stripes" flying astern. We had a feeling of great relief. We gave her a hearty cheer. To bed now and clothes off. _July 11th._ Woke up and climbed out on deck at three fifteen. Light was just breaking and every one was on the qui vive. Watched the serpentine for a bit and then turned in again and had a good snooze till Eddie, the bath steward, routed me out for a plunge. Last wash on board; we go dirty to-morrow, and then a good fresh-water tub and soap. Our destroyer was changed during the night. The rumor is that 38 went in assistance to some other ship that was below us in our vicinity. There are surprisingly few boats seen--two sailboats, a trawler, and one large steamer is preceding us. Just after lunch a large French dirigible circled over us. She has been hovering around since early morning, presumably looking for subs. It is pack up to-night and if we have luck we shall land early in the a.m. About eight p.m. we sight the lighthouse off the bar, but cannot cross until high tide on account of the risk of striking a mine. _July 12th._ On deck a little before seven when we cross the bar and proceed slowly up the Mersey and drop anchor before the quay where we wait for over two hours for the boarding officers. They arrive after a long wait. Everyone is herded in the lounge where a captain and three corporals go over all our papers and ask us if we carry any correspondence. We disembark at noon. Then a short walk through the town with Peck, Russell, etc., hunting for a cable office. I suppose all my letters will be censored out of shape as I wrote fully describing the voyage. Major Keating met us at the wharf. He is the officer in charge of embarkation, a perfect type of the English gentleman. Lunch on ship and are entrained for Southampton direct, much to our disgust, for every one was hoping for at least one day in London. The nurses are held over in Liverpool for a tea or something; every one is most courteous. The train was scheduled to leave at two thirty p.m., but when made up did not have sufficient room for officers, so three-quarters of an hour delay while another first-class carriage is hunted up, but every one takes it very casually and Major Keating chats very pleasantly with us all. Finally the extra carriage arrives and we are loaded. Men are loaded third class and we go first. Everything is conducted in an orderly fashion with an eye to comfort. But it seems so strange to be here and traveling under these conditions and in uniform. The train travels slowly with numerous stops, by Crewe, Stafford, Birmingham. At each stop all the men pile out and rush for the refreshment counter, much to the confusion of the placid females who try to attend to them in their leisurely fashion. They call for American drinks which the ladies have never heard of. A struggle with the money. I know they think we are a bunch of lunatics. The liquor laws are very strict and appear very sensible. They allow the sale of liquors and beer for two hours in the middle of the day and for one half hour in the evening. No flasks can be sold from Thursday night till Monday, so no man can take a supply home for consumption over Saturday and Sunday. At a little after midnight we reach Southampton and are met by General Balfour and his staff. The General has charge of the port of Southampton and is responsible for practically all the embarkation of troops and supplies for the seat of war. The General conducted us personally to the Northwestern Hotel where we had the most comfortable quarters. A cold supper was waiting and the closing law was waived. I had a good pint of ale. It was good after a long hard day of travel. The country was as wonderful as ever, but in place of the flower gardens one saw nothing but vegetables. We came down via Oxford and saw many stretches of the Thames. It made me homesick because of the pleasant days spent at Maidenhead with Helen in 1914. Will now continue with our arrival. The poor enlisted men were marched three and a half miles to a camp which they reached at three a.m. Floyd and Cave accompanied them. _July 13th._ It was ten o'clock when I awoke. The first real night's sleep in over a week. Wonderful beds and a good bath made everything bright. Breakfast with Martin on war bread (whole wheat) and coffee, with usual accompaniments of boiled milk. Sugar is doled out like gold. Some of the officers went up to see the men in camp, but I toddled around the town and saw the old wall. It seems that the "Mayflower" sailed from here, and there is a monument to Elder Brewster of Scrooby and John Alden and others of that merry party. After that wandered around town, bought some puttees and a penknife. Met some of the others and lunched at the "Dolphin," a typical old-time inn. The food laws are really strict, but then one gets all one needs. The meat allowance per meal is something like five ounces as it comes from the butcher, which means about three and a half ounces when served. At three p.m. embarked on the tender which is to take us out to the hospital ship which is to run us across to Havre. We first run across to another quay where we are to pick up the nurses who are due to arrive at five forty-five. While waiting, General Balfour came down again in his little yellow car and showed us the medal struck off in Germany to commemorate the sinking of the "Lusitania." On the front side was a ship going down by the bow, with guns and aeroplanes on hand. On the reverse side was the Cunard ticket office with a skeleton selling tickets. The exact inscription I cannot remember, but it meant the desire for gain on the Cunard's part was the only consideration for selling tickets. The nurses arrive in a flurry of excitement, having had the time of their lives. They were given the freedom of the theaters at Liverpool and were cheered as they entered, and a lunch at the Savoy where they all agreed they were wonderfully fêted. Interesting stories of our ocean voyage were told them by Major Keating after we left. It seems that the destroyer No. 38 sunk a sub two hours before meeting us. They also confirmed the report that the "Coyote" was sunk sixteen miles ahead of us at one thirty a.m. It also seems that Pershing's force was attacked by what is said to be a veritable sub flotilla, and why none was sunk was just devilish good luck. Steam about four miles down the harbor to the "Grand Tulley Castle." She is officially E-812, as all the boats are numbered now; the former names having been painted over. She was formerly in the African trade. Quarters are somewhat cramped, but she is as clean and comfortable as one could wish. There is an operating theater on the forward main deck, and between-decks are converted into wards. She is in command of Major W. V. Robinson, R.A.M.C. The officers are all very agreeable men and are doing everything to make us comfortable. No one can begin to realize what England is doing who has not seen the activity of Southampton. Just after we got on board two big transports passed us loaded with troops, it was said, for Mesopotamia. _July 14th._ All day at anchor. No one allowed to leave the steamer. The papers came on board in the morning. Towards sundown two more transports leave again filled with troops. We all jumped overboard for a swim in the afternoon. Concert in the evening by the men of the ship with ours. Every one seemed to have a good time. The sunset was wonderful and the twilight lasted for nearly two hours. _July 15th._ Still at anchor with no news of our departure. Major Robinson tried to get permission for the officers to visit Nutley Hospital, but only succeeded in getting it for six, so the high ones went--and said it was very interesting. At four p. m. weigh anchor, put out the mine-sweeper and are off, escorted by two torpedo-boats which put out from Portsmouth. We pass through the nets and around the Western part of the Isle of Wight. Through the glasses Cowes looks absolutely deserted; the bath houses are pulled back on the beach and, although it is a Sunday in midsummer, one cannot see a child playing on the sands. This is equally true of the beaches around Southampton, of which there are five or six. It is blowing a hard gale from the south. Orders are--sleep in clothes and wear life-preservers. The run is considered dangerous. There are many mine-sweepers at work around us. _July 16th._ We dock at the old Compagnie Générale Transatlantique pier, most of which is turned into a hospital. More waiting and while we wait a trainload of wounded arrive and are carried in litters aboard the ship. I hear no complaint. Most of the men are smoking cigarettes. After several hours of cooling our heels we are told to go to the Hotel Moderne by the French Commandant. Havre is entirely taken over by the British. Most of the tram-cars are run by Tommies and the city is policed by them. The men doing police duty walk in pairs, wear a red band around their hats and have a brassard on the arm with "M. P." and are a fine looking lot. The Moderne is an easy third-rate hotel. Am rooming with McWilliams. In the early evening the Commandant calls again and tells us we are to proceed to Vittel by a slow train. It is most disappointing as I had hoped for a few days in Paris, especially as we had been sidetracked from London. At the instigation of Major Bruce we proceeded to the État Major of the Havre district, who finally agreed to telephone to American headquarters at Paris. The answer comes that our orders are absolute; that we were to embark at eight p. m. The train would leave at nine p. m. and we would be approximately forty-eight hours en route--no arrangements for sleeping or anything. The officers for which I arrange had packages of two eggs, 400 grams of bread and 100 grams of cheese. So we start off. A few Red Cross Frenchwomen and some men, together with the French Commander and a file of about twelve soldiers come down to see us off. The soldiers present arms, the Red Cross ladies hand us a small nosegay of sweet peas, a small box of grapes is entrusted to Henry Cave, and the train snorts out. The men go third class, the nurses second class, officers first class, and we all go like hogs! While at Havre, Russell, McWilliams, James and a few others motored over to Étretat and saw Brewer, Darrach and his crowd. They are delightfully situated. Saw Sally Strain and had a little chat with her. Paul Draper was working in the outfit as an orderly. They took their hospital over from the English who had everything working well and had established a good precedent. _July 17th._ In the words of the prophet, "The hell of a night." We tried to doctor the seats so one could lie down, but your head would always come out lower than your feet and there was little use in trying. About two hours was the average, with a cold-gray-dawn feeling as if one had been on an all-night debauch. There was no use trying to wash, because there was nothing to wash in or with. We opened the emergency package and had breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, black bread and cheese. About six a. m. we pulled in to St. Lazaire Station in Paris and in ten minutes were out again. Then backing and filling for an hour when we landed at Noisy-le-Sec, nine kilometers from Paris. There we were told by the lieutenant we had missed our connection and would remain till two thirty. Noisy-le-Sec is a poor working suburb of Paris. Just why we could not have been left in Paris to have a comfortable breakfast is probably unknown, except that when two alternatives are presented--a comfortable, convenient one, or an uncomfortable, inconvenient one--the rules of the game seem to be always to take the more inconvenient of the two. There is apparently a lack of any definite plan for us. We foraged around Noisy, got a good bath and managed, for an exorbitant price, to obtain a fair déjeuner in a small workingman's restaurant which was filled with military. As one travels through the country the results of the war are very apparent. The countryside is deserted and only women are seen working in the fields. It's women, boys and old men. The lovely flowers that we formerly saw in such profusion are scarcely seen now. In spite of the shortage of labor, however, the fields are all well planted. Constant trains filled with soldiers are passing northward, and at every station we stop there are a number waiting to join their commands or coming home on leave. During the afternoon we jogged along at about twenty-five kilometers an hour with frequent long stops. At seven o'clock some more brown bread and cheese. I had gotten a bottle of red wine during our few minutes' stop in Paris which helped things along nicely. Then about ten we settle down for our second night. _July 18th._ Every one woke up feeling pretty ragged. Goodness knows how the nurses stand it as well as they have, because they stick their noses out in the cold gray dawn looking pretty fresh. At Troyes last night some Canadian nurses came down to meet the train. The station was simply packed with soldiers. Well, ten thirty a. m. and the miserable, dirty old train draws into Vittel, and it was with some pleasure that I saw the end of the rat-hole we had lived in for thirty-eight hours. Met by a French officer. They knew we were coming, but had no orders what to do with us, so we are bundled through a deserted town to the Hotel Vittel Palace, which is an annex of one of the larger hotels and has been serving as a military hospital. Well, the least said about this place the better. No towels, no toilet articles or looking glasses. There is one bathtub at the end of a long corridor which we all have to use. No one to clean it out. In fact, nothing is done and the whole place, in spite of the fact it is a hospital, is filthy. McWilliams, James, Stillman and I have one room which could hold two in a pinch. Nowhere to store anything. The mess is horrible. It is in the old ballroom surrounded with beds. We sit on hard benches. Breakfast is hard bread, no butter and some horrible liquid called coffee without sugar--worse than anything we had during the Spanish War. _July 20th. Vitell._ Just kicking around. No orders. There is a rumor we are to move about twenty miles from here into barracks which are now under construction. Anything to get out of here. The French are most polite. The men all salute us in the streets, several men and women coming up and talking to us. When Russell, James, Stillman and myself went to a neighboring hotel for a good lunch we were given a good round of hand-clapping as we walked into the dining-room. I shouted in return, "Vive la France." Many officers have come up and spoken to us. I have never tried to talk French so hard in my life and that which I do speak is simply awful, but they take it in good part and try and help me out. This morning in watching the tennis I asked a Frenchman where I could get racquets and balls. He brought up an English captain (Lucas), who explained everything to me and insisted on introducing me to a Frenchwoman, Madame Somebody, who, he said, played a good game, so have a date to play with her at five p. m., consequently have rummaged to get a pair of tennis shoes, but there is nothing big enough for me, except a pair of dirty brown canvas sneakers, and I have to wear my long military trousers. I hate doing things when I have not the appropriate clothes. I went out this afternoon trying to make some arrangement at the different hotels for an officers' mess, but they want ten francs which is too much as practically all the men are living on their pay. The English do well for their men and officers. They give a good mess and, I think, clothing allowance, for they all seem to be on Easy Street. Well, here goes for the tennis! The tennis was good fun. The two women played very well, but the men--first one and then a younger fellow took up the game--were not much good. Dined at the hotel with Russell. _July 21st._ Tried to get some white duck trousers to play tennis in, but no luck, so shall have to stick to the old army ones unless I can manage to borrow a pair. Captain Ward turned up just after we had finished lunch. He looked dead beat, said he had an awful time as neither the French nor English Government had any orders concerning him. They crossed the Channel on a ship loaded with troops and horses. They said the French had treated them much better than the English. Majors Robert Bacon and McCoy were here this morning looking over the place. There are rumors that Pershing may make it his headquarters. Peck, Hansell and Trinder motored over to Contreville. They reported that it was a smaller place and not nearly so attractive. They go to Gondrecourt, which I understand is the Divisional Headquarters of General Sibert. The order came to-day that we were to wear the belt and shoulder piece, the same as the English officers. It will make our shabby uniform look smarter. Russell and I are trying to get leave for seventy-two hours to get to Paris. I hope it can be done as I want very much, in spite of the expense, to see what is going on. Ward brought a little mongrel fox-terrier puppy with him from Havre. My, but it made me want to see Bluffie. I had a wonderfully vivid dream last night. I dreamt I was back in Cazenovia, riding old Jonnis, the horse, and that we had just been discharged from the Spanish War, and that all this rotten business was over. I could not imagine for some minutes where I was on awakening. But it gives me the creeps, as the men are already making arrangements for the winter. _July 22nd._ Was made mess officer and spent the whole afternoon running around the épicier shops buying eggs, coffee, etc. Prinzen is the chief cook. Eggs are scarce--three francs per dozen. The men were getting pretty hungry. I obtained permission to go to Paris, so am leaving on the one p.m. train with Russell. Packed my valise and am off. It is good to get away from the crowd and to be free, even for a few hours. We arrive in Paris at ten p. m. There were very few taxis, but we managed to secure one and went to the Ritz. Paris is absolutely dark; a dim light flickers every two blocks, but the streets are so dark in the interim that it is with difficulty you can see people approaching. At ten as we drove down the Rue de la Paix and into the Place Vendôme it was absolutely deserted save for two girls. This is not metaphor, but absolute. After depositing our bags we groped our way along the Rue de Rivoli and into the Place de la Concorde. Three belated private limousines sneaked past us as if they were ashamed to be out so late. Otherwise, silence and darkness. It was as if the hand of death had suddenly closed down on the whole world and left one with an eerie, creepy feeling. A lone gendarme was standing under a feeble lamp. He seemed glad to see us. I counted eight lamps burning in the place and that was all. The change was profound, almost terrible. I shall be glad to get to the hotel and in my room and turn on all the lights. _July 23rd._ A wonderful night twixt clean, snowy white sheets, a rack full of white clean towels and a porcelain tub all my own and hot water. If any man with soul so dead cannot appreciate what that means, let him follow the U. S. A. for three weeks. If he goes in the field under canvas he is lucky, but if he is thrust in dirty hotels that have been used as hospitals for three years, heaven help him, because no one else will, and certainly not the U. S. A. Sent a note to Gabrielle Dorziat saying I was in town and asked her to dine with me, but when I called she had gone to Épernay for a few days. I was awfully sorry not to have seen her. Spent the whole morning tearing around with Russell. The Embassy, Morgan, Harjes, American Express, etc. We went to Army Headquarters at 21 Rue Constantin where I tried to present a letter to Colonel Bradley, the M. O., but we found Medical Headquarters are at 10 Rue Ste. Anne. Bradley was away, but we saw Mr. Ireland, Colonel. He is the king-pin of the show. He gave us the depressing news that we would in all probability be permanently stationed at Vittel. Called on Lillie Havemeyer. She was moving to a new apartment at No. 38 Avenue Gabriel. All was chaos, but she gave me a warm welcome and asked me to lunch with her at Laurens the next day. Later I went to see Henry Clews. Henry has a charming hôtel with a lovely garden. A fountain with ducks and goldfish. A nice sleepy cat was watching the pigeons, and a bulldog was watching the cat. The peace and quiet were wonderful. We had tea in the garden. Henry was very quiet and just what his view of the whole situation is it was hard to gather. He was very hospitable and asked me to make my headquarters there any time I was in Paris. We dined at the Tavern Royal with a quart of sweet champagne. But the best of all was a couple of cocktails at Maxim's beforehand. The Maître d'Hôtel was very loquacious and told us most impressively that America had come in none too soon because France was at the end of her tether. This is what we heard everywhere. Paris by day appears on the surface very much as when we left in September, 1914. The streets are crowded with uniforms of every description and every now and then an American one, but as yet they are very much in the minority. _July 24th._ Lunched with Lillie Havemeyer and Freddy. The afternoon, more errands, a lemonade at Fouquet's, and dinner with Mrs. Duryea in the evening. A very pleasant home dinner, just four--a Miss Carrol making the fourth. In the evening M. Robinson came in. He apparently had the affairs of France on his shoulders. I left early and walked down the Champs Elysées. It was very dark. People were sitting on the benches and strolling about. It is practically all one can do after nine in the evening. _July 25th._ We left Paris in the early morning and after nine hours of sweltering heat and dust found ourselves back in the same old place--grimmer than ever. It was hard to get in the dirty old bed after the clean white sheets of the Ritz, and come down to one dirty towel till you could get another, always a matter of uncertainty. I began my struggles with the mess again. Coming down on the train we met a Dr. Water with the Johns Hopkins unit. He had been making a tour of the hospitals. He said they had come over with the first expeditionary force and had been at St. Nazaire for some time, and while there they had witnessed the disembarkation of all the American troops. He estimated them at about fifty thousand. I played head waiter at evening mess, trying to get the men who are working as waiters licked into shape, and in consequence got indigestion. _July 26th._ The mess again. Am trying to arrange prices so that we can buy a little cheaper, but it is difficult. Excessive charging can be brought to the attention of the authorities, but every one, I suppose, tries to ring in a few extra sous. However, I am getting the tradespeople to submit prices and shall buy from the cheapest. All the men are working at their French. It is quite funny to see them, and their accent is something terrific. The French are very good-natured and many of them sit in the garden and give lessons for pure love. Time drags very much. _July 27th._ A day of absolute inactivity. There are no golf or tennis balls, so there is absolutely nothing to do except lie about and try and talk French. I spent the morning sitting in the garden in one of the twenty-five-centime armchairs. A few, not more than three or four, demi-mondaines arrived, and they are at least a little more refreshing to look at than the old rheumatics. I am struggling with the food problems. The coffee we get is rotten, in spite of the fact we buy the best. The French are a curious lot. I tried to stimulate competitive bids on food prices, but they show absolutely no desire or interest in obtaining our trade. In America every tradesman in town would be after our trade; here they are absolutely indifferent and hardly take the trouble to submit prices. _July 28th._ Hot as hell and nothing to do. No tennis or golf balls can be had. Up at eight, breakfast, talk to the greasy cook, look at greasy meat, go to greasy stores and buy greasy food. Such is the day for which Uncle Sam pays us $7 per day and expects you to cough up at least $4 for food and clothes. C'est la vie! _July 29th._ Cooler, overcast. There is a rumor of tennis balls being procurable. Also about twenty pages of directions regarding mail censorship, etc. All of which was duly read and all the information which could be derived therefrom was that you could mention the weather, the state of your health, and there it ended. No date, nothing on letterhead, signature in a certain corner, and a thousand other things. About five hundred letters and postal cards were returned this morning marked "Improper to forward." The French term is "Achamement." _July 30th._ Cloudy and later raining. A violent thunder-storm Sunday night. This is the first rain since leaving U.S.A. Major Hansell started classes on Field Service Regulations. We are to have it two hours every morning, with an hour of drill in the p. m. In addition, individual officers have been assigned special subjects to report on. I have been given "Demography in so far as it relates to the Vital Statistics of the Army." This is to be summarized and reported upon from an article by Lieutenant-Commander Weston P. Chamberlain. In the evening Russell and I gave Ward, Trinder, Hansell and Peck a dinner at the Grand Hotel. Such things may seem trivial but they mean much. Still no definite orders and simply marking time. _July 31st._ Making up mess statement. Trinder, Floyd and Steiner went to Nancy this morning to get funds for pay day tomorrow. The enlisted men are much excited at the prospect of getting money. They have all patronized the café freely, buying candies, chocolates and cigarettes. Candy is in great demand. Even the officers are consuming it in great amounts. It seems strange to see men using it in such amounts. I went to the candy shop in the Arcade to get some this morning, and the woman was practically sold out. Two of the men go to Paris to-day at one p. m. to bring down a motor-truck and the two mascot dogs that were given to the Unit. They have been given a large number of commissions, among them one for tennis and golf balls. _August 1st._ After two days' hard rain a beautiful clear day. It dried sufficiently in the afternoon for some fine tennis. The box of athletic goods has been opened and it was a real pleasure to get a good racquet and some new balls. Russell, Stillman and myself dined at the Grand. At nine p. m. the French officers tendered us a reception. We all sat around a long table. Sweet champagne and a pyramid of cake were served with French and American flags stuck in them. Major L---- made a speech of welcome in French, then read a translation which somebody had evidently made for him; his attempts at pronunciation nearly choked the poor man, for he mopped the sweat from his brow and drained his glass at a gulp. At the conclusion a toast to the American and French Armies was drunk. Then Hansell arose and read a very nice little speech which Widener attempted to translate, but all the jokes fell as dead as Cæsar translated. The surprising thing was that among our men only one can speak French and only a few understand anything. The French were no better off. Still we struggled along, and all had, or seemed to have, a good time. The party broke up by our singing the "Marseillaise" in English and then "Oh, Say, etc." and finally "Way Down upon the Swanee River." The French tried to respond, but broke down and explained they never sang like that. Cave did not come home till one o'clock. Great excitement! Pershing and some of his staff came in the Grand while we were there. He is an exceedingly fine-looking man. _August 2nd._ Just one month to-day since leaving home. Collected my mess funds to-day from the men, paid cooks and strikers. I hope I can manage the accounts. It is a fussy, nasty job. They are not going to let us eat here much longer, so we will try and make arrangements with one of the hotels. I shall be glad at least to eat outside of this filthy place. _August 3rd._ Nothing but rain. _August 4th._ Rain in showers all day. Tried to get a walk in the afternoon, but torrents of rain drove us to cover. Moved to the Lorraine Hotel for our mess. This cuts me out of much fussing. _August 5th._ Rain. Separated from the Lorraine mess and am taking my meals separately on the Terrace. It costs a franc fifty extra, but the peace is well worth it. In the evening a trainload of wounded arrived. There were over two hundred and fifty--sixty stretcher cases, the remainder gas and minor injuries, principally involving the extremities. Our men marched up to the station and the new ambulances were drawn up on the siding. The train pulled in packed with the wounded. They were all very quiet and uncomplaining. I questioned several men. They came from Hill 304. They said there was a new gas used there, which when launched was invisible, producing no fumes and not creating any injury until the body comes in contact with water. Thus a man getting wet or washing his face the next day would receive a skin burn. If this is true the gas-mask would afford but little protection. On coming back to the hotel I saw many burns of the extremities; they had marked conjunctivitis. The stretcher cases seemed mostly wounds of the extremities. In talking with the French, and this observation is borne out by others, it seems that on the whole they are taking the war in a very matter-of-fact spirit, and the blood-thirsty desire to extract the last sou from our soldiers is the same as in the old tourist days. _August 6th._ Bright and clear! Oh, what a relief, after a miserable week of drenching rain, in which all one's clothes are damp and soggy and the feet are never dry. It is rumored--in fact, Major Hansell told me last night--that it is more than probable that we will ultimately be quartered in barracks at Chaumont. The high command have motored over there this morning to look over the ground. _August 9th._ Nothing of any particular event. The days have been fine. We have had our morning classes each day. Some of these classes are fairly interesting, but the majority are rather dull. Russell and I left the mess for a few days, but everywhere we went the French made some attempt to do us. Several days ago we had definite orders we were to move to Chaumont--going into barracks. Chaumont is a town of fifteen thousand and at least will be more pleasant than this dirty little place. After lunch I applied to Major Hansell to be temporarily detailed for field service. He did not seem adverse to the idea and told me to bring the matter up later. I certainly want to see active service. This present situation is not my idea of an able man's job, but something that can be carried on by "any old person." I should like to get where there is a little "red blood" and hear the last of the damned old laundry and ice plant and whether the nurses got in on time or not. _August 12th._ Still waiting and doing nothing. Yesterday the men played the officers at baseball, the latter winning 2-1. It was a surprisingly good game. In the evening the first real instalment of letters from home. I was officer of the day Friday. On making my ten o'clock rounds found not a single light in the village streets and only one or two small groups of people going home. It was a wonderful night, the wind just whispering gently through the tree tops. I walked a bit in the park. Nothing but silence. One might have been in a deserted village. On coming in one could see the gun flashes toward Nancy, but we were too far away to hear the sound. I stood on the balcony a long time watching them. It all seemed so strange. All peace and tranquillity here and forty miles away men struggling and battling for their lives. Today No. 6 Field Hospital came over and played our men at baseball. Score 6-10 in favor of Roosevelt. The special interest of the game, as far as the French were concerned, was the yelling and shouting of the enlisted men, who simply outdid themselves playing Indian. There is a young fellow, Le Sieur by name, who escaped two weeks ago from a German prison in Mayence. He and a friend forged passports and boarded a train for Switzerland. It was their third attempt. The first two were failures. He is here on a thirty days' leave with his mistress. Some officers came over with the baseball team from Gondrecourt. They are a fine-looking lot of men. They are as disgusted with their lot as we are with ours. Everything is apparently at sixes and sevens, but at least they are apparently having much more activity and are able to move about the country and see things. I am terribly keen to be transferred into a Field Ambulance. The Chaumont question is all up a tree. Apparently the French are not willing to turn the buildings over to us. At first they say, "Come on and we will do all in our power," then when you come, the path is strewn with every kind of petty annoyance. I felt very proud of the United States to-day when I saw the Gondrecourt crowd. They certainly were a bully looking lot. _August 14th._ My birthday. Rain. Yesterday we motored over in the ambulances to Bezoisir where Finney is located with Base 18. He is a delightful man and I enjoyed a nice little chat with him. He is much disgruntled, both personally and on the situation as a whole. In the first place he is at odds with ---- ----, and in the second place, the whole organization is all at sea. He thinks the Government is sending over hospitals in greater number than there is any immediate demand for; that they are furnished with no adequate quarters and given no work. In the third place, Finney thinks that the whole system is wrong; that where the best results are to be accomplished is close to the firing line, where the cases can be seen comparatively early; that there should be less handling and transportation of the wounded. The French are already trying to do this by cutting out some of their clearing hospitals. We lunched at Neufchâteau, a small town of about, I should say, five thousand inhabitants, very charmingly situated in the valley with a small stream--I think the Meuse--running through it. We visited one very picturesque old church on a high rock. There was some military activity in the town, as it was on the main line. We also saw some German prisoners working with an armed guard. In the afternoon played some tennis and then we gave the French officers a return champagne and cake supper. A terrible ordeal. I struggled with Genevet, who is the best appearing of the lot. He was sick and hard to talk to, and I simply could not squeeze any French out. After we got started the men came in and sang. The hotel guests were tremendously interested in this and crowded into the room to watch us. The men let it go in good old college fashion, and I am sure they regarded us as a lot of semi-maniacs, although they all enjoyed it hugely. _August 15th._ Stillman, Russell and James gave me a fine birthday dinner at the Grand last night. It was mighty nice of them and we all had a good time. We opened up with sherry and bitters, Burgundy and two bottles of "fiz" and came home feeling comfortable. Old Mc was in bed. We pretended we were drunk and he dressed us down. In spite of the extra liquid, woke up feeling in fine form. Sunshine with tropical showers, but it is getting colder all the time. Great excitement to-day; we are going to Gondrecourt to hear a lecture on war surgery by Major Claude Bernard. We arrived there at three p. m. via Neufchâteau, then about fifteen miles further on to G. A dirty, sloppy little village simply packed with troops. On the road over, just as we were coming in, a tropical downpour, which was followed by brilliant sunshine five minutes later. Gondrecourt is simply packed with men, geese and chickens. All seemed tumbling one over the other. All the officers and men that can be are billeted on the town, and consequently the little courts have improvised tables and racks for guns and accouterments. Besides, the 6th Ambulance Company has division hospitals. On the outskirts other regiments are encamped. We did not go outside the town, so did not see the latter. Claude Bernard spoke in English. He was a clean-cut Frenchman of the best type, with a sense of humor. He spoke of the best disposition to make of the wounded. Experience is teaching them over here that the nearer the front the main hospital is, the greater its efficiency. It seems ridiculous that our best men should remain in the rear only for the old cases, while the younger and less experienced should have all the real work. Our Government is discussing breaking up or reorganizing our present system, and very logically so. It means three to four stages for a wounded man, whereas, if he can be received within twelve hours in a field hospital, there ought to be 80 per cent. better results. At least, so says Bernard. My great fear is that we shall be broken up and that I will be sent inland to take care of a lot of uninteresting sick. And I want to see the real thing and not sit back twisting my thumbs. On the way back we stopped at Domremy, the town where Jeanne d'Arc was born, and saw the little church where she made her First Communion. In a park right across the way is an old house with the upper story done over, which is supposed to be her home. It is a museum with busts and pictures of her. I doubt if any of the original house is standing, for in the wall is a small, worm-eaten bit of timber covered over with wire netting, which is apparently all that remains of the original structure. The church is of the simple village type without anything of special interest, other than its historical association. We made rapid time home and got back in time to brush off some dust before dinner. Peck told me to-night that I would be sent up in advance to start the mess at Chaumont. This probably means Saturday or Sunday. Higgins broke his leg yesterday. Haberman, the man with the pneumothorax, is no better to-day. They had the priest in yesterday. _August 19th._ How can I tell all that has happened in the past three days? I left Vittel two days ago in the ambulance with four sick men on stretchers and a nurse. We jogged along through pleasant country, via Neufchâteau to here, where we arrived at about three thirty p.m.--fifty-three miles or thereabout. The country is charming, but cold stone barracks like prison cells, a great bare court over which dust swirls in clouds, covering the clothes, hands and face--in five minutes boots and gaiters are white--it drifts through into the rooms, covering beds and furniture and clothes. And then a blazing, dazzling sun, fairly blinding as it is reflected from the white earth. Only one little scrap of green can be seen in the whole surroundings, and that is toward the west. We are in the new Artillery Barracks, which, since the beginning of the war, have been partially used as a hospital. We are taking it over in part from the French, with the understanding that later we will be in whole charge. The country itself is beautiful. Situated as we are on the crest of a hill, by going outside the compound on the east and west is an extensive view, stretching away for miles over the valley on each side. Well, I arrived here and all was chaos. We got some beds up, and I slept in a large cell alone, without a hook to hang anything on. No toilet or bathing facilities. Chaumont is two kilometers away, and if one were marooned on a desert island the isolation could not be greater. My job is the mess--always the mess. No kitchens except the general ones. No sinks, but I scratched around. We buy through the French. The endeavor is to keep down the prices. The rest of the crowd turned up late last night, and we pulled off a good dinner in spite of many difficulties. Our same crowd is together again. Captain Edmond Schwander, formerly an apothecary de première classe, is the Quartermaster in charge of the barracks. He is a real live proposition, and seems to be a mighty nice fellow. Now we have the job of fitting up our rooms for the ordinary conveniences of life. Also, it is up to me to get maids to take care of them. I took two meals at the French officers' mess. It was most amusing. A little room over an apothecary shop in town. I cannot describe the scene, but it was reminiscent of some of the scenes from "Trilby." The room was plastered in posters--some proper and some more improper--and the conversation was equally mixed. I was sorry to leave them and come out here. We walk at least two hundred yards for our baths, across the court in full view of an admiring crowd--and here is when I take my first one. _August 20th._ Mess! Mess! Mess! All is mess! New Job! Care of officer's quarters. Boss of four old ladies, three teeth among them--one has none--total sum of ages--four hundred years. Telegram calling Peck and Russell to French front to observe. In town with the motor-cycle to do some shopping. Home! The orchestra is pounding away with a vengeance, surrounded by an admiring crowd of invalids--some healthy ones. Broke the crystal on my nice little watch--otherwise, life a blank. No sensations except hunger. No emotions except disgust. The French officers gave our officers a champagne breakfast at eleven a.m. this morning from which all returned in genial spirit. Such is life in Chaumont. _August 24th._ Back to barracks after three days' absence. Monday last they brought in fifteen hundred patients in the twenty-four hours. Jim Russell and Peck had gone, and finally, in sheer desperation, I got on one of the ambulances and rode in to town. They were just finishing unloading and Peightel was talking through an interpreter with the Médecin Chef in charge of the train. The Médecin was asking him if he could not make a trip with him and personally see the hospital at the front. Trinder was standing by and thought it would be a good thing, but was sure that Hansell could not put it through. I told him I would go with him. Trinder said, "Go and see what Hansell will say." So back we rushed. Hansell, like a trump, said "Yes." So back we went over the bumpy old road, pitch dark, and found some "big gun" Major, who telephoned to St. Dozier, the military headquarters of the zone of the interior. Got permission, then walked back, threw a few things in a valise and carried it between us to Chaumont Station. It was about eleven o'clock then and everything had pretty well settled down for the night. We found the Commissaire de Gare was expecting us, and he had written out for us directions or orders to proceed to St. Dozier and report to the Commissaire Regulatrice, and she had been informed of our coming and would tell us what to do. After many vicissitudes, as daylight was just breaking, the train pulled out, and about an hour later when we reached Robert Espagne the sun was coming up over the hilltop, the little town lay below in the valley with the mist still hanging over the river. On the right, explosions were heard, which we later found were from a party of recruits practising bombing. From the same hill two years ago the 6th Division of Artillery made a stand and drove back the Germans in their drive on Bar-le-Duc. If they had cut that line and taken Bar-le-Duc it would have divided the French Army. This was in the days of the Marne. The old Guard Communal, whom we met on the road, told us in a most vivid and simple manner how the Boche shells were pouring over the woods and how the French stood their ground. Later he went out and found a German flag. Beyond Robert Espagne we were in the zone of the active army--miles of wagon trains going both ways and smothered in a cloud of dust. At Rivigny we entered on the military railroad, the regular line to Verdun having been cut on the Verdun drive. Also a little later we caught constant glimpses of the Voie Saire on the road that supplied Verdun after the railroad had been cut. There were still thousands of motor-trucks going both ways. Now and then soldiers' graves dotted the fields or lay along the lines of the railroad. The French had a helmet hanging on the cross, the Boche a little wooden fencing around it, which will soon break down and mean that many a poor chap will lie in an unknown grave in foreign soil. At Rivigny, or just beyond, here and there a half-destroyed village, or perhaps just the church. It seemed always the church that was marked. At Évers the village was practically wiped out. Then as we approached Fleury toward sunset the air was alive with aerial activity. Planes were constantly flying one way or the other. The French can tell the difference between their machines and the Boche, by the hum of the motors. And now as far as the eye can reach, a long line of observation balloons. We could easily see twelve or fifteen, and as the train pulled in there was a terrific bombing, with dozens of little balls of white smoke in the clouds and a dozen aeros circling in that vicinity. The men cried "bloins," which meant that there was a Boche plane trying to get through. The air was dead calm. The cotton balls slowly turned from white to black and then faded away. Suddenly a burst of flame which shot precipitately to earth, and murmurs of delight from the officers standing about. The Boche had been winged and fallen to earth. We went through the hospital. I was not much interested. Salle de Tirage, where the cases were sorted--Salle d'Opération--Salle du Stérilisation--Salle du Pansement et Tisane. But it was all dealing with wreckage, and one wanted to go on and up where men were living and doing. As dusk came on, flash, flash, some small, some large. Great blasts from a Vulcan's furnace that lit the skyline from horizon to horizon, and through the still night the constant purr drifted back. The motors kept pouring back from the front, each with a load; driver covered with dust, its contents a mass of dust, grimed and plastered on, often with blood, but the eyes flashed--for they had been _there_. Captain Félix Melin was shot through the shoulder circling the right side of Hill 304. His arm was in a sling, his coat hung about his shoulders, blood spattered down trousers and over suspenders, but he was the Real Thing. Several men of his Company file down the gangway into the train--soldiers of the 9th Company of the 303rd Regiment--they were his men and he had led them! A handshake and a pat on the back were waiting for each man. From all the line of wreckage--tired, weary men--never one word of complaint, but on all sides friends met, or members of the same command met and compared experiences. Many were going back for the second, third and fourth time--all had been out in the heart of things, and were coming back for repairs to make the trip again. Finally we got our load and started back, but just before leaving, the cry of "Boche Aéroplane" was heard. All lights went out. The plane passed over us, then we went crawling back with our load. St. Dozier again, Montdidier, Brienne. There the men were fed meat, bread, wine and cheese. Piney, Troyes and Mesgrigny, where they were all discharged. It was with much regret that I saw Melin go, and his Lieutenant Broule. They were the best. Then back to Troyes where we gave Major Costacy and his Adjutant Aubert a dinner at the hotel, and opened a bottle of "fiz." I proposed drinking it with dinner, but they seemed horrified with the idea and said it was for dessert only. So we had white wine first and then "fiz." They enjoyed it and mellowed out. It improved my French tremendously, and when we had finished dinner and gone across the street to the Café for coffee, I was talking fluently on war, petticoats, and soaring prices. However, we all walked out to the train, two kilos outside the town, singing the "Madelon." We climbed into our little compartment which seems like home now. The Adjutant Aubert--I can't describe him. But to me he was fascinating and I could not keep my eyes off him. A face like Christ, with a full beard, even white teeth, a calm, serene face, but with an eye that flashed hell-fire when he spoke. Ten years in Algeria, through all the North African campaigns, and covered with a mass of decorations. Cora seemed the only thing in life he cared for. Cora was a fox-terrier picked up in the streets of Chaumont and Cora was everything to him. She followed him everywhere, slept on his bed, and he watched over her like a baby. During the night we pulled into Joinville and then into Chevillon, where the train pulled into a siding for further orders. We took the train back to Chaumont and came down through a beautiful valley into the town, arriving just in time for lunch at the France. Then back to barracks. Jim and Peck had returned and we exchanged experiences, which were about the same. Trinder and Hansell have gone to Paris for their examinations for promotion. I spoke to Hansell about being transferred to a regiment, and he said he would try and arrange it. I want to get into the real thing and be with real men, and not sitting around here just taking care of sick people. _August 27th._ Life has settled down to the same old routine. A violent thunder-storm last night, but fine and clear and much cooler to-day. The weather has been fine now for the past ten days. Hansell and Trinder are coming back to-night and we are preparing a spread for them--cocktails, sweet champagne. I have been tearing all over town to find some gin, which I finally accomplished at la maison of M. Henry, who was well stocked with every kind of wine. There has been a lot of kick about the food. The men seem to be always hungry--an enormous breakfast and then howls for more lunch--then tears when the bill comes. I had a meeting two nights ago and told them they could have what they wanted, but they would have to pay for it. They finally voted a French breakfast, which began this morning. I did not come down till late, but I was told they were a doleful lot. However, they will get used to it later. Nothing but housekeeping. It takes from two to three hours to get the work straightened out. _August 30th._ The dinner was quite a success. Every one limbered up, and laughter, loud and plenty, was the order of the night. Since then nothing worthy of note. At last I have an orderly and he is working on my books. And perhaps life will now be pleasanter. _September 3rd._ The golden morning sun came pouring in the window this morning and Trinder came smashing in the door at six thirty a. m. demanding the key of the storeroom. Yesterday we took a nice walk, climbing the heights on the west bank of the Marne. I went to Colonel Hansell this morning and asked permission to resign from the job of the mess. He immediately granted my request. To-night at dinner he made a very pretty little speech, thanking me for my work under very trying circumstances and calling for three cheers for the retiring mess officer, which were given with a hearty good will. It was a most courteous thing, and I was deeply touched. What a relief to have the thing off my shoulders! I walked to town with my wash and felt like a boy out of school. Cave joined me and we went down to the new headquarters. Everything was humming with activity. Tents line the road on both sides. Motors and motorcycles are flying in all directions. Engineers stringing wires and newly-made majors swaggering about, greatly impressed with their own importance, all looking very debonair and rather foolish. They are rather a fine-looking lot on the whole, the Western type easily predominating. We lunched peacefully at the Hotel France. Peck told me Bradley had asked for teams to go to the front for a two weeks' tour of duty and McWilliams had chosen me as a team mate. Hurrah! _September 13th._ Haven't written. Little to write about. The evening of the 10th, Kildare and I walked along the canal to a little town called Luzy. There we made a find in the form of a nice, good-natured, well-nourished woman who keeps a little restaurant near the station. She cooked us a good omelet with potatoes and salad, with plenty of bread and good butter. Eating it in the court in front of the house, it was all right, and fired me with a sporting spirit of adventure and a bit of life in the open away from all this chaos and turmoil. So, on returning, I proposed to the room that we take a walking trip. Henry James was the only one who took me up and so the next morning, having obtained permission, we started with no definite destination other than to get lunch at Luzy with Madame and then push on to any old place. Madame at Luzy told us that Nogent-la-Haute was an interesting old town about fifteen kilometers away, so we started off with full stomachs to reach it. We strolled along the canal with its sides lined with beautiful Lombardy poplars. The afternoon was hot, but, other than an occasional fisherman who never seemed to catch anything, there were no signs of life alongside the canal. The Marne babbled over the stones, here and there turning a water-wheel, and great gray cattle grazed peacefully in the meadows, and we breathed a deep breath of freedom, and joy of the open road crept into my bones. It seemed once again that care and responsibility had rolled away and that I was a boy with nothing to do but to wander where the spirit willed. Then an idea struck us. How nice it would be to board a canal-boat and just idle along with it. But none came. Then a plan for taking a train and going to Belfort and from there out to the French, but at the station the timetable said the last train that day had gone, and then again the distance was given as one hundred and fifty-four kilometers, much too far in the short time at our disposal. So finally it was decided, at Faulein, to take the little narrow-gauge road to Nogent-la-Haute. So narrow-gauge it was; and it puffed up hill for twelve kilometers to a snug little village perched on a high rock surrounded with gardens and the biggest pine-trees I have ever seen. The tower of an old castle spoke of seigneurial days when "barons held their sway." I looked forward to a nice, quiet, cozy little dinner and a good sleep and a morning's loaf, strolling about the town to the wonderful view from the great precipitous height on the west. But nothing of the sort. As we descended from the train a dozen urchins cried, "Les Américains!" and in half the time it takes to write it, a dozen more sprang up, taking up the cry, so that walking along the main street there was a troop of urchins crowding about us and from the windows heads appeared, the whole town coming to life. The urchins ran into the hotel and told Madame "les Américains" were on the threshold. Madame rushed out all a-flutter and courtesied us in. Mother and sister courtesied. Were we spending the night? Did we eat? We assured her we ate and were spending the night. Then, what would we eat and where would we eat it? This latter point was unfortunately settled by the chief permanent boarder, acting as a delegate and asking the honor of having us join them. There was no alternative. We simply had to dine with them, and we marched bravely in. Talk! My God! My God! There was no end to it! Words rolled out in avalanches. Special brands of red wine were ordered, coffee, liqueurs--but always talk. Now, if you are not a professor of the French language and you are tired after a day's tramp, and if it is up to you to appear half intelligent (for James was lucky enough not to speak a word of French and so it was up to me), it is exhausting. Those moments were like sitting on a chair and having hot needles stuck all over one's body. Talk! Talk! The war! Every one had a son or brother, or at least a brother-in-law, killed or wounded. We were doctors, so a minute account of their deaths or how they acted after they were wounded. Then what the war had done to them, and what they had done to the war. Then politics. What America would do. How independent the Americans were. They smoked cigarettes with their meals. They only smoked them half through, etc., etc., etc. It seems we were the first Americans since one Gillette, of safety-razor fame, had established a factory there some twelve years ago. Gillette! Gillette! We heard all about razors till I wished Gillette shaved into fragments. We must see the factory in the morning. We must visit Collin's surgical instrument emporium. At seven thirty in the morning they were on the job, but we stayed in our room and watched the market going on in the public square. _September 14th._ A fine driving rain and a beautiful cold in the head, and all the rooms have a dampness that drives to the bone. Finished my twenty-four hours as O. D. at nine this morning--nothing happened. _September 16th._ Time drags interminably. It is a glorious day, but absolutely nothing to do, either in the way of play or work. I feel as if my brain were jellifying, or that if something did not happen I must simply run away. Army life! It squeezes every inch of individuality out of a man. Its rules are those of the Medes and Persians, and no blue-black Presbyterian could be more strict in their observance. In the fighting line it is all right, but in the "administering angel" job it is Hell. The men are playing baseball and the Frenchmen Rugby football. James, Cave and myself lunched at the France, but it was deadly. The streets contain only old women with few teeth and look bedraggled out of all proportion. _September 20th._ Tuesday night Kilbane and I dined at the Signal Corps quarters. They are in the Château of Chaumont, down under the hill. It is a wonderful little place, resplendent with a hundred memories, for the place was built by Louis XV for a hunting lodge, and, to all appearances, remains unchanged to-day. It is built on a court, only two stories high, and much of the old fittings still remain. The garden is overgrown with weeds and the flowers are sadly neglected, but in spite of everything one's imagination harks back to former times, for the atmosphere is all there. As we were shown around by Major Dodd it seemed almost sacrilegious to turn it over to the unappreciative hands of officers. Colonel Churchill was the Commanding Officer. He impressed me very much as a gentleman and a personality of much charm. _September 24th._ Two glorious autumn days with wonderful sunrises and sunsets. Only small bunches of clouds are appearing, which in all probability means trouble for tomorrow. Everybody is getting very restless and unless something happens to break the calm tranquillity of the daily routine, something is going to blow up. Saturday the officers played the Johns Hopkins unit at Bazoirs and, although they were beaten, they came back full of enthusiasm over the good times they had and the hospitality shown them. Last night a telegram saying, "War Department offers you commission gastro-enterologist, rank Captain, base hospital here. Only thirty-two appointments. Will you accept if transfer possible. Cable immediately." I answered, "Prefer France." I do not want to leave now because, in spite of the awful waste in time and money, the game is just beginning, and I want to see it through. There is a rumor that Brewer will be here for lunch. I hope so, as it means a little news of what is going on around us. Steiner and I are planning to go to Troyes for Saturday night for a bit of a change. _September 25th._ Brewer arrived about noon and after lunch recounted his adventures at the front. They were exciting and they all had narrow squeaks. He was on the British lines East of Ypres and while he was there the Evacuation Hospital was bombed three times. Darrach was asked to join in a poker game one night. He said he was tired and did not want to play as he had been operating all day, but they kept urging him and as he was ahead of the game he finally consented. They had not been playing fifteen minutes when there was a terrific crash. Darrach went out to see what had happened and found a bomb had fallen squarely on his tent. Nothing remained but a few fragments of his overcoat; there was a hole six feet deep and about ten feet in diameter. A few moments later, when Brewer was in bed, a second crash followed by a shower of fragments. He rushed out and was told some of his nurses were hurt. A bomb had fallen right in front of the kitchen, blowing it to splinters. A fragment had struck Miss McDonald, his former operating nurse, just below the right eye, and fragments of shell wounded two others. There were seventy people wounded that night. He then went on to recount many little instances of life in an Evacuation Hospital. How the officers finally dug themselves in. They did not like to do it at first, as they were all new at the game and no one wanted to show that he was nervous. They heard Boche avions passing overhead frequently, and at those times they would climb in the dugouts. O---- had a narrow escape. They heard bombs in the neighborhood. He rushed in his tent for his helmet. His servant was there and as soon as they found it they both rushed out. As they ran along, the servant about twenty feet in advance, crash--and the servant was wafted off the face of the earth. All day and all night shells were passing over them. Also he told us an authentic story of one of his patients who was wounded in a charge, the wound proving to be a compound fracture of the thigh. He crawled into a shell-hole where he met another man with a compound fracture of the arm. They remained there using their rations and water. Then the man with the arm crawled out and brought in food and water from the dead that were lying about them. And so they existed until the forty-ninth day. On that night the arm man failed to return and was never seen again. So the leg man waited two more days, catching some water in his helmet, and then realized he must get out or starve. So starting in the direction in which he knew the British lines to be, he crawled across no-man's-land when, to his surprise, he came up to a trench and found it filled with Germans. He then realized that this trench had been built while he was lying out there and to get home he must cross it. So he waited for a time, until a moment when there were no Germans near him, and jumped it landing on his good leg. Crawling further he at last arrived in front of his own trench where he was seen and a big fusillade opened. He escaped this and finally by yelling in English they realized it was one of their own men and he was taken in. This was after fifty days. Brewer states the story has been corroborated in all details and is true. Stillman has sent McWilliams a letter in which he says there are altogether too many shells flying around and very little to do. I am looking forward to the day when we will get up there and see some of these things for ourselves. Later the order came. It reads that we report in Paris at nine a. m., Saturday, September 29th, report to the 2nd Army, British Expeditionary Force for a period of fourteen days. _September 27th._ _Paris._ McWilliams and I came on last night, leaving Chaumont at five thirty reaching here ten p. m. The city was better illuminated than the last time I was here. We are stopping at the Continental Hotel--not as nice as the Ritz and more expensive. The breakfast room here this morning was filled with ambulance drivers, doctors and nurses. Called on Henry Clews and Lillie Havemeyer. Both out. Paris to-day looked actually down at the heel. _September 28th._ The following medical clinics are held at Paris: Heart Diseases--Hop. St. Antoine Vacquez; General Medicine--Hop. Cochin Vidal; General Medicine--Hop. Cochin Chauffard. Lunch with Lillie Havemeyer. Called on Dorziat and met General Brook, who is a son of Lord Warwick. D. asked him to give me letters to some of the officers with the Second Army Corps, which he has promised to do. Last night was a real party. McW. and I started out for dinner, met two British officers at Henry's bar. We had a few, and then went around to Géney's for dinner. It was fine. We all sat down in a little room. Dinner was served at seven thirty to all. There were several very nice girls in the party and we had a very jolly evening. Dined with Henry Clews to-night. _September 29th._ Reported at nine a. m. at Medical Headquarters, 10 Rue Ste. Anne, and there got our orders. We leave at one fifteen for Amiens. Spend the night there. The following morning proceed to Albert, arriving at six fifty-five a. m. There report to the Liaison Officer at Headquarters, 2nd British Army, and then to Director of Medical Service at the same place. A pass has been issued to us and so we are all ready for whatever comes. Saw Pool and Colonel Winter, who was very cordial. Now to pack and lunch. We packed up, caught one fifteen train, and a few minutes before six p. m. pulled into Amiens.--On July 30th, 1914, Helen and I spent the night here and met Sir Seymour King in the Hotel Rhin. How well he conceived the magnitude of the whole thing. That evening after dinner he said, "This will be a veritable Armageddon, in which you will be eventually involved." And here we are now after three years and two months. McWilliams and I dined at the Hotel Rhin and sat in the garden. How memories come back. The dinner was poor and the price high. Just before dinner we visited the Cathedral. The carving on the outside and inside is piled high with sandbags and was invisible. There were absolutely no lights in Amiens and the streets were simply crowded with Tommies. We managed to get a nasty room in the Belford near the station. _September 30th._ We were called at four forty-five a. m. after a horrible night of little sleep from screeching railroad whistles, and in the dark hurriedly shaved and dressed. The porter brought a cup of coffee and slice of bread, for which they had the nerve to charge two francs. Then carrying our own bags we started for the station. In spite of the early hour the place was crowded, both with military and civilians. It was pitch black, but the train was found and we all piled in and started for Albert. As day dawned a thick mist prevented any range of vision, but just before reaching Albert it began to lift and ruins of villages, or villages partly in ruins, could be seen. Then the train pulled in. The station was full of shell-holes, in fact, half demolished--but we stored our baggage in a shed and started down the street to find the Liaison Officer. But the city was in ruins. The walls were pockmarked by machine-gun fire and only about one in ten habitable. And then as we turned a street corner we saw the Cathedral, or rather the shell of what it once was. From the top of the shell-shattered tower the Virgin and Child were suspended at right angles, the Child extending far out. As the mist lifted the sun struck the gilding. It was like a miracle and one fairly gasped. We were all much impressed and somewhat awed, for there was silence for some minutes afterward. The Cathedral was totally destroyed, only the four walls and tower standing, and large holes through all the walls. For blocks around there, no houses were left standing and only a block of stone and a few piles which marked doorstep and entrance hall. Some houses had no roofs and some roofs had no house, but remained suspended when all the remaining structure had gone. It was like wandering through some recently excavated city. At Albert one first comes in contact with English efficiency and there is only one word to express it, and that is "Marvelous." The gaping windows and doorways of shattered houses are wired across to keep out marauders. The streets are fairly polished, signs posted in English--regarding roads, officers' quarters and different staff traffic guards, but above all, one is amazed at the wonderful neatness and order. After wandering about for about an hour we finally found the S.F.C., Rest House and Mess-Room. The roof was gone and the whole top story, but that was boarded up and a little mess-room made, and around the garden, which had been cleaned up, were rooms for stray officers. We got the first good breakfast there I have had since leaving home. The touch of England was everywhere. A Sergeant received you and gave you a check in the hall. There is a parlor and reading-room, etc. Certainly they know how to do things. But writing this twenty-four hours later, what we admired then we marveled at now. For that same hand of quiet efficiency is everywhere. No wonder they are the most wonderful colonizers of the world. But more of this later. There was no Liaison Officer, so we went to Medical Headquarters (D.D.M.S.), and speaking about D.D.M.S., one needs a dictionary to understand these initials. Everything is initialed. I am struggling to get on to them, but it is very confusing to a beginner. From D.D.M.S. we were sent forward in two ambulances, one for baggage and one for ourselves. We left Albert on the Bapaume Road, and now all power of description fails. One looks with mixed awe, wonder and admiration. The battlefield begins on all sides. As far as the eye can see are trenches, shell-holes and graves. The country is one vast barren stretch. Scarcely a tree remains. Not a habitation is left standing. Barbed-wire entanglements run across the country for miles. On all sides English soldiers are working, cleaning and salvaging the French lumber and wrecked building material and remaking the roads. The sites of previous hamlets are marked by a sign in many places, and by signs and bricks and a few remnants of walls. In other places literally not a fragment remains of what once was a little French village. Words can never paint a picture of what unfolds before the eye. You feel that at the top of the near crest this desolation must end and life begin again, but it goes on and on, mile after mile, a dreary waste of torn-up ground and blighted tree stumps. And the English. No words can tell of their wonderful efficiency and sanitation. Water-tanks, horse troughs, latrines, water for washing, water-tanks where canteens may be filled, manure dumps where all manure is collected and covered with earth to keep flies away. It all speaks for wonderful order and efficiency. At crossroads a traffic man stands to regulate vehicles. Crosses of white, crosses with the tricolor of France, and black crosses, mark the graves of English, French and German, respectively. Here and there little cemeteries of white crosses are scattered through the fields where they have been able to collect their dead. Fifteen kilometers to Bapaume, which is a mass of wreckage, and on to Battencourt. Here we met Colonel Westcott, who looked us over, and then shipped us to the 2/1 Field Ambulance of the 62nd Battalion at Fevreuil. We get out here, our baggage is unloaded and we enter our shelter. Now a shelter is a round piece of corrugated iron with a wooden floor and serves for winter quarters. _October 1st._ I sha'n't attempt to describe a Field Ambulance personnel. Everyone has explained it to me and that is sufficient, because I didn't understand it and probably never shall. Only, it is in three sections and each section is in three parts, so we are part one of second section. Thus 2/1. We are comfortably quartered and the men are all nice fellows. The colonel is on leave and Captain Pope is in command. The officers are all fed up on the war as they have been at it since the start and have all seen trench service. All morning we rode around with the Sanitary Officer inspecting camps and sanitation in general. The English make a separate sanitary service under trained sanitary men and not doctors. In the course of the morning we met Major English, a charming fellow, not over thirty, who took us over his battalion of Lewis guns. They had just come back the night before, but quiet, order and cleanliness reigned everywhere. Truly a remarkable people. In the afternoon we motored over to Péronne with the same Sanitary Lieutenant (Hafflin), and again a vast track of devastation as far as the eye could reach in all directions--trenches, barbed wire and graves. Literally, not a habitable house left standing. Péronne has a school of sanitation where the men are detailed for two or three days for instruction in general camp sanitation. It is a remarkable institution. Every bit of waste material is utilized. Petrol cans make wonderful stoves. Boxes are sawed up into latrine covers, wash benches, meat-safes. Tin cans are cut up and reshaped into many utensils. Hinges are improvised from bits of leather, pieces of tin and wire. It has all been carefully worked out and nothing left to chance. Then again all wagons, bits of equipment, harness, etc., are groomed with just as much care and attention as they would be at home. Autos are washed, shined and polished. It is all simply a marvel. Péronne is a mass of wreckage like everything else. Evidently a once charming little Cathedral lies in a mass of wreckage, and on the doors of the Hôtel de Ville is scribbled in chalk "Eintritt fur 40 Sanitatespersonnel." The destitution of the Cathedral is so complete that it must have been blown up. _October 3rd._ Yesterday morning about nine o'clock we started for Écoust-Longatte, going out in the motor ambulance about four kilometers. We were fitted out with steel helmets and two gas-masks, the second as an emergency in case anything happens to the first. After going about two kilometers there is a sign "No traffic beyond this point." Here the steel helmet is adjusted and the gas-mask drawn up in front, the bag opened and everything made ready for immediate adjustment. Then over about a two-kilometer stretch of road in full view of Fritz and under the range of his guns. The road is lined with small dugouts. Here and there empty shells are hung, to be rung in case of a gas attack. The condition of the wind is noted on boards as "Wind dangerous" or "Wind safe" depending upon the point of the compass from which it blows. We crossed the two kilometers on the crest of the ridge. On all sides not a sign of life. This absence of all visual signs of life is almost appalling, for on all sides as far as the eye can reach not a cat is seen. Yet there is the creepy feeling that some one is always watching you. At Écoust is A. D. S. (Advance Dressing Station) in the cellar of a ruined brewery. The men sleep, eat and live at least twelve feet below the ground. At the doors are two sets of curtains soaked in a solution of hexamine to be lowered on the sounding of the gas alarm, also with apparatus standing near to keep them sprayed with the same solution. After speaking with the officer in charge we set out on foot through Longatte, which is a small suburb of Écoust. Here the road for a strip of two hundred yards is in view of Fritz and it is camouflaged with wire netting to which small particles of green cloth are tied. We passed two enormous mine pits in the center of the road which the Germans blew up on their retreat to the Hindenburg Line. Bullecourt could be seen about three miles in front of us. All that remains now is a pile of white rubbish. The English line runs up to the suburbs of this town. Now, at this point we took to the communication trench. It is called Bullecourt Avenue, and we followed it for about three miles. It is just wide enough to walk in and the floor is covered with duck boards. And now shells begin screaming overhead. The first desire was to duck, but it is surprising how soon one grows accustomed to the sound. In a quarter of an hour we paid but little heed to them. Occasionally we passed little groups of men working their way back, when one or the other of us had to stand and flatten ourselves against the side and squeeze past. Twice we met groups of officers on inspection. One was General Lord Harnbleu. In about twenty or thirty minutes we came to a trench running at right angles. This was Railway Avenue, paralleling the railway embankment. In front of this were only outpost points, so we were practically in the front trench and about fifty yards from the Boche at places. The most surprising thing was the few men that one saw. At intervals of about one hundred feet were sentries while scattered along in little bunches of two or three were men eating or sleeping. Every here and there gun points or men stationed with Lewis guns or Victor automatic. The sunshine was warm and pleasant, so we stood around, chatted, looked at the maps and looked at the German positions through the periscope. A wonderful thing, because it was absolutely similar to peeking through a hole in the embankment. Not a sign of life from the Boche, except the constant whiz of shells both coming and going, but they all appeared to be dropping on our left. Every little distance were deep dugouts, twenty-five to thirty feet under ground and well timbered. On this line were two Regimental Dressing Stations. It was like living in a mine shaft. There were quarters for officers, officers' mess. The men cook their own food and get good hot stuff. What cannot be cooked is brought up in large cans built on the principle of thermos bottles. From Railway trench into Tower trench, where we inspected another R. D. S., and then back to the railway embankment. From one line of this trench where the ground sinks there is an open road leading back to Écoust. Captain Pope said that Fritz seldom troubled small numbers of men walking back and that this road was frequently used by the stretcher-bearers. So we started back over it and after about one hundred yards one could turn and look full into the German trench with its wire entanglement in front of it. Standing there I fully expected to be fired at, but nothing happened, although our shells were breaking on his parapets not four hundred yards to the left, throwing up big columns of dirt. So we spread out and started along the two-mile stretch. The whole ground was pocked with shell-holes, a fallen aeroplane was lying there, a dead horse, but all the bodies had been apparently gathered in as I saw none. All the time shells kept screaming overhead. Some English battery would fire a salvo, and then Fritz would reply, trying to find out where our guns were. We finally reached the A. D. S., had lunch at three thirty, and then climbed out on an old crumbling wall and watched one of our batteries shell Fritz's trench. It was a fascinating sight to see the shells throw clouds of earth in the air. I walked home with the Padre, Michael Moran, an R. C., a bully fellow. On our left was Vaux. Like all the rest it was a heap of rubble. Below was Beaumont Hamil. All this country was the scene of the wildest, bloodiest fighting of the war. Below I note some of the Boche's tricks and his ways as given by the British Padre, Reverend Michael Moran of West Riding Field Ambulance: Dugout Traps-- Branch in front of dugout connected with mines. Spade wired to mine. Pictures, vases, helmets, fountain pens, books on tables, nails in wall, loose boards in floor, things on verge of falling, and piano connected with wires; clocks connected with mines, bells connected with mines timed to go off by a rod in acid. Mining of churches and other buildings which have not been touched. This was pulled off at Bapaume where sacristy was left untouched. When French Mission collected vestments, bombs had been connected and exploded, killing eleven. Bombs up chimney with fire all ready to light. Slip trench with false bottom letting men through on spikes. Church furniture used to make crosses for German men. Poisoning wells and roots of young trees. Some trees left sawn halfway in. Poisoned wine bottles, one out of several poisoned. Left perfect latrines. First time chain pulled, exploded. Tank traps, making hole before the tank. The crater is also mined. Party of Boche went around with English motor-car inspecting dumps. Spoke English perfectly. Few days later dumps blown up. Boche also use English aeroplanes. Not safe to walk over grass or earthy grass as bombs are strewn everywhere. Bombs in potato-mashers. Boche military police on duty for five weeks in English front. Smoke bombs to blind tanks. Barrage of gas shells before our batteries, so gunners have to work twelve to fifteen hours in gas-masks. Town hall at Bapaume blown up three days after occupation by British troops, due to acid bombs. Umbrella left in stand attached to a mine. Gas clouds sent every ten yards apart in bunches of three (three each ten yards). German deserter's family at home deprived of rations and separation allowance. Boche found carrying machine-guns on stretchers to lines. _October 4th._ The above facts were given by the Padre last night from notes he had made. He has been in the thick of the fighting and has gone right along with his men all the time. Yesterday morning rode around with Lawson (Quartermaster) visiting the Ordnance and Army Service Corps (Captain Bateson) dumps. Then to the water head where the water is supplied to this section. Lunch, and after that the Padre, McWilliams and I started out in the ambulance for Vaux--a mass of wreckage. The Padre took us in a garden of a once-château. The grounds were overgrown with weeds, but flowers still struggled out of their old beds. The château was a pile of bricks, beautiful trees were half cut through and left to die. Nothing but two gateposts and a small segment of the outbuildings were left standing. Such wanton destruction is simply appalling to see. About one hundred and fifty shells were dropped on Vaux last night and from the edge of the town one is fairly in sight of the German lines. The Padre lived in the garden during the bombardment, and we saw the dugout that he and his servant had built. From there we walked down the Mareuil Road, no vehicle or horses are allowed to show themselves on the northern end of the town beyond the cross-road, as the Mareuil Road is in clear view of the enemy. Gun batteries were placed every here and there, carefully camouflaged, as is everything. Two dummy guns stuck out in one place. The gunners live along the roadside in small shelters with sandbag roofs. In the hollow were two six-inch guns, which were firing a salvo of one hundred rounds each at a section of Boche trench which was pushed too near to ours. The target was 7,500 yards away over the crest of a hill. They fired at intervals of about two minutes, first one and then the other. The crash was tremendous. After watching them working for a while till my ears rang, returned to Vaux and then took the ambulance to the A. D. S. on Mareuil sector. This was well fitted up. In the past twenty-four hours under cover of the haze they had run a narrow-gauge track up to it. Back at five p. m. for tea and then to the Bow Bells. This is a Divisional theatrical troupe, or, as it is officially known, a Divisional Concert Party, of 56th Division. It was wonderfully dramatic, as it was held in a partially demolished barn. They gave a capital show. Good voices. Two of the men were superb in their impersonation of women's parts. The show begins at six p. m. and was simply crowded. Tickets have to be booked up days in advance. We groped our way home as no searchlights can be shown on cars and had dinner at a little after eight. On the way back Very lights were constantly going up from the lines. Think of a first-class performance in a battered village, three miles away from a world war, and you can in fact surmise some of the sensations one has in watching it in a battered barn filled with nearly a thousand men and officers. And they appreciated it like children. In the evening Padre, Mackenzie and Lawson told stories until one thirty a. m. A bully day-- Our 'phone call is "Pork." _October 5th._ Yesterday was comparatively quiet. It blew a hurricane and in the afternoon rained hard. So we loafed about, gossiped, called on some other messes, and in the evening dined with Captain Welsh 2/6 West Yorks. He gave us a bully dinner, and several young officers were there--Captains Humphrey and Baker--they did not look twenty. Humphrey, Welsh said, had a wonderful record for bravery. He had already been decorated. There has been a terrific barrage on since eleven a. m. We could hear the roar all through dinner, and constantly Very lights were being put up. The night was pitch black and we lost our way in the mud and darkness in trying to get to the 2/6. This afternoon we went out with the Padre to A. D. S. at Eauze. We were going out on the railway embankment toward St. Léger when they began a pretty stiff bombardment (the English). Shells were hurled over from all directions and the air fairly hummed. It stopped our trip and we watched behind an old piece of wall the shells breaking on Bull-dog Trench, the German front lines. Some were big 5·9's and they threw up a perfectly enormous cloud of earth. We had tea in the A. D. S. with House and Blackburn. It is their casual conversation that gives one the real sidelights on the situation. Fox, an Engineer, was standing a bit down the road when a shell broke near him. He came sauntering in as if it had been a rose-fall. When things quieted down we walked down the road and joined some of the Engineers for a bit of gossip. Then home in the ambulance. Took a short walk into a small German cemetery. Boche when he retreated scratched off the number of the unit on every cross. _October 6th._ Rain. Nothing doing. Bitterly cold. _October 7th._ Bitter cold. Had ten blankets and still shivered. Went to service this morning. It was one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. The Divisional Yorkshire Band. Most of the men were going up the line and were in heavy marching order. It made shivers up and down one's spine. We move to 45 C. C. S. this afternoon. Shall be sorry to go. _October 9th._ We moved to C. C. S. in a pouring rain and came into a wallowing mud hole after dark. We got a real British reception and were shown into a tent that contained nothing. "Have you a servant?" was the first question. "We have not," was the answer. So they detailed us the camp idiot. Mud, rain and a howling gale, and British stoicism. They are not a bit like the nice bunch we left. There is nothing doing here but some trench fever cases (P. N. O.). There is absolutely nothing to do or see, so we hang around in the wet and cold and shiver. I am anxious to hear what became of the little Padre, because some of the men were "going over the top" Sunday night, and he was going with them. If it does not rain this afternoon, McW. and I will try and find our way back there on foot for tea, as Colonel Lister said he would send us back in the bus if we did. I shall be glad to be back at Chaumont again. _October 11th._ We are still at Casualty Clearing Station 45, and a dreary hole it is. We tried to get away, but the D. D. M. S. would not hear of it, so we must stay our week out. I am officer of the day to-day and am actually running H. M. C. C. S. 45, having inspected, etc., a detail of H. M.'s forces this morning. Tuesday we went to Greyvillers and saw C. C. S. 3. They seemed much more alive there. And yesterday we were shown over C. C. S. 49, our neighbor. It has rained the greater part of the time, with patches of sunshine here and there for short intervals. Last night we went to Béhagnes to see the Pelicans' show. It was wonderfully good, but not as interesting or amusing as Bow Bells at the 56th Division. The Pelicans are the 62nd Division. We dined at the Officers' Club there. There were somewhere between one hundred and one hundred and fifty officers there, many fresh from the trenches. They walked in--and drove in. There was a large well-patronized bar, papers, and everything well appointed. At eight we went in to dinner, and a very good one only not sufficient. Met Crab there and several other officers I had met at the 2/1 West Riding. They were all most agreeable. The Pelicans began at nine. We walked almost all the way out and it was quite wonderful, as the battle-front was illuminated by constant gun-fire and Very lights. It is hard to imagine that one is only three or four miles away from it all. During the performance last night the gun-fire was constant, and a battery somewhere behind our tent has kept going constantly now since four p. m. yesterday. My duties as officer of the day are to inspect the camp detail, outgoing men, censor letters, inspect kitchens, latrines, etc. Also, I am in charge of Ward D. We shall leave Saturday morning at seven forty-five. The British Army is all right, but this lot of men are dead. I have yet failed to meet a British medical officer with any range of vision. They are provincial to the last degree and thoroughly self-satisfied. Those who have seen more of their work than I have say that as a rule it is poor, but their cleanliness and general camp sanitation is beyond criticism. This C. C. S. is 3rd Army, 6th Corps. The C. C. S. are attached to the Army. The Commander is F. G. Fitzgerald. He just returned from leave early this morning. _October 16th._ We left the C. C. S. Saturday morning after rather a dreary week, as it was bitterly cold and raining every day. The train from Achet-le-Grand was crowded. We met Pool and his crowd, stopped over at Amiens for lunch, paying a second visit to the Cathedral. Then down to Paris, arriving at the Hotel Continental about five p. m. I dined alone at the Café de Paris, and then back to bed. Sunday was beautiful, cool and clear, and a walk up to the Arc in the morning was delightful. On the way down saw Dorziat for a half hour. She was still in bed, although she said she was rehearsing daily. Called on H. C. and L. Havemeyer, but they were both out, and so ended the day. Monday we started out for Chaumont, and so reached the old barracks again. Everything just as we left it. Drew 226 francs travel allowance this morning. To-morrow I am to take over three wards at Piercy. _October 21st._ A truly interesting day. Saturday we heard that four Zeppelins had been brought down, one near here. So this morning the Colonel sent down to Headquarters and found that one was near Bourbonne-les-Bains.--H. James, Schwander, Russell, Colonel and I went down in the Marmon car. It was a beautiful ride. We came on the Zep. about one mile outside Bourbonne. It had come down across a little ravine, the nose almost resting on the road. It was almost intact, the forward car only having been smashed. Some of the gas-bags and the rear end of the body seemed to be cracked. It was simply a marvelous bit of construction, and appeared like a whale thrown up on land. Two hundred meters long and a wonderful frame built of aluminum. The bombs had all been dropped. It was built like a watch. I climbed into the forward car. The motor appeared intact and the gauges and levers were all there just as they had been left. It was all very wonderful. They had apparently lost their way and had to come down on account of lack of petrol. The crew were all taken prisoners. They tried to fire the machine, but were discovered in time and prevented. We drove on after that to Bourbonne for lunch. The place was packed with French and Americans. Every one seemed to have come out to see the sight. Going in we saw the two officers dressed in suits of leather. One turned and smiled at us as we passed. Schwander got permission for us to talk to the prisoners, but they had all departed for Dijon when we had finished lunch. On the way back we stopped and saw where the second had caught in the tree tops. The forward car had been broken off by the contact and fourteen men taken prisoners, but the remaining four got the Zep. going again, and went along--to be captured later. The men captured first burned the basket, but as we passed there was still a lot of wreckage sticking in the trees. Every one was hunting for souvenirs, and they pocketed bits of the linen envelope and particles of fused metal, perfectly worthless objects. The Sergeant who captured the first lot of Boches told us that one of the officers had a bottle of poison that he was going to drink if caught. But on second thoughts he presented it to the Médecin Chef, saying he knew the French wine was good as he had lived two years in Paris working in a motor factory. Altogether we had a most delightful and interesting day's outing. On the way back we passed nearly a hundred motors with officers and men. The road was filled with peasants going on foot, bicycle, or in their crazy little carts packed in so thick that the poor horse could scarcely drag them. The excitement all through the countryside was intense. _October 28th._ Nothing of any particular interest during the past week. Have charge of 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15 wards, besides two Sergeants' rooms. To-day Floyd leaves for a tour of inspection of camp sites, and I have charge of the building. _October 30th._ One of the girls from Vittel honored me by a visit, and while we were dining the military police rushed in and said there was an impending air raid and that all men were ordered to quarters. I thought I heard the hum of motors but was not sure. We are trying to collect a "fee allowance" for fees given on the "Lapland" and "Grand Tulley Castle." This is at B's instigation, as he was much piqued that I collected 26 francs more than he did in travel allowance on our trip to the British front. Two letters from America arrived to-day, one posted July 26th, the other August 6th. Some going! It has poured rain steadily for two days now, and everything is wet and muddy. Miss Sheriff has gotten the officers' lounge almost ready for occupancy. _November 1st. All Saints' Day!_ And a wonderful clear day, not a cloud in the sky and scarcely a breath of wind to scatter the falling leaves. There was real joy in the air and everyone showed it. In the morning Miss A. came. Miss A. is one of the Red Cross and is rummaging around, God knows why, because she cannot speak French, nor does she know anything of hospitals. I showed her through my wards, but it was all Greek to her. In the afternoon I started out on my bicycle. Rode to Noisy-sur-Seize and then crossed the hills to Luzy. It was just sunset as I went over the divide, and no one can describe the peaceful beauty of it all. The church bells were tolling the Angelus, the long Angelus for the repose of souls. Smoke curled up in thin, blue columns from the little houses below in the valley, and the slanting rays of the sinking sun lit up woods and meadows with a wonderful golden glow. It lasted for a few minutes and slowly died out, and always the bells, ringing out the fading day. I sat on the crest of the hill and watched the last shadows, and then went on down into Luzy in the gray twilight, and so on home. The Padre (Burnett) was in the room, and a hot discussion was in progress on the All Hallowe'en dance, which was given for all enlisted men, nurses and officers. _November 4th._ I am now senior medical officer, Floyd having been called away to organize some hospital. Major Lewis shot himself last night (suicide) down in the pretty little château at Chamaronde. Alfred Stillman was called down. He found him lying with the automatic revolver in his hand. Peck and Cave have returned from the French front where they were working for five weeks. They are full of it, saying they were treated royally. _November 8th._ The same old story.--Last night dined with Kilbane at Luzy. Rain and general slow times. _November 12th._ The times are absolutely uneventful, and the life is monastic. Am taking over an American ward to-day. The Medical Chief told me I was holding too many patients and I must discharge them. It seems pretty rough, as there is hardly one that is fit to return to duty in the strict sense, but he says France lacks man power and that is their sacrifice. Their food in hospital is inadequate and miserably prepared. It seems a poor economy, because if they were well cared for they would be able so much sooner to return to duty. This is the first day the sun has shone. _November 24th._ We received over two hundred Americans and three hundred and twenty odd French in the past forty-eight hours. The work has been very severe--practically only Henry James and myself to do it, as Martin and Peightel were both sent on other details. The C. O. knew they were coming, but we had no official notification. Everything was pandemonium, and still is. I made nearly seventy-five physical examinations per day, besides having the general directions. It was pretty strenuous and I don't think it is over yet. Have been talking with Colonel Mitchell to-night. He is the head of the U. S. Aviation--a bright, able man. He says Germany has won the war from the military standpoint. The French man power is gone; Great Britain has made too many blunders--and now the Italian business, which was rather expected. It all certainly looks pretty dreary to me. _November 28th._ Sergeant Hartman died of pneumonia and was buried to-day. A full military funeral with the 101st Engineers Band. He is the first one of us. It was very solemn and impressive. The Padre read the service in Pavillion Raymond, and then his body was put on the ambulance and we started for the cemetery, the band leading, then the hearse, the body draped in the American flag and covered with flowers. Twelve of the officers followed, Peck, Jim, Reed and self walking in the first column of fours, the men followed, about sixty of them, and then an ambulance with the nurses. We went down to the cemetery where at least two hundred French were gathered. We stood at attention while "Taps" were sounded, and then we turned and walked away, leaving him alone in France, looking over the valley. He had done his bit and done it well. The corner of the little French cemetery is beginning to fill. _November 29th. Thanksgiving Day._ From early morn every one has been smacking his lips and thinking and talking and dreaming of food. We got ours at one thirty. Of course, they had to ask in some of the 101st Engineers, and they have been hanging around our rooms all afternoon waiting for the dance. The dance is yet to come, but all is enthusiasm. The 101st Band played in the compound in the afternoon. At present there is a great hustle and bustle, hammering and knocking around in general. My little sergeant leaves me to-night. A dapper little gentleman. I got him in the dining-room and stuffed him full of turkey, red wine and mince pie. He is a finely made fellow. In twenty days he returns to the front. Ganthor is his name. My new uniform has come home after a three months' struggle to get it, and, of course, it does not fit. Now for the dance! _December 9th._ Thanksgiving has come and gone. The dance was generally reckoned a great success. The 101st Band of Engineers was very fine, but the punch put the punch in the evening, and it had plenty of spirit. Since then things have moved along uneventfully. H. James and Calvin Coulter left the next morning for Boulogne, so Martin and I have practically carried on the medical service, aided by John Williams. The officers' quarters have been running heavily, but no particularly interesting cases anywhere. Last night Jim Russell had a birthday and asked some of us down to eat an exceedingly good ham, and we had champagne. Life is becoming about as eventful as a monastery and goes on with the same regularity. It is rounds, meals and a little reading, with an occasional walk. Every one is coughing and snuffling. James and Coulter are expected back to-morrow, and I hope about a week from to-day we--Martin and self--will get off. If all goes well I hope to spend Christmas in Paris. _December 12th._ Martin and I leave Friday for Boulogne, spending Saturday in Paris. James will be in charge of the medical service. It will be very nice to get away, but I hope they give me back my function as chief of the medical service when I return. The French seem to make absolutely no preparation for Christmas. There is not an extra ribbon hung in any shop, and in fact the only signs of Christmas are the bundles in pink ribbon that keep arriving for the men--they are many. I imagine pretty many are homesick. Henry James and Coulter got back Monday from their trip to Boulogne. Henry said it was well worth while and seems to have enjoyed it very much. Every one is coughing. Bronchitis is rife, and is running a very virulent course. An autopsy on one of the men yesterday showed the bronchia to be filled with pus. This was especially true in the smaller ramifications. They die from an apparent sepsis and are fine examples of a purulent bronchitis. McW., James, Stillman are all coughing and sneezing. Practically all the younger men have been in hospital with bronchitis, or influenza. I fear that our sick reports are running, and will continue to run, very heavy this winter, with a comparatively high mortality. We had news yesterday that the Engineers of the line of communication would not take half the building over, which means that we are going to stay here and that the whole place will be run as a hospital. Kilbane and Steiner left for Paris to-night to blow off steam. _December 15th._ _Paris!_ Martin and I arrived last night and came to the Wagram. This morning, it is not yet nine, we have had our "café complet" in our rooms which are overlooking the Tuileries Gardens. The Louvre and the Panthéon are golden tinged in the early sunlight. It is like a spring morning and a great joy to be away from the routine. _December 18th._ _Boulogne._ Mostly medical. Arrived here Sunday night. In the arms of the English. General high prices and bad manners prevail. Hotel Folkestone. We met Pool and Burt Lee in the dining-room on arrival Monday. Saw Cushing and Harvard Unit, then No. 3 Canadian and McCree, who showed us some of his chest work. Robinson of Harvard Unit has been doing some good blood work. Lunch with Colonel Evans at Stationary Hospital 14. Walk home along the cliffs with a great dirigible balloon hovering over the sea. In the afternoon Robinson read his paper on transfusions and the preservation of blood. Last night and again to-night Boche aeroplanes over the city and all lights suddenly turned out about five p.m. The city was literally in inky blackness, save for the pale flicker of the moon. Two wonderful clear cold days. The atmosphere of the place is distinctly one of depression. They all admit the situation is serious. _December 24th._ We left Boulogne last Thursday and started for Paris. The train was packed with "permissionaires" and all in a very jolly humor. The trip was well worth while, because it gave me many suggestions of the problems of war medicine. The crowd was terrific when we arrived in Paris--no taxis, so we struggled with the complications of the metro, finally reaching the Wagram. Friday visited Vidal at Hospital Cochin. He had his clinic. We waited for him and met him in his ante-room. He was most cordial. The man has done a tremendous amount of literary work. There were volumes of it. He is a thickset, forcible man of about forty-eight or fifty. I lunched with Lillie H. that afternoon where she had Cross and a Miss McCook, Y. M. C. A. In the evening dined with Henry Clews, who was in good form and opened up in the old style. Saturday L. lunched with me and in the evening I dined with Mrs. Stuart. Friday afternoon saw Madam A., an American woman with a Dutch husband. P. wanted me to see her. Stupid old thing, as deaf as a post. Martin left me this morning. Am alone now till Wednesday or Thursday, and then back again. _December 27th._ Returned from Paris with S. Ground white with snow. They all seemed glad to see me. Evidently Christmas was a great success. A full round of drinks, and they say all were happy, the Colonel included. The place is packed with patients. Y. M. C. A. tent is up and for the present filled with cots--cots in the corridors, so we are in now for a lively time. 1918 _January 18th._ Since last writing nothing of great importance has taken place. My recommendation for a majority was sent to Washington about ten days ago by Colonel Hansell. I hope it goes through and goes through quickly. The snow has all disappeared and beautiful, glorious mud reigns in its place. The Colonel is trying to jack up discipline--God knows it needs it. I caught one man staggering home dead drunk and had the pleasure of putting him under arrest. Blankets are being taken and electric-light bulbs. The same old lazy American methods. Saw our officers walking along the roads in their long coats, pretty sloppy looking objects. You cannot make a soldier unless you dress him in a soldierly fashion. The everlasting cry is we are a young country and it takes us time to learn, but, damnation, does it take one hundred and fifty years? Why could not our Government have attended to these matters twenty-five years ago? _February 1st._ Kilbane, Steiner and myself are off in the morning for our seven days' vacation. We are going to Nice, motoring to Dijon where we hope to be able to catch the train or rather get accommodations on a train, as we hear everything is crowded. Took my physical exam. for majority two days ago, Martin examining. We have had a wonderful fifteen days of clear weather, half of them quite summery, but for the most part the air is very damp and penetrating. _February 14th._ Back in Nice, with one day in Paris. We caught the train from Dijon at one thirty a.m., and stood up the balance of the night in the corridor as there were no seats--men and women stretched out full length lying on the floor. Reached Marseilles at twelve noon the next day, and stopped off for the balance of the day and night, taking the express next morning. Beautiful country. Stopped at Nice at the Hotel Negresco. First class. Perfect weather. We have twelve new M. C. nurses and enlisted men. A perfect mob now, but they seem a fairly decent lot. Same old job, except this time I am to start some fool work on food with a test squad of fifty men. Cannot make out any point to it, except they want to find out how much waste there is in preparation of food. _February 22nd._ Was sworn in as Major this morning by Colonel Island. _February 28th._ Howard Peck died. _March 1st._ Howard's funeral. 6th Artillery brass band, and all walked down to the new American Cemetery. Poor Major Peck! _March 2nd._ We heard two weeks ago that Alfred Stillman's brother was killed while flying. Alfred has been in London, having left on receipt of the news. There are twelve new raw-boned Southerners added to our Unit since my return from Nice. This morning we sent two operating teams to American C.C.S. No. 1, McWilliams among them. Armitage Whittman has taken Henry James's bed in our rooms. He seems to be a nice fellow. Stuart Benson, Paul Draper, Beekman Hoppin and Mrs. "Bordie" Harriman have all turned up at one time or another. _March 9th._ Alfred Stillman and I got a motor and rode out to American C.C.S. No. 1, just north of Toul--a beautiful spring day and a very pleasant trip. We lunched and dined at the Officers' Club, Neufchâteau, which sports a fine bar. _March 10th._ Last night some of the convalescent officers got two motors and we went down and saw Elsie Janis. She told stories, sang songs and danced for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was a delightful performance, she was so perfectly natural and joked and talked with the audience. _March 14th._ Am leaving for Paris for two days to-night with Major Malone. _March 23rd._ This has been an eventful day. In the first place, Colonel Hansell and Major Peck went on their vacations and I was left C.O., which entails many fussy details. Then this afternoon Colonel Mitchell of the Flying Corps, who was recently a patient of mine at the Officers' Pavillion, paid me a call, asked me to motor out to Hill 412 Aerodrome with him, and sent me off on an aeroplane flight with a French pilot. It was a wonderful sensation. We flew about twenty miles, circling over Chaumont and the hospital. Words cannot describe it. It has all the thrill of flying. The woods looked like little bunches of moss. We flew over the Canal, which had the color of bright emerald. The Flying Corps for me, if it wasn't for this cursed age. _April 4th._ This is approximately the tenth day of the great battle. For many days we have all been very anxious, but now a rapid feeling of confidence has arisen that the enemy is held. Have been Commanding Officer at the hospital for the past thirteen days, the Colonel and Peck having taken their vacation in Nice. _April 19th._ _Paris_--Medical conference. Hansell and I roomed together. I heard the big gun go off twice, otherwise all was quiet. Alexander Lambert asked me to dine with him. There were eight at dinner--his wife, Major Strong and wife, and Colonel Island, also Colonels Martin and Cummings of the English Army. While there Major Thayer told me I was to be detailed to one of the Divisions as Divisional Consultant. I was much pleased, as the news was a great surprise, for among all the wire-pulling I hardly expected to have anything good handed out unsolicited. _April 25th._ Orders to proceed to Neufchâteau. Threw the necessities in my old grip, rolled up the bedding and off in a Ford ambulance. Of course, all haste was unnecessary, as when I got in Major Thayer was away and Boggs, the Assistant Director of Medical Service, had gone to Chaumont. Saw Finney, who invited me to lunch--one of those sweetly solemn male luncheons where every one was afraid to say anything. Later that day Boggs turned up and we talked over affairs. The Consultant has charge and direction of all cases in his department. My orders were in a measure vague, and I should imagine it was largely up to me to create the position. Spent the night at the Officers' Club and next day, Saturday, motored with Finney and Boggs to C. C. S. No. 1 at Sevastepol where we lunched. Saw Pool and McWilliams. The latter has gotten very fat. From there we went on to Bucy, the 26th Division Headquarters, situated in a charming old Norman château with beautiful grounds, and from the terrace a superb view overlooking "Bocheland." It seemed a sacrilege to desecrate the grounds. Guns were booming in the distance, and the streets of the village were full of United States troops and transports. For fifteen miles and more behind the lines, the French were digging entrenchments and erecting barbed wire. They are evidently taking no chances. My original orders were not sufficiently comprehensive, so Sunday returned to Chaumont with Brewer, and here I am (May 3rd) waiting further orders before embarking on my new mission. _May 6th._ The new mission was just on the point of materializing when the 'phone rang and I was told, with Colonel Keller's compliments, to "disregard my orders." I felt like one personally conducted to hell and abandoned. Dumped for some reason. It was cruel. I debated for some time and then walked down to H. Q. and saw K. All the satisfaction obtainable was that the 2nd Division was coming out of the line and that a general reorganization was pending and to sit tight for further orders, which would surely come, and I would not be forgotten. Said he was not at liberty to divulge their plans further, and then changed the subject and talked about Colonel Reno's death by suicide, saying he was his best friend and showing me a letter from his wife. Moved our mess-hall over on the south end of the ground. Not much to do, and every one depressed and gloomy. Cadwalader and Stillman having their afternoon naps. Saw Major Flint last night at Hotel France--said John Alsop was with him. Paul Draper regaled us yesterday with his days of prosperity. It was a very wonderful story. PART II _With the 42nd (Rainbow) Division_ 1918 _November 18th._ It has been many months since I have attempted to write anything, for the principal reason that shortly after the last entry I was sent to the 42nd Division as Medical Consultant. The Division was at Baccarat. At the time of my journey George E. Brewer of New York was the Surgical Consultant, and for the first two weeks we roomed together. Later I got a billet for myself over by the railroad. It was a great relief to get away from the stuffy monotony of 15. The country was beautiful, and the opportunity to roam around and enter into the life of the war was very refreshing. We had a nice mess, not far from our billets--Sanford, Sam Arnold, "Sister" Rennis (Y.M.C.A.), I. N. Perry (Red Cross), Brewer and myself. Brewer was the cock o' the walk. Henry Sanford was Division Neurologist. We had an epidemic of what we called "three day flu"--really, I think, grippe. Something like forty cases of pneumonia resulted from it. They ran a very protracted course and the incidence of empyema was high. While at Baccarat I took many little side trips with Brewer in his motor. According to rules, I was entitled to a motor, but in spite of constant efforts I never got it and it did much to cripple my work with the Division. Aside from gas attacks there was not much activity in the line. We had several nasty gas attacks. Jaspar Coglan was gas officer and seemed very efficient, but in spite of everything he did, they would get us in much too large proportions. I drove out almost every day inspecting the regimental aid posts. The Division area was about twenty-five square miles. At one place where there was a gap in the woods, the trees had been shot away; when the Germans saw the dust of the motor they would put over a few shells, but they always broke behind us. Although the line was comparatively quiet, there was always more or less of a thrill in making these trips. About the middle of June rumors began to spread. One, that we were to move up north and that "big business" was soon to begin. Finally officers from the 77th blew in to look the ground over, and then we knew they were the relieving division and that we were to go. In a day or two the jam in the street was terrific. 42nd moving out--77th coming in. I motored in advance one morning, about the twentieth of June, to a charming little French town--Châtel. We spent two days here. A pleasant billet and days of real rest after a month's hard work. The Division was slowly moving north to an unknown destination, some of it by train (the infantry)--the artillery and other overland. We found out that it would be somewhere in the neighborhood of Châlons, so started on ahead. We were finally assigned to a sector, of which the town of Souain was the center, about twenty-five kilometers north of Châlons. Medical headquarters at Vardanay. While there visited Châlons many times and had some excellent dinners at the Hôtel Angleterre, which was afterward totally destroyed by a bomb. Also had a most interesting lunch with General Gouraud, to whose 4th Army we were attached. General Gouraud sent us to Verdun, where we were well entertained by Colonel Dehays, and lunched with General Hirschauer, the Commander of the Army of Verdun. It was all wonderfully interesting. The view from Fort St. Nicholas was grand, but we were shelled heartily while enjoying it. The whole country is devastated. The days were full of new and interesting experiences. The end of June found me in a little peasant house at Vardanay across the way from the church. Our mess was in a combination schoolhouse and café, just to the right of the church. Madame Michel was the old lady proprietor's name. I had a little room under the roof, papered with daily newspapers. She had a nice little garden. After our mess we would congregate there and discuss what news there was. It was pretty evident that they expected Fritz to start his next push somewhere in that neighborhood, as there were very extensive preparations being made. Troops and guns were arriving in large quantities every night, and all night long truck-loads of supplies were rumbling by my billet. Bussy-le-Château, about twenty kilos to our east, was chosen for our evacuation hospital, and two of our field hospitals, together with Mobile No. 2 (Captain St. John) were installed there. Walter Cannon came with a shock team, and I think we had either ten or twelve surgical teams. I made almost daily trips in to Souain and the different positions held by our men. Toward the west (Rheims) there was almost constant bombarding, and at night the sky was brilliantly illuminated with gun flashes and rockets, but on our immediate sector there was almost an ominous quiet. Our artillery put over a daily barrage, but scarcely a shell came in. Everything was ready, and still nothing happened. All sorts of rumors were afloat, that the attack would probably develop elsewhere, etc. In the evening after dark it was my habit to walk out on the plains and watch the artillery at work. The night of the fourteenth of July was cloudy, and it had been blowing a gale from the south all day. The guns were all very active, some shells coming in. The gale blew so that standing two hundred yards from the 155 mms. I could hardly hear the report. Starting the homeward trip about eleven against the wind, it almost made walking impossible. It seemed surely as if nothing would happen that night. I had just undressed and blown the candle out, when crash and a roar. I knew what had happened and jumped from bed, pulling on a shirt, trousers and boots, without stopping to lace them. Before I had finished shells were dropping in Vardanay, many of them singing over the roof. As I ran down the stairs poor old Madame Michel met me. I sent her to the remains of the old Roman catacombs under the garden, and walked out into the road after fumbling with the gate for what seemed an age, trying to find the key and get it in the lock. While I was fussing a house further down the street was struck and dust and splinters dropped all over me. I met Fairchild (D. S. Fairchild, Chief Surgeon, 42nd Division). His motor was waiting, and we got in and started east toward Bussy. I looked at my watch--it was twelve ten. The roar of the artillery was so great that we had to yell to make ourselves heard. Shells were flying over our heads, breaking on both sides of the road. Where the road turned north for a few hundred yards our motor suddenly stopped. The chauffeur managed to make it run again, but as we waited shells were constantly screeching over our heads. We reached Bussy in due time. The roads were crowded with all manner of transport, and we crawled along, the only light being the gun flashes. At Bussy all was ready. The first wounded began coming in about two a. m. At the same time the Boche opened fire on the hospital. At first the shots were wild, but with the break of day and probably aerial observation, they began getting direct hits. After three or four we decided to send nurses below and evacuate patients to dugouts, and, after further consultation, to fall back on the other two field hospitals and Evacuation 4 at Écury-sur-Coole. These had been prepared in advance for just such a contingency. The nurses left first. I took charge of the patients, and superintended the loading of them on ambulances and got the whole lot loaded in a little over an hour. I had no leggings, in fact had nothing but trousers, socks, shirt and jacket, so while we were waiting for transportation to move with, I went in and Allison loaned me a razor with which I started to shave, but while I was all lathered and had just commenced, they began shelling again. I kept on, but had a good many nicks on my face, for I could not keep my hand from jerking when they whizzed over. About five minutes after I left the hut it was struck and completely demolished. Got down to Écury in time for a bite to eat (lunched with Campbell), then went back to Triage where I had been working all night. Short of ambulances. Sent Fagely out to find trucks. He got some thirty Q. M. trucks and pressed them into service. Majorie Nott and several other R. C. women came on the scene, making coffee and sandwiches. Wounded pouring in. Triage crowded. A. lost his head and was flying around like a madman. Many necessaries lacking. Profanity flying. Night. Dare not show a light. Promptly at ten p.m. air full of avions, dropping twenty or more bombs on Châlons. Saw three large fires. Wounded coming in all night. Six operating teams going, but not half enough. They can't nearly handle the work, and too many men kept waiting who need urgent attention. Two p. m. Avions again over Châlons and us. More bombing. The sky full of searchlights. Dawn. Almost dead. Two nights and a day, but the wounded still coming in. At seven a.m. am relieved by some one. Go down and climb in Spielman's bed and sleep till ten a. m., then go on duty. Third night. Châlons bombed. Aviator flew over us. He could not have been one hundred feet above the tents, and in the moonlight clearly visible. He dropped two bombs. No one hurt. Don't remember how long exactly we stayed here, but think it was eight or ten days. Châlons bombed nightly. About the sixth day returned to Vardanay. The house was locked and Madame M. gone, but climbed in the window, got my belongings and put them in the motor. The village was deserted, save for a few old women and a child. They sat around the mouth of the cave and went below whenever the shelling started. It was a pathetic sight. I left some money with them, which surprised them more than the shells. There is a lot of talk about the rotten way things were handled in general. Not enough ambulances, nor general equipment, and such as we had was antiquated. About July 24th or 25th, orders to move. Where, no one knows. Started cross country with field hospitals, going west. Château-Thierry. Started in all over again. Night and day wounded pouring in. Insufficient ambulances. Insufficient hospitalization. Not an evacuation hospital on the scene till the main push is over. Two field hospitals taking the brunt of the work. Transporting wounded in trucks thirty-five kilometers clear to Commercy. Pushed on with the troops to Épieds and later to Fère-en-Tardenois. Much evidence that the Boche is beating a hasty retreat, from the quantities of stores and munitions left behind. Considerable bombing. Was almost caught on the road by three bombs returning from La Ferté with Perry. We pulled out the end of August and left for Bourmont near Chaumont. En route spent three delightful days in a small French château in Lysantry, five kilometers from La Ferté. The old caretaker cooked for me and I ate under the trees. I hated to go. We understand the Division gets thirty days' rest, but we get seven, then orders to move. All night groping our way in the dark, arrive in Longchamps at dawn in a drizzling rain. I knocked on the door of the first house in the village and after a long pause was admitted by a very old man. He had a fine spare room and without undressing I wrapped myself in blankets and fell asleep. The old man was eighty-six and his wife eighty-four. They lived there all alone. Next day moved to Chatenois two kilometers away where headquarters were. No news of probable destination. Three nights later another move, this time to Germiny on the road to Toul, or rather just off it. Dirty little place, but got a fair billet. Two nights here, then all night on the road, arrived at Bicqueley in early morning and camped by roadside thirty-six hours (B. is ten kilometers south of Toul). Later on to Bruley. Rotten billets. The place is full of French and everything is crowded. Rain and mud. Probably the attack will be at St. Mihiel. Saw a ghastly notice posted in the Y. M. C. A. to the effect that if any of our men were taken prisoner and questioned to say nothing; that torture would undoubtedly be used, and that such men would never be allowed to return alive, no matter what they said. It ended by saying let them meet Eternity with the knowledge they had done their duty. It gave me a thrill as I read it. At most of our stops I have been fortunate in finding French families where I could get something to eat. It is St. Mihiel. We move to Ansauville. The attack commences--I forget the date. In fact, one seldom knows it. We are in advance of the heavies, they firing over our heads. The show opens at one thirty a. m. It is drizzling. The fire is very intense, but nothing like Souain. By four p.m. the guns ease off and the men go over. Met Normand who was in charge of Vittel, also a Major Finck, a fine man. They asked me to billet with them. The whole place is shot to pieces and there is scarcely any shelter to be found. We three, and sometimes a fourth casual, sleep in a kitchen. It is about the only place that has half a roof. Later next day Normand and I pushed north with the advancing troops. The roads were simply jammed, but we followed up, finally getting into Essie. Every one is wild with enthusiasm, for the Boche is simply on the run. Groups of German prisoners are constantly passing us on the road down. Many have their knapsacks all packed, so must have been expecting us. I counted over eleven hundred going through the fields. They certainly make a most cheering sight. We pass through several small towns, nothing but a mass of rubble now. The balloons are all moving forward. Essie is a mass of ruins. The 82nd Division is holding the place. None of the transports have come up and there is still intermittent shelling. The 42nd's triage is here in a cellar. We met and talked to a large number of the liberated civilians. They were happy, but very quiet. Most of them were old people. One woman had a baby by a Boche. Every one pointed her and it out, but it was more in the spirit of historical interest than anything else. An unfortunate accident. She clutched the baby as if in her eyes it was a perfectly good infant. Toward night we made our way back and the next day started for Thiaucourt to help get out the civil population. The town was fairly intact when we first entered it, but while we were there they started up a violent artillery action. Soon buildings began to go. Most of the shelling was for one of their ammunition dumps they had abandoned in their precipitous flight. However, a little later the guns were turned on the town. We got out all the civilians without any casualties. I have heard since that the place is completely wrecked. They kept on shelling it intermittently until November 11th. A few days later we went out to Pont-à-Mousson. (We referring to Normand and myself.) The action had shifted more to the east, judging from the intensity of the artillery action. We passed out along the Thierry road. The lines had, of course, all pushed forward, but the place was just lined with the old gun emplacements. As our road gradually neared the Boche lines one could hear that a very heavy duel was in progress. We continued to the cross-road which turns into Pont-à-Mousson. Shells were dropping here every three minutes. We timed them, and when one exploded, beat it, full steam ahead. Our batteries were more terrifying than Fritz's, because they were on both sides of the road and were going off right under your nose. When we arrived in the town things were very active. We took shelter in an abri for a time, but as most of the shells were passing over, searching out our "heavies" behind the town, we decided to walk along, across the river and climb into Mousson, a high conical hill where the French observation post was. It was a long, hot pull with a constant accompaniment of whistling shells, but when we got there it was well worth while. The post was on the very top in some partially demolished buildings, the view from whence was superb. One, with the aid of the glass, could see Metz distinctly, even reading the time on the Cathedral clock. Five hundred yards across to the next hill was the German observation post, but "noblesse oblige," they left one another alone. Below, across the river, were three German towns with the peasants working quietly in the fields, and right across the river was one of the Crown Prince's many châteaux, untouched, although one of our 75's could have blown it to fragments in five minutes. As the gun-fire was likely to increase rather than diminish with sunset, we started down the hill and back through Pont-à-Mousson. The place was all but deserted, only a few Americans hanging around the mouths of abris. We found our motor and driver, however, after some little search, keeping careful lookout in the meanwhile where the shells were falling. Just as we were leaving the town two 77's broke in the road behind us, but doing no further damage than to cover us in a cloud of earth. Two days later ordered to move forward and accordingly took position at Beaumont just behind Sains made famous by the stand of the Marines earlier in the summer. Beaumont was nothing but a mass of wreckage and mud. We pitched the two field hospitals on the ground floor of all that remained of an old-time château, while the officers lived in the abandoned French dugouts. These were fairly comfortable, but infested with rats. The whole place is a sea of mud and filth. During most of the St. Mihiel drive we had fine weather, except the first three days. The drive started September 12th, with the moon in the first quarter, consequently we had great German aerial activity. One evening a Boche plane was brought down by one of our men just at sunset. Both Germans were killed. Every night planes flew over our heads all night, but fortunately nothing fell near us. * * * * * * * * On September 26th I was detached from the 42nd Division and sent as Medical Consultant to the Justice Group of seven hospitals at Toul. H. C. Madden (Lt.-Col.) was Commanding Officer--an efficient man. The work here is purely medical and very tame after the Division. I was much disappointed as Thayer had promised me the 3rd Army Corps. Toul is a dreary place and the darkest corner of France I have found. I have tried to organize the service, a thing requiring some tact, as each hospital has an excellent chief of its own medical service. On October 6th I got into Paris for the Red Cross medical meeting. It was my first sight of real civilization since the previous April when I hated the everlasting dreary nights. However, this time it did not make much difference, as I was dog-tired and only too glad to turn in after dinner. Spirits are brighter moreover with the continuing good news. *** _The Last Salvo_ _November 11th._ _The last salvo was fired at eleven this morning!_ While I was in Paris called on L. There were two old chatterboxes there who cackled about divorces and clothes. It gave me such a strange sensation and seemed so unreal and trivial. I suppose the world must go on in spite of war--"battle, murder and sudden death." _November 18th._ Was commissioned Lieutenant-Colonel to-day and walked down town and bought some silver leaves in the afternoon. On November 3rd a telegram from Helen telling me that dear father had died on the tenth of October. I had expected it, but it was a shock. _November 24th._ Have just returned from what I hope will be the last Paris medical meeting. I want to get home, and kicking about the city is pretty dreary. Called on every one I knew. Saw Dorziat and Lucien Guitry in "Samson" and supped at Maxim's. Have applied for home, and am hoping with all my heart that it will go through. Work over here is an awful anti-climax now. _December 6th._ Toul. Called up Neufchâteau three days ago and spoke to Major McLean. General Thayer, as usual, was not there. However, McLean told me I would get my home orders. The same night Colonel Thornburgh told me he had arranged matters so I could go, but now it was necessary to wait for my rating card before the final orders could be issued, so here I am, waiting. Last night we went over to a musical show at the Marshal Ney Barracks. It was very poor--absolutely devoid of imagination or humor. This morning I got the motor after some scrapping and took Yocum, Hodges and Kennon over to Metz. We went via Pont-à-Mousson. There was a thick fog which practically obscured the views. As we passed through Pont-à-Mousson I could not but think of the time I was last there with Normand when shells were coming and going all the time. The road was still fairly full of transports, but nothing like old times. Pont-à-Mousson was more shot up than when I last saw it, and it was almost deserted. From there we soon ran into German territory, with old gun emplacements, camouflage and ruined buildings all along the road. Metz was gaily decorated with flags, and the streets were gay with French and Americans, but the whole air suggested a conquered city. Some shops had posted "Maison Française" on the door; painters were rapidly changing the signs from German to French. The Hotel welcomed one, but everywhere it was with the air of the conqueror. The people were frightened and did not know what was going to happen. There were only eight thousand real Alsace-Lorraines in the city, so an intelligent German officer told me, and most of the "hurrahing" was done from policy. Boys and men were doing a thriving business in selling Boche souvenirs. Iron crosses and belts being their specialty. And the Americans were the victims, especially the large army who fought the war in swivel chairs and are seeing the front for the first time. In spite of all tales to the contrary, the shops seemed full, especially the provision stores. Prices are very high. I saw plain women's hats, that are generally seen at a store like Macy's piled by hundreds in a box and selling for fifty cents, marked fifty and sixty francs. There was no rubber, so bicycle tires were made of a steel spring arrangement and one of rope. Shoes had wooden soles. We had a very good plain dinner, but paid ten francs for what ordinarily would have been about three marks. The beer was simply bitter water. Coming home we passed on the other bank of the Moselle and back through Lorry, Fleury, Meiul-la-Tour, and so home, but the roads were all deserted--so very different from my previous visits. _December 12th._ Yesterday Fullerton (Major Robert Fullerton of St. Louis) asked me to go to Montfaucon and Varennes with him. We started this morning at eight a. m. in a drizzling rain and fog. On our way out we went through Commercy, St. Mihiel and Verdun. The latter looked much tidier than when I saw it in July with Brewer. Out of Verdun through the Gate St. Paul into the beyond on the Montfaucon road, the battlefield is still fresh. The destruction is worse than anything I have so far seen. The earth for miles is torn with shells, one hole knocked out and then the edge of that hole knocked into another. Several of the holes were twelve to fourteen feet deep, and thirty-five or forty feet across. Everywhere was wreckage; gunners' positions, guns (77's), machine guns, clothes, rifles and quantities of Boche ammunition; all the towns about were obliterated. While we were waiting at the former Crown Prince's house, the owner turned up after an absence of four years and three months. I wish I could describe the scene. She was a plump little woman of fifty-five or more. Two men friends drove her out from somewhere. We were standing in the door when she descended from the old trap. She came in through the mud and announced in a cheery voice that this was her old home. There was a little tremor in her voice when she turned and said: "There was the salle-à-manger, but gentlemen, as you see, it is all no more. We left it at two a. m. September 2nd, 1914, and with it everything in my life departed." Still the voice was cheery. "My husband, son-in-law and two sons have been killed. My grandfather, who was buried over there (pointing) has been turned out of his grave." She then looked around a few minutes, gazing in a wistful way, then walked out the front door, turned and looked back at the mass of wreckage. Her lips trembled, she covered her mouth with her hand, and we heard a few soft sobs. Then she quietly turned, pulled up her skirts and tramped out into the muddy road. Cressy à Varennes. We passed through there on the way back. Like the other neighboring towns it only exists in name. The same utter desolation, shell holes, tin cans, wire, guns, shells, fog and rain. Nothing can ever picture the dreary awfulness of it all. It looked as if the sun had faded and we were at the end of the world, stepping into the Infinite. Back to Toul at seven and it was good to see a few lights burning in the homes. _December 13th._ Raining hard all day, but very warm and balmy. Cornelia Landon and Rose Saltonstall of Boston are at our mess for a few days. I asked Colonel Thornburgh to invite them, as they were billeted here and sick. The Madame told me there were two sick Americans down there, and I was much surprised to see little Landon. Saltonstall is very bright and attractive. We don't see much of them, for they only show up for lunch, playing in the evening. It seems strange to be sitting December 13th with your window open, enjoying the efforts of the moon to work through the clouds. _December 15th._ Went to Neufchâteau on the excuse of seeing Thayer, who was not there. A beautiful sunny day. Met Tommy Robertson at the Officers' Club and had a fairly good representation of a real cocktail. Landon and Saltonstall left this morning. I did not see them again, but they left two nice little good-by letters. _December 20th._ A bit colder. There was a flurry of snow yesterday, but still, with the exception of a few days in October, there has been no cold weather. Took my daily walk up to the railroad track. Found the life of P. T. Barnum among some old books and read hard for two hours. Colonel T. has an attack of rheumatism, is in bed, and feels very sorry for himself. We take Christmas dinner at B. H. 45, that is unless I have the good luck to get away before then. Every one is beginning to feel very homesick and restless. I cannot realize that Christmas will be here in four days. There isn't a suggestion of it in the air. The children keep up a continual chatter in the next room, but strange, it is rather pleasant than otherwise. If they would only not start the squeaky old pump at seven in the morning! _Christmas Eve, 1918._ It hardly seems possible that another year has rolled by and Christmas is here again. One year ago to-night, and now here again in Toul. Goodall, Yocum and self went to Nancy this afternoon. In the evening the Delatté children came in my room, played the piano and they danced. I gave them some candy; then to supper. Dinner was pretty sad. Never try and be gay, is a rule that should be taught in childhood. My landlady, is having "tea" at nine this evening, and I am expected to join. The day started beautifully, but it is sleeting hard now. And mud everywhere. No signs of Christmas anywhere among the French, except Madame Delatté asked me to go to Midnight Mass with her. She got confessed this afternoon, and is ready now for another year of miserliness. Much to my astonishment, she made me a brioche. _December 28th._ Waiting! Waiting for orders to return. Cadwalader called me up Friday and said he had received his, and that my name was on the same paper, but nothing has come. It is very trying. Over three weeks now in daily anticipation. Yocum, Goodall and self went to Neufchâteau. Saw Finney, Boggs and Longcape, but no one knew anything about what was happening. We lunched and came back by way of Domremy, Jeanne d'Arc's birthplace. Then across via Voucoleur to Colombey-la-Belle. Heavy fog and rain, as usual. There were no lights on the machine, so we had to grope the last four miles home. _New Years Eve._ By special invitation I was asked to see the old year out with Madame De Salle, my neighbor of the next room. There was great stirring about all afternoon in her rooms, and I could hear a stirring of something in a bowl. Phillip, her son, age eight, came in to get me at eight p. m., but I did not turn up till nine. When all the guests were assembled, which was promptly at nine, we sat down, ate a piece of dry sponge-cake, drank a small glass of white wine, then a little coffee. Lieutenant Le Beau, Madame Gérard, the local teacher of the art of piano-playing, a fat, healthy, false-toothed dame, Madame Ralling, and her son waxing into manhood, down on his upper lip and a voice that wabbled from treble to bass. At midnight we all kissed. But this is all as nothing now, for it is January 2nd, 1919, and at three fifteen p. m. this afternoon, after all hope of anything immediate had vanished, received orders for home. Telegraphed H. and leave for Paris Saturday, January 4th, en route for Angers and from there to a port of embarkation. _Printing House of_ WILLIAM EDWIN RUDGE _New York City_ 
43044	----	Transcriber's Note: This is Volume II of a three volume set: Volume I--Unknown Volume II--Famous Volume III--Sunset A combined index to the entire set is located at the end of Volume III. Narrative content written by J. Cross and material quoted from writers other than George Eliot are interspersed throughout the text. Their content is placed in block quotes. Remaining transcriber's notes are located at the end of the text. * * * * * GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE VOL. II.--FAMOUS "OUR FINEST HOPE IS FINEST MEMORY" [Illustration: Portrait of George Eliot. Engraved by G. J. Stodart.] GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE _as related in her Letters and Journals_ ARRANGED AND EDITED BY HER HUSBAND J. W. CROSS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOLUME II NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS. _LIBRARY EDITION._ ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ROMOLA. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above volumes by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. For other editions of George Eliot's works published by Harper & Brothers see advertisement at end of third volume_. CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAPTER VIII. JANUARY, 1858, TO DECEMBER, 1858. Success of "Scenes of Clerical Life"--"Adam Bede" Page 1 CHAPTER IX. JANUARY, 1859, TO MARCH, 1860. "The Mill on the Floss" 58 CHAPTER X. MARCH TO JUNE, 1860. First Journey to Italy 120 CHAPTER XI. JULY, 1860, TO DECEMBER, 1861. "Silas Marner"--"Romola" begun 185 CHAPTER XII. JANUARY, 1862, TO DECEMBER, 1865. "Romola"--"Felix Holt" 238 CHAPTER XIII. JANUARY, 1866, TO DECEMBER, 1866. Tour in Holland and on the Rhine 303 ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. II. PORTRAIT OF GEORGE ELIOT. Engraved by G. J. Stodart _Frontispiece._ THE PRIORY--DRAWING-ROOM _To face p._ 266 FAC-SIMILE OF GEORGE ELIOT'S HAND-WRITING " 280 GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE. CHAPTER VIII. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Jan. 2._--George has returned this evening from a week's visit to Vernon Hill. On coming up-stairs he said, "I have some very pretty news for you--something in my pocket." I was at a loss to conjecture, and thought confusedly of possible opinions from admiring readers, when he drew the _Times_ from his pocket--to-day's number, containing a review of the "Scenes of Clerical Life." He had happened to ask a gentleman in the railway carriage, coming up to London, to allow him to look at the _Times_, and felt quite agitated and tremulous when his eyes alighted on the review. Finding he had time to go into town before the train started, he bought a copy there. It is a highly favorable notice, and, as far as it goes, appreciatory. When G. went into town he called at Nutt's, and Mrs. Nutt said to him, "I think you don't know our curate. _He_ says the author of 'Clerical Scenes' is a High Churchman; for though Mr. Tryan is said to be Low Church, his feelings and _actions_ are those of a High Churchman." (The curate himself being of course High Church.) There were some pleasant scraps of admiration also gathered for me at Vernon Hill. Doyle happening to mention the treatment of children in the stories, Helps said, "Oh, he is a great writer!" I wonder how I shall feel about these little details ten years hence, if I am alive. At present I value them as grounds for hoping that my writing may succeed, and so give value to my life; as indications that I can touch the hearts of my fellow-men, and so sprinkle some precious grain as the result of the long years in which I have been inert and suffering. But at present fear and trembling still predominate over hope. _Jan. 5._--To-day the "Clerical Scenes" came in their two-volume dress, looking very handsome. _Jan. 8._--News of the subscription--580, with a probable addition of 25 for Longmans. Mudie has taken 350. When we used to talk of the probable subscription, G. always said, "I dare say it will be 250!" (The final number subscribed for was 650.) I ordered copies to be sent to the following persons: Froude, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, Ruskin, Faraday, the author of "Companions of my Solitude," Albert Smith, Mrs. Carlyle. On the 20th of January I received the following letter from Dickens: [Sidenote: Letter from Charles Dickens to George Eliot, 17th Jan. 1858.] "TAVISTOCK HOUSE, LONDON, _Monday, 17th Jan. 1858_. "MY DEAR SIR,--I have been so strongly affected by the two first tales in the book you have had the kindness to send me, through Messrs. Blackwood, that I hope you will excuse my writing to you to express my admiration of their extraordinary merit. The exquisite truth and delicacy, both of the humor and the pathos of these stories, I have never seen the like of; and they have impressed me in a manner that I should find it very difficult to describe to you, if I had the impertinence to try. "In addressing these few words of thankfulness to the creator of the Sad Fortunes of the Rev. Amos Barton, and the sad love-story of Mr. Gilfil, I am (I presume) bound to adopt the name that it pleases that excellent writer to assume. I can suggest no better one: but I should have been strongly disposed, if I had been left to my own devices, to address the said writer as a woman. I have observed what seemed to me such womanly touches in those moving fictions, that the assurance on the title-page is insufficient to satisfy me even now. If they originated with no woman, I believe that no man ever before had the art of making himself mentally so like a woman since the world began. "You will not suppose that I have any vulgar wish to fathom your secret. I mention the point as one of great interest to me--not of mere curiosity. If it should ever suit your convenience and inclination to show me the face of the man, or woman, who has written so charmingly, it will be a very memorable occasion to me. If otherwise, I shall always hold that impalpable personage in loving attachment and respect, and shall yield myself up to all future utterances from the same source, with a perfect confidence in their making me wiser and better.--Your obliged and faithful servant and admirer, "CHARLES DICKENS. "GEORGE ELIOT, ESQ." [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Jan. 21._--To-day came the following letter from Froude: [Sidenote: Letter from J. A. Froude to George Eliot, 17th Jan. 1858.] "NORTHDOWN HOUSE, BIDEFORD, _17th Jan. 1858_. "DEAR SIR,--I do not know when I have experienced a more pleasant surprise than when, on opening a book parcel two mornings ago, I found it to contain 'Scenes of Clerical Life,' 'From the author.' I do not often see _Blackwood_; but in accidental glances I had made acquaintance with 'Janet's Repentance,' and had found there something extremely different from general magazine stories. When I read the advertisement of the republication, I intended fully, at my leisure, to look at the companions of the story which had so much struck me, and now I find myself sought out by the person whose workmanship I had admired, for the special present of it. "You would not, I imagine, care much for flattering speeches, and to go into detail about the book would carry me farther than at present there is occasion to go. I can only thank you most sincerely for the delight which it has given me; and both I myself, and my wife, trust that the acquaintance which we seem to have made with you through your writings may improve into something more tangible. I do not know whether I am addressing a young man or an old--a clergyman or a layman. Perhaps, if you answer this note, you may give us some information about yourself. But at any rate, should business or pleasure bring you into this part of the world, pray believe that you will find a warm welcome if you will accept our hospitality.--Once more, with my best thanks, believe me, faithfully yours, J. A. FROUDE." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 17th Jan. 1858.] I have long ceased to feel any sympathy with mere antagonism and destruction; and all crudity of expression marks, I think, a deficiency in subtlety of thought as well as in breadth of moral and poetic feeling. Mr. William Smith, the author of "Thorndale," is an old acquaintance of Mr. Lewes's. I should say an old _friend_, only I don't like the too ready use of that word. Mr. Lewes admires and esteems him very highly. He is a very accomplished man--a bachelor, with a small independent income; used to write very effective articles on miscellaneous subjects in _Blackwood_. I shall like to know what you think of "Thorndale." I don't know whether you look out for Ruskin's books whenever they appear. His little book on the "Political Economy of Art" contains some magnificent passages, mixed up with stupendous specimens of arrogant absurdity on some economical points. But I venerate him as one of the great teachers of the day. The grand doctrines of truth and sincerity in art, and the nobleness and solemnity of our human life, which he teaches with the inspiration of a Hebrew prophet, must be stirring up young minds in a promising way. The two last volumes of "Modern Painters" contain, I think, some of the finest writing of the age. He is strongly akin to the sublimest part of Wordsworth--whom, by-the-bye, we are reading with fresh admiration for his beauties and tolerance for his faults. Our present plans are: to remain here till about the end of March, then to go to Munich, which I long to see. We shall live there several months, seeing the wonderful galleries in leisure moments. Our living here is so much more expensive than living abroad that we save more than the expenses of our journeying; and as our work can be as well done there as here for some months, we lay in much more capital, in the shape of knowledge and experience, by going abroad. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Jan. 18._--I have begun the "Eumenides," having finished the "Choephoræ." We are reading Wordsworth in the evening. At least G. is reading him to me. I am still reading aloud Miss Martineau's History. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st Jan. 1858.] I am sure you will be interested in Dickens's letter, which I enclose, begging you to return it as soon as you can, and not to allow any one besides yourself and Major Blackwood to share in the knowledge of its contents. There can be no harm, of course, in every one's knowing that Dickens admires the "Scenes," but I should not like any more specific allusion made to the words of a private letter. There can hardly be any climax of approbation for me after this; and I am so deeply moved by the finely felt and finely expressed sympathy of the letter, that the iron mask of my _incognito_ seems quite painful in forbidding me to tell Dickens how thoroughly his generous impulse has been appreciated. If you should have an opportunity of conveying this feeling of mine to him in any way, you would oblige me by doing so. By-the-bye, you probably remember sending me, some months ago, a letter from the Rev. Archer Gurney--a very warm, simple-spoken letter--praising me for qualities which I most of all care to be praised for. I should like to send him a copy of the "Scenes," since I could make no acknowledgment of his letter in any other way. I don't know his address, but perhaps Mr. Langford would be good enough to look it out in the Clergy List. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Jan. 23._--There appeared a well-written and enthusiastic article on "Clerical Scenes" in the _Statesman_. We hear there was a poor article in the _Globe_--of feebly written praise--the previous week, but beyond this we have not yet heard of any notices from the press. _Jan. 26._--Came a very pleasant letter from Mrs. Carlyle, thanking the author of "Clerical Scenes" for the present of his book, praising it very highly, and saying that her husband had promised to read it when released from his mountain of history. [Sidenote: Letter from Mrs. Carlyle to George Eliot, 21st Jan. 1858.] "5 CHEYNE ROW, CHELSEA, _21st Jan. 1858_. "DEAR SIR,--I have to thank you for a surprise, a pleasure, and a--consolation (!) all in one book! And I do thank you most sincerely. I cannot divine what inspired the good thought to send _me_ your book; since (if the name on the title-page be your real name) it could not have been personal regard; there has never been a George Eliot among my friends or acquaintance. But neither, I am sure, could _you_ divine the circumstances under which I should read the book, and the particular benefit it should confer on me! I read it--at least the first volume--during one of the most (physically) wretched nights of my life--sitting up in bed, unable to get a wink of sleep for fever and sore throat--and it helped me through that dreary night as well--better than the most sympathetic helpful friend watching by my bedside could have done! "You will believe that the book needed to be something more than a 'new novel' for me; that I _could_ at my years, and after so much reading, read it in positive torment, and be beguiled by it of the torment! that it needed to be the one sort of book, however named, that still takes hold of me, and that grows rarer every year--a _human_ book--written out of the heart of a live man, not merely out of the brain of an author--full of tenderness and pathos, without a scrap of sentimentality, of sense without dogmatism, of earnestness without twaddle--a book that makes one _feel friends_ at once and for always with the man or woman who wrote it! "In guessing at why you gave me this good gift, I have thought amongst other things, 'Oh, perhaps it was a delicate way of presenting the novel to my husband, he being over head and ears in _history_.' If that was it, I compliment you on your _tact_! for my husband is much likelier to read the 'Scenes' on _my_ responsibility than on a venture of his own--though, as a general rule, never opening a novel, he has engaged to read this one whenever he has some leisure from his present task. "I hope to know some day if the person I am addressing bears any resemblance in external things to the idea I have conceived of him in my mind--a man of middle age, with a wife, from whom he has got those beautiful _feminine_ touches in his book--a good many children, and a dog that he has as much fondness for as I have for my little Nero! For the rest--not just a clergyman, but brother or first cousin to a clergyman! How ridiculous all this _may_ read beside the reality. Anyhow--I honestly confess I am very curious about you, and look forward with what Mr. Carlyle would call 'a good, healthy, genuine desire' to shaking hands with you some day.--In the meanwhile, I remain, your obliged JANE W. CARLYLE." [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Jan. 30._--Received a letter from Faraday, thanking me very gracefully for the present of the "Scenes." Blackwood mentions, in enclosing this letter, that Simpkin & Marshall have sent for twelve additional copies--the first sign of a move since the subscription. The other night we looked into the life of Charlotte Brontë, to see how long it was before "Jane Eyre" came into demand at the libraries, and we found it was not until six weeks after publication. It is just three weeks now since I heard news of the subscription for my book. [Sidenote: Letter from M. Faraday to George Eliot, 28th Jan. 1858.] "ROYAL INSTITUTION, _28th Jan. 1858_. "SIR,--I cannot resist the pleasure of thanking you for what I esteem a great kindness: the present of your thoughts embodied in the two volumes you have sent me. They have been, and will be again, a very pleasant relief from mental occupation among my own pursuits. Such rest I find at times not merely agreeable, but essential.--Again thanking you, I beg to remain, your very obliged servant, M. FARADAY. "GEORGE ELIOT, Esq., &c., &c." [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Feb. 3._--Gave up Miss Martineau's History last night, after reading some hundred pages in the second volume. She has a sentimental, rhetorical style in this history which is fatiguing and not instructive. But her history of the Reform movement is very interesting. _Feb. 4._--Yesterday brought the discouraging news, that though the book is much talked of, it moves very slowly. Finished the "Eumenides." Bessie Parkes has written asking me to contribute to the _Englishwoman's Journal_--a new monthly which, she says, "We are beginning with £1000, and great social interest." _Feb. 16._--To-day G. went into the City and saw Langford, for the sake of getting the latest news about our two books--his "Sea-side Studies" having been well launched about a fortnight or ten days ago, with a subscription of 800. He brought home good news. The "Clerical Scenes" are moving off at a moderate but steady pace. Langford remarked, that while the press had been uniformly favorable, not one _critical_ notice had appeared. G. went to Parker's in the evening, and gathered a little gossip on the subject. Savage, author of the "Falcon Family," and now editor of the _Examiner_, said he was reading the "Scenes"--had read some of them already in _Blackwood_--but was now reading the volume. "G. Eliot was a writer of great merit." A barrister named Smythe said he had seen "the Bishop" reading them the other day. As a set-off against this, Mrs. Schlesinger "Couldn't bear the book." She is a regular novel reader; but hers is the first unfavorable opinion we have had. _Feb. 26._--We went into town for the sake of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Call, and having our photographs taken by Mayall. _Feb. 28._--Mr. John Blackwood called on us, having come to London for a few days only. He talked a good deal about the "Clerical Scenes" and George Eliot, and at last asked, "Well, am I to see George Eliot this time?" G. said, "Do you wish to see him?" "As he likes--I wish it to be quite spontaneous." I left the room, and G. following me a moment, I told him he might reveal me. Blackwood was kind, came back when he found he was too late for the train, and said he would come to Richmond again. He came on the following Friday and chatted very pleasantly--told us that Thackeray spoke highly of the "Scenes," and said _they were not written by a woman_. Mrs. Blackwood is _sure_ they are not written by a woman. Mrs. Oliphant, the novelist, too, is confident on the same side. I gave Blackwood the MS. of my new novel, to the end of the second scene in the wood. He opened it, read the first page, and smiling, said, "This will do." We walked with him to Kew, and had a good deal of talk. Found, among other things, that he had lived two years in Italy when he was a youth, and that he admires Miss Austen. Since I wrote these last notes several encouraging fragments of news about the "Scenes" have come to my ears--especially that Mrs. Owen Jones and her husband--two very different people--are equally enthusiastic about the book. But both have detected the woman. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d March, 1858.] Perhaps we may go to Dresden, perhaps not: we leave room for the _imprévu_, which Louis Blanc found so sadly wanting in Mr. Morgan's millennial village. You are among the exceptional people who say pleasant things to their friends, and don't feel a too exclusive satisfaction in their misfortunes. We like to hear of your interest in Mr. Lewes's books--at least, _I_ am very voracious of such details. I keep the pretty letters that are written to him; and we have had some really important ones from the scientific big-wigs about the "Sea-side Studies." The reception of the book in that quarter has been quite beyond our expectations. Eight hundred copies were sold at once. There is a great deal of close hard work in the book, and every one who knows what scientific work is necessarily perceives this; happily many have been generous enough to express their recognition in a hearty way. I enter so deeply into everything you say about your mother. To me that old, old popular truism, "We can never have but one mother," has worlds of meaning in it, and I think with more sympathy of the satisfaction you feel in at last being allowed to wait on her than I should of anything else you could tell me. I wish we saw more of that sweet human piety that feels tenderly and reverently towards the aged. [_Apropos_ of some incapable woman's writing she adds.] There is something more piteous almost than soapless poverty in this application of feminine incapacity to literature. We spent a very pleasant couple of hours with Mr. and Mrs. Call last Friday. It was worth a journey on a cold dusty day to see two faces beaming kindness and happiness. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th March, 1858.] I enclose a letter which will interest you. It is affecting to see how difficult a matter it often is for the men who would most profit by a book to purchase it, or even get a reading of it, while stupid Jopling of Reading or elsewhere thinks nothing of giving a guinea for a work which he will simply put on his shelves. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, March, 1858.] When do you bring out your new poem? I presume you are already in the sixth canto. It is true you never told me you intended to write a poem, nor have I heard any one say so who was likely to know. Nevertheless I have quite as active an imagination as you, and I don't see why I shouldn't suppose you are writing a poem as well as you suppose that I am writing a novel. Seriously, I wish you would not set rumors afloat about me. They are injurious. Several people, who seem to derive their notions from Ivy Cottage,[1] have spoken to me of a supposed novel I was going to bring out. Such things are damaging to me. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 31st March, 1858.] Thanks for your disclaimer. It shows me that you take a right view of the subject. There is no undertaking more fruitful of absurd mistakes than that of "guessing" at authorship; and as I have never communicated to any one so much as an _intention_ of a literary kind, there can be none but imaginary data for such guesses. If I withhold anything from my friends which it would gratify them to know, you will believe, I hope, that I have good reasons for doing so, and I am sure those friends will understand me when I ask them to further my object--which is not a whim but a question of solid interest--by complete silence. I can't afford to indulge either in vanity or sentimentality about my work. I have only a trembling anxiety to do what is in itself worth doing, and by that honest means to win very necessary profit of a temporal kind. "There is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed" in due time. But till that time comes--till I tell you myself, "This is the work of my hand and brain"--don't believe anything on the subject. There is no one who is in the least likely to know what I can, could, should, or would write. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _April 1, 1858._--Received a letter from Blackwood containing warm praise of "Adam Bede," but wanting to know the rest of the story in outline before deciding whether it should go in the Magazine. I wrote in reply refusing to tell him the story. On Wednesday evening, April 7th, we set off on our journey to Munich, and now we are comfortably settled in our lodgings, where we hope to remain three months at least. I sit down in my first leisure moments to write a few recollections of our journey, or rather of our twenty-four hours' stay at Nürnberg; for the rest of our journey was mere endurance of railway and steamboat in cold and sombre weather, often rainy. I ought to except our way from Frankfort to Nürnberg, which lay for some distance--until we came to Bamberg--through a beautifully varied country. Our view both of Würzburg and Bamberg, as we hastily snatched it from our railway carriage, was very striking--great old buildings, crowning heights that rise up boldly from the plain in which stand the main part of the towns. From Bamberg to Nürnberg the way lay through a wide rich plain sprinkled with towns. We had left all the hills behind us. At Bamberg we were joined in our carriage by a pleasant-looking elderly couple, who spoke to each other and looked so affectionately that we said directly, "Shall we be so when we are old?" It was very pretty to see them hold each other's gloved hands for a minute like lovers. As soon as we had settled ourselves in our inn at Nürnberg--the Baierische Hof--we went out to get a general view of the town. Happily it was not raining, though there was no sun to light up the roof and windows. [Sidenote: Journal, April, 1858.] How often I had thought I should like to see Nürnberg, and had pictured to myself narrow streets with dark quaint gables! The reality was not at all like my picture, but it was ten times better. No sombre coloring, except the old churches: all was bright and varied, each _façade_ having a different color--delicate green, or buff, or pink, or lilac--every now and then set off by the neighborhood of a rich reddish brown. And the roofs always gave warmth of color with their bright red or rich purple tiles. Every house differed from its neighbor, and had a physiognomy of its own, though a beautiful family likeness ran through them all, as if the burghers of that old city were of one heart and one soul, loving the same delightful outlines, and cherishing the same daily habits of simple ease and enjoyment in their balcony-windows when the day's work was done. The balcony window is the secondary charm of the Nürnberg houses; it would be the principal charm of any houses that had not the Nürnberg roofs and gables. It is usually in the centre of the building, on the first floor, and is ornamented with carved stone or wood, which supports it after the fashion of a bracket. In several of these windows we saw pretty family groups--young fair heads of girls or of little children, with now and then an older head surmounting them. One can fancy that these windows are the pet places for family joys--that papa seats himself there when he comes home from the warehouse, and the little ones cluster round him in no time. But the glory of the Nürnberg houses is the roofs, which are no blank surface of mere tiling, but are alive with lights and shadows, cast by varied and beautiful lines of windows and pinnacles and arched openings. The plainest roof in Nürnberg has its little windows lifting themselves up like eyelids, and almost everywhere one sees the pretty hexagonal tiles. But the better houses have a central, open sort of pavilion in the roof, with a pinnacle surmounted by a weathercock. This pavilion has usually a beautifully carved arched opening in front, set off by the dark background which is left by the absence of glass. One fancies the old Nürnbergers must have gone up to these pavilions to smoke in the summer and autumn days. There is usually a brood of small windows round this central ornament, often elegantly arched and carved. A wonderful sight it makes to see a series of such roofs surmounting the tall, delicate-colored houses. They are always high-pitched, of course, and the color of the tiles was usually of a bright red. I think one of the most charming vistas we saw was the Adler-Gasse, on the St. Lorenz side of the town. Sometimes, instead of the high-pitched roof, with its pavilion and windows, there is a richly ornamented gable fronting the street; and still more frequently we get the gables at right angles with the street at a break in the line of houses. Coming back from the Burg we met a detachment of soldiers, with their band playing, followed by a stream of listening people; and then we reached the market-place, just at the point where stands "The Beautiful Fountain"--an exquisite bit of florid Gothic which has been restored in perfect conformity with the original. Right before us stood the Frauen-Kirche, with its fine and unusual _façade_, the chief beauty being a central chapel used as the choir, and added by Adam Krafft. It is something of the shape of a mitre, and forms a beautiful gradation of ascent towards the summit of _façade_. We heard the organ and were tempted to enter, for this is the one Catholic Church in Nürnberg. The delicious sound of the organ and voices drew us farther and farther in among the standing people, and we stayed there I don't know how long, till the music ceased. How the music warmed one's heart! I loved the good people about me, even to the soldier who stood with his back to us, giving us a full view of his close-cropped head, with its pale yellowish hair standing up in bristles on the crown, as if his hat had acted like a forcing-pot. Then there was a little baby in a close-fitting cap on its little round head, looking round with bright black eyes as it sucked its bit of bread. Such a funny little complete face--rich brown complexion and miniature Roman nose. And then its mother lifted it up that it might see the rose-decked altar, where the priests were standing. How music, that stirs all one's devout emotions, blends everything into harmony--makes one feel part of one whole which one loves all alike, losing the sense of a separate self. Nothing could be more wretched as art than the painted St. Veronica opposite me, holding out the sad face on her miraculous handkerchief. Yet it touched me deeply; and the thought of the Man of Sorrows seemed a very close thing--not a faint hearsay. We saw Albert Dürer's statue by Rauch, and Albert Dürer's house--a striking bit of old building, rich dark-brown, with a truncated gable and two wooden galleries running along the gable end. My best wishes and thanks to the artists who keep it in repair and use it for their meetings. The vistas from the bridges across the muddy Pegnitz, which runs through the town, are all quaint and picturesque; and it was here that we saw some of the _shabbiest_-looking houses--almost the only houses that carried any suggestion of poverty, and even here it was doubtful. The town has an air of cleanliness and well-being, and one longs to call one of those balconied apartments one's own home, with their flower-pots, clean glass, clean curtains, and transparencies turning their white backs to the street. It is pleasant to think there is such a place in the world where many people pass peaceful lives. On arriving at Munich, after much rambling, we found an advertisement of "Zwei elegant möblirte Zimmer," No. 15 Luitpold Strasse; and to our immense satisfaction found something that looked like cleanliness and comfort. The bargain was soon made--twenty florins per month. So here we came last Tuesday, the 13th April. We have been taking sips of the Glyptothek and the two Pinacotheks in the morning, not having settled to work yet. Last night we went to the opera--Fra Diavolo--at the Hof-Theatre. The theatre ugly, the singing bad. Still, the orchestra was good, and the charming music made itself felt in spite of German throats. On Sunday, the 11th, we went to the Pinacothek, straight into the glorious Rubens Saal. Delighted afresh in the picture of "Samson and Delilah," both for the painting and character of the figures. Delilah, a magnificent blonde, seated in a chair, with a transparent white garment slightly covering her body, and a rich red piece of drapery round her legs, leans forward, with one hand resting on her thigh, the other, holding the cunning shears, resting on the chair--a posture which shows to perfection the full, round, living arms. She turns her head aside to look with sly triumph at Samson--a tawny giant, his legs caught in the red drapery, shorn of his long locks, furious with the consciousness that the Philistines are upon him, and that this time he cannot shake them off. Above the group of malicious faces and grappling arms a hand holds a flaming torch. Behind Delilah, and grasping her arm, leans forward an old woman, with hard features full of exultation. This picture, comparatively small in size, hangs beside the "Last Judgment," and in the corresponding space, on the other side of the same picture, hangs the sublime "Crucifixion." Jesus alone, hanging dead on the Cross, darkness over the whole earth. One can desire nothing in this picture--the grand, sweet calm of the dead face, calm and satisfied amidst all the traces of anguish, the real, livid flesh, the thorough mastery with which the whole form is rendered, and the isolation of the supreme sufferer, make a picture that haunts one like a remembrance of a friend's death-bed. _April 12 (Monday)._--After reading Anna Mary Howitt's book on Munich and Overbeck on Greek art, we turned out into the delicious sunshine to walk in the Theresien Wiese, and have our first look at the colossal "Bavaria," the greatest work of Schwanthaler. Delightful it was to get away from the houses into this breezy meadow, where we heard the larks singing above us. The sun was still too high in the west for us to look with comfort at the statue, except right in front of it, where it eclipsed the sun; and this front view is the only satisfactory one. The outline made by the head and arm on a side view is almost painfully ugly. But in front, looking up to the beautiful, calm face, the impression it produces is sublime. I have never seen anything, even in ancient sculpture, of a more awful beauty than this dark, colossal head, looking out from a background of pure, pale-blue sky. We mounted the platform to have a view of her back, and then walking forward, looked to our right hand and saw the snow-covered Alps! Sight more to me than all the art in Munich, though I love the _art_ nevertheless. The great, wide-stretching earth and the all-embracing sky--the birthright of us all--are what I care most to look at. And I feel intensely the new beauty of the sky here. The blue is so exquisitely clear, and the wide streets give one such a broad canopy of sky. I felt more inspirited by our walk to the Theresien Platz than by any pleasure we have had in Munich. _April 16._--On Wednesday we walked to the Theresien Wiese to look at the "Bavaria" by sunset, but a shower came on and drove us to take refuge in a pretty house built near the Ruhmeshalle, whereby we were gainers, for we saw a charming family group: a mother with her three children--the eldest a boy with his book, the second a three-year-old maiden, the third a sweet baby-girl of a year and a half; two dogs, one a mixture of the setter and pointer, the other a turn-spit; and a relation or servant ironing. The baby cried at the sight of G. in beard and spectacles, but kept her eyes turning towards him from her mother's lap, every now and then seeming to have overcome her fears, and then bursting out crying anew. At last she got down and lifted the table-cloth to peep at his legs, as if to see the monster's nether parts. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 17th April, 1858.] We have been just to take a sip at the two Pinacotheks and at the Glyptothek. At present the Rubens Saal is what I most long to return to. Rubens gives me more pleasure than any other painter, whether that is right or wrong. To be sure, I have not seen so many pictures, and pictures of so high a rank, by any other great master. I feel sure that when I have seen as much of Raphael I shall like him better; but at present Rubens, more than any one else, makes me feel that painting is a great art, and that he was a great artist. His are such real, breathing men and women, moved by passions, not mincing and grimacing, and posing in mere aping of passion! What a grand, glowing, forceful thing life looks in his pictures--the men such grand-bearded, grappling beings, fit to do the work of the world; the women such real mothers. We stayed at Nürnberg only twenty-four hours, and I felt sad to leave it so soon. A pity the place became Protestant, so that there is only one Catholic church where one can go in and out as one would. We turned into the famous St. Sebald's for a minute, where a Protestant clergyman was reading in a cold, formal way under the grand Gothic arches. Then we went to the Catholic church, the Frauen-Kirche, where the organ and voices were giving forth a glorious mass; and we stood with a feeling of brotherhood among the standing congregation till the last note of the organ had died out. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _April 23._--Not being well enough to write, we determined to spend our morning at the Glyptothek and Pinacothek. A glorious morning--all sunshine and blue sky. We went to the Glyptothek first, and delighted ourselves anew with the "Sleeping Faun," the "Satyr and Bacchus," and the "Laughing Faun" (Fauno colla Macchia). Looked at the two young satyrs reposing with the pipe in their hands--one of them charming in the boyish, good-humored beauty of the face, but both wanting finish in the limbs, which look almost as if they could be produced by a turning-machine. But the conception of this often-repeated figure is charming: it would make a garden seem more peaceful in the sunshine. Looked at the old Silenus too, which is excellent. I delight in these figures, full of droll animation, flinging some nature, in its broad freedom, in the eyes of small-mouthed, mincing narrowness. We went into the modern Saal also, glancing on our way at the Cornelius frescoes, which seem to me stiff and hideous. An Adonis, by Thorwaldsen, is very beautiful. Then to the Pinacothek, where we looked at Albert Dürer's portrait again, and many other pictures, among which I admired a group by Jordaens: "A satyr eating, while a peasant shows him that he can blow hot and cold at the same time;" the old grandmother nursing the child, the father with the key in his hand, with which he has been amusing baby, looking curiously at the satyr, the handsome wife, still more eager in her curiosity, the quiet cow, the little boy, the dog and cat--all are charmingly conceived. _April 24._--As we were reading this afternoon Herr Oldenbourg came in, invited us to go to his house on Tuesday, and chatted pleasantly for an hour. He talked of Kaulbach, whom he has known very intimately, being the publisher of the "Reineke Fuchs." The picture of the "Hunnen Schlacht" was the first of Kaulbach's on a great scale. It created a sensation, and the critics began to call it a "Weltgeschichtliches Bild." Since then Kaulbach has been seduced into the complex, wearisome, symbolical style, which makes the frescoes at Berlin enormous puzzles. When we had just returned from our drive in the Englische Garten, Bodenstedt pleasantly surprised us by presenting himself. He is a charming man, and promises to be a delightful acquaintance for us in this strange town. He chatted pleasantly with us for half an hour, telling us that he is writing a work, in five volumes, on the "Contemporaries of Shakspeare," and indicating the nature of his treatment of the Shakspearian drama--which is historical and analytical. Presently he proposed that we should adjourn to his house and have tea with him; and so we turned out all together in the bright moonlight, and enjoyed his pleasant chat until ten o'clock. His wife was not at home, but we were admitted to see the three sleeping children--one a baby about a year and a half old, a lovely waxen thing. He gave the same account of Kaulbach as we had heard from Oldenbourg; spoke of Genelli as superior in genius, though he has not the fortune to be recognized; recited some of Hermann Lingg's poetry, and spoke enthusiastically of its merits. There was not a word of detraction about any one--nothing to jar on one's impression of him as a refined, noble-hearted man. _April 27._--This has been a red-letter day. In the morning Professor Wagner took us over his "Petrifacten Sammlung," giving us interesting explanations; and before we left him we were joined by Professor Martius, an animated, clever man, who talked admirably, and invited us to his house. Then we went to Kaulbach's studio, talked with him, and saw with especial interest the picture he is preparing as a present to the New Museum. In the evening, after walking in the Theresien Wiese, we went to Herr Oldenbourg's, and met Liebig the chemist, Geibel and Heyse the poets, and Carrière, the author of a work on the Reformation. Liebig is charming, with well-cut features, a low, quiet voice, and gentle manners. It was touching to see his hands, the nails black from the roots, the skin all grimed. Heyse is like a painter's poet, ideally beautiful; rather brilliant in his talk, and altogether pleasing. Geibel is a man of rather coarse texture, with a voice like a kettledrum, and a steady determination to deliver his opinions on every subject that turned up. But there was a good deal of ability in his remarks. _April 30._--After calling on Frau Oldenbourg, and then at Professor Bodenstedt's, where we played with his charming children for ten minutes, we went to the theatre to hear Prince Radziwill's music to the "Faust." I admired especially the earlier part, the Easter morning song of the spirits, the Beggar's song, and other things, until after the scene in Auerbach's cellar, which is set with much humor and fancy. But the scene between Faust and Marguerite is bad--"Meine Ruh ist hin" quite pitiable, and the "König im Thule" not good. Gretchen's second song, in which she implores help of the Schmerzensreiche, touched me a good deal. _May 1._--In the afternoon Bodenstedt called, and we agreed to spend the evening at his house--a delightful evening. Professor Löher, author of "Die Deutschen in America," and another much younger _Gelehrter_, whose name I did not seize, were there. _May 2._--Still rainy and cold. We went to the Pinacothek, and looked at the old pictures in the first and second Saal. There are some very bad and some fine ones by Albert Dürer: of the latter, a full length figure of the Apostle Paul, with the head of Mark beside him, in a listening attitude, is the one that most remains with me. There is a very striking "Adoration of the Magi," by Johannes van Eyck, with much merit in the coloring, perspective, and figures. Also, "Christ carrying his Cross," by Albert Dürer, is striking. "A woman raised from the dead by the imposition of the Cross" is a very elaborate composition, by Böhms, in which the faces are of first-rate excellence. In the evening we went to the opera and saw the "Nord Stern." _May 10._--Since Wednesday I have had a wretched cold and cough, and been otherwise ill, but I have had several pleasures nevertheless. On Friday, Bodenstedt called with Baron Schack to take us to Genelli's, the artist of whose powers Bodenstedt had spoken to us with enthusiastic admiration. The result to us was nothing but disappointment; the sketches he showed us seemed to us quite destitute of any striking merit. On Sunday we dined with Liebig, and spent the evening at Bodenstedt's, where we met Professor Bluntschli, the jurist, a very intelligent and agreeable man, and Melchior Meyr, a maker of novels and tragedies, otherwise an ineffectual personage. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th May, 1858.] Our life here is very agreeable--full of pleasant novelty, although we take things quietly and observe our working hours just as if we were at Richmond. People are so kind to us that we feel already quite at home, sip _baierisch Bier_ with great tolerance, and talk bad German with more and more _aplomb_. The place, you know, swarms with professors of all sorts--all _gründlich_, of course, and one or two of them great. There is no one we are more charmed with than Liebig. Mr. Lewes had no letter to him--we merely met him at an evening party; yet he has been particularly kind to us, and seems to have taken a benevolent liking to me. We dined with him and his family yesterday, and saw how men of European celebrity may put up with greasy cooking in private life. He lives in very good German style, however; has a handsome suite of apartments, and makes a greater figure than most of the professors. His manners are charming--easy, graceful, benignant, and all the more conspicuous because he is so quiet and low spoken among the loud talkers here. He looks best in his laboratory, with his velvet cap on, holding little phials in his hand, and talking of Kreatine and Kreatinine in the same easy way that well-bred ladies talk scandal. He is one of the professors who has been called here by the present king--Max--who seems to be a really sensible man among kings; gets up at five o'clock in the morning to study, and every Saturday evening has a gathering of the first men in science and literature, that he may benefit by their opinions on important subjects. At this _Tafel-rund_ every man is required to say honestly what he thinks; every one may contradict every one else; and if the king suspects any one of a polite insincerity, the too polished man is invited no more. Liebig, the three poets--Geibel, Heyse, and Bodenstedt--and Professor Löher, a writer of considerable mark, are always at the _Tafel-rund_ as an understood part of their functions; the rest are invited according to the king's direction. Bodenstedt is one of our best friends here--enormously instructed, after the fashion of Germans, but not at all stupid with it. We were at the Siebolds' last night to meet a party of celebrities, and, what was better, to see the prettiest little picture of married life--the great comparative anatomist (Siebold) seated at the piano in his spectacles playing the difficult accompaniments to Schubert's songs, while his little round-faced wife sang them with much taste and feeling. They are not young. Siebold is gray, and probably more than fifty; his wife perhaps nearly forty; and it is all the prettier to see their admiration of each other. She said to Mr. Lewes, when he was speaking of her husband, "Ja, er ist ein netter Mann, nicht wahr?"[2] We take the art in very small draughts at present--the German hours being difficult to adjust to our occupations. We are obliged to dine at _one!_ and of course when we are well enough must work till then. Two hours afterwards all the great public exhibitions are closed, except the churches. I _cannot_ admire much of the modern German art. It is for the most part elaborate lifelessness. Kaulbach's great compositions are huge charades; and I have seen nothing of his equal to his own "Reineke Fuchs." It is an unspeakable relief, after staring at one of his pictures--the "Destruction of Jerusalem," for example, which is a regular child's puzzle of symbolism--to sweep it all out of one's mind--which is very easily done, for nothing grasps you in it--and call up in your imagination a little Gerard Dow that you have seen hanging in a corner of one of the cabinets. We have been to his _atelier_, and he has given us a proof of his "Irrenhaus,"[3] a strange sketch, which he made years ago--very terrible and powerful. He is certainly a man of great faculty, but is, I imagine, carried out of his true path by the ambition to produce "Weltgeschichtliche Bilder," which the German critics may go into raptures about. His "Battle of the Huns," which is the most impressive of all his great pictures, was the first of the series. He painted it simply under the inspiration of the grand myth about the spirits of the dead warriors rising and carrying on the battle in the air. Straightway the German critics began to smoke furiously that vile tobacco which they call _æsthetik_, declared it a "Weltgeschichtliches Bild," and ever since Kaulbach has been concocting these pictures in which, instead of taking a single moment of reality and trusting to the infinite symbolism that belongs to all nature, he attempts to give you at one view a succession of events--each represented by some group which may mean "Whichever you please, my little dear." I must tell you something else which interested me greatly, as the first example of the kind that has come under my observation. Among the awful mysterious names, hitherto known only as marginal references whom we have learned to clothe with ordinary flesh and blood, is Professor Martius (Spix and Martius), now an old man, and rich after the manner of being rich in Germany. He has a very sweet wife--one of those women who remain pretty and graceful in old age--and a family of three daughters and one son, all more than grown up. I learned that she is Catholic, that her daughters are Catholic, and her husband and son Protestant--the children having been so brought up according to the German law in cases of mixed marriage. I can't tell you how interesting it was to me to hear her tell of her experience in bringing up her son conscientiously as a Protestant, and then to hear her and her daughters speak of the exemplary priests who had shown them such tender fatherly care when they were in trouble. They are the most harmonious, affectionate family we have seen; and one delights in such a triumph of human goodness over the formal logic of theorists. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _May 13._--Geibel came and brought me the two volumes of his poems, and stayed chatting for an hour. We spent the evening quietly at home. _May 14._--After writing, we went for an hour to the Pinacothek, and looked at some of the Flemish pictures. In the afternoon we called at Liebig's, and he went a long walk with us--the long chain of snowy mountains in the hazy distance. After supper I read Geibel's "Junius Lieder." _May 15._--Read the 18th chapter of "Adam Bede" to G. He was much pleased with it. Then we walked in the Englische Garten, and heard the band, and saw the Germans drinking their beer. The park was lovely. _May 16._--We were to have gone to Grosshesselohe with the Siebolds, and went to Frühstück with them at 12, as a preliminary. Bodenstedt was there to accompany us. But heavy rain came on, and we spent the time till 5 o'clock in talking, hearing music, and listening to Bodenstedt's "Epic on the destruction of Novgorod." About seven, Liebig came to us and asked us to spend the evening at his house. We went and found Voelderndorff, Bischoff and his wife, and Carrière and Frau. _May 20._--As I had a feeble head this morning, we gave up the time to seeing pictures, and went to the _Neue Pinacothek_. A "Lady with Fruit, followed by three Children," pleased us more than ever. It is by Wichmann. The two interiors of Westminster Abbey by Ainmueller admirable. Unable to admire Rothmann's Greek Landscapes, which have a room to themselves. Ditto Kaulbach's "Zerstörung von Jerusalem." We went for the first time to see the collection of porcelain paintings, and had really a rich treat. Many of them are admirable copies of great pictures. The sweet "Madonna and Child," in Raphael's early manner; a "Holy Family," also in the early manner, with a Madonna the exact type of the St. Catherine; and a "Holy Family" in the later manner, something like the Madonna Delia Sedia, are all admirably copied. So are two of Andrea del Sarto's--full of tenderness and calm piety. _May 23._--Through the cold wind and white dust we went to the Jesuits' Church to hear the music. It is a fine church in the Renaissance style, the vista terminating with the great altar very fine, with all the crowd of human beings covering the floor. Numbers of men! In the evening we went to Bodenstedt's, and saw his wife for the first time--a delicate creature who sang us some charming Bavarian _Volkslieder_. On Monday we spent the evening at Löher's--Baumgarten, _ein junger Historiker_, Oldenbourg, and the Bodenstedts meeting us. Delicious _Mai-trank_, made by putting the fresh _Waldmeister_--a cruciferous plant with a small white flower, something like Lady's Bedstraw--into mild wine, together with sugar, and occasionally other things. _May 26._--This evening I have read aloud "Adam Bede," chapter xx. We have begun Ludwig's "Zwischen Himmel und Erde." _May 27._--We called on the Siebolds to-day, then walked in the Theresien Wiese, and saw the mountains gloriously. Spent the evening at Prof. Martius's, where Frau Erdl played Beethoven's Andante and the Moonlight Sonata admirably. _May 28._--We heard from Blackwood this morning. Good news in general, but the sale of our books not progressing at present. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th May, 1858.] It is invariably the case that when people discover certain points of coincidence in a fiction with facts that happen to have come to their knowledge, they believe themselves able to furnish a key to the whole. That is amusing enough to the author, who knows from what widely sundered portions of experience--from what a combination of subtle, shadowy suggestions, with certain actual objects and events, his story has been formed. It would be a very difficult thing for me to furnish a key to my stories myself. But where there is no exact memory of the past, any story with a few remembered points of character or of incident may pass for a history. We pay for our sight of the snowy mountains here by the most capricious of climates. English weather is steadfast compared with Munich weather. You go to dinner here in summer and come away from it in winter. You are languid among trees and feathery grass at one end of the town, and are shivering in a hurricane of dust at the other. This inconvenience of climate, with the impossibility of dining (well) at any other hour than one o'clock is not friendly to the stomach--that great seat of the imagination. And I shall never advise an author to come to Munich except _ad interim_. The great Saal, full of Rubens's pictures, is worth studying; and two or three precious bits of sculpture, and the sky on a fine day, always puts one in a good temper--it is so deliciously clear and blue, making even the ugliest buildings look beautiful by the light it casts on them. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _May 30._--We heard "William Tell"--a great enjoyment to me. _June 1._--To Grosshesselohe with a party. Siebold and his wife, Prof. Löher, Fräulein von List, Fräulein Thiersch, Frau von Schaden and her pretty daughter. It was very pretty to see Siebold's delight in nature--the Libellulæ, the Blindworm, the crimson and black Cicadæ, the Orchidæ. The strange whim of Schwanthaler's--the Burg von Schwaneck--was our destination. _June 10._--For the last week my work has been rather scanty owing to bodily ailments. I am at the end of chapter xxi., and am this morning going to begin chapter xxii. In the interim our chief pleasure had been a trip to Starnberg by ourselves. _June 13._--This morning at last free from headache, and able to write. I am entering on my history of the birthday with some fear and trembling. This evening we walked, between eight and half-past nine, in the Wiese, looking towards Nymphenburg. The light delicious--the west glowing; the faint crescent moon and Venus pale above it; the larks filling the air with their songs, which seemed only a little way above the ground. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 14th June, 1858.] Words are very clumsy things. I like less and less to handle my friends' sacred feelings with them. For even those who call themselves intimate know very little about each other--hardly ever know just _how_ a sorrow is felt, and hurt each other by their very attempts at sympathy or consolation. We can bear no hand on our bruises. And so I feel I have no right to say that I know _how_ the loss of your mother--"the only person who ever leaned on you"--affects you. I only know that it must make a deeply-felt crisis in your life, and I know that the better from having felt a great deal about my own mother and father, and from having the keenest remembrance of all that experience. But for this very reason I know that I can't measure what the event is to you; and if I were near you I should only kiss you and say nothing. People talk of the feelings dying out as one gets older; but at present my experience is just the contrary. All the serious relations of life become so much more real to me--pleasure seems so slight a thing, and sorrow and duty and endurance so great. I find the least bit of real human life touch me in a way it never did when I was younger. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _June 17._--This evening G. left me to set out on his journey to Hofwyl to see his boys. _June 18._--Went with the Siebolds to Nymphenburg; called at Professor Knapp's, and saw Liebig's sister, Frau Knapp--a charming, gentle-mannered woman, with splendid dark eyes. _June 22._--Tired of loneliness, I went to the Frau von Siebold, chatted with her over tea, and then heard some music. _June 23._--My kind little friend (Frau von Siebold) brought me a lovely bouquet of roses this morning, and invited me to go with them in the evening to the theatre to see the new comedy, the "Drei Candidaten," which I did: a miserably poor affair. _June 24._--G. came in the evening, at 10 o'clock--after I had suffered a great deal in thinking of the possibilities that might prevent him from coming. _June 25._--This morning I have read to G. all I have written during his absence, and he approves it more than I expected. _July 7._--This morning we left Munich, setting out in the rain to Rosenheim by railway. The previous day we dined, and sat a few hours with the dear, charming Siebolds, and parted from them with regret--glad to leave Munich, but not to leave the friends who had been so kind to us. For a week before I had been ill--almost a luxury, because of the love that tended me. But the general languor and sense of depression produced by Munich air and way of life was no luxury, and I was glad to say a last good-bye to the quaint pepper-boxes of the Frauen-Kirche. [Sidenote: Munich to Dresden, 1858.] At the Rosenheim station we got into the longest of omnibuses, which took us to the _Gasthof_, where we were to dine and lunch, and then mount into the _Stell-wagen_, which would carry us to Prien, on the borders of the Chiem See. Rosenheim is a considerable and rather quaint-looking town, interrupted by orchards and characterized in a passing glance by the piazzas that are seen everywhere fronting the shops. It has a grand view of the mountains, still a long way off. The afternoon was cloudy, with intermittent rain, and did not set off the landscape. Nevertheless, I had much enjoyment in this four or five hours' journey to Prien. The little villages, with picturesque, wide gables, projecting roofs, and wooden galleries--with abundant orchards--with felled trunks of trees and stacks of fir-wood, telling of the near neighborhood of the forest--were what I liked best in this ride. We had no sooner entered the steamboat to cross the Chiem See than it began to rain heavily, and I kept below, only peeping now and then at the mountains and the green islands, with their monasteries. From the opposite bank of the See we had a grand view of the mountains, all dark purple under the clouded sky. Before us was a point where the nearer mountains opened and allowed us a view of their more distant brethren receding in a fainter and fainter blue--a marsh in the foreground, where the wild-ducks were flying. Our drive from this end of the lake to Traunstein was lovely--through fertile, cultivated land, everywhere married to bits of forest. The green meadow or the golden corn sloped upward towards pine woods, or the bushy greenness seemed to run with wild freedom far out into long promontories among the ripening crops. Here and there the country had the aspect of a grand park from the beautiful intermingling of wood and field, without any line of fence. Then came the red sunset, and it was dark when we entered Traunstein, where we had to pass the night. Among our companions in the day's journey had been a long-faced, cloaked, slow and solemn man, whom George called the author of "Eugene Aram," and I Don Quixote, he was so given to serious remonstrance with the vices he met on the road. We had been constantly deceived in the length of our stages--on the principle, possibly, of keeping up our spirits. The next morning there was the same tenderness shown about the starting of the _Stell-wagen_: at first it was to start at seven, then at half-past, then when another _Wagen_ came with its cargo of passengers. This was too much for Don Quixote; and when the stout, red-faced _Wirth_ had given him still another answer about the time of starting, he began, in slow and monotonous indignation, "Warum lügen sie so? Sie werden machen dass kein Mensch diesen Weg kommen wird,"[4] etc. Whereupon the _Wirth_ looked red-faced, stout, and unwashed as before, without any perceptible expression of face supervening. The next morning the weather looked doubtful, and so we gave up going to the König See for that day, determining to ramble on the Mönchsberg and enjoy the beauties of Salzburg instead. The morning brightened as the sun ascended, and we had a delicious ramble on the Mönchsberg--looking down on the lovely, peaceful plain, below the grand old Untersberg, where the sleeping Kaiser awaits his resurrection in that "good time coming;" watching the white mist floating along the sides of the dark mountains, and wandering under the shadow of the plantation, where the ground was green with luxuriant hawkweed, as at Nymphenburg, near Munich. The outline of the castle and its rock is remarkably fine, and reminded us of Gorey in Jersey. But we had a still finer view of it when we drove out to Aigen. On our way thither we had sight of the Watzmann, the highest mountain in Bavarian Tyrol--emerging from behind the great shoulder of the Untersberg. It was the only mountain within sight that had snow on its summit. Once at Aigen, and descended from our carriage, we had a delicious walk, up and up, along a road of continual steps, by the course of the mountain-stream, which fell in a series of cascades over great heaps of bowlders; then back again, by a round-about way, to our vehicle and home, enjoying the sight of old Watzmann again, and the grand mass of Salzburg Castle on its sloping rock. We encountered a _table-d'hôte_ acquaintance who had been to Berchtesgaden and the König See, driven through the salt-mine, and had had altogether a perfect expedition on this day, when we had not had the courage to set off. Never mind! we had enjoyed our day. We thought it wisest the next morning to renounce the König See, and pursue our way to Ischl by the _Stell-wagen_. We were fortunate enough to secure two places in the _coupé_, and I enjoyed greatly the quiet outlook, from my comfortable corner, on the changing landscape--green valley and hill and mountain; here and there a picturesque Tyrolese village, and once or twice a fine lake. The greatest charm of charming Ischl is the crystal Traun, surely the purest of streams. Away again early the next morning in the _coupé_ of the _Stell-wagen_, through a country more and more beautiful--high, woody mountains sloping steeply down to narrow, fertile, green valleys, the road winding amongst them so as to show a perpetual variety of graceful outlines where the sloping mountains met in the distance before us. As we approached the Gmunden See the masses became grander and more rocky, and the valley opened wider. It was Sunday, and when we left the _Stell-wagen_ we found quite a crowd in Sunday clothes standing round the place of embarkation for the steamboat that was to take us along the lake. Gmunden is another pretty place at the head of the lake, but apart from this one advantage inferior to Ischl. We got on to the slowest of railways here, getting down at the station near the falls of the Traun, where we dined at the pleasant inn, and fed our eyes on the clear river again hurrying over the rocks. Behind the great fall there is a sort of inner chamber, where the water rushes perpetually over a stone altar. At the station, as we waited for the train, it began to rain, and the good-natured looking woman asked us to take shelter in her little station-house--a single room not more than eight feet square, where she lived with her husband and two little girls all the year round. The good couple looked more contented than half the well-lodged people in the world. He used to be a _drozchky_ driver; and after that life of uncertain gains, which had many days quite penniless and therefore dinnerless, he found his present position quite a pleasant lot. On to Linz, when the train came, gradually losing sight of the Tyrolean mountains and entering the great plain of the Danube. Our voyage the next day in the steamboat was unfortunate: we had incessant rain till we had passed all the finest parts of the banks. But when we had landed, the sun shone out brilliantly, and so our entrance into Vienna, through the long suburb, with perpetual shops and odd names (Prschka, for example, which a German in our omnibus thought not at all remarkable for consonants!) was quite cheerful. We made our way through the city and across the bridge to the Weissen Ross, which was full; so we went to the Drei Rosen, which received us. The sunshine was transient; it began to rain again when we went out to look at St. Stephen's, but the delight of seeing that glorious building could not be marred by a little rain. The tower of this church is worth going to Vienna to see. The aspect of the city is that of an inferior Paris; the shops have an elegance that one sees nowhere else in Germany; the streets are clean, the houses tall and stately. The next morning we had a view of the town from the Belvedere Terrace; St. Stephen's sending its exquisite tower aloft from among an almost level forest of houses and inconspicuous churches. It is a magnificent collection of pictures at the Belvedere; but we were so unfortunate as only to be able to see them once, the gallery being shut up on the Wednesday; and so, many pictures have faded from my memory, even of those which I had time to distinguish. Titian's Danae was one that delighted us; besides this I remember Giorgione's Lucrezia Borgia, with the cruel, cruel eyes; the remarkable head of Christ; a proud Italian face in a red garment, I think by Correggio; and two heads by Denner, the most wonderful of all his wonderful heads that I have seen. There is an Ecce Homo by Titian which is thought highly of, and is splendid in composition and color, but the Christ is abject, the Pontius Pilate vulgar: amazing that they could have been painted by the same man who conceived and executed the Christo della Moneta! There are huge Veroneses, too, splendid and interesting. The Liechtenstein collection we saw twice, and that remains with me much more distinctly--the room full of Rubens's history of Decius, more magnificent even than he usually is in color; then his glorious Assumption of the Virgin, and opposite to it the portraits of his two boys; the portrait of his lovely wife going to the bath with brown drapery round her; and the fine portraits by Vandyke, especially the pale, delicate face of Wallenstein, with blue eyes and pale auburn locks. Another great pleasure we had at Vienna--next after the sight of St. Stephen's and the pictures--was a visit to Hyrtl, the anatomist, who showed us some of his wonderful preparations, showing the vascular and nervous systems in the lungs, liver, kidneys, and intestinal canal of various animals. He told us the deeply interesting story of the loss of his fortune in the Vienna revolution of '48. He was compelled by the revolutionists to attend on the wounded for three days' running. When at last he came to his house to change his clothes he found nothing but four bare walls! His fortune in Government bonds was burned along with the house, as well as all his precious collection of anatomical preparations, etc. He told us that since that great shock his nerves have been so susceptible that he sheds tears at the most trifling events, and has a depression of spirits which often keeps him silent for days. He only received a very slight sum from Government in compensation for his loss. One evening we strolled in the Volksgarten and saw the "Theseus killing the Centaur," by Canova, which stands in a temple built for its reception. But the garden to be best remembered by us was that at Schönbrunn, a labyrinth of stately avenues with their terminal fountains. We amused ourselves for some time with the menagerie here, the lions especially, who lay in dignified sleepiness till the approach of feeding-time made them open eager eyes and pace impatiently about their dens. We set off from Vienna in the evening with a family of Wallachians as our companions, one of whom, an elderly man, could speak no German, and began to address G. in Wallachian, as if that were the common language of all the earth. We managed to sleep enough for a night's rest, in spite of intense heat and our cramped positions, and arrived in very good condition at Prague in the fine morning. Out we went after breakfast, that we might see as much as possible of the grand old city in one day; and our morning was occupied chiefly in walking about and getting views of striking exteriors. The most interesting things we saw were the Jewish burial-ground (the Alter Friedhof) and the old synagogue. The Friedhof is unique--with a wild growth of grass and shrubs and trees, and a multitude of quaint tombs in all sorts of positions, looking like the fragments of a great building, or as if they had been shaken by an earthquake. We saw a lovely dark-eyed Jewish child here, which we were glad to kiss in all its dirt. Then came the sombre old synagogue, with its smoked groins, and lamp forever burning. An intelligent Jew was our _cicerone_, and read us some Hebrew out of the precious old book of the law. After dinner we took a carriage and went across the wonderful bridge of St. Jean Nepomuck, with its avenue of statues, towards the Radschin--an ugly, straight-lined building, but grand in effect from its magnificent site, on the summit of an eminence crowded with old, massive buildings. The view from this eminence is one of the most impressive in the world--perhaps as much from one's associations with Prague as from its visible grandeur and antiquity. The cathedral close to the Radschin is a melancholy object on the outside--left with unfinished sides like scars. The interior is rich, but sadly confused in its ornamentation, like so many of the grand old churches--hideous altars of bastard style disgracing exquisite Gothic columns--cruellest of all in St. Stephen's at Vienna! We got our view from a _Damen Stift_[5] (for ladies of family), founded by Maria Theresa, whose blond beauty looked down on us from a striking portrait. Close in front of us, sloping downwards, was a pleasant orchard; then came the river, with its long, long bridge and grand gateway; then the sober-colored city, with its surrounding plain and distant hills. In the evening we went to the theatre--a shabby, ugly building--and heard Spohr's Jessonda. [Sidenote: Dresden, 1858.] The next morning early by railway to Dresden--a charming journey, for it took us right through the Saxon Switzerland, with its castellated rocks and firs. At four o'clock we were dining comfortably at the Hotel de Pologne, and the next morning (Sunday) we secured our lodgings--a whole apartment of six rooms, all to ourselves, for 18_s._ per week! By nine o'clock we were established in our new home, where we were to enjoy six weeks' quiet work, undisturbed by visits and visitors. And so we did. We were as happy as princes--are not--George writing at the far corner of the great _salon_, I at my _Schrank_ in my own private room, with closed doors. Here I wrote the latter half of the second volume of "Adam Bede" in the long mornings that our early hours--rising at six o'clock--secured us. Three mornings in the week we went to the Picture Gallery from twelve till one. The first day we went was a Sunday, when there is always a crowd in the Madonna Cabinet. I sat down on the sofa opposite the picture for an instant, but a sort of awe, as if I were suddenly in the living presence of some glorious being, made my heart swell too much for me to remain comfortably, and we hurried out of the room. On subsequent mornings we always came in, the last minutes of our stay, to look at this sublimest picture, and while the others, except the Christo della Moneta and Holbein's Madonna, lost much of their first interest, this became harder and harder to leave. Holbein's Madonna is very exquisite--a divinely gentle, golden haired blonde, with eyes cast down, in an attitude of unconscious, easy grace--the loveliest of all the Madonnas in the Dresden Gallery except the Sistine. By the side of it is a wonderful portrait by Holbein, which I especially enjoyed looking at. It represents nothing more lofty than a plain, weighty man of business, a goldsmith; but the eminently fine painting brings out all the weighty, calm, good sense that lies in a first-rate character of that order. We looked at the Zinsgroschen (Titian's), too, every day, and after that at the great painter's Venus, fit for its purity and sacred loveliness to hang in a temple with Madonnas. Palma's Venus, which hangs near, was an excellent foil, because it is pretty and pure in itself; but beside the Titian it is common and unmeaning. Another interesting case of comparison was that between the original Zinsgroschen and a copy by an Italian painter, which hangs on the opposite wall of the cabinet. This is considered a fine copy, and would be a fine picture if one had never seen the original; but all the finest effects are gone in the copy. The four large Correggios hanging together--the _Nacht_; the Madonna with St. Sebastian, of the smiling graceful character, with the little cherub riding astride a cloud; the Madonna with St. Hubert; and a third Madonna, very grave and sweet--painted when he was nineteen--remained with me very vividly. They are full of life, though the life is not of a high order; and I should have surmised, without any previous knowledge, that the painter was among the first masters of _technique_. The Magdalen is sweet in conception, but seems to have less than the usual merit of Correggio's pictures as to painting. A picture we delighted in extremely was one of Murillo's--St. Rodriguez, fatally wounded, receiving the Crown of Martyrdom. The attitude and expression are sublime, and strikingly distinguished from all other pictures of saints I have ever seen. He stands erect in his scarlet and white robes, with face upturned, the arms held simply downward, but the hands held open in a receptive attitude. The silly cupid-like angel holding the martyr's crown in the corner spoils all. I did not half satisfy my appetite for the rich collection of Flemish and Dutch pictures here--for Teniers, Ryckart, Gerard Dow, Terburg, Mieris, and the rest. Rembrandt looks great here in his portraits, but I like none of the other pictures by him; the Ganymede is an offence. Guido is superlatively odious in his Christs, in agonized or ecstatic attitudes--much about the level of the accomplished London beggar. Dear, grand old Rubens does not show to great advantage, except in the charming half-length Diana returning from Hunting, the Love Garden, and the sketch of his Judgment of Paris. The most popular Murillo, and apparently one of the most popular Madonnas in the gallery, is the simple, sad mother with her child, without the least divinity in it, suggesting a dead or sick father, and imperfect nourishment in a garret. In that light it is touching. A fellow-traveller in the railway to Leipzig told us he had seen this picture in 1848 with nine bullet holes in it! The firing from the hotel of the Stadt Rom bore directly on the Picture Gallery. Veronese is imposing in one of the large rooms--the Adoration of the Magi, the Marriage at Cana, the Finding of Moses, etc., making grand masses of color on the lower part of the walls; but to me he is ignoble as a painter of human beings. It was a charming life--our six weeks at Dresden. There were the open-air concerts at the Grosser Garten and the Brühl'sche Terrace; the Sommer Theater, where we saw our favorite comic actor Merbitz; the walks into the open country, with the grand stretch of sky all round; the Zouaves, with their wondrous make-ups as women; Räder, the humorous comedian at the Sink'sche Bad Theater; our quiet afternoons in our pleasant _salon_--all helping to make an agreeable fringe to the quiet working time. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th July, 1858.] Since I wrote to you last I have lived through a great deal of exquisite pleasure. First an attack of illness during our last week at Munich, which I reckon among my pleasures because I was nursed so tenderly. Then a fortnight's unspeakable journey to Salzburg, Ischl, Linz, Vienna, Prague, and finally Dresden, which is our last resting-place before returning to Richmond, where we hope to be at the beginning of September. Dresden is a proper climax; for all other art seems only a preparation for feeling the superiority of the Madonna di San Sisto the more. We go three days a week to the gallery, and every day--after looking at other pictures--we go to take a parting draught of delight at Titian's Zinsgroschen and the _Einzige_ Madonna. In other respects I am particularly enjoying our residence here--we are so quiet, having determined to know no one and give ourselves up to work. We both feel a happy change in our health from leaving Munich, though I am reconciled to our long stay there by the fact that Mr. Lewes gained so much from his intercourse with the men of science there, especially Bischoff, Siebold, and Harless. I remembered your passion for autographs, and asked Liebig for his on your account. I was not sure that you would care enough about the handwriting of other luminaries; for there is such a thing as being European and yet obscure--a fixed star visible only from observatories. You will be interested to hear that I saw Strauss at Munich. He came for a week's visit before we left. I had a quarter of an hour's chat with him alone, and was very agreeably impressed by him. He looked much more serene, and his face had a far sweeter expression, than when I saw him in that dumb way at Cologne. He speaks with very choice words, like a man strictly truthful in the use of language. Will you undertake to tell Mrs. Call from me that he begged me to give his kindest remembrances to her and to her father,[6] of whom he spoke with much interest and regard as his earliest English friend? I dare not begin to write about other things or people that I have seen in these crowded weeks. They must wait till I have you by my side again, which I hope will happen some day. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] From Dresden, one showery day at the end of August, we set off to Leipzig, the first stage on our way home. Here we spent two nights; had a glimpse of the old town with its fine market; dined at Brockhaus's; saw the picture-gallery, carrying away a lasting delight in Calame's great landscapes and De Dreux's dogs, which are far better worth seeing than De la Roche's "Napoleon at Fontainebleau"--considered the glory of the gallery; went with Victor Carus to his museum and saw an Amphioxus; and finally spent the evening at an open-air concert in Carus's company. Early in the morning we set off by railway, and travelled night and day till we reached home on the 2d September. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 5th Sept. 1858.] Will you not write to the author of "Thorndale" and express your sympathy? He is a very diffident man, who would be susceptible to that sort of fellowship; and one should give a gleam of happiness where it is possible. I shall write you nothing worth reading for the next three months, so here is an opportunity for you to satisfy a large appetite for generous deeds. You can write to me a great many times without getting anything worth having in return. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 6th Oct. 1858.] Thanks for the verses on Buckle. I'm afraid I feel a malicious delight in them, for he is a writer who inspires me with a personal dislike; not to put too fine a point on it, he impresses me as an irreligious, conceited man. Long ago I had offered to write about Newman, but gave it up again. The second volume of "Adam Bede" had been sent to Blackwood on 7th September, the third had followed two months later, and there are the following entries in the Journal in November: [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Nov. 1._--I have begun Carlyle's "Life of Frederic the Great," and have also been thinking much of my own life to come. This is a moment of suspense, for I am awaiting Blackwood's opinion and proposals concerning "Adam Bede." _Nov. 4._--Received a letter from Blackwood containing warm praise of my third volume, and offering £800 for the copyright of "Adam Bede" for four years. I wrote to accept. _Nov. 10._--Wilkie Collins and Mr. Pigott came to dine with us after a walk by the river. I was pleased with Wilkie Collins--there is a sturdy uprightness about him that makes all opinion and all occupation respectable. _Nov. 16._--Wrote the last word of "Adam Bede" and sent it to Mr. Langford. _Jubilate._ [Sidenote: History of "Adam Bede."] The germ of "Adam Bede" was an anecdote told me by my Methodist Aunt Samuel (the wife of my father's younger brother)--an anecdote from her own experience. We were sitting together one afternoon during her visit to me at Griff, probably in 1839 or 1840, when it occurred to her to tell me how she had visited a condemned criminal--a very ignorant girl, who had murdered her child and refused to confess; how she had stayed with her praying through the night, and how the poor creature at last broke out into tears and confessed her crime. My aunt afterwards went with her in the cart to the place of execution; and she described to me the great respect with which this ministry of hers was regarded by the official people about the jail. The story, told by my aunt with great feeling, affected me deeply, and I never lost the impression of that afternoon and our talk together; but I believe I never mentioned it, through all the intervening years, till something prompted me to tell it to George in December, 1856, when I had begun to write the "Scenes of Clerical Life." He remarked that the scene in the prison would make a fine element in a story; and I afterwards began to think of blending this and some other recollections of my aunt in one story, with some points in my father's early life and character. The problem of construction that remained was to make the unhappy girl one of the chief _dramatis personæ_, and connect her with the hero. At first I thought of making the story one of the series of "Scenes," but afterwards, when several motives had induced me close these with "Janet's Repentance," I determined on making what we always called in our conversation "My Aunt's Story" the subject of a long novel, which I accordingly began to write on the 22d October, 1857. The character of Dinah grew out of my recollections of my aunt, but Dinah is not at all like my aunt, who was a very small, black-eyed woman, and (as I was told, for I never heard her preach) very vehement in her style of preaching. She had left off preaching when I knew her, being probably sixty years old, and in delicate health; and she had become, as my father told me, much more gentle and subdued than she had been in the days of her active ministry and bodily strength, when she could not rest without exhorting and remonstrating in season and out of season. I was very fond of her, and enjoyed the few weeks of her stay with me greatly. She was loving and kind to me, and I could talk to her about my inward life, which was closely shut up from those usually round me. I saw her only twice again, for much shorter periods--once at her own home at Wirksworth, in Derbyshire, and once at my father's last residence, Foleshill. The character of Adam and one or two incidents connected with him were suggested by my father's early life; but Adam is not my father any more than Dinah is my aunt. Indeed, there is not a single portrait in Adam Bede--only the suggestions of experience wrought up into new combinations. When I began to write it, the only elements I had determined on, besides the character of Dinah, were the character of Adam, his relation to Arthur Donnithorne, and their mutual relations to Hetty--_i.e._, to the girl who commits child-murder--the scene in the prison being, of course, the climax towards which I worked. Everything else grew out of the characters and their mutual relations. Dinah's ultimate relation to Adam was suggested by George, when I had read to him the first part of the first volume: he was so delighted with the presentation of Dinah, and so convinced that the reader's interest would centre in her, that he wanted her to be the principal figure at the last. I accepted the idea at once, and from the end of the third chapter worked with it constantly in view. The first volume was written at Richmond, and given to Blackwood in March. He expressed great admiration of its freshness and vividness, but seemed to hesitate about putting it in the Magazine, which was the form of publication he as well as myself had previously contemplated. He still _wished_ to have it for the Magazine, but desired to know the course of the story. At _present_ he saw nothing to prevent its reception in "Maga," but he would like to see more. I am uncertain whether his doubts rested solely on Hetty's relation to Arthur, or whether they were also directed towards the treatment of Methodism by the Church. I refused to tell my story beforehand, on the ground that I would not have it judged apart from my _treatment_, which alone determines the moral quality of art; and ultimately I proposed that the notion of publication in "Maga" should be given up, and that the novel should be published in three volumes at Christmas, if possible. He assented. I began the second volume in the second week of my stay at Munich, about the middle of April. While we were at Munich George expressed his fear that Adam's part was too passive throughout the drama, and that it was important for him to be brought into more direct collision with Arthur. This doubt haunted me, and out of it grew the scene in the wood between Arthur and Adam; the fight came to me as a _necessity_ one night at the Munich opera, when I was listening to "William Tell." Work was slow and interrupted at Munich, and when we left I had only written to the beginning of the dance on the Birthday Feast; but at Dresden I wrote uninterruptedly and with great enjoyment in the long, quiet mornings, and there I nearly finished the second volume--all, I think, but the last chapter, which I wrote here in the old room at Richmond in the first week of September, and then sent the MS. off to Blackwood. The opening of the third volume--Hetty's journey--was, I think, written more rapidly than the rest of the book, and was left without the slightest alteration of the first draught. Throughout the book I have altered little; and the only cases I think in which George suggested more than a verbal alteration, when I read the MS. aloud to him, were the first scene at the Farm, and the scene in the wood between Arthur and Adam, both of which he recommended me to "space out" a little, which I did. When, on October 29, I had written to the end of the love-scene at the Farm between Adam and Dinah, I sent the MS. to Blackwood, since the remainder of the third volume could not affect the judgment passed on what had gone before. He wrote back in warm admiration, and offered me, on the part of the firm, £800 for four years' copyright. I accepted the offer. The last words of the third volume were written and despatched on their way to Edinburgh, November the 16th, and now on the last day of the same month I have written this slight history of my book. I love it very much, and am deeply thankful to have written it, whatever the public may say to it--a result which is still in darkness, for I have at present had only four sheets of the proof. The book would have been published at Christmas, or rather early in December, but that Bulwer's "What will he do with it?" was to be published by Blackwood at that time, and it was thought that this novel might interfere with mine. The manuscript of "Adam Bede" bears the following inscription: "To my dear husband, George Henry Lewes, I give the MS. of a work which would never have been written but for the happiness which his love has conferred on my life." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th Nov. 1858.] I shall be much obliged if you will accept for me Tauchnitz's offer of £30 for the English reprint of "Clerical Scenes." And will you also be so good as to desire that Tauchnitz may register the book in Germany, as I understand that is the only security against its being translated without our knowledge; and I shudder at the idea of my books being turned into hideous German by an incompetent translator. I return the proofs by to-day's post. The dialect must be toned down all through in correcting the proofs, for I found it impossible to keep it subdued enough in writing. I am aware that the spelling which represents a dialect perfectly well to those who know it by the ear, is likely to be unintelligible to others. I hope the sheets will come rapidly and regularly now, for I dislike lingering, hesitating processes. Your praise of my ending was very warming and cheering to me in the foggy weather. I'm sure, if I have written well, your pleasant letters have had something to do with it. Can anything be done in America for "Adam Bede?" I suppose not--as my name is not known there. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Nov. 25._--We had a visit from Mr. Bray, who told us much that interested us about Mr. Richard Congreve, and also his own affairs. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 26th Nov. 1858.] I am very grateful to you for sending me a few authentic words from your own self. They are unspeakably precious to me. I mean that quite literally, for there is no putting into words any feeling that has been of long growth within us. It is easy to say how we love _new_ friends, and what we think of them, but words can never trace out all the fibres that knit us to the old. I have been thinking of you incessantly in the waking hours, and feel a growing hunger to know more precise details about you. I am of a too sordid and anxious disposition, prone to dwell almost exclusively on fears instead of hopes, and to lay in a larger stock of resignation than of any other form of confidence. But I try to extract some comfort this morning from my consciousness of this disposition, by thinking that nothing is ever so bad as my imagination paints it. And then I know there are incommunicable feelings within us capable of creating our best happiness at the very time others can see nothing but our troubles. And so I go on arguing with myself, and trying to live inside _you_ and looking at things in all the lights I can fancy you seeing them in, for the sake of getting cheerful about you in spite of Coventry. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, Christmas Day, 1858.] The well-flavored mollusks came this morning. It was very kind of you; and if you remember how fond I am of oysters, your good-nature will have the more pleasure in furnishing my _gourmandise_ with the treat. I have a childish delight in any little act of genuine friendliness towards us--and yet not childish, for how little we thought of people's goodness towards us when we were children. It takes a good deal of experience to tell one the rarity of a thoroughly disinterested kindness. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th Dec. 1858.] I see with you entirely about the preface: indeed I had myself anticipated the very effects you predict. The deprecatory tone is not one I can ever take willingly, but I am conscious of a shrinking sort of pride which is likely to warp my judgment in many personal questions, and on that ground I distrusted my own opinion. Mr. Lewes went to Vernon Hill yesterday for a few days' change of air, but before he went he said, "Ask Mr. Blackwood what he thinks of putting a mere advertisement at the beginning of the book to this effect: As the story of 'Adam Bede' will lose much of its effect if the development is foreseen, the author requests those critics who may honor him with a notice to abstain from telling the story." I write my note of interrogation accordingly "?" Pray do not begin to read the second volume until it is all in print. There is necessarily a lull of interest in it to prepare for the crescendo. I am delighted that you like my Mrs. Poyser. I'm very sorry to part with her and some of my other characters--there seems to be so much more to be done with them. Mr. Lewes says she gets better and better as the book goes on; and I was certainly conscious of writing her dialogue with heightening gusto. Even in our imaginary worlds there is the sorrow of parting. I hope the Christmas weather is as bright in your beautiful Edinburgh as it is here, and that you are enjoying all other Christmas pleasures too without disturbance. I have not yet made up my mind what my next story is to be, but I must not lie fallow any longer when the new year is come. [Sidenote: Journal, 1858.] _Dec. 25 (Christmas Day)._--George and I spent this wet day very happily alone together. We are reading Scott's life in the evenings with much enjoyment. I am reading through Horace in this pause. _Dec. 31._--The last day of the dear old year, which has been full of expected and unexpected happiness. "Adam Bede" has been written, and the second volume is in type. The first number of George's "Physiology of Common Life"--a work in which he has had much happy occupation--is published to-day; and both his position as a scientific writer and his inward satisfaction in that part of his studies have been much heightened during the past year. Our double life is more and more blessed--more and more complete. I think this chapter cannot more fitly conclude than with the following extract from Mr. G. H. Lewes's Journal, with which Mr. Charles Lewes has been good enough to furnish me: _Jan. 28, 1859._--Walked along the Thames towards Kew to meet Herbert Spencer, who was to spend the day with us, and we chatted with him on matters personal and philosophical. I owe him a debt of gratitude. My acquaintance with him was the brightest ray in a very dreary, _wasted_ period of my life. I have given up all ambition whatever, lived from hand to mouth, and thought the evil of each day sufficient. The stimulus of his intellect, especially during our long walks, roused my energy once more and revived my dormant love of science. His intense theorizing tendency was contagious, and it was only the stimulus of a _theory_ which could then have induced me to work. I owe Spencer another and a deeper debt. It was through him that I learned to know Marian--to know her was to love her--and since then my life has been a new birth. To her I owe all my prosperity and all my happiness. God bless her! _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1858, TO DECEMBER, 1858. _Times_ reviews "Scenes of Clerical Life"--Helps's opinion--Subscription to the "Scenes"--Letter from Dickens, 18th Jan. 1858--Letter from Froude, 17th Jan.--Letter to Miss Hennell--Mr. Wm. Smith, author of "Thorndale"--Ruskin--Reading the "Eumenides" and Wordsworth--Letter to John Blackwood on Dickens's Letter--Letter from Mrs. Carlyle--Letter from Faraday--"Clerical Scenes" moving--John Blackwood calls, and George Eliot reveals herself--Takes MS. of first part of "Adam Bede"--Letters to Charles Bray on reports of authorship--Visit to Germany--Description of Nürnberg--The Frauen-Kirche--Effect of the music--Albert Dürer's house--Munich--Lodgings--Pinacothek--Rubens--Crucifixion--Theresien Wiese--Schwanthaler's "Bavaria"--The Alps--Letter to Miss Hennell--Contrast between Catholic and Protestant worship--Glyptothek--Pictures--Statues--Cornelius frescoes--Herr Oldenburg--Kaulbach--Bodenstedt--Professor Wagner--Martius--Liebig--Geibel--Heyse--Carrière--Prince Radziwill's "Faust"--Professor Löher--Baron Schack--Genelli--Professor Bluntschli--Letter to Miss Hennell--Description of Munich life--Kaulbach's pictures--The Siebolds--The Neue Pinacothek--Pictures and porcelain painting--Mme. Bodenstedt--Letter to Blackwood--Combinations of artist in writing--Hears "William Tell"--Expedition to Grosshesselohe--Progress with "Adam Bede"--Letter to Miss Hennell on death of her mother--Mr. Lewes goes to Hofwyl--Frau Knapp--Mr. Lewes returns--Leave Munich for Traunstein--Salzburg--Ischl--Linz--By Danube to Vienna--St. Stephen's--Belvedere pictures--Liechtenstein collection--Hyrtl the anatomist--Prague--Jewish burial-ground and the old synagogue--To Dresden--Latter half of second volume of "Adam Bede" written--First impression of Sistine Madonna--The Tribute money--Holbein's Madonna--The Correggios--Dutch school--Murillo--Letter to Miss Hennell--Description of life at Dresden--Health improved--Mention of Strauss at Munich--Dresden to Leipzig--Home to Richmond--Letter to Miss Hennell--Opinion of Buckle--Blackwood offers £800 for "Adam Bede"--Wilkie Collins and Mr. Pigott--History of "Adam Bede"--Letter to Charles Bray--Disinterested kindness--Letter to Blackwood suggesting preface to "Adam Bede"--Reading Scott's Life and Horace--Review of year--Extract from G. H. Lewes's Journal. FOOTNOTES: [1] The Brays' new house. [2] He is really a charming man, is he not? [3] Picture of interior of a Lunatic Asylum. [4] "Why do you tell such lies? The result of it will be that no one will travel this way." [5] Charitable Institution for Ladies. [6] Dr. Brabant. CHAPTER IX. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Jan. 12._--We went into town to-day and looked in the "Annual Register" for cases of _inundation_. Letter from Blackwood to-day, speaking of renewed delight in "Adam Bede," and proposing 1st Feb. as the day of publication. Read the article in yesterday's _Times_ on George's "Sea-side Studies"--highly gratifying. We are still reading Scott's life with great interest; and G. is reading to me Michelet's book "De l'Amour." _Jan. 15._--I corrected the last sheets of "Adam Bede," and we afterwards walked to Wimbledon to see our new house, which we have taken for seven years. I hired the servant--another bit of business done: and then we had a delightful walk across Wimbledon Common and through Richmond Park homeward. The air was clear and cold--the sky magnificent. _Jan. 31._--Received a check for £400 from Blackwood, being the first instalment of the payment for four years' copyright of "Adam Bede." To-morrow the book is to be subscribed, and Blackwood writes very pleasantly--confident of its "great success." Afterwards we went into town, paid money into the bank, and ordered part of our china and glass towards house-keeping. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 31st Jan. 1859.] Enclosed is the formal acknowledgment, bearing my signature, and with it let me beg you to accept my thanks--_not_ formal but heartfelt--for the generous way in which you have all along helped me with words and with deeds. The impression "Adam Bede" has made on you and Major Blackwood--of whom I have always been pleased to think as concurring with your views--is my best encouragement, and counterbalances, in some degree, the depressing influences to which I am peculiarly sensitive. I perceive that I have not the characteristics of the "popular author," and yet I am much in need of the warmly expressed sympathy which only popularity can win. A good subscription would be cheering, but I can understand that it is not decisive of success or non-success. Thank you for promising to let me know about it as soon as possible. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Feb. 6._--Yesterday we went to take possession of Holly Lodge, Wandsworth, which is to be our dwelling, we expect, for years to come. It was a deliciously fresh bright day--I will accept the omen. A letter came from Blackwood telling me the result of the subscription to "Adam Bede," which was published on the 1st: 730 copies, Mudie having taken 500 on the publisher's terms--_i.e._, ten per cent. on the sale price. At first he had stood out for a larger reduction, and would only take 50, but at last he came round. In this letter Blackwood told me the first _ab extra_ opinion of the book, which happened to be precisely what I most desired. A cabinet-maker (brother to Blackwood's managing clerk) had read the sheets, and declared that the writer must have been brought up to the business, or at least had listened to the workmen in their workshop. _Feb. 12._--Received a cheering letter from Blackwood, saying that he finds "Adam Bede" making just the impression he had anticipated among his own friends and connections, and enclosing a parcel from Dr. John Brown "to the author of 'Adam Bede.'" The parcel contained "Rab and his Friends," with an inscription. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 13th Feb. 1859.] Will you tell Dr. John Brown that when I read an account of "Rab and his Friends" in a newspaper, I wished I had the story to read at full length; and I thought to myself the writer of "Rab" would perhaps like "Adam Bede." When you have told him this, he will understand the peculiar pleasure I had on opening the little parcel with "Rab" inside, and a kind word from Rab's friend. I have read the story twice--once aloud, and once to myself, very slowly, that I might dwell on the pictures of Rab and Ailie, and carry them about with me more distinctly. I will not say any commonplace words of admiration about what has touched me so deeply; there is no adjective of that sort left undefiled by the newspapers. The writer of "Rab" _knows_ that I must love the grim old mastiff with the short tail and the long dewlaps--that I must have felt present at the scenes of Ailie's last trial. Thanks for your cheering letter. I will be hopeful--if I can. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Feb. 1859.] You have the art of writing just the sort of letters I care for--sincere letters, like your own talk. We are tolerably settled now, except that we have only a temporary servant; and I shall not be quite at ease until I have a trustworthy woman who will manage without incessant dogging. Our home is very comfortable, with far more of vulgar indulgences in it than I ever expected to have again; but you must not imagine it a snug place, just peeping above the holly bushes. Imagine it rather as a tall cake, with a low garnish of holly and laurel. As it is, we are very well off, with glorious breezy walks, and wide horizons, well ventilated rooms, and abundant water. If I allowed myself to have any longings beyond what is given, they would be for a nook quite in the country, far away from palaces--Crystal or otherwise--with an orchard behind me full of old trees, and rough grass and hedge-row paths among the endless fields where you meet nobody. We talk of such things sometimes, along with old age and dim faculties, and a small independence to save us from writing drivel for dishonest money. In the mean time the business of life shuts us up within the environs of London and within sight of human advancements, which I should be so very glad to believe in without seeing. Pretty Arabella Goddard we heard play at Berlin--play the very things you heard as a _bonne bouche_ at the last--none the less delightful from being so unlike the piano playing of Liszt and Clara Schumann, whom we had heard at Weimar--both great, and one the greatest. Thank you for sending me that authentic word about Miss Nightingale. I wonder if she would rather rest from her blessed labors, or live to go on working? Sometimes, when I read of the death of some great, sensitive human being, I have a triumph in the sense that they are at rest; and yet, along with that, such deep sadness at the thought that the rare nature is gone forever into darkness, and we can never know that our love and reverence can reach him, that I seem to have gone through a personal sorrow when I shut the book and go to bed. I felt in that way the other night when I finished the life of Scott aloud to Mr. Lewes. He had never read the book before, and has been deeply stirred by the picture of Scott's character, his energy and steady work, his grand fortitude under calamity, and the spirit of strict honor to which he sacrificed his declining life. He loves Scott as well as I do. We have met a pleasant-faced, bright-glancing man, whom we set down to be worthy of the name, Richard Congreve. I am curious to see if our _Ahnung_ will be verified. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 24th Feb. 1859.] One word of gratitude to _you_ first before I write any other letters. Heaven and earth bless you for trying to help me. I have been blasphemous enough sometimes to think that I had never been good and attractive enough to win any little share of the honest, disinterested friendship there is in the world: one or two examples of late had given that impression, and I am prone to rest in the least agreeable conviction the premisses will allow. I need hardly tell you what I want, you know it so well: a servant who will cause me the least possible expenditure of time on household matters. I wish I were not an anxious, fidgety wretch, and could sit down content with dirt and disorder. But anything in the shape of an _anxiety_ soon grows into a monstrous vulture with me, and makes itself more present to me than my rich sources of happiness--such as too few mortals are blessed with. You know me. Since I wrote this, I have just had a letter from my sister Chrissey--ill in bed, consumptive--regretting that she ever ceased to write to me. It has ploughed up my heart. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th Feb. 1859.] Mrs. Carlyle's ardent letter will interest and amuse you. I reckon it among my best triumphs that she found herself "in charity with the whole human race" when she laid the book down. I want the philosopher himself to read it, because the _pre_-philosophic period--the childhood and poetry of his life--lay among the furrowed fields and pious peasantry. If he _could_ be urged to read a novel! I should like, if possible, to give him the same sort of pleasure he has given me in the early chapters of "Sartor," where he describes little Diogenes eating his porridge on the wall in sight of the sunset, and gaining deep wisdom from the contemplation of the pigs and other "higher animals" of _Entepfuhl_. Your critic was _not_ unjustly severe on the "Mirage Philosophy"--and I confess the "Life of Frederic" was a painful book to me in many respects; and yet I shrink, perhaps superstitiously, from any written or spoken word which is as strong as my inward criticism. I needed your letter very much--for when one lives apart from the world, with no opportunity of observing the effect of books except through the newspapers, one is in danger of sinking into the foolish belief that the day is past for the recognition of genuine, truthful writing, in spite of recent experience that the newspapers are no criterion at all. One such opinion as Mr. Caird's outweighs a great deal of damnatory praise from ignorant journalists. It is a wretched weakness of my nature to be so strongly affected by these things; and yet how is it possible to put one's best heart and soul into a book and be hardened to the result--be indifferent to the proof whether or not one has really a vocation to speak to one's fellow-men in that way? Of course one's vanity is at work; but the main anxiety is something entirely distinct from vanity. You see I mean you to understand that my feelings are very respectable, and such as it will be virtuous in you to gratify with the same zeal as you have always shown. The packet of newspaper notices is not come yet. I will take care to return it when it _has_ come. The best news from London hitherto is that Mr. Dallas is an enthusiastic admirer of Adam. I ought to except Mr. Langford's reported opinion, which is that of a person who has a voice of his own, and is not a mere echo. Otherwise, Edinburgh has sent me much more encouraging breezes than any that have come from the sweet South. I wonder if all your other authors are as greedy and exacting as I am. If so, I hope they appreciate your attention as much. Will you oblige me by writing a line to Mrs. Carlyle for me. I don't like to leave her second letter (she wrote a very kind one about the "Clerical Scenes") without any sort of notice. Will you tell her that the sort of effect she declares herself to have felt from "Adam Bede" is just what I desire to produce--gentle thoughts and happy remembrances; and I thank her heartily for telling me, so warmly and generously, what she has felt. That is not a pretty message: revise it for me, pray, for I am weary and ailing, and thinking of a sister who is slowly dying. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th Feb. 1859.] The folio of notices duly came, and are returned by to-day's post. The friend at my elbow ran through them for me, and read aloud some specimens to me, some of them ludicrous enough. The _Edinburgh Courant_ has the ring of sincere enjoyment in its tone; and the writer there makes himself so amiable to me that I am sorry he has fallen into the mistake of supposing that Mrs. Poyser's original sayings are remembered proverbs! I have no stock of proverbs in my memory; and there is not one thing put into Mrs. Poyser's mouth that is not fresh from my own mint. Please to correct that mistake if any one makes it in your hearing. I have not ventured to look into the folio myself; but I learn that there are certain threatening marks, in ink, by the side of such stock sentences as "best novel of the season," or "best novel we have read for a long time," from such authorities as the _Sun_, or _Morning Star_, or other orb of the newspaper firmament--as if these sentences were to be selected for reprint in the form of advertisement. I shudder at the suggestion. Am I taking a liberty in entreating you to keep a sharp watch over the advertisements, that no hackneyed puffing phrase of this kind may be tacked to my book? One sees them garnishing every other advertisement of trash: surely no being "above the rank of an idiot" can have his inclination coerced by them? and it would gall me, as much as any trifle could, to see my book recommended by an authority who doesn't know how to write decent English. I believe that your taste and judgment will concur with mine in the conviction that no quotations of this vulgar kind can do credit to a book; and that unless something looking like the real opinion of a tolerably educated writer, in a respectable journal, can be given, it would be better to abstain from "opinions of the press" altogether. I shall be grateful to you if you will save me from the results of any agency but your own--or at least of any agency that is not under your rigid criticism in this matter. Pardon me if I am overstepping the author's limits in this expression of my feelings. I confide in your ready comprehension of the irritable class you have to deal with. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Feb. 26._--Laudatory reviews of "Adam Bede" in the _Athenæum_, _Saturday_, and _Literary Gazette_. The _Saturday_ criticism is characteristic: Dinah is not mentioned! The other day I received the following letter, which I copy, because I have sent the original away: [Sidenote: Letter from E. Hall to George Eliot.] "To the Author of 'Adam Bede,' "CHESTER ROAD, SUNDERLAND. "DEAR SIR,--I got the other day a hasty read of your 'Scenes of Clerical Life,' and since that a glance at your 'Adam Bede,' and was delighted more than I can express; but being a poor man, and having enough to do to make 'ends meet,' I am unable to get a read of your inimitable books. "Forgive, dear sir, my boldness in asking you to give us a cheap edition. You would confer on us a great boon. I can get plenty of trash for a few pence, but I am sick of it. I felt so different when I shut your books, even though it was but a kind of 'hop-skip-and-jump' read. "I feel so strongly in this matter that I am determined to risk being thought rude and officious, and write to you. "Many of my working brethren feel as I do, and I express their wish as well as my own. Again asking your forgiveness for intruding myself upon you, I remain, with profoundest respect, yours, etc., "E. HALL." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Feb. 1859.] I have written to Chrissey, and shall hear from her again. I think her writing was the result of long, quiet thought--the slow return of a naturally just and affectionate mind to the position from which it had been thrust by external influence. She says: "My object in writing to you is to tell you how very sorry I have been that I ceased to write, and neglected one who, under all circumstances, was kind to me and mine. _Pray believe_ me when I say it will be the greatest comfort I can receive to know that you are _well_ and _happy_. Will you write once more?" etc. I wrote immediately, and I desire to avoid any word of reference to anything with which she associates the idea of alienation. The past is abolished from my mind. I only want her to feel that I love her and care for her. The servant trouble seems less mountainous to me than it did the other day. I was suffering physically from unusual worrit and muscular exertion in arranging the house, and so was in a ridiculously desponding state. I have written no end of letters in answer to servants' advertisements, and we have put our own advertisement in the _Times_--all which amount of force, if we were not philosophers and therefore believers in the conservation of force, we should declare to be lost. It is so pleasant to know these high doctrines--they help one so much. Mr. and Mrs. Richard Congreve have called on us. We shall return the call as soon as we can. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _March 8._--Letter from Blackwood this morning saying that "'Bedesman' has turned the corner and is coming in a winner." Mudie has sent for 200 additional copies (making 700), and Mr. Langford says the West End libraries keep sending for more. _March 14._--My dear sister wrote to me about three weeks ago, saying she regretted that she had ever ceased writing to me, and that she has been in a consumption for the last eighteen months. To-day I have a letter from my niece Emily, telling me her mother had been taken worse, and cannot live many days. _March 14._--Major Blackwood writes to say "Mudie has just made up his number of 'Adam Bede' to 1000. Simpkins have sold their subscribed number, and have had 12 to-day. Every one is talking of the book." _March 15._--Chrissey died this morning at a quarter to 5. _March 16._--Blackwood writes to say I am "a popular author as well as a great author." They printed 2090 of "Adam Bede," and have disposed of more than 1800, so that they are thinking about a second edition. A very feeling letter from Froude this morning. I happened this morning to be reading the 30th Ode, B. III. of Horace--"Non omnis moriar." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 17th March, 1859.] The news you have sent me is worth paying a great deal of pain for, past and future. It comes rather strangely to me, who live in such unconsciousness of what is going on in the world. I am like a deaf person, to whom some one has just shouted that the company round him have been paying him compliments for the last half hour. Let the best come, you will still be the person outside my own home who _first_ gladdened me about "Adam Bede;" and my success will always please me the better because you will share the pleasure. Don't think I mean to worry you with many such requests--but will you copy for me the enclosed short note to Froude? I know you will, so I say "thank you." [Sidenote: Letter to J. A. Froude from George Eliot.] DEAR SIR,--My excellent friend and publisher, Mr. Blackwood, lends me his pen to thank you for your letter, and for his sake I shall be brief. Your letter has done me real good--the same sort of good as one has sometimes felt from a silent pressure of the hand and a grave look in the midst of smiling congratulations. I have nothing else I care to tell you that you will not have found out through my books, except this one thing: that, so far as I am aware, you are only the _second_ person who has shared my own satisfaction in Janet. I think she is the least popular of my characters. You will judge from that, that it was worth your while to tell me what you felt about her. I wish I could help you with words of equal value; but, after all, am I not helping you by saying that it was well and generously done of you to write to me?--Ever faithfully yours, GEORGE ELIOT. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st March, 1859.] It was worth your while to write me those feeling words, for they are the sort of things that I keep in my memory and feel the influence of a long, long while. Chrissey's death has taken from the possibility of many things towards which I looked with some hope and yearning in the future. I had a very special feeling towards her--stronger than any third person would think likely. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _March 24._--Mr. Herbert Spencer brought us word that "Adam Bede" had been quoted by Mr. Charles Buxton in the House of Commons: "As the farmer's wife says in 'Adam Bede,' 'It wants to be hatched over again and hatched different.'" _March 26._--George went into town to-day and brought me home a budget of good news that compensated for the pain I had felt in the coldness of an old friend. Mr. Langford says that Mudie "thinks he must have another hundred or two of 'Adam'--has read the book himself, and is delighted with it." Charles Reade says it is "the finest thing since Shakespeare"--placed his finger on Lisbeth's account of her coming home with her husband from their marriage--praises enthusiastically the style--the way in which the author handles the Saxon language. Shirley Brooks also delighted. John Murray says there has never been such a book. Mr. Langford says there must be a second edition, in 3 vols., and they will print 500: whether Mudie takes more or not, they will have sold all by the end of a month. Lucas delighted with the book, and will review it in the _Times_ the first opportunity. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th March, 1859.] I should like you to convey my gratitude to your reviewer. I see well he is a man whose experience and study enable him to relish parts of my book, which I should despair of seeing recognized by critics in London back drawing-rooms. He has gratified me keenly by laying his finger on passages which I wrote either with strong feeling or from intimate knowledge, but which I had prepared myself to find entirely passed over by reviewers. Surely I am not wrong in supposing him to be a clergyman? There was one exemplary lady Mr. Langford spoke of, who, after reading "Adam," came the next day and bought a copy both of that and the "Clerical Scenes." I wish there may be three hundred matrons as good as she! It is a disappointment to me to find that "Adam" has given no impulse to the "Scenes," for I had sordid desires for money from a second edition, and had dreamed of its coming speedily. About my new story, which will be a novel as long as "Adam Bede," and a sort of companion picture of provincial life, we must talk when I have the pleasure of seeing you. It will be a work which will require time and labor. Do write me good news as often as you can. I owe thanks to Major Blackwood for a very charming letter. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 10th April, 1859.] The other day I received a letter from an old friend in Warwickshire, containing some striking information about the author of "Adam Bede." I extract the passage for your amusement: "I want to ask you if you have read 'Adam Bede,' or the 'Scenes of Clerical Life,' and whether you know that the author is Mr. Liggins?... A deputation of dissenting parsons went over _to ask him to write for the 'Eclectic,'_ and they found him washing his slop-basin at a pump. He has no servant, and does everything for himself; but one of the said parsons said that he inspired them with a reverence that would have made any impertinent question impossible. The son of a baker, of no mark at all in his town, so that it is possible you may not have heard of him. You know he calls himself 'George Eliot.' It sounds strange to hear the _Westminster_ doubting whether he is a woman, when _here he is so well known_. But I am glad it has mentioned him. _They say he gets no profit out of 'Adam Bede,' and gives it freely to Blackwood, which is a shame._ We have not read him yet, but the extracts are irresistible." Conceive the real George Eliot's feelings, conscious of being a base worldling--not washing his own slop-basin, and _not_ giving away his MS.! not even intending to do so, in spite of the reverence such a course might inspire. I hope you and Major Blackwood will enjoy the myth. Mr. Langford sent me a letter the other day from Miss Winkworth, a grave lady, who says she never reads novels, except a few of the most famous, but that she has read "Adam" three times running. One likes to know such things--they show that the book tells on people's hearts, and may be a real instrument of culture. I sing my Magnificat in a quiet way, and have a great deal of deep, silent joy; but few authors, I suppose, who have had a real success, have known less of the flush and the sensations of triumph that are talked of as the accompaniments of success. I think I should soon begin to believe that _Liggins_ wrote my books--it is so difficult to believe what the world does _not_ believe, so easy to believe what the world keeps repeating. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 11th April, 1859.] The very day you wrote we were driving in an open carriage from Ryde to the Sandrock Hotel, taking in a month's delight in the space of five hours. Such skies--such songs of larks--such beds of primroses! _I_ am quite well now--set up by iron and quinine, and polished off by the sea-breezes. I have lost my _young_ dislike to the spring, and am as glad of it as the birds and plants are. Mr. Lewes has read "Adam Bede," and is as dithyrambic about it as others appear to be, so _I_ must refresh my soul with it now as well as with the spring-tide. Mr. Liggins I remember as a vision of my childhood--a tall, black-coated, genteel young clergyman-in-embryo. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th April, 1859.] Mr. Lewes is "making himself into four" in writing answers to advertisements and other exertions which he generously takes on himself to save me. A model husband! We both like your literal title, "Thoughts in Aid of Faith," very much, and hope to see a little book under that title before the year is out--a book as thorough and effective in its way as "Christianity and Infidelity." _Re_writing is an excellent process, frequently both for the book and its author; and to prevent you from grudging the toil, I will tell you that so old a writer as Mr. Lewes now _re_writes everything of _importance_, though in all the earlier years of his authorship he would never take that trouble. We are so happy in the neighborhood of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Congreve. She is a sweet, intelligent, gentle woman. I already love her: and his fine, beaming face does me good, like a glimpse of an Olympian. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _April 17._--I have left off recording the history of "Adam Bede" and the pleasant letters and words that came to me--the success has been so triumphantly beyond anything I had dreamed of that it would be tiresome to put down particulars. Four hundred of the second edition (of 750) sold in the first week, and twenty besides ordered when there was not a copy left in the London house. This morning Hachette has sent to ask my terms for the liberty of translation into French. There was a review in the _Times_ last week, which will naturally give a new stimulus to the sale; and yesterday I sent a letter to the _Times_ denying that Mr. Liggins is the author, as the world and Mr. Anders had settled it. But I must trust to the letters I have received and preserved for giving me the history of the book if I should live long enough to forget details. Shall I ever write another book as true as "Adam Bede?" The weight of the future presses on me, and makes itself felt even more than the deep satisfaction of the past and present. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 20th April, 1859.] This myth about Liggins is getting serious, and must be put a stop to. We are bound not to allow sums of money to be raised on a false supposition of this kind. Don't you think it would be well for _you_ to write a letter to the _Times_, to the effect that, as you find in some stupid quarters my letter has not been received as a _bonâ-fide_ denial, you declare Mr. Liggins not to be the author of "Clerical Scenes" and "Adam Bede;" further, that any future applications to you concerning George Eliot will not be answered, since that writer is not in need of public benevolence. Such a letter might save us from future annoyance and trouble, for I am rather doubtful about Mr. Liggins's character. The last report I heard of him was that he spent his time in smoking and drinking. I don't know whether that is one of the data for the Warwickshire logicians who have decided him to be the author of my books. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _April 29._--To-day Blackwood sent me a letter from Bulwer, which I copy because I have to send back the original, and I like to keep in mind the generous praise of one author for another. [Sidenote: Letter from E. B. Lytton to John Blackwood.] "MALVERN, _April 24, 1859_. "MY DEAR SIR,--I ought long since to have thanked you for 'Adam Bede.' But I never had a moment to look at it till arriving here, and ordered by the doctors to abstain from all 'work.' "I owe the author much gratitude for some very pleasing hours. The book indeed is worthy of great admiration. There are touches of beauty in the conception of human character that are exquisite, and much wit and much poetry embedded in the 'dialect,' which nevertheless the author over-uses. "The style is remarkably good whenever it is English and not provincial--racy, original, and nervous. "I congratulate you on having found an author of such promise, and published one of the very ablest works of fiction I have read for years.-- Yours truly, E. B. L. "I am better than I was, but thoroughly done up." [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _April 29._--Finished a story--"The Lifted Veil"--which I began one morning at Richmond as a resource when my head was too stupid for more important work. Resumed my new novel, of which I am going to rewrite the two first chapters. I shall call it provisionally "The Tullivers," for the sake of a title _quelconque_, or perhaps "St. Ogg's on the Floss." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 29th April, 1859.] Thank you for sending me Sir Edward Lytton's letter, which has given me real pleasure. The praise is doubly valuable to me for the sake of the generous feeling that prompted it. I think you judged rightly about writing to the _Times_. I would abstain from the remotest appearance of a "dodge." I am anxious to know of any _positive_ rumors that may get abroad; for while I would willingly, if it were possible--which it clearly is not--retain my _incognito_ as long as I live, I can suffer no one to bear my arms on his shield. There is _one_ alteration, or rather an addition--merely of a sentence--that I wish to make in the 12_s._ edition of "Adam Bede." It is a sentence in the chapter where Adam is making the coffin at night, and hears the willow wand. Some readers seem not to have understood what I meant--namely, that it was in Adam's peasant blood and nurture to believe in this, and that he narrated it with awed belief to his dying day. That is not a fancy of my own brain, but a matter of observation, and is, in my mind, an important feature in Adam's character. There is nothing else I wish to touch. I will send you the sentence some day soon, with the page where it is to be inserted. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _May 3._--I had a letter from Mrs. Richard Congreve, telling me of her safe arrival, with her husband and sister,[7] at Dieppe. This new friend, whom I have gained by coming to Wandsworth, is the chief charm of the place to me. Her friendship has the same date as the success of "Adam Bede"--two good things in my lot that ought to have made me less sad than I have been in this house. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th May, 1859.] Your letter came yesterday at tea-time, and made the evening happier than usual. We had thought of you not a little as we listened to the howling winds, especially as the terrible wrecks off the Irish coast had filled our imaginations disagreeably. _Now_ I can make a charming picture of you all on the beach, except that I am obliged to fancy _your_ face looking still too languid after all your exertion and sleeplessness. I remember the said face with peculiar vividness, which is very pleasant to me. "Rough" has been the daily companion of our walks, and wins on our affections, as other fellow mortals do, by a mixture of weaknesses and virtues--the weaknesses consisting chiefly in a tendency to become invisible every ten minutes, and in a forgetfulness of reproof, which, I fear, is the usual accompaniment of meekness under it. All this is good discipline for us selfish solitaries, who have been used to stroll along, thinking of nothing but ourselves. We walked through your garden to-day, and I gathered a bit of your sweetbrier, of which I am at this moment enjoying the scent as it stands on my desk. I am enjoying, too, another sort of sweetness, which I also owe to you--of that subtle, haunting kind which is most like the scent of my favorite plants--the belief that you do really care for me across the seas there, and will associate me continually with your home. Faith is not easy to me, nevertheless I believe everything you say and write. Write to me as often as you can--that is, as often as you feel any prompting to do so. You were a dear presence to me, and will be a precious thought to me all through your absence. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _May 4._--To-day came a letter from Barbara Bodichon, full of joy in my success, in the certainty that "Adam Bede" was mine, though she had not read more than extracts in reviews. This is the first delight in the book as _mine_, over and above the fact that the book is good. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 5th May, 1859.] God bless you, dearest Barbara, for your love and sympathy. You are the first friend who has given any symptom of knowing me--the first heart that has recognized me in a book which has come from my heart of hearts. But keep the secret solemnly till I give you leave to tell it; and give way to no impulses of triumphant affection. You have sense enough to know how important the _incognito_ has been, and we are anxious to keep it up a few months longer. Curiously enough my old Coventry friends, who have certainly read the _Westminster_ and the _Times_, and have probably by this time read the book itself, have given no sign of recognition. But a certain Mr. Liggins, whom rumor has fixed on as the author of my books, and whom _they_ have believed in, has probably screened me from their vision. I am a very blessed woman, am I not, to have all this reason for being glad that I have lived? I have had no time of exultation; on the contrary, these last months have been sadder than usual to me, and I have thought more of the future and the much work that remains to be done in life than of anything that has been achieved. But I think your letter to-day gave me more joy--more heart-glow--than all the letters or reviews or other testimonies of success that have come to me since the evenings when I read aloud my manuscript to my dear, dear husband, and he laughed and cried alternately, and then rushed to me to kiss me. He is the prime blessing that has made all the rest possible to me, giving me a response to everything I have written--a response that I could confide in, as a proof that I had not mistaken my work. [Sidenote: Letter to Major Blackwood, 6th May, 1859.] You must not think me too soft-hearted when I tell you that it would make me uneasy to leave Mr. Anders without an assurance that his apology is accepted. "Who with repentance is not satisfied," etc.; that doctrine is bad for the sinning, but good for those sinned against. Will you oblige me by allowing a clerk to write something to this effect in the name of the firm?--"We are requested by George Eliot to state, in reply to your letter of the 16th, that he accepts your assurance that the publication of your letter to the reviewer of 'Adam Bede' in the _Times_ was unintentional on your part." Yes, I _am_ assured now that "Adam Bede" was worth writing--worth living through long years to write. But now it seems impossible to me that I shall ever write anything so good and true again. I have arrived at faith in the past, but not at faith in the future. A friend in Algiers[8] has found me out--"will go to the stake on the assertion that I wrote 'Adam Bede'"--simply on the evidence of a few extracts. So far as I know, this is the first case of detection on purely internal evidence. But the secret is safe in that quarter. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again during some visit that you will pay to town before very long. It would do me good to have you shake me by the hand as the ascertained George Eliot. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _May 9._--We had a delicious drive to Dulwich, and back by Sydenham. We stayed an hour in the gallery at Dulwich, and I satisfied myself that the St. Sebastian is no exception to the usual "petty prettiness" of Guido's conceptions. The Cuyp glowing in the evening sun, the Spanish beggar boys of Murillo, and Gainsborough's portrait of Mrs. Sheridan and her sister, are the gems of the gallery. But better than the pictures was the fresh greenth of the spring--the chestnuts just on the verge of their flowering beauty, the bright leaves of the limes, the rich yellow-brown of the oaks, the meadows full of buttercups. We saw for the first time Clapham Common, Streatham Common, and Tooting Common--the two last like parks rather than commons. _May 19._--A letter from Blackwood, in which he proposes to give me another £400 at the end of the year, making in all £1200, as an acknowledgment of "Adam Bede's" success. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th May, 1859.] Mrs. Congreve is a sweet woman, and I feel that I have acquired a friend in her--after recently declaring that we would never have any _friends_ again, only _acquaintances_. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st May, 1859.] Thank you: first, for acting with that fine integrity which makes part of my faith in you; secondly, for the material sign of that integrity. I don't know which of those two things I care for most--that people should act nobly towards me, or that I should get honest money. I certainly care a great deal for the money, as I suppose all anxious minds do that love independence and have been brought up to think debt and begging the two deepest dishonors short of crime. I look forward with quite eager expectation to seeing you--we have so much to say. Pray give us the first day at your command. The excursion, as you may imagine, is not ardently longed for in this weather, but when "merry May" is quite gone, we may surely hope for some sunshine; and then I have a pet project of rambling along by the banks of a river, not without artistic as well as hygienic purposes. Pray bring me all the Liggins Correspondence. I have an amusing letter or two to show you--one from a gentleman who has sent me his works; happily the only instance of the kind. For, as Charles Lamb complains, it is always the people whose books _don't_ sell who are anxious to send them to one, with their "foolish autographs" inside. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st May, 1859.] We don't think of going to the festival, not for want of power to enjoy Handel--there are few things that I care for more in the way of music than his choruses, performed by a grand orchestra--but because we are neither of us fit to encounter the physical exertion and inconveniences. It is a cruel thing the difficulty and dearness of getting any music in England--concerted music, which is the only music I care for much now. At Dresden we could have thoroughly enjoyable instrumental music every evening for two-pence; and I owed so many thoughts and inspirations of feeling to that stimulus. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _May 27._--Blackwood came to dine with us on his arrival in London, and we had much talk. A day or two before he had sent me a letter from Professor Aytoun, saying that he had neglected his work to read the first volume of "Adam Bede;" and he actually sent the other two volumes out of the house to save himself from temptation. Blackwood brought with him a correspondence he has had with various people about Liggins, beginning with Mr. Bracebridge, who will have it that Liggins is the author of "Adam Bede" in spite of all denials. _June 5._--Blackwood came, and we concocted two letters to send to the _Times_, in order to put a stop to the Liggins affair. [Sidenote: Letter to Major Blackwood, 6th June, 1859.] The "Liggins business" _does_ annoy me, because it subjects you and Mr. John Blackwood to the reception of insulting letters, and the trouble of writing contradictions. Otherwise, the whole affair is really a subject for a Molière comedy--"The Wise Men of Warwickshire," who might supersede "The Wise Men of Gotham." The letter you sent me was a very pleasant one from Mrs. Gaskell, saying that since she came up to town she has had the compliment paid her of being suspected to have written "Adam Bede." "I have hitherto denied it; but really, I think, that as you want to keep your real name a secret, it would be very pleasant for me to blush acquiescence. Will you give me leave?" I hope the inaccuracy with which she writes my name is not characteristic of a genius for fiction, though I once heard a German account for the bad spelling in Goethe's early letters by saying that it was "genial"--their word for whatever is characteristic of genius. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 8th June, 1859.] I was glad you wrote to me from Avignon of all the places you have visited, because Avignon is one of my most vivid remembrances from out the dimness of ten years ago. Lucerne would be a strange region to me but for Calame's pictures. Through them I have a vision of it, but of course when I see it 'twill be another Luzern. Mr. Lewes obstinately nurses the project of carrying me thither with him, and depositing me within reach of you while he goes to Hofwyl. But at present I say "No." We have been waiting and waiting for the skies to let us take a few days' ramble by the river, but now I fear we must give it up till all the freshness of young summer is gone. July and August are the two months I care least about for leafy scenery. However, we are kept at home this month partly by pleasures: the Handel Festival, for which we have indulged ourselves with tickets, and the sight of old friends--Mrs. Bodichon among the rest, and for her we hope to use your kind loan of a bedroom. We are both of us in much better condition than when you said good-bye to us, and I have many other sources of gladness just now--so I mean to make myself disagreeable no longer by caring about petty troubles. If one could but order cheerfulness from the druggist's! or even a few doses of coldness and distrust, to prevent one from foolish confidence in one's fellow-mortals! I want to get rid of this house--cut cables and drift about. I dislike Wandsworth, and should think with unmitigated regret of our coming here if it were not for you. But you are worth paying a price for. There! I have written about nothing but ourselves this time! _You_ do the same, and then I think I will promise ... not to write again, but to ask you to go on writing to me without an answer. How cool and idle you are this morning! I am warm and busy, but always, at all temperatures, yours affectionately. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _June 20._--We went to the Crystal Palace to hear the "Messiah," and dined afterwards with the Brays and Sara Hennell. I told them I was the author of "Adam Bede" and "Clerical Scenes," and they seemed overwhelmed with surprise. This experience has enlightened me a good deal as to the ignorance in which we all live of each other. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 24th June, 1859.] There is always an after sadness belonging to brief and interrupted intercourse between friends--the sadness of feeling that the blundering efforts we have made towards mutual understanding have only made a new veil between us--still more, the sadness of feeling that some pain may have been given which separation makes a permanent memory. We are quite unable to represent ourselves truly. Why should we complain that our friends see a false image? I say this because I am feeling painfully this morning that, instead of helping you when you brought before me a matter so deeply interesting to you, I have only blundered, and that I have blundered, as most of us do, from too much egoism and too little sympathy. If my mind had been more open to receive impressions, instead of being in over-haste to give them, I should more readily have seen what your object was in giving me that portion of your MS., and we might have gone through the necessary part of it on Tuesday. It seems no use to write this now, and yet I can't help wanting to assure you that if I am too imperfect to do and feel the right thing at the right moment, I am not without the slower sympathy that becomes all the stronger from a sense of previous mistake. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 27th June, 1859.] I am told peremptorily that I am to go to Switzerland next month, but now I have read your letter, I can't help thinking more of your illness than of the pleasure in prospect--according to my foolish nature, which is always prone to live in past pain. We shall not arrive at Lucerne till the 12th, at the earliest, I imagine, so I hope we are secured from the danger of alighting precisely on the days of your absence. That would be cruel, for I shall only be left at Lucerne for three days. You must positively have nothing more interesting to do than to talk to me and let me look at you. Tell your sister I shall be all ears and eyes and no tongue, so she will find me the most _amiable_ of conversers. I think it must be that the sunshine makes your absence more conspicuous, for this place certainly becomes drearier to me as the summer advances. The dusty roads are all longer, and the shade is farther off. No more now about anything--except that Mr. Lewes commands me to say he has just read the "Roman Empire of the West" with much interest, and is going now to flesh his teeth in the "Politique" (Auguste Comte's). [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Monday evening, end of June, 1859.] "DEAR FRIENDS,--All three of you--thanks for your packet of heartfelt kindness. That is the best of your kindness--there is no sham in it. It was inevitable to me to have that outburst when I saw you for a little while after the long silence, and felt that I must tell you then or be forestalled, and leave you to gather the truth amidst an inextricable mixture of falsehood. But I feel that the influence of talking about my books, even to you and Mrs. Bodichon, has been so bad to me that I should like to be able to keep silence concerning them for evermore. If people were to buzz round me with their remarks, or compliments, I should lose the repose of mind and truthfulness of production without which no good, healthy books can be written. Talking about my books, I find, has much the same malign effect on me as talking of my feelings or my religion. "I should think Sara's version of my brother's words concerning 'Adam Bede' is the correct one--_'that there are things in it about my father'_ (_i.e._, being interpreted, things my father told us about his early life), not 'portrait' of my father. There is not a single portrait in the book, nor will there be in any future book of mine. There are portraits in the 'Clerical Scenes;' but that was my first bit of art, and my hand was not well in. I did not know so well how to manipulate my materials. As soon as the Liggins falsehood is annihilated, of course there will be twenty new ones in its place; and one of the first will be that I was not the sole author. The only safe thing for my mind's health is to shut my ears and go on with my work. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 5th July, 1859.] "Thanks for your letters. They have given me one pleasure--that of knowing that Mr. Liggins has not been _greatly_ culpable--though Mr. Bracebridge's statement, that only 'some small sums' have been collected, does not accord with what has been written to Mr. Blackwood from other counties. But 'O, I am sick!' Take no more trouble about me--and let every one believe--as they will, in spite of your kind efforts--_what they like to believe_. I can't tell you how much melancholy it causes me that people are, for the most part, so incapable of comprehending the state of mind which cares for that which is essentially human in all forms of belief, and desires to exhibit it under all forms with loving truthfulness. Freethinkers are scarcely wider than the orthodox in this matter--they all want to see themselves and their own opinions held up as the true and the lovely. On the same ground that an idle woman, with flirtations and flounces, likes to read a French novel, because she can imagine herself the heroine, grave people, with opinions, like the most admirable character in a novel to be their mouth-piece. If art does not enlarge men's sympathies, it does nothing morally. I have had heart-cutting experience that _opinions_ are a poor cement between human souls: and the only effect I ardently long to produce by my writings is, that those who read them should be better able to _imagine_ and to _feel_ the pains and the joys of those who differ from themselves in everything but the broad fact of being struggling, erring, human creatures. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 6th July, 1859.] "We shall not start till Saturday, and shall not reach Lucerne till the _evening_ of the 11th. There is a project of our returning through Holland, but the attractions of Lucerne are sure to keep us there as long as possible. We have given up Zurich in spite of Moleschott and science. The other day I said to Mr. Lewes, 'Every now and then it comes across me, like the recollection of some precious little store laid by, that there is Mrs. Congreve in the world.' That is how people talk of you in your absence." [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _July 9._--We started for Switzerland. Spent a delightful day in Paris. To the Louvre first, where we looked chiefly at the Marriage at Cana, by Paul Veronese. This picture, the greatest I have seen of his, converted me to high admiration of him. _July 12._--Arrived at Lucerne in the evening. Glad to make a home at the charming Schweizerhof on the banks of the Lake. G. went to call on the Congreves, and in the afternoon Mrs. Congreve came to chat with us. In the evening we had a boat on the Lake. _July 13._--G. set off for Hofwyl at five o'clock, and the three next days were passed by me in quiet chat with the Congreves and quiet resting on my own sofa. _July 19._--Spent the morning in Bâle, chiefly under the chestnut-trees, near the Cathedral, I reading aloud Flourens's sketch of Cuvier's labors. In the afternoon to Paris. _July 21._--Holly Lodge, Wandsworth. Found a charming letter from Dickens, and pleasant letters from Blackwood; nothing to annoy us. Before we set off we had heard the excellent news that the fourth edition of "Adam Bede" (5000) had all been sold in a fortnight. The fifth edition appeared last week. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 23d July, 1859.] We reached here last evening, and though I was a good deal overdone in getting to Lucerne, I have borne the equally rapid journey back without headache--a proof that I am strengthened. I had three quiet days of talk with the Congreves at Lucerne, while Mr. Lewes went to Hofwyl. Mrs. Congreve is one of those women of whom there are few--rich in intelligence, without pretension, and quivering with sensibility, yet calm and quiet in her manners. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 23d July, 1859.] I thank you for your offer about the money for "Adam," but I have intentions of stern thrift, and mean to want as little as possible. When "Maggie" is done, and I have a month or two of leisure, I should like to transfer our present house, into which we were driven by haste and economy, to some one who likes houses full of eyes all round him. I long for a house with some shade and grass close round it--I don't care how rough--and the sight of Swiss houses has heightened my longing. But at present I say Avaunt to all desires. While I think of it, let me beg of you to mention to the superintendent of your printing-office, that in case of another reprint of "Adam," I beg the word "sperrit" (for "spirit") may be particularly attended to. Adam never said "speerit," as he is made to do in the cheaper edition, at least in one place--his speech at the birthday dinner. This is a small matter, but it is a point I care about. Words fail me about the not impossible Pug, for some compunction at having mentioned my unreasonable wish will mingle itself paradoxically with the hope that it may be fulfilled. I hope we shall have other interviews to remember this time next year, and that you will find me without aggravated symptoms of the "author's malady"--a determination of talk to my own books, which I was alarmingly conscious of when you and the Major were here. After all, I fear authors must submit to be something of monsters--not quite simple, healthy human beings; but I will keep my monstrosity within bounds if possible. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 26th July, 1859.] The things you tell me are just such as I need to know--I mean about the help my book is to the people who read it. The weight of my future life--the self-questioning whether my nature will be able to meet the heavy demands upon it, both of personal duty and intellectual production, presses upon me almost continually in a way that prevents me even from tasting the quiet joy I might have in the _work done_. Buoyancy and exultation, I fancy, are out of the question when one has lived so long as I have. But I am the better for every word of encouragement, and am helped over many days by such a note as yours. I often think of my dreams when I was four or five and twenty. I thought then how happy fame would make me! I feel no regret that the fame, as such, brings no pleasure; but it _is_ a grief to me that I do not constantly feel strong in thankfulness that my past life has vindicated its uses and given me reason for gladness that such an unpromising woman-child was born into the world. I ought not to care about small annoyances, and it is chiefly egoism that makes them annoyances. I had quite an _enthusiastic_ letter from Herbert Spencer the other day about "Adam Bede." He says he feels the better for reading it--really words to be treasured up. I can't bear the idea of appearing further in the papers. And there is no one now except people who would not be convinced, though one rose from the dead, to whom any statement _apropos_ of Liggins would be otherwise than superfluous. I dare say some "investigator" of the Bracebridge order will arise after I am dead and revive the story--and perhaps posterity will believe in Liggins. Why not? A man a little while ago wrote a pamphlet to prove that the Waverley novels were chiefly written, not by Walter Scott, but by Thomas Scott and his wife Elizabeth. The main evidence being that several people thought Thomas cleverer than Walter, and that in the list of the Canadian regiment of Scots to which Thomas belonged many of the _names_ of the Waverley novels occurred--among the rest _Monk_--and in "Woodstock" there is a _General Monk_! The writer expected to get a great reputation by his pamphlet, and I think it might have suggested to Mr. B. his style of critical and historical inference. I must tell you, _in confidence_, that Dickens has written to me the noblest, most touching words about "Adam"--not hyperbolical compliments, but expressions of deep feeling. He says the reading made an epoch in his life. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th July, 1859.] Pug is come! come to fill up the void left by false and narrow-hearted friends. I see already that he is without envy, hatred, or malice--that he will betray no secrets, and feel neither pain at my success nor pleasure in my chagrin. I hope the photograph does justice to his physiognomy. It is expressive: full of gentleness and affection, and radiant with intelligence when there is a savory morsel in question--a hopeful indication of his mental capacity. I distrust all intellectual pretension that announces itself by obtuseness of palate! I wish you could see him in his best _pose_--when I have arrested him in a violent career of carpet-scratching, and he looks at me with fore-legs very wide apart, trying to penetrate the deep mystery of this arbitrary, not to say capricious, prohibition. He is snoring by my side at this moment, with a serene promise of remaining quiet for any length of time; he couldn't behave better if he had been expressly educated for me. I am too lazy a lover of dogs and all earthly things to like them when they give me much trouble, preferring to describe the pleasure other people have in taking trouble. Alas! the shadow that tracks all earthly good--the possibility of loss. One may lose one's faculties, which will not always fetch a high price; how much more a _Pug_ worth unmentionable sums--a PUG which some generous-hearted personage in some other corner of Great Britain than Edinburgh may even now be sending emissaries after, being bent on paying the kindest, most delicate attention to a sensitive mortal not sufficiently reticent of wishes. All I can say of that generous-hearted personage No. 2 is, that I wish he may get--somebody else's Pug, not mine. And all I will say of the sensitive, insufficiently reticent mortal No. 2 is, that I hope he may be as pleased and as grateful as George Eliot. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 30th July, 1859.] I look forward to playing duets with you as one of my future pleasures; and if I am able to go on working, I hope we shall afford to have a fine grand-piano. I have none of Mozart's Symphonies, so that you can be guided in your choice of them entirely by your own taste. I know Beethoven's Sonata in E flat well; it is a very charming one, and I shall like to hear you play it. That is one of my luxuries--to sit still and hear some one playing my favorite music; so that you may able sure you will find willing ears to listen to the fruits of your industrious practising. There are ladies in the world, not a few, who play the violin, and I wish I were one of them, for then we could play together sonatas for the piano and violin, which make a charming combination. The violin gives that _keen edge_ of tone which the piano wants. I like to know that you were gratified by getting a watch so much sooner than you expected; and it was the greater satisfaction to me to send it you, because you had earned it by making good use of these precious years at Hofwyl. It is a great comfort to your father and me to think of that, for we, with our old grave heads, can't help talking very often of the need our boys will have for all sorts of good qualities and habits in making their way through this difficult life. It is a world, you perceive, in which cross-bows _will_ be _launisch_ sometimes, and frustrate the skill of excellent marksmen--how much more of lazy bunglers? The first volume of the "Physiology of Common Life" is just published, and it is a great pleasure to see so much of your father's hard work successfully finished. He has been giving a great deal of labor to the numbers on the physiology of the nervous system, which are to appear in the course of two or three months, and he has enjoyed the labor in spite of the drawback of imperfect health, which obliges him very often to leave the desk with a hot and aching head. It is quite my worst trouble that he has so much of this discomfort to bear; and we must all try and make everything else as pleasant to him as we can, to make up for it. Tell Thornton he shall have the book he asks for, if possible--I mean the book of moths and butterflies; and tell Bertie I expect to hear about the wonderful things he has done with his pocket-knife. Tell him he is equipped well enough to become king of a desert island with that pocket-knife of his; and if, as I think I remember, it has a corkscrew attached, he would certainly have more implements than he would need in that romantic position. We shall hope to hear a great deal of your journey, with all its haps and mishaps. The mishaps are just as pleasant as the haps when they are past--that is one comfort for tormented travellers. You are an excellent correspondent, so I do not fear you will flag in writing to me; and remember, you are always giving a pleasure when you write to me. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Aug. 11._--Received a letter from an American--Mr. J. C. Evans--asking me to write a story for an American periodical. Answered that I could not write one for less than £1000, since, in order to do it, I must suspend my actual work. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 11th Aug. 1859.] I do wish much to see more of human life: how can one see enough in the short years one has to stay in the world? But I meant that at present my mind works with the most freedom and the keenest sense of poetry in my remotest past, and there are many strata to be worked through before I can begin to use, _artistically_, any material I may gather in the present. Curiously enough, _apropos_ of your remark about "Adam Bede," there is much less "out of my own life" in that book--_i.e._, the materials are much more a combination from imperfectly known and widely sundered elements than the "Clerical Scenes." I'm so glad you have enjoyed these--so thankful for the words you write me. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Aug. 12._--Mr. J. C. Evans wrote again, declaring his willingness to pay the £1000, and asking for an interview to arrange preliminaries. _Aug. 15._--Declined the American proposition, which was to write a story of twelve parts (weekly parts) in the _New York Century_ for £1200. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Aug. 1859.] I have re-read your whole proof, and feel that every serious reader will be impressed with the indications of real truth-seeking and heart-experience in the tone. Beginnings are always troublesome. Even Macaulay's few pages of introduction to his Introduction in the English History are the worst bit of writing in the book. It was no trouble to me to read your proof, so don't talk as if it had been. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Aug. 17._--Received a letter from Blackwood, with check for £200 for second edition of "Clerical Scenes." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 17th Aug. 1859.] I'm glad my story cleaves to you. At present I have no hope that it will affect people as strongly as "Adam" has done. The characters are on a lower level generally, and the environment less romantic. But my stories grow in me like plants, and this is only in the leaf-bud. I have faith that the flower will come. Not enough faith, though, to make me like the idea of beginning to print till the flower is fairly out--till I know the end as well as the beginning. Pug develops new charms every day. I think, in the prehistoric period of his existence, before he came to me, he had led a sort of Caspar Hauser life, shut up in a kennel in Bethnal Green; and he has had to get over much astonishment at the sight of cows and other rural objects on a large scale, which he marches up to and surveys with the gravity of an "Own Correspondent," whose business it is to observe. He has absolutely no bark; but, _en revanche_, he sneezes powerfully, and has speaking eyes, so the _media_ of communication are abundant. He sneezes at the world in general, and he looks affectionately at me. I envy you the acquaintance of a genuine non-bookish man like Captain Speke. I wonder when men of that sort will take their place as heroes in our literature, instead of the inevitable "genius?" [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Aug. 20._--Letter from the troublesome Mr. Quirk of Attleboro, still wanting satisfaction about Liggins. I did not leave it unanswered, because he is a friend of Chrissey's, but G. wrote for me. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Aug. 1859.] Our great difficulty is _Time_. I am little better than a sick nigger with the lash behind him at present. If we go to Penmaenmawr we shall travel all through by night, in order not to lose more than one day; and we shall pause at Lichfield on our way back. To pause at Coventry would be a real pleasure to me; but I think, even if we could do it on our way home, it would be better economy to wait until the sense of hurry is past, and make it a little reward for work done. The going to the coast seems to be a wise measure, quite apart from indulgence. We are both so feeble; but otherwise I should have kept my resolution and remained quiet here for the next six months. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Aug. 25._--In the evening of this day we set off on our journey to Penmaenmawr. We reached Conway at half-past three in the morning; and finding that it was hopeless to get a bed anywhere, we walked about the town till the morning began to dawn, and we could see the outline of the fine old castle's battlemented walls. In the morning we went to Llandudno, thinking that might suit us better than Penmaenmawr. We found it ugly and fashionable. Then we went off to Penmaenmawr, which was beautiful to our hearts' content--or rather discontent--for it would not receive us, being already filled with visitors. Back again in despair to Conway, where we got temporary lodgings at one of the numerous Joneses. This particular Jones happened to be honest and obliging, and we did well enough for a few days in our in-door life, but out-of-doors there were cold winds and rain. One day we went to Abergele and found a solitary house called Beach House, which it seemed possible we might have at the end of a few days. But no! And the winds were so cold on this northerly coast that George was not sorry, preferring rather to take flight southward. So we set out again on 31st, and reached Lichfield about half-past five. Here we meant to pass the night, that I might see my nieces--dear Chrissey's orphan children--Emily and Kate. I was much comforted by the sight of them, looking happy, and apparently under excellent care in Miss Eborall's school. We slept at the "Swan," where I remember being with my father and mother when I was a little child, and afterwards with my father alone, in our last journey into Derbyshire. The next morning we set off again, and completed our journey to Weymouth. Many delicious walks and happy hours we had in our fortnight there. A letter from Mr. Langford informed us that the subscription for the sixth edition of "Adam Bede" was 1000. Another pleasant incident was a letter from my old friend and school-fellow, Martha Jackson, asking if the author of "Adam Bede" was _her_ Marian Evans. _Sept. 16._--We reached home, and found letters awaiting us--one from Mr. Quirk, finally renouncing Liggins!--with tracts of an ultra-evangelical kind for me, and the Parish Mag., etc., from the Rev. Erskine Clark of St. Michael's, Derby, who had written to me to ask me to help him in this sort of work. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 17th Sept. 1859.] I have just been reading, with deep interest and heart-stirring, the article on the Infant Seamstresses in the _Englishwoman's Journal_. I am one among the grateful readers of that moving description--moving because the writer's own soul was moved by love and pity in the writing of it. These are the papers that will make the "Journal" a true organ with a _function_. I am writing at the end of the day, on the brink of sleep, too tired to think of anything but that picture of the little sleeping slop-worker who had pricked her tiny finger so. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Sept. 18._--A volume of devotional poetry from the authoress of "Visiting my Relations," with an inscription admonishing me not to be beguiled by the love of money. _In much anxiety and doubt about my new novel._ _Oct. 7._--Since the last entry in my Journal various matters of interest have occurred. Certain "new" ideas have occurred to me in relation to my novel, and I am in better hope of it. At Weymouth I had written to Blackwood to ask him about terms, supposing I published in "Maga." His answer determined me to decline. On Monday, the 26th, we set out on a three days' journey to Lincolnshire and back--very pleasant and successful both as to weather and the object I was in search of. A less pleasant business has been a correspondence with a _crétin_--a Warwickshire magistrate, who undertakes to declare the process by which I wrote my books--and who is the chief propagator and maintainer of the story that Liggins is at the bottom of the "Clerical Scenes" and "Adam Bede." It is poor George who has had to conduct the correspondence, making his head hot by it, to the exclusion of more fructifying work. To-day, in answer to a letter from Sara, I have written her an account of my interviews with my Aunt Samuel. This evening comes a letter from Miss Brewster, full of well-meant exhortation. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 7th Oct. 1859.] The very best bit of news I can tell you to begin with is that your father's "Physiology of Common Life" is selling remarkably well, being much in request among medical students. You are not to be a medical student, but I hope, nevertheless, you will by-and-by read the work with interest. There is to be a new edition of the "Sea-side Studies" at Christmas, or soon after--a proof that this book also meets with a good number of readers. I wish you could have seen to-day, as I did, the delicate spinal cord of a dragon-fly--like a tiny thread with tiny beads on it--which your father had just dissected! He is so wonderfully clever now at the dissection of these delicate things, and has attained this cleverness entirely by devoted practice during the last three years. I hope _you_ have some of his resolution and persistent regularity in work. I think you have, if I may judge from your application to music, which I am always glad to read of in your letters. I was a very idle practiser, and I often regret now that when I had abundant time and opportunity for hours of piano playing I used them so little. I have about eighteen Sonatas and Symphonies of Beethoven, I think, but I shall be delighted to find that you can play them better than I can. I am very sensitive to blunders and wrong notes, and instruments out of tune; but I have never played much from ear, though I used to play from memory a great deal. The other evening Mr. Pigott, whom you remember, Mr. Redford, another friend of your father's, and Mr. Wilkie Collins dined with us, and we had a charming musical evening. Mr. Pigott has a delicious tenor voice, and Mr. Redford a fine barytone. The latter sings "Adelaide," that exquisite song of Beethoven's, which I should like you to learn. Schubert's songs, too, I especially delight in; but, as you say, they are difficult. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th Oct. 1859.] It is pleasant to have to tell you that Mr. Bracebridge has been at last awakened to do the right thing. This morning came a letter enclosing the following to me: "Madame, I have much pleasure on receiving your declaration that 'etc., etc.,' in replying that I frankly accept your declaration as the truth, and I shall repeat it if the contrary is again asserted to me." This is the first symptom we have had from him of common-sense. I am very thankful--for it ends transactions with him. Mr. Lewes is of so sensitive a temperament, and so used to feeling more angry and more glad on my behalf than his own, that he has been made, several mornings, quite unable to go on with his work by this irritating correspondence. It is all my fault, for if he didn't see in the first instance that I am completely upset by anything that arouses unloving emotions, he would never feel as he does about outer sayings and doings. No one is more indifferent than he is to what is said about himself. No more about my business, let us hope, for a long while to come! The Congreves are settled at home again now--blessing us with the sight of kind faces--Mr. Congreve beginning his medical course. Delicious confusion of ideas! Mr. Lewes, walking in Wandsworth, saw a good woman cross over the street to speak to a blind man. She accosted him with, "Well, _I_ knew you, _though you are dark_!" [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 16th Oct. 1859.] I wish you had read the letter you enclosed to me; it is really curious. The writer, an educated person, asks me to perfect and extend the benefit "Adam Bede" has "conferred on society" by writing a _sequel_ to it, in which I am to tell all about Hetty after her reprieve, "Arthur's efforts to obtain the reprieve, and his desperate ride after obtaining it--Dinah on board the convict ship--Dinah's letters to Hetty--and whatever the author might choose to reveal concerning Hetty's years of banishment. Minor instances of the incompleteness which induces an unsatisfactory feeling may be alleged in the disposal of the _locket and earrings_--which everybody expects to re-appear--and in the incident of the pink silk neckerchief, of which all would like to hear a little more!!" I do feel more than I ought about outside sayings and doings, and I constantly rebuke myself for all that part of my susceptibility, which I know to be weak and egoistic; still what is said about one's art is not merely a personal matter--it touches the very highest things one lives for. _Truth_ in art is so startling that no one can believe in it as art, and the specific forms of religious life which have made some of the grandest elements in human history are looked down upon as if they were not within the artist's sympathy and veneration and intensely dramatic reproduction. "I do well to be angry" on that ground, don't I? The simple fact is, that I never saw anything of my aunt's writing, and Dinah's words came from me "as the tears come because our heart is full, and we can't help them." If you were living in London instead of at Edinburgh, I should ask you to read the first volume of "Sister Maggie" at once, for the sake of having your impression, but it is inconvenient to me to part with the MS. The great success of "Adam" makes my writing a matter of more anxiety than ever. I suppose there is a little sense of responsibility mixed up with a great deal of pride. And I think I should worry myself still more if I began to print before the thing is essentially complete. So on all grounds it is better to wait. How clever and picturesque the "Horsedealer in Syria" is! I read him with keen interest, only wishing that he saw the seamy side of things rather less habitually. Excellent Captain Speke can't write so well, but one follows him out of grave sympathy. That a man should live through such things as that beetle in his ear! Such papers as that make the _specialité_ of _Blackwood_--one sees them nowhere else. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Oct. 16._--Yesterday came a pleasant packet of letters: one from Blackwood, saying that they are printing a seventh edition of "Adam Bede" (of 2000), and that "Clerical Scenes" will soon be exhausted. I have finished the first volume of my new novel, "Sister Maggie;" have got my legal questions answered satisfactorily, and when my headache has cleared off must go at it full speed. _Oct. 25._--The day before yesterday Herbert Spencer dined with us. We have just finished reading aloud "Père Goriot"--a hateful book. I have been reading lately and have nearly finished Comte's "Catechism." _Oct. 28._--Received from Blackwood a check for £400, the last payment for "Adam Bede" in the terms of the agreement. But in consequence of the great success, he proposes to pay me £800 more at the beginning of next year. Yesterday Smith, the publisher, called to make propositions to G. about writing in the _Cornhill Magazine_. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th Oct. 1859.] I beg that you and Major Blackwood will accept my thanks for your proposal to give me a further share in the success of "Adam Bede," beyond the terms of our agreement, which are fulfilled by the second check for £400, received this morning. Neither you nor I ever calculated on half such a success, thinking that the book was too quiet, and too unflattering to dominant fashion, ever to be very popular. I hope that opinion of ours is a guarantee that there is nothing hollow or transient in the reception "Adam" has met with. Sometimes when I read a book which has had a great success, and am unable to see any valid merits of an artistic kind to account for it, I am visited with a horrible alarm lest "Adam," too, should ultimately sink into the same class of outworn admirations. But I always fall back on the fact that no shibboleth and no vanity is flattered by it, and that there is no novelty of mere form in it which can have delighted simply by startling. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Nov. 10._--Dickens dined with us to-day, for the first time, and after he left I went to the Congreves, where George joined me, and we had much chat--about George Stephenson, religion, etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 11th Nov. 1859.] A very beautiful letter--beautiful in feeling--that I have received from Mrs. Gaskell to-day, prompts me to write to you and let you know how entirely she has freed herself from any imputation of being unwilling to accept the truth when it has once clearly presented itself as truth. Since she has known "on authority" that the two books are mine, she has re-read them, and has written to me, apparently on the prompting they gave in that second reading: very sweet and noble words they are that she has written to me. Yesterday Dickens dined with us, on _his_ return from the country. That was a great pleasure to me: he is a man one can thoroughly enjoy talking to--there is a strain of real seriousness along with his keenness and humor. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 14th Nov. 1859.] The Liggins affair is concluded so far as any _action_ of ours is concerned, since Mr. Quirk (the inmost citadel, I presume) has surrendered by writing an apology to Blackwood, saying he now believes he was imposed on by Mr. Liggins. As to Miss Martineau, I respect her so much as an authoress, and have so pleasant a recollection of her as a hostess for three days, that I wish that distant impression from herself and her writings to be disturbed as little as possible by mere personal details. Anything she may do or say or feel concerning me personally is a matter of entire indifference: I share her bitterness with a large number of far more blameless people than myself. It can be of no possible benefit to me, or any one else, that I should know more of those things, either past, present, or to come. "I do owe no man anything" except to write honestly and religiously what comes from my inward promptings; and the freer I am kept of all knowledge of that comparatively small circle who mingle personal regards or hatred with their judgment or reception of my writings, the easier it will be to keep my motives free from all indirectness and write truly. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Nov. 18._--On Monday Dickens wrote, asking me to give him, after I have finished my present novel, a story to be printed in _All the Year Round_--to begin four months after next Easter, and assuring me of my own terms. The next day G. had an interview by appointment with Evans (of Bradbury & Evans), and Lucas, the editor of _Once a Week_, who, after preliminary pressing of G. himself to contribute, put forward their wish that I should give them a novel for their Magazine. They were to write and make an offer, but have not yet done so. We have written to Dickens, saying that _time_ is an insurmountable obstacle to his proposition, as he puts it. I am reading Thomas à Kempis. _Nov. 19._--Mr. Lockhart Clarke and Mr. Herbert Spencer dined with us. _Nov. 22._--We have been much annoyed lately by Newby's advertisement of a book called "Adam Bede, Junior," a sequel; and to-day Dickens has written to mention a story of the tricks which are being used to push the book under the pretence of its being mine. One librarian has been forced to order the book against his will, because the public have demanded it. Dickens is going to put an article on the subject in _Household Words_, in order to scarify the rascally bookseller. _Nov. 23._--We began Darwin's book on "The Origin of Species" to-night. Though full of interesting matter, it is not impressive, from want of luminous and orderly presentation. _Nov. 24._--This morning I wrote the scene between Mrs. Tulliver and Wakem. G. went into town and saw young Evans (of Bradbury & Evans), who agreed that it would be well to have an article in _Punch_ on this scoundrelly business of "Adam Bede, Junior." A divine day. I walked out, and Mrs. Congreve joined me. Then music, "Arabian Nights," and Darwin. _Nov. 25._--I am reading old Bunyan again, after the long lapse of years, and am profoundly struck with the true genius manifested in the simple, vigorous, rhythmic style. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 25th Nov. 1859.] Thanks for _Bentley_. Some one said the writer of the article on "Adam Bede" was a Mr. Mozeley, a clergyman, and a writer in the _Times_; but these reports about authorship are as often false as true. I think it is, on the whole, the best review we have seen, unless we must except the one in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, by Emile Montégut. I don't mean to read _any_ reviews of my next book; so far as they would produce any effect, they would be confusing. Everybody admires something that somebody else finds fault with; and the miller with his donkey was in a clear and decided state of mind compared with the unfortunate writer who should set himself to please all the world of review writers. I am compelled, in spite of myself, to be annoyed with this business of "Adam Bede, Junior." You see I am well provided with thorns in the flesh, lest I should be exalted beyond measure. To part with the copyright of a book which sells 16,000 in one year--to have a Liggins and an unknown writer of one's "Sequel" all to one's self--is excellent discipline. We are reading Darwin's book on Species, just come out after long expectation. It is an elaborate exposition of the evidence in favor of the Development Theory, and so makes an epoch. Do you see how the publishing world is going mad on periodicals? If I could be seduced by such offers, I might have written three poor novels, and made my fortune in one year. Happily, I have no need to exert myself when I say "Avaunt thee, Satan!" Satan, in the form of bad writing and good pay, is not seductive to me. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Nov. 26._--Letter from Lucas, editor of _Once a Week_, anxious to come to terms about my writing for said periodical. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 26th Nov. 1859.] It was very pretty and generous of you to send me a nice long letter out of your turn, and I think I shall give you, as a reward, other opportunities of being generous in the same way for the next few months, for I am likely to be a poor correspondent, having my head and hands full. We have the whole of Vilmar's "Literatur Geschichte," but not the remainder of the "Deutsche Humoristik." I agree with you in liking the history of German literature, especially the earlier ages--the birth-time of the legendary poetry. Have you read the "Nibelungenlied" yet? Whereabouts are you in algebra? It would be very pleasant to study it with you, if I could possibly find time to rub up my knowledge. It is now a good while since I looked into algebra, but I was very fond of it in old days, though I dare say I never went so far as you have now gone. Tell me your latitude and longitude. I have no memory of an autumn so disappointing as this. It is my favorite season. I delight especially in the golden and red tints under the purple clouds. But this year the trees were almost stripped of their leaves before they had changed color--dashed off by the winds and rain. We have had _no_ autumnal beauty. I am writing at night--very tired--so you must not wonder if I have left out words, or been otherwise incoherent. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Nov. 29._--Wrote a letter to the _Times_, and to Delane about Newby. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 5th Dec. 1859.] I took no notice of the extract you sent me from a letter of Mrs. Gaskell's, being determined not to engage in any writing on the topic of my authorship, except such as was absolutely demanded of us. But since then I have had a very beautiful letter from Mrs. Gaskell, and I will quote some of her words, because they do her honor, and will incline you to think more highly of her. She begins in this way: "Since I heard, on authority, that you were the author of 'Scenes of Clerical Life' and 'Adam Bede,' I have read them again, and I must once more tell you how earnestly, fully, and _humbly_ I admire them. I never read anything so complete and beautiful in fiction in my life before." Very sweet and noble of her, was it not? She went on to speak of her having held to the notion of Liggins, but she adds, "I was never such a goose as to believe that books like yours were a mosaic of real and ideal." The "Seth Bede" and "Adam Bede, Junior," are speculations of those who are always ready to fasten themselves like leeches on a popular fame. Such things must be endured: they are the shadow to the bright fact of selling 16,000 in one year. As to the silly falsehoods and empty opinions afloat in some petty circles, I have quite conquered my temporary irritation about them--indeed, I feel all the more serene now for that very irritation; it has impressed on me more deeply how entirely the rewards of the artist lie apart from everything that is narrow and personal: there is no peace until that lesson is thoroughly learned. I shall go on writing from my inward promptings--writing what I love and believe, what I feel to be true and good, if I can only render it worthily--and then leave all the rest to take its chance: "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be" with those who are to produce any art that will lastingly touch the generations of men. We have been reading Darwin's book on the "Origin of Species" just now: it makes an epoch, as the expression of his thorough adhesion, after long years of study, to the Doctrine of Development--and not the adhesion of an anonym like the author of the "Vestiges," but of a long-celebrated naturalist. The book is sadly wanting in illustrative facts--of which he has collected a vast number, but reserves them for a future book, of which this smaller one is the _avant-coureur_. This will prevent the work from becoming popular as the "Vestiges" did, but it will have a great effect in the scientific world, causing a thorough and open discussion of a question about which people have hitherto felt timid. So the world gets on step by step towards brave clearness and honesty! But to me the Development Theory, and all other explanations of processes by which things came to be, produce a feeble impression compared with the mystery that lies under the processes. It is nice to think of you reading our great, great favorite Molière, while, for the present, we are not taking him down from the shelves--only talking about him, as we do very often. I get a good deal of pleasure out of the sense that some one I love is reading and enjoying my best-loved writers. I think the "Misanthrope" the finest, most complete production _of its kind_ in the world. I know you enjoy the "sonnet" scene, and the one between Arsinoé and Célimène. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Monday evening, 5th Dec. 1859.] In opposition to most people who love to _read_ Shakspeare, I like to see his plays acted better than any others; his great tragedies thrill me, let them be acted how they may. I think it is something like what I used to experience in old days in listening to uncultured preachers--the emotions lay hold of one too strongly for one to care about the medium. Before all other plays I find myself cold and critical, seeing nothing but actors and "properties." I like going to those little provincial theatres. One's heart streams out to the poor devils of actors who get so little clapping, and will go home to so poor a supper. One of my pleasures lately has been hearing repeatedly from my Genevese friends M. and Mme. d'Albert, who were so good to me during my residence with them. M. d'Albert had read the "Scenes of Clerical Life" before he knew they were mine, and had been so much struck with them that he had wanted to translate them. One likes to feel old ties strengthened by fresh sympathies. The _Cornhill Magazine_ is going to lead off with great spirit, and promises to eclipse all the other new-born periodicals. Mr. Lewes is writing a series of papers for it--"Studies in Animal Life"--which are to be subsequently published in a book. It is quite as well that your book should not be ready for publication just yet. February is a much better time than Christmas. I shall be one of your most eager readers--for every book that comes from the heart of hearts does me good, and I quite share your faith that what you yourself feel so deeply and find so precious will find a home in some other minds. Do not suspect that I impose on you the task of writing letters to answer my _dilettante_ questions. "Am I on a bed of roses?" I have four children to correspond with--the three boys in Switzerland, and Emily at Lichfield. [Sidenote: Journal, 1859.] _Dec. 15._--Blackwood proposes to give me for "The Mill on the Floss" £2000 for 4000 copies of an edition at 31_s._ 6_d._, and after the same rate for any more that may be printed at the same price: £150 for 1000 at 12_s._, and £60 for 1000 at 6_s._ I have accepted. _Dec. 25._--Christmas-day. We all, including Pug, dined with Mr. and Mrs. Congreve, and had a delightful day. Mr. Bridges was there too. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 30th Dec. 1859.] I don't like Christmas to go by without sending you a greeting, though I have really nothing to say beyond that. We spent our Christmas-day with the Congreves, shutting up our house and taking our servant and Pug with us. And so we ate our turkey and plum-pudding in very social, joyous fashion with those charming friends. Mr. Bridges was there too. We are meditating flight to Italy when my present work is done, as our last bit of vagrancy for a long, long while. We shall only stay two months, doing nothing but absorb. I don't think I have anything else to tell, except that we, being very happy, wish all mortals to be in like condition, and especially the mortals we know in the flesh. Human happiness is a web with many threads of pain in it--that is always _sub auditum_--Twist ye, twine ye, even so, etc., etc. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 3d Jan. 1860.] I never before had so pleasant a New Year's greeting as your letter containing a check for £800, for which I have to thank you to-day. On every ground--including considerations that are not at all of a monetary kind--I am deeply obliged to you and to Major Blackwood for your liberal conduct in relation to "Adam Bede." As, owing to your generous concession of the copyright of "Adam Bede," the three books will be henceforth on the same footing, we shall be delivered from further discussion as to terms. We are demurring about the title. Mr. Lewes is beginning to prefer "The House of Tulliver; or, Life on the Floss," to our old notion of "Sister Maggie." "The Tullivers; or, Life on the Floss," has the advantage of slipping easily off the lazy English tongue, but it is after too common a fashion ("The Newcomes," "The Bertrams," etc., etc.). Then there is "The Tulliver Family; or, Life on the Floss." Pray meditate, and give us your opinion. I am very anxious that the "Scenes of Clerical Life" should have every chance of impressing the public with its existence: first, because I think it of importance to the estimate of me as a writer that "Adam Bede" should not be counted as my only book; and secondly, because there are ideas presented in these stories about which I care a good deal, and am not sure that I can ever embody again. This latter reason is my private affair, but the other reason, if valid, is yours also. I must tell you that I had another cheering letter to-day besides yours: one from a person of mark in your Edinburgh University,[9] full of the very strongest words of sympathy and encouragement, hoping that my life may long be spared "to give pictures of the deeper life of this age." So I sat down to my desk with a delicious confidence that my audience is not made up of reviewers and literary clubs. If there is any truth in me that the world wants, nothing will hinder the world from drinking what it is athirst for. And if there is no needful truth in me, let me, howl as I may in the process, be hurled into the Dom Daniel, where I wish all other futile writers to sink. Your description of the "curling" made me envy you the sight. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 4th Jan. 1860.] The sun is shining with us too, and your pleasant letter made it seem to shine more brightly. I am not going to be expansive in this appendix to your father's chapter of love and news, for my head is tired with writing this morning--it is not so young as yours, you know, and, besides, is a feminine head, supported by weaker muscles and a weaker digestive apparatus than that of a young gentleman with a broad chest and hopeful whiskers. I don't wonder at your being more conscious of your attachment to Hofwyl now the time of leaving is so near. I fear you will miss a great many things in exchanging Hofwyl, with its snowy mountains and glorious spaces, for a very moderate home in the neighborhood of London. You will have a less various, more arduous life: but the time of _Entbehrung_ or _Entsagung_ must begin, you know, for every mortal of us. And let us hope that we shall all--father and mother and sons--help one another with love. What jolly times you have had lately! It did us good to read of your merrymaking. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 6th Jan. 1860.] "The Mill on the Floss" be it then! The only objections are, that the mill is not _strictly_ on the Floss, being on its small tributary, and that the title is of rather laborious utterance. But I think these objections do not deprive it of its advantage over "The Tullivers; or, Life on the Floss"--the only alternative, so far as we can see. Pray give the casting-vote. Easter Monday, I see, is on the 8th April, and I wish to be out by the middle or end of March. Illness apart, I intend to have finished Vol. III. by the beginning of that month, and I hope no obstacle will impede the rapidity of the printing. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Jan. 11._--I have had a very delightful letter of sympathy from Professor Blackie of Edinburgh, which came to me on New Year's morning, and a proposal from Blackwood to publish a third edition of "Clerical Scenes" at 12_s._ George's article in the _Cornhill Magazine_--the first of a series of "Studies in Animal Life"--is much admired, and in other ways our New Year opens with happy omens. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 12th Jan. 1860.] Thank you for letting me see the specimen advertisements; they have helped us to come to a decision--namely, for "The Mill on the Floss." I agree with you that it will be well not to promise the book in March--not because I do not desire and hope to be ready, but because I set my face against all pledges that I am not _sure_ of being able to fulfil. The third volume is, I fancy, always more rapidly written than the rest. The third volume of "Adam Bede" was written in six weeks, even with headaching interruptions, because it was written under a stress of emotion, which first volumes cannot be. I will send you the first volume of "The Mill" at once. The second is ready, but I would rather keep it as long as I can. Besides the advantage to the book of being out by Easter, I have another reason for wishing to have done in time for that. We want to get away for two months to Italy, if possible, to feed my mind with fresh thoughts, and to assure ourselves of that fructifying holiday before the boys are about us, making it difficult for us to leave home. But you may rely on it that no amount of horse-power would make me _hurry_ over my book, so as not to do my best. If it is written fast, it will be because I can't help writing it fast. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Jan. 16._--Finished my second volume this morning, and am going to send off the MS. of the first volume to-morrow. We have decided that the title shall be "The Mill on the Floss." We have been reading "Humphrey Clinker" in the evenings, and have been much disappointed in it, after the praise of Thackeray and Dickens. _Jan. 26._--Mr. Pigott, Mr. Redford, and Mr. F. Chapman dined with us, and we had a musical evening. Mrs. Congreve and Miss Bury[10] joining us after dinner. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th Jan. 1860.] Thanks for your letter of yesterday, with the Genevese enclosure. No promise, alas! of smallest watch expressing largest admiration, but a desire for "permission to translate." I have been invalided for the last week, and, of course, am a prisoner in the castle of Giant Despair, who growls in my ear that "The Mill on the Floss" is detestable, and that the last volume will be the climax of that general detestableness. Such is the elation attendant on what a self-elected lady correspondent of mine from Scotland calls my "exciting career!" I have had a great pleasure this week. Dr. Inman of Liverpool has dedicated a new book ("Foundation for a New Theory and Practice of Medicine") "to G. H. Lewes, as an acknowledgment of benefit received from noticing his close observation and clear inductive reasoning in 'Sea-side Studies' and the 'Physiology of Common Life.'" That is really gratifying, coming from a _physician_ of some scientific mark, who is _not_ a personal friend. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Feb. 4._--Came this morning a letter from Blackwood announcing the despatch of the first eight sheets of proof of "The Mill on the Floss," and expressing his delight in it. To-night G. has read them, and says, "_Ganz famos!_" Ebenezer! _Feb. 23._--Sir Edward Lytton called on us. Guy Darrell in _propriâ personâ_. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 23d Feb. 1860.] Sir Edward Lytton called on us yesterday. The conversation lapsed chiefly into monologue, from the difficulty I found in making him hear, but under all disadvantages I had an agreeable impression of his kindness and sincerity. He thinks the two defects of "Adam Bede" are the dialect and Adam's marriage with Dinah; but, of course, I would have my teeth drawn rather than give up either. Jacobi told Jean Paul that unless he altered the _dénouement_ of his Titan he would withdraw his friendship from him; and I am preparing myself for your lasting enmity on the ground of the tragedy in my third volume. But an unfortunate duck can only lay blue eggs, however much white ones may be in demand. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Feb. 29._--G. has been in the town to-day, and has agreed for £300 for "The Mill on the Floss" from Harpers of New York. This evening, too, has come a letter from Williams & Norgate, saying that Tauchnitz will give £100 for the German reprint; also, that "Bede Adam" is translated into Hungarian. _March 5._--Yesterday Mr. Lawrence, the portrait-painter, lunched with us, and expressed to G. his wish to take my portrait. _March 9._--Yesterday a letter from Blackwood, expressing his strong delight in my third volume, which he had read to the beginning of "Borne on the tide." To-day young Blackwood called, and told us, among other things, that the last copies of "Clerical Scenes" had gone to-day--twelve for export. Letter came from Germany, announcing a translation of G.'s "Biographical History of Philosophy." _March 11._--To-day the first volume of the German translation of "Adam Bede" came. It is done by Dr. Frese, the same man who translated the "Life of Goethe." _March 20._--Professor Owen sent me his "Palæontology" to-day. Have missed two days of work from headache, and so have not yet finished my book. _March 21._--Finished this morning "The Mill on the Floss," writing from the moment when Maggie, carried out on the water, thinks of her mother and brother. We hope to start for Rome on Saturday, 24th. _Magnificat anima mea!_ The manuscript of "The Mill on the Floss" bears the following inscription: "To my beloved husband, George Henry Lewes, I give this MS. of my third book, written in the sixth year of our life together, at Holly Lodge, South Field, Wandsworth, and finished 21st March, 1860." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 22d March, 1860.] Your letter yesterday morning helped to inspire me for the last eleven pages, if they have any inspiration in them. They were written in a _furor_, but I dare say there is not a word different from what it would have been if I had written them at the slowest pace. We expect to start on Saturday morning, and to be in Rome by Palm Sunday, or else by the following Tuesday. Of course we shall write to you when we know what will be our address in Rome. In the meantime news will gather. I don't mean to send "The Mill on the Floss" to any one except to Dickens, who has behaved with a delicate kindness in a recent matter, which I wish to acknowledge. I am grateful and yet rather sad to have finished--sad that I shall live with my people on the banks of the Floss no longer. But it is time that I should go and absorb some new life and gather fresh ideas. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1859, TO MARCH, 1860. Looking for cases of _inundation_ in _Annual Register_--New House--Holly Lodge, Wandsworth--Letter to John Blackwood--George Eliot fears she has not characteristics of "the popular author"--Subscription to "Adam Bede" 730 copies--Appreciation by a cabinet-maker--Dr. John Brown sends "Rab and his Friends" with an inscription--Letter to Blackwood thereon--Tries to be hopeful--Letters to Miss Hennell--Description of Holly Lodge--Miss Nightingale--Thoughts on death--Scott--Mrs. Clarke writes--Mr. and Mrs. Congreve--Letter to Mrs. Bray on effects of anxiety--Mrs. Clarke dying--Letter to John Blackwood--Wishes Carlyle to read "Adam Bede"--"Life of Frederic" painful--Susceptibility to newspaper criticism--Edinburgh more encouraging than London--Letter to Blackwood to stop puffing notices--Letter from E. Hall, working-man, asking for cheap editions--Sale of "Adam Bede"--Death of Mrs. Clarke--1800 copies of "Adam Bede" sold--Letter to Blackwood--Awakening to fame--Letter to Froude--Mrs. Poyser quoted in House of Commons by Mr. Charles Buxton--Opinions of Charles Reade, Shirley Brooks, and John Murray--Letter to John Blackwood--Warwickshire correspondent insists that Liggins is author of "Adam Bede"--Not flushed with success--Visit to Isle of Wight--Letter to Miss Hennell on rewriting, and pleasure in Mr. and Mrs. Congreve--Letter to _Times_, denying that Liggins is the author--Letter to Blackwood--The Liggins myth--Letter from Bulwer--Finished "The Lifted Veil"--Writing "The Tullivers"--Mrs. Congreve--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Faith in her--Letter from Madame Bodichon--Reply breathing joy in sympathy--Letter to Major Blackwood--Mr. Anders's apology for the Liggins business--"Adam Bede" worth writing--Dulwich gallery--Blackwood gives £400 more in acknowledgment of "Adam Bede's" success--Letter to Miss Hennell on Mrs. Congreve--On difficulty of getting cheap music in England--Professor Aytoun on "Adam Bede"--Letter to Major Blackwood--Liggins--Mrs. Gaskell--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Dislike of Wandsworth--To Crystal Palace to hear "Messiah," and reveals herself to Brays as author of "Adam Bede"--Letter to Brays--Bad effect of talking of her books--Letter to Charles Bray--Melancholy that her writing does not produce effect intended--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--To Switzerland by Paris--At Schweizerhof, Lucerne, with Congreves--Mr. Lewes goes to Hofwyl--Return to Richmond by Bâle and Paris--Fourth edition of "Adam Bede" (5000) sold in a fortnight--Letter to Mrs. Bray on Mrs. Congreve--On the effect of her books and fame--Herbert Spencer on "Adam Bede"--Pamphlet to prove that Scott's novels were written by Thomas Scott--Letter from Dickens on "Adam Bede" referred to--Letter to John Blackwood on "Pug"--Letter to Charles Lewes--"The Physiology of Common Life"--American proposition for a story for £1200--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Distance from experience artistically necessary--Letter to John Blackwood--Development of stories--Visit to Penmaenmawr--Return by Lichfield to Weymouth--Sixth edition of "Adam Bede"--Back to Richmond--Anxiety about new novel--Journey to Gainsboro', Lincolnshire--Letter to Miss Hennell--End of Liggins business--Letter to John Blackwood--A correspondent suggests a sequel to "Adam Bede"--Susceptibility to outside opinion--Seventh edition of "Adam Bede"--Blackwood proposes to pay £800 beyond the bargain for success of "Adam Bede"--Dickens dines at Holly Lodge--Letter to Miss Hennell--Quotes letter from Mrs. Gaskell--Miss Martineau--Dickens asks for story for _All the Year Round_--"Adam Bede, Junior"--Reading Darwin on "Origin of Species"--Bunyan--Letter to Mr. Bray--Article on "Adam Bede" in _Bentley_--In _Revue des Deux Mondes_, by Emile Montégut--Reviews generally--16,000 of "Adam Bede" sold in year--Darwin's book--Letter to Charles Lewes--Mentions fondness of algebra--Letter to Madame Bodichon quoting Mrs. Gaskell's letter--Rewards of the artist lie apart from everything personal--Darwin's book--Molière--Letter to Miss Hennell--Likes to see Shakspeare acted--Hears from M. and Mme. d'Albert--_Cornhill Magazine_--Blackwood's terms for "Mill on the Floss"--Christmas-day with Congreves--Letter of sympathy from Professor Blackie--Third edition of "Clerical Scenes"--Letters to Blackwood--Thanks for concession of copyright of "Adam Bede"--Title of new novel considered--Suggestion of the "Mill on the Floss" accepted--The third volume of "Adam Bede" written in six weeks--Depression with the "Mill"--Sir Edward Lytton--"Adam Bede" translated into Hungarian and German--"Mill on the Floss" finished--Letter to Blackwood--Sad at finishing--Start for Italy. FOOTNOTES: [7] Miss Emily Bury, now Mrs. Geddes. [8] Madame Bodichon. [9] Professor Blackie. [10] Mrs. Congreve's sister. CHAPTER X. [Sidenote: Italy, 1860.] We have finished our journey to Italy--the journey I had looked forward to for years, rather with the hope of the new elements it would bring to my culture than with the hope of immediate pleasure. Travelling can hardly be without a continual current of disappointment, if the main object is not the enlargement of one's general life, so as to make even weariness and annoyances enter into the sum of benefit. One great deduction to me from the delight of seeing world-famous objects is the frequent double consciousness which tells me that I am not enjoying the actual vision enough, and that, when higher enjoyment comes with the reproduction of the scenes in my imagination, I shall have lost some of the details, which impress me too feebly in the present, because the faculties are not wrought up into energetic action. I have no other journal than the briefest record of what we did each day, so I shall put down my recollections whenever I happen to have leisure and inclination--just for the sake of making clear to myself the impressions I have brought away from our three months' travel. The first striking moment in our journey was when we arrived, I think about eleven o'clock at night, at the point in the ascent of the Mont Cenis where we were to quit the diligences and take to the sledges. After a hasty drink of hot coffee in the roadside inn, our large party--the inmates of three diligences--turned out into the starlight to await the signal for getting into the sledges. That signal seemed to be considerably on in the future--to be arrived at through much confusion of luggage-lifting, voices, and leading about of mules. The human bustle and confusion made a poetic contrast with the sublime stillness of the starlit heavens spread over the snowy table-land and surrounding heights. The keenness of the air contributed strongly to the sense of novelty; we had left our every-day, conventional world quite behind us, and were on a visit to Nature in her private home. Once closely packed in our sledge, congratulating ourselves that, after all, we were no more squeezed than in our diligence, I gave myself up to as many naps as chose to take possession of me, and actually slept without very considerable interruption till we were near the summit of the mighty pass. Already there was a faint hint of the morning in the starlight, which showed us the vast, sloping snow-fields as we commenced the descent. I got a few glimpses of the pure, far-stretching whiteness before the sharpening edge of cold forced us to close the window. Then there was no more to be seen till it was time to get out of the sledge and ascend the diligence once more; not, however, without a preliminary struggle with the wind, which fairly blew me down on my slippery standing-ground. The rest of our descent showed us fine, varied scenes of mountain and ravine till we got down at Susa, where breakfast and the railway came as a desirable variety after our long mountain journey and long fast. One of our companions had been a gigantic French soldier, who had in charge a bag of government money. He was my _vis-à-vis_ for some time, and cramped my poor legs not a little with his precious bag, which he would by no means part from. The approach to Turin by the railway gave us a grand view of snowy mountains surrounding the city on three sides. A few hours of rest spent there could leave no very vivid impression. A handsome street, well broken by architectural details, with a glimpse of snowy mountains at the end of the vista, colonnades on each side, and flags waving their bright colors in sign of political joy, is the image that usually rises before me at the mention of Turin. I fancy the said street is the principal one, but in our walk about the town we saw everywhere a similar character of prosperous, well-lodged town existence--only without the colonnades and without the balconies and other details, which make the principal street picturesque. This is the place that Alfieri lived in through many of his young follies, getting tired of it at last for the Piedmontese pettiness of which it was the centre. And now, eighty years later, it is the centre of a widening life which may at last become the life of resuscitated Italy. At the railway station, as we waited to take our departure for Genoa, we had a sight of the man whose name will always be connected with the story of that widening life--Count Cavour--"imitant son portrait," which we had seen in the shops, with unusual closeness. A man pleasant to look upon, with a smile half kind, half caustic; giving you altogether the impression that he thinks of "many matters," but thanks Heaven and makes no boast of them. He was there to meet the Prince de Carignan, who was going to Genoa on his way towards Florence by the same train as ourselves. The prince is a notability with a thick waist, bound in by a gold belt, and with a fat face, predominated over by a large mustache--"Non ragionam di lui." The railway journey from Turin was chiefly distinguished by dust; but I slept through the latter half, without prejudice, however, to the satisfaction with which I lay down in a comfortable bedroom in the Hotel Feder. In Genoa again on a bright, warm spring morning! I was here eleven years ago, and the image that visit had left in my mind was surprisingly faithful, though fragmentary. The outlook from our hotel was nearly the same as before--over a low building with a colonnade, at the masts of the abundant shipping. But there was a striking change in the interior of the hotel. It was like the other, a palace adapted to the purposes of an inn; but be-carpeted and be-furnished with an exaggeration of English fashion. We lost no time in turning out, after breakfast, into the morning sunshine. George was enchanted with the aspect of the place, as we drove or walked along the streets. It was his first vision of anything corresponding to his preconception of Italy. After the Adlergasse, in Nürnberg, surely no streets can be more impressive than the Strada Nuova and Strada Nuovissima, at Genoa. In street architecture I can rise to the highest point of the admiration given to the Palladian style. And here in these chief streets of Genoa the palaces have two advantages over those of Florence: they form a series, creating a general impression of grandeur of which each particular palace gets the benefit; and they have the open gateway, showing the _cortile_ within--sometimes containing grand stone staircases. And all this architectural splendor is accompanied with the signs of actual prosperity. Genova la Superba is not a name of the past merely. We ascended the tower of Santa Maria di Carignano to get a panoramic view of the city, with its embosoming hills and bay--saw the cathedral, with its banded black-and-white marble--the churches of the Annunziata and San Ambrogio, with their wealth of gilding and rich pink-brown marbles--the Palazzo Rosso, with its collection of eminently forgettable pictures--and the pretty gardens of the Palazzo Doria, with their flourishing green close against the sea. A drive in the direction of the Campo Santo, along the dry, pebbly bed of the river, showed us the terraced hills planted with olives, and many picturesque groups of the common people with mules or on carts; not to mention what gives beauty to every corner of the inhabited world--the groups of children squatting against walls or trotting about by the side of their elders or grinning together over their play. One of the personages we were pleased to encounter in the streets here was a quack--a Dulcamara--mounted on his carriage and holding forth with much _brio_ before proceeding to take out the tooth of a negro, already seated in preparation. We left Genoa on the second evening--unhappily, a little too long after sundown, so that we did not get a perfect view of the grand city from the sea. The pale starlight could bring out no color. We had a prosperous passage to Leghorn. Leghorn on a brilliant, warm morning, with five or six hours before us to fill as agreeably as possible! Of course, the first thought was to go to Pisa, but the train would not start till eleven; so, in the meantime, we took a drive about the prosperous-looking town, and saw the great reservoir which receives the water brought from the distant mountains; a beautiful and interesting sight--to look into the glassy depth and see columns and grand arches reflected as if in mockery and frustration of one's desire to see the bottom. But in one corner the light fell so as to reveal that reality instead of the beautiful illusion. On our way back we passed the Hebrew synagogue, and were glad of our coachman's suggestion that we should enter, seeing it was the Jews' Sabbath. At Pisa we took a carriage and drove at once to the cathedral, seeing as we went the well-looking lines of building on each side of the Arno. A wonderful sight is that first glimpse of the cathedral, with the leaning campanile on one side and the baptistery on the other, green turf below, and a clear, blue sky above! The structure of the campanile is exquisitely light and graceful--tier above tier of small circular arches, supported by delicate, round pillars narrowing gradually in circumference, but very slightly, so that there is no striking difference of size between the base and summit. The campanile is all of white marble, but the cathedral has the bands of black and white, softened in effect by the yellowing which time has given to the white. There is a family likeness among all these structures: they all have the delicate little colonnades and circular arches. But the baptistery has stronger traits of the Gothic style in the pinnacles that crown the encircling colonnade. After some dusty delay outside the railway station we set off back again to Livorno, and forthwith got on board our steamboat again--to awake next morning (being Palm-Sunday) at Civita Vecchia. Much waiting before we were allowed to land; and again much waiting for the clumsy process of "visiting" our luggage. I was amused while sitting at the _Dogana_, where almost every one was cross and busy, to see a dog making his way quietly out with a bone in his mouth. Getting into our railway carriage, our _vis-à-vis_--a stout, amiable, intelligent Livornian, with his wife and son, named Dubreux--exclaimed, "C'en est fini d'un peuple qui n'est pas capable de changer une bêtise comme ça!" George got into pleasant talk with him, and his son, about Edinburgh and the scientific men there--the son having been there for some time in order to go through a course of practical science. The father was a naturalist--an entomologist, I think. It was an interesting journey from Civita Vecchia to Rome: at first, a scene of rough, hilly character, then a vast plain, frequently marshy, crowded with asphodels, inhabited by buffaloes; here and there a falcon or other slow, large-winged bird floating and alighting. At last we came in sight of Rome, but there was nothing imposing to be seen. The chief object was what I afterwards knew to be one of the aqueducts, but which I then, in the vagueness of my conceptions, guessed to be the ruins of baths. The railway station where we alighted looked remote and countrified; only the omnibuses and one family carriage were waiting, so that we were obliged to take our chance in one of the omnibuses--that is, the chance of finding no place left for us in the hotels. And so it was. Every one wanted to go to the Hotel d'Angleterre, and every one was disappointed. We, at last, by help of some fellow-travellers, got a small room _au troisième_ at the Hotel d'Amérique; and as soon as that business was settled we walked out to look at Rome--not without a rather heavy load of disappointment on our minds from the vision we had of it from the omnibus windows. A weary length of dirty, uninteresting streets had brought us within sight of the dome of St. Peter's, which was not impressive, seen in a peeping, makeshift manner, just rising above the houses; and the Castle of St. Angelo seemed but a shabby likeness of the engravings. Not one iota had I seen that corresponded with my preconceptions. Our hotel was in the Strada Babuino, which leads directly from the Piazza del Popolo to the Piazza di Spagna. We went to the latter for our first walk, and arriving opposite the high, broad flights of stone steps which lead up to the Trinità di Monte, stopped for the first time with a sense that here was something not quite common and ugly. But I think we got hardly any farther, that evening, than the tall column at the end of the piazza, which celebrates the final settlement by Pius IX. of the Virgin's Immaculate Conception. Oh, yes; I think we wandered farther among narrow and ugly streets, and came into our hotel again still with some dejection at the probable relation our "Rome visited" was to bear to our "Rome unvisited." Discontented with our little room at an extravagant height of stairs and price, we found and took lodgings the next day in the Corso opposite St. Carlo, with a well-mannered Frenchman named Peureux and his little, dark, Italian wife--and so felt ourselves settled for a month. By this time we were in better spirits; for in the morning we had been to the Capitol (Campidoglio, the modern variant for Capitolium), had ascended the tower, and had driven to the Coliseum. The scene, looking along the Forum to the Arch of Titus, resembled strongly that mixture of ruined grandeur with modern life which I had always had in my imagination at the mention of Rome. The approach to the Capitol from the opposite side is also impressive: on the right hand the broad, steep flight of steps leading up to the Church and Monastery of Ara Coeli, placed, some say, on the site of the Arx; in the front a less steep flight of steps _à cordon_ leading to that lower, flatter portion of the hill which was called the _Intermontium_, and which now forms a sort of piazza, with the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the centre, and on three sides buildings designed, or rather modified, by Michael Angelo--on the left the Museum, on the right the Museo dei Conservatori, and, on the side opposite the steps, the building devoted to public offices (Palazzo dei Senatori), in the centre of which stands the tower. On each hand, at the summit of the steps, are the two Colossi, less celebrated but hardly less imposing in their calm grandeur than the Colossi of the Quirinal. They are strangely streaked and disfigured by the blackening weather; but their large-eyed, mild might gives one a thrill of awe, half like what might have been felt by the men of old who saw the divine twins watering their steeds when they brought the news of victory. Perhaps the world can hardly offer a more interesting outlook than that from the tower of the Capitol. The eye leaps first to the mountains that bound the Campagna--the Sabine and Alban Hills and the solitary Soracte farther on to the left. Then, wandering back across the Campagna, it searches for the Sister Hills, hardly distinguishable now as hills. The Palatine is conspicuous enough, marked by the ruins of the Palace of the Cæsars, and rising up beyond the extremity of the Forum. And now, once resting on the Forum, the eye will not readily quit the long area that begins with the Clivus Capitolinus and extends to the Coliseum--an area that was once the very focus of the world. The Campo Vaccino, the site probably of the Comitium, was this first morning covered with carts and animals, mingling a simple form of actual life with those signs of the highly artificial life that had been crowded here in ages gone by: the three Corinthian pillars at the extremity of the Forum, said to have belonged to the Temple of Jupiter Stator; the grand temple of Antoninus and Faustina; the white arch of Titus; the Basilica of Constantine; the temple built by Adrian, with its great, broken granite columns scattered around on the green, rising ground; the huge arc of the Coliseum and the arch of Constantine. The scenes of these great relics remained our favorite haunt during our stay at Rome; and one day, near the end of it, we entered the enclosure of the Clivus Capitolinus and the excavated space of the Forum. The ruins on the Clivus--the façade of massive columns on the right, called the temple of Vespasian; the two Corinthian columns, called the temple of Saturn, in the centre; and the arch of Septimius Severus on the left--have their rich color set off by the luxuriant green, clothing the lower masonry, which formed the foundations of the crowded buildings on this narrow space, and, as a background to them all, the rough solidity of the ancient wall forming the back of the central building on the Intermontium, and regarded as one of the few remains of Republican constructions. On either hand, at another angle from the arch, the ancient road forming the double ascent of the Clivus is seen, firm and level, with its great blocks of pavement. The arch of Septimius Severus is particularly rich in color; and the poorly executed bas-reliefs of military groups still look out in the grotesque completeness of attitude and expression, even on the sides exposed to the weather. From the Clivus a passage, underneath the present road, leads into the Forum, whose immense pinkish granite columns lie on the weather-worn white marble pavement. The column of Phocas, with its base no longer "buried," stands at the extreme corner nearest the Clivus; and the three elegant columns of the temple (say some) of Jupiter Stator, mark the opposite extremity; between lie traces, utterly confused to all but erudite eyes, of marble steps and of pedestals stripped of their marble. Let me see what I most delighted in, in Rome. Certainly this drive from the Clivus to the Coliseum was, from first to last, one of the chief things; but there are many objects and many impressions of various kinds which I can reckon up as of almost equal interest: the Coliseum itself, with the view from it; the drive along the Appian Way to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, and the view from thence of the Campagna bridged by the aqueduct; the baths of Titus, with the remnants of their arabesques, seen by the light of torches, in the now damp and gloomy spaces; the glimpse of the Tarpeian rock, with its growth of cactus and rough herbage; the grand, bare arch brickwork of the Palace of the Cæsars rising in huge masses on the Palatine; the theatre of Marcellus bursting suddenly into view from among the crowded mean houses of the modern city, and still more the Temple of Minerva and Temple of Nerva, also set in the crowded city of the present; and the exterior of the Pantheon, if it were not marred by the Papal belfries--these are the traces of ancient Rome that have left the strongest image of themselves in my mind. I ought not to leave out Trajan's column, and the forum in which it stands; though the severe cold tint of the gray granite columns, or fragments of columns, gave this forum rather a dreary effect to me. For vastness there is perhaps nothing more impressive in Rome than the Baths of Caracalla, except the Coliseum; and I remember that it was among them that I first noticed the lovely effect of the giant fennel, luxuriant among the crumbling brickwork. Among the ancient sculptures I think I must place on a level the Apollo, the Dying Gladiator, and the Lateran Antinous: they affected me equally in different ways. After these I delighted in the Venus of the Capitol, and the Kissing Children in the same room; the Sophocles at the Lateran Museum; the Nile; the black, laughing Centaur at the Capitol; the Laughing Faun in the Vatican; and the _Sauroktonos_, or Boy with the Lizard, and the sitting statue called Menander. The Faun of Praxiteles, and the old Faun with the infant Bacchus, I had already seen at Munich, else I should have mentioned them among my first favorites. Perhaps the greatest treat we had at the Vatican was the sight of a few statues, including the Apollo, by torchlight--all the more impressive because it was our first sight of the Vatican. Even the mere hurrying along the vast halls, with the fitful torchlight falling on the innumerable statues and busts and bas-reliefs and sarcophagi, would have left a sense of awe at these crowded, silent forms which have the solemnity of suddenly arrested life. Wonderfully grand these halls of the Vatican are; and there is but one complaint to be made against the home provided for this richest collection of antiquities--it is that there is no historical arrangement of them, and no catalogue. The system of classification is based on the history of their collection by the different popes, so that for every other purpose but that of securing to each pope his share of glory, it is a system of helter-skelter. Of Christian Rome, St. Peter's is, of course, the supreme wonder. The piazza, with Bernini's colonnades, and the gradual slope upward to the mighty temple, gave me always a sense of having entered some millennial new Jerusalem, where all small and shabby things were unknown. But the exterior of the cathedral itself is even ugly; it causes a constant irritation by its partial concealment of the dome. The first impression from the interior was, perhaps, at a higher pitch than any subsequent impression, either of its beauty or vastness; but then, on later visits, the lovely marble, which has a tone at once subdued and warm, was half-covered with hideous red drapery. There is hardly any detail one cares to dwell on in St. Peter's. It is interesting, for once, to look at the mosaic altar-pieces, some of which render with marvellous success such famous pictures as the Transfiguration, the Communion of St. Jerome, and the Entombment or Disentombment of St. Petronilla. And some of the monuments are worth looking at more than once, the chief glory of that kind being Canova's Lions. I was pleased one day to watch a group of poor people looking with an admiration that had a half-childish terror in it at the sleeping lion, and with a sort of daring air thrusting their fingers against the teeth of the waking "mane-bearer." We ascended the dome near the end of our stay, but the cloudy horizon was not friendly to our distant view, and Rome itself is ugly to a bird's-eye contemplation. The chief interest of the ascent was the vivid realization it gave of the building's enormous size, and after that the sight of the inner courts and garden of the Vatican. Our most beautiful view of Rome and the Campagna was one we had much earlier in our stay, before the snow had vanished from the mountains; it was from the terrace of the Villa Pamfili Doria. Of smaller churches I remember especially Santa Maria degli Angeli, a church formed by Michael Angelo by additions to the grand hall in the Baths of Diocletian--the only remaining hall of ancient Rome; and the Church of San Clemente, where there is a chapel painted by Masaccio, as well as a perfect specimen of the ancient enclosure near the tribune, called the presbytery, with the _ambones_ or pulpits from which the lessons and gospel were read. Santa Maria Maggiore is an exquisitely beautiful basilica, rich in marbles from a pagan temple; and the reconstructed San Paolo fuori le Mura is a wonder of wealth and beauty, with its lines of white-marble columns--if one could possibly look with pleasure at such a perverted appliance of money and labor as a church built in an unhealthy solitude. After St. Peter's, however, the next great monument of Christian art is the Sistine Chapel; but since I care for the chapel solely for the sake of its ceiling, I ought rather to number it among my favorite paintings than among the most memorable buildings. Certainly this ceiling of Michael Angelo's is the most wonderful fresco in the world. After it come Raphael's School of Athens and Triumph of Galatea, so far as Rome is concerned. Among oil-paintings there I like best the Madonna di Foligno, for the sake of the cherub who is standing and looking upward; the Perugino also, in the Vatican, and the pretty Sassoferrato, with the clouds budding angels; at the Barberini Palace, Beatrice Cenci, and Una Schiava, by Titian; at the Sciarra Palace, the Joueurs de Violon, by Raphael, another of Titian's golden-haired women, and a sweet Madonna and Child with a bird, by Fra Bartolomeo; at the Borghese Palace, Domenichino's Chase, the Entombment, by Raphael, and the Three Ages--a copy of Titian, by Sassoferrato. We should have regretted entirely our efforts to get to Rome during the Holy Week, instead of making Florence our first resting-place, if we had not had the compensation for wearisome, empty ceremonies and closed museums in the wonderful spectacle of the illumination of St. Peter's. That, really, is a thing so wondrous, so magically beautiful, that one can't find in one's heart to say it is not worth doing. I remember well the first glimpse we had as we drove out towards it, of the outline of the dome like a new constellation on the black sky. I thought _that_ was the final illumination, and was regretting our tardy arrival, from the _détour_ we had to make, when, as our carriage stopped in front of the cathedral, the great bell sounded, and in an instant the grand illumination flashed out and turned the outline of stars into a palace of gold. Venus looked out palely. One of the finest positions in Rome is the Monte Cavallo (the Quirinal), the site of the pope's palace, and of the fountain against which are placed the two Colossi--the Castor and Pollux, ascribed, after a lax method of affiliation, to Phidias and Praxiteles. Standing near this fountain one has a real sense of being on a hill; city and distant ridge stretching below. Close by is the Palazzo Rospigliosi, where we went to see Guido's Aurora. Another spot where I was struck with the view of modern Rome (and _that_ happened rarely) was at San Pietro in Vincoli, on the Esquiline, where we went to see Michael Angelo's Moses. Turning round before one enters the church, a palm-tree in the high foreground relieves very picturesquely the view of the lower distance. The Moses did not affect me agreeably; both the attitude and the expression of the face seemed to me, in that one visit, to have an exaggeration that strained after effect without reaching it. The failure seemed to me of this kind: Moses was an angry man trying to frighten the people by his mien, instead of being rapt by his anger, and terrible without self-consciousness. To look at the statue of Christ, after the other works of Michael Angelo at Rome, was a surprise; in this the fault seems to incline slightly to the namby-pamby. The Pietà in St. Peter's has real tenderness in it. The visit to the Farnesina was one of the most interesting among our visits to Roman palaces. It is here that Raphael painted the Triumph of Galatea, and here this wonderful fresco is still bright upon the wall. In the same room is a colossal head, drawn by Michael Angelo with a bit of charcoal, by way of _carte-de-visite_, one day that he called on Daniele di Volterra, who was painting detestably in this room, and happened to be absent. In the entrance-hall, preceding the Galatea room, are the frescoes by Raphael representing the story of Cupid and Psyche; but we did not linger long to look at them, as they disappointed us. We visited only four artists' studios in Rome: Gibson's, the sculptor; Frey's, the landscape painter; Riedel's, genre painter, and Overbeck's. Gibson's was entirely disappointing to me, so far as his own sculptures are concerned; except the Cacciatore, which he sent to the Great Exhibition, I could see nothing but feeble imitations of the antique--no spontaneity and no vigor. Miss Hosmer's Beatrice Cenci is a pleasing and new conception; and her little Puck a bit of humor that one would like to have if one were a grand seigneur. Frey is a very meritorious landscape painter--finished in execution and poetic in feeling. His Egyptian scenes--the Simoon, the Pair in the Light of Sunset, and the Island of Philæ--are memorable pictures; so is the View of Athens, with its blue, island-studded sea. Riedel interested us greatly with his account of the coincidence between the views of light and colors at which he had arrived through his artistic experience, and Goethe's theory of colors, with which he became acquainted only after he had thought of putting his own ideas into shape for publication. He says the majority of painters continue their work when the sun shines from the north--they paint with _blue_ light. But it was our visit to Overbeck that we were most pleased not to have missed. The man himself is more interesting than his pictures: a benevolent calm and quiet conviction breathes from his person and manners. He has a thin, rather high-nosed face, with long gray hair, set off by a maroon velvet cap, and a gray scarf over his shoulders. Some of his cartoons pleased me: one large one of our Saviour passing from the midst of the throng who were going to cast him from the brow of the hill at Capernaum--one foot resting on a cloud borne up by cherubs; and some smaller round cartoons representing the Parable of the Ten Virgins, and applying it to the function of the artist. We drove about a great deal in Rome, but were rather afflicted in our drives by the unending walls that enclose everything like a garden, even outside the city gates. First among our charming drives was that to the Villa Pamfili Doria--a place which has the beauties of an English park and gardens, with views such as no English park can show; not to speak of the columbarium or ancient Roman burying-place, which has been disinterred in the grounds. The compactest of all burying-places must these columbaria be: little pigeon-holes, tier above tier, for the small urns containing the ashes of the dead. In this one traces of peacocks and other figures in fresco, ornamenting the divisions between the rows, are still visible. We sat down in the sunshine by the side of the water, which is made to fall in a cascade in the grounds fronting the house, and then spreads out into a considerable breadth of mirror for the plantation on the slope which runs along one side of it. On the opposite side is a broad, grassy walk, and here we sat on some blocks of stone, watching the little green lizards. Then we walked on up the slope on the other side, and through a grove of weird ilexes, and across a plantation of tall pines, where we saw the mountains in the far distance. A beautiful spot! We ought to have gone there again. Another drive was to the Villa Albani, where, again, the view is grand. The precious sculptures once there are all at Munich now; and the most remarkable remnants of the collection are the bas-relief of Antinous, and the Æsop. The Antinous is the least beautiful of all the representations of that sad loveliness that I have seen--be it said in spite of Winckelmann; attitude and face are strongly Egyptian. In an outside pavilion in the garden were some interesting examples of Greek masks. Our journey to Frascati by railway was fortunate. The day was fine, except, indeed, for the half hour that we were on the heights of Tusculum, and longed for a clear horizon. But the weather was so generally gloomy during our stay in Rome that we were "thankful for small mercies" in the way of sunshine. I enjoyed greatly our excursion up the hill on donkey-back to the ruins of Tusculum--in spite of our loquacious guide, who exasperated George. The sight of the Campagna on one side, and of Mount Algidus, with its snow-capped fellows, and Mount Albano, with Rocca di Papa on its side, and Castel Gandolfo below on the other side, was worth the trouble--to say nothing of the little theatre, which was the most perfect example of an ancient theatre I had then seen in that pre-Pompeian period of my travels. After lunching at Frascati we strolled out to the Villa Aldobrandini, and enjoyed a brighter view of the Campagna in the afternoon sunlight. Then we lingered in a little croft enclosed by plantations, and enjoyed this familiar-looking bit of grass with wild-flowers perhaps more, even, than the greatest novelties. There are fine plantations on the hill behind the villa, and there we wandered till it was time to go back to the railway. A literally grotesque thing in these plantations is the opening of a grotto in the hillside, cut in the form of a huge Greek comic mask. It was a lovely walk from the town downward to the railway station--between the olive-clad slopes looking towards the illimitable plain. Our best view of the aqueducts was on this journey, but it was the tantalizing sort of view one gets from a railway carriage. Our excursion to Tivoli, reserved till nearly the end of our stay, happened on one of those cruel, seductive days that smile upon you at five o'clock in the morning, to become cold and cloudy at eight, and resolutely rainy at ten. And so we ascended the hill through the vast, venerable olive grove, thinking what would be the effect of sunshine among those gray, fantastically twisted trunks and boughs; and paddled along the wet streets under umbrellas to look at the Temple of the Sibyl, and to descend the ravine of the waterfalls. Yet it was enjoyable; for the rain was not dense enough to shroud the near view of rock and foliage. We looked for the first time at a rock of Travertine, with its curious petrified vegetable forms, and lower down at a mighty cavern, under which the smaller cascade rushes--an awful hollow in the midst of huge, rocky masses. But--rain, rain, rain! No possibility of seeing the Villa of Hadrian, chief wonder of Tivoli: and so we had our carriage covered up and turned homeward in despair. The last week of our stay we went for the first time to the picture-gallery of the Capitol, where we saw the famous Guercino--the Entombment of Petronilla--which we had already seen in mosaic at St. Peter's. It is a stupendous piece of painting, about which one's only feeling is that it might as well have been left undone. More interesting is the portrait of Michael Angelo, by himself--a deeply melancholy face. And there is also a picture of a bishop, by Giovanni Bellini, which arrested us a long while. After these, I remember most distinctly Veronese's Europa, superior to that we afterwards saw at Venice; a delicious mythological Poussin, all light and joy; and a Sebastian, by Guido, exceptionally beautiful among the many detestable things of his in this gallery. The Lateran Museum, also, was a sight we had neglected till this last week, though it turned out to be one of the most memorable. In the classical museum are the great Antinous, a Bacchus, and the Sophocles; besides a number of other remains of high interest, especially in the department of architectural decoration. In the museum of Christian antiquities there are, besides sculptures, copies of the frescoes in the Catacombs--invaluable as a record of those perishable remains. If we ever go to Rome again the Lateran Museum will be one of the first places I shall wish to revisit. We saw the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, on the Appian Way--the long, dark passages, with great oblong hollows in the rock for the bodies long since crumbled, and the one or two openings out of the passages into a rather wider space, called chapels, but no indications of paintings or other detail--our monkish guide being an old man, who spoke with an indistinct grunt that would not have enlightened us if we had asked any questions. In the church through which we entered there is a strangely barbarous reclining statue of St. Sebastian, with arrows sticking all over it. A spot that touched me deeply was Shelley's grave. The English cemetery in which he lies is the most attractive burying-place I have seen. It lies against the old city walls, close to the Porta San Paolo and the pyramid of Caius Cestius--one of the quietest spots of old Rome. And there, under the shadow of the old walls on one side, and cypresses on the other, lies the _Cor cordium_, forever at rest from the unloving cavillers of this world, whether or not he may have entered on other purifying struggles in some world unseen by us. The grave of Keats lies far off from Shelley's, unshaded by wall or trees. It is painful to look upon, because of the inscription on the stone, which seems to make him still speak in bitterness from his grave.[11] [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th April, 1860.] A wet day for the first time since we left Paris! That assists our consciences considerably in urging us to write our letters on this fourth day at Rome, for I will not pretend that writing a letter, even to you, can be anything more alluring than a duty when there is a blue sky over the Coliseum and the Arch of Constantine, and all the other marvels of this marvellous place. Since our arrival, in the middle of Sunday, I have been gradually rising from the depth of disappointment to an intoxication of delight; and that makes me wish to do for you what no one ever did for me--warn you that you must expect no grand impression on your first entrance into Rome, at least, if you enter it from Civita Vecchia. My heart sank, as it would if you behaved shabbily to me, when I looked through the windows of the omnibus as it passed through street after street of ugly modern Rome, and in that mood the dome of St. Peter's and the Castle of St. Angelo--the only grand objects on our way--could only look disappointing to me. I believe the impression on entering from the Naples side is quite different; there one must get a glimpse of the broken grandeur and Renaissance splendor that one associates with the word "Rome." So keep up your spirits in the omnibus when your turn comes, and believe that you will mount the Capitol the next morning, as we did, and look out on the Forum and the Coliseum, far on to the Alban mountains, with snowy Apennines behind them, and feel--what I leave you to imagine, because the rain has left off, and my husband commands me to put on my bonnet. (Two hours later.) Can you believe that I have not had a headache since we set out? But I would willingly have endured more than one to be less anxious than I am about Mr. Lewes's health. Now that we are just come in from our walk to the Pantheon he is obliged to lie down with terrible oppression of the head; and since we have been in Rome he has been nearly deaf on one side. That is the dark "crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air" just now; everything else in our circumstances here is perfect. We are glad to have been driven into apartments, instead of remaining at the hotel, as we had intended; for we enjoy the abundance of room and the quiet that belong to this mode of life, and we get our cooking and all other comforts in perfection at little more than a third of the hotel prices. Most of the visitors to Rome this season seem to come only for a short stay; and, as apartments can't be taken for less than a month, the hotels are full and the lodgings are empty. Extremely unpleasant for the people who have lodgings to let, but very convenient for us, since we get excellent rooms in a good situation for a moderate price. We have a good little landlady, who can speak nothing but Italian, so that she serves as a _parlatrice_ for us, and awakens our memory of Italian dialogue--a memory which consists chiefly of recollecting Italian words without knowing their meaning, and English words without knowing the Italian for them. I shall tell you nothing of what we have seen. Have you not a husband who has seen it all, and can tell you much better? Except, perhaps, one sight which might have had some interest for him, namely, Count Cavour, who was waiting with other eminences at the Turin station to receive the Prince de Carignan, the new Viceroy of Tuscany. A really pleasant sight--not the prince, who is a large, stout "mustache," squeezed in at the waist with a gold belt, looking like one of those dressed-up personages who are among the chessmen that the Cavours of the world play their game with. The pleasant sight was Count Cavour, in plainest dress, with a head full of power, mingled with _bonhomie_. We had several fellow-travellers who belonged to Savoy, and were full of chagrin at the prospect of the French annexation. Our most agreeable companion was a Baron de Magliano, a Neapolitan who has married a French wife with a large fortune, and has been living in France for years, but has now left his wife and children behind for the sake of entering the Sardinian army, and, if possible, helping to turn out the Neapolitan Bourbons. I feel some stirrings of the insurrectionary spirit myself when I see the red pantaloons at every turn in the streets of Rome. I suppose Mrs. Browning could explain to me that this is part of the great idea nourished in the soul of the modern saviour, Louis Napoleon, and that for the French to impose a hateful government on the Romans is the only proper sequence to the story of the French Revolution. Oh, the beautiful men and women and children here! Such wonderful babies with wise eyes! such grand-featured mothers nursing them! As one drives along the streets sometimes, one sees a madonna and child at every third or fourth upper window; and on Monday a little crippled girl, seated at the door of a church, looked up at us with a face full of such pathetic sweetness and beauty that I think it can hardly leave me again. Yesterday we went to see dear Shelley's tomb, and it was like a personal consolation to me to see that simple outward sign that he is at rest, where no hatred can ever reach him again. Poor Keats's tombstone, with that despairing, bitter inscription, is almost as painful to think of as Swift's. And what have you been doing, being, or suffering in these long twelve days? While we were standing with weary impatience in the custom-house at Civita Vecchia, Mr. Congreve was delivering his third lecture, and you were listening. And what else? _Friday._--Since I wrote my letter we have not been able to get near the post-office. Yesterday was taken up with seeing ceremonies, or, rather, with waiting for them. I knelt down to receive the pope's blessing, remembering what Pius VII. said to the soldier--that he would never be the worse for the blessing of an old man. But, altogether, these ceremonies are a melancholy, hollow business, and we regret bitterly that the Holy Week has taken up our time from better things. I have a cold and headache this morning, and in other ways am not conscious of improvement from the pope's blessing. I may comfort myself with thinking that the King of Sardinia is none the worse for the pope's curse. It is farcical enough that the excommunication is posted up at the Church of St. John Lateran, out of everybody's way, and yet there are police to guard it. [Sidenote: Italy, 1860.] How much more I have to write about Rome! How I should like to linger over every particular object that has left an image in my memory! But here I am only to give a hasty sketch of what we saw and did at each place at which we paused in our three months' life in Italy. It was on the 29th of April that we left Rome, and on the morning of the 30th we arrived at Naples--under a rainy sky, alas! but not so rainy as to prevent our feeling the beauty of the city and bay, and declaring it to surpass all places we had seen before. The weather cleared up soon after our arrival at the Hotel des Étrangers, and after a few days it became brilliant, showing us the blue sea, the purple mountains, and bright city, in which we had almost disbelieved as we saw them in the pictures. Hardly anything can be more lovely than Naples seen from Posilippo under a blue sky: the irregular outline with which the town meets the sea, jutting out in picturesque masses, then lifted up high on a basis of rock, with the grand Castle of St. Elmo and the monastery on the central height crowning all the rest; the graceful outline of purple Vesuvius rising beyond the Molo, and the line of deeply indented mountains carrying the eye along to the Cape of Sorrento; and, last of all, Capri sleeping between sea and sky in the distance. Crossing the promontory of Posilippo, another wonderful scene presents itself: white Nisida on its island rock; the sweep of bay towards Pozzuoli; beyond that, in fainter colors of farther distance, the Cape of Miseno and the peaks of Ischia. Our first expedition was to Pozzuoli and Miseno, on a bright, warm day, with a slipshod Neapolitan driver, whom I christened Baboon, and who acted as our charioteer throughout our stay at Naples. Beyond picturesque Pozzuoli, jutting out with precipitous piles of building into the sea, lies Baiæ. Here we halted to look at a great circular temple, where there was a wonderful echo that made whispers circulate and become loud on the opposite side to that on which they were uttered. Here, for our amusement, a young maiden and a little old man danced to the sound of a tambourine and fife. On our way to Baiæ we had stopped to see the Lake Avernus, no longer terrible to behold, and the amphitheatre of Cumæ, now grown over with greensward, and fringed with garden stuff. From Baiæ we went to Miseno--the Misenum where Pliny was stationed with the fleet--and looked out from the promontory on the lovely isles of Ischia and Procida. On the approach to this promontory lies the Piscina Mirabilis, one of the most striking remains of Roman building. It is a great reservoir, into which one may now descend dryshod and look up at the lofty arches festooned with delicate plants, while the sunlight shoots aslant through the openings above. It was on this drive, coming back towards Pozzuoli, that we saw the Mesembryanthemum in its greatest luxuriance--a star of amethyst with its golden tassel in the centre. The amphitheatre at Pozzuoli is the most interesting in Italy after the Coliseum. The seats are in excellent preservation, and the subterranean structures for water and for the introduction of wild beasts are unique. The temple of Jupiter Serapis is another remarkable ruin, made more peculiar by the intrusion of the water, which makes the central structure, with its great columns, an island to be approached by a plank bridge. In the views from Capo di Monte--the king's summer residence--and from St. Elmo one enjoys not only the view towards the sea, but the wide, green plain sprinkled with houses and studded with small towns or villages, bounded on the one hand by Vesuvius, and shut in, in every other direction, by the nearer heights close upon Naples, or by the sublimer heights of the distant Apennines. We had the view from St. Elmo on a clear, breezy afternoon, in company with a Frenchman and his wife, come from Rome with his family after a two years' residence there--worth remembering for the pretty bondage the brusque, stern, thin father was under to the tiny, sickly looking boy. It was a grand drive up to Capo di Monte--between rich plantations, with glimpses, as we went up, of the city lying in picturesque irregularity below; and as we went down, in the other direction, views of distant mountain rising above some pretty accident of roof or groups of trees in the foreground. One day we went, from this drive, along the Poggio Reale to the cemetery--the most ambitious burying-place I ever saw, with building after building of elaborate architecture, serving as tombs to various _Arci-confraternità_ as well as to private families, all set in the midst of well-kept gardens. The humblest kind of tombs there were long niches for coffins, in a wall bordering the carriage-road, which are simply built up when the coffin is once in--the inscription being added on this final bit of masonry. The lines of lofty sepulchres suggested to one very vividly the probable appearance of the Appian Way when the old Roman tombs were in all their glory. Our first visit to the Museo Borbonico was devoted to the sculpture, of which there is a precious collection. Of the famous Balbi family, found at Herculaneum, the mother, in grand drapery, wound round her head and body, is the most unforgetable--a really grand woman of fifty, with firm mouth and knitted brow, yet not unbenignant. Farther on in this transverse hall is a Young Faun with the Infant Bacchus--a different conception altogether from the fine Munich statue, but delicious for humor and geniality. Then there is the Aristides--more real and speaking and easy in attitude even than the Sophocles at Rome. Opposite is a lovely Antinous, in no mythological character, but in simple, melancholy beauty. In the centre of the deep recess, in front of which these statues are placed, is the colossal Flora, who holds up her thin dress in too finicking a style for a colossal goddess; and on the floor--to be seen by ascending a platform--is the precious, great mosaic representing the Battle of the Issus, found at Pompeii. It is full of spirit, the _ordonnance_ of the figures is very much after the same style as in the ancient bas-reliefs, and the colors are still vivid enough for us to have a just idea of the effect. In the halls on each side of this central one there are various Bacchuses and Apollos, Atlas groaning under the weight of the Globe, the Farnese Hercules, the Toro Farnese, and, among other things less memorable, a glorious Head of Jupiter. The bronzes here are even more interesting than the marbles. Among them there is Mercury Resting, the Sleeping Faun, the little Dancing Faun, and the Drunken Faun snapping his fingers, of which there is a marble copy at Munich, with the two remarkable Heads of Plato and Seneca. But our greatest treat at the Museo Borbonico could only be enjoyed after our visit to Pompeii, where we went, unhappily, in the company of some Russians whose acquaintance G. had made at the _table d'hôte_. I hope I shall never forget the solemnity of our first entrance into that silent city, and the walk along the street of tombs. After seeing the principal houses we went, as a proper climax, to the Forum, where, among the lines of pedestals and the ruins of temples and tribunal, we could see Vesuvius overlooking us; then to the two theatres, and finally to the amphitheatre. This visit prepared us to enjoy the collection of _piccoli bronzi_, of paintings and mosaics at the Museo. Several of the paintings have considerable positive merit. I remember particularly a large one of Orestes and Pylades, which in composition and general conception might have been a picture of yesterday. But the most impressive collection of remains found at Pompeii and Herculaneum is that of the ornaments, articles of food and domestic utensils, pieces of bread, loaves with the bakers' names on them, fruits, corn, various seeds, paste in the vessel, imperfectly mixed, linen just wrung in washing, eggs, oil consolidated in a glass bottle, wine mixed with the lava, and a piece of asbestos; gold lace, a lens, a lantern with sides of talc, gold ornaments of Etruscan character, patty-pans (!), moulds for cakes; ingenious portable cooking apparatus, urn for hot water, portable candelabrum, to be raised or lowered at will, bells, dice, theatre-checks, and endless objects that tell of our close kinship with those old Pompeians. In one of the rooms of this collection there are the Farnese cameos and engraved gems, some of them--especially of the latter--marvellously beautiful, complicated, and exquisitely minute in workmanship. I remember particularly one splendid yellow stone engraved with an elaborate composition of Apollo and his chariot and horses--a masterpiece of delicate form. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 5th May, 1860.] We left Rome a week ago, almost longing, at last, to come southward in search of sunshine. Every one likes to boast of peculiar experience, and we can boast of having gone to Rome in the very worst spring that has been known for the last twenty years. Here, at Naples, we have had some brilliant days, though the wind is still cold, and rain has often fallen heavily in the night. It is the very best change for us after Rome; there is comparatively little art to see, and there is nature in transcendent beauty. We both think it the most beautiful place in the world, and are sceptical about Constantinople, which has not had the advantage of having been seen by us. That is the fashion of travellers, as you know: for you must have been bored many times in your life by people who have insisted on it that you _must_ go and see the thing _they_ have seen--there is nothing like it. We shall bore you in that way, I dare say--so prepare yourself. Our plan at present is to spend the next week in seeing Pæstum, Amalfi, Castellamare, and Sorrento, and drinking in as much of this Southern beauty, in a quiet way, as our souls are capable of absorbing. The calm blue sea, and the mountains sleeping in the afternoon light, as we have seen them to-day from the height of St. Elmo, make one feel very passive and contemplative, and disinclined to bustle about in search of meaner sights. Yet I confess Pompeii, and the remains of Pompeian art and life in the Museum, have been impressive enough to rival the sea and sky. It is a thing never to be forgotten--that walk through the silent city of the past, and then the sight of utensils and eatables and ornaments and half-washed linen and hundreds of other traces of life so startlingly like our own in its minutest details, suddenly arrested by the fiery deluge. All that you will see some day, and with the advantage of younger eyes than mine. We expect to reach Florence (by steamboat, alas!) on the 17th, so that if you have the charity to write to me again, address to me there. We thought the advance to eighteen in the number of hearers was very satisfactory, and rejoiced over it. The most solid comfort one can fall back upon is the thought that the business of one's life--the work at home after the holiday is done--is to help in some small, nibbling way to reduce the sum of ignorance, degradation, and misery on the face of this beautiful earth. I am writing at night--Mr. Lewes is already asleep, else he would say, "Send my kind regards to them all." We have often talked of you, and the thought of seeing you again makes the South Fields look brighter in our imagination than they could have looked from the dreariest part of the world if you had not been living in them. [Sidenote: Italy, 1860.] The pictures at Naples are worth little: the Marriage of St. Catherine, a small picture by Correggio; a Holy Family, by Raphael, with a singularly fine St. Ann, and Titian's Paul the Third, are the only paintings I have registered very distinctly in all the large collection. The much-praised frescoes of the dome in a chapel of the cathedral, and the oil-paintings over the altars, by Domenichino and Spagnoletto, produced no effect on me. Worth more than all these are Giotto's frescoes in the choir of the little old Church of l'Incoronata, though these are not, I think, in Giotto's ripest manner, for they are inferior to his frescoes in the Santa Croce at Florence--more uniform in the type of face. We went to a Sunday-morning service at the cathedral, and saw a detachment of silver busts of saints ranged around the tribune, Naples being famous for gold and silver sanctities. When we had been a week at Naples we set off in our carriage with Baboon on an expedition to Pæstum, arriving the first evening at Salerno--beautiful Salerno, with a bay as lovely, though in a different way, as the bay of Naples. It has a larger sweep; grander piles of rocky mountain on the north and northeast; then a stretch of low plain, the mountains receding; and, finally, on the south, another line of mountain coast extending to the promontory of Sicosa. From Salerno we started early in the morning for Pæstum, with no alloy to the pleasure of the journey but the dust, which was capable of making a simoon under a high wind. For a long way we passed through a well-cultivated plain, the mountains on our left and the sea on our right; but farther on came a swampy, unenclosed space of great extent, inhabited by buffaloes, who lay in groups, comfortably wallowing in the muddy water, with their grand, stupid heads protruding horizontally. On approaching Pæstum, the first thing one catches sight of is the Temple of Vesta, which is not beautiful either for form or color, so that we began to tremble lest disappointment were to be the harvest of our dusty journey. But the fear was soon displaced by almost rapturous admiration at the sight of the great Temple of Neptune--the finest thing, I verily believe, that we had yet seen in Italy. It has all the requisites to make a building impressive: First, _form_. What perfect satisfaction and repose for the eye in the calm repetition of those columns; in the proportions of height and length, of front and sides; the right thing is _found_--it is not being sought after in uneasy labor of detail or exaggeration. Next, _color_. It is built of Travertine, like the other two temples; but while they have remained, for the most part, a cold gray, this Temple of Neptune has a rich, warm, pinkish brown, that seems to glow and deepen under one's eyes. Lastly, _position_. It stands on the rich plain, covered with long grass and flowers, in sight of the sea on one hand, and the sublime blue mountains on the other. Many plants caress the ruins; the acanthus is there, and I saw it in green life for the first time; but the majority of the plants on the floor, or bossing the architrave, are familiar to me as home flowers--purple mallows, snapdragons, pink hawksweed, etc. On our way back we saw a herd of buffaloes clustered near a pond, and one of them was rolling himself in the water like a gentleman enjoying his bath. The next day we went in the morning from Salerno to Amalfi. It is an unspeakably grand drive round the mighty rocks with the sea below; and Amalfi itself surpasses all imagination of a romantic site for a city that once made itself famous in the world. We stupidly neglected seeing the cathedral, but we saw a macaroni-mill and a paper-mill from among the many that are turned by the rushing stream, which, with its precipitous course down the ravine, creates an immense water-power; and we climbed up endless steps to the Capuchin Monastery, to see nothing but a cavern where there are barbarous images and a small cloister with double Gothic arches. Our way back to La Cava gave us a repetition of the grand drive we had had in the morning by the coast, and beyond that an inland drive of much loveliness, through Claude-like scenes of mountain, trees, and meadows, with picturesque accidents of building, such as single round towers, on the heights. The valley beyond La Cava, in which our hotel lay, is of quite paradisaic beauty; a rich, cultivated spot, with mountains behind and before--those in front varied by ancient buildings that a painter would have chosen to place there; and one of pyramidal shape, steep as an obelisk, is crowned by a monastery, famous for its library of precious MSS. and its archives. We arrived too late for everything except to see the shroud of mist gather and gradually envelop the mountains. In the morning we set off, again in brightest weather, to Sorrento, coasting the opposite side of the promontory to that which we had passed along the day before, and having on our right hand Naples and the distant Posilippo. The coast on this side is less grand than on the Amalfi side, but it is more friendly as a place for residence. The most charming spot on the way to Sorrento, to my thinking, is Vico, which I should even prefer to Sorrento, because there is no town to be traversed before entering the ravine and climbing the mountain in the background. But I will not undervalue Sorrento, with its orange-groves embalming the air, its glorious sunsets over the sea, setting the gray olives aglow on the hills above us, its walks among the groves and vineyards out to the solitary coast. One day of our stay there we took donkeys and crossed the mountains to the opposite side of the promontory, and saw the Siren Isles--very palpable, unmysterious bits of barren rock now. A great delight to me, in all the excursions round about Naples, was the high cultivation of the soil and the sight of the vines, trained from elm to elm, above some other precious crop carpeting the ground below. On our way back to Naples we visited the silent Pompeii again. That place had such a peculiar influence over me that I could not even look towards the point where it lay on the plain below Vesuvius without a certain thrill. Amid much dust we arrived at Naples again on Sunday morning, to start by the steamboat for Leghorn on the following Tuesday. But before I quit Naples I must remember the Grotto of Posilippo, a wonderful monument of ancient labor; Virgil's tomb, which repaid us for a steep ascent only by the view of the city and bay; and a villa on the way to Posilippo, with gardens gradually descending to the margin of the sea, where there is a collection of animals, both stuffed and alive. It was there we saw the flying-fish, with their lovely blue fins. One day and night voyage to Civita Vecchia, and another day and night to Leghorn--wearisome to the flesh that suffers from nausea even on the summer sea! We had another look at dear Pisa under the blue sky, and then on to Florence, which, unlike Rome, looks inviting as one catches sight from the railway of its cupolas and towers and its embosoming hills--the greenest of hills, sprinkled everywhere with white villas. We took up our quarters at the Pension Suisse, and on the first evening we took the most agreeable drive to be had round Florence--the drive to Fiesole. It is in this view that the eye takes in the greatest extent of green, billowy hills, besprinkled with white houses, looking almost like flocks of sheep; the great, silent, uninhabited mountains lie chiefly behind; the plain of the Arno stretches far to the right. I think the view from Fiesole the most beautiful of all; but that from San Miniato, where we went the next evening, has an interest of another kind, because here Florence lies much nearer below, and one can distinguish the various buildings more completely. It is the same with Bellosguardo, in a still more marked degree. What a relief to the eye and the thought, among the huddled roofs of a distant town, to see towers and cupolas rising in abundant variety, as they do at Florence! There is Brunelleschi's mighty dome, and close by it, with its lovely colors not entirely absorbed by distance, Giotto's incomparable Campanile, beautiful as a jewel. Farther on, to the right, is the majestic tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, with the flag waving above it; then the elegant Badia and the Bargello close by; nearer to us the grand Campanile of Santo Spirito and that of Santa Croce; far away, on the left, the cupola of San Lorenzo and the tower of Santa Maria Novella; and, scattered far and near, other cupolas and campaniles of more insignificant shape and history. Even apart from its venerable historical glory, the exterior of the Duomo is pleasant to behold when the wretched, unfinished _façade_ is quite hidden. The soaring pinnacles over the doors are exquisite; so are the forms of the windows in the great semicircle of the apsis; and on the side where Giotto's Campanile is placed, especially, the white marble has taken on so rich and deep a yellow that the black bands cease to be felt as a fault. The entire view on this side, closed in by Giotto's tower, with its delicate pinkish marble, its delicate Gothic windows with twisted columns, and its tall lightness carrying the eye upward, in contrast with the mighty breadth of the dome, is a thing not easily to be forgotten. The Baptistery, with its paradisaic gates, is close by; but, except in those gates, it has no exterior beauty. The interior is almost awful, with its great dome covered with gigantic early mosaics--the pale, large-eyed Christ surrounded by images of paradise and perdition. The interior of the cathedral is comparatively poor and bare; but it has one great beauty--its colored lanceolate windows. Behind the high-altar is a piece of sculpture--the last under Michael Angelo's hand, intended for his own tomb, and left unfinished. It represents Joseph of Arimathea holding the body of Jesus, with Mary, his mother, on one side, and an apparently angelic form on the other. Joseph is a striking and real figure, with a hood over the head. For external architecture it is the palaces, the old palaces of the fifteenth century, that one must look at in the streets of Florence. One of the finest was just opposite our hotel, the Palazzo Strozzi, built by Cronaca; perfect in its massiveness, with its iron cressets and rings, as if it had been built only last year. This is the palace that the Pitti was built to outvie (so tradition falsely pretends), and to have an inner court that would contain it. A wonderful union is that Pitti Palace of cyclopean massiveness with stately regularity. Next to the Pitti, I think, comes the Palazzo Riccardi--the house of the Medici--for size and splendor. Then that unique Laurentian library, designed by Michael Angelo; the books ranged on desks in front of seats, so that the appearance of the library resembles that of a chapel with open pews of dark wood. The precious books are all chained to the desk; and here we saw old manuscripts of exquisite neatness, culminating in the Virgil of the fourth century, and the Pandects, said to have been recovered from oblivion at Amalfi, but falsely so said, according to those who are more learned than tradition. Here, too, is a little chapel covered with remarkable frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli. Grander still, in another style, is the Palazzo Vecchio, with its unique _cortile_, where the pillars are embossed with arabesque and floral tracery, making a contrast in elaborate ornament with the large simplicity of the exterior building. Here there are precious little works in ivory by Benvenuto Cellini, and other small treasures of art and jewelry, preserved in cabinets in one of the great upper chambers, which are painted all over with frescoes, and have curious inlaid doors showing buildings or figures in wooden mosaic, such as is often seen in great beauty in the stalls of the churches. The great council-chamber is ugly in its ornaments--frescoes and statues in bad taste all round it. Orcagna's Loggia de' Lanzi is disappointing at the first glance, from its sombre, dirty color; but its beauty grew upon me with longer contemplation. The pillars and groins are very graceful and chaste in ornamentation. Among the statues that are placed under it there is not one I could admire, unless it were the dead body of Ajax with the Greek soldier supporting it. Cellini's Perseus is fantastic. The Bargello, where we went to see Giotto's frescoes (in lamentable condition) was under repair, but I got glimpses of a wonderful inner court, with heraldic carvings and stone stairs and gallery. Most of the churches in Florence are hideous on the outside--piles of ribbed brickwork awaiting a coat of stone or stucco--looking like skinned animals. The most remarkable exception is Santa Maria Novella, which has an elaborate facing of black and white marble. Both this church and San Lorenzo were under repair in the interior, unfortunately for us; but we could enter Santa Maria so far as to see Orcagna's frescoes of Paradise and Hell. The Hell has been repainted, but the Paradise has not been maltreated in this way; and it is a splendid example of Orcagna's powers--far superior to his frescoes in the Campo Santo at Pisa. Some of the female forms on the lowest range are of exquisite grace. The splendid chapel in San Lorenzo, containing the tombs of the Medici, is ugly and heavy, with all its precious marbles; and the world-famous statues of Michael Angelo on the tombs in another smaller chapel--the Notte, the Giorno, and the Crepuscolo--remained to us as affected and exaggerated in the original as in copies and casts. The two churches we frequented most in Florence were Santa Croce and the Carmine. In this last are the great frescoes of Masaccio--chief among them the Raising of the Dead Youth. In the other are Giotto's frescoes revealed from under the whitewash by which they were long covered, like those in the Bargello. Of these the best are the Challenge to Pass through the Fire, in the series representing the history of St. Francis, and the rising of some saint (unknown to me) from his tomb, while Christ extends his arms to receive him above, and wondering venerators look on, on each side. There are large frescoes here of Taddeo Gaddi's also, but they are not good; one sees in him a pupil of Giotto, and nothing more. Besides the frescoes, Santa Croce has its tombs to attract a repeated visit; the tombs of Michael Angelo, Dante, Alfieri, and Machiavelli. Even those tombs of the unknown dead under our feet, with their effigies quite worn down to a mere outline, were not without their interest. I used to feel my heart swell a little at the sight of the inscription on Dante's tomb--"Onorate l'altissimo poeta." In the Church of the Trinità also there are valuable frescoes by the excellent Domenico Ghirlandajo, the master of Michael Angelo. They represent the history of St. Francis, and happily the best of them is in the best light; it is the death of St. Francis, and is full of natural feeling, with well-marked gradations from deepest sorrow to indifferent spectatorship. The frescoes I cared for most in all Florence were the few of Fra Angelico's that a _donna_ was allowed to see, in the Convent of San Marco. In the chapter-house, now used as a guard-room, is a large Crucifixion, with the inimitable group of the fainting mother, upheld by St. John and the younger Mary, and clasped round by the kneeling Magdalene. The group of adoring, sorrowing saints on the right hand are admirable for earnest truthfulness of representation. The Christ in this fresco is not good, but there is a deeply impressive original crucified Christ outside in the cloisters; St. Dominic is clasping the cross and looking upward at the agonized Saviour, whose real, pale, calmly enduring face is quite unlike any other Christ I have seen. I forgot to mention, at Santa Maria Novella, the chapel which is painted with very remarkable frescoes by Simone Memmi and Taddeo Gaddi. The best of these frescoes is the one in which the Dominicans are represented by black and white dogs--_Domini Canes_. The human groups have high merit for conception and lifelikeness; and they are admirable studies of costume. At this church, too, in the sacristy, is the Madonna della Stella,[12] with an altar-step by Fra Angelico--specimens of his minuter painting in oil. The inner part of the frame is surrounded with his lovely angels, with their seraphic joy and flower-garden coloring. Last of all the churches we visited San Michele, which had been one of the most familiar to us on the outside, with its statues in niches, and its elaborate Gothic windows, designed by the genius of Orcagna. The great wonder of the interior is the shrine of white marble made to receive the miracle-working image which first caused the consecration of this mundane building, originally a corn-market. Surely this shrine is the most wonderful of all Orcagna's productions; for the beauty of the reliefs he deserves to be placed along with Nicolo Pisano, and for the exquisite Gothic design of the whole he is a compeer of Giotto. For variety of treasures the Uffizi Gallery is pre-eminent among all public sights in Florence; but the variety is in some degree a cause of comparative unimpressiveness, pictures and statues being crowded together and destroying each other's effect. In statuary it has the great Niobe group; the Venus de Medici; the Wrestlers; the admirable statue of the Knife-Sharpener, supposed to represent the flayer of Marsyas; the Apollino; and the Boy taking a Thorn out of his Foot; with numerous less remarkable antiques. And besides these it has what the Vatican has not--a collection of early Italian sculpture, supreme among which is Giovanni di Bologna's Mercury.[13] Then there is a collection of precious drawings; and there is the cabinet of gems, quite alone in its fantastic, elaborate minuteness of workmanship in rarest materials; and there is another cabinet containing ivory sculptures, cameos, intaglios, and a superlatively fine Niello, as well as Raffaelle porcelain. The pictures here are multitudinous, and among them there is a generous proportion of utterly bad ones. In the entrance gallery, where the early paintings are, is a great Fra Angelico--a Madonna and Child--a triptych, the two side compartments containing very fine figures of saints, and the inner part of the central frame a series of unspeakably lovely angels.[14] Here I always paused with longing, trying to believe that a copyist there could make an imitation angel good enough to be worth buying. Among the other paintings that remain with me, after my visit to the Uffizi, are the portrait of Leonardo da Vinci, by himself; the portrait of Dante, by Filippino Lippi;[15] the Herodias of Luini; Titian's Venus, in the Tribune; Raphael's Madonna and Child with the Bird; and the portrait falsely called the Fornarina; the two remarkable pictures by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo; and the Salutation, by Albertinelli, which hangs opposite; the little prince in pink dress, with two recent teeth, in the next room, by Angelo Bronzino (No. 1155); the small picture of Christ in the Garden, by Lorenzo Credi; Titian's Woman with the Golden Hair, in the Venetian room; Leonardo's Medusa head; and Michael Angelo's ugly Holy Family--these, at least, rise up on a rapid retrospect. Others are in the background; for example, Correggio's Madonna adoring the Infant Christ, in the Tribune. For pictures, however, the Pitti Palace surpasses the Uffizi. Here the paintings are more choice and not less numerous. The Madonna della Sedia leaves me, with all its beauty, impressed only by the grave gaze of the Infant; but besides this there is another Madonna of Raphael--perhaps the most beautiful of all his earlier ones--the Madonna del Gran Duca, which has the sweet grace and gentleness of its sisters without their sheeplike look. Andrea del Sarto is seen here in his highest glory of oil-painting. There are numerous large pictures of his--Assumptions and the like--of great technical merit; but better than all these I remember a Holy Family, with a very fine St. Ann, and the portraits of himself and his fatal, auburn-haired wife. Of Fra Bartolomeo there is a Pietà of memorable expression,[16] a Madonna enthroned with saints, and his great St. Mark. Of Titian, a Marriage of St. Catherine, of supreme beauty; a Magdalen, failing in expression; and an exquisite portrait of the same woman, who is represented as Venus at the Uffizi. There is a remarkable group of portraits by Rubens--himself, his brother, Lipsius, and Grotius--and a large landscape by him. The only picture of Veronese's that I remember here is a portrait of his wife when her beauty was gone. There is a remarkably fine sea-piece by Salvator Rosa; a striking portrait of Aretino, and a portrait of Vesalius, by Titian; one of Inghirami, by Raphael; a delicious, rosy baby--future cardinal--lying in a silken bed;[17] a placid, contemplative young woman, with her finger between the leaves of a book, by Leonardo da Vinci;[18] a memorable portrait of Philip II., by Titian; a splendid Judith, by Bronzino; a portrait of Rembrandt, by himself, etc., etc. Andrea del Sarto is seen to advantage at the Pitti Palace; but his _chef-d'oeuvre_ is a fresco, unhappily much worn--the Madonna del Sacco--in the cloister of the Annunziata. For early Florentine paintings the most interesting collection is that of the Accademia. Here we saw a Cimabue, which gave us the best idea of his superiority over the painters who went before him: it is a colossal Madonna enthroned. And on the same wall there is a colossal Madonna by Giotto, which is not only a demonstration that he surpassed his master, but that he had a clear vision of the noble in art. A delightful picture--very much restored, I fear--of the Adoration of the Magi made me acquainted with Gentile da Fabriano. The head of Joseph in this picture is masterly in the delicate rendering of the expression; the three kings are very beautiful in conception; and the attendant group, or rather crowd, shows a remarkable combination of realism with love of the beautiful and splendid. There is a fine Domenico Ghirlandajo--the Adoration of the Shepherds; a fine Lippo Lippi; and an Assumption, by Perugino, which I like well for its cherubs and angels, and for some of the adoring figures below. In the smaller room there is a lovely Pietà by Fra Angelico; and there is a portrait of Fra Angelico himself by another artist. One of our drives at Florence, which I have not mentioned, was that to Galileo's Tower, which stands conspicuous on one of the hills close about the town. We ascended it for the sake of looking out over the plain from the same spot as the great man looked from, more than two centuries ago. His portrait is in the Pitti Palace--a grave man with an abbreviated nose, not unlike Mr. Thomas Adolphus Trollope. One fine day near the end of our stay we made an expedition to Siena--that fine old town built on an abrupt height overlooking a wide, wide plain. We drove about a couple of hours or more, and saw well the exterior of the place--the peculiar piazza or campo in the shape of a scallop-shell, with its large old Palazzo _publico_, the Porta Ovile and Porta Romana, the archbishop's palace, and the cemetery. Of the churches we saw only the cathedral, the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, and San Domenico. The cathedral has a highly elaborate Gothic façade, but the details of the upper part are unsatisfactory--a square window in the centre shocks the eye, and the gables are not slim and aspiring enough. The interior is full of interest: there is the unique pavement in a sort of marble Niello, presenting Raffaellesque designs by Boccafumi, carrying out the example of the older portions, which are very quaint in their drawing; there is a picture of high interest in the history of early art--a picture by Guido of Siena, who was rather earlier than Cimabue; fine carved stalls and screens in dark wood; and in an adjoining chapel a series of frescoes by Pinturicchio, to which Raphael is said to have contributed designs and workmanship, and wonderfully illuminated old choir-books. The Chapel of St. John the Baptist has a remarkable Gothic façade, and a baptismal font inside, with reliefs wrought by Ghiberti and another Florentine artist. To San Domenico we went for the sake of seeing the famous Madonna by Guido da Siena; I think we held it superior to any Cimabue we had seen. There is a considerable collection of the Siennese artists at the Accademia, but the school had no great genius equal to Giotto to lead it. The Three Graces--an antique to which Canova's modern triad bears a strong resemblance in attitude and style--are also at the Accademia. An interesting visit we made at Florence was to Michael Angelo's house--Casa Buonarotti--in the Via Ghibellina. This street is striking and characteristic: the houses are all old, with broad eaves, and in some cases with an open upper story, so that the roof forms a sort of pavilion supported on pillars. This is a feature one sees in many parts of Florence. Michael Angelo's house is preserved with great care by his descendants--only one could wish their care had not been shown in giving it entirely new furniture. However, the rooms are the same as those he occupied, and there are many relics of his presence there--his stick, his sword, and many of his drawings. In one room there is a very fine Titian of small size--the principal figure a woman fainting. The Last Supper--a fresco believed to be by Raphael--is in a room at the Egyptian Museum.[19] The figure of Peter--of which, apparently, there exists various sketches by Raphael's hand--is memorable. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th May, 1860.] Things really look so threatening in the Neapolitan kingdom that we begin to think ourselves fortunate in having got our visit done. Tuscany is in the highest political spirits for the moment, and of course Victor Emanuel stares at us at every turn here, with the most loyal exaggeration of mustache and intelligent meaning. But we are selfishly careless about dynasties just now, caring more for the doings of Giotto and Brunelleschi than for those of Count Cavour. On a first journey to the greatest centres of art one must be excused for letting one's public spirit go to sleep a little. As for me, I am thrown into a state of humiliating passivity by the sight of the great things done in the far past--it seems as if life were not long enough to learn, and as if my own activity were so completely dwarfed by comparison that I should never have courage for more creation of my own. There is only one thing that has an opposite and stimulating effect: it is the comparative rarity, even here, of great and truthful art, and the abundance of wretched imitation and falsity. Every hand is wanted in the world that can do a little genuine, sincere work. We are at the quietest hotel in Florence, having sought it out for the sake of getting clear of the stream of English and Americans, in which one finds one's self in all the main tracks of travel, so that one seems at last to be in a perpetual, noisy picnic, obliged to be civil, though with a strong inclination to be sullen. My philanthropy rises several degrees as soon as we are alone. [Sidenote: Letter to Major Blackwood, 27th May, 1860.] I am much obliged to you for writing at once, and so scattering some clouds which had gathered over my mind in consequence of an indication or two in Mr. John Blackwood's previous letter. The _Times_ article arrived on Sunday. It is written in a generous spirit, and with so high a degree of intelligence that I am rather alarmed lest the misapprehensions it exhibits should be due to my defective presentation, rather than to any failure on the part of the critic. I have certainly fulfilled my intention very badly if I have made the Dodson honesty appear "mean and uninteresting," or made the payment of one's debts appear a contemptible virtue in comparison with any sort of "Bohemian" qualities. So far as my own feeling and intention are concerned, no one class of persons or form of character is held up to reprobation or to exclusive admiration. Tom is painted with as much love and pity as Maggie; and I am so far from hating the Dodsons myself that I am rather aghast to find them ticketed with such very ugly adjectives. We intend to leave this place on Friday (3d), and in four days after that we shall be at Venice, in a few days from that time at Milan, and then, by a route at present uncertain, at Berne, where we take up Mr. Lewes's eldest boy, to bring him home with us. We are particularly happy in our weather, which is unvaryingly fine without excessive heat. There has been a crescendo of enjoyment in our travels; for Florence, from its relation to the history of modern art, has roused a keener interest in us even than Rome, and has stimulated me to entertain rather an ambitious project, which I mean to be a secret from every one but you and Mr. John Blackwood. Any news of "Clerical Scenes" in its third edition? Or has its appearance been deferred? The smallest details are acceptable to ignorant travellers. We are wondering what was the last good article in _Blackwood_, and whether Thackeray has gathered up his slack reins in the _Cornhill_. Literature travels slowly even to this Italian Athens. Hawthorne's book is not to be found here yet in the Tauchnitz edition. [Sidenote: Italy, 1860.] We left Florence on the evening of the 1st of June, by diligence, travelling all night and until eleven the next morning to get to Bologna. I wish we could have made that journey across the Apennines by daylight, though in that case I should have missed certain grand, startling effects that came to me in my occasional wakings. Wonderful heights and depths I saw on each side of us by the fading light of the evening. Then, in the middle of the night, while the lightning was flashing and the sky was heavy with threatening storm-clouds, I waked to find the six horses resolutely refusing or unable to move the diligence--till, at last, two meek oxen were tied to the axle, and their added strength dragged us up the hill. But one of the strangest effects I ever saw was just before dawn, when we seemed to be high up on mighty mountains, which fell precipitously, and showed us the awful, pale horizon far, far below. The first thing we did at Bologna was to go to the Accademia, where I confirmed myself in my utter dislike of the Bolognese school--the Caraccis and Domenichino _et id genus omne_--and felt some disappointment in Raphael's St. Cecilia. The pictures of Francia here, to which I had looked forward as likely to give me a fuller and higher idea of him, were less pleasing to me than the smaller specimens of him that I had seen in the Dresden and other galleries. He seems to me to be more limited even than Perugino; but he is a faithful, painstaking painter, with a religious spirit. Agostino Caracci's Communion of St. Jerome is a remarkable picture, with real feeling in it--an exception among all the great pieces of canvas that hang beside it. Domenichino's figure of St. Jerome is a direct plagiarism from that of Agostino; but in other points the two pictures are quite diverse. The following morning we took a carriage and were diligent in visiting the churches. San Petronio has the melancholy distinction of an exquisite Gothic façade, which is carried up only a little way above the arches of the doorways; the sculptures on these arches are of wonderful beauty. The interior is of lofty, airy, simple Gothic, and it contains some curious old paintings in the various side-chapels--pre-eminent among which are the great frescoes by the so-called Buffalmacco. The Paradise is distinguished in my memory by the fact that the blessed are ranged in seats like the benches of a church or chapel. At Santa Cecilia--now used as a barrack or guard-room--there are two frescoes by Francia, the Marriage and Burial of St. Cecilia, characteristic, but miserably injured. At the great Church of San Domenico the object of chief interest is the tomb of the said saint, by the ever-to-be-honored Nicolo Pisano. I believe this tomb was his first great work, and very remarkable it is; but there is nothing on it equal to the Nativity on the pulpit at Pisa. On this tomb stands a lovely angel, by Michael Angelo. It is small in size, holding a small candle-stick, and is a work of his youth; it shows clearly enough how the feeling for grace and beauty were strong in him, only not strong enough to wrestle with his love of the grandiose and powerful. The ugly, painful leaning towers of Bologna made me desire not to look at them a second time; but there are fine bits of massive palatial building here and there in the colonnaded streets. We trod the court of the once famous university, where the arms of the various scholars ornament the walls above and below an interior gallery. This building is now, as far as I could understand, a communal school, and the university is transported to another part of the town. We left Bologna in the afternoon, rested at Ferrara for the night, and passed the Euganean Mountains on our left hand as we approached Padua in the middle of the next day. After dinner and rest from our dusty journeying we took a carriage and went out to see the town, desiring most of all to see Giotto's Chapel. We paused first, however, at the great Church of San Antonio, which is remarkable both externally and internally. There are two side chapels opposite each other, which are quite unique for contrasted effect. On the one hand is a chapel of oblong form, covered entirely with white marble _relievi_, golden lamps hanging from the roof; while opposite is a chapel of the same form, covered with frescoes by Avanzi, the artist who seems to have been the link of genius between Giotto and Masaccio. Close by, in a separate building, is the Capella di San Giorgio, also covered with Avanzi's frescoes; and here one may study him more completely, because the light is better than in the church. He has quite a Veronese power of combining his human groups with splendid architecture. The Arena Chapel stands apart, and is approached, at present, through a pretty garden. Here one is uninterruptedly with Giotto. The whole chapel was designed and painted by himself alone; and it is said that, while he was at work on it, Dante lodged with him at Padua. The nave of the chapel is in tolerably good preservation, but the apsis has suffered severely from damp. It is in this apsis that the lovely Madonna, with the Infant at her breast, is painted in a niche, now quite hidden by some altar-piece or woodwork, which one has to push by in order to see the tenderest bit of Giotto's painting. This chapel must have been a blessed vision when it was fresh from Giotto's hand--the blue, vaulted roof; the exquisite bands of which he was so fond, representing inlaid marble, uniting roof and walls, and forming the divisions between the various frescoes which cover the upper part of the wall. The glory of Paradise at one end, and the histories of Mary and Jesus on the two sides; and the subdued effect of the series of monochromes representing the Virtues and Vices below. There is a piazza with a plantation and circular public walk, with wildly affected statues of small and great notorieties, which remains with one as a peculiarity of Padua; in general the town is merely old and shabbily Italian, without anything very specific in its aspect. From Padua to Venice! It was about ten o'clock on a moonlight night--the 4th of June--that we found ourselves apparently on a railway in the midst of the sea; we were on the bridge across the Lagoon. Soon we were in a gondola on the Grand Canal, looking out at the moonlit buildings and water. What stillness! What beauty! Looking out from the high window of our hotel on the Grand Canal I felt that it was a pity to go to bed. Venice was more beautiful than romances had feigned. And that was the impression that remained, and even deepened, during our stay of eight days. That quiet which seems the deeper because one hears the delicious dip of the oar (when not disturbed by clamorous church bells) leaves the eye in full liberty and strength to take in the exhaustless loveliness of color and form. We were in our gondola by nine o'clock the next morning, and, of course, the first point we sought was the Piazza di San Marco. I am glad to find Ruskin calling the Palace of the Doges one of the two most perfect buildings in the world; its only defects, to my feeling, are the feebleness or triviality of the frieze or cornice, and the want of length in the Gothic windows with which the upper wall is pierced. This spot is a focus of architectural wonders; but the palace is the crown of them all. The double tier of columns and arches, with the rich sombreness of their finely outlined shadows, contrast satisfactorily with the warmth and light and more continuous surface of the upper part. Even landing on the Piazzetta, one has a sense, not only of being in an entirely novel scene, but one where the ideas of a foreign race have poured themselves in without yet mingling indistinguishably with the pre-existent Italian life. But this is felt yet more strongly when one has passed along the Piazzetta and arrived in front of San Marco, with its low arches and domes and minarets. But perhaps the most striking point to take one's stand on is just in front of the white marble guard-house flanking the great tower--the guard-house with Sansovino's iron gates before it. On the left is San Marco, with the two square pillars from St. Jean d'Acre standing as isolated trophies; on the right the Piazzetta extends between the Doge's Palace and the Palazzo Reale to the tall columns from Constantinople; and in front is the elaborate gateway leading to the white marble Scala di Giganti, in the courtyard of the Doge's Palace. Passing through this gateway and up this staircase, we entered the gallery which surrounds the court on three sides, and looked down at the fine sculptured vase-like wells below. Then into the great Sala, surrounded with the portraits of the doges; the largest oil-painting here--or perhaps anywhere else--is the Gloria del Paradiso, by Tintoretto, now dark and unlovely. But on the ceiling is a great Paul Veronese--the Apotheosis of Venice--which looks as fresh as if it were painted yesterday, and is a miracle of color and composition--a picture full of glory and joy of an earthly, fleshly kind, but without any touch of coarseness or vulgarity. Below the radiant Venice on her clouds is a balcony filled with upward-looking spectators; and below this gallery is a group of human figures with horses. Next to this Apotheosis, I admire another Coronation of Venice on the ceiling of another Sala, where Venice is sitting enthroned above the globe with her lovely face in half shadow--a creature born with an imperial attitude. There are other Tintorettos, Veroneses, and Palmas in the great halls of this palace; but they left me quite indifferent, and have become vague in my memory. From the splendors of the palace we crossed the Bridge of Sighs to the prisons, and saw the horrible, dark, damp cells that would make the saddest life in the free light and air seem bright and desirable. The interior of St. Mark's is full of interest, but not of beauty; it is dark and heavy, and ill-suited to the Catholic worship, from the massive piers that obstruct the view everywhere, shut out the sight of ceremony and procession, as we witnessed at our leisure on the day of the great procession of Corpus Christi. But everywhere there are relics of gone-by art to be studied, from mosaics of the Greeks to mosaics of later artists than the Zuccati; old marble statues, embrowned like a meerschaum pipe; amazing sculptures in wood; Sansovino doors, ambitious to rival Ghiberti's; transparent alabaster columns; an ancient Madonna, hung with jewels, transported from St. Sophia, in Constantinople; and everywhere the venerable pavement, once beautiful with its starry patterns in rich marble, now deadened and sunk to unevenness, like the mud floor of a cabin. Then outside, on the archway of the principal door, there are sculptures of a variety that makes one renounce the study of them in despair at the shortness of one's time--blended fruits and foliage, and human groups and animal forms of all kinds. On our first morning we ascended the great tower, and looked around on the island city and the distant mountains and the distant Adriatic. And on the same day we went to see the Pisani palace--one of the grand old palaces that are going to decay. An Italian artist who resides in one part of this palace interested us by his frank manner, and the glimpse we had of his domesticity with his pretty wife and children. After this we saw the Church of San Sebastiano, where Paul Veronese is buried, with his own paintings around, mingling their color with the light that falls on his tombstone. There is one remarkably fine painting of his here: it represents, I think, some saints going to martyrdom, but, apart from that explanation, is a composition full of vigorous, spirited figures, in which the central ones are two young men leaving some splendid dwelling, on the steps of which stands the mother, pleading and remonstrating--a marvellous figure of an old woman with a bare neck. But supreme among the pictures at Venice is the Death of Peter the Martyr,[20] now happily removed from its original position as an altar-piece, and placed in a good light in the sacristy of San Giovanni and Paolo (or San Zani Polo, as the Venetians conveniently abbreviate it). In this picture, as in that of the Tribute-money at Dresden, Titian seems to have surpassed himself, and to have reached as high a point in expression as in color. In the same sacristy there was a Crucifixion, by Tintoretto, and a remarkable Madonna with Saints, by Giovanni Bellini; but we were unable to look long away from the Titian to these, although we paid it five visits during our stay. It is near this church that the famous equestrian statue stands, by Verocchio. Santa Maria della Salute, built as an _ex voto_ by the Republic on the cessation of the plague, is one of the most conspicuous churches in Venice, lifting its white cupolas close on the Grand Canal, where it widens out towards the Giudecca. Here there are various Tintorettos, but the only one which is not blackened so as to be unintelligible is the _Cena_, which is represented as a bustling supper party, with attendants and sideboard accessories, in thoroughly Dutch fashion! The great scene of Tintoretto's greatness is held to be the Scuola di San Rocco, of which he had the painting entirely to himself, with his pupils; and here one must admire the vigor and freshness of his conceptions, though I saw nothing that delighted me in expression, and much that was preposterous and ugly. The Crucifixion here is certainly a grand work, to which he seems to have given his best powers; and among the smaller designs, in the two larger halls, there were several of thorough originality--for example, the Annunciation, where Mary is seated in a poor house, with a carpenter's shop adjoining; the Nativity, in the upper story of a stable, of which a section is made so as to show the beasts below; and the Flight into Egypt, with a very charming (European) landscape. In this same building of San Rocco there are some exquisite iron gates, a present from Florence, and some singularly painstaking wood-carving, representing, in one compartment of wainscot, above the seats that surrounded the upper hall, a bookcase filled with old books, an inkstand and pen set in front of one shelf _à s'y méprendre_. But of all Tintoretto's paintings the best preserved, and perhaps the most complete in execution, is the Miracle of St. Mark, at the Accademia. We saw it the oftener because we were attracted to the Accademia again and again by Titian's Assumption, which we placed next to Peter the Martyr among the pictures at Venice. For a thoroughly rapt expression I never saw anything equal to the Virgin in this picture; and the expression is the more remarkable because it is not assisted by the usual devices to express spiritual ecstasy, such as delicacy of feature and temperament, or pale meagreness. Then what cherubs and angelic heads bathed in light! The lower part of the picture has no interest; the attitudes are theatrical; and the Almighty above is as unbeseeming as painted Almighties usually are; but the middle group falls short only of the Sistine Madonna. Among the Venetian painters Giovanni Bellini shines with a mild, serious light that gives one an affectionate respect towards him. In the Church of the Scalzi there is an exquisite Madonna by him--probably his _chef-d'oeuvre_--comparable to Raphael's for sweetness. And Palmo Vecchio, too, must be held in grateful reverence for his Santa Barbara, standing in calm, grand beauty above an altar in the Church of Santa Maria Formosa. It is an almost unique presentation of a hero-woman, standing in calm preparation for martyrdom, without the slightest air of pietism, yet with the expression of a mind filled with serious conviction. We made the journey to Chioggia, but with small pleasure, on account of my illness, which continued all day. Otherwise that long floating over the water, with the forts and mountains looking as if they were suspended in the air, would have been very enjoyable. Of all dreamy delights that of floating in a gondola along the canals and out on the Lagoon is surely the greatest. We were out one night on the Lagoon when the sun was setting, and the wide waters were flushed with the reddened light. I should have liked it to last for hours; it is the sort of scene in which I could most readily forget my own existence and feel melted into the general life. Another charm of evening-time was to walk up and down the Piazza of San Marco as the stars were brightening and look at the grand, dim buildings, and the flocks of pigeons flitting about them; or to walk on to the Bridge of La Paglia and look along the dark canal that runs under the Bridge of Sighs--its blackness lit up by a gaslight here and there, and the plash of the oar of blackest gondola slowly advancing. One of our latest visits was to the Palazzo Mamfrini, where there are still the remains of a magnificent collection of pictures--remains still on sale. The young proprietor was walking about transacting business in the rooms as we passed through them--a handsome, refined-looking man. The chief treasure left--the Entombment, by Titian--is perhaps a superior duplicate of the one in the Louvre. After this we went to a private house (once the house of Bianca Capello) to see a picture which the joint proprietors are anxious to prove to be a Leonardo da Vinci. It is a remarkable--an unforgetable--picture. The subject is the Supper at Emmaus; and the Christ, with open, almost tearful eyes, with loving sadness spread over the regular beauty of his features, is a masterpiece. This head is _not_ like the Leonardo sketch at Milan; and the rest of the picture impressed me strongly with the idea that it is of German, not Italian, origin. Again, the head is not like that of Leonardo's Christ in the National Gallery--it is far finer, to my thinking. Farewell, lovely Venice! and away to Verona, across the green plains of Lombardy, which can hardly look tempting to an eye still filled with the dreamy beauty it has left behind. Yet I liked our short stay at Verona extremely. The Amphitheatre had the disadvantage of coming after the Coliseum and the Pozzuoli Amphitheatre, and would bear comparison with neither; but the Church of San Zenone was equal in interest to almost any of the churches we had seen in Italy. It is a beautiful specimen of Lombard architecture, undisguised by any modern barbarisms in the interior; and on the walls--now that they have been freed from their coat of whitewash--there are early frescoes of high historical value, some of them--apparently of the Giotto school--showing a remarkable striving after human expression. More than this, there is in one case an under layer of yet older frescoes, partly laid bare, and showing the lower part of figures in mummy-like degradation of drawing; while above these are the upper portion of the later figures in striking juxtaposition with the dead art from which they had sprung with the vitality of a hidden germ. There is a very fine crypt to the church, where the fragments of some ancient sculptures are built in wrong way upwards. This was the only church we entered at Verona; for we contented ourselves with a general view of the town, driving about to get _coups d'oeil_ of the fine old walls, the river, the bridges, and surrounding hills, and mounting up to a high terrace for the sake of a bird's-eye view; this, with a passing sight of the famous tombs of the Scaligers, was all gathered in our four or five hours at Verona. Heavy rain came on our way to Milan, putting an end to the brilliant weather we had enjoyed ever since our arrival at Naples. The line of road lies through a luxuriant country, and I remember the picturesque appearance of Bergamo--half of it on the level, half of it lifted up on the green hill. In this second visit of mine to Milan my greatest pleasures were the Brera Gallery and the Ambrosian Library, neither of which I had seen before. The cathedral no longer satisfied my eye in its exterior; and though the interior has very grand effects, there are still disturbing elements. At the Ambrosian Library we saw MSS. surpassing in interest any even of those we had seen in the Laurentian Library at Florence--illuminated books, sacred and secular, a little Koran, rolled up something after the fashion of a measuring-tape, private letters of Tasso, Galileo, Lucrezia Borgia, etc., and a book full of Leonardo da Vinci's engineering designs. Then, up-stairs, in the picture-gallery, we saw a delicious Holy Family by Luini, of marvellous perfection in its execution, the Cartoon for Raphael's School of Athens, and a precious collection of drawings by Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo. Among Leonardo's are amazingly grotesque faces, full of humor; among Michael Angelo's is the sketch of the unfortunate Biagio, who figures with ass's ears, in the lower corner of the Last Judgment. At the Brera, among a host of pictures to which I was indifferent, there were several things that delighted me. Some of Luini's frescoes--especially the burial or transportation of the body of St. Catherine by angels--some single figures of young cherubs, and Joseph and Mary going to their Marriage; the drawing in pastel by Leonardo of the Christ's head, supposed to be a study for the _Cena_; the Luini Madonna among trellises--an exquisite oil-painting; Gentile Bellini's picture of St. Mark preaching at Alexandria; and the Sposalizio by Raphael. At the Church of San Maurizio Maggiore we saw Luini's power tested by an abundant opportunity. The walls are almost covered with frescoes by him; but the only remarkable felicity he has is his female figures, which are eminently graceful. He has not power enough for a composition of any high character. We visited, too, the interesting old Church of San Ambrogio, with its court surrounded by cloisters, its old sculptured pulpit, chair of St. Ambrose, and illuminated choir-books; and we drove to look at the line of old Roman columns, which are almost the solitary remnant of antiquity left in this ancient city--ancient, at least, in its name and site. We left Milan for Como on a fine Sunday morning, and arrived at beautiful Bellagio by steamer in the evening. Here we spent a delicious day--going to the Villa Somma Riva in the morning, and in the evening to the Serbellone Gardens, from the heights of which we saw the mountain-peaks reddened with the last rays of the sun. The next day we reached lovely Chiavenna, at the foot of the Splügen Pass, and spent the evening in company with a glorious mountain torrent, mountain peaks, huge bowlders, with rippling miniature torrents and lovely young flowers among them, and grassy heights with rich Spanish chestnuts shadowing them. Then, the next morning, we set off by post and climbed the almost perpendicular heights of the Pass--chiefly in heavy rain that would hardly let us discern the patches of snow when we reached the table-land of the summit. About five o'clock we reached grassy Splügen and felt that we had left Italy behind us. Already our driver had been German for the last long post, and now we had come to a hotel where host and waiters were German. Swiss houses of dark wood, outside staircases and broad eaves, stood on the steep, green, and flowery slope that led up to the waterfall; and the hotel and other buildings of masonry were thoroughly German in their aspect. In the evening we enjoyed a walk between the mountains, whose lower sides down to the torrent bed were set with tall, dark pines. But the climax of grand--nay, terrible--scenery came the next day as we traversed the Via Mala. After this came open green valleys, dotted with white churches and homesteads. We were in Switzerland, and the mighty wall of the Valtelline Alps shut us out from Italy on the 21st of June. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 23d June, 1860, from Berne.] Your letter to Florence reached me duly, and I feel as if I had been rather unconscionable in asking for another before our return; but to us, who have been seeing new things every day, a month seems so long a space of time that we can't help fancying there must be a great accumulation of news for us at the end of it. We had hoped to be at home by the 25th; but we were so enchanted with Venice that we were seduced into staying there a whole week instead of three or four days, and now we must not rob the boys of their two days' holiday with us. We have had a wonderful journey. From Florence we went to Bologna, Ferrara, and Padua, on our way to Venice; and from Venice we have come by Verona, Milan, and Como, and across the Splügen to Zurich, where we spent yesterday, chiefly in the company of Moleschott the physiologist--an interview that has helped to sharpen Mr. Lewes's appetite for a return to his microscope and dissecting-table. We ought to be forever ashamed of ourselves if we don't work the better for this great holiday. We both feel immensely enriched with new ideas and new veins of interest. I don't think I can venture to tell you what my great project is by letter, for I am anxious to keep it secret. It will require a great deal of study and labor, and I am athirst to begin. As for "The Mill," I am in repose about it now I know it has found its way to the great public. Its comparative rank can only be decided after some years have passed, when the judgment upon it is no longer influenced by the recent enthusiasm about "Adam," and by the fact that it has the misfortune to be written by me instead of by Mr. Liggins. I shall like to see Bulwer's criticism, if you will be kind enough to send it me; but I particularly wish _not_ to see any of the newspaper articles. _SUMMARY._ MARCH TO JUNE, 1860.--FIRST JOURNEY TO ITALY. Crossing Mont Cenis by night in diligence--Turin--Sees Count Cavour--Genoa--Leghorn--Pisa--Civita Vecchia--Disappointment with first sight of Rome--Better spirits after visit to Capitol--View from Capitol--Points most struck with in Rome--Sculpture at Capitol--Sculpture at Vatican first seen by torchlight--St. Peter's--Other churches--Sistine Chapel--Paintings--Illumination of St. Peter's--Disappointment with Michael Angelo's Moses--Visits to artists' studios--Riedel and Overbeck--Pamfili Doria Gardens--Frascati--Tivoli--Pictures at Capitol--Lateran Museum--Shelley's and Keats's graves--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Pope's blessing--Easter ceremonies--From Rome to Naples--Description--Museo Borbonico--Visit to Pompeii--Solemnity of street of tombs--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--From Naples to Salerno and Pæstum--Temple of Vesta--Temple of Neptune fulfils expectations--Amalfi--Drive to Sorrento--Back to Naples--By steamer to Leghorn--To Florence--Views from Fiesole and Bellosguardo--The Duomo--Baptistery--Palaces--Churches--Dante's tomb--Frescoes--Pictures at the Uffizi--Pictures at the Pitti--Pictures at the Accademia--Expedition to Siena--Back to Florence--Michael Angelo's house--Letter to Blackwood--Dwarfing effect of the past--Letter to Major Blackwood on _Times'_ criticism of "The Mill on the Floss," and first mention of an Italian novel--Leave Florence for Bologna--Churches and pictures--To Padua by Ferrara--The Arena Chapel--Venice by moonlight--Doge's Palace--St. Mark's--Pictures--Scuola di San Rocco--Accademia--Gondola to Chioggia--From Venice to Verona--Milan--Brera Gallery and Ambrosian Library--Disappointment with cathedral--Bellagio--Over Splügen to Switzerland--Letter to Blackwood--Saw Moleschott at Zurich--Home by Berne and Geneva. FOOTNOTES: [11] "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." [12] Now in cell No. 33 in the Museo di San Marco. [13] Now in the Museo Nazionale. [14] Now in Sala Lorenzo Monaco, Uffizi. [15] The only portraits of Dante in the Uffizi are No. 1207 in the room opening out of the Tribune, by an unknown painter (Scuola Toscana); and No. 553, in the passage to the Pitti--also by an unknown painter. [16] No. 81. Pitti Gallery. [17] No. 49, by Tiberio Titti. Pitti Gallery. [18] No. 140. Pitti Gallery. [19] No. 56 Via de Faenza, Capella di Foligno. [20] Since burned. CHAPTER XI. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _July 1._--We found ourselves at home again, after three months of delightful travel. From Berne we brought our eldest boy Charles, to begin a new period in his life, after four years at Hofwyl. During our absence "The Mill on the Floss" came out (April 4), and achieved a greater success than I had ever hoped for it. The subscription was 3600 (the number originally printed was 4000); and shortly after its appearance, Mudie having demanded a second thousand, Blackwood commenced striking off 2000 more, making 6000. While we were at Florence I had the news that these 6000 were all sold, and that 500 more were being prepared. From all we can gather, the votes are rather on the side of "The Mill" as a better book than "Adam." [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 1st July, 1860.] We reached home by starlight at one o'clock this morning; and I write in haste, fear, and trembling lest you should already be gone to Surrey. You know what I should like--that you and your husband should come to us the first day possible, naming any hour and conditions. We would arrange meals and everything else as would best suit you. Of course I would willingly go to London to see _you_, if you could not come to me. But I fear lest neither plan should be practicable, and lest this letter should have to be sent after you. It is from your note only that I have learned your loss.[21] It has made me think of you with the sense that there is more than ever a common fund of experience between us. But I will write nothing more now. I am almost ill with fatigue, and have only courage to write at all because of my anxiety not to miss you. Affectionate regards from both of _us_ to both of _you_. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d July, 1860.] I opened your letters and parcel a little after one o'clock on Sunday morning, for that was the unseasonable hour of our return from our long, long journey. Yesterday was almost entirely employed in feeling very weary indeed, but this morning we are attacking the heap of small duties that always lie before one after a long absence. It is pleasant to see your book[22] fairly finished after all delays and anxieties; but I will say nothing to you about _that_ until I have read it. I shall read it the first thing before plunging into a course of study which will take me into a different region of thought. We have had an unspeakably delightful journey--one of those journeys that seem to divide one's life in two, by the new ideas they suggest and the new veins of interest they open. We went to Geneva, and spent two days with my old, kind friends, the d'Alberts--a real pleasure to me, especially as Mr. Lewes was delighted with "Maman," as I used to call Madame d'Albert. She is as bright and upright as ever; the ten years have only whitened her hair--a change which makes her face all the softer in coloring. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 3d July, 1860.] We did not reach home till past midnight on Saturday, when you, I suppose, had already become used to the comfort of having fairly got through your London season. Self-interest, rightly understood of course, prompts us to a few virtuous actions in the way of letter-writing to let the few people we care to hear from know at once of our whereabouts; and you are one of the first among the few. At Berne Mr. Lewes supped with Professors Valentin and Schiff, two highly distinguished physiologists, and I was much delighted to find how much attention and interest they had given to his views in the "Physiology of Common Life." A French translation of "Adam Bede," by a Genevese gentleman[23] well known to me, is now in the press; and the same translator has undertaken "The Mill on the Floss." He appears to have rendered "Adam" with the most scrupulous care. I think these are all the incidents we gathered on our homeward journey that are likely to interest you. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th July, 1860.] I have finished my first rather rapid reading of your book, and now I thank you for it: not merely for the special gift of the volume and inscription, but for that of which many others will share the benefit with me--the "thoughts" themselves. So far as my reading in English books of similar character extends, yours seems to me quite unparalleled in the largeness and insight with which it estimates Christianity as an "organized experience"--a grand advance in the moral development of the race. I especially delight in the passage, p. 105, beginning, "And how can it be otherwise," and ending with, "formal rejection of it."[24] On this and other supremely interesting matters of thought--perhaps I should rather say of experience--your book has shown me that we are much nearer to each other than I had supposed. At p. 174, again, there is a passage beginning, "These sentiments," and ending with "heroes,"[25] which, for me, expresses the one-half of true human piety. That thought is one of my favorite altars where I oftenest go to contemplate, and to seek for invigorating motive. Of the work as a whole I am quite incompetent to judge on a single cursory reading. I admire--I respect--the breadth and industry of mind it exhibits; and I should be obliged to give it a more thorough study than I can afford at present before I should feel warranted to urge, in the light of a criticism, my failure to perceive the logical consistency of your language in some parts with the position you have adopted in others. In many instances your meaning is obscure to me, or at least lies wrapped up in more folds of abstract phraseology than I have the courage or the industry to open for myself. I think you told me that some one had found your treatment of great questions "cold-blooded." I am all the more delighted to find, for my own part, an unusual fulness of sympathy and heart experience breathing throughout your book. The ground for that epithet perhaps lay in a certain professorial tone which could hardly be avoided, in a work filled with criticism of other people's theories, except by the adoption of a simply personal style of presentation, in which you would have seemed to be looking up at the oracles, and trying to reconcile their doctrines for your own behoof, instead of appearing to be seated in a chair above them. But you considered your own plan more thoroughly than any one else can have considered it for you; and I have no doubt you had good reasons for preferring the more impersonal style. Mr. Lewes sends his kind regards, and when Du Bois Reymond's book on Johannes Müller, with other preoccupations of a like thrilling kind, no longer stand in the way, he will open _his_ copy of the "Thoughts in Aid of Faith." He has felt a new interest aroused towards it since he has learned something about it from me and the reviewer in the _Westminster_. Madame Bodichon, who was here the other day, told me that Miss Nightingale and Miss Julia Smith had mentioned their pleasure in your book; but you will hear further news of all that from themselves. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 9th July, 1860.] I return Sir Edward Lytton's critical letter, which I have read with much interest. On two points I recognize the justice of his criticism. First, that Maggie is made to appear too passive in the scene of quarrel in the Red Deeps. If my book were still in MS. I should--now that the defect is suggested to me--alter, or rather expand, that scene. Secondly, that the tragedy is not adequately prepared. This is a defect which I felt even while writing the third volume, and have felt ever since the MS. left me. The _Epische Breite_ into which I was beguiled by love of my subject in the two first volumes, caused a want of proportionate fulness in the treatment of the third, which I shall always regret. The other chief point of criticism--Maggie's position towards Stephen--is too vital a part of my whole conception and purpose for me to be converted to the condemnation of it. If I am wrong there--if I did not really know what my heroine would feel and do under the circumstances in which I deliberately placed her, I ought not to have written this book at all, but quite a different book, if any. If the ethics of art do not admit the truthful presentation of a character essentially noble, but liable to great error--error that is anguish to its own nobleness--then, it seems to me, the ethics of art are too narrow, and must be widened to correspond with a widening psychology. But it is good for me to know how my tendencies as a writer clash with the conclusions of a highly accomplished mind, that I may be warned into examining well whether my discordance with those conclusions may not arise rather from an idiosyncrasy of mine than from a conviction which is argumentatively justifiable. I hope you will thank Sir Edward on my behalf for the trouble he has taken to put his criticism into a form specific enough to be useful. I feel his taking such trouble to be at once a tribute and a kindness. If printed criticisms were usually written with only half the same warrant of knowledge, and with an equal sincerity of intention, I should read them without fear of fruitless annoyance. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 10th July, 1860.] The little envelope with its address of "Marian" was very welcome, and as Mr. Lewes is sending what a Malaproprian friend once called a "missile" to Sara, I feel inclined to slip in a word of gratitude--less for the present than for the past goodness, which came back to me with keener remembrance than ever when we were at Genoa and at Como--the places I first saw with you. How wretched I was then--how peevish, how utterly morbid! And how kind and forbearing you were under the oppression of my company. I should like you now and then to feel happy in the thought that you were always perfectly good to me. That I was not good to you is my own disagreeable affair; the bitter taste of that fact is mine, not yours. Don't you remember Bellagio? It is hardly altered much except in the hotels, which the eleven years have wondrously multiplied and bedizened for the accommodation of the English. But if I begin to recall the things we saw in Italy, I shall write as long a letter as Mr. Lewes's, which, by-the-bye, now I have read it, seems to be something of a "missile" in another sense than the Malaproprian. But Sara is one of the few people to whom candor is acceptable as the highest tribute. And private criticism has more chance of being faithful than public. We must have mercy on critics who are obliged to make a figure in printed pages. They must by all means say striking things. Either we should not read printed criticisms at all (_I don't_), or we should read them with the constant remembrance that they are a fugitive kind of work which, in the present stage of human nature, can rarely engage a very high grade of conscience or ability. The fate of a book, which is not entirely ephemeral, is never decided by journalists or reviewers of any but an exceptional kind. Tell Sara her damnation--if it ever comes to pass--will be quite independent of Nationals and Westminsters. Let half a dozen competent people read her book, and an opinion of it will spread quite apart from either praise or blame in reviews and newspapers. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Tuesday evening, July, 1860.] Our big boy is a great delight to us, and makes our home doubly cheery. It is very sweet as one gets old to have some young life about one. He is quite a passionate musician, and we play Beethoven duets with increasing appetite every evening. The opportunity of hearing some inspiring music is one of the chief benefits we hope for to counterbalance our loss of the wide common and the fields. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 14th July, 1860.] We shall certainly read the parts you suggest in the "Education of the Feelings,"[26] and I dare say I shall read a good deal more of it, liking to turn over the leaves of a book which I read first in our old drawing-room at Foleshill, and then lent to my sister, who, with a little air of maternal experience, pronounced it "very sensible." There is so much that I want to do every day--I had need cut myself into four women. We have a great extra interest and occupation just now in our big boy Charlie, who is looking forward to a Government examination, and wants much help and sympathy in music and graver things. I think we are quite peculiarly blest in the fact that this eldest lad seems the most entirely lovable human animal of seventeen and a half that I ever met with or heard of: he has a sweetness of disposition which is saved from weakness by a remarkable sense of duty. We are going to let our present house, if possible--that is, get rid of it altogether on account of its inconvenient situation--other projects are still in a floating, unfixed condition. The water did not look quite so green at Como--perhaps, as your remark suggests, because there was a less vivid green to be reflected from my personality as I looked down on it. I am eleven years nearer to the sere and yellow leaf, and my feelings are even more autumnal than my years. I have read no reviews of the "Mill on the Floss" except that in the _Times_ which Blackwood sent me to Florence. I abstain not from superciliousness, but on a calm consideration of the probable proportion of benefit on the one hand, and waste of thought on the other. It was certain that in the notices of my first book, after the removal of my _incognito_, there would be much _ex post facto_ wisdom, which could hardly profit me since _I_ certainly knew who I was beforehand, and knew also that no one else knew who had not been told. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 18th July, 1860.] We are quite uncertain about our plans at present. Our second boy, Thornie, is going to leave Hofwyl, and to be placed in some more expensive position, in order to the carrying on of his education in a more complete way, so that we are thinking of avoiding for the present any final establishment of ourselves, which would necessarily be attended with additional outlay. Besides, these material cares draw rather too severely on my strength and spirits. But until Charlie's career has taken shape we frame no definite projects. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 6th Aug. 1860.] If Cara values the article on Strikes in the _Westminster Review_, she will be interested to know--if she has not heard it already--that the writer is _blind_. I dined with him the other week, and could hardly keep the tears back as I sat at table with him. Yet he is cheerful and animated, accepting with graceful quietness all the minute attentions to his wants that his blindness calls forth. His name is Fawcett, and he is a Fellow of Trinity Hall, Cambridge. I am sitting for my portrait--for the last time, I hope--to Lawrence, the artist who drew that chalk-head of Thackeray, which is familiar to you. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, Friday, Aug. 1860.] I know you will rejoice with us that Charlie has won his place at the Post-office, having been at the head of the list in the examination. The dear lad is fairly launched in life now. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, Saturday evening, Aug. 1860.] I am thoroughly vexed that we didn't go to Lawrence's to-day. We made an effort, but it was raining too hard at the only time that would serve us to reach the train. That comes of our inconvenient situation, so far off the railway; and alas! no one comes to take our house off our hands. We may be forced to stay here after all. One of the things I shall count upon, if we are able to get nearer London, is to see more of your schools and other good works. That would help me to do without the fields for many months of the year. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th Aug. 1860.] I am very sorry that anything I have written should have pained you. _That_, certainly, is the result I should seek most to avoid in the very slight communication which we are able to keep up--necessarily under extremely imperfect acquaintance with each other's present self. My first letter to you about your book, after having read it through, was as simple and sincere a statement of the main impressions it had produced on me as I knew how to write in few words. My second letter, in which I unhappily used a formula in order to express to you, in briefest phrase, my difficulty in discerning the justice of your _analogical_ argument, _as I understood it_, was written from no other impulse than the desire to show you that I did not neglect your abstract just sent to me. The said formula was entirely deprived of its application by the statement in your next letter that you used the word "essence" in another sense than the one hitherto received in philosophical writing, on the question as to the nature of our knowledge; and the explanation given of your meaning in your last letter shows me--unless I am plunging into further mistake--that you mean nothing but what I fully believe. My offensive formula was written under the supposition that your conclusion meant something which it apparently did _not_ mean. It is probable enough that I was stupid; but I should be distressed to think that the discipline of life had been of so little use to me as to leave me with a tendency to leap at once to the attitude of a critic, instead of trying first to be a learner from every book written with sincere labor. Will you tell Mr. Bray that we are quitting our present house in order to be _nearer_ town for Charlie's sake, who has an appointment in the Post-office, and our time will be arduously occupied during the next few weeks in arrangements to that end, so that our acceptance of the pleasant proposition to visit Sydenham for a while is impossible. We have advertised for a house near Regent's Park, having just found a gentleman and lady ready to take our present one off our hands. They want to come in on quarter-day, so that we have no time to spare. I have been reading this morning for my spiritual good Emerson's "Man the Reformer," which comes to me with fresh beauty and meaning. My heart goes out with venerating gratitude to that mild face, which I dare say is smiling on some one as beneficently as it one day did on me years and years ago. Do not write again about opinions on large questions, dear Sara. The liability to mutual misconception which attends such correspondence--especially in my case, who can only write with brevity and haste--makes me dread it greatly; and I think there is no benefit derivable to you to compensate for the presence of that dread in me. You do not know me well enough as I _am_ (according to the doctrine of development which you have yourself expounded) to have the materials for interpreting my imperfect expressions. I think you would spare yourself some pain if you would attribute to your friends a larger comprehension of ideas, and a larger acquaintance with them, than you appear to do. I should imagine that many of them, or at least _some_ of them, share with you, much more fully than you seem to suppose, in the interest and hope you derive from the doctrine of development, with its geometrical progression towards fuller and fuller being. Surely it is a part of human piety we should all cultivate, not to form conclusions, on slight and dubious evidence, as to other people's "tone of mind," or to regard particular mistakes as a proof of general moral incapacity to understand us. I suppose such a tendency (to large conclusions about others) is part of the original sin we are all born with, for I have continually to check it in myself. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th Aug. 1860.] I think I must tell you the secret, though I am distrusting my power to make it grow into a published fact. When we were in Florence I was rather fired with the idea of writing an historical romance--scene, Florence; period, the close of the fifteenth century, which was marked by Savonarola's career and martyrdom. Mr. Lewes has encouraged me to persevere in the project, saying that I should probably do something in historical romance rather different in character from what has been done before. But I want first to write another English story, and the plan I should like to carry out is this: to publish my next English novel when my Italian one is advanced enough for us to begin its publication a few months afterwards in "Maga." It would appear without a name in the Magazine, and be subsequently reprinted with the name of George Eliot. I need not tell you the wherefore of this plan. You know well enough the received phrases with which a writer is greeted when he does something else than what was expected of him. But just now I am quite without confidence in my future doings, and almost repent of having formed conceptions which will go on lashing me now until I have at least tried to fulfil them. I am going to-day to give my last sitting to Lawrence, and we were counting on the Major's coming to look at the portrait and judge of it. I hope it will be satisfactory, for I am quite set against going through the same process a second time. We are a little distracted just now with the prospect of removal from our present house, which some obliging people have at last come to take off our hands. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 5th Sept. 1860.] My fingers have been itching to write to you for the last week or more, but I have waited and waited, hoping to be able to tell you that we had decided on our future house. This evening, however, I have been reading your description of Algiers, and the desire to thank you for it moves me too strongly to be resisted. It is admirably written, and makes me _see_ the country. I am so glad to think of the deep draughts of life you get from being able to spend half your life in that fresh, grand scenery. It must make London and English green fields all the more enjoyable in their turn. As for us, we are preparing to renounce the delights of roving, and to settle down quietly, as old folks should do, for the benefit of the young ones. We have let our present house. Is it not cheering to have the sunshine on the corn, and the prospect that the poor people will not have to endure the suffering that comes on them from a bad harvest? The fields that were so sadly beaten down a little while ago on the way to town are now standing in fine yellow shocks. I wish you could know how much we felt your kindness to Charley. He is such a dear good fellow that nothing is thrown away upon him. Write me a scrap of news about yourself, and tell me how you and the doctor are enjoying the country. I shall get a breath of it in that way. I think I love the fields and shudder at the streets more and more every month. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Sept. 27._--To-day is the third day we have spent in our new home here at 10 Harewood Square. It is a furnished house, in which we do not expect to stay longer than six months at the utmost. Since our return from Italy I have written a slight tale, "Mr. David Faux, Confectioner" ("Brother Jacob"), which G. thinks worth printing. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 27th Sept. 1860.] The precious check arrived safely to-day. I am much obliged to you for it, and also for the offer to hasten further payments. I have no present need of that accommodation, as we have given up the idea of buying the house which attracted us, dreading a step that might fetter us to town, or to a more expensive mode of living than might ultimately be desirable. I hope Mr. Lewes will bring us back a good report of Major Blackwood's progress towards re-established health. In default of a visit from him, it was very agreeable to have him represented by his son,[27] who has the happy talent of making a morning call one of the easiest, pleasantest things in the world. I wonder if you know who is the writer of the article in the _North British_, in which I am reviewed along with Hawthorne. Mr. Lewes brought it for me to read this morning, and it is so unmixed in its praise that if I had any friends I should be uneasy lest a friend should have written it. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 16th Oct. 1860.] Since there is no possibility of my turning in to see you on my walk, as in the old days, I cannot feel easy without writing to tell you my regret that I missed you when you came. In changing a clearer sky for a foggy one we have not changed our habits, and we walk after lunch, as usual; but I should like very much to stay indoors any day with the expectation of seeing you, if I could know beforehand of your coming. It is rather sad not to see your face at all from week to week, and I hope you know that I feel it so. But I am always afraid of falling into a disagreeable urgency of invitation, since we have nothing to offer beyond the familiar, well-worn entertainment of our own society. I hope you and Mr. Congreve are quite well now and free from cares. Emily, I suppose, is gone with the sunshine of her face to Coventry. There is sadly little sunshine except that of young faces just now. Still we are flourishing, in spite of damp and dismalness. We were glad to hear that the well-written article in the _Westminster_ on the "Essays and Reviews" was by your friend Mr. Harrison.[28] Though I don't quite agree with his view of the case, I admired the tone and style of the writing greatly. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 19th Oct. 1860.] There is no objection to Wednesday but this--that it is our day for hearing a course of lectures, and the lecture begins at eight. Now, since you can't come often, we want to keep you as long as we can, and we have a faint hope that Mr. Congreve might be able to come from his work and dine with us and take you home. But if that were impossible, could you not stay all night? There is a bed ready for you. Think of all that, and if you can manage to give us the longer visit, choose another day when our evening will be unbroken. I will understand by your silence that you can only come for a shorter time, and that you abide by your plan of coming on Wednesday. I am really quite hungry for the sight of you. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 2d Nov. 1860.] I agree with you in preferring to put simply "New Edition;" and I see, too, that the practice of advertising numbers is made vulgar and worthless by the doubtful veracity of some publishers, and the low character of the books to which they affix this supposed guarantee of popularity. _Magna est veritas_, etc. I can't tell you how much comfort I feel in having publishers who believe that. You have read the hostile article in the _Quarterly_, I dare say. I have not seen it; but Mr. Lewes's report of it made me more cheerful than any review I have heard of since "The Mill" came out. You remember Lord John Russell was once laughed at immensely for saying that he felt confident he was right, because all parties found fault with him. I really find myself taking nearly the same view of my position, with the Freethinkers angry with me on one side and the writer in the _Quarterly_ on the other--_not_ because my representations are untruthful, but because they are impartial--because I don't _load_ my dice so as to make their side win. The parenthetical hint that the classical quotations in my books might be "more correctly printed," is an amusing sample of the grievance that belongs to review-writing in general, since there happens to be only _one_ classical quotation in them all--the Greek one from the Philoctetes in "Amos Barton." By-the-bye, will you see that the readers have not allowed some error to creep into that solitary bit of pedantry? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 13th Nov. 1860.] I understand your paradox of "expecting disappointments," for that is the only form of hope with which I am familiar. I should like, for your sake, that you should rather see us in our _own_ house than in this; for I fear your carrying away a general sense of _yellow_ in connection with us--and I am sure that is enough to set you against the thought of us. There are some staring yellow curtains which you will hardly help blending with your impression of our moral sentiments. In our own drawing-room I mean to have a paradise of greenness. I have lately re-read your "Thoughts," from the beginning of the "Psychical Essence of Christianity" to the end of the "History of Philosophy," and I feel my original impression confirmed--that the "Psychical Essence" and "General Review of the Christian System" are the most valuable portions. I think you once expressed your regret that I did not understand the analogy you traced between Feuerbach's theory and Spencer's. I don't know what gave you that impression, for _I_ never said so. I see your meaning distinctly in that parallel. If you referred to something in Mr. Lewes's letter, let me say, once for all, that you must not impute _my_ opinions to _him_ nor _vice versâ_. The intense happiness of our union is derived in a high degree from the perfect freedom with which we each follow and declare our own impressions. In this respect I know _no_ man so great as he--that difference of opinion rouses no egoistic irritation in him, and that he is ready to admit that another argument is the stronger the moment his intellect recognizes it. I am glad to see Mr. Bray contributing his quota to the exposure of that odious trickery--spirit-rapping. It was not headache that I was suffering from when Mr. Bray called, but extreme languor and unbroken fatigue from morning to night--a state which is always accompanied in me, psychically, by utter self-distrust and despair of ever being equal to the demands of life. We should be very pleased to hear some news of Mr. and Mrs. Call. I feel their removal from town quite a loss to us. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Nov. 28._--Since I last wrote in this Journal I have suffered much from physical weakness, accompanied with mental depression. The loss of the country has seemed very bitter to me, and my want of health and strength has prevented me from working much--still worse, has made me despair of ever working well again. I am getting better now by the help of tonics, and shall be better still if I could gather more bravery, resignation, and simplicity of striving. In the meantime my cup is full of blessings: my home is bright and warm with love and tenderness, and in more material, vulgar matters we are very fortunate. Last Tuesday--the 20th--we had a pleasant evening. Anthony Trollope dined with us, and made me like him very much by his straightforward, wholesome _Wesen_. Afterwards Mr. Helps came in, and the talk was extremely agreeable. He told me the queen had been speaking to him in great admiration of my books--especially "The Mill on the Floss." It is interesting to know that royalty can be touched by that sort of writing, and I was grateful to Mr. Helps for his wish to tell me of the sympathy given to me in that quarter. To-day I have had a letter from M. d'Albert, saying that at last the French edition of "Adam Bede" is published. He pleases me very much by saying that he finds not a sentence that he can retrench in the first volume of "The Mill." I am engaged now in writing a story--the idea of which came to me after our arrival in this house, and which has thrust itself between me and the other book I was meditating. It is "Silas Marner, the Weaver of Raveloe." I am still only at about the 62d page, for I have written slowly and interruptedly. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 7th Dec. 1860.] The sight of sunshine usually brings you to my mind, because you are my latest association with the country; but I think of you much oftener than I see the sunshine, for the weather in London has been more uninterruptedly dismal than ever for the last fortnight. Nevertheless _I_ am brighter; and since I believe your goodness will make that agreeable news to you, I write on purpose to tell it. Quinine and steel have at last made me brave and cheerful, and I really don't mind a journey up-stairs. If you had not repressed our hope of seeing you again until your sister's return, I should have asked you to join us for the Exeter Hall performance of the "Messiah" this evening, which I am looking forward to with delight. The Monday Popular Concerts at St. James's Hall are our easiest and cheapest pleasures. I go in my bonnet; we sit in the shilling places in the body of the hall, and hear to perfection for a shilling! That is agreeable when one hears Beethoven's quartets and sonatas. Pray bear in mind that these things are to be had when you are more at liberty. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Dec. 17._--We entered to-day our new home--16 Blandford Square--which we have taken for three years, hoping by the end of that time to have so far done our duty by the boys as to be free to live where we list. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Dec. 1860.] Your vision of me as "settled" was painfully in contrast with the fact. The last virtue human beings will attain, I am inclined to think, is scrupulosity in promising and faithfulness in fulfilment. We are still far off our last stadium of development, and so it has come to pass that, though we were in the house on Monday last, our curtains are not up and our oilcloth is not down. Such is life, seen from the furnishing point of view! I can't tell you how hateful this sort of time-frittering work is to me, who every year care less for houses and detest shops more. To crown my sorrows, I have lost my pen--my old, favorite pen, with which I have written for eight years--at least, it is not forth-coming. We have been reading the proof of Mr. Spencer's second part, and I am supremely gratified by it, because he brings his argument to a point which I did not anticipate from him. It is, as he says, a result of his riper thought. After all the bustle of Monday I went to hear Sims Reeves sing "Adelaide"--that _ne plus ultra_ of passionate song--and I wish you had been there for one quarter of an hour, that you might have heard it too. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 26th Dec. 1860.] The bright point in your letter is that you are in a happy state of mind yourself. For the rest, we must wait, and not be impatient with those who have their inward trials, though everything outward seems to smile on them. It seems to those who are differently placed that the time of freedom from strong ties and urgent claims must be very precious for the ends of self-culture and good, helpful work towards the world at large. But it hardly ever is so. As for the forms and ceremonies, I feel no regret that any should turn to them for comfort if they can find comfort in them; sympathetically I enjoy them myself. But I have faith in the working-out of higher possibilities than the Catholic or any other Church has presented; and those who have strength to wait and endure are bound to accept no formula which their whole souls--their intellect as well as their emotions--do not embrace with entire reverence. The "highest calling and election" is to _do without opium_, and live through all our pain with conscious, clear-eyed endurance. We have no sorrow just now, except my constant inward "worrit" of unbelief in any future of good work on my part. Everything I do seems poor and trivial in the doing; and when it is quite gone from me, and seems no longer my own, then I rejoice in it and think it fine. That is the history of my life. I have been wanting to go to your school again, to refresh myself with the young voices there, but I have not been able to do it. My walks have all been taken up with shopping errands of late; but I hope to get more leisure soon. We both beg to offer our affectionate remembrances to the doctor. Get Herbert Spencer's new work--the two first quarterly parts. It is the best thing he has done. [Sidenote: Journal, 1860.] _Dec. 31._--This year has been marked by many blessings, and, above all, by the comfort we have found in having Charles with us. Since we set out on our journey to Italy on 25th March, the time has not been fruitful in work: distractions about our change of residence have run away with many days; and since I have been in London my state of health has been depressing to all effort. May the next year be more fruitful! [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 12th Jan. 1861.] I am writing a story which came _across_ my other plans by a sudden inspiration. I don't know at present whether it will resolve itself into a book short enough for me to complete before Easter, or whether it will expand beyond that possibility. It seems to me that nobody will take any interest in it but myself, for it is extremely unlike the popular stories going; but Mr. Lewes declares that I am wrong, and says it is as good as anything I have done. It is a story of old-fashioned village life, which has unfolded itself from the merest millet-seed of thought. I think I get slower and more timid in my writing, but perhaps worry about houses and servants and boys, with want of bodily strength, may have had something to do with that. I hope to be quiet now. [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _Feb. 1._--The first month of the New Year has been passed in much bodily discomfort, making both work and leisure heavy. I have reached page 209 of my story, which is to be in one volume, and I want to get it ready for Easter, but I dare promise myself nothing with this feeble body. The other day I had charming letters from M. and Mme. d'Albert, saying that the French "Adam" goes on very well, and showing an appreciation of "The Mill" which pleases me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 6th Feb. 1861.] I was feeling so ill on Friday and Saturday that I had not spirit to write and thank you for the basket of eggs--an invaluable present. I was particularly grateful this morning at breakfast, when a fine large one fell to my share. On Saturday afternoon we were both so utterly incapable that Mr. Lewes insisted on our setting off forthwith into the country. But we only got as far as Dorking, and came back yesterday. I felt a new creature as soon as I was in the country; and we had two brilliant days for rambling and driving about that lovely Surrey. I suppose we must keep soul and body together by occasional flights of this sort; and don't you think an occasional flight to town will be good for you? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 8th Feb. 1861.] I have destroyed almost all my friends' letters to me, because they were only intended for my eyes, and could only fall into the hands of persons who knew little of the writers, if I allowed them to remain till after my death. In proportion as I love every form of piety--which is venerating love--I hate hard curiosity; and, unhappily, my experience has impressed me with the sense that hard curiosity is the more common temper of mind. But enough of that. The reminders I am getting from time to time of Coventry distress have made me think very often yearningly and painfully of the friends who are more immediately affected by it, and I often wonder if more definite information would increase or lessen my anxiety for them. Send me what word you can from time to time, that there may be some reality in my image of things round your hearth. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 15th Feb. 1861.] I send you by post to-day about two hundred and thirty pages of MS. I send it because, in my experience, printing and its preliminaries have always been rather a slow business; and as the story--if published at Easter at all--should be ready by Easter week, there is no time to lose. We are reading "Carlyle's Memoirs" with much interest; but, so far as we have gone, he certainly does seem to me something of a "Sadducee"--a very handsome one, judging from the portrait. What a memory and what an experience for a novelist! But, somehow, experience and finished faculty rarely go together. Dearly beloved Scott had the greatest combination of experience and faculty, yet even he never made the most of his treasures, at least in his _mode_ of presentation. Send us better news of Major Blackwood, if you can. We feel so old and rickety ourselves that we have a peculiar interest in invalids. Mr. Lewes is going to lecture for the Post-office this evening, by Mr. Trollope's request. I am rather uneasy about it, and wish he were well through the unusual excitement. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 16th Feb. 1861.] I have been much relieved by Mr. Lewes having got through his lecture at the Post-office[29] with perfect ease and success, for I had feared the unusual excitement for him. _I_ am better. I have not been working much lately; indeed, this year has been a comparatively idle one. I think my _malaise_ is chiefly owing to the depressing influence of town air and town scenes. The Zoological Gardens are my one outdoor pleasure now, and we can take it several times a week, for Mr. Lewes has become a fellow. My love is often visiting you. Entertain it well. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Feb. 1861.] I am glad to hear that Mr. Maurice impressed you agreeably. If I had strength to be adventurous on Sunday I should go to hear him preach as well as others. But I am unequal to the least exertion or irregularity. My only pleasure away from our own hearth is going to the Zoological Gardens. Mr. Lewes is a fellow, so we turn in there several times a week; and I find the birds and beasts there most congenial to my spirit. There is a Shoebill, a great bird of grotesque ugliness, whose topknot looks brushed up to a point with an exemplary deference to the demands of society, but who, I am sure, has no idea that he looks the handsomer for it. I cherish an unrequited attachment to him. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 23d Feb. 1861.] If you are in London this morning, in this fine, dun-colored fog, you know how to pity me. But I feel myself wicked for implying that I have any grievances. Only last week we had a circular from the clergyman at Attleboro, where there is a considerable population entirely dependent on the ribbon-trade, telling us how the poor weavers are suffering from the effects of the Coventry strike. And these less-known, undramatic tales of want win no wide help, such as has been given in the case of the Hartley colliery accident. Your letter was a contribution towards a more cheerful view of things, for whatever may be the minor evils you hint at, I know that Mr. Congreve's better health, and the satisfaction you have in his doing effective work, will outweigh them. We have had a Dr. Wyatt here lately, an Oxford physician, who was much interested in hearing of Mr. Congreve again, not only on the ground of Oxford remembrances, but from having read his writings. I was much pleased with the affectionate respect that was expressed in all the notices of Mr. Clough[30] that I happened to see in the newspapers. They were an indication that there must be a great deal of private sympathy to soothe poor Mrs. Clough, if any soothing is possible in such cases. That little poem of his which was quoted in the _Spectator_ about parted friendships touched me deeply. You may be sure we are ailing, but I am ashamed of dwelling on a subject that offers so little variety. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th Feb. 1861.] I don't wonder at your finding my story, as far as you have read it, rather sombre; indeed, I should not have believed that any one would have been interested in it but myself (since Wordsworth is dead) if Mr. Lewes had not been strongly arrested by it. But I hope you will not find it at all a sad story, as a whole, since it sets--or is intended to set--in a strong light the remedial influences of pure, natural human relations. The Nemesis is a very mild one. I have felt all through as if the story would have lent itself best to metrical rather than to prose fiction, especially in all that relates to the psychology of Silas; except that, under that treatment, there could not be an equal play of humor. It came to me first of all quite suddenly, as a sort of legendary tale, suggested by my recollection of having once, in early childhood, seen a linen-weaver with a bag on his back; but, as my mind dwelt on the subject, I became inclined to a more realistic treatment. My chief reason for wishing to publish the story now is that I like my writings to appear in the order in which they are written, because they belong to successive mental phases, and when they are a year behind me I can no longer feel that thorough identification with them which gives zest to the sense of authorship. I generally like them better at that distance, but then I feel as if they might just as well have been written by somebody else. It would have been a great pleasure to me if Major Blackwood could have read my story. I am very glad to have the first part tested by the reading of your nephew and Mr. Simpson, and to find that it can interest them at all. [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _March 10._--Finished "Silas Marner," and sent off the last thirty pages to Edinburgh. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Mch. 1861, from Hastings.] Your letter came to me just as we were preparing to start in search of fresh air and the fresh thoughts that come with it. I hope you never doubt that I feel a deep interest in knowing all facts that touch you nearly. I should like to think that it was some small comfort to Cara and you to know that, wherever I am, there is one among that number of your friends--necessarily decreasing with increasing years--who enter into your present experience with the light of memories; for kind feeling can never replace fully the sympathy that comes from memory. My disposition is so faultily anxious and foreboding that I am not likely to forget anything of a saddening sort. Tell Sara we saw Mr. William Smith, author of "Thorndale," a short time ago, and he spoke of her and her book with interest; he thought her book "suggestive." He called on us during a visit to London, made for the sake of getting married. The lady is, or rather was, a Miss Cumming, daughter of a blind physician of Edinburgh. He said they had talked to each other for some time of the "impossibility" of marrying, because they were both too poor. "But," he said, "it is dangerous, Lewes, to talk even of the impossibility." The difficulties gradually dwindled, and the advantages magnified themselves. She is a nice person, we hear; and I was particularly pleased with _him_--he is modest to diffidence, yet bright and keenly awake. I am just come in from our first good blow on the beach, and have that delicious sort of numbness in arms and legs that comes from walking hard in a fresh wind. "Silas Marner" is in one volume. It was quite a sudden inspiration that came across me in the midst of altogether different meditations. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th Mch. 1861.] The latest number I had heard of was three thousand three hundred, so that your letter brought me agreeable information. I am particularly gratified, because this spirited subscription must rest on my character as a writer generally, and not simply on the popularity of "Adam Bede." There is an article on "The Mill" in _Macmillan's Magazine_ which is worth reading. I cannot, of course, agree with the writer in all his regrets; if I could have done so I should not have written the book I did write, but quite another. Still, it is a comfort to me to read any criticism which recognizes the high responsibilities of literature that undertakes to represent life. The ordinary tone about art is that the artist may do what he will, provided he pleases the public. I am very glad to be told--whenever you can tell me--that the major is not suffering heavily. I know so well the preciousness of those smiles that tell one the mind is not held out of all reach of soothing. We are wavering whether we shall go to Florence this spring or wait till the year and other things are more advanced. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 1st April, 1861.] It gave me pleasure to have your letter, not only because of the kind expressions of sympathy it contains, but also because it gives me an opportunity of telling you, after the lapse of years, that I remember gratefully how you wrote to me with generous consideration and belief at a time when most persons who knew anything of me were disposed (naturally enough) to judge me rather severely. Only a woman of rare qualities would have written to me as you did on the strength of the brief intercourse that had passed between us. It was never a trial to me to have been cut off from what is called the world, and I think I love none of my fellow-creatures the less for it; still, I must always retain a peculiar regard for those who showed me any kindness in word or deed at that time, when there was the least evidence in my favor. The list of those who did so is a short one, so that I can often and easily recall it. For the last six years I have ceased to be "Miss Evans" for any one who has personal relations with me--having held myself under all the responsibilities of a married woman. I wish this to be distinctly understood; and when I tell you that we have a great boy of eighteen at home, who calls me "mother," as well as two other boys, almost as tall, who write to me under the same name, you will understand that the point is not one of mere egoism or personal dignity, when I request that any one who has a regard for me will cease to speak of me by my maiden name. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 4th April, 1861.] I am much obliged to you for your punctuality in sending me my precious check. I prize the money fruit of my labor very highly as the means of saving us dependence, or the degradation of writing when we are no longer able to write well, or to write what we have not written before. Mr. Langford brought us word that he thought the total subscription (including Scotland and Ireland) would mount to five thousand five hundred. That is really very great. And letters drop in from time to time, giving me words of strong encouragement, especially about "The Mill;" so that I have reason to be cheerful, and to believe that where one has a large public, one's words must hit their mark. If it were not for that, special cases of misinterpretation might paralyze me. For example, pray notice how one critic attributes to me a disdain for Tom; as if it were not _my_ respect for Tom which infused itself into my reader; as if he could have respected Tom if I had not painted him with respect; the exhibition of the right on both sides being the very soul of my intention in the story. However, I ought to be satisfied if I have roused the feeling that does justice to both sides. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 6th April, 1861.] I feel more at ease in omitting formalities with you than I should with most persons, because I know you are yourself accustomed to have other reasons for your conduct than mere fashion, and I believe you will understand me without many words when I tell you what Mr. Lewes felt unable to explain on the instant when you kindly expressed the wish to see us at your house; namely, that I have found it a necessity of my London life to make the rule of _never_ paying visits. Without a carriage, and with my easily perturbed health, London distances would make any other rule quite irreconcilable for me with any efficient use of my days; and I am obliged to give up the _few_ visits which would be really attractive and fruitful in order to avoid the _many_ visits which would be the reverse. It is only by saying, "I never pay visits," that I can escape being ungracious or unkind--only by renouncing all social intercourse but such as comes to our own fireside, that I can escape sacrificing the chief objects of my life. I think it very good of those with whom I have much fellow-feeling, if they will let me have the pleasure of seeing them without their expecting the usual reciprocity of visits; and I hope I need hardly say that you are among the visitors who would be giving me pleasure in this way. I think your imagination will supply all I have left unsaid, all the details that run away with our hours when our life extends at all beyond our own homes; and I am not afraid of your misinterpreting my stay-at-home rule into churlishness. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th April, 1861.] We went to hear Beethoven's "Mass in D" last night, and on Wednesday to hear Mendelssohn's "Walpurgis Nacht" and Beethoven's "Symphony in B," so that we have had two musical treats this week; but the enjoyment of such things is much diminished by the gas and bad air. Indeed, our long addiction to a quiet life, in which our daily walk among the still grass and trees was a _fête_ to us, has unfitted us for the sacrifices that London demands. Don't think about reading "Silas Marner" just because it is come out. I hate _obligato_ reading and _obligato_ talk about my books. _I never send them to any one_, and never wish to be spoken to about them, except by an unpremeditated, spontaneous prompting. They are written out of my deepest belief, and, as well as I can, for the great public, and every sincere, strong word will find its mark in that public. Perhaps the annoyance I suffered (referring to the Liggins' affair) has made me rather morbid on such points; but, apart from my own weaknesses, I think the less an author hears about himself the better. Don't mistake me: I am writing a general explanation, _not_ anything applicable to you. [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _April 19._--We set off on our second journey to Florence, through France and by the Cornice Road. Our weather was delicious, a little rain, and we suffered neither from heat nor from dust. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 25th April, 1861.] We have had a paradisaic journey hitherto. It does one good to look at the Provençals--men and women. They are quite a different race from the Northern French--large, round-featured, full-eyed, with an expression of _bonhomie_, calm and suave. They are very much like the pleasantest Italians. The women at Arles and Toulon are remarkably handsome. On Tuesday morning we set out about ten on our way to Nice, hiring a carriage and taking post-horses. The sky was gray, and after an hour or so we had rain; nevertheless our journey to Vidauban, about half-way to Nice, was enchanting. Everywhere a delicious plain, covered with bright green corn, sprouting vines, mulberry-trees, olives, and here and there meadows sprinkled with buttercups, made the nearer landscapes, and, in the distance, mountains of varying outline. _Mutter_ felt herself in a state of perfect bliss from only looking at this peaceful, generous nature; and you often came across the green blades of corn, and made her love it all the better. We had meant to go on to Fréjus that night, but no horses were to be had; so we made up our minds to rest at Vidauban, and went out to have a stroll before our six-o'clock dinner. Such a stroll! The sun had kindly come out for us, and we enjoyed it all the more for the grayness of the morning. There is a crystally clear river flowing by Vidauban, called the Argent: it rushes along between a fringe of aspens and willows; and the sunlight lay under the boughs, and fell on the eddying water, making Pater and me very happy as we wandered. The next morning we set off early, to be sure of horses before they had been used up by other travellers. The country was not quite so lovely, but we had the sunlight to compensate until we got past Fréjus, where we had our first view of the sea since Toulon, and where the scenery changes to the entirely mountainous, the road winding above gorges of pine-clad masses for a long way. To heighten the contrast, a heavy storm came, which thoroughly laid the dust for us, if it had no other advantage. The sun came out gloriously again before we reached Cannes, and lit up the yellow broom, which is now in all its splendor, and clothes vast slopes by which our road wound. We had still a four-hours' journey to Nice, where we arrived at six o'clock, with headaches that made us glad of the luxuries to be found in a great hotel. [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _May 5._--Dear Florence was lovelier than ever on this second view, and ill-health was the only deduction from perfect enjoyment. We had comfortable quarters in the Albergo della Vittoria, on the Arno; we had the best news from England about the success of "Silas Marner;" and we had long letters from our dear boy to make us feel easy about home. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 5th May, 1861.] Your pleasant news had been ripening at the post-office several days before we enjoyed the receipt of it; for our journey lasted us longer than we expected, and we didn't reach this place till yesterday evening. We have come with _vetturino_ from Toulon--the most delightful (and the most expensive) journey we have ever had. I dare say you know the Cornice; if not, _do_ know it some time, and bring Mrs. Blackwood that way into Italy. Meanwhile I am glad to think that you are having a less fatiguing change to places where you can "carry the comforts o' the Saut Market" with you, which is not quite the case with travellers along the Mediterranean coast. I hope I shall soon hear that you are thoroughly set up by fresh air and fresh circumstances, along with pleasant companionship. Except a thunderstorm, which gave a grand variety to the mountains, and a little gentle rain, the first day from Toulon, which made the green corn all the fresher, we have had unbroken sunshine, without heat and without dust. I suppose this season and late autumn must be the perfect moments for taking this supremely beautiful journey. We must be forever ashamed of ourselves if we don't work the better for it. It was very good of you to write to me in the midst of your hurry, that I might have good news to greet me. It really did lighten our weariness, and make the noisy streets that prevented sleep more endurable. I was amused with your detail about Professor Aytoun's sovereigns. There can be no great paintings of misers under the present system of paper money--checks, bills, scrip, and the like--nobody can handle that dull property as men handled the glittering gold. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 17th May, 1861.] The Florentine winds, being of a grave and earnest disposition, have naturally a disgust for trivial _dilettanti_ foreigners, and seize on the peculiarly feeble and worthless with much virulence. In consequence we had a sad history for nearly a week--Pater doing little else than nurse me, and I doing little else but feel eminently uncomfortable, for which, as you know, I have a faculty "second to none." I feel very full of thankfulness for all the creatures I have got to love--all the beautiful and great things that are given me to know; and I feel, too, much younger and more hopeful, as if a great deal of life and work were still before me. Pater and I have had great satisfaction in finding our impressions of admiration more than renewed in returning to Florence; the things we cared about when we were here before seem even more worthy than they did in our memories. We have had delightful weather since the cold winds abated; and the evening lights on the Arno, the bridges, and the quaint houses, are a treat that we think of beforehand. Your letters, too, are thought of beforehand. We long for them, and when they come they don't disappoint us: they tell us everything, and make us feel at home with you after a fashion. I confess to some dread of Blandford Square in the abstract. I fear London will seem more odious to me than ever; but I think I shall bear it with more fortitude. After all, that is the best place to live in where one has a strong reason for living. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 19th May, 1861.] We have been industriously foraging in old streets and old books. I feel very brave just now, and enjoy the thought of work--but don't set your mind on my doing just what I have dreamed. It may turn out that I can't work freely and fully enough in the medium I have chosen, and in that case I must give it up; for I will never write anything to which my whole heart, mind, and conscience don't consent, so that I may feel that it was something--however small--which wanted to be done in this world, and that I am just the organ for that small bit of work. I am very much cheered by the way in which "Silas" is received. I hope it has made some slight pleasure for you too, in the midst of incomparably deeper feelings of sadness.[31] Your quiet tour among the lakes was the best possible thing for you. What place is not better "out of the season"?--although I feel I am almost wicked in my hatred of being where there are many other people enjoying themselves. I am very far behind Mr. Buckle's millennial prospect, which is, that men will be more and more congregated in cities and occupied with human affairs, so as to be less and less under the influence of Nature--_i.e._, the sky, the hills, and the plains; whereby superstition will vanish and statistics will reign for ever and ever. Mr. Lewes is kept in continual distraction by having to attend to my wants--going with me to the Magliabecchian Library, and poking about everywhere on my behalf--I having very little self-help about me of the pushing and inquiring kind. I look forward with keen anxiety to the next outbreak of war--longing for some turn of affairs that will save poor Venice from being bombarded by those terrible Austrian forts. Thanks for your letters: we both say, "More--give us more." [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 27th May, 1861.] Florence is getting hot, and I am the less sorry to leave it because it has agreed very ill with the dear Paterculus. This evening we have been mounting to the top of Giotto's tower--a very sublime getting up-stairs, indeed--and our muscles are much astonished at the unusual exercise; so you must not be shocked if my letter seems to be written with dim faculties as well as with a dim light. We have seen no one but Mrs. Trollope and her pretty little girl Beatrice, who is a musical genius. She is a delicate fairy, about ten years old, but sings with a grace and expression that make it a thrilling delight to hear her. We have had glorious sunsets, shedding crimson and golden lights under the dark bridges across the Arno. All Florence turns out at eventide, but we avoid the slow crowds on the Lung' Arno, and take our way "up all manner of streets." [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _May_ and _June_.--At the end of May Mr. T. Trollope came back and persuaded us to stay long enough to make the expedition to Camaldoli and La Vernia in his company. We arrived at Florence on the 4th May, and left it on the 7th June--thirty-four days of precious time spent there. Will it be all in vain? Our morning hours were spent in looking at streets, buildings, and pictures, in hunting up old books at shops or stalls, or in reading at the Magliabecchian Library. Alas! I could have done much more if I had been well; but that regret applies to most years of my life. Returned by Lago Maggiore and the St. Gothard; reached home June 14. Blackwood having waited in town to see us, came to lunch with us, and asked me if I would go to dine at Greenwich on the following Monday, to which I said "Yes," by way of exception to my resolve that I will go nowhere for the rest of this year. He drove us there with Colonel Stewart, and we had a pleasant evening--the sight of a game at golf in the park, and a hazy view of the distant shipping, with the Hospital finely broken by trees in the foreground. At dinner Colonel Hamley and Mr. Skene joined us; Delane, who had been invited, was unable to come. The chat was agreeable enough, but the sight of the gliding ships darkening against the dying sunlight made me feel chat rather importunate. _June 16._--This morning, for the first time, I feel myself quietly settled at home. I am in excellent health, and long to work steadily and effectively. If it were possible that I should produce _better_ work than I have yet done! At least there is a possibility that I may make greater efforts against indolence and the despondency that comes from too egoistic a dread of failure. _June 19._--This is the last entry I mean to make in my old book, in which I wrote for the first time at Geneva in 1849. What moments of despair I passed through after that--despair that life would ever be made precious to me by the consciousness that I lived to some good purpose! It was that sort of despair that sucked away the sap of half the hours which might have been filled by energetic youthful activity; and the same demon tries to get hold of me again whenever an old work is dismissed and a new one is being meditated. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th June, 1861.] Some of one's first thoughts on coming home after an absence of much length are about the friends one had left behind--what has happened to them in the meantime, and how are they now? And yet, though we came home last Friday evening, I have not had the quiet moment for writing these thoughts until this morning. I know I need put no questions to you, who always divine what I want to be told. We have had a perfect journey except as regards health--a large, large exception. The cold winds alternating with the hot sun, or some other cause, laid very unkind hold on Mr. Lewes early after our arrival at Florence, and he was ailing with sore throat and cough continually, so that he has come back looking thin and delicate, though the ailments seem to be nearly passed away. I wish you could have shared the pleasures of our last expedition from Florence--to the Monasteries of Camaldoli and La Vernia; I think it was just the sort of thing you would have entered into with thorough zest. Imagine the Franciscans of La Vernia, which is perched upon an abrupt rock rising sheer on the summit of a mountain, turning out at midnight (and when there is deep snow for their feet to plunge in), and chanting their slow way up to the little chapel perched at a lofty distance above their already lofty monastery! This they do every night throughout the year, in all weathers. Give my loving greeting to Cara and Mr. Bray, and then sit down and write me one of your charming letters, making a little picture of everybody and everything about you. God bless you! is the old-fashioned summing up of sincere affection, without the least smirk of studied civility. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th July, 1861.] Your letter gave me a pleasant vision of Sunday sunshine on the flowers, and you among them, with your eyes brightened by busy and enjoyable thoughts. Yes, I hope we are well out of that phase in which the most philosophic view of the past was held to be a smiling survey of human folly, and when the wisest man was supposed to be one who could sympathize with no age but the age to come. When I received your Monday packet I was fresh from six quarto volumes on the history of the monastic orders, and had just begun a less formidable modern book on the same subject--Montalembert's "Monks of the West." Our reading, you see, lay in very different quarters, but I fancy our thoughts sometimes touched the same ground. I am rather puzzled and shocked, however, by your high admiration of the articles on the "Study of History," in the _Cornhill_. I should speak with the reserve due to the fact that I have only read the second article; and this, I confess, did not impress me as exhibiting any mastery of the question, while its tone towards much abler thinkers than the writer himself is to me extremely repulsive. Such writing as, "We should not be called upon to believe that every crotchet which tickled the insane vanity of a conceited Frenchman was an eternal and self-evident truth," is to me simply disgusting, though it were directed against the father of lies. It represents no fact except the writer's own desire to be bitter, and is worthily finished by the dull and irreverent antithesis of "the eternal truth and infernal lie." I quite agree with you--so far as I am able to form a judgment--in regarding Positivism as one-sided; but Comte was a great thinker, nevertheless, and ought to be treated with reverence by all smaller fry. I have just been reading the "Survey of the Middle Ages" contained in the fifth volume of the "Philosophie Positive," and to my apprehension few chapters can be fuller of luminous ideas. I am thankful to learn from it. There may be more profundity in the _Cornhill's_ exposition than I am able to penetrate, or, possibly, the first article may contain weightier matter than the second. Mrs. Bodichon is near us now, and one always gets good from contact with her healthy, practical life. Mr. Lewes is gone to see Mrs. Congreve and carry his net to the Wimbledon ponds. I hope he will get a little strength as well as grist for his microscope. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 18th July, 1861.] The English "Imitation" I told you of, which is used by the Catholics, is Challoner's. I have looked into it again since I saw you, and I think, if you want to give the book away, this translation is as good as any you are likely to get among current editions. If it were for yourself, an old bookstall would be more likely to furnish what you want. Don't ever think of me as valuing either you or Mr. Congreve less instead of more. You naughtily implied something of that kind just when you were running away from me. How could any goodness become less precious to me unless my life had ceased to be a growth, and had become mere shrinking and degeneracy? I always imagine that if I were near you now I should profit more by the gift of your presence--just as one feels about all past sunlight. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _July 24._--Walked with George over Primrose Hill. We talked of Plato and Aristotle. _July 26._--In the evening went to see Fechter as Hamlet, and sat next to Mrs. Carlyle. _July 30._--Read little this morning--my mind dwelling with much depression on the probability or improbability of my achieving the work I wish to do. I struck out two or three thoughts towards an English novel. I am much afflicted with hopelessness and melancholy just now, and yet I feel the value of my blessings. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 30th July, 1861.] Thornie, our second boy, is at home from Edinburgh for his holidays, and I am apt to give more thought than is necessary to any little change in our routine. We had a treat the other night which I wished you could have shared with us. We saw Fechter in Hamlet. His conception of the part is very nearly that indicated by the critical observations in "Wilhelm Meister," and the result is deeply interesting--the naturalness and sensibility of the _Wesen_ overcoming in most cases the defective intonation. And even the intonation is occasionally admirable; for example, "And for my soul, what can he do to that?" etc., is given by Fechter with perfect simplicity, whereas the herd of English actors imagine themselves in a pulpit when they are saying it. _À propos_ of the pulpit, I had another failure in my search for edification last Sunday. Mme. Bodichon and I went to Little Portland Street Chapel, and lo! instead of James Martineau there was a respectable old Unitarian gentleman preaching about the dangers of ignorance and the satisfaction of a good conscience, in a tone of amiable propriety which seemed to belong to a period when brains were untroubled by difficulties, and the lacteals of all good Christians were in perfect order. I enjoyed the fine selection of collects he read from the Liturgy. What an age of earnest faith, grasping a noble conception of life and determined to bring all things into harmony with it, has recorded itself in the simple, pregnant, rhythmical English of those collects and of the Bible! The contrast when the good man got into the pulpit and began to pray in a borrowed, washy lingo--extempore in more senses than one! [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Aug. 1._--Struggling constantly with depression. _Aug. 2._--Read Boccaccio's capital story of Fra Cipolla--one of his few good stories--and the Little Hunchback in the "Arabian Nights," which is still better. _Aug. 10._--Walked with G. We talked of my Italian novel. In the evening, Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford. _Aug. 12._--Got into a state of so much wretchedness in attempting to concentrate my thoughts on the construction of my story that I became desperate, and suddenly burst my bonds, saying, I will not think of writing! [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Aug. 1861.] That doctrine which we accept rather loftily as a commonplace when we are quite young--namely, that our happiness lies entirely within, in our own mental and bodily state, which determines for us the influence of everything outward--becomes a daily lesson to be learned, and learned with much stumbling, as we get older. And until we know our friends' private thoughts and emotions we hardly know what to grieve or rejoice over for them. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Aug. 17._--Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford came, who gave us some music. _Aug. 20._--This morning I conceived the plot of my novel with new distinctness. _Aug. 24._--Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford came, and we had music. These have been placid, ineffective days, my mind being clouded and depressed. _Aug. 26._--Went with Barbara to her school, and spent the afternoon there. _Aug. 31._--In the evening came Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford, and we had some music. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 11th Sept. 1861, from Malvern.] Your letter was a great delight to us, as usual; and the check, too, was welcome to people under hydropathic treatment, which appears to stimulate waste of coin as well as of tissue. Altogether, we are figures in keeping with the landscape when it is well damped or "packed" under the early mist. We thought rather contemptuously of the hills on our arrival; like travelled people, we hinted at the Alps and Apennines, and smiled with pity at our long-past selves, that had felt quite a thrill at the first sight of them. But now we have tired our limbs by walking round their huge shoulders we begin to think of them with more respect. We simply looked at them at first; we feel their presence now, and creep about them with due humility--whereby, you perceive, there hangs a moral. I do wish you could have shared for a little while with us the sight of this place. I fear you have never seen England under so lovable an aspect. On the southeastern side, where the great green hills have their longest slope, Malvern stands, well nestled in fine trees--chiefly "sounding sycamores"--and beyond there stretches to the horizon, which is marked by a low, faint line of hill, a vast level expanse of grass and cornfields, with hedge-rows everywhere plumed with trees, and here and there a rolling mass of wood; it is one of the happiest scenes the eyes can look on--_freundlich_, according to the pretty German phrase. On the opposite side of this main range of hills there is a more undulated and more thickly wooded country which has the sunset all to itself, and is bright with departing lights when our Malvern side is in cold evening shadow. We are so fortunate as to look out over the wide southeastern valley from our sitting-room window. Our landlady is a quaint old personage, with a strong Cheshire accent. She is, as she tells us, a sharp old woman, and "can see most things pretty quick;" and she is kind enough to communicate her wisdom very freely to us less crisply baked mortals. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Sept. 11._--Yesterday we returned from Malvern (having gone there on 4th). During our stay I read Mrs. Jameson's book on the "Legends of the Monastic Orders," corrected the first volume of "Adam Bede" for the new edition, and began Marchese's "Storia di San Marco." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Sept. 1861.] I enter into your and Cara's furniture-adjusting labors and your enjoyment of church and chapel afterwards. One wants a temple besides the outdoor temple--a place where human beings do not ramble apart, but _meet_ with a common impulse. I hope you have some agreeable lens through which you can look at circumstances--good health, at least. And really I begin to think people who are robust are in a position to pity all the rest of the world--except, indeed, that there are certain secrets taught only by pain, which are, perhaps, worth the purchase. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Sept. 23._--I have been unwell ever since we returned from Malvern, and have been disturbed, from various causes, in my work, so that I have scarcely done anything except correct my own books for a new edition. To-day I am much better, and hope to begin a more effective life to-morrow. _Sept. 28._--In the evening Mr. Spencer, Mr. Pigott, and Mr. Redford came. We talked with Mr. Spencer about his chapter on the "Direction of Force"--_i.e._, line of least resistance. _Sept. 29_ (Sunday).--Finished correcting "Silas Marner." I have thus corrected all my books for a new and cheaper edition, and feel my mind free for other work. Walked to the Zoo with the boys. _Oct. 3._--To-day our new grand piano came--a great addition to our pleasures. _Oct. 4._--My mind still worried about my plot--and without any confidence in my ability to do what I want. _Oct. 5._--In the evening Mr. Redford and Mr. Spencer came, and we had much music. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 6th Oct. 1861.] We are enjoying a great pleasure, a new grand piano, and last evening we had a Beethoven night. We are looking out for a violinist: we have our violoncello, who is full of sensibility, but with no negative in him--_i.e._, no obstinate sense of time--a man who is all assent and perpetual _rallentando_. We can enjoy the pleasure the more because Mr. Lewes's health is promising. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Oct. 7._--Began the first chapter of my novel ("Romola"). _Oct. 9._--Read Nerli. _Oct. 11._--Nardi's "History of Florence." In the afternoon walked with Barbara, and talked with her from lunch till dinner-time. _Oct. 12._--In the evening we had our usual Saturday mixture of visitors, talk, and music; an agreeable addition being Dr. M'Donnell of Dublin. _Oct. 14._--Went with Barbara to her school to hear the children sing. _Oct. 18._--Walked with G. and Mr. Spencer to Hampstead, and continued walking for more than five hours. In the evening we had music. Mrs. Bodichon and Miss Parkes were our additional visitors. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 23d Oct. 1861.] I am rather jealous of the friends who get so much of you--especially when they are so unmeritorious as to be evangelical and spoil your rest. But I will not grumble. I am in the happiest, most contented mood, and have only good news to tell you. I have hardly any trouble nearer to me than the American War and the prospects of poor cotton weavers. While you were shivering at Boulogne we were walking fast to avoid shivering at Malvern, and looking slightly blue after our sitz baths. Nevertheless that discipline answered admirably, and Mr. Lewes's health has been steadily improving since our Malvern expedition. As for me, imagine what I must be to have walked for five hours the other day! Or, better still, imagine me always cheerful, and infer the altered condition of my mucous membrane. The difference must be there; for it is not in my moral sentiments or in my circumstances, unless, indeed, a new grand piano, which tempts me to play more than I have done for years before, may be reckoned an item important enough to have contributed to the change. We talk of you very often, and the image of you is awakened in my mind still oftener. You are associated by many subtile, indescribable ties with some of my most precious and most silent thoughts. I am so glad you have the comfort of feeling that Mr. Congreve is prepared for his work again. I am hoping to hear, when we see you, that the work will be less and less fagging, now the introductory years are past. Charley is going to Switzerland for his holiday next month. We shall enjoy our dual solitude; yet the dear boy is more and more precious to us from the singular rectitude and tenderness of his nature. Make signs to us as often as you can. You know how entirely Mr. Lewes shares my delight in seeing you and hearing from you. [Sidenote: Diary, 1861.] _Oct. 28_ and _30_.--Not very well. Utterly desponding about my book. _Oct. 31._--Still with an incapable head--trying to write, trying to construct, and unable. _Nov. 6._--So utterly dejected that, in walking with G. in the Park, I almost resolved to give up my Italian novel. _Nov. 10_ (Sunday).--New sense of things to be done in my novel, and more brightness in my thoughts. Yesterday I was occupied with ideas about my next English novel; but this morning the Italian scenes returned upon me with fresh attraction. In the evening read "Monteil." A marvellous book; crammed with erudition, yet not dull or tiresome. _Nov. 14._--Went to the British Museum reading-room for the first time--looking over costumes. _Nov. 20._--Mrs. Congreve, Miss Bury, and Mr. Spencer to lunch. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1861.] Your loving words of remembrance find a very full answer in my heart--fuller than I can write. The years seem to _rush_ by now, and I think of death as a fast-approaching end of a journey--double and treble reason for loving as well as working while it is day. We went to see Fechter's Othello the other night. It is lamentably bad. He has not weight and passion enough for deep tragedy; and, to my feeling, the play is so degraded by his representation that it is positively demoralizing--as, indeed, all tragedy must be when it fails to move pity and terror. In this case it seems to move only titters among the smart and vulgar people who always make the bulk of a theatre audience. We had a visit from our dear friend Mrs. Congreve on Wednesday--a very infrequent pleasure now; for between our own absences from home and hers, and the fatigue of London journeying, it is difficult for us to manage meetings. Mr. Congreve is, as usual, working hard in his medical studies--toiling backward and forward daily. What courage and patience are wanted for every life that aims to produce anything! [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _Nov. 30._--In the evening we had Wilkie Collins, Mr. Pigott, and Mr. Spencer, and talked without any music. _Dec. 3-7._--I continued very unwell until Saturday, when I felt a little better. In the evening Dr. Baetcke, Mr. Pigott, and Mr. Redford. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 6th Dec. 1861.] Miss Marshall came to see us yesterday. That is always a pleasure to me, not only from the sense I have of her goodness, but because she stirs so many remembrances. The first time I saw her was at Rufa's[32] wedding; and don't you remember the evening we spent at Mrs. Dobson's? How young we all were then--how old now! She says you are all under the impression that Mr. Lewes is still very ailing. Thank all good influences it is not so. He has been mending ever since we went to Malvern, and is enjoying life and work more than he has done before for nearly a year. He has long had it in his mind to write a history of science--a great, great undertaking, which it is happiness to both of us to contemplate as possible for him. And now he is busy with Aristotle, and works with all the zest that belongs to fresh ideas. Strangely enough, after all the ages of writing about Aristotle, there exists no fair appreciation of his position in natural science. I am particularly grumbling and disagreeable to myself just now, and I think no one bears physical pain so ill as I do, or is so thoroughly upset by it mentally. Bulwer has behaved very nicely to me, and I have a great respect for the energetic industry with which he has made the most of his powers. He has been writing diligently in very various departments for more than thirty years, constantly improving his position, and profiting by the lessons of public opinion and of other writers. I'm sorry you feel any degeneracy in Mr. George Dawson. There was something very winning about him in old days, and even what was not winning, but the reverse, affected me with a sort of kindly pity. With such a gift of tongue as he had, it was inevitable that speech should outrun feeling and experience, and I could well imagine that his present self might look back on that self of 21-27 with a sort of disgust. It so often happens that others are measuring us by our past self while we are looking back on that self with a mixture of disgust and sorrow. It would interest me a good deal to know just how Mr. Dawson preaches now. I am writing on my knees with my feet on the fender, and in that attitude I always write very small--but I hope your sight is not teased by small writing. Give my best love to Cara, and sympathy with her in the pleasure of grasping an old friend by the hand, and having long talks after the distance of years. I know Mr. Bray will enjoy this too--and the new house will seem more like the old one for this warming. [Sidenote: Journal, 1861.] _Dec. 8_ (Sunday).--G. had a headache, so we walked out in the morning sunshine. I told him my conception of my story, and he expressed great delight. Shall I ever be able to carry out my ideas? Flashes of hope are succeeded by long intervals of dim distrust. Finished the eighth volume of Lastri and began the ninth chapter of Varchi, in which he gives an accurate account of Florence. _Dec. 12._--Finished writing my plot, of which I must make several other draughts before I begin to write my book. _Dec. 13._--Read Poggiana. In the afternoon walked to Molini's and brought back Savonarola's "Dialogus de Veritate Prophetica," and "Compendium Revelationum," for £4! _Dec. 14._--In the evening came Mr. Huxley, Mr. Pigott, and Mr. Redford. _Dec. 17._--Studied the topography of Florence. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 31st Dec. 1861.] It was pleasant to have a greeting from you at this season, when all signs of human kindness have a double emphasis. As one gets older epochs have necessarily some sadness, even for those who have, as I have, much family joy. The past, that one would like to mend, spreads behind one so lengthily, and the years of retrieval keep shrinking--the terrible _peau de chagrin_ whose outline narrows and narrows with our ebbing life. I hardly know whether it would be agreeable to you, or worth your while, ever to come to us on a Saturday evening, when we are always at home to any friend who may be kind enough to come to us. It would be very pleasant to us if it were pleasant to you. During the latter half of 1861, I find the following among the books read: "Histoire des Ordres Religieux," Sacchetti's "Novelle," Sismondi's "History of the Italian Republics," "Osservatore Fiorentino," Tennemann's "History of Philosophy," T. A. Trollope's "Beata," Sismondi's "Le Moyen Age Illustré," "The Monks of the West," "Introduction to Savonarola's Poems," by Audin de Réans, Renan's "Études d'Histoire Religieuse," Virgil's "Eclogues," Buhle's "History of Modern Philosophy," Hallam on the "Study of Roman Law in the Middle Ages," Gibbon on the "Revival of Greek Learning," Nardi, Bulwer's "Rienzi," Burlamacchi's "Life of Savonarola," Pulci, Villari's "Life of Savonarola," Mrs. Jameson's "Sacred and Legendary Art," "Hymni and Epigrammati" of Marullus, Politian's "Epistles," Marchese's Works, Tiraboschi, Rock's "Hierurgia," Pettigrew "On Medical Superstition," Manni's "Life of Burchiello," Machiavelli's Works, Ginguené, Muratori "On Proper Names," Cicero "De Officiis," Petrarch's Letters, Craik's "History of English Literature," "Conti Carnivaleschi," Letters of Filelfo, Lastri, and Varchi, Heeren on the Fifteenth Century. _SUMMARY._ JULY, 1860, TO DECEMBER, 1861. Return from Italy to Wandsworth, accompanied by Charles Lewes--"Mill on the Floss" success--6000 sold--Letter to John Blackwood--French translation of "Adam Bede," by M. d'Albert of Geneva--Letter to Miss Hennell on her "Thoughts in Aid of Faith"--Letter to John Blackwood on Sir Edward Lytton's criticism of "The Mill on the Floss"--Letter to Mrs. Bray, recalling feelings on journey to Italy in 1849--Letter to Miss Sara Hennell--Article on Strikes, by Henry Fawcett, in _Westminster_--Sitting to Lawrence for portrait--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Interest in her schools--Letter to Miss Hennell, explaining criticism of "Thoughts in Aid of Faith"--Reading Emerson's "Man the Reformer"--Deprecates writing about opinions on large questions in letters--Letter to John Blackwood--Italian novel project--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Love of the country--Removal to 10 Harewood Square--"Brother Jacob" written--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Frederic Harrison's article in _Westminster_ on "Essays and Reviews"--Letter to John Blackwood--Religious party standpoint--Classical quotations--Letter to Miss Hennell on re-reading "Thoughts in Aid of Faith"--Tribute to Mr. Lewes's dispassionate judgment--Suffering from loss of the country--Independence secured--Anthony Trollope and Arthur Helps--Queen's admiration of "Mill on the Floss"--Writing "Silas Marner" a sudden inspiration--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Monday Popular Concerts--Moved to 16 Blandford Square--Waste of time in furnishing--Letter to Madame Bodichon--On religious forms and ceremonies--Herbert Spencer's new work, the best thing he has done--Letter to John Blackwood--"Silas Marner"--Letters to Mrs. Congreve--Zoological Gardens--Visit to Dorking--Letter to John Blackwood--Scott--Letters to Miss Hennell--Private correspondence--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Arthur Clough's death--Letter to John Blackwood--"Silas Marner"--Books belong to successive mental phases--"Silas Marner" finished--Visit to Hastings--Letter to Charles Bray--Marriage of Mr. William Smith--Letter to John Blackwood--Subscription to "Silas Marner" 3300--Article in _Macmillan_ on "The Mill"--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Position--Letter to John Blackwood--Total Subscription to "Silas Marner" 5500--Criticism on "The Mill"--Letter to Mrs. P. Taylor--Never pays visits--Letter to Miss Hennell--Hearing Beethoven and Mendelssohn music--Start on second journey to Italy--Letter to Charles Lewes, describing drive from Toulon to Nice--Arrival at Florence--Letter to John Blackwood--No painting of misers with paper money--Letter to Charles Lewes--Feels hopeful about future work--Letter to John Blackwood--Italian novel simmering--Letter to Charles Lewes--Beatrice Trollope--Expedition to Camaldoli and La Vernia with Mr. T. A. Trollope--Return home by Lago Maggiore and St. Gothard--Dinner at Greenwich with John Blackwood, Colonel Hamley, etc.--Reflections on waste of youth--Letters to Miss Hennell describing La Vernia--Improvement in general philosophic attitude--Articles on "Study of History" in the _Cornhill_--Positivism one-sided--Admiration of Comte--Letter to Miss Hennell--Fechter in Hamlet--The Liturgy of the English Church--Depression--Musical Evenings with Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford--Trip to Malvern--Letter to Miss Hennell--New grand piano--Began "Romola"--Saturday visitors--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Better spirits--Renewed depression--Letter to Miss Hennell--Time flying--Fechter as Othello--Letter to Miss Hennell--Lewes busy with Aristotle--Bulwer--George Dawson--Reading towards "Romola"--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor on the Past--Books read. FOOTNOTES: [21] Death of Madame Bodichon's father. [22] "Thoughts in Aid of Faith." [23] M. d'Albert. [24] "And how can it be otherwise than real to us, this belief that has nourished the souls of us all, and seems to have moulded actually anew their internal constitution, as well as stored them up with its infinite variety of external interests and associations! What other than a very real thing has it been in the life of the world--sprung out of, and again causing to spring forth, such volumes of human emotion--making a current, as it were, of feeling, that has drawn within its own sphere all the moral vitality of so many ages! In all this reality of influence there is indeed the testimony of Christianity having truly formed an integral portion of the organic life of humanity. The regarding it as a mere excrescence, the product of morbid, fanatical humors, is a reaction of judgment, that, it is to be hoped, will soon be seen on all hands to be in no way implied of necessity in the formal rejection of it."--_Thoughts in Aid of Faith_, p. 105. [25] "These sentiments, which are born within us, slumbering as it were in our nature, ready to be awakened into action immediately they are roused by hint of corresponding circumstances, are drawn out of the whole of previous human existence. They constitute our treasured inheritance out of all the life that has been lived before us, to which no age, no human being who has trod the earth and laid himself to rest, with all his mortal burden upon her maternal bosom, has failed to add his contribution. No generation has had its engrossing conflict, sorely battling out the triumphs of mind over material force, and through forms of monstrous abortions concurrent with its birth, too hideous for us now to bear in contemplation, moulding the early intelligence by every struggle, and winning its gradual powers--no single soul has borne itself through its personal trial--without bequeathing to us of its fruit. There is not a religious thought that we take to ourselves for secret comfort in our time of grief, that has not been distilled out of the multiplicity of the hallowed tears of mankind; not an animating idea is there for our fainting courage that has not gathered its inspiration from the bravery of the myriad armies of the world's heroes."--_Thoughts in Aid of Faith_, p. 174. [26] "Education of the Feelings." By Charles Bray. Published 1839. [27] Mr. William Blackwood. [28] Mr. Frederic Harrison, the now well-known writer, and a member of the Positivist body. [29] Lecture on Cell Forms. [30] Arthur Hugh Clough, the poet. [31] The death of Major Blackwood. [32] Mrs. Charles Hennell (now Mrs. Call). CHAPTER XII. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _January 1._--Mr. Blackwood sent me a note enclosing a letter from Montalembert about "Silas Marner." _I began again my novel of "Romola."_ [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 7th Jan. 1862.] It is not unlikely that our thoughts and wishes met about New-year's Day, for I was only prevented from writing to you in that week by the fear of saying decidedly that we could _not_ go to you, and yet finding afterwards that a clear sky, happening to coincide with an absence of other hinderances, would have made that pleasure possible for us. I think we believe in each other's thorough affection, and need not dread misunderstanding. But you must not write again, as you did in one note, a sort of apology for coming to us when you were tired, as if we didn't like to see you anyhow and at any time! And we especially like to think that our house can be a rest to you. For the first winter in my life I am hardly ever free from cold. As soon as one has departed with the usual final stage of stuffiness, another presents itself with the usual introduction of sore throat. And Mr. Lewes just now is a little ailing. But we have nothing serious to complain of. You seemed to me so bright and brave the last time I saw you, that I have had cheerful thoughts of you ever since. Write to me always when anything happens to you, either pleasant or sad, that there is no reason for my not knowing, so that we may not spend long weeks in wondering how all things are with you. And do come to us whenever you can, without caring about my going to you, for this is too difficult for me in chill and doubtful weather. Are you not looking anxiously for the news from America? [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 13th Jan. 1862.] As for the brain being useless after fifty, that is no general rule; witness the good and hard work that has been done in plenty after that age. I wish I could be inspired with just the knowledge that would enable me to be of some good to you. I feel so ignorant and helpless. The year _is_ opening happily for us, except--alas! the exception is a great one--in the way of health. Mr. Lewes is constantly ailing, like a delicate headachy woman. But we have abundant blessings. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 14th Jan. 1862.] I hope you are able to enjoy Max Müller's great and delightful book during your imprisonment. It tempts me away from other things. I have read most of the numbers of "Orley Farm," and admire it very much, with the exception of such parts as I have read about Moulder & Co. Anthony Trollope is admirable in the presentation of even average life and character, and he is so thoroughly wholesome-minded that one delights in seeing his books lie about to be read. Have you read "Beata" yet--the first novel written by his brother at Florence, who is our especial favorite? Do read it when you can, if the opportunity has not already come. I am going to be taken to a pantomime in the daytime, like a good child, for a Christmas treat, not having had my fair share of pantomime in the world. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Jan. 18_ (Saturday).--We had an agreeable evening. Mr. Burton[33] and Mr. Clark[34] of Cambridge made an acceptable variety in our party. _Jan. 19-20._--Head very bad--producing terrible depression. _Jan. 23._--Wrote again, feeling in brighter spirits. Mr. Smith the publisher called and had an interview with G. He asked if I were open to "a magnificent offer." This made me think about money--but it is better for me not to be rich. _Jan. 26_ (Sunday).--Detained from writing by the necessity of gathering particulars: 1st, about Lorenzo de Medici's death; 2d, about the possible retardation of Easter; 3d, about Corpus Christi day; 4th, about Savonarola's preaching in the Quaresima of 1492. Finished "La Mandragola"--second time reading for the sake of Florentine expressions--and began "La Calandra." _Jan. 31._--Have been reading some entries in my note-book of past times in which I recorded my _malaise_ and despair. But it is impossible to me to believe that I have ever been in so unpromising and despairing a state as I now feel. After writing these words I read to G. the Proem and opening scene of my novel, and he expressed great delight in them. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3d Feb. 1862.] I was taken to see my pantomime. How pretty it is to see the theatre full of children! Ah, what I should have felt in my real child days to have been let into the further history of Mother Hubbard and her Dog! George Stephenson is one of my great heroes--has he not a dear old face? [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 3d Feb. 1862.] I think yours is the instinct of all delicate natures--not to speak to authors about their writings. It is better for us all to hear as little about ourselves as possible; to do our work faithfully, and be satisfied with the certainty that if it touches many minds, it cannot touch them in a way quite aloof from our intention and hope. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Feb. 7._--A week of February already gone! I have been obliged to be very moderate in work from feebleness of head and body; but I have rewritten, with additions, the first chapter of my book. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 8th Feb. 1862.] I am wondering whether you could spare me, _for a few weeks_, the Tempest music, and any other vocal music of that or of a kindred species? I don't want to buy it until our singers have experimented upon it. Don't think of sending me anything that you are using at all, but if said music be lying idle, I should be grateful for the loan. We have several operas--Don Giovanni, Figaro, the Barbiere, Flauto Magico, and also the music of Macbeth; but I think that is all our stock of concerted vocal music. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Feb. 11._--We set off to Dorking. The day was lovely, and we walked through Mr. Hope's park to Betchworth. In the evening I read aloud Sybel's "Lectures on the Crusades." _Feb. 12._--The day was gray, but the air was fresh and pleasant. We walked to Wootton Park--Evelyn's Wootton--lunched at a little roadside inn there, and returned to Dorking to dine. During stay at Dorking finished the first twelve cantos of Pulci. _Feb. 13._--Returned home. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 15th Feb. 1862.] I think it is a reasonable law that the one who takes wing should be the first to write--not the bird that stays in the old cage, and may be supposed to be eating the usual seed and groundsel, and looking at the same slice of the world through the same wires. I think the highest and best thing is rather to suffer with real suffering than to be happy in the imagination of an unreal good. I would rather know that the beings I love are in some trouble, and suffer because of it, even though I can't help them, than be fancying them happy when they are not so, and making myself comfortable on the strength of that false belief. And so I am impatient of all ignorance and concealment. I don't say "that is wise," but simply "that is my nature." I can enter into what you have felt, for serious illness, such as seems to bring death near, makes one feel the simple human brother and sisterhood so strongly that those we were apt to think almost indifferent to us before, touch the very quick of our hearts. I suppose if we happened only to hold the hand of a hospital patient when she was dying, her face, and all the memories along with it, would seem to lie deeper in our experience than all we knew of many old friends and blood relations. We have had no troubles but the public troubles--anxiety about the war with America and sympathy with the poor Queen. My best consolation is that an example on so tremendous a scale (as the war) of the need for the education of mankind through the affections and sentiments, as a basis for true development, will have a strong influence on all thinkers, and be a check to the arid, narrow antagonism which, in some quarters, is held to be the only form of liberal thought. George has fairly begun what we have long contemplated as a happiness for him--a History of Science, and has written so thorough an analysis and investigation of Aristotle's Natural Science that he feels it will make an epoch for the men who are interested at once in the progress of modern science and in the question how far Aristotle went both in the observation of facts and in their theoretic combination--a question never yet cleared up after all these ages. This work makes him "very jolly," but his dear face looks very pale and narrow. Those only can thoroughly feel the meaning of death who know what is perfect love. God bless you--that is not a false word, however many false ideas may have been hidden under it. No--not false ideas, but temporary ones--caterpillars and chrysalids of future ideas. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Feb. 17._--I have written only the two first chapters of my novel besides the Proem, and I have an oppressive sense of the far-stretching task before me, health being feeble just now. I have lately read again with great delight Mrs. Browning's "Casa Guidi Windows." It contains, amongst other admirable things, a very noble expression of what I believe to be the true relation of the religious mind to the past. _Feb. 26._--I have been very ailing all this last week, and have worked under impeding discouragement. I have a distrust in myself, in my work, in others' loving acceptance of it, which robs my otherwise happy life of all joy. I ask myself, without being able to answer, whether I have ever before felt so chilled and oppressed. I have written now about sixty pages of my romance. Will it ever be finished? Ever be worth anything? _Feb. 27._--George Smith, the publisher, brought the proof of G.'s book, "Animal Studies," and laid before him a proposition to give me £10,000 for my new novel--_i.e._, for its appearance in the _Cornhill_, and the entire copyright at home and abroad. _March 1._--The idea of my novel appearing in the _Cornhill_ is given up, as G. Smith wishes to have it commenced in May, and I cannot consent to begin publication until I have seen nearly to the end of the work. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 10th March, 1862, from Englefield Green.] We had agreeable weather until yesterday, which was wet and blustering, so that we could only snatch two short walks. Pater is better, I think; and I, as usual, am impudently flourishing in country air and idleness. On Friday Mr. Bone, our landlord, drove us out in his pony carriage to see the "meet" of the stag-hounds, and on Saturday ditto to see the fox-hunters; so you perceive we have been leading rather a grand life. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _March 11._--On Wednesday last, the 5th, G. and I set off to Englefield Green, where we have spent a delightful week at the Barley Mow Inn. I have finished Pulci there, and read aloud the "Château d'If." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th March, 1862.] We returned from our flight into the country yesterday, not without a sigh at parting with the pure air and the notes of the blackbirds for the usual canopy of smoke and the sound of cab-wheels. I am not going out again, and our life will have its old routine--lunch at half-past one, walk till four, dinner at five. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _March 24._--After enjoying our week at Egham, I returned to protracted headache. Last Saturday we received as usual, and our party was joined by Mr. and Mrs. Noel. I have begun the fourth chapter of my novel, but have been working under a weight. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th March, 1862.] I congratulate you on being out of London, which is more like a pandemonium than usual. The fog and rain have been the more oppressive because I have seen them through Mr. Lewes's almost constant discomfort. I think he has had at least five days of sick headache since you saw him. But then he is better tempered and more cheerful _with_ headache than most people are without it; and in that way he lightens his burden. Have you noticed in the _Times_ Mr. Peabody's magnificent deed?--the gift of £150,000 for the amelioration (body and soul, I suppose) of the poorer classes in London. That is a pleasant association to have with an American name. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _April 1._--Much headache this last week. _April 2._--Better this morning; writing with enjoyment. At the seventy-seventh page. Read Juvenal this morning and Nisard. _April 16._--As I had been ailing for a fortnight or more, we resolved to go to Dorking, and set off to-day. _May 6._--We returned from Dorking after a stay of three weeks, during which we have had delicious weather. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, May, 1862.] Our life is the old accustomed duet this month. We enjoy an interval of our double solitude. Doesn't the spring look lovelier every year to eyes that want more and more light? It was rather saddening to leave the larks and all the fresh leaves to come back to the rolling of cabs and "the blacks;" but in compensation we have all our conveniences about us. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _May 23._--Since I wrote last, very important decisions have been made. I am to publish my novel of "Romola" in the _Cornhill Magazine_ for £7000, paid in twelve monthly payments. There has been the regret of leaving Blackwood, who has written me a letter in the most perfect spirit of gentlemanliness and good-feeling. _May 27._--Mr. Helps, Mr. Burton, and Mr. T. A. Trollope dined with us. _May 31._--Finished the second part, extending to page 183. _June 30._--I have at present written only the scene between Romola and her brother in San Marco towards Part IV. This morning I had a delightful, generous letter from Mr. Anthony Trollope about "Romola." _July 6._--The past week has been unfruitful from various causes. The consequence is that I am no further on in my MS., and have lost the excellent start my early completion of the third part had given me. _July 10._--A dreadful palsy has beset me for the last few days. I have scarcely made any progress. Yet I have been very well in body. I have been reading a book often referred to by Hallam--Meiners's "Lives of Mirandula and Politian." They are excellent. They have German industry, and are succinctly and clearly written. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Sept. 1862, from Littlehampton.] Imagine me--not fuming in imperfect resignation under London smoke, but--with the wide sky of the coast above me, and every comfort positive and negative around me, even to the absence of staring eyes and crinolines. Worthing was so full that it rejected us, and, to our great good-fortune, sent us here. We were pleased to hear that you had seen Mr. Spencer. We always feel him particularly welcome when he comes back to town; there is no one like him for talking to about certain things. You will come and dine or walk with us whenever you have nothing better to do in your visit to town. I take that for granted. We lie, you know, on the way _between_ the Exhibition and Mr. Noel's. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Sept. 23._--Returned from our stay in the country, first at the Beach Hotel, Littlehampton, and for the last three days at Dorking. _Sept. 26._--At page 62, Part VI. Yesterday a letter came from Mr. T. A. Trollope, full of encouragement for me. _Ebenezer._ _Oct. 2._--At page 85. Scene between Tito and Romola. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 2d Oct. 1862.] Welcome to your letter, and welcome to the hope of seeing you again! I have an engagement on Monday from lunch till dinner. Apart from that, I know of nothing that will take us farther than for our daily walk, which, you know, begins at two. But we will alter the order of any day for the sake of seeing you. Mr. Lewes's absence of a fortnight at Spa was a great success. He has been quite brilliant ever since. Ten days ago we returned from a stay of three weeks in the country--chiefly at Littlehampton, and we are both very well. Everything is prosperous with us; and we are so far from griefs that if we had a wonderful emerald ring we should perhaps be wise to throw it away as a propitiation of the envious gods. So much in immediate reply to your kind anxiety. Everything else when we meet. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Oct. 31._--Finished Part VII., having determined to end at the point where Romola has left Florence. _Nov. 14._--Finished reading "Boccaccio" through for the second time. _Nov. 17._--Read the "Orfeo and Stanze" of Poliziano. The latter are wonderfully fine for a youth of sixteen. They contain a description of a Palace of Venus, which seems the suggestion of Tennyson's Palace of Art in many points. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Nov. 1862.] I wish I knew that this birthday has found you happier than any that went before. There are so many things--best things--that only come when youth is past that it may well happen to many of us to find ourselves happier and happier to the last. We have been to a Monday Pop. this week to hear Beethoven's Septett, and an amazing thing of Bach's, played by the amazing Joachim. But there is too much "Pop." for the thorough enjoyment of the chamber music they give. You will be interested to know that there is a new muster of scientific and philosophic men lately established, for the sake of bringing people who care to know and speak the truth, as well as they can, into regular communication. Mr. Lewes was at the first meeting at Clunn's Hotel on Friday last. The plan is to meet and dine moderately and cheaply, and no one is to be admitted who is not "thorough" in the sense of being free from the suspicion of temporizing and professing opinions on official grounds. The plan was started at Cambridge. Mr. Huxley is president and Charles Kingsley is vice. If they are sufficiently rigid about admissions, the club may come to good--bringing together men who think variously, but have more hearty feelings in common than they give each other credit for. Mr. Robert Chambers (who lives in London now) is very warm about the matter. Mr. Spencer, too, is a member. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 26th Nov. 1862.] Pray don't ever ask me again not to rob a man of his religious belief, as if you thought my mind tended to such robbery. I have too profound a conviction of the efficacy that lies in all sincere faith, and the spiritual blight that comes with no faith, to have any negative propagandism in me. In fact I have very little sympathy with Freethinkers as a class, and have lost all interest in mere antagonism to religious doctrines. I care only to know, if possible, the lasting meaning that lies in all religious doctrine from the beginning till now. That speech of Carlyle's,[35] which sounds so odious, must, I think, have been provoked by something in the _manner_ of the statement to which it came as an answer--else it would hurt me very much that he should have uttered it. You left a handkerchief at our house. I will take care of it till next summer. I look forward with some longing to that time when I shall have lightened my soul of one chief thing I wanted to do, and be freer to think and feel about other people's work. We shall see you oftener, I hope, and have a great deal more talk than ever we have had before to make amends for our stinted enjoyment of you this summer. God bless you, dear Barbara. You are very precious to us. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Nov. 30_ (Sunday).--Finished Part VIII. Mr. Burton came. _Dec. 16._--In the evening Browning paid us a visit for the first time. _Dec. 17._--At page 22 only. I am extremely spiritless, dead, and hopeless about my writing. The long state of headache has left me in depression and incapacity. The constantly heavy-clouded and often wet weather tend to increase the depression. I am inwardly irritable, and unvisited by good thoughts. Reading the "Purgatorio" again, and the "Compendium Revelationum" of Savonarola. After this record I read aloud what I had written of Part IX. to George, and he, to my surprise, entirely approved of it. _Dec. 24._--Mrs. F. Malleson brought me a beautiful plant as a Christmas offering. In the evening we went to hear the Messiah at Her Majesty's Theatre. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 24th Dec. 1862.] I am very sensitive to words and looks and all signs of sympathy, so you may be sure that your kind wishes are not lost upon me. As you will have your house full, the wish for a "Merry Christmas" may be literally fulfilled for you. We shall be quieter, with none but our family trio, but that is always a happy one. We are going to usher in the day by hearing the Messiah to-night at Her Majesty's. Evening will be a pleasanter time for a little genial talk than "calling hours;" and if you will come to us without ceremony, you will hardly run the risk of not finding us. We go nowhere except to concerts. We are longing to run away from London, but I dare say we shall not do so before March. Winter is probably yet to come, and one would not like to be caught by frost and snow away from one's own hearth. Always believe, without my saying it, that it gladdens me to know when anything I do has value for you. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Dec. 1862.] It is very sweet to me to have any proof of loving remembrance. That would have made the book-marker precious even if it had been ugly. But it is perfectly beautiful--in color, words, and symbols. Hitherto I have been discontented with the Coventry book-marks; for at the shop where we habitually see them they have all got--"Let the people praise Thee, O God," on them, and nothing else. But I can think of no motto better than those three words. I suppose no wisdom the world will ever find out will make Paul's words obsolete--"Now abide, etc., but the greatest of these is Charity." Our Christmas, too, has been quiet. Mr. Lewes, who talks much less about goodness than I do, but is always readier to do the right thing, thinks it rather wicked for us to eat our turkey and plum-pudding without asking some forlorn person to eat it with us. But I'm afraid we were glad, after all, to find ourselves alone with "the boy." On Christmas-eve a sweet woman, remembering me as you have done, left a beautiful plant at the door, and after that we went to hear the Messiah at Her Majesty's. We felt a considerable _minus_ from the absence of the organ, contrary to advertisement: nevertheless it was good to be there. What pitiable people those are who feel no poetry in Christianity! Surely the acme of poetry hitherto is the conception of the suffering Messiah and the final triumph, "He shall reign for ever and for ever." The Prometheus is a very imperfect fore-shadowing of that symbol wrought out in the long history of the Jewish and Christian ages. Mr. Lewes and I have both been in miserable health during all this month. I have had a fortnight's incessant _malaise_ and feebleness; but as I had had many months of tolerable health, it was my turn to be uncomfortable. If my book-marker were just a little longer, I should keep it in my beautiful Bible in large print, which Mr. Lewes bought for me in prevision for my old age. He is not fond of reading the Bible himself, but "sees no harm" in my reading it. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 29th Dec. 1862.] I am not quite sure what you mean by "charity" when you call it humbug. If you mean that attitude of mind which says "I forgive my fellow-men for not being as good as I am," I agree with you in hoping that it will vanish, as also the circumstantial form of alms-giving. But if you are alluding to anything in my letter, I meant what charity meant in the elder English, and what the translators of the Bible meant in their rendering of the thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians--_Caritas_, the highest love or fellowship, which I am happy to believe that no philosophy will expel from the world. [Sidenote: Journal, 1862.] _Dec. 31_ (Last day of the kind old year).--Clear and pleasantly mild. Yesterday a pleasant message from Mr. Hannay about "Romola." We have had many blessings this year. Opportunities which have enabled us to acquire an abundant independence; the satisfactory progress of our two eldest boys; various grounds of happiness in our work; and ever-growing happiness in each other. I hope with trembling that the coming year may be as comforting a retrospect--with trembling because my work is not yet done. Besides the finishing of "Romola," we have to think of Thornie's passing his final examination, and, in case of success, his going out to India; of Bertie's leaving Hofwyl, and of our finding a new residence. I have had more than my average amount of comfortable health until this last month, in which I have been constantly ailing, and my work has suffered proportionately. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Feb. 1863.] The letter with the one word in it, like a whisper of sympathy, lay on my plate when I went down to lunch this morning. The generous movement that made you send it has gladdened me all day. I have had a great deal of pretty encouragement from immense big-wigs--some of them saying "Romola" is the finest book they ever read; but the opinion of big-wigs has one sort of value, and the fellow-feeling of a long known friend has another. One can't do quite well without both. _En revanche_, I am a feeble wretch, with eyes that threaten to get bloodshot on the slightest provocation. We made a rush to Dorking for a day or two, and the quiet and fresh air seemed to make a new creature of me; but when we get back to town, town sensations return. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th March, 1863.] That scheme of a sort of Philosophical Club that I told you of went to pieces before it was finished, like a house of cards. So it will be to the end, I fancy, with all attempts at combinations that are not based either on material interests or on opinions that are not merely opinions but _religion_. Doubtless you have been interested in the Colenso correspondence, and perhaps in Miss Cobbe's rejoinder to Mrs. Stowe's remonstrating answer to the women of England. I was glad to see how free the answer was from all tartness or conceit. Miss Cobbe's introduction to the new edition of Theodore Parker is also very honorable to her--a little too metaphorical here and there, but with real thought and good feeling. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 18th April, 1863.] It is a comfort to hear of you again, and to know that there is no serious trouble to mar the spring weather for you. I must carry that thought as my consolation for not seeing you on Tuesday--not quite a sufficient consolation, for my eyes desire you very much after these long months of almost total separation. The reason I cannot have that pleasure on Tuesday is that, according to a long arranged plan, I am going on Monday to Dorking again for a fortnight. I should be still more vexed to miss you if I were in better condition, but at present I am rather like a shell-less lobster, and inclined to creep out of sight. I shall write to you, or try to see you, as soon as I can after my return. I wish you could have told me of a more decided return to ordinary health in Mr. Congreve, but I am inclined to hope that the lecturing may rather benefit than injure him, by being a moral tonic. How much there is for us to talk about! But only to look at dear faces that one has seen so little of for a long while seems reason enough for wanting to meet. Mr. Lewes is better than usual just now, and you must not suppose that there is anything worse the matter with me than you have been used to seeing in me. Please give my highest regards to Mr. Congreve, and love to Emily, who, I hope, has quite got back the roses which had somewhat paled. My pen straggles as if it had a stronger will than I. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 28th April, 1863, from Dorking.] Glad you enjoyed "Esmond." It is a fine book. Since you have been interested in the historical suggestions, I recommend you to read Thackeray's "Lectures on the English Humorists," which are all about the men of the same period. There is a more exaggerated estimate of Swift and Addison than is implied in "Esmond;" and the excessive laudation of men who are considerably below the tip-top of human nature, both in their lives and genius, rather vitiates the Lectures, which are otherwise admirable, and are delightful reading. The wind is high and cold, making the sunshine seem hard and unsympathetic. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _May 6._--We have just returned from Dorking, whither I went a fortnight ago to have solitude while George took his journey to Hofwyl to see Bertie. The weather was severely cold for several days of my stay, and I was often ailing. That has been the way with me for a month and more, and in consequence I am backward with my July number of "Romola"--the last part but one. I remember my wife telling me, at Witley, how cruelly she had suffered at Dorking from working under a leaden weight at this time. The writing of "Romola" ploughed into her more than any of her other books. She told me she could put her finger on it as marking a well-defined transition in her life. In her own words, "I began it a young woman--I finished it an old woman." [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 12th May, 1863.] Yes! we shall be in town in June. Your coming would be reason good enough, but we have others--chiefly, that we are up to the ears in boydom and imperious parental duties. All is as happy and prosperous with us as heart can lawfully desire, except my health. I have been a mere wretch for several months past. You will come to me like the morning sunlight, and make me a little less of a flaccid cabbage-plant. It is a very pretty life you are leading at Hastings, with your painting all morning, and fair mothers and children to look at the rest of the day. I am terribly frightened about Mrs. ----. She wrote to me, telling me that we were sure to suit each other, neither of us holding the opinions of the _Moutons de Panurge_. Nothing could have been more decisive of the opposite prospect to me. If there is one attitude more odious to me than any other of the many attitudes of "knowingness," it is that air of lofty superiority to the vulgar. However, she will soon find out that I am a very commonplace woman. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _May 16._--Finished Part XIII. Killed Tito in great excitement. _May 18._--Began Part XIV.--the last! Yesterday George saw Count Arrivabene, who wishes to translate "Romola," and says the Italians are indebted to me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 1st June, 1863.] Health seems, to those who want it, enough to make daylight a gladness. But the explanation of evils is never consoling except to the explainer. We are just as we were, thinking about the questionable house (The Priory), and wondering what would be the right thing to do; hardly liking to lock up any money in land and bricks, and yet frightened lest we should not get a quiet place just when we want it. But I dare say we shall have it after all. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _June 6._--We had a little evening party with music, intended to celebrate the completion of "Romola," which, however, is not absolutely completed, for I have still to alter the epilogue. _June 9._--Put the last stroke to "Romola." _Ebenezer!_ Went in the evening to hear La Gazza Ladra. The manuscript of "Romola" bears the following inscription: "To the Husband whose perfect love has been the best source of her insight and strength, this manuscript is given by his devoted wife, the writer." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th June, 1863.] How impossible it is for strong, healthy people to understand the way in which bodily _malaise_ and suffering eats at the root of one's life! The philosophy that is true--the religion that is strength to the healthy--is constantly emptiness to one when the head is distracted and every sensation is oppressive. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _June 16._--George and I set off to-day to the Isle of Wight, where we had a delightful holiday. On Friday, the 19th, we settled for a week at Niton, which, I think, is the prettiest place in all the island. On the following Friday we went on to Freshwater, and failed, from threatening rain, in an attempt to walk to Alum Bay, so that we rather repented of our choice. The consolation was that we shall know better than to go to Freshwater another time. On the Saturday morning we drove to Ryde, and remained there until Monday the 29th. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st June, 1863.] Your letter was a welcome addition to our sunshine this Sabbath morning. For in this particular we seem to have been more fortunate than you, having had almost constant sunshine since we arrived at Sandown, on Tuesday evening. This place is perfect, reminding me of Jersey, in its combination of luxuriant greenth with the delights of a sandy beach. At the _end_ of our week, if the weather is warmer, we shall go on to Freshwater for our remaining few days. But the wind at present is a little colder than one desires it, when the object is to get rid of a cough, and unless it gets milder we shall go back to Shanklin. I am enjoying the hedge-row grasses and flowers with something like a released prisoner's feeling--it is so long since I had a bit of real English country. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 21st June, 1863.] I am very happy in my holiday, finding quite a fresh charm in the hedge-row grasses and flowers after my long banishment from them. We have a flower-garden just round us, and then a sheltered grassy walk, on which the sun shines through the best part of the day; and then a wide meadow, and beyond that trees and the sea. Moreover, our landlady has cows, and we get the quintessence of cream--excellent bread and butter also, and a young lady, with a large crinoline, to wait upon us--all for 25_s._ per week; or, rather, we get the apartment in which we enjoy those primitive and modern blessings for that moderate sum. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _July 4._--Went to see Ristori in Adrienne Lecouvreur and did not like it. I have had hemicrania for several days, and have been almost idle since my return home. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 11th July, 1863.] Constant languor from the new heat has made me shirk all exertion not imperative. And just now there are not only those excitements of the season, which even we quiet people get our share of, but there is an additional boy to be cared for--Thornie, who is this week passing his momentous examination. A pretty thing has happened to an acquaintance of mine, which is quite a tonic to one's hope. She has all her life been working hard in various ways, as house-keeper, governess, and several et ceteras that I can't think of at this moment--a dear little dot, about four feet eleven in height; pleasant to look at, and clever; a working-woman, without any of those epicene queernesses that belong to the class. Her life has been a history of family troubles, and she has that susceptible nature which makes such troubles hard to bear. More than once she has told me that courage quite forsook her. She felt as if there were no good in living and striving; it was difficult to discern or believe in any results for others, and there seemed none worth having for herself. Well! a man of fortune and accomplishments has just fallen in love with her, now she is thirty-three. It is the prettiest story of a swift decided passion, and made me cry for joy. Madame Bodichon and I went with her to buy her wedding-clothes. The future husband is also thirty-three--old enough to make his selection an honor. Fond of travelling and science and other good things, such as a man deserves to be fond of who chooses a poor woman in the teeth of grand relatives: brought up a Unitarian, just turned Catholic. If you will only imagine everything I have not said, you will think this a very charming fairy tale. We are going this evening to see the French actress in Juliet (Stella Colas), who is astonishing the town. Last week we saw Ristori, the other night heard the Faust, and next week we are going to hear the Elisir d'Amore and Faust again! So you see we are trying to get some compensation for the necessity of living among bricks in this sweet summer time. I can bear the opera better than any other evening entertainment, because the house is airy and the stalls are comfortable. The opera is a great, great product--pity we can't always have fine _Weltgeschichtliche_ dramatic motives wedded with fine music, instead of trivialities or hideousnesses. Perhaps this last is too strong a word for anything except the Traviata. Rigoletto is unpleasant, but it is a superlatively fine tragedy in the Nemesis. I think I don't know a finer. We are really going to buy the Priory after all. You would think it very pretty if you saw it now, with the roses blooming about it. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _July 12._--I am now in the middle of G.'s "Aristotle," which gives me great delight. _July 23._--Reading Mommsen and Story's "Roba di Roma;" also Liddell's "Rome," for a narrative to accompany Mommsen's analysis. _July 29._--In the evening we went to Covent Garden to hear Faust for the third time. On our return we found a letter from Frederick Maurice--the greatest, most generous tribute ever given to me in my life.[36] [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 30th July, 1863.] I have wanted for several days to make some feeble sign in writing that I think of your trouble. But one claim after another has arisen as a hinderance. Conceive us, please, with three boys at home, all bigger than their father! It is a congestion of youthfulness on our mature brains that disturbs the course of our lives a little, and makes us think of most things as good to be deferred till the boys are settled again. I tell you so much to make you understand that "omission" is not with me equivalent to "neglect," and that I _do_ care for what happens to you. Renan is a favorite with me. I feel more kinship with his mind than with that of any other living French author. But I think I shall not do more than look through the Introduction to his "Vie de Jésus"--unless I happen to be more fascinated by the constructive part than I expect to be from the specimens I have seen. For minds acquainted with the European culture of this last half-century, Renan's book can furnish no new result; and they are likely to set little store by the too facile construction of a life from materials of which the biographical significance becomes more dubious as they are more closely examined. It seems to me the soul of Christianity lies not at all in the facts of an individual life, but in the ideas of which that life was the meeting-point and the new starting-point. We can never have a satisfactory basis for the history of the man Jesus, but that negation does not affect the Idea of the Christ either in its historical influence or its great symbolic meanings. Still, such books as Renan's have their value in helping the popular imagination to feel that the sacred past is, of one woof with that human present, which ought to be sacred too. You mention Renan in your note, and the mention has sent me off into rather gratuitous remarks, you perceive. But such scrappy talk about great subjects may have a better excuse than usual, if it just serves to divert your mind from the sad things that must be importuning you now. [Sidenote: Letter to R. H. Hutton, 8th Aug. 1863.] After reading your article on "Romola," with careful reference to the questions you put to me in your letter, I can answer sincerely that I find nothing fanciful in your interpretation. On the contrary, I am confirmed in the satisfaction I felt, when I first listened to the article, at finding that certain chief elements of my intention have impressed themselves so strongly on your mind, notwithstanding the imperfect degree in which I have been able to give form to my ideas. Of course, if I had been called on to expound my own book, there are other things that I should want to say, or things that I should say somewhat otherwise; but I can point to nothing in your exposition of which my consciousness tells me that it is erroneous, in the sense of saying something which I neither thought nor felt. You have seized with a fulness which I had hardly hoped that my book could suggest, what it was my effort to express in the presentation of Bardo and Baldasarre; and also the relation of the Florentine political life to the development of Tito's nature. Perhaps even a judge so discerning as yourself could not infer from the imperfect result how strict a self-control and selection were exercised in the presentation of details. I believe there is scarcely a phrase, an incident, an allusion, that did not gather its value to me from its supposed subservience to my main artistic objects. But it is likely enough that my mental constitution would always render the issue of my labor something excessive--wanting due proportion. It is the habit of my imagination to strive after as full a vision of the medium in which a character moves as of the character itself. The psychological causes which prompted me to give such details of Florentine life and history as I have given, are precisely the same as those which determined me in giving the details of English village life in "Silas Marner," or the "Dodson" life, out of which were developed the destinies of poor Tom and Maggie. But you have correctly pointed out the reason why my tendency to excess in this effort after artistic vision makes the impression of a fault in "Romola" much more perceptibly than in my previous books. And I am not surprised at your dissatisfaction with Romola herself. I can well believe that the many difficulties belonging to the treatment of such a character have not been overcome, and that I have failed to bring out my conception with adequate fulness. I am sorry she has attracted you so little; for the great problem of her life, which essentially coincides with a chief problem in Savonarola's, is one that readers need helping to understand. But with regard to that and to my whole book, my predominant feeling is--not that I have achieved anything, but--that great, great facts have struggled to find a voice through me, and have only been able to speak brokenly. That consciousness makes me cherish the more any proof that my work has been seen to have some true significance by minds prepared not simply by instruction, but by that religious and moral sympathy with the historical life of man which is the larger half of culture. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _Aug. 10._--Went to Worthing. A sweet letter from Mrs. Hare, wife of Julius Hare, and Maurice's sister. _Aug. 18._--Returned home much invigorated by the week of change, but my spirits seem to droop as usual now I am in London again. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 19th Aug. 1863.] I was at Worthing when your letter came, spending all my daylight hours out-of-doors, and trying with all my might to get health and cheerfulness. I will tell you the true reason why I did not go to Hastings. I thought you would be all the better for not having that solicitation of your kindness that the fact of my presence there might have caused. What you needed was precisely to get away from people to whom you would inevitably want to be doing something friendly, instead of giving yourself up to passive enjoyment. Else, of course, I should have liked everything you write about and invite me to. We only got home last night, and I suppose we shall hardly be able to leave town again till after the two younger boys have left us, and after we have moved into the new house. Since I saw you I have had some sweet woman's tenderness shown me by Mrs. Hare, the widow of Archdeacon Hare, and the sister of Frederick Maurice. I _know_ how you are enjoying the country. I have just been having the joy myself. The wide sky, the _not_ London, makes a new creature of me in half an hour. I wonder, then, why I am ever depressed--why I am so shaken by agitations. I come back to London, and again the air is full of demons. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray and Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Sept. 1863.] I think I get a little freshness from the breeze that blows on you--a little lifting of heart from your wide sky and Welsh mountains. And the edge of autumn on the morning air makes even London a place in which one can believe in beauty and delight. Delicate scent of dried rose-leaves and the coming on of the autumnal airs are two things that make me feel happy before I know why. The Priory is all scaffolding and paint; and we are still in a nightmare of uncertainty about our boys. But then I have by my side a dear companion, who is a perpetual fountain of courage and cheerfulness, and of considerate tenderness for my lack of those virtues. And besides that I have Roman history! Perhaps that sounds like a bitter joke to you, who are looking at the sea and sky and not thinking of Roman history at all. But this too, read aright, has its gospel and revelation. I read it much as I used to read a chapter in the Acts or Epistles. Mommsen's "History of Rome" is so fine that I count all minds graceless who read it without the deepest stirrings. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Oct. 1863.] I cannot be quite easy without sending this little sign of love and good wishes on the eve of your journey. I shall think of you with all the more delight, because I shall imagine you winding along the Riviera and then settling in sight of beautiful things not quite unknown to me. I hope your life will be enriched very much by these coming months; but above all, I hope that Mr. Congreve will come back strong. Tell him I have been greatly moved by the "Discours Préliminaire."[37] [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Oct. 1863.] If I wait to write until I have anything very profitable to say, you will have time to think that I have forgotten you or else to forget me--and both consequences would be unpleasant to me. Well, our poor boy Thornie parted from us to-day and set out on his voyage to Natal. I say "poor," as one does about all beings that are gone away from us for a long while. But he went away in excellent spirits, with a large packet of recommendatory letters to all sorts of people, and with what he cares much more for, a first-rate rifle and revolver--and already with a smattering of Dutch Zulu, picked up from his grammars and dictionaries. What are you working at, I wonder? Cara says you are writing; and, though I desire not to ask prying questions, I should feel much joy in your being able to tell me that you are at work on something which gives you a life apart from circumstantial things. I am taking a deep bath of other people's thoughts, and all doings of my own seem a long way off me. But my bath will be sorely interrupted soon by the miserable details of removal from one house to another. Happily Mr. Owen Jones has undertaken the ornamentation of the drawing-room, and will prescribe all about chairs, etc. I think, after all, I like a clean kitchen better than any other room. We are far on in correcting the proofs of the new edition of "Goethe," and are about to begin the printing of the "Aristotle," which is to appear at Christmas or Easter. [Sidenote: Journal, 1863.] _Nov. 5._--We moved into our new house--The Priory, 21 North Bank, Regent's Park. _Nov. 14._--We are now nearly in order, only wanting a few details of furniture to finish our equipment for a new stage in our life's journey. I long very much to have done thinking of upholstery, and to get again a consciousness that there are better things than that to reconcile one with life. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 14th Nov. 1863.] At last we are in our new home, with only a few details still left to arrange. Such fringing away of precious life, in thinking of carpets and tables, is an affliction to me, and seems like a nightmare from which I shall find it bliss to awake into my old world of care for things quite apart from upholstery. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 28th Nov. 1863.] I have kissed your letter in sign of my joy at getting it. But the cold draughts of your Florentine room came across my joy rather harshly. I know you have good reasons for what you do, yet I cannot help saying, Why do you stay at Florence, the city of draughts rather than of flowers? Mr. Congreve's suffering during the journey and your suffering in watching him saddens me as I think of it. For a long while to come I suppose human energy will be greatly taken up with resignation rather than action. I wish my feeling for you could travel by some helpful vibrations good for pains. For ourselves, we have enough ease now to be able to give some of it away. But our removal into our new home on the 5th of November was not so easy as it might have been, seeing that I was only half recovered from a severe attack of influenza, which had caused me more terrible pains in the head and throat than I have known for years. However, the crisis is past now, and we think our little home altogether charming and comfortable. Mr. Owen Jones has been unwearied in taking trouble that everything about us may be pretty. He stayed two nights till after twelve o'clock, that he might see every engraving hung in the right place; and as you know I care even more about the fact of kindness than its effects, you will understand that I enjoy being grateful for all this friendliness on our behalf. But so tardy a business is furnishing, that it was not until Monday last that we had got everything in its place in preparation for the next day--Charlie's twenty-first birthday--which made our house-warming a doubly interesting epoch. I wish your sweet presence could have adorned our drawing-room and made it look still more agreeable in the eyes of all beholders. You would have liked to hear Jansa play on his violin, and you would perhaps have been amused to see an affectionate but dowdy friend of yours splendid in a gray moire antique--the consequence of a severe lecture from Owen Jones on her general neglect of personal adornment. I am glad to have got over this crisis of maternal and house-keeping duty. My soul never flourishes on attention to details which others can manage quite gracefully without any conscious loss of power for wider thoughts and cares. Before we began to move I was swimming in Comte and Euripides and Latin Christianity: _now_ I am sitting among puddles, and can get sight of no deep water. _Now_ I have a mind made up of old carpets fitted in new places, and new carpets suffering from accidents; chairs, tables, and prices; muslin curtains and down draughts in cold chimneys. I have made a vow never to think of my own furniture again, but only of other people's. [Illustration: Drawing-room at the Priory.] [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th Dec. 1863.] The book[38] is come, with its precious inscription, and I have read a great piece of it already (11 A.M.), besides looking through it to get an idea of its general plan. See how fascination shifts its quarter as our life goes on! I cannot be induced to lay aside my regular books for half an hour to read "Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings," but I pounce on a book like yours, which tries to tell me as much as it can in brief space of the "natural order," and am seduced into making it my after-breakfast reading instead of the work I had prescribed for myself in that pleasant quiet time. I read so slowly and read so few books that this small fact among my small habits seems a great matter to me. I thank you, dear Cara, not simply for giving me the book, but for having put so much faithful labor in a worthy direction, and created a lasting benefit which I can share with others. Whether the circulation of a book be large or small, there is always this supreme satisfaction about solid honest work, that as far as it goes its effect must be good, and as all effects spread immeasurably, what we have to care for is _kind_ and not quantity. I am a shabby correspondent, being in ardent practice of the piano just now, which makes my days shorter than usual. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 4th Dec. 1863.] I am rather ashamed to hear of any one trying to be useful just now, for I am doing nothing but indulging myself--enjoying being petted very much, enjoying great books, enjoying our new, pretty, quiet home, and the study of Beethoven's sonatas for piano and violin, with the mild-faced old Jansa, and not being at all unhappy as you imagine me. I sit taking deep draughts of reading--"Politique Positive," Euripides, Latin Christianity, and so forth, and remaining in glorious ignorance of "the current literature." Such is our life; and you perceive that instead of being miserable, I am rather following a wicked example, and saying to my soul, "Soul, take thine ease." I am sorry to think of you without any artistic society to help you and feed your faith. It is hard to believe long together that anything is "worth while," unless there is some eye to kindle in common with our own, some brief word uttered now and then to imply that what is infinitely precious to us is precious alike to another mind. I fancy that to do without that guarantee one must be rather insane--one must be a bad poet, or a spinner of impossible theories, or an inventor of impossible machinery. However, it is but brief space either of time or distance that divides you from those who thoroughly share your cares and joys--always excepting that portion which is the hidden private lot of every human being. In the most entire confidence even of husband and wife there is always the unspoken residue--the _undivined_ residue--perhaps of what is most sinful, perhaps of what is most exalted and unselfish. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Dec. 1863.] I get less and less inclined to write any but the briefest letters. My books seem to get so far off me when once I have written them, that I should be afraid of looking into "The Mill;" but it was written faithfully and with intense feeling when it was written, so I will hope that it will do no mortal any harm. I am indulging myself frightfully; reading everything except the "current literature," and getting more and more out of _rapport_ with the public taste. I have read Renan's book, however, which has proved to be eminently _in_ the public taste. It will have a good influence on the whole, I imagine; but this "Vie de Jésus," and still more, Renan's "Letter to Berthelot" in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, have compelled me to give up the high estimate I had formed of his mind. Judging from the indications in some other writings of his, I had reckoned him among the finest thinkers of the time. Still, his "Life of Jesus" has so much artistic merit that it will do a great deal towards the culture of ordinary minds, by giving them a sense of unity between that far off past and our present. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 26th Dec. 1863.] We are enjoying our new house--enjoying its quiet and freedom from perpetual stair-mounting--enjoying also the prettiness of coloring and arrangement; all of which we owe to our dear good friend, Mr. Owen Jones. He has determined every detail, so that we can have the pleasure of admiring what is our own without vanity. And another magnificent friend has given me the most splendid reclining chair conceivable, so that I am in danger of being envied by the gods, especially as my health is thoroughly good withal. I should like to be sure that you are just as comfortable externally and internally. I dare say you are, being less of a cormorant in your demands on life than I am; and it is _that_ difference which chiefly distinguishes human lots when once the absolute needs are satisfied. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 28th Dec. 1863.] Your affectionate greeting comes as one of the many blessings that are brightening this happy Christmas. We have been giving our evenings up to parental duties--_i.e._, to games and music for the amusement of the youngsters. I am wonderfully well in body, but rather in a self-indulgent state mentally, saying, "Soul, take thine ease," after a dangerous example. Of course I shall be glad to see your fair face whenever it can shine upon me; but I can well imagine, with your multitudinous connections, Christmas and the New Year are times when all _unappointed_ visits must be impossible to you. All good to you and yours through the coming year! and amongst the good may you continue to feel some love for me; for love is one of the conditions in which it is even better to give than to receive. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 19th Jan. 1864.] According to your plans you must be in Rome. I have been in good spirits about you ever since I last heard from you, and the foggy twilight which, for the last week, has followed the severe frost, has made me rejoice the more that you are in a better climate and amongst lovelier scenes than we are groping in. I please myself with thinking that you will all come back with stores of strength and delightful memories. Only, if this were the best of all possible worlds, Mr. Lewes and I should be able to meet you in some beautiful place before you turn your backs on Italy. As it is, there is no hope of such a meeting. March is Charlie's holiday month, and when he goes out we like to stay at home for the sake of recovering for that short time our unbroken _tête-à-tête_. We have every reason to be cheerful if the fog would let us. Last night I finished reading the last proofs of the "Aristotle," which makes an octavo volume of rather less than 400 pages. I think it is a book which will be interesting and valuable to the few, but perhaps _only_ to the few. However, George's happiness in writing his books makes him less dependent than most authors on the audience they find. He felt that a thorough account of Aristotle's science was a bit of work which needed doing, and he has given his utmost pains to do it worthily. These are the two most important conditions of authorship; all the rest belong to the "less modifiable" order of things. I have been playing energetically on the piano lately, and taking lessons in accompanying the violin from Herr Jansa, one of the old Beethoven Quartette players. It has given me a fresh kind of muscular exercise, as well as nervous stimulus, and, I think, has done its part towards making my health better. In fact I am very well physically. I wish I could be as clever and active as you about our garden, which might be made much prettier this spring if I had judgment and industry enough to do the right thing. But it is a native vice of mine to like all such matters attended to by some one else, and to fold my arms and enjoy the result. Some people are born to make life pretty, and others to grumble that it is not pretty enough. But pray make a point of liking me in spite of my deficiencies. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 21st Jan. 1864.] I comfort myself with the belief that your nature is less rebellious under trouble than mine--less craving and discontented. Resignation to trial, which can never have a _personal_ compensation, is a part of our life task which has been too much obscured for us by unveracious attempts at universal consolation. I think we should be more tender to each other while we live, if that wretched falsity which makes men quite comfortable about their fellows' troubles were thoroughly got rid of. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Jan. 1864.] I often imagine you, not without a little longing, turning out into the fields whenever you list, as we used to do in the old days at Rosehill. That power of turning out into the fields is a great possession in life--worth many luxuries. Here is a bit of news not, I think, too insignificant for you to tell Cara. The other day Mr. Spencer, senior (Herbert Spencer's father), called on us, and knowing that he has been engaged in education all his life, that he is a man of extensive and accurate knowledge, and that, on his son's showing, he is a very able teacher, I showed him Cara's "British Empire." Yesterday Herbert Spencer came, and on my inquiring told me that his father was pleased with Cara's book, and thought highly of it. Such testimonies as this, given apart from personal influence and by a practised judge, are, I should think, more gratifying than any other sort of praise to all faithful writers. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _Jan. 30._--We had Browning, Dallas, and Burton to dine with us, and in the evening a gentlemen's party. _Feb. 14._--Mr. Burton dined with us, and asked me to let him take my portrait. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 3d March, 1864.] It was pleasant to have news of you through the fog, which reduces my faith in all good and lovely things to its lowest ebb. I hope you are less abjectly under the control of the skyey influences than I am. The soul's calm sunshine in me is half made up of the outer sunshine. However, we are going on Friday to hear the Judas Maccabæus, and Handel's music always brings me a revival. I have had a great personal loss lately in the death of a sweet woman,[39] to whom I have sometimes gone, and hoped to go again, for a little moral strength. She had long been confined to her room by consumption, which has now taken her quite out of reach except to memory, which makes all dear human beings undying to us as long as we ourselves live. I am glad to know that you have been interested in "David Gray."[40] It is good for us all that these true stories should be well told. Even those to whom the power of helping rarely comes, have their imaginations instructed so as to be more just and tender in their thoughts about the lot of their fellows. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th March, 1864.] I felt it long since I had had news from you, but my days go by, each seeming too short for what I must do, and I don't like to molest you with mere questions. I have been spoiled for correspondence by Mr. Lewes's goodness in always writing letters for me where a proxy is admissible. And so it has come to be a great affair with me to write even a note, while people who keep up a large correspondence, and set apart their hour for it, find it easy to cover reams of paper with talk from the end of the pen. You say nothing of yourself, which is rather unkind. We are enjoying a perfect _tête à tête_. On Friday we are going to hear the Judas Maccabæus, and try if possible to be stirred to something heroic by "Sound an alarm." I was more sorry than it is usually possible to be about the death of a person utterly unknown to me, when I read of Maria Martineau's death. She was a person whose office in life seemed so thoroughly defined and so valuable. For an invalid like Harriet Martineau to be deprived of a beloved nurse and companion, is a sorrow that makes one ashamed of one's small grumblings. But, oh dear, oh dear! when _will_ people leave off their foolish talk about all human lots being equal; as if anybody with a sound stomach ever knew misery comparable to the misery of a dyspeptic. Farewell, dear Sara; be generous, and don't always wait an age in silence because I don't write. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 8th March, 1864.] If you were anybody but yourself I should dislike you, because I have to write letters to you. As it is, your qualities triumph even over the vice of being in Italy (too far off for a note of three lines), and expecting to hear from me, though I fear I should be graceless enough to let you expect in vain if I did not care very much to hear from _you_, and did not find myself getting uneasy when many weeks have been passed in ignorance about you. I do hope to hear that you got your fortnight of sight-seeing before leaving Rome--at least, you would surely go well over the great galleries. If not, I shall be vexed with you, and I shall only be consoled for your not going to Venice by the chance of the Austrians being driven or bought out of it--on no slighter grounds. For I suppose you will not go to Italy again for a long, long while, so as to leave any prospect of the omission being made up for by-and-by. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th March, 1864.] We run off to Scotland for the Easter week, setting out on Sunday evening; so if the spring runs away again, I hope it will run northward. We shall return on Monday, the 4th April. Some news of your inwards and outwards would be acceptable; but don't write unless you really _like_ to write. You see Strauss has come out with a _popular_ "Life of Jesus." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 25th March, 1864.] Fog, east wind, and headache: there is my week's history. But this morning, when your letter came to me, I had got up well and was reading the sorrows of the aged Hecuba with great enjoyment. I wish an immortal drama could be got out of _my_ sorrows, that people might be the better for them two thousand years hence. But fog, east wind, and headache are not great dramatic motives. Your letter was a reinforcement of the delicious sense of _bien être_ that comes with the departure of bodily pain; and I am glad, retrospectively, that beyond our fog lay your moonlight and your view of the glorious sea. It is not difficult to me to believe that you look a new creature already. Mr. Lewes tells me the country air has always a magical effect on me, even in the first hour; but it is not the air alone, is it? It is the wide sky, and the hills, and the wild-flowers which are linked with all calming thoughts, just as every object in town has its perturbing associations. I share your joy in the Federal successes--with that check that attends all joy in a war not absolutely ended. But you have worked and earned more joy than those who have been merely passives. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _April 6._--Mr. Spencer called for the first time after a long correspondence on the subject of his relation to Comte. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th April, 1864.] Yes! I am come back from Scotland--came back last Saturday night. I was much pleased to see Cara so wonderfully well and cheerful. She seems to me ten times more cheerful than in the old days. I am interested to know more about your work which is filling your life now, but I suppose I shall know nothing until it is in print--and perhaps that is the only form in which one can do any one's work full justice. It is very disappointing to me to hear that Cara has at present so little promise of monetary results from her conscientious labor. I fear the fatal system of half profits is working against her as against others. We are going to the opera to-night to hear the Favorita. It was the first opera I ever _saw_ (with you I saw it!), and I have never seen it since--that is the reason I was anxious to go to-night. This afternoon we go to see Mulready's pictures--so the day will be a full one. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _April 18._--We went to the Crystal Palace to see Garibaldi. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 30th April, 1864.] Only think! next Wednesday morning we start for Italy. The move is quite a sudden one. We need a good shake for our bodies and minds, and must take the spring-time, before the weather becomes too hot. We shall not be away more than a month or six weeks at the utmost. Our friend Mr. Burton, the artist, will be our companion for at least part of the time. He has just painted a divine picture, which is now to be seen at the old Water-Color Exhibition. The subject is from a Norse legend; but that is no matter--the picture tells its story. A knight in mailed armor and surcoat has met the fair, tall woman he (secretly) loves, on a turret stair. By an uncontrollable movement he has seized her arm and is kissing it. She, amazed, has dropped the flowers she held in her other hand. The subject might have been made the most vulgar thing in the world--the artist has raised it to the highest pitch of refined emotion. The kiss is on the fur-lined _sleeve_ that covers the arm, and the face of the knight is the face of a man to whom the kiss is a sacrament. How I should like a good long talk with you! From what you say of your book that is to come, I expect to be very much interested in it. I think I hardly ever read a book of the kind you describe without getting some help from it. It is to this strong influence that is felt in all personal statements of inward experience that we must perhaps refer the excessive publication of religious journals. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _May 4._--We started for Italy with Mr. Burton. _June 20._--Arrived at our pretty home again after an absence of seven weeks. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 25th June, 1864.] Your letter has affected me deeply. Thank you very much for writing it. It seems as if a close view of almost every human lot would disclose some suffering that makes life a doubtful good--except perhaps at certain epochs of fresh love, fresh creative activity, or unusual power of helping others. One such epoch we are witnessing in a young life that is very near to us. Our "boy" Charles has just become engaged, and it is very pretty to see the happiness of a pure first love, full at present of nothing but promise. It will interest you to know that the young lady who has won his heart, and seems to have given him her own with equal ardor and entireness, is the grand-daughter of Dr. Southwood Smith, whom he adopted when she was three years old, and brought up under his own eye. She is very handsome, and has a splendid contralto voice. Altogether Pater and I rejoice--for though the engagement has taken place earlier than we expected, or should perhaps have chosen, there are counterbalancing advantages. I always hoped Charlie would be able to choose or rather find the other half of himself by the time he was twenty-three; the event has only come a year and a half sooner. This is the news that greeted us on our return! We had seen before we went that the acquaintance, which was first made eighteen months or more ago, had become supremely interesting to Charlie. Altogether we rejoice. Our journey was delightful in spite of Mr. Lewes's frequent _malaise_; for his cheerful nature is rarely subdued even by bodily discomfort. We saw only one place that we had not seen before--namely, Brescia; but all the rest seemed more glorious to us than they had seemed four years ago. Our course was to Venice, where we stayed a fortnight, pausing only at Paris, Turin and Milan on our way thither, and taking Padua, Verona, Brescia, and again Milan, as points of rest on our way back. Our friend Mr. Burton's company was very stimulating, from his great knowledge, not of pictures only, but of almost all other subjects. He has had the advantage of living in Germany for five or six years, and has gained those large, serious views of history which are a special product of German culture, and this was his first visit to Italy, so you may imagine his eager enjoyment in finding it beautiful beyond his hopes. We crossed the Alps by the St. Gothard, and stayed a day or two at Lucerne; and this, again, was a first sight of Switzerland to him. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, July, 1864.] Looking at my little mats this morning while I was dressing, I felt very grateful for them, and remembered that I had not shown my gratitude when you gave them to me. If I were a "conceited" poet, I should say your presence was the sun, and the mats were the tapers; but now you are away, I delight in the tapers. How pretty the pattern is--and your brain counted it out! They will never be worn quite away while I live, or my little purse for coppers either. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _July 17._--Horrible scepticism about all things paralyzing my mind. Shall I ever be good for anything again? Ever do anything again? _July 19._--Reading Gibbon, Vol. I., in connection with Mosheim, also Gieseler on the condition of the world at the appearance of Christianity. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Aug. 1864.] I am distressed to find that I have let a week pass without writing in answer to your letter, which made me very glad when I got it. Remembering you just a minute ago, I started up from Max Müller's new volume, with which I was consoling myself under a sore throat, and rushed to the desk that I might not risk any further delay. It was just what I wanted to hear about you that you were having some change, and I think the freshness of the companionship must help other good influences, not to speak of the "Apologia," which breathed much life into me when I read it. Pray mark that beautiful passage in which he thanks his friend Ambrose St. John. I know hardly anything that delights me more than such evidences of sweet brotherly love being a reality in the world. I envy you your opportunity of seeing and hearing Newman, and should like to make an expedition to Birmingham for that sole end. My trouble now is George's delicate health. He gets thinner and thinner. He is going to try what horseback will do, and I am looking forward to that with some hope. Our boy's love-story runs smoothly, and seems to promise nothing but good. His attraction to Hampstead gives George and me more of our dear old _tête-à-tête_, which we can't help being glad to recover. Dear Cara and Mr. Bray! I wish they too had joy instead of sadness from the young life they have been caring for these many years. When you write to Cara, or see her, assure her that she is remembered in my most affectionate thoughts, and that I often bring her present experience before my mind--more or less truly--for we can but blunder about each other, we poor mortals. Write to me whenever you can, dear Sara; I should have answered immediately but for sickness, visitors, business, etc. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _Sept. 6.--I am reading about Spain, and trying a drama on a subject that has fascinated me--have written the prologue, and am beginning the First Act. But I have little hope of making anything satisfactory._ _Sept. 13_ to _30_.--Went to Harrogate and Scarborough, seeing York Minster and Peterborough. [Illustration: Fac-simile of George Eliot's hand-writing.] [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Sept. 1864, from Harrogate.] We journeyed hither on Tuesday, and found the place quite as pretty as we expected. The great merit of Harrogate is that one is everywhere close to lovely open walks. Your "plan" has been a delightful reference for Mr. Lewes, who takes it out of his pocket every time we walk. At present, of course, there is not much improvement in health to be boasted of, but we hope that the delicious bracing air, and also the chalybeate waters, which have not yet been tried, will not be without good effect. The journey was long. How hideous those towns of Holbeach and Wakefield are! It is difficult to keep up one's faith in a millennium within sight of this modern civilization which consists in "development of industries." Egypt and her big calm gods seems quite as good. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Sept. 1864, from Scarborough.] We migrated on Friday last from delightful Harrogate, pausing at York to see the glorious Cathedral. The weather is perfect, the sea blue as a sapphire, so that we see to utmost advantage the fine line of coast here and the magnificent breadth of sand. Even the Tenby sands are not so fine as these. Better than all, Mr. Lewes, in spite of a sad check of a few days, is strengthened beyond our most hopeful expectations by this brief trial of fresh conditions. He is wonderful for the rapidity with which he "picks up" after looking alarmingly feeble and even wasted. We paid a visit to Knaresborough the very last day of our stay at Harrogate, and were rejoiced that we had not missed the sight of that pretty characteristic northern town. There is a ruined castle here too, standing just where one's eyes would desire it on a grand line of cliff; but perhaps you know the place. Its only defect is that it is too large, and therefore a little too smoky; but except in Wales or Devonshire I have seen no sea-place on our English coast that has greater natural advantages. I don't know quite why I should write you this note all about ourselves--except that your goodness having helped us to the benefit we have got, I like you to know of the said benefit. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Sunday, Oct. (?) 1864.] The wished-for opportunity is coming very soon. Next Saturday Charlie will go to Hastings, and will not return till Sunday evening. Will you--can you--arrange to come to us on Saturday to lunch or dinner, and stay with us till Sunday evening? We shall be very proud and happy if you will consent to put up with such travelling quarters as we can give you. You will be rejoicing our hearts by coming, and I know that for the sake of cheering others you would endure even large privations as well as small ones. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Monday-week following.] What a pure delight it was to have you with us! I feel the better for it in spite of a cold which I caught yesterday--perhaps owing to the loss of your sunny presence all of a sudden. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Oct. 1864.] It makes me very, very happy to see George so much better, and to return with that chief satisfaction to the quiet comforts of home. We register Harrogate among the places to be revisited. I have had a fit of Spanish history lately, and have been learning Spanish grammar--the easiest of all the Romance grammars--since we have been away. Mr. Lewes has been rubbing up his Spanish by reading Don Quixote in these weeks of _idlesse_; and I have read aloud and translated to him, like a good child. I find it so much easier to learn anything than to feel that I have anything worth teaching. All is perfectly well with us, now the "little Pater" is stronger, and we are especially thankful for Charlie's prospect of marriage. We could not have desired anything more suited to his character and more likely to make his life a good one. But this blessing which has befallen us only makes me feel the more acutely the cutting off of a like satisfaction from the friends I chiefly love. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _Oct. 5._--Finished the first draught of the First Act of my drama, and read it to George. _Oct. 15._--Went to the Maestro (Burton) for a sitting. _Nov. 4._--Read my Second Act to George. It is written in verse--my first serious attempt at blank verse. G. praises and encourages me. _Nov. 10._--I have been at a very low ebb, body and mind, for the last few days, sticking in the mud continually in the construction of my 3d, 4th, and 5th Acts. Yesterday Browning came to tell us of a bust of Savonarola in terra-cotta, just discovered at Florence. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 23d Nov. 1864.] I believe I have thought of you every day for the last fortnight, and I remembered the birthday--and "everything." But I was a little cross, because I had heard nothing of you since Mr. Bray's visit. And I said to myself, "If she wanted to write she _would_ write." I confess I was a little ashamed when I saw the outside of your letter ten minutes ago, feeling that I should read within it the proof that you were as thoughtful and mindful as ever. Yes, I do heartily give my greeting--_had_ given it already. And I desire very much that the work which is absorbing you may give you some happiness besides that which belongs to the activity of production. It is very kind of you to remember Charlie's date too. He is as happy as the day is long, and very good--one of those creatures to whom goodness comes naturally--not any exalted goodness, but every-day serviceable goodness, such as wears through life. Whereas exalted goodness comes in brief inspirations, and requires a man to die lest he should spoil his work. I have been ill, but now am pretty well, with much to occupy and interest me, and with no trouble except those bodily ailments. I could chat a long while with you--but I restrain myself, because I must not carry on my letter-writing into the "solid day." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Christmas-day, 1864.] Your precious letter _did_ come last night, and crowned the day's enjoyment. Our family party went off very well, entirely by dint of George's exertions. I wish you had seen him acting charades, and heard him make an after-supper speech. You would have understood all the self-forgetful goodness that lay under the assumption of boyish animal spirits. A horrible German whom I have been obliged to see has been talking for two hours, with the hardest eyes, blind to all possibilities that he was boring us, and so I have been robbed of all the time I wanted for writing to you. I can only say now that I bore you on my heart--you and all yours known to me--even before I had had your letter yesterday. Indeed you are not apart from any delight I have in life: I long always that you should share it, if not otherwise, at least by knowing of it, which to you is a sort of sharing. Our double loves and best wishes for all of you--Rough being included, as I trust you include Ben. Are they not idlers with us? Also a title to regard as well as being _collaborateurs_. [Sidenote: Journal, 1864.] _Dec. 24._--A family party in the evening. _Dec. 25._--I read the Third Act of my drama to George, who praised it highly. We spent a perfectly quiet evening, intending to have our Christmas-day's jollity on Tuesday when the boys are at home. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Jan. 1._--The last year has been unmarked by any trouble except bad health. The bright spots in the year have been the publication of "Aristotle" and our journey to Venice. With me the year has not been fruitful. I have written three Acts of my drama, and am now in a condition of body and mind to make me hope for better things in the coming year. The last quarter has made an epoch for me, by the fact that, for the first time in my serious authorship I have written verse. In each other we are happier than ever. I am more grateful to my dear husband for his perfect love, which helps me in all good and checks me in all evil--more conscious that in him I have the greatest of blessings. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 3d Jan. 1865.] I hope the wish that this New Year may be a happy one to you does not seem to be made a mockery by any troubles or anxieties pressing on you. I enclose a check, which I shall be obliged if you will offer to Mr. Congreve, as I know he prefers that payments should be made at the beginning of the year. I shall think of you on the nineteenth. I wonder how many there really were in that "small upper room" 1866 years ago. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Jan. 8._--Mrs. Congreve staying with us for a couple of nights. Yesterday we went to Mr. Burton's to see my portrait, with which she was much pleased. Since last Monday I have been writing a poem, the matter of which was written in prose three or four years ago--"My Vegetarian Friend." _Jan. 15_ to _25_.--Visit to Paris. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Friday (?), 27th Jan. 1865.] Are we not happy to have reached home on Wednesday before this real winter came? We enjoyed our visit to Paris greatly, in spite of bad weather, going to the theatre or opera nearly every night, and seeing sights all day long. I think the most interesting sight we saw was Comte's dwelling. Such places, that knew the great dead, always move me deeply; and I had an unexpected sight of interest in the photograph taken at the very last. M. Thomas was very friendly, and pleasant to talk to because of his simple manners. We gave your remembrances to him, and promised to assure you of his pleasure in hearing of you. I wish some truer representation of Mr. Congreve hung up in the Salon instead of that (to me) exasperating photograph. We thought the apartment very _freundlich_, and I flattered myself that I could have written better in the little study there than in my own. Such self-flattery is usually the most amiable phase of discontent with one's own inferiority. I am really stronger for the change. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Jan. 28._--Finished my poem on "Utopias." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 6th Feb. 1865.] I suspect you have come to dislike letters, but until you say so, I must write now and then to gratify myself. I want to send my love, lest all the old messages shall have lost their scent, like old lavender bags. Since I wrote to you last we have actually been to Paris! A little business was an excuse for getting a great deal of pleasure; and I, for whom change of air and scene is always the best tonic, am much brightened by our wintry expedition, which ended just in time for us to escape the heavy fall of snow. We are very happy, having almost recovered our old _tête-à-tête_, of which I am so selfishly fond that I am beginning to feel it an heroic effort when I make up my mind to invite half a dozen visitors. But it is necessary to strive against this unsocial disposition, so we are going to have some open evenings. There is great talk of a new periodical--a fortnightly apparition, partly on the plan of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_. Mr. Lewes has consented to become its editor, if the preliminaries are settled so as to satisfy him. _Ecco!_ I have told you a little of our news, not daring to ask you anything about yourself, since you evidently don't want to tell me anything. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 19th Feb. 1865.] The party was a "mull." The weather was bad. Some of the invited were ill and sent regrets, others were not ardent enough to brave the damp evening--in fine, only twelve came. We had a charade, which, like our neighbors, was no better than it should have been, and some rather languid music, our best musicians half failing us--so ill is merit rewarded in this world! If the severest sense of fulfilling a duty could make one's parties pleasant, who so deserving as I? I turn my inward shudders into outward smiles, and talk fast, with a sense of lead on my tongue. However, Mr. Pigott made a woman's part in the charade so irresistibly comic that I tittered at it at intervals in my sleepless hours. I am rather uncomfortable about you, because you seemed so much less well and strong the other day than your average. Let me hear before long how you and Mr. Congreve are. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Feb. 21._--Ill and very miserable. George has taken my drama away from me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 27th Feb. 1865.] The sun shone through my window on your letter as I read it, adding to its cheeriness. It was good of you to write it. I was ill last week, and had mental troubles besides--happily such as are unconnected with any one's experience except my own. I am still ailing, but striving hard "not to mind," and not to diffuse my inward trouble, according to Madame de Vaux's excellent maxim. I shall not, I fear, be able to get to you till near the end of next week--towards the 11th. I think of you very often, and especially when my own _malaise_ reminds me how much of your time is spent in the same sort of endurance. Mr. Spencer told us yesterday that Dr. Ransom said he had cured himself of dyspepsia by leaving off stimulants--the full benefit manifesting itself after two or three months of abstinence. I am going to try. All best regards to Mr. Congreve and tenderest sisterly love to yourself. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _March 1._--I wrote an article for the _Pall Mall Gazette_--"A Word for the Germans." _March 12._--Went to Wandsworth, to spend the Sunday and Monday with Mr. and Mrs. Congreve. Feeling very ailing; in constant dull pain, which makes all effort burdensome. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 16th March, 1865.] I did not promise, like Mr. Collins, that you should receive a letter of thanks for your kind entertainment of me; but I feel the need of writing a word or two to break the change from your presence to my complete absence from you. It was really an enjoyment to be with you, in spite of the bodily uneasiness which robbed me of half my mind. One thing only I regret--that in my talk with you I think I was rather merciless to other people. Whatever vices I have seem to be exaggerated by my _malaise_--such "chastening" not answering the purpose of purification in my case. Pray set down any unpleasant notions I have suggested about others to my account--_i.e._, as being _my_ unpleasantness, and not theirs. When one is bilious, other people's complexions look yellow, and one of their eyes higher than the other--all the fault of one's own evil interior. I long to hear from you that you are better, and if you are not better, still to hear from you before too long an interval. Mr. Congreve's condition is really cheering, and he goes about with me as a pleasant picture--like that Raphael the Tuscan duke chose always to carry with him. I got worse after I left you; but to-day I am better, and begin to think there is nothing serious the matter with me except the "weather," which every one else is alleging as the cause of their symptoms. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 18th March, 1865.] I believe you are one of the few who can understand that in certain crises direct expression of sympathy is the least possible to those who most feel sympathy. If I could have been with you in bodily presence, I should have sat silent, thinking silence a sign of feeling that speech, trying to be wise, must always spoil. The truest things one can say about great Death are the oldest, simplest things that everybody knows by rote, but that no one knows really till death has come very close. And when that inward teaching is going on, it seems pitiful presumption for those who are outside to be saying anything. There is no such thing as consolation when we have made the lot of another our own. I don't know whether you strongly share, as I do, the old belief that made men say the gods loved those who died young. It seems to me truer than ever, now life has become more complex, and more and more difficult problems have to be worked out. Life, though a good to men on the whole, is a doubtful good to many, and to some not a good at all. To my thought it is a source of constant mental distortion to make the denial of this a part of religion--to go on pretending things are better than they are. To me early death takes the aspect of salvation; though I feel, too, that those who live and suffer may sometimes have the greater blessedness of _being_ a salvation. But I will not write of judgments and opinions. What I want my letter to tell you is that I love you truly, gratefully, unchangeably. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _March 25._--I am in deep depression, feeling powerless. I have written nothing but beginnings since I finished a little article for the _Pall Mall_, on the Logic of Servants. Dear George is all activity, yet is in very frail health. How I worship his good humor, his good sense, his affectionate care for every one who has claims on him! That worship is my best life. _March 29._--Sent a letter on "Futile Lying," from Saccharissa to the _Pall Mall_. I have begun a novel ("Felix Holt"). [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 11th April, 1865.] We are wondering if, by any coincidence or condition of things, you could come to us on Thursday, when we have our last evening party--wondering how you are--wondering everything about you, and knowing nothing. Could you resolve some of our wonderings into cheering knowledge? It is ages since you made any sign to us. Are _we_ to be blamed or you? I hope you are not unfavorably affected by the sudden warmth which comes with the beautiful sunshine. Some word of you, in pity! [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 22d April, 1865.] If the sun goes on shining in this glorious way, I shall think of your journey with pleasure. The sight of the country _must_ be a good when the trees are bursting into leaf. But I will remember your warning to Emily, and not insist too much on the advantages of paying visits. Let us hear of you sometimes, and think of us as very busy and very happy, but always including you in our world, and getting uneasy when we are left too much to our imaginations about you. Tell Emily that Ben and I are the better for having seen her. He has added to his store of memories, and will recognize her when she comes again. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _May 4._--Sent an article on Lecky's "History of Rationalism" for the _Fortnightly_. For nearly a fortnight I have been ill, one way or other. _May 10._--Finished a letter of Saccharissa for the _Pall Mall_. Reading Æschylus, "Theatre of the Greeks," Klein's "History of the Drama," etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 11th May, 1865.] This note will greet you on your return, and tell you that we were glad to hear of you in your absence, even though the news was not of the brightest. Next week we are going away--I don't yet know exactly where; but it is firmly settled that we start on Monday. It will be good for the carpets, and it will be still better for us, who need a wholesome shaking, even more than the carpets do. The first number of the _Review_ was done with last Monday, and will be out on the 15th. You will be glad to hear that Mr. Harrison's article is excellent, but the "mull" which George declares to be the fatality with all first numbers is so far incurred with regard to this very article that, from overwhelming alarm at its length, George put it (perhaps too hastily) into the smaller type. I hope the importance of the subject and the excellence of the treatment will overcome that disadvantage. Nurse all pleasant thoughts in your solitude, and count our affection among them. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th May, 1865.] We have just returned from a five days' holiday at the coast, and are much invigorated by the tonic breezes. We have nothing to do with the _Fortnightly_ as a money speculation. Mr. Lewes has simply accepted the post of editor, and it was seemly that I should write a little in it. But do not suppose that I am going into periodical writing. And your friendship is not required to read one syllable for our sakes. On the contrary, you have my full sympathy in abstaining. Rest in peace, dear Sara, and finish your work, that you may have the sense of having spoken out what was within you. That is really a good--I mean, when it is done in all seriousness and sincerity. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _May 28._--Finished Bamford's "Passages from the Life of a Radical." Have just begun again Mill's "Political Economy," and Comte's "Social Science," in Miss Martineau's edition. _June 7._--Finished _Annual Register_ for 1832. Reading Blackstone. Mill's second article on "Comte," to appear in the _Westminster_, lent me by Mr. Spencer. My health has been better of late. _June 15._--Read again Aristotle's "Poetics" with fresh admiration. _June 20._--Read the opening of my novel to G. Yesterday we drove to Wandsworth. Walked together on Wimbledon Common, in outer and inner sunshine, as of old; then dined with Mr. and Mrs. Congreve, and had much pleasant talk. _June 25._--Reading English History, reign of George III.; Shakespeare's "King John." Yesterday G. dined at Greenwich with the multitude of so-called writers for the _Saturday_. He heard much commendation of the _Fortnightly_, especially of Bagehot's articles, which last is reassuring after Mr. Trollope's strong objections. _July 3._--Went to hear the "Faust" at Covent Garden: Mario, Lucca, and Graziani. I was much thrilled by the great symbolical situations, and by the music--more, I think, than I had ever been before. _July 9_ (Sunday).--We had Browning, Huxley, Mr. Warren, Mr. Bagehot, and Mr. Crompton, and talk was pleasant. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, Sunday, 10th July, 1865.] Success to the canvassing! It is "very meet and right and your bounden duty" to be with Mr. Taylor in this time of hard work, and I am glad that your health has made no impediment. I should have liked to be present when you were cheered. The expression of a common feeling by a large mass of men, when the feeling is one of good-will, moves me like music. A public tribute to any man who has done the world a service with brain or hand has on me the effect of a great religious rite, with pealing organ and full-voiced choir. I agree with you in your feeling about Mill. Some of his works have been frequently my companions of late, and I have been going through many _actions de grâce_ towards him. I am not anxious that he should be in Parliament: thinkers can do more outside than inside the House. But it would have been a fine precedent, and would have made an epoch, for such a man to have been asked for and elected solely on the ground of his mental eminence. As it is, I suppose it is pretty certain that he will _not_ be elected. I am glad you have been interested in Mr. Lewes's article. His great anxiety about the _Fortnightly_ is to make it the vehicle for sincere writing--real contributions of opinion on important topics. But it is more difficult than the inexperienced could imagine to get the sort of writing which will correspond to that desire of his. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _July 16._--Madame Bohn, niece of Professor Scherer, called. She said certain things about "Romola" which showed that she had felt what I meant my readers to feel. She said she knew the book had produced the same effect on many others. I wish I could be encouraged by this. _July 22._--Sat for my portrait--I suppose for the last time. _July 23._--I am going doggedly to work at my novel, seeing what determination can do in the face of despair. Reading Neale's "History of the Puritans." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 1st Aug. 1865.] I received yesterday the circular about the Mazzini Fund. Mr. Lewes and I would have liked to subscribe to a tribute to Mazzini, or to a fund for his use, of which the application was defined and guaranteed by his own word. As it is, the application of the desired fund is only intimated in the vaguest manner by the Florentine committee. The reflection is inevitable that the application may ultimately be the promotion of conspiracy, the precise character of which is necessarily unknown to subscribers. Now, though I believe there are cases in which conspiracy may be a sacred, necessary struggle against organized wrong, there are also cases in which it is hopeless, and can produce nothing but misery; or needless, because it is not the best means attainable of reaching the desired end; or unjustifiable, because it resorts to acts which are more unsocial in their character than the very wrong they are directed to extinguish; and in these three supposable cases it seems to me that it would be a social crime to further conspiracy even by the impulse of a little finger, to which one may well compare a small money subscription. I think many persons to whom the circular might be sent would take something like this view, and would grieve, as we do, that a proposition intended to honor Mazzini should come in a form to which they cannot conscientiously subscribe. I trouble you and Mr. Taylor with this explanation, because both Mr. Lewes and I have a real reverence for Mazzini, and could not therefore be content to give a silent negative. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 1st Aug. 1865.] I fear that my languor on Saturday prevented me from fairly showing you how sweet and precious your presence was to me then, as at all times. We have almost made up our minds to start some time in this month for a run in Normandy and Brittany. We both need the change, though when I receive, as I did yesterday, a letter from some friend, telling me of cares and trials from which I am quite free, I am ashamed of wanting anything. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Aug. 2._--Finished the "Agamemnon" second time. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 6th Aug. 1865.] When I wrote to you last I quite hoped that I should see you and Emily before we left home, but now it is settled that we start on Thursday morning, and I have so many little things to remember and to do that I dare not set apart any of the intervening time for the quiet enjoyment of a visit from you. It is not quite so cheerful a picture as I should like to carry with me, that of you and Emily so long alone, with Mr. Congreve working at Bradford. But your friends are sure to think of you, and want to see you. I hope you did not suffer so severely as we did from the arctic cold that rushed in after the oppressive heat. Mr. T. Trollope came from Italy just when it began. He says it is always the same when he comes to England, people always say it has just been very hot, and he believes that means they had a few days in which they were not obliged to blow on their fingers. When you write to Mr. Congreve pray tell him that we were very grateful for his Itinerary, which is likely useful to us--indeed, has already been useful in determining our route. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Sept. 7._--We returned home after an expedition into Brittany. Our course was from Boulogne to St. Valéry, Dieppe, Rouen, Caen, Bayeux, St. Lô, Vire, Avranches, Dol, St. Malo, Rennes, Avray, and Carnac--back by Nantes, Tours, Le Mans, Chartres, Paris, Rouen, Dieppe, Abbeville, and so again to Boulogne. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 14th Sept. 1865.] We came home again on Thursday night--this day week--after a month's absence in Normandy and Brittany. I have been thinking of you very often since, but believed that you did not care to have the interruption of letters just now, and would rather defer correspondence till your mind was freer. If I had _suspected_ that you would feel any want satisfied by a letter I should certainly have written. I had not heard of Miss Bonham Carter's death, else I should have conceived something of your state of mind. I think you and I are alike in this, that we can get no good out of pretended comforts, which are the devices of self-love, but would rather, in spite of pain, grow into the endurance of all "naked truths." So I say no word about your great loss, except that I love you, and sorrow with you. The circumstances of life--the changes that take place in ourselves--hem in the expression of affections and memories that live within us, and enter almost into every day, and long separations often make intercourse difficult when the opportunity comes. But the delight I had in you, and in the hours we spent together, and in all your acts of friendship to me, is really part of my life, and can never die out of me. I see distinctly how much poorer I should have been if I had never known you. If you had seen more of me in late years, you would not have such almost cruel thoughts as that the book into which you have faithfully put your experience and best convictions could make you "repugnant" to me. Whatever else my growth may have been, it has not been towards irreverence and ready rejection of what other minds can give me. You once unhappily mistook my feeling and point of view in something I wrote _à propos_ of an argument in your "Aids to Faith," and _that_ made me think it better that we should not write on large and difficult subjects in hasty letters. But it has often been painful to me--I should say, it has constantly been painful to me--that you have ever since inferred me to be in a hard and unsympathetic state about your views and your writing. But I am habitually disposed myself to the same unbelief in the sympathy that is given me, and am the last person who should be allowed to complain of such unbelief in another. And it is very likely that I may have been faulty and disagreeable in my expressions. Excuse all my many mistakes, dear Sara, and never believe otherwise than that I have a glow of joy when you write to me, as if my existence were some good to you. I know that I am, and can be, very little practically; but to have the least value for your thought is what I care much to be assured of. Perhaps, in the cooler part of the autumn, when your book is out of your hands, you will like to move from home a little and see your London friends? Our travelling in Brittany was a good deal marred and obstructed by the emperor's _fête_, which sent all the world on our track towards Cherbourg and Brest. But the Norman churches, the great cathedrals at Le Mans, Tours, and Chartres, with their marvellous painted glass, were worth much scrambling to see. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Oct. 1865.] I have read Mr. Masson's book on "Recent Philosophy." The earlier part is a useful and creditable survey, and the classification ingenious. The later part I thought poor. If, by what he says of Positivism, you mean what he says at p. 246, I should answer it is simply "stuff"--he might as well have written a dozen lines of jargon. There are a few observations about Comte, scattered here and there, which are true and just enough. But it seems to me much better to read a man's own writing than to read what others say about him, especially when the man is first-rate and the "others" are third-rate. As Goethe said long ago about Spinoza, "Ich zog immer vor von dem Menschen zu erfahren _wie er dachte_ als von einem anderen zu hören _wie er hätte denken sollen_."[41] However, I am not fond of expressing criticism or disapprobation. The difficulty is to digest and live upon any valuable truth one's self. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Nov. 15._--During the last three weeks George has been very poorly, but now he is better. I have been reading Fawcett's "Economic Condition of the Working Classes," Mill's "Liberty," looking into Strauss's second "Life of Jesus," and reading Neale's "History of the Puritans," of which I have reached the fourth volume. Yesterday the news came of Mrs. Gaskell's death. She died suddenly, while reading aloud to her daughter. _Nov. 16._--Writing Mr. Lyon's story, which I have determined to insert as a narrative. Reading the Bible. _Nov. 24._--Finished Neale's "History of the Puritans." Began Hallam's "Middle Ages." _Dec. 4._--Finished second volume of Hallam. The other day read to the end of chapter nine of my novel to George, who was much pleased and found no fault. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th Dec. 1865.] We send to-day "Orley Farm," "The Small House at Allington," and the "Story of Elizabeth." The "Small House" is rather lighter than "Orley Farm." "The Story of Elizabeth" is by Miss Thackeray. It is not so cheerful as Trollope, but is charmingly written. You can taste it and reject it if it is too melancholy. I think more of you than you are likely to imagine, and I believe we talk of you all more than of any other mortals. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th Dec. 1865.] It is worth your while to send for the last _Fortnightly_ to read an article of Professor Tyndall's "On the Constitution of the Universe." It is a splendid piece of writing on the higher physics, which I know will interest you. _À propos_ of the feminine intellect, I had a bit of experience with a superior woman the other day, which reminded me of Sydney Smith's story about his sermon on the Being of a God. He says, that after he had delivered his painstaking argument, an old parishioner said to him, "I don't agree wi' you, Mr. Smith; _I think there be a God_." [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Dec. 11._--For the last three days I have been foundering from a miserable state of head. I have written chapter ten. This evening read again Macaulay's Introduction. _Dec. 15._--To-day is the first for nearly a week on which I have been able to write anything fresh. I am reading Macaulay and Blackstone. This evening we went to hear "The Messiah" at Exeter Hall. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st Dec. 1865.] "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" is a sort of hieroglyph for I love you and wish you well all the year round. Christmas to me is like a great many other pleasures, which I am glad to imagine as enjoyed by others, but have no delight in myself. Berried holly and smiling faces and snap-dragon, grandmamma and the children, turkey and plum-pudding--they are all precious things, and I would not have the world without them; but they tire me a little. I enjoy the common days of the year more. But for the sake of those who are stronger I rejoice in Christmas. [Sidenote: Journal, 1865.] _Dec. 24._--For two days I have been sticking in the mud from doubt about my construction. I have just consulted G., and he confirms my choice of incidents. _Dec. 31._--The last day of 1865. I will say nothing but that I trust--I will strive--to add more ardent effort towards a good result from all the outward good that is given to me. My health is at a lower ebb than usual, and so is George's. Bertie is spending his holidays with us, and shows hopeful characteristics. Charles is happy. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1862, TO DECEMBER, 1865. Begins "Romola" again--Letter to Miss Hennell--Max Müller's book--"Orley Farm"--Anthony Trollope--T. A. Trollope's "Beata"--Acquaintance with Mr. Burton and Mr. W. G. Clark--George Smith, publisher, suggests a "magnificent offer"--Depression about "Romola"--Letter to Mrs. Bray asking for loan of music--Pantomime--First visit to Dorking--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Impatience of concealment--Anxiety about war with America--Sympathy with queen--Mr. Lewes begins "History of Science"--Mrs. Browning's "Casa Guidi Windows"--Depression--George Smith offers £10,000 for "Romola" for the _Cornhill_--Idea given up--Visit to Englefield Green--Working under a weight--Second visit to Dorking for three weeks--Delight in spring--Accepts £7000 for "Romola" in _Cornhill_--Regret at leaving Blackwood--Palsy in writing--Visit to Littlehampton and to Dorking third time--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Mr. Lewes at Spa--George Eliot in better spirits--Letter to Miss Hennell--Joachim's playing--New Literary Club--Reading Poliziano--Suggestion of Tennyson's "Palace of Art"--Visit from Browning--Depression--Letter to Madame Bodichon--No negative propaganda--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--"The Messiah" on Christmas day--Letter to Miss Hennell--St. Paul's "Charity"--The Poetry of Christianity--The Bible--Adieu to year 1862--Letter to Miss Hennell--Encouragement about "Romola"--Literary Club dissolves--Miss Cobbe--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Depression--Fourth visit to Dorking for fortnight--Letter to Charles Lewes on Thackeray's Lectures--The effect of writing "Romola"--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Odiousness of intellectual superciliousness--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Thinking of the Priory--"Romola" finished--Inscription--Visit to Isle of Wight--Ristori--Letter to Miss Hennell--Thornton Lewes--London amusements--Opera--Reading Mommsen, Liddell's "Rome," and "Roba di Roma"--Letter from Frederick Maurice referred to as most generous tribute ever given--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Renan's "Vie de Jésus"--Visit to Worthing--Mrs. Hare--Return to London--Depression--Letter to R. H. Hutton on "Romola"--The importance of the medium in which characters move--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Effect of London on health--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Delight in autumn--Mommsen's History--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--The "Discours Préliminaire"--Removal to the Priory--Mr. Owen Jones decorates the house--Jansa the violinist--Letter to Mrs. Bray--"Physiology for Schools"--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Enjoying rest, and music with Jansa--Letter to Miss Hennell--Renan--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Enjoyment of Priory--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Mr. Lewes's "Aristotle" finished--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Compensation--Letter to Mrs. P. A. Taylor--Effect of sunshine--Death of Mrs. Hare--"David Gray"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Dislike of note-writing--Visit to Glasgow--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Joy in Federal successes--Crystal Palace to see Garibaldi--Mr. Burton's picture of a Legendary Knight in Armor--Third visit to Italy with Mr. Burton for seven weeks--Return to London--Charles Lewes's engagement to Miss Gertrude Hill--Pleasure in Mr. Burton's companionship in travel--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Present of mats--Depression--Reading Gibbon--Gieseler--Letter to Miss Hennell--Reading Max Müller--Reference to the "Apologia"--Newman--Reading about Spain--Trying a drama--Letter to Miss Hennell--Harrogate--Development of Industries--Scarborough--Letters to Mrs. Congreve--Pleasure in her visit--Letter to Miss Hennell--Learning Spanish--Two acts of drama written--Sticking in construction of remainder--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Christmas greeting--Retrospect of year 1864--Letter to Mrs. Congreve, first payment to Positivist Fund--Comparison with "small upper room" 1866 years ago--Mrs. Congreve staying at the Priory--Poem "My Vegetarian Friend" written--Visit to Paris--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Visit to Comte's apartment in Paris--Finished poem on "Utopias"--Letter to Miss Sara Hennell--Delight in dual solitude--_Fortnightly Review_--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Charades--Depression--Mr. Lewes takes away drama--Article for the _Pall Mall_, "A Word for the Germans"--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Visit to Wandsworth--Depression--Letter to Mrs. Congreve after visit--Letter to Mrs. Bray on a young friend's death--Deep depression--Admiration of Mr. Lewes's good spirits--"Felix Holt" begun--Article on Lecky's "History of Rationalism" in _Fortnightly_--Reading Æschylus, "Theatre of the Greeks"--Klein's "History of the Drama"--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--First number of the _Fortnightly_--Frederic Harrison's article--Reading Mill, Comte, and Blackstone--Aristotle's "Poetics"--Dine with Congreves at Wandsworth--"Faust" at Covent Garden--Sunday reception--Browning, Huxley, and Bagehot--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor on J. S. Mill--The _Fortnightly Review_--Mr. Burton's portrait finished--Mazzini subscription--Letter of adieu to Mrs. Congreve--Expedition to Brittany for month--Letter to Miss Hennell--"Pretended comforts"--Recollection of early feelings--Delight in her friendship--Masson's "Recent Philosophy"--Comte--Goethe on Spinoza--Reading Fawcett's "Economic Condition of Working Classes"--Mill's "Liberty"--Strauss's second "Life of Jesus"--Neale's "History of the Puritans"--Hallam's "Middle Ages"--Letter to Miss Hennell on Tyndall's article on "The Constitution of the Universe"--View of Christmas day--Retrospect of 1865. FOOTNOTES: [33] Now Sir Frederic Burton, Director of the National Gallery, to whom we are indebted for the drawing of George Eliot now in the National Portrait Gallery, South Kensington, and who was a very intimate and valued friend of Mr. and Mrs. Lewes. [34] Mr. W. G. Clark, late Public Orator at Cambridge, well known as a scholar, and for his edition of Shakspeare in conjunction with Mr. Aldis Wright. [35] Some general remark of Carlyle's--Madame Bodichon cannot remember exactly what it was. [36] I regret that I have not been able to find this letter. [37] Auguste Comte's. [38] "Physiology for Schools." By Mrs. Bray. [39] Mrs. Julius Hare, who gave her Maurice's book on the Lord's Prayer. [40] A story by Mr. Robert Buchanan in the _Cornhill_, Feb. 1864. [41] "I always preferred to learn from the man himself what _he_ thought, rather than to hear from some one else what _he ought to have thought_." CHAPTER XIII. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 5th Jan. 1866.] I have had it in my mind to write to you for many days, wanting to tell you, yet feeling there might be some impertinence in doing so, of the delight and gratitude I felt in reading your article on "Industrial Co-operation." Certain points admirably brought out in that article would, I think, be worth the labor of a life if one could help in winning them thorough recognition. I don't mean that my thinking so is of any consequence, but simply that it is of consequence to me when I find your energetic writing confirm my own faith. It would be fortunate for us if you had nothing better to do than look in on us on Tuesday evening. Professor Huxley will be with us, and one or two others whom you know, and your presence would make us all the brighter. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Jan. 9._--Professors Huxley and Beesley, Mr. Burton, and Mr. Spencer dined with us. Mr. Harrison in the evening. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 12th Jan. 1866.] The ample and clear statement you have sent me with kind promptness has put me in high spirits--as high spirits as can belong to an unhopeful author. Your hypothetical case of a settlement suits my needs surprisingly well. I shall be thankful to let Sugden alone, and throw myself entirely on your goodness, especially as what I want is simply a basis of legal possibilities and not any command of details. I want to be sure that my chords will not offend a critic accomplished in thorough bass--not at all to present an exercise in thorough bass. I was going to write you a long story, but, on consideration, it seems to me that I should tax your time less, and arrive more readily at a resolution of my doubts on various points not yet mentioned to you, if you could let me speak instead of writing to you. On Wednesday afternoons I am always at home; but on any day when I could be sure of your coming I would set everything aside for the sake of a consultation so valuable to me. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Jan. 20._--For the last fortnight I have been unusually disabled by ill-health. I have been consulting Mr. Harrison about the law in my book, with satisfactory result. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 22d Jan. 1866.] I had not any opportunity, or not enough presence of mind, to tell you yesterday how much I felt your kindness in writing me that last little note of sympathy. In proportion as compliments (always beside the mark) are discouraging and nauseating, at least to a writer who has any serious aims, genuine words from one capable of understanding one's conceptions are precious and strengthening. Yet I have no confidence that the book will ever be worthily written. And now I have something else to ask. It is that if anything strikes you as untrue in cases where my drama has a bearing on momentous questions, especially of a public nature, you will do me the great kindness to tell me of your doubts. On a few moral points, which have been made clear to me by my experience, I feel sufficiently confident--without such confidence I could not write at all. But in every other direction I am so much in need of fuller instruction as to be constantly under the sense that I am more likely to be wrong than right. Hitherto I have read my MS. (I mean of my previous books) to Mr. Lewes, by forty or fifty pages at a time, and he has told me if he felt an objection to anything. No one else has had any knowledge of my writings before their publication. (I except, of course, the publishers.) But now that you are good enough to incur the trouble of reading my MS., I am anxious to get the full benefit of your participation. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 28th Jan. 1866.] We arrived here on Tuesday, and have been walking about four hours each day, and the walks are so various that each time we have turned out we have found a new one. George is already much the better for the perfect rest, quiet, and fresh air. Will you give my thanks to Mr. Congreve for the "Synthèse" which I have brought with me and am reading? I expect to understand three chapters well enough to get some edification. George had talked of our taking the train to Dover to pay you a "morning call." He observes that it would have been a "dreadful sell" if we had done so. Your letter, therefore, was providential--and without doubt it came from a dear little Providence of mine that sits in your heart. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 31st Jan. 1866.] I have received both your precious letters--the second edition of the case, and the subsequent note. The story is sufficiently in the track of ordinary probability; and the careful trouble you have so generously given to it has enabled me to feel a satisfaction in my plot which beforehand I had sighed for as unattainable. There is still a question or two which I shall want to ask you, but I am afraid of taxing your time and patience in an unconscionable manner. So, since we expect to return to town at the end of next week, I think I will reserve my questions until I have the pleasure and advantage of an interview with you, in which _pros_ and _cons_ can be more rapidly determined than by letter. It seems to me that you have fitted my phenomena with a _rationale_ quite beautifully. If there is any one who could have done it better, I am sure I know of no man who _would_. Please to put your help of me among your good deeds for this year of 1866. To-day we have resolute rain, for the first time since we came down. You don't yet know what it is to be a sickly wretch, dependent on these skyey influences. But Heine says illness "spiritualizes the members." It had need do some good in return for one's misery. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Feb. 1866.] Thanks for your kind letter. Alas! we had chiefly bad weather in the country. George was a little benefited, but only a little. He is too far "run down" to be wound up in a very short time. We enjoyed our return to our comfortable house, and, perhaps, that freshness of home was the chief gain from our absence. You see, to counterbalance all the great and good things that life has given us beyond what our fellows have, we hardly know now what it is to be free from bodily _malaise_. After the notion I have given you of my health you will not wonder if I say that I don't know when anything of mine will appear. I can never reckon on myself. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _March 7._--I am reading Mill's "Logic" again. Theocritus still, and English History and Law. _March 17._--To St. James's Hall hearing Joachim, Piatti, and Hallé in glorious Beethoven music. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th April, 1866.] Don't think any evil of me for not writing. Just now the days are short, and art is long to artists with feeble bodies. If people don't say expressly that they want anything from me, I easily conclude that they will do better without me, and have a good weight of idleness, or, rather, bodily fatigue, which puts itself into the scale of modesty. I torment myself less with fruitless regrets that my particular life has not been more perfect. The young things are growing, and to me it is not melancholy but joyous that the world will be brighter after I am gone than it has been in the brief time of my existence. You see my pen runs into very old reflections. The fact is, I have no details to tell that would much interest you. It is true that I am going to bring out another book, but just _when_ is not certain. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 10th April, 1866.] The happiness in your letter was delightful to me, as you guessed it would be. See how much better things may turn out for all mankind, since they mend for single mortals even in this confused state of the bodies social and politic. As soon as we can leave we shall go away, probably to Germany, for six weeks or so. But that will not be till June. I am finishing a book which has been growing slowly, like a sickly child, because of my own ailments; but now I am in the later acts of it I can't move till it is done. You know all the news, public and private--all about the sad cattle plague, and the reform bill, and who is going to be married and who is dead--so I need tell you nothing. You will find the English world extremely like what it was when you left it--conversation more or less trivial and insincere, literature just now not much better, and politics worse than either. Bring some sincerity and energy to make a little draught of pure air in your particular world. I shall expect you to be a heroine in the best sense, now you are happier after a time of suffering. See what a talent I have for telling other people to be good! We are getting patriarchal, and think of old age and death as journeys not far off. All knowledge, all thought, all achievement seems more precious and enjoyable to me than it ever was before in life. But as soon as one has found the key of life, "it opes the gates of death." Youth has not learned the _art_ of living, and we go on bungling till our experience can only serve us for a very brief space. That is the "external order" we must submit to. I am too busy to write except when I am tired, and don't know very well what to say, so you must not be surprised if I write in a dreamy way. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _April 21._--Sent MS. of two volumes to Blackwood. _April 25._--Blackwood has written to offer me £5000 for "Felix Holt." I have been ailing, and uncertain in my strokes, and yesterday got no further than p. 52 of Vol. III. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th April, 1866.] It is a great pleasure to me to be writing to you again, as in the old days. After your kind letters, I am chiefly anxious that the publication of "Felix Holt" may be a satisfaction to you from beginning to end. Mr. Lewes writes about other business matters, so I will only say that I am desirous to have the proofs as soon and as rapidly as will be practicable. They will require correcting with great care, and there are large spaces in the day when I am unable to write, in which I could be attending to my proofs. I think I ought to tell you that I have consulted a legal friend about my law, to guard against errors. The friend is a Chancery barrister, who "ought to know." After I had written the first volume, I applied to him, and he has since read through my MS. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 27th April, 1866.] How very good it was of you to write me a letter which is a guarantee to me of the pleasantest kind that I have made myself understood. The tone of the prevalent literature just now is not encouraging to a writer who at least wishes to be serious and sincere; and, owing to my want of health, a great deal of this book has been written under so much depression as to its practical effectiveness that I have sometimes been ready to give it up. Your letter has made me feel, more strongly than any other testimony, that it would have been a pity if I had listened to the tempter Despondency. I took a great deal of pains to get a true idea of the period. My own recollections of it are childish, and of course disjointed, but they help to illuminate my reading. I went through the _Times_ of 1832-33 at the British Museum, to be sure of as many details as I could. It is amazing what strong language was used in those days, especially about the Church. "Bloated pluralists," "Stall-fed dignitaries," etc., are the sort of phrases conspicuous. There is one passage of prophecy which I longed to quote, but I thought it wiser to abstain. "Now, the beauty of the Reform Bill is that, under its mature operation, the people must and will become free agents"--a prophecy which I hope is true, only the maturity of the operation has not arrived yet. Mr. Lewes is well satisfied with the portion of the third volume already written; and, as I am better in health just now, I hope to go on with spirit, especially with the help of your cordial sympathy. I trust you will see, when it comes, that the third volume is the natural issue prepared for by the first and second. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 27th April, 1866.] A thousand thanks for your note. Do not worry yourself so much about those two questions that you will be forced to hate me. On Tuesday next we are to go to Dorking for probably a fortnight. I wished you to read the first hundred pages of my third volume; but I fear now that I must be content to wait and send you a duplicate proof of a chapter or two that are likely to make a lawyer shudder by their poetic license. Please to be in great distress sometime for want of my advice, and tease me considerably to get it, that I may prove my grateful memory of these days. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th April, 1866.] To-morrow we go--Mr. Lewes's bad health driving us--to Dorking, where everything will reach me as quickly as in London. I am in a horrible fidget about certain points which I want to be sure of in correcting my proofs. They are chiefly two questions. I wish to know, 1. Whether, in Napoleon's war with England, after the breaking-up of the Treaty of Amiens, the seizure and imprisonment of civilians was exceptional, or whether it was continued throughout the war? 2. Whether, in 1833, in the case of transportation to one of the colonies, when the sentence did not involve hard labor, the sentenced person might be at large on his arrival in the colony? It is possible you may have some one near at hand who will answer these questions. I am sure you will help me if you can, and will sympathize in my anxiety not to have even an allusion that involves practical impossibilities. One can never be perfectly accurate, even with one's best effort, but the effort must be made. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _May 31._--Finished "Felix Holt." The manuscript bears the following inscription: "From George Eliot to her dear Husband, this thirteenth year of their united life, in which the deepening sense of her own imperfectness has the consolation of their deepening love." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 5th June, 1866.] My last hope of seeing you before we start has vanished. I find that the things urged upon me to be done in addition to my own small matters of preparation will leave me no time to enjoy anything that I should have chosen if I had been at leisure. Last Thursday only I finished writing, in a state of nervous excitement that had been making my head throb and my heart palpitate all the week before. As soon as I had finished I felt well. You know how we had counted on a parting sight of you; and I should have particularly liked to see Emily and witness the good effect of Derbyshire. But send us a word or two if you can, just to say how you _all three_ are. We start on Thursday evening for Brussels. Then to Antwerp, the Hague, and Amsterdam. Out of Holland we are to find our way to Schwalbach. Let your love go with us, as mine will hover about you and all yours--that group of three which the word "Wandsworth" always means for us. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 5th June, 1866.] I finished writing ("Felix Holt") on the last day of May, after days and nights of throbbing and palpitation--chiefly, I suppose, from a nervous excitement which I was not strong enough to support well. As soon as I had done I felt better, and have been a new creature ever since, though a little overdone with visits from friends and attention (_miserabile dictu!_) to petticoats, etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 6th June, 1866.] I can't help being a little vexed that the course of things hinders my having the great delight of seeing you again, during this visit to town. Now that my mind is quite free, I don't know anything I should have chosen sooner than to have a long, long quiet day with you. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _June 7._--Set off on our journey to Holland. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 25th June, 1866, from Schwalbach.] I wish you could know how idle I feel, how utterly disinclined to anything but mere self-indulgence; because that knowledge would enable you to estimate the affection and anxiety which prompt me to write in spite of disinclination. June is so far gone, that by the time you get this letter you will surely have some result of the examination to tell me of; and I can't bear to deprive myself of that news by not letting you know where we are. "In Paradise," George says; but the Paradise is in the fields and woods of beech and fir, where we walk in uninterrupted solitude in spite of the excellent roads and delightful resting-places, which seem to have been prepared for visitors in general. The promenade, where the ladies--chiefly Russian and German, with only a small sprinkling of English and Americans--display their ornamental petticoats and various hats, is only the outskirt of Paradise; but we amuse ourselves there for an hour or so in the early morning and evening, listening to the music and learning the faces of our neighbors. There is a deficiency of men, children, and dogs, otherwise the winding walks, the luxuriant trees and grass, and the abundant seats of the promenade have every charm one can expect at a German bath. We arrived here last Thursday, after a fortnight spent in Belgium and Holland; and we still fall to interjections of delight whenever we walk out--first at the beauty of the place, and next at our own happiness in not having been frightened away from it by the predictions of travellers and hotel-keepers, that we should find no one here--that the Prussians would break up the railways, etc., etc.--Nassau being one of the majority of small states who are against Prussia. I fear we are a little in danger of becoming like the Bürger in "Faust," and making it too much the entertainment of our holiday to have a "Gespräch von Krieg und Kriegsgeschrei Wenn hinten, weit, in der Türkei, Die Völker auf einander schlagen." Idle people are so eager for newspapers that tell them of other people's energetic enthusiasm! A few soldiers are quartered here, and we see them wisely using their leisure to drink at the Brunnen. They are the only suggestion of war that meets our eyes among these woody hills. Already we feel great benefit from our quiet journeying and repose. George is looking remarkably well, and seems to have nothing the matter with him. You know how magically quick his recoveries seem. I am too refined to say anything about our excellent quarters and good meals; but one detail, I know, will touch your sympathy. We dine in our own room! It would have marred the _Kur_ for me if I had had every day to undergo a _table d'hôte_ where almost all the guests are English, presided over by the British chaplain. Please don't suspect me of being scornful towards my fellow countrymen or women: the fault is all mine that I am miserably _gênée_ by the glances of strange eyes. We want news from you to complete our satisfaction, and no one can give it but yourself. Send us as many matter-of-fact details as you have the patience to write. We shall not be here after the 4th, but at Schlangenbad. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 3d Aug. 1866.] We got home last night, after a rough passage from Ostend. You have been so continually a recurrent thought to me ever since I had your letter at Schwalbach, that it is only natural I should write to you as soon as I am at my old desk again. The news of Mr. Congreve's examination being over made me feel for several days that something had happened which caused me unusual lightness of heart. I would not dwell on the possibility of your having to leave Wandsworth, which, I know, would cause you many sacrifices. I clung solely to the great, cheering fact that a load of anxiety had been lifted from Mr. Congreve's mind. May we not put in a petition for some of his time now? And will he not come with you and Emily to dine with us next week, on any day except Wednesday and Friday? The dinner-hour seems more propitious for talk and enjoyment than lunch-time; but in all respects choose what will best suit your health and habits--only let us see you. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 4th Aug. 1866.] We returned from our health-seeking journey on Thursday evening, and your letter was the most delightful thing that awaited me at home. Be sure it will be much read and meditated; and may I not take it as an earnest that your help, which has already done so much for me, will be continued? I mean, that you will help me by your thoughts and your sympathy--not that you will be teased with my proofs. I meant to write you a long letter about the æsthetic problem; but Mr. Lewes, who is still tormented with headachy effects from our rough passage, comes and asks me to walk to Hampstead with him, so I send these hasty lines. Come and see us soon. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 4th Aug. 1866.] We got home on Thursday evening, and are still feeling some unpleasant effects from our very rough passage--an inconvenience which we had waited some days at Ostend to avoid. But the wind took no notice of us, and went on blowing. I was much pleased with the handsome appearance of the three volumes which were lying ready for me. My hatred of bad paper and bad print, and my love of their opposites, naturally get stronger as my eyes get weaker; and certainly that taste could hardly be better gratified than it is by Messrs. Blackwood & Sons. Colonel Hamley's volume is another example of that fact. It lies now on my revolving desk as one of the books I mean first to read. I am really grateful to have such a medium of knowledge, and I expect it to make some pages of history much less dim to me. My impression of Colonel Hamley, when we had that pleasant dinner at Greenwich, and afterwards when he called in Blandford Square, was quite in keeping with the high opinion you express. Mr. Lewes liked the article on "Felix" in the Magazine very much. He read it the first thing yesterday morning, and told me it was written in a nice spirit, and the extracts judiciously made. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th Aug. 1866.] I have had a delightful holiday, and find my double self very much the better for it. We made a great round in our journeying. From Antwerp to Rotterdam, the Hague, Leyden, Amsterdam, Cologne; then up the Rhine to Coblentz, and thence to Schwalbach, where we stayed a fortnight. From Schwalbach to Schlangenbad, where we stayed till we feared the boats would cease to go to and fro; and, in fact, only left just in time to get down the Rhine to Bonn by the Dutch steamer. From Bonn, after two days, we went to Aix; then to dear old Liége, where we had been together thirteen years before; and, to avoid the King of the Belgians, ten minutes backwards to the baths of pretty Chaudfontaine, where we remained three days. Then to Louvain, Ghent, and Bruges; and, last of all, to Ostend, where we waited for a fine day and calm sea, until we secured--a very rough passage indeed. Ought we not to be a great deal wiser and more efficient personages, or else to be ashamed of ourselves? Unhappily, this last alternative is not a compensation for wisdom. I thought of you--to mention one occasion among many--when we had the good fortune, at Antwerp, to see a placard announcing that the company from the Ober-Ammergau, Bavaria, would represent, that Sunday evening, the _Lebensgeschichte_ of our Saviour Christ, at the Théatre des Variétés. I remembered that you had seen the representation with deep interest--and these actors are doubtless the successors of those you saw. Of course we went to the theatre. And the Christ was, without exaggeration, beautiful. All the rest was inferior, and might even have had a painful approach to the ludicrous; but both the person and the action of the Jesus were fine enough to overpower all meaner impressions. Mr. Lewes, who, you know, is keenly alive to everything "stagey" in physiognomy and gesture, felt what I am saying quite as much as I did, and was much moved. Rotterdam, with the grand approach to it by the broad river; the rich red brick of the houses; the canals, uniformly planted with trees, and crowded with the bright brown masts of the Dutch boats--is far finer than Amsterdam. The color of Amsterdam is ugly; the houses are of a chocolate color, almost black (an artificial tinge given to the bricks), and the woodwork on them screams out in ugly patches of cream-color; the canals have no trees along their sides, and the boats are infrequent. We looked about for the very Portuguese synagogue where Spinoza was nearly assassinated as he came from worship. But it no longer exists. There are no less than three Portuguese synagogues now--very large and handsome. And in the evening we went to see the worship there. Not a woman was present, but of devout men not a few--a curious reversal of what one sees in other temples. The chanting and the swaying about of the bodies--almost a wriggling--are not beautiful to the sense; but I fairly cried at witnessing this faint symbolism of a religion of sublime, far-off memories. The skulls of St. Ursula's eleven thousand virgins seem a modern suggestion compared with the Jewish Synagogue. At Schwalbach and Schlangenbad our life was led chiefly in the beech woods, which we had all to ourselves, the guests usually confining themselves to the nearer promenades. The guests, of course, were few in that serious time; and between war and cholera we felt our position as health--and pleasure--seekers somewhat contemptible. There is no end to what one could say, if one did not feel that long letters cut pieces not to be spared out of the solid day. I think I have earned that you should write me one of those perfect letters in which you make me see everything you like about yourself and others. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Aug. 30._--I have taken up the idea of my drama, "The Spanish Gypsy," again, and am reading on Spanish subjects--Bouterwek, Sismondi, Depping, Llorante, etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 15th Aug. 1866.] I have read several times your letter of the 19th, which I found awaiting me on my return, and I shall read it many times again. Pray do not even say, or inwardly suspect, that anything you take the trouble to write to me will not be valued. On the contrary, please to imagine as well as you can the experience of a mind morbidly desponding, of a consciousness tending more and more to consist in memories of error and imperfection rather than in a strengthening sense of achievement--and then consider how such a mind must need the support of sympathy and approval from those who are capable of understanding its aims. I assure you your letter is an evidence of a fuller understanding than I have ever had expressed to me before. And if I needed to give emphasis to this simple statement, I should suggest to you all the miseries one's obstinate egoism endures from the fact of being a writer of novels--books which the dullest and silliest reader thinks himself competent to deliver an opinion on. But I despise myself for feeling any annoyance at these trivial things. That is a tremendously difficult problem which you have laid before me; and I think you see its difficulties, though they can hardly press upon you as they do on me, who have gone through again and again the severe effort of trying to make certain ideas thoroughly incarnate, as if they had revealed themselves to me first in the flesh and not in the spirit. I think æsthetic teaching is the highest of all teaching, because it deals with life in its highest complexity. But if it ceases to be purely æsthetic--if it lapses anywhere from the picture to the diagram--it becomes the most offensive of all teaching. Avowed Utopias are not offensive, because they are understood to have a scientific and expository character: they do not pretend to work on the emotions, or couldn't do it if they did pretend. I am sure, from your own statement, that you see this quite clearly. Well, then, consider the sort of agonizing labor to an English-fed imagination to make out a sufficiently real background for the desired picture--to get breathing, individual forms, and group them in the needful relations, so that the presentation will lay hold on the emotions as human experience--will, as you say, "flash" conviction on the world by means of aroused sympathy. I took unspeakable pains in preparing to write "Romola"--neglecting nothing I could find that would help me to what I may call the "idiom" of Florence, in the largest sense one could stretch the word to; and then I was only trying to give _some_ out of the normal relations. I felt that the necessary idealization could only be attained by adopting the clothing of the past. And again, it is my way (rather too much so, perhaps) to urge the human sanctities through tragedy--through pity and terror, as well as admiration and delight. I only say all this to show the tenfold arduousness of such a work as the one your problem demands. On the other hand, my whole soul goes with your desire that it should be done; and I shall at least keep the great possibility (or impossibility) perpetually in my mind, as something towards which I must strive, though it may be that I can do so only in a fragmentary way. At present I am going to take up again a work which I laid down before writing "Felix." It is--_but, please, let this be a secret between ourselves_--an attempt at a drama, which I put aside at Mr. Lewes's request, after writing four acts, precisely because it was in that stage of creation--or _Werden_--in which the idea of the characters predominates over the incarnation. Now I read it again, I find it impossible to abandon it; the conceptions move me deeply, and they have never been wrought out before. There is not a thought or symbol that I do not long to use: but the whole requires recasting; and, as I never recast anything before, I think of the issue very doubtfully. When one has to work out the dramatic action for one's self, under the inspiration of an idea, instead of having a grand myth or an Italian novel ready to one's hand, one feels anything but omnipotent. Not that I should have done any better if I had had the myth or the novel, for I am not a good user of opportunities. I think I have the right _locus_ and historic conditions, but much else is wanting. I have not, of course, said half what I meant to say; but I hope opportunities of exchanging thoughts will not be wanting between us. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 6th Sept. 1866.] It is so long since we exchanged letters, that I feel inclined to break the silence by telling you that I have been reading with much interest the "Operations of War," which you enriched me with. Also that I have had a pretty note, in aged handwriting, from Dean Ramsay, with a present of his "Reminiscences of Scottish Life." I suppose you know him quite well, but I never heard you mention him. Also--what will amuse you--that my readers take quite a tender care of my text, writing to me to tell me of a misprint, or of "one phrase" which they entreat to have altered, that no blemish may disfigure "Felix." Dr. Althaus has sent me word of a misprint which I am glad to know of--or, rather, of a word slipped out in the third volume. "She _saw_ streaks of light, etc. ... _and_ sounds." It must be corrected when the opportunity comes. We are very well, and I am swimming in Spanish history and literature. I feel as if I were molesting you with a letter without any good excuse, but you are not bound to write again until a wet day makes golf impossible, and creates a dreariness in which even letter-writing seems like a recreation. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 11th Sept. 1866.] I am glad to know that Dean Ramsay is a friend of yours. His sympathy was worth having, and I at once wrote to thank him. Another wonderfully lively old man--Sir Henry Holland--came to see me about two Sundays ago, to bid me good-bye before going on an excursion to--North America!--and to tell me that he had just been re-reading "Adam Bede" for the fourth time. "I often read in it, you know, besides. But this is the fourth time quite through." I, of course, with the mother's egoism on behalf of the youngest born, was jealous for "Felix." Is there any possibility of satisfying an author? But one or two things that George read out to me from an article in _Macmillan's Magazine_, by Mr. Mozley, did satisfy me. And yet I sicken again with despondency under the sense that the most carefully written books lie, both outside and inside people's minds, deep undermost in a heap of trash. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Sept. 15._--Finished Depping's "Juifs au Moyen Âge." Reading Chaucer, to study English. Also reading on Acoustics, Musical Instruments, etc. _Oct. 15._--Recommenced "The Spanish Gypsy," intending to give it a new form. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1866.] For a wonder I remembered the day of the month, and felt a delightful confidence that I should have a letter from her who always remembers such things at the right moment. You will hardly believe in my imbecility. I can never be quite sure whether your birthday is the 21st or the 23d. I know every one must think the worse of me for this want of retentiveness that seems a part of affection; and it is only justice that they should. Nevertheless I am not quite destitute of lovingness and gratitude, and perhaps the consciousness of my own defect makes me feel your goodness the more keenly. I shall reckon it part of the next year's happiness for me if it brings a great deal of happiness to you. That will depend somewhat--perhaps chiefly--on the satisfaction you have in giving shape to your ideas. But you say nothing on that subject. We knew about Faraday's preaching, but not of his loss of faculty. I begin to think of such things as very near to me--I mean, decay of power and health. But I find age has its fresh elements of cheerfulness. Bless you, dear Sara, for all the kindness of many years, and for the newest kindness that comes to me this morning. I am very well now, and able to enjoy my happiness. One has happiness sometimes without being able to enjoy it. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Nov. 22._--Reading Renan's "Histoire des Langues Sémitiques"--Ticknor's "Spanish Literature." _Dec. 6._--We returned from Tunbridge Wells, where we have been for a week. I have been reading Cornewall Lewis's "Astronomy of the Ancients," Ockley's "History of the Saracens," "Astronomical Geography," and Spanish ballads on Bernardo del Carpio. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th Dec. 1866.] We have been to Tunbridge Wells for a week, hoping to get plenty of fresh air, and walking in that sandy, undulating country. But for three days it rained incessantly. No; I don't feel as if my faculties were failing me. On the contrary, I enjoy all subjects--all study--more than I ever did in my life before. But that very fact makes me more in need of resignation to the certain approach of age and death. Science, history, poetry--I don't know which draws me most, and there is little time left me for any one of them. I learned Spanish last year but one, and see new vistas everywhere. That makes me think of time thrown away when I was young--time that I should be so glad of now. I could enjoy everything, from arithmetic to antiquarianism, if I had large spaces of life before me. But instead of that I have a very small space. Unfeigned, unselfish, cheerful resignation is difficult. But I strive to get it. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Dec. 11._--Ill ever since I came home, so that the days seem to have made a muddy flood, sweeping away all labor and all growth. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 22d Dec. 1866.] Just before we received Dr. Congreve's letter we had changed our plans. George's increasing weakness and the more and more frequent intervals in which he became unable to work, made me at last urge him to give up the idea of "finishing," which often besets us vainly. It will really be better for the work as well as for himself that he should let it wait. However, I care about nothing just now except that he should be doing all he can to get better. So we start next Thursday for Bordeaux, staying two days in Paris on our way. Madame Mohl writes us word that she hears from friends of the delicious weather--mild, sunny weather--to be had now on the French southwestern and southeastern coast. You will all wish us well on our journey, I know. But _I_ wish I could carry a happier thought about you than that of your being an invalid. I shall write to you when we are at Biarritz or some other place that suits us, and when I have something good to tell. No; in any case I shall write, because I shall want to hear all about you. Tell Dr. Congreve we carry the "Politique" with us. Mr. Lewes gets more and more impressed by it, and also by what he is able to understand of the "Synthèse." I am writing in the dark. Farewell. With best love to Emily, and dutiful regards to Dr. Congreve. [Sidenote: Journal, 1866.] _Dec. 27._--Set off in the evening on our journey to the south. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1866, TO DECEMBER, 1866. Letters to Frederic Harrison on Industrial Co-operation--Consults him about law in "Felix Holt"--Asks his opinion on other questions--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Visit to Tunbridge Wells--Reading Comte's "Synthèse"--Letter to F. Harrison on "case" for "Felix Holt"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Joy in the world getting better--Letter to Madame Bodichon--"Felix Holt" growing like a sickly child--Want of sincerity in England--Desire for knowledge increases--Blackwood offers £5000 for "Felix Holt"--Letters to John Blackwood renewing correspondence--Thanks for encouragement--Painstaking with "Felix Holt"--Letter to F. Harrison on legal points--The book finished--Inscription--Letter of adieu to Mrs. Congreve--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Excitement of finishing "Felix Holt"--Journey to Holland and Germany--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Schwalbach--Return to the Priory--Letter to F. Harrison asking for sympathy--Letter to John Blackwood--Colonel Hamley--Letter to Miss Hennell describing German trip--Miracle play at Antwerp--Amsterdam synagogue--Takes up drama "The Spanish Gypsy" again--Reading on Spanish subjects--Letter to F. Harrison--Need of sympathy--Æsthetic teaching--Tells him of the proposed drama--Letters to John Blackwood--Dean Ramsay--Sir Henry Holland--Article on "Felix Holt" in _Macmillan's Magazine_--"The Spanish Gypsy" recommenced--Reading Renan's "Histoire des Langues Sémitiques" and Ticknor's "Spanish Literature"--Visit to Tunbridge Wells for a week--Reading Cornewall Lewis's "Astronomy of the Ancients"--Ockley's "History of the Saracens," and Spanish Ballads--Letter to Miss Hennell--Enjoyment of study--Depression--Letter of adieu to Mrs. Congreve--Set off on journey to Spain. END OF VOL. II. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious typographical errors were repaired. Duplicate sidenotes (repeated at the top of continuation pages) were deleted. Latin-1 file: _underscores_ enclose italicized content. Sidenote at the bottom of p. 215, and repeated on continuation p. 216, "Letter to Miss Sara Hennell"--p. 215 sidenote (retained) shows "18th April," but continuation sidenote on p. 216 (deleted) shows "13th April." Sidenote p. 227, "Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Aug. 1861"--original reads "1860." 
43043	----	Transcriber's Note: This is Volume I of a three volume set: Volume I--Unknown Volume II--Famous Volume III--Sunset A combined index to the entire set is located at the end of Volume III. Narrative content written by J. Cross and material quoted from writers other than George Eliot are interspersed throughout the text. Their content is placed in block quotes. Remaining transcriber's notes are located at the end of the text. * * * * * GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE VOL. I.--UNKNOWN "OUR FINEST HOPE IS FINEST MEMORY" [Illustration: Portrait of George Eliot. Etched by M. Rajon.] GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE _as related in her Letters and Journals_ ARRANGED AND EDITED BY HER HUSBAND J. W. CROSS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOLUME I NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS. _LIBRARY EDITION._ ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ROMOLA. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above volumes by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. For other editions of George Eliot's works published by Harper & Brothers see advertisement at end of third volume_. PREFACE. With the materials in my hands I have endeavored to form an _autobiography_ (if the term may be permitted) of George Eliot. The life has been allowed to write itself in extracts from her letters and journals. Free from the obtrusion of any mind but her own, this method serves, I think, better than any other open to me, to show the development of her intellect and character. In dealing with the correspondence I have been influenced by the desire to make known the woman, as well as the author, through the presentation of her daily life. On the intellectual side there remains little to be learned by those who already know George Eliot's books. In the twenty volumes which she wrote and published in her lifetime will be found her best and ripest thoughts. The letters now published throw light on another side of her nature--not less important, but hitherto unknown to the public--the side of the affections. The intimate life was the core of the root from which sprung the fairest flowers of her inspiration. Fame came to her late in life, and, when it presented itself, was so weighted with the sense of responsibility that it was in truth a rose with many thorns, for George Eliot had the temperament that shrinks from the position of a public character. The belief in the wide, and I may add in the beneficent, effect of her writing was no doubt the highest happiness, the reward of the artist which she greatly cherished: but the joys of the hearthside, the delight in the love of her friends, were the supreme pleasures in her life. By arranging all the letters and journals so as to form one connected whole, keeping the order of their dates, and with the least possible interruption of comment, I have endeavored to combine a narrative of day-to-day life, with the play of light and shade which only letters, written in various moods, can give, and without which no portrait can be a good likeness. I do not know that the particular method in which I have treated the letters has ever been adopted before. Each letter has been pruned of everything that seemed to me irrelevant to my purpose--of everything that I thought my wife would have wished to be omitted. Every sentence that remains adds, in my judgment, something (however small it may be) to the means of forming a conclusion about her character. I ought perhaps to say a word of apology for what may appear to be undue detail of travelling experiences; but I hope that to many readers these will be interesting, as reflected through George Eliot's mind. The remarks on works of art are only meant to be records of impressions. She would have deprecated for herself the attitude of an art critic. Excepting a slight introductory sketch of the girlhood, up to the time when letters became available, and a few words here and there to elucidate the correspondence, I have confined myself to the work of selection and arrangement. I have refrained almost entirely from quoting remembered sayings by George Eliot, because it is difficult to be certain of complete accuracy, and everything depends upon accuracy. Recollections of conversation are seldom to be implicitly trusted in the absence of notes made at the time. The value of spoken words depends, too, so much upon the _tone_, and on the circumstances which gave rise to their utterance, that they often mislead as much as they enlighten, when, in the process of repetition, they have taken color from another mind. "All interpretations depend upon the interpreter," and I have judged it best to let George Eliot be her own interpreter, as far as possible. I owe thanks to Mr. Isaac Evans, the brother of my wife, for much of the information in regard to her child-life; and the whole book is a long record of debts due to other friends for letters. It is not, therefore, necessary for me to recapitulate the list of names in this place. My thanks to all are heartfelt. But there is a very special acknowledgment due to Miss Sara Hennell, to Mrs. Bray, and to the late Mr. Charles Bray of Coventry, not only for the letters which they placed at my disposal, but also for much information given to me in the most friendly spirit. The very important part of the life from 1842 to 1854 could not possibly have been written without their contribution. To Mr. Charles Lewes, also, I am indebted for some valuable letters and extracts from the journals of his father, besides the letters addressed to himself. He also obtained for me an important letter written by George Eliot to Mr. R. H. Hutton; and throughout the preparation of the book I have had the advantage of his sympathetic interest, and his concurrence in the publication of all the materials. Special thanks are likewise due to Messrs. Wm. Blackwood & Sons for having placed at my disposal George Eliot's long correspondence with the firm. The letters (especially those addressed to her friend the late Mr. John Blackwood) throw a light, that could not otherwise have been obtained, on the most interesting part of her literary career. To the legal representatives of the late Charles Dickens, of the late Lord Lytton, and of Mrs. Carlyle; to Mr. J. A. Froude, and to Mr. Archer Gurney, I owe thanks for leave to print letters written by them. For all the defects that there may be in the plan of these volumes I alone am responsible. The lines were determined and the work was substantially put into shape before I submitted the manuscript to any one. While passing the winter in the south of France I had the good fortune at Cannes to find, in Lord Acton, not only an enthusiastic admirer of George Eliot, but also a friend always most kindly ready to assist me with valuable counsel and with cordial, generous sympathy. He was the first reader of the manuscript, and whatever accuracy may have been arrived at, particularly in the names of foreign books, foreign persons, and foreign places, is in great part due to his friendly, careful help. But of course he has no responsibility whatever for any of my sins of omission or commission. By the kind permission of Sir Frederic Burton, I have been enabled to reproduce as a frontispiece M. Rajon's etching of the beautiful drawing, executed in 1864, now in the National Portrait Gallery, South Kensington. The view of the old house at Rosehill is from a drawing by Mrs. Bray. It is connected with some of George Eliot's happiest experiences, and with the period of her most rapid intellectual development. For permission to use the sketch of the drawing-room at the Priory I am indebted to the Messrs. Harpers, of New York. In conclusion, it is in no conventional spirit, but from my heart, that I bespeak the indulgence of readers for my share of this work. Of its shortcomings no one can be so convinced as I am myself. J. W. C. CAMDEN HILL, _December, 1884_. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. Introductory Sketch of Childhood. Page 1 CHAPTER I. AUGUST, 1838, TO MARCH, 1841. Life at Griff 28 CHAPTER II. MARCH, 1841, TO APRIL, 1846. Coventry--Translation of Strauss 61 CHAPTER III. MAY, 1846, TO MAY, 1849. Life in Coventry till Mr. Evans's Death 106 CHAPTER IV. JUNE, 1849, TO MARCH, 1850. Geneva 150 CHAPTER V. MARCH, 1850, TO JULY, 1854. Work in London--Union with Mr. Lewes 181 CHAPTER VI. JULY, 1854, TO MARCH, 1855. Germany 239 CHAPTER VII. MARCH, 1855, TO DECEMBER, 1857. Richmond--"Scenes of Clerical Life" 273 APPENDIX 349 ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. I. PORTRAIT OF GEORGE ELIOT. Etched by M. Rajon _Frontispiece._ GRIFF--FRONT VIEW _To face p_. 6 GRIFF--WITH THE FARM OFFICES " 12 HOUSE IN FOLESHILL ROAD, COVENTRY " 62 PORTRAIT OF MR. ROBERT EVANS " 148 ROSEHILL " 182 GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE. _INTRODUCTORY SKETCH OF CHILDHOOD._ "_Nov. 22, 1819._--Mary Ann Evans was born at Arbury Farm,[1] at five o'clock this morning." This is an entry, in Mr. Robert Evans's handwriting, on the page of an old diary that now lies before me, and records, with characteristic precision, the birth of his youngest child, afterwards known to the world as George Eliot. Let us pause for a moment to pay its due homage to the precision, because it was in all probability to this most noteworthy quality of her father's nature that the future author was indebted for one of the principal elements of her own after-success--the enormous faculty for taking pains. The baby was born on St. Cecilia's day, and Mr. Evans, being a good churchman, takes her, on the 29th November, to be baptized in the church at Chilvers Coton--the parish in which Arbury Farm lies--a church destined to impress itself strongly on the child's imagination, and to be known by many people in many lands afterwards as Shepperton Church. The father was a remarkable man, and many of the leading traits in his character are to be found in Adam Bede and in Caleb Garth--although, of course, neither of these is a portrait. He was born in 1773, at Ellaston, in Staffordshire, son of a George Evans, who carried on the business of builder and carpenter there: the Evans family having come originally from Northop, in Flintshire. Robert was brought up to the business; but about 1799, or a little before, he held a farm of Mr. Francis Newdigate at Kirk Hallam, in Derbyshire, and became his agent. On Sir Roger Newdigate's death the Arbury estate came to Mr. Francis Newdigate for his life, and Mr. Evans accompanied him into Warwickshire, in 1806, in the capacity of agent. In 1801 he had married Harriott Poynton, by whom he had two children--Robert, born 1802, at Ellaston, and Frances Lucy, born 1805, at Kirk Hallam. His first wife died in 1809; and on 8th February, 1813, he married Christiana Pearson, by whom he had three children--Christiana, born 1814; Isaac, born 1816, and Mary Ann, born 1819. Shortly after the last child's birth, Robert, the son, became the agent, under his father, for the Kirk Hallam property, and lived there with his sister Frances, who afterwards married a Mr. Houghton. In March, 1820, when the baby girl was only four months old, the Evans family removed to Griff, a charming red-brick, ivy-covered house on the Arbury estate--"the warm little nest where her affections were fledged"--and there George Eliot spent the first twenty-one years of her life. Let us remember what the England was upon which this observant child opened her eyes. The date of her birth was removed from the beginning of the French Revolution by just the same period of time as separates a child, born this year, 1884, from the beginning of the Crimean War. To a man of forty-six to-day, the latter event seems but of yesterday. It took place at a very impressionable period of his life, and the remembrance of every detail is perfectly vivid. Mr. Evans was forty-six when his youngest child was born. He was a youth of sixteen when the Revolution began, and that mighty event, with all its consequences, had left an indelible impression on him, and the convictions and conclusions it had fostered in his mind permeated through to his children, and entered as an indestructible element into the susceptible soul of his youngest daughter. There are bits in the paper "Looking Backward," in "Theophrastus Such," which are true autobiography. "In my earliest remembrance of my father his hair was already gray, for I was his youngest child, and it seemed to me that advanced age was appropriate to a father, as, indeed, in all respects I considered him a parent so much to my honor that the mention of my relationship to him was likely to secure me regard among those to whom I was otherwise a stranger--his stories from his life including so many names of distant persons that my imagination placed no limit to his acquaintanceship.... Nor can I be sorry, though myself given to meditative if not active innovation, that my father was a Tory who had not exactly a dislike to innovators and dissenters, but a slight opinion of them as persons of ill-founded self-confidence.... And I often smile at my consciousness that certain Conservative prepossessions have mingled themselves for me with the influences of our Midland scenery, from the tops of the elms down to the buttercups and the little wayside vetches. Naturally enough. That part of my father's prime to which he oftenest referred had fallen on the days when the great wave of political enthusiasm and belief in a speedy regeneration of all things had ebbed, and the supposed millennial initiative of France was turning into a Napoleonic empire.... To my father's mind the noisy teachers of revolutionary doctrine were, to speak mildly, a variable mixture of the fool and the scoundrel; the welfare of the nation lay in a strong government which could maintain order; and I was accustomed to hear him utter the word 'government' in a tone that charged it with awe, and made it part of my effective religion, in contrast with the word 'rebel,' which seemed to carry the stamp of evil in its syllables, and, lit by the fact that Satan was the first rebel, made an argument dispensing with more detailed inquiry." This early association of ideas must always be borne in mind, as it is the key to a great deal in the mental attitude of the future thinker and writer. It is the foundation of the latent Conservative bias. The year 1819 is memorable as a culminating period of bad times and political discontent in England. The nation was suffering acutely from the reaction after the excitement of the last Napoleonic war. George IV. did not come to the throne till January, 1820, so that George Eliot was born in the reign of George III. The trial of Queen Caroline was the topic of absorbing public interest. Waterloo was not yet an affair of five years old. Byron had four years, and Goethe had thirteen years, still to live. The last of Miss Austen's novels had been published only eighteen months, and the first of the Waverley series only six years before. Thackeray and Dickens were boys at school, and George Sand, as a girl of fifteen, was leaving her loved freedom on the banks of the Indre for the Convent des Anglaises at Paris. That "Greater Britain" (Canada and Australia), which to-day forms so large a reading public, was then scarcely more than a geographical expression, with less than half a million of inhabitants, all told, where at present there are eight millions; and in the United States, where more copies of George Eliot's books are now sold than in any other quarter of the world, the population then numbered less than ten millions where to-day it is fifty-five millions. Including Great Britain, these English-speaking races have increased from thirty millions in 1820 to one hundred millions in 1884; and with the corresponding increase in education we can form some conception how a popular English writer's fame has widened its circle. There was a remoteness about a detached country-house, in the England of those days, difficult for us to conceive now, with our railways, penny-post, and telegraphs; nor is the Warwickshire country about Griff an exhilarating surrounding. There are neither hills nor vales, no rivers, lakes, or sea--nothing but a monotonous succession of green fields and hedgerows, with some fine trees. The only water to be seen is the "brown canal." The effect of such a landscape on an ordinary observer is not inspiring, but "effective magic is transcendent nature;" and with her transcendent nature George Eliot has transfigured these scenes, dear to Midland souls, into many an idyllic picture, known to those who know her books. In her childhood the great event of the day was the passing of the coach before the gate of Griff House, which lies at a bend of the high-road between Coventry and Nuneaton, and within a couple of miles of the mining village of Bedworth, "where the land began to be blackened with coal-pits, the rattle of hand-looms to be heard in hamlets and villages. Here were powerful men walking queerly, with knees bent outward from squatting in the mine, going home to throw themselves down in their blackened flannel and sleep through the daylight, then rise and spend much of their high wages at the alehouse with their fellows of the Benefit Club; here the pale, eager faces of hand-loom weavers, men and women, haggard from sitting up late at night to finish the week's work, hardly begun till the Wednesday. Everywhere the cottages and the small children were dirty, for the languid mothers gave their strength to the loom; pious Dissenting women, perhaps, who took life patiently, and thought that salvation depended chiefly on predestination, and not at all on cleanliness. The gables of Dissenting chapels now made a visible sign of religion, and of a meeting-place to counterbalance the alehouse, even in the hamlets.... Here was a population not convinced that old England was as good as possible; here were multitudinous men and women aware that their religion was not exactly the religion of their rulers, who might therefore be better than they were, and who, if better, might alter many things which now made the world perhaps more painful than it need be, and certainly more sinful. Yet there were the gray steeples too, and the churchyards, with their grassy mounds and venerable headstones, sleeping in the sunlight; there were broad fields and homesteads, and fine old woods covering a rising ground, or stretching far by the roadside, allowing only peeps at the park and mansion which they shut in from the working-day world. In these midland districts the traveller passed rapidly from one phase of English life to another; after looking down on a village dingy with coal-dust, noisy with the shaking of looms, he might skirt a parish all of fields, high hedges, and deep-rutted lanes; after the coach had rattled over the pavement of a manufacturing town, the scene of riots and trades-union meetings, it would take him in another ten minutes into a rural region, where the neighborhood of the town was only felt in the advantages of a near market for corn, cheese, and hay, and where men with a considerable banking account were accustomed to say that 'they never meddled with politics themselves.'"[2] [Illustration: Griff House--Front view.] We can imagine the excitement of a little four-year-old girl and her seven-year-old brother waiting, on bright frosty mornings, to hear the far-off ringing beat of the horses' feet upon the hard ground, and then to see the gallant appearance of the four grays, with coachman and guard in scarlet, outside passengers muffled up in furs, and baskets of game and other packages hanging behind the boot, as his majesty's mail swung cheerily round on its way from Birmingham to Stamford. Two coaches passed the door daily--one from Birmingham at 10 o'clock in the morning, the other from Stamford at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. These were the chief connecting links between the household at Griff and the outside world. Otherwise life went on with that monotonous regularity which distinguishes the country from the town. And it is to these circumstances of her early life that a great part of the quality of George Eliot's writing is due, and that she holds the place she has attained in English literature. Her roots were down in the pre-railroad, pre-telegraphic period--the days of fine old leisure--but the fruit was formed during an era of extraordinary activity in scientific and mechanical discovery. Her genius was the outcome of these conditions. It would not have existed in the same form deprived of either influence. Her father was busy both with his own farm-work and increasing agency business. He was already remarked in Warwickshire for his knowledge and judgment in all matters relating to land, and for his general trustworthiness and high character, so that he was constantly selected as arbitrator and valuer. He had a wonderful eye, especially for valuing woods, and could calculate with almost absolute precision the quantity of available timber in a standing tree. In addition to his merits as a man of business, he had the good fortune to possess the warm friendship and consistent support of Colonel Newdigate of Astley Castle, son of Mr. Francis Newdigate of Arbury, and it was mainly through the colonel's introduction and influence that Mr. Evans became agent also to Lord Aylesford, Lord Lifford, Mr. Bromley Davenport, and several others. His position cannot be better summed up than in the words of his daughter, writing to Mr. Bray on 30th September, 1859, in regard to some one who had written of her, after the appearance of "Adam Bede," as a "self-educated farmer's daughter." "My father did not raise himself from being an artisan to be a farmer; he raised himself from being an artisan to be a man whose extensive knowledge in very varied practical departments made his services valued through several counties. He had large knowledge of building, of mines, of plantations, of various branches of valuation and measurement--of all that is essential to the management of large estates. He was held by those competent to judge as _unique_ among land-agents for his manifold knowledge and experience, which enabled him to save the special fees usually paid by landowners for special opinions on the different questions incident to the proprietorship of land. So far as I am personally concerned I should not write a stroke to prevent any one, in the zeal of antithetic eloquence, from calling me a tinker's daughter; but if my father is to be mentioned at all--if he is to be identified with an imaginary character--my piety towards his memory calls on me to point out to those who are supposed to speak with information what he really achieved in life." Mr. Evans was also, like Adam Bede, noteworthy for his extraordinary physical strength and determination of character. There is a story told of him, that one day when he was travelling on the top of a coach, down in Kent, a decent woman sitting next him complained that a great hulking sailor on her other side was making himself offensive. Mr. Evans changed places with the woman, and, taking the sailor by the collar, forced him down under the seat, and held him there with an iron hand for the remainder of the stage: and at Griff it is still remembered that the master, happening to pass one day while a couple of laborers were waiting for a third to help to move the high, heavy ladder used for thatching ricks, braced himself up to a great effort, and carried the ladder alone and unaided from one rick to the other, to the wide-eyed wonder and admiration of his men. With all this strength, however, both of body and of character, he seems to have combined a certain self-distrust, owing, perhaps, to his early imperfect education, which resulted in a general submissiveness in his domestic relations, more or less portrayed in the character of Mr. Garth. His second wife was a woman with an unusual amount of natural force; a shrewd, practical person, with a considerable dash of the Mrs. Poyser vein in her. Hers was an affectionate, warm-hearted nature, and her children, on whom she cast "the benediction of her gaze," were thoroughly attached to her. She came of a race of yeomen, and her social position was, therefore, rather better than her husband's at the time of their marriage. Her family are, no doubt, prototypes of the Dodsons in the "Mill on the Floss." There were three other sisters married, and all living in the neighborhood of Griff--Mrs. Everard, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Garner--and probably Mr. Evans heard a good deal about "the traditions in the Pearson family." Mrs. Evans was a very active, hard-working woman, but shortly after her last child's birth she became ailing in health, and consequently her eldest girl, Christiana, was sent to school, at a very early age, to Miss Lathom's, at Attleboro, a village a mile or two from Griff, while the two younger children spent some part of their time every day at the cottage of a Mrs. Moore, who kept a dame's school close to Griff gates. The little girl very early became possessed with the idea that she was going to be a personage in the world; and Mr. Charles Lewes has told me an anecdote which George Eliot related of herself as characteristic of this period of her childhood. When she was only four years old she recollected playing on the piano, of which she did not know one note, in order to impress the servant with a proper notion of her acquirements and generally distinguished position. This was the time when the love for her brother grew into the child's affections. She used always to be at his heels, insisting on doing everything he did. She was not, in these baby-days, in the least precocious in learning. In fact, her half-sister, Mrs. Houghton, who was some fourteen years her senior, told me that the child learned to read with some difficulty; but Mr. Isaac Evans says that this was not from any slowness in apprehension, but because she liked playing so much better. Mere sharpness, however, was not a characteristic of her mind. Hers was a large, slow-growing nature; and I think it is, at any rate, certain that there was nothing of the infant phenomenon about her. In her moral development she showed, from the earliest years, the trait that was most marked in her all through life, namely, the absolute need of some one person who should be all in all to her, and to whom she should be all in all. Very jealous in her affections, and easily moved to smiles or tears, she was of a nature capable of the keenest enjoyment and the keenest suffering, knowing "all the wealth and all the woe" of a pre-eminently exclusive disposition. She was affectionate, proud, and sensitive in the highest degree. The sort of happiness that belongs to this budding-time of life, from the age of three to five, is apt to impress itself very strongly on the memory; and it is this period which is referred to in the Brother and Sister Sonnet, "But were another childhood's world my share, I would be born a little sister there." When her brother was eight years old he was sent to school at Coventry, and, her mother continuing in very delicate health, the little Mary Ann, now five years of age, went to join her sister at Miss Lathom's school, at Attleboro, where they continued as boarders for three or four years, coming, occasionally, home to Griff on Saturdays. During one of our walks at Witley, in 1880, my wife mentioned to me that what chiefly remained in her recollection about this very early school-life was the difficulty of getting near enough the fire in winter to become thoroughly warmed, owing to the circle of girls forming round too narrow a fireplace. This suffering from cold was the beginning of a low general state of health; also at this time she began to be subject to fears at night--"the susceptibility to terror"--which she has described as haunting Gwendolen Harleth in her childhood. The other girls in the school, who were all, naturally, very much older, made a great pet of the child, and used to call her "little mamma," and she was not unhappy except at nights; but she told me that this liability to have "all her soul become a quivering fear," which remained with her afterwards, had been one of the supremely important influences dominating at times her future life. Mr. Isaac Evans's chief recollection of this period is the delight of the little sister at his home-coming for holidays, and her anxiety to know all that he had been doing and learning. The eldest child, who went by the name of Chrissey, was the chief favorite of the aunts, as she was always neat and tidy, and used to spend a great deal of her time with them, while the other two were inseparable playfellows at home. The boy was his mother's pet and the girl her father's. They had everything to make children happy at Griff--a delightful old-fashioned garden, a pond and the canal to fish in, and the farm-offices close to the house, "the long cow-shed, where generations of the milky mothers have stood patiently, the broad-shouldered barns, where the old-fashioned flail once made resonant music," and where butter-making and cheese-making were carried on with great vigor by Mrs. Evans. [Illustration: Griff--with the Farm Offices.] Any one, about this time, who happened to look through the window on the left-hand side of the door of Griff House would have seen a pretty picture in the dining-room on Saturday evenings after tea. The powerful, middle-aged man with the strongly marked features sits in his deep, leather-covered arm-chair, at the right-hand corner of the ruddy fireplace, with the head of "the little wench" between his knees. The child turns over the book with pictures that she wishes her father to explain to her--or that perhaps she prefers explaining to him. Her rebellious hair is all over her eyes, much vexing the pale, energetic mother who sits on the opposite side of the fire, cumbered with much service, letting no instant of time escape the inevitable click of the knitting-needles, accompanied by epigrammatic speech. The elder girl, prim and tidy, with her work before her, is by her mother's side; and the brother, between the two groups, keeps assuring himself by perpetual search that none of his favorite means of amusement are escaping from his pockets. The father is already very proud of the astonishing and growing intelligence of his little girl. From a very early age he has been in the habit of taking her with him in his drives about the neighborhood, "standing between her father's knees as he drove leisurely," so that she has drunk in knowledge of the country and of country folk at all her pores. An old-fashioned child, already living in a world of her own imagination, impressible to her finger-tips, and willing to give her views on any subject. The first book that George Eliot read, so far as I have been able to ascertain, was a little volume published in 1822, entitled "The Linnet's Life," which she gave to me in the last year of her life, at Witley. It bears the following inscription, written some time before she gave it to me: "This little book is the first present I ever remember having received from my father. Let any one who thinks of me with some tenderness after I am dead take care of this book for my sake. It made me very happy when I held it in my little hands, and read it over and over again; and thought the pictures beautiful, especially the one where the linnet is feeding her young." It must, I think, have been very shortly after she received this present that an old friend of the family, who was in the habit of coming as a visitor to Griff from time to time, used occasionally to bring a book in his hand for the little girl. I very well remember her expressing to me deep gratitude for this early ministration to her childish delights; and Mr. Burne Jones has been kind enough to tell me of a conversation with George Eliot about children's books, when she also referred to this old gentleman's kindness. They were agreeing in disparagement of some of the books that the rising generation take their pleasure in, and she recalled the dearth of child-literature in her own home, and her passionate delight and total absorption in �sop's Fables (given to her by the aforesaid old gentleman), the possession of which had opened new worlds to her imagination. Mr. Burne Jones particularly remembers how she laughed till the tears ran down her face in recalling her infantine enjoyment of the humor in the fable of Mercury and the Statue-seller. Having so few books at this time, she read them again and again, until she knew them by heart. One of them was a Joe Miller jest-book, with the stories from which she used greatly to astonish the family circle. But the beginning of her serious reading-days did not come till later. Meantime her talent for observation gained a glorious new field for employment in her first journey from home, which took place in 1826. Her father and mother took her with them on a little trip into Derbyshire and Staffordshire, where she saw Mr. Evans's relations, and they came back through Lichfield, sleeping at the Swan.[3] They were away only a week, from the 18th to the 24th of May; but "what time is little" to an imaginative, observant child of seven on her first journey? About this time a deeply felt crisis occurred in her life, as her brother had a pony given to him, to which he became passionately attached. He developed an absorbing interest in riding, and cared less and less to play with his sister. The next important event happened in her eighth or ninth year, when she was sent to Miss Wallington's school at Nuneaton with her sister. This was a much larger school than Miss Lathom's, there being some thirty girls, boarders. The principal governess was Miss Lewis, who became then, and remained for many years after, Mary Ann Evans's most intimate friend and principal correspondent, and I am indebted to the letters addressed to her from 1836 to 1842 for most of the information concerning that period. Books now became a passion with the child; she read everything she could lay hands on, greatly troubling the soul of her mother by the consumption of candles as well as of eyesight in her bedroom. From a subsequent letter it will be seen that she was "early supplied with works of fiction by those who kindly sought to gratify her appetite for reading." It must have been about this time that the episode occurred in relation to "Waverley" which is mentioned by Miss Simcox in her article in the June, 1881, number of the _Nineteenth Century Review_. It was quite new to me, and, as it is very interesting, I give it in Miss Simcox's own words: "Somewhere about 1827 a friendly neighbor lent 'Waverley' to an elder sister of little Mary Ann Evans. It was returned before the child had read to the end, and, in her distress at the loss of the fascinating volume, she began to write out the story as far as she had read it for herself, beginning naturally where the story begins with Waverley's adventures at Tully Veolan, and continuing until the surprised elders were moved to get her the book again." Miss Simcox has pointed out the reference to this in the motto of the 57th chapter of "Middlemarch:" "They numbered scarce eight summers when a name Rose on their souls and stirred such motions there As thrill the buds and shape their hidden frame At penetration of the quickening air: His name who told of loyal Evan Dhu, Of quaint Bradwardine, and Vich Ian Vor, Making the little world their childhood knew Large with a land of mountain, lake, and scaur, And larger yet with wonder, love, belief Towards Walter Scott, who, living far away, Sent them this wealth of joy and noble grief. The book and they must part, but, day by day, In lines that thwart like portly spiders ran, They wrote the tale, from Tully Veolan." Miss Simcox also mentions that "Elia divided her childish allegiance with Scott, and she remembered feasting with singular pleasure upon an extract in some stray almanac from the essay in commemoration of 'Captain Jackson and his slender ration of Single Gloucester.' This is an extreme example of the general rule that a wise child's taste in literature is sounder than adults generally venture to believe." We know, too, from the "Mill on the Floss" that the "History of the Devil," by Daniel Defoe, was a favorite. The book is still religiously preserved at Griff, with its pictures just as Maggie looked at them. "The Pilgrim's Progress," also, and "Rasselas" had a large share of her affections. At Miss Wallington's the growing girl soon distinguished herself by an easy mastery of the usual school-learning of her years, and there, too, the religious side of her nature was developed to a remarkable degree. Miss Lewis was an ardent Evangelical Churchwoman, and exerted a strong influence on her young pupil, whom she found very sympathetically inclined. But Mary Ann Evans did not associate freely with her schoolfellows, and her friendship with Miss Lewis was the only intimacy she indulged in. On coming home for their holidays the sister and brother began, about this time, the habit of acting charades together before the Griff household and the aunts, who were greatly impressed with the cleverness of the performance; and the girl was now recognized in the family circle as no ordinary child. Another epoch presently succeeded, on her removal to Miss Franklin's school at Coventry, in her thirteenth year. She was probably then very much what she has described her own Maggie at the age of thirteen: "A creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad; thirsty for all knowledge; with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her; with a blind, unconscious yearning for something that would link together the wonderful impressions of this mysterious life, and give her soul a sense of home in it. No wonder, when there is this contrast between the outward and the inward, that painful collisions come of it." In _Our Times_ of June, 1881, there is a paper by a lady whose mother was at school with Mary Ann Evans, which gives some interesting particulars of the Miss Franklins. "They were daughters of a Baptist minister who had preached for many years in Coventry, and who inhabited, during his pastorate, a house in the chapel-yard almost exactly resembling that of Rufus Lyon in 'Felix Holt.' For this venerable gentleman Miss Evans, as a schoolgirl, had a great admiration, and I, who can remember him well, can trace in Rufus Lyon himself many slight resemblances, such as the 'little legs,' and the habit of walking up and down when composing. Miss Rebecca Franklin was a lady of considerable intellectual power, and remarkable for her elegance in writing and conversation, as well as for her beautiful calligraphy. In her classes for English Composition Mary Ann Evans was, from her first entering the school, far in advance of the rest; and while the themes of the other children were read, criticised, and corrected in class, hers were reserved for the private perusal and enjoyment of the teacher, who rarely found anything to correct. Her enthusiasm for music was already very strongly marked, and her music-master, a much-tried man, suffering from the irritability incident to his profession, reckoned on his hour with her as a refreshment to his wearied nerves, and soon had to confess that he had no more to teach her. In connection with this proficiency in music, my mother recalls her sensitiveness at that time as being painfully extreme. When there were visitors, Miss Evans, as the best performer in the school, was sometimes summoned to the parlor to play for their amusement, and though suffering agonies from shyness and reluctance, she obeyed with all readiness, but, on being released, my mother has often known her to rush to her room and throw herself on the floor in an agony of tears. Her schoolfellows loved her as much as they could venture to love one whom they felt to be so immeasurably superior to themselves, and she had playful nicknames for most of them. My mother, who was delicate, and to whom she was very kind, was dubbed by her 'Miss Equanimity.' A source of great interest to the girls, and of envy to those who lived farther from home, was the weekly cart which brought Miss Evans new-laid eggs and other delightful produce of her father's farm." In talking about these early days, my wife impressed on my mind the debt she felt that she owed to the Miss Franklins for their excellent instruction, and she had also the very highest respect for their moral qualities. With her chameleon-like nature she soon adopted their religious views with intense eagerness and conviction, although she never formally joined the Baptists or any other communion than the Church of England. She at once, however, took a foremost place in the school, and became a leader of prayer-meetings among the girls. In addition to a sound English education the Miss Franklins managed to procure for their pupils excellent masters for French, German, and music; so that, looking to the lights of those times, the means of obtaining knowledge were very much above the average for girls. Her teachers, on their side, were very proud of their exceptionally gifted scholar; and years afterwards, when Miss Evans came with her father to live in Coventry, they introduced her to one of their friends, not only as a marvel of mental power, but also as a person "sure to get something up very soon in the way of clothing-club or other charitable undertaking." This year, 1832, was not only memorable for the change to a new and superior school, but it was also much more memorable to George Eliot for the riot which she saw at Nuneaton, on the occasion of the election for North Warwickshire, after the passing of the great Reform Bill, and which subsequently furnished her with the incidents for the riot in "Felix Holt." It was an event to lay hold on the imagination of an impressionable girl of thirteen, and it is thus described in the local newspaper of 29th December, 1832: "On Friday, the 21st December, at Nuneaton, from the commencement of the poll till nearly half-past two, the Hemingites[4] occupied the poll; the numerous plumpers for Sir Eardley Wilmot and the adherents of Mr. Dugdale being constantly interrupted in their endeavors to go to the hustings to give an honest and conscientious vote. The magistrates were consequently applied to, and from the representations they received from all parties, they were at length induced to call in aid a military force. A detachment of the Scots Greys accordingly arrived; but it appearing that that gallant body was not sufficiently strong to put down the turbulent spirit of the mob, a reinforcement was considered by the constituted authorities as absolutely necessary. The tumult increasing, as the detachment of the Scots Greys were called in, the Riot Act was read from the windows of the Newdigate Arms; and we regret to add that both W. P. Inge, Esq., and Colonel Newdigate, in the discharge of their magisterial duties, received personal injuries. "On Saturday the mob presented an appalling appearance, and but for the forbearance of the soldiery numerous lives would have fallen a sacrifice. Several of the officers of the Scots Greys were materially hurt in their attempt to quell the riotous proceedings of the mob. During the day the sub-sheriffs at the different booths received several letters from the friends of Mr. Dugdale, stating that they were outside of the town, and anxious to vote for that gentleman, but were deterred from entering it from fear of personal violence. Two or three unlucky individuals, drawn from the files of the military on their approach to the poll, were cruelly beaten, and stripped literally naked. We regret to add that one life has been sacrificed during the contest, and that several misguided individuals have been seriously injured." The term ending Christmas, 1835, was the last spent at Miss Franklin's. In the first letter of George Eliot's that I have been able to discover, dated 6th January, 1836, and addressed to Miss Lewis, who was at that time governess in the family of the Rev. L. Harper, Burton Latimer, Northamptonshire, she speaks of her mother having suffered a great increase of pain, and adds-- "We dare not hope that there will be a permanent improvement. Our anxieties on my mother's account, though so great, have been since Thursday almost lost sight of in the more sudden, and consequently more severe, trial which we have been called on to endure in the alarming illness of my dear father. For four days we had no cessation of our anxiety; but I am thankful to say that he is now considered out of danger, though very much reduced by frequent bleeding and very powerful medicines." In the summer of this year--1836--the mother died, after a long, painful illness, in which she was nursed with great devotion by her daughters. It was their first acquaintance with death; and to a highly wrought, sensitive girl of sixteen such a loss seems an unendurable calamity. "To the old, sorrow is sorrow; to the young, it is despair." Many references will be found in the subsequent correspondence to what she suffered at this time, all summed up in the old popular phrase, "We can have but one mother." In the following spring Christiana was married to Mr. Edward Clarke, a surgeon practising at Meriden, in Warwickshire. One of Mr. Isaac Evans's most vivid recollections is that on the day of the marriage, after the bride's departure, he and his younger sister had "a good cry" together over the break-up of the old home-life, which of course could never be the same with the mother and the elder sister wanting. Twenty-three years later we shall find George Eliot writing, on the death of this sister, that she "had a very special feeling for her--stronger than any third person would think likely." The relation between the sisters was somewhat like that described as existing between Dorothea and Celia in "Middlemarch"--no intellectual affinity, but a strong family affection. In fact, my wife told me, that although Celia was not in any sense a portrait of her sister, she "had Chrissey continually in mind" in delineating Celia's character. But we must be careful not to found too much on such _suggestions_ of character in George Eliot's books; and this must particularly be borne in mind in the "Mill on the Floss." No doubt the early part of Maggie's portraiture is the best autobiographical representation we can have of George Eliot's own feelings in her childhood, and many of the incidents in the book are based on real experiences of family life, but so mixed with fictitious elements and situations that it would be absolutely misleading to trust to it as a true history. For instance, all that happened in real life between the brother and sister was, I believe, that as they grew up their characters, pursuits, and tastes diverged more and more widely. He took to his father's business, at which he worked steadily, and which absorbed most of his time and attention. He was also devoted to hunting, liked the ordinary pleasures of a young man in his circumstances, and was quite satisfied with the circle of acquaintance in which he moved. After leaving school at Coventry he went to a private tutor's at Birmingham, where he imbibed strong High-Church views. His sister had come back from the Miss Franklins' with ultra-Evangelical tendencies, and their differences of opinion used to lead to a good deal of animated argument. Miss Evans, as she now was, could not rest satisfied with a mere profession of faith without trying to shape her own life--and, it may be added, the lives around her--in accordance with her convictions. The pursuit of pleasure was a snare; dress was vanity; society was a danger. "From what you know of her, you will not be surprised that she threw some exaggeration and wilfulness, some pride and impetuosity, even into her self-renunciation: her own life was still a drama for her, in which she demanded of herself that her part should be played with intensity. And so it came to pass that she often lost the spirit of humility by being excessive in the outward act; she often strove after too high a flight, and came down with her poor little half-fledged wings dabbled in the mud.... That is the path we all like when we set out on our abandonment of egoism--the path of martyrdom and endurance, where the palm-branches grow, rather than the steep highway of tolerance, just allowance, and self-blame, where there are no leafy honors to be gathered and worn."[5] After Christiana's marriage the entire charge of the Griff establishment devolved on Mary Ann, who became a most exemplary housewife, learned thoroughly everything that had to be done, and, with her innate desire for perfection, was never satisfied unless her department was administered in the very best manner that circumstances permitted. She spent a great deal of time in visiting the poor, organizing clothing-clubs, and other works of active charity. But over and above this, as will be seen from the following letters, she was always prosecuting an active intellectual life of her own. Mr. Brezzi, a well-known master of modern languages at Coventry, used to come over to Griff regularly to give her lessons in Italian and German. Mr. M'Ewen, also from Coventry, continued her lessons in music, and she got through a large amount of miscellaneous reading by herself. In the evening she was always in the habit of playing to her father, who was very fond of music. But it requires no great effort of imagination to conceive that this life, though full of interests of its own, and the source from whence the future novelist drew the most powerful and the most touching of her creations, was, as a matter of fact, very monotonous, very difficult, very discouraging. It could scarcely be otherwise to a young girl with a full, passionate nature and hungry intellect, shut up in a farmhouse in the remote country. For there was no sympathetic human soul near with whom to exchange ideas on the intellectual and spiritual problems that were beginning to agitate her mind. "You may try, but you can never imagine what it is to have a man's force of genius in you, and yet to suffer the slavery of being a girl."[6] This is a point of view that must be distinctly recognized by any one attempting to follow the development of George Eliot's character, and it will always be corrected by the other point of view which she has made so prominent in all her own writing--the soothing, strengthening, sacred influences of the home life, the home loves, the home duties. Circumstances in later life separated her from her kindred, but among her last letters it will be seen that she wrote to her brother in May, 1880, that "our long silence has never broken the affection for you that began when we were little ones"[7]--and she expresses her satisfaction in the growing prosperity of himself and all his family. It was a real gratification to her to hear from some Coventry friends that her nephew, the Rev. Frederic Evans, the present rector of Bedworth, was well spoken of as a preacher in the old familiar places, and in our last summer at Witley we often spoke of a visit to Warwickshire, that she might renew the sweet memories of her child-days. No doubt, the very monotony of her life at Griff, and the narrow field it presented for observation of society, added immeasurably to the intensity of a naturally keen mental vision, concentrating into a focus what might perhaps have become dissipated in more liberal surroundings. And though the field of observation was narrow in one sense, it included very various grades of society. Such fine places as Arbury, and Packington, the seat of Lord Aylesford, where she was being constantly driven by her father, affected the imagination and accentuated the social differences--differences which had a profound significance for such a sensitive and such an intellectually commanding character, and which left their mark on it. "No one who has not a strong natural prompting and susceptibility towards such things [the signs and luxuries of ladyhood] and has, at the same time, suffered from the presence of opposite conditions, can understand how powerfully those minor accidents of rank which please the fastidious sense can preoccupy the imagination."[8] The tone of her mind will be seen from the letters written during the following years, and I remember once, after we were married, when I was urging her to write her autobiography, she said, half sighing, half smiling, "The only thing I should care much to dwell on would be the absolute despair I suffered from of ever being able to achieve anything. No one could ever have felt greater despair, and a knowledge of this might be a help to some other struggler"--adding, with a smile, "but, on the other hand, it might only lead to an increase of bad writing." _SUMMARY._ NOVEMBER 22, 1819, TO END OF 1837. Birth at Arbury Farm--Baptism--Character of father--His first marriage and children--Second marriage and children--Removal to Griff--Events at time of birth--Character of country about Griff--Coach communication--Father's position--Anecdotes of father--Character of mother--Mother's family and delicacy--Dame's school--Companionship with brother--Miss Lathom's school at Attleboro--Suffers from fear--Father's pet--Drives with him--First books read--First journey to Staffordshire--Miss Wallington's school at Nuneaton--Miss Lewis, governess--Books read--Religious impressions--Charade acting--Miss Franklin's school at Coventry--Riot at Nuneaton--First letter to Miss Lewis--Mother's illness--Mother's death--Sister Christiana married to Mr. Clarke--Relations with brother--Housekeeper at Griff--Life and studies there. FOOTNOTES: [1] The farm is also known as the South Farm, Arbury. [2] "Felix Holt"--Introduction. [3] See vol. ii. p. 96. [4] A Mr. Heming was the Radical candidate. [5] "Mill on the Floss," chap. iii. book iv. [6] "Daniel Deronda." [7] See vol. iii. [8] "Felix Holt," chap. xxxviii. p. 399. CHAPTER I. In the foregoing introductory sketch I have endeavored to present the influences to which George Eliot was subjected in her youth, and the environment in which she grew up; I am now able to begin the fulfilment of the promise on the titlepage, that the life will be related in her own letters; or, rather, in extracts from her own letters, for no single letter is printed entire from the beginning to the end. I have not succeeded in obtaining any between 6th January, 1836, and 18th August, 1838; but from the latter date the correspondence becomes regular, and I have arranged it as a continuous narrative, with the names of the persons to whom the letters are addressed in the margin. The slight thread of narrative or explanation which I have written to elucidate the letters, where necessary, will hereafter occupy an inside margin, so that the reader will see at a glance what is narrative and what is correspondence, and will be troubled as little as possible with marks of quotation or changes of type. The following opening letter of the series to Miss Lewis describes a first visit to London with her brother: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 18th Aug. 1838.] Let me tell you, though, that I was not at all delighted with the stir of the great Babel, and the less so, probably, owing to the circumstances attending my visit thither. Isaac and I went alone (that seems rather Irish), and stayed only a week, every day of which we worked hard at seeing sights. I think Greenwich Hospital interested me more than anything else. Mr. Isaac Evans himself tells me that what he remembers chiefly impressed her was the first hearing the great bell of St. Paul's. It affected her deeply. At that time she was so much under the influence of religious and ascetic ideas that she would not go to any of the theatres with her brother, but spent all her evenings alone, reading. A characteristic reminiscence is that the chief thing she wanted to buy was Josephus's "History of the Jews;" and at the same bookshop her brother got her this he bought for himself a pair of hunting sketches. In the same letter, alluding to the marriage of one of her friends, she says: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 18th Aug. 1838.] For my part, when I hear of the marrying and giving in marriage that is constantly being transacted, I can only sigh for those who are multiplying earthly ties which, though powerful enough to detach their hearts and thoughts from heaven, are so brittle as to be liable to be snapped asunder at every breeze. You will think that I need nothing but a tub for my habitation to make me a perfect female Diogenes; and I plead guilty to occasional misanthropical thoughts, but not to the indulgence of them. Still, I must believe that those are happiest who are not fermenting themselves by engaging in projects for earthly bliss, who are considering this life merely a pilgrimage, a scene calling for diligence and watchfulness, not for repose and amusement. I do not deny that there may be many who can partake with a high degree of zest of all the lawful enjoyments the world can offer, and yet live in near communion with their God--who can warmly love the creature, and yet be careful that the Creator maintains his supremacy in their hearts; but I confess that, in my short experience and narrow sphere of action, I have never been able to attain to this. I find, as Dr. Johnson said respecting his wine, total abstinence much easier than moderation. I do not wonder you are pleased with Pascal;[9] his thoughts may be returned to the palate again and again with increasing rather than diminished relish. I have highly enjoyed Hannah More's letters; the contemplation of so blessed a character as hers is very salutary. "That ye be not slothful, but followers of them who, through faith and patience, inherit the promises," is a valuable admonition. I was once told that there was nothing out of myself to prevent my becoming as eminently holy as St. Paul; and though I think that is too sweeping an assertion, yet it is very certain we are generally too low in our aims, more anxious for safety than sanctity, for place than purity, forgetting that each involves the other, and that, as Doddridge tells us, to rest satisfied with any attainments in religion is a fearful proof that we are ignorant of the very first principles of it. O that we could live only for eternity! that we could realize its nearness! I know you do not love quotations, so I will not give you one; but if you do not distinctly remember it, do turn to the passage in Young's "Infidel Reclaimed," beginning, "O vain, vain, vain all else eternity," and do love the lines for my sake. I really feel for you, sacrificing, as you are, your own tastes and comforts for the pleasure of others, and that in a manner the most trying to rebellious flesh and blood; for I verily believe that in most cases it requires more of a martyr's spirit to endure, with patience and cheerfulness, daily crossings and interruptions of our petty desires and pursuits, and to rejoice in them if they can be made to conduce to God's glory and our own sanctification, than even to lay down our lives for the truth. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 6th Nov. 1838.] I can hardly repress a sort of indignation towards second causes. That your time and energies should be expended in ministering to the petty interests of those far beneath you in all that is really elevating is about as _bienséant_ as that I should set fire to a goodly volume to light a match by! I have had a very unsettled life lately--Michaelmas, with its onerous duties and anxieties, much company (for us) and little reading, so that I am ill prepared for corresponding with profit or pleasure. I am generally in the same predicament with books as a glutton with his feast, hurrying through one course that I may be in time for the next, and so not relishing or digesting either; not a very elegant illustration, but the best my organs of ideality and comparison will furnish just now. I have just begun the "Life of Wilberforce," and I am expecting a rich treat from it. There is a similarity, if I may compare myself with such a man, between his temptations, or rather _besetments_, and my own, that makes his experience very interesting to me. O that I might be made as useful in my lowly and obscure station as he was in the exalted one assigned to him! I feel myself to be a mere cumberer of the ground. May the Lord give me such an insight into what is truly good that I may not rest contented with making Christianity a mere addendum to my pursuits, or with tacking it as a fringe to my garments! May I seek to be sanctified wholly! My nineteenth birthday will soon be here (the 22d)--an awakening signal. My mind has been much clogged lately by languor of body, to which I am prone to give way, and for the removal of which I shall feel thankful. We have had an oratorio at Coventry lately, Braham, Phillips, Mrs. Knyvett, and Mrs. Shaw--the last, I think, I shall attend. I am not fitted to decide on the question of the propriety or lawfulness of such exhibitions of talent and so forth, because I have no soul for music. "Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth." I am a tasteless person, but it would not cost me any regrets if the only music heard in our land were that of strict worship, nor can I think a pleasure that involves the devotion of all the time and powers of an immortal being to the acquirement of an expertness in so useless (at least in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred) an accomplishment, can be quite pure or elevating in its tendency. The above remarks on oratorio are the more surprising because, two years later, when Miss Evans went to the Birmingham festival, in September, 1840, previous to her brother's marriage, she was affected to an extraordinary degree, so much so that Mrs. Isaac Evans--then Miss Rawlins--told me that the attention of people sitting near was attracted by her hysterical sobbing. And in all her later life music was one of the chiefest delights to her, and especially oratorio. "Not that her enjoyment of music was of the kind that indicates a great specific talent; it was rather that her sensibility to the supreme excitement of music was only one form of that passionate sensibility which belonged to her whole nature, and made her faults and virtues all merge in each other--made her affections sometimes an impatient demand, but also prevented her vanity from taking the form of mere feminine coquetry and device, and gave it the poetry of ambition."[10] The next two letters, dated from Griff--February 6th and March 5th, 1839--are addressed to Mrs. Samuel Evans, a Methodist preacher, the wife of a younger brother of Mr. Robert Evans. They are the more interesting from the fact, which will appear later, that an anecdote related by this aunt during her visit to Griff in 1839 was the germ of "Adam Bede." To what extent this Elizabeth Evans resembled the ideal character of Dinah Morris will also be seen in its place in the history of "Adam Bede." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Samuel Evans, 6th Feb. 1839.] I am so unwilling to believe that you can forget a promise, or to entertain fears respecting your health, that I persuade myself I must have mistaken the terms of the agreement between us, and that I ought to have sent you a letter before I considered myself entitled to one from Wirksworth. However this may be, I feel so anxious to hear of your well-being in every way, that I can no longer rest satisfied without using my only means of obtaining tidings of you. My dear father is not at home to-night, or I should probably have a message of remembrance to give you from him, in addition to the good news that he is as well as he has been for the last two years, and even, I think, better, except that he feels more fatigue after exertion of mind or body than formerly. If you are able to fill a sheet, I am sure both uncle and you would in doing so be complying with the precept, "Lift up the hands that hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees." I need not tell you that this is a dry and thirsty land, and I shall be as grateful to you for a draught from your fresh spring as the traveller in the Eastern desert is to the unknown hand that digs a well for him. "Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel," seems to be my character, instead of that regular progress from strength to strength that marks, even in this world of mistakes, the people that shall, in the heavenly Zion, stand before God. I shall not only suffer, but be delighted to receive, the word of exhortation, and I beg you not to withhold it. If I did not know how little you need human help, I should regret that my ignorance and want of deep feeling in spiritual things prevent me from suggesting profitable or refreshing thoughts; but I dare say I took care to tell you that my desire for correspondence with you was quite one of self-interest. I am thankful to tell you that my dear friends here are all well. I have a faint hope that the pleasure and profit I have felt in your society may be repeated in the summer: there is no place I would rather visit than Wirksworth, or the inhabitants of which have a stronger hold on my affections. In the next letter the touch about Mrs. Fletcher's life is characteristic. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Samuel Evans, 5th Mch. 1839.] My dear father is just now so plunged in business, and that of a fatiguing kind, that I should put your confidence in my love and gratitude to an unreasonably severe trial if I waited until he had leisure to unite with me in filling a sheet. You were very kind to remember my wish to see "Mrs. Fletcher's Life:" I only desire such a spiritual digestion as has enabled _you_ to derive so much benefit from its perusal. I am truly glad to hear that you are less embarrassed with respect to your congregation, etc., than you were when we saw you. I must protest against your making apologies for speaking of yourself, for nothing that relates to you can be uninteresting to me. The unprofitableness you lament in yourself, during your visit to us, had its true cause, not in your lukewarmness, but in the little improvement I sought to derive from your society, and in my lack of humility and Christian simplicity, that makes me willing to obtain credit for greater knowledge and deeper feeling than I really possess. Instead of putting my light under a bushel, I am in danger of ostentatiously displaying a false one. You have much too high an opinion, my dear aunt, of my spiritual condition, and of my personal and circumstantial advantages. My soul seems for weeks together completely benumbed, and when I am aroused from this torpid state, the intervals of activity are comparatively short. I am ever finding excuses for this in the deprivation of outward excitement and the small scope I have for the application of my principles, instead of feeling self-abasement under the consciousness that I abuse precious hours of retirement, which would be eagerly employed in spiritual exercises by many a devoted servant of God who is struggling with worldly cares and occupations. I feel that my besetting sin is the one of all others most destroying, as it is the fruitful parent of them all--ambition, a desire insatiable for the esteem of my fellow-creatures. This seems the centre whence all my actions proceed. But you will perhaps remember, my dear aunt, that I do not attach much value to a disclosure of religious feelings, owing probably to the dominant corruption I have just been speaking of, which "turns the milk of my good purpose all to curd." On 16th March, 1839, in a letter to Miss Lewis, there is a reference to good spirits, which is of the rarest occurrence all through the correspondence: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 16th Mch. 1839.] I am this morning hardly myself, owing to the insuppressible rising of my animal spirits on a deliverance from sick headache; and then the letter continues as to the expediency of reading works of fiction, in answer to a question Miss Lewis had asked: I put out of the question all persons of perceptions so quick, memories so eclectic and retentive, and minds so comprehensive that nothing less than omnivorous reading, as Southey calls it, can satisfy their intellectual man; for (if I may parody the words of Scripture without profaneness) they will gather to themselves all facts, and heap unto themselves all ideas. For such persons we cannot legislate. Again, I would put out of the question standard works, whose contents are matter of constant reference, and the names of whose heroes and heroines briefly, and therefore conveniently, describe characters and ideas--such are "Don Quixote," Butler's "Hudibras," "Robinson Crusoe," "Gil Blas," Byron's Poetical Romances, Southey's ditto, etc. Such, too, are Walter Scott's novels and poems. Such allusions as "He is a perfect Dominie Sampson," "He is as industrious in finding out antiquities, and about as successful, as Jonathan Oldbuck," are likely to become so common in books and conversation that, _always providing_ our leisure is not circumscribed by duty within narrow bounds, we should, I think, qualify ourselves to understand them. Shakespeare has a higher claim than this on our attention; but we have need of as nice a power of distillation as the bee, to suck nothing but honey from his pages. However, as in life we must be exposed to malign influences from intercourse with others, if we would reap the advantages designed for us by making us social beings, so in books. Having cleared our way of what would otherwise have encumbered us, I would ask why is one engaged in the instruction of youth to read, as a purely conscientious and self-denying performance of duty, works whose value to others is allowed to be doubtful? I can only imagine two shadows of reasons. Either that she may be able experimentally to decide on their desirableness for her pupils, or else that there is a certain power exerted by them on the mind that would render her a more efficient "tutress" by their perusal. I would not depreciate the disinterestedness of those who will make trial of the effect on themselves of a cup suspected poisonous, that they may deter another from risking life; but it appears to me a work of supererogation, since there are enough witnesses to its baneful effect on themselves already to put an end to all strife in the matter. The Scriptural declaration, "As face answereth to face in a glass, so the heart of man to man," will exonerate me from the charge of uncharitableness, or too high an estimation of myself, if I venture to believe that the same causes which exist in my own breast to render novels and romances pernicious have their counterpart in that of every fellow-creature. I am, I confess, not an impartial member of a jury in this case; for I owe the culprits a grudge for injuries inflicted on myself. When I was quite a little child I could not be satisfied with the things around me; I was constantly living in a world of my own creation, and was quite contented to have no companions, that I might be left to my own musings, and imagine scenes in which I was chief actress. Conceive what a character novels would give to these Utopias. I was early supplied with them by those who kindly sought to gratify my appetite for reading, and of course I made use of the materials they supplied for building my castles in the air. But it may be said--"No one ever dreamed of recommending children to read them: all this does not apply to persons come to years of discretion, whose judgments are in some degree matured." I answer that men and women are but children of a larger growth: they are still imitative beings. We cannot (at least those who ever read to any purpose at all)--we cannot, I say, help being modified by the ideas that pass through our minds. We hardly wish to lay claim to such elasticity as retains no impress. We are active beings too. We are each one of the _dramatis personæ_ in some play on the stage of life; hence our actions have their share in the effects of our reading. As to the discipline our minds receive from the perusal of fictions, I can conceive none that is beneficial but may be attained by that of history. It is the merit of fictions to come within the orbit of probability: if unnatural they would no longer please. If it be said the mind must have relaxation, "Truth is strange--stranger than fiction." When a person has exhausted the wonders of truth there is no other resort than fiction: till then, I cannot imagine how the adventures of some phantom conjured up by fancy can be more entertaining than the transactions of real specimens of human nature, from which we may safely draw inferences. I dare say Mr. James's "Huguenot" would be recommended as giving an idea of the times of which he writes; but as well may one be recommended to look at landscapes for an idea of English scenery. The real secret of the relaxation talked of is one that would not generally be avowed; but an appetite that wants seasoning of a certain kind cannot be indicative of health. Religious novels are more hateful to me than merely worldly ones: they are a sort of centaur or mermaid, and, like other monsters that we do not know how to class, should be destroyed for the public good as soon as born. The weapons of the Christian warfare were never sharpened at the forge of romance. Domestic fictions, as they come more within the range of imitation, seem more dangerous. For my part, I am ready to sit down and weep at the impossibility of my understanding or barely knowing a fraction of the sum of objects that present themselves for our contemplation in books and in life. Have I, then, any time to spend on things that never existed? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 20th May, 1839.] You allude to the religious, or rather irreligious, contentions that form so prominent a feature in the aspect of public affairs--a subject, you will perhaps be surprised to hear me say, full of interest to me, and on which I am unable to shape an opinion for the satisfaction of my mind. I think no one feels more difficulty in coming to a decision on controverted matters than myself. I do not mean that I have not preferences; but, however congruous a theory may be with my notions, I cannot find that comfortable repose that others appear to possess after having made their election of a class of sentiments. The other day Montaigne's motto came to my mind (it is mentioned by Pascal) as an appropriate one for me--"Que sais-je?"--beneath a pair of balances, though, by-the-bye, it is an ambiguous one, and may be taken in a sense that I desire to reprobate, as well as in a Scriptural one, to which I do not refer. I use it in a limited sense as a representation of my oscillating judgment. On no subject do I veer to all points of the compass more frequently than on the nature of the visible Church. I am powerfully attracted in a certain direction, but, when I am about to settle there, counter-assertions shake me from my position. I cannot enter into details, but when we are together I will tell you all my difficulties--that is, if you will be kind enough to listen. I have been reading the new prize essay on "Schism," by Professor Hoppus, and Milner's "Church History," since I last wrote to you: the former ably expresses the tenets of those who deny that any form of Church government is so clearly dictated in Scripture as to possess a divine right, and, consequently, to be binding on Christians; the latter, you know, exhibits the views of a moderate Evangelical Episcopalian on the inferences to be drawn from ecclesiastical remains. He equally repudiates the loud assertion of a _jus divinum_, to the exclusion of all separatists from the visible Church, though he calmly maintains the superiority of the evidence in favor of Episcopacy, of a moderate kind both in power and extent of diocese, as well as the benefit of a national establishment. I have been skimming the "Portrait of an English Churchman," by the Rev. W. Gresley: this contains an outline of the system of those who exclaim of the Anglican Church as the Jews did of their sacred building (that they do it in as reprehensible a spirit I will not be the judge), "the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord" is exclusively theirs; while the authors of the Oxford Tracts go a step further, and evince by their compliments to Rome, as a dear though erring sister, and their attempts to give a Romish color to our ordinance, with a very confused and unscriptural statement of the great doctrine of justification, a disposition rather to fraternize with the members of a Church carrying on her brow the prophetical epithets applied by St. John to the scarlet beast, the mystery of iniquity, than with pious Nonconformists. It is true they disclaim all this, and that their opinions are seconded by the extensive learning, the laborious zeal, and the deep devotion of those who propagate them; but a reference to facts will convince us that such has generally been the character of heretical teachers. Satan is too crafty to commit his cause into the hands of those who have nothing to recommend them to approbation. According to their dogmas, the Scotch Church and the foreign Protestant Churches, as well as the non-Episcopalians of our own land, are wanting in the essentials of existence as part of the Church. In the next letter there is the first allusion to authorship, but, from the wording of the sentence, the poem referred to has evidently not been a first attempt. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 17th July, 1839.] I send you some doggerel lines, the crude fruit of a lonely walk last evening when the words of one of our martyrs occurred to me. You must be acquainted with the idiosyncrasy of my authorship, which is, that my effusions, once committed to paper, are like the laws of the Medes and Persians, that alter not. "_Knowing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle._" --2 PETER i. 14. "As o'er the fields by evening's light I stray I hear a still, small whisper--Come away; Thou must to this bright, lovely world soon say Farewell! "The mandate I'd obey, my lamp prepare, Gird up my garments, give my soul to pray'r, And say to earth, and all that breathe earth's air, Farewell! "Thou sun, to whose parental beam I owe All that has gladden'd me while here below, Moon, stars, and covenant-confirming bow, Farewell! "Ye verdant meads, fair blossoms, stately trees, Sweet song of birds and soothing hum of bees, Refreshing odors wafted on the breeze, Farewell! "Ye patient servants of creation's Lord, Whose mighty strength is govern'd by his word, Who raiment, food, and help in toil afford, Farewell! "Books that have been to me as chests of gold, Which, miserlike, I secretly have told, And for them love, health, friendship, peace have sold, Farewell! "Blest volume! whose clear truth-writ page once known, Fades not before heaven's sunshine or hell's moan, To thee I say not, of earth's gifts alone, Farewell! "There shall my new-born senses find new joy, New sounds, new sights, my eyes and ears employ, Nor fear that word that here brings sad alloy, Farewell!" I had a dim recollection that my wife had told me that this poem had been printed somewhere. After a long search I found it in the _Christian Observer_ for January, 1840. The version there published has the two following additional verses, and is signed M. A. E.: "Ye feebler, freer tribes that people air, Ye gaudy insects, making buds your lair, Ye that in water shine and frolic there, Farewell! "Dear kindred, whom the Lord to me has given, Must the strong tie that binds us now be riven? No! say I--only till we meet in heaven, Farewell!" The editor of the _Christian Observer_ has added this note: "We do not often add a note to a poem: but if St. John found no temple in the New Jerusalem, neither will there be any need of a Bible; for we shall not then see through a glass darkly--through the veil of sacraments or the written Word--but face to face. The Bible is God's gift, but not for heaven's use. Still, on the very verge of heaven we may cling to it, after we have bid farewell to everything earthly: and this, perhaps, is what M. A. E. means." In the following letter we already see the tendency to draw illustrations from science: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 4th Sept. 1839.] I have lately led so unsettled a life, and have been so desultory in my employments, that my mind, never of the most highly organized genus, is more than usually chaotic, or, rather, it is like a stratum of conglomerated fragments, that shows here a jaw and rib of some ponderous quadruped, there a delicate alto-relievo of some fern-like plant, tiny shells and mysterious nondescripts incrusted and united with some unvaried and uninteresting but useful stone. My mind presents just such an assemblage of disjointed specimens of history, ancient and modern; scraps of poetry picked up from Shakespeare, Cowper, Wordsworth, and Milton; newspaper topics; morsels of Addison and Bacon, Latin verbs, geometry, entomology, and chemistry; reviews and metaphysics--all arrested and petrified and smothered by the fast-thickening every-day accession of actual events, relative anxieties, and household cares and vexations. How deplorably and unaccountably evanescent are our frames of mind, as various as the forms and hues of the summer clouds! A single word is sometimes enough to give an entirely new mould to our thoughts--at least, I find myself so constituted; and therefore to me it is pre-eminently important to be anchored within the veil, so that outward things may be unable to send me adrift. Write to me as soon as you can. Remember Michaelmas is coming, and I shall be engaged in matters so nauseating to me that it will be a charity to console me; to reprove and advise me no less. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 22d Nov. 1839.] I have emerged from the slough of domestic troubles, or, rather, to speak quite clearly, "malheurs de cuisine," and am beginning to take a deep breath in my own element, though with a mortifying consciousness that my faculties have become superlatively obtuse during my banishment from it. I have been so self-indulgent as to possess myself of Wordsworth at full length, and I thoroughly like much of the contents of the first three volumes, which I fancy are only the low vestibule of the three remaining ones. I never before met with so many of my own feelings expressed just as I could like them. The distress of the lower classes in our neighborhood is daily increasing, from the scarcity of employment for weavers, and I seem sadly to have handcuffed myself by unnecessary expenditure. To-day is my 20th birthday. This allusion to Wordsworth is interesting, as it entirely expresses the feeling she had to him up to the day of her death. One of the very last books we read together at Cheyne Walk was Mr. Frederick Myers's "Wordsworth" in the "English Men of Letters," which she heartily enjoyed. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 23d Mch. 1840.] I have just received my second lesson in German. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 2d May, 1840, Friday evening.] I know you will be glad to think of me as thoroughly employed, as, indeed, I am to an extent that makes me fear I shall not be able to accomplish everything well. I have engaged, if possible, to complete the chart,[11] the plan of which I sketched out last year, by November next, and I am encouraged to believe that it will answer my purpose to print it. The profits arising from its sale, if any, will go partly to Attleboro Church, and partly to a favorite object of my own. Mrs. Newdigate is very anxious that I should do this, and she permits me to visit her library when I please, in search of any books that may assist me. Will you ask Mr. Craig what he considers the best authority for the date of the apostolical writings? I should like to carry the chart down to the Reformation, if my time and resources will enable me to do so. We are going to have a clothing-club, the arrangement and starting of which are left to me. I am ashamed to run the risk of troubling you, but I should be very grateful if you could send me an abstract of the rules by which yours is regulated. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 21st May, 1840.] Our house is now, and will be for the next two months, miserably noisy and disorderly with the musical operations of masons, carpenters, and painters. You know how abhorrent all this is to my tastes and feelings, taking all the spice out of my favorite little epithet, "this working-day world:" I can no longer use it figuratively. How impressive must the gradual rise of Solomon's Temple have been! each prepared mass of virgin marble laid in reverential silence. I fancy Heber has compared it to the growth of a palm. Your nice miniature chart, which I shall carefully treasure up, has quite satisfied me that Dr. Pearson, at least, has not realized my conceptions, though it has left me still dubious as to my own power of doing so. I will just (if you can bear to hear more of the matter) give you an idea of the plan, which may have partly faded from your memory. The series of perpendicular columns will successively contain the Roman emperors, with their dates, the political and religious state of the Jews, the bishops, remarkable men, and events in the several churches, a column being devoted to each of the chief ones, the aspect of heathenism and Judaism towards Christianity, the chronology of the apostolical and patristical writings, schisms, and heresies, General Councils, eras of corruption (under which head the remarks would be general), and I thought possibly an application of the apocalyptic prophecies, which would merely require a few figures and not take up room. I think there must be a break in the chart after the establishment of Christianity as the religion of the empire, and I have come to a determination not to carry it beyond the first acknowledgment of the supremacy of the Pope by Phocas, in 606, when Mohammedanism became a besom of destruction in the hand of the Lord, and completely altered the aspect of ecclesiastical history. So much for this, at present, airy project, about which I hope never to tease you more. Mr. Harper[12] lent me a little time ago a work by the Rev. W. Gresley, begging me to read it, as he thought it was calculated to make me a proselyte to the opinions it advocates. I had skimmed the book before ("Portrait of an English Churchman"), but I read it attentively a second time, and was pleased with the spirit of piety that breathes throughout. His last work is one in a similar style ("The English Citizen"), which I have cursorily read; and, as they are both likely to be seen by you, I want to know your opinion of them. Mine is this: that they are sure to have a powerful influence on the minds of small readers and shallow thinkers, as, from the simplicity and clearness with which the author, by his _beau-idéal_ characters, enunciates his sentiments, they furnish a magazine of easily wielded weapons for _morning-calling_ and _evening-party_ controversialists, as well as that really honest minds will be inclined to think they have found a resting-place amid the footballing of religious parties. But it appears to me that there is unfairness in arbitrarily selecting a train of circumstances and a set of characters as a development of a class of opinions. In this way we might make atheism appear wonderfully calculated to promote social happiness. I remember, as I dare say you do, a very amiable atheist depicted by Bulwer in "Devereux;" and for some time after the perusal of that book, which I read seven or eight years ago,[13] I was considerably shaken by the impression that religion was not a requisite to moral excellence. Have you not alternating seasons of mental stagnation and activity? just such as the political economists say there must be in a nation's pecuniary condition--all one's precious specie, Time, going out to procure a stock of commodities, while one's own manufactures are too paltry to be worth vending. I am just in that condition--partly, I think, owing to my not having met with any steel to sharpen my edge against for the last three weeks. I am going to read a volume of the Oxford Tracts and the "Lyra Apostolica;" the former I almost shrink from the labor of conning, but the other I confess I am attracted towards by some highly poetical extracts that I have picked up in various quarters. I have just bought Mr. Keble's "Christian Year," a volume of sweet poetry that perhaps you know. The fields of poesy look more lovely than ever, now I have hedged myself in the geometrical regions of fact, where I can do nothing but draw parallels and measure differences in a double sense. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 26th May, 1840.] [14]I will only hint that there seems a probability of my being an unoccupied damsel, of my being severed from all the ties that have hitherto given my existence the semblance of a usefulness beyond that of making up the requisite quantum of animal matter in the universe. A second important intimation respecting my worthy self is one that, I confess, I impart without one sigh, though perhaps you will think my callousness discreditable. It is that Seeley & Burnside have just published a Chart of Ecclesiastical History, doubtless giving to my airy vision a local habitation and a name. I console all my little regrets by thinking that what is thus evidenced to be a desideratum has been executed much better than if left to my slow fingers and slower head. I fear I am laboriously doing nothing, for I am beguiled by the fascination that the study of languages has for my capricious mind. I could e'en give myself up to making discoveries in the world of words. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, in London, Whit-Wednesday, June, 1840.] May I trouble you to procure for me an Italian book recommended by Mr. Brezzi--Silvio Pellico's "Le mie Prigioni;" if not, "Storia d'Italia"? If they are cheap, I should like both. I shall have, I hope, a little trip with my father next week into Derbyshire, and this "lark" will probably be beneficial to me; so do not imagine I am inviting you to come and hear moaning, when you need all attainable relaxation. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 23d June, 1840.] Your letter greeted me last night on my arrival from Staffordshire. The prospectus of Mr. Henslow's work is as marvellous to my ignorant conceptions as the prophecies of the wonders of the steam-engine would have been to some British worthy in the days of Caractacus. I can only gape as he would probably have done. I hope Mr. H. has not imitated certain show-keepers, who give so exaggerated a representation of their giantess, on the outside, that the spectators have disappointment for their cash within. If I do not see you, how shall I send your "Don Quixote," which I hope soon to finish? I have been sadly interrupted by other books that have taken its scanty allowance of time, or I should have made better haste with it. Will you try to get me Spenser's "Faery Queen"? the cheapest edition, with a glossary, which is quite indispensable, together with a clear and correct type. I have had some treats on my little excursion, not the least of which was the gazing on some--albeit the smallest--of the "everlasting hills," and on those noblest children of the earth, fine, healthy trees, as independent in their beauty as virtue; set them where you will, they adorn, and need not adornment. Father indulged me with a sight of Ashborne Church, the finest mere parish church in the kingdom--in the _interior_; of Alton Gardens, where I saw actually what I have often seen mentally--the bread-fruit tree, the fan-palm, and the papyrus; and last, of Lichfield Cathedral, where, besides the exquisite architectural beauties, both external and internal, I saw Chantrey's famous monument of the Sleeping Children. There is a tasteless monument to the learned and brilliant female pedant of Lichfield, Miss Seward, with a poor epitaph by Sir Walter Scott. In the town we saw a large monument erected to Johnson's memory, showing his Titanic body, in a sitting posture, on the summit of a pedestal which is ornamented with bas-reliefs of three passages in his life: his penance in Uttoxeter Market, his chairing on the shoulders of his schoolmates, and his listening to the preaching of Sacheverel. The statue is opposite to the house in which Johnson was born--altogether inferior to that in St. Paul's, which shook me almost as much as a real glance from the literary monarch. I am ashamed to send you so many ill-clothed nothings. My excuse shall be a state of head that calls for four leeches before I can attack Mrs. Somerville's "Connection of the Physical Sciences." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, July, Monday morning, 1840.] I write with a very tremulous hand, as you will perceive; both this, and many other defects in my letter, are attributable to a very mighty cause--no other than the boiling of currant jelly! I have had much of this kind of occupation lately, and I grieve to say I have not gone through it so cheerfully as the character of a Christian who professes to do _all_, even the most trifling, duty, as the Lord demands. My mind is consequently run all wild, and bears nothing but _dog-roses_. I am truly obliged to you for getting me Spenser. How shall I send to you "Don Quixote," which I have quite finished? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 8th July, 1840.] I believe it is decided that father and I should leave Griff and take up our residence somewhere in the neighborhood of Coventry, if we can obtain a suitable house, and this is at present a matter of anxiety. So you see I am likely still to have a home where I can independently welcome you. I am really so plunged in an abyss of books, preserves, and sundry _important trivialities_, that I must send you this bare proof that I have not cast the remembrance of you to a dusty corner of my heart. Ever believe that "my heart is as thy heart," that you may rely on me as a second self, and that I shall, with my usual selfishness, lose no opportunity of gratifying my duplicate. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 12th Aug. 1840.] The Epistle to the Colossians is pre-eminently rich in the coloring with which it portrays the divine fulness contained in the Saviour, contrasted with the beggarly elements that a spirit of self-righteousness would, in some way, mingle with the light of life, the filthy rags it would tack round the "fine raiment" of his righteousness. I have been reading it in connection with a train of thought suggested by the reading of "Ancient Christianity and the Oxford Tracts," by Isaac Taylor, one of the most eloquent, acute, and pious of writers. Five numbers only have yet appeared. Have you seen them? If not, I should like to send you an abstract of his argument. I have gulped it (pardon my coarseness) in a most reptile-like fashion. I must _chew_ it thoroughly to facilitate its assimilation with my mental frame. When your pupils can relish Church history, I venture to recommend the chart lately published by Seeley & Burnside--far superior in conception to mine--as being more compendious, yet answering the purpose of presenting epochs as nuclei round which less important events instinctively cluster. Mrs. John Cash of Coventry, who was then Miss Mary Sibree, daughter of a Nonconformist minister there, and whose acquaintance Miss Evans made a year or two later in Coventry, writes in regard to this book of Isaac Taylor's: "In her first conversations with my father and mother, they were much interested in learning in what high estimation she held the writings of Isaac Taylor. My father _thought_ she was a little disappointed on hearing that he was a Dissenter. She particularly enjoyed his 'Saturday Evening,' and spoke in years after to me of his 'Physical Theory of Another Life,' as exciting thought and leading speculation further than he would have desired. When his 'Ancient Christianity' was published in numbers, Miss Evans took it in, and kindly forwarded the numbers to us. From the impression made on my own mind by unfavorable facts about 'The Fathers,' and from her own subsequent references to this work, I am inclined to think it had its influence in unsettling her views of Christianity." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 17th Sept. 1840.] I have thought of you as _the_ one who has ever shown herself so capable of consideration for my weakness and sympathy in my warm and easily fastened affections. My imagination is an enemy that must be cast down ere I can enjoy peace or exhibit uniformity of character. I know not which of its caprices I have most to dread--that which incites it to spread sackcloth "above, below, around," or that which makes it "cheat my eye with blear illusion, and beget strange dreams" of excellence and beauty in beings and things of only working-day price. The beautiful heavens that we have lately enjoyed awaken in me an indescribable sensation of exultation in existence, and aspiration after all that is suited to engage an immaterial nature. I have not read very many of Mr. B.'s poems, nor any with much attention. I simply declare my determination not to feed on the broth of literature when I can get strong soup--such, for instance, as Shelley's "Cloud," the five or six stanzas of which contain more poetic metal than is beat out in all Mr. B.'s pages. You must know I have had bestowed on me the very pretty cognomen of Clematis, which, in the floral language, means "mental beauty." I cannot find in my heart to refuse it, though, like many other appellations, it has rather the appearance of a satire than a compliment. _Addio!_ I will send your floral name in my next, when I have received my dictionary. My hand and mind are wearied with writing four pages of German and a letter of business. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 1st Oct. 1840.] My dear Veronica--which, being interpreted, is "fidelity in friendship"--Last week I was absent from home from Wednesday to Saturday, in quest of the "coy maiden," Pleasure--at least, nominally so, the real motive being rather to gratify another's feeling.[15] I heard the "Messiah" on Thursday morning at Birmingham, and some beautiful selections from other oratories of Handel and Haydn on Friday. With a stupid, drowsy sensation, produced by standing sentinel over damson cheese and a warm stove, I cannot do better than ask you to read, if accessible, Wordsworth's short poem on the "Power of Sound," with which I have just been delighted. I have made an alteration in my plans with Mr. Brezzi, and shall henceforward take Italian and German alternately, so that I shall not be liable to the consciousness of having imperative employment for every interstice of time. There seems a greater affinity between German and my mind than Italian, though less new to me, possesses. I am reading Schiller's "Maria Stuart," and Tasso. I was pleased with a little poem I learned a week or two ago in German; and, as I want you to like it, I have just put the idea it contains into English doggerel, which quite fails to represent the beautiful simplicity and nature of the original, but yet, I hope, will give you sufficiently its sense to screen the odiousness of the translation. _Eccola_: QUESTION AND ANSWER. "'Where blooms, O my father, a thornless rose?' 'That can I not tell thee, my child; Not one on the bosom of earth e'er grows But wounds whom its charms have beguiled.' "'Would I'd a rose on my bosom to lie, But I shrink from the piercing thorn: I long, but I dare not its point defy; I long, and I gaze forlorn.' "'Not so, O my child--round the stem again Thy resolute fingers entwine; Forego not the joy for its sister, pain-- Let the rose, the sweet rose, be thine.'" Would not a parcel reach you by railway? This is the first allusion to the new means of locomotion, which would, no doubt, be attracting much interest in the Griff household, as valuation was a large part of Mr. Evans's business. Long years after, George Eliot wrote: "Our midland plains have never lost their familiar expression and conservative spirit for me; yet at every other mile, since I first looked on them, some sign of world-wide change, some new direction of human labor, has wrought itself into what one may call the speech of the landscape.... There comes a crowd of burly navvies with pickaxes and barrows, and while hardly a wrinkle is made in the fading mother's face, or a new curve of health in the blooming girl's, the hills are cut through, or the breaches between them spanned, we choose our level, and the white steam-pennon flies along it." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 27th Oct. 1840.] My only reason for writing is to obtain a timely promise that you will spend your holidays chiefly with me, that we may once more meet among scenes which, now I am called on to leave them, I find to have _grown in_ to my affections. Carlyle says that to the artisans of Glasgow the world is not one of blue skies and a green carpet, but a world of copperas-fumes, low cellars, hard wages, "striking," and whiskey; and if the recollection of this picture did not remind me that gratitude should be my reservoir of feeling, that into which all that comes from above or around should be received as a source of fertilization for my soul, I should give a lachrymose parody of the said description, and tell you all-seriously what I now tell you playfully, that mine is too often a world such as Wilkie can so well paint, a walled-in world furnished with all the details which he remembers so accurately, and the least interesting part whereof is often what I suppose must be designated the intelligent; but I deny that it has even a comparative claim to the appellation, for give me a three-legged stool, and it will call up associations--moral, poetical, mathematical--if I do but ask it, while some human beings have the odious power of contaminating the very images that are enshrined as our soul's arcana. Their baleful touch has the same effect as would a uniformity in the rays of light--it turns all objects to pale lead-color. O how luxuriously joyous to have the wind of heaven blow on one after being _stived_ in a human atmosphere--to feel one's heart leap up after the pressure that Shakespeare so admirably describes: "When a man's wit is not seconded by the forward chick understanding, it strikes a man as dead as a large reckoning in a small room." But it is time I check this Byronic invective, and, in doing so, I am reminded of Corinne's, or rather Oswald's, reproof--"La vie est un _combat_ pas un _hymne_." We should aim to be like a plant in the chamber of sickness--dispensing purifying air even in a region that turns all pale its verdure, and cramps its instinctive propensity to expand. Society is a wide nursery of plants, where the hundreds decompose to nourish the future ten, after giving collateral benefits to their contemporaries destined for a fairer garden. An awful thought! one so heavy that if our souls could once sustain its whole weight, or, rather, if its whole weight were once to drop on them, they would break and burst their tenements. How long will this continue? The cry of the martyrs heard by St. John finds an echo in every heart that, like Solomon's, groans under "the outrage and oppression with which earth is filled." Events are now so momentous, and the elements of society in so chemically critical a state, that a drop seems enough to change its whole form. I am reading Harris's "Great Teacher," and am _innig bewegt_, as a German would say, by its stirring eloquence, which leaves you no time or strength for a cold estimate of the writer's strict merits. I wish I could read some extracts to you. Isaac Taylor's work is not yet complete. When it is so, I hope to reperuse it. Since I wrote to you I have had Aimé Martin's work, "L'Education des Mères," lent to me, and I have found it to be the real Greece whence "Woman's Mission" has only imported to us a few marbles--but! Martin is a _soi-disant_ rational Christian, if I mistake him not. I send you an epitaph which he mentions on a tomb in Paris--that of a mother: "Dors en paix, O ma mère, ton fils t'obeira toujours." I am reading eclectically Mrs. Hemans's poems, and venture to recommend to your perusal, if unknown to you, one of the longest ones--"The Forest Sanctuary." I can give it my pet adjective--exquisite. I have adopted as my motto, "_Certum pete finem_"--seek a sure end.[16] [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 5th Dec. 1840.] Come when you would best like to do so: if my heart beat at all at the time, it will be with a more rapid motion than the general, from the joy of seeing you. I cannot promise you more than calmness when that flush is past, for I am aweary, aweary--longing for rest, which seems to fly from my very anticipations. But this wrought-up sensitiveness which makes me shrink from all contact is, I know, not for communication or sympathy, and is, from that very character, a kind of trial best suited for me. Whatever tends to render us ill-contented with ourselves, and more earnest aspirants after perfect truth and goodness, is gold, though it come to us all molten and burning, and we know not our treasure until we have had long smarting. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 21st Dec. 1840.] It is impossible, to me at least, to be poetical in cold weather. I understand the Icelanders have much national poetry, but I guess it was written in the neighborhood of the boiling springs. I will promise to be as cheerful and as Christmas-like as my rickety body and chameleon-like spirits will allow. I am about to commence the making of mince-pies, with all the interesting sensations characterizing young enterprise or effort. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 27th Jan. 1841.] Happily, the moody, melancholy temperament has some counterbalancing advantages to those of the sanguine: it _does_ sometimes meet with results more favorable than it expected, and by its knack of imagining the pessimus, cheats the world of its power to disappoint. The very worm-like originator of this coil of sentiment is the fact that you write more cheerfully of yourself than I had been thinking of you, and that, _ergo_, I am pleased. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 11th Feb. 1841.] On Monday and Tuesday my father and I were occupied with the sale of furniture at our new house: it is probable that we shall migrate thither in a month. I shall be incessantly hurried until after our departure, but at present I have to be grateful for a smooth passage through contemplated difficulties. Sewing is my staple article of commerce with the hard trader, Time. Now the wind has veered to the south I hope to do much more, and that with greater zest than I have done for many months--I mean, of all kinds. I have been reading the three volumes of the "Life and Times of Louis the Fourteenth," and am as eagerly waiting for the fourth and last as any voracious novel-reader for Bulwer's last. I am afraid I am getting quite martial in my spirit, and, in the warmth of my sympathy for Turenne and Condé, losing my hatred of war. Such a conflict between _individual_ and _moral_ influence is no novelty. But certainly war, though the heaviest scourge with which the divine wrath against sin is manifested in Time, has been a necessary vent for impurities and a channel for tempestuous passions that must have otherwise made the whole earth, like the land of the devoted Canaanites, to vomit forth the inhabitants thereof. Awful as such a sentiment appears, it seems to me that in the present condition of man (and I do not mean this in the sense that Cowper does), such a purgation of the body politic is probably essential to its health. A foreign war would soon put an end to our national humors, that are growing to so alarming a head. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 8th Mch. 1841.] What do you think of the progress of architecture as a subject for poetry? I am just about to set out on a purchasing expedition to Coventry: you may therefore conceive that I am full of little plans and anxieties, and will understand why I should be brief. I hope by the close of next week that we and our effects shall be deposited at Foleshill, and until then and afterwards I shall be fully occupied, so that I am sure you will not expect to hear from me for the next six weeks. One little bit of unreasonableness you must grant me--the request for a letter from yourself within that time. _SUMMARY._ AUGUST 18, 1838, TO MARCH 8, 1841. Letters to Miss Lewis--First visit to London--Religious asceticism--Pascal--Hannah More's letters--Young's "Infidel Reclaimed"--Michaelmas visitors--"Life of Wilberforce"--Nineteenth birthday--Oratorio at Coventry--Religious objections to music--Letters to Mrs. Samuel Evans--Religious reflections--Besetting sin ambition--Letters to Miss Lewis--Objections to fiction-reading--Religious contentions on the nature of the visible Church--First poem--Account of books read and studies pursued--Wordsworth--Twentieth birthday--German begun--Plan of Chart of Ecclesiastical History--Religious controversies--Oxford Tracts--"Lyra Apostolica"--"Christian Year"--Chart of Ecclesiastical History forestalled--Italian begun--Trip to Derbyshire and Staffordshire--"Don Quixote"--Spenser's "Faery Queen"--Mrs. Somerville's "Connection of the Physical Sciences"--Dislike of housekeeping work--Removal to Coventry decided--"Ancient Christianity and the Oxford Tracts," by Isaac Taylor, and Mrs. John Cash's impression of its effect--Determination not to feed on the broth of literature--Visit to Birmingham to hear the "Messiah"--Reading Schiller's "Maria Stuart," and Tasso--Translation of German poem--Depression of surroundings at Griff--Reading Harris's "Great Teacher," Aimé Martin's "L'Education des Mères," and Mrs. Hemans's Poems--Selling furniture at new house--Sewing--Reading "Life and Times of Louis XIV."--Removal to Foleshill road, Coventry. FOOTNOTES: [9] Given to her as a school prize when she was fourteen. [10] "Mill on the Floss," chap. v. book vi. [11] Of ecclesiastical history. [12] The Squire of Coton. [13] When she would be thirteen years old. [14] Written probably in view of her brother's marriage. [15] Visit to Miss Rawlins, her brother's _fiancée_. [16] By a curious coincidence, when she became Mrs. Cross, this actually was her motto. CHAPTER II. New circumstances now created a change almost amounting to a revolution in Miss Evans's life. Mr. Isaac Evans, who had been associated for some time with his father in the land-agency business, married, and it was arranged that he should take over the establishment at Griff. This led to the removal in March, 1841, of Mr. Robert Evans and his daughter to a house on the Foleshill road, in the immediate neighborhood of Coventry. The house is still standing, although considerably altered--a semi-detached house with a good bit of garden round it, and from its upper windows a wide view over the surrounding country, the immediate foreground being unfortunately, however, disfigured by the presence of mills and chimneys. It is town life now instead of country life, and we feel the effects at once in the tone of the subsequent letters. The friendships now formed with Mr. and Mrs. Bray and Miss Sara Hennell particularly, and the being brought within reach of a small circle of cultivated people generally, render this change of residence an exceedingly important factor in George Eliot's development. It chanced that the new house was next door to Mrs. Pears', a sister of Mr. Bray, and as there had been some acquaintance in days gone by between him and the family at Griff, this close neighborhood led to an exchange of visits. The following extracts from letters to Miss Lewis show how the acquaintance ripened, and will give some indications of the first impressions of Coventry life: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, Saturday evening, April, 1841.] Last evening I mentioned you to my neighbor (Mrs. Pears), who is growing into the more precious character of a friend. I have seriously to be thankful for far better health than I have possessed, I think, for years, and I am imperatively called on to trade diligently with this same talent. I am likely to be more and more busy, if I succeed in a project that is just now occupying my thoughts and feelings. I seem to be tried in a contrary mode to that in which most of my dearest friends are being tutored--tried in the most dangerous way--by prosperity. Solomon says, "In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider." It seems to me that a transposition, _vice versâ_, of the admonitions would be equally salutary and just. Truly, as the prophet of Selwyn has told us, "Heaven is formidable in its favors." Not that a wise and grateful reception of blessings obliges us to stretch our faces to the length of one of Cromwell's Barebones; nor to shun that joyous, bird-like enjoyment of things (which, though perishable as to their actual existence, will be embalmed to eternity in the precious spices of gratitude) that is distinct from levity and voluptuousness. I am really crowded with engagements just now, and I have added one to the number of my correspondents. [Illustration: House in Foleshill Road, Coventry.] [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, April, 1841] The whole of last week was devoted to a bride's-maid's[17] duties, and each day of this has been partially occupied in paying or receiving visits. I have a calm in sea and sky that I doubt not will ere long be interrupted. This is not our rest, if we are among those for whom there remaineth one, and to pass through life without tribulation (or, as Jeremy Taylor beautifully says, with only such a measure of it as may be compared to an artificial discord in music, which nurses the ear for the returning harmony) would leave us destitute of one of the marks that invariably accompany salvation, and of that fellowship in the sufferings of the Redeemer which can alone work in us a resemblance to one of the most prominent parts of his divinely perfect character, and enable us to obey the injunction, "In patience possess your souls." I have often observed how, in secular things, active occupation in procuring the necessaries of life renders the character indifferent to trials not affecting that one object. There is an analogous influence produced in the Christian by a vigorous pursuit of duty, a determination to work while it is day. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 28th April, 1841.] One of the penalties women must pay for modern deference to their intellect is, I suppose, that they must give reasons for their conduct, after the fashion of men. The days are past for pleading a woman's reason. The truth is, that the hinderances to my writing have been like the little waves of the brooks that look so lovely just now--they have arisen one after another close to my side, but when I have looked back I have found the ripples too insignificant to be marked in the distance. My father's longer _séjours_ at home than formerly, and multiplied acquaintances and engagements, are really valid excuses for me hitherto, but I do not intend to need them in future; I hope to be a "snapper-up of unconsidered" moments. I have just been interrupted by a visit from a lass of fourteen, who has despoiled me of half an hour, and I am going out to dinner, so that I cannot follow the famous advice, "Hasten slowly." I suppose that you framed your note on the principle that a sharp and sudden sound is the most rousing, but there are _addenda_ about yourself that I want to know, though I dare not ask for them. I do not feel settled enough to write more at present. How is it that Erasmus could write volumes on volumes and multifarious letters besides, while I, whose labors hold about the same relation to his as an ant-hill to a pyramid or a drop of dew to the ocean, seem too busy to write a few? A most posing query! [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, Thursday morning, June, 1841.] I have of late felt a depression that has disordered the vision of my mind's eye and made me _alive_ to what is certainly a fact (though my imagination when I am in health is an adept at concealing it), that I am _alone_ in the world. I do not mean to be so sinful as to say that I have not friends _most_ undeservedly kind and tender, and disposed to form a far too favorable estimate of me, but I mean that I have no one who enters into my pleasures or my griefs, no one with whom I can pour out my soul, no one with the same yearnings, the same temptations, the same delights as myself. I merely mention this as the impression that obtrudes itself when my body tramples on its keeper--(a metaphor borrowed from a menagerie of wild beasts, if it should happen to puzzle you!)--mysterious "connection exquisite of distant worlds" that we present! A few drops of steel will perhaps make me laugh at the simple objects that, in gloom and mist, I conjure into stalking apparitions. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, at Margate, 31st July, 1841.] I am beginning to be interlaced with multiplying ties of duty and affection, that, while they render my new home happier, forbid me to leave it on a pleasure-seeking expedition. I think, indeed, that both my heart and limbs would leap to behold the great and wide sea--that old ocean on which man can leave no trace. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 3d Sept. 1841.] I have been revelling in Nichol's "Architecture of the Heavens and Phenomena of the Solar System," and have been in imagination winging my flight from system to system, from universe to universe, trying to conceive myself in such a position and with such a visual faculty as would enable me to enjoy what Young enumerates among the novelties of the "Stranger" man when he bursts the shell to "Behold an infinite of floating worlds Divide the crystal waves of ether pure In endless voyage without port." "Hospitable infinity!" Nichol beautifully says. How should I love to have a thorough-going student with me, that we might read together! We might each alternately employ the voice and the fingers, and thus achieve just twice as much as a poor solitary. I am more impressed than ever with a truth beautifully expressed in "Woman's Mission"--"Learning is only so far valuable as it serves to enlarge and enlighten the bounds of conscience." This I believe it eminently does when pursued humbly and piously, and from a belief that it is a solemn duty to cultivate every faculty of our nature so far as primary obligations allow. There is an exhortation of St. Paul's that I should love to take as my motto: "Finally, my brethren, whatsoever things are honest" (you know the continuation)--"if there be _any_ virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." I have had to lament lately that mine is not a _hard-working_ mind--it requires frequent rest. I am violently in love with the Italian fashion of repeating an adjective or adverb, and even noun, to give force to expression: there is so much more fire in it than in our circumlocutory phrases, our dull "verys" and "exceedinglys" and "extremelys." I strongly recommend Hallam to you. I shall read it again if I live. When a sort of haziness comes over the mind, making one feel weary of articulated or written signs of ideas, does not the notion of a less laborious mode of communication, of a perception approaching more nearly to intuition, seem attractive? Nathless, I love words: they are the quoits, the bows, the staves that furnish the gymnasium of the mind. Without them, in our present condition, our intellectual strength would have no implements. I have been rather humbled in thinking that if I were thrown on an uncivilized island, and had to form a literature for its inhabitants from my own mental stock, how very fragmentary would be the information with which I could furnish them! It would be a good mode of testing one's knowledge to set one's self the task of writing sketches of all subjects that have entered into one's studies entirely from the chronicles of memory. The prevalence of misery and want in this boasted nation of prosperity and glory is appalling, and really seems to call us away from mental luxury. O to be doing some little towards the regeneration of this groaning, travailing creation! I am supine and stupid--overfed with favors--while the haggard looks and piercing glance of want and conscious hopelessness are to be seen in the streets. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 1st Oct. 1841.] Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love--that makes life and nature harmonize. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew the ground, that one's very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 2d Nov. 1841.] I am going, I hope, to-day to effect a breach in the thick wall of indifference behind which the denizens of Coventry seem inclined to intrench themselves; but I fear I shall fail. This probably refers to the first visit paid by Miss Evans to Mr. and Mrs. Bray at their house. They had met in the previous May at Mrs. Pears'; but although they were at once mutually attracted, the acquaintance does not seem to have been immediately prosecuted further. Now, however, any time lost in the beginning was quickly made up, and it is astonishing how rapidly the most intimate relations were formed. Mr. Bray was a ribbon-manufacturer, well-to-do at that time, and had a charming house, Rosehill, with a beautiful lawn and garden, in the outskirts of Coventry. Only a part of his time was occupied with his business, and he had much leisure and opportunity, of which he availed himself, for liberal self-education and culture. His was a robust, self-reliant mind. Already, in 1839, he had published a work on the "Education of the Feelings," viewed from the phrenological standpoint; and in this year, 1841, appeared his most important book, "The Philosophy of Necessity." He always remained a sincere and complete believer in the science of phrenology. He had married Miss Caroline Hennell, sister of the Mr. Charles Hennell who published, in 1838, "An Inquiry Concerning the Origin of Christianity"--a remarkable book, which was translated into German, Strauss contributing a preface to the translation. It will be seen from subsequent letters how greatly Miss Evans was interested in this book--how much she admired it; and the reading of it, combined with the association with her new friends--with the philosophical speculations of Mr. Bray, and with Mrs. Bray's sympathy in her brother's critical and sceptical standpoint--no doubt hastened the change in her attitude towards the dogmas of the old religion. In the Analytical Catalogue of Mr. Chapman's publications, issued in 1852, there is an analysis of Hennell's "Inquiry," done by Miss Evans, which may be inserted here, as giving her idea of the book eleven years later. "The first edition of this work appeared in 1838, when the present strong current of public opinion in favor of free religious discussion had not yet set in; and it probably helped to generate the tone of thought exhibited in more recent works of the same class, to which circumstances have given a wider fame--works which, like the above, in considering questions of Biblical criticism and the philosophy of Christianity, combine high refinement, purity of aim, and candor, with the utmost freedom of investigation, and with a popularity of style which wins them the attention not only of the learned but of the practical. "The author opens his inquiry with an historical sketch, extending from the Babylonish Captivity to the end of the first century, the design of which is to show how, abstracting the idea of the miraculous, or any speciality of divine influence, the gradual development of certain elements in Jewish character, and the train of events in Jewish history, contributed to form a suitable _nidus_ for the production of a character and career like that of Jesus, and how the devoted enthusiasm generated by such a career in his immediate disciples, rendering it easier for them to modify their ideas of the Messiah than to renounce their belief in their Master's Messiahship--the accession of Gentile converts and the destruction of the last remnant of theocracy, necessitating a wider interpretation of Messianic hopes--the junction of Christian ideas with Alexandrian Platonism, and the decrepitude of polytheism, combined to associate the name of Jesus, his Messiahship, his death and his resurrection, with a great moral and religious revolution. This historical sketch, which is under the disadvantage of presenting, synthetically, ideas based on a subsequent analysis, is intended to meet the difficulty so often urged, and which might be held to nullify the value of a critical investigation, that Christianity is a fact for which, if the supposition of a miraculous origin be rejected, no adequate and probable causes can be assigned, and that thus, however defective may be the evidence of the New-Testament history, its acceptance is the least difficult alternative. "In the writer's view, the characteristics of the Essene sect, as traced by Josephus and Philo, justify the supposition that Jesus was educated in their school of philosophy; but with the elevated belief and purity of life which belonged to this sect he united the ardent patriotic ideas which had previously animated Judas of Galilee, who resisted the Roman authority on the ground that God was the only ruler and lord of the Jews. The profound consciousness of genius, a religious fervor which made the idea of the divine ever present to him, patriotic zeal, and a spirit of moral reform, together with a participation in the enthusiastic belief of his countrymen that the long-predicted exaltation of Israel was at hand, combined to produce in the mind of Jesus the gradual conviction that he was himself the Messiah, with whose reign that exaltation would commence. He began, as John the Baptist had already done, to announce 'the kingdom of heaven,' a phrase which, to the Jewish mind, represented the national glorification of Israel; and by his preaching, and the influence of his powerful personality, he won multitudes in Galilee to a participation in his belief that he was the expected Son of David. His public entrance into Jerusalem in the guise which tradition associated with the Messiah, when he sanctioned the homage of the multitude, was probably the climax of his confidence that a great demonstration of divine power, in concurrence with popular enthusiasm, would seat him triumphantly on the throne of David. No such result appearing, his views of the divine dispensation with respect to himself began to change, and he felt the presentiment that he must enter on his Messianic reign through the gates of suffering and death. Viewing Jesus as a pretender not only to spiritual but to political power, as one who really expected the subversion of the existing government to make way for his own kingship (though he probably relied on divine rather than on human means), he must necessarily have appeared in a dangerous light to those of his countrymen who were in authority, and who were anxious at any price to preserve public tranquillity in the presence of the Roman power, ready to visit with heavy vengeance any breach of order, and to deprive them of the last remnants of their independence; and hence the motives for his arrest and execution. To account for the belief of the disciples in the resurrection of their Master--a belief which appears to have been sincere--the author thinks it necessary to suppose a certain nucleus of fact, and this he finds in the disappearance of the body of Jesus, a point attested by all the four evangelists. The secret of this disappearance probably lay with Joseph of Arimathæa and Nicodemus, who were anxious to avoid implicating themselves with that fermentation of regretful enthusiasm to which a resort of the disciples to the grave might give rise. Animated by a belief in the resurrection, which, being more harmless in the eyes of the authorities than that in a living Messiah, they were permitted to preach with little molestation; the zeal of the disciples won many converts; a new impulse was given to their cause by the accession of Paul, who became the chief missionary of the new faith, as construed by himself, to the Gentiles; and the concurrence of the causes indicated above, modifying the early creed of the apostles, and blending it with trains of thought already prevalent, bore along Christianity in its conquest over the minds of men until it became the dominant religion of the Roman world. "Having sought to show, in this preliminary sketch, that a belief in miracles is not entailed on us by the fact of the early growth of Christianity, the author enters on the inquiry whether the claims of the evangelical writers on our credence are such as to sustain the miraculous part of their narratives. The answer is in the negative. He discusses, first, the date and credibility of each Gospel, and concludes that while Matthew has many marvellous stories, incongruous in themselves, and not only unsupported but contradicted by the other evangelists, he nevertheless presents the most comprehensible account of the career of Jesus; that in Mark, evidently more remote in time and circumstances, both from his events and from Jewish modes of thought, the idea conveyed of Jesus is much vaguer and less explicable; that in Luke there is a still further modification of his character, which has acquired a tinge of asceticism; while in John the style of his teaching is wholly changed, and instead of the graphic parable and the pithy apothegm, he utters long, mystical discourses in the style of the first epistle bearing the name of the same evangelist. Mr. Hennell, however, adheres to the conclusion that the substance of this Gospel came from the apostle John at an advanced age, when both the events of his early manhood and the scenes of his native land lay in the far distance. The writer then enters on a special examination of the Resurrection and Ascension, and the other miracles in the Gospels and the Acts, and inquires how far they are sustained by the apostolic Epistles. He examines the prophecies of the Old Testament supposed to have been fulfilled in Jesus, and also the predictions of Jesus himself concerning his death and resurrection; and, finally, he considers the character, views, and doctrine of Christ. According to him, an impartial study of the conduct and sayings of Jesus, as exhibited in the Gospels, produces the conviction that he was an enthusiast and a revolutionist, no less than a reformer and a moral and religious teacher. Passages are adduced from the Old Testament, and from the apocryphal and rabbinical writings, to show that there is scarcely anything absolutely original in the teaching of Jesus; but, in the opinion of the author, he manifests a freedom and individuality in the use of his materials, and a general superiority of tone and selection, which, united with the devotion of his life to what he held the highest purpose, mark him to be of an order of minds occurring but at rare intervals in the history of our race. "Shortly after the appearance of this work it was translated into German through the instrumentality of Dr. Strauss, who, in the preface he prefixed to it, says: 'Not sufficiently acquainted with German to read continuously a learned work in that language, the labors of our theologians were only accessible to him' (the author of the 'Inquiry') 'so far as they were written in Latin, or translated into English, or treated of in English writings or periodicals: especially he is unacquainted with what the Germans have effected in the criticism of the gospels since Schleiermacher's work on Luke, and even the earlier commentators he knows but imperfectly. Only so much the more remarkable is it, however, that both in the principles and in the main results of his investigation, he is on the very track which has been entered on among us in recent years.... That at certain periods, certain modes of thought lie as it were in the atmosphere, ... and come to light in the most remote places without perceptible media of communication, is shown, not only by the contents, but by the spirit, of Mr. Hennell's work. No further traces of the ridicule and scorn which characterize his countrymen of the deistical school; the subject is treated in the earnest and dignified tone of the truth-seeker, not with the rancor of a passionate polemic; we nowhere find him deriving religion from priestcraft, but from the tendencies and wants of human nature.... These elevated views, which the learned German of our day appropriates as the fruit of the religious and scientific advancement of his nation, this Englishman, to whom most of the means at our command were wanting, has been able to educe entirely from himself.... An Englishman, a merchant, a man of the world, he possesses, both by nature and by training, the practical insight, the sure tact, which lays hold on realities. The solution of problems over which the German flutters with many circuits of learned formulæ, our English author often succeeds in seizing at one spring.... To the learned he often presents things under a surprisingly new aspect; to the unlearned, invariably under that which is the most comprehensible and attractive.'" The reading of Mr. Hennell's book no doubt marks an epoch in George Eliot's development; but probably there had been a good deal of half-unconscious preparation beforehand (as indicated by Mrs. Cash's remarks on Isaac Taylor's work, in the last chapter), which was greatly stimulated now by the contact with new minds. The following extract from a letter to Miss Lewis, dated 13th November, 1841, accurately fixes the date of the first acknowledgment by herself that her opinions were undergoing so momentous a change. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 13th Nov. 1841.] My whole soul has been engrossed in the most interesting of all inquiries for the last few days, and to what result my thoughts may lead, I know not--possibly to one that will startle you; but my only desire is to know the truth, my only fear to cling to error. I venture to say our love will not decompose under the influence of separation, unless you excommunicate me for differing from you in opinion. Think--is there any _conceivable_ alteration in me that would prevent your coming to me at Christmas? I long to have a friend such as you are, I think I may say, alone to me, to unburden every thought and difficulty--for I am still a solitary, though near a city. But we have the universe to talk with, infinity in which to stretch the gaze of hope, and an all-bountiful, all-wise Creator in whom to confide--he who has given us the untold delights of which our reason, our emotion, our sensations, are the ever-springing sources. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 8th Dec. 1841.] What a pity that while mathematics are indubitable, immutable, and no one doubts the properties of a triangle or a circle, doctrines infinitely important to man are buried in a charnel-heap of bones over which nothing is heard but the barks and growls of contention! "Unto their assembly, mine honor, be not thou united." It was impossible for such a nature as Miss Evans's, in the enthusiasm of this first great change, to rest satisfied in compliance with the old forms, and she was so uneasy in an equivocal position that she determined to give up going to church. This was an unforgivable offence in the eyes of her father, who was a Churchman of the old school, and nearly led to a family rupture. He went so far as to put into an agent's hands the lease of the house in the Foleshill road, with the intention of going to live with his married daughter. Upon this, Miss Evans made up her mind to go into lodgings at Leamington, and to try to support herself by teaching. The first letter to Mrs. Bray refers to this incident: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Jan. 1842.] My guardian angel, Mrs. Pears, has just sent for me to hear your kind note, which has done my aching limbs a little good. I shall be most thankful for the opportunity of going to Leamington, and Mrs. Pears is willing to go too. There is but _one_ woe, that of leaving my dear father--all else, doleful lodgings, scanty meals, and _gazing-stockism_, are quite indifferent to me. Therefore do not fear for me when I am once settled in my home--wherever it may be--and freed from wretched suspense. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Pears, Friday evening, Feb. 1842.] Far from being weary of your dear little Henry, his matin visits are as cheering to me as those of any little bird "that comes in spite of sorrow, And at my window bids good-morrow." We have not, perhaps, been so systematic as a regular tutor and pupil would have been, but we crave indulgence for some laxity. I was really touched that you should think of _me_ while among friends more closely linked with you in every way. I was beginning to get used to the conviction that, ivy-like as I am by nature, I must (as we see ivy do sometimes) shoot out into an isolated tree. Never again imagine that you need ask forgiveness for speaking or writing to me on subjects to me more interesting than aught else; on the contrary, believe that I really enjoy conversation of this nature: blank silence and cold reserve are the only bitters I care for in my intercourse with you. I can rejoice in all the joys of humanity; in all that serves to elevate and purify feeling and action; nor will I quarrel with the million who, I am persuaded, are with me in intention, though our dialects differ. Of course, I must desire the ultimate downfall of error, for no error is innocuous; but this assuredly will occur without my proselytizing aid, and the best proof of a real love of the truth--that freshest stamp of divinity--is a calm confidence in its intrinsic power to secure its own high destiny, that of universal empire. Do not fear that I will become a stagnant pool by a self-sufficient determination only to listen to my own echo; to read the yea, yea, on my own side, and be most comfortably deaf to the nay, nay. Would that all rejected _practically_ this maxim! To _fear_ the examination of any proposition appears to me an intellectual and a moral palsy that will ever hinder the firm grasping of any substance whatever. For my part, I wish to be among the ranks of that glorious crusade that is seeking to set Truth's Holy Sepulchre free from a usurped domination. We shall then see her resurrection! Meanwhile, although I cannot rank among my principles of action a fear of vengeance eternal, gratitude for predestined salvation, or a revelation of future glories as a reward, I fully participate in the belief that the only heaven here, or hereafter, is to be found in conformity with the will of the Supreme; a continual aiming at the attainment of the perfect ideal, the true _logos_ that dwells in the bosom of the one Father. I hardly know whether I am ranting after the fashion of one of the Primitive Methodist prophetesses, with a cart for her rostrum, I am writing so fast. Good-bye, and blessings on you, as they will infallibly be on the children of peace and virtue. Again about the same date in 1842 she writes to Mrs. Bray: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Feb. 1842.] A heart full of love and gratitude to you for all your kindness in thought and act to me, undeserving. I dare say my manner belies my feelings: but friendship must live by faith and not by sight, and I shall be a great gainer by leaving you to interpret my mystic character without any other key than your own goodness. The last letter of the series to Miss Lewis also refers to the difficulties of the situation: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Lewis, 19th Feb. 1842.] I dare say you have added, subtracted, and divided suppositions until you think you have a sure product--viz., a good quantum, or, rather, a bad one, of indifference and forgetfulness, as the representation of my conduct towards you. If so, revise your arithmetic, for be it known to you that, having had my propensities, sentiments, and intellect gauged a second time, I am pronounced to possess a large organ of "adhesiveness," a still larger one of "firmness," and as large of "conscientiousness"--hence, if I should turn out a very weathercock and a most pitiful truckler, you will have data for the exercise of faith maugre common-sense, common justice, and the testimony of your eyes and ears. How do you go on for society, for communion of spirit, the drop of nectar in the cup of mortals? But why do I say the drop? The mind that feels its value will get large draughts from some source, if denied it in the most commonly chosen way. "'Mid the rich store of nature's gifts to man Each has his loves, close wedded to his soul By fine association's golden links. As the Great Spirit bids creation teem With conscious being and intelligence, So man, his miniature resemblance, gives To matter's every form a speaking soul, An emanation from his spirit's fount, The impress true of its peculiar seal. Here finds he thy best image, sympathy." Beautiful egoism, to quote one's own. But where is not this same ego? The martyr at the stake seeks its gratification as much as the court sycophant, the difference lying in the comparative dignity and beauty of the two egos. People absurdly talk of self-denial. Why, there is none in virtue, to a being of moral excellence: the greatest torture to such a soul would be to run counter to the dictates of conscience; to wallow in the slough of meanness, deception, revenge, or sensuality. This was Paul's idea in the first chapter of 2d Epistle to Timothy (I think that is the passage). I have had a weary week. At the beginning more than the usual amount of _cooled_ glances, and exhortations to the suppression of self-conceit. The former are so many hailstones that make me wrap more closely around me the mantle of determinate purpose: the latter are needful, and have a tendency to exercise forbearance, that well repays the temporary smart. The heart knoweth its own, whether bitterness or joy: let us, dearest, beware how we, _even with good intentions_, press a finger's weight on the already bruised. And about the same date she writes to Mrs. Bray: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, end of Feb. 1842.] I must relieve my conscience before I go to bed by entering a protest against every word or accent of discontent that I uttered this morning. If I have ever complained of any person or circumstance, I do penance by eating my own words. When my real self has regained its place, I can shake off my troubles "like dewdrops from the lion's mane," and then I feel the baseness of imputing my sorrows to others rather than to my own pitiful weakness. But I do not write for your forgiveness; that I know I have. I only want to satisfy my indignation against myself. The conclusion of the matter was that Mr. Evans withdrew his house from the agent's hands, and his daughter went to stay at Griff, with Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Evans, whence she writes the following letter to Mrs. Pears: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Pears, Thursday, Mch. 1842.] I have just been climbing up some favorite old hills, or rather hillocks, and if I could see you I should find myself in high preparation for one of my thorough chats. Oh, if I could transport myself to your dining-room, where I guess you and Mr. Pears are sitting in anticipation of tea--carrying on no "holy war," but at peace with the world and its opinions, or, if ever you do battle, in the happy ranks of the majority--I could kiss you into sublime liberality! How are you and your dear husband and children? It seems a week of years instead of days since you said to me your kind good-bye, and as I have tried your magnanimity quite long enough to be assured that you will not let me hear of you without a beseeching letter from me, I snatch half an hour from a too short day for the generous purpose of doubly qualifying myself, first, by pouring out the contents of my gossip-wallet, and then quietly awaiting the news I want to hear of you. I have here, in every way, abundant and unlooked-for blessings--delicacy and consideration from all whom I have seen; and I really begin to recant my old belief about the indifference of all the world towards me, for my acquaintances of this neighborhood seem to seek an opportunity of smiling on me in spite of my heresy. All these things, however, are but the fringe and ribbons of happiness. They are _ad_herent, not _in_herent; and, without any affectation, I feel myself to be acquiring what I must hold to be a precious possession, an independence of what is baptized by the world external good. There are externals (at least, they are such in common thought) that I could ill part with--the deep, blue, glorious heavens, bending as they do over all, presenting the same arch, emblem of a truer omnipresence, wherever we may be chased, and all the sweet, peace-breathing sights and sounds of this lovely earth. These, and the thoughts of the good and great, are an inexhaustible world of delight; and the felt desire to be one in will and design with the great mind that has laid open to us these treasures is the sun that warms and fructifies it. I am more and more impressed with the duty of _finding_ happiness. On a retrospection of the past month, I regret nothing so much as my own impetuosity both of feeling and judging. I am not inclined to be sanguine as to my dear father's future determination, and I sometimes have an intensely vivid consciousness, which I only allow to be a fleeting one, of all that is painful and that has been so. I can only learn that my father has commenced his alterations at Packington, but he only appears to be temporarily acquiescing in my brother's advice "not to be in a hurry." I do not intend to remain here longer than three weeks, or, at the very farthest, a month; and, if I am not then recalled, I shall write for definite directions. I must have a _home_, not a visiting-place. I wish you would learn something from my father, and send me word how he seems disposed. I hope you get long walks on these beautiful days. You would love to hear the choristers we have here; they are hymning away incessantly. Can you not drive over and see me? Do come by hook or by crook. Why, Mr. Pears could almost walk hither. I am becoming very hurried, for most welcome tea is in the vicinity, and I must be busy after I have imbibed its inspiration. You will write to me to-morrow, will you not? and pray insist on Mr. Pears writing an appendix. I had a note from Mrs. Bray this morning, and I liked it better than my breakfast. So do give me a little treat on Saturday. Blessings on you and yours, as all forlorn beggars have said from time immemorial to their benefactors; but real feeling, you know, will sometimes slip into a hackneyed guise. Miss Evans remained for about three weeks at Griff, at the end of which time, through the intervention of her brother, the Brays, and Miss Rebecca Franklin, the father was very glad to receive her again, and she resumed going to church as before. It will be seen from a subsequent noteworthy letter to Miss Sara Hennell, dated 19th October, 1843, that Miss Evans's views of the best course to be pursued under similar circumstances had already undergone considerable modifications, and in the last year of her life she told me that, although she did not think she had been to blame, few things had occasioned her more regret than this temporary collision with her father, which might, she thought, have been avoided with a little management. In July of this year (1842) Miss Sara Hennell--the gifted sister of Mrs. Bray--came to Rosehill, and completed the trio destined to exert the most important influence over the life of George Eliot. The individual characters of these three friends, and the relations each bore to their correspondent, will unfold themselves in the letters. It is only necessary here to say that the two ladies--Cara and Sara, as they are always addressed--now became like sisters to Miss Evans, and Mr. Bray her most intimate male friend, and the letters to them form an almost unbroken chain during all the remainder of George Eliot's life. To us Miss Sara Hennell is the most important correspondent, for it is to her that Miss Evans mainly turns now for intellectual sympathy; to Mrs. Bray when she is in pain or trouble, and wants affectionate companionship; with Mr. Bray she quarrels, and the humorous side of her nature is brought out. Every good story goes to him, with a certainty that it will be appreciated. With all three it is a beautiful and consistent friendship, running like a thread through the woof of the coming thirty-eight years. For the next twelve years, as will be seen, it is quite the most important thread; and although later it naturally became very much less important, it was never dropped except for a moment, in 1854, owing to a brief misunderstanding of letters, which will appear in its due place. The following letters to Miss Sara Hennell show what was passing from 30th August, 1842, to April, 1843: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 30th Aug. 1842.] How I have delighted in the thought that there are beings who are better than their promises, beyond the regions of waking and sleeping dreams. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday, Sept. 1842.] I have not yet accounted for my tardiness in writing, which, I assure you, is no representation of my usual habit, and has been occasioned only by a week's indisposition, the foster-parent to the ill-favored offspring of my character and circumstances, gloom and stolidity, and I could not write to you with such companions to my thought. I am anxious that you should not imagine me unhappy even in my most melancholy moods, for I hold all indulgence of sadness that has the slightest tincture of discontent to be a grave delinquency. I think there can be few who more truly feel than I that this is a world of bliss and beauty--that is, that bliss and beauty are the end, the tendency of creation; and evils are the shadows that are the only conditions of light in the picture, and I live in much, much enjoyment. I am beginning to enjoy the "Eneid," though, I suppose, much in the same way as the uninitiated enjoy wine, compared with the connoisseurs. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3d Nov. 1842.] I have been in high displeasure with myself, have thought my soul only fit for limbo, to keep company with other abortions, and my life the shallowest, muddiest, most unblessing stream. Having got my head above this slough of despond, I feel quite inclined to tell you how much pleasure your letter gave me. You observe in your note that some persons say the unsatisfied longing we feel in ourselves for something better than the greatest perfection to be found on earth is a proof that the true object of our desires lies beyond it. Assuredly, this earth is not the home of the spirit--it will rest only in the bosom of the Infinite. But the non-satisfaction of the affections and intellect being inseparable from the unspeakable advantage of such a mind as that of man in connection with his corporal condition and _terrene_ destiny, forms not at present an argument with me for the realization of particular desires. The next letter refers to Miss Mary Hennell's[18] last illness: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th Jan. 1843.] I cannot help wishing to tell you, now that you are in trouble and anxiety, how dear you are to me, and how the recollection of you is ever freshening in my mind. You have need of all your cheeriness and energy; and if they do not fail, I think it almost enviable, as far as one's self is concerned (not, of course, when the sufferer is remembered), to have the care of a sick-room, with its twilight and tiptoe stillness and helpful activity. I have always had a peculiarly peaceful feeling in such a scene. Again, after the death of Miss Mary Hennell, there is a letter to her sister Sara: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, April, 1843.] We always find that our stock of appreciated good can never be really diminished. When the chief desire of the eyes is taken, we can afford a gaze to hitherto unnoticed possessions; and even when the topmost boughs are lopped, a thousand shoots spring from below with the energy of new life. So it will be with you; but you cannot yet look beyond the present, nor is it desirable that you should. It would not be well for us to overleap one grade of joy or suffering: our life would lose its completeness and beauty. Rosehill not only afforded a pleasant variety in the Coventry life, as most visitors to the town, of any note, found their way there, but the Brays were also frequently in the habit of making little holiday excursions, in many of which Miss Evans now joined. Thus we find them in May, 1843, all going to Stratford and Malvern, together with Mr. Charles Hennell and Miss Sara Hennell, for a week; and again, in July of that year the same party, accompanied by Miss Brabant, daughter of Dr. Brabant of Devizes, went on a fortnight's tour, visiting Tenby, among other places. This trip is chiefly memorable from the fact that it was indirectly responsible for Miss Evans undertaking the translation of Strauss's "Leben Jesu." For Miss Brabant (to whom the translation had been confided by Mr. Joseph Parkes of Birmingham and a group of friends) became engaged to be married to Mr. Charles Hennell; and shortly after her marriage she handed the work over to Miss Evans. In the next two letters to Miss Sara Hennell there are allusions to the approaching marriage, which took place in London on 1st November, 1843, the Brays and Miss Evans being present. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Sept. 1843.] Many thanks for procuring me the hymns and anthems. I was right glad to play "Ancient of Ages" again, and I shall like still better to sing it with you when we meet. That that is to be so soon, and under circumstances so joyful, are among the _mirabilia_ of this changing world. To see and re-see such a cluster of not indifferent persons as the programme for the wedding gives, will be almost too large a _bonne-bouche_. I saw Robert Owen yesterday, Mr. and Mrs. Bray having kindly asked me to dine with him, and I think if his system prosper it will be in spite of its founder, and not because of his advocacy. The next letter to Mrs. Bray gives a pleasant glimpse of their studies together, and of the little musical society that was in the habit of meeting at Rosehill to play concerted pieces. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, no date, 1843.] I only wish you would change houses with the mayor, that I might get to you when I would. I send you the first part of "Wallenstein," with the proposition that we should study that in conjunction with the "Thirty Years' War," as I happen to have a loose copy. We had better omit the "Lager," and begin "Die Piccolomini." You shall have "Joan of Arc," my grand favorite, as a _bonne-bouche_ when you have got through "Wallenstein," which will amply repay you for any trouble in translating it, and is not more difficult than your reading ought to be now. I have skimmed Manzoni, who has suffered sadly in being poured out of silver into pewter. The chapter on Philosophy and Theology is worth reading. Miss Brabant sent me my "Hyperion" with a note, the other day. She had put no direction besides Coventry, and the parcel had consequently been sent to some other Miss Evans, and my choice little sentimental treasures, alas! exposed to vulgar gaze. Thank you for the manual, which I have had so long. I trust I did not bestow those scratches on the cover. I have been trying to find a French book that you were not likely to have read, but I do not think I have one, unless it be "Gil Blas," which you are perhaps too virtuous to have read, though how any one can opine it to have a vicious tendency I am at a loss to conjecture. They might as well say that to condemn a person to eat a whole plum-pudding would deprive him of all future relish for plain food. I have had a visitor ever since Saturday, and she will stay till Saturday again. I cannot desire that you should _un_ask Violin and Flute, unless a postponement would be in every way as agreeable to you and them. If you have them, you will give them much more pleasure as Piano than I, so do not think of me in the matter for a moment. Good-bye; and remember to treat your cold as if it were an orphan's cold, or a widow's cold, or any one's cold but your own. The following is the letter before referred to as containing an important and noteworthy declaration of opinion on the very interesting question of conformity: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th Oct. 1843.] The first thing I have to say to you is to entreat that you and Mrs. Hennell will not perplex yourselves for a moment about my accommodation during the night. I am so well now that a hearthrug would be as luxurious a couch as I should need, and I defy anything short of a kettledrum or my conscience to keep me awake after a long day. The subject of your conversation with Miss D---- is a very important one, and worth an essay. I will not now inflict one of mine on you, but I will tell you, as briefly as possible, my present opinion, which you know is contrary to the one I held in the first instance. I am inclined to think that such a change of sentiment is likely to happen to most persons whose views on religious matters undergo a change early in life. The first impulse of a young and ingenuous mind is to withhold the slightest sanction from all that contains even a mixture of supposed error. When the soul is just liberated from the wretched giant's bed of dogmas on which it has been racked and stretched ever since it began to think, there is a feeling of exultation and strong hope. We think we shall run well when we have the full use of our limbs and the bracing air of independence, and we believe that we shall soon obtain something positive, which will not only more than compensate us for what we have renounced, but will be so well worth offering to others that we may venture to proselytize as fast as our zeal for truth may prompt us. But a year or two of reflection, and the experience of our own miserable weakness, which will ill afford to part even with the crutch of superstition, must, I think, effect a change. Speculative truth begins to appear but a shadow of individual minds. Agreement between intellects seems unattainable, and we turn to the _truth of feeling_ as the only universal bond of union. We find that the intellectual errors which we once fancied were a mere incrustation have grown into the living body, and that we cannot, in the majority of cases, wrench them away without destroying vitality. We begin to find that with individuals, as with nations, the only safe revolution is one arising out of the wants which their own progress has generated. It is the quackery of infidelity to suppose that it has a nostrum for all mankind, and to say to all and singular, "Swallow my opinions and you shall be whole." If, then, we are debarred by such considerations from trying to reorganize opinions, are we to remain aloof from our fellow-creatures on occasions when we may fully sympathize with the feelings exercised, although our own have been melted into another mould? Ought we not on every opportunity to seek to have our feelings in harmony, though not in union, with those who are often richer in the fruits of faith, though not in reason, than ourselves? The results of nonconformity in a family are just an epitome of what happens on a larger scale in the world. An influential member chooses to omit an observance which, in the minds of all the rest, is associated with what is highest and most venerable. He cannot make his reasons intelligible, and so his conduct is regarded as a relaxation of the hold that moral ties had on him previously. The rest are infected with the disease they imagine in him. All the screws by which order was maintained are loosened, and in more than one case a person's happiness may be ruined by the confusion of ideas which took the form of principles. But, it may be said, how then are we to do anything towards the advancement of mankind? Are we to go on cherishing superstitions out of a fear that seems inconsistent with any faith in a Supreme Being? I think the best and the only way of fulfilling our mission is to sow good seed in good (_i.e._, prepared) ground, and not to root up tares where we must inevitably gather all the wheat with them. We cannot fight and struggle enough for freedom of inquiry, and we need not be idle in imparting all that is pure and lovely to children whose minds are unbespoken. Those who can write, let them do it as boldly as they like; and let no one hesitate at proper seasons to make a full _con_fession (far better than _pro_fession). St. Paul's reasoning about the conduct of the strong towards the weak, in the fourteenth and fifteenth chapters of Romans, is just in point. But I have not said half what I meant to say. There are so many aspects in which the subject might be presented that it is useless to attempt to exhaust it. I fear I have written very unintelligibly, for it is rather late, and I am so cold that my thoughts are almost frozen. After Miss Brabant's marriage to Mr. Charles Hennell, Miss Evans went to stay for a week or two with Dr. Brabant at Devizes, and some time about the beginning of January, 1844, the proposition was made for the transfer of the translation of Strauss from Mrs. Charles Hennell. At the end of April, 1844, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Sara Hennell that Miss Evans is "working away at Strauss six pages a day," and the next letter from Miss Evans refers to the beginning of the undertaking. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Sunday, May, 1844.] To begin with business, I send you on the other side the translations you wished (Strauss), but they are perhaps no improvements on what you had done. I shall be very glad to learn from you the particulars as to the mode of publication--who are the parties that will find the funds, and whether the manuscripts are to be put into the hands of any one when complete, or whether they are to go directly from me to the publishers? I was very foolish not to imagine about these things in the first instance, but ways and means are always afterthoughts with me. You will soon be settled and enjoying the blessed spring and summer time. I hope you are looking forward to it with as much delight as I. One has to spend so many years in learning how to be happy. I am just beginning to make some progress in the science, and I hope to disprove Young's theory that "as soon as we have found the key of life it opes the gates of death." Every year strips us of at least one vain expectation, and teaches us to reckon some solid good in its stead. I never will believe that our youngest days are our happiest. What a miserable augury for the progress of the race and the destination of the individual if the more matured and enlightened state is the less happy one! Childhood is only the beautiful and happy time in contemplation and retrospect: to the child it is full of deep sorrows, the meaning of which is unknown. Witness colic and whooping-cough and dread of ghosts, to say nothing of hell and Satan, and an offended Deity in the sky, who was angry when I wanted too much plumcake. Then the sorrows of older persons, which children see but cannot understand, are worse than all. All this to prove that we are happier than when we were seven years old, and that we shall be happier when we are forty than we are now, which I call a comfortable doctrine, and one worth trying to believe! I am sitting with father, who every now and then jerks off my attention to the history of Queen Elizabeth, which he is reading. On the 1st July, 1844, there was another little trip with the Brays to the Cumberland lakes, this time returning by Manchester and Liverpool; and on reaching home, about the beginning of August, there is the following letter: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday, Aug. 1844.] Can I have the remaining volumes of Strauss, excepting any part that you may choose to keep for your own use? If you could also send me such parts of the introduction and first section as you wish me to look over, I should like to despatch that business at intervals, when I am not inspired for more thorough labor. Thank you for the encouragement you sent me. I only need it when my head is weak and I am unable to do much. Then I sicken at the idea of having Strauss in my head and on my hands for a lustrum, instead of saying good-bye to him in a year. When I can work fast I am never weary, nor do I regret either that the work has been begun or that I have undertaken it. I am only inclined to vow that I will never translate again, if I live to correct the sheets for Strauss. My first page is 257. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 31st Oct. 1844.] Pray tell Mrs. C. Hennell that no apology was needed for the very good translation she has sent me. I shall be glad to avail myself of it to the last word, for I am thoroughly tired of my own garb for Strauss's thoughts. I hope the introduction, etc., will be ready by the end of November, when I hope to have put the last words to the first volume. I am awfully afraid of my own translation, and I want you to come and comfort me. I am relapsing into heathen darkness about everything but Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. "Heaven has sent leanness into my soul"--for reviling them, I suppose. This lovely autumn! Have you enjoyed its long shadows and fresh breezes? [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, end of 1844.] I do not think it was kind to Strauss (I knew he was handsome) to tell him that a young lady was translating his book. I am sure he must have some twinges of alarm to think he was dependent on that most contemptible specimen of the human being for his English reputation. By the way, I never said that the Canons of the Council of Nice, or the Confession of Augsburg, or even the Thirty-nine Articles, are suggestive of poetry. I imagine no _dogmas_ can be. But surely Christianity, with its Hebrew retrospect and millennial hopes, the heroism and divine sorrow of its founder, and all its glorious army of martyrs, might supply, and has supplied, a strong impulse not only to poetry, but to all the Fine Arts. Mr. Pears is coming home from Malvern to-night, and the children are coming to tea with me, so that I have to make haste with my afternoon matters. Beautiful little Susan has been blowing bubbles, and looking like an angel at sport. I am quite happy, only sometimes feeling "the weight of all this unintelligible world." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Sunday, beginning of 1845.] Your books are come for the school, and I have covered them--at least those that I think you will like for the children; two or three are quite for grown-up people. What an exquisite little thing that is of Harriet Martineau's--"The Crofton Boys"! I have had some delightful crying over it. There are two or three lines in it that would feed one's soul for a month. Hugh's mother says to him, speaking of people who have permanent sorrow, "They soon had a new and delicious pleasure, which none but the bitterly disappointed can feel--the pleasure of rousing their souls to bear pain, and of _agreeing with God silently_, when nobody knows what is in their hearts." I received "Sybil" yesterday quite safely. I am not utterly disgusted with D'Israeli. The man hath good veins, as Bacon would say, but there is not enough blood in them. The 17th April this year was an interesting day, as Miss Evans went with the Brays to Atherstone Hall, and met Harriet Martineau for the first time. It will be seen that in later years there was considerable intimacy between them. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th April, 1845.] If you think any of my future manuscript too untidy for the printer, only mark it to that effect, and I will rewrite it, for I do not mind that mechanical work; and my conscience is rather uneasy lest the illegibility of my hand should increase materially the expense of the publication. Do not be alarmed because I am not well just now: I shall be better very soon, and I am not really disgusted with Strauss. I only fancy so sometimes, as I do with all earthly things. In June Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell that Miss Evans "looks all the better of her London trip. I never saw her so blooming and buoyant;" but the two next letters show a relapse. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of June, (?) 1845.] Glad am I that some one can enjoy Strauss! The million certainly will not, and I have ceased to sit down to him with any relish. I should work much better if I had some proof-sheets coming in to assure me that my soul-stupefying labor is not in vain. I am more grateful to you than I can tell you for taking the trouble you do. If it had not been for your interest and encouragement I should have been almost in despair by this time. And again, a little later: I begin utterly to despair that Strauss will ever be published, unless I can imitate the Rev. Mr. Davis, and print it myself. At the very best, if we go on according to the rate of procedure hitherto, the book will not be published within the next two years. This seems dolorous enough to me, whose only real satisfaction just now is some hope that I am not sowing the wind. It is very laughable that I should be irritated about a thing in itself so trifling as a translation, but it is the very triviality of the thing that makes delays provoking. The difficulties that attend a really grand undertaking are to be borne, but things should run smoothly and fast when they are not important enough to demand the sacrifice of one's whole soul. The second volume is quite ready. The last few sections were written under anything but favorable circumstances. They are not Strauss's best thoughts, nor are they put into his translator's best language; but I have not courage to imitate Gibbon--put my work in the fire and begin again. In July, 1845, there seems to have arisen some difficulty in getting in the cash subscriptions for the publication. Mr. Charles Hennell and Mr. Joseph Parkes, however, exerted themselves in the matter, and £300 was collected, and the following letter shows the relief it was to Miss Evans: [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Hennell, Friday evening, July, 1845.] Thank you for sending me the good news so soon, and for sympathizing in my need of encouragement. I have all I want now, and shall go forward on buoyant wing. I am glad for the work's sake, glad for your sake, and glad for "the honorable gentleman's" sake, that matters have turned out so well. Pray think no more of my pens, ink, and paper. I would gladly give much more towards the work than these and my English, if I could do so consistently with duty. The book now got into the hands of the printers, as will be seen from the next letter: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Aug. 1845.] I have just been looking over some of the _revise_, and reading again your sweet letter to me from Hastings, and an impulse of gratitude and love will not let me rest without writing you a little note, though my hand has almost done its possible for the day under this intense heat. You do not guess how much pleasure it gives me to look over your pencillings, they prove so clearly that you have really entered into the meaning of every sentence, and it always gives one satisfaction to see the evidence of brain-work. I am quite indebted to you for your care, and I feel greatly the advantage of having a friend to undertake the office of critic. There is one word I must mention--Azazel is the word put in the original of the Old Testament for the scapegoat: now I imagine there is some dubiousness about the meaning, and that Strauss would not think it right to translate _scapegoat_, because, from the tenor of his sentence, he appears to include Azazel with the evil demons. I wonder if it be supposed by any one that Azazel is in any way a distinct being from the goat. I know no Hebrew scholar, and have access to no Hebrew lexicon. Have you asked Mr. Hennell about it? Your letter describes what I _have_ felt rather than what I feel. It seems as if my affections were quietly sinking down to temperate, and I every day seem more and more to value thought rather than feeling. I do not think this is man's best estate, but it is better than what I have sometimes known. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday evening, autumn of 1845.] I am not ashamed to confess that I should like to be idle with you for a little while, more than anything else I can think of just now. But, alas! leathery brain must work at leathery Strauss for a short time before my butterfly days come. O, how I shall spread my wings then! Anent the Greek, it would produce very dreadful cold perspirations indeed in me, if there were anything amounting to a serious error, but this, I trust, there will not be. You must really expect me, if not to sleep and snore _aliquando_, at least to nod in the course of some thousand pages. I should like you to be deliberate over the _Schluss Abhandlung_. It is the only part on which I have bestowed much pains, for the difficulty was _piquing_, not piquant. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, no date, 1845.] I am never pained when I think Strauss right; but in many cases I think him wrong, as every man must be in working out into detail an idea which has general truth, but is only one element in a perfect theory--not a perfect theory in itself. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 25th Sept. 1845.] I am delighted with the proof. The type and everything else are just what I wished. To see the first sheet is the next best thing to seeing the last, which I hope we shall all have done this time next year. There is a very misty vision of a trip to the Highlands haunting us in this quarter. The vision would be much pleasanter if Sara were one of the images in it. You would surely go if we went, and then the thing would be perfect. I long to see you, for you are becoming a sort of transfigured existence, a mere ideal to me, and I have nothing to tell me of your real flesh-and-blood self but sundry very useful little pencil-marks, and a scrap of Mrs. Bray's notes now and then. So, if you would have me bear in my memory your own self, and not some aerial creation that I call by your name, you must make your appearance. In October "the misty vision" took palpable shape, and the Brays, Miss Hennell, and Miss Evans had a delightful fortnight in Scotland, visiting Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, The Trossachs, Stirling, Edinburgh, Melrose, and Abbotsford. They were away from the 14th to the 28th, and on returning to Coventry Strauss was taken up again. Miss Hennell was reading the translation, and aiding with suggestions and corrections. The next letter to her seems to be dated in November. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Nov. 1845.] Please to tell Mr. Hennell that "habits of thought" is not a translation of the word _particularismus_. This does not mean national idiosyncrasy, but is a word which characterizes that idiosyncrasy. If he decidedly objects to particularism, ask him to be so good as substitute _exclusiveness_, though there is a shade of meaning in _particularismus_ which even that does not express. It was because the word could only be translated by a circumlocution that I ventured to Anglicize it. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Tuesday morning, Dec. (?) 1845.] I have been idle, and have not done a stroke to the prefaces, but they shall be sent as soon as possible. Thanks for the copy of the Latin preface and letter. They are in preconceived harmony with my ideas of the appropriate. I will leave the titlepage to you and Mr. Hennell. Thanks for the news in your last _extra Blatt_. I am glad to find that the theological organs are beginning to deal with philosophy, but I can hardly imagine your writer to be a friend with a false cognizance on his shield. These dear orthodox people talk so simply sometimes that one cannot help fancying them satirists of their own doctrines and fears, though they mean manfully to fight against the enemy. I should like if possible to throw the emphasis on _critically_ in the titlepage. Strauss means it to be so: and yet I do not know how we can put anything better than what you say. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Dec. 1845.] I send you to-day the conclusion of the chapter you are reading, and, unless you find anything of importance to be rectified, you need not return this to me, but may forward the whole to the printer as soon as you have read it. I am not altogether satisfied with the use of the word sacrament as applied specifically to the _Abendmahl_. It seems like a vulgarism to say _the_ sacrament for one thing, and for another it does not seem _ab_original enough in the life of Jesus; but I know of no other word that can be substituted. I have altered passover to paschal meal, but [Greek: tho pascha] is used in the New Testament of the eating of the lamb _par excellence_. You remember, in the title of the first section in the _Schluss_--which I had been so careless as to omit--the expression is "Nothwendiger Uebergang der Kritik in das Dogma." Now, dogmatism will not do, as that would represent _Dogmatismus_. "Dogmatik" is the idea, I believe--_i.e._, positive theology. Is it allowable to say _dogmatics_, think you? I do not understand how the want of manuscript can be so pressing, as I have only had one proof for the last fortnight. It seems quite dispiriting to me now not to see the proofs regularly. I have had a miserable week of headache, but am better now, and ready for work, to which I must go. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Jan. 1846.] I do pity you, with the drunken Christmas workmen keeping you in this uncomfortable interregnum. But do not go distraught; the spring will really come and the birds--many having had to fly across the Atlantic, which is farther than you have to go to establish yourself. I could easily give the meaning of the Hebrew word in question, as I know where to borrow a lexicon. But observe, there are two Hebrew words untranslated in this proof. I do not think it will do to give the English in one place and not in another, where there is no reason for such a distinction, and there is not here, for the note in this proof sounds just as fee-fo-fum-ish as the other without any translation. I could not alter the "troublesome," because it is the nearest usable adjective for _schwierig_, which stands in the German. I am tired of inevitable _importants_, and cannot bear to put them when they do not represent the German. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Jan. 1846.] I have been sadly occupied for the last ten days. My father has been ill, and has required much attention, and my own head was very middling for some days, so that I send you but a poor cargo of new manuscript. Indeed, on looking through the last quire of paper this morning for the purpose of putting in the Greek, it seemed all very poor to me, but the subject is by no means inspiring, and no muse would condescend to visit such an uncertain votary as I have been for the last week or so. How is it that I have only had one proof this week? You know we are five hundred pages in advance of the printer, so you need not be dreadfully alarmed. I have been so pleased to hear some of your letters read to me, but, alas! I can reflect no pleasure at this moment, for I have a woful pain and am in a desperate hurry. On 14th February, 1846, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Sara Hennell that Miss Evans "says she is Strauss-sick--it makes her ill dissecting the beautiful story of the Crucifixion, and only the sight of the Christ-image[19] and picture make her endure it. Moreover, as her work advances nearer its public appearance, she grows dreadfully nervous. Poor thing, I do pity her sometimes, with her pale, sickly face and dreadful headaches, and anxiety, too, about her father. This illness of his has tried her so much, for all the time she had for rest and fresh air she had to read to him. Nevertheless, she looks very happy and satisfied sometimes in her work." And about the end of February there is the following letter from Miss Evans: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Feb. 1846.] Health and greeting, my Achates, in this veritable spring month. I shall send you a parcel on Monday with sixty-four new pages of German for your intellectual man. The next parcel, which will be the LAST, I shall send on the Monday following, and when you have read to the end, you may, if you think it desirable, send the whole to me. Your dull ass does not mend his pace for beating; but he _does_ mend it when he finds out that he is near his journey's end, and makes you wonder how he could pretend to find all the previous drawing so hard for him. I plead guilty to having set off in a regular scamper: but be lenient and do not scold me if you find all sorts of carelessnesses in these last hundred pages. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Feb. 1846.] I have been guilty of the most unpardonable piece of carelessness, for which I am stretched on a rack of anxiety and mortification. In the proof that came on Thursday I unwittingly drew out a quarter sheet with the blotting-paper, and did not discover the mistake until Saturday morning, when about to correct the last proof. Surely the printer would discover the absence of the four pages and wait for them--otherwise I would rather have lost one of my fingers, or all the hair from my head, than have committed such a _faux pas_. For there were three very awkward blunders to be corrected. All this vexation makes a cold and headache doubly intolerable, and I am in a most purgatorial state on this "good Sunday." I shall send the proofs, with the unfortunate quarter sheet and an explanation, to-night to Mr. Chapman, and prithee do thou inquire and see that the right thing is done. The tears are streaming from my smarting eyes--so farewell. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Mch. 1846.] I wish we could get the book out in May--why not? I suppose the binding could not be all got through--the printing and writing I should think might be managed in time. Shouldn't I like to fleet the time away with thee as they did in the Golden Age--after all our toils to lie reclined on the hills (spiritually), like gods together, careless of mankind. Sooth to speak, idleness, and idleness with thee, is just the most tempting mirage you could raise before my mind's eye--I say mirage, because I am determined from henceforth to believe in no substantiality for future time, but to live in and love the present--of which I have done too little. Still, the thought of being with you in your own home will attract me to that future; for without all controversy I love thee and miss thee. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Mch. 1846.] My soul kisses thee, dear Sara, in gratitude for those dewy thoughts of thine in this morning's note. My poor adust soul wants such refreshment. Continue to do me good--hoping for nothing again. I have had my sister with me all day--an interruption, alas! I cannot write more, but I should not be happy to let the day pass without saying one word to thee. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Mch. 1846.] The last hundred pages have certainly been totally uninteresting to me, considered as matter for translation. Strauss has inevitably anticipated in the earlier part of his work all the principles and many of the details of his criticism, and he seems fagged himself. _Mais courage!_ the neck of the difficulty is broken, and there is really very little to be done now. If one's head would but keep in anything like thinking and writing order! Mine has robbed me of half the last fortnight; but I am a little better now, and am saying to myself _Frisch zu!_ The Crucifixion and the Resurrection are, at all events, better than the bursting asunder of Judas. I am afraid I have not made this dull part of Strauss even as tolerable as it might be, for both body and mind have recoiled from it. Thank you, dearest, for all your love and patience for me and with me. I have nothing on earth to complain of but subjective maladies. Father is pretty well, and I have not a single excuse for discontent through the livelong day. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Mch. 1846.] As I believe that even your kindness cannot overcome your sincerity, I will cast aside my fear that your wish to see me in your own home is rather a plan for my enjoyment than for yours. I believe it would be an unmixed pleasure to me to be your visitor, and one that I would choose among a whole bouquet of agreeable possibilities; so I will indulge myself, and accept the good that the heavens and you offer me. I am miserably in want of you to stir up my soul and make it shake its wings, and begin some kind of flight after something good and noble, for I am in a grovelling, slothful condition, and you are the _only_ friend I possess who has an animating influence over me. I have written to Mr. Hennell anent the titlepage, and have voted for _critically examined_, from an entire conviction of its preferableness. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, beginning of April, 1846.] See what it is to have a person _en rapport_ with you, that knows all your thoughts without the trouble of communication! I am especially grateful to you for restoring the "therefore" to its right place. I was about to write to you to get you to remonstrate about this and the "dispassionate calmness," which I did not at all like; but I thought you had corrected the prefaces, as the marks against the Latin looked like yours, so I determined to indulge my _laissez-faire_ inclinations, for I hate stickling and debating unless it be for something really important. I do really like reading our Strauss--he is so _klar und ideenvoll_; but I do not know _one_ person who is likely to read the book through--do you? Next week we will be merry and sad, wise and nonsensical, devout and wicked, together. On 19th April, 1846, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell that Miss Evans is "as happy as you may imagine at her work being done. She means to come and read Shakespeare through to us as her first enjoyment." And again, on 27th April, that she "is delighted beyond measure with Strauss's elegant preface. It is just what she likes. And what a nice letter too! The Latin is quite beyond me, but the letter shows how neatly he can express himself." _SUMMARY._ MARCH, 1841, TO APRIL, 1846. Foleshill--New friends--Mrs. Pears--Coventry life and engagements--Letters to Miss Lewis--Brother's marriage--Mental depression--Reading Nichol's "Architecture of the Heavens and Phenomena of the Solar System"--Makes acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Bray--Reads Charles Hennell's book, "An Inquiry Concerning the Origin of Christianity"--Effect of this book--Gives up going to church--Family difficulties--Letters to Mrs. Pears--Visit to Griff--Returns to Foleshill and resumes going to church--Acquaintance with Miss Sara Hennell, and development of friendship with her and Mr. and Mrs. Bray--Letters to Miss Sara Hennell describing mental characteristics--Attitude towards immortality--Death of Miss Mary Hennell--Excursion with the Brays, Mr. Charles Hennell, and Miss Hennell to Stratford and Malvern, and to Tenby with same party and Miss Brabant--Meets Robert Owen--Studies German and music with Mrs. Bray--Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, with important declaration of opinion in regard to conformity--Mr. Charles Hennell's marriage--Stay with Dr. Brabant at Devizes--Arrangement for translation of Strauss's "Leben Jesu"--Excursion with Brays to the Cumberland lakes, returning by Manchester and Liverpool--Weary of Strauss--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Poetry of Christianity--Admiration of Harriet Martineau's "The Crofton Boys"--Trip to London--Despair about publication of Strauss--Subscription of £300 for the work--In better heart--Minutiæ of Strauss translation--Pains taken with the _Schluss Abhandlung_--Opinion of Strauss's work--The book in print--Trip to the Highlands--Strauss difficulties--Miss Hennell reads the translation and makes suggestions--Suffering from headaches and "Strauss-sick"--The last MS. of the translation sent to Miss Hennell--Joy at finishing--Delighted with Strauss's Preface. FOOTNOTES: [17] Brother's marriage. [18] Miss Mary Hennell was the author of "An Outline of the Various Social Systems founded on the Principle of Co-operation," published in 1841. [19] This was an ivory image she had of the Crucified Christ over the desk in her study at Foleshill, where she did all her work at that time--a little room on the first floor, with a charming view over the country. CHAPTER III. The completion of the translation of Strauss is another milestone passed in the life journey of George Eliot, and the comparatively buoyant tone of the letters immediately following makes us feel that the galled neck is out of the yoke for a time. In May, Mrs. Bray had gone away from home for a visit, and the next letter is addressed to her. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Sunday (probably about 6th May), 1846.] Do not stay any longer than is necessary to do you good, lest I should lose the pleasure of loving you, for my affections are always the warmest when my friends are within an attainable distance. I think I can manage to keep respectably warm towards you for three weeks without seeing you, but I cannot promise more. Tell Mr. Bray I am getting too amiable for this world, and Mr. Donovan's wizard hand would detect a slight corrugation of the skin on my organs 5 and 6;[20] they are so totally without exercise. I had a lecture from Mr. Pears on Friday, as well as a sermon this morning, so you need be in no alarm for my moral health. Do you never think of those Caribs who, by dint of flattening their foreheads, can manage to see perpendicularly above them without so much as lifting their heads? There are some good people who remind me of them. They see everything so clearly and with so little trouble, but at the price of sad self-mutilation. On the 26th May Miss Evans went to pay a visit to Mrs. and Miss Hennell at Hackney, and she writes from there to Mrs. Bray, who was expected to join them in London. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, end of May, 1846.] I cannot deny that I am very happy without you, but perhaps I shall be happier with you, so do not fail to try the experiment. We have been to town only once, and are saving all our strength to "rake" with you; but we are as ignorant as Primitive Methodists about any of the amusements that are going. Please to come in a very mischievous, unconscientious, theatre-loving humor. Everybody I see is very kind to me, and therefore I think them all very charming; and, having everything I want, I feel very humble and self-denying. It is only rather too great a bore to have to write to my friends when I am half asleep, and I have not yet reached that pitch of amiability that makes such magnanimity easy. Don't bring us any bad news or any pains, but only nods and becks and wreathèd smiles. They stayed in London till the 5th June, and on the 15th of that month the translation of Strauss was published. On the 2d July Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell that Miss Evans "is going to Dover with her father, for a fortnight." In passing through Dover on our way to the Continent, in 1880, after our marriage, we visited the house they stayed at in 1846, and my wife then told me that she had suffered a great deal there, as her father's health began to show signs of breaking up. On returning to Coventry there is the following letter referring to Wicksteed's review of the translation of Strauss, which was advertised for the forthcoming number of the _Prospective Review_. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Thursday, Aug. (?) 1846.] Do you think it worth my while to buy the _Prospective_ for the sake of Wicksteed's review--is there anything new in it? Do you know if Mr. Chapman has any unusual facilities for obtaining cheap classics? Such things are to be got handsome and second-hand in London--if one knew but the way. I want to complete Xenophon's works. I have the "Anabasis," and I might, perhaps, get a nice edition of the "Memorabilia" and "Cyropædia" in a cheaper way than by ordering them directly from our own bookseller. I have been reading the "Fawn of Sertorius."[21] I think you would like it, though the many would not. It is pure, chaste, and classic, beyond any attempt at fiction I ever read. If it be Bulwer's, he has been undergoing a gradual transfiguration, and is now ready to be exalted into the assembly of the saints. The professor's (Strauss's) letter, transmitted through you, gave me infinite consolation, more especially the apt and pregnant quotation from Berosus. Precious those little hidden lakelets of knowledge in the high mountains, far removed from the vulgar eye, only visited by the soaring birds of love. On 25th September, 1846, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell that Miss Evans "looks very brilliant just now. We fancy she must be writing her novel;" and then come the following letters, written in October and November: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Oct. 1846.] All the world is bathed in glory and beauty to me now, and thou sharest in the radiance. Tell me whether I live for you as you do for me, and tell me how gods and men are treating you. You must send me a scrap every month--only a scrap with a dozen words in it, just to prevent me from starving on faith alone--of which you know I have the minimum of endowment. I am sinning against my daddy by yielding to the strong impulse I felt to write to you, for he looks at me as if he wanted me to read to him. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th Oct. 1846.] I do not know whether I can get up any steam again on the subject of Quinet; but I will try--when Cara comes back, however, for she has run away with "Christianity" into Devonshire, and I must have the book as a springing-board. When does the _Prospective_ come out? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Nov. 1846.] The review of Strauss contains some very just remarks, though, on the whole, I think it shallow, and in many cases unfair. The praise it gives to the translation is just what I should have wished; indeed, I cannot imagine anything more gratifying in the way of laudation. Is it not droll that Wicksteed should have chosen one of my interpolations, or rather paraphrases, to dilate on. The expression "granite," applied to the sayings of Jesus, is nowhere used by Strauss, but is an impudent addition of mine to eke out his metaphor. Did you notice the review of Foster's Life?[22] I am reading the Life, and thinking all the time how you would like it. It is deeply interesting to study the life of a genius under circumstances amid which genius is so seldom to be found. Some of the thoughts in his journal are perfect gems. The words of the reviewer of the Strauss translation in the _Prospective_ are worth preserving: "A faithful, elegant, and scholarlike translation. Whoever reads these volumes without any reference to the German must be pleased with the easy, perspicuous, idiomatic, and harmonious force of the English style. But he will be still more satisfied when, on turning to the original, he finds that the rendering is word for word, thought for thought, and sentence for sentence. In preparing so beautiful a rendering as the present, the difficulties can have been neither few nor small in the way of preserving, in various parts of the work, the exactness of the translation, combined with that uniform harmony and clearness of style which imparts to the volumes before us the air and spirit of an original. Though the translator never obtrudes himself upon the reader with any notes or comments of his own, yet he is evidently a man who has a familiar knowledge of the whole subject; and if the work be the joint production of several hands, moving in concert, the passages of a specially scholastic character, at least, have received their version from a discerning and well-informed theologian. Indeed, Strauss may well say, as he does in the notice which he writes for the English edition, that, as far as he has examined it, the translation is 'et accurata et perspicua.'" [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Nov. 1846.] Many things, both outward and inward, have concurred to make this November far happier than the last. One's thoughts "Are widened with the process of the suns;" and if one is rather doubtful whether one is really wiser or better, it is some comfort to know that the desire to be so is more pure and dominant. I have been thinking of that most beautiful passage in Luke's Gospel--the appearance of Jesus to the disciples at Emmaus. How universal in its significance! The soul that has hopelessly followed its Jesus--its impersonation of the highest and best--all in despondency; its thoughts all refuted, its dreams all dissipated. Then comes another Jesus--another, but the same--the same highest and best, only chastened--crucified instead of triumphant--and the soul learns that this is the true way to conquest and glory. And then there is the burning of the heart, which assures that "this was the Lord!"--that this is the inspiration from above, the true comforter that leads unto truth. But I am not become a Methodist, dear Sara; on the contrary, if I am pious one day, you may be sure I was very wicked the day before, and shall be so again the next. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Dec. 1846.] I have been at Griff for the last week, or I should have written before. I thank you most heartily for sending me "Heliados"--first, because I admire it greatly in itself; and, secondly, because it is a pretty proof that I am not dissociated from your most hallowed thoughts. As yet I have read it only once, but I promise myself to read it again and again. I shall not show it to any one, for I hate "friendly criticism," as much for you as for myself; but you have a better spirit than I, and when you come I will render "Heliados" up to you, that others may have the pleasure of reading it. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Feb. 1847.] Lying in bed this morning, grievously tormented, your "Heliados" visited me and revealed itself to me more completely than it had ever done before. How true that "it is only when all portions of an individual nature, or all members of society, move forward harmoniously together that religious progress is calm and beneficial!" I imagine the sorrowful amaze of a child who had been dwelling with delight on the idea that the stars were the pavement of heaven's court, and that there above them sat the kind but holy God, looking like a venerable Father who would smile on his good little ones--when it was cruelly told, before its mind had substance enough to bear such tension, that the sky was not real, that the stars were worlds, and that even the sun could not be God's dwelling, because there were many, many suns. These ideas would introduce atheism into the child's mind, instead of assisting it to form a nobler conception of God (of course I am supposing the bare information given, and left to the child to work upon); whereas the idea it previously had of God was perfectly adapted to its intellectual condition, and formed to the child as perfect an embodiment of the all-good, all-wise, and all-powerful as the most enlightened philosopher ever formed to himself. On 21st April Miss Evans went to London with the Brays, and, among other things, heard "Elijah" at Exeter Hall. On returning to Coventry she writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 30th April, 1847.] I did so long to see you after hearing "Elijah," just to exchange an exclamation of delight. Last night I had a perfect treat, too, in "I Puritani." Castellar was admirable as Elvira, and Gardoni as a seraph. N.B.--I liked the Babel less--another sign of age. Mention has already been made of Miss Mary Sibree (now Mrs. John Cash of Coventry), and as the following genial letter is addressed to her, it gives an opportunity for mentioning here that Miss Evans had a high regard for all the members of the Sibree family. At the end of this year (1847) and the beginning of 1848 there will be found an interesting correspondence with Miss Sibree's brother, Mr. John Sibree, who, in 1849, published a translation of Hegel's "Lectures on the Philosophy of History," and in 1880 a volume of poems entitled "Fancy, and other Rhymes." The subjoined extract from a communication from Mrs. Cash will show upon what terms Miss Evans was with the family: "It was in the early part of the year 1841 that Miss Franklin came to see my mother at our house on the Foleshill road--about a mile and a half from Coventry--to tell her, as a piece of most interesting news, that an old pupil, of whom she herself and her sister Rebecca had always been very proud, was coming at the Lady-Day quarter to live at a house on the same road--within five minutes' walk of ours. This was Miss Evans, then twenty-one years of age. Miss Franklin dwelt with much pride on Miss Evans's mental power, on her skill in music, etc.; but the great recommendation to my mother's interest was the zeal for others which had marked her earnest piety at school, where she had induced the girls to come together for prayer, and which had led her to visit the poor most diligently in the cottages round her own home. Many years after, an old nurse of mine told me that these poor people had said, after her removal, 'We shall never have another Mary Ann Evans.' "My mother was asked to second and help her in work of this kind. 'She will be sure to get something up very soon,' was the last remark I can recall; and on her first visit to us I well remember she told us of a club for clothing, set going by herself and her neighbor Mrs. Pears, in a district to which she said 'the euphonious name of the Pudding-Pits had been given.' It was not until the winter of 1841, or early in 1842, that my mother first received (not from Miss Evans's own lips, but through a mutual friend) the information that a total change had taken place in this gifted woman's mind with respect to the evangelical religion, which she had evidently believed in up to the time of her coming to Coventry, and for which, she once told me, she had at one time sacrificed the cultivation of her intellect, and a proper regard to personal appearance. 'I used,' she said, 'to go about like an owl, to the great disgust of my brother; and I would have denied him what I now see to have been quite lawful amusements.' My mother's grief, on hearing of this change in one whom she had begun to love, was very great; but she thought argument and expostulation might do much, and I well remember a long evening devoted to it, but no more of the subject-matter than her indignant refusal to blame the Jews for not seeing in a merely spiritual Deliverer a fulfilment of promises of a temporal one; and a still more emphatic protest against my father's assertion that we had no claim on God. To Miss Evans's affectionate and pathetic speech to my mother, 'Now, Mrs. Sibree, you won't care to have anything more to do with me,' my mother rejoined, 'On the contrary, I shall feel more interested in you than ever.' But it was very evident at this time that she stood in no _need_ of sympathizing friends; that the desire for congenial society, as well as for books and larger opportunities for culture, which had led her most eagerly to seek a removal from Griff to a home near Coventry, had been met beyond her highest expectations. In Mr. and Mrs. Bray, and in the Hennell family, she had found friends who called forth her interest and stimulated her powers in no common degree. This was traceable even in externals--in the changed tone of voice and manner--from formality to a geniality which opened my heart to her, and made the next five years the most important epoch in my life. She gave me (as yet in my teens) weekly lessons in German, speaking freely on all subjects, but with no attempt to directly unsettle my evangelical beliefs, confining herself in these matters to a steady protest against the claim of the Evangelicals to an exclusive possession of higher motives to morality--or even to religion. Speaking to my mother of her dearest friend, Mrs. Bray, she said, 'She is the most religious person I know.' Of Mr. Charles Hennell, in whose writings she had great interest, she said, 'He is a perfect model of manly excellence.' "On one occasion, at Mr. Bray's house at Rosehill, roused by a remark of his on the beneficial influence exercised by evangelical beliefs on the moral feelings, she said energetically, 'I say it now, and I say it once for all, that I am influenced in my own conduct at the present time by far higher considerations, and by a nobler idea of duty, than I ever was while I held the evangelical beliefs.' When, at length, after my brother's year's residence at the Hallé University (in 1842-43), my own mind having been much exercised in the matter of religion, I felt the moral difficulties press heavily on my conscience, and my whole heart was necessarily poured out to my 'guide, philosopher, and friend,' the steady turning of my attention from theoretical questions to a confession of my own want of thoroughness in arithmetic, which I pretended to teach; and the request that I would specially give attention to this study and get my conscience clear about it, and that I would not come to her again until my views of religion were also clear, is too characteristic of Miss Evans, as I knew her during those years, and too much in harmony with the moral teaching of George Eliot, to be omitted in reminiscences by one to whom that wholesome advice proved a turning-point in life. Two things more I cannot omit to mention: one, the heightened sense given to me by her of the duty of making conversation profitable, and, in general, of using time for serious purposes--of the positive immorality of frittering it away in ill-natured or in poor, profitless talk; another, the debt (so frequently acknowledged by Miss Evans to me) which she owed, during the years of her life with her father, to the intercourse she enjoyed with her friends at Rosehill. Mr. and Mrs. Bray and Miss Hennell, with their friends, were _her_ world; and on my saying to her once, as we closed the garden-door together, that we seemed to be entering a paradise, she said, 'I do indeed feel that I shut the world out when I shut that door.' It is consoling to me now to feel that in her terrible suffering through her father's illness and death, which were most trying to witness, she had such alleviations." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Mary Sibree, 10th May, 1847.] It is worth while to forget a friend for a week or ten days, just for the sake of the agreeable kind of startle it gives one to be reminded that one has such a treasure in reserve--the same sort of pleasure, I suppose, that a poor body feels who happens to lay his hand on an undreamed-of sixpence which had sunk to a corner of his pocket. When Mr. Sibree brought me your parcel, I had been to London for a week; and having been full of Mendelssohn oratorios and Italian operas, I had just this kind of delightful surprise when I saw your note and the beautiful purse. Not that I mean to compare you to a sixpence; you are a bright, golden sovereign to me, with edges all unrubbed, fit to remind a poor, tarnished, bruised piece, like me, that there are ever fresh and more perfect coinages of human nature forthcoming. I am very proud of my purse--first, because I have long had to be ashamed of drawing my old one out of my pocket; and, secondly, because it is a sort of symbol of your love for me--and who is not proud to be loved? For there is a beautiful kind of pride at which no one need frown--I may call it a sort of impersonal pride--a thrill of exultation at all that is good and lovely and joyous as a possession of our human nature. I am glad to think of all your pleasure among friends new and old. Mrs. D----'s mother is, I dare say, a valuable person; but do not, I beseech thee, go to old people as oracles on matters which date any later than their thirty-fifth year. Only trust them, if they are good, in those practical rules which are the common property of long experience. If they are governed by one special idea which circumstances or their own mental bias have caused them to grasp with peculiar firmness, and to work up into original forms, make yourself master of their thoughts and convictions, the residuum of all that long travail which poor mortals have to encounter in their threescore years and ten, but do not trust their application of their gathered wisdom; for however just old people may be their _principles_ of judgment, they are often wrong in their application of them, from an imperfect or unjust conception of the matter to be judged. Love and cherish and venerate the old; but never imagine that a worn-out, dried-up organization can be so rich in inspiration as one which is full fraught with life and energy. I am not talking like one who is superlatively jealous for the rights of the old; yet such I am, I assure thee. I heard Mendelssohn's new oratorio, "Elijah," when I was in London. It has been performed four times in Exeter Hall to as large an audience as the building would hold--Mendelssohn himself the conductor. It is a glorious production, and altogether I look upon it as a kind of sacramental purification of Exeter Hall, and a proclamation of indulgence for all that is to be perpetrated there during this month of May. This is a piece of impiety which you may expect from a lady who has been guanoing her mind with French novels. This is the impertinent expression of D'Israeli, who, writing himself much more detestable stuff than ever came from a French pen, can do nothing better to bamboozle the unfortunates who are seduced into reading his "Tancred" than speak superciliously of all other men and things--an expedient much more successful in some quarters than one would expect. But _au fond_, dear Mary, I have no impiety in my mind at this moment, and my soul heartily responds to your rejoicing that society is attaining a more perfect idea and exhibition of Paul's exhortation--"Let the same mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus." I believe the Amen to this will be uttered more and more fervently, "Among all posterities for evermore." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th June, 1847.] Ask me not why I have never written all this weary time. I can only answer, "All things are full of labor--man cannot utter it"--_et seq._ See the first chapter of Ecclesiastes for my experience. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Sept. 1847.] I have read the "Inquiry" again with more than interest--with delight and high admiration. My present impression from it far surpasses the one I had retained from my two readings about five years ago. With the exception of a few expressions which seem too little discriminating in the introductory sketch, there is nothing in its whole tone, from beginning to end, that jars on my moral sense; and apart from any opinion of the book as an explanation of the existence of Christianity and the Christian documents, I am sure that no one, fit to read it at all, could read it without being intellectually and morally stronger--the reasoning is so close, the induction so clever, the style so clear, vigorous, and pointed, and the animus so candid and even generous. Mr. Hennell ought to be one of the happiest of men that he has done such a life's work. I am sure if I had written such a book I should be invulnerable to all the arrows of all spiteful gods and goddesses. I should say, "None of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself," seeing that I have delivered such a message of God to men. The book is full of _wit_, to me. It gives me that exquisite kind of laughter which comes from the gratification of the reasoning faculties. For instance: "If some of those who were actually at the mountain doubted whether they saw Jesus or not, we may reasonably doubt whether he was to be seen at all there: especially as the words attributed to him do not seem at all likely to have been said, from the disciples paying no attention to them." "The disciples considered her (Mary Magdalene's) words idle tales, and believed them not." We have thus their example for considering her testimony alone as insufficient, and for seeking further evidence. To say "Jewish philosopher" seems almost like saying a round square; yet those two words appear to me the truest description of Jesus. I think the "Inquiry" furnishes the utmost that can be done towards obtaining a _real_ view of the life and character of Jesus, by rejecting as little as possible from the Gospels. I confess that I should call many things "shining ether," to which Mr. Hennell allows the solid angularity of facts; but I think he has thoroughly worked out the problem--subtract from the New Testament the miraculous and highly improbable, and what will be the remainder? At the end of September Miss Evans and her father went for a little trip to the Isle of Wight, and on their return there is the following letter: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 13th Oct. 1847.] I heartily wish you had been with me to see all the beauties which have gladdened my soul and made me feel that this earth is as good a heaven as I ought to dream of. I have a much greater respect for the Isle of Wight, now I have seen it, than when I knew it only by report--a compliment which one can seldom very sincerely pay to things and people that one has heard puffed and bepraised. I do long for you to see Alum Bay. Fancy a very high precipice, the strata upheaved perpendicularly in rainbow-like streaks of the brightest maize, violet, pink, blue, red, brown, and brilliant white, worn by the weather into fantastic fretwork, the deep blue sky above, and the glorious sea below. It seems an enchanted land, where the earth is of more delicate, refined materials than this dingy planet of ours is wrought out of. You might fancy the strata formed of the compressed pollen of flowers, or powder from bright insects. You can think of nothing but Calypsos, or Prosperos and Ariels, and such-like beings. I find one very great spiritual good attendant on a quiet, meditative journey among fresh scenes. I seem to have removed to a distance from myself when I am away from the petty circumstances that make up my ordinary environment. I can take myself up by the ears and inspect myself, like any other queer monster on a small scale. I have had many thoughts, especially on a subject that I should like to work out--"The superiority of the consolations of philosophy to those of (so-called) religion." Do you stare? Thank you for putting me on reading Sir Charles Grandison. I have read five volumes, and am only vexed that I have not the two last on my table at this moment, that I might have them for my _convives_. I had no idea that Richardson was worth so much. I have had more pleasure from him than from all the Swedish novels together. The morality is perfect--there is nothing for the new lights to correct. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th Nov. 1847.] How do you like "Lelia," of which you have never spoken one word? I am provoked with you for being in the least pleased with "Tancred;" but if you have found out any lofty meaning in it, or any true picturing of life, tell it me, and I will recant. I have found two new readers of Strauss. One, a lady at Leamington, who is also reading the "Inquiry," but likes Strauss better! The other is a gentleman here in Coventry; he says "it is most clever and ingenious, and that no one whose faith rests only on the _common_ foundation can withstand it." I think he may safely say that his faith rests on an _un_common foundation. The book will certainly give him a lift in the right direction, from its critical, logical character--just the opposite of his own. I was interested the other day in talking to a young lady who lives in a nest of clergymen, her brothers, but not of the evangelical school. She had been reading Blanco White's life, and seems to have had her spirit stirred within her, as every one's must be who reads the book with any power of appreciation. She is unable to account to herself for the results at which Blanco White arrived with his earnestness and love of truth; and she asked me if I had come to the same conclusions. I think "Live and teach" should be a proverb as well as "Live and learn." We must teach either for good or evil; and if we use our inward light as the Quaker tells us, always taking care to feed and trim it well, our teaching must, in the end, be for good. We are growing old together--are we not? I am growing happier too. I am amusing myself with thinking of the prophecy of Daniel as a sort of allegory. All those monstrous, "rombustical" beasts with their horns--the horn with eyes and a mouth speaking proud things, and the little horn that waxed rebellious and stamped on the stars, seem like my passions and vain fancies, which are to be knocked down one after the other, until all is subdued into a universal kingdom over which the Ancient of Days presides--the spirit of love--the Catholicism of the Universe--if you can attach any meaning to such a phrase. It _has_ a meaning for my sage noddle. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Jan. 1848.] I am reading George Sand's "Lettres d'un Voyageur" with great delight, and hoping that they will some time do you as much good as they do me. In the meantime, I think the short letter about "Lelia" will interest you. It has a very deep meaning to my apprehension. You can send back the pages when you have duly digested them. I once said of you that yours was a sort of alkali nature which would detect the slightest acid of falsehood. You began to phiz-z-z directly it approached you. I want you as a test. I now begin to see the necessity of the arrangement (a bad word) that love should determine people's fate while they are young. It is so impossible to admire--"_s'enthousiasmer_" of--an _individual_ as one gets older. Here follows the interesting correspondence, referred to before, with Mr. John Sibree: [Sidenote: Letter to J. Sibree, beginning of 1848.] Begin your letter by abusing me, according to my example. There is nothing like a little gunpowder for a damp chimney; and an explosion of that sort will set the fire of your ideas burning to admiration. I hate bashfulness and modesties, as Sir Hugh Evans would say; and I warn you that I shall make no apologies, though, from my habit of writing only to people who, rather than have nothing from me, will tolerate nothings, I shall be very apt to forget that you are not one of those amiably silly individuals. I must write to you _more meo_, without taking pains or laboring to be _spirituelle_ when Heaven never meant me to be so; and it is your own fault if you bear with my letters a moment after they become an infliction. I am glad you detest Mrs. Hannah More's letters. I like neither her letters, nor her books, nor her character. She was that most disagreeable of all monsters, a blue-stocking--a monster that can only exist in a miserably false state of society, in which a woman with but a smattering of learning or philosophy is classed along with singing mice and card-playing pigs. It is some time since I read "Tancred," so that I have no very vivid recollection of its details; but I thought it very "thin," and inferior in the working up to "Coningsby" and "Sybil." Young Englandism is almost as remote from my sympathies as Jacobitism, as far as its force is concerned, though I love and respect it as an effort on behalf of the people. D'Israeli is unquestionably an able man, and I always enjoy his tirades against liberal principles as opposed to popular principles--the name by which he distinguishes his own. As to his theory of races, it has not a leg to stand on, and can only be buoyed up by such windy eloquence as--You chubby-faced, squabby-nosed Europeans owe your commerce, your arts, your religion, to the Hebrews--nay, the Hebrews lead your armies: in proof of which he can tell us that Massena, a second-rate general of Napoleon's, was a Jew, whose real name was Manasseh. Extermination up to a certain point seems to be the law for the inferior races--for the rest fusion, both for physical and moral ends. It appears to me that the law by which privileged classes degenerate, from continual intermarriage, must act on a larger scale in deteriorating whole races. The nations have been always kept apart until they have sufficiently developed their idiosyncrasies, and then some great revolutionary force has been called into action, by which the genius of a particular nation becomes a portion of the common mind of humanity. Looking at the matter æsthetically, our idea of beauty is never formed on the characteristics of a single race. I confess the types of the pure races, however handsome, always impress me disagreeably; there is an undefined feeling that I am looking not at _man_, but at a specimen of an order under Cuvier's class Bimana. The negroes certainly puzzle me. All the other races seem plainly destined to extermination, not excepting even the Hebrew Caucasian. But the negroes are too important, physiologically and geographically, for one to think of their extermination; while the repulsion between them and the other races seems too strong for fusion to take place to any great extent. On one point I heartily agree with D'Israeli as to the superiority of the Oriental races--their clothes are beautiful and their manners are agreeable. Did you not think the picture of the Barroni family interesting? I should like to know who are the originals. The fellowship of race, to which D'Israeli so exultingly refers the munificence of Sidonia, is so evidently an inferior impulse, which must ultimately be superseded, that I wonder even he, Jew as he is, dares to boast of it. My Gentile nature kicks most resolutely against any assumption of superiority in the Jews, and is almost ready to echo Voltaire's vituperation. I bow to the supremacy of Hebrew poetry, but much of their early mythology, and almost all their history, is utterly revolting. Their stock has produced a Moses and a Jesus; but Moses was impregnated with Egyptian philosophy, and Jesus is venerated and adored by us only for that wherein he transcended or resisted Judaism. The very exaltation of their idea of a national deity into a spiritual monotheism seems to have been borrowed from the other Oriental tribes. Everything specifically Jewish is of a low grade. And do you really think that sculpture and painting are to die out of the world? If that be so, let another deluge come as quickly as possible, that a new race of Glums and Gowries may take possession of this melancholy earth. I agree with you as to the inherent superiority of music--as that questionable woman, the Countess Hahn-Hahn, says painting and sculpture are but an idealizing of our actual existence. Music arches over this existence with another and a diviner. Amen, too, to that _ideenvoll_ observation of Hegel's. "We hardly know what it is to feel for human misery until we have heard a shriek; and a more perfect hell might be made out of sound than out of any preparation of fire and brimstone." When the tones of our voice have betrayed peevishness or harshness, we seem to be doubly haunted by the ghost of our sin; we are doubly conscious that we have been untrue to our part in the great Handel chorus. But I cannot assent to the notion that music is to supersede the other arts, or that the highest minds must necessarily aspire to a sort of Milton blindness, in which the _tiefste der Sinne_ is to be a substitute for all the rest. I cannot recognize the truth of all that is said about the necessity of religious fervor to high art. I am sceptical as to the real existence of such fervor in any of the greatest artists. Artistic power seems to me to resemble dramatic power--to be an intimate perception of the varied states of which the human mind is susceptible, with ability to give them out anew in intensified expression. It is true that the older the world gets originality becomes less possible. Great subjects are used up, and civilization tends evermore to repress individual predominance, highly wrought agony, or ecstatic joy. But all the gentler emotions will be ever new, ever wrought up into more and more lovely combinations, and genius will probably take their direction. Have you ever seen a head of Christ taken from a statue, by Thorwaldsen, of Christ scourged? If not, I think it would almost satisfy you. There is another work of his, said to be very sublime, of the Archangel waiting for the command to sound the last trumpet. Yet Thorwaldsen came at the fag end of time. I am afraid you despise landscape painting; but to me even the works of our own Stanfield, and Roberts, and Creswick bring a whole world of thought and bliss--"a sense of something far more deeply interfused." The ocean and the sky and the everlasting hills are spirit to me, and they will never be robbed of their sublimity. [Sidenote: Letter to J. Sibree, beginning of 1848.] I have tired myself with trying to write cleverly, _invitâ Minervâ_, and having in vain endeavored to refresh myself by turning over Lavater's queer sketches of physiognomies, and still queerer judgments on them, it is a happy thought of mine that I have a virtuous reason for spending my _ennui_ on you. I send you a stanza I picked up the other day in George Sand's "Lettres d'un Voyageur," which is almost the ultimatum of human wisdom on the question of human sorrow. "Le bonheur et le malheur, Nous viennent du même auteur, Voilà la _ressemblance_. Le bonheur nous rend heureux, Et le malheur malheureux, Voilà la différence." Ah, here comes a cup of coffee to console me! When I have taken it I will tell you what George Sand says: "Sais tu bien que tout est dit devant Dieu et devant les hommes quand l'homme infortuné demande compte de ses maux et qu'il obtient cette réponse? Qu'y a-t-il de plus? Rien." But I am not a mocking pen, and if I were talking to you instead of writing, you would detect some falsity in the ring of my voice. Alas! the atrabiliar patient you describe is first cousin to me in my very worst moods, but I have a profound faith that the serpent's head will be bruised. This conscious kind of false life that is ever and anon endeavoring to form itself within us and eat away our true life, will be overcome by continued accession of vitality, by our perpetual increase in "quantity of existence," as Foster calls it. Creation is the superadded life of the intellect; sympathy, all-embracing love, the superadded moral life. These given more and more abundantly, I feel that all the demons, which are but my own egotism mopping and mowing and gibbering, would vanish away, and there would be no place for them, "For every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by hope's perpetual breath." Evils, even sorrows, are they not all negations? Thus matter is in a perpetual state of decomposition; superadd the principle of life, and the tendency to decomposition is overcome. Add to this consciousness, and there is a power of self-amelioration. The passions and senses decompose, so to speak. The intellect, by its analytic power, restrains the fury with which they rush to their own destruction; the moral nature purifies, beautifies, and at length transmutes them. But to whom am I talking? You know far more _sur ce chapitre_ than I. Every one talks of himself or herself to me, and I beg you will follow every one's example in this one thing only. Individuals are precious to me in proportion as they unfold to me their intimate selves. I have just had lent me the journal of a person who died some years ago. When I was less venerable I should have felt the reading of such a thing insupportable; now it interests me, though it is the simplest record of events and feelings. Mary says she has told you about Mr. Dawson and his lecture--miserably crude and mystifying in some parts, but with a few fine passages. He is a very delightful man, but not (at least so say my impressions) a great man. How difficult it is to be great in this world, where there is a tariff for spiritualities as well as for beeves and cheese and tallow. It is scarcely possible for a man simply to give out his true inspiration--the real, profound conviction which he has won by hard wrestling, or the few-and-far-between pearls of imagination; he must go on talking or writing by rote, or he must starve. Would it not be better to take to tent-making with Paul, or to spectacle-making with Spinoza? [Sidenote: Letter to J. Sibree, Feb. 1848.] Write and tell you that I join you in your happiness about the French Revolution? Very fine, my good friend. If I made you wait for a letter as long as you do me, our little _échantillon_ of a millennium would be over, Satan would be let loose again, and I should have to share your humiliation instead of your triumph. Nevertheless I absolve you, for the sole merit of thinking rightly (that is, of course, just as I do) about _la grande nation_ and its doings. You and Carlyle (have you seen his article in last week's _Examiner_?) are the only two people who feel just as I would have them--who can glory in what is actually great and beautiful without putting forth any cold reservations and incredulities to save their credit for wisdom. I am all the more delighted with your enthusiasm because I didn't expect it. I feared that you lacked revolutionary ardor. But no--you are just as _sans-culottish_ and rash as I would have you. You are not one of those sages whose reason keeps so tight a rein on their emotions that they are too constantly occupied in calculating consequences to rejoice in any great manifestation of the forces that underlie our every-day existence. I should have written a soprano to your jubilate the very next day, but that, lest I should be exalted above measure, a messenger of Satan was sent in the form of a headache, and directly on the back of that a face-ache, so that I have been a mere victim of sensations, memories, and visions for the last week. I am even now, as you may imagine, in a very shattered, limbo-like mental condition. I thought we had fallen on such evil days that we were to see no really great movement; that ours was what St. Simon calls a purely critical epoch, not at all an organic one; but I begin to be glad of my date. I would consent, however, to have a year clipped off my life for the sake of witnessing such a scene as that of the men of the barricades bowing to the image of Christ, "who first taught fraternity to men." One trembles to look into every fresh newspaper lest there should be something to mar the picture; but hitherto even the scoffing newspaper critics have been compelled into a tone of genuine respect for the French people and the Provisional Government. Lamartine can act a poem if he cannot write one of the very first order. I hope that beautiful face given to him in the pictorial newspaper is really his; it is worthy of an aureole. I am chiefly anxious about Albert, the operative, but his picture is not to be seen. I have little patience with people who can find time to pity Louis Philippe and his moustachioed sons. Certainly our decayed monarchs should be pensioned off; we should have a hospital for them, or a sort of zoological garden, where these worn-out humbugs may be preserved. It is but justice that we should keep them, since we have spoiled them for any honest trade. Let them sit on soft cushions, and have their dinner regularly, but, for Heaven's sake, preserve me from sentimentalizing over a pampered old man when the earth has its millions of unfed souls and bodies. Surely he is not so Ahab-like as to wish that the revolution had been deferred till his son's days: and I think that the shades of the Stuarts would have some reason to complain if the Bourbons, who are so little better than they, had been allowed to reign much longer. I should have no hope of good from any imitative movement at home. Our working classes are eminently inferior to the mass of the French people. In France the _mind_ of the people is highly electrified; they are full of ideas on social subjects; they really desire social _reform_--not merely an acting out of Sancho Panza's favorite proverb, "Yesterday for you, to-day for me." The revolutionary animus extended over the whole nation, and embraced the rural population--not merely, as with us, the artisans of the towns. Here there is so much larger a proportion of selfish radicalism and unsatisfied brute sensuality (in the agricultural and mining districts especially) than of perception or desire of justice that a revolutionary movement would be simply destructive, not constructive. Besides, it would be put down. Our military have no notion of "fraternizing." They have the same sort of inveteracy as dogs have for the ill-dressed _canaille_. They are as mere a brute force as a battering-ram; and the aristocracy have got firm hold of them. And there is nothing in our constitution to obstruct the slow progress of _political_ reform. This is all we are fit for at present. The social reform which may prepare us for great changes is more and more the object of effort both in Parliament and out of it. But we English are slow crawlers. The sympathy in Ireland seems at present only of the water-toast kind. The Glasgow riots are more serious; but one cannot believe in a Scotch Reign of Terror in these days. I should not be sorry to hear that the Italians had risen _en masse_, and chased the odious Austrians out of beautiful Lombardy. But this they could hardly do without help, and that involves another European war. Concerning the "tent-making," there is much more to be said, but am I to adopt your rule and never speak of what I suppose we agree about? It is necessary to me, not simply to _be_ but to _utter_, and I require utterance of my friends. What is it to me that I think the same thoughts? I think them in a somewhat different fashion. No mind that has any _real_ life is a mere echo of another. If the perfect unison comes occasionally, as in music, it enhances the harmonies. It is like a diffusion or expansion of one's own life to be assured that its vibrations are repeated in another, and words are the media of those vibrations. Is not the universe itself a perpetual utterance of the one Being? So I say again, utter, utter, utter, and it will be a deed of mercy twice blessed, for I shall be a safety-valve for your communicativeness and prevent it from splitting honest people's brains who don't understand you; and, moreover, it will be fraught with ghostly comfort to me. [Sidenote: Letter to J. Sibree, Sunday evening, later in 1848.] I might make a very plausible excuse for not acknowledging your kind note earlier by telling you that I have been both a nurse and invalid; but, to be thoroughly ingenuous, I must confess that all this would not have been enough to prevent my writing but for my chronic disease of utter idleness. I have heard and thought of you with great interest, however. You have my hearty and not inexperienced sympathy; for, to speak in the style of Jonathan Oldbuck, I am _haud ignara mali_. I have gone through a trial of the same genus as yours, though rather differing in species. I sincerely rejoice in the step you have taken; it is an absolutely necessary condition for any true development of your nature. It was impossible to think of your career with hope, while you tacitly subscribed to the miserable _etiquette_ (it deserves no better or more spiritual name) of sectarianism. Only persevere; be true, firm, and loving; not too anxious about immediate usefulness to others--that can only be a result of justice to yourself. Study mental hygiene. Take long doses of _dolce far niente_, and be in no great hurry about anything in this 'varsal world! Do we not commit ourselves to sleep, and so resign all care for ourselves every night; lay ourselves gently on the bosom of Nature or God? A beautiful reproach to the spirit of some religionists and ultra good people. I like the notion of your going to Germany, as good in every way, for yourself, body and mind, and for all others. Oh, the bliss of having a very high attic in a romantic Continental town, such as Geneva, far away from morning callers, dinners, and decencies, and then to pause for a year and think _de omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis_, and then to return to life, and work for poor stricken humanity, and never think of self again![23] I am writing nearly in the dark, with the post-boy waiting. I fear I shall not be at home when you come home, but surely I shall see you before you leave England. However that may be, I shall utter a genuine _Lebewohl_. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Feb. 1848.] In my view there are but two kinds of _regular_ correspondence possible--one of simple affection, which gives a picture of all the details, painful and pleasurable, that a loving heart pines after, and this we carry on through the medium of Cara; or one purely moral and intellectual, carried on for the sake of ghostly edification, in which each party has to put salt on the tails of all sorts of ideas on all sorts of subjects, in order to send a weekly or fortnightly packet, as so much duty and self-castigation. I have always been given to understand that such Lady-Jane-Grey-like works were your abhorrence. However, let me know what you _would_ like--what would make you continue to hold me in loving remembrance or convince you that you are a bright evergreen in my garden of pleasant plants. Behold me ready to tear off my right hand or pluck out my right eye (metaphorically, of course--I speak to an experienced exegetist, _comme dirait notre_ Strauss), or write reams of letters full of interesting falsehoods or very dull truths. We have always concluded that our correspondence should be of the _third_ possible kind--one of impulse, which is necessarily irregular as the Northern Lights. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 14th April, 1848.] I am a miserable wretch, with aching limbs and sinking spirits, but still alive enough to feel the kindness of your last note. I thoroughly enjoyed your delight in Emerson. I should have liked to see you sitting by him "with awful eye," for once in your life feeling all the bliss of veneration. I am quite uncertain about our movements. Dear father gets on very slowly, if at all. You will understand the impossibility of my forming any plans for my own pleasure. Rest is the only thing I can think of with pleasure now. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th April, 1848.] Dear father is so decidedly progressing towards recovery that I am full of quiet joy--a gentle dawning light after the moonlight of sorrow. I have found already some of the "sweet uses" that belong only to what is called trouble, which is, after all, only a deepened gaze into life, like the sight of the darker blue and the thickening host of stars when the hazy effect of twilight is gone--as our dear Blanco White said of death. I shall have less time than I have had at my own disposal, probably; but I feel prepared to accept life, nay, lovingly to embrace it, in any form in which it shall present itself. Some time in May Mr. Evans and his daughter went to St. Leonard's, and remained there till near the end of June. His mortal illness had now taken hold of him, and this was a depressing time, both for him and for her, as will be seen from the following letters: [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, May, 1848.] Your words of affection seem to make this earthly atmosphere sit less heavily on my shoulders, and in gratitude I must send you my thanks before I begin to read of Henry Gow and Fair Catharine for father's delectation. In truth, I have found it somewhat difficult to live for the last week--conscious all the time that the only additions to my lot worth having must be more strength to love in my own nature; but perhaps this very consciousness has an irritating rather than a soothing effect. I have a fit of sensitiveness upon me, which, after all, is but egotism and mental idleness. The enthusiasm without which one cannot even pour out breakfast well (at least _I_ cannot) has forsaken me. You may laugh, and wonder when my enthusiasm has displayed itself, but that will only prove that you are no seer. I can never live long without it in some form or other. I possess my soul in patience for a time, believing that this dark, damp vault in which I am groping will soon come to an end, and the fresh, green earth and the bright sky be all the more precious to me. But for the present my address is Grief Castle, on the River of Gloom, in the Valley of Dolor. I was amused to find that Castle Campbell in Scotland was called so. Truly for many seasons in my life I should have been an appropriate denizen of such a place; but I have faith that unless I am destined to insanity, I shall never again abide long in that same castle. I heartily say Amen to your dictum about the cheerfulness of "large moral regions." Where _thought_ and _love_ are active--thought the formative power, love the vitalizing--there can be no sadness. They are in themselves a more intense and extended participation of a divine existence. As they grow, the highest species of faith grows too, and all things are possible. I don't know why I should prose in this way to you. But I wanted to thank you for your note, and all this selfish grumbling was at my pen's end. And now I have no time to redeem myself. We shall not stay long away from home, I feel sure. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 31st May, 1848.] Father has done wonders in the way of walking and eating--for him--but he makes not the slightest attempt to amuse himself, so that I scarcely feel easy in following my own bent even for an hour. I have told you everything now, except that I look amiable in spite of a strong tendency to look black, and speak gently, though with a strong propensity to be snappish. Pity me, ye happier spirits that look amiable and speak gently because ye _are_ amiable and gentle. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 4th June, 1848.] Alas for the fate of poor mortals, which condemns them to wake up some fine morning and find all the poetry in which their world was bathed only the evening before utterly gone!--the hard, angular world of chairs and tables and looking-glasses staring at them in all its naked prose! It is so in all the stages of life; the poetry of girlhood goes, the poetry of love and marriage, the poetry of maternity, and at last the very poetry of duty forsakes us for a season, and we see ourselves, and all about us, as nothing more than miserable agglomerations of atoms--poor tentative efforts of the _Natur Princip_ to mould a personality. This is the state of prostration, the self-abnegation, through which the soul must go, and to which perhaps it must again and again return, that its poetry or religion, which is the same thing, may be a real, ever-flowing river, fresh from the windows of heaven and the fountains of the great deep--not an artificial basin, with grotto-work and gold-fish. I feel a sort of madness growing upon me, just the opposite of the delirium which makes people fancy that their bodies are filling the room. It seems to me as if I were shrinking into that mathematical abstraction, a point. But I am wasting this "good Sunday morning" in grumblings. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 8th June, 1848.] Poor Louis Blanc! The newspapers make me melancholy; but shame upon me that I say "poor." The day will come when there will be a temple of white marble, where sweet incense and anthems shall rise to the memory of every man and woman who has had a deep _Ahnung_--a presentiment, a yearning, or a clear vision--of the time when this miserable reign of Mammon shall end; when men shall be no longer "like the fishes of the sea," society no more like a face one half of which--the side of profession, of lip-faith--is fair and God-like; the other half--the side of deeds and institutions--with a hard, old, wrinkled skin puckered into the sneer of a Mephistopheles. I worship the man who has written as the climax of his appeal against society, "L'inegalité des talents _doit aboutir_ non à l'inegalité des retributions mais à l'inegalité des devoirs." You will wonder what has wrought me up into this fury. It is the loathsome fawning, the transparent hypocrisy, the systematic giving as little as possible for as much as possible that one meets with here at every turn. I feel that society is training men and women for hell. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 23d June, 1848.] All creatures about to moult, or to cast off an old skin, or enter on any new metamorphosis, have sickly feelings. It was so with me. But now I am set free from the irritating, worn-out integument. I am entering on a new period of my life, which makes me look back on the past as something incredibly poor and contemptible. I am enjoying repose, strength, and ardor in a greater degree than I have ever known, and yet I never felt my own insignificance and imperfection so completely. My heart bleeds for dear father's pains, but it is blessed to be at hand to give the soothing word and act needed. I should not have written this description of myself but that I felt your affectionate letter demanded some I-ism, which, after all, is often humility rather than pride. Paris, poor Paris--alas! alas! [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, June, 1848.] I have read "Jane Eyre," and shall be glad to know what you admire in it. All self-sacrifice is good, but one would like it to be in a somewhat nobler cause than that of a diabolical law which chains a man soul and body to a putrefying carcass. However, the book _is_ interesting; only I wish the characters would talk a little less like the heroes and heroines of police reports. About the beginning of July Miss Evans and her father returned to Coventry; and the 13th July was a memorable day, as Emerson came to visit the Brays, and she went with them to Stratford. All she says herself about it is in this note. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday, July, 1848.] I have seen Emerson--the first _man_ I have ever seen. But you have seen still more of him, so I need not tell you what he is. I shall leave Cara to tell how the day--the Emerson day--was spent, for I have a swimming head from hanging over the desk to write business letters for father. Have you seen the review of Strauss's pamphlet in the _Edinburgh_? The title is "Der Romantiker auf dem Throne der Cäsaren, oder Julian der Abtrünnige"--a sort of erudite satire on the King of Prussia; but the reviewer pronounces it to have a permanent value quite apart from this fugitive interest. The "Romantiker," or Romanticist, is one who, in literature, in the arts, in religion or politics, endeavors to revive the dead past. Julian was a romanticist in wishing to restore the Greek religion and its spirit, when mankind had entered on the new development. But you have very likely seen the review. I must copy one passage, translated from the conclusion of Strauss's pamphlet, lest you should not have met with it. "Christian writers have disfigured the death-scene of Julian. They have represented him as furious, blaspheming, despairing, and in his despair exclaiming, _Thou_ hast conquered, O Galilean!--'[Greek: nenikekas Galilaie].' This phrase, though false as history, has a truth in it. It contains a prophecy--to us a consoling prophecy--and it is this: Every Julian--_i.e._, every great and powerful man--who would attempt to resuscitate a state of society which has died, will infallibly be vanquished by the Galilean--for the Galilean is nothing less than the genius of the future!" [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Dec. 1848.] Father's tongue has just given utterance to a thought which has been very visibly radiating from his eager eyes for some minutes. "I thought you were going on with the book." I can only bless you for those two notes, which have emanated from you like so much ambrosial scent from roses and lavender. Not less am I grateful for the Carlyle eulogium.[24] I have shed some quite delicious tears over it. This is a world worth abiding in while one man can thus venerate and love another. More anon--this from my doleful prison of stupidity and barrenness, with a yawning trapdoor ready to let me down into utter fatuity. But I can even yet feel the omnipotence of a glorious chord. Poor pebble as I am, left entangled among slimy weeds, I can yet hear from afar the rushing of the blessed torrent, and rejoice that it is there to bathe and brighten other pebbles less unworthy of the polishing. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of 1848.] Thank you for a sight of our blessed St. Francis's[25] letter. There is no imaginable moment in which the thought of such a being could be an intrusion. His soul is a blessed _yea_. There is a sort of blasphemy in that proverbial phrase, "Too good to be true." The highest inspiration of the purest, noblest human soul, is the nearest expression of the truth. Those extinct volcanoes of one's spiritual life--those eruptions of the intellect and the passions which have scattered the lava of doubt and negation over our early faith--are only a glorious Himalayan chain, beneath which new valleys of undreamed richness and beauty will spread themselves. Shall we poor earthworms have sublimer thoughts than the universe, of which we are poor chips--mere effluvia of mind--shall we have sublimer thoughts than that universe can furnish out into reality? I am living unspeakable moments, and can write no more. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Jan. 1849.] I think of you perpetually, but my thoughts are all aqueous; they will not crystallize--they are as fleeting as ripples on the sea. I am suffering perhaps as acutely as ever I did in my life. Breathe a wish that I may gather strength--the fragrance of your wish will reach me somehow. The next letter is to Mrs. Houghton, who, it will be remembered, was the only daughter by Mr. Evans's first marriage. Miss Evans had more intellectual sympathy with this half-sister Fanny than with any of the other members of her family, and it is a pity that more of the letters to her have not been preserved. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, Sunday evening, 1849.] I have been holding a court of conscience, and I cannot enjoy my Sunday's music without restoring harmony, without entering a protest against that superficial soul of mine which is perpetually contradicting and belying the true inner soul. I am in that mood which, in another age of the world, would have led me to put on sackcloth and pour ashes on my head, when I call to mind the sins of my tongue--my animadversions on the faults of others, as if I thought myself to be something when I am nothing. When shall I attain to the true spirit of love which Paul has taught for all the ages? I want no one to excuse me, dear Fanny; I only want to remove the shadow of my miserable words and deeds from before the divine image of truth and goodness, which I would have all beings worship. I need the Jesuits' discipline of silence, and though my "evil speaking" issues from the intellectual point of view rather than the moral--though there may be gall in the thought while there is honey in the feeling, yet the evil speaking is wrong. We may satirize character and qualities in the abstract without injury to our moral nature, but persons hardly ever. Poor hints and sketches of souls as we are--with some slight, transient vision of the perfect and the true--we had need help each other to gaze at the blessed heavens instead of peering into each other's eyes to find out the motes there. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Sunday morning, 4th Feb. 1849.] I have not touched the piano for nearly two months until this morning, when, father being better, I was determined to play a mass before the piano is utterly out of tune again. _Write, asking for nothing again_, like a true disciple of Jesus. I am still feeling rather shattered in brain and limbs; but do not suppose that I lack inward peace and strength. My body is the defaulter--_consciously_ so. I triumph over all things in the spirit, but the flesh is weak, and disgraces itself by headaches and backaches. I am delighted to find that you mention Macaulay, because that is an indication that Mr. Hennell has been reading him. I thought of Mr. H. all through the book, as the only person I could be quite sure would enjoy it as much as I did myself. I did not know if it would interest you: tell me more explicitly that it does. Think of Babylon being unearthed in spite of the prophecies? Truly we are looking before and after, "au jour d'aujourd'hui," as Monsieur Bricolin says. Send me the criticism of Jacques the morn's morning--only beware there are not too many blasphemies against my divinity. Paint soap-bubbles--and never fear but I will find _a_ meaning, though very likely not your meaning. Paint the Crucifixion in a bubble--after Turner--and then the Resurrection: I see them now. There has been a vulgar man sitting by while I have been writing, and I have been saying parenthetical bits of civility to him to help out poor father in his conversation, so I have not been quite sure what I have been saying to you. I have woful aches which take up half my nervous strength. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th Feb. 1849.] My life is a perpetual nightmare, and always haunted by something to be done, which I have never the time, or, rather, the energy, to do. Opportunity is kind, but only to the industrious, and I, alas! am not one of them. I have sat down in desperation this evening, though dear father is very uneasy, and his moans distract me, just to tell you that you have full absolution for your criticism, which I do not reckon of the impertinent order. I wish you thoroughly to understand that the writers who have most profoundly influenced me--who have rolled away the waters from their bed, raised new mountains and spread delicious valleys for me--are not in the least oracles to me. It is just possible that I may not embrace one of their opinions; that I may wish my life to be shaped quite differently from theirs. For instance, it would signify nothing to me if a very wise person were to stun me with proofs that Rousseau's views of life, religion, and government are miserably erroneous--that he was guilty of some of the worst _bassesses_ that have degraded civilized man. I might admit all this: and it would be not the less true that Rousseau's genius has sent that electric thrill through my intellectual and moral frame which has awakened me to new perceptions; which has made man and nature a fresh world of thought and feeling to me; and this not by teaching me any new belief. It is simply that the rushing mighty wind of his inspiration has so quickened my faculties that I have been able to shape more definitely for myself ideas which had previously dwelt as dim _Ahnungen_ in my soul; the fire of his genius has so fused together old thoughts and prejudices that I have been ready to make new combinations. It is thus with George Sand. I should never dream of going to her writings as a moral code or text-book. I don't care whether I agree with her about marriage or not--whether I think the design of her plot correct, or that she had no precise design at all, but began to write as the spirit moved her, and trusted to Providence for the catastrophe, which I think the more probable case. It is sufficient for me, as a reason for bowing before her in eternal gratitude to that "great power of God manifested in her," that I cannot read six pages of hers without feeling that it is given to her to delineate human passion and its results, and (I must say, in spite of your judgment) some of the moral instincts and their tendencies, with such truthfulness, such nicety of discrimination, such tragic power, and, withal, such loving, gentle humor, that one might live a century with nothing but one's own dull faculties, and not know so much as those six pages will suggest. The psychological anatomy of Jacques and Fernande in the early days of their marriage seems quite preternaturally true--I mean that her power of describing it is preternatural. Fernande and Jacques are merely the feminine and the masculine nature, and their early married life an every-day tragedy; but I will not dilate on the book or on your criticism, for I am so sleepy that I should write nothing but _bêtises_. I have at last the most delightful "De imitatione Christi," with quaint woodcuts. One breathes a cool air as of cloisters in the book--it makes one long to be a saint for a few months. Verily its piety has its foundations in the depth of the divine-human soul. In March Miss Evans wrote a short notice of the "Nemesis of Faith" for the _Coventry Herald_, in which she says: "We are sure that its author is a bright, particular star, though he sometimes leaves us in doubt whether he be not a fallen 'son of the morning.'" The paper was sent to Mr. Froude, and on 23d March Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell: "Last night at dusk M. A. came running in in high glee with a most charming note from Froude, naïvely and prettily requesting her to reveal herself. He says he recognized her hand in the review in the _Coventry Herald_, and if she thinks him a fallen star she might help him to rise, but he 'believes he has only been dipped in the Styx, and is not much the worse for the bath.' Poor girl, I am so pleased she should have this little episode in her dull life." The next letter again refers to Mr. Froude's books. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Wednesday, April, 1849.] Tell me not that I am a mere prater--that feeling never talks. I will talk, and caress, and look lovingly, until death makes me as stony as the Gorgon-like heads of all the judicious people I know. What is anything worth until it is uttered? Is not the universe one great utterance? Utterance there must be in word or deed to make life of any worth. Every true pentecost is a gift of utterance. Life is too short and opportunities too meagre for many deeds--besides, the best friendships are precisely those where there is no possibility of material helpfulness--and I would take no deeds as an adequate compensation for the frigid, glassy eye and hard, indifferent tones of one's very solid and sensible and conscientious friend. You will wonder of what this is _à propos_--only of a little bitterness in my own soul just at this moment, and not of anything between you and me. I have nothing to tell you, for all the "haps" of my life are so indifferent. I spin my existence so entirely out of myself that there is a sad want of proper names in my conversation, and I am becoming a greater bore than ever. It is a consciousness of this that has kept me from writing to you. My letters would be a sort of hermit's diary. I have so liked the thought of your enjoying the "Nemesis of Faith." I quote Keats's sonnet, _à propos_ of that book. It has made me feel-- "Like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez--when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- Silent, upon a peak in Darien." You must read "The Shadows of the Clouds." It produces a sort of palpitation that one hardly knows whether to call wretched or delightful. I cannot take up the book again, though wanting very much to read it more closely. Poor and shallow as one's own soul is, it is blessed to think that a sort of transubstantiation is possible by which the greater ones can live in us. Egotism apart, another's greatness, beauty, or bliss is one's own. And let us sing a _Magnificat_ when we are conscious that this power of expansion and sympathy is growing, just in proportion as the individual satisfactions are lessening. Miserable dust of the earth we are, but it is worth while to be so, for the sake of the living soul--the breath of God within us. You see I can do nothing but scribble my own prosy stuff--such chopped straw as my soul is foddered on. I am translating the "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus" of Spinoza, and seem to want the only friend that knows how to praise or blame. How exquisite is the satisfaction of feeling that another mind than your own sees precisely where and what is the difficulty--and can exactly appreciate the success with which it is overcome. One knows--_sed longo intervallo_--the full meaning of the "fit audience though few." How an artist must hate the noodles that stare at his picture, with a vague notion that it _is_ a clever thing to be able to paint. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Pears, 10th May, 1849.] I know it will gladden your heart to hear that father spoke of you the other day with affection and gratitude. He remembers you as one who helped to strengthen that beautiful spirit of resignation which has never left him through his long trial. His mind is as clear and rational as ever, notwithstanding his feebleness, and he gives me a thousand little proofs that he understands my affection and responds to it. These are very precious moments to me; my chair by father's bedside is a very blessed seat to me. My delight in the idea that you are being benefited after all, prevents me from regretting you, though you are just the friend that would complete my comfort. Every addition to your power of enjoying life is an expansion of mine. I partake of your ebb and flow. I am going to my post now. I have just snatched an interval to let you know that, though you have taken away a part of yourself from me, neither you nor any one else can take the whole. It will have been seen from these late letters, that the last few months of her father's illness had been a terrible strain on his daughter's health and spirits. She did all the nursing herself, and Mrs. Congreve (who was then Miss Bury, daughter of the doctor who was attending Mr. Evans--and who, it will be seen, subsequently became perhaps the most intimate and the closest of George Eliot's friends) tells me that her father told her at the time that he never saw a patient more admirably and thoroughly cared for. The translating was a great relief when she could get to it. Under date of 19th April, 1849, Mrs. Bray writes to Miss Hennell, "M. A. is happy now with this Spinoza to do: she says it is such a rest for her mind." The next letter to Rosehill pathetically describes how the end came at last to Mr. Evans's sufferings: [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, half-past nine, Wednesday morning, 31st May, 1849.] Dear friends, Mr. Bury told us last night that he thought father would not last till morning. I sat by him with my hand in his till four o'clock, and he then became quieter and has had some comfortable sleep. He is obviously weaker this morning, and has been for the last two or three days so painfully reduced that I dread to think what his dear frame may become before life gives way. My brother slept here last night, and will be here again to-night. What shall I be without my father? It will seem as if a part of my moral nature were gone. I write when I can, but I do not know whether my letter will do to send this evening. _P.S._--Father is very, very much weaker this evening. Mr. Evans died during that night, 31st May, 1849. [Illustration: Portrait of Mr. Robert Evans.] _SUMMARY._ MAY, 1846, TO MAY, 1849. Visit to Mrs. Hennell at Hackney--Letters to Mrs. Bray--Strauss translation published--Visit to Dover with father--Classical books wanted--Pleasure in Strauss's letter--Brays suspect novel-writing--Letters to Miss Sara Hennell--Good spirits--Wicksteed's review of the Strauss translation--Reading Foster's life--Visit to Griff--Child's view of God (_à propos_ of Miss Hennell's "Heliados")--Visit to London--"Elijah"--Likes London less--The Sibree family and Mrs. John Cash's reminiscences--Letter to Miss Mary Sibree--Letters to Miss Sara Hennell--Mental depression--Opinion of Charles Hennell's "Inquiry"--Visit to the Isle of Wight with father--Admiration of Richardson--Blanco White--Delight in George Sand's "Lettres d'un Voyageur"--Letters to Mr. John Sibree--Opinion of Mrs. Hannah More's letters--"Tancred," "Coningsby," and "Sybil"--D'Israeli's theory of races--Gentile nature kicks against superiority of Jews--Bows only to the supremacy of Hebrew poetry--Superiority of music among the arts--Relation of religion to art--Thorwaldsen's Christ--Admiration of Roberts and Creswick--The intellect and moral nature restrain the passions and senses--Mr. Dawson the lecturer--Satisfaction in French Revolution of '48--The men of the barricade bowing to the image of Christ--Difference between French and English working-classes--The need of utterance--Sympathy with Mr. Sibree in religious difficulties--Longing for a high attic in Geneva--Letters to Miss Sara Hennell--Views on correspondence--Mental depression--Father's illness--Father better--Goes with him to St. Leonard's--Letter to Charles Bray--Depression to be overcome by thought and love--Admiration of Louis Blanc--Recovery from depression--"Jane Eyre"--Return to Coventry--Meets Emerson--Strauss's pamphlet on Julian the Apostate--Carlyle's eulogium on Emerson--Francis Newman--Suffering from depression--Letter to Mrs. Houghton--Self-condemnation for evil speaking--Letters to Miss Hennell--Macaulay's History--On the influence of George Sand's and Rousseau's writing--Writes review of the "Nemesis of Faith" for the _Coventry Herald_--Opinion of the "Nemesis" and the "Shadows of the Clouds"--Translating Spinoza's "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus"--Letter to Mrs. Pears--The consolations of nursing--Strain of father's illness--Father's death. FOOTNOTES: [20] Organs of Combativeness. [21] Afterwards acknowledged by the author, Robert Landor (brother of Walter Savage Landor), who also wrote the "Fountain of Arethusa," etc. [22] John Foster, Baptist minister, born 1770, died 1843. [23] An _Ahnung_--a presentiment--of her own future. [24] On Emerson. [25] Francis Newman. CHAPTER IV. It fortunately happened that the Brays had planned a trip to the Continent for this month of June, 1849, and Miss Evans, being left desolate by the death of her father, accepted their invitation to join them. On the 11th June they started, going by way of Paris, Lyons, Avignon, Marseilles, Nice, Genoa, Milan, Como, Lago Maggiore, Martigny, and Chamounix, arriving at Geneva in the third week of July. Here Miss Evans determined to remain for some months, the Brays returning home. Before they went, however, they helped her to settle herself comfortably _en pension_, and, as will be seen from the following letters, the next eight months were quietly and peacefully happy. The _pension_ selected in the first instance was the Campagne Plongeon, which stands on a slight eminence a few hundred yards back from the road on the route d'Hermance, some ten minutes' walk from the Hôtel Métropole. From the Hôtel National on the Quai de Mont Blanc one catches a pleasant glimpse of it nestling among its trees. A good-sized, gleaming white house, with a centre, and gables at each side, a flight of steps leading from the middle window to the ground. A meadow in front, nicely planted, slopes charmingly down to the blue lake, and behind the house, on the left-hand side, there is an avenue of remarkably fine chestnut-trees, whence there is a magnificent view of the Jura mountains on the opposite side of the lake. The road to Geneva is very beautiful, by the lake-side, bordered with plane-trees. It was a delightful, soothing change after the long illness and the painful death of her father--after the monotonous dulness, too, of an English provincial town like Coventry, where there is little beauty of any sort to gladden the soul. In the first months following a great loss it is good to be alone for a time--alone, especially amidst beautiful scenes--and alone in the sense of being removed from habitual associations, but yet constantly in the society of new acquaintances, who are sufficiently interesting, but not too intimate. The Swiss correspondence which follows is chiefly addressed to the Brays collectively, and describes the life minutely. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 27th July, 1840.] About my comfort here, I find no disagreeables, and have every physical comfort that I care about. The family seems well-ordered and happy. I have made another friend, too--an elderly English lady, a Mrs. Locke, who used to live at Ryde--a pretty old lady with plenty of shrewdness and knowledge of the world. She began to say very kind things to me in rather a waspish tone yesterday morning at breakfast. I liked her better at dinner and tea, and to-day we are quite confidential. I only hope she will stay; she is just the sort of person I shall like to have to speak to--not at all "congenial," but with a character of her own. The going down to tea bores me, and I shall get out of it as soon as I can, unless I can manage to have the newspapers to read. The American lady embroiders slippers--the mamma looks on and does nothing. The marquis and his friends play at whist; the old ladies sew; and madame says things so true that they are insufferable. She is obliged to talk to all, and cap their _niaiseries_ with some suitable observation. She has been very kind and motherly to me. I like her better every time I see her. I have quiet and comfort--what more can I want to make me a healthy, reasonable being once more? I will never go near a friend again until I can bring joy and peace in my heart and in my face--but remember that friendship will be easy then. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 5th Aug. 1849.] I hope my imagination paints truly when it shows me all of you seated with beaming faces round the tea-table at Rosehill. I shall be yearning to know that things as well as people are smiling on you; but I am sure you will not let me wait for news of you longer than is necessary. My life here would be delightful if we could always keep the same set of people; but, alas! I fear one generation will go and another come so fast that I shall not care to become acquainted with any of them. My good Mrs. Locke is not going, that is one comfort. She is quite a mother to me--helps me to buy my candles and do all my shopping--takes care of me at dinner, and quite rejoices when she sees me enjoy conversation or anything else. The St. Germains are delightful people--the marquise really seems to me the most charming person I ever saw, with kindness enough to make the ultra-politeness of her manners quite genuine. She is very good to me, and says of me, "Je m'interesse vivement à mademoiselle." The marquis is the most well-bred, harmless of men. He talks very little--every sentence seems a terrible gestation, and comes forth _fortissimo_; but he generally bestows one on me, and seems especially to enjoy my poor tunes (mind you, all these trivialities are to satisfy your vanity, not mine--because you are beginning to be ashamed of having loved me). The gray-headed gentleman got quite fond of talking philosophy with me before he went; but, alas! he and a very agreeable young man who was with him are gone to Aix les Bains. The young German is the Baron de H----. I should think he is not more than two or three and twenty, very good-natured, but a most determined enemy to all gallantry. I fancy he is a Communist; but he seems to have been joked about his opinions by madame and the rest until he has determined to keep a proud silence on such matters. He has begun to talk to me, and I think we should become good friends; but he, too, is gone on an expedition to Monte Rosa. He is expecting his brother to join him here on his return, but I fear they will not stay long. The _gouvernante_ is a German, with a moral region that would rejoice Mr. Bray's eyes. Poor soul, she is in a land of strangers, and often seems to feel her loneliness. Her situation is a very difficult one; and "_die Angst_," she says, often brings on a pain at her heart. Madame is a woman of some reading and considerable talent--very fond of politics, a devourer of the journals, with an opinion ready for you on any subject whatever. It will be a serious loss to her to part with the St. Germain family. I fear that they will not stay longer than this month. I should be quite indifferent to the world that comes or goes if once I had my boxes with all my books. Last Sunday I went with madame to a small church near Plongeon, and I could easily have fancied myself in an Independent chapel at home. The spirit of the sermon was not a whit more elevated than that of our friend Dr. Harris; the text, "What shall I do to be saved?" the answer of Jesus being blinked as usual. To-day I have been to hear one of the most celebrated preachers, M. Meunier. His sermon was really eloquent--all written down, but delivered with so much energy and feeling that you never thought of the book. It is curious to notice how patriotism--_dévouement à la patrie_--is put in the sermons as the first of virtues, even before devotion to the Church. We never hear of it in England after we leave school. The good marquis goes with his family and servants, all nicely dressed, to the Catholic Church. They are a most orderly set of people: there is nothing but their language and their geniality and politeness to distinguish them from one of the best of our English aristocratic families. I am perfectly comfortable; every one is kind to me and seems to like me. Your kind hearts will rejoice at this, I know. Only remember that I am just as much interested in all that happens to you at Rosehill as you are in what happens to me at Plongeon. Pray that the motto of Geneva may become mine--"_Post tenebras lux_." [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 20th Aug. 1849.] I have no head for writing to-day, for I have been keeping my bed for the last three days; but I must remember that writing to you is like ringing a bell hung in the planet Jupiter--it is so weary a while before one's letters reach. I have been positively sickening for want of my boxes, and anxiety to hear of my relations. Your kind letter of this morning has quieted the latter a little; but my boxes, alas! have not appeared. Do not be alarmed about my health. I have only had a terrible headache--prolonged, in fact, by the assiduities of the good people here; for the first day I lay in my bed I had the whole female world of Plongeon in my bedroom, and talked so incessantly that I was unable to sleep after it; the consequence, as you may imagine, was that the next day I was very much worse; but I am getting better, and indeed it was worth while to be ill to have so many kind attentions. There is a fresh German family from Frankfurt here just now--Madame Cornelius and her children. She is the daughter of the richest banker in Frankfurt, and, what is better, full of heart and mind, with a face that tells you so before she opens her lips. She has more reading than the marquise, being German and Protestant; and it is a real refreshment to talk with her for half an hour. The dear marquise is a truly devout Catholic. It is beautiful to hear her speak of the comfort she has in the confessional--for our _têtes-à-tête_ have lately turned on religious matters. She says I am in a "mauvaise voie sous le rapport de la religion. Peut être vous vous marierez, et le mariage, chère amie, sans la foi religieuse!..." She says I have isolated myself by my studies--that I am too cold and have too little confidence in the feelings of others towards me--that I do not believe how deep an interest she has conceived in my lot. She says Signor Goldrini (the young Italian who was here for a week) told her, when he had been talking to me one evening, "Vous aimerez cette demoiselle, j'en suis sûr"--and she has found his prediction true. They are leaving for their own country on Wednesday. She hopes I shall go to Italy and see her; and when I tell her that I have no faith that she will remember me long enough for me to venture on paying her a visit if ever I should go to Italy again, she shakes her head at my incredulity. She was born at Genoa. Her father was three years Sardinian Minister at Constantinople before she was married, and she speaks with enthusiasm of her life there--"C'est là le pays de la vraie poésie ou l'on sent ce que c'est que de vivre par le coeur." M. de H---- is returned from Monte Rosa. He would be a nice person if he had another soul added to the one he has by nature--the soul that comes by sorrow and love. I stole his book while he was gone--the first volume of Louis Blanc's "History of Ten Years." It contains a very interesting account of the three days of July, 1830. His brother is coming to join him, so I hope he will not go at present. Tell Miss Sibree my address, and beg her to write to me all about herself, and to write on thin paper. I hardly know yet whether I shall like this place well enough to stay here through the winter. I have been under the disadvantage of wanting all on which I chiefly depend, my books, etc. When I have been here another month I shall be better able to judge. I hope you managed to get in the black velvet dress. The people dress, and think about dressing, here more even than in England. You would not know me if you saw me. The marquise took on her the office of _femme de chambre_ and dressed my hair one day. She has abolished all my curls, and made two things stick out on each side of my head like those on the head of the Sphinx. All the world says I look infinitely better; so I comply, though to myself I seem uglier than ever--if possible. I am fidgeted to death about my boxes, and that tiresome man not to acknowledge the receipt of them. I make no apology for writing all my peevishness and follies, because I want you to do the same--to let me know everything about you, to the aching of your fingers--and you tell me very little. My boxes, my boxes! I dream of them night and day. Dear Mr. Hennell! Give him my heartiest affectionate remembrances. Tell him I find no one here so spirited as he: there are no better jokes going than I can make myself. Mrs. Hennell and Mrs. C. Hennell, too, all are remembered--if even I have only seen them in England. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 28th Aug. 1849.] Mme. de Ludwigsdorff, the wife of an Austrian baron, has been here for two days, and is coming again. She is handsome, spirited, and clever--pure English by birth, but quite foreign in manners and appearance. She, and all the world besides, are going to winter in Italy. Nothing annoys me now; I feel perfectly at home, and shall really be comfortable when I have all my little matters about me. This place looks more lovely to me every day--the lake, the town, the _campagnes_, with their stately trees and pretty houses, the glorious mountains in the distance; one can hardly believe one's self on earth; one might live here, and forget that there is such a thing as want or labor or sorrow. The perpetual presence of all this beauty has somewhat the effect of mesmerism or chloroform. I feel sometimes as if I were sinking into an agreeable state of numbness, on the verge of unconsciousness, and seem to want well pinching to rouse me. The other day (Sunday) there was a _fête_ held on the lake--the _fête_ of Navigation. I went out, with some other ladies, in M. de H----'s boat, at sunset, and had the richest draught of beauty. All the boats of Geneva turned out in their best attire. When the moon and stars came out there were beautiful fireworks sent up from the boats. The mingling of the silver and the golden rays on the rippled lake, the bright colors of the boats, the music, the splendid fireworks, and the pale moon looking at it all with a sort of grave surprise, made up a scene of perfect enchantment; and our dear old Mont Blanc was there, in his white ermine robe. I rowed all the time, and hence comes my palsy. I can perfectly fancy dear Mrs. Pears in her Leamington house. How beautiful all that Foleshill life looks now, like the distant Jura in the morning! She was such a sweet, dear, good friend to me. My walks with her, my little visits to them in the evening--all is remembered. I am glad you have seen Fanny again; any attention you show her is a real kindness to me, and I assure you she is worth it. You know, or, you do not know, that my nature is so chameleon-like I shall lose all my identity unless you keep nourishing the old self with letters; so, pray, write as much and as often as you can. It jumps admirably with my humor to live in two worlds at once in this way. I possess my dearest friends and my old environment in my thoughts, and another world of novelty and beauty in which I am actually moving, and my contrariety of disposition always makes the world that lives in my thoughts the dearer of the two, the one in which I more truly dwell. So, after all, I enjoy my friends most when I am away from them. I shall not say so, though, if I should live to rejoin you six or seven months hence. Keep me for seven[26] years longer, and you will find out the use of me, like all other pieces of trumpery. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 6th Sept. 1849.] Have I confided too much in your generosity in supposing that you would write to me first? or is there some other reason for your silence? I suffer greatly from it--not entirely from selfish reasons, but in great part because I am really anxious to know all about you, your state of health and spirits, the aspect of things within and without you. Did Mr. Bray convey to you my earnest request that you would write to me? You know of my whereabouts and circumstances from my good friends at Rosehill, so that I have little to tell you; at least, I have not spirit to write of myself until I have heard from you, and have an assurance from yourself that you yet care about me. Sara (Mrs. Isaac Evans) has sent me word of the sad, sad loss that has befallen poor Chrissey and Edward--a loss in which I feel that I have a share; for that angelic little being had great interest for me; she promised to pay so well for any care spent on her. I can imagine poor Edward's almost frantic grief, and I dread the effect on Chrissey's weak frame of her more silent suffering. Anything you can tell me about them will be read very eagerly. I begin to feel the full value of a letter; so much so that, if ever I am convinced that any one has the least anxiety to hear from me, I shall always reckon it among the first duties to sit down without delay, giving no ear to the suggestions of my idleness and aversion to letter-writing. Indeed, I am beginning to find it really pleasant to write to my friends, now that I am so far away from them; and I could soon fill a sheet to you, if your silence did not weigh too heavily on my heart. My health is by no means good yet; seldom good enough not to be a sort of drag on my mind; so you must make full allowance for too much egotism and susceptibility in me. It seems to be three years instead of three months since I was in England and amongst you, and I imagine that all sorts of revolutions must have taken place in the interim; whereas to you, I dare say, remaining in your old home and among your every-day duties, the time has slipped away so rapidly that you are unable to understand my anxiety to hear from you. I think the climate here is not particularly healthy; I suppose, from the vicinity of the lake, which, however, becomes so dear to me that one cannot bear to hear it accused. Good-bye, dear Fanny; a thousand blessings to you, whether you write to me or not, and much gratitude if you do. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 13th Sept. 1849.] My boxes arrived last Friday. The expense was fr. 150--perfectly horrible! Clearly, I must give myself for food to the fowls of the air or the fishes of the lake. It is a consolation to a mind imbued with a lofty philosophy that, when one can get nothing to eat, one can still be eaten--the evil is only apparent. It is quite settled that I cannot stay at Plongeon; I must move into town. But, alas! I must pay fr. 200 per month. If I were there I should see more conversable people than here. Do you think any one would buy my "Encyclopædia Britannica" at half-price, and my globes? If so, I should not be afraid of exceeding my means, and I should have a little money to pay for my piano, and for some lessons of different kinds that I want to take. The "Encyclopædia" is the last edition, and cost £42, and the globes £8 10_s._ I shall never have anywhere to put them, so it is folly to keep them, if any one will buy them. No one else has written to me, though I have written to almost all. I would rather have it so than feel that the debt was on my side. When will you come to me for help, that I may be able to hate you a little less? I shall leave here as soon as I am able to come to a decision, as I am anxious to feel settled, and the weather is becoming cold. This house is like a bird-cage set down in a garden. Do not count this among my letters. I am good for nothing to-day, and can write nothing well but bitterness, so that I will not trust myself to say another word. The Baronne de Ludwigsdorff seems to have begun to like me very much, and is really kind; so you see Heaven sends kind souls, though they are by no means kindred ones. Poor Mrs. Locke is to write to me--has given me a little ring; says, "Take care of yourself, my child--have some tea of your own--you'll be quite another person if you get some introductions to clever people; you'll get on well among a certain set--that's true;" it is her way to say "that's true" after all her affirmations. She says, "You won't find any kindred spirits at Plongeon, my dear." [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 20th Sept. 1849.] I am feeling particularly happy because I have had very kind letters from my brother and sisters. I am ashamed to fill sheets about myself, but I imagined that this was precisely what you wished. Pray correct my mistake, if it be one, and then I will look over the Calvin manuscripts, and give you some information of really general interest, suited to our mutual capacities. Mme. Ludwigsdorff is so good to me--a charming creature--so anxious to see me comfortably settled--petting me in all sorts of ways. She sends me tea when I wake in the morning--orange-flower water when I go to bed--grapes--and her maid to wait on me. She says if I like she will spend the winter after this at Paris with me, and introduce me to her friends there; but she does not mean to attach herself to me, because I shall never like her long. I shall be tired of her when I have sifted her, etc. She says I have more intellect than _morale_, and other things more true than agreeable; however, she is "greatly interested" in me; has told me her troubles and her feelings, she says, in spite of herself; for she has never been able before in her life to say so much even to her old friends. It is a mystery she cannot unravel. She is a person of high culture, according to the ordinary notions of what feminine culture should be. She speaks French and German perfectly, plays well, and has the most perfect polish of manner--the most thorough refinement, both socially and morally. She is tall and handsome, a striking-looking person, but with a sweet feminine expression when she is with those she likes; dresses exquisitely; in fine, is all that I am not. I shall tire you with all this, but I want you to know what good creatures there are here as elsewhere. Miss F. tells me that the first day she sat by my side at dinner she looked at me and thought to herself, "That is a grave lady; I do not think I shall like her much;" but as soon as I spoke to her, and she looked into my eyes, she felt she could love me. Then she lent me a book written by her cousin--a religious novel--in which there is a fearful infidel who will not believe, and hates all who do, etc. Then she invited me to walk with her, and came to talk in my room; then invited me to go to the Oratoire with them, till I began to be uncomfortable under the idea that they fancied I was evangelical, and that I was gaining their affection under false pretences; so I told Miss F. that I was going to sacrifice her good opinion, and confess my heresies. I quite expected, from their manner and character, that they would forsake me in horror--but they are as kind as ever. They never go into the _salon_ in the evening, and I have almost forsaken it, spending the evening frequently in Mme. de Ludwigsdorff's room, where we have some delightful tea. The tea of the house here is execrable; or, rather, as Mrs. A. says, "How glad we ought to be that it has no taste at all; it might have a very bad one!" I like the A.'s; they are very good-natured. Mrs. A., a very ugly but lady-like little woman, who is under an infatuation "as it regards" her caps--always wearing the brightest rose-color or intensest blue--with a complexion not unlike a dirty primrose glove. The rest of the people are nothing to me, except, indeed, dear old Mlle. de Phaisan, who comes into my room when I am ill, with "Qu'est ce que vous avez, ma bonne?" in the tone of the kindest old aunt, and thinks that I am the most amiable douce creature, which will give you a better opinion of her charity than her penetration. Dear creatures! no one is so good as you yet. I have not yet found any one who can bear comparison with you; not in kindness to me--_ça va sans dire_--but in solidity of mind and in expansion of feeling. This is a very coarse thing to say, but it came to the end of my pen, and _litera scripta manet_--at least, when it comes at the end of the second page. I shall certainly stay at Geneva this winter, and shall return to England as early as the spring weather will permit, always supposing that nothing occurs to alter my plans. I am still thin; so how much will be left of me next April I am afraid to imagine. I shall be length without breadth. Cara's assurance that you are well and comfortable is worth a luncheon to me, which is just the thing I am generally most in want of, for we dine at six now. I love to imagine you in your home; and everything seems easy to me when I am not disturbed about the health or well-being of my loved ones. It is really so; I do not say it out of any sort of affectation, benevolent or otherwise. I am without carefulness, alas! in more senses than one. Thank Sara very heartily for her letter. I do not write a special sheet for her to-day, because I have to write to two or three other people, but she must not the less believe how I valued a little private morsel from her; and also that I would always rather she wrote "from herself" than "to me"--that is my theory of letter-writing. Your letters are as welcome as Elijah's ravens--I thought of saying the dinner-bell, only that would be too gross! I get impatient at the end of the ten days which it takes for our letters to go to and fro; and I have not the least faith in the necessity for keeping the sheet three or four days before Mr. Bray can find time to write his meagre bit. If you see the Miss Franklins, give my love to them; my remembrances to Mr. and Mrs. Whittem; love to Miss Sibree always. Hearty love to Clapton[27] and Woodford;[28] and a very diffusive benevolence to the world in general, without any particular attachment to A or B. I am trying to please Mr. Bray. Good-bye, dear souls. _Dominus vobiscum._ [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Thursday, 4th Oct. 1849.] I am anxious for you to know my new address, as I shall leave here on Tuesday. I think I have at last found the very thing. I shall be the only lodger. The _appartement_ is _assez joli_, with an alcove, so that it looks like a sitting-room in the daytime--the people, an artist of great respectability, and his wife, a most kind-looking, lady-like person, with two boys, who have the air of being well educated. They seem very anxious to have me, and are ready to do anything to accommodate me. I shall live with them--that is, dine with them; breakfast in my own room. The terms are fr. 150 per month, light included. M. and Mme. d'Albert are middle-aged, musical, and, I am told, have _beaucoup d'esprit_. I hope this will not exceed my means for four or five months. There is a nice, large _salon_ and a good _salle à manger_. I am told that their society is very good. Mme. de Ludwigsdorff was about going there a year ago, and it was she who recommended it to me. I hope Sara's fears are supererogatory--a proof of a too nervous solicitude about me, for which I am grateful, though it does me no good to hear of it. I want encouraging rather than warning and checking. I believe I am so constituted that I shall never be cured of my faults except by God's discipline. If human beings would but believe it, they do me the most good by saying to me the kindest things truth will permit; and really I cannot hope those will be superlatively kind. The reason I wished to raise a little extra money is that I wanted to have some lessons and other means of culture--not for my daily bread, for which I hope I shall have enough; but, since you think my scheme impracticable, we will dismiss it. _Au reste_, be in no anxiety about me. Nothing is going wrong that I know of. I am not an absolute fool and weakling. When I am fairly settled in my new home I will write again. My address will be--M. d'Albert Durade, Rue des Chanoines, No. 107. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 4th Oct. 1849.] The blessed compensation there is in all things made your letter doubly precious for having been waited for, and it would have inspired me to write to you again much sooner, but that I have been in uncertainty about settling myself for the winter, and I wished to send you my future address. I am to move to my new home on Tuesday the 9th. I shall not at all regret leaving here; the season is beginning to be rather sombre, though the glorious chestnuts here are still worth looking at half the day. You have heard of some of the people whom I have described in my letters to Rosehill. The dear little old maid, Mlle. de Phaisan, is quite a good friend to me--extremely prosy, and full of tiny details; but really people of that calibre are a comfort to one occasionally, when one has not strength enough for more stimulating things. She is a sample of those happy souls who ask for nothing but the work of the hour, however trivial; who are contented to live without knowing whether they effect anything, but who do really effect much good, simply by their calm and even _maintien_. I laugh to hear her say in a tone of remonstrance--"Mme. de Ludwigsdorff dit qu'elle s'ennuie quand les soirées sont longues: moi, je ne conçois pas comment on peut s'ennuyer quand on a de l'ouvrage ou des jeux ou de la conversation." When people who are dressing elegantly and driving about to make calls every day of their life have been telling me of their troubles--their utter hopelessness of ever finding a vein worth working in their future life--my thoughts have turned towards many whose sufferings are of a more tangible character, and I have really felt all the old commonplaces about the equality of human destinies, always excepting those spiritual differences which are apart not only from poverty and riches, but from individual affections. Dear Chrissey has found time and strength to write to me, and very precious her letter was, though I wept over it. "Deep, abiding grief must be mine," she says, and I know well it must be. The mystery of trial! It falls with such avalanche weight on the head of the meek and patient. I wish I could do something of more avail for my friends than love them and long for their happiness. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 11th Oct. 1849.] M. and Mme. d'Albert are really clever people--people worth sitting up an hour longer to talk to. This does not hinder madame from being an excellent manager--dressing scrupulously, and keeping her servants in order. She has hung my room with pictures, one of which is the most beautiful group of flowers conceivable thrown on an open Bible, painted by herself. I have a piano which I hire. There is also one in the _salon_. M. d'Albert plays and sings, and in the winter he tells me they have parties to sing masses and do other delightful things. In fact, I think I am just in the right place. I breakfast in my own room at half-past eight, lunch at half-past twelve, and dine at four or a little after, and take tea at eight. From the tea-table I have gone into the _salon_ and chatted until bedtime. It would really have been a pity to have stayed at Plongeon, out of reach of everything, and with people so little worth talking to. I have not found out the _desagrémens_ here yet. It is raining horribly, but this just saves me from the regret I should have felt at having quitted the chestnuts of Plongeon. That _campagne_ looked splendid in its autumn dress. George Eliot retained so warm an admiration and love for M. d'Albert Durade to the end of her life that it seems fitting here to mention that he still lives, carrying well the weight of eighty winters. He is _conservateur_ of the Athénée--a permanent exhibition of works of art in Geneva; and he published only last year (1883) a French translation of the "Scenes of Clerical Life," having already previously published translations of "Adam Bede," "Felix Holt," "Silas Marner," and "Romola." The description of his personal appearance, in the following letter, still holds good, save that the gray hair has become quite white. He lost his wife in 1873; and it will be seen from subsequent letters that George Eliot kept up a faithful attachment to her to the end. They were both friends after her own heart. The old apartment is now No. 18, instead of No. 107, Rue des Chanoines, and is occupied as the printing-office of the _Journal de Genève_. But half of the rooms remain just as they were five-and-thirty years ago. The _salon_, wainscoted in imitation light-oak panels, with a white China stove, and her bedroom opening off it--as she had often described it to me; and M. d'Albert has still in his possession the painting of the bunch of beautiful flowers thrown on an open Bible mentioned in the last letter. He told me that when Miss Evans first came to look at the house she was so horrified with the forbidding aspect of the stairs that she declared she would not go up above the first floor; but when she got inside the door she was reconciled to her new quarters. Calvin's house is close to the Rue des Chanoines, and she was much interested in it. It will be seen that she did some work in physics under Professor de la Rive; but she principally rested and enjoyed herself during the stay at Geneva. It was exactly the kind of life she was in need of at the time, and the letters show how much she appreciated it. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 26th Oct. 1849.] I languished for your letter before it came, and read it three times running--judge whether I care less for you than of old. It is the best of blessings to know that you are well and cheerful; and when I think of all that might happen in a fortnight to make you otherwise, especially in these days of cholera and crises, I cannot help being anxious until I get a fresh assurance that at least five days ago all was well. Before I say anything about myself, I must contradict your suspicion that I paint things too agreeably for the sake of giving you pleasure. I assure you my letters are subjectively true; the falsehood, if there be any, is in my manner of seeing things. But I will give you some _vérités positives_, in which, alas! poor imagination has hitherto been able to do little for the world. Mme. d'Albert anticipates all my wants, and makes a spoiled child of me. I like these dear people better and better--everything is so in harmony with one's moral feeling that I really can almost say I never enjoyed a more complete _bien être_ in my life than during the last fortnight. For M. d'Albert, I love him already as if he were father and brother both. His face is rather haggard-looking, but all the lines and the wavy gray hair indicate the temperament of the artist. I have not heard a word or seen a gesture of his yet that was not perfectly in harmony with an exquisite moral refinement--indeed, one feels a better person always when he is present. He sings well, and plays on the piano a little. It is delightful to hear him talk of his friends--he admires them so genuinely--one sees so clearly that there is no reflex egotism. His conversation is charming. I learn something every dinner-time. Mme. d'Albert has less of genius and more of cleverness--a really lady-like person, who says everything well. She brings up her children admirably--two nice, intelligent boys;[29]--the youngest, particularly, has a sort of Lamartine expression, with a fine head. It is so delightful to get among people who exhibit no meannesses, no worldlinesses, that one may well be enthusiastic. To me it is so blessed to find any departure from the rule of giving as little as possible for as much as possible. Their whole behavior to me is as if I were a guest whom they delighted to honor. Last night we had a little knot of their most intimate musical friends, and M. and Mme. d'Albert introduced me to them as if they wished me to know them--as if they wished me to like their friends and their friends to like me. The people and the evening would have been just after your own hearts. In fact, I have not the slightest pretext for being discontented--not the shadow of a discomfort. Even the little housemaid Jeanne is charming; says to me every morning, in the prettiest voice: "Madame a-t-elle bien dormi cette nuit?"--puts fire in my _chauffe-pied_ without being told--cleans my rooms most conscientiously. There--I promise to weary you less for the future with my descriptions. I could not resist the temptation to speak gratefully of M. and Mme. d'Albert. Give my love to Mrs. Pears--my constant, ever-fresh remembrance. My love to Miss Rebecca Franklin--tell her I have only spun my web to Geneva; it will infallibly carry me back again across the gulf, were it twice as great. If Mr. Froude preach the new word at Manchester, I hope he will preach it so as to do without an after-explanation, and not bewilder his hearers in the manner of Mephistopheles when he dons the doctor's gown of Faust. I congratulate you on the new edition,[30] and promise to read it with a disposition to admire when I am at Rosehill once more. I am beginning to lose respect for the petty acumen that sees difficulties. I love the souls that rush along to their goal with a full stream of sentiment--that have too much of the positive to be harassed by the perpetual negatives--which, after all, are but the disease of the soul, to be expelled by fortifying the principle of vitality. Good-bye, dear loves; sha'n't I kiss you when I am in England again--in England! I already begin to think of the journey as an impossibility. Geneva is so beautiful now, the trees have their richest coloring. Coventry is a fool to it--but, then, you are at Coventry, and you are better than lake, trees, and mountains. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 28th Oct. 1849.] We have had some delicious autumn days here. If the fine weather last, I am going up the Salève on Sunday with M. d'Albert. On one side I shall have a magnificent view of the lake, the town, and the Jura; on the other, the range of Mont Blanc. The walks about Geneva are perfectly enchanting. "Ah!" says poor Mlle. de Phaisan, "nous avons un beau pays si nous n'avions pas ces Radicaux!" The election of the Conseil d'�tat is to take place in November, and an _émeute_ is expected. The actual government is Radical, and thoroughly detested by all the "respectable" classes. The vice-president of the Conseil and the virtual head of the government is an unprincipled, clever fellow, horribly in debt himself, and on the way to reduce the government to the same position. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Oct. 1849.] I like my town life vastly. I shall like it still better in the winter. There is an indescribable charm to me in this form of human nest-making. You enter a by no means attractive-looking house, you climb up two or three flights of cold, dark-looking stone steps, you ring at a very modest door, and you enter a set of rooms, snug, or comfortable, or elegant. One is so out of reach of intruders, so undiverted from one's occupations by externals, so free from cold, rushing winds through hall doors--one feels in a downy nest high up in a good old tree. I have always had a hankering after this sort of life, and I find it was a true instinct of what would suit me. Just opposite my windows is the street in which the Sisters of Charity live, and, if I look out, I generally see either one of them or a sober-looking ecclesiastic. Then a walk of five minutes takes me out of all streets, within sight of beauties that I am sure you too would love, if you did not share my enthusiasm for the town. I have not another minute, having promised to go out before dinner--so, dearest, take my letter as a hasty kiss, just to let you know how constantly I love you--how, the longer I live and the more I have felt, the better I know how to value you. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 4th Dec. 1849.] I write at once to answer your questions about business. Spinoza and I have been divorced for several months. My want of health has obliged me to renounce all application. I take walks, play on the piano, read Voltaire, talk to my friends, and just take a dose of mathematics every day to prevent my brain from becoming quite soft. If you are anxious to publish the translation in question I could, after a few months, finish the "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus" to keep it company; but I confess to you that I think you would do better to abstain from printing a translation. What is wanted in English is not a translation of Spinoza's works, but a true estimate of his life and system. After one has rendered his Latin faithfully into English, one feels that there is another yet more difficult process of translation for the reader to effect, and that the only mode of making Spinoza accessible to a larger number is to study his books, then shut them, and give an analysis. For those who read the very words Spinoza wrote there is the same sort of interest in his style as in the conversation of a person of great capacity who has led a solitary life, and who says from his own soul what all the world is saying by rote; but this interest hardly belongs to a translation. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th Dec. 1849.] Your letter is very sweet to me, giving me a picture of your quiet life. How shall I enable you to imagine mine, since you know nothing of the localities? My good friends here only change for the better. Mme. d'Albert is all affection; M. d'Albert all delicacy and intelligence; the friends to whom they have introduced me very kind in their attentions. In fact, I want nothing but a little more money, to feel more at ease about my fires, etc. I am in an atmosphere of love and refinement; even the little servant Jeanne seems to love me, and does me good every time she comes into the room. I can say anything to M. and Mme. d'Albert. M. d'A. understands everything, and if madame does not understand, she believes--that is, she seems always sure that I mean something edifying. She kisses me like a mother, and I am baby enough to find that a great addition to my happiness. _Au reste_, I am careful for nothing; I am a sort of supernumerary spoon, and there will be no damage to the set if I am lost. My heart-ties are not loosened by distance--it is not in the nature of ties to be so; and when I think of my loved ones as those to whom I can be a comforter, a help, I long to be with them again. Otherwise, I can only think with a shudder of returning to England. It looks to me like a land of gloom, of _ennui_, of platitude; but in the midst of all this it is the land of duty and affection, and the only ardent hope I have for my future life is to have given to me some woman's duty--some possibility of devoting myself where I may see a daily result of pure, calm blessedness in the life of another. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 4th Dec. 1849.] How do you look? I hope that _bandeau_ of silvery locks is not widening too fast on the head I love so well--that the eyes are as bright as ever. Your letter tells me they will beam as kindly as ever when I see them once more. Never make apologies about your letters, or your words, or anything else. It is your soul to which I am wedded; and do I not know too well how the soul is doubly belied--first, by the impossibility of being in word and act as great, as loving, as good as it wills to be; and again, by the miserable weaknesses of the friends who see the words and acts through all sorts of mists raised by their own passions and preoccupations? In all these matters I am the chief of sinners, and I am tempted to rejoice in the offences of my friends, because they make me feel less humiliation. I am quite satisfied to be at Geneva instead of Paris; in fact, I am becoming passionately attached to the mountains, the lake, the streets, my own room, and, above all, the dear people with whom I live. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 23d Dec. 1849.] A thousand Christmas pleasures and blessings to you--good resolutions and bright hopes for the New Year! Amen. People who can't be witty exert themselves to be pious or affectionate. Henceforth I tell you nothing whatever about myself; for if I speak of agreeables, and say I am contented, Mr. Bray writes me word that you are all trying to forget me. If I were to tell you of disagreeables and privations and sadness, Sara would write: "If you are unhappy now, you will be so _à fortiori_ ten years hence." Now, since I have a decided objection to doses sent by post which upset one's digestion for a fortnight, I am determined to give you no pretext for sending them. You shall not know whether I am well or ill, contented or discontented, warm or cold, fat or thin. But remember that I am so far from being of the same mind as Mr. Bray, that good news of you is necessary to my comfort. I walk more briskly, and jump out of bed more promptly, after a letter that tells me you are well and comfortable, that business is promising, that men begin to speak well of you, etc. "I am comforted in your comfort," as saith St. Paul to the troublesome Corinthians. When one is cabined, cribbed, confined in one's self, it is good to be enlarged in one's friends. Good Mr. Marshall! We wish to keep even unamiable people when death calls for them, much more good souls like him. I am glad he had had one more pleasant visit to Cara for her to think of. Dear Sara's letter is very charming--not at all physicky--rather an agreeable draught of _vin sucré_. Dear Mr. Hennell, we shall never look upon his like. I am attending a course of lectures on Experimental Physics by M. le Professeur de la Rive, the inventor, among other things, of electroplating. The lectures occur every Wednesday and Saturday. It is time for me to go. I am distressed to send you this shabby last fragment of paper, and to write in such a hurry, but the days are really only two hours long, and I have so many things to do that I go to bed every night miserable because I have left out something I meant to do. Good-bye, dear souls. Forget me if you like, you cannot oblige me to forget you; and the active is worth twice of the passive all the world over! The earth is covered with snow, and the government is levelling the fortifications. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 28th Jan. 1850.] You leave me a long time without news of you, though I told you they were necessary as a counteractive to the horrors of this terrible winter. Are you really so occupied as to have absolutely no time to think of me? I console myself, at least to-day, now we have a blue sky once more after two months of mist, with thinking that I am excluded by pleasanter ideas--that at least you are well and comfortable, and I ought to content myself with that. The fact is, I am much of Touchstone's mind--in respect my life is at Geneva, I like it very well, but in respect it is not with you, it is a very vile life. I have no yearnings to exchange lake and mountains for Bishop Street and the Radford Fields, but I have a great yearning to kiss you all and talk to you for three days running. I do not think it will be possible for me to undertake the journey before the end of March. I look forward to it with great dread. I see myself looking utterly miserable, ready to leave all my luggage behind me at Paris for the sake of escaping the trouble of it. We have had Alboni here--a very fat siren. There has been some capital acting of comedies by friends of M. d'Albert--one of them is superior to any professional actor of comedy I have ever seen. He reads _vaudevilles_ so marvellously that one seems to have a whole troupe of actors before one in his single person. He is a handsome man of fifty, full of wit and talent, and he married about a year ago. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 9th Feb. 1850.] It is one of the provoking contrarieties of destiny that I should have written my croaking letter when your own kind, consolatory one was on its way to me. I have been happier ever since it came. After mourning two or three months over Chrissey's account of your troubles, I can only dwell on that part of your letter which tells that there is a little more blue in your sky--that you have faith in the coming spring. Shall you be as glad to see me as to hear the cuckoo? I mean to return to England as soon as the Jura is passable without sledges--probably the end of March or beginning of April. I have a little _Heimweh_ "as it regards" my friends. I yearn to see those I have loved the longest, but I shall feel real grief at parting from the excellent people with whom I am living. I feel they are my _friends_; without entering into or even knowing the greater part of my views, they understand my character and have a real interest in me. I have infinite tenderness from Mme. d'Albert. I call her always "maman;" and she is just the creature one loves to lean on and be petted by. In fact, I am too much indulged, and shall go back to England as undisciplined as ever. This terribly severe winter has been a drawback on my recovering my strength. I have lost whole weeks from headache, etc., but I am certainly better now than when I came to Mme. d'Albert. You tell me to give you these details, so I obey. Decidedly England is the most comfortable country to be in in winter--at least, for all except those who are rich enough to buy English comforts everywhere. I hate myself for caring about carpets, easy-chairs, and coal fires--one's soul is under a curse, and can preach no truth while one is in bondage to the flesh in this way; but, alas! habit is the purgatory in which we suffer for our past sins. I hear much music. We have a reunion of musical friends every Monday. For the rest, I have refused _soirées_, which are as stupid and unprofitable at Geneva as in England. I save all more interesting details, that I may have them to tell you when I am with you. I am going now to a _séance_ on Experimental Physics by the celebrated Professor de la Rive. This letter will at least convince you that I am not eaten up by wolves, as they have been fearing at Rosehill. The English papers tell of wolves descending from the Jura and devouring the inhabitants of the villages, but we have been in happy ignorance of these editors' horrors. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 15th Feb. 1850.] If you saw the Jura to-day! The snow reveals its forests, ravines, and precipices, and it stands in relief against a pure blue sky. The snow is on the mountains only, now, and one is tempted to walk all day, particularly when one lies in bed till ten, as your exemplary friend sometimes does. I have had no discipline, and shall return to you more of a spoiled child than ever. Indeed, I think I am destined to be so to the end--one of the odious swarm of voracious caterpillars soon to be swept away from the earth by a tempest. I am getting better bodily. I have much less headache, but the least excitement fatigues me. Certainly, if one cannot have a malady to carry one off rapidly, the only sensible thing is to get well and fat; and I believe I shall be driven to that alternative. You know that George Sand writes for the theatre? Her "François le Champi--une Comédie," is simplicity and purity itself. The seven devils are cast out. We are going to have more acting here on Wednesday. M. Chamel's talent makes maman's _soirées_ quite brilliant. You will be amused to hear that I am sitting for my portrait--at M. d'Albert's request, not mine. If it turns out well, I shall long to steal it to give to you; but M. d'Albert talks of painting a second, and in that case I shall certainly beg one. The idea of making a study of my visage is droll enough. I have the kindest possible letters from my brother and sisters, promising me the warmest welcome. This helps to give me courage for the journey; but the strongest magnet of all is a certain little group of three persons whom I hope to find together at Rosehill. Something has been said of M. d'Albert accompanying me to Paris. I am saddened when I think of all the horrible anxieties of trade. If I had children, I would make them carpenters and shoemakers; that is the way to make them Messiahs and Jacob Boehms. As for us, who are dependent on carpets and easy-chairs, we are reprobates, and shall never enter into the kingdom of heaven. I go to the Genevese churches every Sunday, and nourish my heterodoxy with orthodox sermons. However, there are some clever men here in the Church, and I am fortunate in being here at a time when the very cleverest is giving a series of conferences. I think I have never told you that we have a long German lad of seventeen in the house--the most taciturn and awkward of lads. He said very naïvely, when I reproached him for not talking to a German young lady at a _soirée_, when he was seated next her at table--"Je ne savais que faire de mes jambes." They had placed the poor _garçon_ against one of those card-tables--all legs, like himself. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 1st March, 1850.] The weather is so glorious that I think I may set out on my journey soon after the 15th. I am not quite certain yet that M. d'Albert will not be able to accompany me to Paris; in any case, a package of so little value will get along safely enough. I am so excited at the idea of the time being so near when I am to leave Geneva--a real grief--and see my friends in England--a perfectly overwhelming joy--that I can do nothing. I am frightened to think what an idle wretch I am become. And you all do not write me one word to tell me you long for me. I have a great mind to elope to Constantinople, and never see any one any more! It is with a feeling of regret that we take leave of the pleasant town of Geneva, its lake and mountains, and its agreeable little circle of acquaintance. It was a peacefully happy episode in George Eliot's life, and one she was always fond of recurring to, in our talk, up to the end of her life. _SUMMARY._ JUNE, 1849, TO MARCH, 1850. Goes abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Bray--Geneva--Life at Campagne Plongeon--Letters to Brays describing surroundings--Mrs. Locke--The St. Germain family--Anxiety about her boxes with books, etc.--Hears M. Meunier preach--Patriotism the first of virtues--Mme. Cornelius--Mme. de Ludwigsdorff--"_Fête_ of Navigation" on the lake--Demand for letters--Prophetic anticipation of position seven years later--Wishes to sell some of her books and globes to get music lessons--Letter to Mrs. Houghton--Loss of Mrs. Clarke's child--Love of Lake of Geneva--Letters to Brays--Mme. Ludwigsdorff wishes her to spend winter in Paris--Mlle. de Phaisan--Finds apartment in Geneva, No. 107 Rue des Chanoines, with M. and Mme. d'Albert--Enjoyment of their society--Remarks on translations of Spinoza--Hope of a woman's duty--Attachment to Geneva--Yearning for friends at home--Alboni--Private theatricals--Portrait by M. d'Albert--Remarks on education of children--Leaves Geneva by Jura. FOOTNOTES: [26] It may be noted as a curious verification of this presentiment that "Scenes of Clerical Life" were published in 1856--just seven years later. [27] Mrs. Hennell. [28] Mr. and Mrs. C. Hennell. [29] Mr. Charles Lewes tells me that when he went to stay with the d'Alberts at Geneva, many years afterwards, they mentioned how much they had been struck by her extraordinary discernment of the character of these two boys. [30] "Philosophy of Necessity," by Charles Bray. CHAPTER V. M. d'Albert and his charge left Geneva towards the end of March, and as the railway was not yet opened all the way to France, they had to cross the Jura in sledges, and suffered terribly from the cold. They joined the railway at Tonnerre, and came through Paris, arriving in England on the 23d of March. After a day in London, Miss Evans went straight to her friends at Rosehill, where she stayed for a few days before going on to Griff. It will have been seen that she had set her hopes high on the delights of home-coming, and with her too sensitive, impressionable nature, it is not difficult to understand, without attributing blame to any one, that she was pretty sure to be laying up disappointment for herself. All who have had the experience of returning from a bright, sunny climate to England in March will recognize in the next letters the actual presence of the east wind, the leaden sky, the gritty dust, and _le spleen_. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Mch. 1850, from Rosehill.] No; I am not in England--I am only nearer the beings I love best. I try to forget all geography, and that I have placed myself irretrievably out of reach of nature's brightest glories and beauties to shiver in a wintry flat. I am unspeakably grateful to find these dear creatures looking well and happy, in spite of worldly cares, but your clear face and voice are wanting to me. But I must wait with patience, and perhaps by the time I have finished my visits to my relations you will be ready to come to Rosehill again. I want you to scold me, and make me good. I am idle and naughty--_on ne peut plus_--sinking into heathenish ignorance and woman's frivolity. Remember, you are one of my guardian angels. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, beginning of April, 1850, from Griff.] Will you send the enclosed note to Mrs. C. Hennell? I am not quite sure about her direction, but I am anxious to thank her for her kindness in inviting me. Will you also send me an account of Mr. Chapman's prices for lodgers, and if you know anything of other boarding-houses, etc., in London? Will you tell me what you can? I am not asking you merely for the sake of giving you trouble. I am really anxious to know. Oh, the dismal weather and the dismal country and the dismal people. It was some envious demon that drove me across the Jura. However, I am determined to sell everything I possess, except a portmanteau and carpet-bag and the necessary contents, and be a stranger and a foreigner on the earth for evermore. But I must see you first; that is a yearning I still have in spite of disappointments. From Griff she went to stay with her sister, Mrs. Clarke, at Meriden, whence she writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 24th April, 1850.] Have you any engagement for the week after next? If not, may I join you on Saturday the 4th, and invite M. d'Albert to come down on the following Monday? It appears he cannot stay in England longer than until about the second week in May. I am uncomfortable at the idea of burdening even your friendship with the entertainment of a person purely for my sake. It is indeed the greatest of all the great kindnesses you have shown me. Write me two or three kind words, dear Cara. I have been so ill at ease ever since I have been in England that I am quite discouraged. Dear Chrissey is generous and sympathizing, and really cares for my happiness. [Illustration: Rosehill.] On the 4th of May Miss Evans went to Rosehill, and on the 7th M. d'Albert joined the party for a three days' visit. The strong affection existing between Mr. and Mrs. Bray and their guest, and the more congenial intellectual atmosphere surrounding them, led Miss Evans to make her home practically at Rosehill for the next sixteen months. She stayed there continuously till the 18th November, and, among other things, wrote a review of Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect." In October Mr. Mackay and Mr. Chapman, the editor of the _Westminster Review_, came to stay at Rosehill, and there was probably some talk then about her assisting in the editorial work of the _Review_, but it was not until the following spring that any definite understanding on this subject was arrived at. Meantime the article on Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect" came out in the January, 1851, number of the _Westminster_. It contains the following remarkable passages: "Our civilization, and yet more, our religion, are an anomalous blending of lifeless barbarisms, which have descended to us like so many petrifactions from distant ages, with living ideas, the offspring of a true process of development. We are in bondage to terms and conceptions, which, having had their roots in conditions of thought no longer existing, have ceased to possess any vitality, and are for us as spells which have lost their virtue. The endeavor to spread enlightened ideas is perpetually counteracted by these _idola theatri_, which have allied themselves, on the one hand, with men's better sentiments, and, on the other, with institutions in whose defence are arrayed the passions and the interests of dominant classes. Now, although the teaching of positive truth is the grand means of expelling error, the process will be very much quickened if the negative argument serve as its pioneer; if, by a survey of the past, it can be shown how each age and each race has had a faith and a symbolism suited to its need and its stage of development, and that for succeeding ages to dream of retaining the spirit, along with the forms, of the past, is as futile as the embalming of the dead body in the hope that it may one day be resumed by the living soul.... It is Mr. Mackay's faith that divine revelation is not contained exclusively or pre-eminently in the facts and inspirations of any one age or nation, but is coextensive with the history of human development, and is perpetually unfolding itself to our widened experience and investigation, as firmament upon firmament becomes visible to us in proportion to the power and range of our exploring-instruments. The master-key to this revelation is the recognition of the presence of undeviating law in the material and moral world--of that invariability of sequence which is acknowledged to be the basis of physical science, but which is still perversely ignored in our social organization, our ethics, and our religion. It is this invariability of sequence which can alone give value to experience, and render education, in the true sense, possible. The divine yea and nay, the seal of prohibition and of sanction, are effectually impressed on human deeds and aspirations, not by means of Greek and Hebrew, but by that inexorable law of consequences whose evidence is confirmed instead of weakened as the ages advance; and human duty is comprised in the earnest study of this law and patient obedience to its teaching. While this belief sheds a bright beam of promise on the future career of our race, it lights up what once seemed the dreariest region of history with new interest; every past phase of human development is part of that education of the race in which we are sharing; every mistake, every absurdity, into which poor human nature has fallen, may be looked on as an experiment of which we may reap the benefit. A correct generalization gives significance to the smallest detail, just as the great inductions of geology demonstrate in every pebble the working of laws by which the earth has become adapted for the habitation of man. In this view religion and philosophy are not merely conciliated, they are identical; or, rather, religion is the crown and consummation of philosophy--the delicate corolla which can only spread out its petals in all their symmetry and brilliance to the sun when root and branch exhibit the conditions of a healthy and vigorous life." Miss Evans seems to have been in London from the beginning of January till the end of March, 1851; and Mr. Chapman made another fortnight's visit to Rosehill at the end of May and beginning of June. It was during this period that, with Miss Evans's assistance, the prospectus of the new series of the _Westminster Review_ was determined on and put in shape. At the end of July she went with Mrs. Bray to visit Mr. and Mrs. Robert Noel, at Bishop Steignton, in Devonshire. Mrs. Bray had some slight illness there, and Miss Evans writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 5th Aug. 1851.] I am grieved indeed if anything might have been written, which has not been written, to allay your anxiety about Cara. Her letter yesterday explained what has been the matter. I knew her own handwriting would be pleasanter to you than any other. I have been talking to her this morning about the going to London or to Rosehill. She seems to prefer London. A glance or two at the Exposition, she thinks, would do her no harm. To-day we are all going to Teignmouth. She seems to like the idea of sitting by the waves. The sun is shining gloriously, and all things are tolerably promising. I am going to walk on before the rest and have a bath. They went to London on the 13th of August, saw the Crystal Palace, and returned to Rosehill on the 16th. At the end of that month, Mr. George Combe (the distinguished phrenologist) arrived on a visit, and he and Mrs. Combe became good friends to Miss Evans, as will be seen from the subsequent correspondence. They came on a second visit to Rosehill the following month--Mr. Chapman being also in the house at the same time--and at the end of September Miss Evans went to stay with the Chapmans at No. 142 Strand, as a boarder, and as assistant editor of the _Westminster Review_. A new period now opens in George Eliot's life, and emphatically the most important period, for now she is to be thrown in contact with Mr. Lewes, who is to exercise so paramount an influence on all her future, with Mr. Herbert Spencer, and with a number of writers then representing the most fearless and advanced thought of the day. Miss Frederica Bremer, the authoress, was also boarding with the Chapmans at this time, as will be seen from the following letters: [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, end of Sept. 1851.] Mr. Mackay has been very kind in coming and walking out with me, and that is the only variety I have had. Last night, however, we had an agreeable enough gathering. Foxton[31] came, who, you know, is trying, with Carlyle and others, to get a chapel for Wilson at the West End--in which he is to figure as a seceding clergyman. I enclose you two notes from Empson (he is the editor of the _Edinburgh Review_) as a guarantee that I have been trying to work. Again, I proposed to write a review of Greg for the _Westminster_, not for money, but for love of the subject as connected with the "Inquiry." Mr. Hickson referred the matter to Slack again, and he writes that he shall not have room for it, and that the subject will not suit on this occasion, so you see I am obliged to be idle, and I like it best. I hope Mr. Bray is coming soon to tell me everything about you. I think I shall cry for joy to see him. But do send me a little note on Monday morning. Mrs. Follen called the other day, in extreme horror at Miss Martineau's book. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, end of Sept. 1851.] Dr. Brabant returned to Bath yesterday. He very politely took me to the Crystal Palace, the theatre, and the Overland Route. On Friday we had Foxton, Wilson, and some other nice people, among others a Mr. Herbert Spencer, who has just brought out a large work on "Social Statics," which Lewes pronounces the best book he has seen on the subject. You must see the book, if possible. Mr. Chapman is going to send you Miss Martineau's work, or rather Mr. Atkinson's,[32] which you must review in the _Herald_. Whatever else one may think of the book, it is certainly the boldest I have seen in the English language. I get nothing done here, there are so many _distractions_--moreover, I have hardly been well a day since I came. I wish I were rich enough to go to the coast, and have some plunges in the sea to brace me. Nevertheless do not suppose that I don't enjoy being here. I like seeing the new people, etc., and I am afraid I shall think the country rather dull after it. I am in a hurry to-day. I must have two hours' work before dinner, so imagine everything I have not said, or, rather, reflect that this scrap is quite as much as you deserve after being so slow to write to me. The reference, in the above letter, to Mr. Lewes must not be taken as indicating personal acquaintance yet. It is only a quotation of some opinion heard or read. Mr. Lewes had already secured for himself a wide reputation in the literary world by his "Biographical History of Philosophy," his two novels, "Ranthorpe," and "Rose, Blanche, and Violet"--all of which had been published five or six years before--and his voluminous contributions to the periodical literature of the day. He was also, at this time, the literary editor of the _Leader_ newspaper, so that any criticism of his would carry weight, and be talked about. Much has already been written about his extraordinary versatility, the variety of his literary productions, his social charms, his talent as a _raconteur_, and his dramatic faculty; and it will now be interesting, for those who did not know him personally, to learn the deeper side of his character, which will be seen, in its development, in the following pages. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, end of Sept. 1851.] I don't know how long Miss Bremer will stay, but you need not wish to see her. She is to me equally unprepossessing to eye and ear. I never saw a person of her years who appealed less to my purely instinctive veneration. I have to reflect every time I look at her that she is really Frederica Bremer. Fox is to write the article on the Suffrage, and we are going to try Carlyle for the Peerage, Ward refusing, on the ground that he thinks the improvement of the physical condition of the people so all-important that he must give all his energies to that. He says, "Life is a bad business, but we must make the best of it;" to which philosophy I say Amen. Dr. Hodgson is gone, and all the fun with him. I was introduced to Lewes the other day in Jeff's shop--a sort of miniature Mirabeau in appearance.[33] [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Oct. (?) 1851.] Professor Forbes is to write us a capital scientific article, whereat I rejoice greatly. The Peerage apparently will not "get itself done," as Carlyle says. It is not an urgent question, nor does one see that, if the undue influence of the Peers on the elections for the Commons were done away with, there would be much mischief from the House of Lords remaining for some time longer _in statu quo_. I have been reading Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" with great pleasure--not for its presentation of Sterling, but of Carlyle. There are racy bits of description in his best manner, and exquisite touches of feeling. Little rapid characterizations of living men too--of Francis Newman, for example--"a man of fine university and other attainments, of the sharpest cutting and most restlessly advancing intellect, and of the mildest pious enthusiasm." There is an inimitable description of Coleridge and his eternal monologue--"To sit as a passive bucket and be pumped into, whether one like it or not, can in the end be exhilarating to no creature." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Oct. 1851.] All the world is doing its _devoir_ to the great little authoress (Miss Bremer). I went to the exhibition on Saturday to hear the final "God save the Queen" and the three times three--"C'êtait un beau moment." Mr. Greg thought the review "well done, and in a kindly spirit," but thought there was not much in it--dreadfully true, since there was only all his book. I think he did not like the apology for his want of theological learning, which, however, was just the thing most needed, for the _Eclectic_ trips him up on that score. Carlyle was very amusing the other morning to Mr. Chapman about the Exhibition. He has no patience with the prince and "that Cole" assembling Sawneys from all parts of the land, till you can't get along Piccadilly. He has been worn to death with bores all summer, who present themselves by twos and threes in his study, saying, "Here we are," etc., etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Oct. 1851.] I wish you could see Miss Bremer's albums, full of portraits, flowers, and landscapes, all done by herself. A portrait of Emerson, marvellously like; one of Jenny Lind, etc. Last night we had quite a charming _soirée_--Sir David Brewster and his daughter; Mackay, author of a work on popular education you may remember to have seen reviewed in the _Leader_; the Ellises, the Hodgsons, and half a dozen other nice people. Miss Bremer was more genial than I have seen her--played on the piano, and smiled benevolently. Altogether, I am beginning to repent of my repugnance. Mackay approves our prospectus _in toto_. He is a handsome, fine-headed man, and a "good opinion." We are getting out a circular to accompany the prospectus. I have been kept down-stairs by Mr. Mackay for the last two hours, and am hurried, but it was a necessity to write _ein paar Worte_ to you. Mr. Mackay has written an account of his book for the catalogue. I have been using my powers of eloquence and flattery this morning to make him begin an article on the "Development of Protestantism." Mr. Ellis was agreeable--really witty. He and Mrs. Ellis particularly cordial to me, inviting me to visit them without ceremony. I love you all better every day, and better the more I see of other people. I am going to one of the Birkbeck schools. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3rd Nov. 1851.] I must tell you a story Miss Bremer got from Emerson. Carlyle was very angry with him for not believing in a devil, and to convert him took him amongst all the horrors of London--the gin-shops, etc.--and finally to the House of Commons, plying him at every turn with the question, "Do you believe in a devil noo?" There is a severe attack on Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" in yesterday's _Times_--unfair as an account of the book, but with some truth in its general remarks about Carlyle. There is an article, evidently by James Martineau, in the _Prospective_, which you must read, "On the Unity of the Logical and Intuitive in the Ultimate Grounds of Religious Belief." I am reading with great amusement (!) J. H. Newman's "Lectures on the Position of Catholics." They are full of clever satire and description. My table is groaning with books, and I have done very little with them yet, but I trust in my star, which has hitherto helped me, to do all I have engaged to do. Pray remember to send the MS. translation of Schleiermacher's little book, and also the book itself. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 15th Nov. 1851.] When Mr. Noel had finished his farewell visit to-day, Mr. Flower was announced, so my morning has run away in chat. Time wears, and I don't get on so fast as I ought, but I must scribble a word or two, else you will make my silence an excuse for writing me no word of yourselves. I am afraid Mr. Noel and Mr. Bray have given you a poor report of me. The last two days I have been a little better, but I hardly think existing arrangements can last beyond this quarter. Mr. Noel says Miss L. is to visit you at Christmas. I hope that is a mistake, as it would deprive me of my hoped-for rest amongst you. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Monday, 23d Nov. 1851.] On Saturday afternoon came Mr. Spencer to ask Mr. Chapman and me to go to the theatre; so I ended the day in a godless manner, seeing the "Merry Wives of Windsor." You must read Carlyle's denunciation of the opera, published in the _Keepsake_! The _Examiner_ quotes it at length. I send you the enclosed from Harriet Martineau. Please to return it. The one from Carlyle you may keep till I come. He is a naughty fellow to write in the _Keepsake_, and not for us, after I wrote him the most insinuating letter, offering him three glorious subjects. Yesterday we went to Mr. Mackay's, Dr. Brabant being there. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 27th Nov. 1851.] Carlyle called the other day, strongly recommending Browning, the poet, as a writer for the _Review_, and saying, "We shall see," about himself. In other respects we have been stagnating since Monday, and now I must work, work, work, which I have scarcely done two days consecutively since I have been here. Lewes says his article on "Julia von Krüdener"[34] will be glorious. He sat in the same box with us at the "Merry Wives of Windsor," and helped to carry off the dolorousness of the play. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Tuesday, 22d Dec. 1851.] Alas! the work is so heavy just for the next three days, all the revises being yet to come in, and the proof of my own article;[35] and Mr. Chapman is so overwhelmed with matters of detail, that he has earnestly requested me to stay till Saturday, and I cannot refuse, but it is a deep disappointment to me. My heart will yearn after you all. It is the first Christmas Day I shall have passed without any Christmas feeling. On Saturday, if you will have me, nothing shall keep me here any longer. I am writing at a high table, on a low seat, in a great hurry. Don't you think my style is editorial? Accordingly, on Saturday, the 29th December, 1851, she did go down to Rosehill, and stayed there till 12th January, when she returned to London, and writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 12th Jan. 1852.] I had a comfortable journey all alone, except from Weedon to Blisworth. When I saw a coated animal getting into my carriage, I thought of all horrible stories of madmen in railways; but his white neckcloth and thin, mincing voice soon convinced me that he was one of those exceedingly tame animals, the clergy. A kind welcome and a good dinner--that is the whole of my history at present. I am in anything but company trim, or spirits. I can do nothing in return for all your kindness, dear Cara, but love you, as I do most heartily. You and all yours, for their own sake first, but if it were not so, for yours. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st Jan. 1852.] Harriet Martineau called on Monday morning with Mr. Atkinson. Very kind and cordial. I honor her for her powers and industry, and should be glad to think highly of her. I have no doubt that she is fascinating when there is time for talk. We have had two agreeable _soirées_. Last Monday I was talking and listening for two hours to Pierre Leroux--a dreamy genius. He was expounding to me his ideas. He belongs neither to the school of Proudhon, which represents Liberty only--nor to that of Louis Blanc, which represents Equality only--nor to that of Cabet, which represents Fraternity. Pierre Leroux's system is the _synthèse_ which combines all three. He has found the true _pont_ which is to unite the love of self with love of one's neighbor. He is, you know, a very voluminous writer. George Sand has dedicated some of her books to him. He dilated on his views of the "Origin of Christianity." Strauss deficient, because he has not shown the _identity of the teaching of Jesus with that of the Essenes_. This is Leroux's favorite idea. I told him of your brother. He, moreover, traces Essenism back to Egypt, and thence to India--the cradle of all religions, etc., etc., with much more, which he uttered with an unction rather amusing in a _soirée tête-à-tête_. "Est ce que nous sommes faits pour chercher le bonheur? Est ce là votre idée--dites moi." "Mais non--nous sommes faits, je pense, pour nous développer le plus possible." "Ah! c'est ça." He is in utter poverty, going to lecture--_autrement il faut mourir_. Has a wife and children with him. He came to London in his early days, when he was twenty-five, to find work as a printer. All the world was in mourning for the Princess Charlotte. "Et moi, je me trouvais avoir _un habit vert-pomme_." So he got no work; went back to Paris; by hook or by crook founded the _Globe_ journal; knew St. Simon; disagrees with him entirely, as with all other theorists except Pierre Leroux. We are trying Mazzini to write on "Freedom _v._ Despotism," and have received an admirable article on "The New Puritanism,"[36] _i.e._, "Physical Puritanism," from Dr. Browne, the chemist of Edinburgh, which, I think, will go in the next number. I am in a miserable state of languor and low spirits, in which everything is a trouble to me. I must tell you a bit of Louis Blanc's English, which Mr. Spencer was reciting the other night. The _petit homme_ called on some one, and said, "I come to tell you how you are. I was at you the other day, but you were not." [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Feb. 1852.] We went to quite a gay party at Mrs. Mackay's on Saturday. Good Mr. Mackay has been taking trouble to get me to Hastings for my health--calling on Miss Fellowes, daughter of the "Religion of the Universe," and inducing her to write me a note of invitation. Sara will be heartily welcome. Unfortunately, I had an invitation to the Parkes's, to meet Cobden, on Saturday evening. I was sorry to miss that. Miss Parkes[37] is a dear, ardent, honest creature; and I hope we shall be good friends. I have nothing else to tell you. I am steeped in dulness within and without. Heaven send some lions to-night to meet Fox, who is coming. An advertisement we found in the _Times_ to-day--"To gentlemen. A _converted_ medical man, of gentlemanly habits and fond of Scriptural conversation, wishes to meet with a gentleman of Calvinistic views, thirsty after truth, in want of a daily companion. A little temporal aid will be expected in return. Address, Verax!" [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 8th Feb. 1852.] We are going to Mr. Ellis's, at Champion Hill, to-morrow evening. I am better now. Have rid myself of all distasteful work, and am trying to love the glorious destination of humanity, looking before and after. We shall be glad to have Sara. Miss Sara Hennell arrived on a visit to the Strand next day--the 9th February--and stayed till the 17th. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 16th Feb. 1852.] I have not merely had a headache--I have been really ill, and feel very much shattered. We (Miss Evans and Miss Sara Hennell) dined yesterday at Mrs. Peter Taylor's,[38] at Sydenham. I was not fit to go, especially to make my _début_ at a strange place; but the country air was a temptation. The thick of the work is just beginning, and I am bound in honor not to run away from it, as I have shirked all labor but what is strictly editorial this quarter. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 20th Feb. 1852.] We went to the meeting of the Association for the Abolition of the Taxes on Knowledge on Wednesday, that I might hear Cobden, in whom I was wofully disappointed. George Dawson's speech was admirable. I think it undesirable to fix on a London residence at present, as I want to go to Brighton for a month or two next quarter. I am seriously concerned at my languid body, and feel the necessity of taking some measures to get vigor. Lewes inquired for Sara last Monday, in a tone of interest. He was charmed with her, as who would not be that has any taste? Do write to me, dear Cara; I want comforting: this world looks ugly just now; all people rather worse than I have been used to think them. Put me in love with my kind again, by giving me a glimpse of your own inward self, since I cannot see the outer one. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 6th Mch. 1852.] I can sympathize with you in your troubles, having been a housekeeper myself, and known disappointment in trusted servants. Ah, well! we have a good share of the benefits of our civilization, it is but fair that we should feel some of the burden of its imperfections. Thank you a thousand times for wishing to see me again. I should really like to see you in your own nice, fresh, healthy-looking home again; but until the end of March I fear I shall be a prisoner, from the necessity for constant work. Still, it is possible that I may have a day, though I am quite unable to say when. You will be still more surprised at the notice of the _Westminster_ in _The People_, when you know that Maccoll himself wrote it. I have not seen it, but had been told of its ill-nature. However, he is too good a man to write otherwise than sincerely; and our opinion of a book often depends on the state of the liver! [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 25th Mch. 1852.] I had two offers last night--not of marriage, but of music--which I find it impossible to resist. Mr. Herbert Spencer proposed to take me on Thursday to hear "William Tell," and Miss Parkes asked me to go with her to hear the "Creation" on Friday. I have had so little music this quarter, and these two things are so exactly what I should like, that I have determined to put off, for the sake of them, my other pleasure of seeing you. So, pray, keep your precious welcome warm for me until Saturday, when I shall positively set off by the two o'clock train. Harriet Martineau has written me a most cordial invitation to go to see her before July, but that is impossible. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 27th Mch. 1852.] I am grieved to find that you have to pay for that fine temperament of yours in attacks of neuralgia. Your silence did not surprise me, after the account you had given me of your domestic circumstances, but I have wished for you on Monday evenings. Your cordial assurance that you shall be glad to see me sometimes is one of those pleasant things--those life-preservers--which relenting destiny sends me now and then to buoy me up. For you must know that I am not a little desponding now and then, and think that old friends will die off, while I shall be left without the power to make new ones. You know how sad one feels when a great procession has swept by one, and the last notes of its music have died away, leaving one alone with the fields and sky. I feel so about life sometimes. It is a help to read such a life as Margaret Fuller's. How inexpressibly touching that passage from her journal--"I shall always reign through the intellect, but the life! the life! O my God! shall that never be sweet?" I am thankful, as if for myself, that it was sweet at last. But I am running on about feelings when I ought to tell you facts. I am going on Wednesday to my friends in Warwickshire for about ten days or a fortnight. When I come back, I hope you will be quite strong and able to receive visitors without effort--Mr. Taylor too. I _did_ go to the _conversazione_; but you have less to regret than you think. Mazzini's speeches are better read than heard. Proofs are come, demanding my immediate attention, so I must end this hasty scribble. On the 3d April Miss Evans went to Rosehill, and stayed till the 14th. On her return she writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 17th April, 1852.] There was an article on the bookselling affair in the _Times_ of yesterday, which must be the knell of the Association. Dickens is to preside at a meeting in this house on the subject some day next week. The opinions on the various articles in the _Review_ are, as before, ridiculously various. The _Economist_ calls the article on Quakerism "admirably written." Greg says the article on India is "very masterly;" while he calls Mazzini's "sad stuff--mere verbiage." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st April, 1852.] If there is any change in my affection for you it is that I love you more than ever, not less. I have as perfect a friendship for you as my imperfect nature can feel--a friendship in which deep respect and admiration are sweetened by a sort of flesh-and-blood sisterly feeling and the happy consciousness that I have your affection, however undeservedly, in return. I have confidence that this friendship can never be shaken; that it must last while I last, and that the supposition of its ever being weakened by a momentary irritation is too contemptibly absurd for me to take the trouble to deny it. As to your whole conduct to me, from the first day I knew you, it has been so generous and sympathetic that, if I did not heartily love you, I should feel deep gratitude--but love excludes gratitude. It is impossible that I should ever love two women better than I love you and Cara. Indeed, it seems to me that I can never love any so well; and it is certain that I can never have any friend--not even a husband--who would supply the loss of those associations with the past which belong to you. Do believe in my love for you, and that it will remain as long as I have my senses, because it is interwoven with my best nature, and is dependent, not on any accidents of manner, but on long experience, which has confirmed the instinctive attraction of earlier days. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 22d April, 1852.] Our fortunes here are, as usual, checkered-- "Twist ye, twine ye, even so Mingle human weal and woe." Grote is very friendly, and has propitiated J. S. Mill, who will write for us when we want him. We had quite a brilliant _soirée_ yesterday evening. W. R. Greg, Forster (of Rawdon), Francis Newman, the Ellises, and Louis Blanc, were the stars of greatest magnitude. I had a pleasant talk with Greg and Forster. Greg was "much pleased to have made my acquaintance." Forster, on the whole, appeared to think that people should be glad to make _his_ acquaintance. Greg is a short man, but his brain is large, the anterior lobe very fine, and a moral region to correspond. Black, wiry, curly hair, and every indication of a first-rate temperament. We have some very nice Americans here--the Pughs--friends of the Parkes's, really refined, intellectual people. Miss Pugh, an elderly lady, is a great abolitionist, and was one of the Women's Convention that came to England in 1840, and was not allowed to join the Men's Convention. But I suppose we shall soon be able to say, _nous avons changé tout cela_. I went to the opera on Saturday--"I Martiri," at Covent Garden--with my "excellent friend, Herbert Spencer," as Lewes calls him. We have agreed that we are not in love with each other, and that there is no reason why we should not have as much of each other's society as we like. He is a good, delightful creature, and I always feel better for being with him. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d May, 1852.] I like to remind you of me on Sunday morning, when you look at the flowers and listen to music; so I send a few lines, though I have not much time to spare to-day. After Tuesday I will write you a longer letter, and tell you all about everything. I am going to the opera to-night to hear the "Huguenots." See what a fine thing it is to pick up people who are short-sighted enough to like one. On the 4th of May a meeting, consisting chiefly of authors, was held at the house in the Strand, for the purpose of hastening the removal of the trade restrictions on the Commerce of Literature, and it is thus described in the following letter: [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 5th May, 1852.] The meeting last night went off triumphantly, and I saluted Mr. Chapman with "See the Conquering Hero Comes" on the piano at 12 o'clock; for not until then was the last magnate, except Herbert Spencer, out of the house. I sat at the door for a short time, but soon got a chair within it, and heard and saw everything. Dickens in the chair--a position he fills remarkably well, preserving a courteous neutrality of eyebrows, and speaking with clearness and decision. His appearance is certainly disappointing--no benevolence in the face, and, I think, little in the head; the anterior lobe not by any means remarkable. In fact, he is not distinguished-looking in any way--neither handsome nor ugly, neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor short. Babbage moved the first resolution--a bad speaker, but a great authority. Charles Knight is a beautiful, elderly man, with a modest but firm enunciation; and he made a wise and telling speech which silenced one or two vulgar, ignorant booksellers who had got into the meeting by mistake. One of these began by complimenting Dickens--"views held by such worthy and important gentlemen, _which is your worthy person in the chair_." Dickens looked respectfully neutral. The most telling speech of the evening was Prof. Tom Taylor's--as witty and brilliant as one of George Dawson's. Prof. Owen's, too, was remarkably good. He had a resolution to move as to the bad effect of the trade restrictions on scientific works, and gave his own experience in illustration. Speaking of the slow and small sale of scientific books of a high class, he said, in his silvery, bland way--alluding to the boast that the retail booksellers _recommended_ the works of less known authors--"for which limited sale we are doubtless indebted to the kind recommendation of our friends, the retail booksellers"--whereupon these worthies, taking it for a _bonâ fide_ compliment, cheered enthusiastically. Dr. Lankester, Prof. Newman, Robert Bell, and others, spoke well. Owen has a tremendous head, and looked, as he was, the greatest celebrity of the meeting. George Cruikshank, too, made a capital speech, in an admirable moral spirit. He is the most homely, genuine-looking man; not unlike the pictures of Captain Cuttle. I went to hear the "Huguenots" on Saturday evening. It was a rich treat. Mario and Grisi and Formes, and that finest of orchestras under Costa. I am going to a concert to-night. This is all very fine, but, in the meantime, I am getting as haggard as an old witch under London atmosphere and influences. I shall be glad to have sent me my Shakespeare, Goethe, Byron, and Wordsworth, if you will be so good as to take the trouble of packing them. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Monday, 12th(?) May, 1852.] My days have slipped away in a most mysterious fashion lately--chiefly, I suppose, in long walks and long talks. Our Monday evenings are dying off--not universally regretted--but we are expecting one or two people to-night. I have nothing to tell except that I went to the opera on Thursday, and heard "La Juive," and, moreover, fell in love with Prince Albert, who was unusually animated and prominent. He has a noble, genial, intelligent expression, and is altogether a man to be proud of. I am going next Thursday to see Grisi in "Norma." She is quite beautiful this season, thinner than she was, and really younger looking. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th May, 1852.] My brightest spot, next to my love of _old_ friends, is the deliciously calm, _new_ friendship that Herbert Spencer gives me. We see each other every day, and have delightful _camaraderie_ in everything. But for him my life would be desolate enough. What a wretched lot of old, shrivelled creatures we shall be by and by. Never mind, the uglier we get in the eyes of others the lovelier we shall be to each other; that has always been my firm faith about friendship, and now it is in a slight degree my experience. Mme. d'Albert has sent me the sweetest letter, just like herself; and I feel grateful to have such a heart remembering and loving me on the other side of the Jura. They are very well and flourishing. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Wednesday, 2d June, 1852.] I am bothered to death with article-reading and scrap-work of all sorts: it is clear my poor head will never produce anything under these circumstances; _but I am patient_. I am ashamed to tease you so, but I must beg of you to send me George Sand's works; and also I shall be grateful if you will lend me--what I think you have--an English edition of "Corinne," and Miss Austen's "Sense and Sensibility." Harriet Martineau's article on "Niebuhr" will not go in the July number. I am sorry for it; it is admirable. After all, she is a _trump_--the only Englishwoman that possesses thoroughly the art of writing. On Thursday morning I went to St. Paul's to see the charity children assembled, and hear their singing. Berlioz says it is the finest thing he has heard in England; and this opinion of his induced me to go. I was not disappointed; it is worth doing once, especially as we got out before the sermon. I had a long call from George Combe yesterday. He says he thinks the _Westminster_, under _my_ management, the most important means of enlightenment of a literary nature in existence; the _Edinburgh_, under Jeffrey, nothing to it, etc.!!! I wish _I_ thought so too. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 21st June, 1852.] Your joint assurance of welcome strengthens the centripetal force that would carry me to you; but, on the other hand, sundry considerations are in favor of the centrifugal force, which, I suppose, will carry me to Broadstairs or Ramsgate. On the whole, I prefer to keep my visit to you as a _bonne-bouche_, when I am just in the best physical and mental state for enjoying it. I hope to get away on Saturday, or on Wednesday at the latest. I think the third number of the _Review_ will be capital; thoroughly readable, and yet not frothy. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 23d June, 1852.] I have assured Herbert Spencer that you will think it a sufficiently formal answer to the invitation you sent him through Mr. Lewes, if I tell you that he will prefer waiting for the pleasure of a visit to you until I am with you--if you will have him then. I spent the evening at Mr. Parkes's on Monday. Yesterday Herbert Spencer brought his father to see me--a large-brained, highly informed man, with a certain quaintness and simplicity, altogether very pleasing. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 25th June, (?) 1852.] After all, I begin to hope that our next number will be the best yet. Forbes is good; Froude ditto; and James Martineau, if I may judge from a glance at a few of his pages, admirable. Lewes has written us an agreeable article on "Lady Novelists." There is a mysterious contribution to the independent section. We are hoping that an article on "Edinburgh Literary Men," yet to come, will be very good. If not, we shall put in "Niebuhr;" it is capital. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, end of June, 1852.] The opera, Chiswick Flower Show, the French play, and the Lyceum, all in one week, brought their natural consequences of headache and hysterics--all yesterday. At five o'clock I felt quite sure that life was unendurable. This morning, however, the weather and I are both better, having cried ourselves out and used up all our clouds; and I can even contemplate living six months longer. Was there ever anything more dreary than this June? [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Friday morning, 2d July, 1852.] I am busy packing to-day, and am going to Mr. Parkes's to dinner. Miss Parkes has introduced me to Barbara Smith,[39] whose expression I like exceedingly, and hope to know more of her. I go to Broadstairs on Saturday. I am sadly in want of the change, and would much rather present myself to you all when I can do you more credit as a friend. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th July, 1852.] I warn you against Ramsgate, which is a strip of London come out for an airing. Broadstairs is perfect; and I have the snuggest little lodging conceivable, with a motherly good woman and a nice little damsel of fourteen to wait on me. There are only my two rooms in this cottage, but lodgings are plentiful in the place. I have a sitting-room about eight feet by nine, and a bedroom a little larger; yet in that small space there is almost every comfort. I pay a guinea a week for my rooms, so I shall not ruin myself by staying a month, unless I commit excesses in coffee and sugar. I am thinking whether it would not be wise to retire from the world and live here for the rest of my days. With some fresh paper on the walls, and an easy-chair, I think I could resign myself. Come and tell me your opinion. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th July, 1852.] I thought of you last night, when I was in a state of mingled rapture and torture--rapture at the sight of a glorious evening sky, torture at the sight and hearing of the belaboring given to the poor donkey which was drawing me from Ramsgate home. I had a note from Miss Florence Nightingale yesterday. I was much pleased with her. There is a loftiness of mind about her which is well expressed by her form and manner. Glad you are pleased with the _Westminster_. I do think it a rich number--matter for a fortnight's reading and thought. Lewes has not half done it justice in the _Leader_. To my mind the "Niebuhr" article is as good as any of them. If you could see me in my quiet nook! I am half ashamed of being in such clover, both spiritually and materially, while some of my friends are on the dusty highways, without a tuft of grass or a flower to cheer them. A letter from you will be delightful. We seem to have said very little to each other lately. But I always know--rejoice to know--that there is the same Sara for me as there is the same green earth and arched sky, when I am good and wise enough to like the best thing. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 21st July, 1852.] Do not be anxious about me--there is no cause. I am profiting, body and mind, from quiet walks and talks with nature, gathering "lady's bedstraw" and "rest-harrow," and other pretty things; picking up shells (not in the Newtonian sense, but literally); reading Aristotle, to find out what is the chief good; and eating mutton-chops, that I may have strength to pursue it. If you insist on my writing about "emotions," why, I must get some up expressly for the purpose. But I must own I would rather not, for it is the grand wish and object of my life to get rid of them as far as possible, seeing they have already had more than their share of my nervous energy. I shall not be in town on the 2d of August--at least, I pray Heaven to forbid it. Mrs. Bray paid a visit to Broadstairs from the 3d to the 12th August, and the next letter is addressed to her. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Thursday, 14th (?) Aug. 1852.] Are you really the better for having been here? Since you left I have been continually regretting that I could not make your visit pleasanter. I was irritable and out of sorts; but you have an apparatus for secreting happiness--that's it. Providence, seeing that I wanted weaning from this place, has sent a swarm of harvest-bugs and lady-birds. These, with the half-blank, half-dissipated feeling which comes on after having companions and losing them, make me think of returning to London on Saturday week with more resignation than I have felt before. I am very well and "plucky"--a word which I propose to substitute for happy, as more truthful. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 19th Aug. 1852.] For the last two months I have been at this pretty, quiet place, which "David Copperfield" has made classic, far away from London noise and smoke. I am sorry now that I brought with me Fox's "Lectures," which I had not managed to read before I left town. But I shall return thither at the end of next week, and I will at once forward the volume to Gary Lane. One sees no novels less than a year old at the sea-side, so I am unacquainted with the "Blithedale Romance," except through the reviews, which have whetted my curiosity more than usual. Hawthorne is a grand favorite of mine, and I shall be sorry if he do not go on surpassing himself. It is sad to hear of your only going out to consult a physician. Illness seems to me the one woe for which there is no comfort--no compensation. But perhaps you find it otherwise, for you have a less rebellious spirit than I, and suffering seems to make you look all the more gentle. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 22d Aug. 1852.] Thinking of you this morning--as I often do, though you may not suppose so--it was "borne in on my mind" that I must write to you, and I obey the inspiration without waiting to consider whether there may be a corresponding desire on your part to hear from me. I live in a world of cares and joys so remote from the one in which we used to sympathize with each other that I find positive communication with you difficult. But I am not unfaithful to old loves--they were sincere, and they are lasting. I hope you will not think it too much trouble to write me a little news of yourself. I want very much to know if your health continues good, and if there has been any change in your circumstances, that I may have something like a true conception of you. All is well with me so far as my individuality is concerned, but I have plenty of friends' troubles to sorrow over. I hope you have none to add to the number. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Aug. 1852.] I celebrated my return to London by the usual observance--that is to say, a violent headache, which is not yet gone, and of course I am in the worst spirits, and my opinion of things is not worth a straw. I tell you this that you may know why I only send you this scrap instead of the long letter which I have _in petto_ for you, and which would otherwise have been written yesterday. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Sept. 1852.] Somehow my letters--except those which come under the inexorable imperative _must_ (the "ought" I manage well enough to shirk)--will not get written. The fact is, I am in a croaking mood, and I am waiting and waiting for it to pass by, so if my pen croaks in spite of my resolutions to the contrary, please to take no notice of it. Ever since I came back I have felt something like the madness which imagines that the four walls are contracting and going to crush one. Harriet Martineau (in a private letter shown to me), with incomprehensible ignorance, jeers at Lewes for introducing _psychology_ as a science in his Comte papers. Why, Comte himself holds psychology to be a necessary link in the chain of science. Lewes only suggests a change in its relations. There is a great, dreary article on the Colonies by my side, asking for reading and abridgment, so I cannot go on scribbling--indeed, my hands are so hot and tremulous this morning that it will be better for you if I leave off. Your little loving notes are very precious to me; but I say nothing about matters of feeling till my good genius has returned from his excursions; the evil one has possession just now. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 11th Sept. 1852.] The week has really yielded nothing worth telling you. I am a few degrees more wizened and muddle-headed; and the articles for the _Review_ are, on the whole, unsatisfactory. I fear a discerning public will think this number a sad falling-off. This is the greater pity, that said public is patronizing us well at present. Scarcely a day passes that some one does not write to order the _Review_, as a permanent subscriber. You may as well expect news from an old spider or bat as from me. I can only tell you what I think of the "Blithedale Romance," of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the American Fishery Dispute--all which, I am very sure, you don't want to know. Do have pity on me, and make a little variety in my life, by all sending me a scrap--never mind if it be only six lines apiece. Perhaps something will befall me one day or other. As it is, nothing happens to me but the ringing of the dinner-bell and the arrival of a proof. I have no courage to walk out. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 18th Sept. 1852.] Lewes called on me the other day and told me of a conversation with Professor Owen, in which the latter declared his conviction that the cerebrum was not the organ of the mind, but the cerebellum rather. He founds on the enormous comparative size of brain in the grampus! The professor has a huge anterior lobe of his own. What would George Combe say if I were to tell him? But every great man has his paradox, and that of the first anatomist in Europe ought to be a startling one. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Saturday, Sept. 1852.] We shall make a respectable figure after all--nine articles, and two or three of them good, the rest not bad. The _Review_ has been selling well lately, in spite of its being the end of the quarter. We have made splendid provision for January--Froude, Harriet Martineau, Theodore Parker, Samuel Brown, etc., etc. The autumnal freshness of the mornings makes me dream of mellowing woods and gossamer threads. I am really longing for my journey. Bessie Parkes spent last evening with me, chatting of experience. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 2d Oct. 1852.] Pity me--I have had the headache for four days incessantly. But now I am well, and even the Strand seems an elysium by contrast. I set off on Tuesday for Edinburgh by express. This is awfully expensive, but it seems the only way of reaching there alive with my frail body. I have had the kindest notes from the Combes and from Harriet Martineau. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 7th Oct. 1852.] Here I am in this beautiful Auld Reekie once more--hardly recognizing myself for the same person as the _damozel_ who left it by the coach with a heavy heart some six years ago. The Combes are all kindness, and I am in clover--an elegant house, glorious fires, and a comfortable carriage--in short, just in the circumstances to nourish sleek optimism, convince one that this is _le meilleur des mondes possibles_, and make one shudder at the impiety of all who doubt it. Last evening Mr. Robert Cox came to tea, to be introduced to me as my _cicerone_ through the lions of Edinburgh. The talk last night was pleasant enough, though, of course, all the interlocutors besides Mr. Combe have little to do but shape elegant modes of negation and affirmation, like the people who are talked to by Socrates in Plato's dialogues--"Certainly," "that I firmly believe," etc. I have a beautiful view from my room window--masses of wood, distant hills, the Firth, and four splendid buildings, clotted far apart--not an ugly object to be seen. When I look out in the morning, it is as if I had waked up in Utopia or Icaria, or one of Owen's parallelograms. The weather is perfect--all the more delightful to me for its northern sharpness, which is just what I wanted to brace me. I have been out walking and driving all day, and have only time before dinner to send this _paar Worte_, but I may have still less time to-morrow. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 12th Oct. 1852.] Between the beauty of the weather and the scenery, and the kindness of good people, I am tipsy with pleasure. But I shall tell you nothing of what I see and do, because that would be taking off some of the edge from your pleasure in seeing me. One's dear friend who has nothing at all to tell one is a bore. Is it not so, honor bright? I enjoy talking to Mr. Combe; he can tell me many things, especially about men in America and elsewhere, which are valuable; and, besides, I sometimes manage to get in more than a negative or affirmative. He and Mrs. Combe are really affectionate to me, and the mild warmth of their regard, with the perfect order and elegance of everything about me, are just the soothing influence to do me good. They urge me to stay longer, but I shall adhere to my original determination of going to Miss Martineau's on the 20th, and I do not _mean_ to stay with her longer than the 25th. We are going to-day to Craigcrook (Jeffrey's place), a beautiful spot, which old October has mellowed into his richest tints. Such a view of Edinburgh from it! [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Oct. 1852.] Those who know the article on Whewell to be Mill's, generally think it good, but I confess to me it is unsatisfactory. The sun _does_ shine here, albeit this is the 12th October. I wish you could see the view from Salisbury Crag. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Oct. 1852.] Yes, he is an apostle. An apostle, it is true, with a back and front drawing-room, but still earnest, convinced, consistent, having fought a good fight, and now peacefully enjoying the retrospect of it. I shall leave these good friends with regret, almost with repentings, that I did not determine to pay them a longer visit. I have had a pleasant note from Miss Martineau this morning, with a vignette of her house--I suppose to make me like all the better the idea of going there. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Thursday night, 22d Oct. 1852.] The coach brought me to Miss Martineau's gate at half-past six yesterday evening, and she was there, with a beaming face, to welcome me. Mr. Atkinson joined us this morning, and is a very agreeable addition. There has been an intelligent gentleman visitor to-day, who is interested in Miss Martineau's building society; and we have been trudging about, looking at cottages and enjoying the sight of the mountains, spite of the rain and mist. The weather is not promising, that is the worst of it. Miss M. is charming in her own home--quite handsome from her animation and intelligence. She came behind me, put her hands round me, and kissed me in the prettiest way this evening, telling me she was so glad she had got me here. I send you her note that you may have an idea of "The Knoll." [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 24th Oct. 1852.] We had a fine day yesterday, and went to Borrowdale. I have not been well since I have been here. Still I manage to enjoy, certainly not myself, but my companions and the scenery. I shall set off from here on Tuesday morning, and shall be due at the Coventry station, I believe, at 5.50. After a pleasant ten days' visit to Rosehill, Miss Evans returned to London on the 3d November. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 6th Nov. 1852.] To get into a first-class carriage, fall asleep, and awake to find one's self where one would be, is almost as good as having Prince Hussein's carpet. This was my easy way of getting to London on Thursday. By 5 o'clock I had unpacked my boxes and made my room tidy, and then I began to feel some satisfaction in being settled down where I am of most use just now. After dinner came Herbert Spencer, and spent the evening. Yesterday morning Mr. Greg called on his way to Paris, to express his regret that he did not see me at Ambleside. He is very pleasing, but somehow or other he frightens me dreadfully. I am going to plunge into Thackeray's novel now ("Esmond"). [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Saturday, Nov. (?) 1852.] Oh, this hideous fog! Let me grumble, for I have had headache the last three days, and there seems little prospect of anything else in such an atmosphere. I am ready to vow that I will not live in the Strand again after Christmas. If I were not choked by the fog, the time would trot pleasantly withal, but of what use are brains and friends when one lives in a light such as might be got in the chimney? "Esmond" is the most uncomfortable book you can imagine. You remember how you disliked "François le Champi." Well, the story of "Esmond" is just the same. The hero is in love with the daughter all through the book, and marries the mother at the end. You should read the debates on the opening of Parliament in the _Times_. Lord Brougham, the greatest of English orators, perpetrates the most delicious _non sequitur_ I have seen for a long time. "My Lords, I believe that any disturbance of the repose of the world is very remote, _because it is our undeniable right and an unquestionable duty_ to be prepared with the means of defence, should such an event occur." These be thy gods, O Israel! [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Monday, 20th Nov. 1852.] I perceive your reading of the golden rule is "Do as you are done by;" and I shall be wiser than to expect a letter from you another Monday morning, when I have not earned it by my Saturday's billet. The fact is, both callers and work thicken--the former sadly interfering with the latter. I will just tell you how it was last Saturday, and that will give you an idea of my days. My task was to read an article of Greg's in the _North British_ on "Taxation," a heap of newspaper articles, and all that J. S. Mill says on the same subject. When I had got some way into this _magnum mare_, in comes Mr. Chapman, with a thick German volume. "Will you read enough of this to give me your opinion of it?" Then of course I must have a walk after lunch, and when I had sat down again, thinking that I had two clear hours before dinner, rap at the door--Mr. Lewes, who, of course, sits talking till the second bell rings. After dinner another visitor, and so behold me, at 11 P.M., still very far at sea on the subject of Taxation, but too tired to keep my eyes open. We had Bryant the poet last evening--a pleasant, quiet, elderly man. Do you know of this second sample of plagiarism by D'Israeli, detected by the _Morning Chronicle_?[40] It is worth sending for its cool impudence. Write me some news about trade, at all events. I could tolerate even Louis Napoleon, if somehow or other he could have a favorable influence on the Coventry trade. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 4th Dec. 1852.] Another week almost "with the years beyond the flood." What has it brought you? To me it has brought articles to read--for the most part satisfactory--new callers, and letters to nibble at my time, and a meeting of the Association for the Abolition of Taxes on Knowledge. I am invited to go to the Leigh Smiths on Monday evening to meet Mr. Robert Noel. Herbert Spencer is invited, too, because Mr. Noel wants especially to see him. Barbara Smith speaks of Mr. R. Noel as their "dear German friend." So the Budget is come out, and I am to pay income-tax. All very right, of course. An enlightened personage like me has no "ignorant impatience of taxation." I am glad to hear of the Lectures to Young Men and the banquet of the Laborers' Friend Society. "Be not weary in well-doing." Thanks to Sara for her letter. She must not mind paying the income-tax; it is a right principle that Dizzy is going upon; and with her great conscientiousness she ought to enjoy being flayed on a right principle. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 10th Dec. 1852.] I am not well--all out of sorts--and what do you think I am minded to do? Take a return ticket, and set off by the train to-morrow 12 o'clock, have a talk with you and a blow over the hill, and come back relieved on Monday. I the rather indulge myself in this, because I think I shall not be able to be with you until some time after Christmas. Pray forgive me for not sending you word before. I have only just made up my mind. This visit to Rosehill lasted only from the 11th to 13th December, and the following short note is the next communication: [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 19th (?) Dec. 1852.] I am very wretched to-day on many accounts, and am only able to write you two or three lines. I have heard this morning that Mr. Clarke is dangerously ill. Poor Chrissey and her children. Thank you for your kind letter. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 21st Dec. 1852.] I dare say you will have heard, before you receive this, that Edward Clarke is dead. I am to go to the funeral, which will take place on Friday. I am debating with myself as to what I ought to do now for poor Chrissey, but I must wait until I have been on the spot and seen my brother. If you hear no more from me, I shall trust to your goodness to give me a bed on Thursday night. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Christmas Day, 25th Dec. 1852, from Meriden.] Your love and goodness are a comforting presence to me everywhere, whether I am ninety or only nine miles away from you. Chrissey bears her trouble much better than I expected. We hope that an advantageous arrangement may be made about the practice; and there is a considerable sum in debts to be collected. I shall return to town on Wednesday. It would have been a comfort to see you again before going back, but there are many reasons for not doing so. I am satisfied now that my duties do not lie _here_, though the dear creatures here will be a constant motive for work and economy. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 31st Dec. 1852.] I arrived here only yesterday. I had agreed with Chrissey that, all things considered, it was wiser for me to return to town; that I could do her no substantial good by staying another week, while I should be losing time as to other matters. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 7th Jan. 1853.] I am out of spirits about the _Review_. I should be glad to run away from it altogether. But one thing is clear, that it would be a great deal worse if I were not here. This is the only thought that consoles me. We are thinking of sending Chrissey's eldest boy to Australia. A patient of his father's has offered to place him under suitable protection at Adelaide, and I strongly recommend Chrissey to accept her offer--that is, if she will let it be available a year hence; so I have bought Sidney's book on Australia, and am going to send it to Chrissey, to enlighten her about matters there, and accustom her mind to the subject. You are "jolly," I dare say, as good people have a right to be. Tell me as much of your happiness as you can, that I may rejoice in your joy, having none of my own. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, Jan. 1853.] I begin to feel for other people's wants and sorrows a little more than I used to do. Heaven help us! said the old religion; the new one, from its very lack of that faith, will teach us all the more to help one another. Tell Sara she is as good as a group of spice-islands to me; she wafts the pleasantest influences, even from a distance. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th Jan. 1853.] Pray do not lay the sins of the article on the "Atomic Theory" to poor Lewes's charge. How you could take it for his I cannot conceive. It is as remote from his style, both of thinking and writing, as anything can be. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 18th Jan. 1853.] This week has yielded nothing to me but a crop of very large headaches. The pain has gone from my head at last, but I am feeling very much shattered, and find it easier to cry than to do anything else. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 1st Feb. 1853.] My complaint, of which I am now happily rid, was rheumatism in the right arm; a sufficient reason, you will see, for my employing a scribe to write that promise which I now fulfil. I am going into the country, perhaps for a fortnight, so that, if you are kind enough to come here on Wednesday evening, I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you. All the more reason for writing to you, in spite of cold feet and the vilest pens in the world. Francis Newman is likely to come once or twice in the season; not more. He has, of course, a multitude of engagements, and many more attractive ones than a _soirée_ in the Strand. Never mention me to him in the character of editress. I think--at least, I am told--that he has no high estimate of woman's powers and functions. But let that pass. He is a very pure, noble being, and it is good only to look at such. The article on "Slavery," in the last number of the _Westminster_--which I think the best article of them all--is by W. E. Forster, a Yorkshire manufacturer, who married Dr. Arnold's daughter. He is a very earnest, independent thinker, and worth a gross of literary hacks who have the "trick" of writing. I hope you are interested in the Slavery question, and in America generally--that cradle of the future. I used resolutely to turn away from American politics, and declare that the United States was the last region of the world I should care to visit. Even now I almost loathe the _common_ American type of character. But I am converted to a profound interest in the history, the laws, the social and religious phases of North America, and long for some knowledge of them. Is it not cheering to think of the youthfulness of this little planet, and the immensely greater youthfulness of our race upon it? to think that the higher moral tendencies of human nature are yet only in their germ? I feel this more thoroughly when I think of that great western continent, with its infant cities, its huge, uncleared forests, and its unamalgamated races. I dare say you have guessed that the article on "Ireland" is Harriet Martineau's. Herbert Spencer did _not_ contribute to the last number. _� propos_ of articles, do you see the _Prospective Review_? There is an admirable critique of Kingsley's "Phaethon" in it, by James Martineau. But perhaps you may not be as much in love with Kingsley's genius, and as much "riled" by his faults, as I am. Of course you have read "Ruth" by this time. Its style was a great refreshment to me, from its finish and fulness. How women have the courage to write, and publishers the spirit to buy, at a high price, the false and feeble representations of life and character that most feminine novels give, is a constant marvel to me. "Ruth," with all its merits, will not be an enduring or classical fiction--will it? Mrs. Gaskell seems to me to be constantly misled by a love of sharp contrasts--of "dramatic" effects. She is not contented with the subdued coloring, the half-tints, of real life. Hence she agitates one for the moment, but she does not secure one's lasting sympathy; her scenes and characters do not become typical. But how pretty and graphic are the touches of description! That little attic in the minister's house, for example, which, with its pure white dimity bed-curtains, its bright-green walls, and the rich brown of its stained floor, remind one of a snowdrop springing out of the soil. Then the rich humor of Sally, and the sly satire in the description of Mr. Bradshaw. Mrs. Gaskell has, certainly, a charming mind, and one cannot help loving her as one reads her books. A notable book just come out is Wharton's "Summary of the Laws relating to Women." "Enfranchisement of women" only makes creeping progress; and that is best, for woman does not yet deserve a much better lot than man gives her. I am writing to you the last thing, and am so tired that I am not quite sure whether I finish my sentences. But your divining power will supply their deficiencies. The first half of February was spent in visits to the Brays and to Mrs. Clarke, at Attleboro, and on returning to London Miss Evans writes: [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 15th Feb. 1853.] I am only just returned to a sense of the real world about me, for I have been reading "Villette," a still more wonderful book than "Jane Eyre." There is something almost preternatural in its power. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Feb. 1853.] Mrs. Follen showed me a delightful letter which she has had from Mrs. Stowe, telling all about herself. She begins by saying: "I am a little bit of a woman, rather more than forty, as withered and dry as a pinch of snuff; never very well worth looking at in my best days, and now a decidedly used-up article." The whole letter is most fascinating, and makes one love her. "Villette," "Villette"--have you read it? [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 25th Feb. 1853.] We had an agreeable evening on Wednesday--a Mr. Huxley being the centre of interest. Since then I have been headachy and in a perpetual rage over an article that gives me no end of trouble, and will not be satisfactory after all. I should like to stick red-hot skewers through the writer, whose style is as sprawling as his handwriting. For the rest, I am in excellent spirits, though not in the best health or temper. I am in for loads of work next quarter, but I shall not tell you what I am going to do. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Mch. 1853.] I have been ready to tear my hair with disappointment about the next number of the _Review_. In short, I am a miserable editor. I think I shall never have the energy to move--it seems to be of so little consequence where I am or what I do. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Mch. 1853.] On Saturday I was correcting proofs literally from morning till night; yesterday ditto. The _Review_ will be better than I once feared, but not so good as I once hoped. I suppose the weather has chilled your charity as well as mine. I am very hard and Mephistophelian just now, but I lay it all to this second winter. We had a pleasant evening last Wednesday. Lewes, as always, genial and amusing. He has quite won my liking, in spite of myself. Of course, Mr. Bray highly approves the recommendation of the Commissioners on _Divorce_. I have been to Blandford Square (Leigh Smith's) to an evening party this week. Dined at Mr. Parkes's on Sunday, and am invited to go there again to-night to meet the Smiths. Lewes was describing Currer Bell to me yesterday as a little, plain, provincial, sickly looking old maid. Yet what passion, what fire in her! Quite as much as in George Sand, only the clothing is less voluptuous. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 11th April, 1853.] What do you think of my going to Australia with Chrissey and all her family?--to settle them, and then come back. I am just going to write to her, and suggest the idea. One wants _something_ to keep up one's faith in happiness--a ray or two for one's friends, if not for one's self. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 16th April, 1853.] We had an agreeable _soirée_ last Wednesday. I fell in love with Helen Faucit. She is the most poetic woman I have seen for a long time; there is the ineffable charm of a fine character which makes itself felt in her face, voice, and manner. I am taking doses of agreeable follies, as you recommend. Last night I went to the French theatre, and to-night I am going to the opera to hear "William Tell." People are very good to me. Mr. Lewes, especially, is kind and attentive, and has quite won my regard, after having had a good deal of my vituperation. Like a few other people in the world, he is much better than he seems. A man of heart and conscience, wearing a mask of flippancy. When the warm days come, and the bearskin is under the acacia, you must have me again. 6th May.--Went to Rosehill and returned on 23d to Strand. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 17th June, 1853.] On Wednesday I dined at Sir James Clark's, where the Combes are staying, and had a very pleasant evening. The Combes have taken lodgings in Oxford Terrace, where I mean to go. It is better than the Strand--trees waving before the windows, and no noise of omnibuses. Last Saturday evening I had quite a new pleasure. We went to see Rachel again, and sat on the stage between the scenes. When the curtain fell we walked about and saw the green-room, and all the dingy, dusty paraphernalia that make up theatrical splendor. I have not yet seen the "Vashti" of Currer Bell in Rachel, though there was some approach to it in Adrienne Lecouvreur. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th June, 1853.] On Saturday we will go to Ockley, near Dorking, where are staying Miss Julia Smith, Barbara Smith, and Bessie Parkes. I shall write to the Ockley party to-day and tell them of the probability that they will see you. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 3d Aug. 1853, from St. Leonards.] I never felt the delight of the thorough change that the coast gives one so much as now, and I shall be longing to be off with you again in October. I am on a delightful hill looking over the heads of the houses, and having a vast expanse of sea and sky for my only view. The bright weather and genial air--so different from what I have had for a year before--make me feel as happy and stupid as a well-conditioned cow. I sit looking at the sea and the sleepy ships with a purely animal _bien être_. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 9th Aug. 1853.] It would have been a satisfaction to your benevolence to see me sitting on the beach laughing at the _Herald's_ many jokes, and sympathizing with your indignation against Judge Maule. It always helps me to be happy when I know that you are so; but I do not choose to vindicate myself against doubts of that, because it is unworthy of you to entertain them. I am going on as well as possible physically--really getting stout. I should like to have a good laugh with you immensely. How nice it would be to meet you and Cara on the beach this evening, and instead of sending you such a miserable interpreter of one's feelings as a letter, give you the look and the hand of warm affection! This British Channel really looks as blue as the Mediterranean to-day. What weather! [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Aug. 1853.] For the first time in my experience I am positively revelling in the _Prospective_. James Martineau transcends himself in beauty of imagery in the article on Sir William Hamilton, but I have not finished him yet. Yesterday it rained _sans_ intermission, and of course I said _cui bono?_ and found my troubles almost more than I could bear; but to-day the sun shines, and there is blue above and blue below, consequently I find life very glorious, and myself a particularly fortunate _diavolessa_. The landlord of my lodgings is a German, comes from Saxe-Weimar, knows well the Duchess of Orleans, and talked to me this morning of _Mr._ Schiller and _Mr._ Goethe. _� propos_ of Goethe, there is a most true, discriminating passage about him in the article on Shakespeare in the _Prospective_. _Mr._ Goethe is one of my companions here, and I had felt some days before reading the passage the truth which it expresses. Subjoined is the passage from the _Prospective Review_ of August, 1853: "Goethe's works are too much in the nature of literary studies; the mind is often deeply impressed by them, but one doubts if the author was. He saw them as he saw the houses of Weimar and the plants in the act of metamorphosis. He had a clear perception of their fixed condition and their successive transitions, but he did not really (at least so it seems to us) comprehend their motive power. In a word, he appreciated their life but not their liveliness.... And we trace this not to a defect in imaginative power--a defect which it would be a simple absurdity to impute to Goethe--but to the tone of his character and the habits of his mind. He moved hither and thither through life, but he was always a man apart. He mixed with unnumbered kinds of men, with courts and academies, students and women, camps and artists, but everywhere he was with them, yet not of them. In every scene he was there, and he made it clear that he was there with a reserve and as a stranger. He went there _to experience_. As a man of universal culture, and well skilled in the order and classification of human life, the fact of any one class or order being beyond his reach or comprehension seemed an absurdity; and it was an absurdity. He thought that he was equal to moving in any description of society, and he was equal to it; but then, on that account, he was absorbed in none." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Sept. 1853.] As for me, I am in the best health and spirits. I have had a letter from Mr. Combe to-day, urging me to go to Edinburgh, but I have made an engagement with Mr. Chapman to do work which will oblige me to remain in London. Mrs. P. is a very bonny, pleasant-looking woman, with a smart drawing-room and liberal opinions--in short, such a friend as self-interest, well understood, would induce one to cultivate. I find it difficult to meet with any lodgings at once tolerable and cheap. My theory is to _live_ entirely--that is, pay rent and find food--out of my positive income, and then work for as large a surplus as I can get. The next number of the _Review_ will be better than usual. Froude writes on the "Book of Job"! He at first talked of an article on the three great _subjective_ poems--Job, Faust, and Hamlet--an admirable subject--but it has shrunk to the Book of Job alone. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Oct. 1853.] I have been busied about my lodgings all afternoon. I am not going to Albion Street, but to 21 Cambridge Street, Hyde Park Square. I hope you will be pleased with our present number. If you don't think the "Universal Postulate" first-rate, I shall renounce you as a critic. Why don't you write grumbling letters to me when you are out of humor with life, instead of making me ashamed of myself for ever having grumbled to you? I have been a more good-for-nothing correspondent than usual lately; this affair of getting lodgings, added to my other matters, has taken up my time and thoughts. I have promised to do some work to-night and to-morrow for a person[41] who is rather more idle than myself, so I have not a moment to spare. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Oct. 1853.] I am reading "The Religion of the Heart" (Leigh Hunt's), and am far more pleased with it than I expected to be. I have just fallen on two passages with which you will agree. "Parker ... is full of the poetry of religion; Martineau equally so, with a closer style and incessant eloquence of expression, perhaps a perilous superabundance of it as regards the claims of matter over manner; and his assumptions of perfection in the character of Jesus are so reiterated and peremptory that in a man of less evident heart and goodness they might almost look like a very unction of insincerity or of policy, of doubt forcing itself to seem undoubting. Hennell's 'Christian Theism' is one long, beautiful discourse proclaiming the great Bible of Creation, and reconciling Pagan and Christian Philosophy." Good Sir James Clark stopped me in the Park yesterday, as I was sauntering along with eyes on the clouds, and made very fatherly inquiries about me, urging me to spend a quiet evening with him and Lady Clark next week--which I will certainly do; for they are two capital people, without any snobbery. I like my lodgings--the housekeeper cooks charming little dinners for me, and I have not one disagreeable to complain of at present, save such as are inseparable from a ground-floor. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 29th Oct. 1853.] Last night I saw the first fine specimen of a man in the shape of a clergyman that I ever met with--Dawes, the Dean of Hereford. He is the man who has been making the experiment of mingling the middle and lower classes in schools. He has a face so intelligent and benignant that children might grow good by looking at it. Harriet Martineau called yesterday. She is going to her brother's at Birmingham soon. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 3d Nov. 1853.] Mr. Lewes was at Cambridge about a fortnight ago, and found that Herbert Spencer was a great deal talked of there for the article on the "Universal Postulate," as well as other things. Mr. Lewes himself has a knot of devotees there who make his "History of Philosophy" a private text-book. Miss Martineau's "Comte" is out now. Do you mean to _do_ it? or Mr. Lewes's? We can get no one to write an article on Comte for the next number of the _Westminster_--Bain, our last hope, refusing. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 5th Nov. 1853.] I think you would find some capital extracts for the _Herald_ (Coventry), in the article on "Church Parties" in the _Edinburgh_. The _Record_ is attempting a reply to it, in which it talks of the truculent infidelity of _Voltaire_ AND _Robespierre_! Has A. sent you his book on the Sabbath? If ever I write a book I will make a present of it to nobody; it is the surest way of taking off the edge of appetite for it, if no more. I am as well as possible; and certainly, when I put my head into the house in the Strand, I feel that I have gained, or, rather, escaped, a great deal physically by my change. Have you known the misery of writing with a _tired_ steel pen, which is reluctant to make a mark? If so, you will know why I leave off. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 7th Nov. 1853.] Chrissey has just sent me a letter, which tells that you have been suffering severely, and that you are yet very ill. I must satisfy my own feelings by telling you that I grieve at this, though it will do you little good to know it. Still, when _I_ am suffering, I do care for sympathy, and perhaps you are of the same mind. If so, think of me as your loving sister, who remembers all your kindness to her, all the pleasant hours she has had with you, and every little particular of her intercourse with you, however long and far she may have been removed from you. Dear Fanny, I can never be indifferent to your happiness or sorrow, and in this present sad affliction my thoughts and love are with you. I shall tease you with no words about myself _now_--perhaps by and by it will amuse you to have a longer letter. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Bray, 8th Nov. 1853.] Hitherto I have been spending £9 per month--at least after that rate--but I have had frequent guests. I am exceedingly comfortable, and feel quite at home now. Harriet Martineau has been very kind--called again on Tuesday, and yesterday sent to invite me to go to Lady Compton's, where she is staying, on Saturday evening. This, too, in spite of my having vexed her by introducing Mr. Lewes to her, which I did as a desirable bit of peacemaking. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1853 (thirty-fourth birthday).] I begin this year more happily than I have done most years of my life. "Notre vraie destinée," says Comte, "se compose de _resignation_ et _d'activité_"--and I seem more disposed to both than I have ever been before. Let us hope that we shall both get stronger by the year's activity--calmer by its resignation. I know it may be just the contrary--don't suspect me of being a canting optimist. We _may_ both find ourselves at the end of the year going faster to the hell of conscious moral and intellectual weakness. Still, there is a possibility--even a probability--the other way. I have not seen Harriet Martineau's "Comte" yet--she is going to give me a copy--but Mr. Lewes tells me it seems to him admirably well done. I told Mr. Chapman yesterday that I wished to give up my connection with the editorship of the _Westminster_. He wishes me to continue the present state of things until April. I shall be much more satisfied on many accounts to have done with that affair; but I shall find the question of supplies rather a difficult one this year, as I am not likely to get any money either for "Feuerbach" or for "The Idea of a Future Life,"[42] for which I am to have "half profits"=0/0! I hope you will appreciate this _bon-mot_ as I do--"C'est un homme admirable--il se tait en sept langues!"[43] [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 2d Dec. 1853.] I am going to detail all my troubles to you. In the first place, the door of my sitting-room doesn't quite fit, and a draught is the consequence. Secondly, there is a piano in the house which has decidedly entered on its second childhood, and this piano is occasionally played on by Miss P. with a really enviable _aplomb_. Thirdly, the knocks at the door startle me--an annoyance inseparable from a ground-floor room. Fourthly, Mrs. P. scolds the servants _stringendo e fortissimo_ while I am dressing in the morning. Fifthly--there is no fifthly. I really have not another discomfort when I am well, which, alas! I have not been for the last ten days; so, while I have been up to the chin in possibilities of enjoyment, I have been too sick and headachy to use them. One thing is needful--a good digestion. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 28th Dec. 1853.] Spent Christmas Day alone at Cambridge Street. How shall I thank you enough for sending me that splendid barrel of beet-root, so nicely packed? I shall certainly eat it and enjoy it, which, I fancy, is the end you sought, and not thanks. Don't suppose that I am looking miserable--_au contraire_. My only complaints just now are idleness and dislike-to-getting-up-in-the-morningness, whereby the day is made too short for what I want to do. I resolve every day to conquer the flesh the next, and, of course, am a little later in consequence. I dined with Arthur Helps yesterday at Sir James Clark's--very snug--only he and myself. He is a sleek man, with close-snipped hair; has a quiet, humorous way of talking, like his books. At the beginning of January, 1854, there was another visit to Mrs. Clarke, at Attleboro, for ten days. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 6th Feb. 1854.] In the last number of the _Scotsman_ which I sent you there was a report of a speech by Dr. Guthrie at the Education meeting, containing a passage which I meant to have copied. He is speaking of the impossibility of teaching morality with the "Bible shut," and says that in that case the teacher would be obliged to resort to "congruity and the fitness of things," about which the boy knows nothing more than that the apple is _fit_ for his mouth. What is wanted to convince the boy of his sin is, "Thou God seest me," and "Thou bleeding Lamb, the best morality is love of thee!" Mr. Lewes came a few minutes after you left, and desired me to tell you that he was sorry to miss you. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Houghton, 6th April, 1854.] Thank you for your very kind letter, which I received this morning. It is pleasant to think of you as quite well, and enjoying your sea-breezes. But do you imagine me sitting with my hands crossed, ready to start for any quarter of the world at the shortest notice. It is not on those terms that people, not rich, live in London. I shall be deep in proof-sheets till the end of May, and shall only dismiss them to make material for new ones. I dare say you will pity me. But, as one of Balzac's characters says, after maturity, "La vie n'est que l'exercice d'une habitude dans un milieu préféré;" and I could no more live out of my _milieu_ than the haddocks I dare say you are often having for dinner. My health is better. I had got into a labyrinth of headaches and palpitations, but I think I am out of it now, and I hope to keep well. I am not the less obliged to you, dear Fanny, for wishing to have me with you. But to leave London now would not be agreeable to me, even if it were morally possible. To see you again would certainly be a pleasure, but I hope that will come to pass without my crossing the Irish Channel. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Saturday, 18th April, 1854.] I am rather overdone with the week's work, and the prospect of what is to come next. Poor Lewes is ill, and is ordered not to put pen to paper for a month; so I have something to do for him in addition to my own work, which is rather pressing. He is gone to Arthur Helps, in Hampshire, for ten days, and I really hope this total cessation from work, in obedience to a peremptory order, will end in making him better than he has been for the last year. No opera and no fun for me for the next month. Happily, I shall have no time to regret it. Plenty of bright sun on your anemone bed. How lovely your place must look, with its fresh leaves! [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 23d May, 1854.] It is quite possible that I may wish to go to the Continent, or twenty other things. Mr. Lewes is going on a walking excursion to Windsor to-day with his doctor, who pronounces him better, but not yet fit for work. However, he is obliged to do a little, and must content himself with an _approximation_ to his doctor's directions. In this world all things are approximations, and in the system of the Dog Star too, in spite of Dr. Whewell. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Friday, no date, 1854.] My troubles are purely psychical--self-dissatisfaction, and despair of achieving anything worth the doing. I can truly say they vanish into nothing before any fear for the happiness of those I love. Thank you for letting me know how things are, for indeed I could not bear to be shut out from your anxieties. When I spoke of myself as an island, I did not mean that I was so exceptionally. We are all islands-- "Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe, Our hermit spirits dwell and roam apart"-- and this seclusion is sometimes the most intensely felt at the very moment your friend is caressing you or consoling you. But this gradually becomes a source of satisfaction instead of repining. When we are young we think our troubles a mighty business--that the world is spread out expressly as a stage for the particular drama of our lives, and that we have a right to rant and foam at the mouth if we are crossed. I have done enough of that in my time. But we begin at last to understand that these things are important only to our own consciousness, which is but as a globule of dew on a rose-leaf, that at mid-day there will be no trace of. This is no high-flown sentimentality, but a simple reflection, which I find useful to me every day. I expect to see Mr. Lewes back again to-day. His poor head--his only fortune--is not well yet; and he has had the misery of being _ennuyé_ with idleness, without perceiving the compensating physical improvement. Still, I hope the good he has been getting has been greater than he has been conscious of. I expect "Feuerbach" will be all in print by the end of next week, and there are no skippings, except such as have been made on very urgent grounds. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Tuesday, 6th June, 1854.] Thanks for your assurance of welcome. I will trust to it when the gods send favorable circumstances. But I see no probability of my being able to be with you before your other midsummer visitors arrive. I delight to think that you are all a little more cheery. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Wednesday, 28th June, 1854.] I reached the Euston Station as dusty as an old ledger, but with no other "incommodity." I went to the Lyceum last night to see "Sunshine through the Clouds,"[44] a wonderfully original and beautiful piece by Mme. de Girardin, which makes one cry rather too much for pleasure. Vestris acts finely the bereaved mother, passing through all the gradations of doubt and hope to the actual recovery of her lost son. My idea of you is rather bright just now, and really helps to make me enjoy all that is enjoyable. That is part of the benefit I have had from my pleasant visit, which was made up of sunshine, green fields, pleasant looks, and good eatables--an excellent compound. Will you be so kind as to send my books by railway, _without_ the Shelley? [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, Monday, 4th July, 1854.] Pray consider the Strauss MSS. waste paper. _I_ shall never want them again. I dined with your old acquaintance, Dr. Conolly, at Sir James Clark's, the other day. He took me down to dinner, and we talked of you. The translation of Ludwig Feuerbach's "Wesen des Christenthums" was published in July in "Chapman's Quarterly Series," with Miss Evans's name on the titlepage as the translator, the first and only time her real name appeared in print. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 10th July, 1854.] I am going to pack up the Hebrew Grammar, the Apocryphal Gospels, and your pretty Titian, to be sent to you. Shall I despatch them by rail or deposit them with Mr. Chapman, to be asked for by Mr. Bray when he comes to town? I shall soon send you a good-bye, for I am preparing to go abroad (?). Herbert Spencer's article on the "Genesis of Science" is a good one. He will stand in the Biographical Dictionaries of 1854 as "Spencer, Herbert, an original and profound philosophical writer, especially known by his great work, ... which gave a new impulse to psychology, and has mainly contributed to the present advanced position of that science, compared with that which it had attained in the middle of the last century. The life of this philosopher, like that of the great Kant, offers little material for the narrator. Born in the year 1820," etc. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 20th July, 1854.] Dear friends--all three--I have only time to say good-bye, and God bless you. _Poste Restante_, Weimar, for the next six weeks, and afterwards Berlin. Ever your loving and grateful Marian. We have now been led up to the most important event in George Eliot's life--her union with Mr. George Henry Lewes. Here, as elsewhere, it seems to me to be of the first importance that she should speak for herself; and there is, fortunately, a letter to Mrs. Bray, dated in September, 1855--fourteen months after the event--which puts on record the point of view from which she regarded her own action. I give this letter here (out of its place as to date); and I may add, what, I think, has not been mentioned before, that not only was Mr. Lewes's previous family life irretrievably spoiled, but his home had been wholly broken up for nearly two years. In forming a judgment on so momentous a question, it is, above all things, necessary to understand what was actually undertaken, what was actually achieved; and, in my opinion, this can best be arrived at, not from any outside statement or arguments, but by consideration of the whole tenor of the life which follows, in the development of which Mr. Lewes's true character, as well as George Eliot's, will unfold itself. No words that any one else can write, no arguments any one else can use, will, I think, be so impressive as the life itself. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 4th Sept. 1855.] If there is any one action or relation of my life which is, and always has been, profoundly serious, it is my relation to Mr. Lewes. It is, however, natural enough that you should mistake me in many ways, for not only are you unacquainted with Mr. Lewes's real character and the course of his actions, but also it is several years now since you and I were much together, and it is possible that the modifications my mind has undergone may be quite in the opposite direction of what you imagine. No one can be better aware than yourself that it is possible for two people to hold different opinions on momentous subjects with equal sincerity, and an equally earnest conviction that their respective opinions are alone the truly moral ones. If we differ on the subject of the marriage laws, I at least can believe of you that you cleave to what you believe to be good; and I don't know of anything in the nature of your views that should prevent you from believing the same of me. _How far_ we differ I think we neither of us know, for I am ignorant of your precise views; and, apparently, you attribute to me both feelings and opinions which are not mine. We cannot set each other quite right in this matter in letters, but one thing I can tell you in few words. Light and easily broken ties are what I neither desire theoretically nor could live for practically. Women who are satisfied with such ties do _not_ act as I have done. That any unworldly, unsuperstitious person who is sufficiently acquainted with the realities of life can pronounce my relation to Mr. Lewes immoral, I can only understand by remembering how subtile and complex are the influences that mould opinion. But I _do_ remember this: and I indulge in no arrogant or uncharitable thoughts about those who condemn us, even though we might have expected a somewhat different verdict. From the majority of persons, of course, we never looked for anything but condemnation. We are leading no life of self-indulgence, except, indeed, that, being happy in each other, we find everything easy. We are working hard to provide for others better than we provide for ourselves, and to fulfil every responsibility that lies upon us. Levity and pride would not be a sufficient basis for that. Pardon me if, in vindicating myself from some unjust conclusions, I seem too cold and self-asserting. I should not care to vindicate myself if I did not love you and desire to relieve you of the pain which you say these conclusions have given you. Whatever I may have misinterpreted before, I do not misinterpret your letter this morning, but read in it nothing else than love and kindness towards me, to which my heart fully answers yes. I should like never to write about myself again; it is not healthy to dwell on one's own feelings and conduct, but only to try and live more faithfully and lovingly every fresh day. I think not one of the endless words and deeds of kindness and forbearance you have ever shown me has vanished from my memory. I recall them often, and feel, as about everything else in the past, how deficient I have been in almost every relation of my life. But that deficiency is irrevocable, and I can find no strength or comfort except in "pressing forward towards the things that are before," and trying to make the present better than the past. But if we should never be very near each other again, dear Cara, do bear this faith in your mind, that I was not insensible or ungrateful to all your goodness, and that I am one among the many for whom you have not lived in vain. I am very busy just now, and have been obliged to write hastily. Bear this in mind, and believe that no meaning is mine which contradicts my assurance that I am your affectionate and earnest friend. _SUMMARY._ MARCH, 1850, TO JULY, 1854. Return to England with M. d'Albert--Depressing effect of change--Visit to Rosehill--Visit to brother and sister at Griff and Meriden--Deeper depression--To Rosehill again with M. d'Albert--Makes her home there for sixteen months--Reviews Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect" in _Westminster_--Meets Mr. Chapman, the editor of the _Westminster_--Helps to settle Prospectus of new series of the _Review_--Visits Robert Noel at Bishop Steignton with Mrs. Bray--Visit to London--Crystal Palace--Returns to Rosehill, and meets Mr. and Mrs. George Combe--Goes to London as assistant editor of the _Westminster Review_--Letters to Brays--Review writing: Dr. Brabant, Foxton, Wilson--Meets Mr. Herbert Spencer--Miss Martineau--Distractions of London--Low health--Miss Bremer--Introduction to Mr. Lewes--Opinion of House of Lords--Carlyle's "Life of Sterling"--Carlyle anecdotes--Mackay--James Martineau--J. H. Newman's Lectures--Translation of Schleiermacher--Letter from Carlyle--Intimacy begins with Mr. Lewes--Reviews Carlyle's "Sterling" in _Westminster_--Visit to Rosehill--Returns to Strand--Harriet Martineau--Pierre Leroux--Louis Blanc--Miss Bessie Parkes--Mrs. Peter Taylor--"Margaret Fuller's Life"--Description of _Westminster_ reviewers--Growing intimacy with Mr. Herbert Spencer--Meeting of authors and booksellers at Mr. Chapman's--Admiration of Prince Albert--Grisi--Hack work of _Review_--Appreciation of Miss Martineau's writings--Singing of charity children at St. Paul's--George Combe's opinion of _Westminster_ editing--Barbara Leigh Smith--Visit to Broadstairs--Florence Nightingale--Return to Strand--Depression--Professor Owen on the Cerebellum--Visit to Combes at Edinburgh, and to Harriet Martineau at Ambleside--Return to London--Reading "Esmond"--Lord Brougham's speech--Work in Strand--Bryant--Visit to Rosehill--Death of Edward Clarke--Visit to widowed sister at Meriden--Return to Strand--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Views on America--"Ruth"--Visit to Rosehill, and to Mrs. Clarke at Attleboro--Return to Strand--Reading "Villette"--Letter from Mrs. Stowe to Mrs. Follen--Meets Huxley--Thinks of going to Australia to settle Mrs. Clarke--Admiration of Helen Faucit--Growing regard for Mr. Lewes--Kindness of Sir James Clark--Visit to Ockley--Change to St. Leonard's--Improvement in health--Return to Strand--Spencer's "Universal Postulate"--Removal to 21 Cambridge Street--Leigh Hunt's "Religion of the Heart"--Dawes, Dean of Hereford--Harriet Martineau--Comte--Contemplates publishing "The Idea of a Future Life"--Meets Arthur Helps--Intimate relations with Mr. Lewes--Translation of Feuerbach--Visit to Rosehill--Return to London--Feuerbach completed--Estimate of Herbert Spencer--Good-bye to Brays--Union with Mr. Lewes--Letter to Mrs. Bray thereon. FOOTNOTES: [31] Frederick Foxton, author of "Popular Christianity: its Transition State and Probable Development." [32] "Man's Nature and Development," by Martineau and Atkinson. [33] This was a merely formal and casual introduction. That George Eliot was ever brought into close relations with Mr. Lewes was due to Mr. Herbert Spencer having taken him to call on her in the Strand later in this year. [34] Appeared in January, 1852, number of the _Westminster Review_, No. 1 of the New Series. [35] Review of Carlyle's "Life of Sterling" in _Westminster_, Jan. 1852. [36] Published in the April, 1852, number of the _Westminster_. [37] Now Madame Belloc, who remained to the end one of George Eliot's closest friends. [38] Mrs. Peter Taylor remained a lifelong and a valued friend of George Eliot's, and many interesting letters in this volume are addressed to her. I am glad also to take this opportunity of expressing my thanks to her for procuring for me two other sets of correspondence--the letters addressed to Mrs. Beecher Stowe and to Mrs. William Smith. [39] Afterwards Madame Bodichon--one of the three or four most intimate friends of George Eliot, whose name will very often appear in subsequent pages. [40] Funeral oration on the Duke of Wellington. [41] Correcting _Leader_ proofs for Mr. Lewes. [42] Advertised in 1853-54 as to appear by "Marian Evans" in "Chapman's Quarterly Series," but never published. [43] Lord Acton tells me he first heard this _bon-mot_, in 1855, related of Immanuel Bekker, the philologist. [44] Translated and adapted from the French, "La joie fait peur," by Mr. Lewes, under the name of Slingsby Lawrence. CHAPTER VI. [Sidenote: Journal, 20th July, 1854.] I said a last farewell to Cambridge Street on 20th July, 1854, and found myself on board the _Ravensbourne_, bound for Antwerp. The day was glorious, and our passage perfect. The sunset was lovely, but still lovelier the dawn as we were passing up the Scheldt between two and three in the morning. The crescent moon, the stars, the first faint blush of the dawn reflected in the glassy river, the dark mass of clouds on the horizon, which sent forth flashes of lightning, and the graceful forms of the boats and sailing-vessels, painted in jet-black on the reddish gold of the sky and water, made up an unforgettable picture. Then the sun rose and lighted up the sleepy shores of Belgium, with their fringe of long grass, their rows of poplars, their church spires and farm buildings. [Sidenote: 21st July.] The great treat at Antwerp was the sight of the Descent from the Cross, which, with its pendant, the Elevation of the Cross, has been undergoing restoration. In the latter the face of Jesus is sublime in its expression of agony and trust in the Divine. It is certainly the finest conception of the suffering Christ I have ever seen. The rest of the picture gave me no pleasure. But in the Descent from the Cross, color, form, and expression alike impressed me with the sense of grandeur and beauty. A little miserable copy of the picture placed near it served as an admirable foil. [Sidenote: 22d July.] We went to the museum and saw Rubens's Crucifixion, even more beautiful to me than the Descent from the Cross. These two pictures profoundly impressed me with the miserable lack of breadth and grandeur in the conceptions of our living artists. The reverence for the old masters is not all humbug and superstition. [Sidenote: 30th July.] We breakfasted in the public room at the hotel at Cologne, and were joined there by Dr. Brabant and Strauss. After a short interview with them we went on board the steamboat which was to take us to Coblentz. [Sidenote: Weimar, Description, Aug.-Oct. 1854.] It was very pretty to look out of the window, when dressing, on a garden that reminded one of an English village: the town is more like a huge village, or market-town, than the precincts of a court. G. called on Schöll, and in the afternoon he (Schöll) came and took us to the _Schloss_, where we saw the Dichter Zimmer--a suite of rooms dedicated to Goethe, Schiller, and Wieland. In each room there is the bust of the poet who is its presiding genius; and the walls of the Goethe and Schiller rooms are decorated with frescoes representing scenes from their works. The Wieland room is decorated with arabesques only. The idea of these rooms is a very pretty one, but the frescoes are badly executed. I am delighted with Schöll. He is a bright-looking, well-made man, with his head finely set on his shoulders, very little like a German. We discovered, after we had known him some time, that he is an Austrian, and so has more southern blood in his veins than the heavy Thuringians. His manners are hearty and cordial, and his conversation really instructive: his ideas are so thoroughly shaped and so admirably expressed. Sauppe is also a _Gelehrter_, director of the gymnasium, and editor of a series of classics which are being brought out; and he is evidently thought a great deal of in Weimar. We went with the Schölls and Sauppes to Tiefurt, and saw the queer little _Schloss_ which used to be Amalia's residence. Tiefurt was a favorite resort of ours, for the walk to it is a very pleasant one, and the Tiefurt park is a little paradise. The Ilm is seen here to the best advantage: it is clearer than at Weimar, and winds about gracefully among fine trees. One of the banks is a high, steep declivity, which shows the trees in all their perfection. In autumn, when the yellow and scarlet were at their brightest, these banks were fairy-like in their beauty. It was here that Goethe and his court friends got up the performance of "Die Fischerin" by torchlight. About ten days after our arrival at Weimar we made an excursion to Ettersburg, one of the duke's summer residences, interesting to us beforehand as the scene of private theatricals and _sprees_ in the Goethe days. We carried provisions with us, and Keats's poems. The morning was one of the brightest and hottest that August ever bestowed, and it required some resolution to trudge along the shadeless _chaussée_, which formed the first two or three miles of our way. One compensating pleasure was the sight of the beautiful mountain ashes in full berry, which, alternately with cherry-trees, border the road for a considerable distance. I felt a child's love for the bunches of coral standing out against the blue sky. The _Schloss_ is a house of very moderate size, and no pretension of any kind. Two flights of steps lead up to the door, and the balustrades are ornamented with beautiful creepers. A tiny sort of piazza under the steps is ornamented with creepers too, and has pretty earthenware vases filled with plants hanging from the ceiling. We felt how much beauty might be procured at small expense in looking at these things. A beautiful walk through a beech wood took us to the _Mooshütte_, before which stands the beech whereon Goethe and his friends cut their names, and from which Goethe denounced Waldemar. We could recognize some of the initials. With Ettersburg I shall always associate Arthur Helps, for he was with us on the second and last time we saw it. He came to Weimar quite unexpectedly on the 29th August, and the next evening we all three drove to Ettersburg. He said the country just round Weimar reminded him of Spain. This led him to talk of his Spanish travels, and he told us some delightful stories in a delightful way. At one inn he was considerably embarrassed in eating his dinner by the presence of a handsome woman, who sat directly opposite to him, resting on her elbows, and fixing her dark eyes on him with a fearful intensity of interest. This woman was the cook, anxious to know that her dishes were acceptable to the stranger. Under this terrible surveillance he did not dare to omit a single dish, though sorely longing to do so. Our greatest expedition from Weimar was to Ilmenau. We set out with a determination to find the Gabel-Bach and Kickel-hahn (Goethe's residence) without the encumbrance of a guide. We found the man who inhabits the simple wooden house which used to be Carl August's hunting-box. He sent a man on with us to show us the way to the Kickel-hahn, which we at last reached--I with weary legs. There is a magnificent view of hills from this spot; but Goethe's tiny wooden house is now closely shut in by fir-trees, and nothing can be seen from the windows. His room, which forms the upper floor of the house, is about ten or twelve feet square. It is now quite empty, but there is an interesting memorial of his presence in these wonderful lines, written by his own hand, near the window-frame: "Ueber allen Gipfeln Ist Ruh, In allen Wipfeln Spürest du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde. Warte nur, balde Ruhest du auch." We wrote our names near one of the windows. About the middle of September the theatre opened, and we went to hear "Ernani." Liszt looked splendid as he conducted the opera. The grand outline of his face and floating hair were seen to advantage as they were thrown into dark relief by the stage lamps. We were so fortunate as to have all three of Wagner's most celebrated operas while we were at Weimar. G., however, had not patience to sit out more than two acts of "Lohengrin;" and, indeed, I too was weary. The declamation appeared to me monotonous, and situations, in themselves trivial or disagreeable, were dwelt on fatiguingly. Without feeling competent to pass a judgment on this opera as music, one may venture to say that it fails in one grand requisite of art, based on an unchangeable element in human nature--the need for contrast. With the "Fliegender Holländer" I was delighted; the poem and the music were alike charming. The "Tannhäuser," too, created in me a great desire to hear it again. Many of the situations, and much of the music, struck me as remarkably fine. And I appreciated these operas all the better retrospectively when we saw "Der Freischütz," which I had never before heard and seen on the stage. The effect of the delicious music, with which one is so familiar, was completely spoiled by the absence of recitative, and the terrible _lapsus_ from melody to ordinary speech. The bacchanalian song seemed simply ridiculous, sung at a little pot-house table at a party of _two_, one of whom was sunk in melancholy; and the absurdity reached a _ne plus ultra_ when Caspar climbed the tree, apparently with the sole purpose of being shot. _� propos_ of the theatre, we were immensely amused to learn that a fair, small-featured man, who somehow always looked to me as if he had just come out of the shell, had come to Weimar to fit himself for a dramatic writer by going behind the scenes! He had as yet written nothing, but was going to work in what he considered a _gründlich_ way. When we passed along the Schiller Strasse, I used to be very much thrilled by the inscription, "Hier wohnte Schiller," over the door of his small house. Very interesting it is to see his study, which is happily left in its original state. In his bedroom we saw his skull for the first time, and were amazed at the smallness of the intellectual region. There is an intensely interesting sketch of Schiller lying dead, which I saw for the first time in the study; but all pleasure in thinking of Schiller's portraits and bust is now destroyed to me by the conviction of their untruthfulness. Rauch told us that he had a _miserabled Stirne_.[45] Waagen says that Tieck the sculptor told him there was something in Schiller's whole person which reminded him of a _camel_. Goethe's house is much more important-looking, but, to English eyes, far from being the palatial residence which some German writers think it. The entrance-hall is certainly rather imposing, with its statues in niches, and broad staircase. The latter was made after his own design, and was an "after-shine" of Italian tastes. The pictures are wretched, the casts not much better--indeed, I remember nothing which seemed intrinsically worth looking at. The MS. of his "Römische Elegien," written by himself in the Italian character, is to be seen here; and one likes to look at it better than at most of the other things. G. had obtained permission from Frau v. Goethe to see the studio and Schlafzimmer, which are not open to the public, and here our feelings were deeply moved. We entered first a small room containing drawers and shelves devoted to his mineralogical collections. From these we passed into the study. It is rather a dark room, for there are only two small windows--German windows. A plain deal table stands in the middle, and near the chair, against this table, is a high basket, where, I was afterwards told, Goethe used to put his pocket-handkerchief. A long sort of writing-table and bookcase united stands against one wall. Here hangs the pin-cushion, just as he left it, with visiting-cards suspended on threads, and other trifles which greatness and death have made sacred. Against the opposite wall, where you enter the bedroom, there is a high writing-desk, on which stands a little statue of Napoleon in creamy glass. The bedroom is very small. By the side of the bed stands a stuffed arm-chair, where he used to sit and read while he drank his coffee in the morning. It was not until very late in his life that he adopted the luxury of an arm-chair. From the other side of the study one enters the library, which is fitted up in a very makeshift fashion, with rough deal shelves, and bits of paper, with Philosophy, History, etc., written on them, to mark the classification of the books. Among such memorials one breathes deeply, and the tears rush to one's eyes. There is one likeness of Goethe that is really startling and thrilling from the idea it gives one of perfect resemblance. It is painted on a cup, and is a tiny miniature, but the execution is so perfect that, on applying a magnifying glass, every minute stroke has as natural an appearance as the texture of a flower or the parts of an insect under the microscope. Equally interesting is the _Gartenhaus_, which we used to see almost every day in our walks. Within, it is a not uncomfortable, homely sort of cottage; no furniture is left in it, and the family want to sell it. It stands on a pleasant slope fronting the west, and there is a charming bit of garden and orchard attached to it. Close to the garden hedge runs the road which leads to Ober Weimar, and on the other side of this road a meadow stretches to the trees which border the Ilm. A bridge nearly opposite the Gartenhaus takes one to the Borkenhaus, Carl August's little retreat, from which he used to telegraph to Goethe. The road to Ober Weimar was one of our favorite walks, especially towards the end of our stay at Weimar, when we were glad of all the sunshine we could get. Sometimes we used to turn out of it, up a grove of weeping birches, into the ploughed fields at the top of the slope on which the Gartenhaus and other little villas stand. Here we enjoyed many a lovely sunset; one, in particular, was marvellously splendid. The whole hemisphere was golden, towards the east tinted with rose-color. From this little height we looked on the plantations of the park, in their autumnal coloring, the town, with its steep-roofed church and its castle tower, colored a gay green, the line of chestnuts along the Belvedere Chaussée, and Belvedere itself peeping from its nest of trees. Another very favorite walk of mine was the _Webicht_, a beautiful wood through which ran excellent carriage-roads and grassy footpaths. How richly have I enjoyed skirting this wood and seeing, on the other side, the sky arching grandly down over the open fields, the evening red flushing the west over the town, and the bright stars come out as if to relieve the sun in his watch over mortals. And then the winding road through the Webicht on the side towards Tiefurt, with its tall, overarching trees now bending their mossy trunks forward, now standing with stately erectness like lofty pillars; and the charming grassy paths through the heart of the wood, among its silvery-barked birches! The Webicht lies towards Tiefurt, and one side of it is bordered by the road thither. I remember, as we were returning from Tiefurt one evening, a beautiful effect of the setting sunlight pouring itself under the trees, and making the road before us almost crimson. One of our pleasantest acquaintances at Weimar was the French ambassador, the Marquis de Ferrière, a very favorable specimen of a Frenchman, but intensely French. His genial soul and perfect good-humor gave one the same sort of _bien-être_ as a well-stuffed arm-chair and a warm hearthrug. In the course of conversation, speaking of Yvan's accounts of his travels (the marquis was first secretary to the Chinese embassy which Yvan accompanied), he said, "C'était faux d'un bout à l'autre; mais c'était spirituel, paradoxal, amusant--enfin _tout ce qu'il fallait pour un journal_." Another day he observed that the famous words of Napoleon to his Egyptian army, "Forty centuries look down on you from the summits of these pyramids," were characteristic of the French national feeling, as those of Nelson, "England expects the man to make his duty" were of the English. This is a fair specimen of the correctness with which one generally hears English quoted; and we often reminded ourselves that it was a mirror in which we might see our own German. Liszt's conversation is charming. I never met with a person whose manner of telling a story was so piquant. The last evening but one that he called on us, wishing to express his pleasure in G.'s article about him, he very ingeniously conveyed that expression in a story about Spontini and Berlioz. Spontini visited Paris while Liszt was living there, and haunted the opera--a stiff, self-important personage, with high shirt-collars, the least attractive individual imaginable; Liszt turned up his own collars, and swelled out his person, so as to give us a vivid idea of the man. Every one would have been glad to get out of Spontini's way--indeed, elsewhere "on feignait de le croire mort," but at Paris, as he was a member of the Institute, it was necessary to recognize his existence. Liszt met him at Erard's more than once. On one of these occasions Liszt observed to him that Berlioz was a great admirer of his (Spontini's), whereupon Spontini burst into a terrible invective against Berlioz as a man who, with the like of him, was ruining art, etc. Shortly after the "Vestale" was performed, and forthwith appeared an enthusiastic article by Berlioz on Spontini's music. The next time Liszt met him of the high collars he said, "You see I was not wrong in what I said about Berlioz's admiration of you." Spontini swelled in his collars, and replied, "Monsieur, Berlioz a du talent comme critique!" Liszt's replies were always felicitous and characteristic. Talking of Mme. d'Agoult, he told us that when her novel "Nelida" appeared, in which Liszt himself is pilloried as a delinquent, he asked her, "Mais pourquoi avez-vous tellement maltraité ce pauvre Lehmann?" The first time we were asked to breakfast at his house, the Altenburg, we were shown into the garden, where, in a saloon formed by overarching trees, the _déjeuner_ was set out. We found Hoffmann von Fallersleben, the lyric poet, Dr. Schade--a _Gelehrter_, and Cornelius. Presently came a Herr--or Doctor--Raff, a musician, who has recently published a volume called "Wagnerfrage." Soon after we were joined by Liszt and the Princess Marie, an elegant, gentle-looking girl of seventeen, and last by the Princess Wittgenstein, with her nephew, Prince Eugène, and a young French artist, a pupil of Scheffer. The princess was tastefully dressed in a morning-robe of some semi-transparent white material, lined with orange-color, which formed the bordering and ornamented the sleeves, a black lace jacket, and a piquant cap set on the summit of her comb, and trimmed with violet color. When the cigars came, Hoffman was requested to read some of his poetry, and he gave us a bacchanalian poem with great spirit. I sat next to Liszt, and my great delight was to watch him and observe the sweetness of his expression. Genius, benevolence, and tenderness beam from his whole countenance, and his manners are in perfect harmony with it. Then came the thing I had longed for--his playing. I sat near him, so that I could see both his hands and face. For the first time in my life I beheld real inspiration--for the first time I heard the true tones of the piano. He played one of his own compositions--one of a series of religious fantasies. There was nothing strange or excessive about his manner. His manipulation of the instrument was quiet and easy, and his face was simply grand--the lips compressed, and the head thrown a little backward. When the music expressed quiet rapture or devotion a smile flitted over his features; when it was triumphant the nostrils dilated. There was nothing petty or egoistic to mar the picture. Why did not Scheffer paint him thus, instead of representing him as one of the three Magi? But it just occurs to me that Scheffer's idea was a sublime one. There are the two aged men who have spent their lives in trying to unravel the destinies of the world, and who are looking for the Deliverer--for the light from on high. Their young fellow-seeker, having the fresh inspiration of early life, is the first to discern the herald star, and his ecstasy reveals it to his companions. In this young Magus, Scheffer has given a portrait of Liszt; but even here, where he might be expected to idealize unrestrainedly, he falls short of the original. It is curious that Liszt's face is the type that one sees in all Scheffer's pictures; at least, in all I have seen. In a little room which terminates the suite at the Altenburg there is a portrait of Liszt, also by Scheffer--the same of which the engraving is familiar to every one. This little room is filled with memorials of Liszt's triumphs and the worship his divine talent has won. It was arranged for him by the princess, in conjunction with the Arnims, in honor of his birthday. There is a medallion of him by Schwanthaler, a bust by an Italian artist, also a medallion by Rietschl--very fine--and cabinets full of jewels and precious things--the Weimar gifts of the great. In the music _salon_ stand Beethoven's and Mozart's pianos. Beethoven's was a present from Broadwood, and has a Latin inscription intimating that it was presented as a tribute to his illustrious genius. One evening Liszt came to dine with us at the Erb Prinz, and introduced M. Rubinstein, a young Russian, who is about to have an opera of his performed in Weimar. Our expenses at Weimar, including wine and washing, were £2 6_s._ per week. Dear Weimar! We were sorry to say good-bye to it, with its pleasant group of friends. On the 4th of November, after a stay of just three months, we turned our backs on it "to seek fresh streets and faces new" at Berlin. [Sidenote: Berlin, Recollections, Nov. 1854 to Mch. 1855.] There are certain persons without any physiognomy, the catalogue of whose features, as, item, a Roman nose, item, a pair of black eyes, etc., gives you the entire contents of their faces. There is no difference of opinion about the looks of such people. All the world is agreed either that they are pretty or ugly. So it is with Berlin. Every one tells you it is an uninteresting modern city, with broad, monotonous streets; and when you see it, you cannot for the life of you get up an emotion of surprise, or make a remark about the place which you have not heard before. The day after our arrival was Sunday, 6th November; the sun shone brightly, and we went to walk in the Linden, elbowing our way among the _promeneurs endimanchés_, who looked remarkably smart and handsome after the Thuringians. We had not gone far when we met a nice-looking old gentleman, with an order round his neck, and a gold-headed cane in his hand, who exclaimed, on seeing G., "Ist's möglich?" and then bade him heartily welcome. I saw at once it was the Varnhagen of whom I had heard so often. His niece, arrayed in smiles and a pink bonnet, was with him. For the first six weeks, when the weather permitted, we took long walks in the Thiergarten, where the straight and uniform avenues of insignificant trees contrasted very disadvantageously with the charming variety of our beloved park at Weimar. Still, we now and then noticed a beautiful wintry effect, especially in the part most remote from the town, where the trees are finer and the arrangements more varied. One walk, which skirted the Thiergarten on the right-hand side coming from the town, we were particularly fond of, because it gave us on one side an open view, with water and a boat or two, which, touched by the magic of sunshine, was pleasant to see. At Berlin it was "a day of small things" with regard to the beautiful, and we made much of little. Our little circle of acquaintances was very agreeable and varied. Varnhagen was a real treasure to G., for his library supplied all the deficiencies of the public one, where to ask for books was generally like "sinking buckets into empty wells." He is a man of real culture, kindliness, and polish (Germanly speaking); and he has besides that thorough liberalism, social, religious, and political, which sets the mind at ease in conversation, and delivers it from the fear of running against some prejudice, or coming suddenly on the sunk fence of some miserable limitation. The first morning he called on us he talked of his terrible disappointment in Carlyle, a subject to which he often returned. He evidently felt an antipathy to the "Teufelsdröckh," which, indeed, it was not difficult to understand from the mere _manière d'étre_ of the two men. They had corresponded for years before they saw each other; and Varnhagen was, and is, a great admirer of Carlyle's best work, but he was thoroughly repelled by his rough, paradoxical talk, and, more justifiably, by the despotic doctrines which it has been his humor to teach of late. We were amused to hear that Carlyle said he should think no one could die at Berlin, "for in beds _without curtains_ what Christian could give up the ghost?" At Varnhagen's we met, for the first time, Professor Stahr, who was there with Fanny Lewald, Fräulein Solmar, Frau Muisch, Dr. Ring, Dr. Vehse, Gräfin von Kalkreuth, and Director Wilhelm Schadow, author of "Der Moderne Vasari." We talked of Goethe. Varnhagen brought out autographs and portraits, and read us an epigram of his own on the want of liberality which Goethe's family show about opening his house to the public. He showed us a portrait of Kleist, who shot himself, in company with Frau Vogel, near an inn on the way to Potsdam. There was no love-affair between them; they were both thoroughly unhappy--he poor and hopeless for the future; and she suffering from an incurable disease. In the evening they both wrote, on a single sheet of paper, letters to their friends, communicating their intention (this sheet Varnhagen possesses). Early in the morning they rose, took a cup of coffee, went to the brink of a piece of water in the neighborhood of the inn, and there shot themselves. Du Bois Reymond spoke very decidedly of the German civilization as inferior to the English. Varnhagen, when well, is a regular visitor at Fräulein Solmar's, who for many years has kept an open _salon_ for her friends every evening but one in the week. Here the three-cornered chair next the sofa was reserved for him, except when General Pfuhl was there. This General Pfuhl is a fine specimen of an old soldier, who is at the same time a man of instruction and of strong social sympathies. He has been in the service of Prussia, has been within a hair's-breadth of being frozen to death, "and so following." He spoke French admirably, and always had something interesting and characteristic to tell or say. His appreciatory groans, always in the right place, when G. was reading "Shylock" did us both good, under the chills of a German audience. Fräulein Solmar is a remarkably accomplished woman--probably between fifty and sixty, but of that agreeable _Wesen_ which is so free from anything startling in person or manner, and so at home in everything one can talk of, that you think of her simply as a delightful presence, and not as a woman of any particular age. She converses perfectly in French, well in English, and well also, as we were told, in Italian. There is not the slightest warmth of manner or expression in her, but always the same even cheerfulness and intelligence--in fact, she is the true type of the mistress of the _salon_. During the first half of our stay in Berlin we went about once a week to her house; but bad health and bad weather kept us away during the last six weeks, except for one or two evenings. Baron Sternberg, the novelist, used frequently to glide in when we were there, and cast strange, cold glances around, talking quietly to Fräulein Assing or some other lady who sat in a distant parallel of latitude. One evening a Frenchman there amused us by saying that he found in Meyerbeer's "Huguenots" the whole spirit of the epoch of Charles IX. "Lisez les Chroniques"--"de Froissart?" suggested Mlle. Solmar. "Oui, quelque chose comme ça; ou bien les Chroniques de Brantôme ou de _Mérimée_, et vous trouverez que Meyerbeer a parfaitement exprimé tout cela; du moins c'est ce que je trouve, moi." I said, "Mais peut-être, Monsieur, c'est votre génie à vous qui a fait entrer les idées dans la musique." He answered with complacent deprecation. G. looked immovably serious, but was inwardly tickled by the audacity of my compliment, and the evident acceptance of it. A still more interesting acquaintance was Professor Gruppe, who has written great books on the Greek drama and on Philosophy; has been a political writer; is a lyric and epic poet; has invented a beautiful kind of marbled paper for binding books; is an enthusiastic huntsman, and, withal, the most simple, kind-hearted creature in the world. His little wife, who is about twenty years younger than himself, seems to adore him, and it is charming to see the group they and their two little children make in their dwelling, up endless flights of stairs in the Leipziger Platz. Very pleasant evenings we had there, chatting or playing whist, or listening to readings of Gruppe's poems. We used to find him in a gray cloth _Schlafrock_, which I fancy was once a great-coat, and a brown velvet cap surmounting his thin gray hairs. I never saw a combination at all like that which makes up Gruppe's character. Talent, fertility, and versatility that seem to indicate a fervid temperament, and yet no scintillation of all this in his talk and manner; on the contrary, he seems slow at apprehending other people's ideas, and is of an almost childish _naiveté_ in the value he attaches to poor jokes, and other trivialities. _� propos_ of jokes, we noticed that during the whole seven months of our stay in Germany we never heard one witticism, or even one felicitous idea or expression, from a German! Gruppe has a delightful library, with rare books, and books too good to be rare; and we often applied to him for some of them. He lent me "Lessing," and that is an additional circumstance to remember with pleasure in connection with the Laocoon. He one evening gave us an interesting account of his work on the cosmic system of the Greeks, and read us a translation, by himself, of one of the Homeric hymns--Aphrodite--which is very beautiful, a sort of _Gegenstück_ to "Der Gott und die Bajadere:" and generally we were glad when he took up the book. He read us a specimen of his epic poem, "Firdusi," which pleased us. The fable on which this poem is founded is fine. The sultan had engaged Firdusi to write a great poem on his exploits, and had promised to pay for this one hundred thousand pieces (gold being understood). Firdusi had delighted in the thought of this sum, which he intended to devote to the benefit of his native city. When the poem was delivered, and the sack of money given to Firdusi, he found that the pieces were silver! He burst into a song of scorn against the sultan, and paid the miserable sum to his bath-man. Gruppe thinks Shakespeare more extensively sold in Germany than any other book, except the Bible and Schiller! One night we attempted "Brag" or "Pocher," but Gruppe presently became alarmed at G.'s play, and said "Das würde an zwölf Groschen reichen." He drew some Jews' faces with a pen admirably. We were invited to meet Waagen, whom we found a very intelligent and amusing man. He told us a story about Goethe, who said of some one, "I thank thee, Almighty God, that thou hast produced no second edition of this man!" and an amusing judgment passed on Goethe himself, that he was "Kein dummer Mann!" Also a story of a lady who went to see him, as an intellectual adorer, and began to spout to him, as his masterpiece, "Fest gemauert in der Erden,"[46] etc. Another pleasant friend was Edward Magnus, the portrait-painter, an acute, intelligent, kind-hearted man, with real talent in his art. He was the only German we met with who seemed conscious of his countrymen's deficiencies. He showed in every possible way a hearty desire to do us service--sent us books, came to chat with us, showed us his portraits, and, when we were going away, brought us lithographs of some paintings of his, that we might carry away a remembrance of him. He has travelled very extensively, and had much intercourse with distinguished people, and these means of culture have had some of their best effects on his fine temperament and direct, truthful mind. He told us a rich story about Carlyle. At a dinner-party, given by Magnus in his honor, Wiese and Cornelius were deploring Goethe's want of evangelical sentiment. Carlyle was visibly uneasy, fumbling with his dinner-napkin. At last he broke out thus: "Meine Herren kennen sie die Anekdote von dem Manne der die Sonne lästerte weil sie ihm sein Cigarre nicht anstecken liess?"[47] In the little room where we used to be ushered to wait for him there was a portrait of Thorwaldsen and one of Mendelssohn, both of whom he knew well. I was surprised to find in his _atelier_ the original of the portrait of Jenny Lind, with which I was so familiar. He was going to send it, together with Sontag's portrait, to the exhibition at Paris. His brother, the chemist, was also a bright, good-natured-looking man. We were invited to a large evening party at his house, and found very elegant rooms, with a remarkable assemblage of celebrated men--Johannes Müller, Du Bois Reymond, Rose, Ehrenberg, etc. Some of the women were very pretty and well dressed. The supper, brought round on trays, was well appointed; and altogether the party was well managed. We spent one evening with Professor Stahr and his wife--Fanny Lewald--after their marriage. Stahr has a copy of the charming miniature of Schiller, taken when he was about thirty--a miniature in the possession of a certain Madame von Kalb. There are the long _Gänsehals_,[48] the aquiline nose, the blue eyes and auburn hair. It is a most real and striking portrait. I saw also a portrait and bust of Madame d'Agoult here, both rather handsome. The first evening Stahr told us some of the grievances which the Prussians have to bear from their government, and among the rest the vexatious necessity for a "concession" or license, before any, the simplest vocation, can be entered on. He observed, with justice, that the English are apt to suppose the German Revolution of '48 was mere restlessness and aping of other nations, when in fact there were real oppressions which the Germans had to bear, and which they had borne with a patience that the English would not imitate for a month. By far the most distinguished-looking man we saw at Berlin, and, indeed, next to Liszt, in Germany, was Rauch the sculptor. Schöll had given G. a letter for him, and soon after it had been left at his house he called on us in the evening, and at once won our hearts by his beautiful person and the benignant and intelligent charm of his conversation. He is indeed the finest old man I ever saw--more than seventy-six, I believe, but perfectly upright, even stately, in his carriage. His features are harmonious, his complexion has a delicate freshness, his silky white hair waves gracefully round his high forehead, and his brown eyes beam with benevolence and intelligence. He is above the common height, and his stature and beauty together ennoble the gray working surtout and cap which he wears in his _atelier_ into a picturesque and distinguished costume. The evening he was with us he talked delightfully of Goethe, dwelling especially on his lovable nature. He described very graphically Goethe's way of introducing subjects, showing plates, etc., bringing in the cast of Schiller's skull, and talking of it and other little particulars of interest. We went one morning to his _atelier_, and found him superintending his pupil's work at a large group representing Moses with his hands held up by Aaron and Hur. It was extremely interesting to me to see Rauch's original little clay model of this group, for I had never seen statuary in that first stage before. The intense expression of entreaty in the face of the Moses was remarkable. But the spirit of this group is so alien to my sympathies that I could feel little pleasure in the idea of its production. On the other hand, my heart leaped at the sight of old Kant's quaint figure, of which Rauch is commissioned to produce a colossal statue for Königsberg. In another _atelier_, where the work is in a different stage, we saw a splendid marble monument, nearly completed, of the late king of Hanover. Pitiable that genius and spotless white marble should be thrown away on such human trash! Our second visit to Rauch's _atelier_ was paid shortly before we left Berlin. The group of Moses, Aaron, and Hur was clothed up, and the dark-eyed, olive-complexioned pupil was at work on a pretty little figure of Hope--a child stepping forward with upturned face, a bunch of flowers in her hand. In the other _atelier_ we saw a bust of Schleiermacher, which, with the equestrian statue of Fritz, and its pedestal, Rauch was going to send to the Paris Exhibition. Schleiermacher's face is very delicately cut, and indicates a highly susceptible temperament. The colossal head of Fritz, seen on a level with one's eye, was perfectly startling from its living expression. One can't help fancying that the head is thinking and that the eyes are seeing. Dessoir the actor was another pleasant variety in our circle of acquaintance. He created in us a real respect and regard for him, not only by his sincere devotion to his art, but by the superiority of feeling which shone through all the little details of his conduct and conversation. Of lowly birth, and entirely self-taught, he is by nature a gentleman. Without a single physical gift as an actor, he succeeds, by force of enthusiasm and conscientious study, in arriving at a representation which commands one's attention and feelings. I was very much pleased by the simplicity with which he one day said, "Shakespeare ist mein Gott; ich habe keinen anderen Gott:" and indeed one saw that his art was a religion to him. He said he found himself inevitably led into singsong declamation by Schiller, but with Shakespeare it was impossible to be declamatory. It was very agreeable to have him as a companion now and then in our walks, and to have him read or discuss Shakespeare for an hour or two in the evening. He told us an amusing story about his early days. When he was a youth of sixteen or seventeen, acting at Spandau, he walked to Berlin (about nine miles) and back in the evening, accompanied by a watchmaker named Naundorff, an enthusiast for the theatre. On their way Dessoir declaimed at the top of his voice, and was encouraged by the applause of his companion to more and more exertion of lungs and limbs, so that people stared at them, and followed them, as if they thought them two madmen. This watchmaker was Louis XVII.! Dessoir also imitated admirably Aldridge's mode of advancing to kill Duncan--like a wild Indian lurking for a not much wilder beast. He paid us the very pretty attention of getting up a dinner for us at Dietz's, and inviting Rötscher and Förster to meet us; and he supplied us with tickets for the theatre, which, however, was a pleasure we used sparingly. The first time we went was to see "Nathan der Weise"--a real enjoyment, for the elegant theatre was new to us, and the scenery was excellent; better than I saw there on any subsequent occasion. Döring performed Nathan, and we thus saw him for the first time to great advantage; for, though he drags down this part, as he does all others, the character of Nathan sets limits which he cannot overstep; and though we lose most of its elevation in Döring's acting, we get, _en revanche_, an admirable ease and naturalness. His fine, clear voice and perfect enunciation told excellently in the famous monologue, and in the whole scene with Saladin. Our hearts swelled and the tears came into our eyes as we listened to the noble words of dear Lessing, whose great spirit lives immortally in this crowning work of his. Our great anxiety was to see and hear Johanna Wagner, so we took tickets for the "Orpheus," which Mlle. Solmar told us she thought her best part. We were thoroughly delighted both with her and her music. The caricatures of the Furies, the ballet-girls, and the butcher-like Greek shades in Elysium, the ugly, screaming Eurydice, and the droll appearance of Timzek as Amor, in which she looked like a shop-girl who has donned a masquerade dress impromptu, without changing her headdress--all these absurdities were rather an amusement than a drawback to our pleasure; for the Orpheus was perfect in himself, and looked like a noble horse among mules and donkeys. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th Jan. 1855.] Our days are so accurately parcelled out that my time for letter-writing is rather restricted, and for every letter I write I have to leave out something which we have learned to think necessary. We have been to hear "Fidelio" this evening--not well executed, except so far as the orchestra was concerned; but the divine music positively triumphs over the defects of execution. One is entirely wrapped in the _idea_ of the composer. Last week we had "Orpheus and Eurydice," and I heard, for the first time, at once an opera of Gluck's and Johanna Wagner. It is one of the glories of Berlin to give Gluck's operas, and it is also something of a glory to have "die Wagner." She is really a fine actress and a fine singer; her voice is not ravishing, but she is mistress of it. I thought of you that evening, and wished you could hear and see what I know would interest you greatly--I refer rather to Gluck's opera than to Johanna Wagner. The scene in which Orpheus (Johanna Wagner) enters Tartarus, is met by the awful Shades, and charms them into ecstatic admiration till they make way for him to pass on, is very fine. The voices--except in the choruses--are all women's voices; and there are only three characters--Orpheus, Amor, and Eurydice. One wonders that Pluto does not come as a basso; and one would prefer Mercury as a tenor to Amor in the shape of an ugly German soprano; but Gluck wished it otherwise, and the music is delightful. I am reading a charming book by Professor Stahr--who is one of our acquaintances here--"Torso: Kunst, Künstler, und Kunst Werke der Alten." It feeds the fresh interest I am now feeling in art. Professor Stahr is a very erudite man, and, what is very much rarer among Germans, a good writer, who knows how to select his materials, and has, above all, a charming talent for description. We saw at his house the other night the first portrait of Schiller which _convinces_ me of a likeness to him. It is the copy of a miniature which has never been engraved. The face is less beautiful than that of the ordinary busts and portraits, but is very remarkable--the eyes blue, the complexion very fair (the picture was taken in his youth), and the hair sunny. He has the long "goose-neck" which he describes as belonging to Carl Moor in the "Robbers," and the forehead is _fuyant_ in correspondence with the skull. The piteous contrast there is between the anxiety poor Schiller is constantly expressing about a livelihood--about the thalers he has to pay for this and the thalers he has to receive for that--and Goethe's perfect ease in that respect! For the "History of the Netherlands" he got little more than fifteen shillings per sheet. I am very much interested in Professor Gruppe as a type of the German _Gelehrter_. He has written books on everything--on the Greek drama, a great book on the cosmic system of the Greeks, an epic, numberless lyric poems, etc.; he has a philosophical work and a history of literature in the press; is professor of philosophy at the university; is enthusiastic about boar-hunting, and has written a volume of hunting poems--and _ich weiss nicht was_. Withal he is as simple as a child. When we go to see them in the evening we find him wrapped in a moth-eaten gray coat and a cap on his head. Then he reads us a translation of one of the Homeric hymns, and goes into the most naïve _impersonal_ ecstasy at the beauty of his own poetry (which is really good). The other night he read us part of an epic which is still in MS., and is to be read before the king--such is the fashion here. And his little wife, who is about twenty years younger than himself, listens with loving admiration. Altogether, they and their two little children are a charming picture. [Sidenote: Berlin, Recollections, 1854-55.] We went to only one concert, for which Vivier was kind enough to send us tickets. It was given by him and Roger, assisted by Arabella Goddard and Johanna Wagner. Roger's singing of the "Erl King" was a treat not to be forgotten. He gave the full effect to Schubert's beautiful and dramatic music; and his way of falling from melody into awe-struck speech in the final words "_War todt_" abides with one. I never felt so thoroughly the beauty of that divine ballad before. The king was present in all his toothlessness and blinkingness; and the new princess from Anhalt Dessau, young and delicate-looking, was there too. Arabella Goddard played the "Harmonious Blacksmith" charmingly, and then Wagner sang badly two ineffective German songs, and Halévy's duet from the "Reine de Chypre" with Roger. Vivier is amusing. He says Germans take off their hats on all possible pretexts--not for the sake of politeness, but _pour être embarrassants_. They have wide streets, simply to embarrass you, by making it impossible to descry a shop or a friend. A German always has _three_ gloves--"On ne sait pas pourquoi." There is a dog-tax in order to maintain a narrow _trottoir_ in Berlin, and every one who keeps a dog feels authorized to keep the _trottoir_ and move aside for no one. If he has two dogs he drives out of the _trottoir_ the man who has only one: the very dogs begin to be aware of it. If you kick one when he is off the _trottoir_ he will bear it patiently, but on the _trottoir_ he resents it vehemently. He gave us quite a bit of Molière in a description of a mystification at a restaurant. He says to the waiter--"Vous voyez ce monsieur là. C'est le pauvre M. Colignon." (Il faut qu'il soit quelq'un qui prend très peu--une tasse de café ou comme ça, et qui ne dépense pas trop.) "Je suis son ami. Il est fou. Je le garde. Combien doit-il payer?" "Un franc." "Voilà." Then Vivier goes out. Presently the so-called M. Colignon asks how much he has to pay, and is driven to exasperation by the reiterated assurance of the waiter--"C'est payé, M. Colignon." The first work of art really worth looking at that one sees at Berlin is the "Rosse-bändiger" in front of the palace. It is by a sculptor named Cotes, who made horses his especial study; and certainly, to us, they eclipsed the famous Colossi at Monte Cavallo, casts of which are in the new museum. The collection of pictures at the old museum has three gems, which remain in the imagination--Titian's Daughter, Correggio's Jupiter and Io, and his Head of Christ on the Handkerchief. I was pleased also to recognize among the pictures the one by Jan Steen, which Goethe describes in the "Wahlverwandschaften" as the model of a _tableau vivant_, presented by Luciane and her friends. It is the daughter being reproved by her father, while the mother is emptying her wine-glass. It is interesting to see the statue of Napoleon, the worker of so much humiliation to Prussia, placed opposite that of Julius Cæsar. They were very happy months we spent at Berlin, in spite of the bitter cold which came on in January and lasted almost till we left. How we used to rejoice in the idea of our warm room and coffee as we battled our way from dinner against the wind and snow! Then came the delightful long evening, in which we read Shakespeare, Goethe, Heine, and Macaulay, with German _Pfefferkuchen_ and _Semmels_ at the end to complete the _noctes cenæque deûm_. We used often to turn out for a little walk in the evening, when it was not too cold, to refresh ourselves by a little pure air as a change from the stove-heated room. Our favorite walk was along the Linden, in the broad road between the trees. We used to pace to old Fritz's monument, which loomed up dark and mysterious against the sky. Once or twice we went along the gas-lighted walk towards Kroll's. One evening in our last week we went on to the bridge leading to the Wilhelm Stadt, and there by moon and gas light saw the only bit of picturesqueness Berlin afforded us. The outline of the Schloss towards the water is very varied, and a light in one of the windows near the top of a tower was a happy accident. The row of houses on the other side of the water was shrouded in indistinctness, and no ugly object marred the scene. The next day, under the light of the sun, it was perfectly prosaic. Our _table d'hôte_ at the Hotel de l'Europe was so slow in its progress from one course to another, and there was so little encouragement to talk to our neighbors, that we used to take our books by way of beguiling the time. Lessing's "Hamburgische Briefe," which I am not likely to take up again, will thus remain associated in my memory with my place at the _table d'hôte_. The company here, as almost everywhere else in Berlin, was sprinkled with officers. Indeed, the swords of officers threaten one's legs at every turn in the streets, and one sighs to think how these unproductive consumers of _Wurst_, with all their blue and scarlet broadcloth, are maintained out of the pockets of the community. Many of the officers and privates are startlingly tall; indeed, some of them would match, I should think, with the longest of Friedrich Wilhelm's _lange Kerle_. It was a bitterly cold, sleety morning--the 11th of March--when we set out from Berlin, leaving behind us, alas! G.'s rug, which should have kept his feet warm on the journey. Our travelling companions to Cologne were fat Madame Roger, her little daughter, and her dog, and a queen's messenger--a very agreeable man, who afterwards persuaded another of the same vocation to join us for the sake of warmth. This poor man's teeth were chattering with cold, though he was wrapped in fur; and we, all furless as we were, pitied him, and were thankful that at least we were not feverish and ill, as he evidently was. We saw the immortal old town of Wolfenbüttel at a distance, as we rolled along; beyond this there was nothing of interest in our first day's journey, and the only incident was the condemnation of poor Madame Roger's dog to the dog-box, apart from its mistress with her warm cloaks. She remonstrated in vain with a brutal German official, and it was amusing to hear him say to her in German, "Wenn sie Deutsch nicht verstehen können." "Eh bien--prenez la." "Ah! quel satan de pays!" was her final word, as she held out the shivering little beast. We stayed at Cologne, and next morning walked out to look at the cathedral again. Melancholy as ever in its impression upon me! From Cologne to Brussels we had some rather interesting companions, in two French artists who were on their way from Russia. Strange beings they looked to us at first, in their dirty linen, Russian caps, and other queer equipments; but in this, as in many other cases, I found that a first impression was an extremely mistaken one--for instead of being, as I imagined, common, uncultivated men, they were highly intelligent. At Brussels, as we took our supper, we had the pleasure of looking at Berlioz's fine head and face, he being employed in the same way on the other side of the table. The next morning to Calais. They were pleasant days those at Weimar and Berlin, and they were working days. Mr. Lewes was engaged in completing his "Life of Goethe," which had been begun some time before, but which was now for the most part rewritten. At Weimar, George Eliot wrote the article on Victor Cousin's "Madame de Sablé" for the _Westminster Review_. It was begun on 5th August, and sent off on 8th September. At Berlin she nearly finished the translation of Spinoza's "Ethics"--begun on 5th November--and wrote an article on Vehse's "Court of Austria," which was begun on 23d January, and finished 4th March, 1855. Besides this writing, I find the following among the books that were engaging their attention; and in collecting the names from George Eliot's Journal, I have transcribed any remarks she makes on them: Sainte-Beuve, Goethe's "Wahlverwandschaften," Rameau's "Neffe," "Egmont," "The Hoggarty Diamond," Moore's "Life of Sheridan"--a first-rate specimen of bad biographical writing; "Götz" and the "Bürger General," Uhland's poems, "Wilhelm Meister," Rosenkranz on the Faust Sage, Heine's poems, Shakespeare's plays ("Merchant of Venice," "Romeo and Juliet," "Julius Cæsar"--very much struck with the masculine style of this play, and its vigorous moderation, compared with "Romeo and Juliet"--"Antony and Cleopatra," "Henry IV.," "Othello," "As You Like It," "Lear"--sublimely powerful--"Taming of the Shrew," "Coriolanus," "Twelfth Night," "Measure for Measure," "Midsummer-Night's Dream," "Winter's Tale," "Richard III.," "Hamlet"); Lessing's "Laocoon"--the most un-German of all the German books that I have ever read. The style is strong, clear, and lively; the thoughts acute and pregnant. It is well adapted to rouse an interest both in the classics and in the study of art; "Emilia Galotti" seems to me a wretched mistake of Lessing's. The Roman myth of Virginius is grand, but the situation, transported to modern times and divested of its political bearing, is simply shocking. Read "Briefe über Spinoza" (Jacobi's), "Nathan der Weise," Fanny Lewald's "Wandlungen," "Minna von Barnhelm," "Italiänische Reise," the "Residence in Rome;" a beautiful description of Rome and the Coliseum by moonlight--a fire made in the Coliseum sending its smoke, silvered by the moonlight, through the arches of the mighty walls. Amusing story of Goethe's landlady's cat worshipping Jupiter by licking his beard--a miracle, in her esteem, explained by Goethe as a discovery the cat had made of the oil lodging in the undulations of the beard. "Residence in Naples"--pretty passage about a star seen through a chink in the ceiling as he lay in bed. It is remarkable that when Goethe gets to Sicily he is, for the first time in Italy, enthusiastic in his descriptions of natural beauty. Read Scherr's "Geschichte Deutscher Cultur und Sitte"--much interested in his sketch of German poetry in the Middle Ages; "Iphigenia." Looked into the "Xenien," and amused ourselves with their pointlessness. "Hermann and Dorothea," "Tasso," "Wanderjahre"--_à mourir d'ennui_; Heine's "Geständnisse"--immensely amused with the wit of it in the first fifty pages, but afterwards it burns low, and the want of principle and purpose make it wearisome. Lessing's "Hamburgische Briefe." Read Goethe's wonderful observations on Spinoza. Particularly struck with the beautiful modesty of the passage in which he says he cannot presume to say that he thoroughly understands Spinoza. Read "Dichtung und Wahrheit," Knight's "Studies of Shakespeare." Talked of the "Wahlverwandschaften" with Stahr--he finding fault with the _dénouement_, which I defended. Read Stahr's "Torso"--too long-winded a style for reading aloud. Knight's "History of Painting." Compared several scenes of "Hamlet" in Schlegel's translation with the original. It is generally very close, and often admirably well done; but Shakespeare's strong, concrete language is almost always weakened. For example, "Though this hand were _thicker than_ itself in brother's blood" is rendered, "Auch um und um in Bruder's Blut getauchet." The prose speeches of Hamlet lose all their felicity in the translation. Read Stahr on the Eginetan Sculptures, "Die Neue Melusine," "West-�stliche Divan," Gervinus on Shakespeare--found it unsatisfactory; Stahr's "Ein Jahr in Italien"--the description of Florence excellent. Read the wonderfully beautiful "Römische Elegien" again, and some of the Venetian epigrams, Vehse's "Court of Austria"--called on Miss Assing to try and borrow the book from Varnhagen. He does not possess it, so G. called on Vehse, and asked him to lend it to me. He was very much pleased to do so. Read the "Zueignung," the "Gedichte," and several of the ballads. Looked through Wraxall's "Memoirs." Read Macaulay's "History of England." Wrote article on Stahr. This writing and reading, combined with visiting, theatre-going, and opera-going, make a pretty full life for these eight months--a striking contrast to the coming months of complete social quietness in England. Both lives had their attractions, the superficial aspects of which may be summed up in a passage from the Journal, dated 13th March, 1855, on arrival at the Lord Warden Hotel, at Dover: English mutton and an English fire were likely to be appreciated by creatures who had had eight months of Germany, with its questionable meat and its stove-heated rooms. The taste and quietude of a first-rate English hotel were also in striking contrast with the heavy finery, the noise, and the indiscriminate smoking of German inns. But, after all, Germany is no bad place to live in; and the Germans, to counterbalance their want of taste and politeness, are at least free from the bigotry of exclusiveness of their more refined cousins. I even long to be among them again--to see Dresden and Munich and Nürnberg and the Rhine country. May the day soon come! _SUMMARY._ JULY, 1854, TO MARCH, 1855. Leaves London with Mr. Lewes for Antwerp--Rubens's pictures--Cologne--Dr. Brabant and Strauss--Weimar--Schöll--The Dichter Zimmer--Sauppe--Tiefurt--Ettersburg--Arthur Helps--Gabel-Bach and Kickel-hahn--Liszt--Wagner's operas--"Der Freischütz"--Schiller's house--Goethe's house--Gartenhaus--Ober Weimar--The Webicht--Marquis de Ferrière--Liszt anecdotes--Cornelius--Raff--Princess Wittgenstein--Liszt's playing--Scheffer's picture--Expenses at Weimar--Leave for Berlin--Meet Varnhagen--Thiergarten--Acquaintances in Berlin--Fräulein Solmar--Professor Gruppe--Epic of Firdusi--Waagen--Edward Magnus--Professor Stahr and Fanny Lewald--Rauch the sculptor--Kant's statue--Dessoir the actor--"Nathan der Weise"--Döring's acting--Johanna Wagner--Letter to Miss Hennell--"Fidelio"--Reading Stahr's "Torso"--Likeness of Schiller--Vivier--Roger and Arabella Goddard--The Rosse-bändiger--Pictures--Cold in Berlin--View of Schloss from bridge--Leave Berlin for England--Books read--Article written on "Madame de Sablé"--Translation of Spinoza's "Ethics"--Article on Vehse's "Court of Austria"--Article on Stahr. FOOTNOTES: [45] A wretched forehead. [46] First line of Schiller's "Song of the Bell." [47] "Gentlemen, do you know the story of the man who railed at the sun because it would not light his cigar?" [48] Goose-neck. CHAPTER VII. [Sidenote: Journal, Mch. 1855.] _March 14._--Took lodgings at 1 Sydney Place, Dover. _March 15._--A lovely day. As I walked up the Castle hill this afternoon the town, with its background of softly rounded hills shrouded in sleepy haze, its little lines of water looking golden in the sun, made a charming picture. I have written the preface to the Third Book of "Ethics," read Scherr, and Shakespeare's "Venus and Adonis." _March 16._--I read Shakespeare's "Passionate Pilgrim" at breakfast, and found a sonnet in which he expresses admiration of Spenser (Sonnet viii.): "Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such As, passing all conceit, needs no defence."[49] I must send word of this to G., who has written in his "Goethe" that Shakespeare has left no line in praise of a contemporary. I could not resist the temptation of walking out before I sat down to work. Came in at half-past ten, and translated Spinoza till nearly one. Walked out again till two. After dinner read "Two Gentlemen of Verona" and some of the "Sonnets." That play disgusted me more than ever in the final scene, where Valentine, on Proteus's mere begging pardon, when he has no longer any hope of gaining his ends, says: "All that was mine in Sylvia, I give thee!" Silvia standing by. Walked up the Castle hill again, and came in at six. Read Scherr, and found an important hint that I have made a mistake in a sentence of my article on "Austria" about the death of Franz von Sickingen. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Mch. 1855.] I dare say you will be surprised to see that I write from Dover. We left Berlin on the 11th. I have taken lodgings here for a little while, until Mr. Lewes has concluded some arrangements in London; and, with the aid of lovely weather, am even enjoying my solitude, though I don't mind how soon it ends. News of you all at Rosehill--how health and business and all other things are faring--would be very welcome to me, if you can find time for a little note of homely details. I am well and calmly happy--feeling much stronger and clearer in mind for the last eight months of new experience. We were sorry to leave our quiet rooms and agreeable friends in Berlin, though the place itself is certainly ugly, and _am Ende_ must become terribly wearisome for those who have not a vocation there. We went again and again to the new museum to look at the casts of the Parthenon Sculptures, and registered a vow that we would go to feast on the sight of the originals the first day we could spare in London. I had never cast more than a fleeting look on them before, but now I can in some degree understand the effect they produced on their first discovery. [Sidenote: Journal, 1855.] _March 25._--A note from Mr. Chapman, in which he asks me to undertake part of the Contemporary Literature for the _Westminster Review_. _April 18._--Came to town, to lodgings in Bayswater. _April 23._--Fixed on lodgings at East Sheen. _April 25._--Went to the British Museum. _April 28._--Finished article on "Weimar," for _Fraser_. During this month George Eliot was finishing the translating and revising of Spinoza's "Ethics," and was still reading Scherr's book, Schrader's "German Mythology"--a poor book--"The Tempest," "Macbeth," "Niebelungenlied," "Romeo and Juliet," article on "Dryden" in the _Westminster_, "Reineke Fuchs," "Genesis of Science," Gibbon, "Henry V.," "Henry VIII.," first, second, and third parts of "Henry VI.," "Richard II." _May 2._--Came to East Sheen, and settled in our lodgings. _May 28._--Sent Belles-lettres section to _Westminster Review_. During May several articles were written for the _Leader_. _June 13._--Began Part IV. of Spinoza's "Ethics." Began also to read Cumming, for article in the _Westminster_. We are reading in the evenings now Sydney Smith's letters, Boswell, Whewell's "History of Inductive Sciences," "The Odyssey," and occasionally Heine's "Reisebilder." I began the second book of the "Iliad," in Greek, this morning. _June 21._--Finished article on Brougham's "Lives of Men of Letters." _June 23._--Read "Lucrezia Floriani." We are reading White's "History of Selborne" in the evening, with Boswell and the "Odyssey." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 23d June, 1855.] I have good hope that you will be deeply interested in the "Life of Goethe." It is a book full of feeling, as well as of thought and information, and I even think will make you love Goethe as well as admire him. Eckermann's is a wonderful book, but only represents Goethe at eighty. We were fortunate enough to be in time to see poor Eckermann before his _total_ death. His mind was already half gone, but the fine brow and eyes harmonized entirely with the interest we had previously felt in him. We saw him in a small lodging, surrounded by singing birds, and tended by his son--an intelligent youth of sixteen, who showed some talent in drawing. I have written a castigation of Brougham for the _Leader_, and shall be glad if your sympathy goes along with it. Varnhagen has written "Denkwurdigkeiten," and all sorts of literature, and is, or, rather was, the husband of _Rahel_, the greatest of German women. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st July, 1855.] It was surely you who wrote the notice of the _Westminster_ in the _Herald_ (Coventry) which we received this morning. I am very much pleased with your appreciation of Mr. Lewes's article. You hardly do justice to Froude's article on "Spinoza." I don't at all agree with Froude's own views, but I think his account of Spinoza's doctrines admirable. Mr. Lewes is still sadly ailing--tormented with tooth and face ache. This is a terrible trial to us poor scribblers, to whom health is money, as well as all other things worth having. I have just been reading that Milton suffered from indigestion--quite an affecting fact to me. I send you a letter which I have had from Barbara Smith. I think you will like to see such a manifestation of her strong, noble nature. On 1st August, 1855, Mr. Lewes went down to Ramsgate for change, taking his three boys with him for a week's holiday. Meantime George Eliot was continuing her article-writing, and in this week wrote an article for the _Leader_, having written one for the same journal three weeks before. On 22d August she wrote another article for the _Leader_, and on the 24th she finished the one on Cumming for the _Westminster_. Mr. C. Lewes tells me that he remembers it was after reading this article that his father was prompted to say to George Eliot, while walking one day with her in Richmond Park, that it convinced him of the true genius in her writing. Mr. Lewes was not only an accomplished and practised literary critic, but he was also gifted with the inborn insight accompanying a fine artistic temperament, which gave unusual weight to his judgment. Up to this time he had not been quite sure of anything beyond great talent in her productions. The first three weeks in September were again busily occupied in article-writing. She contributed three papers to the _Leader_, as well as the Belles-lettres section for the October number of the _Westminster_. On the 19th September they left East Sheen, and after spending a couple of weeks at Worthing for a sea change, they took rooms at 8 Park Shot, Richmond, which remained their home for more than three years. Here some of George Eliot's most memorable literary work was accomplished. Both she and Mr. Lewes were now working very hard for what would bring immediate profit, as they had to support not only themselves but his children and their mother. They had only one sitting-room between them; and I remember, in a walk on St. George's Hill, near Weybridge, in 1871, she told me that the scratching of another pen used to affect her nerves to such an extent that it nearly drove her wild. On the 9th October she finished an article on Margaret Fuller and Mary Wollstonecraft, and on the 12th October one on Carlyle for the _Leader_, and began an article on Heine for the January number of the _Westminster_. In October there are the following letters to the Brays: [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, Monday, Oct. (?) 1855.] Since you have found out the "Cumming," I write by to-day's post just to say that it _is_ mine, but also to beg that you will not mention it as such to any one likely to transmit the information to London, as we are keeping the authorship a secret. The article appears to have produced a strong impression, and that impression would be a little counteracted if the author were known to be a _woman_. I have had a letter addressed "to the author of Article No. 4," begging me to print it separately "for the good of mankind in general!" It is so kind of you to rejoice in anything I do at all well. I am dreadfully busy again, for I am going to write an article for the _Westminster Review_ again, besides my other work. We enjoy our new lodgings very much--everything is the pink of order and cleanliness. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Oct. 1855.] Why you should object to Herbert Spencer speaking of Sir William Hamilton's contributions to a theory of perception as "valuable" I am unable to conceive. Sir William Hamilton has been of service to him as well as to others; and instead of repressing acknowledgments of merit in others, I should like them to be more freely given. I see no dignity, or anything else that is good, in ignoring one's fellow-beings. Herbert Spencer's views, like every other man's views, could not have existed without the substratum laid by his predecessors. But perhaps you mean something that I fail to perceive. Your bit of theology is very fine. Here is a delicious Hibernicism in return. In a treatise on consumption, sent yesterday, the writer says: "There is now hardly any _difference_ on this subject--at least _I_ feel none." Our life has no incidents except such as take place in our own brains, and the occasional arrival of a longer letter than usual. Yours are always read aloud and enjoyed. Nevertheless our life is intensely occupied, and the days are far too short. We are reading Gall's "Anatomie et Physiologie du Cerveau," and Carpenter's "Comparative Physiology," aloud in the evenings; and I am trying to fix some knowledge about plexuses and ganglia in my soft brain, which generally only serves me to remember that there is something I ought to remember, and to regret that I did not put the something down in my note-book. For "Live and learn," we should sometimes read "Live and grow stupid." [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 21st Nov. 1855.] You will receive by rail to-morrow a copy of the "Life and Works of Goethe" (published on 1st November), which I hope you will accept as a keepsake from me. I should have been glad to send it you earlier, but as Mr. Lewes has sold the copyright of the first edition, he has only a small number of copies at his disposal, and so I doubted whether I ought to ask for one. I think you will find much to interest you in the book. I can't tell you how I value it, as the best product of a mind which I have every day more reason to admire and love. We have had much gratification in the expression of individual opinion. The press is very favorable, but the notices are for the most part too idiotic to give us much pleasure, except in a pecuniary point of view. I am going out to-day, for the first time for nearly a fortnight. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th Nov. 1855.] I have just finished a long article on Heine for the _Westminster Review_, which none of you will like. _En revanche_, Mr. Lewes has written one on "Lions and Lion Hunters," which you will find amusing. On the 12th December the Belles-lettres section for the January number of the _Westminster Review_ was finished and sent off, and the next entry in the Journal is dated: [Sidenote: Journal, 1855.] _Dec. 24, 1855._--For the last ten days I have done little, owing to headache and other ailments. Began the "Antigone," read Von Bohlen on "Genesis," and Swedenborg. Mr. Chapman wants me to write an article on "Missions and Missionaries," for the April number of the _Westminster_, but I think I shall not have it ready till the July number. In the afternoon I set out on my journey to see my sister, and arrived at her house about eight o'clock, finding her and her children well. _Dec. 29, 1855._--Returned to Richmond. G. away at Vernon Hill (Arthur Helps's), having gone thither on Wednesday. _Dec. 30, 1855._--Read the "Shaving of Shagpat" (George Meredith's). _Dec. 31, 1855._--Wrote a review of "Shagpat." [Sidenote: Journal, 1856.] _Jan. 1, 1856._--Read Kingsley's "Greek Heroes," and began a review of Von Bohlen. _Jan. 5, 1856._--G. came home. _Jan. 6, 1856._--Began to revise Book IV. of Spinoza's "Ethics," and continued this work through the week, being able to work but slowly. Finished Kahnis's "History of German Protestantism." _Jan. 16, 1856._--Received a charming letter from Barbara Smith, with a petition to Parliament that women may have a right to their earnings. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Jan. 1856.] I believe there have been at least a thousand copies of the "Goethe" sold, which is a wonderfully good sale in less than three months for a thirty-shilling book. We have a charming collection of letters, both from remarkable acquaintances and remarkable non-acquaintances, expressing enthusiastic delight in the book--letters all the more delightful because they are quite spontaneous, and spring from a generous wish to let the author know how highly the writers value his work. If you want some idle reading, get the "Shaving of Shagpat," which, I think, you will say deserves all the praise I gave it. [Sidenote: Journal, 1856.] _Feb. 19, 1856._--Since the 6th January I have been occupied with Spinoza; and, except a review of Griswold's "American Poets," have done nothing else but translate the Fifth Book of the "Ethics," and revise the whole of my translation from the beginning. This evening I have finished my revision. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Feb. 1856.] I was so glad to have a little news of you. I should like to hear much oftener, but our days are so accurately parcelled out among regular occupations that I rarely manage to do anything not included in the programme; and, without reading Mrs. Barbauld on the "Inconsistency of Human Expectations," I know that receiving letters is inconsistent with not writing any. Have you seen any numbers of the _Saturday Review_, a new journal, on which "all the talents" are engaged? It is not properly a newspaper, but--what its title expresses--a political and literary review. We are delighting ourselves with Ruskin's third volume, which contains some of the finest writing I have read for a long time (among recent books). I read it aloud for an hour or so after dinner; then we jump to the old dramatists, when Mr. Lewes reads to me as long as his voice will hold out, and after this we wind up the evening with Rymer Jones's "Animal Kingdom," by which I get a confused knowledge of branchiæ, and such things--perhaps, on the whole, a little preferable to total ignorance. These are our _noctes_--without _cenæ_ for the present--occasionally diversified by very dramatic singing of Figaro, etc., which, I think, must alarm "that good man, the clergyman," who sits below us. We have been half laughing, half indignant, over Alison's new volume of his "History of Europe," in which he undertakes to give an account of German literature. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 25th Feb. 1856.] What you tell me of Harriet Martineau interests me very much. I feel for her terrible bodily suffering, and think of her with deep respect and admiration. Whatever may have been her mistakes and weaknesses, the great and good things she has done far outweigh them; and I should be grieved if anything in her memoir should cast a momentary shadow over the agreeable image of her that the world will ultimately keep in its memory. I wish less of our piety were spent on imaginary perfect goodness, and more given to real _im_perfect goodness. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, end of Feb. 1856.] I am very happy for you to keep the sheets, and to get signatures (for the Women's Petition that they should have legal right to their own earnings). Miss Barbara Smith writes that she must have them returned to her before the 1st of March. I am glad you have taken up the cause, for I do think that, with proper provisos and safeguards, the proposed law would help to raise the position and character of women. It is one round of a long ladder stretching far beyond our lives. During March, George Eliot wrote only the Belles-lettres section for the April number of the _Westminster_, having resigned the subject of "Missions" to Harriet Martineau. She also wrote two articles for the _Saturday Review_, and two for the _Leader_. And there are the following letters in March to the Brays, in which allusion is made to their leaving the old home at Rosehill, owing to the unsatisfactory state of the Coventry business. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 26th Mch. 1856.] We are flourishing in every way except in health. Mr. Lewes's head is still infirm, but he manages, nevertheless, to do twice as much work as other people. I am always a croaker, you know, but my ailments are of a small kind, their chief symptoms being a muddled brain; and, as my pen is not of the true literary order which will run along without the help of brains, I don't get through so much work as I should like. By the way, when the Spinoza comes out, be so good as not to mention my name in connection with it. I particularly wish not to be known as the translator of the "Ethics," for reasons which it would be "too tedious to mention." You don't know what a severely practical person I am become, and what a sharp eye I have to the main chance. I keep the purse, and dole out sovereigns with all the pangs of a miser. In fact, if you were to feel my bump of acquisitiveness, I dare say you would find it in a state of inflammation, like the "veneration" of that clergyman to whom Mr. Donovan said, "Sir, you have recently been engaged in prayer." I hope you recognized your own wit about the one-eyed dissenters, which was quoted in the _Leader_ some time ago. You always said no one did so much justice to your jokes as I did. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 31st Mch. 1856.] My mind is more rebellious than yours, and I can't help being saddened by the idea of you and Cara being in any other home than the dear old one. But I know that your cheerful courage is yet stronger in deed than in word. Will not business or pleasure bring you to London soon, and will you not come to see us? We can give you a bed--not a sumptuous one, but one which you will perhaps not find intolerable for a night. I know the trip up the Thames is charming, and we should like to do it with you, but I don't think we can manage it this summer. We are going to send or take the boys (Mr. Lewes's sons) to school in Germany at midsummer, and are at present uncertain about our arrangements. If we can _send_ them, we shall go to the coast as soon as the warm weather comes, and remain there for three months. But our plans are not yet crystallized. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 1st April, 1856.] After I wrote you yesterday morning we had a letter from Germany which has made Mr. Lewes incline to defer sending the boys thither till next year. But he is anxious to remove them from their present school: and, in the course of our consultations on the subject, we thought of Mr. John Sibree as a person in whom we should feel confidence as to the moral influence he would exercise as a tutor. The risk of placing children with entire strangers is terrible. So I tease you with another letter to ask you if Mr. J. Sibree continues in the same position as formerly, and if he is still anxious to obtain pupils. What a delicious day! We are going to have a holiday at the Zoological Gardens. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 7th April, 1856.] Thank you for taking the trouble to write me a full account of matters so interesting to me. I hope you will be able thoroughly to enjoy this last precious summer on the pretty lawn, where it is one of my pleasures on sunshiny days to think of you all strolling about or seated on the Bearskin. We are very thankful for the Hofwyl circular, and have almost decided to send the two eldest boys there. But it is necessary to weigh all things carefully before coming to a determination; as, not being either swindlers or philanthropists, we don't like to incur obligations which there is not a reasonable certainty of our being able to meet. I am much obliged to Mr. Bray, too, for sending Mr. John Sibree's letter. Mr. Lewes had already received an answer from him declining his proposition, but we were interested to read his very characteristic letter to his sister, which proved to Mr. Lewes that I had given him a correct description of the man. The next few weeks are, perhaps, the most signally important and interesting of all in George Eliot's development. There are unmistakable signs of the rising of the sap of creative production. In the middle of April Mr. Herbert Spencer, who had been abroad for some time, returned to England, and dined with them at Park Shot on the 15th, and on the 18th they went with him to Sydenham. On the 22d April George Eliot began her article on Young; and on the 29th she began to read Riehl's book,[50] on which she was to write another article for the _Westminster_. On the 8th of May they set off for Ilfracombe, and we have the following "recollections" of that place: [Sidenote: Ilfracombe, Recollections, 1856.] It was a cold, unfriendly day--the 8th of May--on which we set out for Ilfracombe with our hamper of glass jars, which we meant for our sea-side vivarium. We had to get down at Windsor, and were not sorry that the interval was long enough to let us walk round the castle, which I had never seen before except from a distance. The famous "slopes," the avenues in the park, and the distant landscape, looked very lovely in the fresh and delicate greens of spring; and the castle is surely the most delightful royal residence in the world. We took our places from Windsor all the way to Exeter; and at Bristol, where we had to wait three hours, the misery of my terrible headache was mitigated by the interest we felt in seeing the grand old Church of St. Mary Redcliffe, forever associated with the memory of Chatterton. "It stands, the maestrie of a human hand, The pride of Bristowe and the western land." It was cheering, the next morning after our arrival at Ilfracombe, to get up with a head rather less aching, and to walk up and down the little garden of Runnymede Villa in the bright sunshine. I had a great deal of work before me--the writing of an article on Riehl's book, which I had not half read, as well as the article on Belles-lettres; but my head was still dizzy, and it seemed impossible to sit down to writing at once in these new scenes, so we determined to spend the day in explorations. From our windows we had a view of the higher part of the town, and generally it looked uninteresting enough; but what is it that light cannot transfigure into beauty? One evening, after a shower, as the sun was setting over the sea behind us, some peculiar arrangement of clouds threw a delicious evening light on the irregular cluster of houses, and merged the ugliness of their forms in an exquisite flood of color--as a stupid person is made glorious by a noble deed. A perfect rainbow arched over the picture. From one end of the Capstone we have an admirable bit for a picture. In the background rises old Helesborough, jutting out far into the sea--rugged and rocky as it fronts the waves, green and accessible landward; in front of this stands Lantern Hill, a picturesque mass of green and gray, surmounted by an old bit of building that looks as if it were the habitation of some mollusk that had secreted its shell from the material of the rock; and quite in the foreground, contrasting finely in color with the rest, are some lower perpendicular rocks of dark-brown tints, patched here and there with vivid green. In hilly districts, where houses and clusters of houses look so tiny against the huge limbs of mother earth, one cannot help thinking of man as a parasitic animal--an epizoan making his abode in the skin of the planetary organism. In a flat country, a house or a town looks imposing; there is nothing to rival it in height, and we may imagine the earth a mere pedestal for us. But when one sees a house stuck on the side of a great hill, and, still more, a number of houses, looking like a few barnacles, clustered on the side of a great rock, we begin to think of the strong family likeness between ourselves and all other building, burrowing, house-appropriating, and shell-secreting animals. The difference between a man with his house and a mollusk with its shell lies in the number of steps or phenomena interposed between the fact of individual existence and the completion of the building. Whatever other advantages we may have over mollusks and insects in our habitations, it is clear that their architecture has the advantage of ours in beauty--at least, considered as the architecture of the species. Look at man in the light of a shell-fish, and it must be admitted that his shell is generally ugly; and it is only after a great many more "steps or phenomena" that he secretes here and there a wonderful shell in the shape of a temple or a palace. On our first zoophyte hunt it was characteristic of the wide difference there is between having eyes and _seeing_, that in this region of sea-anemones, where the Mesembryanthemum especially is as plenty as blackberries, we climbed about for two hours without seeing one anemone, and went in again with scarcely anything but a few stones and weeds to put into our jars. On our next hunt, however, after we had been out some time, G. exclaimed, "I see an anemone!" and we were immensely excited by the discovery of this little red Mesembryanthemum, which we afterwards disdained to gather, as much as if it had been a nettle. It was a _crescendo_ of delight when we found a "strawberry," and a _fortissimo_ when I, for the first time, saw the pale, fawn-colored tentacles of an _Anthea cereus_ viciously waving like little serpents in a low-tide pool. But not a polype for a long, long while could even G. detect, after all his reading; so necessary is it for the eye to be educated by objects as well as ideas. Every day I gleaned some little bit of naturalistic experience, either through G.'s calling on me to look through the microscope, or from hunting on the rocks; and this in spite of my preoccupation with my article, which I worked at considerably _à contre-coeur_, despairing of it ever being worth anything. When at last, by the 17th of June, both my articles were despatched, I felt delightfully at liberty, and determined to pay some attention to seaweeds, which I had never seen in such beauty as at Ilfracombe. For hitherto I had been chiefly on chalky and sandy shores, where there were no rock-pools to show off the lovely colors and forms of the algæ. There are tide-pools to be seen almost at every other step on the shore at Ilfracombe; and I shall never forget their appearance when we first arrived there. The _Corallina officinalis_ was then in its greatest perfection, and with its purple-pink fronds threw into relief the dark olive fronds of the Laminariæ on one side, and the vivid green of the Ulva and Enteromorpha on the other. After we had been there a few weeks the Corallina was faded; and I noticed the _Mesagloia vermicularis_ and the _M. virescens_, which look very lovely in the water, from the white cilia, which make the most delicate fringe to their yellow-brown, whip-like fronds, and some of the common Polysiphoniæ. These tide-pools made me quite in love with seaweeds, so I took up Landsborough's book and tried to get a little more light on their structure and history. Our zoological expeditions alternated with delicious inland walks. I think the country looked its best when we arrived. It was just that moment in spring when the leaves are in full leaf, but still keep their delicate varieties of coloring, and that _transparency_ which belongs only to this season. And the furze was in all its golden glory! It was almost like the fading away of the evening red, when the furze blossoms died off from the hills, and the only contrast left was that of the marly soil with the green crops and woods. The primroses were the contemporaries of the furze, and sprinkled the sides of the hills with their pale stars almost as plentifully as daisies or buttercups elsewhere. But the great charm of all Devonshire lanes is the springs that you detect gurgling in shady recesses, covered with liverwort, with here and there waving tufts of fern and other broad-leaved plants that love obscurity and moisture. We seemed to make less of our evenings at Ilfracombe than we have ever done elsewhere. We used often to be tired with our hunting or walking; and we were reading books which did not make us take them up very eagerly--Gosse's "Rambles on the Devonshire Coast," for example; Trench's "Calderon," and other volumes, taken up in a desultory way. One bit of reading we had there, however, which interested me deeply. It was Masson's "Life of Chatterton," which happily linked itself with the impressions I had received from the sight of the old church at Bristol. Mr. Tugwell's (the curate) acquaintance was a real acquisition to us, not only because he was a companion and helper in zoological pursuits, but because to know him was to know of another sweet nature in the world. It is always good to know, if only in passing, a charming human being; it refreshes one like flowers and woods and clear brooks. One Sunday evening we walked up to his pretty house to carry back some proofs of his, and he induced us to go in and have coffee with him. He played on his harmonium, and we chatted pleasantly. The last evening of our stay at Ilfracombe he came to see us in Mrs. Webster's drawing-room, and we had music till nearly eleven o'clock--a pleasant recollection! We only twice took the walk beyond Watermouth towards Berrynarbor. The road lies through what are called the "Meadows," which look like a magnificent park. A stream, fringed with wild-flowers and willows, runs along the valley, two or three yards from the side of the road. This stream is clear as crystal, and about every twenty yards it falls over a little artificial precipice of stones. The long grass was waving in all the glory of June, before the mower has come to make it suffer a "love change" from beauties into sweet odors; and the slopes on each side of us were crowned or clothed with fine trees. The last time we went through these meadows was on our last day at Ilfracombe. Such sunlight and such deep peace on the hills and by the stream! Coming back, we rested on a gate under the trees, and a blind man came up to rest also. He told us, in his slow way, what a fine, "healthy spot" this was--yes, a very healthy spot--a healthy spot. And then we went on our way, and saw his face no more. I have talked of the Ilfracombe lanes without describing them, for to describe them one ought to know the names of all the lovely wild-flowers that cluster on their banks. Almost every yard of these banks is a "Hunt" picture--a delicious crowding of mosses and delicate trefoil and wild strawberries and ferns great and small. But the crowning beauty of the lanes is the springs that gush out in little recesses by the side of the road--recesses glossy with liverwort and feathery with fern. Sometimes you have the spring when it has grown into a brook, either rushing down a miniature cataract by the lane-side, or flowing gently as a "braided streamlet" across your path. I never before longed so much to know the names of things as during this visit to Ilfracombe. The desire is part of the tendency that is now constantly growing in me to escape from all vagueness and inaccuracy into the daylight of distinct, vivid ideas. The mere fact of naming an object tends to give definiteness to our conception of it. We have then a sign which at once calls up in our minds the distinctive qualities which mark out for us that particular object from all others. We ascended the Tors only twice; for a tax of 3_d._ per head was demanded on this luxury, and we could not afford a sixpenny walk very frequently: yet the view is perhaps the very finest to be had at Ilfracombe. Bay behind bay, fringed with foam, and promontory behind promontory, each with its peculiar shades of purple light--the sweep of the Welsh coast faintly visible in the distance, and the endless expanse of sea, flecked with ships, stretching on our left. [Sidenote: Ilfracombe, Recollections, June, 1856.] One evening we went down to the shore through the "Tunnels" to see the sunset. Standing in the "Ladies' Cove," we had before us the sharp fragments of rock jutting out of the waves and standing black against the orange and crimson sky. How lovely to look into that brilliant distance and see the ship on the horizon seeming to sail away from the cold and dim world behind it right into the golden glory! I have always that sort of feeling when I look at sunset; it always seems to me that there in the West lies a land of light and warmth and love. On the 26th of June we said good-bye to Ilfracombe. The sight of the cockle-women at Swansea, where we had to wait, would make a fine subject for a painter. One of them was the grandest woman I ever saw--six feet high, carrying herself like a Greek warrior, and treading the earth with unconscious majesty. Her face was weather-beaten and wizened, but her eyes were bright and piercing, and the lines of her face, with its high cheek-bones, strong and characteristic. The guard at the railway station told us that one of the porters had been insolent the other day to a cockle-woman, and that she immediately pitched him off the platform into the road below! [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 6th June, 1856.] When we arrived here I had not even read a great book on which I had engaged to write a long article by the beginning of this month; so that between work and zoology and bodily ailments my time has been full to overflowing. We are enchanted with Ilfracombe. I really think it is the loveliest sea-place I ever saw, from the combination of fine rocky coast with exquisite inland scenery. But it would not do for any one who can't climb rocks and mount perpetual hills; for the peculiarity of this country is, that it is all hill and no valley. You have no sooner got to the foot of one hill than you begin to mount another. You would laugh to see our room decked with yellow pie-dishes, a _foot-pan_, glass jars and phials, all full of zoophytes, or mollusks, or anellides--and, still more, to see the eager interest with which we rush to our "preserves" in the morning to see if there has been any mortality among them in the night. We have made the acquaintance of a charming little zoological curate here, who is a delightful companion on expeditions, and is most good-natured in lending and giving apparatus and "critturs" of all sorts. Mr. Pigott[51] is coming here with his yacht at the end of June, and we hope then to go to Clovelly--Kingsley's Clovelly--and perhaps other places on the coast that we can't reach on foot. After this we mean to migrate to Tenby, for the sake of making acquaintance with its mollusks and medusæ. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 8th June, 1856.] I received your kind letter only yesterday, but I write a few words in answer at once, lest, as it so often happens, delay should beget delay. It is never too late to write generous words, and although circumstances are not likely to allow of our acquiring a more intimate knowledge of each other from personal intercourse, it will always be a pleasant thought to me that you have remembered me kindly, and interpreted me nobly. You are one of the minority who know how to "use their imagination in the service of charity." I have suffered so much from misunderstanding created by letters, even to old friends, that I never write on private personal matters, unless it be a rigorous duty or necessity to do so. Some little phrase or allusion is misinterpreted, and on this false basis a great fabric of misconception is reared, which even explanatory conversations will not remove. Life is too precious to be spent in this weaving and unweaving of false impressions, and it is better to live quietly on under some degree of misrepresentation than to attempt to remove it by the uncertain process of letter-writing. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th June, 1856.] Yes, indeed, I do remember old Tenby days, and had set my heart on being in the very same house again; but, alas! it had just been let. It is immensely smartened up, like the place generally, since those old times, and is proportionately less desirable for quiet people who have no flounces and do not subscribe to new churches. Tenby looks insignificant in picturesqueness after Ilfracombe; but the two objects that drew us hither, zoology and health, will flourish none the worse for the absence of tall precipices and many-tinted rocks. The air is delicious--soft, but not sultry--and the sands and bathing such as are to be found nowhere else. St. Catherine's Rock, with its caverns, is our paradise. We go there with baskets, hammers and chisels, and jars and phials, and come home laden with spoils. Altogether, we are contented to have been driven away from Ilfracombe by the cold wind, since a new place is new experience, and Mr. Lewes has never been here before. To me there is the additional pleasure--half melancholy--of recalling all the old impressions and comparing them with the new. I understand your wish to have as much of Rosehill as possible this year, and I am so glad that you will associate a visit from Herbert Spencer with this last summer. I suppose he is with you now. If so, give him my very evil regards, and tell him that because he has not written to us we will diligently _not_ tell him a great many things he would have liked to know. We have a project of going into St. Catherine's caverns with lanterns, some night when the tide is low, about eleven, for the sake of seeing the zoophytes preparing for their midnight revels. The Actiniæ, like other belles, put on their best faces on such occasions. Two things we have lost by leaving Ilfracombe for which we have no compensation--the little zoological curate, Mr. Tugwell, who is really one of the best specimens of the clergyman species I have seen; and the pleasure of having Miss Barbara Smith there for a week, sketching the rocks, and putting our love of them into the tangible form of a picture. We are looking out now for Mr. Pigott in his yacht; and his amiable face will make an agreeable variety on the sands. I thought "Walden"[52] (you mean "Life in the Woods," don't you?) a charming book, from its freshness and sincerity as well as for its bits of description. It is pleasant to think that Harriet Martineau can make so much of her last days. Her energy and her habit of useful work are admirable. During the stay at Ilfracombe and Tenby not much literary work was done, except the articles on Young and on Riehl's book. There was a notice of Masson's Essays and the Belles-lettres section for the July number of the _Westminster_, and a review for the _Leader_. There is mention, too, of the reading of Beaumarchais' "Memoirs," Milne Edwards's "Zoology," Harvey's sea-side book, and "Coriolanus," and then comes this significant sentence in her Journal: [Sidenote: Journal, 1856.] _July 20, 1856._--The fortnight has slipped away without my being able to show much result for it. I have written a review of the "Lover's Seat," and jotted down some recollections of Ilfracombe; besides these trifles, and the introduction to an article already written, I have done no _visible_ work. But I have absorbed many ideas and much bodily strength; indeed, I do not remember ever feeling so strong in mind and body as I feel at this moment. On Saturday, the 12th, Barbara Smith arrived, and stayed here till Wednesday morning. We enjoyed her society very much, but were deeply touched to see that three years had made her so much older and sadder. Her activity for great objects is admirable; and contact with her is a fresh inspiration to work while it is day. We have now taken up Quatrefages again. The "Memoirs" of Beaumarchais yielded me little fruit. Mr. Chapman invites me to contribute to the _Westminster_ for this quarter. I am anxious to begin my fiction-writing, and so am not inclined to undertake an article that will give me much trouble, but, at all events, I will finish my article on Young. _July 21._--We had a delightful walk on the north sands, and hunted with success. A sunny, happy day. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th July, 1856.] Glad to hear at last some news of your Essay--hoping to hear more and better by and by. I didn't like to think that your labor would be thrown away, except so far as it must do good to yourself by clearing up your ideas. Not that your ideas were muddy, but the last degree of clearness can only come by writing. Mr. Pigott is with us just now, and we are meditating a nocturnal visit to St. Catherine's caves with him. Our visit to Tenby has been very useful zoologically, but we are not otherwise greatly in love with the place. It seems tame and vulgar after Ilfracombe. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 6th Aug. 1856.] Thank you for your kind note,[53] so like yourself. Such things encourage me, and help me to do better. I never think what I write is good for anything till other people tell me so, and even then it always seems to me as if I should never write anything _else_ worth reading. Ah, how much good we may do each other by a few friendly words, and the opportunities for them are so much more frequent than for friendly deeds! We want people to feel with us more than to act for us. Mr. Lewes sends his kind regards to you. He, too, was very pleased with your letter, for he cares more about getting approbation for me than for himself. _He_ can do very well without it. On the 8th August they left Tenby, and on 9th arrived at Richmond "with terrible headache, but enjoyed the sense of being 'at home' again." On the 18th, "walked in Kew Park, and talked with G. of my novel. Finished 'César Birotteau' aloud." On the 25th August Mr. Lewes set off for Hofwyl, near Berne, taking his two eldest boys, Charles and Thornton, to place them at school there. He returned on 4th September, and in his absence George Eliot had been busy with her article on "Silly Novels by Lady Novelists." This was finished on the 12th September, and on the 19th she sent off the Belles-lettres section for the October number of the _Westminster_. We have now arrived at the period of the new birth, and, fortunately, in the following memorandum, we have George Eliot's own words as to how it came about: [Sidenote: How I came to write fiction.] September, 1856, made a new era in my life, for it was then I began to write fiction. It had always been a vague dream of mine that some time or other I might write a novel; and my shadowy conception of what the novel was to be, varied, of course, from one epoch of my life to another. But I never went further towards the actual writing of the novel than an introductory chapter describing a Staffordshire village and the life of the neighboring farm-houses; and as the years passed on I lost any hope that I should ever be able to write a novel, just as I desponded about everything else in my future life. I always thought I was deficient in dramatic power, both of construction and dialogue, but I felt I should be at my ease in the descriptive parts of a novel. My "introductory chapter" was pure description, though there were good materials in it for dramatic presentation. It happened to be among the papers I had with me in Germany, and one evening at Berlin something led me to read it to George. He was struck with it as a bit of concrete description, and it suggested to him the possibility of my being able to write a novel, though he distrusted--indeed, disbelieved in--my possession of any dramatic power. Still, he began to think that I might as well try some time what I could do in fiction, and by and by, when we came back to England, and I had greater success than he ever expected in other kinds of writing, his impression that it was worth while to see how far my mental power would go towards the production of a novel, was strengthened. He began to say very positively, "You must try and write a story," and when we were at Tenby he urged me to begin at once. I deferred it, however, after my usual fashion with work that does not present itself as an absolute duty. But one morning, as I was thinking what should be the subject of my first story, my thoughts merged themselves into a dreamy doze, and I imagined myself writing a story, of which the title was "The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton." I was soon wide awake again and told G. He said, "Oh, what a capital title!" and from that time I had settled in my mind that this should be my first story. George used to say, "It may be a failure--it may be that you are unable to write fiction. Or, perhaps, it may be just good enough to warrant your trying again." Again, "You may write a _chef-d'oeuvre_ at once--there's no telling." But his prevalent impression was, that though I could hardly write a _poor_ novel, my effort would want the highest quality of fiction--dramatic presentation. He used to say, "You have wit, description, and philosophy--those go a good way towards the production of a novel. It is worth while for you to try the experiment." We determined that if my story turned out good enough we would send it to Blackwood; but G. thought the more probable result was that I should have to lay it aside and try again. But when we returned to Richmond I had to write my article on "Silly Novels," and my review of Contemporary Literature for the _Westminster_, so that I did not begin my story till September 22. After I had begun it, as we were walking in the park, I mentioned to G. that I had thought of the plan of writing a series of stories, containing sketches drawn from my own observation of the clergy, and calling them "Scenes from Clerical Life," opening with "Amos Barton." He at once accepted the notion as a good one--fresh and striking; and about a week afterwards, when I read him the first part of "Amos," he had no longer any doubt about my ability to carry out the plan. The scene at Cross Farm, he said, satisfied him that I had the very element he had been doubtful about--it was clear I could write good dialogue. There still remained the question whether I could command any pathos; and that was to be decided by the mode in which I treated Milly's death. One night G. went to town on purpose to leave me a quiet evening for writing it. I wrote the chapter from the news brought by the shepherd to Mrs. Hackit, to the moment when Amos is dragged from the bedside, and I read it to G. when he came home. We both cried over it, and then he came up to me and kissed me, saying, "I think your pathos is better than your fun." The story of the "Sad Fortunes of Amos Barton" was begun on 22d September and finished on the 5th November, and I subjoin the opening correspondence between Mr. Lewes and Mr. John Blackwood, to exhibit the first effect it produced: [Sidenote: Letter from G. H. Lewes, to John Blackwood, 6th Nov. 1856.] "I trouble you with a MS. of 'Sketches of Clerical Life' which was submitted to me by a friend who desired my good offices with you. It goes by this post. I confess that before reading the MS. I had considerable doubts of my friend's powers as a writer of fiction; but, after reading it, these doubts were changed into very high admiration. I don't know what you will think of the story, but, according to my judgment, such humor, pathos, vivid presentation, and nice observation have not been exhibited (in this style) since the 'Vicar of Wakefield;' and, in consequence of that opinion, I feel quite pleased in negotiating the matter with you. "This is what I am commissioned to say to you about the proposed series. It will consist of tales and sketches illustrative of the actual life of our country clergy about a quarter of a century ago--but solely in its _human_, and not at all in its _theological_ aspects; the object being to do what has never yet been done in our literature, for we have had abundant religious stories, polemical and doctrinal, but since the 'Vicar' and Miss Austen, no stories representing the clergy like every other class, with the humors, sorrows, and troubles of other men. He begged me particularly to add, that--as the specimen sent will sufficiently prove--the tone throughout will be sympathetic, and not at all antagonistic. "Some of these, if not all, you may think suitable for 'Maga.' If any are sent of which you do not approve, or which you do not think sufficiently interesting, these he will reserve for the separate republication, and for this purpose he wishes to retain the copyright. Should you only print one or two, he will be well satisfied; and still better, if you should think well enough of the series to undertake the separate republication." [Sidenote: Letter from John Blackwood, to G. H. Lewes, 12th Nov. 1856.] "I am happy to say that I think your friend's reminiscences of Clerical Life will do. If there is any more of the series written I should like to see it, as, until I saw more, I could not make any decided proposition for the publication of the tales, in whole or in part, in the Magazine. This first specimen, 'Amos Barton,' is unquestionably very pleasant reading. Perhaps the author falls into the error of trying too much to explain the characters of his actors by description instead of allowing them to evolve in the action of the story; but the descriptions are very humorous and good. The death of Milly is powerfully done, and affected me much. I am not sure whether he does not spoil it a little by specifying so minutely the different children and their names. The wind-up is perhaps the lamest part of the story; and there, too, I think the defect is caused by the specifications as to the fortunes of parties of whom the reader has no previous knowledge, and cannot, consequently, feel much interest. At first, I was afraid that in the amusing reminiscences of childhood in church there was a want of some softening touch, such as the remembrance of a father or mother lends, in after-years, to what was at the time considerable penance. "I hate anything of a sneer at real religious feeling as cordially as I despise anything like cant, and I should think this author is of the same way of thinking, although his clergymen, with one exception, are not very attractive specimens of the body. The revulsion of feeling towards poor Amos is capitally drawn, although the asinine stupidity of his conduct about the countess had disposed one to kick him. "I dare say I shall have a more decided opinion as to the merits of the story when I have looked at it again and thought over it; but in the meantime I am sure that there is a happy turn of expression throughout, also much humor and pathos. If the author is a new writer, I beg to congratulate him on being worthy of the honors of print and pay. I shall be very glad to hear from you or him soon." [Sidenote: Letter from G. H. Lewes to John Blackwood, Saturday, Nov. 1856.] "I have communicated your letter to my clerical friend, who, though somewhat discouraged by it, has taken my advice, and will submit the second story to you when it is written. At present he has only written what he sent you. His avocations, he informs me, will prevent his setting to work for the next three weeks or so, but as soon as he is at liberty he will begin. "I rate the story much higher than you appear to do, from certain expressions in your note, though you too appreciate the humor and pathos and the happy turn of expression. It struck me as being fresher than any story I have read for a long while, and as exhibiting, in a high degree, that faculty which I find to be the rarest of all--viz., the dramatic ventriloquism. "At the same time I told him that I thoroughly understood your editorial caution in not accepting from an unknown hand a series on the strength of one specimen." [Sidenote: Letter from John Blackwood to G. H. Lewes, 18th Nov. 1856.] "I was very far from intending that my letter should convey anything like disappointment to your friend. On the contrary, I thought the tale very good, and intended to convey as much. But I dare say I expressed myself coolly enough. Criticism would assume a much soberer tone were critics compelled _seriously to act_ whenever they expressed an opinion. Although not much given to hesitate about anything, I always think twice before I put the decisive mark 'In type for the Magazine' on any MS. from a stranger. Fancy the intense annoyance (to say nothing of more serious considerations) of publishing, month after month, a series about which the conviction gradually forces itself on you that you have made a total blunder. "I am sorry that the author has no more written, but if he cares much about a speedy appearance, I have so high an opinion of this first tale that I will waive my objections, and publish it without seeing more--not, of course, committing myself to go on with the other tales of the series unless I approved of them. I am very sanguine that I will approve, as, in addition to the other merits of 'Amos,' I agree with you that there is great freshness of style. If you think also that it would stimulate the author to go on with the other tales with more spirit, I will publish 'Amos' at once. He could divide into two parts. I am blocked up for December, but I could start him in January. "I am glad to hear that your friend is, as I supposed, a clergyman. Such a subject is best in clerical hands, and some of the pleasantest and least-prejudiced correspondents I have ever had are English clergymen. "I have not read 'Amos Barton' a second time, but the impression on my mind of the whole character, incidents, and feeling of the story is very distinct, which is an excellent sign." [Sidenote: Letter from G. H. Lewes to John Blackwood, Saturday, Nov. 1856.] "Your letter has greatly restored the shaken confidence of my friend, who is unusually sensitive, and, unlike most writers, is more anxious about _excellence_ than about appearing in print--as his waiting so long before taking the venture proves. He is consequently afraid of failure, though not afraid of obscurity; and by failure he would understand that which I suspect most writers would be apt to consider as success--so high is his ambition. "I tell you this that you may understand the sort of shy, shrinking, ambitious nature you have to deal with. I tried to persuade him that you really _did_ appreciate his story, but were only hesitating about committing yourself to a series; and your last letter has proved me to have been right--although, as he never contemplated binding you to the publication of any portion of the series to which you might object, he could not at first see your position in its true light. "All is, however, clear now. He will be gratified if you publish 'Amos Barton' in January, as it will give him ample time to get the second story ready, so as to appear when 'Barton' is finished, should you wish it. He is anxious, however, that you should publish the general title of 'Scenes of Clerical Life;' and I think you may do this with perfect safety, since it is quite clear that the writer of 'Amos Barton' is capable of writing at least one more story suitable to 'Maga;' and two would suffice to justify the general title. "Let me not forget to add that when I referred to 'my clerical friend,' I meant to designate the writer of the clerical stories--not that he was a clericus. I am not at liberty to remove the veil of anonymity, even as regards social position. Be pleased, therefore, to keep the whole secret, and not even mention _my_ negotiation, or in any way lead guessers (should any one trouble himself with such a guess--_not_ very likely) to jump from me to my friend." On Christmas Day, 1856, "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story" was begun, and during December and January the following are mentioned among the books read: The "Ajax" of Sophocles, Miss Martineau's "History of the Peace," Macaulay's "History" finished, Carlyle's "French Revolution," Burke's "Reflections on the French Revolution," and "Mansfield Park." [Sidenote: Letter from John Blackwood, to the author of "Amos Barton," 29th Dec. 1856.] "Along with this I send a copy of the January number of the Magazine, in which you will find the first part of 'Amos Barton.' It gives me very great pleasure to begin the number with 'Amos,' and I put him in that position because his merits well entitle him to it, and also because it is a vital point to attract public attention to the _first_ part of a series, to which end being the first article of the first number of the year may contribute. "I have already expressed to our friend Mr. Lewes the very high opinion I entertain of 'Amos,' and the expectations I have formed of the series, should his successors prove equal to him, which I fully anticipate. "It is a long time since I have read anything so fresh, so humorous, and so touching. The style is capital, conveying so much in so few words. "Those who have seen the tale here are chiefly members of my own family, and they are all enthusiastic in praise. "You may recollect that I expressed a fear that in the affecting and highly wrought scene of poor Milly's death, the attempt to individualize the children by reiterating their names weakened the effect, as the reader had not been prepared to care for them individually, but simply as a group--the children of Milly and the sorrow-stricken curate. My brother says, 'No. Do not advise the author to touch anything so exquisite.' Of course you are the best judge. "I now send proof of the conclusion of 'Amos,' in acknowledgment of which, and of the first part, I have the pleasure of enclosing a check for £52 10_s._--fifty guineas. "If the series goes on as I anticipate, there is every prospect that a republication as a separate book, at some time or other, will be advisable. We would look upon such republication as a joint property, and would either give you a sum for your interest in it, or publish on the terms of one half of the clear profits, to be divided between author and publisher, as might be most agreeable to you. "I shall be very glad to hear from you, either direct or through Mr. Lewes; and any intelligence that the successors of 'Amos' are taking form and substance will be very acceptable. "I shall let you know what the other contributors and the public think of 'Amos' as far as I can gather a verdict, but in the meantime I may congratulate you on having achieved a preliminary success at all events." [Sidenote: Letter from the author of "Amos Barton" to John Blackwood, Jan. 1857.] Your letter has proved to me that the generous editor and publisher--generous both in word and in deed--who makes the author's path smooth and easy, is something more than a pleasant tradition. I am very sensitive to the merits of checks for fifty guineas, but I am still more sensitive to that cordial appreciation which is a guarantee to me that my work was worth doing for its own sake. If the "Scenes of Clerical Life" should be republished, I have no doubt we shall find it easy to arrange the terms. In the meantime, the most pressing business is to make them worth republishing. I think the particularization of the children in the deathbed scene has an important effect on the imagination. But I have removed all names from the "conclusion" except those of Patty and Dickey, in whom, I hope, the reader has a personal interest. I hope to send you the second story by the beginning of February. It will lie, for the most part, among quite different scenes and persons from the last--opening in Shepperton once more, but presently moving away to a distant spot and new people, whom, I hope, you will not like less than "Amos" and his friends. But if any one of the succeeding stories should seem to you unsuitable to the pages of "Maga," it can be reserved for publication in the future volume, without creating any difficulty. Thank you very warmly for the hearty acceptance you have given to my first story. [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] The first part of "Amos Barton" appeared in the January number of _Blackwood_. Before the appearance of the Magazine, on sending me the proof, Mr. John Blackwood already expressed himself with much greater warmth of admiration; and when the first part had appeared he sent me a charming letter, with a check for fifty guineas, and a proposal about republication of the series. When the story was concluded he wrote me word how Albert Smith had sent him a letter saying he had never read anything that affected him more than Milly's death, and, added Blackwood, "The men at the club seem to have mingled their tears and their tumblers together. It will be curious if you should be a member and be hearing your own praises." There was clearly no suspicion that I was a woman. It is interesting, as an indication of the value there is in such conjectural criticism generally, to remember that when G. read the first part of "Amos" to a party at Helps's, they were all sure I was a clergyman--a Cambridge man. Blackwood seemed curious about the author, and, when I signed my letter "George Eliot," hunted up some old letters from Eliot Warburton's brother to compare the handwritings, though, he said, "'Amos' seems to me not in the least like what that good artilleryman would write." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 4th Feb. 1857.] Thank you for fulfilling your promise to let me know something of the criticisms passed on my story. I have a very moderate respect for "opinions of the press," but the private opinions of intelligent people may be valuable to me. In reference to artistic presentation much adverse opinion will, of course, arise from a dislike to the _order_ of art rather than from a critical estimate of the execution. Any one who detests the Dutch school in general will hardly appreciate fairly the merits of a particular Dutch painting. And against this sort of condemnation one must steel one's self as one best can. But objections which point out to me any vice of manner, or any failure in producing an intended effect, will be really profitable. For example, I suppose my scientific illustrations must be at fault, since they seem to have obtruded themselves disagreeably on one of my readers. But if it be a sin to be at once a man of science and a writer of fiction, I can declare my perfect innocence on that head, my scientific knowledge being as superficial as that of the most "practised writers." I hope to send you a second story in a few days, but I am rather behindhand this time, having been prevented from setting to work for some weeks by other business. Whatever may be the success of my stories, I shall be resolute in preserving my _incognito_, having observed that a _nom de plume_ secures all the advantages without the disagreeables of reputation. Perhaps, therefore, it will be well to give you my prospective name, as a tub to throw to the whale in case of curious inquiries; and accordingly I subscribe myself, best and most sympathizing of editors, yours very truly, GEORGE ELIOT. I may mention here that my wife told me the reason she fixed on this name was that George was Mr. Lewes's Christian name, and Eliot was a good, mouth-filling, easily pronounced word. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th Feb. 1857.] First let me thank you very heartily for your letter of the 10th. Except your own very cordial appreciation, which is so much beyond a mere official acceptance, that little fact about Albert Smith has gratified me more than anything else in connection with the effect of "Amos." If you should happen to hear an opinion from Thackeray, good or bad, I should like to know it. You will see that I have availed myself of your suggestions on points of language. I quite recognize the justice of your criticisms on the French phrases. They are not in keeping with my story. But I am unable to alter anything in relation to the delineation or development of character, as my stories always grow out of my psychological conception of the _dramatis personæ_. For example, the behavior of Caterina in the gallery is essential to my conception of her nature, and to the development of that nature in the plot. My artistic bent is directed not at all to the presentation of eminently irreproachable characters, but to the presentation of mixed human beings in such a way as to call forth tolerant judgment, pity, and sympathy. And I cannot stir a step aside from what I _feel_ to be _true_ in character. If anything strikes you as untrue to human nature in my delineations, I shall be very glad if you will point it out to me, that I may reconsider the matter. But, alas! inconsistencies and weaknesses are not untrue. I hope that your doubts about the plot will be removed by the further development of the story. Meanwhile, warmest thanks for your encouraging letters. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 24th Feb. 1857.] I am the more inclined to think that I shall admire your book because you are suspected of having given undue preponderance to the Christian argument: for I have a growing conviction that we may measure true moral and intellectual culture by the comprehension and veneration given to all forms of thought and feeling which have influenced large masses of mankind--and of all intolerance the intolerance calling itself philosophical is the most odious to me. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 1st Mch. 1857.] Thank you for the copy of "Maga" and for the accompanying check. One has not many correspondents whose handwriting has such agreeable associations as yours. I was particularly pleased with that extract you were so good as to send me from Mr. Swayne's letter. Dear old "Goldie" is one of my earliest and warmest admirations, and I don't desire a better fate than to lie side by side with him in people's memories. The Rev. Mr. Swayne had written to Blackwood saying that "Amos," in its charming tendencies, reminded him of the "Vicar of Wakefield." Blackwood had written, much delighted with the two first parts of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story," which were sent to him together. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Mch. 1857.] I began, oddly enough you will perhaps think, by reading through the "Answers of Infidelity,"[54] those being the most interesting parts of the book to me. Some of your own passages I think very admirable--some of them made me cry, which is always a sign of the highest pleasure writing can give me. But in many of the extracts, I think, Infidelity cuts a very poor figure. Some are feeble, some _bad_, and terribly discrepant in the tone of their thought and feeling from the passages which come fresh from your own mind. The disadvantage arising from the perpetual shifting of the point of view is a disadvantage, I suppose, inseparable from the plan, which I cannot admire or feel to be effective, though I can imagine it may be a serviceable form of presentation to some inquirers. The _execution_ I do admire. I think it shows very high and rare qualities of mind--a self-discipline and largeness of thought which are the highest result of culture. The "Objections of Christianity," which I have also read, are excellently put, and have an immense advantage over the "Answers of Infidelity" in their greater homogeneity. The first part I have only begun and glanced through, and at present have no other observation to make than that I think you might have brought a little more artillery to bear on Christian morality. But nothing is easier than to find fault--nothing so difficult as to _do_ some real work. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 5th Mch. 1857.] I think I wrote very brusquely and disagreeably to you the other day, but the impertinence was altogether in the form and not at all in the feeling. I always have uncomfortable sensations after writing objections and criticisms when they relate to things I substantially admire. It is inflicting a hurt on my own veneration. I showed the passage on the eye, p. 157, to Herbert Spencer, and he agrees with us that you have not stated your idea so as to render it a logical argument against design. You appear to imply that development and gradation in organs and functions are opposed to that conception, which they are not. I suppose you are aware that we all three hold the conception of creative design to be untenable. We only think you have not made out a good case against it. Thank you for sending me some news of Harriet Martineau. I have often said lately, "I wonder how she is." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 14th Mch. 1857.] I am glad you retain a doubt in favor of the _dagger_, and wish I could convert you to entire approval, for I am much more satisfied when your feeling is thoroughly with me. But it would be the death of my story to substitute a dream for the real scene. Dreams usually play an important part in fiction, but rarely, I think, in actual life. So many of us have reason to know that criminal impulses may be felt by a nature which is nevertheless guarded by its entire constitution from the commission of crime, that I can't help hoping that my Caterina will not forfeit the sympathy of all my readers. The answer you propose to give to curious inquirers is the best possible. For several reasons I am very anxious to retain my _incognito_ for some time to come, and, to an author not already famous, anonymity is the highest _prestige_. Besides, if George Eliot turns out a dull dog and an ineffective writer--a mere flash in the pan--I, for one, am determined to cut him on the first intimation of that disagreeable fact. The fates have willed that this shall be a very melancholy story, and I am longing to be a little merrier again. On the 16th March Mr. Lewes and George Eliot started for Plymouth, Penzance, and the Scilly Isles, and we have the following recollections of their stay there: [Sidenote: Recollections, Scilly Isles, March-May, 1857.] I had never before seen a granite coast, and on the southern side of the island of St. Mary's one sees such a coast in its most striking and characteristic forms. Rectangular crevices, the edges of which have been rounded by weather, give many of the granite masses a resemblance to bales of wool or cotton heaped on each other; another characteristic form is the mushroom-shaped mass, often lying poised on the summits of more cubical bowlders or fragments; another is the immense flat platform stretching out like a pier into the sea; another the oval basins formed by the action of the rain-water on the summits of the rocks and bowlders. The coloring of the rocks was very various and beautiful; sometimes a delicate grayish-green, from the shaggy byssus which clothes it, chiefly high up from the water; then a light, warm brown; then black; occasionally of a rich yellow; and here and there purplish. Below the rocks, on the coast, are almost everywhere heaps of white bowlders, sometimes remarkably perfect ovals, and looking like huge eggs of some monstrous bird. Hardly any weed was to be seen on the granite, except here and there in a rock-pool, green with young ulva; and no barnacles incrust the rock, no black mussels, scarcely any limpets. The waves that beat on this coast are clear as crystal, and we used to delight in watching them rear themselves like the horses of a mighty sea-god as they approached the rocks on which they were broken into eddies of milky foam. Along a great part of this southern coast there stretch heathy or furzy downs, over which I used to enjoy rambling immensely; there is a sense of freedom in those unenclosed grounds that one never has in a railed park, however extensive. Then, on the north side of the island, above Sandy Bar, what a view we used to get of the opposite islands and reefs, with their delicious violet and yellow tints--the tall ship or two anchored in the Sound, changing their aspect like living things, and when the wind was at all high the white foam prancing round the reefs and rising in fountain-like curves above the screen of rocks! Many a wet and dirty walk we had along the lanes, for the weather was often wet and almost always blustering. Now and then, however, we had a clear sky and a calm sea, and on such days it was delicious to look up after the larks that were soaring above us, or to look out on the island and reef studded sea. I never enjoyed the lark before as I enjoyed it at Scilly--never felt the full beauty of Shelley's poem on it before. A spot we became very fond of towards the close of our stay was Carne Lea, where, between two fine, jutting piles of granite, there was a soft down, gay with the pretty pink flowers of the thrift, which, in this island, carpets the ground like greensward. Here we used to sit and lie in the bright afternoons, watching the silver sunlight on the waves--bright silver, not golden--it is the morning and evening sunlight that is golden. A week or two after our arrival we made the acquaintance of Mr. Moyle, the surgeon, who became a delightful friend to us, always ready to help with the contents of his surgery or anything else at his command. We liked to have him come and smoke a cigar in the evening, and look in now and then for a little lesson in microscopy. The little indications of the social life at Scilly that we were able to pick up were very amusing. I was repeatedly told, in order to make me aware who Mr. Hall was, that he married a Miss Lemon. The people at St. Mary's imagine that the lawyers and doctors at Penzance are a sort of European characters that every one knows. We heard a great deal about Mr. Quill, an Irishman, the Controller of the Customs; and one day, when we were making a call on one of the residents, our host said two or three times, at intervals, "I wish you knew Quill!" At last, on our farewell call, we saw the distinguished Quill, with his hair plastered down, his charming smile, and his trousers with a broad stripe down each leg. Our host amused us by his contempt for curs: "Oh, I wouldn't have a cur--there's nothing to look at in a cur!"[55] [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 5th April, 1857.] The smallest details, written in the hastiest way, that will enable me to imagine you as you are, are just what I want; indeed, all I care about in correspondence. We are more and more in love with these little islands. There is not a tree to be seen, but there are grand granite hills on the coast, such as I never saw before, and furze-covered hills with larks soaring and singing above them, and zoological wonders on the shore to fill our bottles and our souls at once. For some time I have been unusually weak and knock-up-able. Our landlady is an excellent woman, but, like almost all peculiarly domestic women, has not more than rudimentary ideas of cooking; and in an island where you can get nothing but beef, except by sending to Penzance, that supreme science has its maximum value. She seems to think eating a purely arbitrary procedure--an abnormal function of mad people who come to Scilly; and if we ask her what the people live on here, is quite at a loss to tell us, apparently thinking the question relates to the abstruser portion of natural history. But I insist, and give her a culinary lecture every morning, and we do, in the end, get fed. Altogether our life here is so far better than the golden age that we work as well as play. That is the happy side of things. But there is a very sad one to me which I shall not dwell upon--only tell you of. More than a week ago I received the news that poor Chrissey had lost one of her pretty little girls of fever; that the other little one--they were the only two she had at home with her--was also dangerously ill, and Chrissey herself and her servant apparently attacked by typhus too. The thought of her in this state is a perpetual shadow to me in the sunshine. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th April, 1857.] I shudder at entering on such great subjects (as "Design") in letters; my idle brain wants lashing to work, like a negro, and will do nothing under a slighter stimulus. We are enjoying a retrogression to old-fashioned reading. I rush on the slightest pretext to Sophocles, and am as excited about blind old Oedipus as any young lady can be about the latest hero with magnificent eyes. But there is _one_ new book we have been enjoying, and so, I hope, have you--the "Life of Charlotte Brontë." Deeply affecting throughout; in the early part romantic, poetic, as one of her own novels; in the later years tragic, especially to those who know what sickness is. Mrs. Gaskell has done her work admirably, both in the industry and care with which she has gathered and selected her material, and in the feeling with which she has presented it. There is one exception, however, which I regret very much. She sets down Branwell's conduct entirely to remorse. Remorse may make sad work with a man, but it will not make such a life as Branwell's was in the last three or four years, unless the germs of vice had sprouted and shot up long before, as it seems clear they had in him. What a tragedy!--that picture of the old father and the three sisters trembling, day and night, in terror at the possible deeds of their drunken, brutal son and brother! That is the part of the life which affects me most. [Sidenote: Letter to Isaac P. Evans, 16th April, 1857.] I have been looking anxiously for some further tidings of Chrissey since your last letter, which told me that she and Kate were better, though not out of danger. I try to hope that no news is good news; but if you do not think it troublesome to write, I shall be thankful to have that hope changed into certainty. Meanwhile, to save multiplying letters--which I know you are not fond of--I mention now what will take no harm from being mentioned rather prematurely. I should like Chrissey to have £15 of my next half-year's income, due at the beginning of June, to spend in taking a change of air as soon as she is able to do so; and perhaps, if it were desirable for her to leave before the money has been paid in, you would be so kind as to advance it for a few weeks. I am writing, of course, in ignorance of her actual state; but I should think it must be good for her, as soon as she is able to move, to leave that fever-infected place for a time, and I know the money must have gone very fast in recent expenses. I only suggest the change of air as the thing that I should think best for Chrissey; but, in any case, I should like her to have the money, to do what she pleases with it. If she is well enough please to give her the enclosed note, in which I have suggested to her what I have just written to you. I am much obliged to you for your last letter, and shall be still more so if you will write me word of Chrissey's present condition. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 1st May, 1857.] Thank you for the pleasant notes of impressions concerning my story, sent to me through Lewes. I will pay attention to your caution about the danger of huddling up my stories. Conclusions are the weak point of most authors, but some of the fault lies in the very nature of a conclusion, which is at best a negation. There must be something wrong in the winding-up of "Amos," for I have heard of two persons who are disappointed with the conclusion. But the story never presented itself to me as possible to be protracted after Milly's death. The drama ends there. I am thinking of writing a short epilogue to "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story," and I will send it you with the proof from Jersey, where, on a strict promise that I am not to be dissected, I shall shortly join our friend Lewes. The third story will be very different from either of the preceding, which will perhaps be an advantage, as poor Tina's sad tale was necessarily rather monotonous in its effects. The epilogue to "Mr. Gilfil" was written sitting on the Fortification Hill, Scilly Isles, one sunshiny morning. [Sidenote: Jersey, Recollections, 1857.] It was a beautiful moment (12th May) when we came to our lodgings at Gorey. The orchards were all in blossom--and this is an island of orchards. They cover the slopes; they stretch before you in shady, grassy, indefinite extent through every other gateway by the roadside; they flourish in some spots almost close to the sea. What a contrast to the Scilly Isles! There you stand on the hills like a sparrow on the housetop; here you are like the same sparrow when he is hopping about on the branches with green above him, green below, and green all round. Gorey stands in Granville Bay, where the grand old castle of Mont Orgueil stands and keeps guard on a fine rocky promontory overlooking the little harbor dotted with fishing craft. There is a charming piece of common, or down, where you can have the quietest, easiest walking, with a carpet of minute wild-flowers that are not hindered from flourishing by the sandy rain of the coast. I delighted extremely in the brownish-green softness of this undulating common, here and there varied with a patch of bright green fern--all the prettier for two little homesteads set down upon it, with their garden-fence and sheltering trees. It was pretty in all lights, but especially the evening light, to look round at the castle and harbor, the village and the scattered dwellings peeping out from among trees on the hill. The castle is built of stone which has a beautiful pinkish-gray tint, and the bright green ivy hangs oblique curtains on its turreted walls, making it look like a natural continuation or outgrowth of the rocky and grassy height on which it stands. Then the eye wanders on to the right and takes in the church standing half-way down the hill, which is clothed with a plantation, and shelters the little village, with its cloud of blue smoke; still to the right, and the village breaks off, leaving nothing but meadows in front of the slope that shuts out the setting sun, and only lets you see a hint of the golden glory that is reflected in the pink, eastern clouds. The first lovely walk we found inland was the Queen's Fern Valley, where a broad strip of meadow and pasture lies between two high slopes covered with woods and ferny wilderness. When we first saw this valley it was in the loveliest spring-time; the woods were a delicious mixture of red and tender green and purple. We have watched it losing that spring beauty and passing into the green and flowery luxuriance of June, and now into the more monotonous summer tint of July. When the blossoms fell away from the orchards my next delight was to look at the grasses mingled with the red sorrel; then came the white umbelliferous plants, making a border or inner frame for them along the hedgerows and streams. Another pretty thing here is the luxuriance of the yellow iris, that covers large pieces of moist ground with its broad blades. Everywhere there are tethered cows, looking at you with meek faces--mild-eyed, sleek, fawn-colored creatures, with delicate, downy udders. Another favorite walk of ours was round by Mont Orgueil, along the coast. Here we had the green or rocky slope on one side of us, and on the other the calm sea stretching to the coast of France, visible on all but the murkiest days. But the murky days were not many during our stay, and our evening walks round the coast usually showed us a peaceful, scarcely rippled sea, plashing gently on the purple pebbles of the little scalloped bays. There were two such bays within the boundary of our sea-side walk in that direction, and one of them was a perpetual wonder to us, in the luxuriant verdure of meadows and orchards and forest-trees that sloped down to the very shore. No distressed look about the trees as if they were ever driven harshly back by the winter winds--it was like an inland slope suddenly carried to the coast. As for the inland walks, they are inexhaustible. The island is one labyrinth of delicious roads and lanes, leading you by the most charming nooks of houses with shady grounds and shrubberies, delightful farm homesteads, and trim villas. It was a sweet, peaceful life we led here. Good creatures, the Amys, our host and hostess, with their nice boy and girl, and the little white kid--the family pet. No disagreeable sounds to be heard in the house, no unpleasant qualities to hinder one from feeling perfect love to these simple people. We have had long rambles and long readings. But our choice of literature has been rather circumscribed in this out-of-the-way place. The "Life of George Stephenson" has been a real profit and pleasure. I have read Draper's "Physiology" aloud for grave evening hours, and such books as Currer Bell's "Professor," Mlle. d'Auny's "Mariage en Province," and Miss Ferrier's "Marriage," for lighter food. The last, however, we found ourselves unable to finish, notwithstanding Miss Ferrier's high reputation. I have been getting a smattering of botany from Miss Catlow and from Dr. Thomson's little book on wild-flowers, which have created at least a longing for something more complete on the subject. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d May, 1857.] Such hedgerows in this island! Such orchards, white against the green slopes, and shady walks by the woodside, with distracting wild-flowers. We enjoy the greenery and variety of this bushy island all the better for our stay on bare Scilly, which we had gone to and fro upon till we knew it by heart. Our little lodgings are very snug--only 13_s._ a week--a nice little sitting-room, with a workroom adjoining for Mr. Lewes, who is at this moment in all the bliss of having discovered a parasitic worm in a cuttlefish. We dine at five, and our afternoons are almost exhausted in rambling. I hope to get up my strength in this delicious quiet, and have fewer interruptions to work from headache than I have been having since Christmas. I wonder if I should have had the happiness of seeing Cara if I had been at Richmond now. I would rather see her than any one else in the world--except poor Chrissey. Tell me when you have read the life of Currer Bell. Some people think its revelations in bad taste--making money out of the dead, wounding the feelings of the living, etc. What book is there that some people or other will not find abominable? We thought it admirable, cried over it, and felt the better for it. We read Cromwell's letters again at Scilly with great delight. In May Mr. Lewes writes to Mr. John Blackwood: "We were both amused with the divination of the Manx seer and his friend Liggers." This is the first mention of the individual, whose real name was Liggins of Nuneaton, who afterwards became notorious for laying claim to the authorship of the "Scenes of Clerical Life" and "Adam Bede." "Janet's Repentance" had been begun on the 18th April, and the first three parts were finished in Jersey. In reference to the "Scenes of Clerical Life" there are the following entries in the Journal: [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] _May 2._--Received letter from Blackwood expressing his approbation of Part IX. of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story." He writes very pleasantly, says the series is attributed by many to Bulwer, and that Thackeray thinks highly of it. This was a pleasant fillip to me, who am just now ready to be dispirited on the slightest pretext. _May 21._--The other day we had a pleasant letter from Herbert Spencer, saying that he had heard "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story" discussed by Baynes and Dallas, as well as previously by Pigott, all expressing warm approval, and curiosity as to the author. _May 26._--Received a pleasant letter from Blackwood, enclosing one from Archer Gurney to the author of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story." I subjoin this letter, as it is the first she received in her character of a creative author, and it still bears a pencil memorandum in her writing: "This letter he brought up to me at Jersey after reading it, saying, with intense joy, 'Her fame is beginning.'" [Sidenote: Letter from Rev. Archer Gurney, to the author of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story," 14th May, 1857.] "BUCKINGHAM (BUCKS), _Thursday, 14th May, 1857_. "Sir,--Will you consider it impertinent in a brother author and old reviewer to address a few lines of earnest sympathy and admiration to you, excited by the purity of your style, originality of your thoughts, and absence of all vulgar seeking for effect in those 'Scenes of Clerical Life' now appearing in _Blackwood_? If I mistake not much, your muse of invention is no hackneyed one, and your style is too peculiar to allow of your being confounded with any of the already well-known writers of the day. Your great and characteristic charm is, to my mind, Nature. You frequently, indeed, express what I may call brilliant ideas, but they always seem to come unsought for, never, as in Lytton, for instance, to be elaborated and placed in the most advantageous light. I allude to such brief aphoristic sayings as 'Animals are such agreeable friends, they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms'--'All with that brisk and cheerful air which a sermon is often observed to produce when it is quite finished.' By-the-bye. I am one of the cloth, and might take exception to certain hints, perhaps, but these are dubious. What I see plainly I admire honestly, and trust that more good remains behind. Will you always remain equally natural? That is the doubt. Will the fear of the critic, or the public, or the literary world, which spoils almost every one, never master you? Will you always write to please yourself, and preserve the true independence which seems to mark a real supremacy of intellect? But these questions are, I fear, impertinent. I will conclude. Pardon this word of greeting from one whom you may never see or know, and believe me your earnest admirer, ARCHER GURNEY. "The Author of 'Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story.'" [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] _June._--Blackwood writes from London that he hears nothing but approval of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story." Lord Stanley, among other people, had spoken to him about the "Clerical Scenes," at Bulwer's, and was astonished to find Blackwood in the dark as to the author. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 2d June, 1857.] I send you by the same post with this the first part of my third story, which I hope will not disappoint you. The part is, I think, rather longer than my parts have usually been, but it would have been injurious to the effect of the story to pause earlier. Pleasant letters like yours are the best possible stimulus to an author's powers, and if I don't write better and better the fault will certainly not lie in my editor, who seems to have been created in pre-established harmony with the organization of a susceptible contributor. This island, too, with its grassy valleys and pretty, indented coast is not at all a bad haunt for the Muses, if, as one may suppose, they have dropped their too scanty classical attire, and appear in long dresses and brown hats, like decent Christian women likely to inspire "Clerical Scenes." Moreover, having myself a slight zoological weakness, I am less alarmed than most people at the society of a zoological maniac. So that, altogether, your contributor is in promising circumstances, and if he doesn't behave like an animal in good condition, is clearly unworthy of his keep. I am much gratified to have made the conquest of Professor Aytoun; but with a parent's love for the depreciated child, I can't help standing up for "Amos" as better than "Gilfil." Lewes seems to have higher expectations from the third story than from either of the preceding; but I can form no judgment myself until I have quite finished a thing, and see it aloof from my actual self. I can only go on writing what I feel, and waiting for the proof that I have been able to make others feel. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 5th June, 1857.] Richmond is _not_ fascinating in "the season" or through the summer. It is hot, noisy, and haunted with Cockneys; but at other times we love the Park with an increasing love, and we have such a kind, good landlady there, that it always seems like going home when we return to Park Shot. She writes to us: "I hope you will make your fortune--but you must always live with me," which, considering that she gets less out of us than other lodgers, is a proof of affection in a landlady. Yes! we like our wandering life at present, and it is fructifying, and brings us material in many ways; but we keep in perspective the idea of a cottage among green fields and cows, where we mean to settle down (after we have once been to Italy), and buy pots and kettles and keep a dog. Wherever we are we work hard--and at work which brings _present_ money; for we have too many depending on us to be _dilettanti_ or idlers. I wish it to be understood that I should never invite any one to come and see me who did not ask for the invitation. You wonder how my face has changed in the last three years. Doubtless it is older and uglier, but it ought not to have a bad expression, for I never have anything to call out my ill-humor or discontent, which you know were always ready enough to come on slight call, and I have everything to call out love and gratitude. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. John Cash (Miss Mary Sibree), 6th June, 1857.] Your letter was very sweet to me. The sense of my deficiencies in the past often presses on me with a discouraging weight, and to know that any one can remember me lovingly, helps me to believe that there has been some good to balance the evil. I like to think of you as a happy wife and mother; and since Rosehill must have new tenants, I like to think that you and yours are there rather than any one else, not only because of my own confidence in your nature, but because our dear friends love you so much as a neighbor. You know I can never feel otherwise than sorry that they should not have ended their days in that pretty home; but the inevitable regret is softened as much as possible by the fact that the home has become yours. It is very nice to hear that Mrs. Sibree can relish anything of my writing. She was always a favorite with me; and I remember very vividly many pleasant little conversations with her. Seventy-two! How happy you are to have a dear, aged mother, whose heart you can gladden. I was a good deal touched by the letter your brother wrote to you about accepting, or, rather, declining, more pupils. I feel sure that his sensitive nature has its peculiar trials and struggles in this strange life of ours, which some thick-skinned mortals take so easily. I am very happy--happy in the highest blessing life can give us, the perfect love and sympathy of a nature that stimulates my own to healthful activity. I feel, too, that all the terrible pain I have gone through in past years, partly from the defects of my own nature, partly from outward things, has probably been a preparation for some special work that I may do before I die. That is a blessed hope, to be rejoiced in with trembling. But even if that hope should be unfulfilled, I am contented to have lived and suffered for the sake of what has already been. You see your kind letter has made me inclined to talk about myself, but, as we do not often have any communication with each other, I know it will be a gratification to your sympathetic nature to have a few direct words from me that will assure you of my moral well-being. I hope your little ones are just like you--just as fair and sweet-tempered. [Sidenote: Journal, June, 1857.] I sent off the first part of "Janet's Repentance," but to my disappointment Blackwood did not like it so well--seemed to misunderstand the characters, and to be doubtful about the treatment of clerical matters. I wrote at once to beg him to give up printing the story if he felt uncomfortable about it, and he immediately sent a very anxious, cordial letter, saying the thought of putting a stop to the series "gave him quite a turn:" he "did not meet with George Eliots every day"--and so on. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 11th June, 1857.] I am not much surprised and not at all hurt by your letter received to-day with the proof. It is a great satisfaction--in fact, my only satisfaction--that you should give me your judgment with perfect frankness. I am able, I think, to enter into an editor's doubts and difficulties, and to see my stories in some degree from your point of view as well as my own. My answer is written after considering the question as far as possible on all sides, and as I feel that I shall not be able to make any other than _superficial_ alterations in the proof, I will, first of all, say what I can in explanation of the spirit and future course of the present story. The collision in the drama is not at all between "bigoted churchmanship" and evangelicalism, but between _ir_religion and religion. Religion in this case happens to be represented by evangelicalism; and the story, so far as regards the _persecution_, is a real bit in the religious history of England, that happened about eight-and-twenty years ago. I thought I had made it apparent in my sketch of Milby feelings, on the advent of Mr. Tryan, that the conflict lay between immorality and morality--irreligion and religion. Mr. Tryan will carry the reader's sympathy. It is through him that Janet is brought to repentance. Dempster's vices have their natural evolution in deeper and deeper moral deterioration (though not without softening touches), and death from intemperance. Everything is softened from the fact, so far as art is permitted to soften and yet to remain essentially true. My sketches, both of Churchmen and Dissenters, with whom I am almost equally acquainted, are drawn from close observation of them in real life, and not at all from hearsay or from the descriptions of novelists. If I were to undertake to alter language or character. I should be attempting to represent some vague conception of what may possibly exist in other people's minds, but has no existence in my own. Such of your marginal objections as relate to a mere detail I can meet without difficulty by alteration; but as an artist I should be utterly powerless if I departed from my own conceptions of life and character. There is nothing to be done with the story, but either to let Dempster and Janet and the rest be as I _see_ them, or to renounce it as too painful. I am keenly alive at once to the scruples and alarms an editor may feel, and to my own utter inability to write under cramping influence, and on this double ground I should like you to consider whether it will not be better to close the series for the Magazine _now_. I dare say you will feel no difficulty about publishing a volume containing the story of "Janet's Repentance," and I shall accept that plan with no other feeling than that you have been to me the most liberal and agreeable of editors, and are the man of all others I would choose for a publisher. My irony, so far as I understand myself, is not directed against opinions--against any class of religious views--but against the vices and weaknesses that belong to human nature in every sort of clothing. But it is possible that I may not affect other minds as I intend and wish to affect them, and you are a better judge than I can be of the degree in which I may occasionally be offensive. I should like _not_ to be offensive--I should like to touch every heart among my readers with nothing but loving humor, with tenderness, with belief in goodness. But I may have failed in this case of "Janet," at least so far as to have made you feel its publication in the Magazine a disagreeable risk. If so, there will be no harm done by closing the series with No. 2, as I have suggested. If, however, I take your objections to be deeper than they really are--if you prefer inserting the story in spite of your partial dissatisfaction, I shall, of course, be happy to appear under "Maga's" wing still. When I remember what have been the successes in fiction, even as republications from "Maga," I can hardly believe that the public will regard my pictures as exceptionally coarse. But in any case there are too many prolific writers who devote themselves to the production of pleasing pictures, to the exclusion of all disagreeable truths, for me to desire to add to their number. In this respect, at least, I may have some resemblance to Thackeray, though I am not conscious of being in any way a disciple of his, unless it constitute discipleship to think him, as I suppose the majority of people with any intellect do, on the whole the most powerful of living novelists. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 8th June, 1857.] I feel every day a greater disinclination for theories and arguments about the origin of things in the presence of all this mystery and beauty and pain and ugliness that floods one with conflicting emotions. We are reading "Aurora Leigh" for the third time, with more enjoyment than ever. I know no book that gives me a deeper sense of communion with a large as well as beautiful mind. It is in process of appearing in a third edition, and no wonder. If I live five years longer the positive result of my existence on the side of truth and goodness will outweigh the small negative good that would have consisted in my not doing anything to shock others, and I can conceive no consequences that will make me repent the past. Do not misunderstand me, and suppose that I think myself heroic or great in any way. Far enough from that! Faulty, miserably faulty I am--but least of all faulty where others most blame. On the 24th July the pleasant sojourn at Jersey came to an end. The travellers returned to 8 Park Shot, Richmond, where Miss Sara Hennell paid them a visit at the end of the month, and Dr. and Mrs. Bodichon (_née_ Miss Barbara L. Smith) came on the 4th of August. On the 12th August there is an entry in the Journal, "Finished the 'Electra' of Sophocles, and began �schylus's 'Agamemnon,'" and then come the following letters: [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, Tuesday, 17th Aug. 1857.] Lewes has just given me your letter of the 15th, with the accompanying one from the Rev. W. P. Jones. Mr. Tryan is not a portrait of any clergyman, living or dead. He is an ideal character, but I hope probable enough to resemble more than one evangelical clergyman of his day. If Mr. Jones's deceased brother was like Mr. Tryan so much the better, for in that case he was made of human nature's finer clay. I think you will agree with me that there are few clergymen who would be depreciated by an identification with Mr. Tryan. But I should rather suppose that the old gentleman, misled by some similarity in outward circumstances, is blind to the discrepancies which must exist where no portrait was intended. As to the rest of my story, so far as its elements were suggested by real persons, those persons have been, to use good Mr. Jones's phrase, "long in eternity." I think I told you that a persecution of the kind I have described did actually take place, and belongs as much to the common store of our religious history as the Gorham Controversy, or as Bishop Blomfield's decision about wax candles. But I only know the _outline_ of the real persecution. The details have been filled in from my imagination. I should consider it a fault which would cause me lasting regret if I had used reality in any other than the legitimate way common to all artists, who draw their materials from their observation and experience. It would be a melancholy result of my fictions if I gave _just_ cause of annoyance to any good and sensible person. But I suppose there is no perfect safeguard against erroneous impressions or a mistaken susceptibility. We are all apt to forget how little there is about us that is unique, and how very strongly we resemble many other insignificant people who have lived before us. I shouldn't wonder if several nieces of pedantic maiden ladies saw a portrait of their aunt in Miss Pratt, but I hope they will not think it necessary, on that ground, to increase the already troublesome number of your correspondents. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Aug. 1857.] We went to see Rosa Bonheur's picture the other day. What power! That is the way women should assert their rights. Writing is part of my religion, and I can write no word that is not prompted from within. At the same time I believe that almost all the best books in the world have been written with the hope of getting money for them. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 1st Sept. 1857.] Unless there be any strong reason to the contrary, I should like to close the series with this story. According to my calculation, which, however, may be an erroneous one, the three stories will make two good volumes--_i.e._, good as to bulk. I have a subject in my mind which will not come under the limitations of the title "Clerical Life," and I am inclined to take a large canvas for it and write a novel. In case of my writing fiction for "Maga" again, I should like to be considerably beforehand with my work, so that you can read a thoroughly decisive portion before beginning to print. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st Sept. 1857.] The days are very peaceful--peacefully busy. One always feels a deeper calm as autumn comes on. I should be satisfied to look forward to a heaven made up of long autumn afternoon walks, quite delivered from any necessity of giving a judgment on the woman question, or of reading newspapers about Indian mutinies. I am so glad there are thousands of good people in the world who have very decided opinions, and are fond of working hard to enforce them. I like to feel and think everything and do nothing, a pool of the "deep contemplative" kind. Some people _do_ prosper--that is a comfort. The rest of us must fall back on the beatitudes--"Blessed are the poor"--that is Luke's version, you know, and it is really, on the whole, more comforting than Matthew's. I'm afraid there are few of us who can appropriate the blessings of the "poor in spirit." We are reading one of the most wonderful books in French or any other literature--Monteil's "Histoire des Français des divers �tats"--a history written on an original plan. If you see any account of it, read that account. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, Saturday, 17th Oct. 1857.] I am very much gratified that my Janet has won your heart and kept up your interest in her to the end. My new story haunts me a good deal, and I shall set about it without delay. It will be a country story--full of the breath of cows and the scent of hay. But I shall not ask you to look at it till I have written a volume or more, and then you will be able to judge whether you will prefer printing it in the Magazine, or publishing it as a separate novel when it is completed. By the way, the sheets of the "Clerical Scenes" are not come, but I shall not want to make any other than verbal and literal corrections, so that it will hardly be necessary for me to go through the sheets _and_ the proofs, which I must, of course, see. I enclose a titlepage with a motto. But if you don't like the motto, I give it up. I've not set my heart on it. I leave the number of copies to be published, and the style of getting up, entirely to your discretion. As to the terms, I wish to retain the copyright, according to the stipulation made for me by Lewes when he sent "Amos Barton;" and whatever you can afford to give me for the first edition I shall prefer having as a definite payment rather than as half profits. You stated, in a letter about "Amos Barton," your willingness to accede to either plan, so I have no hesitation in expressing my wishes. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Oct. 1857.] "Open to conviction," indeed! I should think so. I am open to conviction on all points except dinner and debts. I hold that the one must be eaten and the other paid. These are my only prejudices. I _was_ pleased with Mr. Call.[56] He is a man one really cares to talk to--has thoughts, says what he means, and listens to what others say. We should quite like to see him often. And I cannot tell you how much I have felt Mrs. Call's graceful as well as kind behavior to me. Some months ago, before the new edition of the "Biographical History of Philosophy" came out, Mr. Lewes had a letter from a working-man at Leicester, I think, who said that he and some fellow-students met together, on a Sunday, to read the book aloud and discuss it. He had marked some errors of the press and sent them to Mr. Lewes for his new edition. Wasn't that pretty? [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 30th Oct. 1857.] "Conscience goes to the hammering in of nails" is my gospel. There can be no harm in preaching _that_ to women at any rate. But I should be sorry to undertake any more specific enunciation of doctrine on a question so entangled as the "woman question." The part of the Epicurean gods is always an easy one; but because I prefer it so strongly myself, I the more highly venerate those who are struggling in the thick of the contest. "La carrière ouverte aux taléns," whether the talents be feminine or masculine, I am quite confident is a right maxim. Whether "La carrière ouverte à la Sottise" be equally just when made equally universal, it would be too much like "taking sides" for me to say. There are only three entries in the journal for October. [Sidenote: Journal, Oct. 1857.] _Oct. 9._--Finished "Janet's Repentance." I had meant to carry on the series, and especially I longed to tell the story of the "Clerical Tutor," but my annoyance at Blackwood's want of sympathy in the first part (although he came round to admiration at the third part) determined me to close the series and republish them in two volumes. _Oct. 22._--Began my new novel, "Adam Bede." _Oct. 29._--Received a letter from Blackwood offering me £120 for the first edition of "Scenes of Clerical Life." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th Oct. 1857.] I am quite contented with the sum (£120) you offer me for the edition, being thoroughly confident of your disposition to do the best you can for me. I perceive your hope of success for the "Scenes" is not strong, and you certainly have excellent means of knowing the probabilities in such a case. I am not aware that the motto has been used before, but if you suspect it, we had better leave it out altogether. A stale motto would hardly be an ornament to the titlepage. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 1st Nov. 1857.] How I wish I could get to you by some magic, and have one walk over the hill with you again. Letters are poor things compared with five minutes of looking and speaking, and one kiss. Nevertheless, I do like to have a little letter now and then, though I don't for a moment ask it if you have no spontaneous impulse to give it. I can't help losing belief that people love me--the unbelief is in my nature, and no sort of fork will drive it finally out. I can't help wondering that you can think of _me_ in the past with much pleasure. It all seems so painful to me--made up of blunders and selfishness--and it only comes back upon me as a thing to be forgiven. That is honest, painful truth, and not sentimentality. But I am thankful if others found more good than I am able to remember. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 7th Nov. 1857.] It is pleasant to have the first sheet of one's proof--to see one's paragraphs released from the tight-lacing of double columns, and expanding themselves at their ease. I perceive clearly the desirableness of the short number--for my observation of literary affairs has gone far enough to convince me that neither critical judgment nor practical experience can guarantee any opinion as to rapidity of sale in the case of an unknown author; and I shudder at the prospect of encumbering my publisher's bookshelves. My new story is in progress--slow progress at present. A little sunshine of success would stimulate its growth, I dare say. Unhappily, I am as impressionable as I am obstinate, and as much in need of sympathy from my readers as I am incapable of bending myself to their tastes. But if I can only find a public as cordial and agreeable in its treatment of me as my editor, I shall have nothing to wish. Even my thin skin will be comfortable then. The page is not a shabby one, after all; but I fear the fact of two volumes instead of three is a fatal feature in my style in the eyes of librarians. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 9th Nov. 1857.] One is glad to have one's book (_à propos_ of review of Lewes's "History of Philosophy") spoken well of by papers of good circulation, because it is possible, though not certain, that such praise may help the sale; but otherwise it is hardly worth while to trouble one's self about newspaper reviews, unless they point out some error, or present that very rare phenomenon, a true appreciation, which is the most delicious form in which sympathy can reach one. So much sectarian feeling usually arises in discussions on the subject of phrenology that I confess the associations of the word are not agreeable to me. The last refuge of intolerance is in not tolerating the intolerant; and I am often in danger of secreting that sort of venom. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles Bray, 15th Nov. 1857.] It is pleasant to have a kind word now and then, when one is not near enough to have a kind glance or a hearty shake by the hand. It is an old weakness of mine to have no faith in affection that does not express itself; and when friends take no notice of me for a long while I generally settle down into the belief that they have become indifferent or have begun to dislike me. That is not the best mental constitution; but it might be worse--for I don't feel obliged to dislike _them_ in consequence. I, for one, ought not to complain if people think worse of me than I deserve, for I have very often reason to be ashamed of my thoughts about others. They almost always turn out to be better than I expected--fuller of kindness towards me at least. In the fundamental doctrine of your book (the philosophy of necessity)--that mind presents itself under the same conditions of invariableness of antecedent and consequent as all other phenomena (the only difference being that the true antecedent and consequent are proportionately difficult to discover as the phenomena are more complex)--I think you know that I agree. And every one who knows what science means must also agree with you that there can be no social science without the admission of that doctrine. I dislike extremely a passage in which you appear to consider the disregard of individuals as a lofty condition of mind. My own experience and development deepen every day my conviction that our moral progress may be measured by the degree in which we sympathize with individual suffering and individual joy. The fact that in the scheme of things we see a constant and tremendous sacrifice of individuals, is, it seems to me, only one of the many proofs that urge upon us our total inability to find in our own natures a key to the Divine mystery. I could more readily turn Christian, and worship Jesus again, than embrace a Theism which professes to explain the proceedings of God. But I don't feel at all wise in these matters. I have a few strong impressions which serve me for my own support and guidance, but do not in the least qualify me to speak as a theorist. Mr. Lewes sends you his kind remembrances, and will not like you any the worse for cutting him up. He has had to perform that office for his own friends sometimes. I suppose phrenology is an open question, on which everybody has a right to speak his mind. Mr. Lewes, feeling the importance of the subject, desired to give it its due place in his "History of Philosophy," and, doing so, he must, of course, say what _he_ believes to be the truth, not what other people believe to be the truth. If you will show where he is mistaken, you will be doing him a service as well as phrenology. His arguments may be bad; but I will answer for him that he has not been guilty of any intentional unfairness. With regard to their system, phrenologists seem to me to be animated by the same sort of spirit as that of religious dogmatists, and especially in this--that in proportion as a man approximates to their opinions without identifying himself with them, they think him offensive and contemptible. It is amusing to read from the opposite side complaints against Mr. Lewes for giving too high a position to phrenology, and a confident opinion that "phrenologists, by their ridiculous pretensions, merit all the contempt that has been thrown on them." Thus doctors differ! But I am much less interested in crusades for or against phrenology than in your happiness at Ivy Cottage.[57] Happiness means all sorts of love and good feeling; and that is the best result that can ever come out of science. Do you know Buckle's "History of Civilization"? I think you would find it a suggestive book. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 24th Nov. 1857.] Anniversaries are sad things--to one who has lived long and done little. Herbert Spencer dined with us the other day--looks well, and is brimful of clever talk as usual. His volume of "Essays" is to come out soon. He is just now on a crusade against the notion of "species." We are reading Harriet Martineau's history with edification, and otherwise feeding our souls, which flourish very well, notwithstanding November weather. [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] _Nov. 28._--A glorious day, still autumnal and not wintry. We have had a delicious walk in the Park, and I think the coloring of the scenery is more beautiful than ever. Many of the oaks are still thickly covered with leaves of a rich yellow-brown; the elms, golden sometimes, still with lingering patches of green. On our way to the Park the view from Richmond hill had a delicate blue mist over it, that seemed to hang like a veil before the sober brownish-yellow of the distant elms. As we came home, the sun was setting on a fog-bank, and we saw him sink into that purple ocean--the orange and gold passing into green above the fog-bank, the gold and orange reflected in the river in more sombre tints. The other day, as we were coming home through the Park, after having walked under a sombre, heavily clouded sky, the western sun shone out from under the curtain, and lit up the trees and grass, thrown into relief on a background of dark purple cloud. Then, as we advanced towards the Richmond end of the Park, the level, reddening rays shone on the dry fern and the distant oaks, and threw a crimson light on them. I have especially enjoyed this autumn, the delicious greenness of the turf, in contrast with the red and yellow of the dying leaves. _Dec. 6_ (_Sunday_).--Finished the "Agamemnon" to-day. In the evenings of late we have been reading Harriet Martineau's "Sketch of the British Empire in India," and are now following it up with Macaulay's articles on Clive and Hastings. We have lately read Harriet Martineau's Introduction to the "History of the Peace." _Dec. 8._--I am reading "Die Familie," by Riehl, forming the third volume of the series, the two first of which, "Land und Volk" and "Die Bürgerliche Gesellschaft," I reviewed for the _Westminster_. A letter from Blackwood to-day tells us that Major Blackwood, during his brother's absence in England, having some reasons, not specified, for being more hopeful about the "Clerical Scenes," resolved to publish 1000 instead of 750; and in consequence of this Blackwood promises to pay me an additional £60 when 750 shall have been sold off. He reports that an elderly clergyman has written to him to say that "Janet's Repentance" is exquisite--another vote to register along with that of Mrs. Nutt's rector, who "cried over the story like a child." _Dec. 10._--Major Blackwood called--an unaffected, agreeable man. It was evident to us, when he had only been in the room a few minutes, that he knew I was George Eliot. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 11th Dec. 1857.] Lewes has read to me your last kind letter, and I am not insensible to the "practical cheerer" it contains. But I rejoice with trembling at the additional 250, lest you should have to repent of them. I have certainly had a good deal of encouragement to believe that there are many minds, both of the more cultured sort and of the common novel-reading class, likely to be touched by my stories; but the word "many" is very elastic, and often shrinks frightfully when measured by a financial standard. When one remembers how long it was before Charles Lamb's Essays were known familiarly to any but the elect few, the very strongest assurance of merit or originality--supposing one so happy as to have that assurance--could hardly do more than give the hope of _ultimate_ recognition. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 13th Dec. 1857.] Our affairs are very prosperous just now, making sunshine in a shady, or, rather, in a foggy place. It is a great happiness to me that Mr. Lewes gets more and more of the recognition he deserves; pleasant letters and speeches have been very numerous lately, especially about his "Sea-side Studies," which have appeared in _Blackwood_, and are soon to appear--very much improved and enlarged--in a separate volume. Dear Carlyle writes, _à propos_ of his "Friedrich:" "I have had such a fourteen months as was never appointed me before in this world--sorrow, darkness, and disgust my daily companions; and no outlook visible, except getting a detestable business turned off, or else being driven mad by it." That is his exaggerated way of speaking; and writing is always painful to him. Do you know he is sixty-two! I fear this will be his last book. Tell Mr. Bray I am reading a book of Riehl's, "The Family," forming the sequel to his other volumes. He will be pleased to hear that so good a writer agrees with him on several points about the occupations of women. The book is a good one; and if I were in the way of writing articles, I should write one on it. There is so much to read, and the days are so short! I get more hungry for knowledge every day, and less able to satisfy my hunger. Time is like the Sibylline leaves, getting more precious the less there remains of it. That, I believe, is the correct allusion for a fine writer to make on the occasion. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 15th Dec. 1857.] I give up the motto, because it struck you as having been used before; and though I copied it into my note-book when I was re-reading "Amelia" a few months ago, it is one of those obvious quotations which never _appear_ fresh, though they may actually be made for the first time. I shall be curious to know the result of the subscription. There are a few persons to whom I should like a copy of the volume to be sent, and I enclose a list of them. [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] _Dec. 17._--Read my new story to G. this evening as far as the end of the third chapter. He praised it highly. I have finished "Die Familie," by Riehl--a delightful book. I am in the "Choephoræ" now. In the evenings we are reading "History of the Thirty Years' Peace" and Béranger. Thoroughly disappointed in Béranger. _Dec. 19_ (_Saturday_).--Alone this evening with very thankful, solemn thoughts--feeling the great and unhoped-for blessings that have been given me in life. This last year, especially, has been marked by inward progress and outward advantages. In the spring George's "History of Philosophy" appeared in the new edition; his "Sea-side Studies" have been written with much enjoyment, and met with much admiration, and now they are on the verge of being published with bright prospects. Blackwood has also accepted his "Physiology of Common Life;" the "Goethe" has passed into its third German edition; and, best of all, G.'s head is well. I have written the "Scenes of Clerical Life"--my first book; and though we are uncertain still whether it will be a success as a separate publication, I have had much sympathy from my readers in _Blackwood_, and feel a deep satisfaction in having done a bit of faithful work that will perhaps remain, like a primrose root in the hedgerow, and gladden and chasten human hearts in years to come. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 23d Dec. 1857.] Buckle's is a book full of suggestive material, though there are some strangely unphilosophic opinions mixed with its hardy philosophy. For example, he holds that there is no such thing as _race_ or _hereditary transmission_ of qualities! (I should tell you, at the same time, that he is a necessitarian and a physiological-psychologist.) It is only by such negations as these that he can find his way to the position which he maintains at great length--that the progress of mankind is dependent entirely on the progress of knowledge, and that there has been no intrinsically moral advance. However, he presents that side of the subject which has, perhaps, been least adequately dwelt on. [Sidenote: Journal, 1857.] _Dec. 25_ (_Christmas Day_).--George and I spent this lovely day together--lovely as a clear spring day. We could see Hampstead from the Park so distinctly that it seemed to have suddenly come nearer to us. We ate our turkey together in a happy _solitude à deux_. _Dec. 31_ (_the last night of 1857_).--The dear old year is gone with all its _Weben_ and _Streben_. Yet not gone either; for what I have suffered and enjoyed in it remains to me an everlasting possession while my soul's life remains. This time last year I was alone, as I am now, and dear George was at Vernon Hill. I was writing the introduction to "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story." What a world of thoughts and feelings since then! My life has deepened unspeakably during the last year: I feel a greater capacity for moral and intellectual enjoyment, a more acute sense of my deficiencies in the past, a more solemn desire to be faithful to coming duties, than I remember at any former period of my life. And my happiness has deepened too; the blessedness of a perfect love and union grows daily. I have had some severe suffering this year from anxiety about my sister, and what will probably be a final separation from her--there has been no other real trouble. Few women, I fear, have had such reason as I have to think the long, sad years of youth were worth living for the sake of middle age. Our prospects are very bright too. I am writing my new novel. G. is full of his "Physiology of Common Life." He has just finished editing Johnston, for which he is to have 100 guineas, and we have both encouragement to think that our books just coming out, "Sea-side Studies" and "Scenes of Clerical Life," will be well received. So good-bye, dear 1857! May I be able to look back on 1858 with an equal consciousness of advancement in work and in heart. _SUMMARY._ MARCH, 1855, TO DECEMBER, 1857. Return to England--Dover--Bayswater--East Sheen--Books read--Articles written--Letters to Miss Hennell--"Life of Goethe"--Froude's article on Spinoza--Article-writing--"Cumming"--8 Park Shot, Richmond--Letter to Charles Bray--Effect of article on Cumming--Letter to Miss Hennell--Reading on Physiology--Article on Heine--Review for _Leader_, etc.--Books read--Visit to Mrs. Clarke at Attleboro--Sale of "Life of Goethe"--"Shaving of Shagpat"--Spinoza's "Ethics," translation finished--The _Saturday Review_--Ruskin--Alison--Harriet Martineau--Women's earnings--Articles and reviews--Wishes not to be known as translator of the "Ethics"--Article on Young begun--Visit to Ilfracombe--Description--Zoophyte hunting--Finished articles on Young and Riehl--Naturalistic experience--Delightful walks--Rev. Mr. Tugwell--Devonshire lanes and springs--Tendency to scientific accuracy--Sunsets--Cocklewomen at Swansea--Letters to Miss Hennell and Mrs. Peter Taylor--Tenby--Zoology--Thoreau's "Walden"--Feeling strong in mind and body--Barbara Leigh Smith comes to Tenby--George Eliot anxious to begin her fiction-writing--Mr. E. F. S. Pigott--Return to Richmond--Mr. Lewes takes his boys to Hofwyl--George Eliot writes article on "Silly Novels by Lady Novelists"--"How I came to write fiction"--Correspondence between Mr. Lewes and Mr. John Blackwood about MS. of "Amos Barton"--"Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story" begun--Books read--Letter from John Blackwood to the author of "Amos Barton," sending copy of the January, 1857, number of the Magazine and fifty guineas--Reply--Blackwood's admiration--Albert Smith's appreciation--Letters to Blackwood--Name of George Eliot assumed--Dutch school in art--Artistic bent--Letter to Miss Hennell--Intolerance--Letter to John Blackwood on Mr. Swayne comparing writing to Goldsmith's--Letter to Miss Hennell on essay "Christianity and Infidelity"--Letter to Blackwood--Caterina and the dagger scene--Trip to Penzance and the Scilly Isles--Description of St. Mary's--Mr. Moyle, the surgeon--Social Life--Letter to Mrs. Bray, anxiety about sister--Letter to Miss Sara Hennell--"Life of Charlotte Brontë"--Letter to Isaac P. Evans--Mrs. Clarke's illness--Letter to Blackwood--Conclusions of stories--Jersey--Description of Gorey--Delightful walks--Reading Draper's "Physiology"--Miss Catlow and Dr. Thomson on wild-flowers--"Life of George Stephenson"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Life in Jersey--Liggins appears on the scene--"Janet's Repentance"--Series attributed to Bulwer--Thackeray thinks highly of it--Letter from Herbert Spencer about "Mr. Gilfil"--Letter from Archer Gurney--Lord Stanley thinks highly of the "Scenes"--Letter to Blackwood, with First Part of "Janet's Repentance"--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Richmond--Expression of face--Letter to Mrs. John Cash--Happiness in her life and hope in her work--Chilled by Blackwood's want of enthusiasm about "Janet"--Letter to John Blackwood on "Janet"--Letter to Miss Sarah Hennell--"Aurora Leigh"--Return to Richmond--Letter to John Blackwood on "Janet"--Letters to Miss Hennell--Rosa Bonheur--Thought not action--Mr. and Mrs. Call--Letter to John Blackwood--Haunted by new story--Letter to Charles Bray--"The Woman Question"--Close of "Clerical Scenes" series--"Adam Bede" begun--Receives £120 for first edition of "Scenes of Clerical Life"--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Unbelief in people's love--Letter to John Blackwood--Sheets of "Clerical Scenes"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Newspaper criticism--Letter to Charles Bray--"The Philosophy of Necessity"--Sympathy with individuals--Objection to Theism--Phrenology--Happiness the best result that can ever come out of science--Letters to Miss Hennell--Reading Riehl's "The Family"--Hunger for Knowledge--Buckle's "History of Civilization"--Autumn days at Richmond--Reading the "Agamemnon"--Harriett Martineau's "Sketch of the British Empire in India"--Macaulay's essays on Clive and Hastings--Major Blackwood calls and suspects identity of George Eliot--Reading the "Choephoræ"--"History of the Thirty Years' Peace," and Béranger--Thankfulness in reviewing experience of 1857. FOOTNOTES: [49] G. writes that this sonnet is Barnwell's.--[Note written later.] [50] "Land und Volk." [51] Mr. Edward Smyth Pigott, who remained to the end of their lives a very close and much valued friend of Mr. Lewes and George Eliot. [52] By Thoreau. [53] About the article on Riehl's book, "The Natural History of German Life." [54] "Baillie Prize Essay on Christianity and Infidelity: an Exposition of the Arguments on both Sides." By Miss Sara Hennell. [55] "Mill on the Floss," chap. iii. book iv. Bob Jakin. [56] Mr. W. M. W. Call, author of "Reverberations and other Poems," who married Mr. Charles Hennell's widow--formerly Miss Brabant. As will be seen from the subsequent correspondence, Mr. and Mrs. Call remained among the Lewes's warm friends to the end, and Mr. Call is the author of an interesting paper on George Eliot in the _Westminster Review_ of July, 1881. [57] The Brays' new house at Coventry. APPENDIX. As this volume is going through the press, I have to thank Mrs. John Cash of Coventry for the following valuable additional information in regard to the important subject of Miss Evans's change of religious belief in 1841-42, and for her further general recollections of the Coventry period of George Eliot's life: I was sixteen years of age in 1841; and, as I have already stated, my first remembrance of Miss Evans is of her call on my father and mother, with their friend and neighbor Mrs. Pears, when in conversation she gave expression to her great appreciation of the writings of Isaac Taylor. The controversy raised by the "Tracts for the Times," which gave occasion for the publication of Mr. Taylor's "Ancient Christianity," being now remote, I give the following extract from a footnote in Trench's "Notes on the Parables," to show the influence such a work as Mr. Taylor's would be likely to exercise on the mind of one who esteemed its author; and also the feeling it excited against an eminently religious man, by revelations which he desired and believed would serve the cause of New Testament Christianity. The note is on the "Tares." The quotation, containing the reference, is from Menken: "Many so-called Church historians (_authors of 'Ancient Christianity' and the like_), ignorant of the purpose and of the hidden glory of the Church, have their pleasure in the Tares, and imagine themselves wonderfully wise and useful when out of Church history (which ought to be the history of the Light and the Truth) they have made a shameful history of error and wickedness." It was upon her first or second interview with my mother that Miss Evans told her how shocked she had been by the apparent union of religious feeling with a low sense of morality among the people in the district she visited, who were mostly Methodists. She gave as an instance the case of a woman who, when a falsehood was clearly brought home to her by her visitors, said, "She did not feel that she had grieved the Spirit much." Now those readers of the letters to Miss Lewis who are acquainted with modern Evangelicalism, even in its "after-glow," especially as it was presented to the world by Church of England teaching and practice, will recognize its characteristics in the moral scrupulousness, the sense of obligation on the part of Christians to avoid the very appearance of evil, the practical piety, which those letters reveal. Mrs. Evans (Miss Lewis tells me) was a very serious, earnest-minded woman, anxiously concerned for the moral and religious training of her children: glad to place them under the care of such persons as the Misses Franklin, to whose school a mother of a different order objected, on the ground that "it was where that saint Mary Ann Evans had been." It is natural then that, early awed by and attracted towards beliefs cherished by the best persons she had known, and advocated in the best books she had read, the mind of Miss Evans should have been stirred by exhibitions of a _theoretic_ severance of religion from morality, whether presented among the disciples of "Ancient Christianity" or by the subjects of its modern revivals: it is probable that she may thereby have been led, as others have been, to a reconsideration of the creeds of Christendom, and to further inquiry concerning their origin. On the same grounds it is likely that the presentation of social virtues, apart from evangelical motives, would impress her; and I have authority for stating that to the inquiry of a friend in after-years, as to what influence she attributed the first unsettlement of her orthodox views, she quickly made answer: "Oh, Walter Scott's." Now I well remember her speaking to me of Robert Hall's confession that he had been made unhappy for a week by the reading of Miss Edgeworth's Tales, in which useful, good, and pleasant lives are lived with no reference to religious hopes and fears; and her drawing my attention to the real greatness of mind and sincerity of faith which this candid confession betokened. Such remarks, I think, throw light upon the _way_ in which her own evangelical belief had been affected by works in which its dogmas are not enforced as necessary springs of virtuous action. I give these scattered reminiscences, in evidence of the half-unconscious preparation (of which Mr. Cross speaks) for a change which was, in my judgment, more gradual in its development, as well as deeper in its character, than might be inferred from the record of its abrupt following upon Miss Evans's introduction to Mr. Hennell's "Inquiry concerning the Origin of Christianity." The evening's discussion with my father, to which I have referred in my previous communication in the "Life," is now vividly present to my mind. There was not only on her part a vehemence of tone, startling in one so quiet, but a crudeness in her objections, an absence of proposed solution of difficulties, which partly distressed and partly pleased me (siding as I did mentally with my father), and which was in strange contrast to the satisfied calm which marked her subsequent treatment of religious differences. Upon my father's using an argument (common enough in those days) drawn from the present condition of the Jews as a fulfilment of prophecy, and saying, "If I were tempted to doubt the truth of the Bible, I should only have to look at a Jew to confirm my faith in it." "Don't talk to me of the Jews!" Miss Evans retorted, in an irritated tone; "to think that they were deluded into expectations of a temporal deliverer, and then punished because they couldn't understand that it was a spiritual deliverer that was intended!" To something that followed from her, intimating the claim of creatures upon their Creator, my father objected, "But we have no claim upon God." "No claim upon God!" she reiterated indignantly; "we have the strongest possible claim upon him." I regret that I can recall nothing more of a conversation carried on for more than two hours; but I vividly remember how deeply Miss Evans was moved, and how, as she stood against the mantelpiece during the last part of the time, her delicate fingers, in which she held a small piece of muslin on which she was at work, trembled with her agitation. The impression allowed to remain upon the minds of her friends, for some time after she had made declaration of her heresies, was of her being in a troubled, unsettled state. So great were her simplicity and candor in acknowledging this, and so apparent was her earnest desire for truth, that no hesitation was felt in asking her to receive visits from persons of different persuasions, who were judged competent to bring forward the best arguments in favor of orthodox doctrines. One of these was a Baptist minister, introduced to her by Miss Franklin; he was said to be well read in divinity, and I remember him as an original and interesting preacher. After an interview with Miss Evans, meeting my father, he said: "That young lady must have had the devil at her elbow to suggest her doubts, for there was not a book that I recommended to her in support of Christian evidences that she had not read." Mr. Watts, one of the professors at Spring Hill College (Independent), Birmingham, a colleague of Mr. Henry Rogers, author of the "Eclipse of Faith," and who had himself studied at the Hallé University, and enjoyed the friendship of Dr. Tholück, was requested (I think by my mother) to call on Miss Evans. His acquaintance with German Rationalism (rare in England in those days) qualified him to enter into, and it was hoped to meet, difficulties raised by a critical study of the New Testament. After his first or second interview, my brother remembers his observing with emphasis, "_She_ has gone into the question;" and I can recall a reference made by him at a later date in my hearing to Miss Evans's discontent with her own solutions--or rather with her own standpoint at that time. This discontent, he said, "was so far satisfactory." Doubtless it gave him hope of the reconversion of one who had, as he told my mother, awakened deep interest in his own mind, as much by the earnestness which characterized her inquiries as by her exceptional attainments. From letters that passed between my brother and myself during his residence in Germany, I give the following extracts referring to this period. The first is from one of mine, dated September 2, 1842: "In my father's absence we (my mother and I) called on Miss Evans. She now takes up a different position. Her views are not altogether altered, but she says it would be extreme arrogance in so young a person to suppose she had obtained _yet_ any just ideas of truth. She had been reading Dr. Tholück's reply to Strauss's 'Life of Jesus,' but said Mr. Watts had advised her _not_ to read his 'Guido and Julius.'" In answer to this my brother says, in a letter dated Hallé, September 26, 1842, "You have given, doubtless, a very accurate account of Miss Evans's mode of stating her present sentiments. Mr. Watts's reason for advising that Dr. Tholück's 'Guido and Julius' be not read is, perhaps, that the reasoning is not satisfactory." In another letter, addressed to my brother at Hallé, and dated October 28, 1842, I tell him: "Last week mother and I spent an evening with Miss Evans. She seemed more settled in her views than ever, and rests her objections to Christianity on this ground, that Calvinism is Christianity, and, this granted, that it is a religion based on pure selfishness. She occupied, however, a great part of the time in pleading for works of imagination, maintaining that they perform an office for the mind which nothing else can. On the mention of Shakespeare, she praised him with her characteristic ardor, was shocked at the idea that mother should disapprove the perusal of his writings, and quite distressed lest, through her influence, I should be prevented from reading them. She could be content were she allowed no other book than Shakespeare; and in educating a child, this would be the first book she would place in its hands. "She seems to have read a great deal of Italian literature, and speaks with rapture of Metastasio's novels. She has lent me 'Le mie Prigioni' di Silvio Pellico, in his own tongue, as a book to begin with. She says there is a prevailing but very mistaken idea that Italian is an easy language, though she is exceedingly delighted with it. If at any time I wish to begin German, she would very much like to give me some instruction." In addition to the above relating to Shakespeare, I recall the protest that my mother's objection to his plays (my mother _had_ been an ardent lover of "the play"), on the ground that there were things in them that offended her, was as reasonable as the objection to walk in a beautiful garden, "because toads and weeds are to be found in it." In a letter dated March 6, 1843, I write to my brother: "Your request that you may be informed as to the precise nature of Miss Evans's philosophical views I shall find it very difficult to comply with, inasmuch as on our last interview she did not express herself so fully on this subject as formerly; indeed, I believe she is not now so desirous of controversy. She however appeared, to me at least, to have rather changed her ground on some points. For instance, she said she considered Jesus Christ as the embodiment of perfect love, and seemed to be leaning slightly to the doctrines of Carlyle and Emerson when she remarked that she considered the Bible a revelation in a certain sense, as she considered herself a revelation of the mind of Deity, etc. She was very anxious to know if you had heard Schelling." In a letter addressed to my brother at Spring Hill College, and dated October 28, 1844, I find this reference to Dr. Harris, who had been preaching a charity sermon in a chapel at Foleshill: "Miss Evans has just been reproaching me for not informing her of Dr. Harris's preaching, which she would have given anything to hear, as she says his 'Great Teacher' left more delightful impressions on her mind than anything she ever read, and is, she thinks, the best book that could be written by a man holding his principles." In the same letter I mention a second lesson in German given me by Miss Evans. In one written some time before, I tell my brother of her kind proposal, but add that my parents object "on account of her dangerous sentiments." She had, however, since called at our house one morning to renew it: and I well remember how eagerly I watched my mother, looking so affectionately at Miss Evans, and saying quietly, "You know, with your superior intellect, I cannot help fearing you might influence Mary, though you might not intend to do so. But," she went on to say, "her father does not agree with me: he does not see any danger, and thinks we ought not to refuse, as it is so very kind of you to be willing to take the trouble--and we know it would be a great advantage to her to learn German; for she will probably have to earn her living by teaching." Seeing at a glance how matters stood, Miss Evans turned round quickly to me, and said, "Come on Saturday at three o'clock, and bring what books you have." So I went, and began "Don Carlos," continuing to go, with some intervals occasioned by absence, pretty regularly on Saturday afternoons, for nearly two years; but it was not until the end of the second year, when I received Miss Evans's suggestion that the lessons were no longer necessary, and should be discontinued, that I fully realized what this companionship had been to me. The loss was like the loss of sunshine. No promise had been given that my religious belief should be undisturbed, nor was any needed. Interest was turned aside from Calvinism and Arminianism, which at an early age had engaged my attention, towards manifestations of nobility of character, and sympathy with human struggles and sufferings under varied conditions. The character of the "Marquis von Posa" (in "Don Carlos") roused an enthusiasm for heroism and virtue, which it was delightful to express to one who so fully shared it. Placing together one day the works of Schiller, which were in two or three volumes, Miss Evans said, "Oh, if _I_ had given these to the world, how happy I should be!" It must have been to confirm myself in my traditional faith by confession of it, that I once took upon myself to say to her how sure I was that there could be no true morality without evangelical belief. "Oh, it is so, is it?" she said, with the kindest smile, and nothing further passed. From time to time, however, her reverence and affection for the character of Christ and the Apostle Paul, and her sympathy with genuine religious feeling, were very clear to me. Expressing one day her horror of a crowd, she said, "I never would press through one, unless it were to see a second Jesus." The words startled me--the conception of Jesus Christ in my mind being so little associated with a human form; but they impressed me with a certain reality of feeling which I contrasted, as I did Miss Evans's abiding interest in great principles, with the somewhat factitious and occasional as well as fitful affection and concern manifest in many whom I looked up to as "converted" people. Once only do I remember such contrast being made by herself. She attended the service at the opening of a new church at Foleshill, with her father, and remarked to me the next day that, looking at the gayly dressed people, she could not help thinking how much easier life would be to her, and how much better she should stand in the estimation of her neighbors, if only she could take things as they did, be satisfied with outside pleasures, and conform to the popular beliefs without any reflection or examination. Once, too, after being in the company of educated persons "professing and calling themselves Christians," she commented to me on the _tone_ of conversation, often frivolous, sometimes ill-natured, that seemed yet to excite in no one any sense of impropriety. It must have been in those early days that she spoke to me of a visit from one of her uncles in Derbyshire, a Wesleyan, and how much she had enjoyed talking with him, finding she could enter into his feelings so much better than she had done in past times, when her views seemed more in accordance with his own, but were really less so. Among other books, I remember the "Life of Dr. Arnold" interested her deeply. Speaking of it to me one morning, she referred to a conversation she had had with a friend the evening before, and said they had agreed that it was a great good for such men to remain within the pale of orthodoxy, that so they might draw from the old doctrines the best that was to be got from them. Of criticisms on German books read with Miss Evans, I recall one or two. In the "Robbers," she criticised the attempt to enhance the horror of the situation of the abandoned father, by details of physical wretchedness, as a mistake in Art. "Wallenstein" she ranked higher from an intellectual point of view than any other work of Schiller's. The talk of the soldiers in the "Lager" she pointed out to me as "just what it would be." On my faint response, "I suppose it is!" she returned, "No, you do not _suppose_--we _know_ these things;" and then gave me a specimen of what might be a navvy's talk--"The sort of thing such people say, is, 'I'll break off your arm, and bloody your face with the stump.'" Mrs. Bray tells the following incident, as showing her quick perception of excellence from a new and unknown source. "We were sitting," Mrs. Bray says, "one summer afternoon on the lawn at Rosehill, July, 1850, when Marian came running to us from the house with the _Leader_ newspaper in her hand. 'Here is a new poet come into the world!' she exclaimed, and sitting down with us she read from the _Leader_ the poem called 'Hymn,' signed M., and ending with the fine stanza: "'When I have passed a nobler life in sorrow; Have seen rude masses grow to fulgent spheres; Seen how To-day is father of To-morrow, And how the Ages justify the Years, I praise Thee, God.' "The 'Hymn' is now reprinted in Mr. W. M. W. Call's volume of collected poems, called 'Golden Histories.'" Kingsley's "Saint's Tragedy" was not so popular as his other works, but Miss Evans was deeply moved by it. Putting it into my hands one morning, she said, "There, read it--_you_ will care for it." The "Life of Jean Paul Richter," published in the Catholic Series (in which the head of Christ, by De la Roche, so dear to her, figures as a vignette), was read and talked of with great interest, as was his "Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces," translated by the late Mr. Edward Noel of Hampstead. Choice little bits of humor from the latter she greatly enjoyed. Margaret Fuller's "Woman in the Nineteenth Century," I think Miss Evans gave to me. I know it interested her, as did Emerson's "Essays." On his visit to Coventry, we could not, unfortunately, accept Mr. Bray's kind invitation to meet him at Rosehill; but after he had left, Miss Evans soon came up kindly to give us her impressions of him while they were fresh in her memory. She told us he had asked her what had first awakened her to deep reflection, and when she answered, "Rousseau's Confessions," he remarked that this was very interesting, inasmuch as Carlyle had told him that very book had had the same effect upon his mind. As _I_ heard Emerson's remark after his interviews with Miss Evans, it was, "That young lady has a calm, clear spirit." Intercourse, it will be seen, was kept up with my family, otherwise than through the lessons, by calls, and in little gatherings of friends in evenings, when we were favored to hear Miss Evans sing. Her voice was not strong, and I think she preferred playing on the piano; but her low notes were effective, and there was always an elevation in the rendering. As I knew Miss Evans, no one escaped her notice. In her treatment of servants, for instance, she was most considerate. "They come to me," she used to say, "with all their troubles," as indeed did her friends generally--sometimes, she would confess, to an extent that quite oppressed her. When any object of charity came under her notice, and power to help was within her reach, she was very prompt in rendering it. Our servant's brother or sister, or both of them, died, leaving children dependent on friends themselves poor. Miss Evans at once offered to provide clothing and school-fees for one of these, a chubby-faced little girl four or five years of age. Unexpectedly, however, an aunt at a distance proposed to adopt the child. I recollect taking her to say good-bye to her would-be benefactress, and can see her now, standing still and subdued in her black frock and cape, with Miss Evans kneeling down by her, and saying, after giving her some money, "Then I suppose there is nothing else we can do for her." My husband's mother, who was a member of the Society of Friends, established, with the help of her daughters and a few others interested, an Industrial Home for girls about the age of fourteen. It was in the year 1843, and was, therefore, one of the first institutions of the kind in England. The model was taken from something of the same order attempted by a young girl in France. The girls were, as far as practicable, to maintain themselves, working under conditions of comfort and protection more attainable than in their own homes. The idea was new; the Home could not be started without funds, and my mother undertook to collect for it in her own neighborhood. In a letter to me, written at this time, she tells me she is "not doing much to help dear Mrs. Cash," there being "a prejudice against the scheme;" but adds, "This morning Miss Evans called, and brought me two guineas from her father." I tell of this as one among many indications of Miss Evans's ever-growing zeal to serve humanity in a broader way, motived, as _she_ felt, by a higher aim than what she termed "desire to save one's soul by making up coarse flannel for the poor." In these broad views--in this desire to bring her less advantaged neighbors nearer to her own level, to meet them on common ground, to raise them above the liability to eleemosynary charity--she had Mr. Bray's full sympathy. To me she dwelt frequently upon his genuine benevolence, upon his ways of advancing the interests of the working men, as being, in her judgment, wise and good. She visited periodically, in turn with Mrs. Bray, myself, and a few others, an infant school which Mr. Bray had helped to start; and although this sort of work was so little suited to her, yet so much did she feel the duty of living for others, especially the less privileged, that one morning she came to Mrs. Bray, expressing strongly her desire to help in _any_ work that could be given her. The only thing that could be thought of was the illustration of some lessons in Natural History, on sheets of cardboard, needed then, when prints of the kind were not to be procured for schools. The class of animals to be illustrated by Mrs. Bray on the sheet taken by Miss Evans was the "Rodentiæ," and at the top a squirrel was to figure, the which she undertook to draw. This I have seen, half-finished--a witness to the willing mind; proof that its proper work lay otherwhere. Lectures at the Mechanics' Institute were matters of great interest to Miss Evans; and I remember the pleasure given her by the performance of the music of "Comus," with lecture by Professor Taylor, at our old St. Mary's Hall. In that hall, too, we heard the first lecture on total abstinence that I remember to have heard in Coventry, though of "Temperance Societies" we knew something. The lecturer was the Rev. Mr. Spencer, a clergyman at Hinton Charterhouse, near Bath, and uncle of Mr. Herbert Spencer. Miss Evans was present at the lecture, with Mr. Bray, who told me afterwards he had some difficulty in restraining her from going up, as soon as the lecture was over, to take the pledge, he thought, without due consideration. "I felt," she said, speaking to me afterwards of the lecturer, "that he had got hold of a power for good that was of incalculable worth." I need scarcely say that I received, along with lessons in German, some "rules and lessons for life" from Miss Evans. One of the first was an injunction to be accurate, enforced with the warning that the tendency is to grow less and less so as we get older. The other was tolerance. How well I can remember the remonstrance, "My dear child, the great lesson of life is tolerance." In the proverb, "Live and let live," she saw a principle involved, harder to act upon, she would say, than the maxims of benevolence--I think, because bringing less credit with it. The reading of dramas and romances naturally gives rise to discussion of their main theme. In treating of love and marriage, Miss Evans's feeling was so fine as to satisfy a young girl in her teens, with her impossible ideals. The conception of the union of two persons by so close a tie as marriage, without a previous union of minds as well as hearts, was to her dreadful. "How terrible it must be," she once said to me, "to find one's self tied to a being whose limitations you could see, and must know were such as to prevent your ever being understood!" She thought that though in England marriages were not professedly "arrangés," they were so too often practically: young people being brought together, and receiving intimations that mutual interest was desired and expected, were apt to drift into connections on grounds not strong enough for the wear and tear of life; and this, too, among the middle as well as in the higher classes. After speaking of these and other facts, of how things were and would be, in spite of likelihood to the contrary, she would end by saying, playfully, "Now, remember I tell you this, and I am sixty!" She thought the stringency of laws rendering the marriage-tie (at that date) irrevocable, practically worked injuriously; the effect being "that many wives took far less pains to please their husbands in behavior and appearance, because they knew their own position to be invulnerable." And at a later time she spoke of marriages on the Continent, where separations did not necessarily involve discredit, as being very frequently far happier. One claim, as she regarded it, from equals to each other was this, the right to hear from the aggrieved, "You have ill-treated me; do you not see your conduct is not fair, looked at from my side?" Such frankness would, she said, bring about good understanding better than reticent endurance. Her own filial piety was sufficiently manifest; but of the converse obligation, that of the claim of child upon parent, she was wont to speak thus strongly. "There may be," she would say, "conduct on the part of a parent which should exonerate his child from further obligation to him; but there cannot be action conceivable which should absolve the parent from obligation to serve his child, seeing that for that child's existence he is himself responsible." I did not at the time see the connection between this view and the change of a fundamental nature marked by Miss Evans's earlier contention for our "claim on God." The bearing of the above on orthodox religion I did not see. Some time ago, however, I came across this reflection, made by a clergyman of the Broad Church school--that since the _claims_ of children had, in the plea for schools, been based on the responsibility of parents towards them, a higher principle had been maintained on the platform than was preached from the pulpit, as the basis of the popular theology. In my previous communication in the "Life" I have already made mention of Miss Evans's sympathy with me in my own religious difficulties; and my obligations to her were deepened by her seconding my resolve to acknowledge how much of the traditional belief had fallen away from me and left a simpler faith. In this I found her best help when, as time passed on, my brother saw he could not conscientiously continue in the calling he had chosen. As, however, his heresies were not considered fatal, and he was esteemed by the professors and students of his college, there was for some time hesitation. In this predicament I wrote to him, a little favoring compromise. My mother also wrote. I took the letters to Miss Evans before posting them. She read mine first, with no remark, and then began my mother's, reading until she came upon these words--"In the meantime, let me entreat you not to utter any sentiments, either in the pulpit or in conversation, that you do not believe to be strictly true;" on which she said, turning to me, "Look, this is the important point, what your mother says here," and I immediately put my own letter into the fire. "What are you doing?" she quickly said; and when I answered, "You are right--my mother's letter is to the point, and that only need go," she nodded assent, and, keeping it, sent it enclosed with a few lines from herself. I knew what I had done and so did she: the giving up of the ministry to a young man without other resources was no light matter; and as I rose to go she said, "These are the tragedies for which the world cares so little, but which are so much to me." More than twenty years elapsed before I had again the privilege of seeing George Eliot, and that on one occasion only, after her final settlement in London. It touched me deeply to find how much she had retained of her kind interest in all that concerned me and mine, and I remarked on this to Mr. Lewes, who came to the door with my daughter and myself at parting. "Wonderful sympathy," I said. "Is it not?" said he; and when I added, inquiringly, "The power lies there?" "Unquestionably it does," was his answer; "she forgets nothing that has ever come within the curl of her eyelash; above all, she forgets no one who has ever spoken to her one kind word." END OF VOL. I. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious typographical errors were repaired. Duplicate sidenotes (repeated at the top of continuation pages) were deleted. Latin-1 file: _underscores_ enclose italicized content. P. 99 "[Greek: tho pascha]" and p. 139 "[Greek: nenikekas Galilaie]"--for the actual Greek script see the html version of this volume. 
43045	----	Transcriber's Note: This is Volume III of a three volume set: Volume I--Unknown Volume II--Famous Volume III--Sunset A combined index to the entire set is located at the end of Volume III. Narrative content written by J. Cross and material quoted from writers other than George Eliot are interspersed throughout the text. Their content is placed in block quotes. Remaining transcriber's notes are located at the end of the text. * * * * * GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE VOL. III.--SUNSET "OUR FINEST HOPE IS FINEST MEMORY" [Illustration: No. 4 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea.] GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE _as related in her Letters and Journals_ ARRANGED AND EDITED BY HER HUSBAND J. W. CROSS WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOLUME III NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS. _LIBRARY EDITION._ ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. MIDDLEMARCH. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. ROMOLA. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above volumes by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. For other editions of George Eliot's works published by Harper & Brothers see advertisement at end of third volume_. CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER XIV. JANUARY, 1867, TO DECEMBER, 1867. Tour in Spain Page 1 CHAPTER XV. JANUARY, 1868, TO DECEMBER, 1868. "The Spanish Gypsy" 24 CHAPTER XVI. JANUARY, 1869, TO DECEMBER, 1872. Poems--"Middlemarch" 55 CHAPTER XVII. JANUARY, 1873, TO DECEMBER, 1875. "Brewing," "Deronda" 138 CHAPTER XVIII. MARCH, 1876, TO NOVEMBER, 1878. "Daniel Deronda"--Illness and Death of Mr. Lewes 197 CHAPTER XIX. JANUARY, 1879, TO 22D DECEMBER, 1880. "Theophrastus Such"--Marriage with Mr. Cross--Death 249 ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. III. NO. 4 CHEYNE WALK, CHELSEA _Frontispiece._ THE HEIGHTS, WITLEY. From a Sketch by Mrs. Allingham _To face p. 216._ GEORGE ELIOT'S LIFE. CHAPTER XIV. The new year of 1867 opens with the description of the journey to Spain. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, Jan. 1867, from Bordeaux.] We prolonged our stay in Paris in order to see Madame Mohl, who was very good to us; invited the Scherers and other interesting people to meet us at dinner on the 29th, and tempted us to stay and breakfast with her on the 31st, by promising to invite Renan, which she did successfully, and so procured us a bit of experience that we were glad to have, over and above the pleasure of seeing a little more of herself and M. Mohl. I like them both, and wish there were a chance of knowing them better. We paid for our pleasure by being obliged to walk in the rain (from the impossibility of getting a carriage) all the way from the Rue de Rivoli--where a charitable German printer, who had taken us up in his _fiacre_, was obliged to set us down--to the Hôtel du Helder, through streets literally jammed with carriages and omnibuses, carrying people who were doing the severe social duties of the last day in the year. The rain it raineth every day, with the exception of yesterday; we can't travel away from it, apparently. But we start in desperation for Bayonne in half an hour. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 16th Jan. 1867, from Biarritz.] Snow on the ground here, too--more, we are told, than has been seen here for fifteen years before. But it has been obliging enough to fall in the night, and the sky is glorious this morning, as it was yesterday. Sunday was the one exception since the 6th, when we arrived here to a state of weather which has allowed us to be out of doors the greater part of our daylight. We think it curious that, among the many persons who have talked to us about Biarritz, the Brownings alone have ever spoken of its natural beauties; yet these are transcendent. We agree that the sea never seemed so magnificent to us before, though we have seen the Atlantic breaking on the rocks at Ilfracombe and on the great granite walls of the Scilly Isles. In the southern division of the bay we see the sun set over the Pyrenees; and in the northern we have two splendid stretches of sand, one with huge fragments of dark rock scattered about for the waves to leap over, the other an unbroken level, firm to the feet, where the hindmost line of wave sends up its spray on the horizon like a suddenly rising cloud. This part of the bay is worthily called the Chambre de l'Amour; and we have its beauties all to ourselves, which, alas! in this stage of the world, one can't help feeling to be an advantage. The few families and bachelors who are here (chiefly English) scarcely ever come across our path. The days pass so rapidly, we can hardly believe in their number when we come to count them. After breakfast we both read the "Politique"--George one volume and I another--interrupting each other continually with questions and remarks. That morning study keeps me in a state of enthusiasm through the day--a moral glow, which is a sort of _milieu subjectif_ for the sublime sea and sky. Mr. Lewes is converted to the warmest admiration of the chapter on language in the third volume, which about three years ago he thought slightly of. I think the first chapter of the fourth volume is among the finest of all, and the most finely written. My gratitude increases continually for the illumination Comte has contributed to my life. But we both of us study with a sense of having still much to learn and to understand. About ten or half-past ten we go out for our morning walk; and then, while we plunge about in the sand or march along the cliff, George draws out a book and tries my paces in Spanish, demanding a quick-as-light translation of nouns and phrases. Presently I retort upon him, and prove that it is easier to ask than to answer. We find this system of _vivâ-voce_ mutual instruction so successful that we are disgusted with ourselves for not having used it before through all our many years of companionship; and we are making projects for giving new interest to Regent's Park by pursuing all sorts of studies in the same way there. We seldom come indoors till one o'clock, and we turn out again at three, often remaining to see the sunset. One other thing I have been reading here which I must tell you of. It is a series of three papers by Saveney, in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ of last year, on "La Physique Moderne," an excellent summary, giving a glimpse of the great vista opened in that region. I think you would like to read them when you are strong enough for that sort of exertion. We stayed three days in Paris, and passed our time very agreeably. The first day we dined with Madame Mohl, who had kindly invited Professor Scherer and his wife, Jules Simon, Lomenie, Lavergne, "and others" to meet us. That was on the Saturday, and she tempted us to stay the following Monday by saying she would invite Renan to breakfast with us. Renan's appearance is something between the Catholic priest and the dissenting minister. His manners are very amiable, his talk pleasant, but not distinguished. We are entertaining great projects as to our further journeying. It will be best for you to address _Poste Restante_, Barcelona. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 2d Feb. 1867.] Are you astonished to see our whereabouts? We left Biarritz for San Sebastian, where we stayed three days; and both there and all our way to Barcelona our life has been a succession of delights. We have had perfect weather, blue skies, and a warm sun. We travelled from San Sebastian to Saragossa, where we passed two nights; then to Lerida for one night, and yesterday to Barcelona. You know the scenery from San Sebastian to Alsasua, through the lower Pyrenees, because it lies on the way to Burgos and Madrid. At Alsasua we turned off through Navarre into Aragon, seeing famous Pampeluna, looking as beautiful as it did ages ago among the grand hills. At Saragossa the scene was thoroughly changed; all through Aragon, as far as we could see, I should think the country resembles the highlands of Central Spain. There is the most striking effect of hills, flanking the plain of Saragossa, I ever saw. They are of palish clay, washed by the rains into undulating forms, and some slight herbage upon them makes the shadows of an exquisite blue. These hills accompanied us in the distance all the way through Aragon, the snowy mountains topping them in the far distance. The land is all pale brown, the numerous towns and villages just match the land, and so do the sheepfolds, built of mud or stone. The herbage is all of an ashy green. Perhaps if I had been in Africa I should say, as you do, that the country reminded me of Africa; as it is, I think of all I have read about the East. The men who look on while others work at Saragossa also seem to belong to the East, with a great striped blanket wrapped grandly round them, and a kerchief tied about their hair. But though Aragon was held by the Moors longer than any part of Northern Spain, the features and skins of the people seem to me to bear less traces of the mixture there must have been than one would fairly expect. Saragossa has a grand character still, in spite of the stucco with which the people have daubed the beautiful small brick of which the houses are built. Here and there one sees a house left undesecrated by stucco; and all of them have the fluted tiles and the broad eaves beautifully ornamented. Again, one side of the old cathedral still shows the exquisite inlaid work which, in the _façade_, has been overlaid hideously. Gradually, as we left Aragon and entered Catalonia, the face of the country changed, and we had almost every sort of beauty in succession; last of all, between Monserrat and Barcelona, a perfect garden, with the richest red soil--blossoms on the plum and cherry trees, aloes thick in the hedges. At present we are waiting for the Spanish hardships to begin. Even at Lerida, a place scarcely at all affected by foreign travellers, we were perfectly comfortable--and such sights! The people scattered on the brown slopes of rough earth round the fortress--the women knitting, etc., the men playing at cards, one wonderful, gaudily dressed group; another of handsome gypsies. We are actually going by steam-boat to Alicante, and from Alicante to Malaga. Then we mean to see Granada, Cordova, and Seville. We shall only stay here a few days--if this weather continues. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 18th Feb. 1867, from Granada.] Your kind letter, written on the 5th, reached me here this morning. I had not heard of the criticism in the _Edinburgh_. Mr. Lewes read the article, but did not tell me of the reviewer's legal wisdom, thinking that it would only vex me to no purpose. However, I had felt sure that something of that sort must have appeared in one review article or another. I am heartily glad and grateful that you have helped justice in general, as well as justice to me in particular, by getting the vindication written for the _Pall Mall_. It was the best possible measure to adopt. Since we left Barcelona, a fortnight ago, we have seen no English papers, so that we have been in the dark as to English news. Were you not surprised to hear that we had come so far? The journey from San Sebastian by Saragossa and Lerida turned out to be so easy and delightful that we ceased to tremble, and determined to carry out our project of going by steamer to Alicante and Malaga. You cannot do better than follow our example; I mean, so far as coming to Spain is concerned. Believe none of the fictions that bookmakers get printed about the horrors of Spanish hotels and cookery, or the hardships of Spanish travel--still less about the rudeness of Spaniards. It is true that we have not yet endured the long railway journeys through Central Spain, but wherever we have been hitherto we have found nothing formidable, even for our rickety bodies. We came hither from Malaga in the _berlina (coupé)_ of the diligence, and have assured ourselves that Mr. Blackburne's description of a supposed hen-roost, overturned in the Alameda at Malaga, which proved to be the Granada diligence, is an invention. The vehicle is comfortable enough, and the road is perfect; and at the end of it we have found ourselves in one of the loveliest scenes on earth. We shall remain here till the 23d, and then go to Cordova first, to Seville next, and finally to Madrid, making our way homeward from thence by easy stages. We expect to be in the smoky haze of London again soon after the middle of March, if not before. I wish I could believe that you were all having anything like the clear skies and warm sun which have cheered our journeying for the last month. At Alicante we walked among the palm-trees with their golden fruit hanging in rich clusters, and felt a more delightful warmth than that of an English summer. Last night we walked out and saw the towers of the Alhambra, the wide Vega, and the snowy mountains, by the brilliant moonlight. You see, we are getting a great deal of pleasure, but we are not working, as you seem charitably to imagine. We tire ourselves, but only with seeing or going to see unforgetable things. You will say that we ought to work to better purpose when we get home. Amen. But just now we read nothing but Spanish novels--and not much of those. We said good-bye to philosophy and science when we packed up our trunks at Biarritz. Please keep some friendship warm for us, that we may not be too much chilled by the English weather when we get back. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st Feb. 1867.] We are both heartily rejoiced that we came to Spain. It was a great longing of mine, for, three years ago, I began to interest myself in Spanish history and literature, and have had a work lying by me, partly written, the subject of which is connected with Spain. Whether I shall ever bring it to maturity so as to satisfy myself sufficiently to print it is a question not settled; but it is a work very near my heart. We have had perfect weather ever since the 27th of January--magnificent skies and a summer sun. At Alicante, walking among the palm-trees, with the bare brown rocks and brown houses in the background, we fancied ourselves in the tropics; and a gentleman who travelled with us assured us that the aspect of the country closely resembled Aden, on the Red Sea. Here, at Granada, of course, it is much colder, but the sun shines uninterruptedly; and in the middle of the day, to stand in the sunshine against a wall, reminds me of my sensations at Florence in the beginning of June. The aspect of Granada as we first approached it was a slight disappointment to me, but the beauty of its position can hardly be surpassed. To stand on one of the towers of the Alhambra and see the sun set behind the dark mountains of Loja, and send its after-glow on the white summits of the Sierra Nevada, while the lovely Vega spreads below, ready to yield all things pleasant to the eye and good for food, is worth a very long, long journey. We shall start to-morrow evening for Cordova; then we shall go to Seville, back to Cordova, and on to Madrid. During our short stay in Paris we went a little into society, and saw, among other people who interested us, Professor Scherer, of whom you know something. He charmed me greatly. He is a Genevese, you know, and does not talk in ready-made epigrams, like a clever Frenchman, but with well-chosen, moderate words, intended to express what he really thinks and feels. He is highly cultivated; and his wife, who was with him, is an Englishwoman of refined, simple manners. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 10th Mch. 1867, from Biarritz.] At Biarritz again, you see, after our long, delightful journey, in which we have made a great loop all round the east and through the centre of Spain. Mr. Lewes says he thinks he never enjoyed a journey so much, and you will see him so changed--so much plumper and ruddier--that if pity has entered much into your regard for him he will be in danger of losing something by his bodily prosperity. We crowned our pleasures in Spain with the sight of the pictures in the Madrid gallery. The skies were as blue at Madrid as they had been through the previous part of our journeying, but the air was bitterly cold; and naughty officials receive money for warming the museum, but find other uses for the money. I caught a severe cold the last day of our visit, and, after an uncomfortable day and night's railway journey, arrived at Biarritz, only fit for bed and coddling. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _March 16._--This evening we got home after a journey to the south of Spain. I go to my poem and the construction of two prose works--if possible. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th Mch. 1867.] We got home on Saturday evening, after as fine a passage from Calais to Dover as we ever had, even in summer. Your letter was among the pleasant things that smiled at me on my return, and helped to reconcile me to the rather rude transition from summer to winter which we have made in our journey from Biarritz. This morning it is snowing hard and the wind is roaring--a sufficiently sharp contrast to the hot sun, the dust, and the mosquitoes of Seville. We have had a glorious journey. The skies alone, both night and day, were worth travelling all the way to see. We went to Cordova and Seville, but we feared the cold of the central lands in the north, and resisted the temptation to see Toledo, or anything else than the Madrid pictures, which are transcendent. Among the letters awaiting me was one from an American travelling in Europe, who gives me the history of a copy of "Felix Holt," which, he says, has been read by no end of people, and is now on its way through Ireland, "where he found many friends anxious but unable to get it." It seems people nowadays economize in nothing but books. I found also the letter of a "Conveyancer" in the _Pall Mall_, justifying the law of "Felix Holt" in answer to the _Edinburgh_ reviewer. I did not know, before I was told of this letter in reply, that the _Edinburgh_ reviewer had found fault with my law. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _March 21._--Received from Blackwood a check for £2166 13_s._ 4_d._, being the second instalment of £1666 13_s._ 4_d._ towards the £5000 for "Felix Holt," together with £500 as the first instalment of £1000 for ten years' copyright of the cheap edition of my novels. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st Mch. 1867.] Your letters, with the valuable enclosure of a check for £2166 13_s._ 4_d._, have come to me this morning, and I am much obliged to you for your punctual attention. I long to see a specimen of the cheap edition of the novels. As to the illustrations, I have adjusted my hopes so as to save myself from any great shock. When I remember my own childish happiness in a frightfully illustrated copy of the "Vicar of Wakefield," I can believe that illustration may be a great good relatively, and that my own present liking has no weight in the question. I fancy that the placarding at railway stations is an effective measure, for Ruskin was never more mistaken than in asserting that people have no spare time to observe anything in such places. I am a very poor reader of advertisements, but even I am forced to get them unpleasantly by heart at the stations. It is rather a vexatious kind of tribute when people write, as my American correspondent did, to tell me of one paper-covered American copy of "Felix Holt" brought to Europe and serving for so many readers that it was in danger of being worn away under their hands. He, good man, finds it easy "to urge greater circulation by means of cheap sale," having "found so many friends in Ireland anxious but unable to obtain the book." I suppose putting it in a yellow cover with figures on it, reminding one of the outside of a show, and charging a shilling for it, is what we are expected to do for the good of mankind. Even then I fear it would hardly bear the rivalry of "The Pretty Milliner," or of "The Horrible Secret." The work connected with Spain is not a romance. It is--prepare your fortitude--it is--a poem. I conceived the plot, and wrote nearly the whole as a drama in 1864. Mr. Lewes advised me to put it by for a time and take it up again, with a view to recasting it. He thinks hopefully of it. I need not tell you that I am _not_ hopeful, but I am quite sure the subject is fine. It is not historic, but has merely historic connections. The plot was wrought out entirely as an incorporation of my own ideas. Of course, if it is ever finished to my satisfaction, it is not a work for us to get money by, but Mr. Lewes urges and insists that it shall be done. I have also my private projects about an English novel, but I am afraid of speaking as if I could depend on myself; at present I am rather dizzy, and not settled down to home habits of regular occupation. I understand that the conveyancer who wrote to the _Pall Mall_ is an excellent lawyer in his department, and the lecturer on Real Property at the Law Institution. If a reviewer ever checked himself by considering that a writer whom he thinks worth praising would take some pains to know the truth about a matter which is the very hinge of said writer's story, review articles would cut a shrunken figure. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _May 5._--We went to Bouverie Street to hear the first of a course of lectures on Positivism, delivered by Dr. Congreve. There were present seventy-five people, chiefly men. _May 11._--We had Mr. and Mrs. Call to dine with us, and an evening party afterwards. _May 12._--We went to hear Dr. Congreve's second lecture. The morning was thoroughly wet; the audience smaller, but still good. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 13th May, 1867.] Yesterday we went to the second of a course of lectures which Dr. Congreve is delivering on Positivism in Bouverie Street. At the first lecture on the 5th there was a considerable audience--about seventy-five, chiefly men--of various ranks, from lords and M.P.'s downwards, or upwards, for what is called social distinction seems to be in a shifting condition just now. Yesterday the wet weather doubtless helped to reduce the audience; still it was good. Curiosity brings some, interest in the subject others, and the rest go with the wish to express adhesion more or less thorough. I am afraid you have ceased to care much about pictures, else I should wish that you could see the Exhibition of Historical Portraits at Kensington. It is really worth a little fatigue to see the English of past generations in their habit as they lived--especially when Gainsborough and Sir Joshua are the painters. But even Sir Godfrey Kneller delights me occasionally with a finely conceived portrait carefully painted. There is an unforgetable portrait of Newton by him. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _May 27._--Went with G. to the Academy Exhibition. _May 29._--Went to the Exhibition of French Pictures--very agreeable and interesting. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 30th May, 1867.] I do sympathize with you most emphatically in the desire to see women socially elevated--educated equally with men, and secured as far as possible, along with every other breathing creature, from suffering the exercise of any unrighteous power. That is a broader ground of sympathy than agreement as to the amount and kind of result that may be hoped for from a particular measure. But on this special point I am far from thinking myself an oracle, and on the whole I am inclined to hope for much good from the serious presentation of women's claims before Parliament. I thought Mill's speech sober and judicious from his point of view--Karslake's an abomination. _À propos_ of what you say about Mr. Congreve, I think you have mistaken his, or rather Comte's, position. There is no denial of an unknown cause, but only a denial that such a conception is the proper basis of a practical religion. It seems to me pre-eminently desirable that we should learn not to make our personal comfort a standard of truth. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _June 1_ (Saturday).--Wrote up to the moment when Fedalma appears in the Plaça. _June 5._--Blackwood dined with us, and I read to him my poem down to page 56. He showed great delight. _June 26._--We went to Niton for a fortnight, returning July 10. _July 16._--Received £2166 13_s._ 4_d._ from Blackwood, being the final instalment for "Felix Holt," and (£500) copyright for ten years. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 28th July, 1867.] Again we take flight! To North Germany this time, and chiefly to Dresden, where we shall be accessible through the _Poste Restante_. I am ashamed of saying anything about our health--we are both "objects" for compassion or contempt, according to the disposition of the subject who may contemplate us. Mr. Beesley (I think it was he) sent us Dr. Congreve's pamphlet last night, and I read it aloud to George. We both felt a cordial satisfaction in it. We have been a good deal beset by little engagements with friends and acquaintances lately, and these, with the preparations for our journey, have been rather too much for me. Mr. Lewes is acting on the advice of Sir Henry Holland in giving up zoologizing for the present, because it obliges him to hang down his head. That is the reason we go inland, and not to the coast, as I think I hinted to you that we expected to do. You are sympathetic enough to be glad to hear that we have had thoroughly cheerful and satisfactory letters from both our boys in Natal. They are established in their purchased farm, and are very happy together in their work. Impossible for mortals to have less trouble than we. I should have written to you earlier this week--for we start to-morrow--but that I have been laid prostrate with crushing headache one half of my time, and always going out or seeing some one the other half. Farewell, dear. Don't write unless you have a real desire to gossip with me a little about yourself and our mutual friends. You know I always like to have news of you, but I shall not think it unkind--I shall only think you have other things to do--if you are silent. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _July 29._--We went to Dover this evening as the start on a journey into Germany (North). _Oct. 1._--We returned home after revisiting the scenes of cherished memories--Ilmenau, Dresden, and Berlin. Of new places we have seen Wetzlar, Cassel, Eisenach, and Hanover. At Ilmenau I wrote Fedalma's soliloquy after her scene with Silva, and the following dialogue between her and Juan. At Dresden I rewrote the whole scene between her and Zarca. _Oct. 9._--Reading "Los Judios en Espâna," Percy's "Reliques," "Isis," occasionally aloud. _Oct. 10._--Reading the "Iliad," Book III. Finished "Los Judios en Espâna," a wretchedly poor book. _Oct. 11._--Began again Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella." _Oct. 19._--George returned last evening from a walking expedition in Surrey with Mr. Spencer. This entry is an interesting one to me, as it fixes the date of the first acquaintance with my family. Mr. Herbert Spencer was an old friend of ours, and in the course of their walk he and Mr. Lewes happened to pass through Weybridge, where my mother at that time lived. They came to dinner. Mr. Lewes, with his wonderful social powers, charmed all, and they passed a delightful evening. I was myself in America at the time, where I was in business as a banker at New York. My eldest sister had just then published a little volume of poems,[1] which was kindly received by the press. On the invitation of Mr. Lewes she went shortly afterwards to see George Eliot, then in the zenith of her fame; nor did she ever forget the affectionate manner in which the great author greeted her. This was the beginning of a close friendship between the families, which lasted, and increased in intimacy, to the end. Mr. Spencer, in writing to tell me that it was he who first made Mr. Lewes acquainted with George Eliot, adds, "You will perhaps be struck by the curious coincidence that it was also by me that Lewes was introduced to your family at Weybridge and remoter issues entailed." [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Oct. 1867.] Before I got your letter I was about to write to you and direct your attention to an article in the forthcoming (October) number of the _Quarterly Review_, on the Talmud. You really must go out of your way to read it. It is written by one of the greatest Oriental scholars, the man among living men who probably knows the most about the Talmud; and you will appreciate the pregnancy of the article. There are also beautiful, soul-cheering things selected for quotation. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _Oct. 31._--I have now inserted all that I think of for the first part of the "Spanish Gypsy." On Monday I wrote three new Lyrics. I have also rewritten the first scenes in the gypsy camp, to the end of the dialogue between Juan and Fedalma. But I have determined to make the commencement of the second part continue the picture of what goes forward in Bedmar. _Nov. 1._--Began this morning Part II. "Silva was marching homeward," etc. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 9th Nov. 1867.] About putting Fedalma in type. There would be advantages, but also disadvantages; and on these latter I wish to consult you. I have more than three thousand lines ready in the order I wish them to stand in, and it would be good to have them in print to read them critically. Defects reveal themselves more fully in type, and emendations might be more conveniently made on proofs, since I have given up the idea of copying the MS. as a whole. On the other hand, _could the thing be kept private when it had once been in the printing-office_? And I particularly wish not to have it set afloat, for various reasons. Among others, I want to keep myself free from all inducements to premature publication; I mean, publication before I have given my work as much revision as I can hope to give it while my mind is still nursing it. Beyond this, delay would be useless. The theory of laying by poems for nine years may be a fine one, but it could not answer for me to apply it. I could no more live through one of my books a second time than I can live through last year again. But I like to keep checks on myself, and not to create external temptations to do what I should think foolish in another. If you thought it possible to secure us against the oozing out of proofs and gossip, the other objections would be less important. One difficulty is, that in my MS. I have frequently two readings of the same passage, and, being uncertain which of them is preferable, I wish them both to stand for future decision. But perhaps this might be managed in proof. The length of the poem is at present uncertain, but I feel so strongly what Mr. Lewes insists on, namely, the evil of making it too long, that I shall set it before me as a duty not to make it more than nine thousand lines, and shall be glad if it turns out a little shorter. Will you think over the whole question? I am sure your mind will supply any prudential considerations that I may have omitted. I am vexed by the non-success of the serial edition of the works. It is not, Heaven knows, that I read my own books or am puffed up about them, but I have been of late quite astonished by the strengthening testimonies that have happened to come to me of people who care about every one of my books, and continue to read them--especially young men, who are just the class I care most to influence. But what sort of data can one safely go upon with regard to the success of editions? "Felix Holt" is immensely tempted by your suggestion,[2] but George Eliot is severely admonished by his domestic critic not to scatter his energies. Mr. Lewes sends his best regards. He is in high spirits about the poem. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _Nov. 22._--Began an "Address to the Working Men, by Felix Holt," at Blackwood's repeated request. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1867.] Yes, indeed--when I do _not_ reciprocate "chaos is come again." I was quite sure your letter would come, and was grateful beforehand. There is a scheme on foot for a Woman's College, or, rather, University, to be built between London and Cambridge, and to be in connection with the Cambridge University, sharing its professors, examinations, and degrees! _Si muove._ [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 1st Dec. (?) 1867.] I have written to Miss Davies to ask her to come to see me on Tuesday. I am much occupied just now, but the better education of women is one of the objects about which I have _no doubt_, and shall rejoice if this idea of a college can be carried out. I see Miss Julia Smith's beautiful handwriting, and am glad to think of her as your guardian angel. The author of the glorious article on the Talmud _is_ "that bright little man" Mr. Deutsch--a very dear, delightful creature. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _Dec. 4._--Sent off the MS. of the "Address" to Edinburgh. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 7th Dec. 1867.] I agree with you about the phrase "Masters of the country."[3] I wrote that part twice, and originally I distinctly said that the epithet was false. Afterwards I left that out, preferring to make a stronger _argumentum ad hominem_, in case any workman believed himself a future master. I think it will be better for you to write a preliminary note, washing your hands of any over-trenchant statements on the part of the well-meaning Radical. I much prefer that you should do so. Whatever you agree with will have the advantage of not coming from one who can be suspected of being a special pleader. What you say about Fedalma is very cheering. But I am chiefly anxious about the road still untravelled--the road I have still _zurück zu legen_. Mr. Lewes has to request several proofs of Fedalma, to facilitate revision. But I will leave him to say how many. We shall keep them strictly to ourselves, you may be sure, so that three or four will be enough--one for him, one for me, and one for the resolution of our differences. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood 12th Dec. 1867.] I am very grateful to you for your generous words about my work. That you not only feel so much sympathy, but are moved to express it so fully, is a real help to me. I am very glad to have had the revise of the "Address." I feel the danger of not being understood. Perhaps, by a good deal longer consideration and gradual shaping, I might have put the ideas into a more concrete, easy form. Mr. Lewes read the proof of the poem all through to himself for the first time last night, and expressed great satisfaction in the impression it produced. Your suggestion of having it put into type is a benefit for which we have reason to be obliged to you. I cannot help saying again that it is a strong cordial to me to have such letters as yours, and to know that I have such a _first reader_ as you. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _Dec. 21._--Finished reading "Averroës and Averroisme" and "Les Médicins Juifs." Reading "First Principles." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 22d Dec. 1867.] Our Christmas will be very quiet. On the 27th Mr. Lewes means to start on a solitary journey to Bonn, and perhaps to Würzburg, for anatomical purposes. I don't mean that he is going to offer himself as an anatomical subject, but that he wants to get answers to some questions bearing on the functions of the nerves. It is a bad time for him to travel in, but he hopes to be at home again in ten days or a fortnight, and _I_ hope the run will do him good rather than harm. [Sidenote: Journal, 1867.] _Dec. 25._--George and I dined happily alone; he better for weeks than he has been all the summer before; I more ailing than usual, but with much mental consolation, part of it being the delight he expresses in my poem, of which the first part is now in print. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 26th Dec. 1867.] Thanks for the pretty remembrance. You were not unthought of before it came. Now, however, I rouse all my courage under the thick fog to tell you my inward wish--which is that the new year, as it travels on towards its old age, may bring you many satisfactions undisturbed by bodily ailment. Mr. Lewes is going to-morrow on an unprecedented expedition--a rapid run to Bonn, to make some anatomical researches with Professor Schutze there. If he needs more than he can get at Bonn, he may go to Heidelberg and Würzburg. But in any case he will not take more than a fortnight. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 28th Dec. 1867.] Public questions which, by a sad process of reduction, become piteous private questions, hang cloudily over all prospects. The state of Europe, the threat of a general war, the starvation of multitudes--one can't help thinking of these things at one's breakfast. Nevertheless, there is much enjoyment going on, and abundance of rosy children's parties. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 30th Dec. 1867.] It is very good and sweet of you to propose to come round for me on Sunday, and I shall cherish particularly the remembrance of that kindness. But, on our reading your letter, Mr. Lewes objected, on grounds which I think just, to my going to any public manifestation without him, since his absence could not be divined by outsiders. I am companioned by dyspepsia, and feel life a struggle under the leaden sky. Mme. Bodichon writes that in Sussex the air is cold and clear, and the woods and lanes dressed in wintry loveliness of fresh, grassy patches, mingled with the soft grays and browns of the trees and hedges. Mr. Harrison shed the agreeable light of his kind eyes on me yesterday for a brief space; but I hope I was more endurable to my visitors than to myself, else I think they will not come again. I object strongly to myself, as a bundle of unpleasant sensations with a palpitating heart and awkward manners. Impossible to imagine the large charity I have for people who detest me. But don't you be one of them. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th Dec. 1867.] I am much obliged to you for your handsome check, and still more gratified that the "Address" has been a satisfaction to you. I am very glad to hear of your projected visit to town, and shall hope to have a good batch of MS. for you to carry back. Mr. Lewes is in an unprecedented state of delight with the poem, now that he is reading it with close care. He says he is astonished that he can't find more faults. He is especially pleased with the sense of variety it gives; and this testimony is worth the more because he urged me to put the poem by (in 1865) on the ground of monotony. He is really exultant about it now, and after what you have said to me I know this will please you. Hearty wishes that the coming year may bring you much good, and that the "Spanish Gypsy" may contribute a little to that end. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1867, TO DECEMBER, 1867. Letter to Madame Bodichon from Bordeaux--Madame Mohl--Scherer--Renan--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Biarritz--Delight in Comte's "Politique"--Gratitude to him for illumination--Learning Spanish--Papers in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, by Saveney--Letter to Madame Bodichon from Barcelona--Description of scenery--Pampeluna--Saragossa--Lerida--Letter to F. Harrison from Granada--The vindication of the _law_ in "Felix Holt"--Spanish travelling--Letter to John Blackwood from Granada--Alicante--Granada--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Biarritz--Delight of the journey--Madrid pictures--Return to the Priory--Letter to John Blackwood--"Felix Holt"--Cheap edition of novels--"Spanish Gypsy"--Dr. Congreve's Lectures on Positivism--Letter to Miss Hennell--Historical Portraits at South Kensington--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Women's claims--Comte's position--Fortnight's Visit to the Isle of Wight--Letter of adieu to Mrs. Congreve--Two months' visit to North Germany--Return to England--Reading on Spanish subjects--Mr. Lewes and Mr. Spencer at Weybridge--Acquaintance with Mrs. Cross and family--Letter to Miss Hennell--Deutsch's article on the Talmud--Letter to Blackwood about putting "Spanish Gypsy" in type--"Address to Workingmen, by Felix Holt"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Girton College--Letter to Madame Bodichon--The higher education of women--Letter to John Blackwood on the "Address"--Christmas day at the Priory--Letter to Miss Hennell--Visit of Mr. Lewes to Bonn--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Depression--Letter to John Blackwood--Mr. Lewes on "Spanish Gypsy." FOOTNOTES: [1] "An Old Story and Other Poems," by Elizabeth D. Cross. [2] "Address to the Working Men." [3] In the "Address to the Working Men." CHAPTER XV. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 9th Jan. 1868.] There is a good genius presiding over your gifts--they are so felicitous. You always give me something of which I have felt the want beforehand, and can use continually. It is eminently so with my pretty mittens; there was no little appendage I wanted more; and they are just as warm at the wrist as I could have wished them to be--warming, too, as a mark of affection at a time when all cheering things are doubly welcome. Mr. Lewes came home last night, and you may imagine that I am glad. Between the bad weather, bad health, and solitude, I have been so far unlike the wicked that I have not flourished like the green bay-tree. To make amends, he--Mr. Lewes, not the wicked--has had a brilliant time, gained great instruction, and seen some admirable men, who have received him warmly. I go out of doors very little, but I shall open the drawer and look at my mittens on the days when I don't put them on. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _Jan._--Engaged in writing Part III. of "Spanish Gypsy." _Feb. 27._--Returned last evening from a very pleasant visit to Cambridge.[4] I am still only at p. 5 of Part IV., having had a wretched month of _malaise_. _March 1._--Finished Guillemin on the "Heavens," and the 4th Book of the "Iliad." I shall now read Grote. _March 6._--Reading Lubbock's "Prehistoric Ages." _March 8._--Saturday concert. Joachim and Piatti, with Schubert's Ottett. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 17th Mch. 1868.] We go to-morrow morning to Torquay for a month, and I can't bear to go without saying a word of farewell to you. How sadly little we have seen each other this winter! It will not be so any more, I hope, will it? We are both much in need of the change, for Mr. Lewes has got rather out of sorts again lately. When we come back I shall ask you to come and look at us before the bloom is off. I should like to know how you all are; but you have been so little inspired for note-writing lately that I am afraid to ask you to send me a line to the post-office at Torquay. I really deserve nothing of my friends at present. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Mch. 1868.] I don't know whether you have ever seen Torquay. It is pretty, but not comparable to Ilfracombe; and, like all other easily accessible sea-places, it is sadly spoiled by wealth and fashion, which leave no secluded walks, and tattoo all the hills with ugly patterns of roads and villa gardens. Our selfishness does not adapt itself well to these on-comings of the millennium. I am reading about savages and semi-savages, and think that our religious oracles would do well to study savage ideas by a method of comparison with their own. Also, I am studying that semi-savage poem, the "Iliad." How enviable it is to be a classic. When a verse in the "Iliad" bears six different meanings, and nobody knows which is the right, a commentator finds this equivocalness in itself admirable! [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, end of Mch. 1868.] Mr. Lewes quite agrees with you, that it is desirable to announce the poem. His suggestion is, that it should be simply announced as "a poem" first, and then a little later as "The Spanish Gypsy," in order to give a new detail for observation in the second announcement. I chose the title, "The Spanish Gypsy," a long time ago, because it is a little in the fashion of the elder dramatists, with whom I have perhaps more cousinship than with recent poets. Fedalma might be mistaken for an Italian name, which would create a definite expectation of a mistaken kind, and is, on other grounds, less to my taste than "The Spanish Gypsy." This place is becoming a little London, or London suburb. Everywhere houses and streets are being built, and Babbacombe will soon be joined to Torquay. I almost envy you the excitement of golf, which helps the fresh air to exhilarate, and gives variety of exercise. Walking can never be so good as a game--if one loves the game. But when a friend of Mr. Lewes's urges him angrily to play rackets for his health, the prospect seems dreary. We are afraid of being entangled in excursion trains, or crowds of Easter holiday-makers, in Easter week, and may possibly be driven back next Wednesday. But we are loath to have our stay so curtailed. Mr. Lewes sends his kind regards, and pities all of us who are less interested in ganglionic cells. He is in a state of beatitude about the poem. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th April, 1868.] We find a few retired walks, and are the less discontented because the weather is perfect. I hope you are sharing the delights of sunshine and moonlight. There are no waves here, as you know; but under such skies as we are having, sameness is so beautiful that we find no fault, and there is a particular hill at Babbacombe of the richest Spanish red. On the whole, we are glad we came here, having avoided all trouble in journeying and settling. But we should not come again without special call, for in a few years all the hills will be parts of a London suburb. How glorious this weather is for the hard workers who are looking forward to their Easter holiday! But for ourselves, we are rather afraid of the railway stations in holiday time. Certainly, we are ill prepared for what Tennyson calls the "To-be," and it is good that we shall soon pass from this objective existence. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 6th April, 1868.] I think Ruskin has not been encouraged about women by his many and persistent attempts to teach them. He seems to have found them wanting in real scientific interest--bent on sentimentalizing in everything. What I should like to be sure of, as a result of higher education for women--a result that will come to pass over my grave--is their recognition of the great amount of social unproductive labor which needs to be done by women, and which is now either not done at all or done wretchedly. No good can come to women, more than to any class of male mortals, while each aims at doing the highest kind of work, which ought rather to be held in sanctity as what only the few can do well. I believe, and I want it to be well shown, that a more thorough education will tend to do away with the odious vulgarity of our notions about functions and employment, and to propagate the true gospel, that the deepest disgrace is to insist on doing work for which we are unfit--to do work of any sort badly. There are many points of this kind that want being urged, but they do not come well from me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 17th April, 1868.] Your letter came just at the right time to greet us. Thanks for that pretty remembrance. We are glad to be at home again with our home comforts around us, though we became deeply in love with Torquay in the daily heightening of spring beauties, and the glory of perpetual blue skies. The eight hours' journey (one hour more than we paid for) was rather disturbing; and, I think, Mr. Lewes has got more zoological experience than health from our month's delight--but a delight it really has been to us to have perfect quiet with the red hills, the sunshine, and the sea. I shall be absorbed for the next fortnight, so that I cannot allow myself the sort of pleasure you kindly project for us; and when May begins, I want you to come and stay a night with us. I shall be ready by and by for such holiday-making, and you must be good to me. Will you give Dr. Congreve my thanks for his pamphlet, which I read at Torquay with great interest? All protests tell, however slowly and imperceptibly, and a protest against the doctrine that England is to keep Ireland under all conditions was what I had wished to be made. But in this matter he will have much more important concurrence than mine. I am bearing much in mind the great task of the translation. When it is completed we shall be able and glad to do what we were not able to do in the case of the "Discours Préliminaire," namely, to take our share, if we may, in the expenses of publication. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _April 16._--Returned home, bringing Book IV. finished. _April 18._--Went with Mr. Pigott to see Holman Hunt's great picture, Isabella and the Pot of Basil. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st April, 1868.] I send you by to-day's post the MS. of Book IV., that it may be at hand whenever there is opportunity for getting it into print, and letting me have it in that form for correction. It is desirable to get as forward as we can, in case of the Americans asking for delay after their reception of the sheets--if they venture to make any arrangement. I shall send the MS. of Book V. (the last) as soon as headache will permit, but that is an uncertain limit. We returned from Torquay on the 16th, leaving the glorious weather behind us. We were more in love with the place on a better acquaintance: the weather, and the spring buds, and the choirs of birds, made it seem more of a paradise to us every day. The poem will be less tragic than I threatened: Mr. Lewes has prevailed on me to return to my original conception, and give up the additional development, which I determined on subsequently. The poem is rather shorter in consequence. Don't you think that my artistic deference and pliability deserve that it should also be better in consequence? I now end it as I determined to end it when I first conceived the story. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _April 25._--Finished the last dialogue between Silva and Fedalma. Mr. and Mrs. Burne Jones dined with us. _April 29._--Finished "The Spanish Gypsy." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 29th Aug. 1868.] I send you by to-day's post the conclusion of the poem in MS., and the eighteen sheets of revise. The last book is brief, but I may truly use the old epigram--that it would have taken less time to make it longer. It is a great bore that the name of my heroine is wrongly spelled in all the earlier sheets. It is a fresh proof of the fallibility of our impressions as to our own doings, that I would have confidently affirmed the name to be spelled Fedalma (as it ought to be) in my manuscript. Yet I suppose I should have affirmed falsely, for the _i_ occurs in the slips constantly. As I shall not see these paged sheets again, will you charitably assure me that the alterations are safely made? Among my wife's papers were four or five pages of MS. headed, "Notes on the Spanish Gypsy and Tragedy in General." There is no evidence as to the date at which this fragment was written, and it seems to have been left unfinished. But there was evidently some care to preserve it; and as I think she would not have objected to its presentation, I give it here exactly as it stands. It completes the history of the poem. [Sidenote: Notes on "The Spanish Gypsy."] The subject of "The Spanish Gypsy" was originally suggested to me by a picture which hangs in the Scuola di' San Rocco at Venice, over the door of the large Sala containing Tintoretto's frescoes. It is an Annunciation, said to be by Titian. Of course I had seen numerous pictures of this subject before; and the subject had always attracted me. But in this my second visit to the Scuola di' San Rocco, this small picture of Titian's, pointed out to me for the first time, brought a new train of thought. It occurred to me that here was a great dramatic motive of the same class as those used by the Greek dramatists, yet specifically differing from them. A young maiden, believing herself to be on the eve of the chief event of her life--marriage--about to share in the ordinary lot of womanhood, full of young hope, has suddenly announced to her that she is chosen to fulfil a great destiny, entailing a terribly different experience from that of ordinary womanhood. She is chosen, not by any momentary arbitrariness, but as a result of foregoing hereditary conditions: she obeys. "Behold the handmaid of the Lord." Here, I thought, is a subject grander than that of Iphigenia, and it has never been used. I came home with this in my mind, meaning to give the motive a clothing in some suitable set of historical and local conditions. My reflections brought me nothing that would serve me except that moment in Spanish history when the struggle with the Moors was attaining its climax, and when there was the gypsy race present under such conditions as would enable me to get my heroine and the hereditary claim on her among the gypsies. I required the opposition of race to give the need for renouncing the expectation of marriage. I could not use the Jews or the Moors, because the facts of their history were too conspicuously opposed to the working-out of my catastrophe. Meanwhile the subject had become more and more pregnant to me. I saw it might be taken as a symbol of the part which is played in the general human lot by hereditary conditions in the largest sense, and of the fact that what we call duty is entirely made up of such conditions; for even in cases of just antagonism to the narrow view of hereditary claims, the whole background of the particular struggle is made up of our inherited nature. Suppose for a moment that our conduct at great epochs was determined entirely by reflection, without the immediate intervention of feeling, which supersedes reflection, our determination as to the right would consist in an adjustment of our individual needs to the dire necessities of our lot, partly as to our natural constitution, partly as sharers of life with our fellow-beings. Tragedy consists in the terrible difficulty of this adjustment-- "The dire strife of poor Humanity's afflicted will, Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny." Looking at individual lots, I seemed to see in each the same story, wrought out with more or less of tragedy, and I determined the elements of my drama under the influence of these ideas. In order to judge properly of the dramatic structure it must not be considered first in the light of doctrinal symbolism, but in the light of a tragedy representing some grand collision in the human lot. And it must be judged accordingly. A good tragic subject must represent a possible, sufficiently probable, not a common, action; and to be really tragic, it must represent irreparable collision between the individual and the general (in differing degrees of generality). It is the individual with whom we sympathize, and the general of which we recognize the irresistible power. The truth of this test will be seen by applying it to the greatest tragedies. The collision of Greek tragedy is often that between hereditary, entailed Nemesis and the peculiar individual lot, awakening our sympathy, of the particular man or woman whom the Nemesis is shown to grasp with terrific force. Sometimes, as in the Oresteia, there is the clashing of two irreconcilable requirements, two duties, as we should say in these times. The murder of the father must be avenged by the murder of the mother, which must again be avenged. These two tragic relations of the individual and general, and of two irreconcilable "oughts," may be--will be--seen to be almost always combined. The Greeks were not taking an artificial, entirely erroneous standpoint in their art--a standpoint which disappeared altogether with their religion and their art. They had the same essential elements of life presented to them as we have, and their art symbolized these in grand schematic forms. The Prometheus represents the ineffectual struggle to redeem the small and miserable race of man, against the stronger adverse ordinances that govern the frame of things with a triumphant power. Coming to modern tragedies, what is it that makes Othello a great tragic subject? A story simply of a jealous husband is elevated into a most pathetic tragedy by the hereditary conditions of Othello's lot, which give him a subjective ground for distrust. Faust, Rigoletto (Le Roi s'Amuse), Brutus. It might be a reasonable ground of objection against the whole structure of "The Spanish Gypsy" if it were shown that the action is outrageously improbable--lying outside all that can be congruously conceived of human actions. It is _not_ a reasonable ground of objection that they would have done better to act otherwise, any more than it is a reasonable objection against the Iphigenia that Agamemnon would have done better not to sacrifice his daughter. As renunciations coming under the same great class, take the renunciation of marriage, where marriage cannot take place without entailing misery on the children. A tragedy has not to expound why the individual must give way to the general; it has to show that it is compelled to give way; the tragedy consisting in the struggle involved, and often in the entirely calamitous issue in spite of a grand submission. Silva presents the tragedy of entire rebellion; Fedalma of a grand submission, which is rendered vain by the effects of Silva's rebellion. Zarca, the struggle for a great end, rendered vain by the surrounding conditions of life. Now, what is the fact about our individual lots? A woman, say, finds herself on the earth with an inherited organization; she may be lame, she may inherit a disease, or what is tantamount to a disease; she may be a negress, or have other marks of race repulsive in the community where she is born, etc. One may go on for a long while without reaching the limits of the commonest inherited misfortunes. It is almost a mockery to say to such human beings, "Seek your own happiness." The utmost approach to well-being that can be made in such a case is through large resignation and acceptance of the inevitable, with as much effort to overcome any disadvantage as good sense will show to be attended with a likelihood of success. Any one may say, that is the dictate of mere rational reflection. But calm can, in hardly any human organism, be attained by rational reflection. Happily, we are not left to that. Love, pity, constituting sympathy, and generous joy with regard to the lot of our fellow-men comes in--has been growing since the beginning--enormously enhanced by wider vision of results, by an imagination actively interested in the lot of mankind generally; and these feelings become piety--_i.e._, loving, willing submission and heroic Promethean effort towards high possibilities, which may result from our individual life. There is really no moral "sanction" but this inward impulse. The will of God is the same thing as the will of other men, compelling us to work and avoid what they have seen to be harmful to social existence. Disjoined from any perceived good, the divine will is simply so much as we have ascertained of the facts of existence which compel obedience at our peril. Any other notion comes from the supposition of arbitrary revelation. That favorite view, expressed so often in Clough's poems, of doing duty in blindness as to the result, is likely to deepen the substitution of egoistic yearnings for really moral impulses. We cannot be utterly blind to the results of duty, since that cannot be duty which is not already judged to be for human good. To say the contrary is to say that mankind have reached no inductions as to what is for their good or evil. The art which leaves the soul in despair is laming to the soul, and is denounced by the healthy sentiment of an active community. The consolatory elements in "The Spanish Gypsy" are derived from two convictions or sentiments which so conspicuously pervade it that they may be said to be its very warp, on which the whole action is woven. These are: (1) The importance of individual deeds. (2) The all-sufficiency of the soul's passions in determining sympathetic action. In Silva is presented the claim of fidelity to social pledges. In Fedalma the claim constituted by an hereditary lot less consciously shared. With regard to the supremacy of love: if it were a fact without exception that man or woman never did renounce the joys of love, there could never have sprung up a notion that such renunciation could present itself as a duty. If no parents had ever cared for their children, how could parental affection have been reckoned among the elements of life? But what are the facts in relation to this matter? Will any one say that faithfulness to the marriage tie has never been regarded as a duty, in spite of the presence of the profoundest passion experienced after marriage? Is Guinivere's conduct the type of duty? [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 7th May, 1868.] Yes, I am at rest now--only a few pages of revise to look at more. My chief excitement and pleasure in the work are over: for when I have once written anything, and it is gone out of my power, I think of it as little as possible. Next to the doing of the thing, of course, Mr. Lewes's delight in it is the cream of all sympathy, though I care enough about the sympathy of others to be very grateful for any they give me. Don't you imagine how the people who consider writing simply as a money-getting profession will despise me for choosing a work by which I could only get hundreds, where for a novel I could get thousands? I cannot help asking you to admire what my husband is, compared with many possible husbands--I mean, in urging me to produce a poem rather than anything in a worldly sense more profitable. I expect a good deal of disgust to be felt towards me in many quarters for doing what was not looked for from me, and becoming unreadable to many who have hitherto found me readable and debatable. Religion and novels every ignorant person feels competent to give an opinion upon, but _en fait de poésie_, a large number of them "only read Shakespeare." But enough of that. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 25th May, 1868.] Before we set off to Germany I want to tell you that a copy of "The Spanish Gypsy" will be sent to you. If there had been time before our going away I should have written on the fly-leaf that it was offered by the author "in grateful remembrance." For I especially desire that you should understand my reasons for asking you to accept the book to be retrospective and not prospective. And I am going out of reach of all letters, so that you are free from any need to write to me, and may let the book lie till you like to open it. I give away my books only by exception, and in venturing to make you an exceptional person in this matter, I am urged by the strong wish to express my value for the help and sympathy you gave me two years ago. The manuscript of "The Spanish Gypsy" bears the following inscription: "To my dear--every day dearer--Husband." [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 26th (?) May, 1868.] Yes, indeed, I not only remember your letter, but have always kept it at hand, and have read it many times. Within these latter months I have seemed to see in the distance a possible poem shaped on your idea. But it would be better for you to encourage the growth towards realization in your own mind, rather than trust to transplantation. My own faint conception is that of a frankly Utopian construction, freeing the poet from all local embarrassments. Great epics have always been more or less of this character--only the construction has been of the past, not of the future. Write to me _Poste Restante_, Baden-Baden, within the next fortnight. My head will have got clearer then. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _May 26._--We set out this evening on our journey to Baden, spending the night at Dover. Our route was by Tournay, Liége, Bonn, and Frankfort, to Baden, where we stayed nine days; then to Petersthal, where we stayed three weeks; then to Freiburg, St. Märgen, Basle, Thun, and Interlaken. From Interlaken we came by Fribourg, Neuchâtel, Dijon, to Paris and Folkestone. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 7th July, 1868.] We got your letter yesterday here among the peaceful mountain-tops. After ascending gradually (in a carriage) for nearly four hours, we found ourselves in a region of grass, corn, and pine woods, so beautifully varied that we seem to be walking in a great park laid out for our special delight. The monks, as usual, found out the friendly solitude, and this place of St. Märgen was originally nothing but an Augustinian monastery. About three miles off is another place of like origin, called St. Peter's, formerly a Benedictine monastery, and still used as a place of preparation for the Catholic priesthood. The monks have all vanished, but the people are devout Catholics. At every half-mile by the roadside is a carefully kept crucifix; and last night, as we were having our supper in the common room of the inn, we suddenly heard sounds that seemed to me like those of an accordion. "Is that a zittern?" said Mr. Lewes to the German lady by his side. "No--it is prayer." The servants, by themselves--the host and hostess were in the same room with us--were saying their evening prayers, men's and women's voices blending in unusually correct harmony. The same loud prayer is heard at morning, noon, and evening, from the shepherds and workers in the fields. We suppose that the believers in Mr. Home and in Madame Rachel would pronounce these people "grossly superstitious." The land is cultivated by rich peasant proprietors, and the people here, as in Petersthal, look healthy and contented. This really adds to one's pleasure in seeing natural beauties. In North Germany, at Ilmenau, we were constantly pained by meeting peasants who looked underfed and miserable. Unhappily, the weather is too cold and damp, and our accommodations are too scanty, under such circumstances, for us to remain here and enjoy the endless walks and the sunsets that would make up for other negatives in fine, warm weather. We return to Freiburg to-morrow, and from thence we shall go on by easy stages through Switzerland, by Thun and Vevay to Geneva, where I want to see my old friends once more. We shall be so constantly on the move that it might be a vain trouble on your part to shoot another letter after such flying birds. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _July 23._--Arrived at home (from Baden journey). [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th July, 1868.] We got home last night--sooner than we expected, because we gave up the round by Geneva, as too long and exciting. I dare say the three weeks since we heard from you seem very short to you, passed amid your usual occupations. To us they seem long, for we have been constantly changing our scene. Our two months have been spent delightfully in seeing fresh natural beauties, and with the occasional cheering influence of kind people. But I think we were hardly ever, except in Spain, so long ignorant of home sayings and doings, for we have been chiefly in regions innocent even of _Galignani_. The weather with us has never been oppressively hot; and storms or quiet rains have been frequent. But our bit of burned-up lawn is significant of the dryness here. I believe I did not thank you for the offer of "Kinglake," which we gratefully accept. And will you kindly order a copy of the poem to be sent to Gerald Massey, Hemel-Hempstead. A friendly gentleman at Belfast sends me a list of emendations for some of my verses, which are very characteristic and amusing. I hope you have kept well through the heat. We are come back in great force, for such feeble wretches. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th July, 1868.] As to the reviews, we expected them to be written by omniscient personages, but we did _not_ expect so bad a review as that Mr. Lewes found in the _Pall Mall_. I have read no notice except that in the _Spectator_, which was modest in tone. A very silly gentleman, Mr. Lewes says, undertakes to admonish me in the _Westminster_; and he thinks the best _literary_ notice of the poem that has come before him is in the _Athenæum_. After all, I think there would have been good reason to doubt that the poem had either novelty or any other considerable intrinsic reason to justify its being written, if the periodicals had cried out "Hosanna!" I am sure you appreciate all the conditions better than I can, after your long experience of the relations between authors and critics. I am serene, because I only expected the unfavorable. To-day the heat is so great that it is hardly possible even to read a book that requires any thought. London is a bad exchange for the mountains. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th July, 1868.] I enclose a list of corrections for the reprint. I am indebted to my friendly correspondent from Belfast for pointing out several oversights, which I am ashamed of, after all the proof-reading. But, among the well-established truths of which I never doubt, the fallibility of my own brain stands first. I suppose Mudie and the other librarians will not part with their copies of the poems quite as soon as they would part with their more abundant copies of a novel. And this supposition, if warranted, would be an encouragement to reprint another moderate edition at the same price. Perhaps, before a cheaper edition is prepared, I may add to the corrections, but at present my mind resists strongly the effort to go back on its old work. I think I never mentioned to you that the occasional use of irregular verses, and especially verses of twelve syllables, has been a principle with me, and is found in all the finest writers of blank verse. I mention it now because, as you have a certain _solidarité_ with my poetical doings, I would not have your soul vexed by the detective wisdom of critics. Do you happen to remember that saying of Balzac's, "When I want the world to praise my novels I write a drama; when I want them to praise my drama I write a novel"? On the whole, however, I should think I have more to be grateful for than to grumble at. Mr. Lewes read me out last night some very generous passages from the _St. Paul's Magazine_. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _August._--Reading 1st book of Lucretius, 6th book of the "Iliad," "Samson Agonistes," Warton's "History of English Poetry," Grote, 2d volume, "Marcus Aurelius," "Vita Nuova," vol. iv. chap. i. of the "Politique Positive," Guest on "English Rhythms," Maurice's "Lectures on Casuistry." _Sept. 19._--We returned from a visit to Yorkshire. On Monday we went to Leeds, and were received by Dr. Clifford Allbut, with whom we stayed till the middle of the day on Wednesday. Then we went by train to Ilkley, and from thence took a carriage to Bolton. The weather had been gray for two days, but on this evening the sun shone out, and we had a delightful stroll before dinner, getting our first view of the Priory. On Thursday we spent the whole day in rambling through the woods to Barden Tower and back. Our comfortable little inn was the Red Lion, and we were tempted to lengthen our stay. But on Friday morning the sky was threatening, so we started for Newark, which we had visited in old days on our expedition to Gainsborough. At Newark we found our old inn, the Ram, opposite the ruins of the castle, and then we went for a stroll along the banks of the Trent, seeing some charming, quiet landscapes. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 20th Sept. 1868.] This note comes to greet you on your return home, but it cannot greet you so sweetly as your letter did me on our arrival from Leeds last night. I think it gave me a deeper pleasure than any I have had for a long while. I am very grateful to you for it. We went to Leeds on Monday, and stayed two days with Dr. Allbut. Dr. Bridges dined with us one day, and we had a great deal of delightful chat. But I will tell you everything when we see you. Let that be soon--will you not? We shall be glad of any arrangement that will give us the pleasure of seeing you, Dr. Congreve, and Emily, either separately or all together. Please forgive me if I seem very fussy about your all coming. I want you to understand that we shall feel it the greatest kindness in you if you will all choose to come, and also choose _how_ to come--either to lunch or dinner, and either apart or together. I hope to find that you are much the better for your journey--better both in body and soul. One has immense need of encouragement, but it seems to come more easily from the dead than from the living. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th Sept. 1868.] Your letter gave an additional gusto to my tea and toast this morning. The greater confidence of the trade in subscribing for the second edition is, on several grounds, a satisfactory indication; but, as you observe, we shall be still better pleased to know that the copies are not slumbering on the counters, but having an active life in the hands of readers. I am now going carefully through the poem for the sake of correction. I have read it through once, and have at present found some ten or twelve _small_ alterations to be added to those already made. But I shall go through it again more than once, for I wish to be able to put "revised" to the third edition, and to leave nothing that my conscience is not ready to swear by. I think it will be desirable for me to see proofs. It is possible, in many closely consecutive readings, not to see errors which strike one immediately on taking up the pages after a good long interval. We are feeling much obliged for a copy of "Kinglake," which I am reading aloud to Mr. Lewes as a part of our evening's entertainment and edification, beginning again from the beginning. This week we have had perfect autumnal days, though last week, when we were in Yorkshire, we also thought that the time of outside chills and inside fires was beginning. We do not often see a place which is a good foil for London, but certainly Leeds is in a lower circle of the great town--_Inferno_. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 25th Sept. 1868.] I can imagine how delicious your country home has been under the glorious skies we have been having--glorious even in London. Yesterday we had Dr. and Mrs. Congreve, and went with them to the Zoological Gardens, and on our return, about 5 o'clock, I could not help pausing and exclaiming at the exquisite beauty of the light on Regent's Park, exalting it into something that the young Turner would have wanted to paint. We went to Leeds last week--saw your favorite, David Cox, and thought of you the while. Certainly there was nothing finer there in landscape than that Welsh funeral. Among the figure-painters, Watts and old Philip are supreme. We went on from Leeds to Bolton, and spent a day in wandering through the grand woods on the banks of the Wharfe. Altogether, our visit to Yorkshire was extremely agreeable. Our host, Dr. Allbut, is a good, clever, graceful man, enough to enable one to be cheerful under the horrible smoke of ugly Leeds; and the fine hospital, which, he says, is admirably fitted for its purpose, is another mitigation. You would like to see the tasteful, subdued ornamentation in the rooms which are to be sick wards. Each physician is accumulating ornamental objects for his own ward--chromo-lithographs, etc.--such as will soothe sick eyes. It was quite cold in that northerly region. Your picture keeps a memory of sunshine on my wall even on this dark morning. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st Oct. 1868.] I have gone through the poem twice for the sake of revision, and have a crop of small corrections--only in one case extending to the insertion of a new line. But I wish to see the proof-sheets, so that "Revised by the Author" may be put in the advertisement and on the title-page. Unhappily, my health has been unusually bad since we returned from abroad, so that the time has been a good deal wasted on the endurance of _malaise_; but I am brooding over many things, and hope that coming months will not be barren. As to the criticisms, I suppose that better poets than I have gone through worse receptions. In spite of my reason and of my low expectations, I am too susceptible to all discouragement not to have been depressingly affected by some few things in the shape of criticism which I have been obliged to know. Yet I am ashamed of caring about anything that cannot be taken as strict evidence against the value of my book. So far as I have been able to understand, there is a striking disagreement among the reviewers as to what is best and what is worst; and the weight of agreement, even on the latter point, is considerably diminished by the reflection that three different reviews may be three different phases of the same gentleman, taking the opportunity of earning as many guineas as he can by making easy remarks on George Eliot. But, as dear Scott's characters say, "Let that fly stick in the wa'--when the dirt's dry, it'll rub out." I shall look at "Doubles and Quits," as you recommend. I read the two first numbers of "Madame Amelia," and thought them promising. I sympathize with your melancholy at the prospect of quitting the country; though, compared with London, beautiful Edinburgh is country. Perhaps some good, thick mists will come to reconcile you with the migration. We have been using the fine autumn days for flights into Kent between Sundays. The rich woods about Sevenoaks and Chislehurst are a delight to the eyes, and the stillness is a rest to every nerve. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _Oct. 22._--Received a letter from Blackwood, saying that "The Spanish Gypsy" must soon go into a third edition. I sent my corrections for it. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 27th Oct. 1868.] At last I have spirit enough in me to thank you for your valuable gift, which Emily kindly brought me in her hand. I am grateful for it--not only because the medallion[5] is a possession which I shall always hold precious, but also because you thought of me among those whom you would choose to be its owners. I hope you are able to enjoy some walking in these sunshiny mornings. We had a long drive round by Hendon and Finchley yesterday morning, and drank so much clear air and joy from the sight of trees and fields that I am quite a new-old creature. I think you will not be sorry to hear that the "Spanish Gypsy" is so nearly out of print again that the publishers are preparing a new, cheaper edition. The second edition was all bought up (subscribed for) by the booksellers the first day. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 30th Oct. 1868.] Your pretty letter is irresistible. May we then be with you on Tuesday somewhere about twelve, and return home on Wednesday by afternoon daylight? If the weather should be very cold or wet on Tuesday we must renounce or defer our pleasure, because we are both too rickety to run the risk of taking cold. So you see we are very much in need of such sweet friendliness as yours gives us faith in, to keep us cheerful under the burden of the flesh. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _Nov. 3._--Went to dine and sleep at the Congreves, at Wandsworth. _Nov. 4._--We set off for Sheffield, where we went over a great iron and steel factory under the guidance of Mr. Benzon. On Saturday, the 7th, we went to Matlock and stayed till Tuesday. I recognized the objects which I had seen with my father nearly thirty years before--the turn of the road at Cromford, the Arkwrights' house, and the cottages with the stone floors chalked in patterns. The landscape was still rich with autumn leaves. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, Thursday evening, 12th Nov. 1868.] We got home last night after delicious days spent at Matlock. I was so renovated that my head was clearer, and I was more unconscious of my body than at the best of times for many months. But it seemed suddenly colder when we were in London, and old uneasy sensations are revisiting us both to-day. I wonder whether you will soon want to come to town, and will send me word that you will come and take shelter with us for the night? The bed is no softer and no broader; but will you not be tempted by a new carpet and a new bit of matting for your bath?--perhaps there will even be a new fender? If you want to shop, I will take you in the brougham. I think you will be just able to make out this note, written by a sudden impulse on my knee over the fire. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 16th Nov. 1868.] No oracle would dare to predict what will be our next migration. Don't be surprised if we go to the borders of the White Sea, to escape the fitful fast and loose, hot and cold, of the London climate. We enjoyed our journey to the north. It was a great experience to me to see the stupendous iron-works at Sheffield; and then, for a variety, we went to the quiet and beauty of Matlock, and I recognized all the spots I had carried in my memory for more than five-and-twenty years. I drove through that region with my father when I was a young grig--not very full of hope about my woman's future. I am one of those perhaps exceptional people whose early, childish dreams were much less happy than the real outcome of life. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Nov. 1868.] I think your birthday comes after mine; but I am determined to write beforehand to prove to you that I bear you in my thoughts without any external reminder. I suppose we are both getting too old to care about being wished _many_ happy returns of the day. We shall be content to wish each other as many more years as can carry with them some joy and calm satisfaction in the sense of living. But there is one definite prospect for you which I may fairly hope for, as I do most tenderly--the prospect that this time next year you will be looking back on your achieved work as a good seed-sowing. Some sadness there must always be in saying good-bye to a work which is done with love; but there may--I trust there _will_--be a compensating good in feeling that the thing you yearned to do is gone safely out of reach of casualties that might have cut it short. We have been to Sheffield at the seducing invitation of a friend, who showed us the miraculous iron-works there; and afterwards we turned aside to beautiful Matlock, where I found again the spots, the turns of road, the rows of stone cottages, the rushing river Derwent, and the Arkwright mills--among which I drove with my father when I was in my teens. We had glorious weather, and I was quite regenerated by the bracing air. Our friend Mr. Spencer is growing younger with the years. He really looks brighter and more enjoying than he ever did before, since he was in the really young, happy time of fresh discussion and inquiry. His is a friendship which wears well, because of his truthfulness. He always asks with sympathetic interest how you are going on. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _Nov. 22._--The return of this St. Cecilia's Day finds me in better health than has been usual with me in these last six months. But I am not yet engaged in any work that makes a higher life for me--a life that is young and grows, though in my other life I am getting old and decaying. It is a day for resolves and determinations. I am meditating the subject of Timoleon. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 30th Nov. 1868.] I like to think of you painting the physiological charts, although they tire your eyes a little; for you must be sure that the good of such work is of a kind that goes deep into young lives. "Fearfully and wonderfully made" are words quite unshaken by any theory as to the making; and I think a great awe in the contemplation of man's delicate structure, freighted with terrible destinies, is one of the most important parts of education. A much-writing acquaintance of ours one day expressed his alarm for "the masses" at the departure of a religion which had _terror_ in it. Surely terror is provided for sufficiently in this life of ours--if only the dread could be directed towards the really dreadful. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 12th Dec. 1868.] We have been having a little company, and are rejoicing to think that our duties of this sort are done for the present. We like our studies and our dual solitude too well to feel company desirable more than one day a-week. I wish our affection may be with you as some little cheering influence through the dark months. We hardly estimate enough the difference of feeling that would come to us if we did not imagine friendly souls scattered here and there in places that make the chief part of the world so far as we have known it. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 16th Dec. 1868.] Tell Dr. Congreve that the "mass of positivism," in the shape of "The Spanish Gypsy," is so rapidly finding acceptance with the public that the second edition, being all sold, the third, just published, has already been demanded to above 700. Do not think that I am becoming an egotistical author. The news concerns the doctrine, not the writer. [Sidenote: Letter to the Brays, 19th Dec. 1868.] I am moved to congratulate you on writing against the ballot with such admirably good sense--having just read your "slip" at the breakfast-table. It has been a source of amazement to me that men acquainted with practical life can believe in the suppression of bribery by the ballot, as if bribery in all its Protean forms could ever disappear by means of a single external arrangement. They might as well say that our female vanity would disappear at an order that women should wear felt hats and cloth dresses. It seems to me that you have put the main unanswerable arguments against the ballot with vigorous brevity. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 29th Dec. 1868.] Thanks for letting me know about the meeting. I shall not be able to join it bodily, but I am glad always to have the possibility of being with you in thought. I have a twofold sympathy on the occasion, for I cannot help entering specially into your own wifely anxieties, and I shall be glad to be assured that Dr. Congreve has borne the excitement without being afterwards conscious of an excessive strain. [Sidenote: Journal, 1868.] _Dec. 30._--I make to-day the last record that I shall enter of the old year 1868. It has been as rich in blessings as any preceding year of our double life, and I enjoy a more and more even cheerfulness and continually increasing power of dwelling on the good that is given to me and dismissing the thought of small evils. The chief event of the year to us has been the publication and friendly reception by the public of "The Spanish Gypsy." The greatest happiness (after our growing love) which has sprung and flowed onward during the latter part of the year is George's interest in his psychological inquiries. I have, perhaps, gained a little higher ground and firmer footing in some studies, notwithstanding the yearly loss of retentive power. We have made some new friendships that cheer us with the sense of new admiration of actual living beings whom we know in the flesh, and who are kindly disposed towards us. And we have had no real trouble. I wish we were not in a minority of our fellow-men! I desire no added blessing for the coming year but this--that I may do some good, lasting work, and make both my outward and inward habits less imperfect--that is, more directly tending to the best uses of life. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 31st Dec. 1868.] Many thanks for the check, which I received yesterday afternoon. Mr. Lewes is eminently satisfied with the sales; and, indeed, it does appear from authoritative testimony that the number sold is unusually large even for what is called a successful poem. The cheap edition of the novels is so exceptionally attractive in print, paper, and binding, for 3_s._ 6_d._, that I cannot help fretting a little at its not getting a more rapid sale. The fact rather puzzles me, too, in presence of the various proofs that the books really are liked. I suppose there is some mystery of reduced prices accounting for the abundant presentation of certain works and series on the bookstalls at the railways, and the absence of others, else surely those pretty volumes would have a good chance of being bought by the travellers whose taste shrinks from the diabolical red-and-yellow-pictured series. I am sure you must often be in a state of wonderment as to how the business of the world gets done so as not to ruin two thirds of the people concerned in it; for, judging from the silly propositions and requests sometimes made to me by bald-headed, experienced men, there must be a very thin allowance of wisdom to the majority of their transactions. Mr. Lewes is attracted by the biographical studies of George the Second's time; but last night, after he had done reading about Berkeley, I heard him laughing over "Doubles and Quits." It is agreeable to think that I have that bit of cheerful reading in store. Our first snow fell yesterday, and melted immediately. This morning the sun is warm on me as I write. The doctors say that the season has been horribly unhealthy, and that they have been afraid to perform some operations from the low state of vitality in the patients, due to the atmospheric conditions. This looks like very wise writing, and worthy of Molière's "Médecin." Mr. Lewes joins me in sincere good wishes to Mr. William Blackwood, as well as yourself, for the coming year--wishes for general happiness. The chief, particular wish would be that we should all in common look back next Christmas on something achieved in which we share each other's satisfaction. [Sidenote: Letter to Hon. Robert Lytton (now Lord Lytton). No date. Probably in 1868.] I am much obliged to you for mentioning, in your letter to Mr. Lewes, the two cases of inaccuracy (I fear there may be more) which you remembered in the "Spanish Gypsy." How I came to write Zincálo instead of Zíncalo is an instance which may be added to many sadder examples of that mental infirmity which makes our senses of little use to us in the presence of a strong prepossession. As soon as I had conceived my story with its gypsy element, I tried to learn all I could about the names by which the gypsies called themselves, feeling that I should occasionally need a musical name, remote from the vulgar English associations which cling to "gypsy." I rejected Gitana, because I found that the gypsies themselves held the name to be opprobrious; and Zíncalo--which, with a fine capacity for being wrong, I at once got into my head as Zincálo--seemed to be, both in sound and meaning, just what I wanted. Among the books from which I made notes was "Pott, die Zigeuner," etc.; and in these notes I find that I have copied the sign of the tonic accent in Romanó, while in the very same sentence I have not copied it in Zíncalo, though a renewed reference to Pott shows it in the one word as well as the other. But "my eyes were held"--by a demon prepossession--"so that I should not see it." Behold the fallibility of the human brain, and especially of George Eliot's. I have been questioned about my use of Andalus for Andalusia, but I had a sufficient authority for that in the "Mohammedan Dynasties," translated by Gayangos. It may interest you, who are familiar with Spanish literature, to know that after the first sketch of my book was written I read Cervantes' novel "La Gitanélla," where the hero turns gypsy for love. The novel promises well in the earlier part, but falls into sad commonplace towards the end. I have written my explanation partly to show how much I value your kind help towards correcting my error, and partly to prove that I was not careless, but simply stupid. For in authorship I hold carelessness to be a mortal sin. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1868, TO DECEMBER, 1868. Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Mr. Lewes's return from Bonn--First visit to Cambridge--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Month's visit to Torquay--Letter to Miss Hennell--Reading the "Iliad"--Letter to John Blackwood--Title of "Spanish Gypsy"--Letter to Madame Bodichon--Women's work--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--England and Ireland--Translation of the "Politique"--Return to London from Torquay--Letter to John Blackwood--Ending of "Spanish Gypsy"--The poem finished--George Eliot's "Notes on the Spanish Gypsy and Tragedy in general"--Suggestion of the poem an Annunciation by Titian, at Venice--Motive--Hereditary conditions--Gypsy race--Determination of conduct--Nature of tragedy--Collision between the individual and the general--Greek tragedy--Hereditary misfortunes--Growth of human sympathy--Moral sanction is obedience to facts--Duty what tends to human good--Letter to Mrs. Bray on the writing of poetry instead of novels--Letter to F. Harrison presenting copy of "Spanish Gypsy"--Inscription on MS. of "Spanish Gypsy"--Letter to F. Harrison on suggestion of a poem--Six weeks' journey to Baden, etc.--Letter to John Blackwood from St. Märgen--Catholic worship--Return to London--Letters to John Blackwood--_Pall Mall_ review of "Spanish Gypsy"--Saying of Balzac--Letter to William Blackwood--Versification--Reading Lucretius, Homer, Milton, Warton, Marcus Aurelius, Dante, Comte, Guest, Maurice--Visit to Dr. Clifford Allbut at Leeds--Visit to Newark--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Letters to John Blackwood--Second edition of "Spanish Gypsy"--"Kinglake"--Criticisms on "Spanish Gypsy"--Visit to the Congreves--Visit to Sheffield with Mr. Benzon--Matlock--Letters to Madame Bodichon and Miss Hennell on Sheffield journey--Herbert Spencer--Meditating subject of Timoleon--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Physiological charts--Letter to Madame Bodichon on influence of friends--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Positivism in "Spanish Gypsy"--Letter to Charles Bray on vote by ballot--Retrospect of 1868--Letter to John Blackwood--The cheap edition of novels--Letter to the Hon. Robert Lytton--Pronunciation in "Spanish Gypsy"--Cervantes' "La Gitanélla." FOOTNOTES: [4] Visit to Mr. W. G. Clark. [5] Of Comte. CHAPTER XVI. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _Jan. 1._--I have set myself many tasks for the year--I wonder how many will be accomplished?--a novel called "Middlemarch," a long poem on Timoleon, and several minor poems. _Jan. 23._--Since I wrote last I have finished a little poem on old Agatha. But the last week or two I have been so disturbed in health that no work prospers. I have made a little way in constructing my new tale; have been reading a little on philology; have finished the 24th Book of the "Iliad," the 1st Book of the "Faery Queene," Clough's poems, and a little about Etruscan things, in Mrs. Grey and Dennis. Aloud to G. I have been reading some Italian, Ben Jonson's "Alchemist" and "Volpone," and Bright's speeches, which I am still reading, besides the first four cantos of "Don Juan." But the last two or three days I have seemed to live under a leaden pressure--all movement, mental or bodily, is grievous to me. In the evening read aloud Bright's fourth speech on India, and a story in Italian. In the _Spectator_ some interesting facts about loss of memory and "double life." In the _Revue des Cours_, a lecture by Sir W. Thomson, of Edinburgh, on the retardation of the earth's motion round its axis. _Jan. 27._--The last two days I have been writing a rhymed poem on Boccaccio's story of "Lisa." Aloud I have read Bright's speeches, and "I Promessi Sposi." To myself I have read Mommsen's "Rome." _Feb. 6._--We went to the third concert. Madame Schumann played finely in Mendelssohn's quintet, and a trio of Beethoven's. As a solo she played the sonata in D minor. In the evening I read aloud a short speech of Bright's on Ireland, delivered twenty years ago, in which he insists that nothing will be a remedy for the woes of that country unless the Church Establishment be annulled: after the lapse of twenty years the measure is going to be adopted. Then I read aloud a bit of the "Promessi Sposi," and afterwards the _Spectator_, in which there is a deservedly high appreciation of Lowell's poems. _Feb. 14._--Finished the poem from Boccaccio. We had rather a numerous gathering of friends to-day, and among the rest came Browning, who talked and quoted admirably _à propos_ of versification. The Rector of Lincoln thinks the French have the most perfect system of versification in these modern times! _Feb. 15._--I prepared and sent off "How Lisa Loved the King" to Edinburgh. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Feb. 1869.] I have looked back to the verses in Browning's poem about Elisha, and I find no mystery in them. The foregoing context for three pages describes that function of genius which revivifies the past. Man, says Browning (I am writing from recollection of his general meaning), cannot create, but he can restore: the poet gives forth of his own spirit, and reanimates the forms that lie breathless. His use of Elisha's story is manifestly symbolical, as his mention of Faust is--the illustration which he abandons the moment before to take up that of the Hebrew seer. I presume you did not read the context yourself, but only had the two concluding verses pointed out or quoted to you by your friends. It is one of the afflictions of authorship to know that the brains which should be used in understanding a book are wasted in discussing the hastiest misconceptions about it; and I am sure you will sympathize enough in this affliction to set any one right, when you can, about this quotation from Browning. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _Feb. 20._--A glorious concert: Hallé, Joachim, and Piatti winding up with Schubert's trio. _Feb. 21._--Mr. Deutsch and Mrs. Pattison lunched with us--he in farewell before going to the East. A rather pleasant gathering of friends afterwards. _Feb. 24._--I am reading about plants, and Helmholtz on music. A new idea of a poem came to me yesterday. _March 3._--We started on our fourth visit to Italy, viâ France and the Cornice. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th May, 1869, from Paris.] I found your letter at Florence on our arrival there (on the 23d); but until now bodily ease and leisure enough to write to you have never happened to me in the same moments. Our long journey since we left home on the 3d March, seen from a point of view which, happily, no one shares with me, has been a history of ailments. In shunning the English March, we found one quite as disagreeable, without the mitigation of home comforts; and though we went even as far as Naples in search of warmth, we never found it until we settled in Rome, at the beginning of April. Here we had many days of unbroken sunshine, and enjoyed what we were never able to enjoy during our month's stay in 1860--the many glorious views of the city and the mountains. The chief novelty to us in our long route has been the sight of Assisi and Ravenna; the rest has been a revisiting of scenes already in our memories; and to most of them we have probably said our last good-bye. Enough of us and our travels. The only remarkable thing people can tell of their doings in these days is that they have stayed at home. The _Fortnightly_ lay uncut at Mr. Trollope's, and Mr. Lewes had nothing more pressing to do than to cut it open at the reply to Professor Huxley.[6] He presently came to me, and said it was excellent. It delighted him the more because he had just before, at Rome, alighted on the _Pall Mall_ account of the article, which falsely represented it as entirely apologetic. At the first spare moment I plunged into an easy-chair, and read, with thorough satisfaction in the admirable temper and the force of the reply. We intend to start for Calais this evening; and as the rain prevents us from doing anything agreeable out of doors, I have nothing to hinder me from sitting, with my knees up to my chin, and scribbling, now that I am become a little sounder in head and in body generally than beautiful Italy allowed me to be. As beautiful as ever--more beautiful--it has looked to me on this last visit; and it is the fault of my _physique_ if it did not agree with me. Pray offer my warmest sympathy to Dr. Congreve in the anxieties of his difficult task. What hard work it seems to go on living sometimes! Blessed are the dead. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _May 5._--We reached home after our nine weeks' absence. In that time we have been through France to Marseilles, along the Cornice to Spezia, then to Pisa, Florence, Naples, Rome, Assisi, Perugia, Florence again, Ravenna, Bologna, Verona; across the Brenner Pass to Munich; then to Paris _viâ_ Strasburg. In such a journey there was necessarily much interest both in renewing old memories and recording new; but I never had such continuous bad health in travelling as I have had during these nine weeks. On our arrival at home I found a delightful letter from Mrs. H. B. Stowe, whom I have never seen, addressing me as her "dear friend." It was during this journey that I, for the first time, saw my future wife, at Rome. My eldest sister had married Mr. W. H. Bullock (now Mr. W. H. Hall), of Six-Mile-Bottom, Cambridgeshire, and they were on their wedding journey at Rome when they happened to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lewes by chance in the Pamfili Doria Gardens. They saw a good deal of one another, and when I arrived, with my mother and another sister, we went by invitation to call at the Hôtel Minerva, where Mr. Lewes had found rooms on their first arrival in Rome. I have a very vivid recollection of George Eliot sitting on a sofa with my mother by her side, entirely engrossed with her. Mr. Lewes entertained my sister and me on the other side of the room. But I was very anxious to hear also the conversation on the sofa, as I was better acquainted with George Eliot's books than with any other literature. And through the dimness of these fifteen years, and all that has happened in them, I still seem to hear, as I first heard them, the low, earnest, deep, musical tones of her voice; I still seem to see the fine brows, with the abundant auburn-brown hair framing them, the long head, broadening at the back, the gray-blue eyes, constantly changing in expression, but always with a very loving, almost deprecating, look at my mother, the finely-formed, thin, transparent hands, and a whole _Wesen_ that seemed in complete harmony with everything one expected to find in the author of "Romola." The next day Mr. and Mrs. Lewes went on to Assisi and we to Naples, and we did not meet again till the following August at Weybridge. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 8th May, 1869.] I value very highly the warrant to call you friend which your letter has given me. It lay awaiting me on our return, the other night, from a nine weeks' absence in Italy, and it made me almost wish that you could have a momentary vision of the discouragement--nay, paralyzing despondency--in which many days of my writing life have been passed, in order that you might fully understand the good I find in such sympathy as yours--in such an assurance as you give me that my work has been worth doing. But I will not dwell on any mental sickness of mine. The best joy your words give me is the sense of that sweet, generous feeling in you which dictated them, and I shall always be the richer because you have in this way made me know you better. I must tell you that my first glimpse of you as a woman came through a letter of yours, and charmed me very much. The letter was addressed to Mrs. Follen; and one morning when I called on her in London (how many years ago![7]) she was kind enough to read it to me because it contained a little history of your life, and a sketch of your domestic circumstances. I remember thinking that it was very kind of you to write that long letter in reply to the inquiries of one who was personally unknown to you; and looking back with my present experience I think it was still kinder than it then appeared. For at that time you must have been much oppressed with the immediate results of your fame. I remember, too, that you wrote of your husband as one who was richer in Hebrew and Greek than in pounds or shillings; and as the ardent scholar has always been a character of peculiar interest to me, I have rarely had your image in my mind without the accompanying image (more or less erroneous) of such a scholar by your side. I shall welcome the fruit of his Goethe studies, whenever it comes. In the meantime let me assure you that whoever else gave you that description of my husband's "History of Philosophy"--namely, "that it was to solve and settle all things"--he himself never saw it in that light. The work has been greatly altered, as well as enlarged, in three successive editions; and his mind is so far from being a captive to his own written words that he is now engaged in physiological and psychological researches which are leading him to issues at variance in some important respects with the views expressed in some of his published works. He is one of the few human beings I have known who will often, in the heat of an argument, see, and straightway confess, that he is in the wrong, instead of trying to shift his ground or use any other device of vanity. I have good hopes that your fears are groundless as to the obstacles your new book may find here from its thorough American character. Most readers who are likely to be really influenced by writing above the common order will find that special aspect an added reason for interest and study, and I dare say you have long seen, as I am beginning to see with new clearness, that if a book which has any sort of exquisiteness happens also to be a popular, widely circulated book, its power over the social mind for any good is, after all, due to its reception by a few appreciative natures, and is the slow result of radiation from that narrow circle. I mean, that you can affect a few souls, and that each of these in turn may affect a few more, but that no exquisite book tells properly and directly on a multitude, however largely it may be spread by type and paper. Witness the things the multitude will say about it, if one is so unhappy as to be obliged to hear their sayings. I do not write this cynically, but in pure sadness and pity. Both travelling abroad, and staying at home among our English sights and sports, one must continually feel how slowly the centuries work towards the moral good of men. And that thought lies very close to what you say as to your wonder or conjecture concerning my religious point of view. I believe that religion, too, has to be modified--"developed," according to the dominant phrase--and that a religion more perfect than any yet prevalent must express less care for personal consolation, and a more deeply-awing sense of responsibility to man, springing from sympathy with that which of all things is most certainly known to us, the difficulty of the human lot. I do not find my temple in Pantheism, which, whatever might be its value speculatively, could not yield a practical religion, since it is an attempt to look at the universe from the outside of our relations to it (that universe) as human beings. As healthy, sane human beings, we must love and hate--love what is good for mankind, hate what is evil for mankind. For years of my youth I dwelt in dreams of a pantheistic sort, falsely supposing that I was enlarging my sympathy. But I have travelled far away from that time. Letters are necessarily narrow and fragmentary, and, when one writes on wide subjects, are liable to create more misunderstanding than illumination. But I have little anxiety of that kind in writing to you, dear friend and fellow-laborer, for you have had longer experience than I as a writer, and fuller experience as a woman, since you have borne children and known the mother's history from the beginning. I trust your quick and long-taught mind as an interpreter little liable to mistake me. When you say, "We live in an orange grove and are planting many more," and when I think that you must have abundant family love to cheer you, it seems to me that you must have a paradise about you. But no list of circumstances will make a paradise. Nevertheless, I must believe that the joyous, tender humor of your books clings about your more immediate life, and makes some of that sunshine for yourself which you have given to us. I see the advertisement of "Old Town Folk," and shall eagerly expect it. That and every other new link between us will be reverentially valued. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _May 8_ (Saturday).--Poor Thornie arrived from Natal, sadly wasted by suffering. _May 24._--Sold "Agatha" to Fields & Osgood, for the _Atlantic Monthly_, for £300. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 26th May, 1869.] That "disturbance" in my favorite work, with which you and Dr. Congreve are good enough to sympathize, is unhappily greater now than it has been for years before. Our poor Thornie came back to us about seventeen days ago. We can never rejoice enough that we were already at home, seeing that we held it impossible for him to set out on his voyage until at least six weeks later than he did. Since he arrived our lives have been chiefly absorbed by cares for him; and though we now have a nurse to attend on him constantly, we spend several hours of the day by his side. There is joy in the midst of our trouble, from the tenderness towards the sufferer being altogether unchecked by anything unlovable in him. Thornie's disposition seems to have become sweeter than ever with the added six years; and there is nothing that we discern in his character or habits to cause us grief. Enough of our troubles. I gather from your welcome letter, received this morning, that there is a good deal of enjoyment for you in your temporary home, in spite of bad weather and faceache, which I hope will have passed away when you read this. Mr. Beesley[8] wrote to me to tell me of his engagement, and on Sunday we had the pleasure of shaking him by the hand and seeing him look very happy. His is one of a group of prospective marriages which we have had announced to us since we came home. Besides Mr. Harrison's, there is Dr. Allbut's, our charming friend at Leeds. I told Mr. Beesley that I thought myself magnanimous in really rejoicing at the engagements of men friends, because, of course, they will be comparatively indifferent to their old intimates. Dear Madame Bodichon is a precious help to us. She comes twice a week to sit with Thornie, and she is wonderfully clever in talking to young people. One finds out those who have real practical sympathy in times of trouble. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 9th June, 1869.] Your letter has fulfilled two wishes of mine. It shows me that you keep me in your kind thoughts, and that you are very happy. I had been told by our friends, the Nortons, of your engagement, but I knew nothing more than that bare fact, and your letter gives me more of a picture. A very pretty picture--for I like to think of your love having grown imperceptibly along with sweet family affections. I do heartily share in your happiness, for however space and time may keep us asunder, you will never to my mind be lost in the distance, but will hold a place of marked and valued interest quite apart from those more public hopes about you which I shall not cease to cherish. Both Mr. Lewes and I shall be delighted to see you any evening. I imagine that when you are obliged to stay in town the evening will be the easiest time for you to get out to us. Any time after eight you will find us thoroughly glad to shake hands with you. Do come when you can. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _July 3._--Finished my reading in Lucretius. Reading Victor Hugo's "L'homme qui rit;" also the Frau von Hillern's novel, "Ein Arzt der Seele." This week G. and I have been to Sevenoaks, but were driven home again by the cold winds and cloudy skies. "Sonnets on Childhood"--five--finished. _July 10._--I wrote to Mrs. Stowe, in answer to a second letter of hers, accompanied by one from her husband. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 11th July, 1869.] I hoped before this to have seen our friend, Mrs. Fields, on her return from Scotland, and to have begged her to send you word of a domestic affliction which has prevented me from writing to you since I received your and your husband's valued letters. Immediately on our return from Italy, Mr. Lewes's second son, a fine young man of five-and-twenty, returned to us from Natal, wasted by suffering from a long-standing spinal injury. This was on the 8th of May, and since then we have both been absorbed in our duties to this poor child, and have felt our own health and nervous energy insufficient for our needful activity of body and mind. He is at present no better, and we look forward to a long trial. Nothing but a trouble so great as this would have prevented me from writing again to you, not only to thank you and Professor Stowe for your letters, but also to tell you that I have received and read "Old Town Folks." I think few of your many readers can have felt more interest than I have felt in that picture of an elder generation; for my interest in it has a double root--one, in my own love for our old-fashioned provincial life, which had its affinities with a contemporary life, even all across the Atlantic, and of which I have gathered glimpses in different phases, from my father and mother, with their relations; the other is, my experimental acquaintance with some shades of Calvinistic orthodoxy. I think your way of presenting the religious convictions which are not your own, except by indirect fellowship, is a triumph of insight and true tolerance. A thorough comprehension of the mixed moral influence shed on society by dogmatic systems is rare even among writers, and one misses it altogether in English drawing-room talk. I thank you sincerely for the gift (in every sense) of this book, which, I can see, has been a labor of love. Both Mr. Lewes and I are deeply interested in the indications which the Professor gives of his peculiar psychological experience, and we should feel it a great privilege to learn much more of it from his lips. It is a rare thing to have such an opportunity of studying exceptional experience in the testimony of a truthful and in every way distinguished mind. He will, I am sure, accept the brief thanks which I can give in this letter, for all that he has generously written to me. He says, "I have had no connection with any of the modern movements, except as father confessor;" and I can well believe that he must be peculiarly sensitive to the repulsive aspects which those movements present. Your view as to the cause of that "great wave of spiritualism" which is rushing over America--namely, that it is a sort of Rachel-cry of bereavement towards the invisible existence of the loved ones, is deeply affecting. But so far as "spiritualism" (by which I mean, of course, spirit-communication, by rapping, guidance of the pencil, etc.) has come within reach of my judgment on our side of the water, it has appeared to me either as degrading folly, imbecile in the estimate of evidence, or else as impudent imposture. So far as my observation and experience have hitherto gone, it has even seemed to me an impiety to withdraw from the more assured methods of studying the open secret of the universe any large amount of attention to alleged manifestations which are so defiled by low adventurers and their palpable trickeries, so hopelessly involved in all the doubtfulness of individual testimonies as to phenomena witnessed, which testimonies are no more true objectively because they are honest subjectively, than the Ptolemaic system is true because it seemed to Tycho Brahé a better explanation of the heavenly movements than the Copernican. This is a brief statement of my position on the subject, which your letter shows me to have an aspect much more compulsory on serious attention in America than I can perceive it to have in England. I should not be as simply truthful as my deep respect for you demands, if I did not tell you exactly what is my mental attitude in relation to the phenomena in question. But whatever you print on the subject and will send me I shall read with attention, and the idea you give me of the hold which spiritualism has gained on the public mind in the United States is already a fact of historic importance. Forgive me, dear friend, if I write in the scantiest manner, unworthily responding to letters which have touched me profoundly. You have known so much of life, both in its more external trials and in the peculiar struggles of a nature which is made twofold in its demands by the yearnings of the author as well as of the woman, that I can count on your indulgence and power of understanding my present inability to correspond by letter. May I add my kind remembrances to your daughter to the high regard which I offer to your husband? [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _July 14._--Returned from Hatfield, after two days' stay. _July 15._--Began Nisard's "History of French Literature"--Villehardouin, Joinville, Froissart, Christine de Pisan, Philippe de Comines, Villers. _July 16._--Read the articles Phoenicia and Carthage in "Ancient Geography." Looked into Jewitt's "Universal History" again for Carthaginian religion. Looked into Sismondi's "Littérature du Midi" for Roman de la Rose; and ran through the first chapter about the formation of the Romance languages. Read about _Thallogens_ and _Acrogens_ in the "Vegetable World." Read Drayton's "Nymphidia"--a charming poem--a few pages of his "Polyolbion." Re-read Grote, v.-vii., on Sicilian affairs, down to rise of Dionysius. _July 18._--Miss Nannie Smith came, after a long absence from England; Professor Masson and Dr. Bastian, Madame Bodichon, and Dr. Payne. Some conversation about Saint-Simonism, _à propos_ of the meeting on Woman's Suffrage the day before, M. Arles Dufour being uneasy because Mill did not in his speech recognize what women owed to Saint-Simonism. _July 19._--Writing an introduction to "Middlemarch." I have just re-read the 15th Idyll of Theocritus, and have written three more sonnets. My head uneasy. We went in the afternoon to the old water-colors, finding that the exhibition was to close at the end of the week. Burne-Jones's Circe and St. George affected me, by their colors, more than any of the other pictures--they are poems. In the evening read Nisard on Rabelais and Marot. _July 22._--Read Reybaud's book on "Les Réformateurs Modernes." In the afternoon Mrs. P. Taylor came and saw Thornie, who has been more uneasy this week, and unwilling to move or come out on the lawn. _July 23._--Read Theocritus, Id. 16. Meditated characters for "Middlemarch." Mrs. F. Malleson came. _July 24._--Still not quite well and clear-headed, so that little progress is made. I read aloud Fourier and Owen, and thought of writing something about Utopists. _July 25._--Read Plato's "Republic" in various parts. After lunch Miss Nannie Smith, Miss Blythe, Mr. Burton, and Mr. Deutsch. In the evening I read Nisard, and Littré on Comte. _Aug. 1._--Since last Sunday I have had an uncomfortable week from mental and bodily disturbance. I have finished eleven sonnets on "Brother and Sister," read Littré, Nisard, part of 22d Idyll of Theocritus, Sainte-Beuve, aloud to G. two evenings. Monday evening looked through Dickson's "Fallacies of the Faculty." On Tuesday afternoon we went to the British Museum to see a new bronze, and I was enchanted with some fragments of glass in the Slade collection, with dyes of sunset in them. Yesterday, sitting in Thornie's room, I read through all Shakespeare's "Sonnets." Poor Thornie has had a miserably unsatisfactory week, making no progress. After lunch came Miss N. Smith and Miss Blythe, Mr. Burton, Mr. and Mrs. Burne-Jones, and Mr. Sanderson. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 1st Aug. 1869.] My last words to you might appear to imply something laughably opposed to my real meaning. "Think of me only as an example" meant--an example to be avoided. It was an allusion in my mind to the servant-girl who, being arrested for theft, said to her fellow-servant, "Take example by me, Sally." With the usual caprice of language, we say. "Make an example of her," in that sense of holding up for a warning, which the poor girl and I intended. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _Aug. 2._--Began "Middlemarch" (the Vincy and Featherstone parts). _Aug. 5._--Thornie during the last two or three days gives much more hopeful signs: has been much more lively, with more regular appetite and quieter nights. This morning I finished the first chapter of "Middlemarch." I am reading Renouard's "History of Medicine." _Aug. 31._--We went to Weybridge, walked on St. George's Hill, and lunched with Mrs. Cross and her family. This visit to Weybridge is a very memorable one to me, because there my own first intimacy with George Eliot began, and the bonds with my family were knitted very much closer. Mr. and Mrs. Bullock were staying with us; and my sister, who had some gift for music, had set one or two of the songs from the "Spanish Gypsy." She sang one of them--"On through the woods, the pillared pines"--and it affected George Eliot deeply. She moved quickly to the piano, and kissed Mrs. Bullock very warmly, in her tears. Mr. and Mrs. Lewes were in deep trouble owing to the illness of Thornton Lewes; we were also in much anxiety as to the approaching confinement of my sister with her first child; and I was on the eve of departure for America. Sympathetic feelings were strong enough to overleap the barrier (often hard to pass) which separates acquaintanceship from friendship. A day did the work of years. Our visitors had come to the house as acquaintances, they left it as lifelong friends. And the sequel of that day greatly intensified the intimacy. For within a month my sister had died in childbirth, and her death called forth one of the most beautiful of George Eliot's letters. A month later Thornton Lewes died. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _Sept. 1._--I meditated characters and conditions for "Middlemarch," which stands still in the beginning of chapter iii. _Sept. 2._--We spent the morning in Hatfield Park, arriving at home again at half-past three. _Sept. 10._--I have achieved little during the last week, except reading on medical subjects--Encyclopædia about the "Medical Colleges," "Cullen's Life," Russell's "Heroes of Medicine," etc. I have also read Aristophanes' "Ecclesiazusoe," and "Macbeth." _Sept. 11._--I do not feel very confident that I can make anything satisfactory of "Middlemarch." I have need to remember that other things which have been accomplished by me were begun under the same cloud. G. has been reading "Romola" again, and expresses profound admiration. This is encouraging. _Sept. 15._--George and I went to Sevenoaks for a couple of nights, and had some delicious walks. _Sept. 21._--Finished studying again Bekker's "Charikles." I am reading Mandeville's Travels. As to my work, _im Stiche gerathen_. Mrs. Congreve and Miss Bury came; and I asked Mrs. Congreve to get me some information about provincial hospitals, which is necessary to my imagining the conditions of my hero. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 21st Sept. 1869.] As to the Byron subject, nothing can outweigh to my mind the heavy social injury of familiarizing young minds with the desecration of family ties. The discussion of the subject in newspapers, periodicals, and pamphlets is simply odious to me, and I think it a pestilence likely to leave very ugly marks. One trembles to think how easily that moral wealth may be lost which it has been the work of ages to produce in the refinement and differencing of the affectionate relations. As to the high-flown stuff which is being reproduced about Byron and his poetry, I am utterly out of sympathy with it. He seems to me the most _vulgar-minded_ genius that ever produced a great effect in literature. [Sidenote: Journal, 1869.] _Sept. 22._--We went down to Watford for a change. _Sept. 24._--Returned home this morning because of the unpromising weather. It is worth while to record my great depression of spirits, that I may remember one more resurrection from the pit of melancholy. And yet what love is given to me! What abundance of good I possess! All my circumstances are blessed; and the defect is only in my own organism. Courage and effort! _Oct. 5._--Ever since the 28th I have been good for little, ailing in body and disabled in mind. On Sunday an interesting Russian pair came to see us--M. and Mme. Kovilevsky: she, a pretty creature, with charming modest voice and speech, who is studying mathematics (by allowance, through the aid of Kirchhoff) at Heidelberg; he, amiable and intelligent, studying the concrete sciences apparently--especially geology; and about to go to Vienna for six months for this purpose, leaving his wife at Heidelberg! I have begun a long-meditated poem, "The Legend of Jubal," but have not written more than twenty or thirty verses. _Oct. 13._--Yesterday Mr. W. G. Clark of Cambridge came to see us, and told of his intention to give up his oratorship and renounce his connection with the Church. I have read rapidly through Max Müller's "History of Sanskrit Literature," and am now reading Lecky's "History of Morals." I have also finished Herbert Spencer's last number of his "Psychology." My head has been sadly feeble, and my whole body ailing of late. I have written about one hundred verses of my poem. Poor Thornie seems to us in a state of growing weakness. _Oct. 19._--This evening at half-past six our dear Thornie died. He went quite peacefully. For three days he was not more than fitfully and imperfectly conscious of the things around him. He went to Natal on the 17th October, 1863, and came back to us ill on the 8th May, 1869. Through the six months of his illness his frank, impulsive mind disclosed no trace of evil feeling. He was a sweet-natured boy--still a boy, though he had lived for twenty-five years and a half. On the 9th of August he had an attack of paraplegia, and although he partially recovered from it, it made a marked change in him. After that he lost a great deal of his vivacity, but he suffered less pain. This death seems to me the beginning of our own. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Dec. 1869.] The day after our dear boy's funeral we went into the quietest and most beautiful part of Surrey, four miles and a half from any railway station. I was very much shaken in mind and body, and nothing but the deep calm of fields and woods would have had a beneficent effect on me. We both of us felt, more than ever before, the blessedness of being in the country, and we are come back much restored. It will interest you, I think, to know that a friend of ours, Mr. W. G. Clark, the public orator at Cambridge, laid down his oratorship as a preparatory step to writing a letter to his bishop renouncing, or, rather, claiming to be free from, his clerical status, because he no longer believes what it presupposes him to believe. Two other men whom we know are about to renounce Cambridge fellowships on the same ground. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 31st Dec. 1869.] We shall be delighted to have you on Monday. I hope you will get your business done early enough to be by a good fire in our drawing-room before lunch. Mr. Doyle is coming to dine with us, but you will not mind that. He is a dear man, a good Catholic, full of varied sympathies and picturesque knowledge. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 15th Jan. 1870.] I am moved to write to you rather by the inclination to remind you of me than by the sense of having anything to say. On reading "The Positivist Problem"[9] a second time, I gained a stronger impression of its general value, and I also felt less jarred by the more personal part at the close. Mr. Lewes would tell you that I have an unreasonable aversion to personal statements, and when I come to like them it is usually by a hard process of _con_-version. But my second reading gave me a new and very strong sense that the last two or three pages have the air of an appendix, added at some distance of time from the original writing of the article. Some more thoroughly explanatory account of your non-adhesion seems requisite as a nexus--since the statement of your non-adhesion had to be mentioned after an argument for the system against the outer Gentile world. However, it is more important for me to say that I felt the thorough justice of your words, when, in conversation with me, you said, "I don't see why there should be any mystification; having come to a resolution after much inward debate, it is better to state the resolution." Something like that you said, and I give a hearty "Amen," praying that I may not be too apt myself to prefer the haze to the clearness. But the fact is, I shrink from decided "deliverances" on momentous subjects from the dread of coming to swear by my own "deliverances," and sinking into an insistent echo of myself. That is a horrible destiny--and one cannot help seeing that many of the most powerful men fall into it. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Mch. 1870.] Cara has told me about your republication of the "Inquiry," and I have a longing to write--not intrusively, I hope--just to say "thank you" for the good it does me to know of your being engaged in that act of piety to your brother's memory. I delight in the act itself, and in the satisfaction which I know you have in performing it. When I remember my own obligation to the book, I must believe that among the many new readers a cheap edition will reach there must be minds to whom it will bring welcome light in studying the New Testament--sober, serious help towards a conception of the past, instead of stage-lights and make-ups. And this value is, I think, independent of the opinions that might be held as to the different degrees of success in the construction of probabilities or in particular interpretations. Throughout there is the presence of grave sincerity. I would gladly have a word or two directly from yourself when you can scribble a note without feeling me a bore for wanting it. People who write many letters without being forced to do so are fathomless wonders to me, but you have a special faculty for writing such letters as one cares to read, so it is a pity that the accomplishment should lie quite unused. I wonder if you have read Emerson's new essays. I like them very much. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 3d April, 1870.] We shall leave Berlin on Tuesday, so that I must ask you to send me the much-desired news of you to Vienna, addressed to the Hon. Robert Lytton, British Embassy. We do not yet know the name of the hotel where rooms have been taken for us. Our journey has not been unfortunate hitherto. The weather has been cold and cheerless, but we expected this, and on the 1st of April the sun began to shine. As for my _Wenigkeit_, it has never known a day of real bodily comfort since we got to Berlin: headache, sore throat, and _Schnupfen_ have been alternately my companions, and have made my enjoyment very languid. But think of this as all past when you get my letter; for this morning I have a clearer head, the sun is shining, and the better time seems to be come for me. Mr. Lewes has had a good deal of satisfaction in his visits to laboratories and to the _Charité_, where he is just now gone for the third time to see more varieties of mad people, and hear more about Psychiatrie from Dr. Westphal, a quiet, unpretending little man, who seems to have been delighted with George's sympathetic interest in this (to me) hideous branch of practice. I speak with all reverence: the world can't do without hideous studies. People have been very kind to us, and have overwhelmed us with attentions, but we have felt a little weary in the midst of our gratitude, and since my cold has become worse we have been obliged to cut off further invitations. We have seen many and various men and women, but except Mommsen, Bunsen, and Du Bois Reymond, hardly any whose names would be known to you. If I had been in good health I should probably have continued to be more amused than tired of sitting on a sofa and having one person after another brought up to bow to me, and pay me the same compliment. Even as it was, I felt my heart go out to some good women who seemed really to have an affectionate feeling towards me for the sake of my books. But the sick animal longs for quiet and darkness. The other night, at Dr. Westphal's, I saw a young English lady marvellously like Emily in face, figure, and voice. I made advances to her on the strength of that external resemblance, and found it carried out in the quickness of her remarks. But new gentlemen to be introduced soon divided us. Another elegant, pretty woman there was old Boeckh's daughter. One enters on all subjects by turns in these evening parties, which are something like reading the Conversations-Lexicon in a nightmare. Among lighter entertainments we have been four times to the opera, being tempted at the very beginning of our stay by Gluck, Mozart, and an opportunity of hearing Tannhäuser for the second time. Also we have enjoyed some fine orchestral concerts, which are to be had for sixpence! Berlin has been growing very fast since our former stay here, and luxury in all forms has increased so much that one only here and there gets a glimpse of the old-fashioned German housekeeping. But though later hours are becoming fashionable, the members of the Reichstag who have other business than politics complain of having to begin their sitting at eleven, ending, instead of beginning, at four, when the solid day is almost gone. We went to the Reichstag one morning, and were so fortunate as to hear Bismarck speak. But the question was one of currency, and his speech was merely a brief winding-up. Now I shall think that I have earned a letter telling me all about you. May there be nothing but good to tell of! Pray give my best love to Emily, and my earnest wishes to Dr. Congreve, that he may have satisfaction in new work. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th May, 1870.] I gladly and gratefully keep the portrait.[10] For my own part, I should have said, without hesitation, "Prefix it to the 'Inquiry.'" One must not be unreasonable about portraits. How can a thing which is always the same be an adequate representation of a living being who is always varying--especially of a living being who is sensitive, bright, many-sided, as your brother was? But I think the impression which this portrait gives excites interest. I am often sorry for people who lose half their possible good in the world by being more alive to deficiencies than to positive merits. I like to know that you have felt in common with me while you read "Jubal." Curiously enough, Mr. Lewes, when I first read it to him, made just the remark you make about the scene of Jubal coming with the lyre. We laughed at Mr. Bray's sharp criticism. Tell him it is not the fashion for authors ever to be in the wrong. They have always justifying reasons. But also it is the fashion for critics to know everything, so that the authors don't think it needful to tell their reasons. [Sidenote: Journal, 1870.] _May 20._--I am fond of my little old book in which I have recorded so many changes, and shall take to writing in it again. It will perhaps last me all through the life that is left to me. Since I wrote in it last, the day after Thornie's death, the chief epochs have been our stay at Limpsfield, in Surrey, till near the beginning of December; my writing of "Jubal," which I finished on the 13th of January; the publication of the poem in the May number of _Macmillan's Magazine_; and our journey to Berlin and Vienna, from which we returned on the 6th of this month, after an absence of eight weeks. This is a fortnight ago, and little has been done by me in the interim. My health is in an uncomfortable state, and I seem to be all the weaker for the continual depression produced by cold and sore throat, which stretched itself all through our long journey. These small bodily grievances make life less desirable to me, though every one of my best blessings--my one perfect love, and the sympathy shown towards me for the sake of my works, and the personal regard of a few friends--have become much intensified in these latter days. I am not hopeful about future work. I am languid, and my novel languishes too. But to-morrow may be better than to-day. _May 25._--We started for Oxford, where we were to stay with the Rector of Lincoln and his wife. After luncheon G. and I walked alone through the town, which, on this first view, was rather disappointing to me. Presently we turned through Christ Church into the meadows, and walked along by the river. This was beautiful to my heart's content. The buttercups and hawthorns were in their glory, the chestnuts still in sufficiently untarnished bloom, and the grand elms made a border towards the town. After tea we went with Mrs. Pattison and the rector to the croquet-ground near the Museum. On our way we saw Sir Benjamin Brodie, and on the ground Professor Rawlinson, the "narrow-headed man;" Mrs. Thursfield and her son, who is a Fellow (I think, of Corpus); Miss Arnold, daughter of Mr. Thomas Arnold, and Professor Phillips, the geologist. At supper we had Mr. Bywater and Miss Arnold, and in chat with them the evening was passed. _May 26._--G. and I went to the Museum, and had an interesting morning with Dr. Rolleston, who dissected a brain for me. After lunch we went again to the Museum, and spent the afternoon with Sir Benjamin Brodie, seeing various objects in his laboratories; among others, the method by which weighing has been superseded in delicate matters by _measuring_ in a graduated glass tube. Afterwards Mrs. Pattison took me a drive in her little pony carriage round by their country refuge, the Firs, Haddington, and by Littlemore, where I saw J. H. Newman's little conventual dwelling. Returning, we had a fine view of the Oxford towers. To supper came Sir Benjamin and Lady Brodie. _May 27._--In the morning we walked to see the two Martyrs' Memorial, and then to Sir Benjamin Brodie's pretty place near the river and bridge. Close by their grounds is the original ford whence the place took its name. The Miss Gaskells were staying with them, and, after chatting some time, we two walked with Sir Benjamin to New College, where we saw the gardens surrounded by the old city wall; the chapel where William of Wykeham's crosier is kept; and the cloisters, which are fine, but gloomy, and less beautiful than those of Magdalen, which we saw in our walk on Thursday before going to the Museum. After lunch we went to the Bodleian, and then to the Sheldonian Theatre, where there was a meeting _à propos_ of Palestine Exploration. Captain Warren, conductor of the Exploration at Jerusalem, read a paper, and then Mr. Deutsch gave an account of the interpretation, as hitherto arrived at, of the Moabite Stone. I saw squeezes of this stone for the first time, with photographs taken from the squeezes. After tea Mrs. Thursfield kindly took us to see a boat-race. We saw it from the Oriel barge, under the escort of Mr. Crichton, Fellow of Merton, who, on our return, took us through the lovely gardens of his college. At supper were Mr. Jowett, Professor Henry Smith, and Miss Smith, his sister, Mr. Fowler, author of "Deductive Logic," etc. _May 28._--After a walk to St. John's College we started by the train for London, and arrived at home about two o'clock. _May 29._--Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Burne-Jones, and Mr. Crompton came. I read aloud No. 3 of "Edwin Drood." _May 30._--We went to see the autotypes of Michael Angelo's frescoes, at 36 Rathbone Place. I began Grove on the "Correlation of the Physical Forces"--needing to read it again--with new interest, after the lapse of years. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 13th June, 1870.] Dr. Reynolds advises Mr. Lewes to leave London again, and go to the bracing air of the Yorkshire coast. I said that we should be here till the beginning of August, but the internal order proposes and the external order disposes--if we are to be so priggish as to alter all our old proverbs into agreement with new formulas! Dickens's death came as a great shock to us. He lunched with us just before we went abroad, and was telling us a story of President Lincoln having told the Council, on the day he was shot, that something remarkable would happen, because he had just dreamt, for the third time, a dream which twice before had preceded events momentous to the nation. The dream was, that he was in a boat on a great river, all alone, and he ended with the words, "I drift--I drift--I drift." Dickens told this very finely. I thought him looking dreadfully shattered then. It is probable that he never recovered from the effect of the terrible railway accident. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 23d June, 1870, from Cromer.] We have been driven away from home again by the state of Mr. Lewes's health. Dr. Reynolds recommended the Yorkshire coast; but we wanted to know Cromer, and so we came here first, for the sake of variety. To me the most desirable thing just now seems to be to have one home, and stay there till death comes to take me away. I get more and more disinclined to the perpetual makeshifts of a migratory life, and care more and more for the order and habitual objects of home. However, there are many in the world whose whole existence is a makeshift, and perhaps the formula which would fit the largest number of lives is "a doing without, more or less patiently." The air just now is not very invigorating anywhere, I imagine, and one begins to be very anxious about the nation generally, on account of the threatening drought. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Robert Lytton (now Lady Lytton), 8th July, 1870, from Harrogate.] I did not like to write to you[11] until Mr. Lytton sent word that I might do so, because I had not the intimate knowledge that would have enabled me to measure your trouble; and one dreads, of all things, to speak or write a wrong or unseasonable word when words are the only signs of interest and sympathy that one has to give. I know now, from what your dear husband has told us, that your loss is very keenly felt by you, that it has first made you acquainted with acute grief, and this makes me think of you very much. For learning to love any one is like an increase of property--it increases care, and brings many new fears lest precious things should come to harm. I find myself often thinking of you with that sort of proprietor's anxiety, wanting you to have gentle weather all through your life, so that your face may never look worn and storm-beaten, and wanting your husband to be and do the very best, lest anything short of that should be disappointment to you. At present the thought of you is all the more with me because your trouble has been brought by death; and for nearly a year death seems to me my most intimate daily companion. I mingle the thought of it with every other, not sadly, but as one mingles the thought of some one who is nearest in love and duty with all one's motives. I try to delight in the sunshine that will be when I shall never see it any more. And I think it is possible for this sort of impersonal life to attain great intensity--possible for us to gain much more independence than is usually believed of the small bundle of facts that make our own personality. I don't know why I should say this to you, except that my pen is chatting as my tongue would if you were here. We women are always in danger of living too exclusively in the affections, and though our affections are, perhaps, the best gifts we have, we ought also to have our share of the more independent life--some joy in things for their own sake. It is piteous to see the helplessness of some sweet women when their affections are disappointed; because all their teaching has been that they can only delight in study of any kind for the sake of a personal love. They have never contemplated an independent delight in ideas as an experience which they could confess without being laughed at. Yet surely women need this sort of defence against passionate affliction even more than men. Just under the pressure of grief, I do not believe there is any consolation. The word seems to me to be drapery for falsities. Sorrow must be sorrow, ill must be ill, till duty and love towards all who remain recover their rightful predominance. Your life is so full of those claims that you will not have time for brooding over the unchangeable. Do not spend any of your valuable time now in writing to me, but be satisfied with sending me news of you through Mr. Lytton when he has occasion to write to Mr. Lewes. I have lately finished reading aloud Mendelssohn's "Letters," which we had often resolved and failed to read before. They have been quite cheering to us from the sense they give of communion with an eminently pure, refined nature, with the most rigorous conscience in art. In the evening we have always a concert to listen to--a concert of modest pretensions, but well conducted enough to be agreeable. I hope this letter of chit-chat will not reach you at a wrong moment. In any case, forgive all mistakes on the part of one who is always yours sincerely and affectionately. [Sidenote: Journal, 1870.] _Aug. 4._--Two months have been spent since the last record! Their result is not rich, for we have been sent wandering again by G.'s want of health. On the 15th June we went to Cromer, on the 30th to Harrogate, and on the 18th July to Whitby, where Mrs. Burne-Jones also arrived on the same day. On Monday, August 1, we came home again for a week only, having arranged to go to Limpsfield next Monday. To-day, under much depression, I begin a little dramatic poem,[12] the subject of which engaged my interest at Harrogate. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 12th Aug. 1870.] We, too, you see, have come back to a well-tried refuge--the same place that soothed us in our troubles last October--and we especially delight in this deep country after the fuss which belongs even to quiet watering-places, such as Cromer, Harrogate, and Whitby, which are, after all, "alleys where the gentle folks live." We are excited, even among the still woods and fields, by the vicissitudes of the war, and chiefly concerned because we cannot succeed in getting the day's _Times_. We have entered into the period which will be marked in future historical charts as "The period of German ascendency." But how saddening to think of the iniquities that the great harvest-moon is looking down on! I am less grieved for the bloodshed than for the hateful trust in lies which is continually disclosed. Meanwhile Jowett's "Translation of Plato" is being prepared for publication, and he has kindly sent us the sheets of one volume. So I pass from discussions of French lying and the Nemesis that awaits it to discussions about rhetorical lying at Athens in the fourth century before Christ. The translations and introductions to the "Dialogues" seem to be charmingly done. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 25th Aug. 1870.] We shall return to town on Monday, various small reasons concurring to make us resolve on quitting this earthly paradise. I am very sorry for the sufferings of the French nation; but I think these sufferings are better for the moral welfare of the people than victory would have been. The war has been drawn down on them by an iniquitous government; but in a great proportion of the French people there has been nourished a wicked glorification of selfish pride, which, like all other conceit, is a sort of stupidity, excluding any true conception of what lies outside their own vain wishes. The Germans, it seems, were expected to stand like toy-soldiers for the French to knock them down. It is quite true that the war is in some respects the conflict of two differing forms of civilization. But whatever charm we may see in the southern Latin races, this ought not to blind us to the great contributions which the German energies have made in all sorts of ways to the common treasure of mankind. And who that has any spirit of justice can help sympathizing with them in their grand repulse of the French project to invade and divide them? If I were a Frenchwoman, much as I might wail over French sufferings, I cannot help believing that I should detest the French talk about the "Prussians." They wanted to throttle the electric eel for their own purposes. But I imagine that you and the doctor would not find us in much disagreement with you in these matters. One thing that is pleasant to think of is the effort made everywhere to help the wounded. [Sidenote: Journal, 1870.] _Oct. 27._--On Monday the 8th August we went to our favorite Surrey retreat--Limpsfield--and enjoyed three weeks there reading and walking together. The weather was perfect, and the place seemed more lovely to us than before. Aloud I read the concluding part of Walter Scott's Life, which we had begun at Harrogate; two volumes of Froude's "History of England," and Comte's "Correspondence with Valat." We returned on Monday the 29th. During our stay at Limpsfield I wrote the greater part of "Armgart," and finished it at intervals during September. Since then I have been continually suffering from headache and depression, with almost total despair of future work. I look into this little book now to assure myself that this is not unprecedented. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 18th Nov. 1870.] Yesterday, for the first time, we went to hear A. (a popular preacher). I remembered what you had said about his vulgar, false emphasis; but there remained the fact of his celebrity. I was glad of the opportunity. But my impressions fell below the lowest judgment I ever heard passed upon him. He has the gift of a fine voice, very flexible and various; he is admirably fluent and clear in his language, and every now and then his enunciation is effective. But I never heard any pulpit reading and speaking which in its level tone was more utterly common and empty of guiding intelligence or emotion; it was as if the words had been learned by heart and uttered without comprehension by a man who had no instinct of rhythm or music in his soul. And the doctrine! It was a libel on Calvinism that it should be presented in such a form. I never heard any attempt to exhibit the soul's experience that was more destitute of insight. The sermon was against fear, in the elect Christian, as being a distrust of God; but never once did he touch the true ground of fear--the doubt whether the signs of God's choice are present in the soul. We had plenty of anecdotes, but they were all poor and pointless--Tract Society anecdotes of the feeblest kind. It was the most superficial grocer's-back-parlor view of Calvinistic Christianity; and I was shocked to find how low the mental pitch of our society must be, judged by the standard of this man's celebrity. Mr. Lewes was struck with some of his tones as good actor's tones, and was not so wroth as I was. But just now, with all Europe stirred by events that make every conscience tremble after some great principle as a consolation and guide, it was too exasperating to sit and listen to doctrine that seemed to look no further than the retail Christian's tea and muffins. He said "Let us approach the throne of God" very much as he might have invited you to take a chair; and then followed this fine touch--"We feel no love to God because he hears the prayers of others; it is because he hears my prayer that I love him." You see I am relieving myself by pouring out my disgust to you. Oh, how short life--how near death--seems to me! But this is not an uncheerful thought. The only great dread is the protraction of life into imbecility or the visitation of lingering pain. That seems to me the insurmountable calamity, though there is an ignorant affectation in many people of underrating what they call bodily suffering. I systematically abstain from correspondence, yet the number of acquaintances and consequent little appeals so constantly increases that I often find myself inwardly rebelling against the amount of note-writing that I cannot avoid. Have the great events of these months interfered with your freedom of spirit in writing? One has to dwell continually on the permanent, growing influence of ideas in spite of temporary reactions, however violent, in order to get courage and perseverance for any work which lies aloof from the immediate wants of society. You remember Goethe's contempt for the Revolution of '30 compared with the researches on the Vertebrate Structure of the Skull? "My good friend, I was not thinking of those people." But the changes we are seeing cannot be doffed aside in that way. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, Nov. 1870.] Lying awake early in the morning, according to a bad practice of mine, I was visited with much compunction and self-disgust that I had ever said a word to you about the faults of a friend whose good qualities are made the more sacred by the endurance his lot has in many ways demanded. I think you may fairly set down a full half of any alleged grievances to my own susceptibility, and other faults of mine which necessarily call forth less agreeable manifestations from others than as many virtues would do, if I had them. I trust to your good sense to have judged well in spite of my errors in the presentation of any matter. But I wish to protest against myself, that I may, as much as possible, cut off the temptation to what I should like utterly to purify myself from for the few remaining years of my life--the disposition to dwell for a moment on the faults of a friend. Tell the flower and fern giver, whoever it may be, that some strength comes to me this morning from the pretty proof of sympathy. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 2d Dec. 1870.] I have it on my conscience that I may not have given you a clear impression of my wishes about the poor pensioner who was in question between us to-day, so I write at once to secure us both against a possible misunderstanding. I would rather not apply any more money in that direction, because I know of other channels[13]--especially a plan which is being energetically carried out for helping a considerable group of people without almsgiving, and solely by inducing them to work--into which I shall be glad to pour a little more aid. The repugnance to have relief from the parish was a feeling which it was good to encourage in the old days of contra-encouragement to sturdy pauperism; but I question whether one ought now to indulge it, and not rather point out the reasons why, in a case of real helplessness, there is no indignity in receiving from a public fund. After you had left me, it rang in my ears that I had spoken of my greater cheerfulness as due to a reduced anxiety about myself and my doings, and had not seemed to recognize that the deficit or evil in other lives could be a cause of depression. I was not really so ludicrously selfish while dressing myself up in the costume of unselfishness. But my strong egoism has caused me so much melancholy, which is traceable simply to a fastidious yet hungry ambition, that I am relieved by the comparative quietude of personal craving which age is bringing. That is the utmost I have to boast of, and, really, to be cheerful in these times could only be a virtue in the sense in which it was felt to be so by the old Romans when they thanked their general for not despairing of the republic. I have been reading aloud to Mr. Lewes this evening Mr. Harrison's article on "Bismarckism," which made me cry--it is in some passages movingly eloquent. [Sidenote: Journal, 1870.] _Dec. 2._--I am experimenting in a story ("Miss Brooke") which I began without any very serious intention of carrying it out lengthily. It is a subject which has been recorded among my possible themes ever since I began to write fiction, but will probably take new shapes in the development. I am to-day at p. 44. I am reading Wolf's "Prolegomena to Homer." In the evening, aloud, "Wilhelm Meister" again! _Dec. 12._--George's mother died this morning quite peacefully as she sat in her chair. _Dec. 17._--Reading "Quintus Fixlein" aloud to G. in the evening. Grote on Sicilian history. _Dec. 31._--On Wednesday the 21st we went to Ryde to see Madame Bodichon at Swanmore Parsonage, a house which she had taken for two months. We had a pleasant and healthy visit, walking much in the frosty air. On Christmas Day I went with her to the Ritualist Church which is attached to the parsonage, and heard some excellent intoning by the delicate-faced, tenor-voiced clergyman. On Wednesday last, the 28th, Barbara came up to town with us. We found the cold here more severe than at Ryde; and the papers tell us of still harder weather about Paris, where our fellow-men are suffering and inflicting horrors. Here is the last day of 1870. I have written only one hundred pages--good printed pages--of a story which I began about the opening of November, and at present mean to call "Miss Brooke." Poetry halts just now. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 2d Jan. 1871.] We spent our Christmas in the Isle of Wight, and on Christmas Day I went to a Ritualist church and heard some fine intoning of the service by a clear, strong, tenor voice, sweet singing from boys' throats, and all sorts of Catholic ceremonial in a miniature way. It is good to see what our neighbors are doing. To live in seclusion with one's own thoughts is apt to give one very false notions as to the possibilities of the present time in the matter of conversion either to superstition or anti-superstition. In this cruel time, I no sooner hear of an affliction than I see it multiplied in some one of the endless forms of suffering created by this hellish war. In the beginning I could feel entirely with the Germans, and could say of that calamity called "victory," I am glad. But now I can be glad of nothing. No people can carry on a long, fierce war without being brutalized by it, more or less, and it pains me that the educated voices have not a higher moral tone about national and international duties and prospects. But, like every one else, I feel that the war is too much with me, and am rather anxious to avoid unwise speech about it than to utter what may seem to me to be wisdom. The pain is that one can _do_ so little. I have not read "Sir Harry Hotspur," but as to your general question, I reply that there certainly are some women who love in that way, but "their sex as well as I may chide them for it." Men are very fond of glorifying that sort of dog-like attachment. It is one thing to love because you falsely imagine goodness--that belongs to the finest natures--and another to go on loving when you have found out your mistake. But married constancy is a different affair. I have seen a grandly heroic woman who, out of her view as to the responsibilities of the married relation, condoned everything, took her drunken husband to her home again, and at last nursed and watched him into penitence and decency. But there may be two opinions even about this sort of endurance--_i.e._, about its ultimate tendency, not about the beauty of nature which prompts it. This is quite distinct from mere animal constancy. It is duty and human pity. [Sidenote: Letter to Colonel Hamley (now General Sir Edward Hamley), 24th Jan. 1871.] I write to say God bless you for your letter to the _Times_, of this morning. It contains the best expression of right principle--I was almost ready to say, the only good, sensible words--that I have yet seen on the actual state of things between the Germans and the French. You will not pause, I trust, but go on doing what can be done only by one who is at once a soldier, a writer, and a clear-headed man of principle. [Sidenote: Journal, 1871.] _March 19_ (Sunday).--It is grievous to me how little, from one cause or other, chiefly languor and occasionally positive ailments, I manage to get done. I have written about two hundred and thirty-six pages (print) of my novel, which I want to get off my hands by next November. My present fear is that I have too much matter--too many _momenti_. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 3d April, 1871.] I happened to-day to be talking to a very sweet-faced woman (the sister of Dr. Bridges, whom I think you know something of), and she mentioned, _à propos_ of educating children in the love of animals, that she had felt the want of some good little book as a help in this matter. I told her of yours, and when I said that it was written by Mrs. Bray, the author of "Physiology for Schools," she said, "Oh, I know that book well." I have made her a present of my copy of "Duty to Animals," feeling that this was a good quarter in which to plant that offset. For she had been telling me of her practical interest in the infant and other schools in Suffolk, where she lives. We have had a great pleasure to-day in learning that our friend Miss Bury is engaged to be married to Mr. Geddes, a Scotch gentleman. There is a streak of sadness for her family in the fact that she is to go to India with her husband next November, but all else is bright in her prospect. It is very sweet to see, and think of, the happiness of the young. I am scribbling with an infirm head, at the end of the day, just for the sake of letting you know one proof, in addition doubtless to many others which you have already had, that your pretty little book is likely to supply a want. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Gilchrist, 19th April, 1871.] We are very much obliged to you for your kind, methodical thoughtfulness as to all which is necessary for our accommodation at Brookbank, and also for your hints about the points of beauty to be sought for in our walks. That "sense of standing on a round world," which you speak of, is precisely what I most care for among out-of-door delights. The last time I had it fully was at St. Märgen, near Freiburg, on green hilltops, whence we could see the Rhine and poor France. The garden has been, and is being, attended to, and I trust we shall not find the commissariat unendurable. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 6th June, 1871.] It seems like a resurrection of a buried-alive friendship once more to have a letter from you. Welcome back from your absorption in the Franchise! Somebody else ought to have your share of work now, and you ought to rest. Ever since the 1st of May we have been living in this queer cottage, which belongs to Mrs. Gilchrist, wife of the Gilchrist who wrote the life of William Blake the artist. We have a ravishing country round us, and pure air and water; in short, all the conditions of health, if the east wind were away. We have old prints for our dumb companions--charming children of Sir Joshua's, and large-hatted ladies of his and Romney's. I read aloud--almost all the evening--books of German science, and other gravities. So, you see, we are like two secluded owls, wise with unfashionable wisdom, and knowing nothing of pictures and French plays. I confess that I should have gone often to see Got act if I had been in town, he is so really great as an actor. And yet one is ashamed of seeking amusement in connection with anything that belongs to poor, unhappy France. I am saved from the shame by being safely shut out from the amusement. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 17th June, 1871.] How about Madame Mohl and her husband? I have been wondering through all the horrors whether M. Mohl had returned to Paris, and whether their house, containing, too probably, the results of much studious work, lies buried among ruins. But I will not further recall the sorrows in that direction. I am glad to see the words "very satisfactory" in connection with the visit to Hitchin and Cambridge. Ely Cathedral I saw last year, but too cursorily. It has more of the massive grandeur that one adores in Le Mans and Chartres than most of our English cathedrals, though I am ready to recall the comparison as preposterous. I don't know how long we shall stay here; perhaps, more or less, till the end of August, for I have given up the idea of going to the Scott Festival at Edinburgh, to which I had accepted an invitation. The fatigue of the long journey, with the crowd at the end, would be too much for me. Let us know beforehand when you are about coming. George is gloriously well, and studying, writing, walking, eating, and sleeping with equal vigor. He is enjoying the life here immensely. Our country could hardly be surpassed in its particular kind of beauty--perpetual undulation of heath and copse, and clear views of hurrying water, with here and there a grand pine wood, steep, wood-clothed promontories, and gleaming pools. If you want delightful reading get Lowell's "My Study Windows," and read the essays called "My Garden Acquaintances" and "Winter." Get the volumes of a very cheap publication--the "Deutscher Novellenschatz." Some of the tales are remarkably fine. I am reading aloud the last three volumes, which are even better than the others. I have just been so deeply interested in one of the stories--"Diethelm von Buchenberg"--that I want everybody to have the same pleasure who can read German. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Gilchrist, 3d July, 1871.] We are greatly obliged to you for the trouble you have so sympathetically taken on our behalf, and we shall prepare to quit our quiet shelter on Wednesday, the 2d of August. During the first weeks of our stay I did not imagine that I should ever be so fond of the place as I am now. The departure of the bitter winds, some improvement in my health, and the gradual revelation of fresh and fresh beauties in the scenery, especially under a hopeful sky such as we have sometimes had--all these conditions have made me love our little world here and wish not to quit it until we can settle in our London home. I have the regret of thinking that it was my original indifference about it (I hardly ever like things until they are familiar) that hindered us from securing the cottage until the end of September, for the chance of coming to it again after a temporary absence. But all regrets ought to be merged in thankfulness for the agreeable weeks we have had, and probably shall have till the end of July. And among the virtues of Brookbank we shall always reckon this, that our correspondence about it has been with you rather than with any one else, so that, along with the country, we have had a glimpse of your ready, quick-thoughted kindness. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 13th July, 1871.] One word to you in response to Emily's note, which comes to me this morning, and lets me know that by this time she is probably in the last hour of her unmarried life. My thoughts and love and tender anxiety are with her and with all of you. When you receive this she will, I suppose, be far away, and it is of little consequence that I can make no new sign to her of my joy in her joy. For the next few weeks my anxiety will be concentrated on you and yours at Yarmouth. Pray, when your mind and body are sufficiently free from absorbing occupation, remember my need of news about you, and write to me. The other day I seemed to get a glimpse of you through Mrs. Call, who told me that you looked like a new creature--so much stronger than you were wont; and she told me of Dr. Congreve's address at the school, which raised my keenest sympathy, and made me feel myself a very helpless friend. Please give my love to the children, and tell Sophy especially that I think her happy in this--that there is a place made for all the effort of her young life to fill it with something like the goodness and brightness which she has known and has just now to part with. I expect her to be your guardian angel, perhaps in a new way--namely, in saving you from some fatigue about details. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 15th July, 1871.] I still feel that I owe you my thanks for your kind letter, although Mr. Lewes undertook to deliver them in the first instance. You certainly made a seat at the Commemoration Table[14] look more tempting to me than it had done before; but I think that prudence advises me to abstain from the fatigue and excitement of a long railway journey, with a great gathering at the end of it. If there is a chance that "Middlemarch" will be good for anything, I don't want to break down and die without finishing it. And whatever "the tow on my distaff" may be, my strength to unwind it has not been abundant lately. _À propos_ of bodily prosperity, I am sincerely rejoiced to know, by your postscript this morning, that Mr. Simpson is recovered. I hope he will not object to my considering him a good friend of mine, though it is so long since I saw him. The blank that is left when thorough workers like him are disabled is felt not only near at hand, but a great way off. I often say--after the fashion of people who are getting older--that the capacity for good work, of the kind that goes on without trumpets, is diminishing in the world. The continuous absence of sunshine is depressing in every way, and makes one fear for the harvest, and so grave a fear that one is ashamed of mentioning one's private dreariness. You cannot play golf in the rain, and I cannot feel hopeful without the sunlight; but I dare say you work all the more, whereas when my spirits flag my work flags too. I should have liked to see Principal Tulloch again, and to have made the acquaintance of Captain Lockhart, whose writing is so jaunty and cheery, yet so thoroughly refined in feeling. Perhaps I may still have this pleasure in town, when he comes up at the same time with you. Please give my kind regards to Mr. William Blackwood. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th July, 1871.] Thanks for the prompt return of the MS., which arrived this morning. I don't see how I can leave anything out, because I hope there is nothing that will be seen to be irrelevant to my design, which is to show the gradual action of ordinary causes rather than exceptional, and to show this in some directions which have not been from time immemorial the beaten path--the Cremorne walks and shows of fiction. But the best intentions are good for nothing until execution has justified them. And you know I am always compassed about with fears. I am in danger in all my designs of parodying dear Goldsmith's satire on Burke, and think of refining when novel-readers only think of skipping. We are obliged to turn out of this queer cottage next week; but we have been fortunate enough to get the more comfortable house on the other side of the road, so that we can move without any trouble. Thus our address will continue to be the same until the end of August. Tennyson, who is one of the "hill-folk" about here, has found us out. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Robert Lytton[15] (now Lady Lytton), 25th July, 1871.] This morning your husband's letter came to us, but if I did not know that it would be nearly a week before any words of mine could reach you, I should abstain from writing just yet, feeling that in the first days of sorrowing it is better to keep silence. For a long while after a great bereavement our only companionship is with the lost one. Yet I hope it will not be without good to you to have signs of love from your friends, and to be reminded that you have a home in their affections, which is made larger for you by your trouble. For weeks my thought has been continually going out to you, and the absence of news has made me so fearful that I have mourned beforehand. I have been feeling that probably you were undergoing the bitterest grief you had ever known. But under the heart-stroke, is there anything better than to grieve? Strength will come back for the duty and the fellowship which gradually bring new contentments, but at first there is no joy to be desired that would displace sorrow. What is better than to love and live with the loved? But that must sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury. You see, I make myself a warrant out of my regard for you, to write as if we had long been near each other. And I cannot help wishing that we were physically nearer--that you were not on the other side of Europe. We shall trust in Mr. Lytton's kindness to let us hear of you by and by. But you must never write except to satisfy your own longing. May all true help surround you, dear Mrs. Lytton, and whenever you can think of me, believe in me as yours with sincere affection. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Mary Cross, 31st July, 1871.] I read your touching story[16] aloud yesterday to Mr. Lewes, and we both cried over it. Your brother wrote to me that you had doubts about giving your name. My faith is, that signature is right in the absence of weighty special reasons against it. We think of you all very often, and feel ourselves much the richer for having a whole dear family to reckon among our friends. We are to stay here till the end of the month. When the trees are yellow, I hope you will be coming to see us in St. John's Wood. How little like the woods we have around us! I suppose Weybridge is more agreeable than other places at present, if it has any of its extra warmth in this arctic season. Our best love, to your dear mother supremely, and then to all. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 2d Aug. 1871.] I always say that those people are the happiest who have a peremptory reason for staying in one place rather than another. Else I should be sorry for you that you are kept in London--by Parliamentary business, of course. There is sunshine over our fields now, but the thermometer is only 64° in the house, and in the warmest part of the day I, having a talent for being cold, sit shivering, sometimes even with a warm-water bottle at my feet. I wonder if you went to the French plays to see the supreme Got? That is a refined pleasure which I enjoyed so much in Paris a few years ago that I was sorry to be out of reach of it this spring. About the Crystal Palace music I remember feeling just what you mention--the sublime effect of the Handel choruses, and the total futility of the solos. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 3d Aug. 1871.] Thanks for your little picture of things. Eminently acceptable in place of vague conjectures. I am a bitter enemy to make-believe about the human lot, but I think there is a true alleviation of distress in thinking of the intense enjoyment which accompanies a spontaneous, confident, intellectual activity. This may not be a counterpoise to the existing evils, but it is at least a share of mortal good, and good of an exquisite kind. Are you not happy in the long-wished-for sunshine? I have a pretty lawn before me, with hills in the background. The train rushes by every now and then to make one more glad of the usual silence. A good man writes to me from Scotland this morning, asking me if he is not right in pronouncing Rom[)o]la, in defiance of the world around him (not a large world, I hope) who _will_ say Rom[=o]la. Such is correspondence in these days; so that quantity is magnificent _en gros_ but shabby _en détail_--_i.e._, in single letters like this. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 14th Aug. 1871.] We shall stay here only till the end of this month--at least, I have no hope that our _propriétaires_ will be induced to protract their absence; and if the lingering smell of paint does not drive us away from the Priory again, we expect to stay there from the first of September, without projects of travel for many, many months. We enjoy our roomy house and pretty lawn greatly. Imagine me seated near a window, opening under a veranda, with flower-beds and lawn and pretty hills in sight, my feet on a warm-water bottle, and my writing on my knees. In that attitude my mornings are passed. We dine at two; and at four, when the tea comes in, I begin to read aloud. About six or half-past we walk on to the commons and see the great sky over our head. At eight we are usually in the house again, and fill our evening with physics, chemistry, or other wisdom if our heads are at par; if not, we take to folly, in the shape of Alfred de Musset's poems, or something akin to them. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 29th Oct. 1871.] Yesterday we returned from Weybridge, where, for a few days, I have been petted by kind friends (delightful Scotch people), and have had delicious drives in the pure autumn air. That must be my farewell to invalidism and holiday making. I am really better--not robust or fat, but perhaps as well as I am likely to be till death mends me. Your account of Mr. Main[17] sets my mind at ease about him; for in this case I would rather have your judgment than any opportunity of forming my own. The one thing that gave me confidence was his power of putting his finger on the right passages, and giving emphasis to the right idea (in relation to the author's feeling and purpose). Apart from that, enthusiasm would have been of little value. One feels rather ashamed of authoresses this week after the correspondence in the _Times_. One hardly knows which letter is in the worst taste. However, if we are to begin with marvelling at the little wisdom with which the world is governed, we can hardly expect that much wisdom will go to the making of novels. I should think it quite a compliment if the general got through "Miss Brooke." Mr. Lewes amused himself with the immeasurable contempt that Mr. Casaubon would be the object of in the general's mind. I hardly dare hope that the second part will take quite so well as the first, the effects being more subtile and dispersed; but Mr. Lewes seems to like the third part better than anything that has gone before it. But can anything be more uncertain than the reception of a book by the public? I am glad to see that the "Coming Race" has got into a fourth edition. Let us hope that the Koom Posh may be at least mitigated by the sale of a good book or two. As for me, I get more and more unable to be anything more than a feeble sceptic about all publishing plans, and am thankful to have so many good heads at work for me. _Allah illah allah!_ [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1871.] We who are getting old together have the tie of common infirmities. But I don't find that the young troubles seem lighter on looking back. I prefer my years now to any that have gone before. I wish you could tell me the same thing about yourself. And, surely, writing your book is, on the whole, a joy to you--it is a large share in the meagre lot of mankind. All hail for the morrow! How many sweet laughs, how much serious pleasure in the great things others have done, you and I have had together in a past islet of time that remains very sunny in my remembrance. [Sidenote: Journal, 1871.] _Dec. 1._--This day the first part of "Middlemarch" was published. I ought by this time to have finished the fourth part, but an illness which began soon after our return from Haslemere has robbed me of two months. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th Dec. 1871.] If you have not yet fallen in with Dickens's "Life" be on the lookout for it, because of the interest there is in his boyish experience, and also in his rapid development during his first travels in America. The book is ill organized, and stuffed with criticism and other matter which would be better in limbo; but the information about the childhood, and the letters from America, make it worth reading. We have just got a photograph of Dickens, taken when he was writing, or had just written, "David Copperfield"--satisfactory refutation of that keepsakey, impossible face which Maclise gave him, and which has been engraved for the "Life" in all its odious beautification. This photograph is the young Dickens, corresponding to the older Dickens whom I knew--the same face, without the unusually severe wear and tear of years which his latest looks exhibited. [Sidenote: Journal, 1872.] _Dec. 20._--My health has become very troublesome during the last three weeks, and I can get on but tardily. Even now I am only at page 227 of my fourth part. But I have been also retarded by construction, which, once done, serves as good wheels for progress. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 1st Jan. 1872.] Your good wishes and pleasant bits of news made the best part of my breakfast this morning. I am glad to think that, in desiring happiness for you during the new year, I am only desiring the continuance of good which you already possess. I suppose we two, also, are among the happiest of mortals, yet we have had a rather doleful Christmas, the one great lack, that of health, having made itself particularly conspicuous in the surrounding fog. Having no grandchildren to get up a Christmas-tree for, we had nothing to divert our attention from our headaches. Mr. Main's book broke the clouds a little, and now the heavens have altogether cleared, so that we are hoping to come back from a visit of three days to Weybridge with our strength renewed--if not like the eagle's, at least like a convalescent tomtit's. The "Sayings" are set off by delightful paper and print, and a binding which opens with inviting ease. I am really grateful to every one concerned in the volume, and am anxious that it should not be in any way a disappointment. The selections seem to me to be made with an exquisite sensibility to the various lights and shades of life; and all Mr. Main's letters show the same quality. It is a great help to me to have such an indication that there exist careful readers for whom no subtilest intention is lost. We have both read the story of the "Megara" with the deepest interest; indeed, with a quite exceptional enjoyment of its direct, unexaggerated painting. The prescription of two days' golfing per week will, I hope, keep up your condition to the excellent pitch at which it was on your return from Paris. Good news usually acts as a tonic when one's case is not too desperate; and I shall be glad if you and we can get it in the form of more success for "Middlemarch." Dickens's "Life," you see, finds a large public ready to pay more. But the British mind has long entertained the purchase of expensive biographies. The proofs lately given that one's books don't necessarily go out like lucifer matches, never to be taken up again, make one content with moderate immediate results, which perhaps are as much as can reasonably be expected for any writing which does not address itself either to fashions or corporate interests of an exclusive kind. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th Jan. 1872.] It is like your kindness to write me your encouraging impressions on reading the third book. I suppose it is my poor health that just now makes me think my writing duller than usual. For certainly the reception of the first book by my old readers is quite beyond my most daring hopes. One of them, who is a great champion of "Adam Bede" and "Romola," told Mr. Lewes yesterday that he thought "Middlemarch" surpassed them. All this is very wonderful to me. I am thoroughly comforted as to the half of the work which is already written; but there remains the terror about the _un_written. Mr. Lewes is much satisfied with the fourth book, which opens with the continuation of the Featherstone drama. We went yesterday to the Tichborne trial, which was an experience of great interest to me. We had to come away after the third hour of Coleridge's speaking; but it was a great enjoyment to me to hear what I did. Coleridge is a rare orator--not of the declamatory, but of the argumentative order. Thanks, not formal, but sincerely felt, for the photographs. This likeness will always carry me back to the first time I saw you, in our little Richmond lodging, when I was thinking anxiously of "Adam Bede," as I now am of "Middlemarch." I felt something like a shudder when Sir Henry Maine asked me last Sunday whether this would not be a very long book; saying, when I told him it would be four good volumes, that that was what he had calculated. However, it will not be longer than Thackeray's books, if so long. And I don't see how the sort of thing I want to do could have been done briefly. I have to be grateful for the gift of "Brougham's Life," which will be a welcome addition to my means of knowing the time "when his ugliness had not passed its bloom." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 22d Jan. 1872.] Your letter seems to pierce the rainy fog with a little sunlight. Cold and clearness are the reverse of what we are usually having here. Until the last few days my chief consciousness has been that of struggling against inward as well as outward fog; but I am now better, and have only been dragged back into headachiness by a little too much fatigue from visitors. I give you this account as a preface to my renunciation of a journey to Dover, which would be very delightful, if I had not already lost too much time to be warranted in taking a holiday. Next Saturday we are going to have a party--six to dine, and a small rush of people after dinner, for the sake of music. I think it is four years at least since we undertook anything of that kind. A great domestic event for us has been the arrival of a new dog, who has all Ben's virtues, with more intelligence, and a begging attitude of irresistible charm. He is a dark-brown spaniel. You see what infantine innocence we live in! Glad you are reading my demigod Milton! We also are rather old-fashioned in our light reading just now; for I have rejected Heyse's German stories, brand new, in favor of dear old Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," which I read aloud in my old age with a delicious revival of girlish impressions. [Sidenote: Journal, 1872.] _Jan. 29._--It is now the last day but one of January. I have finished the fourth part--_i.e._, the second volume--of "Middlemarch." The first part, published on December 1, has been excellently well received; and the second part will be published the day after to-morrow. About Christmas a volume of extracts from my works was published, under the title, "Wise, Witty, and Tender Sayings, in Prose and Verse." It was proposed and executed by Alexander Main, a young man of thirty, who began a correspondence with me by asking me how to pronounce Romola, in the summer, when we were at Shottermill. Blackwood proposed that we should share the profits, but we refused. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 29th Jan. 1872.] I do lead rather a crawling life under these rainy fogs and low behavior of the barometer. But I am a little better, on the whole, though just now overdone with the fatigue of company. We have been to hear Coleridge addressing the jury on the Tichborne trial--a very interesting occasion to me. He is a marvellous speaker among Englishmen; has an exquisitely melodious voice, perfect gesture, and a power of keeping the thread of his syntax to the end of his sentence, which makes him delightful to follow. We are going some other day, if possible, to hear a cross-examination of Ballantyne's. The digest of the evidence which Coleridge gives is one of the best illustrations of the value or valuelessness of testimony that could be given. I wonder if the world, which retails Guppy anecdotes, will be anything the wiser for it. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 21st Feb. 1872.] To hear of a friend's illness after he has got well through it is the least painful way of learning the bad news. I hope that your attack has been a payment of insurance. You probably know what it grieved us deeply to learn the other day--that our excellent friend Mr. William Smith is dangerously ill. They have been so entirely happy and wrapped up in each other that we cannot bear to think of Mrs. Smith's grief. Thanks for the list of sales since February 12th. Things are encouraging, and the voices that reach us are enthusiastic. But you can understand how people's interest in the book heightens my anxiety that the remainder should be up to the mark. It has caused me some uneasiness that the third part is two sheets less than the first. But Mr. Lewes insisted that the death of old Featherstone was the right point to pause at; and he cites your approbation of the part as a proof that effectiveness is secured in spite of diminished quantity. Still it irks me to ask 5_s._ for a smaller amount than that already given at the same price. Perhaps I must regard the value as made up solely by effectiveness, and certainly the book will be long enough. I am still below par in strength, and am too much beset with visitors and kind attentions. I long for the quiet spaces of time and the absence of social solicitations that one enjoys in the country, out of everybody's reach. I am glad to hear of the pleasure "Middlemarch" gives in your household: that makes quite a little preliminary public for me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 4th Mch. 1872.] I can understand very easily that the two last years have been full for you of other and more imperative work than the writing of letters not absolutely demanded either by charity or business. The proof that you still think of me affectionately is very welcome now it is come, and all the more cheering because it enables me to think of you as enjoying your retreat in your orange orchard--your western Sorrento--the beloved Rabbi still beside you. I am sure it must be a great blessing to you to bathe in that quietude--as it always is to us when we go out of reach of London influences, and have the large space of country days to study, walk, and talk in. Last year we spent our summer months in Surrey, and did not leave England. Unhappily, the country was not so favorable to my bodily health as to my spiritual, and on our return to town I had an illness which was the climax of the summer's _malaise_. That illness robbed me of two months, and I have never quite recovered a condition in which the strict duties of the day are not felt as a weight. But just now we are having some clear spring days, and I am in hope of prospering better, the sunshine being to me the greatest visible good of life--what I call the wealth of life, after love and trust. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 8th Mch. 1872.] When I am more at liberty I will certainly read Mr. Owen's books, if he is good enough to send them to me. I desire on all subjects to keep an open mind, but hitherto the various phenomena reported or attested in connection with ideas of spirit-intercourse, "psychion," and so on, have come before me here in the painful form of the lowest _charlatanerie_. Take Mr. H. as an example of what I mean. I could not choose to enter a room where he held a _séance_. He is an object of moral disgust to me; and nothing of late reported by Mr. Crookes, Lord Lindsay, and the rest carries conviction to my mind that Mr. H. is not simply an impostor, whose professedly abnormal manifestations have varied their fashion in order to create a new market, just as if they were _papier mâché_ wares or pomades for the idle rich. But apart from personal contact with people who get money by public exhibitions as mediums, or with semi-idiots, such as those who make a court for a Mrs. Guppy or other feminine personage of that kind, I would not willingly place any barriers between my mind and any possible channel of truth affecting the human lot. The spirit in which you have written in the paper you kindly sent me is likely to teach others--to rouse them, at least, to attention in a case where you have been deeply impressed. I write to you quite openly, dear friend, but very imperfectly, for my letters are always written in shreds of time. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 14th Mch. 1872.] Thanks for the budget of this morning. The sales, we think, are very cheering, and we may well be content if they continue in the same ratio. But the Greek proverb about the beginning being the half of the whole wants as much defining and excepting from as most other proverbs. I have just had sent me a copy of the magazine _Für die Literatur des Auslander_, containing a review of "Miss Brooke," which will be good for Asher's edition, and is otherwise satisfactory as an intelligent appreciation. It mentions at the end the appearance of Mr. Main's book, "The Sayings." A Frenchman, apparently accomplished, a M. Landolphe, who has made some important translations, is going to translate the whole of "Middlemarch;" and one of the contributors to the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ has written for leave to extract Dorothea's history. I fancy we have done a good turn to English authors generally by setting off Asher's series, for we have heard that Tauchnitz has raised his offers. There is another way in which benefit might come that would be still more desirable--namely, to make him more careful in his selections of books for reprint. But I fear that this effect is not so certain. You see Franz Duncker, who publishes the German translation of "Middlemarch," has also begun an English series. This is really worth while, for the Germans are excellent readers of our books. I was astonished to find so many in Berlin who really knew one's books, and did not merely pay compliments after the fashion of the admirers who made Rousseau savage--running after him to pay him visits, and not knowing a word of his writing. You and other good readers have spoiled me, and made me rather shudder at being read only once; and you may imagine how little satisfaction I get from people who mean to please me by saying that they shall wait till "Middlemarch" is finished, and then sit up to read it "at one go-off." We are looking for a country retreat not too far from town, so that we may run up easily. There is nothing wanting to our happiness except that "Middlemarch" should be well ended without growing signs of its author's debility. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 17th March, 1872.] Before I received your letter this morning, I was going to write you a word of sympathy, knowing how deeply you would be feeling the death of Mazzini. Such a man leaves behind him a wider good than the loss of his personal presence can take away. "The greatest gift the hero leaves his race Is to have been a hero." I must be excused for quoting my own words, because they are my _credo_. I enter thoroughly into your sense of wealth in having known him. Brighton does not suit Mr. Lewes. But he was near going there for a night a little while ago to see our friends, Mr. and Mrs. William Smith. He (the author of "Thorndale," etc.) is, I fear, wasting fatally with organic disease, and we grieve much at the too-probably near parting of a husband and wife who have been among the perfectly happy couples of the world. She is a charming woman, and I wish that you may happen to know her. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d March, 1872.] Owing to my loss of two months in illness, and my infirm health ever since, I have not yet finished the writing of "Middlemarch." This payment of wintry arrears makes one prefer the comforts of a London home; but we are obliged to see more company than my health is equal to, and for this reason I dare say we shall soon migrate. To-day we have been to our last morning concert--or Saturday Pop.--held on a Friday because of the University boat-race to-morrow. These concerts are an easy pleasure which we are sorry to part with. This is one of my bad weeks, owing probably to the change in the weather, and I am constantly struggling with hemicrania and _malaise_. Even writing this scrap of a note is the feather too much, and I must leave off. You have known too much of nervous weakness not to understand this. [Sidenote: Journal, 1872.] _May 8._--I have been reposing for more than a week in the hope of getting stronger, my life having been lately a swamp of illness, with only here and there a bit of firm walking. In consequence of this incessant interruption (almost every week having been half nullified for me so far as my work has been concerned) I have only finished the fifth book, and have still three books to write--equal to a large volume and a half. The reception of the book hitherto has been quite beyond what I could have believed beforehand, people exalting it above everything else I have written. Kohn is publishing an English edition in Germany; Duncker is to publish a translation; and Harpers pay me £1200 for reprinting it in America. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 4th June, 1872.] I am glad to know that you are having a time of refreshing in fine scenery, with entire freedom to paint. I am in a corresponding state of relief from the noises and small excitements that break up the day and scatter one's nervous energy in London. We have been in our hiding-place about twelve days now, and I am enjoying it more and more--getting more bodily ease and mental clearness than I have had for the last six months. Our house is not in the least beautiful, but it is well situated and comfortable, perfectly still in the middle of a garden surrounded by fields and meadows, and yet within reach of shops and civilization. We managed to get to the Academy one day before leaving town. I was delighted with Walker's picture--were you?--and Mason's unfinished Reaper, and a few, very few, others. Also we went twice to the opera in order to save ourselves from any yearnings after it when we should have settled in the country. We tell no one our address, and have our letters sent on from the Priory. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 4th June, 1872.] We too are in a country refuge, you see, and this bit of Surrey, as I dare say you know, is full of beauty of the too garden-like sort for which you pity us. How different from your lodge in the wilderness! I have read your description three or four times--it enchants me so thoroughly--and Mr. Lewes is just as much enamoured of it. We shall never see it, I imagine, except in the mirror of your loving words; but thanks, many and warm, dear friend, for saying that our presence would be welcome. I have always had delight in descriptions of American forests since the early days when I read "Atala," which I believe that you would criticise as half unveracious. I dwelt on the descriptions in "Dred" with much enjoyment. Pray give my special thanks to the Professor for his letter. His handwriting, which does really look like Arabic--a very graceful character, surely--happens to be remarkably legible to me, and I did not hesitate over a single word. Some of the words, as expressions of fellowship, were very precious to me, and I hold it very good of him to write to me that best sort of encouragement. I was much impressed with the fact--which you had told me--that he was the original of the "visionary boy" in "Old Town Folk;" and it must be deeply interesting to talk with him on his experience. Perhaps I am inclined, under the influence of the facts, physiological and psychological, which have been gathered of late years, to give larger place to the interpretation of vision-seeing as _subjective_ than the Professor would approve. It seems difficult to limit--at least to limit with any precision--the possibility of confounding sense by impressions, derived from inward conditions, with those which are directly dependent on external stimulus. In fact, the division between within and without in this sense seems to become every year a more subtle and bewildering problem. _Your_ experience with the _planchette_ is amazing; but that the words which you found it to have written were dictated by the spirit of Charlotte Brontë is to me (whether rightly or not) so enormously improbable, that I could only accept it if every condition were laid bare, and every other explanation demonstrated to be impossible. If it were another spirit aping Charlotte Brontë--if here and there at rare spots and among people of a certain temperament, or even at many spots and among people of all temperaments, tricksy spirits are liable to rise as a sort of earth-bubbles and set furniture in movement, and tell things which we either know already or should be as well without knowing--I must frankly confess that I have but a feeble interest in these doings, feeling my life very short for the supreme and awful revelations of a more orderly and intelligible kind which I shall die with an imperfect knowledge of. If there were miserable spirits whom we could help, then I think we should pause and have patience with their trivial-mindedness; but otherwise I don't feel bound to study them more than I am bound to study the special follies of a particular phase of human society. Others who feel differently, and are attracted towards this study, are making an experiment for us as to whether anything better than bewilderment can come of it. At present it seems to me that to rest any fundamental part of religion on such a basis is a melancholy misguidance of men's minds from the true sources of high and pure emotion. I am comforted to think that you partly agree with me there. I have not time to write more than this very imperfect fragmentary sketch of _only one_ aspect which the question of spirit-communications wears to me at present--being always rather brain-weary after my morning's work, and called for by my husband to walk with him and read aloud to him. I spend nearly three hours every day in this exercise of reading aloud, which, happily, I can carry on without fatigue of lungs. Yet it takes strength as well as time. Mr. Lewes is gone into town to-day, so I have an additional hour at liberty, and have been glad to be able to send you a letter which is not worth anything, indeed, but which satisfies my need to thank you and the Professor for your sweet friendliness--very sweet to me, I assure you. Please accept my entire frankness as a proof of that high value I set on you. And do not call anything I may have written a prejudice--it is simply a statement of how certain things appear to my inward eyesight, which I am ready to have rectified by more light. About photographs--I have _no_ photograph of myself, having always avoided having one taken. That makes me seem very selfish in being particularly glad to get yours. Mrs. Fields, with the beautiful face and charming manners, sent me a letter a little while ago, inviting us in the most tempting way to go to Boston. She said that this pretty action was done at your prompting, which is just like you as you have always shown yourself to me. Dear friend, how much you have lived through, both in the flesh and in the spirit! My experience has been narrow compared with yours. I assure you I feel this, so do not misinterpret anything I say to you as being written in a flippant or critical spirit. One always feels the want of the voice and eyes to accompany a letter and give it the right tone. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 4th July, 1872.] You were very good and dear to want to give me the pleasure of knowing that the news was good, instead of leaving me to my small stock of hopefulness. Ask Emily to care a little even now, with baby on her mind, that her old friends are the better for hearing that she is well. Four or five months ago it happens that I was writing some playfulness about a baby and baby's hair, which is now in print, to appear next month. I am not afraid that Emily should be revolted by my blasphemy! Mr. Lewes had "a lovely time" from Saturday to Monday at Weybridge. He was feeling languid, and yet was tempted to sit at his desk. The little change has been very serviceable, and he is now bright. Our first book, read aloud by me after we came down, was Wallace's "Eastern Archipelago," which, I think, you had spoken well of to Mr. Lewes. It is delightful. The biography of the infant ourang-outang alone is worth getting the book for. We are now in the middle of Tylor's "Primitive Culture," which is worth studying, and useful for reference on special points, if you happen to want knowledge about the ideas of the savage tribes. Our days go by in delicious peace, unbroken except by my little inward anxieties about all unfinished work. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 19th July, 1872.] This morning came the joyful news that Gertrude has a fine healthy baby--a daughter. We have just been saying in our walk that by the end of this century our one-day-old granddaughter will probably be married and have children of her own, while we are pretty sure to be at rest. This obvious kind of wisdom does very well for discourse in the delicious sunshine, as we wander over a hilly, half fern-clad, half grassy wilderness called South Park, from which we can overlook two fertile bosky valleys. We like this bit of country better and better. As to health, I am not quite so prosperous as I was at first, but to make amends, Mr. Lewes is in a good average condition, and only now and then has a morning in which he is forced to wander about instead of going to his beloved work. We have had much happiness here, much sympathy in letters from far-off friends unknown in the flesh, and peaceful enjoyment of our occupations. But we have longed for more continuous warmth and brightness, and to-day may perhaps be the beginning of that one wanting condition. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 1st Aug. 1872(?).] The death of that honored, good creature, Mr. William Smith, touched us particularly, because of the perfect marriage-bond which had made the last eleven years of his life unspeakably precious both to him and his wife. Mr. Lewes offered to go to Brighton to see him; but he was so reduced, so very feeble in body, though he kept to the last much brightness of mind, that Mrs. Smith feared for him the excitement of seeing friends who came, specially, from a distance. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 4th Aug. 1872.] I like to think that your journey was a success. But I had felt sure, that unless bad health or bad weather overtook you, both Mrs. Blackwood and you must have great happiness in taking that bright, lovely daughter abroad and watching her fresh impressions. I imagine her laudable indignation at the crushing of the little lizard! Those little creatures darting about the stones seem part of the happiness of Italian sunshine, as the small birds hopping after the rain seem part of the moist happiness at home. I shall send Part VII. in a few days. Since Mr. Lewes tells me that the _Spectator_ considers me the most melancholy of authors, it will perhaps be a welcome assurance to you that there is no unredeemed tragedy in the solution of the story. Mr. Lewes examines the newspapers before I see them, and cuts out any criticisms which refer to me, so as to save me from these spiritual chills--though, alas! he cannot save me from the physical chills which retard my work more seriously. I had hoped to have the manuscript well out of my hands before we left this place at the end of the month, but the return of my dyspeptic troubles makes me unable to reckon on such a result. It will be a good plan, I think, to quicken the publication towards the end; but we feel convinced that the slow plan of publication has been of immense advantage to the book in deepening the impression it produces. Still I shudder a little to think what a long book it will be--not so long as "Vanity Fair" or "Pendennis," however, according to my calculation. How good the articles on French manners and domestic life are in "Maga." The spirit in which they are written is excellent. The manuscript of "Middlemarch" bears the following inscription: "To my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes, in this nineteenth year of our blessed union." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, Sept. 1872.] I am tired of behaving like an ungrateful wretch--making no sign in answer to affectionate words which have come to me with cheering effect. And I want to tell you and Mr. Hall (alas! for the dear old name[18] which had such cherished associations) that I long too much to see you all at Six-Mile Bottom, to give up utterly the prospect of that good. We imagine that the place is near Ipswich, which is no more than an hour and fifty minutes from London. If so, the journey would be easily managed, and would be worth taking for the sake of one whole day and two half days with you--just as if you were the hour nearer, at Weybridge--before we set our faces towards Germany. I am not hopeless that we might do that in the second week of September, if you are not quite disgusted with the thought of me as a person who is always claiming pity for small ailments, and also if Mr. Hall can secure me against being shot from the other side of the hedge by the Prince of Wales,[19] while we are discussing plantations. I dare not count much on fulfilling any project, my life for the last year having been a sort of nightmare, in which I have been scrambling on the slippery bank of a pool, just keeping my head above water. But I shall be the happier for having told you that I delight in the double invitation for the sake of the love it assures me of, and that I do want to see you all. You are all gloriously well, I hope, and Alkie looking more and more cherubic, and Emily and Florence blooming. My best love to all. Particular regards to J., and regrets that we were not on his route from Brindisi. I read his paper on New York with much interest and satisfaction. You are often among my imaged companions both in dreaming and waking hours. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, Oct. 1872, from Homburg.] It was a delightful surprise to see your handwriting when we went to inquire at the _Poste Restante_. We had, on the whole, a fortunate journey, and are especially grateful to Mr. Hall for suggesting the route by Trèves, where we spent two nights and an exquisite day. I was continually reminded of Rome when we were wandering in the outskirts in search of the antiquities, and the river banks are a loveliness into the bargain which Rome has not. We had even an opportunity of seeing some dissipation, for there happened to be an excellent circus, where we spent our evening. The pretty country through which we passed had an additional interest for us about Libramont. The air, the waters, the plantations here are all perfect--"only man is vile." I am not fond of denouncing my fellow-sinners, but gambling being a vice I have no mind to, it stirs my disgust even more than my pity. The sight of the dull faces bending round the gaming-tables, the raking up of the money, and the flinging of the coins towards the winners by the hard-faced croupiers, the hateful, hideous women staring at the board like stupid monomaniacs--all this seems to me the most abject presentation of mortals grasping after something called a good that can be seen on the face of this little earth. Burglary is heroic compared with it. I get some satisfaction in looking on, from the sense that the thing is going to be put down. Hell is the only right name for such places. It was cruel to find the bitter cold just set in as we arrived. For two days we were as cold as in clear winter days at Berlin. There are no amusements for the evening here, and the pleasure of listening to the excellent band in the afternoons is diminished by the chillness which makes one fear to sit down in the open air. But we like being idle, and the days pass easily. It is good to have in our memories the two happy days at Six-Mile Bottom; and the love that surrounded me and took care of me there is something very precious to believe in among hard-faced strangers. Much gratitude for the anticipated letter that will come to tell us more news of you by-and-by. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 4th Oct. 1872.] At last I begin a letter which is intended not as a payment but as an acknowledgment of debt. It will have at least the recommendation of requiring no answer. After some perfect autumnal days we are languishing with headache from two days' damp and mugginess, and feel it almost as much work as we are equal to to endure our _malaise_. But on the whole we are not sorry that we came to this place rather than any other. On dry days the air is perfect, and the waters are really an enticing drink. Then there is a wood close by where we can wander in delicious privacy: which is really better than the company here, save and except a few friends whom we found at first, and who have now moved off to Baden. The Kursaal is to me a hell, not only for the gambling but for the light and heat of the gas, and we have seen enough of its monstrous hideousness. There is very little dramatic _Stoff_ to be picked up by watching or listening. The saddest thing to be witnessed is the play of a young lady, who is only twenty-six years old, and is completely in the grasp of this mean, money-making demon. It made me cry to see her young, fresh face among the hags and brutally stupid men around her. Next year, when the gambling has vanished, the place will be delightful; there is to be a subvention from Government to keep up the beautiful grounds; and it is likely that there will be increase enough in the number of decent visitors to keep the town tolerably prosperous. One attraction it has above other German baths that I have seen is the abundance of pleasant apartments to be had, where one can be as peaceful as the human lot allows in a world of pianos. Asher's cheap editions are visible everywhere by the side of Tauchnitz, but the outside is not, I think, quite equally recommendable and recommending. We brought no books with us, but have furnished our table with German books which we bought at Frankfort, from learned writing about Menschlich Sprache and Vernunft down to Kotzebue's comedies, so that we have employment for the rainy hours when once our heads are clear of aches. The certainty that the weather is everywhere else bad will help our resolution to stay here till the 12th at least. In the mean time we hope to have the proof of the finale to "Middlemarch." I am rejoiced to learn from Mr. William's letter that Mr. Simpson has returned from his excursion in good condition. That must be a comfort to you, both for friendship and for work's sake. We mean to return by Paris, and hope that the weather will not drive us away from health and pleasure-seeking until the end of the month. I fear, from the accounts of your Scottish weather, that you will have enjoyed Strathtyrum less than usual, and will be resigned to Edinburgh before your proper time. How one talks about the weather! It is excusable here where there is no grave occupation, and no amusement for us, who don't gamble, except seeking health in walks and water drinking. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 27th Oct. 1872, from Boulogne.] I had meant to write to you again from Germany, but I was hindered from doing so by the uncertainty of our plans, which vacillated between further wanderings in South Germany and the usual dreary railway journeying by Strasburg to Paris. As it was, we left Homburg on the 13th and had ten days of delicious autumnal weather and quietude at Stuttgart and Carlsruhe--ten days which made the heart of our enjoyment. We still hesitated whether we should go to Augsburg, and even Munich, making our way home through Germany and Belgium, and turning our shoulders on Paris. Our evil genius persuaded us to go to Paris and to make the journey by night--whence came headache and horrible disgust with the shops of the Rue de la Paix and the Boulevard. After going to Versailles in the rain, seeing the sad ruins of the Hotel de Ville, missing the Theatre Français, and getting "Patrie" in exchange, we rushed away to this place, where we are trying to recover the sense of benefit from our change, which forsook us on quitting old Germany. We have an affinity for what the world calls "dull places," and always prosper best in them. We are sure to be at home next week, and I hope before long to have some news of you there--some dear faces coming to bring it. We shall linger here a few days and take a favorable time for crossing, but our patience will hardly last beyond Friday. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 1st Nov. 1872.] We returned yesterday evening from six weeks' absence in Germany, and I found your dear, sad letter among the many awaiting me. I prize very highly the fact that you like to write to me and bear me in your mind as one who has a certain fellowship in your sorrow; and I do trust that this letter may reach you in time to prevent you from thinking, even for a moment, that I could be indifferent about responding to any word you send me. I shall address it to the care of Blackwood & Sons, because I imagine you to be by this time in Edinburgh with that delightful friend, Mrs. Stirling, whom I had much kindness from many years ago when I was on a visit to Mr. and Mrs. George Combe. She took me to hear Dr. Guthrie and Dr. Candlish, and through her I saw Craigcrook. I like to think of those hours and her pleasant talk. Mr. Lewes, I am thankful to say, has been getting more robust for the last two years, and is very bright and active. I think there is hardly any one left to whom he would so willingly have written or talked about the subjects which are filling his mind as that dear one who is gone from your side, but is perpetually present in your consciousness. To-day I have been reading the memorial article in _Blackwood_, and have been hoping that there is nothing in it which jars on your feeling. Everybody will think as I do--that the bits from your pen are worth all the rest. I have been especially moved, though, by the two stanzas quoted at the end. Mr. Lewes judges that the writer of the article did not personally know your husband, and wishes that more special touches had been given. I know, dear friend, that the sorrow is irremediable; but the pain--the anguish--will become less sharp and life will be less difficult. You will think of things to do such as he would approve of your doing, and every day will be sacred with his memory--nay, his presence. There is no pretence or visionariness in saying that he is still part of you. Mr. Lewes sends his affectionate regards, which you will not reject. We mention your name to each other with a certain tenderness, as if your sorrow somehow belonged to our love for each other. But I hardly dare to think of what these words which I have written mean. Sometimes in the midst of happiness I cry suddenly at the thought that there must come a parting. Are not you and I very near to one another? I mean in feeling. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 19th Nov. 1872.] I found a letter from dear Mrs. William Smith on my return, and I have had another since in answer to mine. It is inevitable that her sense of loss should deepen for some time to come. I am hoping that by-and-by active interests will arise to make her feel that her life is useful. The article in _Blackwood_ was chiefly valuable for the extracts it contained from Mrs. Smith's own memoir. One felt that the writer of the article had not known Mr. William Smith personally; but her sketches did something to supply that defect. Mr. Lewes felt a peculiar attachment to him. He had always been thoroughly sympathetic, both morally and intellectually, and it was a constant regret to us that he and Mrs. Smith were so far away. There was no man with whom Mr. Lewes would have found it so pleasant to discuss questions of science and philosophy--his culture was so rare and his disposition so free from littleness: and his wife was worthy of him. Gertrude's little Blanche is a charming young lady--fat, cooing, and merry. It is a great comfort to see her with this hope fulfilled--I mean to see Gertrude with her hope fulfilled, and not Blanche, as the grammar seemed to imply. That small person's hopes are at present easy of fulfilment. We have made but one expedition since our return, and that was to see the pictures at Bethnal Green--altogether a cheering and delightful sight. Of course you saw them long ago. The Troyon is my favorite. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 19th Nov. 1872.] I will impute your total silence towards me for many, many months to your preoccupation with the work now announced, and will not believe that a greeting from me at this time of the year will be less welcome than of old. I remember that last year one of your prettily-expressed wishes was that I should write another book and--I think you added--send it to you to read. On the strength of this remembrance, you will be one of the three exceptional people to whom we order "Middlemarch" to be sent. But do not write to me about it, because until a book has quite gone away from me and become entirely of the _non-ego_--gone thoroughly from the wine-press into the casks--I would rather not hear or see anything that is said about it. Cara sent me word that you were looking, as usual, very pretty, and showing great energy on interesting occasions. But this was two months ago, and some detailed news from yourself would be a delightful gift. I am getting stronger, and showing some meagre benefit from being indulged in all possible ways. Mr. Lewes makes a martyr of himself in writing all my notes and business letters. Is not that being a sublime husband? For all the while there are studies of his own being put aside--studies which are a seventh heaven to him. Is there any one who does not need patience? For when one's outward lot is perfect, the sense of inward imperfection is the more pressing. You are never long without entering into my thoughts, though you may send nothing fresh to feed them. But I am ashamed of expressing regard for my friends, since I do no earthly thing for them. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1872.] A kiss to you on your birthday! with gratitude for your delightful letter, such as only you can write me. How impossible it is to _feel_ that we are as old as we are! Sometimes it seems a little while since you and I were walking over the Radford fields, with the youth in our limbs, talking and laughing with that easy companionship which it is difficult to find in later life. I am busy now reading Mr. Lewes's manuscript, which has been accumulating fast during my "Middlemarch" time. Did I tell you that in the last two years he has been mastering the principles of mathematics? That is an interesting fact, impersonally, at his age. Old Professor Stowe--Mrs. H. B. Stowe's husband--sent me this story, which is almost better than Topsy. He heard a school-master asking a little black girl the usual questions about creation--who made the earth, the sea, etc. At last came, "And who made you?" Some deliberation was necessary, after which she said, "Nobody; _I was so afore_." Expect to be immensely disappointed with the close of "Middlemarch." But look back to the Prelude. I wish I could take the wings of the morning every now and then to cheer you with an hour's chat, such as you feel the need of, and then fly back on the wings of the wind. I have the most vivid thoughts of you, almost like a bodily presence; but these do you no good, since you can only believe that I have them--and you are tired of believing after your work is done. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 1st Dec. 1872.] Before your letter came, Mr. Lewes had been expressing to me his satisfaction (and he is very hard to satisfy with articles on me) in the genuineness of judgment, wise moderation, and excellent selection of points in "Maga's" review of "Middlemarch." I have just now been reading the review myself--Mr. Lewes had meant at first to follow his rule of not allowing me to see what is written about myself--and I am pleased to find the right moral note struck everywhere, both in remark and quotation. Especially I am pleased with the writer's sensibility to the pathos in Mr. Casaubon's character and position, and with the discernment he shows about Bulstrode. But it is a perilous matter to approve the praise which is given to our own doings. I think that such an article as that which you hint at on the tone of the Bar is very desirable. We are usually at one on points of feeling. Is it not time now to insist that ability and not lying is the force of a barrister--that he has not to make himself a bad actor in order to put a case well, but to get the clearness and breadth of vision which will enable him to handle the evidence effectively? Untruthfulness usually ends by making men foolish. I have never read "Spiritual Wives," but judging from the extracts which have come before me, it must be a nasty book. Still, if people will be censors, let them weigh their words. I mean that the words were unfair by the disproportionateness of the condemnation which everybody with some conscience must feel to be one of the great difficulties in denouncing a particular person. Every unpleasant dog is only one of many, but we kick him because he comes in our way, and there is always some want of distributive justice in the kicking. I shall be agreeably surprised if there is a respectable subscription for the four volumes. Already the numbers taken have been satisfactorily large, considering the indisposition of the public to buy books by comparison with other wares, and especially to buy novels at a high price. I fancy every private copy has done duty for a circle. Friends of mine in the country have implied that they lent their copies to all the readers in their neighborhood. A little fuss of advertisement, together with the reviews, will perhaps create a few more curious inquirers after the book, and impress its existence on the slower part of the reading world. But really the reading world is, after all, very narrow, as, according to the _Spectator_, the "comfortable" world also is--the world able to give away a sovereign without pinching itself. Those statistics just given about incomes are very interesting. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 11th Dec. 1872.] A thousand thanks for your kind interest in our project, and for the trouble you have taken in our behalf. I fear the land buying and building[20] is likely to come to nothing, and our construction to remain entirely of the aerial sort. It is so much easier to imagine other people doing wise things than to do them one's self! Practically, I excel in nothing but paying twice as much as I ought for everything. On the whole, it would be better if my life could be done for me, and I could look on. However, it appears that the question of the land at Shere may remain open until we can discuss it with you at Weybridge; and there is no telling what we may not venture on with your eyes to see through. But, oh dear, I don't like anything that is troublesome under the name of pleasure. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 12th Dec. 1872.] I have had the news that you are safely landed at Pooree, so now I can write with some courage. I have got some comfort--I trust it is not false comfort--out of the probability that there will be much good mingled with the evil of this winter's exile for you. You must be the richer for it mentally, and your health may be the better--and then, you will be back again in the late spring. In this way I make myself contented under the incompleteness of our life without you, and I am determined not to grumble at my share of the loss which falls so sadly on Dr. Congreve and the children. Dr. Congreve kindly let me know when you had got through the trials of the Red Sea, rather better than might have been expected; and Sophie tells me that you speak of the brilliant coloring in your new world as quite equal to any description you had read. Beyond that all is a blank to me except the fact of your arrival at Pooree, and all my feeling is taken up with the joy there must have been in the meeting with Mr. Geddes. You find it very difficult to write in the heat--so don't make the thought of me disagreeable by associating it with a claim on you for a letter. I will be grateful for scraps from your correspondence with home, and wait for my turn when you come back to us. For ourselves, we think our little granddaughter, Blanche, the perfection of a baby. She is, dispassionately speaking, very pretty, and has a cooing, chanting song of her own which it makes me happy to hear. Mr. Lewes goes on at his writing with as much interest as ever, and is bringing the first part of his work into its final shape. Since we came home I have been reading his manuscript, which has been piling itself up in preparation for my leisure, and I have been wearing my gravest philosophic cap. Altogether we are dangerously happy. You remember Mrs. Blank of Coventry? You know hers was another name for astonishing cleverness in that town. Now, of course, she is old, and her cleverness seems to have a mouldy flavor. _Apropos_ of the seventh book of "Middlemarch"--which you may not have read, but never mind--Mrs. Blank, having lain awake all night from compassion for Bulstrode, said, "Poor, dear creature, after he had done so much for that wretch, sitting up at night and attending on him! _and I don't believe it was the brandy that killed him_--and what is to become of Bulstrode now, he has nobody left but Christ!" I think this is worth sending to India, you see; it is a little bit of old Coventry life that may make you and Emily laugh with all the more lively memory in the midst of your strange scenery. But there is a hovering terror while I write to you from far off, lest my trivialities should find you when you are ill or have some cause for being sad. In any case, however, you will take my letter for a simple proof that I dwell on you and Emily as images constantly present in my mind, and very often moving to the foreground in my contemplation. Mr. Lewes is one with me in many affectionate thoughts about you, and your names are often on our lips. We are going to pass the Christmas week with our friends at Weybridge; and I shall be glad to escape the London aspects of that season--aspects that are without any happy association for me. Mr. Lewes has just been in to speak to me, and begs me to say that he hopes baby is raised to the _n_^{th} power. You see the lofty point of view from which he regards the world at present. But there is enough of the sap of affection in him to withstand all the dryness of the dryest mathematics, and he has very hearty regards for you all, including Mr. Geddes, not as a matter of course, but with special emphasis. Good-bye, dear, dear friend. May it give you some little satisfaction to think of me as yours always lovingly. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 18th Dec. 1872.] Your letter was very welcome to me. I wanted to know how you were; and I think that I discern in your words some growth of courage to face the hard task--it is a hard task--of living a separate life. I reckon it a great good to me that any writing of mine has been taken into companionship by you, and seemed to speak with you of your own experience. Thank you for telling me of that. This weather, which is so melancholy in the privation it must cause to those who are worst off in the world, adds a little weight to everybody's griefs. But I trust that you find it a comfort, not an oppression, to be among friends who make a little claim on your attention. When you go to How, please tell me all about the place, and whom you have near you, because I like to be able to imagine your circumstances. I have been, and am still, reading Mr. Lewes's manuscript--and I often associate this with your dear husband, to whom I imagine mine would have liked to send his proofs when the matter had reached the printing stage. We are both very well, and Mr. Lewes is enjoying his morning at his desk. He likes very much to be included in your love, and has always thought you one of the most charming women among our acquaintance. Please not to say that he has bad taste in women. We both cherish very tender thoughts of your sorrow, dear friend. Let me always be assured that you think of me as yours affectionately. [Sidenote: Letter to Mr. Simpson, 18th Dec. 1872.] We have to thank you for two things especially. First, for the good bargain you have made for "Middlemarch" with Australia; and secondly, for the trouble you have kindly taken with the MS., which has come to us safely in its fine Russian coat. The four volumes, we imagine, must have been subscribed long ago; and we should be glad to know, if it were convenient--perhaps even if it were _in_convenient--what are the figures representing the courage of "the trade" in the matter of a 42_s._ novel, which has already been well distributed. We both hope that your health is well confirmed, and that you are prepared for Christmas pleasures, among which you would probably, like Caleb Garth, reckon the extra "business" which the jolly season carries in its hinder wallet. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1869, TO DECEMBER, 1872. Poem on Agatha--Reading on Philology, "Iliad," "Faery Queen," Clough's Poems, Bright's Speeches, "Volpone," Lecture by Sir Wm. Thomson--Writing "How Lisa Loved the King"--Browning and Rector of Lincoln on Versification--Letter to Miss Hennell--Browning's "Elisha"--Fourth visit to Italy--Two months away--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Paris--Dr. Congreve's Reply to Professor Huxley in _Fortnightly_--Meeting in Rome with Mrs. Bullock and Mr. and Mrs. Cross--Letter to Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe--Effect of books--Religion of the future--Arrival of Thornton Lewes from Natal--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Marriage engagements of Mr. Beesley, Mr. Frederic Harrison, and Dr. Clifford Allbut--Finished five "Sonnets on Childhood"--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--"Old Town Folks"--Presentation of alien religious convictions--Spiritualism--Reading Drayton and Grote--Writing Introduction to "Middlemarch"--Reading Theocritus--Burne-Jones's Pictures--Reading Littré on Comte--Sainte Beuve--Thornton Lewes's continued illness--Visit to Mrs. Cross at Weybridge--Reading for "Middlemarch"--Asks Mrs. Congreve to get information about provincial hospitals--Letter to Miss Hennell--The Byron scandal--Byron a vulgar-minded genius--The Kovilevskys--"Legend of Jubal" begun--Mr. W. G. Clark--Reading Max Müller--Lecky and Herbert Spencer--Death of Thornton Lewes--Letter to Miss Hennell describing month's visit to Limpsfield--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Mr. Doyle--Letter to F. Harrison on the Positivist Problem--Aversion to personal statements--Shrinking from deliverances--Letter to Miss Hennell on Charles Hennell's "Inquiry"--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Berlin--Sees Mommsen, Bunsen, and Du Bois Reymond--Visit to Vienna--Return to London--Three days' visit to the Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford, and Mrs. Pattison--Meets Sir Benjamin Brodie--Professor Rawlinson and Professor Phillips--Dr. Rolleston and the Miss Gaskells, and Miss Arnold--Mr. Jowett, Professor Henry Smith, and Mr. Fowler--Re-reading Grove "On the Correlation of the Physical Forces"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Dickens's Death, and his story of President Lincoln--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Visit to Cromer--Growing dislike of migratory life--Letter to Mrs. Lytton on the death of Lord Clarendon--Danger of women living too exclusively in the affections--Reading Mendelssohn's letters--From Cromer to Harrogate and Whitby--Meets Mrs. Burne-Jones there--"Armgart" begun--Three weeks' visit to Limpsfield--Letter to Miss Hennell on the beginning of the war between Germany and France--Jowett's "Plato"--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--The French nation--"Armgart" finished at Limpsfield--Return to the Priory--Letter to Miss Hennell--A popular preacher--Growing influence of ideas--Goethe's contempt for revolution of 1830--Letter to Mme. Bodichon on the faults of one's friends--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Industrial schemes--Greater cheerfulness--Frederic Harrison on Bismarckism--Writing "Miss Brooke"--Reading Wolf's "Prolegomena to Homer" and "Wilhelm Meister"--Visit to Mme. Bodichon at Ryde--Letter to Miss Hennell--Ritualism at Ryde--Brutalizing effect of German war--Trollope's "Sir Harry Hotspur"--Limits of woman's constancy--Miss Bury's engagement to Mr. Geddes--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Three and a half months' visit to Petersfield--Mode of life--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Lowell's "My Study Windows"--"Diethelm von Buchenberg" in _Deutschen Novellenschatz_--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Mrs. Geddes's marriage--Letter to John Blackwood--Relinquishment of Scott Commemoration--Captain Lockhart--Letter to John Blackwood on MS. of "Middlemarch"--Visit from Tennyson--Letter to Mrs. Lytton on death of her son--Letter to Miss Mary Cross on story in _Macmillan's Magazine_--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Suffering from cold--Got's acting--Crystal Palace music--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Delight in intellectual activity--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Enjoyment of Cherrimans--Letter to John Blackwood--Visit to Weybridge--Mr. Main, the collector of the "Sayings"--Reception of "Middlemarch"--Letters to Miss Hennell--Foster's "Life of Dickens"--Low health--Tichborne trial--Letters to John Blackwood: pleased with the "Sayings"--Visit to Weybridge--Length of "Middlemarch"--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Reading Johnson's "Lives of the Poets"--Finished second volume of "Middlemarch"--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--Spiritualistic phenomena--Letter to John Blackwood--German and French interest in "Middlemarch"--Asher's edition--German readers--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor on death of Mazzini--Letter to Miss Hennell--Low health--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--Spirit communications--Letter to Mrs. Congreve on Wallace's "Eastern Archipelago"--Tylor's "Primitive Culture"--Letter to John Blackwood--"Middlemarch" finished--Letter to Mrs. Cross on invitation to Six-Mile Bottom, Cambridge--Month's visit to Homburg--Letter to Mrs. Cross--Trèves--On gambling at Homburg--Letter to John Blackwood--Play of a young lady at Homburg--German reading--Letter to Mrs. Cross from Boulogne--Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith of condolence on loss of her husband--Memorial article on Mr. Wm. Smith--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor on Mr. Wm. Smith--Letters to Miss Hennell--Presentation copies of "Middlemarch"--Mr. Lewes studying mathematics--Letter to John Blackwood--"Maga's" review of "Middlemarch"--Tone of the Bar--Letter to J. W. Cross on building a house at Shere--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Happiness--Story of Coventry lady and Bulstrode--Letter to Mr. Simpson--MS. of "Middlemarch." FOOTNOTES: [6] Dr. Congreve's article, "Mr. Huxley on M. Comte," in _Fortnightly Review_, April, 1869. [7] See _ante_, vol. i. p. 220. [8] Professor Edmund Spenser Beesley, a well-known member of the Positivist body, who married Miss Crompton, daughter of Mr. Justice Crompton. [9] An article by Mr. Frederic Harrison in the _Fortnightly Review_ of November, 1869. [10] Portrait of Charles Hennell. [11] Written after the death of Lord Clarendon, who, Lady Lytton tells me, had been like a father to her. [12] "Armgart." [13] Miss Octavia Hill. Walmer Street Industrial Experiment, tried by Canon Fremantle under Miss Hill's supervision. [14] Scott Commemoration. [15] Written just before the death of Mrs. Lytton's eldest boy. [16] "Marie of Villefranche." _Macmillan's Magazine_, August, 1871. [17] The collector of "The Wise, Witty, and Tender Sayings of George Eliot." [18] Mr. W. H. Bullock--changed his name to Hall. [19] The Six-Mile Bottom shooting had been let to H. R. H. that year. [20] A site offered near Shere, in Surrey. CHAPTER XVII. [Sidenote: Journal, 1873.] _Jan. 1._--At the beginning of December the eighth and last book of "Middlemarch" was published, the three final numbers having been published monthly. No former book of mine has been received with more enthusiasm--not even "Adam Bede;" and I have received many deeply affecting assurances of its influence for good on individual minds. Hardly anything could have happened to me which I could regard as a greater blessing than the growth of my spiritual existence when my bodily existence is decaying. The merely egoistic satisfactions of fame are easily nullified by toothache, and _that_ has made my chief consciousness for the last week. This morning, when I was in pain, and taking a melancholy breakfast in bed, some sweet-natured creature sent a beautiful bouquet to the door for me, bound round with the written wish that "Every year may be happier and happier, and that God's blessing may ever abide with the immortal author of 'Silas Marner.'" Happily my dear husband is well, and able to enjoy these things for me. That he rejoices in them is my most distinct personal pleasure in such tributes. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 3d Jan. 1873.] It was very pleasant to have your greeting on the New Year, though I was keeping its advent in melancholy guise. I am relieved now from the neuralgic part of my ailment, and am able to write something of the hearty response I feel to your good wishes. We both hope that the coming year may continue to you all the family joys which must make the core of your happiness, without underrating golf and good contributors to "Maga." Health has to be presupposed as the vehicle of all other good, and in this respect you may be possibly better off in '73 than in '72, for I think you have had several invalidings within the last twelve months. Mr. Langford wrote yesterday that he knew of an article on "Middlemarch" being in preparation for the _Times_, which certainly was never before so slow in noticing a book of mine. Whether such an article will affect the sale favorably seems eminently uncertain, and can only complicate Mr. Simpson's problem. We have been glad to welcome our good friend, Mr. Anthony Trollope, after his long absence. He is wonderfully full of life and energy, and will soon bring out his two thick volumes on Australian colonies. My friendly Dutch publishers lately sent us a handsome row of volumes--George Eliot's "Romantische Werke," with an introduction, in which comparisons are safely shrouded for me in the haze of Dutch, so that if they are disadvantageous, I am not pained. Please give my best wishes for the coming year to Mr. William Blackwood. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 4th Jan. 1873.] At last I break my silence, and thank you for your kind care about me. I am able to enjoy my reading at the corner of my study fire, and am at that unpitiable stage of illness which is counterbalanced by extra petting. I have been fearing that you too may be undergoing some _malaise_ of a kindred sort, and I should like to be assured that you have quite got through the troubles which threatened you. How good you have all been to me, and what a disappointing investment of affection I have turned out! But those evening drives, which perhaps encouraged the faceache, have left me a treasure of picture and poetry in my memory quite worth paying for, and in these days all prices are high. The new year began very prettily for me at half-past eight in the morning with a beautiful bouquet, left by an unknown at our door, and an inscription asking that "God's blessing might ever abide with the immortal author of 'Silas Marner.'" [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th Feb. 1873.] I am much pleased with the color and the lettering of the guinea edition, and the thinner paper makes it delightfully handy. Let us hope that some people still want to read it, since a friend of ours, in one short railway bit to and fro, saw two persons reading the paper-covered numbers. Now is the moment when a notice in the _Times_ might possibly give a perceptible impulse. Kohn, of Berlin, has written to ask us to allow him to reprint the "Spanish Gypsy" for £50, and we have consented. Some Dresdener, who has translated poems of Tennyson's, asked leave to translate the "Spanish Gypsy" in 1870, but I have not heard of his translation appearing. The rain this morning is welcome, in exchange for the snow, which in London has none of its country charms left to it. Among my books, which comfort me in the absence of sunshine, is a copy of the "Handy Royal Atlas" which Mr. Lewes has got for me. The glorious index is all the more appreciable by me, because I am tormented with German historical atlases which have no index, and are covered with names swarming like ants on every map. The catalogue coming in the other day renewed my longing for the cheap edition of Lockhart's novels, though I have some compunction in teasing your busy mind with my small begging. I should like to take them into the country, where our days are always longer for reading. I have a love for Lockhart because of Scott's Life, which seems to me a perfect biography. How different from another we know of! [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 28th Feb. 1873.] After your kind words I will confess that I should very much like to have the "Manual of Geography" by Mackay, and Bayne's "Port Royal Logic." _À propos_ of the "Lifted Veil," I think it will not be judicious to reprint it at present. I care for the idea which it embodies and which justifies its painfulness. A motto which I wrote on it yesterday perhaps is a sufficient indication of that idea: "Give me no light, great heaven, but such as turns To energy of human fellowship; No powers, save the growing heritage That makes completer manhood." But it will be well to put the story in harness with some other productions of mine, and not send it forth in its dismal loneliness. There are many things in it which I would willingly say over again, and I shall never put them in any other form. But we must wait a little. The question is not in the least one of money, but of care for the best effect of writing, which often depends on circumstances, much as pictures depend on light and juxtaposition. I am looking forward with interest to "Kenelm Chillingly," and thinking what a blessed lot it is to die on just finishing a book, if it could be a good one. I mean, it is blessed only to quit activity when one quits life. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 1st Mch. 1873.] If I had been quite sure of your address I should have written to you even before receiving your dear letter, over which I have been crying this morning. The prompting to write to you came from my having ten days ago read your Memoir--brief yet full--of the precious last months before the parting. Mrs. P. Taylor brought me her copy as a loan. But may I not beg to have a copy of my own? It is to me an invaluable bit of writing; the inspiration of a great sorrow, born of a great love, has made it perfect; and ever since I read it I have felt a strengthening companionship from it. You will perhaps think it strange when I tell you that I have been more cheerful since I read the record of his sweet, mild heroism, which threw emphasis on every blessing left in his waning life, and was silent over its pangs. I have even ventured to lend this copy, which is not my own, to a young married woman of whom I am very fond, because I think it is an unforgetable picture of that union which is the ideal of marriage, and which I desire young people to have in their minds as a goal. It is a comfort in thinking of you that you have two lovable young creatures with you. I have found quite a new interest in young people since I have been conscious that I am getting older; and if all personal joy were to go from me as it has gone from you, I could perhaps find some energy from that interest, and try to teach the young. I wish, dear friend, it were possible to convey to you the sense I have of a great good in being permitted to know of your happiness, and of having some communion with the sorrow which is its shadow. Your words have a consecration for me, and my husband shares my feeling. He sends his love along with mine. He sobbed with something which is a sort of grief better worth having than any trivial gladness, as he read the printed record of your love. He, too, is capable of that supreme, self-merging love. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 14th Mch. 1873.] This is good news about the guinea edition, but I emphatically agree with you that it will be well to be cautious in further printing. I wish you could see a letter I had from California the other day, apparently from a young fellow, and beginning, "Oh, you dear lady! I who have been a Fred Vincy ever so long ... have played vagabond and ninny ever since I knew the meaning of such terms," etc., etc. I am sorry to infer, from what you say about being recommended to go to a German bath, that you have been out of health lately. There really is a good deal of curative virtue in the air, waters, and exercise one gets at such places, and if the boredom were not strong enough to counteract the better influences, it would be worth while to endure. That phrase of Miss Stuart's--"fall flat on the world"--is worth remembering. I should think it is not likely to prove prophetic, if she is at all like her cousin, whose fair, piquant face remains very vividly before me. The older one gets, the more one delights in these young things, rejoicing in their joys. The ministerial crisis interests me, though it does not bring me any practical need for thinking of it, as it does to you. I wish there were some solid, philosophical Conservative to take the reins--one who knows the true functions of stability in human affairs, and, as the psalm says, "Would also practice what he knows." [Sidenote: Letter to Edward Burne-Jones, 20th Mch. 1873.] I suppose my hesitation about writing to you to tell you of a debt I feel towards you is all vanity. If you did not know me, you might think a great deal more of my judgment than it is worth, and I should feel bold in that possibility. But when judgment is understood to mean simply one's own impression of delight, one ought not to shrink from making one's small offering of burnt clay because others can give gold statues. It would be narrowness to suppose that an artist can only care for the impressions of those who know the methods of his art as well as feel its effects. Art works for all whom it can touch. And I want in gratitude to tell you that your work makes life larger and more beautiful to me. I mean that historical life of all the world, in which our little personal share often seems a mere standing-room from which we can look all round, and chiefly backward. Perhaps the work has a strain of special sadness in it--perhaps a deeper sense of the tremendous outer forces which urge us, than of the inner impulse towards heroic struggle and achievement--but the sadness is so inwrought with pure, elevating sensibility to all that is sweet and beautiful in the story of man and in the face of the earth that it can no more be found fault with than the sadness of mid-day, when Pan is touchy, like the rest of us. Don't you agree with me that much superfluous stuff is written on all sides about purpose in art? A nasty mind makes nasty art, whether for art or any other sake; and a meagre mind will bring forth what is meagre. And some effect in determining other minds there must be, according to the degree of nobleness or meanness in the selection made by the artist's soul. Your work impresses me with the happy sense of noble selection and of power determined by refined sympathy. That is why I wanted to thank you in writing, since lip-homage has fallen into disrepute. I cannot help liking to tell you a sign that my delight must have taken a little bit of the same curve as yours. Looking, _à propos_ of your picture, into the "Iphigenia in Aulis," to read the chorus you know of, I found my blue pencil-marks made seven years ago (and gone into that forgetfulness which makes my mind seem very large and empty)--blue pencil-marks made against the dance--loving Kithara and the footsteps of the muses and the nereids dancing on the shining sands. I was pleased to see that my mind had been touched in a dumb way by what has touched yours to fine utterance. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 15th April, 1873] Welcome back to Europe! What a comfort to see your handwriting dated from San Remo--to think that Dr. Congreve's anxieties about your voyage are at an end, and that you are once more in the post which is more specially and permanently yours! Mr. Lewes finds fault with your letter for not telling enough; but the mere fact of your safety seems to fill it quite full for me, and I can think of no drawbacks--not even of the cold, which I hope is by this time passing away for you, as it is for us. You must be so rich in memories that we and our small ordinary news must appear very flat to you, but we will submit to be a little despised by you if only we can have you with us again. I have never lost the impression of Dr. Congreve's look when he paid us his farewell visit, and spoke of his anxiety about your voyage, fearing that you had started too late; and that impression gives me all the keener sympathy with the repose I trust he is feeling. About ourselves I have only good news to tell. We are happier than ever, and have no troubles. We are searching for a country-house to go to at the end of May or earlier. I long for the perfect peace and freedom of the country again. The hours seem to stretch themselves there, and to hold twice as much thought as one can get into them in town, where acquaintances and small claims inevitably multiply. Imagine us nearly as we were when we last saw you--only a little older--with unchanged affection for you and undimmed interest in whatever befalls you. Do not tax yourself to write unless you feel a pleasure in that imperfect sort of communication. I will try not to fear evil if you are silent, but you know that I am glad to have something more than hope to feed on. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 25th April, 1873.] It was a cordial to me this morning to learn that you have the project of going with your young friend to Cambridge at the end of the autumn. I could not have thought of anything better to wish for on your behalf than that you should have the consciousness of helping a younger life. I know, dear friend, that so far as you directly are concerned with this life the remainder of it can only be patience and resignation. But we are not shut up within our individual life, and it is one of the gains of advancing age that the good of young creatures becomes a more definite, intense joy to us. With that renunciation for ourselves which age inevitably brings, we get more freedom of soul to enter into the life of others; what we can never learn they will know, and the gladness which is a departed sunlight to us is rising with the strength of morning to them. I am very much interested in the fact of young women studying at Cambridge, and I have lately seen a charming specimen of the pupils at Hitchin--a very modest, lovely girl, who distinguished herself in the last examination. One is anxious that, in the beginning of a higher education for women--the immediate value of which is chiefly the social recognition of its desirableness--the students should be favorable subjects for experiment, girls or young women whose natures are large and rich enough not to be used up in their efforts after knowledge. Mr. Lewes is very well and goes on working joyously. Proofs come in slowly, but he is far from being ready with all the manuscript which will be needed for his preliminary volume--the material, which has long been gathered, requiring revision and suggesting additions. Do think it a privilege to have that fine _physique_ of yours instead of a headachy, dyspeptic frame such as many women drag through life. Even in irremediable sorrow it is a sort of blasphemy against one's suffering fellow-beings to think lightly of any good which they would be thankful for in exchange for something they have to bear. [Sidenote: Journal, 1873.] _May 19._--We paid a visit to Cambridge at the invitation of Mr. Frederick Myers, and I enjoyed greatly talking with him and some others of the "Trinity Men." In the evenings we went to see the boat-race, and then returned to supper and talk--the first evening with Mr. Henry Sidgwick, Mr. Jebb, Mr. Edmund Gurney; the second, with young Balfour, young Lyttelton, Mr. Jackson, and Edmund Gurney again. Mrs. and Miss Huth were also our companions during the visit. On the Tuesday morning we breakfasted at Mr. Henry Sidgwick's with Mr. Jebb, Mr. W. G. Clark, Mr. Myers, and Mrs. and Miss Huth. _May 22._--We went to the French play at the Princess's and saw Plessy and Desclée in "Les Idées de Madame Aubray." I am just finishing again Aristotle's "Poetics," which I first read in 1856. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 25th May, 1873.] Our plans have been upset by the impossibility of finding a house in the country that is suitable to us, and weariness of being deluded into journeys of investigation by fanciful advertisements has inclined Mr. Lewes for the present to say that we will go abroad. Still, I have nothing to tell that is absolutely settled, and I must ask you, when you return, to send a note to this house. If I am in England it will be forwarded to me, and you will get a prompt answer. If I am silent you will conclude that I am gone abroad. I think it is at the end of June that you are to come home? Here we have been wearing furs and velvet, and having fires all through the past week, chiefly occupied by Mr. Lewes and me in a visit to Cambridge. We were invited ostensibly to see the boat-race, but the real pleasure of the visit consisted in talking with a hopeful group of Trinity young men. On Monday we had a clear, cold day, more like the fine weather of mid-winter than any tradition of May time. I hope that you have had no such revisiting of winter at San Remo. How much we should enjoy having you with us to narrate everything that has happened to you in the last eventful half year! I shall feel the loss of this, as an immediate prospect, to be the greatest disadvantage in our going abroad next month--if we go. Your last news of Emily and of "baby's teeth" is cheerful. "Baby's teeth" is a phrase that enters much into our life just now. Little Blanche had a sad struggle with her first little bit of ivory, but she has been blooming again since, and is altogether a ravishing child. To-day we have had a large collection of visitors, and I have the usual Sunday evening condition of brain. But letters are so constantly coming and claiming my time to answer them, that I get fidgety lest I should neglect to write to you; and I was determined not to let another day pass without letting you have a proof that I think of you. When I am silent please believe that the silence is due to feebleness of body, which narrows my available time. Mr. Lewes often talks of you, and will value any word from you about yourself as much as I shall. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 2d June, 1873.] Thanks for sending me word of poor Miss Rebecca Franklin's death. It touches me deeply. She was always particularly good and affectionate to me, and I had much happiness in her as my teacher. In September a house near Chislehurst will be open to us--a house which we think of ultimately making our sole home, turning our backs on London. But we shall be allowed to have it, furnished, for a year on trial. [Sidenote: Journal, 1873.] _June._--In the beginning of June we paid a visit to Mr. Jowett at Oxford, meeting there Mr. and Mrs. Charles Roundell, then newly married. We stayed from Saturday to Monday, and I was introduced to many persons of interest. Professor T. Green, Max Müller, Thomson, the Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, a Mr. Wordsworth, the grandson of the poet, who had spent some time in India, and a host of others. _June 23._--Started for the Continent. Fontainebleau, Plombières, etc. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 9th Aug. 1873.] I feel myself guilty that I have allowed the vicissitudes of travelling to hinder me from writing to you, for the chance that a letter from me might be welcome to you in what I have been imagining as the first weeks of your return to England and the house in Mecklenburgh Square. I am sure that I should not have been guilty in this way if I had been at any time able to say where you should send me an answer which I could call for at a _Poste Restante_. But we have been invariably uncertain as to the length of our stay in any one place and as to our subsequent route; and I confess that I shrink from writing a letter full of my own doings, without the prospect of getting some news in return. I am usually in a state of fear rather than of hope about my absent friends; and I dread lest a letter written in ignorance about them should be ill-timed. But at last all fears have become weaker than the uneasy sense that I have omitted to send you a sign of your loved presence in my thoughts, and that you may have lost a gleam of pleasure through my omission. We left home on the 23d of June, with a sketch of a journey in our minds, which included Grenoble, the Grande Chartreuse, Aix-les-Bains, Chambéry, and Geneva. The last place I wished to get to, because my friend Mme. d'Albert is not likely to live much longer, and I thought that I should like to see her once more. But during a short stay at Fontainebleau I began to feel that lengthy railway journeys were too formidable for us old, weak creatures, and, moreover, that July and August were not the best months for those southern regions. We were both shattered, and needed quiet rather than the excitement of seeing friends and acquaintances--an excitement of which we had been having too much at home--so we turned aside by easy stages to the Vosges, and spent about three weeks at Plombières and Luxeuil. We shall carry home many pleasant memories of our journey--of Fontainebleau, for example, which I had never seen before. Then of the Vosges, where we count on going again. Erckmann-Chatrian's books had been an introduction to the lovely region; and several of them were our companions there. But what small experiences these are compared with yours; and how we long for the time when you will be seated with us at our country-house (Blackbrook, near Bromley, is the name of the house), and tell us as much as you can think of about this long year in which we have been deprived of you. If you receive this letter in time to write me a line, which would reach me by the 15th, I shall be most grateful if you will give me that undeserved indulgence. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th Aug. 1873.] On our return yesterday from our nine-weeks' absence I found a letter from Mr. Main, in which he shows some anxiety that I should write you the "formal sanction" you justly require before admitting extracts from "Middlemarch" in the new edition of the "Sayings." I have no objection, if you see none, to such an enlargement of the volume, and I satisfy our good Mr. Main's promptitude by writing the needed consent at once. We used our plan of travel as "a good thing to wander from," and went to no single place (except Fontainebleau) to which we had beforehand projected going. Our most fortunate wandering was to the Vosges--to Plombières and Luxeuil--which have made us in love with the mode of life at the _Eaux_ of France, as greatly preferable to the ways of the German _Bad_. We happened to be at Nancy just as the Germans were beginning to quit it, and we saw good store of _tricolores_ and paper lanterns ready in the shop windows for those who wished to buy the signs of national rejoicing. I can imagine that, as a Prussian lady told us, the Germans themselves were not at all rejoiced to leave that pretty town for "les bords de la Spree," where, in French dialogue, all Germans are supposed to live. [Sidenote: Journal, 1873.] _Sept. 4._--Went to Blackbrook, near Bickley. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 17th Sept. 1873.] Thanks, dear friend, for the difficult exertion you gave to the telling of what I so much wished to know--the details of the trouble[21] which you have all had to go through either directly or sympathetically. But I will not dwell now on what it cost you, I fear, too much pain to recall so as to give me the vivid impressions I felt in reading your letter. The great practical result of such trouble is to make us all more tender to each other; this is a world in which we must pay heavy prices for love, as you know by experience much deeper than mine. I will gossip a little about ourselves now. We gave up our intention of going far southward, fearing the fatigue of long railway journeys, and the heat (which hardly ever came) of July and August in the region we had thought of visiting. So, after staying a very enjoyable time at Fontainebleau, we went to the Vosges, and at Plombières and Luxeuil we should have felt ourselves in paradise if it had not been for a sad deafness of George's, which kept us uneasy and made us hurry to that undesirable place, Frankfort, in order to consult Spiess. At Frankfort the nearest bath was the also undesirable Homburg; so we spent or wasted a fortnight there, winning little but the joy of getting away again. The journey home, which we took very easily, was interesting--through Metz, Verdun, Rheims, and Amiens. As to our house, spite of beautiful lawn, tall trees, fine kitchen-garden, and good, invigorating air, we have already made up our minds that it will not do for our home. Still, we have many things to enjoy, but we shall not probably remain here longer than to the end of October. My motherly love to all such young ones as may be around you. I do not disturb George in order to ask for messages from him, being sure that his love goes with mine. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 19th Sept. 1873.] I quite assent to your proposal that there should be a new edition of "Middlemarch" in one volume, at 7_s._ 6_d._--to be prepared at once, but not published too precipitately. I like your project of an illustration; and the financial arrangements you mention are quite acceptable to me. For one reason especially I am delighted that the book is going to be reprinted--namely, _that I can see the proof-sheets and make corrections_. Pray give orders that the sheets be sent to me. I should like the binding to be of a rich, sober color, with very plain Roman lettering. It might be called a "revised edition." Thanks for the extract from Mr. Collins's letter. I did not know that there was really a Lowick, in a Midland county too. Mr. Collins has my gratitude for feeling some regard towards Mr. Casaubon, in whose life _I_ lived with much sympathy. When I was at Oxford, in May, two ladies came up to me after dinner: one said, "How could you let Dorothea marry _that_ Casaubon?" The other, "Oh, I understand her doing that, but why did you let her marry the other fellow, whom I cannot bear?" Thus two "ardent admirers" wished that the book had been quite different from what it is. I wonder whether you have abandoned--as you seemed to agree that it would be wise to do--the project of bringing out my other books in a cheaper form than the present 3_s._ 6_d._, which, if it were not for the blemish of the figure illustrations, would be as pretty an edition as could be, and perhaps as cheap as my public requires. Somehow, the cheap books that crowd the stalls are always those which look as if they were issued from Pandemonium. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 11th Oct. 1873.] I am rather ashamed of our grumblings. We are really enjoying the country, and have more than our share of everything. George has happy mornings at his desk now, and we have fine bracing air to walk in--air which I take in as a sort of nectar. We like the bits of scenery round us better and better as we get them by heart in our walks and drives. The house, with all its defects, is very pretty, and more delightfully secluded, without being remote from the conveniences of the world, than any place we have before thought of as a possible residence for us. I am glad that you have been seeing the Cowper Temples. My knowledge of them has not gone beyond dining with them at Mrs. Tollemache's, and afterwards having a good conversational call from them, but they both struck me very agreeably. Mr. Henry Sidgwick is a chief favorite of mine--one of whom his friends at Cambridge say that they always expect him to act according to a higher standard than they think of attributing to any other chief man, or of imposing on themselves. "Though we kept our own fellowships without believing more than he did," one of them said to me, "we should have felt that Henry Sidgwick had fallen short if he had not renounced his." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 12th Oct. 1873.] Our plan is not to give up our London house, but to have a country place as a retreat. We want a good house in a lovely country, _away from rows of villas_, but within easy reach of all conveniences. This seems an immodest requirement in a world where one good is hardly to be got without renunciation of another. You perceive that we are getting very old and fastidious. I like to interpret your enjoyment of Brighton and its evening skies as a proof that you flourish there physically. All things are to be endured and counted even as a fuller life, with a body free from pain and depressing sensations of weakness; but illness is a partial death, and makes the world dim to us. We have no great strength to boast of; but we are so unspeakably happy in all other respects that we cannot grumble at this tax on us as elderly mortals. Our little Blanche grows in grace, and her parents have great delight in her--Charles being quite as fond a father as if he had beforehand been an idolizer of babies. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, Sunday, 20th Oct. 1873.] The chances of conversation were against my being quite clear to you yesterday as to the cases in which it seems to me that conformity is the higher rule. What happened to be said or not said is of no consequence in any other light than that of my anxiety not to appear what I should _hate to be_--which is surely not an ignoble, egoistic anxiety, but belongs to the worship of the Best. All the great religions of the world, historically considered, are rightly the objects of deep reverence and sympathy--they are the record of spiritual struggles, which are the types of our own. This is to me pre-eminently true of Hebrewism and Christianity, on which my own youth was nourished. And in this sense I have no antagonism towards any religious belief, but a strong outflow of sympathy. Every community met to worship the highest Good (which is understood to be expressed by God) carries me along in its main current; and if there were not reasons against my following such an inclination, I should go to church or chapel constantly for the sake of the delightful emotions of fellowship which come over me in religious assemblies--the very nature of such assemblies being the recognition of a binding belief or spiritual law, which is to lift us into willing obedience and save us from the slavery of unregulated passion or impulse. And with regard to other people, it seems to me that those who have no definite conviction which constitutes a protesting faith may often more beneficially cherish the good within them and be better members of society by a conformity, based on the recognized good in the public belief, than by a nonconformity which has nothing but negatives to utter. _Not_, of course, if the conformity would be accompanied by a consciousness of hypocrisy. That is a question for the individual conscience to settle. But there is enough to be said on the different points of view from which conformity may be regarded to hinder a ready judgment against those who continue to conform after ceasing to believe, in the ordinary sense. But with the utmost largeness of allowance for the difficulty of deciding in special cases, it must remain true that the highest lot is to have definite beliefs about which you feel that "necessity is laid upon you" to declare them, as something better which you are bound to try and give to those who have the worse. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 5th Nov. 1873.] It was a cheerful accompaniment to breakfast this morning to have a letter from you, with the pretty picture you suggested of Miss Blackwood's first ball. I am glad that I have seen the "little fairy," so as to be able to imagine her. We are both the better for the delicious air and quiet of the country. We, too, like you, were sorry to quit the woods and fields for the comparatively disturbed life which even we are obliged to lead in town. Letters requesting interviews can no longer be made void by one's absence; and I am much afflicted by these interruptions, which break up the day without any adequate result of good to any mortal. In the country the days have broad spaces, and the very stillness seems to give a delightful roominess to the hours. Is it not wonderful that the world can absorb so much "Middlemarch" at a guinea the copy? I shall be glad to hear particulars, which, I imagine, will lead to the conclusion that the time is coming for the preparation of a 7_s._ 6_d._ edition. I am not fond of reading proofs, but I am anxious to correct the sheets of this edition, both in relation to mistakes already standing, and to prevent the accumulation of others in the reprinting. I am slowly simmering towards another big book; but people seem so bent on giving supremacy to "Middlemarch" that they are sure not to like any future book so well. I had a letter from Mr. Bancroft (the American ambassador at Berlin) the other day, in which he says that everybody in Berlin reads "Middlemarch." He had to buy two copies for his house; and he found the rector of the university, a stupendous mathematician, occupied with it in the solid part of the day. I am entertaining you in this graceful way about myself because you will be interested to know what are the chances for our literature abroad. That Ashantee business seems to me hideous. What is more murderous than stupidity? To have a husband gone on such an expedition is a trial that passes my imagination of what it is possible to endure in the way of anxiety. We are looking forward to the "Inkerman" volume as something for me to read aloud. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 11th Nov. 1873.] During the latter part of our stay at Blackbrook we had become very fond of the neighborhood. The walks and drives round us were delightfully varied--commons, wooded lanes, wide pastures--and we felt regretfully that we were hardly likely to find again a country-house so secluded in a well-inhabited region. We have seen few people at present. The George Howards are come from a delicious, lonely _séjour_ in a tower of Bamborough Castle!--and he has brought many sketches home. That lodging would suit you, wouldn't it? A castle on a rock washed by the sea seems to me just a paradise for you. We have been reading John Mill's "Autobiography," like the rest of the world. The account of his early education and the presentation of his father are admirable; but there are some pages in the latter half that one would have liked to be different. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 6th Dec. 1873.] Our wish to see you after all the long months since June, added to your affectionate invitation, triumphs over our disinclination to move. So, unless something should occur to make the arrangement inconvenient to you, we will join the dear party on your hearth in the afternoon of the 24th, and stay with you till the 26th. Notwithstanding my trust in your words, I feel a lingering uneasiness lest we should be excluding some one else from enjoying Christmas with you. J.'s friend, Dr. Andrew Clark, has been prescribing for Mr. Lewes--ordering him to renounce the coffee which has been a chief charm of life to him, but being otherwise mild in his prohibitions. I hear with much comfort that you are better, and have recovered your usual activity. Please keep well till Christmas, and then love and pet me a little, for that is always very sweet. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 22d Dec. 1873.] In writing any careful presentation of human feelings, you must count on that infinite stupidity of readers who are always substituting their crammed notions of what ought to be felt for any attempt to recall truly what they themselves have felt under like circumstances. We are going to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with our friends at Weybridge. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 28th Dec. 1873.] We have been spending our Christmas in the country, and it is only on my return that I got your kind note, with its pretty symbols of remembrance. Such little signs are very sweet, coming from those whom one loves well in spite of long separation. I am very glad to have seen you in your new home, and to be able to imagine you among your household treasures--especially to imagine both you and your husband in enjoyable health. We have been invalidish lately, and have put ourselves under the discipline of Dr. Andrew Clark, who is not one of the "three meat-meals and alcohol" physicians, but rather one of those who try to starve out dyspepsia. We both send our kind regards to Mr. Taylor, and hope that he may remain robust for his parliamentary campaign. Life, I trust, will deal gently with you in future, dear friend, and give you years of peace after your period of anxiety and of parting from old places and habits. [Sidenote: Journal, 1874.] _Jan. 1._--The happy old year, in which we have had constant enjoyment of life, notwithstanding much bodily _malaise_, is gone from us forever. More than in any former year of my life love has been poured forth to me from distant hearts, and in our home we have had that finish to domestic comfort which only faithful, kind servants can give. Our children are prosperous and happy--Charles evidently growing in mental efficiency; we have abundant wealth for more than our actual needs; and our unspeakable joy in each other has no other alloy than the sense that it must one day end in parting. My dear husband has a store of present and prospective good in the long work which is likely to stretch through the remaining years of his intellectual activity; and there have not been wanting signs that what he has already published is being appreciated rightly by capable persons. He is thinner than ever, but still he shows wonderful elasticity and nervous energy. I have been for a month rendered almost helpless for intellectual work by constant headache, but am getting a little more freedom. Nothing is wanting to my blessings but the uninterrupted power of work. For as to all my unchangeable imperfections I have resigned myself. _Jan. 17._--I received this morning, from Blackwood, the account of "Middlemarch" and of "The Spanish Gypsy" for 1873. Of the guinea edition of "Middlemarch," published in the spring, 2434 copies have been sold. Of "The Spanish Gypsy" 292 copies have been sold during 1873, and the remaining copies are only 197. Thus, out of 4470 which have been printed, 4273 have been distributed. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 12th Feb. 1874.] We have received the volume--your kind and valuable gift--and I have read it aloud with Mr. Lewes, all except the later pages, which we both feel too much to bear reading them in common. You have given a deeply interesting and, we think, instructive picture, and Mr. Lewes has expressed his wish that it had not been restricted to a private circulation. But I understand your shrinking from indiscriminate publicity, at least in the first instance. Perhaps, if many judges on whom you rely concur with Mr. Lewes, you will be induced to extend the possible benefit of the volume. I care so much for the demonstration of an intense joy in life on the basis of "plain living and high thinking" in this time of more and more eager scrambling after wealth and show. And then there are exquisite bits which you have rescued from that darkness to which his self-depreciation condemned them. I think I never read a more exquisite little poem than the one called "Christian Resignation;" and Mr. Lewes, when I read it aloud, at once exclaimed, "How very fine--read it again!" I am also much impressed with the wise mingling of moderation with sympathy in that passage, given in a note, from the article on Greg's "Political Essays." What must have been the effort which the writing cost you I can--not fully, but almost--imagine. But believe, dear friend, that in our judgment you have not poured out these recollections in a cry of anguish all in vain. I feel roused and admonished by what you have told, and if I--then others. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 20th Feb. 1874.] I imagined you absorbed by the political crisis, like the rest of the world except the Lord Chief-justice, who must naturally have felt his summing-up deserving of more attention. I, who am no believer in salvation by ballot, am rather tickled that the first experiment with it has turned against its adherents. I have been making what will almost certainly be my last corrections of the "Spanish Gypsy," and that causes me to look forward with special satisfaction to the probable exhaustion of the present edition. The corrections chiefly concern the quantity of the word Zincálo, which ought to be Zíncalo; but there are some other emendations; and, altogether, they make a difference to more than seventy pages. But it would still be worth while to retain the stereotypes, replacing simply the amended pages, there being about 400 in the whole book. I am sadly vexed that I did not think of having these corrections ready for the German reprint. I have been compunctious lately about my having sprinkled cold water on the proposal suggested by Mr. Simpson, of bringing out my novels in a cheaper way--on thinner paper and without illustrations. The compunction was roused by my happening, in looking at old records, to alight on some letters, one especially, written by a working-man, a certain E. Hall,[22] more than ten years ago, begging me to bring out my books in a form cheap enough to let a poor man more easily "get a read of them." Hence, if you and Mr. Simpson see good to revive the design in question, I am perfectly in accord. You did send me a copy of Lord Lytton's "Fables"--many thanks for doing so. Mr. Lewes had seen several of them in manuscript, and thought well of their merits. I am reading them gradually. They are full of graceful fancies and charming verse. So far as cleverness goes it seems to me he can do almost anything; and the leanings of his mind are towards the best things. The want I feel is of more definiteness and more weight. The two stanzas to his wife, placed before "Far and Near," are perfect. I think I have never written to you since I wanted to tell you that I admired very much the just spirit in which the notice of Mill's "Autobiography" was written in the Magazine. Poor Dickens's latter years wear a melancholy aspect, do they not? But some of the extracts from his letters in the last volume have surprisingly more freshness and naturalness of humor than any of the letters earlier given. Still, something should be done by dispassionate criticism towards the reform of our national habits in the matter of literary biography. Is it not odious that as soon as a man is dead his desk is raked, and every insignificant memorandum which he never meant for the public is printed for the gossiping amusement of people too idle to re-read his books? "He gave the people of his best. His worst he kept, his best he gave;" but there is a certain set, not a small one, who are titillated by the worst and indifferent to the best. I think this fashion is a disgrace to us all. It is something like the uncovering of the dead Byron's club-foot. Mr. Lewes is in a more flourishing condition than usual, having been helped by Dr. Andrew Clark, who ministers to all the brain-workers. I have been ill lately: weeks of _malaise_ having found their climax in lumbar-neuralgia, or something of that sort, which gave fits of pain severe enough to deserve even a finer name. My writing has not been stimulated as Scott's was under circumstances of a like sort, and I have nothing to tell you securely. Please give an expression of my well-founded sympathy to Mr. William Blackwood. My experience feelingly convinces me of the hardship there must be in his. I trust I shall hear of the lameness as a departed evil. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 6th Mch. 1874.] I send you by this post a small collection of my poems, which Mr. Lewes wishes me to get published in May. Such of them as have been already printed in a fugitive form have been received with many signs of sympathy, and every one of those I now send you represents an idea which I care for strongly, and wish to propagate as far as I can. Else I should forbid myself from adding to the mountainous heap of poetical collections. The form of volume I have in my eye is a delightful duodecimo edition of Keats's poems (without the "Endymion") published during his life: just the volume to slip in the pocket. Mine will be the least bit thicker. I should like a darkish green cover, with Roman lettering. But you will consider the physique and price of the book, and kindly let me know your thoughts. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 25th Mch. 1874.] I fear the fatal fact about your story[23] is the absence of God and hell. "My dear madam, you have not presented motives to the children!" It is really hideous to find that those who sit in the scribes' seats have got no further than the appeal to selfishness, which they call God. The old Talmudists were better teachers. They make Rachel remonstrate with God for his hardness, and remind him that she was kinder to her sister Leah than he to his people--thus correcting the traditional God by human sympathy. However, we must put up with our contemporaries, since we can neither live with our ancestors nor with posterity. It is cheering to see the programme of your new society. There certainly is an awakening of conscience about animals in general as our fellow-creatures--even the vogue of Balaam's ass is in that sense a good sign. A lady wrote to me the other day that when she went to church in the island of Sark the sermon turned on that remonstrant hero or heroine. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 27th Mch. 1874.] I can imagine how great an encouragement you feel from the enthusiasm generously expressed in Mr. C.'s letter. It is always an admirable impulse to express deeply felt admiration, but it is also possible that you have some grateful readers who do not write to you. I have heard men whose greatest delight is literature, say that they should never dream of writing to an author on the ground of his books alone. Poor Mr. Francis Newman must be aged now and rather weary of the world and explanations of the world. He can hardly be expected to take in much novelty. I have a sort of affectionate sadness in thinking of the interest which, in far-off days, I felt in his "Soul" and "Phases of Faith," and of the awe I had of him as a lecturer on mathematics at the Ladies' College. How much work he has done in the world which has left no deep, conspicuous mark, but has probably entered beneficially into many lives! [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 23d April, 1874.] How glorious this opening spring is! At this moment even London is so beautiful that I come home filled with the Park landscapes, and see them as a background to all my thoughts. Your account of Mr. George Dawson is rather melancholy. I remember him only as a bright, vigorous, young man--such as perhaps his sons are now. I imagine it is his fortune, or, rather, misfortune, to have talked too much and too early about the greatest things. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Mary Cross, 11th May, 1874.] I could not dwell on your sweet gift[24] yesterday--I should perhaps have begun to cry, which would not have been _convenable_ in a hostess. For I have been in a suffering, depressed condition lately, so your good, loving deed has come just at the right time--when I need the helpfulness that love brings me--and my heart turns to you with grateful blessing this Monday morning. I have been looking at the little paintings with a treble delight, because they were done for _me_, because you chose for them subjects of my "making," and because they are done with a promising charm of execution (which Mr. Lewes feels as well as I). It gives me special gladness that you have this sort of work before you. Some skill or other with the hands is needful for the completeness of the life, and makes a bridge over times of doubt and despondency. Perhaps it will please you to know that nineteen years ago, when Mr. Lewes and I were looking at a print of Goethe's statue by Ritzchl, which stands on a pedestal ornamented with _bassi relievi_ of his characters, I said (little believing that my wish would ever be fulfilled), "How I should like to be surrounded with creatures of my own making!" And yesterday, when I was looking at your gift, that little incident recurred to me. Your love seemed to have made me a miniature pedestal. I was comforted yesterday that you and J. had at least the pleasure of hearing Bice Trollope sing, to make some amends for the long, cold journey. Please do not any of you, forget that we shall only be three weeks more in this corner of the world, and that we want to see you as often as you care to come. Best love to all, the mother being chief among the all. [Sidenote: Journal, 1874.] _May 19._--This month has been published a volume of my poems--"Legend of Jubal, and other Poems." On the 1st of June we go into the country to the cottage, Earlswood Common, for four months, and I hope there to get deep shafts sunk in my prose book. My health has been a wretched drag on me during this last half-year. I have lately written "a symposium." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Cross, 14th June, 1874.] I have so much trust in your love for us that I feel sure you will like to know of our happiness in the secure peace of the country, and the good we already experience in soul and body from the sweet breezes over hill and common, the delicious silence, and the unbroken spaces of the day. Just now the chill east wind has brought a little check to our pleasure in our long afternoon drives; and I could wish that Canon Kingsley and his fellow-worshippers of that harsh divinity could have it reserved entirely for themselves as a tribal god. We think the neighborhood so lovely that I must beg you to tell J. we are in danger of settling here unless he makes haste to find us a house in your "country-side"--a house with undeniable charms, on high ground, in a strictly rural neighborhood (water and gas laid on, nevertheless), to be vacant precisely this autumn! My philosopher is writing away with double _verve_ in a projecting window, where he can see a beautiful green slope crowned and studded with large trees. I, too, have an agreeable corner in another room. Our house has the essentials of comfort, and we have reason to be contented with it. I confess that my chief motive for writing about ourselves is to earn some news of you, which will not be denied me by one or other of the dear pairs of hands always ready to do us a kindness. Our Sunday is really a Sabbath now--a day of thorough peace. But I shall get hungry for a sight of some of the Sunday visitors before the end of September. I include all your family in a spiritual embrace, and am always yours lovingly. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 16th June, 1874.] We are revelling in the peace of the country, and have no drawback to our delight except the cold winds, which have forced us to put on winter clothing for the last four or five days. Our wide common is very breezy, and the wind makes mournful music round our walls. But I should think it is not possible to find a much healthier region than this round Reigate and Redhill; and it is prettier than half the places one crosses the Channel to see. We have been hunting about for a permanent country home in the neighborhood, but no house is so difficult to get as one which has at once seclusion and convenience of position, which is neither of the suburban-villa style nor of the grand hall and castle dimensions. The restoration of the empire (in France), which is a threatening possibility, seems to me a degrading issue. In the restoration of the monarchy I should have found something to rejoice at, but the traditions of the empire, both first and second, seem to my sentiment bad. Some form of military despotism must be, as you say, the only solution where no one political party knows how to behave itself. The American pattern is certainly being accepted as to senatorial manners. I dare say you have been to Knebworth and talked over French matters with Lord Lytton. We are grieved to hear from him but a poor account of sweet Lady Lytton's health and spirits. She is to me one of the most charming types of womanliness, and I long for her to have all a woman's best blessings. The good news about the small remainder of "Jubal" is very welcome, and I will write at once to Mr. Simpson to send him my two or three corrections, and my wishes about the new edition. The price of the book will well bear a thicker and a handsomely tinted paper, especially now it has proved movable; and I felt so much the difference to the eye and touch of the copies on rich tinted paper, that I was much vexed with myself for having contributed to the shabby appearance of the current edition by suggesting the thin Keats volume as a model. People have become used to more luxurious editions; and I confess to the weakness of being affected by paper and type in something of the same subtile way I am affected by the odor of a room. Many thanks for Lord Neaves's pleasant little book, which is a capital example of your happily planned publication. I came down here half poisoned by the French theatre, but I am flourishing now, and am brewing my future big book with more or less (generally less) belief in the quality of the liquor which will be drawn off. The secured peacefulness and the pure air of the country make our time of double worth; and we mean to give no invitations to London friends desirous of change. We are selfishly bent on dual solitude. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 1st July, 1874.] I am so glad to know from your kind letter that you are interesting yourself, with Madame Belloc, in the poor workhouse girls. You see my only social work is to rejoice in the labors of others, while I live in luxurious remoteness from all turmoil. Of course you have seen Mrs. Senior's report. I read it, and thought it very wise, very valuable in many ways, and since then she has sent me word how much she has been worried about it by (as I imagine) obstructive officials. We are revelling in our country peacefulness, in spite of the chills and rain, driving about every day that the weather will allow, and finding in each drive new beauties of this loveliest part of a lovely country. We are looking out for a house in this neighborhood as a permanent retreat; not with the idea of giving up our London house, at least for some years, but simply of having a place to which we may come for about six months of the year, and perhaps finally shrink into altogether. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 1st July, 1874.] Only the day before your letter came to me I had been saying, "I wonder how our dear Mrs. William Smith is?" so that your impulse to write to me satisfied a need of mine. I cannot help rejoicing that you are in the midst of lovely scenery again, for I had had a presentiment that Cambridge was antipathetic to you; and, indeed, I could not have imagined that you would be in the right place there but for the promised helpfulness of your presence to a young friend. You tell me much that is interesting. Your picture of Mr. and Mrs. Stirling, and what you say of the reasons why one may wish even for the anguish of being _left_ for the sake of waiting on the beloved one to the end--all that goes to my heart of hearts. It is what I think of almost daily. For death seems to me now a close, real experience, like the approach of autumn or winter, and I am glad to find that advancing life brings this power of imagining the nearness of death I never had till of late years. I remember all you told me of your niece's expected marriage, and your joy in the husband who has chosen her. It is wealth you have--that of several sweet nieces to whom being with you is a happiness. You can feel some sympathy in their cheerfulness, even though sorrow is always your only private good--can you not, dear friend?--and the time is short at the utmost. The blessed reunion, if it may come, must be patiently waited for; and such good as you can do others, by loving looks and words, must seem to you like a closer companionship with the gentleness and benignity which you justly worshipped while it was visibly present, and still more, perhaps, now it is veiled, and is a memory stronger than vision of outward things. We are revelling in the sweet peace of the country, and shall remain here till the end of September. Mr. Lewes sends his affectionate remembrances with mine. I am scribbling while he holds my bed-candle, so pray forgive any incoherency. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 17th July, 1874.] I have two questions to ask of your benevolence. First, was there not some village near Stonehenge where you stayed the night, nearer to Stonehenge than Amesbury? Secondly, do you know anything specific about Holmwood _Common_ as a place of residence? It is ravishingly beautiful; is it in its higher part thoroughly unobjectionable as a site for a dwelling? It seems that they have been having the heat of Tophet in London, whereas we have never had more than agreeable sunniness, this common being almost always breezy. And the country around us must, I think, be the loveliest of its undulating, woody kind in all England. I remember, when we were driving together last, something was said about my disposition to melancholy. I ought to have said then, but did not, that I am no longer one of those whom Dante found in hell border because they had been sad under the blessed sunlight.[25] I am uniformly cheerful now--feeling the preciousness of these moments, in which I still possess love and thought. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 3d Aug. 1874.] It was sweet of you to write me that nice long letter. I was athirst for some news of you. Life, as you say, is a big thing. No wonder there comes a season when we cease to look round and say, "How shall I enjoy?" but, as in a country which has been visited by the sword, pestilence, and famine, think only how we shall help the wounded, and how find seed for the next harvest--how till the earth and make a little time of gladness for those who are being born without their own asking. I am so glad of what you say about the Latin. Go on conquering and to conquer a little kingdom for yourself there. We are, as usual, getting more than our share of peace and other good, except in the matter of warmth and sunshine. Our common is a sort of ball-room for the winds, and on the warmest days we have had here we have found them at their music and dancing. They roar round the corners of our house in a wintry fashion, while the sun is shining on the brown grass. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 8th Aug. 1874.] Thanks for sending me the good news. The sale of "Middlemarch" is wonderful "out of all whooping," and, considered as manifesting the impression made by the book, is more valuable than any amount of immediate distribution. I suppose there will be a new edition of the "Spanish Gypsy" wanted by Christmas; and I have a carefully corrected copy by me, containing my final alterations, to which I desire to have the stereotyped plates adjusted. As to confidence in the work to be done I am somewhat in the condition suggested to Armgart, "How will you bear the poise of eminence with dread of falling?" And the other day, having a bad headache, I did what I have sometimes done before at intervals of five or six years--looked into three or four novels to see what the world was reading. The effect was paralyzing, and certainly justifies me in that abstinence from novel-reading which, I fear, makes me seem supercilious or churlish to the many persons who send me their books, or ask me about their friends' books. To be delivered from all doubts as to one's justification in writing at this stage of the world, one should have either a plentiful faith in one's own exceptionalness, or a plentiful lack of money. Tennyson said to me, "Everybody writes so well now;" and if the lace is only machine-made, it still pushes out the hand-made, which has differences only for a fine, fastidious appreciation. To write indifferently after having written well--that is, from a true, individual store which makes a special contribution--is like an eminent clergyman spoiling his reputation by lapses, and neutralizing all the good he did before. However, this is superfluous stuff to write to you. It is only a sample of the way in which depression works upon me. I am not the less grateful for all the encouragement I get. I saw handsome Dean Liddell at Oxford. He is really a grand figure. They accuse him of being obstructive to much-needed reforms. For my own part I am thankful to him for his share in "Liddell and Scott" and his capital little Roman History. _À propos_ of books and St. Andrews, I have read aloud to Mr. Lewes Professor Flint's volume, and we have both been much pleased with its conscientious presentation and thorough effort at fairness. We have enjoyed the country, as we always do; but we have been, for our constitutions, a little unfortunate in the choice of a spot which is the windiest of the windy. That heat which we have read and heard of has hardly been at all felt by us; and we have both suffered a little from chills. You will perceive from my letter I am just now possessed by an evil spirit in the form of headache; but on the whole I am much the stronger for the peace and the delicious air, which I take in as a conscious addition to the good of living. We have been near buying a little country hermitage on Holmwood Common--a grand spot, with a view hard to match in our flat land. But we have been frightened away by its windiness. I rather envy Major Lockhart and the rest of the golfian enthusiasts; to have a seductive idleness which is really a healthy activity is invaluable to people who have desk-work. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 11th Nov. 1874.] I feel rather disgraced by the fact that I received your last kind letter nearly two months ago. But a brief note of mine, written immediately on hearing of you from Mrs. Fields, must have crossed yours and the Professor's kind letters to me; and I hope it proved to you that I love you in my heart. We were in the country then, but soon afterwards we set out on a six-weeks' journey, and we are but just settled in our winter home. Those unspeakable troubles in which I necessarily felt more for _you_ than for any one else concerned, are, I trust, well at an end, and you are enjoying a time of peace. It was like your own sympathetic energy to be able, even while the storm was yet hanging in your sky, to write to me about my husband's books. Will you not agree with me that there is one comprehensive Church whose fellowship consists in the desire to purify and ennoble human life, and where the best members of all narrower Churches may call themselves brother and sister in spite of differences? I am writing to your dear husband as well as to you, and in answer to his question about Goethe, I must say, for my part, that I think he had a strain of mysticism in his soul--of so much mysticism as I think inevitably belongs to a full, poetic nature--I mean the delighted bathing of the soul in emotions which overpass the outlines of definite thought. I should take the "Imitation" as a type (it is one which your husband also mentions), but perhaps I might differ from him in my attempt to interpret the unchangeable and universal meanings of that great book. Mr. Lewes, however, who has a better right than I to a conclusion about Goethe, thinks that he entered into the experience of the mystic--as in the confessions of the _Schöne Seele_--simply by force of his sympathetic genius, and that his personal individual bent was towards the clear and plastic exclusively. Do not imagine that Mr. Lewes is guided in his exposition by theoretic antipathies. He is singularly tolerant of difference, and able to admire what is unlike himself. He is busy now correcting the proofs of his second volume. I wonder whether you have headaches and are rickety as we are, or whether you have a glorious immunity from those ills of the flesh. Your husband's photograph looks worthy to represent one of those wondrous Greeks who wrote grand dramas at eighty or ninety. I am decidedly among the correspondents who may exercise their friends in the virtue of giving and hoping for nothing again. Otherwise I am unprofitable. Yet believe me, dear friend, I am always with lively memories of you, yours affectionately. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Nov. 1874.] We have spent this year in much happiness, and are sorry to part with it. From the beginning of June to the end of September we had a house in Surrey, and enjoyed delicious quiet with daily walks and drives in the lovely scenery round Reigate and Dorking. October we spent in a country visit to friends (Six-Mile Bottom) and in a journey to Paris, and through the Ardennes homeward, finishing off our travels by some excursions in our own country, which we are ready to say we will never quit again--it is so much better worth knowing than most places one travels abroad to see. We make ourselves amends for being in London by going to museums to see the wonderful works of men; and the other day I was taken over the Bank of England and to Woolwich Arsenal--getting object-lessons in my old age, you perceive. Mr. Lewes is half through the proof-correcting of his second volume; and it will be matter of rejoicing when the other half is done, for we both hate proof-correcting (do you?)--the writing always seems worse than it really is when one reads it in patches, looking out for mistakes. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Ponsonby (now Lady Ponsonby), 10th Dec. 1874.] My books have for their main bearing a conclusion the opposite of that in which your studies seem to have painfully imprisoned you--a conclusion without which I could not have cared to write any representation of human life--namely, that the fellowship between man and man which has been the principle of development, social and moral, is not dependent on conceptions of what is not man: and that the idea of God, so far as it has been a high spiritual influence, is the ideal of a goodness entirely human (_i.e._, an exaltation of the human). Have you quite fairly represented yourself in saying that you have ceased to pity your suffering fellow-men, because you can no longer think of them as individualities of immortal duration, in some other state of existence than this of which you know the pains and the pleasures?--that you feel less for them now you regard them as more miserable? And, on a closer examination of your feelings, should you find that you had lost all sense of quality in actions, all possibility of admiration that yearns to imitate, all keen sense of what is cruel and injurious, all belief that your conduct (and therefore the conduct of others) can have any difference of effect on the well-being of those immediately about you (and therefore on those afar off), whether you carelessly follow your selfish moods, or encourage that vision of others' needs which is the source of justice, tenderness, sympathy in the fullest sense--I cannot believe that your strong intellect will continue to see, in the conditions of man's appearance on this planet, a destructive relation to your sympathy. This seems to me equivalent to saying that you care no longer for color, now you know the laws of the spectrum. As to the necessary combinations through which life is manifested, and which seem to present themselves to you as a hideous fatalism, which ought logically to petrify your volition, have they, _in fact_, any such influence on your ordinary course of action in the primary affairs of your existence as a human, social, domestic creature? And if they don't hinder you from taking measures for a bath, without which you know that you cannot secure the delicate cleanliness which is your second nature, why should they hinder you from a line of resolve in a higher strain of duty to your ideal, both for yourself and others? But the consideration of molecular physics is not the direct ground of human love and moral action any more than it is the direct means of composing a noble picture or of enjoying great music. One might as well hope to dissect one's own body and be merry in doing it, as take molecular physics (in which you must banish from your field of view what is specifically human) to be your dominant guide, your determiner of motives, in what is solely human. That every study has its bearing on every other is true; but pain and relief, love and sorrow, have their peculiar history, which make an experience and knowledge over and above the swing of atoms. The teaching you quote as George Sand's would, I think, deserve to be called nonsensical if it did not deserve to be called wicked. What sort of "culture of the intellect" is that which, instead of widening the mind to a fuller and fuller response to all the elements of our existence, isolates it in a moral stupidity?--which flatters egoism with the possibility that a complex and refined human society can continue, wherein relations have no sacredness beyond the inclination of changing moods?--or figures to itself an æsthetic human life that one may compare to that of the fabled grasshoppers who were once men, but having heard the song of the Muses could do nothing but sing, and starved themselves so till they died and had a fit resurrection as grasshoppers? "And this," says Socrates, "was the return the Muses made them." With regard to the pains and limitations of one's personal lot, I suppose there is not a single man or woman who has not more or less need of that stoical resignation which is often a hidden heroism, or who, in considering his or her past history, is not aware that it has been cruelly affected by the ignorant or selfish action of some fellow-being in a more or less close relation of life. And to my mind there can be no stronger motive than this perception, to an energetic effort that the lives nearest to us shall not suffer in a like manner from _us_. The progress of the world--which you say can only come at the right time--can certainly never come at all save by the modified action of the individual beings who compose the world; and that we can say to ourselves with effect, "There is an order of considerations which I will keep myself continually in mind of, so that they may continually be the prompters of certain feelings and actions," seems to me as undeniable as that we can resolve to study the Semitic languages and apply to an Oriental scholar to give us daily lessons. What would your keen wit say to a young man who alleged the physical basis of nervous action as a reason why he could not possibly take that course? As to duration and the way in which it affects your view of the human history, what is really the difference to your imagination between infinitude and billions when you have to consider the value of human experience? Will you say that, since your life has a term of threescore years and ten, it was really a matter of indifference whether you were a cripple with a wretched skin disease, or an active creature with a mind at large for the enjoyment of knowledge, and with a nature which has attracted others to you? Difficulties of thought--acceptance of what is, without full comprehension--belong to every system of thinking. The question is to find the least incomplete. When I wrote the first page of this letter I thought I was going to say that I had not courage to enter on the momentous points you had touched on in the hasty, brief form of a letter. But I have been led on sentence after sentence--not, I fear, with any inspiration beyond that of my anxiety. You will at least pardon any ill-advised things I may have written on the prompting of the moment. [Sidenote: Journal, 1875.] _Jan. 13._--Here is a great gap since I last made a record. But the time has been filled full of happiness. A second edition of "Jubal" was published in August; and the fourth edition of the "Spanish Gypsy" is all sold. This morning I received a copy of the fifth edition. The amount of copies sold of "Middlemarch" up to 31st December is between nineteen and twenty thousand. Yesterday I also received the good news that the engagement between Emily Cross and Mr. Otter is settled. The last year has been crowded with proofs of affection for me and of value for what work I have been able to do. This makes the best motive or encouragement to do more; but, as usual, I am suffering much from doubt as to the worth of what I am doing, and fear lest I may not be able to complete it so as to make it a contribution to literature and not a mere addition to the heap of books. I am now just beginning the part about "Deronda," at page 234. [Sidenote: Letter to Francis Otter, 13th (?) Jan. 1875.] Your letter was a deeply felt pleasure to me last night; and I have one from Emily this morning, which makes my joy in the prospect of your union as thorough as it could well be. I could not wish either her words or yours to be in the least different. Long ago, when I had no notion that the event was probable, my too hasty imagination had prefigured it and longed for it. To say this is to say something of the high regard with which all I have known of you has impressed me--for I hold our sweet Emily worthy of one who may be reckoned among the best. The possibility of a constantly growing blessedness in marriage is to me the very basis of good in our mortal life; and the believing hope that you and she will experience that blessedness seems to enrich me for the coming years. I shall count it among my strengthening thoughts that you both think of me with affection, and care for my sympathy. Mr. Lewes shares in all the feelings I express, and we are rejoicing together. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 15th Jan. 1875.] Please never wonder at my silence, or believe that I bear you in any the less lively remembrance because I do not write to you. Writing notes is the _crux_ of my life. It often interferes with my morning hours (before 1 o'clock), which is the only time I have for quiet work. For certain letters are unavoidable demands, and though my kind husband writes them for me whenever he can, they are not all to be done by proxy. That glorious bit of work of yours about the Home for Girls[26] is delightful to hear of. Hardly anything is more wanted, I imagine, than homes for girls in various employments--or, rather, for unmarried women of all ages. I heard also the other day that your name was among those of the ladies interested in the beginning of a union among the bookbinding women, which one would like to succeed and spread. I hope, from your ability to work so well, that you are in perfect health yourself. Our friend Barbara, too, looks literally the pink of well-being, and cheers one's soul by her interest in all worthy things. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Ponsonby (now Lady Ponsonby), 30th Jan. 1875.] I should urge you to consider your early religious experience as a portion of valid knowledge, and to cherish its emotional results in relation to objects and ideas which are either substitutes or metamorphoses of the earlier. And I think we must not take every great physicist--or other "ist"--for an apostle, but be ready to suspect him of some crudity concerning relations that lie outside his special studies, if his exposition strands us on results that seem to stultify the most ardent, massive experience of mankind, and hem up the best part of our feelings in stagnation. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 7th Feb. 1875.] Last night I finished reading aloud to Mr. Lewes the "Inkerman" volume, and we both thank you heartily for the valuable present. It is an admirable piece of writing; such pure, lucid English is what one rarely gets to read. The masterly marshalling of the material is certainly in contrast with the movements described. To my non-military mind the Inkerman affair seems nothing but a brave blundering into victory. Great traits of valor--Homeric movements--but also a powerful lack of brains in the form of generalship. I cannot see that the ordering up of the two 18-pounder guns was a vast mental effort, unless the weight of the guns is to be counted in the order as well as in the execution. But the grand fact of the thousands beaten by the hundreds remains under all interpretation. Why the Russians, in their multitudinous mass, should have chosen to retreat into Sebastopol, moving at their leisure, and carrying off all their artillery, seems a mystery in spite of General Dannenberg's memorable answer to Mentschikoff. There are some splendid movements in the story--the tradition of the "Minden Yell," the "Men, remember Albuera," and the officer of the 77th advancing with, "Then I will go myself," with what followed, are favorite bits of mine. My mind is in the anomalous condition of hating war and loving its discipline, which has been an incalculable contribution to the sentiment of duty. I have not troubled myself to read any reviews of the book. My eye caught one in which the author's style was accused of affectation. But I have long learned to apply to reviewers an aphorism which tickled me in my childhood--"There must be some such to be some of all sorts." Pray tell Mr. Simpson that I was much pleased with the new dress of the "Spanish Gypsy." The first part of "Giannetto" raised my interest, but I was disappointed in the unravelling of the plot. It seems to me neither really nor ideally satisfactory. But it is a long while since I read a story newer than "Rasselas," which I re-read two years ago, with a desire to renew my childish delight in it, when it was one of my best-loved companions. So I am a bad judge of comparative merits among popular writers. I am obliged to fast from fiction, and fasting is known sometimes to weaken the stomach. I ought to except Miss Thackeray's stories--which I cannot resist when they come near me--and bits of Mr. Trollope, for affection's sake. You would not wonder at my fasting, if you knew how deplorably uncalled-for and "everything-that-it-should-not-be" my own fiction seems to me in times of inward and outward fog--like this morning, when the light is dim on my paper. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Ponsonby (now Lady Ponsonby), 11th Feb. 1875.] _Do_ send me the papers you have written--I mean as a help and instruction to me. I need very much to know how ideas lie in other minds than my own, that I may not miss their difficulties while I am urging only what satisfies myself. I shall be deeply interested in knowing exactly what you wrote at that particular stage. Please remember that I don't consider myself a teacher, but a companion in the struggle of thought. What can consulting physicians do without pathological knowledge? and the more they have of it, the less absolute--the more tentative--are their procedures. You will see by the _Fortnightly_, which you have not read, that Mr. Spencer is very anxious to vindicate himself from neglect of the logical necessity that the evolution of the abstraction "society" is dependent on the modified action of the units; indeed, he is very sensitive on the point of being supposed to teach an enervating fatalism. Consider what the human mind _en masse_ would have been if there had been no such combination of elements in it as has produced poets. All the philosophers and _savants_ would not have sufficed to supply that deficiency. And how can the life of nations be understood without the inward light of poetry--that is, of emotion blending with thought? But the beginning and object of my letter must be the end--please send me your papers. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 10th May, 1875.] We cannot believe that there is reason to fear any painful observations on the publication of the memoir in one volume with "Gravenhurst" and the essays. The memoir is written with exquisite judgment and feeling; and without estimating too highly the taste and carefulness of journalists in their ordinary treatment of books, I think that we may count on their not being impressed otherwise than respectfully and sympathetically with the character of your dear husband's work, and with the sketch of his pure, elevated life. I would also urge you to rely on the fact that Mr. Blackwood thinks the publication desirable, as a guarantee that it will not prove injudicious in relation to the outer world--I mean, the world beyond the circle of your husband's especial friends and admirers. I am grieved to hear of your poor eyes having been condemned to an inaction which, I fear, may have sadly increased the vividness of that inward seeing, already painfully strong in you. There has been, I trust, always some sympathetic young companionship to help you--some sweet voice to read aloud to you, or to talk of those better things in human lots which enable us to look at the good of life a little apart from our own particular sorrow. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 11th May, 1875.] The doctors have decided that there is nothing very grave the matter with me: and I am now so much better that we even think it possible I may go to see Salvini, in the Gladiator, to-morrow evening. This is to let you know that there is no reason against your coming, with or without Margaret, at the usual time on Friday. Your words of affection in the note you sent me are very dear to my remembrance. I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same mind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 14th May, 1875.] You are right--there is no time, but only the sense of not having time; especially when, instead of filling the days with useful exertion, as you do, one wastes them in being ill, as I have been doing of late. However, I am better now, and will not grumble. Thanks for all the dear words in your letter. Be sure I treasure the memory of your faithful friendship, which goes back--you know how far. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 1st June, 1875.] If you could, some day this week or the beginning of next, allow me half an hour's quiet _tête-à-tête_, I should be very much obliged by such a kindness. The trivial questions I want to put could hardly be shapen in a letter so as to govern an answer that would satisfy my need. And I trust that the interview will hardly be more troublesome to you than writing. I hope, when you learn the pettiness of my difficulties, you will not be indignant, like a great doctor called in to the favorite cat. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 9th Aug. 1875, from Rickmansworth.] We admire our bit of Hertfordshire greatly; but I should be glad of more breezy common land and far-reaching outlooks. For fertility, wealth of grand trees, parks, mansions, and charming bits of stream and canal, our neighborhood can hardly be excelled. And our house is a good old red-brick Georgian place, with a nice bit of garden and meadow and river at the back. Perhaps we are too much in the valley, and have too large a share of mist, which often lies white on our meadows in the early evening. But who has not had too much moisture in this calamitously wet, cold summer? Mr. Lewes is very busy, but not in zoologizing. We reserve that for October, when we mean to go to the coast for a few weeks. It is a long while since I walked on broad sands and watched the receding tide; and I look forward agreeably to a renewal of that old pleasure. I am not particularly flourishing in this pretty region, probably owing to the low barometer. The air has been continually muggy, and has lain on one's head like a thick turban. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 14th Aug. 1875.] What a comfort that you are at home again and well![27] The sense of your nearness had been so long missing to us that we had begun to take up with life as inevitably a little less cheerful than we remembered it to have been formerly, without thinking of restoration. My box is quite dear to me, and shall be used for stamps, as you recommend, unless I find another use that will lead me to open it and think of you the oftener. It is very precious to me that you bore me in your mind, and took that trouble to give me pleasure--in which you have succeeded. Our house here is rather a fine old brick Georgian place, with a lovely bit of landscape; but I think we have suffered the more from the rainy, close weather, because we are in a valley, and can see the mists lie in a thick, white stratum on our meadows. Mr. Lewes has been, on the whole, flourishing and enjoying--writing away with vigor, and making a discovery or theory at the rate of one per diem. Of me you must expect no good. I have been in a piteous state of debility in body and depression in mind. My book seems to me so unlikely ever to be finished in a way that will make it worth giving to the world, that it is a kind of glass in which I behold my infirmities. That expedition on the Thames would be a great delight, if it were possible to us. But our arrangements forbid it. Our loving thanks to Mr. Druce, as well as to you, for reviving the thought. We are to remain here till the 23d of September; then to fly through town, or at least only perch there for a night or so, and then go down to the coast, while the servants clean our house. We expect that Bournemouth will be our destination. Let us have news of you all again soon. Let us comfort each other while it is day, for the night cometh. I hope this change of weather, in which we are glorying both for the country's sake and our own, will not make Weybridge too warm for Mrs. Cross. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Ponsonby, 19th Aug. 1875.] I don't mind how many letters I receive from one who interests me as much as you do. The receptive part of correspondence I can carry on with much alacrity. It is writing answers that I groan over. Please take it as a proof of special feeling that I declined answering your kind inquiries by proxy. This corner of Hertfordshire is as pretty as it can be of the kind. There are really rural bits at every turn. But for my particular taste I prefer such a region as that round Haslemere--with wide, furzy commons and a grander horizon. Also I prefer a country where I don't make bad blood by having to see one public house to every six dwellings--which is literally the case in many spots around us. My gall rises at the rich brewers in Parliament and out of it, who plant these poison shops for the sake of their million-making trade, while probably their families are figuring somewhere as refined philanthropists or devout Evangelicals and Ritualists. You perceive from this that I am dyspeptic and disposed to melancholy views. In fact, I have not been flourishing, but I am getting a little better; grateful thanks that you will care to know it. On the whole the sins of brewers, with their drugged ale and devil's traps, depress me less than my own inefficiency. But every fresh morning is an opportunity that one can look forward to for exerting one's will. I shall not be satisfied with your philosophy till you have conciliated necessitarianism--I hate the ugly word--with the practice of willing strongly, willing to will strongly, and so on, that being what you certainly can do and have done about a great many things in life, whence it is clear that there is nothing in truth to hinder you from it--except, you will say, the absence of a motive. But that absence I don't believe in in your case--only in the case of empty, barren souls. Are you not making a transient confusion of intuitions with innate ideas? The most thorough experientialists admit intuition--_i.e._, direct impressions of sensibility underlying all proof, as necessary starting-points for thought. [Sidenote: Journal, 1875.] _Oct. 10._--On the 15th June, we went to a house we had taken at Rickmansworth. Here, in the end of July, we received the news that our dear Bertie had died on June 29th. Our stay at Rickmansworth, though otherwise peaceful, was not marked by any great improvement in health from the change to country instead of town--rather the contrary. We left on 23d September, and then set off on a journey into Wales, which was altogether unfortunate on account of the excessive rain. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 10th Oct. 1875.] I behaved rather shabbily in not thanking you otherwise than by proxy for the kind letter you sent me to Rickmansworth, but I had a bad time down there, and did less of everything than I desired. Last night we returned from our trip--a very lively word for a journey made in the worst weather; and since I am, on the whole, the better for a succession of small discomforts in hotels, and struggling walks taken under an umbrella, I have no excuse for not writing a line to my neglected correspondents. You will laugh at our nervous caution in depositing our MSS. at the Union Bank before we set out. We could have borne to hear that our house had been burned down, provided no lives were lost, and our unprinted matter, our _oeuvres inédites_, were safe out of it. About _my_ unprinted matter, Mr. Lewes thinks it will not be well to publish the first part till February. The four first monthly parts are ready for travelling now. It will be well to begin the printing in good time, so that I may not be hurried with the proofs; and I must beg Mr. Simpson to judge for me in that matter with kind carefulness. I can't say that I am at all satisfied with the book, or that I have a comfortable sense of doing in it what I want to do; but Mr. Lewes _is_ satisfied with it, and insists that since he is as anxious as possible for it to be fine, I ought to accept his impressions as trustworthy. So I resign myself. I read aloud the "Abode of Snow" at Rickmansworth, to our mutual delight; and we are both very much obliged to you for the handsome present. But what an amazing creature is this Andrew Wilson to have kept pluck for such travelling while his body was miserably ailing! One would have said that he had more than the average spirit of hardy men to have persevered even in good health after a little taste of the difficulties he describes. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 20th Oct. 1875.] The arrangements as to the publication of my next book are already determined on. Ever since "Adam Bede" appeared I have been continually having proposals from the proprietors or editors of periodicals, but I have always declined them, except in the case of "Romola," which appeared in the _Cornhill_, and was allowed to take up a varying and unusual number of pages. I have the strongest objection to cutting up my work into little bits; and there is no motive to it on my part, since I have a large enough public already. But, even apart from that objection, it would not now be worth the while of any magazine or journal to give me a sum such as my books yield in separate publication. I had £7000 for "Romola," but the mode in which "Middlemarch" was issued brings in a still larger sum. I ought to say, however, that the question is not entirely one of money with me: if I could gain _more_ by splitting my writing into small parts, I would not do it, because the effect would be injurious as a matter of art. So much detail I trouble you with to save misapprehension. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th Nov. 1875.] Your enjoyment of the proofs cheers me greatly; and pray thank Mrs. Blackwood for her valuable hints on equine matters. I have not only the satisfaction of using those hints, I allow myself the inference that where there is no criticism on like points I have made no mistake. I should be much obliged to Mr. Simpson--whom I am glad that Gwendolen has captivated--if he would rate the printers a little about their want of spacing. I am anxious that my poor heroes and heroines should have all the advantage that paper and print can give them. It will perhaps be a little comfort to you to know that poor Gwen is spiritually saved, but "so as by fire." Don't you see the process already beginning? I have no doubt you do, for you are a wide-awake reader. But what a climate to expect good writing in! Skating in the morning and splashy roads in the afternoon is just typical of the alternation from frigid to flaccid in the author's bodily system, likely to give a corresponding variety to the style. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 20th Nov. 1875.] I got my head from under the pressure of other matters, like a frog from under the water, to send you my November greeting. My silence through the rest of the months makes you esteem me the more, I hope, seeing that you yourself hate letter-writing--a remarkable exception to the rule that people like doing what they can do well, if one can call that a rule of which the reverse seems more frequent--namely, that they like doing what they do ill. We stayed till nearly the end of September at the house we had taken in Hertfordshire. After that we went into Wales for a fortnight, and were under umbrellas nearly the whole time. I wonder if you all remember an old governess of mine who used to visit me at Foleshill--a Miss Lewis? I have found her out. She is living at Leamington, very poor as well as old, but cheerful, and so delighted to be remembered with gratitude. How very old we are all getting! But I hope you don't mind it any more than I do. One sees so many contemporaries that one is well in the fashion. The approach of parting is the bitterness of age. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 15th Dec. 1875.] Your letter is an agreeable tonic, very much needed, for that wretched hinderance of a cold last week has trailed after it a series of headaches worse than itself. An additional impression, like Mr. Langford's, of the two volumes is really valuable, as a sign that I have not so far failed in relation to a variety of readers. But you know that in one sense I count nothing done as long as anything remains to do; and it always seems to me that the worst difficulty is still to come. In the sanest, soberest judgment, however, I think the third volume (which I have not yet finished) would be regarded as the difficult bridge. I will not send you any more MS. until I can send the whole of vol. iii. We think that Mr. Simpson has conducted our Australian business admirably. Remembering that but for his judgment and consequent activity we might have got no publication at all in that quarter, we may well be content with £200. Mr. Lewes has not got the Life of Heine, and will be much pleased and obliged by your gift. Major Lockhart's lively letter gives one a longing for the fresh, breezy life and fine scenery it conjures up. You must let me know when there is a book of his, because when I have done my own I shall like to read something else by him. I got much pleasure out of the two books I did read. But when I am writing, or only thinking of writing, fiction of my own, I cannot risk the reading of other English fiction. I was obliged to tell Anthony Trollope so when he sent me the first part of his "Prime Minister," though this must seem sadly ungracious to those who don't share my susceptibilities. Apparently there are wild reports about the subject-matter of "Deronda"--among the rest, that it represents French life! But that is hardly more ridiculous than the supposition that after refusing to go to America, I should undertake to describe society there! It is wonderful how "Middlemarch" keeps afloat in people's minds. Somebody told me that Mr. Henry Sidgwick said it was a bold thing to write another book after "Middlemarch," and we must prepare ourselves for the incalculableness of the public reception in the first instance. I think I have heard you say that the chief result of your ample experience has been to convince you of that incalculableness. What a blow for Miss Thackeray--the death of that sister to whom she was so closely bound in affection. [Sidenote: Journal, 1875.] _Dec. 25._--After our return from Wales in October I grew better and wrote with some success. For the last three weeks, however, I have been suffering from a cold and its effects so as to be unable to make any progress. Meanwhile the two first volumes of "Daniel Deronda" are in print, and the first book is to be published on February 1st. I have thought very poorly of it myself throughout, but George and the Blackwoods are full of satisfaction in it. Each part as I see it before me _im werden_ seems less likely to be anything else than a failure; but I see on looking back this morning--Christmas Day--that I really was in worse health and suffered equal depression about "Romola;" and, so far as I have recorded, the same thing seems to be true of "Middlemarch." I have finished the fifth book, but am not far on in the sixth, as I hoped to have been; the oppression under which I have been laboring having positively suspended my power of writing anything that I could feel satisfaction in. _SUMMARY._ JANUARY, 1873, TO DECEMBER, 1875. Reception of "Middlemarch"--Letter to John Blackwood--Mr. Anthony Trollope--Dutch translation of George Eliot's novels--Letter to Mrs. Cross--Evening drives at Weybridge--Letter to John Blackwood--German reprint of "Spanish Gypsy"--"The Lifted Veil"--"Kenelm Chillingly"--Letter to Mrs. William Smith on her Memoir of her husband--Pleasure in young life--Letter to John Blackwood--Want of a Conservative leader--Letter to Mr. Burne-Jones--The function of art--Purpose in art--"Iphigenia in Aulis"--Letter to Mrs. Congreve--Welcoming her home--Letter to Mrs. William Smith on women at Cambridge--Visit to Mr. Frederic Myers at Cambridge--Meets Mr. Henry Sidgwick, Mr. Jebb, Mr. Edmund Gurney, Mr. Balfour, and Mr. Lyttelton, and Mrs. and Miss Huth--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Death of Miss Rebecca Franklin--Visit to the Master of Balliol--Meets Mr. and Mrs. Charles Roundell--Professor Green--Max Müller--Thomson, the Master of Trinity College, Cambridge--Nine-weeks' trip to the Continent--Letter to Mrs. Congreve from Homburg--Fontainebleau, Plombières, and Luxeuil--Two months' stay at Bickley--Letter to Mrs. Cross on journey abroad and Blackbrook--Letter to John Blackwood--New edition of "Middlemarch"--A real Lowick in a Midland county--Cheap editions--Letter to Mrs. Cross on the pleasures of the country and on Mr. Henry Sidgwick--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--House in the country--Letter to J. W. Cross on conformity--Letter to John Blackwood--Interruptions of town life--Simmering towards another book--Berlin reading "Middlemarch"--Ashantee war--Letter to Madame Bodichon--The George Howards--John Stuart Mill's Autobiography--Letter to Mrs. Cross on Christmas invitation--Dr. Andrew Clark--Letter to Mrs. Bray on stupidity of readers--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Retrospect of 1873--Sales of "Middlemarch" and "Spanish Gypsy"--Letter to Mrs. William Smith--"Plain living and high thinking"--Letter to John Blackwood--Conservative reaction--Cheaper edition of novels--Lord Lytton's "Fables"--Dickens's Life and biography in general--Letter to John Blackwood--Volume of poems--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Motives for children--Letter to Miss Hennell--Francis Newman--George Dawson--"The Legend of Jubal and other Poems" published--"Symposium" written--Letter to Miss Mary Cross thanking her for a vase--Letter to Mrs. Cross--Delight in country--Letter to John Blackwood--Threatened restoration of the empire in France--"Brewing" "Deronda"--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor on Mrs. Nassau Senior's report--Letter to Mrs. William Smith on consolations in loss--Letter to Madame Bodichon--No disposition to melancholy--Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones--The serious view of life--Letter to John Blackwood--Justifications for writing--Dean Liddell--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--Goethe's mysticism--Letter to Miss Hennell--Visit to Six-Mile Bottom--Paris and the Ardennes--Bank of England and Woolwich Arsenal--Letter to Mrs. Ponsonby--The idea of God an exaltation of human goodness--Vision of others' needs--Ground of moral action--Need of altruism--The power of the will--Difficulties of thought--Sales of books--Retrospect of 1874--Letter to Francis Otter on his engagement--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Note-writing--Home for girls--Letter to Mrs. Ponsonby--Value of early religious experience--Limitations of scientists--Letter to John Blackwood--Kinglake's "Crimea"--Discipline of war--"Rasselas"--Miss Thackeray--Anthony Trollope--Letter to Mrs. Ponsonby--Desire to know the difficulties of others--Companion in the struggle of thought--Mr. Spencer's teaching--The value of poets--Emotion blending with thought--Letter to Mrs. William Smith--Her memoir--Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones--The world of light and speech--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Rickmansworth--Letter to F. Harrison asking for consultation--Letter to J. W. Cross--"The Elms"--Depression--Letter to Mrs. Ponsonby--The Brewing interest--Conciliation of necessitarianism with will--Innate ideas--Death of Herbert Lewes--Trip to Wales--Letter to John Blackwood--Not satisfied with "Deronda"--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Mode of publication of books--Letter to John Blackwood--Gwendolen--Letter to Miss Hennell--Miss Lewis--Letter to John Blackwood--Impressions of "Deronda"--Major Lockhart--Depression about "Deronda." FOOTNOTES: [21] Death of Mrs. Cross's sister of cholera, at Salzburg. [22] See _ante_, p. 66. [23] "Paul Bradley." [24] A vase with paintings from "Romola" on tiles. [25] "Tristi fummo Nell'aer dolce che dal sol s'allegra." _Inferno_, cant. vii. 121, 122. [26] Bessborough Gardens. [27] I had been abroad for six weeks. CHAPTER XVIII. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 17th March, 1876.] We have just come in from Weybridge, but are going to take refuge there again on Monday for a few days more of fresh air and long, breezy afternoon walks. Many thanks for your thoughtfulness in sending me the cheering account of sales. Mr. Lewes has not heard any complaints of not understanding Gwendolen, but a strong partisanship for and against her. My correspondence about the misquotation of Tennyson has quieted itself since the fifth letter. But one gentleman has written me a very pretty note, taxing me with having wanted insight into the technicalities of Newmarket, when I made Lush say, "I will _take_ odds." He judges that I should have written, "I will lay odds." On the other hand, another expert contends that the case is one in which Lush would be more likely to say, "I will take odds." What do you think? I told my correspondent that I had a dread of being righteously pelted with mistakes that would make a cairn above me--a monument and a warning to people who write novels without being omniscient and infallible. Mr. Lewes is agitating himself over a fifth reading of revise, Book VI., and says he finds it more interesting than on any former reading. It is agreeable to have a home criticism of this kind! But I am deep in the fourth volume, and cannot any longer care about what is past and done for--the passion of the moment is as much as I can live in. We had beautiful skies with our cold, and only now and then a snow shower. It is grievous to read of the suffering elsewhere from floods. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 30th March, 1876.] I am well pleased that "Deronda" touches you. I _wanted_ you to prefer the chapter about Mirah's finding, and I hope you will also like her history in Part III., which has just been published. We want very much to get away, but I fear we shall hardly be able to start till the end of May. At present we think of the Maritime Alps as a destination for the warm summer--if we have such a season this year; but we shall wander a little on our way thither, and not feel bound to accomplish anything in particular. Meanwhile we are hearing some nice music occasionally, and we are going to see Tennyson's play, which is to be given on the 15th. The occasion will be very interesting, and I should be very sorry to miss it. We have been getting a little refreshment from two flights between Sundays to Weybridge. But we have had the good a little drained from us by going out to dinner two days in succession. At Sir James Paget's I was much interested to find that a gentle-looking, clear-eyed, neatly-made man was Sir Garnet Wolseley; and I had some talk with him, which quite confirmed the impression of him as one of those men who have a power of command by dint of their sweet temper, calm demeanor, and unswerving resolution. The next subject that has filled our chat lately has been the Blue Book on Vivisection, which you would like to look into. There is a great deal of matter for reflection in the evidence on the subject, and some good points have been lately put in print, and conversation that I should like to tell you of if I had time. Professor Clifford told us the other Sunday that Huxley complained of his sufferings from "the profligate lying of virtuous women." [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _April 12._--On February 1st began the publication of "Deronda," and the interest of the public, strong from the first, appears to have increased with Book III. The day before yesterday I sent off Book VII. The success of the work at present is greater than that of "Middlemarch" up to the corresponding point of publication. What will be the feeling of the public as the story advances I am entirely doubtful. The Jewish element seems to me likely to satisfy nobody. I am in rather better health--having, perhaps, profited by some eight days' change at Weybridge. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 18th April, 1876.] Your sympathetic letter is a welcome support to me in the rather depressed condition which has come upon me from the effect, I imagine, of a chill taken in the sudden change from mildness to renewed winter. You can understand how trying it is to have a week of incompetence at the present stage of affairs. I am rather concerned to see that the part is nearly a sheet smaller than any of the other parts. But Books V. and VI. are proportionately thick. It seemed inadmissible to add anything after the scene with Gwendolen; and to stick anything in not necessary to development between the foregoing chapters is a form of "matter in the wrong place" particularly repulsive to my authorship's sensibility. People tell us that the book is enormously discussed, and I must share with you rather a neat coincidence which pleased us last week. Perhaps you saw what Mr. Lewes told me of--namely, that [a critic] opined that the scenes between Lush and Grandcourt were not _vraisemblable_--were of the imperious feminine, not the masculine, character. Just afterwards Mr. Lewes was chatting with a friend who, without having read the [criticism] or having the subject in the least led up to by Mr. Lewes, said that he had been at Lady Waldegraves', where the subject of discussion had been "Deronda;" and Bernal Osborne, delivering himself on the book, said that the very best parts were the scenes between Grandcourt and Lush. Don't you think that Bernal Osborne has seen more of the Grandcourt and Lush life than that critic has seen? But several men of experience have put their fingers on those scenes as having surprising verisimilitude; and I naturally was peculiarly anxious about such testimony, where my construction was founded on a less direct knowledge. We are rather vexed, now it is too late, that I did not carry out a sort of incipient intention to expunge a motto from Walt Whitman which I inserted in Book IV. Of course the whole is irrevocable by this time; but I should have otherwise thought it worth while to have a new page, not because the motto itself is objectionable to me--it was one of the finer things which had clung to me from among his writings--but because, since I quote so few poets, my selection of a motto from Walt Whitman might be taken as a sign of a special admiration, which I am very far from feeling. How imperfectly one's mind acts in proof-reading! Mr. Lewes had taken up Book IV. yesterday to re-read it for his pleasure merely; and though he had read it several times before, he never till yesterday made a remark against taking a motto from Walt Whitman. I, again, had continually had an _appetency_ towards removing the motto, and had never carried it out--perhaps from that sort of flaccidity which comes over me about what _has been_ done, when I am occupied with what _is being_ done. People in their eagerness about my characters are quite angry, it appears, when their own expectations are not fulfilled--angry, for example, that Gwendolen accepts Grandcourt, etc., etc. One reader is sure that Mirah is going to die very soon, and, I suppose, will be disgusted at her remaining alive. Such are the reproaches to which I make myself liable. However, that you seem to share Mr. Lewes's strong feeling of Book VII. being no falling off in intensity makes me brave. Only endings are inevitably the least satisfactory part of any work in which there is any merit of development. I forgot to say that the "tephillin" are the small leather bands or phylacteries, inscribed with supremely sacred words, which the Jew binds on his arms and head during prayer. Any periphrasis which would be generally intelligible would be undramatic; and I don't much like explanatory foot-notes in a poem or story. But I must consider what I can do to remedy the unintelligibility. The printers have sadly spoiled the beautiful Greek name Kalonymos, which was the name of a celebrated family of scholarly Jews, transplanted from Italy into Germany in mediæval times. But my writing was in fault. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe, 6th May, 1876.] Your letter was one of the best cordials I could have. Is there anything that cheers and strengthens more than the sense of another's worth and tenderness? And it was that sense that your letter stirred in me, not only by the words of fellowship and encouragement you give directly to me, but by all you tell me of your own feeling under your late painful experience. I had felt it long since I had heard of your and the Professor's well being; but I need not say one word to you of the reasons why I am not active towards my distant friends except in thought. I _do_ think of them, and have a tenacious memory of every little sign they have given me. Please offer my reverential love to the Professor, and tell him I am ruthlessly proud that I kept him out of his bed. I hope that both you and he will continue to be interested in my spiritual children. My cares for them are nearly at an end, and in a few weeks we expect to set out on a Continental journey, as the sort of relaxation which carries one most thoroughly away from studies and social claims. You rightly divine that I am a little overdone, but my fatigue is due not to any excess of work so much as to the vicissitudes of our long winter, which have affected me severely as they have done all delicate people. It is true that some nervous wear, such as you know well, from the excitement of writing, may have made me more susceptible to knife-like winds and sudden chills. Though you tenderly forbade me to write in answer to your letter, I like to do it in these minutes when I happen to be free, lest hinderances should come in the indefinite future. I am the happier for thinking that you will have had this little bit of a letter to assure you that the sweet rain of your affection did not fall on a sandy place. I make a delightful picture of your life in your orange-grove--taken care of by dear daughters. Climate enters into _my_ life with an influence the reverse of what I like to think of in yours. Sunlight and sweet air make a new creature of me. But we cannot bear now to exile ourselves from our own country, which holds the roots of our moral and social life. One fears to become selfish and emotionally withered by living abroad, and giving up the numerous connections with fellow countrymen and women whom one can further a little towards both public and private good. I wonder whether you ever suffered much from false writing (about your biography and motives) in the newspapers. I dare say that pro-slavery prints did not spare you. But I should be glad to think that there was less impudent romancing about you as a _citoyenne_ of the States than there appears to be about me as a stranger. But it is difficult for us English, who have not spent any time in the United States, to know the rank that is given to the various newspapers; and we may make the mistake of giving emphasis to some American journalism which is with you as unknown to respectable minds as any low-class newspaper with us. When we come back from our journeying, I shall be interesting myself in the MS. and proofs of my husband's third volume of his Problems, which will then go to press, and shall plunge myself into the mysteries of our nervous tissue as the Professor has been doing into the mysteries of the Middle Ages. I have a cousinship with him in that taste--but how to find space in one's life for all the subjects that solicit one? My studies have lately kept me away from the track of my husband's researches, and I feel behindhand in my wifely sympathies. You know the pleasure of such interchange--husband and wife each keeping to their own work, but loving to have cognizance of the other's course. God bless you, dear friend. Beg the Professor to accept my affectionate respect, and believe me always yours with love. [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _June 3._--Book V. published a week ago. Growing interest in the public, and growing sale, which has from the beginning exceeded that of "Middlemarch;" the Jewish part apparently creating strong interest. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 3d June, 1876.] The useful "companion," which your loving care has had marked with my initials, will go with me, and be a constant sign of the giver's precious affection, which you have expressed in words such as I most value. Even success needs its consolations. Wide effects are rarely other than superficial, and would breed a miserable scepticism about one's work if it were not now and then for an earnest assurance such as you give me that there are lives in which the work has done something "to strengthen the good and mitigate the evil." I am pursued to the last with some bodily trouble--this week it has been sore throat. But I am emerging, and you may think of me next week as raising my "Ebenezer." Love and blessings to you all. The manuscript of "Daniel Deronda" bears the following inscription: "To my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes. "Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, * * * * * Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising Haply I think on thee--and then my state Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings." [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _June 10._--We set off on our journey, intending to go to San Martino Lantosc in the Maritime Alps. But I was ill at Aix, where the heat had become oppressive, and we turned northwards after making a pilgrimage to Les Charmettes--stayed a few days at Lausanne, then at Vevey, where again I was ill; then by Berne and Zurich to Ragatz, where we were both set up sufficiently to enjoy our life. After Ragatz to Heidelberg, the Klönthal, Schaffhausen, St. Blasien in the Black Forest, and then home by Strasburg, Nancy, and Amiens, arriving September 1. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 6th July, 1876, from Ragatz.] After much travelling we seem to have reached the right place for our health and comfort, and as we hope to stay here for at least a fortnight, I have begun to entertain selfish thoughts about you and the possibility of having news from you. Our month's absence seems long to us--filled with various scenes and various ailments--but to you, I dare say, the request for a letter to tell us what has happened will seem to have come before there is anything particular to tell. On our arriving at Aix the effect of railway travelling and heat on me warned us to renounce our project of going to the Maritime Alps and to turn northward; so after resting at Aix we went to Chambéry, just to make a pilgrimage to Les Charmettes, and then set our faces northward, staying at beautiful Lausanne and Vevey for a week, and then coming on by easy stages to this nook in the mountains. In spite of illness we have had much enjoyment of the lovely scenery we have been dwelling in ever since we entered Savoy, where one gets what I most delight in--the combination of rich, well-cultivated land, friendly to man, and the grand outline and atmospheric effect of mountains near and distant. This place seems to be one of the quietest baths possible. Such fashion as there is, is of a German, unimposing kind; and the King of Saxony, who is at the twin hotel with this, is, I imagine, a much quieter kind of eminence than a London stock-broker. At present the company seems to be almost exclusively Swiss and German, but all the appliances for living and carrying on the "cure" are thoroughly generous and agreeable. We rose at five this morning, drank our glasses of warm water, and walked till a quarter to seven, then breakfasted; and from half-past eight to eleven walked to Bad Pfeffers and back again, along a magnificent ravine where the Tamine boils down beneath a tremendous wall of rock, and where it is interesting to see the electric telegraph leaping from the summit, crossing the gulf, and then quietly running by the roadside till it leaps upward again to the opposite summit. You may consider us as generally ill-informed, and as ready to make much of a little news as any old provincial folk in the days when the stage-coach brought a single London paper to the village Crown or Red Lion. We have known that Servia has declared war against Turkey, and that Harriet Martineau is dead as well as George Sand. Our weather has been uniformly splendid since we left Paris, with the exception of some storms, which have conveniently laid the dust. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 2d Sept. 1876.] We reached home only last night, and had scarcely taken our much-needed dinner before a parcel was brought in which proved to be "Daniel Deronda" in the four bound volumes, and various letters with other "missiles"--as an acquaintance of mine once quite naively called his own favors to his correspondents--which have at present only gone to swell a heap that I mean to make acquaintance with very slowly. Mr. Lewes, however, is more eager than I, and he has just brought up to me a letter which has certainly gratified me more than anything else of the sort I ever received. It is from Dr. Hermann Adler, the Chief Rabbi here, expressing his "warm appreciation of the fidelity with which some of the best traits of the Jewish character have been depicted by" etc., etc. I think this will gratify you. We are both the better for our journey, and I consider myself in as good case as I can ever reasonably expect. We can't be made young again, and must not be surprised that infirmities recur in spite of mineral waters and air 3000 feet above the sea-level. After Ragatz, we stayed at Stachelberg and Klönthal--two lovely places, where an English face is seldom seen. Another delicious spot, where the air is fit for the gods of Epicurus, is St. Blasien, in the Schwarzwald, where also we saw no English or American visitors, except such as _übernachten_ there and pass on. We have done exploits in walking, usually taking four or five hours of it daily. I hope that you and yours have kept well and have enjoyed the heat rather than suffered from it. I confess myself glad to think that this planet has not become hopelessly chilly. Draughts and chills are my enemies, and but for them I should hardly ever be ailing. The four volumes look very handsome on the outside. Please thank Mr. William Blackwood for many kind notes he wrote me in the days of MS. and proofs--not one of which I ever answered or took notice of except for my own behoof. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 6th Sept. 1876.] We got home again last Friday, much strengthened by our journey, notwithstanding vicissitudes. I suppose you will not be in town for ages to come, but I let you know that I am here in case you have anything to say to me by letter--about "objects." After leaving Ragatz we still kept in eastern Switzerland, in high valleys unvisited by the English; and in our homeward line of travel we paused in the Schwarzwald at St. Blasien, which is a _Luft-kur_, all green hills and pines, with their tops as still as if it were the abode of the gods. But imagine how we enjoy being at home again in our own chairs, with the familiar faces giving us smiles which are not expecting change in franc pieces! We are both pretty well, but of course not cured of all infirmities. Death is the only physician, the shadow of his valley the only journeying that will cure us of age and the gathering fatigue of years. Still we are thoroughly lively and "spry." I hope that the hot summer has passed agreeably for you and not been unfavorable to your health or comfort. Of course a little news of you will be welcome, even if you don't particularly want to say anything to me. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 2d Oct. 1876.] My blessing on you for your sweet letter, which I count among the blessings given to me. Yes. Women can do much for the other women (and men) to come. My impression of the good there is in all unselfish efforts is continually strengthened. Doubtless many a ship is drowned on expeditions of discovery or rescue, and precious freights lie buried. But there was the good of manning and furnishing the ship with a great purpose before it set out. We are going into Cambridgeshire this week, and are watching the weather with private views.[28] I have had some very interesting letters both from Jews and from Christians about "Deronda." Part of the scene at the club is translated into Hebrew in a German-Jewish newspaper. On the other hand, a Christian (highly accomplished) thanks me for embodying the principles by which Christ wrought and will conquer. This is better than the laudation of readers who cut the book up into scraps, and talk of nothing in it but Gwendolen. I meant everything in the book to be related to everything else there. I quite enter into Miss Jekyll's view of negative beauty. Life tends to accumulate "messes" about one, and it is hard to rid one's self of them because of the associations attached. I get impatient sometimes, and long, as Andrew Fairservice would say, to "kaim off the fleas," as one does in a cathedral spoiled by monuments out of keeping with the pillars and walls. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Wm. Smith, 14th Oct. 1876.] I had felt it long before you let me have some news of you. How could you repeat deliberately that bad dream of your having made yourself "objectionable?" I will answer for it that you were never objectionable to any creature except perhaps to your own self--a too modest and shrinking self. I trusted in your understanding last spring that I was glad to hear from my friends without having to make the effort of answering, when answering was not demanded for practical purposes. My health was not good, and I was absorbed as to my working power, though not as to my interest and sympathy. You have been in my mind of late, not only on your own account but in affectionate association with our dear Mrs. Ruck, whose acquaintance I owe to you. On my return from abroad I found among my heap of letters a delightful one from her, written, I think, at the end of June, as bright and cheering as the hills under the summer sky. And only a day or two after we saw that sad news in the _Times_. I think of her beautiful, open face, with the marks of grief upon it. Why did you write me such a brief letter, telling me nothing about your own life? I am a poor correspondent, and have to answer many letters from people less interesting to me than you are. Will you not indulge me by writing more to me than you expect me to write to you? That would be generous. We both came back the better for our three months' journeying, though I was so ill after we had got to the south that we thought of returning, and went northward in that expectation. But Ragatz set me up, so far as I expect to be set up, and we greatly enjoyed our fresh glimpses of Swiss scenery. Mr. Lewes is now printing his third volume of "Problems of Life and Mind," and is, as usual, very happy over his work. He shares my interest in everything that relates to you; and be assured--will you not?--that such interest will always be warm in us. I shall not, while I live, cease to be yours affectionately. [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _Oct. 20._--Looking into accounts _apropos_ of an offer from Blackwood for another ten years of copyright, I find that before last Christmas there had been distributed 24,577 copies of "Middlemarch." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. H. B. Stowe,[29] 29th Oct. 1876.] "Evermore thanks" for your last letter, full of generous sympathy that can afford to be frank. The lovely photograph of the grandson will be carefully preserved. It has the sort of beauty which seems to be peculiarly abundant in America, at once rounded and delicate in form. I do hope you will be able to carry out your wish to visit your son at Bonn, notwithstanding that heavy crown of years that your dear Rabbi has to carry. If the sea voyage could be borne without much disturbance, the land journey might be made easy by taking it in short stages--the plan we always pursue in travelling. You see I have an interested motive in wishing you to come to Europe again, since I can't go to America. But I enter thoroughly into the disinclination to move when there are studies that make each day too short. If we were neighbors, I should be in danger of getting troublesome to the revered Orientalist, with all kinds of questions. As to the Jewish element in "Deronda," I expected from first to last, in writing it, that it would create much stronger resistance, and even repulsion, than it has actually met with. But precisely because I felt that the usual attitude of Christians towards Jews is--I hardly know whether to say more impious or more stupid when viewed in the light of their professed principles, I therefore felt urged to treat Jews with such sympathy and understanding as my nature and knowledge could attain to. Moreover, not only towards the Jews, but towards all Oriental peoples with whom we English come in contact, a spirit of arrogance and contemptuous dictatorialness is observable which has become a national disgrace to us. There is nothing I should care more to do, if it were possible, than to rouse the imagination of men and women to a vision of human claims in those races of their fellow-men who most differ from them in customs and beliefs. But towards the Hebrews we western people, who have been reared in Christianity, have a peculiar debt, and, whether we acknowledge it or not, a peculiar thoroughness of fellowship in religious and moral sentiment. Can anything be more disgusting than to hear people called "educated" making small jokes about eating ham, and showing themselves empty of any real knowledge as to the relation of their own social and religious life to the history of the people they think themselves witty in insulting? They hardly know that Christ was a Jew. And I find men, educated, supposing that Christ spoke Greek. To my feeling, this deadness to the history which has prepared half our world for us, this inability to find interest in any form of life that is not clad in the same coat-tails and flounces as our own, lies very close to the worst kind of irreligion. The best that can be said of it is, that it is a sign of the intellectual narrowness--in plain English, the stupidity--which is still the average mark of our culture. Yes, I expected more aversion than I have found. But I was happily independent in material things, and felt no temptation to accommodate my writing to any standard except that of trying to do my best in what seemed to me most needful to be done, and I sum up with the writer of the Book of Maccabees--"If I have done well and as befits the subject, it is what I desired; and if I have done ill, it is what I could attain unto." You are in the middle of a more glorious autumn than ours, but we, too, are having now and then a little sunshine on the changing woods. I hope that I am right in putting the address from which you wrote to me on the 25th September, so that my note may not linger away from you, and leave you to imagine me indifferent or negligent. Please offer my reverent regard to Mr. Stowe. We spent three months in East Switzerland, and are the better for it. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1876.] Any one who knows from experience what bodily infirmity is--how it spoils life even for those who have no other trouble--gets a little impatient of healthy complainants, strong enough for extra work and ignorant of indigestion. I at least should be inclined to scold the discontented young people who tell me in one breath that they never have anything the matter with them, and that life is not worth having, if I did not remember my own young discontent. It is remarkable to me that I have entirely lost my _personal_ melancholy. I often, of course, have melancholy thoughts about the destinies of my fellow creatures, but I am never in that _mood_ of sadness which used to be my frequent visitant even in the midst of external happiness; and this, notwithstanding a very vivid sense that life is declining and death close at hand. We are waiting with some expectation for Miss Martineau's Autobiography, which, I fancy, will be charming so far as her younger and less renowned life extends. All biography diminishes in interest when the subject has won celebrity--or some reputation that hardly comes up to celebrity. But autobiography at least saves a man or woman that the world is curious about from the publication of a string of mistakes called "Memoirs." It would be nice if we could be a trio--I mean you, Cara, and I--chatting together for an hour as we used to do when I had walked over the hill to see you. But that pleasure belongs to "the days that are no more." Will you believe that an accomplished man some years ago said to me that he saw no place for the exercise of _resignation_ when there was no personal divine will contemplated as ordaining sorrow or privation? He is not yet aware that he is getting old and needing that unembittered compliance of soul with the inevitable which seems to me a full enough meaning for the word "resignation." [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _Dec. 1._--Since we came home at the beginning of September I have been made aware of much repugnance or else indifference towards the Jewish part of "Deronda," and of some hostile as well as adverse reviewing. On the other hand, there have been the strongest expressions of interest, some persons adhering to the opinion, started during the early numbers, that the book is my best. Delightful letters have here and there been sent to me; and the sale both in America and in England has been an unmistakable guarantee that the public has been touched. Words of gratitude have come from Jews and Jewesses, and these are certain signs that I may have contributed my mite to a good result. The sale hitherto has exceeded that of "Middlemarch," as to the £2 2_s._ four-volume form, but we do not expect an equal success for the guinea edition which has lately been issued. _Dec. 11._--We have just bought a house in Surrey, and think of it as making a serious change in our life--namely, that we shall finally settle there and give up town. This was a charming house--The Heights, Witley, near Godalming. It stands on a gentle hill overlooking a lovely bit of characteristic English scenery. In the foreground green fields, prettily timbered, undulate up to the high ground of Haslemere in front, with Blackdown (where Tennyson lives) on the left hand, and Hind Head on the right--"Heights that laugh with corn in August, or lift the plough-team against the sky in September." Below, the white steam-pennon flies along in the hollow. The walks and drives in the neighborhood are enchanting. A land of pine-woods and copses, village greens and heather-covered hills, with the most delicious old red or gray brick, timbered cottages nestling among creeping roses; the sober-colored tiles of their roofs, covered with lichen, offering a perpetual harmony to the eye. The only want in the landscape is the want of flowing water. About the house there are some eight or nine acres of pleasure ground and gardens. It quite fulfilled all expectations, as regards beauty and convenience of situation, though I am not quite sure that it was bracing enough for health. [Sidenote: Journal, 1876.] _Dec. 15._--At the beginning of this week I had deep satisfaction from reading in the _Times_ the report of a lecture on "Daniel Deronda," delivered by Dr. Hermann Adler to the Jewish working-men--a lecture showing much insight and implying an expectation of serious benefit. Since then I have had a delightful letter from the Jewish Theological Seminary at Breslau, written by an American Jew named Isaacs, who excuses himself for expressing his feeling of gratitude on reading "Deronda," and assures me of his belief that it has even already had an elevating effect on the minds of some among his people--predicting that the effect will spread. I have also had a request from Signor Bartolommeo Aquarone, of Siena, for leave to translate "Romola," and declaring that as one who has given special study to the history of San Marco, and has written a life of Fra Jeronimo Savonarola, he cares that "Romola" should be known to his countrymen, for their good. _Magnificat anima mea!_ And last night I had a letter from Dr. Benisch, editor of the _Jewish Chronicle_, announcing a copy of the paper containing an article written by himself on reading "Deronda" (there have long ago been two articles in the same journal reviewing the book), and using strong words as to the effect the book is producing. I record these signs, that I may look back on them if they come to be confirmed. _Dec. 31._--We have spent the Christmas with our friends at Weybridge, but the greater part of the time I was not well enough to enjoy greatly the pleasures their affection prepared for us. Farewell 1876. [Illustration: The Heights, Witley. From a Sketch by Mrs. Allingham.] [Sidenote: Journal, 1877.] _Jan. 1._--The year opens with public anxieties. First, about the threatening war in the East; and next, about the calamities consequent on the continued rains. As to our private life, all is happiness, perfect love, and undiminished intellectual interest. G.'s third volume is about half-way in print. [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 19th Jan. 1877.] I don't know that I ever heard anybody use the word "meliorist" except myself. But I begin to think that there is no good invention or discovery that has not been made by more than one person. The only good reason for referring to the "source" would be that you found it useful for the doctrine of meliorism to cite one unfashionable confessor of it in the face of the fashionable extremes. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th Jan. 1877.] What are we to do about "Romola?" It ought to range with the cheap edition of my books--which, _exceptis excipiendis_, is a beautiful edition--as well as with any handsomer series which the world's affairs may encourage us to publish. The only difficulty lies in the illustrations required for uniformity. The illustrations in the other volumes are, as Mr. Lewes says, not queerer than those which amuse us in Scott and Miss Austin, with one exception--namely, that where Adam is making love to Dinah, which really enrages me with its unctuousness. I would gladly pay something to be rid of it. The next worst is that of Adam in the wood with Arthur Donnithorne. The rest are endurable to a mind well accustomed to resignation. And the vignettes on the title-pages are charming. But if an illustrator is wanted, I know one whose work is exquisite--Mrs. Allingham. This is not a moment for new ventures, but it will take some time to prepare "Romola." I should like to see proofs, feeling bound to take care of my text; and I have lately been glancing into a book on Italian things, where almost every citation I alighted on was incorrectly printed. I have just read through the cheap edition of "Romola," and though I have only made a few alterations of an unimportant kind--the printing being unusually correct--it would be well for me to send this copy to be printed from. I think it must be nearly ten years since I read the book before, but there is no book of mine about which I more thoroughly feel that I could swear by every sentence as having been written with my best blood, such as it is, and with the most ardent care for veracity of which my nature is capable. It has made me often sob with a sort of painful joy as I have read the sentences which had faded from my memory. This helps one to bear false representations with patience; for I really don't love any gentleman who undertakes to state my opinions well enough to desire that I should find myself all wrong in order to justify his statement. I wish, whenever it is expedient, to add "The Lifted Veil" and "Brother Jacob," and so fatten the volume containing "Silas Marner," which would thus become about 100 pages thicker. [Sidenote: Letter to William Allingham, 8th March, 1877.] Mr. Lewes feels himself innocent of dialect in general, and of Midland dialect in especial. Hence I presume to take your reference on the subject as if it had been addressed to me. I was born and bred in Warwickshire, and heard the Leicestershire, North Staffordshire, and Derbyshire dialects during visits made in my childhood and youth. These last are represented (mildly) in "Adam Bede." The Warwickshire talk is broader, and has characteristics which it shares with other Mercian districts. Moreover, dialect, like other living things, tends to become mongrel, especially in a central, fertile, and manufacturing region, attractive of migration; and hence the Midland talk presents less interesting relics of elder grammar than the more northerly dialects. Perhaps, unless a poet has a dialect ringing in his ears, so as to shape his metre and rhymes according to it at one jet, it is better to be content with a few suggestive touches; and, I fear, that the stupid public is not half grateful for studies in dialect beyond such suggestions. I have made a few notes, which may perhaps be not unacceptable to you in the absence of more accomplished aid: 1. The vowel always a double sound, the _y_ sometimes present, sometimes not; either _aäl_ or _yaäl_. _Hither_ not heard except in _c'moother_, addressed to horses. 2. _Thou_ never heard. In general, the 2d person singular not used in Warwickshire except occasionally to young members of a family, and then always in the form of _thee_--_i.e._, _'ee_. For the _emphatic_ nominative, _yo_, like the Lancashire. For the accusative, _yer_, without any sound of the _r_. The demonstrative _those_ never heard among the common people (unless when caught by infection from the parson, etc.). _Self_ pronounced _sen_. The _f_ never heard in _of_, nor the _n_ in _in_. 3. Not year but 'ear. On the other hand, with the usual "compensation," head is pronounced _y_ead. 4. "A gallows little chap as e'er ye see." 5. Here's _to_ you, maäster. Saäm to yo. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 20th March, 1877.] You must read Harriet Martineau's "Autobiography." The account of her childhood and early youth is most pathetic and interesting; but as in all books of the kind, the charm departs as the life advances, and the writer has to tell of her own triumphs. One regrets continually that she felt it necessary not only to tell of her intercourse with many more or less distinguished persons--which would have been quite pleasant to everybody--but also to pronounce upon their entire merits and demerits, especially when, if she had died as soon as she expected, these persons would nearly all have been living to read her gratuitous rudenesses. Still I hope the book will do more good than harm. Many of the most interesting little stories in it about herself and others she had told me (and Mr. Atkinson) when I was staying with her, almost in the very same words. But they were all the better for being told in her silvery voice. She was a charming talker, and a perfect lady in her manners as a hostess. We are only going to bivouac in our Surrey home for a few months, to try what alterations are necessary. We shall come back to this corner in the autumn. We don't think of giving up London altogether at present, but we may have to give up life before we come to any decision on that minor point. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 15th May, 1877.] Pray bring Madame Mario to see us again. But bear in mind that on Sunday the 27th--which probably will be our last Sunday in London--Holmes the violinist is coming to play, with Mrs. Vernon Lushington to accompany him. Don't mention to any one else that they are coming, lest the audience should be larger than he wishes. We are working a little too hard at "pleasure" just now. This morning we are going for the third time to a Wagner rehearsal at 10 o'clock. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 15th May, 1877.] I have not read, and do not mean to read, Mrs. Chapman's volume, so that I can judge of it only by report. You seem to me to make a very good case for removing the weight of blame from her shoulders and transferring it to the already burdened back of Harriet Martineau. But I confess that the more I think of the book and all connected with it, the more it deepens my repugnance--or, rather, creates a new repugnance in me--to autobiography, unless it can be so written as to involve neither self-glorification nor impeachment of others. I like that the "He, being dead, yet speaketh," should have quite another meaning than that. But however the blame may be distributed, it remains a grievously pitiable thing to me that man, or woman, who has cared about a future life in the minds of a coming generation or generations, should have deliberately, persistently mingled with that prospect the ignoble desire to perpetuate personal animosities, which can never be rightly judged by those immediately engaged in them. And Harriet Martineau, according to the witness of those well acquainted with facts which she represents in her Autobiography, was quite remarkably apt to have a false view of her relations with others. In some cases she gives a ridiculously inaccurate account of the tenor or bearing of correspondence held with her. One would not for a moment want to dwell on the weakness of a character on the whole valuable and beneficent, if it were not made needful by the ready harshness with which she has inflicted pain on others. No; I did not agree with you about the Byron case. I understand by the teaching of my own egoism--and therefore I can sympathize with--any act of self-vindicating or vindictive rage under the immediate infliction of what is felt to be a wrong or injustice. But I have no sympathy with self-vindication, or the becoming a proxy in vindication, deliberately bought at such a price as that of vitiating revelations--which may even possibly be false. To write a letter in a rage is very pardonable--even a letter full of gall and bitterness, meant as a sort of poisoned dagger. We poor mortals can hardly escape these sins of passion. But I have no pity to spare for the rancor that corrects its proofs and revises, and lays it by chuckling with the sense of its future publicity. [Sidenote: Letter to Professor Dr. David Kaufmann, 31st May, 1877.] Hardly, since I became an author, have I had a deeper satisfaction--I may say, a more heartfelt joy--than you have given me in your estimate of "Daniel Deronda." I must tell you that it is my rule, very strictly observed, not to read the criticisms on my writings. For years I have found this abstinence necessary to preserve me from that discouragement as an artist which ill-judged praise, no less than ill-judged blame, tends to produce in me. For far worse than any verdict as to the proportion of good and evil in our work, is the painful impression that we write for a public which has no discernment of good and evil. Certainly if I had been asked to choose _what_ should be written about my books, and _who_ should write it, I should have sketched--well, not anything so good as what you have written, but an article which must be written by a Jew who showed not merely a sympathy with the best aspirations of his race, but a remarkable insight into the nature of art and the processes of the artistic mind. Believe me, I should not have cared to devour even ardent praise if it had not come from one who showed the discriminating sensibility, the perfect response to the artist's intention, which must make the fullest, rarest joy to one who works from inward conviction and not in compliance with current fashions. Such a response holds for an author not only what is best in "the life that now is," but the promise of "that which is to come." I mean that the usual approximative narrow perception of what one has been intending and profoundly feeling in one's work, impresses one with the sense that it must be poor perishable stuff, without roots to take any lasting hold in the minds of men; while any instance of complete comprehension encourages one to hope that the creative prompting has foreshadowed and will continue to satisfy a need in other minds. Excuse me that I write but imperfectly, and perhaps dimly, what I have felt in reading your article. It has affected me deeply, and though the prejudice and ignorant obtuseness which has met my effort to contribute something towards the ennobling of Judaism in the conceptions of the Christian community, and in the consciousness of the Jewish community, has never for a moment made me repent my choice, but rather has been added proof that the effort was needed--yet I confess that I had an unsatisfied hunger for certain signs of sympathetic discernment which you only have given. I may mention as one instance your clear perception of the relation between the presentation of the Jewish elements and those of English social life. I write under the pressure of small hurries; for we are just moving into the country for the summer, and all things are in a vagrant condition around me. But I wished not to defer answering your letter to an uncertain opportunity. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 14th June, 1877.] I am greatly indebted to you for your letter. It has done something towards rousing me from what I will not call self-despair but resignation to being of no use. I wonder whether you at all imagine the terrible pressure of disbelief in my own {duty/right} to speak to the public, which is apt with me to make all beginnings of work like a rowing against tide. Not that I am without more than my fair ounce of self-conceit and confidence that I know better than the critics, whom I don't take the trouble to read, but who seem to fill the air as with the smoke of bad tobacco. But I will not dwell on my antithetic experiences. I only mention them to show why your letter has done me a service, and also to help in the explanation of my mental attitude towards your requests or suggestions. I do not quite understand whether you have in your mind any plan of straightway constructing a liturgy to which you wish me to contribute in a direct way. That form of contribution would hardly be within my powers. But your words of trust in me as possibly an organ of feelings which have not yet found their due expression is as likely as any external call could be to prompt such perfectly unfettered productions as that which you say has been found acceptable. I wasted some time, three years ago, in writing (what I do not mean to print) a poetic dialogue embodying or rather shadowing very imperfectly the actual contest of ideas. Perhaps what you have written to me may promote and influence a different kind of presentation. At any rate all the words of your letter will be borne in mind, and will enter into my motives. We are tolerably settled now in our camping, experimental fashion. Perhaps, before the summer is far advanced, you may be in our neighborhood, and come to look at us. I trust that Mrs. Harrison is by this time in her usual health. Please give my love to her, and believe me always, with many grateful memories, yours sincerely. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 2d July, 1877.] It was a draught of real comfort and pleasure to have a letter written by your own hand, and one altogether cheerful.[30] I trust that you will by-and-by be able to write me word of continued progress. Hardly any bit of the kingdom, I fancy, would suit your taste better than your neighborhood of the Land's End. You are not fond of bushy midland-fashioned scenery. We are enjoying the mixture of wildness and culture extremely, and so far as landscape and air go we would not choose a different home from this. But we have not yet made up our minds whether we shall keep our house or sell it. Some London friends are also occasional dwellers in these parts. The day before yesterday we had Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Harrison, whose parents have a fine old Tudor house--Sutton Place--some three miles beyond Guildford. And do you remember Edmund Gurney? He and his graceful bride lunched with us the other day. And Miss Thackeray is married to-day to young Ritchie. I saw him at Cambridge, and felt that the nearly twenty years' difference between them was bridged hopefully by his solidity and gravity. This is one of several instances that I have known of lately, showing that young men with even brilliant advantages will often choose as their life's companion a woman whose attractions are chiefly of the spiritual order. I often see you enjoying your sunsets and the wayside flowers. [Sidenote: Letter to William Allingham, 26th Aug. 1877.] I hope that this letter may be sent on to you in some delicious nook where your dear wife is by your side preparing to make us all richer with store of new sketches. I almost fear that I am implying unbecoming claims in asking you to send me a word or two of news about your twofold, nay, fourfold self. But you must excuse in me a presumption which is simply a feeling of spiritual kinship, bred by reading in the volume you gave me before we left town. That tremendous tramp--"Life, Death; Life, Death"[31]--makes me care the more, as age makes it the more audible to me, for those younger ones who are keeping step behind me. [Sidenote: Letter to Professor Kaufmann, 12th Oct. 1877.] I trust it will not be otherwise than gratifying to you to know that your stirring article on "Daniel Deronda" is now translated into English by a son of Professor Ferrier, who was a philosophical writer of considerable mark. It will be issued in a handsomer form than that of the pamphlet, and will appear within this autumnal publishing season, Messrs. Blackwood having already advertised it. Whenever a copy is ready we shall have the pleasure of sending it to you. There is often something to be borne with in reading one's own writing in a translation, but I hope that in this case you will not be made to wince severely. In waiting to send you this news, I seem to have deferred too long the expression of my warm thanks for your kindness in sending me the Hebrew translations of Lessing and the collection of Hebrew poems--a kindness which I felt myself rather presumptuous in asking for, since your time must be well filled with more important demands. Yet I must further beg you, when you have an opportunity, to assure Herr Bacher that I was most gratefully touched by the sympathetic verses with which he enriched the gift of his work. I see by your last letter that your Theological Seminary was to open on the 4th of this month, so that this too retrospective letter of mine will reach you when you are in the midst of your new duties. I trust that this new institution will be a great good to professor and students, and that your position is of a kind that you contemplate as permanent. To teach the young personally has always seemed to me the most satisfactory supplement to teaching the world through books; and I have often wished that I had such a means of having fresh, living spiritual children within sight. One can hardly turn one's thought towards Eastern Europe just now without a mingling of pain and dread, but we mass together distant scenes and events in an unreal way, and one would like to believe that the present troubles will not at any time press on you in Hungary with more external misfortune than on us in England. Mr. Lewes is happily occupied in his psychological studies. We both look forward to the reception of the work you kindly promised us, and he begs me to offer you his best regards. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Mrs. Ponsonby, 17th Oct. 1877.] I like to know that you have been thinking of me and that you care to write to me, and though I will not disobey your considerate prohibition so far as to try to answer your letter fully, I must content my soul by telling you that we shall be settled in the old place by the end of the first week in November, and that I shall be delighted to see you then. There are many subjects that I shall have a special pleasure in talking of with you. Let me say now that the passage quoted from your friend's letter is one that I am most glad to find falling in with your own attitude of mind. The view is what I have endeavored to represent in a little poem called "Stradivarius," which you may not have happened to read. I say, not God Himself can make man's best Without best men to help Him. And next: I think direct personal portraiture--or caricature--is a bastard kind of satire that I am not disposed to think the better of because Aristophanes used it in relation to Socrates. Do you know that pretty story about Bishop Thirlwall? When somebody wanted to bring to him Forchhammer as a distinguished German writer, he replied, "No; I will never receive into my house the man who justified the death of Socrates!" "O that we were all of one mind, and that mind good!" is an impossible-to-be-realized wish: and I don't wish it at all in its full extent. But I think it would be possible that men should differ speculatively as much as they do now, and yet be "of one mind" in the desire to avoid giving unnecessary pain, in the desire to do an honest part towards the general well-being, which has made a comfortable _nidus_ for themselves, in the resolve not to sacrifice another to their own egoistic promptings. Pity and fairness--two little words which, carried out, would embrace the utmost delicacies of the moral life--seem to me not to rest on an unverifiable hypothesis but on facts quite as irreversible as the perception that a pyramid will not stand on its apex. I am so glad you have been enjoying Ireland in quiet. We love our bit of country and are bent on keeping it as a summer refuge. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 6th Nov. 1877, from the Priory.] _Apropos_ of authorship, I was a little uneasy on Sunday because I had seemed in the unmanageable current of talk to echo a too slight way of speaking about a great poet. I did not mean to say Amen when the "Idylls of the King" seemed to be judged rather _de haut en bas_. I only meant that I should value for my own mind "In Memoriam" as the chief of the larger works; and that while I feel exquisite beauty in passages scattered through the "Idylls," I must judge some smaller wholes among the lyrics as the works most decisive of Tennyson's high place among the immortals. Not that my deliverance on this matter is of any moment, but that I cannot bear to fall in with the sickening fashion of people who talk much about writers whom they read little, and pronounce on a great man's powers with only half his work in their mind, while if they remembered the other half they would find their judgments as to his limits flatly contradicted. Then, again, I think Tennyson's dramas such as the world should be glad of--and would be, if there had been no prejudgment that he could not write a drama. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 10th Nov. 1877.] Never augur ill because you do not hear from me. It is, you know, my profession _not_ to write letters. Happily I can meet your kind anxiety by contraries. I have for two months and more been in better health than I have known for several years. This pleasant effect is due to the delicious air of the breezy Surrey hills; and, further, to a friend's insistence on my practising lawn-tennis as a daily exercise. We are in love with our Surrey house, and only regret that it hardly promises to be snug enough for us chilly people through the winter, so that we dare not think of doing without the warmer nest in town. [Sidenote: Journal, 1877.] _Nov. 10._--We went to the Heights, Witley, at the beginning of June, after a delightful visit to Cambridge, and returned to this old home on the 29th October. We are at last in love with our Surrey house, and mean to keep it. The air and abundant exercise have quite renovated my health, and I am in more bodily comfort than I have known for several years. But my dear husband's condition is less satisfactory, his headaches still tormenting him. Since the year began several little epochs have marked themselves. Blackwood offered for another ten years' copyright of my works, the previous agreement for ten years having expired. I declined, choosing to have a royalty. G.'s third volume has been well received, and has sold satisfactorily for a book so little in the popular taste. A pleasant correspondence has been opened with Professor Kaufmann, now Principal of the Jewish Theological Seminary at Pesth; and his "Attempt at an Appreciation of 'Daniel Deronda'" has been translated into English by young Ferrier, son of Professor Ferrier. A new Cabinet edition of my works, including "Romola," has been decided on, and is being prepared; and there have been multiplied signs that the spiritual effect of "Deronda" is growing. In America the book is placed above all my previous writings. Our third little Hampstead granddaughter has been born, and was christened Saturday--the 3d--Elinor. Yesterday Mr. Macmillan came to ask me if I would undertake to write the volume on Shakespeare, in a series to be issued under the title "Men of Letters." I have declined. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 16th Nov. 1877.] Having a more secure freedom than I may have next week, I satisfy my eagerness to tell you that I am longing for the news of you which you have accustomed me to trust in as sure to come at this time of the year. You will give me, will you not, something more than an affectionate greeting? You will tell me how and where you have been, and what is the actual state of your health and spirits--whether you can still interest yourself in writing on great subjects without too much fatigue, and what companionship is now the most precious to you? We returned from our country home (with which we are much in love) at the beginning of this month, leaving it earlier than we wished because of the need to get workmen into it. Our bit of Surrey has the beauties of Scotland wedded to those of Warwickshire. During the last two months of our stay there I was conscious of more health and strength than I have known for several years. Imagine me playing at lawn-tennis by the hour together! The world I live in is chiefly one that has grown around me in these later years, since we have seen so little of each other. Doubtless we are both greatly changed in spiritual as well as bodily matters, but I think we are unchanged in the friendship founded on early memories. I, for my part, feel increasing gratitude for the cheering and stimulus your companionship gave me, and only think with pain that I might have profited more by it if my mind had been more open to good influences. [Sidenote: Journal, 1877.] _Nov. 26._--The other day we saw in the _Times_ that G.'s name had been proposed for the Rectorship of St. Andrews. Blackwood writes me that in less than a month they have sold off all but 400 of the 5250 printed; and in October were sold 495 of the 3_s._ 6_d._ edition of "Adam Bede." Our friend Dr. Allbut came to see us last week, after we had missed each other for three or four years. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 3d Dec. 1877.] I have been made rather unhappy by my husband's impulsive proposal about Christmas. We are dull old persons, and your two sweet young ones ought to find each Christmas a new bright bead to string on their memory, whereas to spend the time with us would be to string on a dark, shrivelled berry. They ought to have a group of young creatures to be joyful with. Our own children always spend their Christmas with Gertrude's family, and we have usually taken our sober merry-making with friends out of town. Illness among these will break our custom this year; and thus _mein Mann_, feeling that our Christmas was free, considered how very much he liked being with you, omitting the other side of the question--namely, our total lack of means to make a suitably joyous meeting, a real festival, for Phil and Margaret. I was conscious of this lack in the very moment of the proposal, and the consciousness has been pressing on me more and more painfully ever since. Even my husband's affectionate hopefulness cannot withstand my melancholy demonstration. So pray consider the kill-joy proposition as entirely retracted, and give us something of yourselves, only on simple black-letter days when the Herald Angels have not been raising expectations early in the morning. I am not afraid of your misunderstanding one word. You know that it is not a little love with which I am yours ever. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 13th Dec. 1877.] Your note yesterday gave me much comfort, and I thank you for sparing the time to write it. The world cannot seem quite the same to me as long as you are all in anxiety about her who is most precious to you[32]--in immediate urgent anxiety that is. For love is never without its shadow of anxiety. We have this treasure in earthen vessels. [Sidenote: Journal, 1877.] _Dec. 31._--To-day I say a final farewell to this little book, which is the only record I have made of my personal life for sixteen years and more. I have often been helped, in looking back in it, to compare former with actual states of despondency, from bad health or other apparent causes. In this way a past despondency has turned to present hopefulness. But of course, as the years advance, there is a new rational ground for the expectation that my life may become less fruitful. The difficulty is to decide how far resolution should set in the direction of activity rather than in the acceptance of a more negative state. Many conceptions of work to be carried out present themselves, but confidence in my own fitness to complete them worthily is all the more wanting because it is reasonable to argue that I must have already done my best. In fact, my mind is embarrassed by the number and wide variety of subjects that attract me, and the enlarging vista that each brings with it. I shall record no more in this book, because I am going to keep a more business-like diary. Here ends 1877. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 17th Jan. 1878.] Yes, it is a comfort to me, in the midst of so many dispiriting European signs, that France has come so far through her struggle. And no doubt you are rejoicing too that London University has opened all its degrees to women. I think we know no reading more amusing than the _Times_ just now. We are deep among the gravities. I have been reading aloud Green's first volume of his new, larger "History of the English People;" and this evening have begun Lecky's "History of England in the Eighteenth Century"--in fact, we are dull old fogies, who are ill-informed about anything that is going on of an amusing kind. On Monday we took a youth to the pantomime, but I found it a melancholy business. The dear old story of Puss in Boots was mis-handled in an exasperating way, and every incident as well as pretence of a character turned into a motive for the most vulgar kind of dancing. I came away with a headache, from which I am only to-day recovered. It is too cruel that one can't get anything innocent as a spectacle for the children! Mr. Lewes sends his best love, but is quite barren of suggestions about books--buried in pink and lilac periodicals of a physiological sort, and preoccupied with the case of a man who has an artificial larynx, with which he talks very well. What do you say to the phonograph, which can report gentlemen's bad speeches with all their stammering? [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 26th Jan. 1878.] I like to think of you and Mrs. Blackwood taking your daughter to Rome. It will be a delightful way of reviving memories, to mingle and compare them with her fresh impressions, and in a spiritual sense to have what Shakespeare says is the joy of having offspring--"to see your blood warm while you feel it cold." I wish that and all other prospects were not marred by the threat of widening war. Last night I finished reading Principal Tulloch's small but full volume on "Pascal"--a present for which I am much obliged. It is admirably fair and dispassionate, and I should think will be an acceptable piece of instruction to many readers. The brief and graphic way in which he has made present and intelligible the position of the Port Royalists is an example of just what is needed in such a series as the Foreign Classics. But of course they are the most fortunate contributors who have to write about the authors, less commonly treated of, and especially when they are prepared to write by an early liking and long familiarity--as in the present case. I have read every line of appreciation with interest. My first acquaintance with Pascal came from his "Pensées" being given to me, as a school prize, when I was fourteen; and I am continually turning to them now to revive my sense of their deep though broken wisdom. It is a pity that "La Bruyère" cannot be done justice to by any merely English presentation. There is a sentence of his which touches with the finest point the diseased spot in the literary culture of our time--"Le plaisir de la critique nous ôté celui d'être vivement touchés de tres belles choses." We see that our present fashions are old, but there is this difference, that they are followed by a greater multitude. You may be sure I was very much cheered by your last despatch--the solid unmistakable proof that my books are not yet superfluous. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 23d March, 1878.] As to my enjoyment of the "Two Grenadiers," it would have been impossible but for the complete reduction of it to symbolism in my own mind, and my belief that it really touches nobody now, as enthusiasm for the execrable Napoleon I. But I feel that the devotion of the common soldier to his leader (the sign for him of hard duty) is the type of all higher devotedness, and is full of promise to other and better generations. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 7th June, 1878.] The royalties did themselves much credit.[33] The Crown Prince is really a grand-looking man, whose name you would ask for with expectation, if you imagined him no royalty. He is like a grand antique bust--cordial and simple in manners withal, shaking hands, and insisting that I should let him know when we next came to Berlin, just as if he had been a Professor Gruppe, living _au troisième_. _She_ is equally good-natured and unpretending, liking best to talk of nursing soldiers, and of what her father's taste was in literature. She opened the talk by saying, "You know my sister Louise"--just as any other slightly embarrassed mortal might have done. We had a picked party to dinner--Dean of Westminster, Bishop of Peterborough, Lord and Lady Ripon, Dr. Lyon Playfair, Kinglake (you remember "Eothen"--the old gentleman is a good friend of mine), Froude, Mrs. Ponsonby (Lord Grey's granddaughter), and two or three more "illustrations;" then a small detachment coming in after dinner. It was really an interesting occasion. We go to Oxford to-morrow (to the Master of Balliol). [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 27th June, 1878, from Witley.] I hope we are not wrong in imagining you settled at Strathtyrum, with a fresh power of enjoying the old scenes after your exile, in spite of the abstinence from work--the chief sweetness of life. Mr. Lewes, too, is under a regimen for gout, which casts its threatening shadow in the form of nightly cramps and inward _malaise_. He wants me to tell you something amusing--a bit of Baboo English, from an Indian journal sent us by Lord Lytton. _Apropos_ of Sir G. Campbell's rash statement that India was no good to England, the accomplished writer says, "But British House of Commons stripped him to pieces, and exposed his _cui bono_ in all its naked hideousness!" After all, I think the cultivated Hindoo writing what he calls English, is about on a par with the authors of leading articles on this side of the globe writing what _they_ call English--accusing or laudatory epithets and phrases, adjusted to some dim standard of effect quite aloof from any knowledge or belief of their own. Letter-writing, I imagine, is counted as "work" from which you must abstain; and I scribble this letter simply from the self-satisfied notion that you will like to hear from me. You see I have asked no questions, which are the torture-screws of correspondence, hence you have nothing to answer. How glad I shall be of an announcement that "No further bulletins will be sent, Mr. Blackwood having gone to golf again." [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 18th July, 1878.] I thought you understood that I have grave reasons for not speaking on certain public topics. No request from the best friend in the world--even from my own husband--ought to induce me to speak when I judge it my duty to be silent. If I had taken a contrary decision, I should not have remained silent till now. My function is that of the _æsthetic_, not the doctrinal teacher--the rousing of the nobler emotions, which make mankind desire the social right, not the prescribing of special measures, concerning which the artistic mind, however strongly moved by social sympathy, is often not the best judge. It is one thing to feel keenly for one's fellow-beings; another to say, "This step, and this alone, will be the best to take for the removal of particular calamities." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 30th July, 1878.] I did hope that by the time your military evolutions were over, we might see our way to enjoying the kind welcome which you and Mrs. Blackwood have offered us. No expedition attracts us more than the projected visit to Strathtyrum. Unhappily, Mr. Lewes continues to be troubled and depressed by symptoms that, with the recollection upon us of the crippling gout which once followed them, quite rob us of the courage to leave home. The journey and the excitement, which would be part of his pleasure if he were tolerably well, seem to him now dangerous to encounter--and I am not myself robust enough to venture on a risk of illness to him; so that I cannot supply the daring he needs. We begin to think that we shall be obliged to defer our pleasure of seeing you in your own home--so promising of walks and talks, such as we can never have a chance of in London--until we have the disadvantage of counting ourselves a year older. I am very sorry. But it is better to know that you are getting well, and we unable to see you, than to think of you as an invalid, unable to receive us. We must satisfy ourselves with the good we have--including the peace, and the promise of an abundant wheat harvest. Please ask Mrs. and Miss Blackwood to accept my best regards, and assure them that I counted much on a longer, quieter intercourse with them in a few sunny days away from hotels and callers. Do not write when writing seems a task. Otherwise you know how well I like to have a letter from you. [Sidenote: Letter to William Blackwood, 15th Aug. 1878.] We have certainly to pay for all our other happiness, which is a Benjamin's share, by many small bodily miseries. Mr. Lewes continues ailing, and I am keeping him company with headache. "Rejoice, O young man, in the days of thy youth," and keep a reserve of strength for the more evil days. Especially avoid breaking your neck in hunting. Mr. Lewes did once try horseback, some years ago, but found the exercise too violent for him. I think a Highland sheltie would be the suitable nag, only he is very fond of walking; and between that and lawn-tennis he tires himself sufficiently. I shall hope by and by to hear more good news about your uncle's health. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 26th Aug. 1878.] Shall you mind the trouble of writing me a few words of news about you and yours? just to let me know how things are with you, and deliver me from evil dreams. We have been so ailing in the midst of our country joys that I need to hear of my friends being well as a ground for cheerfulness--a bit of sugar in the cup of resignation. Perhaps this fine summer has been altogether delightful to you. Let me know this good, and satisfy the thirsty sponge of my affection. If you object to my phrase, please to observe that it is Dantesque--which will oblige you to find it admirable. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 26th Aug. 1878.] You remember the case of the old woman of whom her murderers confessed that they had beaten her to death, "partly with crowbars and partly with their fists." Well, I have been beaten into silence since your kind letter, partly by visitors and partly by continual headache. I am a shade or two better this morning, and my soul has half awaked to run its daily stage of duty. Happily I was temporarily relieved from headache during our friends' (the Tom Trollopes') visit. We took them to see Tennyson, and they were delighted with the reading which he very amiably gave us. Then the Du Mauriers came to dine with us on the Thursday, and so the time was not, I hope, too languid for our visitors. Mr. Lewes continues to show improvement in health, so that the balance of good is not much altered by my deficit. We shall be pleased to have any news of you, whether by post or person. At this time I was in the habit of going over occasionally from Weybridge on Sundays. The shadow of trouble was on both our houses. My mother was in her last illness, and Mr. Lewes was constantly ailing, though none of us then thought that he would be taken first. But the sharing of a common anxiety contributed to make our friendship much more intimate. In our drives in the neighborhood of Witley, Mr. Lewes used sometimes to be suddenly seized with severe cramping pains. I think he was himself aware that something was far wrong, but the moment the pain ceased the extraordinary buoyancy of his spirits returned. Nothing but death could quench that bright flame. Even on his worst days he had always a good story to tell; and I remember on one occasion, between two bouts of pain, he sang through, with great _brio_, though without much voice, the greater portion of the tenor part in the "Barber of Seville"--George Eliot playing his accompaniment, and both of them thoroughly enjoying the fun. They led a very secluded life at Witley--as always in their country retreats--but enjoyed the society of some of their neighbors. Sir Henry and Lady Holland, who lived next door; charming Mrs. Thellusson and her daughter, Mrs. Greville, who lived between Witley and Godalming, were especial friends. The Tennysons, too, and the Du Mauriers and Allinghams, were all within easy visiting distance. George Eliot's dislike of London life continued to increase with the increasing number of her acquaintance, and consequent demands on time. The Sunday receptions, confined to a small number of intimate friends in 1867, had gradually extended themselves to a great variety of interesting people. These receptions have been so often and so well described that they have hitherto occupied rather a disproportionate place in the accounts of George Eliot's life. It will have been noticed that there is very little allusion to them in the letters; but, owing to the seclusion of her life, it happened that the large majority of people who knew George Eliot as an author never met her elsewhere. Her _salon_ was important as a meeting-place for many friends whom she cared greatly to see, but it was not otherwise important in her own life. For she was eminently _not_ a typical mistress of a _salon_. It was difficult for her, mentally, to move from one person to another. Playing around many disconnected subjects, in talk, neither interested her nor amused her much. She took things too seriously, and seldom found the effort of entertaining compensated by the gain. Fortunately Mr. Lewes supplied any qualities lacking in the hostess. A brilliant talker, a delightful _raconteur_, versatile, full of resource in the social difficulties of amalgamating diverse groups, and bridging over awkward pauses, he managed to secure for these gatherings most of the social success which they obtained. Many of the _réunions_ were exceedingly agreeable and interesting, especially when they were not too crowded, when general conversation could be maintained. But the larger the company grew the more difficult it was to manage. The English character does not easily accommodate itself to the exigencies of a _salon_. There is a fatal tendency to break up into small groups. The entertainment was frequently varied by music when any good performer happened to be present. I think, however, that the majority of visitors delighted chiefly to come for the chance of a few words with George Eliot alone. When the drawing-room door of the Priory opened, a first glance revealed her always in the same low arm-chair on the left-hand side of the fire. On entering, a visitor's eye was at once arrested by the massive head. The abundant hair, streaked with gray now, was draped with lace, arranged mantilla-fashion, coming to a point at the top of the forehead. If she were engaged in conversation her body was usually bent forward with eager, anxious desire to get as close as possible to the person with whom she talked. She had a great dislike to raising her voice, and often became so wholly absorbed in conversation that the announcement of an incoming visitor sometimes failed to attract her attention; but the moment the eyes were lifted up, and recognized a friend, they smiled a rare welcome--sincere, cordial, grave--a welcome that was felt to come straight from the heart, not graduated according to any social distinction. Early in the afternoon, with only one or two guests, the talk was always general and delightful. Mr. Lewes was quite as good in a company of three as in a company of thirty. In fact, he was better, for his _verve_ was not in the least dependent on the number of his audience, and the flow was less interrupted. Conversation was no effort to him; nor was it to her so long as the numbers engaged were not too many, and the topics were interesting enough to sustain discussion. But her talk, I think, was always most enjoyable _à deux_. It was not produced for effect, nor from the lip, but welled up from a heart and mind intent on the one person with whom she happened to be speaking. She was never weary of giving of her best so far as the wish to give was concerned. In addition to the Sundays "at home" the Priory doors were open to a small circle of very intimate friends on other days of the week. Of evening entertainments there were very few, I think, after 1870. I remember some charming little dinners--never exceeding six persons--and one notable evening when the Poet Laureate read aloud "Maud," "The Northern Farmer," and parts of other poems. It was very interesting on this occasion to see the two most widely known representatives of contemporary English literature sitting side by side. George Eliot would have enjoyed much in her London life if she had been stronger in health, but, with her susceptible organization, the _atmosphere_ oppressed her both physically and mentally. She always rejoiced to escape to the country. The autumn days were beginning to close in now on the beautiful Surrey landscape, not without some dim, half-recognized presage to her anxious mind of impending trouble. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 24th Sept. 1878.] I am not inclined to let you rest any longer without asking you to send me some account of yourself, for it is long since I got my last news from Edinburgh. I should like to know that you have continued to gather strength, and that you have all been consequently more and more enjoying your life at Strathtyrum. It is an ugly theory that happiness wants the contrast of illness and anxiety, but I know that Mrs. Blackwood must have a new comfort in seeing you once more with your usual strength. We have had "a bad time" in point of health, and it is only quite lately that we have both been feeling a little better. The fault is all in our own frames, not in our air or other circumstances; for we like our house and neighborhood better and better. The general testimony and all other arguments are in favor of this district being thoroughly healthy. But we both look very haggard in the midst of our blessings. Are you not disturbed by yesterday's Indian news? One's hopes for the world's getting a little rest from war are continually checked. Every day, after reading the _Times_, I feel as if all one's writing were miserably trivial stuff in the presence of this daily history. Do you think there are persons who admire Russia's "mission" in Asia as they did the mission in Europe? Please write me anything that comes easily to the end of your pen, and make your world seem nearer to me. Good Mr. Simpson, I hope, lets you know that he is prospering in his pursuit of pleasure without work--which seems a strange paradox in association with my idea of him. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 15th Oct. 1878.] The days pass by without my finding time to tell you what I want to tell you--how delighted I was to have a good account of you. But every bright day, and we have had many such, has made me think the more of you, and hope that you were drawing in strength from the clear, sweet air. I miss so much the hope that I used always to have of seeing you in London and talking over everything just as we used to do--in the way that will never exactly come with any one else. How unspeakably the lengthening of memories in common endears our old friends! The new are comparatively foreigners, with whom one's talk is hemmed in by mutual ignorance. The one cannot express, the other cannot divine. We are intensely happy in our bit of country, as happy as the cloudy aspect of public affairs will allow any one who cares for them to be, with the daily reading of the _Times_. A neighbor of ours was reciting to me yesterday some delicious bits of dialogue with a quaint Surrey woman; _e.g._, "O ma'am, what I have gone through with my husband! He is so uneddicated--he never had a tail-coat in his life!" [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 23d Nov. 1878, from the Priory.] When Mr. Lewes sent you my MS.[34] the other morning he was in that state of exhilarated activity which often comes with the sense of ease after an attack of illness which had been very painful. In the afternoon he imprudently drove out, and undertook, with his usual eagerness, to get through numerous details of business, over-fatigued himself, and took cold. The effect has been a sad amount of suffering from feverishness and headache, and I have been in deep anxiety, am still very unhappy, and only comforted by Sir James Paget's assurances that the actual trouble will be soon allayed. I have been telling the patient about your letter and suggestion that he should send a form of slip as advertisement for the Magazine. He says--and the answer seems to have been a matter of premeditation with him--that it will be better not to announce the book in this way at once--"the Americans and Germans will be down on us." I cannot question him further at present, but I have no doubt he has been thinking about the matter, and we must not cross his wish in any way. I have thought that a good form of advertisement, to save people from disappointment in a book of mine not being a story, would be to print the list of contents, which, with the title, would give all but the very stupid a notion to what form of writing the work belongs. But this is a later consideration. I am glad you were pleased with the opening. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, Sunday evening, 24th Nov. 1878.] For the last week I have been in deep trouble. Mr. Lewes has been alarmingly ill. To-day Sir James Paget and Dr. Quain pronounce him in all respects better, and I am for the first time comforted. You will not wonder now at my silence. Thanks for your affectionate remembrances. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th Nov. 1878.] Mr. Lewes continues sadly ill, and I am absorbed in nursing him. When he wrote about Parliament meeting, he was thinking that it would be called together at the usual time--perhaps February. The book can be deferred without mischief. I wish to add a good deal, but, of course, I can finish nothing now, until Mr. Lewes is better. The doctors pronounced him in every respect better yesterday, and he had a quiet night, but since five o'clock this morning he has had a recurrence of trouble. You can feel for him and me, having so lately known what severe illness is. Mr. Lewes died on the 28th November, 1878. _SUMMARY._ MARCH, 1876, TO NOVEMBER, 1878. Letter to John Blackwood--Visit to Weybridge--"Daniel Deronda"--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Meets Sir Garnet Wolseley--Vivisection--Letter to John Blackwood--Public discussion of "Deronda"--Motto from Walt Whitman--Inscription on the MS. of "Deronda"--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--Thanks for sympathy--Drawbacks to going too much abroad--Mr. Lewes's "Problems"--Letter to J. W. Cross on the effect of her writing--Three-months' trip to Continent--Letter to John Blackwood--Visit to Chambéry and Les Charmettes--Lausanne and Vevey--Ragatz--Return to London--Letter to John Blackwood--Dr. Hermann Adler--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--St. Blasien--Women's work--Visit to Six-Mile Bottom--Meets Turguenieff--Jewish appreciation of "Deronda"--Letter to Mrs. William Smith--Mrs. Ruck--Letter to Mrs. Stowe--Jewish element in "Deronda"--Letter to Miss Hennell--Miss Martineau's "Autobiography," and biography in general--Resignation--Gratitude of Jews for "Deronda"--Purchase of house at Witley, near Godalming--Dr. Hermann Adler's lectures on "Daniel Deronda"--Application to translate "Romola" into Italian--Christmas at Weybridge--Opening of year 1877--Letter to James Sully--The word "meliorism"--Letter to John Blackwood--Illustrations of cheap editions--"Romola"--Letter to William Allingham--Warwickshire dialect--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Harriet Martineau's "Autobiography"--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Holmes and Mrs. Vernon Lushington playing--Letter to Miss Hennell--Mrs. Chapman on Harriet Martineau--Mrs. Stowe and the Byron case--Letter to Professor Kaufmann--Gratitude for his estimate of "Deronda"--Letter to F. Harrison--Sympathy incentive to production--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Miss Thackeray's marriage--Letter to W. Allingham on his poems--Letter to Professor Kaufmann--Translation of his article by Mr. Ferrier--Letter to Mrs. Ponsonby--Reference to Stradivarius--Pity and fairness--Letter to J. W. Cross--Appreciation of Tennyson's poems and dramas--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Improvement in health at Witley--Proposal to write on Shakespeare for "Men of Letters" series--Letter to Miss Hennell--Gain of health and strength at Witley--Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones--Christmas plans--Farewell to Journal and to year 1877--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--State of France--London University opening degrees to women--Reading Green's "History of the English People" and Lecky--The phonograph--Letter to John Blackwood--"Pascal"--"La Bruyère"--Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones on the "Two Grenadiers"--Letter to Mrs. Bray--Meeting with Crown Prince and Princess of Germany at Mr. Goschen's--Visit to Oxford to the Master of Balliol--Letter to John Blackwood--Indian story of Lord Lytton's--Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor--Function the æsthetic not the doctrinal teacher--Letter to John Blackwood--Mr. Lewes's ill-health--Letter to William Blackwood--Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones complaining of health--Letter to J. W. Cross--Mr. Lewes's continued illness--Life at Witley--Effect of receptions at the Priory--Description of receptions--Letter to John Blackwood--Complaining of health--Letter to Mme. Bodichon--Delight in old friends--Letters to John Blackwood--MS. of "Theophrastus Such"--Mr. Lewes's last illness--Postponement of publication of "Theophrastus"--Mr. Lewes's death. FOOTNOTES: [28] This was a visit to Six-Mile Bottom, where M. Turguenieff, who was a very highly valued friend of Mr. and Mrs. Lewes, had come to compare his experiences of Russian and English sport. I remember George Eliot telling me that she had never met any literary man whose society she enjoyed so thoroughly and so unrestrainedly as she did that of M. Turguenieff. They had innumerable bonds of sympathy. [29] This letter is in acknowledgment of a letter from Mrs. Beecher Stowe on "Daniel Deronda." [30] Mme. Bodichon had been dangerously ill. [31] Refers to a poem by W. Allingham, "The General Chorus," with a burden: "Life, Death; Life, Death; Such is the song of human breath." [32] The beginning of my mother's last illness. [33] Dinner at Mr. Goschen's. [34] "The Impressions of Theophrastus Such." CHAPTER XIX. For many weeks after Mr. Lewes's death, George Eliot saw no one except Mr. Charles Lewes, and the very few persons she was obliged to receive on necessary business. She read no letters, and wrote none, but at once began to occupy herself busily with Mr. Lewes's unfinished MSS., in which work Mr. Charles Lewes was able to assist her in the arrangement. The only entry in her diary on the 1st January, 1879, is "Here I and sorrow sit." At the end of two months this desolation had told terribly on her health and spirits; and on the last day of January she was greatly comforted by a visit from Sir James Paget--a friend for whom she had always had the highest and most cordial regard during the many years she had known him. Meantime she had begun to write a few short notes, and she mentions in her journal of 2d January, "A kind letter from Professor Michael Foster, of Cambridge, offering to help me on any physiological point;" and on the 19th January, "Ruminating on the founding of some educational instrumentality as a memorial to be called by his name." There are the following letters in January and February. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 7th Jan. 1879.] I bless you for all your goodness to me, but I am a bruised creature, and shrink even from the tenderest touch. As soon as I feel able to see anybody I will see _you_. Please give my love to Bessie[35] and thank her for me--I mean, for her sweet letter. I was a long while before I read any letters, but tell her I shall read hers again and again. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 13th Jan. 1879.] It was a long while before I read any letters, and as yet I have written none, except such as business required of me. You will believe that this has not been for want of gratitude to all my friends for their goodness to me. I can trust to your understanding of a sorrow which has broken my life. I write now because I ought not to allow any disproportionate expense to be incurred about my printed sheets. To me, now, the writing seems all trivial stuff, but since he wished it to be printed, and you seem to concur, I will correct the sheets (if you will send me the remainder) gradually as I am able, and they can be struck off and laid by for a future time. I submit this proposition to your judgment, not knowing what may be most expedient for your printing-office. Thank you for all your kind words. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 22d Jan. 1879.] Sometime, if I live, I shall be able to see you--perhaps sooner than any one else--but not yet. Life seems to get harder instead of easier. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 30th Jan. 1879.] When I said "sometime" I meant still a distant time. I want to live a little time that I may do certain things for his sake. So I try to keep up my strength, and I work as much as I can to save my mind from imbecility. But that is all at present. I can go through anything that is mere business. But what used to be joy is joy no longer, and what is pain is easier because he has not to bear it. I bless my friends for all their goodness to me. Please say so to all of them that you know, especially Mr. Hall. Tell him I have read his letter again and again. If you feel prompted to say anything, write it to me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 4th Feb. 1879.] Do not believe that your love is lost upon me, dear. I bless you for all your goodness to me, and keep every sign of it in my memory. I have been rather ill lately, but my head is clearer this morning. The world's winter is going, I hope, but my everlasting winter has set in. You know that and will be patient with me. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 6th Feb. 1879.] Bless you for your loving thought. But for all reasons, bodily and mental, I am unable to move. I am entirely occupied with his manuscripts, and must be on this spot among all the books. Then, I am in a very ailing condition of body--cannot count on myself from day to day--and am not fit to undertake any sort of journey. I have never yet been outside the gate. Even if I were otherwise able, I could not bear to go out of sight of the things he used and looked on. Bless you once more. If I could go away with _anybody_ I could go away with you. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 7th Feb. 1879.] I do need your affection. Every sign of care for me from the beings I respect and love is a help to me. In a week or two I think I shall want to see you. Sometimes, even now, I have a longing, but it is immediately counteracted by a fear. The perpetual mourner--the grief that can never be healed--is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning--a new acquaintance with grief. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, Saturday, 22d Feb. 1879.] If you happen to be at liberty to-morrow, or the following Friday, or to-morrow week, I hope I shall be well enough to see you. Let me know which day. On Sunday, the 23d February, I saw her for the first time, and there is the following letter next day. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 24th Feb. 1879.] A transient absence of mind yesterday made me speak as if it were possible for me to entertain your thoughtful, kind proposal that I should move to Weybridge for a short time. But I cannot leave this house for the next two months--if for no other reason, I should be chained here by the need of having all the books I want to refer to. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 25th Feb. 1879.] Pray do not announce "Theophrastus" in any way. It would be intolerable to my feelings to have a book of my writing brought out for a long while to come. What I wish to do is, to correct the sheets thoroughly, and then have them struck off and laid by till the time of publication comes. One reason which prompted me to set about the proofs--in addition to my scruples about occupying the type--was that I was feeling so ill, I thought there was no time to be lost in getting done everything which no one else would do if I left it undone. But I am getting better, I think; and my doctors say there is nothing the matter with me to urge more haste than the common uncertainty of life urges on us all. There is a great movement now among the Jews towards colonizing Palestine, and bringing out the resources of the soil. Probably Mr. Oliphant is interested in the work, and will find his experience in the West not without applicability in the East. It is a satisfaction to you, I hope, that your son is about to be initiated in George Street. I trust he will one day carry on the good traditions of the name "John Blackwood." [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 5th Mch. 1879.] Your letter, which tells me that you are benefiting by the clear, sunny air, is very welcome. Yes, here too the weather is more merciful, and I drive out most days. I am better bodily, but I never feel thoroughly comfortable in that material sense, and I am incredibly thin. As to my mind, I am full of occupation, but the sorrow deepens down instead of diminishing. I mean to go to Witley in a few months, that I may look again on the spots that he enjoyed, and that we enjoyed together, but I cannot tell beforehand whether I shall care to go again afterwards. Everybody is very kind to me, and by and by I shall begin to see a few intimate friends. I can do or go through anything that is business or duty, but time and strength seem lacking for everything else. You must excuse my weakness, remembering that for nearly twenty-five years I have been used to find my happiness in his. I can find it nowhere else. But we can live and be helpful without happiness, and I have had more than myriads who were and are better fitted for it. I am really very busy, and have been sadly delayed by want of health. One project I have entered on is to found a studentship, which will be called after his name. I am getting help from experienced men. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 5th Mch. 1879.] I send the corrected sheets of "Theophrastus," and shall be much obliged if you will order a complete revise to be sent me before they are struck off. Whenever the book is published (I cannot contemplate its appearing before June, and if that is a bad time it must stand over till the autumn season) I beg you kindly to write for me a notice, to be printed on the fly-leaf, that the MS. was placed in your hands last November, or simply last year. I think you will enter into my feeling when I say that to create a notion on the part of the public of my having been occupied in writing "Theophrastus" would be repugnant to me. And I shrink from putting myself forward in any way. I hope you are benefiting by the milder weather. I drive out a little now, but you must be prepared to see me a much changed creature. I think I should hardly know myself. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _March 8._--Gertrude[36] and the children came to tea. _March 9._--Mr. Henry Sidgwick came to discuss the plan of the studentship. _March 13._--Professor Michael Foster came to discuss the studentship, and we arrived at a satisfactory clearness as to the conditions. He mentioned as men whom he thought of as suitable trustees, Huxley, Pye Smith, Thiselton Dyer, Francis Balfour, and Henry Sidgwick. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 20th Mch. 1879.] DEAR FRIEND,--When you have time to come to me about six o'clock I shall love to see you. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _March 22._--Mrs. Congreve came again. Mrs. Burne-Jones came. [Sidenote: Letter to William Blackwood, 25th Mch. 1879.] I am so dissatisfied with "Theophrastus" on reading the revise that I have proposed to suppress it in this original form, and regenerate it whenever--if ever--I recover the power to do so. You see the cruel weather has travelled after you. It makes one feel every grievance more grievously in some respects, though to me the sunshine is in one sense sadder. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _March 30._--Mr. Bowen (now Lord Justice Bowen) came, Mr. Spencer, and J. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 5th April, 1879.] After weighing what you have said, I agree to the publication of "Theophrastus" in May. If you had at all suspected that the book would injure my influence, you would not have wished me to give it forth in its present form, and in the uncertainty of one's inner and outer life it is not well to depend on future capabilities. There are some things in it which I want to get said, and if the book turned out to be effective in proportion to my other things, the form would lend itself to a "second series"--supposing I lived and kept my faculties. As to the price for the right of translating, you will judge. If you will kindly undertake these negotiations for me, I shall be thankful. And pray remember that I don't _want_ the book to be translated, so that it will be well to wait for the application, and to ask a sufficient sum to put the publisher on his guard as to the selection of a translator. But, of course, this little book cannot be paid for according to the difficulty of translation. You see, I have been so used to have all trouble spared me that I am ready to cast it on any willing shoulders. But I am obliged now to think of business in many ways. I am so glad to know that Mrs. Blackwood has the comfort of a good report about you from the doctors. Perhaps it may seem to you the wrong order of sympathy to be glad for your sake in the _second_ place. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _April 8._--Mrs. Stuart came. Mrs. Stuart was a devoted friend whose acquaintance had been formed some years before through the presentation of some beautiful wood-carving which she had executed as an offering to George Eliot. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 8th April, 1879.] DEAR FRIENDS,--Will you come to see me some day? I am always in from my drive and at liberty by half-past four. Please do not say to any one that I am receiving visitors generally. Though I have been so long without making any sign, my heart has been continually moved with gratitude towards you. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 8th April, 1879.] Your letter was very welcome this morning, for I do not like to be very long without having some picture of you, and your words of affection are always sweet. The studentship I mention is to supply an income to a young man who is qualified and eager to carry on physiological research, and would not otherwise have the means of doing so. Mr. H. Sidgwick, Michael Foster, and other men of kindred mind are helping me in settling the scheme. I have been determined in my choice of the studentship by the idea of what would be a sort of prolongation of _his_ life. That there should always, in consequence of his having lived, be a young man working in the way he would have liked to work, is a memorial of him that comes nearest my feeling. It is to be at Cambridge to begin with, and we thought at first of affiliating it to the university; but now the notion is that it will be well to keep it free, so that the trustees may move it where and when they will. But the scheme is not yet drafted. I am going to bring out one of "The Problems" in a separate volume at the beginning of May, and am now correcting the proofs. My going to Witley is an experiment. I don't know how I shall bear being there, but I hope there will be nothing to hinder my _having you_ there if you will undertake the troublous journey for my sake. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 9th April, 1879.] I enclose the proof of title-page and motto. Whether the motto (which is singularly apt and good) should be on the title-page or fly-leaf I leave you to judge. Certainly, everybody who does not read Latin will be offended by its claiming notice, and will consider that only the deepest-dyed pedantry could have found the motive for it. But I will not leave it out altogether. I have had such various letters from time to time, asking me to reprint or write essays, that, perhaps, some of the public will not be disappointed that the volume is not a story. But that must be as it may; and if you think the acceptance dubious, it is much the better plan not to stereotype. What energy there is in Mr. Kinglake in spite of the somewhat shattered health that his _Wesen_ gives one the impression of! Among incidents of war that one can dwell on with anything like gladness, that account of the rescue of the colors at Isandlana is memorable, is it not? I go out every day, drive beyond the ranks of hideous houses in the Kilburn outskirts, and get to lanes where I can walk, in perfect privacy, among the fields and budding hedgerows. I hope Mr. Julian Sturgis will take care of his writing and do something lasting. He seems to me to have a strain above the common in him; and he is not writing for his bread, or even his butter. I don't know why I say this just now, except that I had it in my mind to say long ago, and it has just come upper-most as I was thinking of the Magazine. [Sidenote: Letter to Professor Kaufmann, 17th April, 1879.] Your kind letter has touched me very deeply. I confess that my mind had, more than once, gone out to you as one from whom I should like to have some sign of sympathy with my loss. But you were rightly inspired in waiting till now, for during many weeks I was unable even to listen to the letters which my generous friends were continually sending me. Now, at last, I am eagerly interested in every communication that springs out of an acquaintance with my husband and his works. I thank you for telling me about the Hungarian translation of his "History of Philosophy;" but what would I not have given if the volumes could have come, even only a few days, before his death! For his mind was perfectly clear, and he would have felt some joy in that sign of his work being effective. I do not know whether you will enter into the comfort I feel that he never knew he was dying, and fell gently asleep after ten days of illness, in which the suffering was comparatively mild. One of the last things he did at his desk was to despatch a manuscript of mine to the publishers. The book (not a story, and not bulky) is to appear near the end of May, and, as it contains some words I wanted to say about the Jews, I will order a copy to be sent to you. I hope that your labors have gone on uninterruptedly for the benefit of others, in spite of public troubles. The aspect of affairs with us is grievous--industry languishing, and the best part of our nation indignant at our having been betrayed into an unjustifiable war in South Africa. I have been occupied in editing my husband's MSS., so far as they are left in sufficient completeness to be prepared for publication without the obtrusion of another mind instead of his. A brief volume on "The Study of Psychology" will appear immediately, and a further volume of psychological studies will follow in the autumn. But his work was cut short while he still thought of it as the happy occupation of far-stretching months. Once more let me thank you for remembering me in my sorrow. [Sidenote: Letter to J. W. Cross, 22d April, 1879.] I am in dreadful need of your counsel. Pray come to me when you can--morning, afternoon, or evening. From this time forward I saw George Eliot constantly. My mother had died in the beginning of the previous December, a week after Mr. Lewes; and, as my life had been very much bound up with hers, I was trying to find some fresh interest in taking up a new pursuit. Knowing very little Italian, I began Dante's "Inferno" with Carlyle's translation. The first time I saw George Eliot afterwards, she asked me what I was doing, and, when I told her, exclaimed, "Oh, I must read that with you." And so it was. In the following twelve months we read through the "Inferno" and the "Purgatorio" together; not in a _dilettante_ way, but with minute and careful examination of the construction of every sentence. The prodigious stimulus of such a teacher (_cotanto maestro_) made the reading a real labor of love. Her sympathetic delight in stimulating my newly awakened enthusiasm for Dante did something to distract her mind from sorrowful memories. The divine poet took us into a new world. It was a renovation of life. At the end of May I induced her to play on the piano at Witley for the first time; and she played regularly after that whenever I was there, which was generally once or twice a week, as I was living at Weybridge, within easy distance. Besides Dante, we read at this time a great many of Sainte-Beuve's "Causeries," and much of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Wordsworth. But I am anticipating. We will return to the correspondence in its order. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 22d April, 1879.] When I shall be able to get to Witley is altogether uncertain. The cold winds make one less hungry for the country, but still it will be a relief to me, in some respects, to get away from town. I am much stronger than I was, and am again finding interest in this wonderful life of ours. But I am obliged to keep my doors closed against all but the few until I go away. You, however, I shall hope to see. I am founding a studentship of Physiology, to be called "The George Henry Lewes Studentship." It will be placed, in the first instance, at Cambridge, where there is the best physiological school in the kingdom. But the trustees (with my consent during my life) will have the power of moving it where they judge best. This idea, which I early conceived, has been a great stay to me. But I have plenty to think of, plenty of creatures depending on me, to make my time seem of some value. And there are so many in the world who have to live without any great enjoyment. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _April 26._--Mr. and Mrs. Hall came. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 3d May, 1879.] If you can come to me next week for a parting word, will you try to learn beforehand whether and when your husband can give me half an hour at the end of his working-day? I should like to see him before I go, which I hope to do soon after the 13th. [Sidenote: Journal, 1879.] _May 6._--Mr. and Mrs. Call, Eleanor and Florence (Cross) came. _May 8._--Mr. Burne-Jones came. _May 10._--Edith Simcox and Mr. Pigott came. _May 13._--Dr. Andrew Clark came and gave me important suggestions about the studentship. _May 21._--Saw Mr. Anthony Trollope. _May 22._--Came down to Witley--lovely mild day. [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 28th May, 1879.] Mr. Lewes always wrote the dramatic criticisms in the _Leader_, and for a year or two he occasionally wrote such criticisms in the _Pall Mall_. Of the latter, the chief were reprinted in the little book on "Actors, and the Art of Acting." What was written in the _Fortnightly_ (1865-66) is marked by signature. The most characteristic contributions to the _Cornhill_ (1864-65) were "The Mental Condition of Babies," "Dangers and Delights of Tobacco," "Was Nero a Monster?" "Shakespeare in France," and "Miseries of a Dramatic Author." But after 1866 his contributions to any periodical were very scanty--confined to a few articles in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, one on "The Reign of Law," in the _Fortnightly_, and the series on Darwin, now incorporated in "The Physical Basis of Mind." After these, his sole contributions were an article on Dickens (1872), two on "Spiritualism" and "Mesmerism" (1876), and one on "The Dread and Dislike of Science" (1878). Charles, I think, mentioned to you my desire that you should do me the valuable service of looking over the proofs of the remaining volume of "Problems," and you were so generous as to express your willingness to undertake that labor. The printing will not begin till after the 16th--Dr. Michael Foster, who has also kindly offered to help me in the same way, not being sufficiently at leisure till after that date. I have been rather ill again lately, but am hoping to benefit by the country quietude. You, too, I am sorry to hear, are not over strong. This will make your loan of mind and eyesight all the more appreciated by me. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 3d June, 1879.] Your letter, full of details--just the sort of letter I like to have--has been among my comforts in these last damp, chill days. The first week I was not well, and had a troublesome attack of pain, but I am better, and try to make life interesting by always having something to do. I am wishing Margaret many happy returns of this day, and am making a picture of you all keeping the little _fête_. A young birthday, when the young creature is promising, is really a happy time; one can hope reasonably; and the elder ones may be content that gladness has passed onward from them into newer vessels. I should like to see the blue-eyed maid with her bangles on her arms. Please give my love to all and sundry who make any sign of love for me; and any amount you like is ready for you to draw upon. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 10th June, 1879.] I am greatly obliged to you for sending me the paper you are to read to-day; and I appreciate it the more highly because your diligence is in contrast with the general sluggishness of readers about any but idle reading. It is melancholy enough that to most of our polite readers the social factor in psychology would be a dull subject; for it is certainly no conceit of ours which pronounces it to be the supremely interesting element in the thinking of our time. I confess the word factor has always been distasteful to me as the name for the grandest of forces. If it were only mathematical I should not mind, but it has many other associated flavors which spoil it for me. Once more--ever more--thanks. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 10th June, 1879.] You will like to know that Mr. Frederic Harrison has sent me a brief paper, which is to be read to-day at the Metaphysical Society, on the "Social Factor in Psychology," opening with a quotation from the "Study of Psychology," and marking throughout his high appreciation of your father's work. Also the Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford, kindly sent (with his initials only) to Trübner four errata which he had found in reading the "Study of Psychology." Trübner did not know who was the kind corrector, and very properly sent the paper to me, offering to have the corrections made on the plates if I wished it. I said, "By all means," and have written to thank the Rector. What a blessing to find a man who really reads a book! I have received the enclosed letter, with other papers (about country lodgings at Sevenoaks for poor children). Will you look out a single copy of as many of my books (poems included) as you can find, and send them in a parcel, saying that they come from me for the Free Library? Please not to mind this trouble, as it is for the _impecunious_ readers. (You know I am nothing if not "sesquipedalian" and scientific; and a word of five syllables will do for both qualities.) I wish you could see Coquelin in Tabourin. He is a wonderful actor, when he gets the right part for him. He has a penetrating personality that one cannot be indifferent to, though possibly it may be unpleasant to some people. [Sidenote: Letter to William Blackwood, 12th June, 1879.] I was beginning, with my usual apprehensiveness, to fear that you had no good news to tell me, since I did not hear from you, and I should have gone on fearing till to-morrow morning if I had not happened to drive to Godalming and ask for the second post. We only get one post a day at the benighted Witley, so that if you want me to get a letter quickly it must be posted early at Edinburgh. I am heartily glad to know that the invalid is going on well, and I trust that the softer air we are having now will help him forward. "Theophrastus" seems to be really welcomed by the public. Mr. Blackwood will be amused to hear that one gentleman told Charles, or implied, that "Theophrastus" was a higher order of book, and _more difficult to write_ than a novel. Wait long enough, and every form of opinion will turn up. However, poor "Theophrastus" is certainly not composed of "chips" any more than my other books. Another amusing bit of news is, that the other day Mrs. Pattison sent me an extract from the _livret_ of the Paris _Salon_, describing a picture painted by a French artist from "The Lifted Veil," and representing the moment when the resuscitated woman, fixing her eyes on her mistress, accuses her of having poisoned her husband. I call this amusing--I ought rather to have said typical of the relation my books generally have with the French mind. Thank you for sending me the list of orders. It does interest me to see the various country demands. I hope the movement will continue to cheer us all, and you are sure to let me know everything that is pleasant, so I do not need to ask for that kindness. The weather is decidedly warmer, and Tuesday was a perfectly glorious day. But rain and storm have never let us rest long together. I am not very bright, and am ready to interpret everything in the saddest sense, but I have no definite ailment. My best regards to the convalescent, who, I have no doubt, will write to me when he is able to do so. But I am only one of many who will be glad to hear from him. [Sidenote: Letter from Madame Bodichon to Miss Bonham-Carter, 12th June, 1879.] "I spent an hour with Marian (5th June). She was more delightful than I can say, and left me in good spirits for her--though she is wretchedly thin, and looks, in her long, loose, black dress, like the black shadow of herself. She said she had so much to do that she must keep well--'the world was so _intensely interesting_.' She said she would come _next year_ to see me. We both agreed in the great love we had for life. In fact, I think she will do more for us than ever." [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 20th June, 1879.] I have been having my turn of illness of rather a sharp kind. Yesterday, when your letter came, I was in more acute pain than I have ever known in my life before, but before the morning was over I was sufficiently relieved to read your pleasant news. I am writing in bed, but am in that most keenly conscious ease which comes after unusual suffering. The way in which the public takes "Theophrastus" is really a comfort to me. I have had some letters, not of the complimentary, but of the grateful kind, which are an encouragement to believe in the use of writing. But you would be screamingly amused with one, twenty-three pages long (from an Edinburgh man, by-the-bye), who has not read the book, but has read of it, and thinks that his own case is still more worthy of presentation than Merman's. I think a valuable series (or couple of volumes) might be made up from "Maga" of articles written _hot_ by travellers and military men, and not otherwise republished--chronicles and descriptions by eye-witnesses--which might be material for historians. What a comfort that the Afghan war is concluded! But on the back of it comes the black dog of Indian finance, which means, alas! a great deal of hardship to poor Hindûs. Let me hear more news of you before long. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 29th June, 1879.] Your description of the effects you feel from the restless, tormenting winds would serve well to represent my experience too. It seems something incredible written in my memory that when I was a little girl I loved the wind--used to like to walk about when it was blowing great guns. And now the wind is to me what it was to early peoples--a demon-god, cruelly demanding all sorts of human sacrifices. Thank you, dear, for caring whether I have any human angels to guard me. None are permanently here except my servants, but Sir James Paget has been down to see me, I have a very comfortable country practitioner to watch over me from day to day, and there is a devoted friend who is backward and forward continually to see that I lack nothing. It is a satisfaction to me that you felt the need for "Debasing the Moral Currency" to be written. I was determined to do it, though it might make me a stone of stumbling and rock of offence to all the comic tribe. Do not rate my illness too high in the scale of mortal misery. I am prone to make much of my ailments, and am among the worst at enduring pain. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 29th June, 1879.] Thank you for sending me the pretty little book.[37] I am deeply touched by the account of its origin, and I remember well everything you said to me of Mr. Brown in old days when he was still with you. I had only cut a very little way into the volume when a friend came and carried it off, but my eyes had already been arrested by some remarks on the character of Harold Transome, which seemed to me more penetrating and finely felt than almost anything I have read in the way of printed comment on my own writing. When my friend brings back the volume I shall read it reverentially, and most probably with a sense of being usefully admonished. For praise and sympathy arouse much more self-suspicion and sense of shortcoming than all the blame and depreciation of all the Pepins. I am better, and I hope on the way to complete recovery, but I am still at some distance from that goal. Perhaps if the winds would give one some rest from their tormenting importunity, both you and I should get on faster. I am looking forward to reading the "Recollections of Ekowe" in "Maga," which came to me yesterday, with its list of my own doings and misdoings on the cover. Does not this Zulu war seem to you a horribly bad business? [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 30th June, 1879.] Sir Henry Maine has sent me the one letter that has rejoiced my heart about the "Study of Psychology." He says: "In this branch of Mr. Lewes's studies I am almost as one of the ignorant, but I think I have understood every sentence in the book, and I believe I have gained great knowledge from it. It has been the most satisfactory piece of work I have done for a long time." I have written to tell him that he has rescued me from my scepticism as to any one's reading a serious book except the author or editor. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 2d July, 1879.] The sight of your handwriting on the pamphlet sent me urges me to do the sooner what I should have already done but for a rather sharp illness, which has kept me chiefly in bed for nearly a fortnight, and from which I am not yet quite free. I enclose a copy of Michael Foster's draft of conditions for the studentship, which I put into the lawyer's hands some ten or twelve days ago, and which is now come to me drawn up in legal form. You said it would interest you to see the draft, and I have been bearing this in mind, but have not been able to go to the desk where the copy lay. I hope to hear that you have been going on well despite the cruel, restless winds and sad intermittence of sunshine. On the 12th I am going to have two daughters-in-law, _five_ grandchildren, and servant for a week--if I can get well enough, as I have good hope now that I shall. The strawberries will be ripe then, and as I don't eat any myself it would be dolorous not to be able to have the children, and see them enjoy the juicy blessing. [Sidenote: Letter to John Blackwood, 16th July, 1879.] I was beginning to want some news of you, and was almost ready to ask for it. It is the more welcome for having had time to ripen into a decidedly good report of your condition. About myself I have a very poor story to tell, being now in the fifth week of a troublesome illness, in which, like you, I have been partly fed on "poisonous decoctions." To-day, however, happens to show a considerable improvement in my symptoms, and I have been walking in the warmer air with more ease than hitherto. Driving I have not been able to manage for some time, the motion of the carriage shaking me too much. The best of care has been taken of me. I have an excellent country doctor (Mr. Parsons of Godalming) who watches me daily; and Sir James Paget and Dr. Andrew Clark have been down to add their supervision. I begin to think that if I can avoid any evil condition, such as a chill that would bring on a relapse, I may soon be pretty well again. The point to be achieved is to stop the wasting of my not too solid flesh. I am glad to hear that the third edition of "Theophrastus" has had so lively a movement. If the remainder should be sold off I think it would be well just to print a small number of copies to carry on, and avoid bringing out a cheaper edition too soon after people have been paying for the expensive one. I have been always able to write my letters and read my proofs, usually in bed before the fatigue of dressing, but the rest of my time has been very unprofitable--spent chiefly in pain and languor. I am feeling easy now, and you will well understand that after undergoing pain this ease is opening paradise. Invalids must be excused for being eloquent about themselves. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 22d July, 1879.] I feel a perhaps too selfish need to tell you that things have gone ill with me since I last wrote to you. Why do I want to let you know this not agreeable news about myself? Chiefly because I want you to be quite clear that if I do not write to say, "When can you come to me?" it is not from indifference, but from misfortune of another sort. Meanwhile it will do me good to have little items of news from you, when you can find half an hour for the kind deed of writing me a letter. What helps me most is to be told things about others, and your letters are just of the sort I like to have. I am just now in one of my easier hours, and the demon wind has abated. He seems to enter into my pains with hideous rejoicing. [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 7th Aug. 1879.] Thank you for your kind note. There are to be more than as many proofs as you have already had, for which I must crave the valuable aid of your reading. You will understand all the better how much comfort it is to me to have your help as well as Professor Foster's, when I tell you that for the last eight weeks I have been seriously out of health, and have often been suffering much pain--a state which I imagine you know by experience to heighten all real anxieties, and usually to create unreal. It cheers me to be told by you that you think the volume interesting. In reading the MS. again and again I had got into a state of tremor about it which deprived me of judgment--just as if it were writing of my own, which I could not trust myself to pronounce upon. I hope that your own health, and Mrs. Sully's too, will have been benefited by your change from south to north. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 11th Aug. 1879.] I think that I am really getting better, and shall have to stay among the minority in this world a little longer than I had expected. Will you send me word how long you shall be at liberty, and whether you would think it worth while to come down to me one morning and stay till the afternoon of the following day? Your letter is delightful to me. Several spiritual kisses for it. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 19th Aug. 1879.] Thank you for your sweet affection. I have had rather a trying illness, which lasted, without great relief, for nearly eight weeks. But I hope that I am now out of it--that is, so far established that I may go on without a relapse. The cold weather was against me, as it was and is against much more important matters. The days of warmth and sunlight which have now and then blessed us have been my best medicine, though I acknowledge the benefit of pepsin and steel, and many other drugs. The gray skies and recurring rain are peculiarly dispiriting to me, and one seems to feel their influence all the more for the wide, beautiful view of field and hill which they sadden and half conceal. In town one thinks less of the sky. If you are ever writing to our dear Mrs. William Smith do give my love to her, and tell her I am very grateful to her for the letter she wrote me with the postmark _Ventnor_ upon it. With her usual delicacy of feeling she did not send her address, so that I could not write in return. [Sidenote: Letter to William Blackwood, 3d Sept. 1879.] I am much obliged to you for writing me your letter of pleasant news. It is wonderful how "Theophrastus" goes on selling in these bad times, and I have only to hope in addition that the buyers will be the better for it. Apparently we shall get through this last edition before Christmas, and then perhaps you will think of adding the volume to the Cabinet Edition. I am especially rejoiced to hear that your uncle is better again, and I trust that Strathtyrum is sharing our sunshine, which will be the best cure for him as for me. I am getting strong, and also am gaining flesh on my moderate scale. It really makes a difference to one's spirits to think that the harvest may now possibly be got in without utter ruin to the produce and unhappy producers. But this year will certainly prove a serious epoch, and initiate many changes in relation to farming. I fear, from what I have read, that the rich Lothians will have to be called compassionately the poor Lothians. By the way, if you happen to want any translation done from the French, and have not just the right person to do it, I think I can recommend a Miss Bradley Jenkins, of 50 Cornwall Road, Wesbourne Park, as one who has an unusually competent knowledge of French. We sat side by side on the same form translating Miss Edgeworth into French when we were girls. I have not seen her for many years, but I know that she has been engaged in a high order of teaching, and I have lately heard from her that she is anxious to get work of the kind in question. She already spoke French well when we were pupils together, and she has since been an unintermitting student. I wonder, talking of translators, how the young Mr. Ferrier is going on, who translated Kaufmann's pamphlet on "Deronda." What Mr. Blackwood told me of him interested me about his future. Oblige us all by not falling into another accident when the next hunting season comes. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 3d Sept. 1879.] Before I received your letter the other day I was intending to write to you to ask whether, now that I am stronger and the fine weather shows some signs of permanence, you feel any revival of the inclination to come and see me for a couple of days. I hardly like to propose your taking the journey, now that you are not being brought near me by other visits--for the railway from you to us is, I think, rather tiresome. But if your inclination really lies towards coming you will be affectionately welcomed. About the sea-side I am hopeless. The latter part of October is likely to be too cold for me to move about without risk of chills; and I hope to be back in town before the end of the month. I am not very fond of the sea-side, and this year it is likely to be crowded with people who have been hindered by the bad weather from going earlier. I prefer the Surrey hills and the security from draughts in one's own home. The one attraction of a coast place to me is a great breadth of sand to pace on when it is in its fresh firmness after the fall of the tide. But the sea itself is melancholy to me, only a little less so under warm sunlight, with plenty of fishing-smacks changing their shadows. All this is to let you know why I do not yield to the attraction of being with you, where we could chat as much or as little as we liked. I feel very much your affectionateness in wishing to have me near you. Write me word soon whether you feel able to come as far as this for my sake. [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 10th Sept. 1879.] I have read the article[38] with very grateful feelings. I think that he would himself have regarded it as a generally just estimate. And I am much obliged to you for sending it to me in proof. Your selection of subjects for remark, and the remarks themselves, are in accordance with my feeling to a comforting extent; and I shall always remain your debtor for writing the article. I trust you will not be forced to omit anything about his scientific and philosophical work, because that is the part of his life's labor which he most valued. Perhaps you a little underrate the (original) effect of his "Life of Goethe in Germany." It was received with enthusiasm, and an immense number of copies, in both the English and German form, have been sold in Germany since its appearance in 1854. I wish you were allowed to put your name to the article. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 17th Sept. 1879.] I am getting strong now after a long spell of medical discipline. All these long months I have been occupied with my husband's manuscripts: also with the foundation of a Physiological Studentship, which is my monument to his memory, and which is now all settled, as you may perhaps have seen by advertisements.[39] But I am not yet through the proof-reading of the final volume of "Problems of Life and Mind," which will contain the last sheets he ever wrote. I hear very good accounts of Madame Bodichon, who is coming to me for a couple of days on the 29th. You are wonderful for life and energy, in spite of your delicate looks. May you have all the strength you need for your sympathetic tasks! [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 7th Oct. 1879.] I have not yet thanked you--and I do so now very gratefully--for the help you have given me in my sad and anxious task. Your eyes have been a most precious aid, not only as a matter of fact, but as a ground of confidence. For I am not at all a good proof-reader, and have a thorough distrust of myself. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 18th Oct. 1879.] I cannot wish not to have been cheered by your triple letter, even though I have caused you to rise earlier in the morning, and to feel a disproportionate remorse. "Maggior difetto men vergogna lava," as says Virgil to the blushing Dante. And you have given me the fuller measure because I had to wait a little. Your legend of "Fair Women" interests me very much. I feel a citizen of the world again, knowing all the news. But the core of good news in your letter is that your husband is well again, and again happy in his work. Your collapse is what I feared for you; and you must call the getting change of air and scene--I was going to say "a duty," but are you one of those wonderful beings who find everything easier under that name? But at least one prefers doing a hard duty to grimacing with a pretence of pleasure in things that are no pleasure. I am greatly comforted this morning by the fact that the (apparently) right man is found for the George Henry Lewes Studentship--an ardent worker, who could not have carried on his pursuit without this help. I know you are not unmindful of what touches me deeply. Go on your visit, dear, and come back well--then show yourself without unnecessary delay to your loving friend. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, Saturday, 20th Oct. 1879.] I have had a delightful bit of news from Dr. Foster this morning. He had mentioned to me before that there was an Edinburgh student whom he had in his mind as the right one to elect. This morning he writes: "The trustees meet to-morrow to receive my nomination. I have chosen Dr. Charles Roy, an Edinburgh man, and Scotchman--not one of my own pupils. He is, I think, the most promising--by far the most promising--of our young physiologists, putting aside those who do not need the pecuniary assistance of the studentship. And the help comes to him just when it is most needed--he is in full swing of work, and was casting about for some means of supporting himself which would least interfere with his work, when I called his attention to the studentship. I feel myself very gratified that I can, at the very outset, recommend just the man, as it appears to me, for the post." This is a thing your father would have chosen as a result of his life. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, Tuesday, 27th Oct. 1879.] I have just had some news that grieves me. Mr. Blackwood is dangerously ill, and I fear, from Mr. William's letter, that there is little hope of recovery. He will be a heavy loss to me. He has been bound up with what I most cared for in my life for more than twenty years; and his good qualities have made many things easy to me that, without him, would often have been difficult.[40] I wrote to Mr. Trübner to tell him that the printing of the "Problems" being finished, I should be glad if he would arrange with you about the conditions of publication. Bear in mind your father's wish that the volumes should not be made dearer than necessary. I am going to Weybridge on Friday, and I intend to be at the Priory by Saturday before dusk. But it is _just possible_ I may be detained till Monday morning. So if you have any good occupation for Sunday you had better call on your way home on Monday. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Eleanor Cross, 29th Oct. 1879.] Your affectionate note would quite have determined me to do what, when your brother kindly proposed it, raised a certain longing in me. I thought that I should like to see you all in the remembered home again. But I have had a little check in health, and I am feeling so depressed that I shrink from making any engagement which involves others. A visitor to-day and my own languor threatens to throw me backward in my arrangements for leaving, and I have a sense of impossibility about everything that, under other conditions, would be a pleasure. I am afraid lest a fit of sadness should make me an oppression to you all; and my conclusion this morning is that I must give up the few hours' happiness of feeling your family love around me as I used to do, and simply go straight up to town with my servants. But if Friday morning brings me better hopes I will telegraph to you, since you allow me to wait till the eleventh hour. If you receive no telegram you will understand that I am still too downhearted to venture on a visit even to those who are among the best-loved of my friends. In that case you must all make me amends for my loss by coming to see me in the old place in town. Came to Weybridge on 31st October, and returned to the Priory on 1st November. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 8th Nov. 1879.] I came here just a week ago, and I had a superstition that you would come to me yesterday. But I used no enchantments--and so you didn't come. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Sara Hennell, 22d Nov. 1879, from the Priory.] I am very grateful to you for your kind letter. News about you all had been much desired by me; but I have now so many business letters to write that I am apt to defer such as are not absolutely necessary. The careful index is a sign of your effective industry, and I have no doubt that it will be a great help to yourself as well as to your readers. One very often needs an index to one's own writing. My chief objects are quite completed now. The Dr. Roy appointed to the studentship is held by competent persons to be the most hopeful of our young physiologists: and there is a volume of 501 pages (the last) of "Problems of Life and Mind" ready to appear next month. I am quite recovered from the ailment which made me good for little in the summer, and indeed am stronger than I ever expected to be again. People are very good to me, and I am exceptionally blessed in many ways; but more blessed are the dead who rest from their labors, and have not to dread a barren, useless survival. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 6th Dec. 1879, from the Priory.] I am very well, dear kind friend, all things considered. One cannot help getting occasional chills and headaches in this hard, wintry time. Oh, yes, I read the _Times_ with great interest, and am much concerned to know what my contemporaries are doing. My time is very fully occupied, for I have now to write a great many letters, such as used to be written for me, and I would willingly spend the time thus taken up in another sort of reading and writing. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 5th Jan. 1880.] Thank you a thousand times, my dear friend, for your tender New Year's greeting and inquiries. I have passed well from "under the saws and harrows" of the severe cold, and am better, both in apparent organic soundness and in strength for all occupation, than I once thought was possible for me. Our dear Barbara is painting in water colors again from her window--just as of old. I know you will be glad to hear of this. And I am now seeing many other friends, who interest me and bring me reports of their several worlds. The great public calamities of the past year have helped to quiet one's murmuring spirit in relation to private sorrows, and the prospect for the future is not yet very bright. One thinks of mothers like Mrs. Ruck, whose best-loved sons are in Afghanistan. But we must live as much as we can for human joy, dwelling on sorrow and pain only so far as the consciousness of it may help us in striving to remedy them. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 19th Jan. 1880.] Life has seemed worse without my glimpses of you. And now I have not the amends of thinking that you are out of our Egyptian darkness and getting health in the country. I must drive over to ask about you as soon as I can. As the year went on, George Eliot began to see all her old friends again. But her life was nevertheless a life of heart-loneliness. Accustomed as she had been for so many years to solitude _à deux_, the want of close companionship continued to be very bitterly felt. She was in the habit of going with me very frequently to the National Gallery, and to other exhibitions of pictures, to the British Museum sculptures, and to South Kensington. This constant association engrossed me completely, and was a new interest to her. A bond of mutual dependence had been formed between us. On the 28th March she came down to Weybridge and stayed till the 30th; and on the 9th April it was finally decided that our marriage should take place as soon, and as privately, as might be found practicable. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Eleanor Cross, 13th April, 1880.] You can hardly think how sweet the name sister is to me, that I have not been called by for so many, many years. Without your tenderness I do not believe it would have been possible for me to accept this wonderful renewal of my life. Nothing less than the prospect of being loved and welcomed by you all could have sustained me. But now I cherish the thought that the family life will be the richer and not the poorer through your brother's great gift of love to me. Yet I quail a little in facing what has to be gone through--the hurting of many whom I care for. You are doing everything you can to help me, and I am full of gratitude to you all for his sake as well as my own. The springs of affection are reopened in me, and it will make me better to be among you--more loving and trustful. I valued Florence's little visit very much. You and she will come again--will you not?--to your sister. [Sidenote: Letter to Frederic Harrison, 19th April, 1880.] I have found the spot in "The Prelude" where the passage I mentioned occurs. It is in book viii., "The Retrospect," towards the end: "The human nature unto which I felt That I belonged, and reverenced with love, Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit Diffused through time and space, with aid derived Of evidence from monuments, erect, Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest In earth, the widely scattered wreck sublime Of vanished nations." The bit of brickwork in the rock is "With aid derived from evidence." I think you would find much to suit your purpose in "The Prelude," such as-- "There is One great society alone on earth: The noble Living and the noble Dead." Except for travelling, and for popular distribution, I prefer Moxon's one-volumed edition of Wordsworth to any selection. No selection gives you the perfect gems to be found in single lines, or in half a dozen lines which are to be found in the "dull" poems. I am sorry Matthew Arnold has not included the sonnet beginning-- "I griev'd for Buonaparté with a vain And an unthinking grief--" and which has these precious lines, "'Tis not in battles that from youth we train The governor who must be wise and good, And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood. _Wisdom doth live with children round her knees._" Has he the magnificent sonnet on Toussaint l'Ouverture? I don't know where there is anything finer than the last eight lines of it. Please don't acknowledge this note, else you will neutralize my pleasure in sending it by making me feel that I have given you trouble. [Sidenote: Letter to the Hon. Lady Lytton, 24th April, 1880.] The beautiful photograph has reached me safely, and I am very grateful to you for your kindness in sending it to me. In comparing it with the photograph which you gave me seven or eight years ago I see the effect of a saddening experience which the years must bring to us all, but, to my feeling, the face is the more endearing because of that effect. You have been very often in my thoughts, because I have associated you with public affairs, and have imagined sympathetically how they must have affected your private life. I am sure that this momentous experience in India has been a hard discipline both for you and for Lord Lytton. I can imagine he has often been sick at heart with the near vision, which his post forces on him, of human meanness and rancor. You, too, must have gathered some melancholy knowledge of that sort, which has perhaps changed a little the curves of the mouth and the glance of the eyes since those Vienna days, when the delightful M. de Villers helped to make the hours pleasant to us. I saw the photographs of your daughters, which gave me an idea how fast the dramatic authoress has developed physically as well as mentally. When I first saw her at Vienna she was the prettiest little rosebud. Mrs. Strachey called the other day when I was out, and among other reasons for my being sorry not to have seen her, was the having missed some authentic news about your probable movements. What happens to you will always have interest for me, since I have long been, with sincere regard, yours most truly. On the 24th April George Eliot came down to Weybridge, and stayed till the 26th. [Sidenote: Letter to James Sully, 26th April, 1880.] I am deeply obliged to you for the care with which you have treated the final volume of "The Problems" in the _Academy_, which you have kindly sent me. I think you could hardly have written more effectively towards exciting an interest in the work in the minds of the comparatively few who really care for the study of psychology. You have added one more to the obligations which will make me always yours gratefully. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 5th May, 1880.] I have something to tell you which will doubtless be a great surprise to you; but since I have found that other friends, less acquainted with me and my life than you are, have given me their sympathy, I think that I can count on yours. I am going to do what not very long ago I should myself have pronounced impossible for me, and therefore I should not wonder at any one else who found my action incomprehensible. By the time you receive this letter I shall (so far as the future can be matter of assertion) have been married to Mr. J. W. Cross, who, you know, is a friend of years, a friend much loved and trusted by Mr. Lewes, and who, now that I am alone, sees his happiness in the dedication of his life to me. This change in my position will make no change in my care for Mr. Lewes's family, and in the ultimate disposition of my property. Mr. Cross has a sufficient fortune of his own. We are going abroad for a few months, and I shall not return to live at this house. Mr. Cross has taken the lease of a house, No. 4 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, where we shall spend the winter and early spring, making Witley our summer home. I indulge the hope that you will some day look at the river from the windows of our Chelsea house, which is rather quaint and picturesque. Please tell Bessie[41] for me, with my love to her. I cannot write to more than two or three persons. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 5th May, 1880.] A great, momentous change is going to take place in my life. My indisposition last week and several other subsequent circumstances have hindered me from communicating it to you, and the time has been but short since the decision was come to. But with your permission Charles will call on you and tell you what he can on Saturday. Yours and Emily's ever, with unchanging love. [Sidenote: Journal, 1880.] _May 6._--Married this day at 10.15 to John Walter Cross, at St. George's, Hanover Square. Present, Charles, who gave me away, Mr. and Mrs. Druce, Mr. Hall, William, Mary, Eleanor, and Florence Cross. We went back to the Priory, where we signed our wills. Then we started for Dover and arrived there a little after five o'clock. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Eleanor Cross, 9th May, 1880.] Your letter was a sweet greeting to us on our arrival here yesterday. We had a millennial cabin on the deck of the Calais-Douvres, and floated over the strait as easily as the saints float upward to heaven (in the pictures). At Amiens we were very comfortably housed, and paid two enraptured visits, evening and morning, to the cathedral. I was delighted with J.'s delight in it. And we read our dear old cantos of the "Inferno" that we were reading a year ago, declining afterwards on "Eugénie Grandet." The nice woman who waited on us made herself very memorable to me by her sketch of her own life. She went to England when she was nineteen as a lady's maid--had been much _ennuyée de sa mère_, detested _les plaisirs_, liked only her regular every-day work and _la paix_. Here we have a very fair _appartement_, and plenty of sunlight, _au premier_. Before dinner we walked up to the Arc de l'Étoile and back again, enjoying the lovely greenth and blossoms of the horse-chestnuts, which are in their first glory, innocent of dust or of one withered petal. This morning at twelve o'clock we are going to the Russian church, where J. has never been, and where I hope we shall hear the wonderful intoning and singing as I heard it years ago. This is the chronicle of our happy married life, three days long--all its happiness conscious of a dear background in those who are loving us at Weybridge, at Thornhill, and at Ranby. You are all inwoven into the pattern of my thoughts, which would have a sad lack without you. I like to go over again in imagination all the scene in the church and in the vestry, and to feel every loving look from the eyes of those who were rejoicing for us. Besides Professor Sellar's letter, which touched J. with grateful surprise, we have had one to him from Mr. Frederic Harrison, saying everything affectionate, and two very finely felt letters from Edith Simcox--one to him enclosing the one to me. Certainly, she has a rare generosity and elevation which find their easy channel in writing. My love to Henry and to the gentle Berthe,[42] who was an invisible presence at our wedding. I think I must thank Florence, too, for her letter to J.; for we accept to the full the principle of "what is mine is thine" on each side. What most comforted him this morning was a letter from Albert Druce about the Chelsea house. His usual exclamation over anything from Albert is that his brother-in-law is the most satisfactory of men! Write us word about everything, and consider yourselves all very much loved and spiritually petted by your loving sister. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 21st May, 1880, from Grenoble.] This place is so magnificently situated, in a smiling valley, with the Isère flowing through it, and surrounded by grand and various lines of mountains, and we were so enraptured by our expedition yesterday to the Grande Chartreuse that we congratulate ourselves greatly on our choice of route. I think it unlikely that we shall want to wander beyond the second week in July. We shall begin to long for home just when the rest of the London world are longing for travel. We are seeing nature in her happiest moment now--the foliage on all the tremendous heights, the soft slopes, and the richly clad valleys on the way to the Chartreuse is all fresh and tender, shone through by a sunlight which cherishes and does not burn us. I had but one regret in seeing the sublime beauty of the Grande Chartreuse. It was that the Pater had not seen it. I would still give up my own life willingly if he could have the happiness instead of me. But marriage has seemed to restore me to my old self. I was getting hard, and if I had decided differently, I think I should have become very selfish. To feel daily the loveliness of a nature close to me, and to feel grateful for it, is the fountain of tenderness and strength to endure. Glorious weather always, and I am very well--quite amazingly able to go through fatigue. [Sidenote: Letter to Miss Florence Cross, 25th May, 1880.] Our life since we wrote to you has been a chapter of delights--Grenoble--Grande Chartreuse--Chambéry--paradisiacal walk to Les Charmettes--roses gathered in Jean Jacques' garden--Mont Cenis Tunnel and emergence into Italian sunshine. Milan, comfortable _appartement_, delicious privacy, and great minds condescending to relax themselves! We got here yesterday, and of course our first walk was to the post, where we found your delightful budget and other letters, which we took to a _café_ in the grand _galleria_ and read at our ease to the accompaniment of tea. Two of my letters yesterday touched me very gratefully. One was from "Brother Jimmy"--the prettiest letter possible. The other letter that moved me was one from my own brother. Then J. had a graceful letter of congratulation from Mr. Henry James, who is still at Florence. I think you did not send that letter of Mr. Edmund Gurney's which you mention. I am fond of seeing the letters which put my friends in an amiable light for my imagination. And now that I have had that charming letter from my new brother in America, I feel that my family initiation is complete. No woman was ever more sweetly received by brothers and sisters than I have been; and it is a happy, new longing in my life that I may return into their bosoms some of the gladness they have poured into mine. I have been uninterruptedly well, and feel quite strong with all sorts of strength except strong-mindedness. We are going to hear the music in the Duomo at eleven, and after that we intend to pay our first visit to the Brera gallery. It is our present plan to stay here for some days, and we enjoy the thought of a little stationary life such as we have not had since we left Paris. We often talk of our sisters, oftener think of them. You are our children, you know. [Sidenote: Letter to Isaac P. Evans, 26th May, 1880.] Your letter was forwarded to me here, and it was a great joy to me to have your kind words of sympathy, for our long silence has never broken the affection for you which began when we were little ones. My husband, too, was much pleased to read your letter. I have known his family for eleven years, and they have received me among them very lovingly. The only point to be regretted in our marriage is that I am much older than he; but his affection has made him choose this lot of caring for me rather than any other of the various lots open to him. Emily Clarke has lately sent me rather a sad account of Sarah's[43] health. I trust that it is now better, for I think it is her lungs that chiefly trouble her, and summer may act beneficently on them. Please give my love to her, and tell her that I like the assurance of her share in the good wishes you send me. I have often heard of Frederick[44] through the admiration of those who have heard him preach; and it has been a happy thought to me that you and Sarah must feel it a great comfort to have him as well as Walter settled near you. Edith is the only one of your children whom I have seen since they have been grown up, and I thought her a noble-looking woman. We are going to remain abroad until some time in July, and shall then return to the Heights, Witley, Surrey. Our home in London will be 4 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, looking on a very picturesque bit of the river. I hope that your own health is quite good now, and that you are able to enjoy the active life which I know you are fond of. Always your affectionate sister. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 28th May, 1880.] Many thanks for your delightful letter, which came to me yesterday, with a loving though brief letter from Mrs. Congreve to keep it company in making the day agreeable. We arrived here on Monday, and have been induced by a nice quiet apartment and pleasant attendance to carry out our plan of resting here and deliberately seeing what is to be seen in this cheerful, prosperous city. I am glad to find that the Luini pictures come up to my remembrance, and that J. is much impressed by his introduction to them. I continue remarkably well, and am every day surprising myself by the amount of walking, standing, and looking that I can go through. To-morrow or the next day we intend to go on to Verona, then, after a sufficient pause to enjoy that glorious place, we shall move on to Padua and Venice, where it will be best for you to send anything you may have to send. I like to see the letters. They make one realize the fact of one's home and little world there amid the dreaminess of foreign travel. We take our meals in our own apartment and see nothing of our fellow-guests in the hotel--only hear their British and American voices when they air themselves in the _cortile_ after their dinner. The weather has hitherto been delicious, not excessively warm, always with a pleasant movement in the air; but this morning there is a decided advance in heat, and we shall both have our theory of great heat being the best thing for us well tested in the next month. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 29th May and 1st June, 1880, from Verona.] The change I make in the date of this letter is a sign of the difficulty you well know that one finds in writing all the letters one wants to write while travelling. Ever since Charles forwarded to me your dear letter while I was in Paris I have been meaning to write to you. That letter was doubly sweet to me because it was written before you received mine, _intended_ to inform you of my marriage before it appeared in the newspapers. Charles says that my friends are chiefly hurt because I did not tell them of the approaching change in my life. But I really did not finally, absolutely, decide--I was in a state of doubt and struggle--until only a fortnight before the event took place, so that at last everything was done in the utmost haste. However, there were four or five friends, of whom you were one, to whom I was resolved to write, so that they should at least get my letter on the morning of the 6th. I had more than once said to Mr. Cross that you were that one of my friends who required the least explanation on the subject--who would spontaneously understand our marriage. But Charles sends me word that my friends in general are very sympathetic, and I should like to mention to you that Bessie[45] is one whose very kind words he has sent to me, for you may have an opportunity of giving my love to her, and telling her that it is very sweet to me to feel that her affection is constant to me in this as it was in other crises of my life. I wish, since you can no longer come in and out among us as you used to do, that you already knew my husband better. His family welcome me with the uttermost tenderness. All this is wonderful blessing falling to me beyond my share, after I had thought that my life was ended, and that, so to speak, my coffin was ready for me in the next room. Deep down below there is a hidden river of sadness, but this must always be with those who have lived long--and I am able to enjoy my newly reopened life. I shall be a better, more loving creature than I could have been in solitude. To be constantly, lovingly grateful for the gift of a perfect love is the best illumination of one's mind to all the possible good there may be in store for man on this troublous little planet. We leave Verona to-day, and stay a little at Padua on our way to Venice. Hitherto we have had delightful weather, and just the temperature we rejoice in. We are both fond of warmth, and could bear more heat than we have the prospect of at present. Yesterday we had a drive on the skirting heights of Verona, and saw the vast fertile plain around, with the Euganean hills, blue in the distance, and the Apennines just dimly visible on the clear margin of the horizon. I am always made happier by seeing well-cultivated land. We came into Italy by way of Grenoble (seeing the Grande Chartreuse), Chambéry, and the Mont Cenis Tunnel; since then we have been staying at Milan and enjoying the Luini frescoes and a few other great things there. The great things are always by comparison few, and there is much everywhere one would like to help seeing, after it has once served to give one a notion of historical progression. We shall stay at Venice for ten days or a fortnight; so if you have a scribe, or would write yourself, to tell me that all is going on well with you, the letter would not, as the Scotch say, "go amissing." [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 9th June, 1880, from Venice.] We both enjoyed reading your letter on the morning after our arrival at this enchanting city, where the glorious light, with comparative stillness and total absence of dust, makes a paradise much more desirable than that painted by Tintoretto on the wall of the Consiglio Maggiore. Nothing but the advent of mosquitoes would make it easy for us to tear ourselves away from this place, where every prospect pleases, but also where one is obliged to admit that man is somewhat vile. I am sadly disappointed in the aspect of the Venetian populace. Even physically they look less endowed than I thought them when we were here under the Austrian dominion. We have hardly seen a sweet or noble woman's face since we arrived; but the men are not quite so ill-looking as the women. The singing here (by itinerant performers in gondolas) is disgraceful to Venice and to Italy. Coarse voices, much out of tune, make one shudder when they strike suddenly under the window. Our days here are passed quite deliciously. We see a few beautiful pictures or other objects of interest, and dwell on them sufficiently every morning, not hurrying ourselves to do much; and afterwards we have a _giro_ in our gondola, enjoying the air and the sight of marvellous Venice from various points of view and under various aspects. Hitherto we have had no _heat_, only warmth, with a light breeze. To-day, for the first time, one thinks that violent exercise must be terribly trying for our red-skinned fellow-mortals at work on the gondolas and the barges. But for us it is only pleasant to find the air warm enough for sitting out in the evening. We shall not soon run away from Venice unless some plague--_e.g._, mosquitoes--should arise to drive us. We edify ourselves with what Ruskin has written about Venice, in an agreeable pamphlet shape, using his knowledge gratefully, and shutting our ears to his wrathful innuendoes against the whole modern world. And we are now nearly at the end of Alfieri's autobiography, which is a deeply interesting study of character. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 10th June, 1880.] It may well seem incredible to you, for it is hardly credible to myself, that while I have been longing to write to you ever since I received your dear letter, I have not found the time to satisfy my longing. Perhaps you are more able than most people to conceive the difficulty of getting a clear half-hour between the business of travelling and the attention to little details of packing and toilet, over and above the companionship of talk and reading. Certainly I have thought of you all the more, but you have not known that, and I have lost my claim to hear about you--a use and wont which I would not willingly part with. I wonder whether you have imagined--I believe that you are quick to imagine for the benefit of others--all the reasons why it was left at last to Charles to tell you of the great, once undreamed-of change in my life. The momentous decision, in fact, was not made till scarcely more than a fortnight before my marriage; and even if opportunity had lent itself to my confiding everything to you, I think I could hardly have done it at a time when your presence filled me rather with a sense of your and Emily's trouble[46] than with my own affairs. Perhaps Charles will have told you that the marriage deprives no one of any good I felt bound to render before--it only gives me a more strenuous position, in which I cannot sink into the self-absorption and laziness I was in danger of before. The whole history is something like a miracle-legend. But instead of any former affection being displaced in my mind, I seem to have recovered the loving sympathy that I was in danger of losing. I mean, that I had been conscious of a certain drying-up of tenderness in me, and that now the spring seems to have risen again. Who could take your place within me or make me amends for the loss of you? And yet I should not take it bitterly if you felt some alienation from me. Such alienation is very natural where a friend does not fulfil expectations of long standing. We have already been ten days at Venice, but we hope to remain as long again, not fearing the heat, which has hitherto been only a false alarm in the minds of English travellers. If you could find time to send me word how you all are--yourself, Dr. Congreve after his holiday, and Emily, with all her cares about removal--a letter sent to the _Poste Restante_ here would reach me, even if we had left before the next ten days were over. We shall hardly be at Witley before the middle of July: but the sense of neighborhood to you at Witley is sadly ended now. We thought too little of the heat, and rather laughed at English people's dread of the sun. But the mode of life at Venice has its peculiar dangers. It is one thing to enjoy heat when leading an active life, getting plenty of exercise in riding or rowing in the evenings; it is another thing to spend all one's days in a gondola--a delicious, dreamy existence--going from one church to another--from palaces to picture-galleries--sight-seeing of the most exhaustively interesting kind--traversing constantly the _piccoli rei_, which are nothing more than drains, and with bedroom-windows always open on the great drain of the Grand Canal. The effect of this continual bad air, and the complete and sudden deprivation of all bodily exercise, made me thoroughly ill. As soon as I could be moved we left Venice, on the 23d of June, and went to Innspruck, where we stayed for a week, and in the change to the pure, sweet, mountain air I soon regained strength. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 7th July, 1880, from Stuttgart.] I was made very glad by Gertrude's letter, which assured me that Witley had been enjoyed by you and the little ones. We stayed six days at Innspruck, finding it more and more beautiful under the sunshine which had been wanting to it during our first two days. Then we went on to Munich, and yesterday we arrived here, as a temporary resting-place on our way to Wildbad, which, we hope, will put the finishing-touch to J.'s recovery of his usual health. I wish I had been able to let you know in time that you could have remained a little longer at Witley, as I think we shall hardly be at home before the 20th if we find Wildbad what we want. Your _Mutter_ is marvellously well and strong. It seems more natural to her to have anxiety than to be free from it. Let us hope that she will not run down like a jelly-fish now that her anxiety is over. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 13th July, 1880, from Wildbad.] I received your welcome letter yesterday morning, and felt inclined to answer it the next minute. J. is quite well again, but is inclined to linger a little in the sweet air of the Schwarzwald, which comes to one on gently stirred wings, laden with the scent of the pine forests. We mean to drive from here to Baden, which is within easy distance. Yesterday we sallied forth for a walk over the mountain, to a place where we could rest and lunch, returning in the afternoon. The sky was brilliant. But in half an hour the clouds gathered and threatened a storm. We were prudent enough to turn back, and by the time we were in the hotel again the thunder was rolling and the rain pouring down. This continued till about two o'clock, and then again the sky became clear. I never saw so incalculable a state of weather as we have in this valley. One quarter of an hour the blue sky is only flecked by lightest cirrus clouds, the next it is almost hidden by dark rain clouds. But we are going to start on our promised expedition this morning, the sunshine flattering us that it is quite confirmed. I think you had better address your next letter _Poste Restante_, Strasburg, as I am uncertain how long we shall rest at Baden. Left Wildbad on the 17th July, and had a delightful drive through the Black Forest by Herrenalb to Baden, and thence by Strasburg, Metz, Luxemburg, and Brussels, arriving at Witley on Monday the 26th of July. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 1st Aug. 1880.] We arrived here in all safety last Monday, and if I had not had your welcome little note this morning I think I should soon have written to you without any such extra stimulus. Mr. Cross had a sharp but brief attack at Venice, due to the unsanitary influences of that wondrous city in the later weeks of June. We stayed a little too long there, with a continuous sirocco blowing, and bad smells under the windows of the hotel; and these conditions found him a little below par from long protracted anxiety before our marriage. But ever since we left Venice (on the 23d of June) he has been getting strong again, and we have enjoyed a leisurely journey through Germany in constant warmth and sunshine, save for an occasional thunderstorm. The climate in this beloved country of ours is a sad exchange, and makes one think of a second bad harvest, with all its consequences. Still, it is a delight to be at home and enjoy perfect stillness, after the noisiness of foreign bells and foreign voices indoors and out. It would be very pretty to pay you a visit next April, if we are all alive, and I think Mr. Cross would like it very much. He sends you, hoping you will accept them, his best remembrances, which have been kept up by our often talking about you. I have been amazingly well through all the exertion of our travels, and in the latter half of the time have done a great deal of walking. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Peter Taylor, 2d Aug. 1880.] How sweet of you to write me a little welcome as soon as you knew that I was at home again. Yes, we are both well now, and _glad_ to be at home again, though the change of climate is not of the exhilarating sort. One is so sorry for all the holiday-makers, whose best enjoyment of these three days would have been in the clear air and sunshine. Do not reproach me for not telling you of my marriage beforehand. It is difficult to speak of what surprises ourselves, and the decision was sudden, though not the friendship which led to the decision. My heart thoroughly responds to your remembrance of our long--our thirty-years' relation to each other. Let me tell you this once what I have said to others--that I value you as one of the purest-minded, gentlest-hearted women I have ever known, and where such a feeling exists, friendship can live without much aid from sight. We shall probably not be in town again till the beginning of November. Our address then will be 4 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, where we shall have an outlook on the river and meadows beyond. Just now we have the prospect of going on family visits to married sisters, which prevents us from feeling quite settled. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 12th Aug. 1880.] I expected your letter, and expected, too, just the sort of letter I have received, telling me everything delightfully. I can follow you everywhere in your journeying except to Ober Wesel. I hope you will have enjoyed St. Blasien and some of the walks there consecrated by the beloved Pater's footsteps. We reversed your drive and went to Freiburg, so that I can enter into your enjoyment of the Höllenthal. I am glad that your weather has been temperate. Here we have now had four sunny and really hot days, and this morning promises to be the fifth. That is consolatory as to the harvest, and is very agreeable as to our private life. The last two evenings we have walked in the garden after eight o'clock--the first time by starlight, the second under a vapory sky, with the red moon setting. The air was perfectly still and warm, and I felt no need of extra clothing. Our life has had no more important events than calls from neighbors and our calls in return. To-morrow we pay our visit to the Druces at Sevenoaks, where, you may remember, Mr. Druce has built a beautiful house. At the beginning of September we are to visit Mr. and Mrs. Otter at Ranby, and after that we shall go to Six-Mile Bottom for a day or two. Then our wanderings will be over. I went to the Priory the other day, and found a treatise on Blood Pressure, by Dr. Roy, which he had sent me there, and which he has published as the "George Henry Lewes Student." I imagine that he has come to pursue his studies in England, as he intended to do. Delbeuf's article on the last volume of the "Problems" (in the Belgian _Athenæum_) is very nicely done. He has read the book. I am pretty well, but find myself more languid than I was when abroad. I think the cause is perhaps the moisture of the climate. There is something languorous in this climate, or, rather, in its effects. J. gets a little better every day, and so each day is more enjoyable. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 9th Sept. 1880.] We have just come home after paying family visits in Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire, else I should have answered your letter earlier. The former one reached me in Venice, when I was in great trouble on account of Mr. Cross's illness. I had had reason to believe that my letters, ordered to be posted on the 5th of May, had not been delivered; so I asked Charles to inquire about the letter I wrote to you--not because it demanded an answer, but because I wished you to know that I had written. I am so glad to know that you have been enjoying our brief English summer. The good harvest makes the country everywhere cheerful, and we have been in great, even districts where the fields, full of sheaves or studded with ricks, stretch wide as a prairie. Now, we hope not to leave this place again till November, when we intend to go to Chelsea for the winter and earliest spring. I almost envy you the opportunity of seeing Wombwell's Menagerie. I suppose I got more delight out of that itinerant institution when I was nine or ten years old than I have ever got out of the Zoological Gardens. The smells and the sawdust mingled themselves with my rapture. Everything was good. It was very dear of you to write to me before you finished your holiday. My love attends you all. [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 14th Sept. 1880.] Your letter this morning is a welcome assurance about you. We have been away in Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire, paying visits to the Otters and the Halls. The weather, which is now broken, was glorious through all our wandering, which we made very interesting by pausing to see Ely, Peterborough, and Lincoln cathedrals. The Otters have a very pretty, happy household. He is a country gentleman now, acting as a magistrate, and glancing towards Parliament. But he keeps up his reading, and is delightful to talk to. Emily looks very pretty in her matronly position, with three little children. The Halls, too, are very pleasant to behold in their home life. He has done wonders in building nice cottages and schools, and sinking wells where they were wanted, and founding a co-operative store--and, in general, doing whatever opportunity allows towards slowly improving this confused world. We saw (at Six-Mile Bottom) Mr. and Mrs. Sidgwick. Perhaps you know that they have had, and have, the admirable public spirit to let their house and arrange to live for a year in the new Newnham House, in order to facilitate matters for the double institution. We are very well. Mr. Cross gets stronger and brighter every day. We often mention you, because you are associated with so many of my memories. Our only bugbear--it is a very little one--is the having to make preliminary arrangements towards settling ourselves in the new house (4 Cheyne Walk). It is a quaint house; and a Mr. Armitage of Manchester, of whom you may have heard, has been superintending the decoration and furnishing, but not to the exclusion of old things, which we must carry and stow, especially wallings of books. I am become so lazy that I shrink from all such practical work. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 23d Sept. 1880.] I have been and am suffering under an attack of a comparatively mild sort, but I expect to be well in two or three days, and am just going to drive to Godalming to meet my husband. Hence I write this hurriedly. We should like to see you and Gertrude from Saturday to Monday some week next month if it would be pleasant to you. This attack was a recurrence of the renal disorder of the previous year. On the 29th September we went for ten days to Brighton as the most accessible place for a bracing change. The first effects of the sea breezes were encouraging, but the improvement was not maintained. Shortly after our return to Witley Dr. Andrew Clark,[47] "the beloved physician," came down to consult with Mr. Parsons of Godalming--on 22d October. From that time there was gradual but slow improvement, and, during November, a decided recovery of strength. But an English autumn was not favorable to the invalid. Her sensibility to climatic influences was extreme. It will have been noticed in the preceding letters how constantly change of air and scene was required. I had never seen my wife out of England, previous to our marriage, except the first time at Rome, when she was suffering. My general impression, therefore, had been that her health was always very low, and that she was almost constantly ailing. Moreover, I had been with her very frequently during her long, severe illness at Witley in 1879. I was the more surprised, after our marriage, to find that from the day she set her foot on Continental soil till the day she returned to Witley she was never ill--never even unwell. She began at once to look many years younger. During the eleven years of our acquaintance I had never seen her so strong in health. The greater dryness and lightness of the atmosphere seemed to have a magical effect. At Paris we spent our mornings at the Louvre or the Luxembourg, looking at pictures or sculpture, or seeing other sights--always fatiguing work. In the afternoons we took long walks in the Bois, and very often went to the theatre in the evening. Reading and writing filled in all the interstices of time; yet there was no consciousness of fatigue. And we had the same experience at all the places we stayed at in Italy. On our way home she was able to take a great deal of walking exercise at Wildbad and Baden. Decrease of physical strength coincided exactly with the time of our return to the damper climate of England. The specific form of illness did not declare itself until two months later, but her health was never again the same as it had been on the Continent. Towards the middle of October she was obliged to keep her bed, but without restriction as to amount of reading and talking, which she was always able to enjoy, except in moments of acute pain. During her illness I read aloud, among other books, Comte's "Discours Préliminaire," translated by Dr. Bridges. This volume was one of her especial favorites, and she delighted in making me acquainted with it. For all Comte's writing she had a feeling of high admiration, intense interest, and very deep sympathy. I do not think I ever heard her speak of any writer with a more grateful sense of obligation for enlightenment. Her great debt to him was always thankfully acknowledged. But the appreciation was thoroughly selective, so far as I was able to judge. Parts of his teaching were accepted and other parts rejected. Her attitude towards him, as the founder of a new religion, may be gathered from the references and allusions in the foregoing correspondence, and from the fact that for many years, and up to the time of her death, she subscribed to the Comtist Fund, but never, so far as I am aware, more directly associated herself with the members of the Positivist Church. It was a limited adherence. We generally began our reading at Witley with some chapters of the Bible, which was a very precious and sacred book to her, not only from early associations, but also from the profound conviction of its importance in the development of the religious life of man. She particularly enjoyed reading aloud some of the finest chapters of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and St. Paul's Epistles. With a naturally rich, deep voice, rendered completely flexible by constant practice; with the keenest perception of the requirements of emphasis, and with the most subtile modulations of tone, her reading threw a glamour over indifferent writing, and gave to the greatest writing fresh meanings and beauty. The Bible and our elder English poets best suited the organ-like tones of her voice, which required, for their full effect, a certain solemnity and majesty of rhythm. Her reading of Milton was especially fine; and I shall never forget four great lines of the "Samson Agonistes" to which it did perfect justice-- "But what more oft in nations grown corrupt, And by their vices brought to servitude, Than to love bondage more than liberty, Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty." The delighted conviction of justice in the thought--the sense of perfect accord between thought, language, and rhythm--stimulated the voice of the reader to find the exactly right tone. Such reading requires for its perfection a rare union of intellectual, moral, and physical qualities. It cannot be imitated. It is an art, like singing--a personal possession that dies with the possessor, and leaves nothing behind except a memory. Immediately before her illness we had read, together, the first part of "Faust." Reading the poem in the original with such an interpreter was the opening of a new world to me. Nothing in all literature moved her more than the pathetic situation and the whole character of Gretchen. It touched her more than anything in Shakespeare. During the time that we were reading the "Faust" we were also constantly reading, together, Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth: some of Scott's novels and Lamb's essays too, in which she greatly delighted. For graver study we read through Professor Sayce's "Introduction to the Science of Language." Philology was a subject in which she was most deeply interested; and this was my first experience of what seemed to me a limitless persistency in application. I had noticed the persistency before, while looking at pictures, or while hearing her play difficult music; for it was characteristic of her nature that she took just as great pains to play her very best to a single unlearned listener as most performers would do to a room full of critical _cognoscenti_. Professor Sayce's book was the first which we had read together requiring very sustained attention ("The Divina Commedia" we had read in very short bits at a time), and it revealed to me more clearly the depth of George Eliot's mental concentration. Continuous thought did not fatigue her. She could keep her mind on the stretch hour after hour: the body might give way, but the brain remained unwearied. Her memory held securely her great stores of reading. Even of light books her recollections were always crisp, definite, and vivid. On our way home from Venice, after my illness, we were reading French novels of Cherbuliez, Alphonse Daudet, Gustave Droz, George Sand. Most of these books she had read years before, and I was astonished to find what clear-cut, accurate impressions had been retained, not only of all the principal characters, but also of all the subsidiary personages--even their names were generally remembered. But, on the other hand, her verbal memory was not always to be depended on. She never could trust herself to write a quotation without verifying it. In foreign languages George Eliot had an experience more unusual among women than among men. With a complete literary and scholarly knowledge of French, German, Italian, and Spanish, she _spoke_ all four languages with difficulty, though accurately and grammatically; but the mimetic power of catching intonation and accent was wanting. Greek and Latin she could read with thorough delight to herself; and Hebrew was a favorite study to the end of her life. In her younger days, especially at Geneva, inspired by Professor de la Rive's lectures, she had been greatly interested in mathematical studies. At one time she applied herself heartily and with keen enjoyment to geometry, and she thought that she might have attained to some excellence in that branch if she had been able to pursue it. In later days the map of the heavens lay constantly on her table at Witley, and she longed for deeper astronomical knowledge. She had a passion for the stars; and one of the things to which we looked forward on returning to London was a possible visit to Greenwich Observatory, as she had never looked through a great telescope of the first class. Her knowledge of wild-flowers gave a fresh interest each day to our walks in the Surrey lanes, as every hedgerow is full of wonders--to "those who know;" but she would, I think, have disclaimed for herself real botanical knowledge, except of an elementary sort. This wide and varied culture was accompanied with an unaffected distrust of her own knowledge, with the sense of how little she really knew, compared with what it was possible for her to have known, in the world. Her standard was always abnormally high--it was the standard of an expert; and she believed in the aphorism that to know any subject well we must know the details of it. During our short married life our time was so much divided between travelling and illness that George Eliot wrote very little, so that I have but slight personal experience of how the creative effort affected her. But she told me that, in all that she considered her best writing, there was a "not herself," which took possession of her, and that she felt her own personality to be merely the instrument through which this spirit, as it were, was acting. Particularly she dwelt on this in regard to the scene in "Middlemarch" between Dorothea and Rosamond, saying that, although she always knew they had, sooner or later, to come together, she kept the idea resolutely out of her mind until Dorothea was in Rosamond's drawing-room. Then, abandoning herself to the inspiration of the moment, she wrote the whole scene exactly as it stands, without alteration or erasure, in an intense state of excitement and agitation, feeling herself entirely possessed by the feelings of the two women. Of all the characters she had attempted she found Rosamond's the most difficult to sustain. With this sense of "possession" it is easy to imagine what the cost to the author must have been of writing books, each of which has its tragedy. We have seen the suffering alluded to in the letters on the "Mill on the Floss," "Felix Holt," and "Romola." For those who would know the length and the breadth of George Eliot's intellectual capacity she has written her books. Here I am only putting down some of my own personal impressions or recollections, which must be taken for what they are worth. In doing this I should like to dwell on the catholicity of her judgment. Singularly free from the spirit of detraction, either in respect of her contemporaries or her predecessors, she was always anxious to see the best and the most noble qualities of human beings or of books, in cases where she felt some general sympathy notwithstanding particular disagreements. And it was this wide sympathy, this understanding of so many points of view, that gained for her the passionate devotion not only of personal friends, but also of literary admirers, from the most widely sundered sections of society. Probably few people have ever received so many intimate confidences from confidants of such diverse habits of thought. This many-sidedness, however, makes it exceedingly difficult to ascertain, either from her books or from the closest personal intimacy, what her exact relation was to any existing religious creed or to any political party. Yet George Eliot's was emphatically a religious mind. My own impression is that her whole soul was so imbued with, and her imagination was so fired by, the scientific spirit of the age--by the constant rapid development of ideas in the Western world--that she could not conceive that there was, as yet, any religious formula sufficient nor any known political system likely to be final. She had great hope for the future, in the improvement of human nature by the gradual development of the affections and the sympathetic emotions, and "by the slow, stupendous teaching of the world's events," rather than by means of legislative enactments. Party measures and party men afforded her no great interest. Representative government, by numerical majorities, did not appeal to her as the last word of political wisdom. Generally speaking, she had little patience with talk about practical politics, which seemed to her under our present system to be too often very unpractically handled by ignorant amateurs. The amateur was always a "stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence." Her wrath used often to be roused, in late years, by the increased bitterness in the language of parties, and by the growing habit of attributing, for political effect, the most shameful motives to distinguished statesmen. She was keenly anxious to redress injustices to women, and to raise their general status in the community. This, she thought, could best be effected by women improving their work--ceasing to be amateurs. But it was one of the most distinctly marked traits in her character that she particularly disliked everything generally associated with the idea of a "masculine woman." She was, and as a woman she wished to be, above all things, feminine--"so delicate with her needle, and an admirable musician." She was proud, too, of being an excellent housekeeper--an excellence attained from knowing how things ought to be done, from her early training, and from an inborn habit of extreme orderliness. Nothing offended her more than the idea that because a woman had exceptional intellectual powers therefore it was right that she should absolve herself, or be absolved, from her ordinary household duties. It will have been seen from the letters that George Eliot was deeply interested in the higher education of women, and that she was among the earliest contributors to Girton College. After meeting Mr. and Mrs. Henry Sidgwick, in September, 1880, when they had gone to reside at the new hall of Newnham College for a time, she was anxious to be associated in that work also, but she did not live to carry out the plan herself. The danger she was alive to in the system of collegiate education was the possible weakening of the bonds of family affection and family duties. In her view, the family life holds the roots of all that is best in our mortal lot; and she always felt that it is far too ruthlessly sacrificed in the case of English _men_ by their public school and university education, and that much more is such a result to be deprecated in the case of women. But, the absolute good being unattainable in our mixed condition of things, those women especially who are obliged to earn their own living must do their best with the opportunities at their command, as "they cannot live with posterity," when a more perfect system may prevail. Therefore, George Eliot wished God-speed to the women's colleges. It was often in her mind and on her lips that the only worthy end of all learning, of all science, of all life, in fact, is, that human beings should love one another better. Culture merely for culture's sake can never be anything but a sapless root, capable of producing at best a shrivelled branch. In her general attitude towards life George Eliot was neither optimist nor pessimist. She held to the middle term, which she invented for herself, of "meliorist." She was cheered by the hope and by the belief in gradual improvement of the mass; for in her view each individual must find the better part of happiness in helping another. She often thought it wisest not to raise too ambitious an ideal, especially for young people, but to impress on ordinary natures the immense possibilities of making a small home circle brighter and better. Few are born to do the great work of the world, but all are born to this. And to the natures capable of the larger effort the field of usefulness will constantly widen. In her personal bearing George Eliot was seldom moved by the hurry which mars all dignity in action. Her commanding brows and deep, penetrating eyes were seconded by the sweet, restrained, impressive speech, which claimed something like an awed attention from strangers. But to those very near to her there was another side of her nature, scarcely suspected by outside friends and acquaintances. No one could be more capable of enjoying and of communicating genuine, loving, hearty, uncontrollable laughter. It was a deep-seated wish, expressed in the poem of "Agatha"--"I would have young things merry." And I remember, many years ago, at the time of our first acquaintance, how deeply it pained her when, in reply to a direct question, I was obliged to admit that, with all my admiration for her books, I found them, on the whole, profoundly sad. But sadness was certainly not the note of her intimate converse. For she had the distinctively feminine qualities which lend a rhythm to the movement of life. The quick sympathy that understands without words; the capacity for creating a complete atmosphere of loving interest; the detachment from outside influences; the delight in everything worthy--even the smallest thing--for its own sake; the readiness to receive as well as to give impressions; the disciplined mental habit which can hold in check and conquer the natural egoism of a massive, powerful personality; the versatility of mind; the varied accomplishments--these are characteristics to be found more highly developed among gifted women than among gifted men. Add to these the crowning gift of genius, and, in such companionship, we may possess the world without belonging to it. The November days had come now--cold and clear. My wife was able again to enjoy the daily drives and walks on which she was very dependent for health. The letters continue. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 3d Nov. 1880.] Since I wrote to you I have been much more ill, and have only, during the last few days, begun to feel myself recovering strength. But I have been cared for with something much better than angelic tenderness. The fine, clear air, if it lasts, will induce us to linger in the country; and, indeed, I am not yet quite fit to move; for, though I appear to be quite cured of my main ailment, half my bodily self has vanished. We are having deliciously clear days here, and I get out for short drives and walks. I really have nothing to complain of now except a little lack of strength. I play on the piano again, and walk with perfect ease. There is a long chapter about myself! [Sidenote: Letter to Madame Bodichon, 7th Nov. 1880.] Three weeks ago I had a rather troublesome attack, but I am getting well now, though still reduced and comparatively weak. We shall probably linger here till near the end of the month, for the autumnal landscape is very beautiful, and I am not yet quite fit for the exertion of moving. It is a comfort to think that you can be very snug through the winter in your nice house. What a pity we are not within an easy driving distance from you! Mr. Hall is here to-day. He gave a lecture on Leclaire, the house-painter in Paris who initiated an excellent plan of co-operative sharing for his workmen. It has been printed, and when I have another copy I will send it you. Leclaire is mentioned by John S. Mill in the notes to his "Political Economy," but had not been otherwise taken much notice of. Still, you may know all about him. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Burne-Jones, 18th Nov. 1880.] Thanks for your loving remembrance of me. We have been kept in the country by two sufficient causes: I have been ill, and the house at Cheyne Walk has not been ready to receive us. I suppose we shall not be there till the end of the month instead of the beginning. One of the good things I look forward to is the sight of your dear face again. You will see little more than half of me, for nearly half has been consumed. But I have been nursed with supreme tenderness, and am daily gaining some strength. Much love to both. [Sidenote: Letter to Charles L. Lewes, 23d Nov. 1880.] We are lingering here for three reasons: the beauty of the weather, the unreadiness of the house, and my unfitness to bear the hurry of moving. I am getting better, but have not yet been able to bear much exertion. Thanks for your pretty letter. I do not think I shall have many returns of Novembers, but there is every prospect that such as remain to me will be as happy as they can be made by the devoted tenderness which watches over me. Your years will probably be many, and it is cheering to me to think that you have many springs of happiness in your lot that are likely to grow fuller with advancing time. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Bray, 28th Nov. 1880.] I have thought of you all the more because I have not even heard anything of you for several months. You will wonder less why I have not written, as a consequence of those thoughts, when I tell you that I have been ill, and not allowed to do anything but indulge myself and receive indulgence. I am very well now, and am every day consciously gathering strength, so that, if I could like giving trouble, I should look back on my illness as a great opportunity of enjoying the tenderest watching and nursing. I kept my bed only about a week, and have always been equal, except at short intervals, to much reading and talking, so that there is no fair cause for any grumbling on my part. It has not been so bad an illness as that of last summer. You see we are not yet at Cheyne Walk, but we are to be settled there by the end of next week. I have had no trouble, but have remained here on my cushions while Mr. Cross has gone early for several mornings running to superintend the removal. It is difficult to give you materials for imagining my "world." Think of me as surrounded and cherished by family love; by brothers and sisters whose characters are admirable to me, and who have for years been my friends. But there is no excessive visiting among us, and the life of my own hearth is chiefly that of dual companionship. If it is any good for me that my life has been prolonged till now, I believe it is owing to this miraculous affection which has chosen to watch over me. [Sidenote: Journal, 1880.] _Dec. 3._--Came to 4 Cheyne Walk. _Dec. 4._--Went to Popular Concert at St. James's Hall. Heard Madame Neruda, Piatti, and Miss Zimmermann. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 6th Dec. 1880.] Only on Friday evening did we get into this new house, and I had deferred writing to you till I could say "Come and see me." I can say so now, but on reflection I have come to the conclusion that you would like yourself to fix a time beforehand, the journey here being rather long. Perhaps you will like to choose a day on which you could go to Emily also, her house being less formidably distant--across the park and down Sloane Street would be an easy way to us. This week we shall be much engaged in household matters, such as the reduction to order of the chaos which still reigns in certain places least obvious to visitors, and the procuring of small objects, either necessary or desirable. But after this week I shall be most glad if you and Dr. Congreve will come to see us just _as_ and _when_ you would find the least inconvenience in doing so--either at lunch-time (half-past one) or at a later hour. I find myself in a new climate here--the London air and this particular house being so warm compared with Witley. I hope that you too find the air mild, for I know that suits you best. Dr. and Mrs. Congreve paid their promised visit the week after this letter was written; and Madame Belloc lunched with us the following day. Order was beginning to reign in the new house. The books had all been arranged as nearly as possible in the same order that they had occupied at the Priory, Mr. Radermacher of the Pantechnicon having given his personal attention to this arrangement of some thousands of volumes, for which George Eliot was particularly grateful. Notwithstanding all this care, however, there were many unforeseen details of furnishing still to be completed, which caused a considerable expenditure of time. We continued reading aloud Max Müller's "Lectures on the Science of Language," and Duffield's translation of "Don Quixote;" we were also reading "Hermann and Dorothea," Tennyson's last volume of poems, just published, and Mr. Frederic Myers's volume on Wordsworth. In the evenings we had always a little feast of music, and were becoming in every way reconciled to town life, notwithstanding the loss of country quiet, light, and beauty. On the afternoon of Friday, the 17th December, we went to see the "Agamemnon" performed in Greek by Oxford undergraduates. The representation was a great enjoyment--an exciting stimulus--and my wife proposed that during the winter we should read together some of the great Greek dramas. The following afternoon we went to the Saturday Popular Concert at St. James's Hall. It was a cold day. The air in the hall was overheated, and George Eliot allowed a fur cloak which she wore to slip from her shoulders. I was conscious of a draught, and was afraid of it for her, as she was very sensitive to cold. I begged her to resume the cloak, but, smiling, she whispered that the room was really too hot. In the evening she played through several of the pieces that we had heard at the concert, with all her accustomed enjoyment of the piano, and with a touch as true and as delicate as ever. On Sunday there was very slight trouble in the throat, but not sufficient to prevent her from coming down-stairs to breakfast as usual. In the afternoon she was well enough to receive visits from Mr. Herbert Spencer and one or two other friends. Afterwards she began the following letter to Mrs. Strachey. It was left unfinished in her writing-case, and is printed as it stands. [Sidenote: Letter to Mrs. Strachey, 19th Dec. 1880.] I have been thinking so much of Lady Colvile, and yet I shrank from troubling even your more indirect sympathetic sorrow with a letter. I am wondering how far her health is in a state to endure this loss--a loss which extends even to me, who only occasionally saw, but was always cheered by, the expression of a wise and sweet nature, which clearly shone in Sir James Colvile's manner and conversation. One great comfort I believe she has--that of a sister's affection. Here the letter is broken off. The pen which had delighted and comforted so many minds and hearts here made its last mark. The spring, which had broadened out into so wide a river of speech, ceased to flow. Little more remains to be told. On Monday the doctor treated the case as one of laryngeal sore throat; and when Dr. Andrew Clark came for consultation on Wednesday evening the pericardium was found to be seriously affected. While the doctors were at her bedside she had just time to whisper to me, "Tell them I have great pain in the left side," before she became unconscious. Her long illness in the autumn had left her no power to rally. She passed away, about ten o'clock at night, on the 22d December, 1880. She died, as she would herself have chosen to die, without protracted pain, and with every faculty brightly vigorous. Her body rests in Highgate Cemetery, in the grave next to Mr. Lewes. In sleet and snow, on a bitter day--the 29th December--very many whom she knew, very many whom she did not know, pressed to her grave-side with tributes of tears and flowers. Her spirit joined that choir invisible "whose music is the gladness of the world." FOOTNOTES: [35] Madame Belloc. [36] Mrs. Charles Lewes. [37] "The Ethics of George Eliot's Works," by J. C. Brown. Blackwood: 1879. [38] Article on G. H. Lewes.--_New Quarterly Review_, Oct. 1879. [39] "George Henry Lewes Studentship."--This studentship has been founded in memory of Mr. George Henry Lewes, for the purpose of enabling the holder for the time being to devote himself wholly to the prosecution of original research in physiology. The studentship, the value of which is slightly under £200 per annum, paid quarterly in advance, is tenable for three years, during which time the student is required to carry on, under the guidance of a director, physiological investigations, to the complete exclusion of all other professional occupations. No person will be elected as a "George Henry Lewes Student" who does not satisfy the trustees and director, first, as to the promise of success in physiological inquiry; and, second, as to the need of pecuniary assistance. Otherwise all persons of both sexes are eligible. Applications, together with such information concerning ability and circumstances as the candidate may think proper, should be sent to the present director, Dr. Michael Foster, New Museums, Cambridge, not later than October 15, 1879. The appointment will be made and duly advertised as soon as possible after that date. [40] Mr. John Blackwood died on 29th October, 1879. [41] Madame Belloc. [42] Mrs. Hall. [43] Mrs. Isaac Evans (since deceased). [44] Rev. Frederick Evans, Rector of Bedworth. [45] Madame Belloc. [46] Mr. Geddes's death. [47] Now Sir Andrew Clark. INDEX. "Abode of Snow," by Andrew Wilson, iii. 190. A breezy common, iii. 108. "Adam Bede," progress of, i. 338; second volume finished in Dresden, ii. 42; £800 offered for copyright for four years, 47; its history, 48-52; author's love of, 51; subscription to, 59; cheap edition suggested by working man, 66; sale increasing, 67, 68; quoted in House of Commons, 69; French translation proposed, 73; additional £400 from publishers, 80; fourth edition (5000) sold in a fortnight, 88; sixth edition, 96; seventh edition (2000), 101; Blackwoods propose to pay £800 above agreed price, 101; 16,000 copies sold in one year, 105; copyright conceded, 111; third volume written in six weeks, 113. "Adam Bede, Junior," a sequel, advertised, ii. 104. "Address to the Working Men," by Felix Holt, iii. 18. Adler, Dr. Hermann, appreciation of Jewish character in "Deronda," iii. 207; lecture on "Deronda" by, 215. Æsthetic teaching the highest of all teaching, ii. 318. Æsthetic, the, not a doctrinal teacher, iii. 237. Afghanistan, effect of the sad news from, iii. 278. "Agatha" sold to Fields & Osgood for _Atlantic Monthly_, iii. 63. Aix to Vevey, journey to, iii. 205. Allbut, Dr. Clifford, Leeds, iii. 41, 42. Allingham, William, letter to, on Midland dialect, iii. 218; on his poems, 226. Altruism, the need of, iii. 178, 179. Amalfi, grand drive, ii. 153. America, interest in, i. 219; the war in, anxiety regarding, ii. 242; delight in descriptions of, iii. 115; invited to visit, 118. Amsterdam, Jewish synagogues in, ii. 317. "An Inquiry concerning the Origin of Christianity," by Charles Hennell, influence of, on George Eliot, i. 68; read again with admiration, 119. Anders, Mr., apologizes for the Liggins business, ii. 78. Antwerp, pictures at, i. 239, 240. Apennines, across the, ii. 168. Application, persistence in, iii. 304. Appreciation of Dickens's letter, ii. 6. Ardennes, journey to the, iii. 176. "Aristotle," by G. H. Lewes, ii. 271. "Armgart," a dramatic poem, iii. 85. Art, the function of, iii. 144; purpose in, 144. Articles written by Mr. Lewes, iii. 260, 261; by military men, 265. Ashantee War, the, iii. 157. Asher's cheap editions of "George Eliot," iii. 124. Atkinson, Mr., i. 193. Australia, proposed visit to, i. 221. Authors and booksellers, meeting of, i. 201. Authorship acknowledged to the Brays and Miss Hennell, ii. 83. Autobiography, repugnance to, iii. 221. Autumn, love for, i. 67; ii. 263, 264. "A Word for the Germans," ii. 288. Aytoun, Professor, admiration of "Gilfil's Love-Story," i. 326; on "Adam Bede," ii. 81. Bâle, a morning in, ii. 87. Ballot, dislike of the, iii. 49; the first experiment of the, 161. Balzac, a saying of, iii, 41. Bancroft, American Minister, Berlin, on "Middlemarch," iii. 157. Bank of England visited, iii. 176. "Beata," by T. A. Trollope, ii. 239. Bedworth, country about, i. 5-7. Beesley, Professor Edmund Spencer, iii. 64. Bellagio and the Splügen Pass, ii. 181. Benisch, Dr., editor of _Jewish Chronicle_, iii. 216. Berlin, popularity of "Middlemarch" in, iii. 157. Berlin, visit to the _Charité_, iii. 77; society and music at, 77; increase in luxury in, 78. Berlin recollections: meets Varnhagen, i. 251, 252; impressions of the city, 251; new acquaintances, 253; portrait of Kleist, 253; Fräulein Solmar's _salon_, 253; General Pfuhl, 254; Baron Sternberg, 254; "Lisez les Chroniques," 254; Professor Gruppe, 255, 263; Waagen on Goethe, 256; Edward Magnus, 257; celebrities, 258; Professor Stahr, 258, 263; Schiller's portrait, 258; Rauch the sculptor, 258; his atelier, 259, 260; Dessoir the actor, 260; "Nathan der Weise," 261; Johanna Wagner, 261; Gluck's "Orpheus," 261; Roger and Arabella Goddard, 264; Vivier anecdotes, 264, 265; works of art, 265; evenings in, 266; _table d'hôte_, reading between the courses, 266; work at and books read, 268; translating Spinoza's "Ethics," 268; remarks on books read, 270; return to England, 271. Bethnal Green, pictures at, iii. 128. Biarritz, its natural beauties, iii. 2; the Chambre de l'Amour, 2; journey to Barcelona from, 4. Bible and the Liturgy of the English Church, ii. 226. Bible reading, iii. 302. Bickley, country-house at, iii. 152. Birthday greetings, iii. 47. Bishop Steignton, visit to, i. 185. Blackie, Professor, Edinburgh, letter of sympathy from, ii. 111, 113. _Blackwood's Magazine_ on "Adam Bede," ii. 70. Blackwood, John, his favorable opinion of "Amos Barton," i. 302; accepts it for "Maga," 304; receives kind letter from author, 307; cautions regarding "huddling up stories," 319; not enthusiastic about "Janet's Repentance," 326; calls on Lewes, and George Eliot reveals herself, ii. 10; letter from George Eliot on artistic combination, 31; offers £800 for copyright of "Adam Bede" for four years, 47; letter to, regarding Liggins, 73; his liberal treatment of George Eliot, 102; proposals for "Mill on the Floss," 110; concedes copyright of "Adam Bede," 111; suggests title of "Mill on the Floss," 112; letter from author on finishing "Mill on the Floss," 114; letter to, from George Eliot at Berne, 182, 183; do. from Florence, 218; offers £5000 for "Felix Holt," 308; letters to, about "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 16, 26; about Scott Commemoration, 97; "Middlemarch," 103; his favorable impressions of "Middlemarch," 106; letter to, from Homburg, 123; New Year's greetings from George Eliot, 138; letter on "Middlemarch," 153; on another book simmering in her head, 157; on corrected edition of "Spanish Gypsy," 161, 162; letter to, with volume of poems, 164; on printing of "Deronda," 190, 191, 197; on re-reading "Romola," 217, 218; offers for second ten-years' copyright, 230; letter to, declining invitation to Strathtyrum, 237; on her continued ill-health, 244; his death, 276. Blackwood, Major, his opinion of "Amos Barton," i. 306; hopeful about the "Scenes," 342; calls on Lewes, and suspects identity of George Eliot, 342; letter regarding the Liggins affair, ii. 81; letter from author on "Mill on the Floss," 167. Blackwood, William, his favorable news of "Clerical Life," ii. 116; letter to, on Mr. Lewes's illness, iii. 239; on "Theophrastus Such," 254, 263, 271. Blanc, Louis, anecdote of, i. 195. Bodichon, Madame, discovers author of "Adam Bede," ii. 77; letters to: on artistic combinations, 93; on Mrs. Gaskell's letter, 107; the rewards of the artist, 107; on settling in London, 198; on religious forms and ceremonies, 205; on the necessity of sympathy, 268; on her Spanish tour, iii. 4; on cheerfulness, 172; on "Deronda," 198; on woman's work, 208; on her illness, 225; on improvement in health, 252; letter regarding "Lewes Studentship," 267; letter announcing her marriage, 283; on sympathy with marriage, 289. Bohn, Madame, visit from, ii. 293. Bologna, its pictures and churches, ii. 169; the leaning towers, 170. Bonham-Carter, Miss, letter to, from Madame Bodichon, iii. 264. Bonheur, Rosa, her pictures, i. 333. Books belong to successive mental phases, ii. 211. Books read at Malvern, 1861, ii. 228-230, 234-236. Books read, with remarks on, i. 268-271, 322, 341, 344; ii. 58, 299; iii. 25, 41, 68, 71, 72. Booksellers and authors, meeting of, i. 201. Bookstalls, literary taste at, iii. 51. Brabant, Miss, i. 85. Bracebridge, Mr., and Liggins, ii. 99. Bray, Charles, his work, "The Philosophy of Necessity," i. 67; influence of his opinions, 68; words of affection in time of depression, 135; letter to, on rumors of authorship, ii. 13. Bray, Mrs., letters to: on favorite books, i. 86; reading and music, 87; poetry of Christianity, 93; chameleon-like nature, 158; orthodox friends, 162; anxiety for letters, 164; need of encouragement, 165; life in Geneva, 169, 170; Christmas wishes, 174; severe winter, 175; yearning for friends at home, 175; a singular advertisement, 195; _Westminster_ reviewers, 199; love for music, 202; feels well and "plucky," 207; in Edinburgh again, 211; pleasant travelling, 213; a Saturday's work, 214; work in the Strand, 215; domestic grievances, 229; view of union with Mr. Lewes, 235; on careless cooking, 316; on the charms of Richmond Park, 326; unbelief in others' love, 337; authorship acknowledged to, ii. 83; recollections of journey of 1849, 191; asking for music, 241; on her "Physiology for Schools," 267; on writing poetry instead of novels, iii. 31; on happiness in recovery, 313. Bremer, Frederica, i. 188, 190. Brewing interest in Parliament, the, iii. 188, 189. Brewster, Sir David, i. 190. Bridges, Dr., Leeds, iii. 42. Bright on Ireland, iii. 56. Brittany, trip to, ii. 296. Broadstairs, delight with, i. 205. Brodie, Sir Benjamin, iii. 80. Brontë, Charlotte, life of, i. 317. Brooks, Shirley, delighted with "Adam Bede," ii. 70. "Brother Jacob" written, ii. 199. "Brother and Sister," sonnets, iii. 70. Brougham, Lord, a delicious _non sequitur_, i. 214. Brown, Dr. John, sends "Rab and his Friends" to author of "Adam Bede," ii. 60; kindly letter in reply, 60. Brown, J. C., "Ethics of George Eliot's Works," iii. 266. Browne, Dr., chemist, Edinburgh, i. 195. Browning, first visit from, ii. 249; "Elisha," iii. 56. Browning, Mrs., her "Casa Guidi Windows", ii. 243. Buchanan, Robert, his "David Grey," ii. 273. Buckle, personal dislike to, ii. 47. Buckle's "History of Civilization," i. 341, 345. Buckle's ideal not George Eliot's, ii. 220. Bulstrode, new view of, iii. 133. Bunyan, reading again with pleasure, ii. 105. Burne-Jones, Edward, letter to, on the function of art, iii. 144. Burne-Jones, Mrs., iii. 29; letter to, on the serious view of life, 172; on her illness, 185; on Christmas plans, 232; on her sense of depression, 239. Burton, Mr., wishes to take portrait, ii. 273; his picture of a knight in armor, 277. Burton, Sir Frederick, Director of the National Gallery, ii. 240. Byron, a vulgar-minded genius, iii. 72. Call, Mr., author of "Reverberations and other Poems," i. 335. Calvinism, a libel on, iii. 88. Camaldoli, expedition to, ii. 221. Cambridge, a visit to, iii. 147; a group of "Trinity" men, 147. Cambridgeshire, visit to, iii. 299. Caricature, a bastard kind of satire, iii. 228. _Caritas_, the highest love, ii. 252. Carlyle, Mrs., pleasant letter from, ii. 7; her conception of George Eliot, 8. Carlyle, on the Glasgow artisan, i. 55; eulogium on Emerson, 140; "Life of Sterling," 189; anecdotes of, 190, 257; his denunciation of the opera, 192; letter to George Eliot on "Frederic," 343; G. A. anxious he should read her novels, ii. 63. "Carlyle's Memoirs," ii. 208. Catholicity of judgment, iii. 307. Cavour, Count, ii. 122, 143. Cerebellum, function of the, i. 210. Chapman, Mrs., on Harriet Martineau, iii. 220. Charade party, failure of, ii. 287. Charity of the Apostle Paul, the, ii. 251. Chart of Ecclesiastical History, i. 45. Cheap books, opinion of, iii. 154. Cheap edition of "Adam Bede" suggested by working man, ii. 66. Cheap editions of novels, arrangements for, iii. 10. Cheap music in England, ii. 81. Cheerful, now uniformly, iii. 172. Chiem See, journey by, ii. 34. Childhood's real feelings, i. 91. Child's idea of God, a, i. 153, 154. Chills, spiritual and physical, iii. 120. Chioggia, journey to, ii. 177. "Christianity and Infidelity," Baillie Prize Essay, i. 311. Chronological order in writing, ii. 211. Church-going resumed, i. 82. Clark, Sir James, pleasant evening with, i. 222; meeting with, 226, 230. Clark, W. G., late public orator at Cambridge, ii. 240; visit to, at Cambridge, iii. 24; resigns his oratorship, 74. "Clerical Tutor," discouraged to proceed with, i. 336. Club criticism of "Amos Barton," i. 308. Coaching days, i. 7. Cobbe, Miss, her introduction to Theodore Parker, ii. 253. Cobden, disappointed with, i. 196. Cologne, journey to, i. 267. Colossians, Epistle to the, i. 51. Combe, George, friendship with, i. 186; on the _Westminster_, 204; visit to, in Edinburgh, 211. Comprehensive Church, one, iii. 175. Comte and his critics, ii. 224; admiration of, 224; delight in his "Politique," iii. 2. Comte's "Discours Préliminaire," ii. 264. Comte's works, reading, iii. 302. Conceptions of new work, iii. 233. Confidence, desire for, i. 128. Conformity, letter to J. W. Cross on, iii. 155. Congreve, Mrs., letters to, ii. 82, 84, 141; visits George Eliot in London, 232; letter to, on Thornton Lewes's illness, iii. 63; leaves for India, 132; returns to Europe, 145; letter to, after marriage with Mr. Cross, 292; invited to Cheyne Walk, 314. Congreve, Richard, ii. 62, 67, 73; friendship of Mr. and Mrs., 76, 80; Christmas Day with, 110; his lectures on Positivism, iii. 12; his article Huxley on Comte, 58. Conolly, Dr., i. 233. Conscience in work, iii. 27. Conservative reaction, on the, iii. 143. Contemporary fiction, iii. 183. Continent, start for, visiting Fontainebleau, Plombières, iii. 149; three months' trip to the, 205. Continental tour, six weeks' journey to Baden, etc., iii. 37; St. Märgen, 37; peasant proprietors in the Black Forest, 38. Continental trip with the Brays, i. 150. Coquelin's acting, iii. 263. Correggio's Madonnas, ii. 43. Correspondence, views on, i. 134. Country, delight in the, iii. 154. Country districts, remoteness of, i. 5. Country-house, visions of a, ii. 61. Country life, monotony of, i. 25; enjoyment of, ii. 275. Country quiet, the benefits of, iii. 110. Critical attitude, the, iii. 79. Criticism, sensibility to, ii. 63. Critics, indifference to opinions of, iii. 224. Cross, J. W., first meeting at Rome with George Eliot, iii. 59; meet again at Weybridge, 71; letter to, on buying a house, 131; on conformity, 155; on depression, 187; on effect of her writing, 204; on Tennyson, 229; letters to, after Lewes's death, 250-252; his engagement, 279; his marriage, 282; illness in Venice, 294. Cross, Miss Eleanor, letter to, iii. 276; on her engagement to Mr. Cross, 279; on her marriage tour, 283. Cross, Miss Elizabeth D., "An Old Story and other Poems," iii. 15. Cross, Miss Florence, letter to from Milan on the enjoyment of travel, iii. 286. Cross, Miss Mary, her "Marie of Villefranche," iii. 100; letter to, on gift of a vase, 166. Cross, Mrs., letters to, accepting invitation to Six-Mile Bottom, iii. 121; letter to, from Homburg, 122; on return home, 125; on journey abroad, and country-house at Bickley, 152; on the pleasures of the country, 154; on Christmas invitation, 158; on silence of the country, 167. Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia, dinner with, iii. 236; their simple manner, 236; guests at table, 236. Cruikshank, George, i. 202. Cumming, article on, in the _Westminster_, i. 277. D'Albert, M. and Mme. _See_ Durade. Dallas, Mr., an admirer of "Adam Bede," ii. 64. Daniel, the prophecies of, i. 122. "Daniel Deronda," writing, iii. 180; fear for MS. being burned, 190; anticipations of, 193, 194; public interest in, 199, 214; finished, 204; Jewish element in, 211. Darwin's "Origin of Species," ii. 104, 105, 108. Dawson, Mr. George, lecturer, i. 129; ii. 233; iii. 165. Dean Ramsay, letter from, with his "Reminiscences of Scottish Life," ii. 320. Death, imagining the nearness of, iii. 170. "Debasing the Moral Currency," iii. 266. Delight in the country, iii. 154; in old friends, 245. Depression from damp, iii. 187. Derbyshire, memories of, iii. 47. Deutsch, his article on the Talmud, iii. 18. "Deutscher Novellenschatz," iii. 96. "Development of Industries," effect of, ii. 281. Development of religion, iii. 62. Dialect in "Adam Bede," ii. 72; iii. 219. Dickens, Charles, meeting with, i. 201; letter from, ii. 2; recognizes woman's hand in "Clerical Life," 3; dines at Wandsworth, 102; asks for a story for "All the Year Round," 104; his death, iii. 82; his "Life" by Forster, 104. Dinah Morris, the character of, ii. 49. Dinner at Greenwich, with Blackwood, Colonel Stewart, Colonel Hamley, and Mr. Skene, ii. 222. Discontent of the young, iii. 213. Discouraged with her writings, ii. 86. D'Israeli's "Tancred," i. 118, 123; his theory of races, 124; funeral oration on the Duke of Wellington, 215. Distrust of her own knowledge, iii. 305. "Divina Commedia," reading the, with Mr. Cross, iii. 259. Dorking, fourth visit to, ii. 254. Doyle, Mr., iii. 74. Drama, trying a, ii. 280. Drawbacks to living abroad, iii. 203. Drawings from "Romola," iii. 166. Dresden: end of vol. ii. of "Adam Bede" written, ii. 42; Holbein's "Madonna," 42; the "Sistine Madonna," 43; the Correggios, 43; Murillo's "St. Rodriguez," 43; Dutch and Flemish pictures, 44; Veronese, 44; the theatres and concerts, 45. Druce, Mr., visit to, at Sevenoaks, iii. 297. Dulwich Picture-gallery, ii. 79. Durade, M. d'Albert, i. 164; residence with, 165; their household, 166; affection to, 173; paints her portrait, 178; visits England, 181; wished to translate the "Scenes," ii. 109; two days with, 186; translates the "Scenes," 187. Dürer, Albert, his paintings, ii. 24. Dutch translation of George Eliot's novels, iii. 139. Dutch and Flemish pictures in Dresden, ii. 44. Dwelling on faults, abstention from, iii. 89. Dying in harness, on, iii. 141. Dyspeptic troubles and their cure, ii. 288. Early death, thoughts on, ii. 290. Edinburgh criticisms more favorable than London, ii. 64. Edinburgh, enjoyment of, i. 211; visit to Craigcrook, 212. Editor's life, i. 215, 221. Education of Women, iii. 27; the higher, 146. Effect of talking of her own books, ii. 85. Effect of writing, the, iii. 306. Egotism, cure for, i. 128. "Elijah," delight in hearing, i. 112, 118. Ellis, Mr. and Mrs., i. 191. Emerson, first meeting with, i. 139; Carlyle's eulogium on, 140; his "Man the Reformer," ii. 196. Empire in France, the, iii. 168. Englefield Green, delightful week at, ii. 244. English, attitude of the, towards Orientals, iii. 212; ignorance of the Jews, 212. English domestic life _versus_ German, i. 271. English and French working classes, difference between, i. 131. "Englishwoman's Journal" on the Infant Seamstresses, ii. 97. Enjoying the thought of work, ii. 219. Enriched with new ideas after journey to Italy, ii. 182. "Ethics of George Eliot's Works," by J. C. Brown, iii. 266. Evans, Christiana (sister), married to Mr. Edward Clark, surgeon, i. 22; relations between the sisters, 22, 23; her husband's death, 216; plans for her family, 217; letter to her brother Isaac regarding, 318; visit to her sister, ii. 96. Evans, Isaac (brother), recollections of his sister, i. 11; her susceptibility to terror, 12; their happy childhood, 12; his marriage, 61; renewed correspondence with his sister on her marriage with Mr. Cross, iii. 287; notice of his family, 287. Evans, J. C., offers £1000 for a story for American periodical, ii. 94. Evans, Mrs. Samuel (aunt), the Dinah Morris of "Adam Bede," i. 33. Evans, Robert (father), his career, i. 1, 2; removed to Griff, 2; influence of his ideas on his daughter, 4; his position, 8; his wife, partly represented in Mrs. Poyser, 10; her death, 22; removal to Foleshill Road, Coventry, 61; strong disapproval of his daughter's religious views, 75; she visits her brother at Griff, 79; regrets her impetuosity, and returns to Foleshill, 81; his illness, 100; visits Dover with his daughter, 107; trip to Isle of Wight, 120; illness increases, and visits St. Leonards, 135; returns to Coventry, 139; his death, 148. Evidence, the value of, iii. 109. Evil-speaking, contrition for, i. 141. "Fables," by Lord Lytton, iii. 162. Fairness and pity, where necessary, iii. 228. Fame in dreams, ii. 89. Family reunion, iii. 268; joys, iii. 286. Faraday, letter from, acknowledging presentation copy of "Clerical Life," ii. 9. Farming, an epoch in, iii. 271. Faucit, Helen, admiration of, i. 222. Faults, abstention from dwelling on, iii. 89. "Faust," reading in the original, iii. 303. Faux, David, Confectioner (Brother Jacob), written, ii. 199. Fawcett, Henry, articles on Strikes by, ii. 194. "Fawn of Sertorius," i. 108. Fechter in "Hamlet," ii. 225; his "Othello," 232. Feeling old for her years, ii. 193. "Felix Holt," writing commenced, ii. 290; reading for, 292; Blackwood offers £5000 for, 308; pains taken with, 309; finished in excitement, 311; final instalment received from Blackwood, iii. 13; payment for copyright, 13. Feminine characteristics, iii. 310, 311. Ferrier, Mr., translates Kaufmann's article on "Deronda," iii. 216. Feuerbach, translation of, published; first and only time her real name appeared in print, i. 233. Fiction, contemporary, iii. 183. Fiction-reading condemned, i. 36. Fiction-writing, first mention of, i. 296; how I came to write, 298-300. First authorship, i. 42. First novel, i. 298; title of, 299. Flemish and Dutch pictures in Dresden, ii. 44. Florence: view from Fiesole and Bellasguardo, ii. 155; the Duomo and Campanile, 156; the palaces and libraries, 157; the Loggia di Lanza, 158; Santa Maria Novella, 158; Santa Croce and the Carmine, 159; the frescoes, 159; S. Maria Novella, 160; San Michele, the shrine, 160; the Uffizi Gallery, 161; and pictures, 162; Pitti pictures, 162; paintings at the Accademia, 163; Galileo's tower, 164; Michael Angelo's house, 165, 166. Flower, Mr., i. 191. Fontainebleau, visit to, iii. 150. Forster, W. E., his article on Slavery, i. 218; "Life of Dickens," iii. 104. Foster, Professor Michael, his draught of conditions for Lewes scholar studentship, iii. 267, 269. France, the Empire in, iii. 168. Franco-German war, iii. 86, 92. Franklin, Miss Rebecca, her school at Coventry, i. 17; her death, iii. 149. Freethinkers, little sympathy with, as a class, ii. 249. French and English working classes, difference between, i. 131. French revolution of 1848, i. 129. Froude's "Shadows of the Clouds," i. 146. Fuller, Margaret, her Journal, i. 198. Function of art, the, iii. 144. Furnishing, on troubles of, ii. 267. "Futile Lying," letter on, ii. 290. Gambler, a girl, iii. 124. Garibaldi at the Crystal Palace, ii. 276. Gaskell, Mrs., suspected to have written "Adam Bede," ii. 82; letter from, 102; expresses admiration of "Scenes" and "Adam Bede," 107. Gaskell's, Mrs., "Ruth," i. 219. Geneva, life at Campagne Plongeon, i. 151-157; Genevese preachers, 153, 154; _Fête_ of Navigation, 157; effect of change of life, 159; plans for lessons, 160; Baronne de Ludwigsdorff, 161; home remembrances, 170; beauty of scenery, 171; delight in town life, 171; the Juras, 178; last days in, 179. Genevese preachers, i. 153, 154. Genoa, the cathedral, ii. 124. George Eliot.--1819-37: Birth at Arbury farm, i. 1; removal to Griff, 2; anecdotes of father, 9; character of mother, 10; at Dame's school, 10; at Miss Lathom's school at Attleboro, 11; happy childhood, 12; first books read, 13; first journey to Staffordshire, 15; Miss Wallington's school at Nuneaton, 15; writes out "Waverley," 16; favorite books, 17; charade-acting, 17; riot at Nuneaton, 20; first letter to Miss Lewis, 21; mother's illness and death, 22; housekeeper at Griff, 24; life and studies there, 24. 1838-41: First visit to London, i. 28; religious asceticism, 29; nineteenth birthday, 32; religious objections to music, 32; religious reflections, 34; besetting sin, ambition, 35; objections to fiction-reading, 36; first poem, 42; books read and studies pursued, 44; German lessons begun, 45; chart of ecclesiastical history, 46; Italian studies, 49; dislike to housekeeping work, 50; reads Isaac Taylor, 51; visits Birmingham to hear "Messiah," 53; translates German poem, 54; her reading, 57; removal to Foleshill Road, Coventry, 59. 1841-46: Coventry life, i. 61; mental depression, 64; friendship with Mr. and Mrs. Bray, 67; reads Charles Hennell's "Inquiry," 67, 68; effect of this book, 74; gives up going to church, 75; family difficulties, 79; regrets her impetuosity, 81; resumes going to church, 82; intimacy with Miss Sara Hennell and Mr. and Mrs. Bray, 83; attitude towards immortality, 84; excursion to Stratford and Malvern, 85; meets Robert Owen, 86; studies German and music, 86, 87; opinion in regard to conformity, 89; translation of Strauss's "Leben Jesu," 90; despair about publication of Strauss, 94; trip to the Highlands, 97. 1846-49: Strauss translation published, i. 107; classical books wanted, 108; suspected of novel-writing, 108; reading Foster's life, 109; thoughts on Jesus at Emmaus, 110; a child's idea of God, 111, 112; visits London and hears "Elijah," 112; re-reading Hennell's "Inquiry," 119; visit to Isle of Wight with father, 120; admiration of Richardson, 121; delight in George Sand's "Lettres d'un Voyageur," 122; dislike to Jews, 125; supremacy of Hebrew poetry, 125; admiration of Roberts and Creswick, 127; opinion of Mr. Dawson the lecturer, 129; sympathy with revolution, 130; France and England contrasted, 131; sympathy with nonconformity, 133; visit to St. Leonards, 135; father's illness, 135; mental depression, 136; how to be overcome, 136; admiration of Louis Blanc, 137; recovery from depression, 138; opinion of "Jane Eyre," 138; meets Emerson, 138; again suffering from depression, 141; contrition for evil-speaking, 141; reading Macaulay's "History," 142; bodily suffering, 143; on the influence of Sand's and Rousseau's writings, 143, 144; writes review of the "Nemesis of Faith," 145; translates Spinoza's "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus," 147; father's death, 148. 1849-50: Goes abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Bray, 150; Geneva, life at Campagne Plongeon, 151,152; prophetic anticipation of position seven years later, 158; effect of change of life, 159; plans for lessons, 160; finds apartments in Geneva, 164; enjoyment of society, 165; need of encouragement, 165; life in Geneva, 169, 170; yearning for friends at home, 170; remarks on translations of Spinoza, 172; desire for a woman's duty, 173; portrait by M. d'Albert, 178; remarks on education of children, 179; leaving Geneva, 180. 1850-54: Return to England, 181; reviews Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect" in _Westminster_, 184; assistant editor of _Westminster Review_, 186; introduced to Mr. Lewes, 189; intimacy begins, 192; help in despondency, 198; growing intimacy with Mr. Herbert Spencer, 201; dislike of scrap-work, 203; visit to Edinburgh, 211; an editor's life, 214, 215; ill with rheumatism, 218; interest in America, 219; growing intimacy with Mr. Lewes, 221, 232; contemplates publishing "The Idea of a Future Life," 229; union with Mr. Lewes, 234, 235; letter to Mrs. Bray, 235, 236. 1854-55: Visits Antwerp with Mr. Lewes, i. 239; extracts from journal, 239 _et seq._; Weimar, i. 240-251; Berlin recollections, 251-268; work at Weimar and Berlin, 268; remarks on books read, 268-271; return to England, 271. 1855-57: Articles written, i. 275; effect of article on Cumming, 278; reading on physiology, 279; miscellaneous writing, 280; Spinoza's "Ethics," translation finished, 281; wishes not to be known as translator, 283; articles on Young and Riehl, 286; tendency to scientific accuracy, 287; naturalistic experiences, 288; first mention of fiction-writing, 296; "how I came to write fiction," 298; correspondence about "Amos Barton," 300; "Mr. Gilfil's Love-story" begun, 305; Blackwood's high admiration of the story, 307; name of George Eliot assumed, 309; artistic bent, 310; Caterina and the dagger scene, 313; trip to the Scilly Isles, 313; social life at St. Mary's, 316; on conclusions of stories, 319; Jersey recollections, 319-322; Mr. Liggins, 323; opinions of "Mr. Gilfil's Love-story," 324, 325; happiness in her life, 328; Blackwood's opinion of "Janet's Repentance," 329; haunted by new story, 334; "Adam Bede" begun, 337; receives £120 for first edition of "Clerical Life," 337; unbelief in others' love, 337; sympathy with individuals, 339; objection to theism, 339; evening studies, 342; Major Blackwood suspects identity of George Eliot, 324; review of the year 1857. 1858: The _Times_ reviews of "Scenes of Clerical Life," ii. 1; letter from Charles Dickens, recognizing woman's hand, 3; from Froude, 3; from Mrs. Carlyle, 7; reveals herself to John Blackwood, 10; visit to Germany, 14-46; progress with "Adam Bede," 32; latter half written, 42; description of life at Dresden, 45; history of "Adam Bede," 48-52; retrospect of year, 55. 1859-60: Reading up for "Mill on the Floss," ii. 58; letter to John Blackwood on "Adam Bede," 58; wishes Carlyle to read her novels, 63; awakening to fame, 68; Mr. Liggins said to be author of "Adam Bede," 71; finished the "Lifted Veil," 75; reveals herself to Brays as author of "Adam Bede," 83; trip to Switzerland, 87; fourth edition (5000) of "Adam Bede" sold in a fortnight, 88; receives £800 beyond bargain for success, 102; 16,000 sold in one year, 107; Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, 115; "Mill on the Floss" finished, 116; start for Italy, 116. 1860: First journey to Italy, ii. 120; Rome, first sight of, 126; description of Naples, 144, 145; visit to Pompeii, 148; Florence, 155; first mention of Italian novel, 168; Venice, 172; home by Berne and Geneva, 181; enriched with new ideas, 182. 1860-61: "Mill on the Floss" success, ii. 185; sitting to Lawrence for portrait, 194; independence secured, 203; the queen's admiration of "Mill on the Floss," 203; success of "Silas Marner," 214; second journey to Italy, 216; hopeful about future work, 220; began "Romola," 230; studying for, 235, 236. 1862-65: Begins "Romola" again, ii. 238; offered £10,000 for "Romola" for the _Cornhill_, but idea given up, 244; £7000 accepted under new terms, 245; the effect of writing "Romola," 255; continued ill-health, 256, 258; letter from Frederick Maurice, 259; third visit to Italy, 278; trying a drama, 280; retrospect of year 1864, 282; "A Word for the Germans" written, 288; "Felix Holt" begun, 290; readings, 292; expedition to Brittany, 296; retrospect of 1865, 299. 1866: Mr. Harrison's legal help in "Felix Holt," ii. 303, 304, 310; offered £5000 for "Felix Holt" by Blackwood, 308; visit to Holland and Germany, 312; "The Spanish Gypsy" taken up again, 317; reading for, 321; start for Spain, 324. 1867: Journey to Spain, iii. 1; learning Spanish, 3; letters from Spain, 4-9; return to the Priory, 9; two months' visit to North Germany, 14; acquaintance with Mrs. Cross and family, 15; "Address to the Working Men," 19. 1868: Month's visit to Torquay, iii. 25; "Spanish Gypsy" finished, 29; notes on the "Spanish Gypsy," 30; on the writing of poetry instead of novels, 36; six weeks' journey to Baden, 37; meditating subject of Timoleon, 49; retrospect of the year, 50; cheap edition of novels, 51. 1869-72: Poem on "Agatha," iii. 55; writing "How Lisa Loved the King," 56; fourth visit to Italy, 57; religion of the future, 62; "Sonnets on Childhood" finished, 65; the phenomena of spiritualism, 67; the Byron scandal, 72; "Legend of Jubal" begun, 73; letter on the Positivist problem, 75; visit to Germany, 76; three days' visit to Oxford, 80; growing dislike of migratory life, 82; "Armgart" begun, 85; industrial schemes, 90; visit to Petersfield, 94; visit from Tennyson, 99; delight in intellectual activity, 101; reception of "Middlemarch," 103; Foster's "Life of Dickens," 104; "Middlemarch" finished, 121; a month's visit to Homburg, 122; a girl gambler, 124; memorial article on author of "Thorndale," 126; "Maga" on "Middlemarch," 130. 1873-75: Reception of "Middlemarch," iii. 138; Dutch translation of novels, 139; German reprints, 140; visit to Cambridge, 147; visit to the Master of Balliol, 149; nine weeks' trip to the Continent, 150; another book simmering in her thoughts, 157; retrospect of 1873, 160; cheaper edition of novels, 162; "Legend of Jubal" published, 167; journey to the Ardennes, 176; sales of her books, 180; value of early religious experience, 182; not satisfied with "Deronda," 193; depression in finishing, 194. 1876-78: Public interest in "Deronda," iii. 199; Mrs. Stowe's admiration of "Deronda," 202; letter to J. W. Cross, 204; trip to the Continent, 205; Jewish appreciation of "Deronda," 209; Dr. Adler's lecture on, 216; Mrs. Stowe and the Byron case, 221; appreciation of Tennyson, 229; gaining strength at Witley, 231; meets Crown Prince and Princess of Germany, 236; visit to Oxford, 236; Mr. Lewes's ill-health, 239; reception at the Priory, 241; Mr. Lewes's last illness and death, 245-247. 1879-80: First weeks of loneliness, iii. 249; announcement of "Theophrastus Such" delayed, 252; project of Physiological Studentship, 254; dissatisfied with "Theophrastus," 254; letter to J. W. Cross asking counsel, 258; reception of "Theophrastus" by the public, 263, 264; serious renal attack, 265; conditions for the studentship, 267; renewed interest in social news, 270; Dr. Roy appointed to studentship, 275; death of John Blackwood, 276; engagement to Mr. Cross, 279; married at St. George's, Hanover Square, 283; left for the Continent, 283; letters from France and Italy, 284-294; Mr. Cross's illness in Venice, 294; arrival in England, 295; recurrence of illness, 300; recovery of strength, 313; settled in Cheyne Walk, 313; first appearance of sore throat, 315; letter to Mrs. Strachey (unfinished), 316; sudden death, 316. German editions of "Middlemarch," iii. 114. German poem, translation of, i. 54. German reading, iii. 124. German Revolution of '48 caused by real oppression, i. 258. German translation of "Adam Bede," ii. 116; first volume received, 116. Germans, Vivier's anecdotes of, i. 264, 265; domestic life of, 271. Germany, North, journey to, iii. 14; places revisited and new scenes, 15. Germany, second visit to, 1854: Munich, ii. 14-34; Ischl, 37; Vienna, 38; Prague, 40; Dresden, 45; Leipzig, 46. Germany, visit to, in 1854; extracts from journal: Weimar, i. 240; Berlin, 251, 252. Gift of a vase from Miss Mary Cross, iii. 166. Girl gambler, a, iii. 124. Girton College scheme, iii. 18. Goethe on Spinoza, ii. 298. Goschen, Mr., dinner with, iii. 236; meets Crown Prince and Princess of Prussia, 236. Got's acting, iii. 101. Granada, the Alhambra, iii. 7; view from, 8. Grand Chartreuse, expedition to the, iii. 285. Grandcourt and Lush, iii. 200. Grandison, Sir Charles, i. 121. Green, Professor T., iii. 149. Ground of moral action, iii. 178. Gurney, Mr. Edmund, iii. 147. Gurney, Rev. Archer, on "Scenes of Clerical Life," i. 324. Guthrie, Dr., address by, i. 230. Hamilton, Sir William, valuable contributions, i. 278. Hamley, Colonel (now General Sir Edward Hamley), impressions of, ii. 315; thanks for letter to the _Times_, iii. 93. Handel Festival, the, ii. 82. Hannay, Mr., on "Romola," ii. 252. Happiness in recovery of health, iii. 313. Hare, Mrs. Julius, ii. 263; her death, 273. Harrison, Frederic, letter to, on industrial co-operation, ii. 303; his legal advice in "Felix Holt," 303; more consultations with, 305, 306; letter to, on æsthetic teaching, etc., 318; receives a copy of "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 36; consultation with, 186. Harrogate, its lovely walks, ii. 281. Haughton, Mrs., letters to: on contrition for evil-speaking, i. 141; on friends at home, 159; on the bondage of luxuries, 177; on her proof-reading, 231. Haunted by new story, i. 334. Hawthorne, admiration of, i. 208. Heine, article on, in _Westminster_, i. 279. Helps, Arthur, dinner with, i. 230; incident in Spain, 242; on "Clerical Life," ii. 2. Hemans's "The Forest Sanctuary," i. 57. Hennell, Charles, analysis of "An Inquiry Concerning the Origin of Christianity," i. 68-74; his marriage, 85. Hennell, Miss Mary, author of "An Outline of the various Social Systems founded on the Principle of Co-operation," her death, i. 84. Hennell, Miss Sara, first meeting with, i. 82; letters to, on mental characteristics, 84; dangers of nonconformity, 89, 90; translating Strauss, 92; Strauss difficulties, 96; title of translation, 98; finishing translation, 101; longing for idleness, 102; thankfulness for help in translation, 103; visit to Mrs. Hennell, 107; desire for classics, 108; relief from work, 109; admiration of "Heliados," 111; philosophy and religion, 121; "Live and teach," 122; "sweet uses" of adversity, 135; depression by father's illness, 136; the "Romanticist," 139; a longing for sympathy, 141; bodily suffering, 143; return to England, 180, 181; Mr. Chapman's soirées, 190; delight with change of life, 206; letter from Berlin, 262; on essay "Christianity and Infidelity," 311; peacefully busy, 334; delight in Mr. Lewes's books, ii. 11; on the death of a mother, 12; admiration of Liebig, 25; sympathy with, on her mother's death, 32; letter from Dresden, 45; about Mrs. Clarke, 66, 67; recollections of Mr. Liggins, 72; authorship acknowledged to, 83; "expecting disappointments," 201, 202; settled in new house, 204, 205; on the blessings of good health, 229; old remembrances, 233; on her low health, 306; a birthday letter, iii. 129. Hereditary misfortunes, iii. 34. Hereford, Dean of, i. 227. Herts, country-house in, iii. 186. Higher education of women, iii. 13, 146. History of "Adam Bede," ii. 48-52. "History of Europe," Alison's, i. 282. History reading, iii. 234. Holbein's Madonna, ii. 42. Holland and Germany, journey to, ii. 312; the route taken, 315. Holland, Sir Henry, visit from, ii. 321. Holmwood Common, iii. 174. Homburg, the gaming-tables, iii. 122. Home, enjoyment of, iii. 208. Home for Girls, iii. 181. Home life, i. 13; iii. 107, 108. "Horsedealer in Syria," ii. 101. Housekeeping work, dislike of, i. 50. How I came to write fiction, i. 298-300. Hungarian, "Adam Bede" translated into, ii. 115. Hunt, Leigh, his "The Religion of the Heart," i. 226. Huth, Mrs. and Miss, iii. 147. Hutton, R. H., letter to, on "Romola," ii. 261. "Huxley on M. Comte," Dr. Congreve's article on, iii. 58. Huxley, Mr., an agreeable evening with, i. 220. Hyrtl, the German anatomist, ii. 39. "Idea of a Future Life," contemplates publishing, i. 229. Ilfracombe recollections: journey to, i. 285; naturalistic experiences, 288; zoological expeditions, 289; Devonshire lanes, 289; Rev. Mr. Tugwell, 290; the scientific spirit, 291; leave for Tenby, 292. Illness a partial death, iii. 155. Illustrations in cheap edition, not _queerer_ than in other books, iii. 217. Impetuosity regretted, i. 81. "Impossibility of marrying," dangers of speaking of, ii. 212. Incentive to production, iii. 224. Independence of external good, i. 81. Indian newspaper-writing, iii. 237. Individual versus the general, the, iii. 33. Industrious poor, helping the, iii. 90. Inkermann, battle of, a mere brave blundering, iii. 182. Inman, Dr., Liverpool, ii. 114. Innspruck and Wildbad, iii. 294, 295. Intellectual activity, enjoyment of, iii. 101. Intellectual superciliousness, ii. 255. "Introduction to the Science of Language," iii. 303. "Iphigenia in Aulis," iii. 145. Irregular verses, the use of, iii. 40. Ischl, the Gmunden See, ii. 37; voyage down the Danube, 38. Isle of Wight, trip to the, ii. 72, 256. Italian novel, first mention of, ii. 168. Italian studies, i. 49. Italy, first journey to, 1860: Turin, ii. 122; Genoa, 123; Leghorn, 124; Pisa, 125; Rome, 126-144; Naples, 144; Salerno, 151; Pæstum, 152; Amalfi, 153; Sorrento, 153, 154; Florence, 155; Bologna, 168; Padua, 170; Venice, 172; Verona, 179; Milan, 179-181. Italy, second journey to, ii. 216; stay at Florence, 217; renewed delight in, 219; work during the visit, 221. Italy, third visit to, ii. 277; Mr. Burton's companionship, 278; the Alps by the St. Gothard, 278. Italy, fourth visit to, iii. 57; places visited, 58. Italy, fifth visit to: Milan, iii. 288; Verona, 289; Venice, 291. "Jane Eyre," opinion of, i. 138. Jansa, Herr, takes lessons from, ii. 271. Jersey recollections, 1857: scenery, i. 319; inland walks, 320, 321; coast beauties, 321; books read, 322. Jesus at Emmaus, thoughts on, i. 110. Jewish appreciation of "Deronda," iii. 207, 216. Jews, dislike of, i. 125; English ignorance of the, iii. 212. Jones, Mr. Owen, decorates the new house, ii. 265, 266. Journal, 1855: Third book of "Ethics," preface written, i. 273; _Westminster Review_, 274; wrote for the _Leader_, 275. 1856: Working at Spinoza, i. 281; first mention of fiction-writing, 296; "Mr. Gilfil's Love-story" begun, 305. 1857: Pleasant letters regarding "Gilfil," i. 323, 324; finished "Janet's Repentance," 336; began "Adam Bede," 336; books read, 342; the year's work, 344. 1858: News from the city regarding "Clerical Life," ii. 12; visit to Germany, 14-46; "Adam Bede" finished, 48. 1859: A trip to Lucerne, ii. 87; return to England, 88; declined American offer for new story, 94; anxiety and doubt about new novel, 97. 1860: Seeing friends, ii. 114; first journey to Italy, 120-182. 1861: Second journey, ii. 216; struggling constantly with depression, 227; continued ill-health, 243-245; despondency, 279. 1868: Books, reading, iii. 25; retrospect of year, 50. 1869: Work in prospect, iii. 55; beginning "Middlemarch," 69; "Legend of Jubal" begun, 73. 1870: In languid health, iii. 79. 1871: First part of "Middlemarch" published, iii. 104. 1873: Success of "Middlemarch," iii. 138; retrospect of year, 159. 1875: Sales of books, iii. 180. 1876: Depression in writing "Deronda," iii. 194. 1877: Cabinet edition decided on, iii. 230; declined to renew copyright agreement, 230; close of her journal, 233. 1879: Seeing visitors, iii. 260. 1880: Her marriage with Mr. Cross, iii. 283; came to 4 Cheyne Walk, 311. Jowett, Mr., Master of Balliol, visit to, iii. 149. Julian the Apostate, Strauss's pamphlet on, i. 139. Justification in writing, iii. 173. Kaufmann, Dr. David, letter to, on his estimate of "Daniel Deronda," iii. 222; on the function of the teacher, 226; on Lewes's death, 257. Kenelm Chillingly, iii. 141. Knight, Charles, i. 202. La Bruyère's wisdom, iii. 235. Lamartine as a poet, i. 130. Languages, her knowledge of, iii. 305. La Vernia, description of, ii. 223. Lawrence wishes to take her portrait, ii. 115; sits for it, 194. Lecky's "History of Rationalism," ii. 291. Lecture on "Daniel Deronda," by Dr. Adler, iii. 216. Leeds, the horrible smoke of, iii. 43; its fine hospital, 44. "Legend of Jubal," some verses written, iii. 73; published as "Legend of Jubal, and other Poems," 167; new edition of, 169. Leghorn, the Jewish synagogue, ii. 125; to Civita Vecchia, 125; a pleasant companion, 126. Leipzig, two days at, ii. 45; its picture-gallery, 45. Leroux, Pierre, his theories, i. 194. Letters to her friends almost all destroyed, ii. 207. "Letter to Berthelot," Renan's, ii. 269. Lewes, Charles, first letter to, ii. 91; on musical parties, 98; on liking for algebra, 106; returns from Hofwyl, 185; receives appointment in Post-office, 194; letters from Florence to, 216, 219, 221; from Isle of Wight, 257; his engagement, 278; letters to, on Harrison's paper, iii. 262; on printing the "Problems," 276; from Grenoble, 285; from Milan, 288; from Venice, 291; from Stuttgart and Wildbad, 294, 295; on his visit to St. Blasien, 297; on recurrence of illness, 300. Lewes, George H., i. 188; first introduction to Miss Evans, 189; meet at the theatre, 192; article on "Julia von Krüdener," 192; his Comte papers, 209; growing intimacy, 221; his "History of Philosophy," 227; illness, 231; intimate relations with Miss Evans, 232; their union, 235; completed life of Goethe at Weimar, 267; estimation of George Eliot, 277; necessity for hard work, 277; proposes sending boys to Hofwyl, 284; goes to Switzerland with them, 297; highly pleased with "Amos Barton," 300; letter to John Blackwood with MS. of "Scenes of Clerical Life," 300; George Eliot revealed to John Blackwood, ii. 10; suggestions in "Adam Bede," 49, 50; extract from Journal, 55; "Physiology of Common Life," 92; "Studies in Animal Life," 113; dispassionate judgment, 202; delicate health, 223; busy with Aristotle, 233; "History of Science" begun, 243; views of Bible-reading, 251; buoyant nature, 290; walking expedition with Mr. Spencer, iii. 15; acquaintance with Mrs. Cross, 15; visits Bonn, 20; death of his mother, 91; proposed for Rectorship of St. Andrews, 232; continued illness, 240; his death, 247. Lewes, Herbert, his death, iii. 189. Lewes Studentship proposed, iii. 253; plans for, and trustees, 254. Lewes, Thornton, leaves for Natal, ii. 264; returns, iii. 63; his death, 73. Lewis, Miss, Leamington, iii. 192. Lewis, Miss, letters to: On first visit to London, i. 28; on living for eternity, 30; emulation of Wilberforce, 31; oratorios, 32; bad effect of novels, 37; religious controversies, 39; first authorship, 42; studies pursued, 44; Italian studies, 49; Mrs. Somerville's "Connection of the Physical Sciences," 50; opinions of Isaac Taylor, 51; German translation, 54; a walled-in world, 55; sensitiveness, 57; war's purgations, 59; satisfaction with new life, 62; depression of mind, 64; mind requiring rest, 65; desire for brain waves, 66; religious doubts and difficulties, 74, 75; on self-denial, 78. Lichfield, recollections of, ii. 96. Liddell, Dean, Oxford, iii. 173. Liebig, Professor, ii. 23; admiration of, 25, 29. "Life of Goethe," i. 275. "Lifted Veil," finished April, 1859, ii. 75; the idea of the story, iii. 141. Liggins, Mr., first mention of, i. 323; calls himself George Eliot, ii. 71; some recollections of, 72; Mr. Anders's apology, 78; Mr. Bracebridge's letter regarding, 99. Limitations of scientists, iii. 182. Lincoln, President, anecdote of, iii. 82. Lincoln, the Rector of, iii. 81. Lincolnshire, visits to, iii. 288. "Lisa," writing rhymed poem on, iii. 55. Literary biography, iii. 163. Literary taste at bookstalls, iii. 51. Littlehampton, trip to, ii. 247. Liturgy of the English Church and the Bible, ii. 226. Living abroad, drawbacks to, iii. 203. Lockhart, Captain, his writings, iii. 98, 193. Lonely days: "here I and sorrow sit," iii. 249. Louis Blanc, admiration of, i. 138. Louis Philippe and his sons, i. 130. Lowell's "My Study Windows," iii. 96. Lucerne, a trip to, ii. 87; visit from Mrs. Congreve, 87. Lush and Grandcourt, iii. 200. Lushington, Mrs. Vernon, iii. 220. Lyrics for "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 16. Lytton, Hon. Mrs. Robert (now Lady Lytton), letter of sympathy to, iii. 83; on thoughts of death, 99, 100; on Lord Lytton's Indian experiences, 281. Lytton, Hon. Robert (now Lord Lytton), on pronunciation in "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 52; explanation of errors, 52. Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, letter from, thanking author of "Adam Bede," ii. 74, 75; visit from, 115; criticises "Adam Bede," 115; his criticisms of "Maggie," 190. Macaulay, interest in, i. 142. Mackay's "Progress of the Intellect" reviewed, i. 183; extracts from, 183-185, 190. "Macmillan," article on "The Mill on the Floss" in, ii. 212. Macmillan, Mr., his proposal for volume on Shakespeare, iii. 231. Madrid, the Gallery, iii. 9. Madonna di San Sisto, first impression of, ii. 43. Main, Mr., collector of "The Wise, Witty, and Tender Sayings of George Eliot," iii. 103; opinions of, 105. Maine, Sir Henry, on Lewes's "Physiology," iii. 267. Malvern, trip to, ii. 228; improved health from, 230, 231. "Man's Nature and Development," i. 187. "Marie of Villefranche," by Miss Mary Cross, iii. 100. Marriage, possibilities in, iii. 181. Marriage, the ideal, iii. 142. Martineau, Harriet, "The Crofton Boys," i. 93; meeting with, 94, 193; invitation from, 197; article on "Niebuhr," 203; visit to, at Ambleside, 212; respect for her, ii. 103; her autobiography, iii. 214, 219. Martineau, James, i. 192; critique of Kingsley's "Phaethon," 219; on Sir William Hamilton, 223; invitation from, 54; "Comte," 55. Martineau, Maria, her death, ii. 274. "Masculine woman," dislike of the, iii. 308. Masson, Mr., on Recent Philosophy, ii. 298. Mathematics, her love for, iii. 305. Matlock, recollections of, iii. 47. Maurice, Frederick, generous tribute from, ii. 259. Mazzini, asked to write on "Freedom _v._ Despotism," i. 194; his speeches, 198. Mazzini Fund, the, ii. 294. Mazzini's death, iii. 113. "Meliorist," the word, iii. 217. Memorial article on author of "Thorndale," iii. 126. Mendelssohn's "Letters," iii. 84. Mental characteristics described, i. 84. "Middlemarch," writing introduction, iii. 69; reading for, 71, 72; the design of, 99; anticipations of, 103; first part published, 104; French and German interest in, 112; delayed by ill-health, 113; £1200 from Harpers for reprint, 114; finished, 121; reviewed in _Blackwood's Magazine_, 130; new edition called for, 153; number sold in 1873, 160; December, 1874, 20,000 sold, 180. Milan, the Ambrosian Library, ii. 180; the "Brera," 180; Church of San Ambrogio, 181; the "Luini" pictures, iii. 288. Military men, articles by, iii. 265. Mill, John Stuart, his "Autobiography," iii. 158. "Mill on the Floss," first volume finished as "Sister Maggie," ii. 101; Blackwood's proposals for, 110; discussions as to title, 111; Blackwood's suggestion adopted, 112; Harpers, New York, give £300 for American edition, 115; third volume finished, 116; inscription on, 116; sad at finishing, 117; first and second editions (6000) sold, 185. Miracle play at Antwerp, the, ii. 316. Miscellaneous writing, i. 280. Misconception of others, on, ii. 197. "Miss Brooke," experimenting on, iii. 91. Mixed marriages in Germany, ii. 28. Modern German art, ii. 27. Mohl, Madame, dinner with, iii. 1. Moleschott, of Zurich, ii. 182. Molière's "Misanthrope," ii. 108. Mommsen's "History of Rome," ii. 264. Mont Cenis, passage of, ii. 120. Moral action, ground of, iii. 178. Moral sanction is obedience to facts, iii. 34. Morality with the "Bible shut," i. 230. More, Mrs. Hannah, her letters, i. 123. Müller, Max, ii. 239; iii. 149. Munich, the opera, ii. 18; Samson and Delilah, 18; Schwanthaler's "Bavaria," 19; appreciation of Rubens, 20; Catholic and Protestant worship, 21; the Glyptothek and Pinnacothek, 21; Kaulbach, Bodenstedt, and Genelli, 22, 23; Professor Wagner, 23; Professor Martius, 23; Liebig, 23, 25; Heyse and Geibel, 23; music of the "Faust," 24; Professor Löher, 24; Albert Dürer's paintings, 24; Bluntschli and Melchior Meyr, 25; the _Tafel-rund_, 26; the Siebolds, 26, 33; Kaulbach's pictures, 27; mixed marriages, 28; porcelain-painting, 30; Madame Bodenstedt, 30; visit to Grosshesselohe, 31; Lewes leaves for Switzerland, 33; leaves for Dresden, 33. Murillo's St. Rodriguez, ii. 43. Music, cheap, inconveniences connected with, in England, ii. 81. Musical evenings with Mr. Pigott and Mr. Redford, ii. 227, 229, 230. Musical parties, ii. 99. Myers, Mr. Frederick, Cambridge, iii. 147. "My Vegetarian Friend," written, ii. 285. Nancy, the Germans at, iii. 151. Naples: first impressions, ii. 144; visits to Baiæ, Avernus, and Misena, 145; to Pozzuoli and Capo di Monte, 146; the Cemetery, 147; Museo Borbonico, 147; Pompeii, 148; its remains, 149; beauty of, 150; the pictures at, 151; Giotto's frescoes, 151; leave for Florence, 154. Nearness of death, imagining the, iii. 170. Negative attitude unsatisfactory, iii. 156. "Nemesis of Faith," reviews the, i. 145; note from Froude, 145. New house, enjoyment of, ii. 269, 270. Newman, Francis, i. 140; iii. 165. Newman's "Apologia," ii. 280. Newman's, J. H., "Lectures on the Position of Catholics," i. 192. New misery in writing, i. 227. New Year's wishes, iii. 139. Nichol's "Architecture of the Heavens," i. 65. Nightingale, Miss Florence, note from, i. 206; ii. 61. Noel, Mr., i. 191. Nonconformity, effect of, i. 79; dangers of, 90. Normandy, trip to, ii. 296. _North British_, favorable review, ii. 199. Notes on the "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 30, 31. Novel-writing, suspected of, i. 108. Nuneaton, riot at, i. 20. Nürnberg, description of, ii. 14; its roofs and balconies, 15; the Frauen-Kirche, 16; effect of Catholic "Function," 17; Albert Dürer's house, 17. Old people's judgments, i. 118. "Old Town Folks," appreciation of, iii. 66. Oliphant, Lawrence, and the colonizing of Palestine, iii. 252. Oliphant, Mrs., the novelist, ii. 11. _Once a Week_, a story requested for, ii. 104, 106. Oratorios at Birmingham, i. 53. Oratorios condemned, i. 32. Orientals, English attitude towards, iii. 211. Osborne, Bernal, on "Deronda," iii. 200. Otter, Francis, letter to, on his engagement, iii. 180, 181. Owen, Professor, i. 202; on the cerebellum, 210; sends his "Palæontology," ii. 116. Owen, Robert, i. 86. Oxford, first visit to, iii. 80; people met with, 80. Oxford Tracts and Christian Year, i. 48. Padua, Church of San Antonio, ii. 170; the Arena Chapel, 171; Giotto's painting, 171. Pæstum, the Temple of Neptune, ii. 152. Paris, visit to Comte's apartment, ii. 286. Parkes, Miss (Madame Belloc), friendship with, i. 195; iii. 289. "Pascal," by Principal Tulloch, iii. 235. Passionate affliction, defence against, iii. 84. Patience, the need of, iii. 128. "Paul Bradley," by Mrs. Bray, iii. 164. Pays no visits in London, ii. 215. Peabody, George, his magnificent gift, ii. 245. Pears, Mrs., letters to: on religious difficulties, i. 76; on desire for truth, 77; on her impetuosity, 81; her friendship with Mr. Robert Evans, 147. Penmaenmawr, ii. 96. Permanent influence of ideas, the, iii. 89. Persistence in application, iii. 304. Personal bearing, her, iii. 310. Personal portraiture objected to, iii. 228. Personality, independence of our, iii. 84. Phenomena of spiritualism, the, iii. 67. Philosophical Club, first meeting of, ii. 248; dissolution of, 253. "Philosophy of Necessity," the, i. 339. Phrenological indications, i. 78. Phrenology, the position of, i. 340. Physiological reading, i. 279. Physiological Studentship, the purpose of, iii. 256. "Physiology for Schools," Mrs. Bray's, ii. 267. Pigott, Mr. Edward Smith, i. 293. Pisa, description of, ii. 125; the cathedral, 125. Pity and fairness, where requisite, iii. 228. Plain living and high thinking, iii. 161. Plombières and the Vosges, iii. 150. Poem in _Christian Observer_, i. 43. Poetry instead of novels, on writing, iii. 36. Poetry of Christianity, i. 93; ii. 251. Poets, the value of, iii. 184. Political and religious standpoint, iii. 308. Pompeii and its remains, ii. 149, 150, 154. Ponsonby, Hon. Mrs. (now Lady Ponsonby), letter to, on the idea of God an exaltation of human goodness, etc., iii. 176; on the desire to know the difficulties of others, 184; on excess of public-houses, 188; on pity and fairness, 228. Poor, helping industrious, iii. 90. "Popular author," characteristics of the, ii. 59. Popular Concerts, Monday, ii. 204, 248. Popular judgment of books, iii. 62. Popular preacher, a, iii. 87. Positivism in "The Spanish Gypsy," iii. 49. Positivism regarded as one-sided, ii. 224. Possession, the sense of, iii. 306. Power of the will, the, iii. 179. Poyser, Mrs., her dialogue, ii. 54; quoted in House of Commons, 69. Prague: the Jewish burial-ground, ii. 40; impressive view, 41. Preacher, a popular, criticised, iii. 87. Presentation copies never sent, ii. 216. Press notices of "Adam Bede," ii. 60. "Pretended comforts," ii. 296. Prince Albert, admiration of, i. 202. Printed rancor, on, iii. 221. Priory, receptions at the, iii. 241. Private correspondence almost all destroyed, ii. 207. Private theatricals, i. 176, 178. "Problems of Life and Mind," by G. H. Lewes, iii. 203, 210. _Prospective Review_, i. 219; on Goethe, 224. Psychical troubles, i. 232. Public-houses, excess of, iii. 188. Public interest in "Deronda," iii. 199. Public school and University education, iii. 309. Publishing books, on different methods of, iii. 190, 191. "Pug," letter to John Blackwood on, ii. 91. Quackery of infidelity, i. 89. _Quarterly_ on "The Mill on the Floss," ii. 201. Queen's admiration of "The Mill on the Floss," ii. 203. Quiet joy in success, ii. 72. Quirk, Mr., finally renounces Liggins, ii. 96. Race characteristics, i. 125. Ragatz, "The Cure" at, iii. 206; gain in health from, 210. Rancor, on printed, iii. 221. Rawlinson, Professor, iii. 80. Reade, Charles, on "Adam Bede," ii. 70. Reading aloud, the effect of her, iii. 302, 303. Reading world very narrow, iii. 131. Reeves, Sims, singing "Adelaide," ii. 205. Religion and art, i. 126; the development of, iii. 62. Religious controversies, i. 39, 47; aspirations, 63; doubts and difficulties, 74, 76; forms and ceremonies, ii. 205; assemblies, the need of, iii. 156; and political standpoint, 308. Renan, estimate of, ii. 269; his appearance, iii. 3. Renan's "Vie de Jésus," ii. 260. Renunciation, on, iii. 35. Repugnance to autobiography, iii. 221. Responsibility of authorship, ii. 89. Retrospect of year 1819, i. 4, 5; of 1857, 346; of 1858, ii. 55; of 1864, 285; of 1865, 300; of 1868, iii. 50; of year 1873, 159. Reviews, effect of, ii. 192; abstains from reading, 193. Reviews of "Spanish Gypsy," iii. 40, 44. Revolution, sympathy with, i. 130. Revolutionary spirit, i. 138. "Revue des Deux Mondes," review of "Adam Bede," ii. 105; Lewes accepts editorship of periodical on plan of, ii. 287. Rewards of the artist, the, ii. 107. Richmond Park, the charms of, i. 326; sunset effects, 341. Riehl's "Die Familie," i. 344. Ritualistic services at Ryde, iii. 91. Rive, M. le Professeur de la, his lectures, i. 175, 177. Romance in real life, a, ii. 258, 259. Rome: from Civita Vecchia to, ii. 126; first sight of, 126; disappointed with, 127; view from the Capitol, 128; the Sabine and Alban hills, 128; the temples and palaces, 129; the arches and columns, 129, 130; the Coliseum and baths, 130; the Lateran and Vatican sculptures, 131; St. Peter's, 132; mediæval churches, 133; Sistine chapel, 133; palaces, 133, 134; illumination of St. Peter's, 134; the Quirinal, 134; San Pietro in Vincoli, 134; Michael Angelo's "Moses," 135; modern artists, 135; Riedel and Overbeck, 136; Pamfili Doria gardens, 137; Villa Albani and Frascati, 137; Tivoli, 138; pictures at the Capitol, 139; the Lateran Museum, 139; Shelley's and Keats's graves, 140; removal to apartments, 142; the French occupation, 143; beautiful mothers and children, 143; the Pope's blessing, 144. "Romola," first conception of, ii. 197; began the first chapter, 230; studying for, 234; begins it again, 238; Smith offers £10,000 for it to appear in the _Cornhill_, 244; £7000 accepted, 245; slow progress in writing, 246, 250; opinions of, 252; strain of writing, 255; finished Part XIII., 255; completion of, 256; application to translate into Italian, iii. 216. Rosehill, visit to, i. 193. Roundell, Mr. and Mrs. Charles, iii. 149. Roy, Dr. Charles, elected Lewes Physiological student, iii. 275; his treatise on "Blood Pressure," 298. Rubens, appreciation of, ii. 20. Rumors of authorship, ii. 13. Ruskin and Alfieri, reading, iii. 292. Ruskin's Works, opinion of, ii. 5. Ryde, visit to, iii. 91; ritualistic service at, 91. Salerno, visit to, ii. 151. Salzburg, description of scenery, ii. 36. Sand's, George, "Lettres d'un Voyageur," i. 122. Saragossa, the old cathedral, iii. 5. Saturday Popular Concerts, last visit to, iii. 315. _Saturday Review_, the, i. 281. Saveney on "La Physique Moderne," iii. 3. Scarborough, visit to, ii. 281. "Scenes of Clerical Life:" "Sad Fortunes of Amos Barton," i. 299; offered to Blackwood, 300; accepted, 304; sensitiveness of author, 304; "Mr. Gilfil's Love-story" begun, 305; "Amos Barton," published in January (1856) Magazine, 305; opinions regarding authorship, 308, 309; assumes the name of George Eliot, 310; Caterina and the dagger scene, 313; "Mr. Gilfil" finished, 319; epilogue to, 319; opinions of, 324; "Janet's Repentance" begun, 326; Blackwood's opinion of, 328; increased circulation, 342; favorable opinions of, ii. 10. Scherer, Professor, Geneva, iii. 8. School-fellows, excels her, i, 19. Schwalbach, description of, ii. 312. Scientists, limitations of, iii. 182. Scilly Islands, recollections of: St. Mary's, i. 314; Beauties of the coast, 314; sunlight on the waves, 315; social life, 316. Scotch Reign of Terror, disbelief in a, i. 132. Scotland, trip to, i. 97; visit to, ii. 275. Scott Commemoration, afraid of journey to, iii. 97, 98. Scott, Life of Sir Walter, ii. 61. Scrap-work, dislike of, i. 203. Sculpture and painting, i. 127. Sensibility to criticism, ii. 63. Sequel to "Adam Bede" proposed, ii. 100. Shakespeare's "Passionate Pilgrim," i. 273. Shakespeare, the acting preferred to the reading, ii. 109. Shakespeare, volume on, requested by Macmillan, iii. 231. Sheffield, visit to, iii. 46; early recollections of, 46. Shelley's "Cloud," i. 53. Shottermill, life at, iii. 94. Sibree, John, letters to, i. 123; on "Tancred" and D'Israeli, 123, 124; race characteristics, 125; religion and art, 126; painting and sculpture, 127; sympathy with him, 128; necessity of utterance, 132; desire for a change, 133. Sibree, Miss Mary (Mrs. John Cash), her recollections of Miss Evans at Coventry, i. 113-116; letter to, 327. Sidgwick, Mr. Henry, iii. 147. Siebold the anatomist, ii. 26. Siena, expedition to, ii. 164; the Cathedral, 164, 165; its paintings, 165. "Silas Marner, the Weaver of Raveloe," a sudden inspiration, ii. 204; story begun, 207; its sombre character, 210; subscription to, 5500, 212. Silence of the country, iii. 107. "Silly Novels by Lady Novelists," article on, finished, i. 297. Simpson, Mr. George, Edinburgh, letter to, iii. 135; proposed a yet cheaper edition of novels, 162; author's regret at not adopting the plan, 162. "Small upper room" 1866 years ago, comparison with, ii. 285. Smith, Albert, on "Amos Barton," i. 308. Smith, Barbara (Madame Bodichon), i. 205, 295. _See_ Madame Bodichon. Smith, Mr. George, offers £10,000 for "Romola," to appear in the _Cornhill_, ii. 244; accepted for £7000, 245. Smith, Mrs. William, letters to, on the Memoir of her husband, iii. 126, 142; on the higher education of women, 146; on her poems, 160. Smith, Sydney, anecdote of, ii. 299. Smith, William, author of "Thorndale," ii. 5, 212; his illness, iii. 109; his death, 119; memoir of, 185. Social dangers, i. 56. Somerville's, Mrs., "Connection of the Physical Sciences," i. 50. "Sonnets on Childhood," iii. 65. Sorrento, visit to, ii. 153; its neighborhood, Vico, and the Syren Isles, 154. Spain, set off on journey to, ii. 324; return home, iii. 9. "Spanish Gypsy," reading for, ii. 280; first act finished, 283; taken up again, 317; reading for, 321; recommenced in new form, 321; reading for, iii. 15; Mr. Lewes's opinion of, 22; shortening of, 29; finished, 29; notes on, 30; the _motif_ of the poem, 30; reviews of, 39, 40; second and third editions, 42, 45; reprinted in Germany, 140; number sold in 1873, 160; fifth edition published, 180. Spanish grammar, studying, ii. 282. Spanish, new system of learning, iii. 3; scenery, 4; travelling, 6. Speke, Captain, the African traveller, ii. 95, 101. Spencer, Herbert, first meeting with, i. 187; intimacy with, 201, 203; "Universal Postulate," 225; "Genesis of Science," 234; Essays, 371; his influence on Lewes, ii. 55, 56; enthusiastic letter from, 89; his new work, 206; visit from, 276; introduces Lewes to Mrs. Cross, iii. 15; his teaching, 184; last visit from, 315. Spencer, Mr., senior, teacher, ii. 272. Spinoza's "Ethics," desires not to be known as translator, i. 283. Spinoza's "Tractatus Theologico-Politicus," i. 147, 172. Spiritualistic evidence, iii. 111; phenomena, 116. "Spiritual Wives," a nasty book, iii. 130. Spiritualism, the phenomena of, iii. 67; one aspect of, 117. Splügen Pass, journey across, ii. 181. Springs of affection reopened, iii. 280. Stachelberg and Klönthal, iii. 207. Staffordshire, first journey to, i. 15. Stanley, Lord, his opinion of the "Scenes," i. 325. _Statesman_ review of "Clerical Life," ii. 6. Stella Collas in "Juliet," ii. 259. Stephenson, George, one of her heroes, ii. 241. St. Blasien, in the Schwarz Wald, iii. 207. St. Leonards, visit to, i. 223. St. Paul's, charity children singing, i. 203. Stories, on conclusions of, i. 319. Stowe, Mrs., Miss Cobbe's rejoinder to, ii. 253; letters to, iii. 60; on early memories of, 60; the popular judgment of books, 61; the development of religion, 62; a woman's experience, 63; on appreciation of "Old Town Folks," 66; Professor Stowe's psychological experience, 67; phenomena of spiritualism, 67; on the benefits of country quiet, 110; on spiritualistic phenomena, 116; on Goethe, 175; on her admiration for "Deronda," 202; on the Jewish element in "Deronda," 211. Stowe, Mrs., letter to Mrs. Follen, i. 220. Stowe, Professor, his psychological experience, iii. 66; a story by, iii. 129. Strachey, Mrs., letter to (unfinished), iii. 315. "Stradivarius," referred to, iii. 228. Strain of writing "Romola," ii. 255. Strauss, translation of, i. 90, 94; delay in publication, 95; difficulties, 96; title, 98; finishing translation, 101; Miss Hennell's help in translation, 103; review of, 109; interview with, 240; renewed acquaintance with, ii. 46. Strength while abroad, iii. 301. Stuart, Mrs., visit from, iii. 255. Study, enjoyment of, ii. 322. Studying for "Romola," ii. 234, 240, 246, 249, 250. Sturgis, Julian, high opinion of, iii. 257. Sully, James, letter to, on Mr. Lewes's articles, iii. 260, 269, 273; thanking him for proof-reading, 274. "Sunshine through the Clouds," i. 233. Surrey, enjoyment, iii. 170. Surrey hills preferred to the sea-side, iii. 272. Swansea, cockle-women at, i. 292. Swayne, Rev. Mr., his delight with "Mr. Gilfil's Love-Story," i. 311. Switzerland, letters during residence in 1849, i. 151-179. Sympathy, with other women, iii. 100; the necessity of, ii. 269; recovery of, iii. 293. Tauchnitz offers for "Clerical Life," ii. 52; offers £100 for German reprint of "Adam Bede," 115. Taylor, Isaac, influence of, i. 51. Taylor, Mrs. Peter, i. 196; sympathy with, 197; letters to, 218, 219; generous letter from, with reply, 293, 294; on her domestic position, ii. 213, 214; letter to, on Christmas at Weybridge, iii. 159; on difficulties of note writing, 181; on the Lewes Studentship, 273. Taylor, Professor Tom, i. 201. Tenby, zoological delights, i. 293; St. Catherine's Rock, 295; work done here, 295; Mr. Pigott's visit, 296; leave and return to Richmond, 297. Tennyson, appreciation of, iii. 229. "Terror" in religious education, iii. 48. Thackeray, Miss, "The Story of Elizabeth," ii. 299; her marriage, iii. 225. Thackeray's "Esmond," i. 214; opinion of "Gilfil's Love-Story," 323; favorable opinion of "Clerical Life," ii. 10. "The Impressions of Theophrastus Such," MS. sent to publishers, iii. 245; publication postponed, 252; third edition about sold out, 268. Theism, objection to, i. 339, 340. Thirlwall, Bishop, story of, iii. 228. Thompson, Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, iii. 149. Thorns in actual fame, ii. 90. Thorwaldsen's Christ scourged, i. 126. "Thoughts in Aid of Faith," by Miss Hennell, ii. 186, 188, 195; favorable view of, by Miss Nightingale and Miss Julia Smith, 190. "Thoughts in Aid of Faith," ii. 73. Thoughts on death, iii. 100; on early death, ii. 290. Tichborne trial, the, iii. 106; Coleridge's address, 107. _Times_ reviews "Adam Bede," ii. 73; letter to, denying Liggin's authorship, 74. Titian's paintings, ii. 43, 45. "Too good to be true," i. 140. Torquay, visit to, iii. 25. Toulon to Nice, drive from, ii. 216, 217. Town life, depression of, ii. 203. Tragedy, notes on, iii. 32. Translator's difficulties, a, i. 99. Traunstein, our fellow-travellers at, ii. 35. Trèves, a visit to, iii. 122. Trollope, Anthony, his "Orley Farm," delightful letter from, ii. 246. Truth, desire for, i. 77. Truth of feeling a bond of union, i. 88. Tryan, Rev. Mr., an ideal character, i. 332. Tulloch, Principal, his "Pascal," iii. 235. Turguenieff, M., iii. 209. Turin: Count Cavour, ii. 122; Prince de Carignan, 122. Tylor's "Primitive Culture," iii. 118. Tyndall, Professor, "On the Constitution of the Universe," ii. 299. University and public school education, iii. 309. Use of irregular verses, iii. 40. "Utopias," poem on, ii. 286. Venice: the Grand Canal by moonlight, ii. 172; San Marco and Doge's Palace, 173; pictures in the palace, 173; interior of St. Mark's, 174; "Death of Peter the Martyr," 175; the Scuola di San Rocco, 176; Tintoretto and Titian, 176; Giovanni Bellini and Palma Vecchio, 177; sunset on the Lagoon, 177; Piazza of San Marco, 178; a remarkable picture, 178. Verona, the church of San Zenone, ii. 179; the tombs of the Scaligers, 179. Veronese, his "Finding of Moses," etc., ii. 44. Via Mala, its grand scenery, ii. 182. Vienna: Belvedere pictures, ii. 39; the Liechtenstein collection, 39; Hyrtl, the anatomist, 39; journey to Prague, 40. "Villette," i. 220. Vision of others' needs, iii. 177. Vision-seeing subjective, iii. 116. "Visiting my Relations," a volume of poetry from the authoress of, ii. 97. Wales, visit to, iii. 189. Wallace's "Eastern Archipelago," iii. 118. Wallington, Miss, her school at Nuneaton, i. 15. Walt Whitman, motto from, iii. 200. Wandsworth, takes new house at, ii. 59. Warwickshire magistrate, correspondence with, ii. 97. "Waverley," writes out, i. 16. Weimar recollections: interview with Strauss, i. 240; the Dichter Zimmer, 240; Scholl, 240; excursion to Ettersburg, 241; Arthur Helps, 242; Goethe's beech, 242; expedition to Ilmenau, 242; Wagner's operas, 243; "Der Freischütz," 243; Schiller's house, 244; Goethe's house, 244; his study, 245; the _Gartenhaus_, 246; the _Webicht_, 247; Marquis de Ferrière, 247; Liszt on Spontoni, 248; breakfast with, 249; his playing, 250; his trophies, 250; our expenses, 251; work at and books read, 268-271; wrote article on "Madame de Sablé," 268; remarks on books read, 269-271; return to England, 271. _Westminster_, the, on "Essays and Reviews," ii. 200. _Westminster Review_, assistant editor of, i. 186; heavy work, 193; its difficulties, 227; wishes to give up editorship, 229. _Westminster_ reviewers, i. 199, 200, 205, 210. Weybridge, Christmas visit to, iii. 71, 140, 159. Wharton's "Summary of the Laws relating to Women," i. 220. Whitby, visit to, iii. 85. Wicksteed's review of Strauss's translation in "Prospective," i. 109. Wilberforce, emulation of, i. 31. Wildbad to Brussels, iii. 295. Will, power of the, iii. 179. Wilson, Andrew, the "Abode of Snow," iii. 190. Witley, house bought at, iii. 215; life at, 240; Sunday receptions, 241. Wolseley, Sir Garnet, iii. 198. Woman's duty, yearning for a, i. 173; earnings, 282; full experience, iii. 63; constancy, on, 92, 93. Womanhood, her ideal of, iii. 308. Women's Colleges, iii. 309. Woolwich Arsenal, a visit to, iii. 176. Wordsworth's Poems, i. 45. Wordsworth's Thoughts on Humanity, iii. 280. Work at Weimar and Berlin, i. 268. World of light and speech, iii. 185. Writing under difficulties, ii. 307. Young, discontent of the, iii. 213. Young Englandism, no sympathy with, i. 124. Young men, desire to influence, iii. 18. Yorkshire, visit to, iii. 41. Zoological Gardens, pleasure in, ii. 209; friendship with the Shoebill, 209. THE END. GEORGE ELIOT'S WORKS. LIBRARY EDITION. _ADAM BEDE._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _DANIEL DERONDA._ 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. _ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK._ 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _MIDDLEMARCH._ 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $2.50. _ROMOLA._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH._ 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. _THE MILL ON THE FLOSS._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1.25. * * * * * POPULAR EDITION. _ADAM BEDE._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _DANIEL DERONDA._ 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $1.50. _ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK._ 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _MIDDLEMARCH._ 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $1.50. _ROMOLA._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER._ Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH._ 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. _THE MILL ON THE FLOSS._ 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. * * * * * CHEAPER EDITIONS. _BROTHER JACOB.--THE LIFTED VEIL._ 32mo, Paper, 20 cents. _DANIEL DERONDA._ 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. _ESSAYS and LEAVES FROM A NOTE-BOOK._ 4to, Paper. _FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL._ 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. _JANET'S REPENTANCE._ 32mo, Paper, 20 cents. _MIDDLEMARCH._ 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. _MR. GILFIL'S LOVE STORY._ 32mo, Paper, 20 cents. _ROMOLA._ Ill'd. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. _SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE._ 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. _THE IMPRESSIONS OF THEOPHRASTUS SUCH._ 4to, Paper, 10 cents. _THE MILL ON THE FLOSS._ 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. _THE SAD FORTUNES OF THE REV. AMOS BARTON._ 32mo, Paper, 20 cts. * * * * * PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. HARPER & BROTHERS _will send any of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price._ * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious typographical errors were repaired. Duplicate sidenotes (repeated at the top of continuation pages) were deleted. Latin-1 file: _underscores_ enclose italicized content. P. 259 sidenote (22d April, retained) and p. 260 continuation sidenote (23d April, deleted) disagree. P. 224, "disbelief in my own {duty/right}"--original shows "duty" immediately above "right" with large curly braces surrounding both. Latin-1 file: p. 133, "baby is raised to the _n_^{th} power"--^{th} indicates "th" as a superscript. Latin-1 file: p. 102, [)o] indicates an "o" with a breve, and [=o] indicates an "o" with a macron. Html file displays these as in the original. 
4184	----	THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S. CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE (Unabridged) WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES 1967 By Samuel Pepys Edited With Additions By Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A. LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 1893 JANUARY 1666-1667 January 1st. Lay long, being a bitter, cold, frosty day, the frost being now grown old, and the Thames covered with ice. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon to the 'Change a little, where Mr. James Houblon and I walked a good while speaking of our ill condition in not being able to set out a fleet (we doubt) this year, and the certain ill effect that must bring, which is lamentable. Home to dinner, where the best powdered goose that ever I eat. Then to the office again, and to Sir W. Batten's to examine the Commission going down to Portsmouth to examine witnesses about our prizes, of which God give a good issue! and then to the office again, where late, and so home, my eyes sore. To supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, I, and walked to White Hall to attend the Duke of York, as usual. My wife up, and with Mrs. Pen to walk in the fields to frost-bite themselves. I find the Court full of great apprehensions of the French, who have certainly shipped landsmen, great numbers, at Brest; and most of our people here guess his design for Ireland. We have orders to send all the ships we can possible to the Downes. God have mercy on us! for we can send forth no ships without men, nor will men go without money, every day bringing us news of new mutinies among the seamen; so that our condition is like to be very miserable. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there met all the Houblons, who do laugh at this discourse of the French, and say they are verily of opinion it is nothing but to send to their plantation in the West Indys, and that we at Court do blow up a design of invading us, only to make the Parliament make more haste in the money matters, and perhaps it may be so, but I do not believe we have any such plot in our heads. After them, I, with several people, among others Mr. George Montagu, whom I have not seen long, he mighty kind. He tells me all is like to go ill, the King displeasing the House of Commons by evading their Bill for examining Accounts, and putting it into a Commission, though therein he hath left out Coventry and I and named all the rest the Parliament named, and all country Lords, not one Courtier: this do not please them. He tells me he finds the enmity almost over for my Lord Sandwich, and that now all is upon the Vice-Chamberlain, who bears up well and stands upon his vindication, which he seems to like well, and the others do construe well also. Thence up to the Painted Chamber, and there heard a conference between the House of Lords and Commons about the Wine Patent; which I was exceeding glad to be at, because of my hearing exceeding good discourses, but especially from the Commons; among others, Mr. Swinfen, and a young man, one Sir Thomas Meres: and do outdo the Lords infinitely. So down to the Hall and to the Rose Taverne, while Doll Lane come to me, and we did 'biber a good deal de vino, et je did give elle twelve soldis para comprare elle some gans' for a new anno's gift .... Thence to the Hall again, and with Sir W. Pen by coach to the Temple, and there 'light and eat a bit at an ordinary by, and then alone to the King's House, and there saw "The Custome of the Country," the second time of its being acted, wherein Knipp does the Widow well; but, of all the plays that ever I did see, the worst-having neither plot, language, nor anything in the earth that is acceptable; only Knipp sings a little song admirably. But fully the worst play that ever I saw or I believe shall see. So away home, much displeased for the loss of so much time, and disobliging my wife by being there without her. So, by link, walked home, it being mighty cold but dry, yet bad walking because very slippery with the frost and treading. Home and to my chamber to set down my journal, and then to thinking upon establishing my vows against the next year, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon by invitation to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, where my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten, and his lady, myself, and wife, Sir J. Minnes, and Mr. Turner and his wife. Indifferent merry, to which I contributed the most, but a mean dinner, and in a mean manner. In the evening a little to the office, and then to them, where I found them at cards, myself very ill with a cold (the frost continuing hard), so eat but little at supper, but very merry, and late home to bed, not much pleased with the manner of our entertainment, though to myself more civil than to any. This day, I hear, hath been a conference between the two Houses about the Bill for examining Accounts, wherein the House of Lords their proceedings in petitioning the King for doing it by Commission is, in great heat, voted by the Commons, after the conference, unparliamentary. The issue whereof, God knows. 4th. Up, and seeing things put in order for a dinner at my house to-day, I to the office awhile, and about noon home, and there saw all things in good order. Anon comes our company; my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Pen, his lady, and Pegg, and her servant, Mr. Lowther, my Lady Batten (Sir W. Batten being forced to dine at Sir K. Ford's, being invited), Mr. Turner and his wife. Here I had good room for ten, and no more would my table have held well, had Sir J. Minnes, who was fallen lame, and his sister, and niece, and Sir W. Batten come, which was a great content to me to be without them. I did make them all gaze to see themselves served so nobly in plate, and a neat dinner, indeed, though but of seven dishes. Mighty merry I was and made them all, and they mightily pleased. My Lord Bruncker went away after dinner to the ticket-office, the rest staid, only my Lady Batten home, her ague-fit coming on her at table. The rest merry, and to cards, and then to sing and talk, and at night to sup, and then to cards; and, last of all, to have a flaggon of ale and apples, drunk out of a wood cupp, [A mazer or drinking-bowl turned out of some kind of wood, by preference of maple, and especially the spotted or speckled variety called "bird's-eye maple" (see W. H. St. John Hope's paper, "On the English Mediaeval Drinking-bowls called Mazers," "Archaeologia," vol. 50, pp. 129,93).] as a Christmas draught, made all merry; and they full of admiration at my plate, particularly my flaggons (which, indeed, are noble), and so late home, all with great mirth and satisfaction to them, as I thought, and to myself to see all I have and do so much outdo for neatness and plenty anything done by any of them. They gone, I to bed, much pleased, and do observe Mr. Lowther to be a pretty gentleman, and, I think, too good for Peg; and, by the way, Peg Pen seems mightily to be kind to me, and I believe by her father's advice, who is also himself so; but I believe not a little troubled to see my plenty, and was much troubled to hear the song I sung, "The New Droll"--it touching him home. So to bed. 5th. At the office all the morning, thinking at noon to have been taken home, and my wife (according to appointment yesterday), by my Lord Bruncker, to dinner and then to a play, but he had forgot it, at which I was glad, being glad of avoyding the occasion of inviting him again, and being forced to invite his doxy, Mrs. Williams. So home, and took a small snap of victuals, and away, with my wife, to the Duke's house, and there saw "Mustapha," a most excellent play for words and design as ever I did see. I had seen it before but forgot it, so it was wholly new to me, which is the pleasure of my not committing these things to my memory. Home, and a little to the office, and then to bed, where I lay with much pain in my head most of the night, and very unquiet, partly by my drinking before I went out too great a draught of sack, and partly my eyes being still very sore. 6th (Lord's day). Up pretty well in the morning, and then to church, where a dull doctor, a stranger, made a dull sermon. Then home, and Betty Michell and her husband come by invitation to dine with us, and, she I find the same as ever (which I was afraid of the contrary)... Here come also Mr. Howe to dine with me, and we had a good dinner and good merry discourse with much pleasure, I enjoying myself mightily to have friends at my table. After dinner young Michell and I, it being an excellent frosty day to walk, did walk out, he showing me the baker's house in Pudding Lane, where the late great fire begun; and thence all along Thames Street, where I did view several places, and so up by London Wall, by Blackfriars, to Ludgate; and thence to Bridewell, which I find to have been heretofore an extraordinary good house, and a fine coming to it, before the house by the bridge was built; and so to look about St. Bride's church and my father's house, and so walked home, and there supped together, and then Michell and Betty home, and I to my closet, there to read and agree upon my vows for next year, and so to bed and slept mighty well. 7th. Lay long in bed. Then up and to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon (my wife being gone to Westminster) I with my Lord Bruncker by coach as far as the Temple, in the way he telling me that my Lady Denham is at last dead. Some suspect her poisoned, but it will be best known when her body is opened, which will be to-day, she dying yesterday morning. The Duke of York is troubled for her; but hath declared he will never have another public mistress again; which I shall be glad of, and would the King would do the like. He tells me how the Parliament is grown so jealous of the King's being unfayre to them in the business of the Bill for examining Accounts, Irish Bill, and the business of the Papists, that they will not pass the business for money till they see themselves secure that those Bills will pass; which they do observe the Court to keep off till all the Bills come together, that the King may accept what he pleases, and what he pleases to reject, which will undo all our business and the kingdom too. He tells me how Mr. Henry Howard, of Norfolke, hath given our Royal Society all his grandfather's library: which noble gift they value at L1000; and gives them accommodation to meet in at his house, Arundell House, they being now disturbed at Gresham College. Thence 'lighting at the Temple to the ordinary hard by and eat a bit of meat, and then by coach to fetch my wife from her brother's, and thence to the Duke's house, and saw "Macbeth," which, though I saw it lately, yet appears a most excellent play in all respects, but especially in divertisement, though it be a deep tragedy; which is a strange perfection in a tragedy, it being most proper here, and suitable. So home, it being the last play now I am to see till a fortnight hence, I being from the last night entered into my vowes for the year coming on. Here I met with the good newes of Hogg's bringing in two prizes more to Plymouth, which if they prove but any part of them, I hope, at least, we shall be no losers by them. So home from the office, to write over fair my vowes for this year, and then to supper, and to bed. In great peace of mind having now done it, and brought myself into order again and a resolution of keeping it, and having entered my journall to this night, so to bed, my eyes failing me with writing. 8th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where my uncle Thomas with me to receive his quarterage. He tells me his son Thomas is set up in Smithfield, where he hath a shop--I suppose, a booth. Presently after dinner to the office, and there set close to my business and did a great deal before night, and am resolved to stand to it, having been a truant too long. At night to Sir W. Batten's to consider some things about our prizes, and then to other talk, and among other things he tells me that he hears for certain that Sir W. Coventry hath resigned to the King his place of Commissioner of the Navy, the thing he bath often told me that he had a mind to do, but I am surprised to think that he hath done it, and am full of thoughts all this evening after I heard it what may be the consequences of it to me. So home and to supper, and then saw the catalogue of my books, which my brother had wrote out, now perfectly alphabeticall, and so to bed. Sir Richard Ford did this evening at Sir W. Batten's tell us that upon opening the body of my Lady Denham it is said that they found a vessel about her matrix which had never been broke by her husband, that caused all pains in her body. Which if true is excellent invention to clear both the Duchesse from poison or the Duke from lying with her. 9th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen in a hackney-coach to White Hall, the way being most horribly bad upon the breaking up of the frost, so as not to be passed almost. There did our usual [business] with the Duke of York, and here I do hear, by my Lord Bruncker, that for certain Sir W. Coventry hath resigned his place of Commissioner; which I believe he hath done upon good grounds of security to himself, from all the blame which must attend our office this next year; but I fear the King will suffer by it. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there to the conference of the Houses about the word "Nuisance," [In the "Bill against importing Cattle from Ireland and other parts beyond the Seas," the Lords proposed to insert "Detriment and Mischief" in place of "Nuisance," but the Commons stood to their word, and gained their way. The Lords finally consented that "Nuisance" should stand in the Bill.] which the Commons would have, and the Lords will not, in the Irish Bill. The Commons do it professedly to prevent the King's dispensing with it; which Sir Robert Howard and others did expressly repeat often: viz., "the King nor any King ever could do any thing which was hurtful to their people." Now the Lords did argue, that it was an ill precedent, and that which will ever hereafter be used as a way of preventing the King's dispensation with acts; and therefore rather advise to pass the Bill without that word, and let it go, accompanied with a petition, to the King, that he will not dispense with it; this being a more civil way to the King. They answered well, that this do imply that the King should pass their Bill, and yet with design to dispense with it; which is to suppose the King guilty of abusing them. And more, they produce precedents for it; namely, that against new buildings and about leather, wherein the word "Nuisance" is used to the purpose: and further, that they do not rob the King of any right he ever had, for he never had a power to do hurt to his people, nor would exercise it; and therefore there is no danger, in the passing this Bill, of imposing on his prerogative; and concluded, that they think they ought to do this, so as the people may really have the benefit of it when it is passed, for never any people could expect so reasonably to be indulged something from a King, they having already given him so much money, and are likely to give more. Thus they broke up, both adhering to their opinions; but the Commons seemed much more full of judgment and reason than the Lords. Then the Commons made their Report to the Lords of their vote, that their Lordships' proceedings in the Bill for examining Accounts were unparliamentary; they having, while a Bill was sent up to them from the Commons about the business, petitioned his Majesty that he would do the same thing by his Commission. They did give their reasons: viz., that it had no precedent; that the King ought not to be informed of anything passing in the Houses till it comes to a Bill; that it will wholly break off all correspondence between the two Houses, and in the issue wholly infringe the very use and being of Parliaments. Having left their arguments with the Lords they all broke up, and I by coach to the ordinary by the Temple, and there dined alone on a rabbit, and read a book I brought home from Mrs. Michell's, of the proceedings of the Parliament in the 3rd and 4th year of the late King, a very good book for speeches and for arguments of law. Thence to Faythorne, and bought a head or two; one of them my Lord of Ormond's, the best I ever saw, and then to Arundell House, where first the Royall Society meet, by the favour of Mr. Harry Howard, who was there, and has given us his grandfather's library, a noble gift, and a noble favour and undertaking it is for him to make his house the seat for this college. Here was an experiment shown about improving the use of powder for creating of force in winding up of springs and other uses of great worth. And here was a great meeting of worthy noble persons; but my Lord Bruncker, who pretended to make a congratulatory speech upon their coming hither, and in thanks to Mr. Howard, do it in the worst manner in the world, being the worst speaker, so as I do wonder at his parts and the unhappiness of his speaking. Thence home by coach and to the office, and then home to supper, Mercer and her sister there, and to cards, and then to bed. Mr. Cowling did this day in the House-lobby tell me of the many complaints among people against Mr. Townsend in the Wardrobe, and advises me to think of my Lord Sandwich's concernment there under his care. He did also tell me upon my demanding it, that he do believe there are some things on foot for a peace between France and us, but that we shall be foiled in it. 10th. Up, and at the office all the morning. At noon home and, there being business to do in the afternoon, took my Lord Bruncker home with me, who dined with me. His discourse and mine about the bad performances of the Controller's and Surveyor's places by the hands they are now in, and the shame to the service and loss the King suffers by it. Then after dinner to the office, where we and some of the chief of the Trinity House met to examine the occasion of the loss of The Prince Royall, the master and mates being examined, which I took and keep, and so broke up, and I to my letters by the post, and so home and to supper with my mind at pretty good ease, being entered upon minding my business, and so to bed. This noon Mrs. Burroughs come to me about business, whom I did baiser.... 11th. Up, being troubled at my being found abed a-days by all sorts of people, I having got a trick of sitting up later than I need, never supping, or very seldom, before 12 at night. Then to the office, there busy all the morning, and among other things comes Sir W. Warren and walked with me awhile, whose discourse I love, he being a very wise man and full of good counsel, and his own practices for wisdom much to be observed, and among other things he tells me how he is fallen in with my Lord Bruncker, who has promised him most particular inward friendship and yet not to appear at the board to do so, and he tells me how my Lord Bruncker should take notice of the two flaggons he saw at my house at dinner, at my late feast, and merrily, yet I know enviously, said, I could not come honestly by them. This I am glad to hear, though vexed to see his ignoble soul, but I shall beware of him, and yet it is fit he should see I am no mean fellow, but can live in the world, and have something. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office with my people and very busy, and did dispatch to my great satisfaction abundance of business, and do resolve, by the grace of God, to stick to it till I have cleared my heart of most things wherein I am in arrear in public and private matters. At night, home to supper and to bed. This day ill news of my father's being very ill of his old grief the rupture, which troubles me. 12th. Up, still lying long in bed; then to the office, where sat very long. Then home to dinner, and so to the office again, mighty busy, and did to the joy of my soul dispatch much business, which do make my heart light, and will enable me to recover all the ground I have lost (if I have by my late minding my pleasures lost any) and assert myself. So home to supper, and then to read a little in Moore's "Antidote against Atheisme," a pretty book, and so to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where young Lowther come to church with Sir W. Pen and his Lady and daughter, and my wife tells me that either they are married or the match is quite perfected, which I am apt to believe, because all the peoples' eyes in the church were much fixed upon them. At noon sent for Mercer, who dined with us, and very merry, and so I, after dinner, walked to the Old Swan, thinking to have got a boat to White Hall, but could not, nor was there anybody at home at Michell's, where I thought to have sat with her.... So home, to church, a dull sermon, and then home at my chamber all the evening. So to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where busy getting beforehand with my business as fast as I can. At noon home to dinner, and presently afterward at my office again. I understand my father is pretty well again, blessed be God! and would have my Br[other] John comedown to him for a little while. Busy till night, pleasing myself mightily to see what a deal of business goes off of a man's hands when he stays by it, and then, at night, before it was late (yet much business done) home to supper, discourse with my wife, and to bed. Sir W. Batten tells me the Lords do agree at last with the Commons about the word "Nuisance" in the Irish Bill, and do desire a good correspondence between the two Houses; and that the King do intend to prorogue them the last of this month. 15th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Here my Lord Bruncker would have made me promise to go with him to a play this afternoon, where Knipp acts Mrs. Weaver's great part in "The Indian Emperour," and he says is coming on to be a great actor. But I am so fell to my business, that I, though against my inclination, will not go. At noon, dined with my wife and were pleasant, and then to the office, where I got Mrs. Burroughs 'sola cum ego, and did toucher ses mamailles'... She gone, I to my business and did much, and among other things to-night we were all mightily troubled how to prevent the sale of a great deal of hemp, and timber-deals, and other good goods to-morrow at the candle by the Prize Office, where it will be sold for little, and we shall be found to want the same goods and buy at extraordinary prices, and perhaps the very same goods now sold, which is a most horrid evil and a shame. At night home to supper and to bed with my mind mighty light to see the fruits of my diligence in having my business go off my hand so merrily. 16th. Up, and by coach to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York as usual. Here Sir W. Coventry come to me aside in the Duke's chamber, to tell that he had not answered part of a late letter of mine, because 'littera scripta manet'. About his leaving the office, he tells me, [it is] because he finds that his business at Court will not permit him to attend it; and then he confesses that he seldom of late could come from it with satisfaction, and therefore would not take the King's money for nothing. I professed my sorrow for it, and prayed the continuance of his favour; which he promised. I do believe he hath [done] like a very wise man in reference to himself; but I doubt it will prove ill for the King, and for the office. Prince Rupert, I hear to-day, is very ill; yesterday given over, but better to-day. This day, before the Duke of York, the business of the Muster-Masters was reported, and Balty found the best of the whole number, so as the Duke enquired who he was, and whether he was a stranger by his two names, both strange, and offered that he and one more, who hath done next best, should have not only their owne, but part of the others' salary, but that I having said he was my brother-in-law, he did stop, but they two are ordered their pay, which I am glad of, and some of the rest will lose their pay, and others be laid by the heels. I was very glad of this being ended so well. I did also, this morning, move in a business wherein Mr. Hater hath concerned me, about getting a ship, laden with salt from France, permitted to unload, coming in after the King's declaration was out, which I have hopes by some dexterity to get done. Then with the Duke of York to the King, to receive his commands for stopping the sale this day of some prize-goods at the Prize-Office, goods fit for the Navy; and received the King's commands, and carried them to the Lords' House, to my Lord Ashly, who was angry much thereat, and I am sorry it fell to me to carry the order, but I cannot help it. So, against his will, he signed a note I writ to the Commissioners of Prizes, which I carried and delivered to Kingdone, at their new office in Aldersgate Streete. Thence a little to the Exchange, where it was hot that the Prince was dead, but I did rectify it. So home to dinner, and found Balty, told him the good news, and then after dinner away, I presently to White Hall, and did give the Duke of York a memorial of the salt business, against the Council, and did wait all the Council for answer, walking a good while with Sir Stephen Fox, who, among other things, told me his whole mystery in the business of the interest he pays as Treasurer for the Army. They give him 12d. per pound quite through the Army, with condition to be paid weekly. This he undertakes upon his own private credit, and to be paid by the King at the end of every four months. If the King pay him not at the end of the four months, then, for all the time he stays longer, my Lord Treasurer, by agreement, allows him eight per cent. per annum for the forbearance. So that, in fine, he hath about twelve per cent. from the King and the Army, for fifteen or sixteen months' interest; out of which he gains soundly, his expense being about L130,000 per annum; and hath no trouble in it, compared, as I told him, to the trouble I must have to bring in an account of interest. I was, however, glad of being thus enlightened, and so away to the other council door, and there got in and hear a piece of a cause, heard before the King, about a ship deserted by her fellows (who were bound mutually to defend each other), in their way to Virginy, and taken by the enemy, but it was but meanly pleaded. Then all withdrew, and by and by the Council rose, and I spoke with the Duke of York, and he told me my business was done, which I found accordingly in Sir Edward Walker's books. And so away, mightily satisfied, to Arundell House, and there heard a little good discourse, and so home, and there to Sir W. Batten, where I heard the examinations in two of our prizes, which do make but little for us, so that I do begin to doubt their proving prize, which troubled me. So home to supper with my wife, and after supper my wife told me how she had moved to W. Hewer the business of my sister for a wife to him, which he received with mighty acknowledgements, as she says, above anything; but says he hath no intention to alter his condition: so that I am in some measure sorry she ever moved it; but I hope he will think it only come from her. So after supper a little to the office, to enter my journall, and then home to bed. Talk there is of a letter to come from Holland, desiring a place of treaty; but I do doubt it. This day I observe still, in many places, the smoking remains of the late fire: the ways mighty bad and dirty. This night Sir R. Ford told me how this day, at Christ Church Hospital, they have given a living over L200 per annum to Mr. Sanchy, my old acquaintance, which I wonder at, he commending him mightily; but am glad of it. He tells me, too, how the famous Stillingfleete was a Bluecoat boy. The children at this day are provided for in the country by the House, which I am glad also to hear. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office busy also till very late, my heart joyed with the effects of my following my business, by easing my head of cares, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and most of the morning finishing my entry of my journall during the late fire out of loose papers into this book, which did please me mightily when done, I, writing till my eyes were almost blind therewith to make an end of it. Then all the rest of the morning, and, after a mouthful of dinner, all the afternoon in my closet till night, sorting all my papers, which have lain unsorted for all the time we were at Greenwich during the plague, which did please me also, I drawing on to put my office into a good posture, though much is behind. This morning come Captain. Cocke to me, and tells me that the King comes to the House this day to pass the poll Bill and the Irish Bill; he tells me too that, though the Faction is very froward in the House, yet all will end well there. But he says that one had got a Bill ready to present in the House against Sir W. Coventry, for selling of places, and says he is certain of it, and how he was withheld from doing it. He says, that the Vice-chamberlaine is now one of the greatest men in England again, and was he that did prevail with the King to let the Irish Bill go with the word "Nuisance." He told me, that Sir G. Carteret's declaration of giving double to any man that will prove that any of his people have demanded or taken any thing for forwarding the payment of the wages of any man (of which he sent us a copy yesterday, which we approved of) is set up, among other places, upon the House of Lords' door. I do not know how wisely this is done. This morning, also, there come to the office a letter from the Duke of York, commanding our payment of no wages to any of the muster-masters of the fleete the last year, but only two, my brother Balty, taking notice that he had taken pains therein, and one Ward, who, though he had not taken so much as the other, yet had done more than the rest. This I was exceeding glad of for my own sake and his. At night I, by appointment, home, where W. Batelier and his sister Mary, and the two Mercers, to play at cards and sup, and did cut our great cake lately given us by Russell: a very good one. Here very merry late. Sir W. Pen told me this night how the King did make them a very sharp speech in the House of Lords to-day, saying that he did expect to have had more Bills; [On this day "An Act for raising Money by a Poll and otherwise towards the maintenance of the present War," and "An Act prohibiting the Importation of Cattle from Ireland and other parts beyond the Sea, and Fish taken by Foreigners," were passed. The king. complained of the insufficient supply, and said, "'Tis high time for you to make good your promises, and 'tis high time for you to be in the country" ("Journals of the House of Lords," vol xii., p. 81).] that he purposes to prorogue them on Monday come se'nnight; that whereas they have unjustly conceived some jealousys of his making a peace, he declares he knows of no such thing or treaty: and so left them. But with so little effect, that as soon as he come into the House, Sir W. Coventry moved, that now the King hath declared his intention of proroguing them, it would be loss of time to go on with the thing they were upon, when they were called to the King, which was the calling over the defaults of Members appearing in the House; for that, before any person could now come or be brought to town, the House would be up. Yet the Faction did desire to delay time, and contend so as to come to a division of the House; where, however, it was carried, by a few voices, that the debate should be laid by. But this shews that they are not pleased, or that they have not any awe over them from the King's displeasure. The company being gone, to bed. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning. Sir W. Batten tells me to my wonder that at his coming to my Lord Ashly, yesterday morning, to tell him what prize-goods he would have saved for the Navy, and not sold, according to the King's order on the 17th, he fell quite out with him in high terms; and he says, too, that they did go on to the sale yesterday, even of the very hempe, and other things, at which I am astonished, and will never wonder at the ruine of the King's affairs, if this be suffered. At noon dined, and Mr. Pierce come to see me, he newly come from keeping his Christmas in the country. So to the office, where very busy, but with great pleasure till late at night, and then home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up betimes and down to the Old Swan, there called on Michell and his wife, which in her night linen appeared as pretty almost as ever to my thinking I saw woman. Here I drank some burnt brandy. They shewed me their house, which, poor people, they have built, and is very pretty. I invited them to dine with me, and so away to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry, with whom I have not been alone a good while, and very kind he is, and tells me how the business is now ordered by order of council for my Lord Bruncker to assist Sir J. Minnes in all matters of accounts relating to the Treasurer, and Sir W. Pen in all matters relating to the victuallers' and pursers' accounts, which I am very glad of, and the more for that I think it will not do me any hurt at all. Other discourse, much especially about the heat the House was in yesterday about the ill management of the Navy, which I was sorry to hear; though I think they were well answered, both by Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, as he informs me the substance of their speeches. Having done with him, home mightily satisfied with my being with him, and coming home I to church, and there, beyond expectation, find our seat, and all the church crammed, by twice as many people as used to be: and to my great joy find Mr. Frampton in the pulpit; so to my great joy I hear him preach, and I think the best sermon, for goodness and oratory, without affectation or study, that ever I heard in my life. The truth is, he preaches the most like an apostle that ever I heard man; and it was much the best time that ever I spent in my life at church. His text, Ecclesiastes xi., verse 8th--the words, "But if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all, yet let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many. All that cometh is vanity." He done, I home, and there Michell and his wife, and we dined and mighty merry, I mightily taken more and more with her. After dinner I with my brother away by water to White Hall, and there walked in the Parke, and a little to my Lord Chancellor's, where the King and Cabinet met, and there met Mr. Brisband, with whom good discourse, to White Hall towards night, and there he did lend me "The Third Advice to a Paynter," a bitter satyre upon the service of the Duke of Albemarle the last year. I took it home with me, and will copy it, having the former, being also mightily pleased with it. So after reading it, I to Sir W. Pen to discourse a little with him about the business of our prizes, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up betimes, and with, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, by coach to the Swede's Resident's in the Piatza, to discourse with him about two of our prizes, wherein he puts in his concernment as for his countrymen. We had no satisfaction, nor did give him any, but I find him a cunning fellow. He lives in one of the great houses there, but ill-furnished; and come to us out of bed in his furred mittens and furred cap. Thence to Exeter House to the Doctors Commons, and there with our Proctors to Dr. Walker, who was not very well, but, however, did hear our matters, and after a dull seeming hearing of them read, did discourse most understandingly of them, as well as ever I heard man, telling us all our grounds of pretence to the prize would do no good, and made it appear but thus, and thus, it may be, but yet did give us but little reason to expect it would prove, which troubled us, but I was mightily taken to hear his manner of discourse. Thence with them to Westminster Hall, they setting me down at White Hall, where I missed of finding Sir G. Carteret, up to the Lords' House, and there come mighty seasonably to hear the Solicitor about my Lord Buckingham's pretence to the title of Lord Rosse. Mr. Atturny Montagu is also a good man, and so is old Sir P. Ball; but the Solicitor and Scroggs after him are excellent men. Here spoke with my Lord Bellasses about getting some money for Tangier, which he doubts we shall not be able to do out of the Poll Bill, it being so strictly tied for the Navy. He tells me the Lords have passed the Bill for the accounts with some little amendments. So down to the Hall, and thence with our company to Exeter House, and then did the business I have said before, we doing nothing the first time of going, it being too early. At home find Lovett, to whom I did give my Lady Castlemayne's head to do. He is talking of going into Spayne to get money by his art, but I doubt he will do no good, he being a man of an unsettled head. Thence by water down to Deptford, the first time I have been by water a great while, and there did some little business and walked home, and there come into my company three drunken seamen, but one especially, who told me such stories, calling me Captain, as made me mighty merry, and they would leap and skip, and kiss what mayds they met all the way. I did at first give them money to drink, lest they should know who I was, and so become troublesome to me. Parted at Redriffe, and there home and to the office, where did much business, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, and I to hear a proposition [Sir] R. Ford was to acquaint us with from the Swedes Embassador, in manner of saying, that for money he might be got to our side and relinquish the trouble he may give us. Sir W. Pen did make a long simple declaration of his resolution to give nothing to deceive any poor man of what was his right by law, but ended in doing whatever any body else would, and we did commission Sir R. Ford to give promise of not beyond L350 to him and his Secretary, in case they did not oppose us in the Phoenix (the net profits of which, as [Sir] R. Ford cast up before us, the Admiral's tenths, and ship's thirds, and other charges all cleared, will amount to L3,000) and that we did gain her. [Sir] R. Ford did pray for a curse upon his family, if he was privy to anything more than he told us (which I believe he is a knave in), yet we all concluded him the most fit man for it and very honest, and so left it wholly to him to manage as he pleased. Thence to the office a little while longer, and so home, where W. Hewer's mother was, and Mrs. Turner, our neighbour, and supped with us. His mother a well-favoured old little woman, and a good woman, I believe. After we had supped, and merry, we parted late, Mrs. Turner having staid behind to talk a little about her lodgings, which now my Lord Bruncker upon Sir W. Coventry's surrendering do claim, but I cannot think he will come to live in them so as to need to put them out. She gone, we to bed all. This night, at supper, comes from Sir W. Coventry the Order of Councill for my Lord Bruncker to do all the Comptroller's part relating to the Treasurer's accounts, and Sir W. Pen, all relating to the Victualler's, and Sir J. Minnes to do the rest. This, I hope, will do much better for the King than now, and, I think, will give neither of them ground to over-top me, as I feared they would; which pleases me mightily. This evening, Mr. Wren and Captain Cocke called upon me at the office, and there told me how the House was in better temper to-day, and hath passed the Bill for the remainder of the money, but not to be passed finally till they have done some other things which they will have passed with it; wherein they are very open, what their meaning is, which was but doubted before, for they do in all respects doubt the King's pleasing them. 22nd. Up, and there come to me Darnell the fiddler, one of the Duke's house, and brought me a set of lessons, all three parts, I heard them play to the Duke of York after Christmas at his lodgings, and bid him get me them. I did give him a crowne for them, and did enquire after the musique of the "Siege of Rhodes," which, he tells me, he can get me, which I am mighty glad of. So to the office, where among other things I read the Councill's order about my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen to be assistants to the Comptroller, which quietly went down with Sir J. Minnes, poor man, seeming a little as if he would be thought to have desired it, but yet apparently to his discontent; and, I fear, as the order runs, it will hardly do much good. At noon to dinner, and there comes a letter from Mrs. Pierce, telling me she will come and dine with us on Thursday next, with some of the players, Knipp, &c., which I was glad of, but my wife vexed, which vexed me; but I seemed merry, but know not how to order the matter, whether they shall come or no. After dinner to the office, and there late doing much business, and so home to supper, and to bed. 23rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there to the Duke of York, and did our usual business. Having done there, I to St. James's, to see the organ Mrs. Turner told me of the other night, of my late Lord Aubigney's; and I took my Lord Bruncker with me, he being acquainted with my present Lord Almoner, Mr. Howard, brother to the Duke of Norfolke; so he and I thither and did see the organ, but I do not like it, it being but a bauble, with a virginal! joining to it: so I shall not meddle with it. Here we sat and talked with him a good while, and he seems a good-natured gentleman: here I observed the deske which he hath, [made] to remove, and is fastened to one of the armes of his chayre. I do also observe the counterfeit windows there was, in the form of doors with looking-glasses instead of windows, which makes the room seem both bigger and lighter, I think; and I have some thoughts to have the like in one of my rooms. He discoursed much of the goodness of the musique in Rome, but could not tell me how long musique had been in any perfection in that church, which I would be glad to know. He speaks much of the great buildings that this Pope, [Fabio Chigi, of Siena, succeeded Innocent X. in 1655 as Alexander VII. He died May, 1667, and was succeeded by Clement IX.] whom, in mirth to us, he calls Antichrist, hath done in his time. Having done with the discourse, we away, and my Lord and I walking into the Park back again, I did observe the new buildings: and my Lord, seeing I had a desire to see them, they being the place for the priests and fryers, he took me back to my Lord Almoner; and he took us quite through the whole house and chapel, and the new monastery, showing me most excellent pieces in wax-worke: a crucifix given by a Pope to Mary Queen of Scotts, where a piece of the Cross is; [Pieces of "the Cross" were formerly held in such veneration, and were so common, that it has been often said enough existed to build a ship. Most readers will remember the distinction which Sir W. Scott represents Louis XI. (with great appreciation of that monarch's character), as drawing between an oath taken on a false piece and one taken on a piece of the true cross. Sir Thomas More, a very devout believer in relics, says ("Works," p. 119), that Luther wished, in a sermon of his, that he had in his hand all the pieces of the Holy Cross; and said that if he so had, he would throw them there as never sun should shine on them:--and for what worshipful reason would the wretch do such villainy to the cross of Christ? Because, as he saith, that there is so much gold now bestowed about the garnishing of the pieces of the Cross, that there is none left for poore folke. Is not this a high reason? As though all the gold that is now bestowed about the pieces of the Holy Cross would not have failed to have been given to poor men, if they had not been bestowed about the garnishing of the Cross! and as though there were nothing lost, but what is bestowed about Christ's Cross!" "Wolsey, says Cavendish, on his fall, gave to Norris, who brought him a ring of gold as a token of good will from Henry, "a little chaine of gold, made like a bottle chain, with a cross of gold, wherein was a piece of the Holy Cross, which he continually wore about his neck, next his body; and said, furthermore, 'Master Norris, I assure you, when I was in prosperity, although it seem but small in value, yet I would not gladly have departed with the same for a thousand pounds.'" Life, ed. 1852, p. 167. Evelyn mentions, "Diary," November 17th, 1664, that he saw in one of the chapels in St. Peter's a crucifix with a piece of the true cross in it. Amongst the jewels of Mary Queen of Scots was a cross of gold, which had been pledged to Hume of Blackadder for L1000 (Chalmers's "Life," vol. i., p. 31 ).--B.] two bits set in the manner of a cross in the foot of the crucifix: several fine pictures, but especially very good prints of holy pictures. I saw the dortoire--[dormitory]--and the cells of the priests, and we went into one; a very pretty little room, very clean, hung with pictures, set with books. The Priest was in his cell, with his hair clothes to his skin, bare-legged, with a sandal! only on, and his little bed without sheets, and no feather bed; but yet, I thought, soft enough. His cord about his middle; but in so good company, living with ease, I thought it a very good life. A pretty library they have. And I was in the refectoire, where every man his napkin, knife, cup of earth, and basin of the same; and a place for one to sit and read while the rest are at meals. And into the kitchen I went, where a good neck of mutton at the fire, and other victuals boiling. I do not think they fared very hard. Their windows all looking into a fine garden and the Park; and mighty pretty rooms all. I wished myself one of the Capuchins. Having seen what we could here, and all with mighty pleasure, so away with the Almoner in his coach, talking merrily about the difference in our religions, to White Hall, and there we left him. I in my Lord Bruncker's coach, he carried me to the Savoy, and there we parted. I to the Castle Tavern, where was and did come all our company, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] R. Ford, and our Counsel Sir Ellis Layton, Walt Walker, Dr. Budd, Mr. Holder, and several others, and here we had a bad dinner of our preparing, and did discourse something of our business of our prizes, which was the work of the day. I staid till dinner was over, and there being no use of me I away after dinner without taking leave, and to the New Exchange, there to take up my wife and Mercer, and to Temple Bar to the Ordinary, and had a dish of meat for them, they having not dined, and thence to the King's house, and there saw "The Numerous Lieutenant," a silly play, I think; only the Spirit in it that grows very tall, and then sinks again to nothing, having two heads breeding upon one, and then Knipp's singing, did please us. Here, in a box above, we spied Mrs. Pierce; and, going out, they called us, and so we staid for them; and Knipp took us all in, and brought to us Nelly; a most pretty woman, who acted the great part of Coelia to-day very fine, and did it pretty well: I kissed her, and so did my wife; and a mighty pretty soul she is. We also saw Mrs. Halls which is my little Roman-nose black girl, that is mighty pretty: she is usually called Betty. Knipp made us stay in a box and see the dancing preparatory to to-morrow for "The Goblins," a play of Suckling's, not acted these twenty-five years; which was pretty; and so away thence, pleased with this sight also, and specially kissing of Nell. We away, Mr. Pierce and I, on foot to his house, the women by coach. In our way we find the Guards of horse in the street, and hear the occasion to be news that the seamen are in a mutiny, which put me into a great fright; so away with my wife and Mercer home preparing against to-morrow night to have Mrs. Pierce and Knipp and a great deal more company to dance; and, when I come home, hear of no disturbance there of the seamen, but that one of them, being arrested to-day, others do go and rescue him. So to the office a little, and then home to supper, and to my chamber awhile, and then to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, full of thoughts how to order the business of our merry meeting to-night. So to the office, where busy all the morning. [While we were sitting in the morning at the office, we were frighted with news of fire at Sir W. Batten's by a chimney taking fire, and it put me into much fear and trouble, but with a great many hands and pains it was soon stopped.] At noon home to dinner, and presently to the office to despatch my business, and also we sat all the afternoon to examine the loss of The Bredagh, which was done by as plain negligence as ever ship was. We being rose, I entering my letters and getting the office swept and a good fire made and abundance of candles lighted, I home, where most of my company come of this end of the town-Mercer and her sister, Mr. Batelier and Pembleton (my Lady Pen, and Pegg, and Mr. Lowther, but did not stay long, and I believe it was by Sir W. Pen's order; for they had a great mind to have staid), and also Captain Rolt. And, anon, at about seven or eight o'clock, comes Mr. Harris, of the Duke's playhouse, and brings Mrs. Pierce with him, and also one dressed like a country-mayde with a straw hat on; which, at first, I could not tell who it was, though I expected Knipp: but it was she coming off the stage just as she acted this day in "The Goblins;" a merry jade. Now my house is full, and four fiddlers that play well. Harris I first took to my closet; and I find him a very curious and understanding person in all pictures and other things, and a man of fine conversation; and so is Rolt. So away with all my company down to the office, and there fell to dancing, and continued at it an hour or two, there coming Mrs. Anne Jones, a merchant's daughter hard by, who dances well, and all in mighty good humour, and danced with great pleasure; and then sung and then danced, and then sung many things of three voices--both Harris and Rolt singing their parts excellently. Among other things, Harris sung his Irish song--the strangest in itself, and the prettiest sung by him, that ever I heard. Then to supper in the office, a cold, good supper, and wondrous merry. Here was Mrs. Turner also, but the poor woman sad about her lodgings, and Mrs. Markham: after supper to dancing again and singing, and so continued till almost three in the morning, and then, with extraordinary pleasure, broke up only towards morning, Knipp fell a little ill, and so my wife home with her to put her to bed, and we continued dancing and singing; and, among other things, our Mercer unexpectedly did happen to sing an Italian song I know not, of which they two sung the other two parts to, that did almost ravish me, and made me in love with her more than ever with her singing. As late as it was, yet Rolt and Harris would go home to-night, and walked it, though I had a bed for them; and it proved dark, and a misly night, and very windy. The company being all gone to their homes, I up with Mrs. Pierce to Knipp, who was in bed; and we waked her, and there I handled her breasts and did 'baiser la', and sing a song, lying by her on the bed, and then left my wife to see Mrs. Pierce in bed to her, in our best chamber, and so to bed myself, my mind mightily satisfied with all this evening's work, and thinking it to be one of the merriest enjoyment I must look for in the world, and did content myself therefore with the thoughts of it, and so to bed; only the musique did not please me, they not being contented with less than 30s. 25th. Lay pretty long, then to the office, where Lord Bruncker and Sir J. Minnes and I did meet, and sat private all the morning about dividing the Controller's work according to the late order of Council, between them two and Sir W. Pen, and it troubled me to see the poor honest man, Sir J. Minnes, troubled at it, and yet the King's work cannot be done without it. It was at last friendlily ended, and so up and home to dinner with my wife. This afternoon I saw the Poll Bill, now printed; wherein I do fear I shall be very deeply concerned, being to be taxed for all my offices, and then for my money that I have, and my title, as well as my head. It is a very great tax; but yet I do think it is so perplexed, it will hardly ever be collected duly. The late invention of Sir G. Downing's is continued of bringing all the money into the Exchequer; and Sir G. Carteret's three pence is turned for all the money of this act into but a penny per pound, which I am sorry for. After dinner to the office again, where Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen and I met to talk again about the Controller's office, and there [Sir] W. Pen would have a piece of the great office cut out to make an office for him, which I opposed to the making him very angry, but I think I shall carry it against him, and then I care not. So a little troubled at this fray, I away by coach with my wife, and left her at the New Exchange, and I to my Lord Chancellor's, and then back, taking up my wife to my Lord Bellasses, and there spoke with Mr. Moone, who tells me that the peace between us and Spayne is, as he hears, concluded on, which I should be glad of, and so home, and after a little at my office, home to finish my journall for yesterday and to-day, and then a little supper and to bed. This day the House hath passed the Bill for the Assessment, which I am glad of; and also our little Bill, for giving any one of us in the office the power of justice of peace, is done as I would have it. 26th. Up, and at the office. Sat all the morning, where among other things I did the first unkind [thing] that ever I did design to Sir W. Warren, but I did it now to some purpose, to make him sensible how little any man's friendship shall avail him if he wants money. I perceive he do nowadays court much my Lord Bruncker's favour, who never did any man much courtesy at the board, nor ever will be able, at least so much as myself. Besides, my Lord would do him a kindness in concurrence with me, but he would have the danger of the thing to be done lie upon me, if there be any danger in it (in drawing up a letter to Sir W. Warren's advantage), which I do not like, nor will endure. I was, I confess, very angry, and will venture the loss of Sir W. Warren's kindnesses rather than he shall have any man's friendship in greater esteem than mine. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner to the office again, and there all the afternoon, and at night poor Mrs. Turner come and walked in the garden for my advice about her husband and her relating to my Lord Bruncker's late proceedings with them. I do give her the best I can, but yet can lay aside some ends of my own in what advice I do give her. So she being gone I to make an end of my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, Balty lodging here with my brother, he being newly returned from mustering in the river. 27th (Lord's day). Up betimes, and leaving my wife to go by coach to hear Mr. Frampton preach, which I had a mighty desire she should, I down to the Old Swan, and there to Michell and staid while he and she dressed themselves, and here had a 'baiser' or two of her, whom I love mightily; and then took them in a sculler (being by some means or other disappointed of my own boat) to White Hall, and so with them to Westminster, Sir W. Coventry, Bruncker and I all the morning together discoursing of the office business, and glad of the Controller's business being likely to be put into better order than formerly, and did discourse of many good things, but especially of having something done to bringing the Surveyor's matters into order also. Thence I up to the King's closet, and there heard a good Anthem, and discoursed with several people here about business, among others with Lord Bellasses, and so from one to another after sermon till the King had almost dined, and then home with Sir G. Carteret and dined with him, being mightily ashamed of my not having seen my Lady Jemimah so long, and my wife not at all yet since she come, but she shall soon do it. I thence to Sir Philip Warwicke, by appointment, to meet Lord Bellasses, and up to his chamber, but find him unwilling to discourse of business on Sundays; so did not enlarge, but took leave, and went down and sat in a low room, reading Erasmus "de scribendis epistolis," a very good book, especially one letter of advice to a courtier most true and good, which made me once resolve to tear out the two leaves that it was writ in, but I forebore it. By and by comes Lord Bellasses, and then he and I up again to Sir P. Warwicke and had much discourse of our Tangier business, but no hopes of getting any money. Thence I through the garden into the Park, and there met with Roger Pepys, and he and I to walk in the Pell Mell. I find by him that the House of Parliament continues full of ill humours, and he seems to dislike those that are troublesome more than needs, and do say how, in their late Poll Bill, which cost so much time, the yeomanry, and indeed two-thirds of the nation, are left out to be taxed, that there is not effectual provision enough made for collecting of the money; and then, that after a man his goods are distrained and sold, and the overplus returned, I am to have ten days to make my complaints of being over-rated if there be cause, when my goods are sold, and that is too late. These things they are resolved to look into again, and mend them before they rise, which they expect at furthest on Thursday next. Here we met with Mr. May, and he and we to talk of several things, of building, and such like matters; and so walked to White Hall, and there I skewed my cozen Roger the Duchesse of York sitting in state, while her own mother stands by her; he had a desire, and I shewed him my Lady Castlemayne, whom he approves to be very handsome, and wonders that she cannot be as good within as she is fair without. Her little black boy came by him; and, a dog being in his way, the little boy called to the dog: "Pox of this dog!"--"Now," says he, blessing himself, "would I whip this child till the blood come, if it were my child!" and I believe he would. But he do by no means like the liberty of the Court, and did come with expectation of finding them playing at cards to-night, though Sunday; for such stories he is told, but how true I know not. [There is little reason to doubt that it was such as Evelyn describes it at a later time. "I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and prophaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening) which this day se'nnight I was witness of; the King sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, Mazarin, &c. A French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round a large table, a bank of at least L2,000 in gold before them; upon which two gentlemen who were with me made reflexions with astonishment. Six days after was all in the dust."--Diary, February, 1685.--B.] After walking up and down the Court with him, it being now dark and past six at night, I walked to the Swan in the Palace yard and there with much ado did get a waterman, and so I sent for the Michells, and they come, and their father Howlett and his wife with them, and there we drank, and so into the boat, poor Betty's head aching. We home by water, a fine moonshine and warm night, it having been also a very summer's day for warmth. I did get her hand to me under my cloak.... So there we parted at their house, and he walked almost home with me, and then I home and to supper, and to read a little and to bed. My wife tells me Mr. Frampton is gone to sea, and so she lost her labour to-day in thinking to hear him preach, which I am sorry for. 28th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and there drank at Michell's and saw Betty, and so took boat and to the Temple, and thence to my tailor's and other places about business in my way to Westminster, where I spent the morning at the Lords' House door, to hear the conference between the two Houses about my Lord Mordaunt, of which there was great expectation, many hundreds of people coming to hear it. But, when they come, the Lords did insist upon my Lord Mordaunt's having leave to sit upon a stool uncovered within their burr, and that he should have counsel, which the Commons would not suffer, but desired leave to report their Lordships' resolution to the House of Commons; and so parted for this day, which troubled me, I having by this means lost the whole day. Here I hear from Mr. Hayes that Prince Rupert is very bad still, and so bad, that he do now yield to be trepanned. It seems, as Dr. Clerke also tells me, it is a clap of the pox which he got about twelve years ago, and hath eaten to his head and come through his scull, so his scull must be opened, and there is great fear of him. Much work I find there is to do in the two Houses in a little time, and much difference there is between the two Houses in many things to be reconciled; as in the Bill for examining our accounts; Lord Mordaunt's Bill for building the City, and several others. A little before noon I went to the Swan and eat a bit of meat, thinking I should have had occasion to have stayed long at the house, but I did not, but so home by coach, calling at Broad Street and taking the goldsmith home with me, and paid him L15 15s. for my silver standish. He tells me gold holds up its price still, and did desire me to let him have what old 20s. pieces I have, and he would give me 3s. 2d. change for each. He gone, I to the office, where business all the afternoon, and at night comes Mr. Gawden at my desire to me, and to-morrow I shall pay him some money, and shall see what present he will make me, the hopes of which do make me to part with my money out of my chest, which I should not otherwise do, but lest this alteration in the Controller's office should occasion my losing my concernment in the Victualling, and so he have no more need of me. He gone, I to the office again, having come thence home with him to talk, and so after a little more business I to supper. I then sent for Mercer, and began to teach her "It is decreed," which will please me well, and so after supper and reading a little, and my wife's cutting off my hair short, which is grown too long upon my crown of my head, I to bed. I met this day in Westminster Hall Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and the latter since our falling out the other day do look mighty reservedly upon me, and still he shall do so for me, for I will be hanged before I seek to him, unless I see I need it. 29th. Up to the office all the morning, where Sir W. Pen and I look much askewe one upon another, though afterward business made us speak friendly enough, but yet we hate one another. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon expecting Mr. Gawden to come for some money I am to pay him, but he comes not, which makes me think he is considering whether it be necessary to make the present he hath promised, it being possible this alteration in the Controller's duty may make my place in the Victualling unnecessary, so that I am a little troubled at it. Busy till late at night at the office, and Sir W. Batten come to me, and tells me that there is newes upon the Exchange to-day, that my Lord Sandwich's coach and the French Embassador's at Madrid, meeting and contending for the way, they shot my Lord's postilion and another man dead; and that we have killed 25 of theirs, and that my Lord is well. How true this is I cannot tell, there being no newes of it at all at Court, as I am told late by one come thence, so that I hope it is not so. By and by comes Mrs. Turner to me, to make her complaint of her sad usage she receives from my Lord Bruncker, that he thinks much she hath not already got another house, though he himself hath employed her night and day ever since his first mention of the matter, to make part of her house ready for him, as he ordered, and promised she should stay till she had fitted herself; by which and what discourse I do remember he had of the business before Sir W. Coventry on Sunday last I perceive he is a rotten-hearted, false man as any else I know, even as Sir W. Pen himself, and, therefore, I must beware of him accordingly, and I hope I shall. I did pity the woman with all my heart, and gave her the best council I could; and so, falling to other discourse, I made her laugh and merry, as sad as she came to me; so that I perceive no passion in a woman can be lasting long; and so parted and I home, and there teaching my girle Barker part of my song "It is decreed," which she will sing prettily, and so after supper to bed. 30th. Fast-day for the King's death. I all the morning at my chamber making up my month's accounts, which I did before dinner to my thorough content, and find myself but a small gainer this month, having no manner of profits, but just my salary, but, blessed be God! that I am able to save out of that, living as I do. So to dinner, then to my chamber all the afternoon, and in the evening my wife and I and Mercer and Barker to little Michell's, walked, with some neats' tongues and cake and wine, and there sat with the little couple with great pleasure, and talked and eat and drank, and saw their little house, which is very pretty; and I much pleased therewith, and so walked home, about eight at night, it being a little moonshine and fair weather, and so into the garden, and, with Mercer, sang till my wife put me in mind of its being a fast day; and so I was sorry for it, and stopped, and home to cards awhile, and had opportunity 'para baiser' Mercer several times, and so to bed. 31st. Up, and to the office, where we met and sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and by and by Mr. Osborne comes from Mr. Gawden, and takes money and notes for L4000, and leaves me acknowledgment for L4000 and odd; implying as if D. Gawden would give the L800 between Povy and myself, but how he will divide it I know-not, till I speak with him, so that my content is not yet full in the business. In the evening stept out to Sir Robert Viner's to get the money ready upon my notes to D. Gawden, and there hear that Mr. Temple is very ill. I met on the 'Change with Captain Cocke, who tells me that he hears new certainty of the business of Madrid, how our Embassador and the French met, and says that two or three of my Lord's men, and twenty one of the French men are killed, but nothing at Court of it. He fears the next year's service through the badness of our counsels at White Hall, but that if they were wise, and the King would mind his business, he might do what he would yet. The Parliament is not yet up, being finishing some bills. So home and to the office, and late home to supper, and to talk with my wife, with pleasure, and to bed. I met this evening at Sir R. Viner's our Mr. Turner, who I find in a melancholy condition about his being removed out of his house, but I find him so silly and so false that I dare not tell how to trust any advice to him, and therefore did speak only generally to him, but I doubt his condition is very miserable, and do pity his family. Thus the month ends: myself in very good health and content of mind in my family. All our heads full in the office at this dividing of the Comptroller's duty, so that I am in some doubt how it may prove to intrench upon my benefits, but it cannot be much. The Parliament, upon breaking up, having given the King money with much ado, and great heats, and neither side pleased, neither King nor them. The imperfection of the Poll Bill, which must be mended before they rise, there being several horrible oversights to the prejudice of the King, is a certain sign of the care anybody hath of the King's business. Prince Rupert very ill, and to be trepanned on Saturday next. Nobody knows who commands the fleete next year, or, indeed, whether we shall have a fleete or no. Great preparations in Holland and France, and the French have lately taken Antego [Antigua, one of the West India Islands (Leeward Islands), discovered by Columbus in 1493, who is said to have named it after a church at Seville called Santa Maria la Antigua. It was first settled by a few English families in 1632, and in 1663 another settlement was made under Lord Willoughby, to whom the entire island was granted by Charles II. In 1666 it was invaded by a French force, which laid waste all the settlement. It was reconquered by the English, and formally restored to them by the treaty of Breda.] from us, which vexes us. I am in a little care through my at last putting a great deal of money out of my hands again into the King's upon tallies for Tangier, but the interest which I wholly lost while in my trunk is a temptation while things look safe, as they do in some measure for six months, I think, and I would venture but little longer. FEBRUARY 1666-1667 February 1st. Up, and to the office, where I was all the morning doing business, at noon home to dinner, and after dinner down by water, though it was a thick misty and rainy day, and walked to Deptford from Redriffe, and there to Bagwell's by appointment, where the 'mulier etoit within expecting me venir.... By and by 'su marido' come in, and there without any notice taken by him we discoursed of our business of getting him the new ship building by Mr. Deane, which I shall do for him. Thence by and by after a little talk I to the yard, and spoke with some of the officers, but staid but little, and the new clerk of the 'Chequer, Fownes, did walk to Redriffe back with me. I perceive he is a very child, and is led by the nose by Cowly and his kinsman that was his clerk, but I did make him understand his duty, and put both understanding and spirit into him, so that I hope he will do well. [Much surprised to hear this day at Deptford that Mrs. Batters is going already to be married to him, that is now the Captain of her husband's ship. She seemed the most passionate mourner in the world. But I believe it cannot be true.]--(The passage between brackets is written in the margin of the MS.)--Thence by water to Billingsgate; thence to the Old Swan, and there took boat, it being now night, to Westminster Hall, there to the Hall, and find Doll Lane, and 'con elle' I went to the Bell Taverne, and 'ibi je' did do what I would 'con elle' as well as I could, she 'sedendo sobre' thus far and making some little resistance. But all with much content, and 'je tenai' much pleasure 'cum ista'. There parted, and I by coach home, and to the office, where pretty late doing business, and then home, and merry with my wife, and to supper. My brother and I did play with the base, and I upon my viallin, which I have not seen out of the case now I think these three years, or more, having lost the key, and now forced to find an expedient to open it. Then to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office. This day I hear that Prince Rupert is to be trepanned. God give good issue to it. Sir W. Pen looks upon me, and I on him, and speak about business together at the table well enough, but no friendship or intimacy since our late difference about his closet, nor do I desire to have any. At noon dined well, and my brother and I to write over once more with my own hand my catalogue of books, while he reads to me. After something of that done, and dined, I to the office, where all the afternoon till night busy. At night, having done all my office matters, I home, and my brother and I to go on with my catalogue, and so to supper. Mrs. Turner come to me this night again to condole her condition and the ill usage she receives from my Lord Bruncker, which I could never have expected from him, and shall be a good caution to me while I live. She gone, I to supper, and then to read a little, and to bed. This night comes home my new silver snuffe-dish, which I do give myself for my closet, which is all I purpose to bestow in plate of myself, or shall need, many a day, if I can keep what I have. So to bed. I am very well pleased this night with reading a poem I brought home with me last night from Westminster Hall, of Dryden's' upon the present war; a very good poem. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there staid till he was ready, talking, and among other things of the Prince's being trepanned, which was in doing just as we passed through the Stone Gallery, we asking at the door of his lodgings, and were told so. We are all full of wishes for the good success; though I dare say but few do really concern ourselves for him in our hearts. Up to the Duke of York, and with him did our business we come about, and among other things resolve upon a meeting at the office to-morrow morning, Sir W. Coventry to be there to determine of all things necessary for the setting of Sir W. Pen to work in his Victualling business. This did awake in me some thoughts of what might in discourse fall out touching my imployment, and did give me some apprehension of trouble. Having done here, and after our laying our necessities for money open to the Duke of York, but nothing obtained concerning it, we parted, and I with others into the House, and there hear that the work is done to the Prince in a few minutes without any pain at all to him, he not knowing when it was done. It was performed by Moulins. Having cut the outward table, as they call corrupted, so as it come out without any force; and their fear is, that the whole inside of his head is corrupted like that, which do yet make them afeard of him; but no ill accident appeared in the doing of the thing, but all with all imaginable success, as Sir Alexander Frazier did tell me himself, I asking him, who is very kind to me. I to the Chapel a little, but hearing nothing did take a turn into the Park, and then back to Chapel and heard a very good Anthem to my heart's delight, and then to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner, and before dinner did walk with him alone a good while, and from him hear our case likely for all these acts to be bad for money, which troubles me, the year speeding so fast, and he tells me that he believes the Duke of York will go to sea with the fleete, which I am sorry for in respect to his person, but yet there is no person in condition to command the fleete, now the Captains are grown so great, but him, it being impossible for anybody else but him to command any order or discipline among them. He tells me there is nothing at all in the late discourse about my Lord Sandwich and the French Embassador meeting and contending for the way, which I wonder at, to see the confidence of report without any ground. By and by to dinner, where very good company. Among other discourse, we talked much of Nostradamus [Michael Nostradamus, a physician and astrologer, born in the diocese of Avignon, 1503. Amongst other predictions, one was interpreted as foreshowing the singular death of Hen. II. of France, by which his reputation was increased.] his prophecy of these times, and the burning of the City of London, some of whose verses are put into Booker's' Almanack this year; and Sir G. Carteret did tell a story, how at his death he did make the town swear that he should never be dug up, or his tomb opened, after he was buried; but they did after sixty years do it, and upon his breast they found a plate of brasse, saying what a wicked and unfaithful people the people of that place were, who after so many vows should disturb and open him such a day and year and hour; which, if true, is very strange. Then we fell to talking of the burning of the City; and my Lady Carteret herself did tell us how abundance of pieces of burnt papers were cast by the wind as far as Cranborne; and among others she took up one, or had one brought her to see, which was a little bit of paper that had been printed, whereon there remained no more nor less than these words: "Time is, it is done." After dinner I went and took a turn into the Park, and then took boat and away home, and there to my chamber and to read, but did receive some letters from Sir W. Coventry, touching the want of victuals to Kempthorne's' fleete going to the Streights and now in the Downes: which did trouble me, he saying that this disappointment might prove fatal; and the more, because Sir W. Coventry do intend to come to the office upon business to-morrow morning, and I shall not know what answer to give him. This did mightily trouble my mind; however, I fell to read a little in Hakewill's Apology, and did satisfy myself mighty fair in the truth of the saying that the world do not grow old at all, but is in as good condition in all respects as ever it was as to nature. I continued reading this book with great pleasure till supper, and then to bed sooner than ordinary, for rising betimes in the morning to-morrow. So after reading my usual vows to bed, my mind full of trouble against to-morrow, and did not sleep any good time of the night for thoughts of to-morrow morning's trouble. 4th. I up, with my head troubled to think of the issue of this morning, so made ready and to the office, where Mr. Gawden comes, and he and I discoursed the business well, and thinks I shall get off well enough; but I do by Sir W. Coventry's silence conclude that he is not satisfied in my management of my place and the charge it puts the King to, which I confess I am not in present condition through my late laziness to give any good answer to. But here do D. Gawden give me a good cordiall this morning, by telling me that he do give me five of the eight hundred pounds on his account remaining in my hands to myself, for the service I do him in my victualling business, and L100 for my particular share of the profits of my Tangier imployment as Treasurer. This do begin to make my heart glad, and I did dissemble it the better, so when Sir W. Coventry did come, and the rest met, I did appear unconcerned, and did give him answer pretty satisfactory what he asked me; so that I did get off this meeting without any ground lost, but rather a great deal gained by interposing that which did belong to my duty to do, and neither [Sir] W. Coventry nor (Sir) W. Yen did oppose anything thereunto, which did make my heart very glad. All the morning at this work, Sir W. Pen making a great deal of do for the fitting him in his setting out in his employment, and I do yield to any trouble that he gives me without any contradiction. Sir W. Coventry being gone, we at noon to dinner to Sir W. Pen's, he inviting me and my wife, and there a pretty good dinner, intended indeed for Sir W. Coventry, but he would not stay. So here I was mighty merry and all our differences seemingly blown over, though he knows, if he be not a fool, that I love him not, and I do the like that he hates me. Soon as dined, my wife and I out to the Duke's playhouse, and there saw "Heraclius," an excellent play, to my extraordinary content; and the more from the house being very full, and great company; among others, Mrs. Steward, very fine, with her locks done up with puffes, as my wife calls them: and several other great ladies had their hair so, though I do not like it; but my wife do mightily--but it is only because she sees it is the fashion. Here I saw my Lord Rochester and his lady, Mrs. Mallet, who hath after all this ado married him; and, as I hear some say in the pit, it is a great act of charity, for he hath no estate. But it was pleasant to see how every body rose up when my Lord John Butler, the Duke of Ormond's son, come into the pit towards the end of the play, who was a servant--[lover]--to Mrs. Mallet, and now smiled upon her, and she on him. I had sitting next to me a woman, the likest my Lady Castlemayne that ever I saw anybody like another; but she is a whore, I believe, for she is acquainted with every fine fellow, and called them by their name, Jacke, and Tom, and before the end of the play frisked to another place. Mightily pleased with the play, we home by coach, and there a little to the office, and then to my chamber, and there finished my Catalogue of my books with my own hand, and so to supper and to bed, and had a good night's rest, the last night's being troublesome, but now my heart light and full of resolution of standing close to my business. 5th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing business, and then home to dinner. Heard this morning that the Prince is much better, and hath good rest. All the talk is that my Lord Sandwich hath perfected the peace with Spayne, which is very good, if true. Sir H. Cholmly was with me this morning, and told me of my Lord Bellasses's base dealings with him by getting him to give him great gratuities to near L2000 for his friendship in the business of the Mole, and hath been lately underhand endeavouring to bring another man into his place as Governor, so as to receive his money of Sir H. Cholmly for nothing. Dined at home, and after dinner come Mrs. Daniel and her sister and staid and talked a little, and then I to the office, and after setting my things in order at the office I abroad with my wife and little Betty Michell, and took them against my vowes, but I will make good my forfeit, to the King's house, to show them a play, "The Chances." A good play I find it, and the actors most good in it; and pretty to hear Knipp sing in the play very properly, "All night I weepe;" and sung it admirably. The whole play pleases me well: and most of all, the sight of many fine ladies--among others, my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Middleton: the latter of the two hath also a very excellent face and body, I think. Thence by coach to the New Exchange, and there laid out money, and I did give Betty Michell two pair of gloves and a dressing-box; and so home in the dark, over the ruins, with a link. I was troubled with my pain, having got a bruise on my right testicle, I know not how. But this I did make good use of to make my wife shift sides with me, and I did come to sit 'avec' Betty Michell, and there had her 'main', which 'elle' did give me very frankly now, and did hazer whatever I 'voudrais avec la', which did 'plaisir' me 'grandement', and so set her at home with my mind mighty glad of what I have prevailed for so far; and so home, and to the office, and did my business there, and then home to supper, and after to set some things right in my chamber, and so to bed. This morning, before I went to the office, there come to me Mr. Young and Whistler, flaggmakers, and with mighty earnestness did present me with, and press me to take a box, wherein I could not guess there was less than L100 in gold: but I do wholly refuse it, and did not at last take it. The truth is, not thinking them safe men to receive such a gratuity from, nor knowing any considerable courtesy that ever I did do them, but desirous to keep myself free from their reports, and to have it in my power to say I had refused their offer. 6th. Up, lying a little long in bed, and by water to White Hall, and there find the Duke of York gone out, he being in haste to go to the Parliament, and so all my Brethren were gone to the office too. So I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier business, and then to Westminster Hall, and walked up and down, and hear that the Prince do still rest well by day and night, and out of pain; so as great hopes are conceived of him: though I did meet Dr. Clerke and Mr. Pierce, and they do say they believe he will not recover it, they supposing that his whole head within is eaten by this corruption, which appeared in this piece of the inner table. Up to the Parliament door, and there discoursed with Roger Pepys, who goes out of town this week, the Parliament rising this week also. So down to the Hall and there spied Betty Michell, and so I sent for burnt wine to Mrs. Michell's, and there did drink with the two mothers, and by that means with Betty, poor girle, whom I love with all my heart. And God forgive me, it did make me stay longer and hover all the morning up and down the Hall to 'busquer occasions para ambulare con elle. But ego ne pouvoir'. So home by water and to dinner, and then to the office, where we sat upon Denis Gawden's accounts, and before night I rose and by water to White Hall, to attend the Council; but they sat not to-day. So to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and find him within, and with a letter from the Downes in his hands, telling the loss of the St. Patricke coming from Harwich in her way to Portsmouth; and would needs chase two ships (she having the Malago fire-ship in company) which from English colours put up Dutch, and he would clap on board the Vice-Admirall; and after long dispute the Admirall comes on the other side of him, and both together took him. Our fire-ship (Seely) not coming in to fire all three, but come away, leaving her in their possession, and carried away by them: a ship built at Bristoll the last year, of fifty guns and upwards, and a most excellent good ship. This made him very melancholy. I to talk of our wants of money, but I do find that he is not pleased with that discourse, but grieves to hear it, and do seem to think that Sir G. Carteret do not mind the getting of money with the same good cheer that he did heretofore, nor do I think he hath the same reason. Thence to Westminster Hall, thinking to see Betty Michell, she staying there all night, and had hopes to get her out alone, but missed, and so away by coach home, and to Sir W. Batten's, to tell him my bad news, and then to the office, and home to supper, where Mrs. Hewer was, and after supper and she gone, W. Hewer talking with me very late of the ill manner of Sir G. Carteret's accounts being kept, and in what a sad condition he would be if either Fenn or Wayth should break or die, and am resolved to take some time to tell Sir G. Carteret or my Lady of it, I do love them so well and their family. So to bed, my pain pretty well gone. 7th. Lay long with pleasure with my wife, and then up and to the office, where all the morning, and then home to dinner, and before dinner I went into my green dining room, and there talking with my brother upon matters relating to his journey to Brampton to-morrow, and giving him good counsel about spending the time when he shall stay in the country with my father, I looking another way heard him fall down, and turned my head, and he was fallen down all along upon the ground dead, which did put me into a great fright; and, to see my brotherly love! I did presently lift him up from the ground, he being as pale as death; and, being upon his legs, he did presently come to himself, and said he had something come into his stomach very hot. He knew not what it was, nor ever had such a fit before. I never was so frighted but once, when my wife was ill at Ware upon the road, and I did continue trembling a good while and ready to weepe to see him, he continuing mighty pale all dinner and melancholy, that I was loth to let him take his journey tomorrow; but he began to be pretty well, and after dinner my wife and Barker fell to singing, which pleased me pretty well, my wife taking mighty pains and proud that she shall come to trill, and indeed I think she will. So to the office, and there all the afternoon late doing business, and then home, and find my brother pretty well. So to write a letter to my Lady Sandwich for him to carry, I having not writ to her a great while. Then to supper and so to bed. I did this night give him 20s. for books, and as much for his pocket, and 15s. to carry him down, and so to bed. Poor fellow! he is so melancholy, and withal, my wife says, harmless, that I begin to love him, and would be loth he should not do well. 8th. This morning my brother John come up to my bedside, and took his leave of us, going this day to Brampton. My wife loves him mightily as one that is pretty harmless, and I do begin to fancy him from yesterday's accident, it troubling me to think I should be left without a brother or sister, which is the first time that ever I had thoughts of that kind in my life. He gone, I up, and to the office, where we sat upon the Victuallers' accounts all the morning. At noon Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself to the Swan in Leadenhall Street to dinner, where an exceedingly good dinner and good discourse. Sir W. Batten come this morning from the House, where the King hath prorogued this Parliament to October next. I am glad they are up. The Bill for Accounts was not offered, the party being willing to let it fall; but the King did tell them he expected it. They are parted with great heartburnings, one party against the other. Pray God bring them hereafter together in better temper! It is said that the King do intend himself in this interval to take away Lord Mordaunt's government, so as to do something to appease the House against they come together, and let them see he will do that of his own accord which is fit, without their forcing him; and that he will have his Commission for Accounts go on which will be good things. At dinner we talked much of Cromwell; all saying he was a brave fellow, and did owe his crowne he got to himself as much as any man that ever got one. Thence to the office, and there begun the account which Sir W. Pen by his late employment hath examined, but begun to examine it in the old manner, a clerk to read the Petty warrants, my Lord Bruncker upon very good ground did except against it, and would not suffer him to go on. This being Sir W. Pen's clerk he took it in snuff, and so hot they grew upon it that my Lord Bruncker left the office. He gone (Sir) W. Pen ranted like a devil, saying that nothing but ignorance could do this. I was pleased at heart all this while. At last moved to have Lord Bruncker desired to return, which he did, and I read the petty warrants all the day till late at night, that I was very weary, and troubled to have my private business of my office stopped to attend this, but mightily pleased at this falling out, and the truth is [Sir] W. Pen do make so much noise in this business of his, and do it so little and so ill, that I think the King will be little the better by changing the hand. So up and to my office a little, but being at it all day I could not do much there. So home and to supper, to teach Barker to sing another piece of my song, and then to bed. 9th. To the office, where we sat all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, and then to my office again, where also busy, very busy late, and then went home and read a piece of a play, "Every Man in his Humour,"--[Ben Jonson's well-known play.]--wherein is the greatest propriety of speech that ever I read in my life: and so to bed. This noon come my wife's watchmaker, and received L12 of me for her watch; but Captain Rolt coming to speak with me about a little business, he did judge of the work to be very good work, and so I am well contented, and he hath made very good, that I knew, to Sir W. Pen and Lady Batten. 10th (Lord's day). Up and with my wife to church, where Mr. Mills made an unnecessary sermon upon Original Sin, neither understood by himself nor the people. Home, where Michell and his wife, and also there come Mr. Carter, my old acquaintance of Magdalene College, who hath not been here of many years. He hath spent his time in the North with the Bishop of Carlisle much. He is grown a very comely person, and of good discourse, and one that I like very much. We had much talk of our old acquaintance of the College, concerning their various fortunes; wherein, to my joy, I met not with any that have sped better than myself. After dinner he went away, and awhile after them Michell and his wife, whom I love mightily, and then I to my chamber there to my Tangier accounts, which I had let run a little behind hand, but did settle them very well to my satisfaction, but it cost me sitting up till two in the morning, and the longer by reason that our neighbour, Mrs. Turner, poor woman, did come to take her leave of us, she being to quit her house to-morrow to my Lord Bruncker, who hath used her very unhandsomely. She is going to lodgings, and do tell me very odde stories how Mrs. Williams do receive the applications of people, and hath presents, and she is the hand that receives all, while my Lord Bruncker do the business, which will shortly come to be loud talk if she continues here, I do foresee, and bring my Lord no great credit. So having done all my business, to bed. 11th. Up, and by water to the Temple, and thence to Sir Ph. Warwicke's about my Tangier warrant for tallies, and there met my Lord Bellasses and Creed, and discoursed about our business of money, but we are defeated as to any hopes of getting [any] thing upon the Poll Bill, which I seem but not much troubled at, it not concerning me much. Thence with Creed to Westminster Hall, and there up and down, and heard that Prince Rupert is still better and better; and that he did tell Dr. Troutbecke expressly that my Lord Sandwich is ordered home. I hear, too, that Prince Rupert hath begged the having of all the stolen prize-goods which he can find, and that he is looking out anew after them, which at first troubled me; but I do see it cannot come to anything, but is done by Hayes, or some of his little people about him. Here, among other newes, I bought the King's speech at proroguing the House the other day, wherein are some words which cannot but import some prospect of a peace, which God send us! After walking a good while in the Hall, it being Term time, I home by water, calling at Michell's and giving him a fair occasion to send his wife to the New Exchange to meet my wife and me this afternoon. So home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to Lord Bellasses, and with him to Povy's house, whom we find with Auditor Beale and Vernatty about their accounts still, which is never likely to have end. Our business was to speak with Vernatty, who is certainly a most cunning knave as ever was born. Having done what we had to do there, my Lord carried me and set me down at the New Exchange, where I staid at Pottle's shop till Betty Michell come, which she did about five o'clock, and was surprised not to 'trouver my muger' I there; but I did make an excuse good enough, and so I took 'elle' down, and over the water to the cabinet-maker's, and there bought a dressing-box for her for 20s., but would require an hour's time to make fit. This I was glad of, thinking to have got 'elle' to enter to a 'casa de biber', but 'elle' would not, so I did not much press it, but suffered 'elle' to enter 'a la casa de uno de sus hermanos', and so I past my time walking up and down, and among other places, to one Drumbleby, a maker of flageolets, the best in towne. He not within, my design to bespeak a pair of flageolets of the same tune, ordered him to come to me in a day or two, and so I back to the cabinet-maker's and there staid; and by and by Betty comes, and here we staid in the shop and above seeing the workmen work, which was pretty, and some exceeding good work, and very pleasant to see them do it, till it was late quite dark, and the mistresse of the shop took us into the kitchen and there talked and used us very prettily, and took her for my wife, which I owned and her big belly, and there very merry, till my thing done, and then took coach and home ... But now comes our trouble, I did begin to fear that 'su marido' might go to my house to 'enquire pour elle', and there, 'trouvant' my 'muger'--[wife in Spanish.]--at home, would not only think himself, but give my 'femme' occasion to think strange things. This did trouble me mightily, so though 'elle' would not seem to have me trouble myself about it, yet did agree to the stopping the coach at the streete's end, and 'je allois con elle' home, and there presently hear by him that he had newly sent 'su mayde' to my house to see for her mistresse. This do much perplex me, and I did go presently home Betty whispering me behind the 'tergo de her mari', that if I would say that we did come home by water, 'elle' could make up 'la cose well satis', and there in a sweat did walk in the entry ante my door, thinking what I should say a my 'femme', and as God would have it, while I was in this case (the worst in reference a my 'femme' that ever I was in in my life), a little woman comes stumbling to the entry steps in the dark; whom asking who she was, she enquired for my house. So knowing her voice, and telling her 'su donna' is come home she went away. But, Lord! in what a trouble was I, when she was gone, to recollect whether this was not the second time of her coming, but at last concluding that she had not been here before, I did bless myself in my good fortune in getting home before her, and do verily believe she had loitered some time by the way, which was my great good fortune, and so I in a-doors and there find all well. So my heart full of joy, I to the office awhile, and then home, and after supper and doing a little business in my chamber I to bed, after teaching Barker a little of my song. 12th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, with several things (among others) discoursed relating to our two new assistant controllers, but especially Sir W. Pen, who is mighty troublesome in it. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, and there did much business, and by and by comes Mr. Moore, who in discourse did almost convince me that it is necessary for my Lord Sandwich to come home end take his command at sea this year, for that a peace is like to be. Many considerations he did give me hereupon, which were very good both in reference to the publick and his private condition. By and by with Lord Bruncker by coach to his house, there to hear some Italian musique: and here we met Tom Killigrew, Sir Robert Murray, and the Italian Signor Baptista, who hath composed a play in Italian for the Opera, which T. Killigrew do intend to have up; and here he did sing one of the acts. He himself is the poet as well as the musician; which is very much, and did sing the whole from the words without any musique prickt, and played all along upon a harpsicon most admirably, and the composition most excellent. The words I did not understand, and so know not how they are fitted, but believe very well, and all in the recitativo very fine. But I perceive there is a proper accent in every country's discourse, and that do reach in their setting of notes to words, which, therefore, cannot be natural to any body else but them; so that I am not so much smitten with it as, it may be, I should be, if I were acquainted with their accent. But the whole composition is certainly most excellent; and the poetry, T. Killigrew and Sir R. Murray, who understood the words, did say was excellent. I confess I was mightily pleased with the musique. He pretends not to voice, though it be good, but not excellent. This done, T. Killigrew and I to talk: and he tells me how the audience at his house is not above half so much as it used to be before the late fire. That Knipp is like to make the best actor that ever come upon the stage, she understanding so well: that they are going to give her L30 a-year more. That the stage is now by his pains a thousand times better and more glorious than ever heretofore. Now, wax-candles, and many of them; then, not above 3 lbs. of tallow: now, all things civil, no rudeness anywhere; then, as in a bear-garden then, two or three fiddlers; now, nine or ten of the best then, nothing but rushes upon the ground, and every thing else mean; and now, all otherwise: then, the Queen seldom and the King never would come; now, not the King only for state, but all civil people do think they may come as well as any. He tells me that he hath gone several times, eight or ten times, he tells me, hence to Rome to hear good musique; so much he loves it, though he never did sing or play a note. That he hath ever endeavoured in the late King's time, and in this, to introduce good musique, but he never could do it, there never having been any musique here better than ballads. Nay, says, "Hermitt poore" and "Chevy Chese" ["Like hermit poor in pensive place obscure" is found in "The Phoenix Nest," 1593, and in Harl. MS. No. 6910, written soon after 1596. It was set to music by Alfonso Ferrabosco, and published in his "Ayres," 1609. The song was a favourite with Izaak Walton, and is alluded to in "Hudibras" (Part I., canto ii., line 1169). See Rimbault's "Little Book of Songs and Ballads," 1851, p. 98. Both versions of the famous ballad of "Chevy Chase" are printed in Percy's "Reliques."] was all the musique we had; and yet no ordinary fiddlers get so much money as ours do here, which speaks our rudenesse still. That he hath gathered our Italians from several Courts in Christendome, to come to make a concert for the King, which he do give L200 a-year a-piece to: but badly paid, and do come in the room of keeping four ridiculous gundilows, [The gondolas mentioned before, as sent by the Doge of Venice. See September 12th, 1661] he having got, the King to put them away, and lay out money this way; and indeed I do commend him for it, for I think it is a very noble undertaking. He do intend to have some times of the year these operas to be performed at the two present theatres, since he is defeated in what he intended in Moorefields on purpose for it; and he tells me plainly that the City audience was as good as the Court, but now they are most gone. Baptista tells me that Giacomo Charissimi is still alive at Rome, who was master to Vinnecotio, who is one of the Italians that the King hath here, and the chief composer of them. My great wonder is, how this man do to keep in memory so perfectly the musique of the whole act, both for the voice and the instrument too. I confess I do admire it: but in recitativo the sense much helps him, for there is but one proper way of discoursing and giving the accents. Having done our discourse, we all took coaches, my Lord's and T. Killigrew's, and to Mrs. Knipp's chamber, where this Italian is to teach her to sing her part. And so we all thither, and there she did sing an Italian song or two very fine, while he played the bass upon a harpsicon there; and exceedingly taken I am with her singing, and believe that she will do miracles at that and acting. Her little girl is mighty pretty and witty. After being there an hour, and I mightily pleased with this evening's work, we all parted, and I took coach and home, where late at my office, and then home to enter my last three days' Journall; and so to supper and to bed, troubled at nothing, but that these pleasures do hinder me in my business, and the more by reason of our being to dine abroad to-morrow, and then Saturday next is appointed to meet again at my Lord Bruncker's lodgings, and there to have the whole quire of Italians; but then I do consider that this is all the pleasure I live for in the world, and the greatest I can ever expect in the best of my life, and one thing more, that by hearing this man to-night, and I think Captain Cooke to-morrow, and the quire of Italians on Saturday, I shall be truly able to distinguish which of them pleases me truly best, which I do much desire to know and have good reason and fresh occasion of judging. 13th. Up, and by water to White Hall, where to the Duke of York, and there did our usual business; but troubled to see that, at this time, after our declaring a debt to the Parliament of L900,000, and nothing paid since, but the debt increased, and now the fleete to set out; to hear that the King hath ordered but L35,000 for the setting out of the fleete, out of the Poll Bill, to buy all provisions, when five times as much had been little enough to have done any thing to purpose. They have, indeed, ordered more for paying off of seamen and the Yards to some time, but not enough for that neither. Another thing is, the acquainting the Duke of York with the case of Mr. Lanyon, our agent at Plymouth, who has trusted us to L8000 out of purse; we are not in condition, after so many promises, to obtain him a farthing, nor though a message was carried by Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Coventry to the Commissioners for Prizes, that he might have L3000 out of L20,000 worth of prizes to be shortly sold there, that he might buy at the candle and pay for the goods out of bills, and all would [not] do any thing, but that money must go all another way, while the King's service is undone, and those that trust him perish. These things grieve me to the heart. The Prince, I hear, is every day better and better. So away by water home, stopping at Michell's, where Mrs. Martin was, and I there drank with them and whispered with Betty, who tells me all is well, but was prevented in something she would have said, her 'marido venant' just then, a news which did trouble me, and so drank and parted and home, and there took up my wife by coach, and to Mrs. Pierce's, there to take her up, and with them to Dr. Clerke's, by invitation, where we have not been a great while, nor had any mind to go now, but that the Dr., whom I love, would have us choose a day. Here was his wife, painted, and her sister Worshipp, a widow now and mighty pretty in her mourning. Here was also Mr. Pierce and Mr. Floyd, Secretary to the Lords Commissioners of Prizes, and Captain Cooke, to dinner, an ill and little mean one, with foul cloth and dishes, and everything poor. Discoursed most about plays and the Opera, where, among other vanities, Captain Cooke had the arrogance to say that he was fain to direct Sir W. Davenant in the breaking of his verses into such and such lengths, according as would be fit for musick, and how he used to swear at Davenant, and command him that way, when W. Davenant would be angry, and find fault with this or that note--but a vain coxcomb I perceive he is, though he sings and composes so well. But what I wondered at, Dr. Clerke did say that Sir W. Davenant is no good judge of a dramatick poem, finding fault with his choice of Henry the 5th, and others, for the stage, when I do think, and he confesses, "The Siege of Rhodes" as good as ever was writ. After dinner Captain Cooke and two of his boys to sing, but it was indeed both in performance and composition most plainly below what I heard last night, which I could not have believed. Besides overlooking the words which he sung, I find them not at all humoured as they ought to be, and as I believed he had done all he had sett. Though he himself do indeed sing in a manner as to voice and manner the best I ever heard yet, and a strange mastery he hath in making of extraordinary surprising closes, that are mighty pretty, but his bragging that he do understand tones and sounds as well as any man in the world, and better than Sir W. Davenant or any body else, I do not like by no means, but was sick of it and of him for it. He gone, Dr. Clerke fell to reading a new play, newly writ, of a friend's of his; but, by his discourse and confession afterwards, it was his own. Some things, but very few, moderately good; but infinitely far from the conceit, wit, design, and language of very many plays that I know; so that, but for compliment, I was quite tired with hearing it. It being done, and commending the play, but against my judgment, only the prologue magnifying the happiness of our former poets when such sorry things did please the world as was then acted, was very good. So set Mrs. Pierce at home, and away ourselves home, and there to my office, and then my chamber till my eyes were sore at writing and making ready my letter and accounts for the Commissioners of Tangier to-morrow, which being done, to bed, hearing that there was a very great disorder this day at the Ticket Office, to the beating and bruising of the face of Carcasse very much. A foul evening this was to-night, and I mightily troubled to get a coach home; and, which is now my common practice, going over the ruins in the night, I rid with my sword drawn in the coach. 14th. Up and to the office, where Carcasse comes with his plaistered face, and called himself Sir W. Batten's martyr, which made W. Batten mad almost, and mighty quarrelling there was. We spent the morning almost wholly upon considering some way of keeping the peace at the Ticket Office; but it is plain that the care of that office is nobody's work, and that is it that makes it stand in the ill condition it do. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, and there a meeting: the Duke of York, Duke of Albemarle, and several other Lords of the Commission of Tangier. And there I did present a state of my accounts, and managed them well; and my Lord Chancellor did say, though he was, in other things, in an ill humour, that no man in England was of more method, nor made himself better understood than myself. But going, after the business of money was over, to other businesses, of settling the garrison, he did fling out, and so did the Duke of York, two or three severe words touching my Lord Bellasses: that he would have no Governor come away from thence in less than three years; no, though his lady were with child. "And," says the Duke of York, "there should be no Governor continue so, longer than three years." "Nor," says Lord Arlington, "when our rules are once set, and upon good judgment declared, no Governor should offer to alter them."--"We must correct the many things that are amiss there; for," says the Lord Chancellor, "you must think we do hear of more things amisse than we are willing to speak before our friends' faces." My Lord Bellasses would not take notice of their reflecting on him, and did wisely, but there were also many reflections on him. Thence away by coach to Sir H. Cholmly and Fitzgerald and Creed, setting down the two latter at the New Exchange. And Sir H. Cholmly and I to the Temple, and there walked in the dark in the walks talking of newes; and he surprises me with the certain newes that the King did last night in Council declare his being in treaty with the Dutch: that they had sent him a very civil letter, declaring that, if nobody but themselves were concerned, they would not dispute the place of treaty, but leave it to his choice; but that, being obliged to satisfy therein a Prince of equal quality with himself, they must except any place in England or Spayne. And so the King hath chosen the Hague, and thither hath chose my Lord Hollis and Harry Coventry to go Embassadors to treat; which is so mean a thing, as all the world will believe, that we do go to beg a peace of them, whatever we pretend. And it seems all our Court are mightily for a peace, taking this to be the time to make one, while the King hath money, that he may save something of what the Parliament hath given him to put him out of debt, so as he may need the help of no more Parliaments, as to the point of money: but our debt is so great, and expence daily so encreased, that I believe little of the money will be saved between this and the making of the peace up. But that which troubles me most is, that we have chosen a son of Secretary Morris, a boy never used to any business, to go Embassador [Secretary] to the Embassy, which shows how, little we are sensible of the weight of the business upon us. God therefore give a good end to it, for I doubt it, and yet do much more doubt the issue of our continuing the war, for we are in no wise fit for it, and yet it troubles me to think what Sir H. Cholmly says, that he believes they will not give us any reparation for what we have suffered by the war, nor put us into any better condition than what we were in before the war, for that will be shamefull for us. Thence parted with him and home through the dark over the ruins by coach, with my sword drawn, to the office, where dispatched some business; and so home to my chamber and to supper and to bed. This morning come up to my wife's bedside, I being up dressing myself, little Will Mercer to be her Valentine; and brought her name writ upon blue paper in gold letters, done by himself, very pretty; and we were both well pleased with it. But I am also this year my wife's Valentine, and it will cost me L5; but that I must have laid out if we had not been Valentines. So to bed. 15th. Up and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes by coach to White Hall, where we attended upon the Duke of York to complain of the disorders the other day among the seamen at the Pay at the Ticket Office, and that it arises from lack of money, and that we desire, unless better provided for with money, to have nothing more to do with the payment of tickets, it being not our duty; and the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry did agree to it, so that I hope we shall be rid of that trouble. This done, I moved for allowance for a house for Mr. Turner, and got it granted. Then away to Westminster Hall, and there to the Exchequer about my tallies, and so back to White Hall, and so with Lord Bellasses to the Excise Office, where met by Sir H. Cholmly to consider about our business of money there, and that done, home and to dinner, where I hear Pegg Pen is married this day privately; no friends, but two or three relations on his side and hers. Borrowed many things of my kitchen for dressing their dinner. So after dinner to the office, and there busy and did much business, and late at it. Mrs. Turner come to me to hear how matters went; I told her of our getting rent for a house for her. She did give me account of this wedding to-day, its being private being imputed to its being just before Lent, and so in vain to make new clothes till Easter, that they might see the fashions as they are like to be this summer; which is reason good enough. Mrs. Turner tells me she hears [Sir W. Pen] gives L4500 or 4000 with her. They are gone to bed, so I wish them much sport, and home to supper and to bed. They own the treaty for a peace publickly at Court, and the Commissioners providing themselves to go over as soon as a passe comes for them. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. Among other things great heat we were all in on one side or other in the examining witnesses against Mr. Carcasse about his buying of tickets, and a cunning knave I do believe he is, and will appear, though I have thought otherwise heretofore. At noon home to dinner, and there find Mr. Andrews, and Pierce and Hollyard, and they dined with us and merry, but we did rise soon for saving of my wife's seeing a new play this afternoon, and so away by coach, and left her at Mrs. Pierces, myself to the Excise Office about business, and thence to the Temple to walk a little only, and then to Westminster to pass away time till anon, and here I went to Mrs. Martin's to thank her for her oysters.... Thence away to my Lord Bruncker's, and there was Sir Robert Murray, whom I never understood so well as now by this opportunity of discourse with him, a most excellent man of reason and learning, and understands the doctrine of musique, and everything else I could discourse of, very finely. Here come Mr. Hooke, Sir George Ent, Dr. Wren, and many others; and by and by the musique, that is to say, Signor Vincentio, who is the master-composer, and six more, whereof two eunuches, so tall, that Sir T. Harvey said well that he believes they do grow large by being gelt as our oxen do, and one woman very well dressed and handsome enough, but would not be kissed, as Mr. Killigrew, who brought the company in, did acquaint us. They sent two harpsicons before; and by and by, after tuning them, they begun; and, I confess, very good musique they made; that is, the composition exceeding good, but yet not at all more pleasing to me than what I have heard in English by Mrs. Knipp, Captain Cooke, and others. Nor do I dote on the eunuches; they sing, indeed, pretty high, and have a mellow kind of sound, but yet I have been as well satisfied with several women's voices and men also, as Crispe of the Wardrobe. The women sung well, but that which distinguishes all is this, that in singing, the words are to be considered, and how they are fitted with notes, and then the common accent of the country is to be known and understood by the hearer, or he will never be a good judge of the vocal musique of another country. So that I was not taken with this at all, neither understanding the first, nor by practice reconciled to the latter, so that their motions, and risings and fallings, though it may be pleasing to an Italian, or one that understands the tongue, yet to me it did not, but do from my heart believe that I could set words in English, and make musique of them more agreeable to any Englishman's eare (the most judicious) than any Italian musique set for the voice, and performed before the same man, unless he be acquainted with the Italian accent of speech. The composition as to the musique part was exceeding good, and their justness in keeping time by practice much before any that we have, unless it be a good band of practised fiddlers. So away, here being Captain Cocke, who is stole away, leaving them at it, in his coach, and to Mrs. Pierce's, where I took up my wife, and there I find Mrs. Pierce's little girl is my Valentine, she having drawn me; which I was not sorry for, it easing me of something more that I must have given to others. But here I do first observe the fashion of drawing of mottos as well as names; so that Pierce, who drew my wife, did draw also a motto, and this girl drew another for me. What mine was I have forgot; but my wife's was, "Most virtuous and most fair;" which, as it may be used, or an anagram made upon each name, might be very pretty. Thence with Cocke and my wife, set him at home, and then we home. To the office, and there did a little business, troubled that I have so much been hindered by matters of pleasure from my business, but I shall recover it I hope in a little time. So home and to supper, not at all smitten with the musique to-night, which I did expect should have been so extraordinary, Tom Killigrew crying it up, and so all the world, above all things in the world, and so to bed. One wonder I observed to-day, that there was no musique in the morning to call up our new-married people, which is very mean, methinks, and is as if they had married like dog and bitch. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and called at Michell's, and took him and his wife and carried them to Westminster, I landing at White Hall, and having no pleasure in the way 'con elle'; and so to the Duke's, where we all met and had a hot encounter before the Duke of York about the business of our payments at the Ticket Office, where we urged that we had nothing to do to be troubled with the pay, having examined the tickets. Besides, we are neglected, having not money sent us in time, but to see the baseness of my brethren, not a man almost put in a word but Sir W. Coventry, though at the office like very devils in this point. But I did plainly declare that, without money, no fleete could be expected, and desired the Duke of York to take notice of it, and notice was taken of it, but I doubt will do no good. But I desire to remember it as a most prodigious thing that to this day my Lord Treasurer hath not consulted counsel, which Sir W. Coventry and I and others do think is necessary, about the late Poll act, enough to put the same into such order as that any body dare lend money upon it, though we have from this office under our hands related the necessity thereof to the Duke of York, nor is like to be determined in, for ought I see, a good while had not Sir W. Coventry plainly said that he did believe it would be a better work for the King than going to church this morning, to send for the Atturney Generall to meet at the Lord Treasurer's this afternoon and to bring the thing to an issue, saying that himself, were he going to the Sacrament, would not think he should offend God to leave it and go to the ending this work, so much it is of moment to the King and Kingdom. Hereupon the Duke of York said he would presently speak to the King, and cause it to be done this afternoon. Having done here we broke up; having done nothing almost though for all this, and by and by I met Sir G. Carteret, and he is stark mad at what has passed this morning, and I believe is heartily vexed with me: I said little, but I am sure the King will suffer if some better care be not taken than he takes to look after this business of money. So parted, and I by water home and to dinner, W. Hewer with us, a good dinner and-very merry, my wife and I, and after dinner to my chamber, to fit some things against: the Council anon, and that being done away to White Hall by water, and thence to my Lord Chancellor's, where I met with, and had much pretty discourse with, one of the Progers's that knows me; and it was pretty to hear him tell me, of his own accord, as a matter of no shame, that in Spayne he had a pretty woman, his mistress, whom, when money grew scarce with him, he was forced to leave, and afterwards heard how she and her husband lived well, she being kept by an old fryer who used her as his whore; but this, says he, is better than as our ministers do, who have wives that lay up their estates, and do no good nor relieve any poor--no, not our greatest prelates, and I think he is in the right for my part. Staid till the Council was up, and attended the King and Duke of York round the Park, and was asked several questions by both; but I was in pain, lest they should ask me what I could not answer; as the Duke of York did the value of the hull of the St. Patrick lately lost, which I told him I could not presently answer; though I might have easily furnished myself to answer all those questions. They stood a good while to see the ganders and geese tread one another in the water, the goose being all the while kept for a great while: quite under water, which was new to me, but they did make mighty sport of it, saying (as the King did often) "Now you shall see a marriage, between this and that," which did not please me. They gone, by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, as the Duke of York told me, to settle the business of money for the navy, I walked into the Court to and again till night, and there met Colonell Reames, and he and I walked together a great while complaining of the ill-management of things, whereof he is as full as I am. We ran over many persons and things, and see nothing done like men like to do well while the King minds his pleasures so much. We did bemoan it that nobody would or had authority enough with the King to tell him how all things go to rack and will be lost. Then he and I parted, and I to Westminster to the Swan, and there staid till Michell and his wife come. Old Michell and his wife come to see me, and there we drank and laughed a little, and then the young ones and I took boat, it being fine moonshine. I did to my trouble see all the way that 'elle' did get as close 'a su marido' as 'elle' could, and turn her 'mains' away 'quand je' did endeavour to take one.... So that I had no pleasure at all 'con elle ce' night. When we landed I did take occasion to send him back a the bateau while I did get a 'baiser' or two, and would have taken 'la' by 'la' hand, but 'elle' did turn away, and 'quand' I said shall I not 'toucher' to answered 'ego' no love touching, in a slight mood. I seemed not to take notice of it, but parted kindly; 'su marido' did alter with me almost a my case, and there we parted, and so I home troubled at this, but I think I shall make good use of it and mind my business more. At home, by appointment, comes Captain Cocke to me, to talk of State matters, and about the peace; who told me that the whole business is managed between Kevet, Burgomaster of Amsterdam, and my Lord Arlington, who hath, by the interest of his wife there, some interest. We have proposed the Hague, but know not yet whether the Dutch will like it; or; if they do, whether the French will. We think we shall have the help of the information of their affairs and state, and the helps of the Prince of Orange his faction; but above all, that De Witt, who hath all this while said he cannot get peace, his mouth will now be stopped, so that he will be forced to offer fit terms for fear of the people; and, lastly, if France or Spayne do not please us, we are in a way presently to clap up a peace with the Dutch, and secure them. But we are also in treaty with France, as he says: but it must be to the excluding our alliance with the King of Spayne or House of Austria; which we do not know presently what will be determined in. He tells me the Vice-Chamberlaine is so great with the King, that, let the Duke of York, and Sir W. Coventry, and this office, do or say what they will, while the King lives, Sir G. Carteret will do what he will; and advises me to be often with him, and eat and drink with him.; and tells me that he doubts he is jealous of me, and was mighty mad to-day at our discourse to him before the Duke of York. But I did give him my reasons that the office is concerned to declare that, without money, the King's work cannot go on. From that discourse we ran to others, and among the others he assures me that Henry Bruncker is one of the shrewdest fellows for parts in England, and a dangerous man; that if ever the Parliament comes again Sir W. Coventry cannot stand, but in this I believe him not; that, while we want money so much in the Navy, the Officers of the Ordnance have at this day L300,000 good in tallys, which they can command money upon, got by their over-estimating their charge in getting it reckoned as a fifth part of the expense of the Navy; that Harry Coventry, who is to go upon this treaty with Lord Hollis (who he confesses to be a very wise man) into Holland, is a mighty quick, ready man, but not so weighty as he should be, he knowing him so well in his drink as he do; that, unless the King do do something against my Lord Mordaunt and the Patent for the Canary Company, before the Parliament next meets, he do believe there will be a civil war before there will be any more money given, unless it may be at their perfect disposal; and that all things are now ordered to the provoking of the Parliament against they come next, and the spending the King's money, so as to put him into a necessity of having it at the time it is prorogued for, or sooner. Having discoursed all this and much more, he away, and I to supper and to read my vows, and to bed. My mind troubled about Betty Michell, 'pour sa carriage' this night 'envers moy', but do hope it will put me upon doing my business. This evening, going to the Queen's side to see the ladies, I did find the Queene, the Duchesse of York, and another or two, at cards, with the room full of great ladies and men; which I was amazed at to see on a Sunday, having not believed it; but, contrarily, flatly denied the same a little while since to my cozen Roger Pepys? I did this day, going by water, read the answer to "The Apology for Papists," which did like me mightily, it being a thing as well writ as I think most things that ever I read in my life, and glad I am that I read it. 18th. Up, and to my bookbinder's, and there mightily pleased to see some papers of the account we did give the Parliament of the expense of the Navy sewed together, which I could not have conceived before how prettily it was done. Then by coach to the Exchequer about some tallies, and thence back again home, by the way meeting Mr. Weaver, of Huntingdon, and did discourse our business of law together, which did ease my mind, for I was afeard I have omitted doing what I in prudence ought to have done. So home and to dinner, and after dinner to the office, where je had Mrs. Burrows all sola a my closet, and did there 'baiser and toucher ses mamelles'.... Thence away, and with my wife by coach to the Duke of York's play-house, expecting a new play, and so stayed not no more than other people, but to the King's house, to "The Mayd's Tragedy;" but vexed all the while with two talking ladies and Sir Charles Sedley; yet pleased to hear their discourse, he being a stranger. And one of the ladies would, and did sit with her mask on, all the play, and, being exceeding witty as ever I heard woman, did talk most pleasantly with him; but was, I believe, a virtuous woman, and of quality. He would fain know who she was, but she would not tell; yet did give him many pleasant hints of her knowledge of him, by that means setting his brains at work to find, out who she was, and did give him leave to use all means to find out who she was, but pulling off her mask. He was mighty witty, and she also making sport with him very inoffensively, that a more pleasant 'rencontre' I never heard. But by that means lost the pleasure of the play wholly, to which now and then Sir Charles Sedley's exceptions against both words and pronouncing were very pretty. So home and to the office, did much business, then home, to supper, and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning doing little business, our want of money being so infinite great. At noon home, and there find old Mr. Michell and Howlett come to desire mine and my wife's company to dinner to their son's, and so away by coach with them, it being Betty's wedding-day a year, as also Shrove Tuesday. Here I made myself mighty merry, the two old women being there also, and a mighty pretty dinner we had in this little house, to my exceeding great content, and my wife's, and my heart pleased to see Betty. But I have not been so merry a very great while as with them, every thing pleasing me there as much as among so mean company I could be pleased. After dinner I fell to read the Acts about the building of the City again; [Burnet wrote ("History of his Own Time," book ii.): "An act passed in this session for rebuilding the city of London, which gave Lord Chief Justice Hale a great reputation, for it was drawn with so true a judgment, and so great foresight, that the whole city was raised out of its ashes without any suits of law."] and indeed the laws seem to be very good, and I pray God I may live to see it built in that manner! Anon with much content home, walking with my wife and her woman, and there to my office, where late doing much business, and then home to supper and to bed. This morning I hear that our discourse of peace is all in the dirt; for the Dutch will not like of the place, or at least the French will not agree to it; so that I do wonder what we shall do, for carry on the war we cannot. I long to hear the truth of it to-morrow at Court. 20th. Up, with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen by coach to White Hall, by the way observing Sir W. Pen's carrying a favour to Sir W. Coventry, for his daughter's wedding, and saying that there was others for us, when we will fetch them, which vexed me, and I am resolved not to wear it when he orders me one. His wedding hath been so poorly kept, that I am ashamed of it; for a fellow that makes such a flutter as he do. When we come to the Duke of York here, I heard discourse how Harris of his play-house is sick, and everybody commends him, and, above all things, for acting the Cardinall. Here they talk also how the King's viallin,--[violin]-- Bannister, is mad that the King hath a Frenchman come to be chief of some part of the King's musique, at which the Duke of York made great mirth. Then withdrew to his closett, all our business, lack of money and prospect of the effects of it, such as made Sir W. Coventry say publickly before us all, that he do heartily wish that his Royal Highness had nothing to do in the Navy, whatever become of him; so much dishonour, he says, is likely to fall under the management of it. The Duke of York was angry, as much as he could be, or ever I saw him, with Sir G. Carteret, for not paying the masters of some ships on Monday last, according to his promise, and I do think Sir G. Carteret will make himself unhappy by not taking some course either to borrow more money or wholly lay aside his pretence to the charge of raising money, when he hath nothing to do to trouble himself with. Thence to the Exchequer, and there find the people in readiness to dispatch my tallies to-day, though Ash Wednesday. So I back by coach to London to Sir Robt. Viner's and there got L100, and come away with it and pay my fees round, and so away with the 'Chequer men to the Leg in King Street, and there had wine for them; and here was one in company with them, that was the man that got the vessel to carry over the King from Bredhemson, who hath a pension of 200 per annum, but ill paid, and the man is looking after getting of a prizeship to live by; but the trouble is, that this poor man, who hath received no part of his money these four years, and is ready to starve almost, must yet pay to the Poll Bill for this pension. He told me several particulars of the King's coming thither, which was mighty pleasant, and shews how mean a thing a king is, how subject to fall, and how like other men he is in his afflictions. Thence with my tallies home, and a little dinner, and then with my wife by coach to Lincoln's Inn Fields, sent her to her brother's, and I with Lord Bellasses to the Lord Chancellor's. Lord Bellasses tells me how the King of France hath caused the stop to be made to our proposition of treating in The Hague; that he being greater than they, we may better come and treat at Paris: so that God knows what will become of the peace! He tells me, too, as a grand secret, that he do believe the peace offensive and defensive between Spayne and us is quite finished, but must not be known, to prevent the King of France's present falling upon Flanders. He do believe the Duke of York will be made General of the Spanish armies there, and Governor of Flanders, if the French should come against it, and we assist the Spaniard: that we have done the Spaniard abundance of mischief in the West Indys, by our privateers at Jamaica, which they lament mightily, and I am sorry for it to have it done at this time. By and by, come to my Lord Chancellor, who heard mighty quietly my complaints for lack of money, and spoke mighty kind to me, but little hopes of help therein, only his good word. He do prettily cry upon Povy's account with sometimes seeming friendship and pity, and this day quite the contrary. He do confess our streights here and every where else arise from our outspending our revenue. I mean that the King do do so. Thence away, took up my wife; who tells me her brother hath laid out much money upon himself and wife for clothes, which I am sorry to hear, it requiring great expense. So home and to the office a while, and then home to supper, where Mrs. Turner come to us, and sat and talked. Poor woman, I pity her, but she is very cunning. She concurs with me in the falseness of Sir W. Pen's friendship, and she tells pretty storms of my Lord Bruncker since he come to our end of the town, of people's applications to Mrs. Williams. So, she gone, I back to my accounts of Tangier, which I am settling, having my new tallies from the Exchequer this day, and having set all right as I could wish, then to bed. 21st. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning, and there a most furious conflict between Sir W. Pen and I, in few words, and on a sudden occasion, of no great moment, but very bitter, and stared on one another, and so broke off; and to our business, my heart as full of spite as it could hold, for which God forgive me and him! At the end of the day come witnesses on behalf of Mr. Carcasse; but, instead of clearing him, I find they were brought to recriminate Sir W. Batten, and did it by oath very highly, that made the old man mad, and, I confess, me ashamed, so that I caused all but ourselves to withdraw; being sorry to have such things declared in the open office, before 100 people. But it was done home, and I do believe true, though (Sir) W. Batten denies all, but is cruel mad, and swore one of them, he or Carcasse, should not continue in the Office, which is said like a fool. He gone, for he would not stay, and [Sir] W. Pen gone a good while before, Lord Bruncker, Sir T. Harvy, and I, staid and examined the witnesses, though amounting to little more than a reproaching of Sir W. Batten. I home, my head and mind vexed about the conflict between Sir W. Pen and I, though I have got, nor lost any ground by it. At home was Mr. Daniel and wife and sister, and dined with us, and I disturbed at dinner, Colonell Fitzgerald coming to me about tallies, which I did go and give him, and then to the office, where did much business and walked an hour or two with Lord Bruncker, who is mightily concerned in this business for Carcasse and against Sir W. Batten, and I do hope it will come to a good height, for I think it will be good for the King as well as for me, that they two do not agree, though I do, for ought I see yet, think that my Lord is for the most part in the right. He gone, I to the office again to dispatch business, and late at night comes in Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and [Sir] J. Minnes to the office, and what was it but to examine one Jones, a young merchant, who was said to have spoke the worst against Sir W. Batten, but he do deny it wholly, yet I do believe Carcasse will go near to prove all that was sworn in the morning, and so it be true I wish it may. That done, I to end my letters, and then home to supper, and set right some accounts of Tangier, and then to bed. 22nd. Up, and to the office, where I awhile, and then home with Sir H. Cholmly to give him some tallies upon the business of the Mole at Tangier, and then out with him by coach to the Excise Office, there to enter them, and so back again with him to the Exchange, and there I took another coach, and home to the office, and to my business till dinner, the rest of our officers having been this morning upon the Victuallers' accounts. At dinner all of us, that is to say, Lord Bruncker, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] T. Harvy, and myself, to Sir W. Pen's house, where some other company. It is instead of a wedding dinner for his daughter, whom I saw in palterly clothes, nothing new but a bracelet that her servant had given her, and ugly she is, as heart can wish. A sorry dinner, not any thing handsome or clean, but some silver plates they borrowed of me. My wife was here too. So a great deal of talk, and I seemingly merry, but took no pleasure at all. We had favours given us all, and we put them in our hats, I against my will, but that my Lord and the rest did, I being displeased that he did carry Sir W. Coventry's himself several days ago, and the people up and down the town long since, and we must have them but to-day. After dinner to talk a little, and then I away to my office, to draw up a letter of the state of the Office and Navy for the Duke of York against Sunday next, and at it late, and then home to supper and to bed, talking with my wife of the poorness and meanness of all that Sir W. Pen and the people about us do, compared with what we do. 23rd. This day I am, by the blessing of God, 34 years old, in very good health and mind's content, and in condition of estate much beyond whatever my friends could expect of a child of theirs, this day 34 years. The Lord's name be praised! and may I be ever thankful for it. Up betimes to the office, in order to my letter to the Duke of York to-morrow, and then the office met and spent the greatest part about this letter. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again very close at it all the day till midnight, making an end and writing fair this great letter and other things to my full content, it abundantly providing for the vindication of this office, whatever the success be of our wants of money. This evening Sir W. Batten come to me to the office on purpose, out of spleen (of which he is full to Carcasse!), to tell me that he is now informed of many double tickets now found of Carcasses making which quite overthrows him. It is strange to see how, though I do believe this fellow to be a rogue, and could be contented to have him removed, yet to see him persecuted by Sir W. Batten, who is as bad himself, and that with so much rancour, I am almost the fellow's friend. But this good I shall have from it, that the differences between Sir W. Batten and my Lord Bruncker will do me no hurt. 24th (Lord's day). Up, and with [Sir] W. Batten, by coach; he set me down at my Lord Bruncker's (his feud there not suffering him to 'light himself), and I with my Lord by and by when ready to White Hall, and by and by up to the Duke of York, and there presented our great letter and other papers, and among the rest my report of the victualling, which is good, I think, and will continue my pretence to the place, which I am still afeard Sir W. Coventry's employment may extinguish. We have discharged ourselves in this letter fully from blame in the bad success of the Navy, if money do not come soon to us, and so my heart is at pretty good rest in this point. Having done here, Sir W. Batten and I home by coach, and though the sermon at our church was begun, yet he would 'light to go home and eat a slice of roast beef off the spit, and did, and then he and I to church in the middle of the sermon. My Lady Pen there saluted me with great content to tell me that her daughter and husband are still in bed, as if the silly woman thought it a great matter of honour, and did, going out of the church, ask me whether we did not make a great show at Court today, with all our favours in our hats. After sermon home, and alone with my wife dined. Among other things my wife told me how ill a report our Mercer hath got by her keeping of company, so that she will not send for her to dine with us or be with us as heretofore; and, what is more strange, tells me that little Mis. Tooker hath got a clap as young as she is, being brought up loosely by her mother.... In the afternoon away to White Hall by water, and took a turn or two in the Park, and then back to White Hall, and there meeting my Lord Arlington, he, by I know not what kindness, offered to carry me along with him to my Lord Treasurer's, whither, I told him, I was going. I believe he had a mind to discourse of some Navy businesses, but Sir Thomas Clifford coming into the coach to us, we were prevented; which I was sorry for, for I had a mind to begin an acquaintance with him. He speaks well, and hath pretty slight superficial parts, I believe. He, in our going, talked much of the plain habit of the Spaniards; how the King and Lords themselves wear but a cloak of Colchester bayze, and the ladies mantles, in cold weather, of white flannell: and that the endeavours frequently of setting up the manufacture of making these stuffs there have only been prevented by the Inquisition: the English and Dutchmen that have been sent for to work, being taken with a Psalmbook or Testament, and so clapped up, and the house pulled down by the Inquisitors; and the greatest Lord in Spayne dare not say a word against it, if the word Inquisition be but mentioned. At my Lord Treasurer's 'light and parted with them, they going into Council, and I walked with Captain Cocke, who takes mighty notice of the differences growing in our office between Lord Bruncker and [Sir] W. Batten, and among others also, and I fear it may do us hurt, but I will keep out of them. By and by comes Sir S. Fox, and he and I walked and talked together on many things, but chiefly want of money, and the straits the King brings himself and affairs into for want of it. Captain Cocke did tell me what I must not forget: that the answer of the Dutch, refusing The Hague for a place of treaty, and proposing the Boysse, Bredah, Bergen-op-Zoome, or Mastricht, was seemingly stopped by the Swede's Embassador (though he did show it to the King, but the King would take no notice of it, nor does not) from being delivered to the King; and he hath wrote to desire them to consider better of it: so that, though we know their refusal of the place, yet they know not that we know it, nor is the King obliged to show his sense of the affront. That the Dutch are in very great straits, so as to be said to be not able to set out their fleete this year. By and by comes Sir Robert Viner and my Lord Mayor to ask the King's directions about measuring out the streets according to the new Act for building of the City, wherein the King is to be pleased. [See Sir Christopher Wren's "Proposals for rebuilding the City of London after the great fire, with an engraved Plan of the principal Streets and Public Buildings," in Elmes's "Memoirs of Sir Christopher Wren," Appendix, p.61. The originals are in All Souls' College Library, Oxford.--B.] But he says that the way proposed in Parliament, by Colonel Birch, would have been the best, to have chosen some persons in trust, and sold the whole ground, and let it be sold again by them, with preference to the old owner, which would have certainly caused the City to be built where these Trustees pleased; whereas now, great differences will be, and the streets built by fits, and not entire till all differences be decided. This, as he tells it, I think would have been the best way. I enquired about the Frenchman ["One Hubert, a French papist, was seized in Essex, as he was getting out of the way in great confusion. He confessed he had begun the fire, and persisted in his confession to his death, for he was hanged upon no other evidence but that of his own confession. It is true he gave so broken an account of the whole matter that he was thought mad. Yet he was blindfolded, and carried to several places of the city, and then his eyes being opened, he was asked if that was the place, and he being carried to wrong places, after he looked round about for some time, he said that was not the place, but when he was brought to the place where it first broke out, he affirmed that was the true place. "Burnet's Own Time," book ii. Archbishop Tillotson, according to Burnet, believed that London was burnt by design.] that was said to fire the City, and was hanged for it, by his own confession, that he was hired for it by a Frenchman of Roane, and that he did with a stick reach in a fire-ball in at a window of the house: whereas the master of the house, who is the King's baker, and his son, and daughter, do all swear there was no such window, and that the fire did not begin thereabouts. Yet the fellow, who, though a mopish besotted fellow, did not speak like a madman, did swear that he did fire it: and did not this like a madman; for, being tried on purpose, and landed with his keeper at the Tower Wharf, he could carry the keeper to the very house. Asking Sir R. Viner what he thought was the cause of the fire, he tells me, that the baker, son, and his daughter, did all swear again and again, that their oven was drawn by ten o'clock at night; that, having occasion to light a candle about twelve, there was not so much fire in the bakehouse as to light a match for a candle, so that they were fain to go into another place to light it; that about two in the morning they felt themselves almost choked with smoke, and rising, did find the fire coming upstairs; so they rose to save themselves; but that, at that time, the bavins--[brushwood, or faggots used for lighting fires]--were not on fire in the yard. So that they are, as they swear, in absolute ignorance how this fire should come; which is a strange thing, that so horrid an effect should have so mean and uncertain a beginning. By and by called in to the King and Cabinet, and there had a few insipid words about money for Tangier, but to no purpose. Thence away walked to my boat at White Hall, and so home and to supper, and then to talk with W. Hewer about business of the differences at present among the people of our office, and so to my journall and to bed. This night going through bridge by water, my waterman told me how the mistress of the Beare tavern, at the bridge-foot, did lately fling herself into the Thames, and drowned herself; which did trouble me the more, when they tell me it was she that did live at the White Horse tavern in Lumbard Streete, which was a most beautiful woman, as most I have seen. It seems she hath had long melancholy upon her, and hath endeavoured to make away with herself often. 25th. Lay long in bed, talking with pleasure with my poor wife, how she used to make coal fires, and wash my foul clothes with her own hand for me, poor wretch! in our little room at my Lord Sandwich's; for which I ought for ever to love and admire her, and do; and persuade myself she would do the same thing again, if God should reduce us to it. So up and by coach abroad to the Duke of Albemarle's about sending soldiers down to some ships, and so home, calling at a belt-maker's to mend my belt, and so home and to dinner, where pleasant with my wife, and then to the office, where mighty busy all the day, saving going forth to the 'Change to pay for some things, and on other occasions, and at my goldsmith's did observe the King's new medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's face as well done as ever I saw anything in my whole life, I think: and a pretty thing it is, that he should choose her face to represent Britannia by. So at the office late very busy and much business with great joy dispatched, and so home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. And here did receive another reference from Sir W. Coventry about the business of some of the Muster-Masters, concerning whom I had returned their small performances, which do give me a little more trouble for fear [Sir] W. Coventry should think I had a design to favour my brother Balty, and to that end to disparage all the rest. But I shall clear all very well, only it do exercise my thoughts more than I am at leisure for. At home find Balty and his wife very fine, which I did not like, for fear he do spend too much of his money that way, and lay [not] up anything. After dinner to the office again, where by and by Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] J. Minnes and I met about receiving Carcasses answers to the depositions against him. Wherein I did see so much favour from my Lord to him that I do again begin to see that my Lord is not right at the bottom, and did make me the more earnest against him, though said little. My Lord rising, declaring his judgement in his behalf, and going away, I did hinder our arguing it by ourselves, and so broke up the meeting, and myself went full of trouble to my office, there to write over the deposition and his answers side by side, and then home to supper and to bed with some trouble of mind to think of the issue of this, how it will breed ill blood among us here. 27th. Up by candle-light, about six o'clock, it being bitter cold weather again, after all our warm weather, and by water down to Woolwich rope-yard, I being this day at a leisure, the King and Duke of York being gone down to Sheerenesse this morning to lay out the design for a fortification there to the river Medway; and so we do not attend the Duke of York as we should otherwise have done, and there to the Dock Yard to enquire of the state of things, and went into Mr. Pett's; and there, beyond expectation, he did present me with a Japan cane, with a silver head, and his wife sent me by him a ring, with a Woolwich stone; [Woolwich stones, still collected in that locality, are simply waterworn pebbles of flint, which, when broken with a hammer, exhibit on the smooth surface some resemblance to the human face; and their possessors are thus enabled to trace likenesses of friends, or eminent public characters. The late Mr. Tennant, the geologist, of the Strand, had a collection of such stones. In the British Museum is a nodule of globular or Egyptian jasper, which, in its fracture, bears a striking resemblance to the well-known portrait of Chaucer. It is engraved in Rymsdyk's "Museum Britannicum," tab. xxviii. A flint, showing Mr. Pitt's face, used once to be exhibited at the meetings of the Pitt Club.--B.] now much in request; which I accepted, the values not being great, and knowing that I had done them courtesies, which he did own in very high terms; and then, at my asking, did give me an old draught of an ancient-built ship, given him by his father, of the Beare, in Queen Elizabeth's time. This did much please me, it being a thing I much desired to have, to shew the difference in the build of ships now and heretofore. Being much taken with this kindness, I away to Blackwall and Deptford, to satisfy myself there about the King's business, and then walked to Redriffe, and so home about noon; there find Mr. Hunt, newly come out of the country, who tells me the country is much impoverished by the greatness of taxes: the farmers do break every day almost, and L1000 a-year become not worth L500. He dined with us, and we had good discourse of the general ill state of things, and, by the way, he told me some ridiculous pieces of thrift of Sir G. Downing's, who is his countryman, in inviting some poor people, at Christmas last, to charm the country people's mouths; but did give them nothing but beef, porridge, pudding, and pork, and nothing said all dinner, but only his mother would say, "It's good broth, son." He would answer, "Yes, it is good broth." Then, says his lady, Confirm all, and say, "Yes, very good broth." By and by she would begin and say, "Good pork:"--"Yes," says the mother, "good pork." Then he cries, "Yes, very good pork." And so they said of all things; to which nobody made any answer, they going there not out of love or esteem of them, but to eat his victuals, knowing him to be a niggardly fellow; and with this he is jeered now all over the country. This day just before dinner comes Captain Story, of Cambridge, to me to the office, about a bill for prest money, [Money paid to men who enlist into the public service; press money. So called because those who receive it are to be prest or ready when called on ("Encyclopaedic Dictionary ").] for men sent out of the country and the countries about him to the fleete the last year; but, Lord! to see the natures of men; how this man, hearing of my name, did ask me of my country, and told me of my cozen Roger, that he was not so wise a man as his father; for that he do not agree in Parliament with his fellow burgesses and knights of the shire, whereas I know very well the reason; for he is not so high a flyer as Mr. Chichley and others, but loves the King better than any of them, and to better purpose. But yet, he says that he is a very honest gentleman, and thence runs into a hundred stories of his own services to the King, and how he at this day brings in the taxes before anybody here thinks they are collected: discourse very absurd to entertain a stranger with. He being gone, and I glad of it, I home then to dinner. After dinner with my wife by coach abroad, andset Mr. Hunt down at the Temple and her at her brother's, and I to White Hall to meet [Sir] W. Coventry, but found him not, but met Mr. Cooling, who tells me of my Lord Duke of Buckingham's being sent for last night, by a Serjeant at Armes, to the Tower, for treasonable practices, and that the King is infinitely angry with him, and declared him no longer one of his Council. I know not the reason of it, or occasion. To Westminster Hall, and there paid what I owed for books, and so by coach, took up my wife to the Exchange, and there bought things for Mrs. Pierces little daughter, my Valentine, and so to their house, where we find Knipp, who also challengeth me for her Valentine. She looks well, sang well, and very merry we were for half an hour. Tells me Harris is well again, having been very ill, and so we home, and I to the office; then, at night, to Sir W. Pen's, and sat with my Lady, and the young couple (Sir William out of town) talking merrily; but they make a very sorry couple, methinks, though rich. So late home and to bed. 28th. Up, and there comes to me Drumbleby with a flageolet, made to suit with my former and brings me one Greeting, a master, to teach my wife. I agree by the whole with him to teach her to take out any lesson of herself for L4. She was not ready to begin to-day, but do to-morrow. So I to the office, where my Lord Bruncker and I only all the morning, and did business. At noon to the Exchange and to Sir Rob. Viner's about settling my accounts there. So back home and to dinner, where Mr. Holliard dined with us, and pleasant company he is. I love his company, and he secures me against ever having the stone again. He gives it me, as his opinion, that the City will never be built again together, as is expected, while any restraint is laid upon them. He hath been a great loser, and would be a builder again, but, he says, he knows not what restrictions there will be, so as it is unsafe for him to begin. He gone, I to the office, and there busy till night doing much business, then home and to my accounts, wherein, beyond expectation, I succeeded so well as to settle them very clear and plain, though by borrowing of monies this month to pay D. Gawden, and chopping and changing with my Tangier money, they were become somewhat intricate, and, blessed be God; upon the evening my accounts, I do appear L6800 creditor: This done, I to supper about 12 at night, and so to bed. The weather for three or four days being come to be exceeding cold again as any time this year. I did within these six days see smoke still remaining of the late fire in the City; and it is strange to think how, to this very day, I cannot sleep at night without great terrors of fire, and this very night I could not sleep till almost two in the morning through thoughts of fire. Thus this month is ended with great content of mind to me, thriving in my estate, and the affairs in my offices going pretty well as to myself. This afternoon Mr. Gawden was with me and tells me more than I knew before--that he hath orders to get all the victuals he can to Plymouth, and the Western ports, and other outports, and some to Scotland, so that we do intend to keep but a flying fleete this year; which, it may be, may preserve us a year longer, but the end of it must be ruin. Sir J. Minnes this night tells me, that he hears for certain, that ballads are made of us in Holland for begging of a peace; which I expected, but am vexed at. So ends this month, with nothing of weight upon my mind, but for my father and mother, who are both very ill, and have been so for some weeks: whom God help! but I do fear my poor father will hardly be ever thoroughly well again. MARCH 1666-1667 March 1st. Up, it being very cold weather again after a good deal of warm summer weather, and to the office, where I settled to do much business to-day. By and by sent for to Sir G. Carteret to discourse of the business of the Navy, and our wants, and the best way of bestowing the little money we have, which is about L30,000, but, God knows, we have need of ten times as much, which do make my life uncomfortable, I confess, on the King's behalf, though it is well enough as to my own particular, but the King's service is undone by it. Having done with him, back again to the office, and in the streets, in Mark Lane, I do observe, it being St. David's day, the picture of a man dressed like a Welchman, hanging by the neck upon one of the poles that stand out at the top of one of the merchants' houses, in full proportion, and very handsomely done; which is one of the oddest sights I have seen a good while, for it was so like a man that one would have thought it was indeed a man. [From "Poor Robin's Almanack" for 1757 it appears that, in former times in England, a Welshman was burnt in effigy on this anniversary. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, in his edition of Brand's "Popular Antiquities," adds "The practice to which Pepys refers... was very common at one time; and till very lately bakers made gingerbread Welshmen, called taffies, on St. David's day, which were made to represent a man skewered" (vol. i., pp. 60,61).] Being returned home, I find Greeting, the flageolet-master, come, and teaching my wife; and I do think my wife will take pleasure in it, and it will be easy for her, and pleasant. So I, as I am well content with the charge it will occasion me. So to the office till dinner-time, and then home to dinner, and before dinner making my wife to sing. Poor wretch! her ear is so bad that it made me angry, till the poor wretch cried to see me so vexed at her, that I think I shall not discourage her so much again, but will endeavour to make her understand sounds, and do her good that way; for she hath a great mind to learn, only to please me; and, therefore, I am mighty unjust to her in discouraging her so much, but we were good friends, and to dinner, and had she not been ill with those and that it were not Friday (on which in Lent there are no plays) I had carried her to a play, but she not being fit to go abroad, I to the office, where all the afternoon close examining the collection of my papers of the accounts of the Navy since this war to my great content, and so at night home to talk and sing with my-wife, and then to supper and so to bed with great pleasure. But I cannot but remember that just before dinner one of my people come up to me, and told me a man come from Huntingdon would speak with me, how my heart come into my mouth doubting that my father, who has been long sicke, was dead. It put me into a trembling, but, blessed be [God]! it was no such thing, but a countryman come about ordinary business to me, to receive L50 paid to my father in the country for the Perkins's for their legacy, upon the death of their mother, by my uncle's will. So though I get nothing at present, at least by the estate, I am fain to pay this money rather than rob my father, and much good may it do them that I may have no more further trouble from them. I hear to-day that Tom Woodall, the known chyrurgeon, is killed at Somerset House by a Frenchman, but the occasion Sir W. Batten could not tell me. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where sitting all the morning, and among other things did agree upon a distribution of L30,000 and odd, which is the only sum we hear of like to come out of all the Poll Bill for the use of this office for buying of goods. I did herein some few courtesies for particular friends I wished well to, and for the King's service also, and was therefore well pleased with what was done. Sir W. Pen this day did bring an order from the Duke of York for our receiving from him a small vessel for a fireship, and taking away a better of the King's for it, it being expressed for his great service to the King. This I am glad of, not for his sake, but that it will give me a better ground, I believe, to ask something for myself of this kind, which I was fearful to begin. This do make Sir W. Pen the most kind to me that can be. I suppose it is this, lest it should find any opposition from me, but I will not oppose, but promote it. After dinner, with my wife, to the King's house to see "The Mayden Queene," a new play of Dryden's, mightily commended for the regularity of it, and the strain and wit; and, the truth is, there is a comical part done by Nell, ["Her skill increasing with her years, other poets sought to obtain recommendations of her wit and beauty to the success of their writings. I have said that Dryden was one of the principal supporters of the King's house, and ere long in one of his new plays a principal character was set apart for the popular comedian. The drama was a tragi-comedy called 'Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen,' and an additional interest was attached to its production from the king having suggested the plot to its author, and calling it 'his play.'"--Cunningham's Story of Nell Gwyn, ed: 1892, pp. 38,39.] which is Florimell, that I never can hope ever to see the like done again, by man or woman. The King and Duke of York were at the play. But so great performance of a comical part was never, I believe, in the world before as Nell do this, both as a mad girle, then most and best of all when she comes in like a young gallant; and hath the notions and carriage of a spark the most that ever I saw any man have. It makes me, I confess, admire her. Thence home and to the office, where busy a while, and then home to read the lives of Henry 5th and 6th, very fine, in Speede, and to bed. This day I did pay a bill of L50 from my father, being so much out of my own purse gone to pay my uncle Robert's legacy to my aunt Perkins's child. 3rd (Lord's day). Lay long, merrily talking with my wife, and then up and to church, where a dull sermon of Mr. Mills touching Original Sin, and then home, and there find little Michell and his wife, whom I love mightily. Mightily contented I was in their company, for I love her much; and so after dinner I left them and by water from the Old Swan to White Hall, where, walking in the galleries, I in the first place met Mr. Pierce, who tells me the story of Tom Woodall, the surgeon, killed in a drunken quarrel, and how the Duke of York hath a mind to get him [Pierce] one of his places in St. Thomas's Hospitall. Then comes Mr. Hayward, the Duke of York's servant, and tells us that the Swede's Embassador hath been here to-day with news that it is believed that the Dutch will yield to have the treaty at London or Dover, neither of which will get our King any credit, we having already consented to have it at The Hague; which, it seems, De Witt opposed, as a thing wherein the King of England must needs have some profound design, which in my conscience he hath not. They do also tell me that newes is this day come to the King, that the King of France is come with his army to the frontiers of Flanders, demanding leave to pass through their country towards Poland, but is denied, and thereupon that he is gone into the country. How true this is I dare not believe till I hear more. From them I walked into the Parke, it being a fine but very cold day; and there took two or three turns the length of the Pell Mell: and there I met Serjeant Bearcroft, who was sent for the Duke of Buckingham, to have brought him prisoner to the Tower. He come to towne this day, and brings word that, being overtaken and outrid by the Duchesse of Buckingham within a few miles of the Duke's house of Westhorp, he believes she got thither about a quarter of an hour before him, and so had time to consider; so that, when he come, the doors were kept shut against him. The next day, coming with officers of the neighbour market-town to force open the doors, they were open for him, but the Duke gone; so he took horse presently, and heard upon the road that the Duke of Buckingham was gone before him for London: so that he believes he is this day also come to towne before him; but no newes is yet heard of him. This is all he brings. Thence to my Lord Chancellor's, and there, meeting Sir H. Cholmly, he and I walked in my Lord's garden, and talked; among other things, of the treaty: and he says there will certainly be a peace, but I cannot believe it. He tells me that the Duke of Buckingham his crimes, as far as he knows, are his being of a caball with some discontented persons of the late House of Commons, and opposing the desires of the King in all his matters in that House; and endeavouring to become popular, and advising how the Commons' House should proceed, and how he would order the House of Lords. And that he hath been endeavouring to have the King's nativity calculated; which was done, and the fellow now in the Tower about it; which itself hath heretofore, as he says, been held treason, and people died for it; but by the Statute of Treasons, in Queen Mary's times and since, it hath been left out. He tells me that this silly Lord hath provoked, by his ill-carriage, the Duke of York, my Lord Chancellor, and all the great persons; and therefore, most likely, will die. He tells me, too, many practices of treachery against this King; as betraying him in Scotland, and giving Oliver an account of the King's private councils; which the King knows very well, and hath yet pardoned him. [Two of our greatest poets have drawn the character of the Duke of Buckingham in brilliant verse, and both have condemned him to infamy. There is enough in Pepys's reports to corroborate the main features of Dryden's magnificent portrait of Zimri in "Absolom and Achitophel": "In the first rank of these did Zimri stand; A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome; Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; Was everything by starts, and nothing long, But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking, * * * * * * * He laughed himself from Court, then sought relief By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief." Pope's facts are not correct, and hence the effect of his picture is impaired. In spite of the duke's constant visits to the Tower, Charles II. still continued his friend; but on the death of the king, expecting little from James, he retired to his estate at Helmsley, in Yorkshire, to nurse his property and to restore his constitution. He died on April 16th, 1687, at Kirkby Moorside, after a few days' illness, caused by sitting on the damp grass when heated from a fox chase. The scene of his death was the house of a tenant, not "the worst inn's worst room" ("Moral Essays," epist. iii.). He was buried in Westminster Abbey.] Here I passed away a little time more talking with him and Creed, whom I met there, and so away, Creed walking with me to White Hall, and there I took water and stayed at Michell's to drink. I home, and there to read very good things in Fuller's "Church History," and "Worthies," and so to supper, and after supper had much good discourse with W. Hewer, who supped with us, about the ticket office and the knaveries and extortions every day used there, and particularly of the business of Mr. Carcasse, whom I fear I shall find a very rogue. So parted with him, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Batten by barge to Deptford by eight in the morning, where to the King's yard a little to look after business there, and then to a private storehouse to look upon some cordage of Sir W. Batten's, and there being a hole formerly made for a drain for tarr to run into, wherein the barrel stood still, full of stinking water, Sir W. Batten did fall with one leg into it, which might have been very bad to him by breaking a leg or other hurt, but, thanks be to God, he only sprained his foot a little. So after his shifting his stockings at a strong water shop close by, we took barge again, and so to Woolwich, where our business was chiefly to look upon the ballast wharfe there, which is offered us for the King's use to hire, but we do not think it worth the laying out much money upon, unless we could buy the fee-simple of it, which cannot be sold us, so we wholly flung it off: So to the Dockyard, and there staid a while talking about business of the yard, and thence to the Rope-yard, and so to the White Hart and there dined, and Captain Cocke with us, whom we found at the Rope-yard, and very merry at dinner, and many pretty tales of Sir J. Minnes, which I have entered in my tale book. But by this time Sir W. Batten was come to be in much pain in his foot, so as he was forced to be carried down in a chair to the barge again, and so away to Deptford, and there I a little in the yard, and then to Bagwell's, where I find his wife washing, and also I did 'hazer tout que je voudrais con' her, and then sent for her husband, and discoursed of his going to Harwich this week to his charge of the new ship building there, which I have got him, and so away, walked to Redriffe, and there took boat and away home, and upon Tower Hill, near the ticket office, meeting with my old acquaintance Mr. Chaplin, the cheesemonger, and there fell to talk of news, and he tells me that for certain the King of France is denied passage with his army through Flanders, and that he hears that the Dutch do stand upon high terms with us, and will have a promise of not being obliged to strike the flag to us before they will treat with us, and other high things, which I am ashamed of and do hope will never be yielded to. That they do make all imaginable preparations, but that he believes they will be in mighty want of men; that the King of France do court us mightily. He tells me too that our Lord-Treasurer is going to lay down, and that Lord Arlington is to be Lord Treasurer, but I believe nothing of it, for he is not yet of estate visible enough to have the charge I suppose upon him. So being parted from him I home to the office, and after having done business there I home to supper, and there mightily pleased with my wife's beginning the flagellette, believing that she will come to very well thereon. This day in the barge I took Berckenshaw's translation of Alsted his Templum, but the most ridiculous book, as he has translated it, that ever I saw in my life, I declaring that I understood not three lines together from one end of the book to the other. 5th. Up, and to the office, where met and sat all the morning, doing little for want of money, but only bear the countenance of an office. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again, and there comes Martin my purser, and I walked with him awhile in the garden, I giving him good advice to beware of coming any more with high demands for supernumeraries or other things, for now Sir W. Pen is come to mind the business, the passing of his accounts will not be so easy as the last. He tells me he will never need it again, it being as easy, and to as much purpose to do the same thing otherwise, and how he do keep his Captain's table, and by that means hath the command of his Captains, and do not fear in a 5th-rate ship constantly employed to get a L1000 in five years time, and this year, besides all his spendings, which are I fear high, he hath got at this day clear above L150 in a voyage of about five or six months, which is a brave trade. He gone I to the office, and there all the afternoon late doing much business, and then to see Sir W. Batten, whose leg is all but better than it was, and like to do well. I by discourse do perceive he and his Lady are to their hearts out with my Lord Bruncker and Mrs. Williams, to which I added something, but, I think, did not venture too far with them. But, Lord! to see to what a poor content any acquaintance among these people, or the people of the world, as they now-adays go, is worth; for my part I and my wife will keep to one another and let the world go hang, for there is nothing but falseness in it. So home to supper and hear my wife and girle sing a little, and then to bed with much content of mind. 6th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall by coach, and by the way agreed to acquaint [Sir] W. Coventry with the business of Mr. Carcasse, and he and I spoke to Sir W. Coventry that we might move it to the Duke of York, which I did in a very indifferent, that is, impartial manner, but vexed I believe Lord Bruncker. Here the Duke of York did acquaint us, and the King did the like also, afterwards coming in, with his resolution of altering the manner of the war this year; that is, we shall keep what fleete we have abroad in several squadrons: so that now all is come out; but we are to keep it as close as we can, without hindering the work that is to be done in preparation to this. Great preparations there are to fortify Sheernesse and the yard at Portsmouth, and forces are drawing down to both those places, and elsewhere by the seaside; so that we have some fear of an invasion; and the Duke of York himself did declare his expectation of the enemy's blocking us up here in the River, and therefore directed that we should send away all the ships that we have to fit out hence. Sir W. Pen told me, going with me this morning to White Hall, that for certain the Duke of Buckingham is brought into the Tower, and that he hath had an hour's private conference with the King before he was sent thither. To Westminster Hall. There bought some news books, and, as every where else, hear every body complain of the dearness of coals, being at L4 per chaldron, the weather, too, being become most bitter cold, the King saying to-day that it was the coldest day he ever knew in England. Thence by coach to my Lord Crew's, where very welcome. Here I find they are in doubt where the Duke of Buckingham is; which makes me mightily reflect on the uncertainty of all history, when, in a business of this moment, and of this day's growth, we cannot tell the truth. Here dined my old acquaintance, Mr. Borfett, that was my Lord Sandwich's chaplain, and my Lady Wright and Dr. Boreman, who is preacher at St. Gyles's in the Fields, who, after dinner, did give my Lord an account of two papist women lately converted, whereof one wrote her recantation, which he shewed under her own hand mighty well drawn, so as my Lord desired a copy of it, after he had satisfied himself from the Doctor, that to his knowledge she was not a woman under any necessity. Thence by coach home and staid a very little, and then by water to Redriffe, and walked to Bagwell's, where 'la moher' was 'defro, sed' would not have me 'demeurer' there 'parce que' Mrs. Batters and one of my 'ancillas', I believe Jane (for she was gone abroad to-day), was in the town, and coming thither; so I away presently, esteeming it a great escape. So to the yard and spoke a word or two, and then by water home, wondrous cold, and reading a ridiculous ballad made in praise of the Duke of Albemarle, to the tune of St. George, the tune being printed, too; and I observe that people have some great encouragement to make ballads of him of this kind. There are so many, that hereafter he will sound like Guy of Warwicke. Then abroad with my wife, leaving her at the 'Change, while I to Sir H. Cholmly's, a pretty house, and a fine, worthy, well-disposed gentleman he is. He and I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's, about money for Tangier, but to little purpose. H. Cholmley tells me, among other things, that he hears of little hopes of a peace, their demands being so high as we shall never grant, and could tell me that we shall keep no fleete abroad this year, but only squadrons. And, among other things, that my Lord Bellasses, he believes, will lose his command of Tangier by his corrupt covetous ways of.endeavouring to sell his command, which I am glad [of], for he is a man of no worth in the world but compliment. So to the 'Change, and there bought 32s. worth of things for Mrs. Knipp, my Valentine, which is pretty to see how my wife is come to convention with me, that, whatever I do give to anybody else, I shall give her as much, which I am not much displeased with. So home and to the office and Sir W. Batten, to tell him what I had done to-day about Carcasse's business, and God forgive me I am not without design to give a blow to Sir W. Batten by it. So home, where Mr. Batelier supped with us and talked away the evening pretty late, and so he gone and we to bed. 7th. So up, and to the office, my head full of Carcasse's business; then hearing that Knipp is at my house, I home, and it was about a ticket for a friend of hers. I do love the humour of the jade very well. So to the office again, not being able to stay, and there about noon my Lord Bruncker did begin to talk of Carcasse's business. Only Commissioner Pett, my Lord, and I there, and it was pretty to see how Pett hugged the occasion of having anything against Sir W. Batten, which I am not much troubled at, for I love him not neither. Though I did really endeavour to quash it all I could, because I would prevent their malice taking effect. My Lord I see is fully resolved to vindicate Carcasse, though to the undoing of Sir W. Batten, but I believe he will find himself in a mistake, and do himself no good, and that I shall be glad of, for though I love the treason I hate the traitor. But he is vexed at my moving it to the Duke of York yesterday, which I answered well, so as I think he could not answer. But, Lord! it is pretty to see how Pett hugs this business, and how he favours my Lord Bruncker; who to my knowledge hates him, and has said more to his disadvantage, in my presence, to the King and Duke of York than any man in England, and so let them thrive one with another by cheating one another, for that is all I observe among them. Thence home late, and find my wife hath dined, and she and Mrs. Hewer going to a play. Here was Creed, and he and I to Devonshire House, to a burial of a kinsman of Sir R. Viner's; and there I received a ring, and so away presently to Creed, who staid for me at an alehouse hard by, and thence to the Duke's playhouse, where he parted, and I in and find my wife and Mrs. Hewer, and sat by them and saw "The English Princesse, or Richard the Third;" a most sad, melancholy play, and pretty good; but nothing eminent in it, as some tragedys are; only little Mis. Davis did dance a jig after the end of the play, and there telling the next day's play; so that it come in by force only to please the company to see her dance in boy's 'clothes; and, the truth is, there is no comparison between Nell's dancing the other day at the King's house in boy's clothes and this, this being infinitely beyond the other. Mere was Mr. Clerke and Pierce, to whom one word only of "How do you," and so away home, Mrs. Hewer with us, and I to the office and so to [Sir] W. Batten's, and there talked privately with him and [Sir] W. Pen about business of Carcasse against tomorrow, wherein I think I did give them proof enough of my ability as well as friendship to [Sir] W. Batten, and the honour of the office, in my sense of the rogue's business. So back to finish my office business, and then home to supper, and to bed. This day, Commissioner Taylor come to me for advice, and would force me to take ten pieces in gold of him, which I had no mind to, he being become one of our number at the Board. This day was reckoned by all people the coldest day that ever was remembered in England; and, God knows! coals at a very great price. 8th. Up, and to the Old Swan, where drank at Michell's, but not seeing her whom I love I by water to White Hall, and there acquainted Sir G. Carteret betimes what I had to say this day before the Duke of York in the business of Carcasse, which he likes well of, being a great enemy to him, and then I being too early here to go to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, having nothing to say to him, and being able to give him but a bad account of the business of the office (which is a shame to me, and that which I shall rue if I do not recover), to the Exchequer about getting a certificate of Mr. Lanyon's entered at Sir R. Longs office, and strange it is to see what horrid delays there are at this day in the business of money, there being nothing yet come from my Lord Treasurer to set the business of money in action since the Parliament broke off, notwithstanding the greatness and number of the King's occasions for it. So to the Swan, and there had three or four baisers of the little ancilla there, and so to Westminster Hall, where I saw Mr. Martin, the purser, come through with a picture in his hand, which he had bought, and observed how all the people of the Hall did fleer and laugh upon him, crying, "There is plenty grown upon a sudden;" and, the truth is, I was a little troubled that my favour should fall on so vain a fellow as he, and the more because, methought, the people do gaze upon me as the man that had raised him, and as if they guessed whence my kindness to him springs. So thence to White Hall, where I find all met at the Duke of York's chamber; and, by and by, the Duke of York comes, and Carcasse is called in, and I read the depositions and his answers, and he added with great confidence and good words, even almost to persuasion, what to say; and my Lord Bruncker, like a very silly solicitor, argued against me and us all for him; and, being asked first by the Duke of York his opinion, did give it for his being excused. I next did answer the contrary very plainly, and had, in this dispute, which vexed and will never be forgot by my Lord, many occasions of speaking severely, and did, against his bad practices. Commissioner Pett, like a fawning rogue, sided with my Lord, but to no purpose; and [Sir] W. Pen, like a cunning rogue, spoke mighty indifferently, and said nothing in all the fray, like a knave as he is. But [Sir] W. Batten spoke out, and did come off himself by the Duke's kindness very well; and then Sir G. Carteret, and Sir W. Coventry, and the Duke of York himself, flatly as I said; and so he was declared unfit to continue in, and therefore to be presently discharged the office; which, among other good effects, I hope, will make my Lord Bruncker not 'alloquer' so high, when he shall consider he hath had such a publick foyle as this is. So home with [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen, by coach, and there met at the office, and my Lord Bruncker presently after us, and there did give order to Mr. Stevens for securing the tickets in Carcasses hands, which my Lord against his will could not refuse to sign, and then home to dinner, and so away with my wife by coach, she to Mrs. Pierce's and I to my Lord Bellasses, and with him to [my] Lord Treasurer's, where by agreement we met with Sir H. Cholmly, and there sat and talked all the afternoon almost about one thing or other, expecting Sir Philip Warwicke's coming, but he come not, so we away towards night, Sir H. Cholmly and I to the Temple, and there parted, telling me of my Lord Bellasses's want of generosity, and that he [Bellasses] will certainly be turned out of his government, and he thinks himself stands fair for it. So home, and there found, as I expected, Mrs. Pierce and Mr. Batelier; he went for Mrs. Jones, but no Mrs. Knipp come, which vexed me, nor any other company. So with one fidler we danced away the evening, but I was not well contented with the littleness of the room, and my wife's want of preparing things ready, as they should be, for supper, and bad. So not very merry, though very well pleased. So after supper to bed, my wife and Mrs. Pierce, and her boy James and I. Yesterday I began to make this mark (V) stand instead of three pricks, which therefore I must observe every where, it being a mark more easy to make. 9th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, where Mrs. Pierce did continue with us and her boy (who I still find every day more and more witty beyond his age), and did dine with us, and by and by comes in her husband and a brother-in-law of his, a parson, one of the tallest biggest men that ever I saw in my life. So to the office, where a meeting extraordinary about settling the number and wages of my Lord Bruncker's clerks for his new work upon the Treasurer's accounts, but this did put us upon running into the business of yesterday about Carcasse, wherein I perceive he is most dissatisfied with me, and I am not sorry for it, having all the world but him of my side therein, for it will let him know another time that he is not to expect our submitting to him in every thing, as I think he did heretofore expect. He did speak many severe words to me, and I returned as many to him, so that I do think there cannot for a great while, be, any right peace between us, and I care not a fart for it; but however, I must look about me and mind my business, for I perceive by his threats and enquiries he is and will endeavour to find out something against me or mine. Breaking up here somewhat brokenly I home, and carried Mrs. Pierce and wife to the New Exchange, and there did give her and myself a pair of gloves, and then set her down at home, and so back again straight home and thereto do business, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where [Sir] W. Pen and others, and mighty merry, only I have got a great cold, and the scolding this day at the office with my Lord Bruncker hath made it worse, that I am not able to speak. But, Lord! to see how kind Sir W. Batten and his Lady are to me upon this business of my standing by [Sir] W. Batten against Carcasse, and I am glad of it. Captain Cocke, who was here to-night, did tell us that he is certain that yesterday a proclamation was voted at the Council, touching the proclaiming of my Lord Duke of Buckingham a traytor, and that it will be out on Monday. So home late, and drank some buttered ale, and so to bed and to sleep. This cold did most certainly come by my staying a little too long bare-legged yesterday morning when I rose while I looked out fresh socks and thread stockings, yesterday's having in the night, lying near the window, been covered with snow within the window, which made me I durst not put them on. 10th (Lord's day). Having my cold still grown more upon me, so as I am not able to speak, I lay in bed till noon, and then up and to my chamber with a good fire, and there spent an hour on Morly's Introduction to Musique, a very good but unmethodical book. Then to dinner, my wife and I, and then all the afternoon alone in my chamber preparing a letter for Commissioner Taylor to the City about getting his accounts for The Loyal London, [The "Loyal London" was the ship given to the king by the City. It was launched at Deptford on June 10th, 1666] by him built for them, stated and discharged, they owing him still about L4000. Towards the evening comes Mr. Spong to see me, whose discourse about several things I proposed to him was very good, better than I have had with any body a good while. He gone, I to my business again, and anon comes my Lady Pen and her son-in law and daughter, and there we talked all the evening away, and then to supper; and after supper comes Sir W. Pen, and there we talked together, and then broke up, and so to bed. He tells me that our Mr. Turner has seen the proclamation against the Duke of Buckingham, and that therefore it is true what we heard last night. Yesterday and to-day I have been troubled with a hoarseness through cold that I could not almost speak. 11th. Up, and with my cold still upon me and hoarseness, but I was forced to rise and to the office, where all the morning busy, and among other things Sir W. Warren come to me, to whom of late I have been very strange, partly from my indifference how more than heretofore to get money, but most from my finding that he is become great with my Lord Bruncker, and so I dare not trust him as I used to do, for I will not be inward with him that is open to another. By and by comes Sir H. Cholmly to me about Tangier business, and then talking of news he tells me how yesterday the King did publiquely talk of the King of France's dealing with all the Princes of Christendome. As to the States of Holland, he [the King of France] hath advised them, on good grounds, to refuse to treat with us at the Hague, because of having opportunity of spies, by reason of our interest in the House of Orange; and then, it being a town in one particular province, it would not be fit to have it, but in a town wherein the provinces have equal interest, as at Mastricht, and other places named. That he advises them to offer no terms, nor accept of any, without his privity and consent, according to agreement; and tells them, if not so, he hath in his power to be even with them, the King of England being come to offer him any terms he pleases; and that my Lord St. Albans is now at Paris, Plenipotentiary, to make what peace he pleases; and so he can make it, and exclude them, the Dutch, if he sees fit. A copy of this letter of the King of France's the Spanish Ambassador here gets, and comes and tells all to our King; which our King denies, and says the King of France only uses his power of saying anything. At the same time, the King of France writes to the Emperor, that he is resolved to do all things to express affection to the Emperor, having it now in his power to make what peace he pleases between the King of England and him, and the States of the United Provinces; and, therefore, that he would not have him to concern himself in a friendship with us; and assures him that, on that regard, he will not offer anything to his disturbance, in his interest in Flanders, or elsewhere. He writes, at the same time, to Spayne, to tell him that he wonders to hear of a league almost ended between the Crown of Spayne and England, by my Lord Sandwich, and all without his privity, while he was making a peace upon what terms he pleased with England: that he is a great lover of the Crown of Spayne, and would take the King and his affairs, during his minority, into his protection, nor would offer to set his foot in Flanders, or any where else, to disturb him; and, therefore, would not have him to trouble himself to make peace with any body; only he hath a desire to offer an exchange, which he thinks may be of moment to both sides: that is, that he [France] will enstate the King of Spayne in the kingdom of Portugall, and he and the Dutch will put him into possession of Lisbon; and, that being done, he [France] may have Flanders: and this, they say; do mightily take in Spayne, which is sensible of the fruitless expence Flanders, so far off, gives them; and how much better it would be for them to be master of Portugall; and the King of France offers, for security herein, that the King of England shall be bond for him, and that he will countersecure the King of England with Amsterdam; and, it seems, hath assured our King, that if he will make a league with him, he will make a peace exclusive to the Hollander. These things are almost romantique, but yet true, as Sir H. Cholmly tells me the King himself did relate it all yesterday; and it seems as if the King of France did think other princes fit for nothing but to make sport for him: but simple princes they are, that are forced to suffer this from him. So at noon with Sir W. Pen by coach to the Sun in Leadenhall Streete, where Sir R. Ford, Sir W. Batten, and Commissioner Taylor (whose feast it was) were, and we dined and had a very good dinner. Among other discourses Sir R. Ford did tell me that he do verily believe that the city will in few years be built again in all the greatest streets, and answered the objections I did give to it. Here we had the proclamation this day come out against the Duke of Buckingham, commanding him to come in to one of the Secretaries, or to the Lieutenant of the Tower. A silly, vain man to bring himself to this: and there be many hard circumstances in the proclamation of the causes of this proceeding of the King's, which speak great displeasure of the King's, and crimes of his. Then to discourse of the business of the day, that is, to see Commissioner Taylor's accounts for his ship he built, The Loyall London, and it is pretty to see how dully this old fellow makes his demands, and yet plaguy wise sayings will come from the man sometimes, and also how Sir R. Ford and [Sir] W. Batten did with seeming reliance advise him what to do, and how to come prepared to answer objections to the Common Council. Thence away to the office, where late busy, and then home to supper, mightily pleased with my wife's trill, and so to bed. This night Mr. Carcasse did come to me again to desire favour, and that I would mediate that he might be restored, but I did give him no kind answer at all, but was very angry, and I confess a good deal of it from my Lord Bruncker's simplicity and passion. 12th. Up, and to the office, where all-the morning, and my Lord Bruncker mighty quiet, and no words all day, which I wonder at, expecting that he would have fallen again upon the business of Carcasse, and the more for that here happened that Perkins, who was the greatest witness of all against him, was brought in by Sir W. Batten to prove that he did really belong to The Prince, but being examined was found rather a fool than anything, as not being able to give any account when he come in nor when he come out of her, more than that he was taken by the Dutch in her, but did agree in earnest to Sir W. Pen's saying that she lay up all, the winter before at Lambeth. This I confess did make me begin to doubt the truth of his evidence, but not to doubt the faults of Carcasse, for he was condemned by, many other better evidences than his, besides the whole world's report. At noon home, and there find Mr. Goodgroome, whose teaching of my wife only by singing over and over again to her, and letting her sing with him, not by herself, to correct her faults, I do not like at all, but was angry at it; but have this content, that I do think she will come to sing pretty well, and to trill in time, which pleases me well. He dined with us, and then to the office, when we had a sorry meeting to little purpose, and then broke up, and I to my office, and busy late to good purpose, and so home to supper and to bed. This day a poor seaman, almost starved for want of food, lay in our yard a-dying. I sent him half-a-crown, and we ordered his ticket to be paid. 13th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Batten to the Duke of York to our usual attendance, where I did fear my Lord Bruncker might move something in revenge that might trouble me, but he did not, but contrarily had the content to hear Sir G. Carteret fall foul on him in the Duke of York's bed chamber for his directing people with tickets and petitions to him, bidding him mind his Controller's place and not his, for if he did he should be too hard for him, and made high words, which I was glad of. Having done our usual business with the Duke of York, I away; and meeting Mr. D. Gawden in the presence-chamber, he and I to talk; and among other things he tells me, and I do find every where else, also, that our masters do begin not to like of their councils in fitting out no fleete, but only squadrons, and are finding out excuses for it; and, among others, he tells me a Privy-Councillor did tell him that it was said in Council that a fleete could not be set out this year, for want of victuals, which gives him and me a great alarme, but me especially for had it been so, I ought to have represented it; and therefore it puts me in policy presently to prepare myself to answer this objection, if ever it should come about, by drawing up a state of the Victualler's stores, which I will presently do. So to Westminster Hall, and there staid and talked, and then to Sir G. Carteret's, where I dined with the ladies, he not at home, and very well used I am among them, so that I am heartily ashamed that my wife hath not been there to see them; but she shall very shortly. So home by water, and stepped into Michell's, and there did baiser my Betty, 'que aegrotat' a little. At home find Mr. Holliard, and made him eat a bit of victuals. Here I find Mr. Greeten, who teaches my wife on the flageolet, and I think she will come to something on it. Mr. Holliard advises me to have my father come up to town, for he doubts else in the country he will never find ease, for, poor man, his grief is now grown so great upon him that he is never at ease, so I will have him up at Easter. By and by by coach, set down Mr. Holliard near his house at Hatton Garden and myself to Lord Treasurer's, and sent my wife to the New Exchange. I staid not here, but to Westminster Hall, and thence to Martin's, where he and she both within, and with them the little widow that was once there with her when I was there, that dissembled so well to be grieved at hearing a tune that her, late husband liked, but there being so much company, I had no pleasure here, and so away to the Hall again, and there met Doll Lane coming out, and 'par contrat did hazer bargain para aller to the cabaret de vin', called the Rose, and 'ibi' I staid two hours, 'sed' she did not 'venir', 'lequel' troubled me, and so away by coach and took up my wife, and away home, and so to Sir W. Batten's, where I am told that it is intended by Mr. Carcasse to pray me to be godfather with Lord Bruncker to-morrow to his child, which I suppose they tell me in mirth, but if he should ask me I know not whether I should refuse it or no. Late at my office preparing a speech against to-morrow morning, before the King, at my Lord Treasurer's, and the truth is it run in my head all night. So home to supper and to bed. The Duke of Buckingham is concluded gone over sea, and, it is thought, to France. 14th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to my Lord Treasurer's, where we met with my Lord Bruncker an hour before the King come, and had time to talk a little of our business. Then come much company, among others Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that undoubtedly my Lord Bellasses will go no more as Governor to Tangier, and that he do put in fair for it, and believes he shall have it, and proposes how it may conduce to his account and mine in the business of money. Here we fell into talk with Sir Stephen Fox, and, among other things, of the Spanish manner of walking, when three together, and shewed me how, which was pretty, to prevent differences. By and by comes the King and Duke of York, and presently the officers of the Ordnance were called; my Lord Berkeley, Sir John Duncomb, and Mr. Chichly; then we, my Lord Bruncker, [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself; where we find only the King and Duke of York, and my Lord Treasurer, and Sir G. Carteret; where I only did speak, laying down the state of our wants, which the King and Duke of York seemed very well pleased with, and we did get what we asked, L500,000, assigned upon the eleven months' tax: but that is not so much ready money, or what will raise L40,000 per week, which we desired, and the business will want. Yet are we fain to come away answered, when, God knows, it will undo the King's business to have matters of this moment put off in this manner. The King did prevent my offering anything by and by as Treasurer for Tangier, telling me that he had ordered us L30,000 on the same tax; but that is not what we would have to bring our payments to come within a year. So we gone out, in went others; viz., one after another, Sir Stephen Fox for the army, Captain Cocke for sick and wounded, Mr. Ashburnham for the household. Thence [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and I, back again; I mightily pleased with what I had said and done, and the success thereof. But, it being a fine clear day, I did, 'en gayete de coeur', propose going to Bow for ayre sake, and dine there, which they embraced, and so [Sir] W. Batten and I (setting [Sir] W. Pen down at Mark Lane end) straight to Bow, to the Queen's Head, and there bespoke our dinner, carrying meat with us from London; and anon comes [Sir] W. Pen with my wife and Lady Batten, and then Mr. Lowder with his mother and wife. While [Sir] W. Batten and I were alone, we had much friendly discourse, though I will never trust him far; but we do propose getting "The Flying Greyhound," our privateer, to us and [Sir] W. Pen at the end of the year when we call her home, by begging her of the King, and I do not think we shall be denied her. They being come, we to oysters and so to talk, very pleasant I was all day, and anon to dinner, and I made very good company. Here till the evening, so as it was dark almost before we got home (back again in the same method, I think, we went), and spent the night talking at Sir W. Batten's, only a little at my office, to look over the Victualler's contract, and draw up some arguments for him to plead for his charges in transportation of goods beyond the ports which the letter of one article in his contract do lay upon him. This done I home to supper and to bed. Troubled a little at my fear that my Lord Bruncker should tell Sir W. Coventry of our neglecting the office this afternoon (which was intended) to look after our pleasures, but nothing will fall upon me alone about this. 15th. Up, and pleased at Tom's teaching of Barker something to sing a 3rd part to a song, which will please mightily. So I to the office all the morning, and at noon to the 'Change, where I do hear that letters this day come to Court do tell us that we are likely not to agree, the Dutch demanding high terms, and the King of France the like, in a most braving manner. The merchants do give themselves over for lost, no man knowing what to do, whether to sell or buy, not knowing whether peace or war to expect, and I am told that could that be now known a man might get L20,000 in a week's time by buying up of goods in case there should be war. Thence home and dined well, and then with my wife, set her at Unthanke's and I to Sir G. Carteret, where talked with the ladies a while, and my Lady Carteret talks nothing but sorrow and afflictions coming on us, and indeed I do fear the same. So away and met Dr. Fuller, Bishop of Limricke, and walked an hour with him in the Court talking of newes only, and he do think that matters will be bad with us. Then to Westminster Hall, and there spent an hour or two walking up and down, thinking 'para avoir' got out Doll Lane, 'sed je ne' could do it, having no opportunity 'de hazer le, ainsi lost the tota' afternoon, and so away and called my wife and home, where a little at the office, and then home to my closet to enter my journalls, and so to supper and to bed. This noon come little Mis. Tooker, who is grown a little woman; ego had opportunity 'para baiser her.... This morning I was called up by Sir John Winter, poor man! come in his sedan from the other end of the town, before I was up, and merely about the King's business, which is a worthy thing of him, and I believe him to be a worthy good man, and I will do him the right to tell the Duke of it, who did speak well of him the other day. It was about helping the King in the business of bringing down his timber to the sea-side, in the Forest of Deane. 16th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning; at noon home to dinner, and then to the office again in the afternoon, and there all day very busy till night, and then, having done much business, home to supper, and so to bed. This afternoon come home Sir J. Minnes, who has been down, but with little purpose, to pay the ships below at the Nore. This evening, having done my letters, I did write out the heads of what I had prepared to speak to the King the other day at my Lord Treasurer's, which I do think convenient to keep by me for future use. The weather is now grown warm again, after much cold; and it is observable that within these eight days I did see smoke remaining, coming out of some cellars, from the late great fire, now above six months since. There was this day at the office (as he is most days) Sir W. Warren, against whom I did manifestly plead, and heartily too, God forgive me! But the reason is because I do find that he do now wholly rely almost upon my Lord Bruncker, though I confess I have no greater ground of my leaving him than the confidence which I perceive he hath got in my Lord Bruncker, whose seeming favours only do obtain of him as much compensation as, I believe (for he do know well the way of using his bounties), as mine more real. Besides, my Lord and I being become antagonistic, I do not think it safe for me to trust myself in the hands of one whom I know to be a knave, and using all means to become gracious there. 17th (Lord's day). Up betime with my wife, and by coach with Sir W. Pen and Sir Thomas Allen to White Hall, there my wife and I the first time that ever we went to my Lady Jemimah's chamber at Sir Edward Carteret's lodgings. I confess I have been much to blame and much ashamed of our not visiting her sooner, but better now than never. Here we took her before she was up, which I was sorry for, so only saw her, and away to chapel, leaving further visit till after sermon. I put my wife into the pew below, but it was pretty to see, myself being but in a plain band, and every way else ordinary, how the verger took me for her man, I think, and I was fain to tell him she was a kinswoman of my Lord Sandwich's, he saying that none under knights-baronets' ladies are to go into that pew. So she being there, I to the Duke of York's lodging, where in his dressing-chamber he talking of his journey to-morrow or next day to Harwich, to prepare some fortifications there; so that we are wholly upon the defensive part this year, only we have some expectations that we may by our squadrons annoy them in their trade by the North of Scotland and to the Westward. Here Sir W. Pen did show the Duke of York a letter of Hogg's about a prize he drove in within the Sound at Plymouth, where the Vice-Admiral claims her. Sir W. Pen would have me speak to the latter, which I did, and I think without any offence, but afterwards I was sorry for it, and Sir W. Pen did plainly say that he had no mind to speak to the Duke of York about it, so that he put me upon it, but it shall be, the last time that I will do such another thing, though I think no manner of hurt done by it to me at all. That done I to walk in the Parke, where to the Queene's Chapel, and there heard a fryer preach with his cord about his middle, in Portuguese, something I could understand, showing that God did respect the meek and humble, as well as the high and rich. He was full of action, but very decent and good, I thought, and his manner of delivery very good. Then I went back to White Hall, and there up to the closet, and spoke with several people till sermon was ended, which was preached by the Bishop of Hereford, an old good man, that they say made an excellent sermon. He was by birth a Catholique, and a great gallant, having L1500 per annum, patrimony, and is a Knight Barronet; was turned from his persuasion by the late Archbishop Laud. He and the Bishop of Exeter, Dr. Ward, are the two Bishops that the King do say he cannot have bad sermons from. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me, that undoubtedly my Lord Bellasses do go no more to Tangier, and that he do believe he do stand in a likely way to go Governor; though he says, and showed me, a young silly Lord, one Lord Allington, who hath offered a great sum of money to go, and will put hard for it, he having a fine lady, and a great man would be glad to have him out of the way. After Chapel I down and took out my wife from the pew, where she was talking with a lady whom I knew not till I was gone. It was Mrs. Ashfield of Brampton, who had with much civility been, it seems, at our house to see her. I am sorry I did not show her any more respect. With my wife to Sir G. Carteret's, where we dined and mightily made of, and most extraordinary people they are to continue friendship with for goodness, virtue, and nobleness and interest. After dinner he and I alone awhile and did joy ourselves in my Lord Sandwich's being out of the way all this time. He concurs that we are in a way of ruin by thus being forced to keep only small squadrons out, but do tell me that it was not choice, but only force, that we could not keep out the whole fleete. He tells me that the King is very kind to my Lord Sandwich, and did himself observe to him (Sir G. Carteret), how those very people, meaning the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, are punished in the same kind as they did seek to abuse my Lord Sandwich. Thence away, and got a hackney coach and carried my wife home, and there only drank, and myself back again to my Lord Treasurer's, where the King, Duke of York, and Sir G. Carteret and Lord Arlington were and none else, so I staid not, but to White Hall, and there meeting nobody I would speak with, walked into the Park and took two or three turns all alone, and then took coach and home, where I find Mercer, who I was glad to see, but durst [not] shew so, my wife being displeased with her, and indeed I fear she is grown a very gossip. I to my chamber, and there fitted my arguments which I had promised Mr. Gawden in his behalf in some pretences to allowance of the King, and then to supper, and so to my chamber a little again, and then to bed. Duke of Buckingham not heard of yet. 18th. Up betimes, and to the office to write fair my paper for D. Gawden against anon, and then to other business, where all the morning. D. Gawden by and by comes, and I did read over and give him the paper, which I think I have much obliged him in. A little before noon comes my old good friend, Mr. Richard Cumberland,--[Richard Cumberland, afterwards Bishop of Peterborough]--to see me, being newly come to town, whom I have not seen almost, if not quite, these seven years. In his plain country-parson's dress. I could not spend much time with him, but prayed him come with his brother, who was with him, to dine with me to-day; which he did do and I had a great deal of his good company; and a most excellent person he is as any I know, and one that I am sorry should be lost and buried in a little country town, and would be glad to remove him thence; and the truth is, if he would accept of my sister's fortune, I should give L100 more with him than to a man able to settle her four times as much as, I fear, he is able to do; and I will think of it, and a way how to move it, he having in discourse said he was not against marrying, nor yet engaged. I shewed him my closet, and did give him some very good musique, Mr. Caesar being here upon his lute. They gone I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and among other things comes Captain Jenifer to me, a great servant of my Lord Sandwich's, who tells me that he do hear for certain, though I do not yet believe it, that Sir W. Coventry is to be Secretary of State, and my Lord Arlington Lord Treasurer. I only wish that the latter were as fit for the latter office as the former is for the former, and more fit than my Lord Arlington. Anon Sir W. Pen come and talked with me in the garden, and tells me that for certain the Duke of Richmond is to marry Mrs. Stewart, he having this day brought in an account of his estate and debts to the King on that account. At night home to supper and so to bed. My father's letter this day do tell me of his own continued illness, and that my mother grows so much worse, that he fears she cannot long continue, which troubles me very much. This day, Mr. Caesar told me a pretty experiment of his, of angling with a minikin, a gut-string varnished over, which keeps it from swelling, and is beyond any hair for strength and smallness. The secret I like mightily. 19th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home very pleasantly with my wife, and after dinner with a great deal of pleasure had her sing, which she begins to do with some pleasure to me, more than I expected. Then to the office again, where all the afternoon close, and at night home to supper and to bed. It comes in my mind this night to set down how a house was the other day in Bishopsgate Street blowed up with powder; a house that was untenanted, and between a flax shop and a-----------, both bad for fire; but, thanks be to God, it did no more hurt; and all do conclude it a plot. I would also remember to my shame how I was pleased yesterday, to find the righteous maid of Magister Griffin sweeping of 'nostra' office, 'elle con the Roman nariz and bonne' body which I did heretofore like, and do still refresh me to think 'que elle' is come to us, that I may 'voir her aliquando'. This afternoon I am told again that the town do talk of my Lord Arlington's being to be Lord Treasurer, and Sir W. Coventry to be Secretary of State; and that for certain the match is concluded between the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart, which I am well enough pleased with; and it is pretty to consider how his quality will allay people's talk; whereas, had a meaner person married her, he would for certain have been reckoned a cuckold at first-dash. 20th. Up pretty betimes, and to the Old Swan, and there drank at Michell's, but his wife is not there, but gone to her mother's, who is ill, and so hath staid there since Sunday. Thence to Westminster Hall and drank at the Swan, and 'baiserais the petite misse'; and so to Mrs. Martin's.... I sent for some burnt wine, and drank and then away, not pleased with my folly, and so to the Hall again, and there staid a little, and so home by water again, where, after speaking with my wife, I with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to our church to the vestry, to be assessed by the late Poll Bill, where I am rated as an Esquire, and for my office, all will come to about L50. But not more than I expected, nor so much by a great deal as I ought to be, for all my offices. So shall be glad to escape so. Thence by water again to White Hall, and there up into the house, and do hear that newes is come now that the enemy do incline again to a peace, but could hear no particulars, so do not believe it. I had a great mind to have spoke with the King, about a business proper enough for me, about the French prize man-of-war, how he would have her altered, only out of a desire to show myself mindful of business, but my linen was so dirty and my clothes mean, that I neither thought it fit to do that, nor go to other persons at the Court, with whom I had business, which did vex me, and I must remedy [it]. Here I hear that the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart were betrothed last night. Thence to Westminster Hall again, and there saw Betty Michell, and bought a pair of gloves of her, she being fain to keep shop there, her mother being sick, and her father gathering of the tax. I 'aimais her de toute my corazon'. Thence, my mind wandering all this day upon 'mauvaises amours' which I be merry for. So home by water again, where I find my wife gone abroad, so I to Sir W. Batten to dinner, and had a good dinner of ling and herring pie, very good meat, best of the kind that ever I had. Having dined, I by coach to the Temple, and there did buy a little book or two, and it is strange how "Rycaut's Discourse of Turky," which before the fire I was asked but 8s. for, there being all but twenty-two or thereabouts burned, I did now offer 20s., and he demands 50s., and I think I shall give it him, though it be only as a monument of the fire. So to the New Exchange, where I find my wife, and so took her to Unthanke's, and left her there, and I to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, only out of idleness, and to get some little pleasure to my 'mauvais flammes', but sped not, so back and took up my wife; and to Polichinelli at Charing Crosse, which is prettier and prettier, and so full of variety that it is extraordinary good entertainment. Thence by coach home, that is, my wife home, and I to the Exchange, and there met with Fenn, who tells me they have yet no orders out of the Exchequer for money upon the Acts, which is a thing not to be borne by any Prince of understanding or care, for no money can be got advanced upon the Acts only from the weight of orders in form out of the Exchequer so long time after the passing of the Acts. So home to the office a little, where I met with a sad letter from my brother, who tells me my mother is declared by the doctors to be past recovery, and that my father is also very ill every hour: so that I fear we shall see a sudden change there. God fit them and us for it! So to Sir W. Pen's, where my wife was, and supped with a little, but yet little mirth, and a bad, nasty supper, which makes me not love the family, they do all things so meanly, to make a little bad show upon their backs. Thence home and to bed, very much troubled about my father's and my mother's illness. 21st. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and had some melancholy discourse with my wife about my mother's being so ill and my father, and after dinner to cheer myself, I having the opportunity of Sir W. Coventry and the Duke of York's being out of town, I alone out and to the Duke of York's play-house, where unexpectedly I come to see only the young men and women of the house act; they having liberty to act for their own profit on Wednesdays and Fridays this Lent: and the play they did yesterday, being Wednesday, was so well-taken, that they thought fit to venture it publickly to-day; a play of my Lord Falkland's' called "The Wedding Night," a kind of a tragedy, and some things very good in it, but the whole together, I thought, not so. I confess I was well enough pleased with my seeing it: and the people did do better, without the great actors, than I did expect, but yet far short of what they do when they are there, which I was glad to find the difference of. Thence to rights home, and there to the office to my business hard, being sorry to have made this scape without my wife, but I have a good salvo to my oath in doing it. By and by, in the evening, comes Sir W. Batten's Mingo to me to pray me to come to his master and Sir Richard Ford, who have very ill news to tell me. I knew what it was, it was about our trial for a good prize to-day, "The Phoenix," [There are references to the "Phoenix," a Dutch ship taken as a prize, among the State Papers (see "Calendar," 1666-67, p. 404). Pepys appears to have got into trouble at a later date in respect to this same ship, for among the Rawlinson MSS. (A. 170) are "Papers relating to the charge brought against him in the House of Commons in 1689 with reference to the ship Phoenix and the East India Company in 1681-86."] a worth two or L3000. I went to them, where they told me with much trouble how they had sped, being cast and sentenced to make great reparation for what we had embezzled, and they did it so well that I was much troubled at it, when by and by Sir W. Batten asked me whether I was mortified enough, and told me we had got the day, which was mighty welcome news to me and us all. But it is pretty to see what money will do. Yesterday, Walker was mighty cold on our behalf, till Sir W. Batten promised him, if we sped in this business of the goods, a coach; and if at the next trial we sped for the ship, we would give him a pair of horses. And he hath strove for us today like a prince, though the Swedes' Agent was there with all the vehemence he could to save the goods, but yet we carried it against him. This put me in mighty good heart, and then we go to Sir W. Pen, who is come back to-night from Chatham, and did put him into the same condition, and then comforted him. So back to my office, and wrote an affectionate and sad letter to my father about his and my mother's illness, and so home to supper and to bed late. 22nd. Up and by coach to Sir Ph. Warwicke about business for Tangier about money, and then to Sir Stephen Fox to give him account of a little service I have done him about money coming to him from our office, and then to Lovett's and saw a few baubling things of their doing which are very pretty, but the quality of the people, living only by shifts, do not please me, that it makes me I do no more care for them, nor shall have more acquaintance with them after I have got my Lady Castlemayne's picture home. So to White Hall, where the King at Chapel, and I would not stay, but to Westminster to Howlett's, and there, he being not well, I sent for a quart of claret and burnt it and drank, and had a 'basado' or three or four of Sarah, whom 'je trouve ici', and so by coach to Sir Robt. Viner's about my accounts with him, and so to the 'Change, where I hear for certain that we are going on with our treaty of peace, and that we are to treat at Bredah. But this our condescension people do think will undo us, and I do much fear it. So home to dinner, where my wife having dressed herself in a silly dress of a blue petticoat uppermost, and a white satin waistcoat and whitehood, though I think she did it because her gown is gone to the tailor's, did, together with my being hungry, which always makes me peevish, make me angry, but when my belly was full were friends again, and dined and then by water down to Greenwich and thence walked to Woolwich, all the way reading Playford's "Introduction to Musique," wherein are some things very pretty. At Woolwich I did much business, taking an account of the state of the ships there under hand, thence to Blackwall, and did the like for two ships we have repairing there, and then to Deptford and did the like there, and so home. Captain Perriman with me from Deptford, telling me many particulars how the King's business is ill ordered, and indeed so they are, God knows! So home and to the office, where did business, and so home to my chamber, and then to supper and to bed. Landing at the Tower to-night I met on Tower Hill with Captain Cocke and spent half an hour walking in the dusk of the evening with him, talking of the sorrowful condition we are in, that we must be ruined if the Parliament do not come and chastize us, that we are resolved to make a peace whatever it cost, that the King is disobliging the Parliament in this interval all that may be, yet his money is gone and he must have more, and they likely not to give it, without a great deal of do. God knows what the issue of it will be. But the considering that the Duke of York, instead of being at sea as Admirall, is now going from port to port, as he is at this day at Harwich, and was the other day with the King at Sheernesse, and hath ordered at Portsmouth how fortifications shall be made to oppose the enemy, in case of invasion, [which] is to us a sad consideration, and as shameful to the nation, especially after so many proud vaunts as we have made against the Dutch, and all from the folly of the Duke of Albemarle, who made nothing of beating them, and Sir John Lawson he always declared that we never did fail to beat them with lesser numbers than theirs, which did so prevail with the King as to throw us into this war. 23rd. At the office all the morning, where Sir W. Pen come, being returned from Chatham, from considering the means of fortifying the river Medway, by a chain at the stakes, and ships laid there with guns to keep the enemy from coming up to burn our ships; all our care now being to fortify ourselves against their invading us. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office all the afternoon again, where Mr. Moore come, who tells me that there is now no doubt made of a peace being agreed on, the King having declared this week in Council that they would treat at Bredagh. He gone I to my office, where busy late, and so to supper and to bed. Vexed with our mayde Luce, our cook-mayde, who is a good drudging servant in everything else, and pleases us, but that she will be drunk, and hath been so last night and all this day, that she could not make clean the house. My fear is only fire. 24th (Lord's day). With Sir W. Batten to White Hall, and there I to Sir G. Carteret, who is mighty cheerful, which makes me think and by some discourse that there is expectation of a peace, but I did not ask [him]. Here was Sir J. Minnes also: and they did talk of my Lord Bruncker, whose father, it seems, did give Mr. Ashburnham and the present Lord Digby L1200 to be made an Irish lord, and swore the same day that he had not 12d. left to pay for his dinner: they make great mirth at this, my Lord Bruncker having lately given great matter of offence both to them and us all, that we are at present mightily displeased with him. By and by to the Duke of York, where we all met, and there was the King also; and all our discourse was about fortifying of the Medway and Harwich, which is to be entrenched quite round, and Portsmouth: and here they advised with Sir Godfry Lloyd and Sir Bernard de Gum, the two great engineers, and had the plates drawn before them; and indeed all their care they now take is to fortify themselves, and are not ashamed of it: for when by and by my Lord Arlington come in with letters, and seeing the King and Duke of York give us and the officers of the Ordnance directions in this matter, he did move that we might do it as privately as we could, that it might not come into the Dutch Gazette presently, as the King's and Duke of York's going down the other day to Sheerenesse was, the week after, in the Harlem Gazette. The King and Duke of York both laughed at it, and made no matter, but said, "Let us be safe, and let them talk, for there is nothing will trouble them more, nor will prevent their coming more, than to hear that we are fortifying ourselves." And the Duke of York said further, "What said Marshal Turenne, when some in vanity said that the enemies were afraid, for they entrenched themselves? 'Well,' says he, 'I would they were not afraid, for then they would not entrench themselves, and so we could deal with them the better.'" Away thence, and met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that he do believe the government of Tangier is bought by my Lord Allington for a sum of money to my Lord Arlington, and something to Lord Bellasses, who (he did tell me particularly how) is as very a false villain as ever was born, having received money of him here upon promise and confidence of his return, forcing him to pay it by advance here, and promising to ask no more there, when at the same time he was treating with my Lord Allington to sell his command to him, and yet told Sir H. Cholmly nothing of it, but when Sir H. Cholmly told him what he had heard, he confessed that my Lord Allington had spoken to him of it, but that he was a vain man to look after it, for he was nothing fit for it, and then goes presently to my Lord Allington and drives on the bargain, yet tells Lord Allington what he himself had said of him, as [though] Sir H. Cholmly had said them. I am glad I am informed hereof, and shall know him for a Lord, &c. Sir H. Cholmly tells me further that he is confident there will be a peace, and that a great man did tell him that my Lord Albemarle did tell him the other day at White Hall as a secret that we should have a peace if any thing the King of France can ask and our King can give will gain it, which he is it seems mad at. Thence back with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen home, and heard a piece of sermon, and so home to dinner, where Balty come, very fine, and dined with us, and after dinner with me by water to White Hall, and there he and I did walk round the Park, I giving him my thoughts about the difficulty of getting employment for him this year, but advised him how to employ himself, and I would do what I could. So he and I parted, and I to Martin's, where I find her within, and 'su hermano' and 'la veuve' Burroughs. Here I did 'demeurer toda' the afternoon.... By and by come up the mistress of the house, Crags, a pleasant jolly woman. I staid all but a little, and away home by water through bridge, a brave evening, and so home to read, and anon to supper, W. Hewer with us, and then to read myself to sleep again, and then to bed, and mightily troubled the most of the night with fears of fire, which I cannot get out of my head to this day since the last great fire. I did this night give the waterman who uses to carry me 10s. at his request, for the painting of his new boat, on which shall be my arms. 25th. (Ladyday.) Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen by coach to Exeter House to our lawyers to have consulted about our trial to-morrow, but missed them, so parted, and [Sir] W. Pen and I to Mr. Povy's about a little business of [Sir] W. Pen's, where we went over Mr. Povy's house, which lies in the same good condition as ever, which is most extraordinary fine, and he was now at work with a cabinet-maker, making of a new inlaid table. Having seen his house, we away, having in our way thither called at Mr. Lilly's, who was working; and indeed his pictures are without doubt much beyond Mr. Hales's, I think I may say I am convinced: but a mighty proud man he is, and full of state. So home, and to the office, and by and by to dinner, a poor dinner, my wife and I, at Sir W. Pen's, and then he and I before to Exeter House, where I do not stay, but to the King's playhouse; and by and by comes Mr. Lowther and his wife and mine, and into a box, forsooth, neither of them being dressed, which I was almost ashamed of. Sir W. Pen and I in the pit, and here saw "The Mayden Queene" again; which indeed the more I see the more I like, and is an excellent play, and so done by Nell, her merry part, as cannot be better done in nature, I think. Thence home, and there I find letters from my brother, which tell me that yesterday when he wrote my mother did rattle in the throat so as they did expect every moment her death, which though I have a good while expected did much surprise me, yet was obliged to sup at Sir W. Pen's and my wife, and there counterfeited some little mirth, but my heart was sad, and so home after supper and to bed, and much troubled in my sleep of my being crying by my mother's bedside, laying my head over hers and crying, she almost dead and dying, and so waked, but what is strange, methought she had hair over her face, and not the same kind of face as my mother really hath, but yet did not consider that, but did weep over her as my mother, whose soul God have mercy of. 26th. Up with a sad heart in reference to my mother, of whose death I undoubtedly expect to hear the next post, if not of my father's also, who by his pain as well as his grief for her is very ill, but on my own behalf I have cause to be joyful this day, it being my usual feast day, for my being cut of the stone this day nine years, and through God's blessing am at this day and have long been in as good condition of health as ever I was in my life or any man in England is, God make me thankful for it! But the condition I am in, in reference to my mother, makes it unfit for me to keep my usual feast. Unless it shall please God to send her well (which I despair wholly of), and then I will make amends for it by observing another day in its room. So to the office, and at the office all the morning, where I had an opportunity to speak to Sir John Harman about my desire to have my brother Balty go again with him to sea as he did the last year, which he do seem not only contented but pleased with, which I was glad of. So at noon home to dinner, where I find Creed, who dined with us, but I had not any time to talk with him, my head being busy, and before I had dined was called away by Sir W. Batten, and both of us in his coach (which I observe his coachman do always go now from hence towards White Hall through Tower Street, and it is the best way) to Exeter House, where the judge was sitting, and after several little causes comes on ours, and while the several depositions and papers were at large reading (which they call the preparatory), and being cold by being forced to sit with my hat off close to a window in the Hall, Sir W. Pen and I to the Castle Tavern hard by and got a lobster, and he and I staid and eat it, and drank good wine; I only burnt wine, as my whole custom of late hath been, as an evasion, God knows, for my drinking of wine (but it is an evasion which will not serve me now hot weather is coming, that I cannot pretend, as indeed I really have done, that I drank it for cold), but I will leave it off, and it is but seldom, as when I am in women's company, that I must call for wine, for I must be forced to drink to them. Having done here then we back again to the Court, and there heard our cause pleaded; Sir [Edward] Turner, Sir W. Walker, and Sir Ellis Layton being our counsel against only Sir Robert Wiseman on the other. The second of our three counsel was the best, and indeed did speak admirably, and is a very shrewd man. Nevertheless, as good as he did make our case, and the rest, yet when Wiseman come to argue (nay, and though he did begin so sillily that we laughed in scorn in our sleeves at him), yet he did so state the case, that the judge did not think fit to decide the cause to-night, but took to to-morrow, and did stagger us in our hopes, so as to make us despair of the success. I am mightily pleased with the judge, who seems a very rational, learned, and uncorrupt man, and much good reading and reason there is heard in hearing of this law argued, so that the thing pleased me, though our success doth shake me. Thence Sir W. Pen and I home and to write letters, among others a sad one to my father upon fear of my mother's death, and so home to supper and to bed. 27th. [Sir] W. Pen and I to White Hall, and in the coach did begin our discourse again about Balty, and he promises me to move it this very day. He and I met my Lord Bruncker at Sir G. Carteret's by appointment, there to discourse a little business, all being likely to go to rack for lack of money still. Thence to the Duke of York's lodgings, and did our usual business, and Sir W. Pen telling me that he had this morning spoke of Balty to Sir W. Coventry, and that the thing was done, I did take notice of it also to [Sir] W. Coventry, who told me that he had both the thing and the person in his head before to have done it, which is a double pleasure to me. Our business with the Duke being done, [Sir] W. Pen and I towards the Exchequer, and in our way met Sir G. Downing going to chapel, but we stopped, and he would go with us back to the Exchequer and showed us in his office his chests full and ground and shelves full of money, and says that there is L50,000 at this day in his office of people's money, who may demand it this day, and might have had it away several weeks ago upon the late Act, but do rather choose to have it continue there than to put it into the Banker's hands, and I must confess it is more than I should have believed had I not seen it, and more than ever I could have expected would have arisen for this new Act in so short a time, and if it do so now already what would it do if the money was collected upon the Act and returned into the Exchequer so timely as it ought to be. But it comes into my mind here to observe what I have heard from Sir John Bankes, though I cannot fully conceive the reason of it, that it will be impossible to make the Exchequer ever a true bank to all intents, unless the Exchequer stood nearer the Exchange, where merchants might with ease, while they are going about their business, at all hours, and without trouble or loss of time, have their satisfaction, which they cannot have now without much trouble, and loss of half a day, and no certainty of having the offices open. By this he means a bank for common practise and use of merchants, and therein I do agree with him. Being parted from Sir W. Pen and [Sir] G. Downing, I to Westminster Hall and there met Balty, whom I had sent for, and there did break the business of my getting him the place of going again as Muster-Master with Harman this voyage to the West Indys, which indeed I do owe to Sir W. Pen. He is mighty glad of it, and earnest to fit himself for it, but I do find, poor man, that he is troubled how to dispose of his wife, and apparently it is out of fear of her, and his honour, and I believe he hath received some cause of this his jealousy and care, and I do pity him in it, and will endeavour to find out some way to do, it for him. Having put him in a way of preparing himself for the voyage, I did go to the Swan, and there sent for Jervas, my old periwig maker, and he did bring me a periwig, but it was full of nits, so as I was troubled to see it (it being his old fault), and did send him to make it clean, and in the mean time, having staid for him a good while, did go away by water to the Castle Taverne, by Exeter House, and there met Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and several others, among the rest Sir Ellis Layton, who do apply himself to discourse with me, and I think by his discourse, out of his opinion of my interest in Sir W. Coventry, the man I find a wonderful witty, ready man for sudden answers and little tales, and sayings very extraordinary witty, but in the bottom I doubt he is not so. Yet he pretends to have studied men, and the truth is in several that I do know he did give me a very inward account of them. But above all things he did give me a full account, upon my demand, of this judge of the Admiralty, Judge Jenkins; who, he says, is a man never practised in this Court, but taken merely for his merit and ability's sake from Trinity Hall, where he had always lived; only by accident the business of the want of a Judge being proposed to the present Archbishop of Canterbury that now is, he did think of this man and sent for him up: and here he is, against the 'gre' and content of the old Doctors, made judge, but is a very excellent man both for judgment and temper, yet majesty enough, and by all men's report, not to be corrupted. After dinner to the Court, where Sir Ellis Layton did make a very silly motion in our behalf, but did neither hurt nor good. After him Walker and Wiseman; and then the judge did pronounce his sentence; for some part of the goods and ship, and the freight of the whole, to be free, and returned and paid by us; and the remaining, which was the greater part, to be ours. The loss of so much troubles us, but we have got a pretty good part, thanks be to God! So we are not displeased nor yet have cause to triumph, as we did once expect. Having seen the end of this, I being desirous to be at home to see the issue of any country letters about my mother, which I expect shall give me tidings of her death, I directly home and there to the office, where I find no letter from my father or brother, but by and by the boy tells me that his mistress sends me word that she hath opened my letter, and that she is loth to send me any more news. So I home, and there up to my wife in our chamber, and there received from my brother the newes of my mother's dying on Monday, about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and that the last time she spoke of her children was on Friday last, and her last words were, "God bless my poor Sam!" The reading hereof did set me a-weeping heartily, and so weeping to myself awhile, and my wife also to herself, I then spoke to my wife respecting myself, and indeed, having some thoughts how much better both for her and us it is than it might have been had she outlived my father and me or my happy present condition in the world, she being helpless, I was the sooner at ease in my mind, and then found it necessary to go abroad with my wife to look after the providing mourning to send into the country, some to-morrow, and more against Sunday, for my family, being resolved to put myself and wife, and Barker and Jane, W. Hewer and Tom, in mourning, and my two under-mayds, to give them hoods and scarfs and gloves. So to my tailor's, and up and down, and then home and to my office a little, and then to supper and to bed, my heart sad and afflicted, though my judgment at ease. 28th. My tailor come to me betimes this morning, and having given him directions, I to the office and there all the morning. At noon dined well. Balty, who is mighty thoughtful how to dispose of his wife, and would fain have me provide a place for her, which the thoughts of what I should do with her if he should miscarry at sea makes me avoid the offering him that she should be at my house. I find he is plainly jealous of her being in any place where she may have ill company, and I do pity him for it, and would be glad to help him, and will if I can. Having dined, I down by water with Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and [Sir] R. Ford to our prize, part of whose goods were condemned yesterday--"The Lindeboome"--and there we did drink some of her wine, very good. But it did grate my heart to see the poor master come on board, and look about into every corner, and find fault that she was not so clean as she used to be, though methought she was very clean; and to see his new masters come in, that had nothing to do with her, did trouble me to see him. Thence to Blackwall and there to Mr. Johnson's, to see how some works upon some of our repaired ships go on, and at his house eat and drank and mighty extraordinary merry (too merry for me whose mother died so lately, but they know it not, so cannot reproach me therein, though I reproach myself), and in going home had many good stories of Sir W. Batten and one of Sir W. Pen, the most tedious and silly and troublesome (he forcing us to hear him) that ever I heard in my life. So to the office awhile, troubled with Sir W. Pen's impertinences, he being half foxed at Johnson's, and so to bed. 29th. Lay long talking with my wife about Balty, whom I do wish very well to, and would be glad to advise him, for he is very sober and willing to take all pains. Up and to Sir W. Batten, who I find has had some words with Sir W. Pen about the employing of a cooper about our prize wines, [Sir] W. Batten standing and indeed imposing upon us Mr. Morrice, which I like not, nor do [Sir] W. Pen, and I confess the very thoughts of what our goods will come to when we have them do discourage me in going any further in the adventure. Then to the office till noon, doing business, and then to the Exchange, and thence to the Sun Taverne and dined with [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] R. Ford, and the Swede's Agent to discourse of a composition about our prizes that are condemned, but did do little, he standing upon high terms and we doing the like. I home, and there find Balty and his wife got thither both by my wife for me to give them good advice, for her to be with his father and mother all this time of absence, for saving of money, and did plainly and like a friend tell them my mind of the necessity of saving money, and that if I did not find they did endeavour it, I should not think fit to trouble myself for them, but I see she is utterly against being with his father and mother, and he is fond of her, and I perceive the differences between the old people and them are too great to be presently forgot, and so he do propose that it will be cheaper for him to put her to board at a place he is offered at Lee, and I, seeing that I am not like to be troubled with the finding a place, and having given him so much good advice, do leave them to stand and fall as they please, having discharged myself as a friend, and not likely to be accountable for her nor be troubled with her, if he should miscarry I mean, as to her lodging, and so broke up. Then he and I to make a visit to [Sir] W. Pen, who hath thought fit to show kindness to Balty in this business, indeed though he be a false rogue, but it was he knew a thing easy to do. Thence together to my shoemaker's, cutler's, tailor's, and up and down about my mourning, and in my way do observe the great streets in the city are marked out with piles drove into the ground; and if ever it be built in that form with so fair streets, it will be a noble sight. So to the Council chamber, but staid not there, but to a periwigg-maker's of his acquaintance, and there bought two periwiggs, mighty fine; indeed, too fine, I thought, for me; but he persuaded me, and I did buy them for L4 10s. the two. Then to the Exchange and bought gloves, and so to the Bull-Head Taverne, whither he brought my French gun; and one Truelocke, the famous gunsmith, that is a mighty ingenious man, and he did take my gun in pieces, and made me understand the secrets thereof and upon the whole I do find it a very good piece of work, and truly wrought; but for certain not a thing to be used much with safety: and he do find that this very gun was never yet shot off: I was mighty satisfied with it and him, and the sight of so much curiosity of this kind. Here he brought also a haberdasher at my desire, and I bought a hat of him, and so away and called away my wife from his house, and so home and to read, and then to supper and to bed, my head full in behalf of Balty, who tells me strange stories of his mother. Among others, how she, in his absence in Ireland, did pawne all the things that he had got in his service under Oliver, and run of her own accord, without her husband's leave, into Flanders, and that his purse, and 4s. a week which his father receives of the French church, is all the subsistence his father and mother have, and that about L20 a year maintains them; which, if it please God, I will find one way or other to provide for them, to remove that scandal away. 30th. Up, and the French periwigg maker of whom I bought two yesterday comes with them, and I am very well pleased with them. So to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and thence with my wife's knowledge and leave did by coach go see the silly play of my Lady Newcastle's, called "The Humourous Lovers;" the most silly thing that ever come upon a stage. I was sick to see it, but yet would not but have seen it, that I might the better understand her. Here I spied Knipp and Betty, of the King's house, and sent Knipp oranges, but, having little money about me, did not offer to carry them abroad, which otherwise I had, I fear, been tempted to. So with [Sir] W. Pen home (he being at the play also), a most summer evening, and to my office, where, among other things, a most extraordinary letter to the Duke of York touching the want of money and the sad state of the King's service thereby, and so to supper and to bed. 31st (Lord's day). Up, and my tailor's boy brings my mourning clothes home, and my wife hers and Barker's, but they go not to church this morning. I to church, and with my mourning, very handsome, and new periwigg, make a great shew. After church home to dinner, and there come Betty Michell and her husband. I do and shall love her, but, poor wretch, she is now almost ready to lie down. After dinner Balty (who dined also with us) and I with Sir J. Minnes in his coach to White Hall, but did nothing, but by water to Strand Bridge and thence walked to my Lord Treasurer's, where the King, Duke of York, and the Caball, and much company without; and a fine day. Anon come out from the Caball my Lord Hollis and Mr. H. Coventry, who, it is conceived, have received their instructions from the King this day; they being to begin their journey towards their treaty at Bredagh speedily, their passes being come. Here I saw the Lady Northumberland and her daughter-in-law, my Lord Treasurer's daughter, my Lady Piercy, a beautiful lady indeed. So away back by water, and left Balty at White Hall and I to Mrs. Martin.... and so by coach home, and there to my chamber, and then to supper and bed, having not had time to make up my accounts of this month at this very day, but will in a day or two, and pay my forfeit for not doing it, though business hath most hindered me. The month shuts up only with great desires of peace in all of us, and a belief that we shall have a peace, in most people, if a peace can be had on any terms, for there is a necessity of it; for we cannot go on with the war, and our masters are afraid to come to depend upon the good will of the Parliament any more, as I do hear. APRIL 1667 April 1st. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes in his coach, set him down at the Treasurer's Office in Broad-streete, and I in his coach to White Hall, and there had the good fortune to walk with Sir W. Coventry into the garden, and there read our melancholy letter to the Duke of York, which he likes. And so to talk: and he flatly owns that we must have a peace, for we cannot set out a fleete; and, to use his own words, he fears that we shall soon have enough of fighting in this new way, which we have thought on for this year. He bemoans the want of money, and discovers himself jealous that Sir G. Carteret do not look after, or concern himself for getting, money as he used to do, and did say it is true if Sir G. Carteret would only do his work, and my Lord Treasurer would do his own, Sir G. Carteret hath nothing to do to look after money, but if he will undertake my Lord Treasurer's work to raise money of the Bankers, then people must expect that he will do it, and did further say, that he [Carteret] and my Lord Chancellor do at this very day labour all they can to villify this new way of raising money, and making it payable, as it now is, into the Exchequer; and expressly said that in pursuance hereof, my Lord Chancellor hath prevailed with the King, in the close of his last speech to the House, to say, that he did hope to see them come to give money as it used to be given, without so many provisos, meaning, as Sir W. Coventry says, this new method of the Act. While we were talking, there come Sir Thomas Allen with two ladies; one of which was Mrs. Rebecca Allen, that I knew heretofore, the clerk of the rope-yard's daughter at Chatham, who, poor heart! come to desire favour for her husband, who is clapt up, being a Lieutenant [Jowles], for sending a challenge to his Captain, in the most saucy, base language that could be writ. I perceive [Sir] W. Coventry is wholly resolved to bring him to punishment; for, "bear with this," says he, "and no discipline shall ever be expected." She in this sad condition took no notice of me, nor I of her. So away we to the Duke of York, and there in his closett [Sir] W. Coventry and I delivered the letter, which the Duke of York made not much of, I thought, as to laying it to heart, as the matter deserved, but did promise to look after the getting of money for us, and I believe Sir W. Coventry will add what force he can to it. I did speak to [Sir] W. Coventry about Balty's warrant, which is ready, and about being Deputy Treasurer, which he very readily and friendlily agreed to, at which I was glad, and so away and by coach back to Broad-streete to Sir G. Carteret's, and there found my brother passing his accounts, which I helped till dinner, and dined there, and many good stories at dinner, among others about discoveries of murder, and Sir J. Minnes did tell of the discovery of his own great-grandfather's murder, fifteen years after he was murdered. Thence, after dinner, home and by water to Redriffe, and walked (fine weather) to Deptford, and there did business and so back again, walked, and pleased with a jolly femme that I saw going and coming in the way, which je could avoir been contented pour avoir staid with if I could have gained acquaintance con elle, but at such times as these I am at a great loss, having not confidence, no alcune ready wit. So home and to the office, where late, and then home to supper and bed. This evening Mrs. Turner come to my office, and did walk an hour with me in the garden, telling me stories how Sir Edward Spragge hath lately made love to our neighbour, a widow, Mrs. Hollworthy, who is a woman of estate, and wit and spirit, and do contemn him the most, and sent him away with the greatest scorn in the world; she tells me also odd stories how the parish talks of Sir W. Pen's family, how poorly they clothe their daughter so soon after marriage, and do say that Mr. Lowther was married once before, and some such thing there hath been, whatever the bottom of it is. But to think of the clatter they make with his coach, and his owne fine cloathes, and yet how meanly they live within doors, and nastily, and borrowing everything of neighbours is a most shitten thing. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning sitting, and much troubled, but little business done for want of money, which makes me mighty melancholy. At noon home to dinner, and Mr. Deane with me, who hath promised me a very fine draught of the Rupert, which he will make purposely for me with great perfection, which I will make one of the beautifullest things that ever was seen of the kind in the world, she being a ship that will deserve it. Then to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and in the evening weary home and there to sing, but vexed with the unreadiness of the girle's voice to learn the latter part of my song, though I confess it is very hard, half notes. So to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to White Hall to Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and there did receive the Duke's order for Balty's receiving of the contingent money to be paymaster of it, and it pleases me the more for that it is but L1500, which will be but a little sum for to try his ability and honesty in the disposing of, and so I am the willinger to trust and pass my word for him therein. By and by up to the Duke of York, where our usual business, and among other things I read two most dismal letters of the straits we are in (from Collonell Middleton and Commissioner Taylor) that ever were writ in the world, so as the Duke of York would have them to shew the King, and to every demand of money, whereof we proposed many and very pressing ones, Sir G. Carteret could make no answer but no money, which I confess made me almost ready to cry for sorrow and vexation, but that which was the most considerable was when Sir G. Carteret did say that he had no funds to raise money on; and being asked by Sir W. Coventry whether the eleven months' tax was not a fund, and he answered, "No, that the bankers would not lend money upon it." Then Sir W. Coventry burst out and said he did supplicate his Royal Highness, and would do the same to the King, that he would remember who they were that did persuade the King from parting with the Chimney-money to the Parliament, and taking that in lieu which they would certainly have given, and which would have raised infallibly ready money; meaning the bankers and the farmers of the Chimney-money, whereof Sir, G. Carteret, I think, is one; saying plainly, that whoever did advise the King to that, did, as much as in them lay, cut the King's throat, and did wholly betray him; to which the Duke of York did assent; and remembered that the King did say again and again at the time, that he was assured, and did fully believe, the money would be raised presently upon a land-tax. This put as all into a stound; and Sir W. Coventry went on to declare, that he was glad he was come to have so lately concern in the Navy as he hath, for he cannot now give any good account of the Navy business; and that all his work now was to be able to provide such orders as would justify his Royal Highness in the business, when it shall be called to account; and that he do do, not concerning himself whether they are or can be performed, or no; and that when it comes to be examined, and falls on my Lord Treasurer, he cannot help it, whatever the issue of it shall be. Hereupon Sir W. Batten did pray him to keep also by him all our letters that come from the office that may justify us, which he says he do do, and, God knows, it is an ill sign when we are once to come to study how to excuse ourselves. It is a sad consideration, and therewith we broke up, all in a sad posture, the most that ever I saw in my life. One thing more Sir W. Coventry did say to the Duke of York, when I moved again, that of about L9000 debt to Lanyon, at Plymouth, he might pay L3700 worth of prize-goods, that he bought lately at the candle, out of this debt due to him from the King; and the Duke of York, and Sir G: Carteret, and Lord Barkeley, saying, all of them, that my Lord Ashly would not be got to yield to it, who is Treasurer of the Prizes, Sir W. Coventry did plainly desire that it might be declared whether the proceeds of the prizes were to go to the helping on of the war, or no; and, if it were, how then could this be denied? which put them all into another stound; and it is true, God forgive us! Thence to the chappell, and there, by chance, hear that Dr. Crew is to preach; and so into the organ-loft, where I met Mr. Carteret, and my Lady Jemimah, and Sir Thomas Crew's two daughters, and Dr. Childe played; and Dr. Crew did make a very pretty, neat, sober, honest sermon; and delivered it very readily, decently, and gravely, beyond his years: so as I was exceedingly taken with it, and I believe the whole chappell, he being but young; but his manner of his delivery I do like exceedingly. His text was, "But seeke ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." Thence with my Lady to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings, and so up into the house, and there do hear that the Dutch letters are come, and say that the Dutch have ordered a passe to be sent for our Commissioners, and that it is now upon the way, coming with a trumpeter blinded, as is usual. But I perceive every body begins to doubt the success of the treaty, all their hopes being only that if it can be had on any terms, the Chancellor will have it; for he dare not come before a Parliament, nor a great many more of the courtiers, and the King himself do declare he do not desire it, nor intend it but on a strait; which God defend him from! Here I hear how the King is not so well pleased of this marriage between the Duke of Richmond and Mrs. Stewart, as is talked; and that he [the Duke] by a wile did fetch her to the Beare, at the Bridge-foot, where a coach was ready, and they are stole away into Kent, without the King's leave; and that the King hath said he will never see her more; but people do think that it is only a trick. This day I saw Prince Rupert abroad in the Vane-room, pretty well as he used to be, and looks as well, only something appears to be under his periwigg on the crown of his head. So home by water, and there find my wife gone abroad to her tailor's, and I dined alone with W. Hewer, and then to the office to draw up a memorial for the Duke of York this afternoon at the Council about Lanyon's business. By and by we met by appointment at the office upon a reference to Carcasses business to us again from the Duke of York, but a very confident cunning rogue we have found him at length. He carried himself very uncivilly to Sir W. Batten this afternoon, as heretofore, and his silly Lord [Bruncker] pleaded for him, but all will not nor shall not do for ought he shall give, though I love the man as a man of great parts and ability. Thence to White Hall by water (only asking Betty Michell by the way how she did), and there come too late to do any thing at the Council. So by coach to my periwigg maker's and tailor's, and so home, where I find my wife with her flageolet master, which I wish she would practise, and so to the office, and then to Sir W. Batten's, and then to Sir W. Pen's, talking and spending time in vain a little while, and then home up to my chamber, and so to supper and to bed, vexed at two or three things, viz. that my wife's watch proves so bad as it do; the ill state of the office; and Kingdom's business; at the charge which my mother's death for mourning will bring me when all paid. 4th. Up, and going down found Jervas the barber with a periwigg which I had the other day cheapened at Westminster, but it being full of nits, as heretofore his work used to be, I did now refuse it, having bought elsewhere. So to the office till noon, busy, and then (which I think I have not done three times in my life) left the board upon occasion of a letter of Sir W. Coventry, and meeting Balty at my house I took him with me by water, and to the Duke of Albemarle to give him an account of the business, which was the escaping of some soldiers for the manning of a few ships now going out with Harman to the West Indies, which is a sad consideration that at the very beginning of the year and few ships abroad we should be in such want of men that they do hide themselves, and swear they will not go to be killed and have no pay. I find the Duke of Albemarle at dinner with sorry company, some of his officers of the Army; dirty dishes, and a nasty wife at table, and bad meat, of which I made but an ill dinner. Pretty to hear how she talked against Captain Du Tell, the Frenchman, that the Prince and her husband put out the last year; and how, says she, the Duke of York hath made him, for his good services, his Cupbearer; yet he fired more shot into the Prince's ship, and others of the King's ships, than of the enemy. And the Duke of Albemarle did confirm it, and that somebody in the fight did cry out that a little Dutchman, by his ship, did plague him more than any other; upon which they were going to order him to be sunk, when they looked and found it was Du Tell, who, as the Duke of Albemarle says, had killed several men in several of our ships. He said, but for his interest, which he knew he had at Court, he had hanged him at the yard's-arm, without staying for a Court-martiall. One Colonel Howard, at the table, magnified the Duke of Albemarle's fight in June last, as being a greater action than ever was done by Caesar. The Duke of Albemarle, did say it had been no great action, had all his number fought, as they should have done, to have beat the Dutch; but of his 55 ships, not above 25 fought. He did give an account that it was a fight he was forced to: the Dutch being come in his way, and he being ordered to the buoy of the Nore, he could not pass by them without fighting, nor avoid them without great disadvantage and dishonour; and this Sir G. Carteret, I afterwards giving him an account of what he said, says that it is true, that he was ordered up to the Nore. But I remember he said, had all his captains fought, he would no more have doubted to have beat the Dutch, with all their number, than to eat the apple that lay on his trencher. My Lady Duchesse, among other things, discoursed of the wisdom of dividing the fleete; which the General said nothing to, though he knows well that it come from themselves in the fleete, and was brought up hither by Sir Edward Spragge. Colonel Howard, asking how the prince did, the Duke of Albemarle answering, "Pretty well;" the other replied, "But not so well as to go to sea again."--"How!" says the Duchess, "what should he go for, if he were well, for there are no ships for him to command? And so you have brought your hogs to a fair market," said she. [It was pretty to hear the Duke of Albemarle himself to wish that they would come on our ground, meaning the French, for that he would pay them, so as to make them glad to go back to France again; which was like a general, but not like an admiral.] One at the table told an odd passage in this late plague: that at Petersfield, I think, he said, one side of the street had every house almost infected through the town, and the other, not one shut up. Dinner being done, I brought Balty to the Duke of Albemarle to kiss his hand and thank him far his kindness the last year to him, and take leave of him, and then Balty and I to walk in the Park, and, out of pity to his father, told him what I had in my thoughts to do for him about the money--that is, to make him Deputy Treasurer of the fleete, which I have done by getting Sir G. Carteret's consent, and an order from the Duke of York for L1500 to be paid to him. He promises the whole profit to be paid to my wife, for to be disposed of as she sees fit, for her father and mother's relief. So mightily pleased with our walk, it being mighty pleasant weather, I back to Sir G. Carteret's, and there he had newly dined, and talked, and find that he do give every thing over for lost, declaring no money to be raised, and let Sir W. Coventry name the man that persuaded the King to take the Land Tax on promise, of raising present money upon it. He will, he says, be able to clear himself enough of it. I made him merry, with telling him how many land-admirals we are to have this year: Allen at Plymouth, Holmes at Portsmouth, Spragge for Medway, Teddiman at Dover, Smith to the Northward, and Harman to the Southward. He did defend to me Sir W. Coventry as not guilty of the dividing of the fleete the last year, and blesses God, as I do, for my Lord Sandwich's absence, and tells me how the King did lately observe to him how they have been particularly punished that were enemies to my Lord Sandwich. Mightily pleased I am with his family, and my Lady Carteret was on the bed to-day, having been let blood, and tells me of my Lady Jemimah's being big-bellied. Thence with him to my Lord Treasurer's, and there walked during Council sitting with Sir Stephen Fox, talking of the sad condition of the King's purse, and affairs thereby; and how sad the King's life must be, to pass by his officers every hour, that are four years behind-hand unpaid. My Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] I met with there, and fell into talk with him on the same thing, wishing to God that it might be remedied, to which he answered, with an oath, that it was as easy to remedy it as anything in the world; saying, that there is himself and three more would venture their carcasses upon it to pay all the King's debts in three years, had they the managing his revenue, and putting L300,000 in his purse, as a stock. But, Lord! what a thing is this to me, that do know how likely a man my Lord Barkeley of all the world is, to do such a thing as this. Here I spoke with Sir W. Coventry, who tells me plainly that to all future complaints of lack of money he will answer but with the shrug of his shoulder; which methought did come to my heart, to see him to begin to abandon the King's affairs, and let them sink or swim, so he do his owne part, which I confess I believe he do beyond any officer the King hath, but unless he do endeavour to make others do theirs, nothing will be done. The consideration here do make me go away very sad, and so home by coach, and there took up my wife and Mercer, who had been to-day at White Hall to the Maundy, [The practice of giving alms on Maundy Thursday to poor men and women equal in number to the years of the sovereign's age is a curious survival in an altered form of an old custom. The original custom was for the king to wash the feet of twelve poor persons, and to give them a supper in imitation of Christ's last supper and his washing of the Apostles' feet. James II. was the last sovereign to perform the ceremony in person, but it was performed by deputy so late as 1731. The Archbishop of York was the king's deputy on that occasion. The institution has passed through the various stages of feet washing with a supper, the discontinuance of the feet washing, the substitution of a gift of provisions for the supper, and finally the substitution of a gift of money for the provisions. The ceremony took place at the Chapel Royal, Whitehall; but it is now held at Westminster Abbey. Maundy is derived from the Latin word 'maudatum', which commences the original anthem sung during the ceremony, in reference to Christ's command] it being Maundy Thursday; but the King did not wash the poor people's feet himself, but the Bishop of London did it for him, but I did not see it, and with them took up Mrs. Anne Jones at her mother's door, and so to take the ayre to Hackney, where good neat's tongue, and things to eat and drink, and very merry, the weather being mighty pleasant; and here I was told that at their church they have a fair pair of organs, which play while the people sing, which I am mighty glad of, wishing the like at our church at London, and would give L50 towards it. So very pleasant, and hugging of Mercer in our going home, we home, and then to the office to do a little business, and so to supper at home and to bed. 5th. Up, and troubled with Mr. Carcasse's coming to speak with me, which made me give him occasion to fall into a heat, and he began to be ill-mannered to me, which made me angry. He gone, I to Sir W. Pen about the business of Mrs. Turner's son to keep his ship in employment, but so false a fellow as Sir W. Pen is I never did nor hope shall ever know again. So to the office, and there did business, till dinnertime, and then home to dinner, wife and I alone, and then down to the Old Swan, and drank with Betty and her husband, but no opportunity para baiser la. So to White Hall to the Council chamber, where I find no Council held till after the holidays. So to Westminster Hall, and there bought a pair of snuffers, and saw Mrs. Howlett after her sickness come to the Hall again. So by coach to the New Exchange and Mercer's and other places to take up bills for what I owe them, and to Mrs. Pierce, to invite her to dinner with us on Monday, but staid not with her. In the street met with Mr. Sanchy, my old acquaintance at Cambridge, reckoned a great minister here in the City; and by Sir Richard Ford particularly, which I wonder at; for methinks, in his talk, he is but a mean man. I set him down in Holborne, and I to the Old Exchange, and there to Sir Robert Viner's, and made up my accounts there, to my great content; but I find they do not keep them so regularly as, to be able to do it easily, and truly, and readily, nor would it have been easily stated by any body on my behalf but myself, several things being to be recalled to memory, which nobody else could have done, and therefore it is fully necessary for me to even accounts with these people as often as I can. So to the 'Change, and there met with Mr. James Houblon, but no hopes, as he sees, of peace whatever we pretend, but we shall be abused by the King of France. Then home to the office, and busy late, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Young was talking about the building of the City again; and he told me that those few churches that are to be new built are plainly not chosen with regard to the convenience of the City; they stand a great many in a cluster about Cornhill; but that all of them are either in the gift of the Lord Archbishop, or Bishop of London, or Lord Chancellor, or gift of the City. Thus all things, even to the building of churches, are done in this world! And then he says, which I wonder at, that I should not in all this time see, that Moorefields have houses two stories high in them, and paved streets, the City having let leases for seven years, which he do conclude will be very much to the hindering the building of the City; but it was considered that the streets cannot be passable in London till a whole street be built; and several that had got ground of the City for charity, to build sheds on, had got the trick presently to sell that for L60, which did not cost them L20 to put up; and so the City, being very poor in stock, thought it as good to do it themselves, and therefore let leases for seven years of the ground in Moorefields; and a good deal of this money, thus advanced, hath been employed for the enabling them to find some money for Commissioner Taylor, and Sir W. Batten, towards the charge of "The Loyall London," or else, it is feared, it had never been paid. And Taylor having a bill to pay wherein Alderman Hooker was concerned it was his invention to find out this way of raising money, or else this had not been thought on. So home to supper and to bed. This morning come to me the Collectors for my Pollmoney; for which I paid for my title as Esquire and place of Clerk of Acts, and my head and wife's, and servants' and their wages, L40 17s; and though this be a great deal, yet it is a shame I should pay no more; that is, that I should not be assessed for my pay, as in the Victualling business and Tangier; and for my money, which, of my own accord, I had determined to charge myself with L1000 money, till coming to the Vestry, and seeing nobody of our ablest merchants, as Sir Andrew Rickard, to do it, I thought it not decent for me to do it, nor would it be thought wisdom to do it unnecessarily, but vain glory. 6th. Up, and betimes in the morning down to the Tower wharfe, there to attend the shipping of soldiers, to go down to man some ships going out, and pretty to see how merrily some, and most go, and how sad others--the leave they take of their friends, and the terms that some wives, and other wenches asked to part with them: a pretty mixture. So to the office, having staid as long as I could, and there sat all the morning, and then home at noon to dinner, and then abroad, Balty with me, and to White Hall, by water, to Sir G. Carteret, about Balty's L1500 contingent money for the fleete to the West Indys, and so away with him to the Exchange, and mercers and drapers, up and down, to pay all my scores occasioned by this mourning for my mother; and emptied a L50 bag, and it was a joy to me to see that I am able to part with such a sum, without much inconvenience; at least, without any trouble of mind. So to Captain Cocke's to meet Fenn, to talk about this money for Balty, and there Cocke tells me that he is confident there will be a peace, whatever terms be asked us, and he confides that it will take because the French and Dutch will be jealous one of another which shall give the best terms, lest the other should make the peace with us alone, to the ruin of the third, which is our best defence, this jealousy, for ought I at present see. So home and there very late, very busy, and then home to supper and to bed, the people having got their house very clean against Monday's dinner. 7th (Easter day). Up, and when dressed with my wife (in mourning for my mother) to church both, where Mr. Mills, a lazy sermon. Home to dinner, wife and I and W. Hewer, and after dinner I by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret's, there to talk about Balty's money, and did present Balty to him to kiss his hand, and then to walk in the Parke, and heard the Italian musique at the Queen's chapel, whose composition is fine, but yet the voices of eunuchs I do not like like our women, nor am more pleased with it at all than with English voices, but that they do jump most excellently with themselves and their instrument, which is wonderful pleasant; but I am convinced more and more, that, as every nation has a particular accent and tone in discourse, so as the tone of one not to agree with or please the other, no more can the fashion of singing to words, for that the better the words are set, the more they take in of the ordinary tone of the country whose language the song speaks, so that a song well composed by an Englishman must be better to an Englishman than it can be to a stranger, or than if set by a stranger in foreign words. Thence back to White Hall, and there saw the King come out of chapel after prayers in the afternoon, which he is never at but after having received the Sacrament: and the Court, I perceive, is quite out of mourning; and some very fine; among others, my Lord Gerard, in a very rich vest and coat. Here I met with my Lord Bellasses: and it is pretty to see what a formal story he tells me of his leaving, his place upon the death of my Lord Cleveland, by which he is become Captain of the Pensioners; and that the King did leave it to him to keep the other or take this; whereas, I know the contrary, that they had a mind to have him away from Tangier. He tells me he is commanded by the King to go down to the Northward to satisfy the Deputy Lieutenants of Yorkshire, who have desired to lay down their commissions upon pretence of having no profit by their places but charge, but indeed is upon the Duke of Buckingham's being under a cloud (of whom there is yet nothing heard), so that the King is apprehensive of their discontent, and sends him to pacify them, and I think he is as good a dissembler as any man else, and a fine person he is for person, and proper to lead the Pensioners, but a man of no honour nor faith I doubt. So to Sir G. Carteret's again to talk with him about Balty's money, and wrote a letter to Portsmouth about part of it, and then in his coach, with his little daughter Porpot (as he used to nickname her), and saw her at home, and her maid, and another little gentlewoman, and so I walked into Moore Fields, and, as is said, did find houses built two stories high, and like to stand; and it must become a place of great trade, till the City be built; and the street is already paved as London streets used to be, which is a strange, and to mean unpleasing sight. So home and to my chamber about sending an express to Portsmouth about Balty's money, and then comes Mrs. Turner to enquire after her son's business, which goes but bad, which led me to show her how false Sir W. Pen is to her, whereupon she told me his obligations to her, and promises to her, and how a while since he did show himself dissatisfied in her son's coming to the table and applying himself to me, which is a good nut, and a nut I will make use of. She gone I to other business in my chamber, and then to supper and to bed. The Swede's Embassadors and our Commissioners are making all the haste they can over to the treaty for peace, and I find at Court, and particularly Lord Bellasses, says there will be a peace, and it is worth remembering what Sir W. Coventry did tell me (as a secret though) that whereas we are afeard Harman's fleete to the West Indys will not be got out before the Dutch come and block us up, we shall have a happy pretext to get out our ships under pretence of attending the Embassadors and Commissioners, which is a very good, but yet a poor shift. 8th. Up, and having dressed myself, to the office a little, and out, expecting to have seen the pretty daughter of the Ship taverne at the hither end of Billiter Lane (whom I never yet have opportunity to speak to). I in there to drink my morning draught of half a pint of Rhenish wine; but a ma doleur elle and their family are going away thence, and a new man come to the house. So I away to the Temple, to my new. bookseller's; and there I did agree for Rycaut's late History of the Turkish Policy, which costs me 55s.; whereas it was sold plain before the late fire for 8s., and bound and coloured as this is for 20s.; for I have bought it finely bound and truly coloured, all the figures, of which there was but six books done so, whereof the King and Duke of York, and Duke of Monmouth, and Lord Arlington, had four. The fifth was sold, and I have bought the sixth. So to enquire out Mrs. Knipp's new lodging, but could not, but do hear of her at the Playhouse, where she was practising, and I sent for her out by a porter, and the jade come to me all undressed, so cannot go home to my house to dinner, as I had invited her, which I was not much troubled at, because I think there is a distance between her and Mrs. Pierce, and so our company would not be so pleasant. So home, and there find all things in good readiness for a good dinner, and here unexpectedly I find little Mis. Tooker, whom my wife loves not from the report of her being already naught; however, I do shew her countenance, and by and by come my guests, Dr. Clerke and his wife, and Mrs. Worshipp, and her daughter; and then Mr. Pierce and his wife, and boy, and Betty; and then I sent for Mercer; so that we had, with my wife and I, twelve at table, and very good and pleasant company, and a most neat and excellent, but dear dinner; but, Lord! to see with what envy they looked upon all my fine plate was pleasant; for I made the best shew I could, to let them understand me and my condition, to take down the pride of Mrs. Clerke, who thinks herself very great. We sat long, and very merry, and all things agreeable; and, after dinner, went out by coaches, thinking to have seen a play, but come too late to both houses, and then they had thoughts of going abroad somewhere; but I thought all the charge ought not to be mine, and therefore I endeavoured to part the company, and so ordered it to set them all down at Mrs. Pierces; and there my wife and I and Mercer left them in good humour, and we three to the King's house, and saw the latter end of the "Surprisall," a wherein was no great matter, I thought, by what I saw there. Thence away to Polichinello, and there had three times more sport than at the play, and so home, and there the first night we have been this year in the garden late, we three and our Barker singing very well, and then home to supper, and so broke up, and to bed mightily pleased with this day's pleasure. 9th. Up. and to the office a while, none of my fellow officers coming to sit, it being holiday, and so towards noon I to the Exchange, and there do hear mighty cries for peace, and that otherwise we shall be undone; and yet I do suspect the badness of the peace we shall make. Several do complain of abundance of land flung up by tenants out of their hands for want of ability to pay their rents; and by name, that the Duke of Buckingham hath L6000 so flung up. And my father writes, that Jasper Trice, upon this pretence of his tenants' dealing with him, is broke up housekeeping, and gone to board with his brother, Naylor, at Offord; which is very sad. So home to dinner, and after dinner I took coach and to the King's house, and by and by comes after me my wife with W. Hewer and his mother and Barker, and there we saw "The Tameing of a Shrew," which hath some very good pieces in it, but generally is but a mean play; and the best part, "Sawny," [This play was entitled "Sawney the Scot, or the Taming of a Shrew," and consisted of an alteration of Shakespeare's play by John Lacy. Although it had long been popular it was not printed until 1698. In the old "Taming of a Shrew" (1594), reprinted by Thomas Amyot for the Shakespeare Society in 1844, the hero's servant is named Sander, and this seems to have given the hint to Lacy, when altering Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew," to foist a 'Scotsman into the action. Sawney was one of Lacy's favourite characters, and occupies a prominent position in Michael Wright's picture at Hampton Court. Evelyn, on October 3rd, 1662, "visited Mr. Wright, a Scotsman, who had liv'd long at Rome, and was esteem'd a good painter," and he singles out as his best picture, "Lacy, the famous Roscius, or comedian, whom he has painted in three dresses, as a gallant, a Presbyterian minister, and a Scotch Highlander in his plaid." Langbaine and Aubrey both make the mistake of ascribing the third figure to Teague in "The Committee;" and in spite of Evelyn's clear statement, his editor in a note follows them in their blunder. Planche has reproduced the picture in his "History of Costume" (Vol. ii., p. 243).] done by Lacy, hath not half its life, by reason of the words, I suppose, not being understood, at least by me. After the play was done, as I come so I went away alone, and had a mind to have taken out Knipp to have taken the ayre with her, and to that end sent a porter in to her that she should take a coach and come to me to the Piatza in Covent Garden, where I waited for her, but was doubtful I might have done ill in doing it if we should be visti ensemble, sed elle was gone out, and so I was eased of my care, and therefore away to Westminster to the Swan, and there did baiser la little missa.... and drank, and then by water to the Old Swan, and there found Betty Michell sitting at the door, it being darkish. I staid and talked a little with her, but no once baiser la, though she was to my thinking at this time une de plus pretty mohers that ever I did voir in my vida, and God forgive me my mind did run sobre elle all the vespre and night and la day suivante. So home and to the office a little, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where he tells me how he hath found his lady's jewels again, which have been so long lost, and a servant imprisoned and arraigned, and they were in her closet under a china cup, where he hath servants will swear they did look in searching the house; but Mrs. Turner and I, and others, do believe that they were only disposed of by my Lady, in case she had died, to some friends of hers, and now laid there again. So home to supper, and to read the book I bought yesterday of the Turkish policy, which is a good book, well writ, and so owned by Dr. Clerke yesterday to me, commending it mightily to me for my reading as the only book of the subject that ever was writ, yet so designedly. So to bed. 10th. Up, and to my office a little, and then, in the garden, find Sir W. Pen; and he and I to Sir W. Batten, where he tells us news of the new disorders of Hogg and his men in taking out of 30 tons of wine out of a prize of ours, which makes us mad; and that, added to the unwillingness of the men to go longer abroad without money, do lead us to conclude not to keep her abroad any longer, of which I am very glad, for I do not like our doings with what we have already got, Sir W. Batten ordering the disposal of our wines and goods, and he leaves it to Morrice the cooper, who I take to be a cunning proud knave, so that I am very desirous to adventure no further. So away by water from the Old Swan to White Hall, and there to Sir W. Coventry's, with whom I staid a great while longer than I have done these many months, and had opportunity of talking with him, and he do declare himself troubled that he hath any thing left him to do in the Navy, and would be glad to part with his whole profits and concernments in it, his pains and care being wholly ineffectual during this lack of money; the expense growing infinite, the service not to be done, and discipline and order not to be kept, only from want of money. I begun to discourse with him the business of Tangier, which by the removal of my Lord Bellasses, is now to have a new Governor; and did move him, that at this season all the business of reforming the garrison might be considered, while nobody was to be offended; and I told him it is plain that we do overspend our revenue: that the place is of no more profit to the King than it was the first day, nor in itself of better credit; no more people of condition willing to live there, nor any thing like a place likely to turn his Majesty to account: that it hath been hitherto, and, for aught I see, likely only to be used as a job to do a kindness to some Lord, or he that can get to be Governor. Sir W. Coventry agreed with me, so as to say, that unless the King hath the wealth of the Mogul, he would be a beggar to have his businesses ordered in the manner they now are: that his garrisons must be made places only of convenience to particular persons that he hath moved the Duke of York in it; and that it was resolved to send no Governor thither till there had been Commissioners sent to put the garrison in order, so as that he that goes may go with limitations and rules to follow, and not to do as he please, as the rest have hitherto done. That he is not afeard to speak his mind, though to the displeasure of any man; and that I know well enough; but that, when it is come, as it is now, that to speak the truth in behalf of the King plainly do no good, but all things bore down by other measures than by what is best for the King, he hath no temptation to be perpetually fighting of battles, it being more easy to him do those terms to suffer things to go on without giving any man offence, than to have the same thing done, and he contract the displeasure of all the world, as he must do, that will be for the King. I did offer him to draw up my thoughts in this matter to present to the Duke of York, which he approved of, and I do think to do it. So away, and by coach going home saw Sir G. Carteret going towards White Hall. So 'light and by water met him, and with him to the King's little chapel; and afterwards to see the King heal the King's Evil, wherein no pleasure, I having seen it before; and then to see him and the Queene and Duke of York and his wife, at dinner in the Queene's lodgings; and so with Sir G. Carteret to his lodgings to dinner; where very good company; and after dinner he and I to talk alone how things are managed, and to what ruin we must come if we have not a peace. He did tell me one occasion, how Sir Thomas Allen, which I took for a man of known courage and service on the King's side, was tried for his life in Prince Rupert's fleete, in the late times, for cowardice, and condemned to be hanged, and fled to Jersey; where Sir G. Carteret received him, not knowing the reason of his coming thither: and that thereupon Prince Rupert wrote to the Queen-Mother his dislike of Sir G. Carteret's receiving a person that stood condemned; and so Sir G. Carteret was forced to bid him betake himself to some other place. This was strange to me. Our Commissioners are preparing to go to Bredah to the treaty, and do design to be going the next week. So away by coach home, where there should have been a meeting about Carcasse's business, but only my Lord and I met, and so broke up, Carcasse having only read his answer to his charge, which is well writ, but I think will not prove to his advantage, for I believe him to be a very rogue. So home, and Balty and I to look Mr. Fenn at Sir G. Carteret's office in Broad Streete, and there missing him and at the banker's hard by, we home, and I down by water to Deptford Dockyard, and there did a little business, and so home back again all the way reading a little piece I lately bought, called "The Virtuoso, or the Stoicke," proposing many things paradoxical to our common opinions, wherein in some places he speaks well, but generally is but a sorry man. So home and to my chamber to enter my two last days' journall, and this, and then to supper and to bed. Blessed be God! I hear that my father is better and better, and will, I hope, live to enjoy some cheerful days more; but it is strange what he writes me, that Mr. Weaver, of Huntingdon, who was a lusty, likely, and but a youngish man, should be dead. 11th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and (which is now rare, he having not been with us twice I think these six months) Sir G. Carteret come to us upon some particular business of his office, and went away again. At noon I to the 'Change, and there hear by Mr. Hublon of the loss of a little East Indiaman, valued at about L20,000, coming home alone, and safe to within ten leagues of Scilly, and there snapt by a French Caper. Our merchants do much pray for peace; and he tells me that letters are come that the Dutch have stopped the fitting of their great ships, and the coming out of a fleete of theirs of 50 sayle, that was ready to come out; but I doubt the truth of it yet. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, by his invitation to his office, where my Lady was, and dined with him, and very merry and good people they are, when pleased, as any I know. After dinner I to the office, where busy till evening, and then with Balty to Sir G. Carteret's office, and there with Mr. Fenn despatched the business of Balty's L1500 he received for the contingencies of the fleete, whereof he received about L253 in pieces of eight at a goldsmith's there hard by, which did puzzle me and him to tell; for I could not tell the difference by sight, only by bigness, and that is not always discernible, between a whole and half-piece and quarterpiece. Having received this money I home with Balty and it, and then abroad by coach with my wife and set her down at her father's, and I to White Hall, thinking there to have seen the Duchess of Newcastle's coming this night to Court, to make a visit to the Queene, the King having been with her yesterday, to make her a visit since her coming to town. The whole story of this lady is a romance, and all she do is romantick. Her footmen in velvet coats, and herself in an antique dress, as they say; and was the other day at her own play, "The Humourous Lovers;" the most ridiculous thing that ever was wrote, but yet she and her Lord mightily pleased with it; and she, at the end, made her respects to the players from her box, and did give them thanks. There is as much expectation of her coming to Court, that so people may come to see her, as if it were the Queen of Sheba; but I lost my labour, for she did not come this night. So, meeting Mr. Brisband, he took me up to my Lady Jemimah's chamber, who is let blood to-day, and so there we sat and talked an hour, I think, very merry and one odd thing or other, and so away, and I took up my wife at her tailor's (whose wife is brought to bed, and my wife must be godmother), and so with much ado got a coach to carry us home, it being late, and so to my chamber, having little left to do at my office, my eyes being a little sore by reason of my reading a small printed book the other day after it was dark, and so to supper and to bed. It comes in my head to set down that there have been two fires in the City, as I am told for certain, and it is so, within this week. 12th. Up, and when ready, and to my office, to do a little business, and, coming homeward again, saw my door and hatch open, left so by Luce, our cookmayde, which so vexed me, that I did give her a kick in our entry, and offered a blow at her, and was seen doing so by Sir W. Pen's footboy, which did vex me to the heart, because I know he will be telling their family of it; though I did put on presently a very pleasant face to the boy, and spoke kindly to him, as one without passion, so as it may be he might not think I was angry, but yet I was troubled at it. So away by water to White Hall, and there did our usual business before the Duke of York; but it fell out that, discoursing of matters of money, it rose to a mighty heat, very high words arising between Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, the former in his passion saying that the other should have helped things if they were so bad; and the other answered, so he would, and things should have been better had he been Treasurer of the Navy. I was mightily troubled at this heat, and it will breed ill blood, I fear; but things are in that bad condition that I do daily expect when we shall all fly in one another's faces, when we shall be reduced, every one, to answer for himself. We broke up; and I soon after to Sir G. Carteret's chamber, where I find the poor man telling his lady privately, and she weeping. I went into them, and did seem, as indeed I was, troubled for this; and did give the best advice I could, which, I think, did please them: and they do apprehend me their friend, as indeed I am, for I do take the Vice-chamberlain for a most honest man. He did assure me that he was not, all expences and things paid, clear in estate L15,000 better than he was when the King come in; and that the King and Lord Chancellor did know that he was worth, with the debt the King owed him, L50,000, I think, he said, when the King come into England. I did pacify all I could, and then away by water home, there to write letters and things for the dispatch of Balty away this day to sea; and after dinner he did go, I having given him much good counsell; and I have great hopes that he will make good use of it, and be a good man, for I find him willing to take pains and very sober. He being gone, I close at my office all the afternoon getting off of hand my papers, which, by the late holidays and my laziness, were grown too many upon my hands, to my great trouble, and therefore at it as late as my eyes would give me leave, and then by water down to Redriffe, meaning to meet my wife, who is gone with Mercer, Barker, and the boy (it being most sweet weather) to walk, and I did meet with them, and walked back, and then by the time we got home it was dark, and we staid singing in the garden till supper was ready, and there with great pleasure. But I tried my girles Mercer and Barker singly one after another, a single song, "At dead low ebb," etc., and I do clearly find that as to manner of singing the latter do much the better, the other thinking herself as I do myself above taking pains for a manner of singing, contenting ourselves with the judgment and goodness of eare. So to supper, and then parted and to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and strange how the false fellow Commissioner. Pett was eager to have had Carcasses business brought on to-day that he might give my Lord Bruncker (who hates him, I am sure, and hath spoke as much against him to the King in my hearing as any man) a cast of his office in pleading for his man Carcasse, but I did prevent its being brought on to-day, and so broke up, and I home to dinner, and after dinner with a little singing with some pleasure alone with my poor wife, and then to the office, where sat all the afternoon till late at night, and then home to supper and to bed, my eyes troubling me still after candle-light, which troubles me. Wrote to my father, who, I am glad to hear, is at some ease again, and I long to have him in town, that I may see what can be done for him here; for I would fain do all I can that I may have him live, and take pleasure in my doing well in the world. This afternoon come Mrs. Lowther to me to the office, and there je did toker ses mammailles and did baiser them and su bocca, which she took fort willingly.... 14th (Lord's day). Up, and to read a little in my new History of Turkey, and so with my wife to church, and then home, where is little Michell and my pretty Betty and also Mercer, and very merry. A good dinner of roast beef. After dinner I away to take water at the Tower, and thence to Westminster, where Mrs. Martin was not at home. So to White Hall, and there walked up and down, and among other things visited Sir G. Carteret, and much talk with him, who is discontented, as he hath reason, to see how things are like to come all to naught, and it is very much that this resolution of having of country Admirals should not come to his eares till I told him the other day, so that I doubt who manages things. From him to Margaret's Church, and there spied Martin, and home with her..... but fell out to see her expensefullness, having bought Turkey work, chairs, &c. By and by away home, and there took out my wife, and the two Mercers, and two of our mayds, Barker and Jane, and over the water to the Jamaica House, where I never was before, and there the girls did run for wagers over the bowling-green; and there, with much pleasure, spent little, and so home, and they home, and I to read with satisfaction in my book of Turkey, and so to bed. 15th. Lay long in bed, and by and by called up by Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that my Lord Middleton is for certain chosen Governor of Tangier; a man of moderate understanding, not covetous, but a soldier of fortune, and poor. Here comes Mr. Sanchy with an impertinent business to me of a ticket, which I put off. But by and by comes Dr. Childe by appointment, and sat with me all the morning making me bases and inward parts to several songs that I desired of him, to my great content. Then dined, and then abroad by coach, and I set him down at Hatton Garden, and I to the King's house by chance, where a new play: so full as I never saw it; I forced to stand all the while close to the very door till I took cold, and many people went away for want of room. The King, and Queene, and Duke of York and Duchesse there, and all the Court, and Sir W. Coventry. The play called "The Change of Crownes;" a play of Ned Howard's, the best that ever I saw at that house, being a great play and serious; only Lacy did act the country-gentleman come up to Court, who do abuse the Court with all the imaginable wit and plainness about selling of places, and doing every thing for money. The play took very much. Thence I to my new bookseller's, and there bought "Hooker's Polity," the new edition, and "Dugdale's History of the Inns of Court," of which there was but a few saved out of the fire, and Playford's new Catch-book, that hath a great many new fooleries in it. Then home, a little at the office, and then to supper and to bed, mightily pleased with the new play. 16th. Up, and to the office, where sat all the morning, at noon home to dinner, and thence in haste to carry my wife to see the new play I saw yesterday, she not knowing it. But there, contrary to expectation, find "The Silent Woman." However, in; and there Knipp come into the pit. I took her by me, and here we met with Mrs. Horsley, the pretty woman--an acquaintance of Mercer's, whose house is burnt. Knipp tells me the King was so angry at the liberty taken by Lacy's, part to abuse him to his face, that he commanded they should act no more, till Moone went and got leave for them to act again, but not this play. The King mighty angry; and it was bitter indeed, but very true and witty. I never was more taken with a play than I am with this "Silent Woman," as old as it is, and as often as I have seen it. There is more wit in it than goes to ten new plays. Thence with my wife and Knipp to Mrs. Pierce's, and saw her closet again, and liked her picture. Thence took them all to the Cake-house, in Southampton Market-place, where Pierce told us the story how, in good earnest, [the King] is offended with the Duke of Richmond's marrying, and Mrs. Stewart's sending the King his jewels again. As she tells it, it is the noblest romance and example of a brave lady that ever I read in my life. Pretty to hear them talk of yesterday's play, and I durst not own to my wife to have seen it. Thence home and to [Sir] W. Batten!'s, where we have made a bargain for the ending of some of the trouble about some of our prizes for L1400. So home to look on my new books that I have lately bought, and then to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and with the two Sir Williams by coach to the Duke of York, who is come to St. James's, the first time we have attended him there this year. In our way, in Tower Street, we saw Desbrough walking on foot: who is now no more a prisoner, and looks well, and just as he used to do heretofore. When we come to the Duke of York's I was spoke to by Mr. Bruncker on behalf of Carcasse. Thence by coach to Sir G. Carteret's, in London, there to pass some accounts of his, and at it till dinner, and then to work again a little, and then go away, and my wife being sent for by me to the New Exchange I took her up, and there to the King's playhouse (at the door met with W. Joyce in the street, who come to our coach side, but we in haste took no notice of him, for which I was sorry afterwards, though I love not the fellow, yet for his wife's sake), and saw a piece of "Rollo," a play I like not much, but much good acting in it: the house very empty. So away home, and I a little to the office, and then to Sir Robert Viner's, and so back, and find my wife gone down by water to take a little ayre, and I to my chamber and there spent the night in reading my new book, "Origines Juridiciales," which pleases me. So to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to read more in the "Origines," and then to the office, where the news is strong that not only the Dutch cannot set out a fleete this year, but that the French will not, and that he hath given the answer to the Dutch Embassador, saying that he is for the King of England's, having an honourable peace, which, if true, is the best news we have had a good while. At the office all the morning, and there pleased with the little pretty Deptford woman I have wished for long, and she hath occasion given her to come again to me. After office I to the 'Change a little, and then home and to dinner, and then by coach with my wife to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Wits," a play I formerly loved, and is now corrected and enlarged: but, though I like the acting, yet I like not much in the play now. The Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry gone to Portsmouth, makes me thus to go to plays. So home, and to the office a little and then home, where I find Goodgroome, and he and I did sing several things over, and tried two or three grace parts in Playford's new book, my wife pleasing me in singing her part of the things she knew, which is a comfort to my very heart. So he being gone we to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and to the office all the morning, doing a great deal of business. At noon to dinner betimes, and then my wife and I by coach to the Duke's house, calling at Lovett's, where I find my Lady Castlemayne's picture not yet done, which has lain so many months there, which vexes me, but I mean not to trouble them more after this is done. So to the playhouse, not much company come, which I impute to the heat of the weather, it being very hot. Here we saw "Macbeth," [See November 5th, 1664. Downes wrote: "The Tragedy of Macbeth, alter'd by Sir William Davenant; being drest in all it's finery, as new cloaths, new scenes, machines as flyings for the Witches; with all the singing and dancing in it. The first compos'd by Mr. Lock, the other by Mr. Channell and Mr. Joseph Preist; it being all excellently perform'd, being in the nature of an opera, it recompenc'd double the expence; it proves still a lasting play."] which, though I have seen it often, yet is it one of the best plays for a stage, and variety of dancing and musique, that ever I saw. So being very much pleased, thence home by coach with young Goodyer and his own sister, who offered us to go in their coach. A good-natured youth I believe he is, but I fear will mind his pleasures too much. She is pretty, and a modest, brown girle. Set us down, so my wife and I into the garden, a fine moonshine evening, and there talking, and among other things she tells me that she finds by W. Hewer that my people do observe my minding my pleasure more than usual, which I confess, and am ashamed of, and so from this day take upon me to leave it till Whit-Sunday. While we were sitting in the garden comes Mrs. Turner to advise about her son, the Captain, when I did give her the best advice I could, to look out for some land employment for him, a peace being at hand, when few ships will be employed and very many, and these old Captains, to be provided for. Then to other talk, and among the rest about Sir W. Pen's being to buy Wansted House of Sir Robert Brookes, but has put him off again, and left him the other day to pay for a dinner at a tavern, which she says our parishioner, Mrs. Hollworthy, talks of; and I dare be hanged if ever he could mean to buy that great house, that knows not how to furnish one that is not the tenth part so big. Thence I to my chamber to write a little, and then to bed, having got a mighty cold in my right eare and side of my throat, and in much trouble with it almost all the night. 20th. Up, with much pain in my eare and palate. To the office out of humour all the morning. At noon dined, and with my wife to the King's house, but there found the bill torn down and no play acted, and so being in the humour to see one, went to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "The Witts" again, which likes me better than it did the other day, having much wit in it. Here met with Mr. Rolt, who tells me the reason of no play to-day at the King's house. That Lacy had been committed to the porter's lodge for his acting his part in the late new play, and that being thence released he come to the King's house, there met with Ned Howard, the poet of the play, who congratulated his release; upon which Lacy cursed him as that it was the fault of his nonsensical play that was the cause of his ill usage. Mr. Howard did give him some reply; to which Lacy [answered] him, that he was more a fool than a poet; upon which Howard did give him a blow on the face with his glove; on which Lacy, having a cane in his hand, did give him a blow over the pate. Here Rolt and others that discoursed of it in the pit this afternoon did wonder that Howard did not run him through, he being too mean a fellow to fight with. But Howard did not do any thing but complain to the King of it; so the whole house is silenced, and the gentry seem to rejoice much at it, the house being become too insolent. Here were many fine ladies this afternoon at this house as I have at any time seen, and so after the play home and there wrote to my father, and then to walk in the garden with my wife, resolving by the grace of God to see no more plays till Whitsuntide, I having now seen a play every day this week till I have neglected my business, and that I am ashamed of, being found so much absent; the Duke of York and Sir W. Coventry having been out of town at Portsmouth did the more embolden me thereto. So home, and having brought home with me from Fenchurch Street a hundred of sparrowgrass,--[A form once so commonly used for asparagus that it has found its way into dictionaries.]--cost 18d. We had them and a little bit of salmon, which my wife had a mind to, cost 3s. So to supper, and my pain being somewhat better in my throat, we to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up, and John, a hackney coachman whom of late I have much used, as being formerly Sir W. Pen's coachman, coming to me by my direction to see whether I would use him to-day or no, I took him to our backgate to look upon the ground which is to be let there, where I have a mind to buy enough to build a coach-house and stable; for I have had it much in my thoughts lately that it is not too much for me now, in degree or cost, to keep a coach, but contrarily, that I am almost ashamed to be seen in a hackney, and therefore if I can have the conveniency, I will secure the ground at least till peace comes, that I do receive encouragement to keep a coach, or else that I may part with the ground again. The place I like very well, being close to my owne house, and so resolve to go about it, and so home and with my wife to church, and then to dinner, Mercer with us, with design to go to Hackney to church in the afternoon. So after dinner she and I sung "Suo Moro," which is one of the best pieces of musique to my thinking that ever I did hear in my life; then took coach and to Hackney church, where very full, and found much difficulty to get pews, I offering the sexton money, and he could not help me. So my wife and Mercer ventured into a pew, and I into another. A knight and his lady very civil to me when they come, and the like to my wife in hers, being Sir G. Viner and his lady--rich in jewells, but most in beauty--almost the finest woman that ever I saw. That which we went chiefly to see was the young ladies of the schools,--[Hackney was long famous for its boarding schools.]--whereof there is great store, very pretty; and also the organ, which is handsome, and tunes the psalm, and plays with the people; which is mighty pretty, and makes me mighty earnest to have a pair at our church, I having almost a mind to give them a pair, if they would settle a maintenance on them for it. I am mightily taken with them. So, church done, we to coach and away to Kingsland and Islington, and there eat and drank at the Old House, and so back, it raining a little, which is mighty welcome, it having not rained in many weeks, so that they say it makes the fields just now mighty sweet. So with great pleasure home by night. Set down Mercer, and I to my chamber, and there read a great deal in Rycaut's Turkey book with great pleasure, and so eat and to bed. My sore throat still troubling me, but not so much. This night I do come to full resolution of diligence for a good while, and I hope God will give me the grace and wisdom to perform it. 22nd. Up pretty betimes, my throat better, and so drest me, and to White Hall to see Sir W. Coventry, returned from Portsmouth, whom I am almost ashamed to see for fear he should have been told how often I have been at plays, but it is better to see him at first than afterward. So walked to the Old Swan and drank at Michell's, and then to White Hall and over the Park to St. James's to [Sir] W. Coventry, where well received, and good discourse. He seems to be sure of a peace; that the King of France do not intend to set out a fleete, for that he do design Flanders. Our Embassadors set out this week. Thence I over the Park to Sir G. Carteret, and after him by coach to the Lord Chancellor's house, the first time I have been therein; and it is very noble, and brave pictures of the ancient and present nobility, never saw better. Thence with him to London, mighty merry in the way. Thence home, and find the boy out of the house and office, and by and by comes in and hath been to Mercer's. I did pay his coat for him. Then to my chamber, my wife comes home with linen she hath been buying of. I then to dinner, and then down the river to Greenwich, and the watermen would go no further. So I turned them off, giving them nothing, and walked to Woolwich; there did some business, and met with Captain Cocke and back with him. He tells me our peace is agreed on; we are not to assist the Spanyard against the French for this year, and no restitution, and we are likely to lose Poleroone. [Among the State Papers is a document dated July 8th, 1667, in which we read: "At Breda, the business is so far advanced that the English have relinquished their pretensions to the ships Henry Bonaventure and Good Hope. The matter sticks only at Poleron; the States have resolved not to part with it, though the English should have a right to it" ("Calendar," 1667, p. 278).] I know not whether this be true or no, but I am for peace on any terms. He tells me how the King was vexed the other day for having no paper laid him at the Council-table, as was usual; and Sir Richard Browne did tell his Majesty he would call the person whose work it was to provide it: who being come, did tell his Majesty that he was but a poor man, and was out L400 or L500 for it, which was as much as he is worth; and that he cannot provide it any longer without money, having not received a penny since the King's coming in. So the King spoke to my Lord Chamberlain; and many such mementos the King do now-a-days meet withall, enough to make an ingenuous man mad. I to Deptford, and there scolded with a master for his ship's not being gone, and so home to the office and did business till my eyes are sore again, and so home to sing, and then to bed, my eyes failing me mightily: 23rd (St. George's-day). The feast being kept at White Hall, out of design, as it is thought, to make the best countenance we can to the Swede's Embassadors, before their leaving us to go to the treaty abroad, to shew some jollity. We sat at the office all the morning. Word is brought me that young Michell is come to call my wife to his wife's labour, and she went, and I at the office full of expectation what to hear from poor Betty Michell. This morning much to do with Sir W. Warren, all whose applications now are to Lord Bruncker, and I am against him now, not professedly, but apparently in discourse, and will be. At noon home to dinner, where alone, and after dinner to my musique papers, and by and by comes in my wife, who gives me the good news that the midwife and she alone have delivered poor Betty of a pretty girl, which I am mighty glad of, and she in good condition, my wife as well as I mightily pleased with it. Then to the office to do things towards the post, and then my wife and I set down at her mother's, and I up and down to do business, but did little; and so to Mrs. Martin's, and there did hazer what I would con her, and then called my wife and to little Michell's, where we saw the little child, which I like mightily, being I allow very pretty, and asked her how she did, being mighty glad of her doing well, and so home to the office, and then to my chamber, and so to bed. 24th. Up, and with [Sir] W. Pen to St. James's, and there the Duke of York was preparing to go to some further ceremonies about the Garter, that he could give us no audience. Thence to Westminster Hall, the first day of the Term, and there joyed Mrs. Michell, who is mightily pleased with my wife's work yesterday, and so away to my barber's about my periwigg, and then to the Exchange, there to meet Fenn about some money to be borrowed of the office of the Ordnance to answer a great pinch. So home to dinner, and in the afternoon met by agreement (being put on it by Harry Bruncker's frighting us into a despatch of Carcasse's business) [Lord] Bruncker, T. Harvey, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and I (Sir W. Pen keeping out of the way still), where a great many high words from Bruncker, and as many from me and others to him, and to better purpose, for I think we have fortified ourselves to overthrow his man Carcasse, and to do no honour to him. We rose with little done but great heat, not to be reconciled I doubt, and I care not, for I will be on the right side, and that shall keep me: Thence by coach to Sir John Duncomb's' lodging in the Pell Mell,--[See November 8th, 1664]--in order to the money spoken of in the morning; and there awhile sat and discoursed.: and I find him that he is a very proper man for business, being very resolute and proud, and industrious. He told me what reformation they had made in the office of the Ordnance, taking away Legg's fees: [William Legge, eldest son of Edward Legge, sometime Vice-President of Munster, born 1609(?). He served under Maurice of Nassau and Gustavus Adolphus, and held the rank of colonel in the Royalist army. He closely attached himself to Prince Rupert, and was an active agent in affecting the reconciliation between that prince and his uncle Charles I. Colonel Legge distinguished himself in several actions, and was wounded and taken prisoner at the battle of Worcester; it was said that he would have "been executed if his wife had not contrived his escape from Coventry gaol in her own clothes." He was Groom of the Bedchamber to Charles I., and also to Charles II.; he held the offices of Master of the Armories and Lieutenant- General of the Ordnance. He refused honours (a knighthood from Charles I. and an earldom from Charles II.), but his eldest son George was created Baron Dartmouth in 1682. He died October 13th, 1672, at his house in the Minories, and was buried in] and have got an order that no Treasurer after him shall ever sit at the Board; and it is a good one: that no master of the Ordnance here shall ever sell a place. He tells me they have not paid any increase of price for any thing during this war, but in most have paid less; and at this day have greater stores than they know where to lay, if there should be peace, and than ever was any time this war. That they pay every man in course, and have notice of the disposal of every farthing. Every man that they owe money to has his share of every sum they receive; never borrowed all this war but L30,000 by the King's express command, but do usually stay till their assignments become payable in their own course, which is the whole mystery, that they have had assignments for a fifth part of whatever was assigned to the Navy. They have power of putting out and in of all officers; are going upon a building that will cost them L12,000; that they out of their stock of tallies have been forced to help the Treasurer of the Navy at this great pinch. Then to talk of newes: that he thinks the want of money hath undone the King, for the Parliament will never give the King more money without calling all people to account, nor, as he believes, will ever make war again, but they will manage it themselves: unless, which I proposed, he would visibly become a severer inspector into his own business and accounts, and that would gain upon the Parliament yet: which he confesses and confirms as the only lift to set him upon his legs, but says that it is not in his nature ever to do. He says that he believes but four men (such as he could name) would do the business of both offices, his and ours, and if ever the war were to be again it should be so, he believes. He told me to my face that I was a very good clerk, and did understand the business and do it very well, and that he would never desire a better. He do believe that the Parliament, if ever they meet, will offer some alterations to the King, and will turn some of us out, and I protest I think he is in the right that either they or the King will be advised to some regulations, and therefore I ought to beware, as it is easy for me to keep myself up if I will. He thinks that much of our misfortune hath been for want of an active Lord Treasurer, and that such a man as Sir W. Coventry would do the business thoroughly. This talk being over, comes his boy and tells us [Sir] W. Coventry is come in, and so he and I to him, and there told the difficulty of getting this money, and they did play hard upon Sir G. Carteret as a man moped and stunned, not knowing which way to turn himself. Sir W. Coventry cried that he was disheartened, and I do think that there is much in it, but Sir J. Duncomb do charge him with mighty neglect in the pursuing of his business, and that he do not look after it himself, but leaves it to Fenn, so that I do perceive that they are resolved to scheme at bringing the business into a better way of execution, and I think it needs, that is the truth of it. So I away to Sir G. Carteret's lodgings about this money, and contrary to expectation I find he hath prevailed with Legg on his own bond to lend him L2000, which I am glad of, but, poor man, he little sees what observations people do make upon his management, and he is not a man fit to be told what one hears. Thence by water at 10 at night from Westminster Bridge, having kissed little Frank, and so to the Old Swan, and walked home by moonshine, and there to my chamber a while, and supper and to bed. 25th. Received a writ from the Exchequer this morning of distrain for L70,000, which troubled me, though it be but, matter of form. To the office, where sat all the morning. At noon my wife being to Unthanke's christening, I to Sir W. Batten's to dinner, where merry, and the rather because we are like to come to some good end in another of our prizes. Thence by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, and there being come too soon to the New Exchange, but did nothing, and back again, and there found my Lord Bruncker and T. Harvy, and walked in a room very merrily discoursing. By and by comes my Lord Ashly and tells us my Lord Treasurer is ill and cannot speak with us now. Thence away, Sir W. Pen and I and Mr. Lewes, who come hither after us, and Mr. Gawden in the last man's coach. Set me down by the Poultry, and I to Sir Robert Viner's, and there had my account stated and took it home to review. So home to the office, and there late writing out something, having been a little at Sir W. Batten's to talk, and there vexed to see them give order for Hogg's further abroad, and so home and to bed. 26th. Up, and by coach with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, and there saw the Duke of Albemarle, who is not well, and do grow crazy. Thence I to St. James's, to meet Sir G. Carteret, and did, and Lord Berkely, to get them (as we would have done the Duke of Albemarle) to the meeting of the Lords of Appeale in the business of one of our prizes. With them to the meeting of the Guinny Company, and there staid, and went with Lord Berkely. While I was waiting for him in the Matted Gallery, a young man was most finely working in Indian inke the great picture of the King and Queen sitting,--[Charles I. and Henrietta Maria.]--by Van Dyke; and did it very finely. Thence to Westminster Hall to hear our cause, but [it] did not come before them to-day, so went down and walked below in the Hall, and there met with Ned Pickering, who tells me the ill newes of his nephew Gilbert, who is turned a very rogue, and then I took a turn with Mr. Evelyn, with whom I walked two hours, till almost one of the clock: talking of the badness of the Government, where nothing but wickedness, and wicked men and women command the King: that it is not in his nature to gainsay any thing that relates to his pleasures; that much of it arises from the sickliness of our Ministers of State, who cannot be about him as the idle companions are, and therefore he gives way to the young rogues; and then, from the negligence of the Clergy, that a Bishop shall never be seen about him, as the King of France hath always: that the King would fain have some of the same gang to be Lord Treasurer, which would be yet worse, for now some delays are put to the getting gifts of the King, as that whore my Lady Byron, [Eleanor, daughter of Robert Needham, Viscount Kilmurrey, and widow of Peter Warburton, became in 1644 the second wife of John Byron, first Lord Byron. Died 1663.--B.] who had been, as he called it, the King's seventeenth whore abroad, did not leave him till she had got him to give her an order for L4000 worth of plate to be made for her; but by delays, thanks be to God! she died before she had it. He tells me mighty stories of the King of France, how great a prince he is. He hath made a code to shorten the law; he hath put out all the ancient commanders of castles that were become hereditary; he hath made all the fryers subject to the bishops, which before were only subject to Rome, and so were hardly the King's subjects, and that none shall become 'religieux' but at such an age, which he thinks will in a few, years ruin the Pope, and bring France into a patriarchate. He confirmed to me the business of the want of paper at the Council-table the other day, which I have observed; Wooly being to have found it, and did, being called, tell the King to his face the reason of it; and Mr. Evelyn tells me several of the menial servants of the Court lacking bread, that have not received a farthing wages since the King's coming in. He tells me the King of France hath his mistresses, but laughs at the foolery of our King, that makes his bastards princes, [Louis made his own bastards dukes and princes, and legitimatized them as much as he could, connecting them also by marriage with the real blood-royal.--B.] and loses his revenue upon them, and makes his mistresses his masters and the King of France did never grant Lavalliere [Louise Francoise de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere had four children by Louis XIV., of whom only two survived-Marie Anne Bourbon, called Mademoiselle de Blois, born in 1666, afterwards married to the Prince de Conti, and the Comte de Vermandois, born in 1667. In that year (the very year in which Evelyn was giving this account to Pepys), the Duchy of Vaujour and two baronies were created in favour of La Valliere, and her daughter, who, in the deed of creation, was legitimatized, and styled princess.--B.] any thing to bestow on others, and gives a little subsistence, but no more, to his bastards. He told me the whole story of Mrs. Stewart's going away from Court, he knowing her well; and believes her, up to her leaving the Court, to be as virtuous as any woman in the world: and told me, from a Lord that she told it to but yesterday, with her own mouth, and a sober man, that when the Duke of Richmond did make love to her, she did ask the King, and he did the like also; and that the King did not deny it, and [she] told this Lord that she was come to that pass as to resolve to have married any gentleman of L1500 a-year that would have had her in honour; for it was come to that pass, that she could not longer continue at Court without prostituting herself to the King, [Even at a much later time Mrs. Godolphin well resolved "not to talk foolishly to men, more especially THE KING,"--"be sure never to talk to THE KING" ("Life," by Evelyn). These expressions speak volumes as to Charles's character.--B.] whom she had so long kept off, though he had liberty more than any other had, or he ought to have, as to dalliance. [Evelyn evidently believed the Duchess of Richmond to be innocent; and his testimony, coupled with her own declaration, ought to weigh down all the scandal which Pepys reports from other sources.--B.] She told this Lord that she had reflected upon the occasion she had given the world to think her a bad woman, and that she had no way but to marry and leave the Court, rather in this way of discontent than otherwise, that the world might see that she sought not any thing but her honour; and that she will never come to live at Court more than when she comes to town to come to kiss the Queene her Mistress's hand: and hopes, though she hath little reason to hope, she can please her Lord so as to reclaim him, that they may yet live comfortably in the country on his estate. She told this Lord that all the jewells she ever had given her at Court, or any other presents, more than the King's allowance of L700 per annum out of the Privypurse for her clothes, were, at her first coming the King did give her a necklace of pearl of about L1100 and afterwards, about seven months since, when the King had hopes to have obtained some courtesy of her, the King did give her some jewells, I have forgot what, and I think a pair of pendants. The Duke of York, being once her Valentine, did give her a jewell of about L800; and my Lord Mandeville, her Valentine this year, a ring of about L300; and the King of France would have had her mother, who, he says, is one of the most cunning women in the world, to have let her stay in France, saying that he loved her not as a mistress, but as one that he could marry as well as any lady in France; and that, if she might stay, for the honour of his Court he would take care she should not repent. But her mother, by command of the Queen-mother, thought rather to bring her into England; and the King of France did give her a jewell: so that Mr. Evelyn believes she may be worth in jewells about L6000, and that that is all that she hath in the world: and a worthy woman; and in this hath done as great an act of honour as ever was done by woman. That now the Countesse Castlemayne do carry all before her: and among other arguments to prove Mrs. Stewart to have been honest to the last, he says that the King's keeping in still with my Lady Castlemayne do show it; for he never was known to keep two mistresses in his life, and would never have kept to her had he prevailed any thing with Mrs. Stewart. She is gone yesterday with her Lord to Cobham. He did tell me of the ridiculous humour of our King and Knights of the Garter the other day, who, whereas heretofore their robes were only to be worn during their ceremonies and service, these, as proud of their coats, did wear them all day till night, and then rode into the Parke with them on. Nay, and he tells me he did see my Lord Oxford and the Duke of Monmouth in a hackney-coach with two footmen in the Parke, with their robes on; which is a most scandalous thing, so as all gravity may be said to be lost among us. By and by we discoursed of Sir Thomas Clifford, whom I took for a very rich and learned man, and of the great family of that name. He tells me he is only a man of about seven-score pounds a-year, of little learning more than the law of a justice of peace, which he knows well: a parson's son, got to be burgess in a little borough in the West, and here fell into the acquaintance of my Lord Arlington, whose creature he is, and never from him; a man of virtue, and comely, and good parts enough; and hath come into his place with a great grace, though with a great skip over the heads of a great many, as Chichly and Duncum, and some Lords that did expect it. By the way, he tells me, that of all the great men of England there is none that endeavours more to raise those that he takes into favour than my Lord Arlington; and that, on that score, he is much more to be made one's patron than my Lord Chancellor, who never did, nor never will do, any thing, but for money! After having this long discourse we parted, about one of the clock, and so away by water home, calling upon Michell, whose wife and girle are pretty well, and I home to dinner, and after dinner with Sir W. Batten to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York before council, where we all met at his closet and did the little business we had, and here he did tell us how the King of France is intent upon his design against Flanders, and hath drawn up a remonstrance of the cause of the war, and appointed the 20th of the next month for his rendezvous, and himself to prepare for the campaign the 30th, so that this, we are in hopes, will keep him in employment. Turenne is to be his general. Here was Carcasses business unexpectedly moved by him, but what was done therein appears in my account of his case in writing by itself. Certain newes of the Dutch being abroad on our coast with twenty-four great ships. This done Sir W. Batten and I back again to London, and in the way met my Lady Newcastle going with her coaches and footmen all in velvet: herself, whom I never saw before, as I have heard her often described, for all the town-talk is now-a-days of her extravagancies, with her velvetcap, her hair about her ears; many black patches, because of pimples about her mouth; naked-necked, without any thing about it, and a black just-au-corps. She seemed to me a very comely woman: but I hope to see more of her on Mayday. My mind is mightily of late upon a coach. At home, to the office, where late spending all the evening upon entering in long hand our late passages with Carcasse for memory sake, and so home in great pain in my back by the uneasiness of Sir W. Batten's coach driving hard this afternoon over the stones to prevent coming too late. So at night to supper in great pain, and to bed, where lay in great pain, not able to turn myself all night. 27th. Up with much pain, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, W. Hewer with us. This noon I got in some coals at 23s. per chaldron, a good hearing, I thank God-having not been put to buy a coal all this dear time, that during this war poor people have been forced to give 45s. and 50s., and L3. In the afternoon (my wife and people busy these late days, and will be for some time, making of shirts and smocks) to the office, where late, and then home, after letters, and so to supper and to bed, with much pleasure of mind, after having dispatched business. This afternoon I spent some time walking with Mr. Moore, in the garden, among other things discoursing of my Lord Sandwich's family, which he tells me is in a very bad condition, for want of money and management, my Lord's charging them with bills, and nobody, nor any thing provided to answer them. He did discourse of his hopes of being supplied with L1900 against a present bill from me, but I took no notice of it, nor will do it. It seems Mr. Sheply doubts his accounts are ill kept, and every thing else in the family out of order, which I am grieved to hear of. 28th (Lord's day). Lay long, my pain in my back being still great, though not so great as it was. However, up and to church, where a lazy sermon, and then home and to dinner, my wife and I alone and Barker. After dinner, by water--the day being mighty pleasant, and the tide serving finely, I up (reading in Boyle's book of colours), as high as Barne Elmes, and there took one turn alone, and then back to Putney Church, where I saw the girls of the schools, few of which pretty; and there I come into a pew, and met with little James Pierce, which I was much pleased at, the little rogue being very glad to see me: his master, Reader to the Church. Here was a good sermon and much company, but I sleepy, and a little out of order, for my hat falling down through a hole underneath the pulpit, which, however, after sermon, by a stick, and the helpe of the clerke, I got up again, and then walked out of the church with the boy, and then left him, promising him to get him a play another time. And so by water, the tide being with me again, down to Deptford, and there I walked down the Yard, Shish and Cox with me, and discoursed about cleaning of the wet docke, and heard, which I had before, how, when the docke was made, a ship of near 500 tons was there found; a ship supposed of Queene Elizabeth's time, and well wrought, with a great deal of stoneshot in her, of eighteen inches diameter, which was shot then in use: and afterwards meeting with Captain Perriman and Mr. Castle at Half-way Tree, they tell me of stoneshot of thirty-six inches diameter, which they shot out of mortarpieces. Thence walked to Half-way Tree, and there stopt and talk with Mr. Castle and Captain Perriman, and so to Redriffe and took boat again, and so home, and there to write down my Journall, and so to supper and to read, and so to bed, mightily pleased with my reading of Boyle's book of colours to-day, only troubled that some part of it, indeed the greatest part, I am not able to understand for want of study. My wife this night troubled at my leaving her alone so much and keeping her within doors, which indeed I do not well nor wisely in. 29th. Up, being visited very early by Creed newly come from Hinchingbrooke, who went thither without my knowledge, and I believe only to save his being taxed by the Poll Bill. I did give him no very good countenance nor welcome, but took occasion to go forth and walked (he with me) to St. Dunstan's, and thence I to Sir W. Coventry's, where a good while with him, and I think he pretty kind, but that the nature of our present condition affords not matter for either of us to be pleased with any thing. We discoursed of Carcasse, whose Lord, he tells me, do make complaints that his clerk should be singled out, and my Lord Berkeley do take his part. So he advises we would sum up all we have against him and lay it before the Duke of York; he condemned my Lord Bruncker. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there talked a little while about office business, and thence by coach home, in several places paying my debts in order to my evening my accounts this month, and thence by and by to White Hall again to Sir G. Carteret to dinner, where very good company and discourse, and I think it my part to keep in there now more than ordinary because of the probability of my Lord's coming soon home. Our Commissioners for the treaty set out this morning betimes down the river. Here I hear that the Duke of Cambridge, the Duke of York's son, is very sick; and my Lord Treasurer very bad of the stone, and hath been so some days. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I alone in his closet an hour or more talking of my Lord Sandwich's coming home, which, the peace being likely to be made here, he expects, both for my Lord's sake and his own (whose interest he wants) it will be best for him to be at home, where he will be well received by the King; he is sure of his service well accepted, though the business of Spain do fall by this peace. He tells me my Lord Arlington hath done like a gentleman by him in all things. He says, if my Lord [Sandwich] were here, he were the fittest man to be Lord Treasurer of any man in England; and he thinks it might be compassed; for he confesses that the King's matters do suffer through the inability of this man, who is likely to die, and he will propound him to the King. It will remove him from his place at sea, and the King will have a good place to bestow. He says to me, that he could wish, when my Lord comes, that he would think fit to forbear playing, as a thing below him, and which will lessen him, as it do my Lord St. Albans, in the King's esteem: and as a great secret tells me that he hath made a match for my Lord Hinchingbroke to a daughter of my Lord Burlington's, where there is a great alliance, L10,000 portion; a civil family, and relation to my Lord Chancellor, whose son hath married one of the daughters; and that my Lord Chancellor do take it with very great kindness, so that he do hold himself obliged by it. My Lord Sandwich hath referred it to my Lord Crew, Sir G. Carteret, and Mr. Montagu, to end it. My Lord Hinchingbroke and the lady know nothing yet of it. It will, I think, be very happy. Very glad of this discourse, I away mightily pleased with the confidence I have in this family, and so away, took up my wife, who was at her mother's, and so home, where I settled to my chamber about my accounts, both Tangier and private, and up at it till twelve at night, with good success, when news is brought me that there is a great fire in Southwarke: so we up to the leads, and then I and the boy down to the end of our, lane, and there saw it, it seeming pretty great, but nothing to the fire of London, that it made me think little of it. We could at that distance see an engine play--that is, the water go out, it being moonlight. By and by, it begun to slacken, and then I home and to bed. 30th. Up, and Mr. Madden come to speak with me, whom my people not knowing have made to wait long without doors, which vexed me. Then comes Sir John Winter to discourse with me about the forest of Deane, and then about my Lord Treasurer, and asking me whether, as he had heard, I had not been cut for the stone, I took him to my closet, and there shewed it to him, of which he took the dimensions and had some discourse of it, and I believe will shew my Lord Treasurer it. Thence to the office, where we sat all the morning, but little to do, and then to the 'Change, where for certain I hear, and the News book declares, a peace between France and Portugal. Met here with Mr. Pierce, and he tells me the Duke of Cambridge is very ill and full of spots about his body, that Dr. Frazier knows not what to think of it. Then home and to dinner, and then to the office, where all the afternoon; we met about Sir W. Warren's business and accounts, wherein I do rather oppose than forward him, but not in declared terms, for I will not be at, enmity with him, but I will not have him find any friendship so good as mine. By and by rose and by water to White Hall, and then called my wife at Unthanke's. So home and to my chamber, to my accounts, and finished them to my heart's wishes and admiration, they being grown very intricate, being let alone for two months, but I brought them together all naturally, within a few shillings, but to my sorrow the Poll money I paid this month and mourning have made me L80 a worse man than at my last balance, so that I am worth now but L6700, which is yet an infinite mercy to me, for which God make me thankful. So late to supper, with a glad heart for the evening of my accounts so well, and so to bed. MAY 1667 May 1st. Up, it being a fine day, and after doing a little business in my chamber I left my wife to go abroad with W. Hewer and his mother in a Hackney coach incognito to the Park, while I abroad to the Excise Office first, and there met the Cofferer and Sir Stephen Fox about our money matters there, wherein we agreed, and so to discourse of my Lord Treasurer, who is a little better than he was of the stone, having rested a little this night. I there did acquaint them of my knowledge of that disease, which I believe will be told my Lord Treasurer. Thence to Westminster; in the way meeting many milk-maids with their garlands upon their pails, dancing with a fiddler before them; [On the 1st of May milkmaids used to borrow silver cups, tankards, &c., to hang them round their milkpails, with the addition of flowers and ribbons, which they carried upon their heads, accompanied by a bagpipe or fiddle, and went from door to door, dancing before the houses of their customers, in order to obtain a small gratuity from each of them. "In London thirty years ago, When pretty milkmaids went about, It was a goodly sight to see Their May-day pageant all drawn out. "Such scenes and sounds once blest my eyes And charm'd my ears; but all have vanish'd, On May-day now no garlands go, For milkmaids and their dance are banish'd." Hone's Every-Day Book, vol. i., pp. 569, 570.] and saw pretty Nelly standing at her lodgings' door in Drury-lane in her smock sleeves and bodice, looking upon one: she seemed a mighty pretty creature. To the Hall and there walked a while, it being term. I thence home to the Rose, and then had Doll Lane venir para me.... To my Lord Crew's, where I found them at dinner, and among others. Mrs. Bocket, which I have not seen a long time, and two little dirty children, and she as idle a prating and impertinent woman as ever she was. After dinner my Lord took me alone and walked with me, giving me an account of the meeting of the Commissioners for Accounts, whereof he is one. How some of the gentlemen, Garraway, Littleton, and others, did scruple at their first coming there, being called thither to act, as Members of Parliament, which they could not do by any authority but that of Parliament, and therefore desired the King's direction in it, which was sent for by my Lord Bridgewater, who brought answer, very short, that the King expected they should obey his Commission. Then they went on, and observed a power to be given them of administering and framing an oath, which they thought they could not do by any power but Act of Parliament; and the whole Commission did think fit to have the judges' opinion in it; and so, drawing up their scruples in writing, they all attended the King, who told them he would send to the judges to be answered, and did so; who have, my Lord tells me, met three times about it, not knowing what answer to give to it; and they have met this week, doing nothing but expecting the solution of the judges in this point. My Lord tells me he do believe this Commission will do more hurt than good; it may undo some accounts, if these men shall think fit; but it can never clear an account, for he must come into the Exchequer for all this. Besides, it is a kind of inquisition that hath seldom ever been granted in England; and he believes it will never, besides, give any satisfaction to the People or Parliament, but be looked upon as a forced, packed business of the King, especially if these Parliament-men that are of it shall not concur with them: which he doubts they will not, and, therefore, wishes much that the King would lay hold of this fit occasion, and let the Commission fall. Then to talk of my Lord Sandwich, whom my Lord Crew hath a great desire might get to be Lord Treasurer if the present Lord should die, as it is believed he will, in a little time; and thinks he can have no competitor but my Lord Arlington, who, it is given out, desires it: but my Lord thinks it is not so, for that the being Secretary do keep him a greater interest with the King than the other would do at least, do believe, that if my Lord would surrender him his Wardrobe place, it would be a temptation to Arlington to assist my Lord in getting the Treasurer's. I did object to my Lord [Crew] that it would be no place of content, nor safety, nor honour for my Lord, the State being so indigent as it is, and the [King] so irregular, and those about him, that my Lord must be forced to part with anything to answer his warrants; and that, therefore, I do believe the King had rather have a man that may be one of his vicious caball, than a sober man that will mind the publick, that so they may sit at cards and dispose of the revenue of the kingdom. This my Lord was moved at, and said he did not indeed know how to answer it, and bid me think of it; and so said he himself would also do. He do mightily cry out of the bad management of our monies, the King having had so much given him; and yet, when the Parliament do find that the King should have L900,000 in his purse by the best account of issues they have yet seen, yet we should report in the Navy a debt due from the King of L900,000; which, I did confess, I doubted was true in the first, and knew to be true in the last, and did believe that there was some great miscarriages in it: which he owned to believe also, saying, that at this rate it is not in the power of the kingdom to make a war, nor answer the King's wants. Thence away to the King's playhouse, by agreement met Sir W. Pen, and saw "Love in a Maze" but a sorry play: only Lacy's clowne's part, which he did most admirably indeed; and I am glad to find the rogue at liberty again. Here was but little, and that ordinary, company. We sat at the upper bench next the boxes; and I find it do pretty well, and have the advantage of seeing and hearing the great people, which may be pleasant when there is good store. Now was only Prince Rupert and my Lord Lauderdale, and my Lord, the naming of whom puts me in mind of my seeing, at Sir Robert Viner's, two or three great silver flagons, made with inscriptions as gifts of the King to such and such persons of quality as did stay in town the late great plague, for the keeping things in order in the town, which is a handsome thing. But here was neither Hart, Nell, nor Knipp; therefore, the play was not likely to please me. Thence Sir W. Pen and I in his coach, Tiburne way, into the Park, where a horrid dust, and number of coaches, without pleasure or order. That which we, and almost all went for, was to see my Lady Newcastle; which we could not, she being followed and crowded upon by coaches all the way she went, that nobody could come near her; only I could see she was in a large black coach, adorned with silver instead of gold, and so white curtains, and every thing black and white, and herself in her cap, but other parts I could not make [out]. But that which I did see, and wonder at with reason, was to find Pegg Pen in a new coach, with only her husband's pretty sister with her, both patched and very fine, and in much the finest coach in the park, and I think that ever I did see one or other, for neatness and richness in gold, and everything that is noble. My Lady Castlemayne, the King, my Lord St. Albans, nor Mr. Jermyn, have so neat a coach, that ever I saw. And, Lord! to have them have this, and nothing else that is correspondent, is to me one of the most ridiculous sights that ever I did see, though her present dress was well enough; but to live in the condition they do at home, and be abroad in this coach, astonishes me. When we had spent half an hour in the Park, we went out again, weary of the dust, and despairing of seeing my Lady Newcastle; and so back the same way, and to St. James's, thinking to have met my Lady Newcastle before she got home, but we staying by the way to drink, she got home a little before us: so we lost our labours, and then home; where we find the two young ladies come home, and their patches off, I suppose Sir W. Pen do not allow of them in his sight, and going out of town to-night, though late, to Walthamstow. So to talk a little at Sir W. Batten's, and then home to supper, where I find Mrs. Hewer and her son, who have been abroad with my wife in the Park, and so after supper to read and then to bed. Sir W. Pen did give me an account this afternoon of his design of buying Sir Robert Brooke's fine house at Wansted; which I so wondered at, and did give him reasons against it, which he allowed of: and told me that he did intend to pull down the house and build a less, and that he should get L1500 by the old house, and I know not what fooleries. But I will never believe he ever intended to buy it, for my part; though he troubled Mr. Gawden to go and look upon it, and advise him in it. 2nd. To the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then abroad to my Lord Treasurer's, who continues so ill as not to be troubled with business. So Mr. Gawden and I to my Lord Ashly's and spoke with him, and then straight home, and there I did much business at the office, and then to my own chamber and did the like there, to my great content, but to the pain of my eyes, and then to supper and to bed, having a song with my wife with great pleasure, she doing it well. 3rd. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and [Sir] W. Pen in the last man's coach to St. James's, and thence up to the Duke of York's chamber, which, as it is now fretted at the top, and the chimney-piece made handsome, is one of the noblest and best-proportioned rooms that ever, I think, I saw in my life, and when ready, into his closet and did our business, where, among other things, we had a proposition of Mr. Pierces, for being continued in pay, or something done for him, in reward of his pains as Chyrurgeon-Generall; forasmuch as Troutbecke, that was never a doctor before, hath got L200 a year settled on him for nothing but that one voyage with the Duke of Albemarle. The Duke of York and the whole company did shew most particular kindness to Mr. Pierce, every body moving for him, and the Duke himself most, that he is likely to be a very great man, I believe. Here also we had another mention of Carcasses business, and we directed to bring in a report of our opinion of his case, which vexes us that such a rogue shall make us so much trouble. Thence I presently to the Excise Office, and there met the Cofferer and [Sir] Stephen Fox by agreement, and agreed upon a method for our future payments, and then we three to my Lord Treasurer, who continues still very ill. I had taken my stone with me on purpose, and Sir Philip Warwicke carried it in to him to see, but was not in a condition to talk with me about it, poor man. So I with them to Westminster by coach; the Cofferer telling us odd stories how he was dealt with by the men of the Church at Westminster in taking a lease of them at the King's coming in, and particularly the devilish covetousness of Dr. Busby. Sir Stephen Fox, in discourse, told him how he is selling some land he hath, which yields him not above three per cent., if so much, and turning it into money, which he can put out at ten per cent.; and, as times go, if they be like to continue, it is the best way for me to keep money going so, for aught I see. I to Westminster Hall, and there took a turn with my old acquaintance Mr. Pechell, whose red nose makes me ashamed to be seen with him, though otherwise a good-natured man. So away, I not finding of Mr. Moore, with whom I should have met and spoke about a letter I this day received from him from my Lord Hinchingbroke, wherein he desires me to help him to L1900 to pay a bill of exchange of his father's, which troubles me much, but I will find some way, if I can do it, but not to bring myself in bonds or disbursements for it, whatever comes of it. So home to dinner, where my wife hath 'ceux la' upon her and is very ill with them, and so forced to go to bed, and I sat by her a good while, then down to my chamber and made an end of Rycaut's History of the Turks, which is a very good book. Then to the office, and did some business, and then my wife being pretty well, by coach to little Michell's, and there saw my poor Betty and her little child, which slept so soundly we could hardly wake it in an hour's time without hurting it, and they tell me what I did not know, that a child (as this do) will hunt and hunt up and down with its mouth if you touch the cheek of it with your finger's end for a nipple, and fit its mouth for sucking, but this hath not sucked yet, she having no nipples. Here sat a while, and then my wife and I, it being a most curious clear evening, after some rain to-day, took a most excellent tour by coach to Bow, and there drank and back again, and so a little at the office, and home to read a little, and to supper and bed mightily refreshed with this evening's tour, but troubled that it hath hindered my doing some business which I would have done at the office. This day the newes is come that the fleete of the Dutch, of about 20 ships, which come upon our coasts upon design to have intercepted our colliers, but by good luck failed, is gone to the Frith,--[Frith of Forth. See 5th of this month.]--and there lies, perhaps to trouble the Scotch privateers, which have galled them of late very much, it may be more than all our last year's fleete. 4th. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning, among other things a great conflict I had with Sir W. Warren, he bringing a letter to the Board, flatly in words charging them with their delays in passing his accounts, which have been with them these two years, part of which I said was not true, and the other undecent. The whole Board was concerned to take notice of it, as well as myself, but none of them had the honour to do it, but suffered me to do it alone, only Sir W. Batten, who did what he did out of common spite to him. So I writ in the margin of the letter, "Returned as untrue," and, by consent of the Board, did give it him again, and so parted. Home to dinner, and there came a woman whose husband I sent for, one Fisher, about the business of Perkins and Carcasse, and I do think by her I shall find the business as bad as ever it was, and that we shall find Commissioner Pett a rogue, using foul play on behalf of Carcasse. After dinner to the office again, and there late all the afternoon, doing much business, and with great content home to supper and to bed. 5th (Lord's day). Up, and going down to the water side, I met Sir John Robinson, and so with him by coach to White Hall, still a vain, prating, boasting man as any I know, as if the whole City and Kingdom had all its work done by him. He tells me he hath now got a street ordered to be continued, forty feet broad, from Paul's through Cannon Street to the Tower, which will be very fine. He and others this day, where I was in the afternoon, do tell me of at least six or eight fires within these few days; and continually stirs of fires, and real fires there have been, in one place or other, almost ever since the late great fire, as if there was a fate sent people for fire. I walked over the Park to Sir W. Coventry's. Among other things to tell him what I hear of people being forced to sell their bills before September for 35 and 40 per cent. loss, and what is worst, that there are some courtiers that have made a knot to buy them, in hopes of some ways to get money of the King to pay them, which Sir W. Coventry is amazed at, and says we are a people made up for destruction, and will do what he can to prevent all this by getting the King to provide wherewith to pay them. We talked of Tangier, of which he is ashamed; also that it should put the King to this charge for no good in the world: and now a man going over that is a good soldier, but a debauched man, which the place need not to have. And so used these words: "That this place was to the King as my Lord Carnarvon says of wood, that it is an excrescence of the earth provided by God for the payment of debts." Thence away to Sir G. Carteret, whom I find taking physic. I staid talking with him but a little, and so home to church, and heard a dull sermon, and most of the best women of our parish gone into the country, or at least not at church. So home, and find my boy not there, nor was at church, which vexed me, and when he come home I enquired, he tells me he went to see his mother. I send him back to her to send me some token that he was with her. So there come a man with him back of good fashion. He says he saw him with her, which pacified me, but I did soundly threaten him before him, and so to dinner, and then had a little scolding with my wife for not being fine enough to go to the christening to-day, which she excused by being ill, as she was indeed, and cried, but I was in an ill humour and ashamed, indeed, that she should not go dressed. However, friends by and by, and we went by water to Michell's, and there his little house full of his father and mothers and the kindred, hardly any else, and mighty merry in this innocent company, and Betty mighty pretty in bed, but, her head akeing, not very merry, but the company mighty merry, and I with them, and so the child was christened; my wife, his father, and her mother, the witnesses, and the child's name Elizabeth. So we had gloves and wine and wafers, very pretty, and talked and tattled, and so we away by water and up with the tide, she and I and Barker, as high as Barne Eimes, it being a fine evening, and back again to pass the bridges at standing water between 9 and 10 at might, and then home and to supper, and then to bed with much pleasure. This day Sir W. Coventry tells me the Dutch fleete shot some shot, four or five hundred, into Burnt-Island in the Frith, but without any hurt; and so are gone. 6th. Up and angry with my mayds for letting in watermen, and I know not who, anybody that they are acquainted with, into my kitchen to talk and prate with them, which I will not endure. Then out and by coach to my Lord Treasurer's, who continues still very ill, then to Sir Ph. Warwicke's house, and there did a little business about my Tangier tallies, and so to Westminster Hall, and there to the Exchequer to consult about some way of getting our poor Creditors of the Navy (who served in their goods before the late Session of Parliament) paid out of the 11 months tax, which seems to relate only for goods to be then served in, and I think I have found out a way to bring them into the Act, which, if it do, I shall think a good service done. Thence by coach home with Captain Cocke, in our way talking of my Lord Bruncker and his Lady, who are mighty angry with us all of the office, about Carcasse's business, but especially with me, and in great confidence he bids me have a care of him, for he hath said that he would wound me with the person where my greatest interest is. I suppose he means Sir W. Coventry, and therefore I will beware of him, and am glad, though vexed to hear it. So home to dinner, where Creed come, whom I vexed devilishly with telling him a wise man, and good friend of his and mine, did say that he lately went into the country to Hinchingbroke; and, at his coming to town again, hath shifted his lodgings, only to avoid paying to the Poll Bill, which is so true that he blushed, and could not in words deny it, but the fellow did think to have not had it discovered. He is so devilish a subtle false rogue, that I am really weary and afeard of his company, and therefore after dinner left him in the house, and to my office, where busy all the afternoon despatching much business, and in the evening to Sir R. Viner's to adjust accounts there, and so home, where some of our old Navy creditors come to me by my direction to consider of what I have invented for their help as I have said in the morning, and like it mighty well, and so I to the office, where busy late, then home to supper and sing with my wife, who do begin to give me real pleasure with her singing, and so to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and by coach to St. James's; but there find Sir W. Coventry gone out betimes this morning, on horseback, with the King and Duke of York, to Putney-heath,--to run some horses, and so back again to the office, where some witnesses from Chatham which I sent for are come up, and do give shrewd testimonies against Carcasse, which put my Lord into a new flame, and he and I to high words, and so broke up. Then home to dinner, where W. Hewer dined with us, and he and I after dinner to discourse of Carcasses business, wherein I apparently now do manage it wholly against my Lord Bruncker, Sir W. Pen, like a false rogue, shrinking out of the collar, Sir J. Minnes, afoot, being easily led either way, and Sir W. Batten, a malicious fellow that is not able to defend any thing, so that the whole odium must fall on me, which I will therefore beware how I manage that I may not get enemies to no purpose. It vexes me to see with what a company I am mixed, but then it pleases me to see that I am reckoned the chief mover among them, as they do, confess and esteem me in every thing. Thence to the office, and did business, and then by coach to St. James's again, but [Sir] W. Coventry not within, so I wrote something to him, and then straight back again and to Sir W. Batten's, and there talked with him and [Sir] J. Minnes, who are mighty hot in Carcasses business, but their judgment's not to be trusted. However, I will go through with it, or otherwise we shall be all slaves to my Lord Bruncker and his man's impudence. So to the office a little, and then home to supper and to bed, after hearing my wife sing, who is manifestly come to be more musical in her eare than ever I thought she could have been made, which rejoices me to the heart, for I take great delight now to hear her sing. 8th. Up pretty betimes and out of doors, and in Fen Church street met Mr. Lovett going with a picture to me, but I could not stand to discourse or see it, but on to the next hackney coach and so to Sir W. Coventry, where he and I alone a while discoursing of some businesses of the office, and then up to the Duke of York to his chamber with my fellow brethren who are come, and so did our usual weekly business, which was but little to-day, and I was glad that the business of Carcasse was not mentioned because our report was not ready, but I am resolved it shall against the next coming to the Duke of York. Here was discourse about a way of paying our old creditors which did please me, there being hopes of getting them comprehended within the 11 months Tax, and this did give occasion for Sir G. Carteret's and my going to Sir Robert Long to discourse it, who do agree that now the King's Council do say that they may be included in the Act, which do make me very glad, not so much for the sake of the poor men as for the King, for it would have been a ruin to him and his service not to have had a way to have paid the debt. There parted with Sir G. Carteret and into Westminster Hall, where I met with Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Sir Ph. Warwicke's to speak a little about our Tangier business, but to little purpose, my Lord Treasurer being so ill that no business can be done. Thence with Sir H. Cholmly to find out Creed from one lodging to another, which he hath changed so often that there is no finding him, but at last do come to his lodging that he is entering into this day, and do find his goods unlading at the door, by Scotland Yard, and there I set down Sir H. Cholmly, and I away to the 'Change, where spoke about several things, and then going home did meet Mr. Andrews our neighbour, and did speak with him to enquire about the ground behind our house, of which I have a mind to buy enough to make a stable and coach-house; for I do see that my condition do require it, as well as that it is more charge to my purse to live as I do than to keep one, and therefore I am resolved before winter to have one, unless some extraordinary thing happens to hinder me. He promises me to look after it for me, and so I home to dinner, where I find my wife's flageolette master, and I am so pleased with her proceeding, though she hath lost time by not practising, that I am resolved for the encouragement of the man to learn myself a little for a month or so, for I do foresee if God send my wife and I to live, she will become very good company for me. He gone, comes Lovett with my little print of my dear Lady Castlemayne varnished, and the frame prettily done like gold, which pleases me well. He dined with me, but by his discourse I do still see that he is a man of good wit but most strange experience, and acquaintance with all manner of subtleties and tricks, that I do think him not fit for me to keep any acquaintance with him, lest he some time or other shew me a slippery trick. After dinner, he gone, I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and so in the evening to Sir R. Viner's, thinking to finish my accounts there, but am prevented, and so back again home, and late at my office at business, and so home to supper and sing a little with my dear wife, and so to bed. 9th. Up, and to the office, and at noon home to dinner, and then with my wife and Barker by coach, and left them at Charing Cross, and I to St. James's, and there found Sir W. Coventry alone in his chamber, and sat and talked with him more than I have done a great while of several things of the Navy, how our debts and wants do unfit us for doing any thing. He tells me he hears stories of Commissioner Pett, of selling timber to the Navy under other names, which I told him I believe is true, and did give him an instance. He told me also how his clerk Floyd he hath put away for his common idlenesse and ill company, and particularly that yesterday he was found not able to come and attend him, by being run into the arme in a squabble, though he pretends it was done in the streets by strangers, at nine at night, by the Maypole in the Strand. Sir W. Coventry did write to me this morning to recommend him another, which I could find in my heart to do W. Hewer for his good; but do believe he will not part with me, nor have I any mind to let him go. I would my brother were fit for it, I would adventure him there. He insists upon an unmarried man, that can write well, and hath French enough to transcribe it only from a copy, and may write shorthand, if it may be. Thence with him to my Lord Chancellor at Clarendon House, to a Committee for Tangier, where several things spoke of and proceeded on, and particularly sending Commissioners thither before the new Governor goes, which I think will signify as much good as any thing else that hath been done about the place, which is none at all. I did again tell them the badness of their credit by the time their tallies took before they become payable, and their spending more than their fund. They seem well satisfied with what I said, and I am glad that I may be remembered that I do tell them the case plain; but it troubled me that I see them hot upon it, that the Governor shall not be paymaster, which will force me either to the providing one there to do it (which I will never undertake), or leave the employment, which I had rather do. Mightily pleased with the noblenesse of this house, and the brave furniture and pictures, which indeed is very noble, and, being broke up, I with Sir G. Carteret in his coach into Hide Park, to discourse of things, and spent an hour in this manner with great pleasure, telling me all his concernments, and how he is gone through with the purchase for my Lady Jemimah and her husband; how the Treasury is like to come into the hands of a Committee; but that not that, nor anything else, will do our business, unless the King himself will mind his business, and how his servants do execute their parts; he do fear an utter ruin in the state, and that in a little time, if the King do not mind his business soon; that the King is very kind to him, and to my Lord Sandwich, and that he doubts not but at his coming home, which he expects about Michaelmas, he will be very well received. But it is pretty strange how he began again the business of the intention of a marriage of my Lord Hinchingbroke to a daughter of my Lord Burlington's to my Lord Chancellor, which he now tells me as a great secret, when he told it me the last Sunday but one; but it may be the poor man hath forgot, and I do believe he do make it a secret, he telling me that he has not told it to any but myself, end this day to his daughter my Lady Jemimah, who looks to lie down about two months hence. After all this discourse we turned back and to White Hall, where we parted, and I took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, and in our street, at the Three Tuns' Tavern' door, I find a great hubbub; and what was it but two brothers have fallen out, and one killed the other. And who should they be but the two Fieldings; one whereof, Bazill, was page to my Lady Sandwich; and he hath killed the other, himself being very drunk, and so is sent to Newgate. I to the office and did as much business as my eyes would let me, and so home to supper and to bed. 10th. Up and to the office, where a meeting about the Victuallers' accounts all the morning, and at noon all of us to Kent's, at the Three Tuns' Tavern, and there dined well at Mr. Gawden's charge; and, there the constable of the parish did show us the picklocks and dice that were found in the dead man's pocket, and but 18d. in money; and a table-book, wherein were entered the names of several places where he was to go; and among others Kent's house, where he was to dine, and did dine yesterday: and after dinner went into the church, and there saw his corpse with the wound in his left breast; a sad spectacle, and a broad wound, which makes my hand now shake to write of it. His brother intending, it seems, to kill the coachman, who did not please him, this fellow stepped in, and took away his sword; who thereupon took out his knife, which was of the fashion, with a falchion blade, and a little cross at the hilt like a dagger; and with that stabbed him. So to the office again, very busy, and in the evening to Sir Robert Viner's, and there took up all my notes and evened our balance to the 7th of this month, and saw it entered in their ledger, and took a receipt for the remainder of my money as the balance of an account then adjusted. Then to my Lord Treasurer's, but missed Sir Ph. Warwicke, and so back again, and drove hard towards Clerkenwell, [At Newcastle House, Clerkenwell Close, the duke and duchess lived in great state. The house was divided, and let in tenements in the eighteenth century.] thinking to have overtaken my Lady Newcastle, whom I saw before us in her coach, with 100 boys and girls running looking upon her but I could not: and so she got home before I could come up to her. But I will get a time to see her. So to the office and did more business, and then home and sang with pleasure with my wife, and to supper and so to bed. 11th. Up, and being called on by Mr. Commander, he and I out to the ground behind Sir W. Pen's, where I am resolved to take a lease of some of it for a stable and coach [house], and so to keep a coach, unless some change come before I can do it, for I do see it is a greater charge to me now in hackneys, and I am a little dishonoured by going in them. We spoke with him that hath the letting it, and I do believe when I can tell how much it will be fit for me to have we shall go near to agree. So home, and there found my door open, which makes me very angry with Nell, and do think to put her away for it, though it do so go against me to part with a servant that it troubles me more than anything in the world. So to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Goodgroome and Creed, and I have great hopes that my wife will come to sing to my mind. After dinner my wife and Creed and I being entered a hackney coach to go to the other end of the town, we espied The. Turner coming in her coach to see us, which we were surprised at, and so 'light and took her and another young lady home, and there sat and talked with The., she being lately come out of the North after two or three years absence. She is come to put out her sister and brothers to school at Putney. After a little talk, I over Tower Hill with them to a lady's they go to visit, and so away with my wife, whose being dressed this day in fair hair did make me so mad, that I spoke not one word to her in our going, though I was ready to burst with anger. So to White Hall to the Committee of Tangier, where they were discoursing about laws for the civil government of the place, but so dull and so little to the purpose that I fell to slumber, when the fear of being seen by Sir W. Coventry did trouble me much afterwards, but I hope he did not. After that broke up. Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a most pleasant evening, and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in my way home discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks, [Randle Holmes says the ladies wore "false locks set on wyres, to make them stand at a distance from the head," and accompanies the information with the figure of a lady "with a pair of locks and curls which were in great fashion in 1670" (Planche's "Cyclopaedia of Costume;" Vol. i., p. 248).] swearing by God, several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and bending my fist, that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, [A new light is thrown upon this favourite expression of Pepys's when speaking of his wife by the following quotation from a Midland wordbook: "Wretch, n., often used as an expression of endearment or sympathy. Old Woman to Young Master: 'An''ow is the missis to-day, door wretch?' Of a boy going to school a considerable distance off 'I met 'im with a bit o' bread in 'is bag, door wretch'" ("A Glossary of Words and Phrases used in S.E. Worcestershire," by Jesse Salisbury. Published by the English Dialect Society, 1894).] was surprized with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper to bed, vexed. 12th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, to settle some accounts there, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, and we begun calmly, that upon having money to lace her gown for second mourning, she would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not enough, begun to except against, and made her fly out to very high terms and cry, and in her heat told me of keeping company with Mrs. Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see her more--of whom she hath more reason to suspect than I had heretofore of Pembleton--she would never wear white locks more. This vexed me, but I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never to see this woman--at least, to have her here more, but by and by I did give her money to buy lace, and she promised to wear no more white locks while I lived, and so all very good friends as ever, and I to my business, and she to dress herself. Against noon we had a coach ready for us, and she and I to White Hall, where I went to see whether Sir G. Carteret was at dinner or no, our design being to make a visit there, and I found them set down, which troubled me, for I would not then go up, but back to the coach to my wife, and she and I homeward again, and in our way bethought ourselves of going alone, she and I, to go to a French house to dinner, and so enquired out Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an ordinary, and in an ugly street in Covent Garden, did find him at the door, and so we in; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage first, and then a couple of pigeons a la esterve, and then a piece of boeuf-a-la-mode, all exceeding well seasoned, and to our great liking; at least it would have been anywhere else but in this bad street, and in a perriwigg-maker's house; but to see the pleasant and ready attendance that we had, and all things so desirous to please, and ingenious in the people, did take me mightily. Our dinner cost us 6s., and so my wife and I away to Islington, it being a fine day, and thence to Sir G. Whitmore's house, where we 'light, and walked over the fields to Kingsland, and back again; a walk, I think, I have not taken these twenty years; but puts me in mind of my boy's time, when I boarded at Kingsland, and used to shoot with my bow and arrows in these fields. A very pretty place it is; and little did any of my friends think I should come to walk in these fields in this condition and state that I am. Then took coach again, and home through Shoreditch; and at home my wife finds Barker to have been abroad, and telling her so many lies about it, that she struck her, and the wench said she would not stay with her: so I examined the wench, and found her in so many lies myself, that I was glad to be rid of her, and so resolved having her go away to-morrow. So my wife and W. Hewer and I to supper, and then he and I to my chamber to begin the draught of the report from this office to the Duke of York in the case of Mr. Carcasse, which I sat up till midnight to do, and then to bed, believing it necessary to have it done, and to do it plainly, for it is not to be endured the trouble that this rascal hath put us to, and the disgrace he hath brought upon this office. 13th. Up, and when ready, to the office (my wife rising to send away Barker, according to our resolution last night, and she did do it with more clothes than have cost us L10, and 20s. in her purse, which I did for the respect I bear Mr. Falconbridge, otherwise she had not deserved half of it, but I am the more willing to do it to be rid of one that made work and trouble in the house, and had not qualities of any honour or pleasure to me or my family, but what is a strange thing did always declare to her mistress and others that she had rather be put to drudgery and to wash the house than to live as she did like a gentlewoman), and there I and Gibson all the morning making an end of my report against Carcasse, which I think will do our business, but it is a horrid shame such a rogue should give me and all of us this trouble. This morning come Sir H. Cholmly to me for a tally or two; and tells me that he hears that we are by agreement to give the King of France Nova Scotia, which he do not like: but I do not know the importance of it. [Nova Scotia and the adjoining countries were called by the French Acadie. Pepys is not the only official personage whose ignorance of Nova Scotia is on record. A story is current of a prime minister (Duke of Newcastle) who was surprised at hearing Cape Breton was an island. "Egad, I'll go tell the King Cape Breton is an island!" Of the same it is said, that when told Annapolis was in danger, and ought to be defended: "Oh! certainly Annapolis must be defended,-- where is Annapolis?"--B.] Then abroad with my wife to my Lord Treasurer's, and she to her tailor's. I find Sir Philip Warwicke, who I perceive do give over my Lord Treasurer for a man of this world, his pain being grown great again upon him, and all the rest he hath is by narcotiques, and now Sir Philip Warwicke do please himself, like a good man, to tell some of the good ejaculations of my Lord Treasurer concerning the little worth of this world, to buy it with so much pain, and other things fit for a dying man. So finding no business likely to be done here for Tangier, I having a warrant for tallies to be signed, I away to the New Exchange, and there staid a little, and then to a looking-glass shop to consult about covering the wall in my closet over my chimney, which is darkish, with looking-glasses, and then to my wife's tailor's, but find her not ready to go home, but got to buy things, and so I away home to look after my business and finish my report of Carcasse, and then did get Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, and [Sir] W. Pen together, and read it over with all the many papers relating to the business, which they do wonder at, and the trouble I have taken about it, and like the report, so as that they do unanimously resolve to sign it, and stand by it, and after a great deal of discourse of the strange deportment of my Lord Bruncker in this business to withstand the whole board in behalf of such an impudent rogue as this is, I parted, and home to my wife, and supped and talked with her, and then to bed, resolving to rise betimes to-morrow to write fair the report. 14th. Up by 5 o'clock, and when ready down to my chamber, and there with Mr. Fist, Sir W. Batten's clerk, who writes mighty well, writing over our report in Mr. Carcasses business, in which we continued till 9 o'clock, that the office met, and then to the office, where all the morning, and so at noon home to dinner, where Mr. Holliard come and eat with us, who among other things do give me good hopes that we shall give my father some ease as to his rupture when he comes to town, which I expect to-morrow. After dinner comes Fist, and he and I to our report again till 9 o'clock, and then by coach to my Lord Chancellor's, where I met Mr. Povy, expecting the coming of the rest of the Commissioners for Tangier. Here I understand how the two Dukes, both the only sons of the Duke of York, are sick even to danger, and that on Sunday last they were both so ill, as that the poor Duchess was in doubt which would die first: the Duke of Cambridge of some general disease; the other little Duke, whose title I know not, of the convulsion fits, of which he had four this morning. Fear that either of them might be dead, did make us think that it was the occasion that the Duke of York and others were not come to the meeting of the Commission which was designed, and my Lord Chancellor did expect. And it was pretty to observe how, when my Lord sent down to St. James's to see why the Duke of York come not, and Mr. Povy, who went, returned, my Lord (Chancellor) did ask, not how the Princes or the Dukes do, as other people do, but "How do the children?" which methought was mighty great, and like a great man and grandfather. I find every body mightily concerned for these children, as a matter wherein the State is much concerned that they should live. At last it was found that the meeting did fail from no known occasion, at which my Lord Chancellor was angry, and did cry out against Creed that he should give him no notice. So Povy and I went forth, and staid at the gate of the house by the streete, and there stopped to talk about the business of the Treasury of Tangier, which by the badness of our credit, and the resolution that the Governor shall not be paymaster, will force me to provide one there to be my paymaster, which I will never do, but rather lose my place, for I will not venture my fortune to a fellow to be employed so far off, and in that wicked place. Thence home, and with Fist presently to the finishing the writing fair of our report. And by and by to Sir W. Batten's, and there he and I and [Sir] J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Pen did read and sign it with great good liking, and so away to the office again to look over and correct it, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind being pretty well settled, having this report done, and so to supper and to bed. 15th. [This morning my wife had some things brought home by a new woman of the New Exchange, one Mrs. Smith, which she would have me see for her fine hand, and indeed it is a fine hand, and the woman I have observed is a mighty pretty looked woman.] Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to St. James's, and stopt at Temple Bar for Sir J. Minnes to go into the Devil's Taverne to shit, he having drunk whey, and his belly wrought. Being come, we up to the Duke of York's chamber, who, when ready, we to our usual business, and being very glad, we all that signed it, that is, Sir J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and myself, and then Sir G. Carteret and [Sir] W. Coventry, Bruncker, and T. Harvy, and the officers of the Ordnance, Sir J. Duncombe, and Mr. Cholmely presented our report about Carcasse, and did afterwards read it with that success that the Duke of York was for punishing him, not only with turning him out of the office, but with what other punishment he could, which nobody did forward, and so he escaped, only with giving security to secure the King against double tickets of his and other things that he might have wronged the King or subject in before his dismission. Yet, Lord! to see how our silly Lord Bruncker would have stood to have justified this rogue, though to the reproach of all us who have signed, which I shall never forget to have been a most malicious or a most silly act, and I do think it is as much the latter as the other, for none but a fool could have done as this silly Lord hath done in this business. So the Duke of York did like our report, and ordered his being secured till he did give his security, which did fully content me, and will I hope vindicate the office. It happened that my Lord Arlington coming in by chance was at the hearing of all this, which I was not sorry for, for he did move or did second the Duke of York that this roguery of his might be put in the News-book that it might be made publique to satisfy for the wrong the credit of this office hath received by this rogue's occasion. So with utmost content I away with Sir G. Carteret to London, talking all the way; and he do tell me that the business of my Lord Hinchingbroke his marriage with my Lord Burlington's daughter is concluded on by all friends; and that my Lady is now told of it, and do mightily please herself with it; which I am mighty glad of. So home, and there I find that my wife hath been at my desire at the Inne, thinking that my father might be come up with the coach, but he is not come this week, poor man, but will be here the next. At noon to dinner, and then to Sir W. Batten's, where I hear the news how our Embassadors were but ill received at Flushing, nor at Bredah itself, there being only a house and no furniture provided for them, though it be said that they have as much as the French. Here we staid talking a little, and then I to the office about my business, and thence to the office, where busy about my own papers of my office, and by and by comes the office full to examine Sir W. Warren's account, which I do appear mighty fierce in against him, and indeed am, for his accounts are so perplexed that I am sure he cannot but expect to get many a L1000 in it before it passes our hands, but I will not favour him, but save what I can to the King. At his accounts, wherein I very high against him, till late, and then we broke up with little done, and so broke up, and I to my office, where late doing of business, and then home to supper and to bed. News still that my Lord Treasurer is so ill as not to be any man of this world; and it is said that the Treasury shall be managed by Commission. I would to God Sir G. Carteret, or my Lord Sandwich, be in it! But the latter is the more fit for it. This day going to White Hall, Sir W. Batten did tell me strange stories of Sir W. Pen, how he is already ashamed of the fine coach which his son-in-law and daughter have made, and indeed it is one of the most ridiculous things for people of their low, mean fashion to make such a coach that ever I saw. He tells me how his people come as they do to mine every day to borrow one thing or other, and that his Lady hath been forced to sell some coals (in the late dear time) only to enable her to pay money that she hath borrowed of Griffin to defray her family expense, which is a strange story for a rogue that spends so much money on clothes and other occasions himself as he do, but that which is most strange, he tells me that Sir W. Pen do not give L6000, as is usually [supposed], with his daughter to him, and that Mr. Lowder is come to use the tubb, that is to bathe and sweat himself, and that his lady is come to use the tubb too, which he takes to be that he hath, and hath given her the pox, but I hope it is not so, but, says Sir W. Batten, this is a fair joynture, that he hath made her, meaning by that the costs the having of a bath. 16th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and, among other things, comes in Mr. Carcasse, and after many arguings against it, did offer security as was desired, but who should this be but Mr. Powell, that is one other of my Lord Bruncker's clerks; and I hope good use will be made of it. But then he began to fall foul upon the injustice of the Board, which when I heard I threatened him with being laid by the heels, which my Lord Bruncker took up as a thing that I could not do upon the occasion he had given, but yet did own that it was ill said of him. I made not many words of it, but have let him see that I can say what I will without fear of him, and so we broke off, leaving the bond to be drawn by me, which I will do in the best manner I can. At noon, this being Holy Thursday, that is, Ascension Day, when the boys go on procession round the parish, we were to go to the Three Tuns' Tavern, to dine with the rest of the parish; where all the parish almost was, Sir Andrew Rickard and others; and of our house, J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and myself; and Mr. Mills did sit uppermost at the table. Here we were informed that the report of our Embassadors being ill received in their way to Bredah is not true, but that they are received with very great civility, which I am glad to hear. But that that did vex me was that among all us there should come in Mr. Carcasse to be a guest for his money (5s. a piece) as well as any of us. This did vex me, and I would have gone, and did go to my house, thinking to dine at home, but I was called away from them, and so we sat down, and to dinner. Among other things Sir John Fredericke and Sir R. Ford did talk of Paul's School, which, they tell me, must be taken away; and then I fear it will be long before another place, as they say is promised, is found; but they do say that the honour of their company is concerned in the doing of it, and that it is a thing that they are obliged to do. Thence home, and to my office, where busy; anon at 7 at night I and my wife and Sir W. Pen in his coach to Unthanke's, my wife's tailor, for her to speak one word, and then we to my Lord Treasurer's, where I find the porter crying, and suspected it was that my Lord is dead; and, poor Lord! we did find that he was dead just now; and the crying of the fellow did so trouble me, that considering I was not likely to trouble him any more, nor have occasion to give any more anything, I did give him 3s.; but it may be, poor man, he hath lost a considerable hope by the death of his Lord, whose house will be no more frequented as before, and perhaps I may never come thither again about any business. There is a good man gone: and I pray God that the Treasury may not be worse managed by the hand or hands it shall now be put into; though, for certain, the slowness, though he was of great integrity, of this man, and remissness, have gone as far to undo the nation, as anything else that hath happened; and yet, if I knew all the difficulties that he hath lain under, and his instrument Sir Philip Warwicke, I might be brought to another mind. Thence we to Islington, to the Old House, and there eat and drank, and then it being late and a pleasant evening, we home, and there to my chamber, and to bed. It is remarkable that this afternoon Mr. Moore come to me, and there, among other things, did tell me how Mr. Moyer, the merchant, having procured an order from the King and Duke of York and Council, with the consent of my Lord Chancellor, and by assistance of Lord Arlington, for the releasing out of prison his brother, Samuel Moyer, who was a great man in the late times in Haberdashers'-hall, and was engaged under hand and seal to give the man that obtained it so much in behalf of my Lord Chancellor; but it seems my Lady Duchess of Albemarle had before undertaken it for so much money, but hath not done it. The Duke of Albemarle did the next day send for this Moyer, to tell him, that notwithstanding this order of the King and Council's being passed for release of his brother, yet, if he did not consider the pains of some friends of his, he would stop that order. This Moyer being an honest, bold man, told him that he was engaged to the hand that had done the thing to give him a reward; and more he would not give, nor could own any kindness done by his Grace's interest; and so parted. The next day Sir Edward Savage did take the said Moyer in tax about it, giving ill words of this Moyer and his brother; which he not being able to bear, told him he would give to the person that had engaged him what he promised, and not any thing to any body else; and that both he and his brother were as honest men as himself, or any man else; and so sent him going, and bid him do his worst. It is one of the most extraordinary cases that ever I saw or understood; but it is true. This day Mr. Sheply is come to town and to see me, and he tells me my father is very well only for his pain, so that he is not able to stir; but is in great pain. I would to God that he were in town that I might have what help can be got for him, for it troubles me to have him live in that condition of misery if I can help it. 17th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning upon some accounts of Mr. Gawden's, and at noon to the Three Tuns to dinner with Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, W. Batten, W. Pen, and T. Harvy, where very merry, and my Lord Bruncker in appearance as good friends as ever, though I know he has a hatred to me in heart. After dinner to my house, where Mr. Sheply dined, and we drank and talked together. He, poor man, hath had his arm broke the late frost, slipping in going over Huntingdon Bridge. He tells me that jasper Trice and Lewes Phillips and Mr. Ashfield are gone from Brampton, and he thinks chiefly from the height of Sir J. Bernard's carriage, who carries all things before him there, which they cannot bear with, and so leave the town, and this is a great instance of the advantage a man of the law hath over all other people, which would make a man to study it a little. Sheply being gone, there come the flageolet master, who having had a bad bargain of teaching my wife by the year, she not practising so much as she should do, I did think that the man did deserve some more consideration, and so will give him an opportunity of 20s. a month more, and he shall teach me, and this afternoon I begun, and I think it will be a few shillings well spent. Then to Sir R. Viner's with 600 pieces of gold to turn into silver, for the enabling me to answer Sir G. Carteret's L3000; which he now draws all out of my hand towards the paying for a purchase he hath made for his son and my Lady Jemimah, in Northamptonshire, of Sir Samuel Luke, in a good place; a good house, and near all her friends; which is a very happy thing. Thence to St. James's, and there spoke with Sir W. Coventry, and give him some account of some things, but had little discourse with him, there being company with him, and so directly home again and then to my office, doing some business, and so to my house, and with my wife to practice on the flageolet a little, and with great pleasure I see she can readily hit her notes, but only want of practice makes her she cannot go through a whole tune readily. So to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then to dinner, and after dinner to the office to dictate some letters, and then with my wife to Sir W. Turner's to visit The., but she being abroad we back again home, and then I to the office, finished my letters, and then to walk an hour in the garden talking with my wife, whose growth in musique do begin to please me mightily, and by and by home and there find our Luce drunk, and when her mistress told her of it would be gone, and so put up some of her things and did go away of her accord, nobody pressing her to it, and the truth is, though she be the dirtiest, homeliest servant that ever I kept, yet I was sorry to have her go, partly through my love to my servants, and partly because she was a very drudging, working wench, only she would be drunk. But that which did a little trouble me was that I did hear her tell her mistress that she would tell her master something before she was aware of her that she would be sorry to have him know; but did it in such a silly, drunken manner, that though it trouble me a little, yet not knowing what to suspect she should know, and not knowing well whether she said it to her mistress or Jane, I did not much think of it. So she gone, we to supper and to bed, my study being made finely clean. 19th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber to set some papers in order, and then, to church, where my old acquaintance, that dull fellow, Meriton, made a good sermon, and hath a strange knack of a grave, serious delivery, which is very agreeable. After church to White Hall, and there find Sir G. Carteret just set down to dinner, and I dined with them, as I intended, and good company, the best people and family in the world I think. Here was great talk of the good end that my Lord Treasurer made; closing his owne eyes and setting his mouth, and bidding adieu with the greatest content and freedom in the world; and is said to die with the cleanest hands that ever any Lord Treasurer did. After dinner Sir G. Carteret and I alone, and there, among other discourse, he did declare that he would be content to part with his place of Treasurer of the Navy upon good terms. I did propose my Lord Belasses as a man likely to buy it, which he listened to, and I did fully concur and promote his design of parting with it, for though I would have my father live, I would not have him die Treasurer of the Navy, because of the accounts which must be uncleared at his death, besides many other circumstances making it advisable for him to let it go. He tells me that he fears all will come to naught in the nation soon if the King do not mind his business, which he do not seem likely to do. He says that the Treasury will be managed for a while by a Commission, whereof he thinks my Lord Chancellor for the honour of it, and my Lord Ashly, and the two Secretaries will be, and some others he knows not. I took leave of him, and directly by water home, and there to read the life of Mr. Hooker, which pleases me as much as any thing I have read a great while, and by and by comes Mr. Howe to see us, and after him a little Mr. Sheply, and so we all to talk, and, Mercer being there, we some of us to sing, and so to supper, a great deal of silly talk. Among other things, W. Howe told us how the Barristers and Students of Gray's Inne rose in rebellion against the Benchers the other day, who outlawed them, and a great deal of do; but now they are at peace again. They being gone, I to my book again, and made an end of Mr. Hooker's Life, and so to bed. 20th. Up betimes, and comes my flagelette master to set me a new tune, which I played presently, and shall in a month do as much as I desire at it. He being gone, I to several businesses in my chamber, and then by coach to the Commissioners of Excise, and so to Westminster Hall, and there spoke with several persons I had to do with. Here among other news, I hear that the Commissioners for the Treasury were named by the King yesterday; but who they are nobody could tell: but the persons are the Lord Chancellor, the two Secretaries, Lord Ashly, and others say Sir W. Coventry and Sir John Duncomb, but all conclude the Duke of Albemarle; but reports do differ, but will be known in a day or two. Having done my business, I then homeward, and overtook Mr. Commander; so took him into a coach with me, and he and I into Lincoln's Inne Fields, there to look upon the coach-houses to see what ground is necessary for coach-house and horses, because of that that I am going about to do, and having satisfied myself in this he and I to Mr. Hide's to look upon the ground again behind our house, and concluded upon his going along with us to-morrow to see some stables, he thinking that we demand more than is necessary. So away home, and then, I, it being a broken day, and had power by my vows, did walk abroad, first through the Minorys, the first time I have been over the Hill to the postern-gate, and seen the place, since the houses were pulled down about that side of the Tower, since the fire, to find where my young mercer with my pretty little woman to his wife lives, who lived in Lumbard streete, and I did espy them, but took no notice now of them, but may do hereafter. Thence down to the Old Swan, and there saw Betty Michell, whom I have not seen since her christening. But, Lord! how pretty she is, and looks as well as ever I saw her, and her child (which I am fain to seem very fond of) is pretty also, I think, and will be. Thence by water to Westminster Hall, and there walked a while talking at random with Sir W. Doyly, and so away to Mrs. Martin's lodging, who was gone before, expecting me, and there je hazer what je vellem cum her and drank, and so by coach home (but I have forgot that I did in the morning go to the Swan, and there tumbling of la little fille, son uncle did trouver her cum su neckcloth off, which I was ashamed of, but made no great matter of it, but let it pass with a laugh), and there spent the evening with my wife at our flagelets, and so to supper, and after a little reading to bed. My wife still troubled with her cold. I find it everywhere now to be a thing doubted whether we shall have peace or no, and the captain of one of our ships that went with the Embassadors do say, that the seamen of Holland to his hearing did defy us, and called us English dogs, and cried out against peace, and that the great people there do oppose peace, though he says the common people do wish it. 21st. Up and to the office, where sat all the morning. At noon dined at home with my wife and find a new girle, a good big girle come to us, got by Payne to be our girle; and his daughter Nell we make our cook. This wench's name is Mary, and seems a good likely maid. After dinner I with Mr. Commander and Mr. Hide's brother to Lincolne's Inne Fields, and there viewed several coach-houses, and satisfied ourselves now fully in it, and then there parted, leaving the rest to future discourse between us. Thence I home; but, Lord! how it went against my heart to go away from the very door of the Duke's play-house, and my Lady Castlemayne's coach, and many great coaches there, to see "The Siege of Rhodes." I was very near making a forfeit, but I did command myself, and so home to my office, and there did much business to my good content, much better than going to a play, and then home to my wife, who is not well with her cold, and sat and read a piece of Grand Cyrus in English by her, and then to my chamber and to supper, and so to bed. This morning the Captain come from Holland did tell us at the board what I have said he reported yesterday. This evening after I come from the office Mrs. Turner come to see my wife and me, and sit and talk with us, and so, my wife not being well and going to bed, Mrs. Turner and I sat up till 12 at night talking alone in my chamber, and most of our discourse was of our neighbours. As to my Lord Bruncker, she says how Mrs. Griffin, our housekeeper's wife, hath it from his maid, that comes to her house often, that they are very poor; that the other day Mrs. Williams was fain to send a jewell to pawn; that their maid hath said herself that she hath got L50 since she come thither, and L17 by the payment of one bill; that they have a most lewd and nasty family here in the office, but Mrs. Turner do tell me that my Lord hath put the King to infinite charge since his coming thither in alterations, and particularly that Mr. Harper at Deptford did himself tell her that my Lord hath had of Foly, the ironmonger, L50 worth in locks and keys for his house, and that it is from the fineness of them, having some of L4 and L5 a lock, such as is in the Duke's closet; that he hath several of these; that he do keep many of her things from her of her own goods, and would have her bring a bill into the office for them; that Mrs. Griffin do say that he do not keep Mrs. Williams now for love, but need, he having another whore that he keeps in Covent Garden; that they do owe money everywhere almost for every thing, even Mrs. Shipman for her butter and cheese about L3, and after many demands cannot get it. Mrs. Turner says she do believe their coming here is only out of a belief of getting purchase by it, and that their servants (which was wittily said of her touching his clerks) do act only as privateers, no purchase, no pay. And in my conscience she is in the right. Then we fell to talk of Sir W. Pen, and his family and rise. She [Mrs. Turner] says that he was a pityfull [fellow] when she first knew them; that his lady was one of the sourest, dirty women, that ever she saw; that they took two chambers, one over another, for themselves and child, in Tower Hill; that for many years together they eat more meals at her house than at their own; did call brothers and sisters the husbands and wives; that her husband was godfather to one, and she godmother to another (this Margaret) of their children, by the same token that she was fain to write with her own hand a letter to Captain Twiddy, to stand for a godfather for her; that she brought my Lady, who then was a dirty slattern, with her stockings hanging about her heels, so that afterwards the people of the whole Hill did say that Mrs. Turner had made Mrs. Pen a gentlewoman, first to the knowledge of my Lady Vane, Sir Henry's lady, and him to the knowledge of most of the great people that then he sought to, and that in short his rise hath been his giving of large bribes, wherein, and she agrees with my opinion and knowledge before therein, he is very profuse. This made him General; this got him out of the Tower when he was in; and hath brought him into what he is now, since the King's coming in: that long ago, indeed, he would drink the King's health privately with Mr. Turner; but that when he saw it fit to turn Roundhead, and was offered by Mr. Turner to drink the King's health, he answered "No;" he was changed, and now, he that would make him drink the King's health, or any health but the Protector's and the State's, or to that purpose, he would be the first man should sheath his sword in his guts. That at the King's coming in, he did send for her husband, and told him what a great man Sir W. Coventry was like to be, and that he having all the records in his hands of the Navy, if he would transcribe what was of most present use of the practice of the Navy, and give them him to give Sir W. Coventry from him, it would undoubtedly do his business of getting him a principal officer's place; that her husband was at L5 charge to get these presently writ; that Sir W. Pen did give them Sir W. Coventry as from himself, which did set him up with W. Coventry, and made him what he is, and never owned any thing of Mr. Turner in them; by which he left him in the lurch, though he did promise the Duke of Albemarle to do all that was possible, and made no question of Mr. Turner's being what he desired; and when afterwards, too, did propose to him the getting of the Purveyor's place for him, he did tell Mr. Turner it was necessary to present Sir W. Coventry 100 pieces, which he did, and W. Coventry took 80 of them: so that he was W. Coventry's mere broker, as Sir W. Batten and my Lady did once tell my Lady Duchess of Albemarle, in the case of Mr. Falconer, whom W. Pen made to give W. Coventry L200 for his place of Clerk of the Rope Yard of Woolwich, and to settle L80 a year upon his daughter Pegg, after the death of his wife, and a gold watch presently to his wife. Mrs. Turner do tell me that my Lady and Pegg have themselves owned to her that Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen had private marks to write to one another by, that when they in appearance writ a fair letter in behalf of anybody, that they had a little mark to show they meant it only in shew: this, these silly people did confess themselves of him. She says that their son, Mr. William Pen, did tell her that his father did observe the commanders did make their addresses to me and applications, but they should know that his father should be the chief of the office, and that she hath observed that Sir W. Pen never had a kindness to her son, since W. Pen told her son that he had applied himself to me. That his rise hath been by her and her husband's means, and that it is a most inconceivable thing how this man can have the face to use her and her family with the neglect that he do them. That he was in the late war a most devilish plunderer, and that got him his estate, which he hath in Ireland, and nothing else, and that he hath always been a very liberal man in his bribes, that upon his coming into this part of the Controller's business wherein he is, he did send for T. Willson and told him how against his knowledge he was put in, and had so little wit as to say to him, "This will make the pot boyle, will it not, Mr. Willson? will it not make the pot boyle?" and do offer him to come in and do his business for him, and he would reward him. This Mr. Willson did come and tell her presently, he having been their servant, and to this day is very faithful to them. That her husband's not being forward to make him a bill for Rere Admirall's pay and Generall's pay both at the same time after he was first made Generall did first give him occasion of keeping a distance from him, since which they have never been great friends, Pen having by degrees been continually growing higher and higher, till now that he do wholly slight them and use them only as servants. Upon the whole, she told me stories enough to confirm me that he is the most false fellow that ever was born of woman, and that so she thinks and knows him to be. 22nd. Up, and by water to White Hall to Sir G. Carteret, who tells me now for certain how the Commission for the Treasury is disposed of: viz., to Duke of Albemarle, Lord Ashly, Sir W. Coventry, Sir John Duncomb, and Sir Thomas Clifford: at which, he says, all the whole Court is disturbed; it having been once concluded otherwise into the other hands formerly mentioned in yesterday's notes, but all of a sudden the King's choice was changed, and these are to be the men; the first of which is only for a puppet to give honour to the rest. He do presage that these men will make it their business to find faults in the management of the late Lord Treasurer, and in discouraging the bankers: but I am, whatever I in compliance do say to him, of another mind, and my heart is very glad of it, for I do expect they will do much good, and that it is the happiest thing that hath appeared to me for the good of the nation since the King come in. Thence to St. James's, and up to the Duke of York; and there in his chamber Sir W. Coventry did of himself take notice of this business of the Treasury, wherein he is in the Commission, and desired that I would be thinking of any thing fit for him to be acquainted with for the lessening of charge and bettering of our credit, and what our expence bath been since the King's coming home, which he believes will be one of the first things they shall enquire into: which I promised him, and from time to time, which he desires, will give him an account of what I can think of worthy his knowledge. I am mighty glad of this opportunity of professing my joy to him in what choice the King hath made, and the hopes I have that it will save the kingdom from perishing and how it do encourage me to take pains again, after my having through despair neglected it! which he told me of himself that it was so with him, that he had given himself up to more ease than ever he expected, and that his opinion of matters was so bad, that there was no publick employment in the kingdom should have been accepted by him but this which the King hath now given him; and therein he is glad, in hopes of the service he may do therein; and in my conscience he will. So into the Duke of York's closet; and there, among other things, Sir W. Coventry did take notice of what he told me the other day, about a report of Commissioner Pett's dealing for timber in the Navy, and selling it to us in other names; and, besides his own proof, did produce a paper I had given him this morning about it, in the case of Widow Murford and Morecocke, which was so handled, that the Duke of York grew very angry, and commanded us presently to fall into the examination of it, saying that he would not trust a man for his sake that lifts up the whites of his eyes. And it was declared that if he be found to have done so, he should be reckoned unfit to serve the Navy; and I do believe he will be turned out; and it was, methought, a worthy saying of Sir W. Coventry to the Duke of York, "Sir," says he, "I do not make this complaint out of any disrespect to Commissioner Pett, but because I do love to do these things fairly and openly." Thence I to Westminster Hall with Sir G. Carteret to the Chequer Chamber to hear our cause of the Lindeboome prize there before the Lords of Appeal, where was Lord Ashly, Arlington, Barkely, and Sir G. Carteret, but the latter three signified nothing, the former only either minding or understanding what was said. Here was good pleading of Sir Walter Walker's and worth hearing, but little done in our business. Thence by coach to the Red Lyon, thinking to meet my father, but I come too soon, but my wife is gone out of town to meet him. I am in great pain, poor man, for him, lest he should come up in pain to town. So I staid not, but to the 'Change, and there staid a little, where most of the newes is that the Swedes are likely to fall out with the Dutch, which we wish, but how true I know not. Here I met my uncle Wight, the second day he hath been abroad, having been sick these two months even to death, but having never sent to me even in the greatest of his danger. I do think my Aunt had no mind I should come, and so I never went to see him, but neither he took notice of it to me, nor I made any excuse for it to him, but past two or three How do you's, and so parted and so home, and by and by comes my poor father, much better than I expected, being at ease by fits, according as his truss sits, and at another time in as much pain. I am mighty glad to see him come well to town. So to dinner, where Creed comes. After dinner my wife and father abroad, and Creed and I also by water, and parted at the Temple stairs, where I landed, and to the King's house, where I did give 18d., and saw the two last acts of "The Goblins," a play I could not make any thing of by these two acts, but here Knipp spied me out of the tiring-room, and come to the pit door, and I out to her, and kissed her, she only coming to see me, being in a country-dress, she, and others having, it seemed, had a country-dance in the play, but she no other part: so we parted, and I into the pit again till it was done. The house full, but I had no mind to be seen, but thence to.my cutler's, and two or three other places on small, errands, and so home, where my father and wife come home, and pretty well my father, who to supper and betimes to bed at his country hours. I to Sir W. Batten's, and there got some more part of my dividend of the prize-money. So home and to set down in writing the state of the account, and then to supper, and my wife to her flageolet, wherein she did make out a tune so prettily of herself, that I was infinitely pleased beyond whatever I expected from her, and so to bed. This day coming from Westminster with W. Batten, we saw at White Hall stairs a fisher-boat, with a sturgeon that he had newly catched in the River; which I saw, but it was but a little one; but big enough to prevent my mistake of that for a colt, if ever I become Mayor of Huntingdon! [During a very high flood in the meadows between Huntingdon and Godmanchester, something was seen floating, which the Godmanchester people thought was a black pig, and the Huntingdon folk declared it was a sturgeon; when rescued from the waters, it proved to be a young donkey. This mistake led to the one party being styled "Godmanchester black pigs," and the other "Huntingdon sturgeons," terms not altogether forgotten at this day. Pepys's colt must be taken to be the colt of an ass.--B.] 23rd. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home, and with my father dined, and, poor man! he hath put off his travelling-clothes to-day, and is mighty spruce, and I love to see him cheerful. After dinner I to my chamber, and my wife and I to talk, and by and by they tell Mrs. Daniel would speak with me, so I down to the parlour to her, and sat down together and talked about getting her husband a place .... I do promise, and mean to do what kindness I can to her husband. After having been there hasti je was ashamed de peur that my people pensait.... de it, or lest they might espy us through some trees, we parted and I to the office, and presently back home again, and there was asked by my wife, I know not whether simply or with design, how I come to look as I did, car ego was in much chaleur et de body and of animi, which I put off with the heat of the season, and so to other business, but I had some fear hung upon me lest alcuno had sidi decouvert. So to the office, and then to Sir R. Viner's about some part of my accounts now going on with him, and then home and ended my letters, and then to supper and my chamber to settle many things there, and then to bed. This noon I was on the 'Change, where I to my astonishment hear, and it is in the Gazette, that Sir John Duncomb is sworn yesterday a Privy-councillor. This day I hear also that last night the Duke of Kendall, second son of the Duke of York, did die; and that the other, Duke of Cambridge, continues very ill still. This afternoon I had opportunity para jouer with Mrs. Pen, tokendo her mammailles and baisando elle, being sola in the casa of her pater, and she fort willing. 24th. Up, and to the office, where, by and by, by appointment, we met upon Sir W. Warren's accounts, wherein I do appear in every thing as much as I can his enemy, though not so far but upon good conditions from him I may return to be his friend, but I do think it necessary to do what I do at present. We broke off at noon without doing much, and then home, where my wife not well, but yet engaged by invitation to go with Sir W. Pen. I got her to go with him by coach to Islington to the old house, where his lady and Madam Lowther, with her exceeding fine coach and mean horses, and her mother-in-law, did meet us, and two of Mr. Lowther's brothers, and here dined upon nothing but pigeon-pyes, which was such a thing for him to invite all the company to, that I was ashamed of it. But after dinner was all our sport, when there come in a juggler, who, indeed, did shew us so good tricks as I have never seen in my life, I think, of legerdemaine, and such as my wife hath since seriously said that she would not believe but that he did them by the help of the devil. Here, after a bad dinner, and but ordinary company, saving that I discern good parts in one of the sons, who, methought, did take me up very prettily in one or two things that I said, and I was so sensible of it as to be a caution to me hereafter how I do venture to speak more than is necessary in any company, though, as I did now, I do think them incapable to censure me. We broke up, they back to Walthamstow, and only my wife and I and Sir W. Pen to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mayden Queene," which, though I have often seen, yet pleases me infinitely, it being impossible, I think, ever to have the Queen's part, which is very good and passionate, and Florimel's part, which is the most comicall that ever was made for woman, ever done better than they two are by young Marshall and Nelly. Home, where I spent the evening with my father and wife, and late at night some flagillette with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, and there come Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and dined with me, telling me that the Duke of Cambridge continues very ill, so as they do despair of his living. So to the office again, where all the afternoon. About 4 o'clock comes Mrs. Pierce to see my wife, and I into them, and there find Pierce very fine, and in her own hair, which do become her, and so says my wife, ten times better than lighter hair, her complexion being mighty good. With them talked a little, and was invited by her to come with my wife on Wednesday next in the evening, to be merry there, which we shall do. Then to the office again, where dispatched a great deal of business till late at night, to my great content, and then home and with my wife to our flageolets a little, and so to supper and to bed, after having my chamber a little wiped up. 26th (Lord's day). Up sooner than usual on Sundays, and to walk, it being exceeding hot all night (so as this night I begun to leave off my waistcoat this year) and this morning, and so to walk in the garden till toward church time, when my wife and I to church, where several strangers of good condition come to our pew, where the pew was full. At noon dined at home, where little Michell come and his wife, who continues mighty pretty. After dinner I by water alone to Westminster, where, not finding Mrs. Martin within, did go towards the parish church, and in the way did overtake her, who resolved to go into the church with her that she was going with (Mrs. Hargrave, the little crooked woman, the vintner's wife of the Dog) and then go out again, and so I to the church, and seeing her return did go out again myself, but met with Mr. Howlett, who, offering me a pew in the gallery, I had no excuse but up with him I must go, and then much against my will staid out the whole church in pain while she expected me at home, but I did entertain myself with my perspective glass up and down the church, by which I had the great pleasure of seeing and gazing at a great many very fine women; and what with that, and sleeping, I passed away the time till sermon was done, and then to Mrs. Martin, and there staid with her an hour or two, and there did what I would with her, and after been here so long I away to my boat, and up with it as far as Barne Elmes, reading of Mr. Evelyn's late new book against Solitude, in which I do not find much excess of good matter, though it be pretty for a bye discourse. I walked the length of the Elmes, and with great pleasure saw some gallant ladies and people come with their bottles, and basket, and chairs, and form, to sup under the trees, by the waterside, which was mighty pleasant. I to boat again and to my book, and having done that I took another book, Mr. Boyle's of Colours, and there read, where I laughed, finding many fine things worthy observation, and so landed at the Old Swan, and so home, where I find my poor father newly come out of an unexpected fit of his pain, that they feared he would have died. They had sent for me to White Hall and all up and down, and for Mr. Holliard also, who did come, but W. Hewer being here did I think do the business in getting my father's bowel, that was fallen down, into his body again, and that which made me more sensible of it was that he this morning did show me the place where his bowel did use to fall down and swell, which did trouble me to see. But above all things the poor man's patience under it, and his good heart and humour, as soon as he was out of it, did so work upon me, that my heart was sad to think upon his condition, but do hope that a way will be found by a steel truss to relieve him. By and by to supper, all our discourse about Brampton, and my intentions to build there if I could be free of my engagement to my Uncle Thomas and his son, that they may not have what I have built, against my will, to them whether I will or no, in case of me and my brothers being without heirs male; which is the true reason why I am against laying out money upon that place, together with my fear of some inconvenience by being so near Hinchingbroke; being obliged to be a servant to that family, and subject to what expence they shall cost me; and to have all that I shall buy, or do, esteemed as got by the death of my uncle, when indeed what I have from him is not worth naming. After supper to read and then to bed. 27th. Up, and there comes Greeting my flagelette master, and I practised with him. There come also Richardson, the bookbinder, with one of Ogilby's Bibles in quires for me to see and buy, it being Mr. Cade's, my stationer's; but it is like to be so big that I shall not use it, it being too great to stir up and down without much trouble, which I shall not like nor do intend it for. So by water to White Hall, and there find Sir G. Carteret at home, and talked with him a while, and find that the new Commissioners of the Treasury did meet this morning. So I to find out Sir W. Coventry, but missed, only I do hear that they have chosen Sir G. Downing for their Secretary; and I think in my conscience they have done a great thing in it; for he is a business active man, and values himself upon having of things do well under his hand; so that I am mightily pleased in their choice. Here I met Mr. Pierce, who tells me that he lately met Mr. Carcasse, who do mightily inveigh against me, for that all that has been done against him he lays on me, and I think he is in the right and I do own it, only I find what I suspected, that he do report that Sir W. Batten and I, who never agreed before, do now, and since this business agree even more, which I did fear would be thought, and therefore will find occasion to undeceive the world in that particular by promoting something shortly against [Sir] W. Batten. So home, and there to sing with my wife before dinner, and then to dinner, and after dinner comes Carcasse to speak with me, but I would not give him way to enlarge on anything, but he would have begun to have made a noise how I have undone him and used all the wit I could in the drawing up of his report, wherein he told me I had taken a great deal of pains to undo him. To which I did not think fit to enter into any answer, but dismissed him, and so I again up to my chamber, vexed at the impudence of this rogue, but I think I shall be wary enough for him: So to my chamber, and there did some little business, and then abroad, and stopped at the Bear-garden-stairs, there to see a prize fought. But the house so full there was no getting in there, so forced to go through an alehouse into the pit, where the bears are baited; and upon a stool did see them fight, which they did very furiously, a butcher and a waterman. The former had the better all along, till by and by the latter dropped his sword out of his hand, and the butcher, whether not seeing his sword dropped I know not, but did give him a cut over the wrist, so as he was disabled to fight any longer. But, Lord! to see how in a minute the whole stage was full of watermen to revenge the foul play, and the butchers to defend their fellow, though most blamed him; and there they all fell to it to knocking down and cutting many on each side. It was pleasant to see, but that I stood in the pit, and feared that in the tumult I might get some hurt. At last the rabble broke up, and so I away to White Hall and so to St. James's, but I found not Sir W. Coventry, so into the Park and took a turn or two, it being a most sweet day, and so by water home, and with my father and wife walked in the garden, and then anon to supper and to bed. The Duke of Cambridge very ill still. 28th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, where I find Sir W. Coventry, and he desirous to have spoke with me. It was to read over a draught of a letter which he hath made for his brother Commissioners and him to sign to us, demanding an account of the whole business of the Navy accounts; and I perceive, by the way he goes about it, that they will do admirable things. He tells me they have chosen Sir G. Downing their Secretary, who will be as fit a man as any in the world; and said, by the by, speaking of the bankers being fearful of Sir G. Downing's being Secretary, he being their enemy, that they did not intend to be ruled by their Secretary, but do the business themselves. My heart is glad to see so great hopes of good to the nation as will be by these men; and it do me good to see Sir W. Coventry so cheerfull as he now is on the same score. Thence home, and there fell to seeing my office and closet there made soundly clean, and the windows cleaned. At which all the morning, and so at noon to dinner. After dinner my wife away down with Jane and W. Hewer to Woolwich, in order to a little ayre and to lie there to-night, and so to gather May-dew to-morrow morning, [If we are to credit the following paragraph, extracted from the "Morning Post" of May 2nd, 1791, the virtues of May dew were then still held in some estimation; for it records that "on the day preceding, according to annual and superstitious custom, a number of persons went into the fields, and bathed their faces with the dew on the grass, under the idea that it would render them beautiful" (Hone's "Every Day Book," vol. ii., p. 611). Aubrey speaks of May dew as "a great dissolvent" ("Miscellanies," p. 183).--B.] which Mrs. Turner hath taught her as the only thing in the world to wash her face with; and I am contented with it. Presently comes Creed, and he and I by water to Fox-hall, and there walked in Spring Garden. A great deal of company, and the weather and garden pleasant: that it is very pleasant and cheap going thither, for a man may go to spend what he will, or nothing, all is one. But to hear the nightingale and other birds, and here fiddles, and there a harp, and here a Jew's trump, and here laughing, and there fine people walking, is mighty divertising. Among others, there were two pretty women alone, that walked a great while, which being discovered by some idle gentlemen, they would needs take them up; but to see the poor ladies how they were put to it to run from them, and they after them, and sometimes the ladies put themselves along with other company, then the other drew back; at last, the last did get off out of the house, and took boat and away. I was troubled to see them abused so; and could have found in my heart, as little desire of fighting as I have, to have protected the ladies. So by water, set Creed down at White Hall, and I to the Old Swan, and so home. My father gone to bed, and wife abroad at Woolwich, I to Sir W. Pen, where he and his Lady and Pegg and pretty Mrs. Lowther her sister-in-law at supper, where I sat and talked, and Sir W. Pen, half drunk, did talk like a fool and vex his wife, that I was half pleased and half vexed to see so much folly and rudeness from him, and so late home to bed. 29th. Up, and by coach to St. James's, where by and by up to the Duke of York, where, among other things, our parson Mills having the offer of another benefice by Sir Robert Brookes, who was his pupil, he by my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] is made one of the Duke's Chaplains, which qualifies him for two livings. But to see how slightly such things are done, the Duke of York only taking my Lord Barkeley's word upon saying, that we the officers of the Navy do say he is a good man and minister of our parish, and the Duke of York admits him to kiss his hand, but speaks not one word to him; but so a warrant will be drawn from the Duke of York to qualify him, and there's an end of it. So we into the Duke's closett, where little to do, but complaint for want of money and a motion of Sir W. Coventry's that we should all now bethink ourselves of lessening charge to the King, which he said was the only way he saw likely to put the King out of debt, and this puts me upon thinking to offer something presently myself to prevent its being done in a worse manner without me relating to the Victualling business, which, as I may order it, I think may be done and save myself something. Thence home, and there settle to some accounts of mine in my chamber I all the morning till dinner. My wife comes home from Woolwich, but did not dine with me, going to dress herself against night, to go to Mrs. Pierce's to be merry, where we are to have Knepp and Harris and other good people. I at my accounts all the afternoon, being a little lost in them as to reckoning interest. Anon comes down my wife, dressed in her second mourning, with her black moyre waistcoat, and short petticoat, laced with silver lace so basely that I could not endure to see her, and with laced lining, which is too soon, so that I was horrid angry, and went out of doors to the office and there staid, and would not go to our intended meeting, which vexed me to the blood, and my wife sent twice or thrice to me, to direct her any way to dress her, but to put on her cloth gown, which she would not venture, which made me mad: and so in the evening to my chamber, vexed, and to my accounts, which I ended to my great content, and did make amends for the loss of our mirth this night, by getting this done, which otherwise I fear I should not have done a good while else. So to bed. 30th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon dined at home, being without any words friends with my wife, though last night I was very angry, and do think I did give her as much cause to be angry with me. After dinner I walked to Arundell House, the way very dusty, the day of meeting of the Society being changed from Wednesday to Thursday, which I knew not before, because the Wednesday is a Council-day, and several of the Council are of the Society, and would come but for their attending the King at Council; where I find much company, indeed very much company, in expectation of the Duchesse of Newcastle, who had desired to be invited to the Society; and was, after much debate, pro and con., it seems many being against it; and we do believe the town will be full of ballads of it. Anon comes the Duchesse with her women attending her; among others, the Ferabosco,2 of whom so much talk is that her lady would bid her show her face and kill the gallants. She is indeed black, and hath good black little eyes, but otherwise but a very ordinary woman I do think, but they say sings well. The Duchesse hath been a good, comely woman; but her dress so antick, and her deportment so ordinary, that I do not like her at all, nor did I hear her say any thing that was worth hearing, but that she was full of admiration, all admiration. Several fine experiments were shown her of colours, loadstones, microscopes, and of liquors among others, of one that did, while she was there, turn a piece of roasted mutton into pure blood, which was very rare. Here was Mrs. Moore of Cambridge, whom I had not seen before, and I was glad to see her; as also a very pretty black boy that run up and down the room, somebody's child in Arundell House. After they had shown her many experiments, and she cried still she was full of admiration, she departed, being led out and in by several Lords that were there; among others Lord George Barkeley and Earl of Carlisle, and a very pretty young man, the Duke of Somerset. She gone, I by coach home, and there busy at my letters till night, and then with my wife in the evening singing with her in the garden with great pleasure, and so home to supper and to bed. 31st. Up, and there came young Mrs. Daniel in the morning as I expected about business of her husband's. I took her into the office to discourse with her about getting some employment for him.... By water to White Hall to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, the first time I ever was there and I think the second that they have met at the Treasury chamber there. Here I saw Duncomb look as big, and take as much state on him, as if he had been born a lord. I was in with him about Tangier, and at present received but little answer from them, they being in a cloud of business yet, but I doubt not but all will go well under them. Here I met with Sir H. Cholmly, who tells me that he is told this day by Secretary Morris that he believes we are, and shall be, only fooled by the French; and that the Dutch are very high and insolent, and do look upon us as come over only to beg a peace; which troubles me very much, and I do fear it is true. Thence to Sir G. Carteret at his lodgings; who, I perceive, is mightily displeased with this new Treasury; and he hath reason, for it will eclipse him; and he tells me that my Lord Ashly says they understand nothing; and he says he believes the King do not intend they shall sit long. But I believe no such thing, but that the King will find such benefit by them as he will desire to have them continue, as we see he hath done, in the late new Act that was so much decried about the King; but yet the King hath since permitted it, and found good by it. He says, and I believe, that a great many persons at Court are angry at the rise of this Duncomb, whose father, he tells me, was a long-Parliamentman, and a great Committee-man; and this fellow used to carry his papers to Committees after him: he was a kind of an atturny: but for all this, I believe this man will be a great man, in spite of all. Thence I away to Holborne to Mr. Gawden, whom I met at Bernard's Inn gate, and straight we together to the Navy Office, where we did all meet about some victualling business, and so home to dinner and to the office, where the weather so hot now-a-days that I cannot but sleep before I do any business, and in the evening home, and there, to my unexpected satisfaction, did get my intricate accounts of interest, which have been of late much perplexed by mixing of some moneys of Sir G. Carteret's with mine, evened and set right: and so late to supper, and with great quiet to bed; finding by the balance of my account that I am creditor L6900, for which the Lord of Heaven be praised! JUNE 1667 June 1st. Up; and there comes to me Mr. Commander, whom I employ about hiring of some ground behind the office, for the building of me a stable and coach-house: for I do find it necessary for me, both in respect to honour and the profit of it also, my expense in hackney-coaches being now so great, to keep a coach, and therefore will do it. Having given him some instructions about it, I to the office, where we sat all the morning; where we have news that our peace with Spayne, as to trade, is wholly concluded, and we are to furnish him with some men for Flanders against the French. How that will agree with the French, I know not; but they say that he also hath liberty, to get what men he pleases out of England. But for the Spaniard, I hear that my Lord Castlehaven is raising a regiment of 4000 men, which he is to command there; and several young gentlemen are going over in commands with him: and they say the Duke of Monmouth is going over only as a traveller, not to engage on either side, but only to see the campagne, which will be becoming him much more than to live whoreing and rogueing, as he now do. After dinner to the office, where, after a little nap, I fell to business, and did very much with infinite joy to myself, as it always is to me when I have dispatched much business, and therefore it troubles me to see how hard it is for me to settle to it sometimes when my mind is upon pleasure. So home late to supper and to bed. 2nd (Lord's day). Up betimes, and down to my chamber without trimming myself, or putting on clean linen, thinking only to keep to my chamber and do business to-day, but when I come there I find that without being shaved I am not fully awake, nor ready to settle to business, and so was fain to go up again and dress myself, which I did, and so down to my chamber, and fell roundly to business, and did to my satisfaction by dinner go far in the drawing up a state of my accounts of Tangier for the new Lords Commissioners. So to dinner, and then to my business again all the afternoon close, when Creed come to visit me, but I did put him off, and to my business, till anon I did make an end, and wrote it fair with a letter to the Lords to accompany my accounts, which I think will be so much satisfaction and so soon done (their order for my doing it being dated but May 30) as they will not find from any hand else. Being weary and almost blind with writing and reading so much to-day, I took boat at the Old Swan, and there up the river all alone as high as Putney almost, and then back again, all the way reading, and finishing Mr. Boyle's book of Colours, which is so chymical, that I can understand but little of it, but understand enough to see that he is a most excellent man. So back and home, and there to supper, and so to bed. 3rd. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and with Sir W. Coventry a great while talking about several businesses, but especially about accounts, and how backward our Treasurer is in giving them satisfaction, and the truth is I do doubt he cannot do better, but it is strange to say that being conscious of our doing little at this day, nor for some time past in our office for want of money, I do hang my head to him, and cannot be so free with him as I used to be, nor can be free with him, though of all men, I think, I have the least cause to be so, having taken so much more pains, while I could do anything, than the rest of my fellows. Parted with him, and so going through the Park met Mr. Mills, our parson, whom I went back with to bring him to [Sir] W. Coventry, to give him the form of a qualification for the Duke of York to sign to, to enable him to have two livings: which was a service I did, but much against my will, for a lazy, fat priest. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked a turn or two with Sir William Doyly, who did lay a wager with me, the Treasurership would be in one hand, notwithstanding this present Commission, before Christmas: on which we did lay a poll of ling, a brace of carps, and a pottle of wine; and Sir W. Pen and Mr. Scowen to be at the eating of them. Thence down by water to Deptford, it being Trinity Monday, when the Master is chosen, and there, finding them all at church, and thinking they dined, as usual, at Stepny, I turned back, having a good book in my hand, the Life of Cardinal Wolsey, wrote by his own servant, and to Ratcliffe; and so walked to Stepny, and spent, my time in the churchyard, looking over the gravestones, expecting when the company would come by. Finding no company stirring, I sent to the house to see; and, it seems, they dine not there, but at Deptford: so I back again to Deptford, and there find them just sat down. And so I down with them; and we had a good dinner of plain meat, and good company at our table: among others, my good Mr. Evelyn, with whom, after dinner, I stepped aside, and talked upon the present posture of our affairs; which is, that the Dutch are known to be abroad with eighty sail of ships of war, and twenty fire-ships; and the French come into the Channell with twenty sail of men-of-war, and five fireships, while we have not a ship at sea to do them any hurt with; but are calling in all we can, while our Embassadors are treating at Bredah; and the Dutch look upon them as come to beg peace, and use them accordingly; and all this through the negligence of our Prince, who hath power, if he would, to master all these with the money and men that he hath had the command of, and may now have, if he would mind his business. But, for aught we see, the Kingdom is likely to be lost, as well as the reputation of it is, for ever; notwithstanding so much reputation got and preserved by a rebel that went before him. This discourse of ours ended with sorrowful reflections upon our condition, and so broke up, and Creed and I got out of the room, and away by water to White Hall, and there he and I waited in the Treasury-chamber an hour or two, where we saw the Country Receivers and Accountants for money come to attend; and one of them, a brisk young fellow, with his hat cocked like a fool behind, as the present fashion among the blades is, committed to the Serjeant. By and by, I, upon desire, was called in, and delivered in my report of my Accounts. Present, Lord Ashly, Clifford, and Duncomb, who, being busy, did not read it; but committed it to Sir George Downing, and so I was dismissed; but, Lord! to see how Duncomb do take upon him is an eyesore, though I think he deserves great honour, but only the suddenness of his rise, and his pride. But I do like the way of these lords, that they admit nobody to use many words, nor do they spend many words themselves, but in great state do hear what they see necessary, and say little themselves, but bid withdraw. Thence Creed and I by water up to Fox Hall, and over against it stopped, thinking to see some Cock-fighting; but it was just being done, and, therefore, back again to the other side, and to Spring Garden, and there eat and drank a little, and then to walk up and down the garden, reflecting upon the bad management of things now, compared with what it was in the late rebellious times, when men, some for fear, and some for religion, minded their business, which none now do, by being void of both. Much talk of this and, other kinds, very pleasant, and so when it was almost night we home, setting him in at White Hall, and I to the Old Swan, and thence home, where to supper, and then to read a little, and so to bed. 4th. Up, and to the office, and there busy all the morning putting in order the answering the great letter sent to the office by the new Commissioners of the Treasury, who demand an account from the King's coming in to this day, which we shall do in the best manner we can. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner comes Mr. Commander to me and tells me, after all, that I cannot have a lease of the ground for my coach-house and stable, till a suit in law be ended, about the end of the old stable now standing, which they and I would have pulled down to make a better way for a coach. I am a little sorry that I cannot presently have it, because I am pretty full in my mind of keeping a coach; but yet, when I think on it again, the Dutch and French both at sea, and we poor, and still out of order, I know not yet what turns there may be, and besides, I am in danger of parting with one of my places, which relates to the Victualling, that brings me by accident in L800 a year, that is, L300 from the King and L500 from D. Gawden. I ought to be well contented to forbear awhile, and therefore I am contented. To the office all the afternoon, where I dispatched much business to my great content, and then home in the evening, and there to sing and pipe with my wife, and that being done, she fell all of a sudden to discourse about her clothes and my humours in not suffering her to wear them as she pleases, and grew to high words between us, but I fell to read a book (Boyle's Hydrostatiques) ["Hydrostatical Paradoxes made out by New Experiments" was published by the Hon. Robert Boyle in 1666 (Oxford).] aloud in my chamber and let her talk, till she was tired and vexed that I would not hear her, and so become friends, and to bed together the first night after 4 or 5 that she hath lain from me by reason of a great cold she had got. 5th. Up, and with Mr. Kenasteri by coach to White Hall to the Commissioners of the Treasury about getting money for Tangier, and did come to, after long waiting, speak with them, and there I find them all sat; and, among the rest, Duncomb lolling, with his heels upon another chair, by that, that he sat upon, and had an answer good enough, and then away home, and (it being a most windy day, and hath been so all night, South West, and we have great hopes that it may have done the Dutch or French fleets some hurt) having got some papers in order, I back to St. James's, where we all met at Sir W. Coventry's chamber, and dined and talked of our business, he being a most excellent man, and indeed, with all his business, hath more of his employed upon the good of the service of the Navy, than all of us, that makes me ashamed of it. This noon Captain Perriman brings us word how the Happy Returne's' [crew] below in the Hope, ordered to carry the Portugal Embassador to Holland (and the Embassador, I think, on board), refuse to go till paid; and by their example two or three more ships are in a mutiny: which is a sad consideration, while so many of the enemy's ships are at this day triumphing in the sea. Here a very good and neat dinner, after the French manner, and good discourse, and then up after dinner to the Duke of York and did our usual business, and are put in hopes by Sir W. Coventry that we shall have money, and so away, Sir G. Carteret and I to my Lord Crew to advise about Sir G. Carteret's carrying his accounts to-morrow to the Commissioners appointed to examine them and all other accounts since the war, who at last by the King's calling them to him yesterday and chiding them will sit, but Littleton and Garraway much against their wills. The truth of it is, it is a ridiculous thing, for it will come to nothing, nor do the King nor kingdom good in any manner, I think. Here they talked of my Lord Hinchingbroke's match with Lord Burlington's daughter, which is now gone a pretty way forward, and to great content, which I am infinitely glad of. So from hence to White Hall, and in the streete Sir G. Carteret showed me a gentleman coming by in his coach, who hath been sent for up out of Lincolneshire, I think he says he is a justice of peace there, that the Council have laid by the heels here, and here lies in a messenger's hands, for saying that a man and his wife are but one person, and so ought to pay but 12d. for both to the Poll Bill; by which others were led to do the like: and so here he lies prisoner. To White Hall, and there I attended to speak with Sir W. Coventry about Lanyon's business, to get him some money out of the Prize Office from my Lord Ashly, and so home, and there to the office a little, and thence to my chamber to read, and supper, and to bed. My father, blessed be God! finds great ease by his new steel trusse, which he put on yesterday. So to bed. The Duke of Cambridge past hopes of living still. 6th. Up, and to the office all the morning, where (which he hath not done a great while) Sir G. Carteret come to advise with us for the disposing of L10,000, which is the first sum the new Lords Treasurers have provided us; but, unless we have more, this will not enable us to cut off any of the growing charge which they seem to give it us for, and expect we should discharge several ships quite off with it. So home and with my father and wife to Sir W. Pen's to dinner, which they invited us to out of their respect to my father, as a stranger; though I know them as false as the devil himself, and that it is only that they think it fit to oblige me; wherein I am a happy man, that all my fellow-officers are desirous of my friendship. Here as merry as in so false a place, and where I must dissemble my hatred, I could be, and after dinner my father and wife to a play, and I to my office, and there busy all the afternoon till late at night, and then my wife and I sang a song or two in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon comes Mr. Pierce to me about some business, and tells me that the Duke of Cambridge is yet living, but every minute expected to die, and is given over by all people, which indeed is a sad loss. 7th. Up, and after with my flageolet and Mr. Townsend, whom I sent for to come to me to discourse about my Lord Sandwich's business; for whom I am in some pain, lest the Accounts of the Wardrobe may not be in so good order as may please the new Lords Treasurers, who are quick-sighted, and under obligations of recommending themselves to the King and the world, by their finding and mending of faults, and are, most of them, not the best friends to my Lord, and to the office, and there all the morning. At noon home to dinner, my father, wife, and I, and a good dinner, and then to the office again, where busy all the afternoon, also I have a desire to dispatch all business that hath lain long on my hands, and so to it till the evening, and then home to sing and pipe with my wife, and then to supper and to bed, my head full of thoughts how to keep if I can some part of my wages as Surveyor of the Victualling, which I see must now come to be taken away among the other places that have been occasioned by this war, and the rather because I have of late an inclination to keep a coach. Ever since my drinking, two days ago, some very Goole drink at Sir W. Coventry's table I have been full of wind and with some pain, and I was afraid last night that it would amount to much, but, blessed be God! I find that the worst is past, so that I do clearly see that all the indisposition I am liable to-day as to sickness is only the Colique. This day I read (shown me by Mr. Gibson) a discourse newly come forth of the King of France, his pretence to Flanders, which is a very fine discourse, and the truth is, hath so much of the Civil Law in it, that I am not a fit judge of it, but, as it appears to me, he hath a good pretence to it by right of his Queene. So to bed. 8th. Up, and to the office, where all the news this morning is, that the Dutch are come with a fleete of eighty sail to Harwich, and that guns were heard plain by Sir W. Rider's people at Bednallgreene, all yesterday even. So to the office, we all sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, where our dinner a ham of French bacon, boiled with pigeons, an excellent dish. Here dined with us only W. Hewer and his mother. After dinner to the office again, where busy till night, and then home and to read a little and then to bed. The news is confirmed that the Dutch are off of Harwich, but had done nothing last night. The King hath sent down my Lord of Oxford to raise the countries there; and all the Westerne barges are taken up to make a bridge over the River, about the Hope, for horse to cross the River, if there be occasion. 9th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and so walked to St. James's, where I hear that the Duke of Cambridge, who was given over long since by the Doctors, is now likely to recover; for which God be praised! To Sir W. Coventry, and there talked with him a great while; and mighty glad I was of my good fortune to visit him, for it keeps in my acquaintance with him, and the world sees it, and reckons my interest accordingly. In comes my Lord Barkeley, who is going down to Harwich also to look after the militia there: and there is also the Duke of Monmouth, and with him a great many young Hectors, the Lord Chesterfield, my Lord Mandeville, and others: but to little purpose, I fear, but to debauch the country women thereabouts. My Lord Barkeley wanting some maps, and Sir W. Coventry recommending the six maps of England that are bound up for the pocket, I did offer to present my Lord with them, which he accepted: and so I will send them him. Thence to White Hall, and there to the Chapel, where I met Creed, and he and I staid to hear who preached, which was a man who begun dully, and so we away by water and landed in Southwarke, and to a church in the street where we take water beyond the bridge, which was so full and the weather hot that we could not stand there. So to my house, where we find my father and wife at dinner, and after dinner Creed and I by water to White Hall, and there we parted, and I to Sir G. Carteret's, where, he busy, I up into the house, and there met with a gentleman, Captain Aldrige, that belongs to my Lord Barkeley, and I did give him the book of maps for my Lord, and so I to Westminster Church and there staid a good while, and saw Betty Michell there. So away thence, and after church time to Mrs. Martin's, and then hazer what I would with her, and then took boat and up, all alone, a most excellent evening, as high as Barne Elmes, and there took a turn; and then to my boat again, and home, reading and making an end of the book I lately bought a merry satyr called "The Visions," translated from Spanish by L'Estrange, wherein there are many very pretty things; but the translation is, as to the rendering it into English expression, the best that ever I saw, it being impossible almost to conceive that it should be a translation. Being come home I find an order come for the getting some fire-ships presently to annoy the Dutch, who are in the King's Channel, and expected up higher. So [Sir] W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen being come this evening from their country houses to town we did issue orders about it, and then home to supper and, to bed, 10th. Up; and news brought us that, the Dutch are come up as high as the Nore; and more pressing orders for fireships. W. Batten, W. Pen, and I to St. James's; where the Duke of York gone this morning betimes, to send away some men down to Chatham. So we three to White Hall, and met Sir W. Coventry, who presses all that is possible for fire-ships. So we three to the office presently; and thither comes Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who is to command them all in some exploits he is to do with them on the enemy in the River. So we all down to Deptford, and pitched upon ships and set men at work: but, Lord! to see how backwardly things move at this pinch, notwithstanding that, by the enemy's being now come up as high as almost the Hope, Sir J. Minnes, who has gone down to pay some ships there, hath sent up the money; and so we are possessed of money to do what we will with. Yet partly ourselves, being used to be idle and in despair, and partly people that have been used to be deceived by us as to money, won't believe us; and we know not, though we have it, how almost to promise it; and our wants such, and men out of the way, that it is an admirable thing to consider how much the King suffers, and how necessary it is in a State to keep the King's service always in a good posture and credit. Here I eat a bit, and then in the afternoon took boat and down to Greenwich, where I find the stairs full of people, there being a great riding [It was an ancient custom in Berkshire, when a man had beaten his wife, for the neighbours to parade in front of his house, for the purpose of serenading him with kettles, and horns and hand-bells, and every species of "rough music," by which name the ceremony was designated. Perhaps the riding mentioned by Pepys was a punishment somewhat similar. Malcolm ("Manners of London") quotes from the "Protestant Mercury," that a porter's lady, who resided near Strand Lane, beat her husband with so much violence and perseverance, that the poor man was compelled to leap out of the window to escape her fury. Exasperated at this virago, the neighbours made a "riding," i.e. a pedestrian procession, headed by a drum, and accompanied by a chemise, displayed for a banner. The manual musician sounded the tune of "You round-headed cuckolds, come dig, come dig!" and nearly seventy coalheavers, carmen, and porters, adorned with large horns fastened to their heads, followed. The public seemed highly pleased with the nature of the punishment, and gave liberally to the vindicators of injured manhood.--B.] there to-day for a man, the constable of the town, whose wife beat him. Here I was with much ado fain to press two watermen to make me a galley, and so to Woolwich to give order for the dispatch of a ship I have taken under my care to see dispatched, and orders being so given, I, under pretence to fetch up the ship, which lay at Grays (the Golden Hand), [The "Golden Hand" was to have been used for the conveyance of the Swedish Ambassadors' horses and goods to Holland. In August, 1667, Frances, widow of Captain Douglas and daughter of Lord Grey, petitioned the king "for a gift of the prize ship Golden Hand, now employed in weighing the ships sunk at Chatham, where her husband lost his life in defence of the ships against the Dutch" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 430)] did do that in my way, and went down to Gravesend, where I find the Duke of Albemarle just come, with a great many idle lords and gentlemen, with their pistols and fooleries; and the bulwarke not able to have stood half an hour had they come up; but the Dutch are fallen down from the Hope and Shell-haven as low as Sheernesse, and we do plainly at this time hear the guns play. Yet I do not find the Duke of Albemarle intends to go thither, but stays here to-night, and hath, though the Dutch are gone, ordered our frigates to be brought to a line between the two blockhouses; which I took then to be a ridiculous thing. So I away into the town and took a captain or two of our ships (who did give me an account of the proceedings of the Dutch fleete in the river) to the taverne, and there eat and drank, and I find the townsmen had removed most of their goods out of the town, for fear of the Dutch coming up to them; and from Sir John Griffen, that last night there was not twelve men to be got in the town to defend it: which the master of the house tells me is not true, but that the men of the town did intend to stay, though they did indeed, and so had he, at the Ship, removed their goods. Thence went off to an Ostend man-of-war, just now come up, who met the Dutch fleete, who took three ships that he come convoying hither from him says they are as low as the Nore, or thereabouts. So I homeward, as long as it was light reading Mr. Boyle's book of Hydrostatics, which is a most excellent book as ever I read, and I will take much pains to understand him through if I can, the doctrine being very useful. When it grew too dark to read I lay down and took a nap, it being a most excellent fine evening, and about one o'clock got home, and after having wrote to Sir W. Coventry an account of what I had done and seen (which is entered in my letter-book), I to bed. 11th. Up, and more letters still from Sir W. Coventry about more fire-ships, and so Sir W. Batten and I to the office, where Bruncker come to us, who is just now going to Chatham upon a desire of Commissioner Pett's, who is in a very fearful stink for fear of the Dutch, and desires help for God and the King and kingdom's sake. So Bruncker goes down, and Sir J. Minnes also, from Gravesend. This morning Pett writes us word that Sheernesse is lost last night, after two or three hours' dispute. The enemy hath possessed himself of that place; which is very sad, and puts us into great fears of Chatham. Sir W. Batten and I down by water to Deptford, and there Sir W. Pen and we did consider of several matters relating to the dispatch of the fire-ships, and so [Sir] W. Batten and I home again, and there to dinner, my wife and father having dined, and after dinner, by W. Hewer's lucky advice, went to Mr. Fenn, and did get him to pay me above L400 of my wages, and W. Hewer received it for me, and brought it home this night. Thence I meeting Mr. Moore went toward the other end of the town by coach, and spying Mercer in the street, I took leave of Moore and 'light and followed her, and at Paul's overtook her and walked with her through the dusty street almost to home, and there in Lombard Street met The. Turner in coach, who had been at my house to see us, being to go out of town to-morrow to the Northward, and so I promised to see her tomorrow, and then home, and there to our business, hiring some fire-ships, and receiving every hour almost letters from Sir W. Coventry, calling for more fire-ships; and an order from Council to enable us to take any man's ships; and Sir W. Coventry, in his letter to us, says he do not doubt but at this time, under an invasion, as he owns it to be, the King may, by law, take any man's goods. At this business late, and then home; where a great deal of serious talk with my wife about the sad state we are in, and especially from the beating up of drums this night for the trainbands upon pain of death to appear in arms to-morrow morning with bullet and powder, and money to supply themselves with victuals for a fortnight; which, considering the soldiers drawn out to Chatham and elsewhere, looks as if they had a design to ruin the City and give it up to be undone; which, I hear, makes the sober citizens to think very sadly of things. So to bed after supper, ill in my mind. This afternoon Mrs. Williams sent to me to speak with her, which I did, only about news. I had not spoke with her many a day before by reason of Carcasses business. 12th. Up very betimes to our business at the office, there hiring of more fire-ships; and at it close all the morning. At noon home, and Sir W. Pen dined with us. By and by, after dinner, my wife out by coach to see her mother; and I in another, being afraid, at this busy time, to be seen with a woman in a coach, as if I were idle, towards The. Turner's; but met Sir W. Coventry's boy; and there in his letter find that the Dutch had made no motion since their taking Sheernesse; and the Duke of Albemarle writes that all is safe as to the great ships against any assault, the boom and chaine being so fortified; which put my heart into great joy. [There had been correspondence with Pett respecting this chain in April and May. On the 10th May Pett wrote to the Navy Commissioners, "The chain is promised to be dispatched to-morrow, and all things are ready for fixing it." On the 11th June the Dutch "got twenty or twenty-two ships over the narrow part of the river at Chatham, where ships had been sunk; after two and a half hours' fighting one guard-ship after another was fired and blown up, and the enemy master of the chain" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, pp. 58, 87, 215).] When I come to Sir W: Coventry's chamber, I find him abroad; but his clerk, Powell, do tell me that ill newes is come to Court of the Dutch breaking the Chaine at Chatham; which struck me to the heart. And to White Hall to hear the truth of it; and there, going up the back-stairs, I did hear some lacquies speaking of sad newes come to Court, saying, that hardly anybody in the Court but do look as if he cried, and would not go into the house for fear of being seen, but slunk out and got into a coach, and to The. Turner's to Sir W. Turner's, where I met Roger Pepys, newly come out of the country. He and I talked aside a little, he offering a match for Pall, one Barnes, of whom we shall talk more the next time. His father married a Pepys; in discourse, he told me further that his grandfather, my great grandfather, had L800 per annum, in Queen Elizabeth's time, in the very town of Cottenham; and that we did certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland. More talk I had, and shall have more with him, but my mind is so sad and head full of this ill news that I cannot now set it down. A short visit here, my wife coming to me, and took leave of The., and so home, where all our hearts do now ake; for the newes is true, that the Dutch have broke the chaine and burned our ships, and particularly "The Royal Charles," [Vandervelde's drawings of the conflagration of the English fleet, made by him on the spot, are in the British Museum.--B.] other particulars I know not, but most sad to be sure. And, the truth is, I do fear so much that the whole kingdom is undone, that I do this night resolve to study with my father and wife what to do with the little that I have in money by me, for I give [up] all the rest that I have in the King's hands, for Tangier, for lost. So God help us! and God knows what disorders we may fall into, and whether any violence on this office, or perhaps some severity on our persons, as being reckoned by the silly people, or perhaps may, by policy of State, be thought fit to be condemned by the King and Duke of York, and so put to trouble; though, God knows! I have, in my own person, done my full duty, I am sure. So having with much ado finished my business at the office, I home to consider with my father and wife of things, and then to supper and to bed with a heavy heart. The manner of my advising this night with my father was, I took him and my wife up to her chamber, and shut the door; and there told them the sad state of the times how we are like to be all undone; that I do fear some violence will be offered to this office, where all I have in the world is; and resolved upon sending it away--sometimes into the country--sometimes my father to lie in town, and have the gold with him at Sarah Giles's, and with that resolution went to bed full of fear and fright, hardly slept all night. 13th. No sooner up but hear the sad newes confirmed of the Royall Charles being taken by them, and now in fitting by them--which Pett should have carried up higher by our several orders, and deserves, therefore, to be hanged for not doing it--and turning several others; and that another fleete is come up into the Hope. Upon which newes the King and Duke of York have been below--[Below London Bridge.]--since four o'clock in the morning, to command the sinking of ships at Barking-Creeke, and other places, to stop their coming up higher: which put me into such a fear, that I presently resolved of my father's and wife's going into the country; and, at two hours' warning, they did go by the coach this day, with about L1300 in gold in their night-bag. Pray God give them good passage, and good care to hide it when they come home! but my heart is full of fear: They gone, I continued in fright and fear what to do with the rest. W. Hewer hath been at the banker's, and hath got L500 out of Backewell's hands of his own money; but they are so called upon that they will be all broke, hundreds coming to them for money: and their answer is, "It is payable at twenty days--when the days are out, we will pay you;" and those that are not so, they make tell over their money, and make their bags false, on purpose to give cause to retell it, and so spend time. I cannot have my 200 pieces of gold again for silver, all being bought up last night that were to be had, and sold for 24 and 25s. a-piece. So I must keep the silver by me, which sometimes I think to fling into the house of office, and then again know not how I shall come by it, if we be made to leave the office. Every minute some one or other calls for this or that order; and so I forced to be at the office, most of the day, about the fire-ships which are to be suddenly fitted out: and it's a most strange thing that we hear nothing from any of my brethren at Chatham; so that we are wholly in the dark, various being the reports of what is done there; insomuch that I sent Mr. Clapham express thither to see how matters go: I did, about noon, resolve to send Mr. Gibson away after my wife with another 1000 pieces, under colour of an express to Sir Jeremy Smith; who is, as I hear, with some ships at Newcastle; which I did really send to him, and may, possibly, prove of good use to the King; for it is possible, in the hurry of business, they may not think of it at Court, and the charge of an express is not considerable to the King. So though I intend Gibson no further than to Huntingdon I direct him to send the packet forward. My business the most of the afternoon is listening to every body that comes to the office, what news? which is variously related, some better, some worse, but nothing certain. The King and Duke of York up and down all the day here and there: some time on Tower Hill, where the City militia was; where the King did make a speech to them, that they should venture themselves no further than he would himself. I also sent, my mind being in pain, Saunders after my wife and father, to overtake them at their night's lodgings, to see how matters go with them. In the evening, I sent for my cousin Sarah [Gyles] and her husband, who come; and I did deliver them my chest of writings about Brampton, and my brother Tom's papers, and my journalls, which I value much; and did send my two silver flaggons to Kate Joyce's: that so, being scattered what I have, something might be saved. I have also made a girdle, by which, with some trouble, I do carry about me L300 in gold about my body, that I may not be without something in case I should be surprised: for I think, in any nation but our's, people that appear (for we are not indeed so) so faulty as we, would have their throats cut. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling, and several others, to the office, and tell me that never were people so dejected as they are in the City all over at this day; and do talk most loudly, even treason; as, that we are bought and sold--that we are betrayed by the Papists, and others, about the King; cry out that the office of the Ordnance hath been so backward as no powder to have been at Chatham nor Upnor Castle till such a time, and the carriages all broken; that Legg is a Papist; that Upnor, the old good castle built by Queen Elizabeth, should be lately slighted; that the ships at Chatham should not be carried up higher. They look upon us as lost, and remove their families and rich goods in the City; and do think verily that the French, being come down with his army to Dunkirke, it is to invade us, and that we shall be invaded. Mr. Clerke, the solicitor, comes to me about business, and tells me that he hears that the King hath chosen Mr. Pierpont and Vaughan of the West, Privy-councillors; that my Lord Chancellor was affronted in the Hall this day, by people telling him of his Dunkirke house; and that there are regiments ordered to be got together, whereof to be commanders my Lord Fairfax, Ingoldsby, Bethell, Norton, and Birch, and other Presbyterians; and that Dr. Bates will have liberty to preach. Now, whether this be true or not, I know not; but do think that nothing but this will unite us together. Late at night comes Mr. Hudson, the cooper, my neighbour, and tells me that he come from Chatham this evening at five o'clock, and saw this afternoon "The Royal James," "Oake," and "London," burnt by the enemy with their fire-ships: that two or three men-of-war come up with them, and made no more of Upnor Castle's shooting, than of a fly; that those ships lay below Upnor Castle, but therein, I conceive, he is in an error; that the Dutch are fitting out "The Royall Charles;" that we shot so far as from the Yard thither, so that the shot did no good, for the bullets grazed on the water; that Upnor played hard with their guns at first, but slowly afterwards, either from the men being beat off, or their powder spent. But we hear that the fleete in the Hope is not come up any higher the last flood; and Sir W. Batten tells me that ships are provided to sink in the River, about Woolwich, that will prevent their coming up higher if they should attempt it. I made my will also this day, and did give all I had equally between my father and wife, and left copies of it in each of Mr. Hater and W. Hewer's hands, who both witnessed the will, and so to supper and then to bed, and slept pretty well, but yet often waking. 14th. Up, and to the office; where Mr. Fryer comes and tells me that there are several Frenchmen and Flemish ships in the River, with passes from the Duke of York for carrying of prisoners, that ought to be parted from the rest of the ships, and their powder taken, lest they do fire themselves when the enemy comes, and so spoil us; which is good advice, and I think I will give notice of it; and did so. But it is pretty odd to see how every body, even at this high time of danger, puts business off of their own hands! He says that he told this to the Lieutenant of the Tower, to whom I, for the same reason, was directing him to go; and the Lieutenant of the Tower bade him come to us, for he had nothing to do with it; and yesterday comes Captain Crew, of one of the fireships, and told me that the officers of the Ordnance would deliver his gunner's materials, but not compound them, [Meaning, apparently, that the Ordnance would deliver the charcoal, sulphur, and saltpetre separately, but not mix them as gunpowder.] [The want of ammunition when the Dutch burnt the fleet, and the revenge of the deserter sailors, are well described by Marvell "Our Seamen, whom no danger's shape could fright, Unpaid, refuse to mount their ships, for spite Or to their fellows swim, on board the Dutch, Who show the tempting metal in their clutch.] but that we must do it; whereupon I was forced to write to them about it; and one that like a great many come to me this morning by and by comes--Mr. Wilson, and by direction of his, a man of Mr. Gawden's; who come from Chatham last night, and saw the three ships burnt, they lying all dry, and boats going from the men-of-war and fire them. But that, that he tells me of worst consequence is, that he himself, I think he said, did hear many Englishmen on board the Dutch ships speaking to one another in English; and that they did cry and say, "We did heretofore fight for tickets; now we fight for dollars!" and did ask how such and such a one did, and would commend themselves to them: which is a sad consideration. And Mr. Lewes, who was present at this fellow's discourse to me, did tell me, that he is told that when they took "The Royall Charles," they said that they had their tickets signed, and showed some, and that now they come to have them paid, and would have them paid before they parted. And several seamen come this morning to me, to tell me that, if I would get their tickets paid, they would go and do all they could against the Dutch; but otherwise they would not venture being killed, and lose all they have already fought for: so that I was forced to try what I could do to get them paid. This man tells me that the ships burnt last night did lie above Upnor Castle, over against the Docke; and the boats come from the ships of war and burnt them all which is very sad. And masters of ships, that we are now taking up, do keep from their ships all their stores, or as much as they can, so that we can despatch them, having not time to appraise them nor secure their payment; only some little money we have, which we are fain to pay the men we have with, every night, or they will not work. And indeed the hearts as well as affections of the seamen are turned away; and in the open streets in Wapping, and up and down, the wives have cried publickly, "This comes of your not paying our husbands; and now your work is undone, or done by hands that understand it not." And Sir W. Batten told me that he was himself affronted with a woman, in language of this kind, on Tower Hill publickly yesterday; and we are fain to bear it, and to keep one at the office door to let no idle people in, for fear of firing of the office and doing us mischief. The City is troubled at their being put upon duty: summoned one hour, and discharged two hours after; and then again summoned two hours after that; to their great charge as well as trouble. And Pelling, the Potticary, tells me the world says all over, that less charge than what the kingdom is put to, of one kind or other, by this business, would have set out all our great ships. It is said they did in open streets yesterday, at Westminster, cry, "A Parliament! a Parliament!" and I do believe it will cost blood to answer for these miscarriages. We do not hear that the Dutch are come to Gravesend; which is a wonder. But a wonderful thing it is that to this day we have not one word yet from Bruncker, or Peter Pett, or J. Minnes, of any thing at Chatham. The people that come hither to hear how things go, make me ashamed to be found unable to answer them: for I am left alone here at the office; and the truth is, I am glad my station is to be here, near my own home and out of danger, yet in a place of doing the King good service. I have this morning good news from Gibson; three letters from three several stages, that he was safe last night as far as Royston, at between nine and ten at night. The dismay that is upon us all, in the business of the kingdom and Navy at this day, is not to be expressed otherwise than by the condition the citizens were in when the City was on fire, nobody knowing which way to turn themselves, while every thing concurred to greaten the fire; as here the easterly gale and spring-tides for coming up both rivers, and enabling them to break the chaine. D. Gawden did tell me yesterday, that the day before at the Council they were ready to fall together by the ears at the Council-table, arraigning one another of being guilty of the counsel that brought us into this misery, by laying up all the great ships. Mr. Hater tells me at noon that some rude people have been, as he hears, at my Lord Chancellor's, where they have cut down the trees before his house and broke his windows; and a gibbet either set up before or painted upon his gate, and these three words writ: "Three sights to be seen; Dunkirke, Tangier, and a barren Queene." ["Pride, Lust, Ambition, and the People's Hate, The kingdom's broker, ruin of the State, Dunkirk's sad loss, divider of the fleet, Tangier's compounder for a barren sheet This shrub of gentry, married to the crown, His daughter to the heir, is tumbled down." Poems on State Affairs, vol. i., p. 253.--B.] It gives great matter of talk that it is said there is at this hour, in the Exchequer, as much money as is ready to break down the floor. This arises, I believe, from Sir G. Downing's late talk of the greatness of the sum lying there of people's money, that they would not fetch away, which he shewed me and a great many others. Most people that I speak with are in doubt how we shall do to secure our seamen from running over to the Dutch; which is a sad but very true consideration at this day. At noon I am told that my Lord Duke of Albemarle is made Lord High Constable; the meaning whereof at this time I know not, nor whether it, be true or no. Dined, and Mr. Hater and W. Hewer with me; where they do speak very sorrowfully of the posture of the times, and how people do cry out in the streets of their being bought and sold; and both they, and every body that come to me, do tell me that people make nothing of talking treason in the streets openly: as, that we are bought and sold, and governed by Papists, and that we are betrayed by people about the King, and shall be delivered up to the French, and I know not what. At dinner we discoursed of Tom of the Wood, a fellow that lives like a hermit near Woolwich, who, as they say, and Mr. Bodham, they tell me, affirms that he was by at the justice's when some did accuse him there for it, did foretell the burning of the City, and now says that a greater desolation is at hand. Thence we read and laughed at Lilly's prophecies this month, in his Almanack this year! So to the office after dinner; and thither comes Mr. Pierce, who tells me his condition, how he cannot get his money, about L500, which, he says, is a very great part of what he hath for his family and children, out of Viner's hand: and indeed it is to be feared that this will wholly undo the bankers. He says he knows nothing of the late affronts to my Lord Chancellor's house, as is said, nor hears of the Duke of Albemarle's being made High Constable; but says that they are in great distraction at White Hall, and that every where people do speak high against Sir W. Coventry: but he agrees with me, that he is the best Minister of State the King hath, and so from my heart I believe. At night come home Sir W. Batten and W. Pen, who only can tell me that they have placed guns at Woolwich and Deptford, and sunk some ships below Woolwich and Blackewall, and are in hopes that they will stop the enemy's coming up. But strange our confusion! that among them that are sunk they have gone and sunk without consideration "The Franakin,"' one of the King's ships, with stores to a very considerable value, that hath been long loaden for supply of the ships; and the new ship at Bristoll, and much wanted there; and nobody will own that they directed it, but do lay it on Sir W. Rider. They speak also of another ship, loaden to the value of L80,000, sunk with the goods in her, or at least was mightily contended for by him, and a foreign ship, that had the faith of the nation for her security: this Sir R. Ford tells us: And it is too plain a truth, that both here and at Chatham the ships that we have sunk have many, and the first of them, been ships completely fitted for fire-ships at great charge. But most strange the backwardness and disorder of all people, especially the King's people in pay, to do any work, Sir W. Pen tells me, all crying out for money; and it was so at Chatham, that this night comes an order from Sir W. Coventry to stop the pay of the wages of that Yard; the Duke of Albemarle having related, that not above three of 1100 in pay there did attend to do any work there. This evening having sent a messenger to Chatham on purpose, we have received a dull letter from my Lord Bruncker and Peter Pett, how matters have gone there this week; but not so much, or so particularly, as we knew it by common talk before, and as true. I doubt they will be found to have been but slow men in this business; and they say the Duke of Albemarle did tell my Lord Bruncker to his face that his discharging of the great ships there was the cause of all this; and I am told that it is become common talk against my Lord Bruncker. But in that he is to be justified, for he did it by verbal order from Sir W. Coventry, and with good intent; and it was to good purpose, whatever the success be, for the men would have but spent the King so much the more in wages, and yet not attended on board to have done the King any service; and as an evidence of that, just now, being the 15th day in the morning that I am writing yesterday's passages, one is with me, Jacob Bryan, Purser of "The Princesse," who confesses to me that he hath about 180 men borne at this day in victuals and wages on that ship lying at Chatham, being lately brought in thither; of which 180 there was not above five appeared to do the King any service at this late business. And this morning also, some of the Cambridge's men come up from Portsmouth, by order from Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who boasted to us the other day that he had sent for 50, and would be hanged if 100 did not come up that would do as much as twice the number of other men: I say some of them, instead of being at work at Deptford, where they were intended, do come to the office this morning to demand the payment of their tickets; for otherwise they would, they said, do no more work; and are, as I understand from every body that has to do with them, the most debauched, damning, swearing rogues that ever were in the Navy, just like their prophane commander. So to Sir W. Batten's to sit and talk a little, and then home to my flageolet, my heart being at pretty good ease by a letter from my wife, brought by Saunders, that my father and wife got well last night to their Inne and out again this morning, and Gibson's being got safe to Caxton at twelve last night. So to supper, and then to bed. No news to-day of any motion of the enemy either upwards towards Chatham or this way. 15th. All the morning at the office. No newes more than last night; only Purser Tyler comes and tells me that he being at all the passages in this business at Chatham, he says there have been horrible miscarriages, such as we shall shortly hear of: that the want of boats hath undone us; and it is commonly said, and Sir J. Minnes under his hand tells us, that they were employed by the men of the Yard to carry away their goods; and I hear that Commissioner Pett will be found the first man that began to remove; he is much spoken against, and Bruncker is complained of and reproached for discharging the men of the great ships heretofore. At noon Mr. Hater dined with me; and tells me he believes that it will hardly be the want of money alone that will excuse to the Parliament the neglect of not setting out a fleete, it having never been done in our greatest straits, but however unlikely it appeared, yet when it was gone about, the State or King did compass it; and there is something in it. In like manner all the afternoon busy, vexed to see how slowly things go on for want of money. At night comes, unexpectedly so soon, Mr. Gibson, who left my wife well, and all got down well with them, but not with himself, which I was afeard of, and cannot blame him, but must myself be wiser against another time. He had one of his bags broke, through his breeches, and some pieces dropped out, not many, he thinks, but two, for he 'light, and took them up, and went back and could find no more. But I am not able to tell how many, which troubles me, but the joy of having the greatest part safe there makes me bear with it, so as not to afflict myself for it. This afternoon poor Betty Michell, whom I love, sent to tell my wife her child was dying, which I am troubled for, poor girle! At night home and to my flageolet. Played with pleasure, but with a heavy heart, only it pleased me to think how it may please God I may live to spend my time in the country with plainness and pleasure, though but with little glory. So to supper and to bed. 16th (Lord's day). Up, and called on by several on business of the office. Then to the office to look out several of my old letters to Sir W. Coventry in order to the preparing for justifying this office in our frequent foretelling the want of money. By and by comes Roger Pepys and his son Talbot, whom he had brought to town to settle at the Temple, but, by reason of our present stirs, will carry him back again with him this week. He seems to be but a silly lad. I sent them to church this morning, I staying at home at the office, busy. At noon home to dinner, and much good discourse with him, he being mighty sensible of our misery and mal-administration. Talking of these straits we are in, he tells me that my Lord Arlington did the last week take up L12,000 in gold, which is very likely, for all was taken up that could be. Discoursing afterwards with him of our family he told me, that when I come to his house he will show me a decree in Chancery, wherein there was twenty-six men all housekeepers in the town of Cottenham, in Queene Elizabeth's time, of our name. He to church again in the afternoon, I staid at home busy, and did show some dalliance to my maid Nell, speaking to her of her sweetheart which she had, silly girle. After sermon Roger Pepys comes again. I spent the evening with him much troubled with the thoughts of the evils of our time, whereon we discoursed. By and by occasion offered for my writing to Sir W. Coventry a plain bold letter touching lack of money; which, when it was gone, I was afeard might give offence: but upon two or three readings over again the copy of it, I was satisfied it was a good letter; only Sir W. Batten signed it with me, which I could wish I had done alone. Roger Pepys gone, I to the garden, and there dallied a while all alone with Mrs. Markham, and then home to my chamber and to read and write, and then to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, particularly setting my people to work in transcribing pieces of letters publique and private, which I do collect against a black day to defend the office with and myself. At noon dined at home, Mr. Hater with me alone, who do seem to be confident that this nation will be undone, and with good reason: Wishes himself at Hambrough, as a great many more, he says, he believes do, but nothing but the reconciling of the Presbyterian party will save us, and I am of his mind. At the office all the afternoon, where every moment business of one kind or other about the fire-ships and other businesses, most of them vexatious for want of money, the commanders all complaining that, if they miss to pay their men a night, they run away; seamen demanding money of them by way of advance, and some of Sir Fretcheville Hollis's men, that he so bragged of, demanding their tickets to be paid, or they would not work: this Hollis, Sir W. Batten and W. Pen say, proves a very..., as Sir W. B. terms him, and the other called him a conceited, idle, prating, lying fellow. But it was pleasant this morning to hear Hollis give me the account what, he says, he told the King in Commissioner Pett's presence, whence it was that his ship was fit sooner than others, telling the King how he dealt with the several Commissioners and agents of the Ports where he comes, offering Lanyon to carry him a Ton or two of goods to the streights, giving Middleton an hour or two's hearing of his stories of Barbadoes, going to prayer with Taylor, and standing bare and calling, "If it please your Honour," to Pett, but Sir W. Pen says that he tells this story to every body, and believes it to be a very lie. At night comes Captain Cocke to see me, and he and I an hour in the garden together. He tells me there have been great endeavours of bringing in the Presbyterian interest, but that it will not do. He named to me several of the insipid lords that are to command the armies that are to be raised. He says the King and Court are all troubled, and the gates of the Court were shut up upon the first coming of the Dutch to us, but they do mind the business no more than ever: that the bankers, he fears, are broke as to ready-money, though Viner had L100,000 by him when our trouble begun: that he and the Duke of Albemarle have received into their own hands, of Viner, the former L10,000, and the latter L12,000, in tallies or assignments, to secure what was in his hands of theirs; and many other great men of our. masters have done the like; which is no good sign, when they begin to fear the main. He and every body cries out of the office of the Ordnance, for their neglects, both at Gravesend and Upnor, and everywhere else. He gone, I to my business again, and then home to supper and to bed. I have lately played the fool much with our Nell, in playing with her breasts. This night, late, comes a porter with a letter from Monsieur Pratt, to borrow L100 for my Lord Hinchingbroke, to enable him to go out with his troop in the country, as he is commanded; but I did find an excuse to decline it. Among other reasons to myself, this is one, to teach him the necessity of being a good husband, and keeping money or credit by him. 18th. Up, and did this morning dally with Nell... which I was afterward troubled for. To the office, and there all the morning. Peg Pen come to see me, and I was glad of it, and did resolve to have tried her this afternoon, but that there was company with elle at my home, whither I got her. Dined at home, W. Hewer with me, and then to the office, and to my Lady Pen's, and did find occasion for Peg to go home with me to my chamber, but there being an idle gentleman with them, he went with us, and I lost my hope. So to the office, and by and by word was brought me that Commissioner Pett is brought to the Tower, and there laid up close prisoner; which puts me into a fright, lest they may do the same with us as they do with him. This puts me upon hastening what I am doing with my people, and collecting out of my papers our defence. Myself got Fist, Sir W. Batten's clerk, and busy with him writing letters late, and then home to supper and to read myself asleep, after piping, and so to bed. Great newes to-night of the blowing up of one of the Dutch greatest ships, while a Council of War was on board: the latter part, I doubt, is not so, it not being confirmed since; but the former, that they had a ship blown up, is said to be true. This evening comes Sir G. Carteret to the office, to talk of business at Sir W. Batten's; where all to be undone for want of money, there being none to pay the Chest at their publique pay the 24th of this month, which will make us a scorn to the world. After he had done there, he and I into the garden, and walked; and the greatest of our discourse is, his sense of the requisiteness of his parting with his being Treasurer of the Navy, if he can, on any good terms. He do harp upon getting my Lord Bruncker to take it on half profit, but that he is not able to secure him in paying him so much. But the thing I do advise him to do by all means, and he resolves on it, being but the same counsel which I intend to take myself. My Lady Jem goes down to Hinchingbroke to lie down, because of the troubles of the times here. He tells me he is not sure that the King of France will not annoy us this year, but that the Court seems [to] reckon upon it as a thing certain, for that is all that I and most people are afeard of this year. He tells me now the great question is, whether a Parliament or no Parliament; and says the Parliament itself cannot be thought able at present to raise money, and therefore it will be to no purpose to call one. I hear this day poor Michell's child is dead. 19th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy with Fist again, beginning early to overtake my business in my letters, which for a post or two have by the late and present troubles been interrupted. At noon comes Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and we to [Sir] W. Pen's house, and there discoursed of business an hour, and by and by comes an order from Sir R. Browne, commanding me this afternoon to attend the Council-board, with all my books and papers touching the Medway. I was ready [to fear] some mischief to myself, though it appears most reasonable that it is to inform them about Commissioner Pett. I eat a little bit in haste at Sir W. Batten's, without much comfort, being fearful, though I shew it not, and to my office and get up some papers, and found out the most material letters and orders in our books, and so took coach and to the Council-chamber lobby, where I met Mr. Evelyn, who do miserably decry our follies that bring all this misery upon us. While we were discoursing over our publique misfortunes, I am called in to a large Committee of the Council: present the Duke of Albemarle, Anglesey, Arlington, Ashly, Carteret, Duncomb, Coventry, Ingram, Clifford, Lauderdale, Morrice, Manchester, Craven, Carlisle, Bridgewater. And after Sir W. Coventry's telling them what orders His Royal Highness had made for the safety of the Medway, I told them to their full content what we had done, and showed them our letters. Then was Peter Pett called in, with the Lieutenant of the Tower. He is in his old clothes, and looked most sillily. His charge was chiefly the not carrying up of the great ships, and the using of the boats in carrying away his goods; to which he answered very sillily, though his faults to me seem only great omissions. Lord Arlington and Coventry very severe against him; the former saying that, if he was not guilty, the world would think them all guilty. [Pett was made a scapegoat. This is confirmed by Marvel: "After this loss, to relish discontent, Some one must be accused by Parliament; All our miscarriages on Pett must fall, His name alone seems fit to answer all. Whose counsel first did this mad war beget? Who all commands sold through the Navy? Pett. Who would not follow when the Dutch were beat? Who treated out the time at Bergen? Pett. Who the Dutch fleet with storms disabled met, And, rifling prizes, them neglected? Pett. Who with false news prevented the Gazette, The fleet divided, writ for Ruhert? Pett. Who all our seamen cheated of their debt? And all our prizes who did swallow? Pett. Who did advise no navy out to set? And who the forts left unprepared? Pett. Who to supply with powder did forget Languard, Sheerness, Gravesend, and Upnor? Pett. Who all our ships exposed in Chatham net? Who should it be but the fanatick Pett? Pett, the sea-architect, in making ships, Was the first cause of all these naval slips. Had he not built, none of these faults had been; If no creation, there had been no sin But his great crime, one boat away he sent, That lost our fleet, and did our flight prevent." Instructions to a Painter.--B] The latter urged, that there must be some faults, and that the Admiral must be found to have done his part. I did say an unhappy word, which I was sorry for, when he complained of want of oares for the boats: and there was, it seems, enough, and good enough, to carry away all the boats with from the King's occasions. He said he used never a boat till they were all gone but one; and that was to carry away things of great value, and these were his models of ships; which, when the Council, some of them, had said they wished that the Dutch had had them instead of the King's ships, he answered, he did believe the Dutch would have made more advantage of the models than of the ships, and that the King had had greater loss thereby; this they all laughed at. After having heard him for an hour or more, they bid him withdraw. I all this while showing him no respect, but rather against him, for which God forgive me! for I mean no hurt to him, but only find that these Lords are upon their own purgation, and it is necessary I should be so in behalf of the office. He being gone, they caused Sir Richard Browne to read over his minutes; and then my Lord Arlington moved that they might be put into my hands to put into form, I being more acquainted with such business; and they were so. So I away back with my books and papers; and when I got into the Court it was pretty to see how people gazed upon me, that I thought myself obliged to salute people and to smile, lest they should think I was a prisoner too; but afterwards I found that most did take me to be there to bear evidence against P. Pett; but my fear was such, at my going in, of the success of the day, that at my going in I did think fit to give T. Hater, whom I took with me, to wait the event, my closet-key and directions where to find L500 and more in silver and gold, and my tallys, to remove, in case of any misfortune to me. Thence to Sir G. Carteret's to take my leave of my Lady Jem, who is going into the country tomorrow; but she being now at prayers with my Lady and family, and hearing here by Yorke, the carrier, that my wife is coming to towne, I did make haste home to see her, that she might not find me abroad, it being the first minute I have been abroad since yesterday was se'ennight. It is pretty to see how strange it is to be abroad to see people, as it used to be after a month or two's absence, and I have brought myself so to it, that I have no great mind to be abroad, which I could not have believed of myself. I got home, and after being there a little, she come, and two of her fellow-travellers with her, with whom we drunk: a couple of merchant-like men, I think, but have friends in our country. They being gone, I and my wife to talk, who did give me so bad an account of her and my father's method in burying of our gold, that made me mad: and she herself is not pleased with it, she believing that my sister knows of it. My father and she did it on Sunday, when they were gone to church, in open daylight, in the midst of the garden; where, for aught they knew, many eyes might see them: which put me into such trouble, that I was almost mad about it, and presently cast about, how to have it back again to secure it here, the times being a little better now; at least at White Hall they seem as if they were, but one way or other I am resolved to free them from the place if I can get them. Such was my trouble at this, that I fell out with my wife, that though new come to towne, I did not sup with her, nor speak to her tonight, but to bed and sleep. 20th. Up, without any respect to my wife, only answering her a question or two, without any anger though, and so to the office, where all the morning busy, and among other things Mr. Barber come to me (one of the clerks of the Ticket office) to get me to sign some tickets, and told me that all the discourse yesterday, about that part of the town where he was, was that Mr. Pett and I were in the Tower; and I did hear the same before. At noon, home to dinner, and there my wife and I very good friends; the care of my gold being somewhat over, considering it was in their hands that have as much cause to secure it as myself almost, and so if they will be mad, let them. But yet I do intend to, send for it away. Here dined Mercer with us, and after dinner she cut my hair, and then I into my closet and there slept a little, as I do now almost every day after dinner; and then, after dallying a little with Nell, which I am ashamed to think of, away to the office. Busy all the afternoon; in the evening did treat with, and in the end agree; but by some kind of compulsion, with the owners of six merchant ships, to serve the King as men-of-war. But, Lord! to see how against the hair it is with these men and every body to trust us and the King; and how unreasonable it is to expect they should be willing to lend their ships, and lay out 2 or L300 a man to fit their ships for new voyages, when we have not paid them half of what we owe them for their old services! I did write so to Sir W. Coventry this night. At night my wife and I to walk and talk again about our gold, which I am not quiet in my mind to be safe, and therefore will think of some way to remove it, it troubling me very much. So home with my wife to supper and to bed, miserable hot weather all night it was. 21st. Up and by water to White Hall, there to discourse with [Sir] G. Carteret and Mr. Fenn about office business. I found them all aground, and no money to do anything with. Thence homewards, calling at my Tailor's to bespeak some coloured clothes, and thence to Hercules Pillars, all alone, and there spent 6d. on myself, and so home and busy all the morning. At noon to dinner, home, where my wife shows me a letter from her father, who is going over sea, and this afternoon would take his leave of her. I sent him by her three Jacobuses in gold, having real pity for him and her. So I to my office, and there all the afternoon. This day comes news from Harwich that the Dutch fleete are all in sight, near 100 sail great and small, they think, coming towards them; where, they think, they shall be able to oppose them; but do cry out of the falling back of the seamen, few standing by them, and those with much faintness. The like they write from Portsmouth, and their letters this post are worth reading. Sir H. Cholmly come to me this day, and tells me the Court is as mad as ever; and that the night the Dutch burned our ships the King did sup with my Lady Castlemayne, at the Duchess of Monmouth's, and there were all mad in hunting of a poor moth. All the Court afraid of a Parliament; but he thinks nothing can save us but the King's giving up all to a Parliament. Busy at the office all the afternoon, and did much business to my great content. In the evening sent for home, and there I find my Lady Pen and Mrs. Lowther, and Mrs. Turner and my wife eating some victuals, and there I sat and laughed with them a little, and so to the office again, and in the evening walked with my wife in the garden, and did give Sir W. Pen at his lodgings (being just come from Deptford from attending the dispatch of the fire-ships there) an account of what passed the other day at Council touching Commissioner Pett, and so home to supper and to bed. 22nd. Up, and to my office, where busy, and there comes Mrs. Daniel... At the office I all the morning busy. At noon home to dinner, where Mr. Lewes Phillips, by invitation of my wife, comes, he coming up to town with her in the coach this week, and she expected another gentleman, a fellow-traveller, and I perceive the feast was for him, though she do not say it, but by some mistake he come not, so there was a good dinner lost. Here we had the two Mercers, and pretty merry. Much talk with Mr. Phillips about country business, among others that there is no way for me to purchase any severall lands in Brampton, or making any severall that is not so, without much trouble and cost, and, it may be, not do it neither, so that there is no more ground to be laid to our Brampton house. After dinner I left them, and to the office, and thence to Sir W. Pen's, there to talk with Mrs. Lowther, and by and by we hearing Mercer and my boy singing at my house, making exceeding good musique, to the joy of my heart, that I should be the master of it, I took her to my office and there merry a while, and then I left them, and at the office busy all the afternoon, and sleepy after a great dinner. In the evening come Captain Hart and Haywood to me about the six merchant-ships now taken up for men-of-war; and in talk they told me about the taking of "The Royal Charles;" that nothing but carelessness lost the ship, for they might have saved her the very tide that the Dutch come up, if they would have but used means and had had but boats: and that the want of boats plainly lost all the other ships. That the Dutch did take her with a boat of nine men, who found not a man on board her, and her laying so near them was a main temptation to them to come on; and presently a man went up and struck her flag and jacke, and a trumpeter sounded upon her "Joan's placket is torn," that they did carry her down at a time, both for tides and wind, when the best pilot in Chatham would not have undertaken it, they heeling her on one side to make her draw little water: and so carried her away safe. They being gone, by and by comes Sir W. Pen home, and he and I together talking. He hath been at Court; and in the first place, I hear the Duke of Cambridge is dead; a which is a great loss to the nation, having, I think, never an heyre male now of the King's or Duke's to succeed to the Crown. He tells me that they do begin already to damn the Dutch, and call them cowards at White Hall, and think of them and their business no better than they used to do; which is very sad. The King did tell him himself, which is so, I was told, here in the City, that the City, hath lent him L10,000, to be laid out towards securing of the River of Thames; which, methinks, is a very poor thing, that we should be induced to borrow by such mean sums. He tells me that it is most manifest that one great thing making it impossible for us to have set out a fleete this year, if we could have done it for money or stores, was the liberty given the beginning of the year for the setting out of merchant-men, which did take up, as is said, above ten, if not fifteen thousand seamen: and this the other day Captain Cocke tells me appears in the council-books, that is the number of seamen required to man the merchant ships that had passes to go abroad. By and by, my wife being here, they sat down and eat a bit of their nasty victuals, and so parted and we to bed. 23rd (Lord's day). Up to my chamber, and there all the morning reading in my Lord Coke's Pleas of the Crowne, very fine noble reading. After church time comes my wife and Sir W. Pen his lady and daughter; and Mrs. Markham and Captain Harrison (who come to dine with them), by invitation end dined with me, they as good as inviting themselves. I confess I hate their company and tricks, and so had no great pleasure in [it], but a good dinner lost. After dinner they all to church, and I by water alone to Woolwich, and there called on Mr. Bodham: and he and I to see the batterys newly raised; which, indeed, are good works to command the River below the ships that are sunk, but not above them. Here I met with Captain Cocke and Matt. Wren, Fenn, and Charles Porter, and Temple and his wife. Here I fell in with these, and to Bodham's with them, and there we sat and laughed and drank in his arbour, Wren making much and kissing all the day of Temple's wife. It is a sad sight to see so many good ships there sunk in the River, while we would be thought to be masters of the sea. Cocke says the bankers cannot, till peace returns, ever hope to have credit again; so that they can pay no more money, but people must be contented to take publick security such as they can give them; and if so, and they do live to receive the money thereupon, the bankers will be happy men. Fenn read me an order of council passed the 17th instant, directing all the Treasurers of any part of the King's revenue to make no payments but such as shall be approved by the present Lords Commissioners; which will, I think, spoil the credit of all his Majesty's service, when people cannot depend upon payment any where. But the King's declaration in behalf of the bankers, to make good their assignments for money, is very good, and will, I hope, secure me. Cocke says, that he hears it is come to it now, that the King will try what he can soon do for a peace; and if he cannot, that then he will cast all upon the Parliament to do as they see fit: and in doing so, perhaps, he may save us all. The King of France, it is believed, is engaged for this year; [Louis XIV. was at this time in Flanders, with his queen, his mistresses, and all his Court. Turenne commanded under him. Whilst Charles was hunting moths at Lady Castlemaine's, and the English fleet was burning, Louis was carrying on the campaign with vigour. Armentieres was taken on the 28th May; Charleroi on the 2nd June, St. Winox on the 6th, Fumes on the 12th, Ath on the 16th, Toumay on the 24th; the Escarpe on the 6th July, Courtray on the 18th, Audenarde on the 31st; and Lisle on the 27th August.--B.] so that we shall be safe as to him. The great misery the City and kingdom is like to suffer for want of coals in a little time is very visible, and, is feared, will breed a mutiny; for we are not in any prospect to command the sea for our colliers to come, but rather, it is feared, the Dutch may go and burn all our colliers at Newcastle; though others do say that they lie safe enough there. No news at all of late from Bredagh what our Treaters do. By and by, all by water in three boats to Greenwich, there to Cocke's, where we supped well, and then late, Wren, Fenn, and I home by water, set me in at the Tower, and they to White Hall, and so I home, and after a little talk with my wife to bed. 24th. Up, and to the office, where much business upon me by the coming of people of all sorts about the dispatch of one business or other of the fire-ships, or other ships to be set out now. This morning Greeting come, and I with him at my flageolet. At noon dined at home with my wife alone, and then in the afternoon all the day at my office. Troubled a little at a letter from my father, which tells me of an idle companion, one Coleman, who went down with him and my wife in the coach, and come up again with my wife, a pensioner of the King's Guard, and one that my wife, indeed, made the feast for on Saturday last, though he did not come; but if he knows nothing of our money I will prevent any other inconvenience. In the evening comes Mr. Povy about business; and he and I to walk in the garden an hour or two, and to talk of State matters. He tells me his opinion that it is out of possibility for us to escape being undone, there being nothing in our power to do that is necessary for the saving us: a lazy Prince, no Council, no money, no reputation at home or abroad. He says that to this day the King do follow the women as much as ever he did; that the Duke of York hath not got Mrs. Middleton, as I was told the other day: but says that he wants not her, for he hath others, and hath always had, and that he [Povy] hath known them brought through the Matted Gallery at White Hall into his [the Duke's] closet; nay, he hath come out of his wife's bed, and gone to others laid in bed for him: that Mr. Bruncker is not the only pimp, but that the whole family is of the same strain, and will do anything to please him: that, besides the death of the two Princes lately, the family is in horrible disorder by being in debt by spending above L60,000 per. annum, when he hath not L40,000: that the Duchesse is not only the proudest woman in the world, but the most expensefull; and that the Duke of York's marriage with her hath undone the kingdom, by making the Chancellor so great above reach, who otherwise would have been but an ordinary man, to have been dealt with by other people; and he would have been careful of managing things well, for fear of being called to account; whereas, now he is secure, and hath let things run to rack, as they now appear. That at a certain time Mr. Povy did carry him an account of the state of the Duke of York's estate, showing in faithfullness how he spent more than his estate would bear, by above L20,000 per annum, and asked my Lord's opinion of it; to which he answered that no man that loved the King or kingdom durst own the writing of that paper; at which Povy was startled, and reckoned himself undone for this good service, and found it necessary then to show it to the Duke of York's Commissioners; who read, examined, and approved of it, so as to cause it to be put into form, and signed it, and gave it the Duke. Now the end of the Chancellor was, for fear that his daughter's ill housewifery should be condemned. He [Povy] tells me that the other day, upon this ill newes of the Dutch being upon us, White Hall was shut up, and the Council called and sat close; and, by the way, he do assure me, from the mouth of some Privy-councillors, that at this day the Privy-council in general do know no more what the state of the kingdom as to peace and war is, than he or I; nor knows who manages it, nor upon whom it depends; and there my Lord Chancellor did make a speech to them, saying that they knew well that he was no friend to the war from the beginning, and therefore had concerned himself little in, nor could say much to it; and a great deal of that kind, to discharge himself of the fault of the war. Upon which my Lord Anglesey rose up and told his Majesty that he thought their coming now together was not to enquire who was, or was not, the cause of the war, but to enquire what was, or could be, done in the business of making a peace, and in whose hands that was, and where it was stopped or forwarded; and went on very highly to have all made open to them: and, by the way, I remember that Captain Cocke did the other day tell me that this Lord Anglesey hath said, within few days, that he would willingly give L10,000 of his estate that he was well secured of the rest, such apprehensions he hath of the sequel of things, as giving all over for lost. He tells me, speaking of the horrid effeminacy of the King, that the King hath taken ten times more care and pains in making friends between my Lady Castlemayne and Mrs. Stewart, when they have fallen out, than ever he did to save his kingdom; nay, that upon any falling out between my Lady Castlemayne's nurse and her woman, my Lady hath often said she would make the King to make them friends, and they would be friends and be quiet; which the King hath been fain to do: that the King is, at this day, every night in Hyde Park with the Duchesse of Monmouth, or with my Lady Castlemaine: that he [Povy] is concerned of late by my Lord Arlington in the looking after some buildings that he is about in Norfolke, where my Lord is laying out a great deal of money; and that he, Mr. Povy, considering the unsafeness of laying out money at such a time as this, and, besides, the enviousness of the particular county, as well as all the kingdom, to find him building and employing workmen, while all the ordinary people of the country are carried down to the seasides for securing the land, he thought it becoming him to go to my Lord Arlington (Sir Thomas Clifford by), and give it as his advice to hold his hands a little; but my Lord would not, but would have him go on, and so Sir Thomas Clifford advised also, which one would think, if he were a statesman worth a fart should be a sign of his foreseeing that all shall do well. But I do forbear concluding any such thing from them. He tells me that there is not so great confidence between any two men of power in the nation at this day, that he knows of, as between my Lord Arlington and Sir Thomas Clifford; and that it arises by accident only, there being no relation nor acquaintance between them, but only Sir Thomas Clifford's coming to him, and applying himself to him for favours, when he come first up to town to be a Parliament-man. He tells me that he do not think there is anything in the world for us possibly to be saved by but the King of France's generousnesse to stand by us against the Dutch, and getting us a tolerable peace, it may be, upon our giving him Tangier and the islands he hath taken, and other things he shall please to ask. He confirms me in the several grounds I have conceived of fearing that we shall shortly fall into mutinys and outrages among ourselves, and that therefore he, as a Treasurer, and therefore much more myself, I say, as being not only a Treasurer but an officer of the Navy, on whom, for all the world knows, the faults of all our evils are to be laid, do fear to be seized on by some rude hands as having money to answer for, which will make me the more desirous to get off of this Treasurership as soon as I can, as I had before in my mind resolved. Having done all this discourse, and concluded the kingdom in a desperate condition, we parted; and I to my wife, with whom was Mercer and Betty Michell, poor woman, come with her husband to see us after the death of her little girle. We sat in the garden together a while, it being night, and then Mercer and I a song or two, and then in (the Michell's home), my wife, Mercer, and I to supper, and then parted and to bed. 25th. Up, and with Sir W. Pen in his new chariot (which indeed is plain, but pretty and more fashionable in shape than any coach he hath, and yet do not cost him, harness and all, above L32) to White Hall; where staid a very little: and thence to St. James's to [Sir] W. Coventry, whom I have not seen since before the coming of the Dutch into the river, nor did indeed know how well to go see him, for shame either to him or me, or both of us, to find ourselves in so much misery. I find that he and his fellow-Treasurers are in the utmost want of money, and do find fault with Sir G. Carteret, that, having kept the mystery of borrowing money to himself so long, to the ruin of the nation, as [Sir] W. Coventry said in words to [Sir] W. Pen and me, he should now lay it aside and come to them for money for every penny he hath, declaring that he can raise no more: which, I confess, do appear to me the most like ill-will of any thing that I have observed of [Sir] W. Coventry, when he himself did tell us, on another occasion at the same time, that the bankers who used to furnish them money are not able to lend a farthing, and he knows well enough that that was all the mystery [Sir] G. Carteret did use, that is, only his credit with them. He told us the masters and owners of the two ships that I had complained of, for not readily setting forth their ships, which we had taken up to make men-of-war, had been yesterday with the King and Council, and had made their case so well understood, that the King did owe them for what they had earned the last year, that they could not set them out again without some money or stores out of the King's Yards; the latter of which [Sir] W. Coventry said must be done, for that they were not able to raise money for them, though it was but L200 a ship: which do skew us our condition to be so bad, that I am in a total despair of ever having the nation do well. After talking awhile, and all out of heart with stories of want of seamen, and seamen's running away, and their demanding a month's advance, and our being forced to give seamen 3s. a-day to go hence to work at Chatham, and other things that show nothing but destruction upon us; for it is certain that, as it now is, the seamen of England, in my conscience, would, if they could, go over and serve the King of France or Holland rather than us. Up to the Duke of York to his chamber, where he seems to be pretty easy, and now and then merry; but yet one may perceive in all their minds there is something of trouble and care, and with good reason. Thence to White Hall, and with Sir W. Pen, by chariot; and there in the Court met with my Lord Anglesey: and he to talk with [Sir] W. Pen, and told him of the masters of ships being with the Council yesterday, and that we were not in condition, though the men were willing, to furnish them with L200 of money, already due to them as earned by them the last year, to enable them to set out their ships again this year for the King: which he is amazed at; and when I told him, "My Lord, this is a sad instance of the condition we are in," he answered, that it was so indeed, and sighed: and so parted: and he up to the Council-chamber, where I perceive they sit every morning, and I to Westminster Hall, where it is Term time. I met with none I knew, nor did desire it, but only past through the-Hall and so back again, and by coach home to dinner, being weary indeed of seeing the world, and thinking it high time for me to provide against the foul weather that is certainly coming upon us. So to the office, and there [Sir] W. Pen and I did some business, and then home to dinner, where my wife pleases me mightily with what she can do upon the flageolet, and then I to the office again, and busy all the afternoon, and it is worth noting that the King and Council, in their order of the 23rd instant, for unloading three merchant-ships taken up for the King's service for men-of-war, do call the late coming of the Dutch "an invasion." I was told, yesterday, that Mr. Oldenburg, our Secretary at Gresham College, is put into the Tower, for writing newes to a virtuoso in France, with whom he constantly corresponds in philosophical matters; which makes it very unsafe at this time to write, or almost do any thing. Several captains come to the office yesterday and to-day, complaining that their men come and go when they will, and will not be commanded, though they are paid every night, or may be. Nay, this afternoon comes Harry Russell from Gravesend, telling us that the money carried down yesterday for the Chest at Chatham had like to have been seized upon yesterday, in the barge there, by seamen, who did beat our watermen: and what men should these be but the boat's crew of Sir Fretcheville Hollis, who used to brag so much of the goodness and order of his men, and his command over them. Busy all the afternoon at the office. Towards night I with Mr. Kinaston to White Hall about a Tangier order, but lost our labour, only met Sir H. Cholmly there, and he tells me great newes; that this day in Council the King hath declared that he will call his Parliament in thirty days: which is the best newes I have heard a great while, and will, if any thing, save the kingdom. How the King come to be advised to this, I know not; but he tells me that it was against the Duke of York's mind flatly, who did rather advise the King to raise money as he pleased; and against the Chancellor's, who told the King that Queen Elizabeth did do all her business in eighty-eight without calling a Parliament, and so might he do, for anything he saw. But, blessed be God! it is done; and pray God it may hold, though some of us must surely go to the pot, for all must be flung up to them, or nothing will be done. So back home, and my wife down by water, I sent her, with Mrs. Hewer and her son, W. Hewer, to see the sunk ships, while I staid at the office, and in the evening was visited by Mr. Roberts the merchant by us about the getting him a ship cleared from serving the King as a man of war, which I will endeavour to do. So home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and in dressing myself in my dressing chamber comes up Nell, and I did play with her.... So being ready I to White Hall by water, and there to the Lords Treasurers' chamber, and there wait, and here it is every body's discourse that the Parliament is ordered to meet the 25th of July, being, as they say, St. James's day; which every creature is glad of. But it is pretty to consider how, walking to the Old Swan from my house, I met Sir Thomas Harvy, whom, asking the newes of the Parliament's meeting, he told me it was true, and they would certainly make a great rout among us. I answered, I did not care for my part, though I was ruined, so that the Commonwealth might escape ruin by it. He answered, that is a good one, in faith; for you know yourself to be secure, in being necessary to the office; but for my part, says he, I must look to be removed; but then, says he, I doubt not but I shall have amends made me; for all the world knows upon what terms I come in; which is a saying that a wise man would not unnecessarily have said, I think, to any body, meaning his buying his place of my Lord Barkely [of Stratton]. So we parted, and I to White Hall, as I said before, and there met with Sir Stephen Fox and Mr. Scawen, who both confirm the news of the Parliament's meeting. Here I staid for an order for my Tangier money, L30,000, upon the 11 months' tax, and so away to my Lord Arlington's office, and there spoke to him about Mr. Lanyon's business, and received a good answer, and thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, and there met with Colonell Reames, who tells me of a letter come last night, or the day before, from my Lord St. Albans, out of France, wherein he says, that the King of France did lately fall out with him, giving him ill names, saying that he had belied him to our King, by saying that he had promised to assist our King, and to forward the peace; saying that indeed he had offered to forward the peace at such a time, but it was not accepted of, and so he thinks himself not obliged, and would do what was fit for him; and so made him to go out of his sight in great displeasure: and he hath given this account to the King, which, Colonell Reymes tells me, puts them into new melancholy at Court, and he believes hath forwarded the resolution of calling the Parliament. Wherewith for all this I am very well contented, and so parted and to the Exchequer, but Mr. Burgess was not in his office; so alone to the Swan, and thither come Mr. Kinaston to me, and he and I into a room and there drank and discoursed, and I am mightily pleased with him for a most diligent and methodical man in all his business. By and by to Burgess, and did as much as we could with him about our Tangier order, though we met with unexpected delays in it, but such as are not to be avoided by reason of the form of the Act and the disorders which the King's necessities do put upon it, and therefore away by coach, and at White Hall spied Mr. Povy, who tells me, as a great secret, which none knows but himself, that Sir G. Carteret hath parted with his place of Treasurer of the Navy, by consent, to my Lord Anglesey, and is to be Treasurer of Ireland in his stead; but upon what terms it is I know not, but Mr. Povy tells it is so, and that it is in his power to bring me to as great a friendship and confidence in my Lord Anglesey as ever I was with [Sir] W. Coventry, which I am glad of, and so parted, and I to my tailor's about turning my old silk suit and cloak into a suit and vest, and thence with Mr. Kinaston (whom I had set down in the Strand and took up again at the Temple gate) home, and there to dinner, mightily pleased with my wife's playing on the flageolet, and so after dinner to the office. Such is the want already of coals, and the despair of having any supply, by reason of the enemy's being abroad, and no fleete of ours to secure, that they are come, as Mr. Kinaston tells me, at this day to L5 10s. per chaldron. All the afternoon busy at the office. In the evening with my wife and Mercer took coach and to Islington to the Old House, and there eat and drank and sang with great pleasure, and then round by Hackney home with great pleasure, and when come home to bed, my stomach not being well pleased with the cream we had to-night. 27th. Wakened this morning, about three o'clock, by Mr. Griffin with a letter from Sir W. Coventry to W. Pen, which W. Pen sent me to see, that the Dutch are come up to the Nore again, and he knows not whether further or no, and would have, therefore, several things done: ships sunk, and I know not what--which Sir W. Pen (who it seems is very ill this night, or would be thought so) hath directed Griffin to carry to the Trinity House; so he went away with the letter, and I tried and with much ado did get a little sleep more, and so up about six o'clock, full of thought what to do with the little money I have left and my plate, wishing with all my heart that that was all secured. So to the office, where much business all the morning, and the more by my brethren being all out of the way; Sir W. Pen this night taken so ill cannot stir; [Sir] W. Batten ill at Walthamstow; Sir J. Minnes the like at Chatham, and my Lord Bruncker there also upon business. Horrible trouble with the backwardness of the merchants to let us have their ships, and seamen's running away, and not to be got or kept without money. It is worth turning to our letters this day to Sir W. Coventry about these matters. At noon to dinner, having a haunch of venison boiled; and all my clerks at dinner with me; and mightily taken with Mr. Gibson's discourse of the faults of this war in its management compared [with] that in the last war, which I will get him to put into writing. Thence, after dinner, to the office again, and there I saw the proclamations come out this day for the Parliament to meet the 25th of next month; for which God be praised! and another to invite seamen to bring in their complaints, of their being ill-used in the getting their tickets and money, there being a Committee of the Council appointed to receive their complaints. This noon W. Hewer and T. Hater both tell me that it is all over the town, and Mr. Pierce tells me also, this afternoon coming to me, that for certain Sir G. Carteret hath parted with his Treasurer's place, and that my Lord Anglesey is in it upon agreement and change of places, though the latter part I do not think. This Povy told me yesterday, and I think it is a wise act of [Sir] G. Carteret. Pierce tells me that he hears for certain fresh at Court, that France and we shall agree; and more, that yesterday was damned at the Council, the Canary Company; and also that my Lord Mordaunt hath laid down his Commission, both good things to please the Parliament, which I hope will do good. Pierce tells me that all the town do cry out of our office, for a pack of fools and knaves; but says that everybody speaks either well, or at least the best of me, which is my great comfort, and think I do deserve it, and shall shew I have; but yet do think, and he also, that the Parliament will send us all going; and I shall be well contented with it, God knows! But he tells me how Matt. Wren should say that he was told that I should say that W. Coventry was guilty of the miscarriage at Chatham, though I myself, as he confesses, did tell him otherwise, and that it was wholly Pett's fault. This do trouble me, not only as untrue, but as a design in some [one] or other to do me hurt; for, as the thing is false, so it never entered into my mouth or thought, nor ever shall. He says that he hath rectified Wren in his belief of this, and so all is well. He gone, I to business till the evening, and then by chance home, and find the fellow that come up with my wife, Coleman, last from Brampton, a silly rogue, but one that would seem a gentleman; but I did not stay with him. So to the office, where late, busy, and then to walk a little in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. News this tide, that about 80 sail of the Dutch, great and small were seen coming up the river this morning; and this tide some of them to the upper end of the Hope. 28th. Up, and hear Sir W. Batten is come to town: I to see him; he is very ill of his fever, and come to town only for advice. Sir J. Minnes, I hear also, is very ill all this night, worse than before. Thence I going out met at the gate Sir H. Cholmly coming to me, and I to him in the coach, and both of us presently to St. James's, by the way discoursing of some Tangier business about money, which the want of I see will certainly bring the place into a bad condition. We find the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry gone this morning, by two o'clock, to Chatham, to come home to-night: and it is fine to observe how both the King and Duke of York have, in their several late journeys to and again, done them in the night for coolnesse. Thence with him to the Treasury Chamber, and then to the Exchequer to inform ourselves a little about our warrant for L30,000 for Tangier, which vexes us that it is so far off in time of payment. Having walked two or three turns with him in the Hall we parted, and I home by coach, and did business at the office till noon, and then by water to White Hall to dinner to Sir G. Carteret, but he not at home, but I dined with my Lady and good company, and good dinner. My Lady and the family in very good humour upon this business of his parting with his place of Treasurer of the Navy, which I perceive they do own, and we did talk of it with satisfaction. They do here tell me that the Duke of Buckingham hath surrendered himself to Secretary Morrice, and is going to the Tower. Mr. Fenn, at the table, says that he hath been taken by the watch two or three times of late, at unseasonable hours, but so disguised that they could not know him: and when I come home, by and by, Mr. Lowther tells me that the Duke of Buckingham do dine publickly this day at Wadlow's, at the Sun Tavern; and is mighty merry, and sent word to the Lieutenant of the Tower, that he would come to him as soon as he had dined. Now, how sad a thing it is, when we come to make sport of proclaiming men traitors, and banishing them, and putting them out of their offices, and Privy Council, and of sending to and going to the Tower: God have mercy on us! At table, my Lady and Sir Philip Carteret have great and good discourse of the greatness of the present King of France--what great things he hath done, that a man may pass, at any hour in the night, all over that wild city [Paris], with a purse in his hand and no danger: that there is not a beggar to be seen in it, nor dirt lying in it; that he hath married two of Colbert's daughters to two of the greatest princes of France, and given them portions--bought the greatest dukedom in France, and given it to Colbert; [The Carterets appear to have mystified Pepys, who eagerly believed all that was told him. At this time Paris was notoriously unsafe, infested with robbers and beggars, and abominably unclean. Colbert had three daughters, of whom the eldest was just married when Pepys wrote, viz., Jean Marie Therese, to the Duc de Chevreuse, on the 3rd February, 1667. The second daughter, Henriette Louise, was not married to the Duc de St. Aignan till January 21st, 1671; and the third, Marie Anne, to the Duc de Mortemart, February 14th, 1679. Colbert himself was never made a duke. His highest title was Marquis de Seignelay.--B.] and ne'er a prince in France dare whisper against it, whereas here our King cannot do any such thing, but everybody's mouth is open against him for it, and the man that hath the favour also. That to several commanders that had not money to set them out to the present campagne, he did of his own accord--send them L1000 sterling a-piece, to equip themselves. But then they did enlarge upon the slavery of the people--that they are taxed more than the real estates they have; nay, it is an ordinary thing for people to desire to give the King all their land that they have, and themselves become only his tenants, and pay him rent to the full value of it: so they may have but their earnings, But this will not be granted; but he shall give the value of his rent, and part of his labour too. That there is not a petty governor of a province--nay, of a town, but he will take the daughter from the richest man in the town under him, that hath got anything, and give her to his footman for a wife if he pleases, and the King of France will do the like to the best man in his kingdom--take his daughter from him, and give her to his footman, or whom he pleases. It is said that he do make a sport of us now; and says, that he knows no reason why his cozen, the King of England, should not be as willing to let him have his kingdom, as that the Dutch should take it from him, which is a most wretched thing that ever we should live to be in this most contemptible condition. After dinner Sir G. Carteret come in, and I to him and my Lady, and there he did tell me that the business was done between him and my Lord Anglesey; that himself is to have the other's place of Deputy Treasurer of Ireland, which is a place of honour and great profit, being far better, I know not for what reason, but a reason there is, than the Treasurer's, my Lord of Corke's, and to give the other his, of Treasurer of the Navy; that the King, at his earnest entreaty, did, with much unwillingness, but with owning of great obligations to him, for his faithfulness and long service to him and his father, and therefore was willing to grant his desire. That the Duke of York hath given him the same kind words, so that it is done with all the good manner that could be, and he I perceive do look upon it, and so do I, I confess, as a great good fortune to him to meet with one of my Lord Anglesey's quality willing to receive it at this time. Sir W. Coventry he hath not yet made acquainted with it, nor do intend it, it being done purely to ease himself of the many troubles and plagues which he thinks the perverseness and unkindness of Sir W. Coventry and others by his means have and is likely every day to bring upon him, and the Parliament's envy, and lastly to put himself into a condition of making up his accounts, which he is, he says, afeard he shall never otherwise be. My Lord Chancellor, I perceive, is his friend in it. I remember I did in the morning tell Sir H. Cholmly of this business: and he answered me, he was sorry for it; for, whatever Sir G. Carteret was, he is confident my Lord Anglesey is one of the greatest knaves in the world, which is news to me, but I shall make my use of it. Having done this discourse with Sir G. Carteret, and signified my great satisfaction in it, which they seem to look upon as something, I went away and by coach home, and there find my wife making of tea, a drink which Mr. Pelling, the Potticary, tells her is good for her cold and defluxions. I to the office (whither come Mr. Carcasse to me to sue for my favour to him), and Sir W. Pen's, where I find Mr. Lowther come to town after the journey, and after a small visit to him, I to the office to do much business, and then in the evening to Sir W. Batten's, to see how he did; and he is better than he was. He told me how Mrs. Lowther had her train held up yesterday by her page, at his house in the country; which is so ridiculous a piece of pride as I am ashamed of. He told me also how he hears by somebody that my Lord Bruncker's maid hath told that her lady Mrs. Williams had sold her jewels and clothes to raise money for something or other; and indeed the last night a letter was sent from her to me, to send to my Lord, with about five pieces of gold in it, which methought at the time was but a poor supply. I then to Sir W. Pen, who continues a little ill, or dissembles it, the latter of which I am apt to believe. Here I staid but little, not meaning much kindness in it; and so to the office, and dispatched more business; and then home at night, and to supper with my wife, and who should come in but Mr. Pelling, and supped with us, and told us the news of the town; how the officers of the Navy are cried out upon, and a great many greater men; but do think that I shall do well enough; and I think, if I have justice, I shall. He tells me of my Lord Duke of Buckingham, his dining to-day at the Sun, and that he was mighty merry; and, what is strange, tells me that really he is at this day a very popular man, the world reckoning him to suffer upon no other account than that he did propound in Parliament to have all the questions that had to do with the receipt of the taxes and prizes; but they must be very silly that do think he can do any thing out of good intention. After a great deal of tittle-tattle with this honest man, he gone we to bed. We hear that the Dutch are gone down again; and thanks be to God! the trouble they give us this second time is not very considerable. 29th. Up, having had many ugly dreams to-night of my father and my sister and mother's coming to us, and meeting my wife and me at the gate of the office going out, they all in laced suits, and come, they told me, to be with me this May day. My mother told me she lacked a pair of gloves, and I remembered a pair of my wife's in my chamber, and resolved she should have them, but then recollected how my mother come to be here when I was in mourning for her, and so thinking it to be a mistake in our thinking her all this while dead, I did contrive that it should be said to any that enquired that it was my mother-in-law, my wife's mother, that was dead, and we in mourning for. This dream troubled me and I waked.... These dreams did trouble me mightily all night. Up, and by coach to St. James's, and there find Sir W. Coventry and Sir W. Pen above stairs, and then we to discourse about making up our accounts against the Parliament; and Sir W. Coventry did give us the best advice he could for us to provide for our own justification, believing, as everybody do, that they will fall heavily upon us all, though he lay all upon want of money, only a little, he says (if the Parliament be in any temper), may be laid upon themselves for not providing money sooner, they being expressly and industriously warned thereof by him, he says, even to the troubling them, that some of them did afterwards tell him that he had frighted them. He says he do prepare to justify himself, and that he hears that my Lord Chancellor, my Lord Arlington, the Vice Chamberlain and himself are reported all up and down the Coffee houses to be the four sacrifices that must be made to atone the people. Then we to talk of the loss of all affection and obedience, now in the seamen, so that all power is lost. He told us that he do concur in thinking that want of money do do the most of it, but that that is not all, but the having of gentlemen Captains, who discourage all Tarpaulins, and have given out that they would in a little time bring it to that pass that a Tarpaulin should not dare to aspire to more than to be a Boatswain or a gunner. That this makes the Sea Captains to lose their own good affections to the service, and to instil it into the seamen also, and that the seamen do see it themselves and resent it; and tells us that it is notorious, even to his bearing of great ill will at Court, that he hath been the opposer of gentlemen Captains; and Sir W. Pen did put in, and said that he was esteemed to have been the man that did instil it into Sir W. Coventry, which Sir W. Coventry did owne also, and says that he hath always told the Gentlemen Captains his opinion of them, and that himself who had now served to the business of the sea 6 or 7 years should know a little, and as much as them that had never almost been at sea, and that yet he found himself fitter to be a Bishop or Pope than to be a Sea-Commander, and so indeed he is. I begun to tell him of the experience I had of the great brags made by Sir F. Hollis the other day, and the little proof either of the command or interest he had in his men, which Sir W. Pen seconded by saying Sir Fr. Hollis had told him that there was not a pilot to be got the other day for his fire-ships, and so was forced to carry them down himself, which Sir W. Coventry says, in my conscience, he knows no more to do and understand the River no more than he do Tiber or Ganges. Thence I away with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, to the Treasury Chamber, but to no purpose, and so by coach home, and there to my office to business, and then home to dinner, and to pipe with my wife, and so to the office again, having taken a resolution to take a turn to Chatham to-morrow, indeed to do business of the King's, but also to give myself the satisfaction of seeing the place after the Dutch have been here. I have sent to and got Creed to go with me by coach betimes to-morrow morning. After having done my business at the office I home, and there I found Coleman come again to my house, and with my wife in our great chamber, which vexed me, there being a bed therein. I staid there awhile, and then to my study vexed, showing no civility to the man. But he comes on a compliment to receive my wife's commands into the country, whither he is going, and it being Saturday my wife told me there was no other room for her to bring him in, and so much is truth. But I staid vexed in my closet till by and by my cozen Thomas Pepys, of Hatcham, come to see me, and he up to my closet, and there sat talking an hour or two of the sad state of the times, whereof we did talk very freely, and he thinks nothing but a union of religious interests will ever settle us; and I do think that, and the Parliament's taking the whole management of things into their hands, and severe inquisitions into our miscarriages; will help us. After we had bewailed ourselves and the kingdom very freely one to another (wherein I do blame myself for my freedom of speech to anybody), he gone, and Coleman gone also before, I to the office, whither Creed come by my desire, and he and I to my wife, to whom I now propose the going to Chatham, who, mightily pleased with it, sent for Mercer to go with her, but she could not go, having friends at home, which vexed my wife and me; and the poor wretch would have had anybody else to have gone, but I would like nobody else, so was contented to stay at home, on condition to go to Ispsum next Sunday, which I will do, and so I to the office to dispatch my business, and then home to supper with Creed, and then Creed and I together to bed, very pleasant in discourse. This day talking with Sir W. Batten, he did give me an account how ill the King and Duke of York was advised to send orders for our frigates and fire-ships to come from Gravesend, soon as ever news come of the Dutch being returned into the river, wherein no seamen, he believes, was advised with; for, says he, we might have done just as Warwicke did, when he, W. Batten; come with the King and the like fleete, in the late wars, into the river: for Warwicke did not run away from them, but sailed before them when they sailed, and come to anchor when they come to anchor, and always kept in a small distance from them: so as to be able to take any opportunity of any of their ships running aground, or change of wind, or any thing else, to his advantage. So might we have done with our fire-ships, and we have lost an opportunity of taking or burning a good ship of their's, which was run aground about Holehaven, I think he said, with the wind so as their ships could not get her away; but we might have done what we would with her, and, it may be, done them mischief, too, with the wind. This seems very probable, and I believe was not considered. 30th (Lord's day). Up about three o'clock, and Creed and I got ourselves ready, and took coach at our gate, it being very fine weather, and the cool of the morning, and with much pleasure, without any stop, got to Rochester about ten of the clock, all the way having mighty pleasant talk of the fate that is over all we do, that it seems as if we were designed in every thing, by land by sea, to undo ourselves. At the foot of Rochester bridge, at the landing-place, I met my Lord Bruncker and my Lord Douglas, and all the officers of the soldiers in the town, waiting there for the Duke of York, whom they heard was coming thither this day; by and by comes my Lord Middleton, the first time I remember to have seen him, well mounted, who had been to meet him, but come back without him; he seems a fine soldier, and so every body says he is; and a man, like my Lord Teviott, and indeed most of the Scotch gentry, as I observe, of few words. After staying here by the water-side and seeing the boats come up from Chatham, with them that rowed with bandeleeres about their shoulders, and muskets in their boats, they being the workmen of the Yard, who have promised to redeem their credit, lost by their deserting the service when the Dutch were there, my Lord Bruncker went with Lord Middleton to his inne, the Crowne, to dinner, which I took unkindly, but he was slightly invited. So I and Creed down by boat to Chatham-yard (our watermen having their bandeleeres about them all the way), and to Commissioner Pett's house, where my Lord Bruncker told me that I should meet with his dinner two dishes of meat, but did not, but however by the help of Mr. Wiles had some beer and ale brought me, and a good piece of roast beef from somebody's table, and eat well at two, and after dinner into the garden to shew Creed, and I must confess it must needs be thought a sorrowful thing for a man that hath taken so much pains to make a place neat to lose it as Commissioner Pett must now this. Thence to see the batteries made; which, indeed, are very fine, and guns placed so as one would think the River should be very secure. I was glad, as also it was new to me, to see so many fortifications as I have of late seen, and so up to the top of the Hill, there to look, and could see towards Sheerenesse, to spy the Dutch fleete, but could make [out] none but one vessel, they being all gone. But here I was told, that, in all the late attempt, there was but one man that they knew killed on shore: and that was a man that had laid himself upon his belly upon one of the hills, on the other side of the River, to see the action; and a bullet come, took the ground away just under his belly, and ripped up his belly, and so was killed. Thence back to the docke, and in my way saw how they are fain to take the deals of the rope-house to supply other occasions, and how sillily the country troopers look, that stand upon the passes there; and, methinks, as if they were more willing to run away than to fight, and it is said that the country soldiers did first run at Sheerenesse, but that then my Lord Douglas's men did run also; but it is excused that there was no defence for them towards the sea, that so the very beach did fly in their faces as the bullets come, and annoyed them, they having, after all this preparation of the officers of the ordnance, only done something towards the land, and nothing at all towards the sea. The people here everywhere do speak very badly of Sir Edward Spragge, as not behaving himself as he should have done in that business, going away with the first, and that old Captain Pyne, who, I am here told, and no sooner, is Master-Gunner of England, was the last that staid there. Thence by barge, it raining hard, down to the chaine; and in our way did see the sad wrackes of the poor "Royall Oake," "James," and "London;" ["The bottom of the 'Royal James' is got afloat, and those of the 'Loyal London' and 'Royal Oak' soon will be so. Many men are at work to put Sheerness in a posture of defence, and a boom is being fitted over the river by Upnor Castle, which with the good fortifications will leave nothing to fear."--Calendar of State Papers, 1667, p. 285.] and several other of our ships by us sunk, and several of the enemy's, whereof three men-of-war that they could not get off, and so burned. We did also see several dead bodies lie by the side of the water. I do not see that Upnor Castle hath received any hurt by them, though they played long against it; and they themselves shot till they had hardly a gun left upon the carriages, so badly provided they were: they have now made two batteries on that side, which will be very good, and do good service. So to the chaine, and there saw it fast at the end on Upnor side of the River; very fast, and borne up upon the several stages across the River; and where it is broke nobody can tell me. I went on shore on Upnor side to look upon the end of the chaine; and caused the link to be measured, and it was six inches and one-fourth in circumference. They have burned the Crane House that was to hawl it taught. It seems very remarkable to me, and of great honour to the Dutch, that those of them that did go on shore to Gillingham, though they went in fear of their lives, and were some of them killed; and, notwithstanding their provocation at Schelling, yet killed none of our people nor plundered their houses, but did take some things of easy carriage, and left the rest, and not a house burned; and, which is to our eternal disgrace, that what my Lord Douglas's men, who come after them, found there, they plundered and took all away; and the watermen that carried us did further tell us, that our own soldiers are far more terrible to those people of the country-towns than the Dutch themselves. We were told at the batteries, upon my seeing of the field-guns that were there, that, had they come a day sooner, they had been able to have saved all; but they had no orders, and lay lingering upon the way, and did not come forward for want of direction. Commissioner Pett's house was all unfurnished, he having carried away all his goods. I met with no satisfaction whereabouts the chaine was broke, but do confess I met with nobody that I could well expect to have satisfaction [from], it being Sunday; and the officers of the Yard most of them abroad, or at the Hill house, at the pay of the Chest, which they did make use of to day to do part in. Several complaints, I hear, of the Monmouth's coming away too soon from the chaine, where she was placed with the two guard-ships to secure it; and Captain Robert Clerke, my friend, is blamed for so doing there, but I hear nothing of him at London about it; but Captain Brookes's running aground with the "Sancta Maria," which was one of the three ships that were ordered to be sunk to have dammed up the River at the chaine, is mightily cried against, and with reason, he being the chief man to approve of the abilities of other men, and the other two slips did get safe thither and he run aground; but yet I do hear that though he be blameable, yet if she had been there, she nor two more to them three would have been able to have commanded the river all over. I find that here, as it hath been in our river, fire-ships, when fitted, have been sunk afterwards, and particularly those here at the Mussle, where they did no good at all. Our great ships that were run aground and sunk are all well raised but the "Vanguard," which they go about to raise to-morrow. "The Henery," being let loose to drive up the river of herself, did run up as high as the bridge, and broke down some of the rails of the bridge, and so back again with the tide, and up again, and then berthed himself so well as no pilot could ever have done better; and Punnet says he would not, for his life, have undertaken to have done it, with all his skill. I find it is true that the Dutch did heele "The Charles" to get her down, and yet run aground twice or thrice, and yet got her safe away, and have her, with a great many good guns in her, which none of our pilots would ever have undertaken. It is very considerable the quantity of goods, which the making of these platforms and batterys do take out of the King's stores: so that we shall have little left there, and, God knows! no credit to buy any; besides, the taking away and spending of (it is possible) several goods that would have been either rejected or abatement made for them before used. It is a strange thing to see that, while my Lords Douglas and Middleton do ride up and down upon single horses, my Lord Bruncker do go up and down with his hackney-coach and six horses at the King's charge, which will do, for all this time, and the time that he is likely to stay, must amount to a great deal. But I do not see that he hath any command over the seamen, he being affronted by three or four seamen before my very face, which he took sillily, methought; and is not able to do so much good as a good boatswain in this business. My Lord Bruncker, I perceive, do endeavour to speak well of Commissioner Pett, saying that he did exercise great care and pains while he was there, but do not undertake to answer for his not carrying up of the great ships. Back again to Rochester, and there walked to the Cathedral as they were beginning of the service, but would not be seen to stay to church there, besides had no mind, but rather to go to our inne, the White Hart, where we drank and were fain (the towne being so full of soldiers) to have a bed corded for us to lie in, I being unwilling to lie at the Hill house for one night, being desirous to be near our coach to be gone betimes to-morrow morning. Here in the streets, I did hear the Scotch march beat by the drums before the soldiers, which is very odde. Thence to the Castle, and viewed it with Creed, and had good satisfaction from him that showed it us touching the history of it. Then into the fields, a fine walk, and there saw Sir Francis Clerke's house, which is a pretty seat, and then back to our inne and bespoke supper, and so back to the fields and into the Cherry garden, where we had them fresh gathered, and here met with a young, plain, silly shopkeeper, and his wife, a pretty young woman, the man's name Hawkins, and I did kiss her, and we talked (and the woman of the house is a very talking bawdy jade), and eat cherries together, and then to walk in the fields till it was late, and did kiss her, and I believe had I had a fit time and place I might have done what I would with her. Walked back and left them at their house near our inne, and then to our inne, where, I hear, my Lord Bruncker hath sent for me to speak with me before I go: so I took his coach, which stands there with two horses, and to him and to his bedside, where he was in bed, and hath a watchman with a halbert at his door; and to him, and did talk a little, and find him a very weak man for this business that he is upon; and do pity the King's service, that is no better handled, and his folly to call away Pett before we could have found a better man to have staid in his stead; so took leave of him, and with Creed back again, it being now about 10 at night, and to our inne to supper, and then to bed, being both sleepy, but could get no sheets to our bed, only linen to our mouths, and so to sleep, merrily talking of Hawkins and his wife, and troubled that Creed did see so much of my dalliance, though very little. JULY 1667 July 1st. Up betimes, about 9 o'clock, waked by a damned noise between a sow gelder and a cow and a dog, nobody after we were up being able to tell us what it was. After being ready we took coach, and, being very sleepy, droused most part of the way to Gravesend, and there 'light, and down to the new batterys, which are like to be very fine, and there did hear a plain fellow cry out upon the folly of the King's officers above, to spend so much money in works at Woolwich and Deptford, and sinking of good ships loaden with goods, when, if half the charge had been laid out here, it would have secured all that, and this place too, before now. And I think it is not only true in this, but that the best of the actions of us all are so silly, that the meanest people begin to see through them, and contemn them. Besides, says he, they spoil the river by it. Then informed ourselves where we might have some creame, and they guided us to one Goody Best's, a little out of the towne towards London road, and thither we went with the coach, and find it a mighty clean, plain house, and had a dish of very good creame to our liking, and so away presently very merry, and fell to reading of the several Advices to a Painter, which made us good sport, and indeed are very witty, and Creed did also repeat to me some of the substance of letters of old Burleigh in Queen Elizabeth's time, which he hath of late read in the printed Cabbala, which is a very fine style at this day and fit to be imitated. With this, and talking and laughing at the folly of our masters in the management of things at this day, we got home by noon, where all well, and then to dinner, and after dinner both of us laid down upon the couch and chairs and to sleep, which I did for an hour or two, and then to the office, where I am sorry to hear that Sir J. Minnes is likely to die this night, or to-morrow, I forgot to set down that we met this morning upon the road with Mrs. Williams going down to my Lord Bruncker; we bowed without speaking one to another, but I am ashamed at the folly of the man to have her down at this serious busy time, when the town and country is full of people and full of censure, and against him particularly. At Sir W. Batten's my Lady tells me that she hears for certain that my Lord's maid of his lodging here do give out that Mrs. Williams hath been fain of late to sell her best clothes and jewels to get a little money upon, which is a sad condition. Thence to the office, and did write to my Lord Bruncker to give me a little satisfaction about the certainty of the chain's being broke, which I begin to doubt, and the more from Sir W. Pen's discourse. It is worth while to read my letter to him entered in my letter book. Home in the evening to supper, and so pretty betimes, about 10 o'clock, to bed, and slept well. This day letters are come that my sister is very ill. 2nd. Up, and put on my new silke camelott suit, made of my cloak, and suit now made into a vest. So to the office, where W. Pen and myself, and Sir T. Harvy met, the first time we have had a meeting since the coming of the Dutch upon this coast. Our only business (for we have little else to do, nobody being willing to trust us for anything) was to speak with the owners of six merchantmen which we have been taking up this fortnight, and are yet in no readiness, they not fitting their ships without money advanced to them, we owing them for what their ships have earned the last year. So every thing stands still for money, while we want money to pay for some of the most necessary things that we promised ready money for in the height of our wants, as grapnells, &c. At noon home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and Jane (mighty fine the girle) to go to see Jane's old mistress, who was to see her, and did see my wife the other day, and it is pleasant to hear with what kindness her old mistress speaks of this girle, and how she would still have her, and how the wench cried when she told her that she must come to her old mistress my wife. They gone, I to my chamber, and there dallied a little with my maid Nell.... and so to the office where busy till night, and then comes Mrs. Turner, and walks with me in the garden to talk with me about her husband's business, and to tell me how she hears at the other end of the town how bad our office is spoken of by the King and Prince and Duke of Albemarle, and that there is not a good word said of any of us but of me; and me they all do speak mightily of, which, whether true or no, I am mighty glad to hear, but from all put together that I hear from other people, I am likely to pass as well as anybody. So, she gone, comes my wife and to walk in the garden, Sir J. Minnes being still ill and so keeping us from singing, and by and by Sir W. Pen come and walked with us and gave us a bottle of Syder, and so we home to supper and to bed. This day I am told that poor Tooker is dead, a very painfull poor man as ever I knew. 3rd. Up, and within most of the morning, my tailor's boy coming to alter something in my new suit I put on yesterday. Then to the office and did business, and then (my wife being a little ill of those in bed) I to Sir W. Batten's and dined, and there comes in Sir Richard Ford, tells us how he hath been at the Sessions-house, and there it is plain that there is a combination of rogues in the town, that do make it their business to set houses on fire, and that one house they did set on fire in Aldersgate Streete last Easter; and that this is proved by two young men, whom one of them debauched by degrees to steal their fathers' plate and clothes, and at last to be of their company; and they had their places to take up what goods were flung into the streets out of the windows, when the houses were on fire; and this is like to be proved to a great number of rogues, whereof five are already found, and some found guilty this day. One of these boys is the son of a Montagu, of my Lord Manchester's family; but whose son he could not tell me. This is a strange thing methinks, but I am glad that it is proved so true and discovered. So home, and to enter my Journall of my late journey to this hour, and then to the office, where to do a little business, and then by water to White Hall (calling at Michell's in my way, but the rogue would not invite me in, I having a mind para voir his wife), and there to the Council-chamber, to deliver a letter to their Lordships about the state of the six merchantmen which we have been so long fitting out. When I come, the King and the whole table full of Lords were hearing of a pitifull cause of a complaint of an old man, with a great grey beard, against his son, for not allowing him something to live on; and at last come to the ordering the son to allow his father L10 a year. This cause lasted them near two hours; which, methinks, at this time to be the work of the Council-board of England, is a scandalous thing, and methought Sir W. Coventry to me did own as much. Here I find all the newes is the enemy's landing 3,000 men near Harwich, [Richard Browne, writing to Williamson from Aldeburgh, on July 2nd, says: "The Dutch fleet of 80 sail has anchored in the bay; they were expected to land, but they tacked about, and stood first northward and then southward, close by Orford lighthouse, and have now passed the Ness towards Harwich; they have fired no guns, but made false fires" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 258).] and attacking Landguard Fort, and being beat off thence with our great guns, killing some of their men, and they leaving their ladders behind them; but we had no Horse in the way on Suffolk side, otherwise we might have galled their Foot. The Duke of York is gone down thither this day, while the General sat sleeping this afternoon at the Council-table. The news so much talked of this Exchange, of a peace, I find by Sir Richard Browne arises from a letter the Swedes' agent hath received from Bredah and shewed at Court to-day, that they are come very near it, but I do not find anybody here relying upon it. This cause being over, the Trinity House men, whom I did not expect to meet, were called in, and there Sir W. Pen made a formal speech in answer to a question of the King's, whether the lying of the sunk ships in the river would spoil the river. But, Lord! how gingerly he answered it, and with a deal of do that he did not know whether it would be safe as to the enemy to have them taken up, but that doubtless it would be better for the river to have them taken up. Methought the Council found them answer like fools, and it ended in bidding them think more of it, and bring their answer in writing. Thence I to Westminster Hall, and there hear how they talk against the present management of things, and against Sir W. Coventry for his bringing in of new commanders and casting out the old seamen, which I did endeavour to rectify Mrs. Michell and them in, letting them know that he hath opposed it all his life the most of any man in England. After a deal of this tittle tattle, I to Mrs. Martin's, and there she was gone in before, but when I come, contrary to my expectation, I find her all in trouble, and what was it for but that I have got her with child.... and is in exceeding grief, and swears that the child is mine, which I do not believe, but yet do comfort her that either it cannot be so, or if it be that I will take care to send for her husband, though I do hardly see how I can be sure of that, the ship being at sea, and as far as Scotland, but however I must do it, and shall find some way or other of doing it, though it do trouble me not a little. Thence, not pleased, away to White Hall to Mr. Williamson, and by and by my Lord Arlington about Mr. Lanyon's business, and it is pretty to see how Mr. Williamson did altogether excuse himself that my business was not done when I come to my Lord and told him my business; "Why," says my Lord, "it hath been done, and the King signed it several days ago," and so it was and was in Mr. Williamson's hands, which made us both laugh, and I in innocent mirth, I remember, said, it is pretty to see in what a condition we are that all our matters now-a-days are undone, we know not how, and done we know not when. He laughed at it, but I have since reflected on it, and find it a severe speech as it might be taken by a chief minister of state, as indeed Mr. Williamson is, for he is indeed the Secretary. But we fell to other pleasant talk, and a fine gentleman he is, and so gave him L5 for his fee, and away home, and to Sir W. Batten's to talk a little, and then to the office to do a little business, and so home to supper and read myself asleep, and then to bed. 4th. Up, and, in vain expecting Sir R. Ford's calling on me, I took coach and to the Sessions-house, where I have a mind to hear Bazill Fielding's case--[See May 9th, 1667]--tried; and so got up to the Bench, my Lord Chief-Justice Keeling being Judge. Here I stood bare, not challenging, though I might well enough, to be covered. But here were several fine trials; among others, several brought in for making it their trade to set houses on fire merely to get plunder; and all proved by the two little boys spoken of yesterday by Sir R. Ford, who did give so good account of particulars that I never heard children in my life. And I confess, though I was unsatisfied with the force given to such little boys, to take away men's lives, yet, when I was told that my Lord Chief-Justice did declare that there was no law against taking the oath of children above twelve years old, and then heard from Sir R. Ford the good account which the boys had given of their understanding the nature and consequence of an oath, and now my own observation of the sobriety and readiness of their answers, further than of any man of any rank that come to give witness this day, though some men of years and learning, I was a little amazed, and fully satisfied that they ought to have as much credit as the rest. They proved against several, their consulting several times at a bawdy-house in Moore-Fields, called the Russia House, among many other rogueries, of setting houses on fire, that they might gather the goods that were flung into the streets; and it is worth considering how unsafe it is to have children play up and down this lewd town. For these two boys, one is my Lady Montagu's (I know not what Lady Montagu) son, and the other of good condition, were playing in Moore-Fields, and one rogue, Gabriel Holmes, did come to them and teach them to drink, and then to bring him plate and clothes from their fathers' houses, and carry him into their houses, and leaving open the doors for him, and at last were made of their conspiracy, and were at the very burning of this house in Aldersgate Street, on Easter Sunday at night last, and did gather up goods, as they had resolved before and this Gabriel Holmes did advise to have had two houses set on fire, one after another, that, while they were quenching of one, they might be burning another. And it is pretty that G. Holmes did tell his fellows, and these boys swore it, that he did set fire to a box of linen in the Sheriffe, Sir Joseph Shelden's' house, while he was attending the fire in Aldersgate Street, and the Sheriffe himself said that there was a fire in his house, in a box of linen, at the same time, but cannot conceive how this fellow should do it. The boys did swear against one of them, that he had made it his part to pull the plug out of the engine while it was a-playing; and it really was so. And goods they did carry away, and the manner of the setting the house on fire was, that Holmes did get to a cockpit; where, it seems, there was a publick cockpit, and set fire to the straw in it, and hath a fire-ball at the end of the straw, which did take fire, and so it prevailed, and burned the house; and, among other things they carried away, he took six of the cocks that were at the cockpit; and afterwards the boys told us how they had one dressed, by the same token it was so hard they could not eat it. But that which was most remarkable was the impudence of this Holmes, who hath been arraigned often, and still got away; and on this business was taken and broke loose just at Newgate Gate; and was last night luckily taken about Bow, who got loose, and run into the river, and hid himself in the rushes; and they pursued him with a dog, and the dog got him and held him till he was taken. But the impudence of this fellow was such, that he denied he ever saw the boys before, or ever knew the Russia House, or that the people knew him; and by and by the mistress of the Russia House was called in, being indicted, at the same time, about another thing; and she denied that the fellow was of her acquaintance, when it was pretty to see how the little boys did presently fall upon her, and ask her how she durst say so, when she was always with them when they met at her house, and particularly when she come in in her smock before a dozen of them, at which the Court laughed, and put the woman away. Well, this fellow Holmes was found guilty of the act of burning the house, and other things, that he stood indicted for. And then there were other good cases, as of a woman that come to serve a gentlewoman, and in three days run away, betimes in the morning, with a great deal of plate and rings, and other good things. It was time very well spent to be here. Here I saw how favourable the judge was to a young gentleman that struck one of the officers, for not making him room: told him he had endangered the loss of his hand, but that he hoped he had not struck him, and would suppose that he had not struck him. About that the Court rose, and I to dinner with my Lord Mayor and Sheriffs; where a good dinner and good discourse; the judge being there. There was also tried this morning Fielding, which I thought had been Bazilll--but it proved the other, and Bazill was killed; that killed his brother, who was found guilty of murder, and nobody pitied him. The judge seems to be a worthy man, and able: and do intend, for these rogues that burned this house to be hung in some conspicuous place in the town, for an example. After dinner to the Court again, where I heard some more causes, but with so much trouble because of the hot weather that I had no pleasure in it. Anon the Court rose, and I walked to Fleet streete for my belt at the beltmaker's, and so home and to the office, wrote some letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the office, where Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, [Sir] T. Harvy and I met upon Mr. Gawden's accounts, and was at it all the morning. This morning Sir G. Carteret did come to us, and walked in the garden. It was to talk with me about some thing of my Lord Sandwich's, but here he told us that the great seale is passed to my Lord Annesly [Anglesey] for Treasurer of the Navy: so that now he do no more belong to us: and I confess, for his sake, I am glad of it, and do believe the other will have little content in it. At noon I home to dinner with my wife, and after dinner to sing, and then to the office a little and Sir W. Batten's, where I am vexed to hear that Nan Wright, now Mrs. Markham, Sir W. Pen's mayde and whore, is come to sit in our pew at church, and did so while my Lady Batten was there. I confess I am very much vexed at it and ashamed. By and by out with [Sir] W. Pen to White Hall, where I staid not, but to the New Exchange to buy gloves and other little errands, and so home and to my office busy till night, and then walked in the garden with my wife, and then to supper and to sing, and so to bed. No news, but that the Dutch are gone clear from Harwich northward, and have given out they are going to Yarmouth. 6th. Up, and to the office, where some of us sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, whither Creed come to dine with us and brings the first word I hear of the news of a peace, the King having letters come to him this noon signifying that it is concluded on, and that Mr. Coventry is upon his way coming over for the King's satisfaction. The news was so good and sudden that I went with great joy to [Sir] W. Batten and then to [Sir] W. Pen to tell it them, and so home to dinner, mighty merry, and light at my heart only on this ground, that a continuing of the war must undo us, and so though peace may do the like if we do not make good use of it to reform ourselves and get up money, yet there is an opportunity for us to save ourselves. At least, for my own particular, we shall continue well till I can get my money into my hands, and then I will shift for myself. After dinner away, leaving Creed there, by coach to Westminster, where to the Swan and drank, and then to the Hall, and there talked a little with great joy of the peace, and then to Mrs. Martin's, where I met with the good news que elle ne est con child, the fear of which she did give me the other day, had troubled me much. My joy in this made me send for wine, and thither come her sister and Mrs. Cragg, and I staid a good while there. But here happened the best instance of a woman's falseness in the world, that her sister Doll, who went for a bottle of wine, did come home all blubbering and swearing against one Captain Vandener, a Dutchman of the Rhenish Wine House, that pulled her into a stable by the Dog tavern, and there did tumble her and toss her, calling him all the rogues and toads in the world, when she knows that elle hath suffered me to do any thing with her a hundred times. Thence with joyful heart to White Hall to ask Mr. Williamson the news, who told me that Mr. Coventry is coming over with a project of a peace; which, if the States agree to, and our King, when their Ministers on both sides have shewed it them, we shall agree, and that is all: but the King, I hear, do give it out plain that the peace is concluded. Thence by coach home, and there wrote a few letters, and then to consult with my wife about going to Epsum to-morrow, sometimes designing to go and then again not; and at last it grew late and I bethought myself of business to employ me at home tomorrow, and so I did not go. This afternoon I met with Mr. Rolt, who tells me that he is going Cornett under Collonel Ingoldsby, being his old acquaintance, and Ingoldsby hath a troop now from under the King, and I think it is a handsome way for him, but it was an ominous thing, methought, just as he was bidding me his last adieu, his nose fell a-bleeding, which ran in my mind a pretty while after. This afternoon Sir Alexander Frazier, who was of council for Sir J. Minnes, and had given him over for a dead man, said to me at White Hall:--"What," says he, "Sir J. Minnes is dead." I told him, "No! but that there is hopes of his life." Methought he looked very sillily after it, and went his way. Late home to supper, a little troubled at my not going to Epsum to-morrow, as I had resolved, especially having the Duke of York and [Sir] W. Coventry out of town, but it was my own fault and at last my judgment to stay, and so to supper and to bed. This day, with great satisfaction, I hear that my Lady Jemimah is brought to bed, at Hinchingbroke, of a boy. 7th (Lord's day). Up, and to my chamber, there to settle some papers, and thither comes Mr. Moore to me and talked till church time of the news of the times about the peace and the bad consequences of it if it be not improved to good purpose of fitting ourselves for another war. He tells me he heard that the discontented Parliament-men are fearful that the next sitting the King will put for a general excise, by which to raise him money, and then to fling off the Parliament, and raise a land-army and keep them all down like slaves; and it is gotten among them, that Bab. May, the Privy-purse, hath been heard to say that L300 a-year is enough for any country gentleman; which makes them mad, and they do talk of 6 or L800,000 gone into the Privy-purse this war, when in King James's time it arose but to L5,000, and in King Charles's but L10,000 in a year. He tells me that a goldsmith in town told him that, being with some plate with my Lady Castlemayne lately, she directed her woman (the great beauty), "Wilson," says she, "make a note for this, and for that, to the Privy-purse for money." He tells me a little more of the baseness of the courses taken at Court in the case of Mr. Moyer, who is at liberty, and is to give L500 for his liberty; but now the great ones are divided, who shall have the money, the Duke of Albemarle on one hand, and another Lord on the other; and that it is fain to be decided by having the person's name put into the King's warrant for his liberty, at whose intercession the King shall own that he is set at liberty; which is a most lamentable thing, that we do professedly own that we do these things, not for right and justice sake, but only to gratify this or that person about the King. God forgive us all! Busy till noon, and then home to dinner, and Mr. Moore come and dined with us, and much more discourse at and after dinner of the same kind, and then, he gone, I to my office busy till the evening, and then with my wife and Jane over to Half-way house, a very good walk; and there drank, and in the cool of the evening back again, and sang with pleasure upon the water, and were mightily pleased in hearing a boatfull of Spaniards sing, and so home to supper and to bed. Jane of late mighty fine, by reason of a laced whiske her mistress hath given her, which makes her a very gracefull servant. But, above all, my wife and I were the most surprised in the beauty of a plain girle, which we met in the little lane going from Redriffe-stairs into the fields, one of the prettiest faces that we think we ever saw in our lives. 8th. Up, and to my chamber, and by and by comes Greeting, and to my flageolett with him with a pretty deal of pleasure, and then to the office, where [Sir] W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen and I met about putting men to work for the weighing of the ships in the River sunk. Then home again, and there heard Mr. Caesar play some very good things on the lute together with myself on the violl and Greeting on the viallin. Then with my wife abroad by coach, she to her tailor's, I to Westminster to Burges about my Tangier business, and thence to White Hall, where I spoke with Sir John Nicholas, who tells me that Mr. Coventry is come from Bredah, as was expected; but, contrary to expectation, brings with him two or three articles which do not please the King: as, to retrench the Act of Navigation, and then to ascertain what are contraband goods; and then that those exiled persons, who are or shall take refuge in their country, may be secure from any further prosecution. Whether these will be enough to break the peace upon, or no, he cannot tell; but I perceive the certainty of peace is blown over. So called on my wife and met Creed by the way, and they two and I to Charing Cross, there to see the great boy and girle that are lately come out of Ireland, the latter eight, the former but four years old, of most prodigious bigness for their age. I tried to weigh them in my arms, and find them twice as heavy as people almost twice their age; and yet I am apt to believe they are very young. Their father a little sorry fellow, and their mother an old Irish woman. They have had four children of this bigness, and four of ordinary growth, whereof two of each are dead. If, as my Lord Ormond certifies, it be true that they are no older, it is very monstrous. So home and to dinner with my wife and to pipe, and then I to the office, where busy all the afternoon till the evening, and then with my wife by coach abroad to Bow and Stratford, it being so dusty weather that there was little pleasure in it, and so home and to walk in the garden, and thither comes Pelling to us to talk, and so in and to supper, and then to bed. All the world being as I hear very much damped that their hopes of peace is become uncertain again. 9th. Up pretty betimes and to the office, where busy till office time, and then we sat, but nothing to do but receive clamours about money. This day my Lord Anglesey, our new Treasurer, come the first time to the Board, and there sat with us till noon; and I do perceive he is a very notable man, and understanding, and will do things regular, and understand them himself, not trust Fenn, as Sir G. Carteret did, and will solicit soundly for money, which I do fear was Sir G. Carteret's fault, that he did not do that enough, considering the age we live in, that nothing will do but by solicitation, though never so good for the King or Kingdom, and a bad business well solicited shall, for peace sake, speed when a good one shall not. But I do confess that I do think it a very bold act of him to take upon himself the place of Treasurer of the Navy at this time, but when I consider that a regular accountant never ought to fear any thing nor have reason I then do cease to wonder. At noon home to dinner and to play on the flageolet with my wife, and then to the office, where very busy close at my office till late at night. At night walked and sang with my wife in the garden, and so home to supper and to bed. This evening news comes for certain that the Dutch are with their fleete before Dover, and that it is expected they will attempt something there. The business of the peace is quite dashed again, so as now it is doubtful whether the King will condescend to what the Dutch demand, it being so near the Parliament, it being a thing that will, it may be, recommend him to them when they shall find that the not having of a peace lies on his side by denying some of their demands. This morning Captain Clerke (Robin Clerke) was at the table, now commands the Monmouth, and did when the enemy passed the chaine at Chatham the other day, who said publickly at the table that he did admire at the order when it was brought him for sinking of the Monmouth (to the endangering of the ship, and spoiling of all her provisions) when her number of men were upon her that he could have carried her up the River whither he pleased, and have-been a guard to the rest, and could have sunk her at any time. He did carry some 100 barrels of powder out of the ship to save it after the orders come for the sinking her. He knew no reason at all, he declares, that could lead them to order the sinking her, nor the rest of the great ships that were sunk, but above all admires they would burn them on shore and sink them there, when it had been better to have sunk them long way in the middle of the River, for then they would not have burned them so low as now they did. 10th. Up, and to the office betimes, and there all the morning very busy causing papers to be entered and sorted to put the office in order against the Parliament. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again close all the afternoon upon the same occasion with great pleasure till late, and then with my wife and Mercer in the garden and sung, and then home and sung, and to supper with great content, and so to bed. The Duke of York is come back last night from Harwich, the news he brings I know not, nor hear anything to-day from Dover, whether the enemy have made any attempt there as was expected. This day our girle Mary, whom Payne helped us to, to be under his daughter, when she come to be our cook-mayde, did go away declaring that she must be where she might earn something one day, and spend it and play away the next. But a good civil wench, and one neither wife nor I did ever give angry word to, but she has this silly vanity that she must play. 11th. Up betimes and to my office, and there busy till the office (which was only Sir T. Harvy and myself) met, and did little business and then broke up. He tells me that the Council last night did sit close to determine of the King's answer about the peace, and that though he do not certainly know, yet by all discourse yesterday he do believe it is peace, and that the King had said it should be peace, and had bidden Alderman Baclewell to declare [it] upon the 'Change. It is high time for us to have peace that the King and Council may get up their credits and have time to do it, for that indeed is the bottom of all our misery, that nobody have any so good opinion of the King and his Council and their advice as to lend money or venture their persons, or estates, or pains upon people that they know cannot thrive with all that we can do, but either by their corruption or negligence must be undone. This indeed is the very bottom of every man's thought, and the certain ground that we must be ruined unless the King change his course, or the Parliament come and alter it. At noon dined alone with my wife. All the afternoon close at the office, very hard at gathering papers and putting things in order against the Parliament, and at night home with my wife to supper, and then to bed, in hopes to have all things in my office in good condition in a little time for any body to examine, which I am sure none else will. 12th. Up betimes and to my chamber, there doing business, and by and by comes Greeting and begun a new month with him, and now to learn to set anything from the notes upon the flageolet, but, Lord! to see how like a fool he goes about to give me direction would make a man mad. I then out and by coach to White Hall and to the Treasury chamber, where did a little business, and thence to the Exchequer to Burges, about Tangier business, and so back again, stepping into the Hall a little, and then homeward by coach, and met at White Hall with Sir H. Cholmly, and so into his coach, and he with me to the Excise Office, there to do a little business also, in the way he telling me that undoubtedly the peace is concluded; for he did stand yesterday where he did hear part of the discourse at the Council table, and there did hear the King argue for it. Among other things, that the spirits of the seamen were down, and the forces of our enemies are grown too great and many for us, and he would not have his subjects overpressed; for he knew an Englishman would do as much as any man upon hopeful terms; but where he sees he is overpressed, he despairs soon as any other; and, besides that, they have already such a load of dejection upon them, that they will not be in temper a good while again. He heard my Lord Chancellor say to the King, "Sir," says he, "the whole world do complain publickly of treachery, that things have been managed falsely by some of his great ministers."--"Sir," says he, "I am for your Majesty's falling into a speedy enquiry into the truth of it, and, where you meet with it, punish it. But, at the same time, consider what you have to do, and make use of your time for having a peace; for more money will not be given without much trouble, nor is it, I fear, to be had of the people, nor will a little do it to put us into condition of doing our business." But Sir H. Cholmly tells me he [the] Chancellors did say the other day at his table, "Treachery!" says he; "I could wish we could prove there was anything of that in it; for that would imply some wit and thoughtfulness; but we are ruined merely by folly and neglect." And so Sir H. Cholmly tells me they did all argue for peace, and so he do believe that the King hath agreed to the three points Mr. Coventry brought over, which I have mentioned before, and is gone with them back. He tells me further that the Duke of Buckingham was before the Council the other day, and there did carry it very submissively and pleasingly to the King; but to my Lord Arlington, who do prosecute the business, he was most bitter and sharp, and very slighting. As to the letter about his employing a man to cast the King's nativity, says he to the King, "Sir," says he, "this is none of my hand, and I refer it to your Majesty whether you do not know this hand." The King answered, that it was indeed none of his, and that he knew whose it was, but could not recall it presently. "Why," says he, "it is my sister of Richmond's, some frolick or other of hers of some certain person; and there is nothing of the King's name in it, but it is only said to be his by supposition, as is said." The King, it seems, seemed not very much displeased with what the Duke had said; but, however, he is still in the Tower, and no discourse of his being out in haste, though my Lady Castlemayne hath so far solicited for him that the King and she are quite fallen out: he comes not to her, nor hath for some three or four days; and parted with very foul words, the King calling her a whore, and a jade that meddled with things she had nothing to do with at all: and she calling him fool; and told him if he was not a fool, he would not suffer his businesses to be carried on by fellows that did not understand them, and cause his best subjects, and those best able to serve him, to be imprisoned; meaning the Duke of Buckingham. And it seems she was not only for his liberty, but to be restored to all his places; which, it is thought, he will never be. While we were at the Excise office talking with Mr. Ball, it was computed that the Parliament had given the King for this war only, besides all prizes, and besides the L200,000 which he was to spend of his own revenue, to guard the sea above L5,000,000 and odd L100,000; which is a most prodigious sum. Sir H. Cholmly, as a true English gentleman, do decry the King's expenses of his Privy-purse, which in King James's time did not rise to above L5000 a year, and in King Charles's to L10,000, do now cost us above L100,000, besides the great charge of the monarchy, as the Duke of York L100,000 of it, and other limbs of the Royal family, and the guards, which, for his part, says he, "I would have all disbanded, for the King is not the better by them, and would be as safe without them; for we have had no rebellions to make him fear anything." But, contrarily, he is now raising of a land-army, which this Parliament and kingdom will never bear; besides, the commanders they put over them are such as will never be able to raise or command them; but the design is, and the Duke of York, he says, is hot for it, to have a land-army, and so to make the government like that of France, but our princes have not brains, or at least care and forecast enough to do that. It is strange how he and every body do now-a-days reflect upon Oliver, and commend him, what brave things he did, and made all the neighbour princes fear him; while here a prince, come in with all the love and prayers and good liking of his people, who have given greater signs of loyalty and willingness to serve him with their estates than ever was done by any people, hath lost all so soon, that it is a miracle what way a man could devise to lose so much in so little time. Thence he set me down at my Lord Crew's and away, and I up to my Lord, where Sir Thomas Crew was, and by and by comes Mr. Caesar, who teaches my Lady's page upon the lute, and here Mr. Caesar did play some very fine things indeed, to my great liking. Here was my Lord Hinchingbroke also, newly come from Hinchingbroke, where all well, but methinks I knowing in what case he stands for money by his demands to me and the report Mr. Moore gives of the management of the family, makes me, God forgive me! to contemn him, though I do really honour and pity them, though they deserve it not, that have so good an estate and will live beyond it. To dinner, and very good discourse with my Lord. And after dinner Sir Thomas Crew and I alone, and he tells me how I am mightily in esteem with the Parliament; there being harangues made in the House to the Speaker, of Mr. Pepys's readiness and civility to show them every thing, which I am at this time very glad of. He tells me the news of the King and my Lady Castlemayne which I have wrote already this day, and the design of the Parliament to look into things very well before they give any more money, and I pray God they may. Thence, after dinner, to St. James's, but missed Sir W. Coventry, and so home, and there find my wife in a dogged humour for my not dining at home, and I did give her a pull by the nose and some ill words, which she provoked me to by something she spoke, that we fell extraordinarily out, insomuch, that I going to the office to avoid further anger, she followed me in a devilish manner thither, and with much ado I got her into the garden out of hearing, to prevent shame, and so home, and by degrees I found it necessary to calme her, and did, and then to the office, where pretty late, and then to walk with her in the garden, and so to supper, and pretty good friends, and so to bed with my mind very quiet. 13th. Up pretty betimes, it being mighty hot weather, I lying this night, which I have not done, I believe, since a boy, I am sure not since I had the stone before, with only a rugg and a sheet upon me. To my chamber, and my wife up to do something, and by chance we fell out again, but I to the office, and there we did at the board much business, though the most was the dividing of L5000 which the Lords Commissioners have with great difficulty found upon our letter to them this week that would have required L50,000 among a great many occasions. After rising, my Lord Anglesey, this being the second time of his being with us, did take me aside and asked me where I lived, because he would be glad to have some discourse with me. This I liked well enough, and told him I would wait upon him, which I will do, and so all broke up, and I home to dinner, where Mr. Pierce dined with us, who tells us what troubles me, that my Lord Buckhurst hath got Nell away from the King's house, lies with her, and gives her L100 a year, so as she hath sent her parts to the house, and will act no more. [Lord Buckhurst and Nell Gwyn, with the help of Sir Charles Sedley, kept "merry house" at Epsom next door to the King's Head Inn (see Cunningham's "Story of Nell Gwyn," ed. 1892, p. 57)] And yesterday Sir Thomas Crew told me that Lacy lies a-dying of the pox, and yet hath his whore by him, whom he will have to look on, he says, though he can do no more; nor would receive any ghostly advice from a Bishop, an old acquaintance of his, that went to see him. He says there is a strangeness between the King and my Lady Castlemayne, as I was told yesterday. After dinner my wife and I to the New Exchange, to pretty maid Mrs. Smith's shop, where I left my wife, and I to Sir W. Coventry, and there had the opportunity of talk with him, who I perceive do not like our business of the change of the Treasurer's hand, and he tells me that he is entered the lists with this new Treasurer before the King in taking away the business of the Victualling money from his hand, and the Regiment, and declaring that he hath no right to the 3d. per by his patent, for that it was always heretofore given by particular Privy Seal, and that the King and Council just upon his coming in had declared L2000 a year sufficient. This makes him angry, but Sir W. Coventry I perceive cares not, but do every day hold up his head higher and higher, and this day I have received an order from the Commissioners of the Treasury to pay no more pensions for Tangier, which I am glad of, and he tells me they do make bold with all things of that kind. Thence I to White Hall, and in the street I spied Mrs. Borroughs, and took a means to meet and salute her and talk a little, and then parted, and I home by coach, taking up my wife at the Exchange, and there I am mightily pleased with this Mrs. Smith, being a very pleasant woman. So home, and resolved upon going to Epsum tomorrow, only for ayre, and got Mrs. Turner to go with us, and so home and to supper (after having been at the office) and to bed. It is an odd and sad thing to say, that though this be a peace worse than we had before, yet every body's fear almost is, that the Dutch will not stand by their promise, now the King hath consented to all they would have. And yet no wise man that I meet with, when he comes to think of it, but wishes, with all his heart, a war; but that the King is not a man to be trusted with the management of it. It was pleasantly said by a man in this City, a stranger, to one that told him that the peace was concluded, "Well," says he, "and have you a peace?"--"Yes," says the other.--"Why, then," says he, "hold your peace!" partly reproaching us with the disgracefulness of it, that it is not fit to be mentioned; and next, that we are not able to make the Dutch keep it, when they have a mind to break it. Sir Thomas Crew yesterday, speaking of the King of France, how great a man he is, why, says he, all the world thought that when the last Pope died, there would have been such bandying between the Crowns of France and Spain, whereas, when he was asked what he would have his ministers at Rome do, why, says he, let them choose who they will; if the Pope will do what is fit, the Pope and I will be friends. If he will not, I will take a course with him: therefore, I will not trouble myself; and thereupon the election was despatched in a little time--I think in a day, and all ended. [Of Clement IX., Giulio Rispogliosi, elected June 20th, 1667, N.S. He was succeeded by Clement X. in 1670.] 14th (Lord's day). Up, and my wife, a little before four, and to make us ready; and by and by Mrs. Turner come to us, by agreement, and she and I staid talking below, while my wife dressed herself, which vexed me that she was so long about it keeping us till past five o'clock before she was ready. She ready; and, taking some bottles of wine, and beer, and some cold fowle with us into the coach, we took coach and four horses, which I had provided last night, and so away. A very fine day, and so towards Epsum, talking all the way pleasantly, and particularly of the pride and ignorance of Mrs. Lowther, in having of her train carried up? The country very fine, only the way very dusty. We got to Epsum by eight o'clock, to the well; where much company, and there we 'light, and I drank the water: they did not, but do go about and walk a little among the women, but I did drink four pints, and had some very good stools by it. Here I met with divers of our town, among others with several of the tradesmen of our office, but did talk but little with them, it growing hot in the sun, and so we took coach again and to the towne, to the King's Head, where our coachman carried us, and there had an ill room for us to go into, but the best in the house that was not taken up. Here we called for drink, and bespoke dinner; and hear that my Lord Buckhurst and Nelly are lodged at the next house, and Sir Charles Sidly with them and keep a merry house. Poor girl! I pity her; but more the loss of her at the King's house. Here I saw Gilsthrop, Sir W. Batten's clerk that hath been long sick, he looks like a dying man, with a consumption got, as is believed, by the pox, but God knows that the man is in a sad condition, though he finds himself much better since his coming thither, he says. W. Hewer rode with us, and I left him and the women, and myself walked to church, where few people, contrary to what I expected, and none I knew, but all the Houblons, brothers, and them after sermon I did salute, and walk with towards my inne, which was in their way to their lodgings. They come last night to see their elder brother, who stays here at the waters, and away to-morrow. James did tell me that I was the only happy man of the Navy, of whom, he says, during all this freedom the people have taken of speaking treason, he hath not heard one bad word of me, which is a great joy to me; for I hear the same of others, but do know that I have deserved as well as most. We parted to meet anon, and I to my women into a better room, which the people of the house borrowed for us, and there to dinner, a good dinner, and were merry, and Pendleton come to us, who happened to be in the house, and there talked and were merry. After dinner, he gone, we all lay down after dinner (the day being wonderful hot) to sleep, and each of us took a good nap, and then rose; and Tom Wilson come to see me, and sat and talked an hour; and I perceive he hath been much acquainted with Dr. Fuller (Tom) and Dr. Pierson, and several of the great cavalier parsons during the late troubles; and I was glad to hear him talk of them, which he did very ingeniously, and very much of Dr. Fuller's art of memory, which he did tell me several instances of. By and by he parted, and we took coach and to take the ayre, there being a fine breeze abroad; and I went and carried them to the well, and there filled some bottles of water to carry home with me; and there talked with the two women that farm the well, at L12 per annum, of the lord of the manor, Mr. Evelyn (who with his lady, and also my Lord George Barkeley's lady, and their fine daughter, that the King of France liked so well, and did dance so rich in jewells before the King at the Ball I was at, at our Court, last winter, and also their son, a Knight of the Bath, were at church this morning). Here W. Hewer's horse broke loose, and we had the sport to see him taken again. Then I carried them to see my cozen Pepys's house, and 'light, and walked round about it, and they like it, as indeed it deserves, very well, and is a pretty place; and then I walked them to the wood hard by, and there got them in the thickets till they had lost themselves, and I could not find the way into any of the walks in the wood, which indeed are very pleasant, if I could have found them. At last got out of the wood again; and I, by leaping down the little bank, coming out of the wood, did sprain my right foot, which brought me great present pain, but presently, with walking, it went away for the present, and so the women and W. Hewer and I walked upon the Downes, where a flock of sheep was; and the most pleasant and innocent sight that ever I saw in my life--we find a shepherd and his little boy reading, far from any houses or sight of people, the Bible to him; so I made the boy read to me, which he did, with the forced tone that children do usually read, that was mighty pretty, and then I did give him something, and went to the father, and talked with him; and I find he had been a servant in my cozen Pepys's house, and told me what was become of their old servants. He did content himself mightily in my liking his boy's reading, and did bless God for him, the most like one of the old patriarchs that ever I saw in my life, and it brought those thoughts of the old age of the world in my mind for two or three days after. We took notice of his woolen knit stockings of two colours mixed, and of his shoes shod with iron shoes, both at the toe and heels, and with great nails in the soles of his feet, which was mighty pretty: and, taking notice of them, "Why," says the poor man, "the downes, you see, are full of stones, and we are faine to shoe ourselves thus; and these," says he, "will make the stones fly till they sing before me." I did give the poor man something, for which he was mighty thankful, and I tried to cast stones with his horne crooke. He values his dog mightily, that would turn a sheep any way which he would have him, when he goes to fold them: told me there was about eighteen scoare sheep in his flock, and that he hath four shillings a week the year round for keeping of them: so we posted thence with mighty pleasure in the discourse we had with this poor man, and Mrs. Turner, in the common fields here, did gather one of the prettiest nosegays that ever I saw in my life. So to our coach, and through Mr. Minnes's wood, and looked upon Mr. Evelyn's house; and so over the common, and through Epsum towne to our inne, in the way stopping a poor woman with her milk-pail, and in one of my gilt tumblers did drink our bellyfulls of milk, better than any creame; and so to our inne, and there had a dish of creame, but it was sour, and so had no pleasure in it; and so paid our reckoning, and took coach, it being about seven at night, and passed and saw the people walking with their wives and children to take the ayre, and we set out for home, the sun by and by going down, and we in the cool of the evening all the way with much pleasure home, talking and pleasing ourselves with the pleasure of this day's work, Mrs. Turner mightily pleased with my resolution, which, I tell her, is never to keep a country-house, but to keep a coach, and with my wife on the Saturday to go sometimes for a day to this place, and then quit to another place; and there is more variety and as little charge, and no trouble, as there is in a country-house. Anon it grew dark, and as it grew dark we had the pleasure to see several glow-wormes, which was mighty pretty, but my foot begins more and more to pain me, which Mrs. Turner, by keeping her warm hand upon it, did much ease; but so that when we come home, which was just at eleven at night, I was not able to walk from the lane's end to my house without being helped, which did trouble me, and therefore to bed presently, but, thanks be to God, found that I had not been missed, nor any business happened in my absence. So to bed, and there had a cerecloth laid to my foot and leg alone, but in great pain all night long. 15th. So as I was not able to go to-day to wait on the Duke of York with my fellows, but was forced in bed to write the particulars for their discourse there, and kept my bed all day, and anon comes Mrs. Turner, and new-dressed my foot, and did it so, that I was at much ease presently, and so continued all day, so as I slept much and well in the daytime, and in the evening rose and eat something, where our poor Jane very sad for the death of her poor brother, who hath left a wife and two small children. I did give her 20s. in money, and what wine she needed, for the burying him. This evening come to see me Pelling, and we did sing together, and he sings well indeed, and after supper I was willing to go to bed to ease my foot again, which I did, and slept well all night. 16th. In the morning I was able to put on a wide shoe on the foot, and to the office without much pain, and there sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Creed to discourse of our Tangier business, which stands very bad in the business of money, and therefore we expect to have a committee called soon, and to acquaint them among other things with the order come to me for the not paying of any more pensions. We dined together, and after dinner I to the office, and there very late, very busy, doing much business indeed, and so with great comfort home to supper, and so to bed to ease my foot, which toward night began to ake. 17th. Up, and to my chamber to set down my Journall of Sunday last with much pleasure, and my foot being pretty well, but yet I am forced to limp. Then by coach, set my wife down at the New Exchange, and I to White Hall to the Treasury chamber, but to little purpose. So to Mr. Burges to as little. There to the Hall and talked with Mrs. Michell, who begins to tire me about doing something for her elder son, which I am willing to do, but know not what. Thence to White Hall again, and thence away, and took up my wife at Unthanke's, and left her at the 'Change, and so I to Bennet's to take up a bill for the last silk I had for my vest and coat, which I owe them for, and so to the Excise Office, and there did a little business, and so to Temple Bar and staid at my bookseller's till my wife calls me, and so home, where I am saluted with the news of Hogg's bringing a rich Canary prize to Hull: [Thomas Pointer to Samuel Pepys (Hull, July 15th): "Capt. Hogg has brought in a great prize laden with Canary wine; also Capt. Reeves of the 'Panther,' and the 'Fanfan,' whose commander is slain, have come in with their prizes" ("Calendar of State Papers," 1667, p. 298).] and Sir W. Batten do offer me L1000 down for my particular share, beside Sir Richard Ford's part, which do tempt me; but yet I would not take it, but will stand and fall with the company. He and two more, the Panther and Fanfan, did enter into consortship; and so they have all brought in each a prize, though ours worth as much as both theirs, and more. However, it will be well worth having, God be thanked for it! This news makes us all very glad. I at Sir W. Batten's did hear the particulars of it; and there for joy he did give the company that were there a bottle or two of his own last year's wine, growing at Walthamstow, than which the whole company said they never drank better foreign wine in their lives. Home, and to dinner, and by and by comes Mr. Pierce, who is interested in the Panther, for some advice, and then comes Creed, and he and I spent the whole afternoon till eight at night walking and talking of sundry things public and private in the garden, but most of all of the unhappy state of this nation at this time by the negligence of the King and his Council. The Duke of Buckingham is, it seems, set at liberty, without any further charge against him or other clearing of him, but let to go out; which is one of the strangest instances of the fool's play with which all publick things are done in this age, that is to be apprehended. And it is said that when he was charged with making himself popular--as indeed he is, for many of the discontented Parliament, Sir Robert Howard and Sir Thomas Meres, and others, did attend at the Council-chamber when he was examined--he should answer, that whoever was committed to prison by my Lord Chancellor or my Lord Arlington, could not want being popular. But it is worth considering the ill state a Minister of State is in, under such a Prince as ours is; for, undoubtedly, neither of those two great men would have been so fierce against the Duke of Buckingham at the Council-table the other day, had they [not] been assured of the King's good liking, and supporting them therein: whereas, perhaps at the desire of my Lady Castlemayne, who, I suppose, hath at last overcome the King, the Duke of Buckingham is well received again, and now these men delivered up to the interest he can make for his revenge. He told me over the story of Mrs. Stewart, much after the manner which I was told it long since, and have entered it in this book, told me by Mr. Evelyn; only he says it is verily believed that the King did never intend to marry her to any but himself, and that the Duke of York and Lord Chancellor were jealous of it; and that Mrs. Stewart might be got with child by the King, or somebody else, and the King own a marriage before his contract, for it is but a contract, as he tells me, to this day, with the Queene, and so wipe their noses of the Crown; and that, therefore, the Duke of York and Chancellor did do all they could to forward the match with my Lord Duke of Richmond, that she might be married out of the way; but, above all, it is a worthy part that this good lady hath acted. Thus we talked till night and then parted, and so I to my office and did business, and so home to supper, and there find my sister Michell [The wife of Balthazar St. Michel, Mrs. Pepys's brother.--B. Leigh, opposite to Sheerness.--R.] come from Lee to see us; but do tattle so much of the late business of the Dutch coming thither that I was weary of it. Yet it is worth remembering what she says: that she hath heard both seamen and soldiers swear they would rather serve the Dutch than the King, for they should be better used. [Reference has already been made to Andrew Marvell's "Instructions to a Painter", in which the unpaid English sailors are described as swimming to the Dutch ships, where they received the money which was withheld from them on their own ships.] She saw "The Royal Charles" brought into the river by them; and how they shot off their great guns for joy, when they got her out of Chatham River. I would not forget that this very day when we had nothing to do almost but five merchantmen to man in the River, which have now been about it some weeks, I was asked at Westminster, what the matter was that there was such ado kept in pressing of men, as it seems there is thereabouts at this day. So after supper we all to bed, my foot very well again, I thank God. 18th. Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, and most of our time taken up with Carcasse upon some complaints brought in against him, and many other petitions about tickets lost, which spends most of our time. Home to dinner, and then to the office again, where very well employed at the office till evening; and then being weary, took out my wife and Will Batelier by coach to Islington, but no pleasure in our going, the way being so dusty that one durst not breathe. Drank at the old house, and so home, and then to the office a little, and so home to supper and to bed. 19th. Up and comes the flageolet master, and brings me two new great Ivory pipes which cost me 32s., and so to play, and he being done, and Balty's wife taking her leave of me, she going back to Lee to-day, I to Westminster and there did receive L15,000 orders out of the Exchequer in part of a bigger sum upon the eleven months tax for Tangier, part of which I presently delivered to Sir H. Cholmly, who was there, and thence with Mr. Gawden to Auditor Woods and Beales to examine some precedents in his business of the Victualling on his behalf, and so home, and in my way by coach down Marke Lane, mightily pleased and smitten to see, as I thought, in passing, the pretty woman, the line-maker's wife that lived in Fenchurch Streete, and I had great mind to have gone back to have seen, but yet would correct my nature and would not. So to dinner with my wife, and then to sing, and so to the office, where busy all the afternoon late, and to Sir W. Batten's and to Sir R. Ford's, we all to consider about our great prize at Hull, being troubled at our being likely to be troubled with Prince Rupert, by reason of Hogg's consorting himself with two privateers of the Prince's, and so we study how to ease or secure ourselves. So to walk in the garden with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. One tells me that, by letter from Holland, the people there are made to believe that our condition in England is such as they may have whatever they will ask; and that so they are mighty high, and despise us, or a peace with us; and there is too much reason for them to do so. The Dutch fleete are in great squadrons everywhere still about Harwich, and were lately at Portsmouth; and the last letters say at Plymouth, and now gone to Dartmouth to destroy our Streights' fleete lately got in thither; but God knows whether they can do it any hurt, or no, but it was pretty news come the other day so fast, of the Dutch fleets being in so many places, that Sir W. Batten at table cried, "By God," says he, "I think the Devil shits Dutchmen." 20th. Up and to the office, where all the morning, and then towards the 'Change, at noon, in my way observing my mistake yesterday in Mark Lane, that the woman I saw was not the pretty woman I meant, the line-maker's wife, but a new-married woman, very pretty, a strong-water seller: and in going by, to my content, I find that the very pretty daughter at the Ship tavern, at the end of Billiter Lane, is there still, and in the bar: and, I believe, is married to him that is new come, and hath new trimmed the house. Home to dinner, and then to the office, we having dispatched away Mr. Oviatt to Hull, about our prizes there; and I have wrote a letter of thanks by him to Lord Bellasses, who had writ to me to offer all his service for my interest there, but I dare not trust him. In the evening late walking in the garden with my wife, and then to bed. 21st (Lord's day). Up betimes, and all the morning, and then to dinner with my wife alone, and then all the afternoon in like manner, in my chamber, making up my Tangier accounts and drawing a letter, which I have done at last to my full content, to present to the Lords Commissioners for Tangier tomorrow; and about seven at night, when finished my letter and weary, I and my wife and Mercer up by water to Barne Elmes, where we walked by moonshine, and called at Lambeth, and drank and had cold meat in the boat, and did eat, and sang, and down home, by almost twelve at night, very fine and pleasant, only could not sing ordinary songs with the freedom that otherwise I would. Here Mercer tells me that the pretty maid of the Ship tavern I spoke of yesterday is married there, which I am glad of. So having spent this night, with much serious pleasure to consider that I am in a condition to fling away an angell [The angel coin was so called from the figure of the Archangel Michael in conflict with the dragon on the obverse. On the reverse was a representation of a ship with a large cross as a mast. The last angel coined was in Charles I.'s reign, and the value varied from 6s. 8d. to 10s.] in such a refreshment to myself and family, we home and to bed, leaving Mercer, by the way, at her own door. 22nd. Up, and with Sir W. Batten and [Sir] J. Minnes to St. James's, where the first time I have been there since the enemy's being with us, where little business but lack of money, which now is so professed by Sir W. Coventry as nothing is more, and the King's whole business owned to be at a stand for want of it. So up to my Lord Chancellor's, where was a Committee of Tangier in my Lord's roome, where he is to hear causes, where all the judges' pictures hang up, very fine. Here I read my letter to them, which was well received, and they did fall seriously to discourse the want of money and other particulars, and to some pretty good purpose. But to see how Sir W. Coventry did oppose both my Lord Chancellor and the Duke of York himself, about the Order of the Commissioners of the Treasury to me for not paying of pensions, and with so much reason, and eloquence so natural, was admirable. And another thing, about his pressing for the reduction of the charge of Tangier, which they would have put off to another time; "But," says he, "the King suffers so much by the putting off of the consideration of reductions of charge, that he is undone; and therefore I do pray you, sir, to his Royal Highness, that when any thing offers of the kind, you will not let it escape you." Here was a great bundle of letters brought hither, sent up from sea, from a vessel of ours that hath taken them after they had been flung over by a Dutchman; wherein, among others, the Duke of York did read the superscription of one to De Witt, thus "To the most wise, foreseeing and discreet, These, &c.;" which, I thought with myself, I could have been glad might have been duly directed to any one of them at the table, though the greatest men in this kingdom. The Duke of York, the Lord Chancellor, my Lord Duke of Albemarle, Arlington, Ashley, Peterborough, and Coventry (the best of them all for parts), I perceive they do all profess their expectation of a peace, and that suddenly, and do advise of things accordingly, and do all speak of it (and expressly, I remember, the Duke of Albemarle), saying that they hoped for it. Letters were read at the table from Tangier that Guiland is wholly lost, and that he do offer Arzill to us to deliver it to us. But Sir W. Coventry did declare his opinion that we should have nothing to do with it, and said that if Tangier were offered us now, as the King's condition is, he would advise against the taking it; saying, that the King's charge is too great, and must be brought down, it being, like the fire of this City, never to be mastered till you have brought it under you; and that these places abroad are but so much charge to the King, and we do rather hitherto strive to greaten them than lessen them; and then the King is forced to part with them, "as," says he, "he did with Dunkirke," by my Lord Tiviott's making it so chargeable to the King as he did that, and would have done Tangier, if he had lived: I perceive he is the only man that do seek the King's profit, and is bold to deliver what he thinks on every occasion. Having broke up here, I away with Mr. Gawden in his coach to the 'Change, and there a little, and then home and dined, and then to the office, and by and by with my wife to White Hall (she to Unthanke's), and there met Creed and did a little business at the Treasury chamber, and then to walk in Westminster Hall an hour or two, with much pleasure reflecting upon our discourse to-day at the Tangier meeting, and crying up the worth of Sir W. Coventry. Creed tells me of the fray between the Duke of Buckingham at the Duke's playhouse the last Saturday (and it is the first day I have heard that they have acted at either the King's or Duke's houses this month or six weeks) and Henry Killigrew, whom the Duke of Buckingham did soundly beat and take away his sword, and make a fool of, till the fellow prayed him to spare his life; and I am glad of it; for it seems in this business the Duke of Buckingham did carry himself very innocently and well, and I wish he had paid this fellow's coat well. I heard something of this at the 'Change to-day: and it is pretty to hear how people do speak kindly of the Duke of Buckingham, as one that will enquire into faults; and therefore they do mightily favour him. And it puts me in mind that, this afternoon, Billing, the Quaker, meeting me in the Hall, come to me, and after a little discourse did say, "Well," says he, "now you will be all called to an account;" meaning the Parliament is drawing near. This done I took coach and took up my wife, and so home, and after a little at the office I home to my chamber a while, and then to supper and to bed. 23rd: Up betimes and to the office, doing something towards our great account to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and anon the office sat, and all the morning doing business. At noon home to dinner, and then close to my business all the afternoon. In the evening Sir R. Ford is come back from the Prince and tells Sir W. Batten and me how basely Sir W. Pen received our letter we sent him about the prizes at Hull, and slily answered him about the Prince's leaving all his concerns to him, but the Prince did it afterward by letter brought by Sir R. Ford to us, which Sir W. Pen knows not of, but a very rogue he is. By and by comes sudden news to me by letter from the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend, that there were thirty sail of Dutch men-of-war coming up into the Hope this last tide: which I told Sir W. Pen of; but he would not believe it, but laughed, and said it was a fleete of Billanders, ["Bilander. A small merchant vessel with two masts, particularly distinguished from other vessels with two masts by the form of her mainsail, which is bent to the whole length of her yard, hanging fore and aft, and inclined to the horizon at an angle of about 45 deg. Few vessels are now rigged in this manner, and the name is rather indiscriminately used."--Smyth's Sailor's Word-Book.] and that the guns that were heard was the salutation of the Swede's Ambassador that comes over with them. But within half an hour comes another letter from Captain Proud, that eight of them were come into the Hope, and thirty more following them, at ten this morning. By and by comes an order from White Hall to send down one of our number to Chatham, fearing that, as they did before, they may make a show first up hither, but then go to Chatham: so my Lord Bruncker do go, and we here are ordered to give notice to the merchant men-of-war, gone below the barricado at Woolwich, to come up again. So with much trouble to supper, home and to bed. 24th. Betimes this morning comes a letter from the Clerke of the Cheque at Gravesend to me, to tell me that the Dutch fleete did come all into the Hope yesterday noon, and held a fight with our ships from thence till seven at night; that they had burned twelve fire-ships, and we took one of their's, and burned five of our fire-ships. But then rising and going to Sir W. Batten, he tells me that we have burned one of their men-of-war, and another of theirs is blown up: but how true this is, I know not. But these fellows are mighty bold, and have had the fortune of the wind easterly this time to bring them up, and prevent our troubling them with our fire-ships; and, indeed, have had the winds at their command from the beginning, and now do take the beginning of the spring, as if they had some great design to do. I to my office, and there hard at work all the morning, to my great content, abstracting the contract book into my abstract book, which I have by reason of the war omitted for above two years, but now am endeavouring to have all my books ready and perfect against the Parliament comes, that upon examination I may be in condition to value myself upon my perfect doing of my own duty. At noon home to dinner, where my wife mighty musty,--[Dull, heavy, spiritless]--but I took no notice of it, but after dinner to the office, and there with Mr. Harper did another good piece of work about my late collection of the accounts of the Navy presented to the Parliament at their last session, which was left unfinished, and now I have done it which sets my mind at my ease, and so, having tired myself, I took a pair of oares about five o'clock, which I made a gally at Redriffe, and so with very much pleasure down to Gravesend, all the way with extraordinary content reading of Boyle's Hydrostatickes, which the more I read and understand, the more I admire, as a most excellent piece of philosophy; as we come nearer Gravesend, we hear the Dutch fleete and ours a-firing their guns most distinctly and loud. But before we got to Gravesend they ceased, and it grew darkish, and so I landed only (and the flood being come) and went up to the Ship and discoursed with the landlord of the house, who undeceives me in what I heard this morning about the Dutch having lost two men-of-war, for it is not so, but several of their fire-ships. He do say, that this afternoon they did force our ships to retreat, but that now they are gone down as far as Shield-haven: but what the event hath been of this evening's guns they know not, but suppose not much, for they have all this while shot at good distance one from another. They seem confident of the security of this town and the River above it, if the enemy should come up so high; their fortifications being so good, and guns many. But he do say that people do complain of Sir Edward Spragg, that he hath not done extraordinary; and more of Sir W. Jenings, that he come up with his tamkins [Tamkin, or tampion, the wooden stopper of a cannon placed in the muzzle to exclude water or dust.] in his guns. Having discoursed this a little with him, and eat a bit of cold venison and drank, I away, took boat, and homeward again, with great pleasure, the moon shining, and it being a fine pleasant cool evening, and got home by half-past twelve at night, and so to bed. 25th. Up, and to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and there sang with much pleasure with my wife, and so to the office again, and busy all the afternoon. At night Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself, and Sir R. Ford, did meet in the garden to discourse about our prizes at Hull. It appears that Hogg is the eeriest rogue, the most observable embezzler, that ever was known. This vexes us, and made us very free and plain with Sir W. Pen, who hath been his great patron, and as very a rogue as he. But he do now seem to own that his opinion is changed of him, and that he will joyne with us in our strictest inquiries, and did sign to the letters we had drawn, which he had refused before, and so seemingly parted good friends, and then I demanded of Sir R. Ford and the rest, what passed to-day at the meeting of the Parliament: who told me that, contrary to all expectation by the King that there would be but a thin meeting, there met above 300 this first day, and all the discontented party; and, indeed, the whole House seems to be no other almost. The Speaker told them, as soon as they were sat, that he was ordered by the King to let them know he was hindered by some important business to come to them and speak to them, as he intended; and, therefore, ordered him to move that they would adjourn themselves till Monday next, it being very plain to all the House that he expects to hear by that time of the sealing of the peace, which by letters, it seems, from my Lord Holis, was to be sealed the last Sunday. [The peace was signed on the 31st. See August 9th.--B.] But before they would come to the question whether they would adjourn, Sir Thomas Tomkins steps up and tells them, that all the country is grieved at this new raised standing army; and that they thought themselves safe enough in their trayn-bands; and that, therefore, he desired the King might be moved to disband them. Then rises Garraway and seconds him, only with this explanation, which he said he believed the other meant; that, as soon as peace should be concluded, they might be disbanded. Then rose Sir W. Coventry, and told them that he did approve of what the last gentleman said; but also, that at the same time he did no more than what, he durst be bold to say, he knew to be the King's mind, that as soon as peace was concluded he would do it of himself. Then rose Sir Thomas Littleton, and did give several reasons for the uncertainty of their meeting again but to adjourne, in case news comes of the peace being ended before Monday next, and the possibility of the King's having some about him that may endeavour to alter his own, and the good part of his Council's advice, for the keeping up of the land-army; and, therefore, it was fit that they did present it to the King as their desire, that, as soon as peace was concluded, the land-army might be laid down, and that this their request might be carried to the King by them of their House that were Privy-councillors; which was put to the vote, and carried 'nemine contradicente'. So after this vote passed, they adjourned: but it is plain what the effects of this Parliament will be, if they be suffered to sit, that they will fall foul upon the faults of the Government; and I pray God they may be permitted to do it, for nothing else, I fear, will save the King and kingdom than the doing it betimes. They gone, I to walk with my wife in the garden, and then home to supper and to bed. 26th. Up, and betimes to the office, where Mr. Hater and I together all the morning about the perfecting of my abstract book of contracts and other things to my great content. At noon home to dinner, and then to the office again all the afternoon doing of other good things there, and being tired, I then abroad with my wife and left her at the New Exchange, while I by water thence to Westminster to the Hall, but shops were shut up, and so to White Hall by water, and thence took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so home, mightily tired with the dust in riding in a coach, it being mighty troublesome. So home and to my office, and there busy very late, and then to walk a little with my wife, and then to supper and to bed. No news at all this day what we have done to the enemy, but that the enemy is fallen down, and we after them, but to little purpose. 27th. Up and to the office, where I hear that Sir John Coventry is come over from Bredah, a nephew, I think, of Sir W. Coventry's: but what message he brings I know not. This morning news is come that Sir Jos. Jordan is come from Harwich, with sixteen fire-ships and four other little ships of war: and did attempt to do some execution upon the enemy, but did it without discretion, as most do say, so as that they have been able to do no good, but have lost four of their fire ships. They attempted [this], it seems, when the wind was too strong, that our grapplings could not hold: others say we come to leeward of them, but all condemn it as a foolish management. They are come to Sir Edward Spragg about Lee, and the Dutch are below at the Nore. At the office all the morning; and at noon to the 'Change, where I met Fenn; and he tells me that Sir John Coventry do bring the confirmation of the peace; but I do not find the 'Change at all glad of it, but rather the worse, they looking upon it as a peace made only to preserve the King for a time in his lusts and ease, and to sacrifice trade and his kingdoms only to his own pleasures: so that the hearts of merchants are quite down. He tells me that the King and my Lady Castlemayne are quite broke off, and she is gone away, and is with child, and swears the King shall own it; and she will have it christened in the Chapel at White Hall so, and owned for the King's, as other Kings have done; or she will bring it into White Hall gallery, and dash the brains of it out before the King's face. [Charles owned only four children by Lady Castlemaine-Anne, Countess of Sussex, and the Dukes of Southampton, Grafton, and Northumberland. The last of these was born in 1665. The paternity of all her other children was certainly doubtful. See pp. 50,52.] He tells me that the King and Court were never in the world so bad as they are now for gaming, swearing, whoring, and drinking, and the most abominable vices that ever were in the world; so that all must come to nought. He told me that Sir G. Carteret was at this end of the town; so I went to visit him in Broad Street; and there he and I together: and he is mightily pleased with my Lady Jem's having a son; and a mighty glad man he is. He [Sir George Carteret] tells me, as to news, that the peace is now confirmed, and all that over. He says it was a very unhappy motion in the House the other day about the land-army; for, whether the King hath a mind of his own to do the thing desired or no, his doing it will be looked upon as a thing done only in fear of the Parliament. He says that the Duke of York is suspected to be the great man that is for raising of this army, and bringing things to be commanded by an army; but he believes that he is wronged, and says that he do know that he is wronged therein. He do say that the Court is in a way to ruin all for their pleasures; and says that he himself hath once taken the liberty to tell the King the necessity of having, at least, a show of religion in the Government, and sobriety; and that it was that, that did set up and keep up Oliver, though he was the greatest rogue in the world, and that it is so fixed in the nature of the common Englishman that it will not out of him. He tells me that while all should be labouring to settle the kingdom, they are at Court all in factions, some for and others against my Lord Chancellor, and another for and against another man, and the King adheres to no man, but this day delivers himself up to this, and the next to that, to the ruin of himself and business; that he is at the command of any woman like a slave, though he be the best man to the Queene in the world, with so much respect, and never lies a night from her: but yet cannot command himself in the presence of a woman he likes. Having had this discourse, I parted, and home to dinner, and thence to the office all the afternoon to my great content very busy. It raining this day all day to our great joy, it having not rained, I think, this month before, so as the ground was everywhere so burned and dry as could be; and no travelling in the road or streets in London, for dust. At night late home to supper and to bed. 28th (Lord's day). Up and to my chamber, where all the morning close, to draw up a letter to Sir W. Coventry upon the tidings of peace, taking occasion, before I am forced to it, to resign up to his Royall Highness my place of the Victualling, and to recommend myself to him by promise of doing my utmost to improve this peace in the best manner we may, to save the kingdom from ruin. By noon I had done this to my good content, and then with my wife all alone to dinner, and so to my chamber all the afternoon to write my letter fair, and sent it away, and then to talk with my wife, and read, and so by daylight (the only time I think I have done it this year) to supper, and then to my chamber to read and so to bed, my mind very much eased after what I have done to-day. 29th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten to St. James's, to Sir W. Coventry's chamber; where, among other things, he come to me, and told me that he had received my yesterday's letters, and that we concurred very well in our notions; and that, as to my place which I had offered to resign of the Victualling, he had drawn up a letter at the same time for the Duke of York's signing for the like places in general raised during this war; and that he had done me right to the Duke of York, to let him know that I had, of my own accord, offered to resign mine. The letter do bid us to do all things, particularizing several, for the laying up of the ships, and easing the King of charge; so that the war is now professedly over. By and by up to the Duke of York's chamber; and there all the talk was about Jordan's coming with so much indiscretion, with his four little frigates and sixteen fire-ships from Harwich, to annoy the enemy. His failures were of several sorts, I know not which the truest: that he come with so strong a gale of wind, that his grapplings would not hold; that he did come by their lee; whereas if he had come athwart their hawse, they would have held; that they did not stop a tide, and come up with a windward tide, and then they would not have come so fast. Now, there happened to be Captain Jenifer by, who commanded the Lily in this business, and thus says that, finding the Dutch not so many as they expected, they did not know but that there were more of them above, and so were not so earnest to the setting upon these; that they did do what they could to make the fire-ships fall in among the enemy; and, for their lives, neither Sir J. Jordan nor others could, by shooting several times at them, make them go in; and it seems they were commanded by some idle fellows, such as they could of a sudden gather up at Harwich; which is a sad consideration that, at such a time as this, where the saving the reputation of the whole nation lay at stake, and after so long a war, the King had not credit to gather a few able men to command these vessels. He says, that if they had come up slower, the enemy would, with their boats and their great sloops, which they have to row with a great many men, they would, and did, come and cut up several of our fireships, and would certainly have taken most of them, for they do come with a great provision of these boats on purpose, and to save their men, which is bravely done of them, though they did, on this very occasion, shew great fear, as they say, by some men leaping overboard out of a great ship, as these were all of them of sixty and seventy guns a-piece, which one of our fireships laid on board, though the fire did not take. But yet it is brave to see what care they do take to encourage their men to provide great stores of boats to save them, while we have not credit to find one boat for a ship. And, further, he told us that this new way used by Deane, and this Sir W. Coventry observed several times, of preparing of fire-ships, do not do the work; for the fire, not being strong and quick enough to flame up, so as to take the rigging and sails, lies smothering a great while, half an hour before it flames, in which time they can get her off safely, though, which is uncertain, and did fail in one or two this bout, it do serve to burn our own ships. But what a shame it is to consider how two of our ships' companies did desert their ships for fear of being taken by their boats, our little frigates being forced to leave them, being chased by their greater! And one more company did set their ship on fire, and leave her; which afterwards a Feversham fisherman come up to, and put out the fire, and carried safe into Feversham, where she now is, which was observed by the Duke of York, and all the company with him, that it was only want of courage, and a general dismay and abjectness of spirit upon all our men; and others did observe our ill management, and God Almighty's curse upon all that we have in hand, for never such an opportunity was of destroying so many good ships of theirs as we now had. But to see how negligent we were in this business, that our fleete of Jordan's should not have any notice where Spragg was, nor Spragg of Jordan's, so as to be able to meet and join in the business, and help one another; but Jordan, when he saw Spragg's fleete above, did think them to be another part of the enemy's fleete! While, on the other side, notwithstanding our people at Court made such a secret of Jordan's design that nobody must know it, and even this Office itself must not know it; nor for my part I did not, though Sir W. Batten says by others' discourse to him he had heard something of it; yet De Ruyter, or he that commanded this fleete, had notice of it, and told it to a fisherman of ours that he took and released on Thursday last, which was the day before our fleete came to him. But then, that, that seems most to our disgrace, and which the Duke of York did take special and vehement notice of, is, that when the Dutch saw so many fire-ships provided for them, themselves lying, I think, about the Nore, they did with all their great ships, with a North-east wind, as I take it they said, but whatever it was, it was a wind that we should not have done it with, turn down to the Middle-ground; which the Duke of York observed, never was nor would have been undertaken by ourselves. And whereas some of the company answered, it was their great fear, not their choice that made them do it, the Duke of York answered, that it was, it may be, their fear and wisdom that made them do it; but yet their fear did not make them mistake, as we should have done, when we have had no fear upon us, and have run our ships on ground. And this brought it into my mind, that they managed their retreat down this difficult passage, with all their fear, better than we could do ourselves in the main sea, when the Duke of Albemarle run away from the Dutch, when the Prince was lost, and the Royal Charles and the other great ships come on ground upon the Galloper. Thus, in all things, in wisdom, courage, force, knowledge of our own streams, and success, the Dutch have the best of us, and do end the war with victory on their side. The Duke of York being ready, we into his closet, but, being in haste to go to the Parliament House, he could not stay. So we parted, and to Westminster Hall, where the Hall full of people to see the issue of the day, the King being come to speak to the House to-day. One thing extraordinary was, this day a man, a Quaker, came naked through the Hall, only very civilly tied about the privities to avoid scandal, and with a chafing-dish of fire and brimstone burning upon his head, did pass through the Hall, crying, "Repent! repent!" I up to the Painted Chamber, thinking to have got in to have heard the King's speech, but upon second thoughts did not think it would be worth the crowd, and so went down again into the Hall and there walked with several, among others my Lord Rutherford, who is come out of Scotland, and I hope I may get some advantage by it in reference to the business of the interest of the great sum of money I paid him long since without interest. But I did not now move him in it. But presently comes down the House of Commons, the King having made then a very short and no pleasing speech to them at all, not at all giving them thanks for their readiness to come up to town at this busy time; but told them that he did think he should have had occasion for them, but had none, and therefore did dismiss them to look after their own occasions till October; and that he did wonder any should offer to bring in a suspicion that he intended to rule by an army, or otherwise than by the laws of the land, which he promised them he would do; and so bade them go home and settle the minds of the country in that particular; and only added, that he had made a peace which he did believe they would find reasonable, and a good peace, but did give them none of the particulars thereof. Thus they are dismissed again to their general great distaste, I believe the greatest that ever Parliament was, to see themselves so fooled, and the nation in certain condition of ruin, while the King, they see, is only governed by his lust, and women, and rogues about him. The Speaker, they found, was kept from coming in the morning to the House on purpose, till after the King was come to the House of Lords, for fear they should be doing anything in the House of Commons to the further dissatisfaction of the King and his courtiers. They do all give up the kingdom for lost that I speak to; and do hear what the King says, how he and the Duke of York do do what they can to get up an army, that they may need no more Parliaments: and how my Lady Castlemayne hath, before the late breach between her and the King, said to the King that he must rule by an army, or all would be lost, and that Bab. May hath given the like advice to the King, to crush the English gentlemen, saying that L300 a-year was enough for any man but them that lived at Court. I am told that many petitions were provided for the Parliament, complaining of the wrongs they have received from the Court and courtiers, in city and country, if the Parliament had but sat: and I do perceive they all do resolve to have a good account of the money spent before ever they give a farthing more: and the whole kingdom is everywhere sensible of their being abused, insomuch that they forced their Parliament-men to come up to sit; and my cozen Roger told me that (but that was in mirth) he believed, if he had not come up, he should have had his house burned. The kingdom never in so troubled a condition in this world as now; nobody pleased with the peace, and yet nobody daring to wish for the continuance of the war, it being plain that nothing do nor can thrive under us. Here I saw old good Mr. Vaughan, and several of the great men of the Commons, and some of them old men, that are come 200 miles, and more, to attend this session-of Parliament; and have been at great charge and disappointments in their other private business; and now all to no purpose, neither to serve their country, content themselves, nor receive any thanks from the King. It is verily expected by many of them that the King will continue the prorogation in October, so as, if it be possible, never to have [this] Parliament more. My Lord Bristoll took his place in the House of Lords this day, but not in his robes; and when the King come in, he withdrew but my Lord of Buckingham was there as brisk as ever, and sat in his robes; which is a monstrous thing, that a man proclaimed against, and put in the Tower, and all, and released without any trial, and yet not restored to his places: But, above all, I saw my Lord Mordaunt as merry as the best, that it seems hath done such further indignities to Mr. Taylor' since the last sitting of Parliament as would hang [him], if there were nothing else, would the King do what were fit for him; but nothing of that is now likely to be. After having spent an hour or two in the hall, my cozen Roger and I and Creed to the Old Exchange, where I find all the merchants sad at this peace and breaking up of the Parliament, as men despairing of any good to the nation, which is a grievous consideration; and so home, and there cozen Roger and Creed to dinner with me, and very merry:--but among other things they told me of the strange, bold sermon of Dr. Creeton yesterday, before the King; how he preached against the sins of the Court, and particularly against adultery, over and over instancing how for that single sin in David, the whole nation was undone; and of our negligence in having our castles without ammunition and powder when the Dutch come upon us; and how we have no courage now a-days, but let our ships be taken out of our harbour. Here Creed did tell us the story of the dwell last night, in Coventgarden, between Sir H. Bellasses and Tom Porter. It is worth remembering the silliness of the quarrell, and is a kind of emblem of the general complexion of this whole kingdom at present. They two it seems dined yesterday at Sir Robert Carr's, where it seems people do drink high, all that come. It happened that these two, the greatest friends in the world, were talking together: and Sir H. Bellasses talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom Porter, giving of him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, "What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?" Sir H. Bellasses hearing it, said, "No!" says he: "I would have you know that I never quarrel, but I strike; and take that as a rule of mine!"--"How?" says Tom Porter, "strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a blow!" with that Sir H. Bellasses did give him a box of the eare; and so they were going to fight there, but were hindered. And by and by Tom Porter went out; and meeting Dryden the poet, told him of the business, and that he was resolved to fight Sir H. Bellasses presently; for he knew, if he did not, they should be made friends to-morrow, and then the blow would rest upon him; which he would prevent, and desired Dryden to let him have his boy to bring him notice which way Sir H. Bellasses goes. By and by he is informed that Sir H. Bellasses's coach was coming: so Tom Porter went down out of the Coffee-house where he stayed for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasses come out. "Why," says H. Bellasses, "you will not hurt me coming out, will you?"--"No," says Tom Porter. So out he went, and both drew: and H. Bellasses having drawn and flung away his scabbard, Tom Porter asked him whether he was ready? The other answering him he was, they fell to fight, some of their acquaintance by. They wounded one another, and H. Bellasses so much that it is feared he will die: and finding himself severely wounded, he called to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him shift for himself; "for," says he, "Tom, thou hast hurt me; but I will make shift to stand upon my legs till thou mayest withdraw, and the world not take notice of you, for I would not have thee troubled for what thou hast done." And so whether he did fly or no I cannot tell: but Tom Porter shewed H. Bellasses that he was wounded too: and they are both ill, but H. Bellasses to fear of life. And this is a fine example; and H. Bellasses a Parliament-man too, and both of them most extraordinary friends! Among other discourse, my cozen Roger told us a thing certain, that the Archbishop of Canterbury; that now is, do keep a wench, and that he is as very a wencher as can be; and tells us it is a thing publickly known that Sir Charles Sidley had got away one of the Archbishop's wenches from him, and the Archbishop sent to him to let him know that she was his kinswoman, and did wonder that he would offer any dishonour to one related to him. To which Sir Charles Sidley is said to answer, "A pox take his Grace! pray tell his Grace that I believe he finds himself too old, and is afraid that I should outdo him among his girls, and spoil his trade." But he makes no more of doubt to say that the Archbishop is a wencher, and known to be so, which is one of the most astonishing things that I have heard of, unless it be, what for certain he says is true, that my Lady Castlemayne hath made a Bishop lately, namely,--her uncle, Dr. Glenham, who, I think they say, is Bishop of Carlisle; a drunken, swearing rascal, and a scandal to the Church; and do now pretend to be Bishop of Lincoln, in competition with Dr. Raynbow, who is reckoned as worthy a man as most in the Church for piety and learning: which are things so scandalous to consider, that no man can doubt but we must be undone that hears of them. After dinner comes W. How and a son of Mr. Pagett's to see me, with whom I drank, but could not stay, and so by coach with cozen Roger (who before his going did acquaint me in private with an offer made of his marrying of Mrs. Elizabeth Wiles, whom I know; a kinswoman of Mr. Honiwood's, an ugly old maid, but a good housewife; and is said to have L2500 to her portion; but if I can find that she hath but L2000, which he prays me to examine, he says he will have her, she being one he hath long known intimately, and a good housewife, and discreet woman; though I am against it in my heart, she being not handsome at all) and it hath been the very bad fortune of the Pepyses that ever I knew, never to marry an handsome woman, excepting Ned Pepys and Creed, set the former down at the Temple resolving to go to Cambridge to-morrow, and Creed and I to White Hall to the Treasury chamber there to attend, but in vain, only here, looking out of the window into the garden, I saw the King (whom I have not had any desire to see since the Dutch come upon the coast first to Sheerness, for shame that I should see him, or he me, methinks, after such a dishonour) come upon the garden; with him two or three idle Lords; and instantly after him, in another walk, my Lady Castlemayne, led by Bab. May: at which I was surprised, having but newly heard the stories of the King and her being parted for ever. So I took Mr. Povy, who was there, aside, and he told me all, how imperious this woman is, and hectors the King to whatever she will. It seems she is with child, and the King says he did not get it: with that she made a slighting "puh" with her mouth, and went out of the house, and never come in again till the King went to Sir Daniel Harvy's to pray her; and so she is come to-day, when one would think his mind should be full of some other cares, having but this morning broken up such a Parliament, with so much discontent, and so many wants upon him, and but yesterday heard such a sermon against adultery. But it seems she hath told the King, that whoever did get it, he should own it; and the bottom of the quarrel is this:--She is fallen in love with young Jermin who hath of late lain with her oftener than the King, and is now going to marry my Lady Falmouth; the King he is mad at her entertaining Jermin, and she is mad at Jermin's going to marry from her: so they are all mad; and thus the kingdom is governed! and they say it is labouring to make breaches between the Duke of Richmond and his lady that the King may get her to him. But he tells me for certain that nothing is more sure than that the King, and Duke of York, and the Chancellor, are desirous and labouring all they can to get an army, whatever the King says to the Parliament; and he believes that they are at last resolved to stand and fall all three together: so that he says match of the Duke of York with the Chancellor's daughter hath undone the nation. He tells me also that the King hath not greater enemies in the world than those of his own family; for there is not an officer in the house almost but curses him for letting them starve, and there is not a farthing of money to be raised for the buying them bread. Having done talking with him I to Westminster Hall, and there talked and wandered up and down till the evening to no purpose, there and to the Swan, and so till the evening, and so home, and there to walk in the garden with my wife, telling her of my losing L300 a year by my place that I am to part with, which do a little trouble me, but we must live with somewhat more thrift, and so home to supper and to play on the flageolet, which do do very prettily, and so to bed. Many guns were heard this afternoon, it seems, at White Hall and in the Temple garden very plain; but what it should be nobody knows, unless the Dutch be driving our ships up the river. To-morrow we shall know. 30th. Up and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Daniel and his wife with us, come to see whether I could get him any employment. But I am so far from it, that I have the trouble upon my mind how to dispose of Mr. Gibson and one or two more I am concerned for in the Victualling business, which are to be now discharged. After dinner by coach to White Hall, calling on two or three tradesmen and paying their bills, and so to White Hall, to the Treasury-chamber, where I did speak with the Lords, and did my business about getting them to assent to 10 per cent. interest on the 11 months tax, but find them mightily put to it for money. Here I do hear that there are three Lords more to be added to them; my Lord Bridgewater, my Lord Anglesey, and my Lord Chamberlaine. Having done my business, I to Creed's chamber, and thence out with Creed to White Hall with him; in our way, meeting with Mr. Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's secretary, on horseback, who stopped to speak with us, and he proved very drunk, and did talk, and would have talked all night with us, I not being able to break loose from him, he holding me so by the hand. But, Lord! to see his present humour, how he swears at every word, and talks of the King and my Lady Castlemayne in the plainest words in the world. And from him I gather that the story I learned yesterday is true--that the King hath declared that he did not get the child of which she is conceived at this time, he having not as he says lain with her this half year. But she told him, "God damn me, but you shall own it!" It seems, he is jealous of Jermin, and she loves him so, that the thoughts of his marrying of my Lady Falmouth puts her into fits of the mother; and he, it seems, hath lain with her from time to time, continually, for a good while; and once, as this Cooling says, the King had like to have taken him a-bed with her, but that he was fain to creep under the bed into her closet.... But it is a pretty thing he told us how the King, once speaking of the Duke of York's being mastered by his wife, said to some of the company by, that he would go no more abroad with this Tom Otter (meaning the Duke of York) and his wife. Tom Killigrew, being by, answered, "Sir," says he, "pray which is the best for a man, to be a Tom Otter to his wife or to his mistress?" meaning the King's being so to my Lady Castlemayne. Thus he went on; and speaking then of my Lord Sandwich, whom he professed to love exceedingly, says Creed, "I know not what, but he is a man, methinks, that I could love for himself, without other regards."... He talked very lewdly; and then took notice of my kindness to him on shipboard seven years ago, when the King was coming over, and how much he was obliged to me; but says, pray look upon this acknowledgement of a kindness in me to be a miracle; for, says he, "it is against the law at Court for a man that borrows money of me, even to buy his place with, to own it the next Sunday;" and then told us his horse was a bribe, and his boots a bribe; and told us he was made up of bribes, as an Oxford scholar is set out with other men's goods when he goes out of town, and that he makes every sort of tradesman to bribe him; and invited me home to his house, to taste of his bribe wine. I never heard so much vanity from a man in my life; so, being now weary of him, we parted, and I took coach, and carried Creed to the Temple. There set him down, and to my office, where busy late till my eyes begun to ake, and then home to supper: a pullet, with good sauce, to my liking, and then to play on the flageolet with my wife, which she now does very prettily, and so to bed. 31st. Up, and after some time with Greeting upon my flageolet I to my office, and there all the morning busy. Among other things, Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and myself did examine a fellow of our private man-of-war, who we have found come up from Hull, with near L500 worth of pieces of eight, though he will confess but 100 pieces. But it appears that there have been fine doings there. At noon dined at home, and then to the office, where busy again till the evening, when Major Halsey and Kinaston to adjust matters about Mrs. Rumbald's bill of exchange, and here Major Halsey, speaking much of my doing business, and understanding business, told me how my Lord Generall do say that I am worth them all, but I have heard that Halsey hath said the same behind my back to others. Then abroad with my wife by coach to Marrowbone, where my Lord Mayor and Aldermen, it seem, dined to-day: and were just now going away, methought, in a disconsolate condition, compared with their splendour they formerly had, when the City was standing. Here my wife and I drank at the gate, not 'lighting, and then home with much pleasure, and so to my chamber, and my wife and I to pipe, and so to supper and to bed. AUGUST 1667 August 1st. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon my wife and I dined at Sir W. Pen's, only with Mrs. Turner and her husband, on a damned venison pasty, that stunk like a devil. However, I did not know it till dinner was done. We had nothing but only this, and a leg of mutton, and a pullet or two. Mrs. Markham was here, with her great belly. I was very merry, and after dinner, upon a motion of the women, I was got to go to the play with them-the first I have seen since before the Dutch coming upon our coast, and so to the King's house, to see "The Custome of the Country." The house mighty empty--more than ever I saw it--and an ill play. After the play, we into the house, and spoke with Knipp, who went abroad with us by coach to the Neat Houses in the way to Chelsy; and there, in a box in a tree, we sat and sang, and talked and eat; my wife out of humour, as she always is, when this woman is by. So, after it was dark, we home. Set Knepp down at home, who told us the story how Nell is gone from the King's house, and is kept by my Lord Buckhurst. Then we home, the gates of the City shut, it being so late: and at Newgate we find them in trouble, some thieves having this night broke open prison. So we through, and home; and our coachman was fain to drive hard from two or three fellows, which he said were rogues, that he met at the end of Blow-bladder Street, next Cheapside. So set Mrs. Turner home, and then we home, and I to the Office a little; and so home and to bed, my wife in an ill humour still. 2nd. Up, but before I rose my wife fell into angry discourse of my kindness yesterday to Mrs. Knipp, and leading her, and sitting in the coach hand in hand, and my arm about her middle, and in some bad words reproached me with it. I was troubled, but having much business in my head and desirous of peace rose and did not provoke her. So she up and come to me and added more, and spoke basely of my father, who I perceive did do something in the country, at her last being there, that did not like her, but I would not enquire into anything, but let her talk, and when ready away to the Office I went, where all the morning I was, only Mr. Gawden come to me, and he and I home to my chamber, and there reckoned, and there I received my profits for Tangier of him, and L250 on my victualling score. He is a most noble-minded man as ever I met with, and seems to own himself much obliged to me, which I will labour to make him; for he is a good man also: we talked on many good things relating to the King's service, and, in fine, I had much matter of joy by this morning's work, receiving above L400 of him, on one account or other; and a promise that, though I lay down my victualling place, yet, as long as he continues victualler, I shall be the better by him. To the office again, and there evened all our business with Mr. Kinaston about Colonel Norwood's Bill of Exchange from Tangier, and I am glad of it, for though he be a good man, yet his importunity tries me. So home to dinner, where Mr. Hater with me and W. Hewer, because of their being in the way after dinner, and so to the office after dinner, where and with my Lord Bruneker at his lodgings all the afternoon and evening making up our great account for the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, but not so as pleased me yet. So at 12 at night home to supper and to bed, my wife being gone in an ill humour to bed before me. This noon my wife comes to me alone, and tells me she had those upon her and bid me remember it. I asked her why, and she said she had a reason. I do think by something too she said to-day, that she took notice that I had not lain with her this half-year, that she thinks that I have some doubt that she might be with child by somebody else. Which God knows never entered into my head, or whether my father observed any thing at Brampton with Coleman I know not. But I do not do well to let these beginnings of discontents take so much root between us. 3rd. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning. Then at noon to dinner, and to the office again, there to enable myself, by finishing our great account, to give it to the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury; which I did, and there was called in to them, to tell them only the total of our debt of the Navy on the 25th of May last, which is above L950,000. Here I find them mighty hot in their answer to the Council-board about our Treasurer's threepences of the Victualling, and also against the present farm of the Customes, which they do most highly inveigh against. So home again by coach, and there hard to work till very late and my eyes began to fail me, which now upon very little overworking them they do, which grieves me much. Late home, to supper, and to bed. 4th (Lord's day). Busy at my Office from morning till night, in writing with my own hand fair our large general account of the expence and debt of the Navy, which lasted me till night to do, that I was almost blind, and Mr. Gibson with me all day long, and dined with me, and excellent discourse I had with him, he understanding all the business of the Navy most admirably. To walk a little with my wife at night in the garden, it being very hot weather again, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and with Sir W. Batten in the morning to St. James's, where we did our ordinary business with the Duke of York, where I perceive they have taken the highest resolution in the world to become good husbands, and to retrench all charge; and to that end we are commanded to give him an account of the establishment in the seventh year of the late King's reign, and how offices and salaries have been increased since; and I hope it will end in the taking away some of our Commissioners, though it may be to the lessening of some of our salaries also. After done with the Duke of York, and coming out through his dressing-room, I there spied Signor Francisco tuning his gittar, and Monsieur de Puy with him, who did make him play to me, which he did most admirably--so well as I was mightily troubled that all that pains should have been taken upon so bad an instrument. Walked over the Park with Mr. Gawden, end with him by coach home, and to the Exchange, where I hear the ill news of our loss lately of four rich ships, two from Guinea, one from Gallipoly, all with rich oyles; and the other from Barbadoes, worth, as is guessed, L80,000. But here is strong talk, as if Harman had taken some of the Dutch East India ships, but I dare not yet believe it, and brought them into Lisbon. ["Sept. 6, 1667. John Clarke to James Hickes. A vessel arrived from Harwich brings news that the English lost 600 to 700 men in the attempt on St. Christopher; that Sir John Harman was not then there, but going with 11 ships, and left a ketch at Barbadoes to bring more soldiers after him; that the ketch met a French sloop with a packet from St. Christopher to their fleet at Martinico, and took her, whereupon Sir John Harman sailed there and fell upon their fleet of 27 sail, 25 of which he sank, and burnt the others, save two which escaped; also that he left three of his fleet there, and went with the rest to Nevis, to make another attempt on St. Christopher. "Calendar of State Payers, 1667, p. 447] Home, and dined with my wife at Sir W. Pen's, where a very good pasty of venison, better than we expected, the last stinking basely, and after dinner he and my wife and I to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Love Trickes, or the School of Compliments;" a silly play, only Miss [Davis's] dancing in a shepherd's clothes did please us mightily. Thence without much pleasure home and to my Office, so home, to supper, and to bed. My wife mighty angry with Nell, who is turned a very gossip, and gads abroad as soon as our backs are turned, and will put her away tomorrow, which I am not sorry for. 6th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning very full of business. A full Board. Here, talking of news, my Lord Anglesey did tell us that the Dutch do make a further bogle with us about two or three things, which they will be satisfied in, he says, by us easily; but only in one, it seems, they do demand that we shall not interrupt their East Indiamen coming home, and of which they are in some fear; and we are full of hopes that we have 'light upon some of them, and carried them into Lisbon, by Harman; which God send! But they, which do shew the low esteem they have of us, have the confidence to demand that we shall have a cessation on our parts, and yet they at liberty to take what they will; which is such an affront, as another cannot be devised greater. At noon home to dinner, where I find Mrs. Wood, formerly Bab. Shelden, and our Mercer, who is dressed to-day in a paysan dress, that looks mighty pretty. We dined and sang and laughed mighty merry, and then I to the Office, only met at the door with Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Burroughs, who I took in and drank with, but was afraid my wife should see them, they being, especially the first, a prattling gossip, and so after drinking with them parted, and I to the Office, busy as long as my poor eyes would endure, which troubles me mightily and then into the garden with my wife, and to Sir W. Batten's with [Sir] W. Pen and [Sir] J. Minnes, and there eat a melon and talked, and so home to supper and to bed. My wife, as she said last night, hath put away Nell to-day, for her gossiping abroad and telling of stories. Sir W. Batten did tell me to-night that the Council have ordered a hearing before them of Carcasses business, which do vex me mightily, that we should be troubled so much by an idle rogue, a servant of our own, and all my thoughts to-night have been how to manage the matter before the Council. 7th. Up, and at the office very busy, and did much business all the morning. My wife abroad with her maid Jane and Tom all the afternoon, being gone forth to eat some pasties at "The Bottle of Hay," in St. John's Street, as you go to Islington, of which she is mighty fond, and I dined at home alone, and at the office close all the afternoon, doing much business to my great content. This afternoon Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, comes to me about business, and tells me that though the King and my Lady Castlemayne are friends again, she is not at White Hall, but at Sir D. Harvy's, whither the King goes to her; and he says she made him ask her forgiveness upon his knees, and promised to offend her no more so: that, indeed, she did threaten to bring all his bastards to his closet-door, and hath nearly hectored him out of his wits. I at my office till night, and then home to my pipe, my wife not coming home, which vexed me. I then into the garden, and there walked alone in the garden till 10 at night, when she come home, having been upon the water and could not get home sooner. So to supper, and to bed. 8th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where busy, and at noon home to dinner, where Creed dined with us, who tells me that Sir Henry Bellasses is dead of the duell he fought about ten days ago, with Tom Porter; and it is pretty to see how the world talk of them as a couple of fools, that killed one another out of love. After dinner to the office a while, and then with my wife to the Temple, where I light and sent her to her tailor's. I to my bookseller's; where, by and by, I met Mr. Evelyn, and talked of several things, but particularly of the times: and he tells me that wise men do prepare to remove abroad what they have, for that we must be ruined, our case being past relief, the kingdom so much in debt, and the King minding nothing but his lust, going two days a-week to see my Lady Castlemayne at Sir D. Harvy's. He gone, I met with Mr. Moore, who tells me that my Lord Hinchingbroke is now with his mistress, but not that he is married, as W. Howe come and told us the other day. So by coach to White Hall, and there staid a little, thinking to see Sir G. Carteret, but missed him, and so by coach took up my wife, and so home, and as far as Bow, where we staid and drank, and there, passing by Mr. Lowther and his lady, they stopped and we talked a little with them, they being in their gilt coach, and so parted; and presently come to us Mr. Andrews, whom I had not seen a good while, who, as other merchants do, do all give over any hopes of things doing well, and so he spends his time here most, playing at bowles. After dining together at the coach-side, we with great pleasure home, and so to the office, where I despatched my business, and home to supper, and to bed. 9th. Up, and betimes with Sir H. Cholmly upon some accounts of Tangier, and then he and I to Westminster, to Mr. Burges, and then walked in the Hall, and he and I talked, and he do really declare that he expects that of necessity this kingdom will fall back again to a commonwealth, and other wise men are of the same mind: this family doing all that silly men can do, to make themselves unable to support their kingdom, minding their lust and their pleasure, and making their government so chargeable, that people do well remember better things were done, and better managed, and with much less charge under a commonwealth than they have been by this King, and do seem to resolve to wind up his businesses and get money in his hand against the turn do come. After some talk I by coach and there dined, and with us Mr. Batelier by chance coming in to speak with me, and when I come home, and find Mr. Goodgroome, my wife's singing-master, there I did soundly rattle him for neglecting her so much as he hath done--she not having learned three songs these three months and more. After dinner my wife abroad with Mrs. Turner, and I to the office, where busy all the afternoon, and in the evening by coach to St. James's, and there met Sir W. Coventry; and he and I walked in the Park an hour. And then to his chamber, where he read to me the heads of the late great dispute between him and the rest of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and our new Treasurer of the Navy where they have overthrown him the last Wednesday, in the great dispute touching his having the payment of the Victualler, which is now settled by Council that he is not to have it and, indeed, they have been most just, as well as most severe and bold, in the doing this against a man of his quality; but I perceive he do really make no difference between any man. He tells me this day it is supposed the peace is ratified at Bredah, and all that matter over. We did talk of many retrenchments of charge of the Navy which he will put in practice, and every where else; though, he tells me, he despairs of being able to do what ought to be done for the saving of the kingdom, which I tell him, as indeed all the world is almost in hopes of, upon the proceeding of these gentlemen for the regulating of the Treasury, it being so late, and our poverty grown so great, that they want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing. He tells me how weary he hath for this year and a half been of the war; and how in the Duke of York's bedchamber, at Christ Church, at Oxford, when the Court was there, he did labour to persuade the Duke to fling off the care of the Navy, and get it committed to other hands; which, if he had done, would have been much to his honour, being just come home with so much honour from sea as he did. I took notice of the sharp letter he wrote, which he sent us to read yesterday, to Sir Edward Spragg, where he is very plain about his leaving his charge of the ships at Gravesend, when the enemy come last up, and several other things: a copy whereof I have kept. But it is done like a most worthy man; and he says it is good, now and then, to tell these gentlemen their duties, for they need it. And it seems, as he tells me, all our Knights are fallen out one with another, he, and Jenings, and Hollis, and (his words were) they are disputing which is the coward among them; and yet men that take the greatest liberty of censuring others! Here, with him, very late, till I could hardly get a coach or link willing to go through the ruines; but I do, but will not do it again, being, indeed, very dangerous. So home and to supper, and bed, my head most full of an answer I have drawn this noon to the Committee of the Council to whom Carcasses business is referred to be examined again. 10th. Up, and to the Office, and there finished the letter about Carcasse, and sent it away, I think well writ, though it troubles me we should be put to trouble by this rogue so much. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, where I sang and piped with my wife with great pleasure, and did hire a coach to carry us to Barnett to-morrow. After dinner I to the office, and there wrote as long as my eyes would give me leave, and then abroad and to the New Exchange, to the bookseller's there, where I hear of several new books coming out--Mr. Spratt's History of the Royal Society, and Mrs. Phillips's' poems. Sir John Denham's poems are going to be all printed together; and, among others, some new things; and among them he showed me a copy of verses of his upon Sir John Minnes's going heretofore to Bullogne to eat a pig. [The collected edition of Denham's poems is dated 1668. The verses referred to are inscribed "To Sir John Mennis being invited from Calice to Bologne to eat a pig," and two of the lines run "Little Admiral John To Bologne is gone."] Cowley, he tells me, is dead; who, it seems, was a mighty civil, serious man; which I did not know before. Several good plays are likely to be abroad soon, as Mustapha and Henry the 5th. Here having staid and divertised myself a good while, I home again and to finish my letters by the post, and so home, and betimes to bed with my wife because of rising betimes to-morrow. 11th (Lord's day). Up by four o'clock, and ready with Mrs. Turner to take coach before five; which we did, and set on our journey, and got to the Wells at Barnett by seven o'clock, and there found many people a-drinking; but the morning is a very cold morning, so as we were very cold all the way in the coach. Here we met Joseph Batelier, and I talked with him, and here was W. Hewer also, and his uncle Steventon: so, after drinking three glasses and the women nothing, we back by coach to Barnett, where to the Red Lyon, where we 'light, and went up into the great Room, and there drank, and eat some of the best cheese-cakes that ever I eat in my life, and so took coach again, and W. Hewer on horseback with us, and so to Hatfield, to the inn, next my Lord Salisbury's house, and there rested ourselves, and drank, and bespoke dinner; and so to church, it being just church-time, and there we find my Lord and my Lady Sands and several fine ladies of the family, and a great many handsome faces and genteel persons more in the church, and did hear a most excellent good sermon, which pleased me mightily, and very devout; it being upon, the signs of saving grace, where it is in a man, and one sign, which held him all this day, was, that where that grace was, there is also the grace of prayer, which he did handle very finely. In this church lies the former Lord of Salisbury, Cecil, buried in a noble tomb. So the church being done, we to our inn, and there dined very well, and mighty merry; and as soon as we had dined we walked out into the Park through the fine walk of trees, and to the Vineyard, and there shewed them that, which is in good order, and indeed a place of great delight; which, together with our fine walk through the Park, was of as much pleasure as could be desired in the world for country pleasure and good ayre. Being come back, and weary with the walk, for as I made it, it was pretty long, being come back to our inne, there the women had pleasure in putting on some straw hats, which are much worn in this country, and did become them mightily, but especially my wife. So, after resting awhile, we took coach again, and back to Barnett, where W. Hewer took us into his lodging, which is very handsome, and there did treat us very highly with cheesecakes, cream, tarts, and other good things; and then walked into the garden, which was pretty, and there filled my pockets full of filberts, and so with much pleasure. Among other things, I met in this house with a printed book of the Life of O. Cromwell, to his honour as a soldier and politician, though as a rebell, the first of that kind that ever I saw, and it is well done. Took coach again, and got home with great content, just at day shutting in, and so as soon as home eat a little and then to bed, with exceeding great content at our day's work. 12th. My wife waked betimes to call up her maids to washing, and so to bed again, whom I then hugged, it being cold now in the mornings.... Up by and by, and with Mr. Gawden by coach to St. James's, where we find the Duke gone a-hunting with the King, but found Sir W. Coventry within, with whom we discoursed, and he did largely discourse with us about our speedy falling upon considering of retrenchments in the expense of the Navy, which I will put forward as much as I can. So having done there I to Westminster Hall to Burges, and then walked to the New Exchange, and there to my bookseller's, and did buy Scott's Discourse of Witches; and do hear Mr. Cowley mightily lamented his death, by Dr. Ward, the Bishop of Winchester, and Dr. Bates, who were standing there, as the best poet of our nation, and as good a man. Thence I to the printseller's, over against the Exchange towards Covent Garden, and there bought a few more prints of cittys, and so home with them, and my wife and maids being gone over the water to the whitster's [A bleacher of linen. "The whitsters of Datchet Mead" are referred to by Mrs. Ford ("Merry Wives of Windsor," act iii., sc. 3).] with their clothes, this being the first time of her trying this way of washing her linen, I dined at Sir W. Batten's, and after dinner, all alone to the King's playhouse, and there did happen to sit just before Mrs. Pierce, and Mrs. Knepp, who pulled me by the hair; and so I addressed myself to them, and talked to them all the intervals of the play, and did give them fruit. The play is "Brenoralt," which I do find but little in, for my part. Here was many fine ladies-among others, the German Baron, with his lady, who is envoye from the Emperour, and their fine daughter, which hath travelled all Europe over with them, it seems; and is accordingly accomplished, and indeed, is a wonderful pretty woman. Here Sir Philip Frowde, who sat next to me, did tell me how Sir H. Belasses is dead, and that the quarrel between him and Tom Porter, who is fled, did arise in the ridiculous fashion that I was first told it, which is a strange thing between two so good friends. The play being done, I took the women, and Mrs. Corbett, who was with them, by coach, it raining, to Mrs. Manuel's, the Jew's wife, formerly a player, who we heard sing with one of the Italians that was there; and, indeed, she sings mightily well; and just after the Italian manner, but yet do not please me like one of Mrs. Knepp's songs, to a good English tune, the manner of their ayre not pleasing me so well as the fashion of our own, nor so natural. Here I sat a little and then left them, and then by coach home, and my wife not come home, so the office a little and then home, and my wife come; and so, saying nothing where I had been, we to supper and pipe, and so to bed. 13th. Up, and to the office, where we sat busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner all alone, my wife being again at the whitster's. After dinner with Sir W. Pen to St. James's, where the rest come and attended the Duke of York, with our usual business; who, upon occasion, told us that he did expect this night or to-morrow to hear from Breda of the consummation of the peace. Thence Sir W. Pen and I to the King's house, and there saw "The Committee," which I went to with some prejudice, not liking it before, but I do now find it a very good play, and a great deal of good invention in it; but Lacy's part is so well performed that it would set off anything. The play being done, we with great pleasure home, and there I to the office to finish my letters, and then home to my chamber to sing and pipe till my wife comes home from her washing, which was nine at night, and a dark and rainy night, that I was troubled at her staying out so long. But she come well home, and so to supper and to bed. 14th. Up, and to the office, where we held a meeting extraordinary upon some particular business, and there sat all the morning. At noon, my wife being gone to the whitster's again to her clothes, I to dinner to Sir W. Batten's, where much of our discourse concerning Carcasse, who it seems do find success before the Council, and do everywhere threaten us with what he will prove against us, which do vex us to see that we must be subjected to such a rogue of our own servants as this is. By and by to talk of our prize at Hull, and Sir W. Batten offering, again and again, seriously how he would sell his part for L1000 and I considering the knavery of Hogg and his company, and the trouble we may have with the Prince Rupert about the consort ship, and how we are linked with Sir R. Ford, whose son-in-law too is got thither, and there we intrust him with all our concern, who I doubt not is of the same trade with his father-in-law for a knave, and then the danger of the sea, if it shall be brought about, or bad debts contracted in the sale, but chiefly to be eased of my fears about all or any of this, I did offer my part to him for L700. With a little beating the bargain, we come to a perfect agreement for L666 13s. 4d., which is two-thirds of L1000, which is my proportion of the prize. I went to my office full of doubts and joy concerning what I had done; but, however, did put into writing the heads of our agreement, and returned to Sir W. Batten, and we both signed them; and Sir R. Ford, being come thither since, witnessed them. So having put it past further dispute I away, satisfied, and took coach and to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Country Captain," which is a very ordinary play. Methinks I had no pleasure therein at all, and so home again and to my business hard till my wife come home from her clothes, and so with her to supper and to bed. No news yet come of the ratification of the peace which we have expected now every hour since yesterday. 15th. Up, and to the office betimes, where busy, and sat all the morning, vexed with more news of Carcasses proceedings at the Council, insomuch as we four, [Sir] J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, (Sir) W. Pen, and myself, did make an appointment to dine with Sir W. Coventry to-day to discourse it with him, which we did by going thither as soon as the office was up, and there dined, and very merry, and many good stories, and after dinner to our discourse about Carcasse, and how much we are troubled that we should be brought, as they say we shall, to defend our report before the Council-board with him, and to have a clerk imposed on us. He tells us in short that there is no intention in the Lords for the latter, but wholly the contrary. That they do not desire neither to do anything in disrespect to the Board, and he will endeavour to prevent, as he hath done, our coming to plead at the table with our clerk, and do believe the whole will amount to nothing at the Council, only what he shall declare in behalf of the King against the office, if he offers anything, will and ought to be received, to which we all shew a readiness, though I confess even that (though I think I am as clear as the clearest of them), yet I am troubled to think what trouble a rogue may without cause give a man, though it be only by bespattering a man, and therefore could wish that over, though I fear nothing to be proved. Thence with much satisfaction, and Sir W. Pen and I to the Duke's house, where a new play. The King and Court there: the house full, and an act begun. And so went to the King's, and there saw "The Merry Wives of Windsor:" which did not please me at all, in no part of it, and so after the play done we to the Duke's house, where my wife was by appointment in Sir W. Pen's coach, and she home, and we home, and I to my office, where busy till letters done, and then home to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and at the office all the morning, and so at noon to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I to the Duke's playhouse, where we saw the new play acted yesterday, "The Feign Innocence, or Sir Martin Marr-all;" a play made by my Lord Duke of Newcastle, but, as every body says, corrected by Dryden. It is the most entire piece of mirth, a complete farce from one end to the other, that certainly was ever writ. I never laughed so in all my life. I laughed till my head [ached] all the evening and night with the laughing; and at very good wit therein, not fooling. The house full, and in all things of mighty content to me. Thence to the New Exchange with my wife, where, at my bookseller's, I saw "The History of the Royall Society," which, I believe, is a fine book, and have bespoke one in quires. So home, and I to the office a little, and so to my chamber, and read the history of 88--[See 10th of this month.]--in Speede, in order to my seeing the play thereof acted to-morrow at the King's house. So to supper in some pain by the sudden change of the weather cold and my drinking of cold drink, which I must I fear begin to leave off, though I shall try it as long as I can without much pain. But I find myself to be full of wind, and my anus to be knit together as it is always with cold. Every body wonders that we have no news from Bredah of the ratification of the peace; and do suspect that there is some stop in it. So to bed. 17th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where we sat, and my head was full of the business of Carcasse, who hath a hearing this morning before the Council and hath summonsed at least thirty persons, and which is wondrous, a great many of them, I hear, do declare more against him than for him, and yet he summonses people without distinction. Sure he is distracted. At noon home to dinner, and presently my wife and I and Sir W. Pen to the King's playhouse, where the house extraordinary full; and there was the King and Duke of York to see the new play, "Queen Elizabeth's Troubles and the History of Eighty Eight." I confess I have sucked in so much of the sad story of Queen Elizabeth, from my cradle, that I was ready to weep for her sometimes; but the play is the most ridiculous that sure ever come upon the stage; and, indeed, is merely a shew, only shews the true garbe of the Queen in those days, just as we see Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth painted; but the play is merely a puppet play, acted by living puppets. Neither the design nor language better; and one stands by and tells us the meaning of things: only I was pleased to see Knipp dance among the milkmaids, and to hear her sing a song to Queen Elizabeth; and to see her come out in her night-gowne with no lockes on, but her bare face and hair only tied up in a knot behind; which is the comeliest dress that ever I saw her in to her advantage. Thence home and went as far as Mile End with Sir W. Pen, whose coach took him up there for his country-house; and after having drunk there, at the Rose and Crowne, a good house for Alderman Bides ale,--[John Bide, brewer, Sheriff of London in 1647.--B.]--we parted, and we home, and there I finished my letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 18th (Lord's day). Up, and being ready, walked up and down to Cree Church, to see it how it is; but I find no alteration there, as they say there was, for my Lord Mayor and Aldermen to come to sermon, as they do every Sunday, as they did formerly to Paul's. Walk back home and to our own church, where a dull sermon and our church empty of the best sort of people, they being at their country houses, and so home, and there dined with me Mr. Turner and his daughter Betty. [Betty Turner, who is frequently mentioned after this date, appears to have been a daughter of Serjeant John Turner and his wife Jane, and younger sister of Theophila Turner (see January 4th, 6th, 1668-69).] Her mother should, but they were invited to Sir J. Minnes, where she dined and the others here with me. Betty is grown a fine lady as to carriage and discourse. I and my wife are mightily pleased with her. We had a good haunch of venison, powdered and boiled, and a good dinner and merry. After dinner comes Mr. Pelling the Potticary, whom I had sent for to dine with me, but he was engaged. After sitting an hour to talk we broke up, all leaving Pelling to talk with my wife, and I walked towards White Hall, but, being wearied, turned into St. Dunstan's Church, where I heard an able sermon of the minister of the place; and stood by a pretty, modest maid, whom I did labour to take by the hand and the body; but she would not, but got further and further from me; and, at last, I could perceive her to take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I should touch her again--which seeing I did forbear, and was glad I did spy her design. And then I fell to gaze upon another pretty maid in a pew close to me, and she on me; and I did go about to take her by the hand, which she suffered a little and then withdrew. So the sermon ended, and the church broke up, and my amours ended also, and so took coach and home, and there took up my wife, and to Islington with her, our old road, but before we got to Islington, between that and Kingsland, there happened an odd adventure: one of our coach-horses fell sick of the staggers, so as he was ready to fall down. The coachman was fain to 'light, and hold him up, and cut his tongue to make him bleed, and his tail. The horse continued shaking every part of him, as if he had been in an ague, a good while, and his blood settled in his tongue, and the coachman thought and believed he would presently drop down dead; then he blew some tobacco in his nose, upon which the horse sneezed, and, by and by, grows well, and draws us the rest of our way, as well as ever he did; which was one of the strangest things of a horse I ever observed, but he says it is usual. It is the staggers. Staid and eat and drank at Islington, at the old house, and so home, and to my chamber to read, and then to supper and to bed. 19th. Up, and at the office all the morning very busy. Towards noon I to Westminster about some tallies at the Exchequer, and then straight home again and dined, and then to sing with my wife with great content, and then I to the office again, where busy, and then out and took coach and to the Duke of York's house, all alone, and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all" again, though I saw him but two days since, and do find it the most comical play that ever I saw in my life. Soon as the play done I home, and there busy till night, and then comes Mr. Moore to me only to discourse with me about some general things touching the badness of the times, how ill they look, and he do agree with most people that I meet with, that we shall fall into a commonwealth in a few years, whether we will or no; for the charge of a monarchy is such as the kingdom cannot be brought to bear willingly, nor are things managed so well nowadays under it, as heretofore. He says every body do think that there is something extraordinary that keeps us so long from the news of the peace being ratified, which the King and the Duke of York have expected these six days. He gone, my wife and I and Mrs. Turner walked in the garden a good while till 9 at night, and then parted, and I home to supper and to read a little (which I cannot refrain, though I have all the reason in the world to favour my eyes, which every day grow worse and worse by over-using them), and then to bed. 20th. Up, and to my chamber to set down my journall for the last three days, and then to the office, where busy all the morning. At noon home to dinner, and then with my wife abroad, set her down at the Exchange, and I to St. James's, where find Sir W. Coventry alone, and fell to discourse of retrenchments; and thereon he tells how he hath already propounded to the Lords Committee of the Councils how he would have the Treasurer of the Navy a less man, that might not sit at the Board, but be subject to the Board. He would have two Controllers to do his work and two Surveyors, whereof one of each to take it by turns to reside at Portsmouth and Chatham by a kind of rotation; he would have but only one Clerk of the Acts. He do tell me he hath propounded how the charge of the Navy in peace shall come within L200,000, by keeping out twenty-four ships in summer, and ten in the winter. And several other particulars we went over of retrenchment: and I find I must provide some things to offer that I may be found studious to lessen the King's charge. By and by comes my Lord Bruncker, and then we up to the Duke of York, and there had a hearing of our usual business, but no money to be heard of--no, not L100 upon the most pressing service that can be imagined of bringing in the King's timber from Whittlewood, while we have the utmost want of it, and no credit to provide it elsewhere, and as soon as we had done with the Duke of York, Sir W. Coventry did single [out] Sir W. Pen and me, and desired us to lend the King some money, out of the prizes we have taken by Hogg. He did not much press it, and we made but a merry answer thereto; but I perceive he did ask it seriously, and did tell us that there never was so much need of it in the world as now, we being brought to the lowest straits that can be in the world. This troubled me much. By and by Sir W. Batten told me that he heard how Carcasse do now give out that he will hang me, among the rest of his threats of him and Pen, which is the first word I ever heard of the kind from him concerning me. It do trouble me a little, though I know nothing he can possibly find to fasten on me. Thence, with my Lord Bruncker to the Duke's Playhouse (telling my wife so at the 'Change, where I left her), and there saw "Sir Martin Marr-all" again, which I have now seen three times, and it hath been acted but four times, and still find it a very ingenious play, and full of variety. So home, and to the office, where my eyes would not suffer me to do any thing by candlelight, and so called my wife and walked in the garden. She mighty pressing for a new pair of cuffs, which I am against the laying out of money upon yet, which makes her angry. So home to supper and to bed. 21st. Up, and my wife and I fell out about the pair of cuffs, which she hath a mind to have to go to see the ladies dancing to-morrow at Betty Turner's school; and do vex me so that I am resolved to deny them her. However, by-and-by a way was found that she had them, and I well satisfied, being unwilling to let our difference grow higher upon so small an occasion and frowardness of mine. Then to the office, my Lord Bruncker and I all the morning answering petitions, which now by a new Council's order we are commanded to set a day in a week apart for, and we resolve to do it by turn, my Lord and I one week and two others another. At noon home to dinner, and then my wife and I mighty pleasant abroad, she to the New Exchange and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury, who do sit very close, and are bringing the King's charges as low as they can; but Sir W. Coventry did here again tell me that he is very serious in what he said to Sir W. Pen and me yesterday about our lending of money to the King; and says that people do talk that we had had the King's ships at his cost to take prizes, and that we ought to lend the King money more than other people. I did tell him I will consider it, and so parted; and do find I cannot avoid it. So to Westminster Hall and there staid a while, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, and there did take a little pleasure both with her and her sister. Here sat and talked, and it is a strange thing to see the impudence of the woman, that desires by all means to have her mari come home, only that she might beat liberty to have me para toker her, which is a thing I do not so much desire. Thence by coach, took up my wife, and home and out to Mile End, and there drank, and so home, and after some little reading in my chamber, to supper and to bed. This day I sent my cozen Roger a tierce of claret, which I give him. This morning come two of Captain Cooke's boys, whose voices are broke, and are gone from the Chapel, but have extraordinary skill; and they and my boy, with his broken voice, did sing three parts; their names were Blaewl and Loggings; but, notwithstanding their skill, yet to hear them sing with their broken voices, which they could not command to keep in tune, would make a man mad--so bad it was. 22nd. Up, and to the office; whence Lord Bruncker, J. Minnes, W. Pen, and I, went to examine some men that are put in there, for rescuing of men that were pressed into the service: and we do plainly see that the desperate condition that we put men into for want of their pay, makes them mad, they being as good men as ever were in the world, and would as readily serve the King again, were they but paid. Two men leapt overboard, among others, into the Thames, out of the vessel into which they were pressed, and were shot by the soldiers placed there to keep them, two days since; so much people do avoid the King's service! And then these men are pressed without money, and so we cannot punish them for any thing, so that we are forced only to make a show of severity by keeping them in prison, but are unable to punish them. Returning to the office, did ask whether we might visit Commissioner Pett, to which, I confess, I have no great mind; and it was answered that he was close prisoner, and we could not; but the Lieutenant of the Tower would send for him to his lodgings, if we would: so we put it off to another time. Returned to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to Captain Cocke's to dinner; where Lord Bruncker and his Lady, Matt. Wren, and Bulteale, and Sir Allen Apsly; the last of whom did make good sport, he being already fallen under the retrenchments of the new Committee, as he is Master Falconer; [The post of Master Falconer was afterwards granted to Charles's son by Nell Gwyn, and it is still held by the Duke of St. Albans, as an hereditary office.--B.] which makes him mad, and swears that we are doing that the Parliament would have done--that is, that we are now endeavouring to destroy one another. But it was well observed by some at the table, that they do not think this retrenching of the King's charge will be so acceptable to the Parliament, they having given the King a revenue of so many L100,000's a-year more than his predecessors had, that he might live in pomp, like a king. After dinner with my Lord Bruncker and his mistress to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Indian Emperour;" where I find Nell come again, which I am glad of; but was most infinitely displeased with her being put to act the Emperour's daughter; which is a great and serious part, which she do most basely. The rest of the play, though pretty good, was not well acted by most of them, methought; so that I took no great content in it. But that, that troubled me most was, that Knipp sent by Moll' to desire to speak to me after the play; and she beckoned to me at the end of the play, and I promised to come; but it was so late, and I forced to step to Mrs. Williams's lodgings with my Lord Bruncker and her, where I did not stay, however, for fear of her shewing me her closet, and thereby forcing me to give her something; and it was so late, that for fear of my wife's coming home before me, I was forced to go straight home, which troubled me. Home and to the office a little, and then home and to my chamber to read, and anon, late, comes home my wife, with Mr. Turner and Mrs. Turner, with whom she supped, having been with Mrs. Turner to-day at her daughter's school, to see her daughters dancing, and the rest, which she says is fine. They gone, I to supper and to bed. My wife very fine to-day, in her new suit of laced cuffs and perquisites. This evening Pelling comes to me, and tells me that this night the Dutch letters are come, and that the peace was proclaimed there the 19th inst., and that all is finished; which, for my life, I know not whether to be glad or sorry for, a peace being so necessary, and yet the peace is so bad in its terms. 23rd. Up, and Greeting comes, who brings me a tune for two flageolets, which we played, and is a tune played at the King's playhouse, which goes so well, that I will have more of them, and it will be a mighty pleasure for me to have my wife able to play a part with me, which she will easily, I find, do. Then abroad to White Hall in a hackney-coach with Sir W. Pen: and in our way, in the narrow street near Paul's, going the backway by Tower Street, and the coach being forced to put back, he was turning himself into a cellar,--[So much of London was yet in ruins.--B]--which made people cry out to us, and so we were forced to leap out--he out of one, and I out of the other boote; [The "boot" was originally a projection on each side of the coach, where the passengers sat with their backs to the carriage. Such a "boot" is seen in the carriage containing the attendants of Queen Elizabeth, in Hoefnagel's well-known picture of Nonsuch Palace, dated 1582. Taylor, the Water Poet, the inveterate opponent of the introduction of coaches, thus satirizes the one in which he was forced to take his place as a passenger: "It wears two boots and no spurs, sometimes having two pairs of legs in one boot; and oftentimes against nature most preposterously it makes fair ladies wear the boot. Moreover, it makes people imitate sea-crabs, in being drawn sideways, as they are when they sit in the boot of the coach." In course of time these projections were abolished, and the coach then consisted of three parts, viz., the body, the boot (on the top of which the coachman sat), and the baskets at the back.] Query, whether a glass-coach would have permitted us to have made the escape?--[See note on introduction of glass coaches, September 23rd, 1667.]--neither of us getting any hurt; nor could the coach have got much hurt had we been in it; but, however, there was cause enough for us to do what we could to save ourselves. So being all dusty, we put into the Castle tavern, by the Savoy, and there brushed ourselves, and then to White Hall with our fellows to attend the Council, by order upon some proposition of my Lord Anglesey, we were called in. The King there: and it was about considering how the fleete might be discharged at their coming in shortly (the peace being now ratified, and it takes place on Monday next, which Sir W. Coventry said would make some clashing between some of us twenty to one, for want of more warning, but the wind has kept the boats from coming over), whether by money or tickets, and cries out against tickets, but the matter was referred for us to provide an answer to, which we must do in a few days. So we parted, and I to Westminster to the Exchequer, to see what sums of money other people lend upon the Act; and find of all sizes from L1000 to L100 nay, to L50, nay, to L20, nay, to L5: for I find that one Dr. Reade, Doctor of Law, gives no more, and others of them L20; which is a poor thing, methinks, that we should stoop so low as to borrow such sums. Upon the whole, I do think to lend, since I must lend, L300, though, God knows! it is much against my will to lend any, unless things were in better condition, and likely to continue so. Thence home and there to dinner, and after dinner by coach out again, setting my wife down at Unthanke's, and I to the Treasury-chamber, where I waited, talking with Sir G. Downing, till the Lords met. He tells me how he will make all the Exchequer officers, of one side and t'other, to lend the King money upon the Act; and that the least clerk shall lend money, and he believes the least will L100: but this I do not believe. He made me almost ashamed that we of the Navy had not in all this time lent any; so that I find it necessary I should, and so will speedily do it, before any of my fellows begin, and lead me to a bigger sum. By and by the Lords come; and I perceive Sir W. Coventry is the man, and nothing done till he comes. Among other things, I hear him observe, looking over a paper, that Sir John Shaw is a miracle of a man, for he thinks he executes more places than any man in England; for there he finds him a Surveyor of some of the King's woods, and so reckoned up many other places, the most inconsistent in the world. Their business with me was to consider how to assigne such of our commanders as will take assignements upon the Act for their wages; and the consideration thereof was referred to me to give them an answer the next sitting: which is a horrid poor thing: but they scruple at nothing of honour in the case. So away hence, and called my wife, and to the King's house, and saw "The Mayden Queene," which pleases us mightily; and then away, and took up Mrs. Turner at her door, and so to Mile End, and there drank, and so back to her house, it being a fine evening, and there supped. The first time I ever was there since they lived there; and she hath all things so neat and well done, that I am mightily pleased with her, and all she do. So here very merry, and then home and to bed, my eyes being very bad. I find most people pleased with their being at ease, and safe of a peace, that they may know no more charge or hazard of an ill-managed war: but nobody speaking of the peace with any content or pleasure, but are silent in it, as of a thing they are ashamed of; no, not at Court, much less in the City. 24th (St. Bartholomew's day). This morning was proclaimed the peace between us and the States of the United Provinces, and also of the King of France and Denmarke; and in the afternoon the Proclamations were printed and come out; and at night the bells rung, but no bonfires that I hear of any where, partly from the dearness of firing, but principally from the little content most people have in the peace. All the morning at the office. At noon dined, and Creed with me, at home. After dinner we to a play, and there saw "The Cardinall" at the King's house, wherewith I am mightily pleased; but, above all, with Becke Marshall. But it is pretty to observe how I look up and down for, and did spy Knipp; but durst not own it to my wife that I see her, for fear of angering her, who do not like my kindness to her, and so I was forced not to take notice of her, and so homeward, leaving Creed at the Temple: and my belly now full with plays, that I do intend to bind myself to see no more till Michaelmas. So with my wife to Mile End, and there drank of Bides ale, and so home. Most of our discourse is about our keeping a coach the next year, which pleases my wife mightily; and if I continue as able as now, it will save us money. This day comes a letter from the Duke of York to the Board to invite us, which is as much as to fright us, into the lending the King money; which is a poor thing, and most dishonourable, and shows in what a case we are at the end of the war to our neighbours. And the King do now declare publickly to give 10 per cent. to all lenders; which makes some think that the Dutch themselves will send over money, and lend it upon our publick faith, the Act of Parliament. So home and to my office, wrote a little, and then home to supper and to bed. 25th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, and thence home; and Pelling comes by invitation to dine with me, and much pleasant discourse with him. After dinner, away by water to White Hall, where I landed Pelling, who is going to his wife, where she is in the country, at Parson's Greene: and myself to Westminster, and there at the Swan I did baiser Frank, and to the parish church, thinking to see Betty Michell; and did stay an hour in the crowd, thinking, by the end of a nose that I saw, that it had been her; but at last the head turned towards me, and it was her mother, which vexed me, and so I back to my boat, which had broke one of her oars in rowing, and had now fastened it again; and so I up to Putney, and there stepped into the church, to look upon the fine people there, whereof there is great store, and the young ladies; and so walked to Barne-Elmes, whither I sent Russel, reading of Boyle's Hydrostatickes, which are of infinite delight. I walked in the Elmes a good while, and then to my boat, and leisurely home, with great pleasure to myself; and there supped, and W. Hewer with us, with whom a great deal of good talk touching the Office, and so to bed. 26th. Up, and Greeting come, and I reckoned with him for his teaching of my wife and me upon the flageolet to this day, and so paid him for having as much as he can teach us. Then to the Office, where we sat upon a particular business all the morning: and my Lord Anglesey with us: who, and my Lord Bruncker, do bring us news how my Lord Chancellor's seal is to be taken away from him to-day. The thing is so great and sudden to me, that it put me into a very great admiration what should be the meaning of it; and they do not own that they know what it should be: but this is certain, that the King did resolve it on Saturday, and did yesterday send the Duke of Albemarle, the only man fit for those works, to him for his purse: to which the Chancellor answered, that he received it from the King, and would deliver it to the King's own hand, and so civilly returned the Duke of Albemarle without it; and this morning my Lord Chancellor is to be with the King, to come to an end in the business. After sitting, we rose, and my wife being gone abroad with Mrs. Turner to her washing at the whitster's, I dined at Sir W. Batten's, where Mr. Boreman was, who come from White Hall; who tells us that he saw my Lord Chancellor come in his coach with some of his men, without his Seal, to White Hall to his chamber; and thither the King and Duke of York come and staid together alone, an hour or more: and it is said that the King do say that he will have the Parliament meet, and that it will prevent much trouble by having of him out of their enmity, by his place being taken away; for that all their enmity will be at him. It is said also that my Lord Chancellor answers, that he desires he may be brought to his trial, if he have done any thing to lose his office; and that he will be willing, and is most desirous, to lose that, and his head both together. Upon what terms they parted nobody knows but the Chancellor looked sad, he says. Then in comes Sir Richard Ford, and says he hears that there is nobody more presses to reconcile the King and Chancellor than the Duke of Albemarle and Duke of Buckingham: the latter of which is very strange, not only that he who was so lately his enemy should do it, but that this man, that but the other day was in danger of losing his own head, should so soon come to be a mediator for others: it shows a wise Government. They all say that he [Clarendon] is but a poor man, not worth above L3000 a-year in land; but this I cannot believe: and all do blame him for having built so great a house, till he had got a better estate. Having dined, Sir J. Minnes and I to White Hall, where we could be informed in no more than we were told before, nobody knowing the result of the meeting, but that the matter is suspended. So I walked to the King's playhouse, there to meet Sir W. Pen, and saw "The Surprizall," a very mean play, I thought: or else it was because I was out of humour, and but very little company in the house. But there Sir W. Pen and I had a great deal of discourse with Moll; who tells us that Nell is already left by my Lord Buckhurst, and that he makes sport of her, and swears she hath had all she could get of him; and Hart, [Charles Hart, great-nephew of Shakespeare, a favourite actor. He is credited with being Nell Gwyn's first lover (or Charles I., as the wits put it), and with having brought her on the stage. He died of stone, and was buried at Stanmore Magna, Middlesex, where he had a country house.] her great admirer, now hates her; and that she is very poor, and hath lost my Lady Castlemayne, who was her great friend also but she is come to the House, but is neglected by them all. [Lord Buckhurst's liaison with Nell Gwyn probably came to an end about this time. We learn from Pepys that in January, 1667-68, the king sent several times for Nelly (see January 11th, 1667-68). Nell's eldest son by Charles II., Charles Beauclerc, was not born till May 8th, 1670. He was created Earl of Burford in 1676 and Duke of St. Albans in 1684.] Thence with Sir W. Pen home, and I to the office, where late about business, and then home to supper, and so to bed. 27th. Up, and am invited betimes to be godfather tomorrow to Captain Poole's child with my Lady Pen and Lady Batten, which I accepted out of complaisance to them, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then my wife and I, with Sir W. Pen, to the New Exchange, set her down, and he and I to St. James's, where Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten, and we waited upon the Duke of York, but did little business, and he, I perceive, his head full of other business, and of late hath not been very ready to be troubled with any of our business. Having done with him, Sir J. Minnes, [Sir] W. Batten and I to White Hall, and there hear how it is like to go well enough with my Lord Chancellor; that he is like to keep his Seal, desiring that he may stand his trial in Parliament, if they will accuse him of any thing. Here Sir J. Minnes and I looking upon the pictures; and Mr. Chevins, being by, did take us, of his own accord, into the King's closet, to shew us some pictures, which, indeed, is a very noble place, and exceeding great variety of brave pictures, and the best hands. I could have spent three or four hours there well, and we had great liberty to look and Chevins seemed to take pleasure to shew us, and commend the pictures. Having done here, I to the Exchange, and there find my wife gone with Sir W. Pen. So I to visit Colonel Fitzgerald, who hath been long sick at Woolwich, where most of the officers and soldiers quartered there, since the Dutch being in the river, have died or been sick, and he among the rest; and, by the growth of his beard and gray [hairs], I did not know him. His desire to speak with me was about the late command for my paying no more pensions for Tangier. Thence home, and there did business, and so in the evening home to supper and to bed. This day Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, was with me; and tells me how this business of my Lord Chancellor's was certainly designed in my Lady Castlemayne's chamber; and that, when he went from the King on Monday morning, she was in bed, though about twelve o'clock, and ran out in her smock into her aviary looking into White Hall garden; and thither her woman brought her her nightgown; and stood joying herself at the old man's going away: and several of the gallants of White Hall, of which there were many staying to see the Chancellor return, did talk to her in her birdcage; among others, Blancford, telling her she was the bird of paradise. [Clarendon refers to this scene in the continuation of his Life (ed. 1827, vol. iii., p. 291), and Lister writes: "Lady Castlemaine rose hastily from her noontide bed, and came out into her aviary, anxious to read in the saddened air of her distinguished enemy some presage of his fall" ("Life of Clarendon," vol. ii., p. 412).] 28th. Up; and staid undressed till my tailor's boy did mend my vest, in order to my going to the christening anon. Then out and to White Hall, to attend the Council, by their order, with an answer to their demands touching our advice for the paying off of the seamen, when the ships shall come in, which answer is worth seeing, shewing the badness of our condition. There, when I come, I was forced to stay till past twelve o'clock, in a crowd of people in the lobby, expecting the hearing of the great cause of Alderman Barker against my Lord Deputy of Ireland, for his ill usage in his business of land there; but the King and Council sat so long, as they neither heard them nor me. So when they rose, I into the House, and saw the King and Queen at dinner, and heard a little of their viallins' musick, and so home, and there to dinner, and in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, Pen, and her daughter, and my wife, to Mrs. Poole's, where I mighty merry among the women, and christened the child, a girl, Elizabeth, which, though a girl, yet my Lady Batten would have me to give the name. After christening comes Sir W. Batten, [Sir] W. Pen, and Mr. Lowther, and mighty merry there, and I forfeited for not kissing the two godmothers presently after the christening, before I kissed the mother, which made good mirth; and so anon away, and my wife and I took coach and went twice round Bartholomew fayre; which I was glad to see again, after two years missing it by the plague, and so home and to my chamber a little, and so to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and Mr. Moore comes to me, and among other things tells me that my Lord Crew and his friends take it very ill of me that my Lord Sandwich's sea-fee should be retrenched, and so reported from this Office, and I give them no notice of it. The thing, though I know to be false--at least, that nothing went from our office towards it--yet it troubled me, and therefore after the office rose I went and dined with my Lord Crew, and before dinner I did enter into that discourse, and laboured to satisfy him; but found, though he said little, yet that he was not yet satisfied; but after dinner did pray me to go and see how it was, whether true or no. Did tell me if I was not their friend, they could trust to nobody, and that he did not forget my service and love to my Lord, and adventures for him in dangerous times, and therefore would not willingly doubt me now; but yet asked my pardon if, upon this news, he did begin to fear it. This did mightily trouble me: so I away thence to White Hall, but could do nothing. So home, and there wrote all my letters, and then, in the evening, to White Hall again, and there met Sir Richard Browne, Clerk to the Committee for retrenchments, who assures me no one word was ever yet mentioned about my Lord's salary. This pleased me, and I to Sir G. Carteret, who I find in the same doubt about it, and assured me he saw it in our original report, my Lord's name with a discharge against it. This, though I know to be false, or that it must be a mistake in my clerk, I went back to Sir R. Browne and got a sight of their paper, and find how the mistake arose, by the ill copying of it out for the Council from our paper sent to the Duke of York, which I took away with me and shewed Sir G. Carteret, and thence to my Lord Crew, and the mistake ended very merrily, and to all our contents, particularly my own, and so home, and to the office, and then to my chamber late, and so to supper and to bed. I find at Sir G. Carteret's that they do mightily joy themselves in the hopes of my Lord Chancellor's getting over this trouble; and I make them believe, and so, indeed, I do believe he will, that my Lord Chancellor is become popular by it. I find by all hands that the Court is at this day all to pieces, every man of a faction of one sort or other, so as it is to be feared what it will come to. But that, that pleases me is, I hear to-night that Mr. Bruncker is turned away yesterday by the Duke of York, for some bold words he was heard by Colonel Werden to say in the garden, the day the Chancellor was with the King--that he believed the King would be hectored out of everything. For this the Duke of York, who all say hath been very strong for his father-in-law at this trial, hath turned him away: and every body, I think, is glad of it; for he was a pestilent rogue, an atheist, that would have sold his King and country for 6d. almost, so covetous and wicked a rogue he is, by all men's report. But one observed to me, that there never was the occasion of men's holding their tongues at Court and everywhere else as there is at this day, for nobody knows which side will be uppermost. 30th. Up, and to White Hall, where at the Council Chamber I hear Barker's business is like to come to a hearing to-day, having failed the last day. I therefore to Westminster to see what I could do in my 'Chequer business about Tangier, and finding nothing to be done, returned, and in the Lobby staid till almost noon expecting to hear Barker's business, but it was not called, so I come away. Here I met with Sir G. Downing, who tells me of Sir W. Pen's offering to lend L500; and I tell him of my L300, which he would have me to lend upon the credit of the latter part of the Act; saying, that by that means my 10 per cent. will continue to me the longer. But I understand better, and will do it upon the L380,000, which will come to be paid the sooner; there being no delight in lending money now, to be paid by the King two years hence. But here he and Sir William Doyly were attending the Council as Commissioners for sick and wounded, and prisoners: and they told me their business, which was to know how we shall do to release our prisoners; for it seems the Dutch have got us to agree in the treaty, as they fool us in anything, that the dyet of the prisoners on both sides shall be paid for, before they be released; which they have done, knowing ours to run high, they having more prisoners of ours than we have of theirs; so that they are able and most ready to discharge the debt of theirs, but we are neither able nor willing to do that for ours, the debt of those in Zealand only, amounting to above L5000 for men taken in the King's own ships, besides others taken in merchantmen, which expect, as is usual, that the King should redeem them; but I think he will not, by what Sir G. Downing says. This our prisoners complain of there; and say in their letters, which Sir G. Downing shewed me, that they have made a good feat that they should be taken in the service of the King, and the King not pay for their victuals while prisoners for him. But so far they are from doing thus with their men, as we do to discourage ours, that I find in the letters of some of our prisoners there, which he shewed me, that they have with money got our men, that they took, to work and carry their ships home for them; and they have been well rewarded, and released when they come into Holland: which is done like a noble, brave, and wise people. Having staid out my time that I thought fit for me to return home, I home and there took coach and with my wife to Walthamstow; to Sir W. Pen's, by invitation, the first time I have been there, and there find him and all their guests (of our office only) at dinner, which was a very bad dinner, and everything suitable, that I never knew people in my life that make their flutter, that do things so meanly. I was sick to see it, but was merry at some ridiculous humours of my Lady Batten, who, as being an ill-bred woman, would take exceptions at anything any body said, and I made good sport at it. After dinner into the garden and wilderness, which is like the rest of the house, nothing in order, nor looked after. By and by comes newes that my Lady Viner was come to see Mrs. Lowther, which I was glad of, and all the pleasure I had here was to see her, which I did, and saluted her, and find she is pretty, though not so eminently so as people talked of her, and of very pretty carriage and discourse. I sat with them and her an hour talking and pleasant, and then slunk away alone without taking leave, leaving my wife there to come home with them, and I to Bartholomew fayre, to walk up and down; and there, among other things, find my Lady Castlemayne at a puppet-play, "Patient Grizill," [The well-known story, first told by Boccaccio, then by Petrarca, afterwards by Chaucer, and which has since become proverbial. Tom Warton, writing about 1770, says, "I need not mention that it is to this day represented in England, on a stage of the lowest species, and of the highest antiquity: I mean at a puppet show" ("Hist. of English Poetry," sect. xv.).--B.] and the street full of people expecting her coming out. I confess I did wonder at her courage to come abroad, thinking the people would abuse her; but they, silly people! do not know her work she makes, and therefore suffered her with great respect to take coach, and she away, without any trouble at all, which I wondered at, I confess. I only walked up and down, and, among others, saw Tom Pepys, the turner, who hath a shop, and I think lives in the fair when the fair is not. I only asked how he did as he stood in the street, and so up and down sauntering till late and then home, and there discoursed with my wife of our bad entertainment to-day, and so to bed. I met Captain Cocke to-day at the Council Chamber and took him with me to Westminster, who tells me that there is yet expectation that the Chancellor will lose the Seal, and that he is sure that the King hath said it to him who told it him, and he fears we shall be soon broke in pieces, and assures me that there have been high words between the Duke of York and Sir W. Coventry, for his being so high against the Chancellor; so as the Duke of York would not sign some papers that he brought, saying that he could not endure the sight of him: and that Sir W. Coventry answered, that what he did was in obedience to the King's commands; and that he did not think any man fit to serve a Prince, that did not know how to retire and live a country life. This is all I hear. 31st. At the office all the morning; where, by Sir W. Pen, I do hear that the Seal was fetched away to the King yesterday from the Lord Chancellor by Secretary Morrice; which puts me into a great horror, to have it done after so much debate and confidence that it would not be done at last. When we arose I took a turn with Lord Bruncker in the garden, and he tells me that he hath of late discoursed about this business with Sir W. Coventry, who he finds is the great man in the doing this business of the Chancellor's, and that he do persevere in it, though against the Duke of York's opinion, to which he says that the Duke of York was once of the same mind, and if he hath thought fit since, for any reason, to alter his mind, he hath not found any to alter his own, and so desires to be excused, for it is for the King's and kingdom's good. And it seems that the Duke of York himself was the first man that did speak to the King of this, though he hath since altered his mind; and that W. Coventry did tell the Duke of York that he was not fit to serve a Prince that did not know how to retire, and live a private life; and that he was ready for that, if it be his and the King's pleasure. After having wrote my letters at the office in the afternoon, I in the evening to White Hall to see how matters go, and there I met with Mr. Ball, of the Excise-office, and he tells me that the Seal is delivered to Sir Orlando Bridgeman; the man of the whole nation that is the best spoken of, and will please most people; and therefore I am mighty glad of it. He was then at my Lord Arlington's, whither I went, expecting to see him come out; but staid so long, and Sir W. Coventry coming thither, whom I had not a mind should see me there idle upon a post-night, I went home without seeing him; but he is there with his Seal in his hand. So I home, took up my wife, whom I left at Unthanke's, and so home, and after signing my letters to bed. This day, being dissatisfied with my wife's learning so few songs of Goodgroome, I did come to a new bargain with him to teach her songs at so much, viz.; 10s. a song, which he accepts of, and will teach her. SEPTEMBER 1667 September 1st (Lord's day). Up, and betimes by water from the Tower, and called at the Old Swan for a glass of strong water, and sent word to have little Michell and his wife come and dine with us to-day; and so, taking in a gentleman and his lady that wanted a boat, I to Westminster. Setting them on shore at Charing Cross, I to Mrs. Martin's, where I had two pair of cuffs which I bespoke, and there did sit and talk with her.... and here I did see her little girle my goddaughter, which will be pretty, and there having staid a little I away to Creed's chamber, and when he was ready away to White Hall, where I met with several people and had my fill of talk. Our new Lord-keeper, Bridgeman, did this day, the first time, attend the King to chapel with his Seal. Sir H. Cholmly tells me there are hopes that the women will also have a rout, and particularly that my Lady Castlemayne is coming to a composition with the King to be gone; but how true this is, I know not. Blancfort is made Privy-purse to the Duke of York; the Attorney-general is made Chief justice, in the room of my Lord Bridgeman; the Solicitor-general is made Attorney-general; and Sir Edward Turner made Solicitor-general. It is pretty to see how strange every body looks, nobody knowing whence this arises; whether from my Lady Castlemayne, Bab. May, and their faction; or from the Duke of York, notwithstanding his great appearance of defence of the Chancellor; or from Sir William Coventry, and some few with him. But greater changes are yet expected. So home and by water to dinner, where comes Pelting and young Michell and his wife, whom I have not seen a great while, poor girle, and then comes Mr. Howe, and all dined with me very merry, and spent all the afternoon, Pelting, Howe, and I, and my boy, singing of Lock's response to the Ten Commandments, which he hath set very finely, and was a good while since sung before the King, and spoiled in the performance, which occasioned his printing them for his vindication, and are excellent good. They parted, in the evening my wife and I to walk in the garden and there scolded a little, I being doubtful that she had received a couple of fine pinners (one of point de Gesne), which I feared she hath from some [one] or other of a present; but, on the contrary, I find she hath bought them for me to pay for them, without my knowledge. This do displease me much; but yet do so much please me better than if she had received them the other way, that I was not much angry, but fell to other discourse, and so to my chamber, and got her to read to me for saving of my eyes, and then, having got a great cold, I know not how, I to bed and lay ill at ease all the night. 2nd. This day is kept in the City as a publick fast for the fire this day twelve months: but I was not at church, being commanded, with the rest, to attend the Duke of York; and, therefore, with Sir J. Minnes to St. James's, where we had much business before the Duke of York, and observed all things to be very kind between the Duke of York and W. Coventry, which did mightily joy me. When we had done, Sir W. Coventry called me down with him to his chamber, and there told me that he is leaving the Duke of York's service, which I was amazed at. But he tells me that it is not with the least unkindness on the Duke of York's side, though he expects, and I told him he was in the right, it will be interpreted otherwise, because done just at this time; "but," says he, "I did desire it a good while since, and the Duke of York did, with much entreaty, grant it, desiring that I would say nothing of it, that he might have time and liberty to choose his successor, without being importuned for others whom he should not like:" and that he hath chosen Mr. Wren, which I am glad of, he being a very ingenious man; and so Sir W. Coventry says of him, though he knows him little; but particularly commends him for the book he writ in answer to "Harrington's Oceana," which, for that reason, I intend to buy. He tells me the true reason is, that he, being a man not willing to undertake more business than he can go through, and being desirous to have his whole time to spend upon the business of the Treasury, and a little for his own ease, he did desire this of the Duke of York. He assures me that the kindness with which he goes away from the Duke of York is one of the greatest joys that ever he had in the world. I used some freedom with him, telling him how the world hath discoursed of his having offended the Duke of York, about the late business of the Chancellor. He do not deny it, but says that perhaps the Duke of York might have some reason for it, he opposing him in a thing wherein he was so earnest but tells me, that, notwithstanding all that, the Duke of York does not now, nor can blame him; for he tells me that he was the man that did propose the removal of the Chancellor; and that he did still persist in it, and at this day publickly owns it, and is glad of it; but that the Duke of York knows that he did first speak of it to the Duke of York, before he spoke to any mortal creature besides, which was fair dealing: and the Duke of York was then of the same mind with him, and did speak of it to the King; though since, for reasons best known to himself, he was afterwards altered. I did then desire to know what was the great matter that grounded his desire of the Chancellor's removal? He told me many things not fit to be spoken, and yet not any thing of his being unfaithful to the King; but, 'instar omnium', he told me, that while he was so great at the Council-board, and in the administration of matters, there was no room for any body to propose any remedy to what was amiss, or to compass any thing, though never so good for the kingdom, unless approved of by the Chancellor, he managing all things with that greatness which now will be removed, that the King may have the benefit of others' advice. I then told him that the world hath an opinion that he hath joined himself with my Lady Castlemayne's faction in this business; he told me, he cannot help it, but says they are in an errour: but for first he will never, while he lives, truckle under any body or any faction, but do just as his own reason and judgment directs; and, when he cannot use that freedom, he will have nothing to do in public affairs but then he added, that he never was the man that ever had any discourse with my Lady Castlemayne, or with others from her, about this or any public business, or ever made her a visit, or at least not this twelvemonth, or been in her lodgings but when called on any business to attend the King there, nor hath had any thing to do in knowing her mind in this business. He ended all with telling me that he knows that he that serves a Prince must expect, and be contented to stand, all fortunes, and be provided to retreat, and that that he is most willing to do whenever the King shall please. And so we parted, he setting me down out of his coach at Charing Cross, and desired me to tell Sir W. Pen what he had told me of his leaving the Duke of York's service, that his friends might not be the last that know it. I took a coach and went homewards; but then turned again, and to White Hall, where I met with many people; and, among other things, do learn that there is some fear that Mr. Bruncker is got into the King's favour, and will be cherished there; which will breed ill will between the King and Duke of York, he lodging at this time in White Hall since he was put away from the Duke of York: and he is great with Bab. May, my Lady Castlemayne, and that wicked crew. But I find this denied by Sir G. Carteret, who tells me that he is sure he hath no kindness from the King; that the King at first, indeed, did endeavour to persuade the Duke of York from putting him away; but when, besides this business of his ill words concerning his Majesty in the business of the Chancellor, he told him that he hath had, a long time, a mind to put him away for his ill offices, done between him and his wife, the King held his peace, and said no more, but wished him to do what he pleased with him; which was very noble. I met with Fenn; and he tells me, as I do hear from some others, that the business of the Chancellor's had proceeded from something of a mistake, for the Duke of York did first tell the King that the Chancellor had a desire to be eased of his great trouble; and that the King, when the Chancellor come to him, did wonder to hear him deny it, and the Duke of York was forced to deny to the King that ever he did tell him so in those terms: but the King did answer that he was sure that he did say some such thing to him; but, however, since it had gone so far, did desire him to be contented with it, as a thing very convenient for him as well as for himself (the King), and so matters proceeded, as we find. Now it is likely the Chancellor might, some time or other, in a compliment or vanity, say to the Duke of York, that he was weary of this burden, and I know not what; and this comes of it. Some people, and myself among them, are of good hope from this change that things are reforming; but there are others that do think but that it is a hit of chance, as all other our greatest matters are, and that there is no general plot or contrivance in any number of people what to do next, though, I believe, Sir W. Coventry may in himself have further designs; and so that, though other changes may come, yet they shall be accidental and laid upon [not] good principles of doing good. Mr. May shewed me the King's new buildings, in order to their having of some old sails for the closing of the windows this winter. I dined with Sir G. Carteret, with whom dined Mr. Jack Ashburnham and Dr. Creeton, who I observe to be a most good man and scholar. In discourse at dinner concerning the change of men's humours and fashions touching meats, Mr. Ashburnham told us, that he remembers since the only fruit in request, and eaten by the King and Queen at table as the best fruit, was the Katharine payre, though they knew at the time other fruits of France and our own country. After dinner comes in Mr. Townsend; and there I was witness of a horrid rateing, which Mr. Ashburnham, as one of the Grooms of the King's Bedchamber, did give him for want of linen for the King's person; which he swore was not to be endured, and that the King would not endure it, and that the King his father, would have hanged his Wardrobe-man should he have been served so the King having at this day no handkerchers, and but three bands to his neck, he swore. Mr. Townsend answered want of money, and the owing of the linen-draper L5000; and that he hath of late got many rich things made--beds, and sheets, and saddles, and all without money, and he can go no further but still this old man, indeed, like an old loving servant, did cry out for the King's person to be neglected. But, when he was gone, Townsend told me that it is the grooms taking away the King's linen at the quarter's end, as their fees, which makes this great want: for, whether the King can get it or no, they will run away at the quarter's end with what he hath had, let the King get more as he can. All the company gone, Sir G. Carteret and I to talk: and it is pretty to observe how already he says that he did always look upon the Chancellor indeed as his friend, though he never did do him any service at all, nor ever got any thing by him, nor was he a man apt, and that, I think, is true, to do any man any kindness of his own nature; though I do know that he was believed by all the world to be the greatest support of Sir G. Carteret with the King of any man in England: but so little is now made of it! He observes that my Lord Sandwich will lose a great friend in him; and I think so too, my Lord Hinchingbroke being about a match calculated purely out of respect to my Lord Chancellor's family. By and by Sir G. Carteret, and Townsend, and I, to consider of an answer to the Commissioners of the Treasury about my Lord Sandwich's profits in the Wardrobe; which seem, as we make them, to be very small, not L1000 a-year; but only the difference in measure at which he buys and delivers out to the King, and then 6d. in the pound from the tradesmen for what money he receives for him; but this, it is believed, these Commissioners will endeavour to take away. From him I went to see a great match at tennis, between Prince Rupert and one Captain Cooke, against Bab. May and the elder Chichly; where the King was, and Court; and it seems are the best players at tennis in the nation. But this puts me in mind of what I observed in the morning, that the King, playing at tennis, had a steele-yard carried to him, and I was told it was to weigh him after he had done playing; and at noon Mr. Ashburnham told me that it is only the King's curiosity, which he usually hath of weighing himself before and after his play, to see how much he loses in weight by playing: and this day he lost 4 lbs. Thence home and took my wife out to Mile End Green, and there I drank, and so home, having a very fine evening. Then home, and I to Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen, and there discoursed of Sir W. Coventry's leaving the Duke of York, and Mr. Wren's succeeding him. They told me both seriously, that they had long cut me out for Secretary to the Duke of York, if ever [Sir] W. Coventry left him; which, agreeing with what I have heard from other hands heretofore, do make me not only think that something of that kind hath been thought on, but do comfort me to see that the world hath such an esteem of my qualities as to think me fit for any such thing. Though I am glad, with all my heart, that I am not so; for it would never please me to be forced to the attendance that that would require, and leave my wife and family to themselves, as I must do in such a case; thinking myself now in the best place that ever man was in to please his own mind in, and, therefore, I will take care to preserve it. So to bed, my cold remaining though not so much upon me. This day Nell, an old tall maid, come to live with us, a cook maid recommended by Mr. Batelier. 3rd. All the morning, business at the office, dined at home, then in the afternoon set my wife down at the Exchange, and I to St. James's, and there attended the Duke of York about the list of ships that we propose to sell: and here there attended Mr. Wren the first time, who hath not yet, I think, received the Duke of York's seal and papers. At our coming hither, we found the Duke and Duchesse all alone at dinner, methought melancholy; or else I thought so, from the late occasion of the Chancellor's fall, who, they say, however, takes it very contentedly. Thence I to White Hall a little, and so took up my wife at the 'Change, and so home, and at the office late, and so home to supper and to bed, our boy ill. 4th. By coach to White Hall to the Council-chamber; and there met with Sir W. Coventry going in, who took me aside, and told me that he was just come from delivering up his seal and papers to Mr. Wren; and told me he must now take his leave of me as a naval man, but that he shall always bear respect to his friends there, and particularly to myself, with great kindness; which I returned to him with thanks, and so, with much kindness parted: and he into, the Council. I met with Sir Samuel Morland, who chewed me two orders upon the Exchequer, one of L600, and another of L400, for money assigned to him, which he would have me lend him money upon, and he would allow 12 per cent. I would not meddle with them, though they are very good; and would, had I not so much money out already on public credit. But I see by this his condition all trade will be bad. I staid and heard Alderman Barker's case of his being abused by the Council of Ireland, touching his lands there: all I observed there is the silliness of the King, playing with his dog all the while, and not minding the business, [Lord Rochester wrote "His very dog at council board Sits grave and wise as any lord." Poems, 1697; p. 150.--The king's dogs were constantly stolen from him, and he advertised for their return. Some of these amusing advertisements are printed in "Notes and Queries" (seventh series, vol. vii., p. 26).] and what he said was mighty weak; but my Lord Keeper I observe to be a mighty able man. The business broke off without any end to it, and so I home, and thence with my wife and W. Hewer to Bartholomew fayre, and there Polichinelli, where we saw Mrs. Clerke and all her crew; and so to a private house, and sent for a side of pig, and eat it at an acquaintance of W. Hewer's, where there was some learned physic and chymical books, and among others, a natural "Herball" very fine. Here we staid not, but to the Duke of York's play house, and there saw "Mustapha," which, the more I see, the more I like; and is a most admirable poem, and bravely acted; only both Betterton and Harris could not contain from laughing in the midst of a most serious part from the ridiculous mistake of one of the men upon the stage; which I did not like. Thence home, where Batelier and his sister Mary come to us and sat and talked, and so, they gone, we to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office, where we sat till noon, and then I home to dinner, where Mary Batelier and her brother dined with us, who grows troublesome in his talking so much of his going to Marseilles, and what commissions he hath to execute as a factor, and a deal of do of which I am weary. After dinner, with Sir W. Pen, my wife, and Mary Batelier to the Duke of York's house, and there saw "Heraclius," which is a good play; but they did so spoil it with their laughing, and being all of them out, and with the noise they made within the theatre, that I was ashamed of it, and resolve not to come thither again a good while, believing that this negligence, which I never observed before, proceeds only from their want of company in the pit, that they have no care how they act. My wife was ill, and so I was forced to go out of the house with her to Lincoln's Inn walks, and there in a corner she did her business, and was by and by well, and so into the house again, but sick of their ill acting. So home and to the office, where busy late, then home to supper and to bed. This morning was told by Sir W. Batten, that he do hear from Mr. Grey, who hath good intelligence, that our Queen is to go into a nunnery, there to spend her days; and that my Lady Castlemayne is going into France, and is to have a pension of L4000 a-year. This latter I do more believe than the other, it being very wise in her to do it, and save all she hath, besides easing the King and kingdom of a burden and reproach. 6th. Up, and to Westminster to the Exchequer, and then into the Hall, and there bought "Guillim's Heraldry" for my wife, and so to the Swan, and thither come Doll Lane, and je did toucher her, and drank, and so away, I took coach and home, where I find my wife gone to Walthamstow by invitation with Sir W. Batten, and so I followed, taking up Mrs. Turner, and she and I much discourse all the way touching the baseness of Sir W. Pen and sluttishness of his family, and how the world do suspect that his son Lowther, who is sick of a sore mouth, has got the pox. So we come to Sir W. Batten's, where Sir W. Pen and his Lady, and we and Mrs. Shipman, and here we walked and had an indifferent good dinner, the victuals very good and cleanly dressed and good linen, but no fine meat at all. After dinner we went up and down the house, and I do like it very well, being furnished with a great deal of very good goods. And here we staid, I tired with the company, till almost evening, and then took leave, Turner and I together again, and my wife with [Sir] W. Pen. At Aldgate I took my wife into our coach, and so to Bartholomew fair, and there, it being very dirty, and now night, we saw a poor fellow, whose legs were tied behind his back, dance upon his hands with his arse above his head, and also dance upon his crutches, without any legs upon the ground to help him, which he did with that pain that I was sorry to see it, and did pity him and give him money after he had done. Then we to see a piece of clocke-work made by an Englishman--indeed, very good, wherein all the several states of man's age, to 100 years old, is shewn very pretty and solemne; and several other things more cheerful, and so we ended, and took a link, the women resolving to be dirty, and walked up and down to get a coach; and my wife, being a little before me, had been like to be taken up by one, whom we saw to be Sam Hartlib. My wife had her wizard on: yet we cannot say that he meant any hurt; for it was as she was just by a coach-side, which he had, or had a mind to take up; and he asked her, "Madam, do you go in this coach?" but, soon as he saw a man come to her (I know not whether he knew me) he departed away apace. By and by did get a coach, and so away home, and there to supper, and to bed. 7th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning. At noon home to dinner, where Goodgroome was teaching my wife, and dined with us, and I did tell him of my intention to learn to trill, which he will not promise I shall obtain, but he will do what can be done, and I am resolved to learn. All the afternoon at the office, and towards night out by coach with my wife, she to the 'Change, and I to see the price of a copper cisterne for the table, which is very pretty, and they demand L6 or L7 for one; but I will have one. Then called my wife at the 'Change, and bought a nightgown for my wife: cost but 24s., and so out to Mile End to drink, and so home to the office to end my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 8th (Lord's day). Up, and walked to St. James's; but there I find Sir W. Coventry gone from his chamber, and Mr. Wren not yet come thither. But I up to the Duke of York, and there, after being ready, my Lord Bruncker and I had an audience, and thence with my Lord Bruncker to White Hall, and he told me, in discourse, how that, though it is true that Sir W. Coventry did long since propose to the Duke of York the leaving his service, as being unable to fulfill it, as he should do, now he hath so much public business, and that the Duke of York did bid him to say nothing of it, but that he would take time to please himself in another to come in his place; yet the Duke's doing it at this time, declaring that he hath found out another, and this one of the Chancellor's servants, he cannot but think was done with some displeasure, and that it could not well be otherwise, that the Duke of York should keep one in that place, that had so eminently opposed him in the defence of his father-in-law, nor could the Duchesse ever endure the sight of him, to be sure. But he thinks that the Duke of York and he are parted upon clear terms of friendship. He tells me he do believe that my Lady Castlemayne is compounding with the King for a pension, and to leave the Court; but that her demands are mighty high: but he believes the King is resolved, and so do every body else I speak with, to do all possible to please the Parliament; and he do declare that he will deliver every body up to them to give an account of their actions: and that last Friday, it seems, there was an Act of Council passed, to put out all Papists in office, and to keep out any from coming in. I went to the King's Chapel to the closet, and there I hear Cresset sing a tenor part along with the Church musick very handsomely, but so loud that people did laugh at him, as a thing done for ostentation. Here I met Sir G. Downing, who would speak with me, and first to inquire what I paid for my kid's leather gloves I had on my hand, and shewed me others on his, as handsome, as good in all points, cost him but 12d. a pair, and mine me 2s. He told me he had been seven years finding out a man that could dress English sheepskin as it should be--and, indeed, it is now as good, in all respects, as kid, and he says will save L100,000 a-year, that goes out to France for kid's skins. Thus he labours very worthily to advance our own trade, but do it with mighty vanity and talking. But then he told me of our base condition, in the treaty with Holland and France, about our prisoners, that whereas before we did clear one another's prisoners, man for man, and we upon the publication of the peace did release all our's, 300 at Leith, and others in other places for nothing, the Dutch do keep theirs, and will not discharge them with[out] paying their debts according to the Treaty. That his instruments in Holland, writing to our Embassadors about this to Bredagh, they answer them that they do not know of any thing that they have done therein, but left it just as it was before. To which, when they answer, that by the treaty their Lordships had [not] bound our countrymen to pay their debts in prison, they answer they cannot help it, and we must get them off as cheap as we can. On this score, they demand L1100 for Sir G. Ascue, and L5000 for the one province of Zealand, for the prisoners that we have therein. He says that this is a piece of shame that never any nation committed, and that our very Lords here of the Council, when he related this matter to them, did not remember that they had agreed to this article; and swears that all their articles are alike, as the giving away Polleroon, and Surinam, and Nova Scotia, which hath a river 300 miles up the country, with copper mines more than Swedeland, and Newcastle coals, the only place in America that hath coals that we know of; and that Cromwell did value those places, and would for ever have made much of them; but we have given them away for nothing, besides a debt to the King of Denmarke. But, which is most of all, they have discharged those very particular demands of merchants of the Guinny Company and others, which he, when he was there, had adjusted with the Dutch, and come to an agreement in writing, and they undertaken to satisfy, and that this was done in black and white under their hands; and yet we have forgiven all these, and not so much as sent to Sir G. Downing to know what he had done, or to confer with him about any one point of the treaty, but signed to what they would have, and we here signed to whatever in grosse was brought over by Mr. Coventry. And [Sir G. Downing] tells me, just in these words, "My Lord Chancellor had a mind to keep himself from being questioned by clapping up a peace upon any terms." When I answered that there was other privy-councillors to be advised with besides him, and that, therefore, this whole peace could not be laid to his charge, he answered that nobody durst say any thing at the council-table but himself, and that the King was as much afeard of saying any thing there as the meanest privy-councillor; and says more, that at this day the King, in familiar talk, do call the Chancellor "the insolent man," and says that he would not let him speak himself in Council: which is very high, and do shew that the Chancellor is like to be in a bad state, unless he can defend himself better than people think. And yet Creed tells me that he do hear that my Lord Cornbury do say that his father do long for the coming of the Parliament, in order to his own vindication, more than any one of his enemies. And here it comes into my head to set down what Mr. Rawlinson, whom I met in Fenchurch Street on Friday last, looking over his ruines there, told me, that he was told by one of my Lord Chancellor's gentlemen lately (--------byname), that a grant coming to him to be sealed, wherein the King hath given her [Lady Castlemaine], or somebody by her means, a place which he did not like well of, he did stop the grant; saying, that he thought this woman would sell everything shortly: which she hearing of, she sent to let him know that she had disposed of this place, and did not doubt, in a little time, to dispose of his. This Rawlinson do tell me my Lord Chancellor's own gentleman did tell him himself. Thence, meeting Creed, I with him to the Parke, there to walk a little, and to the Queen's Chapel and there hear their musique, which I liked in itself pretty well as to the composition, but their voices are very harsh and rough that I thought it was some instruments they had that made them sound so. So to White Hall, and saw the King and Queen at dinner; and observed (which I never did before), the formality, but it is but a formality, of putting a bit of bread wiped upon each dish into the mouth of every man that brings a dish; but it should be in the sauce. Here were some Russes come to see the King at dinner: among others, the interpreter, a comely Englishman, in the Envoy's own clothes; which the Envoy, it seems, in vanity did send to show his fine clothes upon this man's back, which is one, it seems, of a comelier presence than himself: and yet it is said that none of their clothes are their own, but taken out of the King's own Wardrobe; and which they dare not bring back dirty or spotted, but clean, or are in danger of being beaten, as they say: insomuch that, Sir Charles Cotterell says, when they are to have an audience they never venture to put on their clothes till he appears to come to fetch them; and, as soon as ever they come home, put them off again. I to Sir G. Carteret's to dinner; where Mr. Cofferer Ashburnham; who told a good story of a prisoner's being condemned at Salisbury for a small matter. While he was on the bench with his father-in-law, judge Richardson, and while they were considering to transport him to save his life, the fellow flung a great stone at the judge, that missed him, but broke through the wainscoat. Upon this, he had his hand cut off, and was hanged presently! Here was a gentleman, one Sheres, one come lately from my Lord Sandwich, with an express; but, Lord! I was almost ashamed to see him, lest he should know that I have not yet wrote one letter to my Lord since his going. I had no discourse with him, but after dinner Sir G. Carteret and I to talk about some business of his, and so I to Mrs. Martin, where was Mrs. Burroughs, and also fine Mrs. Noble, my partner in the christening of Martin's child, did come to see it, and there we sat and talked an hour, and then all broke up and I by coach home, and there find Mr. Pelling and Howe, and we to sing and good musique till late, and then to supper, and Howe lay at my house, and so after supper to bed with much content, only my mind a little troubled at my late breach of vowes, which however I will pay my forfeits, though the badness of my eyes, making me unfit to read or write long, is my excuse, and do put me upon other pleasures and employment which I should refrain from in observation of my vowes. 9th. Up; and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon comes Creed to dine with me. After dinner, he and I and my wife to the Bear-Garden, to see a prize fought there. But, coming too soon, I left them there and went on to White Hall, and there did some business with the Lords of the Treasury; and here do hear, by Tom Killigrew and Mr. Progers, that for certain news is come of Harman's having spoiled nineteen of twenty-two French ships, somewhere about the Barbadoes, I think they said; but wherever it is, it is a good service, and very welcome. Here I fell in talk with Tom Killigrew about musick, and he tells me that he will bring me to the best musick in England (of which, indeed, he is master), and that is two Italians and Mrs. Yates, who, he says, is come to sing the Italian manner as well as ever he heard any: says that Knepp won't take pains enough, but that she understands her part so well upon the stage, that no man or woman in the House do the like. Thence I by water to the Bear-Garden, where now the yard was full of people, and those most of them seamen, striving by force to get in, that I was afeard to be seen among them, but got into the ale-house, and so by a back-way was put into the bull-house, where I stood a good while all alone among the bulls, and was afeard I was among the bears, too; but by and by the door opened, and I got into the common pit; and there, with my cloak about my face, I stood and saw the prize fought, till one of them, a shoemaker, was so cut in both his wrists that he could not fight any longer, and then they broke off: his enemy was a butcher. The sport very good, and various humours to be seen among the rabble that is there. Thence carried Creed to White Hall, and there my wife and I took coach and home, and both of us to Sir W. Batten's, to invite them to dinner on Wednesday next, having a whole buck come from Hampton Court, by the warrant which Sir Stephen Fox did give me. And so home to supper and to bed, after a little playing on the flageolet with my wife, who do outdo therein whatever I expected of her. 10th. Up, and all the morning at the Office, where little to do but bemoan ourselves under the want of money; and indeed little is, or can be done, for want of money, we having not now received one penny for any service in many weeks, and none in view to receive, saving for paying of some seamen's wages. At noon sent to by my Lord Bruncker to speak with him, and it was to dine with him and his Lady Williams (which I have not now done in many months at their own table) and Mr. Wren, who is come to dine with them, the first time he hath been at the office since his being the Duke of York's Secretary. Here we sat and eat and talked and of some matters of the office, but his discourse is as yet but weak in that matter, and no wonder, he being new in it, but I fear he will not go about understanding with the impatience that Sir W. Coventry did. Having dined, I away, and with my wife and Mercer, set my wife down at the 'Change, and the other at White Hall, and I to St. James's, where we all met, and did our usual weekly business with the Duke of York. But, Lord! methinks both he and we are mighty flat and dull over what we used to be, when Sir W. Coventry was among us. Thence I into St. James's Park, and there met Mr. Povy; and he and I to walk an hour or more in the Pell Mell, talking of the times. He tells me, among other things, that this business of the Chancellor do breed a kind of inward distance between the King and the Duke of York, and that it cannot be avoided; for though the latter did at first move it through his folly, yet he is made to see that he is wounded by it, and is become much a less man than he was, and so will be: but he tells me that they are, and have always been, great dissemblers one towards another; and that their parting heretofore in France is never to be thoroughly reconciled between them. He tells me that he believes there is no such thing like to be, as a composition with my Lady Castlemayne, and that she shall be got out of the way before the Parliament comes; for he says she is as high as ever she was, though he believes the King is as weary of her as is possible, and would give any thing to remove her, but he is so weak in his passion that he dare not do it; that he do believe that my Lord Chancellor will be doing some acts in the Parliament which shall render him popular; and that there are many people now do speak kindly of him that did not before; but that, if he do do this, it must provoke the King, and that party that removed him. He seems to doubt what the King of France will do, in case an accommodation shall be made between Spain and him for Flanders, for then he will have nothing more easy to do with his army than to subdue us. Parted with him at White Hall, and, there I took coach and took up my wife and Mercer, and so home and I to the office, where ended my letters, and then to my chamber with my boy to lay up some papers and things that lay out of order against to-morrow, to make it clear against the feast that I am to have. Here Mr. Pelling come to sit with us, and talked of musique and the musicians of the town, and so to bed, after supper. 11th. Up, and with Mr. Gawden to the Exchequer. By the way, he tells me this day he is to be answered whether he must hold Sheriffe or no; for he would not hold unless he may keep it at his office, which is out of the city (and so my Lord Mayor must come with his sword down, whenever he comes thither), which he do, because he cannot get a house fit for him in the city, or else he will fine for it. Among others that they have in nomination for Sheriffe, one is little Chaplin, who was his servant, and a very young man to undergo that place; but as the city is now, there is no great honour nor joy to be had, in being a public officer. At the Exchequer I looked after my business, and when done went home to the 'Change, and there bought a case of knives for dinner, and a dish of fruit for 5s., and bespoke other things, and then home, and here I find all things in good order, and a good dinner towards. Anon comes Sir W. Batten and his lady, and Mr. Griffith, their ward, and Sir W. Pen and his lady, and Mrs. Lowther, who is grown, either through pride or want of manners, a fool, having not a word to say almost all dinner; and, as a further mark of a beggarly, proud fool, hath a bracelet of diamonds and rubies about her wrist, and a sixpenny necklace about her neck, and not one good rag of clothes upon her back; and Sir John Chichly in their company, and Mrs. Turner. Here I had an extraordinary good and handsome dinner for them, better than any of them deserve or understand, saving Sir John Chichly and Mrs. Turner, and not much mirth, only what I by discourse made, and that against my genius. After dinner I took occasion to break up the company soon as I could, and all parted, Sir W. Batten and I by water to White Hall, there to speak with the Commissioners of the Treasury, who are mighty earnest for our hastening all that may be the paying off of the Seamen, now there is money, and are considering many other thins for easing of charge, which I am glad of, but vexed to see that J. Duncomb should be so pressing in it as if none of us had like care with him. Having done there, I by coach to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw part of "The Ungratefull Lovers;" and sat by Beck Marshall, who is very handsome near hand. Here I met Mrs. Turner and my wife as we agreed, and together home, and there my wife and I part of the night at the flageolet, which she plays now any thing upon almost at first sight and in good time. But here come Mr. Moore, and sat and discoursed with me of publique matters: the sum of which is, that he do doubt that there is more at the bottom than the removal of the Chancellor; that is, he do verily believe that the King do resolve to declare the Duke of Monmouth legitimate, and that we shall soon see it. This I do not think the Duke of York will endure without blows; but his poverty, and being lessened by having the Chancellor fallen and [Sir] W. Coventry gone from him, will disable him from being able to do any thing almost, he being himself almost lost in the esteem of people; and will be more and more, unless my Lord Chancellor, who is already begun to be pitied by some people, and to be better thought of than was expected, do recover himself in Parliament. He would seem to fear that this difference about the Crowne (if there be nothing else) will undo us. He do say that, that is very true; that my Lord [Chancellor] did lately make some stop of some grants of L2000 a-year to my Lord Grandison, which was only in his name, for the use of my Lady Castlemaine's children; and that this did incense her, and she did speak very scornful words, and sent a scornful message to him about it. He gone, after supper, I to bed, being mightily pleased with my wife's playing so well upon the flageolet, and I am resolved she shall learn to play upon some instrument, for though her eare be bad, yet I see she will attain any thing to be done by her hand. 12th. Up, and at the office all the morning till almost noon, and then I rode from the office (which I have not done five times I think since I come thither) and to the Exchequer for some tallies for Tangier; and that being done, to the Dog taverne, and there I spent half a piece upon the clerks, and so away, and I to Mrs. Martin's, but she not at home, but staid and drunk with her sister and landlady, and by that time it was time to go to a play, which I did at the Duke's house, where "Tu Quoque" was the first time acted, with some alterations of Sir W. Davenant's; but the play is a very silly play, methinks; for I, and others that sat by me, Mr. Povy and Mr. Progers, were weary of it; but it will please the citizens. My wife also was there, I having sent for her to meet me there, and W. Hewer. After the play we home, and there I to the office and despatched my business, and then home, and mightily pleased with my wife's playing on the flageolet, she taking out any tune almost at first sight, and keeping time to it, which pleases me mightily. So to supper and to bed. 13th. Called up by people come to deliver in ten chaldron of coals, brought in one of our prizes from Newcastle. The rest we intend to sell, we having above ten chaldron between us. They sell at about 28s. or 29s. per chaldron; but Sir W. Batten hath sworn that he was a cuckold that sells under 30s., and that makes us lay up all but what we have for our own spending, which is very pleasant; for I believe we shall be glad to sell them for less. To the office, and there despatched business till ten o'clock, and then with Sir W. Batten and my wife and Mrs. Turner by hackney-coach to Walthamstow, to Mr. Shipman's to dinner, where Sir W. Pen and my Lady and Mrs. Lowther (the latter of which hath got a sore nose, given her, I believe, from her husband, which made me I could not look upon her with any pleasure), and here a very good and plentifull wholesome dinner, and, above all thing, such plenty of milk meats, she keeping a great dairy, and so good as I never met with. The afternoon proved very foul weather, the morning fair. We staid talking till evening, and then home, and there to my flageolet with my wife, and so to bed without any supper, my belly being full and dinner not digested. It vexed me to hear how Sir W. Pen, who come alone from London, being to send his coachman for his wife and daughter, and bidding his coachman in much anger to go for them (he being vexed, like a rogue, to do anything to please his wife), his coachman Tom was heard to say a pox, or God rot her, can she walk hither? These words do so mad me that I could find in my heart to give him or my Lady notice of them. 14th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy. At noon comes Mr. Pierce and dined with me to advise about several matters of his relating to the office and his purse, and here he told me that the King and Duke of York and the whole Court is mighty joyful at the Duchesse of York's being brought to bed this day, or yesterday, of a son; which will settle men's minds mightily. And he tells me that he do think that what the King do, of giving the Duke of Monmouth the command of his Guards, and giving my Lord Gerard L12,000 for it, is merely to find an employment for him upon which he may live, and not out of any design to bring him into any title to the Crowne; which Mr. Moore did the other day put me into great fear of. After dinner, he gone, my wife to the King's play-house to see "The Northerne Castle," which I think I never did see before. Knipp acted in it, and did her part very extraordinary well; but the play is but a mean, sorry play; but the house very full of gallants. It seems, it hath not been acted a good while. Thence to the Exchange for something for my wife, and then home and to the office, and then home to our flageolet, and so to bed, being mightily troubled in mind at the liberty I give myself of going to plays upon pretence of the weakness of my eyes, that cannot continue so long together at work at my office, but I must remedy it. 15th (Lord's day). Up to my chamber, there to set some papers to rights. By and by to church, where I stood, in continual fear of Mrs. Markham's coming to church, and offering to come into our pew, to prevent which, soon as ever I heard the great door open, I did step back, and clap my breech to our pew-door, that she might be forced to shove me to come in; but as God would have it, she did not come. Mr. Mills preached, and after sermon, by invitation, he and his wife come to dine with me, which is the first time they have been in my house; I think, these five years, I thinking it not amiss, because of their acquaintance in our country, to shew them some respect. Mr. Turner and his wife, and their son the Captain, dined with me, and I had a very good dinner for them, and very merry, and after dinner, he [Mr. Mills] was forced to go, though it rained, to Stepney, to preach. We also to church, and then home, and there comes Mr. Pelling, with two men, by promise, one Wallington and Piggott, the former whereof, being a very little fellow, did sing a most excellent bass, and yet a poor fellow, a working goldsmith, that goes without gloves to his hands. Here we sung several good things, but I am more and more confirmed that singing with many voices is not singing, but a sort of instrumental musique, the sense of the words being lost by not being heard, and especially as they set them with Fuges of words, one after another, whereas singing properly, I think, should be but with one or two voices at most and the counterpoint. They supped with me, and so broke, up, and then my wife and I to my chamber, where, through the badness of my eyes, she was forced to read to me, which she do very well, and was Mr. Boyle's discourse upon the style of the Scripture,' which is a very fine piece, and so to bed. 16th. Up, and several come to me, among others Mr. Yeabsly of Plymouth, to discourse about their matters touching Tangier, and by and by Sir H. Cholmly, who was with me a good while; who tells me that the Duke of York's child is christened, the Duke of Albemarle and the Marquis of Worcester' godfathers, and my Lady Suffolke godmother; and they have named it Edgar, which is a brave name. But it seems they are more joyful in the Chancellor's family, at the birth of this Prince, than in wisdom they should, for fear it should give the King cause of jealousy. Sir H. Cholmly do not seem to think there is any such thing can be in the King's intention as that of raising the Duke of Monmouth to the Crowne, though he thinks there may possibly be some persons that would, and others that would be glad to have the Queen removed to some monastery, or somewhere or other, to make room for a new wife; for they will all be unsafe under the Duke of York. He says the King and Parliament will agree; that is, that the King will do any thing that they will have him. We together to the Exchequer about our Tangier orders, and so parted at the New Exchange, where I staid reading Mrs. Phillips's poems till my wife and Mercer called me to Mrs. Pierces, by invitation to dinner, where I find her painted, which makes me loathe her, and the nastiest poor dinner that made me sick, only here I met with a Fourth Advice to the Painter upon the coming in of the Dutch to the River and end of the war, that made my heart ake to read, it being too sharp, and so true. Here I also saw a printed account of the examinations taken, touching the burning of the City of London, shewing the plot of the Papists therein; which, it seems, hath been ordered and to have been burnt by the hands of the hangman, in Westminster Palace. I will try to get one of them. After dinner she showed us her closet, which is pretty, with her James's picture done by Hales, but with a mighty bad hand, which is his great fault that he do do negligently, and the drapery also not very good. Being tired of being here, and sick of their damned sluttish dinner, my wife and Mercer and I away to the King's play-house, to see the "Scornfull Lady;" but it being now three o'clock there was not one soul in the pit; whereupon, for shame, we would not go in, but, against our wills, went all to see "Tu Quoque" again, where there is a pretty store of company, and going with a prejudice the play appeared better to us. Here we saw Madam Morland, who is grown mighty fat, but is very comely. But one of the best arts of our sport was a mighty pretty lady that sat behind, that did laugh so heartily and constantly, that it did me good to hear her. Thence to the King's house, upon a wager of mine with my wife, that there would be no acting there today, there being no company: so I went in and found a pretty good company there, and saw their dance at the end of he play, and so to the coach again, and to the Cock ale house, and there drank in our coach, and so home, and my wife read to me as last night, and so to bed vexed with our dinner to-day, and myself more with being convinced that Mrs. Pierce paints, so that henceforth to be sure I shall loathe her. 17th. Up, and at the office all the morning, where Mr. Wren come to us and sat with us, only to learn, and do intend to come once or twice a week and sit with us. In the afternoon walked to the Old Swan, the way mighty dirty, and there called at Michell's, and there had opportunity para kiss su moher, but elle did receive it with a great deal of seeming regret, which did vex me. But however I do not doubt overcoming her as I did the moher of the monsieur at Deptford. So thence by water to Westminster, to Burgess, and there did receive my orders for L1500 more for Tangier. Thence to the Hall, and there talked a little with Mrs. Michell, and so to Mrs. Martin's to pay for my cuffs and drink with her.... And by and by away by coach and met with Sir H. Cholmly, and with him to the Temple, and there in Playford's shop did give him some of my Exchequer orders and took his receipts, and so parted and home, and there to my business hard at the office, and then home, my wife being at Mrs. Turner's, who and her husband come home with her, and here staid and talked and staid late, and then went away and we to bed. But that which vexed me much this evening is that Captain Cocke and Sir W. Batten did come to me, and sat, and drank a bottle of wine, and told me how Sir W. Pen hath got an order for the "Flying Greyhound" for himself, which is so false a thing, and the part of a knave, as nothing almost can be more. This vexed me; but I resolve to bring it before the Duke, and try a pull for it. 18th. Up betimes and to Captain Cocke, in his coach which he sent for me, and he not being ready I walked in the Exchange, which is now made pretty, by having windows and doors before all their shops, to keep out the cold. By and by to him, and he being ready, he and I out in his coach to my Lord Chancellor's; there to Mr. Wren's chamber, who did tell us the whole of Sir W. Pen's having the order for this ship of ours, and we went with him to St. James's, and there I did see the copy of it, which is built upon a suggestion of his having given the King a ship of his, "The Prosperous," wherein is such a cheat as I have the best advantage in the world over him, and will make him do reason, or lay him on his back. This I was very glad of, and having done as far as I could in it we returned, and I home, and there at the office all the morning, and at noon with my Lord Bruncker to the Treasurer's office to look over the clerks who are there making up the books, but in such a manner as it is a shame to see. Then home to dinner, and after dinner, my mind mighty full of this business of Sir W. Pen's, to the office, and there busy all the afternoon. This evening Sir W. Batten and [Sir] W. Pen and I met at [Sir] W. Batten's house, and there I took an opportunity to break the business, at which [Sir] W. Pen is much disturbed, and would excuse it the most he can, but do it so basely, that though he do offer to let go his pretence to her, and resign up his order for her, and come in only to ask his share of her (which do very well please me, and give me present satisfaction), yet I shall remember him for a knave while I live. But thus my mind is quieted for the present more than I thought I should be, and am glad that I shall have no need of bidding him open defiance, which I would otherwise have done, and made a perpetual war between us. So to the office, and there busy pretty late, and so home and to supper with my wife, and so to bed. 19th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, W. Hewer and I and my wife, when comes my cozen, Kate Joyce, and an aunt of ours, Lettice, formerly Haynes, and now Howlett, come to town to see her friends, and also Sarah Kite, with her little boy in her armes, a very pretty little boy. The child I like very well, and could wish it my own. My wife being all unready, did not appear. I made as much of them as I could such ordinary company; and yet my heart was glad to see them, though their condition was a little below my present state, to be familiar with. She tells me how the lifeguard, which we thought a little while since was sent down into the country about some insurrection, was sent to Winchcombe, to spoil the tobacco there, which it seems the people there do plant contrary to law, and have always done, and still been under force and danger of having it spoiled, as it hath been oftentimes, and yet they will continue to plant it. [Winchcombe St. Peter, a market-town in Gloucestershire. Tobacco was first cultivated in this parish, after its introduction into England, in 1583, and it proved, a considerable source of profit to the inhabitants, till the trade was placed under restrictions. The cultivation was first prohibited during the Commonwealth, and various acts were passed in the reign of Charles II. for the same purpose. Among the king's pamphlets in the British Museum is a tract entitled "Harry Hangman's Honour, or Glostershire Hangman's Request to the Smokers and Tobacconists of London," dated June 11th, 1655. The author writes: "The very planting of tobacco hath proved the decay of my trade, for since it hath been planted in Glostershire, especially at Winchcomb, my trade hath proved nothing worth." He adds: "Then 'twas a merry world with me, for indeed before tobacco was there planted, there being no kind of trade to employ men, and very small tillage, necessity compelled poor men to stand my friends by stealing of sheep and other cattel, breaking of hedges, robbing of orchards, and what not."] The place, she says, is a miserable poor place. They gone, I to the office, where all the afternoon very busy, and at night, when my eyes were weary of the light, I and my wife to walk in the garden, and then home to supper and pipe, and then to bed. 20th. At the office doing business all the morning. At noon expected Creed to have come to dine with me and brought Mr. Sheres (the gentleman lately come from my Lord Sandwich) with him; but they come not, so there was a good dinner lost. After dinner my wife and Jane about some business of hers abroad, and then I to the office, where, having done my business, I out to pay some debts: among others to the taverne at the end of Billiter Lane, where my design was to see the pretty mistress of the house, which I did, and indeed is, as I always thought, one of the modestest, prettiest, plain women that ever I saw. Thence was met in the street by Sir W. Pen, and he and I by coach to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Mad Couple," which I do not remember that I have seen; it is a pretty pleasant play. Thence home, and my wife and I to walk in the garden, she having been at the same play with Jane, in the 18d. seat, to shew Jane the play, and so home to supper and to bed. 21st. All the morning at the office, dined at home, and expected Sheres again, but he did not come, so another dinner lost by the folly of Creed. After having done some business at the office, I out with my wife to Sheres's lodging and left an invitation for him to dine with me tomorrow, and so back and took up my wife at the Exchange, and then kissed Mrs. Smith's pretty hand, and so with my wife by coach to take some ayre (but the way very dirty) as far as Bow, and so drinking (as usual) at Mile End of Byde's ale, we home and there busy at my letters till late, and so to walk by moonshine with my wife, and so to bed. The King, Duke of York, and the men of the Court, have been these four or five days a-hunting at Bagshot. 22nd (Lord's day). At my chamber all the morning making up some accounts, to my great content. At noon comes Mr. Sheres, whom I find a good, ingenious man, but do talk a little too much of his travels. He left my Lord Sandwich well, but in pain to be at home for want of money, which comes very hardly. Most of the afternoon talking of Spain, and informing him against his return how things are here, and so spent most of the afternoon, and then he parted, and then to my chamber busy till my eyes were almost blind with writing and reading, and I was fain to get the boy to come and write for me, and then to supper, and Pelling come to me at supper, and then to sing a Psalm with him, and so parted and to bed, after my wife had read some thing to me (to save my eyes) in a good book. This night I did even my accounts of the house, which I have to my great shame omitted now above two months or more, and therefore am content to take my wife's and mayd's accounts as they give them, being not able to correct them, which vexes me; but the fault being my own, contrary to my wife's frequent desires, I cannot find fault, but am resolved never to let them come to that pass again. The truth is, I have indulged myself more in pleasure for these last two months than ever I did in my life before, since I come to be a person concerned in business; and I doubt, when I come to make up my accounts, I shall find it so by the expence. 23rd. Up, and walked to the Exchange, there to get a coach but failed, and so was forced to walk a most dirty walk to the Old Swan, and there took boat, and so to the Exchange, and there took coach to St. James's and did our usual business with the Duke of York. Thence I walked over the Park to White Hall and took water to Westminster, and there, among other things, bought the examinations of the business about the Fire of London, which is a book that Mrs. Pierce tells me hath been commanded to be burnt. The examinations indeed are very plain. Thence to the Excise office, and so to the Exchange, and did a little business, and so home and took up my wife, and so carried her to the other end, where I 'light at my Lord Ashly's, by invitation, to dine there, which I did, and Sir H. Cholmly, Creed, and Yeabsly, upon occasion of the business of Yeabsly, who, God knows, do bribe him very well for it; and it is pretty to see how this great man do condescend to these things, and do all he can in his examining of his business to favour him, and yet with great cunning not to be discovered but by me that am privy to it. At table it is worth remembering that my Lord tells us that the House of Lords is the last appeal that a man can make, upon a poynt of interpretation of the law, and that therein they are above the judges; and that he did assert this in the Lords' House upon the late occasion of the quarrel between my Lord Bristoll and the Chancellor, when the former did accuse the latter of treason, and the judges did bring it in not to be treason: my Lord Ashly did declare that the judgment of the judges was nothing in the presence of their Lordships, but only as far as they were the properest men to bring precedents; but not to interpret the law to their Lordships, but only the inducements of their persuasions: and this the Lords did concur in. Another pretty thing was my Lady Ashly's speaking of the bad qualities of glass-coaches; among others, the flying open of the doors upon any great shake: but another was, that my Lady Peterborough being in her glass-coach, with the glass up, and seeing a lady pass by in a coach whom she would salute, the glass was so clear, that she thought it had been open, and so ran her head through the glass, and cut all her forehead! After dinner, before we fell to the examination of Yeabsly's business, we were put into my Lord's room before he could come to us, and there had opportunity to look over his state of his accounts of the prizes; and there saw how bountiful the King hath been to several people and hardly any man almost, Commander of the Navy of any note, but hath had some reward or other out of it; and many sums to the Privy-purse, but not so many, I see, as I thought there had been: but we could not look quite through it. But several Bedchamber-men and people about the Court had good sums; and, among others, Sir John Minnes and Lord Bruncker have L200 a-piece for looking to the East India prizes, while I did their work for them. By and by my Lord come, and we did look over Yeabsly's business a little; and I find how prettily this cunning Lord can be partial and dissemble it in this case, being privy to the bribe he is to receive. This done; we away, and with Sir H. Cholmly to Westminster; who by the way told me how merry the king and Duke of York and Court were the other day, when they were abroad a-hunting. They come to Sir G. Carteret's house at Cranbourne, and there were entertained, and all made drunk; and that all being drunk, Armerer did come to the King, and swore to him, "By God, Sir," says he, "you are not so kind to the Duke of York of late as you used to be."--"Not I?" says the King. "Why so?"--"Why," says he, "if you are, let us drink his health."--"Why, let us," says the King. Then he fell on his knees, and drank it; and having done, the King began to drink it. "Nay, Sir," says Armerer, "by God you must do it on your knees!" So he did, and then all the company: and having done it, all fell a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another, the King the Duke of York, and the Duke of York the King: and in such a maudlin pickle as never people were: and so passed the day. But Sir H. Cholmly tells me, that the King hath this good luck, that the next day he hates to have any body mention what he had done the day before, nor will suffer any body to gain upon him that way; which is a good quality. Parted with Sir H. Cholmly at White Hall, and there I took coach and took up my wife at Unthanke's, and so out for ayre, it being a mighty pleasant day, as far as Bow, and so drank by the way, and home, and there to my chamber till by and by comes Captain Cocke about business; who tells me that Mr. Bruncker is lost for ever, notwithstanding my Lord Bruncker hath advised with him, Cocke, how he might make a peace with the Duke of York and Chancellor, upon promise of serving him in the Parliament but Cocke says that is base to offer, and will have no success neither. He says that Mr. Wren hath refused a present of Tom Wilson's for his place of Store-keeper of Chatham, and is resolved never to take any thing; which is both wise in him, and good to the King's service. He stayed with me very late, here being Mrs. Turner and W. Batelier drinking and laughing, and then to bed. 24th. Up, and to the Office, where all the morning very busy. At noon home, where there dined with me Anthony Joyce and his wife, and Will and his wife, and my aunt Lucett, that was here the other day, and Sarah Kite, and I had a good dinner for them, and were as merry as I could be in that company where W. Joyce is, who is still the same impertinent fellow that ever he was. After dinner I away to St. James's, where we had an audience of the Duke of York of many things of weight, as the confirming an establishment of the numbers of men on ships in peace and other things of weight, about which we stayed till past candle-light, and so Sir W. Batten and W. Pen and I fain to go all in a hackney-coach round by London Wall, for fear of cellars, this being the first time I have been forced to go that way this year, though now I shall begin to use it. We tired one coach upon Holborne-Conduit Hill, and got another, and made it a long journey home. Where to the office and then home, and at my business till twelve at night, writing in short hand the draught of a report to make to the King and Council to-morrow, about the reason of not having the book of the Treasurer made up. This I did finish to-night to the spoiling of my eyes, I fear. This done, then to bed. This evening my wife tells me that W. Batelier hath been here to-day, and brought with him the pretty girl he speaks of, to come to serve my wife as a woman, out of the school at Bow. My wife says she is extraordinary handsome, and inclines to have her, and I am glad of it--at least, that if we must have one, she should be handsome. But I shall leave it wholly to my wife, to do what she will therein. 25th. Up as soon as I could see and to the office to write over fair with Mr. Hater my last night's work, which I did by nine o'clock, and got it signed, and so with Sir H. Cholmly, who come to me about his business, to White Hall: and thither come also my Lord Bruncker: and we by and by called in, and our paper read; and much discourse thereon by Sir G. Carteret, my Lord Anglesey, Sir W. Coventry, and my Lord Ashly, and myself: but I could easily discern that they none of them understood the business; and the King at last ended it with saying lazily, "Why," says he, "after all this discourse, I now come to understand it; and that is, that there can nothing be done in this more than is possible," which was so silly as I never heard: "and therefore," says he, "I would have these gentlemen to do as much as possible to hasten the Treasurer's accounts; and that is all." And so we broke up: and I confess I went away ashamed, to see how slightly things are advised upon there. Here I saw the Duke of Buckingham sit in Council again, where he was re-admitted, it seems, the last Council-day: and it is wonderful to see how this man is come again to his places, all of them, after the reproach and disgrace done him: so that things are done in a most foolish manner quite through. The Duke of Buckingham did second Sir W. Coventry in the advising the King that he would not concern himself in the owning or not owning any man's accounts, or any thing else, wherein he had not the same satisfaction that would satisfy the Parliament; saying, that nothing would displease the Parliament more than to find him defending any thing that is not right, nor justifiable to the utmost degree but methought he spoke it but very poorly. After this, I walked up and down the Gallery till noon; and here I met with Bishop Fuller, who, to my great joy, is made, which I did not hear before, Bishop of Lincoln. At noon I took coach, and to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, to the house that is my Lord's, which my Lord lets him have: and this is the first day of dining there. And there dined with him and his lady my Lord Privy-seale, who is indeed a very sober man; who, among other talk, did mightily wonder at the reason of the growth of the credit of banquiers, since it is so ordinary a thing for citizens to break, out of knavery. Upon this we had much discourse; and I observed therein, to the honour of this City, that I have not heard of one citizen of London broke in all this war, this plague, this fire, and this coming up of the enemy among us; which he owned to be very considerable. [This remarkable fact is confirmed by Evelyn, in a letter to Sir Samuel Tuke, September 27th, 1666. See "Correspondence," vol. iii., p. 345, edit. 1879.] After dinner I to the King's playhouse, my eyes being so bad since last night's straining of them, that I am hardly able to see, besides the pain which I have in them. The play was a new play; and infinitely full: the King and all the Court almost there. It is "The Storme," a play of Fletcher's;' which is but so-so, methinks; only there is a most admirable dance at the end, of the ladies, in a military manner, which indeed did please me mightily. So, it being a mighty wet day and night, I with much ado got a coach, and, with twenty stops which he made, I got him to carry me quite through, and paid dear for it, and so home, and there comes my wife home from the Duke of York's playhouse, where she hath been with my aunt and Kate Joyce, and so to supper, and betimes to bed, to make amends for my last night's work and want of sleep. 26th. Up, and to my chamber, whither Jonas Moore comes, and, among other things, after our business done, discoursing of matters of the office, I shewed him my varnished things, which he says he can outdo much, and tells me the mighty use of Napier's bones; [John Napier or Neper (1550-1617), laird of Merchiston (now swallowed up in the enlarged Edinburgh of to-day, although the old castle still stands), and the inventor of logarithms. He published his "Rabdologiae seu numerationis per virgulas libri duo" in 1617, and the work was reprinted and translated into Italian (1623) and Dutch (1626). In 1667 William Leybourn published "The Art of Numbering by Speaking Rods, vulgarly termed Napier's Bones."] so that I will have a pair presently. To the office, where busy all the morning sitting, and at noon home to dinner, and then with my wife abroad to the King's playhouse, to shew her yesterday's new play, which I like as I did yesterday, the principal thing extraordinary being the dance, which is very good. So to Charing Cross by coach, about my wife's business, and then home round by London Wall, it being very dark and dirty, and so to supper, and, for the ease of my eyes, to bed, having first ended all my letters at the office. 27th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning. While I was busy at the Office, my wife sends for me to come home, and what was it but to see the pretty girl which she is taking to wait upon her: and though she seems not altogether so great a beauty as she had before told me, yet indeed she is mighty pretty; and so pretty, that I find I shall be too much pleased with it, and therefore could be contented as to my judgement, though not to my passion, that she might not come, lest I may be found too much minding her, to the discontent of my wife. She is to come next week. She seems, by her discourse, to be grave beyond her bigness and age, and exceeding well bred as to her deportment, having been a scholar in a school at Bow these seven or eight years. To the office again, my head running on this pretty girl, and there till noon, when Creed and Sheres come and dined with me; and we had a great deal of pretty discourse of the ceremoniousness of the Spaniards, whose ceremonies are so many and so known, that, Sheres tells me, upon all occasions of joy or sorrow in a Grandee's family, my Lord Embassador is fain to send one with an 'en hora buena', if it be upon a marriage, or birth of a child, or a 'pesa me', if it be upon the death of a child, or so. And these ceremonies are so set, and the words of the compliment, that he hath been sent from my Lord, when he hath done no more than send in word to the Grandee that one was there from the Embassador; and he knowing what was his errand, that hath been enough, and he never spoken with him: nay, several Grandees having been to marry a daughter, have wrote letters to my Lord to give him notice, and out of the greatness of his wisdom to desire his advice, though people he never saw; and then my Lord he answers by commending the greatness of his discretion in making so good an alliance, &c., and so ends. He says that it is so far from dishonour to a man to give private revenge for an affront, that the contrary is a disgrace; they holding that he that receives an affront is not fit to appear in the sight of the world till he hath revenged himself; and therefore, that a gentleman there that receives an affront oftentimes never appears again in the world till he hath, by some private way or other, revenged himself: and that, on this account, several have followed their enemies privately to the Indys, thence to Italy, thence to France and back again, watching for an opportunity to be revenged. He says my Lord was fain to keep a letter from the Duke of York to the Queen of Spain a great while in his hands, before he could think fit to deliver it, till he had learnt whether the Queen would receive it, it being directed to his cozen. He says that many ladies in Spain, after they are found to be with child, do never stir out of their beds or chambers till they are brought to bed: so ceremonious they are in that point also. He tells me of their wooing by serenades at the window, and that their friends do always make the match; but yet that they have opportunities to meet at masse at church, and there they make love: that the Court there hath no dancing, nor visits at night to see the King or Queen, but is always just like a cloyster, nobody stirring in it: that my Lord Sandwich wears a beard now, turned up in the Spanish manner. But that which pleases me most indeed is, that the peace which he hath made with Spain is now printed here, and is acknowledged by all the merchants to be the best peace that ever England had with them: and it appears that the King thinks it so, for this is printed before the ratification is gone over; whereas that with France and Holland was not in a good while after, till copys come over of it in English out of Holland and France, that it was a reproach not to have it printed here. This I am mighty glad of; and is the first and only piece of good news, or thing fit to be owned, that this nation hath done several years. After dinner I to the office, and they gone, anon comes Pelling, and he and I to Gray's Inne Fields, thinking to have heard Mrs. Knight sing at her lodgings, by a friend's means of his; [Mrs. Knight, a celebrated singer and mistress of Charles II. There is in Waller's "Poems" a song sung by her to the queen on her birthday. In her portrait, engraved by Faber, after Kneller, she is represented in mourning, and in a devout posture before a crucifix. Evelyn refers to her singing as incomparable, and adds that she had "the greatest reach of any English woman; she had been lately roaming in Italy, and was much improv'd in that quality" ("Diary," December 2nd, 1674).] but we come too late; so must try another time. So lost our labour, and I by coach home, and there to my chamber, and did a great deal of good business about my Tangier accounts, and so with pleasure discoursing with my wife of our journey shortly to Brampton, and of this little girle, which indeed runs in my head, and pleases me mightily, though I dare not own it, and so to supper and to bed. 28th. Up, having slept not so much to-night as I used to do, for my thoughts being so full of this pretty little girle that is coming to live with us, which pleases me mightily. All the morning at the Office, busy upon an Order of Council, wherein they are mightily at a loss what to advise about our discharging of seamen by ticket, there being no money to pay their wages before January, only there is money to pay them since January, provided by the Parliament, which will be a horrid disgrace to the King and Crowne of England that no man shall reckon himself safe, but where the Parliament takes care. And this did move Mr. Wren at the table to-day to say, that he did believe if ever there be occasion more to raise money, it will become here, as it is in Poland, that there are two treasurers--one for the King, and the other for the kingdom. At noon dined at home, and Mr. Hater with me, and Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, dropped in, who I feared did come to bespeak me to be godfather to his son, which I am unwilling now to be, having ended my liking to his wife, since I find she paints. After dinner comes Sir Fr. Hollis to me about business; and I with him by coach to the Temple, and there I 'light; all the way he telling me romantic lies of himself and his family, how they have been Parliamentmen for Grimsby, he and his forefathers, this 140 years; and his father is now: and himself, at this day, stands for to be, with his father, by the death of his fellow-burgess; and that he believes it will cost him as much as it did his predecessor, which was L300 in ale, and L52 in buttered ale; which I believe is one of his devilish lies. Here I 'light and to the Duke of York's playhouse, and there saw a piece of "Sir Martin Marrall," with great delight, though I have seen it so often, and so home, and there busy late, and so home to my supper and bed. 29th (Lord's day). Up, and put off first my summer's silk suit, and put on a cloth one. Then to church, and so home to dinner, my wife and I alone to a good dinner. All the afternoon talking in my chamber with my wife, about my keeping a coach the next year, and doing some things to my house, which will cost money--that is, furnish our best chamber with tapestry, and other rooms with pictures. In the evening read good books--my wife to me; and I did even my kitchen accounts. Then to supper, and so to bed. 30th. By water to White Hall, there to a committee of Tangier, but they not met yet, I went to St. James's, there thinking to have opportunity to speak to the Duke of York about the petition I have to make to him for something in reward for my service this war, but I did waive it. Thence to White Hall, and there a Committee met, where little was done, and thence to the Duke of York to Council, where we the officers of the Navy did attend about the business of discharging the seamen by tickets, where several of the Lords spoke and of our number none but myself, which I did in such manner as pleased the King and Council. Speaking concerning the difficulty of pleasing of seamen and giving them assurance to their satisfaction that they should be paid their arrears of wages, my Lord Ashly did move that an assignment for money on the Act might be put into the hands of the East India Company, or City of London, which he thought the seamen would believe. But this my Lord Anglesey did very handsomely oppose, and I think did carry it that it will not be: and it is indeed a mean thing that the King should so far own his own want of credit as to borrow theirs in this manner. My Lord Anglesey told him that this was the way indeed to teach the Parliament to trust the King no more for the time to come, but to have a kingdom's Treasurer distinct from the King's. Home at noon to dinner, where I expected to have had our new girle, my wife's woman, but she is not yet come. I abroad after dinner to White Hall, and there among other things do hear that there will be musique to-morrow night before the King. So to Westminster, where to the Swan.... and drank and away to the Hall, and thence to Mrs. Martin's, to bespeak some linen, and there je did avoir all with her, and drank, and away, having first promised my goddaughter a new coat-her first coat. So by coach home, and there find our pretty girl Willet come, brought by Mr. Batelier, and she is very pretty, and so grave as I never saw a little thing in my life. Indeed I think her a little too good for my family, and so well carriaged as I hardly ever saw. I wish my wife may use her well. Now I begin to be full of thought for my journey the next week, if I can get leave, to Brampton. Tonight come and sat with me Mr. Turner and his wife and tell me of a design of sending their son Franke to the East Indy Company's service if they can get him entertainment, which they are promised by Sir Andr. Rickard, which I do very well like of. So the company broke up and to bed. OCTOBER 1667 October 1st. All the morning busy at the office, pleased mightily with my girle that we have got to wait on my wife. At noon dined with Sir G. Carteret and the rest of our officers at his house in Broad Street, they being there upon his accounts. After dinner took coach and to my wife, who was gone before into the Strand, there to buy a nightgown, where I found her in a shop with her pretty girle, and having bought it away home, and I thence to Sir G. Carteret's again, and so took coach alone, it now being almost night, to White Hall, and there in the Boarded-gallery did hear the musick with which the King is presented this night by Monsieur Grebus, the master of his musick; both instrumentall--I think twenty-four violins--and vocall; an English song upon Peace. But, God forgive me! I never was so little pleased with a concert of musick in my life. The manner of setting of words and repeating them out of order, and that with a number of voices, makes me sick, the whole design of vocall musick being lost by it. Here was a great press of people; but I did not see many pleased with it, only the instrumental musick he had brought by practice to play very just. So thence late in the dark round by the wall home by coach, and there to sing and sup with my wife, and look upon our pretty girle, and so to bed. 2nd. Up, and very busy all the morning, upon my accounts of Tangier, to present to the Commissioners of the Treasury in the afternoon, and the like upon the accounts of the office. This morning come to me Mr. Gawden about business, with his gold chain about his neck, as being Sheriffe of the City this year. At noon to the Treasury Office again, and there dined and did business, and then by coach to the New Exchange, and there met my wife and girl, and took them to the King's house to see "The Traytour," which still I like as a very good play; and thence, round by the wall, home, having drunk at the Cock ale-house, as I of late have used to do, and so home and to my chamber to read, and so to supper and to bed. 3rd. Up, and going out of doors, I understand that Sir W. Batten is gone to bed on a sudden again this morning, being struck very ill, and I confess I have observed him for these last two months to look very ill and to look worse and worse. I to St. James's (though it be a sitting day) to the Duke of York, about the Tangier Committee, which met this morning, and he come to us, and the Charter for the City of Tangier was read and the form of the Court Merchant. That being done Sir W. Coventry took me into the gallery, and walked with me an hour, discoursing of Navy business, and with much kindness to, and confidence in, me still; which I must endeavour to preserve, and will do; and, good man! all his care how to get the Navy paid off, and that all other things therein may go well. He gone, I thence to my Lady Peterborough, who sent for me; and with her an hour talking about her husband's pension, and how she hath got an order for its being paid again; though, I believe, for all that order, it will hardly be; but of that I said nothing; but her design is to get it paid again: and how to raise money upon it, to clear it from the engagement which lies upon it to some citizens, who lent her husband money, without her knowledge, upon it, to vast loss. She intends to force them to take their money again, and release her husband of those hard terms. The woman is a very wise woman, and is very plain in telling me how her plate and jewels are at pawne for money, and how they are forced to live beyond their estate, and do get nothing by his being a courtier. The lady I pity, and her family. Having done with her, and drunk two glasses of her meade, which she did give me, and so to the Treasurer's Office, and there find my Lord Bruncker and [Sir] W. Pen at dinner with Sir G. Carteret about his accounts, where I dined and talked and settled some business, and then home, and there took out my wife and Willet, thinking to have gone to a play, but both houses were begun, and so we to the 'Change, and thence to my tailor's, and there, the coachman desiring to go home to change his horses, we went with him into a nasty end of all St. Giles's, and there went into a nasty room, a chamber of his, where he hath a wife and child, and there staid, it growing dark too, and I angry thereat, till he shifted his horses, and then home apace, and there I to business late, and so home, to supper, and walk in the garden with my wife and girle, with whom we are mightily pleased, and after talking and supping, to bed. This noon, going home, I did call on Will Lincolne and agree with him to carry me to Brampton. 4th. Up, and to White Hall to attend the Council about Commissioner Pett's business, along with my Lord Bruncker and Sir W. Pen, and in the Robe-chamber the Duke of York come to us, the officers of the Navy, and there did meet together about Navy business, where Sir W. Coventry was with us, and among other things did recommend his Royal Highness, now the prizes were disposing, to remember Sir John Harman to the King, for some bounty, and also for my Lady Minnes, which was very nobly done of him. Thence all of us to attend the Council, where we were anon called on, and there was a long hearing of Commissioner Pett, who was there, and there were the two Masters Attendant of Chatham called in, who do deny their having any order from Commissioner Pett about bringing up the great ships, which gives the lie to what he says; but, in general, I find him to be but a weak, silly man, and that is guilty of horrid neglect in this business all along. Here broke off without coming to an issue, but that there should be another hearing on Monday next. So the Council rose, and I staid walking up and down the galleries till the King went to dinner, and then I to my Lord Crew's to dinner; but he having dined, I took a very short leave, confessing I had not dined; and so to an ordinary hard by the Temple-gate, where I have heretofore been, and there dined--cost me 10d. And so to my Lord Ashly's, where after dinner Sir H. Cholmly, Creed and I, with his Lordship, about Mr. Yeabsly's business, where having come to agreement with him abating him L1000 of what he demands for ships lost, I to Westminster, to Mrs. Martin's lodging, whither I sent for her, and there hear that her husband is come from sea, which is sooner than I expected; and here I staid and drank, and so did toucher elle and away, and so by coach to my tailor's, and thence to my Lord Crew's, and there did stay with him an hour till almost night, discoursing about the ill state of my Lord Sandwich, that he can neither be got to be called home, nor money got to maintain him there; which will ruin his family. And the truth is, he do almost deserve it, for by all relation he hath, in a little more than a year and a half, spent L20,000 of the King's money, and the best part of L10,000 of his own; which is a most prodigious expence, more than ever Embassador spent there, and more than these Commissioners of the Treasury will or do allow. And they demand an account before they will give him any more money; which puts all his friends to a loss what to answer. But more money we must get him, or to be called home. I offer to speak to Sir W. Coventry about it; but my Lord will not advise to it, without consent of Sir G. Carteret. So home, and there to see Sir W. Batten, who fell sick yesterday morning: He is asleep: and so I could not see him; but in an hour after, word is brought me that he is so ill, that it is believed he cannot live till to-morrow, which troubles me and my wife mightily, partly out of kindness, he being a good neighbour and partly because of the money he owes me, upon our bargain of the late prize. So home and to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and to the Office; and there all the morning; none but my Lord Anglesey and myself; but much surprized with the news of the death of Sir W. Batten, who died this morning, having been but two days sick. Sir W. Pen and I did dispatch a letter this morning to Sir W. Coventry, to recommend Colonel Middleton, who we think a most honest and understanding man, and fit for that place. Sir G. Carteret did also come this morning, and walked with me in the garden; and concluded not to concern [himself] or have any advice made to Sir W. Coventry, in behalf of my Lord Sandwich's business; so I do rest satisfied, though I do think they are all mad, that they will judge Sir W. Coventry an enemy, when he is indeed no such man to any body, but is severe and just, as he ought to be, where he sees things ill done. At noon home, and by coach to Temple Bar to a India shop, and there bought a gown and sash, which cost me 26s., and so she [Mrs. Pepys] and Willet away to the 'Change, and I to my Lord Crew, and there met my Lord Hinchingbroke and Lady Jemimah, and there dined with them and my Lord, where pretty merry, and after dinner my Lord Crew and Hinchingbroke and myself went aside to discourse about my Lord Sandwich's business, which is in a very ill state for want of money, and so parted, and I to my tailor's, and there took up my wife and Willet, who staid there for me, and to the Duke of York's playhouse, but the house so full, it being a new play, "The Coffee House," that we could not get in, and so to the King's house: and there, going in, met with Knepp, and she took us up into the tireing-rooms: and to the women's shift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. And so walked all up and down the house above, and then below into the scene-room, and there sat down, and she gave us fruit and here I read the questions to Knepp, while she answered me, through all her part of "Flora's Figary's," which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to see how they were both painted would make a man mad, and did make me loath them; and what base company of men comes among them, and how lewdly they talk! and how poor the men are in clothes, and yet what a shew they make on the stage by candle-light, is very observable. But to see how Nell cursed, for having so few people in the pit, was pretty; the other house carrying away all the people at the new play, and is said, now-a-days, to have generally most company, as being better players. By and by into the pit, and there saw the play, which is pretty good, but my belly was full of what I had seen in the house, and so, after the play done, away home, and there to the writing my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 6th (Lord's day). Up, and dressed myself, and so walked out with the boy to Smithfield to Cow Lane, to Lincolne's, and there spoke with him, and agreed upon the hour to-morrow, to set out towards Brampton; but vexed that he is not likely to go himself, but sends another for him. Here I took a hackney coach, and to White Hall, and there met Sir W. Coventry, and discoursed with him, and then with my Lord Bruncker, and many others, to end my matters in order to my going into the country to-morrow for five or six days, which I have not done for above three years. Walked with Creed into the Park a little, and at last went into the Queen's side, and there saw the King and Queen, and saw the ladies, in order to my hearing any news stirring to carry into the country, but met with none, and so away home by coach, and there dined, and W. How come to see me, and after dinner parted, and I to my writing to my Lord Sandwich, which is the greatest business I have to do before my going into the country, and in the evening to my office to set matters to rights there, and being in the garden Sir W. Pen did come to me, and fell to discourse about the business of "The Flying Greyhound," wherein I was plain to him and he to me, and at last concluded upon my writing a petition to the Duke of York for a certain ship, The Maybolt Gallyott, and he offers to give me L300 for my success, which, however, I would not oblige him to, but will see the issue of it by fair play, and so I did presently draw a petition, which he undertakes to proffer to the Duke of York, and solicit for me, and will not seem to doubt of his success. So I wrote, and did give it him, and left it with him, and so home to supper, where Pelling comes and sits with me, and there tells us how old Mr. Batelier is dead this last night in the night, going to bed well, which I am mightily troubled for, he being a good man. Supper done, and he gone, I to my chamber to write my journal to this night, and so to bed. 7th. Up betimes, and did do several things towards the settling all matters both of house and office in order for my journey this day, and did leave my chief care, and the key of my closet, with Mr. Hater, with directions what papers to secure, in case of fire or other accident; and so, about nine o'clock, I, and my wife, and Willet, set out in a coach I have hired, with four horses; and W. Hewer and Murford rode by us on horseback; and so my wife and she in their morning gowns, very handsome and pretty, and to my great liking. We set out, and so out at Allgate, and so to the Green Man, and so on to Enfield, in our way seeing Mr. Lowther and his lady in a coach, going to Walthamstow; and he told us that he would overtake us at night, he being to go that way. So we to Enfield, and there bayted, it being but a foul, bad day, and there Lowther and Mr. Burford, an acquaintance of his, did overtake us, and there drank and eat together; and, by and by, we parted, we going before them, and very merry, my wife and girle and I talking, and telling tales, and singing, and before night come to Bishop Stafford, where Lowther and his friend did meet us again, and carried us to the Raynedeere, where Mrs. Aynsworth, [Elizabeth Aynsworth, here mentioned, was a noted procurerss at Cambridge, banished from that town by the university authorities for her evil courses. She subsequently kept the Rein Deer Inn at Bishops Stortford, at which the Vice-Chancellor, and some of the heads of colleges, had occasion to sleep, in their way to London, and were nobly entertained, their supper being served off plate. The next morning their hostess refused to make any charge, saying, that she was still indebted to the Vice-Chancellor, who, by driving her out of Cambridge, had made her fortune. No tradition of this woman has been preserved at Bishops Stortford; but it appears, from the register of that parish, that she was buried there 26th of March, 1686. It is recorded in the "History of Essex," vol. iii., (p. 130) 8vo., 1770, and in a pamphlet in the British Museum, entitled, "Boteler's Case," that she was implicated in the murder of Captain Wood, a Hertfordshire gentleman, at Manuden, in Essex, and for which offence a person named Boteler was executed at Chelmsford, September 10th, 1667, and that Mrs. Aynsworth, tried at the same time as an accessory before the fact, was acquitted for want of evidence; though in her way to the jail she endeavoured to throw herself into the river, but was prevented. See Postea, May 25th, 1668.--B.] who lived heretofore at Cambridge, and whom I knew better than they think for, do live. It was the woman that, among other things, was great with my cozen Barnston, of Cottenham, and did use to sing to him, and did teach me "Full forty times over," a very lewd song: a woman they are very well acquainted with, and is here what she was at Cambridge, and all the good fellows of the country come hither. Lowther and his friend stayed and drank, and then went further this night; but here we stayed, and supped, and lodged. But, as soon as they were gone, and my supper getting ready, I fell to write my letter to my Lord Sandwich, which I could not finish before my coming from London; so did finish it to my good content, and a good letter, telling him the present state of all matters, and did get a man to promise to carry it to-morrow morning, to be there, at my house, by noon, and I paid him well for it; so, that being done, and my mind at ease, we to supper, and so to bed, my wife and I in one bed, and the girl in another, in the same room, and lay very well, but there was so much tearing company in the house, that we could not see my landlady; so I had no opportunity of renewing my old acquaintance with her, but here we slept very well. 8th. Up pretty betimes, though not so soon as we intended, by reason of Murford's not rising, and then not knowing how to open our door, which, and some other pleasant simplicities of the fellow, did give occasion to us to call him. Sir Martin Marrall, and W. Hewer being his helper and counsellor, we did call him, all this journey, Mr. Warner, which did give us good occasion of mirth now and then. At last, rose, and up, and broke our fast, and then took coach, and away, and at Newport did call on Mr. Lowther, and he and his friend, and the master of the house, their friend, where they were, a gentleman, did presently get a-horseback and overtook us, and went with us to Audley-End, and did go along with us all over the house and garden: and mighty merry we were. The house indeed do appear very fine, but not so fine as it hath heretofore to me; particularly the ceilings are not so good as I always took them to be, being nothing so well wrought as my Lord Chancellor's are; and though the figure of the house without be very extraordinary good, yet the stayre-case is exceeding poor; and a great many pictures, and not one good one in the house but one of Harry the Eighth, done by Holben; and not one good suit of hangings in all the house, but all most ancient things, such as I would not give the hanging-up of in my house; and the other furniture, beds and other things, accordingly. [Mr. George T. Robinson, F.S.A., in a paper on "Decorative Plaster Work," read before the Society of Arts in April, 1891, refers to the ceilings at Audley End as presenting an excellent idea of the state of the stuccoer's art in the middle of James I.'s reign, and adds, "Few houses in England can show so fine a series of the same date ... The great hall has medallions in the square portions of the ceiling formed by its dividing timber beams. The large saloon on the principal floor-a room about 66 feet long by 30 feet wide-has a very remarkable ceiling of the pendentive type, which presents many peculiarities, the most notable of which, that these not only depend from the ceiling, but the outside ones spring from the walls in a natural and structural manner. This is a most unusual circumstance in the stucco work of the time, the reason for the omission of this reasonable treatment evidently being the unwillingness of the stuccoer to omit his elaborate frieze in which he took such delight" ("Journal Soc. of Arts," vol. xxxix., p. 449)] Only the gallery is good, and, above all things, the cellars, where we went down and drank of much good liquor; and indeed the cellars are fine: and here my wife and I did sing to my great content. And then to the garden, and there eat many grapes, and took some with us and so away thence, exceeding well satisfied, though not to that degree that, by my old esteem of the house, I ought and did expect to have done, the situation of it not pleasing me. Here we parted with Lowther and his friends, and away to Cambridge, it being foul, rainy weather, and there did take up at the Rose, for the sake of Mrs. Dorothy Drawwater, the vintner's daughter, which is mentioned in the play of Sir Martin Marrall. Here we had a good chamber, and bespoke a good supper; and then I took my wife, and W. Hewer, and Willet, it holding up a little, and shewed them Trinity College and St. John's Library, and went to King's College Chapel, to see the outside of it only; and so to our inne, and with much pleasure did this, they walking in their pretty morning gowns, very handsome, and I proud to find myself in condition to do this; and so home to our lodging, and there by and by, to supper, with much good sport, talking with the Drawers concerning matters of the town, and persons whom I remember, and so, after supper, to cards; and then to bed, lying, I in one bed, and my wife and girl in another, in the same room, and very merry talking together, and mightily pleased both of us with the girl. Saunders, the only violin in my time, is, I hear, dead of the plague in the late plague there. 9th. Up, and got ready, and eat our breakfast; and then took coach: and the poor, as they did yesterday, did stand at the coach to have something given them, as they do to all great persons; and I did give them something: and the town musique did also come and play: but, Lord! what sad music they made! However, I was pleased with them, being all of us in very good humour, and so through the town, and observed at our College of Magdalene the posts new painted, and understand that the Vice-Chancellor' is there this year. And so away for Huntingdon mightily pleased all along the road to remember old stories; and come to Brampton at about noon, and there find my father and sister and brother all well and here laid up our things, and up and down to see the garden with my father, and the house, and do altogether find it very pretty; especially the little parlour and the summerhouses in the garden, only the wall do want greens upon it, and the house is too low-roofed; but that is only because of my coming from a house with higher ceilings. But altogether is very pretty; and I bless God that I am like to have such a pretty place to retire to: and I did walk with my father without doors, and do find a very convenient way of laying out money there in building, which will make a very good seat, and the place deserves it, I think, very well. By and by to dinner, and after dinner I walked up to Hinchingbroke, where my Lady expected me; and there spent all the afternoon with her: the same most excellent, good, discreet lady that ever she was; and, among other things, is mightily pleased with the lady that is like to be her son Hinchingbroke's wife, which I am mightily glad of. By and by my wife comes with Willet, my wife in her velvett vest, which is mighty fine, and becomes her exceedingly. I am pleased with my Lady Paulina and Anne, who both are grown very proper ladies, and handsome enough. But a thousand questions my Lady asked me, till she could think of no more almost, but walked up and down the house, with me. But I do find, by her, that they are reduced to great straits for money, having been forced to sell her plate, 8 or L900 worth; and she is now going to sell a suit of her best hangings, of which I could almost wish to buy a piece or two, if the pieces will be broke. But the house is most excellently furnished, and brave rooms and good pictures, so that it do please me infinitely beyond Audley End. Here we staid till night walking and talking and drinking, and with mighty satisfaction my Lady with me alone most of the day talking of my Lord's bad condition to be kept in Spayne without money and at a great expense, which (as we will save the family) we must labour to remove. Night being come, we took leave with all possible kindness, and so home, and there Mr. Shepley staid with us and sapped, and full of good country discourse, and when supper done took his leave, and we all to bed, only I a little troubled that my father tells me that he is troubled that my wife shows my sister no countenance, and, him but very little, but is as a stranger in the house; and I do observe she do carry herself very high; but I perceive there was some great falling out when she was here last, but the reason I have no mind to enquire after, for vexing myself, being desirous to pass my time with as much mirth as I can while I am abroad. So all to bed. My wife and I in the high bed in our chamber, and Willet in the trundle bed, which she desired to lie in, by us. 10th. Waked in the morning with great pain of the collique, by cold taken yesterday, I believe, with going up and down in my shirt, but with rubbing my belly, keeping of it warm, I did at last come to some ease, and rose, and up to walk up and down the garden with my father, to talk of all our concernments: about a husband for my sister, whereof there is at present no appearance; but we must endeavour to find her one now, for she grows old and ugly: then for my brother; and resolve he shall stay here this winter, and then I will either send him to Cambridge for a year, till I get him some church promotion, or send him to sea as a chaplain, where he may study, and earn his living. Then walked round about our Greene, to see whether, in case I cannot buy out my uncle Thomas and his son's right in this house, that I can buy another place as good thereabouts to build on, and I do not see that I can. But this, with new building, may be made an excellent pretty thing, and I resolve to look after it as soon as I can, and Goody Gorum dies. By this time it was almost noon, and then my father and I and wife and Willet abroad, by coach round the towne of Brampton, to observe any other place as good as ours, and find none; and so back with great pleasure; and thence went all of us, my sister and brother, and W. Hewer, to dinner to Hinchingbroke, where we had a good plain country dinner, but most kindly used; and here dined the Minister of Brampton and his wife, who is reported a very good, but poor man. Here I spent alone with my Lady, after dinner, the most of the afternoon, and anon the two twins were sent for from schoole, at Mr. Taylor's, to come to see me, and I took them into the garden, and there, in one of the summer-houses, did examine them, and do find them so well advanced in their learning, that I was amazed at it: they repeating a whole ode without book out of Horace, and did give me a very good account of any thing almost, and did make me very readily very good Latin, and did give me good account of their Greek grammar, beyond all possible expectation; and so grave and manly as I never saw, I confess, nor could have believed; so that they will be fit to go to Cambridge in two years at most. They are both little, but very like one another, and well-looked children. Then in to my Lady again, and staid till it was almost night again, and then took leave for a great while again, but with extraordinary kindness from my Lady, who looks upon me like one of her own family and interest. So thence, my wife and people by the highway, and I walked over the park with Mr. Shepley, and through the grove, which is mighty pretty, as is imaginable, and so over their drawbridge to Nun's Bridge, and so to my father's, and there sat and drank, and talked a little, and then parted. And he being gone, and what company there was, my father and I, with a dark lantern; it being now night, into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great work to dig up my gold. But, Lord! what a tosse I was for some time in, that they could not justly tell where it was; that I begun heartily to sweat, and be angry, that they should not agree better upon the place, and at last to fear that it was gone but by and by poking with a spit, we found it, and then begun with a spudd to lift up the ground. But, good God! to see how sillily they did it, not half a foot under ground, and in the sight of the world from a hundred places, if any body by accident were near hand, and within sight of a neighbour's window, and their hearing also, being close by: only my father says that he saw them all gone to church before he begun the work, when he laid the money, but that do not excuse it to me. But I was out of my wits almost, and the more from that, upon my lifting up the earth with the spudd, I did discern that I had scattered the pieces of gold round about the ground among the grass and loose earth; and taking up the iron head-pieces wherein they were put, I perceive the earth was got among the gold, and wet, so that the bags were all rotten, and all the notes, that I could not tell what in the world to say to it, not knowing how to judge what was wanting, or what had been lost by Gibson in his coming down: which, all put together, did make me mad; and at last was forced to take up the head-pieces, dirt and all, and as many of the scattered pieces as I could with the dirt discern by the candlelight, and carry them up into my brother's chamber, and there locke them up till I had eat a little supper: and then, all people going to bed, W. Hewer and I did all alone, with several pails of water and basins, at last wash the dirt off of the pieces, and parted the pieces and the dirt, and then begun to tell [them]; and by a note which I had of the value of the whole in my pocket, do find that there was short above a hundred pieces, which did make me mad; and considering that the neighbour's house was so near that we could not suppose we could speak one to another in the garden at the place where the gold lay--especially my father being deaf--but they must know what we had been doing on, I feared that they might in the night come and gather some pieces and prevent us the next morning; so W. Hewer and I out again about midnight, for it was now grown so late, and there by candlelight did make shift to gather forty-five pieces more. And so in, and to cleanse them: and by this time it was past two in the morning; and so to bed, with my mind pretty quiet to think that I have recovered so many. And then to bed, and I lay in the trundle-bed, the girl being gone to bed to my wife, and there lay in some disquiet all night, telling of the clock till it was daylight. 11th. And then rose and called W. Hewer, and he and I, with pails and a sieve, did lock ourselves into the garden, and there gather all the earth about the place into pails, and then sift those pails in one of the summer-houses, just as they do for dyamonds in other parts of the world; and there, to our great content, did with much trouble by nine o'clock (and by the time we emptied several pails and could not find one), we did make the last night's forty-five up seventy-nine: so that we are come to about twenty or thirty of what I think the true number should be; and perhaps within less; and of them I may reasonably think that Mr. Gibson might lose some: so that I am pretty well satisfied that my loss is not great, and do bless God that it is so well, [About the year 1842, in removing the foundation of an old wall, adjoining a mansion at Brampton, always considered the quondam residence of the Pepys family, an iron pot, full of silver coins, was discovered, and taken to the Earl of Sandwich, the owner of the house, in whose possession they still remain. The pot was so much corroded, that a small piece of it only could be preserved. The coins were chiefly half-crowns of Elizabeth and the two elder Stuarts, and all of a date anterior to the Restoration. Although Pepys states that the treasure which he caused to be buried was gold exclusively, it is very probable that, in the confusion, a pot full of silver money was packed up with the rest; but, at all events, the coincidence appeared too singular to pass over without notice.--B.] and do leave my father to make a second examination of the dirt, which he promises he will do, and, poor man, is mightily troubled for this accident, but I declared myself very well satisfied, and so indeed I am; and my mind at rest in it, being but an accident, which is unusual; and so gives me some kind of content to remember how painful it is sometimes to keep money, as well as to get it, and how doubtful I was how to keep it all night, and how to secure it to London: and so got all my gold put up in bags. And so having the last night wrote to my Lady Sandwich to lend me John Bowles to go along with me my journey, not telling her the reason, that it was only to secure my gold, we to breakfast, and then about ten o'clock took coach, my wife and I, and Willet, and W. Hewer, and Murford and Bowles (whom my Lady lent me), and my brother John on horseback; and with these four I thought myself pretty safe. But, before we went out, the Huntingdon musick come to me and played, and it was better than that of Cambridge. Here I took leave of my father, and did give my sister 20s. She cried at my going; but whether it was at her unwillingness for my going, or any unkindness of my wife's, or no, I know not; but, God forgive me! I take her to be so cunning and ill-natured, that I have no great love for her; but only [she] is my sister, and must be provided for. My gold I put into a basket, and set under one of the seats; and so my work every quarter of an hour was to look to see whether all was well; and I did ride in great fear all the day, but it was a pleasant day, and good company, and I mightily contented. Mr. Shepley saw me beyond St. Neots, and there parted, and we straight to Stevenage, through Bald Lanes, which are already very bad; and at Stevenage we come well before night, and all sat, and there with great care I got the gold up to the chamber, my wife carrying one bag, and the girl another, and W. Hewer the rest in the basket, and set it all under a bed in our chamber; and then sat down to talk, and were very pleasant, satisfying myself, among other things, from John Bowles, in some terms of hunting, and about deere, bucks, and does. And so anon to supper, and very merry we were, and a good supper, and after supper to bed. Brecocke alive still, and the best host I know almost. 12th. Up, and eat our breakfast, and set out about nine o'clock, and so to Barnett, where we staid and baited, the weather very good all day and yesterday, and by five o'clock got home, where I find all well; and did bring my gold, to my heart's content, very safe home, having not this day carried it in a basket, but in our hands: the girl took care of one, and my wife another bag, and I the rest, I being afraid of the bottom of the coach, lest it should break, and therefore was at more ease in my mind than I was yesterday. At home we find that Sir W. Batten's burial was to-day carried from hence, with a hundred or two of coaches, to Walthamstow, and there buried. Here I hear by Mr. Pierce the surgeon; and then by Mr. Lewes, and also by Mr. Hater, that the Parliament hath met on Thursday last, and adjourned to Monday next. The King did make them a very kind speech, promising them to leave all to them to do, and call to account what and whom they pleased; and declared by my Lord Keeper how many, thirty-six, actes he had done since he saw them; among others, disbanding the army, and putting all Papists out of employment, and displacing persons that had managed their business ill, that the Parliament is mightily pleased with the King's speech, and voted giving him thanks for what he said and hath done; and, among things, would by name thank him for displacing my Lord Chancellor, for which a great many did speak in the House, but it was opposed by some, and particularly Harry Coventry, who got that it should be put to a Committee to consider what particulars to mention in their thanks to the King, saying that it was too soon to give thanks for the displacing of a man, before they knew or had examined what was the cause of his displacing. And so it rested; but this do shew that they are and will be very high; and Mr. Pierce do tell me that he fears, and do hear, that it hath been said among them, that they will move for the calling my Lord Sandwich home, to bring him to account; which do trouble me mightily; but I trust it will not be so. Anon comes home Sir W. Pen from the burial, and he and I to walk in the garden, where he did confirm the most of this news, and so to talk of our particular concernments, and among the rest he says that Lady Batten and her children-in-law are all broke in pieces, and that there is but L800 found in the world, of money; and is in great doubt what we shall do towards the doing ourselves right with them, about the prize-money. This troubles me, but we will fall to work upon that next week close. Then he tells me he did deliver my petition into the hands of Sir W. Coventry, who did take it with great kindness and promised to present it to the Duke of York, and that himself has since seen the Duke of York, but it was in haste, and thinks the Duke of York did tell him that the thing was done, but he is confident that it either is or will be done. This do please me mightily. So after a little talk more I away home to supper with John Bowles and brother and wife (who, I perceive, is already a little jealous of my being fond of Willet, but I will avoid giving her any cause to continue in that mind, as much as possible), and before that did go with Sir W. Pen to my Lady Batten, whom I had not seen since she was a widow, which she took unkindly, but I did excuse it; and the house being full of company, and of several factions, she against the children, and they against one another and her, I away, and home to supper, and after supper to bed. 13th (Lord's day). Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's lodgings, but he was gone out, so I to St. James's, and there to the Duke of York's chamber: and there he was dressing; and many Lords and Parliament-men come to kiss his hands, they being newly come to town. And there the Duke of York did of himself call me to him, and tell me that he had spoke to the King, and that the King had granted me the ship I asked for; and did, moreover, say that he was mightily satisfied with my service, and that he would be willing to do anything that was in his power for me: which he said with mighty kindness; which I did return him thanks for, and departed with mighty joy, more than I did expect. And so walked over the Park to White Hall, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, who walked with me, and told me most of the news I heard last night of the Parliament; and thinks they will do all things very well, only they will be revenged of my Lord Chancellor; and says, however, that he thinks there will be but two things proved on him; and that one is, that he may have said to the King, and to others, words to breed in the King an ill opinion of the Parliament--that they were factious, and that it was better to dissolve them: and this, he thinks, they will be able to prove; but what this will amount to, he knows not. And next, that he hath taken money for several bargains that have been made with the Crown; and did instance one that is already complained of: but there are so many more involved in it, that, should they unravel things of this sort, every body almost will be more or less concerned. But these are the two great points which he thinks they will insist on, and prove against him. Thence I to the Chapel, and there heard the sermon and a pretty good anthem, and so home by water to dinner, where Bowies and brother, and a good dinner, and in the afternoon to make good my journal to this day, and so by water again to White Hall, and thence only walked to Mrs. Martin's, and there sat with her and her sister and Borroughs... and there drank and talked and away by water home, and there walked with Sir W. Pen, and told him what the Duke of York told me to-day about the ship I begged; and he was knave enough, of his own accord, but, to be sure, in order to his own advantage, to offer me to send for the master of the vessel, "The Maybolt Galliott," and bid him to get her furnished as for a long voyage, and I to take no notice of it, that she might be the more worth to me: so that here he is a very knave to the King, and I doubt not his being the same to me on occasion. So in a doors and supped with my wife and brother, W. Hewer, and Willett, and so evened with W. Hewer for my expenses upon the road this last journey, and do think that the whole journey will cost me little less than L18 or L20, one way or other; but I am well pleased with it, and so after supper to bed. 14th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and thence walked to St. James's, and there to Mr. Wren's; and he told me that my business was done about my warrant on the Maybolt Galliott; which I did see, and though it was not so full in the reciting of my services as the other was in that of Sir W. Pen's, yet I was well pleased with it, and do intend to fetch it away anon. Thence with Sir Thomas Allen, in a little sorry coach which he hath set up of late, and Sir Jeremy Smith, to White Hall, and there I took water and went to Westminster Hall, and there hear that the House is this day again upon the business of giving the King the thanks of the House for his speech, and, among other things, for laying aside of my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to Mrs. Martin's, where by appointment comes to me Mrs. Howlett, which I was afraid was to have told me something of my freedom with her daughter, but it was not so, but only to complain to me of her son-in-law, how he abuses and makes a slave of her, and his mother is one that encourages him in it, so that they are at this time upon very bad terms one with another, and desires that I would take a time to advise him and tell him what it becomes him to do, which office I am very glad of, for some ends of my own also con sa fille, and there drank and parted, I mightily satisfied with this business, and so home by water with Sir W. Warren, who happened to be at Westminster, and there I pretty strange to him, and little discourse, and there at the office Lord Bruncker, W. Pen, T. Hater and I did some business, and so home to dinner, and thence I out to visit Sir G. Carteret and ladies there; and from him do understand that the King himself (but this he told me as a great secret) is satisfied that this thanks which he expects from the House, for the laying aside of my Lord Chancellor, is a thing irregular; but, since it is come into the House, he do think it necessary to carry it on, and will have it, and hath made his mind known to be so, to some of the House. But Sir G. Carteret do say he knows nothing of what my Lord Bruncker told us to-day, that the King was angry with the Duke of York yesterday, and advised him not to hinder what he had a mind to have done, touching this business; which is news very bad, if true. Here I visited my Lady Carteret, who hath been sick some time, but now pretty well, but laid on her bed. Thence to my Lord Crew, to see him after my coming out of the country, and he seems satisfied with some steps they have made in my absence towards my Lord Sandwich's relief for money: and so I have no more to do, nor will trouble myself more about it till they send for me. He tells me also that the King will have the thanks of the House go on: and commends my Lord Keeper's speech for all but what he was forced to say, about the reason of the King's sending away the House so soon the last time, when they were met, but this he was forced to do. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked with Mr. Scowen, who tells me that it is at last carried in the House that the thanks shall be given to the King--among other things, particularly for the removal of my Lord Chancellor; but he tells me it is a strange act, and that which he thinks would never have been, but that the King did insist upon it, that, since it come into the House, it might not be let fall. After walking there awhile I took coach and to the Duke of York's House, and there went in for nothing into the pit, at the last act, to see Sir Martin Marrall, and met my wife, who was there, and my brother, and W. Hewer and Willett, and carried them home, still being pleased with the humour of the play, almost above all that ever I saw. Home, and there do find that John Bowles is not yet come thither. I suppose he is playing the good fellow in the town. So to the office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. 15th. Up, and to the office, where, Sir W. Pen being ill of the gout, we all of us met there in his parlour and did the business of the office, our greatest business now being to manage the pay of the ships in order and with speed to satisfy the Commissioners of the Treasury. This morning my brother set out for Brampton again, and is gone. At noon home to dinner, and thence my wife and I and Willet to the Duke of York's house, where, after long stay, the King and Duke of York come, and there saw "The Coffee-house," the most ridiculous, insipid play that ever I saw in my life, and glad we were that Betterton had no part in it. But here, before the play begun, my wife begun to complain to me of Willet's confidence in sitting cheek by jowl by us, which was a poor thing; but I perceive she is already jealous of my kindness to her, so that I begin to fear this girle is not likely to stay long with us. The play done, we home by coach, it being moonlight, and got well home, and I to my chamber to settle some papers, and so to supper and to bed. 16th. Up, and at home most of the morning with Sir H. Cholmly, about some accounts of his; and for news he tells me that the Commons and Lords have concurred, and delivered the King their thanks, among other things, for his removal of the Chancellor; who took their thanks very well, and, among other things, promised them, in these words, never, in any degree, to entertain the Chancellor any employment again. And he tells me that it is very true, he hath it from one that was by, that the King did, give the Duke of York a sound reprimand; told him that he had lived with him with more kindness than ever any brother King lived with a brother, and that he lived as much like a monarch as himself, but advised him not to cross him in his designs about the Chancellor; in which the Duke of York do very wisely acquiesce, and will be quiet as the King bade him, but presently commands all his friends to be silent in the business of the Chancellor, and they were so: but that the Chancellor hath done all that is possible to provoke the King, and to bring himself to lose his head by enraging of people. He gone, I to the office, busy all the morning. At noon to Broad Street to Sir G. Carteret and Lord Bruncker, and there dined with them, and thence after dinner with Bruncker to White Hall, where the Duke of York is now newly come for this winter, and there did our usual business, which is but little, and so I away to the Duke of York's house, thinking as we appointed, to meet my wife there, but she was not; and more, I was vexed to see Young (who is but a bad actor at best) act Macbeth in the room of Betterton, who, poor man! is sick: but, Lord! what a prejudice it wrought in me against the whole play, and everybody else agreed in disliking this fellow. Thence home, and there find my wife gone home; because of this fellow's acting of the part, she went out of the house again. There busy at my chamber with Mr. Yeabsly, and then with Mr. Lewes, about public business late, and so to supper and to bed. 17th. Up, and being sent for by my Lady Batten, I to her, and there she found fault with my not seeing her since her being a widow, which I excused as well as I could, though it is a fault, but it is my nature not to be forward in visits. But here she told me her condition, which is good enough, being sole executrix, to the disappointment of all her husband's children, and prayed my friendship about the accounts of the prizes, which I promised her. And here do see what creatures widows are in weeping for their husbands, and then presently leaving off; but I cannot wonder at it, the cares of the world taking place of all other passions. Thence to the office, where all the morning busy, and at noon home to dinner, where Mr. John Andrews and his wife come and dined with me, and pretty merry we were, only I out of humour the greatest part of the dinner, by reason that my people had forgot to get wine ready, I having none in my house, which I cannot say now these almost three years, I think, without having two or three sorts, by which we were fain to stay a great while, while some could be fetched. When it come I begun to be merry, and merry we were, but it was an odd, strange thing to observe of Mr. Andrews what a fancy he hath to raw meat, that he eats it with no pleasure unless the blood run about his chops, which it did now by a leg of mutton that was not above half boiled; but, it seems, at home all his meat is dressed so, and beef and all, and [he] eats it so at nights also. Here most of our discourse is of the business of the Parliament, who run on mighty furiously, having yesterday been almost all the morning complaining against some high proceedings of my Lord Chief Justice Keeling, that the gentlemen of the country did complain against him in the House, and run very high. It is the man that did fall out with my cozen Roger Pepys, once, at the Assizes there, and would have laid him by the heels; but, it seems, a very able lawyer. After dinner I to the office, where we all met with intent to proceed to the publique sale of several prize ships, but upon discourse my Lord Anglesey did discover (which troubled me that he that is a stranger almost should do more than we ourselves could) that the appraisements made by our officers were not above half of what he had been offered for one of them, and did make it good by bringing a gentleman to give us L700 for the Wildboare, which they valued but at L276, which made us all startle and stop the sale, and I did propose to acquaint the Duke of York with it, and accordingly we did agree on it, and I wrote a severe letter about it, and we are to attend him with it to-morrow about it. This afternoon my Lord Anglesey tells us that the House of Commons have this morning run into the inquiry in many things; as, the sale of Dunkirke, the dividing of the fleete the last year, the business of the prizes with my Lord Sandwich, and many other things; so that now they begin to fall close upon it, and God knows what will be the end of it, but a Committee they have chosen to inquire into the miscarriages of the war. Having done, and being a little tired, Sir W. Pen and I in his coach out to Mile End Green, and there drank a cup of Byde's ale, and so talking about the proceedings of Parliament, and how little a thing the King is become to be forced to suffer it, though I declare my being satisfied that things should be enquired into, we back again home, and I to my office to my letters, and so home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and by coach with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York; but first we find him to spend above an hour in private in his closet with Sir W. Coventry; which I was glad to see, that there is so much confidence between them. By and by we were called in and did our usual business, and complained of the business yesterday discovered of our officers abusing the King in the appraisement of the prizes. Here it was worth observing that the Duke of York, considering what third rate ships to keep abroad, the Rupert was thought on, but then it was said that Captain Hubbert was Commander of her and that the King had a mind for Spragg to command the ship, which would not be well to be by turning out Hubbert, who is a good man, but one the Duke of York said he did not know whether he did so well conforme, as at this lime to please the people and Parliament. Sir W. Coventry answered, and the Duke of York merrily agreed to it, that it was very hard to know what it was that the Parliament would call conformity at this time, and so it stopped, which I only observe to see how the Parliament's present temper do amuse them all. Thence to several places to buy a hat, and books, and neckcloths, and several errands I did before I got home, and, among others, bought me two new pair of spectacles of Turlington, who, it seems, is famous for them; and his daughter, he being out of the way, do advise me two very young sights, as that that will help me most, and promises me great ease from them, and I will try them. At the Exchange I met Creed, and took him home with me, and dined, and among other things he tells me that Sir Robert Brookes is the man that did mention the business in Parliament yesterday about my Lord Sandwich, but that it was seconded by nobody, but the matter will fall before the Committee for miscarriages. Thence, after dinner, my wife and he, and I, and Willet to the King's house, and saw "Brenoralt," which is a good tragedy, that I like well, and parted after the play, and so home, and there a little at my office, and so to my chamber, and spent this night late in telling over all my gold, and putting it into proper bags and my iron chest, being glad with my heart to see so much of it here again, but cannot yet tell certainly how much I have lost by Gibson in his journey, and my father's burying of it in the dirt. At this late, but did it to my mind, and so to supper and to bed. 19th. At the office all the morning, where very busy, and at noon home to a short dinner, being full of my desire of seeing my Lord Orrery's new play this afternoon at the King's house, "The Black Prince," the first time it is acted; where, though we come by two o'clock, yet there was no room in the pit, but we were forced to go into one of the upper boxes, at 4s. a piece, which is the first time I ever sat in a box in my life. And in the same box come, by and by, behind me, my Lord Barkeley [of Stratton] and his lady; but I did not turn my face to them to be known, so that I was excused from giving them my seat; and this pleasure I had, that from this place the scenes do appear very fine indeed, and much better than in the pit. The house infinite full, and the King and Duke of York was there. By and by the play begun, and in it nothing particular but a very fine dance for variety of figures, but a little too long. But, as to the contrivance, and all that was witty (which, indeed, was much, and very witty), was almost the same that had been in his two former plays of "Henry the 5th" and "Mustapha," and the same points and turns of wit in both, and in this very same play often repeated, but in excellent language, and were so excellent that the whole house was mightily pleased with it all along till towards the end he comes to discover the chief of the plot of the play by the reading of along letter, which was so long and some things (the people being set already to think too long) so unnecessary that they frequently begun to laugh, and to hiss twenty times, that, had it not been for the King's being there, they had certainly hissed it off the stage. But I must confess that, as my Lord Barkeley says behind me, the having of that long letter was a thing so absurd, that he could not imagine how a man of his parts could possibly fall into it; or, if he did, if he had but let any friend read it, the friend would have told him of it; and, I must confess, it is one of the most remarkable instances that ever I did or expect to meet with in my life of a wise man's not being wise at all times, and in all things, for nothing could be more ridiculous than this, though the letter of itself at another time would be thought an excellent letter, and indeed an excellent Romance, but at the end of the play, when every body was weary of sitting, and were already possessed with the effect of the whole letter; to trouble them with a letter a quarter of an hour long, was a most absurd thing. After the play done, and nothing pleasing them from the time of the letter to the end of the play, people being put into a bad humour of disliking (which is another thing worth the noting), I home by coach, and could not forbear laughing almost all the way home, and all the evening to my going to bed, at the ridiculousness of the letter, and the more because my wife was angry with me, and the world, for laughing, because the King was there, though she cannot defend the length of the letter. So after having done business at the office, I home to supper and to bed. 20th (Lord's day). Up, and put on my new tunique of velvett; which is very plain, but good. This morning is brought to me an order for the presenting the Committee of Parliament to-morrow with a list of the commanders and ships' names of all the fleetes set out since the war, and particularly of those ships which were divided from the fleete with Prince Rupert; [This question of the division of the fleet in May, 1666, was one over which endless controversy as to responsibility was raised. When Prince Rupert, with twenty ships, was detached to prevent the junction of the French squadron with the Dutch, the Duke of Albemarle was left with fifty-four ships against eighty belonging to the Dutch. Albemarle's tactics are praised by Captain Mahan.] which gives me occasion to see that they are busy after that business, and I am glad of it. So I alone to church, and then home, and there Mr. Deane comes and dines with me by invitation, and both at and after dinner he and I spent all the day till it was dark in discourse of business of the Navy and the ground of the many miscarriages, wherein he do inform me in many more than I knew, and I had desired him to put them in writing, and many indeed they are and good ones; and also we discoursed of the business of shipping, and he hath promised me a draught of the ship he is now building, wherein I am mightily pleased. This afternoon comes to me Captain O'Bryan, about a ship that the King hath given him; and he and I to talk of the Parliament; and he tells me that the business of the Duke of York's slackening sail in the first fight, at the beginning of the war, is brought into question, and Sir W. Pen and Captain Cox are to appear to-morrow about it; and it is thought will at last be laid upon Mr. Bruncker's giving orders from the Duke of York (which the Duke of York do not own) to Captain Cox to do it; but it seems they do resent this very highly, and are mad in going through all business, where they can lay any fault. I am glad to hear, that in the world I am as kindly spoke of as any body; for, for aught I see, there is bloody work like to be, Sir W. Coventry having been forced to produce a letter in Parliament wherein the Duke of Albemarle did from Sheernesse write in what good posture all things were at Chatham, and that the chain was so well placed that he feared no attempt of the enemy: so that, among other things, I see every body is upon his own defence, and spares not to blame another to defend himself, and the same course I shall take. But God knows where it will end! He gone, and Deane, I to my chamber for a while, and then comes Pelling the apothecary to see us, and sat and supped with me (my wife being gone to bed sick of the cholique), and then I to bed, after supper. Pelting tells me that my Lady Duchesse Albemarle was at Mrs. Turner's this afternoon, she being ill, and did there publickly talk of business, and of our Office; and that she believed that I was safe, and had done well; and so, I thank God! I hear every body speaks of me; and indeed, I think, without vanity, I may expect to be profited rather than injured by this inquiry, which the Parliament makes into business. 21st. Up, and betimes got a coach at the Exchange, and thence to St. James's, where I had forgot that the Duke of York and family were gone to White Hall, and thence to Westminster Hall and there walked a little, finding the Parliament likely to be busy all this morning about the business of Mr. Bruncker for advising Cox and Harman to shorten sail when they were in pursuit of the Dutch after the first great victory. I went away to Mr. Creed's chamber, there to meet Sir H. Cholmly, about business of Mr. Yeabsly, where I was delivered of a great fear that they would question some of the orders for payment of money which I had got them signed at the time of the plague, when I was here alone, but all did pass. Thence to Westminster again, and up to the lobby, where many commanders of the fleete were, and Captain Cox, and Mr. Pierce, the Surgeon; the last of whom hath been in the House, and declared that he heard Bruncker advise; and give arguments to, Cox, for the safety of the Duke of York's person, to shorten sail, that they might not be in the middle of the enemy in the morning alone; and Cox denying to observe his advice, having received the Duke of York's commands over night to keep within cannon-shot (as they then were) of the enemy, Bruncker did go to Harman, and used the same arguments, and told him that he was sure it would be well pleasing to the King that care should be taken of not endangering the Duke of York; and, after much persuasion, Harman was heard to say, "Why, if it must be, then lower the topsail." And so did shorten sail, to the loss, as the Parliament will have it, of the greatest victory that ever was, and which would have saved all the expence of blood, and money, and honour, that followed; and this they do resent, so as to put it to the question, whether Bruncker should not be carried to the Tower: who do confess that, out of kindness to the Duke of York's safety, he did advise that they should do so, but did not use the Duke of York's name therein; and so it was only his error in advising it, but the greatest theirs in taking it, contrary to order. At last, it ended that it should be suspended till Harman comes home; and then the Parliament-men do all tell me that it will fall heavy, and, they think, be fatal to Bruncker or him. Sir W. Pen tells me he was gone to bed, having been all day labouring, and then not able to stand, of the goute, and did give order for the keeping the sails standing, as they then were, all night. But, which I wonder at, he tells me that he did not know the next day that they had shortened sail, nor ever did enquire into it till about ten days ago, that this begun to be mentioned; and, indeed, it is charged privately as a fault on the Duke of York, that he did not presently examine the reason of the breach of his orders, and punish it. But Cox tells me that he did finally refuse it; and what prevailed with Harman he knows not, and do think that we might have done considerable service on the enemy the next day, if this had not been done. Thus this business ended to-day, having kept them till almost two o'clock; and then I by coach with Sir W. Pen as far as St. Clement's, talking of this matter, and there set down; and I walked to Sir G. Carteret's, and there dined with him and several Parliament-men, who, I perceive, do all look upon it as a thing certain that the Parliament will enquire into every thing, and will be very severe where they can find any fault. Sir W. Coventry, I hear, did this day make a speech, in apology for his reading the letter of the Duke of Albemarle, concerning the good condition which Chatham was in before the enemy come thither: declaring his simple intention therein, without prejudice to my Lord. And I am told that he was also with the Duke of Albemarle yesterday to excuse it; but this day I do hear, by some of Sir W. Coventry's friends, that they think he hath done himself much injury by making this man, and his interest, so much his enemy. After dinner, I away to Westminster, and up to the Parliament-house, and there did wait with great patience, till seven at night, to be called in to the Committee, who sat all this afternoon, examining the business of Chatham; and at last was called in, and told, that the least they expected from us Mr. Wren had promised them, and only bade me to bring all my fellow-officers thitherto attend them tomorrow, afternoon. Sir Robert Brookes in the chair: methinks a sorry fellow to be there, because a young man; and yet he seems to speak very well. I gone thence, my cozen Pepys comes out to me, and walks in the Hall with me, and bids me prepare to answer to every thing; for they do seem to lodge the business of Chatham upon the Commissioners of the Navy, and they are resolved to lay the fault heavy somewhere, and to punish it: and prays me to prepare to save myself, and gives me hints what to prepare against; which I am obliged to him for, and do begin to mistrust lest some unhappy slip or other after all my diligence and pains may not be found (which I can [not] foresee) that may prove as fatal to a man as the constant course of negligence and unfaithfulness of other men. Here we parted, and I to White Hall to Mr. Wren's chamber, thereto advise with him about the list of ships and commanders which he is to present to the Parliament, and took coach (little Michell being with me, whom I took with me from Westminster Hall), and setting him down in Gracious street home myself, where I find my wife and the two Mercers and Willett and W. Batelier have been dancing, but without a fidler. I had a little pleasure in talking with these, but my head and heart full of thoughts between hope and fear and doubts what will become of us and me particularly against a furious Parliament. Then broke up and to bed, and there slept pretty well till about four o'clock, and from that time could not, but my thoughts running on speeches to the Parliament to excuse myself from the blame which by other men's negligence will 'light, it may be, upon the office. This day I did get a list of the fourteen particular miscarriages which are already before the Committee to be examined; wherein, besides two or three that will concern this Office much, there are those of the prizes, and that of Bergen, and not following the Dutch ships, against my Lord Sandwich; that, I fear, will ruine him, unless he hath very good luck, or they may be in better temper before he can come to be charged: but my heart is full of fear for him and his family. I hear that they do prosecute the business against my Lord Chief Justice Keeling with great severity. 22nd. Slept but ill all the last part of the night, for fear of this day's success in Parliament: therefore up, and all of us all the morning close, till almost two o'clock, collecting all we had to say and had done from the beginning, touching the safety of the River Medway and Chatham. And, having done this, and put it into order, we away, I not having time to eat my dinner; and so all in my Lord Bruncker's coach, that is to say, Bruncker, W. Pen, T. Harvy, and myself, talking of the other great matter with which they charge us, that is, of discharging men by ticket, in order to our defence in case that should be asked. We come to the Parliament-door, and there, after a little waiting till the Committee was sat, we were, the House being very full, called in: Sir W. Pen went in and sat as a Member; and my Lord Bruncker would not at first go in, expecting to have a chair set for him, and his brother had bid him not go in, till he was called for; but, after a few words, I had occasion to mention him, and so he was called in, but without any more chair or respect paid him than myself: and so Bruncker, and T. Harvy, and I, were there to answer: and I had a chair brought me to lean my books upon: and so did give them such an account, in a series of the whole business that had passed the Office touching the matter, and so answered all questions given me about it, that I did not perceive but they were fully satisfied with me and the business as to our Office: and then Commissioner Pett (who was by at all my discourse, and this held till within an hour after candlelight, for I had candles brought in to read my papers by) was to answer for himself, we having lodged all matters with him for execution. But, Lord! what a tumultuous thing this Committee is, for all the reputation they have of a great council, is a strange consideration; there being as impertinent questions, and as disorderly proposed, as any man could make. But Commissioner Pett, of all men living, did make the weakest defence for himself: nothing to the purpose, nor to satisfaction, nor certain; but sometimes one thing and sometimes another, sometimes for himself and sometimes against him; and his greatest failure was, that I observed, from his [not] considering whether the question propounded was his part to answer or no, and the thing to be done was his work to do: the want of which distinction will overthrow him; for he concerns himself in giving an account of the disposal of the boats, which he had no reason at all to do, or take any blame upon him for them. He charged the not carrying up of "The Charles" upon the Tuesday, to the Duke of Albemarle; but I see the House is mighty favourable to the Duke of Albemarle, and would give little weight to it. And something of want of armes he spoke, which Sir J. Duncomb answered with great imperiousness and earnestness; but, for all that, I do see the House is resolved to be better satisfied in the business of the unreadiness of Sherenesse, and want of armes and ammunition there and every where: and all their officers were here to-day attending, but only one called in, about armes for boats, to answer Commissioner Pett. None of my brethren said anything but me there, but only two or three silly words my Lord Bruncker gave, in answer to one question about the number of men there were in the King's Yard at the time. At last, the House dismissed us, and shortly after did adjourne the debate till Friday next: and my cozen Pepys did come out and joy me in my acquitting myself so well, and so did several others, and my fellow-officers all very brisk to see themselves so well acquitted; which makes me a little proud, but yet not secure but we may yet meet with a back-blow which we see not. So, with our hearts very light, Sir W. Pen and I in his coach home, it being now near eight o'clock, and so to the office, and did a little business by the post, and so home, hungry, and eat a good supper, and so, with my mind well at ease, to bed. My wife not very well of those. 23rd. Up, and Sir W. Pen and I in his coach to White Hall, there to attend the Duke of York; but come a little too late, and so missed it: only spoke with him, and heard him correct my Lord Barkeley, who fell foul on Sir Edward Spragg, who, it seems, said yesterday to the House, that if the Officers of the Ordnance had done as much work at Shereness in ten weeks as "The Prince" did in ten days, he could have defended the place against the Dutch: but the Duke of York told him that every body must have liberty, at this time, to make their own defence, though it be to the charging of the fault upon any other, so it be true; so I perceive the whole world is at work in blaming one another. Thence Sir W. Pen and I back into London; and there saw the King, with his kettle-drums and trumpets, going to the Exchange, to lay the first stone of the first pillar of the new building of the Exchange; which, the gates being shut, I could not get in to see: but, with Sir W. Pen, to Captain Cocke's to drink a dram of brandy, and so he to the Treasury office about Sir G. Carteret's accounts, and I took coach and back again toward Westminster; but in my way stopped at the Exchange, and got in, the King being newly gone; and there find the bottom of the first pillar laid. And here was a shed set up, and hung with tapestry, and a canopy of state, and some good victuals and wine, for the King, who, it seems, did it; and so a great many people, as Tom Killigrew, and others of the Court there, and there I did eat a mouthful and drink a little, and do find Mr. Gawden in his gowne as Sheriffe, and understand that the King hath this morning knighted him upon the place, which I am mightily pleased with; and I think the other Sheriffe, who is Davis, the little fellow, my schoolfellow,--the bookseller, who was one of Audley's' Executors, and now become Sheriffe; which is a strange turn, methinks. Here mighty merry (there being a good deal of good company) for a quarter of an hour, and so I away and to Westminster Hall, where I come just as the House rose; and there, in the Hall, met with Sir W. Coventry, who is in pain to defend himself in the business of tickets, it being said that the paying of the ships at Chatham by ticket was by his direction, and he hath wrote to me to find his letters, and shew them him, but I find none; but did there argue the case with him, and I think no great blame can be laid on us for that matter, only I see he is fearfull. And he tells me his mistake in the House the other day, which occasions him much trouble, in shewing of the House the Duke of Albemarle's letter about the good condition of Chatham, which he is sorry for, and, owns as a mistake, the thing not being necessary to have been done; and confesses that nobody can escape from such error, some times or other. He says the House was well satisfied with my Report yesterday; and so several others told me in the Hall that my Report was very good and satisfactory, and that I have got advantage by it in the House: I pray God it may prove so! And here, after the Hall pretty empty, I did walk a few turns with Commissioner Pett, and did give the poor weak man some advice for his advantage how to better his pleading for himself, which I think he will if he can remember and practise, for I would not have the man suffer what he do not deserve, there being enough of what he do deserve to lie upon him. Thence to Mrs. Martin's, and there staid till two o'clock, and drank and talked, and did give her L3 to buy my goddaughter her first new gowne.... and so away homeward, and in my way met Sir W. Pen in Cheapside, and went into his coach, and back again and to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Black Prince" again: which is now mightily bettered by that long letter being printed, and so delivered to every body at their going in, and some short reference made to it in heart in the play, which do mighty well; but, when all is done, I think it the worst play of my Lord Orrery's. But here, to my great satisfaction, I did see my Lord Hinchingbroke and his mistress, with her father and mother; and I am mightily pleased with the young lady, being handsome enough--and, indeed, to my great liking, as I would have her. I could not but look upon them all the play; being exceeding pleased with my good hap to see them, God bring them together! and they are now already mighty kind to one another, and he is as it were one of their family. The play done I home, and to the office a while, and then home to supper, very hungry, and then to my chamber, to read the true story, in Speed, of the Black Prince, and so to bed. This day, it was moved in the House that a day might be appointed to bring in an impeachment against the Chancellor, but it was decried as being irregular; but that, if there was ground for complaint, it might be brought to the Committee for miscarriages, and, if they thought good, to present it to the House; and so it was carried. They did also vote this day thanks to be given to the Prince and Duke of Albemarle, for their care and conduct in the last year's war, which is a strange act; but, I know not how, the blockhead Albemarle hath strange luck to be loved, though he be, and every man must know it, the heaviest man in the world, but stout and honest to his country. This evening late, Mr. Moore come to me to prepare matters for my Lord Sandwich's defence; wherein I can little assist, but will do all I can; and am in great fear of nothing but the damned business of the prizes, but I fear my Lord will receive a cursed deal of trouble by it. 24th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning very busy, and at noon took Mr. Hater home with me to dinner, and instantly back again to write what letters I had to write, that I might go abroad with my wife, who was not well, only to jumble her, and so to the Duke of York's playhouse; but there Betterton not being yet well, we would not stay, though since I hear that Smith do act his part in "The Villaine," which was then acted, as well or better than he, which I do not believe; but to Charing Cross, there to see Polichinelli. But, it being begun, we in to see a Frenchman, at the house, where my wife's father last lodged, one Monsieur Prin, play on the trump-marine, [The trumpet marine is a stringed instrument having a triangular- shaped body or chest and a long neck, a single string raised on a bridge and running along the body and neck. It was played with a bow.] which he do beyond belief; and, the truth is, it do so far outdo a trumpet as nothing more, and he do play anything very true, and it is most admirable and at first was a mystery to me that I should hear a whole concert of chords together at the end of a pause, but he showed me that it was only when the last notes were 5ths or 3rds, one to another, and then their sounds like an Echo did last so as they seemed to sound all together. The instrument is open at the end, I discovered; but he would not let me look into it, but I was mightily pleased with it, and he did take great pains to shew me all he could do on it, which was very much, and would make an excellent concert, two or three of them, better than trumpets can ever do, because of their want of compass. Here we also saw again the two fat children come out of Ireland, and a brother and sister of theirs now come, which are of little ordinary growth, like other people. But, Lord! how strange it is to observe the difference between the same children, come out of the same little woman's belly! Thence to Mile-End Greene, and there drank, and so home bringing home night with us, and so to the office a little, and then to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning close till two o'clock, till I had not time to eat my dinner, to make our answer ready for the Parliament this afternoon, to shew how Commissioner Pett was singly concerned in the executing of all orders from Chatham, and that we did properly lodge all orders with him. Thence with Sir W. Pen to the Parliament Committee, and there we all met, and did shew, my Lord Bruncker and I, our commissions under the Great Seal in behalf of all the rest, to shew them our duties, and there I had no more matters asked me, but were bid to withdraw, and did there wait, I all the afternoon till eight at, night, while they were examining several about the business of Chatham again, and particularly my Lord Bruncker did meet with two or three blurs that he did not think of. One from Spragg, who says that "The Unity" was ordered up contrary to his order, by my Lord Bruncker and Commissioner Pett. Another by Crispin, the waterman, who said he was upon "The Charles;" and spoke to Lord Bruncker coming by in his boat, to know whether they should carry up "The Charles," they being a great many naked men without armes, and he told them she was well as she was. Both these have little in them indeed, but yet both did stick close against him; and he is the weakest man in the world to make his defence, and so is like to have much fault laid on him therefrom. Spragg was in with them all the afternoon, and hath much fault laid on him for a man that minded his pleasure, and little else of his whole charge. I walked in the lobby, and there do hear from Mr. Chichly that they were (the Commissioners of the Ordnance) shrewdly put to it yesterday, being examined with all severity and were hardly used by them, much otherwise than we, and did go away with mighty blame; and I am told by every body that it is likely to stick mighty hard upon them: at which every body is glad, because of Duncomb's pride, and their expecting to have the thanks of the House whereas they have deserved, as the Parliament apprehends, as bad as bad can be. Here is great talk of an impeachment brought in against my Lord Mordaunt, and that another will be brought in against my Lord Chancellor in a few days. Here I understand for certain that they have ordered that my Lord Arlington's letters, and Secretary Morrice's letters of intelligence, be consulted, about the business of the Dutch fleete's coming abroad, which is a very high point, but this they have done, but in what particular manner I cannot justly say, whether it was not with the King's leave first asked. Here late, as I have said, and at last they broke up, and we had our commissions again, and I do hear how Birch is the high man that do examine and trouble every body with his questions, and they say that he do labour all he can to clear Pett, but it seems a witness has come in tonight, C. Millett, who do declare that he did deliver a message from the Duke of Albemarle time enough for him to carry up "The Charles," and he neglected it, which will stick very hard, it seems, on him. So Sir W. Pen and I in his coach home, and there to supper, a good supper, and so weary, and my eyes spent, to bed. 26th. Up, and we met all this morning at Sir W. Pen's roome, the office being fowle with the altering of our garden door. There very busy, and at noon home, where Mrs. Pierce and her daughter's husband and Mr. Corbet dined with me. I had a good dinner for them, and mighty merry. Pierce and I very glad at the fate of the officers of Ordnance, that they are like to have so much blame on them. Here Mrs. Pierce tells me that the two Marshalls at the King's house are Stephen Marshall's, the great Presbyterian's daughters: and that Nelly and Beck Marshall, falling out the other day, the latter called the other my Lord Buckhurst's whore. Nell answered then, "I was but one man's whore, though I was brought up in a bawdy-house to fill strong waters to the guests; and you are a whore to three or four, though a Presbyter's praying daughter!" which was very pretty. Mrs. Pierce is still very pretty, but paints red on her face, which makes me hate her, that I thank God I take no pleasure in her at all more. After much mirth and good company at dinner, I to the office and left them, and Pendleton also, who come in to see my wife and talk of dancing, and there I at the office all the afternoon very busy, and did much business, with my great content to see it go off of hand, and so home, my eyes spent, to supper and to bed. 27th (Lord's day). Up, and to my office, there, with W. Hewer, to dictate a long letter to the Duke of York, about the bad state of the office, it being a work I do think fit for the office to do, though it be to no purpose but for their vindication in these bad times; for I do now learn many things tending to our safety which I did not wholly forget before, but do find the fruits of, and would I had practised them more, as, among other things, to be sure to let our answers to orders bear date presently after their date, that we may be found quick in our execution. This did us great good the other day before the Parliament. All the morning at this, at noon home to dinner, with my own family alone. After dinner, I down to Deptford, the first time that I went to look upon "The Maybolt," which the King hath given me, and there she is; and I did meet with Mr. Uthwayte, who do tell me that there are new sails ordered to be delivered her, and a cable, which I did not speak of at all to him. So, thereupon, I told him I would not be my own hindrance so much as to take her into my custody before she had them, which was all I said to him, but desired him to take a strict inventory of her, that I might not be cheated by the master nor the company, when they come to understand that the vessel is gone away, which he hath promised me, and so away back again home, reading all the way the book of the collection of oaths in the several offices of this nation, which is worth a man's reading, and so away home, and there my boy and I to sing, and at it all the evening, and to supper, and so to bed. This evening come Sir J. Minnes to me, to let me know that a Parliament-man hath been with him, to tell him that the Parliament intend to examine him particularly about Sir W. Coventry's selling of places, and about my Lord Bruncker's discharging the ships at Chatham by ticket: for the former of which I am more particularly sorry that that business of [Sir] W. Coventry should come up again; though this old man tells me, and, I believe, that he can say nothing to it. 28th. Up, and by water to White Hall (calling at Michell's and drank a dram of strong water, but it being early I did not see his wife), and thence walked to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, but he was gone out, and so going towards St. James's I find him at his house which is fitting for him; and there I to him, and was with him above an hour alone, discoursing of the matters of the nation, and our Office, and himself. He owns that he is, at this day, the chief person aymed at by the Parliament--that is, by the friends of my Lord Chancellor, and also by the Duke of Albemarle, by reason of his unhappy shewing of the Duke of Albemarle's letter, the other day, in the House; but that he thinks that he is not liable to any hurt they can fasten on him for anything, he is so well armed to justify himself in every thing, unless in the old business of selling places, when he says every body did; and he will now not be forward to tell his own story, as he hath been; but tells me he is grown wiser, and will put them to prove any thing, and he will defend himself: besides that, he will dispute the statute, thinking that it will not be found to reach him. We did talk many things, which, as they come into my mind now, I shall set down without order: that he is weary of public employment; and neither ever designed, nor will ever, if his commission were brought to him wrapt in gold, would he accept of any single place in the State, as particularly Secretary of State; which, he says, the world discourses Morrice is willing to resign, and he thinks the King might have thought of him, but he would not, by any means, now take it, if given him, nor anything, but in commission with others, who may bear part of the blame; for now he observes well, that whoever did do anything singly are now in danger, however honest and painful they were, saying that he himself was the only man, he thinks, at the council-board that spoke his mind clearly, as he thought, to the good of the King; and the rest, who sat silent, have nothing said to them, nor are taken notice of. That the first time the King did take him so closely into his confidence and ministry of affairs was upon the business of Chatham, when all the disturbances were there, and in the kingdom; and then, while everybody was fancying for himself, the King did find him to persuade him to call for the Parliament, declaring that it was against his own proper interest, forasmuch as [it was] likely they would find faults with him, as well as with others, but that he would prefer the service of the King before his own: and, thereupon, the King did take him into his special notice, and, from that time to this, hath received him so; and that then he did see the folly and mistakes of the Chancellor in the management of things, and saw that matters were never likely to be done well in that sort of conduct, and did persuade the King to think fit of the taking away the seals from the Chancellor, which, when it was done, he told me that he himself, in his own particular, was sorry for it; for, while he stood, there was he and my Lord Arlington to stand between him and harm: whereas now there is only my Lord Arlington, and he is now down, so that all their fury is placed upon him but that he did tell the King, when he first moved it, that, if he thought the laying of him, W. Coventry, aside, would at all facilitate the removing of the Chancellor, he would most willingly submit to it, whereupon the King did command him to try the Duke of York about it, and persuade him to it, which he did, by the King's command, undertake, and compass, and the Duke of York did own his consent to the King, but afterwards was brought to be of another mind for the Chancellor, and now is displeased with him, and [so is] the Duchesse, so that she will not see him; but he tells me the Duke of York seems pretty kind, and hath said that he do believe that W. Coventry did mean well, and do it only out of judgment. He tells me that he never was an intriguer in his life, nor will be, nor of any combination of persons to set up this, or fling down that, nor hath, in his own business, this Parliament, spoke to three members to say any thing for him, but will stand upon his own defence, and will stay by it, and thinks that he is armed against all they can [say], but the old business of selling places, and in that thinks they cannot hurt him. However, I do find him mighty willing to have his name used as little as he can, and he was glad when I did deliver him up a letter of his to me, which did give countenance to the discharging of men by ticket at Chatham, which is now coming in question; and wherein, I confess, I am sorry to find him so tender of appearing, it being a thing not only good and fit, all that was done in it, but promoted and advised by him. But he thinks the House is set upon wresting anything to his prejudice that they can pick up. He tells me he did never, as a great many have, call the Chancellor rogue and knave, and I know not what; but all that he hath said, and will stand by, is, that his counsels were not good, nor the manner of his managing of things. I suppose he means suffering the King to run in debt; for by and by the King walking in the parke, with a great crowd of his idle people about him, I took occasion to say that it was a sorry thing to be a poor King, and to have others to come to correct the faults of his own servants, and that this was it that brought us all into this condition. He answered that he would never be a poor King, and then the other would mend of itself. "No," says he, "I would eat bread and drink water first, and this day discharge all the idle company about me, and walk only with two footmen; and this I have told the King, and this must do it at last." I asked him how long the King would suffer this. He told me the King must suffer it yet longer, that he would not advise the King to do otherwise; for it would break out again worse, if he should break them up before the core be come up. After this, we fell to other talk, of my waiting upon him hereafter, it may be, to read a chapter in Seneca, in this new house, which he hath bought, and is making very fine, when we may be out of employment, which he seems to wish more than to fear, and I do believe him heartily. Thence home, and met news from Mr. Townsend of the Wardrobe that old Young, the yeoman taylor, whose place my Lord Sandwich promised my father, is dead. Upon which, resolving presently that my father shall not be troubled with it, but I hope I shall be able to enable him to end his days where he is, in quiet, I went forth thinking to tell Mrs. Ferrers (Captain Ferrers's wife), who do expect it after my father, that she may look after it, but upon second thoughts forbore it, and so back again home, calling at the New Exchange, and there buying "The Indian Emperour," newly printed, and so home to dinner, where I had Mr. Clerke, the sollicitor, and one of the Auditor's clerks to discourse about the form of making up my accounts for the Exchequer, which did give me good satisfaction, and so after dinner, my wife, and Mercer, who grows fat, and Willett, and I, to the King's house, and there saw "The Committee," a play I like well, and so at night home and to the office, and so to my chamber about my accounts, and then to Sir W. Pen's to speak with Sir John Chichly, who desired my advice about a prize which he hath begged of the King, and there had a great deal of his foolish talk of ladies and love and I know not what, and so home to supper and to bed. 29th. Up, and at the office, my Lord Bruncker and I close together till almost 3 after noon, never stirring, making up a report for the Committee this afternoon about the business of discharging men by ticket, which it seems the House is mighty earnest in, but is a foolery in itself, yet gives me a great deal of trouble to draw up a defence for the Board, as if it was a crime; but I think I have done it to very good purpose. Then to my Lady Williams's, with her and my Lord, and there did eat a snapp of good victuals, and so to Westminster Hall, where we find the House not up, but sitting all this day about the method of bringing in the charge against my Lord Chancellor; and at last resolved for a Committee to draw up the heads, and so rose, and no Committee to sit tonight. Here Sir W. Coventry and Lord Bruncker and I did in the Hall (between the two Courts at the top of the Hall) discourse about a letter of [Sir] W. Coventry's to Bruncker, whereon Bruncker did justify his discharging men by ticket, and insists on one word which Sir W. Coventry would not seem very earnest to have left out, but I did see him concerned, and did after labour to suppress the whole letter, the thing being in itself really impertinent, but yet so it is that [Sir] W. Coventry do not desire to have his name used in this business, and I have prevailed with Bruncker for it. Thence Bruncker and I to the King's House, thinking to have gone into a box above, for fear of being seen, the King being there, but the play being 3 acts done we would not give 4s., and so away and parted, and I home, and there after a little supper to bed, my eyes ill, and head full of thoughts of the trouble this Parliament gives us. 30th. All the morning till past noon preparing over again our report this afternoon to the Committee of Parliament about tickets, and then home to eat a bit, and then with Sir W. Pen to White Hall, where we did a very little business with the Duke of York at our usual meeting, only I perceive that he do leave all of us, as the King do those about him, to stand and fall by ourselves, and I think is not without some cares himself what the Parliament may do in matters wherein his honour is concerned. Thence to the Parliament-house; where, after the Committee was sat, I was called in; and the first thing was upon the complaint of a dirty slut that was there, about a ticket which she had lost, and had applied herself to me for another.... I did give them a short and satisfactory answer to that; and so they sent her away, and were ashamed of their foolery, in giving occasion to 500 seamen and seamen's wives to come before them, as there was this afternoon. But then they fell to the business of tickets, and I did give them the best answer I could, but had not scope to do it in the methodical manner which I had prepared myself for, but they did ask a great many broken rude questions about it, and were mightily hot whether my Lord Bruncker had any order to discharge whole ships by ticket, and because my answer was with distinction, and not direct, I did perceive they were not so fully satisfied therewith as I could wish they were. So my Lord Bruncker was called in, and they could fasten nothing on him that I could see, nor indeed was there any proper matter for blame, but I do see, and it was said publicly in the House by Sir T. Clerges that Sir W. Batten had designed the business of discharging men by ticket and an order after the thing was done to justify my Lord Bruncker for having done it. But this I did not owne at all, nor was it just so, though he did indeed do something like it, yet had contributed as much to it as any man of the board by sending down of tickets to do it. But, Lord! to see that we should be brought to justify ourselves in a thing of necessity and profit to the King, and of no profit or convenience to us, but the contrary. We being withdrawn, we heard no more of it, but there staid late and do hear no more, only my cozen Pepys do tell me that he did hear one or two whisper as if they thought that I do bogle at the business of my Lord Bruncker, which is a thing I neither did or have reason to do in his favour, but I do not think it fit to make him suffer for a thing that deserves well. But this do trouble me a little that anything should stick to my prejudice in any of them, and did trouble me so much that all the way home with Sir W. Pen I was not at good ease, nor all night, though when I come home I did find my wife, and Betty Turner, the two Mercers, and Mrs. Parker, an ugly lass, but yet dances well, and speaks the best of them, and W. Batelier, and Pembleton dancing; and here I danced with them, and had a good supper, and as merry as I could be, and so they being gone we to bed. 31st. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon Mr. Creed and Yeabsly dined with me (my wife gone to dine with Mrs. Pierce and see a play with her), and after dinner in comes Mr. Turner, of Eynsbury, lately come to town, and also after him Captain Hill of the "Coventry," who lost her at Barbadoes, and is come out of France, where he hath been long prisoner. After a great deal of mixed discourse, and then Mr. Turner and I alone a little in my closet, talking about my Lord Sandwich (who I hear is now ordered by the King to come home again), we all parted, and I by water, calling at Michell's, and saw and once kissed su wife, but I do think that he is jealous of her, and so she dares not stand out of his sight; so could not do more, but away by water to the Temple, and there, after spending a little time in my bookseller's shop, I to Westminster; and there at the lobby do hear by Commissioner Pett, to my great amazement, that he is in worse condition than before, by the coming in of the Duke of Albemarle's and Prince Rupert's Narratives' this day; wherein the former do most severely lay matters upon him, so as the House this day have, I think, ordered him to the Tower again, or something like it; so that the poor man is likely to be overthrown, I doubt, right or wrong, so infinite fond they are of any thing the Duke of Albemarle says or writes to them! I did then go down, and there met with Colonel Reames and cozen Roger Pepys; and there they do tell me how the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince have laid blame on a great many, and particularly on our Office in general; and particularly for want of provision, wherein I shall come to be questioned again in that business myself; which do trouble me. But my cozen Pepys and I had much discourse alone: and he do bewail the constitution of this House, and says there is a direct caball and faction, as much as is possible between those for and those against the Chancellor, and so in other factions, that there is nothing almost done honestly and with integrity; only some few, he says, there are, that do keep out of all plots and combinations, and when their time comes will speak and see right done, if possible; and that he himself is looked upon to be a man that will be of no faction, and so they do shun to make him; and I am glad of it. He tells me that he thanks God he never knew what it was to be tempted to be a knave in his life; till he did come into the House of Commons, where there is nothing done but by passion, and faction, and private interest. Reames did tell me of a fellow last night (one Kelsy, a commander of a fire-ship, who complained for want of his money paid him) did say that he did see one of the Commissioners of the Navy bring in three waggon-loads of prize-goods into Greenwich one night; but that the House did take no notice of it, nor enquire; but this is me, and I must expect to be called to account, and answer what I did as well as I can. So thence away home, and in Holborne, going round, it being dark, I espied Sir D. Gawden's coach, and so went out of mine into his; and there had opportunity to talk of the business of victuals, which the Duke of Albemarle and Prince did complain that they were in want of the last year: but we do conclude we shall be able to show quite the contrary of that; only it troubles me that we must come to contend with these great persons, which will overrun us. So with some disquiet in my mind on this account I home, and there comes Mr. Yeabsly, and he and I to even some accounts, wherein I shall be a gainer about L200, which is a seasonable profit, for I have got nothing a great while; and he being gone, I to bed. NOVEMBER 1667 November 1st. Up betimes, and down to the waterside (calling and drinking a dram of the bottle at Michell's, but saw not Betty), and thence to White Hall and to Sir W. Coventry's lodging, where he and I alone a good while, where he gives me the full of the Duke of Albemarle's and Prince's narratives, given yesterday by the House, wherein they fall foul of him and Sir G. Carteret in something about the dividing of the fleete, and the Prince particularly charging the Commissioners of the Navy with negligence, he says the Commissioners of the Navy whereof Sir W. Coventry is one. He tells me that he is prepared to answer any particular most thoroughly, but the quality of the persons do make it difficult for him, and so I do see is in great pain, poor man, though he deserves better than twenty such as either of them, for his abilities and true service to the King and kingdom. He says there is incoherences, he believes, to be found between their two reports, which will be pretty work to consider. The Duke of Albemarle charges W. Coventry that he should tell him, when he come down to the fleete with Sir G. Carteret, to consult about dividing the fleete, that the Dutch would not be out in six weeks, which W. Coventry says is as false as is possible, and he can prove the contrary by the Duke of Albemarle's own letters. The Duke of Albemarle says that he did upon sight of the Dutch call a council of officers, and they did conclude they could not avoid fighting the Dutch; and yet we did go to the enemy, and found them at anchor, which is a pretty contradiction. And he tells me that Spragg did the other day say in the House, that the Prince, at his going from the Duke of Albemarle with his fleete, did tell him that if the Dutch should come on, the Duke was to follow him, the Prince, with his fleete, and not fight the Dutch. Out of all this a great deal of good might well be picked. But it is a sad consideration that all this picking of holes in one another's coats--nay, and the thanks of the House to the Prince and the Duke of Albemarle, and all this envy and design to ruin Sir W. Coventry--did arise from Sir W. Coventry's unfortunate mistake the other day, in producing of a letter from the Duke of Albemarle, touching the good condition of all things at Chatham just before the Dutch come up, and did us that fatal mischiefe; for upon this they are resolved to undo him, and I pray God they do not. He tells me upon my demanding it that he thinks the King do not like this their bringing these narratives, and that they give out that they would have said more but that the King hath hindered them, that I suppose is about my Lord Sandwich. He is getting a copy of the Narratives, which I shall then have, and so I parted from him and away to White Hall, where I met Mr. Creed and Yeabsly, and discoursed a little about Mr. Yeabsly's business and accounts, and so I to chapel and there staid, it being All-Hallows day, and heard a fine anthem, made by Pelham (who is come over) in France, of which there was great expectation, and indeed is a very good piece of musique, but still I cannot call the Anthem anything but instrumentall musique with the voice, for nothing is made of the words at all. I this morning before chapel visited Sir G. Carteret, who is vexed to see how things are likely to go, but cannot help it, and yet seems to think himself mighty safe. I also visited my Lord Hinchingbroke, at his chamber at White Hall, where I found Mr. Turner, Moore, and Creed, talking of my Lord Sandwich, whose case I doubt is but bad, and, I fear, will not escape being worse, though some of the company did say otherwise. But I am mightily pleased with my Lord Hinchingbroke's sobriety and few words. After chapel I with Creed to the Exchange, and after much talk he and I there about securing of some money either by land or goods to be always at our command, which we think a thing advisable in this critical time, we parted, and I to the Sun Taverne with Sir W. Warren (with whom I have not drank many a day, having for some time been strange to him), and there did put it to him to advise me how to dispose of my prize, which he will think of and do to my best advantage. We talked of several other things relating to his service, wherein I promise assistance, but coldly, thinking it policy to do so, and so, after eating a short dinner, I away home, and there took out my wife, and she and I alone to the King's playhouse, and there saw a silly play and an old one, "The Taming of a Shrew," and so home and I to my office a little, and then home to supper and to bed. 2nd. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning; at noon home, and after dinner my wife and Willett and I to the King's playhouse, and there saw "Henry the Fourth:" and contrary to expectation, was pleased in nothing more than in Cartwright's speaking of Falstaffe's speech about "What is Honour?" The house full of Parliament-men, it being holyday with them: and it was observable how a gentleman of good habit, sitting just before us, eating of some fruit in the midst of the play, did drop down as dead, being choked; but with much ado Orange Moll did thrust her finger down his throat, and brought him to life again. After the play, we home, and I busy at the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. 3rd (Lord's day). Up, and with my wife to church, and thither comes Roger Pepys to our pew, and thence home to dinner, whither comes by invitation Mr. Turner, the minister, and my cozen Roger brought with him Jeffrys, the apothecary at Westminster, who is our kinsman, and we had much discourse of Cottenhamshire, and other things with great pleasure. My cozen Roger did tell me of a bargain which I may now have in Norfolke, that my she-cozen, Nan Pepys, is going to sell, the title whereof is very good, and the pennyworth is also good enough; but it is out of the way so of my life, that I shall never enjoy it, nor, it may be, see it, and so I shall have nothing to do with it. After dinner to talk, and I find by discourse Mr. Turner to be a man mighty well read in the Roman history, which is very pleasant. By and by Roger went, and Mr. Turner spent an hour talking over my Lord Sandwich's condition as to this Parliament, which we fear may be bad, and the condition of his family, which can be no better, and then having little to comfort ourselves but that this humour will not last always in the Parliament, and that [it] may well have a great many more as great men as he enquired into, and so we parted, and I to my chamber, and there busy all the evening, and then my wife and I to supper, and so to bed, with much discourse and pleasure one with another. 4th. Up betimes, and by water with Sir R. Ford (who is going to Parliament) to Westminster; and there landing at the New Exchange stairs, I to Sir W. Coventry: and there he read over to me the Prince's and the Duke of Albemarle's Narratives; wherein they are very severe against him and our Office. But [Sir] W. Coventry do contemn them; only that their persons and qualities are great, and so I do perceive [he] is afeard of them, though he will not confess it. But he do say that, if he can get out of these briars, he will never trouble himself with Princes nor Dukes again. He finds several things in their Narratives, which are both inconsistent and foolish, as well as untrue, especially as to what the Duke of Albemarle avers of his knowing of the enemy's being abroad sooner than he says it, which [Sir] W. Coventry will shew him his own letter against him, for I confess I do see so much, that, were I but well possessed of what I should have in the world, I think I could willingly retreat, and trouble myself no more with it. Thence home, and there met Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to the Excise Office to see what tallies are paying, and thence back to the Old Exchange, by the way talking of news, and he owning Sir W. Coventry, in his opinion, to be one of the worthiest men in the nation, as I do really think he is. He tells me he do think really that they will cut off my Lord Chancellor's head, the Chancellor at this day showing as much pride as is possible to those few that venture their fortunes by coming to see him; and that the Duke of York is troubled much, knowing that those that fling down the Chancellor cannot stop there, but will do something to him, to prevent his having it in his power hereafter to avenge himself and father-in-law upon them. And this Sir H. Cholmly fears may be by divorcing the Queen and getting another, or declaring the Duke of Monmouth legitimate; which God forbid! He tells me he do verily believe that there will come in an impeachment of High Treason against my Lord of Ormond; among other things, for ordering the quartering of soldiers in Ireland on free quarters; which, it seems, is High Treason in that country, and was one of the things that lost the Lord Strafford his head, and the law is not yet repealed; which, he says, was a mighty oversight of him not to have it repealed, which he might with ease have done, or have justified himself by an Act. From the Exchange I took a coach, and went to Turlington, the great spectacle-maker, for advice, who dissuades me from using old spectacles, but rather young ones, and do tell me that nothing can wrong my eyes more than for me to use reading-glasses, which do magnify much. Thence home, and there dined, and then abroad and left my wife and Willett at her tailor's, and I to White Hall, where the Commissioners of the Treasury do not sit, and therefore I to Westminster to the Hall, and there meeting with Col. Reames I did very cheaply by him get copies of the Prince's and Duke of Albemarle's Narratives, which they did deliver the other day to the House, of which I am mighty glad, both for my present information and for my future satisfaction. So back by coach, and took up my wife, and away home, and there in my chamber all the evening among my papers and my accounts of Tangier to my great satisfaction, and so to supper and to bed. 5th. Up, and all the morning at the office. At noon home to dinner, and thence out with my wife and girle, and left them at her tailor's, and I to the Treasury, and there did a little business for Tangier, and so took them up again, and home, and when I had done at the office, being post night, I to my chamber, and there did something more, and so to supper and to bed. 6th. Up, and to Westminster, where to the Parliament door, and there spoke with Sir G. Downing, to see what was done yesterday at the Treasury for Tangier, and it proved as good as nothing, so that I do see we shall be brought to great straits for money there. He tells me here that he is passing a Bill to make the Excise and every other part of the King's Revenue assignable on the Exchequer, which indeed will be a very good thing. This he says with great glee as an act of his, and how poor a thing this was in the beginning, and with what envy he carried it on, and how my Lord Chancellor could never endure him for it since he first begun it. He tells me that the thing the House is just now upon is that of taking away the charter from the Company of Woodmongers, whose frauds, it seems, have been mightily laid before them. He tells me that they are like to fly very high against my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to the House of Lords, and there first saw Dr. Fuller, as Bishop of Lincoln, to sit among the Lords. Here I spoke with the Duke of York and the Duke of Albemarle about Tangier; but methinks both of them do look very coldly one upon another, and their discourse mighty cold, and little to the purpose about our want of money. Thence homeward, and called at Allestry's, the bookseller, who is bookseller to the Royal Society, and there did buy three or four books, and find great variety of French and foreign books. And so home and to dinner, and after dinner with my wife to a play, and the girl--"Macbeth," which we still like mightily, though mighty short of the content we used to have when Betterton acted, who is still sick. So home, troubled with the way and to get a coach, and so to supper and to bed. This day, in the Paynted-chamber, I met and walked with Mr. George Montagu, who thinks it may go hard with my Lord Sandwich, but he says the House is offended with Sir W. Coventry much, and that he do endeavour to gain them again in the most precarious manner in all things that is possible. 7th. Up, and at the office hard all the morning, and at noon resolved with Sir W. Pen to go see "The Tempest," an old play of Shakespeare's, acted, I hear, the first day; and so my wife, and girl, and W. Hewer by themselves, and Sir W. Pen and I afterwards by ourselves; and forced to sit in the side balcone over against the musique-room at the Duke's house, close by my Lady Dorset and a great many great ones. The house mighty full; the King and Court there and the most innocent play that ever I saw; and a curious piece of musique in an echo of half sentences, the echo repeating the former half, while the man goes on to the latter; which is mighty pretty. The play [has] no great wit, but yet good, above ordinary plays. Thence home with [Sir] W. Pen, and there all mightily pleased with the play; and so to supper and to bed, after having done at the office. 8th. Called up betimes by Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to good purpose most of the morning--I in my dressing-gown with him, on our Tangier accounts, and stated them well; and here he tells me that he believes it will go hard with my Lord Chancellor. Thence I to the office, where met on some special, business; and here I hear that the Duke of York is very ill; and by and by word brought us that we shall not need to attend to-day the Duke of York, for he is not well, which is bad news. They being gone, I to my workmen, who this day come to alter my office, by beating down the wall, and making me a fayre window both there, and increasing the window of my closet, which do give me some present trouble; but will be mighty pleasant. So all the whole day among them to very late, and so home weary, to supper, and to bed, troubled for the Duke of York his being sick. 9th. Up and to my workmen, who are at work close again, and I at the office all the morning, and there do hear by a messenger that Roger Pepys would speak with me, so before the office up I to Westminster, and there find the House very busy, and like to be so all day, about my Lord Chancellor's impeachment, whether treason or not, where every body is mighty busy. I spoke with my cozen Roger, whose business was only to give me notice that Carcasse hath been before the Committee; and to warn me of it, which is a great courtesy in him to do, and I desire him to continue to do so. This business of this fellow, though it may be a foolish thing, yet it troubles me, and I do plainly see my weakness that I am not a man able to go through trouble, as other men, but that I should be a miserable man if I should meet with adversity, which God keep me from! He desirous to get back into the House, he having his notes in his hand, the lawyers being now speaking to the point of whether treason or not treason, the article of advising the King to break up the Parliament, and to govern by the sword. Thence I down to the Hall, and there met Mr. King, the Parliament-man for Harwich, and there he did shew, and let me take a copy of, all the articles against my Lord Chancellor, and what members they were that undertook to bring witnesses to make them good, of which I was mighty glad, and so away home, and to dinner and to my workmen, and in the afternoon out to get Simpson the joyner to come to work at my office, and so back home and to my letters by the post to-night, and there, by W. Pen, do hear that this article was overvoted in the House not to be a ground of impeachment of treason, at which I was glad, being willing to have no blood spilt, if I could help it. So home to supper, and glad that the dirty bricklayers' work of my office is done, and home to supper and to bed. 10th (Lord's day). Mighty cold, and with my wife to church, where a lazy sermon. Here was my Lady Batten in her mourning at church, but I took no notice of her. At noon comes Michell and his wife to dine with us, and pretty merry. I glad to see her still. After dinner Sir W. Pen and I to White Hall, to speak with Sir W. Coventry; and there, beyond all we looked for, do hear that the Duke of York hath got, and is full of, the small-pox; and so we to his lodgings; and there find most of the family going to St. James's, and the gallery doors locked up, that nobody might pass to nor fro and a sad house, I am sure. I am sad to consider the effects of his death, if he should miscarry; but Dr. Frazier tells me that he is in as good condition as a man can be in his case. The eruption appeared last night; it seems he was let blood on Friday. Thence, not finding [Sir] W. Coventry, and going back again home, we met him coming with the Lord Keeper, and so returned and spoke with him in White Hall Garden, two or three turns, advising with him what we should do about Carcasse's bringing his letter into the Committee of Parliament, and he told us that the counsel he hath too late learned is, to spring nothing in the House, nor offer anything, but just what is drawn out of a man: that this is the best way of dealing with a Parliament, and that he hath paid dear, and knows not how much more he may pay, for not knowing it sooner, when he did unnecessarily produce the Duke of Albemarle's letter about Chatham, which if demanded would have come out with all the advantages in the world to Sir W. Coventry, but, as he brought it out himself, hath drawn much evil upon him. After some talk of this kind, we back home, and there I to my chamber busy all the evening, and then to supper and to bed, my head running all night upon our businesses in Parliament and what examinations we are likely to go under before they have done with us, which troubles me more than it should a wise man and a man the best able to defend himself, I believe, of our own whole office, or any other, I am apt to think. 11th. Up, and to Simpson at work in my office, and thence with Sir G. Carteret (who come to talk with me) to Broad Streete, where great crowding of people for money, at which he blamed himself. Thence with him and Lord Bruncker to Captain Cocke's (he out of doors), and there drank their morning draught, and thence [Sir] G. Carteret and I toward the Temple in coach together; and there he did tell me how the King do all he can in the world to overthrow my Lord Chancellor, and that notice is taken of every man about the King that is not seen to promote the ruine of the Chancellor; and that this being another great day in his business, he dares not but be there. He tells me that as soon as Secretary Morrice brought the Great Seale from my Lord Chancellor, Bab. May fell upon his knees, and catched the King about the legs, and joyed him, and said that this was the first time that ever he could call him King of England, being freed from this great man: which was a most ridiculous saying. And he told me that, when first my Lord Gerard, a great while ago, come to the King, and told him that the Chancellor did say openly that the King was a lazy person and not fit to govern, which is now made one of the things in the people's mouths against the Chancellor, "Why," says the King, "that is no news, for he hath told me so twenty times, and but the other day he told me so;" and made matter of mirth at it: but yet this light discourse is likely to prove bad to him. I 'light at the Temple, and went to my tailor's and mercer's about a cloake, to choose the stuff, and so to my bookseller's and bought some books, and so home to dinner, and Simpson my joyner with me, and after dinner, my wife, and I, and Willett, to the King's play-house, and there saw "The Indian Emperour," a good play, but not so good as people cry it up, I think, though above all things Nell's ill speaking of a great part made me mad. Thence with great trouble and charge getting a coach (it being now and having been all this day a most cold and foggy, dark, thick day), we home, and there I to my office, and saw it made clean from top to bottom, till I feared I took cold in walking in a damp room while it is in washing, and so home to supper and to bed. This day I had a whole doe sent me by Mr. Hozier, which is a fine present, and I had the umbles of it for dinner. This day I hear Kirton, my bookseller, poor man, is dead, I believe, of grief for his losses by the fire. 12th. Up, and to the Office, where sat all the morning; and there hear the Duke of York do yet do very well with his smallpox: pray God he may continue to do so! This morning also, to my astonishment, I hear that yesterday my Lord Chancellor, to another of his Articles, that of betraying the King's councils to his enemies, is voted to have matter against him for an impeachment of High Treason, and that this day the impeachment is to be carried up to the House of Lords which is very high, and I am troubled at it; for God knows what will follow, since they that do this must do more to secure themselves against any that will revenge this, if it ever come in their power! At noon home to dinner, and then to my office, and there saw every thing finished, so as my papers are all in order again and my office twice as pleasant as ever it was, having a noble window in my closet and another in my office, to my great content, and so did business late, and then home to supper and to bed. 13th. Up, and down to the Old Swan, and so to Westminster; where I find the House sitting, and in a mighty heat about Commissioner Pett, that they would have him impeached, though the Committee have yet brought in but part of their Report: and this heat of the House is much heightened by Sir Thomas Clifford telling them, that he was the man that did, out of his own purse, employ people at the out-ports to prevent the King of Scots to escape after the battle of Worcester. The House was in a great heat all this day about it; and at last it was carried, however, that it should be referred back to the Committee to make further enquiry. I here spoke with Roger Pepys, who sent for me, and it was to tell me that the Committee is mighty full of the business of buying and selling of tickets, and to caution me against such an enquiry (wherein I am very safe), and that they have already found out Sir Richard Ford's son to have had a hand in it, which they take to be the same as if the father had done it, and I do believe the father may be as likely to be concerned in it as his son. But I perceive by him they are resolved to find out the bottom of the business if it be possible. By and by I met with Mr. Wren, who tells me that the Duke of York is in as good condition as is possible for a man, in his condition of the smallpox. He, I perceive, is mightily concerned in the business of my Lord Chancellor, the impeachment against whom is gone up to the House of Lords; and great differences there are in the Lords' House about it, and the Lords are very high one against another. Thence home to dinner, and as soon as dinner done I and my wife and Willet to the Duke of York's, house, and there saw the Tempest again, which is very pleasant, and full of so good variety that I cannot be more pleased almost in a comedy, only the seamen's part a little too tedious. Thence home, and there to my chamber, and do begin anew to bind myself to keep my old vows, and among the rest not to see a play till Christmas but once in every other week, and have laid aside L10, which is to be lost to the poor, if I do. This I hope in God will bind me, for I do find myself mightily wronged in my reputation, and indeed in my purse and business, by my late following of my pleasure for so long time as I have done. So to supper and then to bed. This day Mr. Chichly told me, with a seeming trouble, that the House have stopped his son Jack (Sir John) his going to France, that he may be a witness against my Lord Sandwich: which do trouble me, though he can, I think, say little. 14th. At the office close all the morning. At noon, all my clerks with me to dinner, to a venison pasty; and there comes Creed, and dined with me, and he tells me how high the Lords were in the Lords' House about the business of the Chancellor, and that they are not yet agreed to impeach him. After dinner, he and I, and my wife and girl, the latter two to their tailor's, and he and I to the Committee of the Treasury, where I had a hearing, but can get but L6000 for the pay of the garrison, in lieu of above L16,000; and this Alderman Backewell gets remitted there, and I am glad of it. Thence by coach took up my wife and girl, and so home, and set down Creed at Arundell House, going to the Royal Society, whither I would be glad to go, but cannot. Thence home, and to the Office, where about my letters, and so home to supper, and to bed, my eyes being bad again; and by this means, the nights, now-a-days, do become very long to me, longer than I can sleep out. 15th. Up, and to Alderman Backewell's [Edward Backwell, goldsmith and alderman of the City of London. He was a man of considerable wealth during the Commonwealth. After the Restoration he negotiated Charles II.'s principal money transactions. He was M.P. for Wendover in the parliament of 1679, and in the Oxford parliament of 1680. According to the writer of the life in the "Diet. of Nat. Biog. "his heirs did not ultimately suffer any pecuniary loss by the closure of the Exchequer. Mr. Hilton Price stated that Backwell removed to Holland in 1676, and died therein 1679; but this is disproved by the pedigree in Lipscomb's "Hist. of Bucks," where the date of his death is given as 1683, as well as by the fact that he sat for Wendover in 1679 and 1680, as stated above.] and there discoursed with him about the remitting of this L6000 to Tangier, which he hath promised to do by the first post, and that will be by Monday next, the 18th, and he and I agreed that I would take notice of it that so he may be found to have done his best upon the desire of the Lords Commissioners. From this we went to discourse of his condition, and he with some vain glory told me that the business of Sheernesse did make him quite mad, and indeed might well have undone him; but yet that he did the very next day pay here and got bills to answer his promise to the King for the Swedes Embassadors (who were then doing our business at the treaty at Breda) L7000, and did promise the Bankers there, that if they would draw upon him all that he had of theirs and L10,000 more, he would answer it. He told me that Serjeant Maynard come to him for a sum of money that he had in his hands of his, and so did many others, and his answer was, What countrymen are you? And when they told him, why then, says he, here is a tally upon the Receiver of your country for so [much], and to yours for so much, and did offer to lay by tallies to the full value of all that he owed in the world, and L40,000 more for the security thereof, and not to touch a penny of his own till the full of what he owed was paid, which so pleased every body that he hath mastered all, so that he hath lent the Commissioners of the Treasury above L40,000 in money since that business, and did this morning offer to a lady who come to give him notice that she should need her money L3000, in twenty days, he bid her if she pleased send for it to-day and she should have it. Which is a very great thing, and will make them greater than ever they were, I am apt to think, in some time. Thence to Westminster, and there I walked with several, and do hear that there is to be a conference between the two Houses today; so I stayed: and it was only to tell the Commons that the Lords cannot agree to the confining or sequestring of the Earle of Clarendon from the Parliament, forasmuch as they do not specify any particular crime which they lay upon him and call Treason. This the House did receive, and so parted: at which, I hear, the Commons are like to grow very high, and will insist upon their privileges, and the Lords will own theirs, though the Duke of Buckingham, Bristoll, and others, have been very high in the House of Lords to have had him committed. This is likely to breed ill blood. Thence I away home, calling at my mercer's and tailor's, and there find, as I expected, Mr. Caesar and little Pelham Humphreys, lately returned from France, and is an absolute Monsieur, as full of form, and confidence, and vanity, and disparages everything, and everybody's skill but his own. The truth is, every body says he is very able, but to hear how he laughs at all the King's musick here, as Blagrave and others, that they cannot keep time nor tune, nor understand anything; and that Grebus, the Frenchman, the King's master of the musick, how he understands nothing, nor can play on any instrument, and so cannot compose: and that he will give him a lift out of his place; and that he and the King are mighty great! and that he hath already spoke to the King of Grebus would make a man piss. I had a good dinner for them, as a venison pasty and some fowl, and after dinner we did play, he on the theorbo. Mr. Caesar on his French lute, and I on the viol, but made but mean musique, nor do I see that this Frenchman do so much wonders on the theorbo, but without question he is a good musician, but his vanity do offend me. They gone, towards night, I to the office awhile, and then home and to my chamber, where busy till by and by comes Mr. Moore, and he staid and supped and talked with me about many things, and tells me his great fear that all things will go to ruin among us, for that the King hath, as he says Sir Thomas Crew told him, been heard to say that the quarrel is not between my Lord Chancellor and him, but his brother and him; which will make sad work among us if that be once promoted, as to be sure it will, Buckingham and Bristoll being now the only counsel the King follows, so as Arlington and Coventry are come to signify little. He tells me they are likely to fall upon my Lord Sandwich; but, for my part, sometimes I am apt to think they cannot do him much harm, he telling me that there is no great fear of the business of Resumption! By and by, I got him to read part of my Lord Cooke's chapter of treason, which is mighty well worth reading, and do inform me in many things, and for aught I see it is useful now to know what these crimes are. And then to supper, and after supper he went away, and so I got the girl to comb my head, and then to bed, my eyes bad. This day, Poundy, the waterman, was with me, to let me know that he was summonsed to bear witness against me to Prince Rupert's people (who have a commission to look after the business of prize-goods) about the business of the prize-goods I was concerned in: but I did desire him to speak all he knew, and not to spare me, nor did promise nor give him any thing, but sent him away with good words, to bid him say all he knew to be true. This do not trouble me much. 16th. At the office all the morning, and at noon took my Lord Bruncker into the garden, and there told him of his man Carcasses proceedings against the Office in the House of Commons. I did [not] desire nor advise him anything, but in general, that the end of this might be ruin to the Office, but that we shall be brought to fencing for ourselves, and that will be no profit to the office, but let it light where it would I thought I should be as well as any body. This I told him, and so he seeming to be ignorant of it, and not pleased with it, we broke off by Sir Thos. Harvy's coming to us from the Pay Office, whither we had sent a smart letter we had writ to him this morning about keeping the clerks at work at the making up the books, which I did to place the fault somewhere, and now I let him defend himself. He was mighty angry, and particularly with me, but I do not care, but do rather desire it, for I will not spare him, that we shall bear the blame, and such an idle fellow as he have L500 a year for nothing. So we broke off, and I home to dinner, and then to the office, and having spent the afternoon on letters, I took coach in the evening, and to White Hall, where there is to be a performance of musique of Pelham's before the King. The company not come; but I did go into the musique-room, where Captain Cocke and many others; and here I did hear the best and the smallest organ go that ever I saw in my life, and such a one as, by the grace of God, I will have the next year, if I continue in this condition, whatever it cost me. I never was so pleased in my life. Thence, it being too soon, I to Westminster Hall, it being now about 7 at night, and there met Mr. Gregory, my old acquaintance, an understanding gentleman; and he and I walked an hour together, talking of the bad prospect of the times; and the sum of what I learn from him is this: That the King is the most concerned in the world against the Chancellor, and all people that do not appear against him, and therefore is angry with the Bishops, having said that he had one Bishop on his side (Crofts ), and but one: that Buckingham and Bristoll are now his only Cabinet Council; [The term Cabinet Council, as stated by Clarendon, originated thus, in 1640: "The bulk and burden of the state affairs lay principally upon the shoulders of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Earl of Strafford, and the Lord Cottington; some others being joined to them, as the Earl of Northumberland for ornament, the Bishop of London for his place, the two Secretaries, Sir H. Vane and Sir Francis Windebank, for service and communication of intelligence: only the Marquis of Hamilton, indeed, by his skill and interest, bore as great a part as he had a mind to do, and had the skill to meddle no further than he had a mind. These persons made up the committee of state, which was reproachfully after called the junto, and enviously then in the Court the Cabinet Council" ("History of the Rebellion," vol. i., p. 211, edit. 1849).] and that, before the Duke of York fell sick, Buckingham was admitted to the King of his Cabinet, and there stayed with him several hours, and the Duke of York shut out. That it is plain that there is dislike between the King and Duke of York, and that it is to be feared that the House will go so far against the Chancellor, that they must do something to undo the Duke of York, or will not think themselves safe. That this Lord Vaughan, that is so great against the Chancellor, is one of the lewdest fellows of the age, worse than Sir Charles Sidly; and that he was heard to swear, God damn him, he would do my Lord Clarendon's business. That he do find that my Lord Clarendon hath more friends in both Houses than he believes he would have, by reason that they do see what are the hands that pull him down; which they do not like. That Harry Coventry was scolded at by the King severely the other day; and that his answer was that, if he must not speak what he thought in this business in Parliament, he must not come thither. And he says that by this very business Harry Coventry hath got more fame and common esteem than any gentleman in England hath at this day, and is an excellent and able person. That the King, who not long ago did say of Bristoll, that he was a man able in three years to get himself a fortune in any kingdom in the world, and lose all again in three months, do now hug him, and commend his parts every where, above all the world. How fickle is this man [the King], and how unhappy we like to be! That he fears some furious courses will be taken against the Duke of York; and that he hath heard that it was designed, if they cannot carry matters against the Chancellor, to impeach the Duke of York himself, which God forbid! That Sir Edward Nicholas, whom he served while Secretary, is one of the best men in the world, but hated by the Queen-Mother, for a service he did the old King against her mind and her favourites; and that she and my Lady Castlemayne did make the King to lay him aside: but this man says that he is one of the most perfect heavenly and charitable men in the whole world. That the House of Commons resolve to stand by their proceedings, and have chosen a Committee to draw up the reasons thereof to carry to the Lords; which is likely to breed great heat between them. That the Parliament, after all this, is likely to give the King no money; and, therefore, that it is to be wondered what makes the King give way to so great extravagancies, which do all tend to the making him less than he is, and so will, every day more and more: and by this means every creature is divided against the other, that there never was so great an uncertainty in England, of what would, be the event of things, as at this day; nobody being at ease, or safe. Being full of his discourse, and glad of the rencontre, I to White Hall; and there got into the theater-room, and there heard both the vocall and instrumentall musick, where the little fellow' stood keeping time; but for my part, I see no great matter, but quite the contrary in both sorts of musique. The composition I believe is very good, but no more of delightfulness to the eare or understanding but what is very ordinary. Here was the King and Queen, and some of the ladies; among whom none more jolly than my Lady Buckingham, her Lord being once more a great man. Thence by coach home and to my office, ended my letters, and then home to supper, and, my eyes being bad, to bed. 17th (Lord's day). Up, and to church with my wife. A dull sermon of Mr. Mills, and then home, without strangers to dinner, and then my wife to read, and I to the office, enter my journall to this day, and so home with great content that it is done, but with sorrow to my eyes. Then home, and got my wife to read to me out of Fuller's Church History, when by and by comes Captain Cocke, who sat with me all the evening, talking, and I find by him, as by all others, that we are like to expect great confusions, and most of our discourse was the same, and did agree with that the last night, particularly that about the difference between the King and the Duke of York which is like to be. He tells me that he hears that Sir W. Coventry was, a little before the Duke of York fell sick, with the Duke of York in his closet, and fell on his knees, and begged his pardon for what he hath done to my Lord Chancellor; but this I dare not soon believe. But he tells me another thing, which he says he had from the person himself who spoke with the Duke of Buckingham, who, he says, is a very sober and worthy man, that he did lately speak with the Duke of Buckingham about his greatness now with the King, and told him-"But, sir, these things that the King do now, in suffering the Parliament to do all this, you know are not fit for the King to suffer, and you know how often you have said to me that the King was a weak man, and unable to govern, but to be governed, and that you could command him as you listed; why do you suffer him to go on in these things?"--"Why," says the Duke of Buckingham, "I do suffer him to do this, that I may hereafter the better command him." This he swears to me the person himself to whom the Duke of Buckingham said this did tell it him, and is a man of worth, understanding, and credit. He told me one odd passage by the Duke of Albemarle, speaking how hasty a man he is, and how for certain he would have killed Sir W. Coventry, had he met him in a little time after his shewing his letter in the House. He told me that a certain lady, whom he knows, did tell him that, she being certainly informed that some of the Duke of Albemarle's family did say that the Earl of Torrington was a bastard, [she] did think herself concerned to tell the Duke of Albemarle of it, and did first tell the Duchesse, and was going to tell the old man, when the Duchesse pulled her back by the sleeve, and hindered her, swearing to her that if he should hear it, he would certainly kill the servant that should be found to have said it, and therefore prayed her to hold her peace. One thing more he told me, which is, that Garraway is come to town, and is thinking how to bring the House to mind the public state of the nation and to put off these particular piques against man and man, and that he propounding this to Sir W. Coventry, Sir W. Coventry did give no encouragement to it: which he says is that by their running after other men he may escape. But I do believe this is not true neither. But however I am glad that Garraway is here, and that he do begin to think of the public condition in reference to our neighbours that we are in, and in reference to ourselves, whereof I am mightily afeard of trouble. So to supper, and he gone and we to bed. 18th. Up, and all the morning at my office till 3 after noon with Mr. Hater about perfecting my little pocket market book of the office, till my eyes were ready to fall out of my head, and then home to dinner, glad that I had done so much, and so abroad to White Hall, to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and there did a little business with them, and so home, leaving multitudes of solicitors at their door, of one sort or other, complaining for want of such despatch as they had in my Lord Treasurer's time, when I believe more business was despatched, but it was in his manner to the King's wrong. Among others here was Gresham College coming about getting a grant of Chelsey College for their Society, which the King, it seems, hath given them his right in; but they met with some other pretences, I think; to it, besides the King's. Thence took up my wife, whom I had left at her tailor's, and home, and there, to save my eyes, got my wife at home to read again, as last night, in the same book, till W. Batelier come and spent the evening talking with us, and supped with us, and so to bed. 19th. To the office, and thence before noon I, by the Board's direction, to the Parliament House to speak with Sir R. Brookes about the meaning of an order come to us this day to bring all the books of the office to the Committee. I find by him that it is only about the business of an order of ours for paying off the ships by ticket, which they think I on behalf of my Lord Bruncker do suppress, which vexes me, and more at its occasioning the bringing them our books. So home and to dinner, where Mr. Shepley with me, newly come out of the country, but I was at little liberty to talk to him, but after dinner with two contracts to the Committee, with Lord Bruncker and Sir T. Harvy, and there did deliver them, and promised at their command more, but much against my will. And here Sir R. Brookes did take me alone, and pray me to prevent their trouble, by discovering the order he would have. I told him I would suppress none, nor could, but this did not satisfy him, and so we parted, I vexed that I should bring on myself this suspicion. Here I did stand by unseen, and did hear their impertinent yet malicious examinations of some rogues about the business of Bergen, wherein they would wind in something against my Lord Sandwich (it was plain by their manner of examining, as Sir Thomas Crew did afterwards observe to me, who was there), but all amounted to little I think. But here Sir Thomas Crew and W. Hewer, who was there also, did tell me that they did hear Captain Downing give a cruel testimony against my Lord Bruncker, for his neglect, and doing nothing, in the time of straits at Chatham, when he was spoke to, and did tell the Committee that he, Downing, did presently after, in Lord Bruncker's hearing, tell the Duke of Albemarle, that if he might advise the King, he should hang both my Lord Bruncker and Pett. This is very hard. Thence with W. Hewer and our messenger, Marlow, home by coach, and so late at letters, and then home to supper, and my wife to read and then to bed. This night I wrote to my father, in answer to a new match which is proposed (the executor of Ensum, my sister's former servant) for my sister, that I will continue my mind of giving her L500, if he likes of the match. My father did also this week, by Shepley, return me up a 'guinny, which, it seems, upon searching the ground, they have found since I was there. I was told this day that Lory Hide, [Laurence Hyde, second son of Lord Chancellor Clarendon (1614-1711). He held many important offices, and was First Lord of the Treasury, 1679-84; created Earl of Rochester in 1681, and K.G. 1685.] second son of my Lord Chancellor, did some time since in the House say, that if he thought his father was guilty but of one of the things then said against him, he would be the first that should call for judgement against him: which Mr. Waller, the poet, did say was spoke like the old Roman, like Brutus, for its greatness and worthiness. 20th. Up, and all the morning at my office shut up with Mr. Gibson, I walking and he reading to me the order books of the office from the beginning of the war, for preventing the Parliament's having them in their hands before I have looked them over and seen the utmost that can be said against us from any of our orders, and to my great content all the morning I find none. So at noon home to dinner with my clerks, who have of late dined frequently with me, and I do purpose to have them so still, by that means I having opportunity to talk with them about business, and I love their company very well. All the morning Mr. Hater and the boy did shut up themselves at my house doing something towards the finishing the abstract book of our contracts for my pocket, which I shall now want very much. After dinner I stayed at home all the afternoon, and Gibson with me; he and I shut up till about ten at night. We went through all our orders, and towards the end I do meet with two or three orders for our discharging of two or three little vessels by ticket without money, which do plunge me; but, however, I have the advantage by this means to study an answer and to prepare a defence, at least for myself. So he gone I to supper, my mind busy thinking after our defence in this matter, but with vexation to think that a thing of this kind, which in itself brings nothing but trouble and shame to us, should happen before all others to become a charge against us. This afternoon Mr. Mills come and visited me, and stayed a little with me (my wife being to be godmother to his child to-morrow), and among other talk he told me how fully satisfactory my first Report was to the House in the business of Chatham: which I am glad to hear; and the more, for that I know that he is a great creature of Sir R. Brookes's. 21st. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home, where my wife not very well, but is to go to Mr. Mills's child's christening, where she is godmother, Sir J. Minnes and Sir R. Brookes her companions. I left her after dinner (my clerks dining with me) to go with Sir J. Minnes, and I to the office, where did much business till after candlelight, and then my eyes beginning to fail me, I out and took coach to Arundell House, where the meeting of Gresham College was broke up; but there meeting Creed, I with him to the taverne in St. Clement's Churchyard, where was Deane Wilkins, Dr. Whistler, Dr. Floyd, a divine admitted, I perceive, this day, and other brave men; and there, among other things of news, I do hear, that upon the reading of the House of Commons's Reasons of the manner of their proceedings in the business of my Lord Chancellor, the Reasons were so bad, that my Lord Bristoll himself did declare that he would not stand to what he had, and did still, advise the Lords to concur to, upon any of the Reasons of the House of Commons; but if it was put to the question whether it should be done on their Reasons, he would be against them; and indeed it seems the Reasons--however they come to escape the House of Commons, which shews how slightly the greatest matters are done in this world, and even in Parliaments were none of them of strength, but the principle of them untrue; they saying, that where any man is brought before a judge, accused of Treason in general, without specifying the particular, the judge do there constantly and is obliged to commit him. Whereas the question being put by the Lords to my Lord Keeper, he said that quite the contrary was true: and then, in the Sixth Article (I will get a copy of them if I can) there are two or three things strangely asserted to the diminishing of the King's power, as is said, at least things that heretofore would not have been heard of. But then the question being put among the Lords, as my Lord Bristoll advised, whether, upon the whole matter and Reasons that had been laid before them, they would commit my Lord Clarendon, it was carried five to one against it; there being but three Bishops against him, of whom Cosens and Dr. Reynolds were two, and I know not the third. This made the opposite Lords, as Bristoll and Buckingham, so mad, that they declared and protested against it, speaking very broad that there was mutiny and rebellion in the hearts of the Lords, and that they desired they might enter their dissents, which they did do, in great fury. So that upon the Lords sending to the Commons, as I am told, to have a conference for them to give their answer to the Commons's Reasons, the Commons did desire a free conference: but the Lords do deny it; and the reason is, that they hold not the Commons any Court, but that themselves only are a Court, and the Chief Court of judicature, and therefore are not to dispute the laws and method of their own Court with them that are none, and so will not submit so much as to have their power disputed. And it is conceived that much of this eagerness among the Lords do arise from the fear some of them have, that they may be dealt with in the same manner themselves, and therefore do stand upon it now. It seems my Lord Clarendon hath, as is said and believed, had his horses several times in his coach, ready to carry him to the Tower, expecting a message to that purpose; but by this means his case is like to be laid by. From this we fell to other discourse, and very good; among the rest they discourse of a man that is a little frantic, that hath been a kind of minister, Dr. Wilkins saying that he hath read for him in his church, that is poor and a debauched man, that the College' have hired for 20s. to have some of the blood of a sheep let into his body; and it is to be done on Saturday next. [This was Arthur Coga, who had studied at Cambridge, and was said to be a bachelor of divinity. He was indigent, and "looked upon as a very freakish and extravagant man." Dr. King, in a letter to the Hon. Robert Boyle, remarks "that Mr. Coga was about thirty-two years of age; that he spoke Latin well, when he was in company, which he liked, but that his brain was sometimes a little too warm." The experiment was performed on November 23rd, 1667, by Dr. King, at Arundel House, in the presence of many spectators of quality, and four or five physicians. Coga wrote a description of his own case in Latin, and when asked why he had not the blood of some other creature, instead of that of a sheep, transfused into him, answered, "Sanguis ovis symbolicam quandam facultatem habet cum sanguine Christi, quia Christus est agnus Dei" (Birch's "History of the Royal Society," vol. ii., pp. 214-16). Coga was the first person in England to be experimented upon; previous experiments were made by the transfusion of the blood of one dog into another. See November 14th, 1666 (vol. vi., p. 64).] They purpose to let in about twelve ounces; which, they compute, is what will be let in in a minute's time by a watch. They differ in the opinion they have of the effects of it; some think it may have a good effect upon him as a frantic man by cooling his blood, others that it will not have any effect at all. But the man is a healthy man, and by this means will be able to give an account what alteration, if any, he do find in himself, and so may be usefull. On this occasion, Dr. Whistler told a pretty story related by Muffet, a good author, of Dr. Caius, that built Keys College; that, being very old, and living only at that time upon woman's milk, he, while he fed upon the milk of an angry, fretful woman, was so himself; and then, being advised to take it of a good-natured, patient woman, he did become so, beyond the common temper of his age. Thus much nutriment, they observed, might do. Their discourse was very fine; and if I should be put out of my office, I do take great content in the liberty I shall be at of frequenting these gentlemen's company. Broke up thence and home, and there to my wife in her chamber, who is not well (of those), and there she tells me great stories of the gossiping women of the parish--what this, and what that woman was; and, among the rest, how Mrs. Hollworthy is the veriest confident bragging gossip of them all, which I should not have believed; but that Sir R. Brookes, her partner, was mighty civil to her, and taken with her, and what not. My eyes being bad I spent the evening with her in her chamber talking and inventing a cypher to put on a piece of plate, which I must give, better than ordinary, to the Parson's child, and so to bed, and through my wife's illness had a bad night of it, and she a worse, poor wretch! 22nd. Up betimes, and drinking my morning draught of strong water with Betty Michell, I had not opportunity para baiser la, I by water to White Hall, and there met Creed, and thence with him to Westminster Hall, where we talked long together of news, and there met with Cooling, my Lord Chamberlain's Secretary, and from him learn the truth of all I heard last night; and understand further, that this stiffness of the Lords is in no manner of kindness to my Lord Chancellor, for he neither hath, nor do, nor for the future likely can oblige any of them, but rather the contrary; but that they do fear what the consequence may be to themselves, should they yield in his case, as many of them have reason. And more, he shewed me how this is rather to the wrong and prejudice of my Lord Chancellor; for that it is better for him to come to be tried before the Lords, where he can have right and make interest, than, when the Parliament is up, be committed by the King, and tried by a Court on purpose made by the King, of what Lords the King pleases, who have a mind to have his head. So that my Lord [Cornbury] himself, his son, he tells me, hath moved, that if they have Treason against my Lord of Clarendon, that they would specify it and send it up to the Lords, that he might come to his trial; so full of intrigues this business is! Having now a mind to go on and to be rid of Creed, I could not, but was forced to carry him with me to the Excise Office, and thence to the Temple, and there walked a good while in the Temple church, observing the plainness of Selden's tomb, and how much better one of his executors hath, who is buried by him, and there I parted with him and took coach and home, where to dinner. 23rd. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon home to dinner, and all the afternoon also busy till late preparing things to fortify myself and fellows against the Parliament; and particularly myself against what I fear is thought, that I have suppressed the Order of the Board by which the discharging the great ships off at Chatham by tickets was directed; whereas, indeed, there was no such Order. So home at night to supper and to bed. 24th (Lord's day). In my chamber all the morning (having lain long in bed) till Mr. Shepley come to dine with me, and there being to return to Hinchinbroke speedily, I did give him as good account how matters go here as I could. After dinner, he being gone, I to the office, and there for want of other of my clerks, sent to Mr. Gibbs, whom I never used till now, for the writing over of my little pocket Contract-book; and there I laboured till nine at night with him, in drawing up the history of all that hath passed concerning tickets, in order to the laying the whole, and clearing myself and Office, before Sir R. Brookes; and in this I took great pains, and then sent him away, and proceeded, and had W. Hewer come to me, and he and I till past twelve at night in the Office, and he, which was a good service, did so inform me in the consequences of my writing this report, and that what I said would not hold water, in denying this Board to have ever ordered the discharging out of the service whole ships by ticket, that I did alter my whole counsel, and fall to arme myself with good reasons to justify the Office in so doing, which hath been but rare, and having done this, I went, with great quiet in my mind, home, though vexed that so honest a business should bring me so much trouble; but mightily was pleased to find myself put out of my former design; and so, after supper, to bed. 25th. Up, and all the morning finishing my letter to Sir Robert Brookes, which I did with great content, and yet at noon when I come home to dinner I read it over again after it was sealed and delivered to the messenger, and read it to my clerks who dined with me, and there I did resolve upon some alteration, and caused it to be new writ, and so to the office after dinner, and there all the afternoon mighty busy, and at night did take coach thinking to have gone to Westminster, but it was mighty dark and foul, and my business not great, only to keep my eyes from reading by candle, being weary, but being gone part of my way I turned back, and so home, and there to read, and my wife to read to me out of Sir Robert Cotton's book about warr, which is very fine, showing how the Kings of England have raised money by the people heretofore upon the people, and how they have played upon the kings also. So after supper I to bed. This morning Sir W. Pen tells me that the House was very hot on Saturday last upon the business of liberty of speech in the House, and damned the vote in the beginning of the Long Parliament against it; I so that he fears that there may be some bad thing which they have a mind to broach, which they dare not do without more security than they now have. God keep us, for things look mighty ill! 26th. Up, all the morning at the office, and then home to dinner, where dined Mr. Clerke, solicitor, with me, to discourse about my Tangier accounts, which I would fain make up, but I have not time. After dinner, by coach as far as the Temple, and there saw a new book, in folio, of all that suffered for the King in the late times, which I will buy, it seems well writ, and then back to the Old Exchange, and there at my goldsmith's bought a basin for my wife to give the Parson's child, to which the other day she was godmother. It cost me; L10 14s. besides graving, which I do with the cypher of the name, Daniel Mills, and so home to the office, and then home to supper and hear my wife read, and then to bed. This afternoon, after dinner, come to me Mr. Warren, and there did tell me that he come to pay his debt to me for the kindness I did him in getting his last ship out, which I must also remember was a service to the King, though I did not tell him so, as appeared by my advising with the board, and there writing to Sir W. Coventry to get the pass for the ship to go for it to Genoa. Now that which he had promised me for the courtesy was I take it 100 pieces or more, I think more, and also for the former courtesy I had done for the getting of his first ship out for this hemp he did promise me a consideration upon the return of the goods, but I never did to this day demand any thing of him, only about a month ago he told me that now his ship was come, and he would come out of my debt, but told me that whereas he did expect to have had some profit by the voyage, it had proved of loss to him, by the loss of some ships, or some accidents, I know not what, and so that he was not able to do what he intended, but told me that he would present me with sixty pieces in gold. I told him I would demand nothing of his promises, though they were much greater, nor would have thus much, but if he could afford to give me but fifty pieces, it should suffice me. So now he brought something in a paper, which since proves to be fifty pieces. But before I would take them I told him that I did not insist on anything, and therefore prayed him to consult his ability before he did part with them: and so I refused them once or twice till he did the third time offer them, and then I took them, he saying that he would present me with as many more if I would undertake to get him L500 paid on his bills. I told him I would by no means have any promise of the kind, nor would have any kindness from him for any such service, but that I should do my utmost for nothing to do him that justice, and would endeavour to do what I could for him, and so we parted, he owning himself mightily engaged to me for my kind usage of him in accepting of so small a matter in satisfaction of all that he owed me; which I enter at large for my justification if anything of this should be hereafter enquired after. This evening also comes to me to my closet at the Office Sir John Chichly, of his own accord, to tell me what he shall answer to the Committee, when, as he expects, he shall be examined about my Lord Sandwich; which is so little as will not hurt my Lord at all, I know. He do profess great generousness towards my Lord, and that this jealousy of my Lord's of him is without ground, but do mightily inveigh against Sir Roger Cuttance, and would never have my Lord to carry him to sea again, as being a man that hath done my Lord more hurt than ever he can repair by his ill advice, and disobliging every body. He will by no means seem to crouch to my Lord, but says that he hath as good blood in his veins as any man, though not so good a title, but that he will do nothing to wrong or prejudice my Lord, and I hope he will not, nor I believe can; but he tells me that Sir E. Spragg and Utber are the men that have done my Lord the most wrong, and did bespatter him the most at Oxford, and that my Lord was misled to believe that all that was there said was his, which indeed it was not, and says that he did at that time complain to his father of this his misfortune. This I confess is strange to me touching these two men, but yet it may well enough as the world goes, though I wonder I confess at the latter of the two, who always professes great love to my Lord. Sir Roger Cuttance was with me in the morning, and there gives me an account so clear about Bergen and the other business against my Lord, as I do not see what can be laid to my Lord in either, and tells me that Pen, however he now dissembles it, did on the quarter deck of my Lord's ship, after he come on board, when my Lord did fire a gun for the ships to leave pursuing the enemy, Pen did say, before a great many, several times, that his heart did leap in his belly for joy when he heard the gun, and that it was the best thing that could be done for securing the fleet. He tells me also that Pen was the first that did move and persuade my Lord to the breaking bulke, as a thing that was now the time to do right to the commanders of the great ships, who had no opportunity of getting anything by prizes, now his Lordship might distribute to everyone something, and he himself did write down before my Lord the proportions for each man. This I am glad of, though it may be this dissembling fellow may, twenty to one, deny it. 27th. Up, and all the morning at my Lord Bruncker's lodgings with Sir J. Minnes and [Sir] W. Pen about Sir W. Warren's accounts, wherein I do not see that they are ever very likely to come to an understanding of them, as Sir J. Minnes hath not yet handled them. Here till noon, and then home to dinner, where Mr. Pierce comes to me, and there, in general, tells me how the King is now fallen in and become a slave to the Duke of Buckingham, led by none but him, whom he, Mr. Pierce, swears he knows do hate the very person of the King, and would, as well as will, certainly ruin him. He do say, and I think with right, that the King do in this do the most ungrateful part of a master to a servant that ever was done, in this carriage of his to my Lord Chancellor: that, it may be, the Chancellor may have faults, but none such as these they speak of; that he do now really fear that all is going to ruin, for he says he hears that Sir W. Coventry hath been, just before his sickness, with the Duke of York, to ask his forgiveness and peace for what he had done; for that he never could foresee that what he meant so well, in the councilling to lay by the Chancellor, should come to this. As soon as dined, I with my boy Tom to my bookbinder's, where all the afternoon long till 8 or 9 at night seeing him binding up two or three collections of letters and papers that I had of him, but above all things my little abstract pocket book of contracts, which he will do very neatly. Then home to read, sup, and to bed. 28th. Up, and at the office all this morning, and then home to dinner, and then by coach sent my wife to the King's playhouse, and I to White Hall, there intending, with Lord Bruncker, Sir J. Minnes, and Sir T. Harvy to have seen the Duke of York, whom it seems the King and Queen have visited, and so we may now well go to see him. But there was nobody could speak with him, and so we parted, leaving a note in Mr. Wren's chamber that we had been there, he being at the free conference of the two Houses about this great business of my Lord Chancellor's, at which they were at this hour, three in the afternoon, and there they say my Lord Anglesey do his part admirablyably, and each of us taking a copy of the Guinny Company's defence to a petition against them to the Parliament the other day. So I away to the King's playhouse, and there sat by my wife, and saw "The Mistaken Beauty," which I never, I think, saw before, though an old play; and there is much in it that I like, though the name is but improper to it--at least, that name, it being also called "The Lyer," which is proper enough. Here I met with Sir. Richard Browne, who wondered to find me there, telling the that I am a man of so much business, which character, I thank God, I have ever got, and have for a long time had and deserved, and yet am now come to be censured in common with the office for a man of negligence. Thence home and to the office to my letters, and then home to supper and to bed. 29th. Waked about seven o'clock this morning with a noise I supposed I heard, near our chamber, of knocking, which, by and by, increased: and I, more awake, could, distinguish it better. I then waked my wife, and both of us wondered at it, and lay so a great while, while that increased, and at last heard it plainer, knocking, as if it were breaking down a window for people to get out; and then removing of stools and chairs; and plainly, by and by, going up and down our stairs. We lay, both of us, afeard; yet I would have rose, but my wife would not let me. Besides, I could not do it without making noise; and we did both conclude that thieves were in the house, but wondered what our people did, whom we thought either killed, or afeard, as we were. Thus we lay till the clock struck eight, and high day. At last, I removed my gown and slippers safely to the other side of the bed over my wife: and there safely rose, and put on my gown and breeches, and then, with a firebrand in my hand, safely opened the door, and saw nor heard any thing. Then (with fear, I confess) went to the maid's chamber-door, and all quiet and safe. Called Jane up, and went down safely, and opened my chamber door, where all well. Then more freely about, and to the kitchen, where the cook-maid up, and all safe. So up again, and when Jane come, and we demanded whether she heard no noise, she said, "yes, and was afeard," but rose with the other maid, and found nothing; but heard a noise in the great stack of chimnies that goes from Sir J. Minnes through our house; and so we sent, and their chimnies have been swept this morning, and the noise was that, and nothing else. It is one of the most extraordinary accidents in my life, and gives ground to think of Don Quixote's adventures how people may be surprised, and the more from an accident last night, that our young gibb-cat [A male cat. "Gib" is a contraction of the Christian name Gilbert (Old French), "Tibert". "I am melancholy as a gib-cat" Shakespeare, I Henry IV, act i., sc. 3. Gib alone is also used, and a verb made from it--"to gib," or act like a cat.] did leap down our stairs from top to bottom, at two leaps, and frighted us, that we could not tell well whether it was the cat or a spirit, and do sometimes think this morning that the house might be haunted. Glad to have this so well over, and indeed really glad in my mind, for I was much afeard, I dressed myself and to the office both forenoon and afternoon, mighty hard putting papers and things in order to my extraordinary satisfaction, and consulting my clerks in many things, who are infinite helps to my memory and reasons of things, and so being weary, and my eyes akeing, having overwrought them to-day reading so much shorthand, I home and there to supper, it being late, and to bed. This morning Sir W. Pen and I did walk together a good while, and he tells me that the Houses are not likely to agree after their free conference yesterday, and he fears what may follow. 30th. Up, and to the office, where all the morning, and then by coach to Arundel House, to the election of Officers for the next year; where I was near being chosen of the Council, but am glad I was not, for I could not have attended, though, above all things, I could wish it; and do take it as a mighty respect to have been named there. The company great, and the elections long, and then to Cary House, a house now of entertainment, next my Lord Ashly's; and there, where I have heretofore heard Common Prayer in the time of Dr. Mossum, we after two hours' stay, sitting at the table with our napkins open, had our dinners brought, but badly done. But here was good company. I choosing to sit next Dr. Wilkins, Sir George Ent, and others whom I value, there talked of several things. Among others Dr. Wilkins, talking of the universal speech, of which he hath a book coming out, did first inform me how man was certainly made for society, he being of all creatures the least armed for defence, and of all creatures in the world the young ones are not able to do anything to help themselves, nor can find the dug without being put to it, but would die if the mother did not help it; and, he says, were it not for speech man would be a very mean creature. Much of this good discourse we had. But here, above all, I was pleased to see the person who had his blood taken out. He speaks well, and did this day give the Society a relation thereof in Latin, saying that he finds himself much better since, and as a new man, but he is cracked a little in his head, though he speaks very reasonably, and very well. He had but 20s. for his suffering it, and is to have the same again tried upon him: the first sound man that ever had it tried on him in England, and but one that we hear of in France, which was a porter hired by the virtuosos. Here all the afternoon till within night. Then I took coach and to the Exchange, where I was to meet my wife, but she was gone home, and so I to Westminster Hall, and there took a turn or two, but meeting with nobody to discourse with, returned to Cary House, and there stayed and saw a pretty deception of the sight by a glass with water poured into it, with a stick standing up with three balls of wax upon it, one distant from the other. How these balls did seem double and disappear one after another, mighty pretty! Here Mr. Carcasse did come to me, and brought first Mr. Colwall, our Treasurer, and then Dr. Wilkins to engage me to be his friend, and himself asking forgiveness and desiring my friendship, saying that the Council have now ordered him to be free to return to the Office to be employed. I promised him my friendship, and am glad of this occasion, having desired it; for there is nobody's ill tongue that I fear like his, being a malicious and cunning bold fellow. Thence, paying our shot, 6s. apiece, I home, and there to the office and wrote my letters, and then home, my eyes very sore with yesterday's work, and so home and tried to make a piece by my eare and viall to "I wonder what the grave," &c., and so to supper and to bed, where frighted a good while and my wife again with noises, and my wife did rise twice, but I think it was Sir John Minnes's people again late cleaning their house, for it was past I o'clock in the morning before we could fall to sleep, and so slept. But I perceive well what the care of money and treasure in a man's house is to a man that fears to lose it. My Lord Anglesey told me this day that he did believe the House of Commons would, the next week, yield to the Lords; but, speaking with others this day, they conclude they will not, but that rather the King will accommodate it by committing my Lord Clarendon himself. I remember what Mr. Evelyn said, that he did believe we should soon see ourselves fall into a Commonwealth again. Joseph Williamson I find mighty kind still, but close, not daring to say anything almost that touches upon news or state of affairs. DECEMBER 1667 December 1st (Lord's day). Up, and after entering my journal for 2 or 3 days, I to church, where Mr. Mills, a dull sermon: and in our pew there sat a great lady, which I afterwards understood to be my Lady Carlisle, that made her husband a cuckold in Scotland, a very fine woman indeed in person. After sermon home, where W. Hewer dined with us, and after dinner he and I all the afternoon to read over our office letters to see what matters can be got for our advantage or disadvantage therein. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling and the two men that were with him formerly, the little man that sings so good a base (Wallington) and another that understands well, one Pigott, and Betty Turner come and sat and supped with us, and we spent the evening mighty well in good musique, to my great content to see myself in condition to have these and entertain them for my own pleasure only. So they gone, we to bed. 2nd. Up, and then abroad to Alderman Backewell's (who was sick of a cold in bed), and then to the Excise Office, where I find Mr. Ball out of humour in expectation of being put out of his office by the change of the farm of the excise. There comes Sir H. Cholmly, and he and I to Westminster, and there walked up and down till noon, where all the business is that the Lords' answer is come down to the Commons, that they are not satisfied in the Commons' Reasons: and so the Commons are hot, and like to sit all day upon the business what to do herein, most thinking that they will remonstrate against the Lords. Thence to Lord Crew's, and there dined with him; where, after dinner, he took me aside, and bewailed the condition of the nation, how the King and his brother are at a distance about this business of the Chancellor, and the two Houses differing. And he do believe that there are so many about the King like to be concerned and troubled by the Parliament, that they will get him to dissolve or prorogue the Parliament; and the rather, for that the King is likely, by this good husbandry of the Treasury, to get out of debt, and the Parliament is likely to give no money. Among other things, my Lord Crew did tell me, with grief, that he hears that the King of late hath not dined nor supped with the Queen, as he used of late to do. After a little discourse, Mr. Caesar, he dining there, did give us some musique on his lute (Mr. John Crew being there) to my great content, and then away I, and Mr. Caesar followed me and told me that my boy Tom hath this day declared to him that he cared not for the French lute and would learn no more, which Caesar out of faithfulness tells me that I might not spend any more money on him in vain. I shall take the boy to task about it, though I am contented to save my money if the boy knows not what is good for himself. So thanked him, and indeed he is a very honest man I believe, and away home, there to get something ready for the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and so took my wife and girle and set them at Unthanke's, and I to White Hall, and there with the Commissioners of the Treasury, who I find in mighty good condition to go on in payment of the seamen off, and thence I to Westminster Hall, where I met with my cozen Roger and walked a good while with him; he tells me of the high vote of the Commons this afternoon, which I also heard at White Hall, that the proceedings of the Lords in the case of my Lord Clarendon are an obstruction to justice, and of ill precedent to future times. This makes every body wonder what will be the effect of it, most thinking that the King will try him by his own Commission. It seems they were mighty high to have remonstrated, but some said that was too great an appeale to the people. Roger is mighty full of fears of the consequence of it, and wishes the King would dissolve them. So we parted, and I bought some Scotch cakes at Wilkinson's in King Street, and called my wife, and home, and there to supper, talk, and to bed. Supped upon these cakes, of which I have eat none since we lived at Westminster. This night our poor little dogg Fancy was in a strange fit, through age, of which she has had five or six. 3rd. Up, by candlelight, the only time I think I have done so this winter, and a coach being got over night, I to Sir W. Coventry's, the first time I have seen him at his new house since he come to lodge there. He tells me of the vote for none of the House to be of the Commission for the Bill of Accounts; which he thinks is so great a disappointment to Birch and others that expected to be of it, that he thinks, could it have been [fore]seen, there would not have been any Bill at all. We hope it will be the better for all that are to account; it being likely that the men, being few, and not of the House, will hear reason. The main business I went about was about. Gilsthrop, Sir W. Batten's clerk; who, being upon his death-bed, and now dead, hath offered to make discoveries of the disorders of the Navy and of L65,000 damage to the King: which made mighty noise in the Commons' House; and members appointed to go to him, which they did; but nothing to the purpose got from him, but complaints of false musters, and ships being refitted with victuals and stores at Plymouth, after they come fitted from other ports; but all this to no purpose, nor more than we know, and will owne. But the best is, that this loggerhead should say this, that understands nothing of the Navy, nor ever would; and hath particularly blemished his master by name among us. I told Sir W. Coventry of my letter to Sir R. Brookes, and his answer to me. He advises me, in what I write to him, to be as short as I can, and obscure, saving in things fully plain; for all that he do is to make mischief; and that the greatest wisdom in dealing with the Parliament in the world is to say little, and let them get out what they can by force: which I shall observe. He declared to me much of his mind to be ruled by his own measures, and not to go so far as many would have him to the ruin of my Lord Chancellor, and for which they do endeavour to do what they can against [Sir] W. Coventry. "But," says he, "I have done my do in helping to get him out of the administration of things, for which he is not fit; but for his life or estate I will have nothing to say to it: besides that, my duty to my master the Duke of York is such, that I will perish before I will do any thing to displease or disoblige him, where the very necessity of the kingdom do not in my judgment call me." Thence I home and to the office, where my Lord Anglesey, and all the discourse was yesterday's vote in the Commons, wherein he told us that, should the Lords yield to what the Commons would have in this matter, it were to make them worse than any justice of Peace (whereas they are the highest Court in the Kingdom) that they cannot be judges whether an offender be to be committed or bailed, which every justice of Peace do do, and then he showed me precedents plain in their defence. At noon home to dinner, and busy all the afternoon, and at night home, and there met W. Batelier, who tells me the first great news that my Lord Chancellor is fled this day. By and by to Sir W. Pen's, where Sir R. Ford and he and I met, with Mr. Young and Lewes, about our accounts with my Lady Batten, which prove troublesome, and I doubt will prove to our loss. But here I hear the whole that my Lord Chancellor is gone, and left a paper behind him for the House of Lords, telling them the reason of him retiring, complaining of a design for his ruin. But the paper I must get: only the thing at present is great, and will put the King and Commons to some new counsels certainly. So home to supper and to bed. Sir W. Pen I find in much trouble this evening, having been called to the Committee this afternoon, about the business of prizes. Sir Richard Ford told us this evening an odd story of the basenesse of the late Lord Mayor, Sir W. Bolton, in cheating the poor of the City, out of the collections made for the people that were burned, of L1800; of which he can give no account, and in which he hath forsworn himself plainly, so as the Court of Aldermen have sequestered him from their Court till he do bring in an account, which is the greatest piece of roguery that they say was ever found in a Lord Mayor. He says also that this day hath been made appear to them that the Keeper of Newgate, at this day, hath made his house the only nursery of rogues, and whores, and pickpockets, and thieves in the world; where they were bred and entertained, and the whole society met: and that, for the sake of the Sheriffes, they durst not this day committ him, for fear of making him let out the prisoners, but are fain to go by artifice to deal with him. He tells me, also, speaking of the new street that is to be made from Guild Hall down to Cheapside, that the ground is already, most of it, bought. And tells me of one particular, of a man that hath a piece of ground lieing in the very middle of the street that must be; which, when the street is cut out of it, there will remain ground enough, of each side, to build a house to front the street. He demanded L700 for the ground, and to be excused paying any thing for the melioration of the rest of his ground that he was to keep. The Court consented to give him L700, only not to abate him the consideration: which the man denied; but told them, and so they agreed, that he would excuse the City the L700, that he might have the benefit of the melioration without paying any thing for it. So much some will get by having the City burned! But he told me that in other cases ground, by this means, that was not 4d. a-foot before, will now, when houses are built, be worth 15s. a-foot. But he tells me that the common standard now reckoned on between man and man, in places where there is no alteration of circumstances, but only the houses burnt, there the ground, which, with a house on it, did yield L100 a-year, is now reputed worth L33 6s. 8d.; and that this is the common market-price between one man and another, made upon a good and moderate medium. 4th. At the office all the morning. At noon to dinner, and presently with my wife abroad, whom and her girle I leave at Unthanke's, and so to White Hall in expectation of waiting on the Duke of York to-day, but was prevented therein, only at Mr. Wren's chamber there I hear that the House of Lords did send down the paper which my Lord Chancellor left behind him, directed to the Lords, to be seditious and scandalous; and the Commons have voted that it be burned by the hands of the hangman, and that the King be desired to agree to it. I do hear, also, that they have desired the King to use means to stop his escape out of the nation. Here I also heard Mr. Jermin, who was there in the chamber upon occasion of Sir Thomas Harvy's telling him of his brother's having a child, and thereby taking away his hopes (that is, Mr. Jermin's) of L2000 a year. He swore, God damn him, he did not desire to have any more wealth than he had in the world, which indeed is a great estate, having all his uncle's, my Lord St. Alban's, and my Lord hath all the Queen-Mother's. But when Sir Thos. Harvy told him that "hereafter you will wish it more;"--"By God," answers he, "I won't promise what I shall do hereafter." Thence into the House, and there spied a pretty woman with spots on her face, well clad, who was enquiring for the guard chamber; I followed her, and there she went up, and turned into the turning towards the chapel, and I after her, and upon the stairs there met her coming up again, and there kissed her twice, and her business was to enquire for Sir Edward Bishop, one of the serjeants at armes. I believe she was a woman of pleasure, but was shy enough to me, and so I saw her go out afterwards, and I took a hackney coach, and away. I to Westminster Hall, and there walked, and thence towards White Hall by coach, and spying Mrs. Burroughs in a shop did stop and 'light and speak to her; and so to White Hall, where I 'light and went and met her coming towards White Hall, but was upon business, and I could not get her to go any whither and so parted, and I home with my wife and girle (my wife not being very well, of a great looseness day and night for these two days). So home, my wife to read to me in Sir R. Cotton's book of warr, which is excellent reading, and particularly I was mightily pleased this night in what we read about the little profit or honour this kingdom ever gained by the greatest of its conquests abroad in France. This evening come Mr. Mills and sat with us a while, who is mighty kind and good company, and so, he gone, I to supper and to bed. My wife an unquiet night. This day Gilsthrop is buried, who hath made all the late discourse of the great discovery of L65,000, of which the King bath been wronged. 5th. At the office all the morning, do hear that Will Pen, Sir W. Pen's son, is come from Ireland, but I have not seen him yet. At noon to the 'Change, where did little, but so home again and to dinner with my clerks with me, and very good discourse and company they give me, and so to the office all the afternoon till late, and so home to supper and to bed. This day, not for want, but for good husbandry, I sent my father, by his desire, six pair of my old shoes, which fit him, and are good; yet, methought, it was a thing against my mind to have him wear my old things. 6th. Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to the Duke of York, the first time that I have seen him, or we waited on him, since his sickness; and, blessed be God! he is not at all the worse for the smallpox, but is only a little weak yet. We did much business with him, and so parted. My Lord Anglesey told me how my Lord Northampton brought in a Bill into the House of Lords yesterday, under the name of a Bill for the Honour and Privilege of the House, and Mercy to my Lord Clarendon: which, he told me, he opposed, saying that he was a man accused of treason by the House of Commons; and mercy was not proper for him, having not been tried yet, and so no mercy needful for him. However, the Duke of Buckingham and others did desire that the Bill might be read; and it, was for banishing my Lord Clarendon from all his Majesty's dominions, and that it should be treason to have him found in any of them: the thing is only a thing of vanity, and to insult over him, which is mighty poor I think, and so do every body else, and ended in nothing, I think. By and by home with Sir J. Minnes, who tells me that my Lord Clarendon did go away in a Custom-house boat, and is now at Callis (Calais): and, I confess, nothing seems to hang more heavy than his leaving of this unfortunate paper behind him, that hath angered both Houses, and hath, I think, reconciled them in that which otherwise would have broke them in pieces; so that I do hence, and from Sir W. Coventry's late example and doctrine to me, learn that on these sorts of occasions there is nothing like silence; it being seldom any wrong to a man to say nothing, but, for the most part, it is to say anything. This day, in coming home, Sir J. Minnes told me a pretty story of Sir Lewes Dives, whom I saw this morning speaking with him, that having escaped once out of prison through a house of office, and another time in woman's apparel, and leaping over a broad canal, a soldier swore, says he, this is a strange jade.... He told me also a story of my Lord Cottington, who, wanting a son, intended to make his nephew his heir, a country boy; but did alter his mind upon the boy's being persuaded by another young heir, in roguery, to crow like a cock at my Lord's table, much company being there, and the boy having a great trick at doing that perfectly. My Lord bade them take away that fool from the table, and so gave over the thoughts of making him his heir, from this piece of folly. So home, and there to dinner, and after dinner abroad with my wife and girle, set them down at Unthanke's, and I to White Hall to the Council chamber, where I was summoned about the business of paying of the seamen, where I heard my Lord Anglesey put to it by Sir W. Coventry before the King for altering the course set by the Council; which he like a wise man did answer in few words, that he had already sent to alter it according to the Council's method, and so stopped it, whereas many words would have set the Commissioners of the Treasury on fire, who, I perceive, were prepared for it. Here I heard Mr. Gawden speak to the King and Council upon some business of his before them, but did it so well, in so good words and to the purpose, that I could never have expected from a man of no greater learning. So went away, and in the Lobby met Mr. Sawyer, my old chamber fellow, and stayed and had an hour's discourse of old things with him, and I perceive he do very well in the world, and is married he tells me and hath a child. Then home and to the office, where Captain Cocke come to me; and, among other discourse, tells me that he is told that an impeachment against Sir W. Coventry will be brought in very soon. He tells me, that even those that are against my Lord Chancellor and the Court, in the House, do not trust nor agree one with another. He tells me that my Lord Chancellor went away about ten at night, on Saturday last; and took boat at Westminster, and thence by a vessel to Callis, where he believes he now is: and that the Duke of York and Mr. Wren knew of it, and that himself did know of it on Sunday morning: that on Sunday his coach, and people about it, went to Twittenham, and the world thought that he had been there: that nothing but this unhappy paper hath undone him and that he doubts that this paper hath lost him everywhere that his withdrawing do reconcile things so far as, he thinks the heat of their fury will be over, and that all will be made well between the two [royal] brothers: that Holland do endeavour to persuade the King of France to break peace with us: that the Dutch will, without doubt, have sixty sail of ships out the next year; so knows not what will become of us, but hopes the Parliament will find money for us to have a fleete. He gone, I home, and there my wife made an end to me of Sir K. Cotton's discourse of warr, which is indeed a very fine book. So to supper and to bed. Captain Cocke did this night tell me also, among other discourses, that he did believe that there are jealousies in some of the House at this day against the Commissioners of the Treasury, that by their good husbandry they will bring the King to be out of debt and to save money, and so will not be in need of the Parliament, and then do what he please, which is a very good piece of news that there is such a thing to be hoped, which they would be afeard of. 7th. All the morning at the office, and at noon home to dinner with my clerks, and while we were at dinner comes Willet's aunt to see her and my wife; she is a very fine widow and pretty handsome, but extraordinary well carriaged and speaks very handsomely and with extraordinary understanding, so as I spent the whole afternoon in her company with my wife, she understanding all the things of note touching plays and fashions and Court and everything and speaks rarely, which pleases me mightily, and seems to love her niece very well, and was so glad (which was pretty odde) that since she came hither her breasts begin to swell, she being afeard before that she would have none, which was a pretty kind of content she gave herself. She tells us that Catelin is likely to be soon acted, which I am glad to hear, but it is at the King's House. But the King's House is at present and hath for some days been silenced upon some difference [between] Hart and Moone. She being gone I to the office, and there late doing business, and so home to supper and to bed. Only this evening I must remember that my Lady Batten sent for me, and it was to speak to me before her overseers about my bargain with Sir W. Batten about the prize, to which I would give no present answer, but am well enough contented that they begin the discourse of it, and so away to the office again, and then home to supper and to bed. Somebody told me this, that they hear that Thomson, with the wooden leg, and Wildman, the Fifth-Monarchy man, a great creature of the Duke of Buckingham's, are in nomination to be Commissioners, among others, upon the Bill of Accounts. 8th (Lord's day). All the morning at my chamber doing something towards the settling of my papers and accounts, which have been out of order a great while. At noon to dinner, where W. How with us, and after dinner, he being gone, I to my chamber again till almost night, and then took boat, the tide serving, and so to White Hall, where I saw the Duchesse of York, in a fine dress of second mourning for her mother, being black, edged with ermine, go to make her first visit to the Queene since the Duke of York was sick; and by and by, she being returned, the Queene come and visited her. But it was pretty to observe that Sir W. Coventry and I, walking an hour and more together in the Matted Gallery, he observed, and so did I, how the Duchesse, as soon as she spied him, turned her head a one side. Here he and I walked thus long, which we have not done a great while before. Our discourse was upon everything: the unhappiness of having our matters examined by people that understand them not; that it was better for us in the Navy to have men that do understand the whole, and that are not passionate; that we that have taken the most pains are called upon to answer for all crimes, while those that, like Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes, did sit and do nothing, do lie still without any trouble; that, if it were to serve the King and kingdom again in a war, neither of us could do more, though upon this experience we might do better than we did; that the commanders, the gentlemen that could never be brought to order, but undid all, are now the men that find fault and abuse others; that it had been much better for the King to have given Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten L1000 a-year to have sat still, than to have had them in his business this war: that the serving a Prince that minds not his business is most unhappy for them that serve him well, and an unhappiness so great that he declares he will never have more to do with a war, under him. That he hath papers which do flatly contradict the Duke of Albemarle's Narrative; and that he hath been with the Duke of Albemarle and shewed him them, to prevent his falling into another like fault: that the Duke of Albemarle seems to be able to answer them; but he thinks that the Duke of Albemarle and the Prince are contented to let their Narratives sleep, they being not only contradictory in some things (as he observed about the business of the Duke of Albemarle's being to follow the Prince upon dividing the fleete, in case the enemy come out), but neither of them to be maintained in others. That the business the other night of my Lord Anglesey at the Council was happily got over for my Lord, by his dexterous silencing it, and the rest, not urging it further; forasmuch as, had the Duke of Buckingham come in time enough, and had got it by the end, he, would have toused him in it; Sir W. Coventry telling me that my Lord Anglesey did, with such impudence, maintain the quarrel against the Commons and some of the Lords, in the business of my Lord Clarendon, that he believes there are enough would be glad but of this occasion to be revenged of him. He tells me that he hears some of the Thomsons are like to be of the Commission for the Accounts, and Wildman, which he much wonders at, as having been a false fellow to every body, and in prison most of the time since the King's coming in. But he do tell me that the House is in such a condition that nobody can tell what to make of them, and, he thinks, they were never in before; that every body leads, and nobody follows; and that he do now think that, since a great many are defeated in their expectation of being of the Commission, now they would put it into such hands as it shall get no credit from: for, if they do look to the bottom and see the King's case, they think they are then bound to give the King money; whereas, they would be excused from that, and therefore endeavour to make this business of the Accounts to signify little. I spoke with him about my Lord Sandwich's business, in which he is very friendly, and do say that the unhappy business of the prizes is it that hath brought all this trouble upon him, and the only thing that made any thing else mentioned, and it is true. So having discoursed with him, I spent some time with Sir Stephen Fox about the business of our adjusting the new method of the Excise between the Guards household and Tangier, the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury being now resolved to bring all their management into a course of payment by orders, and not by tallies, and I am glad of it, and so by water home late, and very dark, and when come home there I got my wife to read, and then come Captain Cocke to me; and there he tells me, to my great satisfaction, that Sir Robert Brookes did dine with him today; and that he told him, speaking of me, that he would make me the darling of the House of Commons, so much he is satisfied concerning me. And this Cocke did tell me that I might give him thanks for it; and I do think it may do me good, for he do happen to be held a considerable person, of a young man, both for sobriety and ability. Then to discourse of business of his own about some hemp of his that is come home to receive it into the King's stores, and then parted, and by and by my wife and I to supper, she not being well, her flux being great upon her, and so to bed. 9th. All the morning busy at the office, doing very considerable business, and thither comes Sir G. Carteret to talk with me; who seems to think himself safe as to his particular, but do doubt what will become of the whole kingdom, things being so broke in pieces. He tells me that the King himself did the other day very particularly tell the whole story of my Lord Sandwich's not following the Dutch ships, with which he is charged; and shews the reasons of it to be the only good course he could have taken, and do discourse it very knowingly. This I am glad of, though, as the King is now, his favour, for aught I see, serves very little in stead at this day, but rather is an argument against a man; and the King do not concern himself to relieve or justify any body, but is wholly negligent of everybody's concernment. This morning I was troubled with my Lord Hinchingbroke's sending to borrow L200 of me; but I did answer that I had none, nor could borrow any; for I am resolved I will not be undone for any body, though I would do much for my Lord Sandwich--for it is to answer a bill of exchange of his, and I perceive he hath made use of all other means in the world to do it, but I am resolved to serve him, but not ruin myself, as it may be to part with so much of the little I have by me to keep if I should by any turn of times lose the rest. At noon I to the 'Change, and there did a little business, and among other things called at Cade's, the stationer, where he tells me how my Lord Gerard is troubled for several things in the House of Commons, and in one wherein himself is concerned; and, it seems, this Lord is a very proud and wicked man, and the Parliament is likely to order him. Then home to dinner, and then a little abroad, thinking to have gone to the other end of the town, but it being almost night I would not, but home again, and there to my chamber, and all alone did there draw up my answer to Sir Rob. Brookes's letter, and when I had done it went down to my clerks at the office for their opinion which at this time serves me to very good purpose, they having many things in their heads which I had not in the businesses of the office now in dispute. Having done with this, then I home and to supper very late, and to bed. My [wife] being yet very ill of her looseness, by which she is forced to lie from me to-night in the girl's chamber. 10th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and then home with my people to dinner, and very merry, and then to my office again, where did much business till night, that my eyes begun to be sore, and then forced to leave off, and by coach set my wife at her tailor's and Willet, and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a good while till 8 at night, and there hear to my great content that the King did send a message to the House to-day that he would adjourne them on the 17th instant to February; by which time, at least, I shall have more respite to prepare things on my own behalf, and the Office, against their return. Here met Mr. Hinxton, the organist, walking, and I walked with him; and, asking him many questions, I do find that he can no more give an intelligible answer to a man that is not a great master in his art, than another man. And this confirms me that it is only want of an ingenious man that is master in musique, to bring musique to a certainty, and ease in composition. Having done this, I home, taking up my wife and girle, and there to supper and to bed, having finished my letters, among which one to Commissioner Middleton, who is now coming up to town from Portsmouth, to enter upon his Surveyorship. 11th. By coach to White Hall, and there attended the Duke of York, as we are wont, who is now grown pretty well, and goes up and down White Hall, and this night will be at the Council, which I am glad of. Thence to Westminster Hall, and there walked most of the morning, and among others did there meet my cozen Roger Pepys, who intends to go to Impington on this day s'ennight, the Parliament break up the night before. Here I met Rolt and Sir John Chichly, and Harris, the player, and there we talked of many things, and particularly of "Catiline," which is to be suddenly acted at the King's house; and there all agree that it cannot be well done at that house, there not being good actors enow: and Burt' acts Cicero, which they all conclude he will not be able to do well. The King gives them L500 for robes, there being, as they say, to be sixteen scarlett robes. Thence home to dinner, and would have had Harris home with me, but it was too late for him to get to the playhouse after it, and so home to dinner, and spent the afternoon talking with my wife and people at home till the evening, and then comes Sir W. Warren to talk about some business of his and mine: and he, I find, would have me not to think that the Parliament, in the mind they are in, and having so many good offices in their view to dispose of, will leave any of the King's officers in, but will rout all, though I am likely to escape as well as any, if any can escape; and I think he is in the right, and I do look for it accordingly. Then we fell to discourse of my little vessel, "The Maybolt," and he thinks that it will be best for me to employ her for a voyage to Newcastle for coles, they being now dear, and the voyage not long, nor dangerous yet; and I think I shall go near to do so. Then, talking of his business, I away to the office, where very busy, and thither comes Sir W. Pen, and he and I walked together in the garden, and there told me what passed to-day with him in the Committee, by my Lord Sandwich's breaking bulk of the prizes; and he do seem to me that he hath left it pretty well understood by them, he saying that what my Lord did was done at the desire, and with the advice, of the chief officers of the fleete, and that it was no more than admirals heretofore have done in like cases, which, if it be true that he said it, is very well, and did please me well. He being gone, I to my office again and there late, and so weary home. 12th. Rose before day, and took coach, by daylight, and to Westminster to Sir G. Downing's, and there met Sir Stephen Fox, and thence he and I to Sir Robert Longs to discourse the business of our orders for money, he for the guards, and I for Tangier, and were a little angry in our concerns, one against the other, but yet parted good friends, and I think I got ground by it. Thence straight to the office, and there sat all the morning, and then home to dinner, and after dinner I all alone to the Duke of York's house, and saw "The Tempest," which, as often as I have seen it, I do like very well, and the house very full. But I could take little pleasure more than the play, for not being able to look about, for fear of being seen. Here only I saw a French lady in the pit, with a tunique, just like one of ours, only a handkercher about her neck; but this fashion for a woman did not look decent. Thence walked to my bookseller's, and there he did give me a list of the twenty who were nominated for the Commission in Parliament for the Accounts: and it is strange that of the twenty the Parliament could not think fit to choose their nine, but were fain to add three that were not in the list of the twenty, they being many of them factious people and ringleaders in the late troubles; so that Sir John Talbott did fly out and was very hot in the business of Wildman's being named, and took notice how he was entertained in the bosom of the Duke of Buckingham, a Privy-counsellor; and that it was fit to be observed by the House, and punished. The men that I know of the nine I like very well; that is, Mr. Pierrepont, Lord Brereton, and Sir William Turner; and I do think the rest are so, too; but such as will not be able to do this business as it ought to be, to do any good with. Here I did also see their votes against my Lord Chiefe Justice Keeling, that his proceedings were illegal, and that he was a contemner of Magna Charta (the great preserver of our lives, freedoms, and properties) and an introduction to arbitrary government; which is very high language, and of the same sound with that in the year 1640. I home, and there wrote my letters, and so to supper and to bed. This day my Lord Chancellor's letter was burned at the 'Change.' 13th. Up, lying long all alone (my wife lying for these two or three days of sickness alone), thinking of my several businesses in hand, and then rose and to the office, being in some doubt of having my cozen Roger and Lord Hinchinbroke and Sir Thos. Crew by my cozens invitation at dinner to-day, and we wholly unprovided. So I away to Westminster, to the Parliament-door, to speak with Roger: and here I saw my Lord Keeling go into the House to the barr, to have his business heard by the whole House to-day; and a great crowd of people to stare upon him. Here I hear that the Lords' Bill for banishing and disabling my Lord Clarendon from bearing any office, or being in the King's dominions, and its being made felony for any to correspond with him but his own children, is brought to the Commons: but they will not agree to it, being not satisfied with that as sufficient, but will have a Bill of Attainder brought in against him: but they make use of this against the Lords, that they, that would not think there was cause enough to commit him without hearing, will have him banished without hearing. By and by comes out my cozen Roger to me, he being not willing to be in the House at the business of my Lord Keeling, lest he should be called upon to complain against him for his abusing him at Cambridge, very wrongfully and shamefully, but not to his reproach, but to the Chief justice's in the end, when all the world cried shame upon him for it. So he with me home, and Creed, whom I took up by the way, going thither, and they to dine with me, and pretty merry, and among other pieces of news, it is now fresh that the King of Portugall is deposed, and his brother made King; and that my Lord Sandwich is gone from Madrid with great honour to Lisbon, to make up, at this juncture, a peace to the advantage, as the Spaniard would have it, of Spain. I wish it may be for my Lord's honour, if it be so; but it seems my Lord is in mighty estimation in Spain. After dinner comes Mr. Moore, and he and I alone a while, he telling me my Lord Sandwich's credit is like to be undone, if the bill of L200 my Lord Hinchingbroke wrote to me about be not paid to-morrow, and that, if I do not help him about it, they have no way but to let it be protested. So, finding that Creed hath supplied them with L150 in their straits, and that this is no bigger sum, I am very willing to serve my Lord, though not in this kind; but yet I will endeavour to get this done for them, and the rather because of some plate that was lodged the other day with me, by my Lady's order, which may be in part of security for my money, as I may order it, for, for ought I see, there is no other to be hoped for. This do trouble me; but yet it is good luck that the sum is no bigger. He gone, I with my cozen Roger to Westminster Hall; and there we met the House rising: and they have voted my Lord Chief Justice Keeling's proceedings illegal; but that, out of particular respect to him, and the mediation of a great many, they have resolved to proceed no further against him. After a turn or two with my cozen, I away with Sir W. Warren, who met me here by my desire, and to Exeter House, and there to counsel, to Sir William Turner, about the business of my bargain with my Lady Batten; and he do give me good advice, and that I am safe, but that there is a great many pretty considerations in it that makes it necessary for me to be silent yet for a while till we see whether the ship be safe or no; for she is drove to the coast of Holland, where she now is in the Texell, so that it is not prudence for me yet to resolve whether I will stand by the bargain or no, and so home, and Sir W. Warren and I walked upon Tower Hill by moonlight a great while, consulting business of the office and our present condition, which is but bad, it being most likely that the Parliament will change all hands, and so let them, so I may keep but what I have. Thence home, and there spent the evening at home with my wife and entering my journal, and so to supper and to bed, troubled with my parting with the L200, which I must lend my Lord Sandwich to answer his bill of exchange. 14th. Up and to the office, where busy, and after dinner also to the office again till night, when Mr. Moore come to me to discourse about the L200 I must supply my Lord Hinchingbroke, and I promised him to do it, though much against my will. So home, to supper and to bed. 15th (Lord's day). Up, and to church, where I heard a German preach, in a tone hard to be understood, but yet an extraordinary good sermon, and wholly to my great content. So home, and there all alone with wife and girle to dinner, and then I busy at my chamber all the afternoon, and looking over my plate, which indeed is a very fine quantity, God knows, more than ever I expected to see of my own, and more than is fit for a man of no better quality than I am. In the evening comes Mrs. Turner to visit us, who hath been long sick, and she sat and supped with us, and after supper, her son Francke being there, now upon the point of his going to the East Indys, I did give him "Lex Mercatoria," and my wife my old pair of tweezers, which are pretty, and my book an excellent one for him. Most of our talk was of the great discourse the world hath against my Lady Batten, for getting her husband to give her all, and disinherit his eldest son; though the truth is, the son, as they say, did play the knave with his father when time was, and the father no great matter better with him, nor with other people also. So she gone, we to bed. 16th. Up, and to several places, to pay what I owed. Among others, to my mercer, to pay for my fine camlott cloak, which costs me, the very stuff, almost L6; and also a velvet coat-the outside cost me above L8. And so to Westminster, where I find the House mighty busy upon a petition against my Lord Gerard, which lays heavy things to his charge, of his abusing the King in his Guards; and very hot the House is upon it. I away home to dinner alone with wife and girle, and so to the office, where mighty busy to my great content late, and then home to supper, talk with my wife, and to bed. It was doubtful to-day whether the House should be adjourned to-morrow or no. 17th. Up, and to the office, where very busy all the morning, and then in the afternoon I with Sir W. Pen and Sir T. Harvy to White Hall to attend the Duke of York, who is now as well as ever, and there we did our usual business with him, and so away home with Sir W. Pen, and there to the office, where pretty late doing business, my wife having been abroad all day with Mrs. Turner buying of one thing or other. This day I do hear at White Hall that the Duke of Monmouth is sick, and in danger of the smallpox. So home to supper and to bed. 18th. Up, and to my goldsmith's in the morning, to look after the providing of L60 for Mr. Moore, towards the answering of my Lord Sandwich's bill of exchange, he being come to be contented with my lending him L60 in part of it, which pleases me, I expecting to have been forced to answer the whole bill; and this, which I do do, I hope to secure out of the plate, which was delivered into my custody of my Lord's the other day by Mr. Cooke, and which I did get Mr. Stokes, the goldsmith, last night to weigh at my house, and there is enough to secure L100. Thence home to the office, and there all the morning by particular appointment with Sir W. Pen, Sir R. Ford, and those that are concerned for my Lady Batten (Mr. Wood, Young, and Lewes), to even the accounts of our prize business, and at noon broke up, and to dinner, every man to his own home, and to it till late at night again, and we did come to some end, and I am mightily put to it how to order the business of my bargaine, but my industry is to keep it off from discourse till the ship be brought home safe, and this I did do, and so we broke up, she appearing in our debts about L1500, and so we parted, and I to my business, and home to my wife, who is troubled with the tooth ake, and there however I got her to read to me the History of Algiers, which I find a very pretty book, and so to supper with much pleasure talking, and to bed. The Parliament not adjourned yet. 19th. Up, and to the Office, where Commissioner Middleton first took place at the Board as Surveyor of the Navy; and indeed I think will be an excellent officer; I am sure much beyond what his predecessor was. At noon, to avoid being forced to invite him to dinner, it being his first day, and nobody inviting him, I did go to the 'Change with Sir W. Pen in his coach, who first went to Guildhall, whither I went with him, he to speak with Sheriff Gawden--I only for company; and did here look up and down this place, where I have not been before since the fire; and I see that the city are got a pace on in the rebuilding of Guildhall. Thence to the 'Change, where I stayed very little, and so home to dinner, and there find my wife mightily out of order with her teeth. At the office all the afternoon, and at night by coach to Westminster, to the Hall, where I met nobody, and do find that this evening the King by message (which he never did before) hath passed several bills, among others that for the Accounts, and for banishing my Lord Chancellor, and hath adjourned the House to February; at which I am glad, hoping in this time to get leisure to state my Tangier Accounts, and to prepare better for the Parliament's enquiries. Here I hear how the House of Lords, with great severity, if not tyranny, have ordered poor Carr, who only erred in the manner of the presenting his petition against my Lord Gerard, it being first printed before it was presented; which was, it, seems, by Colonel Sands's going into the country, into whose hands he had put it: the poor man is ordered to stand in the pillory two or three times, and his eares cut, and be imprisoned I know not how long. But it is believed that the Commons, when they meet, will not be well pleased with it; and they have no reason, I think. Having only heard this from Mrs. Michell, I away again home, and there to supper and to bed, my wife exceeding ill in her face with the tooth ake, and now her face has become mightily swelled that I am mightily troubled for it. 20th. Up, and all the morning at the office with Sir R. Ford and the same company as on Wednesday about my Lady Batten's accounts. At noon home to dinner, where my poor wife in bed in mighty pain, her left cheek so swelled as that we feared it would break, and so were fain to send for Mr. Hollier, who come, and seems doubtful of the defluxions of humours that may spoil her face, if not timely cured. He laid a poultice to it and other directions, and so away, and I to the office, where on the same accounts very late, and did come pretty near a settlement. So at night to Sir W. Pen's with Sir R. Ford, and there was Sir D. Gawden, and there we only talked of sundry things; and I have found of late, by discourse, that the present sort of government is looked upon as a sort of government that we never had yet--that is to say, a King and House of Commons against the House of Lords; for so indeed it is, though neither of the two first care a fig for one another, nor the third for them both, only the Bishops are afeard of losing ground, as I believe they will. So home to my poor wife, who is in mighty pain, and her face miserably swelled: so as I was frighted to see it, and I was forced to lie below in the great chamber, where I have not lain many a day, and having sat up with her, talking and reading and pitying her, I to bed. 21st. At the office all the morning, and at noon home to dinner with my Clerks and Creed, who among other things all alone, after dinner, talking of the times, he tells me that the Nonconformists are mighty high, and their meetings frequented and connived at; and they do expect to have their day now soon; for my Lord of Buckingham is a declared friend to them, and even to the Quakers, who had very good words the other day from the King himself: and, what is more, the Archbishop of Canterbury is called no more to the Cabal, nor, by the way, Sir W. Coventry; which I am sorry for, the Cabal at present being, as he says, the King, and Duke of Buckingham, and Lord Keeper, the Duke of Albemarle, and Privy Seale. The Bishops, differing from the King in the late business in the House of Lords, having caused this and what is like to follow, for every body is encouraged nowadays to speak, and even to preach, as I have heard one of them, as bad things against them as ever in the year 1640; which is a strange change. He gone, I to the office, where busy till late at night, and then home to sit with my wife, who is a little better, and her cheek asswaged. I read to her out of "The History of Algiers," which is mighty pretty reading, and did discourse alone about my sister Pall's match, which is now on foot with one Jackson, another nephew of Mr. Phillips's, to whom he hath left his estate. 22nd (Lord's day). Up, and my wife, poor wretch, still in pain, and then to dress myself and down to my chamber to settle some papers, and thither come to me Willet with an errand from her mistress, and this time I first did give her a little kiss, she being a very pretty humoured girle, and so one that I do love mightily. Thence to my office, and there did a little business, and so to church, where a dull sermon, and then home, and Cozen Kate Joyce come and dined with me and Mr. Holliard; but by chance I offering occasion to him to discourse of the Church of Rome, Lord! how he run on to discourse with the greatest vehemence and importunity in the world, as the only thing in the world that he is full of, and it was good sport to me to see him so earnest on so little occasion. She come to see us and to tell me that her husband is going to build his house again, and would borrow of me L300, which I shall upon good security be willing to do, and so told her, being willing to have some money out of my hands upon good security. After dinner up to my wife again, who is in great pain still with her tooth, and there, they gone, I spent the most of the afternoon and night reading and talking to bear her company, and so to supper and to bed. 23rd. Up before day, and by coach to Sir W. Coventry's, and with him to White Hall, and there walked a great while with him in the garden till the Commissioners of the Treasury met, and there talked over many businesses, and particularly he tells me that by my desire he hath moved the Duke of York that Sir J. Minnes might be removed from the Navy, at least the Controller's place, and his business put on my Lord Brouncker and Sir W. Pen; that the Committee for Accounts are good sober men, and such as he thinks we shall have fair play from; that he hopes that the kingdom will escape ruin in general, notwithstanding all our fears, and yet I find he do seem not very confident in it. So to the Commissioners of the Treasury, and there I had a dispute before them with Sir Stephen Fox about our orders for money, who is very angry, but I value it not. But, Lord! to see with what folly my Lord Albemarle do speak in this business would make a man wonder at the good fortune of such a fool. Thence meeting there with Creed, he and I to the Exchange, and there I saw Carr stand in the pillory for the business of my Lord Gerard, which is supposed will make a hot business in the House of Commons, when they shall come to sit again, the Lords having ordered this with great injustice, as all people think, his only fault being the printing his petition before, by accident, his petition be read in the House. Here walked up and down the Exchange with Creed, and then home to dinner, and there hear by Creed that the Bishops of Winchester and of Rochester, and the Dean of the Chapel, and some other great prelates, are suspended: and a cloud upon the Archbishop ever since the late business in the House of Lords; and I believe it will be a heavy blow to the Clergy. This noon I bought a sermon of Dr. Floyd's, which Creed read a great part of to me and Mr. Hollier, who dined with me, but as well writ and as good, against the Church of Rome, as ever I read; but, Lord! how Hollier, poor man, was taken with it. They gone I to the office, and there very late with Mr. Willson and my people about the making of a new contract for the victualler, which do and will require a great deal of pains of me, and so to supper and to bed, my wife being pretty well all this day by reason of her imposthume being broke in her cheek into her mouth. This day, at the 'Change, Creed shewed me Mr. Coleman, of whom my wife hath so good an opinion, and says that he is as very a rogue for women as any in the world; which did disquiet me, like a fool, and run in my mind a great while. 24th. Up, and all the morning at the office, and at noon with my clerks to dinner, and then to the office again, busy at the office till six at night, and then by coach to St. James's, it being about six at night; my design being to see the ceremonys, this night being the eve of Christmas, at the Queen's chapel. But it being not begun I to Westminster Hall, and there staid and walked, and then to the Swan, and there drank and talked, and did banter a little Frank, and so to White Hall, and sent my coach round, I through the Park to chapel, where I got in up almost to the rail, and with a great deal of patience staid from nine at night to two in the morning, in a very great crowd; and there expected, but found nothing extraordinary, there being nothing but a high masse. The Queen was there, and some ladies. But, Lord! what an odde thing it was for me to be in a crowd of people, here a footman, there a beggar, here a fine lady, there a zealous poor papist, and here a Protestant, two or three together, come to see the shew. I was afeard of my pocket being picked very much.... Their musique very good indeed, but their service I confess too frivolous, that there can be no zeal go along with it, and I do find by them themselves that they do run over their beads with one hand, and point and play and talk and make signs with the other in the midst of their masse. But all things very rich and beautiful; and I see the papists have the wit, most of them, to bring cushions to kneel on, which I wanted, and was mightily troubled to kneel. All being done, and I sorry for my coming, missing of what I expected; which was, to have had a child born and dressed there, and a great deal of do: but we broke up, and nothing like it done: and there I left people receiving the Sacrament: and the Queen gone, and ladies; only my Lady Castlemayne, who looked prettily in her night-clothes, and so took my coach, which waited, and away through Covent Garden, to set down two gentlemen and a lady, who come thither to see also, and did make mighty mirth in their talk of the folly of this religion. And so I stopped, having set them down and drank some burnt wine at the Rose Tavern door, while the constables come, and two or three Bellmen went by, 25th. It being a fine, light, moonshine morning, and so home round the city, and stopped and dropped money at five or six places, which I was the willinger to do, it being Christmas-day, and so home, and there find my wife in bed, and Jane and the maids making pyes, and so I to bed, and slept well, and rose about nine, and to church, and there heard a dull sermon of Mr. Mills, but a great many fine people at church; and so home. Wife and girl and I alone at dinner--a good Christmas dinner, and all the afternoon at home, my wife reading to me "The History of the Drummer of Mr. Mompesson," which is a strange story of spies, and worth reading indeed. In the evening comes Mr. Pelling, and he sat and supped with us; and very good company, he reciting to us many copies of good verses of Dr. Wilde, who writ "Iter Boreale," and so to bed, my boy being gone with W. Hewer and Mr. Hater to Mr. Gibson's in the country to dinner and lie there all night. 26th. Up and to Westminster, and there to the Swan, and by chance met Mr. Spicer and another 'Chequer clerk, and there made them drink, and there talked of the credit the 'Chequer is now come to and will in a little time, and so away homeward, and called at my bookseller's, and there bought Mr. Harrington's works, "Oceana," &c., and two other books, which cost me L4, and so home, and there eat a bit, and then with my wife to the King's playhouse, and there saw "The Surprizall;" which did not please me to-day, the actors not pleasing me; and especially Nell's acting of a serious part, which she spoils. Here met with Sir W. Pen, and sat by him, and home by coach with him, and there to my office a while, and then home to supper and to bed. I hear this day that Mrs. Stewart do at this day keep a great court at Somerset House, with her husband the Duke of Richmond, she being visited for her beauty's sake by people, as the Queen is, at nights; and they say also that she is likely to go to Court again, and there put my Lady Castlemayne's nose out of joynt. God knows that would make a great turn. This day I was invited to have gone to my cozen Mary Pepys' burial, my uncle Thomas' daughter, but could not. 27th. Up, and by water to White Hall, and there walked with Creed in the Matted gallery till by and by a Committee for Tangier met: the Duke of York there; and there I did discourse over to them their condition as to money, which they were all mightily, as I could desire, satisfied with, but the Duke of Albemarle, who takes the part of the Guards against us in our supplies of money, which is an odd consideration for a dull, heavy blockhead as he is, understanding no more of either than a goose: but the ability and integrity of Sir W. Coventry, in all the King's concernments, I do and must admire. After the Committee up, I and Sir W. Coventry walked an hour in the gallery, talking over many businesses, and he tells me that there are so many things concur to make him and his Fellow Commissioners unable to go through the King's work that he do despair of it, every body becoming an enemy to them in their retrenchments, and the King unstable, the debts great and the King's present occasions for money great and many and pressing, the bankers broke and every body keeping in their money, while the times are doubtful what will stand. But he says had they come in two years ago they doubt not to have done what the King would by this time, or were the King in the condition as heretofore, when the Chancellor was great, to be able to have what sums of money they pleased of the Parliament, and then the ill administration was such that instead of making good use of this power and money he suffered all to go to ruin. But one such sum now would put all upon their legs, and now the King would have the Parliament give him money when they are in an ill humour and will not be willing to give any, nor are very able, and besides every body distrusts what they give the King will be lost; whereas six months hence, when they see that the King can live without them, and is become steady, and to manage what he has well, he doubts not but their doubts would be removed, and would be much more free as well as more able to give him money. He told me how some of his enemies at the Duke of York's had got the Duke of York's commission for the Commissioners of his estate changed, and he and Brouncker and Povy left out: that this they did do to disgrace and impose upon him at this time; but that he, though he values not the thing, did go and tell the Duke of York what he heard, and that he did not think that he had given him any reason to do this, out of his belief that he would not be as faithful and serviceable to him as the best of those that have got him put out. Whereupon the Duke of York did say that it arose only from his not knowing whether now he would have time to regard his affairs; and that, if he should, he would put him into the commission with his own hand, though the commission be passed. He answered that he had been faithful to him, and done him good service therein, so long as he could attend it; and if he had been able to have attended it more, he would not have enriched himself with such and such estates as my Lord Chancellor hath got, that did properly belong to his Royal Highness, as being forfeited to the King, and so by the King's gift given to the Duke of York. Hereupon the Duke of York did call for the commission, and hath since put him in. This he tells me he did only to show his enemies that he is not so low as to be trod on by them, or the Duke hath any so bad opinion of him as they would think. Here we parted, and I with Sir H. Cholmly went and took a turn into the Park, and there talked of several things, and about Tangier particularly, and of his management of his business, and among other discourse about the method he will leave his accounts in if he should suddenly die, he says there is nothing but what is easily understood, but only a sum of L500 which he has entered given to E. E. S., which in great confidence he do discover to me to be my Lord Sandwich, at the beginning of their contract for the Mole, and I suppose the rest did the like, which was L1500, which would appear a very odd thing for my Lord to be a profiter by the getting of the contract made for them. But here it puts me into thoughts how I shall own my receiving of L200 a year from him, but it is his gift, I never asked of him, and which he did to Mr. Povy, and so there is no great matter in it. Thence to other talk. He tells me that the business of getting the Duchess of Richmond to Court is broke off, the Duke not suffering it; and thereby great trouble is brought among the people that endeavoured it, and thought they had compassed it. And, Lord! to think that at this time the King should mind no other cares but these! He tells me that my Lord of Canterbury is a mighty stout man, and a man of a brave, high spirit, and cares not for this disfavour that he is under at Court, knowing that the King cannot take away his profits during his life, and therefore do not value it. [This character of Archbishop Sheldon does not tally with the scandal that Pepys previously reported of him. Burnet has some passages of importance on this in his "Own Time," Book II. He affirms that Charles's final decision to throw over Clarendon was caused by the Chancellor's favouring Mrs. Stewart's marriage with the Duke of Richmond. The king had a conference with Sheldon on the removal of Clarendon, but could not convert the archbishop to his view. Lauderdale told Burnet that he had an account of the interview from the king. "The king and Sheldon had gone into such expostulations upon it that from that day forward Sheldon could never recover the king's confidence."] Thence I home, and there to my office and wrote a letter to the Duke of York from myself about my clerks extraordinary, which I have employed this war, to prevent my being obliged to answer for what others do without any reason demand allowance for, and so by this means I will be accountable for none but my own, and they shall not have them but upon the same terms that I have, which is a profession that with these helps they will answer to their having performed their duties of their places. So to dinner, and then away by coach to the Temple, and then for speed by water thence to White Hall, and there to our usual attending the Duke of York, and did attend him, where among other things I did present and lodge my letter, and did speed in it as I could wish. Thence home with Sir W. Pen and Comm. Middleton by coach, and there home and to cards with my wife, W. Hewer, Mercer, and the girle, and mighty pleasant all the evening, and so to bed with my wife, which I have not done since her being ill for three weeks or thereabouts. 28th. Up, and to the office, where busy all the morning, at noon home, and there to dinner with my clerks and Mr. Pelting, and had a very good dinner, among others a haunch of venison boiled, and merry we were, and I rose soon from dinner, and with my wife and girle to the King's house, and there saw "The Mad Couple," which is but an ordinary play; but only Nell's and Hart's mad parts are most excellently done, but especially hers: which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any serious part, as, the other day, just like a fool or changeling; and, in a mad part, do beyond all imitation almost. [It pleased us mightily to see the natural affection of a poor woman, the mother of one of the children brought on the stage: the child crying, she by force got upon the stage, and took up her child and carried it away off of the stage from Hart.] Many fine faces here to-day. Thence home, and there to the office late, and then home to supper and to bed. I am told to-day, which troubles me, that great complaint is made upon the 'Change, among our merchants, that the very Ostend little pickaroon men-of-war do offer violence to our merchant-men, and search them, beat our masters, and plunder them, upon pretence of carrying Frenchmen's goods. Lord! what a condition are we come to, and that so soon after a war! 29th (Lord's day). Up, and at my chamber all the day, both morning and afternoon (only a little at dinner with my wife alone), upon the settling of my Tangier accounts towards the evening of all reckonings now against the new year, and here I do see the great folly of letting things go long unevened, it being very hard for me and dangerous to state after things are gone out of memory, and much more would be so should I have died in this time and my accounts come to other hands, to understand which would never be. At night comes Mrs. Turner to see us; and there, among other talk, she tells me that Mr. William Pen, who is lately come over from Ireland, is a Quaker again, or some very melancholy thing; that he cares for no company, nor comes into any which is a pleasant thing, after his being abroad so long, and his father such a hypocritical rogue, and at this time an Atheist. She gone, I to my very great content do find my accounts to come very even and naturally, and so to supper and to bed. 30th. Up before day, and by coach to Westminster, and there first to Sir H. Cholmly, and there I did to my great content deliver him up his little several papers for sums of money paid him, and took his regular receipts upon his orders, wherein I am safe. Thence to White Hall, and there to visit Sir G. Carteret, and there was with him a great while, and my Lady and they seem in very good humour, but by and by Sir G. Carteret and I alone, and there we did talk of the ruinous condition we are in, the King being going to put out of the Council so many able men; such as my Lord Anglesey, Ashly, Hopis, Secretary Morrice (to bring in Mr. Trevor), and the Archbishop of Canterbury, and my Lord Bridgewater. He tells me that this is true, only the Duke of York do endeavour to hinder it, and the Duke of York himself did tell him so: that the King and the Duke of York do not in company disagree, but are friendly; but that there is a core in their hearts, he doubts, which is not to be easily removed; for these men do suffer only for their constancy to the Chancellor, or at least from the King's ill-will against him: that they do now all they can to vilify the clergy, and do accuse Rochester [Dolben]... and so do raise scandals, all that is possible, against other of the Bishops. He do suggest that something is intended for the Duke of Monmouth, and it may be, against the Queene also: that we are in no manner sure against an invasion the next year: that the Duke of Buckingham do rule all now, and the Duke of York comes indeed to the Caball, but signifies little there. That this new faction do not endure, nor the King, Sir W. Coventry; but yet that he is so usefull that they cannot be without him; but that he is not now called to the Caball. That my Lord of Buckingham, Bristoll, and Arlington, do seem to agree in these things; but that they do not in their hearts trust one another, but do drive several ways, all of them. In short, he do bless himself that he is no more concerned in matters now; and the hopes he hath of being at liberty, when his accounts are over, to retire into the country. That he do give over the kingdom for wholly lost. So after some other little discourse, I away, meeting with Mr. Cooling. I with him by coach to the Wardrobe, where I never was since the fire in Hatton Garden, but did not 'light: and he tells me he fears that my Lord Sandwich will suffer much by Mr. Townsend's being untrue to him, he being now unable to give the Commissioners of the Treasury an account of his money received by many thousands of pounds, which I am troubled for. Thence to the Old Exchange together, he telling me that he believes there will be no such turning out of great men as is talked of, but that it is only to fright people, but I do fear there may be such a thing doing. He do mightily inveigh against the folly of the King to bring his matters to wrack thus, and that we must all be undone without help. I met with Cooling at the Temple-gate, after I had been at both my booksellers and there laid out several pounds in books now against the new year. From the 'Change (where I met with Captain Cocke, who would have borrowed money of me, but I had the grace to deny him, he would have had 3 or L400) I with Cocke and Mr. Temple (whose wife was just now brought to bed of a boy, but he seems not to be at all taken with it, which is a strange consideration how others do rejoice to have a child born), to Sir G. Carteret's, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and there did dine together, there being there, among other company, Mr. Attorney Montagu, and his fine lady, a fine woman. After dinner, I did understand from my Lady Jemimah that her brother Hinchingbroke's business was to be ended this day, as she thinks, towards his match, and they do talk here of their intent to buy themselves some new clothes against the wedding, which I am very glad of. After dinner I did even with Sir G. Carteret the accounts of the interest of the money which I did so long put out for him in Sir R. Viner's hands, and by it I think I shall be a gainer about L28, which is a very good reward for the little trouble I have had in it. Thence with Sir Philip Carteret to the King's playhouse, there to see "Love's Cruelty," an old play, but which I have not seen before; and in the first act Orange Moll come to me, with one of our porters by my house, to tell me that Mrs. Pierce and Knepp did dine at my house to-day, and that I was desired to come home. So I went out presently, and by coach home, and they were just gone away so, after a very little stay with my wife, I took coach again, and to the King's playhouse again, and come in the fourth act; and it proves to me a very silly play, and to everybody else, as far as I could judge. But the jest is, that here telling Moll how I had lost my journey, she told me that Mrs. Knepp was in the house, and so shews me to her, and I went to her, and sat out the play, and then with her to Mrs. Manuel's, where Mrs. Pierce was, and her boy and girl; and here I did hear Mrs. Manuel and one of the Italians, her gallant, sing well. But yet I confess I am not delighted so much with it, as to admire it: for, not understanding the words, I lose the benefit of the vocalitys of the musick, and it proves only instrumental; and therefore was more pleased to hear Knepp sing two or three little English things that I understood, though the composition of the other, and performance, was very fine. Thence, after sitting and talking a pretty while, I took leave and left them there, and so to my bookseller's, and paid for the books I had bought, and away home, where I told my wife where I had been. But she was as mad as a devil, and nothing but ill words between us all the evening while we sat at cards--W. Hewer and the girl by--even to gross ill words, which I was troubled for, but do see that I must use policy to keep her spirit down, and to give her no offence by my being with Knepp and Pierce, of which, though she will not own it, yet she is heartily jealous. At last it ended in few words and my silence (which for fear of growing higher between us I did forbear), and so to supper and to bed without one word one to another. This day I did carry money out, and paid several debts. Among others, my tailor, and shoemaker, and draper, Sir W. Turner, who begun to talk of the Commission of accounts, wherein he is one; but though they are the greatest people that ever were in the nation as to power, and like to be our judges, yet I did never speak one word to him of desiring favour, or bidding him joy in it, but did answer him to what he said, and do resolve to stand or fall by my silent preparing to answer whatever can be laid to me, and that will be my best proceeding, I think. This day I got a little rent in my new fine camlett cloak with the latch of Sir G. Carteret's door; but it is darned up at my tailor's, that it will be no great blemish to it; but it troubled me. I could not but observe that Sir Philip Carteret would fain have given me my going into a play; but yet, when he come to the door, he had no money to pay for himself, I having refused to accept of it for myself, but was fain; and I perceive he is known there, and do run upon the score for plays, which is a shame; but I perceive always he is in want of money. [The practice of gallants attending the theatre without payment is illustrated by Mr. Lowe in his "Betterton," from Shadwell's "True Widow": "1st Doorkeeper. Pray, sir, pay me: my masters will make me pay it. 3d Man. Impudent rascal, do you ask me for money? Take that, sirrah. 2nd Doorkeeper. Will you pay me, sir? 4th Man. No; I don't intend to stay. 2nd Doorkeeper. So you say every day, and see two or three acts for nothing."] In the pit I met with Sir Ch. North, formerly Mr. North, who was with my Lord at sea; and he, of his own accord, was so silly as to tell me he is married; and for her quality (being a Lord's daughter, my Lord Grey), and person, and beauty, and years, and estate, and disposition, he is the happiest man in the world. I am sure he is an ugly fellow; but a good scholar and sober gentleman; and heir to his father, now Lord North, the old Lord being dead. 31st. Up, without words to my wife, or few, and those not angry, and so to White Hall, and there waited a long time, while the Duke of York was with the King in the Caball, and there I and Creed stayed talking without, in the Vane-Room, and I perceive all people's expectation is, what will be the issue of this great business of putting these great Lords out of the council and power, the quarrel, I perceive, being only their standing against the will of the King in the business of the Chancellor. Anon the Duke of York comes out, and then to a committee of Tangier, where my Lord Middleton did come to-day, and seems to me but a dull, heavy man; but he is a great soldier, and stout, and a needy Lord, which will still keep that poor garrison from ever coming to be worth anything to the King. Here, after a short meeting, we broke up, and I home to the office, where they are sitting, and so I to them, and having done our business rose, and I home to dinner with my people, and there dined with me my uncle Thomas, with a mourning hat-band on, for his daughter Mary, and here I and my people did discourse of the Act for the accounts, ["An Act for taking the Accompts of the several sums of money therein menconed, 19 and 20 Car. II., c. I. The commissioners were empowered to call before them all Treasurers, Receivers, Paymasters, Principal Officers and Commissioners of the Navy and Ordnance respectively, Pursers, Mustermasters and Clerks of the Cheque, Accomptants, and all Officers and Keepers of his Majesties Stores and Provisions for Warr as well for Land as Sea, and all other persons whatsoever imployed in the management of the said Warr or requisite for the discovery of any frauds relating thereunto," &c., &c. ("Statutes of the Realm," vol. v., pp. 624,627).] which do give the greatest power to these people, as they report that have read it (I having not yet read it, and indeed its nature is such as I have no mind to go about to read it, for fear of meeting matter in it to trouble me), that ever was given to any subjects, and too much also. After dinner with my wife and girl to Unthanke's, and there left her, and I to Westminster, and there to Mrs. Martin's, and did hazer con elle what I desired, and there did drink with her, and find fault with her husband's wearing of too fine clothes, by which I perceive he will be a beggar, and so after a little talking I away and took up my wife again, and so home and to the office, where Captain Perryman did give me an account, walking in the garden, how the seamen of England are discouraged by want of money (or otherwise by being, as he says, but I think without cause, by their being underrated) so far as that he thinks the greatest part are gone abroad or going, and says that it is known that there are Irish in the town, up and down, that do labour to entice the seamen out of the nation by giving them L3 in hand, and promise of 40s. per month, to go into the King of France's service, which is a mighty shame, but yet I believe is true. I did advise with him about my little vessel, "The Maybolt," which he says will be best for me to sell, though my employing her to Newcastle this winter, and the next spring, for coles, will be a gainful trade, but yet make me great trouble, but I will think of it, and so to my office, ended my letters, and so home to supper and to bed, good friends with my wife. Thus ends the year, with great happiness to myself and family as to health and good condition in the world, blessed be God for it! only with great trouble to my mind in reference to the publick, there being little hopes left but that the whole nation must in a very little time be lost, either by troubles at home, the Parliament being dissatisfied, and the King led into unsettled councils by some about him, himself considering little, and divisions growing between the King and Duke of York; or else by foreign invasion, to which we must submit if any, at this bad point of time, should come upon us, which the King of France is well able to do. These thoughts, and some cares upon me, concerning my standing in this Office when the Committee of Parliament shall come to examine our Navy matters, which they will now shortly do. I pray God they may do the kingdom service therein, as they will have sufficient opportunity of doing it! ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS, DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS, 1667 N.S., COMPLETE: 20s. in money, and what wine she needed, for the burying him A gainful trade, but yet make me great trouble Act of Council passed, to put out all Papists in office Advantage a man of the law hath over all other people And a deal of do of which I am weary Angling with a minikin, a gut-string varnished over Anthem anything but instrumentall musique with the voice Archbishop is a wencher, and known to be so As he called it, the King's seventeenth whore abroad Baker's house in Pudding Lane, where the late great fire begun Beginnings of discontents take so much root between us Being taken with a Psalmbook or Testament Better now than never Bill against importing Cattle from Ireland Bold to deliver what he thinks on every occasion Bring me a periwig, but it was full of nits But do it with mighty vanity and talking But my wife vexed, which vexed me Buying his place of my Lord Barkely Buying up of goods in case there should be war Cast stones with his horne crooke Certainly Annapolis must be defended,--where is Annapolis? Chief Court of judicature (House of Lords) Clap of the pox which he got about twelve years ago Come to us out of bed in his furred mittens and furred cap Commons, where there is nothing done but by passion, and faction Confidence, and vanity, and disparages everything Consider that this is all the pleasure I live for in the world Court full of great apprehensions of the French Court is in a way to ruin all for their pleasures Credit of this office hath received by this rogue's occasion Dash the brains of it out before the King's face Declared he will never have another public mistress again Desk fastened to one of the armes of his chayre Did take me up very prettily in one or two things that I said Dinner, an ill and little mean one, with foul cloth and dishes Disquiet all night, telling of the clock till it was daylight Do outdo the Lords infinitely (debates in the Commons) Dog, that would turn a sheep any way which Dutch fleets being in so many places Eat some of the best cheese-cakes that ever I eat in my life Enough existed to build a ship (Pieces of the true Cross) Enviously, said, I could not come honestly by them Erasmus "de scribendis epistolis" Every body leads, and nobody follows Father, who to supper and betimes to bed at his country hours Feared she hath from some [one] or other of a present Fell a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another Fool's play with which all publick things are done For I will not be inward with him that is open to another For I will be hanged before I seek to him, unless I see I need Found to be with child, do never stir out of their beds Give the King of France Nova Scotia, which he do not like Gold holds up its price still Good purpose of fitting ourselves for another war (A Peace) Had his hand cut off, and was hanged presently! Had the umbles of it for dinner Hates to have any body mention what he had done the day before Hath given her the pox, but I hope it is not so Have not any awe over them from the King's displeasure (Commons) He was charged with making himself popular He is not a man fit to be told what one hears He will do no good, he being a man of an unsettled head He is a man of no worth in the world but compliment Heeling her on one side to make her draw little water History of this day's growth, we cannot tell the truth House of Lords is the last appeal that a man can make How do the children? Hugged, it being cold now in the mornings.... Hunt up and down with its mouth if you touch the cheek I would not enquire into anything, but let her talk I am not a man able to go through trouble, as other men I having now seen a play every day this week I perceive no passion in a woman can be lasting long I did get her hand to me under my cloak I love the treason I hate the traitor I find her painted, which makes me loathe her (cosmetics) If the word Inquisition be but mentioned Ill-bred woman, would take exceptions at anything any body said Ill sign when we are once to come to study how to excuse Just set down to dinner, and I dined with them, as I intended King do resolve to declare the Duke of Monmouth legitimate King is at the command of any woman like a slave King the necessity of having, at least, a show of religion King is offended with the Duke of Richmond's marrying King of France did think other princes fit for nothing King governed by his lust, and women, and rogues about him King's service is undone, and those that trust him perish Kingdom will fall back again to a commonwealth Know yourself to be secure, in being necessary to the office Lady Castlemayne's nose out of joynt Lady Castlemayne is compounding with the King for a pension Liberty of speech in the House Little content most people have in the peace Little worth of this world, to buy it with so much pain Looks to lie down about two months hence Make a man wonder at the good fortune of such a fool Mazer or drinking-bowl turned out of some kind of wood Mean, methinks, and is as if they had married like dog and bitch Mirrors which makes the room seem both bigger and lighter Mr. William Pen a Quaker again Mrs. Stewart's sending the King his jewels again Much difficulty to get pews, I offering the sexton money Musique in the morning to call up our new-married people Must yet pay to the Poll Bill for this pension (unreceived) My wife will keep to one another and let the world go hang My intention to learn to trill My people do observe my minding my pleasure more than usual My wife this night troubled at my leaving her alone so much Necessary, and yet the peace is so bad in its terms Never laughed so in all my life. I laughed till my head ached Never was known to keep two mistresses in his life (Charles II.) Never, while he lives, truckle under any body or any faction Never to keep a country-house, but to keep a coach New medall, where, in little, there is Mrs. Steward's face Night the Dutch burned our ships the King did sup with Castlemayne No man knowing what to do, whether to sell or buy Nobody knows which side will be uppermost Nobody being willing to trust us for anything Nor offer anything, but just what is drawn out of a man Not more than I expected, nor so much by a great deal as I ought Not thinking them safe men to receive such a gratuity Now above six months since (smoke from the cellars) Officers are four years behind-hand unpaid Only because she sees it is the fashion (She likes it) Outdo for neatness and plenty anything done by any of them Painful to keep money, as well as to get it Pit, where the bears are baited Poll Bill Pressing in it as if none of us had like care with him Prince's being trepanned, which was in doing just as we passed Proud that she shall come to trill Receive the applications of people, and hath presents Reparation for what we had embezzled Run over their beads with one hand, and point and play and talk Said to die with the cleanest hands that ever any Lord Treasurer Saying, that for money he might be got to our side Says of wood, that it is an excrescence of the earth Seems she hath had long melancholy upon her Sermon ended, and the church broke up, and my amours ended also Sermon upon Original Sin, neither understood by himself Sermon without affectation or study Shame such a rogue should give me and all of us this trouble She has this silly vanity that she must play Sick of it and of him for it Silence; it being seldom any wrong to a man to say nothing Singing with many voices is not singing So every thing stands still for money Some ends of my own in what advice I do give her Sorry thing to be a poor King Spares not to blame another to defend himself Sparrowgrass Speaks rarely, which pleases me mightily Spends his time here most, playing at bowles Sport to me to see him so earnest on so little occasion Street ordered to be continued, forty feet broad, from Paul's Supper and to bed without one word one to another Suspect the badness of the peace we shall make Swear they will not go to be killed and have no pay Take pins out of her pocket to prick me if I should touch her The pleasure of my not committing these things to my memory The world do not grow old at all The gates of the City shut, it being so late Their condition was a little below my present state Then home, and merry with my wife They are all mad; and thus the kingdom is governed! They want where to set their feet, to begin to do any thing Think never to see this woman--at least, to have her here more Though he knows, if he be not a fool, that I love him not Through my wife's illness had a bad night of it, and she a worse To my joy, I met not with any that have sped better than myself Troubled to think what trouble a rogue may without cause give Uncertainty of all history Used to make coal fires, and wash my foul clothes Very great tax; but yet I do think it is so perplexed Voyage to Newcastle for coles We find the two young ladies come home, and their patches off Weary of it; but it will please the citizens Weigh him after he had done playing What way a man could devise to lose so much in so little time What I said would not hold water Whatever I do give to anybody else, I shall give her Where a piece of the Cross is Which he left him in the lurch Whip this child till the blood come, if it were my child! Who continues so ill as not to be troubled with business Whom, in mirth to us, he calls Antichrist Whose red nose makes me ashamed to be seen with him Wise man's not being wise at all times Wise men do prepare to remove abroad what they have Wonders that she cannot be as good within as she is fair without Wretch, n., often used as an expression of endearment Yet let him remember the days of darkness Young fellow, with his hat cocked like a fool behind 
42081	----	Project Gutenberg has the other volume (Volume I) of this work. Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41218 Transcriber's note: Page headers in the original text indicated the location of the author. I have converted these to sidenotes. When the location did not change over several pages, only one sidenote was used. [Illustration: _THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM_ _From an old painting_] THE DIARY OF JOHN EVELYN Edited from the Original Mss. by WILLIAM BRAY Fellow of the Antiquarian Society In Two Volumes VOL. II With a Biographical Introduction by the Editor And a Special Introduction by Richard Garnett, Ll.D. of the British Museum M. Walter Dunne, Publisher Washington & London Copyright, 1901, by Walter Dunne, Publisher ILLUSTRATIONS CHARLES I. IN PRISON _Frontispiece_ Photogravure after De La Roche. LORD WILLIAM RUSSELL TAKING LEAVE OF HIS CHILDREN, 1683 180 Photogravure after a painting by Bridges. OLIVER CROMWELL DICTATING TO JOHN MILTON 284 The letter to the Duke of Savoy to stop the persecution of the Protestants of Piedmont, 1655. Photogravure from an engraving by Sartain after Newenham. VOLUME II. THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM _Frontispiece_ From an old painting. NELL GWYNNE 64 Photogravure after Sir Peter Lely. VOLUME I. 1620-1664 VOLUME II. 1665-1706 THE DIARY OF JOHN EVELYN. 2d January, 1665. This day was published by me that part of "The Mystery of Jesuitism" translated and collected by me, though without my name, containing the Imaginary Heresy, with four letters and other pieces. 4th January, 1665. I went in a coach, it being excessive sharp frost and snow, toward Dover and other parts of Kent, to settle physicians, chirurgeons, agents, marshals, and other officers in all the sea ports, to take care of such as should be set on shore, wounded, sick, or prisoners, in pursuance of our commission reaching from the North Foreland, in Kent, to Portsmouth, in Hampshire. The rest of the ports in England were allotted to the other Commissioners. That evening I came to Rochester, where I delivered the Privy Council's letter to the Mayor to receive orders from me. 5th January, 1665. I arrived at Canterbury, and went to the cathedral, exceedingly well repaired since his Majesty's return. 6th January, 1665. To Dover, where Colonel Stroode, Lieutenant of the Castle, having received the letter I brought him from the Duke of Albemarle, made me lodge in it, and I was splendidly treated, assisting me from place to place. Here I settled my first Deputy. The Mayor and officers of the Customs were very civil to me. 9th January, 1665. To Deal.--10th. To Sandwich, a pretty town, about two miles from the sea. The Mayor and officers of the Customs were very diligent to serve me. I visited the forts in the way, and returned that night to Canterbury. 11th January, 1665. To Rochester, when I took order to settle officers at Chatham. 12th January, 1665. To Gravesend, and returned home. A cold, busy, but not unpleasant journey. [Sidenote: LONDON] 25th January, 1665. This night being at Whitehall, his Majesty came to me standing in the withdrawing-room, and gave me thanks for publishing "The Mysteries of Jesuitism," which he said he had carried two days in his pocket, read it, and encouraged me; at which I did not a little wonder: I suppose Sir Robert Murray had given it to him. 27th January, 1665. Dined at the Lord Chancellor's, who caused me after dinner to sit two or three hours alone with him in his bedchamber. 2d February, 1665. I saw a Masque performed at Court, by six gentlemen and six ladies, surprising his Majesty, it being Candlemas day. 8th February, Ash Wednesday, 1665. I visited our prisoners at Chelsea College, and to examine how the marshal and sutlers behaved. These were prisoners taken in the war; they only complained that their bread was too fine. I dined at Sir Henry Herbert's, Master of the Revels. 9th February, 1665. Dined at my Lord Treasurer's, the Earl of Southampton, in Bloomsbury, where he was building a noble square or piazza,[1] a little town; his own house stands too low, some noble rooms, a pretty cedar chapel, a naked garden to the north, but good air. I had much discourse with his Lordship, whom I found to be a person of extraordinary parts, but a _valetudinarian_.--I went to St. James's Park, where I saw various animals, and examined the throat of the _Onocrotylus_, or pelican, a fowl between a stork and a swan; a melancholy water-fowl, brought from Astrakhan by the Russian Ambassador; it was diverting to see how he would toss up and turn a flat fish, plaice, or flounder, to get it right into his gullet at its lower beak, which, being filmy, stretches to a prodigious wideness when it devours a great fish. Here was also a small water-fowl, not bigger than a moorhen, that went almost quite erect, like the penguin of America; it would eat as much fish as its whole body weighed; I never saw so unsatiable a devourer, yet the body did not appear to swell the bigger. The solan geese here are also great devourers, and are said soon to exhaust all the fish in a pond. Here was a curious sort of poultry not much exceeding the size of a tame pigeon, with legs so short as their crops seemed to touch the earth; a milk-white raven; a stork, which was a rarity at this season, seeing he was loose, and could fly loftily; two Balearian cranes, one of which having had one of his legs broken and cut off above the knee, had a wooden or boxen leg and thigh, with a joint so accurately made that the creature could walk and use it as well as if it had been natural; it was made by a soldier. The park was at this time stored with numerous flocks of several sorts of ordinary and extraordinary wild fowl, breeding about the Decoy, which for being near so great a city, and among such a concourse of soldiers and people, is a singular and diverting thing. There were also deer of several countries, white; spotted like leopards; antelopes, an elk, red deer, roebucks, stags, Guinea goats, Arabian sheep, etc. There were withy-pots, or nests, for the wild fowl to lay their eggs in, a little above the surface of the water. [Footnote 1: The Italians mean simply a square by their _piazzas_.] 23d February, 1665. I was invited to a great feast at Mr. Rich's (a relation of my wife's, now reader at Lincoln's Inn); where was the Duke of Monmouth, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Bishops of London and Winchester, the Speaker of the House of Commons, divers of the Judges, and several other great men. 24th February, 1665. Dr. Fell, Canon of Christ Church, preached before the King, on 15 ch. Romans, v. 2, a very formal discourse, and in blank verse, according to his manner; however, he is a good man.--Mr. Philips, preceptor to my son, went to be with the Earl of Pembroke's son, my Lord Herbert. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d March, 1665. I went with his Majesty into the lobby behind the House of Lords, where I saw the King and the rest of the Lords robe themselves, and got into the House of Lords in a corner near the woolsack, on which the Lord Chancellor sits next below the throne: the King sat in all the regalia, the crown-imperial on his head, the sceptre and globe, etc. The Duke of Albemarle bore the sword, the Duke of Ormond, the cap of dignity. The rest of the Lords robed in their places:--a most splendid and august convention. Then came the Speaker and the House of Commons, and at the bar made a speech, and afterward presented several bills, a nod only passing them, the clerk saying, _Le Roy le veult_, as to public bills, as to private, _Soit faite commeil est desirè_. Then, his Majesty made a handsome but short speech, commanding my Lord Privy Seal to prorogue the Parliament, which he did, the Chancellor being ill and absent. I had not before seen this ceremony. 9th March, 1665. I went to receive the poor creatures that were saved out of the London frigate, blown up by accident, with above 200 men. 29th March, 1665. Went to Goring House, now Mr. Secretary Bennet's, ill-built, but the place capable of being made a pretty villa. His Majesty was now finishing the Decoy in the Park. 2d April, 1665. Took order about some prisoners sent from Captain Allen's ship, taken in the Solomon, viz, the brave men who defended her so gallantly. 5th April, 1665. Was a day of public humiliation and for success of this terrible war, begun doubtless at secret instigation of the French to weaken the States and Protestant interest. Prodigious preparations on both sides. 6th April, 1665. In the afternoon, I saw acted "_Mustapha_," a tragedy written by the Earl of Orrery. 11th April, 1665. To London, being now left the only Commissioner to take all necessary orders how to exchange, remove, and keep prisoners, dispose of hospitals, etc.; the rest of the Commissioners being gone to their several districts, in expectation of a sudden engagement. 19th April, 1665. Invited to a great dinner at the Trinity House, where I had business with the Commissioners of the Navy, and to receive the second £5,000, impressed for the service of the sick and wounded prisoners. 20th April, 1665. To Whitehall, to the King, who called me into his bedchamber as he was dressing, to whom, I showed the letter written to me from the Duke of York from the fleet, giving me notice of young Evertzen, and some considerable commanders newly taken in fight with the Dartmouth and Diamond frigates, whom he had sent me as prisoners at war; I went to know of his Majesty how he would have me treat them, when he commanded me to bring the young captain to him, and to take the word of the Dutch Ambassador (who yet remained here) for the other, that he should render himself to me whenever I called on him, and not stir without leave. Upon which I desired more guards, the prison being Chelsea House. I went also to Lord Arlington (the Secretary Bennet lately made a Lord) about other business. Dined at my Lord Chancellor's; none with him but Sir Sackville Crowe, formerly Ambassador at Constantinople; we were very cheerful and merry. 24th April, 1665. I presented young Captain Evertzen (eldest son of Cornelius, Vice-Admiral of Zealand and nephew of John, now Admiral, a most valiant person) to his Majesty in his bed-chamber. The King gave him his hand to kiss, and restored him his liberty; asked many questions concerning the fight (it being the first blood drawn), his Majesty remembering the many civilities he had formerly received from his relations abroad, who had now so much interest in that considerable Province. Then, I was commanded to go with him to the Holland Ambassador, where he was to stay for his passport, and I was to give him fifty pieces in broad gold. Next day I had the Ambassador's parole for the other Captain, taken in Captain Allen's fight before Calais. I gave the King an account of what I had done, and afterward asked the same favor for another Captain, which his Majesty gave me. 28th April, 1665. I went to Tunbridge, to see a solemn exercise at the free-school there. Having taken orders with my marshal about my prisoners, and with the doctor and chirurgeon to attend the wounded enemies, and of our own men, I went to London again, and visited my charge, several with legs and arms off; miserable objects, God knows. 16th May, 1665. To London, to consider of the poor orphans and widows made by this bloody beginning, and whose husbands and relations perished in the London frigate, of which there were fifty widows, and forty-five of them with child. 26th May, 1665. To treat with the Holland Ambassador at Chelsea, for release of divers prisoners of war in Holland on exchange here. After dinner, being called into the Council-Chamber at Whitehall, I gave his Majesty an account of what I had done, informing him of the vast charge upon us, now amounting to no less than £1,000 weekly. 29th May, 1665. I went with my little boy to my district in Kent, to make up accounts with my officers. Visited the Governor at Dover Castle, where were some of my prisoners. 3d June, 1665. In my return went to Gravesend; the fleets being just now engaged, gave special orders for my officers to be ready to receive the wounded and prisoners. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th June, 1665. To London, to speak with his Majesty and the Duke of Albemarle for horse and foot guards for the prisoners at war, committed more particularly to my charge by a commission apart. 8th June, 1665. I went again to his Grace, thence to the Council, and moved for another privy seal for £20,000, and that I might have the disposal of the Savoy Hospital for the sick and wounded; all which was granted. Hence to the Royal Society, to refresh among the philosophers. Came news of his highness's victory, which indeed might have been a complete one, and at once ended the war, had it been pursued, but the cowardice of some, or treachery, or both, frustrated that. We had, however, bonfires, bells, and rejoicing in the city. Next day, the 9th, I had instant orders to repair to the Downs, so as I got to Rochester this evening. Next day I lay at Deal, where I found all in readiness: but, the fleet being hindered by contrary winds, I came away on the 12th, and went to Dover, and returned to Deal; and on the 13th, hearing the fleet was at Solbay, I went homeward, and lay at Chatham, and on the 14th, I got home. On the 15th, came the eldest son of the present Secretary of State to the French King, with much other company, to dine with me. After dinner, I went with him to London, to speak to my Lord General for more guards, and gave his Majesty an account of my journey to the coasts under my inspection. I also waited on his Royal Highness, now come triumphant from the fleet, gotten into repair. See the whole history of this conflict in my "History of the Dutch War." 20th June, 1665. To London, and represented the state of the sick and wounded to His Majesty in Council, for want of money, he ordered I should apply to My Lord Treasurer and Chancellor of the Exchequer, upon what funds to raise the money promised. We also presented to his Majesty divers expedients for retrenchment of the charge. This evening making my court to the Duke, I spake to Monsieur Comminges, the French Ambassador, and his Highness granted me six prisoners, Embdeners, who were desirous to go to the Barbadoes with a merchant. 22d June, 1665. We waited on the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and got an Order of Council for our money to be paid to the Treasurer of the Navy for our Receivers. 23d June, 1665. I dined with Sir Robert Paston, since Earl of Yarmouth, and saw the Duke of Verneuille, base brother to the Queen-Mother, a handsome old man, a great hunter. The Duke of York told us that, when we were in fight, his dog sought out absolutely the very securest place in all the vessel.--In the afternoon, I saw the pompous reception and audience of El Conde de Molino, the Spanish Ambassador, in the Banqueting-house, both their Majesties sitting together under the canopy of state. 30th June, 1665. To Chatham; and, 1st July, to the fleet with Lord Sandwich, now Admiral, with whom I went in a pinnace to the Buoy of the Nore, where the whole fleet rode at anchor; went on board the Prince, of ninety brass ordnance, haply the best ship in the world, both for building and sailing; she had 700 men. They made a great huzza, or shout, at our approach, three times. Here we dined with many noblemen, gentlemen, and volunteers, served in plate and excellent meat of all sorts. After dinner, came his Majesty, the Duke, and Prince Rupert. Here I saw the King knight Captain Custance for behaving so bravely in the late fight. It was surprising to behold the good order, decency, and plenty of all things in a vessel so full of men. The ship received a hundred cannon shot in her body. Then I went on board the Charles, to which after a gun was shot off, came all the flag officers to his Majesty, who there held a General Council, which determined that his Royal Highness should adventure himself no more this summer. I came away late, having seen the most glorious fleet that ever spread sails. We returned in his Majesty's yacht with my Lord Sandwich and Mr. Vice-Chamberlain, landing at Chatham on Sunday morning. 5th July, 1665. I took order for 150 men, who had been recovered of their wounds, to be carried on board the Clove Tree, Carolus Quintus, and Zealand, ships that had been taken by us in the fight; and so returned home. 7th July, 1665. To London, to Sir William Coventry; and so to Sion, where his Majesty sat at Council during the contagion: when business was over, I viewed that seat belonging to the Earl of Northumberland, built out of an old nunnery, of stone, and fair enough, but more celebrated for the garden than it deserves; yet there is excellent wall-fruit, and a pretty fountain; nothing else extraordinary. 9th July, 1665. I went to Hampton-Court, where now the whole Court was, to solicit for money; to carry intercepted letters; confer again with Sir William Coventry, the Duke's secretary; and so home, having dined with Mr. Secretary Morice. 16th July, 1665. There died of the plague in London this week 1,100; and in the week following, above 2,000. Two houses were shut up in our parish. 2d August, 1665. A solemn fast through England to deprecate God's displeasure against the land by pestilence and war; our Doctor preaching on 26 Levit. v. 41, 42, that the means to obtain remission of punishment was not to repine at it; but humbly to submit to it. 3d August, 1665. Came his Grace the Duke of Albemarle, Lord General of all his Majesty's forces, to visit me, and carried me to dine with him. 4th August, 1665. I went to Wotton with my Son and his tutor, Mr. Bohun, Fellow of New College (recommended to me by Dr. Wilkins, and the President of New College, Oxford), for fear of the pestilence, still increasing in London and its environs. On my return, I called at Durdans, where I found Dr. Wilkins, Sir William Petty, and Mr. Hooke, contriving chariots, new rigging for ships, a wheel for one to run races in, and other mechanical inventions; perhaps three such persons together were not to be found elsewhere in Europe, for parts and ingenuity. 8th August, 1665. I waited on the Duke of Albemarle, who was resolved to stay at the Cock-pit, in St. James's Park. Died this week in London, 4,000. 15th August, 1665. There perished this week 5,000. 28th August, 1665. The contagion still increasing, and growing now all about us, I sent my wife and whole family (two or three necessary servants excepted) to my brother's at Wotton, being resolved to stay at my house myself, and to look after my charge, trusting in the providence and goodness of God. [Sidenote: CHATHAM] 5th September, 1665. To Chatham, to inspect my charge, with £900 in my coach. 7th September, 1665. Came home, there perishing near 10,000 poor creatures weekly; however, I went all along the city and suburbs from Kent Street to St. James's, a dismal passage, and dangerous to see so many coffins exposed in the streets, now thin of people; the shops shut up, and all in mournful silence, not knowing whose turn might be next. I went to the Duke of Albemarle for a pest-ship, to wait on our infected men, who were not a few. 14th September, 1665. I went to Wotton; and on 16th September, to visit old Secretary Nicholas, being now at his new purchase of West Horsley, once mortgaged to me by Lord Viscount Montague: a pretty dry seat on the Down. Returned to Wotton. 17th September, 1665. Receiving a letter from Lord Sandwich of a defeat given to the Dutch, I was forced to travel all Sunday. I was exceedingly perplexed to find that near 3,000 prisoners were sent to me to dispose of, being more than I had places fit to receive and guard. 25th September, 1665. My Lord Admiral being come from the fleet to Greenwich, I went thence with him to the Cock-pit, to consult with the Duke of Albemarle. I was peremptory that, unless we had £10,000 immediately, the prisoners would starve, and it was proposed it should be raised out of the East India prizes now taken by Lord Sandwich. They being but two of the commission, and so not empowered to determine, sent an express to his Majesty and Council, to know what they should do. In the meantime, I had five vessels, with competent guards, to keep the prisoners in for the present, to be placed as I should think best. After dinner (which was at the General's) I went over to visit his Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury, at Lambeth. 28th September, 1665. To the General again, to acquaint him of the deplorable state of our men for want of provisions; returned with orders. 29th September, 1665. To Erith, to quicken the sale of the prizes lying there, with order to the commissioner who lay on board till they should be disposed of, £5,000 being proportioned for my quarter. Then I delivered the Dutch Vice-Admiral, who was my prisoner, to Mr. Lo.... [2]of the Marshalsea, he giving me bond in £500 to produce him at my call. I exceedingly pitied this brave unhappy person, who had lost with these prizes £40,000 after twenty years' negotiation [trading] in the East Indies. I dined in one of these vessels, of 1,200 tons, full of riches. [Footnote 2: Mr. Lowman.] 1st October, 1665. This afternoon, while at evening prayers, tidings were brought me of the birth of a daughter at Wotton, after six sons, in the same chamber I had first taken breath in, and at the first day of that month, as I was on the last, forty-five years before. 4th October, 1665. The monthly fast. [Sidenote: LONDON] 11th October, 1665. To London, and went through the whole city, having occasion to alight out of the coach in several places about business of money, when I was environed with multitudes of poor, pestiferous creatures begging alms; the shops universally shut up, a dreadful prospect! I dined with my Lord General; was to receive £10,000, and had guards to convey both myself and it, and so returned home, through God's infinite mercy. 17th October, 1665. I went to Gravesend; next day to Chatham; thence to Maidstone, in order to the march of 500 prisoners to Leeds Castle, which I had hired of Lord Culpeper. I was earnestly desired by the learned Sir Roger Twisden, and Deputy-Lieutenants, to spare Maidstone from quartering any of my sick flock. Here, Sir Edward Brett sent me some horse to bring up the rear. This country, from Rochester to Maidstone and the Downs, is very agreeable for the prospect. 21st October, 1665. I came from Gravesend, where Sir J. Griffith, the Governor of the Fort, entertained me very handsomely. 31st October, 1665. I was this day forty-five years of age wonderfully preserved; for which I blessed God for his infinite goodness toward me. 23d November, 1665. Went home, the contagion having now decreased considerably. 27th November, 1665. The Duke of Albemarle was going to Oxford, where both Court and Parliament had been most part of the summer. There was no small suspicion of my Lord Sandwich having permitted divers commanders, who were at the taking of the East India prizes, to break bulk, and to take to themselves jewels, silks, etc.: though I believe some whom I could name filled their pockets, my Lord Sandwich himself had the least share. However, he underwent the blame, and it created him enemies, and prepossessed the Lord General, for he spoke to me of it with much zeal and concern, and I believe laid load enough on Lord Sandwich at Oxford. 8th December, 1665. To my Lord of Albemarle (now returned from Oxford), who was declared General at Sea, to the no small mortification of that excellent person, the Earl of Sandwich, whom the Duke of Albemarle not only suspected faulty about the prizes, but less valiant; himself imagining how easy a thing it were to confound the Hollanders, as well now as heretofore he fought against them upon a more disloyal interest. 25th December, 1665. Kept Christmas with my hospitable brother, at Wotton. 30th December, 1665. To Woodcot, where I supped at my Lady Mordaunt's at Ashsted, where was a room hung with _pintado_, full of figures great and small, prettily representing sundry trades and occupations of the Indians, with their habits; here supped also Dr. Duke, a learned and facetious gentleman. 31st December, 1665. Now blessed be God for his extraordinary mercies and preservation of me this year, when thousands, and ten thousands, perished, and were swept away on each side of me, there dying in our parish this year 406 of the pestilence! 3d January, 1665-66. I supped in Nonesuch House,[3] whither the office of the Exchequer was transferred during the plague, at my good friend Mr. Packer's, and took an exact view of the plaster statues and bass-relievos inserted between the timbers and puncheons of the outside walls of the Court; which must needs have been the work of some celebrated Italian. I much admired how they had lasted so well and entire since the time of Henry VIII., exposed as they are to the air; and pity it is they are not taken out and preserved in some dry place; a gallery would become them. There are some mezzo-relievos as big as the life; the story is of the Heathen Gods, emblems, compartments, etc. The palace consists of two courts, of which the first is of stone, castle like, by the Lord Lumleys (of whom it was purchased), the other of timber, a Gothic fabric, but these walls incomparably beautiful. I observed that the appearing timber-puncheons, entrelices, etc., were all so covered with scales of slate, that it seemed carved in the wood and painted, the slate fastened on the timber in pretty figures, that has, like a coat of armor, preserved it from rotting. There stand in the garden two handsome stone pyramids, and the avenue planted with rows of fair elms, but the rest of these goodly trees, both of this and of Worcester Park adjoining, were felled by those destructive and avaricious rebels in the late war, which defaced one of the stateliest seats his Majesty had. [Footnote 3: Of this famous summer residence of Queen Elizabeth not a vestige remains.] 12th January, 1666. After much, and indeed extraordinary mirth and cheer, all my brothers, our wives, and children, being together, and after much sorrow and trouble during this contagion, which separated our families as well as others, I returned to my house, but my wife went back to Wotton. I, not as yet willing to adventure her, the contagion, though exceedingly abated, not as yet wholly extinguished among us. 29th January, 1666. I went to wait on his Majesty, now returned from Oxford to Hampton-Court, where the Duke of Albemarle presented me to him; he ran toward me, and in a most gracious manner gave me his hand to kiss, with many thanks for my care and faithfulness in his service in a time of such great danger, when everybody fled their employments; he told me he was much obliged to me, and said he was several times concerned for me, and the peril I underwent, and did receive my service most acceptably (though in truth I did but do my duty, and O that I had performed it as I ought!). After this, his Majesty was pleased to talk with me alone, near an hour, of several particulars of my employment, and ordered me to attend him again on the Thursday following at Whitehall. Then the Duke came toward me, and embraced me with much kindness, telling me if he had thought my danger would have been so great, he would not have suffered his Majesty to employ me in that station. Then came to salute me my Lord of St. Albans, Lord Arlington, Sir William Coventry, and several great persons; after which, I got home, not being very well in health. The Court was now in deep mourning for the French Queen-Mother. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d February, 1666. To London; his Majesty now come to Whitehall, where I heard and saw my Lord Mayor (and brethren) make his speech of welcome, and the two Sheriffs were knighted. 6th February, 1666. My wife and family returned to me from the country, where they had been since August, by reason of the contagion, now almost universally ceasing. Blessed be God for his infinite mercy in preserving us! I, having gone through so much danger, and lost so many of my poor officers, escaping still myself that I might live to recount and magnify his goodness to me. 8th February, 1666. I had another gracious reception by his Majesty, who called me into his bed-chamber, to lay before and describe to him my project of an Infirmary, which I read to him, who with great approbation, recommended it to his Royal Highness. 20th February, 1666. To the Commissioners of the Navy who, having seen the project of the Infirmary, encouraged the work, and were very earnest it should be set about immediately; but I saw no money, though a very moderate expense would have saved thousands to his Majesty, and been much more commodious for the cure and quartering of our sick and wounded, than the dispersing them into private houses, where many more chirurgeons and attendants were necessary, and the people tempted to debauchery. 21st February, 1666. Went to my Lord Treasurer for an assignment of £40,000 upon the last two quarters for support of the next year's charge. Next day, to Duke of Albemarle and Secretary of State, to desire them to propose it to the Council. 1st March, 1666. To London, and presented his Majesty my book intitled, "The Pernicious Consequences of the new Heresy of the Jesuits against Kings and States." 7th March, 1666. Dr. Sancroft, since Archbishop of Canterbury, preached before the King about the identity and immutability of God, on Psalm cii. 27. 13th March, 1666. To Chatham, to view a place designed for an Infirmary. 15th March, 1666. My charge now amounted to near £7,000 [weekly]. 22d March, 1666. The Royal Society reassembled, after the dispersion from the contagion. 24th March, 1666. Sent £2,000 to Chatham. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st April, 1666. To London, to consult about ordering the natural rarities belonging to the repository of the Royal Society; referred to a Committee. 10th April, 1666. Visited Sir William D'Oyly, surprised with a fit of apoplexy, and in extreme danger. 11th April, 1666. Dr. Bathurst preached before the King, from "I say unto you all, watch"--a seasonable and most excellent discourse. When his Majesty came from chapel, he called to me in the lobby, and told me he must now have me sworn for a Justice of Peace (having long since made me of the Commission); which I declined as inconsistent with the other service I was engaged in, and humbly desired to be excused. After dinner, waiting on him, I gave him the first notice of the Spaniards referring the umpirage of the peace between them and Portugal to the French King, which came to me in a letter from France before the Secretaries of State had any news of it. After this, his Majesty again asked me if I had found out any able person about our parts that might supply my place of Justice of Peace (the office in the world I had most industriously avoided, in regard of the perpetual trouble thereof in these numerous parishes); on which I nominated one, whom the King commanded me to give immediate notice of to my Lord Chancellor, and I should be excused; for which I rendered his Majesty many thanks. From thence, I went to the Royal Society, where I was chosen by twenty-seven voices to be one of their Council for the ensuing year; but, upon my earnest suit in respect of my other affairs, I got to be excused--and so home. 15th April, 1666. Our parish was now more infected with the plague than ever, and so was all the country about, though almost quite ceased at London. 24th April, 1666. To London about our Mint-Commission, and sat in the inner Court of Wards. 8th May, 1666. To Queensborough, where finding the Richmond frigate, I sailed to the buoy of the Nore to my Lord-General and Prince Rupert, where was the Rendezvous of the most glorious fleet in the world, now preparing to meet the Hollander. Went to visit my cousin, Hales, at a sweetly-watered place at Chilston, near Bockton. The next morning, to Leeds Castle, once a famous hold, now hired by me of my Lord Culpeper for a prison. Here I flowed the dry moat, made a new drawbridge, brought spring water into the court of the Castle to an old fountain, and took order for the repairs. 22d May, 1666. Waited on my Lord Chancellor at his new palace; and Lord Berkeley's built next to it. 24th May, 1666. Dined with Lord Cornbury, now made Lord Chamberlain to the Queen; who kept a very honorable table. 1st June, 1666. Being in my garden at 6 o'clock in the evening, and hearing the great guns go thick off, I took horse and rode that night to Rochester; thence next day toward the Downs and seacoast, but meeting the Lieutenant of the Hampshire frigate, who told me what passed, or rather what had not passed, I returned to London, there being no noise, or appearance at Deal, or on that coast of any engagement. Recounting this to his Majesty, whom I found at St. James's Park, impatiently expecting, and knowing that Prince Rupert was loose about three at St. Helen's Point at N. of the Isle of Wight, it greatly rejoiced him; but he was astonished when I assured him they heard nothing of the guns in the Downs, nor did the Lieutenant who landed there by five that morning. 3d June, 1666. Whitsunday. After sermon came news that the Duke of Albemarle was still in fight, and had been all Saturday, and that Captain Harman's ship (the Henry) was like to be burnt. Then a letter from Mr. Bertie that Prince Rupert was come up with his squadron (according to my former advice of his being loose and in the way), and put new courage into our fleet, now in a manner yielding ground; so that now we were chasing the chasers; that the Duke of Albemarle was slightly wounded, and the rest still in great danger. So, having been much wearied with my journey, I slipped home, the guns still roaring very fiercely. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th June, 1666. I went this morning to London, where came several particulars of the fight. 6th June, 1666. Came Sir Daniel Harvey from the General and related the dreadful encounter, on which his Majesty commanded me to dispatch an extraordinary physician and more chirurgeons. It was on the solemn Fast-day when the news came; his Majesty being in the chapel made a sudden stop to hear the relation, which being with much advantage on our side, his Majesty commanded that public thanks should immediately be given as for a victory. The Dean of the chapel going down to give notice of it to the other Dean officiating; and notice was likewise sent to St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey. But this was no sooner over, than news came that our loss was very great both in ships and men; that the Prince frigate was burnt, and as noble a vessel of ninety brass guns lost; and the taking of Sir George Ayscue, and exceeding shattering of both fleets; so as both being obstinate, both parted rather for want of ammunition and tackle than courage; our General retreating like a lion; which exceedingly abated of our former joy. There were, however, orders given for bonfires and bells; but, God knows, it was rather a deliverance than a triumph. So much it pleased God to humble our late overconfidence that nothing could withstand the Duke of Albemarle, who, in good truth, made too forward a reckoning of his success now, because he had once beaten the Dutch in another quarrel; and being ambitious to outdo the Earl of Sandwich, whom he had prejudicated as deficient in courage. 7th June, 1666. I sent more chirurgeons, linen, medicaments, etc., to the several ports in my district. 8th June, 1666. Dined with me Sir Alexander Fraser, prime physician to his Majesty; afterward, went on board his Majesty's pleasure-boat, when I saw the London frigate launched, a most stately ship, built by the City to supply that which was burnt by accident some time since; the King, Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, being there with great banquet. 11th June, 1666. Trinity Monday, after a sermon, applied to the remeeting of the Corporation of the Trinity-House, after the late raging and wasting pestilence: I dined with them in their new room in Deptford, the first time since it was rebuilt. 15th June, 1666. I went to Chatham.--16th. In the Jemmy yacht (an incomparable sailer) to sea, arrived by noon at the fleet at the Buoy at the Nore, dined with Prince Rupert and the General. 17th June, 1666. Came his Majesty, the Duke, and many Noblemen. After Council, we went to prayers. My business being dispatched, I returned to Chatham, having lain but one night in the Royal Charles; we had a tempestuous sea. I went on shore at Sheerness, where they were building an arsenal for the fleet, and designing a royal fort with a receptacle for great ships to ride at anchor; but here I beheld the sad spectacle, more than half that gallant bulwark of the kingdom miserably shattered, hardly a vessel entire, but appearing rather so many wrecks and hulls, so cruelly had the Dutch mangled us. The loss of the Prince, that gallant vessel, had been a loss to be universally deplored, none knowing for what reason we first engaged in this ungrateful war; we lost besides nine or ten more, and near 600 men slain and 1,100 wounded, 2,000 prisoners; to balance which, perhaps we might destroy eighteen or twenty of the enemy's ships, and 700 or 800 poor men. 18th June, 1666. Weary of this sad sight, I returned home. 2d July, 1666. Came Sir John Duncomb and Mr. Thomas Chicheley, both Privy Councillors and Commissioners of His Majesty's Ordnance, to visit me, and let me know that his Majesty had in Council, nominated me to be one of the Commissioners for regulating the farming and making of saltpetre through the whole kingdom, and that we were to sit in the Tower the next day. When they were gone, came to see me Sir John Cotton, heir to the famous antiquary, Sir Robert Cotton: a pretended great Grecian, but had by no means the parts, or genius of his grandfather. 3d July, 1666. I went to sit with the Commissioners at the Tower, where our commission being read, we made some progress in business, our Secretary being Sir George Wharton, that famous mathematician who wrote the yearly Almanac during his Majesty's troubles. Thence, to Painters' Hall, to our other commission, and dined at my Lord Mayor's. 4th July, 1666. The solemn Fast-day. Dr. Meggot preached an excellent discourse before the King on the terrors of God's judgments. After sermon, I waited on my Lord Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of Winchester, where the Dean of Westminster spoke to me about putting into my hands the disposal of fifty pounds, which the charitable people of Oxford had sent to be distributed among the sick and wounded seamen since the battle. Hence, I went to the Lord Chancellor's to joy him of his Royal Highness's second son, now born at St. James's; and to desire the use of the Star-chamber for our Commissioners to meet in, Painters' Hall not being so convenient. 12th July, 1666. We sat the first time in the Star-chamber. There was now added to our commission Sir George Downing (one that had been a great ... against his Majesty, but now insinuated into his favor; and, from a pedagogue and fanatic preacher, not worth a groat, had become excessively rich), to inspect the hospitals and treat about prisons. 14th July, 1666. Sat at the Tower with Sir J. Duncomb and Lord Berkeley, to sign deputations for undertakers to furnish their proportions of saltpetre. [Sidenote: LONDON] 17th July, 1666. To London, to prepare for the next engagement of the fleets, now gotten to sea again. 22d July, 1666. Our parish still infected with the contagion. 25th July, 1666. The fleets engaged. I dined at Lord Berkeley's, at St. James's, where dined my Lady Harrietta Hyde, Lord Arlington, and Sir John Duncomb. 29th July, 1666. The pestilence now fresh increasing in our parish, I forbore going to church. In the afternoon came tidings of our victory over the Dutch, sinking some, and driving others aground, and into their ports. 1st August, 1666. I went to Dr. Keffler, who married the daughter of the famous chemist, Drebbell,[4] inventor of the bodied scarlet. I went to see his iron ovens, made portable (formerly) for the Prince of Orange's army: supped at the Rhenish Wine-House with divers Scots gentlemen. [Footnote 4: Cornelius Van Drebbell, born at Alkmaar, in Holland, in 1572; but in the reign of Charles I. settled in London, where he died in 1634. He was famous for other discoveries in science besides that mentioned by Evelyn--the most important of which was the thermometer. He also made improvements in microscopes and telescopes; and though, like many of his scientific contemporaries, something of an empiric, possessed a considerable knowledge of chemistry and of different branches of natural philosophy.] 6th August, 1666. Dined with Mr. Povey, and then went with him to see a country house he had bought near Brentford; returning by Kensington; which house stands to a very graceful avenue of trees, but it is an ordinary building, especially one part. 8th August, 1666. Dined at Sir Stephen Fox's with several friends and, on the 10th, with Mr. Odart, Secretary of the Latin tongue. 17th August, 1666. Dined with the Lord Chancellor, whom I entreated to visit the Hospital of the Savoy, and reduce it (after the great abuse that had been continued) to its original institution for the benefit of the poor, which he promised to do. 25th August, 1666. Waited on Sir William D'Oyly, now recovered, as it were, miraculously. In the afternoon, visited the Savoy Hospital, where I stayed to see the miserably dismembered and wounded men dressed, and gave some necessary orders. Then to my Lord Chancellor, who had, with the Bishop of London and others in the commission, chosen me one of the three surveyors of the repairs of Paul's, and to consider of a model for the new building, or, if it might be, repairing of the steeple, which was most decayed. 26th August, 1666. The contagion still continuing, we had the Church service at home. 27th August, 1666. I went to St. Paul's church, where, with Dr. Wren, Mr. Pratt, Mr. May, Mr. Thomas Chicheley, Mr. Slingsby, the Bishop of London, the Dean of St. Paul's, and several expert workmen, we went about to survey the general decays of that ancient and venerable church, and to set down in writing the particulars of what was fit to be done, with the charge thereof, giving our opinion from article to article. Finding the main building to recede outward it was the opinion of Chicheley and Mr. Pratt that it had been so built _ab origine_ for an effect in perspective, in regard of the height; but I was, with Dr. Wren, quite of another judgment, and so we entered it; we plumbed the uprights in several places. When we came to the steeple, it was deliberated whether it were not well enough to repair it only on its old foundation, with reservation to the four pillars; this Mr. Chicheley and Mr. Pratt were also for, but we totally rejected it, and persisted that it required a new foundation, not only in regard of the necessity, but for that the shape of what stood was very mean, and we had a mind to build it with a noble cupola, a form of church-building not as yet known in England, but of wonderful grace. For this purpose, we offered to bring in a plan and estimate, which after much contest, was at last assented to, and that we should nominate a committee of able workmen to examine the present foundation. This concluded, we drew all up in writing, and so went with my Lord Bishop to the Dean's. 28th August, 1666. Sat at the Star-chamber. Next day, to the Royal Society, where one Mercator, an excellent mathematician, produced his rare clock and new motion to perform the equations, and Mr. Rooke, his new pendulum. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d September, 1666. This fatal night, about ten, began the deplorable fire, near Fish street, in London. 3d September, 1666. I had public prayers at home. The fire continuing, after dinner, I took coach with my wife and son, and went to the Bankside in Southwark, where we beheld that dismal spectacle, the whole city in dreadful flames near the waterside; all the houses from the Bridge, all Thames street, and upward toward Cheapside, down to the Three Cranes, were now consumed; and so returned, exceedingly astonished what would become of the rest. The fire having continued all this night (if I may call that night which was light as day for ten miles round about, after a dreadful manner), when conspiring with a fierce eastern wind in a very dry season, I went on foot to the same place; and saw the whole south part of the city burning from Cheapside to the Thames, and all along Cornhill (for it likewise kindled back against the wind as well as forward), Tower street, Fenchurch street, Gracious street, and so along to Baynard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St. Paul's church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonished, that, from the beginning, I know not by what despondency, or fate, they hardly stirred to quench it; so that there was nothing heard, or seen, but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods; such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, public halls, Exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments; leaping after a prodigious manner, from house to house, and street to street, at great distances one from the other. For the heat, with a long set of fair and warm weather, had even ignited the air, and prepared the materials to conceive the fire, which devoured, after an incredible manner, houses, furniture, and every thing. Here, we saw the Thames covered with goods floating, all the barges and boats laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on the other side, the carts, etc., carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strewn with movables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh, the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as haply the world had not seen since the foundation of it, nor can be outdone till the universal conflagration thereof. All the sky was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light seen above forty miles round about for many nights. God grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above 10,000 houses all in one flame! The noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like a hideous storm; and the air all about so hot and inflamed, that at the last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forced to stand still, and let the flames burn on, which they did, for near two miles in length and one in breadth. The clouds also of smoke were dismal, and reached, upon computation, near fifty miles in length. Thus, I left it this afternoon burning, a resemblance of Sodom, or the last day. It forcibly called to my mind that passage--"_non enim hic habemus stabilem civitatem_"; the ruins resembling the picture of Troy. London was, but is no more! Thus, I returned. 4th September, 1666. The burning still rages, and it is now gotten as far as the Inner Temple. All Fleet street, the Old Bailey, Ludgate hill, Warwick lane, Newgate, Paul's chain, Watling street, now flaming, and most of it reduced to ashes; the stones of Paul's flew like grenados, the melting lead running down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing with fiery redness, so as no horse, nor man, was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopped all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously driving the flames forward. Nothing but the Almighty power of God was able to stop them; for vain was the help of man. 5th September, 1666. It crossed toward Whitehall; but oh! the confusion there was then at that Court! It pleased his Majesty to command me, among the rest, to look after the quenching of Fetter-lane end, to preserve (if possible) that part of Holborn, while the rest of the gentlemen took their several posts, some at one part, and some at another (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands across), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses as might make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines. This some stout seamen proposed early enough to have saved near the whole city, but this some tenacious and avaricious men, aldermen, etc., would not permit, because their houses must have been of the first. It was, therefore, now commended to be practiced; and my concern being particularly for the Hospital of St. Bartholomew, near Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it; nor was my care for the Savoy less. It now pleased God, by abating the wind, and by the industry of the people, when almost all was lost infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noon, so as it came no farther than the Temple westward, nor than the entrance of Smithfield, north: but continued all this day and night so impetuous toward Cripplegate and the Tower, as made us all despair. It also broke out again in the temple; but the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and desolations were soon made, as, with the former three days' consumption, the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There was yet no standing near the burning and glowing ruins by near a furlong's space. The coal and wood wharfs, and magazines of oil, rosin, etc., did infinite mischief, so as the invective which a little before I had dedicated to his Majesty and published,[5] giving warning what probably might be the issue of suffering those shops to be in the city was looked upon as a prophecy. [Footnote 5: The _Fumifugium_.] The poor inhabitants were dispersed about St. George's Fields, and Moorfields, as far as Highgate, and several miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable huts and hovels, many without a rag, or any necessary utensils, bed or board, who from delicateness, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well-furnished houses, were now reduced to extreme misery and poverty. In this calamitous condition, I returned with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the distinguishing mercy of God to me and mine, who, in the midst of all this ruin, was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound. 6th September, 1666. Thursday. I represented to his Majesty the case of the French prisoners at war in my custody, and besought him that there might be still the same care of watching at all places contiguous to unseized houses. It is not indeed imaginable how extraordinary the vigilance and activity of the King and the Duke was, even laboring in person, and being present to command, order, reward, or encourage workmen; by which he showed his affection to his people, and gained theirs. Having, then, disposed of some under cure at the Savoy, I returned to Whitehall, where I dined at Mr. Offley's, the groom-porter, who was my relation. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th September, 1666. I went this morning on foot from Whitehall as far as London Bridge, through the late Fleet street, Ludgate hill by St. Paul's, Cheapside, Exchange, Bishops-gate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorfields, thence through Cornhill, etc., with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was; the ground under my feet so hot, that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the meantime, his Majesty got to the Tower by water, to demolish the houses about the graff, which, being built entirely about it, had they taken fire and attacked the White Tower, where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroyed all the bridge, but sunk and torn the vessels in the river, and rendered the demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the country. At my return, I was infinitely concerned to find that goodly Church, St. Paul's--now a sad ruin, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repaired by the late King) now rent in pieces, flakes of large stones split asunder, and nothing remaining entire but the inscription in the architrave showing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defaced! It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heat had in a manner calcined, so that all the ornaments, columns, friezes, capitals, and projectures of massy Portland stone, flew off, even to the very roof, where a sheet of lead covering a great space (no less than six acres by measure) was totally melted. The ruins of the vaulted roof falling, broke into St. Faith's, which being filled with the magazines of books belonging to the Stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consumed, burning for a week following. It is also observable that the lead over the altar at the east end was untouched, and among the divers monuments the body of one bishop remained entire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most ancient pieces of early piety in the Christian world, besides near one hundred more. The lead, ironwork, bells, plate, etc., melted, the exquisitely wrought Mercers' Chapel, the sumptuous Exchange, the august fabric of Christ Church, all the rest of the Companies' Halls, splendid buildings, arches, entries, all in dust; the fountains dried up and ruined, while the very waters remained boiling; the voragos of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clouds of smoke; so that in five or six miles traversing about I did not see one load of timber unconsumed, nor many stones but what were calcined white as snow. The people, who now walked about the ruins, appeared like men in some dismal desert, or rather, in some great city laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poor creatures' bodies, beds, and other combustible goods. Sir Thomas Gresham's statue, though fallen from its niche in the Royal Exchange, remained entire, when all those of the Kings since the Conquest were broken to pieces. Also the standard in Cornhill, and Queen Elizabeth's effigies, with some arms on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, while the vast iron chains of the city streets, hinges, bars, and gates of prisons, were many of them melted and reduced to cinders by the vehement heat. Nor was I yet able to pass through any of the narrow streets, but kept the widest; the ground and air, smoke and fiery vapor, continued so intense, that my hair was almost singed, and my feet insufferably surbated. The by-lanes and narrow streets were quite filled up with rubbish; nor could one have possibly known where he was, but by the ruins of some Church, or Hall, that had some remarkable tower, or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seen 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispersed, and lying along by their heaps of what they could save from the fire, deploring their loss; and, though ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for relief, which to me appeared a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His Majesty and Council indeed took all imaginable care for their relief, by proclamation for the country to come in, and refresh them with provisions. In the midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarm begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not only landed, but even entering the city. There was, in truth, some days before, great suspicion of those two nations joining; and now that they had been the occasion of firing the town. This report did so terrify, that on a sudden there was such an uproar and tumult that they ran from their goods, and, taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopped from falling on some of those nations whom they casually met, without sense or reason. The clamor and peril grew so excessive, that it made the whole Court amazed, and they did with infinite pains and great difficulty, reduce and appease the people, sending troops of soldiers and guards, to cause them to retire into the fields again, where they were watched all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repair into the suburbs about the city, where such as had friends, or opportunity, got shelter for the present to which his Majesty's proclamation also invited them. Still, the plague continuing in our parish, I could not, without danger, adventure to our church. 10th September, 1666. I went again to the ruins; for it was now no longer a city. 13th September, 1666. I presented his Majesty with a survey of the ruins, and a plot for a new city, with a discourse on it; whereupon, after dinner, his Majesty sent for me into the Queen's bed-chamber, her Majesty and the Duke only being present. They examined each particular, and discoursed on them for near an hour, seeming to be extremely pleased with what I had so early thought on. The Queen was now in her cavalier riding-habit, hat and feather, and horseman's coat, going to take the air. 16th September, 1666. I went to Greenwich Church, where Mr. Plume preached very well from this text: "Seeing, then, all these things shall be dissolved," etc.: taking occasion from the late unparalleled conflagration to remind us how we ought to walk more holy in all manner of conversation. 27th September, 1666. Dined at Sir William D'Oyly's, with that worthy gentleman, Sir John Holland, of Suffolk. 10th October, 1666. This day was ordered a general Fast through the Nation, to humble us on the late dreadful conflagration, added to the plague and war, the most dismal judgments that could be inflicted; but which indeed we highly deserved for our prodigious ingratitude, burning lusts, dissolute court, profane and abominable lives, under such dispensations of God's continued favor in restoring Church, Prince, and People from our late intestine calamities, of which we were altogether unmindful, even to astonishment. This made me resolve to go to our parish assembly, where our Doctor preached on Luke xix. 41: piously applying it to the occasion. After which, was a collection for the distressed losers in the late fire. 18th October, 1666. To Court. It being the first time his Majesty put himself solemnly into the Eastern fashion of vest, changing doublet, stiff collar, bands and cloak, into a comely dress, after the Persian mode, with girdles or straps, and shoestrings and garters into buckles, of which some were set with precious stones[6] resolving never to alter it, and to leave the French mode, which had hitherto obtained to our great expense and reproach. Upon which, divers courtiers and gentlemen gave his Majesty gold by way of wager that he would not persist in this resolution. I had sometime before presented an invective against that unconstancy, and our so much affecting the French fashion, to his Majesty; in which I took occasion to describe the comeliness and usefulness of the Persian clothing, in the very same manner his Majesty now clad himself. This pamphlet I entitled "_Tyrannus, or the Mode_," and gave it to the King to read. I do not impute to this discourse the change which soon happened, but it was an identity that I could not but take notice of. [Footnote 6: This costume was shortly after abandoned, and laid aside; nor does any existing portrait exhibit the King so accoutered.] This night was acted my Lord Broghill's tragedy, called "_Mustapha_," before their Majesties at Court, at which I was present; very seldom going to the public theatres for many reasons now, as they were abused to an atheistical liberty; foul and indecent women now (and never till now) permitted to appear and act, who inflaming several young noblemen and gallants, became their misses, and to some, their wives. Witness the Earl of Oxford, Sir R. Howard, Prince Rupert, the Earl of Dorset, and another greater person than any of them, who fell into their snares, to the reproach of their noble families, and ruin of both body and soul.[7] I was invited by my Lord Chamberlain to see this tragedy, exceedingly well written, though in my mind I did not approve of any such pastime in a time of such judgments and calamities. [Footnote 7: Among the principal offenders here aimed at were Mrs. Margaret Hughes, Mrs. Eleanor Gwynne, Mrs. Davenport, Mrs. Uphill, Mrs. Davis, and Mrs. Knight. Mrs. Davenport (Roxolana) was "my Lord Oxford's Miss;" Mrs. Uphill was the actress alluded to in connection with Sir R. Howard; Mrs. Hughes ensnared Prince Rupert; and the last of the "misses" referred to by Evelyn was Nell Gwynne.] 21st October, 1666. This season, after so long and extraordinary a drought in August and September, as if preparatory for the dreadful fire, was so very wet and rainy as many feared an ensuing famine. 28th October, 1666. The pestilence, through God's mercy, began now to abate considerably in our town. [Sidenote: LONDON] 30th October, 1666. To London to our office, and now had I on the vest and surcoat, or tunic, as it was called, after his Majesty had brought the whole court to it. It was a comely and manly habit, too good to hold, it being impossible for us in good earnest to leave the Monsieurs' vanities long. 31st October, 1666. I heard the signal cause of my Lord Cleveland pleaded before the House of Lords; and was this day forty-six years of age, wonderfully protected by the mercies of God, for which I render him immortal thanks. 14th November, 1666. I went my winter circle through my district, Rochester and other places, where I had men quartered, and in custody. 15th November, 1666. To Leeds Castle. 16th November, 1666. I mustered the prisoners, being about 600 Dutch and French, ordered their proportion of bread to be augmented and provided clothes and fuel. Monsieur Colbert, Ambassador at the Court of England, this day sent money from his master, the French King, to every prisoner of that nation under my guard. 17th November, 1666. I returned to Chatham, my chariot overturning on the steep of Bexley Hill, wounded me in two places on the head; my son, Jack, being with me, was like to have been worse cut by the glass; but I thank God we both escaped without much hurt, though not without exceeding danger. 18th November, 1666. At Rochester. 19th November, 1666. Returned home. 23d November, 1666. At London, I heard an extraordinary case before a Committee of the whole House of Commons, in the Commons' House of Parliament, between one Captain Taylor and my Lord Viscount Mordaunt, where, after the lawyers had pleaded and the witnesses been examined, such foul and dishonorable things were produced against his Lordship, of tyranny during his government of Windsor Castle, of which he was Constable, incontinence, and suborning witnesses (of which last, one Sir Richard Breames was most concerned), that I was exceedingly interested for his Lordship, who was my special friend, and husband of the most virtuous lady in the world. We sat till near ten at night, and yet but half the counsel had done on behalf of the plaintiff. The question then was put for bringing in of lights to sit longer. This lasted so long before it was determined, and raised such a confused noise among the members, that a stranger would have been astonished at it. I admire that there is not a rationale to regulate such trifling accidents, which consume much time, and is a reproach to the gravity of so great an assembly of sober men. 27th November, 1666. Sir Hugh Pollard, Comptroller of the Household, died at Whitehall, and his Majesty conferred the white staff on my brother Commissioner for sick and wounded, Sir Thomas Clifford, a bold young gentleman, of a small fortune in Devon, but advanced by Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, to the great astonishment of all the Court. This gentleman was somewhat related to me by the marriage of his mother to my nearest kinsman, Gregory Coale, and was ever my noble friend, a valiant and daring person, but by no means fit for a supple and flattering courtier. 28th November, 1666. Went to see Clarendon House, now almost finished, a goodly pile to see, but had many defects as to the architecture, yet placed most gracefully. After this, I waited on the Lord Chancellor, who was now at Berkshire House, since the burning of London. 2d December, 1666. Dined with me Monsieur Kiviet, a Dutch gentleman-pensioner of Rotterdam, who came over for protection, being of the Prince of Orange's party, now not welcome in Holland. The King knighted him for some merit in the Prince's behalf. He should, if caught, have been beheaded with Monsieur Buat, and was brother-in-law to Van Tromp, the sea-general. With him came Mr. Gabriel Sylvius, and Mr. Williamson, secretary to Lord Arlington; M. Kiviet came to examine whether the soil about the river of Thames would be proper to make clinker bricks, and to treat with me about some accommodation in order to it. 9th January, 1666-67. To the Royal Society, which since the sad conflagration were invited by Mr. Howard to sit at Arundel-House in the Strand, who at my instigation likewise bestowed on the Society that noble library which his grandfather especially, and his ancestors had collected. This gentleman had so little inclination to books, that it was the preservation of them from embezzlement. 24th January, 1667. Visited my Lord Clarendon, and presented my son, John, to him, now preparing to go to Oxford, of which his Lordship was Chancellor. This evening I heard rare Italian voices, two eunuchs and one woman, in his Majesty's green chamber, next his cabinet. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th January, 1667. To London, in order to my son's Oxford journey, who, being very early entered both in Latin and Greek, and prompt to learn beyond most of his age, I was persuaded to trust him under the tutorage of Mr. Bohun, Fellow of New College, who had been his preceptor in my house some years before; but, at Oxford, under the inspection of Dr. Bathurst, President of Trinity College, where I placed him, not as yet thirteen years old. He was newly out of long coats.[8] [Footnote 8: In illustration of the garb which succeeded the "long coats" out of which lads of twelve or thirteen were thus suffered to emerge, it may be mentioned that there hung, some years ago, and perhaps may hang still, upon the walls of the Swan Inn at Leatherhead in Surrey, a picture of four children, dates of birth between 1640 and 1650, of whom a lad of about the age of young Evelyn is represented in a coat reaching to his ankles.] 15th February, 1667. My little book, in answer to Sir George Mackenzie on Solitude, was now published, entitled "Public Employment, and an active Life with its Appanages, preferred to Solitude."[9] [Footnote 9: Reprinted in "Miscellaneous Writings," pp. 501-509. In a letter to Cowley, 12th March, 1666, Evelyn apologises for having written against that life which he had joined with Mr. Cowley in so much admiring, assuring him he neither was nor could be serious in avowing such a preference.] 18th February, 1667. I was present at a magnificent ball, or masque, in the theatre at the Court, where their Majesties and all the great lords and ladies danced, infinitely gallant, the men in their richly embroidered, most becoming vests. 19th February, 1667. I saw a comedy acted at Court. In the afternoon, I witnessed a wrestling match for £1,000 in St. James's Park, before his Majesty, a vast assemblage of lords and other spectators, between the western and northern men, Mr. Secretary Morice and Lord Gerard being the judges. The western men won. Many great sums were betted. 6th March, 1667. I proposed to my Lord Chancellor, Monsieur Kiviet's undertaking to wharf the whole river of Thames, or quay, from the Temple to the Tower, as far as the fire destroyed, with brick, without piles, both lasting and ornamental.--Great frosts, snow and winds, prodigious at the vernal equinox; indeed it had been a year of prodigies in this nation, plague, war, fire, rain, tempest and comet. 14th March, 1667. Saw "The Virgin Queen,"[10] a play written by Mr. Dryden. [Footnote 10: The VIRGIN QUEEN which Evelyn saw was Dryden's MAIDEN QUEEN. Pepys saw it on the night of its first production (twelve days before Evelyn's visit); and was charmed by Nell Gwynne's Florimell. "So great a performance of a comical part was never, I believe, in the world before."] 22d March, 1667. Dined at Mr. Secretary Morice's, who showed me his library, which was a well chosen collection. This afternoon, I had audience of his Majesty, concerning the proposal I had made of building the quay. 26th March, 1667. Sir John Kiviet dined with me. We went to search for brick-earth, in order to a great undertaking. 4th April, 1667. The cold so intense, that there was hardly a leaf on a tree. 18th April, 1667. I went to make court to the Duke and Duchess of Newcastle, at their house in Clerkenwell, being newly come out of the north. They received me with great kindness, and I was much pleased with the extraordinary fanciful habit, garb, and discourse of the Duchess. 22d April, 1667. Saw the sumptuous supper in the banqueting-house at Whitehall, on the eve of St. George's day, where were all the companions of the Order of the Garter. 23d April, 1667. In the morning, his Majesty went to chapel with the Knights of the Garter, all in their habits and robes, ushered by the heralds; after the first service, they went in procession, the youngest first, the Sovereign last, with the Prelate of the Order and Dean, who had about his neck the book of the Statutes of the Order; and then the Chancellor of the Order (old Sir Henry de Vic), who wore the purse about his neck; then the Heralds and Garter King-at-Arms, Clarencieux, Black Rod. But before the Prelate and Dean of Windsor went the gentlemen of the chapel and choristers, singing as they marched; behind them two doctors of music in damask robes; this procession was about the courts at Whitehall. Then, returning to their stalls and seats in the chapel, placed under each knight's coat-armor and titles, the second service began. Then, the King offered at the altar, an anthem was sung; then, the rest of the Knights offered, and lastly proceeded to the banqueting-house to a great feast. The King sat on an elevated throne at the upper end at a table alone; the Knights at a table on the right hand, reaching all the length of the room; over against them a cupboard of rich gilded plate; at the lower end, the music; on the balusters above, wind music, trumpets, and kettle-drums. The King was served by the lords and pensioners who brought up the dishes. About the middle of the dinner, the Knights drank the King's health, then the King, theirs, when the trumpets and music played and sounded, the guns going off at the Tower. At the Banquet, came in the Queen, and stood by the King's left hand, but did not sit. Then was the banqueting-stuff flung about the room profusely. In truth, the crowd was so great, that though I stayed all the supper the day before, I now stayed no longer than this sport began, for fear of disorder. The cheer was extraordinary, each Knight having forty dishes to his mess, piled up five or six high; the room hung with the richest tapestry. 25th April, 1667. Visited again the Duke of Newcastle, with whom I had been acquainted long before in France, where the Duchess had obligation to my wife's mother for her marriage there; she was sister to Lord Lucas, and maid of honor then to the Queen-Mother; married in our chapel at Paris. My wife being with me, the Duke and Duchess both would needs bring her to the very Court. 26th April, 1667. My Lord Chancellor showed me all his newly finished and furnished palace and library; then, we went to take the air in Hyde-Park. 27th April, 1667. I had a great deal of discourse with his Majesty at dinner. In the afternoon, I went again with my wife to the Duchess of Newcastle, who received her in a kind of transport, suitable to her extravagant humor and dress, which was very singular. 8th May, 1667. Made up accounts with our Receiver, which amounted to £33,936 1s. 4d. Dined at Lord Cornbury's, with Don Francisco de Melos, Portugal Ambassador, and kindred to the Queen: Of the party were Mr. Henry Jermyn and Sir Henry Capel. Afterward I went to Arundel House, to salute Mr. Howard's sons, newly returned out of France. [Sidenote: LONDON] 11th May, 1667. To London; dined with the Duke of Newcastle, and sat discoursing with her Grace in her bedchamber after dinner, till my Lord Marquis of Dorchester, with other company came in, when I went away. 30th May, 1667. To London, to wait on the Duchess of Newcastle (who was a mighty pretender to learning, poetry, and philosophy, and had in both published divers books) to the Royal Society, whither she came in great pomp, and being received by our Lord President at the door of our meeting-room, the mace, etc., carried before him, had several experiments shown to her. I conducted her Grace to her coach, and returned home. 1st June, 1667. I went to Greenwich, where his Majesty was trying divers grenadoes shot out of cannon at the Castlehill, from the house in the park; they broke not till they hit the mark, the forged ones broke not at all, but the cast ones very well. The inventor was a German there present. At the same time, a ring was shown to the King, pretended to be a projection of mercury, and malleable, and said by the gentlemen to be fixed by the juice of a plant. 8th June, 1667. To London, alarmed by the Dutch, who were fallen on our fleet at Chatham, by a most audacious enterprise, entering the very river with part of their fleet, doing us not only disgrace, but incredible mischief in burning several of our best men-of-war lying at anchor and moored there, and all this through our unaccountable negligence in not setting out our fleet in due time. This alarm caused me, fearing the enemy might venture up the Thames even to London (which they might have done with ease, and fired all the vessels in the river, too), to send away my best goods, plate, etc., from my house to another place. The alarm was so great that it put both country and city into fear, panic, and consternation, such as I hope I shall never see more; everybody was flying, none knew why or whither. Now, there were land forces dispatched with the Duke of Albemarle, Lord Middleton, Prince Rupert, and the Duke, to hinder the Dutch coming to Chatham, fortifying Upnor Castle, and laying chains and bombs; but the resolute enemy broke through all, and set fire on our ships, and retreated in spite, stopping up the Thames, the rest of the fleet lying before the mouth of it. 14th June, 1667. I went to see the work at Woolwich, a battery to prevent them coming up to London, which Prince Rupert commanded, and sunk some ships in the river. 17th June, 1667. This night, about two o'clock, some chips and combustible matter prepared for some fire-ships, taking flame in Deptford-yard, made such a blaze, and caused such an uproar in the Tower (it being given out that the Dutch fleet was come up, and had landed their men and fired the Tower), as had liked to have done more mischief before people would be persuaded to the contrary and believe the accident. Everybody went to their arms. These were sad and troublesome times. 24th June, 1667. The Dutch fleet still continuing to stop up the river, so as nothing could stir out or come in, I was before the Council, and commanded by his Majesty to go with some others and search about the environs of the city, now exceedingly distressed for want of fuel, whether there could be any peat, or turf, found fit for use. The next day, I went and discovered enough, and made my report that there might be found a great deal; but nothing further was done in it. [Sidenote: CHATHAM] 28th June, 1667. I went to Chatham, and thence to view not only what mischief the Dutch had done; but how triumphantly their whole fleet lay within the very mouth of the Thames, all from the North Foreland, Margate, even to the buoy of the Nore--a dreadful spectacle as ever Englishmen saw, and a dishonor never to be wiped off! Those who advised his Majesty to prepare no fleet this spring deserved--I know what--but[11]-- [Footnote 11: "The Parliament giving but weak supplies for the war, the King, to save charges, is persuaded by the Chancellor, the Lord Treasurer, Southampton, the Duke of Albemarle, and the other ministers, to lay up the first and second-rate ships, and make only a defensive war in the next campaign. The Duke of York opposed this, but was overruled." Life of King James II., vol. i., p. 425.] Here in the river off Chatham, just before the town, lay the carcase of the "London" (now the third time burnt), the "Royal Oak," the "James," etc., yet smoking; and now, when the mischief was done, we were making trifling forts on the brink of the river. Here were yet forces, both of horse and foot, with General Middleton continually expecting the motions of the enemy's fleet. I had much discourse with him, who was an experienced commander, I told him I wondered the King did not fortify Sheerness[12] and the Ferry; both abandoned. [Footnote 12: Since done. Evelyn's note.] 2d July, 1667. Called upon my Lord Arlington, as from his Majesty, about the new fuel. The occasion why I was mentioned, was from what I said in my _Sylva_ three years before, about a sort of fuel for a need, which obstructed a patent of Lord Carlingford, who had been seeking for it himself; he was endeavoring to bring me into the project, and proffered me a share. I met my Lord; and, on the 9th, by an order of Council, went to my Lord Mayor, to be assisting. In the meantime they had made an experiment of my receipt of _houllies_, which I mention in my book to be made at Maestricht, with a mixture of charcoal dust and loam, and which was tried with success at Gresham College (then being the exchange for the meeting of the merchants since the fire) for everybody to see. This done, I went to the Treasury for £12,000 for the sick and wounded yet on my hands. Next day, we met again about the fuel at Sir J. Armourer's in the Mews. 8th July, 1667. My Lord Brereton and others dined at my house, where I showed them proof of my new fuel, which was very glowing, and without smoke or ill smell. 10th July, 1667. I went to see Sir Samuel Morland's inventions and machines, arithmetical wheels, quench-fires, and new harp. 17th July, 1667. The master of the mint and his lady, Mr. Williamson, Sir Nicholas Armourer, Sir Edward Bowyer, Sir Anthony Auger, and other friends dined with me. 19th July, 1667. I went to Gravesend; the Dutch fleet still at anchor before the river, where I saw five of his Majesty's men-at-war encounter above twenty of the Dutch, in the bottom of the Hope, chasing them with many broadsides given and returned toward the buoy of the Nore, where the body of their fleet lay, which lasted till about midnight. One of their ships was fired, supposed by themselves, she being run on ground. Having seen this bold action, and their braving us so far up the river, I went home the next day, not without indignation at our negligence, and the nation's reproach. It is well known who of the Commissioners of the Treasury gave advice that the charge of setting forth a fleet this year might be spared, Sir W. C. (William Coventry) by name. 1st August, 1667. I received the sad news of Abraham Cowley's death, that incomparable poet and virtuous man, my very dear friend, and was greatly deplored. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d August, 1667. Went to Mr. Cowley's funeral, whose corpse lay at Wallingford House, and was thence conveyed to Westminster Abbey in a hearse with six horses and all funeral decency, near a hundred coaches of noblemen and persons of quality following; among these, all the wits of the town, divers bishops and clergymen. He was interred next Geoffry Chaucer, and near Spenser. A goodly monument is since erected to his memory. Now did his Majesty again dine in the presence, in ancient state, with music and all the court ceremonies, which had been interrupted since the late war. 8th August, 1667. Visited Mr. Oldenburg, a close prisoner in the Tower, being suspected of writing intelligence. I had an order from Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, which caused me to be admitted. This gentleman was secretary to our Society, and I am confident will prove an innocent person. 15th August, 1667. Finished my account, amounting to £25,000. 17th August, 1667. To the funeral of Mr. Farringdon, a relation of my wife's. There was now a very gallant horse to be baited to death with dogs; but he fought them all, so as the fiercest of them could not fasten on him, till the men run him through with their swords. This wicked and barbarous sport deserved to have been punished in the cruel contrivers to get money, under pretense that the horse had killed a man, which was false. I would not be persuaded to be a spectator. 21st August, 1667. Saw the famous Italian puppet-play, for it was no other. 24th August, 1667. I was appointed, with the rest of my brother commissioners, to put in execution an order of Council for freeing the prisoners at war in my custody at Leeds Castle, and taking off his Majesty's extraordinary charge, having called before us the French and Dutch agents. The peace was now proclaimed, in the usual form, by the heralds-at-arms. 25th August, 1667. After evening service, I went to visit Mr. Vaughan, who lay at Greenwich, a very wise and learned person, one of Mr. Selden's executors and intimate friends. 27th August, 1667. Visited the Lord Chancellor, to whom his Majesty had sent for the seals a few days before; I found him in his bedchamber, very sad. The Parliament had accused him, and he had enemies at Court, especially the buffoons and ladies of pleasure, because he thwarted some of them, and stood in their way; I could name some of the chief. The truth is, he made few friends during his grandeur among the royal sufferers, but advanced the old rebels. He was, however, though no considerable lawyer, one who kept up the form and substance of things in the Nation with more solemnity than some would have had. He was my particular kind friend, on all occasions. The cabal, however, prevailed, and that party in Parliament. Great division at Court concerning him, and divers great persons interceding for him. 28th August, 1667. I dined with my late Lord Chancellor, where also dined Mr. Ashburnham, and Mr. W. Legge, of the bedchamber; his Lordship pretty well in heart, though now many of his friends and sycophants abandoned him. In the afternoon, to the Lords Commissioners for money, and thence to the audience of a Russian Envoy in the Queen's presence-chamber, introduced with much state, the soldiers, pensioners, and guards in their order. His letters of credence brought by his secretary in a scarf of sarsenet, their vests sumptuous, much embroidered with pearls. He delivered his speech in the Russ language, but without the least action, or motion, of his body, which was immediately interpreted aloud by a German that spoke good English: half of it consisted in repetition of the Czar's titles, which were very haughty and oriental: the substance of the rest was, that he was only sent to see the King and Queen, and know how they did, with much compliment and frothy language. Then, they kissed their Majesties' hands, and went as they came; but their real errand was to get money. 29th August, 1667. We met at the Star-chamber about exchange and release of prisoners. 7th September, 1667. Came Sir John Kiviet, to article with me about his brickwork. 13th September, 1667. Between the hours of twelve and one, was born my second daughter, who was afterward christened Elizabeth. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th September, 1667. To London, with Mr. Henry Howard, of Norfolk, of whom I obtained the gift of his Arundelian marbles, those celebrated and famous inscriptions, Greek and Latin, gathered with so much cost and industry from Greece, by his illustrious grandfather, the magnificent Earl of Arundel, my noble friend while he lived. When I saw these precious monuments miserably neglected, and scattered up and down about the garden, and other parts of Arundel House, and how exceedingly the corrosive air of London impaired them, I procured him to bestow them on the University of Oxford. This he was pleased to grant me; and now gave me the key of the gallery, with leave to mark all those stones, urns, altars, etc., and whatever I found had inscriptions on them, that were not statues. This I did; and getting them removed and piled together, with those which were incrusted in the garden walls, I sent immediately letters to the Vice-Chancellor of what I had procured, and that if they esteemed it a service to the University (of which I had been a member), they should take order for their transportation. This done 21st, I accompanied Mr. Howard to his villa at Albury, where I designed for him the plot of his canal and garden, with a crypt through the hill. 24th September, 1667. Returned to London, where I had orders to deliver the possession of Chelsea College (used as my prison during the war with Holland for such as were sent from the fleet to London) to our Society, as a gift of his Majesty, our founder. 8th October, 1667. Came to dine with me Dr. Bathurst, Dean of Wells, President of Trinity College, sent by the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, in the name both of him and the whole University, to thank me for procuring the inscriptions, and to receive my directions what was to be done to show their gratitude to Mr. Howard. 11th October, 1667. I went to see Lord Clarendon, late Lord Chancellor and greatest officer in England, in continual apprehension what the Parliament would determine concerning him. 17th October, 1667. Came Dr. Barlow, Provost of Queen's College and Protobibliothecus of the Bodleian library, to take order about the transportation of the marbles. 25th October, 1667. There were delivered to me two letters from the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, with the Decree of the Convocation, attested by the Public Notary, ordering four Doctors of Divinity and Law to acknowledge the obligation the University had to me for procuring the _Marmora Arundeliana_, which was solemnly done by Dr. Barlow, Dr. Jenkins, Judge of the Admiralty, Dr. Lloyd, and Obadiah Walker, of University College, who having made a large compliment from the University, delivered me the decree fairly written; _Gesta venerabili domo Convocationis Universitatis Oxon.; . . 17. 1667. Quo die retulit ad Senatum Academicum Dominus Vicecancellarius, quantum Universitas deberet singulari benevolentiæ Johannis Evelini Armigeri, qui pro eâ pietate quâ Almam Matrem prosequitur non solum Suasu et Consilio apud inclytum Heroem Henricum Howard, Ducis Norfolciæ hæredem, intercessit, et Universitati pretiosissimum eruditæ antiquitatis thesaurum Marmora Arundeliana largiretur; sed egregium insuper in ijs colligendis asservandisq; navavit operam: Quapropter unanimi suffragio Venerabilis Domûs decretum est, at eidem publicæ gratiæ per delegatos ad Honoratissimum Dominum Henricum Howard propediem mittendos solemnitèr reddantur. Concordant superscripta cum originali collatione fâcta per me Ben. Cooper, Notarium Publicum et Registarium Universitat Oxon._ "SIR: "We intend also a noble inscription, in which also honorable mention shall be made of yourself; but Mr. Vice-Chancellor commands me to tell you that that was not sufficient for your merits; but, that if your occasions would permit you to come down at the Act (when we intend a dedication of our new Theater), some other testimony should be given both of your own worth and affection to this your old mother; for we are all very sensible that this great addition of learning and reputation to the University is due as well to your industrious care for the University, and interest with my Lord Howard, as to his great nobleness and generosity of spirit. "I am, Sir, your most humble servant, "OBADIAH WALKER, Univ. Coll." The Vice-Chancellor's letter to the same effect was too vainglorious to insert, with divers copies of verses that were also sent me. Their mentioning me in the inscription I totally declined, when I directed the titles of Mr. Howard, now made Lord, upon his Ambassage to Morocco. These four doctors, having made me this compliment, desired me to carry and introduce them to Mr. Howard, at Arundel House; which I did, Dr. Barlow (Provost of Queen's) after a short speech, delivering a larger letter of the University's thanks, which was written in Latin, expressing the great sense they had of the honor done them. After this compliment handsomely performed and as nobly received, Mr. Howard accompanied the doctors to their coach. That evening I supped with them. 26th October, 1667. My late Lord Chancellor was accused by Mr. Seymour in the House of Commons; and, in the evening, I returned home. 31st October, 1667. My birthday--blessed be God for all his mercies! I made the Royal Society a present of the Table of Veins, Arteries, and Nerves, which great curiosity I had caused to be made in Italy, out of the natural human bodies, by a learned physician, and the help of Veslingius (professor at Padua), from whence I brought them in 1646. For this I received the public thanks of the Society; and they are hanging up in their repository with an inscription. 9th December, 1667. To visit the late Lord Chancellor.[13] I found him in his garden at his new-built palace, sitting in his gout wheel-chair, and seeing the gates setting up toward the north and the fields. He looked and spake very disconsolately. After some while deploring his condition to me, I took my leave. Next morning, I heard he was gone; though I am persuaded that, had he gone sooner, though but to Cornbury, and there lain quiet, it would have satisfied the Parliament. That which exasperated them was his presuming to stay and contest the accusation as long as it was possible: and they were on the point of sending him to the Tower. [Footnote 13: This entry of the 9th December, 1667, is a mistake. Evelyn could not have visited the "late Lord Chancellor" on that day. Lord Clarendon fled on Saturday, the 29th of November, 1667, and his letter resigning the Chancellorship of the University of Oxford is dated from Calais on the 7th of December. That Evelyn's book is not, in every respect, strictly a diary, is shown by this and several similar passages already adverted to in the remarks prefixed to the present edition. If the entry of the 18th of August, 1683, is correct, the date of Evelyn's last visit to Lord Clarendon was the 28th of November, 1667.] 10th December, 1667. I went to the funeral of Mrs. Heath, wife of my worthy friend and schoolfellow. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st December, 1667. I saw one Carr pilloried at Charing-cross for a libel, which was burnt before him by the hangman. 8th January, 1667-68. I saw deep and prodigious gaming at the Groom-Porter's, vast heaps of gold squandered away in a vain and profuse manner. This I looked on as a horrid vice, and unsuitable in a Christian Court. 9th January, 1668. Went to see the revels at the Middle Temple, which is also an old riotous custom, and has relation neither to virtue nor policy. 10th January, 1668. To visit Mr. Povey, where were divers great Lords to see his well-contrived cellar, and other elegancies. 24th January, 1668. We went to stake out ground for building a college for the Royal Society at Arundel-House, but did not finish it, which we shall repent of. 4th February, 1668. I saw the tragedy of "Horace" (written by the VIRTUOUS Mrs. Philips) acted before their Majesties. Between each act a masque and antique dance. The excessive gallantry of the ladies was infinite, those especially on that ... Castlemaine, esteemed at £40,000 and more, far outshining the Queen. 15th February, 1668. I saw the audience of the Swedish Ambassador Count Donna, in great state in the banqueting house. 3d March, 1668. Was launched at Deptford, that goodly vessel, "The Charles." I was near his Majesty. She is longer than the "Sovereign," and carries 110 brass cannon; she was built by old Shish, a plain, honest carpenter, master-builder of this dock, but one who can give very little account of his art by discourse, and is hardly capable of reading, yet of great ability in his calling. The family have been ship carpenters in this yard above 300 years. 12th March, 1668. Went to visit Sir John Cotton, who had me into his library, full of good MSS., Greek and Latin, but most famous for those of the Saxon and English antiquities, collected by his grandfather. 2d April, 1668. To the Royal Society, where I subscribed 50,000 bricks, toward building a college. Among other libertine libels, there was one now printed and thrown about, a bold petition of the poor w----s to Lady Castlemaine.[14] [Footnote 14: Evelyn has been supposed himself to have written this piece.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th April, 1668. To London, about finishing my grand account of the sick and wounded, and prisoners at war, amounting to above £34,000. I heard Sir R. Howard impeach Sir William Penn, in the House of Lords, for breaking bulk, and taking away rich goods out of the East India prizes, formerly taken by Lord Sandwich. 28th April, 1668. To London, about the purchase of Ravensbourne Mills, and land around it, in Upper Deptford, of one Mr. Becher. 30th April, 1668. We sealed the deeds in Sir Edward Thurland's chambers in the Inner Temple. I pray God bless it to me, it being a dear pennyworth; but the passion Sir R. Browne had for it, and that it was contiguous to our other grounds, engaged me! 13th May, 1668. Invited by that expert commander, Captain Cox, master of the lately built "Charles II.," now the best vessel of the fleet, designed for the Duke of York, I went to Erith, where we had a great dinner. 16th May, 1668. Sir Richard Edgecombe, of Mount Edgecombe, by Plymouth, my relation, came to visit me; a very virtuous and worthy gentleman. 19th June, 1668. To a new play with several of my relations, "The Evening Lover," a foolish plot, and very profane; it afflicted me to see how the stage was degenerated and polluted by the licentious times. 2d July, 1668. Sir Samuel Tuke, Bart., and the lady he had married this day, came and bedded at night at my house, many friends accompanying the bride. 23d July, 1668. At the Royal Society, were presented divers _glossa petras_, and other natural curiosities, found in digging to build the fort at Sheerness. They were just the same as they bring from Malta, pretending them to be viper's teeth, whereas, in truth, they are of a shark, as we found by comparing them with one in our repository. 3d August, 1668. Mr. Bramstone (son to Judge B.), my old fellow-traveler, now reader at the Middle Temple, invited me to his feast, which was so very extravagant and great as the like had not been seen at any time. There were the Duke of Ormond, Privy Seal, Bedford, Belasis, Halifax, and a world more of Earls and Lords. 14th August, 1668. His Majesty was pleased to grant me a lease of a slip of ground out of Brick Close, to enlarge my fore-court, for which I now gave him thanks; then, entering into other discourse, he talked to me of a new varnish for ships, instead of pitch, and of the gilding with which his new yacht was beautified. I showed his Majesty the perpetual motion sent to me by Dr. Stokes, from Cologne; and then came in Monsieur Colbert, the French Ambassador. 19th August, 1668. I saw the magnificent entry of the French Ambassador Colbert, received in the banqueting house. I had never seen a richer coach than that which he came in to Whitehall. Standing by his Majesty at dinner in the presence, there was of that rare fruit called the king-pine, growing in Barbadoes and the West Indies; the first of them I had ever seen. His Majesty having cut it up, was pleased to give me a piece off his own plate to taste of; but, in my opinion, it falls short of those ravishing varieties of deliciousness described in Captain Ligon's history, and others; but possibly it might, or certainly was, much impaired in coming so far; it has yet a grateful acidity, but tastes more like the quince and melon than of any other fruit he mentions. 28th August, 1668. Published my book on "The Perfection of Painting," dedicated to Mr. Howard. 17th September, 1668. I entertained Signor Muccinigo, the Venetian Ambassador, of one of the noblest families of the State, this being the day of making his public entry, setting forth from my house with several gentlemen of Venice and others in a very glorious train. He staid with me till the Earl of Anglesea and Sir Charles Cotterell (master of the ceremonies) came with the King's barge to carry him to the Tower, where the guns were fired at his landing; he then entered his Majesty's coach, followed by many others of the nobility. I accompanied him to his house, where there was a most noble supper to all the company, of course. After the extraordinary compliments to me and my wife, for the civilities he received at my house, I took leave and returned. He is a very accomplished person. He is since Ambassador at Rome. 29th September, 1668. I had much discourse with Signor Pietro Cisij, a Persian gentleman, about the affairs of Turkey, to my great satisfaction. I went to see Sir Elias Leighton's project of a cart with iron axletrees. 8th November, 1668. Being at dinner, my sister Evelyn sent for me to come up to London to my continuing sick brother. [Sidenote: LONDON] 14th November, 1668. To London, invited to the consecration of that excellent person, the Dean of Ripon, Dr. Wilkins, now made Bishop of Chester; it was at Ely House, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Cosin, Bishop of Durham, the Bishops of Ely, Salisbury, Rochester, and others officiating. Dr. Tillotson preached. Then, we went to a sumptuous dinner in the hall, where were the Duke of Buckingham, Judges, Secretaries of State, Lord-Keeper, Council, Noblemen, and innumerable other company, who were honorers of this incomparable man, universally beloved by all who knew him. This being the Queen's birthday, great was the gallantry at Whitehall, and the night celebrated with very fine fireworks. My poor brother continuing ill, I went not from him till the 17th, when, dining at the Groom Porters, I heard Sir Edward Sutton play excellently on the Irish harp; he performs genteelly, but not approaching my worthy friend, Mr. Clark, a gentleman of Northumberland, who makes it execute lute, viol, and all the harmony an instrument is capable of; pity it is that it is not more in use; but, indeed, to play well, takes up the whole man, as Mr. Clark has assured me, who, though a gentleman of quality and parts, was yet brought up to that instrument from five years old, as I remember he told me. 25th November, 1668. I waited on Lord Sandwich, who presented me with a Sembrador he brought out of Spain, showing me his two books of observations made during his embassy and stay at Madrid, in which were several rare things he promised to impart to me. 27th November, 1668. I dined at my Lord Ashley's (since Earl of Shaftesbury), when the match of my niece was proposed for his only son, in which my assistance was desired for my Lord. 28th November, 1668. Dr. Patrick preached at Convent Garden, on Acts xvii. 31, the certainty of Christ's coming to judgment, it being Advent; a most suitable discourse. 19th December, 1668. I went to see the old play of "Cataline" acted, having been now forgotten almost forty years. 20th December, 1668. I dined with my Lord Cornbury, at Clarendon House, now bravely furnished, especially with the pictures of most of our ancient and modern wits, poets, philosophers, famous and learned Englishmen; which collection of the Chancellor's I much commended, and gave his Lordship a catalogue of more to be added. 31st December, 1668. I entertained my kind neighbors, according to custom, giving Almighty God thanks for his gracious mercies to me the past year. 1st January, 1669. Imploring his blessing for the year entering, I went to church, where our Doctor preached on Psalm lxv. 12, apposite to the season, and beginning a new year. 3d January, 1669. About this time one of Sir William Penn's sons had published a blasphemous book against the Deity of our Blessed Lord. 29th January, 1669. I went to see a tall gigantic woman who measured 6 feet 10 inches high, at 21 years old, born in the Low Countries. 13th February, 1669. I presented his Majesty with my "History of the Four Impostors;"[15] he told me of other like cheats. I gave my book to Lord Arlington, to whom I dedicated it. It was now that he began to tempt me about writing "The Dutch War." [Footnote 15: Reprinted in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings."] 15th February, 1669. Saw Mrs. Phillips' "Horace" acted again. 18th February, 1669. To the Royal Society, when Signor Malpighi, an Italian physician and anatomist, sent this learned body the incomparable "History of the Silk-worm." 1st March, 1669. Dined at Lord Arlington's at Goring House, with the Bishop of Hereford. 4th March, 1669. To the Council of the Royal Society, about disposing my Lord Howard's library, now given to us. [Sidenote: LONDON] 16th March, 1669. To London, to place Mr. Christopher Wase about my Lord Arlington. 18th March, 1669. I went with Lord Howard of Norfolk, to visit Sir William Ducie at Charlton, where we dined; the servants made our coachmen so drunk, that they both fell off their boxes on the heath, where we were fain to leave them, and were driven to London by two servants of my Lord's. This barbarous custom of making the masters welcome by intoxicating the servants, had now the second time happened to my coachmen. My son finally came from Oxford. 2d April, 1669. Dined at Mr. Treasurer's, where was (with many noblemen) Colonel Titus of the bedchamber, author of the famous piece against Cromwell, "Killing no Murder." I now placed Mr. Wase with Mr. Williamson, Secretary to the Secretary of State, and Clerk of the Papers. 14th April, 1669. I dined with the Archbishop of Canterbury, at Lambeth, and saw the library, which was not very considerable. 19th May, 1669. At a Council of the Royal Society our grant was finished, in which his Majesty gives us Chelsea College, and some land about it. It was ordered that five should be a quorum for a Council. The Vice-President was then sworn for the first time, and it was proposed how we should receive the Prince of Tuscany, who desired to visit the Society. 20th May, 1669. This evening, at 10 o'clock, was born my third daughter, who was baptized on the 25th by the name of Susannah. 3d June, 1669. Went to take leave of Lord Howard, going Ambassador to Morocco. Dined at Lord Arlington's, where were the Earl of Berkshire, Lord Saint John, Sir Robert Howard, and Sir R. Holmes. 10th June, 1669. Came my Lord Cornbury, Sir William Pulteney, and others to visit me. I went this evening to London, to carry Mr. Pepys to my brother Richard, now exceedingly afflicted with the stone, who had been successfully cut, and carried the stone as big as a tennis ball to show him, and encourage his resolution to go through the operation. 30th June, 1669. My wife went a journey of pleasure down the river as far as the sea, with Mrs. Howard and her daughter, the Maid of Honor, and others, among whom that excellent creature, Mrs. Blagg.[16] [Footnote 16: Afterward Mrs. Godolphin, whose life, written by Evelyn, has been published under the auspices of the Bishop of Oxford. The affecting circumstances of her death will be found recorded on pp. 126-27 of the present volume.] 7th July, 1669. I went toward Oxford; lay at Little Wycomb. [Sidenote: OXFORD] 8th July, 1669. Oxford. 9th July, 1669. In the morning was celebrated the Encænia of the New Theater, so magnificently built by the munificence of Dr. Gilbert Sheldon, Archbishop of Canterbury, in which was spent,£25,000, as Sir Christopher Wren, the architect (as I remember), told me; and yet it was never seen by the benefactor, my Lord Archbishop having told me that he never did or ever would see it. It is, in truth, a fabric comparable to any of this kind of former ages, and doubtless exceeding any of the present, as this University does for colleges, libraries, schools, students, and order, all the universities in the world. To the theater is added the famous Sheldonian printing house. This being at the Act and the first time of opening the Theater (Acts being formerly kept in St. Mary's Church, which might be thought indecent, that being a place set apart for the immediate worship of God, and was the inducement for building this noble pile), it was now resolved to keep the present Act in it, and celebrate its dedication with the greatest splendor and formality that might be; and, therefore, drew a world of strangers, and other company, to the University, from all parts of the nation. The Vice-Chancellor, Heads of Houses, and Doctors, being seated in magisterial seats, the Vice-Chancellor's chair and desk, Proctors, etc., covered with _brocatelle_ (a kind of brocade) and cloth of gold; the University Registrar read the founder's grant and gift of it to the University for their scholastic exercises upon these solemn occasions. Then followed Dr. South, the University's orator, in an eloquent speech, which was very long, and not without some malicious and indecent reflections on the Royal Society, as underminers of the University; which was very foolish and untrue, as well as unseasonable. But, to let that pass from an ill-natured man, the rest was in praise of the Archbishop and the ingenious architect. This ended, after loud music from the corridor above, where an organ was placed, there followed divers panegyric speeches, both in prose and verse, interchangeably pronounced by the young students placed in the rostrums, in Pindarics, Eclogues, Heroics, etc., mingled with excellent music, vocal and instrumental, to entertain the ladies and the rest of the company. A speech was then made in praise of academical learning. This lasted from eleven in the morning till seven at night, which was concluded with ringing of bells, and universal joy and feasting. 10th July, 1669. The next day began the more solemn lectures in all the faculties, which were performed in the several schools, where all the Inceptor-Doctors did their exercises, the Professors having first ended their reading. The assembly now returned to the Theater, where the _Terræ filius_ (the _University Buffoon_) entertained the auditory with a tedious, abusive, sarcastical rhapsody, most unbecoming the gravity of the University, and that so grossly, that unless it be suppressed, it will be of ill consequence, as I afterward plainly expressed my sense of it both to the Vice-Chancellor and several Heads of Houses, who were perfectly ashamed of it, and resolved to take care of it in future. The old facetious way of rallying upon the questions was left off, falling wholly upon persons, so that it was rather licentious lying and railing than genuine and noble wit. In my life, I was never witness of so shameful an entertainment. After this ribaldry, the Proctors made their speeches. Then began the music art, vocal and instrumental, above in the balustrade corridor opposite to the Vice-Chancellor's seat. Then Dr. Wallis, the mathematical Professor, made his oration, and created one Doctor of music according to the usual ceremonies of gown (which was of white damask), cap, ring, kiss, etc. Next followed the disputations of the Inceptor-Doctors in Medicine, the speech of their Professor, Dr. Hyde, and so in course their respective creations. Then disputed the Inceptors of Law, the speech of their Professor, and creation. Lastly, Inceptors of Theology: Dr. Compton (brother of the Earl of Northampton) being junior, began with great modesty and applause; so the rest. After which, Dr. Tillotson, Dr. Sprat, etc., and then Dr. Allestree's speech, the King's Professor, and their respective creations. Last of all, the Vice-Chancellor, shutting up the whole in a panegyrical oration, celebrating their benefactor and the rest, apposite to the occasion. Thus was the Theater dedicated by the scholastic exercises in all the Faculties with great solemnity; and the night, as the former, entertaining the new Doctor's friends in feasting and music. I was invited by Dr. Barlow, the worthy and learned Professor of Queen's College. 11th July, 1669. The Act sermon was this forenoon preached by Dr. Hall, in St. Mary's, in an honest, practical discourse against atheism. In the afternoon, the church was so crowded, that, not coming early, I could not approach to hear. 12th July, 1669. Monday. Was held the Divinity Act in the Theater again, when proceeded seventeen Doctors, in all Faculties some. 13th July, 1669. I dined at the Vice-Chancellor's, and spent the afternoon in seeing the rarities of the public libraries, and visiting the noble marbles and inscriptions, now inserted in the walls that compass the area of the Theater, which were 150 of the most ancient and worthy treasures of that kind in the learned world. Now, observing that people approach them too near, some idle persons began to scratch and injure them, I advised that a hedge of holly should be planted at the foot of the wall, to be kept breast-high only to protect them; which the Vice-Chancellor promised to do the next season. 14th July, 1669. Dr. Fell, Dean of Christ Church and Vice-Chancellor, with Dr. Allestree, Professor, with beadles and maces before them, came to visit me at my lodging. I went to visit Lord Howard's sons at Magdalen College. 15th July, 1669. Having two days before had notice that the University intended me the honor of Doctorship, I was this morning attended by the beadles belonging to the Law, who conducted me to the Theater, where I found the Duke of Ormond (now Chancellor of the University) with the Earl of Chesterfield and Mr. Spencer (brother to the late Earl of Sunderland). Thence, we marched to the Convocation House, a convocation having been called on purpose; here, being all of us robed in the porch, in scarlet with caps and hoods, we were led in by the Professor of Laws, and presented respectively by name, with a short eulogy, to the Vice-Chancellor, who sat in the chair, with all the Doctors and Heads of Houses and masters about the room, which was exceedingly full. Then, began the Public Orator his speech, directed chiefly to the Duke of Ormond, the Chancellor; but in which I had my compliment, in course. This ended, we were called up, and created Doctors according to the form, and seated by the Vice-Chancellor among the Doctors, on his right hand; then, the Vice-Chancellor made a short speech, and so, saluting our brother Doctors, the pageantry concluded, and the convocation was dissolved. So formal a creation of honorary Doctors had seldom been seen, that a convocation should be called on purpose, and speeches made by the Orator; but they could do no less, their Chancellor being to receive, or rather do them, this honor. I should have been made Doctor with the rest at the public Act, but their expectation of their Chancellor made them defer it. I was then led with my brother Doctors to an extraordinary entertainment at Doctor Mewes's, head of St. John's College, and, after abundance of feasting and compliments, having visited the Vice-Chancellor and other Doctors, and given them thanks for the honor done me, I went toward home the 16th, and got as far as Windsor, and so to my house the next day. 4th August, 1669. I was invited by Sir Henry Peckham to his reading feast in the Middle Temple, a pompous entertainment, where were the Archbishop of Canterbury, all the great Earls and Lords, etc. I had much discourse with my Lord Winchelsea, a prodigious talker; and the Venetian Ambassador. 17th August, 1669. To London, spending almost the entire day in surveying what progress was made in rebuilding the ruinous city, which now began a little to revive after its sad calamity. 20th August, 1669. I saw the splendid audience of the Danish Ambassador in the Banqueting House at Whitehall. 23d August, 1669. I went to visit my most excellent and worthy neighbor, the Lord Bishop of Rochester, at Bromley, which he was now repairing, after the delapidations of the late Rebellion. 2d September, 1669. I was this day very ill of a pain in my limbs, which continued most of this week, and was increased by a visit I made to my old acquaintance, the Earl of Norwich, at his house in Epping Forest, where are many good pictures put into the wainscot of the rooms, which Mr. Baker, his Lordship's predecessor there, brought out of Spain; especially the History of Joseph, a picture of the pious and learned Picus Mirandula, and an incomparable one of old Breugel. The gardens were well understood, I mean the _potager_. I returned late in the evening, ferrying over the water at Greenwich. 26th September, 1669. To church, to give God thanks for my recovery. 3d October, 1669. I received the Blessed Eucharist, to my unspeakable joy. 21st October, 1669. To the Royal Society, meeting for the first time after a long recess, during vacation, according to custom; where was read a description of the prodigious eruption of Mount Etna; and our English itinerant presented an account of his autumnal peregrination about England, for which we hired him, bringing dried fowls, fish, plants, animals, etc. 26th October, 1669. My dear brother continued extremely full of pain, the Lord be gracious to him! 3d November, 1669. This being the day of meeting for the poor, we dined neighborly together. 26th November, 1669. I heard an excellent discourse by Dr. Patrick, on the Resurrection, and afterward, visited the Countess of Kent, my kinswoman. 8th December, 1669. To London, upon the second edition of my "Sylva," which I presented to the Royal Society. 6th February, 1669-70. Dr. John Breton, Master of Emmanuel College, in Cambridge (uncle to our vicar), preached on John i. 27; "whose shoe-latchet I am not worthy to unloose," etc., describing the various fashions of shoes, or sandals, worn by the Jews, and other nations: of the ornaments of the feet: how great persons had servants that took them off when they came to their houses, and bore them after them: by which pointing the dignity of our Savior, when such a person as St. John Baptist acknowledged his unworthiness even of that mean office. The lawfulness, decentness, and necessity, of subordinate degrees and ranks of men and servants, as well in the Church as State: against the late levelers, and others of that dangerous rabble, who would have all alike. 3d March, 1670. Finding my brother [Richard] in such exceeding torture, and that he now began to fall into convulsion-fits, I solemnly set the next day apart to beg of God to mitigate his sufferings, and prosper the only means which yet remained for his recovery, he being not only much wasted, but exceedingly and all along averse from being cut (for the stone); but, when he at last consented, and it came to the operation, and all things prepared, his spirit and resolution failed. [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th March, 1670. Dr. Patrick preached in Covent Garden Church. I participated of the Blessed Sacrament, recommending to God the deplorable condition of my dear brother, who was almost in the last agonies of death. I watched late with him this night. It pleased God to deliver him out of this miserable life, toward five o'clock this Monday morning, to my unspeakable grief. He was a brother whom I most dearly loved, for his many virtues; but two years younger than myself, a sober, prudent, worthy gentleman. He had married a great fortune, and left one only daughter, and a noble seat at Woodcot, near Epsom. His body was opened, and a stone taken out of his bladder, not much bigger than a nutmeg. I returned home on the 8th, full of sadness, and to bemoan my loss. 20th March, 1670. A stranger preached at the Savoy French church; the Liturgy of the Church of England being now used altogether, as translated into French by Dr. Durell. 21st March, 1670. We all accompanied the corpse of my dear brother to Epsom Church, where he was decently interred in the chapel belonging to Woodcot House. A great number of friends and gentlemen of the country attended, about twenty coaches and six horses, and innumerable people. 22d March, 1670. I went to Westminster, where in the House of Lords I saw his Majesty sit on his throne, but without his robes, all the peers sitting with their hats on; the business of the day being the divorce of my Lord Ross. Such an occasion and sight had not been seen in England since the time of Henry VIII.[17] [Footnote 17: Evelyn subjoins in a note: "When there was a project, 1669, for getting a divorce for the King, to facilitate it there was brought into the House of Lords a bill for dissolving the marriage of Lord Ross, on account of adultery, and to give him leave to marry again. This Bill, after great debates, passed by the plurality of only two votes, and that by the great industry of the Lord's friends, as well as the Duke's enemies, who carried it on chiefly in hopes it might be a precedent and inducement for the King to enter the more easily into their late proposals; nor were they a little encouraged therein, when they saw the King countenance and drive on the Bill in Lord Ross's favor. Of eighteen bishops that were in the House, only two voted for the bill, of which one voted through age, and one was reputed Socinian." The two bishops favorable to the bill were Dr. Cosin, Bishop of Durham, and Dr. Wilkins, Bishop of Chester.] 5th May, 1670. To London, concerning the office of Latin Secretary to his Majesty, a place of more honor and dignity than profit, the reversion of which he had promised me. 21st May, 1670. Came to visit me Mr. Henry Saville, and Sir Charles Scarborough. 26th May, 1670. Receiving a letter from Mr. Philip Howard, Lord Almoner to the Queen, that Monsieur Evelin, first physician to Madame (who was now come to Dover to visit the King her brother), was come to town, greatly desirous to see me; but his stay so short, that he could not come to me, I went with my brother to meet him at the Tower, where he was seeing the magazines and other curiosities, having never before been in England: we renewed our alliance and friendship, with much regret on both sides that, he being to return toward Dover that evening, we could not enjoy one another any longer. How this French family, Ivelin, of Evelin, Normandy, a very ancient and noble house is grafted into our pedigree, see in the collection brought from Paris, 1650. 16th June, 1670. I went with some friends to the Bear Garden, where was cock-fighting, dog-fighting, bear and bull-baiting, it being a famous day for all these butcherly sports, or rather barbarous cruelties. The bulls did exceedingly well, but the Irish wolf dog exceeded, which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature indeed, who beat a cruel mastiff. One of the bulls tossed a dog full into a lady's lap as she sat in one of the boxes at a considerable height from the arena. Two poor dogs were killed, and so all ended with the ape on horseback, and I most heartily weary of the rude and dirty pastime, which I had not seen, I think, in twenty years before. 18th June, 1670. Dined at Goring House, whither my Lord Arlington carried me from Whitehall with the Marquis of Worcester; there, we found Lord Sandwich, Viscount Stafford,[18] the Lieutenant of the Tower, and others. After dinner, my Lord communicated to me his Majesty's desire that I would engage to write the history of our late war with the Hollanders, which I had hitherto declined; this I found was ill taken, and that I should disoblige his Majesty, who had made choice of me to do him this service, and, if I would undertake it, I should have all the assistance the Secretary's office and others could give me, with other encouragements, which I could not decently refuse. [Footnote 18: Sir William Howard, created in November, 1640, Viscount Stafford. In 1678, he was accused of complicity with the Popish Plot, and upon trial by his Peers in Westminster Hall, was found guilty, by a majority of twenty-four. He was beheaded, December 29, 1680, on Tower Hill.] Lord Stafford rose from the table, in some disorder, because there were roses stuck about the fruit when the dessert was set on the table; such an antipathy, it seems, he had to them as once Lady Selenger also had, and to that degree that, as Sir Kenelm Digby tells us, laying but a rose upon her cheek when she was asleep, it raised a blister: but Sir Kenelm was a teller of strange things. 24th June, 1670. Came the Earl of Huntington and Countess, with the Lord Sherard, to visit us. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th June, 1670. To London, in order to my niece's marriage, Mary, daughter to my late brother Richard, of Woodcot, with the eldest son of Mr. Attorney Montague, which was celebrated at Southampton-House chapel, after which a magnificent entertainment, feast, and dancing, dinner and supper, in the great room there; but the bride was bedded at my sister's lodging, in Drury-Lane. 6th July, 1670. Came to visit me Mr. Stanhope, gentleman-usher to her Majesty, and uncle to the Earl of Chesterfield, a very fine man, with my Lady Hutcheson. 19th July, 1670. I accompanied my worthy friend, that excellent man, Sir Robert Murray, with Mr. Slingsby, master of the mint, to see the latter's seat and estate at Burrow-Green in Cambridgeshire, he desiring our advice for placing a new house, which he was resolved to build. We set out in a coach and six horses with him and his lady, dined about midway at one Mr. Turner's, where we found a very noble dinner, venison, music, and a circle of country ladies and their gallants. After dinner, we proceeded, and came to Burrow-Green that night. This had been the ancient seat of the Cheekes (whose daughter Mr. Slingsby married), formerly tutor to King Henry VI. The old house large and ample, and built for ancient hospitality, ready to fall down with age, placed in a dirty hole, a stiff clay, no water, next an adjoining church-yard, and with other inconveniences. We pitched on a spot of rising ground, adorned with venerable woods, a dry and sweet prospect east and west, and fit for a park, but no running water; at a mile distance from the old house. 20th July, 1670. We went to dine at Lord Allington's, who had newly built a house of great cost, I believe a little less than £20,000. His architect was Mr. Pratt. It is seated in a park, with a sweet prospect and stately avenue; but water still defective; the house has also its infirmities. Went back to Mr. Slingsby's. [Sidenote: NEWMARKET] 22d July, 1670. We rode out to see the great mere, or level, of recovered fen land, not far off. In the way, we met Lord Arlington going to his house in Suffolk, accompanied with Count Ogniati, the Spanish minister, and Sir Bernard Gascoigne; he was very importunate with me to go with him to Euston, being but fifteen miles distant; but, in regard of my company, I could not. So, passing through Newmarket, we alighted to see his Majesty's house there, now new-building; the arches of the cellars beneath are well turned by Mr. Samuel, the architect, the rest mean enough, and hardly fit for a hunting house. Many of the rooms above had the chimneys in the angles and corners, a mode now introduced by his Majesty, which I do at no hand approve of. I predict it will spoil many noble houses and rooms, if followed. It does only well in very small and trifling rooms, but takes from the state of greater. Besides, this house is placed in a dirty street, without any court or avenue, like a common one, whereas it might and ought to have been built at either end of the town, upon the very carpet where the sports are celebrated; but, it being the purchase of an old wretched house of my Lord Thomond's, his Majesty was persuaded to set it on that foundation, the most improper imaginable for a house of sport and pleasure. We went to see the stables and fine horses, of which many were here kept at a vast expense, with all the art and tenderness imaginable. Being arrived at some meres, we found Lord Wotton and Sir John Kiviet about their draining engines, having, it seems, undertaken to do wonders on a vast piece of marsh-ground they had hired of Sir Thomas Chicheley (master of the ordnance). They much pleased themselves with the hopes of a rich harvest of hemp and coleseed, which was the crop expected. Here we visited the engines and mills both for wind and water, draining it through two rivers or graffs, cut by hand, and capable of carrying considerable barges, which went thwart one the other, discharging the water into the sea. Such this spot had been the former winter; it was astonishing to see it now dry, and so rich that weeds grew on the banks, almost as high as a man and horse. Here, my Lord and his partner had built two or three rooms, with Flanders white bricks, very hard. One of the great engines was in the kitchen, where I saw the fish swim up, even to the very chimney hearth, by a small cut through the room, and running within a foot of the very fire. Having, after dinner, ridden about that vast level, pestered with heat and swarms of gnats, we returned over Newmarket Heath, the way being mostly a sweet turf and down, like Salisbury Plain, the jockeys breathing their fine barbs and racers and giving them their heats. 23d July, 1670. We returned from Burrow Green to London, staying some time at Audley End to see that fine palace. It is indeed a cheerful piece of Gothic building, or rather _antico moderno_, but placed in an obscure bottom. The cellars and galleries are very stately. It has a river by it, a pretty avenue of limes, and in a park. This is in Saffron Walden parish, famous for that useful plant, with which all the country is covered. [Sidenote: LONDON] Dining at Bishop Stortford, we came late to London. 5th August, 1670. There was sent me by a neighbor a servant maid, who, in the last month, as she was sitting before her mistress at work, felt a stroke on her arm a little above the wrist for some height, the smart of which, as if struck by another hand, caused her to hold her arm awhile till somewhat mitigated; but it put her into a kind of convulsion, or rather hysteric fit. A gentleman coming casually in, looking on her arm, found that part powdered with red crosses, set in most exact and wonderful order, neither swelled nor depressed, about this shape, x x x x x x x x x not seeming to be any way made by artifice, of a reddish color, not so red as blood, the skin over them smooth, the rest of the arm livid and of a mortified hue, with certain prints, as it were, of the stroke of fingers. This had happened three several times in July, at about ten days' interval, the crosses beginning to wear out, but the successive ones set in other different, yet uniform order. The maid seemed very modest, and came from London to Deptford with her mistress, to avoid the discourse and importunity of curious people. She made no gain by it, pretended no religious fancies; but seemed to be a plain, ordinary, silent, working wench, somewhat fat, short, and high-colored. She told me divers divines and physicians had seen her, but were unsatisfied; that she had taken some remedies against her fits, but they did her no good; she had never before had any fits; once since, she seemed in her sleep to hear one say to her that she should tamper no more with them, nor trouble herself with anything that happened, but put her trust in the merits of Christ only. This is the substance of what she told me, and what I saw and curiously examined. I was formerly acquainted with the impostorious nuns of Loudun, in France, which made such noise among the Papists; I therefore thought this worth the notice. I remember Monsieur Monconys[19] (that curious traveler and a Roman Catholic) was by no means satisfied with the _stigmata_ of those nuns, because they were so shy of letting him scrape the letters, which were Jesus, Maria, Joseph (as I think), observing they began to scale off with it, whereas this poor wench was willing to submit to any trial; so that I profess I know not what to think of it, nor dare I pronounce it anything supernatural. [Footnote 19: Balthasar de Monconys, a Frenchman, celebrated for his travels in the East, which he published in three volumes. His object was to discover vestiges of the philosophy of Trismegistus and Zoroaster; in which, it is hardly necessary to add, he was not very successful.] 20th August, 1670. At Windsor I supped with the Duke of Monmouth; and, the next day, invited by Lord Arlington, dined with the same Duke and divers Lords. After dinner my Lord and I had a conference of more than an hour alone in his bedchamber, to engage me in the History. I showed him something that I had drawn up, to his great satisfaction, and he desired me to show it to the Treasurer. 28th August, 1670. One of the Canons preached; then followed the offering of the Knights of the Order, according to custom; first the poor Knights, in procession, then, the Canons in their formalities, the Dean and Chancellor, then his Majesty (the Sovereign), the Duke of York, Prince Rupert; and, lastly, the Earl of Oxford, being all the Knights that were then at Court. I dined with the Treasurer, and consulted with him what pieces I was to add; in the afternoon the King took me aside into the balcony over the terrace, extremely pleased with what had been told him I had begun, in order to his commands, and enjoining me to proceed vigorously in it. He told me he had ordered the Secretaries of State to give me all necessary assistance of papers and particulars relating to it and enjoining me to make it a LITTLE KEEN, for that the Hollanders had very unhandsomely abused him in their pictures, books, and libels. Windsor was now going to be repaired, being exceedingly ragged and ruinous. Prince Rupert, the Constable, had begun to trim up the keep or high round Tower, and handsomely adorned his hall with furniture of arms, which was very singular, by so disposing the pikes, muskets, pistols, bandoleers, holsters, drums, back, breast, and headpieces, as was very extraordinary. Thus, those huge steep stairs ascending to it had the walls invested with this martial furniture, all new and bright, so disposing the bandoleers, holsters, and drums, as to represent festoons, and that without any confusion, trophy-like. From the hall we went into his bedchamber, and ample rooms hung with tapestry, curious and effeminate pictures, so extremely different from the other, which presented nothing but war and horror. The King passed most of his time in hunting the stag, and walking in the park, which he was now planting with rows of trees. 13th September, 1670. To visit Sir Richard Lashford, my kinsman, and Mr. Charles Howard, at his extraordinary garden, at Deepden. 15th September, 1670. I went to visit Mr. Arthur Onslow, at West Clandon, a pretty dry seat on the Downs, where we dined in his great room. 17th September, 1670. To visit Mr. Hussey, who, being near Wotton, lives in a sweet valley, deliciously watered. 23d September, 1670. To Albury, to see how that garden proceeded, which I found exactly done to the design and plot I had made, with the crypta through the mountain in the park, thirty perches in length. Such a Pausilippe[20] is nowhere in England. The canal was now digging, and the vineyard planted. [Footnote 20: A word adopted by Evelyn for a subterranean passage, from the famous grot of Pausilippo, at Naples.] 14th October, 1670. I spent the whole afternoon in private with the Treasurer who put into my hands those secret pieces and transactions concerning the Dutch war, and particularly the expedition of Bergen, in which he had himself the chief part, and gave me instructions, till the King arriving from Newmarket, we both went up into his bedchamber. 21st October, 1670. Dined with the Treasurer; and, after dinner, we were shut up together. I received other [further] advices, and ten paper books of dispatches and treaties; to return which again I gave a note under my hand to Mr. Joseph Williamson, Master of the Paper office. 31st October, 1670. I was this morning fifty years of age; the Lord teach me to number my days so as to apply them to his glory! Amen. 4th November, 1670. Saw the Prince of Orange, newly come to see the King, his uncle; he has a manly, courageous, wise countenance, resembling his mother and the Duke of Gloucester, both deceased. I now also saw that famous beauty, but in my opinion of a childish, simple, and baby face, Mademoiselle Querouaille,[21] lately Maid of Honor to Madame, and now to be so to the Queen. [Footnote 21: Henrietta, the King's sister, married to Philip, Duke of Orleans, was then on a visit here. Madame Querouaille came over in her train, on purpose to entice Charles into an union with Louis XIV.; a design which unhappily succeeded but too well. She became the King's mistress, was made Duchess of Portsmouth, and was his favorite till his death.] 23d November, 1670. Dined with the Earl of Arlington, where was the Venetian Ambassador, of whom I now took solemn leave, now on his return. There were also Lords Howard, Wharton, Windsor, and divers other great persons. 24th November, 1670. I dined with the Treasurer, where was the Earl of Rochester, a very profane wit. [Sidenote: LONDON] 15th December, 1670. It was the thickest and darkest fog on the Thames that was ever known in the memory of man, and I happened to be in the very midst of it. I supped with Monsieur Zulestein, late Governor to the late Prince of Orange. 10th January, 1670-71. Mr. Bohun, my son's tutor, had been five years in my house, and now Bachelor of Laws, and Fellow of New College, went from me to Oxford to reside there, having well and faithfully performed his charge. 18th January, 1671. This day I first acquainted his Majesty with that incomparable young man, Gibbon,[22] whom I had lately met with in an obscure place by mere accident, as I was walking near a poor solitary thatched house, in a field in our parish, near Sayes Court. I found him shut in; but looking in at the window, I perceived him carving that large cartoon, or crucifix, of Tintoretto, a copy of which I had myself brought from Venice, where the original painting remains. I asked if I might enter; he opened the door civilly to me, and I saw him about such a work as for the curiosity of handling, drawing, and studious exactness, I never had before seen in all my travels. I questioned him why he worked in such an obscure and lonesome place; he told me it was that he might apply himself to his profession without interruption, and wondered not a little how I found him out. I asked if he was unwilling to be made known to some great man, for that I believed it might turn to his profit; he answered, he was yet but a beginner, but would not be sorry to sell off that piece; on demanding the price, he said £100. In good earnest, the very frame was worth the money, there being nothing in nature so tender and delicate as the flowers and festoons about it, and yet the work was very strong; in the piece was more than one hundred figures of men, etc. I found he was likewise musical, and very civil, sober, and discreet in his discourse. There was only an old woman in the house. So, desiring leave to visit him sometimes, I went away. [Footnote 22: Better known by the name of Grinling Gibbon; celebrated for his exquisite carving. Some of his most astonishing work is at Chatsworth and at Petworth.] Of this young artist, together with my manner of finding him out, I acquainted the King, and begged that he would give me leave to bring him and his work to Whitehall, for that I would adventure my reputation with his Majesty that he had never seen anything approach it, and that he would be exceedingly pleased, and employ him. The King said he would himself go see him. This was the first notice his Majesty ever had of Mr. Gibbon. 20th January, 1671. The King came to me in the Queen's withdrawing-room from the circle of ladies, to talk with me as to what advance I had made in the Dutch History. I dined with the Treasurer, and afterward we went to the Secretary's Office, where we conferred about divers particulars. 21st January, 1671. I was directed to go to Sir George Downing, who having been a public minister in Holland, at the beginning of the war, was to give me light in some material passages. This year the weather was so wet, stormy, and unseasonable, as had not been known in many years. 9th February, 1671. I saw the great ball danced by the Queen and distinguished ladies at Whitehall Theater. Next day; was acted there the famous play, called, "The Siege of Granada," two days acted successively; there were indeed very glorious scenes and perspectives, the work of Mr. Streeter, who well understands it.[23] [Footnote 23: Evelyn here refers to Dryden's "Conquest of Granada".] 19th February, 1671. This day dined with me Mr. Surveyor, Dr. Christopher Wren, and Mr. Pepys, Clerk of the Acts, two extraordinary, ingenious, and knowing persons, and other friends. I carried them to see the piece of carving which I had recommended to the King. 25th February, 1671. Came to visit me one of the Lords Commissioners of Scotland for the Union. 28th February, 1671. The Treasurer acquainted me that his Majesty was graciously pleased to nominate me one of the Council of Foreign Plantations, and give me a salary of £500 per annum, to encourage me. 29th February, 1671. I went to thank the Treasurer, who was my great friend and loved me; I dined with him and much company, and went thence to my Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, in whose favor I likewise was upon many occasions, though I cultivated neither of their friendships by any mean submissions. I kissed his Majesty's hand, on his making me one of the new-established Council. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st March, 1671. I caused Mr. Gibbon to bring to Whitehall his excellent piece of carving, where being come, I advertised his Majesty, who asked me where it was; I told him in Sir Richard Browne's (my father-in-law) chamber, and that if it pleased his Majesty to appoint whither it should be brought, being large and though of wood, heavy, I would take care for it. "No," says the King, "show me the way, I'll go to Sir Richard's chamber," which he immediately did, walking along the entries after me; as far as the ewry, till he came up into the room, where I also lay. No sooner was he entered and cast his eyes on the work, but he was astonished at the curiosity of it; and having considered it a long time, and discoursed with Mr. Gibbon, whom I brought to kiss his hand, he commanded it should be immediately carried to the Queen's side to show her. It was carried up into her bedchamber, where she and the King looked on and admired it again; the King, being called away, left us with the Queen, believing she would have bought it, it being a crucifix; but, when his Majesty was gone, a French peddling woman, one Madame de Boord, who used to bring petticoats and fans, and baubles, out of France to the ladies, began to find fault with several things in the work, which she understood no more than an ass, or a monkey, so as in a kind of indignation, I caused the person who brought it to carry it back to the chamber, finding the Queen so much governed by an ignorant Frenchwoman, and this incomparable artist had his labor only for his pains, which not a little displeased me; and he was fain to send it down to his cottage again; he not long after sold it for £80, though well worth £100, without the frame, to Sir George Viner. His Majesty's Surveyor, Mr. Wren, faithfully promised me to employ him.[24] I having also bespoke his Majesty for his work at Windsor, which my friend, Mr. May, the architect there, was going to alter, and repair universally; for, on the next day, I had a fair opportunity of talking to his Majesty about it, in the lobby next the Queen's side, where I presented him with some sheets of my history. I thence walked with him through St. James's Park to the garden, where I both saw and heard a very familiar discourse between ... and Mrs. Nelly,[25] as they called an impudent comedian, she looking out of her garden on a terrace at the top of the wall, and ... standing on the green walk under it. I was heartily sorry at this scene. Thence the King walked to the Duchess of Cleveland, another lady of pleasure, and curse of our nation. [Footnote 24: The carving in the choir, etc., of St. Paul's Cathedral was executed by Gibbon.] [Footnote 25: Nell Gwynne: there can be no doubt as to the name with which we are to fill up these blanks. This familiar interview of Nelly and the King has afforded a subject for painters.] 5th March, 1671. I dined at Greenwich, to take leave of Sir Thomas Linch, going Governor of Jamaica. 10th March, 1671. To London, about passing my patent as one of the standing Council for Plantations, a considerable honor, the others in the Council being chiefly noblemen and officers of state. [Illustration: _NELL GWYNNE_ _Photogravure after Sir Peter Lely_] 2d April, 1671. To Sir Thomas Clifford, the Treasurer, to condole with him on the loss of his eldest son, who died at Florence. 2d May, 1671. The French King, being now with a great army of 28,000 men about Dunkirk, divers of the grandees of that Court, and a vast number of gentlemen and cadets, in fantastical habits, came flocking over to see our Court and compliment his Majesty. I was present, when they first were conducted into the Queen's withdrawing-room, where saluted their Majesties the Dukes of Guise, Longueville, and many others of the first rank. 10th May, 1671. Dined at Mr. Treasurer's,[26] in company with Monsieur De Grammont and several French noblemen, and one Blood, that impudent, bold fellow who had not long before attempted to steal the imperial crown itself out of the Tower, pretending only curiosity of seeing the regalia there, when, stabbing the keeper, though not mortally, he boldly went away with it through all the guards, taken only by the accident of his horse falling down. How he came to be pardoned, and even received into favor, not only after this, but several other exploits almost as daring both in Ireland and here, I could never come to understand. Some believed he became a spy of several parties, being well with the sectaries and enthusiasts, and did his Majesty services that way, which none alive could do so well as he; but it was certainly the boldest attempt, so the only treason of this sort that was ever pardoned. This man had not only a daring but a villanous, unmerciful look, a false countenance, but very well-spoken and dangerously insinuating. [Footnote 26: This entry of 10th May, 1671, so far as it relates to Blood, and the stealing of the crown, etc., is a mistake. Blood stole the crown on the 9th of May, 1671--the very day before; and the "not long before" of Evelyn, and the circumstance of his being "pardoned," which Evelyn also mentions, can hardly be said to relate to only the day before.] 11th May, 1671. I went to Eltham, to sit as one of the commissioners about the subsidy now given by Parliament to his Majesty. 17th May, 1671. Dined at Mr. Treasurer's [Sir Thomas Clifford] with the Earl of Arlington, Carlingford, Lord Arundel of Wardour, Lord Almoner to the Queen, a French Count and two abbots, with several more of French nobility; and now by something I had lately observed of Mr. Treasurer's conversation on occasion, I suspected him a little warping to Rome. 25th May, 1671. I dined at a feast made for me and my wife by the Trinity Company, for our passing a fine of the land which Sir R. Browne, my wife's father, freely gave to found and build their college, or almshouses on, at Deptford, it being my wife's after her father's decease. It was a good and charitable work and gift, but would have been better bestowed on the poor of that parish, than on the seamen's widows, the Trinity Company being very rich, and the rest of the poor of the parish exceedingly indigent. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th May, 1671. The Earl of Bristol's house in Queen's Street [Lincoln's Inn Fields] was taken for the Commissioners of Trade and Plantations, and furnished with rich hangings of the King's. It consisted of seven rooms on a floor, with a long gallery, gardens, etc. This day we met the Duke of Buckingham, Earl of Lauderdale, Lord Culpeper, Sir George Carteret, Vice-Chamberlain, and myself, had the oaths given us by the Earl of Sandwich, our President. It was to advise and counsel his Majesty, to the best of our abilities, for the well-governing of his Foreign Plantations, etc., the form very little differing from that given to the Privy Council. We then took our places at the Board in the Council-Chamber, a very large room furnished with atlases, maps, charts, globes, etc. Then came the Lord Keeper, Sir Orlando Bridgeman, Earl of Arlington, Secretary of State, Lord Ashley, Mr. Treasurer, Sir John Trevor, the other Secretary, Sir John Duncomb, Lord Allington, Mr. Grey, son to the Lord Grey, Mr. Henry Broncher, Sir Humphrey Winch, Sir John Finch, Mr. Waller, and Colonel Titus, of the bedchamber, with Mr. Slingsby, Secretary to the Council, and two Clerks of the Council, who had all been sworn some days before. Being all set, our Patent was read, and then the additional Patent, in which was recited this new establishment; then, was delivered to each a copy of the Patent, and of instructions: after which, we proceeded to business. The first thing we did was, to settle the form of a circular letter to the Governors of all his Majesty's Plantations and Territories in the West Indies and Islands thereof, to give them notice to whom they should apply themselves on all occasions, and to render us an account of their present state and government; but, what we most insisted on was, to know the condition of New England, which appearing to be very independent as to their regard to Old England, or his Majesty, rich and strong as they now were, there were great debates in what style to write to them; for the condition of that Colony was such, that they were able to contest with all other Plantations about them, and there was fear of their breaking from all dependence on this nation; his Majesty, therefore, commended this affair more expressly. We, therefore, thought fit, in the first place, to acquaint ourselves as well as we could of the state of that place, by some whom we heard of that were newly come from thence, and to be informed of their present posture and condition; some of our Council were for sending them a menacing letter, which those who better understood the peevish and touchy humor of that Colony, were utterly against. A letter was then read from Sir Thomas Modiford, Governor of Jamaica; and then the Council broke up. Having brought an action against one Cocke, for money which he had received for me, it had been referred to an arbitration by the recommendation of that excellent good man, the Chief-Justice Hale,[27] but, this not succeeding, I went to advise with that famous lawyer, Mr. Jones, of Gray's Inn, and, 27th of May, had a trial before Lord Chief Justice Hale; and, after the lawyers had wrangled sufficiently, it was referred to a new arbitration. This was the very first suit at law that ever I had with any creature, and oh, that it might be the last! [Footnote 27: Sir Matthew Hale, so famous as one of the justices of the bench in Cromwell's time. After the Restoration, he became Chief Baron of the Exchequer; then Chief Justice of the King's Bench, and died in 1676. The author of numerous works, not only on professional subjects, but on mathematics and philosophy.] 1st June, 1671. An installation at Windsor. 6th June, 1671. I went to Council, where was produced a most exact and ample information of the state of Jamaica, and of the best expedients as to New England, on which there was a long debate; but at length it was concluded that, if any, it should be only a conciliating paper at first, or civil letter, till we had better information of the present face of things, since we understood they were a people almost upon the very brink of renouncing any dependence on the Crown. 19th June, 1671. To a splendid dinner at the great room in Deptford Trinity House, Sir Thomas Allen chosen Master, and succeeding the Earl of Craven. [Sidenote: LONDON] 20th June, 1671. To carry Colonel Middleton to Whitehall, to my Lord Sandwich, our President, for some information which he was able to give of the state of the Colony in New England. 21st June, 1671. To Council again, when one Colonel Cartwright, a Nottinghamshire man, (formerly in commission with Colonel Nicholls) gave us a considerable relation of that country; on which the Council concluded that in the first place a letter of amnesty should be dispatched. 24th June, 1671. Constantine Huygens, Signor of Zuylichem, that excellent learned man, poet, and musician, now near eighty years of age, a vigorous, brisk man,[28] came to take leave of me before his return into Holland with the Prince, whose Secretary he was. [Footnote 28: He died in 1687, at the great age of 90 years and 6 months. Constantine and his son, Christian Huygens, were both eminent for scientific knowledge and classical attainments; Christian, particularly so; for he was the inventor of the pendulum, made an improvement in the air-pump, first discovered the ring and one of the satellites of Saturn, and ascertained the laws of collision of elastic bodies. He died in 1695. Constantine, the father, was a person of influence and distinction in Holland, and held the post of secretary to the Prince of Orange.] 26th June, 1671. To Council, where Lord Arlington acquainted us that it was his Majesty's proposal we should, every one of us, contribute £20 toward building a Council chamber and conveniences somewhere in Whitehall, that his Majesty might come and sit among us, and hear our debates; the money we laid out to be reimbursed out of the contingent moneys already set apart for us, viz, £1,000 yearly. To this we unanimously consented. There came an uncertain bruit from Barbadoes of some disorder there. On my return home I stepped in at the theater to see the new machines for the intended scenes, which were indeed very costly and magnificent. 29th June, 1671. To Council, where were letters from Sir Thomas Modiford, of the expedition and exploit of Colonel Morgan, and others of Jamaica, on the Spanish Continent at Panama. 4th July, 1671. To Council, where we drew up and agreed to a letter to be sent to New England, and made some proposal to Mr. Gorges, for his interest in a plantation there. 24th July, 1671. To Council. Mr. Surveyor brought us a plot for the building of our Council chamber, to be erected at the end of the Privy garden, in Whitehall. 3d August, 1671. A full appearance at the Council. The matter in debate was, whether we should send a deputy to New England, requiring them of the Massachusetts to restore such to their limits and respective possessions, as had petitioned the Council; this to be the open commission only; but, in truth, with secret instructions to inform us of the condition of those Colonies, and whether they were of such power, as to be able to resist his Majesty and declare for themselves as independent of the Crown, which we were told, and which of late years made them refractory. Colonel Middleton, being called in, assured us they might be curbed by a few of his Majesty's first-rate frigates, to spoil their trade with the islands; but, though my Lord President was not satisfied, the rest were, and we did resolve to advise his Majesty to send Commissioners with a formal commission for adjusting boundaries, etc., with some other instructions. 19th August, 1671. To Council. The letters of Sir Thomas Modiford were read, giving relation of the exploit at Panama, which was very brave; they took, burned, and pillaged the town of vast treasures, but the best of the booty had been shipped off, and lay at anchor in the South Sea, so that, after our men had ranged the country sixty miles about, they went back to Nombre de Dios, and embarked for Jamaica. Such an action had not been done since the famous Drake. I dined at the Hamburg Resident's, and, after dinner, went to the christening of Sir Samuel Tuke's son, Charles, at Somerset House, by a Popish priest, and many odd ceremonies. The godfathers were the King, and Lord Arundel of Wardour, and godmother, the Countess of Huntingdon. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th August, 1671. To London, with some more papers of my progress in the Dutch War, delivered to the Treasurer. 1st September, 1671. Dined with the Treasurer, in company with my Lord Arlington, Halifax, and Sir Thomas Strickland; and next day, went home, being the anniversary of the late dreadful fire of London. 13th September, 1671. This night fell a dreadful tempest. 15th September, 1671. In the afternoon at Council, where letters were read from Sir Charles Wheeler, concerning his resigning his government of St. Christopher's. 21st September, 1671. I dined in the city, at the fraternity feast in Ironmongers' Hall, where the four stewards chose their successors for the next year, with a solemn procession, garlands about their heads, and music playing before them; so, coming up to the upper tables where the gentlemen sat, they drank to the new stewards; and so we parted. 22d September, 1671. I dined at the Treasurer's, where I had discourse with Sir Henry Jones (now come over to raise a regiment of horse), concerning the French conquests in Lorraine; he told me the King sold all things to the soldiers, even to a handful of hay. Lord Sunderland was now nominated Ambassador to Spain. After dinner, the Treasurer carried me to Lincoln's Inn, to one of the Parliament Clerks, to obtain of him, that I might carry home and peruse, some of the Journals, which were, accordingly, delivered to me to examine about the late Dutch War. Returning home, I went on shore to see the Custom House, now newly rebuilt since the dreadful conflagration. [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th and 10th October, 1671. I went, after evening service, to London, in order to a journey of refreshment with Mr. Treasurer, to Newmarket, where the King then was, in his coach with six brave horses, which we changed thrice, first, at Bishop-Stortford, and last, at Chesterford; so, by night, we got to Newmarket, where Mr. Henry Jermain (nephew to the Earl of St. Alban) lodged me very civilly. We proceeded immediately to Court, the King and all the English gallants being there at their autumnal sports. Supped at the Lord Chamberlain's; and, the next day, after dinner, I was on the heath, where I saw the great match run between Woodcock and Flatfoot, belonging to the King, and to Mr. Eliot, of the bedchamber, many thousands being spectators; a more signal race had not been run for many years. This over, I went that night with Mr. Treasurer to Euston, a palace of Lord Arlington's, where we found Monsieur Colbert (the French Ambassador), and the famous new French Maid of Honor, Mademoiselle Querouaille, now coming to be in great favor with the King. Here was also the Countess of Sunderland, and several lords and ladies, who lodged in the house. During my stay here with Lord Arlington, near a fortnight, his Majesty came almost every second day with the Duke, who commonly returned to Newmarket, but the King often lay here, during which time I had twice the honor to sit at dinner with him, with all freedom. It was universally reported that the fair lady ----, was bedded one of these nights, and the stocking flung, after the manner of a married bride; I acknowledge she was for the most part in her undress all day, and that there was fondness and toying with that young wanton; nay, it was said, I was at the former ceremony; but it is utterly false; I neither saw nor heard of any such thing while I was there, though I had been in her chamber, and all over that apartment late enough, and was myself observing all passages with much curiosity. However, it was with confidence believed she was first made _a Miss_, as they called these unhappy creatures, with solemnity at this time. On Sunday, a young Cambridge divine preached an excellent sermon in the chapel, the King and the Duke of York being present. 16th October, 1671. Came all the great men from Newmarket, and other parts both of Suffolk and Norfolk, to make their court, the whole house filled from one end to the other with lords, ladies, and gallants; there was such a furnished table, as I had seldom seen, nor anything more splendid and free, so that for fifteen days there were entertained at least 200 people, and half as many horses, besides servants and guards, at infinite expense. In the morning, we went hunting and hawking; in the afternoon, till almost morning, to cards and dice, yet I must say without noise, swearing, quarrel, or confusion of any sort. I, who was no gamester, had often discourse with the French Ambassador, Colbert, and went sometimes abroad on horseback with the ladies to take the air, and now and then to hunting; thus idly passing the time, but not without more often recess to my pretty apartment, where I was quite out of all this hurry, and had leisure when I would, to converse with books, for there is no man more hospitably easy to be withal than my Lord Arlington, of whose particular friendship and kindness I had ever a more than ordinary share. His house is a very noble pile, consisting of four pavilions after the French, beside a body of a large house, and, though not built altogether, but formed of additions to an old house (purchased by his Lordship of one Sir T. Rookwood) yet with a vast expense made not only capable and roomsome, but very magnificent and commodious, as well within as without, nor less splendidly furnished. The staircase is very elegant, the garden handsome, the canal beautiful, but the soil dry, barren, and miserably sandy, which flies in drifts as the wind sits. Here my Lord was pleased to advise with me about ordering his plantations of firs, elms, limes, etc., up his park, and in all other places and avenues. I persuaded him to bring his park so near as to comprehend his house within it; which he resolved upon, it being now near a mile to it. The water furnishing the fountains, is raised by a pretty engine, or very slight plain wheels, which likewise serve to grind his corn, from a small cascade of the canal, the invention of Sir Samuel Morland. In my Lord's house, and especially above the staircase, in the great hall and some of the chambers and rooms of state, are paintings in fresco by Signor Verrio, being the first work which he did in England. [Sidenote: NORWICH] 17th October, 1671. My Lord Henry Howard coming this night to visit my Lord Chamberlain, and staying a day, would needs have me go with him to Norwich, promising to convey me back, after a day or two; this, as I could not refuse, I was not hard to be pursuaded to, having a desire to see that famous scholar and physician, Dr. T. Browne, author of the "_Religio Medici_" and "Vulgar Errors," now lately knighted. Thither, then, went my Lord and I alone, in his flying chariot with six horses; and by the way, discoursing with me of several of his concerns, he acquainted me of his going to marry his eldest son to one of the King's natural daughters, by the Duchess of Cleveland; by which he reckoned he should come into mighty favor. He also told me that, though he kept that idle creature, Mrs. B----, and would leave £200 a year to the son he had by her, he would never marry her, and that the King himself had cautioned him against it. All the world knows how he kept his promise, and I was sorry at heart to hear what now he confessed to me; and that a person and a family which I so much honored for the sake of that noble and illustrious friend of mine, his grandfather, should dishonor and pollute them both with those base and vicious courses he of late had taken since the death of Sir Samuel Tuke, and that of his own virtuous lady (my Lady Anne Somerset, sister to the Marquis); who, while they lived, preserved this gentleman by their example and advice from those many extravagances that impaired both his fortune and reputation. Being come to the Ducal palace, my Lord made very much of me; but I had little rest, so exceedingly desirous he was to show me the contrivance he had made for the entertainment of their Majesties, and the whole Court not long before, and which, though much of it was but temporary, apparently framed of boards only, was yet standing. As to the palace, it is an old wretched building, and that part of it newly built of brick, is very ill understood; so as I was of the opinion it had been much better to have demolished all, and set it up in a better place, than to proceed any further; for it stands in the very market-place, and, though near a river, yet a very narrow muddy one, without any extent. Next morning, I went to see Sir Thomas Browne (with whom I had some time corresponded by letter, though I had never seen him before); his whole house and garden being a paradise and cabinet of rarities; and that of the best collection, especially medals, books, plants, and natural things. Among other curiosities, Sir Thomas had a collection of the eggs of all the fowl and birds he could procure, that country (especially the promontory of Norfolk) being frequented, as he said, by several kinds which seldom or never go further into the land, as cranes, storks, eagles, and variety of water fowl. He led me to see all the remarkable places of this ancient city, being one of the largest, and certainly, after London, one of the noblest of England, for its venerable cathedral, number of stately churches, cleanness of the streets, and buildings of flint so exquisitely headed and squared, as I was much astonished at; but he told me they had lost the art of squaring the flints, in which they so much excelled, and of which the churches, best houses, and walls, are built. The Castle is an antique extent of ground, which now they call Marsfield, and would have been a fitting area to have placed the Ducal palace in. The suburbs are large, the prospects sweet, with other amenities, not omitting the flower gardens, in which all the inhabitants excel. The fabric of stuffs brings a vast trade to this populous town. Being returned to my Lord's, who had been with me all this morning, he advised with me concerning a plot to rebuild his house, having already, as he said, erected a front next the street, and a left wing, and now resolving to set up another wing and pavilion next the garden, and to convert the bowling green into stables. My advice was, to desist from all, and to meditate wholly on rebuilding a handsome palace at Arundel House, in the Strand, before he proceeded further here, and then to place this in the Castle, that ground belonging to his Lordship. I observed that most of the church yards (though some of them large enough) were filled up with earth, or rather the congestion of dead bodies one upon another, for want of earth, even to the very top of the walls, and some above the walls, so as the churches seemed to be built in pits. 18th October, 1671. I returned to Euston, in Lord Henry Howard's coach, leaving him at Norwich, in company with a very ingenious gentleman, Mr. White, whose father and mother (daughter to the late Lord Treasurer Weston, Earl of Portland) I knew at Rome, where this gentleman was born, and where his parents lived and died with much reputation, during their banishment in our civil broils. 21st October, 1671. Quitting Euston, I lodged this night at Newmarket, where I found the jolly blades racing, dancing, feasting, and reveling; more resembling a luxurious and abandoned rout, than a Christian Court. The Duke of Buckingham was now in mighty favor, and had with him that impudent woman, the Countess of Shrewsbury, with his band of fiddlers, etc. Next morning, in company with Sir Bernard Gascoyne, and Lord Hawley, I came in the Treasurer's coach to Bishop Stortford, where he gave us a noble supper. The following day, to London, and so home. 14th November, 1671. To Council, where Sir Charles Wheeler, late Governor of the Leeward Islands, having been complained of for many indiscreet managements, it was resolved, on scanning many of the particulars, to advise his Majesty to remove him; and consult what was to be done, to prevent these inconveniences he had brought things to. This business staid me in London almost a week, being in Council, or Committee, every morning till the 25th. 27th November, 1671. We ordered that a proclamation should be presented to his Majesty to sign, against what Sir Charles Wheeler had done in St. Christopher's since the war, on the articles of peace at Breda. He was shortly afterward recalled. 6th December, 1671. Came to visit me Sir William Haywood, a great pretender to English antiquities. 14th December, 1671. Went to see the Duke of Buckingham's ridiculous farce and rhapsody, called the "The Recital,"[29] buffooning all plays, yet profane enough. [Footnote 29: The well-known play of "The Rehearsal" is meant.] 23d December, 1671. The Councillors of the Board of Trade dined together at the Cock, in Suffolk street. 12th January, 1671-72. His Majesty renewed us our lease of Sayes Court pastures for ninety-nine years, but ought, according to his solemn promise[30] (as I hope he will still perform), have passed them to us in fee-farm. [Footnote 30: The King's engagement, under his hand, is now at Wotton.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 23d January, 1672. To London, in order to Sir Richard Browne, my father-in-law, resigning his place as Clerk of the Council to Joseph Williamson, Esq., who was admitted, and was knighted. This place his Majesty had promised to give me many years before; but, upon consideration of the renewal of our lease and other reasons, I chose to part with it to Sir Joseph, who gave us and the rest of his brother clerks a handsome supper at his house; and, after supper, a concert of music. 3d February, 1672. An extraordinary snow; part of the week was taken up in consulting about the commission of prisoners of war, and instructions to our officers, in order to a second war with the Hollanders, his Majesty having made choice of the former commissioners, and myself among them. 11th February, 1672. In the afternoon, that famous proselyte, Monsieur Brevall, preached at the Abbey, in English, extremely well and with much eloquence. He had been a Capuchin, but much better learned than most of that order. 12th February, 1672. At the Council, we entered on inquiries about improving the plantations by silks, galls, flax, senna, etc., and considered how nutmegs and cinnamon might be obtained and brought to Jamaica, that soil and climate promising success. Dr. Worsley being called in, spoke many considerable things to encourage it. We took order to send to the plantations, that none of their ships should adventure homeward single, but stay for company and convoys. We also deliberated on some fit person to go as commissioner to inspect their actions in New England, and, from time to time, report how that people stood affected. In future, to meet at Whitehall. 20th February, 1672. Dr. Parr, of Camberwell, preached a most pathetic funeral discourse and panegyric at the interment of our late pastor, Dr. Breton (who died on the 18th), on "Happy is the servant whom, when his Lord cometh," etc. This good man, among other expressions, professed that he had never been so touched and concerned at any loss as at this, unless at that of King Charles our martyr, and Archbishop Usher, whose chaplain he had been. Dr. Breton had preached on the 28th and 30th of January: on the Friday, having fasted all day, making his provisionary sermon for the Sunday following, he went well to bed; but was taken suddenly ill and expired before help could come to him. Never had a parish a greater loss, not only as he was an excellent preacher, and fitted for our great and vulgar auditory, but for his excellent life and charity, his meekness and obliging nature, industrious, helpful, and full of good works. He left near £400 to the poor in his will, and that what children of his should die in their minority, their portion should be so employed, I lost in particular a special friend, and one that had an extraordinary love for me and mine. [Sidenote: LONDON] 25th February, 1672. To London, to speak with the Bishop, and Sir John Cutler, our patron, to present Mr. Frampton (afterward Bishop of Gloucester). 1st March, 1672. A full Council of Plantations, on the danger of the Leeward Islands, threatened by the French, who had taken some of our ships, and began to interrupt our trade. Also in debate, whether the new Governor of St. Christopher should be subordinate to the Governor of Barbadoes. The debate was serious and long. 12th March, 1672. Now was the first blow given by us to the Dutch convoy of the Smyrna fleet, by Sir Robert Holmes and Lord Ossory, in which we received little save blows, and a worthy reproach for attacking our neighbors ere any war was proclaimed, and then pretending the occasion to be, that some time before, the Merlin yacht chancing to sail through the whole Dutch fleet, their Admiral did not strike to that trifling vessel. Surely, this was a quarrel slenderly grounded, and not becoming Christian neighbors. We are likely to thrive, accordingly. Lord Ossory several times deplored to me his being engaged in it; he had more justice and honor than in the least to approve of it, though he had been over-persuaded to the expedition. There is no doubt but we should have surprised this exceeding rich fleet, had not the avarice and ambition of Holmes and Spragge separated themselves, and willfully divided our fleet, on presumption that either of them was strong enough to deal with the Dutch convoy without joining and mutual help; but they so warmly plied our divided fleets, that while in conflict the merchants sailed away, and got safe into Holland. A few days before this, the Treasurer of the Household, Sir Thomas Clifford, hinted to me, as a confidant, that his Majesty would SHUT UP THE EXCHEQUER (and, accordingly, his Majesty made use of infinite treasure there, to prepare for an intended rupture); but, says he, it will soon be open again, and everybody satisfied; for this bold man, who had been the sole adviser of the King to invade that sacred stock (though some pretend it was Lord Ashley's counsel, then Chancellor of the Exchequer), was so over-confident of the success of this unworthy design against the Smyrna merchants, as to put his Majesty on an action which not only lost the hearts of his subjects, and ruined many widows and orphans, whose stocks were lent him, but the reputation of his Exchequer forever, it being before in such credit, that he might have commanded half the wealth of the nation. The credit of this bank being thus broken, did exceedingly discontent the people, and never did his Majesty's affairs prosper to any purpose after it, for as it did not supply the expense of the meditated war, so it melted away, I know not how. To this succeeded the King's declaration for an universal toleration; Papists and swarms of Sectaries, now boldly showing themselves in their public meetings. This was imputed to the same council, Clifford warping to Rome as was believed, nor was Lord Arlington clear of suspicion, to gratify that party, but as since it has proved, and was then evidently foreseen, to the extreme weakening of the Church of England and its Episcopal Government, as it was projected. I speak not this as my own sense, but what was the discourse and thoughts of others, who were lookers-on; for I think there might be some relaxations without the least prejudice to the present establishment, discreetly limited, but to let go the reins in this manner, and then to imagine they could take them up again as easily, was a false policy, and greatly destructive. The truth is, our Bishops slipped the occasion; for, had they held a steady hand upon his Majesty's restoration, as they might easily have done, the Church of England had emerged and flourished, without interruption; but they were then remiss, and covetous after advantages of another kind while his Majesty suffered them to come into a harvest, with which, without any injustice he might have remunerated innumerable gallant gentlemen for their services who had ruined themselves in the late rebellion. 21st March, 1672. I visited the coasts in my district of Kent, and divers wounded and languishing poor men, that had been in the Smyrna conflict. I went over to see the new-begun Fort of Tilbury; a royal work, indeed, and such as will one day bridle a great city to the purpose, before they are aware. 23d March, 1672. Captain Cox, one of the Commissioners of the Navy, furnishing me with a yatch, I sailed to Sheerness to see that fort also, now newly finished; several places on both sides the Swale and Medway to Gillingham and Upnore, being also provided with redoubts and batteries to secure the station of our men-of-war at Chatham, and shut the door when the steeds were stolen. 24th March, 1672. I saw the chirurgeon cut off the leg of a wounded sailor, the stout and gallant man enduring it with incredible patience, without being bound to his chair, as usual on such painful occasions. I had hardly courage enough to be present. Not being cut off high enough the gangrene prevailed, and the second operation cost the poor creature his life. Lord! what miseries are mortal men subject to, and what confusion and mischief do the avarice, anger, and ambition of Princes, cause in the world! 25th March, 1672. I proceeded to Canterbury, Dover, Deal, the Isle of Thanet, by Sandwich, and so to Margate. Here we had abundance of miserably wounded men, his Majesty sending his chief chirurgeon, Sergeant Knight, to meet me, and Dr. Waldrond had attended me all the journey. Having taken order for the accommodation of the wounded, I came back through a country the best cultivated of any that in my life I had anywhere seen, every field lying as even as a bowling-green, and the fences, plantations, and husbandry, in such admirable order, as infinitely delighted me, after the sad and afflicting spectacles and objects I was come from. Observing almost every tall tree to have a weathercock on the top bough, and some trees half-a-dozen, I learned that, on a certain holyday, the farmers feast their servants; at which solemnity, they set up these cocks, in a kind of triumph. [Sidenote: ROCHESTER] Being come back toward Rochester, I went to take order respecting the building a strong and high wall about a house I had hired of a gentleman, at a place called Hartlip, for a prison, paying £50 yearly rent. Here I settled a Provost-Marshal and other officers, returning by Feversham. On the 30th heard a sermon in Rochester cathedral, and so got to Sayes Court on the first of April. 4th April, 1672. I went to see the fopperies of the Papists at Somerset-House and York-House, where now the French Ambassador had caused to be represented our Blessed Savior at the Pascal Supper with his disciples, in figures and puppets made as big as the life, of wax-work, curiously clad and sitting round a large table, the room nobly hung, and shining with innumerable lamps and candles: this was exposed to all the world; all the city came to see it. Such liberty had the Roman Catholics at this time obtained. 16th April, 1672. Sat in Council, preparing Lord Willoughby's commission and instructions as Governor of Barbadoes and the Caribbee Islands. 17th April, 1672. Sat on business in the Star Chamber. 19th April, 1672. At Council, preparing instructions for Colonel Stapleton, now to go Governor of St. Christopher's, and heard the complaints of the Jamaica merchants against the Spaniards, for hindering them from cutting logwood on the mainland, where they have no pretense. 21st April, 1672. To my Lord of Canterbury, to entreat him to engage Sir John Cutler, the patron, to provide us a grave and learned man, in opposition to a novice. 30th April, 1672. Congratulated Mr. Treasurer Clifford's new honor, being made a Baron. 2d May, 1672. My son, John, was specially admitted of the Middle Temple by Sir Francis North, his Majesty's Solicitor-General, and since Chancellor. I pray God bless this beginning, my intention being that he should seriously apply himself to the study of the law. 10th May, 1672. I was ordered, by letter from the Council, to repair forthwith to his Majesty, whom I found in the Pall-Mall, in St. James's Park, where his Majesty coming to me from the company, commanded me to go immediately to the seacoast, and to observe the motion of the Dutch fleet and ours, the Duke and so many of the flower of our nation being now under sail, coming from Portsmouth, through the Downs, where it was believed there might be an encounter. 11th May, 1672. Went to Chatham. 12th. Heard a sermon in Rochester Cathedral. 13th May, 1672. To Canterbury; visited Dr. Bargrave, my old fellow-traveler in Italy, and great virtuoso. 14th May, 1672. To Dover; but the fleet did not appear till the 16th, when the Duke of York with his and the French squadron, in all 170 ships (of which above 100 were men-of-war), sailed by, after the Dutch, who were newly withdrawn. Such a gallant and formidable navy never, I think, spread sail upon the seas. It was a goodly yet terrible sight, to behold them as I did, passing eastward by the straits between Dover and Calais in a glorious day. The wind was yet so high, that I could not well go aboard, and they were soon got out of sight. The next day, having visited our prisoners and the Castle, and saluted the Governor, I took horse for Margate. Here, from the North Foreland Lighthouse top (which is a pharos, built of brick, and having on the top a cradle of iron, in which a man attends a great sea-coal fire all the year long, when the nights are dark, for the safeguard of sailors), we could see our fleet as they lay at anchor. The next morning, they weighed, and sailed out of sight to the N. E. [Sidenote: MARGATE] 19th May, 1672. Went to Margate; and, the following day, was carried to see a gallant widow, brought up a farmeress, and I think of gigantic race, rich, comely, and exceedingly industrious. She put me in mind of Deborah and Abigail, her house was so plentifully stored with all manner of country provisions, all of her own growth, and all her conveniences so substantial, neat, and well understood; she herself so jolly and hospitable; and her land so trim and rarely husbanded, that it struck me with admiration at her economy. This town much consists of brewers of a certain heady ale, and they deal much in malt, etc. For the rest, it is raggedly built, and has an ill haven, with a small fort of little concernment, nor is the island well disciplined; but as to the husbandry and rural part, far exceeding any part of England for the accurate culture of their ground, in which they exceed, even to curiosity and emulation. We passed by Rickborough, and in sight of Reculvers, and so through a sweet garden, as it were, to Canterbury. 24th May, 1672. To London and gave his Majesty an account of my journey, and that I had put all things in readiness upon all events, and so returned home sufficiently wearied. 31st May, 1672. I received another command to repair to the seaside; so I went to Rochester, where I found many wounded, sick, and prisoners, newly put on shore after the engagement on the 28th, in which the Earl of Sandwich, that incomparable person and my particular friend, and divers more whom I loved, were lost. My Lord (who was Admiral of the Blue) was in the "Prince," which was burnt, one of the best men-of-war that ever spread canvas on the sea. There were lost with this brave man, a son of Sir Charles Cotterell (Master of the Ceremonies), and a son of Sir Charles Harbord (his Majesty's Surveyor-General), two valiant and most accomplished youths, full of virtue and courage, who might have saved themselves; but chose to perish with my Lord, whom they honored and loved above their own lives. Here, I cannot but make some reflections on things past. It was not above a day or two that going to Whitehall to take leave of his Lordship, who had his lodgings in the Privy-Garden, shaking me by the hand he bid me good-by, and said he thought he would see me no more, and I saw, to my thinking, something boding in his countenance: "No," says he, "they will not have me live. Had I lost a fleet (meaning on his return from Bergen when he took the East India prize) I should have fared better; but, be as it pleases God--I must do something, I know not what, to save my reputation." Something to this effect, he had hinted to me; thus I took my leave. I well remember that the Duke of Albemarle, and my now Lord Clifford, had, I know not why, no great opinion of his courage, because, in former conflicts, being an able and experienced seaman (which neither of them were), he always brought off his Majesty's ships without loss, though not without as many marks of true courage as the stoutest of them; and I am a witness that, in the late war, his own ship was pierced like a colander. But the business was, he was utterly against this war from the beginning, and abhorred the attacking of the Smyrna fleet; he did not favor the heady expedition of Clifford at Bergen, nor was he so furious and confident as was the Duke of Albemarle, who believed he could vanquish the Hollanders with one squadron. My Lord Sandwich was prudent as well as valiant, and always governed his affairs with success and little loss; he was for deliberation and reason, they for action and slaughter without either; and for this, whispered as if my Lord Sandwich was not so gallant, because he was not so rash, and knew how fatal it was to lose a fleet, such as was that under his conduct, and for which these very persons would have censured him on the other side. This it was, I am confident, grieved him, and made him enter like a lion, and fight like one too, in the midst of the hottest service, where the stoutest of the rest seeing him engaged, and so many ships upon him, dared not, or would not, come to his succor, as some of them, whom I know, might have done. Thus, this gallant person perished, to gratify the pride and envy of some I named. Deplorable was the loss of one of the best accomplished persons, not only of this nation, but of any other. He was learned in sea affairs, in politics, in mathematics, and in music: he had been on divers embassies, was of a sweet and obliging temper, sober, chaste, very ingenious, a true nobleman, an ornament to the Court and his Prince; nor has he left any behind him who approach his many virtues. He had, I confess, served the tyrant Cromwell, when a young man, but it was without malice, as a soldier of fortune; and he readily submitted, and that with joy, bringing an entire fleet with him from the Sound, at the first tidings of his Majesty's restoration. I verily believe him as faithful a subject as any that were not his friends. I am yet heartily grieved at this mighty loss, nor do I call it to my thoughts without emotion. [Sidenote: ROCHESTER] 2d June, 1672. Trinity Sunday, I passed at Rochester; and, on the 5th, there was buried in the Cathedral Monsieur Rabiniére, Rear Admiral of the French squadron, a gallant person, who died of the wounds he received in the fight. This ceremony lay on me, which I performed with all the decency I could, inviting the Mayor and Aldermen to come in their formalities. Sir Jonas Atkins was there with his guards; and the Dean and Prebendaries: one of his countrymen pronouncing a funeral oration at the brink of his grave, which I caused to be dug in the choir. This is more at large described in the "Gazette" of that day; Colonel Reymes, my colleague in commission, assisting, who was so kind as to accompany me from London, though it was not his district; for indeed the stress of both these wars lay more on me by far than on any of my brethren, who had little to do in theirs. I went to see Upnore Castle, which I found pretty well defended, but of no great moment. Next day I sailed to the fleet, now riding at the buoy of the "Nore," where I met his Majesty, the Duke, Lord Arlington, and all the great men, in the "Charles," lying miserably shattered; but the miss of Lord Sandwich redoubled the loss to me, and showed the folly of hazarding so brave a fleet, and losing so many good men, for no provocation but that the Hollanders exceeded us in industry, and in all things but envy. At Sheerness, I gave his Majesty and his Royal Highness an account of my charge, and returned to Queenborough; next day dined at Major Dorel's, Governor of Sheerness; thence, to Rochester; and the following day, home. 12th June, 1672. To London to his Majesty, to solicit for money for the sick and wounded, which he promised me. 19th June, 1672. To London again, to solicit the same. 21st June, 1672. At a Council of Plantations. Most of this week busied with the sick and wounded. 3d July, 1672. To Lord Sandwich's funeral, which was by water to Westminster, in solemn pomp. 31st July, 1672. I entertained the Maids of Honor (among whom there was one I infinitely esteemed for her many and extraordinary virtues[31]) at a comedy this afternoon, and so went home. [Footnote 31: Mrs. Blagg whom Evelyn never tires of instancing and characterizing as a rare example of piety and virtue, in so rare a wit, beauty, and perfection, in a licentious court, and depraved age. She was afterward married to Mr. Godolphin, and her life, written by Evelyn, has been edited and published by the Bishop of Oxford.] 1st August, 1672. I was at the betrothal of Lord Arlington's only daughter (a sweet child if ever there was any[32]) to the Duke of Grafton, the King's natural son by the Duchess of Cleveland; the Archbishop of Canterbury officiating, the King and the grandees being present. I had a favor given me by my Lady; but took no great joy at the thing for many reasons. [Footnote 32: She was then only fifteen years old.] 18th August, 1672. Sir James Hayes, Secretary to Prince Rupert, dined with me; after dinner I was sent to Gravesend to dispose of no fewer than 800 sick men. That night I got to the fleet at the buoy of the "Nore," where I spoke with the King and the Duke; and, after dinner next day, returned to Gravesend. 1st September, 1672. I spent this week in soliciting for moneys, and in reading to my Lord Clifford my papers relating to the first Holland war. Now, our Council of Plantations met at Lord Shaftesbury's (Chancellor of the Exchequer) to read and reform the draft of our new Patent, joining the Council of Trade to our political capacities. After this, I returned home, in order to another excursion to the seaside, to get as many as possible of the men who were recovered on board the fleet. 8th September, 1672. I lay at Gravesend, thence to Rochester, returning on the 11th. 15th September, 1672. Dr. Duport, Greek Professor of Cambridge, preached before the King, on 1 Timothy vi. 6. No great preacher, but a very worthy and learned man. 25th September, 1672. I dined at Lord John Berkeley's, newly arrived out of Ireland, where he had been Deputy; it was in his new house, or rather palace; for I am assured it stood him in near £30,000. It was very well built, and has many noble rooms, but they are not very convenient, consisting but of one _Corps de Logis_; they are all rooms of state, without closets. The staircase is of cedar, the furniture is princely: the kitchen and stables are ill placed, and the corridor worse, having no report to the wings they join to. For the rest, the fore-court is noble, so are the stables; and, above all, the gardens, which are incomparable by reason of the inequality of the ground, and a pretty piscina. The holly hedges on the terrace I advised the planting of. The porticos are in imitation of a house described by Palladio; but it happens to be the worst in his book, though my good friend, Mr. Hugh May, his Lordship's architect, effected it. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th September, 1672. I carried with me to dinner my Lord H. Howard (now to be made Earl of Norwich and Earl Marshal of England) to Sir Robert Clayton's, now Sheriff of London, at his new house, where we had a great feast; it is built indeed for a great magistrate, at excessive cost. The cedar dining room is painted with the history of the Giants' War, incomparably done by Mr. Streeter, but the figures are too near the eye. 6th October, 1672. Dr. Thistlethwaite preached at Whitehall on Rev. v. 2,--a young, but good preacher. I received the blessed Communion, Dr. Blandford, Bishop of Worcester, and Dean of the Chapel, officiating. Dined at my Lord Clifford's, with Lord Mulgrave, Sir Gilbert Talbot, and Sir Robert Holmes. 8th October, 1672. I took leave of my Lady Sunderland, who was going to Paris to my Lord, now ambassador there. She made me stay to dinner at Leicester House, and afterward sent for Richardson, the famous fire-eater. He devoured brimstone on glowing coals before us, chewing and swallowing them; he melted a beer-glass and ate it quite up; then, taking a live coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster, the coal was blown on with bellows till it flamed and sparkled in his mouth, and so remained till the oyster gaped and was quite boiled. Then, he melted pitch and wax with sulphur, which he drank down as it flamed; I saw it flaming in his mouth a good while; he also took up a thick piece of iron, such as laundresses use to put in their smoothing boxes, when it was fiery hot, held it between his teeth, then in his hand, and threw it about like a stone; but this, I observed, he cared not to hold very long; then he stood on a small pot, and, bending his body, took a glowing iron with his mouth from between his feet, without touching the pot, or ground, with his hands; with divers other prodigious feats. 13th October, 1672. After sermon (being summoned before), I went to my Lord Keeper's, Sir Orlando Bridgeman, at Essex House, where our new patent was opened and read, constituting us that were of the Council of Plantations, to be now of the Council of Trade also, both united. After the patent was read, we all took our oaths, and departed. 24th October, 1672. Met in Council, the Earl of Shaftesbury, now our president, swearing our secretary and his clerks, which was Mr. Locke, an excellent learned gentleman, and student of Christ Church, Mr. Lloyd, and Mr. Frowde. We dispatched a letter to Sir Thomas Linch, Governor of Jamaica, giving him notice of a design of the Dutch on that island. 27th October, 1672. I went to hear that famous preacher, Dr. Frampton, at St. Giles's, on Psalm xxxix. 6. This divine had been twice at Jerusalem, and was not only a very pious and holy man, but excellent in the pulpit for the moving affections. 8th November, 1672. At Council, we debated the business of the consulate of Leghorn. I was of the committee with Sir Humphry Winch, the chairman, to examine the laws of his Majesty's several plantations and colonies in the West Indies, etc. 15th November, 1672. Many merchants were summoned about the consulate of Venice; which caused great disputes; the most considerable thought it useless. This being the Queen-Consort's birthday, there was an extraordinary appearance of gallantry, and a ball danced at Court. 30th November, 1672. I was chosen secretary to the Royal Society. 21st December, 1672. Settled the consulate of Venice. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st January, 1672-73. After public prayers in the chapel at Whitehall, when I gave God solemn thanks for all his mercies to me the year past, and my humble supplications to him for his blessing the year now entering, I returned home, having my poor deceased servant (Adams) to bury, who died of pleurisy. 3d January, 1673. My son now published his version of "_Raptinus Hortorum_." 28th January, 1673. Visited Don Francisco de Melos, the Portugal Ambassador, who showed me his curious collection of books and pictures. He was a person of good parts, and a virtuous man. 6th February, 1673. To Council about reforming an abuse of the dyers with _saundus_, and other false drugs; examined divers of that trade. 23d February, 1673. The Bishop of Chichester preached before the King on Coloss. ii. 14, 15, admirably well, as he can do nothing but what is well. 5th March, 1673. Our new vicar, Mr. Holden, preached in Whitehall chapel, on Psalm iv. 6, 7. This gentleman is a very excellent and universal scholar, a good and wise man; but he had not the popular way of preaching, nor is in any measure fit for our plain and vulgar auditory, as his predecessor was. There was, however, no comparison between their parts for profound learning. But time and experience may form him to a more practical way than that he is in of University lectures and erudition; which is now universally left off for what is much more profitable. 15th March, 1673. I heard the speech made to the Lords in their House by Sir Samuel Tuke, in behalf of the Papists, to take off the penal laws; and then dined with Colonel Norwood. 16th March, 1673. Dr. Pearson, Bishop of Chester, preached on Hebrews ix. 14; a most incomparable sermon from one of the most learned divines of our nation. I dined at my Lord Arlington's with the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth; she is one of the wisest and craftiest of her sex, and has much wit. Here was also the learned Isaac Vossius. During Lent there is constantly the most excellent preaching by the most eminent bishops and divines of the nation. 26th March, 1673. I was sworn a younger brother of the Trinity House, with my most worthy and long-acquainted noble friend, Lord Ossory (eldest son to the Duke of Ormond), Sir Richard Browne, my father-in-law, being now Master of that Society; after which there was a great collation. 29th March, 1673. I carried my son to the Bishop of Chichester, that learned and pious man, Dr. Peter Gunning, to be instructed by him before he received the Holy Sacrament, when he gave him most excellent advice, which I pray God may influence and remain with him as long as he lives; and O that I had been so blessed and instructed, when first I was admitted to that sacred ordinance! 30th March, 1673. Easter day. Myself and son received the blessed Communion, it being his first time, and with that whole week's more extraordinary preparation. I beseech God to make him a sincere and good Christian, while I endeavor to instill into him the fear and love of God, and discharge the duty of a father. At the sermon _coram Rege_, preached by Dr. Sparrow, Bishop of Exeter, to a most crowded auditory; I stayed to see whether, according to custom, the Duke of York received the Communion with the King; but he did not, to the amazement of everybody. This being the second year he had forborne, and put it off, and within a day of the Parliament sitting, who had lately made so severe an Act against the increase of Popery, gave exceeding grief and scandal to the whole nation, that the heir of it, and the son of a martyr for the Protestant religion, should apostatize. What the consequence of this will be, God only knows, and wise men dread. 11th April, 1673. I dined with the plenipotentiaries designed for the treaty of Nimeguen. 17th April, 1673. I carried Lady Tuke to thank the Countess of Arlington for speaking to his Majesty in her behalf, for being one of the Queen Consort's women. She carried us up into her new dressing room at Goring House, where was a bed, two glasses, silver jars, and vases, cabinets, and other so rich furniture as I had seldom seen; to this excess of superfluity were we now arrived and that not only at Court, but almost universally, even to wantonness and profusion. Dr. Compton, brother to the Earl of Northampton, preached on 1 Corinth. v. 11-16, showing the Church's power in ordaining things indifferent; this worthy person's talent is not preaching, but he is likely to make a grave and serious good man. I saw her Majesty's rich toilet in her dressing room, being all of massy gold, presented to her by the King, valued at £4,000. 26th April, 1673. Dr. Lamplugh preached at St. Martin's the Holy Sacrament following, which I partook of, upon obligation of the late Act of Parliament, enjoining everybody in office, civil or military, under penalty of £500, to receive it within one month before two authentic witnesses; being engrossed on parchment, to be afterward produced in the Court of Chancery, or some other Court of Record; which I did at the Chancery bar, as being one of the Council of Plantations and Trade; taking then also the oath of allegiance and supremacy, signing the clause in the said Act against Transubstantiation. 25th May, 1673. My son was made a younger brother of the Trinity House. The new master was Sir J. Smith, one of the Commissioners of the Navy, a stout seaman, who had interposed and saved the Duke from perishing by a fire ship in the late war. 28th May, 1673. I carried one Withers, an ingenious shipwright, to the King to show him some new method of building. 29th May, 1673. I saw the Italian comedy at the Court, this afternoon. 10th June, 1673. Came to visit and dine with me my Lord Viscount Cornbury and his Lady; Lady Frances Hyde, sister to the Duchess of York; and Mrs. Dorothy Howard, maid of Honor. We went, after dinner, to see the formal and formidable camp on Blackheath, raised to invade Holland; or, as others suspected for another design. Thence, to the Italian glass-house at Greenwich, where glass was blown of finer metal than that of Murano, at Venice. 13th June, 1673. Came to visit us, with other ladies of rank, Mrs. Sedley,[33] daughter to Sir Charles, who was none of the most virtuous, but a wit. [Footnote 33: The Duke of York's mistress, afterward created by him Countess of Dorchester.] 19th June, 1673. Congratulated the new Lord Treasurer, Sir Thomas Osborne, a gentleman with whom I had been intimately acquainted at Paris, and who was every day at my father-in-law's house and table there; on which account I was too confident of succeeding in his favor, as I had done in his predecessor's; but such a friend shall I never find, and I neglected my time, far from believing that my Lord Clifford would have so rashly laid down his staff, as he did, to the amazement of all the world, when it came to the test of his receiving the Communion, which I am confident he forbore more from some promise he had entered into to gratify the Duke, than from any prejudice to the Protestant religion, though I found him wavering a pretty while. [Sidenote: LONDON] 23d June, 1673. To London, to accompany our Council who went in a body to congratulate the new Lord Treasurer, no friend to it because promoted by my Lord Arlington, whom he hated. 26th June, 1673. Came visitors from Court to dine with me and see the army still remaining encamped on Blackheath. [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th July, 1673. This evening I went to the funeral of my dear and excellent friend, that good man and accomplished gentleman, Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of Scotland. He was buried by order of his Majesty in Westminster Abbey. 25th July, 1673. I went to Tunbridge Wells, to visit my Lord Clifford, late Lord Treasurer, who was there to divert his mind more than his body; it was believed that he had so engaged himself to the Duke, that rather than take the Test, without which he was not capable of holding any office, he would resign that great and honorable station. This, I am confident, grieved him to the heart, and at last broke it; for, though he carried with him music, and people to divert him, and, when I came to see him, lodged me in his own apartment, and would not let me go from him, I found he was struggling in his mind; and being of a rough and ambitious nature, he could not long brook the necessity he had brought on himself, of submission to this conjuncture. Besides, he saw the Dutch war, which was made much by his advice, as well as the shutting up of the Exchequer, very unprosperous. These things his high spirit could not support. Having stayed here two or three days, I obtained leave of my Lord to return. In my way, I saw my Lord of Dorset's house at Knowle, near Sevenoaks, a great old-fashioned house. 30th July, 1673. To Council, where the business of transporting wool was brought before us. 31st July, 1673. I went to see the pictures of all the judges and eminent men of the Long Robe, newly painted by Mr. Wright, and set up in Guildhall, costing the city £1,000. Most of them are very like the persons they represent, though I never took Wright to be any considerable artist. 13th August, 1673. I rode to Durdans, where I dined at my Lord Berkeley's of Berkeley Castle, my old and noble friend, it being his wedding anniversary, where I found the Duchess of Albemarle, and other company, and returned home on that evening late. 15th August, 1673. Came to visit me my Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Shaftesbury. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th August, 1673. My Lord Clifford, being about this time returned from Tunbridge, and preparing for Devonshire, I went to take my leave of him at Wallingford House; he was packing up pictures, most of which were of hunting wild beasts and vast pieces of bull-baiting, bear-baiting, etc. I found him in his study, and restored to him several papers of state, and others of importance, which he had furnished me with, on engaging me to write the "History of the Holland War," with other private letters of his acknowledgments to my Lord Arlington, who from a private gentleman of a very noble family, but inconsiderable fortune, had advanced him from almost nothing. The first thing was his being in Parliament, then knighted, then made one of the Commissioners of sick and wounded, on which occasion we sat long together; then, on the death of Hugh Pollard, he was made Comptroller of the Household and Privy Councillor, yet still my brother Commissioner; after the death of Lord Fitz-Harding, Treasurer of the Household, he, by letters to Lord Arlington, which that Lord showed me, begged of his Lordship to obtain it for him as the very height of his ambition. These were written with such submissions and professions of his patronage, as I had never seen any more acknowledging. The Earl of Southampton then dying, he was made one of the Commissioners of the Treasury. His Majesty inclining to put it into one hand, my Lord Clifford, under pretense of making all his interest for his patron, my Lord Arlington, cut the grass under his feet, and procured it for himself, assuring the King that Lord Arlington did not desire it. Indeed, my Lord Arlington protested to me that his confidence in Lord Clifford made him so remiss and his affection to him was so particular, that he was absolutely minded to devolve it on Lord Clifford, all the world knowing how he himself affected ease and quiet, now growing into years, yet little thinking of this go-by. This was the great ingratitude Lord Clifford showed, keeping my Lord Arlington in ignorance, continually assuring him he was pursuing his interest, which was the Duke's into whose great favor Lord Clifford was now gotten; but which certainly cost him the loss of all, namely, his going so irrevocably far in his interest. For the rest, my Lord Clifford was a valiant, incorrupt gentleman, ambitious, not covetous; generous, passionate, a most constant, sincere friend, to me in particular, so as when he laid down his office, I was at the end of all my hopes and endeavors. These were not for high matters, but to obtain what his Majesty was really indebted to my father-in-law, which was the utmost of my ambition, and which I had undoubtedly obtained, if this friend had stood. Sir Thomas Osborn, who succeeded him, though much more obliged to my father-in-law and his family, and my long and old acquaintance, being of a more haughty and far less obliging nature, I could hope for little; a man of excellent natural parts; but nothing of generous or grateful. Taking leave of my Lord Clifford, he wrung me by the hand, and, looking earnestly on me, bid me God-b'ye, adding, "Mr. Evelyn, I shall never see thee more." "No!" said I, "my Lord, what's the meaning of this? I hope I shall see you often, and as great a person again." "No, Mr. Evelyn, do not expect it, I will never see this place, this city, or Court again," or words of this sound. In this manner, not without almost mutual tears, I parted from him; nor was it long after, but the news was that he was dead, and I have heard from some who I believe knew, he made himself away, after an extraordinary melancholy. This is not confidently affirmed, but a servant who lived in the house, and afterward with Sir Robert Clayton, Lord Mayor, did, as well as others, report it, and when I hinted some such thing to Mr. Prideaux, one of his trustees, he was not willing to enter into that discourse. It was reported with these particulars, that, causing his servant to leave him unusually one morning, locking himself in, he strangled himself with his cravat upon the bed-tester; his servant, not liking the manner of dismissing him, and looking through the keyhole (as I remember), and seeing his master hanging, broke in before he was quite dead, and taking him down, vomiting a great deal of blood, he was heard to utter these words: "Well; let men say what they will, there is a God, a just God above"; after which he spoke no more. This, if true, is dismal. Really, he was the chief occasion of the Dutch war, and of all that blood which was lost at Bergen in attacking the Smyrna fleet, and that whole quarrel. This leads me to call to mind what my Lord Chancellor Shaftesbury affirmed, not to me only, but to all my brethren the Council of Foreign Plantations, when not long after, this accident being mentioned as we were one day sitting in Council, his Lordship told us this remarkable passage: that, being one day discoursing with him when he was only Sir Thomas Clifford, speaking of men's advancement to great charges in the nation, "Well," says he, "my Lord, I shall be one of the greatest men in England. Don't impute what I say either to fancy, or vanity; I am certain that I shall be a mighty man; but it will not last long; I shall not hold it, but die a bloody death." "What," says my Lord, "your horoscope tells you so?" "No matter for that, it will be as I tell you." "Well," says my Lord Chancellor Shaftesbury, "if I were of that opinion, I either would not be a great man, but decline preferment, or prevent my danger." This my Lord affirmed in my hearing before several gentlemen and noblemen sitting in council at Whitehall. And I the rather am confident of it, remembering what Sir Edward Walker (Garter King-at-Arms) had likewise affirmed to me a long time before, even when he was first made a Lord; that carrying his pedigree to Lord Clifford on his being created a peer, and, finding him busy, he bade him go into his study and divert himself there till he was at leisure to discourse with him about some things relating to his family; there lay, said Sir Edward, on his table, his horoscope and nativity calculated, with some writing under it, where he read that he should be advanced to the highest degree in the state that could be conferred upon him, but that he should not long enjoy it, but should die, or expressions to that sense; and I think, (but cannot confidently say) a bloody death. This Sir Edward affirmed both to me and Sir Richard Browne; nor could I forbear to note this extraordinary passage in these memoirs. 14th September, 1673. Dr. Creighton, son to the late eloquent Bishop of Bath and Wells, preached to the Household on Isaiah, lvii. 8. 15th September, 1673. I procured £4,000 of the Lords of the Treasury, and rectified divers matters about the sick and wounded. 16th September, 1673. To Council, about choosing a new Secretary. 17th September, 1673. I went with some friends to visit Mr. Bernard Grenville, at Abs Court in Surrey; an old house in a pretty park. 23d September, 1673. I went to see Paradise, a room in Hatton Garden furnished with a representation of all sorts of animals handsomely painted on boards or cloth, and so cut out and made to stand, move, fly, crawl, roar, and make their several cries. The man who showed it, made us laugh heartily at his formal poetry. 15th October, 1673. To Council, and swore in Mr. Locke, secretary, Dr. Worsley being dead. 27th October, 1673. To Council, about sending succors to recover New York: and then we read the commission and instructions to Sir Jonathan Atkins, the new Governor of Barbadoes. 5th November, 1673. This night the youths of the city burned the Pope in effigy, after they had made procession with it in great triumph, they being displeased at the Duke for altering his religion and marrying an Italian lady. 30th November, 1673. On St. Andrew's day I first saw the new Duchess of York, and the Duchess of Modena, her mother. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st December, 1673. To Gresham College, whither the city had invited the Royal Society by many of their chief aldermen and magistrates, who gave us a collation, to welcome us to our first place of assembly, from whence we had been driven to give place to the City, on their making it their Exchange on the dreadful conflagration, till their new Exchange was finished, which it now was. The Society having till now been entertained and having met at Arundel House. 2d December, 1673. I dined with some friends, and visited the sick; thence, to an almshouse, where was prayers and relief, some very ill and miserable. It was one of the best days I ever spent in my life. 3d December, 1673. There was at dinner my Lord Lockhart, designed Ambassador for France, a gallant and sober person. 9th December, 1673. I saw again the Italian Duchess and her brother, the Prince Reynaldo. 20th December, 1673. I had some discourse with certain strangers, not unlearned, who had been born not far from Old Nineveh; they assured me of the ruins being still extant, and vast and wonderful were the buildings, vaults, pillars, and magnificent fragments;[34] but they could say little of the Tower of Babel that satisfied me. But the description of the amenity and fragrancy of the country for health and cheerfulness, delighted me; so sensibly they spoke of the excellent air and climate in respect of our cloudy and splenetic country. [Footnote 34: The remarkable discoveries of Mr. Layard give now a curious interest to this notice by Evelyn.] 24th December, 1673. Visited the prisoners at Ludgate, taking orders about the releasing of some. 30th December, 1673. I gave Almighty God thanks for his infinite goodness to me the year past, and begged his mercy and protection the year following; afterward, invited my neighbors to spend the day with me. 5th January, 1673-74. I saw an Italian opera in music, the first that had been in England of this kind. 9th January, 1674. Sent for by his Majesty to write something against the Hollanders about the duty of the Flag and Fishery. Returned with some papers. 25th March, 1674. I dined at Knightsbridge, with the Bishops of Salisbury, Chester, and Lincoln, my old friends. 29th May, 1674. His Majesty's birthday and Restoration. Mr. Demalhoy, Roger L'Estrange, and several of my friends, came to dine with me on the happy occasion. 27th June, 1674. Mr. Dryden, the famous poet and now laureate, came to give me a visit. It was the anniversary of my marriage, and the first day I went into my new little cell and cabinet, which I built below toward the south court, at the east end of the parlor. 9th July, 1674. Paid £360 for purchase of Dr. Jacombe's son's share in the mill and land at Deptford, which I bought of the Beechers. 22d July, 1674. I went to Windsor with my wife and son to see my daughter Mary, who was there with my Lady Tuke and to do my duty to his Majesty. Next day, to a great entertainment at Sir Robert Holmes's at Cranbourne Lodge, in the Forest; there were his Majesty, the Queen, Duke, Duchess, and all the Court. I returned in the evening with Sir Joseph Williamson, now declared Secretary of State. He was son of a poor clergyman somewhere in Cumberland, brought up at Queen's College, Oxford, of which he came to be a fellow; then traveled with ... and returning when the King was restored, was received as a clerk under Mr. Secretary Nicholas. Sir Henry Bennett (now Lord Arlington) succeeding, Williamson is transferred to him, who loving his ease more than business (though sufficiently able had he applied himself to it) remitted all to his man Williamson; and, in a short time, let him so into the secret of affairs, that (as his Lordship himself told me) there was a kind of necessity to advance him; and so, by his subtlety, dexterity, and insinuation, he got now to be principal Secretary; absolutely Lord Arlington's creature, and ungrateful enough. It has been the fate of this obliging favorite to advance those who soon forgot their original. Sir Joseph was a musician, could play at _Jeu de Goblets_, exceedingly formal, a severe master to his servants, but so inward with my Lord O'Brien, that after a few months of that gentleman's death, he married his widow,[35] who, being sister and heir of the Duke of Richmond, brought him a noble fortune. It was thought they lived not so kindly after marriage as they did before. She was much censured for marrying so meanly, being herself allied to the Royal family. [Footnote 35: Lady Catherine Stuart, sister and heir to Charles Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, the husband of Mrs. Frances Stuart, one of the most admired beauties of the Court, with whom Charles II. was so deeply in love that he never forgave the Duke for marrying her, having already, it is thought, formed some similar intention himself. He took the first opportunity of sending the Duke into an honorable exile, as Ambassador to Denmark, where he shortly after died, leaving no issue by the Duchess.] [Sidenote: GROOMBRIDGE] 6th August, 1674. I went to Groombridge, to see my old friend, Mr. Packer; the house built within a moat, in a woody valley. The old house had been the place of confinement of the Duke of Orleans, taken by one Waller (whose house it then was) at the battle of Agincourt, now demolished, and a new one built in its place, though a far better situation had been on the south of the wood, on a graceful ascent. At some small distance, is a large chapel, not long since built by Mr. Packer's father, on a vow he made to do it on the return of King Charles I. out of Spain, 1625, and dedicated to St. Charles, but what saint there was then of that name I am to seek, for, being a Protestant, I conceive it was not Borromeo. I went to see my farm at Ripe, near Lewes. 19th August, 1674. His Majesty told me how exceedingly the Dutch were displeased at my treatise of the "History of Commerce;" that the Holland Ambassador had complained to him of what I had touched of the Flags and Fishery, etc., and desired the book might be called in; while on the other side, he assured me he was exceedingly pleased with what I had done, and gave me many thanks. However, it being just upon conclusion of the treaty of Breda (indeed it was designed to have been published some months before and when we were at defiance), his Majesty told me he must recall it formally; but gave order that what copies should be publicly seized to pacify the Ambassador, should immediately be restored to the printer, and that neither he nor the vender should be molested. The truth is, that which touched the Hollander was much less than what the King himself furnished me with, and obliged me to publish, having caused it to be read to him before it went to press; but the error was, it should have been published before the peace was proclaimed. The noise of this book's suppression made it presently to be bought up, and turned much to the stationer's advantage. It was no other than the preface prepared to be prefixed to my "History of the Whole War;" which I now pursued no further. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st August, 1674. In one of the meadows at the foot of the long Terrace below the Castle [Windsor], works were thrown up to show the King a representation of the city of Maestricht, newly taken by the French. Bastians, bulwarks, ramparts, palisadoes, graffs, horn-works, counter-scarps, etc., were constructed. It was attacked by the Duke of Monmouth (newly come from the real siege) and the Duke of York, with a little army, to show their skill in tactics. On Saturday night they made their approaches, opened trenches, raised batteries, took the counter-scarp and ravelin, after a stout defense; great guns fired on both sides, grenadoes shot, mines sprung, parties sent out, attempts of raising the siege, prisoners taken, parleys; and, in short, all the circumstances of a formal siege, to appearance, and, what is most strange all without disorder, or ill accident, to the great satisfaction of a thousand spectators. Being night, it made a formidable show. The siege being over, I went with Mr. Pepys back to London, where we arrived about three in the morning. 15th September, 1674. To Council, about fetching away the English left at Surinam, etc., since our reconciliation with Holland. 21st September, 1674. I went to see the great loss that Lord Arlington had sustained by fire at Goring House, this night consumed to the ground, with exceeding loss of hangings, plate, rare pictures, and cabinets; hardly anything was saved of the best and most princely furniture that any subject had in England. My lord and lady were both absent at the Bath. 6th October, 1674. The Lord Chief Baron Turner, and Sergeant Wild, Recorder of London, came to visit me. 20th October, 1674. At Lord Berkeley's, I discoursed with Sir Thomas Modiford, late Governor of Jamaica, and with Colonel Morgan, who undertook that gallant exploit from Nombre de Dios to Panama, on the Continent of America; he told me 10,000 men would easily conquer all the Spanish Indies, they were so secure. They took great booty, and much greater had been taken, had they not been betrayed and so discovered before their approach, by which the Spaniards had time to carry their vast treasure on board ships that put off to sea in sight of our men, who had no boats to follow. They set fire to Panama, and ravaged the country sixty miles about. The Spaniards were so supine and unexercised, that they were afraid to fire a great gun. 31st October, 1674. My birthday, 54th year of my life. Blessed be God! It was also preparation day for the Holy Sacrament, in which I participated the next day, imploring God's protection for the year following, and confirming my resolutions of a more holy life, even upon the Holy Book. The Lord assist and be gracious unto me! Amen. 15th November, 1674. The anniversary of my baptism: I first heard that famous and excellent preacher, Dr. Burnet, author of the "History of the Reformation" on Colossians iii. 10, with such flow of eloquence and fullness of matter, as showed him to be a person o£ extraordinary parts. Being her Majesty's birthday, the Court was exceeding splendid in clothes and jewels, to the height of excess. 17th November, 1674. To Council, on the business of Surinam, where the Dutch had detained some English in prison, ever since the first war, 1665. 19th November, 1674. I heard that stupendous violin, Signor Nicholao (with other rare musicians), whom I never heard mortal man exceed on that instrument. He had a stroke so sweet, and made it speak like the voice of a man, and, when he pleased, like a concert of several instruments. He did wonders upon a note, and was an excellent composer. Here was also that rare lutanist, Dr. Wallgrave; but nothing approached the violin in Nicholao's hand. He played such ravishing things as astonished us all. 2d December, 1674. At Mr. Slingsby's, master of the mint, my worthy friend, a great lover of music. Heard Signor Francisco on the harpsichord, esteemed one of the most excellent masters in Europe on that instrument; then, came Nicholao with his violin, and struck all mute, but Mrs. Knight, who sung incomparably, and doubtless has the greatest reach of any English woman; she had been lately roaming in Italy, and was much improved in that quality. 15th December, 1674. Saw a comedy at night, at Court, acted by the ladies only, among them Lady Mary and Ann, his Royal Highness' two daughters, and my dear friend Mrs. Blagg, who, having the principal part, performed it to admiration. They were all covered with jewels. 22d December, 1674. Was at the repetition of the "Pastoral," on which occasion Mrs. Blagg had about her near £20,000 worth of jewels, of which she lost one worth about £80, borrowed of the Countess of Suffolk. The press was so great, that it is a wonder she lost no more. The Duke made it good. 20th January, 1674-75. Went to see Mr. Streeter, that excellent painter of perspective and landscape, to comfort and encourage him to be cut for the stone, with which that honest man was exceedingly afflicted. [Sidenote: LONDON] 22d March, 1675. Supped at Sir William Petty's, with the Bishop of Salisbury, and divers honorable persons. We had a noble entertainment in a house gloriously furnished; the master and mistress of it were extraordinary persons. Sir William was the son of a mean man somewhere in Sussex, and sent from school to Oxford, where he studied Philosophy, but was most eminent in Mathematics and Mechanics; proceeded Doctor of Physic, and was grown famous, as for his learning so for his recovering a poor wench that had been hanged for felony; and her body having been begged (as the custom is) for the anatomy lecture, he bled her, put her to bed to a warm woman, and, with spirits and other means, restored her to life. The young scholars joined and made a little portion, and married her to a man who had several children by her, she living fifteen years after, as I have been assured. Sir William came from Oxford to be tutor to a neighbor of mine; thence, when the rebels were dividing their conquests in Ireland, he was employed by them to measure and set out the land, which he did on an easy contract, so much per acre. This he effected so exactly, that it not only furnished him with a great sum of money; but enabled him to purchase an estate worth £4,000 a year. He afterward married the daughter of Sir Hardress Waller; she was an extraordinary wit as well as beauty, and a prudent woman. Sir William, among other inventions, was author of the double-bottomed ship, which perished, and he was censured for rashness, being lost in the Bay of Biscay in a storm, when, I think, fifteen other vessels miscarried. This vessel was flat-bottomed, of exceeding use to put into shallow ports, and ride over small depths of water. It consisted of two distinct keels cramped together with huge timbers, etc., so as that a violent stream ran between; it bore a monstrous broad sail, and he still persists that it is practicable, and of exceeding use; and he has often told me he would adventure himself in such another, could he procure sailors, and his Majesty's permission to make a second Experiment; which name the King gave the vessel at the launching. The Map of Ireland made by Sir William Petty is believed to be the most exact that ever yet was made of any country. He did promise to publish it; and I am told it has cost him near £1,000 to have it engraved at Amsterdam. There is not a better Latin poet living, when he gives himself that diversion; nor is his excellence less in Council and prudent matters of state; but he is so exceedingly nice in sifting and examining all possible contingencies, that he adventures at nothing which is not demonstration. There was not in the whole world his equal for a superintendent of manufacture and improvement of trade, or to govern a plantation. If I were a Prince, I should make him my second Counsellor, at least. There is nothing difficult to him. He is, besides, courageous; on which account, I cannot but note a true story of him, that when Sir Aleyn Brodrick sent him a challenge upon a difference between them in Ireland, Sir William, though exceedingly purblind, accepted the challenge, and it being his part to propound the weapon, desired his antagonist to meet him with a hatchet, or axe, in a dark cellar; which the other, of course, refused. Sir William was, with all this, facetious and of easy conversation, friendly and courteous, and had such a faculty of imitating others, that he would take a text and preach, now like a grave orthodox divine, then falling into the Presbyterian way, then to the fanatical, the Quaker, the monk and friar, the Popish priest, with such admirable action, and alteration of voice and tone, as it was not possible to abstain from wonder, and one would swear to hear several persons, or forbear to think he was not in good earnest an enthusiast and almost beside himself; then, he would fall out of it into a serious discourse; but it was very rarely he would be prevailed on to oblige the company with this faculty, and that only among most intimate friends. My Lord Duke of Ormond once obtained it of him, and was almost ravished with admiration; but by and by, he fell upon a serious reprimand of the faults and miscarriages of some Princes and Governors, which, though he named none, did so sensibly touch the Duke, who was then Lieutenant of Ireland, that he began to be very uneasy, and wished the spirit laid which he had raised, for he was neither able to endure such truths, nor could he but be delighted. At last, he melted his discourse to a ridiculous subject, and came down from the joint stool on which he had stood; but my lord would not have him preach any more. He never could get favor at Court, because he outwitted all the projectors that came near him. Having never known such another genius, I cannot but mention these particulars, among a multitude of others which I could produce. When I, who knew him in mean circumstances, have been in his splendid palace, he would himself be in admiration how he arrived at it; nor was it his value or inclination for splendid furniture and the curiosities of the age, but his elegant lady could endure nothing mean, or that was not magnificent. He was very negligent himself, and rather so of his person, and of a philosophic temper. "What a to-do is here!" would he say, "I can lie in straw with as much satisfaction." He is author of the ingenious deductions from the bills of mortality, which go under the name of Mr. Graunt; also of that useful discourse of the manufacture of wool, and several others in the register of the Royal Society. He was also author of that paraphrase on the 104th Psalm in Latin verse, which goes about in MS., and is inimitable. In a word, there is nothing impenetrable to him. 26th March, 1675. Dr. Brideoak was elected Bishop of Chichester, on the translation of Dr. Gunning to Ely. 30th March, 1675. Dr. Allestree preached on Romans, vi. 3, the necessity of those who are baptized to die to sin; a very excellent discourse from an excellent preacher. 25th April, 1675. Dr. Barrow, that excellent, pious, and most learned man, divine, mathematician, poet, traveler, and most humble person, preached at Whitehall to the household, on Luke xx. 27, of love and charity to our neighbors. 29th April, 1675. I read my first discourse, "Of Earth and Vegetation," before the Royal Society as a lecture in course, after Sir Robert Southwell had read his, the week before, "On Water." I was commanded by our President and the suffrage of the Society, to print it. [Sidenote: LONDON] 16th May, 1675. This day was my dear friend, Mrs. Blagg, married at the Temple Church to my friend, Mr. Sidney Godolphin, Groom of the Bedchamber to his Majesty. 18th May, 1675. I went to visit one Mr. Bathurst, a Spanish merchant, my neighbor. 31st May, 1675. I went with Lord Ossory to Deptford, where we chose him Master of the Trinity Company. 2d June, 1675. I was at a conference of the Lords and Commons in the Painted Chamber, on a difference about imprisoning some of their members; and on the 3d, at another conference, when the Lords accused the Commons for their transcendent misbehavior, breach of privilege, Magna Charta, subversion of government, and other high, provoking, and diminishing expressions, showing what duties and subjection they owed to the Lords in Parliament, by record of Henry IV. This was likely to create a notable disturbance. 15th June, 1675. This afternoon came Monsieur Querouaille and his lady, parents to the famous beauty and ... favorite at Court, to see Sir R. Browne, with whom they were intimately acquainted in Bretagne, at the time Sir Richard was sent to Brest to supervise his Majesty's sea affairs, during the latter part of the King's banishment. This gentleman's house was not a mile from Brest; Sir Richard made an acquaintance there, and, being used very civilly, was obliged to return it here, which we did. He seemed a soldierly person and a good fellow, as the Bretons generally are; his lady had been very handsome, and seemed a shrewd understanding woman. Conversing with him in our garden, I found several words of the Breton language the same with our Welsh. His daughter was now made Duchess of Portsmouth, and in the height of favor; but he never made any use of it. 27th June, 1675. At Ely House, I went to the consecration of my worthy friend, the learned Dr. Barlow, Warden of Queen's College, Oxford, now made Bishop of Lincoln. After it succeeded a magnificent feast, where were the Duke of Ormond, Earl of Lauderdale, the Lord Treasurer, Lord Keeper, etc. 8th July, 1675. I went with Mrs. Howard and her two daughters toward Northampton Assizes, about a trial at law, in which I was concerned for them as a trustee. We lay this night at Henley-on-the Thames, at our attorney, Mr. Stephens's, who entertained us very handsomely. Next day, dining at Shotover, at Sir Timothy Tyrill's, a sweet place, we lay at Oxford, where it was the time of the Act. Mr. Robert Spencer, uncle to the Earl of Sunderland, and my old acquaintance in France, entertained us at his apartment in Christ Church with exceeding generosity. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th July, 1675. The Vice Chancellor Dr. Bathurst (who had formerly taken particular care of my son), President of Trinity College invited me to dinner, and did me great honor all the time of my stay. The next day, he invited me and all my company, though strangers to him, to a very noble feast. I was at all the academic exercises.--Sunday, at St. Mary's, preached a Fellow of Brasen-nose, not a little magnifying the dignity of Churchmen. 11th July, 1675. We heard the speeches, and saw the ceremony of creating doctors in Divinity, Law and Physic. I had, early in the morning, heard Dr. Morison, Botanic Professor, read on divers plants in the Physic Garden; and saw that rare collection of natural curiosities of Dr. Plot's, of Magdalen Hall, author of "The Natural History of Oxfordshire," all of them collected in that shire, and indeed extraordinary, that in one county there should be found such variety of plants, shells, stones, minerals, marcasites, fowls, insects, models of works, crystals, agates, and marbles. He was now intending to visit Staffordshire, and, as he had of Oxfordshire, to give us the natural, topical, political, and mechanical history. Pity it is that more of this industrious man's genius were not employed so to describe every county of England; it would be one of the most useful and illustrious works that was ever produced in any age or nation. I visited also the Bodleian Library and my old friend, the learned Obadiah Walker, head of University College, which he had now almost rebuilt, or repaired. We then proceeded to Northampton, where we arrived the next day. In this journey, went part of the way Mr. James Graham (since Privy Purse to the Duke), a young gentleman exceedingly in love with Mrs. Dorothy Howard, one of the maids of honor in our company. I could not but pity them both, the mother not much favoring it. This lady was not only a great beauty, but a most virtuous and excellent creature, and worthy to have been wife to the best of men. My advice was required, and I spoke to the advantage of the young gentleman, more out of pity than that she deserved no better match; for, though he was a gentleman of good family, yet there was great inequality. 14th July, 1675. I went to see my Lord Sunderland's Seat at Althorpe, four miles from the ragged town of Northampton (since burned, and well rebuilt). It is placed in a pretty open bottom, very finely watered and flanked with stately woods and groves in a park, with a canal, but the water is not running, which is a defect. The house, a kind of modern building, of freestone, within most nobly furnished; the apartments very commodious, a gallery and noble hall; but the kitchen being in the body of the house, and chapel too small, were defects. There is an old yet honorable gatehouse standing awry, and out-housing mean, but designed to be taken away. It was moated round, after the old manner, but it is now dry, and turfed with a beautiful carpet. Above all, are admirable and magnificent the several ample gardens furnished with the choicest fruit, and exquisitely kept. Great plenty of oranges, and other curiosities. The park full of fowl, especially herons, and from it a prospect to Holmby House, which being demolished in the late civil wars, shows like a Roman ruin shaded by the trees about it, a stately, solemn, and pleasing view. 15th July, 1675. Our cause was pleaded in behalf of the mother, Mrs. Howard and her daughters, before Baron Thurland, who had formerly been steward of Courts for me; we carried our cause, as there was reason, for here was an impudent as well as disobedient son against his mother, by instigation, doubtless, of his wife, one Mrs. Ogle (an ancient maid), whom he had clandestinely married, and who brought him no fortune, he being heir-apparent to the Earl of Berkshire. We lay at Brickhill, in Bedfordshire, and came late the next day to our journey's end. This was a journey of adventures and knight-errantry. One of the lady's servants being as desperately in love with Mrs. Howard's woman, as Mr. Graham was with her daughter, and she riding on horseback behind his rival, the amorous and jealous youth having a little drink in his pate, had here killed himself had he not been prevented; for, alighting from his horse, and drawing his sword, he endeavored twice or thrice to fall on it, but was interrupted by our coachman, and a stranger passing by. After this, running to his rival, and snatching his sword from his side (for we had beaten his own out of his hand), and on the sudden pulling down his mistress, would have run both of them through; we parted them, not without some blood. This miserable creature poisoned himself for her not many days after they came to London. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th July, 1675. The Lord Treasurer's Chaplain preached at Wallingford House. 9th August, 1675. Dr. Sprat, prebend of Westminster, and Chaplain to the Duke of Buckingham, preached on the 3d Epistle of Jude, showing what the primitive faith was, how near it and how excellent that of the Church of England, also the danger of departing from it. 27th August, 1675. I visited the Bishop of Rochester, at Bromley, and dined at Sir Philip Warwick's, at Frogpoole [Frognall]. 2d September, 1675. I went to see Dulwich College, being the pious foundation of one Alleyn, a famous comedian, in King James's time. The chapel is pretty, the rest of the hospital very ill contrived; it yet maintains divers poor of both sexes. It is in a melancholy part of Camberwell parish. I came back by certain medicinal Spa waters, at a place called Sydenham Wells, in Lewisham parish, much frequented in summer. 10th September, 1675. I was casually shown the Duchess of Portsmouth's splendid apartment at Whitehall, luxuriously furnished, and with ten times the richness and glory beyond the Queen's; such massy pieces of plate, whole tables, and stands of incredible value. 29th September, 1675. I saw the Italian Scaramuccio act before the King at Whitehall, people giving money to come in, which was very scandalous, and never so before at Court diversions. Having seen him act before in Italy, many years past, I was not averse from seeing the most excellent of that kind of folly. 14th October, 1675. Dined at Kensington with my old acquaintance, Mr. Henshaw, newly returned from Denmark, where he had been left resident after the death of the Duke of Richmond, who died there Ambassador. 15th October, 1675. I got an extreme cold, such as was afterward so epidemical, as not only to afflict us in this island, but was rife over all Europe, like a plague. It was after an exceedingly dry summer and autumn. I settled affairs, my son being to go into France with my Lord Berkeley, designed Ambassador-extraordinary for France and Plenipotentiary for the general treaty of peace at Nimeguen. 24th October, 1675. Dined at Lord Chamberlain's with the Holland Ambassador L. Duras, a valiant gentleman whom his Majesty made an English Baron, of a cadet, and gave him his seat of Holmby, in Northamptonshire. 27th October, 1675. Lord Berkeley coming into Council, fell down in the gallery at Whitehall, in a fit of apoplexy, and being carried into my Lord Chamberlain's lodgings, several famous doctors were employed all that night, and with much ado he was at last recovered to some sense, by applying hot fire pans and spirit of amber to his head; but nothing was found so effectual as cupping him on the shoulders. It was almost a miraculous restoration. The next day he was carried to Berkeley House. This stopped his journey for the present, and caused my stay in town. He had put all his affairs and his whole estate in England into my hands during his intended absence, which though I was very unfit to undertake, in regard of many businesses which then took me up, yet, upon the great importunity of my lady and Mr. Godolphin (to whom I could refuse nothing) I did take it on me. It seems when he was Deputy in Ireland, not long before, he had been much wronged by one he left in trust with his affairs, and therefore wished for some unmercenary friend who would take that trouble on him; this was to receive his rents, look after his houses and tenants, solicit supplies from the Lord Treasurer, and correspond weekly with him, more than enough to employ any drudge in England; but what will not friendship and love make one do? 31st October, 1675. Dined at my Lord Chamberlain's, with my son. There were the learned Isaac Vossius, and Spanhemius, son of the famous man of Heidelberg; nor was this gentleman less learned, being a general scholar. Among other pieces, he was author of an excellent treatise on Medals. 10th November, 1675. Being the day appointed for my Lord Ambassador to set out, I met them with my coach at New Cross. There were with him my Lady his wife, and my dear friend, Mrs. Godolphin, who, out of an extraordinary friendship, would needs accompany my lady to Paris, and stay with her some time, which was the chief inducement for permitting my son to travel, but I knew him safe under her inspection, and in regard my Lord himself had promised to take him into his special favor, he having intrusted all he had to my care. Thus we set out three coaches (besides mine), three wagons, and about forty horses. It being late, and my Lord as yet but valetudinary, we got but to Dartford, the first day, the next to Sittingbourne. At Rochester, the major, Mr. Cony, then an officer of mine for the sick and wounded of that place, gave the ladies a handsome refreshment as we came by his house. [Sidenote: DOVER] 12th November, 1675. We came to Canterbury: and, next morning, to Dover. There was in my Lady Ambassadress's company my Lady Hamilton, a sprightly young lady, much in the good graces of the family, wife of that valiant and worthy gentleman, George Hamilton, not long after slain in the wars. She had been a maid of honor to the Duchess, and now turned Papist. 14th November, 1675. Being Sunday, my Lord having before delivered to me his letter of attorney, keys, seal, and his Will, we took a solemn leave of one another upon the beach, the coaches carrying them into the sea to the boats, which delivered them to Captain Gunman's yacht, the "Mary." Being under sail, the castle gave them seventeen guns, which Captain Gunman answered with eleven. Hence, I went to church, to beg a blessing on their voyage. 2d December, 1675. Being returned home, I visited Lady Mordaunt at Parson's Green, my Lord, her son, being sick. This pious woman delivered to me £100 to bestow as I thought fit for the release of poor prisoners, and other charitable uses. 21st December, 1675. Visited her Ladyship again, where I found the Bishop of Winchester, whom I had long known in France; he invited me to his house at Chelsea. 23d December, 1675. Lady Sunderland gave me ten guineas, to bestow in charities. 20th February, 1675-76. Dr. Gunning, Bishop of Ely, preached before the King from St. John xx. 21, 22, 23, chiefly against an anonymous book, called "Naked Truth," a famous and popular treatise against the corruption in the Clergy, but not sound as to its quotations, supposed to have been the Bishop of Hereford's and was answered by Dr. Turner, it endeavoring to prove an equality of order of Bishop and Presbyter. 27th February, 1676. Dr. Pritchard, Bishop of Gloucester, preached at Whitehall, on Isaiah v. 5, very allegorically, according to his manner, yet very gravely and wittily. 29th February, 1676. I dined with Mr. Povey, one of the Masters of Requests, a nice contriver of all elegancies, and exceedingly formal. Supped with Sir J. Williamson, where were of our Society Mr. Robert Boyle, Sir Christopher Wren, Sir William Petty, Dr. Holden, subdean of his Majesty's Chapel, Sir James Shaen, Dr. Whistler, and our Secretary, Mr. Oldenburg. 4th March, 1676. Sir Thomas Linch was returned from his government of Jamaica. 16th March, 1676. The Countess of Sunderland and I went by water to Parson's Green, to visit my Lady Mordaunt, and to consult with her about my Lord's monument. We returned by coach. 19th March, 1676. Dr. Lloyd, late Curate of Deptford, but now Bishop of Llandaff, preached before the King, on 1 Cor. xv. 57, that though sin subjects us to death, yet through Christ we become his conquerors. 23d March, 1676. To Twickenham Park, Lord Berkeley's country seat, to examine how the bailiffs and servants ordered matters. 24th March, 1676. Dr. Brideoake, Bishop of Chichester, preached a mean discourse for a Bishop. I also heard Dr. Fleetwood, Bishop of Worcester, on Matt. xxvi. 38, of the sorrows of Christ, a deadly sorrow caused by our sins; he was no great preacher. 30th March, 1676. Dining with my Lady Sunderland, I saw a fellow swallow a knife, and divers great pebble stones, which would make a plain rattling one against another. The knife was in a sheath of horn. Dr. North, son of my Lord North, preached before the King, on Isaiah liii. 57, a very young but learned and excellent person. Note. This was the first time the Duke appeared no more in chapel, to the infinite grief and threatened ruin of this poor nation. 2d April, 1676. I had now notice that my dear friend Mrs. Godolphin, was returning from Paris. On the 6th, she arrived to my great joy, whom I most heartily welcomed. 28th April, 1676. My wife entertained her Majesty at Deptford, for which the Queen gave me thanks in the withdrawing room at Whitehall. The University of Oxford presented me with the "_Marmora Oxoniensia Arundeliana_"; the Bishop of Oxford writing to desire that I would introduce Mr. Prideaux, the editor (a young man most learned in antiquities) to the Duke of Norfolk, to present another dedicated to his Grace, which I did, and we dined with the Duke at Arundel House, and supped at the Bishop of Rochester's with Isaac Vossius. 7th May, 1676. I spoke to the Duke of York about my Lord Berkeley's going to Nimeguen. Thence, to the Queen's Council at Somerset House, about Mrs. Godolphin's lease of Spalding, in Lincolnshire. 11th May, 1676. I dined with Mr. Charleton, and went to see Mr. Montague's new palace, near Bloomsbury, built by Mr. Hooke, of our Society, after the French manner.[36] [Footnote 36: Now the British Museum.] 13th May, 1676. Returned home, and found my son returned from France; praised be God! 22d May, 1676. Trinity Monday. A chaplain of my Lord Ossory's preached, after which we took barge to Trinity House in London. Mr. Pepys (Secretary of the Admiralty) succeeded my Lord as Master. [Sidenote: ENFIELD] 2d June, 1676. I went with my Lord Chamberlain to see a garden, at Enfield town; thence, to Mr. Secretary Coventry's lodge in the Chase. It is a very pretty place, the house commodious, the gardens handsome, and our entertainment very free, there being none but my Lord and myself. That which I most wondered at was, that, in the compass of twenty-five miles, yet within fourteen of London, there is not a house, barn, church, or building, besides three lodges. To this Lodge are three great ponds, and some few inclosures, the rest a solitary desert, yet stored with no less than 3,000 deer. These are pretty retreats for gentlemen, especially for those who are studious and lovers of privacy. We returned in the evening by Hampstead, to see Lord Wotton's house and garden (Bellsize House), built with vast expense by Mr. O'Neale, an Irish gentleman who married Lord Wotton's mother, Lady Stanhope. The furniture is very particular for Indian cabinets, porcelain, and other solid and noble movables. The gallery very fine, the gardens very large, but ill kept, yet woody and chargeable. The soil a cold weeping clay, not answering the expense. 12th June, 1676. I went to see Sir Thomas Bond's new and fine house by Peckham; it is on a flat, but has a fine garden and prospect through the meadows to London. 2d July, 1676. Dr. Castillion, Prebend of Canterbury, preached before the King, on John xv. 22, at Whitehall. 19th July, 1676. Went to the funeral of Sir William Sanderson, husband to the Mother of the Maids, and author of two large but mean histories of King James and King Charles I. He was buried at Westminster. 1st August, 1676. In the afternoon, after prayers at St. James's Chapel, was christened a daughter of Dr. Leake's, the Duke's Chaplain: godmothers were Lady Mary, daughter of the Duke of York, and the Duchess of Monmouth: godfather, the Earl of Bath. 15th August, 1676. Came to dine with me my Lord Halifax, Sir Thomas Meeres, one of the Commissioners of the Admiralty, Sir John Clayton, Mr. Slingsby, Mr. Henshaw, and Mr. Bridgeman. 25th August, 1676. Dined with Sir John Banks at his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, on recommending Mr. Upman to be tutor to his son going into France. This Sir John Banks was a merchant of small beginning, but had amassed £100,000. 26th August, 1676. I dined at the Admiralty with Secretary Pepys, and supped at the Lord Chamberlain's. Here was Captain Baker, who had been lately on the attempt of the Northwest passage. He reported prodigious depth of ice, blue as a sapphire, and as transparent. The thick mists were their chief impediment, and cause of their return. 2d September, 1676. I paid £1,700 to the Marquis de Sissac, which he had lent to my Lord Berkeley, and which I heard the Marquis lost at play in a night or two. The Dean of Chichester preached before the King, on Acts xxiv. 16; and Dr. Crichton preached the second sermon before him on Psalm xc. 12, of wisely numbering our days, and well employing our time. 3d September, 1676. Dined at Captain Graham's, where I became acquainted with Dr. Compton (brother to the Earl of Northampton), now Bishop of London, and Mr. North, son to the Lord North, brother to the Lord Chief-Justice and Clerk of the Closet, a most hopeful young man. The Bishop had once been a soldier, had also traveled in Italy, and became a most sober, grave, and excellent prelate. 6th September, 1676. Supped at the Lord Chamberlain's, where also supped the famous beauty and errant lady, the Duchess of Mazarine (all the world knows her story), the Duke of Monmouth, Countess of Sussex (both natural children of the King by the Duchess of Cleveland[37]), and the Countess of Derby, a virtuous lady, daughter to my best friend, the Earl of Ossory. [Footnote 37: Evelyn makes a slip here. The Duke of Monmouth's mother was, it is well known, Lucy Walters, sometimes called Mrs. Barlow, and heretofore mentioned in the "Diary." Nor is he more correct as to the Countess of Sussex. Lady Anne Fitzroy, as she is called in the Peerage books, was married to Lennard Dacre, Earl of Sussex, by whom she left a daughter only, who succeeded on her father's death to the Barony of Dacre. On the other hand, the Duke of Southampton, the Duke of Grafton, and the Duke of Northumberland, were all of them children of Charles II. by the Duchess of Cleveland.] 10th September, 1676. Dined with me Mr. Flamsted, the learned astrologer and mathematician, whom his Majesty had established in the new Observatory in Greenwich Park, furnished with the choicest instruments. An honest, sincere man. 12th September, 1676. To London, to take order about the building of a house, or rather an apartment, which had all the conveniences of a house, for my dear friend, Mr. Godolphin and lady, which I undertook to contrive and survey, and employ workmen until it should be quite finished; it being just over against his Majesty's wood-yard by the Thames side, leading to Scotland Yard. 19th September, 1676. To Lambeth, to that rare magazine of marble, to take order for chimney-pieces, etc., for Mr. Godolphin's house. The owner of the works had built for himself a pretty dwelling house; this Dutchman had contracted with the Genoese for all their marble. We also saw the Duke of Buckingham's glasswork, where they made huge vases of metal as clear, ponderous, and thick as crystal; also looking-glasses far larger and better than any that come from Venice. 9th October, 1676. I went with Mrs. Godolphin and my wife to Blackwall, to see some Indian curiosities; the streets being slippery, I fell against a piece of timber with such violence that I could not speak nor fetch my breath for some space; being carried into a house and let blood, I was removed to the water-side and so home, where, after a day's rest, I recovered. This being one of my greatest deliverances, the Lord Jesus make me ever mindful and thankful! 31st October, 1676. Being my birthday, and fifty-six years old, I spent the morning in devotion and imploring God's protection, with solemn thanksgiving for all his signal mercies to me, especially for that escape which concerned me this month at Blackwall. Dined with Mrs. Godolphin, and returned home through a prodigious and dangerous mist. 9th November, 1676. Finished the lease of Spalding, for Mr. Godolphin. 16th November, 1676. My son and I dining at my Lord Chamberlain's, he showed us among others that incomparable piece of Raphael's, being a Minister of State dictating to Guicciardini, the earnestness of whose face looking up in expectation of what he was next to write, is so to the life, and so natural, as I esteem it one of the choicest pieces of that admirable artist. There was a woman's head of Leonardo da Vinci; a Madonna of old Palma, and two of Vandyke's, of which one was his own picture at length, when young, in a leaning posture; the other, an eunuch, singing. Rare pieces indeed! 4th December, 1676. I saw the great ball danced by all the gallants and ladies at the Duchess of York's. 10th December, 1676. There fell so deep a snow as hindered us from church. [Sidenote: LONDON] 12th December, 1676. To London, in so great a snow, as I remember not to have seen the like. 17th December, 1676. More snow falling, I was not able to get to church. 8th February, 1676-77. I went to Roehampton, with my Lady Duchess of Ormond. The garden and perspective is pretty, the prospect most agreeable. 15th May, 1677. Came the Earl of Peterborough, to desire me to be a trustee for Lord Viscount Mordaunt and the Countess, for the sale of certain lands set out by Act of Parliament, to pay debts. 12th June, 1677. I went to London, to give the Lord Ambassador Berkeley (now returned from the treaty at Nimeguen) an account of the great trust reposed in me during his absence, I having received and remitted to him no less than £20,000 to my no small trouble and loss of time, that during his absence, and when the Lord Treasurer was no great friend [of his] I yet procured him great sums, very often soliciting his Majesty in his behalf; looking after the rest of his estates and concerns entirely, without once accepting any kind of acknowledgment, purely upon the request of my dear friend, Mr. Godolphin. I returned with abundance of thanks and professions from my Lord Berkeley and my Lady. 29th June, 1677. This business being now at an end, and myself delivered from that intolerable servitude and correspondence, I had leisure to be somewhat more at home and to myself. 3d July, 1677. I sealed the deeds of sale of the manor of Blechingley to Sir Robert Clayton, for payment of Lord Peterborough's debts, according to the trust of the Act of Parliament. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 16th July, 1677. I went to Wotton.--22d. Mr. Evans, curate of Abinger, preached an excellent sermon on Matt. v. 12. In the afternoon, Mr. Higham at Wotton catechised. 26th July, 1677. I dined at Mr. Duncomb's, at Sheere, whose house stands environed with very sweet and quick streams. 29th July, 1677. Mr. Bohun, my Son's late tutor, preached at Abinger, on Phil., iv. 8, very elegantly and practically. 5th August, 1677. I went to visit my Lord Brounker, now taking the waters at Dulwich. 9th August, 1677. Dined at the Earl of Peterborough's the day after the marriage of my Lord of Arundel to Lady Mary Mordaunt, daughter of the Earl of Peterborough. 28th August, 1677. To visit my Lord Chamberlain, in Suffolk; he sent his coach and six to meet and bring me from St. Edmund's Bury to Euston. 29th August, 1677. We hunted in the Park and killed a very fat buck. 31st August, 1677. I went a hawking. 4th September, 1677. I went to visit my Lord Crofts, now dying at St. Edmunds Bury, and took the opportunity to see this ancient town, and the remains of that famous monastery and abbey. There is little standing entire, save the gatehouse; it has been a vast and magnificent Gothic structure, and of great extent. The gates are wood, but quite plated over with iron. There are also two stately churches, one especially. 5th September, 1677. I went to Thetford, to the borough-town, where stand the ruins of a religious house: there is a round mountain artificially raised, either for some castle, or monument, which makes a pretty landscape. As we went and returned, a tumbler showed his extraordinary address in the Warren. I also saw the Decoy; much pleased with the stratagem. 7th September, 1677. There dined this day at my Lord's one Sir John Gaudy, a very handsome person, but quite dumb, yet very intelligent by signs, and a very fine painter; he was so civil and well bred, as it was not possible to discern any imperfection in him. His lady and children were also there, and he was at church in the morning with us. 9th September, 1677. A stranger preached at Euston Church, and fell into a handsome panegyric on my Lord's new building the church, which indeed for its elegance and cheerfulness, is one of the prettiest country churches in England. My Lord told me his heart smote him that, after he had bestowed so much on his magnificent palace there, he should see God's House in the ruin it lay in. He has also rebuilt the parsonage-house, all of stone, very neat and ample. [Sidenote: EUSTON] 10th September, 1677. To divert me, my Lord would needs carry me to see Ipswich, when we dined with one Mr. Mann by the way, who was Recorder of the town. There were in our company my Lord Huntingtower, son to the Duchess of Lauderdale, Sir Edward Bacon, a learned gentleman of the family of the great Chancellor Verulam, and Sir John Felton, with some other knights and gentlemen. After dinner came the bailiff and magistrates in their formalities with their maces to compliment my Lord, and invite him to the town-house, where they presented us a collation of dried sweetmeats and wine, the bells ringing, etc. Then, we went to see the town, and first, the Lord Viscount Hereford's house, which stands in a park near the town, like that at Brussels, in Flanders; the house not great, yet pretty, especially the hall. The stews for fish succeeded one another, and feed one the other, all paved at bottom. There is a good picture of the blessed virgin in one of the parlors, seeming to be of Holbein, or some good master. Then we saw the Haven, seven miles from Harwich. The tide runs out every day, but the bedding being soft mud, it is safe for shipping and a station. The trade of Ipswich is for the most part Newcastle coals, with which they supply London; but it was formerly a clothing town. There is not any beggar asks alms in the whole place, a thing very extraordinary, so ordered by the prudence of the magistrates. It has in it fourteen or fifteen beautiful churches: in a word, it is for building, cleanness, and good order, one of the best towns in England. Cardinal Wolsey was a butcher's son of Ipswich, but there is little of that magnificent Prelate's foundation here, besides a school and I think a library, which I did not see. His intentions were to build some great thing. We returned late to Euston, having traveled about fifty miles this day. Since first I was at this place, I found things exceedingly improved. It is seated in a bottom between two graceful swellings, the main building being now in the figure of a Greek II with four pavilions, two at each corner, and a break in the front, railed and balustered at the top, where I caused huge jars to be placed full of earth to keep them steady upon their pedestals between the statues, which make as good a show as if they were of stone, and, though the building be of brick, and but two stories besides cellars and garrets covered with blue slate, yet there is room enough for a full court, the offices and outhouses being so ample and well disposed. The King's apartment is painted _à fresco_, and magnificently furnished. There are many excellent pictures of the great masters. The gallery is a pleasant, noble room; in the break, or middle, is a billiard table, but the wainscot, being of fir, and painted, does not please me so well as Spanish oak without paint. The chapel is pretty, the porch descending to the gardens. The orange garden is very fine, and leads into the greenhouse, at the end of which is a hall to eat in, and the conservatory some hundred feet long, adorned with maps, as the other side is with the heads of the Cæsars, ill cut in alabaster; above are several apartments for my Lord, Lady, and Duchess, with kitchens and other offices below, in a lesser form; lodgings for servants, all distinct for them to retire to when they please and would be in private, and have no communication with the palace, which he tells me he will wholly resign to his son-in-law and daughter, that charming young creature. The canal running under my Lady's dressing room chamber window, is full of carps and fowl, which come and are fed there. The cascade at the end of the canal turns a cornmill that provides the family, and raises water for the fountains and offices. To pass this canal into the opposite meadows, Sir Samuel Morland has invented a screw bridge, which, being turned with a key, lands you fifty feet distant at the entrance of an ascending walk of trees, a mile in length,--as it is also on the front into the park,--of four rows of ash trees, and reaches to the park pale, which is nine miles in compass, and the best for riding and meeting the game that I ever saw. There were now of red and fallow deer almost a thousand, with good covert, but the soil barren and flying sand, in which nothing will grow kindly. The tufts of fir, and much of the other wood, were planted by my direction some years before. This seat is admirably placed for field sports, hawking, hunting, or racing. The mutton is small, but sweet. The stables hold thirty horses and four coaches. The out-offices make two large quadrangles, so as servants never lived with more ease and convenience; never master more civil. Strangers are attended and accommodated as at their home, in pretty apartments furnished with all manner of conveniences and privacy. There is a library full of excellent books; bathing rooms, elaboratory, dispensary, a decoy, and places to keep and fat fowl in. He had now in his new church (near the garden) built a dormitory, or vault, with several repositories, in which to bury his family. In the expense of this pious structure, the church is most laudable, most of the houses of God in this country resembling rather stables and thatched cottages than temples in which to serve the Most High. He has built a lodge in the park for the keeper, which is a neat dwelling, and might become any gentleman. The same has he done for the parson, little deserving it for murmuring that my Lord put him some time out of his wretched hovel, while it was building. He has also erected a fair inn at some distance from his palace, with a bridge of stone over a river near it, and repaired all the tenants' houses, so as there is nothing but neatness and accommodations about his estate, which I yet think is not above £1,500 a year. I believe he had now in his family one hundred domestic servants. His lady (being one of the Brederode's daughters, grandchild to a natural son of Henry Frederick, Prince of Orange) is a good-natured and obliging woman. They love fine things, and to live easily, pompously, and hospitably; but, with so vast expense, as plunges my Lord into debts exceedingly. My Lord himself is given into no expensive vice but building, and to have all things rich, polite, and princely. He never plays, but reads much, having the Latin, French, and Spanish tongues in perfection. He has traveled much, and is the best bred and courtly person his Majesty has about him, so as the public Ministers more frequent him than any of the rest of the nobility. While he was Secretary of State and Prime Minister, he had gotten vastly, but spent it as hastily, even before he had established a fund to maintain his greatness; and now beginning to decline in favor (the Duke being no great friend of his), he knows not how to retrench. He was son of a Doctor of Laws, whom I have seen, and, being sent from Westminster School to Oxford, with intention to be a divine, and parson of Arlington, a village near Brentford, when Master of Arts the Rebellion falling out, he followed the King's Army, and receiving an HONORABLE WOUND IN THE FACE, grew into favor, and was advanced from a mean fortune, at his Majesty's Restoration, to be an Earl and Knight of the Garter, Lord Chamberlain of the Household, and first favorite for a long time, during which the King married his natural son, the Duke of Grafton, to his only daughter and heiress, as before mentioned, worthy for her beauty and virtue of the greatest prince in Christendom. My Lord is, besides this, a prudent and understanding person in business, and speaks well; unfortunate yet in those he has advanced, most of them proving ungrateful. The many obligations and civilities I have received from this noble gentleman, extracts from me this character, and I am sorry he is in no better circumstances. Having now passed near three weeks at Euston, to my great satisfaction, with much difficulty he suffered me to look homeward, being very earnest with me to stay longer; and, to engage me, would himself have carried me to Lynn-Regis, a town of important traffic, about twenty miles beyond, which I had never seen; as also the Traveling Sands, about ten miles wide of Euston, that have so damaged the country, rolling from place to place, and, like the Sands in the Deserts of Lybia, quite overwhelmed some gentlemen's whole estates, as the relation extant in print, and brought to our Society, describes at large. 13th September, 1677. My Lord's coach conveyed me to Bury, and thence baiting at Newmarket, stepping in at Audley-End to see that house again, I slept at Bishop-Stortford, and, the next day, home. I was accompanied in my journey by Major Fairfax, of a younger house of the Lord Fairfax, a soldier, a traveler, an excellent musician, a good-natured, well-bred gentleman. 18th September, 1677. I preferred Mr. Phillips (nephew of Milton) to the service of my Lord Chamberlain, who wanted a scholar to read to and entertain him sometimes. 12th October, 1677. With Sir Robert Clayton to Marden, an estate he had bought lately of my kinsman, Sir John Evelyn, of Godstone, in Surrey, which from a despicable farmhouse Sir Robert had erected into a seat with extraordinary expense. It is in such a solitude among hills, as, being not above sixteen miles from London, seems almost incredible, the ways up to it are so winding and intricate. The gardens are large, and well-walled, and the husbandry part made very convenient and perfectly understood. The barns, the stacks of corn, the stalls for cattle, pigeon house, etc., of most laudable example. Innumerable are the plantations of trees, especially walnuts. The orangery and gardens are very curious. In the house are large and noble rooms. He and his lady (who is very curious in distillery) entertained me three or four days very freely. I earnestly suggested to him the repairing of an old desolate dilapidated church, standing on the hill above the house, which I left him in good disposition to do, and endow it better; there not being above four or five houses in the parish, besides that of this prodigious rich Scrivener. This place is exceedingly sharp in the winter, by reason of the serpentining of the hills: and it wants running water; but the solitude much pleased me. All the ground is so full of wild thyme, marjoram, and other sweet plants, that it cannot be overstocked with bees; I think he had near forty hives of that industrious insect. 14th October, 1677. I went to church at Godstone, and to see old Sir John Evelyn's DORMITORY, joining to the church, paved with marble, where he and his Lady lie on a very stately monument at length; he in armor of white marble. The inscription is only an account of his particular branch of the family, on black marble. [Sidenote: LONDON] 15th October, 1677. Returned to London; in the evening, I saw the Prince of Orange, and supped with Lord Ossory. 23d October, 1677. Saw again the Prince of Orange; his marriage with the Lady Mary, eldest daughter to the Duke of York, by Mrs. Hyde, the late Duchess, was now declared. 11th November, 1677. I was all this week composing matters between old Mrs. Howard and Sir Gabriel Sylvius, upon his long and earnest addresses to Mrs. Anne, her second daughter, maid of honor to the Queen. My friend, Mrs. Godolphin (who exceedingly loved the young lady) was most industrious in it, out of pity to the languishing knight; so as though there were great differences in their years, it was at last effected, and they were married the 13th, in Henry VII.'s Chapel, by the Bishop of Rochester, there being besides my wife and Mrs. Graham, her sister, Mrs. Godolphin, and very few more. We dined at the old lady's, and supped at Mr. Graham's at St. James's. 15th November, 1677. The Queen's birthday, a great ball at Court, where the Prince of Orange and his new Princess danced. 19th November, 1677. They went away, and I saw embarked my Lady Sylvius, who went into Holland with her husband, made Hoffmaester to the Prince, a considerable employment. We parted with great sorrow, for the great respect and honor I bore her, a most pious and virtuous lady. 27th November, 1677. Dined at the Lord Treasurer's with Prince Rupert, Viscount Falkenburg, Earl of Bath, Lord O'Brien, Sir John Lowther, Sir Christopher Wren, Dr. Grew, and other learned men. 30th November, 1677. Sir Joseph Williamson, Principal Secretary of State, was chosen President of the Royal Society, after my Lord Viscount Brouncker had possessed the chair now sixteen years successively, and therefore now thought fit to CHANGE, that prescription might not prejudice. 4th December, 1677. Being the first day of his taking the chair, he gave us a magnificent supper. 20th December, 1677. Carried to my Lord Treasurer an account of the Earl of Bristol's Library, at Wimbledon, which my Lord thought of purchasing, till I acquainted him that it was a very broken collection, consisting much in books of judicial astrology, romances, and trifles. 25th December, 1677. I gave my son an office, with instructions how to govern his youth; I pray God give him the grace to make a right use of it! 23d January, 1677-78. Dined with the Duke of Norfolk, being the first time I had seen him since the death of his elder brother, who died at Padua in Italy, where he had resided above thirty years. The Duke had now newly declared his marriage to his concubine, whom he promised me he never would marry. I went with him to see the Duke of Buckingham, thence to my Lord Sunderland, now Secretary of State, to show him that rare piece of Vosterman's (son of old Vosterman), which was a view, or landscape of my Lord's palace, etc., at Althorpe in Northamptonshire. 8th February, 1678. Supping at my Lord Chamberlain's I had a long discourse with the Count de Castel Mellor, lately Prime Minister in Portugal, who, taking part with his master, King Alphonso, was banished by his brother, Don Pedro, now Regent; but had behaved himself so uncorruptly in all his ministry that, though he was acquitted, and his estate restored, yet would they not suffer him to return. He is a very intelligent and worthy gentleman. 18th February, 1678. My Lord Treasurer sent for me to accompany him to Wimbledon, which he had lately purchased of the Earl of Bristol; so breaking fast with him privately in his chamber, I accompanied him with two of his daughters, my Lord Conway, and Sir Bernard Gascoyne; and, having surveyed his gardens and alterations, returned late at night. [Sidenote: LONDON] 22d February, 1678. Dr. Pierce preached at Whitehall, on 2 Thessalonians iii. 6, against our late schismatics, in a rational discourse, but a little over-sharp, and not at all proper for the auditory there. 22d March, 1678. Dr. South preached _coram Rege_, an incomparable discourse on this text, "A wounded spirit who can bear!" Note: Now was our Communion table placed altarwise; the church steeple, clock, and other reparations finished. 16th April, 1678. I showed Don Emmanuel de Lyra (Portugal Ambassador) and the Count de Castel Mellor, the Repository of the Royal Society, and the College of Physicians. 18th April, 1678. I went to see new Bedlam Hospital, magnificently built, and most sweetly placed in Moorfields, since the dreadful fire in London. 28th June, 1678. I went to Windsor with my Lord Chamberlain (the castle now repairing with exceeding cost) to see the rare work of Verrio, an incomparable carving of Gibbons. 29th June, 1678. Returned with my Lord by Hounslow Heath, where we saw the newly raised army encamped, designed against France, in pretense, at least; but which gave umbrage to the Parliament. His Majesty and a world of company were in the field, and the whole army in battalia; a very glorious sight. Now were brought into service a new sort of soldiers, called GRENADIERS, who were dexterous in flinging hand grenades, everyone having a pouch full; they had furred caps with coped crowns like Janizaries, which made them look very fierce, and some had long hoods hanging down behind, as we picture fools. Their clothing being likewise piebald, yellow and red. 8th July, 1678. Came to dine with me my Lord Longford, Treasurer of Ireland, nephew to that learned gentleman, my Lord Aungier, with whom I was long since acquainted; also the Lady Stidolph, and other company. 19th July, 1678. The Earl of Ossory came to take his leave of me, going into Holland to command the English forces. 20th July, 1678. I went to the Tower to try a metal at the Assay-master's, which only proved sulphur; then saw Monsieur Rotière, that excellent graver belonging to the Mint, who emulates even the ancients, in both metal and stone;[38] he was now molding a horse for the King's statue, to be cast in silver, of a yard high. I dined with Mr. Slingsby, Master of the Mint. [Footnote 38: Doubtless Philip Rotière, who introduced the figure of Britannia into the coinage, taking for his model the King's favorite, Frances Stewart, Duchess of Richmond.] 23d July, 1678. Went to see Mr. Elias Ashmole's library and curiosities, at Lambeth. He had divers MSS., but most of them astrological, to which study he is addicted, though I believe not learned, but very industrious, as his History of the order of the Garter proves. He showed me a toad included in amber. The prospect from a turret is very fine, it being so near London, and yet not discovering any house about the country. The famous John Tradescant bequeathed his Repository to this gentleman, who has given them to the University of Oxford, and erected a lecture on them, over the laboratory, in imitation of the Royal Society. Mr. Godolphin was made master of the robes to the King. 25th July, 1678. There was sent me £70; from whom I knew not, to be by me distributed among poor people; I afterward found it was from that dear friend (Mrs. Godolphin), who had frequently given me large sums to bestow on charities. 16th August, 1678. I went to Lady Mordaunt, who put £100 into my hand to dispose of for pious uses, relief of prisoners, poor, etc. Many a sum had she sent me on similar occasions; a blessed creature she was, and one that loved and feared God exemplarily. [Sidenote: WEYBRIDGE] 23d August, 1678. Upon Sir Robert Reading's importunity, I went to visit the Duke of Norfolk, at his new palace at Weybridge, where he has laid out in building near £10,000, on a copyhold, and in a miserable, barren, sandy place by the street side; never in my life had I seen such expense to so small purpose. The rooms are wainscotted, and some of them richly pargeted with cedar, yew, cypress, etc. There are some good pictures, especially that incomparable painting of Holbein's, where the Duke of Norfolk, Charles Brandon and Henry VIII., are dancing with the three ladies, with most amorous countenances, and sprightly motion exquisitely expressed. It is a thousand pities (as I told my Lord of Arundel, his son), that that jewel should be given away. 24th August, 1678. I went to see my Lord of St. Alban's house, at Byfleet, an old, large building. Thence, to the papermills, where I found them making a coarse white paper. They cull the rags which are linen for white paper, woolen for brown; then they stamp them in troughs to a pap, with pestles, or hammers, like the powder mills, then put it into a vessel of water, in which they dip a frame closely wired with wire as small as a hair and as close as a weaver's reed; on this they take up the pap, the superfluous water draining through the wire; this they dexterously turning, shake out like a pancake on a smooth board between two pieces of flannel, then press it between a great press, the flannel sucking out the moisture; then, taking it out, they ply and dry it on strings, as they dry linen in the laundry; then dip it in alum water, lastly, polish and make it up in quires. They put some gum in the water in which they macerate the rags. The mark we find on the sheets is formed in the wire. 25th August, 1678. After evening prayer, visited Mr. Sheldon (nephew to the late Archbishop of Canterbury), and his pretty melancholy garden; I took notice of the largest _arbor thuyris_ I had ever seen. The place is finely watered, and there are many curiosities of India, shown in the house. There was at Weybridge the Duchess of Norfolk, Lord Thomas Howard (a worthy and virtuous gentleman, with whom my son was sometime bred in Arundel House), who was newly come from Rome, where he had been some time; also one of the Duke's daughters, by his first lady. My Lord leading me about the house made no scruple of showing me all the hiding places for the Popish priests, and where they said mass, for he was no bigoted Papist. He told me he never trusted them with any secret, and used Protestants only in all businesses of importance. I went this evening with my Lord Duke to Windsor, where was a magnificent Court, it being the first time of his Majesty's removing thither since it was repaired. 27th August, 1678. I took leave of the Duke, and dined at Mr. Henry Bruncker's, at the Abbey of Sheene, formerly a monastery of Carthusians, there yet remaining one of their solitary cells with a cross. Within this ample inclosure are several pretty villas and fine gardens of the most excellent fruits, especially Sir William Temple's (lately Ambassador into Holland), and the Lord Lisle's, son to the Earl of Leicester, who has divers rare pictures, above all, that of Sir Brian Tuke's, by Holbein. After dinner I walked to Ham, to see the house and garden of the Duke of Lauderdale, which is indeed inferior to few of the best villas in Italy itself; the house furnished like a great Prince's; the parterres, flower-gardens, orangeries, groves, avenues, courts, statues, perspectives, fountains, aviaries, and all this at the banks of the sweetest river in the world, must needs be admirable. Hence, I went to my worthy friend, Sir Henry Capel [at Kew], brother to the Earl of Essex; it is an old timber-house; but his garden has the choicest fruit of any plantation in England, as he is the most industrious and understanding in it. 29th August, 1678. I was called to London to wait upon the Duke of Norfolk, who having at my sole request bestowed the Arundelian Library on the Royal Society; sent to me to take charge of the books, and remove them, only stipulating that I would suffer the Herald's chief officer, Sir William Dugdale, to have such of them as concerned heraldry and the marshal's office, books of armory and genealogies, the Duke being Earl Marshal of England. I procured for our Society, besides printed books, near one hundred MSS. some in Greek of great concernment. The printed books being of the oldest impressions, are not the less valuable; I esteem them almost equal to MSS. Among them, are most of the Fathers, printed at Basil, before the Jesuits abused them with their expurgatory Indexes; there is a noble MS. of Vitruvius. Many of these books had been presented by Popes, Cardinals, and great persons, to the Earls of Arundel and Dukes of Norfolk; and the late magnificent Earl of Arundel bought a noble library in Germany, which is in this collection. I should not, for the honor I bear the family, have persuaded the Duke to part with these, had I not seen how negligent he was of them, suffering the priests and everybody to carry away and dispose of what they pleased; so that abundance of rare things are irrecoverably gone. Having taken order here, I went to the Royal Society to give them an account of what I had procured, that they might call a Council and appoint a day to wait on the Duke to thank him for this munificent gift. [Sidenote: LONDON] 3d September, 1678. I went to London, to dine with Mrs. Godolphin, and found her in labor; she was brought to bed of a son, who was baptized in the chamber, by the name of Francis, the susceptors being Sir William Godolphin (head of the family), Mr. John Hervey, Treasurer to the Queen, and Mrs. Boscawen, sister to Sir William and the father. 8th September, 1678. While I was at church came a letter from Mr. Godolphin, that my dear friend his lady was exceedingly ill, and desiring my prayers and assistance. My wife and I took boat immediately, and went to Whitehall, where, to my inexpressible sorrow, I found she had been attacked with a new fever, then reigning this excessive hot autumn, and which was so violent, that it was not thought she could last many hours. 9th September, 1678. She died in the 26th year of her age, to the inexpressible affliction of her dear husband, and all her relations, but of none in the world more than of myself, who lost the most excellent and inestimable friend that ever lived. Never was a more virtuous and inviolable friendship; never a more religious, discreet, and admirable creature, beloved of all, admired of all, for all possible perfections of her sex. She is gone to receive the reward of her signal charity, and all other her Christian graces, too blessed a creature to converse with mortals, fitted as she was, by a most holy life, to be received into the mansions above. She was for wit, beauty, good nature, fidelity, discretion, and all accomplishments, the most incomparable person. How shall I ever repay the obligations to her for the infinite good offices she did my soul by so often engaging me to make religion the terms and tie of the friendship there was between us! She was the best wife, the best mistress, the best friend, that ever husband had. But it is not here that I pretend to give her character, HAVING DESIGNED TO CONSECRATE HER WORTHY LIFE TO POSTERITY. Her husband, struck with unspeakable affliction, fell down as dead. The King himself, and all the Court, expressed their sorrow. To the poor and miserable, her loss was irreparable; for there was no degree but had some obligation to her memory. So careful and provident was she to be prepared for all possible accidents, that (as if she foresaw her end) she received the heavenly viaticum but the Sunday before, after a most solemn recollection. She put all her domestic concerns into the exactest order, and left a letter directed to her husband, to be opened in case she died in childbed, in which with the most pathetic and endearing expressions of the most loyal and virtuous wife, she begs his kindness to her memory might be continued by his care and esteem of those she left behind, even to her domestic servants, to the meanest of which she left considerable legacies, as well as to the poor. It was now seven years since she was maid of honor to the Queen, that she regarded me as a father, a brother, and what is more, a friend. We often prayed, visited the sick and miserable, received, read, discoursed, and communicated in all holy offices together. She was most dear to my wife, and affectionate to my children. But she is gone! This only is my comfort, that she is happy in Christ, and I shall shortly behold her again. She desired to be buried in the dormitory of his family, near three hundred miles from all her other friends. So afflicted was her husband at this severe loss, that the entire care of her funeral was committed to me. Having closed the eyes, and dropped a tear upon the cheek of my dear departed friend, lovely even in death, I caused her corpse to be embalmed and wrapped in lead, a plate of brass soldered thereon, with an inscription, and other circumstances due to her worth, with as much diligence and care as my grieved heart would permit me; I then retired home for two days, which were spent in solitude and sad reflection. 17th September, 1678. She was, accordingly, carried to Godolphin, in Cornwall, in a hearse with six horses, attended by two coaches of as many, with about thirty of her relations and servants. There accompanied the hearse her husband's brother, Sir William, two more of his brothers, and three sisters; her husband was so overcome with grief, that he was wholly unfit to travel so long a journey, till he was more composed. I went as far as Hounslow with a sad heart; but was obliged to return upon some indispensable affairs. The corpse was ordered to be taken out of the hearse every night, and decently placed in the house, with tapers about it, and her servants attending, to Cornwall; and then was honorably interred in the parish church of Godolphin. This funeral cost not much less than £1,000. With Mr. Godolphin, I looked over and sorted his lady's papers, most of which consisted of Prayers, Meditations, Sermon-notes, Discourses, and Collections on several religious subjects, and many of her own happy composing, and so pertinently digested, as if she had been all her life a student in divinity. We found a diary of her solemn resolutions, tending to practical virtue, with letters from select friends, all put into exact method. It astonished us to see what she had read and written, her youth considered. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st October, 1678. The Parliament and the whole Nation were alarmed about a conspiracy of some eminent Papists for the destruction of the King and introduction of Popery, discovered by one Oates and Dr. Tongue,[39] WHICH LAST I KNEW, BEING THE TRANSLATOR OF THE "Jesuits' Morals"; I went to see and converse with him at Whitehall, with Mr. Oates, one that was lately an apostate to the church of Rome, and now returned again with this discovery. He seemed to be a bold man, and, in my thoughts, furiously indiscreet; but everybody believed what he said; and it quite changed the genius and motions of the Parliament, growing now corrupt and interested with long sitting and court practices; but, with all this, Popery would not go down. This discovery turned them all as one man against it, and nothing was done but to find out the depth of this. Oates was encouraged, and everything he affirmed taken for gospel; the truth is, the Roman Catholics were exceedingly bold and busy everywhere, since the Duke forbore to go any longer to the chapel. [Footnote 39: Ezrael Tonge was bred in University College, Oxford, and being puritanically inclined, quitted the University; but in 1648 returned, and was made a Fellow. He had the living of Pluckley, in Kent, which he resigned in consequence of quarrels with his parishioners and Quakers. In 1657, he was made fellow of the newly-erected College at Durham, and that being dissolved in 1660, he taught school at Islington. He then went with Colonel Edward Harley to Dunkirk, and subsequently took a small living in Herefordshire (Lentwardine); but quitted it for St. Mary Stayning, in London, which, after the fire in 1666, was united to St. Michael, Wood Street. These he held till his death, in 1680. He was a great opponent of the Roman Catholics. Wood mentions several publications of his, among which are, "The Jesuits Unmasked," 1678; "Jesuitical Aphorisms," 1678; and "The Jesuits' Morals," 1680 (1670); the two latter translated from the French. (Wood's "_Athenæ, Oxon._" vol. ii. p. 502.) Evelyn speaks of the last of these translations as having been executed by his desire: and it figures in a notable passage of Oates's testimony. Oates said, for example, "that Thomas Whitbread, a priest, on 13th of June, 16 . . did tell the rector of St. Omer's that a Minister of the Church of England had scandalously put out the 'Jesuits' Morals' in English, and had endeavored to render them odious, and had asked the Rector whether he thought Oates might know him? and the Rector called, the deponent, who heard these words as he stood at the chamber door, and when he went into the chamber of the Provincial, he asked him 'If he knew the author of the "Jesuits' Morals?"' deponent answered, 'His person, but not his name.' Whitbread then demanded, whether he would undertake to poison, or assassinate the author; which deponent undertook, having £50 reward promised him, and appointed to return to England."] 16th October, 1678. Mr. Godolphin requested me to continue the trust his wife had reposed in me, in behalf of his little son, conjuring me to transfer the friendship I had for his dear wife, on him and his. 21st October, 1678. The murder of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, found strangled about this time, as was manifest, by the Papists, he being the Justice of the Peace, and one who knew much of their practices, as conversant with Coleman (a servant of the ... now accused), put the whole nation into a new ferment against them. 31st October, 1678. Being the 58th of my age, required my humble addresses to Almighty God, and that he would take off his heavy hand, still on my family; and restore comforts to us after the death of my excellent friend. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th November, 1678. Dr. Tillotson preached before the Commons at St. Margaret's. He said the Papists were now arrived at that impudence, as to deny that there ever was any such as the gunpowder-conspiracy; but he affirmed that he himself had several letters written by Sir Everard Digby (one of the traitors), in which he gloried that he was to suffer for it; and that it was so contrived, that of the Papists not above two or three should have been blown up, and they, such as were not worth saving. 15th November, 1678. The Queen's birthday. I never saw the Court more brave, nor the nation in more apprehension and consternation. Coleman and one Staly had now been tried, condemned, and executed. On this, Oates grew so presumptuous as to accuse the Queen of intending to poison the King; which certainly that pious and virtuous lady abhorred the thoughts of, and Oates's circumstances made it utterly unlikely in my opinion. He probably thought to gratify some who would have been glad his Majesty should have married a fruitful lady; but the King was too kind a husband to let any of these make impression on him. However, divers of the Popish peers were sent to the Tower, accused by Oates; and all the Roman Catholic lords were by a new Act forever excluded the Parliament; which was a mighty blow. The King's, Queen's, and Duke's servants, were banished, and a test to be taken by everybody who pretended to enjoy any office of public trust, and who would not be suspected of Popery. I went with Sir William Godolphin, a member of the Commons' House, to the Bishop of Ely (Dr. Peter Gunning), to be resolved whether masses were idolatry, as the text expressed it, which was so worded, that several good Protestants scrupled, and Sir William, though a learned man and excellent divine himself, had some doubts about it. The Bishop's opinion was that he might take it, though he wished it had been otherwise worded in the text. 15th January, 1678-79. I went with my Lady Sunderland to Chelsa, and dined with the Countess of Bristol [her mother] in the great house, formerly the Duke of Buckingham's, a spacious and excellent place for the extent of ground and situation in a good air. The house is large but ill-contrived, though my Lord of Bristol, who purchased it after he sold Wimbledon to my Lord Treasurer, expended much money on it. There were divers pictures of Titian and Vandyke, and some of Bassano, very excellent, especially an Adonis and Venus, a Duke of Venice, a butcher in his shambles selling meat to a Swiss; and of Vandyke, my Lord of Bristol's picture, with the Earl of Bedford's at length, in the same table. There was in the garden a rare collection of orange trees, of which she was pleased to bestow some upon me. 16th January, 1679. I supped this night with Mr. Secretary at one Mr. Houblon's, a French merchant, who had his house furnished _en Prince_, and gave us a splendid entertainment. 25th January, 1679. The Long Parliament, which had sat ever since the Restoration, was dissolved by persuasion of the Lord Treasurer, though divers of them were believed to be his pensioner. At this, all the politicians were at a stand, they being very eager in pursuit of the late plot of the Papists. 30th January, 1679. Dr. Cudworth preached before the King at Whitehall, on 2 Timothy iii. 5, reckoning up the perils of the last times, in which, among other wickedness, treasons should be one of the greatest, applying it to the occasion, as committed under a form of reformation and godliness; concluding that the prophecy did intend more particularly the present age, as one of the last times; the sins there enumerated, more abundantly reigning than ever. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d February, 1679. Dr. Durell, Dean of Windsor, preached to the household at Whitehall, on 1 Cor. xvi. 22; he read the whole sermon out of his notes, which I had never before seen a Frenchman do, he being of Jersey, and bred at Paris. 4th February, 1679. Dr. Pierce, Dean of Salisbury, preached on 1 John, iv. 1, "Try the Spirits, there being so many delusory ones gone forth of late into the world"; he inveighed against the pernicious doctrines of Mr. Hobbes. My brother Evelyn, was now chosen Knight for the County of Surrey, carrying it against my Lord Longford and Sir Adam Brown, of Bechworth Castle. The country coming in to give him their suffrages were so many, that I believe they ate and drank him out near £2,000, by a most abominable custom. 1st April, 1679. My friend, Mr. Godolphin, was now made one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and of the Privy Council. 4th April, 1679. The Bishop of Gloucester preached in a manner very like Bishop Andrews, full of divisions, and scholastical, and that with much quickness. The Holy Communion followed. 20th April, 1679. EASTER DAY. Our vicar preached exceedingly well on 1 Cor. v. 7. The Holy Communion followed, at which I and my daughter, Mary (now about fourteen years old), received for the first time. The Lord Jesus continue his grace unto her, and improve this blessed beginning! 24th April, 1679. The Duke of York, voted against by the Commons for his recusancy, went over to Flanders; which made much discourse. 4th June, 1679. I dined with Mr. Pepys in the Tower, he having been committed by the House of Commons for misdemeanors in the Admiralty when he was secretary; I believe he was unjustly charged. Here I saluted my Lords Stafford and Petre, who were committed for the Popish plot. 7th June, 1679. I saw the magnificent cavalcade and entry of the Portugal Ambassador. 17th June, 1679. I was godfather to a son of Sir Christopher Wren, surveyor of his Majesty's buildings, that most excellent and learned person, with Sir William Fermor, and my Lady Viscountess Newport, wife of the Treasurer of the Household. Thence to Chelsea, to Sir Stephen Fox, and my lady, in order to the purchase of the Countess of Bristol's house there, which she desired me to procure a chapman for. 19th June, 1679. I dined at Sir Robert Clayton's with Sir Robert Viner, the great banker. 22d June, 1679. There were now divers Jesuits executed about the plot, and a rebellion in Scotland of the fanatics, so that there was a sad prospect of public affairs. 25th June, 1679. The new Commissioners of the Admiralty came to visit me, viz, Sir Henry Capell, brother to the Earl of Essex, Mr. Finch, eldest son to the Lord Chancellor, Sir Humphry Winch, Sir Thomas Meeres, Mr. Hales, with some of the Commissioners of the Navy. I went with them to London. 1st July, 1679. I dined at Sir William Godolphin's, and with that learned gentleman went to take the air in Hyde Park, where was a glorious _cortège_. 3d July, 1679. Sending a piece of venison to Mr. Pepys, still a prisoner, I went and dined with him. 6th July, 1679. Now were there papers, speeches, and libels, publicly cried in the streets against the Dukes of York and Lauderdale, etc., obnoxious to the Parliament, with too much and indeed too shameful a liberty; but the people and Parliament had gotten head by reason of the vices of the great ones. [Sidenote: LONDON] There was now brought up to London a child, son of one Mr. Wotton, formerly amanuensis to Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Winton, who both read and perfectly understood Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Arabic, Syriac, and most of the modern languages; disputed in divinity, law, and all the sciences; was skillful in history, both ecclesiastical and profane; in politics; in a word, so universally and solidly learned at eleven years of age, that he was looked on as a miracle. Dr. Lloyd, one of the most deeply learned divines of this nation in all sorts of literature, with Dr. Burnet, who had severely examined him, came away astonished, and they told me they did not believe there had the like appeared in the world. He had only been instructed by his father, who being himself a learned person, confessed that his son knew all that he himself knew. But, what was more admirable than his vast memory, was his judgment and invention, he being tried with divers hard questions, which required maturity of thought and experience. He was also dexterous in chronology, antiquities, mathematics. In sum, an _intellectus universalis_, beyond all that we read of Picus Mirandula, and other precocious wits, and yet withal a very humble child. 14th July, 1679. I went to see how things stood at Parson's Green, my Lady Viscountess Mordaunt (now sick in Paris, whither she went for health) having made me a trustee for her children, an office I could not refuse to this most excellent, pious, and virtuous lady, my long acquaintance. 15th July, 1679. I dined with Mr. Sidney Godolphin, now one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury. 18th July, 1679. I went early to the Old Bailey Sessions House, to the famous trial of Sir George Wakeman, one of the Queen's physicians, and three Benedictine monks; the first (whom I was well acquainted with, and take to be a worthy gentleman abhorring such a fact), for intending to poison the King; the others as accomplices to carry on the plot, to subvert the government, and introduce Popery. The bench was crowded with the judges, Lord Mayor justices, and innumerable spectators. The chief accusers, Dr. Oates (as he called himself), and one Bedlow, a man of inferior note. Their testimonies were not so pregnant, and I fear much of it from hearsay, but swearing positively to some particulars, which drew suspicion upon their truth; nor did circumstances so agree, as to give either the bench or jury so entire satisfaction as was expected. After, therefore, a long and tedious trial of nine hours, the jury brought them in not guilty, to the extraordinary triumph of the Papists, and without sufficient disadvantage and reflections on witnesses, especially Oates and Bedlow. This was a happy day for the lords in the Tower, who, expecting their trial, had this gone against the prisoners at the bar, would all have been in the utmost hazard. For my part, I look on Oates as a vain, insolent man, puffed up with the favor of the Commons for having discovered something really true, more especially as detecting the dangerous intrigue of Coleman, proved out of his own letters, and of a general design which the Jesuited party of the Papists ever had and still have, to ruin the Church of England; but that he was trusted with those great secrets he pretended, or had any solid ground for what he accused divers noblemen of, I have many reasons to induce my contrary belief. That among so many commissions as he affirmed to have delivered to them from P. Oliva[40] and the Pope,--he who made no scruple of opening all other papers, letters, and secrets, should not only not open any of those pretended commissions, but not so much as take any copy or witness of any one of them, is almost miraculous. But the Commons (some leading persons I mean of them) had so exalted him that they took all he said for Gospel, and without more ado ruined all whom he named to be conspirators; nor did he spare whoever came in his way. But, indeed, the murder of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, suspected to have been compassed by the Jesuits' party for his intimacy with Coleman (a busy person whom I also knew), and the fear they had that he was able to have discovered things to their prejudice, did so exasperate not only the Commons, but all the nation, that much of these sharpnesses against the more honest Roman Catholics who lived peaceably, is to be imputed to that horrid fact. [Footnote 40: Padrè Oliva, General of the Order of Jesuits.] The sessions ended, I dined or rather supped (so late it was) with the judges in the large room annexed to the place, and so returned home. Though it was not my custom or delight to be often present at any capital trials, we having them commonly so exactly published by those who take them in short-hand, yet I was inclined to be at this signal one, that by the ocular view of the carriages and other circumstances of the managers and parties concerned, I might inform myself, and regulate my opinion of a cause that had so alarmed the whole nation. 22d July, 1679. Dined at Clapham, at Sir D. Gauden's; went thence with him to Windsor, to assist him in a business with his Majesty. I lay that night at Eton College, the Provost's lodgings (Dr. Craddock), where I was courteously entertained. [Sidenote: LONDON] 23d July, 1679. To Court: after dinner, I visited that excellent painter, Verrio, whose works in _fresco_ in the King's palace, at Windsor, will celebrate his name as long as those walls last. He showed us his pretty garden, choice flowers, and curiosities, he himself being a skillful gardener. I went to Clifden, that stupendous natural rock, wood, and prospect, of the Duke of Buckingham's, and buildings of extraordinary expense. The grots in the chalky rocks are pretty: it is a romantic object, and the place altogether answers the most poetical description that can be made of solitude, precipice, prospect, or whatever can contribute to a thing so very like their imaginations. The stand, somewhat like Frascati as to its front, and on the platform is a circular view to the utmost verge of the horizon, which, with the serpenting of the Thames, is admirable. The staircase is for its materials singular; the cloisters, descents, gardens, and avenue through the wood, august and stately; but the land all about wretchedly barren, and producing nothing but fern. Indeed, as I told his Majesty that evening (asking me how I liked Clifden) without flattery, that it did not please me so well as Windsor for the prospect and park, which is without compare; there being but one only opening, and that narrow, which led one to any variety; whereas that of Windsor is everywhere great and unconfined. Returning, I called at my cousin Evelyn's, who has a very pretty seat in the forest, two miles by hither Clifden, on a flat, with gardens exquisitely kept, though large, and the house a staunch good old building, and what was singular, some of the rooms floored dove tail-wise without a nail, exactly close. One of the closets is pargeted with plain deal, set in diamond, exceeding staunch and pretty. 7th August, 1679. Dined at the Sheriff's, when, the Company of Drapers and their wives being invited, there was a sumptuous entertainment, according to the forms of the city, with music, etc., comparable to any prince's service in Europe. 8th August, 1679. I went this morning to show my Lord Chamberlain, his Lady, and the Duchess of Grafton, the incomparable work of Mr. Gibbon, the carver, whom I first recommended to his Majesty, his house being furnished like a cabinet, not only with his own work, but divers excellent paintings of the best hands. Thence, to Sir Stephen Fox's, where we spent the day. 31st August, 1679. After evening service, to see a neighbor, one Mr. Bohun, related to my son's late tutor of that name, a rich Spanish merchant, living in a neat place, which he has adorned with many curiosities, especially several carvings of Mr. Gibbons, and some pictures by Streeter. 13th September, 1679. To Windsor, to congratulate his Majesty on his recovery; I kissed the Duke's hand, now lately returned from Flanders[41] to visit his brother the King, on which there were various bold and foolish discourses, the Duke of Monmouth being sent away. [Footnote 41: He returned the day before, the 12th of September. This is another of the indications that the entries of this Diary were not always made on the precise days they refer to.] 19th September, 1679. My Lord Sunderland, one of the principal Secretaries of State, invited me to dinner, where was the King's natural son, the Earl of Plymouth, the Earl of Shrewsbury, Earl of Essex, Earl of Mulgrave, Mr. Hyde, and Mr. Godolphin. After dinner I went to prayers at Eton, and visited Mr. Henry Godolphin, fellow there, and Dr. Craddock. 25th September, 1679. Mr. Slingsby and Signor Verrio came to dine with me, to whom I gave China oranges off my own trees, as good, I think, as were ever eaten. 6th October, 1679. A very wet and sickly season. 23d October, 1679. Dined at my Lord Chamberlain's, the King being now newly returned from his Newmarket recreations. 4th November, 1679. Dined at the Lord Mayor's; and, in the evening, went to the funeral of my pious, dear, and ancient learned friend, Dr. Jasper Needham, who was buried at St. Bride's Church. He was a true and holy Christian, and one who loved me with great affection. Dr. Dove preached with an eulogy due to his memory. I lost in this person one of my dearest remaining sincere friends. 5th November, 1679. I was invited to dine at my Lord Teviotdale's, a Scotch Earl, a learned and knowing nobleman. We afterward went to see Mr. Montague's new palace near Bloomsbury, built by our curator, Mr. Hooke, somewhat after the French; it was most nobly furnished, and a fine, but too much exposed garden.[42] [Footnote 42: Now the British Museum.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th November, 1679. Dined at the Countess of Sunderland's, and was this evening at the remarriage of the Duchess of Grafton to the Duke (his Majesty's natural son), she being now twelve years old. The ceremony was performed in my Lord Chamberlain's (her father's) lodgings at Whitehall by the Bishop of Rochester, his Majesty being present. A sudden and unexpected thing, when everybody believed the first marriage would have come to nothing; but, the measure being determined, I was privately invited by my Lady, her mother, to be present. I confess I could give her little joy, and so I plainly told her, but she said the King would have it so, and there was no going back. This sweetest, most hopeful, most beautiful, child, and most virtuous, too, was sacrificed to a boy that had been rudely bred, without anything to encourage them but his Majesty's pleasure. I pray God the sweet child find it to her advantage, who, if my augury deceive me not, will in a few years be such a paragon as were fit to make the wife of the greatest Prince in Europe! I staid supper, where his Majesty sat between the Duchess of Cleveland (the mother of the Duke of Grafton) and the sweet Duchess the bride; there were several great persons and ladies, without pomp. My love to my Lord Arlington's family, and the sweet child made me behold all this with regret, though as the Duke of Grafton affects the sea, to which I find his father intends to use him, he may emerge a plain, useful and robust officer: and were he polished, a tolerable person; for he is exceedingly handsome, by far surpassing any of the King's other natural issue. 8th November, 1679. At Sir Stephen Fox's, and was agreeing for the Countess of Bristol's house at Chelsea, within £500. 18th November, 1679. I dined at my Lord Mayor's, being desired by the Countess of Sunderland to carry her thither on a solemn day, that she might see the pomp and ceremony of this Prince of Citizens, there never having been any, who for the stateliness of his palace, prodigious feasting, and magnificence, exceeded him. This Lord Mayor's acquaintance had been from the time of his being apprentice to one Mr. Abbot, his uncle, who being a scrivener, and an honest worthy man, one who was condemned to die at the beginning of the troubles forty years past, as concerned in the commission of array for King Charles I. had escaped with his life; I often used his assistance in money matters. Robert Clayton, then a boy, his nephew, became, after his uncle Abbot's death, so prodigiously rich and opulent, that he was reckoned one of the wealthiest citizens. He married a free-hearted woman, who became his hospitable disposition; and having no children, with the accession of his partner and fellow apprentice, who also left him his estate, he grew excessively rich. He was a discreet magistrate, and though envied, I think without much cause. Some believed him guilty of hard dealing, especially with the Duke of Buckingham, much of whose estate he had swallowed, but I never saw any ill by him, considering the trade he was of. The reputation and known integrity of his uncle, Abbot, brought all the royal party to him, by which he got not only great credit, but vast wealth, so as he passed this office with infinite magnificence and honor. 20th November, 1679. I dined with Mr. Slingsby, Master of the Mint, with my wife, invited to hear music, which was exquisitely performed by four of the most renowned masters: Du Prue, a Frenchman, on the lute; Signor Bartholomeo, an Italian, on the harpsichord; Nicholao on the violin; but, above all, for its sweetness and novelty, the _viol d'amore_ of five wire strings played on with a bow, being but an ordinary violin, played on lyre-way, by a German. There was also a _flute douce_, now in much request for accompanying the voice. Mr. Slingsby, whose son and daughter played skillfully, had these meetings frequently in his house. 21st November, 1679. I dined at my Lord Mayor's, to accompany my worthiest and generous friend, the Earl of Ossory; it was on a Friday, a private day, but the feast and entertainment might have become a King. Such an hospitable costume and splendid magistrature does no city in the world show, as I believe. 23d November, 1679. Dr. Allestree preached before the household on St. Luke xi. 2; Dr. Lloyd on Matt. xxiii. 20, before the King, showing with how little reason the Papists applied those words of our blessed Savior to maintain the pretended infallibility they boast of. I never heard a more Christian and excellent discourse; yet were some offended that he seemed to say the Church of Rome was a true church; but it was a captious mistake; for he never affirmed anything that could be more to their reproach, and that such was the present Church of Rome, showing how much it had erred. There was not in this sermon so much as a shadow for censure, no person of all the clergy having testified greater zeal against the errors of the Papists than this pious and most learned person. I dined at the Bishop of Rochester's, and then went to St. Paul's to hear that great wit, Dr. Sprat, now newly succeeding Dr. Outram, in the cure of St. Margaret's. His talent was a great memory, never making use of notes, a readiness of expression in a most pure and plain style of words, full of matter, easily delivered. 26th November, 1679. I met the Earl of Clarendon with the rest of my fellow executors of the Will of my late Lady Viscountess Mordaunt, namely, Mr. Laurence Hyde, one of the Commissioners of the Treasury, and lately Plenipotentiary-Ambassador at Nimeguen; Andrew Newport; and Sir Charles Wheeler; to examine and audit and dispose of this year's account of the estate of this excellent Lady, according to the direction of her Will. 27th November, 1679. I went to see Sir John Stonehouse, with whom I was treating a marriage between my son and his daughter-in-law. 28th November, 1679. Came over the Duke of Monmouth from Holland unexpectedly to his Majesty; while the Duke of York was on his journey to Scotland, whither the King sent him to reside and govern. The bells and bonfires of the city at this arrival of the Duke of Monmouth publishing their joy, to the no small regret of some at Court. This Duke, whom for distinction they called the Protestant Duke (though the son of an abandoned woman), the people made their idol. [Sidenote: LONDON] 4th December, 1679. I dined, together with Lord Ossory and the Earl of Chesterfield, at the Portugal Ambassador's, now newly come, at Cleveland House, a noble palace, too good for that infamous.... The staircase is sumptuous, and the gallery and garden; but, above all, the costly furniture belonging to the Ambassador, especially the rich Japan cabinets, of which I think there were a dozen. There was a billiard table, with as many more hazards as ours commonly have; the game being only to prosecute the ball till hazarded, without passing the port, or touching the pin; if one miss hitting the ball every time, the game is lost, or if hazarded. It is more difficult to hazard a ball, though so many, than in our table, by reason the bound is made so exactly even, and the edges not stuffed; the balls are also bigger, and they for the most part use the sharp and small end of the billiard stick, which is shod with brass, or silver. The entertainment was exceedingly civil; but, besides a good olio, the dishes were trifling, hashed and condited after their way, not at all fit for an English stomach, which is for solid meat. There was yet good fowls, but roasted to coal, nor were the sweetmeats good. 30th December, 1679. I went to meet Sir John Stonehouse, and give him a particular of the settlement on my son, who now made his addresses to the young lady his daughter-in-law, daughter of Lady Stonehouse. 25th January, 1679-80. Dr. Cave, author of "Primitive Christianity," etc., a pious and learned man, preached at Whitehall to the household, on James iii. 17, concerning the duty of grace and charity. 30th January, 1680. I supped with Sir Stephen Fox, now made one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury. 19th February, 1680. The writings for the settling jointure and other contracts of marriage of my son were finished and sealed. The lady was to bring £5,000, in consideration of a settlement of £500 a year present maintenance, which was likewise to be her jointure, and £500 a year after mine and my wife's decease. But, with God's blessing, it will be at the least £1,000 a year more in a few years. I pray God make him worthy of it, and a comfort to his excellent mother, who deserves much from him! 21st February, 1680. SHROVE-TUESDAY. My son was married to Mrs. Martha Spencer, daughter to my Lady Stonehouse by a former gentleman, at St. Andrew's, Holborn, by our Vicar, borrowing the church of Dr. Stillingfleet, Dean of St. Paul's, the present incumbent. We afterward dined at a house in Holborn; and, after the solemnity and dancing was done, they were bedded at Sir John Stonehouse's lodgings in Bow Street, Convent Garden. 26th February, 1680. To the Royal Society, where I met an Irish Bishop with his Lady, who was daughter to my worthy and pious friend, Dr. Jeremy Taylor, late Bishop of Down and Connor; they came to see the Repository. She seemed to be a knowing woman, beyond the ordinary talent of her sex. 3d March, 1680. I dined at my Lord Mayor's, in order to the meeting of my Lady Beckford, whose daughter (a rich heiress) I had recommended to my brother of Wotton for his only son, she being the daughter of the lady by Mr. Eversfield, a Sussex gentleman. 16th March, 1680. To London, to receive £3,000 of my daughter-in-law's portion, which was paid in gold. 26th March, 1680. The Dean of Sarum preached on Jerem. xlv. 5, an hour and a half from his common-place book, of kings and great men retiring to private situations. Scarce anything of Scripture in it. [Sidenote: CASHIOBURY] 18th April, 1680. On the earnest invitation of the Earl of Essex, I went with him to his house at Cashiobury, in Hertfordshire. It was on Sunday, but going early from his house in the square of St. James, we arrived by ten o'clock; this he thought too late to go to church, and we had prayers in his chapel. The house is new, a plain fabric, built by my friend, Mr. Hugh May. There are divers fair and good rooms, and excellent carving by Gibbons, especially the chimney-piece of the library. There is in the porch, or entrance, a painting by Verrio, of Apollo and the Liberal Arts. One room pargeted with yew, which I liked well. Some of the chimney mantels are of Irish marble, brought by my Lord from Ireland, when he was Lord-Lieutenant, and not much inferior to Italian. The tympanum, or gable, at the front is a bass-relievo of Diana hunting, cut in Portland stone, handsomely enough. I do not approve of the middle doors being round: but, when the hall is finished as designed, it being an oval with a cupola, together with the other wing, it will be a very noble palace. The library is large, and very nobly furnished, and all the books are richly bound and gilded; but there are no MSS., except the Parliament Rolls and Journals, the transcribing and binding of which cost him, as he assured me, £500. No man has been more industrious than this noble Lord in planting about his seat, adorned with walks, ponds, and other rural elegancies; but the soil is stony, churlish, and uneven, nor is the water near enough to the house, though a very swift and clear stream runs within a flight-shot from it in the valley, which may fitly be called Coldbrook, it being indeed excessively cold, yet producing fair trouts. It is a pity the house was not situated to more advantage: but it seems it was built just where the old one was, which I believe he only meant to repair; this leads men into irremediable errors, and saves but a little. The land about is exceedingly addicted to wood, but the coldness of the place hinders the growth. Black cherry trees prosper even to considerable timber, some being eighty feet long; they make also very handsome avenues. There is a pretty oval at the end of a fair walk, set about with treble rows of Spanish chestnut trees. The gardens are very rare, and cannot be otherwise, having so skillful an artist to govern them as Mr. Cooke, who is, as to the mechanic part, not ignorant in mathematics, and pretends to astrology. There is an excellent collection of the choicest fruit. As for my Lord, he is a sober, wise, judicious, and pondering person, not illiterate beyond the rate of most noblemen in this age, very well versed in English history and affairs, industrious, frugal, methodical, and every way accomplished. His Lady (being sister of the late Earl of Northumberland) is a wise, yet somewhat melancholy woman, setting her heart too much on the little lady, her daughter, of whom she is over fond. They have a hopeful son at the Academy. My Lord was not long since come from his Lord-Lieutenancy of Ireland, where he showed his abilities in administration and government, as well as prudence in considerably augmenting his estate without reproach. He had been Ambassador-extraordinary in Denmark, and, in a word, such a person as became the son of that worthy hero his father to be, the late Lord Capel, who lost his life for King Charles I. We spent our time in the mornings in walking, or riding, and contriving [alterations], and the afternoons in the library, so as I passed my time for three or four days with much satisfaction. He was pleased in conversation to impart to me divers particulars of state, relating to the present times. He being no great friend to the D---- was now laid aside, his integrity and abilities being not so suitable in this conjuncture. 21st. I returned to London. 30th April, 1680. To a meeting of the executors of late Viscountess Mordaunt's estate, to consider of the sale of Parson's Green, being in treaty with Mr. Loftus, and to settle the half year's account. 1st May, 1680. Was a meeting of the feoffees of the poor of our parish. This year I would stand one of the collectors of their rents, to give example to others. My son was added to the feoffees. This afternoon came to visit me Sir Edward Deering, of Surrendon, in Kent, one of the Lords of the Treasury, with his daughter, married to my worthy friend, Sir Robert Southwell, Clerk of the Council, now Extraordinary-Envoy to the Duke of Brandenburgh, and other Princes in Germany, as before he had been in Portugal, being a sober, wise, and virtuous gentleman. 13th May, 1680. I was at the funeral of old Mr. Shish, master-shipwright of his Majesty's Yard here, an honest and remarkable man, and his death a public loss, for his excellent success in building ships (though altogether illiterate), and for breeding up so many of his children to be able artists. I held up the pall with three knights, who did him that honor, and he was worthy of it. It was the custom of this good man to rise in the night, and to pray, kneeling in his own coffin, which he had lying by him for many years. He was born that famous year, the Gunpowder-plot, 1605. 14th June, 1680. Came to dine with us the Countess of Clarendon, Dr. Lloyd, Dean of Bangor (since Bishop of St. Asaph), Dr. Burnet, author of the "History of the Reformation," and my old friend, Mr. Henshaw. After dinner we all went to see the Observatory, and Mr. Flamsted, who showed us divers rare instruments, especially the great quadrant. [Sidenote: WINDSOR] 24th July, 1680. Went with my wife and daughter to Windsor, to see that stately court, now near finished. There was erected in the court the King on horseback, lately cast in copper, and set on a rich pedestal of white marble, the work of Mr. Gibbons, at the expense of Toby Rustate, a page of the back stairs, who by his wonderful frugality had arrived to a great estate in money, and did many works of charity, as well as this of gratitude to his master, which cost him £1,000. He is very simple, ignorant, but honest and loyal creature. We all dined at the Countess of Sunderland's, afterward to see Signor Verrio's garden, thence to Eton College, to salute the provost, and heard a Latin speech of one of the alumni (it being at the election) and were invited to supper; but took our leave, and got to London that night in good time. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th July, 1680. My most noble and illustrious friend, the Earl of Ossory, espying me this morning after sermon in the privy gallery, calling to me, told me he was now going his journey (meaning to Tangier, whither he was designed Governor, and General of the forces, to regain the losses we had lately sustained from the Moors, when Inchiquin was Governor). I asked if he would not call at my house (as he always did whenever he went out of England on any exploit). He said he must embark at Portsmouth, "wherefore let you and me dine together to-day; I am quite alone, and have something to impart to you; I am not well, shall be private, and desire your company." Being retired to his lodgings, and set down on a couch, he sent to his secretary for the copy of a letter which he had written to Lord Sunderland (Secretary of State), wishing me to read it; it was to take notice how ill he resented it, that he should tell the King before Lord Ossory's face, that Tangier was not to be kept, but would certainly be lost, and yet added that it was fit Lord Ossory should be sent, that they might give some account of it to the world, meaning (as supposed) the next Parliament, when all such miscarriages would probably be examined; this Lord Ossory took very ill of Lord Sunderland, and not kindly of the King, who resolving to send him with an incompetent force, seemed, as his Lordship took it, to be willing to cast him away, not only on a hazardous adventure, but in most men's opinion, an impossibility, seeing there was not to be above 300 or 400 horse, and 4,000 foot for the garrison and all, both to defend the town, form a camp, repulse the enemy, and fortify what ground they should get in. This touched my Lord deeply, that he should be so little considered as to put him on a business in which he should probably not only lose his reputation, but be charged with all the miscarriage and ill success; whereas, at first they promised 6,000 foot and 600 horse effective. My Lord, being an exceedingly brave and valiant person, and who had so approved himself in divers signal battles, both at sea and land; so beloved and so esteemed by the people, as one they depended on, upon all occasions worthy of such a captain;--he looked on this as too great an indifference in his Majesty, after all his services, and the merits of his father, the Duke of Ormond, and a design of some who envied his virtue. It certainly took so deep root in his mind, that he who was the most void of fear in the world (and assured me he would go to Tangier with ten men if his Majesty commanded him) could not bear up against this unkindness. Having disburdened himself of this to me after dinner, he went with his Majesty to the sheriffs at a great supper in Fishmongers' Hall; but finding himself ill, took his leave immediately of his Majesty, and came back to his lodging. Not resting well this night, he was persuaded to remove to Arlington House, for better accommodation. His disorder turned to a malignant fever, which increasing, after all that six of the most able physicians could do, he became delirious, with intervals of sense, during which Dr. Lloyd (after Bishop of St. Asaph) administered the Holy Sacrament, of which I also participated. He died the Friday following, the 30th of July, to the universal grief of all that knew or heard of his great worth, nor had any a greater loss than myself. Oft would he say I was the oldest acquaintance he had in England (when his father was in Ireland), it being now of about thirty years, contracted abroad, when he rode in the Academy in Paris, and when we were seldom asunder. His Majesty never lost a worthier subject, nor father a better or more dutiful son; a loving, generous, good-natured, and perfectly obliging friend; one who had done innumerable kindnesses to several before they knew it; nor did he ever advance any that were not worthy; no one more brave, more modest; none more humble, sober, and every way virtuous. Unhappy England in this illustrious person's loss! Universal was the mourning for him, and the eulogies on him; I stayed night and day by his bedside to his last gasp, to close his dear eyes! O sad father, mother, wife, and children! What shall I add? He deserved all that a sincere friend, a brave soldier, a virtuous courtier, a loyal subject, an honest man, a bountiful master, and good Christian, could deserve of his prince and country. One thing more let me note, that he often expressed to me the abhorrence he had of that base and unworthy action which he was put upon, of engaging the Smyrna fleet in time of peace, in which though he behaved himself like a great captain, yet he told me it was the only blot in his life, and troubled him exceedingly. Though he was commanded, and never examined further when he was so, yet he always spoke of it with regret and detestation. The Countess was at the seat of her daughter, the Countess of Derby, about 200 miles off. 30th August, 1680. I went to visit a French gentleman, one Monsieur Chardin, who having been thrice in the East Indies, Persia, and other remote countries, came hither in our return ships from those parts, and it being reported that he was a very curious and knowing man, I was desired by the Royal Society to salute him in their name, and to invite him to honor them with his company. Sir Joseph Hoskins and Sir Christopher Wren accompanied me. We found him at his lodgings in his eastern habit, a very handsome person, extremely affable, a modest, well-bred man, not inclined to talk wonders. He spoke Latin, and understood Greek, Arabic, and Persian, from eleven years' travels in those parts, whither he went in search of jewels, and was become very rich. He seemed about 36 years of age. After the usual civilities, we asked some account of the extraordinary things he must have seen in traveling over land to those places where few, if any, northern Europeans used to go, as the Black and Caspian Sea, Mingrelia, Bagdad, Nineveh, Persepolis, etc. He told us that the things most worthy of our sight would be, the draughts he had caused to be made of some noble ruins, etc.; for that, besides his own little talent that way, he had carried two good painters with him, to draw landscapes, measure and design the remains of the palace which Alexander burned in his frolic at Persepolis, with divers temples, columns, relievos, and statues, yet extant, which he affirmed to be sculpture far exceeding anything he had observed either at Rome, in Greece, or in any other part of the world where magnificence was in estimation. He said there was an inscription in letters not intelligible, though entire. He was sorry he could not gratify the curiosity of the Society at present, his things not being yet out of the ship; but would wait on them with them on his return from Paris, whither he was going the next day, but with intention to return suddenly, and stay longer here, the persecution in France not suffering Protestants, and he was one, to be quiet. He told us that Nineveh was a vast city, now all buried in her ruins, the inhabitants building on the subterranean vaults, which were, as appeared, the first stories of the old city, that there were frequently found huge vases of fine earth, columns, and other antiquities; that the straw which the Egyptians required of the Israelites, was not to burn, or cover the rows of bricks as we use, but being chopped small to mingle with the clay, which being dried in the sun (for they bake not in the furnace) would else cleave asunder; that in Persia are yet a race of Ignicolæ, who worship the sun and the fire as Gods; that the women of Georgia and Mingrelia were universally, and without any compare, the most beautiful creatures for shape, features, and figure, in the world, and therefore the Grand Seignor and Bashaws had had from thence most of their wives and concubines; that there had within these hundred years been Amazons among them, that is to say, a sort or race of valiant women, given to war; that Persia was extremely fertile; he spoke also of Japan and China, and of the many great errors of our late geographers, as we suggested matter for discourse. We then took our leave, failing of seeing his papers; but it was told us by others that indeed he dared not open, or show them, till he had first showed them to the French King; but of this he himself said nothing. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d September, 1680. I had an opportunity, his Majesty being still at Windsor, of seeing his private library at Whitehall, at my full ease. I went with expectation of finding some curiosities, but, though there were about 1,000 volumes, there were few of importance which I had not perused before. They consisted chiefly of such books as had from time to time been dedicated, or presented to him; a few histories, some Travels and French books, abundance of maps and sea charts, entertainments and pomps, buildings and pieces relating to the navy, some mathematical instruments; but what was most rare, were three or four Romish breviaries, with a great deal of miniature and monkish painting and gilding, one of which is most exquisitely done, both as to the figures, grotesques, and compartments, to the utmost of that curious art. There is another in which I find written by the hand of King Henry VII., his giving it to his dear daughter, Margaret, afterward Queen of Scots, in which he desires her to pray for his soul, subscribing his name at length. There is also the process of the philosophers' great elixir, represented in divers pieces of excellent miniature, but the discourse is in high Dutch, a MS. There is another MS. in quarto, of above 300 years old, in French, being an institution of physic, and in the botanical part the plants are curiously painted in miniature; also a folio MS. of good thickness, being the several exercises, as Themes, Orations, Translations, etc., of King Edward VI., all written and subscribed by his own hand, and with his name very legible, and divers of the Greek interleaved and corrected after the manner of schoolboys' exercises, and that exceedingly well and proper; with some epistles to his preceptor, which show that young prince to have been extraordinarily advanced in learning, and as Cardan, who had been in England affirmed, stupendously knowing for his age. There is likewise his journal, no less testifying his early ripeness and care about the affairs of state. There are besides many pompous volumes, some embossed with gold, and intaglios on agates, medals, etc. I spent three or four entire days, locked up, and alone, among these books and curiosities. In the rest of the private lodgings contiguous to this, are divers of the best pictures of the great masters, Raphael, Titian, etc., and in my esteem, above all, the "_Noli me tangere_" of our blessed Savior to Mary Magdalen after his Resurrection, of Hans Holbein; than which I never saw so much reverence and kind of heavenly astonishment expressed in a picture. There are also divers curious clocks, watches, and pendules of exquisite work, and other curiosities. An ancient woman who made these lodgings clean, and had all the keys, let me in at pleasure for a small reward, by means of a friend. 6th September, 1680. I dined with Sir Stephen Fox, now one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury. This gentleman came first a poor boy from the choir of Salisbury, then he was taken notice of by Bishop Duppa, and afterward waited on my Lord Percy (brother to Algernon, Earl of Northumberland), who procured for him an inferior place among the clerks of the kitchen and Greencloth side, where he was found so humble, diligent, industrious, and prudent in his behavior, that his Majesty being in exile, and Mr. Fox waiting, both the King and Lords about him frequently employed him about their affairs, and trusted him both with receiving and paying the little money they had. Returning with his Majesty to England, after great want and great sufferings, his Majesty found him so honest and industrious, and withal so capable and ready, that, being advanced from clerk of the kitchen to that of the Greencloth, he procured to be paymaster of the whole army, and by his dexterity and punctual dealing he obtained such credit among the bankers, that he was in a short time able to borrow vast sums of them upon any exigence. The continual turning thus of money, and the soldiers' moderate allowance to him for keeping touch with them, did so enrich him, that he is believed to be worth at least £200,000, honestly got and unenvied; which is next to a miracle. With all this he continues as humble and ready to do a courtesy as ever he was. He is generous, and lives very honorably, of a sweet nature, well-spoken, well-bred, and is so highly in his Majesty's esteem, and so useful, that being long since made a knight, he is also advanced to be one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury, and has the reversion of the Cofferer's place after Harry Brouncker. He has married his eldest daughter to my Lord Cornwallis, and gave her £12,000, and restored that entangled family besides. He matched his son to Mrs. Trollop, who brings with her (besides a great sum) near, if not altogether, £2,000 per annum. Sir Stephen's lady (an excellent woman) is sister to Mr. Whittle, one of the King's chirurgeons. In a word, never was man more fortunate than Sir Stephen; he is a handsome person, virtuous, and very religious. 23d September, 1680. Came to my house some German strangers and Signor Pietro, a famous musician, who had been long in Sweden in Queen Christina's Court; he sung admirably to a guitar, and had a perfect good tenor and bass, and had set to Italian composure many of Abraham Cowley's pieces which showed extremely well. He told me that in Sweden the heat in some part of summer was as excessive as the cold in winter; so cold, he affirmed, that the streets of all the towns are desolate, no creatures stirring in them for many months, all the inhabitants retiring to their stoves. He spoke high things of that romantic Queen's learning and skill in languages, the majesty of her behavior, her exceeding wit, and that the histories she had read of other countries, especially of Italy and Rome, had made her despise her own. That the real occasion of her resigning her crown was the nobleman's importuning her to marry, and the promise which the Pope had made her of procuring her to be Queen of Naples, which also caused her to change her religion; but she was cheated by his crafty Holiness,[43] working on her ambition; that the reason of her killing her secretary at Fontainebleau, was, his revealing that intrigue with the Pope. But, after all this, I rather believe it was her mad prodigality and extreme vanity, which had consumed those vast treasures the great Adolphus, her father, had brought out of Germany during his [campaigns] there and wonderful successes; and that, if she had not voluntarily resigned, as foreseeing the event, the Estates of her kingdom would have compelled her to do so. [Footnote 43: Pope Alexander VII., of the family of Chighi, at Sienna.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 30th October, 1680. I went to London to be private, my birthday being the next day, and I now arrived at my sixtieth year; on which I began a more solemn survey of my whole life, in order to the making and confirming my peace with God, by an accurate scrutiny of all my actions past, as far as I was able to call them to mind. How difficult and uncertain, yet how necessary a work! The Lord be merciful to me, and accept me! Who can tell how oft he offendeth? Teach me, therefore, so to number my days, that I may apply my heart unto wisdom, and make my calling and election sure. Amen, Lord Jesus! 31st October, 1680. I spent this whole day in exercises. A stranger preached at Whitehall[44] on Luke xvi. 30, 31. I then went to St. Martin's, where the Bishop of St. Asaph preached on 1 Peter iii. 15; the Holy Communion followed, at which I participated, humbly imploring God's assistance in the great work I was entering into. In the afternoon, I heard Dr. Sprat, at St. Margaret's, on Acts xvii. 11. [Footnote 44: Probably to the King's household, very early in the morning, as the custom was.] I began and spent the whole week in examining my life, begging pardon for my faults, assistance and blessing for the future, that I might, in some sort, be prepared for the time that now drew near, and not have the great work to begin, when one can work no longer. The Lord Jesus help and assist me! I therefore stirred little abroad till the 5th of November, when I heard Dr. Tenison, the now vicar of St. Martin's; Dr. Lloyd, the former incumbent, being made Bishop of St. Asaph. 7th November, 1680. I participated of the blessed Communion, finishing and confirming my resolutions of giving myself up more entirely to God, to whom I had now most solemnly devoted the rest of the poor remainder of life in this world; the Lord enabling me, who am an unprofitable servant, a miserable sinner, yet depending on his infinite goodness and mercy accepting my endeavors. 15th November, 1680. Came to dine with us Sir Richard Anderson, his lady, son and wife, sister to my daughter-in-law. [Sidenote: LONDON] 30th November, 1680. The anniversary election at the Royal Society brought me to London, where was chosen President that excellent person and great philosopher, Mr. Robert Boyle, who indeed ought to have been the very first; but neither his infirmity nor his modesty could now any longer excuse him. I desired I might for this year be left out of the Council, by reason my dwelling was in the country. The Society according to custom dined together. The signal day begun the trial (at which I was present) of my Lord Viscount Stafford, (for conspiring the death of the King), second son to my Lord Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel and Surrey, Earl Marshal of England, and grandfather to the present Duke of Norfolk, whom I so well knew, and from which excellent person I received so many favors. It was likewise his birthday, The trial was in Westminster Hall, before the King, Lords, and Commons, just in the same manner as, forty years past, the great and wise Earl of Strafford (there being but one letter differing their names) received his trial for pretended ill government in Ireland, in the very same place, this Lord Stafford's father being then High Steward. The place of sitting was now exalted some considerable height from the paved floor of the hall, with a stage of boards. The throne, woolsacks for the Judges, long forms for the Peers, chair for the Lord Steward, exactly ranged, as in the House of Lords. The sides on both hands scaffolded to the very roof for the members of the House of Commons. At the upper end, and on the right side of the King's state, was a box for his Majesty, and on the left others for the great ladies, and over head a gallery for ambassadors and public ministers. At the lower end, or entrance, was a bar, and place for the prisoner, the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, the ax-bearer and guards, my Lord Stafford's two daughters, the Marchioness of Winchester being one; there was likewise a box for my Lord to retire into. At the right hand, in another box, somewhat higher, stood the witnesses; at the left, the managers, in the name of the Commons of England, namely, Serjeant Maynard (the great lawyer, the same who prosecuted the cause against the Earl of Strafford forty years before, being now near eighty years of age), Sir William Jones, late Attorney-General, Sir Francis Winnington, a famous pleader, and Mr. Treby, now Recorder of London, not appearing in their gowns as lawyers, but in their cloaks and swords, as representing the Commons of England: to these were joined Mr. Hampden, Dr. Sacheverell, Mr. Poule, Colonel Titus, Sir Thomas Lee, all gentlemen of quality, and noted parliamentary men. The first two days, in which were read the commission and impeachment, were but a tedious entrance into matter of fact, at which I was but little present. But, on Thursday, I was commodiously seated among the Commons, when the witnesses were sworn and examined. The principal witnesses were Mr. Oates (who called himself Dr.), Mr. Dugdale, and Turberville. Oates swore that he delivered a commission to Viscount Stafford from the Pope, to be Paymaster-General to an army intended to be raised; Dugdale, that being at Lord Aston's, the prisoner dealt with him plainly to murder his Majesty; and Turberville, that at Paris he also proposed the same to him. 3d December, 1680. The depositions of my Lord's witnesses were taken, to invalidate the King's witnesses; they were very slight persons, but, being fifteen or sixteen, they took up all that day, and in truth they rather did my Lord more injury than service. 4th December, 1680. Came other witnesses of the Commons to corroborate the King's, some being Peers, some Commons, with others of good quality, who took off all the former day's objections, and set the King's witnesses _recti in curiâ_. 6th December, 1680. Sir William Jones summed up the evidence; to him succeeded all the rest of the managers, and then Mr. Henry Poule made a vehement oration. After this my Lord, as on all occasions, and often during the trial, spoke in his own defense, denying the charge altogether, and that he had never seen Oates, or Turberville, at the time and manner affirmed: in truth, their testimony did little weigh with me; Dugdale's only seemed to press hardest, to which my Lord spoke a great while, but confusedly, without any method. One thing my Lord said as to Oates, which I confess did exceedingly affect me: That a person who during his depositions should so vauntingly brag that though he went over to the Church of Rome, yet he was never a Papist, nor of their religion, all the time that he seemed to apostatize from the Protestant, but only as a spy; though he confessed he took their sacrament; worshiped images, went through all their oaths and discipline of their proselytes, swearing secrecy and to be faithful, but with intent to come over again and betray them; that such a hypocrite, that had so deeply prevaricated as even to turn idolater (for so we of the Church of England termed it), attesting God so solemnly that he was entirely theirs and devoted to their interest, and consequently (as he pretended) trusted; I say, that the witness of such a profligate wretch should be admitted against the life of a peer,--this my Lord looked upon as a monstrous thing, and such as must needs redound to the dishonor of our religion and nation. And verily I am of his Lordship's opinion: such a man's testimony should not be taken against the life of a dog. But the merit of something material which he discovered against Coleman, put him in such esteem with the Parliament, that now, I fancy, he stuck at nothing, and thought everybody was to take what he said for Gospel. The consideration of this, and some other circumstances, began to stagger me; particularly how it was possible that one who went among the Papists on such a design, and pretended to be intrusted with so many letters and commissions from the Pope and the party,--nay, and delivered them to so many great persons,--should not reserve one of them to show, nor so much as one copy of any commission, which he who had such dexterity in opening letters might certainly have done, to the undeniable conviction of those whom he accused; but, as I said, he gained credit on Coleman. But, as to others whom he so madly flew upon, I am little inclined to believe his testimony, he being so slight a person, so passionate, ill bred, and of such impudent behavior; nor is it likely that such piercing politicians as the Jesuits should trust him with so high and so dangerous secrets. 7th December, 1680. On Tuesday, I was again at the trial, when judgment was demanded; and, after my Lord had spoken what he could in denying the fact, the managers answering the objections, the Peers adjourned to their House, and within two hours returned again. There was, in the meantime, this question put to the judges, "whether there being but one witness to any single crime, or act, it could amount to convict a man of treason." They gave an unanimous opinion that in case of treason they all were overt acts for though no man should be condemned by one witness for any one act, yet for several acts to the same intent, it was valid; which was my Lord's case. This being past, and the Peers in their seats again, the Lord Chancellor Finch (this day the Lord High-Steward) removing to the woolsack next his Majesty's state, after summoning the Lieutenant of the Tower to bring forth his prisoner, and proclamation made for silence, demanded of every Peer (who were in all eighty-six) whether William, Lord Viscount Stafford, were guilty of the treason laid to his charge, or not guilty. Then the Peer spoken to, standing up, and laying his right hand upon his breast, said guilty, or not guilty, upon my honor, and then sat down, the Lord Steward noting their suffrages as they answered upon a paper: when all had done, the number of not guilty being but 31, the guilty 55; and then, after proclamation for silence again, the Lord Steward directing his speech to the prisoner, against whom the ax was turned edgeways and not before, in aggravation of his crime, he being ennobled by the King's father, and since received many favors from his present Majesty: after enlarging on his offense, deploring first his own unhappiness that he who had never condemned any man before should now be necessitated to begin with him, he then pronounced sentence of death by hanging, drawing, and quartering, according to form, with great solemnity and dreadful gravity; and, after a short pause, told the prisoner that he believed the Lords would intercede for the omission of some circumstances of his sentence, beheading only excepted; and then breaking his white staff, the Court was dissolved. My Lord Stafford during all this latter part spoke but little, and only gave their Lordships thanks after the sentence was pronounced; and indeed behaved himself modestly, and as became him. It was observed that all his own relations of his name and family condemned him, except his nephew, the Earl of Arundel, son to the Duke of Norfolk. And it must be acknowledged that the whole trial was carried on with exceeding gravity: so stately and august an appearance I had never seen before; for, besides the innumerable spectators of gentlemen and foreign ministers, who saw and heard all the proceedings, the prisoner had the consciences of all the Commons of England for his accusers, and all the Peers to be his judges and jury. He had likewise the assistance of what counsel he would, to direct him in his plea, who stood by him. And yet I can hardly think that a person of his age and experience should engage men whom he never saw before (and one of them that came to visit him as a stranger at Paris) POINT BLANK to murder the King: God only, who searches hearts, can discover the truth. Lord Stafford was not a man beloved especially of his own family. 12th December, 1680. This evening, looking out of my chamber window toward the west, I saw a meteor of an obscure bright color, very much in shape like the blade of a sword, the rest of the sky very serene and clear. What this may portend, God only knows; but such another phenomenon I remember to have seen in 1640, about the trial of the great Earl of Strafford, preceding our bloody Rebellion. I pray God avert his judgments! We have had of late several comets, which though I believe appear from natural causes, and of themselves operate not, yet I cannot despise them. They may be warnings from God, as they commonly are forerunners of his animadversions. After many days and nights of snow, cloudy and dark weather, the comet was very much wasted. 17th December, 1680. My daughter-in-law was brought to bed of a son, christened Richard. 22d December, 1680. A solemn public Fast that God would prevent all Popish plots, avert his judgments, and give a blessing to the proceedings of Parliament now assembled, and which struck at the succession of the Duke of York. 29th December, 1680. The Viscount Stafford was beheaded on Towerhill. 10th February, 1680-81. I was at the wedding of my nephew, John Evelyn of Wotton, married by the Bishop of Rochester at Westminster, in Henry VII.'s chapel, to the daughter and heir of Mr. Eversfield, of Sussex, her portion £8,000. The solemnity was kept with a few friends only at Lady Beckford's, the lady's mother. 8th March, 1681. Visited and dined at the Earl of Essex's, with whom I spent most of the afternoon alone. Thence to my (yet living) godmother and kinswoman, Mrs. Keightley, sister to Sir Thomas Evelyn and niece to my father, being now eighty-six years of age, sprightly, and in perfect health, her eyes serving her as well as ever, and of a comely countenance, that one would not suppose her above fifty. 27th March, 1681. The Parliament now convened at Oxford. Great expectation of his Royal Highness's case as to the succession, against which the House was set. An extraordinary sharp, cold spring, not yet a leaf on the trees, frost and snow lying: while the whole nation was in the greatest ferment. 11th April, 1681. I took my leave of Dr. Lloyd (Bishop of St. Asaph) at his house in Leicester Fields, now going to reside in his diocese. 12th April, 1681. I dined at Mr. Brisbane's, Secretary to the Admiralty, a learned and industrious person, whither came Dr. Burnet, to thank me for some papers I had contributed toward his excellent "History of the Reformation." [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th April, 1681. I dined at Don Pietro Ronquillo's, the Spanish Ambassador, at Wild House, who used me with extraordinary civility. The dinner was plentiful, half after the Spanish, half after the English way. After dinner, he led me into his bedchamber, where we fell into a long discourse concerning religion. Though he was a learned man in politics, and an advocate, he was very ignorant in religion, and unable to defend any point of controversy; he was, however, far from being fierce. At parting, he earnestly wished me to apply humbly to the blessed virgin to direct me, assuring me that he had known divers who had been averse from the Roman Catholic religion, wonderfully enlightened and convinced by her intercession. He importuned me to come and visit him often. 29th April, 1681. But one shower of rain all this month. 5th May, 1681. Came to dine with me Sir William Fermor, of Northamptonshire, and Sir Christopher Wren, his Majesty's architect and surveyor, now building the Cathedral of St. Paul, and the column in memory of the city's conflagration, and was in hand with the building of fifty parish churches. A wonderful genius had this incomparable person. 16th May, 1681. Came my Lady Sunderland, to desire that I would propose a match to Sir Stephen Fox for her son, Lord Spencer, to marry Mrs. Jane, Sir Stephen's daughter. I excused myself all I was able; for the truth is, I was afraid he would prove an extravagant man: for, though a youth of extraordinary parts, and had an excellent education to render him a worthy man, yet his early inclinations to extravagance made me apprehensive, that I should not serve Sir Stephen by proposing it, like a friend; this being now his only daughter, well-bred, and likely to receive a large share of her father's opulence. Lord Sunderland was much sunk in his estate by gaming and other prodigalities, and was now no longer Secretary of State, having fallen into displeasure of the King for siding with the Commons about the succession; but which, I am assured, he did not do out of his own inclination, or for the preservation of the Protestant religion, but by mistaking the ability of the party to carry it. However, so earnest and importunate was the Countess, that I did mention it to Sir Stephen, who said it was too great an honor, that his daughter was very young, as well as my Lord, and he was resolved never to marry her without the parties' mutual liking; with other objections which I neither would or could contradict. He desired me to express to the Countess the great sense he had of the honor done him, that his daughter and her son were too young, that he would do nothing without her liking, which he did not think her capable of expressing judiciously, till she was sixteen or seventeen years of age, of which she now wanted four years, and that I would put it off as civilly as I could. 20th May, 1681. Our new curate preached, a pretty hopeful young man, yet somewhat raw, newly come from college, full of Latin sentences, which in time will wear off. He read prayers very well. 25th May, 1681. There came to visit me Sir William Walter and Sir John Elowes: and the next day, the Earl of Kildare, a young gentleman related to my wife, and other company. There had scarce fallen any rain since Christmas. 2d June, 1681. I went to Hampton Court, when the Surrey gentlemen presented their addresses to his Majesty, whose hand I kissed, introduced by the Duke of Albemarle. Being at the Privy Council, I took another occasion of discoursing with Sir Stephen Fox about his daughter and to revive that business, and at least brought it to this: That in case the young people liked one the other, after four years, he first desiring to see a particular of my Lord's present estate if I could transmit it to him privately, he would make her portion £14,000, though to all appearance he might likely make it £50,000 as easily, his eldest son having no child and growing very corpulent. 12th June, 1681. It still continued so great a drought as had never been known in England, and it was said to be universal. 14th August, 1681. No sermon this afternoon, which I think did not happen twice in this parish these thirty years; so gracious has God been to it, and indeed to the whole nation: God grant that we abuse not this great privilege either by our wantonness, schism, or unfaithfulness, under such means as he has not favored any other nation under Heaven besides! [Sidenote: WOTTON] 23d August, 1681. I went to Wotton, and, on the following day, was invited to Mr. Denzil Onslow's at his seat at Purford, where was much company, and such an extraordinary feast, as I had hardly seen at any country gentleman's table. What made it more remarkable was, that there was not anything save what his estate about it did afford; as venison, rabbits, hares, pheasants, partridges, pigeons, quails, poultry, all sorts of fowl in season from his own decoy near his house, and all sorts of fresh fish. After dinner we went to see sport at the decoy, where I never saw so many herons. The seat stands on a flat, the ground pasture, rarely watered, and exceedingly improved since Mr. Onslow bought it of Sir Robert Parkhurst, who spent a fair estate. The house is timber, but commodious, and with one ample dining-room, the hall adorned with paintings of fowl and huntings, etc., the work of Mr. Barlow, who is excellent in this kind from the life. 30th August, 1681. From Wotton I went to see Mr. Hussey (at Sutton in Shere), who has a very pretty seat well watered, near my brother's. He is the neatest husband for curious ordering his domestic and field accommodations, and what pertains to husbandry, that I have ever seen, as to his granaries, tacklings, tools, and utensils, plows, carts, stables, wood piles, wood houses, even to hen roosts and hog troughs. Methought, I saw old Cato, or Varro, in him; all substantial, all in exact order. The sole inconvenience he lies under, is the great quantity of sand which the stream brings along with it, and fills his canals and receptacles for fish too soon. The rest of my time of stay at Wotton was spent in walking about the grounds and goodly woods, where I have in my youth so often entertained my solitude; and so, on the 2d of September, I once more returned to my home. 6th September, 1681. Died my pretty grandchild, and was interred on the 8th [at Deptford]. 14th September, 1681. Dined with Sir Stephen Fox, who proposed to me the purchasing of Chelsea College, which his Majesty had sometime since given to our Society, and would now purchase it again to build a hospital; or infirmary for soldiers there, in which he desired my assistance as one of the Council of the Royal Society. 15th September, 1681. I had another opportunity of visiting his Majesty's private library at Whitehall. To Sir Samuel Morland's, to see his house and mechanics. 17th September, 1681. I went with Monsieur Faubert about taking the Countess of Bristol's house for an academy, he being lately come from Paris for his religion, and resolving to settle here. 23d September, 1681. I went to see Sir Thomas Bond's fine house and garden at Peckham. 2d October, 1681. I went to Camberwell, where that good man Dr. Parr (late chaplain to Archbishop Usher) preached on Acts xvi. 30. 11th October, 1681. To Fulham, to visit the Bishop of London, in whose garden I first saw the _Sedum arborescens_ in flower, which was exceedingly beautiful. 5th November, 1681. Dr. Hooper preached on Mark xii. 16, 17, before the King, of the usurpation of the Church of Rome. This is one of the first rank of pulpit men in the nation. 15th November, 1681. I dined with the Earl of Essex who, after dinner in his study, where we were alone, related to me how much he had been scandalized and injured in the report of his being privy to the marriage of his Lady's niece, the rich young widow of the late Lord Ogle, sole daughter of the Earl of Northumberland; showing me a letter of Mr. Thynn's, excusing himself for not communicating his marriage to his Lordship. He acquainted me also with the whole story of that unfortunate lady being betrayed by her grandmother, the Countess of Northumberland, and Colonel Bret, for money; and that though, upon the importunity of the Duke of Monmouth, he had delivered to the grandmother a particular of the jointure which Mr. Thynn pretended he would settle on the lady, yet he totally discouraged the proceeding as by no means a competent match for one that both by birth and fortune might have pretended to the greatest prince in Christendom; that he also proposed the Earl of Kingston, or the Lord Cranburn, but was by no means for Mr. Thynn. [Sidenote: LONDON] 19th November, 1681. I dined with my worthy friend, Mr. Erskine, Master of the Charter House, uncle to the Duchess of Monmouth; a wise and learned gentleman, fitter to have been a privy councillor and minister of state than to have been laid aside. 24th November, 1681. I was at the audience of the Russian Ambassador before both their Majesties in the Banqueting House. The presents were carried before him, held up by his followers in two ranks before the King's State, and consisted of tapestry (one suite of which was doubtlessly brought from France as being of that fabric, the Ambassador having passed through that kingdom as he came out of Spain), a large Persian carpet, furs of sable and ermine, etc.; but nothing was so splendid and exotic as the Ambassador who came soon after the King's restoration. This present Ambassador was exceedingly offended that his coach was not permitted to come into the Court, till, being told that no King's Ambassador did, he was pacified, yet requiring an attestation of it under the hand of Sir Charles Cotterell, the Master of the Ceremonies; being, it seems, afraid he should offend his Master, if he omitted the least punctilio. It was reported he condemned his son to lose his head for shaving off his beard, and putting himself in the French mode at Paris, and that he would have executed it, had not the French King interceded--but qy. of this. 30th November, 1681. Sir Christopher Wren chosen President [of the Royal Society], Mr. Austine, Secretary, with Dr. Plot, the ingenious author of the "History of Oxfordshire." There was a most illustrious appearance. 11th January, 1681-82. I saw the audience of the Morocco Ambassador, his retinue not numerous. He was received in the Banqueting House, both their Majesties being present. He came up to the throne without making any sort of reverence, not bowing his head, or body. He spoke by a renegado Englishman, for whose safe return there was a promise. They were all clad in the Moorish habit, cassocks of colored cloth, or silk, with buttons and loops, over this an _alhaga_, or white woolen mantle, so large as to wrap both head and body, a sash, or small turban, naked-legged and armed, but with leather socks like the Turks, rich scymetar, and large calico sleeved shirts. The Ambassador had a string of pearls oddly woven in his turban. I fancy the old Roman habit was little different as to the mantle and naked limbs. He was a handsome person, well featured, of a wise look, subtle, and extremely civil. Their presents were lions and ostriches; their errand about a peace at Tangier. But the concourse and tumult of the people was intolerable, so as the officers could keep no order, which these strangers were astonished at first, there being nothing so regular, exact, and performed with such silence, as is on all these public occasions of their country, and indeed over all the Turkish dominions. 14th January, 1682. Dined at the Bishop of Rochester's, at the Abbey, it being his marriage day, after twenty-four years. He related to me how he had been treated by Sir William Temple, foreseeing that he might be a delegate in the concern of my Lady Ogle now likely come in controversy upon her marriage with Mr. Thynn; also how earnestly the late Earl of Danby, Lord Treasurer, sought his friendship, and what plain and sincere advice he gave him from time to time about his miscarriages and partialities; particularly his outing Sir John Duncomb from being Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Sir Stephen Fox, above all, from being Paymaster of the Army. The Treasurer's excuse and reason was, that Fox's credit was so over great with the bankers and monied men, that he could procure none but by his means, "for that reason," replied the Bishop, "I would have made him my friend, Sir Stephen being a person both honest and of credit." He told him likewise of his stateliness and difficulty of access, and several other miscarriages, and which indeed made him hated. 24th January, 1682. To the Royal Society, where at the Council we passed a new law for the more accurate consideration of candidates, as whether they would really be useful; also concerning the honorary members, that none should be admitted but by diploma. [Sidenote: LONDON] This evening I was at the entertainment of the Morocco Ambassador at the Duchess of Portsmouth's glorious apartments at Whitehall, where was a great banquet of sweetmeats and music; but at which both the Ambassador and his retinue behaved themselves with extraordinary moderation and modesty, though placed about a long table, a lady between two Moors, and among these were the King's natural children, namely, Lady Lichfield and Sussex, the Duchess of Portsmouth, Nelly, etc., concubines, and cattle of that sort, as splendid as jewels and excess of bravery could make them; the Moors neither admiring nor seeming to regard anything, furniture or the like, with any earnestness, and but decently tasting of the banquet. They drank a little milk and water, but not a drop of wine; they also drank of a sorbet and jacolatt;[45] did not look about, or stare on the ladies, or express the least surprise, but with a courtly negligence in pace, countenance, and whole behavior, answering only to such questions as were asked with a great deal of wit and gallantry, and so gravely took leave with this compliment, that God would bless the Duchess of Portsmouth and the Prince, her son meaning the little Duke of Richmond. The King came in at the latter end, just as the Ambassador was going away. In this manner was this slave (for he was no more at home) entertained by most of the nobility in town, and went often to Hyde Park on horseback, where he and his retinue showed their extraordinary activity in horsemanship, and flinging and catching their lances at full speed; they rode very short, and could stand upright at full speed, managing their spears with incredible agility. He went sometimes to the theaters, where, upon any foolish or fantastical action, he could not forbear laughing, but he endeavored to hide it with extraordinary modesty and gravity. In a word, the Russian Ambassador, still at Court behaved himself like a clown compared to this civil heathen. [Footnote 45: Sherbet and chocolate.] 27th January, 1682. This evening, Sir Stephen Fox acquainted me again with his Majesty's resolution of proceeding in the erection of a Royal Hospital for emerited soldiers on that spot of ground which the Royal Society had sold to his Majesty for £1,300, and that he would settle £5,000 per annum on it, and build to the value of £20,000 for the relief and reception of four companies, namely, 400 men, to be as in a college, or monastery. I was therefore desired by Sir Stephen (who had not only the whole managing of this, but was, as I perceived, himself to be a grand benefactor, as well it became him who had gotten so vast an estate by the soldiers) to assist him, and consult what method to cast it in, as to the government. So, in his study we arranged the governor, chaplain, steward, housekeeper, chirurgeon, cook, butler, gardener, porter, and other officers, with their several salaries and entertainments. I would needs have a library, and mentioned several books, since some soldiers might possibly be studious, when they were at leisure to recollect. Thus we made the first calculations, and set down our thoughts to be considered and digested better, to show his Majesty and the Archbishop. He also engaged me to consider of what laws and orders were fit for the government, which was to be in every respect as strict as in any religious convent. After supper, came in the famous treble, Mr. Abel, newly returned from Italy; I never heard a more excellent voice; one would have sworn it had been a woman's, it was so high, and so well and skillfully managed, being accompanied by Signor Francesco on the harpsichord. 28th January, 1682. Mr. Pepys, late Secretary to the Admiralty, showed me a large folio containing the whole mechanic part and art of building royal ships and men-of-war, made by Sir Anthony Dean, being so accurate a piece from the very keel to the lead block, rigging, guns, victualing, manning, and even to every individual pin and nail, in a method so astonishing and curious, with a draught, both geometrical and in perspective, and several sections, that I do not think the world can show the like. I esteem this book as an extraordinary jewel. 7th February, 1682. My daughter, Mary, began to learn music of Signor Bartholomeo, and dancing of Monsieur Isaac, reputed the best masters. Having had several violent fits of an ague, recourse was had to bathing my legs in milk up to the knees, made as hot as I could endure it: and sitting so in it in a deep churn, or vessel, covered with blankets, and drinking _carduus_ posset, then going to bed and sweating, I not only missed that expected fit, but had no more, only continued weak, that I could not go to church till Ash Wednesday, which I had not missed, I think, so long in twenty years, so gracious had God been to me. After this warning and admonition, I now began to look over and methodize all my writings, accounts, letters, papers; inventoried the goods, and other articles of the house, and put things into the best order I could, and made my will; that now, growing in years, I might have none of these secular things and concerns to distract me, when it should please Almighty God to call me from this transitory life. With this, I prepared some special meditations and devotions for the time of sickness. The Lord Jesus grant them to be salutary for my poor soul in that day, that I may obtain mercy and acceptance! 1st March, 1682. My second grandchild was born, and christened the next day by our vicar at Sayes Court, by the name of John.[46] I beseech God to bless him! [Footnote 46: Who became his successor, and was created a baronet in 1713.] 2d March, 1682. ASH WEDNESDAY. I went to church: our vicar preached on Proverbs, showing what care and vigilance was required for the keeping of the heart upright. The Holy Communion followed, on which I gave God thanks for his gracious dealing with me in my late sickness, and affording me this blessed opportunity of praising him in the congregation, and receiving the cup of salvation with new and serious resolutions. Came to see and congratulate my recovery, Sir John Lowther, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Pepys, Sir Anthony Deane, and Mr. Hill. 10th March, 1682. This day was executed Colonel Vrats, and some of his accomplices, for the execrable murder of Mr. Thynn, set on by the principal Koningsmark. He went to execution like an undaunted hero, as one that had done a friendly office for that base coward, Count Koningsmark, who had hopes to marry his widow, the rich Lady Ogle, and was acquitted by a corrupt jury, and so got away. Vrats told a friend of mine who accompanied him to the gallows, and gave him some advice that he did not value dying of a rush, and hoped and believed God would deal with him like a gentleman. Never man went, so unconcerned for his sad fate. 24th March, 1682. I went to see the corpse of that obstinate creature, Colonel Vrats, the King permitting that his body should be transported to his own country, he being of a good family, and one of the first embalmed by a particular art, invented by one William Russell, a coffin-maker, which preserved the body without disboweling, or to appearance using any bituminous matter. The flesh was florid, soft, and full, as if the person were only sleeping. He had now been dead near fifteen days, and lay exposed in a very rich coffin lined with lead, too magnificent for so daring and horrid a murderer. [Sidenote: LONDON] At the meeting of the Royal Society were exhibited some pieces of amber sent by the Duke of Brandenburg, in one of which was a spider, in another a gnat, both very entire. There was a discourse of the tingeing of glass, especially with red, and the difficulty of finding any red color effectual to penetrate glass, among the glass-painters; that the most diaporous, as blue, yellow, etc., did not enter into the substance of what was ordinarily painted, more than very shallow, unless incorporated in the metal itself, other reds and whites not at all beyond the superfices. 5th April, 1682. To the Royal Society, where at a Council was regulated what collections should be published monthly, as formerly the transactions, which had of late been discontinued, but were now much called for by the curious abroad and at home. 12th April, 1682. I went this afternoon with several of the Royal Society to a supper which was all dressed, both fish and flesh, in Monsieur Papin's digestors, by which the hardest bones of beef itself, and mutton, were made as soft as cheese, without water or other liquor, and with less than eight ounces of coals, producing an incredible quantity of gravy; and for close of all, a jelly made of the bones of beef, the best for clearness and good relish, and the most delicious that I had ever seen, or tasted. We ate pike and other fish, bones and all, without impediment; but nothing exceeded the pigeons, which tasted just as if baked in a pie, all these being stewed in their own juice, without any addition of water save what swam about the digestor, as _in balneo_; the natural juice of all these provisions acting on the grosser substances, reduced the hardest bones to tenderness; but it is best descanted with more particulars for extracting tinctures, preserving and stewing fruit, and saving fuel, in Dr. Papin's book, published and dedicated to our Society of which he is a member. He is since gone to Venice with the late Resident here (and also a member of our Society), who carried this excellent mechanic, philosopher, and physician, to set up a philosophical meeting in that city. This philosophical supper caused much mirth among us, and exceedingly pleased all the company. I sent a glass of the jelly to my wife, to the reproach of all that the ladies ever made of their best hartshorn.[47] [Footnote 47: Denys Papin, a French physician and mathematician, who possessed so remarkable a knowledge of mathematics, that he very nearly brought the invention of the steam engine into working order. He assisted Mr. Boyle in his pneumatic experiments, and was afterward mathematical professor at Marburg. He died in 1710.] The season was unusually wet, with rain and thunder. 25th May, 1682. I was desired by Sir Stephen Fox and Sir Christopher Wren to accompany them to Lambeth, with the plot and design of the college to be built at Chelsea, to have the Archbishop's approbation. It was a quadrangle of 200 feet square, after the dimensions of the larger quadrangle at Christ church, Oxford, for the accommodation of 440 persons, with governor and officers. This was agreed on. The Duke and Duchess of York were just now come to London, after his escape and shipwreck, as he went by sea for Scotland. 28th May, 1682. At the Rolls' chapel preached the famous Dr. Burnet on 2 Peter, i. 10, describing excellently well what was meant by election; viz, not the effect of any irreversible decree, but so called because they embraced the Gospel readily, by which they became elect, or precious to God. It would be very needless to make our calling and election sure, were they irreversible and what the rigid Presbyterians pretend. In the afternoon, to St. Lawrence's church, a new and cheerful pile. 29th May, 1682. I gave notice to the Bishop of Rochester of what Maimburg had published about the motives of the late Duchess of York's perversion, in his "History of Calvinism;" and did myself write to the Bishop of Winchester about it, who being concerned in it, I urged him to set forth his vindication. 31st May, 1682. The Morocco Ambassador being admitted an honorary member of the Royal Society, and subscribing his name and titles in Arabic, I was deputed by the Council to go and compliment him. 19th June, 1682. The Bantam, or East India Ambassadors (at this time we had in London the Russian, Moroccan, and Indian Ambassadors), being invited to dine at Lord George Berkeley's (now Earl), I went to the entertainment to contemplate the exotic guests. They were both very hard-favored, and much resembling in countenance some sort of monkeys. We ate at two tables, the Ambassadors and interpreter by themselves. Their garments were rich Indian silks, flowered with gold, viz, a close waistcoat to their knees, drawers, naked legs, and on their heads caps made like fruit baskets. They wore poisoned daggers at their bosoms, the hafts carved with some ugly serpents' or devils' heads, exceedingly keen, and of Damascus metal. They wore no sword. The second Ambassador (sent it seems to succeed in case the first should die by the way in so tedious a journey), having been at Mecca, wore a Turkish or Arab sash, a little part of the linen hanging down behind his neck, with some other difference of habit, and was half a negro, bare legged and naked feet, and deemed a very holy man. They sat cross-legged like Turks, and sometimes in the posture of apes and monkeys; their nails and teeth as black as jet, and shining, which being the effect, as to their teeth, of perpetually chewing betel to preserve them from the toothache, much raging in their country, is esteemed beautiful. The first ambassador was of an olive hue, a flat face, narrow eyes, squat nose, and Moorish lips, no hair appeared; they wore several rings of silver, gold and copper on their fingers, which was a token of knighthood, or nobility. They were of Java Major, whose princes have been turned Mahometans not above fifty years since; the inhabitants are still pagans and idolaters. They seemed of a dull and heavy constitution, not wondering at any thing they saw; but exceedingly astonished how our law gave us propriety in our estates, and so thinking we were all kings, for they could not be made to comprehend how subjects could possess anything but at the pleasure of their Prince, they being all slaves; they were pleased with the notion, and admired our happiness. They were very sober, and I believe subtle in their way. Their meat was cooked, carried up, and they attended by several fat slaves, who had no covering save drawers, which appeared very uncouth and loathsome. They ate their pilaw, and other spoon-meat, without spoons, taking up their pottage in the hollow of their fingers, and very dexterously flung it into their mouths without spilling a drop. 17th July, 1682. Came to dine with me, the Duke of Grafton and the young Earl of Ossory, son to my most dear deceased friend. 30th July, 1682. Went to visit our good neighbor, Mr. Bohun, whose whole house is a cabinet of all elegancies, especially Indian; in the hall are contrivances of Japan screens, instead of wainscot; and there is an excellent pendule clock inclosed in the curious flowerwork of Mr. Gibbons, in the middle of the vestibule. The landscapes of the screens represent the manner of living, and country of the Chinese. But, above all, his lady's cabinet is adorned on the fret, ceiling, and chimney-piece, with Mr. Gibbons's best carving. There are also some of Streeter's best paintings, and many rich curiosities of gold and silver as growing in the mines. The gardens are exactly kept, and the whole place very agreeable and well watered. The owners are good neighbors, and Mr. Bohun has also built and endowed a hospital for eight poor people, with a pretty chapel, and every necessary accommodation. 1st August, 1682. To the Bishop of London at Fulham, to review the additions which Mr. Marshall had made to his curious book of flowers in miniature, and collection of insects. 4th August, 1682. With Sir Stephen Fox, to survey the foundations of the Royal Hospital begun at Chelsea. [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th August, 1682. The Council of the Royal Society had it recommended to them to be trustees and visitors, or supervisors, of the Academy which Monsieur Faubert did hope to procure to be built by subscription of worthy gentlemen and noblemen, for the education of youth, and to lessen the vast expense the nation is at yearly by sending children into France to be taught military exercises. We thought to give him all the encouragement our recommendation could procure. 15th August, 1682. Came to visit me Dr. Rogers, an acquaintance of mine long since at Padua. He was then Consul of the English nation, and student in that University, where he proceeded Doctor in Physic; presenting me now with the Latin oration he lately made upon the famous Dr. Harvey's anniversary in the College of Physicians, at London. 20th August, 1682. This night I saw another comet, near Cancer, very bright, but the stream not so long as the former. 29th August, 1682. Supped at Lord Clarendon's, with Lord Hyde, his brother, now the great favorite, who invited himself to dine at my house the Tuesday following. 30th October, 1682. Being my birthday, and I now entering my great climacterical of 63, after serious recollections of the years past, giving Almighty God thanks for all his merciful preservations and forbearance, begging pardon for my sins and unworthiness, and his blessing on me the year entering, I went with my Lady Fox to survey her building, and give some directions for the garden at Chiswick; the architect is Mr. May,--somewhat heavy and thick, and not so well understood: the garden much too narrow, the place without water, near a highway, and near another great house of my Lord Burlington, little land about it, so that I wonder at the expense; but women will have their will. 25th November, 1682. I was invited to dine with Monsieur Lionberg, the Swedish Resident, who made a magnificent entertainment, it being the birthday of his King. There dined the Duke of Albemarle, Duke of Hamilton, Earl of Bath, Earl of Aylesbury, Lord Arran, Lord Castlehaven, the son of him who was executed fifty years before, and several great persons. I was exceedingly afraid of drinking (it being a Dutch feast), but the Duke of Albemarle being that night to wait on his Majesty, excess was prohibited; and, to prevent all, I stole away and left the company as soon as we rose from table. [Sidenote: LONDON] 28th November, 1682. I went to the Council of the Royal Society, for the auditing the last year's account, where I was surprised with a fainting fit that for a time took away my sight; but God being merciful to me, I recovered it after a short repose. 30th November, 1682. I was exceedingly endangered and importuned to stand the election,[48] having so many voices, but by favor of my friends, and regard of my remote dwelling, and now frequent infirmities, I desired their suffrages might be transferred to Sir John Hoskins, one of the Masters of Chancery; a most learned virtuoso as well as lawyer, who accordingly was elected. [Footnote 48: For President of the Royal Society.] 7th December, 1682. Went to congratulate Lord Hyde (the great favorite) newly made Earl of Rochester, and lately marrying his eldest daughter to the Earl of Ossory. 18th December, 1682. I sold my East India adventure of £250 principal for £750 to the Royal Society, after I had been in that company twenty-five years, being extraordinarily advantageous, by the blessing of God. 23d January, 1682-83. Sir Francis North, son to the Lord North, and Lord Chief Justice, being made Lord Keeper on the death of the Earl of Nottingham, the Lord Chancellor, I went to congratulate him. He is a most knowing, learned, and ingenious man, and, besides being an excellent person, of an ingenious and sweet disposition, very skillful in music, painting, the new philosophy, and politer studies. 29th January, 1683. Supped at Sir Joseph Williamson's, where was a select company of our Society, Sir William Petty, Dr. Gale (that learned schoolmaster of St. Paul's), Dr. Whistler, Mr. Hill, etc. The conversation was philosophical and cheerful, on divers considerable questions proposed; as of the hereditary succession of the Roman Emperors; the Pica mentioned in the preface to our Common Prayer, which signifies only the Greek _Kalendarium_. These were mixed with lighter subjects. 2d February, 1683. I made my court at St. James's, when I saw the sea charts of Captain Collins, which that industrious man now brought to show the Duke, having taken all the coasting from the mouth of the Thames, as far as Wales, and exactly measuring every creek, island, rock, soundings, harbors, sands, and tides, intending next spring to proceed till he had finished the whole island, and that measured by chains and other instruments: a most exact and useful undertaking. He affirmed, that of all the maps put out since, there are none extant so true as those of Joseph Norden, who gave us the first in Queen Elizabeth's time; all since him are erroneous. 12th February, 1683. This morning I received the news of the death of my father-in-law, Sir Richard Browne, Knt. and Bart., who died at my house at Sayes Court this day at ten in the morning, after he had labored under the gout and dropsy for nearly six months, in the 78th year of his age. The funeral was solemnized on the 19th at Deptford, with as much decency as the dignity of the person, and our relation to him, required; there being invited the Bishop of Rochester, several noblemen, knights, and all the fraternity of the Trinity Company, of which he had been Master, and others of the country. The vicar preached a short but proper discourse on Psalm xxxix. 10, on the frailty of our mortal condition, concluding with an ample and well-deserved eulogy on the defunct, relating to his honorable birth and ancestors, education, learning in Greek and Latin, modern languages, travels, public employments, signal loyalty, character abroad, and particularly the honor of supporting the Church of England in its public worship during its persecution by the late rebels' usurpation and regicide, by the suffrages of divers Bishops, Doctors of the Church, and others, who found such an asylum in his house and family at Paris, that in their disputes with the Papists (then triumphing over it as utterly lost) they used to argue for its visibility and existence from Sir R. Browne's chapel and assembly there. Then he spoke of his great and loyal sufferings during thirteen years' exile with his present Majesty, his return with him in the signal year 1660; his honorable employment at home, his timely recess to recollect himself, his great age, infirmities, and death. He gave to the Trinity Corporation that land in Deptford on which are built those almshouses for twenty-four widows of emerited seamen. He was born the famous year of the Gunpowder Treason, in 1605, and being the last [male] of his family, left my wife, his only daughter, heir. His grandfather, Sir Richard Browne, was the great instrument under the great Earl of Leicester (favorite to Queen Elizabeth) in his government of the Netherland. He was Master of the Household to King James, and Cofferer; I think was the first who regulated the compositions through England for the King's household, provisions, progresses,[49] etc., which was so high a service, and so grateful to the whole nation, that he had acknowledgments and public thanks sent him from all the counties; he died by the rupture of a vein in a vehement speech he made about the compositions in a Parliament of King James. By his mother's side he was a Gunson, Treasurer of the Navy in the reigns of Henry VIII., Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth, and, as by his large pedigree appears, related to divers of the English nobility. Thus ended this honorable person, after so many changes and tossings to and fro, in the same house where he was born. "Lord teach us so to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom!" [Footnote 49: Notice was taken of this in a previous passage of the "Diary." The different counties were bound to supply provisions of various kinds, and these were collected by officers called purveyors, whose extortions often excited the attention of Parliament.] By a special clause in his will, he ordered that his body should be buried in the churchyard under the southeast window of the chancel, adjoining to the burying places of his ancestors, since they came out of Essex into Sayes Court, he being much offended at the novel custom of burying everyone within the body of the church and chancel; that being a favor heretofore granted to martyrs and great persons; this excess of making churches charnel houses being of ill and irreverend example, and prejudicial to the health of the living, besides the continual disturbance of the pavement and seats, and several other indecencies. Dr. Hall, the pious Bishop of Norwich, would also be so interred, as may be read in his testament. 16th March, 1683. I went to see Sir Josiah Child's prodigious cost in planting walnut trees about his seat, and making fish ponds, many miles in circuit, in Epping Forest, in a barren spot, as oftentimes these suddenly monied men for the most part seat themselves. He from a merchant's apprentice, and management of the East India Company's stock, being arrived to an estate (it is said) of £200,000; and lately married his daughter to the eldest son of the Duke of Beaufort, late Marquis of Worcester, with £50,000 portional present, and various expectations. I dined at Mr. Houblon's, a rich and gentle French merchant, who was building a house in the Forest, near Sir J. Child's, in a place where the late Earl of Norwich dwelt some time, and which came from his lady, the widow of Mr. Baker. It will be a pretty villa, about five miles from Whitechapel. 18th March, 1683. I went to hear Dr. Horneck preach at the Savoy Church, on Phil. ii. 5. He was a German born, a most pathetic preacher, a person of a saint-like life, and hath written an excellent treatise on Consideration. 20th March, 1683. Dined at Dr. Whistler's, at the Physicians' College, with Sir Thomas Millington, both learned men; Dr. W. the most facetious man in nature, and now Censor of the college. I was here consulted where they should build their library; it is a pity this college is built so near Newgate Prison, and in so obscure a hole, a fault in placing most of our public buildings and churches in the city, through the avarice of some few men, and his Majesty not overruling it, when it was in his power after the dreadful conflagration. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st March, 1683. Dr. Tenison preached at Whitehall on 1 Cor. vi. 12; I esteem him to be one of the most profitable preachers in the Church of England, being also of a most holy conversation, very learned and ingenious. The pains he takes and care of his parish will, I fear, wear him out, which would be an inexpressible loss. 24th March, 1683. I went to hear Dr. Charleton's lecture on the heart in the Anatomy Theater at the Physicians' College. 30th March, 1683. To London, in order to my passing the following week, for the celebration of the Easter now approaching, there being in the Holy Week so many eminent preachers officiating at the Court and other places. [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th April, 1683. GOOD FRIDAY. There was in the afternoon, according to custom, a sermon before the King, at Whitehall; Dr. Sprat preached for the Bishop of Rochester. 17th April, 1683. I was at the launching of the last of the thirty ships ordered to be newly built by Act of Parliament, named the "Neptune," a second rate, one of the goodliest vessels of the whole navy, built by my kind neighbor, young Mr. Shish, his Majesty's master shipwright of this dock. 1st May, 1683. I went to Blackheath, to see the new fair, being the first procured by the Lord Dartmouth. This was the first day, pretended for the sale of cattle, but I think in truth to enrich the new tavern at the bowling-green, erected by Snape, his Majesty's farrier, a man full of projects. There appeared nothing but an innumerable assembly of drinking people from London, peddlars, etc., and I suppose it too near London to be of any great use to the country. March was unusually hot and dry, and all April excessively wet. I planted all the out limits of the garden and long walks with holly.[50] [Footnote 50: Evelyn adds a note: "400 feet in length, 9 feet high, 5 in diameter, in my now ruined garden, thanks to the Czar of Muscovy."--"_Sylva_," book ii. chap. vi.] 9th May, 1683. Dined at Sir Gabriel Sylvius's and thence to visit the Duke of Norfolk, to ask whether he would part with any of his cartoons and other drawings of Raphael, and the great masters; he told me if he might sell them all together he would, but that the late Sir Peter Lely (our famous painter) had gotten some of his best. The person who desired me to treat for them was Vander Douse, grandson to that great scholar, contemporary and friend of Joseph Scaliger. 16th May, 1683. Came to dinner and visited me Sir Richard Anderson, of Pendley, and his lady, with whom I went to London. 8th June, 1683. On my return home from the Royal Society, I found Mr. Wilbraham, a young gentleman of Cheshire. 11th June, 1683. The Lord Dartmouth was elected Master of the Trinity House; son to George Legge, late Master of the Ordnance, and one of the grooms of the bedchamber; a great favorite of the Duke's, an active and understanding gentleman in sea affairs. 13th June, 1683. To our Society, where we received the Count de Zinzendorp, Ambassador from the Duke of Saxony, a fine young man; we showed him divers experiments on the magnet, on which subject the Society were upon. 16th June, 1683. I went to Windsor, dining by the way at Chiswick, at Sir Stephen Fox's, where I found Sir Robert Howard (that universal pretender), and Signor Verrio, who brought his draught and designs for the painting of the staircase of Sir Stephen's new house. That which was new at Windsor since I was last there, and was surprising to me, was the incomparable fresco painting in St. George's Hall, representing the legend of St. George, and triumph of the Black Prince, and his reception by Edward III.; the volto, or roof, not totally finished; then the Resurrection in the Chapel, where the figure of the Ascension is, in my opinion, comparable to any paintings of the most famous Roman masters; the Last Supper, also over the altar. I liked the contrivance of the unseen organ behind the altar, nor less the stupendous and beyond all description the incomparable carving of our Gibbons, who is, without controversy, the greatest master both for invention and rareness of work, that the world ever had in any age; nor doubt I at all that he will prove as great a master in the statuary art. Verrio's invention is admirable, his ordnance full and flowing, antique and heroical; his figures move; and, if the walls hold (which is the only doubt by reason of the salts which in time and in this moist climate prejudice), the work will preserve his name to ages. There was now the terrace brought almost round the old castle; the grass made clean, even, and curiously turfed; the avenues to the new park, and other walks, planted with elms and limes, and a pretty canal, and receptacle for fowl; nor less observable and famous is the throwing so huge a quantity of excellent water to the enormous height of the castle, for the use of the whole house, by an extraordinary invention of Sir Samuel Morland. 17th June, 1683. I dined at the Earl of Sunderland's with the Earls of Bath, Castlehaven, Lords Viscounts Falconberg, Falkland, Bishop of London, the Grand Master of Malta, brother to the Duke de Vendôme (a young wild spark), and Mr. Dryden, the poet. After evening prayer, I walked in the park with my Lord Clarendon, where we fell into discourse of the Bishop of Salisbury (Dr. Seth Ward), his subtlety, etc. Dr. Durell, late Dean of Windsor, being dead, Dr. Turner, one of the Duke's chaplains was made dean. I visited my Lady Arlington, groom of the stole to her Majesty, who being hardly set down to supper, word was brought her that the Queen was going into the park to walk, it being now near eleven at night; the alarm caused the Countess to rise in all haste, and leave her supper to us. By this one may take an estimate of the extreme slavery and subjection that courtiers live in, who had not time to eat and drink at their pleasure. It put me in mind of Horace's "Mouse," and to bless God for my own private condition. Here was Monsieur de l'Angle, the famous minister of Charenton, lately fled from the persecution in France, concerning the deplorable condition of the Protestants there. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th June, 1683. I was present, and saw and heard the humble submission and petition of the Lord Mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen, on behalf of the city of London, on the _quo warranto_ against their charter which they delivered to his Majesty in the presence chamber. It was delivered kneeling, and then the King and Council went into the council chamber, the mayor and his brethren attending still in the presence chamber. After a short space they were called in, and my Lord Keeper made a speech to them, exaggerating the disorderly and riotous behavior in the late election, and polling for Papillon and Du Bois after the Common hall had been formally dissolved: with other misdemeanors, libels on the government, etc., by which they had incurred his Majesty's high displeasure: and that but for this submission, and under such articles as the King should require their obedience to, he would certainly enter judgment against them, which hitherto he had suspended. The things required were as follows: that they should neither elect mayor, sheriffs, aldermen, recorder, common Serjeant town clerk, coroner, nor steward of Southwark, without his Majesty's approbation; and that if they presented any his Majesty did not like, they should proceed in wonted manner to a second choice; if that was disapproved, his Majesty to nominate them; and if within five days they thought good to assent to this, all former miscarriages should be forgotten. And so they tamely parted with their so ancient privileges after they had dined and been treated by the King. This was a signal and most remarkable period. What the consequences will prove, time will show. Divers of the old and most learned lawyers and judges were of opinion that they could not forfeit their charter, but might be personally punished for their misdemeanors; but the plurality of the younger judges and rising men judged it otherwise. The Popish Plot also, which had hitherto made such a noise, began now sensibly to dwindle, through the folly, knavery, impudence, and giddiness of Oates, so as the Papists began to hold up their heads higher than ever, and those who had fled, flocked to London from abroad. Such sudden changes and eager doings there had been without anything steady or prudent, for these last seven years. 19th June, 1683. I returned to town in a coach with the Earl of Clarendon, when passing by the glorious palace of his father, built but a few years before, which they were now demolishing, being sold to certain undertakers, I turned my head the contrary way till the coach had gone past it, lest I might minister occasion of speaking of it; which must needs have grieved him, that in so short a time their pomp was fallen. 28th June, 1683. After the Popish Plot, there was now a new and (as they called it) a Protestant Plot discovered, that certain Lords and others should design the assassination of the King and the Duke as they were to come from Newmarket, with a general rising of the nation, and especially of the city of London, disaffected to the present Government. Upon which were committed to the Tower, the Lord Russell, eldest son of the Earl of Bedford, the Earl of Essex, Mr. Algernon Sidney, son to the old Earl of Leicester, Mr. Trenchard, Hampden, Lord Howard of Escrick, and others. A proclamation was issued against my Lord Grey, the Duke of Monmouth, Sir Thomas Armstrong, and one Ferguson, who had escaped beyond sea; of these some were said to be for killing the King, others for only seizing on him, and persuading him to new counsels, on the pretense of the danger of Popery, should the Duke live to succeed, who was now again admitted to the councils and cabinet secrets. The Lords Essex and Russell were much deplored, for believing they had any evil intention against the King, or the Church; some thought they were cunningly drawn in by their enemies for not approving some late counsels and management relating to France, to Popery, to the persecution of the Dissenters, etc. They were discovered by the Lord Howard of Escrick and some false brethren of the club, and the design happily broken; had it taken effect, it would, to all appearance, have exposed the Government to unknown and dangerous events; which God avert! Was born my granddaughter at Sayes Court, and christened by the name of Martha Maria, our Vicar officiating. I pray God bless her, and may she choose the better part! [Sidenote: LONDON] 13th July, 1683. As I was visiting Sir Thomas Yarborough and his Lady, in Covent Garden, the astonishing news was brought to us of the Earl of Essex having cut his throat, having been but three days a prisoner in the Tower, and this happened on the very day and instant that Lord Russell was on his trial, and had sentence of death. This accident exceedingly amazed me, my Lord Essex being so well known by me to be a person of such sober and religious deportment, so well at his ease, and so much obliged to the King. It is certain the King and Duke were at the Tower, and passed by his window about the same time this morning, when my Lord asking for a razor, shut himself into a closet, and perpetrated the horrid act. Yet it was wondered by some how it was possible he should do it in the manner he was found, for the wound was so deep and wide, that being cut through the gullet, windpipe, and both the jugulars, it reached to the very vertebræ of the neck, so that the head held to it by a very little skin as it were; the gapping too of the razor, and cutting his own fingers, was a little strange; but more, that having passed the jugulars he should have strength to proceed so far, that an executioner could hardly have done more with an ax. There were odd reflections upon it. The fatal news coming to Hicks's Hall upon the article of my Lord Russell's trial, was said to have had no little influence on the Jury and all the Bench to his prejudice. Others said that he had himself on some occasions hinted that in case he should be in danger of having his life taken from him by any public misfortune, those who thirsted for his estate should miss of their aim; and that he should speak favorably of that Earl of Northumberland,[51] and some others, who made away with themselves; but these are discourses so unlike his sober and prudent conversation that I have no inclination to credit them. What might instigate him to this devilish act, I am not able to conjecture. My Lord Clarendon, his brother-in-law, who was with him but the day before, assured me he was then very cheerful, and declared it to be the effect of his innocence and loyalty; and most believe that his Majesty had no severe intentions against him, though he was altogether inexorable as to Lord Russell and some of the rest. For my part, I believe the crafty and ambitious Earl of Shaftesbury had brought them into some dislike of the present carriage of matters at Court, not with any design of destroying the monarchy (which Shaftesbury had in confidence and for unanswerable reasons told me he would support to his last breath, as having seen and felt the misery of being under mechanic tyranny), but perhaps of setting up some other whom he might govern, and frame to his own platonic fancy, without much regard to the religion established under the hierarchy, for which he had no esteem; but when he perceived those whom he had engaged to rise, fail of his expectations, and the day past, reproaching his accomplices that a second day for an exploit of this nature was never successful, he gave them the slip, and got into Holland, where the fox died, three months before these unhappy Lords and others were discovered or suspected. Every one deplored Essex and Russell, especially the last, as being thought to have been drawn in on pretense only of endeavoring to rescue the King from his present councilors, and secure religion from Popery, and the nation from arbitrary government, now so much apprehended; while the rest of those who were fled, especially Ferguson and his gang, had doubtless some bloody design to get up a Commonwealth, and turn all things topsy-turvy. Of the same tragical principles is Sydney. [Footnote 51: Henry Percy, eighth Earl of Northumberland, shot himself in the Tower, to which he had been committed on a charge of high treason in June, 1585.] I had this day much discourse with Monsieur Pontaq, son to the famous and wise prime President of Bordeaux. This gentleman was owner of that excellent _vignoble_ of Pontaq and O'Brien, from whence come the choicest of our Bordeaux wines; and I think I may truly say of him, what was not so truly said of St. Paul, that much learning had made him mad. He had studied well in philosophy, but chiefly the Rabbins, and was exceedingly addicted to cabalistical fancies, an eternal hablador [romancer], and half distracted by reading abundance of the extravagant Eastern Jews. He spoke all languages, was very rich, had a handsome person, and was well bred, about forty-five years of age. 14th July, 1683. I visited Mr. Fraser, a learned Scotch gentleman, whom I had formerly recommended to Lord Berkeley for the instruction and government of his son, since dead at sea. He had now been in Holland at the sale of the learned Heinsius's library, and showed me some very rare and curious books, and some MSS., which he had purchased to good value. There were three or four Herbals in miniature, accurately done, divers Roman antiquities of Verona, and very many books of Aldus's impression. 15th July, 1683. A stranger, an old man, preached on Jerem. vi. 8, the not hearkening to instruction, portentous of desolation to a people; much after Bishop Andrew's method, full of logical divisions, in short and broken periods, and Latin sentences, now quite out of fashion in the pulpit, which is grown into a far more profitable way, of plain and practical discourses, of which sort this nation, or any other, never had greater plenty or more profitable (I am confident); so much has it to answer for thriving no better on it. The public was now in great consternation on the late plot and conspiracy; his Majesty very melancholy, and not stirring without double guards; all the avenues and private doors about Whitehall and the Park shut up, few admitted to walk in it. The Papists, in the meantime, very jocund; and indeed with reason, seeing their own plot brought to nothing, and turned to ridicule, and now a conspiracy of Protestants, as they called them. The Turks were likewise in hostility against the German Emperor, almost masters of the Upper Hungary, and drawing toward Vienna. On the other side, the French King (who it is believed brought in the infidels) disturbing his Spanish and Dutch neighbors, having swallowed up almost all Flanders, pursuing his ambition of a fifth universal monarchy; and all this blood and disorder in Christendom had evidently its rise from our defections at home, in a wanton peace, minding nothing but luxury, ambition, and to procure money for our vices. To this add our irreligion and atheism, great ingratitude, and self-interest; the apostacy of some, and the suffering the French to grow so great, and the Hollanders so weak. In a word, we were wanton, mad, and surfeiting with prosperity; every moment unsettling the old foundations, and never constant to anything. The Lord in mercy avert the sad omen, and that we do not provoke him till he bear it no longer! This summer did we suffer twenty French men-of-war to pass our Channel toward the Sound, to help the Danes against the Swedes, who had abandoned the French interest, we not having ready sufficient to guard our coasts, or take cognizance of what they did; though the nation never had more, or a better navy, yet the sea had never so slender a fleet. 19th July, 1683. George, Prince of Denmark, who had landed this day, came to marry the Lady Anne, daughter to the Duke; so I returned home, having seen the young gallant at dinner at Whitehall. 20th July, 1683. Several of the conspirators of the lower form were executed at Tyburn; and the next day, [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st July, 1683. Lord Russell was beheaded in Lincoln's Inn Fields, the executioner giving him three butcherly strokes. The speech he made, and the paper which he gave the Sheriff declaring his innocence, the nobleness of the family, the piety and worthiness of the unhappy gentleman, wrought much pity, and occasioned various discourses on the plot. 25th July, 1683. I again saw Prince George of Denmark: he had the Danish countenance, blonde, of few words, spoke French but ill, seemed somewhat heavy, but reported to be valiant, and indeed he had bravely rescued and brought off his brother, the King of Denmark, in a battle against the Swedes, when both these Kings were engaged very smartly. 28th July, 1683. He was married to the Lady Anne at Whitehall. Her Court and household to be modeled as the Duke's, her father, had been, and they to continue in England. 1st August, 1683. Came to see me Mr. Flamsted, the famous astronomer, from his Observatory at Greenwich, to draw the meridian from my pendule, etc. 2d August, 1683. The Countesses of Bristol and Sunderland, aunt and cousin-german of the late Lord Russell, came to visit me, and condole his sad fate. The next day, came Colonel Russell, uncle to the late Lord Russell, and brother to the Earl of Bedford, and with him Mrs. Middleton, that famous and indeed incomparable beauty, daughter to my relation, Sir Robert Needham. 19th August, 1683. I went to Bromley to visit our Bishop, and excellent neighbor, and to congratulate his now being made Archbishop of York. On the 28th, he came to take his leave of us, now preparing for his journey and residence in his province. 28th August, 1683. My sweet little grandchild, Martha Maria, died, and on the 29th was buried in the parish church. 2d September, 1683. This morning, was read in the church, after the office was done, the Declaration setting forth the late conspiracy against the King's person. 3d September, 1683. I went to see what had been done by the Duke of Beaufort on his lately purchased house at Chelsea, which I once had the selling of for the Countess of Bristol, he had made great alterations, but might have built a better house with the materials and the cost he had been at. Saw the Countess of Monte Feltre, whose husband I had formerly known, he was a subject of the Pope's, but becoming a Protestant he resided in England, and married into the family of the Savilles, of Yorkshire. The Count, her late husband, was a very learned gentleman, a great politician, and a goodly man. She was accompanied by her sister, exceedingly skilled in painting, nor did they spare for color on their own faces. They had a great deal of wit. 9th September, 1683. It being the day of public thanksgiving for his Majesty's late preservation, the former Declaration was again read, and there was an office used, composed for the occasion. A loyal sermon was preached on the divine right of Kings, from Psalm cxliv. 10. "Thou hast preserved David from the peril of the sword." 15th September, 1683. Came to visit me the learned anatomist, Dr. Tyson,[52] with some other Fellows of our Society. [Footnote 52: Doctor Edward Tyson, a learned physician, born at Clevedon, Somersetshire, in 1649, who became reader of the anatomical lecture in Surgeons' Hall, and physician to the hospitals of Bethlehem and Bridewell, which offices he held at his death, Aug. 1, 1708. He was an ingenious writer, and has left various Essays in the Philosophical Transactions and Hook's Collections. He published also "The Anatomy of a Porpoise Dissected at Gresham College," and "The Anatomy of a Pigmy Compared with a Monkey, an Ape, and a Man," 4to., 1698-99.] 16th September, 1683. At the elegant villa and garden of Mr. Bohun, at Lee. He showed me the zinnar tree, or platanus, and told me that since they had planted this kind of tree about the city of Ispahan, in Persia, the plague, which formerly much infested the place, had exceedingly abated of its mortal effects, and rendered it very healthy. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th September, 1683. I went to London to visit the Duchess of Grafton, now great with child, a most virtuous and beautiful lady. Dining with her at my Lord Chamberlain's, met my Lord of St. Alban's, now grown so blind, that he could not see to take his meat. He has lived a most easy life, in plenty even abroad, while his Majesty was a sufferer; he has lost immense sums at play, which yet, at about eighty years old, he continues, having one that sits by him to name the spots on the cards. He ate and drank with extraordinary appetite. He is a prudent old courtier, and much enriched since his Majesty's return. After dinner, I walked to survey the sad demolition of Clarendon House, that costly and only sumptuous palace of the late Lord Chancellor Hyde, where I have often been so cheerful with him, and sometimes so sad: happening to make him a visit but the day before he fled from the angry Parliament, accusing him of maladministration, and being envious at his grandeur, who from a private lawyer came to be father-in-law to the Duke of York, and as some would suggest, designing his Majesty's marriage with the Infanta of Portugal, not apt to breed. To this they imputed much of our unhappiness; and that he, being sole minister and favorite at his Majesty's restoration, neglected to gratify the King's suffering party, preferring those who were the cause of our troubles. But perhaps as many of these things were injuriously laid to his charge, so he kept the government far steadier than it has proved since. I could name some who I think contributed greatly to his ruin,--the buffoons and the MISSIS, to whom he was an eye-sore. It is true he was of a jolly temper, after the old English fashion; but France had now the ascendant, and we were become quite another nation. The Chancellor gone, and dying in exile, the Earl his successor sold that which cost £50,000 building, to the young Duke of Albemarle for £25,000, to pay debts which how contracted remains yet a mystery, his son being no way a prodigal. Some imagine the Duchess his daughter had been chargeable to him. However it were, this stately palace is decreed to ruin, to support the prodigious waste the Duke of Albemarle had made of his estate, since the old man died. He sold it to the highest bidder, and it fell to certain rich bankers and mechanics, who gave for it and the ground about it, £35,000; they design a new town, as it were, and a most magnificent piazza [square]. It is said they have already materials toward it with what they sold of the house alone, more worth than what they paid for it. See the vicissitudes of earthly things! I was astonished at this demolition, nor less at the little army of laborers and artificers leveling the ground, laying foundations, and contriving great buildings at an expense of £200,000, if they perfect their design. 19th September, 1683. In my walks I stepped into a goldbeater's workhouse, where he showed me the wonderful ductility of that spreading and oily metal. He said it must be finer than the standard, such as was old angel-gold, and that of such he had once to the value of £100 stamped with the _agnus dei_, and coined at the time of the holy war; which had been found in a ruined wall somewhere in the North, near to Scotland, some of which he beat into leaves, and the rest sold to the curiosi in antiquities and medals. 23d September, 1683. We had now the welcome tidings of the King of Poland raising the siege of Vienna, which had given terror to all Europe, and utmost reproach to the French, who it is believed brought in the Turks for diversion, that the French King might the more easily swallow Flanders, and pursue his unjust conquest on the empire, while we sat unconcerned and under a deadly charm from somebody. There was this day a collection for rebuilding Newmarket, consumed by an accidental fire, which removing his Majesty thence sooner than was intended, put by the assassins, who were disappointed of their rendezvous and expectation by a wonderful providence. This made the King more earnest to render Winchester the seat of his autumnal field diversions for the future, designing a palace there, where the ancient castle stood; infinitely indeed preferable to Newmarket for prospects, air, pleasure, and provisions. The surveyor has already begun the foundation for a palace, estimated to cost £35,000, and his Majesty is purchasing ground about it to make a park, etc. [Sidenote: LONDON] 4th October, 1683. I went to London, on receiving a note from the Countess of Arlington, of some considerable charge or advantage I might obtain by applying myself to his Majesty on this signal conjuncture of his Majesty entering up judgment against the city charter; the proposal made me I wholly declined, not being well satisfied with these violent transactions, and not a little sorry that his Majesty was so often put upon things of this nature against so great a city, the consequence whereof may be so much to his prejudice; so I returned home. At this time, the Lord Chief-Justice Pemberton was displaced. He was held to be the most learned of the judges, and an honest man. Sir George Jeffreys was advanced, reputed to be most ignorant, but most daring. Sir George Treby, Recorder of London, was also put by, and one Genner, an obscure lawyer, set in his place. Eight of the richest and chief aldermen were removed and all the rest made only justices of the peace, and no more wearing of gowns, or chains of gold; the Lord Mayor and two sheriffs holding their places by new grants as _custodes_, at the King's pleasure. The pomp and grandeur of the most august city in the world thus changed face in a moment; which gave great occasion of discourse and thoughts of hearts, what all this would end in. Prudent men were for the old foundations. Following his Majesty this morning through the gallery, I went with the few who attended him, into the Duchess of Portmouth's DRESSING ROOM within her bedchamber, where she was in her morning loose garment, her maids combing her, newly out of her bed, his Majesty and the gallants standing about her; but that which engaged my curiosity, was the rich and splendid furniture of this woman's apartment, now twice or thrice pulled down and rebuilt to satisfy her prodigal and expensive pleasures, while her Majesty's does not exceed some gentlemen's ladies in furniture and accommodation. Here I saw the new fabric of French tapestry, for design, tenderness of work, and incomparable imitation of the best paintings, beyond anything I had ever beheld. Some pieces had Versailles, St. Germains, and other palaces of the French King, with huntings, figures, and landscapes, exotic fowls, and all to the life rarely done. Then for Japan cabinets, screens, pendule clocks, great vases of wrought plate, tables, stands, chimney-furniture, sconces, branches, braseras, etc., all of massy silver and out of number, besides some of her Majesty's best paintings. Surfeiting of this, I dined at Sir Stephen Fox's and went contented home to my poor, but quiet villa. What contentment can there be in the riches and splendor of this world, purchased with vice and dishonor? 10th October, 1683. Visited the Duchess of Grafton, not yet brought to bed, and dining with my Lord Chamberlain (her father), went with them to see Montague House, a palace lately built by Lord Montague, who had married the most beautiful Countess of Northumberland. It is a stately and ample palace. Signor Verrio's fresco paintings, especially the funeral pile of Dido, on the staircase, the labors of Hercules, fight with the Centaurs, his effeminacy with Dejanira, and Apotheosis or reception among the gods, on the walls and roof of the great room above,--I think exceeds anything he has yet done, both for design, coloring, and exuberance of invention, comparable to the greatest of the old masters, or what they so celebrate at Rome. In the rest of the chamber are some excellent paintings of Holbein, and other masters. The garden is large, and in good air, but the fronts of the house not answerable to the inside. The court at entry, and wings for offices seem too near the street, and that so very narrow and meanly built, that the corridor is not in proportion to the rest, to hide the court from being overlooked by neighbors; all which might have been prevented, had they placed the house further into the ground, of which there was enough to spare. But on the whole it is a fine palace, built after the French pavilion-way, by Mr. Hooke, the Curator of the Royal Society. There were with us my Lady Scroope, the great wit, and Monsieur Chardine, the celebrated traveler. 13th October, 1683. Came to visit me my old and worthy friend, Mr. Packer, bringing with him his nephew Berkeley, grandson to the honest judge. A most ingenious, virtuous, and religious gentleman, seated near Worcester, and very curious in gardening. 17th October, 1683. I was at the court-leet of this manor, my Lord Arlington his Majesty's High Steward. 26th October, 1683. Came to visit and dine with me, Mr. Brisbane, Secretary to the Admiralty, a learned and agreeable man. 30th October, 1683. I went to Kew to visit Sir Henry Capell, brother to the late Earl of Essex; but he being gone to Cashiobury, after I had seen his garden and the alterations therein, I returned home. He had repaired his house, roofed his hall with a kind of cupola, and in a niche was an artificial fountain; but the room seems to me over-melancholy, yet might be much improved by having the walls well painted _á fresco_. The two green houses for oranges and myrtles, communicating with the rooms below, are very well contrived. There is a cupola made with pole-work between two elms at the end of a walk, which being covered by plashing the trees to them, is very pretty; for the rest there are too many fir trees in the garden. [Sidenote: LONDON] 17th November, 1683. I took a house in Villiers Street, York Buildings, for the winter, having many important concerns to dispatch, and for the education of my daughters. 23d November, 1683. The Duke of Monmouth, till now proclaimed traitor on the pretended plot for which Lord Russell was lately beheaded, came this evening to Whitehall and rendered himself, on which were various discourses. 26th November, 1683. I went to compliment the Duchess of Grafton, now lying-in of her first child, a son, which she called for, that I might see it. She was become more beautiful, if it were possible, than before, and full of virtue and sweetness. She discoursed with me of many particulars, with great prudence and gravity beyond her years. 29th November, 1683. Mr. Forbes showed me the plot of the garden making at Burleigh, at my Lord Exeter's, which I looked on as one of the most noble that I had seen. The whole court and town in solemn mourning for the death of the King of Portugal, her Majesty's brother. 30th November, 1683. At the anniversary dinner of the Royal Society the King sent us two does. Sir Cyril Wych was elected President. 5th December, 1683. I was this day invited to a wedding of one Mrs. Castle, to whom I had some obligation, and it was to her fifth husband, a lieutenant-colonel of the city. She was the daughter of one Burton, a broom-man, by his wife, who sold kitchen stuff in Kent Street, whom God so blessed that the father became a very rich, and was a very honest man; he was sheriff of Surrey, where I have sat on the bench with him. Another of his daughters was married to Sir John Bowles; and this daughter was a jolly friendly woman. There was at the wedding the Lord Mayor, the Sheriff, several Aldermen and persons of quality; above all, Sir George Jeffreys, newly made Lord Chief Justice of England, with Mr. Justice Withings, danced with the bride, and were exceedingly merry. These great men spent the rest of the afternoon, till eleven at night, in drinking healths, taking tobacco, and talking much beneath the gravity of judges, who had but a day or two before condemned Mr. Algernon Sidney, who was executed the 7th on Tower Hill, on the single witness of that monster of a man, Lord Howard of Escrick, and some sheets of paper taken in Mr. Sidney's study, pretended to be written by him, but not fully proved, nor the time when, but appearing to have been written before his Majesty's Restoration, and then pardoned by the Act of Oblivion; so that though Mr. Sidney was known to be a person obstinately averse to government by a monarch (the subject of the paper was in answer to one by Sir E. Filmer), yet it was thought he had very hard measure. There is this yet observable, that he had been an inveterate enemy to the last king, and in actual rebellion against him; a man of great courage, great sense, great parts, which he showed both at his trial and death; for, when he came on the scaffold, instead of a speech, he told them only that he had made his peace with God, that he came not thither to talk, but to die; put a paper into the sheriff's hand, and another into a friend's; said one prayer as short as a grace, laid down his neck, and bid the executioner do his office. The Duke of Monmouth, now having his pardon, refuses to acknowledge there was any treasonable plot; for which he is banished Whitehall. This is a great disappointment to some who had prosecuted Trenchard, Hampden, etc., that for want of a second witness were come out of the Tower upon their _habeas corpus_. The King had now augmented his guards with a new sort of dragoons, who carried also grenades, and were habited after the Polish manner, with long peaked caps, very fierce and fantastical. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th December, 1683. I went to the Tower, and visited the Earl of Danby, the late Lord High Treasurer, who had been imprisoned four years: he received me with great kindness. I dined with him, and stayed till night. We had discourse of many things, his Lady railing sufficiently at the keeping her husband so long in prison. Here I saluted the Lord Dumblaine's wife, who before had been married to Emerton, and about whom there was that scandalous business before the delegates. 23d December, 1683. The smallpox very prevalent and mortal; the Thames frozen. 26th December, 1683. I dined at Lord Clarendon's, where I was to meet that ingenious and learned gentleman, Sir George Wheeler, who has published the excellent description of Africa and Greece, and who, being a knight of a very fair estate and young, had now newly entered into holy orders. 27th December, 1683. I went to visit Sir John Chardin, a French gentleman, who traveled three times by land into Persia, and had made many curious researches in his travels, of which he was now setting forth a relation. It being in England this year one of the severest frosts that has happened of many years, he told me the cold in Persia was much greater, the ice of an incredible thickness; that they had little use of iron in all that country, it being so moist (though the air admirably clear and healthy) that oil would not preserve it from rusting, so that they had neither clocks nor watches; some padlocks they had for doors and boxes. 30th December, 1683. Dr. Sprat, now made Dean of Westminster, preached to the King at Whitehall, on Matt. vi. 24. Recollecting the passages of the past year, I gave God thanks for his mercies, praying his blessing for the future. 1st January, 1683-84. The weather continuing intolerably severe, streets of booths were set up on the Thames; the air was so very cold and thick, as of many years there had not been the like. The smallpox was very mortal. 2d January, 1684. I dined at Sir Stephen Fox's: after dinner came a fellow who ate live charcoal, glowingly ignited, quenching them in his mouth, and then champing and swallowing them down. There was a dog also which seemed to do many rational actions. 6th January, 1684. The river quite frozen. 9th January, 1684. I went across the Thames on the ice, now become so thick as to bear not only streets of booths, in which they roasted meat, and had divers shops of wares, quite across as in a town, but coaches, carts, and horses passed over. So I went from Westminster stairs to Lambeth, and dined with the Archbishop: where I met my Lord Bruce, Sir George Wheeler, Colonel Cooke, and several divines. After dinner and discourse with his Grace till evening prayers, Sir George Wheeler and I walked over the ice from Lambeth stairs to the Horse-ferry. 10th January, 1684. I visited Sir Robert Reading, where after supper we had music, but not comparable to that which Mrs. Bridgeman made us on the guitar with such extraordinary skill and dexterity. 16th January, 1684. The Thames was filled with people and tents selling all sorts of wares as in the city. 24th January, 1684. The frost continues more and more severe, the Thames before London was still planted with booths in formal streets, all sorts of trades and shops furnished, and full of commodities, even to a printing press, where the people and ladies took a fancy to have their names printed, and the day and year set down when printed on the Thames: this humor took so universally, that it was estimated that the printer gained £5 a day, for printing a line only, at sixpence a name, besides what he got by ballads, etc. Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other stairs to and fro, as in the streets, sleds, sliding with skates, a bull-baiting, horse and coach-races, puppet-plays and interludes, cooks, tippling, and other lewd places, so that it seemed to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water, while it was a severe judgment on the land, the trees not only splitting as if the lightning struck, but men and cattle perishing in divers places, and the very seas so locked up with ice, that no vessels could stir out or come in. The fowls, fish, and birds, and all our exotic plants and greens, universally perishing. Many parks of deer were destroyed, and all sorts of fuel so dear, that there were great contributions to preserve the poor alive. Nor was this severe weather much less intense in most parts of Europe, even as far as Spain and the most southern tracts. London, by reason of the excessive coldness of the air hindering the ascent of the smoke, was so filled with the fuliginous steam of the sea-coal, that hardly could one see across the street, and this filling the lungs with its gross particles, exceedingly obstructed the breast, so as one could scarcely breathe. Here was no water to be had from the pipes and engines, nor could the brewers and divers other tradesmen work, and every moment was full of disastrous accidents. 4th February, 1684. I went to Sayes Court to see how the frost had dealt with my garden, where I found many of the greens and rare plants utterly destroyed. The oranges and myrtles very sick, the rosemary and laurels dead to all appearance, but the cypress likely to endure it. 5th February, 1684. It began to thaw, but froze again. My coach crossed from Lambeth, to the Horse-ferry at Milbank, Westminster. The booths were almost all taken down; but there was first a map or landscape cut in copper representing all the manner of the camp, and the several actions, sports, and pastimes thereon, in memory of so signal a frost. 7th February, 1684. I dined with my Lord Keeper, [North], and walking alone with him some time in his gallery, we had discourse of music. He told me he had been brought up to it from a child, so as to sing his part at first sight. Then speaking of painting, of which he was also a great lover, and other ingenious matters, he desired me to come oftener to him. 8th February, 1684. I went this evening to visit that great and knowing virtuoso, Monsieur Justell. The weather was set in to an absolute thaw and rain; but the Thames still frozen. 10th February, 1684. After eight weeks missing the foreign posts, there came abundance of intelligence from abroad. [Sidenote: LONDON] 12th February, 1684. The Earl of Danby, late Lord-Treasurer, together with the Roman Catholic Lords impeached of high treason in the Popish Plot, had now their _habeas corpus_, and came out upon bail, after five years' imprisonment in the Tower. Then were also tried and deeply fined Mr. Hampden and others, for being supposed of the late plot, for which Lord Russell and Colonel Sidney suffered; as also the person who went about to prove that the Earl of Essex had his throat cut in the Tower by others; likewise Mr. Johnson, the author of that famous piece called Julian. 15th February, 1684. News of the Prince of Orange having accused the Deputies of Amsterdam of _crimen læsæ Majestatis_, and being pensioners to France. Dr. Tenison communicated to me his intention of erecting a library in St. Martin's parish, for the public use, and desired my assistance, with Sir Christopher Wren, about the placing and structure thereof, a worthy and laudable design. He told me there were thirty or forty young men in Orders in his parish, either governors to young gentlemen or chaplains to noblemen, who being reproved by him on occasion for frequenting taverns or coffeehouses, told him they would study or employ their time better, if they had books. This put the pious Doctor on this design; and indeed a great reproach it is that so great a city as London should not have a public library becoming it. There ought to be one at St. Paul's; the west end of that church (if ever finished) would be a convenient place. 23d February, 1684. I went to Sir John Chardin, who desired my assistance for the engraving the plates, the translation, and printing his History of that wonderful Persian Monument near Persepolis, and other rare antiquities, which he had caused to be drawn from the originals in his second journey into Persia, which we now concluded upon. Afterward, I went with Sir Christopher Wren to Dr. Tenison, where we made the drawing and estimate of the expense of the library, to be begun this next spring near the Mews. Great expectation of the Prince of Orange's attempts in Holland to bring those of Amsterdam to consent to the new levies, to which we were no friends, by a pseudo-politic adherence to the French interest. 26th February, 1684. Came to visit me Dr. Turner, our new Bishop of Rochester. 28th February, 1684. I dined at Lady Tuke's, where I heard Dr. Walgrave (physician to the Duke and Duchess) play excellently on the lute. 7th March, 1684. Dr. Meggot, Dean of Winchester, preached an incomparable sermon (the King being now gone to Newmarket), on Heb. xii. 15, showing and pathetically pressing the care we ought to have lest we come short of the grace of God. Afterward, I went to visit Dr. Tenison at Kensington, whither he was retired to refresh, after he had been sick of the smallpox. 15th March, 1684. At Whitehall preached Mr. Henry Godolphin, a prebend of St. Paul's, and brother to my dear friend Sydney, on Isaiah 1v. 7. I dined at the Lord Keeper's, and brought him to Sir John Chardin, who showed him his accurate drafts of his travels in Persia. 28th March, 1684. There was so great a concourse of people with their children to be touched for the Evil, that six or seven were crushed to death by pressing at the chirurgeon's door for tickets. The weather began to be more mild and tolerable; but there was not the least appearance of any spring. 30th March, 1684. Easter day. The Bishop of Rochester preached before the King; after which his Majesty, accompanied with three of his natural sons, the Dukes of Northumberland, Richmond, and St. Alban (sons of Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Nelly), went up to the altar; the three boys entering before the King within the rails, at the right hand, and three bishops on the left: London (who officiated), Durham, and Rochester, with the subdean, Dr. Holder. The King, kneeling before the altar, making his offering, the Bishops first received, and then his Majesty; after which he retired to a canopied seat on the right hand. Note, there was perfume burned before the office began. I had received the Sacrament at Whitehall early with the Lords and household, the Bishop of London officiating. Then went to St. Martin's, where Dr. Tenison preached (recovered from the smallpox); then went again to Whitehall as above. In the afternoon, went to St. Martin's again. 4th April, 1684. I returned home with my family to my house at Sayes Court, after five months' residence in London; hardly the least appearance of any spring. 30th April, 1684. A letter of mine to the Royal Society concerning the terrible effects of the past winter being read, they desired it might be printed in the next part of their "Transactions." [Sidenote: SURREY] 10th May, 1684. I went to visit my brother in Surrey. Called by the way at Ashted, where Sir Robert Howard (Auditor of the Exchequer) entertained me very civilly at his newly-built house, which stands in a park on the Down, the avenue south; though down hill to the house, which is not great, but with the outhouses very convenient. The staircase is painted by Verrio with the story of Astrea; among other figures is the picture of the painter himself, and not unlike him; the rest is well done, only the columns did not at all please me; there is also Sir Robert's own picture in an oval; the whole in _fresco_. The place has this great defect, that there is no water but what is drawn up by horses from a very deep well. 11th May, 1684. Visited Mr. Higham, who was ill, and died three days after. His grandfather and father (who christened me), with himself, had now been rectors of this parish 101 years, viz, from May, 1583. 12th May, 1684. I returned to London, where I found the Commissioners of the Admiralty abolished, and the office of Admiral restored to the Duke, as to the disposing and ordering all sea business; but his Majesty signed all petitions, papers, warrants, and commissions, that the Duke, not acting as admiral by commission or office, might not incur the penalty of the late Act against Papists and Dissenters holding offices, and refusing the oath and test. Every one was glad of this change, those in the late Commission being utterly ignorant in their duty, to the great damage of the Navy. The utter ruin of the Low Country was threatened by the siege of Luxemburg, if not timely relieved, and by the obstinacy of the Hollanders, who refused to assist the Prince of Orange, being corrupted by the French. 16th May, 1684. I received £600 of Sir Charles Bickerstaff for the fee farm of Pilton, in Devon. 26th May, 1684. Lord Dartmouth was chosen Master of the Trinity Company, newly returned with the fleet from blowing up and demolishing Tangier. In the sermon preached on this occasion, Dr. Can observed that, in the 27th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, the casting anchor out of the fore ship had been caviled at as betraying total ignorance: that it is very true our seamen do not do so; but in the Mediterranean their ships were built differently from ours, and to this day it was the practice to do so there. Luxemburg was surrendered to the French, which makes them master of all the Netherlands, gives them entrance into Germany, and a fair game for universal monarchy; which that we should suffer, who only and easily might have hindered, astonished all the world. Thus is the poor Prince of Orange ruined, and this nation and all the Protestant interest in Europe following, unless God in his infinite mercy, as by a miracle, interpose, and our great ones alter their counsels. The French fleet were now besieging Genoa, but after burning much of that beautiful city with their bombs, went off with disgrace. 11th June, 1684. My cousin, Verney, to whom a very great fortune was fallen, came to take leave of us, going into the country; a very worthy and virtuous young gentleman. 12th June, 1684. I went to advise and give directions about the building of two streets in Berkeley Garden, reserving the house and as much of the garden as the breadth of the house. In the meantime, I could not but deplore that sweet place (by far the most noble gardens, courts, and accommodations, stately porticos, etc., anywhere about the town) should be so much straitened and turned into tenements. But that magnificent pile and gardens contiguous to it, built by the late Lord Chancellor Clarendon, being all demolished, and designed for piazzas and buildings, was some excuse for my Lady Berkeley's resolution of letting out her ground also for so excessive a price as was offered, advancing near £1,000 per annum in mere ground rents; to such a mad intemperance was the age come of building about a city, by far too disproportionate already to the nation:[53] I having in my time seen it almost as large again as it was within my memory. [Footnote 53: What would Evelyn think if he could see what is now called London?] 22d June, 1684. Last Friday, Sir Thomas Armstrong was executed at Tyburn for treason, without trial, having been outlawed and apprehended in Holland, on the conspiracy of the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Russell, etc., which gave occasion of discourse to people and lawyers, in regard it was on an outlawry that judgment was given and execution.[54] [Footnote 54: When brought up for judgment, Armstrong insisted on his right to a trial, the act giving that right to those who came in within a year, and the year not having expired. Jefferies refused it; and when Armstrong insisted that he asked nothing but law, Jefferies told him he should have it to the full, and ordered his execution in six days. When Jefferies went to the King at Windsor soon after, the King took a ring from his finger and gave it to Jefferies. BURNET, ii. 989.] [Sidenote: GREENWICH] 2d July, 1684. I went to the Observatory at Greenwich, where Mr. Flamsted took his observations of the eclipse of the sun, now almost three parts obscured. There had been an excessively hot and dry spring, and such a drought still continued as never was in my memory. 13th July, 1684. Some small sprinkling of rain; the leaves dropping from the trees as in autumn. 25th July, 1684. I dined at Lord Falkland's, Treasurer of the Navy, where after dinner we had rare music, there being among others, Signor Pietro Reggio, and Signor John Baptist, both famous, one for his voice, the other for playing on the harpsichord, few if any in Europe exceeding him. There was also a Frenchman who sung an admirable bass. 26th July, 1684. I returned home, where I found my Lord Chief Justice [Jefferies], the Countess of Clarendon, and Lady Catherine Fitzgerald, who dined with me. 10th August, 1684. We had now rain after such a drought as no man in England had known. 24th August, 1684. Excessively hot. We had not had above one or two considerable showers, and those storms, these eight or nine months. Many trees died for the want of refreshment. 31st August, 1684. Mr. Sidney Godolphin was made Baron Godolphin. 26th September, 1684. The King being returned from Winchester, there was a numerous Court at Whitehall. At this time the Earl of Rochester was removed from the Treasury to the Presidentship of the Council; Lord Godolphin was made first Commissioner of the Treasury in his place, Lord Middleton (a Scot) made Secretary of State, in the room of Lord Godolphin. These alterations being very unexpected and mysterious, gave great occasion of discourse. There was now an Ambassador from the King of Siam, in the East Indies, to his Majesty. 22d October, 1684. I went with Sir William Godolphin to see the rhinoceros, or unicorn, being the first that I suppose was ever brought into England. She belonged to some East India merchants, and was sold (as I remember) for above £2,000. At the same time, I went to see a crocodile, brought from some of the West India Islands, resembling the Egyptian crocodile. 24th October, 1684. I dined at Sir Stephen Fox's with the Duke of Northumberland. He seemed to be a young gentleman of good capacity, well bred, civil and modest: newly come from travel, and had made his campaign at the siege of Luxemburg. Of all his Majesty's children (of which he had now six Dukes) this seemed the most accomplished and worth the owning. He is extraordinarily handsome and well shaped. What the Dukes of Richmond and St. Alban's will prove, their youth does not yet discover; they are very pretty boys. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th October, 1684. Dr. Goodman preached before the King on James ii. 12, concerning the law of liberty: an excellent discourse and in good method. He is author of "The Prodigal Son," a treatise worth reading, and another of the old religion. 27th October, 1684. I visited the Lord Chamberlain, where dined the BLACK BARON and Monsieur Flamerin, who had so long been banished from France for a duel. 28th October, 1684. I carried Lord Clarendon through the city amid all the squibs and bacchanalia of the Lord Mayor's show, to the Royal Society, where he was proposed a member; and then treated him at dinner. I went to St. Clement's, that prettily built and contrived church where a young divine gave us an eloquent sermon on 1 Cor. vi. 20, inciting to gratitude and glorifying God for the fabric of our bodies and the dignity of our nature. 2d November, 1684. A sudden change from temperate warm weather to an excessive cold rain, frost, snow, and storm, such as had seldom been known. This winter weather began as early and fierce as the past did late; till about Christmas there then had been hardly any winter. 4th November, 1684. Dr. Turner, now translated from Rochester to Ely upon the death of Dr. Peter Gunning, preached before the King at Whitehall on Romans iii. 8, a very excellent sermon, vindicating the Church of England against the pernicious doctrines of the Church of Rome. He challenged the producing but of five clergymen who forsook our Church and went over to that of Rome, during all the troubles and rebellion in England, which lasted near twenty years; and this was to my certain observation a great truth. 15th November, 1684. Being the Queen's birthday, there were fireworks on the Thames before Whitehall, with pageants of castles, forts, and other devices of girandolas, serpents, the King and Queen's arms and mottoes, all represented in fire, such as had not been seen here. But the most remarkable was the several fires and skirmishes in the very water, which actually moved a long way, burning under the water, now and then appearing above it, giving reports like muskets and cannon, with grenades and innumerable other devices. It is said it cost £1,500. It was concluded with a ball, where all the young ladies and gallants danced in the great hall. The court had not been seen so brave and rich in apparel since his Majesty's Restoration. 30th November, 1684. In the morning, Dr. Fiennes, son of the Lord Say and Seale, preached before the King on Joshua xxi. 11. 3d December, 1684. I carried Mr. Justell and Mr. Slingsby (Master of the Mint), to see Mr. Sheldon's collection of medals. The series of Popes was rare, and so were several among the moderns, especially that of John Huss's martyrdom at Constance; of the Roman Emperors, Consulars some Greek, etc., in copper, gold, and silver; not many truly antique; a medallion of Otho Paulus Æmilius, etc., ancient. They were held at a price of £1,000; but not worth, I judge, above £200. 7th December, 1684. I went to see the new church at St. James's, elegantly built; the altar was especially adorned, the white marble inclosure curiously and richly carved, the flowers and garlands about the walls by Mr. Gibbons, in wood: a pelican with her young at her breast; just over the altar in the carved compartment and border environing the purple velvet fringed with I. H. S. richly embroidered, and most noble plate, were given by Sir R. Geere, to the value (as was said) of £200. There was no altar anywhere in England, nor has there been any abroad, more handsomely adorned. 17th December, 1684. Early in the morning I went into St. James's Park to see three Turkish, or Asian horses, newly brought over, and now first shown to his Majesty. There were four, but one of them died at sea, being three weeks coming from Hamburg. They were taken from a Bashaw at the siege of Vienna, at the late famous raising that leaguer. I never beheld so delicate a creature as one of them was, of somewhat a bright bay, two white feet, a blaze; such a head, eyes, ears, neck, breast, belly, haunches, legs, pasterns, and feet, in all regards, beautiful, and proportioned to admiration; spirited, proud, nimble, making halt, turning with that swiftness, and in so small a compass, as was admirable. With all this so gentle and tractable as called to mind what I remember Busbequius, speaks of them, to the reproach of our grooms in Europe, who bring up their horses so churlishly, as makes most of them retain their ill habits. They trotted like does, as if they did not feel the ground. Five hundred guineas was demanded for the first; 300 for the second; and 200 for the third, which was brown. All of them were choicely shaped, but the two last not altogether so perfect as the first. It was judged by the spectators, among whom was the King, Prince of Denmark, Duke of York, and several of the Court, noble persons skilled in horses, especially Monsieur Faubert and his son (provost masters of the Academy, and esteemed of the best in Europe), that there were never seen any horses in these parts to be compared with them. Add to all this, the furniture consisting of embroidery on the saddle, housings, quiver, bow, arrows, scymitar, sword, mace, or battle-ax, _à la Turcisq_; the Bashaw's velvet mantle furred with the most perfect ermine I ever beheld; all which, ironwork in common furniture being here of silver, curiously wrought and double gilt to an incredible value. Such and so extraordinary was the embroidery, that I never saw anything approaching it. The reins and headstall were of crimson silk, covered with chains of silver gilt. There was also a Turkish royal standard of a horse's tail, together with all sorts of other caparisons belonging to a general's horse, by which one may estimate how gallantly and magnificently those infidels appear in the field; for nothing could be seen more glorious. The gentleman (a German) who rode the horse, was in all this garb. They were shod with iron made round and closed at the heel, with a hole in the middle about as wide as a shilling. The hoofs most entire. 18th December, 1684. I went with Lord Cornwallis to see the young gallants do their exercise. Mr. Faubert having newly railed in a manage, and fitted it for the academy. There were the Dukes of Norfolk and Northumberland, Lord Newburgh, and a nephew of (Duras) Earl of Feversham. The exercises were, 1, running at the ring; 2, flinging a javelin at a Moor's head; 3, discharging a pistol at a mark; lastly taking up a gauntlet with the point of a sword; all these performed in full speed. The Duke of Northumberland hardly missed of succeeding in every one, a dozen times, as I think. The Duke of Norfolk did exceeding bravely. Lords Newburgh and Duras seemed nothing so dexterous. Here I saw the difference of what the French call "_bel homme à cheval_," and "_bon homme à cheval_"; the Duke of Norfolk being the first, that is rather a fine person on a horse, the Duke of Northumberland being both in perfection, namely, a graceful person and an excellent rider. But the Duke of Norfolk told me he had not been at this exercise these twelve years before. There were in the field the Prince of Denmark, and the Lord Lansdowne, son of the Earl of Bath, who had been made a Count of the Empire last summer for his service before Vienna. 20th December, 1684. A villainous murder was perpetrated by Mr. St. John, eldest son to Sir Walter St. John, a worthy gentleman, on a knight of quality, in a tavern. The offender was sentenced and reprieved. So many horrid murders and duels were committed about this time as were never before heard of in England; which gave much cause of complaint and murmurings. 1st January, 1684-85. It proved so sharp weather, and so long and cruel a frost, that the Thames was frozen across, but the frost was often dissolved, and then froze again. 11th January, 1685. A young man preached upon St. Luke xiii. 5, after the Presbyterian tedious method and repetition. 24th January, 1685. I dined at Lord Newport's, who had some excellent pictures, especially that of Sir Thomas Hanmer, by Vandyke, one of the best he ever painted; another of our English Dobson's painting; but, above all, Christ in the Virgin's lap, by Poussin, an admirable piece; with something of most other famous hands. 25th January, 1685. Dr. Dove preached before the King. I saw this evening such a scene of profuse gaming, and the King in the midst of his three concubines, as I have never before seen--luxurious dallying and profaneness. 27th January, 1685. I dined at Lord Sunderland's, being invited to hear that celebrated voice of Mr. Pordage, newly come from Rome; his singing was after the Venetian recitative, as masterly as could be, and with an excellent voice both treble and bass; Dr. Walgrave accompanied it with his THEORBO LUTE, on which he performed beyond imagination, and is doubtless one of the greatest masters in Europe on that charming instrument. Pordage is a priest, as Mr. Bernard Howard told me in private. There was in the room where we dined, and in his bedchamber, those incomparable pieces of Columbus, a Flagellation, the Grammar school, the Venus and Adonis of Titian; and of Vandyke's that picture of the late Earl of Digby (father of the Countess of Sunderland), and Earl of Bedford, Sir Kenelm Digby, and two ladies of incomparable performance; besides that of Moses and the burning bush of Bassano, and several other pieces of the best masters. A marble head of M. Brutus, etc. 28th January, 1685. I was invited to my Lord Arundel's, of Wardour (now newly released of his six years' confinement in the Tower on suspicion of the plot called Oates's Plot), where after dinner the same Mr. Pordage entertained us with his voice, that excellent and stupendous artist, Signor John Baptist, playing to it on the harpsichord. My daughter Mary being with us, she also sang to the great satisfaction of both the masters, and a world of people of quality present. She did so also at my Lord Rochester's the evening following, where we had the French boy so famed for his singing, and indeed he had a delicate voice, and had been well taught. I also heard Mrs. Packer (daughter to my old friend) sing before his Majesty and the Duke, privately, that stupendous bass, Gosling, accompanying her, but hers was so loud as took away much of the sweetness. Certainly never woman had a stronger or better ear, could she possibly have governed it. She would do rarely in a large church among the nuns. [Sidenote: LONDON] 4th February, 1685. I went to London, hearing his Majesty had been the Monday before (2d February) surprised in his bedchamber with an apoplectic fit, so that if, by God's providence, Dr. King (that excellent chirurgeon as well as physician) had not been accidentally present to let him bleed (having his lancet in his pocket), his Majesty had certainly died that moment; which might have been of direful consequence, there being nobody else present with the King save this Doctor and one more, as I am assured. It was a mark of the extraordinary dexterity, resolution, and presence of mind in the Doctor, to let him bleed in the very paroxysm, without staying the coming of other physicians, which regularly should have been done, and for want of which he must have a regular pardon, as they tell me. This rescued his Majesty for the instant, but it was only a short reprieve. He still complained, and was relapsing, often fainting, with sometimes epileptic symptoms, till Wednesday, for which he was cupped, let bleed in both jugulars, and both vomit and purges, which so relieved him, that on Thursday hopes of recovery were signified in the public "Gazette," but that day about noon, the physicians thought him feverish. This they seemed glad of, as being more easily allayed and methodically dealt with than his former fits; so as they prescribed the famous Jesuit's powder; but it made him worse, and some very able doctors who were present did not think it a fever, but the effect of his frequent bleeding and other sharp operations used by them about his head, so that probably the powder might stop the circulation, and renew his former fits, which now made him very weak. Thus he passed Thursday night with great difficulty, when complaining of a pain in his side, they drew twelve ounces more of blood from him; this was by six in the morning on Friday, and it gave him relief, but it did not continue, for being now in much pain, and struggling for breath, he lay dozing, and, after some conflicts, the physicians despairing of him, he gave up the ghost at half an hour after eleven in the morning, being the sixth of February, 1685, in the 36th year of his reign, and 54th of his age. Prayers were solemnly made in all the churches, especially in both the Court Chapels, where the chaplains relieved one another every half quarter of an hour from the time he began to be in danger till he expired, according to the form prescribed in the Church offices. Those who assisted his Majesty's devotions were, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of London, Durham, and Ely, but more especially Dr. Ken, the Bishop of Bath and Wells.[55] It is said they exceedingly urged the receiving Holy Sacrament, but his Majesty told them he would consider of it, which he did so long till it was too late. Others whispered that the Bishops and Lords, except the Earls of Bath and Feversham, being ordered to withdraw the night before, Huddleston, the priest, had presumed to administer the Popish offices. He gave his breeches and keys to the Duke who was almost continually kneeling by his bedside, and in tears. He also recommended to him the care of his natural children, all except the Duke of Monmouth, now in Holland, and in his displeasure. He entreated the Queen to pardon him (not without cause); who a little before had sent a Bishop to excuse her not more frequently visiting him, in regard of her excessive grief, and withal that his Majesty would forgive it if at any time she had offended him. He spoke to the Duke to be kind to the Duchess of Cleveland, and especially Portsmouth, and that Nelly might not starve. [Footnote 55: The account given of this by Charles's brother and successor, is, that when the King's life was wholly despaired of, and it was time to prepare for another world, two Bishops came to do their function, who reading the prayers appointed in the Common Prayer Book on that occasion, when they came to the place where usually they exhort a sick person to make a confession of his sins, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who was one of them, advertised him, IT WAS NOT OF OBLIGATION; and after a short exhortation, asked him if he was sorry for his sins? which the King saying he was, the Bishop pronounced the absolution, and then, asked him if he pleased to receive the Sacrament? to which the King made no reply; and being pressed by the Bishop several times, gave no other answer but that it was time enough, or that he would think of it. King James adds, that he stood all the while by the bedside, and seeing the King would not receive the Sacrament from them, and knowing his sentiments, he desired the company to stand a little from the bed, and then asked the King whether he should send for a priest, to which the King replied: "For God's sake, brother, do, and lose no time." The Duke said he would bring one to him; but none could be found except Father Huddleston, who had been so assistant in the King's escape from Worcester; he was brought up a back staircase, and the company were desired to withdraw, but he (the Duke of York) not thinking fit that he should be left alone with the King, desired the Earl of Bath, a Lord of the Bedchamber, and the Earl of Feversham, Captain of the Guard, should stay; the rest being gone, Father Huddleston was introduced, and administered the Sacrament.--"Life of James II."] Thus died King Charles II., of a vigorous and robust constitution, and in all appearance promising a long life. He was a prince of many virtues, and many great imperfections; debonair, easy of access, not bloody nor cruel; his countenance fierce, his voice great, proper of person, every motion became him; a lover of the sea, and skillful in shipping; not affecting other studies, yet he had a laboratory, and knew of many empirical medicines, and the easier mechanical mathematics; he loved planting and building, and brought in a politer way of living, which passed to luxury and intolerable expense. He had a particular talent in telling a story, and facetious passages, of which he had innumerable; this made some buffoons and vicious wretches too presumptuous and familiar, not worthy the favor they abused. He took delight in having a number of little spaniels follow him and lie in his bedchamber, where he often suffered the bitches to puppy and give suck, which rendered it very offensive, and indeed made the whole court nasty and stinking. He would doubtless have been an excellent prince, had he been less addicted to women, who made him uneasy, and always in want to supply their immeasurable profusion, to the detriment of many indigent persons who had signally served both him and his father. He frequently and easily changed favorites to his great prejudice. As to other public transactions, and unhappy miscarriages, 'tis not here I intend to number them; but certainly never had King more glorious opportunities to have made himself, his people, and all Europe happy, and prevented innumerable mischiefs, had not his too easy nature resigned him to be managed by crafty men, and some abandoned and profane wretches who corrupted his otherwise sufficient parts, disciplined as he had been by many afflictions during his banishment, which gave him much experience and knowledge of men and things; but those wicked creatures took him from off all application becoming so great a King. The history of his reign will certainly be the most wonderful for the variety of matter and accidents, above any extant in former ages: the sad tragical death of his father, his banishment and hardships, his miraculous restoration, conspiracies against him, parliaments, wars, plagues, fires, comets, revolutions abroad happening in his time, with a thousand other particulars. He was ever kind to me, and very gracious upon all occasions, and therefore I cannot without ingratitude but deplore his loss, which for many respects, as well as duty, I do with all my soul. His Majesty being dead, the Duke, now King James II., went immediately to Council, and before entering into any business, passionately declaring his sorrow, told their Lordships, that since the succession had fallen to him, he would endeavor to follow the example of his predecessor in his clemency and tenderness to his people; that, however he had been misrepresented as affecting arbitrary power, they should find the contrary; for that the laws of England had made the King as great a monarch as he could desire; that he would endeavor to maintain the Government both in Church and State, as by law established, its principles being so firm for monarchy, and the members of it showing themselves so good and loyal subjects;[56] and that, as he would never depart from the just rights and prerogatives of the Crown, so he would never invade any man's property; but as he had often adventured his life in defense of the nation, so he would still proceed, and preserve it in all its lawful rights and liberties. [Footnote 56: This is the substance (and very nearly the words employed) of what is stated by King James II. in the MS. printed in his life; but in that MS. are some words which Evelyn has omitted. For example, after speaking of the members of the Church of England as good and loyal subjects, the King adds, "AND THEREFORE I SHALL ALWAYS TAKE CARE TO DEFEND AND SUPPORT IT." James then goes on to say, that being desired by some present to allow copies to be taken, he said he had not committed it to writing; on which Mr. Finch (then Solicitor-General and afterward Earl of Aylesford) replied, that what his Majesty had said had made so deep an impression on him, that he believed he could repeat the very words, and if his Majesty would permit him, he would write them down, which the King agreeing to, he went to a table and wrote them down, and this being shown to the King, he approved of it, and it was immediately published. The King afterward proceeds to say: "No one can wonder that Mr. Finch should word the speech as strong as he could in favor of the Established Religion, nor that the King in such a hurry should pass it over without reflection; for though his Majesty intended to promise both security to their religion and protection to their persons, he was afterward convinced it had been better expressed by assuring them he never would endeavor to alter the Established Religion, than that he would endeavor to preserve it, and that he would rather support and defend the professors of it, than the religion itself; they could not expect he should make a conscience of supporting what in his conscience he thought erroneous: his engaging not to molest the professors of it, nor to deprive them or their successors of any spiritual dignity, revenue, or employment, but to suffer the ecclesiastical affairs to go on in the track they were in, was all they could wish or desire from a Prince of a different persuasion; but having once approved that way of expressing it which Mr. Finch had made choice of, he thought it necessary not to vary from it in the declarations or speeches he made afterward, not doubting but the world would understand it in the meaning he intended.----'Tis true, afterward IT WAS pretended he kept not up to this engagement; but had they deviated no further from the duty and allegience which both nature and repeated oath obliged them to, THAN HE DID FROM HIS WORD, they had still remained as happy a people as they really were during his short reign in England."--"Life of James II.," ii. 435. The words printed in small caps in this extract are from the interlineations of the son of King James II.] This being the substance of what he said, the Lords desired it might be published, as containing matter of great satisfaction to a jealous people upon this change, which his Majesty consented to. Then were the Council sworn, and a Proclamation ordered to be published that all officers should continue in their stations, that there might be no failure of public justice, till his further pleasure should be known. Then the King rose, the Lords accompanying him to his bedchamber, where, while he reposed himself, tired indeed as he was with grief and watching, they returned again into the Council chamber to take order for the PROCLAIMING his Majesty, which (after some debate) they consented should be in the very form his grandfather, King James I., was, after the death of Queen Elizabeth; as likewise that the Lords, etc., should proceed in their coaches through the city for the more solemnity of it. Upon this was I, and several other gentlemen waiting in the Privy gallery, admitted into the Council chamber to be witness of what was resolved on. Thence with the Lords, Lord Marshal and Heralds, and other Crown officers being ready, we first went to Whitehall gate, where the Lords stood on foot bareheaded, while the Herald proclaimed his Majesty's title to the Imperial Crown and succession according to the form, the trumpets and kettledrums having first sounded three times, which ended with the people's acclamations. Then a herald called the Lords' coaches according to rank, myself accompanying the solemnity in my Lord Cornwallis's coach, first to Temple Bar, where the Lord Mayor and his brethren met us on horseback, in all their formalities, and proclaimed the King; hence to the Exchange in Cornhill, and so we returned in the order we set forth. Being come to Whitehall, we all went and kissed the King and Queen's hands. He had been on the bed, but was now risen and in his undress. The Queen was in bed in her apartment, but put forth her hand, seeming to be much afflicted, as I believe she was, having deported herself so decently upon all occasions since she came into England, which made her universally beloved. Thus concluded this sad and not joyful day. I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and as it were total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening), which this day se'nnight I was witness of, the King sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarin, etc., a French boy singing love songs[57] in that glorious gallery, while about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2,000 in gold before them; upon which two gentlemen, who were with me, made reflections with astonishment. Six days after, was all in the dust. [Footnote 57: _Ante_, p. 204.] It was enjoined that those who put on mourning should wear it as for a father, in the most solemn manner. 10th February, 1685. Being sent to by the Sheriff of the County to appear and assist in proclaiming the King, I went the next day to Bromley, where I met the Sheriff and the Commander of the Kentish Troop, with an appearance, I suppose, of about 500 horse, and innumerable people, two of his Majesty's trumpets, and a Sergeant with other officers, who having drawn up the horse in a large field near the town, marched thence, with swords drawn, to the market place, where, making a ring, after sound of trumpets and silence made, the High Sheriff read the proclaiming titles to his bailiff, who repeated them aloud, and then, after many shouts of the people, his Majesty's health being drunk in a flint glass of a yard long, by the Sheriff, Commander, Officers, and chief gentlemen, they all dispersed, and I returned. 13th February, 1685. I passed a fine on selling of Honson Grange in Staffordshire, being about £20 per annum, which lying so great a distance, I thought fit to part with it to one Burton, a farmer there. It came to me as part of my daughter-in-law's portion, this being but a fourth part of what was divided between the mother and three sisters. 14th February, 1685. The King was this night very obscurely buried in a vault under Henry VII.'s Chapel at Westminster, without any manner of pomp, and soon forgotten after all this vanity, and the face of the whole Court was exceedingly changed into a more solemn and moral behavior; the new King affecting neither profaneness nor buffoonery. All the great officers broke their staves over the grave, according to form. 15th February, 1685. Dr. Tenison preached to the household. The second sermon should have been before the King; but he, to the great grief of his subjects, did now, for the first time, go to mass publicly in the little Oratory at the Duke's lodgings, the doors being set wide open. 16th February, 1685. I dined at Sir Robert Howard's, auditor of the exchequer, a gentleman pretending to all manner of arts and sciences, for which he had been the subject of comedy, under the name of Sir Positive; not ill-natured, but insufferably boasting. He was son to the late Earl of Berkshire. 17th February, 1685. This morning his Majesty restored the staff and key to Lord Arlington, Chamberlain; to Mr. Savell, Vice-chamberlain; to Lords Newport and Maynard, Treasurer and Comptroller of the household. Lord Godolphin made Chamberlain to the Queen; Lord Peterborough groom of the stole, in place of the Earl of Bath; the Treasurer's staff to the Earl of Rochester; and his brother, the Earl of Clarendon, Lord Privy Seal, in the place of the Marquis of Halifax, who was made President of the Council; the Secretaries of State remaining as before. 19th February, 1685. The Lord Treasurer and the other new officers were sworn at the Chancery Bar and the exchequer. The late King having the revenue of excise, customs, and other late duties granted for his life only, they were now farmed and let to several persons, upon an opinion that the late King might let them for three years after his decease; some of the old commissioners refused to act. The lease was made but the day before the King died;[58] the major part of the Judges (but, as some think, not the best lawyers), pronounced it legal, but four dissented. [Footnote 58: James, in his Life, makes no mention of this lease, but only says HE continued to collect them, which conduct was not blamed; but, on the contrary, he was thanked for it, in an address from the Middle Temple, penned by Sir Bartholomew Shore, and presented by Sir Humphrey Mackworth, carrying great authority with it; nor did the Parliament find fault.] The clerk of the closet had shut up the late King's private oratory next the Privy-chamber above, but the King caused it to be opened again, and that prayers should be said as formerly. 22d February, 1685. Several most useful tracts against Dissenters, Papists and Fanatics, and resolutions of cases were now published by the London divines. [Sidenote: LONDON] 4th March, 1685. ASH WEDNESDAY. After evening prayers, I went to London. 5th March, 1685. To my grief, I saw the new pulpit set up in the Popish Oratory at Whitehall for the Lent preaching, mass being publicly said, and the Romanists swarming at Court with greater confidence than had ever been seen in England since the Reformation, so that everybody grew jealous as to what this would tend. A Parliament was now summoned, and great industry used to obtain elections which might promote the Court interest, most of the corporations being now, by their new charters, empowered to make what returns of members they pleased. There came over divers envoys and great persons to condole the death of the late King, who were received by the Queen-Dowager on a bed of mourning, the whole chamber, ceiling and floor, hung with black, and tapers were lighted, so as nothing could be more lugubrious and solemn. The Queen-Consort sat under a state on a black foot-cloth, to entertain the circle (as the Queen used to do), and that very decently. 6th March, 1685. Lent preachers continued as formerly in the Royal Chapel. 7th March, 1685. My daughter, Mary, was taken with smallpox, and there soon was found no hope of her recovery. A great affliction to me: but God's holy will be done! 10th March, 1685. She received the blessed sacrament; after which, disposing herself to suffer what God should determine to inflict, she bore the remainder of her sickness with extraordinary patience and piety, and more than ordinary resignation and blessed frame of mind. She died the 14th, to our unspeakable sorrow and affliction, and not to our's only, but that of all who knew her, who were many of the best quality, greatest and most virtuous persons. The justness of her stature, person, comeliness of countenance, gracefulness of motion, unaffected, though more than ordinarily beautiful, were the least of her ornaments compared with those of her mind. Of early piety, singularly religious, spending a part of every day in private devotion, reading, and other virtuous exercises; she had collected and written out many of the most useful and judicious periods of the books she read in a kind of common-place, as out of Dr. Hammond on the New Testament, and most of the best practical treatises. She had read and digested a considerable deal of history, and of places. The French tongue was as familiar to her as English; she understood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreet reflections upon what she had observed of the conversations among which she had at any time been, which being continually of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she played a thorough-bass on the harpsichord, in both which she arrived to that perfection, that of the scholars of those two famous masters, Signors Pietro and Bartholomeo, she was esteemed the best; for the sweetness of her voice and management of it added such an agreeableness to her countenance, without any constraint or concern, that when she sung, it was as charming to the eye as to the ear; this I rather note, because it was a universal remark, and for which so many noble and judicious persons in music desired to hear her, the last being at Lord Arundel's, at Wardour. What shall I say, or rather not say, of the cheerfulness and agreeableness of her humor? condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often read to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved of everybody. Piety was so prevalent an ingredient in her constitution (as I may say), that even among equals and superiors she no sooner became intimately acquainted, but she would endeavor to improve them, by insinuating something religious, and that tended to bring them to a love of devotion; she had one or two confidants with whom she used to pass whole days in fasting, reading, and prayers, especially before the monthly communion, and other solemn occasions. She abhorred flattery, and, though she had abundance of wit, the raillery was so innocent and ingenious that it was most agreeable; she sometimes would see a play, but since the stage grew licentious, expressed herself weary of them, and the time spent at the theater was an unaccountable vanity. She never played at cards without extreme importunity and for the company; but this was so very seldom, that I cannot number it among anything she could name a fault. No one could read prose or verse better or with more judgment; and as she read, so she wrote, not only most correct orthography, with that maturity of judgment and exactness of the periods, choice of expressions, and familiarity of style, that some letters of hers have astonished me and others, to whom she has occasionally written. She had a talent of rehearsing any comical part or poem, as to them she might be decently free with; was more pleasing than heard on the theater; she danced with the greatest grace I had ever seen, and so would her master say, who was Monsieur Isaac; but she seldom showed that perfection, save in the gracefulness of her carriage, which was with an air of sprightly modesty not easily to be described. Nothing affected, but natural and easy as well in her deportment as in her discourse, which was always material, not trifling, and to which the extraordinary sweetness of her tone, even in familiar speaking, was very charming. Nothing was so pretty as her descending to play with little children, whom she would caress and humor with great delight. But she most affected to be with grave and sober men, of whom she might learn something, and improve herself. I have been assisted by her in reading and praying by me; comprehensive of uncommon notions, curious of knowing everything to some excess, had I not sometimes repressed it. Nothing was so delightful to her as to go into my Study, where she would willingly have spent whole days, for as I said she had read abundance of history, and all the best poets, even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romancers and modern poems; she could compose happily and put in pretty symbols, as in the "_Mundus Muliebris_," wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to the sex. But all these are vain trifles to the virtues which adorned her soul; she was sincerely religious, most dutiful to her parents, whom she loved with an affection tempered with great esteem, so as we were easy and free, and never were so well pleased as when she was with us, nor needed we other conversation; she was kind to her sisters, and was still improving them by her constant course of piety. Oh, dear, sweet, and desirable child, how shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without the bitterness of sorrow and reluctancy of a tender parent! Thy affection, duty and love to me was that of a friend as well as a child. Nor less dear to thy mother, whose example and tender care of thee was unparalleled, nor was thy return to her less conspicuous. Oh! how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou left us! To the grave shall we both carry thy memory! God alone (in whose bosom thou art at rest and happy!) give us to resign thee and all our contentments (for thou indeed wert all in this world) to his blessed pleasure! Let him be glorified by our submission, and give us grace to bless him for the graces he implanted in thee, thy virtuous life, pious and holy death, which is indeed the only comfort of our souls, hastening through the infinite love and mercy of the Lord Jesus to be shortly with thee, dear child, and with thee and those blessed saints like thee, glorify the Redeemer of the world to all eternity! Amen. It was in the 19th year of her age that this sickness happened to her. An accident contributed to this disease; she had an apprehension of it in particular, which struck her but two days before she came home, by an imprudent gentlewoman whom she went with Lady Falkland to visit, who, after they had been a good while in the house, told them she has a servant sick of the smallpox (who indeed died the next day): this my poor child acknowledged made an impression on her spirits. There were four gentlemen of quality offering to treat with me about marriage, and I freely gave her her own choice, knowing her discretion. She showed great indifference to marrying at all, for truly, says she to her mother (the other day), were I assured of your life and my dear father's, never would I part from you; I love you and this home, where we serve God, above all things, nor ever shall I be so happy; I know and consider the vicissitudes of the world, I have some experience of its vanities, and but for decency more than inclination, and that you judge it expedient for me, I would not change my condition, but rather add the fortune you design me to my sisters, and keep up the reputation of our family. This was so discreetly and sincerely uttered that it could not but proceed from an extraordinary child, and one who loved her parents beyond example. At London, she took this fatal disease, and the occasion of her being there was this: my Lord Viscount Falkland's Lady having been our neighbor (as he was Treasurer of the Navy), she took so great an affection to my daughter, that when they went back in the autumn to the city, nothing would satisfy their incessant importunity but letting her accompany my Lady, and staying some time with her; it was with the greatest reluctance I complied. While she was there, my Lord being musical, when I saw my Lady would not part with her till Christmas, I was not unwilling she should improve the opportunity of learning of Signor Pietro, who had an admirable way both of composure and teaching. It was the end of February before I could prevail with my Lady to part with her; but my Lord going into Oxfordshire to stand for Knight of the Shire there, she expressed her wish to come home, being tired of the vain and empty conversation of the town, the theaters, the court, and trifling visits which consumed so much precious time, and made her sometimes miss of that regular course of piety that gave her the greatest satisfaction. She was weary of this life, and I think went not thrice to Court all this time, except when her mother or I carried her. She did not affect showing herself, she knew the Court well, and passed one summer in it at Windsor with Lady Tuke, one of the Queen's women of the bedchamber (a most virtuous relation of hers); she was not fond of that glittering scene, now become abominably licentious, though there was a design of Lady Rochester and Lady Clarendon to have made her a maid of honor to the Queen as soon as there was a vacancy. But this she did not set her heart upon, nor indeed on anything so much as the service of God, a quiet and regular life, and how she might improve herself in the most necessary accomplishments, and to which she was arrived at so great a measure. This is the little history and imperfect character of my dear child, whose piety, virtue, and incomparable endowments deserve a monument more durable than brass and marble. Precious is the memorial of the just. Much I could enlarge on every period of this hasty account, but that I ease and discharge my overcoming passion for the present, so many things worthy an excellent Christian and dutiful child crowding upon me. Never can I say enough, oh dear, my dear child, whose memory is so precious to me! This dear child was born at Wotton, in the same house and chamber in which I first drew my breath, my wife having retired to my brother there in the great sickness that year upon the first of that month, and the very hour that I was born, upon the last: viz, October. [Sidenote: SAYES COURT] 16th March, 1685. She was interred in the southeast end of the church at Deptford, near her grandmother and several of my younger children and relations. My desire was she should have been carried and laid among my own parents and relations at Wotton, where I desire to be interred myself, when God shall call me out of this uncertain transitory life, but some circumstances did not permit it. Our vicar, Dr. Holden, preached her funeral sermon on Phil. i. 21. "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain," upon which he made an apposite discourse, as those who heard it assured me (for grief suffered me not to be present), concluding with a modest recital of her many virtues and signal piety, so as to draw both tears and admiration from the hearers. I was not altogether unwilling that something of this sort should be spoken, for the edification and encouragement of other young people. Divers noble persons honored her funeral, some in person, others sending their coaches, of which there were six or seven with six horses, viz, the Countess of Sunderland, Earl of Clarendon, Lord Godolphin, Sir Stephen Fox, Sir William Godolphin, Viscount Falkland, and others. There were distributed among her friends about sixty rings. Thus lived, died, and was buried the joy of my life, and ornament of her sex and of my poor family! God Almighty of his infinite mercy grant me the grace thankfully to resign myself and all I have, or had, to his divine pleasure, and in his good time, restoring health and comfort to my family: "teach me so to number my days, that I may apply my heart to wisdom," be prepared for my dissolution, and that into the hands of my blessed Savior I may recommend my spirit! Amen! On looking into her closet, it is incredible what a number of collections she had made from historians, poets, travelers, etc., but, above all, devotions, contemplations, and resolutions on these contemplations, found under her hand in a book most methodically disposed; prayers, meditations, and devotions on particular occasions, with many pretty letters to her confidants; one to a divine (not named) to whom she writes that he would be her ghostly father, and would not despise her for her many errors and the imperfections of her youth, but beg of God to give her courage to acquaint him with all her faults, imploring his assistance and spiritual directions. I well remember she had often desired me to recommend her to such a person; but I did not think fit to do it as yet, seeing her apt to be scrupulous, and knowing the great innocency and integrity of her life. It is astonishing how one who had acquired such substantial and practical knowledge in other ornamental parts of education, especially music, both vocal and instrumental, in dancing, paying and receiving visits, and necessary conversation, could accomplish half of what she has left; but, as she never affected play or cards, which consume a world of precious time, so she was in continual exercise, which yet abated nothing of her most agreeable conversation. But she was a little miracle while she lived, and so she died! 26th March, 1685. I was invited to the funeral of Captain Gunman, that excellent pilot and seaman, who had behaved himself so gallantly in the Dutch war. He died of a gangrene, occasioned by his fall from the pier of Calais. This was the Captain of the yacht carrying the Duke (now King) to Scotland, and was accused for not giving timely warning when she split on the sands, where so many perished; but I am most confident he was no ways guilty, either of negligence, or design, as he made appear not only at the examination of the matter of fact, but in the vindication he showed me, and which must needs give any man of reason satisfaction. He was a sober, frugal, cheerful, and temperate man; we have few such seamen left. 8th April, 1685. Being now somewhat composed after my great affliction, I went to London to hear Dr. Tenison (it being on a Wednesday in Lent) at Whitehall. I observed that though the King was not in his seat above in the chapel, the Doctor made his three congees, which they were not used to do when the late King was absent, making then one bowing only. I asked the reason; it was said he had a special order so to do. The Princess of Denmark was in the King's closet, but sat on the left hand of the chair, the Clerk of the Closet standing by his Majesty's chair, as if he had been present. I met the Queen Dowager going now first from Whitehall to dwell at Somerset House. This day my brother of Wotton and Mr. Onslow were candidates for Surrey against Sir Adam Brown and my cousin, Sir Edward Evelyn, and were circumvented in their election by a trick of the Sheriff's, taking advantage of my brother's party going out of the small village of Leatherhead to seek shelter and lodging, the afternoon being tempestuous, proceeding to the election when they were gone; they expecting the next morning; whereas before and then they exceeded the other party by many hundreds, as I am assured. The Duke of Norfolk led Sir Edward Evelyn's and Sir Adam Brown's party. For this Parliament, very mean and slight persons (some of them gentlemen's servants, clerks, and persons neither of reputation nor interest) were set up; but the country would choose my brother whether he would or no, and he missed it by the trick above mentioned. Sir Adam Brown was so deaf, that he could not hear one word. Sir Edward Evelyn was an honest gentleman, much in favor with his Majesty. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th April, 1685. I went early to Whitehall to hear Dr. Tillotson, Dean of Canterbury, preaching on Eccles. ix. 18. I returned in the evening, and visited Lady Tuke, and found with her Sir George Wakeman, the physician, whom I had seen tried and acquitted, among the plotters for poisoning the late King, on the accusation of the famous Oates; and surely I believed him guiltless. 14th April, 1685. According to my custom, I went to London to pass the holy week. 17th April, 1685. GOOD FRIDAY. Dr. Tenison preached at the new church at St. James, on 1 Cor. xvi. 22, upon the infinite love of God to us, which he illustrated in many instances. The Holy Sacrament followed, at which I participated. The Lord make me thankful! In the afternoon, Dr. Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, preached in Whitehall chapel, the auditory very full of Lords, the two Archbishops, and many others, now drawn to town upon occasion of the coronation and ensuing Parliament. I supped with the Countess of Sunderland and Lord Godolphin, and returned home. 23d April, 1685. Was the coronation of the King and Queen. The solemnity was magnificent as is set forth in print. The Bishop of Ely preached; but, to the sorrow of the people, no Sacrament, as ought to have been. However, the King begins his reign with great expectations, and hopes of much reformation as to the late vices and profaneness of both Court and country. Having been present at the late King's coronation, I was not ambitious of seeing this ceremony. 3d May, 1685. A young man preached, going chaplain with Sir J. Wiburn, Governor of Bombay, in the East Indies. 7th May, 1685. I was in Westminster Hall when Oates, who had made such a stir in the kingdom, on his revealing a plot of the Papists, and alarmed several Parliaments, and had occasioned the execution of divers priests, noblemen, etc., was tried for perjury at the King's bench; but, being very tedious, I did not endeavor to see the issue, considering that it would be published. Abundance of Roman Catholics were in the hall in expectation of the most grateful conviction and ruin of a person who had been so obnoxious to them, and as I verily believe, had done much mischief and great injury to several by his violent and ill-grounded proceedings; while he was at first so unreasonably blown up and encouraged, that his insolence was no longer sufferable. Mr. Roger L'Estrange (a gentleman whom I had long known, and a person of excellent parts, abating some affectations) appearing first against the Dissenters in several tracts, had now for some years turned his style against those whom (by way of hateful distinction) they called Whigs and Trimmers, under the title of "Observator," which came out three or four days every week, in which sheets, under pretense to serve the Church of England, he gave suspicion of gratifying another party, by several passages which rather kept up animosities than appeased them, especially now that nobody gave the least occasion.[59] [Footnote 59: In the first Dutch war, while Evelyn was one of the Commissioners for sick and wounded, L'Estrange in his "Gazette" mentioned the barbarous usage of the Dutch prisoners of war: whereupon Evelyn wrote him a very spirited letter, desiring that the Dutch Ambassador (who was then in England) and his friends would visit the prisoners, and examine their provisions; and he required L'Estrange to publish that vindication in his next number.] 10th May, 1685. The Scots valuing themselves exceedingly to have been the first Parliament called by his Majesty, gave the excise and customs to him and his successors forever; the Duke of Queensberry making eloquent speeches, and especially minding them of a speedy suppression of those late desperate Field-Conventiclers who had done such unheard of assassinations. In the meantime, elections for the ensuing Parliament in England were thought to be very indirectly carried on in most places. God grant a better issue of it than some expect! 16th May, 1685. Oates was sentenced to be whipped and pilloried with the utmost severity. 21st May, 1685. I dined at my Lord Privy Seal's with Sir William Dugdale, Garter King-at-Arms, author of the "MONASTICON" and other learned works; he told me he was 82 years of age, and had his sight and memory perfect. There was shown a draft of the exact shape and dimensions of the crown the Queen had been crowned withal, together with the jewels and pearls, their weight and value, which amounted to £100,658 sterling, attested at the foot of the paper by the jeweler and goldsmith who set them. 22d May, 1685. In the morning, I went with a French gentleman, and my Lord Privy Seal to the House of Lords, where we were placed by his Lordship next the bar, just below the bishops, very commodiously both for hearing and seeing. After a short space, came in the Queen and Princess of Denmark, and stood next above the archbishops, at the side of the House on the right hand of the throne. In the interim, divers of the Lords, who had not finished before, took the test and usual oaths, so that her Majesty, the Spanish and other Ambassadors, who stood behind the throne, heard the Pope and the worship of the Virgin Mary, etc., renounced very decently, as likewise the prayers which followed, standing all the while. Then came in the King, the crown on his head, and being seated, the Commons were introduced, and the House being full, he drew forth a paper containing his speech, which he read distinctly enough, to this effect: "That he resolved to call a Parliament from the moment of his brother's decease, as the best means to settle all the concerns of the nation, so as to be most easy and happy to himself and his subjects; that he would confirm whatever he had said in his declaration at the first Council concerning his opinion of the principles of the Church of England, for their loyalty, and would defend and support it, and preserve its government as by law now established; that, as he would invade no man's property, so he would never depart from his own prerogative; and, as he had ventured his life in defense of the nation, so he would proceed to do still; that, having given this assurance of his care of our religion (his word was YOUR religion) and property (which he had not said by chance, but solemnly), so he doubted not of suitable returns of his subjects' duty and kindness, especially as to settling his revenue for life, for the many weighty necessities of government, which he would not suffer to be precarious; that some might possibly suggest that it were better to feed and supply him from time to time only, out of their inclination to frequent Parliaments; but that that would be a very improper method to take with him, since the best way to engage him to meet oftener would be always to use him well, and therefore he expected their compliance speedily, that this session being but short, they might meet again to satisfaction." At every period of this, the House gave loud shouts. Then he acquainted them with that morning's news of Argyle's being landed in the West Highlands of Scotland from Holland, and the treasonous declaration he had published, which he would communicate to them, and that he should take the best care he could it should meet with the reward it deserved, not questioning the Parliament's zeal and readiness to assist him as he desired; at which there followed another "_Vive le Roi_," and so his Majesty retired. So soon as the Commons were returned and had put themselves into a grand committee, they immediately put the question, and unanimously voted the revenue to his Majesty for life. Mr. Seymour made a bold speech against many elections, and would have had those members who (he pretended) were obnoxious, to withdraw, till they had cleared the matter of their being legally returned; but no one seconded him. The truth is, there were many of the new members whose elections and returns were universally censured, many of them being persons of no condition, or interest, in the nation, or places for which they served, especially in Devon, Cornwall, Norfolk, etc., said to have been recommended by the Court, and from the effect of the new charters changing the electors. It was reported that Lord Bath carried down with him [into Cornwall] no fewer than fifteen charters, so that some called him the Prince Elector: whence Seymour told the House in his speech that if this was digested, they might introduce what religion and laws they pleased, and that though he never gave heed to the fears and jealousies of the people before, he was now really apprehensive of Popery. By the printed list of members of 505, there did not appear to be above 135 who had been in former Parliaments, especially that lately held at Oxford. In the Lords' House, Lord Newport made an exception against two or three young Peers, who wanted some months, and some only four or five days, of being of age. The Popish Lords, who had been sometime before released from their confinement about the plot, were now discharged of their impeachment, of which I gave Lord Arundel of Wardour joy. Oates, who had but two days before been pilloried at several places and whipped at the cart's tail from Newgate to Aldgate, was this day placed on a sledge, being not able to go by reason of so late scourging, and dragged from prison to Tyburn, and whipped again all the way, which some thought to be severe and extraordinary; but, if he was guilty of the perjuries, and so of the death of many innocents (as I fear he was), his punishment was but what he deserved. I chanced to pass just as execution was doing on him. A strange revolution! Note: there was no speech made by the Lord Keeper [Bridgman] after his Majesty, as usual. It was whispered he would not be long in that situation, and many believe the bold Chief Justice Jefferies, who was made Baron of Wem, in Shropshire, and who went thorough stitch in that tribunal, stands fair for that office. I gave him joy the morning before of his new honor, he having always been very civil to me. 24th May, 1685. We had hitherto not any rain for many months, so as the caterpillars had already devoured all the winter fruit through the whole land, and even killed several greater old trees. Such two winters and summers I had never known. 4th June, 1685. Came to visit and take leave of me Sir Gabriel Sylvius, now going Envoy-extraordinary into Denmark, with his secretary and chaplain, a Frenchman, who related the miserable persecution of the Protestants in France; not above ten churches left them, and those also threatened to be demolished; they were commanded to christen their children within twenty-four hours after birth, or else a Popish priest was to be called, and then the infant brought up in Popery. In some places, they were thirty leagues from any minister, or opportunity of worship. This persecution had displeased the most industrious part of the nation, and dispersed those into Switzerland, Burgundy, Holland, Germany, Denmark, England, and the Plantations. There were with Sir Gabriel, his lady, Sir William Godolphin and sisters, and my Lord Godolphin's little son, my charge. I brought them to the water side where Sir Gabriel embarked, and the rest returned to London. 14th June, 1685. There was now certain intelligence of the Duke of Monmouth landing at Lyme, in Dorsetshire, and of his having set up his standard as King of England. I pray God deliver us from the confusion which these beginnings threaten! Such a dearth for want of rain was never in my memory. 17th June, 1685. The Duke landed with but 150 men; but the whole kingdom was alarmed, fearing that the disaffected would join them, many of the trained bands flocking to him. At his landing, he published a Declaration, charging his Majesty with usurpation and several horrid crimes, on pretense of his own title, and offering to call a free Parliament. This declaration was ordered to be burnt by the hangman, the Duke proclaimed a traitor, and a reward of £5,000 to any who should kill him. At this time, the words engraved on the monument in London, intimating that the Papists fired the city, were erased and cut out. The exceeding drought still continues. 18th June, 1685. I received a warrant to send out a horse with twelve days' provisions, etc. 28th June, 1685. We had now plentiful rain after two years' excessive drought and severe winters. Argyle taken in Scotland, and executed, and his party dispersed. 2d July, 1685. No considerable account of the troops sent against the Duke, though great forces sent. There was a smart skirmish; but he would not be provoked to come to an encounter, but still kept in the fastnesses. Dangerfield whipped, like Oates, for perjury. 8th July, 1685. Came news of Monmouth's utter defeat, and the next day of his being taken by Sir William Portman and Lord Lumley with the militia of their counties. It seems the Horse, commanded by Lord Grey, being newly raised and undisciplined, were not to be brought in so short a time to endure the fire, which exposed the Foot to the King's, so as when Monmouth had led the Foot in great silence and order, thinking to surprise Lieutenant-General Lord Feversham newly encamped, and given him a smart charge, interchanging both great and small shot, the Horse, breaking their own ranks, Monmouth gave it over, and fled with Grey, leaving their party to be cut in pieces to the number of 2,000. The whole number reported to be above 8,000; the King's but 2,700. The slain were most of them MENDIP-MINERS, who did great execution with their tools, and sold their lives very dearly, while their leaders flying were pursued and taken the next morning, not far from one another. Monmouth had gone sixteen miles on foot, changing his habit for a poor coat, and was found by Lord Lumley in a dry ditch covered with fern-brakes, but without sword, pistol, or any weapon, and so might have passed for some countryman, his beard being grown so long and so gray as hardly to be known, had not his George discovered him, which was found in his pocket. It is said he trembled exceedingly all over, not able to speak. Grey was taken not far from him. Most of his party were Anabaptists and poor cloth workers of the country, no gentlemen of account being come in to him. The arch-_boutefeu_, Ferguson, Matthews, etc., were not yet found. The £5,000 to be given to whoever should bring Monmouth in, was to be distributed among the militia by agreement between Sir William Portman and Lord Lumley. The battle ended, some words, first in jest, then in passion, passed between Sherrington Talbot (a worthy gentleman, son to Sir John Talbot, and who had behaved himself very handsomely) and one Captain Love, both commanders of the militia, as to whose soldiers fought best, both drawing their swords and passing at one another. Sherrington was wounded to death on the spot, to the great regret of those who knew him. He was Sir John's only son. [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th July, 1685. Just as I was coming into the lodgings at Whitehall, a little before dinner, my Lord of Devonshire standing very near his Majesty's bedchamber door in the lobby, came Colonel Culpeper, and in a rude manner looking at my Lord in the face, asked whether this was a time and place for excluders to appear; my Lord at first took little notice of what he said, knowing him to be a hotheaded fellow, but he reiterating it, my Lord asked Culpeper whether he meant him; he said yes, he meant his Lordship. My Lord told him he was no excluder (as indeed he was not); the other affirming it again, my Lord told him he lied; on which Culpeper struck him a box on the ear, which my Lord returned, and felled him. They were soon parted, Culpeper was seized, and his Majesty, who was all the while in his bedchamber, ordered him to be carried to the Greencloth officer, who sent him to the Marshalsea, as he deserved. My Lord Devon had nothing said to him. I supped this night at Lambeth at my old friend's Mr. Elias Ashmole's, with my Lady Clarendon, the Bishop of St. Asaph, and Dr. Tenison, when we were treated at a great feast. 10th July, 1685. The Count of Castel Mellor, that great favorite and prime minister of Alphonso, late King of Portugal, after several years' banishment, being now received to grace and called home by Don Pedro, the present King, as having been found a person of the greatest integrity after all his sufferings, desired me to spend part of this day with him, and assist him in a collection of books and other curiosities, which he would carry with him into Portugal. Mr. Hussey, a young gentleman who made love to my late dear child, but whom she could not bring herself to answer in affection, died now of the same cruel disease, for which I was extremely sorry, because he never enjoyed himself after my daughter's decease, nor was I averse to the match, could she have overcome her disinclination. [Sidenote: LONDON] 15th July, 1685. I went to see Dr. Tenison's library [in St. Martin's]. Monmouth was this day brought to London and examined before the King, to whom he made great submission, acknowledged his seduction by Ferguson, the Scot, whom he named the bloody villain. He was sent to the Tower, had an interview with his late Duchess, whom he received coldly, having lived dishonestly with the Lady Henrietta Wentworth for two years. He obstinately asserted his conversation with that debauched woman to be no sin; whereupon, seeing he could not be persuaded to his last breath, the divines who were sent to assist him thought not fit to administer the Holy Communion to him. For the rest of his faults he professed great sorrow, and so died without any apparent fear. He would not make use of a cap or other circumstance, but lying down, bid the fellow to do his office better than to the late Lord Russell, and gave him gold; but the wretch made five chops before he had his head off; which so incensed the people, that had he not been guarded and got away, they would have torn him to pieces. The Duke made no speech on the scaffold (which was on Tower Hill), but gave a paper containing not above five or six lines, for the King, in which he disclaims all title to the Crown, acknowledges that the late King, his father, had indeed told him he was but his base son, and so desired his Majesty to be kind to his wife and children. This relation I had from Dr. Tenison (Rector of St. Martin's), who, with the Bishops of Ely and Bath and Wells, were sent to him by his Majesty, and were at the execution. Thus ended this quondam Duke, darling of his father and the ladies, being extremely handsome and adroit, an excellent soldier and dancer, a favorite of the people, of an easy nature, debauched by lust; seduced by crafty knaves, who would have set him up only to make a property, and taken the opportunity of the King being of another religion, to gather a party of discontented men. He failed and perished. He was a lovely person, had a virtuous and excellent lady that brought him great riches, and a second dukedom in Scotland. He was Master of the Horse, General of the King his father's army, Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Knight of the Garter, Chancellor of Cambridge, in a word, had accumulations without end. See what ambition and want of principles brought him to! He was beheaded on Tuesday, 14th of July. His mother, whose name was Barlow, daughter of some very mean creatures, was a beautiful strumpet, whom I had often seen at Paris; she died miserably without anything to bury her; yet this Perkin had been made to believe that the King had married her, a monstrous and ridiculous forgery! And to satisfy the world of the iniquity of the report, the King his father (if his father he really was, for he most resembled one Sidney who was familiar with his mother) publicly and most solemnly renounced it, to be so entered in the Council Book some years since, with all the Privy Councillors' attestation.[60] [Footnote 60: The "Life of James II." contains an account of the circumstances of the Duke of Monmouth's birth, which may be given in illustration of the statements of the text. Ross, tutor to the Duke of Monmouth, is there said to have proposed to Bishop Cosins to sign a certificate of the King's marriage to Mrs. Barlow, though her own name was Walters: but this the Bishop refused. She was born of a gentleman's family in Wales, but having little means and less grace, came to London to make her fortune. Algernon Sydney, then a Colonel in Cromwell's army, had agreed to give her fifty broad pieces (as he told the Duke of York); but being ordered hastily away with his regiment, he missed his bargain. She went into Holland, where she fell into the hands of his brother, Colonel Robert Sydney, who kept her for some time, till the King hearing of her, got her from him. On which the Colonel was heard to say, Let who will have her, she is already sped; and, after being with the King, she was so soon with child, that the world had no cause to doubt whose child it was, and the rather that when he grew to be a man, he very much resembled the Colonel both in stature and countenance, even to a wart on his face. However, the King owned the child. In the King's absence she behaved so loosely, that on his return from his escape at Worcester he would have no further commerce with her, and she became a common prostitute at Paris.] Had it not pleased God to dissipate this attempt in the beginning, there would in all appearance have gathered an irresistible force which would have desperately proceeded to the ruin of the Church and Government; so general was the discontent and expectation of the opportunity. For my own part, I looked upon this deliverance as most signal. Such an inundation of fanatics and men of impious principles must needs have caused universal disorder, cruelty, injustice, rapine, sacrilege, and confusion, an unavoidable civil war, and misery without end. Blessed be God, the knot was happily broken, and a fair prospect of tranquillity for the future, if we reform, be thankful, and make a right use of this mercy! 18th July, 1685. I went to see the muster of the six Scotch and English regiments whom the Prince of Orange had lately sent to his Majesty out of Holland upon this rebellion, but which were now returning, there having been no occasion for their use. They were all excellently clad and well disciplined, and were encamped on Blackheath with their tents: the King and Queen came to see them exercise, and the manner of their encampment, which was very neat and magnificent. By a gross mistake of the Secretary of his Majesty's Forces, it had been ordered that they should be quartered in private houses, contrary to an Act of Parliament, but, on my informing his Majesty timely of it, it was prevented. The two horsemen which my son and myself sent into the county troops, were now come home, after a month's being out to our great charge. 20th July, 1685. The Trinity Company met this day, which should have been on the Monday after Trinity, but was put off by reason of the Royal Charter being so large, that it could not be ready before. Some immunities were superadded. Mr. Pepys, Secretary to the Admiralty, was a second time chosen Master. There were present the Duke of Grafton, Lord Dartmouth, Master of the Ordnance, the Commissioners of the Navy, and Brethren of the Corporation. We went to church, according to custom, and then took barge to the Trinity House, in London, where we had a great dinner, above eighty at one table. [Sidenote: CHELSEA] 7th August, 1685. I went to see Mr. Watts, keeper of the Apothecaries' garden of simples at Chelsea, where there is a collection of innumerable rarities of that sort particularly, besides many rare annuals, the tree bearing Jesuit's bark, which had done such wonders in quartan agues. What was very ingenious was the subterranean heat, conveyed by a stove under the conservatory, all vaulted with brick, so as he has the doors and windows open in the hardest frosts, secluding only the snow. 15th August, 1685. Came to visit us Mr. Boscawen, with my Lord Godolphin's little son, with whose education hitherto his father had intrusted me. 27th August, 1685. My daughter Elizabeth died of the smallpox, soon after having married a young man, nephew of Sir John Tippett, Surveyor of the Navy, and one of the Commissioners. The 30th, she was buried in the church at Deptford. Thus, in less than six months were we deprived of two children for our unworthiness and causes best known to God, whom I beseech from the bottom of my heart that he will give us grace to make that right use of all these chastisements, that we may become better, and entirely submit in all things to his infinitely wise disposal. Amen! 3d September, 1685. Lord Clarendon (Lord Privy Seal) wrote to let me know that the King being pleased to send him Lord-Lieutenant into Ireland, was also pleased to nominate me one of the Commissioners to execute the office of Privy Seal during his Lieutenancy there, it behoving me to wait upon his Majesty to give him thanks for this great honor. 5th September, 1685. I accompanied his Lordship to Windsor (dining by the way of Sir Henry Capel's at Kew), where his Majesty receiving me with extraordinary kindness, I kissed his hand, I told him how sensible I was of his Majesty's gracious favor to me, that I would endeavor to serve him with all sincerity, diligence, and loyalty, not more out of my duty than inclination. He said he doubted not of it, and was glad he had the opportunity to show me the kindness he had for me. After this, came abundance of great men to give me joy. 6th September, 1685. SUNDAY. I went to prayer in the chapel, and heard Dr. Standish. The second sermon was preached by Dr. Creighton, on 1 Thess. iv. 11, persuading to unity and peace, and to be mindful of our own business, according to the advice of the apostle. Then I went to hear a Frenchman who preached before the King and Queen in that splendid chapel next St. George's Hall. Their Majesties going to mass, I withdrew to consider the stupendous painting of the Hall, which, both for the art and invention, deserve the inscription in honor of the painter, Signor Verrio. The history is Edward III. receiving the Black Prince, coming toward him in a Roman triumph. The whole roof is the history of St. George. The throne, the carvings, etc., are incomparable, and I think equal to any, and in many circumstances exceeding any, I have seen abroad. I dined at Lord Sunderland's, with (among others) Sir William Soames, designed Ambassador to Constantinople. About 6 o'clock came Sir Dudley and his brother Roger North, and brought the Great Seal from my Lord Keeper, who died the day before at his house in Oxfordshire. The King went immediately to council; everybody guessing who was most likely to succeed this great officer; most believing it could be no other than my Lord Chief Justice Jefferies, who had so vigorously prosecuted the late rebels, and was now gone the Western Circuit, to punish the rest that were secured in several counties, and was now near upon his return. I took my leave of his Majesty, who spoke very graciously to me, and supping that night at Sir Stephen Fox's, I promised to dine there the next day. 15th September, 1685. I accompanied Mr. Pepys to Portsmouth, whither his Majesty was going the first time since his coming to the Crown, to see in what state the fortifications were. We took coach and six horses, late after dinner, yet got to Bagshot that night. While supper was making ready I went and made a visit to Mrs. Graham, some time maid of honor to the Queen Dowager, now wife to James Graham, Esq., of the privy purse to the King; her house being a walk in the forest, within a little quarter of a mile from Bagshot town. Very importunate she was that I would sup, and abide there that night; but, being obliged by my companion, I returned to our inn, after she had shown me her house, which was very commodious, and well furnished, as she was an excellent housewife, a prudent and virtuous lady. There is a park full of red deer about it. Her eldest son was now sick there of the smallpox, but in a likely way of recovery, and other of her children run about, and among the infected, which she said she let them do on purpose that they might while young pass that fatal disease she fancied they were to undergo one time or other, and that this would be the best: the severity of this cruel distemper so lately in my poor family confirming much of what she affirmed. [Sidenote: WINCHESTER] 16th September, 1685. The next morning, setting out early, we arrived soon enough at Winchester to wait on the King, who was lodged at the Dean's (Dr. Meggot). I found very few with him besides my Lords Feversham, Arran, Newport, and the Bishop of Bath and Wells. His Majesty was discoursing with the bishops concerning miracles, and what strange things the Saludadors[61] would do in Spain, as by creeping into heated ovens without hurt, and that they had a black cross in the roof of their mouths, but yet were commonly notorious and profane wretches; upon which his Majesty further said, that he was so extremely difficult of miracles, for fear of being imposed upon, that if he should chance to see one himself, without some other witness, he should apprehend it a delusion of his senses. Then they spoke of the boy who was pretended to have a wanting leg restored him, so confidently asserted by Fr. de Santa Clara and others. To all of which the Bishop added a great miracle happening in Winchester to his certain knowledge, of a poor, miserably sick and decrepit child (as I remember long kept unbaptized) who immediately on his baptism, recovered; as also of the salutary effect of King Charles his Majesty's father's blood, in healing one that was blind. [Footnote 61: Evelyn subjoins this note:--"As to that of the Saludador (of which likewise I remember Sir Arthur Hopton, formerly as Ambassador at Madrid, had told me many like wonders), Mr. Pepys passing through Spain, and being extremely inquisitive of the truth of these pretended miracles of the Saludadors, found a very famous one at last, to whom he offered a considerable reward if he would make a trial of the oven, or any other thing of that kind, before him; the fellow ingenuously told him, that finding he was a more than ordinary curious person, he would not deceive him, and so acknowledged that he could do none of the feats really, but that what they pretended was all a cheat, which he would easily discover, though the poor superstitious people were easily imposed upon; yet have these impostors an allowance of the Bishops to practice their jugglings. This Mr. Pepys affirmed to me; but said he, I did not conceive it fit to interrupt his Majesty, who so solemnly told what they pretended to do. J. E."] There was something said of the second sight happening to some persons, especially Scotch; upon which his Majesty, and I think Lord Arran, told us that Monsieur ... a French nobleman, lately here in England, seeing the late Duke of Monmouth come into the playhouse at London, suddenly cried out to somebody sitting in the same box, "_Voilà Monsieur comme il entre sans tete!_" Afterward his Majesty spoke of some relics that had effected strange cures, particularly a piece of our blessed Savior's cross, that healed a gentleman's rotten nose by only touching. And speaking of the golden cross and chain taken out of the coffin of St. Edward the Confessor at Westminster, by one of the singing-men, who, as the scaffolds were taken down after his Majesty's coronation, espying a hole in the tomb, and something glisten, put his hand in, and brought it to the dean, and he to the King; his Majesty began to put the Bishop in mind how earnestly the late King (his brother) called upon him during his agony, to take out what he had in his pocket. "I had thought," said the King, "it had been for some keys, which might lead to some cabinet that his Majesty would have me secure"; but, says he, "you will remember that I found nothing in any of his pockets but a cross of gold, and a few insignificant papers"; and thereupon he showed us the cross, and was pleased to put it into my hand. It was of gold, about three inches long, having on one side a crucifix enameled and embossed, the rest was graved and garnished with goldsmiths' work, and two pretty broad table amethysts (as I conceived), and at the bottom a pendant pearl; within was enchased a little fragment, as was thought, of the true cross, and a Latin inscription in gold and Roman letters. More company coming in, this discourse ended. I may not forget a resolution which his Majesty made, and had a little before entered upon it at the Council Board at Windsor or Whitehall, that the negroes in the plantations should all be baptized, exceedingly declaiming against that impiety of their masters prohibiting it, out of a mistaken opinion that they would be _ipso facto_ free; but his Majesty persists in his resolution to have them christened, which piety the Bishop blessed him for. I went out to see the new palace the late King had begun, and brought almost to the covering. It is placed on the side of the hill, where formerly stood the old castle. It is a stately fabric, of three sides and a corridor, all built of brick, and cornished, windows and columns at the break and entrance of free-stone. It was intended for a hunting-house when his Majesty should come to these parts, and has an incomparable prospect. I believe there had already been £20,000 and more expended; but his now Majesty did not seem to encourage the finishing it at least for a while. Hence to see the Cathedral, a reverend pile, and in good repair. There are still the coffins of the six Saxon Kings, whose bones had been scattered by the sacrilegious rebels of 1641, in expectation, I suppose, of finding some valuable relics, and afterward gathered up again and put into new chests, which stand above the stalls of the choir. [Sidenote: PORTSMOUTH] 17th September, 1685. Early next morning, we went to Portsmouth, something before his Majesty arrived. We found all the road full of people, the women in their best dress, in expectation of seeing the King pass by, which he did, riding on horseback a good part of the way. The Mayor and Aldermen with their mace, and in their formalities, were standing at the entrance of the fort, a mile on this side of the town, where the Mayor made a speech to the King, and then the guns of the fort were fired, as were those of the garrison, as soon as the King was come into Portsmouth. All the soldiers (near 3,000) were drawn up, and lining the streets and platform to God's House (the name of the Governor's residence), where, after he had viewed the new fortifications and shipyard, his Majesty was entertained at a magnificent dinner by Sir ... Slingsby, the Lieutenant Governor, all the gentlemen in his train sitting down at table with him, which I also had done, had I not been before engaged to Sir Robert Holmes, Governor of the Isle of Wight, to dine with him at a private house, where likewise we had a very sumptuous and plentiful repast of excellent venison, fowl, fish, and fruit. After dinner, I went to wait on his Majesty again, who was pulling on his boots in the Town Hall adjoining the house where he dined, and then having saluted some ladies, who came to kiss his hand, he took horse for Winchester, whither he returned that night. This hall is artificially hung round with arms of all sorts, like the hall and keep at Windsor. Hence, to see the shipyard and dock, the fortifications, and other things. Portsmouth, when finished, will be very strong, and a noble quay. There were now thirty-two men-of-war in the harbor. I was invited by Sir R. Beach, the Commissioner, where, after a great supper, Mr. Secretary and myself lay that night, and the next morning set out for Guildford, where we arrived in good hour, and so the day after to London. I had twice before been at Portsmouth, the Isle of Wight, etc., many years since. I found this part of Hampshire bravely wooded, especially about the house and estate of Colonel Norton, who though now in being, having formerly made his peace by means of Colonel Legg, was formerly a very fierce commander in the first Rebellion. His house is large, and standing low, on the road from Winchester to Portsmouth. By what I observed in this journey, is that infinite industry, sedulity, gravity, and great understanding and experience of affairs, in his Majesty, that I cannot but predict much happiness to the nation, as to its political government; and, if he so persist, there could be nothing more desired to accomplish our prosperity, but that he was of the national religion. 30th September, 1685. Lord Clarendon's commission for Lieutenant of Ireland was sealed this day. [Sidenote: LONDON] 2d October, 1685. Having a letter sent me by Mr. Pepys with this expression at the foot of it, "I have something to show you that I may not have another time," and that I would not fail to dine with him. I accordingly went. After dinner, he had me and Mr. Houblon (a rich and considerable merchant, whose father had fled out of Flanders on the persecution of the Duke of Alva) into a private room, and told us that being lately alone with his Majesty, and upon some occasion of speaking concerning my late Lord Arlington dying a Roman Catholic, who had all along seemed to profess himself a Protestant, taken all the tests, etc., till the day (I think) of his death, his Majesty said that as to his inclinations he had known them long wavering, but from fear of losing his places, he did not think it convenient to declare himself. There are, says the King, those who believe the Church of Rome gives dispensations for going to church, and many like things, but that is not so; for if that might have been had, he himself had most reason to make use of it. INDEED, he said, as to SOME MATRIMONIAL CASES, THERE ARE NOW AND THEN DISPENSATIONS, but hardly in any cases else. This familiar discourse encouraged Mr. Pepys to beg of his Majesty, if he might ask it without offense, and for that his Majesty could not but observe how it was whispered among many whether his late Majesty had been reconciled to the Church of Rome; he again humbly besought his Majesty to pardon his presumption, if he had touched upon a thing which did not befit him to look into. The King ingenuously told him that he both was and died a Roman Catholic, and that he had not long since declared that it was upon some politic and state reasons, best known to himself (meaning the King his brother), but that he was of that persuasion: he bid him follow him into his closet, where opening a cabinet, he showed him two papers, containing about a quarter of a sheet, on both sides written, in the late King's own hand, several arguments opposite to the doctrine of the Church of England, charging her with heresy, novelty, and the fanaticism of other Protestants, the chief whereof was, as I remember, our refusing to acknowledge the primacy and infallibility of the Church of Rome; how impossible it was that so many ages should never dispute it, till of late; how unlikely our Savior would leave his Church without a visible Head and guide to resort to, during his absence; with the like usual topic; so well penned as to the discourse as did by no means seem to me to have been put together by the late King yet written all with his own hand, blotted and interlined, so as, if indeed it was not given him by some priest, they might be such arguments and reasons as had been inculcated from time to time, and here recollected; and, in the conclusion, showing his looking on the Protestant religion (and by name the Church of England) to be without foundation, and consequently false and unsafe. When his Majesty had shown him these originals, he was pleased to lend him the copies of these two papers, attested at the bottom in four or five lines under his own hand. These were the papers I saw and read. This nice and curious passage I thought fit to set down. Though all the arguments and objections were altogether weak, and have a thousand times been answered by our divines; they are such as their priests insinuate among their proselytes, as if nothing were Catholic but the Church of Rome, no salvation out of that, no reformation sufferable, bottoming all their errors on St. Peter's successors' unerring dictatorship, but proving nothing with any reason, or taking notice of any objection which could be made against it. Here all was taken for granted, and upon it a resolution and preference implied. I was heartily sorry to see all this, though it was no other than was to be suspected, by his late Majesty's too great indifference, neglect, and course of life, that he had been perverted, and for secular respects only professed to be of another belief, and thereby giving great advantage to our adversaries, both the Court and generally the youth and great persons of the nation becoming dissolute and highly profane. God was incensed to make his reign very troublesome and unprosperous, by wars, plagues, fires, loss of reputation by an universal neglect of the public for the love of a voluptuous and sensual life, which a vicious Court had brought into credit. I think of it with sorrow and pity, when I consider how good and debonair a nature that unhappy Prince was; what opportunities he had to have made himself the most renowned King that ever swayed the British scepter, had he been firm to that Church for which his martyred and blessed father suffered; and had he been grateful to Almighty God, who so miraculously restored him, with so excellent a religion; had he endeavored to own and propagate it as he should have done, not only for the good of his kingdom, but of all the Reformed Churches in christendom, now weakened and near ruined through our remissness and suffering them to be supplanted, persecuted, and destroyed, as in France, which we took no notice of. The consequence of this, time will show, and I wish it may proceed no further. The emissaries and instruments of the Church of Rome will never rest till they have crushed the Church of England, as knowing that alone to be able to cope with them, and that they can never answer her fairly, but lie abundantly open to the irresistible force of her arguments, antiquity and purity of her doctrine, so that albeit it may move God, for the punishment of a nation so unworthy, to eclipse again the profession of her here, and darkness and superstition prevail, I am most confident the doctrine of the Church of England will never be extinguished, but remain visible, if not eminent, to the consummation of the world. I have innumerable reasons that confirm me in this opinion, which I forbear to mention here. In the meantime, as to the discourse of his Majesty with Mr. Pepys, and those papers, as I do exceedingly prefer his Majesty's free and ingenuous profession of what his own religion is, beyond concealment upon any politic accounts, so I think him of a most sincere and honest nature, one on whose word one may rely, and that he makes a conscience of what he promises, to perform it. In this confidence, I hope that the Church of England may yet subsist, and when it shall please God to open his eyes and turn his heart (for that is peculiarly in the Lord's hands) to flourish also. In all events, whatever does become of the Church of England, it is certainly, of all the Christian professions on the earth, the most primitive, apostolical, and excellent. 8th October, 1685. I had my picture drawn this week by the famous Kneller. [Sidenote: LONDON] 14th October, 1685. I went to London about finishing my lodgings at Whitehall. 15th October, 1685. Being the King's birthday, there was a solemn ball at Court, and before it music of instruments and voices. I happened by accident to stand the very next to the Queen and the King, who talked with me about the music. 18th October, 1685. The King was now building all that range from east to west by the court and garden to the street, and making a new chapel for the Queen, whose lodgings were to be in this new building, as also a new Council chamber and offices next the south end of the banqueting house. I returned home, next morning, to London. 22d October, 1685. I accompanied my Lady Clarendon to her house at Swallowfield, in Berks, dining by the way at Mr. Graham's lodge at Bagshot; the house, newly repaired and capacious enough for a good family, stands in a park. Hence, we went to Swallowfield; this house is after the ancient building of honorable gentlemen's houses, when they kept up ancient hospitality, but the gardens and waters as elegant as it is possible to make a flat by art and industry, and no mean expense, my lady being so extraordinarily skilled in the flowery part, and my lord in diligence of planting; so that I have hardly seen a seat which shows more tokens of it than what is to be found here, not only in the delicious and rarest fruits of a garden, but in those innumerable timber trees in the ground about the seat, to the greatest ornament and benefit of the place. There is one orchard of 1,000 golden, and other cider pippins; walks and groves of elms, limes, oaks, and other trees. The garden is so beset with all manner of sweet shrubs, that it perfumes the air. The distribution also of the quarters, walks, and parterres, is excellent. The nurseries, kitchen-garden full of the most desirable plants; two very noble orangeries well furnished: but, above all, the canal and fish ponds, the one fed with a white, the other with a black running water, fed by a quick and swift river, so well and plentifully stored with fish, that for pike, carp, bream, and tench, I never saw anything approaching it. We had at every meal carp and pike of a size fit for the table of a Prince, and what added to the delight was, to see the hundreds taken by the drag, out of which, the cook standing by, we pointed out what we had most mind to, and had carp that would have been worth at London twenty shillings a piece. The waters are flagged about with _Calámus aromaticus_, with which my lady has hung a closet, that retains the smell very perfectly. There is also a certain sweet willow and other exotics: also a very fine bowling-green, meadow, pasture, and wood; in a word, all that can render a country seat delightful. There is besides a well-furnished library in the house. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th October, 1685. We returned to London, having been treated with all sorts of cheer and noble freedom by that most religious and virtuous lady. She was now preparing to go for Ireland with her husband, made Lord Deputy, and went to this country house and ancient seat of her father and family, to set things in order during her absence; but never were good people and neighbors more concerned than all the country (the poor especially) for the departure of this charitable woman; everyone was in tears, and she as unwilling to part from them. There was among them a maiden of primitive life, the daughter of a poor laboring man, who had sustained her parents (some time since dead) by her labor, and has for many years refused marriage, or to receive any assistance from the parish, besides the little hermitage my lady gives her rent-free; she lives on four pence a day, which she gets by spinning; says she abounds and can give alms to others, living in great humility and content, without any apparent affectation, or singularity; she is continually working, praying, or reading, gives a good account of her knowledge in religion, visits the sick; is not in the least given to talk; very modest, of a simple not unseemingly behavior; of a comely countenance, clad very plain, but clean and tight. In sum, she appears a saint of an extraordinary sort, in so religious a life, as is seldom met with in villages now-a-days. 27th October, 1685. I was invited to dine at Sir Stephen Fox's with my Lord Lieutenant, where was such a dinner for variety of all things as I had seldom seen, and it was so for the trial of a master-cook whom Sir Stephen had recommended to go with his Lordship into Ireland; there were all the dainties not only of the season, but of what art could add, venison, plain solid meat, fowl, baked and boiled meats, banquet [dessert], in exceeding plenty, and exquisitely dressed. There also dined my Lord Ossory and Lady (the Duke of Beaufort's daughter), my Lady Treasurer, Lord Cornbury, and other visitors. 28th October, 1685. At the Royal Society, an urn full of bones was presented, dug up in a highway, while repairing it, in a field in Camberwell, in Surrey; it was found entire with its cover, among many others, believed to be truly Roman and ancient. Sir Richard Bulkeley described to us a model of a chariot he had invented, which it was not possible to overthrow in whatever uneven way it was drawn, giving us a wonderful relation of what it had performed in that kind, for ease, expedition, and safety; there were some inconveniences yet to be remedied--it would not contain more than one person; was ready to take fire every ten miles; and being placed and playing on no fewer than ten rollers, it made a most prodigious noise, almost intolerable. A remedy was to be sought for these inconveniences. 31st October, 1685. I dined at our great Lord Chancellor Jefferies', who used me with much respect. This was the late Chief-Justice who had newly been the Western Circuit to try the Monmouth conspirators, and had formerly done such severe justice among the obnoxious in Westminster Hall, for which his Majesty dignified him by creating him first a Baron, and now Lord Chancellor. He had some years past been conversant in Deptford; is of an assured and undaunted spirit, and has served the Court interest on all the hardiest occasions; is of nature cruel, and a slave of the Court. 3d November, 1685. The French persecution of the Protestants raging with the utmost barbarity, exceeded even what the very heathens used: innumerable persons of the greatest birth and riches leaving all their earthly substance, and hardly escaping with their lives, dispersed through all the countries of Europe. The French tyrant abrogated the Edict of Nantes which had been made in favor of them, and without any cause; on a sudden demolishing all their churches, banishing, imprisoning, and sending to the galleys all the ministers; plundering the common people, and exposing them to all sorts of barbarous usage by soldiers sent to ruin and prey on them; taking away their children; forcing people to the Mass, and then executing them as relapsers; they burnt their libraries, pillaged their goods, ate up their fields and substance, banished or sent the people to the galleys, and seized on their estates. There had now been numbered to pass through Geneva only (and that by stealth, for all the usual passages were strictly guarded by sea and land) 40,000 toward Switzerland. In Holland, Denmark, and all about Germany, were dispersed some hundred thousands; besides those in England, where, though multitudes of all degree sought for shelter and welcome as distressed Christians and confessors, they found least encouragement, by a fatality of the times we were fallen into, and the uncharitable indifference of such as should have embraced them; and I prey it be not laid to our charge. The famous Claude fled to Holland; Allix and several more came to London, and persons of great estates came over, who had forsaken all. France was almost dispeopled, the bankers so broken, that the tyrant's revenue was exceedingly diminished, manufactures ceased, and everybody there, save the Jesuits, abhorred what was done, nor did the Papists themselves approve it. What the further intention is, time will show; but doubtless portending some revolution. I was shown the harangue which the Bishop of Valentia on Rhone made in the name of the Clergy, celebrating the French King, as if he was a God, for persecuting the poor Protestants, with this expression in it, "That as his victory over heresy was greater than all the conquests of Alexander and Cæsar, it was but what was wished in England; and that God seemed to raise the French King to this power and magnanimous action, that he might be in capacity to assist in doing the same here." This paragraph is very bold and remarkable; several reflecting on Archbishop Usher's prophecy as now begun in France, and approaching the orthodox in all other reformed churches. One thing was much taken notice of, that the "Gazettes" which were still constantly printed twice a week, informing us what was done all over Europe, never spoke of this wonderful proceeding in France; nor was any relation of it published by any, save what private letters and the persecuted fugitives brought. Whence this silence, I list not to conjecture; but it appeared very extraordinary in a Protestant country that we should know nothing of what Protestants suffered, while great collections were made for them in foreign places, more hospitable and Christian to appearance. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th November, 1685. It being an extraordinarily wet morning, and myself indisposed by a very great rheum, I did not go to church, to my very great sorrow, it being the first Gunpowder Conspiracy anniversary that had been kept now these eighty years under a prince of the Roman religion. Bonfires were forbidden on this day; what does this portend! 9th November, 1685. Began the Parliament. The King in his speech required continuance of a standing force instead of a militia, and indemnity and dispensation to Popish officers from the Test; demands very unexpected and unpleasing to the Commons. He also required a supply of revenue, which they granted; but returned no thanks to the King for his speech, till farther consideration. 12th November, 1685. The Commons postponed finishing the bill for the Supply, to consider the Test, and Popish officers; this was carried but by one voice. 14th November, 1685. I dined at Lambeth, my Lord Archbishop carrying me with him in his barge; there were my Lord Deputy of Ireland, the Bishops of Ely and St. Asaph, Dr. Sherlock, and other divines; Sir William Hayward, Sir Paul Rycaut, etc. 20th November, 1685. The Parliament was adjourned to February, several both of Lords and Commons excepting against some passage of his Majesty's speech relating to the Test, and continuance of Popish officers in command. This was a great surprise in a Parliament which people believed would have complied in all things. Popish pamphlets and pictures sold publicly; no books nor answers to them appearing till long after. 21st November, 1685. I resigned my trust for composing a difference between Mr. Thynn and his wife. 22d November, 1685. Hitherto was a very wet, warm season. 4th December, 1685. Lord Sunderland was declared President of the Council, and yet to hold his Secretary's place. The forces disposed into several quarters through the kingdom are very insolent, on which are great complaints. Lord Brandon, tried for the late conspiracy, was condemned and pardoned; so was Lord Grey, his accuser and witness. Persecution in France raging, the French insolently visit our vessels, and take away the fugitive Protestants; some escape in barrels. [Sidenote: GREENWICH] 10th December, 1685. To Greenwich, being put into the new Commission of Sewers. 13th December, 1685. Dr. Patrick, Dean of Peterborough, preached at Whitehall, before the Princess of Denmark, who, since his Majesty came to the Crown, always sat in the King's closet, and had the same bowings and ceremonies applied to the place where she was, as his Majesty had when there in person. Dining at Mr. Pepys's, Dr. Slayer showed us an experiment of a wonderful nature, pouring first a very cold liquor into a glass, and superfusing on it another, to appearance cold and clear liquor also; it first produced a white cloud, then boiling, divers coruscations and actual flames of fire mingled with the liquor, which being a little shaken together, fixed divers suns and stars of real fire, perfectly globular, on the sides of the glass, and which there stuck like so many constellations, burning most vehemently, and resembling stars and heavenly bodies, and that for a long space. It seemed to exhibit a theory of the eduction of light out of the chaos, and the fixing or gathering of the universal light into luminous bodies. This matter, or phosphorus, was made out of human blood and urine, elucidating the vital flame, or heat in animal bodies. A very noble experiment! 16th December, 1685. I accompanied my Lord-Lieutenant as far as St. Alban's, there going out of town with him near 200 coaches of all the great officers and nobility. The next morning taking leave, I returned to London. 18th December, 1685. I dined at the great entertainment his Majesty gave the Venetian Ambassadors, Signors Zenno and Justiniani, accompanied with ten more noble Venetians of their most illustrious families, Cornaro, Maccenigo, etc., who came to congratulate their Majesties coming to the Crown. The dinner was most magnificent and plentiful, at four tables, with music, kettledrums, and trumpets, which sounded upon a whistle at every health. The banquet [dessert] was twelve vast chargers piled up so high that those who sat one against another could hardly see each other. Of these sweetmeats, which doubtless were some days piling up in that exquisite manner, the Ambassadors touched not, but leaving them to the spectators who came out of curiosity to see the dinner, were exceedingly pleased to see in what a moment of time all that curious work was demolished, the comfitures voided, and the tables cleared. Thus his Majesty entertained them three days, which (for the table only) cost him £600, as the Clerk of the Greencloth (Sir William Boreman) assured me. Dinner ended, I saw their procession, or cavalcade, to Whitehall, innumerable coaches attending. The two Ambassadors had four coaches of their own, and fifty footmen (as I remember), besides other equipage as splendid as the occasion would permit, the Court being still in mourning. Thence, I went to the audience which they had in the Queen's presence chamber, the Banqueting House being full of goods and furniture till the galleries on the garden-side, council chamber, and new chapel, now in the building, were finished. They went to their audience in those plain black gowns and caps which they constantly wear in the city of Venice. I was invited to have accompanied the two Ambassadors in their coach to supper that night, returning now to their own lodgings, as no longer at the King's expense; but, being weary, I excused myself. 19th December, 1685. My Lord Treasurer made me dine with him, where I became acquainted with Monsieur Barillon, the French Ambassador, a learned and crafty advocate. [Sidenote: LONDON] 20th December, 1685. Dr. Turner, brother to the Bishop of Ely, and sometime tutor to my son, preached at Whitehall on Mark viii. 38, concerning the submission of Christians to their persecutors, in which were some passages indiscreet enough, considering the time, and the rage of the inhuman French tyrant against the poor Protestants. 22d December, 1685. Our patent for executing the office of Privy Seal during the absence of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, being this day sealed by the Lord Chancellor, we went afterward to St. James, where the Court then was on occasion of building at Whitehall; his Majesty delivered the seal to my Lord Tiviot and myself, the other Commissioners not being come, and then gave us his hand to kiss. There were the two Venetian Ambassadors and a world of company; among the rest the first Popish Nuncio that had been in England since the Reformation; so wonderfully were things changed, to the universal jealousy. 24th December, 1685. We were all three Commissioners sworn on our knees by the Clerk of the Crown, before my Lord Chancellor, three several oaths: allegiance, supremacy, and the oath belonging to the Lord Privy Seal, which last we took standing. After this, the Lord Chancellor invited us all to dinner, but it being Christmas eve we desired to be excused, intending at three in the afternoon to seal divers things which lay ready at the office; so attended by three of the Clerks of the Signet, we met and sealed. Among other things was a pardon to West, who being privy to the late conspiracy, had revealed the accomplices to save his own neck. There were also another pardon and two indenizations; and so agreeing to a fortnight's vacation, I returned home. 31st December, 1685. Recollecting the passages of the year past, and having made up accounts, humbly besought Almighty God to pardon those my sins which had provoked him to discompose my sorrowful family; that he would accept of our humiliation, and in his good time restore comfort to it. I also blessed God for all his undeserved mercies and preservations, begging the continuance of his grace and preservation. The winter had hitherto been extraordinarily wet and mild. 1st January, 1685-6. Imploring the continuance of God's providential care for the year now entered, I went to the public devotions. The Dean of the Chapel and Clerk of the Closet put out, viz, Bishop of London and ..., and Rochester and Durham put in their places; the former had opposed the toleration intended, and shown a worthy zeal for the reformed religion as established. 6th January, 1686. I dined with the Archbishop of York, where was Peter Walsh, that Romish priest so well known for his moderation, professing the Church of England to be a true member of the Catholic Church. He is used to go to our public prayers without scruple, and did not acknowledge the Pope's infallibility, only primacy of order. 19th January, 1686. Passed the Privy Seal, among others, the creation of Mrs. Sedley (concubine to ----) Countess of Dorchester, which the Queen took very grievously, so as for two dinners, standing near her, I observed she hardly ate one morsel, nor spoke one word to the King, or to any about her, though at other times she used to be extremely pleasant, full of discourse and good humor. The Roman Catholics were also very angry: because they had so long valued the sanctity of their religion and proselytes. Dryden, the famous playwriter, and his two sons, and Mrs. Nelly (miss to the late ----), were said to go to mass; such proselytes were no great loss to the Church. This night was burnt to the ground my Lord Montague's palace in Bloomsbury, than which for painting and furniture there was nothing more glorious in England. This happened by the negligence of a servant airing, as they call it, some of the goods by the fire in a moist season; indeed, so wet and mild a season had scarce been seen in man's memory. At this Seal there also passed the creation of Sir Henry Waldegrave to be a Peer. He had married one of the King's natural daughters by Mrs. Churchill. These two Seals my brother Commissioners passed in the morning before I came to town, at which I was not displeased. We likewise passed Privy Seals for £276,000 upon several accounts, pensions, guards, wardrobes, privy purse, etc., besides divers pardons, and one more which I must not forget (and which by Providence I was not present at) one Mr. Lytcott to be Secretary to the Ambassador to Rome. We being three Commissioners, any two were a quorum. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st January, 1686. I dined at my Lady Arlington's, Groom of the Stole to the Queen Dowager, at Somerset House, where dined the Countesses of Devonshire, Dover, etc.; in all eleven ladies of quality, no man but myself being there. 24th January, 1686. Unheard-of cruelties to the persecuted Protestants of France, such as hardly any age has seen the like, even among the Pagans. 6th February, 1686. Being the day on which his Majesty began his reign, by order of Council it was to be solemnized with a particular office and sermon, which the Bishop of Ely preached at Whitehall on Numb. xi. 12; a Court oration upon the regal office. It was much wondered at, that this day, which was that of his late Majesty's death, should be kept as a festival, and not the day of the present King's coronation. It is said to have been formerly the custom, though not till now since the reign of King James I. The Duchess of Monmouth, being in the same seat with me at church, appeared with a very sad and afflicted countenance. 8th February, 1686. I took the test in Westminster Hall, before the Lord Chief Justice. I now came to lodge at Whitehall, in the Lord Privy Seal's lodgings. 12th February, 1686. My great cause was heard by my Lord Chancellor, who granted me a rehearing. I had six eminent lawyers, my antagonist three, whereof one was the smooth-tongued solicitor, whom my Lord Chancellor reproved in great passion for a very small occasion. Blessed be God for his great goodness to me this day! 19th February, 1686. Many bloody and notorious duels were fought about this time. The Duke of Grafton killed Mr. Stanley, brother to the Earl of [Derby], indeed upon an almost insufferable provocation. It is to be hoped that his Majesty will at last severely remedy this unchristian custom. Lord Sunderland was now Secretary of State, President of the Council, and Premier Minister. 1st March, 1686. Came Sir Gilbert Gerrard to treat with me about his son's marrying my daughter, Susanna. The father being obnoxious, and in some suspicion and displeasure of the King, I would receive no proposal till his Majesty had given me leave; which he was pleased to do; but, after several meetings we broke off, on his not being willing to secure anything competent for my daughter's children; besides that I found most of his estate was in the coal-pits as far off as Newcastle, and on leases from the Bishop of Durham, who had power to make concurrent leases, with other difficulties. 7th March, 1686. Dr. Frampton, Bishop of Gloucester, preached on Psalm xliv. 17, 18, 19, showing the several afflictions of the Church of Christ from the primitive to this day, applying exceedingly to the present conjuncture, when many were wavering in their minds, and great temptations appearing through the favor now found by the Papists, so as the people were full of jealousies and discouragement. The Bishop magnified the Church of England, exhorting to constancy and perseverance. 10th March, 1686. A Council of the Royal Society about disposing of Dr. Ray's book of Fishes, which was printed at the expense of the Society. 12th March, 1686. A docket was to be sealed, importing a lease of twenty-one years to one Hall, who styled himself his Majesty's printer (he lately turned Papist) for the printing missals, offices, lives of saints, portals, primers, etc., books expressly forbidden to be printed or sold, by divers Acts of Parliament; I refused to put my seal to it, making my exceptions, so it was laid by. 14th March, 1686. The Bishop of Bath and Wells preached on John vi. 17, a most excellent and pathetic discourse: after he had recommended the duty of fasting and other penitential duties, he exhorted to constancy in the Protestant religion, detestation of the unheard-of cruelties of the French, and stirring up to a liberal contribution. This sermon was the more acceptable, as it was unexpected from a Bishop who had undergone the censure of being inclined to Popery, the contrary whereof no man could show more. This indeed did all our Bishops, to the disabusing and reproach of all their delators: for none were more zealous against Popery than they were. 16th March, 1686. I was at a review of the army about London in Hyde Park, about 6,000 horse and foot, in excellent order; his Majesty and infinity of people being present. 17th March, 1686. I went to my house in the country, refusing to be present at what was to pass at the Privy Seal the next day. In the morning Dr. Tenison preached an incomparable discourse at Whitehall, on Timothy ii. 3, 4. 24th March, 1686. Dr. Cradock (Provost of Eaton) preached at the same place, on Psalm xlix. 13, showing the vanity of earthly enjoyments. 28th March, 1686. Dr. White, Bishop of Peterborough, preached in a very eloquent style, on Matthew xxvi. 29, submission to the will of God on all accidents, and at all times. 29th March, 1686. The Duke of Northumberland (a natural son of the late King by the Duchess of Cleveland) marrying very meanly, with the help of his brother Grafton, attempted in vain to spirit away his wife. A Brief was read in all churches for relieving the French Protestants, who came here for protection from the unheard-of cruelties of the King. 2d April, 1686. Sir Edward Hales, a Papist, made Governor of Dover Castle. 15th April, 1686. The Archbishop of York now died of the smallpox, aged 62, a corpulent man. He was my special loving friend, and while Bishop of Rochester (from whence he was translated) my excellent neighbor. He was an inexpressible loss to the whole church, and that Province especially, being a learned, wise, stout, and most worthy prelate; I look on this as a great stroke to the poor Church of England, now in this defecting period. 18th April, 1686. In the afternoon I went to Camberwell, to visit Dr. Parr. After sermon, I accompanied him to his house, where he showed me the Life and Letters of the late learned Primate of Armagh (Usher), and among them that letter of Bishop Bramhall's to the Primate, giving notice of the Popish practices to pervert this nation, by sending a hundred priests into England, who were to conform themselves to all sectaries and conditions for the more easily dispersing their doctrine among us. This letter was the cause of the whole impression being seized, upon pretense that it was a political or historical account of things not relating to theology, though it had been licensed by the Bishop; which plainly showed what an interest the Papists now had,--that a Protestant book, containing the life and letters of so eminent a man, was not to be published. There were also many letters to and from most of the learned persons his correspondents in Europe. The book will, I doubt not, struggle through this unjust impediment. Several Judges were put out, and new complying ones put in. 25th April, 1686. This day was read in our church the Brief for a collection for relief of the Protestant French so cruelly, barbarously, and inhumanly oppressed without any thing being laid to their charge. It had been long expected, and at last with difficulty procured to be published, the interest of the French Ambassador obstructing it. 5th May, 1686. There being a Seal, it was feared we should be required to pass a docket dispensing with Dr. Obadiah Walker and four more, whereof one was an apostate curate of Putney, the others officers of University College, Oxford, who hold their masterships, fellowships, and cures, and keep public schools, and enjoy all former emoluments, notwithstanding they no more frequented or used the public forms of prayers, or communion, with the Church of England, or took the Test or oaths of allegiance and supremacy, contrary to twenty Acts of Parliament; which dispensation being also contrary to his Majesty's own gracious declaration at the beginning of his reign, gave umbrage (as well it might) to every good Protestant; nor could we safely have passed it under the Privy Seal, wherefore it was done by immediate warrant, signed by Mr. Solicitor. This Walker was a learned person, of a monkish life, to whose tuition I had more than thirty years since recommended the sons of my worthy friend, Mr. Hyldyard, of Horsley in Surrey, believing him to be far from what he proved--a hypocritical concealed Papist--by which he perverted the eldest son of Mr. Hyldyard, Sir Edward Hale's eldest son, and several more, to the great disturbance of the whole nation, as well as of the University, as by his now public defection appeared. All engines being now at work to bring in Popery, which God in mercy prevent! [Sidenote: LONDON] This day was burned in the old Exchange, by the common hangman, a translation of a book written by the famous Monsieur Claude, relating only matters of fact concerning the horrid massacres and barbarous proceedings of the French King against his Protestant subjects, without any refutation of any facts therein; so mighty a power and ascendant here had the French Ambassador, who was doubtless in great indignation at the pious and truly generous charity of all the nation, for the relief of those miserable sufferers who came over for shelter. About this time also, the Duke of Savoy, instigated by the French King to extirpate the Protestants of Piedmont, slew many thousands of those innocent people, so that there seemed to be an universal design to destroy all that would not go to mass, throughout Europe. _Quod Avertat D. O. M.!_ No faith in Princes! 12th May, 1686. I refused to put the Privy Seal to Doctor Walker's license for printing and publishing divers Popish books, of which I complained both to my Lord of Canterbury (with whom I went to advise in the Council Chamber), and to my Lord Treasurer that evening at his lodgings. My Lord of Canterbury's advice was, that I should follow my own conscience therein; Mr. Treasurer's, that if in conscience I could dispense with it, for any other hazard he believed there was none. Notwithstanding this, I persisted in my refusal. 29th May, 1686. There was no sermon on this anniversary, as there usually had been ever since the reign of the present King. 2d June, 1686. Such storms, rain, and foul weather, seldom known at this time of the year. The camp at Hounslow Heath, from sickness and other inconveniences of weather, forced to retire to quarters; the storms being succeeded by excessive hot weather, many grew sick. Great feasting there, especially in Lord Dunbarton's quarters. There were many jealousies and discourses of what was the meaning of this encampment. A seal this day; mostly pardons and discharges of Knight Baronets' fees, which having been passed over for so many years, did greatly disoblige several families who had served his Majesty. Lord Tyrconnel gone to Ireland, with great powers and commissions, giving as much cause of talk as the camp, especially nineteen new Privy-Councillors and Judges being now made, among which but three Protestants, and Tyrconnel made General. New judges also here, among which was Milton, a Papist (brother to that Milton who wrote for the Regicides), who presumed to take his place without passing the Test. Scotland refused to grant liberty of mass to the Papists there. The French persecution more inhuman than ever. The Protestants in Savoy successfully resist the French dragoons sent to murder them. The King's chief physician in Scotland apostatizing from the Protestant religion, does of his own accord publish his recantation at Edinburg. 11th June, 1686. I went to see Middleton's receptacle of water at the New River, and the New Spa Wells near. 20th June, 1686. An extraordinary season of violent and sudden rain. The camp still in tents. 24th June, 1686. My Lord Treasurer settled my great business with Mr. Pretyman, to which I hope God will at last give a prosperous issue. 25th June, 1686. Now his Majesty, beginning with Dr. Sharp and Tully, proceeded to silence and suspend divers excellent divines for preaching against Popery. 27th June, 1686. I had this day been married thirty-nine years--blessed be God for all his mercies! The new very young Lord Chief-Justice Herbert declared on the bench, that the government of England was entirely in the King; that the Crown was absolute; that penal laws were powers lodged in the Crown to enable the King to force the execution of the law, but were not bars to bind the King's power; that he could pardon all offenses against the law, and forgive the penalties, and why could he not dispense with them; by which the Test was abolished? Everyone was astonished. Great jealousies as to what would be the end of these proceedings. 6th July, 1686. I supped with the Countess of Rochester, where was also the Duchess of Buckingham and Madame de Governè, whose daughter was married to the Marquis of Halifax's son. She made me a character of the French King and Dauphin, and of the persecution; that they kept much of the cruelties from the King's knowledge; that the Dauphin was so afraid of his father, that he dared not let anything appear of his sentiments; that he hated letters and priests, spent all his time in hunting, and seemed to take no notice of what was passing. This lady was of a great family and fortune, and had fled hither for refuge. 8th July, 1686. I waited on the Archbishop at Lambeth, where I dined and met the famous preacher and writer, Dr. Allix, doubtless a most excellent and learned person. The Archbishop and he spoke Latin together, and that very readily. 11th July, 1686. Dr. Meggot, Dean of Winchester preached before the household in St. George's Chapel at Windsor, the late King's glorious chapel now seized on by the mass priests. Dr. Cartwright, Dean of Ripon, preached before the great men of the Court in the same place. We had now the sad news of the Bishop of Oxford's death, an extraordinary loss to the poor Church at this time. Many candidates for his Bishopric and Deanery, Dr. Parker, South, Aldrich, etc. Dr. Walker (now apostatizing) came to Court, and was doubtless very busy. 13th July, 1686. Note, that standing by the Queen at basset (cards), I observed that she was exceedingly concerned for the loss of £80; her outward affability much changed to stateliness, since she has been exalted. The season very rainy and inconvenient for the camps. His Majesty very cheerful. 14th July, 1686. Was sealed at our office the constitution of certain commissioners to take upon them full power of all Ecclesiastical affairs, in as unlimited a manner, or rather greater, than the late High Commission-Court, abrogated by Parliament; for it had not only faculty to inspect and visit all Bishops' dioceses, but to change what laws and statutes they should think fit to alter among the colleges, though founded by private men; to punish, suspend, fine, etc., give oaths and call witnesses. The main drift was to suppress zealous preachers. In sum, it was the whole power of a Vicar-General--note the consequence! Of the clergy the commissioners were the Archbishop of Canterbury [Sancroft], Bishop of Durham [Crewe], and Rochester [Sprat]; of the Temporals, the Lord Treasurer, the Lord Chancellor [Jefferies] (who alone was ever to be of the quorum), the Chief justice [Herbert], and Lord President [Earl of Sunderland]. 18th July, 1686. I went to see Sir John Chardin, at Greenwich. [Sidenote: LONDON] 4th August, 1686. I dined at Signor Verrio's, the famous Italian painter, now settled in his Majesty's garden at St. James's, which he had made a very delicious paradise. 8th August, 1686. Our vicar gone to dispose of his country living in Rutlandshire, having St. Dunstan in the east given him by the Archbishop of Canterbury. I went to visit the Marquis Ravigné, now my neighbor at Greenwich, retired from the persecution in France. He was the deputy of all the Protestants of that kingdom in the parliament of Paris, and several times Ambassador in this and other Courts; a person of great learning and experience. 8th September, 1686. Dr. Compton, Bishop of London, was on Monday suspended, on pretense of not silencing Dr. Sharp at St. Giles's, for something of a sermon in which he zealously reproved the doctrine of the Roman Catholics. The Bishop having consulted the civilians, they told him he could not by any law proceed against Dr. Sharp without producing witnesses, and impleaded according to form; but it was overruled by my Lord Chancellor, and the Bishop sentenced without so much as being heard to any purpose. This was thought a very extraordinary way of proceeding, and was universally resented, and so much the rather for that two Bishops, Durham and Rochester, sitting in the commission and giving their suffrages the Archbishop of Canterbury refused to sit among them. He was only suspended _ab officio_, and that was soon after taken off. He was brother to the Earl of Northampton, had once been a soldier, had traveled in Italy, but became a sober, grave, and excellent prelate. 12th September, 1686. Buda now taken from the Turks; a form of thanksgiving was ordered to be used in the (as yet remaining) Protestant chapels and church of Whitehall and Windsor. The King of Denmark was besieging Hamburg, no doubt by the French contrivance, to embroil the Protestant Princes in a new war, that Holland, etc., being engaged, matter for new quarrel might arise: the unheard-of persecution of the poor Protestants still raging more than ever. 22d September, 1686. The Danes retire from Hamburg, the Protestant Princes appearing for their succor, and the Emperor sending his minatories to the King of Denmark, and also requiring the restoration of the Duke of Saxe Gotha. Thus it pleased God to defeat the French designs, which were evidently to kindle a new war. 14th October, 1686. His Majesty's birthday; I was at his rising in his bedchamber, afterward in the park, where four companies of guards were drawn up. The officers, etc., wonderfully rich and gallant; they did not head their troops, but their next officers, the colonels being on horseback by the King while they marched. The ladies not less splendid at Court, where there was a ball at night; but small appearance of quality. All the shops both in the city and suburbs were shut up, and kept as solemnly as any holiday. Bonfires at night in Westminster, but forbidden in the city. 17th October, 1686. Dr. Patrick, Dean of Peterborough, preached at Covent Garden Church on Ephes. v. 18, 19, showing the custom of the primitive saints in serving God with hymns, and their frequent use of them upon all occasions: touching the profane way of mirth and intemperance of this ungodly age. Afterward I visited my Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, with whom I had long and private discourse concerning the miserable condition that kingdom was like to be in, if Tyrconnel's counsel should prevail at Court. 23d October, 1686. Went with the Countess of Sunderland to Cranbourne, a lodge and walk of my Lord Godolphin's in Windsor park. There was one room in the house spared in the pulling down the old one, because the late Duchess of York was born in it; the rest was built and added to it by Sir George Carteret, Treasurer of the Navy; and since, the whole was purchased by my Lord Godolphin, who spoke to me to go see it, and advise what trees were fit to be cut down to improve the dwelling, being environed with old rotten pollards, which corrupt the air. It stands on a knoll which though insensibly rising, gives it a prospect over the Keep of Windsor, about three miles N. E. of it. The ground is clayey and moist; the water stark naught; the park is pretty; the house tolerable, and gardens convenient. After dinner, we came back to London, having two coaches both going and coming, of six horses apiece, which we changed at Hounslow. 24th October, 1686. Dr. Warren preached before the Princess at Whitehall, on 5th Matthew, of the blessedness of the pure in heart, most elegantly describing the bliss of the beatifical vision. In the afternoon, Sir George Wheeler, knight and baronet, preached on the 4th Matt. upon the necessity of repentance, at St. Margaret's, an honest and devout discourse, and pretty tolerably performed. This gentleman coming from his travels out of Greece, fell in love with the daughter of Sir Thomas Higgins, his Majesty's resident at Venice, niece to the Earl of Bath, and married her. When they returned into England, being honored with knighthood, he would needs turn preacher, and took orders. He published a learned and ingenious book of his travels, and is a very worthy person, a little formal and particular, but exceedingly devout. 27th October, 1686. There was a triumphant show of the Lord Mayor both by land and water, with much solemnity, when yet his power has been so much diminished, by the loss of the city's former charter. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th November, 1686. I went to St. Martin's in the morning, where Dr. Birch preached very boldly against the Papists, from John xvi. 2. In the afternoon I heard Dr. Tillotson in Lincoln's Inn chapel, on the same text, but more cautiously. 16th November, 1686. I went with part of my family to pass the melancholy winter in London at my son's house in Arundel Buildings. 5th December, 1686. I dined at my Lady Arlington's, Groom of the Stole to the Queen Dowager at Somerset House, where dined divers French noblemen, driven out of their country by the persecution. 16th December, 1686. I carried the Countess of Sunderland to see the rarities of one Mr. Charlton in the Middle Temple, who showed us such a collection as I had never seen in all my travels abroad either of private gentlemen, or princes. It consisted of miniatures, drawings, shells, insects, medals, natural things, animals (of which divers, I think 100, were kept in glasses of spirits of wine), minerals, precious stones, vessels, curiosities in amber, crystal, agate, etc.; all being very perfect and rare of their kind, especially his books of birds, fish, flowers, and shells, drawn and miniatured to the life. He told us that one book stood him in £300; it was painted by that excellent workman, whom the late Gaston, Duke of Orleans, employed. This gentleman's whole collection, gathered by himself, traveling over most parts of Europe, is estimated at £8,000. He appeared to be a modest and obliging person.[62] [Footnote 62: This collection was afterward purchased by Sir Hans Sloane, and now forms part o£ the British Museum.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th December, 1686. I went to hear the music of the Italians in the new chapel, now first opened publicly at Whitehall for the Popish Service. Nothing can be finer than the magnificent marble work and architecture at the end, where are four statues, representing St. John, St. Peter, St. Paul, and the Church, in white marble, the work of Mr. Gibbons, with all the carving and pillars of exquisite art and great cost. The altar piece is the Salutation; the volto in _fresco_, the Assumption of the blessed Virgin, according to their tradition, with our blessed Savior, and a world of figures painted by Verrio. The throne where the King and Queen sit is very glorious, in a closet above, just opposite to the altar. Here we saw the Bishop in his mitre and rich copes, with six or seven Jesuits and others in rich copes, sumptuously habited, often taking off and putting on the Bishop's mitre, who sat in a chair with arms pontifically, was adored and censed by three Jesuits in their copes; then he went to the altar and made divers cringes, then censing the images and glorious tabernacle placed on the altar, and now and then changing place: the crosier, which was of silver, was put into his hand with a world of mysterious ceremony, the music playing, with singing. I could not have believed I should ever have seen such things in the King of England's palace, after it had pleased God to enlighten this nation; but our great sin has, for the present, eclipsed the blessing, which I hope he will in mercy and his good time restore to its purity. Little appearance of any winter as yet. 1st January, 1686-87. Mr. Wake preached at St. Martin's on 1 Tim. iii. 16, concerning the mystery of godliness. He wrote excellently, in answer to the Bishop of Meaux. 3d January, 1687. A Seal to confirm a gift of £4,000 per annum for 99 years to the Lord Treasurer out of the Post Office, and £1,700 per annum for ever out of Lord Grey's estate. There was now another change of the great officers. The Treasury was put into commission, two professed Papists among them, viz, Lords Bellasis and Dover, joined with the old ones, Lord Godolphin, Sir Stephen Fox, and Sir John Ernley. 17th January, 1687. Much expectation of several great men declaring themselves Papists. Lord Tyrconnel gone to succeed the Lord-Lieutenant [Clarendon] in Ireland, to the astonishment of all sober men, and to the evident ruin of the Protestants in that kingdom, as well as of its great improvement going on. Much discourse that all the White Staff officers and others should be dismissed for adhering to their religion. Popish Justices of the Peace established in all counties, of the meanest of the people; Judges ignorant of the law, and perverting it--so furiously do the Jesuits drive, and even compel Princes to violent courses, and destruction of an excellent government both in Church and State. God of his infinite mercy open our eyes, and turn our hearts, and establish his truth with peace! The Lord Jesus defend his little flock, and preserve this threatened church and nation! 24th January, 1687. I saw the Queen's new apartment at Whitehall, with her new bed, the embroidery of which cost £3,000. The carving about the chimney piece, by Gibbons, is incomparable. 30th January, 1687. I heard the famous eunuch, Cifaccio, sing in the new Popish chapel this afternoon; it was indeed very rare, and with great skill. He came over from Rome, esteemed one of the best voices in Italy. Much crowding--little devotion. 27th February, 1687. Mr. Chetwin preached at Whitehall on Rom. i. 18, a very quaint, neat discourse of Moral righteousness. 2d March, 1687. Came out a proclamation for universal liberty of conscience in Scotland, and depensation from all tests and laws to the contrary, as also capacitating Papists to be chosen into all offices of trust. The mystery operates. 3d March, 1687. Dr. Meggott, Dean of Winchester, preached before the Princess of Denmark, on Matt. xiv. 23. In the afternoon, I went out of town to meet my Lord Clarendon, returning from Ireland. 10th March, 1687. His Majesty sent for the Commissioners of the Privy Seal this morning into his bedchamber, and told us that though he had thought fit to dispose of the Seal into a single hand, yet he would so provide for us, as it should appear how well he accepted our faithful and loyal service with many gracious expressions to this effect; upon which we delivered the Seal into his hands. It was by all the world both hoped and expected, that he would have restored it to my Lord Clarendon; but they were astonished to see it given to Lord Arundel, of Wardour, a zealous Roman Catholic. Indeed it was very hard, and looked very unkindly, his Majesty (as my Lord Clarendon protested to me, on my going to visit him and long discoursing with him about the affairs of Ireland) finding not the least failure of duty in him during his government of that kingdom, so that his recall plainly appeared to be from the stronger influence of the Papists, who now got all the preferments. Most of the great officers, both in the Court and country, Lords and others, were dismissed, as they would not promise his Majesty their consent to the repeal of the test and penal statutes against Popish Recusants. To this end, most of the Parliament men were spoken to in his Majesty's closet, and such as refused, if in any place of office or trust, civil or military, were put out of their employments. This was a time of great trial; but hardly one of them assented, which put the Popish interest much backward. The English clergy everywhere preached boldly against their superstition and errors, and were wonderfully followed by the people. Not one considerable proselyte was made in all this time. The party were exceedingly put to the worst by the preaching and writing of the Protestants in many excellent treatises, evincing the doctrine and discipline of the reformed religion, to the manifest disadvantage of their adversaries. To this did not a little contribute the sermon preached at Whitehall before the Princess of Denmark and a great crowd of people, and at least thirty of the greatest nobility, by Dr. Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, on John viii. 46 (the Gospel of the day), describing through his whole discourse the blasphemies, perfidy, wresting of Scripture, preference of tradition before it, spirit of persecution, superstition, legends, and fables of the Scribes and Pharisees, so that all the auditory understood his meaning of a parallel between them and the Romish priests, and their new Trent religion. He exhorted his audience to adhere to the written Word, and to persevere in the Faith taught in the Church of England, whose doctrine for Catholic and soundness he preferred to all the communities and churches of Christians in the world; concluding with a kind of prophecy, that whatever it suffered, it should after a short trial emerge to the confusion of her adversaries and the glory of God. I went this evening to see the order of the boys and children at Christ's Hospital. There were near 800 boys and girls so decently clad, cleanly lodged, so wholesomely fed, so admirably taught, some the mathematics, especially the forty of the late King's foundation, that I was delighted to see the progress some little youths of thirteen or fourteen years of age had made. I saw them at supper, visited their dormitories, and much admired the order, economy, and excellent government of this most charitable seminary. Some are taught for the Universities, others designed for seamen, all for trades and callings. The girls are instructed in all such work as becomes their sex and may fit them for good wives, mistresses, and to be a blessing to their generation. They sang a psalm before they sat down to supper in the great Hall, to an organ which played all the time, with such cheerful harmony, that it seemed to me a vision of angels. I came from the place with infinite satisfaction, having never seen a more noble, pious, and admirable charity. All these consisted of orphans only.[63] The foundation was of that pious Prince King Edward VI., whose picture (held to be an original of Holbein) is in the court where the Governors meet to consult on the affairs of the Hospital, and his statue in white marble stands in a niche of the wall below, as you go to the church, which is a modern, noble, and ample fabric. This foundation has had, and still has, many benefactors. [Footnote 63: This is by no means the case now.] 16th March, 1687. I saw a trial of those devilish, murdering, mischief doing engines called bombs, shot out of the mortar piece on Blackheath. The distance that they are cast, the destruction they make where they fall, is prodigious. 20th March, 1687. The Bishop of Bath and Wells (Dr. Ken) preached at St. Martin's to a crowd of people not to be expressed, nor the wonderful eloquence of this admirable preacher; the text was Matt. xxvi. 36 to verse 40, describing the bitterness of our Blessed Savior's agony, the ardor of his love, the infinite obligations we have to imitate his patience and resignation; the means by watching against temptations, and over ourselves with fervent prayer to attain it, and the exceeding reward in the end. Upon all which he made most pathetical discourses. The Communion followed, at which I was participant. I afterward dined at Dr. Tenison's with the Bishop and that young, most learned, pious, and excellent preacher, Mr. Wake. In the afternoon, I went to hear Mr. Wake at the newly built church of St. Anne, on Mark viii. 34, upon the subject of taking up the cross, and strenuously behaving ourselves in time of persecution, as this now threatened to be. His Majesty again prorogued the Parliament, foreseeing it would not remit the laws against Papists, by the extraordinary zeal and bravery of its members, and the free renunciation of the great officers both in Court and state, who would not be prevailed with for any temporal concern. 25th March, 1687. GOOD FRIDAY. Dr. Tenison preached at St. Martin's on 1 Peter ii. 24. During the service, a man came into near the middle of the church, with his sword drawn, with several others in that posture; in this jealous time it put the congregation into great confusion, but it appeared to be one who fled for sanctuary, being pursued by bailiffs. 8th April, 1687. I had a rehearing of my great cause at the Chancery in Westminster Hall, having seven of the most learned Counsel, my adversary five, among which were the Attorney General and late Solicitor Finch, son to the Lord Chancellor Nottingham. The account was at last brought to one article of the surcharge, and referred to a Master. The cause lasted two hours and more. 10th April, 1687. In the last week there was issued a Dispensation from all obligations and tests, by which Dissenters and Papists especially had public liberty of exercising their several ways of worship, without incurring the penalty of the many Laws and Acts of Parliament to the contrary. This was purely obtained by the Papists, thinking thereby to ruin the Church of England, being now the only church which so admirably and strenuously opposed their superstition. There was a wonderful concourse of people at the Dissenters' meeting house in this parish, and the parish church [Deptford] left exceedingly thin. What this will end in, God Almighty only knows; but it looks like confusion, which I pray God avert. [Sidenote: LONDON] 11th April, 1687. To London about my suit, some terms of accommodation being proposed. 19th April, 1687. I heard the famous singer, Cifaccio, esteemed the best in Europe. Indeed, his holding out and delicateness in extending and loosing a note with incomparable softness and sweetness, was admirable; for the rest I found him a mere wanton, effeminate child, very coy, and proudly conceited, to my apprehension. He touched the harpsichord to his voice rarely well. This was before a select number of particular persons whom Mr. Pepys invited to his house; and this was obtained by particular favor and much difficulty, the Signor much disdaining to show his talent to any but princes. 24th April, 1687. At Greenwich, at the conclusion of the Church service, there was a French sermon preached after the use of the English Liturgy translated into French, to a congregation of about 100 French refugees, of whom Monsieur Ruvigny was the chief, and had obtained the use of the church, after the parish service was ended. The preacher pathetically exhorted to patience, constancy, and reliance on God amidst all their sufferings, and the infinite rewards to come. 2d May, 1687. I dined with Mynheer Diskvelts, the Holland Ambassador, a prudent and worthy person. There dined Lord Middleton, principal Secretary of State, Lord Pembroke, Lord Lumley, Lord Preston, Colonel Fitzpatrick, and Sir John Chardin. After dinner, the Ambassador discoursed of and deplored the stupid folly of our politics, in suffering the French to take Luxemburg, it being a place of the most concern to have been defended, for the interest not only of the Netherlands, but of England. [Sidenote: LONDON] 12th May, 1687. To London. Lord Sunderland being Lord President and Secretary of State, was made Knight of the Garter and Prime favorite. This day there was such a storm of wind as had seldom happened, being a sort of hurricane. It kept the flood out of the Thames, so that people went on foot over several places above bridge. Also an earthquake in several places in England about the time of the storm. 26th May, 1687. To London, about my agreement with Mr. Pretyman, after my tedious suit. 2d June, 1687. I went to London, it having pleased his Majesty to grant me a Privy Seal for £6,000, for discharge of the debt I had been so many years persecuted for, it being indeed for money drawn over by my father-in-law, Sir R. Browne, during his residence in the Court of France, and so with a much greater sum due to Sir Richard from his Majesty; and now this part of the arrear being paid, there remains yet due to me, as executor of Sir Richard, above £6,500 more; but this determining an expensive Chancery suit has been so great a mercy and providence to me (through the kindness and friendship to me of Lord Godolphin, one of the Lords Commissioners of the Treasury,) that I do acknowledge it with all imaginable thanks to my gracious God. 6th June, 1687. I visited my Lady Pierpoint, daughter to Sir John Evelyn, of Deane [in Wilts], now widow of Mr. Pierpoint, and mother of the Earl of Kingston. She was now engaged in the marriage of my cousin, Evelyn Pierpoint, her second son. There was about this time brought into the Downs a vast treasure, which was sunk in a Spanish galleon about forty-five years ago, somewhere near Hispaniola, or the Bahama islands, and was now weighed up by some gentlemen, who were at the charge of divers, etc., to the enriching them beyond all expectation. The Duke of Albemarle's share [Governor of Jamaica] came to, I believe, £50,000. Some private gentlemen who adventured £100, gained from £8,000 to £10,000. His Majesty's tenth was £10,000. The Camp was now again pitched at Hounslow, the Commanders profusely vying in the expense and magnificence of tents. 12th June, 1687. Our Vicar preached on 2 Peter ii. 21, upon the danger of relapsing into sin. After this, I went and heard M. Lamot, an eloquent French preacher at Greenwich, on Prov. xxx. 8, 9, a consolatory discourse to the poor and religious refugees who escaped out of France in the cruel persecution. 16th June, 1687. I went to Hampton Court to give his Majesty thanks for his late gracious favor, though it was but granting what was due. While I was in the Council Chamber, came in some persons, at the head of whom was a formal man with a large roll of parchment in his hand, being an ADDRESS (as he said, for he introduced it with a speech) of the people of Coventry, giving his Majesty their great acknowledgments for his granting a liberty of conscience; he added that this was not the application of one party only, but the unanimous address of Church of England men, Presbyterians, Independents, and Anabaptists, to show how extensive his Majesty's grace was, as taking in all parties to his indulgence and protection, which had removed all dissensions and animosities, which would not only unite them in bonds of Christian charity, but exceedingly encourage their future industry, to the improvement of trade, and spreading his Majesty's glory throughout the world; and that now he had given to God his empire, God would establish his; with expressions of great loyalty and submission; and so he gave the roll to the King, which being returned to him again, his Majesty caused him to read. The address was short, but much to the substance of the speech of their foreman, to whom the King, pulling off his hat, said that what he had done in giving liberty of conscience, was, what was ever his judgment ought to be done; and that, as he would preserve them in their enjoyment of it during his reign, so he would endeavor to settle it by law, that it should never be altered by his successors. After this, he gave them his hand to kiss. It was reported the subscribers were above 1,000. But this is not so remarkable as an address of the week before (as I was assured by one present), of some of the FAMILY OF LOVE, His Majesty asked them what this worship consisted in, and how many their party might consist of; they told him their custom was to read the Scripture, and then to preach; but did not give any further account, only said that for the rest they were a sort of refined Quakers, but their number very small, not consisting, as they said, of above threescore in all, and those chiefly belonging to the Isle of Ely. 18th June, 1687. I dined at Mr. Blathwaite's (two miles from Hampton). This gentleman is Secretary of War, Clerk of the Council, etc., having raised himself by his industry from very moderate circumstances. He is a very proper, handsome person, very dexterous in business, and besides all this, has married a great fortune. His income by the Army, Council, and Secretary to the Committee of Foreign Plantations, brings him in above £2,000 per annum. 23d June, 1687. The Privy Seal for £6,000 was passed to me, so that this tedious affair was dispatched. Hitherto, a very windy and tempestuous summer. The French sermons to the refugees were continued at Greenwich Church. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 19th July, 1687. I went to Wotton. In the way, I dined at Ashted, with my Lady Mordaunt. 5th August, 1687. I went to see Albury, now purchased by Mr. Finch (the King's Solicitor and son to the late Lord Chancellor); I found the garden which I first designed for the Duke of Norfolk, nothing improved. 15th August, 1687. I went to visit Lord Clarendon at Swallowfield, where was my Lord Cornbury just arrived from Denmark, whither he had accompanied the Prince of Denmark two months before, and now come back. The miserable tyranny under which that nation lives, he related to us; the King keeps them under an army of 40,000 men, all Germans, he not daring to trust his own subjects. Notwithstanding this, the Danes are exceedingly proud, the country very poor and miserable. 22d August, 1687. Returned home to Sayes Court from Wotton, having been five weeks absent with my brother and friends, who entertained us very nobly. God be praised for his goodness, and this refreshment after my many troubles, and let his mercy and providence ever preserve me. Amen. 3d September, 1687. The Lord Mayor sent me an Officer with a staff, to be one of the Governors of St. Thomas's Hospital. PERSECUTION RAGING IN FRANCE; divers churches there fired by lightning, priests struck, consecrated hosts, etc., burnt and destroyed, both at St. Malos and Paris, at the grand procession on Corpus Christi day. 13th September, 1687. I went to Lambeth, and dined with the Archbishop. After dinner, I retired into the library, which I found exceedingly improved; there are also divers rare manuscripts in a room apart. 6th October, 1687. I was godfather to Sir John Chardin's son, christened at Greenwich Church, named John. The Earl of Bath and Countess of Carlisle, the other sponsors. 29th October, 1687. An Anabaptist, a very odd ignorant person, a mechanic, I think, was Lord Mayor. The King and Queen, and Dadi, the Pope's Nuncio, invited to a feast at Guildhall. A strange turn of affairs, that those who scandalized the Church of England as favorers of Popery, should publicly invite an emissary from Rome, one who represented the very person of their Antichrist! 10th December, 1687. My son was returned out of Devon, where he had been on a commission from the Lords of the Treasury about a concealment of land. 20th December, 1687. I went with my Lord Chief-Justice Herbert, to see his house at Walton-on-Thames: it is a barren place. To a very ordinary house he had built a very handsome library, designing more building to it than the place deserves, in my opinion. He desired my advice about laying out his gardens, etc. The next day, we went to Weybridge, to see some pictures of the Duchess of Norfolk's, particularly the statue, or child in gremio, said to be of Michael Angelo; but there are reasons to think it rather a copy, from some proportion in the figures ill taken. It was now exposed to sale. 12th January, 1687-88. Mr. Slingsby, Master of the Mint, being under very deplorable circumstances on account of his creditors, and especially the King, I did my endeavor with the Lords of the Treasury to be favorable to him. My Lord Arran, eldest son to the Duke of Hamilton, being now married to Lady Ann Spencer, eldest daughter of the Earl of Sunderland, Lord President of the Council, I and my family had most glorious favors sent us, the wedding being celebrated with extraordinary splendor. 15th January, 1688. There was a solemn and particular office used at our, and all the churches of London and ten miles round, for a thanksgiving to God, for her Majesty being with child. 22d January, 1688. This afternoon I went not to church, being employed on a religious treatise I had undertaken. _Post annum 1588--1660--1688, Annus Mirabilis Tertius._[64] [Footnote 64: This seems to have been added after the page was written.] 30th January, 1688. Being the Martyrdom day of King Charles I., our curate made a florid oration against the murder of that excellent Prince, with an exhortation to obedience from the example of David; 1 Samuel xxvi. 6. [Sidenote: LONDON] 12th February, 1688. My daughter Evelyn going in the coach to visit in the city, a jolt (the door being not fast shut) flung her quite out in such manner, as the hind wheels passed over her a little above her knees. Yet it pleased God, besides the bruises of the wheels, she had no other harm. In two days she was able to walk, and soon after perfectly well; through God Almighty's great mercy to an excellent wife and a most dutiful and discreet daughter-in-law. 17th February, 1688. I received the sad news of my niece Montague's death at Woodcot on the 15th. 15th March, 1688. I gave in my account about the sick and wounded, in order to have my quietus. 23d March, 1688. Dr. Parker, Bishop of Oxford, who so lately published his extravagant treatise about transubstantiation, and for abrogating the test and penal laws, died. He was esteemed a violent, passionate, haughty man, but yet being pressed to declare for the Church of Rome, he utterly refused it. A remarkable end! The French TYRANT now finding he could make no proselytes among those Protestants of quality, and others, whom he had caused to be shut up in dungeons, and confined to nunneries and monasteries, gave them, after so long trial, a general releasement, and leave to go out of the kingdom, but utterly taking their estates and their children; so that great numbers came daily into England and other places, where they were received and relieved with very considerate Christian charity. This Providence and goodness of God to those who thus constantly held out, did so work upon those miserable poor souls who, to avoid the persecution, signed their renunciation, and to save their estates went to mass, that reflecting on what they had done, they grew so affected in their conscience, that not being able to support it, they in great numbers through all the French provinces, acquainted the magistrates and lieutenants that being sorry for their apostacy, they were resolved to return to their old religion; that they would go no more to mass, but peaceably assemble when they could, to beg pardon and worship God, but so without weapons as not to give the least umbrage of rebellion or sedition, imploring their pity and commiseration; and, accordingly, meeting so from time to time, the dragoon-missioners, Popish officers and priests, fell upon them, murdered and put them to death, whoever they could lay hold on; they without the least resistance embraced death, torture, or hanging, with singing psalms and praying for their persecutors to the last breath, yet still continuing the former assembling of themselves in desolate places, suffering with incredible constancy, that through God's mercy they might obtain pardon for this lapse. Such examples of Christian behavior have not been seen since the primitive persecutions; and doubtless God will do some signal work in the end, if we can with patience and resignation hold out, and depend on his Providence. 24th March, 1688. I went with Sir Charles Littleton to Sheen, a house and estate given him by Lord Brounker; one who was ever noted for a hard, covetous, vicious man; but for his worldly craft and skill in gaming few exceeded him. Coming to die, he bequeathed all his land, house, furniture, etc., to Sir Charles, to whom he had no manner of relation, but an ancient friendship contracted at the famous siege of Colchester, forty years before. It is a pretty place, with fine gardens, and well planted, and given to one worthy of them, Sir Charles being an honest gentleman and soldier. He is brother to Sir Henry Littleton of Worcestershire, whose great estate he is likely to inherit, his brother being without children. They are descendants of the great lawyer of that name, and give the same arms and motto. He is married to one Mrs. Temple, formerly maid of honor to the late Queen, a beautiful lady, and he has many fine children, so that none envy his good fortune. After dinner, we went to see Sir William Temple's near to it; the most remarkable things are his orangery and gardens, where the wall-fruit-trees are most exquisitely nailed and trained, far better than I ever noted. There are many good pictures, especially of Vandyke's, in both these houses, and some few statues and small busts in the latter. From thence to Kew, to visit Sir Henry Capel's, whose orangery and _myrtetum_ are most beautiful and perfectly well kept. He was contriving very high palisadoes of reeds to shade his oranges during the summer, and painting those reeds in oil. [Sidenote: LONDON] 1st April, 1688. In the morning, the first sermon was by Dr. Stillingfleet, Dean of St. Paul's (at Whitehall), on Luke x. 41, 42. The Holy Communion followed, but was so interrupted by the rude breaking in of multitudes zealous to hear the second sermon, to be preached by the Bishop of Bath and Wells, that the latter part of that holy office could hardly be heard, or the sacred elements be distributed without great trouble. The Princess being come, he preached on Mich. vii. 8, 9, 10, describing the calamity of the Reformed Church of Judah under the Babylonian persecution, for her sins, and God's delivery of her on her repentance; that as Judah emerged, so should the now Reformed Church, whenever insulted and persecuted. He preached with his accustomed action, zeal, and energy, so that people flocked from all quarters to hear him. 15th April, 1688. A dry, cold, backward spring; easterly winds. The persecution still raging in France, multitudes of Protestants, and many very considerable and great persons flying hither, produced a second general contribution, the Papists, by God's Providence, as yet making small progress among us. 29th April, 1688. The weather was, till now, so cold and sharp, by an almost perpetual east wind, which had continued many months, that there was little appearance of any spring, and yet the winter was very favorable as to frost and snow. 2d May, 1688. To London, about my petition for allowances upon the account of Commissioner for Sick and Wounded in the former war with Holland. 8th May, 1688. His Majesty, alarmed by the great fleet of the Dutch (while we had a very inconsiderable one), went down to Chatham; their fleet was well prepared, and out, before we were in any readiness, or had any considerable number to have encountered them, had there been occasion, to the great reproach of the nation; while being in profound peace, there was a mighty land army, which there was no need of, and no force at sea, where only was the apprehension; but the army was doubtless kept and increased, in order to bring in and countenance Popery, the King beginning to discover his intention, by many instances pursued by the Jesuits, against his first resolution to alter nothing in the Church Establishment, so that it appeared there can be no reliance on Popish promises. 18th May, 1688. The King enjoining the ministers to read his Declaration for giving liberty of conscience (as it was styled) in all churches of England, this evening, six Bishops, Bath and Wells,[65] Peterborough,[66] Ely,[67] Chichester,[68] St. Asaph,[69] and Bristol,[70] in the name of all the rest of the Bishops, came to his Majesty to petition him, that he would not impose the reading of it to the several congregations within their dioceses; not that they were averse to the publishing it for want of due tenderness toward dissenters, in relation to whom they should be willing to come to such a temper as should be thought fit, when that matter might be considered and settled in Parliament and Convocation; but that, the Declaration being founded on such a dispensing power as might at pleasure set aside all laws ecclesiastical and civil, it appeared to them illegal, as it had done to the Parliament in 1661 and 1672, and that it was a point of such consequence, that they could not so far make themselves parties to it, as the reading of it in church in time of divine service amounted to. [Footnote 65: Thomas Ken.] [Footnote 66: Thomas White.] [Footnote 67: Francis Turner.] [Footnote 68: John Lake.] [Footnote 69: William Lloyd.] [Footnote 70: Sir John Trelawny, Bart.] The King was so far incensed at this address, that he with threatening expressions commanded them to obey him in reading it at their perils, and so dismissed them. [Sidenote: LONDON] 20th May, 1688. I went to Whitehall Chapel, where, after the morning lessons, the Declaration was read by one of the choir who used to read the chapters. I hear it was in the Abbey Church, Westminster, but almost universally forborne throughout all London: the consequences of which a little time will show. 25th May, 1688. All the discourse now was about the Bishops refusing to read the injunction for the abolition of the Test, etc. It seems the injunction came so crudely from the Secretary's office, that it was neither sealed nor signed in form, nor had any lawyer been consulted, so as the Bishops who took all imaginable advice, put the Court to great difficulties how to proceed against them. Great were the consults, and a proclamation was expected all this day; but nothing was done. The action of the Bishops was universally applauded, and reconciled many adverse parties, Papists only excepted, who were now exceedingly perplexed, and violent courses were every moment expected. Report was, that the Protestant secular Lords and Nobility would abet the Clergy. The Queen Dowager, hitherto bent on her return into Portugal, now on the sudden, on allegation of a great debt owing her by his Majesty disabling her, declares her resolution to stay. News arrived of the most prodigious earthquake that was almost ever heard of, subverting the city of Lima and country in Peru, with a dreadful inundation following it. 8th June, 1688. This day, the Archbishop of Canterbury, with the Bishops of Ely, Chichester, St. Asaph, Bristol, Peterborough, and Bath and Wells, were sent from the Privy Council prisoners to the Tower, for refusing to give bail for their appearance, on their not reading the Declaration for liberty of conscience; they refused to give bail, as it would have prejudiced their peerage. The concern of the people for them was wonderful, infinite crowds on their knees begging their blessing, and praying for them, as they passed out of the barge along the Tower wharf. 10th June, 1688. A YOUNG PRINCE born, which will cause disputes. About two o'clock, we heard the Tower ordnance discharged, and the bells ring for the birth of a Prince of Wales. This was very surprising, it having been universally given out that her Majesty did not look till the next month. 13th June, 1688. I went to the Tower to see the Bishops, visited the Archbishop and the Bishops of Ely, St. Asaph, and Bath and Wells. 14th June, 1688. Dined with the Lord Chancellor. 15th June, 1688. Being the first day of term, the Bishops were brought to Westminster on habeas corpus, when the indictment was read, and they were called on to plead; their counsel objected that the warrant was illegal; but, after long debate, it was overruled, and they pleaded. The Court then offered to take bail for their appearance; but this they refused, and at last were dismissed on their own recognizances to appear that day fortnight; the Archbishop in £200, the Bishops in £100 each. 17 June, 1688. Was a day of thanksgiving in London and ten miles about for the young Prince's birth; a form of prayer made for the purpose by the Bishop of Rochester. 29th June, 1688. They appeared; the trial lasted from nine in the morning to past six in the evening, when the jury retired to consider of their verdict, and the Court adjourned to nine the next morning. The jury were locked up till that time, eleven of them being for an acquittal; but one (Arnold, a brewer) would not consent. At length he agreed with the others. The Chief Justice, Wright, behaved with great moderation and civility to the Bishops. Alibone, a Papist, was strongly against them; but Holloway and Powell being of opinion in their favor, they were acquitted. When this was heard, there was great rejoicing; and there was a lane of people from the King's Bench to the water side, on their knees, as the Bishops passed and repassed, to beg their blessing. Bonfires were made that night, and bells rung, which was taken very ill at Court, and an appearance of nearly sixty Earls and Lords, etc., on the bench, did not a little comfort them; but indeed they were all along full of comfort and cheerful. Note, they denied to pay the Lieutenant of the Tower (Hales, who used them very surlily), any fees, alleging that none were due. The night was solemnized with bonfires, and other fireworks, etc. 2d July, 1688. The two judges, Holloway and Powell, were displaced. 3d July, 1688. I went with Dr. Godolphin and his brother Sir William to St. Alban's, to see a library he would have bought of the widow of Dr. Cartwright, late Archdeacon of St. Alban's, a very good collection of books, especially in divinity; he was to give £300 for them. Having seen the GREAT CHURCH, now newly repaired by a public contribution, we returned home. 8th July, 1688. One of the King's chaplains preached before the Princess on Exodus xiv. 13, "Stand still, and behold the salvation of the Lord," which he applied so boldly to the present conjuncture of the Church of England, that more could scarce be said to encourage desponders. The Popish priests were not able to carry their cause against their learned adversaries, who confounded them both by their disputes and writings. 12th July, 1688. The camp now began at Hounslow, but the nation was in high discontent. Colonel Titus, Sir Henry Vane (son of him who was executed for his treason), and some other of the Presbyterians and Independent party, were sworn of the Privy Council, from hopes of thereby diverting that party from going over to the Bishops and Church of England, which now they began to do, foreseeing the design of the Papists to descend and take in their most hateful of heretics (as they at other times expressed them to be) to effect their own ends, now evident; the utter extirpation of the Church of England first, and then the rest would follow. 17th July, 1688. This night the fireworks were played off, that had been prepared for the Queen's upsitting. We saw them to great advantage; they were very fine, and cost some thousands of pounds, in the pyramids, statues, etc., but were spent too soon for so long a preparation. 26th July, 1688. I went to Lambeth to visit the Archbishop, whom I found very cheerful. 10th August, 1688. Dr. Tenison now told me there would suddenly be some great thing discovered. This was the Prince of Orange intending to come over. 15th August, 1688. I went to Althorpe, in Northamptonshire, seventy miles. A coach and four horses took up me and my son at Whitehall, and carried us to Dunstable, where we arrived and dined at noon, and from thence another coach and six horses carried us to Althorpe, four miles beyond Northampton, where we arrived by seven o'clock that evening. Both these coaches were hired for me by that noble Countess of Sunderland, who invited me to her house at Althorpe, where she entertained me and my son with very extraordinary kindness; I stayed till the Thursday. 18th August, 1688. Dr. Jeffryes, the minister of Althorpe, who was my Lord's chaplain when ambassador in France, preached the shortest discourse I ever heard; but what was defective in the amplitude of his sermon, he had supplied in the largeness and convenience of the parsonage house, which the doctor (who had at least £600 a year in spiritual advancement) had newly built, and made fit for a person of quality to live in, with gardens and all accommodation according therewith. My lady carried us to see Lord Northampton's Seat, a very strong, large house, built with stone, not altogether modern. They were enlarging the garden, in which was nothing extraordinary, except the iron gate opening into the park, which indeed was very good work, wrought in flowers painted with blue and gilded. There is a noble walk of elms toward the front of the house by the bowling green. I was not in any room of the house besides a lobby looking into the garden, where my Lord and his new Countess (Sir Stephen Fox's daughter, whom I had known from a child) entertained the Countess and her daughter the Countess of Arran (newly married to the son of the Duke of Hamilton), with so little good grace, and so dully, that our visit was very short, and so we returned to Althorpe, twelve miles distant. [Sidenote: ALTHORPE] The house, or rather palace, at Althorpe, is a noble uniform pile in form of a half H, built of brick and freestone, balustered and _à la moderne_; the hall is well, the staircase excellent; the rooms of state, galleries, offices and furniture, such as may become a great prince. It is situated in the midst of a garden, exquisitely planted and kept, and all this in a park walled in with hewn stone, planted with rows and walks of trees, canals and fish ponds, and stored with game. And, what is above all this, governed by a lady, who without any show of solicitude, keeps everything in such admirable order, both within and without, from the garret to the cellar, that I do not believe there is any in this nation, or in any other, that exceeds her in such exact order, without ostentation, but substantially great and noble. The meanest servant is lodged so neat and cleanly; the service at the several tables, the good order and decency--in a word, the entire economy is perfectly becoming a wise and noble person. She is one who for her distinguished esteem of me from a long and worthy friendship, I must ever honor and celebrate. I wish from my soul the Lord, her husband (whose parts and abilities are otherwise conspicuous), was as worthy of her, as by a fatal apostasy and court-ambition he has made himself unworthy! This is what she deplores, and it renders her as much affliction as a lady of great soul and much prudence is capable of. The Countess of Bristol, her mother, a grave and honorable lady, has the comfort of seeing her daughter and grandchildren under the same economy, especially Mr. Charles Spencer, a youth of extraordinary hopes, very learned for his age, and ingenious, and under a governor of great worth. Happy were it, could as much be said of the elder brother, the Lord Spencer, who, rambling about the world, dishonors both his name and his family, adding sorrow to sorrow to a mother, who has taken all imaginable care of his education. There is a daughter very young married to the Earl of Clancarty, who has a great and fair estate in Ireland, but who yet gives no great presage of worth,--so universally contaminated is the youth of this corrupt and abandoned age! But this is again recompensed by my Lord Arran, a sober and worthy gentleman, who has espoused the Lady Ann Spencer, a young lady of admirable accomplishments and virtue. 23d August, 1688. I left this noble place and conversation, my lady having provided carriages to convey us back in the same manner as we went, and a dinner being prepared at Dunstable against our arrival. Northampton, having been lately burned and re-edified, is now become a town that for the beauty of the buildings, especially the church and townhouse, may compare with the neatest in Italy itself. Dr. Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, wrote a very honest and handsome letter to the Commissioners Ecclesiastical, excusing himself from sitting any longer among them, he by no means approving of their prosecuting the Clergy who refused to read the Declaration for liberty of conscience, in prejudice of the Church of England. The Dutch make extraordinary preparations both at sea and land, which with no small progress Popery makes among us, puts us to many difficulties. The Popish Irish soldiers commit many murders and insults; the whole nation disaffected, and in apprehensions. After long trials of the doctors to bring up the little Prince of Wales by hand (so many of her Majesty's children having died infants) not succeeding, a country nurse, the wife of a tile maker, is taken to give it suck. 18th September, 1688. I went to London, where I found the Court in the utmost consternation on report of the Prince of Orange's landing; which put Whitehall into so panic a fear, that I could hardly believe it possible to find such a change. Writs were issued in order to a Parliament, and a declaration to back the good order of elections, with great professions of maintaining the Church of England, but without giving any sort of satisfaction to the people, who showed their high discontent at several things in the Government. Earthquakes had utterly demolished the ancient Smyrna, and several other places in Greece, Italy, and even in the Spanish Indies, forerunners of greater calamities. God Almighty preserve his Church and all who put themselves under the shadow of his wings, till these things be overpassed. 30th September, 1688. The Court in so extraordinary a consternation, on assurance of the Prince of Orange's intention to land, that the writs sent forth for a Parliament were recalled. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th October, 1688. Dr. Tenison preached at St. Martin's on 2 Tim. iii. 16, showing the Scriptures to be our only rule of faith, and its perfection above all traditions. After which, near 1,000 devout persons partook of the Communion. The sermon was chiefly occasioned by a Jesuit, who in the Masshouse on the Sunday before had disparaged the Scripture and railed at our translation, which some present contradicting, they pulled him out of the pulpit, and treated him very coarsely, insomuch that it was like to create a great disturbance in the city. Hourly expectation of the Prince of Orange's invasion heightened to that degree, that his Majesty thought fit to abrogate the Commission for the dispensing Power (but retaining his own right still to dispense with all laws) and restore the ejected Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford. In the meantime, he called over 5,000 Irish, and 4,000 Scots, and continued to remove Protestants and put in Papists at Portsmouth and other places of trust, and retained the Jesuits about him, increasing the universal discontent. It brought people to so desperate a pass, that they seemed passionately to long for and desire the landing of that Prince, whom they looked on to be their deliverer from Popish tyranny, praying incessantly for an east wind, which was said to be the only hindrance of his expedition with a numerous army ready to make a descent. To such a strange temper, and unheard of in former times, was this poor nation reduced, and of which I was an eyewitness. The apprehension was (and with reason) that his Majesty's forces would neither at land nor sea oppose them with that vigor requisite to repel invaders. The late imprisoned Bishops were now called to reconcile matters, and the Jesuits hard at work to foment confusion among the Protestants by their usual tricks. A letter was sent to the Archbishop of Canterbury,[71] informing him, from good hands, of what was contriving by them. A paper of what the Bishops advised his Majesty was published. The Bishops were enjoined to prepare a form of prayer against the feared invasion. A pardon published. Soldiers and mariners daily pressed. [Footnote 71: By Evelyn himself. The letter was as follows:-- "My Lord, The honor and reputation which your Grace's piety, prudence, and signal courage, have justly merited and obtained, not only from the sons of the Church of England, but even universally from those Protestants among us who are Dissenters from her discipline; God Almighty's Providence and blessing upon your Grace's vigilancy and extraordinary endeavors will not suffer to be diminished in this conjuncture. The conversation I now and then have with some in place who have the opportunity of knowing what is doing in the most secret recesses and cabals of our Church's adversaries, obliges me to acquaint you, that the calling of your Grace and the rest of the Lords Bishops to Court, and what has there of late been required of you, is only to create a jealousy and suspicion among well-meaning people of such compliances, as it is certain they have no cause to apprehend. The plan of this and of all that which is to follow of seeming favor thence, is wholly drawn by the Jesuits, who are at this time more than ever busy to make divisions among us, all other arts and mechanisms having hitherto failed them. They have, with other things contrived that your Lordships the Bishops should give his Majesty advice separately, without calling any of the rest of the Peers, which, though maliciously suggested, spreads generally about the town. I do not at all question but your Grace will speedily prevent the operation of this venom, and that you will think it highly necessary so to do, that your Grace is also enjoined to compose a form of prayer, wherein the Prince of Orange is expressly to be named the Invader: of this I presume not to say anything; but for as much as in all the Declarations, etc., which have hitherto been published in pretended favor of the Church of England, there is not once the least mention of the REFORMED or PROTESTANT RELIGION, but only of the CHURCH OF ENGLAND AS BY LAW ESTABLISHED, which Church the Papists tell us is the CHURCH OF ROME, which is (say they) the Catholic Church of England--that only is established by Law; the Church of England in the REFORMED sense so established, is but by an usurped authority. The antiquity of THAT would by these words be explained, and utterly defeat this false and subdolous construction, and take off all exceptions whatsoever; if, in all extraordinary offices, upon these occasions, the words REFORMED and PROTESTANT were added to that of the CHURCH OF ENGLAND BY LAW ESTABLISHED. And whosoever threatens to invade or come against us, to the prejudice of that Church, in God's name, be they Dutch or Irish, let us heartily pray and fight against them. My Lord, this is, I confess, a bold, but honest period; and, though I am well assured that your Grace is perfectly acquainted with all this before, and therefore may blame my impertinence, as that does [Greek: allotrioepiskopein]; yet I am confident you will not reprove the zeal of one who most humbly begs your Grace's pardon, with your blessing. Lond., 10 Oct., 1688." (From a copy in Evelyn's handwriting.) See _post_, p. 285.] 14th October, 1688. The King's birthday. No guns from the Tower as usual. The sun eclipsed at its rising. This day signal for the victory of William the Conqueror against Harold, near Battel, in Sussex. The wind, which had been hitherto west, was east all this day. Wonderful expectation of the Dutch fleet. Public prayers ordered to be read in the churches against invasion. 28th October, 1688. A tumult in London on the rabble demolishing a Popish chapel that had been set up in the city. 29th October, 1688. Lady Sunderland acquainted me with his Majesty's taking away the Seals from Lord Sunderland, and of her being with the Queen to intercede for him. It is conceived that he had of late grown remiss in pursuing the interest of the Jesuitical counsels; some reported one thing, some another; but there was doubtless some secret betrayed, which time may discover. There was a Council called, to which were summoned the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Judges, the Lord Mayor, etc. The Queen Dowager, and all the ladies and lords who were present at the Queen Consort's labor, were to give their testimony upon oath of the Prince of Wales's birth, recorded both at the Council Board and at the Chancery a day or two after. This procedure was censured by some as below his Majesty to condescend to, on the talk of the people. It was remarkable that on this occasion the Archbishop, Marquis of Halifax, the Earls of Clarendon and Nottingham, refused to sit at the Council table among Papists, and their bold telling his Majesty that whatever was done while such sat among them was unlawful and incurred _præmunire_;--at least, if what I heard be true. 30th October, 1688. I dined with Lord Preston, made Secretary of State, in the place of the Earl of Sunderland. Visited Mr. Boyle, when came in the Duke of Hamilton and Earl of Burlington. The Duke told us many particulars of Mary Queen of Scots, and her amours with the Italian favorite, etc. 31st October, 1688. My birthday, being the 68th year of my age. O blessed Lord, grant that as I grow in years, so may I improve in grace! Be thou my protector this following year, and preserve me and mine from those dangers and great confusions that threaten a sad revolution to this sinful nation! Defend thy church, our holy religion, and just laws, disposing his Majesty to listen to sober and healing counsels, that if it be thy blessed will, we may still enjoy that happy tranquility which hitherto thou hast continued to us! Amen, Amen! 1st November, 1688. Dined with Lord Preston, with other company, at Sir Stephen Fox's. Continual alarms of the Prince of Orange, but no certainty. Reports of his great losses of horse in the storm, but without any assurance. A man was taken with divers papers and printed manifestoes, and carried to Newgate, after examination at the Cabinet Council. There was likewise a declaration of the States for satisfaction of all public ministers at The Hague, except to the English and the French. There was in that of the Prince's an expression, as if the Lords both spiritual and temporal had invited him over, with a deduction of the causes of his enterprise. This made his Majesty convene my Lord of Canterbury and the other Bishops now in town, to give an account of what was in the manifesto, and to enjoin them to clear themselves by some public writing of this disloyal charge. 2d November, 1688. It was now certainly reported by some who saw the fleet, and the Prince embark, that they sailed from the Brill on Wednesday morning, and that the Princess of Orange was there to take leave of her husband. 4th November, 1688. Fresh reports of the Prince being landed somewhere about Portsmouth, or the Isle of Wight, whereas it was thought it would have been northward. The Court in great hurry. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th November, 1688. I went to London; heard the news of the Prince having landed at Torbay, coming with a fleet of near 700 sail, passing through the Channel with so favorable a wind, that our navy could not intercept, or molest them. This put the King and Court into great consternation, they were now employed in forming an army to stop their further progress, for they were got into Exeter, and the season and ways very improper for his Majesty's forces to march so great a distance. The Archbishop of Canterbury and some few of the other Bishops and Lords in London, were sent for to Whitehall, and required to set forth their abhorrence of this invasion. They assured his Majesty that they had never invited any of the Prince's party, or were in the least privy to it, and would be ready to show all testimony of their loyalty; but, as to a public declaration, being so few, they desired that his Majesty would call the rest of their brethren and Peers, that they might consult what was fit to be done on this occasion, not thinking it right to publish anything without them, and till they had themselves seen the Prince's manifesto, in which it was pretended he was invited in by the Lords, spiritual and temporal. This did not please the King; so they departed. A declaration was published, prohibiting all persons to see or read the Prince's manifesto, in which was set forth at large the cause of his expedition, as there had been one before from the States. These are the beginnings of sorrow, unless God in his mercy prevent it by some happy reconciliation of all dissensions among us. This, in all likelihood, nothing can effect except a free Parliament; but this we cannot hope to see, while there are any forces on either side. I pray God to protect and direct the King for the best and truest interest of his people!--I saw his Majesty touch for the evil, Piten the Jesuit, and Warner officiating. 14th November, 1688. The Prince increases everyday in force. Several Lords go in to him. Lord Cornbury carries some regiments, and marches to Honiton, the Prince's headquarters. The city of London in disorder; the rabble pulled down the nunnery newly bought by the Papists of Lord Berkeley, at St. John's. The Queen prepares to go to Portsmouth for safety, to attend the issue of this commotion, which has a dreadful aspect. 18th November, 1688. It was now a very hard frost. The King goes to Salisbury to rendezvous the army, and return to London. Lord Delamere appears for the Prince in Cheshire. The nobility meet in Yorkshire. The Archbishop of Canterbury and some Bishops, and such Peers as were in London, address his Majesty to call a Parliament. The King invites all foreign nations to come over. The French take all the Palatinate, and alarm the Germans more than ever. 29th November, 1688. I went to the Royal Society. We adjourned the election of a President to 23d of April, by reason of the public commotions, yet dined together as of custom this day. 2d December, 1688. Dr. Tenison preached at St. Martin's on Psalm xxxvi. 5, 6, 7, concerning Providence. I received the blessed Sacrament. Afterward, visited my Lord Godolphin, then going with the Marquis of Halifax and Earl of Nottingham as Commissioners to the Prince of Orange; he told me they had little power. Plymouth declared for the Prince. Bath, York, Hull, Bristol, and all the eminent nobility and persons of quality through England, declare for the Protestant religion and laws, and go to meet the Prince, who every day sets forth new Declarations against the Papists. The great favorites at Court, Priests and Jesuits, fly or abscond. Everything, till now concealed, flies abroad in public print, and is cried about the streets. Expectation of the Prince coming to Oxford. The Prince of Wales and great treasure sent privily to Portsmouth, the Earl of Dover being Governor. Address from the Fleet not grateful to his Majesty. The Papists in offices lay down their commissions, and fly. Universal consternation among them; it looks like a revolution. 7th December, 1688. My son went toward Oxford. I returned home. 9th December, 1688. Lord Sunderland meditates flight. The rabble demolished all Popish chapels, and several Papist lords and gentlemen's houses, especially that of the Spanish Ambassador, which they pillaged, and burned his library. 13th December, 1688. The King flies to sea, puts in at Faversham for ballast; is rudely treated by the people; comes back to Whitehall. The Prince of Orange is advanced to Windsor, is invited by the King to St. James's, the messenger sent was the Earl of Faversham, the General of the Forces, who going without trumpet, or passport, is detained prisoner by the Prince, who accepts the invitation, but requires his Majesty to retire to some distant place, that his own guards may be quartered about the palace and city. This is taken heinously and the King goes privately to Rochester; is persuaded to come back; comes on the Sunday; goes to mass, and dines in public, a Jesuit saying grace (I was present). 17th December, 1688. That night was a Council; his Majesty refuses to assent to all the proposals; goes away again to Rochester. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th December, 1688. I saw the King take barge to Gravesend at twelve o'clock--a sad sight! The Prince comes to St. James's, and fills Whitehall with Dutch guards. A Council of Peers meet about an expedient to call a Parliament; adjourn to the House of Lords. The Chancellor, Earl of Peterborough, and divers others taken. The Earl of Sunderland flies; Sir Edward Hale, Walker, and others, taken and secured. All the world go to see the Prince at St. James's, where there is a great Court. There I saw him, and several of my acquaintance who came over with him. He is very stately, serious and reserved. The English soldiers sent out of town to disband them; not well pleased. 24th December, 1688. The King passes into France, whither the Queen and child were gone a few days before. 26th December, 1688. The Peers and such Commoners as were members of the Parliament at Oxford, being the last of Charles II. meeting, desire the Prince of Orange to take on him the disposal of the public revenue till a convention of Lords and Commons should meet in full body, appointed by his circular letters to the shires and boroughs, 22d of January. I had now quartered upon me a Lieutenant-Colonel and eight horses. 30th December, 1688. This day prayers for the Prince of Wales were first left off in our Church. 7th January, 1688-89. A long frost and deep snow; the Thames almost frozen over. 15th January, 1689. I visited the Archbishop of Canterbury, where I found the Bishops of St. Asaph, Ely, Bath and Wells, Peterborough, and Chichester, the Earls of Aylesbury and Clarendon, Sir George Mackenzie, Lord-Advocate of Scotland, and then came in a Scotch Archbishop, etc. After prayers and dinner, divers serious matters were discoursed, concerning the present state of the Public, and sorry I was to find there was as yet no accord in the judgments of those of the Lords and Commons who were to convene; some would have the Princess made Queen without any more dispute, others were for a Regency; there was a Tory party (then so called), who were for inviting his Majesty again upon conditions; and there were Republicans who would make the Prince of Orange like a Stadtholder. The Romanists were busy among these several parties to bring them into confusion: most for ambition or other interest, few for conscience and moderate resolutions. I found nothing of all this in this assembly of Bishops, who were pleased to admit me into their discourses; they were all for a Regency, thereby to salve their oaths, and so all public matters to proceed in his Majesty's name, by that to facilitate the calling of Parliament, according to the laws in being. Such was the result of this meeting. My Lord of Canterbury gave me great thanks for the advertisement I sent him in October, and assured me they took my counsel in that particular, and that it came very seasonably. I found by the Lord-Advocate that the Bishops of Scotland (who were indeed little worthy of that character, and had done much mischief in that Church) were now coming about to the true interest, in this conjuncture which threatened to abolish the whole hierarchy in that kingdom; and therefore the Scottish Archbishop and Lord-Advocate requested the Archbishop of Canterbury to use his best endeavors with the Prince to maintain the Church there in the same state, as by law at present settled. It now growing late, after some private discourse with his Grace, I took my leave, most of the Lords being gone. The trial of the bishops was now printed. The great convention being assembled the day before, falling upon the question about the government, resolved that King James having by the advice of the Jesuits and other wicked persons endeavored to subvert the laws of the Church and State, and deserted the kingdom, carrying away the seals, etc., without any care for the management of the government, had by demise abdicated himself and wholly vacated his right; they did therefore desire the Lords' concurrence to their vote, to place the crown on the next heir, the Prince of Orange, for his life, then to the Princess, his wife, and if she died without issue, to the Princess of Denmark, and she failing, to the heirs of the Prince, excluding forever all possibility of admitting a Roman Catholic. [Sidenote: LONDON] 27th January, 1689. I dined at the Admiralty, where was brought in a child not twelve years old, the son of one Dr. Clench, of the most prodigious maturity of knowledge, for I cannot call it altogether memory, but something more extraordinary. Mr. Pepys and myself examined him, not in any method, but with promiscuous questions, which required judgment and discernment to answer so readily and pertinently. There was not anything in chronology, history, geography, the several systems of astronomy, courses of the stars, longitude, latitude, doctrine of the spheres, courses and sources of rivers, creeks, harbors, eminent cities, boundaries and bearings of countries, not only in Europe, but in any other part of the earth, which he did not readily resolve and demonstrate his knowledge of, readily drawing out with a pen anything he would describe. He was able not only to repeat the most famous things which are left us in any of the Greek or Roman histories, monarchies, republics, wars, colonies, exploits by sea and land, but all the sacred stories of the Old and New Testament; the succession of all the monarchies, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman, with all the lower Emperors, Popes, Heresiarchs, and Councils, what they were called about, what they determined, or in the controversy about Easter, the tenets of the Gnostics, Sabellians, Arians, Nestorians; the difference between St. Cyprian and Stephen about re-baptism, the schisms. We leaped from that to other things totally different, to Olympic years, and synchronisms; we asked him questions which could not be resolved without considerable meditation and judgment, nay of some particulars of the Civil Laws, of the Digest and Code. He gave a stupendous account of both natural and moral philosophy, and even in metaphysics. Having thus exhausted ourselves rather than this wonderful child, or angel rather, for he was as beautiful and lovely in countenance as in knowledge, we concluded with asking him if, in all he had read or heard of, he had ever met with anything which was like this expedition of the Prince of Orange, with so small a force to obtain three great kingdoms without any contest. After a little thought, he told us that he knew of nothing which did more resemble it than the coming of Constantine the Great out of Britain, through France and Italy, so tedious a march, to meet Maxentius, whom he overthrew at Pons Milvius with very little conflict, and at the very gates of Rome, which he entered and was received with triumph, and obtained the empire, not of three kingdoms only, but of all the then known world. He was perfect in the Latin authors, spoke French naturally, and gave us a description of France, Italy, Savoy, Spain, ancient and modernly divided; as also of ancient Greece, Scythia, and northern countries and tracts: we left questioning further. He did this without any set or formal repetitions, as one who had learned things without book, but as if he minded other things, going about the room, and toying with a parrot there, and as he was at dinner (_tanquam aliua agens_, as it were) seeming to be full of play, of a lively, sprightly temper, always smiling, and exceedingly pleasant, without the least levity, rudeness, or childishness. His father assured us he never imposed anything to charge his memory by causing him to get things by heart, not even the rules of grammar; but his tutor (who was a Frenchman) read to him, first in French, then in Latin; that he usually played among other boys four or five hours every day, and that he was as earnest at his play as at his study. He was perfect in arithmetic, and now newly entered into Greek. In sum (_horresco referens_), I had read of divers forward and precocious youths, and some I have known, but I never did either hear or read of anything like to this sweet child, if it be right to call him child who has more knowledge than most men in the world. I counseled his father not to set his heart too much on this jewel, "_Immodicis brevis est ætas, et rara senectus,_" as I myself learned by sad experience in my most dear child Richard, many years since, who, dying before he was six years old, was both in shape and countenance and pregnancy of learning, next to a prodigy. 29th January, 1689. The votes of the House of Commons being carried up by Mr. Hampden, their chairman, to the Lords, I got a station by the Prince's lodgings at the door of the lobby to the House, and heard much of the debate, which lasted very long. Lord Derby was in the chair (for the House was resolved into a grand committee of the whole House); after all had spoken, it came to the question, which was carried by three voices against a Regency, which 51 were for, 54 against; the minority alleging the danger of dethroning Kings, and scrupling many passages and expressions in the vote of the Commons, too long to set down particularly. Some were for sending to his Majesty with conditions: others that the King could do no wrong, and that the maladministration was chargeable on his ministers. There were not more than eight or nine bishops, and but two against the Regency; the archbishop was absent, and the clergy now began to change their note, both in pulpit and discourse, on their old passive obedience, so as people began to talk of the bishops being cast out of the House. In short, things tended to dissatisfaction on both sides; add to this, the morose temper of the Prince of Orange, who showed little countenance to the noblemen and others, who expected a more gracious and cheerful reception when they made their court. The English army also was not so in order, and firm to his interest, nor so weakened but that it might give interruption. Ireland was in an ill posture as well as Scotland. Nothing was yet done toward a settlement. God of his infinite mercy compose these things, that we may be at last a Nation and a Church under some fixed and sober establishment! 30th January, 1689. The anniversary of King Charles I.'s MARTYRDOM; but in all the public offices and pulpit prayers, the collects, and litany for the King and Queen were curtailed and mutilated. Dr. Sharp preached before the Commons, but was disliked, and not thanked for his sermon. 31st January, 1689. At our church (the next day being appointed a thanksgiving for deliverance by the Prince of Orange, with prayers purposely composed), our lecturer preached in the afternoon a very honest sermon, showing our duty to God for the many signal deliverances of our Church, without touching on politics. 6th February, 1689. The King's coronation day was ordered not to be observed, as hitherto it had been. The Convention of the Lords and Commons now declare the Prince and Princess of Orange King and Queen of England, France, and Ireland (Scotland being an independent kingdom), the Prince and Princess being to enjoy it jointly during their lives; but the executive authority to be vested in the Prince during life, though all proceedings to run in both names, and that it should descend to their issue, and for want of such, to the Princess Anne of Denmark and her issue, and in want of such, to the heirs of the body of the Prince, if he survive, and that failing, to devolve to the Parliament, as they should think fit. These produced a conference with the Lords, when also there was presented heads of such new laws as were to be enacted. It is thought on these conditions they will be proclaimed. There was much contest about the King's abdication, and whether he had vacated the government. The Earl of Nottingham and about twenty Lords, and many Bishops, entered their protests, but the concurrence was great against them. The Princess hourly expected. Forces sending to Ireland, that kingdom being in great danger by the Earl of Tyrconnel's army, and expectations from France coming to assist them, but that King was busy in invading Flanders, and encountering the German Princes. It is likely that this will be the most remarkable summer for action, which has happened in many years. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st February, 1689. Dr. Burnet preached at St. James's on the obligation to walk worthy of God's particular and signal deliverance of the nation and church. I saw the NEW QUEEN and KING proclaimed the very next day after her coming to Whitehall, Wednesday, 13th February, with great acclamation and general good reception. Bonfires, bells, guns, etc. It was believed that both, especially the Princess, would have shown some (seeming) reluctance at least, of assuming her father's crown, and made some apology, testifying by her regret that he should by his mismanagement necessitate the nation to so extraordinary a proceeding, which would have shown very handsomely to the world, and according to the character given of her piety; consonant also to her husband's first declaration, that there was no intention of deposing the King, but of succoring the nation; but nothing of all this appeared; she came into Whitehall laughing and jolly, as to a wedding, so as to seem quite transported. She rose early the next morning, and in her undress, as it was reported, before her women were up, went about from room to room to see the convenience of Whitehall; lay in the same bed and apartment where the late Queen lay, and within a night or two sat down to play at basset, as the Queen, her predecessor used to do. She smiled upon and talked to everybody, so that no change seemed to have taken place at Court since her last going away, save that infinite crowds of people thronged to see her, and that she went to our prayers. This carriage was censured by many. She seems to be of a good nature, and that she takes nothing to heart: while the Prince, her husband, has a thoughtful countenance, is wonderfully serious and silent, and seems to treat all persons alike gravely, and to be very intent on affairs: Holland, Ireland, and France calling for his care. Divers Bishops and Noblemen are not at all satisfied with this so sudden assumption of the Crown, without any previous sending, and offering some conditions to the absent King; or on his not returning, or not assenting to those conditions, to have proclaimed him Regent; but the major part of both Houses prevailed to make them King and Queen immediately, and a crown was tempting. This was opposed and spoken against with such vehemence by Lord Clarendon (her own uncle), that it put him by all preferment, which must doubtless have been as great as could have been given him. My Lord of Rochester, his brother, overshot himself, by the same carriage and stiffness, which their friends thought they might have well spared when they saw how it was like to be overruled, and that it had been sufficient to have declared their dissent with less passion, acquiescing in due time. The Archbishop of Canterbury and some of the rest, on scruple of conscience and to salve the oaths they had taken, entered their protests and hung off, especially the Archbishop, who had not all this while so much as appeared out of Lambeth. This occasioned the wonder of many who observed with what zeal they contributed to the Prince's expedition, and all the while also rejecting any proposals of sending again to the absent King; that they should now raise scruples, and such as created much division among the people, greatly rejoicing the old courtiers, and especially the Papists. Another objection was, the invalidity of what was done by a convention only, and the as yet unabrogated laws; this drew them to make themselves on the 22d [February] a Parliament, the new King passing the act with the crown on his head. The lawyers disputed, but necessity prevailed, the government requiring a speedy settlement. Innumerable were the crowds, who solicited for, and expected offices; most of the old ones were turned out. Two or three white staves were disposed of some days before, as Lord Steward, to the Earl of Devonshire; Treasurer of the household, to Lord Newport; Lord Chamberlain to the King, to my Lord of Dorset; but there were as yet none in offices of the civil government save the Marquis of Halifax as Privy Seal. A council of thirty was chosen, Lord Derby president, but neither Chancellor nor Judges were yet declared, the new Great Seal not yet finished. 8th March, 1689. Dr. Tillotson, Dean of Canterbury, made an excellent discourse on Matt. v. 44, exhorting to charity and forgiveness of enemies; I suppose purposely, the new Parliament being furious about impeaching those who were obnoxious, and as their custom has ever been, going on violently, without reserve, or modification, while wise men were of opinion the most notorious offenders being named and excepted, an Act of Amnesty would be more seasonable, to pacify the minds of men in so general a discontent of the nation, especially of those who did not expect to see the government assumed without any regard to the absent King, or proving a spontaneous abdication, or that the birth of the Prince of Wales was an imposture; five of the Bishops also still refusing to take the new oath. In the meantime, to gratify the people, the hearth-tax was remitted forever; but what was intended to supply it, besides present great taxes on land, is not named. The King abroad was now furnished by the French King with money and officers for an expedition to Ireland. The great neglect in not more timely preventing that from hence, and the disturbances in Scotland, give apprehensions of great difficulties, before any settlement can be perfected here, while the Parliament dispose of the great offices among themselves. The Great Seal, Treasury and Admiralty put into commission of many unexpected persons, to gratify the more; so that by the present appearance of things (unless God Almighty graciously interpose and give success in Ireland and settle Scotland) more trouble seems to threaten the nation than could be expected. In the interim, the new King refers all to the Parliament in the most popular manner, but is very slow in providing against all these menaces, besides finding difficulties in raising men to send abroad; the former army, which had never seen any service hitherto, receiving their pay and passing their summer in an idle scene of a camp at Hounslow, unwilling to engage, and many disaffected, and scarce to be trusted. [Sidenote: LONDON] 29th March, 1689. The new King much blamed for neglecting Ireland, now likely to be ruined by the Lord Tyrconnel and his Popish party, too strong for the Protestants. Wonderful uncertainty where King James was, whether in France or Ireland. The Scots seem as yet to favor King William, rejecting King James's letter to them, yet declaring nothing positively. Soldiers in England discontented. Parliament preparing the coronation oath. Presbyterians and Dissenters displeased at the vote for preserving the Protestant religion as established by law, without mentioning what they were to have as to indulgence. The Archbishop of Canterbury and four other Bishops refusing to come to Parliament, it was deliberated whether they should incur _Præmunire_; but it was thought fit to let this fall, and be connived at, for fear of the people, to whom these Prelates were very dear, for the opposition they had given to Popery. Court offices distributed among Parliament men. No considerable fleet as yet sent forth. Things far from settled as was expected, by reason of the slothful, sickly temper of the new King, and the Parliament's unmindfulness of Ireland, which is likely to prove a sad omission. The Confederates beat the French out of the Palatinate, which they had most barbarously ruined. 11th April, 1689. I saw the procession to and from the Abbey Church of Westminster, with the great feast in Westminster Hall, at the coronation of King William and Queen Mary. What was different from former coronations, was some alteration in the coronation oath. Dr. Burnet, now made Bishop of Sarum, preached with great applause. The Parliament men had scaffolds and places which took up the one whole side of the Hall. When the King and Queen had dined, the ceremony of the Champion, and other services by tenure were performed. The Parliament men were feasted in the Exchequer chamber, and had each of them a gold medal given them, worth five-and-forty shillings. On the one side were the effigies of the King and Queen inclining one to the other; on the reverse was Jupiter throwing a bolt at Phäeton the words, "_Ne totus absumatur_": which was but dull, seeing they might have had out of the poet something as apposite. The sculpture was very mean. Much of the splendor of the proceeding was abated by the absence of divers who should have contributed to it, there being but five Bishops, four Judges (no more being yet sworn), and several noblemen and great ladies wanting; the feast, however, was magnificent. The next day the House of Commons went and kissed their new Majesties' hands in the Banqueting House. 12th April, 1689. I went with the Bishop of St. Asaph to visit my Lord of Canterbury at Lambeth, who had excused himself from officiating at the coronation, which was performed by the Bishop of London, assisted by the Archbishop of York. We had much private and free discourse with his Grace concerning several things relating to the Church, there being now a bill of comprehension to be brought from the Lords to the Commons. I urged that when they went about to reform some particulars in the Liturgy, Church discipline, Canons, etc., the baptizing in private houses without necessity might be reformed, as likewise so frequent burials in churches; the one proceeding much from the pride of women, bringing that into custom which was only indulged in case of imminent danger, and out of necessity during the rebellion, and persecution of the clergy in our late civil wars; the other from the avarice of ministers, who, in some opulent parishes, made almost as much of permission to bury in the chancel and the church, as of their livings, and were paid with considerable advantage and gifts for baptizing in chambers. To this they heartily assented, and promised their endeavor to get it reformed, utterly disliking both practices as novel and indecent. We discoursed likewise of the great disturbance and prejudice it might cause, should the new oath, now on the anvil, be imposed on any, save such as were in new office, without any retrospect to such as either had no office, or had been long in office, who it was likely would have some scruples about taking a new oath, having already sworn fidelity to the government as established by law. This we all knew to be the case of my Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, and some other persons who were not so fully satisfied with the Convention making it an abdication of King James, to whom they had sworn allegiance. King James was now certainly in Ireland with the Marshal d'Estrades, whom he made a Privy Councillor; and who caused the King to remove the Protestant Councillors, some whereof, it seems, had continued to sit, telling him that the King of France, his master, would never assist him if he did not immediately do it; by which it is apparent how the poor Prince is managed by the French. Scotland declares for King William and Queen Mary, with the reasons of their setting aside King James, not as abdicating, but forfeiting his right by maladministration; they proceeded with much more caution and prudence than we did, who precipitated all things to the great reproach of the nation, all which had been managed by some crafty, ill-principled men. The new Privy Council have a Republican spirit, manifestly undermining all future succession of the Crown and prosperity of the Church of England, which yet I hope they will not be able to accomplish so soon as they expect, though they get into all places of trust and profit. 21st April, 1689. This was one of the most seasonable springs, free from the usual sharp east winds that I have observed since the year 1660 (the year of the Restoration), which was much such an one. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26th April, 1689. I heard the lawyers plead before the Lords the writ of error in the judgment of Oates, as to the charge against him of perjury, which after debate they referred to the answer of Holloway, etc., who were his judges. I then went with the Bishop of St. Asaph to the Archbishop at Lambeth, where they entered into discourse concerning the final destruction of Antichrist, both concluding that the third trumpet and vial were now pouring out. My Lord St. Asaph considered the killing of the two witnesses, to be the utter destruction of the Cevennes Protestants by the French and Duke of Savoy, and the other the Waldenses and Pyrenean Christians, who by all appearance from good history had kept the primitive faith from the very Apostles' time till now. The doubt his Grace suggested was, whether it could be made evident that the present persecution had made so great a havoc of those faithful people as of the other, and whether there were not yet some among them in being who met together, it being stated from the text, Apoc. xi., that they should both be slain together. They both much approved of Mr. Mede's way of interpretation, and that he only failed in resolving too hastily on the King of Sweden's (Gustavus Adolphus) success in Germany. They agreed that it would be good to employ some intelligent French minister to travel as far as the Pyrenees to understand the present state of the Church there, it being a country where hardly anyone travels. There now came certain news that King James had not only landed in Ireland, but that he had surprised Londonderry, and was become master of that kingdom, to the great shame of our government, who had been so often solicited to provide against it by timely succor, and which they might so easily have done. This is a terrible beginning of more troubles, especially should an army come thence into Scotland, people being generally disaffected here and everywhere else, so that the seamen and landmen would scarce serve without compulsion. A new oath was now fabricating for all the clergy to take, of obedience to the present Government, in abrogation of the former oaths of allegiance, which it is foreseen many of the bishops and others of the clergy will not take. The penalty is to be the loss of their dignity and spiritual preferment. This is thought to have been driven on by the Presbyterians, our new governors. God in mercy send us help, and direct the counsels to his glory and good of his Church! Public matters went very ill in Ireland: confusion and dissensions among ourselves, stupidity, inconstancy, emulation, the governors employing unskillful men in greatest offices, no person of public spirit and ability appearing,--threaten us with a very sad prospect of what may be the conclusion, without God's infinite mercy. A fight by Admiral Herbert with the French, he imprudently setting on them in a creek as they were landing men in Ireland, by which we came off with great slaughter and little honor--so strangely negligent and remiss were we in preparing a timely and sufficient fleet. The Scots Commissioners offer the crown to the NEW KING AND QUEEN on conditions.--Act of Poll-money came forth, sparing none.--Now appeared the Act of Indulgence for the Dissenters, but not exempting them from paying dues to the Church of England clergy, or serving in office according to law, with several other clauses.--A most splendid embassy from Holland to congratulate the King and Queen on their accession to the crown. 4th June, 1689. A solemn fast for success of the fleet, etc. 6th June, 1689. I dined with the Bishop of Asaph; Monsieur Capellus, the learned son of the most learned Ludovicus, presented to him his father's works, not published till now. 7th June, 1689. I visited the Archbishop of Canterbury, and stayed with him till about seven o'clock. He read to me the Pope's excommunication of the French King. 9th June, 1689. Visited Dr. Burnet, now Bishop of Sarum; got him to let Mr. Kneller draw his picture. 16th June, 1689. King James's declaration was now dispersed, offering pardon to all, if on his landing, or within twenty days after, they should return to their obedience. Our fleet not yet at sea, through some prodigious sloth, and men minding only their present interest; the French riding masters at sea, taking many great prizes to our wonderful reproach. No certain news from Ireland; various reports of Scotland; discontents at home. The King of Denmark at last joins with the Confederates, and the two Northern Powers are reconciled. The East India Company likely to be dissolved by Parliament for many arbitrary actions. Oates acquitted of perjury, to all honest men's admiration. 20th June, 1689. News of A PLOT discovered, on which divers were sent to the Tower and secured. 23d June, 1689. An extraordinary drought, to the threatening of great wants as to the fruits of the earth. 8th July, 1689. I sat for my picture to Mr. Kneller, for Mr. Pepys, late Secretary to the Admiralty, holding my "Sylva" in my right hand. It was on his long and earnest request, and is placed in his library. Kneller never painted in a more masterly manner. 11th July, 1689. I dined at Lord Clarendon's, it being his lady's wedding day, when about three in the afternoon there was an unusual and violent storm of thunder, rain, and wind; many boats on the Thames were overwhelmed, and such was the impetuosity of the wind as to carry up the waves in pillars and spouts most dreadful to behold, rooting up trees and ruining some houses. The Countess of Sunderland afterward told me that it extended as far as Althorpe at the very time, which is seventy miles from London. It did no harm at Deptford, but at Greenwich it did much mischief. 16th July, 1689. I went to Hampton Court about business, the Council being there. A great apartment and spacious garden with fountains was beginning in the park at the head of the canal. 19th July, 1689. The Marshal de Schomberg went now as General toward Ireland, to the relief of Londonderry. Our fleet lay before Brest. The Confederates passing the Rhine, besiege Bonn and Mayence, to obtain a passage into France. A great victory gotten by the Muscovites, taking and burning Perecop. A new rebel against the Turks threatens the destruction of that tyranny. All Europe in arms against France, and hardly to be found in history so universal a face of war. The Convention (or Parliament as some called it) sitting, exempt the Duke of Hanover from the succession to the crown, which they seem to confine to the present new King, his wife, and Princess Anne of Denmark, who is so monstrously swollen, that it is doubted whether her being thought with child may prove a TYMPANY only, so that the unhappy family of the Stuarts seems to be extinguishing; and then what government is likely to be next set up is unknown, whether regal and by election, or otherwise, the Republicans and Dissenters from the Church of England evidently looking that way. The Scots have now again voted down Episcopacy there. Great discontents through this nation at the slow proceedings of the King, and the incompetent instruments and officers he advances to the greatest and most necessary charges. 23d August, 1689. Came to visit me Mr. Firmin. 25th August, 1689. Hitherto it has been a most seasonable summer. Londonderry relieved after a brave and wonderful holding out. 21st September, 1689. I went to visit the Archbishop of Canterbury since his suspension, and was received with great kindness. A dreadful fire happened in Southwark. 2d October, 1689. Came to visit us the Marquis de Ruvignè, and one Monsieur le Coque, a French refugee, who left great riches for his religion; a very learned, civil person; he married the sister of the Duchess de la Force. Ottobone, a Venetian Cardinal, eighty years old, made Pope.[72] [Footnote 72: Peter Otthobonus succeeded Innocent XI. as Pope in 1689, by the title of Alexander VIII.] 31st October, 1689. My birthday, being now sixty-nine years old. Blessed Father, who hast prolonged my years to this great age, and given me to see so great and wonderful revolutions, and preserved me amid them to this moment, accept, I beseech thee, the continuance of my prayers and thankful acknowledgments, and grant me grace to be working out my salvation and redeeming the time, that thou mayst be glorified by me here, and my immortal soul saved whenever thou shalt call for it, to perpetuate thy praises to all eternity, in that heavenly kingdom where there are no more changes or vicissitudes, but rest, and peace, and joy, and consummate felicity, forever. Grant this, O heavenly Father, for the sake of Jesus thine only Son and our Savior. Amen! 5th November, 1689. The Bishop of St. Asaph, Lord Almoner, preached before the King and Queen, the whole discourse being an historical narrative of the Church of England's several deliverances, especially that of this anniversary, signalized by being also the birthday of the Prince of Orange, his marriage (which was on the 4th), and his landing at Torbay this day. There was a splendid ball and other rejoicings. 10th November, 1689. After a very wet season, the winter came on severely. 17th November, 1689. Much wet, without frost, yet the wind north and easterly. A Convocation of the Clergy meet about a reformation of our Liturgy, Canons, etc., obstructed by others of the clergy. [Sidenote: LONDON] 27th November, 1689. I went to London with my family, to winter at Soho, in the great square. 11th January, 1689-90. This night there was a most extraordinary storm of wind, accompanied with snow and sharp weather; it did great harm in many places, blowing down houses, trees, etc., killing many people. It began about two in the morning, and lasted till five, being a kind of hurricane, which mariners observe have begun of late years to come northward. This winter has been hitherto extremely wet, warm, and windy. 12th January, 1690. There was read at St. Ann's Church an exhortatory letter to the clergy of London from the Bishop, together with a Brief for relieving the distressed Protestants, and Vaudois, who fled from the persecution of the French and Duke of Savoy, to the Protestant Cantons of Switzerland. The Parliament was unexpectedly prorogued to 2d of April to the discontent and surprise of many members who, being exceedingly averse to the settling of anything, proceeding with animosities, multiplying exceptions against those whom they pronounced obnoxious, and producing as universal a discontent against King William and themselves, as there was before against King James. The new King resolved on an expedition into Ireland in person. About 150 of the members who were of the more royal party, meeting at a feast at the Apollo Tavern near St. Dunstan's, sent some of their company to the King, to assure him of their service; he returned his thanks, advising them to repair to their several counties and preserve the peace during his absence, and assuring them that he would be steady to his resolution of defending the Laws and Religion established. The great Lord suspected to have counselled this prorogation, universally denied it. However, it was believed the chief adviser was the Marquis of Carmarthen, who now seemed to be most in favor. 2d February, 1690. The Parliament was dissolved by proclamation, and another called to meet the 20th of March. This was a second surprise to the former members; and now the Court party, or, as they call themselves, Church of England, are making their interests in the country. The Marquis of Halifax lays down his office of Privy Seal, and pretends to retire. [Sidenote: LONDON] 16th February, 1690. The Duchess of Monmouth's chaplain preached at St. Martin's an excellent discourse exhorting to peace and sanctity, it being now the time of very great division and dissension in the nation; first, among the Churchmen, of whom the moderate and sober part were for a speedy reformation of divers things, which it was thought might be made in our Liturgy, for the inviting of Dissenters; others more stiff and rigid, were for no condescension at all. Books and pamphlets were published every day pro and con; the Convocation were forced for the present to suspend any further progress. There was fierce and great carousing about being elected in the new Parliament. The King persists in his intention of going in person for Ireland, whither the French are sending supplies to King James, and we, the Danish horse to Schomberg. 19th February, 1690. I dined with the Marquis of Carmarthen (late Lord Danby), where was Lieutenant-General Douglas, a very considerate and sober commander, going for Ireland. He related to us the exceeding neglect of the English soldiers, suffering severely for want of clothes and necessaries this winter, exceedingly magnifying their courage and bravery during all their hardships. There dined also Lord Lucas, Lieutenant of the Tower, and the Bishop of St. Asaph. The Privy Seal was again put in commission, Mr. Cheny (who married my kinswoman, Mrs. Pierrepoint), Sir Thomas Knatchbull, and Sir P. W. Pultney. The imprudence of both sexes was now become so great and universal, persons of all ranks keeping their courtesans publicly, that the King had lately directed a letter to the Bishops to order their clergy to preach against that sin, swearing, etc., and to put the ecclesiastical laws in execution without any indulgence. 25th February, 1690. I went to Kensington, which King William had bought of Lord Nottingham, and altered, but was yet a patched building, but with the garden, however, it is a very sweet villa, having to it the park and a straight new way through this park. 7th March, 1690. I dined with Mr. Pepys, late Secretary to the Admiralty, where was that excellent shipwright and seaman (for so he had been, and also a Commission of the Navy), Sir Anthony Deane. Among other discourse, and deploring the sad condition of our navy, as now governed by inexperienced men since this Revolution, he mentioned what exceeding advantage we of this nation had by being the first who built frigates, the first of which ever built was that vessel which was afterward called "The Constant Warwick," and was the work of Pett of Chatham, for a trial of making a vessel that would sail swiftly; it was built with low decks, the guns lying near the water, and was so light and swift of sailing, that in a short time he told us she had, ere the Dutch war was ended, taken as much money from privateers as would have laden her; and that more such being built, did in a year or two scour the Channel from those of Dunkirk and others which had exceedingly infested it. He added that it would be the best and only infallible expedient to be masters of the sea, and able to destroy the greatest navy of any enemy if, instead of building huge great ships and second and third rates, they would leave off building such high decks, which were for nothing but to gratify gentlemen-commanders, who must have all their effeminate accommodations, and for pomp; that it would be the ruin of our fleets, if such persons were continued in command, they neither having experience nor being capable of learning, because they would not submit to the fatigue and inconvenience which those who were bred seamen would undergo, in those so otherwise useful swift frigates. These being to encounter the greatest ships would be able to protect, set on, and bring off, those who should manage the fire ships, and the Prince who should first store himself with numbers of such fire ships, would, through the help and countenance of such frigates, be able to ruin the greatest force of such vast ships as could be sent to sea, by the dexterity of working those light, swift ships to guard the fire ships. He concluded there would shortly be no other method of seafight; and that great ships and men-of-war, however stored with guns and men, must submit to those who should encounter them with far less number. He represented to us the dreadful effect of these fire ships; that he continually observed in our late maritime war with the Dutch that, when an enemy's fire ship approached, the most valiant commander and common sailors were in such consternation, that though then, of all times, there was most need of the guns, bombs, etc., to keep the mischief off, they grew pale and astonished, as if of a quite other mean soul, that they slunk about, forsook their guns and work as if in despair, every one looking about to see which way they might get out of their ship, though sure to be drowned if they did so. This he said was likely to prove hereafter the method of seafight, likely to be the misfortune of England if they continued to put gentlemen-commanders over experienced seamen, on account of their ignorance, effeminacy, and insolence. [Sidenote: LONDON] 9th March, 1690. Preached at Whitehall Dr. Burnet, late Bishop of Sarum, on Heb. iv. 13, anatomically describing the texture of the eye; and that, as it received such innumerable sorts of spies through so very small a passage to the brain, and that without the least confusion or trouble, and accordingly judged and reflected on them; so God who made this sensory, did with the greatest ease and at once see all that was done through the vast universe, even to the very thought as well as action. This similitude he continued with much perspicuity and aptness; and applied it accordingly, for the admonishing us how uprightly we ought to live and behave ourselves before such an all-seeing Deity; and how we were to conceive of other his attributes, which we could have no idea of than by comparing them by what we were able to conceive of the nature and power of things, which were the objects of our senses; and therefore it was that in Scripture we attribute those actions and affections of God by the same of man, not as adequately or in any proportion like them, but as the only expedient to make some resemblance of his divine perfections; as when the Scripture says, "God will remember the sins of the penitent no more:" not as if God could forget anything, but as intimating he would pass by such penitents and receive them to mercy. I dined at the Bishop of St. Asaph's, Almoner to the new Queen, with the famous lawyer Sir George Mackenzie (late Lord Advocate of Scotland), against whom both the Bishop and myself had written and published books, but now most friendly reconciled.[73] He related to us many particulars of Scotland, the present sad condition of it, the inveterate hatred which the Presbyterians show to the family of the Stuarts, and the exceeding tyranny of those bigots who acknowledge no superior on earth, in civil or divine matters, maintaining that the people only have the right of government; their implacable hatred to the Episcopal Order and Church of England. He observed that the first Presbyterian dissents from our discipline were introduced by the Jesuits' order, about the 20 of Queen Elizabeth, a famous Jesuit among them feigning himself a Protestant, and who was the first who began to pray extempore, and brought in that which they since called, and are still so fond of, praying by the Spirit. This Jesuit remained many years before he was discovered, afterward died in Scotland, where he was buried at ... having yet on his monument, "_Rosa inter spinas_." [Footnote 73: Sir George, as we have seen, had written in praise of a Private Life, which Mr. Evelyn answered by a book in praise of Public Life and Active Employment.] 11th March, 1690. I went again to see Mr. Charlton's curiosities, both of art and nature, and his full and rare collection of medals, which taken altogether, in all kinds, is doubtless one of the most perfect assemblages of rarities that can be any where seen. I much admired the contortions of the Thea root, which was so perplexed, large, and intricate, and withal hard as box, that it was wonderful to consider. The French have landed in Ireland. 16th March, 1690. A public fast. 24th May, 1690. City charter restored. Divers exempted from pardon. 4th June, 1690. King William set forth on his Irish expedition, leaving the Queen Regent. 10th June, 1690. Mr. Pepys read to me his Remonstrance, showing with what malice and injustice he was suspected with Sir Anthony Deane about the timber, of which the thirty ships were built by a late Act of Parliament, with the exceeding danger which the fleet would shortly be in, by reason of the tyranny and incompetency of those who now managed the Admiralty and affairs of the Navy, of which he gave an accurate state, and showed his great ability. 18th June, 1690. Fast day. Visited the Bishop of St. Asaph; his conversation was on the Vaudois in Savoy, who had been thought so near destruction and final extirpation by the French, being totally given up to slaughter, so that there were no hopes for them; but now it pleased God that the Duke of Savoy, who had hitherto joined with the French in their persecution, being now pressed by them to deliver up Saluzzo and Turin as cautionary towns, on suspicion that he might at last come into the Confederacy of the German Princes, did secretly concert measures with, and afterward declared for, them. He then invited these poor people from their dispersion among the mountains whither they had fled, and restored them to their country, their dwellings, and the exercise of their religion, and begged pardon for the ill usage they had received, charging it on the cruelty of the French who forced him to it. These being the remainder of those persecuted Christians which the Bishop of St. Asaph had so long affirmed to be the two witnesses spoken of in the Revelation, who should be killed and brought to life again, it was looked on as an extraordinary thing that this prophesying Bishop should persuade two fugitive ministers of the Vaudois to return to their country, and furnish them with £20 toward their journey, at that very time when nothing but universal destruction was to be expected, assuring them and showing them from the Apocalypse, that their countrymen should be returned safely to their country before they arrived. This happening contrary to all expectation and appearance, did exceedingly credit the Bishop's confidence how that prophecy of the witnesses should come to pass, just at the time, and the very month, he had spoken of some years before. I afterward went with him to Mr. Boyle and Lady Ranelagh his sister, to whom he explained the necessity of it so fully, and so learnedly made out, with what events were immediately to follow, viz, the French King's ruin, the calling of the Jews to be near at hand, but that the Kingdom of Antichrist would not yet be utterly destroyed till thirty years, when Christ should begin the Millenium, not as personally and visibly reigning on earth, but that the true religion and universal peace should obtain through all the world. He showed how Mr. Brightman, Mr. Mede, and other interpreters of these events failed, by mistaking and reckoning the year as the Latins and others did, to consist of the present calculation, so many days to the year, whereas the Apocalypse reckons after the Persian account, as Daniel did, whose visions St. John all along explains as meaning only the Christian Church. 24th June, 1690. Dined with Mr. Pepys, who the next day was sent to the Gatehouse,[74] and several great persons to the Tower, on suspicion of being affected to King James; among them was the Earl of Clarendon, the Queen's uncle. King William having vanquished King James in Ireland, there was much public rejoicing. It seems the Irish in King James's army would not stand, but the English-Irish and French made great resistance. Schomberg was slain, and Dr. Walker, who so bravely defended Londonderry. King William received a slight wound by the grazing of a cannon bullet on his shoulder, which he endured with very little interruption of his pursuit. Hamilton, who broke his word about Tyrconnel, was taken. It is reported that King James is gone back to France. Drogheda and Dublin surrendered, and if King William be returning, we may say of him as Cæsar said, "_Veni, vidi, vici_." But to alloy much of this, the French fleet rides in our channel, ours not daring to interpose, and the enemy threatening to land. [Footnote 74: Poor Pepys, as the reader knows, had already undergone an imprisonment, with perhaps just as much reason as the present, on the absurd accusation of having sent information to the French Court of the state of the English Navy.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 27th June, 1690. I went to visit some friends in the Tower, when asking for Lord Clarendon, they by mistake directed me to the Earl of Torrington, who about three days before had been sent for from the fleet, and put into the Tower for cowardice and not fighting the French fleet, which having beaten a squadron of the Hollanders, while Torrington did nothing, did now ride masters of the sea, threatening a descent. 20th July, 1690. This afternoon a camp of about 4,000 men was begun to be formed on Blackheath. 30th July, 1690. I dined with Mr. Pepys, now suffered to return to his house, on account of indisposition. 1st August, 1690. The Duke of Grafton came to visit me, going to his ship at the mouth of the river, in his way to Ireland (where he was slain). 3d August, 1690. The French landed some soldiers at Teignmouth, in Devon, and burned some poor houses. The French fleet still hovering about the western coast, and we having 300 sail of rich merchant-ships in the bay of Plymouth, our fleet began to move toward them, under three admirals. The country in the west all on their guard. A very extraordinary fine season; but on the 12th was a very great storm of thunder and lightning, and on the 15th the season much changed to wet and cold. The militia and trained bands, horse and foot, which were up through England, were dismissed. The French King having news that King William was slain, and his army defeated in Ireland, caused such a triumph at Paris, and all over France, as was never heard of; when, in the midst of it, the unhappy King James being vanquished, by a speedy flight and escape, himself brought the news of his own defeat. 15th August, 1690. I was desired to be one of the bail of the Earl of Clarendon, for his release from the Tower, with divers noblemen. The Bishop of St. Asaph expounds his prophecies to me and Mr. Pepys, etc. The troops from Blackheath march to Portsmouth. That sweet and hopeful youth, Sir Charles Tuke, died of the wounds he received in the fight of the Boyne, to the great sorrow of all his friends, being (I think) the last male of that family, to which my wife is related. A more virtuous young gentleman I never knew; he was learned for his age, having had the advantage of the choicest breeding abroad, both as to arts and arms; he had traveled much, but was so unhappy as to fall in the side of his unfortunate King. The unseasonable and most tempestuous weather happening, the naval expedition is hindered, and the extremity of wet causes the siege of Limerick to be raised, King William returned to England. Lord Sidney left Governor of what is conquered in Ireland, which is near three parts [in four]. 17th August, 1690. A public feast. An extraordinary sharp, cold, east wind. 12th October, 1690. The French General, with Tyrconnel and their forces, gone back to France, beaten out by King William. Cork delivered on discretion. The Duke of Grafton was there mortally wounded and dies. Very great storms of wind. The 8th of this month Lord Spencer wrote me word from Althorpe, that there happened an earthquake the day before in the morning, which, though short, sensibly shook the house. The "Gazette" acquainted us that the like happened at the same time, half-past seven, at Barnstaple, Holyhead, and Dublin. We were not sensible of it here. 26th October, 1690. Kinsale at last surrendered, meantime King James's party burn all the houses they have in their power, and among them that stately palace of Lord Ossory's, which lately cost, as reported, £40,000. By a disastrous accident, a third-rate ship, the Breda, blew up and destroyed all on board; in it were twenty-five prisoners of war. She was to have sailed for England the next day. 3d November, 1690. Went to the Countess of Clancarty, to condole with her concerning her debauched and dissolute son, who had done so much mischief in Ireland, now taken and brought prisoner to the Tower. 16th November, 1690. Exceeding great storms, yet a warm season. 23d November, 1690. Carried Mr. Pepys's memorials to Lord Godolphin, now resuming the commission of the Treasury, to the wonder of all his friends. 1st December, 1690. Having been chosen President of the Royal Society, I desired to decline it, and with great difficulty devolved the election on Sir Robert Southwell, Secretary of State to King William in Ireland. 20th December, 1690. Dr. Hough, President of Magdalen College, Oxford, who was displaced with several of the Fellows for not taking the oath imposed by King James, now made a Bishop. Most of this month cold and frost. One Johnson, a Knight, was executed at Tyburn for being an accomplice with Campbell, brother to Lord Argyle, in stealing a young heiress. 4th January, 1690-91. This week a PLOT was discovered for a general rising against the new Government, for which (Henry) Lord Clarendon and others were sent to the Tower. The next day, I went to see Lord Clarendon. The Bishop of Ely searched for. Trial of Lord Preston, as not being an English Peer, hastened at the Old Bailey. [Sidenote: LONDON] 18th January, 1691. Lord Preston condemned about a design to bring in King James by the French. Ashton executed. The Bishop of Ely, Mr. Graham, etc., absconded. 13th March, 1691. I went to visit Monsieur Justell and the Library at St. James's, in which that learned man had put the MSS. (which were in good number) into excellent order, they having lain neglected for many years. Divers medals had been stolen and embezzled. 21st March, 1691. Dined at Sir William Fermor's, who showed me many good pictures. After dinner, a French servant played rarely on the lute. Sir William had now bought all the remaining statues collected with so much expense by the famous Thomas, Earl of Arundel, and sent them to his seat at Easton, near Towcester.[75] [Footnote 75: They are now at Oxford, having been presented to the University in 1755 by Henrietta, Countess Dowager of Pomfret, widow of Thomas, the first Earl.] 25th March, 1691. Lord Sidney, principal Secretary of State, gave me a letter to Lord Lucas, Lieutenant of the Tower, to permit me to visit Lord Clarendon; which this day I did, and dined with him. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th April, 1691. This night, a sudden and terrible fire burned down all the buildings over the stone gallery at Whitehall to the water side, beginning at the apartment of the late Duchess of Portsmouth (which had been pulled down and rebuilt no less than three times to please her), and consuming other lodgings of such lewd creatures, who debauched both King Charles II. and others, and were his destruction. The King returned out of Holland just as this accident happened--Proclamation against the Papists, etc. 16th April, 1691. I went to see Dr. Sloane's curiosities, being an universal collection of the natural productions of Jamaica, consisting of plants, fruits, corals, minerals, stones, earth, shells, animals, and insects, collected with great judgment; several folios of dried plants, and one which had about 80 several sorts of ferns, and another of grasses; the Jamaica pepper, in branch, leaves, flower, fruit, etc. This collection,[76] with his Journal and other philosophical and natural discourses and observations, indeed very copious and extraordinary, sufficient to furnish a history of that island, to which I encouraged him. [Footnote 76: It now forms part of the collection in the British Museum.] 19th April, 1691. The Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishops of Ely, Bath and Wells, Peterborough, Gloucester, and the rest who would not take the oaths to King William, were now displaced; and in their rooms, Dr. Tillotson, Dean of St. Paul's, was made Archbishop: Patrick removed from Chichester to Ely; Cumberland to Gloucester. 22d April, 1691. I dined with Lord Clarendon in the Tower. 24th April, 1691. I visited the Earl and Countess of Sunderland, now come to kiss the King's hand after his return from Holland. This is a mystery. The King preparing to return to the army. 7th May, 1691. I went to visit the Archbishop of Canterbury [Sancroft] yet at Lambeth. I found him alone, and discoursing of the times, especially of the newly designed Bishops; he told me that by no canon or divine law they could justify the removing of the present incumbents; that Dr. Beveridge, designed Bishop of Bath and Wells, came to ask his advice; that the Archbishop told him, though he should give it, he believed he would not take it; the Doctor said he would; why then, says the Archbishop, when they come to ask, say "_Nolo_," and say it from the heart; there is nothing easier than to resolve yourself what is to be done in the case: the Doctor seemed to deliberate. What he will do I know not, but Bishop Ken, who is to be put out, is exceedingly beloved in his diocese; and, if he and the rest should insist on it, and plead their interest as freeholders, it is believed there would be difficulty in their case, and it may endanger a schism and much disturbance, so as wise men think it had been better to have let them alone, than to have proceeded with this rigor to turn them out for refusing to swear against their consciences. I asked at parting, when his Grace removed; he said that he had not yet received any summons, but I found the house altogether disfurnished and his books packed up. 1st June, 1691. I went with my son, and brother-in-law, Glanville, and his son, to Wotton, to solemnize the funeral of my nephew, which was performed the next day very decently and orderly by the herald in the afternoon, a very great appearance of the country being there. I was the chief mourner; the pall was held by Sir Francis Vincent, Sir Richard Onslow, Mr. Thomas Howard (son to Sir Robert, and Captain of the King's Guard), Mr. Hyldiard, Mr. James, Mr. Herbert, nephew to Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and cousin-german to my deceased nephew. He was laid in the vault at Wotton Church, in the burying place of the family. A great concourse of coaches and people accompanied the solemnity. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th June, 1691. I went to visit Lord Clarendon, still prisoner in the Tower, though Lord Preston being pardoned was released. 17th June, 1691. A fast. 11th July, 1691. I dined with Mr. Pepys, where was Dr. Cumberland, the new Bishop of Norwich,[77] Dr. Lloyd having been put out for not acknowledging the Government. Cumberland is a very learned, excellent man. Possession was now given to Dr. Tillotson, at Lambeth, by the Sheriff; Archbishop Sancroft was gone, but had left his nephew to keep possession; and he refusing to deliver it up on the Queen's message, was dispossessed by the Sheriff, and imprisoned. This stout demeanor of the few Bishops who refused to take the oaths to King William, animated a great party to forsake the churches, so as to threaten a schism; though those who looked further into the ancient practice, found that when (as formerly) there were Bishops displaced on secular accounts, the people never refused to acknowledge the new Bishops, provided they were not heretics. The truth is, the whole clergy had till now stretched the duty of passive obedience, so that the proceedings against these Bishops gave no little occasion of exceptions; but this not amounting to heresy, there was a necessity of receiving the new Bishops, to prevent a failure of that order in the Church. I went to visit Lord Clarendon in the Tower, but he was gone into the country for air by the Queen's permission, under the care of his warden. [Footnote 77: A mistake. Dr. Cumberland was made Bishop of Peterborough and Dr. John Moore succeeded Dr. Lloyd in the see of Norwich.] 18th July, 1691. To London to hear Mr. Stringfellow preach his first sermon in the newly erected Church of Trinity, in Conduit Street; to which I did recommend him to Dr. Tenison for the constant preacher and lecturer. This Church, formerly built of timber on Hounslow-Heath by King James for the mass priests, being begged by Dr. Tenison, rector of St. Martin's, was set up by that public-minded, charitable, and pious man near my son's dwelling in Dover Street, chiefly at the charge of the Doctor. I know him to be an excellent preacher and a fit person. This Church, though erected in St. Martin's, which is the Doctor's parish, he was not only content, but was the sole industrious mover, that it should be made a separate parish, in regard of the neighborhood having become so populous. Wherefore to countenance and introduce the new minister, and take possession of a gallery designed for my son's family, I went to London, where, 19th July, 1691. In the morning Dr. Tenison preached the first sermon, taking his text from Psalm xxvi. 8. "Lord, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place where thine honor dwelleth." In concluding, he gave that this should be made a parish church so soon as the Parliament sat, and was to be dedicated to the Holy Trinity, in honor of the three undivided persons in the Deity; and he minded them to attend to that faith of the church, now especially that Arianism, Socinianism, and atheism began to spread among us. In the afternoon, Mr. Stringfellow preached on Luke vii. 5. "The centurion who had built a synagogue." He proceeded to the due praise of persons of such public spirit, and thence to such a character of pious benefactors in the person of the generous centurion, as was comprehensive of all the virtues of an accomplished Christian, in a style so full, eloquent, and moving, that I never heard a sermon more apposite to the occasion. He modestly insinuated the obligation they had to that person who should be the author and promoter of such public works for the benefit of mankind, especially to the advantage of religion, such as building and endowing churches, hospitals, libraries, schools, procuring the best editions of useful books, by which he handsomely intimated who it was that had been so exemplary for his benefaction to that place. Indeed, that excellent person, Dr. Tenison, had also erected and furnished a public library [in St. Martin's]; and set up two or three free schools at his own charges. Besides this, he was of an exemplary, holy life, took great pains in constantly preaching, and incessantly employing himself to promote the service of God both in public and private. I never knew a man of a more universal and generous spirit, with so much modesty, prudence, and piety. The great victory of King William's army in Ireland was looked on as decisive of that war. The French General, St. Ruth, who had been so cruel to the poor Protestants in France, was slain, with divers of the best commanders; nor was it cheap to us, having 1,000 killed, but of the enemy 4,000 or 5,000. 26th July, 1691. An extraordinary hot season, yet refreshed by some thundershowers. 28th July, 1691. I went to Wotton. 2d August, 1691. No sermon in the church in the afternoon, and the curacy ill-served. 16th August, 1691. A sermon by the curate; an honest discourse, but read without any spirit, or seeming concern; a great fault in the education of young preachers. Great thunder and lightning on Thursday, but the rain and wind very violent. Our fleet come in to lay up the great ships; nothing done at sea, pretending that we cannot meet the French. 13th September, 1691. A great storm at sea; we lost the "Coronation" and "Harwich," above 600 men perishing. 14th October, 1691. A most pleasing autumn. Our navy come in without having performed anything, yet there has been great loss of ships by negligence, and unskillful men governing the fleet and Navy board. 7th November, 1691. I visited the Earl of Dover, who having made his peace with the King, was now come home. The relation he gave of the strength of the French King, and the difficulty of our forcing him to fight, and any way making impression into France, was very wide from what we fancied. 8th to 30th November, 1691. An extraordinary dry and warm season, without frost, and like a new spring; such as had not been known for many years. Part of the King's house at Kensington was burned. 6th December, 1691. Discourse of another PLOT, in which several great persons were named, but believed to be a sham.--A proposal in the House of Commons that every officer in the whole nation who received a salary above £500 or otherwise by virtue of his office, should contribute it wholly to the support of the war with France, and this upon their oath. 25th December, 1691. My daughter-in-law was brought to bed of a daughter. 26th December, 1691. An exceedingly dry and calm winter; no rain for many past months. 28th December, 1691. Dined at Lambeth with the new Archbishop. Saw the effect of my greenhouse furnace, set up by the Archbishop's son-in-law. 30th December, 1691. I again saw Mr. Charlton's collection of spiders, birds, scorpions, and other serpents, etc. 1st January, 1691-92. This last week died that pious, admirable Christian, excellent philosopher, and my worthy friend, Mr. Boyle, aged about 65,--a great loss to all that knew him, and to the public. [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th January, 1692. At the funeral of Mr. Boyle, at St. Martin's, Dr. Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, preached on Eccles. ii. 26. He concluded with an eulogy due to the deceased, who made God and religion the scope of all his excellent talents in the knowledge of nature, and who had arrived to so high a degree in it, accompanied with such zeal and extraordinary piety, which he showed in the whole course of his life, particularly in his exemplary charity on all occasions,--that he gave £1,000 yearly to the distressed refugees of France and Ireland; was at the charge of translating the Scriptures into the Irish and Indian tongues, and was now promoting a Turkish translation, as he had formerly done of Grotius "on the Truth of the Christian Religion" into Arabic, which he caused to be dispersed in the eastern countries; that he had settled a fund for preachers who should preach expressly against Atheists, Libertines, Socinians, and Jews; that he had in his will given £8,000 to charitable uses; but that his private charities were extraordinary. He dilated on his learning in Hebrew and Greek, his reading of the fathers, and solid knowledge in theology, once deliberating about taking Holy Orders, and that at the time of restoration of King Charles II., when he might have made a great figure in the nation as to secular honor and titles, his fear of not being able to discharge so weighty a duty as the first, made him decline that, and his humility the other. He spoke of his civility to strangers, the great good which he did by his experience in medicine and chemistry, and to what noble ends he applied himself to his darling studies; the works, both pious and useful, which he published; the exact life he led, and the happy end he made. Something was touched of his sister, the Lady Ranelagh, who died but a few days before him. And truly all this was but his due, without any grain of flattery. This week a most execrable murder was committed on Dr. Clench, father of that extraordinary learned child whom I have before noticed. Under pretense of carrying him in a coach to see a patient, they strangled him in it; and, sending away the coachman under some pretense, they left his dead body in the coach, and escaped in the dusk of the evening. 12th January, 1692. My granddaughter was christened by Dr. Tenison, now Bishop of Lincoln, in Trinity Church, being the first that was christened there. She was named Jane. 24th January, 1692. A frosty and dry season continued; many persons die of apoplexy, more than usual. Lord Marlborough, Lieutenant-General of the King's army in England, gentleman of the bedchamber, etc., dismissed from all his charges, military and other, for his excessive taking of bribes, covetousness, and extortion on all occasions from his inferior officers. Note, this was the Lord who was entirely advanced by King James, and was the first who betrayed and forsook his master. He was son of Sir Winston Churchill of the Greencloth. 7th February, 1692. An extraordinary snow fell in most parts. 13th February, 1692. Mr. Boyle having made me one of the trustees for his charitable bequests, I went to a meeting of the Bishop of Lincoln, Sir Rob.... wood, and serjeant, Rotheram, to settle that clause in the will which related to charitable uses, and especially the appointing and electing a minister to preach one sermon the first Sunday in the month, during the four summer months, expressly against Atheists, Deists, Libertines, Jews, etc., without descending to any other controversy whatever, for which £50 per annum is to be paid quarterly to the preacher; and, at the end of three years, to proceed to a new election of some other able divine, or to continue the same, as the trustees should judge convenient. We made choice of one Mr. Bentley, chaplain to the Bishop of Worcester (Dr. Stillingfleet). The first sermon was appointed for the first Sunday in March, at St. Martin's; the second Sunday in April, at Bow Church, and so alternately. 28th February, 1692. Lord Marlborough having used words against the King, and been discharged from all his great places, his wife was forbidden the Court, and the Princess of Denmark was desired by the Queen to dismiss her from her service; but she refusing to do so, goes away from Court to Sion house. Divers new Lords made: Sir Henry Capel, Sir William Fermor, etc. Change of Commissioners in the Treasury. The Parliament adjourned, not well satisfied with affairs. The business of the East India Company, which they would have reformed, let fall. The Duke of Norfolk does not succeed in his endeavor to be divorced.[78] [Footnote 78: See _post_ pp. 351-52.] 20th March, 1692. My son was made one of the Commissioners of the Revenue and Treasury of Ireland, to which employment he had a mind, far from my wishes. I visited the Earl of Peterborough, who showed me the picture of the Prince of Wales, newly brought out of France, seeming in my opinion very much to resemble the Queen his mother, and of a most vivacious countenance. April, 1692. No spring yet appearing. The Queen Dowager went out of England toward Portugal, as pretended, against the advice of all her friends. 4th April, 1692. Mr. Bentley preached Mr. Boyle's lecture at St. Mary-le-Bow. So excellent a discourse against the Epicurean system is not to be recapitulated in a few words. He came to me to ask whether I thought it should be printed, or that there was anything in it which I desired to be altered. I took this as a civility, and earnestly desired it should be printed, as one of the most learned and convincing discourses I had ever heard. 6th April, 1692. A fast. King James sends a letter written and directed by his own hand to several of the Privy Council, and one to his daughter, the Queen Regent, informing them of the Queen being ready to be brought to bed, and summoning them to be at the birth by the middle of May, promising as from the French King, permission to come and return in safety. 24th April, 1692. Much apprehension of a French invasion, and of an universal rising. Our fleet begins to join with the Dutch. Unkindness between the Queen and her sister. Very cold and unseasonable weather, scarce a leaf on the trees. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th May, 1692. Reports of an invasion were very hot, and alarmed the city, Court, and people; nothing but securing suspected persons, sending forces to the seaside, and hastening out the fleet. Continued discourse of the French invasion, and of ours in France. The eastern wind so constantly blowing, gave our fleet time to unite, which had been so tardy in preparation, that, had not God thus wonderfully favored, the enemy would in all probability have fallen upon us. Many daily secured, and proclamations out for more conspirators. 8th May, 1692. My kinsman, Sir Edward Evelyn, of Long Ditton, died suddenly. 12th May, 1692. A fast. 13th May, 1692. I dined at my cousin Cheny's, son to my Lord Cheny, who married my cousin Pierpoint. 15th May, 1692. My niece, M. Evelyn, was now married to Sir Cyril Wyche, Secretary of State for Ireland. After all our apprehensions of being invaded, and doubts of our success by sea, it pleased God to give us a great naval victory, to the utter ruin of the French fleet, their admiral and all their best men-of-war, transport-ships, etc. 29th May, 1692. Though this day was set apart expressly for celebrating the memorable birth, return, and restoration of the late King Charles II., there was no notice taken of it, nor any part of the office annexed to the Common Prayer Book made use of, which I think was ill done, in regard his restoration not only redeemed us from anarchy and confusion, but restored the Church of England as it were miraculously. 9th June, 1692. I went to Windsor to carry my grandson to Eton School, where I met my Lady Stonehouse and other of my daughter-in-law's relations, who came on purpose to see her before her journey into Ireland. We went to see the castle, which we found furnished and very neatly kept, as formerly, only that the arms in the guard chamber and keep were removed and carried away. An exceeding great storm of wind and rain, in some places stripping the trees of their fruit and leaves as if it had been winter; and an extraordinary wet season, with great floods. 23d July, 1692. I went with my wife, son, and daughter, to Eton, to see my grandson, and thence to my Lord Godolphin's, at Cranburn, where we lay, and were most honorably entertained. The next day to St. George's Chapel, and returned to London late in the evening. 25th July, 1692. To Mr. Hewer's at Clapham, where he has an excellent, useful, and capacious house on the Common, built by Sir Den. Gauden, and by him sold to Mr. Hewer, who got a very considerable estate in the Navy, in which, from being Mr. Pepys's clerk, he came to be one of the principal officers, but was put out of all employment on the Revolution, as were all the best officers, on suspicion of being no friends to the change; such were put in their places, as were most shamefully ignorant and unfit. Mr. Hewer lives very handsomely and friendly to everybody. Our fleet was now sailing on their long pretense of a descent on the French coast; but, after having sailed one hundred leagues, returned, the admiral and officers disagreeing as to the place where they were to land, and the time of year being so far spent,--to the great dishonor of those at the helm, who concerted their matters so indiscreetly, or, as some thought, designedly. This whole summer was exceedingly wet and rainy, the like had not been known since the year 1648; while in Ireland they had not known so great a drought. 26th July, 1692. I went to visit the Bishop of Lincoln, when, among other things, he told me that one Dr. Chaplin, of University College in Oxford, was the person who wrote the "Whole Duty of Man"; that he used to read it to his pupil, and communicated it to Dr. Sterne, afterward Archbishop of York, but would never suffer any of his pupils to have a copy of it. 9th August, 1692. A fast. Came the sad news of the hurricane and earthquake, which has destroyed almost the whole Island of Jamaica, many thousands having perished. 11th August, 1692. My son, his wife, and little daughter, went for Ireland, there to reside as one of the Commissioners of the Revenue. 14th August, 1692. Still an exceedingly wet season. 15th September, 1692. There happened an earthquake, which, though not so great as to do any harm in England, was universal in all these parts of Europe. It shook the house at Wotton, but was not perceived by any save a servant or two, who were making my bed, and another in a garret. I and the rest being at dinner below in the parlor, were not sensible of it. The dreadful one in Jamaica this summer was profanely and ludicrously represented in a puppet play, or some such lewd pastime, in the fair of Southwark, which caused the Queen to put down that idle and vicious mock show. 1st October, 1692. This season was so exceedingly cold, by reason of a long and tempestuous northeast wind, that this usually pleasant month was very uncomfortable. No fruit ripened kindly. Harbord dies at Belgrade; Lord Paget sent Ambassador in his room. 6th November, 1692. There was a vestry called about repairing or new building of the church [at Deptford], which I thought unseasonable in regard of heavy taxes, and other improper circumstances, which I there declared. 10th November, 1692. A solemn Thanksgiving for our victory at sea, safe return of the King, etc. 20th November, 1692. Dr. Lancaster, the new Vicar of St. Martin's, preached. A signal robbery in Hertfordshire of the tax money bringing out of the north toward London. They were set upon by several desperate persons, who dismounted and stopped all travelers on the road, and guarding them in a field, when the exploit was done, and the treasure taken, they killed all the horses of those whom they stayed, to hinder pursuit, being sixteen horses. They then dismissed those that they had dismounted. 14th December, 1692. With much reluctance we gratified Sir J. Rotherham, one of Mr. Boyle's trustees, by admitting the Bishop of Bath and Wells to be lecturer for the next year, instead of Mr. Bentley, who had so worthily acquitted himself. We intended to take him in again the next year. [Sidenote: LONDON] January, 1692-93. Contest in Parliament about a self-denying Act, that no Parliament man should have any office; it wanted only two or three voices to have been carried. The Duke of Norfolk's bill for a divorce thrown out, he having managed it very indiscreetly. The quarrel between Admiral Russell and Lord Nottingham yet undetermined. 4th February, 1693. After five days' trial and extraordinary contest, the Lord Mohun was acquitted by the Lords of the murder of Montford, the player, notwithstanding the judges, from the pregnant witnesses of the fact, had declared him guilty; but whether in commiseration of his youth, being not eighteen years old, though exceedingly dissolute, or upon whatever other reason, the King himself present some part of the trial, and satisfied, as they report, that he was culpable. 69 acquitted him, only 14 condemned him. Unheard of stories of the universal increase of witches in New England; men, women, and children, devoting themselves to the devil, so as to threaten the subversion of the government.[79] At the same time there was a conspiracy among the negroes in Barbadoes to murder all their masters, discovered by overhearing a discourse of two of the slaves, and so preventing the execution of the design. Hitherto an exceedingly mild winter. France in the utmost misery and poverty for want of corn and subsistence, while the ambitious King is intent to pursue his conquests on the rest of his neighbors both by sea and land. Our Admiral, Russell, laid aside for not pursuing the advantage he had obtained over the French in the past summer; three others chosen in his place. Dr. Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury's book burned by the hangman for an expression of the King's title by conquest, on a complaint of Joseph How, a member of Parliament, little better than a madman. [Footnote 79: Some account of these poor people is given in Bray and Manning's "History of Surrey," ii. 714, from the papers of the Rev. Mr. Miller, Vicar of Effingham, in that county, who was chaplain to the King's forces in the colony from 1692 to 1695. Some of the accused were convicted and executed; but Sir William Phipps, the Governor, had the good sense to reprieve, and afterward pardon, several; and the Queen approved his conduct.] 19th February, 1693. The Bishop of Lincoln preached in the afternoon at the Tabernacle near Golden Square, set up by him. Proposals of a marriage between Mr. Draper and my daughter Susanna. Hitherto an exceedingly warm winter, such as has seldom been known, and portending an unprosperous spring as to the fruits of the earth; our climate requires more cold and winterly weather. The dreadful and astonishing earthquake swallowing up Catania, and other famous and ancient cities, with more than 100,000 persons in Sicily, on 11th January last, came now to be reported among us. 26th February, 1693. An extraordinary deep snow, after almost no winter, and a sudden gentle thaw. A deplorable earthquake at Malta, since that of Sicily, nearly as great. 19th March, 1693. A new Secretary of State, Sir John Trenchard; the Attorney-General, Somers, made Lord-Keeper, a young lawyer of extraordinary merit. King William goes toward Flanders; but returns, the wind being contrary. 31st March, 1693. I met the King going to Gravesend to embark in his yacht for Holland. 23d April, 1693. An extraordinary wet spring. 27th April, 1693. My daughter Susanna was married to William Draper, Esq., in the chapel of Ely House, by Dr. Tenison, Bishop of Lincoln (since Archbishop). I gave her in portion £4,000, her jointure is £500 per annum. I pray Almighty God to give his blessing to this marriage! She is a good child, religious, discreet, ingenious, and qualified with all the ornaments of her sex. She has a peculiar talent in design, as painting in oil and miniature, and an extraordinary genius for whatever hands can do with a needle. She has the French tongue, has read most of the Greek and Roman authors and poets, using her talents with great modesty; exquisitely shaped, and of an agreeable countenance. This character is due to her, though coming from her father. Much of this week spent in ceremonies, receiving visits and entertaining relations, and a great part of the next in returning visits. 11th May, 1693. We accompanied my daughter to her husband's house, where with many of his and our relations we were magnificently treated. There we left her in an apartment very richly adorned and furnished, and I hope in as happy a condition as could be wished, and with the great satisfaction of all our friends; for which God be praised! 14th May, 1693. Nothing yet of action from abroad. Muttering of a design to bring forces under color of an expected descent, to be a standing army for other purposes. Talk of a declaration of the French King, offering mighty advantages to the confederates, exclusive of King William; and another of King James, with an universal pardon, and referring the composing of all differences to a Parliament. These were yet but discourses; but something is certainly under it. A declaration or manifesto from King James, so written, that many thought it reasonable, and much more to the purpose than any of his former. June, 1693. WHITSUNDAY. I went to my Lord Griffith's chapel; the common church office was used for the King without naming the person, with some other, apposite to the necessity and circumstances of the time. 11th June, 1693. I dined at Sir William Godolphin's; and, after evening prayer, visited the Duchess of Grafton. 21st June, 1693. I saw a great auction of pictures in the Banqueting house, Whitehall. They had been my Lord Melford's, now Ambassador from King James at Rome, and engaged to his creditors here. Lord Mulgrave and Sir Edward Seymour came to my house, and desired me to go with them to the sale. Divers more of the great lords, etc., were there, and bought pictures dear enough. There were some very excellent of Vandyke, Rubens, and Bassan. Lord Godolphin bought the picture of the Boys, by Murillo the Spaniard, for 80 guineas, dear enough; my nephew Glanville, the old Earl of Arundel's head by Rubens, for £20. Growing late, I did not stay till all were sold. 24th June, 1693. A very wet hay harvest, and little summer as yet. 9th July, 1693. Mr. Tippin, successor of Dr. Parr at Camberwell, preached an excellent sermon. [Sidenote: LONDON] 13th July, 1693. I saw the Queen's rare cabinets and collection of china; which was wonderfully rich and plentiful, but especially a large cabinet, looking-glass frame and stands, all of amber, much of it white, with historical bas-reliefs and statues, with medals carved in them, esteemed worth £4,000, sent by the Duke of Brandenburgh, whose country, Prussia, abounds with amber, cast up by the sea; divers other China and Indian cabinets, screens, and hangings. In her library were many books in English, French, and Dutch, of all sorts; a cupboard of gold plate; a cabinet of silver filagree, which I think was our Queen Mary's, and which, in my opinion, should have been generously sent to her. 18th July, 1693. I dined with Lord Mulgrave, with the Earl of Devonshire, Mr. Hampden (a scholar and fine gentleman), Dr. Davenant, Sir Henry Vane, and others, and saw and admired the Venus of Correggio, which Lord Mulgrave had newly bought of Mr. Daun for £250; one of the best paintings I ever saw. 1st August, 1693. Lord Capel, Sir Cyril Wyche, and Mr. Duncomb, made Lord Justices in Ireland; Lord Sydney recalled, and made Master of the Ordnance. 6th August, 1693. Very lovely harvest weather, and a wholesome season, but no garden fruit. 31st October, 1693. A very wet and uncomfortable season. 12th November, 1693. Lord Nottingham resigned as Secretary of State; the Commissioners of the Admiralty ousted, and Russell restored to his office. The season continued very wet, as it had nearly all the summer, if one might call it summer, in which there was no fruit, but corn was very plentiful. 14th November, 1693. In the lottery set up after the Venetian manner by Mr. Neale, Sir R. Haddock, one of the Commissioners of the Navy, had the greatest lot, £3,000; my coachman £40. 17th November, 1693. Was the funeral of Captain Young, who died of the stone and great age. I think he was the first who in the first war with Cromwell against Spain, took the Governor of Havanna, and another rich prize, and struck the first stroke against the Dutch fleet in the first war with Holland in the time of the Rebellion; a sober man and an excellent seaman. 30th November, 1693. Much importuned to take the office of President of the Royal Society, but I again declined it. Sir Robert Southwell was continued. We all dined at Pontac's as usual. 3d December, 1693. Mr. Bentley preached at the Tabernacle, near Golden Square. I gave my voice for him to proceed on his former subject the following year in Mr. Boyle's lecture, in which he had been interrupted by the importunity of Sir J. Rotheram that the Bishop of Chichester[80] might be chosen the year before, to the great dissatisfaction of the Bishop of Lincoln and myself. We chose Mr. Bentley again. The Duchess of Grafton's appeal to the House of Lords for the Prothonotary's place given to the late Duke and to her son by King Charles II., now challenged by the Lord Chief Justice. The judges were severely reproved on something they said. [Footnote 80: A mistake for Bath and Wells. Bishop Kidder is referred to.] 10th December, 1693. A very great storm of thunder and lightning. 1st January, 1693-94. Prince Lewis of Baden came to London, and was much feasted. Danish ships arrested carrying corn and naval stores to France. 11th January, 1694. Supped at Mr. Edward Sheldon's, where was Mr. Dryden, the poet, who now intended to write no more plays, being intent on his translation of Virgil. He read to us his prologue and epilogue to his valedictory play now shortly to be acted. 21st January, 1694. Lord Macclesfield, Lord Warrington, and Lord Westmorland, all died within about one week. Several persons shot, hanged, and made away with themselves. 11th February, 1694. Now was the great trial of the appeal of Lord Bath and Lord Montagu before the Lords, for the estate of the late Duke of Albemarle. 10th March, 1694. Mr. Stringfellow preached at Trinity parish, being restored to that place, after the contest between the Queen and the Bishop of London who had displaced him. 22d March, 1694. Came the dismal news of the disaster befallen our Turkey fleet by tempest, to the almost utter ruin of that trade, the convoy of three or four men-of-war, and divers merchant ships, with all their men and lading, having perished. [Sidenote: LONDON] 25th March, 1694. Mr. Goode, minister of St. Martin's, preached; he was likewise put in by the Queen, on the issue of her process with the Bishop of London. 30th March, 1694. I went to the Duke of Norfolk, to desire him to make cousin Evelyn of Nutfield one of the Deputy-Lieutenants of Surrey, and entreat him to dismiss my brother, now unable to serve by reason of age and infirmity. The Duke granted the one, but would not suffer my brother to resign his commission, desiring he should keep the honor of it during his life, though he could not act. He professed great kindness to our family. 1st April, 1694. Dr. Sharp, Archbishop of York, preached in the afternoon at the Tabernacle, by Soho. 13th April, 1694. Mr. Bentley, our Boyle Lecturer, Chaplain to the Bishop of Worcester, came to see me. 15th April, 1694. One Mr. Stanhope preached a most excellent sermon. 22d April, 1694. A fiery exhalation rising out of the sea, spread itself in Montgomeryshire a furlong broad, and many miles in length, burning all straw, hay, thatch, and grass, but doing no harm to trees, timber, or any solid things, only firing barns, or thatched houses. It left such a taint on the grass as to kill all the cattle that eat of it. I saw the attestations in the hands of the sufferers. It lasted many months. "The Berkeley Castle" sunk by the French coming from the East Indies, worth £200,000. The French took our castle of Gamboo in Guinea, so that the Africa Actions fell to £30, and the India to £80. Some regiments of Highland Dragoons were on their march through England; they were of large stature, well appointed and disciplined. One of them having reproached a Dutchman for cowardice in our late fight, was attacked by two Dutchmen, when with his sword he struck off the head of one, and cleft the skull of the other down to his chin. A very young gentleman named Wilson, the younger son of one who had not above £200 a year estate, lived in the garb and equipage of the richest nobleman, for house, furniture, coaches, saddle horses, and kept a table, and all things accordingly, redeemed his father's estate, and gave portions to his sisters, being challenged by one Laws, a Scotchman, was killed in a duel, not fairly. The quarrel arose from his taking away his own sister from lodging in a house where this Laws had a mistress, which the mistress of the house thinking a disparagement to it, and losing by it, instigated Laws to this duel. He was taken and condemned for murder. The mystery is how this so young a gentleman, very sober and of good fame, could live in such an expensive manner; it could not be discovered by all possible industry, or entreaty of his friends to make him reveal it. It did not appear that he was kept by women, play, coining, padding, or dealing in chemistry; but he would sometimes say that if he should live ever so long, he had wherewith to maintain himself in the same manner. He was very civil and well-natured, but of no great force of understanding. This was a subject of much discourse. 24th April, 1694. I went to visit Mr. Waller, an extraordinary young gentleman of great accomplishments, skilled in mathematics, anatomy, music, painting both in oil and miniature to great perfection, an excellent botanist, a rare engraver on brass, writer in Latin, and a poet; and with all this exceedingly modest. His house is an academy of itself. I carried him to see Brompton Park [by Knightsbridge], where he was in admiration at the store of rare plants, and the method he found in that noble nursery, and how well it was cultivated. A public Bank of £140,000, set up by Act of Parliament among other Acts, and Lotteries for money to carry on the war. The whole month of April without rain. A great rising of people in Buckinghamshire, on the declaration of a famous preacher, till now reputed a sober and religious man, that our Lord Christ appearing to him on the 16th of this month, told him he was now come down, and would appear publicly at Pentecost, and gather all the saints, Jews and Gentiles, and lead them to Jerusalem, and begin the Millennium, and destroying and judging the wicked, deliver the government of the world to the saints. Great multitudes followed this preacher, divers of the most zealous brought their goods and considerable sums of money, and began to live in imitation of the primitive saints, minding no private concerns, continually dancing and singing Hallelujah night and day. This brings to mind what I lately happened to find in Alstedius, that the thousand years should begin this very year 1694; it is in his "Encyclopædia Biblica." My copy of the book printed near sixty years ago. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 4th May, 1694. I went this day with my wife and four servants from Sayes Court, removing much furniture of all sorts, books, pictures, hangings, bedding, etc., to furnish the apartment my brother assigned me, and now, after more than forty years, to spend the rest of my days with him at Wotton, where I was born; leaving my house at Deptford full furnished, and three servants, to my son-in-law Draper, to pass the summer in, and such longer time as he should think fit to make use of it. 6th May, 1694. This being the first Sunday in the month, the blessed sacrament of the Lord's Supper ought to have been celebrated at Wotton church, but in this parish it is exceedingly neglected, so that, unless at the four great feasts, there is no communion hereabouts; which is a great fault both in ministers and people. I have spoken to my brother, who is the patron, to discourse the minister about it. Scarcely one shower has fallen since the beginning of April. 30th May, 1694. This week we had news of my Lord Tiviot having cut his own throat, through what discontent not yet said. He had been, not many years past, my colleague in the commission of the Privy Seal, in old acquaintance, very soberly and religiously inclined. Lord, what are we without thy continual grace! Lord Falkland, grandson to the learned Lord Falkland, Secretary of State to King Charles I., and slain in his service, died now of the smallpox. He was a pretty, brisk, understanding, industrious young gentleman; had formerly been faulty, but now much reclaimed; had also the good luck to marry a very great fortune, besides being entitled to a vast sum, his share of the Spanish wreck, taken up at the expense of divers adventurers. From a Scotch Viscount he was made an English Baron, designed Ambassador for Holland; had been Treasurer of the Navy, and advancing extremely in the new Court. All now gone in a moment, and I think the title is extinct. I know not whether the estate devolves to my cousin Carew. It was at my Lord Falkland's, whose lady importuned us to let our daughter be with her some time, so that that dear child took the same infection, which cost her valuable life. 3d June, 1694. Mr. Edwards, minister of Denton, in Sussex, a living in my brother's gift, came to see him. He had suffered much by a fire. Seasonable showers. 14th June, 1694. The public fast. Mr. Wotton, that extraordinary learned young man, preached excellently. 1st July, 1694. Mr. Duncomb, minister of Albury, preached at Wotton, a very religious and exact discourse. The first great bank for a fund of money being now established by Act of Parliament, was filled and completed to the sum of £120,000, and put under the government of the most able and wealthy citizens of London. All who adventured any sum had four per cent., so long as it lay in the bank, and had power either to take it out at pleasure, or transfer it. Glorious steady weather; corn and all fruits in extraordinary plenty generally. 13th July, 1694. Lord Berkeley burnt Dieppe and Havre de Grace with bombs, in revenge for the defeat at Brest. This manner of destructive war was begun by the French, is exceedingly ruinous, especially falling on the poorer people, and does not seem to tend to make a more speedy end of the war; but rather to exasperate and incite to revenge. Many executed at London for clipping money, now done to that intolerable extent, that there was hardly any money that was worth above half the nominal value. 4th August, 1694. I went to visit my cousin, George Evelyn of Nutfield, where I found a family of ten children, five sons and five daughters--all beautiful women grown, and extremely well-fashioned. All painted in one piece, very well, by Mr. Lutterell, in crayon on copper, and seeming to be as finely painted as the best miniature. They are the children of two extraordinary beautiful wives. The boys were at school. 5th August, 1694. Stormy and unseasonable wet weather this week. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th October, 1694. I went to St. Paul's to see the choir, now finished as to the stone work, and the scaffold struck both without and within, in that part. Some exceptions might perhaps be taken as to the placing columns on pilasters at the east tribunal. As to the rest it is a piece of architecture without reproach. The pulling out the forms, like drawers, from under the stalls, is ingenious. I went also to see the building beginning near St. Giles's, where seven streets make a star from a Doric pillar placed in the middle of a circular area; said to be built by Mr. Neale, introducer of the late lotteries, in imitation of those at Venice, now set up here, for himself twice, and now one for the State. 28th October, 1694. Mr. Stringfellow preached at Trinity church. 22d November, 1694. Visited the Bishop of Lincoln [Tenison] newly come on the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who a few days before had a paralytic stroke,--the same day and month that Archbishop Sancroft was put out. A very sickly time, especially the smallpox, of which divers considerable persons died. The State lottery[81] drawing, Mr. Cock, a French refugee, and a President in the Parliament of Paris for the Reformed, drew a lot of £1,000 per annum. [Footnote 81: State lotteries finally closed October 18, 1826.] 29th November, 1694. I visited the Marquis of Normanby, and had much discourse concerning King Charles II. being poisoned. Also concerning the _quinquina_ which the physicians would not give to the King, at a time when, in a dangerous ague, it was the only thing that could cure him (out of envy because it had been brought into vogue by Mr. Tudor, an apothecary), till Dr. Short, to whom the King sent to know his opinion of it privately, he being reputed a Papist (but who was in truth a very honest, good Christian), sent word to the King that it was the only thing which could save his life, and then the King enjoined his physicians to give it to him, which they did and he recovered. Being asked by this Lord why they would not prescribe it, Dr. Lower said it would spoil their practice, or some such expression, and at last confessed it was a remedy fit only for kings. Exception was taken that the late Archbishop did not cause any of his Chaplains to use any office for the sick during his illness. 9th December, 1694. I had news that my dear and worthy friend, Dr. Tenison, Bishop of Lincoln, was made Archbishop of Canterbury, for which I thank God and rejoice, he being most worthy of it, for his learning, piety, and prudence. 13th December, 1694. I went to London to congratulate him. He being my proxy, gave my vote for Dr. Williams, to succeed Mr. Bentley in Mr. Boyle's lectures. 29th December, 1694. The smallpox increased exceedingly, and was very mortal. The Queen died of it on the 28th. 13th January, 1694-95. The Thames was frozen over. The deaths by smallpox increased to five hundred more than in the preceding week. The King and Princess Anne reconciled, and she was invited to keep her Court at Whitehall, having hitherto lived privately at Berkeley House; she was desired to take into her family divers servants of the late Queen; to maintain them the King has assigned her £5,000 a quarter. 20th January, 1695. The frost and continual snow have now lasted five weeks. February, 1695. Lord Spencer married the Duke of Newcastle's daughter, and our neighbor, Mr. Hussey, married a daughter of my cousin, George Evelyn, of Nutfield. 3d February, 1695. The long frost intermitted, but not gone. 17th February, 1695. Called to London by Lord Godolphin, one of the Lords of the Treasury, offering me the treasurership of the hospital designed to be built at Greenwich for worn-out seamen. 24th February, 1695. I saw the Queen lie in state. 27th February, 1695. The Marquis of Normanby told me King Charles had a design to buy all King Street, and build it nobly, it being the street leading to Westminster. This might have been done for the expense of the Queen's funeral, which was £50,000, against her desire. 5th March, 1695. I went to see the ceremony. Never was so universal a mourning; all the Parliament men had cloaks given them, and four hundred poor women; all the streets hung and the middle of the street boarded and covered with black cloth. There were all the nobility, mayor, aldermen, judges, etc. 8th March, 1695. I supped at the Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry's, who related to me the pious behavior of the Queen in all her sickness, which was admirable. She never inquired of what opinion persons were, who were objects of charity; that, on opening a cabinet, a paper was found wherein she had desired that her body might not be opened, or any extraordinary expense at her funeral, whenever she should die. This paper was not found in time to be observed. There were other excellent things under her own hand, to the very least of her debts, which were very small, and everything in that exact method, as seldom is found in any private person. In sum, she was such an admirable woman, abating for taking the Crown without a more due apology, as does, if possible, outdo the renowned Queen Elizabeth. 10th March, 1695. I dined at the Earl of Sunderland's with Lord Spencer. My Lord showed me his library, now again improved by many books bought at the sale of Sir Charles Scarborough, an eminent physician, which was the very best collection, especially of mathematical books, that was I believe in Europe, once designed for the King's Library at St. James's; but the Queen dying, who was the great patroness of that design, it was let fall, and the books were miserably dissipated. The new edition of Camden's "Britannia" was now published (by Bishop Gibson), with great additions; those to Surrey were mine, so that I had one presented to me. Dr. Gale showed me a MS. of some parts of the New Testament in vulgar Latin, that had belonged to a monastery in the North of Scotland, which he esteemed to be about eight hundred years old; there were some considerable various readings observable, as in John i., and genealogy of St. Luke. 24th March, 1695. EASTER DAY. Mr. Duncomb, parson of this parish, preached, which he hardly comes to above once a year though but seven or eight miles off; a florid discourse, read out of his notes. The Holy Sacrament followed, which he administered with very little reverence, leaving out many prayers and exhortations; nor was there any oblation. This ought to be reformed, but my good brother did not well consider when he gave away this living and the next [Abinger]. March, 1695. The latter end of the month sharp and severely cold, with much snow and hard frost; no appearance of spring. 31st March, 1695. Mr. Lucas preached in the afternoon at Wotton. [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th April, 1695. Lord Halifax died suddenly at London, the day his daughter was married to the Earl of Nottingham's son at Burleigh. Lord H. was a very rich man, very witty, and in his younger days somewhat positive. 14th April, 1695. After a most severe, cold, and snowy winter, without almost any shower for many months, the wind continuing N. and E. and not a leaf appearing; the weather and wind now changed, some showers fell, and there was a remission of cold. 21st April, 1695. The spring begins to appear, yet the trees hardly leafed. Sir T. Cooke discovers what prodigious bribes have been given by some of the East India Company out of the stock, which makes a great clamor. Never were so many private bills passed for unsettling estates, showing the wonderful prodigality and decay of families. 5th May, 1695. I came to Deptford from Wotton, in order to the first meeting of the Commissioners for endowing an hospital for seamen at Greenwich; it was at the Guildhall, London. Present, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Keeper, Lord Privy Seal, Lord Godolphin, Duke of Shrewsbury, Duke of Leeds, Earls of Dorset and Monmouth, Commissioners of the Admiralty and Navy, Sir Robert Clayton, Sir Christopher Wren, and several more. The Commission was read by Mr. Lowndes, Secretary to the Lords of the Treasury, Surveyor-General. 17th May, 1695. Second meeting of the Commissioners, and a committee appointed to go to Greenwich to survey the place, I being one of them. 21st May, 1695. We went to survey Greenwich, Sir Robert Clayton, Sir Christopher Wren, Mr. Travers, the King's Surveyor, Captain Sanders, and myself. 24th May, 1695. We made report of the state of Greenwich house, and how the standing part might be made serviceable at present for £6,000, and what ground would be requisite for the whole design. My Lord Keeper ordered me to prepare a book for subscriptions, and a preamble to it. 31st May, 1695. Met again. Mr. Vanbrugh was made secretary to the commission, by my nomination of him to the Lords, which was all done that day. 7th June, 1695. The commissioners met at Guildhall, when there were scruples and contests of the Lord Mayor, who would not meet, not being named as one of the quorum, so that a new commission was required, though the Lord Keeper and the rest thought it too nice a punctilio. 14th May, 1695. Met at Guildhall, but could do nothing for want of a quorum. 5th July, 1695. At Guildhall; account of subscriptions, about £7,000 or £8,000. 6th July, 1695. I dined at Lambeth, making my first visit to the Archbishop, where there was much company, and great cheer. After prayers in the evening, my Lord made me stay to show me his house, furniture, and garden, which were all very fine, and far beyond the usual Archbishops, not as affected by this, but being bought ready furnished by his predecessor. We discoursed of several public matters, particularly of the Princess of Denmark, who made so little figure. 11th July, 1695. Met at Guildhall; not a full committee, so nothing done. 14th July, 1695. No sermon at church; but, after prayers, the names of all the parishioners were read, in order to gathering the tax of 4s. for marriages, burials, etc. A very imprudent tax, especially this reading the names, so that most went out of the church. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 19th July, 1695. I dined at Sir Purbeck Temple's, near Croydon; his lady is aunt to my son-in-law, Draper; the house exactly furnished. Went thence with my son and daughter to Wotton. At Wotton, Mr. Duncomb, parson of Albury, preached excellently. 28th July, 1695. A very wet season. 11th August, 1695. The weather now so cold, that greater frosts were not always seen in the midst of winter; this succeeded much wet, and set harvest extremely back. 25th September, 1695. Mr. Offley preached at Abinger; too much controversy on a point of no consequence, for the country people here. This was the first time I had heard him preach. Bombarding of Cadiz; a cruel and brutish way of making war, first began by the French. The season wet, great storms, unseasonable harvest weather. My good and worthy friend, Captain Gifford, who that he might get some competence to live decently, adventured all he had in a voyage of two years to the East Indies, was, with another great ship, taken by some French men-of-war, almost within sight of England, to the loss of near £70,000, to my great sorrow, and pity of his wife, he being also a valiant and industrious man. The losses of this sort to the nation have been immense, and all through negligence, and little care to secure the same near our own coasts; of infinitely more concern to the public than spending their time in bombarding and ruining two or three paltry towns, without any benefit, or weakening our enemies, who, though they began, ought not to be imitated in an action totally averse to humanity, or Christianity. 29th September, 1695. Very cold weather. Sir Purbeck Temple, uncle to my son Draper, died suddenly. A great funeral at Addiscombe. His lady being own aunt to my son Draper, he hopes for a good fortune, there being no heir. There had been a new meeting of the commissioners about Greenwich hospital, on the new commission, where the Lord Mayor, etc. appeared, but I was prevented by indisposition from attending. The weather very sharp, winter approaching apace. The King went a progress into the north, to show himself to the people against the elections, and was everywhere complimented, except at Oxford, where it was not as he expected, so that he hardly stopped an hour there, and having seen the theater, did not receive the banquet proposed. I dined with Dr. Gale at St. Paul's school, who showed me many curious passages out of some ancient Platonists' MSS. concerning the Trinity, which this great and learned person would publish, with many other rare things, if he was encouraged, and eased of the burden of teaching. 25th October, 1695. The Archbishop and myself went to Hammersmith, to visit Sir Samuel Morland, who was entirely blind; a very mortifying sight. He showed us his invention of writing, which was very ingenious; also his wooden calendar, which instructed him all by feeling; and other pretty and useful inventions of mills, pumps, etc., and the pump he had erected that serves water to his garden, and to passengers, with an inscription, and brings from a filthy part of the Thames near it a most perfect and pure water. He had newly buried £200 worth of music books six feet under ground, being, as he said, love songs and vanity. He plays himself psalms and religious hymns on the theorbo. Very mild weather the whole of October. [Sidenote: LONDON] 10th November, 1695. Mr. Stanhope, Vicar of Lewisham, preached at Whitehall. He is one of the most accomplished preachers I ever heard, for matter, eloquence, action, voice, and I am told, of excellent conversation. 13th November, 1695. Famous fireworks and very chargeable, the King being returned from his progress. He stayed seven or eight days at Lord Sunderland's at Althorpe, where he was mightily entertained. These fireworks were shown before Lord Romney, master of the ordnance, in St. James's great square, where the King stood. 17th November, 1695. I spoke to the Archbishop of Canterbury to interest himself for restoring a room belonging to St. James's library, where the books want place. 21st November, 1695. I went to see Mr. Churchill's collection of rarities. 23d November, 1695. To Lambeth, to get Mr. Williams continued in Boyle's lectures another year. Among others who dined there was Dr. Covel, the great Oriental traveler. 1st December, 1695. I dined at Lord Sunderland's, now the great favorite and underhand politician, but not adventuring on any character, being obnoxious to the people for having twice changed his religion. 23d December, 1695. The Parliament wondrously intent on ways to reform the coin; setting out a Proclamation prohibiting the currency of half-crowns, etc., which made much confusion among the people. 25th December, 1695. Hitherto mild, dark, misty, weather. Now snow and frost. 12th January, 1695-96. Great confusion and distraction by reason of the clipped money, and the difficulty found in reforming it. 2d February, 1696. An extraordinary wet season, though temperate as to cold. The "Royal Sovereign" man-of-war burned at Chatham. It was built in 1637, and having given occasion to the levy of ship money was perhaps the cause of all the after troubles to this day. An earthquake in Dorsetshire by Portland, or rather a sinking of the ground suddenly for a large space, near the quarries of stone, hindering the conveyance of that material for the finishing St. Paul's. 23d February, 1696. They now began to coin new money. 26th February, 1696. There was now a conspiracy of about thirty knights, gentlemen, captains, many of them Irish and English Papists, and Nonjurors or Jacobites (so called), to murder King William on the first opportunity of his going either from Kensington, or to hunting, or to the chapel; and upon signal of fire to be given from Dover Cliff to Calais, an invasion was designed. In order to it there was a great army in readiness, men-of-war and transports, to join a general insurrection here, the Duke of Berwick having secretly come to London to head them, King James attending at Calais with the French army. It was discovered by some of their own party. £1,000 reward was offered to whoever could apprehend any of the thirty named. Most of those who were engaged in it, were taken and secured. The Parliament, city, and all the nation, congratulate the discovery; and votes and resolutions were passed that, if King William should ever be assassinated, it should be revenged on the Papists and party through the nation; an Act of Association drawing up to empower the Parliament to sit on any such accident, till the Crown should be disposed of according to the late settlement at the Revolution. All Papists, in the meantime, to be banished ten miles from London. This put the nation into an incredible disturbance and general animosity against the French King and King James. The militia of the nation was raised, several regiments were sent for out of Flanders, and all things put in a posture to encounter a descent. This was so timed by the enemy, that while we were already much discontented by the greatness of the taxes, and corruption of the money, etc., we had like to have had very few men-of-war near our coasts; but so it pleased God that Admiral Rooke wanting a wind to pursue his voyage to the Straits, that squadron, with others at Portsmouth and other places, were still in the Channel, and were soon brought up to join with the rest of the ships which could be got together, so that there is hope this plot may be broken. I look on it as a very great deliverance and prevention by the providence of God. Though many did formerly pity King James's condition, this design of assassination and bringing over a French army, alienated many o£ his friends, and was likely to produce a more perfect establishment of King William. 1st March, 1696. The wind continuing N. and E. all this week, brought so many of our men-of-war together that, though most of the French finding their design detected and prevented, made a shift to get into Calais and Dunkirk roads, we wanting fire-ships and bombs to disturb them; yet they were so engaged among the sands and flats, that 'tis said they cut their masts and flung their great guns overboard to lighten their vessels. We are yet upon them. This deliverance is due solely to God. French were to have invaded at once England, Scotland, and Ireland. 8th March, 1696. Divers of the conspirators tried and condemned. Vesuvius breaking out, terrified Naples. Three of the unhappy wretches, whereof one was a priest, were executed[82] for intending to assassinate the King; they acknowledged their intention, but acquitted King James of inciting them to it, and died very penitent. Divers more in danger, and some very considerable persons. [Footnote 82: Robert Charnock, Edward King, and Thomas Keys.] Great frost and cold. [Sidenote: LONDON] 6th April, 1696. I visited Mr. Graham in the Fleet. 10th April, 1696. The quarters of Sir William Perkins and Sir John Friend, lately executed on the plot, with Perkins's head, were set up at Temple Bar, a dismal sight, which many pitied. I think there never was such at Temple Bar till now, except once in the time of King Charles II., namely, of Sir Thomas Armstrong.[83] [Footnote 83: He was concerned in the Rye-House plot, fled into Holland, was given up, and executed in his own country, 1684. See p. 198.] 12th April, 1696. A very fine spring season. 19th April, 1696. Great offense taken at the three ministers who absolved Sir William Perkins and Friend at Tyburn. One of them (Snatt) was a son of my old schoolmaster. This produced much altercation as to the canonicalness of the action. 21st April, 1696. We had a meeting at Guildhall of the grand committee about settling the draught of Greenwich hospital. 23d April, 1696. I went to Eton, and dined with Dr. Godolphin, the provost. The schoolmaster assured me there had not been for twenty years a more pregnant youth in that place than my grandson. I went to see the King's House at Kensington. It is very noble, though not great. The gallery furnished with the best pictures [from] all the houses, of Titian, Raphael, Correggio, Holbein, Julio Romano, Bassan, Vandyke, Tintoretto, and others; a great collection of porcelain; and a pretty private library. The gardens about it very delicious. 26th April, 1696. Dr. Sharp preached at the Temple. His prayer before the sermon was one of the most excellent compositions I ever heard. 28th April, 1696. The Venetian Ambassador made a stately entry with fifty footmen, many on horseback, four rich coaches, and a numerous train of gallants. More executions this week of the assassins. Oates dedicated a most villainous, reviling book against King James, which he presumed to present to King William, who could not but abhor it, speaking so infamously and untruly of his late beloved Queen's own father. 2d May, 1696. I dined at Lambeth, being summoned to meet my co-trustees, the Archbishop, Sir Henry Ashurst, and Mr. Serjeant Rotheram, to consult about settling Mr. Boyle's lecture for a perpetuity; which we concluded upon, by buying a rent charge of £50 per annum, with the stock in our hands. 6th May, 1696. I went to Lambeth, to meet at dinner the Countess of Sunderland and divers ladies. We dined in the Archbishop's wife's apartment with his Grace, and stayed late; yet I returned to Deptford at night. 13th May, 1696. I went to London to meet my son, newly come from Ireland, indisposed. Money still continuing exceedingly scarce, so that none was paid or received, but all was on trust, the mint not supplying for common necessities. The Association with an oath required of all lawyers and officers, on pain of _præmunire_, whereby men were obliged to renounce King James as no rightful king, and to revenge King William's death, if happening by assassination. This to be taken by all the Counsel by a day limited, so that the Courts of Chancery and King's Bench hardly heard any cause in Easter Term, so many crowded to take the oath. This was censured as a very entangling contrivance of the Parliament in expectation, that many in high office would lay down, and others surrender. Many gentlemen taken up on suspicion of the late plot, were now discharged out of prison. 29th May, 1696. We settled divers offices, and other matters relating to workmen, for the beginning of Greenwich hospital. [Sidenote: DEPTFORD] 1st June, 1696. I went to Deptford to dispose of our goods, in order to letting the house for three years to Vice Admiral Benbow, with condition to keep up the garden. This was done soon after. 4th June, 1696. A committee met at Whitehall about Greenwich Hospital, at Sir Christopher Wren's, his Majesty's Surveyor-General. We made the first agreement with divers workmen and for materials; and gave the first order for proceeding on the foundation, and for weekly payments to the workmen, and a general account to be monthly. 11th June, 1696. Dined at Lord Pembroke's, Lord Privy Seal, a very worthy gentleman. He showed me divers rare pictures of very many of the old and best masters, especially one of M. Angelo of a man gathering fruit to give to a woman, and a large book of the best drawings of the old masters. Sir John Fenwick, one of the conspirators, was taken. Great subscriptions in Scotland to their East India Company. Want of current money to carry on the smallest concerns, even for daily provisions in the markets. Guineas lowered to twenty-two shillings, and great sums daily transported to Holland, where it yields more, with other treasure sent to pay the armies, and nothing considerable coined of the new and now only current stamp, cause such a scarcity that tumults are every day feared, nobody paying or receiving money; so imprudent was the late Parliament to condemn the old though clipped and corrupted, till they had provided supplies. To this add the fraud of the bankers and goldsmiths, who having gotten immense riches by extortion, keep up their treasure in expectation of enhancing its value. Duncombe, not long since a mean goldsmith, having made a purchase of the late Duke of Buckingham's estate at nearly £90,000, and reputed to have nearly as much in cash. Banks and lotteries every day set up. 18th June, 1696. The famous trial between my Lord Bath and Lord Montague for an estate of £11,000 a year, left by the Duke of Albemarle, wherein on several trials had been spent,£20,000 between them. The Earl of Bath was cast on evident forgery. 20th June, 1696. I made my Lord Cheney a visit at Chelsea, and saw those ingenious waterworks invented by Mr. Winstanley, wherein were some things very surprising and extraordinary. 21st June, 1696. An exceedingly rainy, cold, unseasonable summer, yet the city was very healthy. 25th June, 1696. A trial in the Common Pleas between the Lady Purbeck Temple and Mr. Temple, a nephew of Sir Purbeck, concerning a deed set up to take place of several wills. This deed was proved to be forged. The cause went on my lady's side. This concerning my son-in-law, Draper, I stayed almost all day at Court. A great supper was given to the jury, being persons of the best condition in Buckinghamshire. 30th June, 1696. I went with a select committee of the Commissioners for Greenwich Hospital, and with Sir Christopher Wren, where with him I laid the first stone of the intended foundation, precisely at five o'clock in the evening, after we had dined together. Mr. Flamstead, the King's Astronomical Professor, observing the punctual time by instruments. 4th July, 1696. Note that my Lord Godolphin was the first of the subscribers who paid any money to this noble fabric. 7th July, 1696. A northern wind altering the weather with a continual and impetuous rain of three days and nights changed it into perfect winter. 12th July, 1696. Very unseasonable and uncertain weather. 26th July, 1696. So little money in the nation that Exchequer Tallies, of which I had for £2,000 on the best fund in England, the Post Office, nobody would take at 30 per cent discount. 3d August, 1696. The Bank lending the £200,000 to pay the array in Flanders, that had done nothing against the enemy, had so exhausted the treasure of the nation, that one could not have borrowed money under 14 or 15 per cent on bills, or on Exchequer Tallies under 30 per cent. Reasonable good harvest weather. I went to Lambeth and dined with the Archbishop, who had been at Court on the complaint against Dr. Thomas Watson, Bishop of St. David's, who was suspended for simony. The Archbishop told me how unsatisfied he was with the Canon law, and how exceedingly unreasonable all their pleadings appeared to him. September, 1696. Fine seasonable weather, and a great harvest after a cold, wet summer. Scarcity in Scotland. 6th September, 1696. I went to congratulate the marriage of a daughter of Mr. Boscawen to the son of Sir Philip Meadows; she is niece to my Lord Godolphin, married at Lambeth by the Archbishop, 30th of August. After above six months' stay in London about Greenwich Hospital, I returned to Wotton. 24th October, 1696. Unseasonable stormy weather, and an ill seedtime. November, 1696. Lord Godolphin retired from the Treasury, who was the first Commissioner and most skillful manager of all. 8th November, 1696. The first frost began fiercely, but lasted not long. More plots talked of. Search for Jacobites so called. 15th-23d November, 1696. Very stormy weather, rain, and inundations. 13th December, 1696. Continuance of extreme frost and snow. 17th January, 1696-7. The severe frost and weather relented, but again froze with snow. Conspiracies continue against King William. Sir John Fenwick was beheaded. 7th February, 1697. Severe frost continued with snow. Soldiers in the armies and garrison towns frozen to death on their posts. (Here a leaf of the MS. is lost.) 17th August, 1697. I came to Wotton after three months' absence. September, 1697. Very bright weather, but with sharp east wind. My son came from London in his melancholy indisposition. 12th September, 1697. Mr. Duncombe, the rector, came and preached after an absence of two years, though only living seven or eight miles off [at Ashted]. Welcome tidings of the Peace. 3d October, 1697. So great were the storms all this week, that near a thousand people were lost going into the Texel. [Sidenote: LONDON] 16th November, 1697. The King's entry very pompous; but is nothing approaching that of King Charles II. 2d December, 1697. Thanksgiving Day for the Peace, the King and a great Court at Whitehall. The Bishop of Salisbury preached, or rather made a florid panegyric, on 2 Chron. ix. 7, 8. The evening concluded with fireworks and illuminations of great expense. 5th December, 1697. Was the first Sunday that St. Paul's had had service performed in it since it was burned in 1666. 6th December, 1697. I went to Kensington with the Sheriff, Knights, and chief gentlemen of Surrey, to present their address to the King. The Duke of Norfolk promised to introduce it, but came so late, that it was presented before be came. This insignificant ceremony was brought in in Cromwell's time, and has ever since continued with offers of life and fortune to whoever happened to have the power. I dined at Sir Richard Onslow's, who treated almost all the gentlemen of Surrey. When we had half dined, the Duke of Norfolk came in to make his excuse. 12th December, 1697. At the Temple Church; it was very long before the service began, staying for the Comptroller of the Inner Temple, where was to be kept a riotous and reveling Christmas, according to custom. 18th December, 1697. At Lambeth, to Dr. Bentley, about the Library at St. James's. 23d December, 1697. I returned to Wotton. 1697-98. A great Christmas kept at Wotton, open house, much company. I presented my book of Medals, etc., to divers noblemen, before I exposed it to sale. 2d January, 1698. Dr. Fulham, who lately married my niece, preached against atheism, a very eloquent discourse, somewhat improper for most of the audience at [Wotton], but fitted for some other place, and very apposite to the profane temper of the age. [Sidenote: LONDON] 5th January, 1698. Whitehall burned, nothing but walls and ruins left. 30th January, 1698. The imprisonment of the great banker, Duncombe: censured by Parliament; acquitted by the Lords; sent again to the Tower by the Commons. The Czar of Muscovy being come to England, and having a mind to see the building of ships, hired my house at Sayes Court, and made it his court and palace, newly furnished for him by the King.[84] [Footnote 84: While the Czar was in his house. Evelyn's servant writes to him: "There is a house full of people, and right nasty. The Czar lies next your library, and dines in the parlor next your study. He dines at ten o'clock and at six at night; is very seldom at home a whole day; very often in the King's yard, or by water, dressed in several dresses. The King is expected here this day; the best parlor is pretty clean for him to be entertained in. The King pays for all he has."] 21st April, 1698. The Czar went from my house to return home. An exceedingly sharp and cold season. 8th May, 1698. An extraordinary great snow and frost, nipping the corn and other fruits. Corn at nine shillings a bushel [£18 a load]. 30th May, 1698. I dined at Mr. Pepys's, where I heard the rare voice of Mr. Pule, who was lately come from Italy, reputed the most excellent singer we had ever had. He sung several compositions of the late Dr. Purcell. 5th June, 1698. Dr. White, late Bishop of Norwich, who had been ejected for not complying with Government, was buried in St. Gregory's churchyard, or vault, at St. Paul's. His hearse was accompanied by two non-juror bishops, Dr. Turner of Ely, and Dr. Lloyd, with forty other non-juror clergymen, who would not stay the Office of the burial, because the Dean of St. Paul's had appointed a conforming minister to read the Office; at which all much wondered, there being nothing in that Office which mentioned the present King. 8th June, 1698. I went to congratulate the marriage of Mr. Godolphin with the Earl of Marlborough's daughter. 9th June, 1698. To Deptford, to see how miserably the Czar had left my house, after three months making it his Court. I got Sir Christopher Wren, the King's surveyor, and Mr. London, his gardener, to go and estimate the repairs, for which they allowed £150 in their report to the Lords of the Treasury. I then went to see the foundation of the Hall and Chapel at Greenwich Hospital. 6th August, 1698. I dined with Pepys, where was Captain Dampier,[85] who had been a famous buccaneer, had brought hither the painted Prince Job, and printed a relation of his very strange adventure, and his observations. He was now going abroad again by the King's encouragement, who furnished a ship of 290 tons. He seemed a more modest man than one would imagine by the relation of the crew he had assorted with. He brought a map of his observations of the course of the winds in the South Sea, and assured us that the maps hitherto extant were all false as to the Pacific Sea, which he makes on the south of the line, that on the north end running by the coast of Peru being extremely tempestuous. [Footnote 85: The celebrated navigator, born in 1652, the time of whose death is uncertain. His "Voyage Round the World" has gone through many editions, and the substance of it has been transferred to many collections of voyages.] 25th September, 1698. Dr. Foy came to me to use my interest with Lord Sunderland for his being made Professor of Physic at Oxford, in the King's gift. I went also to the Archbishop in his behalf. 7th December, 1698. Being one of the Council of the Royal Society, I was named to be of the committee to wait on our new President, the Lord Chancellor, our Secretary, Dr. Sloane, and Sir R. Southwell, last Vice-President, carrying our book of statutes; the office of the President being read, his Lordship subscribed his name, and took the oaths according to our statutes as a Corporation for the improvement of natural knowledge. Then his Lordship made a short compliment concerning the honor the Society had done him, and how ready he would be to promote so noble a design, and come himself among us, as often as the attendance on the public would permit; and so we took our leave. 18th December, 1698. Very warm, but exceedingly stormy. January, 1698-99. My cousin Pierrepoint died. She was daughter to Sir John Evelyn, of Wilts, my father's nephew; she was widow to William Pierrepoint, brother to the Marquis of Dorchester, and mother to Evelyn Pierrepoint, Earl of Kingston; a most excellent and prudent lady. [Sidenote: LONDON] The House of Commons persist in refusing more than 7,000 men to be a standing army, and no strangers to be in the number. This displeased the Court party. Our county member, Sir R. Onslow, opposed it also; which might reconcile him to the people, who began to suspect him. 17th February, 1699. My grandson went to Oxford with Dr. Mander, the Master of Baliol College, where he was entered a fellow-commoner. 19th February, 1699. A most furious wind, such as has not happened for many years, doing great damage to houses and trees, by the fall of which several persons were killed. 5th March, 1699. The old East India Company lost their business against the new Company, by ten votes in Parliament, so many of their friends being absent, going to see a tiger baited by dogs. The persecuted Vaudois, who were banished out of Savoy, were received by the German Protestant Princes. 24th March, 1699. My only remaining son died after a tedious languishing sickness, contracted in Ireland, and increased here, to my exceeding grief and affliction; leaving me one grandson, now at Oxford, whom I pray God to prosper and be the support of the Wotton family. He was aged forty-four years and about three months. He had been six years one of the Commissioners of the Revenue in Ireland, with great ability and reputation. 26th March, 1699. After an extraordinary storm, there came up the Thames a whale which was fifty-six feet long. Such, and a larger of the spout kind, was killed there forty years ago (June 1658). That year died Cromwell. 30th March, 1699. My deceased son was buried in the vault at Wotton, according to his desire. The Duke of Devon lost £1,900 at a horse race at Newmarket. The King preferring his young favorite Earl of Albemarle to be first Commander of his Guard, the Duke of Ormond laid down his commission. This of the Dutch Lord passing over his head, was exceedingly resented by everybody. April, 1699. Lord Spencer purchased an incomparable library[86] of ... wherein, among other rare books, were several that were printed at the first invention of that wonderful art, as particularly "Tully's Offices, etc." There was a Homer and a Suidas in a very good Greek character and good paper, almost as ancient. This gentleman is a very fine scholar, whom from a child I have known. His tutor was one Florival of Geneva. [Footnote 86: The foundation of the noble library now at Blenheim.] 29th April, 1699. I dined with the Archbishop; but my business was to get him to persuade the King to purchase the late Bishop of Worcester's library, and build a place for his own library at St. James's, in the Park, the present one being too small. 3d May, 1699. At a meeting of the Royal Society I was nominated to be of the committee to wait on the Lord Chancellor to move the King to purchase the Bishop of Worcester's library (Dr. Edward Stillingfleet). 4th May, 1699. The Court party have little influence in this Session. 7th May, 1699. The Duke of Ormond restored to his commission. All Lotteries, till now cheating the people, to be no longer permitted than to Christmas, except that for the benefit of Greenwich Hospital. Mr. Bridgman, chairman of the committee for that charitable work, died; a great loss to it. He was Clerk of the Council, a very industrious, useful man. I saw the library of Dr. John Moore,[87] Bishop of Norwich, one of the best and most ample collection of all sorts of good books in England, and he, one of the most learned men. [Footnote 87: Afterward Bishop of Ely. He died 31st of July, 1714. King George I. purchased this library after the Bishop's death, for £6,000, and presented it to the University of Cambridge, where it now is.] 11th June, 1699. After a long drought, we had a refreshing shower. The day before, there was a dreadful fire at Rotherhithe, near the Thames side, which burned divers ships, and consumed nearly three hundred houses. Now died the famous Duchess of Mazarin; she had been the richest lady in Europe. She was niece of Cardinal Mazarin, and was married to the richest subject in Europe, as is said. She was born at Rome, educated in France, and was an extraordinary beauty and wit but dissolute and impatient of matrimonial restraint, so as to be abandoned by her husband, and banished, when she came into England for shelter, lived on a pension given her here, and is reported to have hastened her death by intemperate drinking strong spirits. She has written her own story and adventures, and so has her other extravagant sister, wife to the noble family of Colonna. [Sidenote: LONDON] 15th June, 1699. This week died Conyers Seymour, son of Sir Edward Seymour, killed in a duel caused by a slight affront in St. James's Park, given him by one who was envious of his gallantries; for he was a vain, foppish young man, who made a great _éclât_ about town by his splendid equipage and boundless expense. He was about twenty-three years old; his brother, now at Oxford, inherited an estate of £7,000 a year, which had fallen to him not two years before. 19th June, 1699. My cousin, George Evelyn, of Nutfield, died suddenly. 25th June, 1699. The heat has been so great, almost all this month, that I do not remember to have felt much greater in Italy, and this after a winter the wettest, though not the coldest, that I remember for fifty years last past. 28th June, 1699. Finding my occasions called me so often to London, I took the remainder of the lease my son had in a house in Dover Street, to which I now removed, not taking my goods from Wotton. 23d July, 1699. Seasonable showers, after a continuance of excessive drought and heat. August, 1699. I drank the Shooters' Hill waters. At Deptford, they had been building a pretty new church. The Bishop of St. David's [Watson] deprived for simony.[88] The city of Moscow burnt by the throwing of squibs. [Footnote 88: _Ante_, p. 330.] 3d September, 1699. There was in this week an eclipse of the sun, at which many were frightened by the predictions of the astrologers. I remember fifty years ago that many were so terrified by Lilly, that they dared not go out of their houses. A strange earthquake at New Batavia, in the East Indies. 4th October, 1699. My worthy brother died at Wotton, in the 83d year of his age, of perfect memory and understanding. He was religious, sober, and temperate, and of so hospitable a nature, that no family in the county maintained that ancient custom of keeping, as it were, open house the whole year in the same manner, or gave more noble or free entertainment to the county on all occasions, so that his house was never free. There were sometimes twenty persons more than his family, and some that stayed there all the summer, to his no small expense; by this he gained the universal love of the county. He was born at Wotton, went from the free school at Guildford to Trinity College, Oxford, thence to the Middle Temple, as gentlemen of the best quality did, but without intention to study the law as a profession. He married the daughter of Colwall, of a worthy and ancient family in Leicestershire, by whom he had one son; she dying in 1643, left George her son an infant, who being educated liberally, after traveling abroad, returned and married one Mrs. Gore, by whom he had several children, but only three daughters survived. He was a young man of good understanding, but, over-indulging his ease and pleasure, grew so very corpulent, contrary to the constitution of the rest of his father's relations, that he died. My brother afterward married a noble and honorable lady, relict of Sir John Cotton, she being an Offley, a worthy and ancient Staffordshire family, by whom he had several children of both sexes. This lady died, leaving only two daughters and a son. The younger daughter died before marriage; the other afterward married Sir Cyril Wych, a noble and learned gentleman (son of Sir ---- Wych), who had been Ambassador at Constantinople, and was afterward made one of the Lords Justices of Ireland. Before this marriage, her only brother married the daughter of ---- Eversfield, of Sussex, of an honorable family, but left a widow without any child living; he died about 1691, and his wife not many years after, and my brother resettled the whole estate on me. His sister, Wych, had a portion of £6,000, to which was added £300 more; the three other daughters, with what I added, had about £5,000 each. My brother died on the 5th of October, in a good old age and great reputation, making his beloved daughter, Lady Wych, sole executrix, leaving me only his library and some pictures of my father, mother, etc. She buried him with extraordinary solemnity, rather as a nobleman than as a private gentleman. There were, as I computed, above 2,000 persons at the funeral, all the gentlemen of the county doing him the last honors. I returned to London, till my lady should dispose of herself and family. 21st October, 1699. After an unusual warm and pleasant season, we were surprised with a very sharp frost. I presented my "_Acetaria_," dedicated to my Lord Chancellor, who returned me thanks in an extraordinarily civil letter. 15th November, 1699. There happened this week so thick a mist and fog, that people lost their way in the streets, it being so intense that no light of candles, or torches, yielded any (or but very little) direction. I was in it, and in danger. Robberies were committed between the very lights which were fixed between London and Kensington on both sides, and while coaches and travelers were passing. It began about four in the afternoon, and was quite gone by eight, without any wind to disperse it. At the Thames, they beat drums to direct the watermen to make the shore. 19th November, 1699. At our chapel in the evening there was a sermon preached by young Mr. Horneck, chaplain to Lord Guilford, whose lady's funeral had been celebrated magnificently the Thursday before. A panegyric was now pronounced, describing the extraordinary piety and excellently employed life of this amiable young lady. She died in childbed a few days before, to the excessive sorrow of her husband, who ordered the preacher to declare that it was on her exemplary life, exhortations and persuasion, that he totally changed the course of his life, which was before in great danger of being perverted; following the mode of this dissolute age. Her devotion, early piety, charity, fastings, economy, disposition of her time in reading, praying, recollections in her own handwriting of what she heard and read, and her conversation were most exemplary. 24th November, 1699. I signed Dr. Blackwell's election to be the next year's Boyles Lecturer. Such horrible robberies and murders were committed, as had not been known in this nation; atheism, profaneness, blasphemy, among all sorts, portended some judgment if not amended; on which a society was set on foot, who obliged themselves to endeavor the reforming of it, in London and other places, and began to punish offenders and put the laws in more strict execution; which God Almighty prosper! A gentle, calm, dry, temperate weather all this season of the year, but now came sharp, hard frost, and mist, but calm. 3d December, 1699. Calm, bright, and warm as in the middle of April. So continued on 21st of January. A great earthquake in Portugal. [Sidenote: LONDON] The Parliament reverses the prodigious donations of the Irish forfeitures, which were intended to be set apart for discharging the vast national debt. They called some great persons in the highest offices in question for setting the Great Seal to the pardon of an arch-pirate,[89] who had turned pirate again, and brought prizes into the West Indies, suspected to be connived at on sharing the prey; but the prevailing part in the House called Courtiers, out-voted the complaints, not by being more in number, but by the country party being negligent in attendance. [Footnote 89: Captain Kidd; he was hanged about two years afterward with some of his accomplices. This was one of the charges brought by the Commons against Lord Somers.] 14th January, 1699-1700. Dr. Lancaster, Vicar of St. Martin's, dismissed Mr. Stringfellow, who had been made the first preacher at our chapel by the Bishop of Lincoln [Dr. Tenison, now Archbishop], while he held St. Martin's by dispensation, and put in one Mr. Sandys, much against the inclination of those who frequented the chapel. The Scotch book about Darien was burned by the hangman by vote of Parliament.[90] [Footnote 90: The volume alluded to was "An Enquiry into the Causes of the Miscarriage of the Scots Colony at Darien: Or an Answer to a Libel," entitled "A Defense of the Scots abdicating Darien." See Votes of the House of Commons, 15th January, 1699-1700.] 21st January, 1700. Died the Duke of Beaufort, a person of great honor, prudence, and estate. 25th January, 1700. I went to Wotton, the first time after my brother's funeral, to furnish the house with necessaries, Lady Wych and my nephew Glanville, the executors having sold and disposed of what goods were there of my brother's. The weather was now altering into sharp and hard frost. [Sidenote: LONDON] One Stephens, who preached before the House of Commons on King Charles's Martyrdom, told them that the observation of that day was not intended out of any detestation of his murder, but to be a lesson to other Kings and Rulers, how they ought to behave themselves toward their subjects, lest they should come to the same end. This was so resented that, though it was usual to desire these anniversary sermons to be printed, they refused thanks to him, and ordered that in future no one should preach before them, who was not either a Dean or a Doctor of Divinity. 4th February, 1700. The Parliament voted against the Scots settling in Darien as being prejudicial to our trade with Spain. They also voted that the exorbitant number of attorneys be lessened (now indeed swarming, and evidently causing lawsuits and disturbance, eating out the estates of the people, provoking them to go to law). 18th February, 1700. Mild and calm season, with gentle frost, and little mizzling rain. The Vicar of St. Martin's frequently preached at Trinity chapel in the afternoon. 8th March, 1700. The season was like April for warmth and mildness.--11th. On Wednesday, was a sermon at our chapel, to be continued during Lent. 13th March, 1700. I was at the funeral of my Lady Temple, who was buried at Islington, brought from Addiscombe, near Croydon. She left my son-in-law Draper (her nephew) the mansion house of Addiscombe, very nobly and completely furnished, with the estate about it, with plate and jewels, to the value in all of about £20,000. She was a very prudent lady, gave many great legacies, with £500 to the poor of Islington, where her husband, Sir Purbeck Temple, was buried, both dying without issue. 24th March, 1700. The season warm, gentle, and exceedingly pleasant. Divers persons of quality entered into the Society for Reformation[91] of Manners; and some lectures were set up, particularly in the city of London. The most eminent of the clergy preached at Bow Church, after reading a declaration set forth by the King to suppress the growing wickedness; this began already to take some effect as to common swearing, and oaths in the mouths of people of all ranks. [Footnote 91: _Ante_, p. 349.] 25th March, 1700. Dr. Burnet preached to-day before the Lord Mayor and a very great congregation, on Proverbs xxvii. 5, 6, "Open rebuke is better than secret love; the wounds of a friend are better than the kisses of an enemy." He made a very pathetic discourse concerning the necessity and advantage of friendly correction. April, 1700. The Duke of Norfolk now succeeded in obtaining a divorce from his wife by the Parliament for adultery with Sir John Germaine, a Dutch gamester, of mean extraction, who had got much by gaming; the Duke had leave to marry again, so that if he should have children, the Dukedom will go from the late Lord Thomas's children, Papists indeed, but very hopeful and virtuous gentlemen, as was their father. The now Duke their uncle is a Protestant. The Parliament nominated fourteen persons to go into Ireland as commissioners to dispose of the forfeited estates there, toward payment of the debts incurred by the late war, but which the King had in great measure given to some of his favorites of both sexes, Dutch and others of little merit, and very unseasonably. That this might be done without suspicion of interest in the Parliament, it was ordered that no member of either House should be in the commission. The great contest between the Lords and Commons concerning the Lords' power of amendments and rejecting bills tacked to the money bill, carried for the Commons. However, this tacking of bills is a novel practice, suffered by King Charles II., who, being continually in want of money, let anything pass rather than not have wherewith to feed his extravagance. This was carried but by one voice in the Lords, all the Bishops following the Court, save one; so that near sixty bills passed, to the great triumph of the Commons and Country party, but high regret of the Court, and those to whom the King had given large estates in Ireland. Pity it is, that things should be brought to this extremity, the government of this nation being so equally poised between King and subject; but we are satisfied with nothing; and, while there is no perfection on this side heaven, methinks both might be contented without straining things too far. Among the rest, there passed a law as to Papists' estates, that if one turned not Protestant before eighteen years of age, it should pass to his next Protestant heir. This indeed seemed a hard law, but not only the usage of the French King to his Protestant subjects, but the indiscreet insolence of the Papists here, going in triumphant and public processions with their Bishops, with banners and trumpets in divers places (as is said) in the northern counties, has brought it on their party. 24th April, 1700. This week there was a great change of State officers. The Duke of Shrewsbury resigned his Lord Chamberlainship to the Earl of Jersey, the Duke's indisposition requiring his retreat. Mr. Vernon, Secretary of State, was put out. The Seal was taken from the Lord Chancellor Somers, though he had been acquitted by a great majority of votes for what was charged against him in the House of Commons. This being in term time, put some stop to business, many eminent lawyers refusing to accept the office, considering the uncertainty of things in this fluctuating conjuncture. It is certain that this Chancellor was a most excellent lawyer, very learned in all polite literature, a superior pen, master of a handsome style, and of easy conversation; but he is said to make too much haste to be rich, as his predecessor, and most in place in this age did, to a more prodigious excess than was ever known. But the Commons had now so mortified the Court party, and property and liberty were so much invaded in all the neighboring kingdoms, that their jealousy made them cautious, and every day strengthened the law which protected the people from tyranny. A most glorious spring, with hope of abundance of fruit of all kinds, and a propitious year. 10th May, 1700. The great trial between Sir Walter Clarges and Mr. Sherwin concerning the legitimacy of the late Duke of Albemarle, on which depended an estate of £1,500 a year; the verdict was given for Sir Walter, 19th. Serjeant Wright at last accepted the Great Seal. [Sidenote: WOTTON] 24th May, 1700. I went from Dover street to Wotton, for the rest of the summer, and removed thither the rest of my goods from Sayes Court. 2d June, 1700. A sweet season, with a mixture of refreshing showers. 9th-16th June, 1700. In the afternoon, our clergyman had a catechism, which was continued for some time. July, 1700. I was visited with illness, but it pleased God that I recovered, for which praise be ascribed to him by me, and that he has again so graciously advertised me of my duty to prepare for my latter end, which at my great age, cannot be far off. The Duke of Gloucester, son of the Princess Anne of Denmark, died of the smallpox. 13th July, 1700. I went to Harden, which was originally a barren warren bought by Sir Robert Clayton, who built there a pretty house, and made such alteration by planting not only an infinite store of the best fruit; but so changed the natural situation of the hill, valleys, and solitary mountains about it, that it rather represented some foreign country, which would produce spontaneously pines, firs, cypress, yew, holly, and juniper; they were come to their perfect growth, with walks, mazes, etc., among them, and were preserved with the utmost care, so that I who had seen it some years before in its naked and barren condition, was in admiration of it. The land was bought of Sir John Evelyn, of Godstone, and was thus improved for pleasure and retirement by the vast charge and industry of this opulent citizen. He and his lady received us with great civility. The tombs in the church at Croydon of Archbishops Grindal, Whitgift, and other Archbishops, are fine and venerable; but none comparable to that of the late Archbishop Sheldon, which, being all of white marble, and of a stately ordinance and carvings, far surpassed the rest, and I judge could not cost less than £700 or £800. 20th September, 1700. I went to Beddington, the ancient seat of the Carews, in my remembrance a noble old structure, capacious, and in form of the buildings of the age of Henry VIII. and Queen Elizabeth, and proper for the old English hospitality, but now decaying with the house itself, heretofore adorned with ample gardens, and the first orange trees[92] that had been seen in England, planted in the open ground, and secured in winter only by a tabernacle of boards and stoves removable in summer, that, standing 120 years, large and goodly trees, and laden with fruit, were now in decay, as well as the grotto, fountains, cabinets, and other curiosities in the house and abroad, it being now fallen to a child under age, and only kept by a servant or two from utter dilapidation. The estate and park about it also in decay. [Footnote 92: Oranges were eaten in this kingdom much earlier than the time of King James I.] 23d September, 1700. I went to visit Mr. Pepys at Clapham, where he has a very noble and wonderfully well-furnished house, especially with Indian and Chinese curiosities. The offices and gardens well accommodated for pleasure and retirement. 31st October, 1700. My birthday now completed the 80th year of my age. I with my soul render thanks to God, who, of his infinite mercy, not only brought me out of many troubles, but this year restored me to health, after an ague and other infirmities of so great an age; my sight, hearing, and other senses and faculties tolerable, which I implore him to continue, with the pardon of my sins past, and grace to acknowledge by my improvement of his goodness the ensuing year, if it be his pleasure to protract my life, that I may be the better prepared for my last day, through the infinite merits of my blessed Savior, the Lord Jesus, Amen! 5th November, 1700. Came the news of my dear grandson (the only male of my family now remaining) being fallen ill of the smallpox at Oxford, which after the dire effects of it in my family exceedingly afflicted me; but so it pleased my most merciful God that being let blood at his first complaint, and by the extraordinary care of Dr. Mander (Head of the college and now Vice Chancellor), who caused him to be brought and lodged in his own bed and bedchamber, with the advice of his physician and care of his tutor, there were all fair hopes of his recovery, to our infinite comfort. We had a letter every day either from the Vice Chancellor himself, or his tutor. 17th November, 1700. Assurance of his recovery by a letter from himself. [Sidenote: LONDON] There was a change of great officers at Court. Lord Godolphin returned to his former station of first Commissioner of the Treasury; Sir Charles Hedges, Secretary of State. 30th November, 1700. At the Royal Society, Lord Somers, the late Chancellor, was continued President. 8th December, 1700. Great alterations of officers at Court, and elsewhere,--Lord Chief Justice Treby died; he was a learned man in his profession, of which we have now few, never fewer; the Chancery requiring so little skill in deep law-learning, if the practicer can talk eloquently in that Court; so that probably few care to study the law to any purpose. Lord Marlborough Master of the Ordnance, in place of Lord Romney made Groom of the Stole. The Earl of Rochester goes Lord Lieutenant to Ireland. January, 1700-01. I finished the sale of North Stoake in Sussex to Robert Michell, Esq., appointed by my brother to be sold for payment of portions to my nieces, and other incumbrances on the estate. 4th January, 1701. An exceeding deep snow, and melted away as suddenly. 19th January, 1701. Severe frost, and such a tempest as threw down many chimneys, and did great spoil at sea, and blew down above twenty trees of mine at Wotton. 9th February, 1701. The old Speaker laid aside, and Mr. Harley, an able gentleman, chosen. Our countryman, Sir Richard Onslow, had a party for him. 27th February, 1701. By an order of the House of Commons, I laid before the Speaker the state of what had been received and paid toward the building of Greenwich Hospital. Mr. Wye, Rector of Wotton, died, a very worthy good man. I gave it to Dr. Bohun, a learned person and excellent preacher, who had been my son's tutor, and lived long in my family. 18th March, 1701. I let Sayes Court to Lord Carmarthen, son to the Duke of Leeds. 28th. I went to the funeral of my sister Draper, who was buried at Edmonton in great state. Dr. Davenant displeased the clergy now met in Convocation by a passage in his book, p. 40. April, 1701. A Dutch boy of about eight or nine years old was carried about by his parents to show, who had about the iris of one eye the letters of _Deus meus_, and of the other _Elohim_, in the Hebrew character. How this was done by artifice none could imagine; his parents affirming that he was so born. It did not prejudice his sight, and he seemed to be a lively playing boy. Everybody went to see him; physicians and philosophers examined it with great accuracy; some considered it as artificial, others as almost supernatural. 4th April, 1701. The Duke of Norfolk died of an apoplexy, and Mr. Thomas Howard of complicated disease since his being cut for the stone; he was one of the Tellers of the Exchequer. Mr. How made a Baron. May, 1701. Some Kentish men, delivering a petition to the House of Commons, were imprisoned.[93] [Footnote 93: Justinian Champneys, Thomas Culpepper, William Culpepper, William Hamilton, and David Polhill, gentlemen of considerable property and family in the county. There is a very good print of them in five ovals on one plate, engraved by R. White, in 1701. They desired the Parliament to mind the public more, and their private heats less. They were confined till the prorogation, and were much visited. Burnet gives an account of them.] A great dearth, no considerable rain having fallen for some months. 17th May, 1701. Very plentiful showers, the wind coming west and south. The Bishops and Convocation at difference concerning the right of calling the assembly and dissolving. Atterbury and Dr. Wake writing one against the other. [Sidenote: LONDON] 20th June, 1701. The Commons demanded a conference with the Lords on the trial of Lord Somers, which the Lords refused, and proceeding on the trial, the Commons would not attend, and he was acquitted. 22d June, 1701. I went to congratulate the arrival of that worthy and excellent person my Lord Galway, newly come out of Ireland, where he had behaved himself so honestly, and to the exceeding satisfaction of the people: but he was removed thence for being a Frenchman, though they had not a more worthy, valiant, discreet, and trusty person in the two kingdoms, on whom they could have relied for his conduct and fitness. He was one who had deeply suffered, as well as the Marquis, his father, for being Protestants. July, 1701. My Lord Treasurer made my grandson one of the Commissioners of the prizes, salary £500 per annum. 8th July, 1701. My grandson went to Sir Simon Harcourt, the Solicitor-General, to Windsor, to wait on my Lord Treasurer. There had been for some time a proposal of marrying my grandson to a daughter of Mrs. Boscawen, sister of my Lord Treasurer, which was now far advanced. 14th July, 1701. I subscribed toward rebuilding Oakwood Chapel, now, after 200 years, almost fallen down. August, 1701. The weather changed from heat not much less than in Italy or Spain for some few days, to wet, dripping, and cold, with intermissions of fair. 2d September, 1701. I went to Kensington, and saw the house, plantations, and gardens, the work of Mr. Wise, who was there to receive me. The death of King James, happening on the 15th of this month, N. S., after two or three days' indisposition, put an end to that unhappy Prince's troubles, after a short and unprosperous reign, indiscreetly attempting to bring in Popery, and make himself absolute, in imitation of the French, hurried on by the impatience of the Jesuits; which the nation would not endure. Died the Earl of Bath, whose contest with Lord Montague about the Duke of Albemarle's estate, claiming under a will supposed to have been forged, is said to have been worth £10,000 to the lawyers. His eldest son shot himself a few days after his father's death; for what cause is not clear. He was a most hopeful young man, and had behaved so bravely against the Turks at the siege of Vienna, that the Emperor made him a Count of the Empire. It was falsely reported that Sir Edward Seymour was dead, a great man; he had often been Speaker, Treasurer of the Navy, and in many other lucrative offices. He was of a hasty spirit, not at all sincere, but head of the party at any time prevailing in Parliament. 29th September, 1701. I kept my first courts in Surrey, which took up the whole week. My steward was Mr. Hervey, a Counsellor, Justice of Peace, and Member of Parliament, and my neighbor. I gave him six guineas, which was a guinea a day, and to Mr. Martin, his clerk, three guineas. 31st October, 1701. I was this day 81 complete, in tolerable health, considering my great age. December, 1701. Great contentions about elections. I gave my vote and interest to Sir R. Onslow and Mr. Weston. 27th December, 1701. My grandson quitted Oxford. [Sidenote: LONDON] 21st January, 1701-02. At the Royal Society there was read and approved the delineation and description of my Tables of Veins and Arteries, by Mr. Cooper, the chirurgeon, in order to their being engraved. 8th March, 1702. The King had a fall from his horse, and broke his collar bone, and having been much indisposed before, and aguish, with a long cough and other weakness, died this Sunday morning, about four o'clock. I carried my accounts of Greenwich Hospital to the Committee. 12th April, 1702. My brother-in-law, Glanville, departed this life this morning after a long languishing illness, leaving a son by my sister, and two granddaughters. Our relation and friendship had been long and great. He was a man of excellent parts. He died in the 84th year of his age, and willed his body to be wrapped in lead and carried down to Greenwich, put on board a ship, and buried in the sea, between Dover and Calais, about the Goodwin sands; which was done on the Tuesday, or Wednesday after. This occasioned much discourse, he having no relation at all to the sea. He was a gentleman of an ancient family in Devonshire, and married my sister Jane. By his prudent parsimony he much improved his fortune. He had a place in the Alienation Office, and might have been an extraordinary man, had he cultivated his parts. My steward at Wotton gave a very honest account of what he had laid out on repairs, amounting to £1,900. 3d May, 1702. The report of the committee sent to examine the state of Greenwich hospital was delivered to the House of Commons, much to their satisfaction. Lord Godolphin made Lord High Treasurer. Being elected a member of the Society lately incorporated for the propagation of the Gospel in foreign parts, I subscribed £10 per annum toward the carrying it on. We agreed that every missioner, besides the £20 to set him forth, should have £50 per annum out of the stock of the Corporation, till his settlement was worth to him £100 per annum. We sent a young divine to New York. 22d June, 1702. I dined at the Archbishop's with the newly made Bishop of Carlisle, Dr. Nicolson, my worthy and learned correspondent. 27th June, 1702. I went to Wotton with my family for the rest of the summer, and my son-in-law, Draper, with his family, came to stay with us, his house at Addiscombe being new-building, so that my family was above thirty. Most of the new Parliament were chosen of Church of England principles, against the peevish party. The Queen was magnificently entertained at Oxford and all the towns she passed through on her way to Bath. 31st October, 1702. Arrived now to the 82d year of my age, having read over all that passed since this day twelvemonth in these notes, I render solemn thanks to the Lord, imploring the pardon of my past sins, and the assistance of his grace; making new resolutions, and imploring that he will continue his assistance, and prepare me for my blessed Savior's coming, that I may obtain a comfortable departure, after so long a term as has been hitherto indulged me. I find by many infirmities this year (especially nephritic pains) that I much decline; and yet of his infinite mercy retain my intellect and senses in great measure above most of my age. I have this year repaired much of the mansion house and several tenants' houses, and paid some of my debts and engagements. My wife, children, and family in health: for all which I most sincerely beseech Almighty God to accept of these my acknowledgments, and that if it be his holy will to continue me yet longer, it may be to the praise of his infinite grace, and salvation of my soul. Amen! 8th November, 1702. My kinsman, John Evelyn, of Nutfield, a young and very hopeful gentleman, and Member of Parliament, after having come to Wotton to see me, about fifteen days past, went to London and there died of the smallpox. He left a brother, a commander in the army in Holland, to inherit a fair estate. Our affairs in so prosperous a condition both by sea and land, that there has not been so great an union in Parliament, Court, and people, in memory of man, which God in mercy make us thankful for, and continue! The Bishop of Exeter preached before the Queen and both Houses of Parliament at St. Paul's; they were wonderfully huzzaed in their passage, and splendidly entertained in the city. December, 1702. The expectation now is, what treasure will be found on breaking bulk of the galleon brought from Vigo by Sir George Rooke, which being made up in an extraordinary manner in the hold, was not begun to be opened till the fifth of this month, before two of the Privy Council, two of the chief magistrates of the city, and the Lord Treasurer. After the excess of honor conferred by the Queen on the Earl of Marlborough, by making him a Knight of the Garter and a Duke, for the success of but one campaign, that he should desire £5,000 a year to be settled on him by Parliament out of the Post Office, was thought a bold and unadvised request, as he had, besides his own considerable estate, above £30,000 a year in places and employments, with £50,000 at interest. He had married one daughter to the son of my Lord Treasurer Godolphin, another to the Earl of Sunderland, and a third to the Earl of Bridgewater. He is a very handsome person, well-spoken and affable, and supports his want of acquired knowledge by keeping good company. January, 1702-03. News of Vice-Admiral Benbow's conflict with the French fleet in the West Indies, in which he gallantly behaved himself, and was wounded, and would have had extraordinary success, had not four of his men-of-war stood spectators without coming to his assistance; for this, two of their commanders were tried by a Council of War, and executed;[94] a third was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, loss of pay, and incapacity to serve in future. The fourth died. [Footnote 94: The Captains Kirby and Wade, having been tried and condemned to die by a court-martial held on them in the West Indies, were sent home in the "Bristol;" and, on its arrival at Portsmouth were both shot on board, not being suffered to land on English ground.] Sir Richard Onslow and Mr. Oglethorpe (son of the late Sir Theo. O.) fought on occasion of some words which passed at a committee of the House. Mr. Oglethorpe was disarmed. The Bill against occasional conformity was lost by one vote. Corn and provisions so cheap that the farmers are unable to pay their rents. [Sidenote: LONDON] February, 1703. A famous cause at the King's Bench between Mr. Fenwick and his wife, which went for him with a great estate. The Duke of Marlborough lost his only son at Cambridge by the smallpox. A great earthquake at Rome, etc. A famous young woman, an Italian, was hired by our comedians to sing on the stage, during so many plays, for which they gave her £500; which part by her voice alone at the end of three scenes she performed with such modesty and grace, and above all with such skill, that there was never any who did anything comparable with their voices. She was to go home to the Court of the King of Prussia, and I believe carried with her out of this vain nation above £1,000, everybody coveting to hear her at their private houses. 26th May, 1703. This day died Mr. Samuel Pepys, a very worthy, industrious and curious person, none in England exceeding him in knowledge of the navy, in which he had passed through all the most considerable offices, Clerk of the Acts and Secretary of the Admiralty, all which he performed with great integrity. When King James II. went out of England, he laid down his office, and would serve no more; but withdrawing himself from all public affairs, he lived at Clapham with his partner, Mr. Hewer, formerly his clerk, in a very noble house and sweet place, where he enjoyed the fruit of his labors in great prosperity. He was universally beloved, hospitable, generous, learned in many things, skilled in music, a very great cherisher of learned men of whom he had the conversation. His library and collection of other curiosities were of the most considerable, the models of ships especially. Besides what he published of an account of the navy, as he found and left it, he had for divers years under his hand the History of the Navy, or _Navalia_, as he called it; but how far advanced, and what will follow of his, is left, I suppose, to his sister's son, Mr. Jackson, a young gentleman, whom Mr. Pepys had educated in all sorts of useful learning, sending him to travel abroad, from whence he returned with extraordinary accomplishments, and worthy to be heir. Mr. Pepys had been for near forty years so much my particular friend, that Mr. Jackson sent me complete mourning, desiring me to be one to hold up the pall at his magnificent obsequies; but my indisposition hindered me from doing him this last office. 13th June, 1703. Rains have been great and continual, and now, near midsummer, cold and wet. 11th July, 1703. I went to Addiscombe, sixteen miles from Wotton, to see my son-in-law's new house, the outside, to the coving, being such excellent brickwork, based with Portland stone, with the pilasters, windows, and within, that I pronounced it in all the points of good and solid architecture to be one of the very best gentlemen's houses in Surrey, when finished. I returned to Wotton in the evening, though weary. 25th July, 1703. The last week in this month an uncommon long-continued rain, and the Sunday following, thunder and lightning. 12th August, 1703. The new Commission for Greenwich hospital was sealed and opened, at which my son-in-law, Draper, was present, to whom I resigned my office of Treasurer. From August 1696, there had been expended in building £89,364 14s. 8d. 31st October, 1703. This day, being eighty-three years of age, upon examining what concerned me, more particularly the past year, with the great mercies of God preserving me, and in the same measure making my infirmities tolerable, I gave God most hearty and humble thanks, beseeching him to confirm to me the pardon of my sins past, and to prepare me for a better life by the virtue of his grace and mercy, for the sake of my blessed Savior. 21st November, 1703. The wet and uncomfortable weather staying us from church this morning, our Doctor officiated in my family; at which were present above twenty domestics. He made an excellent discourse on 1 Cor. xv., v. 55, 56, of the vanity of this world and uncertainty of life, and the inexpressible happiness and satisfaction of a holy life, with pertinent inferences to prepare us for death and a future state. I gave him thanks, and told him I took it kindly as my funeral sermon. [Sidenote: LONDON] 26-7th November, 1703. The effects of the hurricane and tempest of wind, rain, and lightning, through all the nation, especially London, were very dismal. Many houses demolished, and people killed. As to my own losses, the subversion of woods and timber, both ornamental and valuable, through my whole estate, and about my house the woods crowning the garden mount, the growing along the park meadow, the damage to my own dwelling, farms, and outhouses, is almost tragical, not to be paralleled, with anything happening in our age. I am not able to describe it; but submit to the pleasure of Almighty God. 7th December, 1703. I removed to Dover Street, where I found all well; but houses, trees, garden, etc., at Sayes Court, suffered very much. 31st December, 1703. I made up my accounts, paid wages, gave rewards and New Year's gifts, according to custom. January, 1703-04. The King of Spain[95] landing at Portsmouth, came to Windsor, where he was magnificently entertained by the Queen, and behaved himself so nobly, that everybody was taken with his graceful deportment. After two days, having presented the great ladies, and others, with valuable jewels, he went back to Portsmouth, and immediately embarked for Spain. [Footnote 95: Charles III., afterward Emperor of Germany, by the title of Charles VI.] 16th January, 1704. The Lord Treasurer gave my grandson the office of Treasurer of the Stamp Duties, with a salary of £300 a year. 30th January, 1704. The fast on the Martyrdom of King Charles I. was observed with more than usual solemnity. May, 1704. Dr. Bathurst, President of Trinity College, Oxford, now died,[96] I think the oldest acquaintance now left me in the world. He was eighty-six years of age, stark blind, deaf, and memory lost, after having been a person of admirable parts and learning. This is a serious alarm to me. God grant that I may profit by it! He built a very handsome chapel to the college, and his own tomb. He gave a legacy of money, and a third part of his library, to his nephew, Dr. Bohun, who went hence to his funeral. [Footnote 96: There is a very good Life of him, with his portrait prefixed, by Thomas Warton, Fellow of Trinity College, and Poetry Professor at Oxford.] [Sidenote: LONDON] 7th September, 1704. This day was celebrated the thanksgiving for the late great victory,[97] with the utmost pomp and splendor by the Queen, Court, great Officers, Lords Mayor, Sheriffs, Companies, etc. The streets were scaffolded from Temple Bar, where the Lord Mayor presented her Majesty with a sword, which she returned. Every company was ranged under its banners, the city militia without the rails, which were all hung with cloth suitable to the color of the banner. The Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and Aldermen were in their scarlet robes, with caparisoned horses; the Knight Marshal on horseback; the Foot-Guards; the Queen in a rich coach with eight horses, none with her but the Duchess of Marlborough in a very plain garment, the Queen full of jewels. Music and trumpets at every city company. The great officers of the Crown, Nobility, and Bishops, all in coaches with six horses, besides innumerable servants, went to St. Paul's, where the Dean preached. After this, the Queen went back in the same order to St. James's. The city companies feasted all the Nobility and Bishops, and illuminated at night. Music for the church and anthems composed by the best masters. The day before was wet and stormy, but this was one of the most serene and calm days that had been all the year. [Footnote 97: Over the French and Bavarians, at Blenheim, 13th August, 1704.] October, 1704. The year has been very plentiful. 31st October, 1704. Being my birthday and the 84th year of my life, after particular reflections on my concerns and passages of the year, I set some considerable time of this day apart, to recollect and examine my state and condition, giving God thanks, and acknowledging his infinite mercies to me and mine, begging his blessing, and imploring his protection for the year following. December, 1704. Lord Clarendon presented me with the three volumes of his father's "History of the Rebellion." My Lord of Canterbury wrote to me for suffrage for Mr. Clarke's continuance this year in the Boyle Lecture, which I willingly gave for his excellent performance of this year. 9th February, 1704. I went to wait on my Lord Treasurer, where was the victorious Duke of Marlborough, who came to me and took me by the hand with extraordinary familiarity and civility, as formerly he was used to do, without any alteration of his good-nature. He had a most rich George in a sardonyx set with diamonds of very great value; for the rest, very plain. I had not seen him for some years, and believed he might have forgotten me. 21st February, 1704. Remarkable fine weather. Agues and smallpox much in every place. 11th March, 1704. An exceedingly dry season. Great loss by fire, burning the outhouses and famous stable of the Earl of Nottingham, at Burleigh [Rutlandshire], full of rich goods and furniture, by the carelessness of a servant. A little before, the same happened at Lord Pembroke's, at Wilton. The old Countess of Northumberland, Dowager of Algernon Percy, Admiral of the fleet to King Charles I., died in the 83d year of her age. She was sister to the Earl of Suffolk, and left a great estate, her jointure to descend to the Duke of Somerset. May, 1704. The Bailiff of Westminster hanged himself. He had an ill report. On the death of the Emperor, there was no mourning worn at Court, because there was none at the Imperial Court on the death of King William. 18th May, 1704. I went to see Sir John Chardin, at Turnham Green, the gardens being very fine, and exceedingly well planted with fruit. 20th May, 1704. Most extravagant expense to debauch and corrupt votes for Parliament members. I sent my grandson with his party of my freeholders to vote for Mr. Harvey, of Combe. 4th January, 1704-05. I dined at Lambeth with the Archbishop of Dublin, Dr. King, a sharp and ready man in politics, as well as very learned. June, 1705. The season very dry and hot. I went to see Dr. Dickinson the famous chemist. We had long conversation about the philosopher's elixir, which he believed attainable, and had seen projection himself by one who went under the name of Mundanus, who sometimes came along among the adepts, but was unknown as to his country, or abode; of this the doctor had written a treatise in Latin, full of very astonishing relations. He is a very learned person, formerly a Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford, in which city he practiced physic, but has now altogether given it over, and lives retired, being very old and infirm, yet continuing chemistry. I went to Greenwich hospital, where they now began to take in wounded and worn-out seamen, who are exceedingly well provided for. The buildings now going on are very magnificent. [Sidenote: LONDON] October, 1705. Mr. Cowper made Lord Keeper. Observing how uncertain great officers are of continuing long in their places, he would not accept it, unless £2,000 a year were given him in reversion when he was put out, in consideration of his loss of practice. His predecessors, how little time soever they had the Seal, usually got £100,000 and made themselves Barons. A new Secretary of State. Lord Abington, Lieutenant of the Tower, displaced, and General Churchill, brother to the Duke of Marlborough, put in. An indication of great unsteadiness somewhere, but thus the crafty Whig party (as called) begin to change the face of the Court, in opposition to the High Churchmen, which was another distinction of a party from the Low Churchmen. The Parliament chose one Mr. Smith, Speaker. There had never been so great an assembly of members on the first day of sitting, being more than 450. The votes both of the old, as well as the new, fell to those called Low Churchmen, contrary to all expectation. 31st October, 1705. I am this day arrived to the 85th year of my age. Lord teach me so to number my days to come, that I may apply them to wisdom! 1st January, 1705-06. Making up my accounts for the past year, paid bills, wages, and New Year's gifts, according to custom. Though much indisposed and in so advanced a stage, I went to our chapel [in London] to give God public thanks, beseeching Almighty God to assist me and my family the ensuing year, if he should yet continue my pilgrimage here, and bring me at last to a better life with him in his heavenly kingdom. Divers of our friends and relations dined with us this day. 27th January, 1706. My indisposition increasing, I was exceedingly ill this whole week. 3d February, 1706. Notes of the sermons at the chapel in the morning and afternoon, written with his own hand, conclude this Diary.[98] [Footnote 98: Mr. Evelyn died on the 27th of this month.] END OF THE DIARY. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Footnotes have been moved below the paragraph to which they relate. Inconsistencies have been retained in spelling, hyphenation, formatting, punctuation, and grammar, except where indicated in the list below: - "dilligent" changed to "diligent" on Page 1 - "suprising" changed to "surprising" on Page 2 - Period added after "1665" on Page 5 - Period added after "ought!)" on Page 12 - Semicolon changed to a period added after "1666" on Page 13 - Period added after "etc" on Page 26 - "Luke, xix," changed to "Luke xix." on Page 26 - Quote added after "Writings," in Footnote 9 - "day's" changed to "days" in Footnote 10 - "Fore-land" changed to "Foreland" on Page 34 - Comma added after "August" on Page 36 - Period changed to a comma after "received" on Page 40 - Comma changed to a period after "1667" on Page 41 - Comma added after "April" on Page 41 - Period added after "years" on Page 45 - Period changed to a comma after "September" on Page 51 - Period added after "1671" on Page 68 - "rarites" changed to "rarities" on Page 72 - Comma changed to a period added after "fowl" on Page 73 - Period added after "April" on Page 79 - Period added after "home" on Page 83 - Period added after "me" on Page 83 - Period added after "1672" on Page 86 - Comma removed after "Psalm" on Page 87 - Period added after "design" on Page 89 - Period added after "go-by" on Page 91 - Closed paren changed to a comma after "Burnet" on Page 98 - "eloqence" changed to "eloquence" on Page 98 - Comma removed after "Luke" on Page 102 - Period added after "Dr" on Page 104 - Period changed to a comma after "him" on Page 104 - Period added after "1675" on Page 105 - Period added after "London" on Page 106 - "gentelman" changed to "gentleman" on Page 107 - Comma added after "November" on Page 108 - Comma added after "December" on Page 108 - Period added after "xx" on Page 109 - Comma removed after "Isaiah" on Page 109 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 110 - Period added after "manner" on Page 110 - Period added after "chargeable" on Page 111 - "Duke s" changed to "Duke's" on Page 111 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 111 - Period added after "large" on Page 119 - Period added after "Queen" on Page 120 - "Brounker" changed to "Brouncker" on Page 121 - "exemplaily" changed to "exemplarily" on Page 124 - Comma removed after "Europeans" on Page 147 - Comma added after "Mingrelia" on Page 147 - "day s" changed to "day's" on Page 154 - Period added after "them" on Page 157 - "at at" changed to "at" on Page 163 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 166 - "Archibishop s" changed to "Archibishop's" on Page 168 - Period added after "lute" on Page 195 - Period added after "II" on Page 208 - Comma changed to a period added after "1685" on Page 212 - Period added after "solemn" on Page 212 - "ingenius" changed to "ingenious" on Page 214 - "familar" changed to "familiar" on Page 214 - Period added after "spirits" on Page 216 - Period added after "family" on Page 216 - Period removed after "Sir" on Page 220 - Period added after "worship" on Pago 224 - "pro ceeded" changed to "proceeded" on Page 229 - Period added after "end" on Page 229 - Semicolon changed to colon after "note" in Footnote 61 - Quote added after "but, says he," on page 234 - Comma added after "February" on Page 248 - "etc," changed to "etc." on Page 256 - "minatures" changed to "miniatures" on Page 258 - "minatured" changed to "miniatured" on Page 258 - Period added after "St" on Page 262 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 262 - "Martin s" changed to "Martin's" on Page 262 - Period added after "ended" on Page 263 - Period added after "1687" on Page 263 - "mal-administration" changed to "maladministration" on Page 294 - "Guatavus" changed to "Gustavus" on Page 295 - Period added after "St" on Page 300 - Comma added after "February" on Page 300 - Period added after "£40,000" on Page 307 - Period added after "season" on Page 307 - Period added after "Bishop" on Page 307 - Period added after "frost" on Page 307 - Period added after "Tower" on Page 307 - Period added after "years" on Page 308 - Comma added after "July" on Page 311 - Comma changed to a period added after "1693" on Page 321 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 337 - "proemunire" changed to "præmunire" on Page 337 - Period added after "1699" on Page 348 - Period added after "Mr" on Page 355 - "Norfold" changed to "Norfolk" on Page 356 
45051	----	http://mormontextsproject.org/ for a complete list of Mormon texts available on Project Gutenberg, to help proofread similar books, or to report typos. William Clayton's Journal A Daily Record of the Journey of the Original Company of "Mormon" Pioneers from Nauvoo, Illinois, to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake Copyright 1921 by Lawrence Clayton, trustee for the Clayton Family Association. Electronic edition produced by the Mormon Texts Project. To report typos or formatting errors, you can email mormontextsproject@gmail.com. Volunteers who helped with this book: Eric Heaps, Meridith Crowder, Ben Crowder, Tod Robbins, David Van Leeuwen, Lili DeForest, Jude Ogzewalla, Byron Clark. Version 1.0 Foreword William Clayton was one of the remarkable characters of early Utah history. Born in the county of Lancashire, England, July 17, 1814, he was educated in one of the schools of his native town, and grew to manhood with a love for books and nature. An early convert of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he conducted one of the first companies from England to Nauvoo, and there became one of the trusted secretaries of the Prophet Joseph Smith. With the exodus from Nauvoo, he was Clerk of the Camp of Israel, and when the Mormon pioneers left Winter Quarters in April, 1847, he was appointed by Brigham Young one of the historians of that noted company. His journal of that memorable expedition over the plains is one of the most valuable diaries we have of that early period of western history. He kept careful account of the distances traveled each day, and his writings are full of descriptions of the country over which they traveled. He has noted the topography, the fauna and flora of the trail; and his descriptions of the activities of the company indicate a well trained intellect in social study. His language is simple and direct, and his care in keeping each day's distance and important facts of the journey show order and method. His hymn, "Come, come, ye Saints" takes its place as one of the most beautiful hymns of western history, for it is full of joyfulness, and expresses an optimism and faith in God that will always be an inspiration to the one who sings it. It indicates that William Clayton had much of the artistic in him, although we do know that he took a virile part in the activities of life. His journal should be read by all people who are interested in the west's development. It is certainly one of the distinct contributions of that early day, and shows that a man of strength of character wrote it. It will inspire many people to a greater love and regard for the work of the pioneers of Utah. Levi Edgar Young Salt Lake City, Utah April 1921 William Clayton Born in England, 1814; died in Utah, 1879 The Claytons of England originally came from France. During the time when William the Conqueror and King Harold were quarreling, a call came from the former for volunteers among his chieftains to go to war. A man named Robert was among those who responded. Robert was skilled in arms. After the Battle of Hastings in 1066, in which Robert rendered heroic service, William the Conqueror conferred upon him the English Manor of Clayton as a mark of merit. Robert was afterwards known as Robert de Clayton and Lord of the Manor of Clayton. From Lord Robert Clayton came all the Claytons of England and America and by genealogical research, the line has been brought down to the subject of this sketch. William Clayton was born July 17, 1814, in the village of Charock Moss, Township of Penwortham, County Palatine of Lancaster, England. He was the son of Thomas and Ann Critchley Clayton, who were born in Lancashire, England. William was the eldest of fourteen children. Three of these children died in infancy and were buried in England. Through the influence of the eldest son, the father, mother and surviving children joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and came to America. The mother died in Nauvoo, Illinois, July 15, 1848, and the father in St. Louis, Missouri, June 16, 1849. A brother James died in Winter Quarters, November 28, 1847. The remainder of his brothers and sisters survived the persecutions of mobs and the early privations of the Church and came to the valley of the Great Salt Lake with the pioneers of Utah. William Clayton first heard the Gospel preached in England by Heber C. Kimball and Orson Hyde. With his wife, Ruth Moon Clayton, whom he married in England, October 9, 1836, he listened to the teachings of these missionaries, but he was not easy to convert. His wife received the Gospel first, and many evenings had to be spent before William Clayton became a believer in "Mormonism." He was ordained a Priest December 25, 1837, and a High Priest, April 1, 1838, at which time he was appointed with Willard Richards, Counselor to Joseph Fielding who presided over the Church in Europe. September 8, 1840, he left England in the packet ship _North America_, arriving in New York, October 11, 1840, and in Nauvoo, November 24, 1840. In this city, he became a trusted friend of the founders of the Church, so much so that on February 10, 1842, he was appointed secretary to Joseph Smith the Prophet. October 7, 1842, he became Temple Recorder and Recorder of Revelations. In 1842, he became Treasurer of the City of Nauvoo. These appointments are indicative of the zeal with which William Clayton served the Church throughout his life. What of the personal characteristics of our subject? As will appear from his portrait on the frontispiece, William Clayton did not tend to frivolity or mirth but rather to seriousness and earnestness. Yet he was witty and had a keen sense of humor. In the home he was not demonstrative; although he had great love for his home and family and provided well for their comfort. He was methodical, always sitting in his own arm chair, having a certain place at the table and otherwise showing his love for order, which he believed the first law of heaven. His person was clean and tidy; his hands small and dimpled. He wore very little jewelry but what little he had was the best money could buy. He would not carry a watch that was not accurate, and his clothing was made from the best material. His children remember him best in black velvet coat and grey trousers and, in cold weather, a broad-cloth cloak in place of overcoat. The man-timber in William Clayton came from sturdy trees. His character was above all littleness. He believed that what was good for him was good for all men, and that the measurement of our lives was based upon our daily conduct towards each other. To him that was God's standard. He believed in perfect equity in the adjustment of the affairs of life. Had he loved money, he could probably have had it because of his education and executive ability. But he cared little for material gain, centering his zeal in the pursuit of honor and right. William Clayton was honest and nothing to him could justify an untruth. He deplored waste or extravagance, yet he never withheld from a neighbor in distress, or from the widow or orphan. Many are those who knew his generosity. When his harvest was gathered, bushels of grain and fruit found place among those of scanty store. And many pairs of shoes and much warm clothing were given to comfort the needy. Nor was the homeless forgotten, but the orphan was given a home and joy by his own fireside. His religion was deeply rooted and nurtured by association with and testimony of an eye witness to the living God. His love for Joseph Smith was love seldom shown in man for man. Few men possessed stronger faith and courage. These qualities alone could inspire a man under heart-rending circumstances, to write such hymns of faith and comfort as "Come, come, ye Saints," and "The Resurrection Day." The record of William Clayton in Utah kept pace with that of previous years. His home was open always to his friends who loved to gather there for social hours. Civic welfare always interested him. He was a musician and played in the pioneer orchestra and that of the Salt Lake Theatre. He was a lover of community features and took part in dramatic functions. He was treasurer of Zion's Cooperative Mercantile Institution, Recorder of Marks and Brands, Receiver of Weights and Measures, and was Territorial Auditor. His love for education prompted many sacrifices and he tried hard to give his children the essentials of good schooling. He had a strong will, although a tender conscience. Cowardice had no place in him. Truly he could say, "My heart is fixed. I know in whom I trust." Joseph Smith believed that they should meet and associate in the Celestial Kingdom of God as they had here. William Clayton died December 4, 1879, in Salt Lake City. Services were held in the Seventeenth Ward Chapel at which his own funeral hymn was sung. He left a large posterity. Victoria C. McCune Salt Lake City, Utah, June, 1921 Editor's Note The descendants of William Clayton have in recent years formed themselves into an organization known as the Clayton Family Association. This book is offered to the public by the Association with the thought that a document of such faithful description and fine spirit would be welcomed by all people who might be interested either in the Pioneer Period of Western History or more particularly in the exodus of the Mormon people from Missouri to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is difficult to understand why the _Journal_ was not published years ago and it seems to require somewhat of an apology that this interesting record should have remained so long unknown and be now brought out with considerable haste. In the effort to have it ready for distribution to the members of the Clayton Family Association on the anniversary of the birth of their forefather on July 17th, there has been a sacrifice of care and deliberation in the preparation of this first edition which is hoped the reader will overlook upon consideration of the facts. This lack of time and care will show itself more in the text than in any other particular. Much of the proof reading was done by the undersigned on board train between Salt Lake and California. To say the least, such surroundings are not conducive to the most finished work. It is hoped that this circumstance will also make the reader more tolerant when encountering mistakes in the text, obviously the result of hasty proof reading. At a later date a second edition will do better justice to the author of the _Journal_ and will show more consideration for the fine taste of the reader. Lawrence Clayton Salt Lake City, Utah, June, 1921 Table of Contents February 1846 March 1846 April 1846 May 1846 June 1846 July 1846 August 1846 September 1846 November 1846 January 1847 February 1847 April 1847 May 1847 June 1847 July 1847 August 1847 September 1847 October 1847 February 1846 _Nauvoo, Illinois_ Sunday, February 8 At the office all day packing public goods, evening at Farr's writing out a letter of instruction to trustees. Monday, February 9 At the office packing. At 3:30 the temple was seen on fire. Women carrying water. Tuesday, February 10 At the temple packing, also Wednesday 11th. Thursday, February 12 At home preparing to move. Friday, February 13 Sent four loads of goods over the river. Loading and packing. Saturday, February 14 Packing and seeking letters. Sunday, February 15 Riding around to get teams and things together. Sent two teams over the river. Monday, February 16 Still loading teams, also Tuesday 17th. Wednesday, February 18 Got about ready to go over the river. Evening President Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, J. M. Grant and some of the pioneers came to hurry us over. N. K. Whitney also came in. We conversed together some. They state the brethren have made a perfect waste of food and property in the camp. Thursday, February 19 This morning the ground is covered with snow. It is so windy they cannot cross the river. Continued to snow all day. Evening went to Elder Babbit's to supper with Elder Kimball. President Young was there, Backenstos, J. M. Grant and some others. Friday, February 20 The weather is very cold and windy. Impossible to cross the river. Spent the day running after things to get ready, fixing wagons and chopping fire wood. Friday, February 27 We have spent the past week waiting for crossing over the [Mississippi] river. It has been hard frost and much snow. This morning I concluded to start over the river and began early to send my teams. About noon I crossed with my family and then rested the teams and soon after went on to the camp where we arrived a little before four o'clock. Bishop Whitney concluded to stay at the river until morning because some of his teams could not get over. When we got to the camp we were received with joy and formed in the company of the band. The weather is still very cold especially during the night. The distance from Nauvoo to this place is called seven and a half miles. Saturday, February 28 A.M. arranging my tents, etc. At twelve was sent for to council and about two the band was requested to go and meet bishop Whitney and his teams. We went and met him five miles from the camp. We played some time and then returned to the camp. President Young, Heber C. Kimball, P. P. Pratt, Orson Pratt and others accompanied us. At night played with the band. March 1846 Sunday, March 1 A.M. preparing to march to the next encampment. At ten a lecture was given by Elder Kimball and about one the company proceeded to the next camp about four and a half miles, where we arrived in good season. Monday, March 2 Started this morning for another camp about eight miles where we arrived about five p.m., the roads being somewhat hilly and muddy. The band played at night. During the day the artillery company broke into our ranks several times and broke a number of our wagon boxes. At night they complained of us at headquarters, but after hearing our story the matter stood about right. Tuesday, March 3 Proceeded on our journey through Farmington about eight miles to a place where bishop Miller was encamped and arrived in good season. The band played at night. Wednesday, March 4 This morning we concluded to stay a day and fix up some wagons which were broken. A number of the citizens from Farmington came to the camp and gave a very pressing invitation for the band to go to Farmington and play some. Accordingly about three o'clock, the band started and arrived at Farmington about 4:30 p.m. We played at the principal hotel and then went to the school house and played till nearly dark. The house was filled with men and women, the leading people of the place. We then returned to the hotel where they had provided us with a good supper. They also gave us $5 in money. John Kay sang a number of songs. At eight o'clock we returned and when we left they gave us three cheers. When we arrived at the camp we met thirty of the guard just starting out to meet us. The President felt uneasy at our staying so long and was sending the men to protect us. Thursday, March 5 Proceeded on our journey. Crossed the Des Moines river at Bonaparte and afterwards had a very bad road up the bluff for several miles which detained us until late in the afternoon. We stopped awhile to feed the band teams inasmuch as they had none this morning. We then started and went to the next camping ground, making the day's journey about sixteen miles. Saturday, March 7 Proceeded about eight miles to a camp ground near to a Dr. Elberts where the band camped. President Young was behind and when he arrived he went on about eight miles farther. The band went to work splitting rails for corn and made before dark, about 1:30. In the evening Dr. Elbert and some others came to hear the band play. Kay sang some songs which pleased them. Sunday, March 8 Waited for orders from headquarters. Many of the citizens came to hear the band play and gave us a very pressing invitation to go to Keosaugua and give a concert. About noon word came that we should follow on to the camp. We immediately struck tents and started and we arrived at the main camp about five o'clock. Some of the citizens from Keosaugua followed us waiting for an answer whether we would give a concert as soon as we arrived at the camp. I asked the President whether the band should go to Keosaugua to give a concert. He advised us to go and I immediately sent out the appointment and then we pitched our tents forming a line on the road opposite to the President's company. Monday, March 9 Spent the day chiefly preparing for the concert and attending on my family. Tuesday, March 10 The weather still continues fine. Spent the morning preparing for the concert and about one o'clock p.m. started in company with the brass band for Keosaugua. I rode in Elder Kimball's wagon with William Kimball, J. Smithies and Wm. Pitt. The distance from the camp to Keosaugua is about ten miles, the camp being at a place called Richardson's point. We arrived at Keosaugua about three o'clock and being requested we went through the town and played some. One of the grocery keepers invited us to play him a tune which we did. He then invited us in and offered to treat us to anything he had. We each took a little and then the next grocery keeper sent an invitation for us to play him a tune. We did so and he also gave us anything he had. A beer keeper next sent word that he did not want us to slight him and we went and played him a tune and then took some of his cake and beer. We then marched up to the Des Moines hotel near the court-house where we had ordered supper and after eating we went to the courthouse to prepare for the concert. At seven o'clock the house was crowded and we commenced, playing and singing till about 9:30. The audience seemed highly pleased and gave loud applause. About the close one of the citizens got up and said it was the wish of many that we should repeat the concert the following evening and he took a vote of all who wished us to go again. The vote was unanimous. We made nearly $25.00 clear of all expenses. We started back for the camp soon after ten and arrived about one o'clock all well and pleased. Wednesday, March 11 In the morning I reported to President Young our success and the request of the citizens of Keosaugua and he advised us to go again. We accordingly started about eleven o'clock. I again rode with William Kimball, Horace Whitney and James Smithies. When we arrived we were welcomed again with the same kind feelings as yesterday. Pitt had a severe chill all the way and when we got there it commenced raining and made it very unpleasant. The house was again filled but we only made $20.00 besides all expenses. We learned that there is a party of socialists there and they and the priests are much opposed to each other. We also learned that a man named McCully was in jail close by under sentence to be hung on the 4th of April for murdering a man and a child. I did not feel so well at the concert as on the night previous on several accounts. We started back between eleven and twelve and got to the camp about three o'clock. Thursday, March 12 The band moved to better ground about one quarter of a mile farther. The heavy rains had made it very muddy and unpleasant, all our bedding and things being wet. Friday, March 13 Went hunting. Saturday, March 14 Wrote a letter to Diantha. Sunday, March 15 In camp all day. Monday, March 16 Some of the citizens of Keosaugua came again to request us to give another concert. We agreed to go tomorrow evening. Tuesday, March 17 Started for Keosaugua with Pitt, Hutchinson, Kay, Smithies and Egan. I took my music box and china to try and sell them. We arrived in good season and soon learned that the priests had been hard at work preventing the sectarians from coming to the concert, saying that it was an infidel move consequently there were not many present. We had far the best concert which lasted till nine o'clock. We then went over to the hotel, took supper and played for a private party till about three o'clock. We only cleared from both, about $7.00 over expenses but were well treated. Wednesday, March 18 It rained last night and this morning again and we almost concluded to go to Fairfield, but finally determined to return to camp. We visited with a Mr. Bridgman who treated us very kindly. Bought about eight bushels of beans and some articles for President Young and then returned to camp. It rained some again today. We got back about five o'clock. After dark Dr. Elbert came to see my china and said if I would take it over tomorrow he would buy it. Thursday, March 19 Went to ask council whether I should go to sell my china. Saw Heber who advised me to go. A few of us started and soon met President Young who said we had better go back and go with the camp who were then starting on their way. We accordingly turned back our horses and struck tents in a hurry. At twelve o'clock we started on our journey. After traveling about six or seven miles we had to go up a very bad bluff which took us till five o'clock. President Young's company went ahead of us and camped three miles from the bluff. Some of our teams gave out and we only went about a mile from the bluff and camped in a little point of timber a little from the road. Our teams were very tired. Saturday, March 21 We started early in the morning and soon came up with the main body of the camp. I rode ahead about three miles to hunt my cow. We did not have her last night being with the main camp. We traveled nine or ten miles and then rested our teams. We started again and traveled three miles farther where we found the President and Heber camped on the brink of a long bluff. We concluded to go to the other bank which we did and camped in a good place. In the evening the band went and played for the President and Heber and then went to a farmer's house at the owner's request about three quarters of a mile from camp to play for his family. He promised to give us some honey if we would play for him. We played about an hour and then left but neither saw nor heard anything of the honey. We learned afterwards, however, that Hutchinson had a pail under his cloak and got it full of honey after the rest had left the house and kept it to himself, very slyly. Sunday, March 22 Started again and soon came to the Shariton bottoms which is a very low land for about four miles. The road was bad and it took us sometime to cross. While on the bottom Root and Davis came again. Root had asked permission of President Young to go back to his family some days ago but it seems things did not go to suit him and he followed his team again. It took sometime to go up the bluff. We had to let the teams down into the Shariton river by ropes and also helped them up again by the same means. Our company got over in good season but we concluded to camp after getting up the bluff as it would take till night for the whole to get up. I spent the day helping the teams till I was so sore and tired I could scarcely walk. Monday, March 23 In council with Brigham, Heber, and others. We found that Miller's company had gone still farther about eight miles instead of waiting till we overtook them so that we could organize. I wrote a letter to them saying if they did not wait or return to organize, the camp would organize without and they be disfellowshiped. We concluded to stay at this place a few days to buy corn to last to Grand river but we found corn scarce and 26c a bushel, the farmers having advanced on account of a disposition to speculate. Tuesday, March 24 and Wednesday, March 25 At the camp writing, etc. It rained considerably. Thursday, March 26 Evening in council. Wrote a long letter to be sent to Emmet's company by John Butler and James W. Cummings. This morning wrote another letter to P. P. Pratt, Orson Pratt, George Miller telling them they must wait for us or come back to organize. The letters were sent by Smithies. He met them on the way and about noon P. P. Pratt, Orson Pratt, John Kay and G. Miller came into camp and at 1:00 p.m. the council met. The brethren plead that the charges in the letters were unjust. They had not striven to keep out of the way but had done all for the best. The whole camp accordingly was organized, A. P. Rockwood over 1st 50; Stephen Markham, 2nd 50; Young, 3rd 50; Howard E. Kimball, 4th 50; Charles C. Rich, 5th 50; Charles Crisman, 6th 50. Each fifty had also appointed a contracting commissary for the purpose of contracting for work and grain as follows: Henry Sherwood 1st 50; David H. Kimball 2nd; Wm. H. Edwards 3rd; Peter Haws 4th; Joseph Worthen 5th; Samuel Gully 6th. It was understood that I continue to preside over the band and in the absence of Brother Haws over the whole fifty. After this there was appointed for each fifty a distributing commissary to distribute feed in camp as follows: Charles Kennedy for 1st 50; J. M. Grant 2nd 50; Nathan Tanner 3rd 50; Orson B. Adams 4th 50; James Allred 5th 50; Isaac Allred 6th 50. The brethren then gave the following instructions for the whole camp with orders that same be observed hereafter, viz. No man to set fire to prairies. No man to shoot off a gun in camp without orders. No man to go hunting unless he is sent and all to keep guns, swords and pistols out of sight. There was then appointed a clerk for each fifty as follows: John D. Lee Young, 1st 50; John Pack 2nd 50; Lorenzo Snow 3rd 50; Geo. H. Hales 4th 50; John Oakley 5th 50; A. Lathrop 6th 50. The council then adjourned to meet at Shariton Ford camp on Monday at 10 a.m. We then returned to our camp where we arrived just at dark. Saturday, March 28 In camp making out forms for clerks of 50's and also copied letter to James Emmet. Sunday, March 29 Making forms for clerks of 50's and felt quite unwell all day with bad cold. Monday, March 30 Met with the council. The guard and pioneers were divided and distributed amongst the several companies of 50's. It was also agreed that company No. 4 should go on to the next camp tomorrow and the remainder of the day following. Jackson Redding sold one of Keller's horses for one yoke of oxen, leaving me as bad off for teams as before. Tuesday, March 31 It was concluded we could not get ready to move until tomorrow. O. P. Rockwell arrived with the mail. I received a letter from Diantha and father. President Young received one from the trustees, one from Matlock and one from E. Pratt which I read in council. I was ordered to write an answer to the trustees' and Matlock's letter, but being late I left it till morning when I was quite unwell. I got two new teamsters, Levi Kendall and Swap. April 1846 Wednesday, April 1 President Young also sent me two yoke of oxen, wagon, and Brother Jones, the owner, to assist me. We divided the load out of the spare wagons putting a yoke of oxen to each and about 11:00 started on our journey. Mother was very sick, and could not bear to ride. She walked all the way. I felt very unwell myself, having much pain in my limbs. The roads were bad, but we arrived in camp about 2:00 and got on good ground. After getting our tents fixed, fires made, etc., I went to wrestling, jumping etc., to try to get well. I over-exerted myself without any symptoms of perspiration and was so sick after I had to go to bed. Thursday, April 2 I was very sick all day and unable to write the letters or meet with the council. O. P. Rockwell started back to Nauvoo with letters. One of the Brother Hales arrived to say to his brother who drives team for Pitt that his family is very sick and wants him to go back but we cannot spare the team and he says it is no use for him to go back without it. At night I wrote again to Diantha and sent it by Brother Hale who returns tomorrow. Friday, April 3 This morning it was decided to start early so as to get over the bad roads and also travel about fifteen miles. We had to send a wagon and team to fetch the eight bushels of corn which some of the band earned by playing last night. We started, however, about eight o'clock. The roads were very bad and when we had traveled about three miles it began to thunder and rain. The clouds gathered fast and it soon showed signs for heavy rain the whole day. We reached Bishop Whitney's camp about noon and rested our teams while the rest came up. We then started again in the heavy rain and bad roads and traveled about three miles to Bishop Miller's camp. We had a very bad bluff to rise and had to double teams to get up. On the top I met Heber camped. He selected a camping ground for us and advised us to go no farther. President Young has gone on six or seven miles. It was about 5:00 before all our teams got up and it rained heavily all the time. Mother walked all day again in the rain. I was very sick myself and unable to do anything. Yesterday the portion of the guard detailed to our company joined in with us, being Orvil M. Allen and eight men. They reported themselves destitute of everything and said they had lived a week on corn meal gruel, Stout and Hunter having made them serve as their body guard and used them very hard. I dealt out some of my own flour and bacon to them, determined to comfort them some if I could and not being willing to see anyone in our company suffer while I have anything left. It continued to rain all night very hard. Saturday, April 4 This morning all our clothing, beds and bed clothing were drenched and it has continued to rain all day. I have been sick again all day especially towards night. I was so distressed with pain it seemed as though I could not live. I went to bed and put a bag of hot salt on my chest which seemed to give me some ease but I suffered much through the night, and it continued to rain until after midnight. We put an extra cover on our sleeping wagon, which kept out the rain. We have only slept in the wagon three nights but have slept under a tent on the wet ground. Haws' company are now formed with us, making our 50 nearly complete. A number of the company feel unwell on account of the rain and wet. Sunday, April 5 This morning I feel a little better and the day is fine and pleasant. I have spent the day writing in this journal, having written from memory all since the date of March 9th. Some of the dates may not be correct but the matters recorded are true. It is now 1:00 p.m. There is a meeting at Elder Kimball's camp but I am sent here in this wagon to fetch up this record. My health is somewhat better for which I feel thankful. Elder Kimball says we had better not attempt to move tomorrow. We can get corn within ten miles from here and he will help us to means. We have now to lay in corn to last till we get to Grand River about fifty miles farther, there being no farms on the road. On Friday evening I appointed Charles Terry captain of my ten and Henry A. Terry clerk and my brother James to attend on my family agreeable with the orders of the President that I may be able to spend my time writing for the council and camp and attend councils. Elder Kimball instructed the captains of tens to call their companies together at 4:00. Agreeable with this, the band assembled in front of my tent and administered the sacrament. Wm. F. Cahoon and Charles A. Terry officiated. I spoke about three quarters of an hour on various subjects touching on our journey and the policy we ought to use, etc. After I had done Elder Haws spoke on some subjects and the meeting adjourned. The captains then went over to Elder Kimball's camp about sending for corn. We concluded to send four teams for our 50, Captain Egan and Haws then went through the camp to see if they could obtain some money. Haws obtained $31.45 and Egan $9.00. I sent $14.00 by Egan for some. Wrote to Diantha. Monday, April 6 It has rained again the last night and continued to rain all day very heavily. The camp is very disagreeable and muddy. I spent the day reading. About 5:00 the clouds began to break and it looks more likely for being fair. In the evening Elder Kimball came over and the band met opposite Hutchinson's wagon and played some. After that the quadrille band met in my tent and played on the violins. All the time we were playing the lightning occasionally broke forth from the northwest and at 8:00 we dispersed just as the storm approached. Before I got to my tent the wind arrived and soon blew a perfect gale with heavy rain, hail, lightning and thunder. It continued for an hour and then abated some. All the tents in our company except mine and Pack's were blown down. The rain beat through the wagon covers and drenched the families and effects. It was the most severe storm we have experienced and with such wind it seems impossible to preserve our little clothing and provisions from being spoiled. But in the midst of all, the camp seems cheerful and happy and there are but few sick. Tuesday, April 7 This morning it is fair but cold and windy. The ground is frozen stiff and considerable ice. Many of the tents are still lying flat and everything around shows that the storm was very severe. A number of the band have no meat and some no flour nor in fact scarcely any provisions and several have had little, only what I have given them out of the stock I laid in for my family. I have this morning given the guard the bag of flour Miller left and a piece of pork and also a piece to Redding. The day continued fine but roads almost impassable. Evening the band played some. Wednesday, April 8 This morning the ground was hard again. But the weather looks more for rain. I went out with Captain Cahoon and President Haws to look out a better camp ground and we concluded to move on a little farther west about a quarter of a mile. It took the company all day to move, it being almost impossible to move the loads even with tripling teams. About five o'clock Egan and the teams came back with fifty-seven bushels of corn. He had to give 21c a bushel for nearly all of it. Elder Kimball came over soon after to see if he could not get some of it. While we were talking President Pratt and his company arrived and reported that their teams have had no corn since yesterday morning neither could they get any. Heber remarked that he would say no more about us letting him have any although we had only enough to feed five ears a feed every three days, and a journey of about fifty miles before we can get any more with bad roads. We let Parley have one load. Heber came with me to our camp and handed me a letter from President Young requesting us all to go on which I read to the company. I felt very unwell again and went to bed early. Thursday, April 9 This morning we concluded to pursue our journey, President Kimball and his company started out about seven o'clock. President Pratt started out with his company. Our company waited for the latter to start in its place till after eight o'clock and then we went on. The roads were very bad indeed. About noon it commenced raining heavily which made the roads still worse. We had calculated to go about eight miles to timber but after toiling till about four o'clock and having traveled only about five miles and our teams being entirely worn down we turned out of the road to a little branch of water to camp. Several of my teams stuck and we had to work till dark to get part of them to camp and two wagons we were compelled to leave over night. Quite a number were obliged to stay back on the prairie and Charles Hale did not come more than a quarter of a mile from where we started this morning. Elder Kimball has camped one and a half miles farther on the open prairie and many of his teams are yet behind. P. P. Pratt's company are here with us as well as George Miller's company except those behind on the prairie. It continued to rain very heavily until night. We could not make a fire and had little for supper, our provisions being in one of the wagons back. This is the most severe time we have had but yet the camp seems in good spirits. Friday, April 10 The weather is yet very wet and gloomy. I spent the morning talking to Margaret. At seven o'clock a gale struck up and blew our tents over. We then concluded to move a few rods lower out of the wind. Before we got moved the wind moved to the west and it grew very cold. Our teams are gone back to fetch some of the wagons left last night. It rains and blows very badly and is very severe on our women and teams. Margaret and Lidia are out all the time and continually wetting both feet and all over. We expect Robert Burton's, one of Peck's, Peart's and my wagons in tonight. One of mine was fetched early in the morning. Our teams fare hard with wet and cold, having very little corn. Saturday, April 11 This morning rode with Egan to help to get Brother Peart's wagon out of the slough. It took five yoke of oxen and twelve men to draw it out. The roads are yet very bad but it is fair and very cold. We sent twelve yoke of oxen to bring up Peck's and Charles Hale's wagon. They got in late at night. Sunday, April 12 This morning before I got up, P. P. Pratt called and said that President Young wants the council to meet at Heber's camp at ten o'clock. I started out with Captain Egan on foot and arrived in season. Had some conversation with Ellen Sanders Kimball and then went to council. It was decided to change our route and take a more northern one to avoid the settlements. We will go to Grand River and there enclose a space of land about two miles square and put up some twenty log houses for a resting place for the companies. A company starts out in a day or two to seek out the location amongst whom are the President, Heber and others of the twelve. A company will also be sent west to Judge Miller's to go to work for feed, etc. After council I took dinner with Heber, the President being with us. I then wrote a letter to the trustees and returned with Captain Egan to our camp and soon after went to bed. The day has been fine but cold. Monday, April 13 Finished my letter to Diantha and then went over to Peck's blacksmith shop. We had concluded not to leave till morning. While there a message arrived saying that Haws has sent eight yoke of cattle to help us on. We then concluded to start forthwith, being noon. But although we had so many extra teams, we had to leave three wagons in camp over night. Four of my folks walked all the way but still it was hard for me to get along. Keller had to stay back over night. I arrived at Locust Creek, being about four miles journey, about six o'clock and sent the cattle back for Peck and Steven Hales but they did not return till morning. In the evening the band played some. James broke his wagon tongue. We camped a little north of President Heber's camp. Tuesday, April 14 The weather is again very fine. Because some of the wagons did not come, Egan and I concluded to go and meet them and not start farther until tomorrow. We met the teams close by and then took a northern course a hunting. We saw only squirrels and I got five of them. About noon we returned and found the camp mostly gone. Orders had come from the President for the whole to move to his camp today. Charles Terry and Henry were gone a hunting which detained me till about three o'clock. James and I then started with the four wagons. They overtook us when we had got about one half mile. We found the road very bad and had to double teams, our horses being so badly worn down. Charles Terry broke a wagon tongue. Wednesday, April 15 Last night I got up to watch, there being no guard. The cattle and horses breaking into the tents and wagons. I tarried up then called S. Hales and Kimball. This morning Ellen Kimball came to me and wishes me much joy. She said Diantha has a son. I told her I was afraid it was not so, but she said Brother Pond had received a letter. I went over to Pond's and he read that she had a fine fat boy on the 30th ult., but she was very sick with ague and mumps. Truly I feel to rejoice at this intelligence but feel sorry to hear of her sickness. Spent the day chiefly reading. In the afternoon President Young came over and found some fault about our wagons, etc. In the evening the band played and after we dismissed the following persons retired to my tent to have a social christening, viz. William Pitt, Hutchinson, Smithies, Kay, Egan, Duzett, Redding, William Cahoon, James Clayton and Charles A. Terry and myself. We had a very pleasant time playing and singing until about twelve o'clock and drank health to my son. We named him William Adriel Benoni Clayton. The weather has been fine but rains a little tonight. Henry Terry's horses are missing and have been hunted today but not found. This morning I composed a new song--"All is well." I feel to thank my heavenly father for my boy and pray that he will spare and preserve his life and that of his mother and so order it so that we may soon meet again. O Lord bless thine handmaid and fill her with thy spirit, make her healthy that her life may be prolonged and that we may live upon the earth and honor the cause of truth. In the evening I asked the President if he would not suffer me to send for Diantha. He consented and said we would send when we got to Grand River. Thursday, April 16 This morning prepared to proceed on our journey but a span of horses in our company in care of Henry Terry being missing we concluded not to start. I sent out three men to hunt them. Soon after they were brought into camp by another person. I then sent Henry Terry to hunt for the men but it was after two o'clock before they returned. We fed a little corn and then started. The company is far ahead of us. We traveled very slowly our teams were so weak. However, we soon came into sight of the camp but it was six o'clock before we got there, having traveled about seven miles. The camp was formed on a beautiful prairie, President Young's camp being on a little eminence. President Kimball's about three quarters of a mile north of his and ours about a quarter of a mile east. There is some little grass for our cattle here, but little. We sent those of our company about a mile southeast and had a guard over them through the night. President Haws, Captains Egan and Kay and Jackson Redding went out a hunting. George Hale's cattle were so worn down that they could not get along and when within about a mile of camp about fifteen of the brethren went to help. They took a rope and fixed it on the wagon, loosed the cattle and brought it in themselves, singing all the way. At night the band played and then I retired to bed. Friday, April 17 This morning very fine. Some of the camp started very early on the way. I was ready about eight o'clock but was detained on account of Captain Haws, Egan and others having gone hunting. I left Margaret to drive my team and sent them on and I drove the cattle on foot. We formed our encampment on a high dry place. Sunday, April 19 While the rest are gone to meeting I turned to unpacking and took an inventory of church property. It took till about four o'clock to get through. Daniel Spencer's company had arrived about five o'clock. Porter Rockwell and Edwin Cutler arrived with the mail. Received a letter from Diantha confirming the birth of my son, also a letter from A. W. Babbit on some business. Went to see the President to show him the inventory but could not find him. About dark he sent for me and I went again but he was gone and I did not see him. My mare got in a mud hole last night and is very badly strained. Evening went to council and read many letters and wrote one to Elder Hyde. Monday, April 20 At nine o'clock went to council. Had to read some letters and several pieces from papers. A report was read of all those who are able to fit themselves for the mountains. A law was made on motion of President Young that any person who interrupts the council hereafter by talking or otherwise, shall be deprived the privilege of the council till the council see proper to admit him. The public teams being brought together, the bishops took a list of them to be disposed of at Grand River. After council I went to work to assort the articles to be sold, etc. Wrote to Diantha. Tuesday, April 21 This morning the main body of the camp are gone, but I am obliged to tarry and pack up the public goods again and re-load my wagons. I weighed most of our loads and it took until night to get through. Charles Terry's horse and one of mine are unable to drag any. Wednesday, April 22 I had intended to start early this morning but our horses were away which detained us till nearly nine o'clock. About that time we started and traveled slowly about four and a half miles. We then stopped at 11:30 and thought we would rest our teams and get them cooled off. The sun was very warm and they sweat considerably. Word came that O. P. Rockwell was on his way and would call for letters. We intended to wait until he came. I wrote a short letter to A. W. Babbit and one to father but Porter failed to call, and at two o'clock we started again. We traveled until about three o'clock when we passed Orson Pratt who had concluded to stay a piece east of where the camp had tarried last night. He said all the grass was eaten up for several miles around. We concluded to go beyond the timber where the main camp stayed last night but tried to find grass for our teams. We started onward. At the creek watered our teams and rested awhile. We then went on about a mile and a half and found good grass and much of it. We at once concluded to tarry there. We had put a little wood into our wagons to cook with. We arrived on the ground about six o'clock and then got the best camp ground we have had for some time. Three of our teams were behind when we arrived. Horlick got in about a half an hour after us and then afterwards Swap and Jones arrived at 7:30. We are all comfortable but very tired, having traveled about ten miles. My wife Ruth walked all the way and myself also. The rest walked by turns. We have seen many rattlesnakes today. The weather is very fine. Thursday, April 23 This last night has been very stormy with heavy thunder, hail, rain and wind. The thunder and lightning was very loud and the rain fell in torrents. The weather continues cold and cloudy with some fine showers. There appears some heavy rain in the east and north. Grass looks green and the cattle have filled themselves well. We started about ten o'clock and soon found that last night's rain had made the roads much worse. After traveling about four miles we stopped to graze our teams, being one o'clock. While resting Elders Taylor and Orson Pratt passed on horseback. At three o'clock we started again and about four came to the President's camp. He was just returning from an exploring tour to find out better roads. His camp was on the east of a piece of timber. He gave orders to move to the other side of the timber about a mile from where he then was. We concluded to move on and finally camped on the next ridge southwest of his. Our teams are tired and there is not much grass. A number of the horses have been bitten by rattlesnakes and one is dead. There are a great number of these snakes on these prairies. The President says the road to the next timber is all ridges and hollows and will be hard on teams. We got camped about 5:30 p.m., and before we got fixed a thunder storm came on with heavy rain but it was soon over and the evening afterwards was fine. Friday, April 24 This morning the President's company made a bridge over a creek and started again on their journey. Four of my horses were missing and I sent men to hunt them and went myself. They were found about ten o'clock. We tarried until about twelve to rest and then started. We went about two miles and stayed until four o'clock to graze our teams and then went on again and about six o'clock got to timber. I went to hunt a camping spot with Egan. We saw some women who told us Grand River was only a mile ahead and that the other companies were required to go down there. We started and soon arrived at the main body of the camp. We formed on the south side of the camp. The ground here is rich, timber good, and the prospects good for heavy crops. Here we calculated to tarry a while, fence in a piece of land and those who are not prepared to go through to tarry and raise crops. Wild onions grow in abundance. The weather has been fine today. Evening those of the band who are here went to Bishop Miller's tent and played for the President and a Mr. Bryant who lives about thirty miles from here. Pitt, George, Charles and Steven Hales and William F. Cahoon are way back as yet as well as Heber's company. Saturday, April 25 This morning started by daybreak fishing. About 7:30 the President sent for me. I came back but he was gone. President Haws is regulating the company to watch our teams and also go to making rails, etc. The morning is fine. About nine o'clock Kendall, one of my teamsters, brought one of the horses he drives into camp which had been bitten by a rattlesnake. His nose had begun to swell badly. We got some spirits of turpentine and bathed the wound, washed his face in salt and water and gave him some snakes master root boiled in milk. He yet seems very sick. Our men have made a pen for the cattle at night. I feel quite unwell today. Spent the day chiefly reading. Evening Kennedy came to look at our horse and says they have given sufficient of the master root to kill four well horses. The horse looks very sick and is already scarcely able to stand. The band played a few tunes at night. About nine o'clock it rained somewhat and continued to shower through the night. Pitt arrived in camp this afternoon. Sunday, April 26 The first news I heard this morning was that the horse was dead. This is a very unlucky circumstance for me for I am already very deficient in teams. Moreover, three of my teams leave me here, viz. Horlick, Chas. A. Terry and Jones with their wagons and teams. I shall then have about quarter teams enough to draw the loads. I have about three thousand pounds of church property besides my own goods. I see little chance of my moving from here at present. The morning was wet but it cleared off and continued so all day. I spent the day reading and writing while the rest went to meeting. Evening was sent for to go to council. Read a letter from O. Hyde stating that they had had an offer of two hundred thousand dollars for the temple. He writes of hard times in Nauvoo. The council selected one hundred men to make rails, forty-eight to build houses; twelve to dig wells; ten to build a bridge and the rest to go to farming. Steven Markham, C. C. Rich, L. C. Wilson, James Pace to oversee the rail cutting. Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, P. P. Pratt and Geo. A. Smith the house building. A. P. Rockwood to boss bridge building. President Young to boss him and the whole camp and Jacob Peart to boss well digging. The council decided to wait until morning to decide relative to selling the temple. After we adjourned I went into my wagon. I wrote a long letter to Diantha. It was about ten o'clock when I got through. Monday, April 27 Rained all day. At 6:00 a.m., went to meeting. The men were divided out to work and commenced operations and had to quit on account of rain. After breakfast went to council, when it was voted to sell the temple, signifying as to the reason, it will be more likely to be preserved. It is as lawful to sell it to help the poor saints as to sell our inheritance. We do it because we are compelled to do it. I was ordered to write an answer to Elder Hyde's letter which I did, saying finally, if the temple was sold, $25,000 must be sent for the benefit of the camp. The balance to be left at the disposal of elder Hyde, Woodruff and the trustees and to be appropriated to help away those who have labored hard to build the temple and the faithful poor of the saints. Spent the balance of the day packing up china and crockery to be sent by Egan. Tuesday, April 28 Weather very wet. Moved up on higher ground. Spent the morning unpacking chests for files and supplies. Afternoon unloading wagon to send a-trading. The weather very wet until night. President Young called over and said we had better not send Egan until the weather settles. The quadrille band have gone to give concerts in the Platte. They had to draw their wagons across the river by ropes the water was so high. Wednesday, April 29 It still continues to rain and the ground is getting quite soft and muddy. Spent the day setting men to fixing yokes and bows. Walked out about a mile to the bluff west of us. It ceased raining about eleven o'clock and continued fair through the day. Thursday, April 30 Unpacking and re-packing chests all the day. It continues to rain more or less and the weather looks bad. Ruth is quite unwell. May 1846 Friday, May 1 This month brings the damp wet weather. Chas. Shumway and George Langley start for George Herring this morning being instructed to bring him on to Council Bluffs. Spent the day preparing for Egan to start trading. He has gone with Jackson Redding and has taken $288.00 of church property besides two span of horses and harness and near $60.00 of mine. Afternoon packing chests, etc. The weather finer and fairer. Saturday, May 2 The day is fine. Preparing some for Horlick's return to Nauvoo on Monday. Wrote to Diantha. Selling shoes. Sunday, May 3 The morning fair, windy and cloudy, southeast wind. Spent the morning making a list of all the company who have made their reports, also fixing tents. At ten o'clock went to meeting. O. Spencer talked a while and was followed by President Young who exhorted the camp to diligence in getting in crops for that will be our salvation the next winter. He said no company should start from here until the south field was made and some houses built. It commenced raining as the meeting closed and about three o'clock a thunder storm came on which lasted till near five o'clock. I spent the afternoon reading. Soon after five it cleared off some and the sun shone again. While at supper President Young called and stated that he wished that I should go to council with him. I started and the council met opposite his tent. It was decided that his fifty build the bridge tomorrow and all the rest to make rails and also that Sherwood and Orson Pratt go about twenty-five or thirty miles southwest to seek out another section. Monday, May 4 Finished my letter to Diantha and sent it by John Richards. Horlick has concluded to tarry till my wagons are fixed. I spent the day examining my flour and crackers and helping to fix the tent as considerable of my crackers and flour are damaged on account of having poor wagons. I dreamed last night that I saw Diantha and her babe. Her babe was dressed in white and appeared to be lying down with its eyes closed. She was bent over it apparently in sorrow. When I went to her she flew to me earnestly but the babe seemed to be kept still and asleep, and I awoke. This dream has troubled me considerably. Evening met the clerks of 50's in my tent and instructed them how to make their reports, etc. Tuesday, May 5 The weather very fine. I spent the day preparing to enter the reports on the record. Went over to J. D. Lee's and learned that some of the clerks had been to the President and told him that I had ordered that they should include in their reports each wife a man has. I did not do any such thing, only requested each name should be in full according to the order of a previous council. The President said it did not matter about the names being in full but I think in after days it will prove it does. Dr. Richards thinks as I do. The President, I understand, appeared quite angry. Many of the band are entirely destitute of provisions and my flour is so nearly down I have concluded to eat biscuit. I have given the band considerable of my biscuit already. At nine o'clock fixing my wagons. Expected a storm which soon afterwards commenced, raining and thundering very hard. Raining most of the night. Wednesday, May 6 Writing in the camp record. In the afternoon a storm arose emitting very violent wind, thunder, lightning, rain and hail. Many tents blew over. One of mine blew over and most of our articles were wet and some nearly spoiled. I have been informed that Esther Kay has been offering bitter complaints because they do not fare as well as some others. The hint was thrown at Margaret and she understood that it was for me. I have today let Miss Kay a pair of shoes and took down a large bag of biscuits and divided it amongst those who are needy. I have all the time let them have flour, sugar, bacon and other things as I had them and to hear of dissatisfaction because I will not let them have the last I have grieves me. I have given to the band as near as I can estimate, twelve hundred pounds of flour, about four or five hundred pounds of bacon besides much of other things. Towards evening it did not rain so much but continued hard after we went to bed. The wind was very severe, almost as bad as I ever saw it for about a half an hour. Thursday, May 7 This morning it is dull, cloudy and cold. About nine o'clock commenced raining again. I have again given Sister Kay a quart cup full of sugar. I have spent the day entering reports on record. Friday, May 8 The weather fine and pleasant. Spent the day fixing wagon covers and wagons. Andrew Cahoon arrived from Nauvoo with the mail but no letter from Diantha or father. He says the troops arrested O. P. Rockwell last Thursday evening and took him to Carthage and thence to Quincy jail. It is doubtful whether he will now escape their cruel vengeance. This morning the mare had a colt. I have felt quite unwell all day. Evening went to President Young's to get records to look for a deed from Hiram Kimball to Ira S. Miles. Searched till near ten o'clock but the deed is not on record. Kimball seems disposed to take all the advantages he can from everyone. Saturday, May 9 Morning fixing wagon cover, counseling with Wm. Cahoon and then was called aside by the President to read two letters from Sister Harris and her son. Dr. Richards, John Smith and Heber were present. Afternoon went fishing. The weather fine and no wind. Sunday, May 10 Wrote a letter to Diantha, one to trustees, one to father, one to Brother Burdick, one to Thos. Moore and one to John Everett. Keller returned with thirteen bushels of meal and 250 pounds of bacon from the guard, having been gone twelve days. Evening went to council to Heber's tent. Samuel Bent having been appointed at today's meeting to preside over those left on his arm, he chose David Fullmer and Ezra T. Benson for counselors. P. P. Pratt was advised to start as soon as possible for Platte River to take all who were prepared to go. Monday, May 11 Morning distributing meal and bacon to the band. Afterwards the President, Heber, and Dr. Richards came and took some cordage. Afternoon weighing and loading. Tuesday, May 12 Sent Keller and Corbite to the mills to try and get flour, meal and two cows. Weighing and packing. About nine was sent for to go to council. I waited about two hours before anything was done. The vote for Ezra T. Benson to stay as counselor for father Bent was rescinded and it was voted to take Aron Johnson in his place. A letter of authority was written for father Bent by Dr. Richards but he made me copy it, and afterwards when the President spoke to him to write to O. P. Rockwell he favored me to do that although I left three men waiting to weigh my loading and load my wagon. The fact is I can scarcely ever go to council but Dr. Richards wants me to do his writing, although I have more writing to do as clerk of the camp than I can possibly do. Moreover I have to unpack the chest and wait on all of them with the public goods in my charge which keeps me busy all the time. President Young, Heber, Dr. Richards and Bishop Whitney have all made out to get lumber sawed to make their wagons comfortable but I can't get enough to make a hind board for one of my wagons, which has none. They are tolerably well prepared with wagons and teams but I am here with about five tons of stuff and only six wagons and five yoke of oxen to take it. I have dealt out nearly all of my provisions and have to get more before I can go on. It looks as if I had to be a slave and take slave's fare all the journey for it has worked that way so far. After council I was weighing and loading, etc., until night. We had some rain at night. Wednesday, May 13 The morning fair, but cloudy. Still loading my wagons and preparing to move. President Young and Heber's companies have gone and left me. I asked Jones and Terry what provisions I should have to leave them while they put in the crops. They concluded that 25 lbs. of corn meal each, and from 25 to 50 lbs. of bacon for three of them would be enough for twenty days. I think so, for we do not use as much meat in the same time in my whole family and as to 25 lbs. of corn meal each for so long a time, it is far more than my family can have. I have also to supply Horlick with provisions to take him back to Nauvoo and have kept four of them since they came here while they are to work for themselves. All this continues to weaken my hands for the journey. I have to get three new teamsters and also feed them while the others are living on my food. Markham came in the evening and said the President had sent word to father Bent to raise cattle enough to take my load to the new place tomorrow morning but I cannot go because my horses have gone to the mill for meal. Evening it commenced raining again and rained nearly all night. Thursday, May 14 This morning is fair, but cloudy and like for more rain. Jones has concluded to leave for Nauvoo this morning and leave his son to plant for him. I have given him and Charles A. Terry a letter of recommendation. Jones asked me and said I would have to leave him some provisions while he put in his crops but I do not feel to do it for I think it is far more reasonable that the company for whom he has been working should supply him instead of me doing it out of the little provisions I have. I have left Charles and Henry Terry 50 lbs. of meal and 14 lbs. of bacon besides boarding them two weeks while they have been working on their farm. I went to see Brother Bent about the teams and from him learned that he could only raise three yoke of oxen and no wagon. I went to see Crisman who had promised two yoke and told him I should start in the morning then went and spent the day fixing the loads, etc. Friday, May 15 This morning Crisman called and said he should not let his cattle go until Brother Miller returned. I then concluded to take what teams I had and take my wagons and go on a few miles. I borrowed two yoke of oxen from Sister Kay and started. We got the wagons over the river and on the bluff about a mile and then stopped to let the teams feed. I walked on and met Brothers Miller, Pitt, Kay, and Hutchinson with a large drove of cows and cattle. I told Brother Miller my situation and the request of the President but I could get no satisfaction. We moved on with half of the wagons and I selected a spot over a quarter of a mile from timber. They then went back for the other wagons and got them all up about six o'clock. Reddings have come here also, and Sister Egan with one or two others. Saturday, May 16 This morning is fine but the weather doesn't look like being fair long. I have concluded to send two wagons through and wait until the teams return before I can move farther. Swap and Conrad are gone with all the teams I have and I have sent A. Johnson's cattle back because they were useless unless I could have more. The day was very warm. I spent the day mostly reading. Afternoon Duzett, Hutchinson and Pitt arrived with their wagons. Sunday, May 17 Spent the day mostly reading. Weather very warm. Afternoon Bishop Miller's company passed but he did not leave me any cattle although he has plenty and many cows. This agrees with his course, for from about two months before we left Nauvoo to the present, he has done nothing but for himself. Monday, May 18 Morning went on the road about two miles to see if I could meet Keller and Corbitt. It rained and thundered some and continued cloudy through the day. Tuesday, May 19 Spent the morning reading, afterwards went fishing. Some teams returned from camp and said that some from Nauvoo had arrived there which started two weeks ago last Saturday and that Elder Hyde had advised all the saints to move over the river as fast as possible from Nauvoo, and they have their ferry boats constantly employed. A number are already on their way here. Wednesday, May 20 This morning is very rainy and cold. Spun twenty yards of fish line and tied on eleven hooks. Swap and Conrad returned soon after eleven o'clock. They say the camp is about thirty miles ahead. They confirm the report of some having arrived from Nauvoo and say they were told that my father is on his way here. The roads are lined with teams, etc., on the other road north of this. Horlick came this afternoon for more victuals. Although he is a good wagon maker and carpenter, he is either unwilling to work or the camp at the farms is unwilling to board him for his work which I hardly believe. It seems as though teamsters are resolved to live on me till they eat all I have and I now lack about three thousand lbs. of provisions to proceed with. I can learn of no one who has fed his teamsters as long as I have after they stopped teaming and moreover, the teamsters started with church property but I have sustained them out of my own provisions. Towards evening it was fair but still threatens to rain again. I cannot yet learn a word from Diantha but think she must be on her way. My family is yet in good health except Margaret who looks sick but doesn't complain. Thursday, May 21 Continued raining this morning but about noon it began to be fine. About five o'clock a heavy thunder storm came up and it started raining heavily. Storm after storm kept coming far into the night. Wilham F. Gaboon called on his way up between the two companies. He wanted some salt but I had none for him. Friday, May 22 This morning fine but cloudy, ground wet and soft. Wrote some in the camp record. About nine o'clock started on the road to look for a good camp ground. James started at the same time on horseback to see if he could meet Keller. I went about three miles and waited till he returned but no news from Keller. I concluded to move my camp about three miles and sent James back to load up and come on. I waited until they came. It was after five o'clock before they came up, the loads being heavy and the teams weak, the loads being too heavy for them. We are now camped on a very pleasant spot not far from timber. We have camped near the summit of a ridge where we can see a long way on both the roads leading to Miller's mill and to the next camp. Soon after we arrived Horace Whitney passed. I sent word to the President to send me more teams. I told Horlick we could not board him any longer and gave him a line to father asking him to board him until he returns. Have borrowed some meal from Edward Martin to get along. If Keller doesn't come soon we shall have to obtain something to eat somewhere or go short. We have nothing left to eat but some corn, and being short of milk we can not cook it to our advantage. James and I were consulting just at dusk as to the wisdom of one of us starting out to try and meet Keller and Corbitt or see if we could learn something of them. We both felt positive they had lost their horses. While we were talking we saw Keller and Horlick riding up from the first farm. From Keller we learned they had got horses and loads and were coming on the other road and would wait till we came up to meet them if we thought best. He said the guard had all returned and were with the wagons. This was joyful news to us and I felt my heart much relieved. Saturday, May 23 James started out early to meet the wagons. After breakfast we started on the road and while standing Keller came up and said it was about four and a half miles to where the other road joins the main road. I started ahead on foot and after traveling about three miles came up to the teams where they had waited on the road. When I got up the guard seemed pleased to see me. Captain Allen had bought about thirty-six bushels of meal and 200 lbs. of bacon. They would not receive any pay for it. They have been faithful and diligent and have done much. There is yet $12.00 due them from the meal and they are determined I shall have that too. When my teams came up we put the meal in the wagons and started on. We went about a mile farther to Peter's Bridge where we concluded to camp for the night. We arranged our loading and I concluded to let Brother Allen have the wagon and team in his hands which is church property to send back to Nauvoo for his family. The guard made out a list of provisions which they wished me to leave them which was indeed very little. I gave them four pairs of shoes and probably three bushels of meal which is all the remuneration they would accept for all they had brought. They seemed well satisfied. Sunday, May 24 This morning I gave certificates of discharge to A. Keller, John Horlick, Orville Allen, M. A. Dodge, Tollman, Starks, Mecham, Bartlet and P. R. Wright. Keller and Horlick started immediately for Nauvoo and Wright and Dodge soon after. I concluded to move on about two miles to where Hutchinson and Duzett were in camp. I started out on foot and most of my family soon after. It soon began to rain and rained till I was wet through. I traveled on about four and a half miles but could see no camp near timber. I stopped to rest at a post put up by Stewart where the Raccoon fork led off. While there Josiah Arnold passed on his way to Miller's. From him I learned that there was a camp ground about a half a mile farther. I went on and waited. Before any of the wagons arrived James came up. Soon after news arrived that Swap had broke his wagon tongue. I sent James to help bring on the loads. We only started with three wagons and left three back with Corbitt and Martin. The teams worked hard all day and at half past nine the last team arrived having taken all day to travel about five miles. Monday, May 25 This morning I sent James and Corbitt to go and trade three horses and some harness for cows. About noon I started out with two wagons and left one and about three loads of stuff in care of two of the guard. After we had traveled about three miles I met a messenger from the camp who handed me two letters, one was from Diantha and one from Brother Whitaker concerning a piece of land. We went on about a mile and crossed a creek where we waited to rest our teams. When I read Diantha's letter it gave me painful feelings to hear of her situation. After resting about an hour we went on about four miles farther and camped near Father Baker's camp on a creek. It was night before we got supper over. I found several men going back to Nauvoo for their families. Tuesday, May 26 Wrote an answer to Whitaker's letter and also one to Diantha. We started on about eight o'clock and found the road bad and many bad creeks where the bridges had been washed away. After traveling two miles one of my wagons loaded with corn meal was upset in a hole. But after about an hour's labor we got the loading in. The wagon was not much damaged. We proceeded about three miles farther and met two men with six yoke of oxen which President Young had sent to meet us. This was a great relief to us for we saw that we could not get to camp today because of our teams being so worn down. We rested our teams about an hour and then started on at a good pace. We found several more very bad creeks to pass but we did not have much difficulty. Duzett and myself drove the cows. Edward Martin drove his horses. About sundown we arrived in camp, having traveled about thirteen miles. This place is called Mt. Pisgah and is a very beautiful situation, the prairie rolling and rich, skirted with beautiful groves of timber on the main fork of the Grand river. Soon after we arrived Elder Kimball came to welcome us to camp and then came Elder Richards and family and President Young who all seemed glad to see us in camp. Wednesday, May 27 This morning my horses and one cow and several of the oxen are missing. I went to see Bishop Whitney about getting teams to send back for the loads remaining but could get no satisfaction from him. I went back and unloaded two wagons on the ground and about the same time saw the President who said he would send for them. Elder Kimball sent one wagon and the President sent two. President Young said they intended to take the church property in their wagons and take it on to Council Bluffs but I must go with them and leave James and Corbitt and Egan to bring on the wagons they have, etc. I cannot think they understand my situation in regard to the teams or they would make some definite move about it. They intend to start in a day or two and I tried to fix the wagons in good order but had no chance to get even one fixed. Spent the day fixing up my tent and had to get a new pole. Heber took my other one. Afternoon it commenced gathering for a storm and we had barely time to get the tent up and the things under it before it began to rain and continued till I went to sleep. George Herring and Shumway arrived here last night. I spoke with them today. Thursday, May 28 The morning dull and foggy, ground wet, etc. Went fishing some. Evening played with Hutchinson and Pitt. All my oxen, horses and the cow were found. I went out this morning hunting for them on foot. Evening raining. Friday, May 29 The weather fine, cool, and windy. Talked with Heber some. He says I shall have teams. One of my wagons came in this morning. Saturday, May 30 Went and borrowed a robe and ornaments from Aaron Farr then rode with Dr. Richards about three miles on the prairie. There were five others and among them President Young. Two tents were brought and we fixed them up and then met and clothed. There were President Young, P. P. Pratt, J. Taylor, Geo. A. Smith, A. Lyman, John Smith, N. K. Whitney, D. Spencer, O. Spencer, C. C. Rich, E. T. Benson, Wm. Huntington and myself. Clothed and having offered up the signs, offered up prayer, Heber C. Kimball being mouth. We then conversed awhile and appeared again, Geo. A. Smith being mouth--A. P. Rockwood and Wm. Kimball were guarding the tent. Prayers were offered that we might be delivered from our enemies and have teams to go on our journey, etc. About two o'clock we returned to camp. Many of the teams were coming in and among the rest, the teams sent back for my loading which all arrived tonight. Sunday, May 31 Having heard that Egan was near I started out to meet him. The morning was fine but about eleven o'clock it began to thunder. I went about two miles and before I got back without seeing Egan it rained heavily. I was wet through. I called at the meeting while President Young was speaking. It rained nearly all the afternoon. Noal Richards died. June 1846 Monday, June 1 Was wet in the morning and windy all day. The council got me four wagons and seven yoke of oxen to take church property. Tuesday, June 2 Still windy but fair. President Young has again stated I lack some cattle yet. Fixing my wagon, etc. Have about teams enough but lack teamsters. Wednesday, June 3 Fixing my wagons. Concluded to start on. My teams were scattered but we started with what we had. We got over the river at three o'clock, one yoke of cattle still missing. I sent the men hunting for them but they were not found. Thursday, June 4 Again sent the men hunting cattle. The day was very cold and windy, almost as cold as winter. I spent the day fixing a wagon for Diantha expecting her on in about two weeks. Lucy Walker called in this afternoon and expressed sorrow on account of the treatment of Heber's family toward her. Amos Fielding called on his way to the President's camp. Towards evening it rained and there was one of the most beautiful rainbows I ever saw in my life. We could see its brilliant reflection within a few rods of us. In the evening Douzett came for his cow which had tarried with ours. He concluded to stay over night. My teamsters returned without finding the cattle. Friday, June 5 Sent all the men except James Douglas to hunt the cattle. About nine o'clock my adopted son Thomas Corbich returned with them. I then waited till two o'clock for the men to return, three of them being still absent. I have now eleven wagons, sixteen yoke of oxen, six cows, five horses, and six teamsters, besides my brother James, whose names are Conrad Neil, Levi N. Kendall, James Douglas, Milton F. Bartlett, Willard Smith, and A. E. Hinkel, four of the latter are new to me and do not seem to know much about teaming. At two o'clock I concluded to start on and after about an hour's preparation we started. The men took two teams each. I drove the cows on foot. The roads are a great deal better. We traveled about six miles and camped on a hill beyond nice timber. Pitt is here and Brother Taylor's camp. Amos called on his way back to England. He stayed and conversed a while. I will here say that the oxen put in by Brothers Olive and Rich to take church property are very poor and some of them scarcely of any use. We arrived here about half past six o'clock. The day has been cold, fine and fair. Saturday, June 6 The morning very fine. We started out at eight o'clock; Pitt joined with us. I went on foot to drive the cows. About ten o'clock we had a little rain. After traveling about seven miles we arrived at a piece of timber where the patriarch John Smith was resting. We concluded to rest our teams here and stopped at half past eleven. At one o'clock we started again and soon after had a heavy thunder shower. I was about a mile ahead of the wagons and having no shelter was soon completely drenched with rain. It got very cold while raining. As soon as the wagons came up we stopped till the shower was over which did not last long. We then pursued our journey and at six o'clock camped on the open prairie a long way from timber, having traveled about sixteen miles. After the shower the day was fine. I was very tired and wet and after eating a little went to bed. Vilate Ruth is weaning from the breast today which makes her cry. Sunday, June 7 Inasmuch as we were not near timber we concluded to travel on till we found some. We started at eight o'clock and traveled till two, being about nine miles, when we came to a little grove of timber and just beyond a bad bottom of prairies. I concluded to pass this and camp on the adjoining ridge. I drove the cows all day on foot. My feet were sore and blistered. The day was very fine. Sometime after we arrived Father John Smith came and camped just below us. Monday, June 8 The weather fine. Traveled about ten miles, the roads being very hilly and uneven. We camped on a bottom near timber. I went fishing and had good success. I drove the cows till noon then rode with family. Tuesday, June 9 Weather fine and hot. Went fishing at daybreak with James and had good luck. At nine we went on. I rode again. Afternoon three Indians overtook us and begged some bread. We camped on a bottom beside Coleman and others, having traveled about twelve miles. Two Indians are here and we have learned their camp is only three miles from us. President Young left word to go in companies from here to avoid being plundered by the Indians. We had our cattle tied up and a guard over them through the night. Wednesday, June 10 Went fishing at daybreak and caught thirty-six. Weather hot. We started about nine o'clock and found the roads good but over hills and ravines all the day. At six o'clock we camped in sight of the Pottawattamie Indian village. When about two miles from it they discovered us coming and we soon saw a number of them riding towards us. Some had bells on their horses which frightened our horses and cattle. James and I took the horses and let the others take the oxen the best way they could. Some of the Indians followed our wagons and inquired often for whiskey. We had to pass some timber and a river before we arrived at their village which is situated on a very beautiful ridge skirted by timber and beautiful rolling prairie. Before we arrived at the timber it seemed that the whole village had turned out, men, women, and children, some on horses and many on foot. Their musicians came and played while we passed them. They seemed to escort our wagons and asked if we were Mormons. When we told them we were they seemed highly pleased. It took us some time to cross the bridge over the river and then we were perfectly surrounded by Indians apparently from curiosity and friendship. They watched us cross the bridge and others followed on with us. The boys seemed to learn the words our teamsters used to drive the cattle and would run and in their way help to drive. They manifested every feeling of friendship and nothing unkind or unfriendly transpired. Soon after we passed the bridge we were met by Jas. W. Cummings and the brethren from Shariton Ford with John L. Butler to bring Emmet's company to meet us. The cattle have been with Emmet's company from the time they left Nauvoo. The road leads within about two hundred yards of the Indians and I wanted to go about two miles farther to save the necessity of having a guard but soon after we left the village we had to ford a stream which was deep and bad to cross. I then concluded to camp on the ridge above the ford and in sight of the village, being about a half or three quarters of a mile from them. Many of them followed us, men, women and children and watched all our movements but about dark all departed in peace. They seemed well pleased with their visit. They certainly showed every mark of friendship and kindness imaginable and treated us as brothers. We learned that the chief's daughter was buried today. We have traveled about fifteen miles. From Cummings we learned that Emmet had left his things belonging to the company with him. Part of the company has crossed at St. Louis and are now on the line here. The agent of the U. S. refuses to let them pass. The other part of the company are thirty miles below the bluffs expecting us to cross there. Thursday, June 11 Many of the Indians again came to the camp with the same friendly feeling. Some squaws came to trade. We started soon after nine, the weather being very hot. We traveled over about five miles of very uneven road. The rest was good. We had to travel till late before we came to water. We camped on a small creek where Coleman and Tanner were camped, having traveled about fourteen miles. Friday, June 12 Traveled about three miles, the weather being very hot. We camped on a beautiful ridge where the main body had evidently left but little before, beside a large rapid stream. I concluded to stay here until Monday to rest our teams and give their shoulders a chance to heal, several of which were very sore. Saturday, June 13 Fixing a wagon, etc. The weather very hot. Evening killed one of our cows. The mosquitoes here began to be very troublesome, there being so many of them and so bloodthirsty. Sunday, June 14 The weather very hot and the mosquitoes tremendously bad. This morning I weighed bread for each man at the rate of a half a pound a day. They seem very much dissatisfied and growl to each other very much. I weighed for my family of ten as much as I weighed for six teamsters. They were dissatisfied but we had some left. They have hitherto had all they wanted three times a day and above this have eaten up a bag of crackers unknown to me which I had reserved for the mountains. The mosquitoes being so bad, I concluded to go on a little piece. We started at 1:00 p.m. and traveled until four when we arrived at a small clear stream having traveled about six miles. I camped here and in the evening told the men a part of what I thought of their conduct. Monday, June 15 The morning cooler but mosquitoes bad. Our horses were missing and we were detained till ten o'clock before we could start. The horses had gone back to where we left yesterday. We traveled till sundown before we came to water, being about twelve miles. We camped near to C. L. Whitney. Tuesday, June 16 Started at 7:30 and traveled about twelve miles when we came in sight of the Missouri river and the main camp about five miles farther. We soon learned that some of the camp were coming back to find water. There being no water where we were, we moved back about two miles to a spring and there camped expecting to stay until we should learn what to do. Wednesday, June 17 This morning Kay and Duzett rode up and said they were anxiously expecting us at the camp and wanted us to go immediately. I went to the camp with them to look out a place while my men yoked up and brought the wagons. When I arrived I saw Heber. He seemed pleased to see me and went with me to look out a place to camp. I fixed a spot between President Young's camp and Bishop Miller's. Heber said the twelve had an invitation to go to the village to the agent's to dinner and they wanted the band to go with them. I went back to meet the wagons which had been detained on account of some of the cattle being missing. As soon as my wagons arrived I got ready and started in Heber s carriage with Heber, Bishop Whitney, and Smithies. Edward Martin, Pitt, Hutchinsoo, Kay and Duzett rode in the other carriage. When we arrived at Mr. Mitchell's, the agent's place, we were introduced to him one by one. We then played and Kay sang until about five o'clock when we returned. This village is situated but a little distance from the river, probably fifty rods. It is composed of twelve or fifteen blocks, houses without glass in the windows, and is the noted place where the Lamanites for years held their council. The inhabitants are composed of Lamanites, half breeds and a few white folks. I had an introduction to Sarrapee an Indian trader. We arrived home just at dusk. Thursday, June 18 Fixing a wagon all day. Evening went fishing. Spoke to Bishop Whitney about some more teams. Friday, June 19 Fixing wagons and preparing to send off some things to trade. Evening went fishing. Went with the band to hold a concert at the village. Many went from the camp. The Indians and half breeds collected $10.10 and gave it to us and the agent Mr. Mitchel gave a dinner to all that came. Sunday, June 21 At home until evening. At 5:00 met with the brethren of the camp and acted as clerk while they selected men to build the boat. Monday, June 22 Fixing my wagons. The day was windy and cold. I was informed yesterday that Diantha is twenty miles back from Mt. Pisgah with her father still farther back. They have sent her chest on to Pisgah and she is with Loren. I partly made up my mind to start in the morning and bring her. Tuesday, June 23 This morning I got my food ready to start after Diantha but Vilate Ruth seemed quite sick and I concluded not to start. We took the teams and went to the village to pick gooseberries but it rained nearly all the time we were gone. I bought a scythe and some other things and tried to trade a watch for a yoke of cattle. Major Mitchel offered me three yoke for the gold watch. We got home about 3:00. I then went and told the President about Mitchel's offer and he told me to sell it. It was so cold and wet and windy we went to bed early and soon after we got to bed, Heber and Dr. Richards came to my wagon with two letters from Diantha, one dated Nauvoo, May 17, 1846, the other Big Prairie, June 18th. She tells that she is sent on by her father and is with Loren and is very anxious that I should bring her or send for her. I made up my mind to start tomorrow. The night was very stormy with strong winds and heavy rains. Wednesday, June 24 The morning wet and cold. I went over to President Young and told him where I was going and what for. He said he would get the cattle for me. I also spoke to Heber and he said: "Go and prosper." At 11:00 I went to council and President Young, Kimball and Taylor concluded also to go to Pisgah after the cannon. I started at two o'clock it then being fair. At five o'clock I passed Father Knowlton's company thirteen miles from camp and at seven passed Laharpe's company and inquired of Brother Burgham and Freeman about Diantha but could not learn much from them. Brother Ezra Bickford was here on his way back to Nauvoo. He said he was tired from riding on horseback and asked if I would let him go with me to Pisgah and use his horse in the wagon. I told him to come on. I soon found it made a difference in the load. We went on about two miles and stopped at dark on the middle of the prairie near no water. After feeding we lay down to rest. We had several heavy showers through the night. Thursday, June 25 This morning arose at four o'clock and moved our wagon a little to fresh grass to let the horses feed, they being tied to it. It is fair, but cloudy. We started again at 5:30 a.m., traveled till 10:00 then rested till 2:00 and then traveled until dark, making thirty-one miles. We camped just beyond the Indian village in the midst of a severe thunder storm. It rained most of the day and the roads were bad. Friday, June 26 Did not start until after seven. Morning fair, roads bad. After traveling about six miles we found Horace Clark and others camped on one side of a small stream and Orson Spencer on the other side. The creek was full of water to the bank and in the deepest place about six feet over the bridge and a part of the bridge washed away. We tarried until 3:00 and then concluded to try to get over. Walter L. Davis and Wm. D. Huntington volunteered to help us over. We unloaded the wagon box for a boat, taking a few of our things over at a time. When we got them all over we swam the horses over, loaded up, and at 5:00 started again and went till near nine having traveled about sixteen miles. Saturday, June 27 The day was fine and we traveled about thirty-eight miles and camped on the prairie about eight miles from Pisgah. During the day we passed some U. S. officers on their way to see President Young and the council. We afterwards learned that they professed to be going to the authorities of the church by order of the President of the United States to raise five hundred volunteer Mormons to defend Santa Fe, etc. Sunday, June 28 At daybreak it rained again. We started at four o'clock and arrived at Pisgah at eight. Had some conversation with Father Huntington and C. C. Rich. We fed and at nine o'clock started again. We soon saw Brother Woodruff. He was glad to see me and we conversed together some time. From him I learned that Missouri had sent up a committee to Pisgah to search for forts and cannon, etc. He says the Missourians are terrified and many are moving from the back to the interior settlements. He also stated that we have a friend in the British Parliament and the British had held a private council in relation to the treatment of the U. S. towards us. Britain is making great preparations for war. They have sent ten thousand troops to Canada and a fleet around Cape Horn to Oregon. They are intending to arm the slaves of the south and have their agents in the Indian country trying to bring them in war to fight the U. S. After we left Elder Woodruff we passed on and soon met Sister Durpee and Brother Lott and his company. He said Diantha was back about four miles. Soon after we met Orville Allen and from him learned that Diantha was back at least twelve miles. We continued on and at two o'clock fed. We arrived at Father Chase's between four and five o'clock. Diantha was very glad to see me and burst into tears. My little boy is far beyond all my expectations. He is very fat and well formed and has a noble countenance. They are both well and I feel to thank my heavenly Father for his mercies to them and Father Chase and to his family and may the Lord bless them for it, and oh Lord, bless my family and preserve them forever. Bless my Diantha and my boy and preserve their lives on the earth to bring honor to Thy name and give us a prosperous journey back again is the prayer of thy servant William. Amen. At night we had a heavy thunder storm. It rained very heavily. Monday, June 29 The morning is cool and cloudy, the ground very wet. Brother Bickford is gone to Nauvoo. Left Father Chase's company about 10:30 a.m. They kindly furnished us with bread stuffs sufficient to last us to camp. We arrived at Mt. Pisgah and stayed near Father Huntington's. Tuesday, June 30 This morning in council with President Huntington, Rich and Benson until nine o'clock a.m. Took breakfast with Elder Rich and then started on. We passed Brothers Woodruff, and Lott and their companies about twelve miles from Pisgah. After traveling about twenty-six miles we turned onto the big prairie for the night. The weather fine and roads good. July 1846 Wednesday, July 1 P. P. Pratt passed about six o'clock. We afterwards learned that he was going on express to Pisgah to raise the 500 volunteers to go to Santa Fee. After traveling about seven miles we rested with Brother Weeks and ate breakfast, then went on till two o'clock and stopped to feed. We continued on till dark, having traveled about seventeen miles. Thursday, July 2 Having lost the horses during the night I went back four miles to hunt them. I met someone and enquired about them, asking if he had not seen them. Went back to camp and ate a little and afterwards found them about a mile west. We started about ten o'clock and at sundown passed the Indian village and the stream at which we previously camped. We camped about two miles west of the Indian village. Friday, July 3 Started early and went about four miles to a creek where we ate breakfast. The day very hot but we traveled about twenty-five miles. We met President Young, Heber Kimball, and Dr. Richards going back to raise volunteers. They feel that this is a good prospect for our deliverance and if we do not do it we are downed. We went on and camped near Hiram Clark and took supper with him. Saturday, July 4 This morning my horses were missing and five from Clark's company were missing. I found them a little west of the camp and started on. Diantha having eaten nothing this morning I tried to buy some bread but could not get it till I got home. I arrived at three o'clock and found my little Vilate sick, the rest all well. I went over to Council at Captain Allen's tent. Sunday, July 5 At home all day. Conrad has left and gone to Elder Hyde's. The weather is very hot. My traders have got back and brought twenty bushels of corn, but only one of wheat. Monday, July 6 Spent the day fixing wagons. Day very hot. Bishop Whitney called to see us. They are getting over the river as fast as possible but it is slow work. Thursday, July 9 Spent the two previous days fixing wagons and today went down to the river to see about crossing, etc. Took my family with me. Friday, July 10 Fixing my wagons, also Saturday unpacked the dry goods wagon and repacked it. Sunday, July 12 Went to the meeting at Elder Taylor's camp. In the evening President Young, Kimball and Richards returned. They requested me to go to Taylor's to council. I went and tarried till dark, wrote a letter to the Quadrille band to meet tomorrow also wrote orders for all the men in camp to meet. Monday, July 13 Went to the general meeting and played with the band and then kept minutes. They got three companies of 43 each and half of a fourth company. All my teamsters have enlisted. I am now destitute of help. Edward Martin is advised to go and leave his family in my charge. I have still four yoke of oxen missing and I do not know where to find them. Last night James was seized with a fit and is quite unwell today, mostly insensible. Vilate Ruth is quite sick and on the whole my situation is rather gloomy. The meeting adjourned at five till tomorrow at eight, after which the company danced till dark. Tuesday, July 14 I went over to meeting this morning and told the President my situation. He consented for me to go back to my camp to see to things. I came back but feel very unwell. Martin's youngest child died at 1:30 p.m. Wednesday, July 15 Went with Edward Martin to bury his child on a high bluff south of the camp. We buried it between two small oak trees, a little east of them, the babe's head to the east. After returning Heber sent word for us to cross the creek to the other bluff where Elder Taylor is camped. We got some of the cattle together and took part of the wagons over and then returned for the remainder. As soon as we got there a message came that the President wished the band to go to the village. We accordingly started but when we got there we found nobody there and after a little trading we returned home. Thursday, July 16 Hunting my horses to take Diantha to see her father's folks who arrived yesterday. In the afternoon we started out and went about three miles from here. They appeared very glad to see us. We got home again at dark. Friday, July 17 Went fishing. Saturday, July 18 Went to the village to play with the band for the volunteers. They danced till near sundown when we returned home. Sunday, July 19 In the wagon till evening. Sister Farr came to see us. Diantha and I went home with her in the evening. Monday, July 20 In the morning fixing for our concert. Afternoon the band came with their wives and we played and danced till dark. President Young made some appropriate remarks exhorting the saints to prayer, etc. Tuesday, July 21 This morning it rained very heavily. Went to council at Elder Pratt's camp. The council appointed a council of twelve to preside here, viz. Isaac Morley, Geo. W. Harris, James Allred, Thos. Grover, Phineas Richards, Herman Hyde, Wm. Peck, Andrew H. Perkins, Henry W. Miller, Daniel Spencer, J. H. Hales and John Murdock. I wrote a letter informing them of their appointment also instructing them not to let any pass over the river unless they could be in time to go to Grand Island and cut hay, to watch over the church, establish schools for the winter, etc. I spent the remainder of the day at the creek. I asked the President what I should do but could get no answer. I have not been able to get any satisfaction from any of the council as to what I should do and am totally at a loss to know whether to tarry here or go on. My provisions are nearly out and my teamsters all gone and nearly all the cattle strayed away, and no one to hunt them except James and Corbitt and they are sick. Wednesday, July 22 Fixing a wagon for Margaret and re-loading some wagons. Thursday, July 23 Unpacking church property. Found considerable of it very much damaged with wet. I put it out and dried it well and repacked it. Evening went with Diantha to see her folks. Friday, July 24 Regulating the loading, etc. Saturday, July 25 Bought 357 pounds of flour at $2.50 per hundred and carried it about three hundred yards to my wagons then spent the day fixing wagon covers. Evening went to Brother Farr's. About 11:00 a storm arose and it soon began to rain heavily and a while after blew a perfect hurricane. The thunder was awful and the rain poured in torrents for about a half an hour. Sunday, July 26 This morning the tent is down, wagons drenched and everything looks gloomy enough. Scarcely a tent in the camp was left standing and many wagon covers torn. A report is circulated that a cow was killed by lightning. Much damage is done to wagons, provisions, etc. The cow was killed about 200 yards west of my wagons. There was a tent struck also but no persons hurt. I went to meeting and heard Benson and Taylor preach. Afternoon at my wagons. Evening Bishop Whitney, President Young and Kimball called. I made out a bill of goods for them to send east by Robert Pierce. They ordered me to go down to the river tomorrow. Monday, July 27 Loading wagons, packing, etc., preparing to start. Last night I engaged Pelatiah Brown as a teamster. We started soon after noon. I drove the cows and James, Corbitt and Brown the teams with twelve wagons. We had to leave one cow four yoke of oxen and two horses on the ridge, being missing. We got down about six o'clock. Bishop Whitney passed and said I should not get over the river tomorrow and I suppose we shall have to wait some days. James and Corbitt are both sick and discouraged on account of having so little help and so many cattle, etc., to look after. They have a hard time of it but I can see no prospects of its being better. Tuesday, July 28 James and Corbitt started back to hunt the cattle. I went to the village and received $12.00 of Larpey for the cordage I sold to Allen, $3.50 is yet my due. I then went and bought some flour of Tanner. While we were weighing it a storm arose and it rained and thundered and lightninged throughout the day and nearly all night. I have not seen more rain fall in a long time. Wednesday, July 29 Got the balance of the flour making 889 lbs., most of it at $2.50 and 200 lbs. at $2.00. Afternoon went to the village with Alice, Diantha, and Margaret. There saw President Young and Heber. They have just bought a pony and some cloth, etc., and seem to have money enough but there is none to buy me flour. I yet lack about a ton. Thursday, July 30 At home all day. Unpacked mother's wagon and found many things wet and damaged. Friday, July 31 Attending to wagons, cattle, etc., all day. August 1846 Saturday, August 1 This morning I went to the river to see how soon we could cross and learned there was a prospect of our crossing this evening or tomorrow morning. I then went back to my camp and we started with the wagons a few at a time. My brother James is lame in bed. Pitt is lame. Brown is lame and Corbitt nearly spent. About noon we got all the wagons to the river and Corbitt returned to take the cattle to grass. I went to Larpey's and got the balance of the money then went to Mitchel's to try to trade my music box for a cow but did not succeed. Sunday, August 2 Preparing to cross the river. Pelatiah Brown went swimming all the forenoon and when Corbitt asked him to help with the teams he swore he would not if Jesus Christ would ask him. I told him if he did not feel like helping us he could go somewhere else, I did not want him. He went and I am again left without a teamster. I will here say that Brown will not work only when he has a mind to and during the last week when James and Corbitt and Pitt were all gone he would go to the river swimming instead of attending to the cattle and I may as well be without a teamster as have a man who will go away in a cramp. About noon we crossed three wagons over and kept to work until we had got them all over which took us till dark. We had to crowd our wagons together in the road just above the river on account of its being stopped up by other wagons. We could not get our cattle to grass and they have had none since last night, but having a few bushels of corn we gave them five ears a piece. After supper I went fishing with Wm. F. Cahoon and others until two o'clock but had very poor luck. Monday, August 3 Started this morning to get our wagons on the prairie. The road is very narrow and bad, up steep bluffs and very muddy. It took four yoke of oxen to take a very light load. When we had got four of the wagons up eight yoke of Bishop Whitney's cattle came to help us and afterwards nine yoke of President Young's and Kimball's. We got to the prairie about noon and stopped to feed our cattle. I sent on five wagons with the teams sent to help us and after feeding about an hour started with the remainder. I drove the spare cattle and horses. We got the wagons to camp about six o'clock. One of President Young's oxen killed himself when going to drink, being so eager he pitched into the creek and broke his neck. When we got to camp we were all completely tired. My feet were sore and my limbs ached and had to go to bed. We camped on the north end of Heber's company. We have left nine head of cattle over the river yet and there is little prospect of being able to find some of them. Tuesday, August 4 This morning Heber's company have moved on about two days journey and again left me here alone. I loaned C. L. Whitney three yoke of oxen to help him through. They are gone to find a place within thirty miles of here to winter. I spent the day doing little, being so unwell. Wednesday, August 5 Moved down a little nearer water. There spent the day fixing Ruth's wagon. Corbitt has gone over the river to hunt cattle and in the evening returned with one yoke. Thursday, August 6 Putting covers on Margaret's and mother's wagons, etc. Afternoon writing copy of the returns of companies. Friday, August 7 Spent the forenoon writing copy of return of companies of the U. S. army. About noon two of Heber's teamsters came with some cattle to help me to the main camp. I left off writing and went to putting the wagons in order. While fixing a chicken coop I struck my forehead with a hammer which disabled me from work the remainder of the day. Saturday, August 8 This morning we arose about three o'clock and while some took the cattle to graze the rest got the wagons loaded, etc., ready to start. We got away soon after sunrise. I rode a mule and drove the cows. We traveled about nine miles before we came to any water. Here we took the teams from the wagons to a spring about a quarter of a mile from the road. The cattle seemed tired but one of the teamsters said it was only about three miles farther and should soon be there. We concluded to go on without stopping to feed. But before we had proceeded far some of the cattle gave out, the day being very hot, and before we got to camp several yoke gave up entirely and were left on the road and brought afterwards. One of the cattle died almost as soon as they took him from the wagon, being about a mile from camp. Two or three others were not expected to live. When we arrived Heber wanted us to form on his north line but we could only get half of our wagons into the space left for the whole of them. I then moved over to the south side and formed next to D. Russell. We got our tent up but can have no fire until Monday. The cattle are so tired we will not use them. I feel about sick myself. Heber's camp is formed in a kind of parallelogram, each wagon camped in a perfect line with the others. The square in the center is about twenty-five rods long and fifteen rods wide. Sunday, August 9 Writing copy of return of companies of U. S. army all day. Monday, August 10 Attending to various business about the wagons all day. Tuesday, August 11 Last night I had a severe chill and felt sick all day mostly with high fever. Quite unable to work. Wednesday, August 12 Quite sick, very bad fever all day. Sunday, August 16 Since Wednesday have scarcely even been out of bed, but kept with raging fever all the time. Twice Heber has rebuked my fever but it has returned. Through fear and persuasion of my family I have taken some pills and medicine given by Dr. Sprague, but seem to grow worse all the time. Today I have been very sick. Towards evening my folks concluded to get me out of the wagon into the tent where they had prepared a bed. Soon after I got into the tent President Young, Dr. Richards, G. A. Smith, Orson Pratt, Lorenzo Young and others called to see me. When they had been in a few moments President Young called O. P. Rockwell into the tent and the feelings we had on seeing him cannot be described. He has been in prison some time but when his trial came on there was no one to accuse him and the judge discharged him. The brethren all laid hands on me and rebuked my disease in the name of the Lord, President Young being mouth. I immediately felt easier and slept well all night being the first sleep I had had of any account for three days and nights. Sunday, August 23 During the past week I have gained slowly and have been able to walk about some. I, however, feel very weak and broken down. Monday, August 24 Reading some and fixing a little at my violin. Feel very little better but have a better appetite. Tuesday, August 25 We had a thunder storm last night. I do not feel so well this morning but took a walk into the woods. I had a very sick day all day. Wednesday, August 26 The morning very cool and cloudy. Let T. Corbitt have a pair of shoes. Thursday, August 27 Diantha was taken very sick and continued for four or five days. Saturday, August 29 At night I was seized with fever again and very sick. Sunday, August 30 Had chill and fever, the chill held me four or five days. September 1846 Thursday, September 10 I still continue very weak and troubled with pain in stomach, etc. President Young and Dr. Richards called and brought me a letter from David; also said they had got me employment writing at a dollar a day or 3c on every hundred words copying. Saturday, September 12 Still quite unwell. President Young brought me $8.00 in money, one half dollar bogus and soon after Dr. Richards sent me some letters to copy which I did. Tuesday, September 15 This evening I copied a letter to Joseph F. Herring and having no one to send it by I took it to council myself. Before I got half way there my knees failed me and it was with great difficulty I got there and home again. When I got back to Pitt's shanty my spirit failed me for I was not aware of my weakness. Saturday, September 19 Since Tuesday I have scarcely been out of bed, but today I feel somewhat better again. Sunday, September 20 A little better. I have been told that President Young has virtually cursed all who have gone to Missouri or those who shall go hereafter. Monday, September 21 This evening about ten o'clock all the men of the camp were ordered up armed to meet in this square forthwith. I got up and after a very little while quite a company of the brethren got together. President Hales informed them that the President had received a letter from Mr. Sarpey informing him that two gentlemen from Missouri had informed him confidentially that the Missourians had got out writs for the twelve and others and were coming with a large force on the west side of the river to attack the camp by surprise, etc. He advised the brethren to have their arms clean and their ammunition ready at a moment's warning, to pray with their families, keep dogs tied up at nights, etc., etc. The company was then dismissed except a guard for the camp. Tuesday, September 22 This morning the brethren were ordered to meet at the springs below here at nine o'clock. At the sound of the drum the brethren met and here organized into four battalions, one of artillery, and three of infantry. There were about three hundred brethren present. The President then stated that he had received a letter from Sarpey informing him that two gentlemen, confidentially, from Missouri had informed him that the Missourians were collecting with the sheriff of Missouri, their head designing to attack the saints, that they had writs, etc., for the twelve and others. He had ordered out the brethren that they might be ready in case of necessity and advised them to organize and be prepared. Markham was elected Colonel over the battalions. Hosea Stout, Lieutenant Colonel over the battalions and over the first battalions and over the first battalions of infantry. John Scott was elected 1st major and major over the artillery. Henry Herriman 2nd major to take command of the 2nd battalion of infantry and John S. Gleason 3rd major over the 3rd battalion of infantry. After organizing the President addressed the companies and then dismissed them. It was advised to quit leaving and move the encampment to the fort on the river. A number of teams moved this afternoon. Wednesday, September 23 This morning President Young and many others have moved down to the river. Heber told me to wait till the lots were selected and he would let me know when to move. My health is improving. Thursday, September 24 Very cold all day. I did not feel so well. I have been told that Daniel H. Wells and William Cutler have arrived in camp and brought a report that there has been a battle fought in Nauvoo and some of the brethren killed. Friday, September 25 I learned today that the mob had made it known that they were coming to drive out the "Mormons." The Governor sent an officer to raise volunteers to disperse the mob, but the mob learning this they came sooner than they had calculated. The brethren being apprised of the intentions of the mob prepared to meet them as well as their circumstances would permit. Some of the new citizens also made preparations to join the brethren. They made five cannon shot of an old steam boat shaft. They also filled some barrels with powder, old iron, etc., which were buried in the pass to the city which could be fired by a slow match but this was of no avail as some traitors informed the mob of it, hence they did not come into the settled part of the city. On Saturday the 12th inst., the mob made their appearance being about twelve hundred in number. The brethren and some of the new citizens in the whole about one hundred and sixty went to give them battle, but many of the new citizens and some of the brethren when they saw the numbers of the mob fled and left about one hundred, nearly all brethren, to fight the enemy. The mob had pieces of cannon. They met near Boscow's store on Winchester street. The cannon of the mob were two blocks from the brethren and the other part of rifle men one block from them. The mob fired a number of times into Barlow's old barn expecting many of the brethren were concealed there but in this they were disappointed, the brethren chiefly lying down on the ground behind some shelter and fired in that position. They fought one hour and twenty minutes when the mob offered terms of compromise which were these, that all the "Mormons" should leave the city within five days leaving ten families to finish the unsettled business. The brethren consented to this inasmuch as they had been well informed that 1,500 more were coming to join the mob and they had nothing to expect from the authorities of the state. Lyman Johnson, one of the twelve, headed a party of the mob from Keokuk, Iowa territory. Three of the brethren were killed, viz. William Anderson, his son, and Norris, a blacksmith. Three others wounded. The mob would not own to any of their party being killed but one person saw them put sixteen men into one wagon and handled them more like dead persons than wounded. The ground where they stood was pretty much covered with blood, so that there is no doubt they had many slain or wounded. They had 150 baggage wagons. Esquire Wells took command of the brethren and rode to and fro during the whole battle without receiving injury, although the balls whistled by him on every side. Amos Davis fought bravely. While running across a plowed field he stumbled and fell on his left arm which formed a triangle with his head. As he fell a cannon ball passed through the angle of his arm between that and his head. Hiram Kimball received a slight wound with a musket ball on the forehead. The mob fired sixty-two shots with the cannon and ten rounds with the muskets making 12,000 musket balls only killing three and wounding three. The brethren did not fire so much in proportion but did much more execution. Truly, the Lord fights the battles of his saints. The cannon of the brethren was not of much service, they would not carry more than a quarter of a mile, whereas those of the mob would hold well a half a mile. They shot nine balls through a small smith shop, one through Wells' barn and one at his house but the ball struck the ground in front of his house and glanced through the well curb. The mayor of Quincy watched the battle from the tower of the temple and owned that history never afforded a parallel. The brethren then began to get their families and effects over the river where they remain in a suffering and destitute condition until wagons and means are sent from the saints to their relief. On the Thursday following, the mob, 1,200 strong, entered the city. 'Tis said from good authority that such is the distress and sufferings of the saints as actually to draw tears from this mob. Saturday, September 26 Russell told me that he had selected three lots for us and we could go as soon as we had a mind to. He saw Heber on the subject. I made up my mind to start on Monday for Winter Quarters. Sunday, September 27 This morning Brother Smithies came with six yoke of Heber's cattle and said we must be ready to start in five minutes while he went to water his cattle and although we had everything unprepared we were ready before he got back. I felt well enough to drive a team. We took six wagons down and camped on the same block with Heber in Cape Disappointment. James and Pitt went back to wait for Corbitt who was herding cows and in the evening returned with three more wagons. Monday, September 28 Got the balance of the wagons and poles, etc., down. I copied three letters for Dr. Richards. Tuesday, September 29 Corbitt has started down into the country to fetch potatoes, etc. November 1846 Sunday, November 1 During the last month several times I have been very sick and then again would be somewhat better. I still continue to be feeble and unable to work. I have one house nearly finished and shall in a few days occupy it. Thomas Corbitt has been down the river to fetch a load of corn on shares but President Young told me to take the whole of it for which I feel very grateful. I have sent my cattle to the rushes to be wintered, having but eight tons of hay although James and Corbitt worked from twenty-six to thirty days but Russell and Rolfe have contrived to work it into their hands, taking as Rolfe said, half of Corbitt's hay for herding my cattle while he was in the hay field. I think this is as wrong a piece of business as has been played on me through the journey. January 1847 _Winter Quarters_ Friday, January 1 Morning at the store. At 2:00 p.m. went with Diantha to her father's and partook of a roast turkey for dinner. At 4:00 met the band at the Basket Shop and played about an hour and a half. The basket makers made each of us a present of a new basket and showed their gratitude various ways. At 6:00 met with the band at Father Kimball's and played for a party till after one o'clock. President Young and Kimball danced considerable and all seemed to feel well. Saturday, January 2 At the store regulating the books and making out Whitney and Woolley's account current, etc. About 2:00 p.m. Sarah came and said her mother wanted me. Moroni had fallen into the fire and burned himself very badly. I went home and found as she said. All over the left side of his head burned, his face very badly burned, large blisters round his left eye. I immediately applied some consecrated oil and ordered them to keep it on all the time. I then returned to the store. Evening President Young came and took his hardware bill, domestic drilling, etc. About 8:00 p.m. I went home. Sunday, January 3 Moroni's face seems much better, all except around his left eye which looks very bad. I was at the store all day working at Whitney's account current which seems very bad to regulate. Evening Heber, his wife Ellen, Sarah Ann and Sister Whitney came in to trade and remained till about ten o'clock. Monday, January 4 At the store all day. Evening waiting on Orson Pratt and Amasa Lyman. Paid my tax today, $2.17½ to I. C. Wright. Tuesday, January 5 At the store all day. Evening the band met at my house. Wednesday, January 6 At the store all day, the weather extremely cold. Thursday, January 7 At the store, the weather still colder than yesterday. Evening went to Sister Buel's and took supper of turkey. Afterwards went to Leonard's and played for them with Hutchinson and Smithies till 12:00. Friday, January 8 At the store again, the weather still colder. Evening the band met at my house and played some. Saturday, January 9 At the store all day. Quite unwell till 9:00 p.m. Sunday, January 10 At home mostly all day. About 2:00 p.m. went to Hutchinson's to dinner. Monday, January 11 At the store all day, the weather more moderate. Margaret and her boy doing well. Last night Pitt returned from Missouri. Tuesday, January 12 This morning Ruth began to feel unwell. I went to the store and continued settlements as usual. Brothers Lee and Russell returned from Missouri, having obtained change for the checks. About 4:00 p.m. President Young and J. D. Lee came to Bishop Whitney's and I received in gold $496.17, and in silver $1,080.52 out of three checks which Lee took value $2,447.32, the balance to be accounted for hereafter. Soon as I was through receiving the money, I was informed that my folks had sent for me and I went home soon after, found that Ruth had brought forth a son twenty minutes after 5:00 p.m. She had a pretty hard time, but feels comfortable as can be expected. The boy is named Newel Horace. Evening I met with the band at Johnson's and played till about 11:00 p.m. The house was very much crowded and not much room to dance, but they kept it up freely. Wednesday, January 13 This morning Ruth feels more comfortable. At the store all day waiting for Lee and Russel to settle. Evening Russel came and I received from him in gold $177.50, and in silver $363.19. He also accounted for $150.00 paid to Heber and $30.00 to Daniel Russel out of a check value $732.53 leaving him deficit $11.84. Spent the evening at home. Thursday, January 14 At the store paying out a pair of the money, expecting before I made final payments to settle with Lee and Egan. Friday, January 15 Spent an hour with Lee and Egan at my house but did not accomplish much towards a settlement. Afterwards at the store paying out money, settling, etc., filled bills for Pisgah & Garden Grove. Saturday, January 16 At the store again paying, settling, etc., all day. The weather very cold. My folks doing well. Sunday, January 17 At home mostly all day. Monday, January 18 At the store all day, mostly paying money to the soldiers' wives. Tuesday, January 19 At the store paying money, etc. Wednesday, January 20 At the store paying money, etc. Thursday, January 21 At the store paying money, etc. Friday, January 22 At the store paying money, etc. Evening went with Hutchinson to Packer's party and played for the party in the smoke till near midnight. Saturday, January 23 At the store all day paying money, etc. Evening met with Pitt and Hutchinson at the council house. Sunday, January 24 Headache all day having taken cold last evening. Mostly at home. A few hours at the store over the river and back. Night played with Pitt awhile. Monday, January 25 At the store, very busy paying money, etc. Snowed some and is cold. Whitney let me have some goods. Evening walked alone. Tuesday, January 26 At the store till 2:00 p.m. Afterward went with the Quadrille Band to the Council House agreeably to previous notice and played for a party of men (70's) and their families who had assisted in building the house. They danced till about midnight. We had plenty to eat and drink through the interview and a very pleasant party. Wednesday, January 27 At the store again till noon. At 2:00 p.m. at the Council House with the Quadrille Band and played for another company of those who had assisted in building the house. We had plenty of refreshments and a very sociable party as on yesterday. Broke up again about midnight. Thursday, January 28 At the store till noon, and then at the Council House with the Quadrille Band playing for the third party of those who had assisted in building the house, together with the poor basket makers. Friday, January 29 At home and the store. Felt quite unwell. Saturday, January 30 At the store all day settling and paying money to soldiers' wives. Sunday, January 31 At home all day. Dined with Diantha, Ruth, Margaret and mother Farr on a turkey. February 1847 Monday, February 1 At the store all day settling accounts, paying money, etc. Tuesday, February 2 At the store till noon. Afterwards at the Council House with the Quadrille Band playing for Brigham's family generally. Wednesday, February 3 At the store till noon. Afterwards at the Council House with the Quadrille Band to play for a family meeting of the Young family. President Brigham Young was quite sick and seemed very low spirited. After the meeting had been opened by prayer, the President called on his brothers to stand up by him in the center of the room which they did according to age. John Young took his place at the head, then Phineas, Joseph, Brigham and Lorenzo. The President then called on Heber to take his place in the line inasmuch as he had been recognized about fifteen years as a member of the Young family. He took his place between Joseph and Brigham. The President then said this was the first time that father Young's boys had been together in the same capacity for a number of years, etc. After a few remarks the remainder of the evening was spent by partaking of a good supper and cheerful dancing till about two in the morning, when the party broke up in the best of spirits and good feeling. Thursday, February 4 At the store mostly, evening at home. Friday, February 5 At the store till noon, then with the Quadrille Band to play for the Silver Greys till midnight. Saturday, February 6 At the store all day. Sunday, February 7 At home. Monday, February 8 At the store all day. Tuesday, February 9 At the store till 10:00 a.m. Then went with the Quadrille Band in Eldridge's carriage to play round the city, but the weather was so cold we could not play much. At 2:00 p.m., met with-- _[No pages from here until April.]_ April 1847 ...into camp from England which will probably detain the camp a few days. Friday, April 9 Went with the Quadrille Band over the River as the twelve do not start for the Horn today. We played in the boat as we crossed, but in returning the wind was high, the boat heavily loaded with cattle and dangerous crossing. Saturday, April 10 At home nearly all day. Sunday, April 11 At home and Farr's. I told Winslow Farr concerning Hosea Stout's threats to take my life after the Twelve are gone, etc. He called at night on his return from the Council and told me to be on my guard. Monday, April 12 At home all day. Thomas and James had planted a number of garden seeds on Saturday. Today, they are cutting wood and preparing to go to the farm tomorrow. I have no hay, neither can I get any for my cows and horses. Tuesday, April 13 At home most of the day. Thomas and James started for the farm. Evening went to the store and told Brigham and Heber about Hosea Stout's calculations, etc. Wednesday, April 14 This morning severely pained with rheumatism in my face. At 11:00 a.m. Brigham and Dr. Richards came. Brigham told me to rise up and start with the pioneers in half an hour's notice. I delivered to him the records of the K. of G. and set my folks to work to get my clothes together to start with the pioneers. At two o'clock I left my family and started in Heber's carriage with Heber and Wm. Kimball and Ellen Sanders. Bishop Whitney and Lyman went out with us in another wagon. We went about 19 miles and camped on the prairie. After supper Heber prayed and we retired to rest. Thursday, April 15 After eating and prayers by Bishop Whitney, started at half past seven and got to the Elk Horn at 11:30. We were all across at 12:00 and there we overtook Brigham, G. A. Smith, E. T. Benson and Amasa Lyman. We arrived at the pioneers' Camp about 3:00 p.m. This camp is about twelve miles from the Elk Horn and about 47 from Winter Quarters. I spent the evening with Aaron Farr, Horace Whitney and Jackson Redding. Friday, April 16 This day is gloomy, windy and cold. About 8:00 a.m. the camp was called together, and organized two captains of 100's viz. Stephen Markham and A. P. Rockwood were appointed, also five captains of 50's and 14 captains of 10's. There are 143 men and boys on the list of the pioneer company, three women and Lorenzo Young's two children. There are 73 wagons. C. P. Rockwell has gone back to camp with J. C. Little. Bishop Whitney, Lyman, Wm. Kimball and J. B. Noble returned from here to Winter Quarters. The following is a list of all the names of this pioneer company. To wit: Wilford Woodruff, John S. Fowler, Jacob Burnham, Orson Pratt, Joseph Egbert, John N. Freeman, Marcus B. Thorpe, George A. Smith, George Wardle, Thomas Grover, Ezra T. Benson, Barnabas L. Adams, Roswell Stevens, Amasa Lyman, Sterling Driggs, Albert Carrington, Thomas Bullock, George Brown, Willard Richards, Jesse C. Little, Phineas H. Young, John Y. Greene, Thomas Tanner, Brigham Young, Addison Everett, Truman O. Angel, Lorenzo Young and wife, Bryant Stringham, Albert P. Rockwood, Joseph L. Schofield, Luke Johnson, John Holman, Edmund Elsworth, Alvarnus Hanks, George R. Grant, Millen Atwood, Samuel Fox, Tunis Rappleyee, Harvey Pierce, William Dykes, Jacob Weiler, Stephen H. Goddard, Tarlton Lewis, Henry G. Sherwood, Zebedee Coltrin, Sylvester H. Earl, John Dixon, Samuel H. Marble, George Scholes, William Henrie, William A. Empey, Charles Shumway, Thomas Woolsey, Chancy Loveland, Erastus Snow, Andrew Shumway, James Craig, William Wordsworth, William Vance, Simeon Howd, Seeley Owen, James Case, Artemas Johnson, William A. Smoot, Franklin B. Dewey, William Carter, Franklin G. Losee, Burr Frost, Datus Ensign, Franklin B. Stewart, Monroe Frink, Eric Glines, Ozro Eastman, Seth Taft, Horace Thornton, Stephen Kelsey, John S. Eldredge, Charles D. Barnum, Alma M. Williams, Rufus Allen, Robert T. Thomas, James W. Stuart, Elijah Newman, Levi N. Kendall, Francis Boggs, David Grant, Heber C. Kimball, Howard Egan, William A. King, Thomas Cloward, Hosea Cushing, Robert Byard, George Billings, Edson Whipple, Philo Johnson, William Clayton, Appleton M. Harmon, Carlos Murray, Horace K. Whitney, Orson K. Whitney, Orrin P. Rockwell, Nathaniel Thomas Brown, R. Jackson Redding, John Pack, Francis M. Pomroy, Aaron Farr, Nathaniel Fairbanks, John S. Higbee, John Wheeler, Solomon Chamberlain, Conrad Kleinman, Joseph Rooker, Perry Fitzgerald, John H. Tippets, James Davenport, Henson Walker, Benjamin Rolfe, Norton Jacobs, Charles A. Harper, George Woodard, Stephen Markham, Lewis Barney, George Mills, Andrew Gibbons, Joseph Hancock, John W. Norton, Shadrach Roundy, Hans C. Hanson, Levi Jackman, Lyman Curtis, John Brown, Mathew Ivory, David Powell, (Hark Lay, Oscar Crosby, blacks) Joseph Mathews, Gilbroid Summe, John Gleason, Charles Burke, Alexander P. Chessley, Rodney Badger, Norman Taylor, (Green Flake, black) Ellis Eames. There were 72 wagons, 93 horses, 52 mules, 66 oxen, 19 cows, and 17 dogs, and chickens. The names of the females in this camp are: Harriet Page Young, Clarissa Decker, and Ellen Sanders. The names of the children are Isaac Perry Decker Young and Sabisky L. Young, making a total of 148 souls who have started to go west of the mountains as pioneers to find a home where the saints can live in peace and enjoy the fruits of their labors, and where we shall not be under the dominion of gentile governments, subject to the wrath of mobs and where the standards of peace can be raised, the Ensign to nations reared and the kingdom of God flourish until truth shall prevail, and the saints enjoy the fulness of the gospel. The following are the names of the captains of 50's as appointed at this organization, viz. Addison Everett, Tarlton Lewis, James Case, John Pack and Shadrack Roundy. The captains of 10's are as follows: Wilford Woodruff, Ezra T. Benson, Phineas H. Young, Luke Johnson, Stephen H. Goddard, Charles Shumway, James Case, Seth Taft, Howard Egan, Appleton M. Harmon, John S. Higbee, Norton Jacobs, John Brown, Joseph Mathews. For the names of the guard and the gun division see under date of April 30th. Stephen Markham was appointed the Captain of the Guard and ordered to select out of the camp, fifty men for guard, such as he had confidence in who are to be considered as a standing guard, to attend to the wagons each night, twelve of them to stand at a time, and to have two sets each night, that is, 12 each watch to stand half the night. In cases where the horses and cattle are tied some distance from the wagons at night, an extra guard is to be selected from the balance of the company or camp, the standing guard not being permitted to leave the immediate neighborhood of the wagons. After the organization was over, I wrote a letter to Diantha, and put it into the hands of Bishop Whitney, together with the one I received yesterday from father and I. McEwan, also the one from Ellen to James. Up to 12:00 a.m. I had no place to put my trunk and clothing, and did not know what to do with them. However, soon after Heber told me to put them in Appleton M. Harmon's wagon, which was done. At 2:00 p m. the camp started out to proceed on the journey. I bid farewell to to Bishop Whitney and his brother Lyman and son Joshua, who all returned from this place, also Wm. H. Kimball and Joseph B. Noble. We traveled about three miles and encamped in a line about six hundred yards from timber, where there is plenty of cottonwood and some rushes. This night I slept with Philo Johnson, but having only one quilt, and the night severely cold, I suffered much, and took a very bad cold. The country in the neighborhood of the Elk Horn is one of the most beautiful I ever saw. The bluffs on the east are nicely rolling and beautifully lined with timber, and some very nice cedar groves. From these bluffs a little above the ferry you can see the meanderings of the Platte River, and the beautiful level bottom on the north of it, about fifteen miles wide for many miles up the river. The Horn is a beautiful river about 150 feet wide and about four feet deep. Saturday, April 17 This morning the weather is severely cold, with a strong wind from the north and northwest. We started out at nine o'clock and traveled till near 12:00 the distance being about seven miles. We camped close by a cottonwood grove, and the brethren fell hundreds of them to feed their teams and save corn. There is a small lake close by but the water is not good and the brethren go to the river about a half a mile. At 5:00 p.m. the camps were called together and organized in military order as follows: Brigham Young, Lieutenant General. Stephen Markham, Colonel. John Pack and Shadrack Roundy, Majors. The captains of 10's to be captains of 10's in this order, except John Pack, who being appointed major, Appleton M. Harmon was appointed captain in his stead. Thomas Bullock, clerk of the camp. Thomas Tanner captain of the cannon with the privilege of choosing eight men to manage it in case of necessity. The President then said: "After we start from here, every man must keep his loaded gun in his hand, or in the wagon where he can put his hand on it at a moment's warning. If they are cap locks, take off the cap and put on a little leather to keep wet and etc. out. If flint locks, take out the priming and fill the pan with twine or cotton," etc. The wagons must keep together when traveling, and not separate as they have previously done, and every man to walk beside his own wagon, and not leave it only by permission. A while before evening one of the trader's wagons came from the Pawnee village, loaded with furs and peltry, and camped about one quarter of a mile below us. At night Eames and Hanson played some on their violins. All peace and quietness. At night I slept with Egan in Heber's wagon, Heber being gone to sleep with President Young. Sunday, April 18 This morning I wrote a letter for Heber to his wife Vilate, which was sent by Brother Ellis Eames who has concluded to go back on account of poor health, spitting blood, etc. He started back with the trader's wagon about eight o'clock a.m. The wind this morning east and southeast and very cold, with a slight shower of snow. At 10:00 a.m. seven more traders' wagons came in and stopped about one quarter of a mile below us, soon after six mules loaded with robes and furs. These traders say they have come from the Pawnee village in two days. Brother Roundy got some Buffalo meat from them and gave me a little, which I thought tasted very good. I commenced writing Heber's journal and wrote considerable. He wants me to write his journal all the journey. I also wrote considerable in this book. Afternoon the weather more moderate and pleasant, the wind has changed near south and the sun shines. I walked with Horace Whitney to the river which is about a half a mile. At 4:30 p.m. father James Case was cutting a cottonwood tree to brouse his horses, and just as it fell the wind struck it and threw it directly contrary to the direction he intended it to fall. The consequence was, one of the limbs struck an ox on the neck and knocked him down. His right eye was knocked down in the socket out of sight. The ox doesn't seem seriously hurt otherwise. About 10 minutes after it was done, the eye turned back to its place, and the ox seems to have sustained little injury. At 5:00 p.m., the officers of the camp met with President Young, and he told the order for traveling and camping hereafter, which was communicated to the companies by the captains of 10's as follows: At 5:00 in the morning the bugle is to be sounded as a signal for every man to arise and attend prayers before he leaves his wagon. Then cooking, eating, feeding teams, etc., till seven o'clock, at which time the camp is to move at the sound of the bugle. Each teamster to keep beside his team, with his loaded gun in his hands or in his wagon where he can get it in a moment. The extra men, each to walk opposite his wagon with his loaded gun on his shoulder, and no man to be permitted to leave his wagon unless he obtains permission from his officer. In case of an attack from Indians or hostile appearances, the wagons to travel in double file. The order of encampment to be in a circle with the mouth of the wagon to the outside, and the horses and stock tied inside the circle. At 8:30 p.m. the bugle to be sounded again at which time all to have prayers in their wagons and to retire to rest by nine o'clock. Tonight I went to bed about seven-thirty o'clock suffering severely with pain in my head and face. I slept with Philo Johnson. Monday, April 19 At 5:00 a.m., at the sound of the bugle I arose, my face still paining me very badly. After eating breakfast, I started out on foot, before the wagons started, with my rifle on my shoulder. At 7:15 the wagons began to move and at 7:30 were all formed in double file and proceeded on. After traveling about eight miles we arrived at a number of small lakes, where were many ducks. A number of the brethren shot at them and killed several. At 1:15 p.m. we arrived at a bend in the river where a small stream runs around an island. We stayed here to feed awhile, having traveled about fifteen miles mostly a western course with the wind south. The roads very good and the country very level on these flat bottoms of the Platte river which bottoms appear to be from ten to fifteen miles wide. Soon after the camp was formed, O. P. Rockwell, Jackson Redding, and J. C. Little came in from Winter Quarters. They arrived at 2:10. They have found Dr. Richard's mare which was lost east of the Elk Horn and brought her to camp. They brought me a line from Diantha and one from Ruth and Margaret. In the last was a very gentle piece of information which has caused me to reflect much, and proves to me that Ruth and Margaret's virtue and integrity have for the last year been far superior to mine. In my letter to them I requested them to attend to family prayer in my absence, a thing which I have neglected since leaving Nauvoo. They informed me that they had done that when I was at home but unknown to me, and they had then, and still continue to bear me up before their Heavenly Father. Oh, what integrity, what faithfulness. I feel unworthy to possess two such treasures, but still feel to try to reward them for it, and may my Father in heaven bless them, and all my family and let his angels guard them, and me during my absence that we may all be permitted to meet again and enjoy each other's society in this world for many years to come, and eternal in the world to come. O! Lord, grant this prayer of thine unworthy servant, and fill my family with peace and union, and open a way that they may have the necessaries and comforts of life, and Thy name shall have the praise, even so, amen. I received by Porter, some few fish hooks and lines, a ball of fish line and three pencils, but no small hooks nor knives or wafers. At twenty minutes after 3:00 p.m. the wagons began to move again, in the same order as this morning and traveled until 6:00 p.m. when we arrived at a very pretty open view of the Platte river, and the encampment was formed in a semi-circle on its banks, having traveled since noon, about five miles, and in the whole day 20 miles, over the same kind of dry, level, sandy bottom. The river here appears to be about a mile wide but very shoal. There is not much timber where we are camped, and the water is pretty muddy. I walked some this afternoon in company with Orson Pratt and suggested to him the idea of fixing a set of wooden cog wheels to the hub of a wagon wheel, in such order as to tell the exact number of miles we travel each day. He seemed to agree with me that it could be easily done at a trifling expense. After the encampment was formed, I went to Brother Luke Johnson and asked him to draw my tooth which has pained me so much for a long time. While I was speaking to him Stephen Markham came up, and wanted him to take his team and the Revenue Cutter the name by which the leather boat is called back about two miles, as they designed to seine in one of the lakes. Brother Luke Johnson drives the team which draws the boat and rides in the boat as in a wagon. I concluded I would go and watch them fish and started out on foot. I overtook Markham and John S. Higbee and in our conversation I mentioned to Brother John S. Higbee the same idea I had advanced to Orson Pratt, and he also seemed to coincide fully. After arriving at the lake they launched the boat and made three hauls. They only caught a snapping turtle, four small turtles, one duck, two small cat fish, and two creek suckers. They then concluded to return and I started on foot again with two rifles to carry. I got back to camp before they overtook me and being perfectly tired and very footsore, went to bed, but had no rest on account of the severe pain in my head and face. Tuesday, April 20 Arose at 5:30, my head and face very bad indeed. I ate but little breakfast, although we had a couple of ducks and a snipe. We started out at 7:30, the morning pleasant except a strong west wind. At 9:15 arrived at Shell creek, which is about six or eight feet wide, and a poor bridge over it, but all the wagons got well over. This is about five miles from where we camped last night. We then passed through a small grove of timber, and entered again upon the wide, open prairie bottom. At 11:30 we stopped beside a small slough or lake to feed and eat, etc., being five miles from Shell creek. While stopping here, three deer passed about half a mile west of the wagons. O. P. Rockwell and Thomas Brown chased them on horses four or five miles, but did not succeed in taking any of them. The wind has fallen considerably and it is very warm and dusty. At 1:00 p.m. started again, the horse teams taking the lead, traveled about ten miles farther and encamped near a cotton wood grove on the banks of the river. The encampment was formed about half past five. Tanner's bellows and anvil were set up and a number of tires set before dark. John S. Higbee, Luke Johnson, S. Markham, and some others, started ahead of the camp about noon, and went about two miles farther than this place to a lake with the boat and seine. They took over 200 very nice fish, and arrived with them about the time the camp was formed. The fish were distributed around the camp according to the number of persons in each wagon, generally two to a wagon, and the brethren enjoyed a good supper on fish. I went to the river and washed my feet which were very dusty and sore. I also washed my socks as well as I could in cold water without soap. After Brother Luke Johnson had got through distributing fish, I went and asked him to draw my tooth. He willingly agreed and getting his instruments, I sat down in a chair, he lanced the gum, then took his nippers and jerked it out. The whole operation did not take more than one minute. He only got half the original tooth, the balance being left in the jaw. After this my head and face pained me much more than before. I ate but little supper and then lay down, but could not sleep for pain till near morning. The evening was very calm and pleasant. Wednesday, April 21 Arose at 5:00, my face easier, but swollen and my gums raw. Took breakfast on fish and coffee, but ate no bread, it being very dry and hard. I could not bear to put it in my mouth. At seven started on foot; the ox teams being gone ahead. Some appearances of rain, and a slight shower fell. Wind northeast and pretty cool. At ten minutes to nine an Indian rode up to the first wagon and appeared very friendly. Soon after six or eight others came running on foot. They came from the timber about a mile to the left. At 10:00 we arrived at a fork in the road, the one on the left leading to the new Pawnee village, and the one to the right leaving the village some distance to the south. A consultation was held by President Young with father Case relative to the roads crossing the river, etc., when it was concluded to take the right hand road. We proceeded accordingly and at 12:00 came in sight of the new Pawnee village, in an open spot on the south bank of the Loop Fork, between two bodies of timber. The village appeared to be about three quarters of a mile south of the road we were on. At 12:30 we were opposite the village, and could then see distinctly upwards of 100 lodges set pretty close together, and appeared to be ranged in several lines, and set in good order. We proceeded until we arrived at a long narrow lake by the side of the timber and near to the river. At 1:00 p.m. the encampment was formed on the bank of the lake and a guard instantly placed at the passes, as many of the Indians had followed us, although they had to wade the river, but it is very shoal. One of the Indians presented several certificates from persons who had previously traveled through their village, all certifying that the Grand Chief of the Pawnees was friendly disposed, and they had made him presents of a little powder, lead, salt, etc. Heber gave them a little tobacco, and a little salt. President Young gave to the chief, some powder, lead, salt and a number of the brethren gave a little flour each. The old chief, however, did not seem to think the presents sufficient, and said he did not like us to go west through their country, he was afraid we should kill their buffalo and drive them off. Brother Shumway told him we did not like buffalo, but this does not appear to give him much satisfaction. However, there was no appearance of hostility. In fact, all that came to camp seemed highly pleased to shake hands with our brethren and would run from one side to another so as not to miss one. A number of the squaws were on the opposite side of the lake with mattocks digging roots. Brother Shumway says there are about twelve thousand of the Pawnees in this neighborhood, and it is reported that there are five thousand warriors. We did not see many of them. Larpy is at their village trading, and it is uncertain whether he will endeavor to use an influence for us or against us. We have no fear, however, because their only object appears to be plunder, and it is the calculation to be well prepared by night and day. During the resting hour I spent the time writing in my journal. At 2:15 p.m. the ox teams started out again and the horse teams soon after. The weather had been calm and pleasant for a few hours, but about 2:00 or a little before, some heavy clouds began to gather, and thunder was heard at a distance. About 2:30 the rain began to descend heavily, accompanied by heavy peals of thunder and vivid lightning which continued till about 4:00. A strong north wind blew up, the rain and thunder ceased and the weather grew very cold. We traveled till 5:30 and the encampment was formed on the Loop Fork of the Platte river. After the encampment was formed and teams turned out, the brethren were all called together and some remarks made by President Young, advising them to have a strong guard round the camps tonight. He called for volunteers to stand guard and about 100 volunteered amongst whom were all the twelve except Dr. Richards. This guard was divided into two companies of fifty each, one company to stand the first half the night, and the remainder the last half. Those of the twelve who stood took the first watch till 1:00. Brigham and Heber both stood on guard. Out of the companies a party were stationed as a picket guard some distance from the camp, the balance stood near the camp. The night was very cold, with a strong wind from the northeast, and in the middle of the night, it rained considerable. Our course this morning was about west. This afternoon, northwest. We are now within three miles from the bluffs on the north. We have traveled today about twenty miles, the roads being good and very level. The grass here is short but looks good. The buffalo grass is very short and curly like the hair on a buffalo robe. The spring grass doesn't seem to be as early here as at the Elk Horn, and the last year's growth not being burnt off, will be rather a disadvantage to the spring companies. I have noticed all the way on this bottom from the Elk Horn, that the ground is full of wild onions which appear far richer and larger than any wild onions I ever saw. I have no idea that corn would grow here for the land is very dry and loose and sandy, and appears poor. The country is beautiful and pleasing to the eye of the traveler, although you can only see one kind of scenery for several days. Thursday, April 22 Arose soon after 5:00 a.m., my face very painful again caused by the cold. There has been no trouble from the Indians and all is peace and safe. The cannon was prepared for action, and stood all night just outside the wagons. There was considerable joking this morning on account of two of the picket guard having their guns stolen and Colonel Markham having his hat stolen. The owners were found asleep while on guard and those who found them so, took their guns to be a warning to them, but it is difficult for men to keep awake night after night after traveling 20 miles in the day, taking care of teams, cooking, etc. At 7:30 the camp proceeded again. I went ahead on foot. About one quarter of a mile from where we camped is one of the prettiest beds of nettle I have seen for some time. Our road this morning lay beside pretty heavy timber, and about a westerly course. After traveling two miles, crossed Looking Glass creek, a small stream about a rod wide, but easily forded. I still went ahead on foot and at 9:45 sat down on an Indian grave, on top of a mound from whence is a splendid view of the surrounding country for many miles. From southeast to southwest you can see the course of the Loop Fork for a number of miles. Northwest a level prairie about four miles and then a range of timber. The bluffs on the north about seven miles distant, and on the east a level prairie for about twenty miles. At this place there is a range of what appears to be mounds about a quarter of a mile long, running from northeast to southwest. At 12:15 we arrived on the east bank of Beaver River, having traveled about ten miles. This stream is about twenty to twenty-five feet wide; swift, clear water and pleasant tasting. The banks are tolerably well lined with timber. Here we stopped to feed. Some of the brethren went to fix the fording place a little, the banks are steep on each side and the water a little over two feet deep. At 2:00 p.m. started again, the ox teams first. When passing the river a number of the brethren stood on the west bank with a long rope which was hooked to the wagon tongue and they assisted the teams up the bank. The wagon I rode in crossed at two minutes after 2:00, and in a little while all were safely over. We proceeded on till half past five, when we arrived at the Pawnee Missionary station which is about seven miles from Beaver River. The country this afternoon was more uneven, there being many steep ditches and rises. The grass appears longer and there is much rosing weed. The soil looks black and no doubt would yield a good crop of corn. This missionary station was deserted last fall, and Brother Miller's company being camped here, they carried the missionaries and their effects to Bellview on the Missouri river. This is a very beautiful place for a location. On the north and west it is surrounded by bluffs, on the south by the Loop Fork at about three quarters of a mile distance. On the east by descending prairie. The Plumb Creek runs through it, and but a few rods from the missionaries' house. Its banks are lined with a little timber. There is also a steep bank on each side, and between these banks in the valley which is a few rods wide, the Sioux have practiced coming down when they have made their attacks on the Pawnees. The ravine is certainly well calculated to shelter an enemy from observation when designing to make a sudden attack. There are a number of good log houses here, considerable land under improvement enclosed by rail fences, and a good quantity of hay and fodder, large lots of iron, old and new, several plows and a drag. All apparently left to rot. There are also two stoves, etc. The government station is a quarter of a mile below, or south where father Case lived as government farmer and received $300.00 a year for it, but when Major Harvey learned at the last payday, which was last November, that father Case had joined the "Mormons" he very politely dismissed him from the government service. The Sioux came down sometime ago and burned up the government station houses, blacksmith shop and everything, but the missionary station they did not touch. This place according to my account is 134 miles from Winter Quarters, and a lovely place to live. Before dark the President called the camp together, and told them they might use the fodder and hay for their teams, but forbade any man carrying anything away, even to the value of one cent. He said he had no fears of the Pawnees troubling us here, but we had better be prepared lest the Sioux should come down and try to steal horses. A guard was selected and a picket guard to watch the ravine to the north. The cannon was also prepared and Brother Tanner drilled his men to use it till dark. At 9:00 p.m. I retired to rest and slept well through the night. The variation of the compass is about 12 degrees at this place. I again introduced the subject of fixing machinery to a wagon wheel to tell the distance we travel, describing the machinery and time it would take to make it, etc., several caught, the idea and feel confident of its success. Friday, April 23 Arose this morning at 5:30, my face bad again through sleeping cold. The air chilly but a very pleasant morning. President Young, Heber and others are gone to the river to ascertain where we can best ford it. There is a ford a little distance from here, and another about four miles above, but the latter is in the neighborhood of another band of the Pawnees and they are desirous to avoid it if possible. They started out on horseback at a quarter to eight and the camp remained here till they returned. Some are working, some fixing wagons, etc. The day is now warm and very pleasant. I went to Plumb creek and washed my feet which are very sore. The brethren returned at a quarter to 12:00 and reported that we would have to go about four miles and there build a raft. Tarlton Lewis was appointed to superintend the building of the raft. President Young then stated in regard to the plows, iron, etc., which lies around here, for the government is owing father Case considerable for services, and he has the privilege of taking this for his pay. He will do it and if the brethren want the iron, etc., they can have by hauling it, one half, and father Case the other half, and he (Case) will write and inform them what he has done. I started on foot about 12:00 and viewed the ruins of buildings, etc., which the Sioux have burned. There is a large quantity of good bar iron, and a number of plows, which the brethren put into their wagons on the terms proposed by father Case. Two miles from Plumb creek, passed another creek not very good to ford, although it is narrow but sandy. Two miles farther arrived at the intended crossing place, but the prospect looks dull for rafting on account of sandbars and very rapid current. My feet were so sore and blistered I could not walk for some time after I got there. The sun is very hot and no wind. At 3:20 the wagons arrived and prepared to ford the river. Luke Johnson was the first who went over, leaving the boat on this side, and although he had no load, nor even a wagon box, it was with difficulty he got over. Orson Pratt started next with a part of his load. When he had got in about a rod, his horses began to sink some in the sand and they could not draw. A number of the brethren jumped in and lifted at the wheels, etc., till they got him to the bar in the middle. He then started for the other bar and about half way across his horses sank in the quicksand so badly that one of them fell down. A number of the men immediately went to his assistance and took them off the wagon and led them across to the sand bar. President Young went over in the boat and took the loading out of the carriage into the boat. The carriage was drawn to the sand bar by men with a long rope. The brethren then assisted Elder Woodruff's team over in the same way, also John Pack's and Wordsworth's. President Young then ordered that no more wagons should go over that way, but move up the river about a quarter of a mile and camp until morning. The camp was formed about 5:30 p.m. The river is not more than two feet deep, but there are a great many beds of quicksand which are dangerous to teams, and calculated to shake a wagon to pieces. They make a noise when crossing the quicksands as if they were going over a stone pavement. The country here is indeed beautiful and appears rich, but there is very little timber. After crossing Plumb creek, there is plowed land for nearly two miles on the right but not fenced. It appears to have yielded a good crop of corn. The land on the left to the river is level and beautiful for a farm. We are now camped about a quarter of a mile from the old Pawnee village on a splendid table of land, level and pleasant as heart could desire. It is not much over three quarters of a mile wide and shielded on the north by beautiful rolling bluffs and on the south by the Loop Fork of the Platte. From this bank can be seen the timber on the banks of the main Platte, the bottom from here to it appears very level. There is something romantic in the scenery around here, and the prospect cannot well be exaggerated. In the evening the captains of tens were called together and a vote taken to build two light rafts, Tarlton Lewis to superintend one and Thomas Woolsey the other. As many loads of property as can be carried over in the boat will be done, and the teams with empty wagons will ford it. It is said that by going over several times with teams the sand will pack down and be good crossing, several of those who have been across believe this from today's experience and they calculate to give it a fair trial tomorrow. Amongst the rest of those who waded the river to help the wagons over, Brother Kimball joined and assisted one team to the other side, and then returned in the boat with President Young. Saturday, April 24 Arose soon after 5:00. Morning fine, but cool. One of Phineas Young's horses was choked to death last night. It appears he was tied to a stake with a chain near a steep hole in the ravine, and either stepped back or lay down and rolled over into the hole, and the chain being short he was choked to death, having no power to extricate himself. This is a grievous loss for there are no more teams in the camp than what are absolutely necessary, and in fact, there are hardly enough to get along very comfortably. By request of Brother Kimball, I went up to the old Indian village immediately after breakfast to take a view of it, and write a description as near as circumstances would permit which is as follows: This village is situated on the north bank of the Loop Fork of the Nebraska or Platte river, about four miles southwest of the mission station on Plumb creek and 138 miles from Winter Quarters. The Pawnee nation is divided into four bands. The names of the bands are the Grand Pawnee, the Loop, the Tappas, and the Republican. When the nation settled in this region the Grand Pawnees and the Tappas located on the west bank of Plumb creek and the Loops located on this spot and were afterwards joined by the Republicans. When the Sioux made war on the Indians at the first settlement and destroyed their village, the Grand Chief saw that his party were unable to cope with their hostile foes alone, and it was concluded that the four bands should locate together on this spot, but notwithstanding this, the Sioux succeeded in burning this village last summer during the absence of the Pawnees when on their hunt. They rebuilt most of it again, but last fall the Sioux made another attack and burned the whole village except one dwelling or lodge, which is not harmed. There are three or four others but partially destroyed, the rest are entirely demolished and levelled with the ground. The Pawnees then moved to the place where we passed them a few days ago, and are dwelling in their lodges made of hides, etc. The name of the Grand Chief is Shefmolan, who is also the superior chief of the Pawnee band. All documents or treaties made by the nation are signed by this chief and the nation is then bound by them. The head chief of the Loup band is named Siscatup, the other chiefs, father Case did not recollect their names. From him I obtained this information. There is a part of the Loup band on the main Platte, some distance from here, who have never yielded to the government treaties, but stand out from the rest of the nation and spend their time mostly in plundering other tribes as well as travelers. They frequently go as far as the Cherokee nation to rob and plunder. All the Pawnee nation are noted for their love of plundering travelers of their horses and mules, but not often anything else. On the east and west of the village is a beautiful level bench of prairie extending many miles, and to the ridge of bluffs which run east and west touching within a mile of the village. On the top of the bluffs can be seen a number of Indian graves. To the northwest about a mile distant, and at the foot of the bluffs is an extensive corn field, the stalks still standing. On the south is a beautiful view of the nice level prairie extending to the main branch of the Platte, the timber on the banks can be faintly, but plainly seen. The Loup Fork is probably about 400 yards wide at this place and very shoal, except a narrow channel near the shore on this side which is probably three feet deep. The bottom is mostly quicksand and not safe fording. About half the surface from bank to bank is sand bars which appear above the surface of the water mostly on the south side. There are several small islands and a little timber to the right or west. The village occupies a space of about 40 acres of land, and is mostly enclosed by a ditch about five feet wide, and a bank inside the ditch about four feet high, running from the bank of the river around the village till it again strikes the bank, and when perfect, has formed a good fortification. A number of lodges are built outside the ditch on the east and on account of want of room inside when the bands from the other village joined them. The village is composed of about 200 houses or lodges varying in size but all similarly constructed, as appears from the remnants of some left standing. While I take this sketch, I sit in the one left unharmed, which it is said was owned by the chief Siscatup, and as the lodges are all constructed in the same manner, only differing in size, I will endeavor to describe the way in which this is built. In the first place, the earth is dug out a little, slanting to the depth of about 18 inches in the form of a perfect circle about 44 feet in diameter. This forms the floor of the dwelling. Then there are 17 crotch posts let into the floor in a direction slanting outward so that the top of the crotch is about perpendicular with the outside of the circle, the foot being set about 18 or 20 inches from the base of the circle. These posts are arranged at about equal distances from each other around the circle. In the crotches, poles are laid across from crotch to crotch, and are sufficiently high for the tallest man to stand upright under them. At the distance of 18 or 20 inches from the outside of the circle are many smaller poles let into the surface of the ground, on an average of about a foot apart and leaning inward so that the top of the poles rest on the cross pieces which are supported by the crotches. The space between the foot of these poles and the edge of the circle forms a bench for seats entirely around the house, and there is room sufficient for more than a hundred men to seat themselves on it very comfortably. On the outside of these last mentioned poles are laid a number of still smaller poles horizontally from bottom to top from about 9 inches to a foot apart, these are lashed fast to the upright poles by strings made of bark. On the outside of these is laid a thick layer of long prairie grass and occasionally lashed through to the upright poles also. The whole is then covered with earth about two feet in thickness at the bottom and gradually thinner towards the top. This forms an enclosure when completed around the whole area about seven feet high, a place being left sufficiently large for the door. The next process is to place erect ten upright poles or crotches, very stout, being about a foot in diameter about seven feet nearer the center of the circle than the first crotches. These are set perpendicular, deep in the ground and also arranged at about equal distances from each other, and form a strong foundation which is the design and use to which they are appropriated. On the top of these pillars are also horizontal poles laid strong and firm, the top of the pillars being about eleven or twelve feet above the floor. Long small poles are then laid from the outside horizontal poles over the inner ones and sufficiently long to meet at the top within about two feet of each other, forming a hole for the smoke from the fire to ascend through. These long poles are laid pretty close together all around the building, and across them smaller ones are lashed with bark as in the first instance, only they are much closer together. The operation of lashing on a layer of long grass and finally covering the whole with earth, completes the roof of the building. The door or entrance is a long porch formed by placing in the earth four upright posts or crotches far enough apart to extend outwards from the circle, about 18 or 20 feet. There are four upright crotches on each side the porch and in the crotches, poles are laid horizontally as in the other parts of the building. The process of lashing sticks across, then a thick coat of long grass and lastly a stout coat of earth, is the same as the other parts of the building. The roof of the porch is flat and is about seven feet high and six feet wide. The porch is dug down about half as deep as the main building, making a short step at the mouth of the porch and another one at the entrance into the house. The fire has been made in the center of the house directly under the hole in the roof. At the farther side of the building, exactly opposite the porch, is a projection of sod left about a foot from the outside of the circle which is said to have been the seat of the chief, and over which hung his medicine bag and other implements. The crotches are arranged so that there is a free passage to the center of the hall from the porch one standing on each side at the entrance about six feet apart and the others appear to be arranged from them. The smaller houses have not so many pillars as this one. Some have eight in the center and sixteen outside the circle. Others have four in the center and ten outside. The entrances are also smaller in proportion, but all are constructed on the same principle. It looks a little singular to note that nearly all the entrances to these lodges front to the southeast, except in one or two instances where they front in other directions for lack of room. It is probable that this is done to avoid the effects of the severe cold northwest winds so prevalent in winter. Adjacent to each lodge is a stable or pen, which has been designed for keeping horses in. These are mostly left unharmed. They are constructed by placing poles upright in the ground from two to three inches in diameter as close together as possible and about ten feet high. About five or six feet above the ground cross poles are laid horizontally, and each of the upright poles are firmly lashed to the cross poles by strips of bark, so as to make them firm and secure them from being moved out of their place. The stables are mostly built square, with a door left on one side sufficiently large to admit a horse. There are some circular stables but not so many as the square ones. The horses appear to have been penned in by placing loose poles across the doorway, for there is no other sign of a door visible. Around each lodge there are also several cachets where corn and other necessities are deposited. The cachets are large holes dug in the ground, or rather under the ground, the entrance being only just large enough to admit a common sized man. They are made pretty much after the shape of a large demijon. The cachets are generally about six feet high inside and about fifteen feet in diameter; there is a gradual slope from the mouth to the extreme corner and a little bowing, which forms the roof. The surface of the earth above, at the mouth, is about two and a half or three feet deep. Some of these are said to be capable of holding a hundred bushels of corn, and when filled there is a thick coat of grass laid on the top and the mouth then filled up nicely with earth, and when finished a stranger would not have the least suspicion that there was a storehouse full of corn under his feet. I finished taking the foregoing sketch soon after noon, and then had intended to go on the bluffs and examine the Indian graves, but it being very warm, and perceiving the teams crossing the river very rapidly, I returned, and found most of the teams over. They commenced crossing about eight o'clock, some unloaded their goods on the bank which were carried in the boat to the sand bar, the teams going down to the ferry to cross. After a few wagons had gone over, it was perceived that they went over with less difficulty, and by doubling teams they soon took over the loaded wagons without much difficulty. I prepared to wade over the river, inasmuch as the wagon I am with was gone over, and in fact, all Heber's wagons were over except one, but Jackson Redding brought me Porter Rockwell's horse to ride over, and I mounted and proceeded. I found the current strong indeed, and about as much as a horse could do to ford it without a load. I soon got over safe and wet only my feet. At 3:00 p.m. the last wagon was over on the solid sand bar, and about four o'clock all the wagons and teams were safely landed on the bank on the south side of the Loop Fork without any loss or accident, which made the brethren feel thankful indeed. A little before four, the wagons started on to find a better place to camp and feed for our teams, where we can stay comfortable until Monday and give the teams a chance to rest, for they as well as the men are very tired by wading against the strong current on the quick sand. The bottom land on this side is more sandy than on the other side, but the grass appears higher but not so thick on the ground. The bluffs on the other side look beautiful from here, and the Indian graves show very plain. We went on about three miles and camped beside a small lake near the river. I traveled this on foot. Soon as we arrived Porter Rockwell discovered that there were many sun fish in the lake. I took a couple of hooks and lines, handed some to him, and went to fishing myself with the others and we had some fine sport. I caught a nice mess which Brother Egan cooked for supper, and although they were small they made a good dish. Many of the brethren caught a good mess each. Brother Higbee came down with the seine and made two hauls but caught none on account of the grass in the bottom of the lake. We have good reasons to suspect that we are watched by the Indians as their footsteps have been seen on the bluffs south, apparently very fresh, but the guard are faithful and we have no fear. The cannon was prepared again so as to be ready in case there should be an attack. Evening I walked over to Orson Pratt's wagon, and through his telescope saw Jupiter's four moons very distinctly never having seen them before. I went over to my wagon and looked through my glass and could see them with it, but not so distinct as with Orson's. The evening was very fine and pleasant. About ten o'clock retired to rest in good health and spirits, thankful for the mercies of the day that is past. Sunday, April 25 Arose soon after five, shaved and changed some of my clothing. The morning very pleasant, wind west. Our course for the last seven miles has been about southwest. We are about 14 miles from the main branch of the Platte river and it is said that if we travel on this fork one hundred miles farther, we shall then be not over thirty miles from the main branch. This morning saw four antelope on the other bank of the river about a mile and a half northwest. Afternoon Elijah Newman was baptized by Tarlton Lewis in the lake for the benefit of his health. Brother Newman has been afflicted with the black scurvy in his legs and has not been able to walk without sticks, but after being baptized and hands laid on him he returned to his wagon without any kind of help seemingly much better. Soon after 5:00 p.m. a meeting was called at the wagon of President Young, and remarks made by several, and instructions by President Young chiefly in reference to the guard and the folly of conforming to gentile military customs on an expedition of this nature. After dark the twelve and some others met together opposite the President's wagon to select men to go a hunting buffalo, etc., as we proceed on the journey. It was ascertained that there are eight horses in the company which are not attached to teams. Then eight men were selected to ride on horseback, viz., Thomas Woolsey, Thomas Brown, John Brown, O. P. Rockwell, John S. Higbee, Joseph Mathews. Then there were selected eleven men to hunt also on foot, viz., John Pack, Phineas H. Young, Tarlton Lewis, Joseph Hancock, Edmund Ellsworth, Roswell Stevens, Edson Whipple, Barnabas L. Adams, Benjamin F. Stewart, Jackson Redding and Eric Glines. It was also voted that the twelve have the privilege of hunting when they have a mind to. After some remarks and cautions in regard to chasing the wild buffalo, the company was dismissed, and I retired to rest soon after nine o'clock, the evening being very fine and pleasant. Monday, April 26 This morning about 3:30 an alarm was sounded. I immediately got out of the wagon and learned that three of the guard who were stationed to the northeast of the camp had discovered some Indians crawling up towards the wagons. They first received alarm from the motions of one of our horses, and noticing this they went towards the spot and listening, heard something rustle in the grass; they first suspected they were wolves and fired at them. Only one gun went off and six Indians sprang up and ran from within a few rods of where they stood, another gun was then fired at them and the camp alarmed. A strong guard was placed all around, and a charge of cannister put in the cannon. The day was just breaking when this took place and the moon had just gone down. The air being extremely cold and fires put out, I retired into the wagon till morning and arose again at half past five. After daylight, the footsteps of the Indians could be plainly seen where they had come down under the bank and sometimes stepped into the water. No doubt their object was to steal horses, and they had a fair privilege if the guard had been found asleep, for the camp was only formed in a half circle and some horses were tied outside. However, the prompt reception they met with will have a tendency to show them that we keep a good watch and may deter them from making another attempt. Orders were given for the tens to assemble for prayers this morning, instead of two in each wagon, which was done. President Young told me this morning that as soon as my health will permit, he wants me to assist Brother Bullock in keeping minutes, etc., as Brother Bullock is hard run, having to take care of a team and attend to other chores. The camp started out about 8:00 a.m. I started at 7:30 on foot and traveled four miles, then waited for the wagons. There is no road here, consequently, President Young, Kimball, G. A. Smith, A. Lyman and others went ahead on horseback to point out the road. The horse teams traveled first to break the strong grass so that it will not hurt the oxen's feet. The hunters started out in different directions keeping only a few miles from the wagons. We traveled about seven miles and then stopped at 11:30 beside a few little holes of water to rest and feed teams, etc. From this place which is somewhat elevated, can be seen the remains of an old village or Indian fort, over the river about northwest from here. The country looks beautiful, somewhat rolling and bounded by uneven bluffs. The land looks poor and sandy. The sun is very hot and not much wind. I find it has a great tendency to make sore lips, parched up and feverish. At 1:45 all the wagons were on the way again. We traveled about seven miles. We crossed two slough or soft places though not very bad. They are the first since we left Winter Quarters. The roads are more uneven than on the other side the river. We had to make a new road all day. At 6:15 the encampment was formed on the east banks of a small creek with a very gravelly bottom. The wagons are formed in a deep hollow and so low that they cannot be seen at a quarter of a mile distance. There is no fresh grass here, neither has the old grass been burnt off. We have crossed a number of trails today which some say are buffalo trails. They all run towards the river, and in some places there are 8 or 9, others, not more than two, and so on, together running about a half a yard apart. The hunters have seen no buffalo. Woolsey killed a goose. There is no timber here, only a few small willows. We are about a half a mile from the river, and there doesn't seem to be much timber on the river. Our course today has been about southwest. About a mile back from this place situated on a high bench of land on the banks of the river is the remains of an Indian village, the houses or lodges being all down and no appearance of timber left. The entrances to these lodges all face to the southeast, the same as those back at the other village. There has evidently been a garden around the village as the land has been broken and bears marks of cultivation. This morning Brother Benson discovered that one of the iron axles of his wagon was broken, and he moved the load so that there was no weight on the part which was broken, and traveled with it all day. This evening the wagon was unloaded, the axle taken off, Brother Tanner's forge set up, and the axle welded and fixed ready to put to the wagon again. This was done in the short space of one hour after the encampment was formed. The welding was performed by Brother Burr Fost. About eight o'clock Joseph Mathews came into camp from seeking his horses and stated that an Indian had rode a horse off a little before and he supposed it was Brother Little's horse, which was missing. Dr. Richards' mare was also missing. Brother Mathews stated that he went out to seek for his black man who was out watching his teams, and as he arrived he saw Brother Little's horse as he supposed going towards the river. He ran towards it to turn it back to camp, but as soon as he commenced running the horse sprang to a gallop, which made him suppose there was an Indian on him although he could not see the Indian. As soon as he gave the alarm five or six of the brethren mounted their horses, and pursued on the course pointed out to the river, but could neither see nor hear a horse or Indian. When they returned, President Young and Kimball and a number of others went out on horseback and searched till near eleven o'clock, but likewise proved unsuccessful. The brethren have been repeatedly warned not to let their horses go far from their wagons, but every time we stop they can be seen around for more than two miles. These are two good horses and the owners feel bad enough, but it will be a warning to others to be more careful. Tuesday, April 27 Arose soon after five. The morning fine and pleasant. During the night the guard fired twice but they supposed they were wolves they fired at. I went back to the old Indian village before breakfast, and also with O. P. Rockwell, to see if any tracks of the lost horses could be found. He followed one track some way into a bunch of willows, but having no arms we returned. At 7:45 the wagons commenced moving and traveled till 2:15 being about twelve miles nearly a south course, the design being to go to the main branch of the Platte. President Young, Kimball and others went forward again to point out the road. O. P. Rockwell and some others started back to hunt the horses about the time we started. The land today has been very rolling and uneven. It is also very sandy and dry. After traveling about four miles through dead grass we found a large space where the grass had been burned off. Here it is quite green, and there are quantities of buffalo dung, which proves that we are not far distant from some of them. The hunters have been out again but have not discovered any. There are a great many lizards on these sand ridges, but they are of a small size. President Young and Kimball discovered a dog town a piece back, and many little prairie dogs. In one hole was a very large rattlesnake, and around the holes many small owls which seem to correspond with what travelers have said previously, that the prairie dog, rattlesnakes, and owls all live in the same hole together. The sun is very hot but there is a nice west wind although it is dry and parches our lips. When we stopped at noon the brethren dug several holes and obtained a little water, as there is none here above the surface. They could not obtain any for the cattle and horses. At 3:15 the teams commenced to move again. Just as they started, John Brown, Roswell Stevens and Brother Woodruff all shot at an antelope. They all hit him and killed him. Having skinned it, they put it into one of the wagons. The afternoon was very hot and the roads very dusty. After traveling about two miles some of the ox teams gave out and had to stop and feed. The rest went on till they found a small branch of water and the grass being very good we stopped for the night at half past five, having traveled about four miles, course about south. President Young and several others went back with mules and horses to assist the teams up which are behind. Luke Johnson shot a very large rattlesnake and brought it to camp for the oil. Roswell Stevens killed a hare, the nearest like the English hare of any I have seen in this country. Soon after we arrived here it began to lightning and thunder and we had a light shower with a very strong wind. There is an appearance of more rain which is very much needed indeed. At 6:30 O. P. Rockwell, Joseph Mathews, John Eldridge and Thomas Brown returned from hunting the two lost horses. They reported that they went back to within about two miles of where we encamped on Sunday and looking off towards the river they saw something move in the grass at the foot of a high mole. They proceeded towards it thinking it was a wolf, when within about twelve or fourteen rods Porter stopped to shoot at the supposed wolf. The moment he elevated his rifle, fifteen Indians sprang to their feet, all naked except the breech cloth, and armed with rifles and bows and arrows. Each man having a rifle slung on his back, and his bow strung tight in his hand and about twenty arrows. The Indians advanced towards them but the brethren motioned and told them to stop and held their rifles and pistols ready to meet them. When the Indians saw this they began to holler "bacco! bacco!" The brethren told them they had not tobacco. One of the Indians came close beside J. Mathew's horse to shake hands with Mathews but kept his eye on the horse's bridle. When nearly within reach of the bridle, Brown cocked his pistol and pointed at the Indian shouting if he did not leave he would kill him. At which, the Indian seeing the pistol ready to fire, retreated. The Indians made signs to get the brethren lower down the river, but the brethren turned their horses to come to camp, thinking it unsafe to go near to the timber where they expected more Indians lay in ambush. When the brethren turned to come back the Indians fired six shots at them with their rifles and the brethren immediately faced about at which the Indians fled towards the timber below. The brethren did not shoot at the Indians, even when the Indians shot at them. They saw the tracks of the horses which are missing and returned satisfied that Pawnees have got them, and no doubt intended to get the horses on which the brethren rode, but they met with too stern a reception to risk an attempt. Some of these same Indians were amongst those who came into camp when we stopped for dinner near their village, and proves that they eyed the horses pretty close, and also proves that they have followed us close ever since. The brethren ran great risks indeed, but got back safe to camp without harm. About the same time the brethren returned, a gun accidentally went off and broke the nigh fore leg of Brother Mathew's horse. Those who saw the accident state that when the rain came on, some of the men put their guns in John Brown's wagon, loaded and with the caps on. Brother Brown threw his coat on the guns, and soon after went to get his coat and plucking it up, some part of the coat caught the cock of the gun and raised it so that when the coat slipped off, the gun went off, and the ball struck the horse's leg on the back side about half way between the knee and upper joint. The bone was broke entirely off. There were several men and horses close by the wagon at the time. The wagon was set on fire, but soon put out with little damage. This makes four of the best horses lost within the last four days, but the last circumstance is by far the most painful, and breaks up Brother Markham's team. Brother Brown made Heber a present of a little antelope meat. About dark the wind moved to the north and blew strong a little while and we had a little more rain. Wednesday, April 28 Morning fine and pleasant, no Indians. The wind blew strong from the northeast which makes it much cooler. There are many wolves and antelope around here, but no buffalo have been seen as yet. Orders were given this morning for no man to leave the wagons except the hunters. The brethren had to make a road down to the small creek near which we camped. This occupied till about nine o'clock, when the wagons commenced crossing; the last wagon crossed at ten o'clock and then the camp proceeded on, President Young, Kimball, and several others going before to point out the road while the wagons were crossing the creek. Brother Luke Johnson shot the horse dead which had his leg broke last night. The horse belonged to Brother Barney, but was in Markham's team and was a good one, but they concluded it was better to shoot her than leave her alone to the mercy of the Indians. Our course for the first seven miles was a little east of south over a very level prairie and green with grass. The largest wild onions grow here I have ever seen. After traveling about seven miles we turned southwest, being within a mile of the main Platte and opposite to Grand Island. We traveled till 2:30 and then stopped to feed, having come about eleven miles today. The roads are extremely dusty and the strong wind blows it into the wagons and everything is covered. We are now near to timber and a good chance for grass for the cattle. At 4:00 p.m. we moved again and traveled till six, having traveled about four miles, and during the day, about fifteen miles. We have camped about a quarter of a mile from the timber and there is plenty of grass to fill the stock tonight. The water is also clear and cool and good tasting. The evening is cloudy and very cool, which affects my head some. Suppered on some antelope and went to bed early. Thursday, April 29 The wagons started at five o'clock this morning before breakfast, to find more grass as this is all eaten off. We traveled till 6:30 being about three miles, and then turned out the teams to feed. The morning very cool. There seems to be very little rain in this country and no dew. Breakfasted on goose and mouldy bread. At twenty minutes after eight, the teams started again and after traveling about two miles came to a very pretty stream of good water, (Wood River) about ten feet wide on an average, but at the fording place about a rod wide. We were detained some here, but all got over safely. We then traveled on a table or prairie gently ascending for four or five miles but very even and good traveling. At 1:00 p.m. we stopped beside a small lake to rest and feed teams, having traveled about ten miles today. The wind south and strong. One of Orson Pratt's horses is very sick, supposed to be the bots. He has lain down several times in the harness within the last three hours. I am not astonished, as the wagons and everything else is shrinking up, for the wind is perfectly dry and parching; there is no moisture in it. Even my writing desk is splitting with the drought. At 2:30 p.m. we started again and traveled till about 6:30 over tolerable level prairie, distance about eight miles, and nearly a southwest course. The wind was strong from southwest till sundown and then turned to northeast. The clouds of dust were almost sufficient to suffocate everyone. I rode Heber's horse this afternoon and went before the wagons. Saw many antelope, and the brethren had a good chance to kill one, but they missed it, although three of them shot at it. We camped at night close to Grand Island where there is an abundance of rushes for cattle. There is also a white substance that seems to ooze out of the ground around here, and tastes like salt, but not so strong as common salt. Brother Orson Pratt's horse is better and the day has passed without accident. Friday, April 30 Arose at half past five. Morning cool and pleasant. The teams have filled themselves with rushes. Started at 7:40 and soon after the camp started, I started ahead on foot and have traveled about five miles. The prairie level and green with grass. We travel on the first bench about three quarters of a mile north of the timber on Grand Island. There are many wild geese on the prairie, also buffalo dung, but none very recent. There are immense patches of blue grass which from appearances, the buffalo are fond of. There are also numerous patches of buffalo grass which is very short, thick on the ground, and curly like the hair on a buffalo's hide, and much resembling it, except in color. About a mile from where we camped last night, we passed a place where the Indians have camped no doubt during their hunt. They must have been very numerous for their camp has covered a number of acres of ground. President Young, Kimball and Lyman are gone ahead on horseback to look out the road. We have thus far followed the Indian trail, but it is now so grown over and so old it is scarce discernible. The wind blows strong from the north and the dust is very bad. The atmosphere is dull and cloudy. Our course today has been about west. At a quarter to twelve we stopped to feed beside a small creek of clear, good, water, having traveled about eight miles. The grass along this creek is long and plentiful. We are about a half a mile from Grand Island. Having the privilege of copying from Brother Bullock's journal, I will now record the names of the standing guard as organized April 16th, also the men selected by Brother Tanner to form the gun division as ordered Saturday, April 17th. Tarlton Lewis, Stephen H. Goddard, Seeley Owens, Thomas Woolsey, John G. Luce, Horace Thorton, Charles D. Barnam, Sylvester H. Earl, George Scholes, Rufus Allen, William Empey, John Holman, George R. Grant, William P. Vance, James Craig, Datus Ensign, William Dykes, John Dixon, Samuel H. Marble, Artemus Johnson, Norton Jacobs, Addison Everett, William Wordsworth, John W. Norton, Francis M. Pomroy, Lyman Curtis, Horace M. Frink, Erastus Snow, Hans C. Hanson, William C. A. Smoot, Barnabas L. Adams, Rodney Badger, Charles Burk, Alexander P. Chesley, Appleton M. Harmon, David Powell, Joseph Mathews, John Wheeler, Gillrid Summe, Mathew Ivory, Edson Whipple, Conrad Klineman, Joseph Rooker, Nathaniel Fairbanks, Ozro Eastman, Andrew S. Gibbons, William A. King, Thomas Tanner, Hosea Cushing, and John H. Tippets. The names of the gun detachment are as follows: Thomas Tanner, Captain; Stephen H. Goddard, Seeley Owens, Thomas Woolsey, John G. Luce, Horace Thornton, Charles D. Barnam, Sylvester H. Earl, George Scholes and Rufus Allen. At twenty minutes after ten o'clock started again, the wind blowing from the north tremendously strong, and clouds of dust arose from under the wagon wheels. It has turned very cold and gloomy. We traveled again over a level prairie some distance from the river and turned off to camp under the bench soon after 5:00 p.m. having traveled about eight miles, our course a little southwest. The wagons were formed in an imperfect circle in such a manner as to have all the wagon mouths from the wind, which took near an hour to form the encampment. We are about a mile from water and a mile and a half from timber, with very little grass for our teams. It is now so cold that every man wants his overcoat on and a buffalo robe over it. We have had no accident and the brethren feel well, some are wrestling to keep themselves warm. Some have had the good luck to bring a little wood with them but it seems as if many will have a cold supper. And some perhaps little or nothing as they have no bread cooked. Eight p.m., the camp have found a good substitute for wood in the dried buffalo dung which lies on the ground here in great plenty, and makes a good fire when properly managed. Brother Kimball invented a new way of building a fire to cook on and which is well adapted to the use of this kind of fuel. He dug a hole in the ground about 8 inches deep, 15 inches long and 8 inches wide. Then at each end of this hole he dug another about the same dimensions as the first leaving about 3 inches of earth standing between the middle and two end holes. At the end of these partitions he made a hole through about 3 inches in diameter to serve as a draught. In the bottom of the middle hole the fire and fuel was placed, and across the top two wagon hammers to set the pots and pans on, so that the fire could have free circulation underneath. By this method much cooking was done with very little fuel. To save the trouble of carrying water so far a well was dug in a short time about 4 feet deep and good water obtained. After supper I went and gathered some dried buffalo dung (politely called buffalo chips) to cook with in the morning. Brother Hanson played some on his violin and some of the brethren danced to warm themselves. I went to bed early to get warm but having only one quilt for covering, I suffered much with cold. Brother Kimball rode ahead again on horseback and suffered some from cold. May 1847 Saturday, May 1 The morning very cold indeed. Inasmuch as there is little grass for the cattle, the camp started out at 5:40 and traveled till a quarter after eight, six miles before breakfast. Soon after we started this morning three buffalo were seen grazing on the bluff about six miles distance. I could see them very plain with my glass. O. P. Rockwell, Thomas Brown and Luke Johnson started on horseback to try to kill some. Soon after they went, another herd of buffalo were seen to the northwest at the foot of the bluffs about eight miles off. I counted with my glass, 72, and Orson Pratt counted 74. Three of the brethren went on their horses after the latter herd. I watched the movement with the glass and saw that sometime before the brethren got to them, the buffalo fled and were soon after out of sight. We stopped for breakfast close to Grand Island and at 10:15 proceeded again. After traveling four miles we arrived at a small lake on our right at twelve o'clock which evidently connects with the river in high water. A little previous to this time the hunters returned and reported that Luke Johnson shot at one and dropped him on his knees, but he got up again and ran after the herd. They did not get any, but saw more farther west and went to give chase to the latter herd. When they got near them, they turned down under the bluffs and joined the herd chased by the last hunting party. Luke lost his cap and could not find it again. Brother Higbee said he could have shot one, but Woolsey told him to hold on and pick out a good one. They being pretty near, selected a cow and designed both to shoot at her, but while they were making their plans the herd started and they missed their chance. About the time the hunters returned, another still larger herd was discovered still farther west, also at the foot of the bluffs. The President stopped near the above mentioned lake and selected eleven men to go and give chase to the last seen herd and he gave them their instructions. Although they were at least eight miles from us, I distinctly counted 101 with my glass and amongst them many calves. This being the first day buffalo has been seen on our journey and in fact the first ever seen by any except about five or six of the brethren, it excited considerable interest and pleasure in the breasts of the brethren, and as may be guessed, the teams moved slowly and frequently stopped to watch their movement. When the hunters were within a mile or two from the herd, two of the dogs gave chase to an antelope, which made directly towards the buffalo. One of the dogs chased it till it went into the midst of the herd and when the buffalo saw the dog, they commenced to canter into a closer huddle. The dog, however, evidently frightened with their savage appearance, stopped and retraced his steps. About this time Elder Kimball seemed to get inspired with the idea of chasing the buffalo and he immediately called for Egan's fifteen shooter and started with it on full gallop. After the dog returned the buffalo did not move much from the place and the hunters moved gently along till they got pretty near them, at which time Heber joined, just as the herd discovered them and commenced galloping off. The brethren's feelings who were left with the wagons were now strung up to the highest pitch, a feeling of exciting interest appeared to prevail throughout the camp, they having heard and read so much of the mad ferocity of the buffalo when hotly pursued, and knowing that all the hunters were inexperienced in regard to hunting the wild buffalo. While they felt for the safety of the hunters, they still desired to see as much of the chase as the distance would allow, and were wishful that the chase might be successful as a number have no meat and a piece of fresh meat would taste good to all men and save our bread stuff, and the desire to taste the much famed buffalo meat created a longing desire to see some of the herd fall. Soon as the herd commenced galloping off, the hunters followed in pursuit at full gallop and soon closed in with them. At this time I got my glass and rested it on Brother Aaron Farr's shoulder, determined to see as much of the chase as possible. I soon discovered O. P. Rockwell ride into the midst of the herd which then appeared to number over 200, others having come in sight when the herd commenced to run. Porter was soon enveloped in the cloud of dust caused by the heavy tramp of the buffalo on the dry sandy ground, but in a very short time the herd began to separate and scatter in every direction, a small party coming down the bluff again and some running west under the bluffs, others going over. The hunters closed in on the first party and commenced their fire, especially at one cow which they finally succeeded in separating from all the rest, and determined to keep to her until they killed her, except Porter, who as soon as he had wounded her, left her with the hunters and pursued some of the rest. The cow was now in close quarters and after she had been shot through two or three times, Elder Kimball rode close to her with his fifteen shooter and fired over his horse's head, she dropped helpless and was soon dispatched. At the report of the gun which was very heavy loaded, Elder Kimball's horse sprang and flew down the bluff like lightning and he having let go the lines to shoot, her sudden motion overbalanced him and his situation was precarious to the extreme. The other hunters saw his situation and trembled for his safety but could render him no assistance. However, being a good horseman, he maintained his position in the saddle and soon succeeded in gaining the lines and by a vigorous effort succeeded after some time in reining in his horse and returned to the rest unharmed and without accident. All this movement passed about as quick as thought, and as soon as they saw the cow dead and all right they again followed in pursuit of the remaining buffalo. About this time three of the herd separated from the rest and came in a direction towards the camp on a gallop. President Young seeing this, ordered a halt, and the wagons to get close together lest the buffalo should, in their fury and excitement, venture to go between the wagons and do much mischief. However, they were discovered by some of the hunters nearer the camp and some foot men who gave chase to them changed their course when within about a mile from the camp. At this time I had a very good view of their shape, color and appearance when running which I shall endeavor to describe hereafter. Elder Kimball arrived in time to aid in the chase of these three which lasted some time. The hunters made choice of a large and very furious bull, and worked with him some time, shooting him through several times but all this did not seem to impede his progress. O. P. Rockwell said he had heard it said that a buffalo could not be hurt with a ball shot at his head. Having a fair chance with this one, he determined to satisfy himself, and (previous to his being wounded) gaining a little in advance came right in front within about a rod of him and discharged his rifle pistol which struck the center of his head, but with no other effect than to make it smoke a little, some dust fly and the raving animal shake savagely. The brethren, John S. Higbee and John Pack, soon after succeeded in dropping him and laid him dead at their feet, John Pack being the one that dropped him. During all this, other scenes were passing of equal interest. One of the calves was discovered within a few rods of the wagons, a shot fired at it and it was soon caught by the dogs, killed and put into a feed box. Porter chased another calf to within a mile of the camp previous to his chasing the bull. Some of the footmen surrounded and dispatched it, and soon after brought and put it in one of the wagons. Other brethren were still away at the bluffs, but we had no certainty of their success until Elder Kimball, John Pack, and several others came up to the camp after dispatching the bull and reported two other cows killed and three calves. This was a little before 5:00 p.m. When it was ascertained for a certainty that one was killed, the revenue cutter was unloaded and sent to fetch it to camp. It was reported that two other cows and three calves were killed. When Elder Kimball and others came up to the camp, President Young requested some of the brethren to unload their wagons and go and fetch the others reported to be killed, while the wagons would strike towards the river and camp for the night. The chase lasted from soon after 1:00 until 4:00 p.m. Soon four wagons were unloaded, the brethren having their loads on the ground in care of a guard, and were ready to start out. Having a great desire to see a buffalo in his natural state, my feet being very sore, and the distance to the bluffs being over three miles, I got into Brother Aaron Farr's wagon, he being one who unloaded to fetch in the meat, and we started for the one shot down by Elder Kimball, he and O. P. Rockwell following on horseback. On our route, we met Luke Johnson and two other hunters returning. Luke had a calf tied on his horse, himself on foot. When we arrived at the cow, we found that three of the brethren had come on foot and had already got the hide off, except the head. She was soon cut in two, put in the wagon with the rest of the meat, hide and head, and we started for the next cow which was about three quarters of a mile distant. This cow would probably weigh on foot, about 700 pounds. She was not very fat, but the meat looked nice and clean. When we arrived at the next cow, we found several of the brethren at work with her, they had got her hide off and soon had her in the wagon. We then proceeded to camp and got in soon after sundown. The meat was unloaded in the semi-circle opposite the President's wagon and placed on the hide which was spread on the ground for the purpose of keeping it clean. The brethren's faces beamed with joy to see the meat begin to come into camp, and with some astonishment to view the size and ferocious appearance of the head, which still had the hide on. Soon after the other wagons came in and each deposited its load in the same place. Joseph Mathews came in about the same time and reported that he had killed another calf after chasing it three miles, making the total number killed in the first day's buffalo hunt by the Camp of the Latter-day Saints, already reported as follows: one bull, three cows and six calves, a circumstance far exceeding our expectations and best hopes, and all without the slightest accident or loss to man or property, except Luke Johnson's cap and a ramrod to a rifle. There is, however, one shade of suspense caused by the intelligence that Joseph Hancock has not returned to camp. He started out on foot when the three buffalo were first discovered this morning and has not been seen or heard of for sometime. Considerable fear is entertained for his safety from the fact that he is lame, and it is evident, or at least considered so, that there are Indians near because a large smoke as of prairie burning has been seen all the afternoon within some six or eight miles to the west and must have been set on fire by somebody and the probability is, it is Indians, although none has been seen for several days. The meat was cut up into quarters and distributed one quarter to each company of ten, leaving some to be distributed in the morning, and in a short time every fire was loaded with it, and the camp had a good feast on the fruits of today's labors. Soon after the hunters started out at noon we came to a long range of dog towns and saw many of the little prairie dogs playing around their holes. The extent of this dog town is yet unknown, for we have traveled over, and parallel with it about five miles this afternoon, and they seem to extend still farther west. In some places the town is nearly two miles broad, in others not so much, and must contain thousands of the little dogs. I could not get near enough to see their form distinctly, for they are so quick into their holes when anything approaches, you can only have a partial view of them. They appear to be about as long as a common grey squirrel but more chunky, a larger body and chubbed head. The tail is short, more resembling that of a dog, their color light brown. Their bark resembles the chirp of an English throstle, and something like the chirp of a squirrel. They appear to live on grass as it is all eaten off close to the ground throughout the extent of their dog town, and the ground looks naked and barren as a desert. Several of the brethren shot at the dogs but failed in killing any. We had a north wind this afternoon and cold weather, our course being nearly west over a level prairie, not far distant from the island. Since noon we traveled about eight miles, and the encampment was formed at half past six o'clock near a small lake about a mile above the head of Grand Island. The grass is not so good here as it has been back, and but a poor chance for the cattle, etc., to fill themselves. The appearance of the wild buffalo at a distance is somewhat singular. The color of the back and about half way down the sides is a light brown, the rest is a very dark brown. The shoulder appears slightly rounding and humped. When running, the large shaggy head hangs low down, about half way in height between the ground and the top of the shoulder. They canter like any ox or cow, but appear far more cumbersome and heavy, especially about the fore parts, which look larger than they really are on account of the long, thick matty hair. They run tolerably fast, but a good horse will easily gain on them. They will run a long time without diminishing their speed. Their meat is very sweet and tender as veal. Sunday, May 2 This morning is fine but cold. Ice about half an inch thick. Sometime in the night a buffalo and calf came within a short distance of the wagons. The guard discovered them and shot at the calf, wounding it in the hind leg. They caught it alive and tied it up near the wagons but concluded finally to kill and dress it. About six o'clock we were gladdened to see Joseph Hancock come into camp with a piece of buffalo meat. He reported that he killed a buffalo yesterday back on the bluffs, and there being no one with him he concluded to stay by it over night. He made a fire and scattered a little powder around his buffalo to keep off the wolves. Some visited him during the night, but were awed by the fire. After he had told his story and taken breakfast, Brother Hancock started in company with four or five other brethren to fetch in the meat on horseback, as no wagons could get over the bluffs to it. They found that the wolves had devoured much of it, but the balance they brought along with them. They also killed two antelope and brought them into camp. The total number of buffalo now caught is five large ones and seven calves. Edmund Ellsworth killed one of the prairie dogs, and brought it to camp. It looks much like a squirrel, only the body is thicker and the tail short and no bush on it. The day grew pleasant till about noon, when it became cloudy and cold. President Young, Kimball and others started out to look out a camp ground where better feed can be obtained for our stock. They returned a little after two and gave orders to go on a few miles. There have been a number of buffalo seen in different directions, one grazing within three quarters of a mile from camp, but orders were not to hunt or shoot today. At three-fifteen the camp started and traveled two miles over dog towns as yesterday. At a little after four p.m. we camped beside a long lake of shoal, clear water near the banks of the Platte. This lake is about three rods wide and connects with the river. The Platte appears about two miles wide at this place but very shoal and muddy. There is no timber but plenty of grass, mostly last year's growth. The weather is more temperate and the wind ceased. President Young, Kimball and others went on to look out a crossing place over this lake, etc. On their way, they fell in with a buffalo cow and calf and chased them some to get a view of them but not to kill. On their return they said we should tarry here tomorrow and have some blacksmith work done and probably hunt some. Half of the hide off the bull's face was brought into camp. On examination I found the mark where Porter shot at his head. The ball made a small hole, barely cutting through the outer surface or grain of the hide which was near an inch thick. The hair near the top of the head is about a foot long. Monday, May 3 This morning cold and ice in the water pails. The hunters are going out on foot. Tanner and Davenport are fixing their forges to do some repairing, shoeing, etc. At about nine the hunters, twenty in number, started out with two wagons which had been unloaded for the purpose. At the same time, fifteen of the brethren on horseback started west to examine the route, etc. At two-thirty the party who went to look out the route returned and reported that Brother Empey had discovered a large war party of Indians while he was chasing an antelope. The Indians are in a hollow about twelve miles distance and about three hundred in number, some on their horses and some standing beside them holding the bridle. The company also saw nearly twenty scattered Indians about four miles from here. When this report was made, orders were given to dispatch a number of the brethren on horses, well armed to warn the hunters and tell them to come to camp. In about half an hour, twenty-three men started out on this mission. Before they reached the bluffs which are about four miles from here, some of the hunters were on their way to camp, having seen only one buffalo during the day. In a little time all the hunters were notified and were on their way back. They arrived about six o'clock, having got three antelope, and the horsemen who went after them got two calves which were all brought in and the day passed without accident. Some of the brethren saw some objects at a distance, which, by their motions they were satisfied were Indians. The day has been fine but cool and cloudy, with occasionally a few drops of rain. A number of wagon tires have been set and other blacksmithing, washing, drying meat, etc., done. The wind near south. The cannon was unlimbered at night and prepared for action in case it should be needed. Tuesday, May 4 The morning fine but cool, wind about southwest. Two horses ran east as much as six or eight miles and were pursued by the brethren and brought back. William Smoot was thrown from a horse and his senses knocked out of him by the fall. He soon recovered and appears to have sustained no injury. At seven-thirty the camp was called and received instructions from President Young, especially in regard to leaving the wagons and scattering off hunting without counsel. He strongly urged the brethren not to do it any more and said if they did, some of them would be caught by the Indians and if not killed would be severely abused. The instructions and regulations given April 17th were read and enjoined upon the camp to be observed more strictly. It was decided that the cannon wagon should be unloaded, the box put on another wagon so that the cannon can be always ready for action. An addition of ten volunteers was made to the standing guard and ordered that all horses and mules should be tied inside the circle at night, and the cattle and cows outside within a few rods of the wagons. A guard to be placed around the cattle when turned out to graze. It is thought best to travel with the wagons four abreast and the cannon to go in the rear. At nine o'clock the wagons commenced moving and passed over the lake near its junction with the river, at which place it is about ten or twelve feet wide. After traveling about a half a mile the camp stopped some time, waiting for some wagons behind. While stopping, three wagons were discovered on the opposite bank of the river, considered to be traders going back to Council Bluffs. The river is about two miles wide and no person here acquainted with it, consequently no one attempted to go over, which many desired. About eleven o'clock we proceeded, five wagons abreast so as to be better prepared for defense should the Indians attack us. After traveling about two miles, one of the men from the wagons on the other side the river overtook us and we halted to see him. He said there are only nine of them. They have been to Fort Laramie for furs and are going to Council Bluffs. This is the sixteenth day since they left the fort with ox teams. He says the road is good on the other side and the river easily forded, being not more than knee deep in the deepest place and a good bottom. He cheerfully agreed to carry letters back for us but could not wait long. I wrote one to my family and in about half an hour a pretty large mail was made up to send back to Winter Quarters, and may the Lord grant that it may arrive safely. Brother Johnson bought a buffalo robe of the man for about a pound and a half of coffee, and another brother bought one for a pound of sugar and a little pork. I feel my mind relieved by this unexpected privilege of writing back to my dear family and hope they will have the pleasure of perusing the contents. At twenty minutes after one the bugle sounded for a march, and the messenger is returning with the letters and a bag of provisions on his shoulder which the brethren have given him for carrying the letters. We traveled about four miles farther and at three-thirty, stopped to let the teams feed on a small spot where the fire has not touched, the rest having all been burned off within a few days. We have traveled today only about six miles, having stopped much. The country is still very level and nice traveling only for the dust. The wind south and our course nearly west. When the trader went back over the river, Thomas Woolsey, John Brown and John Pack accompanied him on horses to speak with a person whom Brother Woolsey is acquainted with. They returned soon after we stopped to feed and say that the river is very good to cross, not being more than two feet deep in the deepest place, and the bottom good. The horses broke through but very little. The traders say furthermore, that if we continue on this side, we shall have to cross the river twice where the water is much deeper and cannot be crossed only in a ferry. There is a good traveled road also, which would be an advantage we have not got on this side. During the time we stopped to feed, a guard was placed around the cattle and horses to keep them from straying far from the wagons. Then men were called out and drilled with their loaded guns in the circle formed by the wagons. Some objects are seen grazing about four miles west of us thought to be buffalo. Thirteen in number. Some of the hunters are going out to give them a chase, and try to kill some of them. At a quarter after five o'clock, the camp was called together and Brother Brown reported what the traders said about the route, etc., as above. The subject was then talked over and when it was considered that we are making a road for thousands of saints to follow, and they cannot ford the river when the snow melts from the mountains, it was unanimously voted to keep on this side as far as Fort Laramie at least. Soon after this we started on again. Saw a lone buffalo but a short distance from us but it galloped across the river. Saw also a number of antelope and some deer. About seven o'clock we passed a spot where the Indians have camped and must have been many of them. A while after sundown we arrived at a creek of good water and camped for the night, having traveled about nine miles today. The prairie level but all the grass burned off, except in small patches. We have camped on a small spot which has escaped the fire. Elder Kimball, who was one of the hunters who started out at four o'clock, said the objects seen from camp were antelope, but he had seen a herd of buffalo about a mile ahead of where we now are. He named this creek, Buffalo creek. Wednesday, May 5 The morning fine and very pleasant. Saw two small herds of buffalo a few miles from camp. At seven-thirty continued our journey. I went on foot about two miles and then stopped to count the horses, mules, oxen, etc., and afterwards walked on again to the first wagons. Here Elder Kimball offered me his horse to ride. I then went ahead with the horsemen. We soon after came to a very bad slough and had to bear off to the north to find a place to cross it. The prairie after we crossed this slough about a mile wide from the river was very soft and it was necessary to bear still farther to the north. The horses' feet cut through the sod and the ground appeared wet under, although there has been no rain for some time. At eleven-thirty we stopped to feed on a small patch of unburnt grass, having come about nine miles, course about west, with a very strong south wind. There were two buffalo within about a half a mile from camp, grazing. Some of the brethren went to view them, but the orders of the day are not to kill anything which the men cannot carry to camp. There are no appearances of Indians near except the prairie which is still burning ahead of us, supposed to be set on fire by them. About one p.m. continued our journey and traveled till three p.m., when some of the hunters came in, bringing a live buffalo calf, also one they had killed. They reported that John Brown, Jackson Redding and John S. Higbee, Luke Johnson had each killed a calf, the one killed by Brother Higbee having previously been shot by Amasa Lyman. Joseph Mathews killed a cow and Elder Kimball, O. P. Rockwell and John S. Higbee chased the one brought in alive until a dog seized it and Porter left his horse and caught it without shooting at it and led it to camp. The revenue cutter was unloaded and sent after the cow and calf left, they being about three miles off. We traveled on about a half an hour and found the prairie all in a blaze. President Young and Kimball thinking it unsafe to risk the wagons near the fire, ordered the camp to go back a half a mile to an island where we can have water for our teams and be secure from the fire. The prairie is all burned bare and the black ashes fly bad, making the brethren look more like Indians than white folks. There is some feed on the island, and the cattle easily ford the stream to it. The calf is tied in the circle. When a dog goes near it, it will attack the largest and they flee from it, though not more than six or eight weeks old. About half past six the revenue cutter arrived with the meat, which was fatter than any we have had. They also brought in another calf which they killed while out for the cow, making a total of one cow and six calves brought into camp today. The meat was divided amongst the companies of ten, each having either a calf or half a quarter of a cow. Thursday, May 6 This morning at five-fifteen, President Young called to the camp and proposed to go on to where we can find feed for the teams. The brethren assented and he gave orders to start as quickly as possible. However, some must feed their teams a little corn, some milk their cows, etc., and it took till near six-thirty to get started. During the night the Lord sent a light shower of rain which has put the fire out except in one or two places and made it perfectly safe traveling. We have had a strong southeast wind through the night but the morning is calm and pleasant. We traveled about two miles and stopped on the unburned grass to feed at a quarter to seven. Several antelope were surrounded by the brethren and some shot at them, killing one. The rest made their escape. We can see several large herds of buffalo within about two miles of the camp and many calves amongst them. President Young and Kimball rode ahead to find a place to stop for feed. The ground is hard and good traveling. At a quarter to nine, proceeded on, President Young and Kimball going ahead to point out the road. Our course about northwest, the wind strong from west. We traveled near the river. Saw thirteen elk together, also many antelope and numerous herds of buffalo on both sides of the river. Jackson Redding shot an antelope which Luke Johnson chased near the wagons. A young buffalo calf followed Luke to camp, but the President advised him to leave it as it is only a few days old. We stopped near the river at a quarter to twelve, having traveled about six miles. We find a little more grass here, but the numerous herds of buffalo keep it eaten off close to the ground nearly all the way we have traveled today. The President gave orders that no more game should be killed until further orders. It appears we have got as much meat in camp as can be taken care of. While we were stopping for noon, some of the cows moved off towards a large buffalo herd, and when President Young and Kimball started ahead after dinner they discovered the cows near the buffalo. Brother Woolsey went to turn them back, but he had to run his mule some distance before he could prevent the cows from mingling with the buffalo. They brought the cows back to the wagons and then proceeded ahead again. One part of the horsemen's business today has been to drive the buffalo out of our track, judging it unsafe to risk them between the wagons and the river. The camp proceeded on at one-thirty and in about two miles distance found a lake of clear water. Here we discovered the horsemen coming back, and found that the President had lost his large spy glass, while chasing the cows from the buffalo herd, a second time. He did not find it. We traveled slowly this afternoon, some of the horses and oxen having given out in consequence of lack of feed to sustain them. We traveled till six-thirty and camped near some islands in the river, having traveled about seven miles this afternoon and fifteen through the day, our course a little west of northwest. Wind about west. Some think we have traveled eighteen, some twenty and some even twenty-five miles today, but from the number of times we stopped and the slowness with which the teams moved, I feel satisfied that fifteen miles is plenty. About three quarters of a mile back we saw a buffalo cow which appears to be sick. She fought the dogs some time and then lay down, and the brethren went close to her, some venturing to feel and handle her. I was within six or eight feet of her and had a good view, as much as I wanted. She has lost all her hair and looks very poor and weak. The President ordered that the brethren leave her and not disturb her and she was left lying down, but it is doubtful the wolves will kill and eat her before morning. When the brethren went back to hunt the spy glass they found that the wolves had killed the calf and nearly eaten it up. What they had not eaten, they carried off with them. We have never been out of sight of herds of buffalo today, and from where we are camped, I am satisfied we can see over five thousand with the glass. The largest herd we have yet seen is still ahead of us. The prairie looks black with them, both on this and the other side of the river. Some think we have passed fifty, and some even a hundred thousand during the day, or have seen them. It is truly a sight wonderful to behold, and can scarcely be credited by those who have not actually seen them. Friday, May 7 This morning the wind northwest and almost as cold as winter. The buffalo vastly numerous all around. About eight a.m. the camp was called together and measures taken to raise more teams to put to the canyon as some of the horses and even cattle have given out. The President chastised Elder Snow for not attending to the cows yesterday causing the President to lose his spy glass, it being Brother Snow's turn to drive the cows according to his own voluntary agreement. At a little before eleven o'clock, Porter Rockwell, Thomas Brown and Joseph Mathews started back to hunt the spy glass, and soon after they left, the camp proceeded onward. The day was cloudy and very cold. Our course about northwest. We traveled about seven miles and camped at two-thirty near several small islands, on the banks of the river. About four p.m., Porter and the others returned, having found the spy glass, which was a source of joy to all the brethren. At six-thirty the companies were called out to drill. I have been very sick all day with a complaint and have suffered much. Saturday, May 8 Morning cold but fine. Started out at nine o'clock and traveled till one p.m., distance seven and a half miles, course a little west of northwest. The prairie on both sides of the river is literally black with buffalo, and to try to say as to what number we have seen this morning would be folly. I should imagine that at a moderate calculation, we have seen over fifty thousand. They are more tame than they have been, and will stand till the wagons come within two hundred yards of them. Porter has shot one about two years old, the meat looks nice. There is no difficulty in getting meat enough. It is with some difficulty that the horsemen can drive them away from the track as fast as the wagons come up. It is very warm today, and no wind. I have counted the revolutions of a wagon wheel to tell the exact distance we have traveled. The reason why I have taken this method which is somewhat tedious, is because there is generally a difference of two and sometimes four miles in a day's travel between my estimation and that of some others, and they have all thought I underrated it. This morning I determined to take pains to know for a certainty how far we travel today. Accordingly I measured the circumference of the nigh hind wheel of one of Brother Kimball's wagons being the one I sleep in, in charge of Philo Johnson. I found the wheel 14 feet 8 inches in circumference, not varying one eighth of an inch. I then calculated how many revolutions it would require for one mile and found it precisely 360 not varying one fraction which somewhat astonished me. I have counted the whole revolutions during the day's travel and I find it to be a little over eleven and a quarter miles, twenty revolutions over. The overplus I shall add to the next day's travel. According to my previous calculations we were two hundred eighty-five miles from Winter Quarters this morning before we started. After traveling ten miles I placed a small cedar post in the ground with these words written on it with a pencil. "From Winter Quarters, two hundred ninety-five miles, May 8, '47. Camp all well. Wm. Clayton." Some have past the day's travel at thirteen and some fourteen miles, which serves to convince more strongly that the distances are overrated. I have repeatedly suggested a plan of fixing machinery to a wagon wheel to tell the exact distance we travel in a day, and many begin to be sanguine for carrying it into effect, and I hope it will be done. Our course this afternoon has been northwest, no wind and the prairie as bare as a poor English pasture, the grass being eaten off by uncountable herds of buffalo. No pen nor tongue can give an idea of the multitude now in sight continually, and it appears difficult to keep them away from the wagons. Two calves have been killed and brought to camp and multitudes would be killed if the President did not prohibit the brethren from killing them only as we need the meat. Truly, the Lord's cattle upon the thousand hills are numerous. We are now camped on the banks of the river within a quarter of a mile from where the range of bluffs, which have appeared exceedingly ragged all day, strike the river, and when we move again we have got to cross over them. President Young and Kimball have been back on the bluffs on foot some distance and report that as far as they can see the grass is eaten perfectly bare and the prospect for feed for our teams is poor indeed. There are several buffalo lying dead around here, whether dead from old age or by the hands of hunters or of starvation, it is unknown. Many of the brethren have to cook their victuals on dry buffalo dung, there being no wood near. Sunday, May 9 The morning very cold with wind southeast. At seven-fifty we proceeded on three and a half miles, going a little around some of the bluffs until we turned down on a low bottom and very sandy. We have camped near some islands and can get wood and water, but poor feed for the teams. We arrived here at nine-fifty and shall stay till morning. Soon as the camp was formed, I went about three quarters of a mile below to the river and washed my socks, towel and handkerchief as well as I could in cold water without soap. I then stripped my clothing off and washed from head to foot, which has made me feel much more comfortable for I was covered with dust. After washing and putting on clean clothing I sat down on the banks of the river and gave way to a long train of solemn reflections respecting many things, especially in regard to my family and their welfare for time and eternity. I shall not write my thoughts here, inasmuch as I expect this journal will have to pass through other hands besides my own or that of my family but if I can carry my plans into operation, they will be written in a manner that my family will each get their portion, whether before my death or after, it matters not. The day is very warm and the wind has moved to the west. According to my calculations, we are now 300 miles from Winter Quarters, lacking a few rods. I got a small board and wrote on it: "From Winter Quarters three hundred miles, May 9, 1847. Pioneer Camp all well. Distance according to the reckoning of Wm. Clayton." This was nailed on a post and in the evening I went and set it up about three hundred yards from here on a bend of the river. Spent the afternoon reading and writing in Elder Kimball's journal. At three p.m. a meeting was called and the camp addressed by several. President Young took tea with Elder Kimball, and afterwards they started out together with one or two others to look at the country ahead of us. They went a few miles and found a small stream which we shall have to cross. Here they saw multitudes of buffalo coming to water. Porter and Phineas Young went within six or eight rods of them to try to get one, but in the whole herd, they could not find one fit to kill. They are very poor, for there is no feed for them, and in fact they are so numerous that they eat the grass as fast as it springs. There are, however, some good cottonwood groves and good water at the stream. After sundown the wind blew strong from the northwest and the evening was cold and chilly. Monday, May 10 The morning fine but cool. The wind nearly ceased. Last night I dreamed that I was in company with the camp which was stopping beside a considerable river of deep water. Our horses and cattle were tied to stakes all around the camp to the distance of a quarter of a mile, some good timber thinly scattered around. I thought President Young, Kimball and several others started up the river in a flat boat without stating their object, leaving the brethren to guard the camp, cattle, etc. in their absence. When they had been gone sometime I thought a large herd of buffalo came on full gallop right amongst our horses and cattle, causing them to break their ropes and fly in every direction. The brethren seemed thunderstruck and did not know what to do. Seeing a small skiff in the river, I sprang into it, and a paddle lying in it, I commenced rowing in pursuit of the President. It seemed as though I literally flew through the water passing everything on the way like a railway carriage. In a few minutes I overtook the brethren in the flat boat, took the skiff and threw it on shore and to my astonishment I saw that the skiff was made only of barks and cracked all over, and it seemed impossible to put it in the water without sinking it. The paddle with which I had rowed proved to be a very large feather and I had another feather in my left hand with which I steered the skiff. When I got into the flat boat, I made known what had passed in the camp, but the brethren seemed no ways alarmed. I awoke and behold, it was all a dream. Dr. Richards is going to deposit a letter in a stick of wood prepared for the purpose near this place in such a manner that the next company will discover it. He fixed it on a long pole and being assisted by President Young and others raised it and fixed it firm in the ground. His distance from Winter Quarters three hundred and sixteen miles. At nine five the camp proceeded onward. After traveling two miles we crossed a small creek which Elder Kimball named Skunk creek, easily forded, though the ground was soft on the west side. About this time the brethren at the head of the camp discovered a strange horse alone on the prairie. Porter and Thomas Brown gave chase to try to catch it. Brother John Brown states that when the Mississippi company passed on the other side last season, one of the brethren lost a mare and two colts, and this is supposed to be the oldest of the two. When Brother Woolsey and Tippets came through from the battalion last winter they saw the same horse near here. We traveled till twelve five and finding a little better feed stopped for dinner having traveled a few rods over six miles. The last two miles was over very soft prairie and although the last year's grass has not been burned, the wheels cut through the sod frequently. At the creek four miles back, some of the brethren shot a buffalo which was brought into camp in the revenue cutter. The meat is said to be good and the fattest we have had. At two we continued our journey. About the same time Porter and Brown returned having failed to catch the horse. After traveling about half a mile we crossed a very bad slough, and beyond that for a mile the ground was wet and soft. The teams began to give out, and at half past four o'clock, the President ordered the wagons to strike for the timber which was a little out of our course, but necessary to favor the teams and obtain wood and water. We arrived near the timber and camped at four fifty, having traveled since my last guide post a little over nine and three-fourths miles, the last two miles the ground being dry and good traveling. Some of the hunters killed a deer and we had some venison for supper. Our course a little north of west. Light wind from northwest. The day warm and pleasant. We have a little better feed for cattle, and on the island plenty of brouse for horses, better timber than we have had for some time past. It appears plain that vast herds of buffalo have wintered here, but have mostly left and gone eastward sometime ago, and we have the full growth of this year's grass which is small indeed. The grass evidently springs later the farther west we travel, and nature seems to have taught the wild cattle this lesson, hence their eastward progress. There are some scattering herds of buffalo around, but not nearly so numerous as they were some thirty miles back. The face of the country here is indeed beautiful, the soil rich on the bottoms, the ragged bluffs on each side of the river have a splendid appearance, and at about ten miles distance, west of where we now are, they seem to circle around until they form a junction. It appears evident also, that we are above the junction of the north and south forks of the Platte, the north fork running nearly northwest and the south fork southwest. Brother Woolsey says these are the forks in reality, but are connected some miles higher up by a slough, and consequently the land between is set down by travelers as the main land rather than as an island. Tuesday, May 11 The morning cold. Wind east; camp well. At 7:00 a.m. went with a number of the brethren who were going to dig some wolves out of a hole about a quarter of a mile from camp. They dug out four and brought them alive to camp. They are probably six or eight weeks old and about the size of an English hare, very vicious. At half past nine the camp moved onward over a very nice level, dry prairie for five miles. Amongst the timber on the island could be seen many small cedar trees. At the end of five miles, we had to pass over a small ridge of low, sandy bluffs, which extended to the river. After passing nearly over the bluffs we stopped half an hour to water the teams and eat a little dinner, then proceeded on three miles farther and passed over a creek of clear water, but this could not be very good in consequence of so many dead buffalo lying in it. We proceeded on half a mile, and finding tolerably good feed, stopped for the night, having traveled eight and half miles today. Weather fine, wind south and southeast; course a little west or northwest. We have seen few buffalo today, but there are signs of thousands having wintered in the neighborhood. The country looks beautiful, soil rich, only lacking timber. After the camp was formed, it being half a mile to water, the brethren dug two wells, and about four feet deep found plenty of good water. One of the wells is reported to run a pail full a minute. Brother Appleton Harmon is working at the machinery for the wagon to tell the distance we travel and expects to have it in operation tomorrow, which will save me the trouble of counting, as I have done, during the last four days. Took supper on some duck presented to Elder Kimball by George Billings. Wednesday, May 12 Morning cool, weather fine. Brother Appleton Harmon has completed the machinery on the wagon so far that I shall only have to count the number of miles, instead of the revolution of the wagon wheel. We started at 9:10, the first mile pretty soft, the rest tolerably hard and very good traveling. We have passed over vast beds of salt, or rather dust with a salt taste. It looks something like dirty flour. Traveled eight miles in four hours and two minutes, and stopped at 12:48 to feed, nearly opposite two small islands. The feed tolerably good. Our course northwest. Considerable strong wind from southeast covering everything in the wagons with dust and sand. No timber on the bank of the river and but little on the islands. The hunters report that they have seen many dead buffalo between here and the bluff with the hides off and tongues taken out, a strong proof that Indians have been here very recently, as the flesh looks fresh and lately killed. The range of bluffs on each side the river extend much farther apart, and near the foot of the south range can be seen timber scattering along, which is an evidence that the south fork ranges in that direction, although some are sanguine that we have not yet arrived at the junction. At half past three we moved on again and traveled four miles, camped at a quarter to six near a bunch of small islands, and a kind of bayou projecting from the river. Our course this afternoon a little south of west, having come around a considerable bend in the river. The land good and good traveling. Wind southeast. Several of the brethren caught a number of small fish in the bayou or lake. The feed here is rather scanty. Heavy clouds are rising in the west and northwest, and a fair prospect for some rain which is much needed. It is now certain that we are about fourteen and a half miles above the junction of the north and south forks of the Platte, and although we have to make a new road all the way, we find no obstacles so far. Brother Woodruff reports that he has been beyond the bluffs north of the camp and saw upwards of 200 wickeups where the Indians have camped very recently. He found a cured buffalo skin and some pieces of other skins also. The hunters killed a two year old buffalo and brought it to camp. Brother Orson Pratt reports that when we were five and a half miles back, we were in latitude 41° 9' 44". Thursday, May 13 This morning cold and cloudy, cold enough for overcoats and buffalo robes. The buffalo which was killed yesterday was cut up and divided this morning amongst the companies of tens. Some feelings are manifest this morning between Brothers Thomas Tanner and Aaron Farr on account of the former taking the latter prisoner and putting him under a guard part of the night. Perhaps Aaron was a little out of order in conversing loud after the horn blew for prayers, but I think Brother Tanner's angry spirit more blameable. At 9:00 we moved onward nearly a west course four miles and at 11:00 stopped to feed teams at a spot which is a little better than we generally have. The wind strong from north and northeast. At half past twelve we proceeded on again and traveled till four o'clock, distance six and three quarters miles. At this distance we arrived at a stream about six rods wide which appears to come from the northeast, the water in appearance like the Platte, the bottom of the river quick sand. Water in the middle about two feet deep; at the sides quite shoal. It appears that travelers have never discovered this stream for it is not noticed in any works that we have seen. We crossed it without difficulty and camped on its banks. The weather cloudy and very cold, with a strong north wind. Presidents Young and Kimball rode ahead as usual to look out the road. They report that the bluffs half a mile west come clear to the river and are considerably high. They found several ranges of them and finally found a valley running between some of the ranges through which we can pass by going about a mile around from our course. This stream according to measurement, twenty-five and one quarter miles above the junction of the two forks and 341 miles from Winter Quarters, by estimation. President Young named it the North Bluff Fork. A while before we arrived here four of the brethren went to chase a few buffalo which were lying down at the foot of the bluffs, but they did not get any. Presidents Young and Kimball saw a very large rattlesnake near the river. Brother Kimball says the largest he ever saw in his life. I saw a small green snake today, very pretty, the back light green and the belly a pale yellow. Presidents Young and Kimball suffered severely with cold while riding over the bluffs to look for a road. Had to use buffalo dung for cooking, there being no timber. Friday, May 14 The morning cloudy and very cold. In the west could occasionally be seen streaks of lightning and distant thunder heard. At 8:00 a.m. the dark clouds having approached nearer, it commenced raining pretty hard, accompanied by lightning and thunder. The President ordered the horses got up just before the rain commenced; and after the storm ceased, we started onward at a quarter past ten. After traveling about a mile we passed among and around the high bluffs, our course lying nearly in a north direction for some time, then turning south and on again approaching the river, nearly southeast. When within about three quarters of a mile from the river, we stopped to feed at twenty minutes to two, having traveled six and a quarter miles. We have got on the level bottom again and are probably not more than three miles in a direct line from where we started this morning. Presidents Young and Kimball went forward to point out the route, which is very good to travel, although considerably uneven. Brother Higbee killed an antelope and wounded another which made its escape while he was loading his rifle. We have better feed here than we have had for some time. We had a little more rain just as we came to a halt. We have not had much wind this morning but it is now increasing from the north. It is somewhat warmer than this morning. The atmosphere cloudy and looks as if we might have more rain. The land between the two forks for about 25 miles is perfectly flat and very level without timber. The bluffs there rise suddenly, apparently in a line from fork to fork. There are many buffalo back in the valleys between the bluffs, and although there is no sign of the prairie having been burned, it is evident the buffalo have kept it eaten clean off, but have moved back and east, probably since the Indians have been hunting them. Some of the brethren have discovered fresh tracks where the Indians have gone up this north stream, evidently very lately. But we are satisfied the Lord hears the prayers of his servants and sends them out of the way before we come up to them. At three o'clock we proceeded on our journey, keeping above the lower prairie, which appeared soft and swampy. Our road was very uneven. We went two and a half miles and at half past four stopped to learn the report of those gone ahead to look out the road. There is another high range of bluffs about half a mile west of us, extending to the river. Elder Kimball went across the several ranges of bluffs to the west side, and hunted for a road in various directions, but there did not appear to be any possibility of finding a road between the bluffs, without going many miles around. President Young and he concluded it would be best to camp where the wagons are and in the morning cross right over the bluffs by doubling teams. Accordingly the encampment was formed about five-thirty, the train having traveled eight and three quarters miles today. Our course this afternoon nearly west, wind southeast. The feed for our teams grows much better, and on one of these high sandy bluffs I saw a large bed of flowers, not unlike the violet, and very rich. The sand on the bluffs in some places looks like large drifts of snow, and in other places seems to have deep chasms as if wasted by heavy rains. The atmosphere is still cloudy but not so cold as it has been. The hunters have killed two buffalo, three antelope and one badger during the day, which will be very acceptable. It was dark when the hunters returned to give the information. The revenue cutter was sent after the meat which was reported to be a mile and a half distant. It was late when they returned. There was an alarm made by the guard in the night supposing the Indians were near. The camp were aroused to secure their horses, but we had no further trouble about them. I discovered that Brother Appleton Harmon is trying to have it understood that he invented the machinery to tell the distance we travel, which makes me think less of him than I formerly did. He is not the inventor of it by a long way, but he has made the machinery, after being told how to do it. What little souls work. Saturday, May 15 This morning is very cloudy and very cold, more like a January morning than a May morning. The wind blows strong from the northeast. The brethren who killed the buffalo did not bring it to camp last night, but put it in the boat and left it till morning. About half past seven they brought it in and divided it to the captains of ten. At eight o'clock it commenced raining again but abated a little before nine. At nine o'clock we commenced moving and after traveling three-quarters of a mile began to ascend the sandy bluffs. It commenced raining again and it looks like rain for all day. It is very cold, the wind continues strong. The road was much of a zig zag over the bluffs, but only about a mile before we descended to the bottom. We traveled a piece farther and at half past ten o'clock it was considered best to turn out the teams until it ceases raining, after traveling two and a quarter miles. We found it unnecessary to double teams while crossing the bluffs and we got over without difficulty, much better than we had anticipated. About noon it again ceased raining and the signal was given to harness up teams. At half past twelve we proceeded and traveled till a quarter to three, distance four and a half miles, then formed the encampment in a circle about a quarter of a mile from the river. The road has been level but soft and wet, however not bad traveling. The bluffs are about half a mile to the north and several herds of buffalo grazing on them. Some of the hunters are gone to try and get some meat. The wind still keeps up, and is cold, damp and uncomfortable. The feed appears better here than we have had for some days, and the cattle soon fill themselves which is a comfort and blessing to the camp. Some of the brethren have been lucky enough to pick up a few sticks and dead wood but our chief dependence for fuel is dry buffalo dung which abounds everywhere, but the rain has injured it some for burning. About two miles back we passed a place where the Indians have lately camped during their hunt. It is plain that whole families are amongst their number as the foot prints and moccasins of children have several times been seen. They evidently make use of the buffalo dung for fuel, and for seats, they dig up sods and lay them in a circle around their fire which is in the center. We have passed a number of these little temporary camping spots this afternoon. The reason why we did not travel farther was that Elder Kimball being gone ahead to look out the road, etc., he found as he came near the next bluffs that the feed is all eaten off by the numerous herds of buffalo and found also, that we shall have to travel over the bluffs and they appear wide and would be impossible for the teams to get over them tonight, hence the necessity of stopping here where we have good feed. The soil on this prairie looks good and rich but there is no timber. In fact there is none in sight, except a small grove on the other side the river about two miles west of the camp. Late at night Porter Rockwell came in and reported that he killed a buffalo. The cutter was sent for it to bring it to camp. Our course this afternoon nearly west. Sunday, May 16 Morning fine, but chilly and cold. Wind north. Eric Glines killed an antelope near the camp which was cut up and distributed. Soon after breakfast, President Young, Elders Kimball, Woodruff and Benson went on horseback to look out the best road over the bluffs. They returned at half past twelve and reported that we can pass through a valley between and around the bluffs, which will be about four miles across them. About 5:00 p.m. several buffalo were seen making their way from the bluffs towards our horses, some of which were very near them. Brother Eric Glines started out with the intention of driving the buffalo away, and bringing the horses nearer camp. When he got near, the buffalo did not seem much disposed to move and he shot at one of them and wounded him. He moved a little farther and Brother Glines followed him and shot three times more at him. The buffalo then ran about forty rods, fell, and soon expired. I went to look at him. He is a large one, judged to weigh about 700 pounds, and in pretty good order. I left the brethren skinning him and returned to camp where a meeting had been called at 5:00 p.m., and the brethren addressed by Elders Richards, Markham, Rockwood and Kimball, chiefly on the subject of obeying counsel, and Elder Kimball remarked in regard to hunting on the Sabbath. He would not do it even in case of necessity, but he did not feel disposed to find fault with the brethren. The laws and regulations for the camp of April 18th were then read by Brother Bullock and the meeting dismissed. About noon today Brother Appleton Harmon completed the machinery on the wagon called a "roadometer" by adding a wheel to revolve once in ten miles, showing each mile and also each quarter mile we travel, and then casing the whole over so as to secure it from the weather. We are now prepared to tell accurately, the distance we travel from day to day which will supersede the idea of guessing, and be a satisfaction not only to this camp, but to all who hereafter travel this way. I have prepared another board to put up here on which the distance from Winter Quarters is marked at 356¾ miles. I have also written on it that the last seventy miles are measured, and we shall continue to measure and put up guide posts as often as circumstances will permit through the journey. The whole machinery consists of a shaft about 18 inches long placed on gudgeons, one in the axle tree of the wagon, near which are six arms placed at equal distances around it, and in which a cog works which is fastened on the hub of the wagon wheel, turning the shaft once round at every six revolutions of the wagon wheel. The upper gudgeon plays in a piece of wood nailed to the wagon box, and near this gudgeon on the shaft a screw is cut. The shaft lays at an angle of about forty-five degrees. In this screw, a wheel of sixty cogs works on an axle fixed in the side of the wagon, and which makes one revolution each mile. In the shaft on which this wheel runs, four cogs are cut on the fore part which plays in another wheel of forty cogs which shows the miles and quarters to ten miles. The whole is cased over and occupies a space of about 18 inches long, 15 inches high and 3 inches thick. After the meeting was dismissed, the cutter was sent to fetch the meat in, killed by Brother Glines. They soon returned and the meat was distributed as usual. Presidents Young and Kimball have walked out together towards the bluffs. After supper Elder Whipple made me a present of a half a candle made from buffalo tallow, by the light of which I continue this journal. Although, as may be expected, the buffalo are generally poorer at this season of the year, yet Brother Whipple has obtained sufficient to make two candles from his portion of meat received yesterday morning. The candle burns very clear and pleasant. The tallow smells sweet and rich. I imagine it has a more pleasant smell than the tallow of domestic cattle. Monday, May 17 The morning very cold and chilly, wind northwest. Dr. Richards left another letter on the camp ground for the benefit of the next company. The letter is secured from the weather by a wooden case, and placed so that the brethren can hardly miss finding it. We started on our journey at 8:13 a.m. After traveling a mile and a half, we arrived at the foot of another range of bluffs which extend to the river, and began to ascend about a quarter of a mile north from the river, the road also turning to the north. A quarter of a mile farther, we crossed a stream of spring water about three feet wide. The road for a little distance on both sides the stream is rough, sandy and crooked. We then turned westward, and passed over a number of bluffs as there was no chance to go around them without going miles out of our course. On these sandy bluffs, there are very many small lizards about four or five inches long from nose to the end of the tail, which is an inch and a half long. The body looks short and chunky and is of a light grey color with two rows of dark brown spots on each side of the body which make it appear striped. The head is shaped something like the head of a snake. They appear perfectly harmless and are pretty in appearance. After traveling two and a quarter miles beyond the last mentioned stream, we arrived at the west foot of the bluffs. The last part of the road very sandy and there are several very steep places of descent. However all the teams got safely over without difficulty. At the west foot of the bluffs, there appears more grass than anywhere we have yet been, although the buffalo have eaten it off considerably. Within a quarter of a mile from the bluffs, we crossed two small streams of spring water and at a mile from the foot of the bluffs, we crossed a stream of spring water about four feet wide with a very rapid current. The whole of this bottom seems full of springs and we have to keep near the bluffs to make a good road to travel, and in fact, we find it more or less soft and springy even close to the bluffs. A mile and a quarter west of the last mentioned spring is another small stream of very clear spring water. The others are rather muddy by running over sandy land. They all appear to have their rise in the bluffs a short distance from our road. At 11:35 we stopped to feed having traveled this morning, six and three quarters miles. Our course west, weather fine, warm, and little wind. While we were resting, one of President Young's horses (in care of Phineas) mired down in a soft slough. A number of men soon collected and with a rope dragged it out, washed and rubbed it, and all was well again. Latitude 41° 12' 50". At two o'clock, we proceeded onward. After traveling a half a mile, we arrived at a very shoal stream of clear water about thirty feet wide but not over three inches deep in the channel which is about three feet wide. We forded it very easily and then passed over a short range of low sandy bluffs about a quarter of a mile wide and then entered on level prairie again, but we found it very soft and springy. Within two and a half miles from the last mentioned stream we passed two others, one very small, the other about four feet wide. They both doubtless rise from springs at the foot of the bluffs. About ten minutes after three o'clock, word arrived that a buffalo was killed by the hunters about a mile from the road. Two men were sent to skin and dress it. About the same time the revenue cutter arrived with two more buffalo, one said to have been killed by Luke Johnson and the other by John Brown, also an antelope killed by Amasa Lyman. The wagons halted at a quarter to four, took the meat out of the boat, which immediately returned to fetch the other buffalo which was killed by Porter Rockwell. The meat was cut in quarters and put into the wagons and at half past four o'clock we again moved onward and traveled till 5:50 p.m. and camped on a nice dry bottom prairie where the grass is shorter than that we have passed all day. We traveled this afternoon six miles and during the day twelve and three quarters, about a west course. We are some distance from water but several wells were soon dug and good water obtained at about four feet deep. Soon after we camped the boat came in with the other buffalo and the meat was all distributed equally around the camp, but it appears that some have already got more than they need and feel unwilling to take a good forequarter. The bluffs on the opposite side the river project to the river for some distance opposite this place. Latitude 41° 13' 20". Tuesday, May 18 The morning fine and very pleasant. At seven o'clock the President called the captains of tens to his wagons and gave them a pretty severe lecture. He referred to some who had left meat on the ground and would not use it because it was not hind quarter. Some would murmur because a fore quarter of meat was alloted to them, etc., which is not right, for God has given us a commandment that we should not waste meat, nor take life unless it is needful, but he can see a disposition in this camp to slaughter everything before them, yea if all the buffalo and game there is on our route were brought together to the camp, there are some who would never cease until they had destroyed the whole. Some men will shoot as much as thirty times at a rabbit if they did not kill it, and are continually wasting their ammunition, but when they have used all they have got, they may have the pleasure of carrying their empty guns to the mountains and back, for he will not furnish them. We have now meat enough to last some time if we will take proper care of it. As to the horsemen, there are none with the exception of Brothers Kimball, Woodruff and Benson, that ever take the trouble to look out a good road for the wagons but all they seem to care about is to wait till their breakfast is cooked for them, and when they have eaten it, they mount their horses and scatter away, and if an antelope comes across the track, the whole of us must be stopped perhaps half an hour while they try to creep up near enough to kill it, but when we come to a bad place on the route, all the interest they have is to get across the best they can and leave myself and one or two others to pick out a crossing place and guide the camp all the time. Such things are not right, and he wants them to cease and all take an interest in the welfare of the camp, be united, and receive the meat as a blessing from God and not as a stink offering from the devil. It is not necessary to preach to the elders in this camp, they know what is right as well as he does, and he will not preach to them all the time. Let the captains do the best they know how and teach their men to do likewise. The meeting dispersed, the meat was taken care of and at a quarter past eight we started out again, and traveled three and a quarter miles nearly a west course over a very hard prairie and good traveling and then arrived at a nice stream, Rattlesnake creek, about twenty or twenty-five feet wide, a foot or 18 inches deep and a very strong current. This stream must take its rise some distance back in the bluffs or else is supplied from many strong springs, for there is much water comes down it. We traveled on from this near the bank of the river about a northwest course over tolerably rough land till 11:10 and then stopped to feed having come six and a half miles this morning, the weather very hot. Opposite the stream last mentioned on the south side the river, are several pine groves, or rather cedar groves. There is some little pine wood, such as knots and dead branches that can be picked up on the banks of the river. It has floated from above. This, with a little buffalo chips, makes a good fire for cooking. Latitude noon 41° 3' 44". Rattlesnake creek was so named from the following incident: President Young, as he rode up to the banks of the creek discovered that his horse stepped within a foot of a very large rattlesnake. He turned his horse away without harming it. Soon afterward, one of the brethren came up on foot and stepped within two feet and a half of it. It immediately coiled up and sprang at him and would have struck him (as it sprang 2½ feet) had he not jumped to one side. He took his rifle and shot the snake dead. The head of Cedar Bluffs, as named by Fremont, is three miles west of where we camped last night. At 1:05 p.m. we continued our journey. Our route lay near the banks of the river which seems narrower here. After traveling three and a half miles, we crossed a stream about six feet wide, and three quarters of a mile farther another stream of tolerably deep, clear water about five feet wide. This stream is very crooked and seems to run from the bluffs to the river in a perfect serpentine or zig zag direction. Soon after starting this afternoon, we discovered some dog towns, the grass eaten perfectly bare all around. The feed is growing worse again, evidently eaten up by the buffalo. At noon, a heavy black cloud arose in the west and we had a little rain, accompanied by lightning and distant thunder. After passing the last mentioned creek about a mile, we had to change our course to nearly northwest on account of a bend in the river. We traveled till 5:30 and formed our encampment on the west bank of a running stream about eight feet wide and one foot deep which is five miles from the crooked creek, making our afternoon's travel nine and a quarter miles and the day's travel fifteen and three quarters. The bluffs and the river here are about a quarter of a mile apart, the river very wide, feed poor, plenty of float wood, pine and cedar, for fuel. The weather calm and warm, though cloudy. After encampment was formed, went with Elder Orson Pratt to Dr. Richards' wagon to enter into arrangements for making a map of our route. The doctor wants me to do it, assisted by Elder Pratt's observations. He handed me Fremont's map, and I retired to my wagon to commence operations, but soon found that the map does not agree with my scale nor Elder Pratt's calculations. I then proposed to Elder Pratt to wait until we get through the journey and take all the necessary data and then make a new one instead of making our route on Fremont's. The subject is left here till morning. After supper I took my candle and finished this day's journal. At dark Colonel Markham called the camp together to tell the brethren their duty in regard to traveling, guarding teams, and standing guard at nights. The old laws of April 18th were talked over and additional by-laws added, but not being present I did not hear them, neither can I learn anything from those who were present, for they all say that there were so many little matters touched upon, and so many resolutions passed that they remembered only one--and that is, when any man goes out of the sound of the horn to fetch in his team, and sees another man's horse or mule or ox, a little beyond or near his, he shall drive it also to camp, and if he neglect to do so, he shall be sent back to do it even if it requires an escort to make him. About seven o'clock the wind shifted around to the north and blew strong and cold. Wednesday, May 19 It has rained a little most of the night and still looks gloomy, cloudy and like for a rainy day. Inasmuch as the feed is not good here, it was thought best to move on before breakfast a few miles and seek better feed. We started out at 5:05, the second division having the right to lead, but a part of the first division being ready a little before all the second were ready, they rushed on their teams, drove fast and those of the second division behind had to leave the track and run their teams to take their places. We traveled two and three quarters miles, our course eleven and one fourth degrees north of west, and then crossed a stream three feet wide, and one quarter of a mile farther crossed another four feet wide. Our route lay within about one quarter of a mile from the bluffs and a mile from the river which takes a bend south from where we camped last night and runs close to the bluffs on the south side. We then turned our course to a little west of northwest as the river bends again to the bluffs on this side, and traveled a quarter of a mile farther and halted for breakfast at 6:20, having traveled three and a quarter miles. The main body of the camp have stopped a quarter of a mile back, being three miles from where we started this morning. The road is mostly sandy, tall grass of last year's growth. The two streams we passed seem to form many ponds of clear water extending at short distances from each other from the bluffs to the river. Elder Kimball has been ahead over the bluffs to look out the road. It continues to rain a little occasionally with light north wind. Elder Kimball found that the bluffs project entirely to the river and are very sandy, but we can cross them without going out of our course. At twenty minutes to nine, we proceeded onward a little and then waited till the rest of the wagons came up. At the distance of nearly a mile and a half, we crossed a stream about twenty feet wide, not very deep, neither very good to cross, and exactly at the distance of a mile and a half, we arrived at the foot of the bluffs and began to ascend without doubling teams. Some of the teams stuck by, but by the assistance of the extra men, they all got up. The bluffs are very high, sandy and rough, and the sand cuts down considerably, making it heavy on teams. These bluffs are three quarters of a mile from the east foot to the west foot following our trail which is nearly straight. About 200 yards from the west foot of the bluffs, we crossed another stream five feet wide. It has rained heavily all the time since we started after breakfast and continues. Consequently at half past ten the camp formed into platoons and then halted to wait for more favorable weather, having traveled six miles today over the worst road we have had from Winter Quarters, rendered worse, doubtless, by the heavy rains. About half past two the weather looked a little more favorable and orders were given to move on. We started at five minutes to three, about which time it again rained heavily. We traveled two miles and then formed our encampment in a semi-circle on the banks of the river, having traveled two miles and through the day, eight miles. The first mile this evening was over very soft prairie, the last hard and good. The rain still continues to pour down heavily and this has been the most uncomfortable day we have had and the hardest on our teams. The brethren, however, feel well and cheerful. The ox teams are improving in their condition, but the horses do not stand it as well. The stream at the east foot of the last mentioned bluffs was named Wolf creek from the following circumstance: When Elder Kimball went ahead this morning to search out a road, he went up the creek about a mile and around over the bluffs to find, if possible, a better road than the one close to the river. While he was searching, about a mile north from the river he went down into a deep hollow surrounded by high bluffs and as he was riding along at the bottom, he turned his head to the left and saw two very large wolves at about five rods distance gazing at him. One of them he said was nearly as large as a two year old steer. When he saw these he looked around on the other side and saw several others about the same distance from him, very large ones, and all gazing fiercely at him. This startled him considerably, and more especially when he reflected that he had no arms. He made a noise to try to scare them away but they still stood, and he concluded to move away as soon as he could. They did not follow him and he saw a dead carcass near, which satisfied him that he had interrupted their repast. On mentioning this circumstance to President Young, they named the creek "Wolf Creek." He traveled back and forth over ten miles searching out a road before breakfast. He also went out again afterwards and got badly wet. He then concluded to change his clothing and remain in his wagon. The evening is very cool and cloudy with wind from the northeast. The rain had ceased about six o'clock, but it still looks stormy. Thursday, May 20 The morning fair, but cloudy, light wind from northwest and cold. At 7:45 we started out again but had not traveled over a quarter of a mile before the roadometer gave way on account of the rain yesterday having caused the wood to swell and stick fast. One of the cogs in the small wheel broke. We stopped about a half an hour and Appleton Harmon took it to pieces and put it up again without the small wheel. I had to count each mile after this. Three quarters of a mile from where we camped, we crossed a creek eight feet wide and two and a half feet deep. We then changed our course to about southwest a mile or so following the banks of the river, as the ground was wet and swampy nearer the bluffs. The river then winds around about three miles in a bend and then strikes a little north of west. The bluffs on the north appear to be about two miles from the river. We traveled till 11:15 and then halted to feed, having traveled seven and three quarters miles over tolerably good road, though at the commencement somewhat soft. On the opposite side the river, the bluffs project near its banks. They are rocky and almost perpendicular, beautified for miles by groves of cedar. Opposite to where we are halted, we can see a ravine running up the bluffs and at the foot, a flat bottom of about fifteen acres. At the farther side of this bottom is a grove of trees not yet in leaf. Brother Brown thinks they are ash and that the place is what is called Ash Hollow and on Fremont's map, Ash Creek. We all felt anxious to ascertain the fact whether this is Ash Hollow or not, for if it is, the Oregon trail strikes the river at this place, and if it can be ascertained that such is the fact, we then have a better privilege of testing Fremont's distances to Laramie. We have already discovered that his map is not altogether correct in several respects, and particularly in showing the windings of the river and the distance of the bluffs from it. I suggested the propriety of some persons going over in the boat and Brother John Brown suggested it to President Young. The boat was soon hauled by the brethren to the river, and Orson Pratt, Amasa Lyman, Luke Johnson and John Brown started to row over, but the current was so exceedingly strong the oars had no effect. John Brown then jumped into the river which was about two and a half feet deep and dragged the boat over, the others assisting with the oars. After some hard labor they arrived on the opposite shore and went to the hollow. They soon found the Oregon trail and ascertained that this is Ash Hollow, Brother Brown having traveled on that road to near Laramie last season with the Mississippi company and knew the place perfectly well. They gathered some branches of wild cherry in full bloom, rambled over the place a little while and then returned to camp. About the same time the camp prepared to pursue their journey. The brethren arrived and made their report, and at 1:45 p.m. we proceeded onward. From the appearance of the bluffs ahead, our course this afternoon will be west and northwest. A light breeze from northwest. Soon after we started, one of the brethren killed a large rattlesnake within a rod of the road made by the wagons and on the side where the cows travel. He killed it to prevent its injuring the cows and threw it away from the road. In the river one and a quarter miles above Ash Hollow, there are several small islands on which grow many trees of cedar. One of these islands is perfectly green over with cedar and looks beautiful. The bluffs also on the south side the river continue to be lined with cedar apparently for two miles yet and are very high and almost perpendicular, running pretty close to the river. On this side the river, the bluffs seem to bear farther to the north, being apparently about three miles from the river, and a few miles farther west they are as much as five miles from the river. After traveling three and a quarter miles from the noon stop, we crossed a tributary stream running into the Platte, in a very crooked direction, being from four to eight rods wide and two and a half feet deep most of the way across, the bottom quick sand, current rapid and water of sandy color like the Platte. Some had to double teams to get over, but all got over safely. We proceeded on about four miles farther and found that the river bends considerably to the north. The bluffs also bend to the south, so that the low bluffs in front almost reach the banks only barely leaving room for a road. We went a little farther and camped for the night at half past five, having traveled this afternoon eight miles, making fifteen and three quarters miles during the day. Elder Kimball and several others went forward on horses to pick out our road as usual. I have seen several kinds of herbs growing today which appear new to me. One looks like penny royal, smells almost like it, but tastes hot and like the oil of cloves. Elder Kimball and others saw a very large wolf about half a mile west, and he appeared to be following them to camp. They turned and rode up to him and round him, struck their pistols at him, but they did not go off, being damp. He finally made his escape. The large stream we crossed this afternoon is named Castle Creek from the bluffs on the opposite side which much resemble the rock on which Lancaster Castle is built. The bluffs are named Castle Bluffs. We had a light shower this afternoon, but the evening is fine though very cool. Friday, May 21 The morning very fine and pleasant though tolerably cold. I put up a guide board at this place with the following inscriptions on it: "From Winter Quarters 409 miles. From the junction of the North and South Forks, 93¼ miles. From Cedar Bluffs, south side the river, 36½ miles. Ash Hollow, south side the river, 8 miles. Camp of Pioneers May 21, 1847. According to Fremont, this place is 132 miles from Laramie. N. B. The bluffs opposite are named Castle Bluffs." At 7:35 we continued our journey. We found the prairie tolerably wet, many ponds of water standing which must have been caused by a heavy fall of rain, much more heavy than we had back. However, it was not very bad traveling. We made a pretty straight road this morning at about the distance of a mile from the river. The bluffs on the north appear to be five miles or over from our road. At 11:15 we halted for dinner, having traveled nearly seven and three quarters miles, course north of northwest, very warm and no wind. Presidents Young and Kimball rode forward to pick the road, and near this place they saw a nest of wolves, caught and killed two with sticks. Four or five others escaped to their hole. At half past one we proceeded onward and found the prairie wet, and grass high of last year's growth. After traveling four and three quarters miles we arrived at a range of low bluffs projecting to the river, which at this place bends to the north. There is, however, bottom of about a rod wide between the bluffs and the river, but as it is wet and soft, it was preferred to cross over the bluffs by bending a little more to the north. We traveled on the bluffs a little over a quarter of a mile and then turned on the bottom again. The bluffs are low and almost as level as the bottom. After we crossed the bluffs we found the road better. We saw about a mile this side of the foot of the bluffs, a very large bone almost petrified into stone. Most of the brethren believe it to be the shoulder bone of a mammoth, and is very large indeed. About this time a badger was brought to the wagons which Brother Woodruff had killed. As I was walking along and looking over the river, I heard a rattlesnake, and looking down saw that I had stepped within a foot of it. It rattled hard but seemed to make away. We threw it away from the track without killing it. At five o'clock Elder Kimball rode up and stopped the forward teams till the last ones got nearer saying that some Indians had come down from the bluffs to the brethren ahead. When the rest of the wagons came up we moved on a quarter of a mile farther and at half past five formed our encampment in a circle with the wagons close together as possible, having traveled seven and three quarters miles this afternoon, making fifteen and a half through the day. As the camp was forming the two Indians came nearer, being a man and his squaw. They represented by signs that they were Sioux and that a party of them are now on the bluffs north of us and not far distant. By the aid of glasses we could see several on the bluffs with their ponies, evidently watching our movements. This man was hunting when first seen and appeared afraid when he saw the brethren. The squaw fled for the bluffs as fast as her horse could go, but by signs made to them they gathered courage and came up. President Young gave orders not to bring them into camp, and they soon rode off to the bluffs. The man has got a good cloth coat on and appears well dressed. The horses they rode are said to be work horses which makes us suspect they have stolen them from travelers. The day has been very warm and some of the teams gave out. We can see some timber on the bluffs on the other side of the river some miles ahead which is the first timber we have seen for more than a week, except some small cedar and the timber in Ash Hollow, all on the south side the river. We are nearly a mile from water and the brethren have to dig wells to obtain a supply for cooking. The feed here is very poor, not much but old grass. Our course this afternoon has been a little north of west. Lorenzo Young shot two very large ducks with one ball and brought them to camp. Elder Kimball proposed tonight that I should leave a number of pages for so much of his journal as I am behind in copying and start from the present and keep it up daily. He furnished me a candle and I wrote the journal of this day's travel by candle light in his journal, leaving fifty-six pages blank. The evening was very fine and pleasant. The latitude at noon halt 41° 24' 5". Saturday, May 22 Morning beautiful, no wind and warm. We have not been disturbed by the Indians; all is peace in the camp. At eight o'clock we continued our journey, making a more crooked road than usual, having to bend south to near the banks of the river. The prairie somewhat soft and a little uneven. After traveling five and a half miles we crossed a very shoal creek about twenty feet wide. The bluffs and river about a mile apart, but on the other side, the bluffs recede two miles back from the river and have lost their craggy and steep appearance, the ascent being gradual, while on this side they begin to be rocky, cragged and almost perpendicular though not very high. We traveled till half past eleven and then halted for noon, having traveled seven and a quarter miles, the road on this side the creek being better. Our course about west of northwest with a light breeze from the east. Elder Kimball and others ahead as usual. The creek above mentioned was named Crab Creek because some of the brethren saw a very large crab in it. A mile east of this creek is a dry creek, down which, from appearances, a heavy stream runs at some seasons of the year, perhaps during heavy storms. The water running from the bluffs swells it to a considerable height and it is certain there are tremendous storms here. A while after we halted, Porter Rockwell came in and said he had been on the high bluff about a mile northwest of us and had seen the rock called Chimney Rock which appeared a long distance off. We have been in hopes to come in sight of it today and feel anxious in order to ascertain more certainly the correctness of Fremont's distance. In order to satisfy myself, although my feet were blistered and very sore, I determined to take my telescope and go on the bluff to ascertain for myself whether the noted rock could be seen or not. At half past twelve I started out alone. I found the distance to the foot of the bluff a good mile, the ascent gradual. From the foot the bluff looks very high and rough, many huge rocks having broken from the summit from time to time and rolled down a long distance. I found the ascent very steep and lengthy in comparison to its appearance from camp. When I arrived on the top I found a nice slightly arched surface of about a quarter of an acre in extent, but barren and very little grass on it. Huge comparatively smooth rocks peeped through the surface on one of which I wrote with red chalk: "Wm. Clayton. May 22, 1847." On the highest point I sat down and took a view of the surrounding country which is magnificent indeed. On the south at the distance of two miles from the river, there is a range of cedar trees on the bluffs which very much resemble some of the parks and seats of gentry in England. East I could see where we camped last night, the high grass still burning. Northeast, north, and northwest, alternately, appeared high swelling bluffs and valleys as far as the eye could see or the glass magnify. West, the course of the Platte for ten or fifteen miles and at about four or five miles distance, a large bend to the north brings it in contact with the bluffs on this side. At the distance, I should judge of about twenty miles, I could see Chimney Rock very plainly with the naked eye, which from here very much resembles the large factory chimneys in England, although I could not see the form of its base. The rock lay about due west from here. After gratifying my curiosity, and seeing the men collecting their teams for a march, I descended on the west side of the bluff. The descent at this point looks more alarming than on the other. The side being very steep and all along huge rocks standing so critically, that to all appearance, a waft of wind would precipitate them to the prairie below with tremendous force. In one place in particular, a ponderous mass of rock appears to hang from the edge of the bluff without any visible means of being retained in its position, and by gazing at it a little while, it is easy to imagine you can see it move and ready to overwhelm you instantly. At a little distance from the base of the bluff, I turned to gaze on the romantic scenery above and was struck at the appearance of a large rock projecting from one corner, which very much resembled a frog's head of immense size with its mouth part open. The thought was, those bluffs ought to be named and what name more appropriate than Frog's Head Bluffs. After this reflection, I walked on to where I thought the wagons would come which started out at half past one. After traveling three and a quarter miles we crossed a dry creek about six rods wide, and a quarter of a mile farther, another about five feet wide and a half a mile farther, still another about six rods wide on an average. These all appear to be the sources of heavy streams of water at some seasons of the year. Soon as we crossed this last one, I saw Elder Kimball wave his hat for the wagons to turn off to the north in order to cross the bluffs which struck the river a little farther. But a little to the west was a very high ridge and I concluded to walk on to it. Found it to be a perfect ridge of gravel, very high and rounding on the top, not more than four or five feet wide and from north to south about 150 feet long. Elder Pratt names this Cobble Hills, the gravel or cobbles varying in size of from fifty pounds in weight to the smallest pebble. At the north foot of this hill is what might be named a clay bank, being composed of a light colored kind of sandy clay and forms a kind of large table. A little distance farther, we crossed another dry creek about eight rods wide and then ascended the bluffs. The ascent is pretty steep for nearly half a mile, but hard and not difficult to travel. The wagon had to wind about some to keep around the foot of the bluffs, crossing the dry creek three times before we emerged from the bluffs to the banks of the river. We crossed another dry creek pretty steep on each side and then found ourselves once more on the prairie bottom. The bluffs are two and a quarter miles from the east to the west foot following our trail. The wind has blown from the southeast all day until lately, when a dead calm has succeeded. In the west a heavy thunder cloud has been gathering for two hours and vivid streaks of lightning observed in the distance. At twenty minutes to five the wind struck suddenly from the northwest, the blackest part of the cloud then lying in that direction. We had a few drops of rain only. Then it seemed to turn off to the east. The scenery after this was indeed sublime, the sun peering out from under the heavy clouds reflecting long rays upwards which were imitated in the east. The romantic bluffs on the north and the lightning playing in the southeast all tended to fill my mind with pleasant reflections, on the goodness and majesty of the Creator and Governor of the universe, and the beauty of the works of his hands. At 5:45 we formed our encampment in a circle within a quarter of a mile of the banks of the river, having traveled this afternoon, eight and a quarter miles and through the day fifteen and a half, making the distance from Winter Quarters 440 miles in five weeks and three and a half days. The feed on the lower bench of the prairie is tolerably good, while the higher land is quite bare. We have noticed today a great many petrified bones, some very large. All are turned into solid, hard stone, which proves that the atmosphere is pure and the country would doubtless be healthy, but is not adapted for farming purposes on account of the poor sandy soil and no timber at all on this side the river. I have noticed a variety of shrubs, plants and flowers all new to me today, many of which have a very pleasant smell and in some places the air appears impregnated with the rich odors arising from them. Among the rest are numerous beds of the southern wood. There are also vast beds of flinty pebbles of various colors, some as white as alabaster. About 6:30 I observed a group of brethren standing together inside the camp. I went up and saw a young eagle which had been taken out of its nest on one of these high bluffs by George R. Grant and Orson Whitney. Although it is very young and its feathers have scarcely commenced growing, it measures from the tips of its wings when stretched, forty-six inches. Its head is nearly the size of my fist and looks very ferocious. After this I went with John Pack and Horace Whitney to the bluffs. On our way we saw a large wolf about as large as the largest dog in camp. He was within a quarter of a mile from camp. After traveling about a mile we arrived at the foot of a stupendous mass of rocks almost perpendicular, with only one place where it was possible to ascend. We went up with difficulty and by using our hands and knees, gained the top. We had to walk over a little space which was only about three feet wide and on the east side a perpendicular fall of about sixty feet. Although from the camp this peak looks only large enough for a man to stand upon we found it large enough to seat comfortably about twenty persons. The top is composed of large rocks and very uneven. The prairie below looks a long distance under foot from this peak. Descending we viewed the surrounding scenery which looks more like the ruins of an ancient city with its castles, towers, fortifications, etc., on all sides, and a dry stream coming through the center. We proceeded to the next high rock and found it very difficult of ascent. The top is nearly level and very pleasant. We discovered several other varieties of shrubbery, all smelling pleasant and strong. We saw that a horse has sometime stood on the top, but how he got there, we could not easily determine. At the east end there is a cedar tree flat on the top and on the underside almost looks like an umbrella. We made a calculation of the height of this bluff as well as we could and concluded it must be at least 200 feet higher than the river. The surrounding country can be seen for many miles from its summit, and Chimney Rock shows very plainly. We descended at the east end and arrived in camp at dark well satisfied with our journey. Some of the brethren have discovered a cave in one of these bluffs, and one went into it a little distance, but it being very dark and having no torch, he did not venture far. Elder Pratt reports that he saw on the top of one of the bluffs, a hole in a rock 15 inches in diameter and a foot deep with five inches of very cold good water in it. He supposed it to be a spring. Between the bluffs they also discovered a spring of pure cold water of a very good taste. Dr. Richards names these bluffs "Bluff Ruins" from their appearance being that of the ruins of castles, cities, etc. A little to the left is a small perpendicular rock much resembling Chimney Rock but smaller. The whole of the scenery around is one of romantic beauty which cannot be described with either pen or tongue. Last night a large black dog, half wolf, supposed to belong to the Indians, came to the camp. He has kept within two hundred yards of the wagons all day, and has followed us to this place. There have been many rattlesnakes seen today and six or seven killed. In fact, this place seems to abound with them. The evening was spent very joyfully by most of the brethren, it being very pleasant and moonlight. A number danced till the bugle sounded for bed time at nine o'clock. A mock trial was also prosecuted in the case of the camp vs. James Davenport for blockading the highway and turning ladies out of their course. Jackson Redding acted as the presiding judge. Elder Whipple attorney for defendant and Luke Johnson attorney for the people. We have many such trials in the camp which are amusing enough and tend among other things to pass away the time cheerfully during leisure moments. It was remarked this evening that we have one man in camp who is entitled to the credit of being more even tempered than any of the others, and that is Father Chamberlain. He is invariably cross and quarrelsome, but the brethren all take it as a joke and he makes considerable amusement for the camp. Opposite the encampment there are quite a number of small islands, but no timber on any of them. Sunday, May 23 The morning very fine and pleasant. Brother Egan commenced washing very early on the banks of the river. He kindly volunteered to wash my dirty clothing which I accepted as a favor. After breakfast President Young, Elders Kimball, Richards, Pratt, Woodruff, Smith and Benson and Lyman walked out to view Bluff Ruins and returned at half past eleven. A while ago I went out a little distance to view an adder which George Billings had discovered. It was a dark brown color about 18 inches long and three quarters of an inch thick through the body. They are represented as very poisonous. About eleven o'clock Nathaniel Fairbanks came into camp having been bitten in the leg by a rattlesnake. He went on the bluffs with Aaron Farr and Brother Rolf and as they jumped off from the bluff, the snake bit him, the others having jumped over him farther. He said that in two minutes after he was bitten his tongue began to prick and feel numb. When he got to camp his tongue and hands pricked and felt numb as a person feels their feet sometimes when they are said to be asleep. The brethren immediately applied some tobacco juice and leaves, also turpentine, and bound tobacco on his leg which was considerably swollen. We laid hands on him and Luke Johnson administered a dose of lobelia in number six after he had taken a strong drink of alcohol and water. The lobelia soon vomitted him powerfully. He complains much of sickness at his stomach and dimness in his eyes. He appears to be in much pain. While the brethren of the quorum of the twelve were on one of the high detached bluffs they found the skeleton of a buffalo's head. Brother Woodruff wrote the names of all the quorum of the twelve present and set it upon the southwest corner of the bluff. John Brown also wrote his name on it. Elder Pratt took the altitude of the bluff and found it to be 235 feet above the surface of the river. He did not calculate the height above the sea, owing to the state of the atmosphere. He, however, predicted wind from the same cause. At twelve o'clock the camp was called together for meeting, and after singing and praying we were addressed by Elder Snow, followed by President Young. The latter said there were many items of doctrine which he often felt like teaching to the brethren, but as to administering sealing ordinances, etc., this is no time or place for them, they belong to the house of God and when we get located we shall have an opportunity to build a house, etc. He expressed himself satisfied with the conduct of the camp in general. He is pleased to see so much union and disposition to obey council among the brethren and hoped and prayed that it may continue and increase. He wants the brethren to seek after knowledge and be faithful to acknowledge God in all things but never take his name in vain nor use profane language. If all the knowledge in this camp were put together and brother Joseph were here in our midst, he could comprehend the whole of it and wind it around his little finger. And then think of the knowledge of angels, and above that, the knowledge of the Lord. There is much for us to learn and a faithful man who desires eternal glory will seek after knowledge all the time and his ideas never suffered to rust but are always bright. He will not throw away the knowledge of small things because they are familiar, but grasp all he can and keep doing so and by retaining many small things he will thus gain a large pile, etc. He expressed his feelings warmly towards all the brethren and prayed them to be faithful, diligent and upright, for we are now sowing seed, the fruit of which will be plucked in after days whether good or bad. G. A. Smith made a few remarks, also several others of the brethren. The president then stated that on Sunday next he wants the brethren to understand that there will be meeting at eleven o'clock and the sacrament administered, and he wants the brethren to attend, all that can, and not ramble off and fatigue themselves but use the Sabbath as a day of rest. He enjoined it upon Bishops T. Lewis, S. Roundy, J. S. Higbee and A. Everett to see that the proper necessities were prepared for the sacrament. The meeting was then dismissed. A while after meeting I walked out with Elder Kimball a piece from the camp. We sat down and I read to him my journal of the last four days, with which he seemed well pleased. We then knelt down together and poured out our souls to God for ourselves, the camp and our dear families in Winter Quarters. While we were engaged in prayer the wind rose suddenly from the northwest, a heavy cloud having been gathering from the west all the afternoon. A sudden gust struck Elder Kimball's hat and carried it off. After we got through, his hat was nowhere in sight, but following the direction of the wind we soon saw it at a distance on the bottom of the prairie still flying swiftly. We both ran and chased it about three quarters of a mile and caught it a little from the river. While we were out together I remarked that the buffalo gnat had bitten us very severely. Elder Kimball said they bit him very badly last evening. Their bite is very poisonous, and although they are extremely small, they punish a person very much with an itching, aching pain like a mosquito bite. About five o'clock the wind blew a perfect gale and continued till seven when it commenced to rain very heavily, large drops descending, accompanied with hail, which however, did not continue very long but the wind continued nearly all night. The lightning and thunder continued some time but not very severe. We saw the necessity of having good stout bows to our wagons, and the covers well fastened down, for the very stoutest seemed in danger of being torn to pieces and the wagons blown over. When the wind commenced blowing so strongly it turned very cold and long before dark I went to bed to keep warm. Brother Fairbanks seems considerably better. This evening President Young, Kimball and Benson laid hands on him and he seemed much better afterwards. Monday, May 24 The morning very cold indeed, strong wind from northwest. At 8:25 we continued our journey and traveled over level prairie ten miles, then halted to feed at 12:45. The bluffs on the north about two miles from us and the river one mile. About noon the weather began to moderate and grow warmer. While we were resting two Indians came to camp, their object evidently being to get the dog which has followed us to this place. They tarried a little while and then went away taking the dog with them. At 3:00 p.m., we again proceeded and traveled till 6:00 p.m., distance six and a half miles, during the day 16½. Several of the horse teams gave out and they are evidently failing but the oxen are gaining daily. The mules stand the journey well and in fact all the teams, considering the scarcity of grass. About 5:30 we discovered a party of Indians on the opposite side the river moving west. When we formed our encampment they crossed over the river. Some of the brethren went to meet them carrying a white flag with them. When the Indians saw the flag, some of them began to sing, and their chief held up a U. S. flag. It was soon ascertained that their object was to obtain something to eat. A number of them came to the camp and were conducted around by Colonels Markham and Rockwood. They were shown a six and fifteen shooter also the cannon and the gunners went through the evolutions a number of times which seemed to please them much. They are all well dressed and very noble looking, some having good clean blankets, others nice robes artfully ornamented with beads and paintings. All had many ornaments on their clothing and ears, some had nice painted shells suspended from the ear. All appeared to be well armed with muskets. Their moccasins were indeed clean and beautiful. One had a pair of moccasins of a clear white, ornamented with beads, etc. They fit very tight to the foot. For cleanness and neatness, they will vie with the most tasteful whites. They are thirty-five in number, about half squaws and children. They are Sioux and have two recommends certifying as to their friendship, etc. The brethren contributed something to eat which was sent to them. Our course today has been nearly west, with a cool wind. The evening fine but cold enough to freeze clothing stiff when laid on the grass to dry. Elder Kimball has been quite unwell all day and mostly kept to his wagon. Opposite the camp on the south side the river is a very large rock very much resembling a castle of four stories high, but in a state of ruin. A little to the east a rock stands which looks like a fragment of a very thick wall. A few miles to the west Chimney Rock appears in full view. The scenery around is pleasant and romantic. After the Indians had viewed the camp, they returned to their horses and the rest of the party who have camped on the banks of the river about a quarter of a mile west of us. Elder Sherwood returned with them and soon after came back accompanied by the chief and his squaw who signified a wish to abide with our camp tonight. The brethren fixed up a tent for them to sleep under; Porter Rockwell made them some coffee, and they were furnished with some victuals. The old chief amused himself very much by looking at the moon through a telescope for as much as twenty minutes. Brother Fairbanks is much better this evening. Last night Luke Johnson discovered a very large petrified bone in the neighborhood of the bluffs as much as two feet wide, but he could not ascertain the length of it. After laboring sometime ineffectually to dig it up, he broke off two pieces and brought them to camp. They are very white and hard. It is now eleven o'clock. I have been writing in Elder Kimball's journal since dark, and have but little chance to write as much as I want in my own and his both, but I feel determined to do all I can to keep a journal of this expedition which will be interesting to my children in after days, and perhaps to many of the Saints. The evening is very fine but cool and I retire to rest with the feeling: "God bless my dear family." Tuesday, May 25 The morning fine and very pleasant. Most of the Indians, men, women and children came early to camp on their ponies and marched around mostly trying to obtain something to eat. Several little barters were made with them for moccasins, skins, etc. John S. Higbee traded ponies with one of them. They have some good ponies and some inferior ones, but both male and females are neatly dressed and very tidy. They look cheerful and pleased to witness the camp, etc. At 8:20 we proceeded onward. After we started, the Indians left us and went over the river. One mile from where we started, we began to ascend a low range of bluffs to avoid a large, high sandy ridge which projects to the river. We traveled three quarters of a mile and descended again to the level prairie. At 9:40 we halted to let the cattle and teams graze, the feed being good and plentiful, having traveled two and a half miles, mostly northwest around a bend of the river. The sun is very hot, the roads sandy and hard teaming. The river is probably three quarters of a mile wide here and on this side there are many small islands. At 11:15 continued our journey and traveled till half past one, distance four and three quarters miles over a very soft, wet, level prairie. We then halted to feed and rest our teams, as they have been hard drawn nearly all day. We have seen no game for several days except a few antelope and hares. The buffalo appear to have left this region and in fact there are little signs of many having been here. The feed is poor, mostly last year's growth and very short. One of the hunters killed an antelope, which was brought to camp and divided to the captains of tens. At 3:00 p.m. we started again and traveled till a quarter to six, distance four and three quarters miles, and during the day twelve miles. For three miles of the first of this afternoon we had a good road, but the last part has been very wet and soft, numerous ponds of water standing all around caused by heavy rains. We have camped on a very wet spot, but the feed being poor where it was drier, it was decided to stay for the benefit of the teams. Our course has been about northwest, very little wind and the day very warm. Chimney Rock shows very plain and appears not more than two miles distance but is no doubt five miles distance or over. Another antelope has been killed and brought in by the hunters. Elder Orson Pratt is taking an observation to ascertain the height of Chimney Rock. The evening was very pleasant and the brethren passed away their time till after nine o'clock dancing. Porter Rockwell shot the two antelope spoken of above. He also shot two wolves. Latitude six and a quarter miles back, 41° 41' 46". Wednesday, May 26 The morning very fine and pleasant. I have spent the morning working on Dr. Richards' map. At eight o'clock continued on our journey. Elder Pratt taking observations to tell the distance our road lies from Chimney Rock. Yesterday morning Stephen Markham traded a mule which was foundered and unable to work to one of the Indians for a pony. They put him in the harness a little towards evening and again this morning. When crossing a very soft place the whipple tree unhitched and struck against his heels. He ran full gallop towards the head teams and twice through the line of wagons causing several teams, horses and oxen both, to spring from the road and run some distance before the men could stop them. After running nearly a mile some of the brethren caught the pony, brought him back and put him to the wagon again without any accident, except a little injury to the harness. After traveling four and five-eighths miles, we arrived at a point directly north of Chimney Rock which we ascertained by the compass, having traveled since it was first discovered 41½ miles. We proceeded till twelve o'clock and halted to feed, having traveled seven and a quarter miles, a northwest course, the road very straight and hard excepting a few spots where the water stands caused by late heavy rains. We turned south a little to get to grass as the higher prairie is barren, and scarcely any grass on it. Porter Rockwell has killed two antelope and John Brown one which were brought into camp and are being divided amongst the companies as usual. Elder Pratt found that Chimney Rock is 260 feet high from its base to its summit and the distance from our road at the nearest point three miles. The latitude at noon halt 41° 45' 58". At 2:25 resumed our journey making our road nearer the river than this morning. The road somewhat crooked but good traveling. After traveling five miles, turned directly south to avoid a bad slough and went a quarter of a mile and then formed our encampment at five o'clock on the banks of the river. The last quarter of a mile was not reckoned in the day's travel which exclusive of that is 12¼ miles, course north of northwest. The feed here is good and sufficient to fill our teams well. Joseph Hancock killed an antelope which was brought into camp and distributed. Soon after we camped, walked out to the bank of the river with Presidents Young and Kimball to read to them some of the minutes of the old council. We were joined by Dr. Richards and tarried till seven o'clock, at which time a heavy black cloud was fast approaching from the west and was soon followed by a strong wind and a little rain which lasted only a short time. The evening afterwards warm and pleasant though somewhat cloudy. Carloss Murray has been trying to rear the young eagle caught on Saturday. After stopping tonight, he put it under a wagon and a while afterwards the men ran the wagon back, one of the wheels ran over its head and killed it. I wrote in Heber's journal till half past ten and then went to rest. Thursday, May 27 The morning very fine. We have seen a number of romantic spots on our journey, but I consider our view this morning more sublime than any other. Chimney Rock lies southeast, opposite detached bluffs of various shapes and sizes. To the southwest, Scott's Bluffs look majestic and sublime. The prairie over which our route lies is very level and green as far as we can see. The bluffs on the north low, and about three miles distant. The scenery is truly delightful beyond imagination. I have finished making Dr. Richards' map to Chimney Rock. Elder Pratt has measured the width of the river at this place by the sextant and found it to be exactly 792 yards. At ten minutes to eight we continued our journey and traveled near the banks of the river till 11:45, being eight miles. The route very good, hard and good traveling, although a little crooked. Porter Rockwell has killed two antelope and Amasa Lyman one, which were brought to the wagons and distributed. There are some heavy thunder clouds in the south and west and a nice breeze from northeast. At two o'clock we continued our journey over the same kind of dry level prairie, keeping not far distant from the banks of the river and making a straight road. At the distance of four and an eighth miles passed the meridian of the northernmost peak of Scott's Bluffs being 19¾ miles from the meridian of Chimney Rock. These bluffs are very high, steep, and broken like many others, resembling ancient ruins. They are probably two miles from north to south extremity, but not very wide. We traveled till 4:45 and formed our encampment in a circle near the banks of the river which from this place seems to bend for some distance to the north, having traveled this afternoon five and three quarters miles and during the day thirteen and three quarters, mostly northwest. Elders Kimball and Woodruff pointed out the road this forenoon. Afternoon Elder Kimball rode with me in Johnson's wagon while I read some of his journal to him. The evening is very cold, wind northeast, and raining some. Feed is good and the camp generally well. Another antelope was brought in by the hunters. The latitude of the northernmost peak of Scott's Bluffs 41° 50' 52". Friday, May 28 The morning cool, damp, cloudy and some rain. Wind northeast. At about eight o'clock the brethren were called together and the question asked: shall we go on in the rain or wait until it is fair? All agreed to stay until it was fair. I went to writing in Heber's journal and wrote till nearly eleven o'clock. Elder Kimball came to the next wagon where some of the boys were playing cards. He told them his views and disapprobation of their spending time gaming and dancing and mock trying, etc., and especially the profane language frequently uttered by some. He reasoned with them on the subject and showed them that it would lead from bad to worse if persisted in until the consequences would become serious. He exhorted them to be more sober and wise. It growing fair, we started out at eleven o'clock, our first four miles being north of northwest in consequence of a bend in the river. We traveled beside a creek of very clear water about a mile. It rises about four miles northwest of where we camped last night and runs in a crooked direction till it empties into the river about a mile west of the camp. It rises from springs as was proved by Horace Whitney who traced it to its source where there is a spring rising out of a circular kind of wet swamp about six feet in diameter. The creek is about eight feet wide but not deep, the bottom is gravelly. Near where it empties into the river, they discovered a number of large spotted trout, suckers and dais of a good size. The water tasted very good and cold. At the distance of four miles we arrived and traveled at the foot of the bluffs, the road sandy and heavy on teams. We soon turned from the bluffs on a level barren prairie, hard and good traveling. At nine miles descended on a lower bench of prairie where we found it wet and soft though not bad rolling. At 4:45 formed our encampment near the river, having traveled eleven and a half miles, the last seven a little south of west. The feed here is not very good. Driftwood tolerably plentiful. We have seen a few small trees on the islands today but none on the north bank. Vast quantities of southern wood and prickley pear grow on these sandy prairies where there is no grass. The evening cloudy and dull with cold northeast wind. While Thomas Brown and Porter Rockwell were out hunting about five miles north of here, the former saw five or six Indians about a quarter of a mile from him. They also saw many new footprints of horses, which shows that there is a hunting party near. Saturday, May 29 The morning cold, wet and cloudy with wind from northeast. We shall not travel unless it grows fair and better weather. I spent the morning writing in Elder Kimball's journal, but felt very unwell having taken cold yesterday and been sick all night. About ten o'clock, the weather looked a little better and at half past ten the bugle sounded as a signal for the teams to be got together. After the teams were harnessed, the brethren were called together to the boat in the circle. President Young taking his station in the boat, ordered each captain of ten to lead out his respective company and get all his men together. He then called on the clerk to call over the names of the camp to see if all were present. Joseph Hancock and Andrew Gibbons were reported to be absent hunting. Brothers Elijah Newman and Nathaniel Fairbanks were confined to their wagons but answered to their names, the remainder all present. President Young then addressed the meeting in substance as follows: "I remarked last Sunday that I had not felt much like preaching to the brethren on this mission. This morning I feel like preaching a little, and shall take for my text, 'That as to pursuing our journey with this company with the spirit they possess, I am about to revolt against it.' This is the text I feel like preaching on this morning, consequently I am in no hurry. In the first place, before we left Winter Quarters, it was told to the brethren and many knew it by experience, that we had to leave our homes, our houses, our land and our all because we believed in the Gospel as revealed to the Saints in these last days. The rise of the persecutions against the Church was in consequence of the doctrines of eternal truth taught by Joseph. Many knew this by experience. Some lost their husbands, some lost their wives, and some their children through persecution, and yet we have not been disposed to forsake the truth and turn and mingle with the gentiles, except a few who have turned aside and gone away from us, and we have learned in a measure, the difference between a professor of religion and a possessor of religion. Before we left Winter Quarters it was told to the brethren that we were going to look out a home for the Saints where they would be free from persecution by the gentiles, where we could dwell in peace and serve God according to the Holy Priesthood, where we could build up the kingdom so that the nations would begin to flock to our standard. I have said many things to the brethren about the strictness of their walk and conduct when we left the gentiles, and told them that we would have to walk upright or the law would be put in force, etc. Many have left and turned aside through fear, but no good upright, honest man will fear. The Gospel does not bind a good man down and deprive him of his rights and privileges. It does not prevent him from enjoying the fruits of his labors. It does not rob him of blessings. It does not stop his increase. It does not diminish his kingdom, but it is calculated to enlarge his kingdom as well as to enlarge his heart. It is calculated to give him privileges and power, and honor, and exaltation and everything which his heart can desire in righteousness all the days of his life, and then, when he gets exalted into the eternal world he can still turn around and say it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive the glory and honor and blessings which God hath in store for those that love and serve Him. I want the brethren to understand and comprehend the principles of eternal life, and to watch the spirit, be wide awake and not be overcome by the adversary. You can see the fruits of the spirit, but you cannot see the spirit itself with the natural eye, you behold it not. You can see the result of yielding to the evil spirit and what it will lead you to, but you do not see the spirit itself nor its operations, only by the spirit that's in you. Nobody has told me what has been going on in the camp, but I have known it all the while. I have been watching its movements, its influence, its effects, and I know the result if it is not put a stop to. I want you to understand that inasmuch as we are beyond the power of the gentiles where the devil has tabernacles in the priests and the people, we are beyond their reach, we are beyond their power. We are beyond their grasp, and what has the devil now to work upon? Upon the spirits of men in this camp, and if you do not open your hearts so that the Spirit of God can enter your hearts and teach you the right way, I know that you are a ruined people and will be destroyed and that without remedy, and unless there is a change and a different course of conduct, a different spirit to what is now in this camp, I go no farther. I am in no hurry. Give me the man of prayers, give me the man of faith, give me the man of meditation, a sober-minded man, and I would far rather go amongst the savages with six or eight such men than to trust myself with the whole of this camp with the spirit they now possess. Here is an opportunity for every man to prove himself, to know whether he will pray and remember his God without being asked to do it every day; to know whether he will have confidence enough to ask of God that he may receive without my telling him to do it. If this camp was composed of men who had newly received the Gospel, men who had not received the priesthood, men who had not been through the ordinances in the temple and who had not had years of experience, enough to have learned the influence of the spirits and the difference between a good and an evil spirit, I should feel like preaching to them and watching over them and telling them all the time, day by day. But here are the Elders of Israel, men who have had years of experience, men who have had the priesthood for years--and have they got faith enough to rise up and stop a mean, low, groveling, covetous, quarrelsome spirit? No, they have not, nor would they try to stop it, unless I rise up in the power of God and put it down. I do not mean to bow down to the spirit that is in this camp, and which is rankling in the bosoms of the brethren, and which will lead to knock downs and perhaps to the use of the knife to cut each other's throats if it is not put a stop to. I do not mean to bow down to the spirit which causes the brethren to quarrel. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I hear is some of the brethren jawing each other and quarreling because a horse has got loose in the night. I have let the brethren dance and fiddle and act the nigger night after night to see what they will do, and what extremes they would go to, if suffered to go as far as they would. I do not love to see it. The brethren say they want a little exercise to pass away time in the evenings, but if you can't tire yourselves bad enough with a day's journey without, dancing every night, carry your guns on your shoulders and walk, carry your wood to camp instead of lounging and lying asleep in your wagons, increasing the load until your teams are tired to death and ready to drop to the earth. Help your teams over mud holes and bad places instead of lounging in your wagons and that will give you exercise enough without dancing. Well, they will play cards, they will play checkers, they will play dominoes, and if they had the privilege and were where they could get whiskey, they would be drunk half their time, and in one week they would quarrel, get to high words and draw their knives to kill each other. This is what such a course of things would lead to. Don't you know it? Yes. Well, then, why don't you try to put it down? I have played cards once in my life since I became a Mormon to see what kind of spirit would attend it, and I was so well satisfied, that I would rather see in your hands the dirtiest thing you could find on the earth, than a pack of cards. You never read of gambling, playing cards, checkers, dominoes, etc., in the scriptures, but you do read of men praising the Lord in the dance, but who ever read of praising the Lord in a game at cards? If any man had sense enough to play a game at cards, or dance a little without wanting to keep it up all the time, but exercise a little and then quit it and think no more of it, it would do well enough, but you want to keep it up till midnight and every night, and all the time. You don't know how to control your senses. Last winter when we had our seasons of recreation in the council house, I went forth in the dance frequently, but did my mind run on it? No! To be sure, when I was dancing, my mind was on the dance, but the moment I stopped in the middle or the end of a tune, my mind was engaged in prayer and praise to my Heavenly Father and whatever I engage in, my mind is on it while engaged in it, but the moment I am done with it, my mind is drawn up to my God. The devils which inhabit the gentiles' priests are here. The tabernacles are not here, we are out of their power, we are beyond their grasp, we are beyond the reach of their persecutions, but the devils are here, and the first thing you'll know if you don't open your eyes and your hearts, they will cause divisions in our camp and perhaps war, as they did with the Lamanites as you read in the Book of Mormon. Do we suppose that we are going to look out a home for the Saints, a resting place, a place of peace where they can build up the kingdom and bid the nations welcome, with a low, mean, dirty, trifling, covetous, wicked spirit dwelling in our bosoms? It is vain! vain! Some of you are very fond of passing jokes, and will carry your jokes very far. But will you take a joke? If you do not want to take a joke, don't give a joke to your brethren. Joking, nonsense, profane language, trifling conversation and loud laughter do not belong to us. Suppose the angels were witnessing the hoe down the other evening, and listening to the haw haws the other evening, would they not be ashamed of it? I am ashamed of it. I have not given a joke to any man on this journey nor felt like it; neither have I insulted any man's feelings but I have hollowed pretty loud and spoken sharply to the brethren when I have seen their awkwardness at coming to camp. The revelations in the Bible, in the Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants, teach us to be sober; and let me ask you elders that have been through the ordinances in the temple, what were your covenants there? I say you should remember them. When I laugh I see my folly and nothingness and weakness and am ashamed of myself. I think meaner and worse of myself than any man can think of me; but I delight in God, and in His commandments and delight to meditate on Him and to serve Him and I mean that everything in me shall be subjected to Him. Now let every man repent of his weakness, of his follies, of his meanness, and every kind of wickedness, and stop your swearing and profane language, for it is in this camp and I know it, and have known it. I have said nothing about it, but I now tell you, if you don't stop it you shall be cursed by the Almighty and shall dwindle away and be damned. Such things shall not be suffered in this camp. You shall honor God, and confess His name or else you shall suffer the penalty. Most of this camp belong to the Church, nearly all; and I would say to you brethren, and to the Elders of Israel, if you are faithful, you will yet be sent to preach this Gospel to the nations of the earth and bid all welcome whether they believe the Gospel or not, and this kingdom will reign over many who do not belong to the Church, over thousands who do not believe in the Gospel. Bye and bye every knee shall bow and every tongue confess and acknowledge and reverence and honor the name of God and His priesthood and observe the laws of the kingdom whether they belong to the Church and obey the Gospel or not, and I mean that every man in this camp shall do it. That is what the scripture means by every knee shall bow, etc., and you cannot make anything else out of it. I understand there are several in this camp who do not belong to the Church. I am the man who will stand up for them and protect them in all their rights. And they shall not trample on our rights nor on the priesthood. They shall reverence and acknowledge the name of God and His priesthood, and if they set up their heads and seek to introduce iniquity into this camp and to trample on the priesthood, I swear to them, they shall never go back to tell the tale. I will leave them where they will be safe. If they want to retreat they can now have the privilege, and any man who chooses to go back rather than abide the law of God can now have the privilege of doing so before we go any farther. Here are the Elders of Israel who have the priesthood, who have got to preach the Gospel, who have to gather the nations of the earth, who have to build up the kingdom so that the nations can come to it, they will stop to dance as niggers. I don't mean this as debasing the negroes by any means; they will hoe down all, turn summersets, dance on their knees, and haw, haw, out loud; they will play cards, they will play checkers and dominoes, they will use profane language, they will swear! Suppose when you go to preach, the people should ask you what you did when you went on this mission to seek out a home for the whole Church, what was your course of conduct? Did you dance? Yes. Did you hoe down all? Yes. Did you play cards? Yes. Did you play checkers? Yes. Did you use profane language? Yes. Did you swear? Yes. Did you quarrel with each other and threaten each other? Why yes. How would you feel? What would you say for yourselves? Would you not want to go and hide up? Your mouths would be stopped and you would want to creep away in disgrace. I am one of the last to ask my brethren to enter into solemn covenants, but if they will not enter into a covenant to put away their iniquity and turn to the Lord and serve Him and acknowledge and honor His name, I want them to take their wagons and retreat back, for I shall go no farther under such a state of things. If we don't repent and quit our wickedness we will have more hinderances than we have had, and worse storms to encounter. I want the brethren to be ready for meeting tomorrow at the time appointed, instead of rambling off, and hiding in their wagons to play cards, etc. I think it will be good for us to have a fast meeting tomorrow and a prayer meeting to humble ourselves and turn to the Lord and he will forgive us." He then called upon all the High Priests to step forth in a line in front of the wagon and then the bishops to step in front of the High Priests, which being done, he counted them and found their number to be four bishops and fifteen high priests. He then called upon all the seventies to form a line in the rear of the high priests. On being counted, they were ascertained to number seventy-eight. Next he called on the elders to form a line in the rear of the wagon. They were eight in number. There were also eight of the quorum of the twelve. He then asked the brethren of the quorum of the twelve if they were willing to covenant, to turn to the Lord with all their hearts, to repent of all their follies, to cease from all their evils and serve God according to His laws. If they were willing, to manifest it by holding up their right hand. Every man held up his hand in token that he covenanted. He then put the same question to the high priests and bishops; next to the seventies, and then to the elders, and lastly to the other brethren. All covenanted with uplifted hands without a dissenting voice. He then addressed those who are not members of the Church and told them they should be protected in their rights and privileges while they would conduct themselves well and not seek to trample on the priesthood nor blaspheme the name of God, etc. He then referred to the conduct of Benjamin Rolfe's two younger brothers, in joining with the Higbees and John C. Bennett in sowing discord and strife among the Saints in Nauvoo and remarked that there will be no more Bennett scrapes suffered here. He spoke highly of Benjamin Rolfe's conduct, although not a member of the Church and also referred to the esteem in which his father and mother were held by the Saints generally. He then very tenderly blessed the brethren and prayed that God would enable them to fulfill their covenants and then withdrew to give opportunity for others to speak if they felt like it. Elder Kimball arose to say that he agreed with all that President Young had said. He receives it as the word of the Lord to him and it is the word of the Lord to this camp if they will receive it. He has been watching the motion of things and the conduct of the brethren for some time and has seen what it would lead to. He has said little but thought a great deal. It has made him shudder when he has seen the Elders of Israel descend to the lowest, dirtiest things imaginable, the tail end of everything, but what has passed this morning will make it an everlasting blessing to the brethren, if they will repent and be faithful and keep their covenant. He never can rest satisfied until his family is liberated from the gentiles and their company and established in a land where they can plant and reap the fruits of their labors, but he has never had the privilege of eating the fruits of his labors yet, neither has his family, but when this is done he can sleep in peace if necessary but not till then. If we will serve the Lord, remember His name to call upon Him, and be faithful, we shall not one of us be left under the sod, but shall be permitted to return and meet our families in peace and enjoy their society again; but if this camp continues the course of conduct it has done, the judgment of God will overtake us. He hopes the brethren will take heed to what President Young has said and let it sink deep in their hearts. Elder Pratt wanted to add a word to what has been said. "Much good advice has been given to teach us how we may spend our time profitably by prayer, and meditation, etc." But there is another idea which he wants to add. "There are many books in the camp and worlds of knowledge before us which we have not obtained, and if the brethren would devote all their leisure time to seeking after knowledge, they would never need to say they had nothing with which to pass away their time. If we could spend 23 hours out of the 24 in gaining knowledge and only sleep one hour of the 24 all the days of our life, there would still be worlds of knowledge in store for us yet to learn. He knows it is difficult to bring our minds to diligent and constant studies, in pursuit of knowledge all at once, but by steady practice and perseverance we shall become habituated to it, and it will become a pleasure to us. He would recommend to the brethren, besides prayer, and obedience, to seek after knowledge continually. And it will help us to overcome our follies and nonsense; we shall have no time for it. Elder Woodruff said he remembered the time when the camp went up to Missouri to redeem Zion, when Brother Joseph stood up on a wagon wheel and told the brethren that the decree had passed and could not be revoked, and the destroying angel would visit the camp and we should die like sheep with the rot. He had repeatedly warned the brethren of their evil conduct and what it would lead to, but they still continued in their course. It was not long before the destroying angel did visit the camp and the brethren began to fall as Brother Joseph had said. We buried eighteen in a short time and a more sorrowful time I never saw. There are nine here who were in that camp and they all recollect the circumstance well and will never forget it. He has been thinking while the President was speaking, that if he was one who had played checkers or cards, he would take every pack of cards and every checker board and burn them up so that they would no longer be in the way to tempt us. Colonel Markham acknowledged that he had done wrong in many things. He had always indulged himself, before he came into the Church, with everything he desired and he knows he has done wrong on this journey, he knows his mind has become darkened since he left Winter Quarters. He hopes the brethren will forgive him and he will pray to be forgiven and try to do better. While he was speaking he was very much affected indeed and wept like a child. Many of the brethren felt much affected and all seemed to realize for the first time, the excess to which they had yielded and the awful consequence of such things if persisted in. Many were in tears and felt humbled. President Young returned to the boat as Brother Markham closed his remarks and said in reply, that he knew the brethren would forgive him, and the Lord will forgive us all if we turn to Him with all our hearts and cease to do evil. The meeting was then dismissed, each man retiring to his wagon. And being half past one o'clock we again pursued our journey in peace, all reflecting on what has passed today, and many expressing their gratitude for what has transpired. It seemed as though we were just commencing on this important mission, and all realizing the responsibility resting upon us to conduct ourselves in such a manner that the journey may be an everlasting blessing to us, instead of an everlasting disgrace. No loud laughter was heard, no swearing, no quarreling, no profane language, no hard speeches to man or beast, and it truly seemed as though the cloud had burst and we had emerged into a new element, a new atmosphere, and a new society. We traveled six and three quarters miles about a north of northwest course and then arrived at the foot of the low bluffs which extend within about ten rods of the river, the latter forming a large bend northward at this point. At the foot of the bluffs the road was sandy and very heavy on our teams. Like all other sandy places, it was perfectly barren, being only a tuft of grass here and there. After passing over the sand we changed our course to a little north of west, not, however, leaving the bluffs very far. The river bends again to the south. We then found the ground hard and good to travel over, but perfectly bare of grass for upwards of a mile. At five o'clock it commenced raining very hard accompanied by lightning and thunder and strong northeast wind. It also changed considerably cooler again. At five thirty o'clock we formed our encampment on the edge of the higher bench of prairie. The feed is tolerably good on the bottom but here there is none at all. We have passed a small grove of fair sized trees, all green, growing on the islands in the river which are tolerably many near here, but there is no timber yet on this side of the river. The brethren pick up drift wood enough to do their cooking. I spent the evening writing in this journal till half past twelve o'clock, but felt quite unwell. The distance we have traveled today is eight and a half miles, during the week seventy-four and a half, making us 514½ miles from Winter Quarters. There is a creek of clear water about 200 yards to the south from which the camp obtains what they want. Sunday, May 30 The morning fair and somewhat more pleasant, although there is yet appearance for more rain. I felt quite unwell through the night and also this morning, having severe pain. At nine o'clock most of the brethren retired a little south of the camp and had a prayer meeting, and as many as chose to, expressed their feelings. At a little before twelve they met again in the same spot to partake of the sacrament. Soon afterwards all the members of the council of the K. of G. in the camp, except Brother Thomas Bullock, went onto the bluffs and selecting a small, circular, level spot surrounded by bluffs and out of sight, we clothed ourselves in the priestly garments and offered up prayer to God for ourselves, this camp and all pertaining to it, the brethren in the army, our families and all the Saints, President Young being mouth. We all felt well and glad for this privilege. The members of the above council are Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Willard Richards, Orson Pratt, George A. Smith, Wilford Woodruff, Amasa Lyman, Ezra T. Benson, Phineas H. Young, John Pack, Charles Shumway, Shadrack Roundy, Albert P. Rockwood, Erastus Snow, myself, Albert Carrington and Porter Rockwell. The two latter, having no clothing with them, stood guard at a little distance from us to prevent interruption. When we started for the bluffs, there was a heavy black thunder cloud rising from the southwest, and from all appearance it might rain any minute, but the brethren believed it would not rain till we got through and if it did we chose rather to take a wetting than to be disappointed of the privilege. It kept off remarkably till we got through and got our clothing on, but soon after it began to rain and after we got to camp it rained considerably, accompanied by strong wind. I never noticed the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday since we started as today. There is no jesting nor laughing, nor nonsense. All appear to be sober and feel to remember their covenant which makes things look far more pleasant than they have done heretofore. I spent most of the afternoon in Elder Kimball's wagon with Elder Kimball, President Young, Lorenzo and Phineas Young. Read the minutes of President Young's discourse of yesterday. About five o'clock President Young, Kimball, Benson and others walked out together to the bluffs. They invited me to go with them but I was so afflicted with cramps I could scarcely walk, and after drinking a cup of tea prepared by Ellen Sanders I went to my wagon and retired to bed early. The evening more pleasant with a light shower occasionally. Elder Kimball, President Young, and others saw the Black Hills in the distance from a high bluff. Monday, May 31 The morning fine but cool. I feel quite unwell yet and have been sick all night. At a quarter past eight we proceeded onward, found good level traveling, the day cool and pleasant. We soon struck a wagon trail which evidently leads direct to Fort Laramie. At four miles, passed some high sandy bluffs. Traveled till after twelve and then turned off a little to the southwest and at half past twelve o'clock halted for noon at the edge of lower land where there is some short green grass for our teams. The land we have traveled over this morning is naked and barren, course west of northwest, distance nine and a half miles. A high wind from northwest. Latitude 42° 04' 30". Started again at 3:00 p.m., weather warm and wind ceased. At 6:45 p.m. formed our encampment on the east bank of a shoal stream about ten feet wide, having traveled this afternoon seven and a quarter miles, and during the day sixteen and three quarters. Our course this afternoon a little north of west. About four miles back, passed some timber on this side of the river which is the first since the 10th inst, being a distance of 215 miles without wood for fire, except driftwood, and much of the time nothing but buffalo chips. The last four or five miles have been sandy, the ground uneven and very heavy on our teams. The country looks perfectly barren; in some places there is nothing but a few weeds and garlick. Some of the brethren picked considerable of the latter to eat. The feed is very poor indeed, but a little better than four miles back. John S. Higbee has killed a deer and some of the brethren wounded two others. This deer which Brother Higbee killed is of the long tailed species, having a tail more than a half a yard long, and is the first one I ever saw of the kind. A while after we camped, President Young and Kimball went to the bluffs and again saw the Black Hills in the distance. They bowed before the Lord and offered up their prayers together. The month of May has passed over and we have been permitted to proceed so far on our journey, being 531¼ miles from our families in Winter Quarters, with the camp generally enjoying good health and good spirits, and although some things have passed which have merited chastisement, we have the privilege at the closing of the month of seeing a better feeling, a more noble spirit, and a more general desire to do right than we have before witnessed. I feel to humble myself and give God thanks for his continued mercies to me and my brethren and may His spirit fill our hearts and may His angels administer comfort, health, peace and prosperity to all our families and all the Saints henceforth and forever. Amen. June 1847 Tuesday, June 1 The morning very fine, warm and pleasant. All is still and quiet as a summer's morning, the camp well and in good spirits and a feeling of peace, union and brotherly love seems to dwell in every breast. My mind revolves back upon by-gone days and then to the present, and I truly feel thankful to my God for His mercies to me and for the privilege I now daily enjoy. The idea of dwelling with my family in a land of peace, in the midst of the Saints of God is better felt than described, but the mild, still scenery of this morning puts me in mind of it. At nine o'clock we pursued our journey, the stream we passed over is called by Grosclaude: "The Raw Hide." Elder Kimball let me have his horse to ride. I went in company with George A. Smith who was on foot carrying his gun in fulfillment of President Young's prophecy at the Pawnee Mission station. The wagons went on till half past eleven and then halted for noon. We were about a mile ahead of them. The distance they traveled was four and a half miles. At half past one, started out again and traveled till a little after four o'clock and saw Fort Laramie about four miles to the southwest. Elder Kimball and President Young then came up to where Brother Woodruff and I were looking out for feed and we started on, President Young having stopped the wagons, and went to the ford opposite to the fort. It was finally concluded to form our encampment here on the banks of the river. Several men soon came down from the fort which is about two miles from here and made themselves known as a part of the Mississippi company from Pueblo. They have been here two weeks. It caused us much joy to meet with brethren in this wild region of country and also because we should have some news from the brethren in the army. Luke Johnson being up here with the boat and several others coming up, they got the boat into the river to go over and see the brethren. And Luke Johnson, John Brown, Joseph Mathews and Porter Rockwell started over and about the same time, Presidents Young and Kimball started back to bring the camp up. When the brethren got over the river Brother Brown met several whom he knew and soon returned bringing Brother Crow and his son-in-law over to this side. The brethren seemed pleased to meet us. Brother Crow reports deaths in the Pueblo detachment since Brothers Tippets and Woolsey left, viz. Melcher Oyler, Arnold Stevens. They also state that Soloman Tindall was on the point of death. The other portion of the battalion they had not heard from. The Pueblo brethren are expected to receive their pay and start for this point, at latest by this date, and will probably be here in about two weeks. They also recorded that three traders from the mountains arrived here six days ago, having come from Sweet Water in six days and nights. They traveled day and night with horses and mules to prevent their starving to death as there is no feed up there. Two of their oxen had died already, etc. The snow was two feet deep at Sweet Water when they left, so that we are evidently plenty soon enough for feed. At 5:45 the wagons arrived and formed encampment on the banks of the river in the form of a V, having traveled this afternoon, seven and a half miles and during the day, twelve, making a total from Winter Quarters to Fort Laramie 543¼ miles and we have traveled it in seven weeks lacking a half a day, but we have traveled but a few miles on Sundays. We have arrived so far on our journey without accident except the loss of two horses by Indians and two killed. We have been prosperous on our journey, the camp are all in better health than when we left Winter Quarters and we see daily that the Lord blesses us and directs the movements of this camp as seemeth Him good and as is for our good and prosperity. The road today has been mostly sandy and heavy on teams with but little feed in any place. The country begins to have a more hilly and mountainous appearance. Some of the Black Hills show very plain from here. The timber is mostly ash and cottonwood on the low bottoms near the river. There is some cedar on the bluffs. In one of the large ash trees in the middle of the camp is an Indian babe or papoose. It cannot be said to be buried, but deposited, being first wrapped with a skin and then tied between two of the highest limbs of the tree. This is said to be the way they bury their dead. The bark is all peeled off the tree below, I suppose to prevent the wolves from getting up. Wednesday, June 2 The morning pleasant. About nine o'clock started over the river in company with the Twelve and others to view the fort and also learn something in regard to our journey, etc. Elder Pratt measured the distance across the river at this spot and found it to be 108 yards. The water is deep in the channel and the current runs about four miles an hour. After crossing we went up to the remains of an old fort called Fort Platte which is near the banks of the river, the outside walls still standing, but the inside is in ruins, having been burned up. The walls are built of adobes or Spanish brick, being large pieces of tempered clay dried in the sun and apparently laid one on another without mortar or cement. The dimensions of this fort outside are 144 feet east to west, and from north to south 103 feet. There is a large door fronting to the south which has led to the dwellings which have been fourteen in number, built in the form of a parallelogram, leaving a large space in the center. The space occupied by the dwelling is not quite half of the whole fort. Fronting to the east is another large door which opens upon a large open space 98¾ feet by 47 feet where it is supposed they used to keep horses, etc. At the northwest corner is a tower projecting out from the line of the walls six feet each way, or, in other words it is twelve feet square with port holes for cannon. At the northeast corner has been another projection extending eastward 29½ feet and is 19½ feet wide. The walls are 11 feet high and 30 inches thick. We took the dimensions of this with a tape line and then proceeded to Fort Laramie about two miles farther west. This latter fort was first built of wood about thirteen years since, and named Fort William, but being destroyed was afterwards built seven years ago with adobes and named John. It stands on the bank of the Laramie fork. Laramie fork is a stream forty-one yards wide, a very swift current, but not deep. We tarried a little while with the Mississippi brethren who have camped close by the fort and then went inside. We were politely welcomed by Mr. Bordeau who appears to be the principal officer. He conducted us up a flight of stairs into a comfortable room and being furnished with seats, we rested ourselves. President Young and others entered into conversation with Mr. Bordeau. From him we learned that we cannot travel over four miles farther on the north side the Platte before we come to bluffs which cannot be crossed with loaded wagons. The road is better on this side than the one we have traveled, it being hard and not sandy. Feed scarce mostly lying in little patches near the river. They send their furs to Fort Pierre on the Missouri river a distance of 400 miles by land and receive all their stores and provisions back by the same teams, except their meat which they kill, there being buffalo within two days' drive. They have tried making a garden and planting corn which did well enough the first year, but afterwards they could raise nothing for want of rain. They have had no rain for two years until a few days ago. They have got a flat boat which will carry two wagons easily which we can have for fifteen dollars or he will ferry us over for $18.00 or 25c a wagon. From the door of this room one can see the same black hill seen on Sunday evening and which is Laramie Peak. We could see the snow lying on it very plainly. We can also see several ranges of high hills in the distance which are no doubt parts of the Black Hills. We went across the square to the trading house which lies on the north side of the western entrance. The trader opened his store and President Young entered into conversation with him. They trade solely with the Sioux. The Crows come here for nothing but to steal. A few weeks ago a party came down and stole twenty-five horses, all that they had at the fort, although they were within 300 yards of the fort at the time and a guard around them. The Sioux will not steal on their own land. A pair of moccasins are worth a dollar, a lariat a dollar, a pound of tobacco a dollar and a half, and a gallon of whiskey $32.00. They have no sugar, coffee or spices as their spring stores have not yet arrived. They have lately sent to Fort Pierre, 600 bales of robes with ten robes in each bale. Their wagons have been gone forty-five days, etc. The blacksmith shop lies on the south side of the western entrance. There are dwellings inside the fort beside that of Mr. Bordeau's. The south end is divided off and occupied for stables, etc. There are many souls at this fort, mostly French, half-breeds, and a few Sioux Indians. Elder Pratt measured the river and found it forty-one yards. He also took the latitude which was 42° 12' 13". Brother Bullock told me that several of the brethren had picked up a number of beads off the ant hills. Curiosity led me to go and examine and I found it even so. It appears that the ants gather all the small pebbles they can carry and build them over their hills to prevent the strong winds from blowing them away, and amongst the rest, they picked up beads which have been lost off the Indians' moccasins and robes, etc. I picked up quite a number. Brother Bullock and I took the dimensions of the fort which will be given in another place. We then got on board the boat and had a pleasant ride about three miles down the Laramie fork to its mouth, the current being very swift. At the mouth, the brethren mostly got on shore and towed the boat up to camp. After dinner I went over again in the cutter which was going to fish with the seine in the Laramie fork. They caught sixty or seventy small fish, salmon, suckers, etc. About six o'clock we returned to camp. The Twelve have decided that Amasa Lyman shall go with Brothers Woolsey, Tippets and Stevens to Pueblo. They start tomorrow. Longitude at Fort Laramie 104° 11' 53". I have seen three birds here which very much resemble the English magpie in size, shape and color, in fact I know of no difference between the two. We passed a number of currant bushes about four miles back, quite thick with young, green currants. On the morning of the 4th of June, I put up a guide board on the north side of the river at the ferry with the following inscription on it, viz. Winter Quarters 543¼ miles, junction of the forks 227½ miles. Ash Hollow 142¼ miles, Chimney Rock 70¼ miles, Scott's Bluffs 50½ miles. Wm. Clayton, June 4, 1847. Elder Pratt took the altitude of Fort Laramie and found it to be 4,090 feet above the level of the sea. Fremont makes 4,470, differing 380 feet. Thursday, June 3 The morning cold with strong southeast wind. The first division commenced ferrying over the river at five o'clock and took a wagon over every fifteen minutes. After breakfast I went over and wrote a letter for Elder Kimball to James Brown at Pueblo, then walked up to a high bluff on the northwest to view the country, but not being able to see far from it, I went to another over a mile farther northwest. Although this last was very high I could see nothing but a succession of high ranges of bluffs as far as I could see, except the narrow space through which the river winds its course. Seeing some heavy thunder clouds rising very rapidly from the northwest I returned to camp and arrived just before the rain commenced. Elders A. Lyman, Thomas Woolsey, John H. Tippets and Roswell Stevens started at 11:15 on horses and mules for Pueblo. President Young, Kimball, Richards and Pratt accompanied them to the Laramie fork and then held a council, kneeled down and dedicated them to God and blessed them. The four then forded the river and went on their journey, the others returned to camp. At half past 1:00 p.m. it commenced raining heavily accompanied by hail, lightning and very loud thunder, which lasted till 3:30 p.m. During the storm, the horses were mostly secured in the old fort. The ferrying ceased till it was fair again, and about five o'clock the first division were all over. The boat was then manned by the second division, John S. Higbee, captain. They averaged a wagon across in eleven minutes and one in ten minutes and one in ten minutes and twenty seconds. The quickest trip made by the first division was thirteen minutes. About seven o'clock it commenced raining again from the southeast and rained heavily, consequently the brethren quit ferrying, leaving three companies of about fifteen wagons on the other side. All the wagons would have been taken over today if it had not been stormy. There is a report come in that there are 2,000 wagons on the road to Oregon, but a little distance behind, but we are satisfied the report is exaggerated. There are eighteen wagons camped about three miles below and one of the men who has come to the fort says that they have counted over 500 wagons. They have lost four horses by the Indians. Friday, June 4 Morning very fine. Laramie peak shows very plain. The brethren commenced ferrying at 4:40 a.m., and at eight o'clock the last wagon was over. I walked up to a high bluff with Carlos Murray and picked up some stalactites clear as crystal supposed to be isinglass. The bluff is very high and almost perpendicular and it is dangerous to get to the crystals. At nine o'clock President Young, Kimball, W. Richards, A. P. Rockwood and T. Bullock walked up to Fort Laramie and returned soon after eleven o'clock. They have learned very favorable reports about Bear River Valley, being well timbered, plenty of good grass, light winters, little snow and abundance of fish, especially spotted trout, in the streams. About half past eleven o'clock Brother Crow's company came down and joined in with the second division and at twelve we started on our journey again, following the Oregon road. We traveled three miles and at 20 minutes past 1:00, halted near some good grass to let our teams feed. The weather is very warm though many light clouds are flying. The bluffs come near the river and are very high, steep, and look like sand. During the halt I went up on a very high bluff near by with my glass. I found it very difficult of ascent. From the top I could see Laramie peak very plainly and also some hills a long way off to the northwest. The country looks very hilly as far as can be seen and the snow on the peak shows quite plain. At half past two we continued our journey and found the road sandy and very uneven. At the distance of seven and three quarters miles from Fort Laramie we descended a very steep pitch or hill. All the wagons had to be locked and we were some time getting down. We went on half a mile farther and formed our encampment in a circle at half past five, having traveled eight and a quarter miles today. At half past five we had a shower accompanied by a little lightning and heavy thunder. I will now give the list of names of Brother Crow's company who have joined the camp today to go with this pioneer camp. They are as follows: Robert Crow, Elizabeth Crow, Benjamin B. Crow, Elizabeth Jane Crow, John McHenry Crow, Walter H. Crow, Geo. W. Therlkill, Matilla Jane Therlkill, Milton Howard Therlkill, James William Therlkill, William Parker Crow, Isa Vinda Exene Crow, Ira Minda Almarene Crow, Archibald Little, James Chesney and Lewis B. Myers, seventeen in number, making the total number of souls in this pioneer camp, after deducting four gone to Pueblo, 161. Lewis B. Myers is represented as knowing the country to the mountains, having traveled it, and I am told that he came as a guide to Brother Crow. They have five wagons, one cart, eleven horses, twenty-four oxen, twenty-two cows, three bulls and seven calves. Inasmuch as there have been some changes in horses and mules, I will endeavor to state them and give the number we started with from Fort Laramie. Two horses killed by accident. Two horses stolen by the Pawnees at Gravel creek; one mule traded for a pony by Brother Markham; three horses and one mule gone with the brethren to Pueblo; one horse traded by O. P. Rockwell for three cows and two calves; one horse traded by John Pack for three buffalo robes; one horse traded by T. Brown for a pony at Laramie; one pony traded by J. S. Higbee to the Sioux for a pony. These changes with the addition made by Brother Crow's company make the number as follows: horses 95, mules 51, head of oxen 100, cows 41, bulls 3, calves 7, dogs and chickens, and 77 wagons and 1 cart. Saturday, June 5 The morning pleasant though somewhat cloudy. Elder Kimball gave George Billings a lecture about abusing his team, kicking them, etc. He gave George some very good advice. The horn sounded early to start but we were detained till half past eight on account of several oxen being missing. About that time they were found and we pursued our journey. After traveling a little over four miles we ascended a steep bluff. The road runs on the top of it a little distance in a very crooked direction, the surface in some places being hard, uneven rock, which shakes and jars the wagons very much. In one place there is a little descent and at the bottom a very sharp turn in the road over rough rock. Here Brother Crow's cart turned over. However, it was soon righted and no injury done to anything. At the west foot is a steep, sandy descent but not difficult. The bluff is a half a mile across. About a half a mile from the west foot we turned from the river nearly a west course and crossed a low gravelly channel where it appears the river has run sometime and perhaps does now in high water. The road after this is considerably crooked and uneven. About a mile and a quarter farther we descended again on the same gravelly channel and traveled up it a piece and at 11:35 halted for noon opposite a very large spring noticed by Fremont. The water of this spring is very clear and soft, but considerably warmer than the river water. We have traveled this morning six and a half miles. Just as we halted, two men came down from the other road on mules to water. They are in company with eleven wagons and bound for west of the mountains. They say the other road from Laramie is only ten miles to the spring while our road has been 14¾ miles. About a half an hour after we stopped, we had a nice shower. The 1st division halted about a quarter of a mile back from here. Latitude at the warm springs 42° 15' 6". While we were halting, the company above referred to passed down the bluffs and went ahead of us. They have got many cows, etc., with them. At 1:40 p.m. we resumed our journey. After traveling a mile we turned in a narrow pass to the northwest between two high bluffs and traveled a quarter of a mile farther, then came to where the road rises a very high, steep bluff. At the foot is a short sudden pitch and then a rugged ascent for a quarter of a mile. The bluff is rocky and many large cobble stones lay in the road which made it hard on teams. Appleton Harmon took one of his yoke of cattle and assisted George Billings to the top and Brother Johnson took Appleton's steers and put them forward of his and brought up his wagon. Appleton and Johnson then took the three yoke of oxen and fetched up Appleton's wagon which threw us nearly in the rear of all the wagons, none of the rest doubling teams. After arriving on the top the road was good but still rising for a quarter of a mile farther. We traveled on this high land five and a quarter miles which was very good traveling although it was considerably rolling. Four and a half miles from the top of the last mentioned bluff, we passed a large lone rock, standing far away from any other. At five and a quarter miles we descended again from the bluff, the descent being steep and lengthy but sandy and good to travel. At the foot of the bluff we again crossed the gravelly channel and traveled on and alongside about a mile, then descended a little to the bottom prairie again. At 6:30 we formed our encampment on the west bank of a small stream and near a very good spring of cold water, having traveled this afternoon 10½ miles and during the day seventeen. I have put up two guide boards today. One at 10 and the other at 20 miles from Fort John or Laramie, but the former name is on the guide boards. The bluffs we have passed today are mostly very high, rocky and broken, with pine growing on most or nearly all of them. We have pretty good feed here and plenty of wood and good water. The gentile camp is a little east of us. They say that there were two more companies arrived at Fort Laramie this morning as they left, and three other companies within twenty miles of Laramie. They left this morning. They left Independence on the 22nd of April. They are expecting the mail soon on mules, but they anticipate keeping ahead of all the companies. We find the road very crooked, but not bad traveling. About dark it rained some, accompanied by lightning and thunder. The camp was notified that tomorrow will be a day for fasting and prayer as last Sunday. Sunday, June 6 Morning cloudy, cool, and like for rain. At eight o'clock the eleven wagons passed us again. At nine the brethren assembled for prayer meeting a little from the camp, but many kept about their wagons, some washing and some at other things. At eleven o'clock, four Missourians came up mounted, being part of a company a little behind. Some of these are recognized by the brethren and they seem a little afraid and not fond of our company. They say the old settlers have all fled from Shariton, Missouri, except two tavern keepers, and I feel to wish that their fears may follow them even to Oregon. At half past eleven just as the brethren again assembled for meeting it commenced raining hard, accompanied by lightning and heavy thunder which caused the meeting to break up abruptly. During the storm, the Missouri company passed by us, having nineteen wagons and two carriages. Most of their wagons have five yoke of cattle to each, and few less than four. They have many cows, horses and young cattle with them. They have a guide with them who lives on the St. Mary's River at the Columbia. He says we shall find water again about six miles from here and then no more for fifteen miles farther. It was then considered wise to move on this afternoon as we cannot well reach the second watering place in one day. Soon after twelve o'clock the weather cleared off, the sun shone and looks like for being fine. The wind blows strong from the west. At half past 2:00 p.m. the camp began to move forward. About three quarters of a mile we crossed the same small stream again, and two miles further arrived at a sudden bend in the road to the south about two hundred yards and then as sudden to the north the same distance occasioned by the water having washed a deep gulf where the road ought to run. A mile beyond this the wagons came to a halt in a body of timber and brushwood at four o'clock, and halted while the brethren on horseback, viz. Elder Young, Kimball and Woodruff, went ahead to look for a camping ground. They returned at 4:40 and the camp proceeded on. Having proceeded a quarter of a mile we passed the camp of the nineteen wagons close by the timber a little south of the road. Several of the men came to look at the roadometer, having heard from some of the brethren that we had one. They expressed a wish to each other to see inside and looked upon it as a curiosity. I paid no attention to them inasmuch as they did not address themselves to me. At a quarter past 5:00 p.m. we formed our encampment in an oblong circle, at the foot of a low bluff on the west and close by water, having traveled five miles. The feed here is very good and plentiful. Wind strong from the west. Road very crooked, mostly a southwest and west course. There is plenty of timber all along and the soil looks good on the low lands. One of the men in the company of the nineteen wagons told G. A. Smith that he had broken his carriage spring and seemed much troubled to know what to do to get along. He asked George if there was any man in our company who could fix it. George told him there was. After we were camped, Burr Frost set up his forge and welded the spring ready to put on before dark. Monday, June 7 Morning fine. Elder Pratt gave me some instructions on the use of the sextant and showed me how to take an observation. He has promised to teach me to take observations and calculate latitude and longitude and I intend to improve the opportunity. At 6:30 the Missouri company passed through again. And at ten minutes past seven we commenced our onward course. Dr. Richards left a letter in a guide board 30¼ miles to Fort John. I walked about five miles mostly in company with Elder Pratt conversing on astronomy and philosophical subjects. Elder Kimball then let me have his horse to ride. We traveled till eleven o'clock and then halted to feed on the west bank of a small stream and spring of clear water, having traveled 7¾ miles, mostly a north of northwest course. The road more even and good traveling. Soon after we halted, another company of Missourians passed us, having thirteen wagons and mostly four yoke of oxen to each. They say they are from Andrew County, Missouri. At 12:35 we moved forward. At a quarter of a mile began to ascend a bluff which was a quarter of a mile from the bottom to the top, the ascent gradual and tolerably steep. From the top of this hill we had as pleasant a view of the surrounding country as I have ever witnessed. Laramie peak appears only a few miles to the southwest, and from that around to the west, north, and northeast, a very extensive view of a beautiful country for many miles, indeed, as far as the eye could survey. From a fair view of the peak I am satisfied that the Black Hills, of which this is a prominent part, are so named from the vast forests of pine trees covering their surface and being of a dark green color within a few miles of them. The pine grows in the most rocky places and abounds on the highest hills, while on the lower bluffs it is sparsely scattered and in the bottom land, which looks rich and good, there are none. We have passed many noble trees and there is no lack of good pine timber in this region. The peak is very high, and very broken and craggy, the snow still lying on its summit and plainly visible with the naked eye. The ridge over which we passed was a half a mile over from the southeast to the northwest foot. At that distance we began to descend and had to lock the wagons in several places. The descent was rendered unpleasant by the many large cobble stones scattered in the road. Many of the brethren threw them out of the road as we went along and the road is much improved. They have also dug down some places and leveled others, which will make the road much better for other companies. At half past three we arrived at Horse Creek and formed our encampment on the bottom land near the timber or rather in the midst of a grove of ash, cottonwood, etc., having traveled five and a quarter miles this afternoon over crooked road and during the day, thirteen miles. On this camp ground is one of the clearest and largest springs of water I have seen for a long time. Elder Kimball having discovered it, he calls it his spring or Heber's spring. The creek is also clear and said to have trout in it. The feed is much better and more plentiful than we have ever met with on this journey. There is abundance of wild mint and sage growing here; the mint seems to perfume the air. The sage grows in abundance on all this sandy land. There are also many wild currant bushes in full bloom and prickley pears all along the road. The other companies were all within two miles when we arrived here, but mostly going on a few miles farther. A little before we stopped, we had a thunder storm which lasted upwards of an hour. During the latter part of it, it rained very heavily accompanied by hail and thunder and lightning. Our hunters have killed a long-tailed deer and an antelope, which were distributed as usual. Brother Crow's hunter also killed a deer, but they are unwilling to conform to the rules of the camp in dividing and reserve it all to themselves. Brother Crow observed that if they got more than they could use they would be willing to let the camp have some. Some of the other companies killed an antelope, took off the quarters and left the balance on the ground. Brother Pack picked it up and brought it along. After we stopped Brother Crow came near meeting with an accident while endeavoring to yoke up a pair of wild steers. It took a number of men to hold them, having lariats on their saddle-horns. They got the lariats entangled round their legs and Brother Crow also, throwing one of the steers down and he fast with it. They cut the rope and he was liberated without injury. Myers, the hunter, roasts the young antlers of the deer and eats them. In regard to Brother Crow's meat, etc., I afterwards learned that the whole family had to depend on Myers for what they eat, having no bread stuff, nor anything only what he kills, and the little flour and meal paid to him for a part of the ferryage, he having a small claim on Bordeau. After supper, walked out with Elder Kimball and was joined by George A. Smith. Brother Smith told me of a good opportunity of sending a letter to my family by some traders who are expected down every day and I feel to improve the opportunity. We had a very strong wind at night, so much that I could not write. Tuesday, June 8 Morning fine though cool. At half past seven we proceeded on our journey crossing the Horseshoe creek, which is about a rod wide. We traveled two and a quarter miles, winding around the foot of high bluffs and then began to ascend them. We found this ascent the worst we have ever had, being three quarters of a mile up, and having in that distance seven very steep rises. On most of them the teams had to double. We saw a buffalo about a half a mile to the south which is the first we have seen since about the 21st of May. Two and a half miles from the east foot of the last bluff we passed over a small creek, nearly dry, and then ascended another high bluff but not nearly so bad a rise as the other one. At 11:45 we halted for noon near a very small creek with but little water in it, having traveled six and three quarters miles over hills and valleys, the roads being very crooked. About half an hour before we halted, Harriet Crow got run over with one of their wagons. The teams had stopped near the descent from the bluffs and she stepped on the wagon tongue to get a drink. The cattle started suddenly, threw her under the wheel which passed over her leg below the knee and downwards, passing over her foot above the toes. She screamed and appeared in great agony. We thought her leg was broken, but were soon satisfied to the contrary. Her foot was badly bruised but I think there was nothing broken. One of the women washed it with camphor. She was then put into a wagon and we proceeded on. Latitude 42° 29' 58". At 1:40 we proceeded. After traveling a little over a mile and a half we passed another small creek, and again ascended a high bluff. We found this ridge more uneven than the other, it being a perfect succession of hills and hollows for five miles. The road was good and hard. While traveling on the top the wind blew very strong from the west and it was so cold that we suffered some. The road over was indeed very crooked but mostly bending to the north. We could see a long distance from the top. The country to the north looks more even but south and southwest very hilly and broken. At five miles we began to descend gradually, and while watching the roadometer I discovered it did not work right which made me pay more attention to it. At ten minutes past six we crossed a stream about thirty feet wide and nearly two feet deep with a very swift current. It is named on Fremont's map as La Bonte river. We formed our encampment on the west bank in the timber having traveled this afternoon 8¾ miles and during the day 15½. The evening is very cold and much appearance of rain. Porter Rockwell has killed a deer and someone else an antelope. Porter says he has been on the Platte which is about four miles from here following the La Bonte. Soon after we stopped, the men came into camp who were expected to carry a letter. They are camped about a mile west of us. I finished my letter to my family by candle light, as it is contemplated to start in the morning before breakfast and go a few miles to better feed. Wednesday, June 9 Arose at 4:20 and at 5:15 a.m. we moved onward, keeping near the La Bonte. At 5:45 halted for breakfast beside the traders' camp, having come a mile and a quarter. I sent my letter to them by Aaron Farr, a number of the brethren also sending letters. While we halted I got the roadometer fixed again and also put up a guide board marked "To Fort John 60 miles." These traders or mountaineers said they had left a kind of ferry made of three buffalo skins hung in a tree on the Platte and wanted Brother Crow's company to have it. It was decided to send a company ahead to overreach the Missouri companies and get the ferry before they could arrive, and also build a raft for us to cross on, kill game, etc. The men say it is about seventy miles to where we cross the river. Nineteen wagons were sent ahead and about forty men to attend to this business. All of Brother Crow's company went, Aaron Farr, J. Redding, the cutter, etc., being five wagons from the 1st division and fourteen from the 2nd. They started about half an hour before we started. We proceeded at 7:45 and immediately after starting had to cross a very steep gulf, being difficult for teams to get up, though it was not long. Soon after this, four men passed us with pack horses and mules. They say they are from Pueblo and going to Green River; they told others they were from Santa Fe and going to San Francisco. We found the road very hilly and uneven and crooked as yesterday. At three and three quarters miles passed over a branch of the La Bonte, a stream about ten feet wide but not deep. The descent and ascent being very steep, most of the teams required assistance to get up. For half a mile before we crossed this stream and three and a half miles after, our road lay over a kind of red earth or sand about the color of red precipitate. Most of the rocks and bluffs are of the same red color, only a deeper red. It affected my eyes much from its brightness and strange appearance. About one and a quarter miles west of the creek President Young and Kimball saw a large toad which had horns on its head and a tail. It did not jump like a toad but crawled like a mouse. This was seen near a large pile of rock or rather a hill. At 12:40 we halted for noon having come ten miles since breakfast. There is little water here for the teams. The day fine and nice west breeze. The road is very crooked, hilly, and mostly rocky, many large cobble stones covering the bluffs, the land barren and little grass. The ground here is covered with large crickets which are so numerous, to walk without stepping on them is almost impossible. At half past two o'clock we were on the move again. I put up another guide board a little east of the creek: "70 miles." We found the road much better this afternoon, not being so uneven, and tolerably straight excepting a bluff to climb a mile from the creek. At the foot of this bluff I saw a toad with a tail like a lizard, about three inches long. It had no horns but there was the appearance of horns just coming on each side of the head. It resembles a lizard in color, tail, and motion when running swiftly through the grass. Its hide appeared hard and on its sides appeared numerous little sharp pointed fins or pricks. In other respects it resembled any common toad. At a quarter past one we formed our encampment on the east banks of a stream about a rod wide, two feet deep and swift current. It is named the A La Pierre. We have traveled eight miles this afternoon and during the day 19¼. We have a good place for feed but the higher land is barren, abounding only in wild sage. There are still some high bluffs around but the country west appears much more level. The evening fine but cool. After traveling six and a quarter miles from noon halt, passed a small creek, and again three quarters of a mile farther passed the same creek. Sterling Driggs killed an antelope and a deer. Thursday, June 10 The morning calm and very pleasant. There is wild mint growing on the bank of this stream in great plenty and abundance of wild sage on all the higher land. The mint smells natural, but the sage smells strong of turpentine and a little like camphor. Started at half past seven and found good roads. At four and a half miles passed over a small creek about three feet wide but not much water, being only a few inches deep. A mile farther passed another creek about five feet wide, clear water and plentiful. At 11:20 we halted on the east bank of a stream about thirty feet wide and tolerably deep with a rapid current, having come eight and three quarters miles. We have had several long, steep bluffs to ascend and descend and two places at the creeks where it was hard for the teams to get up without help. We saw one of the Missouri companies a few miles ahead of us. Edmund Elsworth killed an antelope. There is good feed here and plentiful. Our road has been crooked mostly winding northward. The creek on which we camped last night is named A La Pierre and about a mile from where the road crosses, it runs through a tunnel from ten to twenty rods under the high rocky bluffs. The tunnel is high enough for a man to stand upright in it, and when standing at the entrance one can see the light through on the other side. It seems as though this tunnel has been formed by some strange feat of nature. Several of the brethren went to see it. Lewis Barney and another brother each killed an antelope which were brought into camp during the halt and divided. The brethren carried the two last about five miles on their shoulders. We have learned today from one of the travelers that there is one man living and making a farm in the Bear River valley. At a quarter to 2:00 we continued our journey. Found the road somewhat more even and good traveling. I put a guide board this morning at 80 miles from Fort John, and this afternoon after traveling three and a quarter miles from noon halt I put up another mark at 90 miles. Just as I finished setting it, I looked forward and saw the Platte river again. After descending a half a mile we were on its banks, being 77 miles since we left it on Saturday last, after having wound around among the hills and bluffs all the way. When we arrived near the river the road was more level but sandy and harder on our teams. There are also some low places where the water stands, making it soft, but scarcely any feed for teams since we left the creek at noon. At a quarter to six we passed another stream about thirty feet wide and two feet deep, swift current and clear water. Name is Deer Creek. There is plenty of timber on its banks and abundance of good, rich grass for our teams. We formed our encampment on the west bank in a grove of large timber. About a mile back we passed a sick horse supposed to be left by some of the companies ahead. Brother Markham bled it in its mouth, but could not get it along and had to leave it. The distance we have traveled this afternoon was nine miles and during the day 17¾ miles, the last five miles being nearly a west course. Soon after we camped, Horace Whitney went to fishing in this stream. We were soon satisfied that there are plenty of fish in it. I got a line and went to fishing also and in a few minutes caught two which would weigh a half a pound each. We then went a piece below the ford and by fishing till a little after dark I caught twenty-four nice fish which would average over a half a pound each, and some of them would weigh over a pound each. The ones I caught were of a very bright color and very much resembled the herring, but much larger. Horace caught a cat fish and two suckers. A number of brethren also caught more and some less. There is abundance of fish in this stream and we might have caught enough for all the camp with the sein but it is ahead with those who are gone to build a raft. The Twelve and some others walked out together to the river about a quarter of a mile up the stream. Some of the brethren discovered a rich bed of stone coal where any quantity might easily be dug, and it is said to look good and is a fine quality. The land here on the bottom is rich and would doubtless yield good crops of grain and potatoes, etc. Lewis Barney killed an antelope this afternoon which was distributed as he saw fit, inasmuch as he was not appointed a hunter. The evening is very fine, calm and pleasant indeed. Friday, June 11 Arose at four o'clock to try and get some more fish. Morning fine and warm, but caught only four. I procured a sample of the stone coal from G. A. Smith. It looks good. This place reminds me of England. The calm, still morning with the warbling of many birds, the rich grass, good streams, and plenty of timber, make it pleasant. At 7:35 we again continued our journey along the banks of the river which appears somewhat wider here than at Laramie. At two and a half miles we passed a deep hollow, the banks on both sides being very steep. At four and a quarter miles put up a guide board at 100 miles from Laramie, having traveled it in a week lacking two and a quarter hours. At 11:50 we halted for noon in a grove of timber where there is plenty of good feed for a large company. The land since morning has been generally level, but sandy and no grass. The road somewhat crooked. About a mile back we came around a bend to the south caused by a deep ravine. We had to travel more than a mile to make a quarter of a mile direct. William Empey, Edmund Elsworth, and Francis M. Pomeroy, each killed an antelope. Several of the brethren have taken an interest in the guide boards and wherever they see a piece of board sufficiently large, they pick it up and preserve it. By this means we have now got enough to last 200 miles. The distance we have traveled since morning is nine and a quarter miles, being 105 miles in the week including Sunday, or 100 miles in six days. About half an hour after we halted, Brother Joseph Hancock came in with the hind quarters of an antelope which he killed about three miles back. He could not carry the remainder and left it on the ground. At two o'clock we started again. After traveling one mile, we crossed a very crooked, muddy creek, about twelve feet wide and over a foot deep. The descent and ascent were both bad on account of a crook from one to the other. There is plenty of feed on its banks, but no wood. Five and three-quarters miles farther another muddy creek about three feet wide and bad to cross on account of the clay being very soft in its banks. The balance of the road good, but considerably crooked. At half past five o'clock we came to a halt on account of seeing a number of wagons about a half mile ahead which proved to be two of the Missouri companies camped on the banks of the river and preparing to cross here. It was also ascertained that there is no camping place beyond them unless we go some distance. It was decided to turn off to the river opposite where we are and camp for the night and the wagons proceeded accordingly. We went a half a mile from the road and at six o'clock formed our encampment near the river where there is plenty of timber, having come on the road this afternoon seven and three-quarters miles and during the day seventeen miles, exclusive of the distance we turned off to camp. The feed here is good and plentiful. The region on the banks of the river is pretty level, but a few miles to the south there are very high bluffs. Very little chance for feed except in places on the banks of the river and generally where there is timber. These Missourian companies inform us that the regular crossing place is twelve miles farther and that our brethren are gone on there and also the balance of the Missourian companies. These men have got a light flat boat with them and have already got one load over. They say they have killed three bears between here and the bluffs. They have also killed a buffalo. There have been signs of bears seen by our brethren a number of times, but no bears for a certainty. We have only seen one buffalo since we left Laramie until today, when several have been seen. One of the Missourians brought a snow ball from the hill on the south. He gave Rockwood a piece of it, and he brought it to camp. Elder Kimball and several others saw it which now convinces us snow is yet lying on these high bluffs. Henson Walker, Charles Barnum and Brother Owens have each killed an antelope this afternoon, making eight during the day. Saturday, June 12 Morning very fine with nice east breeze. Brother Markham has learned this morning that Obadiah Jennings was the principal in killing Bowman in Missouri. Bowman was one of the guard who let Joseph and Hyrum and the others get away when prisoners in Missouri. The mob suspected him and rode him on a bar of iron till they killed him. At a quarter past eight o'clock we continued our journey. At one and a half miles crossed a deep gulch pretty difficult to descend but not bad to ascend. One and three-quarters miles farther, we crossed a small creek about two feet wide on a bridge which the brethren fixed, they having started ahead of the wagons for that purpose. One mile beyond the last mentioned creek we crossed another muddy stream about five feet wide, and one and a half feet deep. At a quarter to 12:00, we halted after crossing another large ravine, having traveled seven and three-quarters miles over a sandy, barren prairie. In some places it is soft, although the soil is much like clay in appearance. The road somewhat crooked, and the day fine and warm. During the halt, Brother Rockwood called upon the brethren to help fix another ravine immediately west of us. Many turned out and it was soon done. James Case and S. Markham went to the river opposite here to see if it could be forded. They waded their horses over and found the water about four feet six inches deep in the channel and the current very swift. Of course it could not be forded with loads in the wagons, but the loading would have to be ferried in the boat. They made a report of this kind on their return to camp and about the same time Brother Chesley came down from the brethren ahead and reported their progress and the nature of the crossing place, etc. A number of the brethren in company with Elder Kimball and Chesley went to the river opposite the camp to decide whether to cross here or go on. Brother Markham and Case again went over, but it was finally concluded to go up to the other ferry. We accordingly started at half past two. I went ahead on foot. At three and a quarter miles, crossed a creek about five feet wide. At half past four the encampment was formed on the banks of the river, having come four miles, and during the day eleven and a quarter. It is about a half a mile from our camp to the place where they ferry. I arrived at the brethren's camp at four o'clock and learned that they arrived here yesterday about noon. Two of the Missourian companies arrived about the same time. The brethren concluded that a raft would be of no use on account of the swiftness of the current. The Missourian company offered to pay them well if they would carry their company over in the boat and a contract was made to do so for $1.50 per load, the brethren to receive their pay in flour at $2.50 per hundred. They commenced soon after and this evening finished their work, and received the pay mostly in flour, a little meal and some bacon. They have made $34.00 with the cutter all in provisions which is a great blessing to the camp inasmuch as a number of the brethren have had no bread stuff for some days. During the afternoon yesterday, one of the men of the Missourian company undertook to swim across the river with his clothes on. When he reached the current he became frightened and began to moan. Some of our men went to him with the cutter and arrived in time to save his life. The Missourian company seem to feel well toward us and express their joy at having got across the river so soon. Rodney Badger exchanged wagons with one of them and got a wagon as good as his own, only the tire wants setting. He got a horse, 100 lbs. flour, 25 lbs. of bacon and some crackers to boot. The provisions and horse are considered to be worth as much as his wagon. Since the brethren arrived here they have killed three buffalo, a grizzly bear and three cubs, and two antelope. The buffalo are very fat and the meat is good and sweet. According to the idea of some French travelers camped here, the buffalo are making down east behind the hills opposite here, which they say is a certain sign that the Indians are on Sweet Water hunting them. The brethren say that the buffalo are very plentiful back of these hills. When I returned to camp I learned that Tunis Rappleyee and Artemas Johnson were missing, the former having started for the hills to get a little snow; the latter having been hunting all day. A company were sent out with the bugle to find them. Brother Rappleyee returned about eleven o'clock. Johnson was found by the brethren who returned still later. All agreeing with the report that the hills are eight or ten miles distance, although they do not appear more than one mile. There were four antelope killed by the brethren but divided according to the feelings of those who killed them. Sunday, June 13 The morning fine and pleasant. At nine o'clock the brethren assembled in the circle for prayer and after they had spent some time, Elder Kimball arose and addressed them exhorting them to be watchful and humble, to remember their covenants and above all things avoid everything that will lead to division, etc. He made use of the similitude of the potter and the clay to show that every man had the privilege of being exalted to honor and glory if he did not mar in the hands of the potter, but would continue passive, etc. His remarks were very touching and appropriate to our circumstances. President Young followed next on the "Liberty of the Gospel" showing that it guarantees all fullness of liberty to every man which fact will tend to his salvation and increase, but does not give us liberty to break the laws of God, to wander off to the mountains and get lost, nor to kill the works of God's hands to waste it, etc. He was followed by Elder Pratt on the subject of our avoiding all excesses of folly of every description, inasmuch as it disqualifies from the society of just men and angels. He exhorted the brethren to be watchful and to seek after wisdom and knowledge. The meeting was dismissed at half past twelve and a company were then dispatched to get poles to lash the wagons together to prevent their rolling over when crossing. Another company were sent over the river to build a raft to cross over provisions, etc. The brethren are gone to work and are diligently preparing to cross the river tomorrow. The day has been very hot, more like a summer day than any we have yet had on the journey. The ground seems to be alive with the large crickets, and it is said that the bears feed on them and pick them up very fast. A person who has never seen them could form no idea of the vast numbers of crickets in this region. I spent the day writing in Elder Kimball's journal. Phineas Young came in from the mountain, having killed a deer. Monday, June 14 Morning cloudy and cool. At four o'clock the first division commenced ferrying their goods over the river in the cutter and some time afterwards commenced taking the wagons across on a raft which proved to be very slow work. The second division also began to take their goods over on a raft but the current was so strong they only took two loads over in it and then quit. The second division then got a rope stretched across the river from shore to shore and lashing two wagons fast together to keep them from rolling over, they dragged them over by the rope, letting them drift with the current to save breaking the rope. When the wagons struck on the sand on the other side the upper one keeled over, and finally rolled over the other one, breaking the bows considerably and losing iron, etc., in the wagon to the amount of $30.00 belonging to John Pack. The other wagon had the reach broken and some of the bows. They next lashed four wagons together abreast and dragged them over the same way. All got over well except the upper one which turned on its side, but it was righted again without damage. They next tried one wagon alone, but as soon as it got into the current it rolled over and over, breaking the bows pretty badly. The plan of taking one wagon at a time on a raft is the safest, no accident having occurred with it and the wagons got over dry but it is very slow and would take us three or four days to get all the wagons across. The wind blows strong from the southwest which is much to our disadvantage. At 3:30 we had a very heavy thunder storm. The rain was heavy indeed, accompanied by hail and as strong a wind as I ever witnessed. After the storm was over the ferrying was continued, getting my trunk, etc., and the loads in Brother Johnson and Harmon's wagons over, and also Harmon's wagon, Johnson's being got over just before the storm. It took till nearly ten o'clock to get the loading into the wagons and get regulated. The river has been rising all day and has risen very fast since the storm. The men have tried hard, much of the time being in the water and sometimes up to their armpits which is very fatiguing indeed. When they quit at night the first division had got eleven wagons over, the second division twelve, making twenty-three wagons after a very hard day's labor. There was no difficulty in getting the freight over for one man can carry it in the cutter faster than all the rest of the camp can get the wagons over. Tuesday, June 15 The morning fine but very windy. The brethren continued ferrying wagons over on the raft and also built two other rafts. The wind being so high they could not get along very fast. In the afternoon they commenced driving over some of the horses and cattle belonging to Brother Crow's company. They neglected to take the lariats off the horses and the buffalo horse was soon seen to be drowning. Some of the men immediately went to it with the skiff and dragged him to the shore but could not succeed in bringing him to life. His natural make seemed to hurt him from swimming. The rest all got over safely. The cattle got over safely also; the current was very strong, the wind high and the river rising which made it look dangerous to swim the cattle across. It was concluded today to leave several brethren here to make a boat and keep a ferry till the next company comes up. By that means they will probably make enough to supply a large company with provisions. We have learned from a Missourian that there is a large company of emigrants coming up on the north side of the Platt above Grand Island. There are doubtless some of our brethren and if so they will probably reach us before we get through. The day continued windy and somewhat inclined to storm, but they succeeded in getting nearly twenty wagons over before night. Wednesday, June 16 The morning fine but strong west wind. The brethren continue ferrying. A company have gone back about three miles to make two canoes on which they intend to build a boat to be used here till the next company comes up. Another company also went about half a mile up the river to make slabs or puncheons to lay on the canoes. A while before dark the brethren returned from below with two good canoes twenty-five feet long each and nearly finished and ready to put together. The ferrying continued all day but with great difficulty on account of the strong wind blowing down stream. When they started over with Brother Goddard's wagon the wind was blowing strong. James Craig and Wordsworth were on the raft with poles and when they got nearly half way across Brother Craig's pole stuck in the sand and threw him overboard. He swam back to shore and in spite of Brother Wordsworth's exertions, the wind and current carried the raft about two miles down the river. It was finally landed by the help of the cutter and without accident. They have had three rafts working today, two of which they now work by oars which are proving to be far superior to poles in this strong current. At the close of day there were still a number of wagons on the south shore. Those which had been brought over could not be easily counted on account of their being scattered all along the banks of the river for about a mile in length. It was now contemplated to leave a company of brethren at this ferry to ferry over the gentile companies for a dollar and a half a load till the next company of our brethren arrive. This is the object for which the new boat is being built. They will thus earn a good stock of provisions for themselves and be prepared to set the brethren of the next company over without delay and will also be able to preserve the boat for our use, for it is the instructions of the President that when they have ferried our brethren over to cache the boat and come on with them. Thursday, June 17 The morning fine but windy and cold. The brethren renewed the ferrying early and soon after noon they had got the last wagon safely over which was a matter of rejoicing to all the camp. Two companies of the Missourians had arrived and made application to be set over at a dollar and a half a load. When the contract was made with the first company to be sent across as soon as our wagons were over, the other company of ten wagons offered to pay the brethren 50c per man extra if they would set them over first, making $5.00 over the stated price for ferriage being ten of the brethren to work at it. Colonel Rockwood had made a contract to the above effect with the first company and did not like to break it. However, he received a hint that this was Colonel Markham's day for the use of the boat and consequently Colonel Markham had a right to take the last offer if he chose. He took the hint and they went to work forthwith at a dollar and a half a wagon in provisions at Missouri prices and 50c extra per man in what they preferred for themselves. The afternoon and evening was very cold indeed with a very strong wind. After President Young and Kimball got their wagons over, being about the last, orders were given for the camp to come together and form the wagons in a circle near the ferry. It took till near dark before all the wagons got up. The ferrying was continued all night and till daylight at which time many of the Missourians' wagons in the two companies were over. Friday, June 18 Morning very cold and windy. The brethren continued working at the new boat, others continued ferrying the Missourians' wagons over. It was concluded not to start today but wait and assist in finishing the boat and also to take the provisions on which will be realized from these two companies. After dinner, I went with brother Pack to fish in the last creek we crossed about a mile and a half distance. We found the fish numerous and had good luck. I caught sixty-five very nice ones which would average half a pound weight each. About six o'clock I started back but found I had got more than I could easily carry to camp. However, when I got about half way, Brother Cloward met me and helped to carry them. We arrived at the camp about sundown pretty well tired. The afternoon was very warm and pleasant. When we arrived the Twelve and some others were going to council. I went with them. The names of those who are appointed to tarry were read over as follows: Thomas Grover, John S. Higbee, Luke Johnson, Appleton Harmon, Edmund Ellsworth, Francis M. Pomeroy, William Empey, James Davenport, and Benjamin F. Stewart. Thomas Grover was appointed captain. The President then referred to Brother Glines who was wishful to stay but the president said he had no council for him to tarry, but he might do as he had a mind to. Some explanations followed by Glines, but the unanimous feeling of the brethren was to have him go on. The President preached a short sermon for the benefit of the young elders. He represented them as being continually grasping at things ahead of them which belong to others. He said the way for young elders to enlarge their dominion and power is to go to the world and preach and then they can get a train and bring it up to the house of the Lord with them, etc. The letter of instructions was then read and approved by the brethren and the council was then dismissed. Saturday, June 19 Morning fine but cool. At 7:50 the camp started out again in good health and spirits and the teams in very good order. It was remarked by several that their stock had fattened so much while stopping at the ferry, they hardly knew them. The grass appears to be rich and good. The first six miles of the road was nearly in a west direction over several considerably high bluffs. At that distance the road turns suddenly to the south and rises up a very high bluff which is upwards of a mile from the foot to the summit. There is some interesting scenery on the top of this bluff, especially a range of rough, coarse, sandy rocks of a dark brown color, rising abruptly above the surface of the land in huge masses and ranging east and west. The descent on the south side was rough, crooked and uneven, and about half way down was a bed of white earth mixed with black in places and others yellow. In one place you can pick up small fragments of rock of each color within a yard of each other. Towards the foot, the road is still more uneven and there are several steep pitches and rises. At one o'clock we halted for noon on a spot of good grass about a quarter of a mile from a small spring which is the first water we have come to since leaving the ferry which is eleven and a quarter miles. There is no timber nearer than the bluffs probably two miles away and that is small cedar and little of it. The Red Buttes are nearly opposite to this place towards the southeast and appear to be two high bluffs of red earth or sand, presenting a very triangular, yet interesting appearance. After stopping about an hour it was decided to move on to the spring and we started accordingly and found it to be a small stream of water rising out of the quick sands. At the distance of twelve miles from the ferry there is quite a lake of water supposed to be supplied by a spring. Indeed we could see the water boil up out of the mud in several places. The grass on the banks of this lake is good and plentiful but no timber within two miles or upwards. After watering teams at the lake, at ten minutes to three we continued our journey, bearing near a southwest course over rolling prairie. At the distance of eight miles from the spring there is a steep descent from a bluff and at the foot there is a high ridge of sharp pointed rocks running parallel with the road for near a quarter of a mile, leaving only sufficient space for wagons to pass. At the south point there is a very large rock lying close to where the road makes a bend, making it somewhat difficult to get by without striking it. The road is also very rough with cobble stones. At 7:40 we formed our encampment in a small spot surrounded by high bluffs, having traveled this afternoon ten and a quarter miles and during the day twenty-one and a half which is the longest distance we have traveled in one day since we left Winter Quarters, and this is considered by all to be the worst camping ground we have had on the journey, but we were obliged to take it for there is neither wood, grass, nor water since we left the spring. The land being perfectly sandy and barren, and nothing growing but wild sage and a small prickly shrub something like those on the moors in Lancashire, England. There is some grass in this place for our teams but no wood. The brethren have to make use of the wild sage and buffalo chips to do their cooking. There are two small streams of water, one appears to come from the northwest and is not very bad water; the other is from the southwest and is so bad that cattle will not drink it. It is strong of salt or rather saleratus and smells extremely filthy. Its banks are so perfectly soft that a horse or ox cannot go down to drink without sinking immediately nearly overhead in thick, filthy mud, and is one of the most horrid, swampy, stinking places I ever saw. It was found necessary to keep a guard out to prevent the cattle from getting into it and orders were given to drive them down a little east where feed is pretty good and it is not so dangerous of their miring. The mosquitoes are very bad indeed at this place which adds to the loathsome, solitary scenery around. Porter Rockwell returned from hunting soon after we had camped and reported that he had killed a fat buffalo about two miles off. A team was sent to fetch in the meat which they did not return till long after dark. Elder Kimball saw six buffalo while riding ahead to look out a camp ground. They are represented as being more tame. Myers killed two buffalo, but took only the tallow and tongues and left the rest to rot on the ground. John Norton and Andrew Gibbons left the camp at the springs and went out to hunt, expecting we should stay there till Monday. Gibbons has not been seen or heard of since. Norton has returned and reports that he has killed a buffalo and left it back not far from the spring. About nine o'clock there was an alarm that an ox had mired. He was nearly covered but soon got out again. Sunday, June 20 Morning fine, mosquitoes very bad. Two more oxen found almost buried in the mud and all hands appeared wishful to leave this place and at a quarter past five o'clock we moved out. The first mile was bad traveling, there being several steep pitches in the road making it dangerous for axletrees. A number of the brethren went ahead with picks and spades and improved the road somewhat. After traveling three and three quarters miles we halted for breakfast at seven o'clock beside a small clear stream of spring water about a foot wide, but plenty for camping purposes. The feed on its banks good and plentiful but no wood yet. Elder Kimball states that when he and Elder Benson were riding ahead last evening to look out a camping ground they came within a quarter of a mile of this place but were not near enough to discover the water. A while before they arrived here, as they were riding slowly along, they saw six men suddenly spring up from the grass to the left of the road. The men were clothed in blankets some white and some blue and had every appearance of being Indians and the brethren thought they were Indians. The six mounted their horses and started on in a direction parallel with the road. The brethren also kept on their course. In a little while one of the supposed Indians left the rest and rode towards the brethren and motioned with his hand for them to go back. They, however, kept on and paid no attention to his motion. When he saw them still coming, he wheeled round and joined the others who all put spurs to their horses and were soon out of sight behind a higher piece of land. Soon as they were out of sight Elder Kimball and Benson spurred their horses and rode to the ridge and as they arrived there they discovered a camp of the Missourians about a quarter of a mile to the left of the road and the six Indians were just entering the camp. The brethren were now satisfied that these Indians were Missourians and had taken this plan to keep us back from this good camp ground. It is considered as an old Missouri trick and an insult to the camp, and if they undertake to play Indian again, it is more than likely they will meet with Indian treatment. Their camp left here a little before we arrived this morning and it is now President Young's intention to press on a little faster and crowd them up a little. We have learned from one of the emigrants a few miles in our rear that Andrew Gibbons tarried with their camp over night. When he returned to the spring and found our camp gone and the Missourians' camp there, he told them of the dead buffalo killed by Norton. They went and fetched what meat they wanted and feasted on it, he joining with them and faring well. At a quarter past nine we proceeded on our journey. After traveling three miles, we arrived at the Willow spring and halted a little while to get water. This spring is about two feet wide and the water ten inches deep, perfectly clear, cold as ice water, and very good tasting. There is a willow grove extending for some distance above and below it which will answer very well for firing purposes. The grass is good and plentiful and it is one of the loveliest camping spots I have seen on the journey, though the land where the stream runs below the spring is soft and some danger of cattle miring. The spring is situated between two very high hills and is about three rods west of the road and shielded from the sun by a bank about eight feet high and the willow grove. A little piece before we arrived at the spring there are two very deep ravines to cross, which requires some care on the part of the teamsters to prevent accidents. At a quarter of a mile beyond the spring we began to ascend a very high hill which was one mile from the foot to the top and the ascent pretty steep. The summit of this hill is nicely rounding and considered to be much the highest we have traveled over. From the top can be seen a vast extent of country to the south, west, and north. For about twenty or thirty miles to the south there appears to be a tolerably level bottom over which our future road runs. Beyond this there are vast ranges of high hills whose summits are spotted with snow. In the distance to the southwest can be seen a small body of water which we suppose to be a part of the Sweet Water river. To the west the ridges of rocks or hills appear nearer. They are probably not over fifteen miles from us. On the north we can see hills a long distance. The one opposite Red Buttes, near the spring where we halted yesterday noon, appears only a few miles distance. The view from this hill is one of romantic beauty which cannot easily be surpassed and as President Young remarked, would be a splendid place for a summer mansion to keep tavern. We then descended on the southwest corner of the hill and found it to be just one mile farther to the foot. At the distance of three quarters of a mile farther we found a good place for feed, being plenty of grass, but no water nor wood. At a mile and a quarter still farther we crossed a very bad slough which is about a rod across and following the road, nearly three feet deep in water and stiff mud. Most of the wagons crossed a little to the right of the road and found it not so difficult to cross, yet very soft. There is also plenty of good grass at this spot. A mile beyond this slough we ascended a very steep bluff though not very high and the descent on the southwest is also very steep. At 2:45 we halted to feed in a ravine where there is plenty of grass and a good stream of water about three hundred yards south from the road but destitute of wood. We have traveled this forenoon nine miles over barren, sandy land being no grass only in the spots above mentioned. During the halt it was decided that President Young take the lead with his wagon and try to proceed a little faster. At five o'clock we again proceeded, the President's wagon going first; all the others keeping their places. I will here remark that it is the order of our traveling for each company of ten to go forward in their turn. The first ten in the first division taking the lead one day, then on the second day it falls in the rear of the first division, the second ten takes the lead and this continues till each company of ten have taken the lead one day a piece. Then the first division falls in the rear of the second division which also begins by companies of ten to take the lead of the road as stated above and when each ten have had their day, the second division again falls in the rear of the first which continues in the same order. Thus every man has his equal privilege of traveling one with another. After traveling two and a half miles we descended to the bottom land again and saw a small stream a little to the left of the road where there is plenty of grass. One and three quarters miles farther we crossed a creek of tolerably clear water about six feet wide and one foot deep, but neither grass nor timber on its banks. After traveling seven miles this afternoon we turned off from the road to the left and at 8:20 formed our encampment on a ridge near the last mentioned creek where there is good feed, having traveled this afternoon seven and a quarter miles, exclusive of allowance for turning from the road, and during the day twenty miles. We had been in hopes of reaching the Sweet Water but it appears we are yet some miles from it. The whole country around is entirely destitute of timber, not a tree to be seen, nor a shrub larger than the wild sage which abounds in all this region of country and will answer for cooking when nothing else can be found. Some anxiety is felt on account of the absence of Elder Woodruff and John Brown. They started ahead this morning with instructions to go on about fifteen miles and if they found a good place to camp, to stay. They have not been seen or heard of since. It is supposed they have fallen in with some of the companies either forward or back and have concluded to tarry with them over night. Monday, June 21 Morning very fine and warm. From this place we can see a huge pile of rocks to the southwest a few miles. We have supposed this to be the rock of Independence. After breakfast I went to view it and found that it was a vast pile of rocks extending from south to north about five hundred feet and in width, one hundred feet. The rocks are large and seem piled on one another with the edges up. There is no earth on the ridge but a little drift sand in which there are currant and rose bushes growing. I saw a large mouse on the top which had a long bushy tail like a squirrel. It sat up and acted in every respect like a squirrel, but in size and color resembled a mouse. At 8:35 the camp proceeded onward. After traveling three and a quarter miles we arrived on a bed of saleratus which was a quarter of a mile across and on which were several lakes of salt water. This place looks swampy and smells bad. The beds of saleratus smell like lime, but the saleratus itself is said to raise bread equal to the best bought in eastern markets. Lorenzo Young gathered a pail full in a short time with a view to test its qualities. Large quantities may be gathered in a short time and when pulverized it looks clean and nice. We are now satisfied that the water we saw from the hills yesterday must have been some of these lakes as the Sweet Water is not yet in sight, but these being high, show at a long distance. The water is not very salty but brackish and tastes sickly. It is reported by travelers that these are poisonous, but it is probable that all the poison there is about them is their salt causing cattle to drink freely when they can get no other water, and the more they drink, the more thirsty they get till they burst themselves, which is said to be the effect of drinking the poison, viz., to burst. As we passed along a little farther we saw another large lake to the left and one to the right of the same nature, their banks mostly white with saleratus. At twelve o'clock we arrived on the banks of the Sweet Water, having traveled seven and a half miles over a very sandy road destitute of wood, water or grass. The distance from the upper ferry of the Platte river to this place is forty-nine miles by the roadometer. There has formerly been a ford here but lately emigrants have found a better ford higher up the river. At this place the river is probably seven or eight rods wide and over three feet deep at the ford, but in some places it is much deeper still. The current is very swift, the water a little muddy, but pleasant tasting. By watching it closely it is easy to see on the surface numerous small bright particles floating which at first sight might be supposed to be salt, however the water itself has not the least saline taste. On the banks of the river there is plenty of good grass but destitute of wood there being only one solitary tree to be seen and that stands beside this fording place. The only chance for fuel appears to be the wild sage and other small shrubbery occasionally growing in spots on the low banks. After we halted, Sister Harriet Young made some bread using the lake saleratus and when baked was pronounced to raise the bread and taste equal to the best she had ever used and it requires less of this than the common saleratus. A number of the brethren went back during the halt and filled their pails with it calculating to make use of it during our future journey. The day has been very hot and no wind which makes it unpleasant traveling. Elder Woodruff and Brown again joined the camp on our arrival here and reported that they had spent the night in one of the gentile camps which are now some miles ahead of us. There are many high hills or ridges of the granite rock in the neighborhood, especially in the east and west, all entirely destitute of vegetation and which present a very wild and desolate as well as romantic aspect. I can describe their appearance only by saying that it seems as though giants had in by-gone days taken them in wheelbarrows of tremendous size and wheeled up in large heaps, masses of heavy clay which has consolidated and become solid, hard rock. The rock Independence lies a little west of where we have halted and after dinner I went to view it as well as many others. It lies on the north bank of the river in this shape: The extreme southeast corner reaches to within about three rods of the river and runs in a direction northwest while the river at this place runs nearly a west course. It is composed of the same barren granite as other masses in this region and is probably 400 yards long, 80 yards wide and 100 yards in perpendicular height as near as I could guess. The ascent is difficult all around. Travelers appear to have ascended it mostly at the southeast corner where there are some hundreds of names of persons who have visited it, both male and female, painted on the projecting surfaces with black, red, and some with yellow paint. About half way up there is a cavern about twelve feet long and three feet wide at the bottom but at the top about ten feet wide and eight feet high, formed by a very large heavy mass of rock having sometime fallen over an opening or cavity leaving scarcely room enough for a man to enter. However there are three places by which it may be entered though not without difficulty. There are a number of names inside the cavern put on with black paint, doubtless being the names of persons who have visited it. On the top of the rock the surface is a little rounding something like a large mound with large masses of loose rock lying scattered around. Proceeding forward you descend, when nearly half way of the length, to a considerably lower surface which continues some distance and then rises high again to about the same height as the first section. On the top there are a number of small pools of water, no doubt collected during heavy rains and having no chance to run off, they stand until evaporated into the atmosphere. Some of the pools are eight inches deep and taste like rain water. It is more difficult descending from the rock than to ascend it on account of its being hard and slippery and nothing to hang on, and a visitor has to be careful or he will arrive on the ground with bruised limbs. At three o'clock p.m. they started on and on arriving at the rock found it to be one and a quarter miles from noon halt. We put up a guide board opposite the rock with this inscription on it. "To Fort John 175¼ miles. Pioneers, June 21, 1847. W. R." The letters W. R. are branded on all the guide boards at the doctor's request so as to have a mark that the Saints might know; and his brand is generally known by the Saints. After traveling on the banks of the river one mile beyond the rock, we forded over and found it nearly three feet deep in the channel. All the wagons got over without difficulty or much loss of time. We then continued a southwest course four and a half miles farther and arrived opposite Devil's Gate which lies a little to the west of the road; and a quarter of a mile beyond this, the road passes between two high ridges of granite, leaving a surface of about two rods of level ground on each side the road. The road then bends to the west and a quarter of a mile farther, passes over a small creek two feet wide but bad crossing on account of its being deep and muddy, requiring caution in the teamsters to prevent accident. President Young, Kimball and others went to view the north side of Devil's Gate and returning reported that the devils would not let them pass, or meaning that it was impossible to go through the gateway so called. We proceeded on a little farther and at 6:35 formed our encampment on the bank of the river having traveled this afternoon seven and three quarters miles, and during the day fifteen and a quarter. The feed here is good and plentiful and a little cedar can be obtained at the foot of one of the rocky ridges about a quarter of a mile back. After we had camped I went back to view the Devil's Gate where the river runs between two high rocky ridges for the distance of about 200 yards. The rock on the east side is perpendicular and was found by a barometrical measurements by Elder Pratt to be 399 feet 4¼ inches high. The one on the west side is about the same height but not perpendicular bending a little from the river gradually to the top. The river has a channel of about three rods in width through this pass which increases its swiftness and, dashing furiously against the huge fragments of rock which have fallen from the mountain, makes a roar which can be heard plainly in the camp. One of the brethren fired off his rifle at the foot of the rock and the report resembled much like that of a cannon. Others tumbled fragments of rocks from a projection at the entrance about 150 feet high, which made a very loud rumbling sound caused by the echoes. The scenery is one of romantic grandeur and it seems wonderful how the river could ever find a channel through such a mass of heavy, solid rock. The view from this evening's encampment over the surrounding country is sublime. To the east, south, and southwest the Sweet Water mountains tower high and appear spotted with snow; and about twenty to thirty miles distance from the river to the west are also hills and ridges interspersed as far as the eye can reach, except the land immediately on the river which appears even for many miles. These high, barren, rocky ridges on the north side of the river seem to continue for many miles. Tuesday, June 22 Morning fine. At 7:20 we continued our journey and about 200 yards from where we camped, crossed a very crooked creek about six feet wide descending from the southwest. After traveling three miles over heavy, sandy roads, we crossed another creek about six feet wide; and three and three quarters miles farther, a creek two feet wide. Somewhere near this last creek, Brother Lorenzo Young broke one of his axle trees which detained him some time. One of the Missourian companies came up soon after the accident and took his load into one of their wagons and by splicing a piece of wood on his axle tree, he was enabled to follow our camp. At 11:55 we halted on the banks of the river, having traveled ten miles over a very sandy, barren land, there being no grass only on the creeks and river banks. During the halt, Elder Pratt took an observation and found the latitude of this place 42° 28' 25". President Young went back to meet Lorenzo but soon found he was coming on with the Missourian company who were approaching near us. He immediately turned about and on arriving back gave orders to get up the teams and proceed so as to keep ahead of the other company who say they have traveled from Independence Rock without halting. However, they passed before we could start and got ahead of us. The day has been hot and a little wind. At 2:25 we continued, finding the road again leaving the river. At half a mile, we passed a very large lake on our left which covers an area of over 80 acres of land. Its banks are mostly white with the alkali or saleratus. After passing this lake the road runs south, passing between high sandy bluffs after which it again turns around gradually towards the west and descending a steep bluff over very heavy, sandy land. After traveling five and three quarters miles crossed a creek about six feet wide and a foot deep. The bank on each side is very steep and sandy, making it difficult for teams to get up. Here Sterling Driggs had his harness broken to pieces by his horses springing suddenly when attempting to rise out of the creek. They cleared themselves from the wagon which was hauled up by a yoke of oxen so as not to hinder the rest from crossing. The banks of this creek are well lined with sage instead of grass which is very large and thick on the ground on account of which Elder Kimball named this Sage creek. After passing this creek one and three quarters miles we again arrived on the banks of the river and continued to travel near to it. At two and a quarter miles farther crossed a creek three feet wide, but not much to be depended on for water. At 7:50 we formed our encampment at the foot of a very high gravelly bluff and near the river, having traveled this afternoon ten and three quarters miles and during the day twenty and three quarters miles over mostly a very sandy road. This is a very good camp ground, there being plenty of grass for our teams which is well worth traveling a few miles extra. From this place the country seems fortified by hills and mountains especially on the west. Lewis Barney and Joseph Hancock have each killed an antelope during the day, but there appears to be no buffalo in the neighborhood. Wednesday, June 23 Morning fine and warm. After breakfast I went to the top of the high bluff expecting to get a good view of the country west but was disappointed in consequence of the many ridges or bluffs but a little distance beyond us. At seven o'clock the camp moved forward and immediately after saw a graveyard on the left of the road with a board stuck up with these words written on it: "Matilda Crowley. B. July 16th, 1830, and D. July 7, 1846." On reflecting afterward that some of the numerous emigrants who had probably started with a view to spend the remainder of their days in the wild Oregon, had fallen by the way and their remains had to be left by their friends far from the place of destination, I felt a renewed anxiety that the Lord will kindly preserve the lives of all my family, that they may be permitted to gather to the future home of the Saints, enjoy the society of the people of God for many years to come, and when their days are numbered that their remains may be deposited at the feet of the servants of God, rather than be left far away in a wild country. And oh, Lord, grant this sincere desire of thy servant in the name of Thy Son Jesus. Amen. After traveling one and a half miles we crossed a very shoal stream of clear, cold water about five feet wide. There is but little grass here although a number of bitter cottonwood trees grow on the banks. There being no name on the map for this creek, it was named Bitter Cottonwood Creek to designate it in our future travel. It is probable that this stream is caused by the melting of the snow on the mountains and if so, could not be depended on for a camp ground late in the summer. After passing this creek, the river runs between some of the high rocky ridges, the road at the same time bending a little southwest to pass around them. After traveling five miles beyond the last mentioned creek, we again descended to the banks of the river where would be a pretty good camp ground although the grass is not so plentiful as in many other places on the banks of the river. We traveled till 11:05 on the river banks then halted for noon where the road and river separated a little farther and hence we would probably not find grass again for a number of miles. The land continues very sandy making it hard on teams; our course about west, the day very warm with a light south breeze. We traveled eight and a half miles this morning. There are some small cedar trees on the rocky bluffs which is the only timber seen since we passed the Bitter Cottonwood. Latitude of this place 42° 31' 20". At 1:10 we continued our journey and after proceeding half a mile, found the river turns between the granite ridges in a northwest direction and seems to have but a narrow space to pass through in several places. The road at the same place turns south to avoid the ridges for over a mile and then bends to the southwest for some distance farther. The road at the foot of these rocky hills is extremely sandy and heavy traveling. On arriving at the south side of the hills, we were suddenly cheered with a very plain view of the Wind river chain of the Rocky Mountains towering high up in the air and perfectly white with snow. Some of the peaks appear to run up very high, but we are evidently many miles from them yet. After we passed this place, the road gradually bends to the west and northwest and at the distance of six and three quarters miles from our noon halt brings us to the banks of the river again. We continued on the banks of the river till 6:20, at which time we formed our encampment, having traveled this afternoon eight and a half miles and during the day seventeen. As usual there is plenty of grass on the river banks but no wood. There are some dry buffalo chips and wild sage which answer tolerably well for cooking. The land over which we have traveled, except in the several places above mentioned, is perfectly barren except for wild sage which abounds, but there is scarcely a spear of grass to be seen. These granite ridges continue from the Rock Independence to this place, mostly on the north side the river. Here they recede from the river a few miles and then cease. There are two of the Missourian companies camped, one about a half a mile and the other a mile west of us and we are given to understand we have got a long distance to travel without grass or water. It is stated that a man from one of these companies left his company a few days ago and went ahead to examine the route, etc. On their arrival here they found him in one of these rocky hills hid up for fear of the Indians. He reports that he has been to the pass and that we shall find water about fourteen miles from here. He has come from the pass in two nights and hid up in the day time to avoid Indians, but has seen none. He says it is not over twenty-eight miles to the pass from here. After we camped, Burr Frost set up his forge and set some wagon tires and repaired the wheels of the wagons for one of the Missourians. There are no buffalo to be seen yet and not much game of any kind. Lewis Barney killed two antelope and the brethren mostly killed one or two every day. The Sweet Water mountains do not appear very high but have considerable snow lying on them in some places. They appear to run nearly parallel with the river to about from twenty to thirty miles distance to the south. Thursday, June 24 Morning fine but cool. It was calculated to make an early start so as to pass the two companies of the Missourians and get the best chance for feed at night, but they started out a half an hour before we were ready. We proceeded onward at 6:15 and a little over a mile from where we camped, found the river again bending northwest while the road continues near a west course and soon rises a high bluff. On the top of this, we appear to have a level road for many miles. After traveling five miles from morning, we arrived at a level strip of land on the north side of the road where there is plenty of grass and apparently swampy and soft. It extends in the same direction with the road a mile and a half and appears to terminate where the road crosses the lower land although the grass and hollow continue southward for some distance. Just above where the road crosses at the west end there is some water standing around a small, circular, swampy spot of land probably about a half an acre. Near the edge at the northwest corner is a hole dug which is called the Ice Spring. The water in the hole smells strong of sulphur or alkali and is not pleasant tasting, but under the water which is over a foot deep there is as clear ice as I ever saw and good tasting. Some of the brethren had broken some pieces off which floated and I ate some of it which tasted sweet and pleasant. The ice is said to be four inches thick. The water is very cold although the weather is warm. A quarter of a mile farther than the spring, there is a small lake or spring of alkali on the left of the road and a little farther, still another lake. The latter is more pleasant tasting than the other, not being so strong of sulphur. It tastes very much like lye water mixed with salt. The ground around these lakes is white with alkali or saleratus and a number of the brethren picked up their pails full but we have learned that it ought to be used with care, it being so much stronger than common saleratus, if the same quantity is used it makes the bread quite green. After traveling from the ice spring ten and a quarter miles over a very uneven road, we descended a very steep bluff close in the rear of one of the Missourian companies. The other had halted a few miles ahead and we passed by them. While winding around and descending from this bluff we came in sight of the river again and about the same time. Elder Kimball picked up an Indian arrow point made of flint stone and nearly perfect. It was almost as white as alabaster. At 3:30 we tarried a little south from the road and formed our encampment in a line so as to enclose a bend in the river, having traveled seventeen and three quarters miles without halting on account of there being no water fit for cattle to drink. The feed here is very good and plenty of willow bushes for fuel. The river is about three rods wide and clearer and very cool. The last five or six miles of the road were not so sandy but hard and good traveling. One of the Missourian companies have gone on, but the other camped a piece down the river at the fording place. A while before dark when the brethren were fetching up their teams, John Holman, while bringing up President Young's best horse, having his loaded rifle in his hand, the horse undertook to run back past him and to prevent his running back, he jammed his gun at him. The cock caught in his clothes, the gun went off lodging the ball in the animal's body. It entered a little forward of the nigh hind leg on the under side of his belly making quite a large hole. The horse walked to camp but it is the opinion of many he cannot survive long. He appears to be in great pain, the sweat falling from his forehead in large drops. President Young is evidently filled with deep sorrow on account of this accident but attaches no blame to John who seems grieved very much. The brethren generally feel sorrowful, this being the second horse shot by accident on this mission. Friday, June 25 President Young's horse is dead. The morning is fine but very cool. At twenty minutes to seven o'clock, we pursued our journey fording the river a quarter of a mile below where AVC left the road last night. We found it still nearly three feet deep and the current very swift. After proceeding a half a mile beyond the ford, we crossed a stream about a rod wide which appears to come from the northeast and empties into the river a little farther up. Half a mile beyond this stream, we turned from the river to the northwest and began to ascend a very high bluff which we found pretty steep and over a mile and a half to the top. The road then gradually bends around towards the river and begins to descend over hill and hollow and at four and a quarter miles from where we camped, strikes the river again and continues a quarter of a mile on its banks. Here would be a pretty good place to camp, there being sufficient grass for a large company. After traveling a quarter of a mile near the river we encountered another high sandy ridge, the road again winding to the north to cross it. The descent on the west side is very steep and unpleasant. We strike the river again after traveling one and a quarter miles from where we last left it, but it is the opinion of many that by fording the river twice at the foot of the ridge we could save a mile and they think it can be forded. Colonel Rockwood has paid particular attention to the place and reports that one hour's labor for 100 men would dig down the foot of the ridge so as to make it good passing and save rising the ridge and a mile's travel without fording the river. After leaving the west foot of this ridge, we crossed a stream about twenty-five feet wide and again a quarter of a mile farther the same, only about six feet wide. On examining it, we found it to be a branch of the river running around a piece of land about a quarter of a mile across and forming a semi-circular island. The last crossing was soft on both banks. The high sandy bluffs on each side the river seem to approach much nearer to each other and leave only a small strip of low land on each bank. At 11:20 passed a creek two feet wide and halted for noon having traveled eight and three quarters miles, the wind blowing very strong from the northwest and making it cold and unpleasant traveling and filling the wagons with dust. The latitude at this halt by Elder Pratt's observation is 42° 28' 36". At 1:20 we proceeded again, our road running on the river banks two miles then turning to the northwest and ascending a succession of hills one after another for three miles farther, winding around and over hill and valley in some places over a good hard road, and in other places over rocks and broken fragments of rock, making it severe on wagons and requiring great care in teamsters. About a half mile north of the road at the top of this ridge there is a heavy bank of snow which some of the brethren went to visit and amused themselves by snowballing each other. Brother Carrington says there is every appearance of a rich lead mine in the same place, he having examined the place minutely. The brethren brought some snow to the wagons and we ate some of it which tasted refreshing in the heat of the day. After arriving on the top of these ridges we began to descend gradually over rolling land, but the descent is not nearly equal to the ascent. At the distance of seven and a quarter miles from noon halt, we crossed a narrow wet swamp quite difficult for teams to get the loads over without help and one and a quarter miles beyond the swamp a creek a foot wide and a quarter of a mile farther still another one two feet wide. These all unite in one about 200 yards to the left below the middle creek and then appear to pass under a snow bank which at present forms a kind of bridge over the creek. At 6:45 we formed our encampment on the north banks of a creek about five feet wide, having traveled this afternoon eleven and a half miles and during the day twenty and a quarter. This creek is very clear and cold. Its banks are well lined with willows and about a mile below the camp there is a grove of white poplar in which house logs may be obtained sixteen feet long and a foot through. There are several banks of snow a little to the north and some of the brethren have found ice four or five inches thick and brought a quantity of it to camp. On the banks of the creek there are some groves of gooseberry bushes with small green berries on them. There are also some strawberry roots and flowers and a little white clover has been found, but there is yet no appearance of the great abundance of such things as travelers have represented. The land appears somewhat more likely to yield the nearer we approach to the mountains, but all calculations for farming in this region would be likely to fail on account of the scarcity of timber. It would only be natural to suppose that the nights are very cold here, while so much snow lies around. It requires considerable clothing to keep comfortable, but in the middle of the day it is equally hot. Some of the brethren have traveled up the banks of the Sweet Water river and represent it as tumbling and foaming over rocks and descending very rapidly on account of the great rise of the ground from noon halt to this place. They say it runs within a mile and a half south of this but it is probable it is only a branch of it as we are evidently not near the main branch yet. There is one of the gentile companies camped about a mile below, making the third company we have passed lately and it is the intention to keep ahead of them and have the advantage of the good feed and camping grounds. Saturday, June 26 Morning very cold and considerable ice froze in the water pails during the night. At 7:40 we crossed the creek and pursued our journey. At one mile we passed a small creek which rises from springs a little south of the road where there is a small grove of small timber. Elder Pratt has gone ahead with the barometer to try to find the culminating point or highest dividing ridge of the South Pass as we are evidently at the east foot of the pass. Fremont represents that he did not discover the highest point on account of the ascent being so gradual that they were beyond it before they were aware of it, although in company with a man who has traveled it back and forth for seventeen years. At two and three-quarters miles beyond the last small creek, we crossed the branch of the Sweet Water about two rods wide and two feet deep, the water clear and cold. This would be a good camp ground were it not so cold, as it must be from the fact that large deep banks of snow are now lying on its banks both above and below the road. Where the snow doesn't lie, there is good grass and plenty of willow groves for fuel. Two and a quarter miles beyond this branch we crossed another stream about eight feet wide on an average, though where the ford is, it is nearly three rods wide and two feet deep. This water is also very clear and the banks well lined with willows and grass. It is considered a superior camping ground to the one back. There seem to be a great many antelope at the foot of the mountains which is about all the game to be seen. After crossing the last stream, we climb another high range of hills over a good road, gently rolling. From the top of this is a pleasant view of the surrounding country but all entirely destitute of timber except on and at the base of the mountains many miles distance from the road. We have also a good view of Table Rock to the southwest as well as the high, broken, white capped chain of the Wind River mountains on the north. At 12:40 we halted on the main branch of the Sweet Water having traveled eleven miles. The river here is about three rods wide, three feet deep and current very swift. The water is clear and cold as the snow which lies on its banks in places six or eight feet deep. This is a lovely place for a camp ground, there being abundance of good, rich grass about eight inches high and plenty of willows for fuel. Some of the boys and girls amused themselves by snowballing each other on one of the large snow banks a few rods below the camp. Soon after we halted Eric Glines came up, having left the brethren at the upper ferry on the Platte River on Wednesday morning. He camped one night alone, the other nights he camped with Missourians. He does not assign any reason why he followed us, but evidently considering to repent and obey council than to continue obstinate and rebellious. The weather is now warm and pleasant and but little wind. At 2:20 we moved onward, ascending again on pretty high land where we found good traveling. The latitude at our noon halt was 42° 22' 42". After traveling seven miles this afternoon we arrived on a level spot of lower land and some grass, and inasmuch as we have found no stream as laid down on Fremont's map since leaving the Sweet Water, neither is there much appearance of any for some miles farther, the wagons halted while President Young and some others went over the ridge to the north to look for a camp ground as some of the brethren said the Sweet Water was close by. President Young soon sent a message for the camp to proceed, leaving the road and taking a northwest course. At 6:45 we formed our encampment on the banks of the Sweet Water, at the distance of a little over a quarter of a mile from the road, having traveled this afternoon seven and a quarter miles, and during the day eighteen and a quarter. This is a good place to camp, there being plenty of grass and willows. There are many small pebbles of hard flint rock on the flat land a little back and some almost as clear as glass. Elders Kimball, Pratt and some others are some miles ahead and not having returned at dark, a number of the brethren were sent to meet them. They soon returned in company with Elder Kimball who reported that he had been on as much as six miles to where the head waters of the Atlantic divide from those of the Pacific--that Elder Pratt was camped there with a small party of men direct from Oregon and bound for the U. S. It is now a certainty that we are yet two miles short of the dividing ridge of the South Pass by the road. This ridge divides the headwaters of the Atlantic from those of the Pacific and although not the highest land we have traveled over, it may with propriety be said to be the summit of the South Pass. The Wind River mountains appear very high from this place but on the south there is very little appearance of mountains, Table Rock itself appearing but a little elevated. Sunday, June 27 Morning fine but cold. The ox teams started at five minutes to eight and the remainder shortly after. We soon met eight of the Oregon men on their way back having over twenty horses and mules with them mostly laden with packs of robes, skins, etc. Several of the brethren sent letters back by them. At two and three-quarters miles, arrived at the dividing ridge where Elder Pratt took a barometrical observation and found the altitude 7,085 feet above the level of the sea. This spot is 278½ miles from Fort John and is supposed to divide the Oregon and Indian Territory by a line running north and south. At two miles farther we arrived at where Elder Pratt camped last night on the head waters of the Green River and although the stream is small, we have the satisfaction of seeing the current run west instead of east. The face of the country west looks level except far in the distance where a range of mountains peers up, their surface white with snow. There is good grass here but no timber nor in fact any in sight except on the mountains. Since leaving the pass we have descended considerably, winding around and between high bluffs or hills, but the road is good. One of the Oregon men is returning with us today and then intends to wait for the next companies, etc., and act as a pilot for them. His name is Harris and he appears to be extensively known in Oregon and the subject of much dispute on account of his having found out a new route to Oregon much south of the old one. He appears to be a man of intelligence and well acquainted with the western country. He presented a file of the Oregon papers commencing with February 11, 1847, and five following numbers for our perusal during the day. He also presented a number of the California Star published at Yerba Buena by Samuel Brannan and edited by E. P. Jones. I had the privilege of perusing several of these papers during the day but found little interesting news. Mr. Harris says he is well acquainted with the Bear River valley and the region around the salt lake. From his description, which is very discouraging, we have little chance to hope for even a moderately good country anywhere in those regions. He speaks of the whole region as being sandy and destitute of timber and vegetation except the wild sage. He gives the most favorable account of a small region under the Bear River mountains called the Cache Valley where they have practiced caching their robes, etc., to hide them from the Indians. He represents this as being a fine place to winter cattle. After halting some time we proceeded onward and crossed the stream which is about three feet wide, then halted on its banks at twelve o'clock, having traveled six and a quarter miles, the day warm. The latitude at this halt was 42° 18' 58". At 2:25 we started again and proceeded over gently rolling land and good hard road till 6:40 when we formed our encampment on the west banks of the Dry Sandy, having traveled this afternoon nine miles and during the day fifteen and a quarter. The country west for many miles appears destitute of timber and the view is very extensive. There is very little grass to be seen anywhere and not much near this creek. There is but little water in the creek at first sight, but by digging and tramping on the quick sand, sufficient can easily be obtained to supply a large company. Elder Kimball has been on the road nearly two miles farther but discovered no chance for a camping ground better than this. Mr. Harris has described a valley forty miles above the mouth of the Bear River, and thirty miles below the Bear Springs which might answer our purpose pretty well if the report is true. It is about thirty miles long and fifteen miles wide and tolerably well timbered. We generally feel that we shall know best by going ourselves for the reports of travelers are so contradictory it is impossible to know which is the truth without going to prove it. It is three years today since our brethren Joseph and Hyrum were taken from us and it was the general feeling to spend the day in fasting and prayer but the gentile companies being close in our rear and feed scarce, it was considered necessary to keep ahead of them for the benefit of our teams, but many minds have reverted back to the scenes at Carthage jail, and it is a gratification that we have so far prospered in our endeavors to get from under the grasp of our enemies. Monday, June 28 Morning fine but cool. Many of the brethren are trading with Mr. Harris for pants, jackets, shirts, etc., made of buckskins and also the skins themselves. He sells them high. The skins at $1.50 and $2.00; a pair of pants $3.00, etc. He will take rifles, powder, lead, caps or calico and domestic shirts in exchange but puts his own price on both sides and it is difficult to obtain even a fair trade. At half past seven we proceeded on our journey, Mr. Harris waiting for the other companies. After traveling six miles the road forks, one continuing a west course, the other taking a southwest course. We took the left hand road which leads to California. This junction of the road is 297½ miles from Fort John. We then continued to travel over a desert land yielding nothing but wild sage and occasionally a grass root and weeds until 1:30 when we arrived and halted for noon on the banks of the Little Sandy, having traveled thirteen and a half miles without signs of wood, water or feed for our teams. This stream is about twenty feet wide on an average but at the fording place over three rods, two and a half feet deep, muddy water and swift current. There is not much grass and no timber except willow bushes. There is a variety of roots bearing very handsome colored flowers. One of the brethren has picked up a large piece of petrified wood. It resembles the outside layer of a cottonwood tree next to the bark, and appears to have rotted and broken off short then petrified and turned to a solid, heavy, hard, flint stone, but retaining its original shape and appearance. At 4:15 we commenced fording the river and found it in no way difficult until a number of the wagons had gotten over and the banks began to be soft and muddy. Several of the latter teams required help. At 4:45 all were safely over with no loss except two tar buckets considered to be of no worth. We then proceeded on, expecting to go about eight miles farther, but after traveling a little over a mile we were met by Elder G. A. Smith who introduced us to Mr. Bridger of Bridger's Fort on his way to Fort John in company with two of his men. Mr. Bridger being informed that we had designed to call at his place to make some inquiries about the country, etc., he said if we would turn off the road here and camp, he would stay with us till morning. A camping place being selected we turned off from the road about a quarter of a mile and formed our encampment near the Sandy at six o'clock, having traveled this afternoon one and three-quarters miles, exclusive of allowance for leaving the road, and during the day fifteen and a quarter miles. We have pretty good feed here, enough to fill the teams well. A while after we camped, the twelve and several others went to Mr. Bridger to make some inquiries concerning our future route, the country, etc. It was impossible to form a correct idea of either from the very imperfect and irregular way he gave his descriptions, but the general items are in substance as follows: We will find better grass as we proceed farther on. His business is to Fort Laramie. His traders have gone there with robes, skins, etc., to fill a contract, but having started later than they intended the men at Laramie have taken advantage of the delay and he is going to see to the business himself. There is no blacksmith shop at his fort at present. There was one but it was destroyed. There have been nearly a hundred wagons gone on the Hastings route through Weber's Fork. They cross the Blacks Fork and go a little south of west from his place and pass below the mountains which cross Green river. The Green river runs over an extent of country of 400 miles. It is impossible for wagons to follow down Green river, neither can it be followed with boats. Some have gone down with canoes, but had great difficulty getting back on account of the rapid current and rough channel. Cannot pass the mountains close to the river even with horses. For some distance beyond this chain of mountains, the country is level and beyond that it is hard black rock which looks as if it were glazed when the sun shines on it, and so hard and sharp it will cut a horse's feet to pieces. When we get below the mountains, the Green River falls into a level country for some distance after which it winds through a mountainous country perfectly barren to the Gulf of California. From Bridger's fort to the salt lake, Hastings said was about one hundred miles. He has been through fifty times but can form no correct idea of the distance. Mr. Hastings' route leaves the Oregon route at his place. We can pass the mountains farther south, but in some places we would meet with heavy bodies of timber and would have to cut our way through. In the Bear River valley there is oak timber, sugar trees, cottonwood, pine and maple. There is not an abundance of sugar maple but plenty of as splendid pine as he ever saw. There is no timber on the Utah Lake only on the streams which empty into it. In the outlet of the Utah Lake which runs into the salt lake there is an abundance of blue grass and red and white clover. The outlet of the Utah Lake does not form a large river, neither a rapid current but the water is muddy and low banks. Some of his men have been around the salt lake in canoes. They went out hunting and had their horses stolen by the Indians. They then went around the lake in canoes hunting beaver and were three months going around it. They said it was 550 miles around it. The Utah tribe of Indians inhabit the region around the Utah Lake and are a bad people. If they catch a man alone they are sure to rob and abuse him if they don't kill him, but parties of men are in no danger. They are mostly armed with guns. There was a man opened a farm in the Bear River valley. The soil is good and likely to produce corn were it not for the excessive cold nights which he thinks would prevent the growth of corn. There is a good country south of the Utah Lake or southeast of the great basin. There are three large rivers which enter into the Sevier Lake unknown to travelers. There is also a splendid range of country on the north side of the California mountains calculated to produce every kind of grain and fruit and there are several places where a man might pass from it over the mountains to the California settlements in one day. There is a vast abundance of timber and plenty of coal. There is also plenty of coal in this region near the mountains. North of the California mountains there is walnut, oak, ash, hickory, and various kinds of good timber on and in the neighborhood of the mountains and streams southeast of the great basin. There can be a wagon road made through to it and no lack of water. The great desert extends from the salt lake to the Gulf of California which is perfectly barren. He supposes it to have been an arm of the sea. The three rivers before mentioned are southwest of the desert. There is a tribe of Indians in that country who are unknown to either travelers or geographers. They make farms and raise abundance of grain of various kinds. He can buy any quantity of the very best of wheat there. This country lies southeast of the salt lake. There is one mountain in that region and the country adjoining in which he considers if ever there was a promised land, that must be it. There is a kind of cedar grows on it which bears fruit something like juniper berries of a yellow color about the size of an ordinary plum. The Indians grind the fruit and it makes the best kind of meal. He could easily gather a hundred bushels off one tree. He has lived on this fruit and used to pick his hat full in a very short time. There are a great many little streams head in this mountain and many good springs. It is about twenty days' travel with horses from the salt lake, but the country to it is bad to get through and over a great part of it, nothing for animals to subsist on. He supposes there might be access to it from Texas. On one of the rivers there is a splendid copper mine, a whole mountain of it. It also abounds in gold, silver and has a good quick silver mine. There is iron, coal, etc. The land is good; the soil rich. All the valleys abound with persimmons and grapes which will make the best kind of wines. He never saw any grapes on the Utah Lake, but there are plenty of cherries and berries of several kinds. He thinks the Utah Lake is the best country in the vicinity of the Salt Lake and the country is still better the farther south we go until we meet the desert which is upwards of 200 miles south from the Utah Lake. There is plenty of timber on all the streams and mountains and abundance of fish in the streams. There is timber all around the Utah Lake and plenty of good grass; not much of the wild sage only in small patches. Wild flax grows in most of the valleys and they are the richest lands. He passed through that country a year ago last summer in the month of July, and they generally had one or two showers every day, sometimes a very heavy thunder shower but not accompanied by strong wind. By following under the mountain south of the Utah Lake we find another river which enters into another lake about fifty miles south of the Utah Lake. We shall find plenty of water from here to Bridger's Fort except after we cross Green River and travel five miles beyond it where we shall have to travel eighteen or twenty miles without water, but there is plenty of grass. After crossing Green River we follow down it four or five miles to the old station then cross over to a stream which heads in the mountains west. The station is more than half way from here to his place. We shall have no streams to ferry between here and the fort except Green River. The Indians south of the Utah Lake and this side the desert raise corn, wheat and other kinds of grain and produce in abundance. The Utah's abound more on the west of the mountains near the salt lake than on the east side, ten to one, but we have no need to fear them for we can drive the whole of them in twenty-four hours but he would not kill them, he would make slaves of them. The Indians south of the Utah Lake raise as good corn, wheat, and pumpkins as were ever raised in old Kentucky. He knows of a lead mine between the mountains and Laramie on a timbered creek near the Horseshoe creek. He has found lead there and thinks there is considerable silver in it. It can be found in a cave on the side of the mountain not far from the road. Such was the information we obtained from Mr. Bridger, but we shall know more about things and have a better understanding when we have seen the country ourselves. Supper had been provided for Mr. Bridger and his men and the latter having eaten, the council dismissed, Mr. Bridger going with President Young to supper, the remainder retiring to their wagons conversing over the subject touched upon. The evening was very fine but mosquitoes numerous. Tuesday, June 29 Morning very pleasant till the sun got up a little, then it was very hot. We started at 7:40 and traveled over very good roads through barren land till 10:45 then halted for noon on the banks of the Big Sandy, having traveled six and three-quarters miles. The second division have passed over the river but the first division halted on the north side. This stream appears to be about seven rods wide at this place and about two feet deep in the channel, but it is not generally so wide, but deeper. There is some timber on its banks and plenty of grass in places for teams. At 1:30 we again proceeded, President Young and some others going ahead in the cutter wagon to look out a camp ground for the night. Our course still lies about southwest, the road generally good over gently rolling, hard, sandy land and in some places the surface is covered with loose fragments of hard rock. After traveling nine and a half miles President Young rode up and reported that we would have to go at least six miles farther before we could get feed. It was then a quarter after six, but the teamsters spurred up in order to get through. Most of the road after this for four miles was very hilly and uneven and in places the loose fragments of rocks made it very bad traveling, but many were thrown from the road by the spare men. The weather grew cooler towards evening, some large clouds rising in the west which favored the teams considerably. At 9:05 we found ourselves on the lowlands on the banks of the river again and formed our encampment, having traveled since noon seventeen miles and during the day twenty-three and three-quarters, which is the greatest day's journey we have made since leaving Winter Quarters. The camp was formed by moonlight. There seems to be plenty of feed for teams but no wood for fuel. Many of the brethren have gone down sick within the past three days and a number more this evening. They generally begin with headache, succeeded by violent fever, and some go delirious for a while. Brother Fowler was seized this afternoon and this evening is raving. It is supposed by some that this sickness is caused by the use of the mineral saleratus or alkali picked up on the lakes and surface of the land and it is considered poisonous. Some consider also that we inhale the effluvium arising from it, which has the like effect. It appears to be an article which ought to be used with great care if used at all. There has been no case considered dangerous yet, nor any of long duration. Wednesday, June 30 Morning hot. We resumed our journey at 8:15, several others of the brethren being reported sick. President Young, Kimball and others rode ahead again. We found the roads very good but sandy and filling the wagons with dust. At 11:30 we arrived on the banks of Green River, having traveled eight miles and formed our encampment in a line under the shade of the cottonwood timber. This river is about sixteen to eighteen rods wide and altogether too deep to be forded. Its banks are well lined with cottonwood but none large enough to make a canoe. There are also many patches of wild apple trees, and rose bushes abound bearing pretty roses. This river is 338½ miles from Fort John or Laramie. There is a narrow strip of land which might answer for farming on each bank of the river. The grass grows good and plentiful but still not so much as has been represented. After dinner the brethren commenced making two rafts, one for each division, and a while afterwards Elder Samuel Brannan arrived, having come from the Pacific to meet us, obtain council, etc. He is accompanied by Smith of the firm of Jackson Heaton & Bonney, bogus snakers of Nauvoo. There is another young man in company with them. They have come by way of Fort Hall and brought with them several files of the California Star. They had eleven deaths on board their ship during their voyage over, the others I understand are doing well, raising grain, etc. Towards evening a storm blew up from the west and although we had no rain we had tremendous wind. The first division finished their raft before dark. There is a slough a little down the river where some of the brethren have caught some very nice fish, but the mosquitoes are so very troublesome it is difficult abiding out of doors. July 1847 Thursday, July 1 This morning found myself laboring under a severe attack of the fever, accompanied with violent aching in my head and limbs. The brethren commenced ferrying but got only fourteen wagons over on account of the very high wind. Friday, July 2 The day was more pleasant and the ferrying continued more rapidly. I got over the river before noon but remained very sick. Afternoon the twelve had a council and decided to send three or four men back to serve as guides to the next company. Saturday, July 3 The morning more unfavorable. The brethren got the last wagon over before noon, no accident having happened, and about the time they finished it commenced raining, accompanied by thunder and wind. It was concluded for some of the brethren to go on and look out a camp ground a few miles ahead so as to shorten the distance of the next day's travel. The brethren returned about noon and gave orders to harness up and proceed, and at 3:15 we moved forward and went on three miles, then formed encampment in the midst of an army of mosquitoes. These insects are more numerous here than I ever saw them anywhere, everything was covered with them, making the teams restive in the wagons. There is plenty of grass for teams and it is the intention to tarry here till Monday morning. At night President Young gave the brethren some instructions about trading at Fort Bridger and advised them to be wise, etc. Five men were selected to go back and meet the next company, viz., Phineas Young, George Woodard, Aaron Farr, Eric Glines and Rodney Badger. They are to take the cutter wagon instead of each taking a horse which cannot be spared by the camp. Sunday, July 4 The morning fine and warm. The five brethren have started back to meet the other company. President Young, Kimball and others went back with them to ferry them over Green River. Some of the brethren assembled for meeting in the circle. At 2:30 p.m. the brethren returned from the ferry accompanied by twelve of the Pueblo brethren from the army. They have got their discharge and by riding hard overtaken us. They feel well and on arriving in camp gave three cheers, after which President Young moved that we give glory to God which was done by hosannas. William Walker was with them but has gone back with the five brethren to meet his wife. The spot where we are now camped is opposite to the junction of the Big Sandy and Green River. On the other side the river there is a range of singular sandy buttes perfectly destitute of vegetation, and on the sides can be seen from here, two caves which are probably inhabited by wild bears. The view is pleasant and interesting. During the afternoon one of Brother Crow's oxen was found to be poisoned through eating some kind of a weed and was much swollen. I understand it was dead when they found it. Monday, July 5 At eight o'clock we pursued our journey, many of the brethren still being sick though generally improving. After traveling three and a half miles on the bank of the river the road then leaves it bending westward. We have now a very pleasant view of the Bear River mountains far to the southwest, their summits capped with snow. We found the land somewhat rolling, destitute of grass and several very steep places of descent. At 4:45 we arrived on the banks of Blacks Fork and formed our encampment, having traveled twenty miles, the last sixteen and a half without sight of water. This stream is about six rods wide, very swift current but not deep. The bottoms on each side are very pleasant but not much grass for teams. There is one place in the road where we might have saved a crook of nearly a mile by digging down bank which would probably have detained us about twenty minutes, but it was not discovered till most of the wagons had passed over. Tuesday, July 6 Morning very pleasant. We started on our journey at 7:50 and after traveling three and three-quarters miles, crossed Hams Fork, a rapid stream about three rods wide and two feet deep; and this would be a good place to camp, there being an abundance of high bunch grass on the banks. One and a half miles farther we crossed Blacks Fork which appears to be about eight rods wide and two and a half feet deep, but little grass near it. We then leave the river and wind over uneven road with many pitches caused by heavy rains washing the land, which is generally barren. After traveling eleven miles beyond the last stream, crossed a small creek about two feet wide but no grass. At four o'clock we crossed back over Blacks Fork and formed our encampment on its banks, having traveled eighteen and a quarter miles. At this place there is a fine specimen of the wild flax which grows all around. It is considered equal to any cultivated, bears a delicate blue flower. There is also an abundance of the rich bunch grass in the neighborhood of the river back and many wild currants. The prairies are lined with beautiful flowers of various colors--chiefly blue, red and yellow, which have a rich appearance and would serve to adorn and beautify an eastern flower garden. Wednesday, July 7 This morning we proceeded at 7:35 and after traveling two and a half miles, forded Black's Fork once more. Here also is abundance of good grass, wild flax and handsome flowers. After traveling two and three-quarters miles farther, forded a stream about two rods wide and two feet deep, very swift current, also lined on its banks with bunch grass. At twelve o'clock we halted for noon on the banks of the last stream, having traveled nine miles over pretty rough road. The day very windy and filling the wagons with dust. Some of the wagons have gone on expecting to reach Bridger's Fort before they halt. At 1:40 we moved forward and found the road more even, though in many places rendered bad by the cobble stones. After traveling seven and a half miles we arrived opposite to nine Indian lodges erected on the south of the road. Here we halted a while and found Tim Goodale here, one of the trappers who passed us at the Platte ferry. There are not many Indians here but they appear to have a great many handsome ponies. We then continued on and after fording four creeks on an average about a rod wide, we arrived at Fort Bridger which is proved by the roadometer to be 397 miles from Fort John. We went half a mile beyond the fort and formed our encampment after crossing three more creeks, having traveled this afternoon eight and three-quarters miles and during the day seventeen and three-quarters. The grass is very plentiful in this neighborhood and much higher than we have generally seen it. The whole region seems filled with rapid streams all bending their way to the principal fork. They doubtless originate from the melting of the snow on the mountains and roar down their cobbly beds till they join Black's Fork. Bridger's Fort is composed of two double log houses about forty feet long each and joined by a pen for horses about ten feet high constructed by placing poles upright in the ground close together, which is all the appearance of a fort in sight. There are several Indian lodges close by and a full crop of young children playing around the door. These Indians are said to be of the Snake tribe, the Utahs inhabiting beyond the mountains. The latitude of Fort Bridget is 41° 19' 13" and its height above the level of the sea according to Elder Pratt's observations is 6,665 feet. It is doubtless a very cold region and little calculated for farming purposes. To the west is a pretty high mountain which appears well covered with timber. The country all around looks bleak and cold. Thursday, July 8 Morning fine but high wind. It is concluded to stay a day here to set some wagon tires, etc. Many have gone to trade their rifles and some clothing for buckskins. H. Egan traded two rifles and got twenty pretty good skins for them. The day continued warm with high wind. Evening there was a council and some complaints listened to from George Mills against Andrew Gibbons. It was decided for Thomas Williams and S. Brannan to return from here and meet Captain Brown's company from Pueblo. Inasmuch as the brethren have not received their discharge nor their paw from the United States, Brother Brannan goes to tender his services as pilot to conduct a company of fifteen or twenty to San Francisco if they feel disposed to go there and try to get their pay. Williams came clothed with authority to arrest Tim Goodale or one of his men for stealing a horse at Pueblo, but he can get no encouragement from President Young to make the attempt. Friday, July 9 We started at eight o'clock, the brethren who go back bidding good bye to the camp and proceeding on their back journey while we moved westward over pretty rough roads. After traveling six and a quarter miles, we arrived at the springs and halted a while to rest our teams. We then proceeded on three-quarters of a mile and began to ascend a long steep hill, near the top of which and eight miles from Fort Bridger, Elder Pratt took an observation and found the latitude 41° 16' 11". Arriving on the top we found the table tolerably level for several miles then began to descend to the bottom again. The descent from this hill is the steepest and most difficult we have ever met with, being long and almost perpendicular. At three o'clock we crossed the Muddy Fork, a stream about twelve feet wide, and formed our encampment on the west bank, having traveled since the halt six and three-quarters miles and during the day thirteen. Here is plenty of tall bunch grass and a pretty good chance for our teams. The day has been windy, warm and dusty. Saturday, July 10 Started this morning at eight o'clock, weather warm with tolerably high wind. After traveling three and a half miles we passed a small copperas spring at the foot of a mountain a little to the left of the road. The water is very clear but tastes very strong of copperas and alum and has a somewhat singular effect on the mouth. It runs a little distance over the red sand which abounds in this region and where it is saturated with water almost looks like blood at a little distance. After passing this spring the road winds around the foot of mountains gradually ascending for some distance till finally arriving on the summit of a high ridge. Here Elder Pratt took a barometrical observation and found the height to be 7,315 feet above the level of the sea. On arriving at the west side of the ridge two and a half miles from the last mentioned spring we found a very steep, rough place to descend and found it necessary to halt and fix the road. About half way down there is a place over huge rocks, leaving barely enough room for a wagon to get down, but by labor it was soon made passable. A little farther, the brethren had to dig a place considerably to make a pass between the mountains. President Young and Kimball labored hard with a number of others and in about a half an hour made a good road. At twenty miles from Fort Bridger, passed another spring and a little farther after arriving on the bottom land, the road turns nearly south through a beautiful low bottom filled with grass. At 1:45 we halted for noon, having traveled nine miles. Latitude 41° 14' 21". After halting an hour and a half we proceeded again and after traveling three and a half miles began to ascend the dividing ridge between the Colorado waters and the great basin. This mountain is very high and the ascent steep, rendering it necessary to make a crooked road to gain the summit. The height is 7,700 feet according to Elder Pratt's observations. The surface at the top is narrow. Here three bears were seen to run over a still higher mountain on the left. The descent was very steep, having to lock the wagons for half a mile. We then descend and travel on the bottom a few miles between high rugged mountains till the road seems suddenly to be shut up by a high mountain ahead. The road here turns suddenly to the left and goes east about 200 yards then winds again southwest. After ascending and descending another high ridge, we crossed a small creek about ten feet wide and at 7:45 formed our encampment on the southwest banks, having traveled this afternoon nine miles and during the day eighteen over the most mountainous course we have yet seen. After camping, Mr. Miles Goodyear came into camp. He is the man who is making a farm in the Bear River valley. He says it is yet seventy-five miles to his place, although we are now within two miles of Bear River. His report of the valley is more favorable than some we have heard but we have an idea he is anxious to have us make a road to his place through selfish motives. Elder Pratt has found a beautiful spring of clear, sweet, cold water about a hundred yards southwest from the camp. Water excellent. Sunday, July 11 Morning fine with ice a quarter of an inch thick on the water pails. Walked on the mountain east with President Young and Kimball, from whence we had a pleasing view of the surrounding valley which is about ten miles wide. Abundance of timber on the mountains south and southwest and beyond that plenty of snow. After having prayers, we again descended and at the foot discovered a very strong sulphur spring. The surface of the water is covered with flour of sulphur and where it oozes from the rocks is perfectly black. The water in the creek shows sulphur very clearly and smells bad. During the day some of the brethren discovered an oil spring about a mile south. The substance which rises out of the ground resembles tar and is very oily. Some have oiled their gun stocks with it and oiled their shoes, others have gone to fill their tar buckets and are sanguine it will answer well to grease wagons. It is somewhat singular to find such a great contrast of substances within so short a distance. Here is pure water, sulphur, and oily tar within a mile of each other, and matter of curiosity all around for the contemplation of the curious. Porter, Brother Little and others have been out with Goodyear to view the route he wishes us to take. They represent it as being bad enough, but we are satisfied it leads too far out of our course to be tempted to try it. There are some in camp who are getting discouraged about the looks of the country but thinking minds are not much disappointed, and we have no doubt of finding a place where the Saints can live which is all we ought to ask or expect. It is evident the country grows better as we proceed west, and vegetation is more plentiful and looks richer. After dark, a meeting was called to decide which of the two roads we shall take from here. It was voted to take the right hand or northern road, but the private feelings of all the twelve were that the other would be better. But such matters are left to the choice of the camp so that none may have room to murmur at the twelve hereafter. Monday, July 12 Morning cloudy and cool. We pursued our journey at 7:15. At one and a quarter miles rose a very steep, low hill, narrow but very steep on both sides. One half a mile farther crossed the Bear River, a very rapid stream about six rods wide and two feet deep, bottom full of large cobble stones, water clear, banks lined with willows and a little timber, good grass, many strawberry vines and the soil looks pretty good. About a half a mile beyond the ford, proceeded over another ridge and again descended into and traveled up a beautiful narrow bottom covered with grass and fertile but no timber. Four and three-quarters of a mile beyond Bear River, passed a small spring of good clear cold water. At 11:50 halted for noon in the same narrow bottom near a ridge of high, rough rocks to the right, having traveled nine and three-quarters miles. There is scarcely any wagon track to be seen, only a few wagons of Hasting's company having come this route; the balance went the other road and many of them perished in the snow; it being late in the season and much time was lost quarreling who would improve the roads, etc. There is a creek of clear water close by, deep but scarcely any current. President Young was taken very sick awhile before we halted. After resting two hours the camp moved on again, except President Young and Kimball's wagons, who concluded to remain there today on account of the President's sickness. After traveling one and a half miles we crossed the creek at the foot of a high mountain and a little farther crossed back again. A mile farther, began to ascend a long steep hill, narrow on the summit and steep descent. We then wound around between high hills till arriving again on a narrow rich bottom. At the foot of the hill we crossed last, there is a spring of very good cold water, and in fact, there are many good springs all along the road. At six o'clock we formed our encampment near a very small creek and a good spring, having traveled this afternoon six and three-quarters miles and during the day sixteen and a half. There is an abundance of grass here and the country appears to grow still richer as we proceed west, but very mountainous. There are many antelope on these mountains and the country is lovely enough but destitute of timber. About a quarter of a mile west from the camp is a cave in the rock about thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide and from four to six feet high. There are many martins at the entrance and on observing closely, can be seen myriads of small bugs. It is supposed from appearances that there is some property cached in the cave. Soon after we camped, we had a light shower accompanied by thunder. This country evidently lacks rain, even the grass appears parched. Tuesday, July 13 Awhile before noon, Elder Kimball and Howard Egan arrived from the company back. A meeting was called but suddenly dispersed by a thunder shower. After the rain ceased, Elder Kimball proposed that a company start from the camp with Elder Pratt to proceed to the Weber River canyon and ascertain if we can pass through safely, if not, to try and find a pass over the mountains. He reported that President Young is a little better this morning, but last evening was insensible and raving. Colonel Rockwood is also very sick and quite deranged. A company of twenty-two wagons, mostly ox teams, started on soon after dinner, in company with Elder Pratt, and soon after, Elders Kimball and Egan returned to the back company. The day has been very hot and sultry, and mosquitoes are very troublesome. Wednesday, July 14 The day has been very hot, with occasionally a light breeze. Several of the brethren have been out hunting, and brought in several antelope which appear to abound in this region. Brothers Woodruff and Barnabas Adams went back to the other wagons this morning. They returned at night and reported that President Young is considerably better, but Brother Rockwood remains very sick. There are one or two new cases of sickness in our camp, mostly with fever which is very severe on the first attack, generally rendering its victims delirious for some hours, and then leaving them in a languid, weakly condition. It appears that a good dose of pills or medicine is good to break the fever. The patient then needs some kind of stimulant to brace his nerves and guard him against another attack. I am satisfied that diluted spirits is good in this disease after breaking up the fever. At night had a light shower. The following is a list of the names of those who are gone on to look out and make a road, etc., viz.: Orson Pratt, commander of company, O. P. Rockwell, Jackson Redding, Stephen Markham, Nathaniel Fairbanks, Joseph Egbert, John S. Freeman, Marcus B. Thorpe, Robert Crow, Benjamin B. Crow, John Crow, Walter H. Crow, Walter Crow, George W. Therlkill, James Chesney, Jewis B. Myers, John Brown, Shadrack Roundy, Hans C. Hanson, Levi Jackman, Lyman Curtis, David Powell, Oscar Crosby, Hark Lay, Joseph Mathews, Gilbert Summe, Green Flake, John S. Gleason, Charles Burke, Norman Taylor, A. P. Chesley, Seth Taft, Horace Thornton, Stephen Kelsey, James Stewart, Robert Thomas, C. D. Barnham, John S. Eldridge, Elijah Newman, Francis Boggs, Levi N. Kendall, David Grant. First division: seven wagons, fifteen men; second division: sixteen wagons, twenty-seven men besides Crow's family of women and children. Total, twenty-three wagons and forty-two men. Thursday, July 15 Morning pleasant but cloudy. At twelve o'clock President Young, Kimball and all the rear wagons arrived, eight in number. The President is much better. Brother Rockwood is considerably better. Orders were given for this company to harness up, and during the time till we started onward at half-past one we had a very refreshing shower. After traveling two miles we passed another spring of good water at the foot of a high hill a little to the right of the road. At half-past three we formed our encampment at the foot of some high red bluffs, having traveled four and a half miles, and enjoyed two more pleasant showers. Feed here good and a beautiful spring of good, clear, cold water a little to the left of the road. The evening fine and pleasant. Friday, July 16 This morning we have had two pleasant showers accompanied by pretty loud thunder. At 8:45, we proceeded onward, passing through a narrow ravine between very high mountains. After traveling one and a quarter miles passed a deep ravine, where most of the teams had to double to get up. One-half mile farther, crossed the creek and found the crossing place very bad. Harvey Pierce broke his wagon reach and bolster. The wagon had to be unloaded, but with little delay was soon repaired, during which time a number of the brethren fixed a new place to cross the creek. After passing this place, following the course of the creek, the mountains seem to increase in height, and come so near together in some places as to leave merely room enough for a crooked road. At half past twelve we halted to feed, having traveled six and three-quarters miles and are yet surrounded by high mountains. As we halted, O. P. Rockwell came up from Elder Pratt's company. He reports that it is about twenty-five or thirty miles to the canyon. They have found the road leading over the mountains to avoid the canyon and expect to be on top today at noon. The day is pleasant with a nice breeze. Grass plentiful and pretty high, but no timber yet, except small cedar on the sides of the mountains. Numerous springs of clear water all along the base of the mountains. During the halt two of the brethren went to the top of the mountain on the north of the camp. They looked like babes in size. At 1:40, we proceeded onward and found the pass between the mountains growing narrower, until it seemed strange that a road could ever have been made through. We crossed creek a number of times, and in several places found the crossing difficult. After proceeding a few miles, we saw patches of oak shrubbery though small in size. In the same place and for several miles there are many patches or groves of the wild currant, hop vines, alder and black birch. Willows are abundant and high. The currants are yet green and taste most like a gooseberry, thick rind and rather bitter. The hops are in blossom and seem likely to yield a good crop. The elder-berries, which are not very plentiful, are in bloom. In some places we had to pass close to the foot of high, perpendicular red mountains of rock supposed to be from six hundred to a thousand feet high. At a quarter to seven we formed our encampment, having traveled this afternoon nine and a half miles, and during the day sixteen and a quarter. We are yet enclosed by high mountains on each side, and this is the first good camping place we have seen since noon, not for lack of grass or water, but on account of the narrow gap between the mountains. Grass is pretty plentiful most of the distance and seems to grow higher the farther we go west. At this place the grass is about six feet high, and on the creek eight or ten feet high. There is one kind of grass which bears a head almost like wheat and grows pretty high, some of it six feet. There is a very singular echo in this ravine, the rattling of wagons resembles carpenters hammering at boards inside the highest rocks. The report of a rifle resembles a sharp crack of thunder and echoes from rock to rock for some time. The lowing of cattle and braying of mules seem to be answered beyond the mountains. Music, especially brass instruments, have a very pleasing effect and resemble a person standing inside the rock imitating every note. The echo, the high rocks on the north, high mountains on the south with the narrow ravine for a road, form a scenery at once romantic and more interesting than I have ever witnessed. Soon after we camped, I walked up the highest mountain on the south. The ascent is so steep that there is scarce a place to be found to place the foot flat and firm, and the visitor is every moment, if he makes the least slip or stumbles, in danger of being precipitated down to the bottom and once overbalanced, there is no possibility of stopping himself till he gets to the bottom, in which case he would doubtless be dashed to pieces. After resting about half a dozen times I arrived at the top and found the ascent equally steep all the way up. In many places I had to go on my hands and feet to keep from falling backwards. From this mountain I could see the fork of Weber River about a mile west of the camp; looking back I could see the road we had come for several miles, but in every other direction nothing but ranges of mountains still as much higher than the one I was on as it is above the creek. The scenery is truly wild and melancholy. After surveying the face of the country a little while, I began to descend and found the task much more difficult than ascending, but by using great care and taking time, I got down without accident a little before dark. Solomon Chamberlain broke his forward axle tree about two miles back. A wagon was unloaded and sent back to fetch him up. He is yet very sick. Saturday, July 17 Arose to behold a fine pleasant morning, my health much better. This is my thirty-third birthday. My mind naturally reverts back to my family and my heart is filled with blessings on their heads more than my tongue is able to express. The richest blessings that ever were bestowed upon the head of woman or child could not be more than I desire for them, whatever be my lot. President Young is reported as having had a very sick night. A forge was set up and some repairs done to wagons and Brother Chamberlain's repaired also. The cattle and mules seem very uneasy and continue lowing and braying all the morning. I suppose it is in consequence of the singular echoes, they no doubt thinking they are answered by others over the mountains. At 9:40 the camp renewed the journey and one mile farther arrived at the Red fork of the Weber River. We also seem to have a wide space to travel through and now turn to the right in a western course, the ravine having run mostly southwest. The distance we have traveled through this narrow pass is twenty-three miles. Yesterday was the first day we have been out of sight of snow a whole day since we arrived at Fort John. We could not see it for the high mountains although surrounded by it. On arriving at this stream we see it again on the mountains to the east. This stream is about four rods wide, very clear water and apparently about three feet deep on an average. Its banks lined with cottonwood and birch and also dense patches of brush wood, willows, rose bushes, briers, etc. By stepping to the top of a small mound at the bend of the road, the mouth of the canyon can be seen very plainly, as also the mountains between which we pass to avoid it. The canyon appears to be about eight or ten miles west of us. I should judge not over that. President Young being so very sick found he could not endure to travel farther. Accordingly Elder Kimball and some others went to select a camping ground and soon returning reported a place a little farther. The camp moved on and formed encampment on the banks of the river having traveled two and a half miles, the day very hot and mosquitoes plentiful. Several of the brethren have caught some fine trout in this stream which appears to have many in it. In the afternoon Elders Kimball, Richards, Smith, Benson and others went onto a mountain to clothe and pray for President Young who continues very sick. On returning they rolled down many large rocks from the top of the mountain to witness the velocity of their descent, etc. Some would roll over half a mile and frequently break to pieces. John Nixon found and brought to camp a very singular kind of thistle which I have never seen before nor recollect of ever reading of the like. He found it on the low land near the camp and says there are many more like it. It is a great curiosity and worthy of description. The stem is about four feet long, about six inches wide and a quarter of an inch thick. It is formed of a double leaf or case and when broken is hollow, although the stem lies close together, perfectly flat. It is ornamented with prickles from bottom to top. These leaves are but sparsely scattered all along up the stem. The top is a kind of crown and bush formed by the same kind of prickly leaves and is about ten inches long by five inches broad, forming a very handsome head or crown. But the great curiosity of this thistle is a perfect resemblance of a snake coiled around the crown as though in the act of guarding it against foes. The head of the snake lies on the top of the crown at one end and is ornamented by a small bunch of flowers like common thistle flowers on the snake's head. At the extremity of the tail is a bunch of small burrs covered with prickles something resembling the rattles on a rattlesnake's tail. The body of the snake is formed of the same kind of substance as the thistle itself and has a very singular appearance. It seems that two of the great enemies of mankind have combined, the most bitter and destructive guarding the more innocent. The serpent tempted the woman causing her to sin, in consequence of which the earth was cursed and decreed to produce thorns and thistles, etc., but this is the first time I ever saw the snake guard the thistle. In the evening Elders Kimball, G. A. Smith and Howard Egan rode down the river to visit the canyon. They returned about ten o'clock and said they had been eight miles down the river but at that distance did not arrive at the canyon and being late they concluded to return to camp. Sunday, July 18 This morning the camp was called together and addressed by Elder Kimball. He reports President Young as being a very sick man. He proposed to the brethren that instead of their scattering off, some hunting, some fishing, and some climbing mountains, etc., that they should meet together and pray and exhort each other that the Lord may turn away sickness from our midst and from our President that we may proceed on our journey. It was decided to assemble at ten o'clock and at the sound of the bugle the brethren met in a small grove of shrubbery which they have made for the purpose opposite the wagons. During the meeting, Elder Kimball proposed to the brethren that all the camp, except President Young's and eight or ten other wagons with brethren enough to take care of him, etc., proceed on tomorrow and go through, find a good place, begin to plant potatoes, etc., as we have little time to spare. The proposition was acceeded to by unanimous vote and after a number had expressed their feelings the meeting adjourned till two o'clock at which time they again assembled and listened to remarks from a number of the brethren. Elder Kimball again gave much good instruction and prophesied of good things concerning the camp. The bishops broke bread and the sacrament was administered. Good feelings seem to prevail and the brethren desire to do right. A number yet continue sick, but we expect all will soon recover. The day is very hot with very little air moving. Elder Kimball consented for me to go on tomorrow with the company that goes ahead. Monday, July 19 Morning fine and warm, President Young considerably better. At 7:45 we started onward leaving President Young and Kimball's wagons and several others. We found the road very rough on account of loose rocks and cobble stones. After traveling two and a quarter miles, we forded the river and found it about eighteen inches deep but proceeded without difficulty. Soon after we were over, Elder Snow came up and said the camp were requested to halt awhile till Dr. Richards came. One of his oxen is missing and he wished to go on. We concluded to move on a little to where the road should turn off between the mountains to avoid the canyon. Elder Pratt went three miles out of his road and had to return again. Three-quarters of a mile from the ford we found the place to make the cutoff and there halted awhile. I put a guide board up at this place marked as follows: "Pratt's Pass to avoid canyon. To Fort Bridger 74¼ miles." Brother Pack, having charge of the company, concluded to move on slowly and be making our way up the mountains. We accordingly started and after traveling a mile from the forks began to ascend and wind around the mountains. We found the road exceedingly rough and crooked and very dangerous on wagons. Three and a half miles from the forks of the road the brethren made a bridge over a small creek over which we crossed having passed a number of springs near the road. Two and a quarter miles farther we arrived on the summit of the dividing ridge and put a guide board up, "80 miles to Fort Bridger." At this place Elders Kimball, Woodruff, G. A. Smith and H. Egan rode up to view the road, etc. The descent is not very steep but exceedingly dangerous to wagons being mostly on the side hill over large cobble stones, causing the wagons to slide very badly. After traveling a little way, G. A. Smith's wagon wheels gave way going down a steep pitch. The spokes are loose in the hub, and worked about so that when the wagon slides they dish inward, etc. At two o'clock, we halted beside a small creek to water teams, having traveled ten and a half miles over exceedingly rough road. A wagon was unloaded, and sent for G. A. Smith's loading which is reported to be two miles back. While they were gone, many turned out their teams to graze. At 3:30 the men returned with the wagons, putting the loading into several so as to proceed and at 3:35 we started forward, the road turning suddenly to the right for about three-quarters of a mile and then a southwest course again. Here we ascend a very long steep hill for nearly a mile, then descend by a very crooked road. I think a better road might be made here and this high hill avoided and save a mile's travel. After traveling a little over three miles, we crossed a creek about a rod wide and eighteen inches deep, pretty steep going down but good going out. We went on a little farther and at half past five camped on a small spot surrounded by willow bushes full of mosquitoes, having traveled this afternoon three and a quarter miles and during the day thirteen and three-quarters. The day has been hot and no wind. Teams sweat much and it has been a pretty hard day's travel. There is not much grass here, but is said to be more plentiful a little farther. Several accidents have happened to wagons today but nothing serious except Brother G. A. Smith's. Dr. Richards' wagons arrived in camp at the same time the rest did. The sick are getting better. In the evening the brethren picked up a lot of dry willows and made a coal pit to set G. A. Smith's tire before we can leave tomorrow. The evening and night were very cold. Tuesday, July 20 This morning fine and warm. The coal pit is burned and Burr Frost set Elder Smith's wagon tire and did various other repairs to a number of other wagons which took till nearly eleven o'clock, about which time the camp started onward. One of Brother Crow's men returned from Elder Pratt's company and reported that their camp is about nine miles from here. He is hunting stray cattle. He says the road is very rough from here and about a mile beyond where they are camped the road begins to ascend over a high range of mountains. Elder Pratt has been to the top but cannot see the Salt Lake from there. Their company is gone on. I walked ahead of the camp nearly four miles and picked many gooseberries nearly ripe. They are very plentiful on this bottom. The brethren spent much time cutting brush wood and improving the road. After traveling four miles, halted about half an hour to water teams and eat dinner. The road over which we have traveled is through an uneven gap between high mountains and is exceedingly rough and crooked. Not a place to be met with scarcely where there would be room to camp for the dense willow groves all along the bottom. We then proceeded on and traveled over the same kind of rough road till a little after 5:00 p.m. then camped on a ridge, having traveled today seven and a quarter miles. The last three miles has been the worst road of the two, it being through willow bushes over twenty feet high, also rose and gooseberry bushes and shaking poplar and birch timber. Although there has been a road cut through, it is yet scarcely possible to travel without tearing the wagon covers. We have crossed this creek which Elder Pratt names Canyon Creek eleven times during the day and the road is one of the most crooked I ever saw, many sharp turns in it and the willow stubs standing making it very severe on wagons. As we proceed up, the gap between the mountains seems to grow still narrower until arriving at this place where there is room to camp, but little grass for teams. There are many springs along the road but the water is not very good. In one place about a mile back there is a very bad swamp where the brethren spent some time cutting willows and laying them in to improve it. We have got along today without much damage which is somewhat favorable for the road is awful. At this place the ground around is represented as being swampy and dangerous for cattle. It is reported that there is no place to camp beyond this till where Elder Pratt's company camped and this is so small they have to huddle the wagons together. The soil continues sandy, except in the low moist places where it looks black and good. There is some pine occasionally in sight on the mountains, but timber here is scarce. We have passed through some small patches today where a few house logs might be cut, but this is truly a wild looking place. Wednesday, July 21 We started onward at half past six, the morning fine and pleasant. We crossed the creek once more and about a half a mile from where we camped, the road turns to the right leaving the creek and ascending the mountains gradually. Much time was necessarily spent cutting down stumps, heaving out rocks and leveling the road. It is an exceedingly rough place. There are several springs at the foot of the mountain and one a mile from the top which runs above the ground a little distance, then sinks under again. The last half mile of the ascent is very steep and the nearer the top the steeper it grows. There is considerable timber up this gap but mostly destroyed by fire. We saw a prairie pheasant while going up and some wild gooseberries. At eleven o'clock, the teams began to arrive on the dividing ridge and in less than an hour, all were safely up. From this ridge we can see an extensive valley to the west but on every other side high mountains, many of them white with snow. It seems as though a few hours' travel might bring us out from the mountains on good road again. We halted on the ridge a little while and then prepared to descend, many locking both hind wheels, a precaution not at all unnecessary. We found the road down exceedingly steep and rendered dangerous by the many stumps of trees left standing in the road. The brethren cut up many of them which delayed us much. About a mile down is a bridge formed of small trees laid one on another to fill up a deep ravine. It is steep on both sides and here Joseph Rooker turned his wagon over, however, without much damage. A mile and a half from the top is a spring and small stream of very good cold water where we halted to let teams drink. This would make a tolerably good camp ground in case of necessity. After this, the road is not so steep but is very rough and winds between high hills or mountains through willows and brush wood and over soft places, crossing the creek a number of times. At four and a half miles from the top of the ridge, we arrived at a good spring of cold water, plenty of grass and a good place to camp. Our teams have now been in the harness about ten hours without eating and the feeling of many was to stay here, but some wanted to go on and we continued. Turning suddenly to the right a little below this spring we began to ascend another high ridge and while ascending some of the teams began to fail. There are a great many service berries on this ridge growing on what we supposed to be wild apple trees. The berries are good and rich when ripe. The descent from this ridge is not nearly so steep as the other one, yet many locked both hind wheels. After descending, we found another small creek and a very rough road again. At 7:30, we formed our encampment near the creek, having traveled fourteen miles in thirteen hours. There is but little grass here and a poor chance for cattle. Orson Pratt's company are camped a half a mile ahead of us and our camp was formed by Colonel Markham. He says they have had many new cases of sickness but mostly getting better. The cannon is left back on the other side of the mountains. About a mile back from this place there is a small grove of sugar maple and considerable other timber along the creek. There are also beds of nice green rushes in several places. Thursday, July 22 This morning is cloudy and some like for rain. We started on at 8:30 and soon came up with Elder Pratt's company. There were several bad places in the road where the brethren spent considerable time fixing them. As we near the mouth of the canyon, there is a small grove of elder bushes in bloom and considerable oak shrubbery. We named this a canyon because of the very high mountains on each side leaving but a few rods of a bottom for the creek to pass through and hardly room for a road. It is evident that the emigrants who passed this way last year must have spent a great deal of time cutting a road through the thickly set timber and heavy brush wood. It is reported that they spent sixteen days in making a road through from Weber River which is thirty-five miles but as the men did not work a quarter of their time much less would have sufficed. However, it has taken us over three days after the road is made although a great many hours have been spent in improving it. In this thick brush wood and around here there are many very large rattlesnakes lurking, making it necessary to use caution while passing through. After traveling one and three-quarters miles, we found the road crossing the creek again to the north side and then ascending up a very steep, high hill. It is so very steep as to be almost impossible for heavy wagons to ascend and so narrow that the least accident might precipitate a wagon down a bank three or four hundred feet, in which case it would certainly be dashed to pieces. Colonel Markham and another man went over the hill and returned up the canyon to see if a road cannot be cut through and avoid this hill. While passing up, a bear started near them but soon was out of sight amongst the very high grass. Brother Markham says a good road can soon be made down the canyon by digging a little and cutting through the bushes some ten or fifteen rods. A number of men went to work immediately to make the road which will be much better than to attempt crossing the hill and will be sooner done. Agreeable to President Young's instructions, Elder Pratt accompanied by George A. Smith, John Brown, Joseph Mathews, John Pack, O.P. Rockwell and J. C. Little started on this morning on horses to seek out a suitable place to plant some potatoes, turnips, etc., so as to preserve the seed at least. While the brethren were cutting the road, I followed the old one to the top of the hill and on arriving there was much cheered by a handsome view of the Great Salt Lake lying, as I should judge, from twenty-five to thirty miles to the west of us; and at eleven o'clock I sat down to contemplate and view the surrounding scenery. There is an extensive, beautiful, level looking valley from here to the lake which I should judge from the numerous deep green patches must be fertile and rich. The valley extends to the south probably fifty miles where it is again surrounded by high mountains. To the southwest across the valley at about twenty to twenty-five miles distance is a high mountain, extending from the south end of the valley to about opposite this place where it ceases abruptly leaving a pleasant view of the dark waters of the lake. Standing on the lake and about due west there are two mountains and far in the distance another one which I suppose is on the other side the lake, probably from sixty to eighty miles distance. To the northwest is another mountain at the base of which is a lone ridge of what I should consider to be rock salt from its white and shining appearance. The lake does not show at this distance a very extensive surface, but its dark blue shade resembling the calm sea looks very handsome. The intervening valley appears to be well supplied with streams, creeks and lakes, some of the latter are evidently salt. There is but little timber in sight anywhere, and that is mostly on the banks of creeks and streams of water which is about the only objection which could be raised in my estimation to this being one of the most beautiful valleys and pleasant places for a home for the Saints which could be found. Timber is evidently lacking but we have not expected to find a timbered country. There may be timber on the mountains which the long distance would render impossible to be seen with the naked eye, but the mountains through which we have passed have very little on them. In some places may be seen a grove of small fir or cedar or pine and in the valleys some cottonwood and other small timber. There is doubtless timber in all passes and ravines where streams descend from the mountains. There is no prospect for building log houses without spending a vast amount of time and labor, but we can make Spanish brick and dry them in the sun; or we can build lodges as the Pawnee Indians do in their villages. For my own part I am happily disappointed in the appearance of the valley of the Salt Lake, but if the land be as rich as it has the appearance of being, I have no fears but the Saints can live here and do well while we will do right. When I commune with my own heart and ask myself whether I would choose to dwell here in this wild looking country amongst the Saints surrounded by friends, though poor, enjoying the privileges and blessings of the everlasting priesthood, with God for our King and Father; or dwell amongst the gentiles with all their wealth and good things of the earth, to be eternally mobbed, harassed, hunted, our best men murdered and every good man's life continually in danger, the soft whisper echoes loud and reverberates back in tones of stern determination; give me the quiet wilderness and my family to associate with, surrounded by the Saints and adieu to the gentile world till God says return and avenge you of your enemies. If I had my family with me, how happy could I be, for I dread nothing so much as the journey back again and when I think of the many dangers from accident which families traveling this road are continually liable to and especially this last mountain road from Weber River, it makes me almost shudder to think of it and I could almost envy those who have got safely through, having their families with them, yet they will doubtless have a hard time of it the coming winter. Brother Crow's family especially have very little bread stuff with them, they say enough to last them two months and they are dependent on the success of their hunter for support through the winter. This valley appears to be fortified by mountains, except on the banks of the lake, on many of which there is still snow lying in large quantities. It is certain that good limestone abounds in these ridges and it is supposed coal can be found with little labor. From this hill I passed down the creek which we named the Last Creek about a mile and there saw a bed of bull rushes of the largest kind I ever saw, some of them being fifteen feet high and an inch and a half in diameter at the bottom. The grass on this creek grows from six to twelve feet high and appears very rank. There are some ducks around and sand hill cranes. Many signs of deer, antelope, and bears, but not many have been seen here. There have been fresh buffalo signs seen a few days' travel back, but those animals evidently do not stay in this region unless some come to winter. The ground seems literally alive with the very large black crickets crawling around up grass and bushes. They look loathsome but are said to be excellent for fattening hogs which would feed on them voraciously. The bears evidently live mostly on them at this season of the year. After spending about four hours' labor the brethren succeeded in cutting a pretty good road along the creek and the wagons proceeded on, taking near a southwest course. We found the last descent even but very rapid all the way. At half past five, we formed our encampment on a creek supposed to be Brown's Creek, having traveled seven and a quarter miles today. We are now five and a quarter miles from the mouth of this canyon making the whole distance of rough mountain road from the Weber River to the mouth of the canyon on this side a little less than thirty-five miles and decidedly the worst piece of road on the whole journey. At this place, the land is black and looks rich, sandy enough to make it good to work. The grass grows high and thick on the ground and is well mixed with nice green rushes. Feed here for our teams is very plentiful and good and the water is also good. There are many rattlesnakes of a large size in this valley and it is supposed they have dens in the mountains. The land looks dry and lacks rain, but the numerous creeks and springs must necessarily tend to moisten it much. The grass looks rich and good. A while after we camped, Elder Pratt and company returned and reported that they had been about fifteen miles north from here and this region is as suitable a place to put in our seeds as they have seen. Approaching nearer the lake, the land is mostly sunken and many small lakes in it. A few miles north of this, is a good spot to break up and plant potatoes, sow our seeds, etc. There is a little timber on the creek. From twelve to fifteen miles north at the foot of the mountain they saw many hot sulphur springs issuing from the rocks, as many as fifty in number. One of them, the largest, falls out of the rocks and then forms a pool apparently ten feet deep and a rock is in the center. The water of this is so hot a person cannot bear his hand in it but a very few seconds. It is strong of salt and sulphur and the bottom appears green as though it was covered with verdigris. A council was held at the Doctor's wagon and it was decided to move early tomorrow to the place designated; also, to send two men back to the President and company to report our progress, etc., then to commence forthwith and plow and plant about ten acres with potatoes this week if possible and thus continue till the seed is secured. John Pack and Joseph Mathews were selected to return to President Young's company. The evening was fine and pleasant and the night feels much warmer than in the ravines of the mountains. Friday, July 23 This morning Elders Pack and Mathews started to meet the President and at the same time the camp moved on to the final location. We traveled two miles and then formed our encampment on the banks of the creek in an oblong circle. The grass here appears even richer and thicker on the ground than where we left this morning. The soil looks indeed rich, black and a little sandy. The grass is about four feet high and very thick on the ground and well mixed with rushes. If we stay here three weeks and our teams have any rest they will be in good order to return. As soon as the camp was formed a meeting was called and the brethren addressed by Elder Richards, mostly on the necessity and propriety of working faithfully and diligently to get potatoes, turnips, etc., in the ground. Elder Pratt reported their mission yesterday and after some remarks the meeting was dismissed. At the opening, the brethren united in prayer and asked the Lord to send rain on the land, etc. The brethren immediately rigged three plows and went to plowing a little northeast of the camp; another party went with spades, etc., to make a dam on one of the creeks so as to throw the water at pleasure on the field, designing to irrigate the land in case rain should not come sufficiently. This land is beautifully situated for irrigation, many nice streams descending from the mountains which can be turned in every direction so as to water any portion of the lands at pleasure. During the afternoon, heavy clouds began to collect in the southwest and at five o'clock we had a light shower with thunder. We had rains for about two hours. The brethren have plowed up considerable land and broken several of their plows, but there have been three plows going nearly all day. At night, the camp was called together and addressed by Elder Richards on a subject which seemed little welcome to many from the way it was handled. It was a sermon of ---- from end to end. Some felt a little insulted but it all passed off well and jokingly. Saturday, July 24 The plowing is renewed and many are gone to planting potatoes. There is one drag going. Others are still at work on the dams. John Pack and Joseph Mathews returned at dark last night and reported the President and company a few miles up Last Creek. They have gone back this morning to fix two bridges at the mouth of the canyon. The day is fine and hot with a nice breeze. At a quarter to twelve, President Young and Kimball arrived and the wagons also began to arrive at the same time. The President seems much better and the sick generally are getting better. Most of the brethren express themselves well; pleased with the place, but some complain because there is no timber. There appears to be a unanimous agreement in regard to the richness of the soil and there are good prospects of sustaining and fattening stock with little trouble. The only objection is a lack of timber and rain. The latter God will send in its season if the Saints are faithful and I think yesterday was a proof that He listens to and answers the prayers of the Saints. We can easily irrigate the land at all events which will be an unfailing and certain source of water, for the springs are numerous and the water appears good. About 5:00 p.m. we were favored with another nice shower accompanied by thunder and some wind. It continued raining till nearly dark; the balance of the evening fine. Elder Kimball says that it is contemplated to send out an exploring party to start on Monday and proceed north to the Bear River and Cache valleys. They design taking several wagons with them and Presidents Young and Kimball accompany the expedition. Another company is to start at the same time and go west to the lake, then south to the Utah lake and return down this valley. Sunday, July 25 Morning fine and pleasant. At ten o'clock a meeting was held in the camp and the brethren addressed successively by Elders G. A. Smith, H. C. Kimball and E. T. Benson, these mostly expressing their feeling of gratification for the prospects of this country, each being highly satisfied with the soil, etc. Elder Kimball referred especially to the manifold blessings we have been favored with during the journey. Not a man, woman, or child has died on the journey, not even a horse, mule, ox, cow or chicken has died during the whole journey. Many exhortations were given to the brethren to be faithful, obey the council of those in authority and we shall be blessed and prosperous. At 1:00 p.m. by request of Elder Kimball, the following persons viz.: Howard Egan, Hans C. Hanson, Jackson Redding, Carlos Murray, Thomas Cloward, George Billings, Philo Johnson, Charles Harper, Edson Whipple, Wm. A. King, Hosea Cusing, Robert Byard, Orson K. Whitney and Horace Whitney, assembled themselves in a willow grove adjacent to the camp where Elder Kimball addressed them in substance as follows [the whole reported by Horace Whitney]: "Most of you here present have become adopted into my family, except a very few calling them by name and Horace, who has become connected with my family by marriage, but I do not care for that, you are all the same to me, and your interest is my interest for what's mine is yours and what's yours is your own. If I have the privilege of building a house, I want you to help me and I will help you. Horace will want to build a house for some of his father's family if they should come up and there is plenty of timber in the hills. When my family comes up, we may conclude to settle somewhere else. If so, there will be plenty to buy us out if we shall have made any improvements. I want you all to be prudent and take care of your horses, cattle and everything entrusted to your care. It would be a good plan and probably will be done for those who stay here, to go back on the Sweet Water and kill buffalo, etc., for winter consumption. We shall go tomorrow if Brigham is well enough, in search of a better location--if indeed, such can be found--if not, we shall remain here. There should be an enclosure made for the purpose of keeping the horses and cattle in nights for there are plenty of Indians in the vicinity. I should advise you to keep the Sabbath day holy whether others do or not. I want you to put all the seed into the ground that you think will come to maturity. I am satisfied that buckwheat will do as well here as any other seed we can grow. I want also some peach stones and apple seeds to be planted forthwith. Brother Byard and Hans I would like to have immediately engage in making garments of buck skins, Brother Cloward in making shoes and Brother Johnson in making hats as soon as practicable. If you wish to go hunting, fishing, or to see the country, select a week day and not the Lord's day for that purpose. Do not let us get giddy and light minded as the Nephites did of old, but strive to work righteousness in the beginning, inasmuch as we have reached the promised land. If it is advisable to work in a family capacity, we will do so; and if in a church capacity, we should be equally willing to do that. I am going out on a scout with the brethren and I shall probably want one or two of you to go with me and also one or two wagons. I am not going to take anything back with me to Winter Quarters except what is actually necessary--even some of my clothes I shall leave behind. I shall leave Bishop Whipple with you. He is quite a steady and economical man, and as such I recommend him to you. I want every man to be as industrious as possible while I am gone and get into the ground all the turnips, cabbage and other seeds you can. In case a storm of snow should come on, it would be advisable to drive all the cattle among the willows where they can remain until the snow goes off. I want you all to work together until such time as every man can have his inheritance set off to him. I feel towards you as a father towards his children and I want you to banish all peevishness from your midst and accommodate yourselves as much as possible to each other's wishes. I have it to say that my boys have been faithful to their various duties on this journey and other people have noticed it and expressed the opinion that they never saw such an attentive set of men in their lives, and I consider that their conduct is worthy of imitation. I want you to be sober and prayerful and remember me and my family in your prayers." A number of other good ideas were advanced by Brother Heber and then we closed the meeting by prayer. At 2:00 p.m. the brethren again assembled within the camp and were successively addressed by Elders Woodruff, Orson Pratt and W. Richards sustaining the ideas advanced by the other brethren this morning. Some remarks followed from Lorenzo Young, John Pack and others and the meeting was dismissed. It is contemplated to send some wagons back to lighten the loads and assist the next company over these rough roads. It is now certain that there is considerable timber in the ravines and valleys between the mountains, several large bodies having been seen by the brethren since our arrival. There is a mountain lying northeast from here on which is considerably large timber. It is supposed to be about ten miles distance. The northern expedition is given up for the present on account of President Young's health. A company intend to go tomorrow to the lake and survey that region. If they go, they will probably be gone a day or two. Monday, July 26 Morning cloudy and pleasant. The brethren commenced plowing early, others are gone to planting, etc., and the brethren appear to feel well. Some of the sick have been to bathe in one of the hot springs and pronounce the effects wonderfully beneficial. Others are going this morning to try the same experiment. Another company are gone to make a road to the timber through a ravine a little north of this. About ten o'clock, President Young sent me a horse with instructions to join him and some others going on a short exploring expedition. I immediately started and found the company consisted of President Young, Elders Kimball, Woodruff, G. A. Smith, Benson, Richards and Carrington. We took a course northward passing by the land where the brethren are plowing and planting. The land indeed looks rich and light. About three-quarters of a mile north of the camp, we arrived on a beautiful table land, level and nicely sloping to the west. Here we halted to view it and the more we viewed, the better we were satisfied that it is as handsome a place for a city as can be imagined. At the east part there is a considerable creek of clear cold water descending from the mountains and just above this place it branches into two forks, one running northwest, the other southwest, and the two nicely surrounding this place, and so well arranged that should a city be built here the water can be turned into every street at pleasure. We passed on and began to ascend the mountains, the President signifying a wish to ascend a high peak to the north of us. After some hard toil and time we succeeded in gaining the summit, leaving our horses about two-thirds the way up. President Young felt pretty well fatigued when he got up. Some of the brethren feel like naming this Ensign Peak. From this place, we had a good view of the Salt Lake and could see that the waters extend for a great many miles to the north of us. There appears to be land, although white with salt, all the way to the mountain on the northwest which we had previously supposed was surrounded by water. We can see a pretty large stream winding from the south to the north through the valley but keeping not many miles distant from these mountains towards the lake. After satisfying ourselves we began to descend, President Young and Lorenzo, who joined us a while before we went up, going down on the east side where they were joined by Elders Woodruff, Benson, and Richards with the horses. Elders Kimball, Smith, Carrington and myself descended on the northwest corner and found the descent very lengthy and difficult. These hills are mostly rocky of a kind of soft stone in some places, in others a harder kind of flint stone. On arriving on the level again, we wound our way southward to meet the other brethren and after passing a little way saw one of the sulphur springs where a pretty large stream of sulphur water boils out of the rock at the foot of the mountain and thence branches out into several smaller streams for some distance till these enter a small lake. This water is about as warm as dish water and very salty. There is much filthy kind of substance collected on it and the smell arising from it is truly nauseating and sickly, though generally supposed to be in no way unhealthy. Elder Kimball left us here on seeing Elder Woodruff's carriage and the other brethren returning back towards the camp. In the meantime, Elders Smith, Carrington and myself went lower down towards the lake in search of some fresh water to quench our thirst. We found a nice clear stream of cold water but a little way from the sulphur spring and having drunk of it, we concluded to go on and see the river which we had noticed from the mountain. We took nearly a west course and soon struck the old road made by emigrants last year. We found the land exceedingly rich all along, good grass and abundance of rushes. We found many wet places but no signs of swamps, nor danger of miring. After traveling about two miles, we arrived at the river having followed the road to the ford. This river is about five rods wide on an average, three and a half feet deep at the ford but in other places much deeper. The current is slow and the water of a dark lead color. The banks are about five feet high and the soil to the water level of a rich, black alluvial. There is no timber on the banks here and not many willow bushes. We went over the river and found the soil equally good on the other side. While here we observed Elder Woodruff's carriage and the brethren again proceeding northward. We started back to meet them, it being the intention to go to the large, hot sulphur spring. We could but remark all along, the richness of the soil and the abundance of high, good looking grass. On arriving at the foot of the mountain beside another sulphur spring, we saw the carriage come on to the first spring but apparently judging it unsafe to cross, they wheeled around and returned back to camp. Elders Smith, Carrington and myself then concluded to go on and view the big spring which we found to be about two miles farther. Before arriving at it, there is a large shoal salt lake and on the banks are numerous sulphur springs varying in the appearance of the surface and losing themselves in the lake. There were many plovers on and around this lake. We arrived at the big spring about four o'clock and making our horses fast, we went down to where it boils out of the rock. This spring is also situated at the foot of the mountains and at the base of a large rock, perpendicular on the west side and gradually losing itself on the east in the mountain. The spring, as I have said, is at the base of this rock. There is a circular hole about four feet wide and a yard high from the top to the surface of the water from whence the water boils out in a considerable stream. The water itself in the spring seems to be about two feet deep. There is a rock at the mouth of the spring where a person can stand and see inside. Standing on this rock with your face near the mouth of the spring a strong warm sulphurous air is felt to come in gusts out of the rock and it is so hot that it requires only a few minutes to start the perspiration. On putting my hand in the spring, I was startled with the heat and found I could not bear to hold my hand in five seconds. It is as hot as the hottest dish water ever used for dishes. Immediately on emerging from the rock, the water forms a lake about three rods in diameter and evidently pretty deep. The water is exceedingly clear and nice to look at but very salty indeed. We could see the water boil up in many parts of the lake. The water escapes at the north side of the lake at the base of the rock and there forms a stream about four feet wide and eighteen inches deep. We concluded we would go down the stream six or eight rods to wash our feet, naturally expecting the water to be cooler, but on taking off our boots and socks we found it impossible to hold our feet in it a moment and could barely wash by dashing the water on with our hands and suddenly dipping them in and out. It is supposed this would boil an egg in about ten minutes. At five o'clock we returned back to camp and supposed that the spring is about four miles distance. We arrived in camp at six o'clock. The brethren have planted about three acres of potatoes, some peas, beans, and are now planting four or five acres of corn. Elder Kimball stated that on returning with the carriage to the creek near the camp to get some water, he discovered that he had lost his spy glass. He retraced his steps on foot to the top of the peak and back without finding it, and on arriving at the bottom he saw Elders Richards and Benson bathing in one of the warm sulphur springs. Although wet with perspiration he took off his clothes and plunged in and found the effects very pleasant and beneficial. After bathing they started back for camp and but a few rods distance found the glass near the road. Some of the brethren have commenced making a garden about two miles to the southeast and indeed their operations and industry are truly pleasing and noble. The more I view the country, the better I am satisfied that the Saints can live here and raise abundant crops. Elder Kimball has kindly offered me a horse to ride and view the country as much and when I have a mind to while we stay here. This morning Joseph Mathews and John Brown started west to go to the mountain. They returned this evening and report that they have been at the foot of the mountain and judge it to be about sixteen miles distance. They say the wild sage is very plentiful on the other side the valley, showing that the land is not so rich there as here. They found a horse, near the mountain and have brought it to camp, supposed to have strayed from emigrants who have previously passed this way. Towards sundown heavy clouds were noticed in the south and southwest. We expected a shower, but it passed off to the east. Tuesday, July 27 Morning fine and warm. The atmosphere appears very different here to what it did amongst the mountains. The evenings and nights are very warm and pleasant and the air appears pure. Two of the Utah Indians came to camp early this morning to trade. Two ponies were bought of them for a rifle and musket. These two are but of moderate size, pleasing countenance and dressed in skins. At half past eight Amasa Lyman, Rodney Badger, Roswell Stevens, and Brother Brannan arrived in camp. They report that the Pueblo company will be in tomorrow or the day after. The brethren are still busy plowing and planting. Burr Frost has his forge up and quite a number of plows have been rigged up by the assistance of the carpenters. Elder Lyman, I understand, reports that they heard of a large company on their way and he thinks we may expect them in 15 or 20 days. Elders Lyman and Brannan joined the exploring party with President Young and Kimball and the company started off soon after their arrival. A company of brethren have been to the mountains to get more lumber to build a skiff. They returned this evening bringing a very handsome pine log about twenty inches through and which, probably, when whole, would measure sixty feet long. The day has been very fine and warm. The horses and cattle seem in good spirits and are getting fat. They are full of life and ambition. Presidents Young and Kimball have had their wagons moved a little distance from the camp to the other side the creek. During the afternoon, two more Indians came in to trade. Some of the brethren are making unwise trades, giving twenty charges of powder and balls for a buck skin, while the usual price is three charges. This is wrong. Wednesday, July 28 Morning fine and warm. Several of the Indians have remained in camp over night. They seem very peaceable and gentle and anxious to trade. The brethren are making a saw pit to saw lumber for a skiff. Joseph Hancock and Lewis Barney have been off hunting in the mountains two days. They state there is abundance of good timber for building in the mountains but difficult to get at it. The timber is mostly balsam fir and poplar and many sticks will make two good logs. At half past three President Young and company returned. They have been at the Salt Lake and report it to be about twenty-five miles distance. No water after they leave the river except salt water. The lake is very clear and the water heavy, so much so, that a man cannot possibly sink. Even not where more than four feet deep and they tried to fall down on their knees but could not touch the bottom. They can sit or lie in the water perfectly easily without touching the bottom. One of the brethren lay down on the water and another got on him but could not sink him. They suppose the water will yield 35% pure salt. They gathered some off the rocks which is as pure, white and fine as the best that can be bought in market. There is a cave in the mountain west of the camp which is sixty feet from the entrance to the far end. The Indians appear to have frequently visited it and there are yet the remains of their fires. There appears to be no fresh water beyond the river and the brethren are more and more satisfied that we are already on the right spot. At eight o'clock the brethren were called together and addressed by President Young on various subjects, pointing out items of law which would be put in force here, his feelings towards the gentiles, etc. He said they intended to divide the city into blocks of ten acres each with eight lots in a block of one and a quarter acres each. The streets to be wide. No house will be permitted to be built on the corners of the streets, neither petty shops. Each house will have to be built so many feet back from the street and all the houses parallel with each other. The fronts are to be beautified with fruit trees, etc. No filth will be allowed to stand in the city but the water will be conducted through in such a manner as to carry all the filth off to the River Jordan. No man will be suffered to cut up his lot and sell a part to speculate out of his brethren. Each man must keep his lot whole, for the Lord has given it to us without price. The temple lot will be forty acres and adorned with trees, ponds, etc. The whole subject was interesting to the brethren and the items will probably be given more fully hereafter. The Twelve were appointed a committee to lay off the city, etc. Thursday, July 29 We have had a very strong cold, east wind all the night and the morning is tolerably cool. At eleven o'clock I was moved up to the other camp about three-quarters of a mile. At ten o'clock we had a light shower. It rained pretty heavily all around but mostly passed by here. At three o'clock, the Pueblo brethren came in sight, the soldiers appearing in military order, many of them mounted. They have twenty-nine wagons in the company and one carriage. Presidents Young, Kimball and the Twelve went to meet the brethren and met them in the canyon. They report that they had very heavy rain there, the water rising in the creek three feet in a very short time, caused by the rush from the mountains. The brethren arrived at the lower camp at half past three and marched in headed by the fifes and side drum. They have camped a little west of the other camp. The brethren are represented as feeling well and cheerful. At five o'clock the Twelve returned here and an hour later went over north to the mountains, I suppose to hold a council. Friday, July 30 Day warm. Twelve held a council with the officer of the battalion, then rode up to the hot spring. Evening a general meeting of the camp and addressed by President Young. He told his feelings concerning the soldiers, they have saved the people by going when required, etc. He rejoiced that they are here. He expressed his feelings warmly towards the brethren and also told his feelings towards the gentiles. The meeting was opened by hosannas three times and closed by requesting the battalion to build a bower tomorrow on the temple lot where we can assemble for meetings, etc. Saturday, July 31 This morning the brethren commenced making the bower on the temple lot a little southwest from our camp. They will make it about forty feet long and twenty-eight feet wide. Walked with President Young, Kimball, Richards and others to the Mississippi camp. Brother Thomas Richardson is very sick and several others of the soldiers. Soloman Tindal is yet alive but looks feeble. Elder Kimball conversed sometime with Captain James Brown. There are from twenty to thirty of the Utah Indians here and some squaws trading with the brethren. They are generally of low stature, pleasing countenance but poorly clad. While we were there, a dispute arose between two of the young men and they went to fighting very fiercely. One broke his gun stock on the other's head and I expected to see a pretty serious affray, many of the others gathering around. Soon an old man came up, father to one of the young men engaged in the quarrel and he used his heavy whip very freely about both their heads and faces. The antagonist of the son struck the old man and he immediately gathered a long pole and broke it over the young man's head. He succeeded in quelling the broil and gave them a long lecture. They then mostly left and resumed their trading a little distance from the camp. In the afternoon, we had a pretty smart thunder shower and considerable wind. In the evening I walked down to the Pueblo camp and there learned the following particulars: These Indians who are now here are of the Shoshones, about fifteen or twenty in number, and several women among them. There were four or five of the Utahs here this morning when the Shoshones came up. One of the Utahs had stolen a horse from one of the Shoshones and the latter party saw him with the horse here. He had traded the horse for a rifle but was unwilling either to give up the horse or rifle hence the quarrel spoken of above. When the old man separated them, the thief went down and hid himself in the camp below. Soon after, he saw another horse walking by, which he knew to belong to the Shoshones. He sprang on his own horse and drove the other one before him towards the mountains on the southeast as hard as he could ride. The Shoshones being informed of it, four of them started in pursuit and as he got in between the mountains they closed in on him, one of the pursuers shooting him dead while another one shot his horse. They returned and made this report to the others of the tribe at the camp at the same time exhibiting fresh blood on one of the rifles. They appear to be much excited and continually on the watch. When the men returned, they sat down and made a meal of some of these large crickets. They appear to be crisped over the fire which is all the cooking required. Many of the brethren have traded muskets and rifles for horses and ordinary muskets will buy a pretty good horse. They appear to be displeased because we have traded with the Utahs and say they own this land, that that the Utahs have come over the line, etc. They signified by signs that they wanted to sell us the land for powder and lead. The Shoshones are poorer clad than the Utahs. They are about the same in stature and there are many pleasing countenances among them. Colonel Markham reports that there are three lots of land already broke. One lot of thirty-five acres of which two-thirds is already planted with buckwheat, corn, oats, etc. One lot of eight acres which is all planted with corn, potatoes, beans, etc. And a garden of ten acres, four acres of which is sown with garden seed. He says there are about three acres of corn already up about two inches above the ground and some beans and potatoes up too. This is the result of eight days' labor, besides making a road to the timber, hauling and sawing timber for a boat, making and repairing plows, etc. There have been thirteen plows and three harrows worked during the week. August 1847 Sunday, August 1 We have had another cool windy night. At ten o'clock in the morning the brethren assembled for meeting under the bower on the temple lot, all the members of the quorum of the Twelve being present except President Young who is quite sick again. After the meeting had been opened by singing and prayer by Elder G. A. Smith, Elder Kimball arose and made some remarks to the following effect, as reported by Brother Bullock: "I would enquire whether there is a guard out around our cattle; if not, let one be placed immediately. The Indians left here very suddenly this morning and we don't know their object. If we don't take good care of what we have, we will not have any more. It is all in the world we shall ever have, for 'to him that receiveth I will give more.' We are the sons of God and He will do with us as we would do to our children, and inasmuch as I am faithful in taking care of my neighbors' goods, I shall be entitled to the same from them, for we are commanded to do unto others as we want others to do to us. Every penurious man who takes advantage of others will come down to poverty. If we have to follow the steps of our Savior we have to follow and experience the same things; you will have to feel for men so as to know how to sympathize with them and then you can feel for them. I feel for this people and grow more feeling for them every day. Our Father in Heaven is more tender to us than any mother to her little child. If I am faithful to serve others, others will be willing to serve me." Orson Pratt requested the prayers of the Saints in his behalf: "It is with peculiar feelings that I arise before so many of the Saints in this uncultivated region inhabited by savages. My mind is full of reflection on the scenes through which we have passed and being brought through the deserts of sage to this distant region. God's ways are not as our ways. It is not wisdom that the Saints should always foresee the difficulties they have to encounter for then they would not be trials. We expected some revelations to take place and behold they are revealed in the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants, for we are to congregate among the remnants of Joseph. We did think our wives and children would be built up among the strongholds of the gentiles, we thought we should be as Missourians to them. Jehovah had different purposes. He designed that this people should be brought out almost as an entire people. The Book of Mormon never would have been fulfilled if the Saints had not left the gentiles as a people, for when the gentiles rejected the Gospel it was to be taken among the Lamanites. So long as the Gospel, the Priesthood and the main body of the people remained with them, the fullness of the Gospel was not taken away from the gentiles. This movement is one of the greatest that has taken place among this people. I feel thankful as one of the Twelve for the privilege of coming out as one of the pioneers to this glorious valley where we can build up a city to the Lord. For many years I have not read that good old book, but I remember the predictions in it and some that are now very nearly fulfilled by us. Isaiah says, (Chapter 62) speaking of the City of Zion, it shall be 'Sought out, a city not forsaken,' etc. Many in this congregation know what is meant by the garments of salvation and the robe of righteousness. Righteousness and praise shall spring forth before all the nations of the earth and they will not hold their peace. There are many of you that feel you can cry day and night to the people in the cause of righteousness until it shall triumph. 'For as a young man marrieth a virgin,' etc.--this belongs and refers to us. 'I will no longer give thy corn to be meat for thine enemy.' This has not been fulfilled heretofore but will be. The corn that we toil to raise from the earth, it shall not be given to our enemies, they that gather it shall eat it, and they shall drink in the courts of His holiness. This wine is also to be drunk in the courts of the Lord's house. We have gathered out the stones out of the road and thousands will yet fulfil this prophecy. It has reference to the latter times that were to dawn upon the world in the last dispensation. 'Thou shalt be called, Sought out, A city not forsaken.' If ever there was a place sought out it is this, we have enquired diligently and have found it. This cannot refer to Jerusalem, but to this very place, point and spot that the pioneers have found where a city shall be built unto the Lord, where righteousness will reign and iniquity not be allowed. Isaiah and Joel both spake very plainly on this subject. 'It shall come to pass in the last days that the house of the Lord shall be established,' etc. In what part of the earth could it be established more than in this place where this congregation is gathered. In the midst of the spires of the mountains we have found a place large enough to gather a few thousand of the Saints. You may travel Europe, Asia, Africa and America but you cannot find a place much higher where any people can raise crops and sustain themselves. The house of the Lord will be established on the tops of the mountains when we shall have once reared here. The experience of the Saints proves that there was no house of the Lord, and we can say: travel over this earth but you cannot find the house of the Lord. The Lord must give the pattern of the building and order it, and give directions to His servants. The Lord wants His house built precisely to the pattern that He gives and He is bound to speak to and bless and make them His own children in that house and I verily believe I shall see it and see thousands come flocking to the house to learn the way of salvation. And I want to see the time that I shall see thousands raising their voices on this consecrated land. There are many testimonies in the prophets all bearing upon this subject. Joseph, in the Book of Doctrine and Covenants speaks of this very subject and it appears there will be some sinners in Zion who will be afraid and a devouring fire will rest upon every dwelling place in Zion. 'He that walketh righteously' etc., 'He shall dwell on high, bread shall be given him, his water shall be sure.' Isaiah was on the eastern continent when he spoke this and was speaking of a very distant place. It will be pretty difficult to get a ship of war up to this place. When we get used to this healthy climate, the people will not say, I am sick, but will be able to smite the gentiles. They will grow up strong and will not be in jeopardy from sickness. The wilderness shall become as a fruitful field and a fruitful field as a forest. We know the time will come that the great Jehovah will cause springs of water to gush out of the desert lands and we shall see the lands survive that the gentiles have defiled. Isaiah speaks of the heritage of Jacob being in a high place. This is about four thousand feet above the level of the sea and the high mountains will still catch the hail and we shall be in a low place. We will not feel discouraged but will feel full of vigor and circumscribe all things to the very heavens, for this is what we desire above all things. Let us endeavor to covenant in our hearts, that we will serve the Lord; that we will keep His commandments and obey His counsel. I wish that all of us should be faithful and as President Young said the other evening, every man is expected to do his duty. The Lord will be with us still; He will shield, guard and defend us by day and be our refuge by night, and our salvation. I feel to say in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, you shall be blest if you keep the commandments of God. Amen." Elder Kimball hopes the brethren will be attentive to what they hear for if you bring an evil upon this people you will bring destruction upon yourself. If you do things according to counsel and they are wrong, the consequences will fall on the heads of those who counseled you, so don't be troubled. I do not want to be wrapt in the skins of some men who have taken a course that has brought destruction upon themselves and others, and they will have to answer for it. I am a man that would not speak to a man's daughter to marry her until I have first spoken to her father and mother also, and then it is done by common consent. But I preach the truth, every word of it. President Young instructed the Battalion last evening and counseled them for their comfort and the counsel is for the brethren to keep their guns and their powder and their balls and lead and not let the Indians have it for they will shoot down our cattle. They stole guns yesterday and had them under their blankets and if you don't attend to this you are heating a kettle of boiling water to scald your own feet. If you listen to counsel you will let them alone and let them eat the crickets, there's a plenty of them. I understand they offered to sell the land and we were to buy it of them, the Utahs would want to pay for it too. The land belongs to our Father in Heaven and we calculate to plow and plant it and no man will have power to sell his inheritance for he cannot remove it; it belongs to the Lord. I am glad I have come to a place where I feel free. I am satisfied and we are in a goodly land. My family is back, my teams are helping on several families and leaving ours. If my family were here I would not go over that road again. I believe in Brother Joseph's religion which he said was a key that would save every man or woman, and that it is for every man to mind his own business and let other people's business alone. We will all have farms and cultivate them and plant vineyards, and if we are faithful, five years will not pass away before we are better off than we ever were in Nauvoo. If we had brought our families along everybody else would have come; and we must lose another year. We could not bring all the soldiers' families for the same reason that we did not bring our own families. I thank the Lord that there are so many of the soldiers here. If they had tarried in Winter Quarters there would have been many more deaths among them. We brought many of these pioneers to save their lives, many of them were very sick and were carried out of their beds and put into the wagons. They have mostly recovered their health and we have been prosperous and have been permitted to arrive here alive. There has not one died on the journey, nor an ox nor horse nor anything except one of Brother Crow's oxen which was poisoned. We lost several horses by accident and we shall be prosperous on our journey back again if we are faithful, those of us who go, and we shall see and enjoy the society of our families again. We will one day have a house built here and have the forts and go into the house and administer for our dead. Elder Richards then read an order from Lieut. Cooke of the Mormon Battalion on the Pacific, after which Elder Bullock read a letter from Jefferson Hunt to James Brown, dated July 6, 1847, after which and a few other remarks, the meeting was dismissed. At 2:25 the congregation assembled and opened by singing and prayer by Elder Woodruff. Bread and water were then administered by the bishops after which Elder Richards, after a few preliminary remarks, read the "Word and will of the Lord," as given in Winter Quarters. Elder Kimball made some remarks and the brethren manifested that they received and would obey the revelations by uplifted hand. He was followed by remarks by Elder Amasa Lyman, mostly sustaining the positions taken by the previous speakers. Elder Kimball again rose to lay before the brethren some items of business, whereupon it was decided that the three companies form into one camp and labor together that the officers be a committee to form the corral, and that the corral be formed tomorrow. That horses and mules be tied near the camp at nights; that we build houses instead of living in wagons this winter; that we go to work immediately putting up houses; that we work unitedly; that the houses form a stockade or fort to keep out the Indians; that our women and children be not abused and that we let the Indians alone. Colonel Rockwood remarked that a log house 16 by 15 would cost forty dollars and one of adobes half as much. Captain Brown was in favor of setting men to work building both log and adobe houses to hasten the work. Captain Lewis said that inasmuch as timber is scarce and we have spades and shovels and tools enough, as many as can be used, he is in favor of building adobe houses and saving the timber. Lieutenant Willis said you can put up an adobe house before a man could get the logs for a log house. Adobe houses are healthy and are the best for equinoxial gales. Elder Brannan has a man in California who will take three men, make adobes for a thirty foot house, build the house and put a family in it in a week. His printing office was put up in fourteen days and a paper printed. Elder Richards said we want brick made and lime burned. If wood is put into houses it will be a waste of it. We want all the timber to make floors and roofs. We want the walls up and we are men enough to put them up in a few days and have the women protected. It was voted to put up a stockade of adobe houses. Samuel Gould and James Drum reported themselves as lime burners. Sylvester H. Earl, Joel J. Terrill, Ralph Douglas and Joseph Hancock reported themselves as brick makers. Elder Kimball then remarked that those who intend to send ox teams back to Winter Quarters must be ready a week from tomorrow morning. If the cattle's feet are too tender, have them shod, or have new shoes in the wagons. Those oxen to rest and be released from plowing, etc. Do not get the Indians around here. I want you to have nothing to do with them. After a few remarks on general items, the meeting dismissed. Monday, August 2 We have had another cool night, but morning fine. The other companies commenced moving their wagons up and we also moved a little farther east. During the day the whole camp was formed in an oblong circle. About noon Ezra T. Benson and several others started back to meet the next company. They carried a letter, the following being a copy of the same: "Pioneer camp. Valley of the Great Salt Lake, August 2, 1847. To General Chas. C. Rich and the Presidents and Officers of the emigrating company. Beloved Brethren: We have delegated our beloved Brother Ezra T. Benson and escort to communicate to you by express the cheering intelligence that we have arrived in the most beautiful valley of the Great Salt Lake, that every soul who left Winter Quarters with us is alive and almost everyone enjoying good health. That portion of the battalion that was at Pueblo is here with us together with the Mississippi company that accompanied them and they are generally well. We number about 450 souls and we know of no one but who is pleased with our situation. We have commenced the survey of a city this morning. We feel that the time is fast approaching when those teams that are going to Winter Quarters this fall should be on the way. Every individual here would be glad to tarry if his friends were here, but as many of the battalion, as well as the pioneers, have not their families here and do not expect that they are in your camp, we wish to learn by express from you, the situation of your camp as speedily as possible that we may be prepared to counsel and act in the whole matter. We want you to send us the names of every individual in your camp, or in other words, a copy of your camp roll, including the names, number of wagons, horses, mules, oxen, cows, etc., and the health of your camp, your location, prospects, etc. If your teams are worn out, if your camp is sick and not able to take care of themselves, if you are short of teamsters or any other circumstance impeding your progress. We want to know it immediately for we have help for you, and if your teams are in good plight and will be able to return to Winter Quarters this season or any portion of them, we want to know it. We also want the mail, which will include all letters and papers, and packages belonging to our camp, general and particular. Should circumstances permit, we would gladly meet you some distance from this, but our time is very much occupied. Notwithstanding, we think you will see us before you see our valley. Let all the brethren and sisters cheer up their hearts and know assuredly that God has heard and answered their prayers and ours and led us to a goodly land, and our souls are satisfied therewith. Brother Benson can give you many particulars that will be gratifying and cheering to you which we have not time to write, and we feel to bless all the Saints. In behalf of the council. Willard Richards, Clerk. Brigham Young, President. This morning, Elders Pratt and Sherwood commenced surveying the city to lay it off in lots but finally concluded to wait until the chain could be tested by a standard pole which will have to be gotten from the mountains. Some of the brethren are preparing to make moulds for adobes. In the evening, Elder Kimball's teams returned from the mountains with some good house logs and poles for measuring, etc. The day has been very warm but the nights begin to be very cool. The northeast winds seem to prevail here at this season and coming from the mountains of snow are cold when the sun is down. After dark President Young sent for me to come to his wagon and told his calculations about our starting back. He wants me to start with the ox teams next Monday so as to have a better privilege of taking the distances, etc. He calculates the horse teams to start two weeks later, and if the first company arrives at Grand Island before the other comes up to wait for them there, kill and dry buffalo, etc. He wants the roadometer fixed this week and Elder Kimball has selected William King to do the work. Tuesday, August 3 Morning fine, but cool. Elder Carrington starts for the mountains to look for limestone. During the day I went and bathed at Bullock's bathing place in one of the warm sulphur springs. I found the effects very refreshing and beneficial. Spent most of the day making a table of distances, etc. The day very hot. Wednesday, August 4 This morning William A. King has commenced making a new roadometer. The day very hot and close. Thursday, August 5 Again at the roadometer, day very warm. J. C. Little and others have returned and report that they have been at the Utah Lake. As they went up they saw bodies of two dead Indians lying on the ground proving that there was one of each tribe killed the other day. They consider it to be about forty miles to the Utah Lake and on the east side is a handsome valley about six or eight miles wide. They are now convinced that the stream which runs a few miles below here is the Utah outlet, they having followed it to its junction with the lake. Friday, August 6 The day very warm. Saturday, August 7 Today William A. King has finished the roadometer which will now tell the distance for one thousand miles without keeping any account. About noon a very large whirlwind struck the south side of the camp forming a cloud of dust about twenty feet in diameter and making a loud roar. It carried a chicken up some distance, tore up the bowers, and shook the wagons violently in its course. It passed off to the northeast and seemed to break at the mountains. This morning fifteen of the brethren commenced building a dam a little above the camp so as to bring the water around and inside the camp. They finished early in the afternoon and we have now a pleasant little stream of cold water running on each side the wagons all around the camp. Where the water runs off or overflows the gutters, it soon becomes miry and cattle will sink a half a yard in mud. This is owing to the lightness of the soil, it being very light and rich. In the evening, many of the brethren went and were baptized in the dam by Elder Kimball for the remission of sins, Elders Pratt, Woodruff, and Smith attending to confirmation. I went and was baptized amongst the rest. It has been recommended for all the camp to be baptized and this evening they have commenced it. Sunday, August 8 Morning cloudy with strong northeast wind. The brethren have resumed baptizing and a number have obeyed the ordinance both male and female. At ten o'clock, a meeting was held in the bowery and instructions given to the brethren. At two o'clock, sacrament was administered and 110 of the brethren selected to make adobes. Wrote a letter for Heber to Elder Martin and others. Monday, August 9 At eleven o'clock, Brannan, Captain James Brown and several others started for San Francisco. Elder J. C. Little accompanies them to Fort Hall. I spent three hours taking observations with the barometer with Elder Pratt to ascertain the height of the land on the creek above the city. Ensign Peak, etc. The twelve had decided on a name for this place and a caption for all letters and documents issued from this place, which is as follows: Salt Lake City, Great Basin, North America. Tuesday, August 10 This morning, President Young and Kimball have gone to the adobe yard to commence building some houses in that region. They have already got many good logs on the ground. Colonel Markham reports that in addition to the plowing done week before last, they have plowed about thirty acres which is mostly planted, making a total of about eighty acres. The plowing ceased last week and the brethren are now making adobes, hauling logs, etc. Elder Sherwood continues surveying the city. Tanner and Frost are setting wagon tires and have set fifty-two today. The brethren who went to the lake on Monday to boil down salt have returned this evening and report that they have found a bed of beautiful salt ready to load into wagons. It lies between two sand bars and is about six inches thick. They suppose they can easily load ten wagons without boiling. I have received from Elder Kimball a pair of buckskin pants, as a present I suppose, but as I have on similar occasions been branded with the idea of receiving a great many kindnesses without consideration, I will for this once state a little particular on the other side the question. I acknowledge that I have had the privilege of riding in a wagon and sleeping in it, of having my victuals cooked and some meat and milk, and occasionally a little tea or coffee furnished. My flour I furnished myself. I have had no team to take care of. Howard Egan has done most of my washing until a month ago in consideration of the privilege of copying from my journal, using my desk, ink, etc. The balance of my washing I have hired. Now what have I done for Brother Kimball? Am I justly indebted on this journey? Answer: I have written in his journal 124 pages of close matter on an average of 600 words to a page, which if paid at the price of recording deeds in Illinois would amount to over $110.00. I have collected the matter myself, besides writing letters, etc. This has been for his special benefit. I have kept an account of the distance we have traveled for over 800 miles of the journey, attended to the measurement of the road, kept the distances from creek to creek and from one encampment to another; put up a guide board every ten miles from Fort John to this place with the assistance of Philo Johnson. I have mapped some for Dr. Richards and keeping my own journal forms the whole benefit to be derived by my family by this mission. I have yet considerable to write in Elder Kimball's journal before I return. I am expected to keep a table of distances of the whole route returning from here to Winter Quarters and make a map when I get through, and this for public benefit. Now how much am I considered to be in debt, and how often will it be said that I was furnished by others with victuals, clothing, etc., that I might enjoy this journey as a mission of pleasure. I have spent most of this day calculating the height of this spot above the level of the sea for Elder Pratt. Wednesday, August 11 Early this morning, a large company of the Utah Indians came to visit the camp and it was with difficulty they could be kept outside the wagons. There are few of them who have any clothing on except the breech clout and are mostly of low stature. They have scarcely anything to trade and not many women and children with them. They are camped about three miles north of west and supposed to be going north hunting. One of them was detected stealing some clothing which lay on the bushes to dry, but was made to leave it. When they found they were not permitted inside the circle, they soon moved off to their camp. The brethren have commenced laying the adobe wall today which will be twenty-seven inches thick and nine feet high. The adobes are 18 inches long, 9 inches broad and 4½ inches thick. The brethren in camp have finished the skiff and launched her in the creek to soak. About five o'clock, a child of Therlkill's was found in the creek south of the camp drowned. Various efforts were made to restore it but unsuccessfully. The child was about three years old and its parents mourn the accident bitterly. The day has been very hot, but as usual, at sundown we have a strong, cool wind from the northeast. Thursday, August 12 Spent the forenoon with Elder Pratt in taking observations to ascertain the height of the temple block above the Utah outlet which he found to be sixty-five feet. The altitude one mile up the creek above the temple block is 214 feet and the altitude of the temple block above the level of the sea is 4,300 feet. The latitude 40° 45' 50". The blacksmiths are very busy shoeing oxen and there is prospect that the ox teams will start back on Monday or Tuesday. The soldiers are getting dissatisfied at being kept here so long from their families and yesterday several of them left the camp secretly to go to Winter Quarters and this morning others are gone, but it is probable that President Young knows nothing of it yet although about a dozen are already gone and others are preparing to follow them. On Tuesday President Young laid a foundation for four houses; Elder Kimball four, Colonel Markham one, Dr. Richards one, and Lorenzo Young two, and today Dr. Richards has laid the foundation of another, George A. Smith two and Wilford Woodruff two, making a total of seventeen houses mostly fourteen feet wide and from twelve to seventeen long. Elder Kimball has his house four logs high. Friday, August 13 Spent the day mostly writing. The brethren have got 130 bushels of salt with twenty-four hours labor. Saturday, August 14 Started at 8:40 in company with a number of others for the Salt Lake. We arrived at three o'clock and estimated the distance twenty-two miles. We all bathed in it and found the reports of those who had previously bathed in no ways exaggerated. We returned back to the river where we arrived at eleven o'clock at the beginning of a light thunder shower. There is no pure fresh water between the river and the lake. Sunday, August 15 President Young preached on the death of little children, etc. Evening the company composing those who are returning with the ox teams met and voted that Shadrach Roundy and Tunis Rappleyee be captains. They received instructions to start tomorrow and travel leisurely to Grand Island and there wait for the last company of horse teams. J. C. Little and company returned yesterday from Utah Lake, and this morning the exploring company returned. Monday, August 16 Spent most of the day fixing the roadometer, also finished marking the distances, camping places,, etc., on Dr. Richards' map from Devil's gate to Little Sandy. Evening took the wagon in company with Jackson Redding and Howard Egan to the warm spring to try the roadometer. We found the distance to be one and a half miles. Most of the company of ox teams have started today for Winter Quarters. They will go to the canyon and wait there till morning. After dark, Elder Kimball called a number of us together in the tent and each one present selected a lot for himself and family. I had previously selected lots 1, 7 and 8 on block 95, but President Young broke into our arrangements and wished 7 and 8 reserved, consequently I made choice of lots 1, 2 and 3 on block 95. Tuesday, August 17 Started out at 8:10 and found the distance to the mouth of the canyon five miles, the difference arising from making a road across instead of following the first one. One and three quarters of a mile farther arrived at where the company had camped for the night and found them all ready to start, only waiting for President Young to arrive and give some instructions, but he sent word he should not come and we started forward. Elders Kimball and Richards soon overtook the company, gave some instructions, then returned and the company moved on. On arriving at Birch Spring, we encamped for the night, having traveled thirteen and a half miles. There is considerable danger of cattle miring near the spring and several have already had to be pulled out. This company consists of seventy-one men with thirty-three wagons. After camping, the brethren were called together by Captain Roundy for the purpose of organizing. He briefly stated the manner of the organization of the camp when we left Winter Quarters and it was unanimously voted to organize after the same pattern which was done as follows: 1st Division 1st Ten Joseph Skeen, Captain Wm. Burt Artemas Johnson James Dunn James Cazier Joseph Shipley Geo. Cummings Samuel Badham Thos. Richardson Roswell Stevens 2nd Ten Zebedee Coltrin, Captain Wm. Bird Chester Loveland Josiah Curtis Lorenzo Babcock John S. Eldridge Samuel H. Marble Horace Thornton Geo. Scholes 3rd Ten Francis Boggs, Captain Geo. Wardle Sylvester H. Earl Seeley Owens Almon M. Williams Clark Stillman Tunis Rappleyee, Captain of 1st Division. James Cazier Captain of Guard in 1st Division. 2nd Division 1st Ten Jackson Redding, Captain Robert Biard Wm. Carpenter Benj. W. Rolfe Henry W. Sanderson Thos. Cloward Bailey Jacobs Lisbon Lamb John Pack Wm. Clayton 2nd Ten John H. Tippets, Captain Lyman Stevens Francis T. Whitney Lyman Curtis James Stewart John S. Gleason Chas. A. Burke Myron Tanner Wm. McLellan Rufus Allen Norman Taylor 3rd Ten Allen Cumpton, Captain Franklin Allen John Bybee David Garner J. Averett Harmon D. Persons John G. Smith Solomon Tindal Philip Garner Chas. Hopkins Barnabas Lake 4th Ten Andrew J. Shoop, Captain Albert Clark Francillo Durfee James Hendrickson Erastus Bingham John Calvert Loren Kenney Daniel Miller Benj. Roberts Luther W. Glazier Jarvis Johnson Thos. Bingham Shadrack Roundy, Captain of 2nd Division. John Gleason, Captain of Guard. The soldiers were numbered with the 2nd Division, 3rd and 4th tens. Those who have horses to ride were then numbered and their duty pointed out, which is to lead the way and fix the road where it needs it; look out camping places; drive the loose cattle and hunt for the camp. Their names are as follows: John Pack, Captain, Samuel Badham, Francillo Durfee, Benj. Roberts, Thomas Bingham, James Hendrickson, John Eldridge, R. I. Redding, Seeley Owens, Barnabas Lake, Wm. Bird, Daniel Miller, James Cazier. Wednesday, August 18 We had a little rain this morning and the air very cool. We started at 8:00 a.m. and found the road rough indeed. When ascending the mountain from Brown's Creek, most of the teams had to double, it generally requiring six yoke of oxen to bring up an empty wagon. The descent is also very rough and especially where the road crosses the dry creek which is a great many times. Canyon Creek appeared rougher than when we first went up it and it took till near night to get to the end of the creek, having traveled only fifteen and three quarters miles during the day. Thursday, August 19 We got started again about 8:00 a.m., all except Chas. A. Burke. One of his oxen was missing. Before noon several of the loose cattle gave out through being over driven. We arrived and camped on Red Mountain Creek at six o'clock, having traveled sixteen and a quarter miles. The day has been very hot but nights are very cold. Friday, August 20 Morning very cold. Started out at seven and traveled till 12:30, the day being cool, then rested and baited an hour. At 1:30 proceeded again and arrived at Cache or Reddings Cave at 5:00 p.m., having traveled twenty and a half miles, but it was nearly seven o'clock before the company arrived. Saturday, August 21 Started at 7:30 a.m. and traveled till 12:00 then baited an hour. We found Bear River not over fifteen inches deep. We camped on Sulphur Creek at five o'clock having traveled sixteen and a half miles and after camping I went with the brethren to fill their tar buckets at the oil spring. We followed a wagon trail made by a part of Hasting's company last year about a mile and found the spring situated in a ravine a little to the left of the road just at the edge of a high bench of land. The ground is black over with the oil for several rods but it is baked hard by exposure to the sun. It is difficult to get the clear oil, most of it being filled with dust and gravel. It smells much like British oil and is said to do well for greasing wagons. John Gleason has found a coal bed in the edge of the mountain across the creek. The coal looks good and burns freely. Sunday, August 22 Many of the cattle were missing this morning but after much search were found about four miles southwest from camp. We started at nine o'clock and traveled till one, then halted an hour at the copperas spring. Most of the wagons halted at the spring four miles back. The water of this spring is not bad, cattle drink it freely. At two o'clock we began to ascend the ridge and at five formed our camp near the Muddy fork having traveled seventeen and three quarters miles, the day cool and cloudy. Monday, August 23 We started early this morning and arrived at Fort Bridger at one o'clock. We found the grass pretty much eaten off and only stayed an hour and a half while some of the brethren traded some, then went on eight miles farther and camped on a stream two rods wide, having traveled twenty-one and a half miles, the day very cool. Tuesday, August 24 This morning many of the cattle had strayed several miles from camp which prevented our starting till eight o'clock. We traveled eight and a half miles, then halted an hour on Black's Fork. We proceeded again and had a pretty heavy thunder shower and arrived at Ham's Fork at 5:20, then camped for the night, having traveled twenty-three miles. Most of the wagons did not arrive till nearly night, but we had no place to camp short of this and here we have good range for cattle. Wednesday, August 25 We traveled today twenty-three miles and camped on Green River. We found several places where the road is shortened some, but it is yet about sixteen miles from water to water. Thursday, August 26 Started at eight o'clock and went on to the Big Sandy and before the majority of the company arrived, E. T. Benson and escort came up with letters from the companies. They say there are nine companies between here and the Platte with 566 wagons and about 5,000 head of stock. They report the companies well and getting along tolerably fast, some they expect we shall meet within three days. After eating they proceeded on. After sundown a large party of mounted Indians came up, and camped on the opposite side the river. They have been on the Sweet Water hunting and are said to be of the Shoshone tribe. Friday, August 27 Many of the brethren traded sugar, powder, lead, etc., to the Indians for robes and skins and meat. We started soon after seven and traveled to the crossing of the Big Sandy. Then after halting an hour, continued to the Little Sandy, making twenty-five and a quarter miles today, but it was nine o'clock before some of the wagons arrived. The feed is mostly eaten up on the creeks near the road and there is none except on the banks of streams. Bailey Jacobs killed a large antelope which is a matter of rejoicing as we are nearly out of bread stuff and had little meat for several days. We started back from the valley with 8 lbs. of flour, 9 lbs. of meal and a few beans each, and we have to depend on getting meat on the road for the rest. I was told there were 25 lbs. of flour put up for me, but I find it is not so. Saturday, August 28 Started at eight o'clock and traveled till half past three before halting when we arrived at the crossing of the Pacific creek and halted to camp for the night having traveled twenty-three miles. There is no grass from Little Sandy to this place except a very little on Dry Sandy but the water there has some taste of alkali and teams do not like it. Here there is considerable grass along the creek and very good water but no wood except wild sage. We had a heavy thunder shower about four o'clock and considerable hail. It was dark before the ox teams arrived. Some of the men had killed a buffalo a few miles back, but it is very poor. Sunday, August 29 It was decided to remain here today to rest the teams, but our ten obtained leave to go on to Sweet Water, expecting to meet the company, and after reading the letter of instructions from the council to this camp, my wagon proceeded on slowly. At the Springs, we saw an aged Indian squaw near the road dwelling in a shelter composed merely of wild sage and apparently dependent on passing emigrants for subsistence. She is doubtless left to perish on account of age and infirmity, but it is likely she will live some time on what she receives from those who pass by. When we arrived near the summit of the dividing ridge or south pass, two Indians rode towards us and motioned for us to stop. Not seeing the other wagons coming after, we stopped to wait for the wagons and the Indians soon arrived. They made signs that a large party of them were over the mountain north and they wanted to "swap." While they were conversing a number more rode over the ridge and soon after a still larger number. About this time the wagons came in sight and when the brethren saw so many Indians they were alarmed. John Pack rode back to the main camp to get some of the brethren to come up, but J. R. said he would not budge a foot. The brethren behind were much alarmed, some expecting to be scalped and one W. Carr ran and hid himself in the sage bushes. No one returned with John Pack but Norman Taylor and the wagons proceeded towards us. In the meantime, after learning the object for which the Indians sought us, that none of them were armed except two, and by a certificate that the first visitor was a Shoshone chief, Brother Lamb and myself signified that we would trade with them and soon some of them returned with antelope, buck and elk skins and robes to trade. I traded some balls and a little powder for one robe, one elk skin, two buckskins and nine antelope skins and a pair of moccasins. Lamb bought five antelope skins. While we were trading, the other wagons arrived and also commenced trading. The Indians, about sixty in number, about twenty of them boys, all mounted, seemed highly pleased to trade with us which we did mostly through the chief. By request of the chief, I gave him a certificate stating that he appeared friendly and wanted to trade with the whites, etc. The chief gave us a very strong invitation to go to their camp to trade and made signs that they would feed us well and we should sleep with them. I answered him by signs that we should camp when we arrived where the road crossed the Sweet Water but they were very anxious to have us then turn off the road and camp. After we started, the chief came up and wanted to swap a good mule for my spy glass but I refused. I had let him look through it and he seemed very wishful to try it. When they saw we were determined to go on, they left us and returned to their camp while we pursued our journey to the first crossing of Sweet Water where we arrived and camped at six o'clock, having traveled fourteen miles. Monday, August 30 This morning the cattle belonging to the camp behind came to us early, having strayed away. John Pack and Bailey Jacobs went to drive them back and to trade some with the Indians. We calculated to go on about eleven miles but before we started, Father Eldridge came up with his wagon and said he expected Spencer's 1st 50 company up soon. We then concluded to stay here until they arrived and about three o'clock, their wagons began to cross the creek. I was glad to find Aaron and Loren Farr, and William Walker in this company with their families all well and in good spirits. From Sister Olivia, I received some articles sent by my family which were very acceptable indeed and made me feel grateful. This company all appear well and cheerful and are not much troubled on account of lack of teams. I spent the evening with Loren and their families. The balance of our camp arrived before dark. Tuesday, August 31 Our camp except this ten has started on, but Brother Spencer has concluded to halt here today and I spent the day copying tables of distances for Loren and also gave him a plot of the city. September 1847 Wednesday, September 1 We bid farewell to Brother Spencer's company and proceeded on. After traveling about a mile, we met P. P. Pratt going to see Brother Spencer and to get some cattle. He says some of the back companies have lost many head and can scarcely move. A few miles farther we met the 2nd 50 of Spencer's company. We traveled till nearly dark and camped with the returning pioneers at the cold spring, having traveled twenty-two and a quarter miles. The day fine and pleasant. We find the grass pretty much eaten off all the way. John G. Smith was appointed captain of the 2nd division in place of Shadrach Roundy who returns. Thursday, September 2 Started about eight o'clock and after traveling two miles passed Russell's company of 50 and about five miles farther we passed Elder Rich's 50 and G. B. Wallace's 50. They all agree to the health and prosperity of their companies but have lost many cattle and have had hard work to get along. We passed Captains Foutz and Hone on this long drive with their companies all well, but complaining much for lack of teams. I conversed some with Edward Hunter and Elder Taylor. Brother Hunter will give cash for some cattle if he can buy them. We arrived on Sweet Water at six o'clock but the ox teams did not get in till eight o'clock, having traveled twenty-four and a half miles. The evening was very cold, windy and like for rain. Brother Roundy returned back to the valley this morning, having met his family. Friday, September 3 We started on this morning following the new road at the north side of the Sweet Water, the road sandy in places but much better than the old road. After traveling about two miles, we saw a lone buffalo about two miles to the south. John Pack and Lisbon Lamb went to try to kill him and finally succeeded, on which our ten halted and sent back a wagon for the meat which detained us about three hours, after which we proceeded again. A little before the road fords the river the second time, there is an alkali lake a little north from the road. We joined the company and also met J. B. Noble's company where the road joins the old one again. Brother Noble's company are all well and not so bad off for teams as some of the other companies. We proceeded on a few miles farther and met J. M. Grant with Willard Snow's 50 which is the last company on the road. Brother Grant had a child die last night and his wife is yet very sick and not much expected to recover. This company have lost many cattle and are so bad off for teams as not to be able to travel more than ten miles a day which would make it some day in October before they get through. We went on nearly two miles farther, then camped for the night near Bitter Cottonwood creek, having traveled fifteen and three quarters miles. Most of the company camped back with Brother Snow's company. Saturday, September 4 We started late this morning and traveled over a very sandy road till five o'clock, then camped on Ravine Creek, having traveled sixteen miles. Sunday, September 5 There being alkali springs near, we concluded to go to Independence Rock at which place we arrived about three o'clock having traveled twelve and a half miles. Soon after we camped, Lamb and Jacob Cloward went to chase some buffalo and succeeded in killing one. I walked over the rock and had some solemn meditations and felt to humble myself and call upon the Lord for myself and family, for this company, the twelve and all the companies on the road. Experience has taught me many maxims of late and I intend to profit by them. Be not hasty to promise, lest thy promise be considered worthless. Make not many promises without reflection, lest thou fail to fulfill them and it dampen the confidence of thy friend. If thou promise many things and regard not to fulfill them and it damp the confidence of thy friend, then be assured that thy friends will despise thy promises and have no dependence in them. Seek not to speculate out of a good brother. Monday, September 6 This morning the cattle were found down the Sweet Water about six miles from camp which made it late before we started. While passing the alkali lakes, a number of the brethren filled the bags with saleratus. We found the road very sandy to Greasewood Creek and after that it was somewhat better. About three o'clock the wind began to blow very strong and cold and we had heavy rain for about two hours. We proceeded on and arrived at the Willow Spring a little before dark in the midst of a heavy shower of rain. Thomas Cloward left one of the old oxen sent back by Wallace on the road. It died before morning. All except our ten and William's stayed back at Greasewood Creek. We tried in vain to make a fire but finally went to bed wet and cold, having eaten nothing since morning. Some of the teamsters have only a light summer coat with them and they suffer considerably. We traveled twenty-one and a half miles today. Tuesday, September 7 This morning our cattle were all missing and it still rains and snows very heavily. Pack and T. Cloward started early on foot to hunt the cattle but after following them over seven miles in the storm and seeing that they had kept on the road towards the Platte river, they returned to camp. It rained and snowed heavily till eleven o'clock at which time the balance of the camp arrived. John Pack asked the company to let us have some of their loose cattle to bring on our wagons till we overtook ours again, but the captains both generously refused for some cause or other. However, some of the brethren took their cattle out of their teams and let us have them and we moved onward. After traveling about thirteen miles we saw our cattle about four miles to the left of the road at the foot of a mountain. We halted and Lamb took one of the mules to fetch the cattle to the road. Soon after Pack and Jackson Redding came up and learning that we had found the cattle, they started to them to drive them to camp and Lamb being relieved, returned to the wagon. We harnessed up and arrived at the mineral spring about six o'clock, having traveled sixteen and a quarter miles. This spring has been represented as poisonous but if it is so, it must be in consequence of minerals under the water. The water has no bad taste till the cattle trample in it. It then becomes almost black as ink and this is probably what makes it poisonous. Wednesday, September 8 We started at eight o'clock and arrived at the Upper Platte ferry soon after twelve o'clock. We found N. Jacobs and company there hunting. We forded the river and found it about two feet deep in the channel. We halted on the banks about two hours at which time the whole camp arrived. We then proceeded on. The main company went about five miles but we went till we found a good camping place in a grove of timber on the banks of the river where the road runs through, then halted for night, having traveled nineteen miles. Thursday, September 9 This morning Norton Jacob's company joined us at eight o'clock and we moved forward. Found the road rough, it being cut up by the other companies in wet weather. We arrived on Deer Creek about sundown and camped for the night, having traveled twenty-two and a quarter miles. The day fine and very pleasant. Joseph Hancock killed an elk which the brethren packed to camp on horseback about sixteen miles. Friday, September 10 We have had a strong southwest wind all night and the morning is somewhat cool. We started a little before eight o'clock and had good traveling. We saw many herds of buffalo but the hunters did not get any while passing. We arrived at the river A La Perle at three o'clock and camped for the night having traveled seventeen and a half miles. A while before dark, some of the men came in with a part of a buffalo which they killed. Lewis Barney also killed a young one which was considerably fat. The meat was all packed in on horses. One of the men killed a wolf out of which we got considerable grease for the wagons. It was decided to have a guard each night the remainder of the journey, every man to stand in his turn, four each night. Saturday, September 11 Got up at twelve o'clock and stood guard till daylight. The morning very fine and pleasant. Three of the brethren arrived from the camp back and said that during the night before last the Indians had stolen sixteen or seventeen of their horses and they were in pursuit of them. We were detained some on account of several of the horses having rambled off, but about nine o'clock we started on and traveled to the La Bonte River, distance nineteen and a half miles. There are many buffalo around here also and although we have plenty of meat, the brethren continue to kill them. We find the feed eaten off bare almost every place we come to and it is difficult to find grass to sustain our teams. Sunday, September 12 We traveled this day seventeen and three quarters miles and camped by Heber's Spring on Horseshoe Creek. We found the spring had ceased running but there was water in the creek a little north. The roadometer has broken down today over the same ground it broke as we went west. Our bread stuff is now out and we have to live solely on meat the balance of the journey. John Pack has got flour enough to last him through. We have all messed together until ours was eaten, and now John Pack proposes for each man to mess by himself. He has concealed his flour and beans together with tea, coffee, sugar, etc., and cooks after the rest have gone to bed. Such things seem worthy of remembrance for a time to come. Monday, September 13 We fixed the roadometer this morning, then traveled to Dead Timber Creek, distance fifteen miles. Here we find good feed and plenty of wood and water. Tuesday, September 14 Started at nine o'clock and traveled till about five, then camped on the Platte River, having traveled twenty-four and a quarter miles. In consequence of some things which have passed and some which at present exist, I have concluded to go on as fast as circumstances will permit to Winter Quarters and I intend to start tomorrow. Some have opposed it, but not with a good grace. However, I have no fears that the council will censure me when they know the cause. If they do, I will bear the censure in preference to what I now bear. Before dark Luke Johnson, William A. Empey and Appleton Harmon came up from Laramie, having learned from an Indian that wagons were near. They say that a party of Sioux warriors have got the brethren's horses, seventeen in number, on the Raw Hide, about eighteen miles north. They say that about fifty armed men might go and probably get them, but not fewer. The Sioux are at war with the Crows and Pawnees and reports say that there is a large party of the Pawnees a little down the river. Wednesday, September 15 We started a little after eight, forded the Platte without any difficulty and at three o'clock concluded to stop for the night, having traveled twenty-one and a quarter miles over very sandy road. The ox teams have kept nearly up with us and it is evident they intend to keep with us or kill their teams, and being aware that if the teams are injured we shall be blamed for it, we have given up going ahead to save the teams. Thursday, September 16 Today we traveled nineteen and a half miles over good road and camped near the river amongst good grass. Friday, September 17 This morning Thomas Brown, Ezra Beckstead, Mathew Welch, Benjamin Roberts, David Perkins and William Bird started to go through to Winter Quarters in consequence of having no bread. We traveled nineteen and three quarters miles and camped again on the Platte. The road very good. Saturday, September 18 Last night John Pack's gray horse was stolen from his wagon. He lays it to the brethren ahead and with Norton Jacobs and Joseph Hancock has heaped a pretty long string of severe abusive language on them which I consider to be premature, unjustifiable and wicked. Two Frenchmen came to the camp and said they were camped below on a trading excursion among the Sioux. Inasmuch as some of the brethren wanted to trade with them, it was concluded to move down opposite to them. We accordingly traveled four and a quarter miles then again camped on the banks of the river and the brethren bought a number of buffalo robes, etc. Norton Jacobs bought five robes for seven common calico shirts. Sunday, September 19 The traders say they will move down the river today to where there are plenty of buffalo. Our camp also traveled ten and three quarters miles and camped a little below Chimney Rock. There are many herds of buffalo around and Lewis Barney killed one which will give us a little fresh meat. The weather has been very fine and warm for some days past. This evening there are some signs of stormy weather. Monday, September 20 Today we traveled seven and a quarter miles, the day very hot. We turned off the road to camp at Rubidoos' request while they killed some buffalo. They gave us some very nice meat. Tuesday, September 21 We have concluded to wait here until the balance of the company arrives. Afternoon went over the river and had a good feast on buffalo ribs with the Frenchmen. The victuals were cooked by a squaw but looked much cleaner than our men cook it. Evening it became cloudy and soon followed by cold rain which continued till two o'clock. Wednesday, September 22 At one o'clock, I got up to stand guard and found the night extremely cold and unpleasant on account of rain. The morning is cloudy and cold. The wagons have not yet come in sight which makes us think there is something the matter with them. Thursday, September 23 Today Jackson Redding and Sanderson went back to see if they could see the other wagons. They returned at night and said the company were within a few miles having been detained at Laramie to recover their horses, most of which they got. They state that news has come to the fort by a Sioux Indian that the twelve and their company had all their horses stolen at the Pacific Springs during a snow storm. The Sioux stole them supposing them to belong to the Shoshones. The man that brought the news stole seventeen but lost eight in the mountains, the remainder he brought to Laramie and the brethren there knew some of them and demanded them. He gave them up, at least all they could prove and four of the brethren started with them to meet the twelve. The Indian says there were nine of them who stole the horses. Friday, September 24 We resumed our journey this morning and traveled thirteen and a half miles, then camped where the road runs close to the river. The weather is again fine and hot in the day time but the nights are cold and frosty. Joseph Hancock killed a buffalo cow and John Norton an antelope which will supply the company with a little meat each, most of whom are without. Saturday, September 25 The day cloudy and some like for a storm. We made an early start and traveled to Crab Creek, distance twenty and a quarter miles then camped for the night. The land on both sides the river is literally spotted with vast herds of buffalo, but our hunters are not very lucky as yet. From the fact of there being so many buffalo in this region, we are inclined to believe we shall see but few lower down and this is probably the best chance we will have to lay in a supply to last us home. During the afternoon, Joseph Hancock killed a buffalo cow and Captain Rappleyee sent a wagon to fetch the meat to camp. When it arrived John Pack took the hind quarters and the best meat off the rest of the cow, together with all the tallow, then sent for Rappleyee to take what he had left and divide it amongst the company. When Rappleyee saw what he had done, he felt angry and Pack and he had some high words on the subject. Brother Pack's conduct has caused many unpleasant feelings against him among the brethren. He takes all the tallow he can lay his hands on, and all the best meat and has now got more than will serve him home while many of the rest have scarcely any and that of the poorest pieces. He has plenty of flour, meal, beans, tea, coffee, sugar, etc., while most of the camp are destitute of everything but meat, and while he continues to take the tallow and best of the meat there will be hard feelings against him. He has disgraced himself in the estimation of many within the past few days. I do not think I can ever forget him for his treatment of me, but I cherish no malice nor feelings of revenge, but I hope and pray that I may forever have wisdom to keep from under his power. There have been six or eight buffalo killed by the camp and it is intended to stay here tomorrow and try to get meat to last us through as it is not likely we shall have another privilege as good as this. Most of the camp now begin to feel that it is necessary for us to make our way home as fast as possible to save our teams and escape the cold rain and snowstorms. Sunday, September 26 Many of the brethren are gone out hunting. The weather continues fine and warm. In the afternoon we had a strong northwest wind. During the day the second division killed more than enough meat to last them home, but were totally unwilling to let the first division have any although they killed none, not having but two or three guns in the division. This also has tended to increase the feeling of envy and bitterness which already exists too much. Thomas Cloward has manifested feelings and conduct worse than the general run of gentiles and unworthy of a saint. He seems to have drunk into Pack's spirit for they act very much alike. Monday, September 27 Those of the first division who have no meat have concluded to move on a few miles to where there are more buffalo as they have mostly left here, but the second division will not move till they have dried their meat some. We went on three miles and then camped where there are plenty of buffalo over the river. Lisbon Lamb, Lewis Barney and John Norton volunteered to go and kill what meat they can for those who have none. They have got enough to last them through. It is said that our coming down here has given feelings but it is plain and evident that there are several men who will find fault and deal out wholesale censure whatever is done, and for my part I shall remember John Pack, Thomas Cloward, Norton Jacobs and Joseph Hancock for some time to come. Such little, selfish, unmanly conduct as has been manifested by them, is rarely exhibited except by the meanest classes of society. A man who will openly and boldly steal is honorable when compared with some of their underhanded conduct. During the day the brethren killed five cows and one bull which are considered sufficient to last the first division home. Tuesday, September 28 We waited till after nine o'clock for the second division to come up but not being yet in sight we moved onward, traveled seventeen and a half miles, then camped on Sand Hill Creek about a mile from the river. We have seen more buffalo today than I ever saw in one day, supposed to be not less than 200,000. We had some trouble to make a road through them safely. We also saw two horses with the herd. Jackson Redding went to try and catch them but found them perfectly wild. Wednesday, September 29 We got an early start this morning and traveled till four o'clock, distance twenty and a quarter miles. We camped near the river in high grass. The road has run close to the river all day except a few miles beyond Castle Creek and although the ground is perfectly dry, it is very rough, it having been cut up in wet weather. Watch and Wolfe Creeks had abundance of water in them, as much as when we went up. Castle River was about a foot deep. We have not seen many buffalo today but after we camped, John Norton shot two at one shot. L. Barney also killed a young cow. The weather is yet fine and very warm. Thursday, September 30 This day we traveled only sixteen and a quarter miles, then camped a quarter of a mile east of Rattlesnake Creek on the banks of the river. In this creek, there is still a very heavy current of water running. It appears that some of the brethren left their fires burning this morning and the prairie has caught fire and is still burning furiously. October 1847 Friday, October 1 This morning I wrote a short letter and left it in a post for the company behind. We traveled twenty miles and camped on Bluff Creek. The day fine and very warm. Saturday, October 2 This morning we calculated to travel eleven miles, but on arriving at the North Bluff fork, we found no grass and were compelled to continue on. We traveled till the road strikes the river and some grass, then camped, having traveled eighteen and a half miles. Three buffalo have been killed today and there are considerable in this region. Two of the oxen gave out and had to be left on the road. Sunday, October 3 This morning we traveled four and a quarter miles, then camped opposite some islands where there is pretty good feed and willows. The day has been exceedingly warm and the brethren have dried a good quantity of meat. Considerable anxiety and feeling has originated in the breasts of two or three brethren in consequence of a rumor being circulated which deeply concerns one individual but it is not known whom. In the evening, a strong north wind blew up which made it turn very cool. Monday, October 4 Cool and pleasant. We traveled twenty and three quarters miles and found that the last company have made a new road near the bluffs to avoid a very bad slough. We went a little on the old road and then struck across to the new road but had considerable difficulty in crossing the slough. We camped beside a small lake of not very good water and several miles from timber. Tuesday, October 5 Pleasant day. We traveled nineteen miles, then turned off the road about a half a mile to camp near a small bunch of timber. The brethren have killed a good many buffalo today. They are very plentiful here, and wolves abundant. Wednesday, October 6 The largest part of the company again concluded to tarry a day again although there is little feed here. Some determined to go on a piece and amongst the rest, I felt more willing to go on than to tarry. Accordingly eleven wagons started, viz. Jackson Redding, William A. Empey, Lewis Barney, Roswell Stevens, Cummings, Joseph Hancock, H. W. Sanderson, John Pack, Thos. Cloward, Zebedee Coltrin and Norton Jacobs. We traveled seventeen and a half miles and then turned off the road about a half a mile to camp. Thursday, October 7 We started a little before 10:00 a.m. and traveled till nearly dark and had then to run over a mile from the road to camp. We traveled nineteen and a quarter miles. Wind very strong from the north and a very cold day. Friday, October 8 Just as we started this morning, twelve or fifteen Indians were seen running over the river towards us. They soon came up to the wagons which were somewhat scattered and although they shook hands, they showed savage hostility. Four of the oxen were not yet yoked up; these they drove off from the wagons which now began to draw together. They soon satisfied us that they were bent on robbing us and without ceremony took Jack Redding's horse from behind the wagon. Lamb went to take it from them and seized the lariat which another immediately cut with his knife. Lamb then got on the horse, but no sooner on than two Indians pulled him off and marched off with the horse. They stole Jack Redding's knife out of its sheath and one from John Pack. They also tried to get Jack off the horse he was riding, but he kept his seat. They tried Skeen's horse but he kicked one of them over. The Indians then tried to get the men out of their wagons so that they might get in and plunder, but every man kept in his wagon to guard it and we concluded to turn about and go back to the company. We accordingly started and the Indians turned back towards the timber with the horse, four oxen, two knives and a sack of salt. After traveling back about six miles, we met the company, told the story and bore their slang and insults without saying much, but not without thinking a great deal. The whole company were then formed in two lines. All the arms were loaded and each man that could raise a gun was ordered to walk beside the wagons, the horsemen to go ahead. We then proceeded on and when we came opposite to where we met with the Indians, the horsemen went down and found the oxen where we left them. They brought them and we traveled till dark, then camped near the river, having traveled five and a quarter miles from last night, exclusive of the distance we went back. A strong guard was placed around the cattle and camp and kept up through the night. Many hard speeches have passed among the brethren, such as "damned hypocrites," "damned liars," "mutineers," etc., and most of those who started ahead are ordered to travel in the rear all the time. This savage, tyrannical conduct was one thing which induced some to leave and undertake to go through alone and more peaceably and it will still leave feelings of revenge and hatred which will require some time to cover up. Young Babcock shook his fist in Zebedee Coltrin's face and damned him and said he could whip him. For my part, I shall be glad when I get in more peaceable society, and I think I shall not easily be caught in such a scrape again. Saturday, October 9 We have had no disturbance from Indians. We started at six o'clock and went on five miles to get better feed. We then halted for breakfast. The remainder of the day's travel was mostly over dog towns. A United States soldier came up to the wagons and went with us a few miles. He says there are ninety of them on the island surveying and looking out a place to build a fort. We traveled seventeen and a quarter miles today, then camped near a low bench of land where there is plenty of grass and water and willows for fuel. A number of the soldiers came over to camp. They say the Pawnees are perfectly enraged and savage and that the worst band of between four and five hundred are on the north side the Platte about forty miles below. Sunday, October 10 Morning fine but cold wind. The captains called the camp together and asked whether we shall wait here three days or a week for the twelve, or shall we continue on to Winter Quarters. Thirty men voted to go on, seventeen voted to wait and the remainder did not vote. The majority having voted to go on, we started and traveled very slowly till about five o'clock, then turned off to the river to camp, having traveled sixteen miles. There are many new tracks of Indians on the sand bar, but we have seen none today. Monday, October 11 Morning, cloudy and cold. We have had a little very cold rain and there is great appearance for more. We started on but it continued to rain heavily till near noon. The afternoon was fair but very cold. We traveled twenty-one and a quarter miles and camped amongst high grass close to timber. There is every chance for Indians tonight if any are near. The camp in general are much dissatisfied with the camping place. Tuesday, October 12 This morning the weather was severely cold with strong wind. Some of the cattle were missing and the owners not going to hunt them till the rest were ready to start on, we were detained till eleven o'clock and then proceeded. We found plenty of water in Wood River but did not lose much time crossing. We took one of the late wagon trails and arrived on Prairie Creek a little before sundown, having traveled fifteen and three quarters miles. We have seen no Indians yet and all goes well but the cold weather. Wednesday, October 13 Morning very cold indeed with strong northwest wind. We found the creek difficult to cross, it being soft and miry, but all soon got over safely and we proceeded on. The road is sandy about five or six miles on the bluffs and very crooked all the way. We arrived and camped on the Loup Fork at dark, having traveled twenty-one and three quarters miles. The day has been excessively cold. Thursday, October 14 Much time was lost this morning in hunting for a place to cross the river. It was finally concluded to cross a mile higher up and we proceeded to the place. While going up we saw a company of horsemen and two wagons on the other side the river, which we soon recognized to be our brethren from Winter Quarters. All the wagons got over safely and camped on the hill, having traveled two miles. The company is a part of the old police going to meet the next company. We were gladdened with the news they bring from Winter Quarters. Friday, October 15 The brethren of the police started early this morning to go on and meet the next company. They got well over the river but not without getting into the water to lift at the wagon wheels. It was late when we started on account of some oxen being missing and there are some who will not look for their cattle till all the rest are ready to start. We traveled till a little after three and camped on the banks of the Loup Fork, distance twelve and three quarters miles, day warmer. Saturday, October 16 The night has been very stormy, there being a strong wind, rain, and very cold. We made an early start and by noon arrived at the mission station. We found the Pawnees busy gathering corn, probably nearly a thousand of men, women and children. They soon began to come to the wagons and their chiefs made inquiries by signs about the Chirrarots or Sioux. Some of the brethren gave them to understand that the Sioux were within five days of them. The chief immediately gave the word to the rest and in half an hour the squaws had loaded their corn on ponies and mules and then began to march towards the river. They show great fear of the Sioux. They were very anxious to have us camp with them tonight but we kept moving on. One of the wagons was upset crossing a ravine. Several of the brethren traded for corn. At three o'clock, we arrived and turned out the teams on Beaver River, having traveled seventeen and a quarter miles. Soon after we arrived, some of the Indians came up, having followed with the idea of trading. They have conducted themselves peaceably so far, but they are not to be trusted. In consequence of their following us, it was the feeling of most of the brethren to go on a few miles after dark. At 5:45 we started on and traveled till 8:30 being six and a half miles, then camped beside the lakes. Evening very fine and pleasant. We have traveled twenty-three and three quarters miles today. Sunday, October 17 We started early and traveled to Looking Glass, then halted for breakfast. Morning windy and cold. After breakfast, we started on again and traveled till four o'clock, distance sixteen and a quarter miles, then camped at a point of timber near a creek or lake and not far from the Loup Fork. Monday, October 18 Started at eight o'clock and traveled to Shell Creek distance eighteen and three quarters miles, day pleasant but cool. Tuesday, October 19 The night was excessively cold and this morning there is considerable ice. We got an early start and traveled to where the road leaves the river and crosses to the Horn. At this place there is a liberty pole set up by some of the brethren. We have traveled today twenty-three and a quarter miles and we now find that the grass is all burned off ahead of us as far as we can see, probably to the Elk Horn. We are cheered by a view of the timber on that stream. Wednesday, October 20 We started early and found the prairie all burned off to the Elk Horn except in small patches. We arrived at the Horn about noon and soon after commenced crossing where Hosea Stout and company crossed. The water was nearly three feet deep and the bottom somewhat soft, but we were soon all over without accident except John Pack, who broke his wagon tongue. We then had to make a road through high, strong grass for upwards of half a mile and found a very bad creek or slough to cross. When we again struck the main road, we found it good and started for the Papea where we arrived soon after dark, all except one wagon which was left a mile back. The evening cool and windy. Thursday, October 21 This morning, Brother Empey, Lamb and myself started early accompanied by six horsemen and arrived in Winter Quarters a little before noon. I found my family all well except Moroni who is very sick and his mother is somewhat sick. Their circumstances are not good, but in other respects they have been prosperous for which I thank my God. There has been much sickness here and many deaths during the fall and many are now suffering for lack of some of the comforts of life. We have been prosperous on our journey home and have arrived in nine weeks and three days, including a week's delay waiting for the twelve and killing buffalo. Our health has been remarkably good, but we have lacked provisions, many of us having nothing but dry buffalo meat. I have succeeded in measuring the whole distance from the City of the Great Salt Lake to this place, except a few miles between Horse Creek and the A La Bonte River which was taken from the measurement going up. I find the whole distance to be 1,032 miles and am now prepared to make a complete traveler's guide from here to the Great Salt Lake, having been careful in taking the distance from creek to creek, over bluffs, mountains, etc. It has required much time and care and I have continually labored under disadvantages in consequence of the companies feeling no interest in it. The health of my family has encouraged me for all that is past and my secret gratitude shall ascend to Heaven for the unbounded kindness and mercies which the Almighty has continually poured upon them in my absence. 
48012	----	WORKS ISSUED BY The Hakluyt Society. ------ DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS. FIRST SERIES. NO. LXVII-MDCCCXXXIII DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS CAPE-MERCHANT IN THE ENGLISH FACTORY IN JAPAN 1615-1622 _WITH CORRESPONDENCE_ EDITED BY EDWARD MAUNDE THOMPSON VOL. II BURT FRANKLIN, PUBLISHER NEW YORK, NEW YORK Published by BURT FRANKLIN 514 West 113th Street New York 25, N. Y. ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY REPRINTED BY PERMISSION PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS. 1 1618. _January 1._--I delivered these bills to Mr. Osterwick this day, viz.:-- 1 bill Kyng Firandos, Figen a Came, for 3000 _tais_. 1 bill Unagenses, for 1/2 barill gunpolder 0010: 0: 0 1 bill Unagenses, for 8 pec. dutts 8 R. _corg._ sould for 1 _tay_ pec., is 0008: 0: 0 1 bill Kitskin Donos, for money lent hym 0020: 0: 0 1 bill of Guarian Ushenusque Dono, mony lent 0020: 0: 0 1 bill of Guenchque or Tonomon Same, kinges brother 0050: 0: 0 1 bill ditto Tonomon Same, for 8 pec. red zelas 0008: 0: 0 And I gave hym my writing for my boy Tushma, called Bicho, bought of Jno. Japon. We had much adoe with the mareners of our junk about carrying passingers along with them, and som of the officers of junk came ashore, but I sent them back per kinges order. And about midnight I went abord the junck to Cochy my selfe, and carid 20 loves bread, a veneson pastie, a peece rosting beefe, and a bottell Spanish wyne; and in the way met an offecer of the junk, called Tiquan, and caryed hym back againe. Mr. Eaton had much ado abord, before I came, and turned 9 passingers ashore whom he fownd hid in mareners cabbins. Capt. Adames rec. 900 _tais_ plate bars in parte of payment for his 2 junk. And I had these newyears giftes following geven me:-- A barill _morofack_ from Capt. Adames. A _maky_ contor from Mr. Ric. Wickham. A compas for variation from Mr. Wedmore. A band and a nightcap from Jno. Cook. A peece black taffety from Capt. China. And I gave these newyears giftes following, viz.:-- To Capt. Adames a nest of 5 _maky_ beakers. To Mr. Wickham a _wakadash_ and knife geven me per Safian Dono or Chubio Dono. To Mr. Wedmor 2 _maky_ beakers. To Jno. Cook a pere silk stockinges, ash culler. _January 2._--Oure junk _Sea Adventure_ put to sea this mornyng betyme from Cochy. I rec. the writing of my boy Lawrance from Mr. Eaton. He cost me 20 _tais_ Japon plate. I delivered one hundred _tais_ plate bars to Mr. Nealson, proceed of thinges of his sould per Ric. King at Miaco. And ther was a bar plate, containing 4_ta._ 3_m._ 3_co._, geven to the botswains wife of our junk which is gon to Syam, per a generall consent, she coming to se her husband. _January 3._--The ould man of Langasaque being desirous to retorne, although he were sick, Mr. Osterwick paid hym 1-1/2 _tais_ plate for his payns coming from Langasaque, buying and setteing the 8 trees. And we rec. of the _Tono_ of Firando one thousand _taies_ plate bars in parte payment of his bill of 3000 _tais_, and 1000 _tais_ more was paid before in rise and money and tymber. So now restes 1000 _tais_ to be paid upon that bill. This 1000 _tais_ Mr. Osterwick receved, and paid it instantly to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., yt being lent to hym and his brother Whaw gratis for a yeare, without intrest, to be emploid about procuring trade into China. Groby Dono ment to play the villen, and thought to have brought me in 3 danger for sale of 30 _pico_ silk unto hym, having made a falce writing, as Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, our _jurebasso_, and others can witnesse; and procured Takamon Dono (our enymie) to bring the matter in question, he being cheefe justice in the kingdom of Firando. And so he sent 3 men unto me in the name of Groby Dono to demand performance of sale of 30 _picull_ of silk. But I took such a course that my bad writing proved good, and served hym as he served me, yet nothing but the truth. The King of Firando sent unto me to make an end of the processe I have with Cazanseque, scrivano of Giquans junk, which Mr. Sayer cam in from Syam. _January 4._--I began a plito (or processe) this day against Cazanseque, the scrivano of Giquans junk, and Goresano, our quandom _jurebasso_, the coppie wherof, in Japons, I keepe in my hand, and sent the princepall to King of Firando per Mr. Sayer and Jno. _jurebasso_. We cleared yisterday with King Firando for his bill of 3000 _tais_, wherof he paid 1000 _tais_ in money, 1000 in tymber and rise, and this day gave me a bill for the other 1000 _tais_ to be paid within 3 monthes. _January 5._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Whaw to Langasaque how I had paid the 1000 _taies_ to his brother, Andrea Dittis, tuching our busynes (or entrance) into China, and that my selfe and what else was in my power, was at his comand. Also that I hoped our shipp would be ready to departe towardes Bantam within few dayes, and was ready to serve hym in what I could, and ment to com to vizet hym at Langasaque within few daies, being very sory for the death of his yong sonne, etc. _January 6._--Semi Dono made a new junk, and the mareners danced about towne with 3 whores in their company at Semi Donos apointment, I not having seene the lyke till now. _January 7._--Capt. Adames being at supper at our howse, and going 4 hom, met Toncha Samas wife going hom, and on of her slaves strock the lanterne out of Capt. Adames mans hand. _January 8._--I went and advised Oyen Dono how Capt. Adams was abuced yisternight, I being an eye wittnes. He tould me I was best to enforme Torasemon Dono of the matter, and Semi Dono, yf I thought best, whoe would take order the fello should be punished. Niquan came from Langasaque to accord with Capt. Adames to goe pilot for Cochinchina. _January 9._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames expreesse, at request of China Capt., to will hym to goe with the Chinas rather then the Japons, in respect the Honorable Comp. adventure with Ed. Sayer goeth in her, and they offer to geve hym more then any other. The Hollandes shipp, called the _Galleas_, put to sea from Cochy 4 daies past, hearing that the Amacau shipp was falne downe and thought to seale away before they were aware. _January 10._--We had news this day that the Amacou shipp put to sea 4 daies past and of purpose to fight with the Holland _Gallias_, but I am of opinion, yf they meete, that the Amacau ship will goe for Bantam or Molucos. _January 11._--News came from Langasaque that the Amacau ship put back to Langasaque per meanes of contrary wyndes, but sowne after put out to sea againe. _January 12._--I rec. a letter from Capt. Adames, dated in Langasaque 2 daies past, in answer of myne sent hym per expres the 9th currant, and that he meaneth to retorne to Firando within 2 or 3 daies, and end with the Chinas. The fownders, or mynt men, came againe to melt plate this day. This day newes came that the Amacau ship is retorned to Facunda, 3 leagues from Langasaque, and have sent a pinisse (or barke) to Goto, 5 to look out for Hollandes shipp, being afeard to put to sea, yf she be out. _January 13._--We had much adowe in fending and provinge betwixt the chirurgion of th' _Adviz_ and Ric. Wedmor, the master his mate, the chirurgion saying that Wedmor had broken open his chist and taken out 2 bottell of oyle or medsonable stuffe; but the other denid it. Yet there was witnes he took them out, but put them in againe. The truth is, the chirurgion is a fowle mouthed fello and on that is two much geven to drinking; and, on the other syid, Wedmor is a pivish overwyneing fello. Going about to melt plate in _somo_, we found it would stand us in about 23 per cento losse in Japon plate bars. So we gave it over, and melted but 500 _tais_ in _fibuk_ or first melting, to send to Bantam for a triall. In which plate we lost 14-1/2 in som, 15-1/2 in other, and in som more. _January 14._--The Hollanders broght the junk ashore which they took from the Chinas and will trym her on a sudden (as they say) to send for Cochinchina. Capt. Adames retorned from Langasaque, haveing byn 4 daies on the way per meanes fowle wether and contrary windes. He sayeth the pilot of the Amacou shipp tould hym they had sight of the Hollandes shipp, which made them to retorne back into Langasaque roade for feare she would have set upon her. The China Capt. desyrd to have our _fro_ heated for hym and other Chinas; which was donne. _January 15._--Taffy Dono sent us 2 pine trees to set at our dore on the new years day of Japon, being _Shonguach_, which begyneth on Sattarday next, being the 17th currant. _January 16._--Mr. Nealson in his fustion fumes did beate Co Jno., our _jurebasso_, about the head with his shewes in the streete, because he came not to hym at his first calle, and yet had a _jurebasso_ of his owne as good a linguist as he. This man still seeketh quarrells against all men, which is no small trowble and greefe unto me, I 6 having much adoe to please all and yet cannot. I gave a bar plate containing 2_ta._ 9_m._ 0_co._ to the _maky_ man in respect he gave me a banketing box. We gave Taffi Dono a present of 1-1/2 _tatt._ black bayes and 2 _tatta_ fustion, and the oyleman 1-1/2 _tatt._ blak bayes: they being our money changers. _January 17_ (_Shonguach 1_).--I sent the China Capt. a present of a _keremon_, a bottell Spanish wyne, and a banketing box Portingall fartes[1], diet bread, and other sweet meates; and to Niquan the China, his kynsman, a _keremon_; and to Matingas father a _kerremon_; and to the women 3 boxes of Portingall fartes, etc.; and to China Capt. doughter a _keremon_, she coming to vizet me and brought a peece damaske. And many Chinas came to vizet me in a troope together, wishing me a good new yeare. And Tonomon Sama, the kinges brother, passing by, sent his man in his behalfe to wish me a good new yeare, exskewsing his not entring, he being going to his mother. [1] _Farte_, a tart. _January 18._--Ther was presentes sent as followeth, viz.:--To the king or _tono_ 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fyshes; to Tonomon Sama, his brother, the lyke; to Bongo Sama, his uncle, the lyke; to Sangero Sama 2 barilles wyne and 1 fysh; to Semy Dono, the lyke; to Oyen Dono, the lyke; to Taccamon Dono, the lyke; to Sugeon Dono, the lyke; to his father, the lyke; to Torazemon Dono, the lyke. And I went and viseted Capt. Adames and his host and carid hym and thother a bottell Spanish wine and a banketing box sweet meates, with 2 little bottells _morofack_. _January 19._--We gave the mint man a _tattamy_ and a halfe of bayes for a present, and paid him for melting plate, viz.: for _fibuk_, or once melted, 5 _mas_ per c. _tais_; for bars twise melted, one per cento; they to find coles and we lead; as the Hollanders did the like; 7 and yf we melt plate _somo_, to pay 1-1/2 per cento. The oyle man, our money changer, brought a present of 10 bundelles money paper and a baskit of mustard seed. And the founders brought a bundell Japon writing paper containing 5 quire. We sent a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and fyshes to Unagense Dono, and Sugien Donos father came to English howse and brought a present of _muchos_, wyne, and fysh to me, and the like to Mr. Wickham. _January 20._--Oyen Dono came to vizet me and brought me 5 fans for a present, wishing us a good new yeare. And after dyner Torazemon Dono sent me word that Capt. Speck ment to vizet the kyng to wish hym a good new yeare, and gave me councell to doe the lyke, this day being held a happie day, and taken in kynd parte by them which were vizeted. So I went and carid a jar of conservs, not to goe emptie handed. And sowne after came Capt. Speck with a cheane of gould about his neck, being accompanid with Capt. Barkhout, Mr. Albartus, and Leonard. And I had Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick with me. And I think there were above 1000 Japons at same tyme to vizet the king. I thought at first they would have called in Capt. Speck before me, which yf they had, I would have retorned home without seeing the king. But in the end I was called in and my present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes, and jar conservs present, for which the king gave me thankes with many complementall wordes that he held my visetation that day in much esteem, and so drank to me and to the rest. And, at our going out, Capt. Speck entred, his present being a barrill wyne and fysh, with a long table or present bord, filled with trenchars, _gocos_, and tobacco boxes, China _maky_ ware. The China Capt. sent to borrow a jar conserves of me, which I sent unto hym; and his littell doughter came and brought me a present of 2 _maky_ standing cups and covers, her father being present. The kinges 8 brother, Bongo Same, Semi Dono, and Torazemon Dono thanked me for the presentes sent them; but Unagense saw me, not speaking to me. Also Yasimon Dono and the smith came to vizet me, and brought each on a bundell paper and a fan; as divers neighbors brought fans, _nifon cantange_. _January 21._--We sent presentes this day:--To Gonoske Dono, 2 _barsos_ wyne and fysh; and to Nobeske Dono the like. The scholmaster brought a basket oranges for present. News came from Langasaque how the Amacau shipp riding at an ancor at Faconde, a league from thence, som caffros or slaves of the Spaniardes or Portugezes went ashore in the night and stole a cow, having kilde her; but before they could get her into their boate, the owner pursued them with other cuntrey people and laid hould on them. But the Spaniardes or Portingalles came to sucker them, and soe they fell from wordes to blowes, the Portingall etc. killing 2 or 3 Japons. Whereupon the King of Umbra sent downe soldiers to take the offenders and would have forced the shipp, except they had deliverd the princepall offenders into his handes, which he caused to be cut in peeces, so many of them as they had kild of Japons. _January 22._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Whaw per Niquan, and sent him 2000 _tais_ plate bars to melt into plate _somo_ per Emperours rendadors. Unagense Dono sent me a present of 2 littell _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes, a phasant cock, 2 Japon cakes or _muchos_, and certen rootes. And 2 Chinas brought a present of sweetmeates, called by the Japons _ye by god_, made of barley flower, suger, and other matters. _January 23._--The herb woman brought a small _barso_ wyne and 1 string cuttelfish for a present. _January 24._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durois, dated in Langasaque, 9 1th February, new stile, wherin he advised me that a Laskero, or More, which was a slave in the Amacan shipp, had stolne a beefe ashore at Faconda, the which coming to the capt. eares, and that there was a man slaine about it, he caused the Lascaro to be carid ashore, and hanged. This he sayeth was the brute which hapened at Facondo, of which I took notis before. I made up the _maky_ ware for my Lady Smith this day, for her contor rec. in the _Adviz_, rated at 40 mark str., is 106: 6: 7: and packed it up in 5 parcelles in chistes, viz.: _ta._ _m._ _co._ No. 1, containing 3 nestes trunkes, cost 24 0 0 No. 2, containing 1 case bottelles, cost 10 0 0 No. 3, containing 3 scritorios, cost 24 0 0 No. 4, 1 greate scritorio, cost 12 5 0 No. 5, divers matters, viz.:-- 36 1 7 _ta._ _m._ _co._ 01 scritorio, cost 05 0 0 03 basons and spout pots, greate 10 5 0 03 ditto lesser sort, cost 07 5 0 02 standing cups, cost 02 6 0 02 tankardes, cost 01 6 0 20 beakers, cost 06 0 0 For 5 chistes silk watta, cotton woll, ropes and mattes to pack them in 02 9 7 --------------- Som totall cost 106 6 7 Which I sent in the _Adviz_ for Bantam, consigned to Capt. George Bale, to send it for England per first conveance. Mr. David Watkins, Sir Tho. Smiths man, wrot 2 letters in my Lady Smiths name, to have the contor, or scritorio, sould, and retorne made in such matters as the Company did not deale in; and Mr. Bale advised it to be in _maky_ ware. _January 25._--The Chinas at night came to our English howse, and made fyreworkes. _January 26._--I gave Andrea Dittis, China Capt., 4 letters testimoniall or of favor, directed to all English ships at sea or 10 others, frendes to his Matie of England, on for a junk bound to Tonkyn at Cochinchina, and the other 3 for 3 junkes bound Island Formosa, called Taccasanga or Piscadores. Skiamon Dono brought a present of a bundell paper and a fan. _January 27._--Skidayen Dono set the mastes of his junk this day, and made a feast, _nifon catange_; and I sent hym a banketing box, sweetmeates, and 2 bottelles _singe_. Groby Dono came, accompanid with Yasimon Dono, Capt. Adames host, and an other merchant of Sackay, to make frenship with me before he went back; and offred to deliver me back my bill of sale of silk to Croby Dono, and to rec. in his delivered to me with the 1000 _tais_ I had in hand, and with all desird a letter to Croby Dono of what past for his owne discharge. I demanded (or desird) of hym to let me have the 1000 _taies_ which I had in my handes, and to receave the like som of Tozemon Dono of Sakay; of the which they said they would bethink them selves, and soe departed. _January 28._--Certen Chinas came to vizet me after daylight, and brought fireworkes, which shewed well per night. _January 29._--The China Capt. had letters from Langasaque that they were content to parte the _tiquan_[2] office of tow, to let Capt. Adames men have the one halfe to send one or 2 in it, as he would, and for marreners to send 3 or 4, yf he would. The governor of Langasaque, in the abcense of Gonrok Dono, passed by this place, and sent me a letter his brother had wrot unto me, complementall, for using him kyndly as he passed this way the last yeare. This man is bound to the Emperours court, haveing a processe against Tuan Dono, the rich (as they terme hym), of Langasaque, whome this man hath gotten a sentance against, and utterly undon Tuan. This 11 man brought me a _chaw_ cup covered with silver for a present, being worth som 3 _tais_. And in his company came a servant of Safian Dono, and an other of Chubio Dono; and the first brought me a _barso_ of wine. Skidayen Dono and his consortes had the feast of Baccus for their junk this day, dansing thorow the streetes with _caboques_, or women players, and entred into our English howse in that order, most of their heades being hevier than their heeles, that they could not find way hom without leading. [2] Chinese: _ti-kwan_, local office. _January 30._--This day ended the Japon feast of 15, and they took downe the trees sett up first day, and fet their faggotes with rise and wyne, as yearly they doe on this day. Ushenusque Dono sent me a phaisant cock, exskewsing his not coming per meanes of his emploimentes abroad. And I sent the governor Langasaque and Safian Donos man, eache of them, a quart bottell strong waters, with eache of them a China cup to drink it in. Also Figen a Came, Kyng of Firando, sent me 2 _barsos_ wyne and a wild boare for a present, wishing me a prosperous new yeare. And Ike Dono, the cavelero of Xaxma, came and vizeted me, with a present of 3 bundelles or reames Japon paper, he being lately retorned from Xaxma, where he sayeth the king is much affectioned to our English nation. _January 31._--Groby Dono wrot a letter to Capt. Adames to Cochy in bad termes, that I went about to deceave hym, and would force hym to take 150 _tais_ in bad Nishew counterfet plate. Unto which I retornd answer that all he said was falce, and that I offerd hym no money but the same I receved from hym. This fello is he which would have cozend me with a falce writing, to have brought me in domages for 2000 _tais_ for sale of 30 _pico_ silk upon delivery, contrary to my trew meanyng, as Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, our _jurebasso_, and 3 other Japons are witnesse. _February 1._--Capt. Adames fell into extreme termes this day about 12 Groby Dono, he which falcefied the writing, taking his part against me and all the English. I never saw hym in the lyke humour. We paid this Groby Dono the 1000 _tais_ spoken of before, and receved in my bill of Croby Dono for sale silke in question before, and deliverd hym in his bill of Croby Donos geven to me. _February 2._--Mr. Nealson said he had certen monies taken out of his scritorio, the theefe drawing the neales out of 2 boxes, he laying it to the charge of Mr. Wickhams servant, whome he newly entertayned, Mr. Nealson haveing put hym away. But Mr. Wickham held it done of mallice rather then a truth. _February 3._--The China Capt. went to Langasaque, and Capt. Adames tould hym before he went that he would be as good as his word and goe on the voyage to Cochinchina. _February 4._--I rec. a letter from botswain of our junk _Sea Adventure_, dated at Tomare[3] in Xaxma 23 dais past: how they put in theare the 5th day after they went from hence, per meanes W.erly wyndes and hie sea, and ment to put to sea som 16 daies past. The Japon slave I saved from the gallous, and gave to Mr. Wickham, ran away, and, sending after hym, was fownd in a horehouse with 2 or 3 _tais_ plate in his purse, parte wherof he had spent amongst those leawd people, and the reste delivered to a Japon to keepe. He confeseth that he had sould certen buttons (as he cald them) to a Japon for 1-1/2 _mas_, they being som 50 in nomber, which he sayeth he stole from Mr. Wickham; which (as he sayeth) were littell corall beades and som pearle, which he now misseth, looking for them. [3] Tomari, on the coast. _February 5._--The China which went to Edo to get out _goshons_, or pasports, retorned to Firando this day, telling me he staid 42 daies 13 at Edo before he could have a dispach, and was 13 dais going from Miaco to Edo, and as many in retorning, and 18 dais coming from Osakay to Firando. He sayeth the sonne of Safian Dono is to succeade his father as governor of Langasaque, and that Gonrok Dono, his cozen, is to com to remeane at Langasaque as his deputy. This China brought me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and a greate charger of chistnuttes, and departed for Langasaque on such a sudden that he was gon before I sent to thank hym, thinking to have sent hym a present. _February 6._--The theevishe slave I gave to Mr. Wickham did accuse his father, mother, and many others, to whome he said he delivered all such matters as he had stolne; but they denid all. And he still accused others; but no proofe. _February 8._--Extreme cold wether. Miguell, our ould _jurebasso_, envited Capt. Adames and me to breckfast, being recovered of a great sicknesse, wherof our chirurgion had healed hym when he was speechlesse and thought past cure; which he did at my request. _February 9._--Frost and snow. Soyemon Dono sent to borow money of me, for that, as he sayeth, he is shortly to goe to the Emperours cort with the _tono_ (or king) of Firando his master, whoe (as he sayeth) is to marry themperours kynswoman; but my answer was, I had noe money. Also Semy Dono would borow the mast of a small junck we have, to make a foremast for his new junck. I answerd hym, yf he would take junck and mast together at price I paid for her, I was content, but to lend the mast I could not, having occation to employ the junck. _February 10._--A hard frost, the lyke I not having seene since I came into Japon, it being above an inch thick, the ise frozen this last night. Snow all day and parte of night following. There was a howse broken open the night past and 15 or 20 Japon 14 _keremons_, or coates, stolne out. But the theefe was fownd, being a carpenter, and put into prison. _February 11._--Still cold frosty wether. Sangero Samma and others still send to borow money, which maketh me awery to live amongst them; for lend money I will not to such as I know will never repay it. _February 12._--Pasquall Benita came from Langasaque to Firando and brought me a present of _coiebos_, _micanas_,[4] and peares. He tells me the Amacan carick will not goe out this yeare for feare of the Hollanders, and that the merchantes and capt. major goe to law about it. The capt. would goe out, but the merchantes will not. I think this fello came for an espie to se whether the Hollanders and we were ready to goe out. He is an Italian borne. [4] _Mikan_, an orange. _February 13._--I went to the king, accompanid with Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, and Ed. Sayer, to tell hym our ship was ready to goe out towardes Bantam, and Ed. Sayer for Cochinchina. Soe, yf he pleased to comand my service to Bantam, England, or Cochinchina, we were ready to doe it; for the which he thanked us. Also I demanded justice against Cazanzeque and Goresano, the which he tould me he would doe me reason in. Jno. Yossen the Hollander came from Edo this day. I went to Hollandes howse to vizet Capt. Speck. So I met Capt. Barkhoot theare, whoe envited me and rest of English abord the _Son_ to dyner on Sonday next. Jor. Durois wrot me there were speeches at Langasaque that Shongo Samme themperour was dead; but I esteeme it a lye, Jno. Yooson coming from Edo and saw hym; delivered thordinance to hym which the Hollanders sent for a present. _February 14._--A cavalero of Osakay sent me a present of a banketing box, meate, _nifon catange_ (or Japon fation), with a _barso_ of _singe_, because I made hym colation thother day; but I rather think it 15 a preparative to borow money; yet herein he may be deceaved, for I fynd many borowers but non that make repayment. _February 15._--We dyned abord the _Son_, where Capt. Barkhout used us kyndly, and drunk healths to the Kinges Matie of England, and at every cup a gun, rownd about table, being 11 or 12 persons, and was answered the like out of the _Adviz_. And at our coming abord gave us 3 peeces ordinance and 7 at our departure; and we had 5 out of the _Adviz_. Capt. Speck came not at feast, as I thinke only of pride, dowbting whether I should syt above him or no. We had news that the junk _Sea Adventure_ was in Xaxma 13 daies past, yet I have no letter from Mr. Eaton. I gave the coxswayne and company Hollandes shipp, for fetching us abord and seting ashore, ii R. of 8. _February 17._--We sent 5 chistes money abord _Adviz_, all refyned plate, containing 9063 _tais_, which with exchange is 10920: 7: 8-1/2. _February 18._--The shipp _Adviz_ went out to Cochi roade this day and shot affe 7 peeces for a fare well; and the Hollanders answerd with 3 from the _Son_ and 3 from the howse, and a Japon junk 3; and we replid with 3 more; and at our departure from Cochi back the _Adviz_ gave us 7 peeces more. There were som speeches passed betwixt Mr. Wickham and Mr. Totton, as also betwixt Mr. Nealson and Mr. Totton, which were taken in ill parte on thon parte and other. But in my opinion Mr. Totton was in the falt. I did what I could to make frenship, and made it betwixt Mr. Wickham and hym; but Mr. Nealson would not be frends upon no termes, although Mr. Totton desird it and before all the company drunk a health to hym, wishing it might never goe thorow hym yf he bare hym any mallice. The Hollanders sent out their _foy fone_ to helpe to toe out our 16 shipp, rowed with 16 ores, and we set out 2 _foyfones_, dowbting whether the Firandesas would send barkes to helpe us or no, because they fealed in the junck. But they sent out 10 or 12 barkes, which had byn enough, allthough we had no others. _February 19._--The Hollandes shipp _Son_ went out to Cochy roade. Went out our _foyfone_ with 18 owres to help to toe them out. The kyng sent 2 of his _foyfones_ to helpe them out, besydes the towne boates. I note downe he sent non to us yisterday. I deliverd up my letter and acco. to Mr. Wickham to be sent for Bantam and London. _February 20._--Som two howers before day we went abord the _Adviz_ at Cochy, and presently after Capt. Speck came abord, desyring us the ship might stay an hower or two for hym to write a letter; which I promised hym, in respect we could not be ready no sowner, having forgotten provition behind us at Firando. Soe about 9 a clock she set seale. God send her a prosperous voyage. And I sent in her these letters following, viz.:-- 1 to Sir Tho. Smith, knight, with copy last yeare. 1 to Mr. Tho. Wilson, with copie of last yeare. 1 to Capt. Saris, with coppie last yeare. 1 to my brother, Walter Cocks. 1 ould to Mr. Fosters wife, enclosed to Capt. Saris. 1 to Wor. Company, with coppies of last yeare; with coppie from Syam, Camboia, and Champa. 1 to Capt. Georg Ball, of l5th curant. 1 to Capt. Raphe Coppindall, of l5th curant. 1 to Mr. Westby. 1 to Worll. Company, of 17th ditto. 2 to my nephew, Jno. Cocks. _February 21._--Taccamon Dono sent me a wild boare for a present. _February 22._--By meanes of contrary wyndes the ship _Adviz_ retorned 17 back to Cochy; and Mr. Wickham sent a letter to have a boate sent hym to com ashore, which I sent to hym. So he and Mr. Totton came ashore after nowne. I wrot a letter to Sir Tho. Smith, how I was enformed Mr. Ed. Willmot, defunct purser of the _Adviz_, dying at Bantam, left me a legasie of 3 _l._ str., to pay in England. I left a remembrance with Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick at my going to Langasaque, to look to howse in my abcense. _February 23._--We set forwardes towardes Langasaque this mornyng, and passing by the ship _Adviz_, they shot affe 5 peces ordinance. And we went to bed to Setto,[5] 17 leagues from Firando. We paid 1 _tay_ for our lodging and 3 _mas_ for fish. [5] Seto. _February 24._--We arived at Langasaque at 1 clock after nowne. Many Chinas, Japons, and Portingals, and Spaniards came to vizet me, knowing of my arivall. Yt is said the carick will not goe out this yeare for feare of Hollanders. _February 25._--We sent presentes this day, viz. To Saco Dono, Riyoyets Dono, Soyen Dono, Saquemon Dono, and Saquise Dono, magistrates in Langasaque, each one 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes. And to Capt. Whow and his wife, 1-1/2 _tatta_ sad blew cloth, 1 glasse bottell of annise water. And divers Chinas brought me presents, viz., Shinquan, 10 boxes marmelad, 4 _cattis_ comfets, 150 egges; Ickquam came from Cort, 1 _barso_ wyne, 170 egges; Yongsham, 20 loves of bread; Niquan, 2 barilles wyne, 2 pec. red cheremis, 60 oringes, 140 egges. We had news that the Hollandes junck, which went out two months past towardes Syam, is put back into the Liqueas; and the _Gallias_ 18 Holland shipp into Xaxma, having lost her mast. Shiquan, the rich China, owner of the junk Ed. Sayer goeth in for Cochinchina, envited us to dyner to morrow; and Capt. Whaw the day after. _February 26._--We went to Shiquan the China to dyner, where we had extraordinary entertaynment and good cheare. And at my retorne, I fownd Soca Samma sent me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 bundelles sea weed; Saquamon Dono, 2 _barsos_ wyne and cuttell fish, with many complementall words and offer of frendship. Also Jorge Durois sent me 3 mi[n]ced pies and a dishe of oranges. And from Niquan, a China, 18 peares and 60 _micanos_. And I sent a present to Jor. Durois of 2 pec. of callicos, bought of Hollanders, at 1 _tay_ pece, and a glasse bottell of annis water, and another of _morofack_; and withall delivered hym dyvers cullers silke to get 12 peare silke stockinges knyt for Mr. Wm. Nealson. We had newes this day that our junk _Sea Adventur_ is retorned the second tyme into Xaxma, and that there grew some broyle theare betwixt som Portingals bound out in a junck for Camboja and Mr. Eaton. The reason grew because the Portingales picked occation because Mr. Eaton passed by them without puting affe his hat (he being bound to doe no more to them then they to hym); so that from wordes they fell to blowes, but the Portingalles were well beaten and driven abord. Soe after, they complayned to the justice that our junck had no _goshon_ nor passe from themperor of Japon, but went out on pilfering. Whereupon the justice of Xaxma demanded of Mr. Eaton yf he had any passe (or _goshon_) from themperour or noe. To which he answered he had, and shewed it unto them, desyring them to tell hym wherefore they asked such a question, the which they tould them was by reason of the Portingalles information. "Whie, then," said he, "I pray yow demand 19 whether they have any passe or noe, for it may be they are theeves and would put it upon others." Which being brought in question, they were fownd to have no passe. Soe they cauced their junck to be brought on shore, and 15 or 16 Japons to be laid handes on which went in her. And the Kyng of Xaxma wrot forthwith to court of Japon to know the Emperours pleasure, whether they should procead on voyag or noe. _February 27._--We were envited to Capt. Whaw, the China, to dyner, where we were extraordenarely entertayned, with musick at our entry, with the lyke at first, second, and therd course, where there wanted not wyne of all sortes, and each one a dansing beare to serve us, _nifon cantage_. I gave the China Capt. 2 letters of favour more to the English shiping they met at sea, with 3 flagges, two new and one ould. _February 28._--I delivered 5 bandes and 5 peare cuffes to Spanish woman to make. Sanquan, a China, sent me 65 egges, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 greate fyshes, and 2 _cattis_ diet bread. Also Sanquishe, the governors brother, brought me 95 egges. I shewed our conyskins, lambskins, and fitchet skyns to China Capt. and his brother; but it seemeth they had no stomock to buy them, yet heretofore they said they would buy them all. _Marche 1._--I gave a flag and a letter favor to a China which goeth to Taccasanga. The boteswane of the junk of Giquan, wherin Ed. Sayer came from Syam 2 years past, came to me, being ernest to have me geve hym a letter of discharg tuching the sute I have against Cazanzeque the purcer. But I denied hym, for I heare the purcer and he are consorts in thefte. _Marche 2._--I rec. 4 letters this day from Mr. Eaton out of Xaxma, 1 20 dated in Congushma,[6] the 12th January, and the other 3 in Tomare, the 2th, 12th, and 20th February, in which he wrot me of the kynd usage the Kyng of Xaxma cauced to be geven to hym and to helpe our junck. Also he advised how the Portingalles complayned that we were theeves, and came to take their junck, not having the Emperours pas; but it proved we had one and they non, by which meanes they fell into danger. I also rec. 12 Japan letters from Miaco, Sakay, Osaky, Firando, and out of Xaxma. A China pilot brought me a present of 5 pound citrons and 80 egges; and Capt. Adams host, 60 _micanas_ (or oringes), and the boteswains wife of our junk _Sea Adventure_, 4 rowles of bread. Also a China, whoe was hurt in his lip, brought a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 greate fyshes, and 12 lobstars, with a bar plate to Robert Hawley, for dressing of his lip. The plate I cauced to be retorned, but the rest Robt. Hawley took. I went and vizeted ould Gorge Durons (_sic_) with Capt. Adames and rest, he using us kyndly. I gave his littell son Jonico a Riall of 8. [6] Kagoshima. _Marche 3._--I retorned answer to Mr. Eaton per same expres he sent letter by. We dyned at Goquan, a Chinas, this day, where we were well entertayned. _Marche 4._--We were envited to dyner to the plate fownder (or mynt man) called Gota Shozamon Dono, where we had good cheare after Christion fation, syting at a hie table with cheares. But the good man of howse did not eate with us, which [made] me jelous of poison. But in the end he came and drank with us. I think his abcense was for that he is a papist Christion, and now tyme of Lent. The China Capt. was at dyner with us. I gave this mans two children, each of them, a R. of 8. _Marche 5._--I sent presentes as followeth, viz.:-- 21 To Fingo Shiquan, the rich China, 2 _tatta._ yelo bayes, 1 fowling peec. To Goquan, other rich China, 2 _tatta._ yelo bayes, 1 fowling peec. To Capt. Whow, China Capt. brother, 1 fowling peec. These men are emploid about geting trade into China. To Goto Zhozabra Dono, mynt man, 2 _tatta._ yello bayes. To Chimpow, capt. junk which Ed. Sayer goeth in, two _tatta._ yello bayes, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes. And an ould China called Shiquan sent me two _barsos_ wyne, egges 50, oranges 30, diet bread a platterfull. And from a China which went to Kagalion, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 5 bundelles sea weed. And I gave this China an English flag and a letter of favor, at request of China Capt. Also I sent a present to a China called Chimtay. _Marche 6._--I went to Capt. Whowes with Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., and Capt. Adames, where we translated one of the Kinges Matis. letters into China, dated in Westminster Pallace, the 10th January 1614, and 12th yeare of His Matis. rayne of Great Brittany, France, and Ireland; wherof I took 3 coppies in Chinas. One was sent to China with the said letter, an other to send for England, and the therd to keepe my selfe. I gave Fingo Shiquan, the China, a letter of favour and an English flag in his junck. Co Jnos. kynsman brought me a present of a marchpane made lyke a miter. _Marche 7._--News came to Langasaque that they should make very dilligent search for padres (or pristes) and in whose howse they were fownd, not only to kill all that famely, but allso all the street in which they are fownd. I sent a bar plate, containing 3 _tas_ 9 _mas_, to the China musitions which plaid at Capt. Whows when we weare at dyner. Also I sent the rest of a pece of straw culler baies for a present to a China called 22 Lanquin Niquan, he coming the other day to vizet me with a present, and is of the place neare unto that we hope to enter for trade. And I paid the China notory for translating the kinges letter x _tais_ iij _mas_. The China Capt. went late at night towardes Firando, per whome I wrot a letter to Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick that I ment to follow within 2 daies. His going was to put money into the 2 junkes afforsaid. _Marche 8._--Ric. Hoodson paid Georg Durons for sope and candelles, viz:-- _ta. m. co._ For 18 cakes sope 1 0 0 For 128 tallo candelles 1 6 0 _Marche 9._--I gave the dansing bears 4 _ta._ 5 _m._, and ther servant 4 _mas_. And I paid the shew maker, for 2 peare clampes and 2 peare pumps, 1 _ta._ 2 _m._ Ric. Hudson paid 1 _tay_ 3 _mas_ for a vyne tree to be carid to Firando. _Marche 10._--Niquans junk departed towardes Tonkyn this day. I gave Jorges doughter 2 _mas_, her father (Capt. Adams host) sending me a hare. _Marche 11._--Sanquishe Dono, the governors brother, sent me a banketing box, meates, fish, and other matters, _nifon cantange_, with 2 bottels wyne, with many complementall wordes. The dansing beares came againe, and I gave them a bar plate of 3-1/2 _tais_. _Marche 12._--Tozayemon Dono deliverd Ed. Sayer 41 _picull_ 39 _cattis_ 6 _ta._ goco copper, which he laden abord Fingo Shiquans junck for voyag to Cochinchina, at 65 _mas picull_. A China, which was capt. of junck which goeth to Cagellon, died on the sudden this day, as they think being blasted. _Marche 14._--A Portugez called Garçia Machado, a Portugez of Amacau, 23 came to me at such tyme as a Japon was about to sell me a rapier and dagger, which he laid cleame to, as being stolne from hym per a silvere smith with 15 _tais_ of plate he had deliverd hym to plate the sword and dagger. The dagger hilt was plated, but not the rapier. Soe he rec. it out of the Japons owne handes, and gave me a recept to save me harmlesse, yf in case it were brought in question. There was an extreme storme or tuffon this day, which drove one of the China junckes on shore; and, had it not byn for good helpe, she had byn cast away. Wynd vering to N.W. _Marche 16._--I delivered iij C. _tais_ plate bars to the China Capt. to goe in adventure for Tacca Sanga or Isla Fermosa, and Mr. Osterwick paid hym iij C. _tais_ more at Firando, in all vj C. _tais_, and goeth for accompt of Right Honble. and Worll. Company, our emploiers, to be disbursed for silke. God send a prosperous voiage. I envited Capt. Adames, Yasimon Dono, Mr. Sayer, and Robt. Hawley, and had the dansing beares, which cost ij _tais_ plate bars, and two _mas_ small plate geven their boy, all paid my selfe. Shoyemon Dono, the master of dansing beares, came and brought me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and 16 loves bread. Ghiquans junck went downe to Facondo; soe Capt. Adames, Ed. Sayer, and Robt. [Hawley] took ther leave and went abord. _Marche 17._--I gave dansing bears one bar plate containing 3 _tais_, and 4 _mas_ to _neremonnears_[7] brought them. This night about son seting the junck of Fingo Shiquan put to sea, wherein Capt. Adames went pilot, and Ed. Sayer and Robt. Hawley 24 for Worll. Company, Chimpow a China being capten. Tachemon our cooke had 3-1/2 small plate, which he paid to Jor. Durons to reedeme his son, and the money goeth on his wagis. [7] The bearers of the sedan chairs or _neremons_. _Marche 18._--I delivered 30 _tais_ plate bars to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., for our diet since we came to Langasaque; but he would have taken nothing, it being in a howse of his slave where we la. Also I ment to have geven the good wife a bar plate of 4 _ta._ 4 _m._, and an other bar to servantes of 3 _ta._ 1 _m._ 8 _co._, and a therd to the children, containing 2 _ta._ 4 _m._ 3 _co._; but he would not suffer me to geve nothing to wife nor servantes, but the 2 _ta._ 4 _m._ 3 _co._ to the children. Albartus the Hollander came to Langasaque this day and came to vizet me, and tould me he ment to have sent 1000 or 2000 _tais_ plate in the junck where Capt. Adames went, yf she had not departed from hence before he came. So now he menes to send it in the junck of Barnardo. _Marche 19._--I rec. 2 letters from Mr. Osterwick and Mr. Nealson, dated in Firando, le 17th currant, sent per a Japon, advising of the needfull, namely, how the King of Firando had geven a streete of above 50 howses joyning to their howse, to pull it downe and build their howse larger with 2 new warehowses (or gadongs). I wish we had our howse at Langasaque, and then let the Hollanders domener at Firando, for out of dowbt they pay for it. Phesemon Dono, a kinsman of Sugian Dono of Umbra, came to vizet me, being an inhabitant of Langasaque, and had built a howse (second to our lodging), reared but 2 dais past, offering me greate frendship, enviting me to his howse, he having maried a frend of Gonrok Donos, governor of this place, she being a Christian, whoe urged me much to know our principles of religion, and whether we had churches in our cuntrey. Unto all which I answered in particular that we had both 25 archbushopps, bushops, and other sortes of church men, but not mas pristes which said service in Lattin, but in our owne language, etc. Palle the _bozes_ father, called Yoshiemon, came and brought me a present, 2 fyshes; and I gave his littell doughter he brought with hyme a peece of two single Rialls. _Marche 21._--I bought a _catabra_ for Tango Dono, cost in plate bars 6 _tais_. _Marche 22._--We departed from Langasaque towardes Firando in the after nowne, and the dansing beares with Mr. Saris host were in the way in 2 boates with severall bankits; unto whom I gave a bar plate 4 _ta._ 4 _m._ to make mery at retourne. The China Capt., Albartus, and Tozeyamon Dono went with us and went to Setto this night, lying abord bark. _Marche 23._--We arived at Firando after dyner this day, and Tozayemon Dono and other merchants of Sackay envited them selves to our _fro_. _Marche 24._--Three of the kynges soldiers being in drink (as it is said) fell out, and two of them drue their _cattans_ and kild the therd, and after thought to flie in to the mountans, but were instantly followed by Oyen Dono and cut in peeces with his owne handes, telling them they were villens and cowards, not worthie the name of soldiers, that, having kild a man, did run away and not kill them selves according to order of Japon. _Marche 25._--I envited the King of Firando to dyner for Sonday next, with such noble men and others as it pleased hym to bring with hym; which he tooke in good parte, and named these 12 persons, besides hym selfe, to accompany hym, viz. Tonomon Samma, Bongo Samma, Sangero Samma, Taccamon Dono, Shesque Dono, Gonosque Dono, Sofo Samma, Sichsaymon Dono, Jubio Dono, Oyen Dono, Torozemon Dono. Ther was but one of the 3 soldiers kild outright, but two wownded, the 26 one his arme and shoulder halfe cut offe, and the other all the side of his cheeke and one eye, but both soe sore wounded that nether lyke to escape it. He which did it (and is dead) was brother to Shosque Dono, whoe lately cut his bellie, as I noted heretofore. The quarrell was about a woman whoe this Shosque was in love withall, and, as it should seeme, jolose, did use the other two as afforsaid, leveing them for dead, and then went into the chamber where the woman was, calling her aparte, and cut her throate and put her into a chist, and after came and knockt at dore where the kyng was, having two _cattans_ drawne, as it is thought, to have kild the king in reveng of his brothers death. The king hym selfe openyng the dore, thinking it had byn his brother, Tonomon Samma, which knockt, but seeing the other armed in that sort, and having his _cattan_ drawne before, hearing the nois was made, did strike Shosque a deadly bloe over the bellie, and was seconded with Oyen Dono with a _langenack_ and one of his pagis with a lance, whoe made an end of hym and cut affe his head. Ould Synemon Dono sent his yong doughter of 3 months ould, with her nurce, and brought me a _barso_ of wyne and egges for a present. And I gave the child a silk coate, and the nurce 5 _mas_ in small plate. _Marche 27._--The King of Firando sent me a doe or veneson for a present, with many complementall words. _Marche 28._--Capt. Speck sent me an other bottell Spanish wyne, with offer of any other matter in the Duch howse, knowing we had envited the kyng. _Marche 29._--The kinge and rest of noble men _ut supra_ came to dyner and, as they said, were entertayned to theire owne content, and had the dansing beares to fill them wyne, _nifon catange_ (or Japon fation), with a blind fidler to singe, ditto. And in respect the king is going up to Edo, yt was agreed to geve hym 27 a present of 5 peeces of stuffe, viz. damask, velvet, and grogren, severall cullers, bought of China Capt. at 5 _tais_ per peece. _Marche 30._--Sent a bar plate of 4 _ta._ 3 _mas_ to dansing bears; and to Skyamon Dono and the kinges cook, each of them, 2 _tatta._ fustion, to make them breeches; and to Yasimon Dono, a _bose_, and to the gilder, each of them, a _barsoe_ of wyne and fyshes; and to an ould cook 5 _mas_; and to other 2 carvers, 6-1/2 _mas_ per peec., and to the blind fidler. _Marche 31._--I wrot another letter to Jor. Durons, to Langasaque, and sent hym 3-1/2 _gantas_ of _jurialin_, cost me 1 _mas_ 4 _condrin_, and wrot hym to send me som gardin seed, espetially carret seed, called in Japon _ningin_. I lent the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, fyve silk _keremons_ with silk watta, of them geven me at Japon Cort. The occation he borrowed them is for that he sendes his doughter to Langasaque to be betrothed to Goquans son, and geves her 50 _keremons_, with other matters amounting to above 300 _tais_, as China manor is. _Aprill 1._--Skiemon Dono took the bar plate that should have gone to _cabokes_ (or dansing beares), being 4 _ta._ 3 _m._, and sent them but 3 _tais_ small plate. Soe he kept 2 _tais_ wanting 4 _condrins_ to hym selfe. Which coming to my knowledg, I caused restetution. There was 2 _tais_ small plate with 6 _cattis_ gunpolder geven to two Chinas for making fireworkes. We bought 1484 fagottes of wood, every faggot being 1/2 a _tatta_ in the band, and 20 fagg. for a _mas_. _Aprill 2._--Our host of the China howse at Langasaque came to vizet me, and brought me a present of a live phaisant cock and 10 loves of bread. The China Capt. Whow wrot me he understood our junckes were arived at Goto, wherin Capt. Adames and others went; but that is a tale, etc. 28 Also here is speeches that Shongo Samme, themperour of Japon, is dead; but this is Japon newes, etc. _Aprill 3._--I rec. a letter from Ed. Sayer, dated at Narra in Goto, the 25th ultimo, how they put in there with the junk the 18th ditto, and, the grownd being bad, were driven upon the rockes, lost their ruther, and split the sterne post it was hanged at, and were in danger to have lost all; yet, per the pleasure of God, got her affe, recoverd the rother, and mended that which was amis, and put to sea againe the 26th ultimo. He writes me that another junk of Shiquan, a China, bownd for Manillas, put into an other roade of Gota, and was driven agrownd, yet saved in the end, and hope to goe on their voyage. He also wrot how all the junkes which put out of Langasaque of late, with the 2 went out of Firando, are all driven ether into Goto or Xaxma. God send them a good voyage. _Aprill 4._--Jno. Japon paid the carpenters and labourers, and for tymber and other matters, for building an old China howse, whose kay we use contynewally to trym and calke our boates, the sum of 10 _ta._ _Aprill 5._--The China Capt. sent me a peece blew tuft taffety, with 2 barrills wyne, for a present at this feast of Easter. And I gave the China Capt. 2 doughters for a present, whom he sent to vizet me, 1 pec. black wroght satten and 1 pec. blew damask, and lent hym 4 pec. stuffs more. He also sent me a present of a _caw_ box of China, gilt and varnished, being in 4 peces. We envited 10 of our neighbours and the China Capt. to dyner. _Aprill 6._--The king sent Oyen Dono to entreate me to let hym have one of my golden fyshes of China, I having geven hym and his brother 4 of same sort before, and now much against my will gave hym one other, and sent it per Michell, our _jurebasso_, which it seemed he took 29 in good parte. Sangero Samma sent to borrow our _foyfone_ to accompany the kyng on the way, whoe is thought will departe towardes Edo to morrow. So I lent yt hym with 15 ores. News came to towne that the King of Umbras brother is dead (whoe is uncle to King of Firando). So it is thought it will stay his voyag som dayes. I went and vizeted Capt. Speck, whoe was sick, and fownd hym looking on the ruens of a hill or mountayne fallne downe against their howse; the reason being the pulling downe of a ston wall made before to keep it up, which being taken downe to buld it better, all the hill slipt downe and fell upon a banketing howse and other buldinges, spoiling them, etc. _Aprill 7._--Cushcron Dono, our neighbour, bult and reared his new howse this day; and I sent hym 2 _barsos singe_ and 2 fyshes for a present, as he did to us at our buildinge, and each neighbour doth the lyke according to Japon fation (or _nifon catange_). _Aprill 8._--Cushcron Dono envited me with Mr. Nealson and Osterwick to a colation, with all rest of neighbours that sent presentes, where there wanted no drinking, Japons being well seene in that facultie. _Aprill 9._--I wrot a letter to King of Firando, to have justice against Cazanseque and Goresano. The cause I did it was for that I sent formerly to hym about same matter, and spoake my selfe lykwais to hym to same effect, and wrot a former letter last yeare to lyke effect, but can get no remedy, only he answerd he would geve order to Taccamon Dono to doe me right. Soe this day I sent Mr. Osterwick to Taccamon Dono, to know his pleasure herein. His answer was, the king had not spoaken to hym thereof, and without order from hym he would not meddell therein. Which is the occation I have now wrot this letter, and sent it per Mr. Osterwick, because the king is now ready 30 to take bark to goe for Edo, etc. The coppie of this letter I keepe by me, in Japon languadg, written on the back side what it is, etc. The king retorned me word he would geve such order as I should have justice; but nothing but wordes have I fownd hitherto. _Aprill 10._--Sugean Dono of Umbra envited the kyng to dyner this day, and sent to borrow _bubes_, swetmeates, and other matters: a singular uuse they have in Japon (_nifon cantange_). Also his yonger brother sent to borrow 20 _tais_, for that he was to goe up with the king, and, yf we had no money (as I had non to lend hym), then to trust hym with the vallue in merchandiz. But I lyked not such mens payment, having fownd it per experience, etc. _Aprill 13._--I sent to Capt. Speck to have had 4 peeces lynen to make me sherts of, and sent money to pay for it. But he retornd me answer, it was all sould, when I knew to the contrary they had thousands of peeces of that sort taken from Chinas lying by them. I had bought before of same sort for 1 _tay_ 3 _mas_ peece, which made me 2 sherts. The kinges brother, Tonoman Samma, sent to beg or buy an English hat. Soe I sent him one which I had of Mr. Nealson. _Aprill 14._--A yong man of Sakay, walking out at towns end of Firando, met with a villen whoe cut his throte and took 3 _tais_ or 15 shillings str. of money which he had in his purce, and soe escaped. Yet the man was fownd alive and soe brought into towne, I seeing hym carid by all bloody. He said he had seene the man before which did it, but knew not his name. Yt is thought he cannot live. _Aprill 15._--The partie which had his throte cut yisterday is said to have donne it hym selfe, because he had spent his masters money upon whores, and soe wounded hym selfe (but not deadly) to make the world beleeve theeves had taken it from hym. _Aprill 16._--There were rymes cast abrode and song up and downe towne 31 against Matinga and other English mens women. Wherupon matters being brong in question to put them all away, noe proofes could be fownd against them, but a mater donne of spyte by their evell willers, all the neighbours coming to speake in their behalves, affermyng all was lies and that they would take such order that handes should be laid upon such as were heard to sing it hereafter and punishment inflicted upon the offenders. I imagen they were set on by the Hollanders, songs haveing byn made against them to lyke effect before, but not against us. _Aprill 18._--This day most of the inhabitantes of Firando, marid men and their wives, went a gossiping to Tabola, over to an other iland, many boates being filled with them. Geffrey the boy wanting 3 or 4 daies, we thought he had byn lost, yet was fownd at a kinsmans house. Soe I sent hym hom, except his parents would geve a writing he should serve the Company for terme of yeares. _Aprill 19._--Kytskin Dono made me a bill in Japons languadge, wherin he gave me Jeffrey the boy for to dispose of hym hereafter as I would my selfe, to cary hym into England or otherwais. And Taffy Dono was wittnes unto it, in presence of Jno. _jurebasso_, Mr. Nealson, and Mr. Osterwick, and our Japon vintner whome we buy our wyne of. _Aprill 21._--Jeffrey, the boy geven me the othe day, broke up a chist of Co Jnos. and took out some thinges, and upon his examenation hath confest he had stolne dyvers thinges before. Soe I determen to retorne hym to them which gave hym to me. _Aprill 23._--I sent both Jeffrey and the writing back to Kitskin Dono, whoe gave hym me. Mr. Nealson tould me this day that Mr. Osterwick reported to hym that he thought I kept 1000 _tais_ in my handes of the Companies, to make 32 my private benefite thereof. Which being brought in question, he said he thought the China Capt. owed me 1000 _taies_ more then I had put to acco. To which I replied, it had byn better he had told me therof then to speake such matters to others; but that, to burthen me with keeping money of the Companies I took in ill part, and for the China Capt. I esteemed hym such a man as would deale well with me and hym both. _Aprill 24._--I brought the matter in question this day with the China Capt. tuching the 1000 _taies_ that Jno. Osterwick spoke of, noted by me yisterday, and som wordes were about a parcell of money delivered, namely of 2000 _taies_, at one tyme, which in the end the China Capt. said he thought Niquan his kinsman had receved. I stand in dowbt of 1000 _taies_ more, noted downe in my booke the 11th December, 1616, but blotted out by my selfe this day to bring the rest to rightes. God grant Jno. Osterwick deceave me not. Capt. Speck sent a man with 3 peece China lynen, with complementall wordes that they had non to sell, but sent them of his owne provition he kept to make hym shertes. I retorned hym thankes per hym which brought them, and bad hym tell Capt. Speck I would send hym money for them, which I did sowne after. But he retorned the money and sent me word he gave them as a present, wishing they were better. The China Capt. tould me, betwixt hym and me, that Jno. Osterwick reported (or tould to hym) this day that he was out of purce 500 _taies_, he knew not how, which he had paid out, he knew not how, not having written it downe. _Aprill 25._--I rec. a letter from Capt. Adames per way of Langasaque, dated in Goto, le 28th of Marche last, in the rode (or haven) of Narra, in which he wrot me of the extremety they passed in loosing of their rudder. _Aprill 26._--The China Capt. went to Langasaque with his doughter to 33 vizet his brother Whow, she never having byn there before, as also to contract a marriadge betwixt her and the sonne of an other rich China called Goquan. Yt is now reported that the _Tono_ (or Kinge) of Firando will not goe to Edo this yeare. Soe he hath geven leave to his hostes son of Osakay to goe his way, whoe a long tyme hath staid to goe along with hym. _Aprill 28._--There was a silver spoone lost at supper, and non in the howse but our owne folkes. So som of them went to a wisszard to know whoe had taken it. He wished them to look presently out for it, and they should come to knowledg whoe had it, but, yf they let midnight passe, it would never be knowne. Wherupon they made a privie serche, and went about to heate a ston red hott, and take it in their hands, it being dailie proved that those which are giltlesse goe free and the giltie burne. Whereupon Bycho (the boy I gave Mr. Osterwick) willed them to desist, and he would tell them where the spoone was, but carid them to divers places, they not finding it; and in the end tould them he had cast it into the sea, willing them to let it alone and say nothing, and he would bring it back or pay for it, etc. _Aprill 29._--I brought Bicho to disepline (or whiping cheare). Soe at first he stoutly denied what he of hym selfe had formerly confessed; but in the end he yilded, and said he had stolne it at supper tyme, and delivered it to the servant of a Japon. Soe I sent to that mans howse, but his servant was working at Hollandes howse, he sending for hym and Bicho acknowledging he had receved it from his handes, we being at supper, he being without, looking on a munkie or ape. But that fello denid it, and his master used many thretning words, that he would kill Bicho for sclandring of his servant. Yet the boy still stood to his word that the said fello had it. Whereupon I sent Mr. Osterwick, with our _jurebasso_, to Taccamon Dono, to seek justis 34 against that fello; but he was gon to the kinges howse before they came. _Aprill 30._--I sent Mr. Osterwick to Taccamon Dono, cheefe justice, to demand restetution of the silver spoone of the recever, although he denid the recept thereof, otherwais to proceed against hym by order of justice. He retorned answer, he would do me justice. _May 1._--Gonosco Dono envited us to dyner to morrow. Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick went to Tabola with their women to make merry; but Nealson entred into humours at his retorne, being in potum. _May 2._--I canot forget to note how Mr. Nealson roze this night, three howers before day, and called me up to drink, etc., and fell into termes with me because the neighbours went not out to meet hym with a banket, laying the falt in me; and, not contented with that, caused the porter to open the dore to let hym out, as though he went to walk (as ordenarely he seemeth to doe). But I, wondering he went out soe tymely, roze up to have geven hym councell to take heed how he went out at such an hower, but fownd he was gon over the way to Mr. Osterwickes lodging, to tell hym (in my hearing) that I used them as slaves and not as merchantes, with stamping and swearing upon it, and that it was not to be sufferd. I have much adoe with this man in his drunken humours, he seeking (when he is most soberest) to set me at odds with all men. God defend my just cause. We were well entertayned at Gonosco Donos at dyner, and had much talk about the Hollanders and English, being by hym urged thereunto, and, as I think, set on by the King or _Tono_ of Firando. But, as it should seeme, they esteemed much more of our nation then of the Hollanders, esteeming them as theeves and we true men. _May 3._--There is some murmering speeches geven out that these 35 sotherne _tonos_ (or kinges) draw back whoe should set forward first to goe up to themperour, and he of Umbra sent this of Firando word that he might exskews the matter in respect of his infermity (or sicknesse), and the rather because no other is about to goe as yet, except it were Frushma Tay, whose cuntrey is neare Cyaw (or Miaco). This Frushma Tay is as greate a man as he of Xaxma, and of more revenews, and loved and esteemed at Miaco more then any other prince in Japon; and he only is gon to Miaco, and no ferther; and what will ensue is uncerten. Yet out of dowbt, yf Miaco, that is to say Cyaw, Osakay, and Sackay waver from themperour, and that Xaxma, Frushma Tay, and the rest of sotherne lordes take part against hym, he will hardly preveale. For out of dowbt all the northerne lordes are not sure, no not his owne nephewes, etc. _May 4._--A brute was geven out the _Tono_ (or King) of this place Firando would set forward towardes themperours court, and all the boates ready to accompany hym. But it proved but a falce allarom, as divers other tymes hath byn the lyke; only to make a shew he is a going, for out of dowbt themperour is not without spies in this and all other places. _May 5._--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Taccamon Dono, and Bicho the boy with hym to certefye that he delivered the spoone to that other felloe; but still Taccamon Dono puts me affe with the kinges going out, yet that in the end he will doe me justice. Before nowne the King of Firando went out on his voyage towardes Miaco, or to themperours Court. The Hollanders shot affe 5 peeces ordinance at their howse, as the boates passed by; but one recoyled and strouck up earth and stoanes, and hurt a Hollander very sore which gave fire. There were many barkes went out to accompany hym out of the harbor, and amongst the rest both us and the Hollanders. I carid hym 36 2 pottell glasse bottelles of very good strong annis water, stilled by my selfe heare, and the Hollanders carid a stick or peece of _ginco callamback_ (or lignum allois) which I think could not be a _li_. He seemed to be merry, and drunk to us both, with many others. _May 9._--Taccamon Dono and rest of nobles retorned from accompanying the king onward on his journey to Miaco; and soe I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to hym, to procead in justice about the stolne silver spoone. He retorned answer that he was content I should proceade to my owne content (or as I would), only their triall was by fire, so that, yf he I burthened proved to have it, it was to my honor, otherwais, yf I accused hym wrongfully, the contrary. Soe he wished me to be well advised before I proceaded therein. _May 10._--The China Capt. retorned from Langasaque and brought word how the junck wherin Capt. Adams went is retorned back to Langasaque (as all the rest which went out are the lyke), and that our junck _Sea Adventure_ is at Liqueas and lost her voyag for Syam. Also that the juncke of Billang Ruis (which should have gon for Phillipinas and went out a month before Capt. Adames) hath also lost her voyag and retorned back, haveing in 3 stormes (or tuffons) cast most part of her lading overboard, to lighten her. I rec. 2 letters from Langasaque, viz. 1 from Gota Shoyamon Dono, the mint man, and 1 from Shoyemon Dono, master _caboques_. _May 11._--This mornyng calme raynie wether, but after, a stiff gale, northerly, all fore nowne, but after vered southerly. Much rayne all day and like per night following, with lightnyng and thunder; and in the evenyng, towardes night, was a mighty cracking or rustlyng in the aire or fermament, as though it had byn the flying of a thunderboult, 37 and yet no lightning nor thonder at that tyme. I took notis of it as a fearfull thing, and many spoake of it afterwardes. _May 13._--The China Capt. sent me 3 China golden fyshes, and his doughter a peec. silk borall, or taffety mad borall fation. _May 14._--Capt. Adames, with Ed. Sayer and Robt. Hawley, arived this day from Langasaque, the junck having lost her voyag for Cochinchina. So Ed. Sayer brought back the goodes and monies sent in that voyag. _May 15._--I rec. the letter Ed. Sayer wrot me from Langasaque, dated the 7th present, with 3 coppis letters in it, one written from Liqueas to me, and other 2 to Mr. Eaton, whoe is in an other iland of same Liqueas, and hath lost his voyag or monson, yet, as it seemed, ment to stay theare till begining next monson and then procead on her voyag. But he advized Mr. Eaton his opinion to lade her with wheate and retorne to Japon, which course I formerly advised hym to take yf he lost his monson. God grant he take it. _May 17._--This day the King Firandos bark retorned from Miaco, which carid up his horse, and they report that the Emperour hath sent downe order to Miaco that all the _tonos_ of Japon shall stay theare, and not goe forward to Edo. Soe it is thought the Emperour is dead, or else he standeth in fear that the northerne _tonos_, or kinges, meane to joyne with them of the south and rize against hym. Once it is thought somthing will happen. _May 18._--Mr. Nealson went to the bath at Ishew to recover his health, being much out of temper. Comissioners, or rather survears, came to Firando this day, sent with order from themperour to survay all the cuntrey at their pleasure. What is their entent is not well knowne, yt not having byn donne in these partes heretofore. _May 21._--This day was the feast of the resorection of the greate 38 profet of Japon, or rather a god, as they take hym, for som hould no other god but he. They deck all the forefront or eves of their howses betymes in the mornyng with greene bowes, in remembrance of his resurrection.[8] We sent 1 _tay_ small plate, with a barell of wyne and a bondell sea weed, to the _boz_, our landlord, for a years rent of a garden hired at present of hym. [8] Marginal note: "Feast of Shacka". _May 24._--The gunfownders did borow all our copper, to deliver as much same sort within 3 months, and left on fardell for a sample. _May 25._--We set men to bale out water and make cleane our small junck, to bring her agrownd and calfret or mend her, to serve to carin our shiping, as the Hollanders doe the lyke with an ould junck of theires. The China Capt. being sick of the headache extremly, I gave hym a glas bottell roze vinegar I brought with me out of England. _May 26._--Cushcron Dono, our neighbour, haveing made his new howse, envited his kindred and other neighbours Japons to heate his howse (as they terme it), where they drunk themselves drunk for company, with howling and singing after a strang manner, yet ordenary in Japon. I paid vii-1/2 _mas_ small plate to Matinga for covering or shingling the howse. I receved a letter from Mr. Nealson from bath at Ishew, dated 4 daies past, wherin he writes to have Robt. Hawley, the chirurgion, to com to hym to let hym blood and purg hym. _May 27._--News is now com to towne that themperour will retire hym selfe into the ould howse his father kept at Edo, and that his sonn (a littell boy of 10 or 12 yeares ould) shall remeane in the cheefe fortresse with the councell to adminester justice. Which reportes doe conferme men in opinion that themperour is dead. _June 1._--We had this day 6 ship carpenters and 13 laborers about 39 tyying our littell juncke to serve to caryn shiping. Mr. Osterwick is falne sick on a sudden with much paine in head and boanes. _June 2._--This day was 9 carpenters, 7 cawkers, and 18 laborers about junck; and laborers wrought all night to have stuffe in the mornyng for carpenters. _June 3._--This day 10 carpenters, 7 cowkers, and 20 laborers for junck. Capt. Speck came to English howse to vizet me, and is much affeard of the junck which went owt this yeare, in respect the others are retornd and lost their voyage. He tould me he howrly expected shiping from the Molucos. _June 4._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, dated in Langasaque, le 12th of this month, new stile, wherin he wrot me how Feze Dono had accused Twan Dono for murthering 17 or 18 Japons without law or justice, and amongst rest a famely, because the parents would not consent to let hym have their doughter, and the maid her selfe passed the same way. But the councell tould Feze Dono they would have hym to take in hand matters of leeveing and not dead people. Soe then he apeached Twan and his children as Christians and maintayners of Jesuistes and fryres whoe were enemies to the state, and hath cauced 18 or 20 to be taken. So that it is thought greate persecution will ensue at Langasaque. _June 5._--Robt. Hawley went to Ishew to Mr. Nealson to geve hym phisick and let hym blood, as he required. And I wrot Mr. Nealson a letter, and sent hym a barell of skarbeare and 10 loves bread and a barell Japon wyne for their provition. We had news towardes night that there was 2 shipps without, and in the end said to be Hollanders. Soe Capt. Speck sent out a boate to see. _June 6._--Early in the mornyng the domene (or prist) of the Holland 40 shipp _Son_ came to vizet me, and tould me how our ship _Adviz_ departed from them the second day after they went from hence, or rather they sayled from her, and since they know not what is becom of her. The domene tould me they sent the small ship _Gallias_ to Cochinchina, where they had not staid 3 daies but there entred 6 China junckes, all which they took and brought them away; and that it is not a month past that this shipp took 4 China junckes more. Soe I sent Ed. Sayer to Capt. Speck to use complement of their ships safe retorne; and he exskewsed hym selfe he had not sent me word thereof before. He tould Ed. Sayer how they had not medled with any junck which was bound for Cochinchina, only they had taken 16 junckes which were bound for the Manillas; and were on the cost of Phillippinas, where they burned a Spanish ship, all the people being gon ashore. Also they say the _Gallias_ was in the rode of Amacau, where they rode at an ancor serten daies, and the Chinas came abord of them with provition and silk stocking and other matters, using them kyndly. I went out to meete the Holland shipp _Sonn_ at Cochy, and carid Capt. Barkhowt 1 _barso_ wyne, 1 of skarbeare, a hogg, and 5 hense; but he was on the way, and entred the same tide into the harbor of Firando without casting ancor. He used much speeches to me of his proceadinges, and that he had taken Chinas twise, I meane them which the _Gallias_ had taken before, and after tould me they were of them they had taken at Manillas the yeare past. Once it is certen they have taken 6 junckes which were bound from China to Cochinchina, and yet deny it, saying now it is vj wickes since they saw the _Gallias_, and that they had put 40,000 _tais_ plate into her to goe to Cochinchina to trade, and what they have donne since they know not. So yt is easie to be seene by the wordes the domene tould me all is falce. Mr. Nealson and Robt. Hawley retornd from Ishew. 41 _June 7._--Yt is serten that the Hollanders have taken more riches this yeare from the Chinas then they did the last, and each marrener hath his cabben full of silk stuffes and musk. _June 8._--Towardes night the Duch shipp _Gallias_ arived at the rode of Cochy in Firando. But, as they say, it is allmost a month past that they left company of 3 junckes they brought in company with them, per meanes of stormy wether, they haveng put 7 or 8 Hollanders into each of them, which they now think the Chinas have cut throtes of and carid the junckes away. They report the wether was soe extreme when they took those junckes (and others) that they could not discharg the goodes out of them, because the sea went soe hie, only brought them along with them, expecting calme wether, but lost them, as afforsaid. They say that, having taken most parte of goodes out of 1 junck, and seeing her reddy to sink, they put 900 Chinas in to her, and bad them shift for them selves, etc. Capt. Adames did also retorne this day per land because the sea went hie. All these people begin to murmor against the Hollanders for taking all junckes they meete, whether they trade into Japon or no, and doe all under the name of English. Soe God knoweth what will com of it. A quarter master of Duch ship _Son_ gave me 6 muskcods. _June 9._--The Hollanders were in councell to have sent back the ship _Gallias_ to have looked out for the 3 juncks which they put their men into. Yet in the end they were of an other mynd, in respect it is above xx daies they lost sight of them, etc. _June 10._--The _Gallyasse_ came into the harbor at Firando, and I sent out our _foyfone_ to helpe to tow her in. Cornelius Scott, pilot of the _Son_, gave me a littell gold ring with a garnett ston set in it. _June 12._--Many Chinas and Japons came from Langasaque to Firando 42 with R. of 8, to buy stuffes of Duch marreners, and wanted not store of falce R. of 8. Jno. Yossen bought good store of stuffes of them for reddy money at deare rates, as their damasks, grograns, and sattens ordenaris, at 5 _tas_ peec. _June 14._--I gave Mr. Nelsons woman the out side of a _keremon_, silk, for that shee made me halfe a dozen shertes and would take no payment. The capt. of the _Gallyasse_ sent me a _barrico_ of Spanish wyne for a present, and, after, Capt. Barkhout, accompanied with hym, came to thenglish howse, where I entertayned them in the best sort I could. _June 15._--This day Capt. Speck sett at liberty 5 or 6 Chinas of the princepall in the junck, and gave each of them a bar of plate. They went and lodged at howse of Andrea Dittis, China Capt. Yt was held base to geve them no more, being such men as they were, and is thought that the Emperour will bring matters in question, because these ij shipps went out of purpose to rob and for nothing else, making by this meanes his cuntrey a receptacle of theeves, to his great dishonor and their owne inriching. Yt is thought both Spaniardes, Portingales, and Chinas will goe to Cort, and cry out with open mouth against them tuching that matter, and the rather because themperour will not suffer his owne vassalles of Japon to doe the lyke. _June 16._--They decked all the eves of their howses this mornyng with flagges and mugwort, in honer of the great feast which is held to morrow, being the 5th day of the 5th month. All the Chinas which are sett at liberty out of the junck came this day to thenglish howse to vizet me, and said they fownd per experience the English nation were honorable people, and soe would report when they retorned into their cuntrey, and made no dowbt but we should 43 have entrance for trade. They complained much of the hard usage of the Hollanders. _June 17._--I went and vizeted the Hollanders at their howse, whoe used me very frendly, and shewed me all their new workes, which truly is greate, in enlarging the mantion howse with a new hall, divers fayre chambers for merchants, two new gedonges (or warehouses), with a gatehowse and duffcote, a strong howse made of lyme and ston to put gunpowder in, many lodgings for sick folkes and for other uses, beside ston work for walles and wharfe, etc. _June 18._--I receaved a letter from Tozayemon Dono, our host of Sackay, wherin he wrot that silck is risen to 320 _taies pico_, per meanes that the junckes have lost their voyages this yeare. _June 19._--We sent a present to an ambassador of Xaxma that is now com to towne, viz. 2 _tatta_ fustion to make hym a vest, and 2 tablebooks. _June 20._--Jorge Durons writes me the Amacan shipp is safely arived at home, as they are advized per a junck of Camboja which went thither. The ambassador of Xaxma came to thenglish howse and brought me a present of a barell wyne and vj fyshes, offring to send me a letter for Liqueas, or any other matter I would demand. A mad gentellman (as it is said), having byn pocessed with the devill more then a yeare past, was this day at a banket with his father, brother, wife, and kyndred, they perswading hym to be better advized and leave affe such cources. But on a sudden, before it could be prevented, he start up and drue out a _cattan_ and cut affe his brothers head, wounded his father, allmost cutting affe his arme, and cut his wife behind her sholder on her back, that her entrills appeared, wounded divers others, and slue out right his steward (or cheefe man). And yet it is thought nothing will be said to hym, 44 they which he hath kild being his kindred and servantes, he being a gentelman. Also news came to towne that theevs are on the way betwixt this and Langasaque, 3 or 4 vessells, to robb such as com to buy merchandiz of the Hollanders; and took on boate, killing 3 men and 3 women; which others escaping made knowne to the justice of Firando, whoe sett out 4 or 5 vessells, armed with munition and solders, to seek them out; and the Hollanders armed out a bark with small ordinance, to accompany them in the action. The China Capt. had letters this day per way of Xaxma out of a junk arived theare (which should have com for Langasaque, and forced per them of Xaxma to stay theare), that the letters I sent are receved by the noble men in China in good parte, and a mandarin, or _loytea_,[9] apointed to com for Japon, to speake with the Chinas and me about the matter, and withall to goe to themperour of Japon about the receving the Hollanders into his domynions which robb the Chinas. Yt is above 4 months past that he was apointed, and now howrly expected. [9] Chinese: _lao-ye_, a title of respect. _June 21._--I wrot 3 letters to Mr. Eaton, willing hym, at sight of any 1 of them, to retorne for Firando with the junck laden with wheate, and not to procead forward from thence for Syam in begining of wynter, it being dangerouse. These letters I sent per ambassador of Xaxma, whoe departed from hence this mornyng. This gentellman had iij _tattamis_ yello broad cloth, xi _taies tattam._, and Icadono, the gentelman remayning heare, gave his bill for payment thereof at demand. I am enformed that Chinas and Japons have byn at Miaco before Ingo Dono, Lord Cheefe Justice of Japon, to complaine of the theevery of the Hollanders; and he asked them whether the English did not the lyke, which they said no. "Well," said he, "the Emperour will take order for these matters shortly." _June 22._--There came news that shiping was entred into the rode of 45 Cochy and shott affe ordinance; and Albaro Munos sent his man to me to tell me he heard 3 or 4 greate peeces shott affe. I know not wherefore these people doe this but to mock at us, because we have no shipping com in as Hollanders have, and urge us to send out boates and men to look for nifells,[10] that they might laugh at us the better afterwardes. Truly, I think it is not without instigation of Hollanders, who, although they speake us faire, love us not. Yet I dowbt not before it be long to see them fall into the trap they provide for others. [10] Trifles. _June 23._--The barkes that went out to look for the theevs retorned without fynding any thing. Out of dowbt, they were advized from hence of what was pretended against them, and soe prevented the danger. For here is such a company of pedlers which goe up and downe the streete crying wares, that the lyke I have not seene till now, and after such a redickalus manner that it is to be noted. And amongst the rest, one counterfetted the blind-man, and was fownd out, and then fell a laughing, and was let goe without saying any thing to hym. I saw this my selfe. _June 24._--There is flying news that they of Goto have taken ij boates of the theevs; but I think it will prove a lie. _June 25._--I wrot ij letters, j to Capt. Whow in answer of his 2 rec., with 3 _barsos quash_,[11] or sweetmeates, as also of differance in acco. betwixt Andrea Dittis and me (as he saith), by reason Niquan his kinsman rec. money in his name and made him not accoynted therwithall. [11] Kuwashi. _June 26._--The Hollanders sett all the rest of the Chinas att libertie, and gave them their aparell and other luggadge. It is thought som frend put them in mynd to doe it, understanding complaint was made to themperour of their proceadinges, and that they did more 46 then the Japons them selves durst doe, not only to take the Chinas goodes, but to keepe their bodies captives, making Japon the store howse or receptacle for their theeverie, much to the dishonor of themperour to suffer it. It is to be thought it are papistecall Christians which doe it, for they put themperour and councell in mynd that it was to be considered that these Hollanders, fyew years past, were naturall vassals to the King of Spaine, and by open rebellion cast hym affe. Soe that, yf themperour gave entrance to them, it would geve discontent to the King of Spaine, whoe was helde to be the powerfullest prince in Christendom; and besides, it might breed som alteration in the hartes of his owne vassales to doe as the Hollanders had donne with the Spaniardes, and it may be by provocation of the Hollanders to make others as they them selves are, to the overthrow of the state of Japon. This was I secretly enformed of per a China, thinking I was an enemy to the Hollanders. But my opinion is, yf the Hollanders be driven out of Japon, thenglish must not stay behind; for the Spaniardes and Portingales geve it out that thenglish were they which gave them meanes to stand out against their naturall prince, and held their cheefest fortresses in their power, and was to be thought (as som have tould me) that they and we were all on in effect, allthough different in our proceadinges. _June 27._--Towardes night news came that the junck of Yasimon Dono of Langasaque (which went for Syam) is safely retorned to Langasaque, and hath brought word that the Hollandes junck and an other of Langasaque came out with hym, and were at sea altogether, and cannot want to be on this cost. And within night Capt. Adams sent me word that the small junck of Jno. Yoosen which went from Cochinchina for Camboja the last yeare is now arived in a harbor neare Languay in Crates. _June 28._--Late towardes night the Hollandes junck from Syam arived 47 in the roade of Cochy, a league from the towne of Firando; and Jno. Yossens at Tasquey, a league or ij on thother side Firando. _June 29._--About nowne the junck of Jno. Yoosen entred, which came from Camboia. They report that one of thenglishmen of the ij is theare, namely, Mr. Savidge (as they think), fell into a madd humour and ment to have kild hym selfe with a pistoll charged with ij bullettes, and shot hym selfe, but after was cured.[12] The other Englishman is called Facie. These men say that we have somthing com in the other junck of Yosen, but they know not what it is, nether have those Englishmen wrot i word by this junck. They say also that thenglish have built a junck, and sent her for Pattania with such merchandiz as they had bought in Camboja, and that the king of the cuntrey is a greate frend to thenglish, but a mortall enemy to the Portingalles and Spaniardes. And I sent Mr. Sayer abord the junck of Jno. Yosen with a barill wyne and 3 hense, to bid the master welcome and know whether we had any letters com in them. And Jubio Dono, servant to King of Crates, came to vizet me and brought a barrill _morofack_; and an other gentelman of that place came in company with hym, and he envited me and the rest of thenglish to dynner ij daies hence. And within night Capt. Speck sent me a packet of letters which came in their junck from Syam. Wherin one Richard Pittes writes of the death of Jno. Johnson that was in place before hym, and sent an other letter which he receved from Mr. Adam Denton, dated in Meslapotama, the 20th August, 1617, wherin he writes Mr. Gurney died betwixt Bantam and that 48 place, coming to have byn agent for the Cost; and that Generall Josephe met with a Portingale carick bound from Portingall to Goa, and fought with them ij daies about the Iland of Comora, beating her mastes overboard; soe in the end they fired her them selves, and, as it seemed, escaped ashore at Camora, Bengamyn Josephe hym selfe having byn slayne at first with a peece of ordinance, and Capt. Pepwell suckceaded in his place. Also he adviseth that the King of Callecut detayneth all in his handes that Capt. Keeling left theare, so that the _Unicorne_ going thether carid away all our men. And that from Suratt we have setled a new factory in the kingdom of Pertia, not far from Ormus, to the greate hartbreach of the Portingales of that place. Mr. Pitt hath sent in the Hollandes junck from Syam, viz.:-- _cat. tale. m._ Silck 71-1/2 _cattis_, cost 3 11 08 _Callemback_, 39-1/2 _cattis_, severall sortes; iij fardelles _lifas_, or fish skins, cost 0 05 14 With charges of all, cost 0 01 04 [12] A marginal addition runs as follows: "The pilot of Yosens shipp told me it was an untruth that Mr. Savidg would have kild hym selfe, but rather, going a burding his peece would not goe afe at first, but, turnyng the mouth towardes hym, it went afe, etc." _June 30._--I receved a letter from Miaco from Gonrok Dono, to keepe all the lead and gunpoulder we have for themperour when our shiping cometh, and the lyk he wrot to the Hollanders. The Hollandes junck entred into port of Firando, and I sent out our _foyfone_ to helpe to toe them in. The junck wantes parte of her lading; soe, yf ours had gon, yt is thought she had had but a bad voyag. I wish Mr. Eaton had followed my comition and laden her with wheate, having lost their monson, and so might he have made (it may be) a saveing, if not a better voyag, for the Worll. Company. _July 1._--We went to dyner to Jubio Dono of Crates, viz. Capt. Adams, Ed. Sayer, Mr. Nelson, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe, where we were 49 kindly used; and I sent hym before a quart of anise water of my owne with 2 boxes of suger cakes, of them Capt. Whow sent me. A Hollander, a quarter master, gave me a peece black taffetie and vij musk cods for a present. He tould me that Mr. Nealson had geven hym a crosse staffe gratis, whether he would or no, he offering to have geven hym either money or stuffes for it, but he would not take any thing, but bad hym take it away with hym. But the Duch man desired hym to let it ly in his chamber untill he had made a new chist to keepe both it and other matters in. But in the mean tyme Mr. Nealson sould it unto an other Hollander, wherat this man took exceptions, having geven it hym before. Of the which I tould Mr. Nealson aparte, in frendly sort; but he took pepper in the nose, calling the Holland ill names, and misusing hym in vild termes, although Ric. King, our butler, were _jurebasso_ betwixt them when he gave hym the staffe, he geving hym as bad wordes as the rest only because he said it was marvell the Hollander would speake of such a matter, yf he had not geven it hym. In fine he called the Hollander, dogg, and thenglish as bad, in my hearing, telling me to my face I sett them all one to misuse hym, espetially Ed. Sayer, my viz-regent, when God is my judg I have byn taxed with all thenglish in the cuntrey for suffering Mr. Nealson to abuze all men as he daylie doth. Thus much I thought good to note downe, whether I live or dye, that truth may be knowne. I gave hym back his dager this day, he telling me that Cornelius the Duchman offred hym 80 _pezos_, or R. 8, for it and his rapier; but he had not had it an hower by his syde but he fell into this frenzy, madd, or at best drunken, humour, and in my hearing rapt out an othe, by the blood of God, that let thenglish stand cleare of hym, for, yf they used hym in such sort, he would speed som of them. _July 3._--I receved a letter from Alvaro Munos, dated in Langasaque, 50 10th July, new stile, wherin he writes that news is com from New Spaine that Don Juan de Fashardo, sonne to Don Lues de Fachardo, is ordayned governor of the Manillias, with 1000 soldiers and 300 mareners, in 3 gallions and 6 galles coming from New Spaine. Also, that the fleet in Manillas, which fought with the Spaniardes the last yeare, is all cast away per stormy wether, many Mores, Chinas, and 50 Spaniard being drowned in it; and that their is 8 new gallions built theare in place thereof. For the 8 gallions, I esteem it a lie, that on such a sudden they canot be made. Also, that the Frenche have sett out 8 gallions, or men of warr, to aide the Spaniardes in their affares. And that the King of Spaine had ordayned a fleete of gallions to have com by Cape Bona Speranza, to have joyned with them at Manillas, to have gon for the Molucas; but had staid them to make warrs against the Duke of Savoy. Miguell, the _jurebasso_, reared his howse this day, and I sent hym ij _taies_ in small plate, and a barill wyne, the plate on my owne acco. Also Mr. Nealson, Sayer, and Osterwick sent each of them a _tay_, all for Capt. Adams sake, whose servant he was in tyme past. So, Matias, the Hollander capt. of junk which came from Syam, came to vizet me this day. He tells me that Mr. Pittes the Englishman envited one James Peterson, thenglish umper, to a banket at Syam, and after, upon what occation he knew not, fell out with hym, and went with iij Japons to bynd hym and take hym prisoner. But Peterson laid soe about hym that he kild ij of the Japons, and made Pittes and the other to run away. This Peterson is in greate favour with the King of Syam, and therefor I marvell Mr. Pittes would take this cours; but Mr. Mattias saieth it was doone in drink. _July 4._--We had news that Jno. Yoosens other junck which came from 51 Camboja is entred into Langasaque, in which I esteem we have letters and somthing else; but no letter came in the other. Our nation is over slo in writing; the labour is not greate. _July 5._--News came from Langasaque that a frigatt or ij are entred theare which came from Amacau, and that 4 or 5 more are a coming after, and that they bring store of silk and peeces of silk, for that the carik will com no more. They report that these frigattes (or galliasses) met with a Hollander or English shipp at sea, and sunck her; but out of douwbt that is a lyie, only they may have wronged our junck _Sea Adventure_; but if it com to knowledg they may pay deare for it, she going under themperours _goshon_, and with Japon marreners. _July 6._--I wrot to Antony Biscaino, pilot of Jno. Joosens junk which is com from Camboia, to will hym to send me my letters the English have wrot, as I understand they have. We opened the ij chistes which came from Syam with _callamback_ and silk, and waid it out. News came from a Japon of Langasaque to Capt. Speck that of a certen 5 or 6 frigattes of Portugezes of Amacau did meete with a small Hollandes shipp at sea, and after fight a long tyme the Holland shipp was sunk with ij or 3 of the friggotes, and the rest soe ill handled that non proceaded forward but 1, which is this lately arived at Langasaque, the capt. or cheefe wherof was lykwais slaine and many others hurt. Capt. Speck sent me word hereof, esteeming it rather our shipp _Adviz_ then a Hollander; but I hope it will prove contrary. _July 7._--I sent a letter to Alvaro Munos desiring hym to writ me the truth of the newes of the sinking of a Duch or English shipp per the friggattes. There came news this day that the shipp which the Portingales took was a Hollander, and that they sunk her, and have brought 50 prisoners 52 to Langasaque. And after came a Japon whoe said he was in the Portingall frigattes when they laid her aboard, being iiij in all, ij on thone syd, and ij on thother, but that in the end the Hollanders, seeing they could keepe their shipp no longer, set their powder on fire, and blew the ship in peeces, fyring on of the sayles of one penisse, wherin above xx men were lost in going about to quench the fire. This fello sayeth he was abord when the ship was fired, and called to them in the Japon tong that, yf any Japons were in her, they should come out and save them selves, and that one Japon was saved only out of her, and no Hollander. But I doe not beleeve that this fello could escape so free, yf he had byn abord when she was fired, nether that a Japon could be saved out of her but som Hollanders would have donne the lyke. In fine, there is so many talles that a man knoweth not which to beleeve. The umpras father came to vizet me, and brought me a _barso_ of wyne and a cuttell fish. _July 8._--The China Capt. with other Chinas went this day to Langasaque to look out for retorne of ther junckes from Taccasanga and other partes; for as yet non are com; which puteth them in feare the Hollanders have mett with them. God keepe them out of their walke. Here news came this day that the Hollandes shipp which fought with the Portingale frigottes is at Tushma, with many hurt men in her. Others say it is the Portingall frigot which is wanting, being one of the iiij which boarded her and was fired. Once here is soe many tales that a man knoweth not which to beleeve. _July 9._--Bongo Samma came to thenglish howse to vizet me, and said he was glad it was a Hollander and not an English shipp which was spoild by the Portingales. He said they were ij Holland shipps, and that the bigger ran away and left the lesser to be spoiled; but that I esteem a fable. _July 10._--I rec. iij Japon letters this day, i from Capt. Adams 53 wife, from Edo, an other from Croby Dono, Capt. Adams host at Osakay, and the therd from Tozayemon Dono, our host at Sackay, all complemental, Tozayemon Dono advising that silk was risen to 300 _tais pico_ at Miaco. And this day came a bark from Tushma, and passed by to goe to Langasaque to adviz the governor of the arivall of a Portingall frigat was there arived with many wounded and hurt men in her, for that they desired barkes to toe them from thence to Langasaque. This is on of them which fought with the Hollanders. The other 3 are allready arived at Langasaque. _July 11._--Ther came a company of players (or _caboques_) with apes and babons sent from the _tono_ (or king) to play at our house, unto whome was geven iij _taies_ in small plate. They were also at the Hollandes howse in same sort, and had ij barrs plate, is 8 _tais_ vj _mas_. _July 12._--I receved a letter from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., from Langasaque, of a junck arived from Tacca Sanga with som hides and sappon wood, but no silk at all, non coming thether this year from China. And I rec. an other letter from Alvaro Munos from Langasaque, wherin he writes ther was but iiij Portingals slayne in synking the Holland shipp, wherin were xxx Hollanders and 8 Japons, all being dead but one Japon which escaped, who telleth the news, and that she came from Bantam laden with cloth and som rialles of 8, with cheese and other matters; and that the junckes which the Hollanders put their men into at sea are retorned to Canton with all the goodes, having kild all the Hollanders. _July 13._--Harnando Ximenes came this mornyng to Firando in a small bark or friggot which came from Macasar and thought to have gon for the Phillipinas, but was cast on the cost of Corea, and all the men dead but 5 before they could get [to] Tushma; and is shee nomenated before, which we thought had byn on of them which fought with the 54 Hollander which is sunck. He bringeth word that Capt. Copendall is dead, and that the Hollanders misuse our English men in vild sort and take them presoners in all places where they can lay handes on them. He is not now servant of the Company, as he saith, and complayneth much of Mr. Lucas Antonison, of his going away, and that by his meanes he was trayned abord, and shipped away for Macosar, and his chist, aparell, and other matters detayned from hym. So from thence he got hither. He also sayeth that Marten Prin cometh generall of a fleet of 5 good shipps this yeare for Surat and soe for Bantam. Also he saith (to my greefe) that my nephew Jno. Cocks is dead at Bantam, and that he did not hear of the _Advices_ arivall at Bantam, although it were late before he departed from thence. This Spanish vessell arived at Tushma is a shipp of som 80 or 100 tonns, and, as I understand, was sent from Manillas the last yeare laden with victuelles, to have gon for the Molucas, but never went thether at all, but rather for Macasar, geving it out that they were at Molucos and had in chase by ij Holland shipps, and forced to save them selves at Macasar. But being theare, they took councell together, and agreed to provid them selves of the needfull and to retorne for the cost of Manilla, there to attend the coming out of the China junck with their money, and soe to stripp them of it, thinking they might easely doe it, and all passe under the name of Hollanders. But now, all their people being dead, they are driven to this extremetye and send this Scots man, called John Portis, to the Spaniardes at Nangasaque, to excuse the matter that they were driven into these partes by meanes of fowle wether, not having any merchandiz in the shipp, and therefore needlesse to com to Nangasaque, and to this effect carry a _bongew_ of the King of Tushma with them to certefie as much, thinking (as is should seeme) to provide them selves of men at Tushma and to goe out againe upon their former pretence of 55 boothaling. This much Harnando Ximenes, being drunk, did discloze. _July 14._--This night past a howse was set on fire, but by good helpe sowne quenched; yet many barkes of other places being in the harbour, the men went ashore, knocking at other mens dores, calling for buckettes, and the dores being opened they rushed in and carid away all they could lay handes on, and undid divers pore men. But whether serch will be made after them, it is not knowne, this justice, Taccamon Dono, being a simple felloe. _July 15._--Jor. Durons writes me that yt is a Holland shipp that the Portingall frigottes burned. Also that the Conde Redondo is com for viz Roy of Goa (or India), and that all in generall have complained against Don Jeronimo de Silva for his covetousnesse, desyring to have hym sent away and an other sent to Phillippinas in his place. He writes also how the King of Spaine maketh sharp warrs against the Duke of Savoy, and that the Venetians and the Turk take the Savoyans part. Allso that Prince Charles of England hath maried or is made sure to the King of Spaines doughter. _July 16._--Yasemon Dono, Capt. Adames host, came out of Xaxma, and hath bought store of planke and tymber secretly underhand for the Hollanders; otherwaies the King of Xaxma would not let them have any, being noe frend to the Hollanders. Yt is said the Hollanders meane to make a galley of parte of this tymber to set out against the Portingale frigotes. _July 17._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, wherin he writes me that it is of a certen that the shipp the Portingalles sunck is a Hollander and no Englishman, and that they have saved many letters of the Hollanders, which it should goe hard but he would get som of them and send to me to put me out of dowbt of the matter. Also he writes that 56 ther was above 20000 _pezos_ or R. of 8 sunck in her, which were sent to buy tymber in Xaxma, to make 5 or vj gallis or friggates to set out against the Portingalles and Spaniardes, espetially them which com from Amacou. The other ij letters were from Capt. Andrea Dittis and Capt. Whow, his brother, that the 3 junckes which went to Taccasanga, wherin the Worll. Company had 600 _tais_ adventure, are all retorned to Langasaque without silk, non being permitted to com out of China, and that they had sent much money into China to buy silk (from Taccasanga), but had noe newes what was becom of men nor money. I forgot to note downe how Georg Durons advized me that the cheefe Hollander in the Indies is sunk in the shipp that was coming from Bantam by the Portingales, and that the Holland shipp had taken ij China junckes, which the Portingales reskewed, and retorned them to China. _July 18._--A China brought me a present of a cup of _abado_[13] (or black unecorns horne), with suger cakes. [13] Span.: _abada_, the female rhinoceros. _July 19._--Jno. Portis the Scotsman gave me a peare white silke stockinges with ij greene stoones lyke esmeralles, but I know not whether they be right or counterfett, etc. Four noblemen of Crates came to see thenglish howse, viz. the cheefe justis, the secretary, and ij other princepall men, whome I enterteyned in the best sort I could. _July 20._--Capt. Adames tould me this day that Capt. Speck and the Hollanders sent to desire hym to goe up with Capt. Barkhout for Edo, to carry their present to themperour, for that Jno. Yoosen, their countreyman, was out of favour with themperour and other princes by meanes of his fowle tong. So this day the kinges brother hath lent them a bark to carry them up. Jorge Durons writes me of a miraculosse matter happened in England which, allthough I know to be a stark lye, yet I thought good to sett downe verbatum, viz.:-- Yt is here reported (or spoken) for certen that in England apeared in 57 the fermament a very greate cros, with the crowne of thorne and nailes, such as our Saviour Christ suffered his passion withall; and that the Kinges Matie. of England and all his nobilletye saw it and fell downe and worshipped it; only one prist (a bad Christian) tould the king and the rest it was no miracle, but a fantesie. Wherupon at an instant both the pristes eyes flew out of his head, and he died imediatly in the sight of all men. Whereupon the King of England sent presently to the Pope of Rome to have a learned bushope to com into England to treate of these miraculos causes.[14] [14] Cocks, as a thorough-going Protestant, marks this last sentence with a marginal note: "O monstroze lye". _July 22._--I wrot these letters following to send per Capt. Adames, he being now bound up with the Hollanders, viz. 1 to Figien a Came, King of Firando; 1 to Gonrok Dono; 1 to Tozayemon Dono of Sakay; 1 to Amanuo Crobio Dono of Osakay; 1 to Neamon Dono of Edo; 1 to Magazemon Dono of Miaco; 1 to Cuemon Dono, our host Osakay; 1 to Cocozayemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono, at Edo; 1 to Capt. Adames wife and children, at Edo; 1 to Skengero Dono, hostes sonne of Miaco; 1 to Sebeoye Dono, hostes sonne of Osakay. _July 25._--The Hollanders had a bark lent them per the king to goe for Osakay, and soe forward per land to Edo to vizet themperour. _July 26._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, dated in Langasaque, the 1th of August, new stile, wherin he writes me much news how Gon Rock Dono is brought in question with one Lues Tanares, for taking up much goodes of the Chinas at a loe rate in themperours name, and forthwith sould them to other merchantes at greate prices, whereby Gonrok Dono gayned 40000 _tais_, and Tanares 10000. For which they are now brought in question by the merchantes which bought the goodes of them, whoe 58 put up a pitition thereof all together to themperour. He also writes that a greate _bongew_ is coming downe to lay handes on 7 or 8 padres, and to cut affe the heades of x or xij guardians, or officers of Langasaque, etc. The _barso_ of wyne from Magozemon Dono, our host of Miaco, with iij jars of _caw_, the wyne for my selfe, and _caw_ for Mr. Wickham, I rec. this day. Capt. Adams was envited to dyner abord Holland shipp, and much ordinance shot affe. _July 27._--Sugean Dono of Umbra sent me a present of millons, and came hym selfe to vizet me, using many complementall wordes, and tould me the King of Figen was dead, and he ordayned to goe to his funerall in place of the king of this place, as sent from hym. He saith he was a pagon, and that it is ordayned a new grove shall be erected where his body is to be burned, and a pagod built in it, where devine servis or worship must be donne in memory of hym as a _came_,[15] or saint, or rather more then a saint, for the _camis_ are helde in greate esteeme. [15] _Kami_, the Sintoo deities. _July 28._--I rec. a packet of letters from Mr. Eaton, containing 3 letters, dated at Naffa in the grand Liquea, le 28th, 29th, and 30th of Aprill last past, wherin he wrot me of the danger the junk _Sea Adventure_ passed after their departure from Xaxma, being driven agrownd at Liqueas ij or 3 tymes, and out of hope at last to get her affe, being 2/3 partes full of water, he having carid the money and other cheefe matters ashore at an islend called .[16] Yet in the end she floted of her owne accord, and soe they got her (not without greate danger) to the cheefe iland of the grand Liqueas, to the port of Naffa. But he writes, when the kinges _bongews_ (or governors of the ilandes) understood it was an English junck, they sent them boates with men and all other helpe possible, to save her, by which meanes under God they escaped; and after sent them word to 59 look out thorow all his woodes and forist for tymber, plank, or what else we stood in need of, for all was at service of thenglish nation. But this must needes be by meanes of the King of Xaxma, whose vassale the King of the Liqueas is, whoe had formerly geven them charge soe to doe, as Mr. Eaton thinketh. In fine, he meanes to repare the junck theare, and to proceed on his voyag for Syam, yf I sent hym not word to the contrary. But I hope my letters are with hym before now, to com away forthwith, at sight thereof, for Firando. I also rec. ij Japon letters from Liqueas, i from the botswaine of the junck, and the other from Co Domingo, and a therd from Antony, the negro. [16] Blank in MS. _July 29._--I set 500 small potata rootes in a garden. Mr. Eaton sent me them from Liques. _July 31._--The Hollanders departed towardes Miaco this day before nowne, and Capt. Adams with them, and had 13 peeces ordinance shot affe out of the ij shippes, and 3 from the howse. Capt. Yarmans, capt. of the _Gallyasse_, and Sr. Matias are they which went. I wrot a letter to _bongew_ of Xaxma which sent the man with the letters unto me which came from Mr. Eaton from Liqueas, to geve hym thankes, and an other letter to boteswaines wyfe at Langasaque, and gave her sonne which carid it 5 _mas_. And the man which brought the letters had geven hym for his paynes, viz. 7 _tais_ plate bars, to defray his charges hither and back againe, with 1 bar plate containing 4 _ta._ 3 _ma._, and ij _tatta._ fustian to make hym a peare breeches. _August 1._--Our hostis of Bingana Tomo and her sonne came to vizet me, and brought me ij _barsos_ wyne, and 5 bundels of Japon paper. There came ij gentlemen in company with her sonne, one of them the cheefe _bongew_ under Frushma Tay, king of the cuntrey, whoe is a man of greater revenues then the King of Xaxma. _August 2._--I rec. ij letters from Langasaque, 1 from Andrea Dittis 60 with 9 water millons, and the other from Alvaro Munos with a sword and dagger for Ed. Sayer. We bought 168 _gantos_ fysh oyle of our hostice of Bingana Tomo for a _mas ganto_. _August 3._--Jno. Portus, the Scotsman, envited us to dynner this day: I mean all thenglish. _August 4._--This night past came news that the China Capt. junck which went for Tonkin is cast away at that place by neglegence of the pilot; but all the people saved. Som say the Japons did muten, and carid away the money, but how trew it is I know not. Also it is reported that both the junckes of Kitskin Dono and Semi Dono are arived at Cochinchina, and they of the junk of Semi Dono are cozened of 7000 _taies_ of their money, being waid out to pay for silke was stolne from them, as that was from Edmond Sayer the yeare past. _August 5._--I receved a letter from Andrea Dittis, from Langasaque, wherin he conferms the newes of casting away Capt. Whaws junck, not knowing whether the people were saved or no. Also he writes me how Gonsalvas junck is arived from Manillas, in whome his sonne is com from Manillas, I meane Andrea Dittis sonne, and that Jno. Yossens junck is lykwais arived at Langasaque. He writes also that iij shipps are arived from New Spaine at Manillas which bring a new governor. We had ij _pico_ suger from Holland factory, i browne and thother candie, to pay as rest is sould. _August 7._--There came news that a shipp is without, yf not ij, but what they are is not knowne. _August 8._--About midnight I had news brought me that the ship without is a Hollander, and com from Molucos, and that her mast is cut over board, and the ship much broaken. So I sent Ed. Sayer in the morning to the Duch howse to know the certen news, and sent out our 61 _foy fone_ to helpe to toe her in, shee being but a littell distance without and the wether calme. And presently after a French man, chirurgion of the _Son_, came to me in secret, and tould me that this shipp without was an English shipp, and one of iiij which the Hollanders have lately taken at Molucos, not without slaughter of many men, and the rest taken prisoners, and sent this small shipp to bring news hither of it, I think of spite to scorne thenglish nation. And, as they say, an other great Holland shipp, called the _Black Lyon_, is without, and com from Bantam. Yt is to be esteemed they have taken our shipp which should come from Bantam, and dowbtfull they did the like the last yeare by the _Adviz_ which Mr. Wickham went in. After nowne our _foy fone_ retorned from the Dutch Capt. Speck, telling our _jurebasso_ Co Jno. that yt was an English shipp they had taken by order of war, and therefore had noe need of our helpe to bring her in. And this tyme Co Jno. tould me that out of dowbt it was the ship _Adviz_ that Mr. Wickham went from hence in the last yeare, and that he saw som negros in her which were heare the last yeare. Soe herupon I went to Oyen Dono, the kinges governor, and tould hym what past, desiring hym to speake to Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, to let me have a _bongew_ to goe abord this shipp betyme to morrow, to take notis what she is, and whether the Hollanders take them selves enemies of thenglish or no, and in what manner they have taken this shipp, to thentent I might goe to themperour to have justice. _August 9._--I sent an expresse to Langasaque with letters to Andrea Dittis and Jor. Durons, that I am to goe to Edo to aske justice aganst the Hollanders, and that yf the Chinas will goe up about that matter I will assist them in all I may. The Hollanders brought in our shipp in a bravado, and shot affe many 62 guns out of her, and out of their other two. But I had forgotten to note downe how I went to Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, to desyre hym to let me have a _bongew_ to goe abord thenglish shipp which the Hollanders had taken, to be a witnesse before themperour what answer they made. But he would let me have no man, saying as yet no shipp was com in, nether had he heard any thing of the matter till now. Soe I retorned and sent out Mr. Osterwick, with Mr. Nealson and others, to look upon her, to see yf they could know her or no. But they mett her coming into the roade, and soe returned; only they spoake unto them and bad them welcom, and much good might she doe them. But sowne after (two severall tymes) Capt. Speck sent his _jurebasso_ unto me to certefie me he was sorry for what had happened, and that the shipp and goodes were at my devotion. I both tymes retorned hym thankes: they had pocession, and therefore might make their benefite. Soe in the end he came to thenglish howse, accompanied with Capt. Barkhout and Sr. Albartus, using many complementall wordes, offring the shipp and what was in her at my comand. But yow must understand they had well emptied her befor, having byn ij nightes and a day abord of her before. I made them answer, I was sory for that which was happened, and wished it had not byn soe, and that yt had byn enoffe for them to have taken our shipp and goodes without bringing in of the shipps in such a scornfull sort. He made me answer, they were not in the falt, but them which sent the shipp, nether they in falte, for that they did nothing but what their masters comanded them. "Why then", said I, "yt seemes your mastars comand yow to be comune theevs, to robbe English, Spanish, Portingalles, Chinas, Javas, and all others whatsover, without respect, and to synk a French shipp going thorow the straites of Sonday, becauce they should not carry news into France of the abuce yow had offered them." These speeche did somthing move 63 them; soe they answered me that hitherto they had held frendshipp with us, and still would do, till their comanders gave them order to the contrary, and then they would doe as they thought good. Unto which I answered they might showe them selves frendes to thenglish, yf they pleased, ether now or hereafter, but for my parte I did not care a halfe peny whether they did or noe. And soe they departed. _August 10._--We had a councell this day, wherat assisted me Ed. Sayer, Wm. Nealson, and Jno. Osterwick, where it was debated whether it were fiting to send up to themperour, to complaine against the insolentie of the Hollanders in presuming not only to take our shipps, but openly to bring them in to our disgrace. Wherupon it was concluded that I my selfe should take that long and troblesom voyag in hand, and that Mr. Wm. Nealson should accompany me, as well to look out and cleare debtes above, and bring reste downe, as also to carry up with us such matters as the factory afforded, and to buy stuffes to geve presentes to themperour and his nobles (at least, yf they would take them), or els to make sals therof, yf they were refuced. Also it was ordayned to send away a post, both by water and land, after Capt. Adams, to enforme hym of the theevery of the Hollanders, to the entent he should retyre hym selfe from them and stay my coming, and not goe with them before the Emperour. Soe we dispached a swift bark of 5 ores away, not dowbting but they will sowne overtake them, for that our host Tozayemon Dono of Sackay arived heare this day, and left hym at Shimonaseak two daies past, and I make acco. our bark will be at Shiminaseak. Oyen Dono came to vizet me in the name of Tonomon Samma, offering me all assistance against the Hollanders, and wishing me to make hast, not dowbting but the Hollanders would be driven out of Japon, yf I 64 made my complaint in due forme against them. Also yt is tould me how the Hollanders have made a greate _pancado_,[17] or sale of silk to divers Japons, and the silk waid out and sealed up, but coming to payment there is 10 _taies_ in a _pico_ difference in the price, which amounteth to above 4000 _tais_. So that much adow is lyke to be about it. Oyen Dono being gon, Sugian Dono of Umbra came unto me (as from Tonomon Samma) and wished me to make good enformations against the Hollanders, wherin he would assist me, and made no dowbt but they would be banishid out of the cuntrey. I desired hym that he would assist me in the matter, and that I might be quickly dispached, to goe up to the Emperour. Soe he went from me to the _tono_, telling me he would use such dilligence I should be dispached to morrow. [17] Span.: _pancada_, contract for sale in gross. _August 11._--I went to Tonomon Samma, or rather he sent for me, to know whether I ment to goe to themperour or no, to complaine against the Hollanders. And I answered hym, yea. "But", said he, "do yow pretend to comence any processe against them?" To which I answered, noe, for that I would seek justice against them in England; only my pretence was to geve themperor to understand they were comune theeves and sea rovers and took all men they met withall, without exception, were they frendes or foes; and that his Matie. might doe well to embarg their shipps and goodes till he better understood the truth thereof, and not suffer them to carry out victuelles and munition and money as they did, and to keepe two or 3 shipp to goe a roveing as they did this last yeare, to take Chinas and all others they mett withall under culler of them; which they could not doe, had they not this receptacle. Yt seemed he lyked my answer well, and wished me 65 to proceed therin formally, and that he for his parte would [geve] assistance in what he could, and write to the king his brother at large thereof, whome he knew would take my parte against them, as not haveing yet forgotten the complaint they made against hym to themperour the last yeare; and that I needed not to carry any _bongew_ up with me, in respect the kynge hym selfe was theare, whoe he knew would assist me in person to goe to themperour and his councell. We agreed with a bark this day to cary us to Osakay for lx _tais_ plate bars. There was som which came and tould me this day that Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, and others asked the Hollanders wherefore they tooke Englishmen and their shipping in this sort; unto which Capt. Speck answered, it was because we brought shott, powder, lead, and other munition, and sould it to their enemies. "Why", said the other, "are the Englishmen your vasselles that they are bound to observe what yow would have them, and may not they doe as they please with that which is their owne to any one they esteem their frendes? As", said he, "they bring lead and such other matters as themperour hath need of yearly, which now it seemeth yow have taken, that non is lyke to com this yeare. Soe that", said he, "this will make much against yow." Whereunto Capt. Speck has littell to replie. I gave Matinga a silke _keremon_, a _catabra_ of same, and an upper garment of fine white casho. _August 13._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames to same effect as the former, and sent it per our hostice of Bingana Tomo to send it from thence expres. _August 14._--Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, sent for me to come and speake with hym; which I did, and fownd that the Portingalles had againe made complaint against Harnando Ximines and Jno. Portus, saying they were murtherers of their capt., with many other falce reportes 66 of them, desyring to have them deliverd into their handes. Unto which I answerd, that, yf the Portingales had anything to doe with them, they should goe before themperour, wheare I would answer for them, and to their shame prove their reportes falce. _August 15._--I put into one chist to carry up, viz.:-- 1 pece yello shag. 1 peec. ruch wrought velvett. 1 pott musk, containing 37 coddes. 1 box currall. 2 peec. red cherenis. 1 peec. black and green grogran. 1 pec. red damask. 1 pec. ruch figerd satten. 2 peec. corse damask. 2 pec. black ruch taffety. 1 pec. fyne white China taffety. 1 peec. Japon taffetie. 1 pec. yello satten. 1 peec. ordinary taffeties. 3 pec. white satten Lymis. 3 peces damask. 5 peec. satten, Capt. China. 1 peec. orreng culler shagg. 1 pec. oreng culler velvett. 4 pec. ordenary taffeties. 6 pec. ruch taffeties. 15 pictures. 1 pec. ordenary taffety. Also Capt. Whow sent me a letter with many frendly speeches, that he and what he had was at service of me and thenglish nation during life, for that, till now, they stood dowbtfull that thenglish and the Hollanders were all one, but now were fully resolved to the contrary; and that in all hast they would send word to China of what was past, to the entent to put them out of dowbt. Gonosko Dono, an ould gentelman, our frend, dyed this evenyng. He was father in law to Ushanusque Dono, our _bongew_, and the only souldier 67 esteemed of by Foyne Samme, thould king. _August 16._--We went to Tonomon Samme, the kinges brother, and carid hym a present, I being reddy to goe to themperour, viz.:-- 1-1/2 _tattamy_ straw culler cloth. 2 _tatta._ straw culler bayes. 1 Russia hide. 3 _cattis ginco_ that came from Cochinchina. ij greate gallipottes. ij small gally pottes. ij Duch jugges. ij green tuns. And I desird his letter of faver to the king, his brother. Also Taccamon Dono, cheefe justis, sent me a _baroso_ of wyne and a drid salmon. And sowne after I sent Mr. Nealson and our _jurebasso_ with a present of j peece of damask and ij cattis _ginco_, which he took in good part, and offerd us all frenship he could doe our nation. There passed a bark by, which came from Cocora[18] with banished Christians, to goe for Langasaque. There came som of them to see thenglish howse, amongst whome were 5 or 6 women. They say the King of Cocora hath crusefied xxxvij men and women, wherof 6 men were crusefied with their heades downeward. [18] Kokura, at the extreme north of the island of Kiushiu. _August 17._--I wrott ij letters, i to Bantam, directed to Capt. Balle, and thother to Camboja, directed to Mr. Georg Savidg, with the former in it rec. back from Nicholas Marin. And these letters I deliverd to Andrea Dittis, who gave conveance to them per way of China. Capt. Speck sent for Mr. Osterwick to com and speake with hym, of which he tould me, and I bad hym goe and knowe what was the matter. Soe at his retorne he said the cheefe occation was for that I spoke ill of their comanders or generalls of the Indies, wishing me to 68 refrayne my tong, or else to take heed of my selfe. Also he said he sat still in his howse and said nothing tuching thenglish, as also that there could nothing be done in thenglish howse but that he knew it within xxiiij howers after; and that he held me for a furious and hastie man which misused all thenglishmen in the howse, and did all thinges on my owne head and spleene without taking councell. The first point of these speeches Jno. Osterwick made knowne unto me, and the rest tould unto other Englishmen which gave me to understand therof. I dowbt this Jno. Osterwick, because his father was a Duchman, and it may be he dealeth dubly. Soe, being tuched soe neare by this prating Duchman, I took occation to write hym a letter in Spanish, the coppie wherof I have extant, in which I advized that I marveld much he medled in my howsehould affares, braging that nothing could be donne but he knew it within xxiiij howrs after, esteeming me a hasty, furious, and he might as well have said, a madd man, doing all thinges on spleene without councell. Unto which I answerd that I desyred to know my accusers, which yf he did not manifest, and that yf any man went upon spleene or ill will to geve out or speake such ill and falce reportes of me, that he or they lied in their throtes. And whereas he said he sat still in his howse and said nothing tuching thenglish nation, my answer was, they hadd not geven hym nor them any occation hitherto, nether in taking of shipping, killing of men, and robing them of their goodes. And, yf I spoke ill of their generall, I did it upon a good grownd, holding hym as an enemy to my soverigne lord the Kinges Matie. of England and his estate in taking of shiping, killing his Matis. subjectes, and bereving them of their goodes. And as tuching his thretnyng speeches, I did not well understand his meanyng, but gave hym to understand I did nether feare his wordes nor weapons. He also sent me word that I might make what hast I would to themperour 69 to make complaint, and that he would follow after at his leasure, and that I could doe nothing till he came. Unto which I answerd in my letter that I went not up to themperour to demand restetution of shipp nor goodes, for I was assured to have satisfaction in England, and therefore he was deceaved in that matter, and might ether goe up or tarry at home yf he list. _August 19._--I receved a letter from Capt. Adams dated the 13th present, at a place 10 leagues beyond Camyna Seke, wherin he writes me of the wrack of many barkes, and that the governors bark of provition is all cast over bord but one peece of ordinance. And that Touan Dono hath lost his processe, all his goodes confiscat, and his lyfe at Emperours pleasure. Also that a China bark or junk arived in Xaxma with much silk, which he had taken from other Chinas and sould it at Miaco for 220 _tais_ the _pico_; but themperour, coming to know they are theeves, hath geven them into the handes of other Chinas, to have the goods retorned to whome they belong, and execution to be donne upon the offenders. And this day news is com from Capt. Whow that it is not Niquans junk which is cast away, but an other, smaller, of not halfe themportance, but belonging to same owners. Alexander, a Scotsman in the Duch shipps, gave me 6 China picturs of saynts and our Lady, paynted upon bras leaves. _August 21._--Icana Came came to vizet me and take leave as he said, I being ready to goe up, and wished me to take good councell in my proceadinges against the Hollanders, and that he knew the King of Firando would assist me therin in all he could. _August 22._--Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, sent me his letter for the king his brother. And divers others came to vizet me and wish me a good voyage. _August 23._--We set forward on our voyag towardes Edo this mornyng 70 about 6 a clock in the mornynge, and at night came to an anker at Languay, the farther towne, 13 leagues from Firando. _August 24._--We departed from Languay about midnight, and at nowne this day came to an ancor at the iland of Anushma[19] in Faccatay, and there remayned all the rest of day and night following, wind being a stiff gale at N.E., the sea going hie. We la on shore all night, and gave to the howse xij _mas_, having made hitherto 22 leagues. [19] Aishima. _August 25._--We departed in the mornying from Anushma to a port on the maine of Faccata, called Chuiasaquy,[20] 3 leagues from Anushma, and 19 to short of Shimnaseaque. Here we understood of a small China junck which was entred into a port of Faccatay, 4 leagues hence, called Ginushma, being driven thither per contrary windes, but bound for Firando, laden with suger, purselon, and other matters. But the _Tono_ of Faccata will not let her goe for Firando, but discharg and sell her goodes there. [20] Tsuyasaki. In the margin is also added the name, Wattary. _August 27._--I was enformed this day that the China junk which was at Ginushma, 3 leagues hence, was one of the 3 which the Hollanders took and put their men into. These Chinas, having lost the sight of the Holland shippe, made the 7 Hollanders drunk that were put into the junk, and then cut their throtes; but, the wind being contrary, they could not retorne for China, but passed by Firando and soe put into Faccatay, where they staid not longe but put to sea againe, thinking them selves to neare Firando, where the Hollanders are; and are gone, as the report is, to a harbor on the north part of Japan, called Quitamare. Some are of opinion that the junk which put into the back side of Xaxma or Bongo, whome went to Miaco to sell their silke, was lykwais one of them, although it were geven out they were theeves and 71 had stolne that silk and goodes from their owne cuntremen. _August 28._--This day being a festivall day, our host of Wattary (we lying ashore) envited us to dynner at his owne charge. _August 29._--The _bongew_ of Faccata envited us to dyner, and sent me word he was sorry he was out of the place when we arived, otherwais that we should have lodged in his howse. Soe with thadviz of Mr. Nelson we sent hym a present of a peece of damask and a bottell of annise water. And within night, the wind coming sotherly, we waid ancor and put to sea from Watary, and paid out in howse where we la these 5 dais, viz.:-- 1 bar plate to good man howse 2 3 0 And 1 peece green taffety And to his wife, in small plate 0 3 0 And to his littell child 0 1 0 And to his servantes 0 2 0 _August 30._--We arived at Shimenasek this day, about 3 a clock in thafter nowne, having made 20 leagues. Here our host tould me that Leon overtook Capt. Adames before he arived at Osakay, and that the bark Leon went in retorned back per this place 5 daies past, and is gon for Firando, and that the marrenars tould hym Capt. Adames ment to stay for me at Miaco, which God grant. Our host tould me that, before the Hollanders went from this place, there were Japons which brought hym newes how the Hollanders had taken 5 English shipps, 1 of which they had brought into Firando without any Englishmen in her, unto which Capt. Adames said littell, nether tould the Hollanders what the others said unto hym; but that was all one, for one of the Hollanders spoke the Japon tonge. _September 1._--I receved a letter from Capt. Adames, in answer of myne sent hym per Leon thexpres, whome he retorned back unto me with such an unsezonable and unresonable letter as I littell suspected he 72 would have done, saying he was non of the Companies servant, and is, as it seemeth, altogether Holandized, perswading me not to goe up about this matter. _September 3._--We departed from Shimina Seak this day in the mornyng, and paid out to our host, viz.:-- For charg of diet, our selves and servantes 07 2 0 For wyne for bark 01 0 0 For rice for bark, our provition 01 0 0 For herbes and onyons and redesh 00 2 0 Geven the servantes 00 5 0 More, I gave to our hostis 2 musk cods, and to her doughter 1 musk cod, and to 3 _caboques_ 3 musk cods. And at son rising in the mornyng we arived at a place called Yew,[21] under a hill, without howses, having made this day and night past 45 leagues. [21] Yu, in Suwo. _September 4._--We made this day, till night we came to an ancor neare Miwarry,[22] 25 leagues, being 7 leagues short of Bingana Tomo. [22] Mihara, in Bingo. _September 5._--With much adoe we got this day to Bingana Tomo, having made 7 leagues, rowing in raynie wether against the wind. Certen Chinas came to vizet me heare and sent letters by me for Edo, telling me that now they knew well Hollanders theevs and Englishmen trew men and ther frendes. _September 7._--The wind being contrary, I sent away an expres, Leon, with letters to Capt. Adames, as Mr. Nealson did the lyke, to perswade hym from the accompanying the Hollanders, yf it be possible. I also sent other 2 letters in Japons to the King of Firando and Cacayemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Samma. We departed from Bingana Tomo against the wind, and rowed it up to an iland 3 leagues offe, where we came to an ancor, the wind encreasing. Iland called Sherais. We paid at Bingana Tomo, viz.:-- 73 To the howse for charges 06 5 0 To the servantes 00 5 0 For wyne 03 2 0 For wyne for Leon 00 1 5 And I gave Ochora 00 3 0 our hostis a picture and 2 musk coddes; her doughter in law a pictur and 1 musk cod; her doughter a musk codd; to her doughter in laws father a picktur and ij musk coddes. And I paid 2 _tais_ 4 _mas_ to _caboques_. _September 8._--We departed from Sheraish and made this day till son rising next day 15 leagues. _September 9._--We came to an ancor towardes night at a towne called Moro, 30 leages short of Miaco, and stayed the tide; and soe put to sea againe and made 22 leagues till mornyng at son rising. There was 500 barkes at Moro alltogether put to sea towardes Miaco, som of them having staid there 20 daies for a wynd. _September 10._--We arived at Osakay late at night, having made this day 20 leagues. At my coming to this place I fownd Leon, the expres I sent from Bingana Tomo, not yet departed, nether had Grubstreet our host sent away my other letter which came from Firando per conveance of our hostis at Bingana Tono; which gave me small content. Yet in the end I perceved per Grubstreet that Capt. Adames had tould hym I had no reason to complaine against the Hollanders as I did, which was the occation he sent not that letter after hym. Soe here I wrot an other letter to Capt. Adames, and sent both it and the rest per post after Capt. Adames. _September 11._--Tozoyemon Donos wife of Sakay sent me a _sesto_[23] (or basket) of Japon figges and peares, and an other _sesto_ of lyke to Mr. Nealson. [23] Span.: _cesta_. _September 12._--I forgot to note downe that yisterday Mr. Nelson went 74 to Croby Dono, Capt. Adames host, and took a note of all the goodes Capt. Adams wife or Neamon Dono had sent from Edo, to thentent we might better recon with them at our coming to Edo. _September 13._--We went to the governor of Osakay, Shemash Dono, with a present, as also with another to his secretary, viz.:-- 1 fowling peece, damasked. 2 _tatta._ strawculler brodcloth. 3 peeces silk damask, at 6 _tais_ peece. 1 Muskovie hide. And to the secretary:-- ij peces damask, at 6 _tais_ peece. And j pec. rich taffety, as good as the rest. But going to the castell to deliver it, we had answer that the governor slept and the secretary was biden out to a banket. So we retorned without doing anything. I am of opinion our host Grubstreet doth play the gemeny, and per instigation of Capt. Adames, both taking the Hollanders partes for lucar. Yf it be proved soe, God reward them according to their deservinges, and God deliver us from frendly secret fowes. _September 14._--We set forwardes towardes Miaco this morning. I gave our hostis ij pickturs and ij musk coddes; and to Woman Dono 1 pickture, 1 musk cod; to the nurce 1 musk cod; to the Anymall 2 musk cods; and to them in plate bars 9-1/2 _tais_, 2 of which was to the humerus of Mr. Nealson; 1 _tay_ to their _casero_;[24] 1 _tay_ to Shisque Dono, and 1 musk cod; 5 _mas_ to their maid; 5 _mas_ for sowing my bedd. So this night we arived at Fushamy[25] at supper tyme; but our hostes sonne of Miaco met me per the way with a banket. [24] Span.: _casero_, landlord. [25] Fushimi. _September 15._--We departed this mornyng towardes Miaco. 75 _September 16._--We set Mr. Jehan the scribe awork to write out an information against the Hollanders, to deliver up to the Emperour, the coppie whereof I have both in English and Japons. We went to vizet the antient monumentes of Japon, and amongst the rest the pagod, or monument, erected in remembrance of Ogosho Samma, the last Emperour, which, in my opinion, is the most magnificent peece of work which I have seene in Japon, both for the greatenesse and workmanship. And their is 300 _boze_ (or pagon pristes) have alowance and mentaynance for eaver to pray for his sole, in the same sort as munkes and fryres use to doe amongst the Roman papistes, and have their lodginges and buildinges about it in most sumtuouse sort, with a 4 square cloister and other _futtakies_ (or chappels) within the said compas. All which is seated on the side of a mountayne among a greate wood of pine trees, most pleasant to behould. The great _dibattes_, or pagod, standeth in length due north and south, with 100 pillars on a rowe in length and 6 in breadth, the greate idoll or imag standing in the midst of the pagod, looking with his face W.ward. There is 15 pillars in a rank on eache side with lantarns in them go downe to the gate howse W.ward, with on pillar or grete lantarne before the pagod dore. And the other pagod with the 3333 images standeth due S.ward from the said pagod. Our hostes sonne accompanid us and provided bankettes for us in 2 or 3 places in the way. _September 17._--We went and vizeted Inga Dono, the Lord Cheefe Justis of Japon, and carid him a present, viz.:-- 1 fowling peece. 76 2 _tattamis_ black cloth. 1 Russia hide. 2 cakes wax. 3 peeces damaske, cost 6 _tais_ peece. 10 peare specktacles. And to his secretary:-- 2 peeces damask, cost 6 _tas_ peece. 1 pece ruch taffety. And withall I shewed hym the coppie of the information I ment to put up against the Hollanders, wherat he marveled. I said they were theeves, for that allwais till now the Hollanders reported our nation to be the comune theevs of all the world. "But", said he, "yow doe well to make the truth knowne, and your writing is well framed. Soe yow need not dowbt but themperours councell will geve eare unto yow." He gave me a writing to all places where I came, to lett me have horses at ordenary rate, and to all hostes to use me and the rest in my company respectively. The _mackey_ man envited us to supper, where we were well entertayned with dansing beares, and I gave them a bar plate, ill bestowed. _September 18._--I gave our hostis at Miaco 2 pictures and 2 musk cods; and sent 3 musk coddes to Inga Samas secretary; and gave our hostis little doughter 1 musk cod. And I cut a peece white satten lyn to make Mattinga a _keremon_, and gave the rest to our hostis littell doughter, and left the _keremon_ with our hostis to be wrought with silk and gould. Cuemon Dono envited us to supper, where we had kynd entertaynment with dansing beares, to whom I gave a bar plate. _September 19._--This mornyng lowring, calme, droping wether, but, after littell, wind northerly. Raynie wether all day, but much more 77 by night, with an earthquake, etc. We set forward from Miaco towardes Edo, and dyned at Fushamy, whither divers frendes accompanid us with dansing beares (or _caboques_). So we paid out 2 _ichebos_ of 1 _ta._ 6 _m._ 4-1/2 _co._ peec. for dyner; 2 _ichebos_ to _caboques_; 1 _ichebo_ to other women; 200 _gins_ to servantes in howse; 500 _gins_ geven in a howse per way, where our host of Miaco provided a banket. Nota, that our _rockshackes_, 6 of them to carry me to Edo and back againe, were agreed withall for 4 _tais_ 3 _mas_ per peece, we to fynd them victuelles. And horses to cary our provition and presentes, at 5 _tais_ 7 _mas_ per horse; and 7 _tais_ for a horse for Mr. Nealson, to cary things to Edo and then to be free, and pay their owne and horse charges themselves. Also Mr. Nealson paid the horsemasters 50 _tais_ on acco., and 25 _tais_ to the _rockshackes_. About midnight or sowne after was an exceeding greate earthquake, which endured halfe a quarter of an hower. It happened at a towne called Cussattes,[26] 3 leagues from Otes,[27] whither we went this day to supper, having made this day 7 leagues. Soe betyme in the mornyng we departed from Cusattes; and paid out to the howse, for expenses, 4 _ta._, and to the servantes 400 _cash_. [26] Kusatsu. [27] Otsu. _September 20._--A kinsman of our host at Miaco mett us in the way with a banket, having com xx milles; unto whome was geven an _ichebo_. We went to dyner to a towne called Ishebe,[28] where we were constraned to stay all night because the waters were up, that we could not passe by reason of much rayne which happened. We paid for our diet at Ishebe 3 _ta._, and to the servantes 200 _cash_. [28] Ishibe. _September 21._--We dyned this day at a towne called Suchiama,[29] 78 and paid for our diet 1: 6: 4-1/2, and to the servantes 300 _cashe_. And went to supper to a towne called Sheque no Jeso;[30] and paid for our diet with brekfast 2: 6: 0, and to the servantes 300 _cash_. [29] Tsuchiyama. [30] Seki. _September 22._--We went to dyner to a towne called Ishaquish;[31] and paid for our diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 100 _cash_. And we went to supper to Quanno,[32] where we were at our arivall (servantes and all) envited to supper by the governor or _tono_, where I have not had better entertaynment since I came into Japon. I had laid out a present of a peece damask, a bottell Spanish wyne, and an other of annis water, to have geven hym, with 3 musk coddes; but he refuced it, saying he would not take any thing till I retorned from themperour, his master, offering me barkes for nothing to carry me and all the rest over the water to Mia, 7 leagues; which I thanked hym for, having hired others before. And soe per night we departed from Quano per water; and gave our host, for use of his howse and _rackshackes_ diet, 1 _ichebo_. [31] Ishiyukushi. [32] Kuwana. _September 23._--Som 2 howers before day we arived at Mia,[33] at Fox my hosts, where we brok fast and laded our horses, being 14. And paid for our diet and travell 1: 6: 4-1/2, and gave the servantes 1 C. of _cash_ or _gins_. And we went to dyner to Cheru;[34] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 1 C. _gins_. Here we met themperours eldest sister with a greate trayne after her. And sowne after we met the Portingalls retorned from the Court at Edo, it being 8 daies past since they departed from thence. They say the Hollanders delivered their present and had audience the same day. Soe we went to Occa Sackey[35] to bed, having made this day but 7 79 leagues; and paid for diet night and mornyng 2 _ichebos_, 3: 2: 9, and to servantes ij C. _gins_. This towne Ogosho Sama was borne in. [33] Miya. [34] Chiriu. [35] Okazaki. _September 24._--We dyned at Acca Sackey[36] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes j C. _gins_. We mett this day in the way Soyemon Dono and Semi Dono, of Firando, going downe from Edo to Firando, but about what busynes I could not learne. Soyemon Dono tould me that themperour knew of the Hollanders theft and that I was coming up to the Cort. And after, when I mett Semi Dono, he wonderd at the matter, and said nether themperour nor King of Firando knew nothing thereof; but I think he dealeth dubly, etc. We went this night to bed to Yoshenda,[37] having made this day but 7 leagues; and paid for diet night and morning 2: 6: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_, and to his sonne for a barill wyne 5 C. _cash_. [36] Akasawa. [37] Yoshida. _September 25._--We went to dyner to Famma Mattes;[38] paid diet i _icheboes_, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_ or _gins_. And soe we went to Mitsque[39] to supper, having made this day 12 leagues; and gave for diet night and morning 2: 6: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. I forgot to note downe that, passing a river, the boatmen misused our servantes and would not let our horses passe, but gave them blowes. Soe I showed them a passport or comand from the great justis of Japon, Inga Dono, wherin he comanded them to geve us free passag without molestation; which seeing they cried pecavie and followed after me 2 leagues to aske pardon, many other neighbours accompanyng them to speak in their behalfe, for they knew full well, yf I had made complaint, it had cost them their lives. [38] Hamamatsu. [39] Mitske. _September 26._--We went to dyner to Cagingaua,[40] a towne wherin 80 themperours unckle dwelleth; and paid diet 1: 4: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_. And met a servant of Semi Donos by the way, lame, unto whome, he asking for God sake, we gave 300 _gins_, etc. Also I met Gonrok Dono, the _bungew_ of Langasaque, going downe from Edo, whoe took knowledg of me before I knew hym, and offerd me much kyndnes in wordes, etc. Soe we went to bed to Cainagh,[41] having made this day 8 leagues. At this place I met a China coming from Edo, per whome I wrot to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., and to Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, of my arivall in this place. We paid for diet here 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 3 C. _gins_. [40] Kakegawa. [41] Kanaya. _September 27._--Raynie wether; per night a very storme or tuffon. We passed the great river[42] and went to dyner to a towne called Fugieda;[43] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. And paid 40 men, to helpe us over the deepe river without bridg, 1000 _gins_. And went to bed at Shrongo,[44] having made this day 8 leagues, to get over the rivers before they did rize per meanes of this rayne. [42] Oi-gawa. [43] Fujieta. [44] Suruga. _September 28._--We staid all this day at Shrongo by meanes of the raynie wether, and departed from thence the morowe mornyng; and paid for diet all the tyme 4 _ichebos_, is 6: 5: 8, and to servantes 3 C. _gins_. And I gave our hostis a picture and a musk codd. _September 29._--We made this day 7 leagues, going to bed at a place called Cambara,[45] and could goe no farther, the way being fowle and no place of lodging neare. And paid for 3 meales 3: 9: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. [45] Kambara. _September 30._--We went to dyner to Yoishwarra.[46] Paid to the howse 81 for diet and to servantes 1000 _gins_, is 1: 6: 5. And went to supper to Mishma,[47] at foot of the great mountayne, wherin above 500 howses were burned few daies past. Soe we had but pore lodging, yet paid for diet night and mornyng 2: 9: 5, and to servantes 2 howses 3 C. _gins_. [46] Yoshiwara. [47] Mishima. _October 1._--We went to dyner to a place called Facony,[48] on the top of the mountayne with the greate lake, and paid diet and howse 9 C. _cash_. And we went to bed to Wodowrey,[49] at the other foote of the mountayne, a greate towne all burned the last yeare but one howse. So we made this day 8 leagues. The towne standes by the sea side called Wodowra; from whence I wrot Capt. Adames an other letter per expres that to morrow I ment (God permiting) to be at Edo. And I wrot 2 letters to King Firando and Torazemon Dono to same effect. And we paid for diet at Wodowra 2 _ichebos_, is 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 3 C. _cash_, and to a screvener to writ letters 3 C. _cash_. [48] Hakone. [49] Odawara. _October 2._--We went to dyner to Woiso,[50] where our hostes howse was taken up per the King of Figen. So we dyned at an other place, where I was taken on a sudden with such an extrem wind collick and stoping of my water that I verely thought I should have died. So I sent an other letter to Capt. Adames of my stay per meanes of sicknes. Our new host, seing me sick, would not let me stay in his howse; soe our ould sent for me, when the King of Figen was gon. We paid for our dyner an _ichebo_, is 1: 6: 4-1/2, and to servantes 1 C. _cash_. [50] Oiso. _October 3._--We departed from Woiso and paid howse ij _ichebos_, 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 500 _gins_, is 0: 8: 2-1/2; and I gave children, in silver, 0: 8: 5, and to a maid servant that attended me and warmed clothes all night 1 _ichebo_, and to goodwife of howse a pece rich taffety. This day we met the Hollanders retorned from Edo, 14 leagues short 82 of Edo, 7 Hollanders besides Japon servantes. There was small greeting betwixt us; and so they passed. We went to bed at a place called Todska. _October 4._--Betyme this mornyng, at break of day, we met Capt. Adams, whoe came to meete me 10 leagues from Edo. And sowne after we met 2 horses sent from King of Firando to meete me, attended on by 4 men. And soe we went to dyner to a place called Caningawa;[51] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 2 C. _gins_ for howse, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_, and for charges kinges horses 438 _gins_, and for colation at Shiningawa[52] 500 _gins_. And sowne after we met on of the King of Firandos gentelmen sent to meete me, with pikes carid before hym, to accompany me into the towne; and sowne after Yada Dono and Capt. Adames his children with a banket, before our entrance into the cittie. Soe I gave the King of Firandos men which came with the horses 1000 _gins_, and sent them away. And sent Mr. Nealson with our _jurebasso_ to King of Firando, to thank hym for the honor he had done me, and that I was so weary now after my sicknes I could not com my selfe, but ment to vizet hym to morrow. [51] Kanagawa. [52] Shinagawa. _October 5._--I went to vizet the King of Firando, and delivered hym the letters I brought from his brother, and carid hym a present, viz. 2 _tatta._ of murrey cloth, 1 muskovie hide, 3 peeces damask; and to his brother 2 peeces of damask. And I shewed the information to the _Tono_ of Firando that I ment to put up to the Emperour against the Hollanders, which he read over with silence, and then called Torazemon Dono to see it; whoe having read it over, looked somthing sowerly on the matter, for he was allwais a great frend to Hollanders. _October 6._--Capt. Adames with Torazemon Dono and our _jurebasso_ 83 went to the Court to know when we might have audience of themperour and deliver our present, but they fownd so many noble men geving presentes to themperour, it being the 28th day of the moone (and a festivall day), that they could have noe answer, and soe were put affe till to morow. The King of Firando sent me a present of a barill wine, and a table of cuttell fish drid. _October 7._--I wrot a letter to Firando to Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, with 2 others to China Capt. and Matinga. In that to China Capt. I wrot for my _goshon_. These letters sent per horsmen. Codgskin Dono sent me a present of greate peares, of 2 spans about one peare. Also I rec. a letter from Semi Dono, dated in Miaco, as he also wrot an other to Capt. Adames to same effect, to gett hym out a _goshon_ for Cochinchina. Soe this night Torazemon Dono came and brought me the letter with the ould _goshon_, and Caqemon Dono came in company with hym and an other gentellman of King of Firando. They used many speeches to perswade me from putting up this writing which I have made against the Hollanders, which I esteme is Torazemon Donos doing, for that he hath allwais byn a frend to Hollanders. _October 8._--Capt. Adames was sent for to the Court, soe that I thought we should have delivered our present to themperour this day. But he remayned there from nowne till night, and had not one word spoaken to hym. _October 9_ (_Conguach_ 1th).--Capt. Adames sent his man to Firando and soe for Languasakey with a _goshon_ for Fingo Shiquan, per whome I sent the letters for Firando. And gave hym an _ichebo_ to spend per way. This day we went and delivered our present to themperour, viz.:-- 2 fowling peeces. 84 1 de. cloth, black. 1 de. sadd blew. 10 peeces damask and satten. 104 _cattis_ wax. 10 _cattis callamback_. 25 _cattis_ silke. _October 10._--Capt. Adames went to Cort with our _jurebasso_, and it was ordayned to morow we should vizet the prince with a present, I meane themperours eldest sonne. _October 11._--We carid a present to the Prince Wacange Samme:-- 1 fowling peece. 3 _tatta._ black clo. 3 _tatta._ primeroz. 5 peece damaskes or stuffes. 1 cake wax. 1 peec. _calemback_. 4 bundelles silk. We attended a greate while to have entrance to the prince after our present was carrid in, and in the end were put affe till to morrow, I doe think by instigation of som from the _Tono_ of Firando, who enformed them we came to make processe against the Hollanders. Once we retorned back, and left the present behind. _October 12._--This day we carid the present to the Prince Wacange Samme, or rather delivered it to hym, yt being well accepted of; and the Emperours factor went with us. _October 13._--We carid our presentes to Oyen Dono, and to his secretary; and to Codgskin Dono, and to his secretary. More presentes geven to Emperours Councell, viz. to Oto Dono, Tushma Dono, Itame Genuske Dono, and their secretaries. _October 14._--We carid presentes to Chana Shogero Dono; to the two admeralles; and to sonne Fongo Samma. The admerall sent a bark for us, to carry us to a howse of pleasure 85 where he was, and entertayned us very kyndly. So at our retorne we gave an _ichebo_ to the barkemen. The singing man and Sugien Donos brother came to vizet me, and brought a barken [baken ?] box of meate for a present. _October 15._--A littell before son rising there happened an earthquake at Edo, but of small contynewance. The King of Firando sent a man to me with a letter which he rec. from Oto Dono, advising hym of the present we gave hym, willing hym to geve us thankes for it. Also Gensero Samma, the kinges brother, sent to envite me to dynner 2 daies hence; but I retorned answer that as yet we had not donne any thing for dispach of our busynes at Cort, but howrly attended the Councells answer; but, having ended, I would com and kisse his Lordshipps handes, etc. _October 16._--We went to see the sepulcre of Ogosho Samma, now new made. A wonderfull peece of work it is, and farr before that of Ticus Samma at Miaco; and neare unto it is an other monument of Sada Dono, father to Codgskin Dono, and a pogo[d] of heathen pristes, with a monument of 2 noble men which kild them selves to accompany Ogosho Samma in an other world, as they think. A servant of Oyen Dono, who kept the monument, made us a colation, and showed us all the singularreties of the place; unto whome we gave an _ichebo_. _October 17._--This day was the great feast of Shecco, all the Japon kinges (or _tonos_) viseting themperour with presentes. Soe we could doe nothing at Cort. _October 18._--Capt. Adams went to Cort remayning there all thafter nowne; but themperour went a fowling, soe nothing was donne for our dispach. I sould this day 5 _tay_ wight of corall for 43 _tais_. _October 19._--I forgot to set downe how Cakeyamon Dono came to vizet 86 me, telling me he came new out of cuntrey from the funerall of Oyen Donos wife. He also advized me that I should not think ill of hym, yf he ware forward in wordes to speake in the Hollanders behalfe in presence of the King of Firandos people, for that he did it of purpose. This is a craftie fello. I sent hym a present this day, viz. 1 pece fugered satten, cost 8 _tais_; 1 branch corall, containing 2 _mas_ 9 _condrins_. The King of Firando sent one of his gentellmen to vizet me, with many complementall wordes and offers of greate frenshipp, and that he wanted not to labour to get our dispach. I retorned his Highnes many thankes; but rather imagin he standeth in dowbt we goe about to get lycense to send our shiping to Langasaque, in respect we desire to be apart from the Hollanders, and in that he is not deceaved. But whether it will take effect or no, I know not, only the Emperours factor sent me word per Capt. Adames it would. _October 20._--We went and vizeted Oyen Dono, the secretary, but had but one word with hym, he only biding us wellcom and so went to Cort. I thought to have delivered hym the writing I had made against the Hollanders; but he went away without it, although he saw me have it in my hand. So I gave it to his secretary, Cacakayemon Dono, whoe of hym self promised me to deliver it to hym at his retorne. I also went and vizeted the King Firando, and carid hym 3 branches corall, containing 5 _mas_, and a bottell of strong water; and to his brother a branch of corall containing 2 _mas_ 2 _condrin_. The king I fownd in company with certen caveleros whoe went lyk wais to vizet hym, he being very weake and full of the French disease, soe I think he will not live longe. _October 21._--I went and vizeted the Emperours merchant or factor, and carid hym a present of 2 branches corall, containing 5 _mas_, with a bottell hoot distild water. I receved 18 _tais_ for 18 _mas_ wight corall of my owne, and 2 _tais_ 87 for a landshast of Companis, sould per Capt. Adams. We were envited to dyner to Yada Dono, where we were kyndly entertayned. _October 22._--I sould 18 _mas_ 1 _condrin_ wight of corall at 10 per one silver, is 18 _tais_ 1 _mas_, trusted. Capt. Adames was all day at Cort, expecting answer for our dispach, but did nothing, most of the Councell being gon to honer a pagod where Ogosho Samas was bured, 3 daies journey hence, the seremony being to be observed the 17th day of this moone after Japon stile, which was the day of this buriall. _October 23._--Capt. Adames was all day at Cort to get our dispach, but retorned without doing of any thing. _October 24._--Not having busynes to doe by meanes the Councell were abcent about seremones of the ould Emperours mortuary, we went and vizeted the pagod of Otongo, which these people hould to be the god of darknes (or hell), as the antientes called Pluto. It standes on the topp of a hill which overlooketh all Edo, and the idoll (or picture) of Otongo is made in forme lyke a devill, with a hooked nose and feete lyke a griffon, and riding upon a wild boare. He was painted after severall formes, but allwais monted upon a wild boare, which the people say was his blason or armes. And for that entent there is a greate wild boare alive kept in a cage (or frank) at the foote of the hill, which I saw at my entrance. And there goeth an upright peare of [s]ton staie[r]s of 69 stepps, of a lardg breadth, leading directly up to the pagod; but an easier way is to goe compas about the hill. There was many people went to vizet that place, and their use is to goe 3 tymes rownd about the pagod mumbling out serten prayers. This I marked of dyvers. From thence we went to an other pagod, where the eldest sonne of 88 Ogosho Samma (a valient man) lyeth bured in a stately monument. This pagod is the seate of the greate or high bushopp of Japon, next after the _deyre_. His people used us very kyndly, and opened the dores of the monument, and let us enter in, and opened the secret place where the idoll of the dececed was placed, whereat all the Japons fell prostrate and adored it. And from thence they led us into the bushops chappell or oratory, all sett out with idolls and lamps, nether more nor lesse then in the papist churches, before which idolls the Japons did likewais fall downe and worship. This pagod (or monestery) was erected to the honor of Amida, a greate saint of China, equaled with Shacca. And I gave an _ichebo_ to them which shewed us these matters, and so retorned hom. _October 25._--Fongo Dono, the ould admerall, sent me a present of frute with a letter from his manor howse, 17 leagues hence. Capt. Adames was all day at Cort to get our dispach; but had nothing from the Councell but a nod and smiling countenance. _October 26._--Mr. Nealson did but ask Capt. Adames for 10 shire maps without frames, which per his acco. he hath resting in his handes; but he fell into such a chafe about that matter, telling them which were about hym, in the Japon tong, that this was not the first tyme we had charged hym with falce accomptes and after reconynges. Truly I was ashamed to heare hym in such a humor; yet, after, yt seemed he recanted, for he came to me and asked me yf I know of any such matter. And I answerd hym, it apered by Mr. Eatons accompt that he had them, wherof I know yow (_sic_) have a coppie under his owne hand. So he went away, and said nothing to the contrary. Matabio Oye Dono, our host of Oisa,[53] sent me a letter with a present of 2 greate fyshes, to know whether I were in health or no, 89 for that I was sick in his howse, and not heard any news whether I were recoverd or noe. He sent this man 16 leagues with this present only to see how I did. So I gave his man an _ichebo_ of gould to pay for his horshier and wrot a letter to his master. We went this day to vizet a greate temple of Yemia Fachman, the god of war, with an other god, as they take it, joyned with hym, which every 18th day of eache moone the people goe on pilgremage to offer to the shrines; and this was the 18th day, which made me the more willing to goe to see it being accomplished, with Capt. Adames, Mr. Nealson, and others. And I doe verely thinke there were above 100,000 people, men, women, and children, which went this day upon devotion to that place, and in many places in the way were comodies (or plaies) to be seene, and other showes; and before the temple the sorserars or witches stood dansing, with knottes or bunches of hawcks belles made fast to sticks, which they held in their hands, mumbling over sertayne prayers. But that which I tooke most note of was of the liberaletie and devotion of these heathen people, whoe thronged into the pagod in multetudes, one after an other, to cast money into a littell chapell before the idalles, most parte, or rather all which I could see, being _gins_ or bras money, whereof 100 of them may vallie som 10_d._ str., and are about the bignes of a 3_d._ English money; which coyne (or brasse money) they cast in by handfulles, and then came out of the temple, delivered a writing to one that sat within the dore, who piled them one on the top of the other. And so the pilgrams turned on the left hand of the entry of the pagod, and in a gallery went 3 tymes about it, and soe departed away. There was many 100 of gentellmen which went on horsback to doe these devotions in the forme as afforsaid. And soe, as we retorned, we went into a _vento_[54] or tavarne, where 90 we dyned of presentes and bankets which were brought us; and gave to the howse 500 _gins_, and the servantes 100 ditto. Cacayemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me many matters, how his master and all the rest of the Councell were offended against the Hollanders, etc. [53] Oiso. [54] Span. _venta_, a roadside inn. _October 27._--Capt. Adams went to Cort about our busynes, and there saw Jno. Yoosen, the Hollander, delivering up a present to themperour and getting out a _goshon_. Mr. Nealson envited Cacayemon Dono and Torazemon Dono to supper this night, and had the dansing beares. This day at 4 clock after nowne an earthquak. _October 28._--Chauno Shrogero Dono, Emperours factor, sent me a letter of his retorne to Edo; and I retorned hym answer, desiring his frendship to procure us Emperours _goshon_ to carry our shiping to Langasaque. Capt. Adams went againe to Cort, to gett our dispach, but retorned only with a nodd from the counsellors, with a smile. Also he understood that for 3 daies space Jno. Yoosens present is not yet deliverd, although he tendered it each day. And I had forgotten to note downe that Caquemon Dono, secretary of Oyen Dono, tould me that the said Yoosen brought a present to his master, which he asked hym whether it were stolne goodes or noe, for that, said he, the Hollanders are now well knowne to be comune theevs, etc. Also, Capt. Adams being at Cort, Oyen Dono asked hym wherefore he came; whereunto he answered that he came for the dispach of thenglish Capt. "Whie," said he, "is he not gon? It is almost a month past since I thought he had byn gon." This he spoake in hearing of Jno. Yoosen, and soe went away laughing, for what event I know not, only Capt. Adames thought it was in mocking ye Hollanders. _October 29._--Capt. Adames went to castell to have gotten our 91 dispach, but retorned without doing any thing, the Emperour being gon to looke on them which shott at blank with hand guns or kalivers. Also he saw Jno. Yoosen, the Hollander, still with his present unreceaved, attending their pleasures. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, and the Councell gave hym order to com to them to morow morning, for that they would talke with hym. The Emperour went this day a fowling, and with his owne handes kild 5 elkes (or wild swans), which coming out to send them abroad to his brothers and frendes (after his retorne to his pallace or castell), he saw Jno. Yoosen stand in a corner with his present, and asked what he was; and, being knowne, he went away asking whether he were a Hollander, and yt was answersd hym yea. "Whie," said he, "it is reported this fellow is much indebted and will not pay his creditors." Unto which a frend of his answered, it was to the Hollanders, his cuntremen, and to noe others; wherin his frend lied, for he oweth to divers others. Yet upon this report his present was receaved. _October 31._--I went and vizeted Chawno Shrogero Dono, and desird hym to be a meanes to get our dispach; and he tould me he would, and for our going to Langasaque with our shiping, we might doe it yf we would, as well as to Firando, for that it was all one to this Emperour, soe we might doe it. Capt. Adames went to Cort, as the Councell did bid hym, but attended most parte of the day, and then retorned without geting out our dispache. _November 1._--This day we reconed with Yadeo Dono, partner with Neamon Dono; but much trowble we had with hym, for he would have put lodghier, incomiendo, and servantes wages to acco. for goodes sould, and yet have kept all the profit to them selves, over and above the bare prise left with them, they having, upon my knowledg, sould it for 92 much more. Also he would have put som thinges sould at a lower price then it was left at, with other unreasonable matters. Soe I referd all to Capt. Adames to make an end of it, without going to law, where I am ashewered we should have fownd small right, as I have known per experience. _November 2._--Jno. Yoosen came to vizet me, and brought me a present of sweet meates, enviting me hom to his howse, etc. Yt seemed by his speeches he was not well pleaced with the Hollanders liberallety towardes hym, considering the paynes he had taken for them, for which he hath the ill will of the _Tono_ of Firando and divers others. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, but themperour was gon out a hawking and the Councell a feasting; soe nothing was donne. _November 3._--I receved three letters per expres, viz.:--1 from Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, dated in Firando, 2th October; 1 from Capt. Whaw, China Capt., at Langasaque; 1 from Jno. _jurebasso_ at Firando--all to sett out 2 _goshons_ for Chinas, yf I can, one for Tonkin, and other for Taccasanga. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispach, but retorned without doing anything. Only Oyen Dono asked hym whether I were gon or no. Unto whome he answerd, how I could goe without lycence of themperour. So he tould hym I did well, and that we should forthwith be dispached. There was 3 Japons of Langasaque with presentes to get out _goshons_ for Cochinchina; but they and their presentes were sent away without any answer, but that they might com an other tyme, viz. Capt. Barnardo, Cutarro or Gotarro, Manuel Gonzalves man. _November 4._--I went to Oyen Dono, accompanid with Capt. Adams and Mr. Nealson, and by good fortune met hym in the street at his owne 93 dore, desyring his Lordshipp to get us our dispach from themperour, which he promised to procure forthwith, being ashamed (as he said) we staid soe longe, and with all tellinge me he was beholden to me. _November 5._--Yisternight at 10 a clock was an earthquake, which for a good while shooke very much. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, and was answerd we should be dispached to morow. The Japons presentes, which came for _goshons_, were receved. _November 6._--The Emperour sent me 20 silk _keremons_ (or coates) for a present, wherof I gave 2 to Capt. Adames, 2 to Mr. Nealson, and 1 to our host of Miaco, Magazemon Dono. _November 7._--I forgot to note downe that there was a comett (or blasing star) which hath appeared this 5 or 6 daies som hower before day, easterly, a littell to the southwards; but it is so neare the sunne that we could see nothing but the teale, yt being of a hudg leangth, and doth, by littell and littell, draw to the westward, sotherly. Also this day I went and took my leave of all the lordes of the Councell, but spoake with none but Oyen Dono. And, as we retorned, about 10 a clock, hapned a greate earthquake, which caused many people to run out of their howses. And about the lyke hower the night following hapned an other, this cuntrey being much subject to them. And that which is comunely marked, they allwais hapen at a hie water (or full sea); so it is thought it chanseth per reazon is much wind blowen into hollow caves under grownd at a loe water, and the sea flowing in after, and stoping the passage out, causeth these earthquakes, to fynd passage or vent for the wind shut up. _November 8._--We dyned at King of Firandos brothers, where we were kindly entertayned, and I carid him a _barso_ of wyne and a fresh salmon for a present. The people in this place did talke much about this comett seene, that 94 it did prognosticate som greate matter of warr, and many did ask me whether such matters did happen in our cuntrey, and whether I knew what it did meane or would ensue therof; unto which I answerd that such many tymes have byn seene in our partes of the world, but the meanyng therof God did know and not I. _November 9._--Capt. Adams was sent for to Cort about our _goshon_ of last yeare, to know what junk it went in to Cochinchina, and, as it is thought, Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., hath deceaved me, and delivered my _goshon_ to Seme Dono at Firando and served his turne in his junck, which now is com out. These matters are com to light per meanes of seeking out the truth of sturrs which happened in Cochinchina with Japons against Chinas, whereof the King of Cochinchina advized themperour of their unrulynesse; soe that it is thought noe _goshons_ will be geven out for that place this yeare. The comet apered this mornynge greater then any tyme before. _November 10._--I went to Chawna Shogero Dono this morning to desire hym to get out our _goshon_, which he promised me he would, and desird to buy som corall of me, yf I had any. Soe I sent hym that which I had, out of which he took 9 _mas_ 4 _condrin_ wight, and would have sent me money for it; but I gave it hym. Towardes night Torazemon Dono and an other gentellman came to vizet me from King of Firando, unto whome I made knowne how Semy Dono had used me about my _goshon_, which was thoccation I was staied heare soe long tyme without my dispach from themperour. _November 11._--I went and tooke leave of King of Firando, I being ready to retorne to morrow for Miaco, and fownd him very weake and sick; yet he gave me very kind entertaynment, and wrott letters (as he tould me) to his brother and Semy Dono, to pay me the rest of money 95 he oweth to the Company and to doe me justice against Gorezano and all others. And before night Torazemon Dono and wrot me a joynt letter to deliver them my _goshon_ for use of Semi Dono; which I denyed, and wrot them answer therof. _November 12._--I went to Cawno Shogero Dono about the report geven out of selling my _goshon_, and he tould me that the capt. of Semi Donos junck is com up and witnesseth that Semi Dono sould hym my _goshon_ for 300 _taies_; so that, yf the matter should com in question before the Emperour, it would cost som men their lives. Yet, for his parte, he would doe the best he could to amend all, and said it was better I stayd here 2 or 3 daies to se all ended, for, yf I went away, nothing would be donne. _November 13._--The comet doth contynew still till this day, drawing towardes W. southerly. About 10 a clock at night a fyer began in the north parte of the citty of Edo; but it was calme wether; otherwais much hurt had byn donne. Yet ther were a few howses of pristes (or _boses_) servantes with 5 pagon temples burned in 3 divers places a greate distance one from an other, many merchantes howses and tradesmens howses betwixt, and yet it passed over all them without doing harme, and only burned downe the other, as aforsaid; which many esteeme a handy work of God. _November 14._--I forgot to note downe how the night past, when the fire was neare to the King of Firandos howse and Cakayemon Donos, I sent 8 or 10 men to have holpen them, yf need required; but the streetes were so stopped that non could passe but one as a messenger, to tell them of my good meanyng, which they took in good part. _November 15._--There was presentes geven to Andrea and Maddalyna, his wife, Mrs. Adams sister, in repect they had sent us presentes of 2 96 _barsos_ wyne, frute, and a fresh salmon, and came from Orengaua, 2 daies journey, to vizet us, viz. 1 peece velvett, 1 pece damask, and 5 _mas_ wight corall. Mr. Nealson fell sick on a sudden of a fever with a bloody flux, in greate extremety; so we sent for one of kinges chirurgions, to take his councell, Mr. Nealson being very ernest to be lett blood; but he councelled the contrary, saying it was nothing but an extreme cold he had taken which drove hym into this excesse or fever, which, out of dowbt, was his syting in his shert and a gowne 2 or 3 howrs together on the topp of the howse, to look at the fyre when the pagods were burned 2 nightes past. _November 16._--Yisternight about 10 a clock was an other fyre. _November 17._--We went to see the Emperours eldest brothers howse, called Shrongo Samma, being envited to doe it per the ould Emperours cook, who sent me a present at Shrongo and came hither and vizeted me 2 or 3 tymes since with presentes, besides this frenship. So I sent hym a peece of damask for a present. This howse we saw cost the workmanshipp, besides the tymber and all other stuffe, 34000 bars of Oban gould at 13_l._ 10_s._ str. per bar. And his 2 yonger brothers have made 2 other howses adjoynying unto yt, not much inferior to the others. And it is to be considered that all these buildinges are of tymber, covering and all, but soe guilded over with gould, both within and without, that it sheweth most gloriouse to the eye, but endureth but 20 or 30 yeares, and then build an other new; which they accompt a greate glory and take it a base thing to dwell in a howse builded by his predecessors. Capt. Adames went to Court againe to get our dispach, but did nothing. Soe he talked with Chawno Shogero Dono about my departure from hence to morrow, I having busynes at Miaco and else where, and that Capt. 97 Adames, havyng busynes to stay heare 4 or 5 daies after me, might bring it with hym. _November 18._--We departed from Edo this day, after nowne, and gave presentes as followeth:--To Capt. Adames 2 _tatta_ black cloth, and one peece damask; and to Mrs. Adames 1 peece cushen velvett, 1 peece damaske, and 5 _mas_ wight corall; and to Mrs. Adames sonne Josephe 1 pec. velvet; and to his doughter Susanna 1 pec. damask; and to his wives mother 1 pec. damask; and to Tome Dono, _jurebasso_, 1 pec. taffety; and to Jacobe Dono, his clark, 1 pec. taffety. And geven to servantes in house 2800 _gins_; and paid for our diet 160 _tais_. And so we went to bed to Sheningaua, 2 leagues from Edo; and paid charges, supper and breckfast, 4: 1: 6, and to servantes 400 _gins_. _November 19._--An hower before day we saw an other comet (or blasing starr) rising just east, in the constellation of Scorpio. It is a mighty comet, and, in my opinion, bigger then that which was seene when Sebastian, King of Portingall, was slayne in Barberry.[55] And paid for a colation at Caningaua[56] 400 _gins_. And for dyner at Todska[57] 1000 _gins_. And for ferrying over water 300 _gins_. And so we went to bed to Oyse;[58] and paid for supper and breakfast 2 _ichebos_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [55] Slain in battle in Marocco, 4th August, 1578. [56] Kanagawa. [57] Totska. [58] Oiso. _November 20._--We broke fast at Wodowra,[59] and paid 1000 _gins_. And dyned at Facony,[60] and paid 1000 _gins_. And la all night at Mishma;[61] and paid for supper and breakfast 3: 8: 0, and to servantes 400 _gins_. [59] Odawara. [60] Hakone. [61] Mishima. _November 21._--We went to dyner to Yoishwarra,[62] 1000 _gins_; and to supper to Yegery,[63] and paid 3: 0: 7, and to servantes 200 _gins_. 98 And paid at passag at Fagicaw[64] 300 _gins_. The first comet was not seene after this night. [62] Yoshiwara. [63] Ejiri. [64] Fujikawa. _November 22._--We dyned at Shrongo;[65] and paid 2: 6: 0, and to the servantes 200 _cash_. And soe we went to supper to Fugida;[66] and paid to the howse night and morning 3: 2: 5, being in 2 _ichebos_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [65] Suruga. [66] Fujieta. _November 23._--We dyned at Nisakay;[67] and paid 1 _ichebo_, and to servantes 200 _gins_. And went to supper to Meetsque,[68] and paid for night and mornyng diet 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [67] Missaka. [68] Mitske. _November 24._--We went to dyner this day Famma Mattes,[69] where, Mr. Nealson being sick, we staid the rest of the day, and paid for dyner, breckfast, and supper 4 _ichebos_ 200 _gins_; and for passage at a river 600 _gins_; and to _rockshakes_ to cary Mr. Nealson 300 _gins_. [69] Hamamatsu. _November 25._--We dyned at Arra,[70] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 1 [hundred ?] _gins_; and for passage at a river 500 _gins_; and to _rockshakes_ to cary Mr. Nealson 1000 _gins_ or _ichebo_. And so we went to supper to Ushinda,[71] and paid evenyng and mornyng 2 _ichebos_; and to servantes 300 _cash_ or _gins_; and 1 _ichebo_ for 5 cutt _tattams_ spoiled per our people. The 5 _tattams_ afforsaid were cut by Co John and 2 other knaves, as we went up, unknowne to me till Capt. Adames had receved a letter therof. [70] Arai. [71] Yoshida. _November 26._--We dyned this day at Acca Sackey;[72] and paid 1 _ichebo_, with 100 _gins_ to the servantes. And went to supper to Occa Sackey;[73] and paid 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. This day we mett the _Dyres_ women going towardes Edo to fetch one of 99 themperours doughters to be married to the _Daire_. [72] Akasawa. [73] Okazaki. _November 27._--We went to dyner to Mia,[74] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 400 _gins_ to howse and servantes; and passed from Mia to Quano[75] per water; paid barkhier 1 _ichebo_ 920 _gins_. And paid for diet at Quano, night and morning, 2 _ichebos_ 400 _gins_ to howse and servants. And to our ould host for his pains 1 _ichebo_, and to an other man which brought a present 6 _mas_ 8 _condrin_; they taking paynes to goe to the King of Quanno, to whome I ment to have geven a present for his kyndnes as we passed towardes Edo, but he was not within; so his secretary exskewsed the receving thereof, with many kynd wordes that he would mak it known to his master. But there was 5 musk cods geven the Admerall, borowed of Richard King. And in the mornyng, as we were going out of the towne, the street being full of hackneymen and horses, they would not make me way to passe, but fell a quareling with my _neremoners_, and offred me greate abuse, som of the townsmen taking their partes. But, when they saw me about to goe to the _tono_ to complaine, they made frendes to speak unto me, and asked me forgivnes on their knees: they being in danger of lyfe, yf I complained. [74] Miya. [75] Kuwana. _November 28._--We dyned at Ishaquese,[76] and paid 1 _ichebo_ 200 _gins_; and went to supper to Sheque,[77] and spent night and morning diet 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [76] Ishiyakushi. [77] Seki. _November 29._--We went to dyner to Chuchamy,[78] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 400 _gins_ for diet and servantes. And to supper to Ishebe;[79] and paid for dyet 2 _ichebos_ and 200 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [78] Tsuchiyama. [79] Ishibe. _November 30._--In passing by Cousattes,[80] our host sent his sonne 100 to desyre us to enter into his howse, and made us a banket. Soe I gave hym an _ichebo_, and 100 _gins_ to servantes. And at Setto,[81] 2 leagues short of Oates, our host Magamon Dono had provided a banket for us. And so we dyned at Oates,[82] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 200 _gins_ to the howse, and 300 _gins_ to the servantes; and betwixt Oattes and Miaco Skengoro Dono and Makey Dono mett us in 2 severall places with bankettes. Soe this night we arived at Miaco, haveing made 10 leagues this day. [80] Kusatsu. [81] Zeze. [82] Otsu. _December 2._--We were envited to Cuemon Donos sonne to dyner, where we had very niggardly fare for our selves and worse for our servantes. This fello is Grubstretes sonne, and worse then the father, and that needes not. _December 3._--Our hosts kinsman, dwelling at Oates, brought me 5 salted cod fish and Mr. Nealson 3 for a present. He mett us at a towne beyond Oates, 2 leagues, with a banket at our retorne from Edo, and with an other as we went. _December 4._--I bought and paid for my selfe, viz.:-- 3 duble womens gerdelles, cost 03 1 0 3 duble wo. gerdelles, cost 04 2 0 1 duble gerdell ditto, cost 02 4 0 Watty of silke for a _keremon_ 00 8 0 1 halfe peece ben silk to lyne a _keremon_ 04 1 0 --------- 14 6 0 And we bought 10 bundelles writing paper, cost 8 _tais_. _December 5._--We were envited to dyner to Mackey Dono and had kynd entertaynment. And he gave me a pike for a present. And there were presentes geven to Shebe Dono, Grubstreetes sonne; and to Magamon Donos kinsman at Otes. And I paid our hostis for embradoring and making Matingas _keremon_ a 101 bar Coban, 6: 4: 2. _December 6._--Our host of Miacos brother in law envited us to dyner to a place of pleasure without the cittie, where the dansing beares were, with a greate feste. And there came an antick dance of saters or wild men of other Japons, unto whome I gave 1000 _gins_, and a bar of plate to goodman of howse, containing 4: 3: 0. Soe the dansing beares were sent home after us. _December 7._--Giffio Dono delivered us upon his master Tozayemon Donos accompt, as not being sould, viz.:-- 36 Muscovie or Russia hides. 2 peeces stamet bayes, containing 48-1/2 _tattamis_. 1 remnent black bays, " 22 " 1 remnent strawculler bais " 20-3/4 " all brod cloth: No. 013 brodcloth strawculler, containing 07-6/8 _tattamis_. No. 005 ditto strawculler, containing 07-3/4 _tattamis_. No. 330 murey, containing 07-1/12 _tattamis_. No. 204 murey " 07-11/12 " No. 059 popinge " 07-15/16 " No. 511 popinge " 06-3/4 " No. 463 sadd blew " 06-1/2 " And 2 _tatta._ strawculler, no. unknowne. Our hostis sent me a present, viz. 1 _keremon_ for a woman, 2 peare _segdas_ or womans shews, 7 codd fish called in Japon _tarra_. And she sent Mr. Nealson the lyke, with 5 codd fish. And the host of the howse where we hadd the banket brought me a present of eating stuff in 3 boxes. And Cude Dono of Firando brought me a _barso_ of wine and a banket, _nifon catange_. I sould Skengero Dono rest of my corall, containing 5 _ta._ 4 _mas_, for 20 _taies_. _December 8._--We went this night to supper to Fushamy, and gave presentes to Magamon Dono, our host of Miaco; to Skengero Dono, his son; and to our hostis. And I gave her littell doughter an _ichebo_ of gold. And there was paid out for diett 40 _tais_, and to the servantes in 102 howse 3000 _gins_. _December 9._--We went from Fushamy to Osakay this morning, and gave presentes: to our host 2 _tatta_ black bayes; and to his wife one peece ordenary taffety; to his doughter a gerdell, cost 7 _mas_; to Ric. Cocks, his sonne, a coate, a gerdell, and shews, cost 2: 3: 0; to Wickham, his sonne, a gerdell and shews, cost 0: 5: 0. And to servantes in howse 1000 _gins_, and for dyett 10 _tais_. And I gave a bar plate to Maky Donos sonne, containing 4 _tais_, he bringing hym to me to geve hym the name of Richard Cocks. I gave also 1 _tay_ to Mr. Nealsons boyes syster; and 2 _ichebos_ to 2 dansing beares which followd us to Fraccata. _December 10._--I forgott to note downe, the 7th day of this month, after goodes receved of Giffio Dono, that there wanted or rested yet to rec. for his master Toz. Do. acco. goodes left with him. No. 4275, 2 halfe brod cloth strawculler, containing 14-13/32 _tatta._ No. 009, 1 halfe " " " 08-7/65 " No. 021, 1 halfe " " " 08-1/8 " More bayes black wantes 03 " And bayes straw 06 " And in money due per salles 150 6 6 And lent hym at Firando 010 0 0 ----------------- 160 6 6 _December 11._--Capt. Adams arived at Osakay, but brought not the _goshon_ with hym, but left his man to bring it after, non yet being geven out per meanes of the brute betwixt the Japons and Chinas at Cochinchina. _December 14._--Tome Dono the _jurebasso_ retornd to Miaco with his kinsman, and had geven them for horshier 4 _tais_ plate bars. _December 15._--We sould Maky Dono, in truck of _maky_ ware, viz.:-- 1 brod cloth, No. 121, hayrculler, containing 7-17/25 _tat._ 096 0 0 103 1 brd. cloth, No. 286, cynemond, " 6 " 072 0 0 1 brd. cloth, No. 129, strawculler, " 8 " 084 0 0 Stamet bayes 12 _tatta._ at vj _tay tat._ 072 0 0 ------- 324 0 0 ------- For which he is to deliver me, upon my owne accompt, within 5 months after date hereof, in _maky_ ware, viz.:-- 020 scritorios, according to measure, at 11 _tas._ 220 0 0 100 combcases, at 5-1/2 _mas._ peece is 055 0 0 002 beetell boxes for King Syam, at 15 _tais_ pec. 030 0 0 The rest being 19 _tais_ in other ware or money 019 0 0 ------- 324 0 0 ------- Mr. Eatons littell doughter Helena came from Sackay to vizet me, and brought me a banket for a present, Japon fation, brought per her nurce, the mother being sick. And I sent her mother, by her, a bar plate, and gave the nurce 4 _mas_ small plate. And Cuemon Dono, Grubstreet, our host, gave me a present: 1 sleeping silk _kerremon_, 5 codfishes, 5 bundells sea weed drid, 2 _barsos_ of wyne, 1 _barso_ of vinegar; and to Mr. Nealson 1 silk _catabra_. _December 16._--This day we went to Sakay to dyner, to meet Tozayemon Dono, our host, whoe I am enformed is newly arived from Firando, and I would cleare acco. with hym. And, being at Sackay, I bought for Helena, Mr. Eatons child, these thinges following, viz.:-- 2 silk _kerremons_, at 2 _tais_ peece is 4 0 0 2 peare _tabis_, at 9 _condrins_ peece 0 1 8 2 gerdelles in 1 peece, cost 0 3 5 2 pere shew stringes, cost 0 1 0 ------- 4 6 3 ------- _December 17._--I bought this day 104 2 _keremons_, outside silk and inside lynen, cost 2 5 0 1 _kerymon_, all silk, cost 2 0 0 for my boy Larrance. 2 black _kerremons_ for women, of silk 5 2 0 Also I paid for a scritorio with brass garneture 1: 4: 0. _December 18._--We retorned to Osakay; and paid for our diet and other bankettes 15: 0: 0, and to servantes 2: 1: 0. Ther was 3 theevs taken at Osakay and put to deth, being of the consort of 100 roages sworne to robb and spoile all they could, and had a head or master over them. So ther is much looking out after the rest; and were discoverd per a woman. _December 19._--I rec. a _cubo_ (or womans box) from Maky Dono, cost 15 _mas_, which I sent hym by his man; and wrott hym a letter to make me 10 chirurgions boxes and 10 salvatoris to them, _maky_ ware. _December 20._--Yechere Dono, _alius_ Cynemon Dono, brought me a present of 2 barrilles of wyne. And I bought for Woman Dono:-- 1 _kerremon_, cost 5 0 0 More, for silk watto to put into it 0 8 0 More, 1 gerdell, cost 0 7 0 More, 2 peare _tabis_, cost 0 3 7 More, 2 peare stringes for them, cost 0 1 3 And geven her in money to buy oyle 1 bar plate 2 5 0 --------- 9 5 0 --------- Susannas uncle sent me a letter from Sakay with 2 pewter bottelles for a present. _December 21._--This day at nowne we sett forwardes towardes Firando, and gave out presentes to Cuemon Dono, host at Osakay, to his wife, Luisa Dono, and to their sonne. And for our diet in plate bars 65: 0: 0. And 1 bar plate to Gifio Dono of Sakay for riding up and downe about 105 busynes. And there was 2 _ta._ 4 _ma._ paid per Mr. Nealson for a barke to carry us aboard. And our hostes sonne and other frendes, with Capt. Adams, accompanid us to Dembo, 2 leagues from Osakay, where we road at an ancor all night, the wind being contrary. _December 22._--Cuemon Dono, _alius_ Grubstreet, our host, came aboard our bark within night with a banket. And I wrot a letter to Capt. Adams of our stay this day per meanes of contrary wynd and tide. Unto which he retorned answer, and sent me 50 _muchos_ (or loves of bread). _December 23._--We set forward from Dembo, or rather Incobe, at Osakay this mornyng, passing the bar of Osakay, and arived at Fiugo[83] at nowne. The wind being contrary, we staid at an ancor all night, having mad 10 leagues this day. After this night, the comett, or blasing starr, was seene noe more, and ended under the 3d starr in Chorls wayne or Ursa maior. [83] Hôgo. _December 24._--We tarryed all day and night at Fiungo. _December 25._--We gave rice and fish to all our barkmen to dyner this day, with a _barso_ of wine, in respect of Christmas Day. And meeting with a man of Yechero Donos, I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames of our puting into this place per meanes of contrary wind, and that yf he understood Tozsayemon Dono were arived at Sackay, to send me a letter expres per a _tento_, to thend that yf the wind remeaned contrary, I might put back to Sackay, or else send Mr. Nealson, to look out for the 1000 _taies_. _December 27._--We departed from Fiungo, and paid to the host 4: 0: 0, and to his littell sonne 0: 3: 1, and to servantes 7: 1: 0. Soe we made 40 leagues this day and night, and came to an ancor at 106 Shemuts,[84] 10 leages short of Bingana Tomo. [84] Shimotsai. _December 28._--The wind being contrary, we staid here all day and night following; and, the wether being cold, we had a fyre made with a few charcoll in my chamber, in a place of purpose for such occation, dawbed about with clea. But it seemeth it was decayed, for, after I was in bedd, it took fyre beloe (not being seene before). And had not som of our servantes byn up late, I had byn burned in my chamber, in such a place that I could not have gotten out. For the fyre began within 2 foote of the place I did lie in upon the mattes; and, when they came in and fownd it, yt flamed up brest hie, but, God be thanked, was sowne quenched without hurt. _December 29._--The _tono_ or king of this place is a yong man called Mats Dayre Cunay Dono, of som 24 years ould; the cuntrey called Bigen[85] Sshmutsa; his revenews esteemed at (as our host his vassall tould me), [86] _mangocos_ per anno. He is now at Edo per themperours comandment; and som 20 yeares past his father builded a greate castell or fortresse in this place, which was pulled downe 4 yeares past, when all (or the most parte of) the fortresses in Japon were dismantelled and utterly ruenated. The ruens of this are to be seene very large at my being heare. We departed from Shemuttes, and arived at Bingana Tomo within night, having made 10 leagues. Sent a bark to Miwarry[87] to buy 30 _barsos morofack_ to carry to Firando. [85] Bizen. [86] Blank in MS. [87] Mihara, in Bingo. _December 30._--I bought and paid for 6 peare _shegdas_, or womans shews, 2 _mas_. _December 31._--The wind being contrary, we could not departe; but receved 14 barilles _morofack_ from Miwarra, cost 16: 5: 2. _January 1, 1618/9._--We departed from Bingana Tomo, although the wind 107 were contrary, and paid out for diet 5: 4: 0, for barkhier and a man to fetch wine from Miwarra 1: 4: 0, to servantes 1: 0: 0. And we gave to our hostis of Bingana Tomo for a present one salmon and 2 codd fysh, and to her doughter a pikture of Christ and two musk codds. Soe we made this day and night following 20 leagues. _January 2._--Raine and heale per night, a very storme or tuffon. So we went but 3 leagues this day, and ancored under an iland or rock. _January 3._--We wayed ancor, and with much adoe gott to an other iland to a roade, the village called Sua, having made this day 5 leagues, but, wind serving after, we gott to Camyna Seak[88] by break of day, having made per night 12 leagues. [88] Kaminoseki. _January 4._--We gott this day and night following from Camina Seake to Chimina Seake[89] by break of day, having mad 37 leagues. But som 8 or 10 leagues short of Shimina Seak our boate ran against a rock in the water, that it was a woonder she was not split in peeces, but being a strong new boate shee had noe hurt. God be praised for it. [89] Shimonoseki. _January 5._--Our host at Chimina Seak came abord of us, and brought me a _barsoe_ of wine and a bundell of drid cuttell fish for a present, but, the wind being good, we did not stay, but put to sea. The wind being contrary, we were forced to put back 3 leagues which we had gotten, and to enter into a port in Faccata called Ashia[90] (or Asha), where we staid all night, and went ashore; and paid to howse 1: 2: 2, and to servantes 0: 2: 2, and for fresh fish bought to carry abord. And so we made this day 10 leagues. [90] Ashiya. _January 6._--We departed this mornyng at sunne rising from Ayshia, and the morow morning, at lyke hower, arived at Langway[91] in 108 Crates, having made per day and night 33 leagues. I forgott to note downe that the towne of Ashia was sett on fire some 10 daies past by drinking of tobaco, where their were above 400 howses burned, and 8 of the ruchest men in the towne burned in adventuring over far to save their monies and goods. Amongest the rest a mynt man was one of them, whome was noted above all others for a badd covetous man and one that had gotten his goodes uncontionably. [91] Nagoya. _January 7._--We departed from Languay at sunne rising, and about 1 a clock were forced by a tempest (or tuffon) of wynd and rayne to put into a harbor of Firando, called Awoe, 7 leagues short of Firando, the sea being so overgrowne that we could not keepe it out to gett to Firando. Soe we made 6 leagues this day. _January 8._--We arived at Firando this day about nowne, having made 7 leagues this day. The _tono_ and all the caveleros sent messengers to bid me wellcom home, and all the neighbours and other frendes came in person to doe the lyke. And at our passing by the English shipp which the Hollanders had taken, they shott affe 3 peeces of ordinance to wellcom me, which I tooke rather in scorne then otherwaies. _January 9._--I sent presentes as followeth, viz.:-- To Tonomon Samma 2 _barsos morofack_ and 2 salmons. To Bongo Sama 1 _barso morofack_ and 1 salmon. To Taccamon Dono the lyke. To Oyen Dono the lyke. To Andrea Dittis, China Capt., 2 _barsos morofack_, and 2 salmons, with one silk _kerremon_ geven me per Emperour; and an other silk _keremon_ same to his sonne Augustine; and a silke gerdell, a pere _morofak tabis_ and string, with a perfumed fan to Capt. Chinas wife; and a box or littell trunk _maky_ ware, and a silverd fanne to his 109 eldest doughter, with a pere _tabis_ and stringes; with an other silverd fan to his yongest doughter. To Ed. Sayer a silk _kerremon_ geven me per Emperour. To Jno. Osterwick the lyke. To Mr. Wickhams woman a silke gerdell, a perfumed fan, a pere _morofak tabis_ and stringes; with the lyke to Mr. Eatons and Mr. Sayers women; and allso to Mr. Nealsons and Mr. Osterwicks women. And to Jno. Portus, Robert Hawley, and Jno. Cooke, eache of them a peare of lether buskins; and to each of their women a peare _tabis_ and stringes, with a silverd fanne. And to Matinga 2 ruch _kerremons_, with 2 gerdelles to them, a womans box, a box to put gerdelles in, a peare _tabis morofak_ with 2 peare stringes, and 2 peare small _beaubes_. And to Susanna a box with a gerdell, a peare of _tabis_ and stringes. And to Otto, Matingas mad, a gerdell, _tabis_ and stringes. And to Gynne, littell Otto, and Besse, each one a pere _tabis_ and stringes. And to littell Wm. Eaton a gerdell, _tabis_, stringes, and silverd fan. And to my boy Larrance, to geve his mother, a gerdell. Also Yoskes father sent me a pigg for a present. _January 10._--I understand that in my abcense at Emperours cort that the Hollanders misused me in speeches, which som frendes hearing reproved them for it, and they made answer, a t---- for me and them to. And after, Mr. Sayer and Jno. Portus going along the streete, the Hollanders cast a cup of wyne in the faces of them. Where upon they grew into wordes, and fell together per the eares; in which broyle Jno. Portus broke a Hollanders pate with his dagger. I doe know that Speck, the Holland Capt., sett them on, otherwais they durst not 110 have donne it. Soe herupon Jno. Osterwick and Jno. Portus went to the Hollandes howse to know what their meanyng was to use us in such sort, and withall to tell hym that yf it were by his instigation, to challeng hym and his second into the feeld to answer Ed. Sayer and Jno. Portus, or any other the prowdest Hollanders he would apoint, yf he durst not doe it hym selfe; that they were base people in respect of thenglish, and I a better man then hym selfe or any Hollander in these partes. Capt. Speck exskewsed hym selfe, and said it was unknowne to hym (yet a lie), and soe put them affe. Yet, after, they did not attempt such matters noe more. Tozayemon Dono, being now ready to retorne for Sackay, wanteth 400 and odd _tais_ of the Somo plate lent hym before my going up. And soe I dowbt he will play the gemeny with us, and that it will not come in tyme to send it for Cochinchina, as it is ordayned. Yet he sayeth he will pay duble yf it com not in tyme. We have now no remedy but patience. We were envited this day to dynner to Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., (all thenglish), where we hadd good cheare. And in the ende he brought me his littell doughter of an yeare ould, called Ingasha, willing me to geve her a Christian name, and esteeme her as my doughter. Soe I gave her the name of Elizabeth. And he gave me a present with her, as followeth, viz:-- _ta. ma. co._ 2 silver candell stickes, poz. 30 0 0 2 silver branches, gouldsmiths work 02 9 8 5 peeces grogran, which I esteem at 4 _ta._ peece 20 0 0 5 peeces cheremis, or silk sipers, estemed at as much 20 0 0 ------------ 72 9 8 ------------ With 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fyshes. Capt. Whow sent me 20 pound sitrons for a present. _January 11._--Heale and snowe all day, and lyke per night following. 111 Divers caveleros sent me frute and other eatable presents, and came to bidd me wellcom home. I cut a peece of green damask, and made 2 _keremons_ of it for Helena, Mr. Nealsons gerle, and Mr. Wickhams gerle, and lyned them with a peece Japon taffete. Also I gave Susanna a _keremon_ of them I had of Tozayemon Dono, and lyned it with a peece redd taffetie. _January 12._--Cold, frosty, snowie wether, wind northerly, and soe remayned all day and night following. Soe this is the deepest snowe I sawe since I came into Japon. Mr. Sayer and Mr. Osterwick wrot letters to Syam to send in the Holland junck in my abcense, Capt. Speck assuring them conveance. But this day he sent them back againe, saying that they fownd them under Albartus bed, whoe had forgotten them and left them behind hym. But this is one of Specks tricks, whoe, out of dowbt, had opened them before. But the worst is, Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick were soe unadvized that they noted in their letter how I sent 2 others per same conveance, which I did per a Japon unknowne to the Hollanders, which I dowbt now will be intercepted: which angereth me not a littell. _January 14._--This mornyng still cold, snowey wether, with much wind northerly, and soe remayned all day and the lyke per night following, with a hard frost. [_Here there is a gap in the MS._] 112 _December 5_ (_Shimutsque 21_), 1620.--I receved a letter from Cuemon Dono, of Nangasaque, that he hath 60 beeves lying by hym, and our men will not take them, for that they are leane; and therefore he would have us to take 40 of the best and leave the rest, and would send them by boate for Firando at his owne charges. But I retorned answer that, yf his beefes hadd byn fatt and com in tyme, we had took all, and now hadd taken pork of hym in place thereof, for that I could not meddell in this matter to keepe leane beevs all winter, having neither hayestack nor pasture. _December 6_ (_Shimutsque 22_).--Mr. Wilkyn, a purcers mate of the _James Royall_, having byn sick of a consumption a long tyme, departed out of this world this night past, and was buried this day in our ordenary buriall place. Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and many other accompanied the corps to grave; and Mr. Copland, the preacher, made a speech out of the chapter read in the buriall. The King of Firando sent word he was lame of a legg, and therefore could not goe abord the _James Royall_ to see her, as he desired, and therfore thanked Capt. Pring for his love, wishing hym a prosperouse voyage. Also Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, Capt. Lennis, with the ij preachers, [Mr.] Browne, and my selfe, dyned abord the _Bull_, and had 5 peces ordinance at our departure. And I deliverd Mr. Robinson five R. of 8 to pay, when in England, to 113 my brother Walter Cocks. _December 7_ (_Shimutsque 23_).--The _James Royall_ went out to Cochie roade this day, but, waying ancor too sowne, was put to the northward of Foynes Iland, and lost an ancor of 27 C. wight; and, yf she had not quickly let fall an other, had byn in greate danger, the currant driving her to windward, against the seyles and above 20 boates which toed her to leeward. Yet, God be praised, the second ancor held and staid her till tide turned. The Duch sent 4 barks to toe her out, and I the lyke; and Capt. Spek and others came abord to bidd Capt. Pring fare well. _December 8_ (_Shimutsque 24_).--The Duch shippe _Trowe_ went out to Cochie road this day; and I sent out 4 barkes to helpe to toe her, as they did the like to the _James Royall_ yistarday. We bought the howse Oque Dono our overthwart neighbor, for 1 C. x _tais_, viz. 90 _tais_ to hym selfe, for princepall, and 20 _tais_ to his wife in respeck our bakers made an oven and baked bread in the yard, and our maltman made malt and lodged all in the howse this monson. Mr. Eaton put to acco. lj _tais_ vj-1/2 _mas_ rec. of Mr. Henry Smith, purser of _James_, for 2566 lovs bread of flower which should have gon in the junck _Godspeed_. _December 9_ (_Shimutsque 25_).--I rec. 3 letters from Nangasaque, viz. 2 from Mr. Chapman, of the 1th and 7th present, and 1 from Mr. Badworth, of the 1th present, of thinges sent for Firando in 3 barkes, one of which is cast away, wherin Mr. White of the _Bull_ was. _December 10_ (_Shimutsque 26_).--I rec. a letter from Gonrok Dono at Langasaque, per his man Yasimon Dono, to sent price of our lead, and that he was ready to rec. it. And Capt. Speck rec. another to same effect. This Yasimon Dono offerd us 3-1/2 _condrins_ for a _cattie_, which is 3-1/2 _tais_ per _pico_, not the money it cost in England. And som speeches are geven out that our men above, at Edo, are kept 114 presoners. But I think it is a lie. Yet there weare the like reportes the other day; which was occation I gave Capt. Pring councell to get out into Cochie road, and will make as much hast as we can to gett out the _Moone_ and _Bull_. God send us good luck. And we sent presentes to the King of Firando and his brother, Tonomon Samma, and to Semi Dono, as followeth. Capt. Speck, the Duch comander, Jno. Johnson, and Mr. Leonard for Hollanders, and Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and my selfe for English. For Figien a Camma, King of Firando:-- 150 _cattis_ white silke, viz. 158 skeanes white, and twisted 17 bunds., containing 100 _tatt._ 007 _tatta._ stamet brod cloth. 007 pec. stuff, viz. 2 branch sattin, with rozes, 2 blak sattin, with gold, 3 blak, with gold flowers. 020 pec. redd sais, viz. 10 greate, 10 small. 020 pec. white saies. 010 pec. damaskes, greate. 200 _pico._ of lead. 003 _pico._ peper, with 3 bagges of damask. For Tonomon Samma:-- 050 _cattis_ white silke. 002 _tatta._ stamet broad cloth. 007 pec. redd sayes. 007 pec. white sayes. 007 pec. Canton damasks. 020 _pico._ lead. 050 _cattis_ pepper, with a damask bagg. For Semi Dono:-- 25 _cattis_ white silke. 02 _tatta._ stamet brod cloth. 07 pec. redd sayes. 07 pec. white sayes. 07 pec. Canton damasks. 25 _pico._ pepper and 3 china basons. 10 _pico._ of lead. _December 11_ (_Shimutsque 27_).--Andrea Dittis, China Capt., retorned 115 this morning from Nangasaque, and tells me he mett Mr. Sayer going ashore yistarday, as he was coming from thence. He sent Capt. Pring and me, each of us, a jar of _markasotes_, or sweet bred, and one to Capt. Adames. Also I rec. a letter from Mr. Sayer, dated in Nangasaque yistarday, wherin he writ that one Faccata Soka Dono will lend us 5 or 6000 _tais_ at intrest, yf we will. This day, at English howse, both we and the Hollanders sett our fermes to 2 books (one English, thother Duch) containing the presentes geven the King of Firando, Tonomon Samma his brother, Bongo Samma their greate uncle, and Semi Dono. Yazemon Dono of Faccata hath lent us this day two thousand _tais_ plate of barrs at intrest, to pay ij per cento per month, is forty _tais_ per month. I wrot a letter to the 2 _bongews_ of Umbra to thank them for releeving our men cast away in the bark. And towardes night Bonomon Dono came from Tonomon Samma his master, and brought a pike and _langenatt_ for presentes to Capt. Pring and Capt. Adames. And presently after came Semi Dono with 2 Japon guns and 2 _barsos morowfack_ for Capt. Pring and Capt. Adames, and brought a bankett after Japon fation, to drink with them and take his leave, because he had no tyme to envite them to dynner. Also the king sent 3 men to put us in mynd that he hadd ordayned them serchers, to look out we carid no Japons in our shiping. And I made answer we ment to carry out non but such we would formerly geve his Highnesse notis of, but were loth to consent to a new custom to serch our shipps, never used hertofore, it being against our preveleges granted us per themperour. _December 12_ (_Shimutsque 28_).--We supped all at Duch howse, both Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and all the masters of the shipps and 116 merchantes ashore, where we had greate cheare and no skarsety of wyne, with many guns shott affe for healthes all the night long. _December 13_ (_Shimutsque 29_).--I went downe to Cochie abord the _Royall James_ to seale up my letters, Capt. Pring soe desiringe me. And the Dutch mett us there at supper. And before I departed from Firando I sent our _jurebasso_ to tell the 3 new serchers apointed that I made acco. the _Royall James_ would goe out to morow morning before day, soe that, yf they would vizet her, it were good they went downe this night. I did it because they should take noe advantage against me, being lardg tonged felloes as they are. _December 14_ (_Shiwas 1_).--I delivered all my letters to Capt. Pring for Bantam and England, viz.:-- 1 joynt letter to Mr. Tho. Brockedon and Capt. Augustin Spalding, to Bantam. 1 privat letter to Capt. Spalding, with 15 _maky_ skritorios to sell for me. 1 to Mr. Adam Denton in answer of his, and sale of a cloak for hym. 1 to Jno. Beamond, with a _cattan_ from Jno. _jurebasso_. 1 to Right Worll. Company, of shipping arived this yeare. 1 to Sr. Tho. Smith, in answer of recept of 2 of his, with peare tables. 1 to Mr. Wm. Harrison, treasurer, with a peare _macky_ tables. 1 to Mr. Mouris Abbot, deputie, with a peare pleing tables. 1 to my brother Walter Cocks, with xxiij _ll._ xv _sh._ 1 to Mr. Totton. 1 to Christofor Lanman. 1 to Capt. Jno. Saris. 1 to Mr. Jno. Barker. 1 to Andrew Charlton. 117 1 to Tho. Antony. 1 to Sr. Tho. Wilson. 1 to Mrs. Mary Adams. 1 leger expedition from Mr. Robt. Price. _December 15_ (_Shiwas 2_).--I went downe to Cochie againe, and wrot these letters for Bantam and England:-- 1 to Mr. Brokedon and Mr. Spalding at Bantam. 1 to Mr. Jno. Ferrers at Bantam. 1 to Mr. Tho. Ferrers at London, to pay 9_l._ to my brother Walter Cocks. 1 to my brother Walter Cocks to receve it for acco. Jno. Ferrers. _December 16_ (_Shiwas 3_).--Capt. Cleavenger, Mr. Cockram, and the Hollanders did arive this day from themperours court, with busynes to their owne content, the lead being put at five _tais_ the _pico_, and the prize referred to the King of Firando of the padres and friggat. I rec. these letters from Edo and Miaco, viz.:-- 1 from Oyen Dono, themperours secretary, to Capt. Speck and my self with many good words in it, and how our men were gratiously rec. per themperour. 1 from Gentero Dono, King of Firandos brother, complementall, that he is glad of tharivall of soe many English ships this yeare, etc. [And others.] And I wrote these letters for England and Bantam, viz.:-- 1 to Honble. Company, of arivall of our men from Edo. 1 to Mr. Tho. Brokedon and Mr. Augustin Spalding, to same effect. 1 to Capt. Spalding, with a nest of 5 tronks for Mr. Denton. 1 to Mr. Adam Denton, to same effect. And I carid Oyen Donos letter to the Duch howse, because it was 118 directed to Capt. Speck as well as unto me, and it emported as much as I noted before, as also of the recept of the cheane of gould and presentes sent hym from Honble. Company. And Capt. Speck shewed me an other letter which came from Codgsque Dono, directed both to hym and me, and one to same effect as that from Oyen Dono. _December 17_ (_Shiwas 4_).--The _James Royall_ put to sea out of Cochie roade this day before nowne with a good wind. God send her a prosperous voyadge. _December 18_ (_Shiwas 5_).--I paid unto one of the smiths of the _Moone_, a Staffordshire man, for a fowling peece, fyve Rialles of eight in Spanish plate, is xx_s._ str. And there was brought ashore out of the shipp _Elizabeth_ xvj canestars of silk, and xv bales black China stuffes, cotton woll, and 3 hhds. of China rootes, all of prize goodes taken in the friggatt. The China blak stuffes somthing rotten. And I lent xij R. of 8 to ij Staffordshire men, to pay me 5_s._ per R. of 8 yf they retorne to Japon 6 months hence; yf not, to pay x_s._ for R. of 8 in England. The name of thone is Smith, cook of the _Moone_; the others name is Asberry, a marrenar in the _Bull_. _December 19_ (_Shiwas 6_).--I forgot to note downe how yistarday a Japon did beate an English man, and hald hym into his howse for 5 R. 8; but Abraham Smart met that Japons man in our howse and put hym into the stocks, unknown to me. But I let out the Japon, and put Smart into his roome, although the Japon hadd sett the other into bilbous--I meane the English man--wherof I complained to Semi Dono, and he caused thenglishman to be retorned, and bad me chuse whether I would pay the money to the Japon or no. Mr. Sayer arived from Nangasaque this day, and brought a letter from Pheze Dono of 6000 _tais_ plate barrs taken up of a merchant for 4 months at ij per cento per month; also iij M. v C. _tais_ ditto 119 more, taken up of Soka Dono of Faccata at same term and intrest. _December 20_ (_Shiwas 7_).--Capt. Speck and my selfe sent a letter to Gonrok Dono to Nangasaque per Mr. Osterwick, Co Jno. our _jurebasso_ accompanyng hym, to deliver the Councells letter to hym from Edo to take all our lead at 5 _condrins_ the _catty_, and make us ready payment. _December 21_ (_Shiwas 8_).--The shipp _Moone_ went out of Firando to Cochi Roade this day at nowne; and the Hollanders shott affe 5 pec. ordinance at Duch howse and 5 out of the greate junck; and the _Bull_ shott affe 5 more; and the _Moone_ answered with 9 peces to them, and gave us 5 at retorninge ashore. The Hollanders sent out 4 barks to helpe to toe her out, and I 6. _December 22_ (_Shiwas 9_).--The shipp _Bull_ went out this day, and I sent 6 boates, and the Hollanders 3, but the sea _bongews_ sent non. _December 23_ (_Shiwas 10_).--We had a duble councell this day at English howse, first viz. amongst ourselves, thenglish, Capt. Adames, Capt. Clevenger, Capt. Lennis, and Mr. Munden, Mr. Cockram, Mr. Eaton, and my selfe assisting, viz.:-- 1. Yt was agreed Mr. Ed. Sayer shall goe merchant in the shipp _Bull_, and Robt. Hawley and Ric. King and Harry Dodsworth to goe in other shipping, Duch or English, as shall be thought fitt. 2. Allso that the coates or _kerremons_ geven per themperor should be prised, it being referred to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Cockram to doe it, and then to be destributed per the amerall and his councell to whome they pleased; they being coates of two sortes, one rated at vj _tais_ per peece, and thother at 4 _tais_ peec.; and they which receve them to be bound to pay the money in England, yf the Company like not of the geveing. The other was a generall councell both of us and Hollanders:-- 1. Wherin was sould a cheane of gould, poz. vj _tais_ nyne _mas_, 120 which I Richard Cocks bought for 1 C. x R. of 8, ready paid downe, the one halfe being deliverd to the English admerall, Capt. Adames, and the other to Jno. Johnson, the Duch comander. But first there was xxiij R. of 8 taken out and geven to Capt. Morgan, which he had formerly disbursed. So rest neate delivered to each one 43-1/2 R. of 8. 2. And in this councell was agreed that the shipp _Swan_ shall goe for Manillas with the fleete at halfe charges betwixt the Hollanders and us, I meane betwixt the ij Compans. of England and Holland, they first to geve in a trew acco. what it coms to. 3. Also it was ordayned that ij English men shall goe in each Duch shipp, and ij Duch in each English shipp. 4. There was presentes sett downe to be geven to men in Firando. _December 24_ (_Shiwas 11_).--I gave out my bill for iij M. v C. _tais_ unto Faccata Soka Dono, taken up at intrest for 4 months at 2 per cento per month, the bill being dated from the 2th of the Japon _Shiwas_, is 9 daies past. Also certen Miaco men brought 6000 _tais_ more, telling me Feze Dono took it up att same rate for 4 months, but they desiring a bill of my hand and our lead bownd for payment therof, with a letter to same effect to Gonrok Dono, I denid it, ofering them ether to take my bill or my letter, whether they would, or my bill without mentioning the lead and the letter to mention it. But they would not, but carid away their money. _December 25_ (_Shiwas 12_).--We shott affe 8 chambers and 5 peces of ordinance this morning, it being Christmas Day. I gave 1 _tay_ to Mall Nubery, the _caboques_ coming to vizet us. The _Elizabeths_ company mutened, and ment to have stured up the 121 _Palsgraves_ company to the like, but Capt. Cleavenger clapt the messengers into the bilbos till the admerall determened of it. But a multetude of the _Elizabeths_ men came to reskew them, and Mr. Browne, master of the _Palsgrave_, sent them packing with broaken pates and kept the presoners; for which the muteners sware by flesh and fell they will kill them. One James Littell, a Scotsman, is verey forward in the muteny as a turbulent felloe. And Capt. Edmond Lennis, capt. of the _Elizabeth_, went ashore, not reproving those felloes for it. These felloes abovsaid in generall demanded in mutenose sort the fift parte of the merchandiz taken in the friggot, as also for other matters taken before, aledging Capt. Keeling did the like for priz goodes taken before. Also it is said Capt. Lennis hath secretly detayned a cheane of gould taken in the friggot. _December 26_ (_Shiwas 13_).--We envited the Hollanders to supper this night in the name of Capt. Adams, admeralls name, as they before envited us in their comander Capt. Johnsons name; and we made them cheare to content. _December 27_ (_Shiwas 14_).--Mr. Osterwick retorned from Nangasaque and brought answer from Gonrok Dono that it was referd to his discretion whether he would take our lead at 5 _condrins_ or no; soe he thought it too deare at that rate and ment to com to an other price. And one Jacob Littell, a Scotsman, was taken prisoner for writing idell lynes to make the _Elizabeths_ company to muteny, he being of that shipps company, and wrot those lynes to the _Palsgraves_ company to have made them doe the like, but could not effect it per reason of Capt. Cleavengar and Mr. Browne prevented them. And this Littell, being taken and sent to Firando to be heard, broake out of the bilboes and sled (_sic_) we know not whither. _December 28_ (_Shiwas 15_).--We went (with the Duch) to vizet the king; and the admerall and vizadmerall gave hym to understand shipps were 122 ready to departe, and therefore came to take leave of hym, which he accepted of in good parte, and thanked the admerall for the 2 _baricas_ Spanish wine he sent to hym the other day. We took up vj M. _tais_ plate barrs of Souchio Dono and Cofio Dono of Miaco at intrest for 4 months, at ij per cento per month. And I paid the shewmakers for xj peare slippers and shewes 5-1/2 R. of 8 in Spanish money, viz.:-- R. 8. 3 peare blak slippers for my selfe 2-1/2 2 pear red slippers for my selfe 1 peare shewes for Mr. Hely, the soulder 0-1/2 2 peare shews for Barnardo 1 1 peare shews for malt man 0-1/2 1 peare shews for the brewer 0-1/2 1 peare for Jno. Forster the trumpeter 0-1/2 _December 29_ (_Shiwas 16_).--Capt. Speck came to the English howse to talke about going to Nangasaque to Gonrok Dono, to settell the price of the lead. Soe it was agreed Capt. Speck should goe for both partes to doe his endevour. And Mr. Eaton rec. xxv _tais_ of Mr. Cockram for 5 peces stuffes, at 5 _tais_ pece, to make aparell for servantes which went to Cort. _December 30_ (_Shiwas 17_).--Yt was thought fytt and brought in question by the Hollanders to trym up a China _sampan_[92] to goe with the fleete, but she was fownd unservesable, and rather thought to proceade from the Hollanders to protract tyme till Capt. Speck retorne from Nangasaque, to see yf he can procure license from Gonrok Dono for men to goe out in their junck for Bantam; yf not, then must they keepe Hollanders, although they want them in the fleete. Capt. Speck went this day to Nangasaque about the busynes spetified 123 yisterday, and carid 3 bottells Spanish wine from Hollanders and as many from us to present to Gonrok Dono. [92] _San-pan_: literally, three planks. _December 31_ (_Shiwas 18_).--I paid threeskore and 3 Rialles of eight, Spanish money, to Mr. Joseph Cockram upon a peare of gould masse beades waying 3 _ta._ 7 _ma._ 5 _co._, to sell for hym in his abcense and make hym what other profitt I can. And I gave or paid for Susan xvij-1/2 _mas_, viz.:-- _ta. ma. co._ For a gerdell 1 1 0 For a lyning for coate 0 4 5 For flowers to dye 0 2 0 _January 1_ (_Shiwas 19_), 1620/1._--I went to Cochie to take my leave of the admerall and rest of our frendes, and remeaned theare all night. _January 2_ (_Shiwas 20_).--There was a sea councell held this day abord the shipp _Moone_, admerall, both of the English and Duch, where it was debated what course they ment to take when they went out, being now ready to sett seale. And I gave all the cheefe comanders in our 4 shipps each one a remembrance of my opinion tuching this pretended voyage for Manillias, and that I understood there is xxiiij China junckes bound this yeare for Manillias, and the course they ment to take as apereth per coopie of that remembrance dated in Firando yistarday, being the 1th of January 1620, curant. And I carid a butt of rack of pie abord thadmerall to parte it with thother shipps in respect of a butt of Spanish wine geaven into the factory. And I sent xx. jarrs bisket abord the _Moone_. _January 3_ (_Shiwas 21_).--This morning betymes all our fleete, both English and Hollands, being 9 seale, put to sea towardes the Manillias. God send them good speed. And Capt. Speck retorned from Nangasaque, but did nothing with Gonrok 124 Dono, for he will not take our lead at 5 _tais pico_, although the Emperors councell tould our men at Edo they hadd wrott hym to doe it. _January 4_ (_Shiwas 22_).--I went to the Duch howse to see the laying out of the presentes to geve to noblemen, as per councell ordayned. And at that instant the King of Firando departed towards Miaco and soe for Edo, the Hollanders shooting affe store of chambers and ordinance. And I went after in a bark with Capt. Speck, and we carid hym 3 jarrs concerves, i C. vj. _cattis_ grose tare, wherof 34 _cattis_ grosse weare of myne, rest of Hollanders. And Unagense Dono accompanying hym, we gave hym a present of 4 pec. red says and 4 pec. cheremis and 4-1/2 _cattis_ silk. And I sent Richard Hudson to Cochie to take notis of thinges left in our howses, and delivered them to Shinso Dono, greate Domingos father, and weare as followeth, viz.:-- 817 long shething plankes. 136 shorte ditto. 005 square tymbers. 002 ladders. 006 dores for gedonges, and 1 dore lost out of littell howse. 006 windoes to shutt. 002 shipp boates or skiffes, without ores. And for the mattes, our marreners brutishly tore and cutt them in peeces, and carid such part they thought good away with them, in spite of them I lefte to keepe them, and would have wrong out staples and all iron work out of windoes and dores. And Cuemon Dono, our fleshman at Nangasaque, retorned this day thither, and would not end accomptes with me, except I would alow hym i C. _taies_ plate of barrs put to acco. and paid hym per Mr. Ed. Sayer, as apereth per Cuemons owne hand writing; yet he will not alow thereof, but went away in a fustian fume. _January 5_ (_Shiwas 23_).--I paid the Japon glover for a peare pomps ij _mas_ small plate. And we went with the Hollanders and carid presents this day to Bongo 125 Dono, Sangero Dono, Stremon Dono, Nagen or Unagense Dono, Cacamon Dono, Oyen Dono, Jeamon Dono, Jensamon Dono, Taccomon Dono, Weamon Dono.[93] [93] The presents comprised sayes, Canton damask, silk, cheremis, Lankin silk, and lead. _January 6_ (_Shiwas 24_).--Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard, Albartus, and Mattias envited themselves to our _fro_ and supped at English howse. _January 7_ (_Shiwas 25_).--We envited our neighbours to supper on Tewsday next, which provided thinges for our shipping, with the gunfounders, master carpenters, and smiths. _January 9_ (_Shiwas 27_).--The China Capt. delivered me ij small cheanes of gould, sent me in present out of China, viz. 1 from Chisian Ducuco and 1 from Ticham Shofno, ij of the Emperor of Chinas councell; but the last from Ticham Shofnos sonne, his father being slaine in the Tartarian warr; they sending me word that we may have free trade into China, and the rather for that the ould king hath delivered up the goverment of China to his sonne. All our neighbours that weare envited on Sunday last came to dyner this day, and had the _fro_ heate[d], and a play of _caboques_, unto whome I sent two bars of plate containing viij _taies_ vj _mas_. Capt. Speck came to me late to desire me to look out for Capt. Adames _goshon_ to get Japons goe in his junck for Bantam, he standing in dowbt that Andreas, Capt. Adams woamans brother in law, is gone to Nangasaque to make it away to others. _January 10_ (_Shiwas 28_).--I wrott 2 letters into China per conveance of Andrea Dittis, 1 to Chisian Dicuco and 1 to Ticham Shofno, of recept 2 chenes gould, with other complementall matters. I lent my _goshon_ to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., and Itamia Migell 126 Dono, to make a voyadge for Tonkin or Cochinchina, and to retorne it to me, voyadg enden, under a recept geven me in Japons, fermed per both. _January 11_ (_Shiwas 29_).--I was suretie for China Capt. for 1500 _tais_ plate barrs, taken up at intrest at 2 per cento per month from first of later moone of _Shiwas_, being the 13th of this month of January, antedated 2 daies, for 7 month space; which is to be sent into China with 1500 _taies_ more from China Capt. to procure free trade into China; which not taking effect, the China Capt. is to repay the 1500 _tais_ back, with the intrest, for Honble. Companis use. _January 12_ (_Shiwas 30_).--We sent our _jurebasso_, Tome Dono, with the Hollands _jurebasso_, to Nangasaque, with a letter to Gonrok Dono, with good wordes once more to desire his Lordshipp to take the lead as the Councell sett price. _January 13_ (_Second Shiwas 1_).--Andrea Dono, Capt. Addames brother in law at Edo, arived heare this day, and brought the _goshon_ of Capt. Adams from themperour, which Capt. Speck soe much desireth to make use of to sett out their junck for Bantam, otherwais she will loose her voyag this year (as she did the last). Soe I made it knowne to Andrea, who tould me he dowbted to doe it, in respeck of the badd tong of Jno. Yoosen that kept such a bawling at Emperours court against it. Soe he thought nether Capt. Speck nor I would be an occation to disgrace the children of the deceased Capt. Adams, whome we weare bound rather to favour then otherwais. And that which was more, he had, in the childrens behalfe, bought the halfe of a junck at Nangasaque, wherin he ment to goe hym selfe and make use of the _goshon_ lawfully. Unto whome I answered that he might make acco. that nether Capt. Speck nor my selfe ment not to doe any thing prejuditiall to our deceased frendes children in any sort whatsoever, but yf he had bought halfe 127 that junck, that Capt. Speck should take and quit hym of that losse and all other dangers that might ensue; and that upon necessitie it was as fitt our frendes should make use of it as a China or any other stranger. Soe we agreed to morow morning to goe to Capt. Speck and take councell about it. _January 14_ (_Shiwas 2_).--I went to the Holland howse about the _goshon_, and cald Andreas thither, to perswade hym to deliver it to me and lett the Hollanders make use thereof to the most benefite of Capt. Adams children. But he answerd me he hadd sent it overland from Shimena Seak to Nangasaque by one of Mrs. Adams men. Yet, before, he tould me it was heare at Firando, but that he could not let me nor noe other have it, in respect he had promised it to one Goquan, a China, and had bought the one halfe of his junck. And then I asked hym whoe gave hym authoretie to dispose of this _goshon_, I sending it up to be renewed, without taking my councell herein. Unto which he could make noe answer. Soe I required a writing at his hand of sending the _goshon_ from Ximina Seak, and therin he promised me to use meanes to retorne it to me, and would goe to morow with me to Nangasaque to performe it. _January 15_ (_Shiwas 3_).--I was enformed Andreas sent away a boate at midnight past to Nangasaque, to adviz his consortes of my demand for the _goshon_. Soe this day at nowne I went towards Nangasaque about that matter and our leade, and desird Andrea to goe with me as he promised, and went to his lodging with my bark to call for hym; and he sent me word he would com after in a bark of his owne. Soe we went this night 12 leagues on our way, and came to an ancor. _January 16_ (_Shiwas 4_).--We arived at Nangasaque this day at 3 a clock in the after nowne, but Andrea was not com. And I fownd Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, whoe hadd spoaken with Gonrok Dono about my 128 plito with Cuemon Dono of Nangasaque for the bords and tymber; and he tould hym he would refer it till he came to Firando 10 or 12 dais hence, and then end it before Tonomon Samma, the king's brother, whome had spoaken about the matter before. Also I sent to Jenquese Dono, Mrs. Adams frend, to adviz hym of my being heare and wherabout I came; yet he came not to me. And at night Itamia Migell Dono came to vizet me with Hollands ost and divers others, and brought me a banket with ij _barsos_ wyne and ij wilduckes; and Palus (? Pauls) father a basket orenges and 18 small lobstars. _January 17_ (_Shiwas 5_).--I sent to Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono of my arivall and that I would vizet them to morow or next day. But Gonrok made a feast to princepall in this place. Andrea arived heare and sent me word he was aweary, yet ment sowne after to com and speak with me. Many presentes were sent unto me. _January 18_ (_Shiwas 6_).--Andrea of Edo came to me after nowne and tould me he could not nor would not deliver the _goshons_ unto me, telling me he did that which he did by order from Capt. Adams woman. Unto which I answered that that woaman had nothing to doe with it, but her children, whom I had charg over and not shee. And then he answerd me, she (or he for her) had taken all the paines and disburced the money to buy presentes to get out the 2 _goshons_. But, at same instant, Tozayemon Dono standing by answerd that he had delivered iij C. and odd _taies_ to Jenquese, Capt. Adames man, he demanding it for that purpose, this plate belonging to the deceased Capt. Adames. Soe I then demanded of Andrea whoe disburced this plate, he or I? Unto which he could answer nothing; but Tozayemon Dono desired me to refer the matter to hym till to morow, and he would end it to both our contentes. And this day we went to dyner to Itamia Migell Dono, where we had kind 129 entertaynment and great cheare with _caboques_. And I sent my packes of letters to Firando, to goe in the Hollandes junckes for Bantam and Syam. _January 19_ (_Shiwas 7_).--We were envited to dyner to Kitskin Donos howse, and hadd good entertaynment. _January 20_ (_Shiwas 8_).--A Portugez called Augustino de Fiquira came to me and desyred a letter to Capt. Speck to retorne hym a slave of his which was in cure of the ---- in the Duch howse, as he understood, his name being Francisco Mallabar. Of the which I gave hym a letter with the slaves name, with my opinion the keeping of such a slave would doe us nether creddit nor profitt. And we were envited to dynner to Groby Dono, the Hollandes host at this place, where we had greate cheare, with the dansing beares. And at last cast Tozayemon Dono sent me word, now I have staid 2 dais at his request, that Andrea and the rest will doe nothing. _January 21_ (_Shiwas 9_).--I went to Gonrok Dono to demand justice against Andrea, Jenquese, and Wyamon, for the _goshons_ of Capt. Adams and the money they have receaved without lycense from me. And he gave me faire wordes, and willed me to retorne to hym to morrow after nowne, for that he was envited out to a frendes howse to a banket and at instant ready to departe. And we were envited to supper to Paulo Dono, our gunpouder man, where we had good cheare, and many chambers and guns shott affe. _January 22_ (_Shiwas 10_).--I went againe to Gonrok Dono about my plito with Andrea of Edo for the _goshons_ of Capt. Adames children. But he sent for the said Andrea, and, in my hearing, tould us both he would not meddell in the matter, he being of Edo and I of Firando. Soe I think Gonrok was grezed in the fist before hand. Also Cuemon of Nangasaque came before hym about our processe with Ed. 130 Sayer for the 100 _tais_ he saieth he had not receved, although we have his hand to shew for it. Soe Gonrock Dono entreated me to geve hym 50 _tais_, because he was a pore man, and the matter in question both before the King of Firando and hym selfe. I answerd I would be ruled herin per his Lordshipp, but first desired the acco. might be perused betwix the China Capt., for me, and let hym apoint an other for hym selfe. _January 23_ (_Shiwas 11_).--I went and vizeted Feze Dono, the justis, and carid hym 2 bottelles of strong waters, bottelles and all, which he took in good parte and gave me greate thankes for it. Alsoe I sent other two of same to Gonrok Dono, which he kindly accepted of. And I gave the water of other 2 to Alvaro Gonsalves and Alferes Twerto. Also I took up iij M. _tais_ in plate of barrs this day of Tozayemon Dono, our host of Sackay, at ij per cento per month, or else at his coming to Firando to geve hym silke or other comodety in payment to his content, or keepe the money for 5 months at intrest. This day Hollands junck departed from Firando towardes Syam. _January 24_ (_Shiwas 12_).--The China Capt. sent away 16 China marrens to Capt. Speck. I left a letter with Alvaro Gonsalves for to deliver to Emanuel Rodrigos when he returneth from Xaxma, of my coming hither only to make plito against Capt. Adames men for delivering the two _goshons_ without making me privie to it; and that Jenque hath receved above 1000 _tais_ of Capt. Adams money without making me privie to it nor how it is disburced; and Wyamon Dono, an other of the deceased Capt. Adams men, hath taken up 400 _tais_ worth merchandiz of me, and meneth to goe capt. of the _goshon_ in his junck without making me payment; and Torosacka, an other of Capt. Adams men, oweth Mr. Eaton 50 _ta_, 131 and meneth to goe offecer in his junck without making payment, which I desire non of them may. As also that Mr. Eaton hath certen fyne corse lynen, which he meanes to send to Manillias. The China Capt. junck arived from Firando. I receved a writing of Itamia Migel Dono to retorne me my _goshon_ at retorne of juncke _Willing Mind_. And I reconed with Paule for these thinges bought, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ For a chist 00 6 0 For 5 baskittes to put oringes in 00 1 6 For halfe a beefe 01 3 5 For an emptie jarr to put bread in 00 0 6 For 16 roles biskett bread 00 7 5 For neales to neale 2 money chistes 00 0 1 For reddish rootes to spend at sea, with other hearbs and rootes 0 1 3 For 3 hense for sea 0 1 5 For fish at sea to eate 0 3 0 For xx loves bread for sea 0 2 0 For 440 candelles for howse provition 4 0 0 And geven for a present to China Capt. junck, viz.:-- For 2 emptie barilles 0 2 4 For 80 _gocos singe_ 1 1 5 For ij _tay_ fishes 0 1 2 More 5 roles of bread aforsaid. And I sent Mr. Osterwick to Gonrok Dono with a coppie of my processe I ment to begyn with Capt. Adames servantes about the _goshons_, for the childrens right. _January 25_ (_Shiwas 13_).--I reconed with Paule for these thinges following, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ For 118 _gocos_ of _singe_ for sea 1 6 9 For 1 bunch of carrotes 0 0 5 For 9 _gocos_ of vinager for sea 0 1 8 For 1 sack salt for sea 0 1 0 For a jarr to putt egges in 0 0 6 For ij mattes to make up money chist 0 0 2 132 For 5 sacks of coles 0 2 2 Mor for 2 sacks rise for marrenars 1 5 0 And 1 sack geven the pore 0 7 5 And 1 for provition for sea 1 1 5 I retorned towardes Firando after nowne; and we paid out for diett in the howse 20 _ta._, and to the servantes 1 bar plate, is 4: 3: 0. And I gave 2 peeces black satten, the one to Capt. Chinas wife, and the other to his sonne Augustins wife. And Paulo Dono, our gunpouder man, went out to meete us with a banket 3 leagues on our way, and placed chambars on a rock and shott affe 12 or 14 tymes. So we arived at Setto at night. _January 26_ (_Shiwas 14_).--We departed from Setto, and paid in howse, viz. for howse rowme 1: 0: 0, for fish geven us 0: 3: 0. Soe, the wind rising, we put into Woamon Docka. _January 27_ (_Shiwas 15_).--About midnight we departed from Woamon Docka, and arived at Firando about 10 a clock this day in the affore nowne. We paid at Woamon Doka, for howserowme 1: 1: 0, and for fish at one draught 0: 7: 0, and for 3 other tay fish 0: 1: 0, and for live fresh fish 0: 3: 0. And at my coming to Firando I found that Man the Companis slave, bought the last yeare at Nangasaque to goe in our junck for a cawker, was run away, and hath stolne plate and other matters. This fello hath byn a secret theefe ever since he came into the howse, and hath stolne dyvers silver cupps, spoones, and forkes, with other matters, both of the Companis and others. I sent all the orenges, rownd biskit cakes, and sweete bread to our neighbors wives whoe lent us money and furnished us with our tymber, mastes, biskit, etc. _January 28_ (_Shiwas 16_).--I paid out myselfe in plate barrs vij 133 _tais_ for the outsides of 3 _kerremons_ for Mr. Eatons sonne Wm., his hostes daughter, and China Capt. doughter. Capt. Leonard Campes came to thenglish howse, and tould me he knew not where the 2 negros weare which came from Nangasaque, which Alvaro Gonsalves and others wrot for; nether thought he it was fitt to retorne them, although he did know where they weare. Unto which I answerd that yf it were my case, as it was his, I would retorne them both, but espetially the one which was our frends slave. But it semeth he will not, nether take hym at 50 R. of 8, as he cost Alvaro Gonsalves. _January 29_ (_Shiwas 17_).--I wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque about Man, the Companies slave which is run away, viz. 1 to Skidayen Dono, secretary to Gonrok Dono, 1 to Paule the gunpoulder man, 1 to Yoshemon Dono, Pauls father, to look out for hym; laying to his charge the stealing of silver cupps, spoons, and forks, with other matters; and they to seek hym out and send hym back in bonds. Also I wrot to Alvaro Gonsalves I canot procure his servant out of the Hollanders handes. The Hollandes junck for Bantam went out to Cochie Roade this day, and shott affe 7 peces ordnance and had the chambers and other ordnance shott out of Hollandes howse. And I sent the capt. of her a barill of _skar_ beare and an other to Hollandes howse. _January 30_ (_Shiwas 18_).--I paid to the hatmaker China teliar, for making aparell, in small plate ij _ta._ vij _mas_. More for a _kerremon_ geven a child, small plate xv _mas_. _January 31_ (_Shiwas 19_).--I delivered iij chistes of plate of barrs to Mr. Eaton, the same I receved of Tozayemon Dono at Nangasaque, to accompt with Cushcron Dono, our neighbors and others about provition of our fleete; and paid per him 2000 _tais_. And I carid my packet of letters to the Hollands howse, to send for Bantam in the junck, per Capt. Albartus, being coppies of them sent 134 per the _Royal James_ both to the Honble. Company in England and precedent at Bantam, with others of 20th present and this day, as appereth per coppies. And in these letters I sent the coppie of taxation of _Swan_ per Hollanders and other charges about her in comune, she going with fleete for the Manillias; as also a note of charges laid out for James Littell, sent presoner in the junck for Bantam, in said junck: amont unto, in all, 12 _ta._ 1 _m._ 9-1/2 _co._ And Mr. Eaton paid iij _tais_ in small plate unto Tome of Nangasaque, who staid heare 18 daies to prune, cutt, and sett our trees in orchards and garden. And the cutlar came to make cleane my weoapons this day. Also this day a carpenter was cutt in peeces for a muteny he and other xj made, to enter a pedlars house and cutt certen wooden shewes in peeces, they esteeming to have preveledg to make such matters. All xij had died for it, yf the queene mother had not begged their lives. _February 1_ (_Shiwas 20_).--I sent ij _taies_ to the dansing beares, in small plate, they coming to our garden with a banket when we planted our trees. And we began our work to wall in our howse, newly bought to make a gadong in. _February 2_ (_Shiwas 21_).--I paid out xiij _tais_ plate of barrs my selfe unto the founders for a peace of a cheane of gould, and sent the money per Luarance my boy. Also I paid out, in small plate, for divers thinges for Susan, viz.:-- For ij gerdelles for servantes in howse 0 3 0 For i bundell of paper, for selfe 0 1 5 For 1/2 _catty_ tobaco, ditto 0 0 5 For woamans oyle, ditto 0 2 5 For _chaw_, ditto 0 2 0 For i peare wooden clamps, ditto 0 1 0 More paid out to Larrance, my servant, to buy hym a coate or _kerremon_ of silke, in small plate, 4 _ta._ And I went to Oyen Dono, kinges secretary, to vizet hym, and carid hym 135 a bottell Spanish wine and a greate fish, and took his councell about buying our three neighbours houses, and to aske leave to make our wharfe or kay 3 _tattamis_ further out into the sea. He tould me he would make it knowne to Tonomon Samme and Taccamon Dono, and then would advize me when it was tyme to goe my selfe. And I rec. an other letter frem Alvaro Gonsalves about his caffro, and he sent the like to Hollandes Capt., but they will deliver no caffro. _Febrary 3_ (_Shiwas 22_).--I receved ij letters from Nangasaque in answer of myne, 1 from Palue (_sic_) Dono, the gunpoulder man, 1 from Yoshemon Dono, Palus father, tuching Man the slave. They write me how Skidayen Dono, Gonrok Donos secretary, having receved my letter, went to Feze Dono and shewed it to hym. Soe they made a comune serche throwe the towne for the theefe Man, and, not finding him, comitted his father, mother, and brother to preson, with an other, his master which sould hym, whoe the ten of the streete are bound to answer for his forth coming, and, in fallt of fynding out the theefe, must answer with their lives or geve us content for what is stolne. And I retorned answer of my ij letters rec. this day from Nangasaque, thanking them for their paines taken to find out the fugetive theefe Man, and that we could not find hym out heare, desiring them to look out theare to his sureties to retorne hym to me, and I would use hym noe worse then he deserved. These ij letters I retorned per Paule the gunpowder man his man, whome he sent expres to me to adviz what hadd past. And I gave hym 5 _mas_, to pay for his boate hier, and a silke coate or _doboque_,[94] an upper garment or Japon cloake. And I paid the Spanish telier five R. of 8, as followeth viz.:-- For buttons and loopes for a black bay coate, being 31 2 R. 8 136 For making the said bay coate 2 R. For buttons for the sleeves 0-1/8 R. For buttons and loopes for a Portingall cap, or _galtera_[95] 0-3/8 R. For making the said _galtera_ or capp, 4 _mas_ is 0-1/2 R. Which money I paid in Spanish R. my selfe, being 3 tymes more then was reason; and so an end, etc. We lent Andrea Dittis, China Capt., viz. 3 murthering peeces, or fowlers, with vj chambers, wherof 2 bras; 3 hargabushes of crockes[96]; and 4 Japon calivers or guns. And the gouldsmith came to work this day. [94] _D[=o]-buku._ [95] Port.: _gualteira_. [96] Probably the "crook", or rest, for the harquebus. _Febrary 4_ (_Shiwas 23_).--This morninge cold wether, with a hard frost, with snowe. Hard frost all day, and the like per night following. _Febrary 5_ (_Shiwas 24_).--Capt. Leonard and Capt. Albartus and Wm. Cuiper went to the kinges brother to take leave of hym, to departe with the junck towardes Bantam; Albartus going capt. and Wm. Cuiper master. And, after, came to English howse for like occation. And this day one Catsso Dono, the kinges kinsman, caused a master carpenter, his servant, to cut his bellie, which was master to the carpenter kild the other day. Soe it is thought he meaneth to pick a quarrell with Taccamon Dono for killing his other slave the last day; and verely thought sett on per others of the greatest sort; for Tonoman Samme and the queene mother labourd to have had the matter left till the king hadd retorned, but Taccamon Dono would not. _Febrary 6_ (_Shiwas 25_).--Tyamon Dono our master carpenter came and borrowed xx _taies_ to redeeme the other xj carpenters freed the other day, they being taxed at iij _taies_ per head, forfeted to the king. And I paid out money as followeth, viz.:-- For a _kerremon_ outside, lyning and dying, for 137 Williams nurse 1 0 2 For a silk gerdell for Tassak 1 0 0 And in plate bars, for ij pec. lyning for Williams coate, with the 2 gerls coates, is ij _tais_ 4 _mas_ bars 2 7 6 And I paid in small plate to the glover sumaker, viz. for iij peare of pumps, at ij _mas_ peare 0 6 0 For making iij peare of sue rozes at 5 _con._ 0 1 5 _Febrary 7_ (_Shiwas 26_).--I went to Hollandes howse, and took leave of Sr. Albartus, whoe I understand was ready to goe downe abord their junck to Cochi roade. And Gonrok Dono, governor of Nangasaque, arived at Firando, and sent me ij silk _kerremons_ for a present, with many frendly words of salutation. And we agreed with Fezemon Dono of Firando, in presence of Tayamon Dono, the carpenter, for tymber and boardes to make a new gedonge. All which amontes unto iiij C. xxxj _tais_ vij _mas_ plate barrs, 431 _ta._ 7 _m._ 0 _c._; wherof he is to have thon halfe in hand and the other at full delivery of all tymber, as by particulers. _Febrary 8_ (_Shiwas 27_).--The Hollanders and we went to vizet Gonrok Dono, and carid hym ij _tatta._ of stamet cloth for a present. And, after, Tonoman Samme sent for us and the Hollanders to bring the fryres before hym and Gonrok Dono, which we did, he examenynge them what they weare, they denying to be pristes, although we shewed their letters to verefie it. Soe Gonrok would have made a new processe of it; but we answerd the processe was made before the King of Firando, which we could not alter, yet would geve his Lordshipp a coppie therof, yf he pleased, and was the same we had also delivered to themperours councell. Soe he was contented with it. _ta._ _m._ _co._ And I paid the cutler for skowring weapons 0 9 8 And for making skabard for _cattan_, redd 1 0 0 And to the gouldsmith for 3 daies work 0 4 5 _Febrary 10_ (_Shiwas 29_).--Gonrok Dono came to vizet our English howse 138 and desired to see our lead, which I shewed unto hym; which he took in good part, as also the entertaynment he hadd; and did promise to doe his best to bring the price of the leade to 5 _tais pico_, yet, because he had written to the contrary, could not now on the sudden doe it. And he being ready to departe towardes themperours court, I sent hym ij glasse bottelles of a pottell a peece filled with Spanish wine, to drink in the way; which he took in very kind parte. And the Hollandes junck being ready to departe, I went to Cochie, and toke leave of Capt. Albertus, and carid hym a barill skarbeare and a bankett, _nifon catange_, or Japon fation. And wrot ij other letters, viz.:-- 1 to Honble. Company, enclozed to precedent. 2 to precedent of Bantam, Tho. Bockedon, and Capt. Augustyn Spalding. And, after, I wrot an other letter to the Worll. Tho. Brokedon and Capt. Augustin Spalding, sent per James Littell, the Scotsman, of the duble dealing of Capt. Jacobo Especk to sett our leade at 4-1/2 _tais pico_, without asking councell of me. Soe now he will geve but 4-1/2 _tais_ per _pico_, and not pay for it till 3 mo. hence, or it may be more, when he pleaseth to send money from Edo or Miaco. I wrot ij letters to the woamon of deceased Capt. Adames and to Shongo Samma, the admerall, about the knavery of Andrea and Jenquese. _Febrary 11_ (_Shiwas 30_).--I paid the barber for Laurance, my servant, for tryming hym the yeare past, iij _mas_. And Capt. Leonard Campes came to me to aske me whether I hadd consented to lett the lead goe at 4-1/2 _tais pico_, as Gonrok Dono had certefied hym. Unto whome I answerd that Gonrok had sent to me to demand whether I would lett our leade passe at 4-1/2 as he had ended with the Hollanders; unto whome I retorned answer that, yf the Hollanders had soe agreed with hym, I would know of them, and would 139 not obstenately replie noe. So it seemed this Gonrok plaid on both partes, thinking his faire wordes would make fooles faine; for he tould me he esteemed our parcell of lead much better then the Hollanders, and to the Hollanders said he esteemed theirs much better then ours. Divers neighbors sent wyne and fish for presentes. _Febrary 12_ (_Shonguach 1_).--I sent the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, a present, this being their new years day, for a new years gift, viz.:-- 1 silk _kerremon_ of them Gonrok Dono gave me. 1 pece redd silk cheremis to his eldest doughter. 1 damask _kerremon_ to his youngest doughter. 1 bottell Spanish wine to hym selfe. More, I sent to Niquan, his kinsman, 1 silke _kerremon_, which Gonrok sent me. These presents I sent to hould frendshipp, hoping to get traffick into China, this Niquan being emploied therein. And I gave to our servantes in the howse, viz. to Jno. _jurebasso_, Tome _jurebasso_, Coa Jno. _jurebasso_, Fachemon and Sangero, cookes, and porter, to each one a silk cloake or _doboque_. I sent Ric. Hudson to fetch back my letter which I wrot to the precedent at Bantam, dated the 10th present, and sent per James Littell, the Scotchman, which letter I instantly, at recept thereof, shewed unto Mr. Eaton and Jno. Osterwick, for that by their countenances I perceved they thought I hadd written somthing against them, which I had not donne, but only tuching Capt. Speck, how he did thinges of his owne head, not making us of councell in doing thereof. Which letter I had noe sowner shewed to Jno. Osterwick but he forthwith went to the Hollandes howse, and there I fownd hym talking with the Hollanders, and, as I surmised, tould them what I hadd wrott tuching Capt. Speck, for he blusht at my entrance, Mr. Eaton 140 accompanyinge me, to speake with Capt. Leonard to determen what to send the _tono_ to morow, and he to accompanie me in doing of it in halves, as he thought it fitt to doe the like to Taccamon Dono, Lord Cheefe Justis. _Febrary 13_ (_Shonguach 2_).--We went with the Hollanders to vizet Tonomon Samma and wish hym a good new yeare, and carid presentes, viz.:-- all presented in name of both. from our selves 2 _barsos_ Japon wine 2 great fyshes from the Hollanders 1 bottell strong water 1 of Spanish wine 1 platter of fritters 1 platter mange royall And to Taccamon Dono:-- presented in both names. from English 2 _barsos_ Japon wine 2 fishes, great from Hollanders 1 bottell strong water 1 bottell Spanish wine And we sent presentes to others, viz. 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fishes to Bongo Samma, Oyen Dono, Sugen Umbra Dono, his father, Sesque Dono, Semi Donos sonne, and Sangero Samma--all from English. And we receved presentes from our neighbours. _Febrary 14_ (_Shonguach 3_).--We sent these presentes following, viz. 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 great fishes to Ucana Came of Xaxma, Minema Soyemon Dono, Geemon Dono kinges man, Cakemon Dono kinges man, Lezeamon Dono sea _bongew_, Sheroyemon Dono his brother, and Yasimon Dono. And we receved presentes. _Febrary 15_ (_Shonguach 4_).--We gave these presentes following, viz. [wine and fish] to Chozamon Dono, Oyen Donos sonne, to Tobioye Dono, garden _bongew_, [and others]. _Febrary 16_ (_Shonguach 5_).--The Hollands junck departed from 141 Cochie roade this day in the morning towardes Jaccatra or Bantam. God send her a prosperous voyage. And within night Gonrok Dono sent his man to know whether we would lett our lead goe at 4-1/2 _taies_ the _pico_ or noe, he being determened to departe towardes Miaco at midnight. And I sent answer, as the Hollanders did the like, that under 5 _taies_ the _pico_ we could not sell it, it being the price sett downe per the Emperour. Soe, after, Tonomon Samma sent me word, likwais within night, that both we and the Hollanders should com to hym in the morning to confer about price of the leade, and that Gonrok Dono would be theare about it. _Febrary 17_ (_Shonguach 6_).--Tonomon Samma sent againe for me to com to hym about price of the leade; and I sent to the Hollanders to know when they ment to goe about it. But Capt. Speck came to the English howse and tould me Gonrok had sent for hym and asked him whether we ment to lett the price of the leade goe at 4-1/2 _tais pico_ or noe; which he tould hym, yf he had ready money heare to pay for it, he would take councell with us. Unto which he answerd, yf we sett the price, he would use his best endeavours to get money from Nangasaque or Miaco within 2 or 3 months. Soe hereupon they broke affe, Capt. Speck denying it; and Gonrok Dono departed away towardes Miaco; and Tonomon Samma sent word we needed not to com unto hym. _Febrary 18_ (_Shonguach 7_).--We made agreement this day with Seezamon Dono, our wood or tymbar man, for matters following, viz.:-- For 4 great mastes or trees containing 14 Japon _tatta._ in length, and 1-1/2 _tatta_. rownd at greate end, and at the lesser end 18 inches diametar, at 150 _tais_ plate bars _ta._ per mast 600 For 6 smaller mastes, viz.:-- all of one bignes, viz. at great end 1 _tatta._ rownd, 142 and at small end xi inches diametar: 2 of xj _tattamis_ long 2 of x _tatta._ long 2 of ix _tatta._ long At 50 _taies_ the tree (or mast), bar plate, is 300 More, for 1000 shething boardes or plankes, containing 3 _tatt._ long and xij Japon inches broad, but the thicknesse 3/4 of an inch, at iij _mas_ iij _condrins_ per bord, barr plate, is 330 More, 50 square tymbers (or _cakis_) hard wood (or oake) containing 3-1/2 _tatta._ in length and vj Japon inches square every way, at vij _mas._, barr plate, per peece is 035 More, 50 ditto lesser, same hard wood, containing 3 _tatt._ long per peec., 5 inches square, at 5 _mas_, bar plate, pec. 025 To be delivered all within the space of v or vj monethes after the date hereof, all amonting to 1290 _Febrary 19_ (_Shonguach 8_).--The Hollanders, viz. Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard Camps, Matias vander Brook, and William, came to English house, where we had councell about sending up after Gonrok Dono for price of the lead, and about the friggat to get it for prize. Soe it was concluded to send an expres only with letters directed to the King of Firando, with others to themperours councell, written in good sorte; and to send presentes, viz.:-- 5 _tattamis_ fine damask tabling to Oyen Dono. 5 _ditto_ to Codskin Dono. 5 pec. fine parcullas to King of Firando. _Febrary 20_ (_Shonguach 9_).--Taccamon Dono sent to desire me to lett hym have the favour to serve us with gunpolder and match, and would be bound to deliver it at as loe a price and as good as any other should doe, unto whome he sent, they being our neighbours and his secretary. I made answer that his Lordshipps request was reasonable, and therefore I was content, but must stay till our fleete came, to know the quantety of each sort; and for the gunpolder I desired that Paule Dono, our gunpolder man of Nangasaque, might have the oversight of the work, which it seemeth Taccamon Dono had pretended before, as his man tould me. Capt. Adames childe in Firando was brought to me per the mother, unto 143 whome I gave ij _tais_ in small plate, and offerd her to pay for the bringing of it up to schoole, yf she would deliver it to thenglish nations protection. _Febrary 21_ (_Shonguach 10_).--I agreed with Uquese Dono the tylor to make tilles for our new godong and other building at 23 _mas_ the 1000 tiles of all sortes, one with an other. _Febrary 22_ (_Shonguach 11_).--We went and measured the buriall place, and had 13 _tattamis_ square alowed us. And Semi Dono retorned from Miaco, unto which place he accompanied the king when he went up. _Febrary 23_ (_Shonguach 12_).--We and the Hollanders went to vizet Semi Dono, and we carid hym a bottell of strong water and an other of Spanish wine, with a great box (or _bandeja_[97]) of sweet bread; and the Hollanders ij bottelles of Spanishe wine and one of strong water--which he tooke in kind parte, and sowne after sent us ij _barsos_ of wine and a salmon. [97] Span.: _bandeja_, a sideboard or waiter. _Febrary 24_ (_Shonguach 13_).--Yochemon Dono and the gunpolder mans servant broght the theefe Mon back from Nangasaque, with iiij letters from Feze Dono and Skidayen Dono and Ichemon Dono and Paule Dono, the gunpoulder man. _Febrary 25_ (_Shonguach 14_).--I wrot iiij letters to Nangasaque in answer of the others I receved yisterday, geving them thankes for their pains taken about finding out the theefe. And I bought xij stringes of silke of som fathom long a peece, to make pointes of; cost xij _mas_, barr plate. _Febrary 26_ (_Shonguach 15_).--We consorted this day with Yazemon Dono, the master sea carpenter, for tymbers, to be deliverd before the end of the Japon _Singuach_. Also we agreed with Trebioye Dono, the _bongew_ of the filde where the 144 buriall place is, to make a ston wall about it of 13 _tatt._ square, for the som of 80 _tais_ plate of barrs, or, yf it be larger, to pay for overplus per rato. And there was ij _tattamis_ black bayes cut out this day and geven, the one to Yoshemon Dono, Pauls father, and the other to Paulo Dono, the gunpoulder man, for their labour in finding out Mon, the theefe, and bringing hym from Nangasaque, with other former paynes taken. And I was enformed that Gonrok Dono hath promised the capt. moro at Nangasaque to procure the Emperours passe or _goshon_ that the carick of Amacou shall trade freely into Japon to Nangasaque yearly, in despite both of us and the Hollanders. _Febrary 27_ (_Shonguach 16_).--Semi Dono sent me a sholder of venison, and withall sent me word that he had conferred with Tonomon Samma about our demand of the ij howses next unto us, and to enlardge our wharfe or bridg 3 _tatta._ lardger into sea; which he thought would be granted unto us. And sowne after Tonomon Samma sent me word of the like conferrence with Semi Dono. And I paid Trebioye Dono, the _bongew_ of buriall place, fiftie _taies_ in plate of barrs, upon acco., to build the ston walle, agreed upon price yisterday. Coa Jno. our _jurebasso_ had a yong sonne borne this day. _Febrary 28_ (_Shonguach 17_).--This day we began to build our gadong on the W. side, and took labourers to break downe ould building and cleare the place and make roome for ston wall. _Marche 1_ (_Shonguach 18_).--Capt. Speck and Capt. Leonard came to English howse to have our letters sent to Court read over. _Marche 2_ (_Shonguach 19_).--I sent Coa Jno. _jurebasso_, to his child feast, 1 barr of plate with ij _barsos_ of _singe_. I sett Otto, Matingas slave, at liberty, she discovering her mrs. 145 villany, and that she had abused her selfe with vj or 7 persons, as apereth under 3 witnesses. _Marche 3_ (_Shonguach 20_).--I paid out to Zazabra Dono, our neighbor on the north side, for his howse, foure skore _taies_ in plate of barrs, wherof liiij _taies_ was paid unto Cushcron Dono for a Chinas howse deliverd unto the said Zazabra Dono, is 54: 0: 0, and xxvj _taies_ to Zazabra hym selfe. _Marche 4_ (_Shonguach 21_).--We had 8 barkes laden of stones brought this day. And I receved 4 letters from Nangasaque, viz. 2 from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., that he will not goe to the iland of Taccasanga this yeare as lyers report; 1 from Harnando Ximenes, to like effect; 1 from Pasquall Bonita. Also Harnando Ximenes writes me that the Portingale ambassador is retorned back to Edo per councell of Gonrok Dono, as it seemeth, to get out a _goshon_, as also to plite against us for the friggat taken. _Marche 5_ (_Shonguach 22_).--I gave 2 bore pigges and ij sow piges of thenglish race, ij to Tonomon Samme and the other ij to the Hollanders. _Marche 6_ (_Shonguach 23_).--Oyen Dono came to thenglish howse and tould me how Semi Dono staid only for Taccamon Dono to make an end about our demand both for howses and kaye seaward. So I sent Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, to Taccamon Dono, 4 leagues hence, to desire his Lordshipp to hasten the matter, tyme passing on, and the shipps would be heare shortly, and then could we doe nothing. _Marche 7_ (_Shonguach 24_).--We had xxviij barkes lading of stones. And Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, retorned from Taccamon Dono with answer that, yf we had the one howse at 80 _taies_, he knew no reason but we might have the other at same price; and for the kay or wharfe, 146 he thought we might have it, and would write thereof to Semi Dono per his man, hym selfe being busie about building his owne howse in the cuntrey, as our _jurebasso_ saw, he having above ijC. men at work, and, as it is thought, determeneth to retire hym selfe to dwel in the cuntrey and leave all to Seme Dono, whoe will be domenus factotum. Taccamon Dono wrot me a letter he was content we should have both howses and kay. _Marche 8_ (_Shonguach 25_).--Upon Taccamon Donos answer I wrot a letter to Semi Dono that all but he were content we should have both howses and key. And there was 146 labourers and xj carpenters this day, with xviij boates lading of stones. And Semi Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and tould hym he was content to let us have the howses and wharfe as well as other men; but as yet we have nothing but wordes. Yet, as I perceve, the Hollanders stood out in it that it was unfitt we should build soe far out into sea; yet they have donne much more. Yet they will not be knowne to deale in this matter; only Capt. Leonard tould me, yf men did fyll up the end of the bay with building, then ther would be no place to grownd junckes or small shiping to trym them upon. Yet ther is place enough besides, as I tould hym. Mr. Eaton departed this day for Nangasaque, and I sent per hym 3 letters of adviz, to goe for Manillias to our fleete, being all one verbatum: one to goe in Emanuell Rodrigos junck, the other two in the China Capt. junck for Caggalion and Pangasinan. Also I sent per hym 5 letters of favour or pasportes for China Capt., dated the 18th ultimo, 3 for Taccasanga or Isla Fermosa, and ij for Manillias, as abovesaid, and I wrote other letters to Nangasaque, viz.:-- in Spanish. 1 to Emmanuel Rodrigos 147 1 to Alvaro Gonsalves 1 to Harnando Ximenes in Japons. 1 to Itamia Migel Dono 1 to Pasquall Bonita 1 to China Capten And we had xviij barkes of flatt stones this day. _Marche 9_ (_Shonguach 26_).--We had carpenters xv-1/2, with 1 C. xxv laborers all this day. _Marche 10_ (_Shonguach 27_).--We had 19 carpenters and 118 laborers this day. The Hollanders hadd the _caboques_ this day, and sent for me and Mr. Osterwick, and soe had a play. We had iij barkes lading flat stones. _Marche 11_ (_Shonguach 28_).--I wrot an other letter to Nangasaque to Itamia Migell Dono in favour of Cujero Dono which goeth in his junck, as also to desire hym to have a care he goeth to the place apointed per my _goshon_ and to no other. And I wrot an other to Mr. Eaton to same entent, to writt per Cujero Dono and send my letter ther inclozed to deliver to first English or Holland ship he meetes withall, to thentent, yf Itamia Migel Dono goe for Amacan and lade Portingals goodes, to seaz upon it and bring yt for Japon, and then after geve rezon for it. _Marche 12_ (_Shonguach 29_).--Semi Dono and Taccamon Dono sent each of them a man to tell me they came to deliver the kay towards the sea unto me, but it should be but ij _tattamis_; unto whome I made answer that, yf it weare not iij, I would not take it but rather rest as we weare and not breake our howse and spend ij or iij C. _taies_ for nothing. And withall I sent our _jurebasso_ to tell them that, yf they gave us vj _tattamis_ it weare far better for the harbor, as I would prove, yf they pleased to understand me. But I know it is the hollow harted Hollanders geve councell for dispite to disgrace us, as tyme will try it. I rec. a letter from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., to same effect as 148 that from his son Augustyn, that he ment to send hym and Niquan on the voyage. And we had 1 C. xxx laborers and xviij carpenters and a cane man wrought all this day. _Marche 13_ (_Ninguach 1_).--Taccamon Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and tould hym he hadd donne as a frend in our demand for the iij _tatta._ to be alowed for our key into the sea, but others stood out, although he and the whole streete took our part. So that, yf I would geve a writing under my hand to stand for the kings award at his retorne, he would deliver it; which I performed. _Marche 14_ (_Ninguach 2_).--We had this day xviij carpenters and j C. lx laborers all day, with iij tilors halfe a day, and 1 caneman all day; and we rec. viij barkes flatt stoones this day. And I receved the box of specktacles at the handes of Mr. Osterwick: 17 dozon and 3 peare specktacles in all. And I bargened this day with Yasimon Dono for these tymbers and boardes following, to be delivered at ij moneths, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 1500 small boardes, viz. 30 0 0 1000 _tarakis_ or spars 35 7 0 1000 _nukes_ or rayles 25 0 0 0020 _ficamons_ or beames 26 0 0 0500 _marakis_ or rownd tymber 16 0 0 ------------ 132 7 0 ------------ _Marche 15_ (_Ninguach 3_).--We had 15 carpenters and 93 laborers and 1 caneman, 3 tilors; but 53 laborers all day, and 40 laborers at iiij _condrins_ pece per day. And we hadd 10 barkes lading flatt stoones this day. Also Itamia Migell Dono sent me 2 _barsos_ wine and stringes drid cuttell, desiring me to send hym a pasport or letter of favor, yf he 149 chansed to meet with any English or Hollandes shipps at sea. _Marche 16_ (_Ninguach 4_).--I rec. xxix _tais_ viij _mas_ iiij _condrins_ plate barrs for merchandize sould unto Shushro Dono of Firando. And we had this day 18 carpenters, 167 laborers, one plasterer, iij tilors, and one caneman. Also we had this day xix barkes stones. _Marche 17_ (_Ninguach 5_).--We had 14 carpenters, 190 laborers, 1 plasterer, and 1 caneman. Capt. Leonard Camps, with Sr. Matias and Jacob Swager went to Nangasaque; Matias and Swager to goe on a voyage for Cochinchina in a Japon junck. And I wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque: 1 to Mr. Eaton, with a pasport enclozed for Itamia Migell Dono, yf he would geve sureties that the junck shall goe for Cochinchina and not for Amacon. _Marche 18_ (_Ninguach 6_).--We had this day 9-1/2 carpenters, 155 laborers, and 1 cane man. Also we had 5 barks lading of flatt stones. And being driven affe from day to day per Semi Dono and Taccamon Dono about geving us licence for 3 _tatta._ out to sea to enlardg our kay or wharfe, they, having hetherto promised it, did now send me word they must shorten it. Wherupon I wrot a letter to them both, how I knew they had geven 5 tymes more to the Hollanders and howrly augmented it with all the howses they demanded to be puld downe, and shortned thenglish in all they demanded, contrary to the kinges promis at his departure to let us have all we demanded, soe that now I did but expect answer whether they would let me have that promised per themselves or no, and soe would rest satisfied. We sould silk of divers sortes to Tozamon Dono of Sackay for 3575: 2: 5. _Marche 19_ (_Ninguach 7_).--We had 16 carpenters, 161 laborers, 150 1 plasterer, and 1 caneman, all this day. We had x barkes lading rownd stones. _Marche 20_ (_Ninguach 8_).--We had 28 carpenters, 147 laborers, 2 plasterers, and 1 caneman. _Marche 21_ (_Ninguach 9_).--We had xiiij laborers this day to sift white lyme and make it, with other matters. And we envited Tozemon Dono and other merchants to dyner, and heat the _fro_ for them, they enviting themselves thereunto; and had the dansing beares sent for, _nifon catange_ or Japon fation. _Marche 22_ (_Ninguach 10_).--I wrot 3 letters in Japons to Nangasaque, viz. 1 to Itamia Migell Dono; 1 to Andrea Dittis, China Capt.; 1 to Skidayen Dono, Gonroks secretary, desiring hym not to let Ita. junk goe out till he gave surtis to goe for Cochinchina, and warning Itamia Migel Dono hym selfe to se it performed, as he would answer it before the Emperour; and the China Capt. to se it performed, he being suretie to me. We had xxx carpenters, 1 C. l. laborers, ij plasterars, and iij tilars, all this day. And we receved five hundred tilles this day, viz., iij rownd ends, and ij C. pointed endes; as also 5 boates lading rownd stones. _Marche 23_ (_Ninguach 11_).--We had 31 carpenters, 147 laborers, iij tilors, ij plasters, all this day. Semi Dono sent to comand me I should make noe bargen nore buy nothing of any other Japonnars for provition of building of howse or shiping or victuling, but only of them of Firando. Unto whome I retorned answer that he should pardon me in that matter, for I would buy wheare I could find best cheape, either at Firando, Nangasaque, Miaco, or else wheare; but as yet I had bought all of them of Firando, and soe would doe the like hereafter, yf they would lett me have it as good and as good cheape as others. Unto which he answerd he would take care for that, but would have me promisse to take it all of Firando men 151 and no other, or else he would geve comand that noe carpenters nor laborers should work any more on our work. And I answerd, he might doe herein as he pleased, for to doe as he would have me was against the preveleges themperour and his councell had granted our nation. So forthwith he gave comand to carpenters and all other laborars that none should labor; and soe our work standes at a stay. And we had 62 gutter tiles this day. _Marche 24_ (_Ninguach 12_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Taccamon Dono to know whether he hadd geven comandment our work should stay and not goe forward. But he sent me word he medled not in the matter, it belonging unto Semi Dono and not to hym. Soe, after, I sent for Capt. Speck to goe with me to speake to Semi Dono, to know wherefore he staid our worken. But Semi Dono sent us word he was busy about matters of justis, soe that we might com towardes night; but in the meane tyme Capt. Speck sent hym a letter which pasefied his proud humor. _Marche 25_ (_Ninguach 13_).--We hadd our wharfe into the sea deliverd us this day to content. But Semi Dono sayd, as he passed by our dore, it was by his apointment, lighting affe his horse, telling me he was sory I was angry with hym. Unto whome I replied, I was sory his Lordship was angry against me, whoe was ready to doe his Lordshipp the best service I could; and soe he departed. But Taccamon Dono sent me word that it was he and others stood out for us, Semi Dono desiring it should have staid till the kinges retorne, and not have byn deliverd. We receved this tymber following for the buriall place, viz. of Tymon Dono:-- 122 _marrokis_ or rownd tymbers, at ij per _mas_. 062 _cakis_ or square tymbers, at j _mas_ per pec. 110 boardes of 1 _tatt._ long, at 5 per _mas_. 170 _tarrakis_, at 12-1/2 per _mas_. 004 greate _marokis_ for the dore, at 8 _mas_ pec. 152 001 great _caky_ for dore, at 3-1/2 _mas_. 001 duble _caky_ for dore, at 4 _mas_. _Marche 26_ (_Ninguach 14_).--We had 15 carpenters, 134 laborers, 5 tylors, and ij plasterers, all this day. We rec. yisterday of Tayemon Dono tymber, viz. 102 _nuquis_, or rayeles, at 4 per _mas_, for gedong, and 600 _shemottes_, or rownd small poles, for gedong, at 30 per _mas_. And I sent a barr of plate to the _caboques_, due for playing the night when Tozemon Dono and others weare envited for sale of our silke. Also we had 24 carpenters and 58 laborers this day for our work at buriall place. _Marche 27_ (_Ninguach 15_).--We had 15 carpenters, 121 laborers, 5 tilors, and 2 plasterers, all this day. And we receved iij C. tiles this day from tilar of Tabilo. And Capt. Speck and my selfe wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque about the busynes of the _goshon_ lent to Itamia Migell Dono, viz. 1 to Skidayen Dono, the chefe justis, under my owne ferme, to desire hym to comand Migell Dono not to goe for Amacon; 1 to Itamia Migell Dono, with the fermes of Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard Champes, and my selfe, to same effect; 1 to Skidayen Dono, with our 3 fermes, to same effect. _Marche 28_ (_Ninguach 16_).--We had 9 carpenters, 97 laborers, 2 plasterers, and 1 caneman, for the howse; and, for buriall place, 30 carpenters, 34 laborers, all day. Semi Dono, Taccamon Dono, and others, went this day to Ishew to vizet Tonomon Samma, whoe is gon thither to hawk and hunt 8 or 10 daies past. _Marche 29_ (_Ninguach 17_).--We had 8 carpenters, 102 laborers, ij plasterers, and 1 cane man, for the howse, all this day; and for the buriall place, 30 carpenters, 52 laborers. And we receved tymbers, ij barkes lading this day, viz. 124 great _caquis_, or square tymber, and 44 great _nuqins_, for gedong; also 38 _marakis_ for the buriall 153 place. Capt. Leonard Camps retorned from Nangasaque, and sent me word that Mr. Eaton would be heare this night or to morrow, and that all the junckes weare gon out and Sr. Matias in that of Jno. Yoosen. _Marche 30_ (_Ninguach 18_).--We had 39 carpenters, 132 laborers, 2 plasterers for 1/2 day, for howse, and 82 laborers, halfe day, and 50 laborers, whole day, for howse; and 10 carpenters and 4 laborers all day for buriall place. _Marche 31_ (_Ninguach 19_).--We had 50 carpenters, and 32 laborers, for howse, and, for buriall place, 7 carpenters and 4 laborers, all day. _Aprill 1_ (_Ninguach 20_).--We had 50 carpenters, 20 laborers, for howse, and, for buriall place, 4 carpenters, 4 laborers, all day. Mr. Eaton retorned this night from Nangasaque. _Aprill 2_ (_Ninguach 21_).--We had 53 carpenters, 172 laborers, 1 plasterar 1/2 day, and one cane man 1/2 day, the rest all day, for the howse, with 12 carpenters and 12 laborers for the buriall place. And Mr. Eaton delivered these papers in Japons unto me, viz.:-- 1 recept of Ichemon Dono. 1 bill of Cuemon Dono. 1 coppie of a writing sent to Cochinchina per Mr. Eaton per Capt. Chimpan, to recover in what he can, the one halfe of which he is to have for hymselfe, and thother for the Company, of all he can gett ether of that lost per Mr. Peacock or Mr. Sayer; for beter somthing then nothing. 1 writing in Japons, fermed per Itamia Migell Dono named Ziemon, Soude Giemon, his boteswaine, and Shobioye Dono, his purser or scrivano, wherin they are bound upon payne of livse and goodes not to tuch at Amacon nether going out nor retorning home, but to goe directly for Cochinchina, and noe place else. Yt is reported that the King of Goto hath cutt his belly at Miaco by 154 comand of themperour, by reason he put away his wife, which was of the blood royall (he being made king by marying of her), and took an other woaman of basse degree in her place. This is the generall report, yet som say he is not yet dead, but in greate danger to die, the matter having been in plito the space of 4 or 5 yeares. _Aprill 3_ (_Ninguach 22_).--We had 70 carpenters, 33 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse, and ij carpenters and iiij laborers for buriall place. I gave Coa Jno. _jurebassos_ wife a bar plate with a _barso_ of wyne and box sweet bread, she going to a new howse, and brought her child to me to geve it a name, which I did call Coa Jno., as his father. Tonomon Samma, Taccamon Dono, and Semi Dono did retorne from Ishew, where they were to take pleasure. Soe I sent our _jurebasso_ to bid them well home in my name, and to offer them my service. But Taccamon Dono (before the _jurebasso_ spoake with hym) sent a man to tell me of his retorne, offring me all frenship wherin we had occation to employ hym, either toward Tonomon Samma or else where. _Aprill 4_ (_Ninguach 23_).--We had 72 carpenters, 56 laborers, and 1 caneman, for the howse and gadonge. _Aprill 6_ (_Ninguach 25_).--We had 44 carpenters, 23 laborers, and 1 cane man, for howse, with iiij laborers for buriall place. We bought tymber this day, viz. 37 _cakis_ and 53 duble _cakis_, pyne tree. _Aprill 7_ (_Ninguach 26_).--We had 46 carpenters, 23 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse, and 4 laborers for buriall place. We whipped Man, our empresoned theefe, and he hath confessed he stole the silver cup, lost when the _caboques_ weare heare a yeare past; also that he stole the greate silver tankar at our going to 155 Nangasaque, and, as he saith, sould them at Nangasaque to Portingalles which went in the friggattes. _Aprill 8_ (_Ninguach 27_).--We had 58 carpenters, 45 laborers, for the howse, and 4 laborers for the buriall place. Ther was speeches geven out per a lying profitt or pagon prist that this day all the iland and towne of Firando should be overwhelmed with water, and many stood in dowbt thereof; yet it proved a lye. _Aprill 9_ (_Ninguach 28_).--We had 53 carpenters, 74 laborers, and 1 plaster, for the howse, and 11 carpenters, 43 laborers for buriall place. _Aprill 11_ (_Ninguach 30_).--We had 65 carpenters, 122 laborers, and 2 plastrars, for the howse. I deliverd 1 C. _tais_ plate barrs to Jno. _jurebasso_ upon acco. of building. The China Capt. retorned to Firando, and saith all the junckes are departed on their voyages, but only two small ons which goe directly for China. Ther is greate seeking after place to make howses at Cochie, the king having geven order, as they say, to erect above 200 new howses to putt inhabitantes into. Soe Capt. Leonard Camps and Mr. Eaton went thether to look to the measuring out of our grownd, geven us per the king, others begining to encroche upon us, especially to get xj _tatta._, which lieth betwixt us and the Hollanders. Also we determen to make out our kay there into sea vj _tattamis_ in bredth, we having 45 _tatta._ in length, and the Hollanders 40 _tattamis_, besides the xj _tatta._ betwixt us which we pretend to demand of the king yf he will geve it us. And Japons went to esteemate what the making out our kayes (or wharfes) might amont unto, and esteemed it at 800 _taies_ for us and the Hollanders. We receved 1591 tilles this day from Tabula, viz. 1215 ordinary broat or flatt, and 376 rownd or hollo tilles--all at 23 _mas_ per j M. _Aprill 13_ (_Sanguach 2_).--We had 67 carpenters and 103 laborers 156 for the howse, and rec. 1660 tilles from Tabilo this day. Harnando Ximenes retorned to Firando this day from Goto, having geven over his voyage in the Capt. Chinas junck, falling out with a China about a whore and beating of hym. _Aprill 14_ (_Sanguach 3_).--This day being a great pagon feast called _Sanguach sanch_, or the therd day of the therd moone, non would work upon it, the pagons upon their ordinary superstition, and the Christians for feare to be noted to be Christians. Soe noe work was donne this day. Yet on the Sonday all will work, both Christians and pagons of Japon, and the papistes in Japon will more strictly observe and keepe any other blind hollyday of fayned saintes (made knowne unto them per Jesuistes and frires) then the Sabath day. This is daylie seene per experience. Harnando Ximenes saith he was enformed per a China which spoake Spanish how the other Chinas, which went in the junck of China Capt., laid a plot to kill hym, saying, yf they did it, whoe would bring them in question for it at their retorne. But the China Capt. saieth it was about a whore, and noe such matter ment. But Harnando saith he esteemeth that ould Harry Shanks, the Scotsman, whoe is gon with them, will never retorne, but be murthered by them; which the end will prove. _Aprill 15_ (_Sanguach 4_).--We had 64 carpenters and 130 laborers, for howse; and we receved 5660 tiles. _Aprill 16_ (_Sanguach 5_).--We had 67 carpenters and 143 laborers, with 2 plasterers and 4 tylers; and we receved 950 tyles, with ij mark and ij head tiles, from Enquese Dono, the tilor at Tabilo. And I paid ij _tais_ j _mas_ for 2 peces Japon taffety to lyne Capt. Adams and Coa Jnos. childrens coates. _Aprill 17_ (_Sanguach 6_).--We had 48 carpenters, 148 laborers, 157 2 plasterers, and 5 tillors, for howse; and 4 carpenters and 31 laborers for the buriall place. And we receved ij M. iij C. xliiij tils ordenary from Imory; and vj C. ditto from Tabilo, with 4 lyons, 8 mark tilles, 4 head tilles. And we receved tymber this day from Shezemon Dono, from Umbra: 162 _nuqus_, 44 _caquis_, 1 rownd tree or _maraky_, 2 _naccabassas_ or great rownd trees, etc. _Aprill 18_ (_Sanguach 7_).--We had 70 carpenters, 160 laborers, 2 plasterars, and 5 tylors, for howse; and 34 laborers for the buriall place. And I reconed with Tobio Dono for ston wall made about buriall place, it being ended this day, I having paid hym formerly 50 _tais_ 50: 0: 0 And now, in plate bars, as the lyke before 42: 8: 0 And geven hym in 1 plate of bar gratis 04: 3: 0 -------- 97: 1: 0 -------- _Aprill 19_ (_Sanguach 8_).--We had 71 carpenters, 140 laborers, and 2 plasters, for the howse; and for the buriall place, 4 carpenters, 44 laborers, and iij tilors. And we receved tymbers; and iij M. tiles from Tabola, for buriall place. _Aprill 20_ (_Sanguach 9_).--We had 75 carpenters, 58 laborers, all day, and 52 laborers halfe day, with ij plasterars all day, for howse; and iij tilars 1/2 the day, and 36 laborers for buriall place 1/2 a day. And we receved 1523 tiles, with viij barkes lading of flatt stons and one of rownd. _Aprill 21_ (_Sanguach 10_).--We had 72 carpenters and 45 laborers for the howse; and 4 laborers at buriall place. Also we had 1 barkes lading rownd stones and 2 barkes lading gravill or sand. And we rec. j M. vij C. xx tiles ordenary from Imorey. _Aprill 22_ (_Sanguach 11_).--We had 77 carpenters, 76 laborers, and 158 2 plasterers, for howse; and xxxiiij laborers for buriall place. _Aprill 23_ (_Sanguach 12_).--We had 73 carpenters, 71 laborers, and ij plasterers, for howse; and 3 tillars and xxv laborers for buriall place. And there was ij M. 1 C. liij ordenary tiles rec. from Imory; and one barkes lading of rownd stones. And I went to Cochie this day with Mr. Eaton to measure our grownd geven us per the _tono_ to build upon, and find it to be l. _tatta._ long and 1-1/2 _tatta._ deepe to seaward, to make a wharfe of ston 6 _tatta._ broad and the whole length. Soe I esteemd it at 300 _tatt._ in all and did offer them i C. l. _taies_ to doe it, they demanding iij C. _tais_. And soe we broake affe; for they had agreed with the Hollanders before to make their key xxxiij _tatta._ long and viij broad at one end and vj at thother, and ij _tatta._ deepe to seaward for most parte, which I did esteem as much work as ours. _Aprill 26_ (_Sanguach 15_).--We had 52 carpenters and 35 laborers for the howse. Capt. Leonard came this day and tould me that Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono had advized hym that themperour had sent 2 greate men for _bongews_ into Gonto, to enquire about that plito betwixt the king and queene; and that from thence they ment to com to Firando; and in the meane tyme Semi Dono ment to goe to meete them at Goto, and advized us it weare expedient we sent som one to doe the like on our behalves with a letter from us. Soe we agreed to send our _jurebasso_ with the Hollanders to that entent, with som present of sweetmeates and wine. Faccata Soco Dono, which lent us 3500 _tais_ at intrest, came to see our English howse, offring us, yf we needed xx or 30000 _tais_ at intrest at any time, he hadd it ready for us, wishing us to take non of any others. Soe we envited hym to our _fro_ tomorrow, with v or vj others to beare hym company, viz. Faccata Yayemon Dono, Andrea Dittis, 159 China Capt., Cushcron Dono, Synemon Dono, and Yasimon Dono; with Paulo Dono, gunpouder man, Shoyemon Dono, Palus father, and Chubio Dono, our host of Bingana Tomo. _Aprill 27_ (_Sanguach 16_).--We had 67 carpenters and 40 laborers for the howse. I paid Lues, the Spanish telior, i _tay_ small plate for a _carapesa_[98] of wrought velvett, black laid on with silver lace. Semi Dono departed towardes Goto to meete themperours _bongews_; and the Hollanders and we made ready our presentes to send to morrow morning per our _jurebasso_, viz.:-- for thenglish. 1 jar conserved ginger, poiz nett, 20 _cattis_ 1 great bottell of ij gallons, strong water for the Hollanders. 1 jar conservd nutmegges of like bignesse 2 bottell of allegant or tynt wyne [98] Span., _carapuza_ or _caperuza_, a hood. _Aprill 28_ (_Sanguach 17_).--We had 67 carpenters, 48 laborers, and i plasterer, for howse, with 4 tylors and 23 laborers for buriall place. Alsoe we receved ij M. j C. xl ordenary tilles from Imory. And I sent a bar plate to _caboques_ for bringing a banket and coming per water to Cochie, when wee went to measure grownd. I rec. 5 R. of 8 of Capt. Speck, delivered hym on a wager before. _Aprill 29_ (_Sanguach 18_).--We had 28 carpenters, 46 laborers, 1 plasterer, 1 caneman, for howse, and 4 tillors and 25 laborers for buriall place. And there was 600 tyles ordenary rec. from Tabola. The China Capt. envited both us and the Hollanders to dyner this day, where we had greate cheare with dansing beares. _Aprill 30_ (_Sanguach 19_).--We had 26 carpenters, 42 laborers, 160 1 plasterar, and i caneman, for howse all day; and for buriall place, 4 tylors and 34 laborers for halfe a day. And I paid unto Chubio Dono, our host of Bingana Tomo, for 8 _pico_ 35 _cattis_ shething neales at 5 _tais pico_, 44: 2: 5; and for xx _barsos morofack_, at 1 _tay barso_, 20: 0: 0. And advanced upon a bargen of 50 _pico_ neals more, 35: 7: 5. And gave a peece black satten to Chubio Dono upon bargen. _May 2_ (_Sanguach 21_).--We had 32 carpenters, 86 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse: and 1 plasterer and 23 laborers for buriall place. I bargened this day of Tobio Dono to make a ston walle at Cochie before our howsing, of 1 _tatta_ long, vj _tatta_ broad, and 1-1/2 _tatta_ deepe towardes sea, to be greate stonnes 1/2 a _tatta._ to seaward and at end, and the rest small, to have ij C. _tais_ in money, and one peece black satten. This night, within night, the King of Xaxma passed by this place, retorning from themperours Court. Soe we and the Hollanders went out to meete hym, and carid a present as from both Companies, viz.:-- 1 guilt lether skin, containing 32 skins. 1 faggott of steele. 7 peeces white percallas. 3 _tatta._ fyne damask tabling. And to his secretary, 2 peeces redd cheremis. 3 peeces white percallas. But he was sick, that he could not be spoaken withall, nether by Tonomon Samma the kinges brother, whoe went out to meete hym with a present, nether by us. Soe we left the present with the secretary, whoe at first made diffecultie to receve it, yet in the king his masters name promised all assistance to our shiping, yf in case any putt into his dominions. _May 5_ (_Sanguach 24_).--We had 41 carpenters, 139 laborers, and 161 j plasterar, for howse; and 1 plasterer and 15 laborers for the buriall place. And our _jurebasso_ retorned from Goto with answers from thembassadors, who tooke in good parte the present sent to them from us and Hollanders. _May 6_ (_Sanguach 25_).--We had 46 carpenters and 131 laborers, for the howse. And there was delivered to Bonga Sammas man, for acco. of his master, 3 _cattis_ 6 _tay_ wight wax. And presently after he sent a ram gote to thenglish house for a present, which I make acco. is in payment of the wax. _May 7_ (_Sanguach 26_).--We had 45 carpenters, 164 laborers, 2 plasters, and 1 caneman, for howse. Also we receved ij barkes lading of small stones, cost xvi _condrins_; and 9 square hewed stones for steares from Languay. _May 12_ (_Singuach 2_).--We began to set up or reare our new howse to sea ward. _May 13_ (_Singuach 3_).--We had 67 carpenters and 73 laborers, for the howse. And there was tymber rec. from Goto, of Shezemon Dono. _May 15_ (_Singuach 5_).--We had 57 carpenters, 116 laborers, and 4 tilors, for the howse. And there was tilles receved, viz. 5633 tilles in 2 barkes from Imory, and 1 bark containing 800 tilles from Tabola. Also there was iij barkes lading gravill or small stons of 8 _con. pico_. _May 16_ (_Singuach 6_).--We had 64 carpenters, 158 laborers, and 4 tilors, and ij masons, for the howse. And we rec. x great free stons from Languay for to make the steares, wheron the masons now work. Also we rec. 1900 tilles ordenary from Tabola. We went this day to Cochie to look on our work; and the Hollandes Capt. and China Capt. met us theare; and all the dansing beares weare theare before us. _May 17_ (_Singuach 7_).--We had 66 carpenters, 135 laborers, 4 162 tilors, and 2 masons, for the howse. Also we rec. 4258 tilles ordinary from Tabola. Capt. Speck and Capt. Camps came to English howse, and we went together to vizet China Capt., he sending for dansing beares. _May 18_ (_Singuach 8_).--We had 64 carpenters, 115 laborers, and 2 masons, for the howse. This day, being the 8th of Singuach, or 4th Japon moone, is the feast of the resorection of their great profitt Shacka, as they fondly beleeve, and soe deck all the eaves of their howses with green bowes, and goe on pilgremadg to ther pagodes. I sent ij bars plate, containing 6: 8: 2, to the ij companis dansing beares, for going to Cochie and, after, to China Capt., for duble _fannas_.[99] Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono sent for Spanish wine and conservs, in respect of the coming of the Emperors ambassadors, which are looked for this night. Soe I sent eather of them a pottell bottell of wyne and conservs to Tonomon, and a bottell strong water to Semi Dono. And there was iij C. xx bundelles of shingelles rec. from Nangasaque. [99] _Hana_, a present to an actor or dancing-girl. _May 19_ (_Singuach 9_).--We had 64 carpenters, 94 laborers, and 2 masons, for howse. And I rec. ij letters, viz. 1 from Shongo Samma, admerall of Japon, at Edo, in answer of myne, and that he had geven warning to Capt. Adames woaman to let me have the disposing of the _goshons_ for her childrens use; and thother from Uquese Dono of Miaco. _May 20_ (_Singuach 10_).--We had 65 carpenters, 89 laborers, and 2 masons, for howse. This evenyng the King of Arima, named Bongo Samma, arived at Firando, and lodged in Semi Donos howse, much preparation being made to receve hym, and all the streetes made cleane. He is in greate favor with themperor, whoe gave hym that kingdom few yeares past, and per som 163 suspected that themperor meaneth to shift the king of this place to Arima, and set the other heare. The last yeare he sent one of his noblemen to vizet the King of Firando, and gave hym charge to com to thenglish howse, and in his name to offer us any servize or favor his kingdom afforded, or, yf we stood in need of money, he had 40 or 50000 _taies_ allwais ready at our service. Soe I now sent our _jurebasso_ to bid his Hignesse welcom to Firando; which he took in very kind parte. Also I sent to the Holland Capt. to know yf they ment to vizet hym to morow with som small present. And they sent me word, they had noe accoyntance with hym and therfore ment not to goe to hym. _May 21_ (_Singuach 11_).--We had 64 carpenters, 245 laborers, and 1 mason, for howse. And we began to reare or set up our new gedonge this day. And we had 5 barkes lading stones for to make the steares. And we supped at Hollandes howse, where the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, was also envited; and we had greate cheare. _May 22_ (_Singuach 12_).--We hadd 68 carpenters and 159 laborers, for the howse. The Emperors ambassadors arived at Firando, retorned from Goto with the King of Arima, whoe went from hence to fetch them. _May 23_ (_Singuach 13_).--We had 73 carpenters, 165 laborers, 1 caneman, and 2 masons, for the howse, the masons tide work. The Hollanders and we went to vizet the 2 _bongewes_ or ambassadors from themperor, and carid them for presentes as followeth, viz.:-- Hollanders. 2 peces cushen velvet of Hollanders 8 peces or duble velvet cushin, ditto English. 5 peces cheremis, ours 14 peces Canton damask, ours 2 faggottes bar steele, ours And we rec. ij M. v C. tilles ordinary from Imory; and i M. iij C. 164 ditto from Tabola. _May 24_ (_Singuach 14_).--We had 75 carpenters, 171 laborers, 1 caneman, and 2 masons. We went with the Hollanders to vizet the King of Arima, and carid hym a present betwixt us, viz.:-- 3 peces damaskes Lankin, of Hollanders. of English acco. 5 peces Canton damask 5 peces parcallas, white 1 fagot stille And we had j M. iij C. v tilles ordinary from Tabola. The Emperours ambassadours, with Tonomon Samma and others, came to se our English howse, whome we entertayned in the best sort we could. _May 25_ (_Singuach 15_).--We had 72 carpenters, 122 laborers, 2 masons, and 1 caneman, for the howse. Also we receved i M. ij C. ordinary tilles from Tabola. And our rearing of the gedong being ended, we made a feast to the carpenters, and gave these presentes, viz. to Tayemon Dono, 1 pec. blak satten and ij _barsos_ wine and 4 fishes; to Synemon Dono 1 pec. blak satten, he being kinges carpenter; to two other master carpenters 2 pec. white lyns; to 7 other master carpenters 7 pec. Canton damask; to 50 yong carpenters, each one one _mas_ in paper. And Cushcron Dono, Yosemon Dono, Shezemon Dono, sent each one a _barso_ of wine and 2 fishes. Tonomon Samma envited the Emperors ambassadors to a hunting, and provided a banket for them and 500 persons more in the woodes (or forest), where they went to hunt; but the ambassadors retorned back in the mid way and tasted not of the banket; the reason I know not. _May 26_ (_Singuach 16_).--We had 67 carpenters, 207 laborers, 2 masons, and 1 caneman, for the howse. And we receved ij M. v C. lx ordinary tilles from Imory, and vj C. ditto from Tabola. This day themperours embassadors departed from Firando, and Semi Dono 165 accompanid them to Languai. The x Japon coates or _kerremons_, sent from the Emperours councell to Capt. Camps and my selfe for a present, came this day, and we tooke each of us 5. And I gave 3 of myne to Mr. Eaton, Mr. Osterwick, and Ric. Hundson. These came per the expres we sent up about procuring price of our lead; but noe answer of any price or any end to be made consernyng our prize goodes taken in the friggott. _May 29_ (_Singuach 19_).--We had 81 carpenters, 184 laborers, 3 plasters, and 8 tilors, for the howse. And the Hollanders and we agreed to send an other expres to Edo with letter, to procure the dispach of price of our lead and ending prize goodes, viz. 1 to Oyen Dono, 1 to Codgskin Dono, 1 to Itamia Quenusque Dono, 1 to Matsin Dayre Yemon, of themperours Councell; 1 to Figen a Came, King of Firando; 1 to Torazemon Dono, his secretary. These letters we sent expres per a foote post, because we have no finall answer of our former; and pay the post 10 _tais_ for his voyadge. And we rec. iij M. x tilles ordinary from Imory, and j M. j C. from Tabola. Also a barke with xj free stoones from Nangoya. _May 30_ (_Singuach 20_).--We had 80 carpenters, 241 laborers, 3 plasterers, 7 tilors, for the howse. And we rec. ij M. v C. iiij xx ordinary tilles from Imory, and iij C. xx from Tabola. _May 31_ (_Singuach 21_).--We had 83 carpenters, 168 laborers, 3 plasters, 7 tilors, 2 masons, for the howse. _June 1_ (_Singuach 22_).--We had 79 carpenters, 105 laborers, 5 plasters, and 1 mason. _June 2_ (_Singuach 23_).--We had 80 carpenters, 138 laborers, 5 plastarars, and 2 masons. _June 3_ (_Singuach 24_).--We had 76 carpenters, 124 laborers, 5 plasterers, and 2 masons. The China Capt. reportes that the newes at Nangasaque is that a 166 gallion and a junck which went from Nangasaque the last yeare or monson for the Manillias are cast away on the Islandes of Liqueas, and very few or non of the people saved. The junck, they say, belongeth to Bongo Dono, the King of Arrima; and the friggat is ether that which went out first, wherin our 2 runawaies were fownd, or else that wherin Alvaro Munos went afterwardes. As we sat at supper at night, there entred a Japon gentellman into our howse, with 30 or 40 men attending on hym, and came into our halle before we saw hym. Soe I desird hym to sitt downe and take parte of such fare as we had; which he did, and seemed to take it in very kind parte. And sowne after he sent me a jarr of _nipa_, or rack of _pi_, for a present, per one of his gentelmen, per whome I understood his masters name was Ismo Dono, a greate man of Xaxma, whome the king of that place sendes up to Edo to kisse themperours handes and geve hym thankes for the greate presentes and good entertaynment themperour gave hym at his being at Edo. Soe, after his man was departed, I sent Ric. Hudson with Tome, our _jurebasso_, abord his bark (for he passeth secretly, and lodgeth not ashore) to crave pardon of his Lordshipp, yf I had not geven hym such entertaynment as his worth deserved, being ignorant of his greatnesse and abashed at the honour he did me in sending me a present. And withall I sent hym a bottell of strong water which, as it seemed, he took in very kynde part. Ric. Hudson and the _jurebasso_ said he had a very great bark with a faire cabben in it, hanged all about with ruch damask, and attended on with many men, both ould and yong, with greate reverence and silence, their heads bowed downe to the grownd, soe that they judged hym a man of greate qualletie; yet he seemed not to be above xxx yeares of adge. _June 4_ (_Singuach 25_).--We had 74 carpenters, 108 laborers, and 5 plasterers, for the howse. And we went to Cochie this day, to look on our wharfe or ston wall 167 newly made, it being well don. _June 5_ (_Singuach 26_).--We had 77 carpenters, 81 laborers and 5 plasterars. And we dined at Semi Donos, where we had great cheare and kind entertaynment; and the Hollanders are to dyne theare to morrow. _June 6_ (_Singuach 27_).--We had 77 carpenters, 83 laborers, and 5 plasterars. Andrea, the boateswaine, retorned from Nangasaque, and brought us a new boate or _foyfone_, cost xxx _taies_. And he bringeth certen news that the King of Arimas junck is cast away at Liqueas, and the people saved and retornd to Arima per Nangasaque, who bring the news; and also that the galliot wherin Alvaro Munos went is cast away, and not a man saved; and an other junck, the mast apering above the water, but not a man saved; soe they know not what junk it is, but dowbt it is Jno. Yoosens junk. _June 7_ (_Singuach 28_).--We had 74 carpenters, 88 laborers, and 5 plasterars, for the howse. And I paid j C. _taies_ plate barrs to Tobio Dono, in full payment of making the ston wall at Cochie, he having rec. j C. _tais_ more before. And we gave him a peece black satten gratis, as we promised at bargen making; the wall being 50 _tattamis_ long and vj _tatt._ broade and 1-1/2 deepe at water side, as per agreement, but it is 3 spans broader then bargen. The Hollanders refused to goe to dynner to Semi Dono, because he envited us before them; which Semi Dono took in very ill parte. _June 8_ (_Singuach 29_).--We had 68 carpenters, 87 laborers, 5 plasterars. _June 9_ (_Singuach 30_).--We had 53 carpenters, 128 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 5 tilors. And I paid i C. xix _tais_ more unto Cosio Dono, in full payment 168 for making our kay or wharfe to sea wardes at Firando, viz:-- _ta. m. co._ In R. of 8. at 8 _mas._ per R. i C. R. is, 080 0 0 In plate of bars 039 0 0 In i C. l _tais_ paid hym before is 150 0 0 ----------- 269 0 0 _June 10_ (_Gonguach 1_).--We had 41 carpenters, 102 laborers, and 4 plasterars. The Hollands Capt. sent us 50 sackes of barly for a present, in respect we have furnished them with skarbeare from tyme to tyme. Alsoe they sent us 2 greate _barsos_ of _morofack_, in place of 2 littell ons lent them. _June 11_ (_Gonguach 2_).--We had 43 carpenters, 82 laborers, and 5 plasterars, and 1 mason. And there was 12 square stones for steares rec. this day from Nanguay. _June 12_ (_Gonguach 3_).--We had 40 carpenters, 77 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons. _June 13_ (_Gonguach 4_).--We had 34 Carpenters, 109 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons. And we receved tymber. _June 14_ (_Gonguach 5_).--This day is a great feast, called _Gonguach guench_, or the 5th day of the 5th moone called _Gonguach_. Having ended our new building, and Tonomon Samma being to goe to Edo, we thought good to envite hym to dyner with other noble men 3 daies hence. _June 16_ (_Gonguach 7_).--We had 9 carpenters, 88 laborers, 5 plastrars, and 1 mason, for the howse. Here was speeches geven out that both English and Holland shipping ware without, wherupon above j C. barkes went out to meet them, with wyne, frutes, bread, hennse, and other matter. The reason was for that 3 or 4 Englishmen and Hollanders went to passe the tyme at Cochie, and retorning back on horsback in hast, the people thought there was 169 shiping entred, they English and Hollanders telling them it was true. _June 17_ (_Gonguach 8_).--We had 65 laborers and 5 plasterars, for the howse. There came to dyner this day, viz. Tonomon Samma, now called Canzemon Samma, kinges brother; Sangero Samma, now called Matzera Crodze Samma; Semi Dono, more then the king; Taccamon Dono, Lord Cheefe Justice of Firando; Ito Stizemon Dono, the poet or singer, a good drinker; Morano Cofioze, a gentelman, singer; Sofo Dono, a doctor of phisik, Japon fation or _nifon cantange_; Showan Dono, doctor of phisik, eidem; Ishon Dono, doctor, eidem; Shofan Dono, doctor, eidem. All our neighbors came unsent for, to assist us in the making ready the dynner for the nobles, which, as it seemed was much to their content. And I had presentes geven me, as followeth:-- from Tonemon Samma. 1 _langenatt_ 2 lynen _catabras_ from Sangero Samma. 1 silke _catabra_ 1 lynen _catabra_ from Semi Dono. 1 silk _catabra_ 1 lynen ditto from Taccamon Dono. 1 silk _catabra_ 1 lynen ditto _June 18_ (_Gonguach 9_).--We had 10 carpenters, 115 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons, for the house. Palo Dono, the gunpoulder man, bringeth news that a Portingale galliot arived ij dais past at Nangasaque, com from Amacau; and some say j more is coming after, others say 6 or 7. Also the Portingales report that 4 junckes and friggattes which went from Japon to Manillas this yeare are cast away upon that coast, and that they saw non of our shiping nor Hollanders upon the coast of Manillas this yeare; but that may very well be, they keeping upon that parte called Cagalion, and this news came from Luson to Amacow. _June 19_ (_Gonguach 10_).--We had 5 carpenters, 96 laborers, 5 170 plasters, and two masons, for the howse. We envited our neighbors and frendes to dyner this day, after the Japon fation, with _caboques_, viz. Coyemon Dono, Cofio Dono, Tobio Dono, Lisomon Dono, Genemon Dono, Sannemon Dono, Jenquero Dono, Yoyemon Dono, Faccata, Yayemon Dono, carpenter, Shezemon Dono, Taffio Dono, Fioyemon Dono, Yoyemon, oylman, Cuze Dono, Cuzemon Dono, Seyemon Dono, Yoiemon Dono, Nicolas Martin, Gembio, founder, Ficobioy, founder, China Capten, Sinemon, carpenter, Tayemon, carpenter, Yoyemon, smith, Cuemon, plasterer, Zazabra Dono, Cushcron Dono, Mr. Eaton, Mr. Ostarwk., my selfe. And we hadd the dansing beares, unto whom the gesse gave aboue xx _taies_ for a larges. _June 20_ (_Gonguach 11_).--We had 35 laborers for the howse. I receved a letter from Goresak Dono, dated in Nangasaque 4 dais past, wherein he writes me of the arivall of the Portingall friggat or galliota from Amacou, and that, as they report, vj more are gon from thence to Luson in the Manillias. And that they report an English shipp was cast away on the coast of China the last monson, and that 30 of the men are in the Portingalles hands at Amacou. Soe I dowbt it is the _Unicorne_, or else it may be the English ship called the _Hope_, or a small penisse which was sett out from Pattania in company of the _Royale James_ the last yeare. Also others have letters that our fleete at Manillas have taken 5 China junckes; others report more, and that they have taken a Portingall galliota. _June 21_ (_Gonguach 12_).--I sent ij barrs plate to the ij companis of dansing beares or _caboques_. _June 22_ (_Gonguach 13_).--We had 6 carpenters, 82 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons, and 3 tilors, for the howse. We dyned at Tayemon Donos, the master carpenter, where we had good entertaynment, with dansing beares. _June 23_ (_Gonguach 14_).--We had 2 carpenters, 70 laborers, 5 171 plasterars, and 2 masons, for the howse. I receved a letter from Pasquall Benito, dated in Nangasaque yisterday, accompanid with a Duch letter directed to Capt. Leonard Campes, which came from Camboja, wherin he is advized that the news theare is that 40 seale of shipps came the last yeare out of England and Holland for the Indies, to passe by Cape Bona Speranza, and that 30 seale were prepared to com out of Spaine same way. Also a small galliota is arived at Nangasaque which came from Manillias, and is com emptie. Soe it is thought she is a theefe run away from Spaniard to seek purchases. And we receved tymber at Cochie. _June 24_ (_Gonguach 15_).--We had 64 laborers, 5 plasterars, and i mason, for howse. We fownd the greate ancor, lost when the _James Royall_ went out; and paid for finding it 5 bars plate. And Bonga Samma sent me a leane pork for a present. _June 25_ (_Gonguach 16_).--We had 5 carpenters, 85 laborers, 5 plasters, and i mason, for the howse. And we have news that Itamia Migell Donos junck is retorned to Nangasaque, and hath lost her voyage. _June 26_ (_Gonguach 17_).--We had news that the China Capt. junck is arived from Tonkyn, which staid theare the last monson, now arivd at Nangasaque. _June 27_ (_Gonguach 18_).--We had 5 carpenters and 63 laborers. I rec. a letter from Itamia Migell Deno, dated in Nangasaque the 13th of _Gonguach_, wherein he writes me of the losse of his voyadg, and that he will come hym selfe and bring me my _goshon_ before it be longe. And Oyen Dono, with an other cavelero, cam to thenglish howse, sent from Tonomon Samma, Semi Dono, and Taccamon Dono, to warne us, when our shiping came in, that our marenars walked not ashore with weapons or _catanes_. _June 28_ (_Gonguach 19_).--I receved a letter from China Capt., dated 172 in Nangasaque 18th _Gonguach_, of his arivall theare and of the junck com from Tonkyn, but that his factor he sent is left behind, and a new small junck retornd in place of ould. Also that he understandes our 9 shipps are arived in the bay of Manillias, and have taken ij China junkes, and that few adventure now to that parte for feare of us and the Hollanders; and that the ould Emperor of China and his sonne are dead, and thempire com to a yong man, his sonns sonne. _June 29_ (_Gonguach 20_).--I rec. a letter from Pasquali, dated in Nangasaque 2 daies past, wherin he writes me that the admerall of thenglish hath cut affe the head of an English capt. in the Manillias, and hanged 5 other English men; and that the _Unecorne_ was cast away upon the coast of China, and that Furbeshar, the carpenter, his wife, and maid, are prisoners at Amacow. These news the friggat or galliota, which cometh from the Manillias, hath brought. And that the galliota of the capt. more, which went for Manillias, is cast away, but Alvaro Munos arived in safetie; and that they are making ready a good fleete of shipps and gallis at Manillias. But I esteem it all fables of puting to death of a capt. and 5 others at Manillias. About nowne there came one runing from the Hollands howse, and brought news that 4 shipps, English and Hollanders, weare arived on this coast, neare to Cochie Roade. Soe Mr. Eaton and Mr. Osterwick went out on horsback by land to see what it was; and sowne after Capt. Specks and Capt. Camps followed. God send us good and profitable news. And sowne after came news that ij English and i Duch shipp weare arived and at an ancor in Cochie; whereof I sent word to Tonomon Samma, Bonga Samma, Semi Dono, and Taccamon Dono, per our _jurebasso_. And soone after arived ashore Mr. Cockram and Mr. Tubervill, and brought news all the fleete of 9 shipps, both English and Duch, 173 were arived at Chochie, and that they had taken 5 China junckes in all. _June 30_ (_Gonguach 21_).--I went abord the shipps, where, after my arivall, there fell debate ashore betwixt English and Duch marrenars. Soe one Hollander was slane and divers others hurt, both English and Duch, espetially 2 Englishmen. So the admerell called a councell, where it was determined to seek out the murtherers or strife makers on both partes, and to punish them with death or otherwais, according to desert. Alsoe it was ordayned to begyn to unlade our shipps on Munday, Mr. Cockram to be at Hollandes house to take acco. of all landed, and Mr. Balke at English howse, to like effect; and duble lock to be put on dores till the goodes be vallued and parted. _July 1_ (_Gonguach 22_).--Notwithstanding the orders taken by councell that nether English nor Hollander should goe ashore with weopens, to prevent quarreling, yet the Hollanders flocked on shore with swordes and _cattans_ and sett upon our unarmed men and slew one and hurt divers others; and, as it is said, are alowed and sett one per Comander Jonson, vizadmerall. _July 2_ (_Gonguach 23_).--We receved ashore this day ij boates lading of prize goodes, being 131 fardelles and chistes, great and small, but I know not what is in them; and put duble lockes on the dore of the gedonge, both of ours and the Hollanders. Allsoe we receved iij boates ladinges priz goodes, landed at Hollandes howse out of their shiping, and put into their gedong under double lock likewais, being 225 fardels and chistes, whereof ij boates lading came out of the ship _Bantam_. And towardes night Capt. Adams, Capt. Clevengar, and Capt. Lennis came ashore to English howse, and Comander Johnson to Hollandes howse, to seek out all the marrenars, English and Duch, and to send them abord, 174 to keepe them from brawling. _July 3_ (_Gonguach 24_).--We receved prize goodes ashore out of the Duch shipp _Bantam_. _July 4_ (_Gonguach 25_).--We rec. prize goodes out of _Moone_ and _Bantam_. _July 5_ (_Gonguach 26_).--An Englishman of the _Elizabeths_ company, being drunk, much abused hym selfe and drue his _cattan_ against the Japons, but they took it from hym and drubd hym sore, and I think had kild hym, yf I had not taken hym out of their handes and sent hym abord. _July 6_ (_Gonguach 27_).--I sent ij drunken Englishmen abord the _Moone_, the one called Gray, a calker, for misusing the admerell in ill termes, as many witnesses heard. Mr. Henry Smith, purcer of the _Royal James_, had a child by a Japon woamon, and was christned this day per Mr. Arthur Hatch, prechar, per the name of Henry; Mr. Joseph Cockram and Mr. Wm. Eaton, godfathers, and Maria, Mr. Sayers woaman, godmother. _July 7_ (_Gonguach 28_).--The admerall, Capt. Robt. Adames, with the rest of the English comanders, came ashore to thenglish howse at Firando and satt in councell about the murthering of a Hollander by an English man, called John Peterson: viz. Robert Adames, Charles Clevenger, Edmond Lennis, Jno. Munden, Arnold Browne, seamen; Joseph Cockram, Wm. Eaton, Edmond Sayer, Jno. Osterwick, Ric. Cocks, English merchantes; with Mr. Vaux, a Hollander, whoe spoke English, to be enterpreter or heare what 4 Duchmen aledged against John Roane, the murtherer of Jno. Peterson, whoe all 4 with viva voce accused the said Roan to doe the acte in their sight, and stabed hym into the leaft brest and soe to the hart (with a knife), that he never spoke word but fell downe dead, the wound after being seene and serched by Mr. Owen and Mr. Eaton, chirurgions, whoe saw the corps taken out of growne 3 daies after it was buried. The jurie empaneled weare named as followeth, viz.:-- 175 _Eliza._ Robert Turbervill, foreman, Wm. Morgon, John Goulding, _Bull._ Ric. Wattes, Wm. Legg, _Palsgrave._ Jno. Humphrey, Ed. Bates, Tho. Harod, Bartholomew Ale, _Moone._ Galliard, guner, Phillip Okebank, Roger Burdok, And the names of men witnessing against Rone, viz. Jno. Ive, an Englishman; Derick Harmonson, Duchman; Evert Lubbertson, Duchman; Jno. Johnson, Duchman; Jno. Henrikson, Duchman; Joyemon Dono, a Japon, in whose howse it was donne, at Cochie. _July 8_ (_Gonguach 29_).--The shipp _Elizabeth_ entred the harbor of Firando this day, without any helpe of boates, and without order ether from the admerell or capt., and came agrowne, not without greate danger, yet got afe againe. _July 9_ (_Roquenguach 1_).--This day Jno. Roan of Bristoll, marrenar, was condemned by the xij men before nomenated, for killing of Jno. Peterson, a Duchman, and hanged at the yard arme abord the shipp _Elizabeth_. He confessed before his death that he kild the said man, being in drink and not knowing what he did, wishing all the shipps company to take example by hym, and to beware of woamen and wine, which had brought hym to that untymely death. He died very resolutely, and receved the sacrament by Mr. Arthur Hatch befor he went to execution. Capt. Robt. Adames was forced to put the roape about his neck with his owne handes, for non of the shipps company would doe it, yf he should hang them, and soe tould hym to his face. And we rec. prize goodes out of _Bantam_ and _Hope_. _July 10_ (_Roquenguach 2_).--We rec. prize goodes ashore out of the Dutch shipp _Hope_. _July 11_ (_Roquenguach 3_).--We rec. prize goodes ashore out of Duch 176 _Hope_, and out of ship _Palsgrove_. _July 15_ (_Roquengach 7_).--Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono sent to us and the Hollanders, in the Kinges name, to desire us to lend hym xx M. _taies_ in plate, for a tyme, for that he had marid the Emperors kinswoaman the 5 of last moone, and will bring her to Firando shortly. _July 16_ (_Roquenguach 8_).--The Admerall, Capt. Adames, came to Firando to confer about vizeting the prince and Semi Dono to morrow. Soe we and the Hollanders did conclude to vizet them to morrow, viz:-- for Tonomon Samma. 1 barell Spanish wine 1 China bason full ginger conserv, poz. 20 _cattis_ 1 China bason full nutmeg conserv 1 China bason with peper, poz. 11 _cattis_ for Semi Dono. 1 barell wine ditto 1 China bason conserv ginger, poz. 19 _cattis_ 1 ditto with peper, poz. 11 _cattis_ _July 17_ (_Roquenguach 9_).--We went and deliverd our presentes as before named, and had very frendly entertaynment and taken in good parte. And the prince caused a helth to be drunk rownd for the good news of the kinges his brothers marriadg with themperours kinswoaman, and an other for the safe arivall of our shipps. _July 21_ (_Roquenguach 13_).--The _tono_ sent word unto us and the Hollanders that we must carry back our 4 shipps to Cochie, themperour and his councell soe comanding. Unto whome we answerd, that we brought them into Firando at their request, not without greate danger, and, the wind being contrary, could not carry them back againe; and that within a few daies we ment to goe to themperours court to kisse his handes, and in the meane tyme, or at least till the king retorned to Firando, to let them rest as they weare; which they seemed not to be unwilling to permitt. Also Semi Dono sent againe both to us and the Hollanders to know 177 whether we would lend the king 20,000 _taies_, as he formerly requested. Unto which we retorned answer that first we must pay the debtes we owed, and then furnish our shiping with the needfull, and afterwardes, yf we had an overplus, we weare ready to serve his Highnesse in what with reason we might doe. _July 22_ (_Roquenguach 14_).--The _tono_ sent againe both to us and the Hollanders, to know whether we would lend the king 20,000 _taies_. Unto whome we made answer, as formerly, that, our debtes being paid and shipps furnished of the needfull, we then would doe his Highnesse any lawfull servis we could. _July 23_ (_Roquenguach 15_).--I went to Cochie to vizet thadmerall, as also to look upon the new building and to take acco. of tymber. And I fownd there had byn a broyle there betwixt the Japons and Hollanders, as the like was at Firando 2 daies past, where a Hollander stabed or hurt 2 Japons, for which they drubed hym well and took hym presoner, and keepe hym in durance till this hower, the _tono_ sending the Hollanders word that he would not suffer hym to be delivered into their handes, except they would promis before hand to put hym to death; which the Hollanders answered they could not doe, because he had kild no Japon, but they would wound hym or cut hym as bad or worse then he had hurt the Japons. And soe the matter restes till this day. _July 24_ (_Roquenguach 16_).--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adams, admerall, to Cochie, per Tobio Dono, to take measure and make the steares at key. The unruly marrenars of the Hollandes shipps, being drunk, did ride over children in the streetes, and slasht and cutt Japons. Whereupon the justis took two of them presoners, and without any more adoe cut affe their heades. And I heard of a Scotsman which ment to run away to Nangasaque, called 178 James Lester. Soe I sent a boate and brought hym back. _July 25_ (_Roquenguach 17_).--I wrot a letter to Capt. Robt. Adames, and sent hym Lester, the runaway, to Cochie. And Matias, the Hollander, and Swagger did arive this day at Firando from Cochinchina, in a junk which brought them to Nangasaque; and bring word they met with an English shipp neare Amacou, called the _Pepercorne_, wherin came merchant Mr. Bugims, that was purcer in the _Unecorne_ the last yeare, when she was cast away neare Amacou, and now is bound for this place in the _Pepercorne_, and, as Matias saeth, is to stay upon the coast of Amacou till the middell of August, before she com for Japon, to look for bootie. God send her well in. Only I note it neglegence that they wrot us not word how we should prepare our selves for busynes to succeade. _July 26_ (_Roquenguach 18_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe receved letters this day from themperours court in answer of ours sent per expres, viz. 1 from Codgsque Dono, that priz frigot was not ended; 1 from King Firando to same effect, and that price of lead was not made; 1 from Torazemon Dono, lardg, how that Emperour had comanded we nor Hollanders should carry no munition out of the cuntrey, nether any Japons in our shipp, and that much ill was reported to the Emperour and his councell against us and the Hollanders, as he could not write it per letter, but would relate it per word of mouth shortly at his arivall at Firando. And towardes night we had newes the shipp _Pepercorne_ was arived at Cochie roade in Firando. So I sent Mr. Ed. Sayer, Mr. Jno. Osterwick, and Hary Dodsworth abord with a barill _morofack_, 50 loves fresh bread, a hogg, 17 hense, 4 fisantes, with redish, cowcomber, and millons. But presently after Mr. Morton, the master, with Mr. Bogins, 179 the merchant, and Georg Christmas, purcer, came ashore and brought me these letters following, viz.:-- dated 19th Aprill in Jaccatra, 1 from the precedent Mr. Ric. Fursland 1 from Mr. Tho. Brockedon with a note of instructions for orderly keping acco., and 2 broad cloths, no. 445 and 232, and a bill lading thereof fermed per Georg Cristmas. 2 letters from Pattania, of 9th and 11th June, verbatum, from Mr. Jno. Jourdaine. 1 from Sr. Tho. Wilson, dated in London, 17th November, 1619. _July 27_ (_Roquenguach 19_).--I receved 5 chistes R. 8 ashore out of the shipp _Pepercorne_, from Jaccatra, from precedent Fursland, per the handes of Georg Christmas, purcer, should contain 20,000 R. 8, for which I gave a recept of my hand, with ij broad cloathes. And heare arived a Hollandes ship, called the _Muyen_ or _Mugon_, from Jaccatra, wherin Sr. Albartus the Hollander retorned and brought me these letters following, viz. 1 copie of former rec. per _Pepercorne_, 1 from precedent Mr. Ric. Fursland, dated 20th June, with a relation, dated the 30th ditto, from the Councell of Defence, that our fleete shall retorne back this yeare for Manillias, and Wm. Johnson goe for admerall, and Capt. Robt. Adames vizadmerall. _July 28_ (_Roquenguach 20_).--Jno. Avery, pursers mate of the ship _Elizabeth_, died this morning of a wound he receved from a Fleming called Jno. Johnson van Hamborg. _July 29_ (_Roquenguach 21_).--We opened chist no. 21, which came in the _Pepercorne_, in presence of Mr. Bogens, Mr. Eaton, Mr. Sayer, Mr. Osterwick, Ric. King, and my selfe, and did both tell and way it over, and ther wanted 2-3/4 R. of 8 in it short of 4,000 R. 8. The Duch envited admerall Adames and rest of thenglish to dyner this 180 day to Hollandes howse. _July 30_ (_Roquenguach 22_).--We changed this day R. for plate barrs, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 1500 R. 8 to Cushcron Dono, is 1200 0 0 1062-1/2 R. 8 to Pasquall, is 0850 0 0 0625 R. 8 to Jno. Portis and Harnando 0500 0 0 0125 R. 8 to Mr. Hatch, is bars 0100 0 0 _August 1_ (_Roquenguach 24_).--We had a councell or speches about geving the xvj parte of priz goodes to the marrenars, and that the admerall and comanders of fleet should geve in securety under their ferme that the shipps companis would not goe to Manillias this second tyme without it. _August 3_ (_Roquenguach 26_).--I delivered j C. _tais_ small plate to Capt. Robt. Adams, admerall, to pay unto x Japons which went in our fleet for Manillias, each one x _taies_ per man; their names as followeth, viz.:-- in the _Moone_. Jenza Sanshero Cuishti in _Bull_. Cusa Matias Goresak in _Elizabeth_. Tuestro Shengro Cugero Gibatch _August 4_ (_Roquenguach 27_).--We sould all our silke which came in the Manillia fleet unto Tozayemon Dono of Sackay, as followeth, viz.:-- Fine white pole silke, at 310 _tais pico._ Second sort pole silke, at 285 " " Kense or oylie silke, at 190 " " Sleze silke, at 225 " " White twisted silke, at 220 " " Blak pole silke, at 220 " " Cullered pole silke, at 290 " " But sowne after came news that 3 or 4 galliotas weare arived at 181 Nangasaque from Amacon and had brought much silk and stuffes, and soe he said he would goe from his bargen, notwithstanding he had geven us a bill under his hand writing for performance. The bill of Tozemon Donos to take our silk was made in such sort that he might take but i _pico_ of a sort, yf he would, for no quantety was set downe, nether that he should take all. This was donne per neglegence of Mr. Eaton, that trusted his boy and would not call for a _jurebasso_. _August 5_ (_Roquenguach 28_).--Jno. Yossen came to thenglish howse to begg the life of the Hollander condemned for killing Mr. Avery, but could not preveale. _August 6_ (_Roquenguach 29_).--This day, before nowne, the Hollanders did behead Jno. Johnson van Hamborg, for killing Mr. Avery, 5 or 6 English men standing by at doing theirof; they having first made the man soe drunk that he could scarse stand on his legges, and soe cutt affe his head within their owne howse. We had news for certen this day that 2 galliotas were arived at Nangasaque from Amacou, with silk and stuffes, and 2 others yet without to enter. Also Mr. Christofer Bogans had a letter from a Portugez at Nangasaque, wherin he wrot hym a long cercomstance how well the men (espetially the woamen) weare used that escaped out of the shipp _Unicorne_ in China, when she was cast away; and with what pompe the woamen weare receaved; with many other Portingall lies. Others also wrot that 14 China juncks, 6 Portingall friggottes, arived at Manillias after our fleete was departed from thence, soe that now both silk wares and all other provition of munition and victuell[100] [100] The sentence unfinished. _August 7_ (_Roquenguach 30_).--The _Bulls_ company wholy mutyned, and 36 of them came to Firando and deliverd a writing unto me, wherin they demanded their 16th parte of priz goods. And, after, Capt. Adames, 182 admerall, wrote me to take one James Martin, a Scotsman, yf he came to Firando, and lay hym in irons. This Scott is he which stured up the _Bulls_ men to muteny, promising to perswade the _Moons_ men to doe the like and to follow them, "because" (said he) "they sell away the goods, and, yf yow suffer them to carry them away, yow shall never have any thing". _August 10_ (_Sitinguach 3_).--We had a jenerall counsell this day at the English howse, both of English and Hollanders, where it was ordayned that the Duch should carry the flag in the meane topp, as admerall, this second voyage for Manillias, and the English as vizadmerall. But Capt. Robt. Adams, admerall the former voyadg, aledged he was free per meanes of a letter he brought out of England, and soe ment to resigne his place to Capt. Chorles Cleavenger and retorne for Jaccatra. Unto whome it was objected that, yf he shronke, it was a bad precedent to make all the rest doe the like. Unto which he replied that, rather then that should happen, he would goe meanest man in the fleete; yet that he would not put out the flagg in the fore topp for 3 or 4 daies space, and in the meane tyme would take adviz what was best to doe. And soe Jno. Jonson was ordayned admerall, to put out his flagg in the meane top to morrow; and that the Councell of Defences ordenances should be read abord all the fleete to morow; and a muster taken how many men their were, and soe to know each mans opinion, what he would replie against these proceadinges. Also it was brought in question at the same councell, tuching the abuse of one , master of the shipp _Swan_ and on of the Councell of War, how he per force did enter per night into the 5th junck taken, with som 40 or 50 men with weopens and close lantarns, and, after the beating and misusing of the Englishmen which had pocession, did pilledg and sett the junk on fire, leaveing the English 183 men in her to be burned, yf they hadd nott byn releeved. Unto which Jno. Johnson, the admerall, replied that our men had used other abuses to his men. Which, in the end, was remitted till they came to the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra. _August 11_ (_Sitinguach 4_).--This day Jno. Johnson was made admerall both of Duch and English, and proclemation made abord each shipp, both Duch and English, and all presoners sett at libertie for any muteny hertofore, the Duch at request of Capt. Adams and the English at request of Jno. Johnson, admerall. China Capt. went to Nangasaque, and Andreas with hym, to bring about the China Capt. junck, to carine our shipps by. _August 12_ (_Sitinguach 5_).--Gonrok Dono passed by this place to Nangasaque, and Capt. Leonard Camps and my selfe went to hym about priz of our leade, and he, being ready to departe, willed us to follow hym to Nangasaque. _August 13_ (_Sitinguach 6_).--Capt. Robt. Adames, our late admerall of the English and Duch fleete to the Manillias, now made vizadmerall, called a councell of these following, viz.: Capt. Chorles Cleavengar, Capt. Edmond Lennis, Mr. Jno. Munden, Mr. Arnold Browne, seamen; Joseph Cockram, Wm. Eaton, Ric. Cocks, merchantes--wherein he desired to be dismissed from going vizadmerall this second tyme to Manillas, shewing a discharg from our Right Honble. Company in England, being permitted to retorne for England per first shipp which came; yet, in respect the Councell of Defence had now made a second chose of hym (he striving to put it to Capt. Chorles Clevengar), yet we all in generall put it upon hym, which he in the end condecended unto, to put out his flagg in the fore tope to morrow morning. Yt was agreed per us and the Hollanders that to morow morning Capt. Speck and another Hollander, with Mr. Cockram and my selfe, should 184 goe for Nangasaque to morow, to make an end about price of our lead, as also to provide any thing wanting to geve to the Emperour and Councell for presentes. _August 14_ (_Sitinguach 7_).--We agreed with Cushcron Dono and the oyleman for these parcelles following, viz:-- 300 _pico_ biskit, at 4 _ta._ 4 _ma._ 5 _co._ per _pico_. 600 sackes fyne rize of 40 _gantas_, as Duch pay. 100 _pico_ hempe, at 7 _ta._ 7 _m._ 5 _co._ _pico_. for ships provition, to be deliverd within 3 mo. after date. Also agreed with Nicolas Martin for these parcels, viz.:-- 200 _pico_ biskit, at price abovesaid. 030 buttes rack, containing 10,000 _gantes_, at 2 _gantes mas_ bar. And I paid j C. _tais_ to Yoshozemon Dono, our beefe man, upon acco. of beeves, whereof he paid unto Gennemon Dono, the other beefe man, 47 _tais_ for 19 beeves, at 3 _tais_ beefe. _August 15_ (_Sitinguach 8_).--I paid out in barr plate to purcers, viz.:-- _ta. m. c._ j C. _tais_ to Mr. Neve, purcer of _Moone_ 100 0 0 j C. _tais_ to Mr. Watts, purcer of _Bull_ 100 0 0 l. _taies_ to Danill White, purcer of _Palsgrove_ 050 0 0 l. _taies_ to Christmas, purcer of _Pepercorne_ 050 0 0 And I paid the glover shewmaker, for 4 peare of pompes at ij _mas_ per peare, 8 _m._; more to hym for a _cattan_ handell red lether, 2 _m._ _August 16_ (_Sitinguach 9_).--I embarked this morning, in company of Mr. Cockram and Ric. King, to goe towardes Nangasaque, as Capt. Camps and Mr. Vaux did the like, to speake with Gonrok Dono about receving money for our lead. But, at our first seting out, fell much rayn; soe we, being in an open bark, retorned back againe. We agreed or bargened for these provitions following for Manillia fleete, viz. with the gunfounders, for 5,000 _gantas_ ordnary _rak_, at ij _gantas_ per _mas_, to be delivered within 3 monthes; with 185 Oyen Dono and his sonne, for 10,000 _gantas_ redd _garvanse_, at 4-1/4 _gantas_ per _mas_. _August 17_ (_Sitinguach 10_).--We set forwardes towardes Nangasaque this morning after sun rising, and arived theare the same day 2 howres before sunne seting, and fownd Capt. Camps and the Duch arived theare at midnight before. _August 18_ (_Sitinguach 11_).--We and the Hollanders sent our _jurebassos_ to Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono, to tell them of our arivall heare, and that we desired to com and kisse their handes when they weare at leasure. And we laid out presentes, viz.:-- for Gourok Dono, governor. 02 _tattamis_ stamet cloth 20 _cattis_ white raw pole silk 03 peces diaper tabling 25 _cattis_ of pepper 03 peces sleze land for Feze Dono, major. 01 _tattamy_ stamet cloth 10 _cattis_ white pole silk 03 pec. diaper napkening for Skidayen Dono, secretary. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth 03 peces diaper napkening 03 pec. wroght sattins, cullers for Yasimon Dono. 03 peces cullard taffeties 02 peces ordenary damasks And I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton, to Firando, per Andrea Dono in China Capt. junck, with vj peeces iron ordinance and carages for them, and how I paid xxv _tais_ plate barrs to hym. Within night Lansman the Duchman came to vizet me, for by day he durst not, for feare of the excomunecation, telling me it was defended that noe Roman Catholick might open their mouth to speak to us. _August 19_ (_Sitinguach 12_).--We went to vizet Gonrok Dono with the present nomenated yistarday, and he of hymselfe began to speake about the price of the leade, telling us that the Councell thought iiij _taies_ per _pico_ enough, and therefore he durst not presume to geve more. Unto which we answered that themperour might take it for 186 nothing, yf he pleased, yet we knew it was in his Lordshipps handes to sett what price he pleased; and, seeing Ogosha Samma of famos memory sett the price at vj _taies_ per _pico_, to take all which came at that price, and Shongo Samma his sonne, the Emperour that now is, did conferme it, we hoped his Lordshipp would have consideration thereof, and the rather, for that we hadd now byn driven affe a yeare and a halfe, and could not make benefite of our good nor monies, but weare forced to take up money at interest. And, to conclud, we tould him he hym selfe did offer 4-1/2 _taies_ per _pico_ the yeare past; yet it seemed he did not remember the same. And soe, being late, we departed and left it to his Lordshipps consideration till to morrow to think better thereof. And soe we went to Skidayen Dono, his secretary, and carid hym the present nomenated before, desyring hym to put his master in mind to end the acco. of lead. Within night Nicolas Marin, an Italian and pilot to the Portugezes, came to vizet me, because he durst nott doe it per day, and tould me how all weare excomunecated that did ether buy or sell with thenglish or Hollanders, or had any conversation with them, or did soe much as put affe their hattes or salute them in the streetes. _August 20_ (_Sitinguach 13_).--I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton, and sent it per Mangusque, Zazabra Donos servant, advizing how Gonrok offerd us now but 4 _tais pico._ for our lead, as also of the difference betwixt Gonrok with the Japon merchantes against the Portugezes, about the quantety of silk com in the friggates, and how he makes _pancado_ of stuffes now as well as of silke. And I wished Mr. Eaton to sell away our silk, yf possibly he could, for it is said there is neare j M. _pico._ com in these friggots. And we carid our presentes to Feze Dono and Yasimon Dono, as is noted downe the 18th present, and desired them to be a meanes to Gonrok 187 Dono to make an end of the price of the leade, or to tell as what we should trust unto. The Hollanders supped with us at China Capt. and have envited us to dynner to their lodging to morow. _August 21_ (_Sitinguach 14_).--We sent to Gonrok Dono to know his answer at what price he would set our leade. Soe he replied he would geve us 4-1/2 _taies_, upon condition we would geve hym a bill of our handes that, yf the Emperour and Councell weare not content to geve so much, we should let it goe for lesse. Unto which both the Hollanders and we answerd that we would com to a sett price, were it at 4-1/2 or otherwais; the which he took in such snuffe as he sent our present back againe to Hollandes lodging. And I delivered an other letter to Yasobro, Tayemon Donos wives brothers servant, advising how Gonrok Dono had retorned a flatt answer he would geve but 4 _taies_ per _pico_ for lead, as also of arivall of the junck from Manillia wherein Wyamon Dono went capt., and that all was lies of 14 junckes and 6 friggats which arived after our fleete came away. This after nowne the junck, wherein Wyamon Dono went for Manillia with Capt. Adams _goshon_, is now retorned to Faconda roade, and Migell com ashore with news they have made a very badd voyage, and that they were badly used per the Spaniardes, miscalling them because they were frendes to the English and Duch. They also report that, after our fleete came from Manillias, noe junckes entred theare [with exception] of only 3 emptie ons which our fleet set at libertie, haveing rifeled them; as also ij friggates arived theare and went in on the back side of Manillias for feare of our fleete. _August 22_ (_Sitinguach 15_).--This day entred an other galliota from Amacou, which was 17 daies in way, and bringeth silke, silk stuffes, and black clo., or matta of cotton. _August 23_ (_Sitinguach 16_).--I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton and rest, 188 how we could not agree with Gonrok Dono about our lead, with other occurrantes; but, after, we came to agreement at 4-1/2 _cattis pico_ lead. Manillia junck of Wyamon Dono arived at Nangasaque; and they report that all Japons must be banished out of Manillias and non traffick theare hearafter. _August 24_ (_Sitinguach 17_).--The Hollanders and we went to take our leaves of Gonrok Dono and would have left the present with Skidayen Dono, his secretary, but he would not receve it, telling us Gonrok would be at Firando before it weare long, and then might we better present it theare. Also Gonrok tould us he would send men to Firando to way out the lead and pay our money theare forthwith. And soe, towardes night, the Hollanders departed towardes Firando on a sudden, we having formerly agreed to goe togeather to morow morning. And I receved a letter from Mr. Eaton at Firando, howe he had sould 1188 _cattis_ white twisted silke more to Tozemon Dono, at 22 _mas catty_ is 2601 5 0 Also 1200 deare skins to Tobio Dono, best sort, at 34 _tais_ per cento, is 0408 0 0 And delivered 15 Russia hides to Feze Dono, at 3 _tais_ hide, is 0045 0 0 _August 25_ (_Sitinguach 18_).--I receved 2 letters from Firando, viz., 1 from Mr. Osterwick, 1 from Mr. Eaton, with a coppie of ij letters from Molucos from thenglish agent. _August 26_ (_Sitinguach 19_).--We departed this morning towardes Firando, and paid out for diett whilst we were theare 27 0 0 To the goodwife for howsroome 04 3 0 To the servantes 03 2 5 And stuffes given for presentes, viz. 1 pec. black chaul taffety to 189 Capt. Whows sonne, 1 pec. ditto to China Capt. doughter, 1 pec. ditto to Augustyns sonne. And we went to Setto to bed, wind being contrary, and staid all night; and paid charges 1 _ta._, and to his ij childron that brought present of fish and pompians 2 _mas_. _August 27_ (_Sitinguach 20_).--About midnight we arived at Firando, where we found a Duch shipp _Amsterdam_ entred, she coming in on the north side of the iland, and was driven to Nanguay in Crates; and there the Hollanders falling at debate with the Japons of Crates, they fell together by the eares on shore, and 1 Hollander was kild and divers others hurt, and the Japons went not skot free. _August 28_ (_Sitinguach 21_).--The King of Firando arived heare this day at nowne from the cort of Edo; and we went out in a boate and met hym, as the Duch did the like, and they shott affe store of ordinance both from howse and abord shipps; but all our ordinance weare ashore, the shipps being on carine, soe I sent Mr. Cockram with a _jurebasso_ to bidd his Highnesse welcom, and to exckews the not shouting ordinance, which he took in good parte as well as yf we had shott. _August 29_ (_Sitinguach 22_).--I receved a bill from Tozemon Dono for i C. xxviij pec. Canton damask of deceased Capt. Adams acco., at ij _tais_ per peec., to be paid in bar plate at demand, is ij C. lvj _tais_. And I rec. a letter from the domine of the Duch ship _Amsterdam_, dated at Mallayo in Molucas the 26th July last past, sent from Mr. Wm. Nicolas, agent; wherin he doth write of the indirect dealing of the Hollanders against our honble. emploiers. And there was iiij C. peeces manta, or cotton clo., delivered to Mr. Jno. Neve, purcer of the shipp _Moone_, for shipps use, viz. 330 peces browne cangas, 70 peces light blews. _August 30_ (_Sitinguach 23_).--We went to vizet the King of Firando, 190 both we and the Hollanders, and carid hym a present of ij _barricos_ of Spanish wine, 1/2 a _pico_ of cloves, and 1/2 a _pico_ of peper. The wine he took, but the rest he refused. He urged very much to have Capt. Speck to goe to Edo this yeare, in respect he was well knowne to themperour and his Councell, as also thenglish had need to send one that knew the orders of Japan, for that we had many enemis at Court per means of the Portingales and Spaniardes and their well willars which weare many. Unto which we answerd that we would take councell about the matter and have in remembrance what his Highnesse had made knowne unto us. We envited the Hollanders admerall, merchantes, and all the rest of princepalles to dyner after to morow, being Sattarday; but the admerall, Wm. Johnson, denied. _August 31_ (_Sitinguach 24_).--Tonoman Samma, the kinges brother, sent for Capt. Camps and me in all hast, to speake with hym; which we did; and was to put us in mynd both from the king his brother as also of hymselfe that, at any hand, we should keep Capt. Speck heare this yeare to goe up to Edo to themperour, as also to be a meanes to end other [things]. _September 1_ (_Sitinguach 25_).--Wm. Johnson, thadmerall, with all the cheefe of the Hollanders, came to dynner this day, and supped with us likewies. And we hadd the _caboques_ after dynner. And Unagense Dono sent me ij _catabras_ for a present, i of silke, and the other lynen cloth. Also the justis, Taccamon Dono, sent us word to geve over making _gallegalle_[101] in our howse we hired of China Capt., because the white lyme did trowble the player or singing man, next neighbour. Soe we were forced to doe it, notwithstanding it cost us xx _taies_ to build that howse, and soe to make and hier a new one in an other place. The report is that Bonga Dono is dead, and that he died the day before 191 the kinges arivall; and yett it is not published till the feasting be past for joy of the kinges marriadg and his safe retorne. [101] Hindustani: _galgal_, mortar made of lime and linseed oil. _September 2_ (_Sitinguach 26_).--The king sent to Semi Dono to signefie unto hym my answer tuching Capt. Speck, that I agreed with hym that it was fitting he should stay this yeare, and goe for Edo about these busynes. Soe Semi Dono sent me word to contynew in that opinion, for that it was good and profitable to both companis. _September 3_ (_Sitinguach 27_).--A Portugez, called Ranelles, came from Nangasaque, offering his service to goe in our fleete, telling me that Lopas Sermiente Caravalle, the new capt. more, had misused hym without occation; yet I suspect him to be a spie sent to see what we doe. _September 4_ (_Sitinguach 28_).--We went to the king, being sent for, both the Hollanders and us, where he made known to us a writing sent from themperor and his Councell, that no stranger should buy any slaves, ether men or woamen, to send them out of the cuntrey, nether carry out any armor, _cattans_, lances, _langanantes_, poulder or shott, or guns; nether any Japon marrenars to goe in our shipping. And we were envited to dyner abord the Duch shipp _Amsterdam_, where we wanted no drink. _September 5_ (_Sitinguach 29_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Cochie to know wherefore the kinges _bongew_ would not permitt our tymber and boardes to be landed at our howse, as also what he ment to take ij of our men presoners upon no occation. And he retorned me answer, he did not forbid the landing of our tymber, but only gave his men charge (per order from the king) to serch all the barks which came into Cochie, for to see whether they brought any armor, weapons, or munition (thinges defended per the Emperour), which might be brought in boates under tymber or boardes as well as otherwais. And tuching 192 our two men, the one being charged with stealing of a knife, as he confesseth, but the Japans burthen hym with stealing of money, and the other for the bad handling of a woaman great with child, whereby she cast her child; "yet", said he, "I make acco., yf yow speake but one word to Semi Dono, he will sett them free". Also oure marenars of the shipp _Pepercorne_ through their neglegence sett a hodd of stuffe or pitch on fire, which had like to have burned all our howsing and the towne of Cochie, and burned us som 50 trees or rownd tymbers of 2, 3, and 4 _tais_ per peece. And I sent the _caboques_ ij barrs plate, containing vij _taies_, for playing when the Hollanders weare heare. _September 6_ (_Fatinguach 1_).--I paid to the _maky_ man, Canzemon Dono of Miaco, i C. xxxvj-1/2 _tais_ plate bars for these parcells _maky_, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 5 _maky_ basons and ewers Japon fation, at 8 _tais_ pees 40 0 0 1 ditto with ewer, with duble handell, at 09 0 0 6 _macky_ posset pottes (or boles) with covers, at 4 _tais_ 24 0 0 6 peare playing tables with men, at 7 _tais_ peare 42 0 0 5 black basons and ewers Japon fation, at 2-1/2 _tais_ pes 12 5 0 1 ditto with ewer and duble handell, at 03 0 0 6 black posset bolles with covers, at 1 _tay_ pe. 06 0 0 _September 7_ (_Fatchinguach 2_).--I went to Semi Dono, Mr. Cockram and Mr. Bogens accompanying me, to desire hym our ij Englishmen might be sett at libertie, which they comanded us to keepe in preson, we having greate occation to use them in our shiping this faire wether, and that they were accused of mier mallice, becase a Japon was taking of suspition for killing an Englishman; but, for that Japon, we left it to his Lo. pleasure to make ferther proofe, as he pleaced, for that we could say noe more then we hadd donne. Also I desired that we 193 might be discharged of the Japon theefe we tooke stealing the hoopes of iron affe our cask; unto which he answered we weare best to make the matter knowne unto Tonomon Dono, unto whome he was ready then to goe, and to sett all downe in writing; which we did. The one side of the _Palsgrove_ was wholie sheathed this day from the keele to the bend. _September 8_ (_Fatchinguach 3_).--I rec. a letter from Gonrok Dono to way out the lead to his men per whome he sent the letter. I delivered into the factory, for presentes for themperour, 72 _cattis_ white twisted silk at 220 _tais pico_, 158: 4: 0; 59 _cattis_ white pole or Lankin silk at 285 _ta. pico_, 168: 1: 5. Gonrok Donos men, with the King of Firandos _bongews_, came to look on our lead; and on Munday morning will begin to way. _September 9_ (_Fatchinguach 4_).--At nowne the king sent for me in all hast to com to hym; which I did, accompanied with Mr. Edward Sayer; where we fownd he had prepared a _jurebasso_ which spoake Spanish. The reason he tould me was, for that he dowbted our other _jurebassos_ did not well understand what he had formerly said, in respeckt we had not resolved hym in all this tyme whether we determened to keepe Capt. Speck this yeare to goe for Edo with others of our nation which knew the order of Japon and were knowne to themperour and his Councell, but to the contrary lett the Spaniardes and Portingales goe before us, whoe were our enemies, as all the merchants of Nangasaque and Miaco were the like, soe that we had no frend soe sure in Japon to trust unto as he was; and, yf we would not beleeve his councell, we might doe as we list, for the falt was not in hym. Unto which I made answer his Highnes had reason, but that I was not in falt; and that he might know, yf it pleaced hym to let his 194 _jurebasso_ goe with me to the Hollandes howse to heare their answer. Which he was contented, and withall bad me tell the Duch admerall, with Capt. Camps and Capt. Speck, that, yf Capt. Speck staid not heare, he held them all 3 for enemies to the English and Hollands affares. The which I made knowne to the admerall Johnson, Capt. Camps, Capt. Speck, and the rest; but it seemed they 2 former made light of it, yet answerd they would call a generall councell to morow and speak of that and other matters. The which I certefid the king of per the said _jurebasso_, Nicolas Martin. Also our ij men which were in preson were now sett at libertie. Yet thadmerall, Capt. Adames, sent them abord the ship _Moone_, to geve them exemplary punishment, because they might remember it another tyme; for out of dowbt som abuse their was, otherwais the Japons would not have laid handes on them. _September 10_ (_Fatchinguach 5_).--We had a generall councell this day at Duch howse, where it was concluded that 10 shipps this yeare shall procead againe to the Manillias, to be ready to departe by the xxth of November next, ould stile. But that ij of them shall goe out before, within this 15 or 20 daies, viz. the _Bull_ and the _Moyen_, to stay upon the coast of China to look out for junckes, till the other 8 com after to the place apointed them to stay; but yf, in the meane tyme, stormie wether drive them away, then to meete them at Manillias, at a place apointed and tyme. Also it was debated to have Capt. Speck stay this yeare and goe for Edo as the king desired. But the Duch admerall, Capt. Camps, Capt. Lefevre, and the rest would not consent thereunto, saying it la not in their power to doe it, he being sent for by their presedent and generall at Jaccatra; but Capt. Speck spoke openly that the Hollanders gave it out that this was a formed matter made betwixt the King of 195 Firando, Capt. Speck, and my selfe, to have hym stay heare an other yeare, without any occation or need at all. Which for my parte I protest before God they doe bely me; for I did speake to have hym to stay heare only to content the King of Firando, and for nothing else, because he was soe important with me and others about it. Soe there was nothing donne about going up to themperour. Of the which I advized the King of Firando what the Hollanders answer was, which gave hym small content, for he answerd that we should find his wordes true, that he gave us good councell, and that it would be to late hereafter to amend it, and therefore we should not empute the falt his. _September 11_ (_Fatchinguach 6_).--We began to way out our lead this day per single _piculls_, and geve in each _pico._ a _catty_. And it should seeme the king being discontent because Capt. Speck stayeth not in Japon this yeare, for he sent to the Hollandes howse to seeke for pikes that were made ready to send for Jaccatra and weare carid abord a shipp. But the king comanded they should be brought ashore againe, although Capt. Camps aledged they were bought the yeare past, before themperours edict came out; yet that would not serve, but they must be unladed againe. Also it seemed he was angry with us, for he gave order that our laborers, which wrought about carining our shipps, should geve over work, and banished a Japon of Nangasaque which we had entertayned to be overseer of the work. But at my request our laborars were permitted to work as before. And we waied out 92 _pico._ lead this day to themperours _bongews_. _September 12_ (_Fatchinguach 7_).--One of the _Eliza._ men, called Gabrell , a plot maker, being drunk, fell overbord and was drowned. The King sent Torazemon Dono and other ij of his noble men to tell me 196 he was enformed that, at my being at Nangasaque, I had bought a greate quantety of gunpouder, to be secretly conved abord our shipps at Cochie, under culler of other matters. Unto which I answered, I had bought non, nether did ever speake word to any man about it, as before God I did not. Soe it seemed they were content with my answer, and promised me to relate the truth to the king and to get Jacobe Dono, our boteswaine, released, he being banished, per order from the king, by the spitfull dealinges of the _bongews_ at Cochie. I went to the Duch howse with Mr. Cochram to know wherefore they were noe forwarder in sending up to themperour; and Capt. Camps tould me the comander Johnson held matters back. _September 13_ (_Fatchinguach 8_).--We had much a doe with the _bongews_ which waid out our lead, we having waid out above 800 _pico._ these 3 daies past, they leving it still in our howse, not carying any away, soe that now all our void howsroome was full; and they would have me emptie our shipp provition out of our store roome to geve them place, which I tould them I would not doe. _September 14_ (_Fatchinguach 9_).--We had a generall councell this day, wherin we protested against Wm. Johnson, admerall, yf he sent away Capt. Speck, the King of Firando being soe ernest to stay hym heare to goe to Edo, in default whereof wee all protested against hym and his partakers, yf in case any hinderance or domage did happen to either Company, and sent it to the Duch howse per Mr. Eaton, Joseph Cockram, Mr. Ed. Sayer, and Mr. Nicolas Bogens, who heard it read in presence of the said Wm. Johnson, admerall, Capt. Lefevre, and Capt. Camps, with others; but Jonsons answer was that it was ordayned per a generall councell that Capt. Speck must goe for Jaccatra in the _Sunne_, and goe he should. _September 15_ (_Fatchinguach 10_).--I went to the king, accompanied 197 with Mr. Eaton and Mr. Cockram, to signefie the protest we had made against the Duch admerall, Wm. Johnson, for not staying Capt. Speck this yeare in Firando; the which the king said was well donne and desired a coppie thereof and tould us, seeing the Hollanders made soe light a reconyng therof, he would perforce stay Capt. Speck heare till he had order from the Emperours court (or councell) whether he should stay or goe, and would forthwith send an expres to know their honors pleasure therein; and in the meane tyme wished us to send up som others with the present to themperour and councell, and that I should stay heare with Capt. Speck to take councell about the disposing of the friggat when Gonrok Dono came. And soone after the king sent for Capt. Camps, asking hym, as he did me, what was concluded about Capt. Speck staying. Unto which he made answer that he and the rest of the merchant[s] had donne what they could, but that the comander, Wm. Johnson, would not permit it; and that now Capt. Speck answerd he would not stay upon any termes, but procead for Jaccatra, and soe he sent word to the king. Soe he, perceving how matters went, tould Capt. Camps he could not goe up to themperour till he had made an end about the friggat and we proved the Jesuistes to be padres or mas pristes, as they terme them, and that could not be donne till Gonrok Dono came from Nangasaque; yet in the meane tyme we might embale up our presentes and send ij yong men before with them to shew our obedience to themperour, and I and Capt. Camps follow after when the other busynes was donne. And Albartus came after to the English howse and tould me that in 3 generall councells amongst them selves the most voyces had confermed Capt. Jacob Specks to stay in Japon this yeare, but Johnson, the comander, bakt all. _September 16_ (_Fatchinguach 11_).--We had a comunion this day at 198 English howse adminestered per Mr. Arthur Hatch, prechar of the ship _Palsgrove_. Also an Englishman, one of the _Pepercorns_ companie, named Wm. Barker, having layne on shore 3 wicks, never going abord to look to ships busines, and being drunk yistarday in a carpentars howse would have layne with a woaman per force, and against her will took 4 rings of silvar of her fingars, and drunk 2 _mas_ or xij _d._ in wine, and in the end would have gon away and pay nothing and carry the rings along with hym; and, because the good wife of the howse laid handes on hym, he did beate her. Whereupon the neighbors coming upon hym did bynd hym, and sent me word therof; and I, going to the howse, fownd the rings in his pocket, which I restored back againe and made hym pay the ij _mas_, and brought hym to thenglish howse, where, at the whiping post, he had first 60 lashes with a whipp, and then washed in brine, and, after, 40 more lashes. And after nowne one Beedam, a master mate of the shipp _Elizabeth_, being drunk, did fall out of the shipps sterne over the reales, 5 fathom hie, and fell into a junck at her side, where he broke his skull, and is meamed in one legg and an arme and in danger to die. _September 17_ (_Fatchinguach 12_).--I sould Mr. Munden a rapiar and daggar for 48 R. 8, with gerdell and hangers all plated over with silver. The Hollandes shipp, called the _New Sealand_, arived at Firando in Cochie roade toward night. And we waid out 460 _pico._ of lead this day. And Mr. Eaton, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe went to the Duch howse, and, with Capt. Camps, sett downe the presentes to be geven to themperour and his nobillety, littell more or lesse then it was the last yeare; as also we had speeches whether it weare fitting to geve themperours sonne a present, he being at mans estate, and we by frendes at court put in mynd thereof. Soe we concluded to put in 199 Japon writing the presentes we ment to geve this yeare, and to ask the King of Firandos councell whether he thought good to have us to add or deminish any thing therein, as also whether we should geve a present to the yong prince, themperours sonne, or any other his Highnesse thought fitting. We rec. 5000 _taies_ in bar plate, per Gonrok Donos apointment, for lead. _September 18_ (_Fatchinguach 13_).--I gave a letter of favor to Vincent Roman, allius Lansman, for Camboja, dated this day. He is a Duch man, our frend. The king sent to tell me that Gonrok Dono had sent a letter in favor of the capt. more of the Portingales for 3 laskaros which were run away and abord the Hollanders or us, to have them retorne againe. Unto which I answerd I knew nothing of any such matter, for I had non in thenglish howse, yet I would enquere yf ther weare any abord shipp, and send his Highnesse word. Also there was a councell to know whether Peter Wadden should goe for Jaccatra or remeane in the fleet. _September 19_ (_Fatchinguach 14_).--I paid j M. j C. _tais_ plate bars unto Cushcron Dono, wherof 1099 _ta._ 7 _m._ 4 _co._ is in full payment of the fleetes provition the last yeare. Ould Nobisane, called Bongo Dono, died ij daies past, which was said to dy before the king arived. _September 20_ (_Fatchinguach 15_).--The king sent order that we and the Hollanders should meete this day at Torazemon Donos to confer about going up to Edo, and that the admerall Johnson should com with us; but he denid to goe and drove it affe till night, yet then sent word he would goe in the mornyng. _September 21_ (_Fatchinguach 16_).--Wm. Johnson, the Duch admerall, with Capt. Camps, Mr. Ballok, Duchmen, and Capt. Robt. Adams, our admerall, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe went to the howse of Torazemon 200 Dono, where we fownd 3 or 4 more of the kinges councell, whoe tould us we had need to look well to our witnesses to prove the frires in preson at Holands howse to be padres; otherwaies our processe of the friggat would be lost, for that Gonrok Dono took their partes against us, soe that we must have other witnesses then our selves; for allthough all our fleet said it was soe, yet our owne witnesse would not be taken. Also they tould us we ought to enlardg our presentes to the Emperor and councell, having such intricate matters in hand, and that, for a present to the yong prince (themperours sonne), we might take councell when we weare above whether it weare fytt to doe it or noe, according as we saw our busynes goe forward. Also they said the king desired that the next yeare, when our shiping came, that we would lett all stay at Cochie and non enter into Firando. Unto which we made answer that, seeing our howsing was made at Firando, we desired that 5 or 6 shipps might each yeare enter into Firando. Unto which they replied that then we ought to cleare the harbor of the wreck cast away the other yeare, otherwais, yf any other should miscarry, it would quite spoile his harbor that noe bark nor shiping could ever enter into it. So they left us to consider of the matter, the Hollanders saying that their shipp was cast away by falling fowle of the _James Royalls_ cable, and therefore that it was reason we paid halfe. Also they shewed a letter from Gonrok Dono, wherin he wrot the _Tono_ of Firando to stay Capt. Speck till the processe of the friggot was ended; but the admerall Johnson nor Capt. Speck would not consent to it. And I receved a letter from the Molucas from Mr. Wm. Nicoles, dated in Mallayo the 9th of August, and sent per the shipp _Sealand_. _September 23_ (_Fatchinguach 18_).--This night our gunpouder howse, where we dryd our pouder, was beset with men to have donne som 201 mischeefe, as we thought; but, being espied, they fled and had a boate ready to convay them away. There was 5 of them seene neare unto the howse, and one of our men which were at watch thrust at one of them with a short pike, which the other caught by the iron head, and it being badly nealed he puld it affe and carid it away with hym, and soe fled with the rest, as afore said. Soe we esteeme they were sett on by the Spaniardes and Portingales to have blowne up all our gunpouder, to have overthrowne our voyadge, knowing themperour will suffer us to by nor carry out non. _September 24_ (_Fatchinguach 19_).--There was 465 _pico._ lead waid out this day. I went to Torazemon Dono, the kinges secretary, and tould hym of the pretence of blowing up our gunpouder howse, which I and the rest suspected was per instigation of Spaniard and Portingales; the which he wondered at, and tould me he would make it knowne to the king. And, after, we were enformed that Lues Martin and other 2 Portingales departed from Firando late yisternight, after daylight donne, and went with their boate into the cod of the bay neare to our gunpouder howse, to have seene the sport of blowing up the howse; but, the matter being discovered, they made hast away, and the villens set on to doe it did escape in an other boate for Firando, som of which we hope to find out. This night, after midnight, the dead corps of Bongo Samma was carid to be burned, or rather a peece of wood in place, for he was thought to be a Christian. All the nobilletye with a multetude of other people did follow the hearce. The cheefe mornar was a woaman, all in white, with her haire hanging downe her back and her face covered, and a strange attire upon her head like a rownd stoole. All the _Boses_ (or pagon pristes) went before the herse with great lightes, and the nobillety followed after, all in generall with such silence that noe 202 words weare spoaken; and they kneeled downe in divers places, as though they had praid, but not one word heard what they said. And in many places they threw abrod _cashes_ (or brasse money) in great quantety, and in the end most of all at the place where he was burned, that the people might take it, as they did allso much white lynen cloth which compased in a fowre square place where the herse was burned. And there was one _bose_, or prist, hanged hym selfe in a tree hard by the place of funerall, to accompany hym in an other world, for _boses_ may not cutt their bellies, but hang them selves they may. And 3 other of the dead mans servantes would have cut their bellies, to have accompanid hym to serve hym in an other world, as they stidfastly beleeve they might have donne; but the king would not suffer them to doe it. Many others, his frendes, cut affe the 2 foremost joyntes of their littell fingers and threw them into the fire to be burned with the corps, thinking it a greate honor to them selves and the least service they could doe to hym, soe deare a frend and greate a personage, for he was brother to Foyne Samma, grandfather to the King Figen a Came, that now is. And he hath adopted Gentero Samma, the kinges brother, for his lawfull sonne, becase he had no children of his owne, and hath left all he hath to hym, he being the kinges pledg at Edo. _September 25_ (_Fatchinguach 20_).--I went to Torazemon Dono, the kinges secretary, and tould hym we had found out the theefe which pulled affe the pike head and 2 other of his consortes, desiring hym to speake to the king that we might have justice against them, and that they might be constrayned to tell whoe sett them on to have blowne up our gunpouder; the which he promised me to do. But first he would examen our witnesses that had brought to light those 3 men, which were the _bongew_ and neighbors of the villadge neare the 203 gunpouder howse, whoe fownd them out and made it knowne unto me and others. Also Semi Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and the Holland _jurebasso_ and bid them tell us (as from the kinge) that both we and the Hollanders should geve in our answer to morrow at nowne tuching the geting the wrackt shipp out of the harbour, for that the king would not suffer any of our shiping to enter till that weare taken out of the roade. Also, the _Bull_ riding by the _Pepercorns_ side, to helpe to carine her, as she had donne the like to the _Bull_ before, and a planke going from one shipp to the other, as Mr. Munden was going over, a leawd fello of the _Pepercorns_ company hive up the plank with his shoulder and threw hym affe betwixt the 2 shipps, which lying soe close together, he could not falle into the sea, which yf he had, he had byn drowned without remedy; yet he was sore brused with the falle. _September 26_ (_Fatchinguach 21_).--We had a generall councell of English and Duch at Hollandes howse about taxing or prising the 2 shipps _Pepercorns_ and _Muyon_, but could not agree upon prise of the shipps hulls, mastes, and tackling, we seting the _Pepercorne_ at 300 tons, and the tonne at 5 _l._, is 1500 _l._ str.; and the Duch would have rated the _Muyon_ at 2000 _l._ str., being a lesser shipp then ours, they alledging she was newer. Soe that is referd to the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra. Also it was spoaken of to have us to joyne with the Hollanders in purce, to help to gett the shipp that was wracked the last yeare out of the harbour of Firando, the king comanding us so to doe. Unto which we answered that she belonged to the Duch and was non of the shipps of defence, and therefore we had noe reason to be at charg of money to get her out. Yet we offerd them before, when we had leasure, since the arivall of the fleete, to lett 2 or 300 of our men helpe them to get her out; but then they made light of it. Yet, notwithstanding, to geve the King of Firando content, I said that, yf the Duch would agree 204 with the Japons to rydd the havon of her, I was content to sett my hand to a writing to be contributary to som part of the charge, with condition it should be left to the precedentes at Jaccatra to determen whether it was fitt we should pay any thing or noe; and, in the meane tyme, the Duch to disburse all the charges. We are geven to understand that Ric. Short and other Englishmen are run away to the enemy at Nangasaque. _September 29_ (_Fatchinguach 24_).--I wrote 2 letters to Nangasaque, one to Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, and the other to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., to use their best endevour to seek out for Ric. Short and the rest of the English runawaies, espetially Short that is a witnesse against the frires in the Duch howse and hath seene one of them say mas at Nangasaque, and was enticed 4 or 5 daies past per Francisco Lopas and 2 Portingall frires to run away. The King of Firando sent a man of his with letters to Gonrok Dono to same effect. _September 30_ (_Fatchinguach 25_).--We went to Holland howse to supper, all us, to Capt. Speckes foy[102] or farewell, where we were kindly entertayned. And I sealed up my letters for Jaccatra and England:-- to Jaccatra per ship _Swan_ and per Capt. Speck. 1 to Mr. Ric. Furland, precedent. 1 to Mr. Tho. Brakedon. 1 to Mr. James Wrine, prechar. 2 journalles and ballances, C. and D. a book presentes. a book purcers acco. last yeare. 2 inventories prx. goodes, fleet and _Pepercorne_. a protest against admerall Wm. Johnson. 2 recept of shipper of _Swan_, for thing sent in the _Swan_. 1 letter of myne from Mr. Wm. Nicolles, agent. to London, per ship _Swan_ and per Capt. Speck. 205 1 to Sr. Tho. Smith, governor. 1 to governor and committis. 1 to Sr. Tho. Willson, knight. 1 to Mrs. Mary Adames. 1 to Capt. Jno. Saris. 1 to my brother, Walter Cocks. 1 to Capt. Pring. 1 to Mr. Harry Smith. [102] Foy: a merry-making generally given at parting, or on entering into some situation.--Halliwell, _Arch. Dict._ _October 1_ (_Fatchinguach 26_).--Alvaro Munos came to Firando and tells me Ric. Short was staied at Nangasaque, at his first arivall, for a padre, but after released, when they knew whoe he was. Capt. Lafevre was beaten and drubed per the rascall Japon laborers of Firando, because he landed at kinges steares; but, as it is said, the king hath taken the doers thereof and will put som of them to death; but I doe not beleeve it. _October 2_ (_Fatchinguach 27_).--I paid xxiiij _tais_ plate barrs to Jno. Portus for a gould hat band sett with redd Peru stones. I wrot iij letters to Nangasaque about our run awayes, these Englishmen following: Ric. Short, master mate in the _Moone_, Harris, botswane of the _Pepercorne_, with ij others of said ships company, and Alexander Hix, Luke Anderwicke, and Wm. Harris, of the _Bulls_ company. And the shipp _Bull_ was set on fire per a lampe in the steward roome, but quenched in good tyme. _October 3_ (_Fatchinguach 28_).--A bark of Japons, being sent after the runawais with speed, overtook them and kept them from proceading forward, till Mr. Sayer came after. Soe they brought back vj men runawais, viz:-- of _Pepercornes_ men. Edward Harris Thomas Gilbert Christopher Butbee of the _Bulles_ men. Alexander Hix Luke Underwick Wm. Harris And the master of the bark which carid them away is taken presoner, 206 with an other Japon of Nangasaque that entised them to run away; and the King of Firando will put them both to death, as it is reported. And I deliverd my letters to Capt. Speck this day to carry for Jaccatra and England. _October 4_ (_Fatchinguach 29_).--I wrot 2 letters by the shipp _Swan_, viz.:-- sent per Philipe Garland. 1 to the precedent Mr. Fursland at Jaccatra. 1 to the Governor and Company in England. I went and took my leave of Capt. Speck and the rest of Duch merchantes which goe in the _Swan_; and carid Capt. Speck a gallon bottell annis water, and to Sr. Matias and Albartus each one a bottell of a pottell, geving the glasse bottelles and all. _October 5_ (_Conguach 1_).--The _tono_ sent to have us and the Hollanders geve hym a writing of our handes, each aparte, how many _pico_ lead was waid out for the Emperour, and that Gonrok ordayned we should pay for the iron wedges and smiths labour for cutting the lead. Unto which we answerd, his _bongews_ had the just acco. of the _pico._ waid out; and for the iron wedges (as we formerly promised) we were content to pay, they being left to us when the work was finished; but for the laborers which wroght, Gonrok was to pay them. _October 6_ (_Conguach 2_).--The shipp _Swan_ put to sea this day in the after nowne, and I went abord with the rest of the merchantes to bidd hym farewell; and, as it seemed, the admerall Johnson did geve hym a churlish farewell, according to his borishe condition. _October 7_ (_Conguach 3_).--I delivered or gave a recept to King of Firando for 2780 _pico._ lead waid out for themperour of Japon, and receved, per order from Gonrok Dono, in full payment of 2780 _pico._ 207 lead, 7510 _tais_, and 5000 _tas._ was receved the 17th ultimo, is all 12510 _tais_, at 4-1/2 _tais pico._, sould to Shongo Samma, Emperour of Japon. _October 8_ (_Conguach 4_).--This day weare arayned vj English runawais, most of them being duble runawais and som fellons, and therefore, by generall consent, according to marshall law, condemned all to be hanged, 3 of them being of the _Bulles_ men and the other 3 of the _Pepercorns_ men, as doth apere the 3th day of this mo. of October, when they weare retorned. And one James Martyn, accused by som to be the author of this mischeefe, he being a Scotsman, and fownd to be a cheefe bellows blower or sterrer up of all mutanies heretofore. Soe the admerall, Robt. Adames, sent a comition out to aprehend hym and bring hym ashore and soe put hym in preson to answer for hym selfe. _October 9_ (_Conguach 5_).--Yistarnight I was enformed that Francisco Lopas and a semenary prist were com to towne, and lodged in the howse of the capt. of the friggot taken the last yeare; of which I advised Torezemon Dono to tell the king thereof by Coa Jno., our _jurebasso_, it being late, and to geve order noe strangers should passe out. And this morning I sent the same _jurebasso_ to Torezemon Dono secretary, to know the kinges answere; which was, I might speake of these matters when Gonrok Dono came. Unto which I sent answer, it might be that then these pristes would be gon, and then it was to late to speake. Yet, for all this, there was noe eare nor respect geven to my speeches. The admerall Capt. Adames, with all the comanders and merchants, saving my selfe and Mr. Osterwick, went to Cochie to see the execution of the condemd men. And 4 of them were executed, viz. Edward Harris, boteswaine.[103] [103] The names of the others are not given. _October 10_ (_Conguach 6_).--Alvaro Munois went away this day 208 without satisfying me for my serne of mase. This villen did lye heare to entice our men to run away; but now per the _tono_ is comanded out of towne. _October 12_ (_Conguach 8_).--Taccamon Dono sent for me, he being accompanid with Torazemon Dono, and Mr. Osterwick with me. They enquered of me about the padres I said were in the capt. of the friggates lodging, and sent for his host to know whether any such people were in the howse; which he denied. Yet asked me whether I did know them for padres, yf I did see them. Unto whome I answered that, yf he brought them out, I had wittnesses which knew them well. _October 13_ (_Conguach 9_).--Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, being ready to goe up to Miaco and soe for Edo with the lead for themperour, I went and vizeted hym, and carid hym a pottell of strong annis water distilled with musk, which he took in good parte, and lefte the company where he was and came into an other roome with me; which som others took in dogen and used som wordes about it. But this was a fello, a spie sent per the fathers to pick quarrells against us. Yet I said littell to it, but gave place, the others saying they staid for Yasimon. And this day, in the after nowne, the admerall Johnson, with Capt. Speck and Capt. Lafevere, came to our howse to know whether our shipp _Pepercorne_ were ready to goe out or noe, as theirs was; for that tyme passed and our enemies were ready to gett tyme upon us, and that their shipp, the _Muyon_, was ready according to composition. Unto which our comander, Robt. Addams, with the rest of us, answerd that our shipp was as ready as theirs, and that on Twesday next should be ready to set seale. _October 14_ (_Conguach 10_).--I advized Mr. Sayer, at Nangasaque, to look out for Short, costa que costa, and to speake to [contractors] to send all away per first, for that our fleet would all be ready to departe within 20 daies after date hereof, and that the _Pepercorne_ 209 and _Muyon_ were now ready to departe; as also to send noe more barly at above 8 _gantas_ per _mas_. _October 16_ (_Conguach 12_).--Mr. Sayer wrot me that, a friggat going out, they serched her to the verry keele and opened all chistes, to have fownd Ric. Short, but could not be fownd. [They fownd] above 1000 pikes, _langenott_, and _cattans_, and brought them back, and would have staid the pilot; but the capt. more standes bound to answer for all which is taken. _October 17_ (_Conguach 13_).--I wrot out 2 remembrances for Mr. Christopher Bogens and Mr. Mathew Moreton, Cape merchant and master of the shipp _Pepercorne_, she being ready to proceed on a voyage to Manillias, she and the shipp _Moyon_ in her company, they going before the rest of the fleete; the coppie of which remembrances I keepe by me. Gonrok Dono wrot to the King of Firando in the behalf of the Portingall capt. moore, to have the ould Portingall which I kept in howse sent to hym; of which the king sent me word with the letter of Gonrok. Unto which I answered, I did keepe that Portugez per his Highnesse leave and lycense formerly geven me, and soe desired to doe till Ric. Short with our other English runawaies were retorned. Unto which it seemed the king was content, for I heard nothing afterward. _October 18_ (_Conguach 14_).--The 2 shipps, _Pepercorne_ and _Moyen_, put to sea this day in the after nowne; and went abord both of them at Cochie, and [carid] Mr. Moreton, Mr. Bogens, and the capt. and Cape merchant of the _Moyen_, Mr Houlden and ,[104] each of them a bottell of annis water, and 2 bottelles to Hary Dodsworth and Abraham Smart. Mr. Thomas Harod departed out of this worlde this day, towardes night, 210 after he had made his will. [104] Blank in MS. _October 19_ (_Conguach 15_).--Mr. Harod was buryed this day, and left per his will his wages in England due per Company, with his howses at Blackwall, to his doughter, and to his wife 2 groates or 8 pence starling, for that she should cleame noe parte of his goods in respect she marryed in his abcense. Also he gave to me a gerdell and hangers of velvet with silver buckelles and hooks, and also x _taies_ bar plate to make me a ring; and j C. rialles of 8 betwixt Mr. Edmond Sayer and his yong doughter Joan, to part eaven, with his great chist and bible to Mr. Ed. Sayer ditto. _October 20_ (_Conguach 16_).--The King of Firando went on hunting yistarday, accompanied with above 3000 men, into the mountayns, and this day retorned with 7 or 8 fallo deare and as many wild boares or pigges. And the king sent me a fallo deare, skyn, guttes and all, and Semidone a wild swine or pigg. _October 21_ (_Conguach 17_).--Capt. Leonard Camps and my selfe went to the king to geve him to understand that tyme passed away and Gonrok Dono came not, soe that it was expedient we departed forthwith to the Emperours court to doe our dutie and carry our presentes, for that now winter came on and, yf we went not presently, it was to late to goe this yeare; soe that we were better to loose the friggatt and all the goodes in her than encur the Emperours displeasure; yet, if his Highnesse would, we cout at this instant produce witnesses suffitient to prove the 2 men, in the Hollanders howse presoners, to be frires or padres. But the king answered he could do nothing without Gonrok; soe that this night he would send to hym per expres, to see whether he would com or noe, and soe, upon his answere, we might departe. Also Capt. Camps desired to have justis executed against them which 211 did beate Capt. Lafevre. Unto which the king replied, what justis he would have, for the doars thereof weare yet in preson. Capt. Camps replied that he did not desire their lives, nether, yf it had byn offered against hym selfe, would he speake any more about it, only in respect of the abusse offerd against such a man as Comander Lafevre was, he desired the same parties which offerd the abuse might be brought to the place where they did it and be beaten with cudgells. At which the king smiled and said it could not be, but, yf he would have them cutt in peeces, he would doe it. But Capt. Camps said he desired not their lives, yet that he would certifie Admerall Johnson and Capt. Lafevre what he said. _October 22_ (_Conguach 18_).--I rec. of Mr. Arthur Hatch, precher, geven for the making of the buriall place 12 _ta._ 6 _m._; more, 1 bar plate of Mr. Chapman, 2 _ta._ Cuschcron Dono and Jenqueze Dono came to me and tould me the Hollanders had lent iij M. _tais_ to the _tono_ (or king) of this place, and that he expected the like from us. Unto whome I answerd that they know the booty which the Hollanders had brought into this place, which we had noe parte of, and therefore might doe that which we could not doe, having hitherto spent and geven away treble more then we have gott; yet I would take councell with the rest of the merchantes and se what might be donne and then geve them answer, for it was against reason for us to take up money at intrest and lend to others for nothing, and, besides, many other noble men sent to borow money, we having non to lend, as they themselves did know as well as we. Unto which they answerd, it was true, yet, notwithstanding, it was fyt to lend to the king, he now standing in need, although we lent non to the rest; for soe it behoved us, being strangers, yf we esteemed our owne good. And we sould all our small deare skins at 13 _tais_ per cento, of them which came in the _Pepercorne_. _October 23_ (_Conguach 19_).--I receved a quittance from Capt. Robt. 212 Adams, admerall, for 1814 R. of 8, at 5_s._ str. per R. of 8, for the xvjth parte of priz goodes, to be geven in the fleete, for which Capt. Adames is bound to make it good, yf the Honble. Company think it not fyt to pay it. And soe the capt. of other shipps gave quittances to Capt. Adams in like sort, to be answerable for that they rec. for their shipps proporsion; and each comander took the like securety from their shipps companies, that their wages should be answerable for it, yf it were not alowed per the Honble. Company in England. Yet som refuced to receve any money upon that termes, but the most parte did accept of it. God grant those scabbed sheepe doe not in the end spoile the whole flock. _October 24_ (_Conguach 20_).--This day is the feast of hors-runing with archars on horseback to shoute at a mark with bowes and arowes, the horse runing his full carer. Mr. Sayer retorned from Nangasaque within night, and brought news that the _Pepercorne_ and _Moyen_ have taken a Portingall junck which went out of Nangasaque and bound for Amacou. _October 25_ (_Conguach 21_).--We and the Hollanders paid 900 _tais_ plate barrs to the King of Firando for the 200 _pico._ lead geven hym in his present the last yeare. _October 26_ (_Conguach 22_).--The _bongews_ at Cochie did lay handes upon our English men and (as the admerall, Capt. Adames, doth tell me) have taken above 20, and sent hym word it was per order from the king. _October 27_ (_Conguach 23_).--Mr. Cockram envited all the princepall, both of English and Duch, abord the _Elizabeth_, to dyner this day, where we had good entertaynment and good cheare with healthes of guns shott affe in good sort. This night was very stormy wether, like to a tuffon, in which the _Palsgrove_ broke a cable, and the _Elizabeth_ a cable and a hawser. We complayned to the justis how our men were taken presoners per the 213 Japons without reason, they fordging debtes upon them which they owd not, striping our men naked and taking from them all they had, when they owed them nothing. Unto which, answer was made the king knew nothing thereof. _October 28_ (_Conguach 24_).--Capt. Camps and myselfe went to Torazemon Dono to desire hym to speake to the king that we might go to themperour with our presentes; and that we might deliver our presentes to the king before we went up, because the shipps weare now ready to departe. Also we made knowne unto hym the takeing and keeping our men presoners, both English and Duch. Unto all which he answered, that the king desired us to stay till the last of this moone _Conguach_, for that the 29th day (which is 5 daies hence) he expected Gonrok Dono to come to Firando, for soe had he promised hym without fayle to doe. And for the present to be deliverd unto hym before we deliverd our present to themperour, it was not fitt, and therefore best to lett it rest till we retorned from the Court. And for our men taken presoners, the kinge knew nothing thereof, but now he would make it knowne unto hym and retorne us his answer. _October 30_ (_Conguach 26_).--I was enformed this day per Capt. Lennis, Mr. Barrns being the man which tould it, that Mr. Arnold Brown, master of the shipp _Palsgrove_, hath stolne 5 fardelles of silke of priz goodes and stowed them under his cabben, whereof Mr. Trumpeter of _Palsgrove_ is witnesse; of the which I enformed Mr. Eaton, Mr. Cockram, Mr. Sayer, and Mr. Ostarwick, and all together made it knowne to the admerall, Capt. Robt. Adames, and Mr. Jno. Munden. Soe it was agreed to serch his cabben to morow; but Mr. Arthur Hatch, preacher in the same shipp (whose cabben is next to Mr. Brownes) tould us that out of dowbt we should now find nothing theare, it being formerly removed before shipp was upon a carin, yet that 214 he did see 4 or 5 bales brought in by others at sea and stowed theare. Soe hereupon we staid the serch. _October 31_ (_Conguach 27_).--We went abord the shipp _Palsgrove_ to dyner, where all the Duch were envited likwaies. And Capt. Camps came to thenglish house, where we agreed to sett forward towardes themperours Court on Munday mornyng, yf the king of this place did not stay us perforce, which a long time he hath perswaded us unto. _November 1_ (_Conguach 28_).--We dyned this day at China Capt., where we had good entertaynment, both sea men and merchantes, with the dansing beares. And towardes night we had news that 3 of our howses at Cochie were burned, being sett on fire by a retchlesse fello that did seeth the kettell to neare the howse walle. All the howsing was quite burned to the grownd, with som 9 barilles of tunny fish and 9 or 10 muskittes and 20 swordes; but our seales and other matters of worth were saved by the industry of our men with the helpe of the Hollanders and som Japons. Yt is said most parte of the fish which was thought to be burned was stole away per Japons, as also som 6 muskettes and som swordes. _November 2_ (_Conguach 29_).--I went to Cochie to see what hurt the fire had donne, and fownd it as I before discribed, only many of our truck plankes, with bordes and other tymbers, were much burned or scubered, but quenched in good tyme. And the king sent to me to know my answer whether I would pay the debtes our marrenars owed, that were per the Japons taken presoners. Unto which I answerd, no, for that they had trusted them contrary to his Highnesse proclemation to trust non but such as broght money; and besides they taxed our men to owe them 10 tymes more then was due unto them, beating them and striking them naked, and per force taking all 215 the money from other men which owed them nothing; of the which I ment to demand justis from his Highnesse, and that our men might be sett free, for that the Emperour would suffer us to carry noe Japons in our shiping, and therefore no reason to keepe our men per force, which they might do yf they pleased, but I would never consent to pay a peny of that the Japons demanded. Unto which they answerd that the king would not keepe our men. _November 3_ (_Conguach 30_).--I sent the _caboques_ 4 _tais_ small plate for _fannos_ at China Capt. howse. I wrot a peticion this day to the king, making knowne the taking our men presoners with other abuses offerd to our nation, requiring our men to be sett at libertie. _November 5_ (_Junguach 2_).--Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono arived at Firando this day; and Gonrok Dono sent me a present of 2 silk _kerremons_, and Feze Dono sent me 500 egges, 30 hense, and 25 drid netes tonges. _November 6_ (_Junguach 3_).--I paid in small plate as followeth, viz.:-- To the glover or shewmaker, Jenchero Dono, for-- _ta. m. co._ 5 peare pumps at 2 _mas_ pear 1 0 0 2 peare gloves, at 3 _mas_ peare 0 6 0 3 peare garters and 4 roses, making 0 5 0 More, paid the gouldsmith-- For making a silver cover for mack jack[105] 0 2 0 For making furneture of a gerdell, silver 0 7 0 For making a head of silver or cap for staffe 0 1 0 More, paid to cooper for Susanna, viz.-- For 2 tubbs to wash bodies in 0 3 0 For 4 bucketts to cary water 0 3 0 For a tub to put rise in 0 1 0 For 4 small buckettes or tubbs 0 1 0 And we and the Hollanders were called before the king, where we found 216 Gonrok Dono, Feze Dono, and others, which caused the 2 padres, presoners in the Hollands howse, to be brought before them, with the capt. of the friggatt and others, where all our papers were perused, and amongst the rest a letter or ordinance from the Bushopp of Manillia, authoresing frire Pedro de Sunega to be prior and vicker generall over all Christians in all provinces of Japon, with other letters to conferme it. Yet this frire did utterly deny it, and that he was a merchant and noe frire. Soe then we produced 2 witnesses, the one a Portugez, called Ravelles, and the other an inhabitant of the Manillias; both which confessed they knew frire Pedro de Sunega to be a padre of the order of St. Augustin, and Ravelles said he had seene hym say mas in the howse of Alvaro Munios at Nangasaque, and that Harnando Ximenes did see the like. Soe for this tyme the king and Gonrok Dono did dismis us, and gave noe sentence, but willed us to produce more witnesses. Unto which we answerd we could produce noe more, and willed them to make an end of it, as God should put it into their mind, to thentent we might procead on our voyage to vizet the Emperour. But they replied they would call us to morow or next day and make an end yf they could. [105] Perhaps a jack, or large flagon, of _makiye_ or lacquer. _November 7_ (_Junguach 4_).--We and the Hollanders went to the pallace, being called per the king to dispute our matter about the frigatt; where we found Gonrok Dono, Feze Dono, and the rest, of Nangasaque, and shewed other writeinges to prove this Pedro de Suniga to be a father and prior and vicar generall of all the Cbristians in Japon. And the king sent for Harnando Ximenes and Lues the telor to reade over the letters in Spanish, but nether the one nor other would doe it. And soe late we retorned; it being ordayned to make an end to morow. But the king, with Semi Dono and others, sent us word secretly to stand to that which we had spoaken, and then we needed not to 217 feare to get our processe, for that 7 of ten had allready geven their voices on our sides. _November 8_ (_Junguach 5_).--We and the Duch made our selves ready to have gon to the pallace, to have made an end of our processe of the frigat; but after nowne word was sent us to stay till to morow, for that Feze Dono was sick. But the matter was, for that they were envited to the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, to dyner. And the China Capt. tould me that the King of Firando sent for hym in secret, and asked hym whether he knew this Pedro de Sunega to be a padre or no. Unto which he answered he knew hym to be a padre, as his sonne Augustin did the like, being at Manillas; yet, in respect he lived at Nangasaque, and that Gonrok Dono was his frend, he did not desire to be seene in the matter. And towardes night Torazemon Dono went to Hollands howse and sent for me thether, and tould us that of 10 which were of the councell proving them fathars, 7 weare on our side, and the rest could stand upon nothing but to ask us what was the occation that these two denied themselves to be fathers, all the rest confessing them to be such at first demand; to the which we should take councell how to answer, when we were to com before the king and Gonrok Dono. Also, at same tyme, the 3 Japon _jurebassos_, which came with Gonrok Dono from Nangasaque, came to Hollands howse to demand lycense to have private conferrence with the 2 fryres, presoners; but the king sent us secret adviz not to consent unto it. Soe answer was made unto them that they should not com to speech of them except it were in presence of the king and Gonrok Dono and the rest of the justices. _November 9_ (_Junguach 6_).--The king with Gonrok Dono went a fishing this day; soe we had noe audience about our plito. Yet the king sent us word to stand to that we formerly proposed, and to answer to certen demandes as he gave us the forme how to doe, and not to think any 218 ill, yf he were sharpe in speeches against us, which he would doe of purpose to blind our enemis. _November 10_ (_Junguach 7_).--I paid in plate of barrs to Jno. Japon: for Susannas slave Ita, 12: 0: 0; for a sett of _gocas_ for her, 6: 5: 0. The China Capt. gave me a silver tastar and a silver dish to sett it upon, poiz both 4 _ta._ 4 _ma._[106] The shipp _Palsgrove_ went out this day to Cochie roade. I staid all this day attending to goe to Court about our plito; but, as I am enformed, Gonrok desireth the king we should stay till som men com from Nangasaque, which he hath sent for. And, as it is said, this Gonrok Dono did report in themperours Court that we and the Hollanders did of mallice accuse these Spaniardes to be fathers, which he knewe were non such, and that upon payne of his life he would prove it to be soe. But now, finding our testemony to be such as it is and canot be denied, he knoweth not what to doe, but useth all _trampas_[107] and fetches he can to delay tyme and bring it to nothing per all meanes he may. [106] In the margin called a "silver cupp and sawser". [107] Span., traps, tricks. _November 11_ (_Junguach 8_).--Gonrok Dono and others sent both us and the Hollanders word that they would send to call 10 padres or frires which were presoners at Umbra, and that we should make choise of any 3 or 4 of them to be wittnesses whether the 2 prisoners at Hollandes howse were fathers or no. But we retorned answer that we knew not whether those 10 men they spake of were fathers or noe; nether would we have to doe with them nor put the matter to their discretion, which we had soe manifestly proved allready. _November 12_ (_Junguach 9_).--I went to Torazemon Dono to tell hym againe of the abuses daylie offered to our English marrenars, at 219 Cochie espetially, desiring to have redresse; and that I would send one of our _jurebassos_ to the admerall, Capt. Adames, at Cochie, to look out in all howses where our men were thus abused and to take true notis hereof, as his Highnesse (the king) had ordayned. The which he answered me was well donne, and that this day he would put the king againe in mind therof and tell hym what I said. But sowne after he sent his man unto me to tell me the king would take order that our men should all be set at libertie, whether they owed money or noe. _November 13_ (_Junguach 10_).--The Duch shipp _Trowe_ went to Cochie road, and I sent 4 barkes to helpe to toe her out. And I parted the _coshon_ money of Tozemon Dono, being 96 _tais_ 5 _mas_, amongst our servantes as followeth, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ To ould Jno. _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To greate Tome _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To Coa Jno. _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To Migell, Corean _jurebasso_ 05 0 0 To Coa Domingo 10 0 0 To Lawrance 06 0 0 To Paule 05 5 0 To littell Tome _jurebasso_ 05 0 0 To ould Domingo 05 0 0 _November 14_ (_Junguach 11_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe having made a writing in the Japon languadg, per councell of the king of this place, directed to Gonrok Dono and the king, wherin we advized that, our proves against the padres being made, we would say noe more in that matter, but left it to their discresions to doe therein what they pleased, we attesting we took them as our enemies, and did not know they weare padres till they confessed it themselves; nether would we have to doe with any padres they brought from Umbra or Nangasaque 220 to be judges in our affares tuching that matter, nor would not beleeve nether them nor any other Spaniardes nor Portingales they should produce in that matter, houlding them parsiall and our enemies in that matter. Soe we desired leave to departe towardes themperours Court to doe our duties; and sent this writing per our 2 _jurebassos_ to Gonrok Dono. And he caused them to cary it to the King of Firando, accompanied with one of his owne men. And the ambassadors of the King of Syam, which are now retorned from themperours Court, where they were royally receved, did com to vizet our English howse, accompanied with Capt. Yasimon Dono of Nangasaque and a man which themperour sent with them from Edo to accompany them to Nangasaque. The ambassador gave me a barrill of wyne for a present, and the Japon which accompanid hym from Edo an other. And the ambassador requested me to geve hym a letter of favour with an English flagg, yf in case they met with any English or Hollandes shipps at sea; and Capt. Yasimon Dono did desire the like: which I promised to them both to performe. And I sent a pottell glasse bottell of annise water for a present to the ambassador, which he took in very good part. _November 15_ (_Junguach 12_).--We were sent for to the Court to make an end of our processe with the padres, where we found 4 padres of the presoners of Umbra, one being a Japon, as also Lues Martin, Balthazar Martin, Alvaro Munios, Pinta a woaman, with divers others, brought in by Gonrok Dono to doe what in them la to witnesse against us; where many speeches passed, but non would confesse they knew them to be padres, but our two witnesses stood still to their word, although foule mouthed Munios did revile them. And so we were remitted till to morow. Yet I was secretly advized it would goe on our side, and that the capt. of the friggat was to suffer death with others; but Yochian 221 Dies, the capt., desired that I or Capt. Camps might suffer death with hym, according to the use of Japon, that he which causeth an other man to die must goe the same way hym selfe. _November 16_ (_Junguach 13_).--I sent Domingo _jurebasso_, with the boteswaine and pursers mate of the shipp _Moone_, to look out in every Japons howse at Cochie where they kept our Englishmen presoners, where they fownd som with boultes and shakelles, others with cheanes, others bownd and pineoned with ropes, som owing nothing to the Japons, and others tormented because they would not confesse they owed 4 or 5 times more to Japons then was due to them. All which I put up in a writing and delivered it to the King of Firandos councell to have redresse. And Oyen Dono came and tould me that we were sure to get our processe of the friggat; and Cushcron Dono tould me the like, and that he thought divers others weare like to suffer death about it. _November 17_ (_Junguach 14_).--Within night the Hollanders and we were sent for to the Court about our plito with the padres (or frires) which also were sent for. And we remeaned theare till 11 or 12 a clock, and came not to sight of the king, and then had leave to departe; only in that tyme they sent for 2 letters directed to frier padre Tomas, a Japon padre, presoner at Umbra, and now brought to Firando, as I noted heretofore. And, as we are secretly enformed, this frire hath confessed that the 2 presoners at Hollands howse are padres, for he was all day in company with the king and Gonrok Dono in secret conference, and, as it is said, will turne gentell againe, or at least renege his pristhood, to save his life. And, as som say, Gonrok Dono is suspected to be a Christian. _November 18_ (_Junguach 15_).--The shipp _Elizabeth_ went out of Firando to Cochie. And the King of Firando sent for the Hollanders and us to make an end 222 of the plito of the padres; where we fownd above xx Japon Christians renegados, whome Gonrok Dono had brought from Nangasaque to see yf they knew whether these two fathers were padres or no. Among whome was a blind man, bad to see another, yet by his voice he tould the King of Firando that he knew hym to be fraire Pedoro de Sunega; yet, as I understood, the King of Firando will not admit hym for a witnesse, because he is of Firando; but I know not whether he doe it as a frend, knowing we have other witnesses enow, or else to bring us to other trialles. Once the end will try all. And in the end the king hym selfe came out and asked Capt. Camps and me whether we had other matter to say or no against the fathers. Unto whome we answerd noe, desiring to have lycense to departe towardes themperours Court, for that tyme passed. Unto which the king made answer that he would permitt us to departe when he pleased. _November 19_ (_Junguach 16_).--We are enformed that Gonrok Dono would have had the King of Firando joyne with hym to refer the plito about the friggatt before themperours councell at Edo, but the king tould hym he would now end it heare, we having soe manifest testemony as we have on our side to prove the 2 presoners padres. _November 20_ (_Junguach 17_).--I receved ij C. _tais_ plate barrs of Tozamon Dono, our host of Osackay, in parte of payment of 256 _tais_ due for 128 peces Canton damasks of the deceased Capt. Wm. Adames. And the king sent 4 ruch sleeping _kerremons_ of silke in present to thadmerall, Capt. Adams, to be disposed of as I should adviz hym. They were worth j C. _tais_ barr plate. And the king and Gonrok Dono sent for me and the Hollandes capt. to bring Gonsalo Ravello, our witnesse against Alvaro Munois; which we did, and he stood still to his first speeches how he saw frire Pedro de Sunega say mas in his howse; yet the frire denied it. And I think Munois was hanged by the purse and soe cleared. And the capt. of the 223 friggot, Yochin Dies, with 29 others, are bound and put into preson, we geting our plito of frigot. _November 21_ (_Junguach 18_).--The Duch admerall, Wm. Johnson, and Capt. Adames, our admerall, retorned to Firando; and we, with Capt. Camps, Capt. Lafevre, and others, went to vizet the king and carid hym a present of 2 _barricas_ Spanish sack, j _barrica_ of tent, and 2 jarrs of sweet meate, and gave hym thankes for the presentes of _kerremons_; and soe took leave for the fleet to goe out to morow. And Capt. Adames left the 4 sleeping silk coates with me till his retorne from Manillias. _November 22_ (_Junguach 19_).--Our fleet of 8 shipps, English and Duch, went to sea this morning on their second voyage for Manillias. God send them good speed. Viz.:-- English shipps. The _Moone_ The _Palsgrove_ The _Elizabeth_ The _Bull_ Duch shipps. The _Bantam_ The _Trow_ The _Harlam_ The _Hope_ _November 23_ (_Junguach 20_).--This morning the fleet put to sea, but, as I am enformed from Capt. Adams, thadmerall, want 12 of our men, and Mr. Cockram writes me want 17, all kept presoners per Japons ashore, contrary to the kinges comand; and yet Capt. Adames sent a boate of porpose ashore with 150 R. of 8 to have redeemed them, but they asked above 200 R. of 8 more. Soe Capt. Adams wrot me that yf they were retorned after his departure, to put them all out of wagis, as villans and traitors to their prince and cuntrey, and soe to send them in cheanes for Jaccatra, in the Duch shipp _New Zeland_, when she goeth. Ther is 4 Hollanders alsoe kept presoners ashore. And the _bongews_ took 5 _cattans_ from Mr. Sayer, 1 from Capt. Adams, and 1 from Capt. Cleavengar, and 1 from Mr. Mourton. Mr. Sayer hath had his above 224 5 yeares, and Capt. Adames brought his out of England, and Mr. Morton bought his in Sumatra at Janbee. _November 24_ (_Junguach 21_).--Mr. Eaton retorned from our fleete, shipps departed, and brought me divers letters from Capt. Adames, Mr. Cockram, Capt. Lennis, and others, wherin they wrot me of the detayning of our men on shore, as I noted before. Of the which I went and conferred with Capt. Camps; and he is of opinion with us not to pay any thinge, seeing they have detayned our men till shipps be gon. Alsoe he was very ernest with me to stay 7 or 8 dayes to dispach busynes for his two shipps which are heare, and, as I am enformed, hath envited the king to dynner 6 daies hence, yet tould me nothing thereof, for that he would get the start of us to envite the king, leveing us noe tyme to doe the like, or else stay us longer to doe his busynes. _November 25_ (_Junguach 22_).--I went to Torazemon Dono and Semi Dono to thank them for their paines taken about our busynes, telling them that it was now tyme to goe to themperours Court, our shipps being gone. And they tould me I had reason, as alsoe the Hollanders, soe to doe, for that Cacazemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono, themperours cheefe councellar, had wrot the King of Firando a letter that the Spaniardes and Portingales had ended their busynes and we and the Hollanders had noe care to com to prevent them in their proceadinges, which he marveled at. _November 26_ (_Junguach 23_).--I went to Hollandes howse to confer about our going up to Court; and Capt. Camps tould me that to morow the king came to dyner, sending hym word he would have my company theare or else he would not come, and soe after to morow we might departe towardes Edo. And in the meane tyme the kyng sent Stroyemon Dono before us to the Court, to be theare before Gonrok Dono, whoe departed from hence 2 daies past secretly to goe to Edo. Also our presoners at Cochie wrot a letter how they are almost 225 famished; yet too good a diet for such villens. And Francis Irland wrot me aparte that he is in for an other mans debt. And Capt. Camps came to our howse to talke about our busynes; and we, having made ready som xj peces ordinance to have shott off at Gonroks departure, gave them hym for a farewell; and the Duch answered with 6. _November 27_ (_Junguach 24_).--The king dyned at Duch howse with all his nobilletie, I being sent for and sett second at table on his right hand, whether I would or noe; where we had great cheare with musick, after our cuntrey fation, singing and dansing, with ordinance shott affe at every tyme the king drunk, 7 per the Duch, and answered with 5 per thenglish; and, when the king went away, xj peces from the Duch and as many from thenglish for a farewell, and 5 peces for Semi Dono as he passed per water per English howse. _November 28_ (_Junguach 25_). We went to the king, the Hollanders and us, to take our leave to goe to themperours Court; and he told us the sowner the better; also that he had sent Stroyemon Dono, his _bongew_, before, to be theare before Gonrok Dono, to prevent falce reportes till we came. And the _bongew_ of Cochie came to our howse, and said yf we would not pay the money for the men presoners, that they would cary them to Crates, Chicongo,[108] Nangasaque, and sell them, or make their best endevours to recover the money they owed Japons. Unto whome I answerd, to take heed what he did, as he would answer it with his life before the Emperour of Japon, whoe had geven order we should cary noe Japons out of his cuntrey in our shiping, and, therefore, noe reason they should detayne our Englishmen and father falce debtes upon them when they owed nothing. [108] Shikoku. _November 29_ (_Junguach 26_).--I delivered plate for the table, of my 226 owne, to Pale, as followeth, viz.:-- 2 silver salts, one silver and guilt, with covers. 2 silver cups, one guilt all over, other white. 1 taster and sawser of silver and guilt. 1 taster of silver, white. white: 6 silver spones 6 forks And out of factory, viz.:-- 1 silver spout pott. 1 sillver standing cup and cover, all guilt. my owne. And 1 china ewer of coconutt 1 case of 6 knives all my owne. More, 4 tobaco pipes 2 all silver 2 head and foote selver 1 littell silver cupp to drink strong water to goe on our voyage for Edo. Towardes night the king sent to me to know what I would have donne with the Englishmen presoners at Cochie, and whether I would pay the money they weare kept for, for that they weare subjectes to the kings of Xasma, Crates, Chicongo, and other places, and would, yf I paid not the money, carry them away. Unto which I answerd that it weare men of Firando which detayned them, and, namely, one Cuze Dono, our next neighbour, and others, contrary to the kinges comand that non should trust them except they brought money; and, yf they weare of other kingdoms which detayned them, I knew noe reason they should have more preveleges then them of Firando, in regard the Emperour had comanded that we should carry noe Japons out in our shipps, it was noe reason that Japons should detayne Englishmen per force and fayne debtes upon them which they owed not, as these Japons did, and took men and kept them presoners which owed them nothing. And for me to pay money for their releasment, I could not, they being sea men, and the English admerall having geven me order to the contrary, he first having sent 227 150 R. of 8 to have redemed them, and 10 R. more was offered, but all refused, and our men detained per force against all reason. Soe I could say nothing till the fleete retorned; but in the meane tyme willed them take heed how they sent them to be disposed of per our enemies, as they would answer it to themperor. _November 30_ (_Junguach 27_).--We and the Hollanders sett forwardes towardes Edo, but, the wind being N.erly with rayne, we went into an Iland of Firando called Onshma, 3 leagues from Firando. But, before we went out, the Japons of Cochie came to our English howse, bawling and crying out for payment of the money thenglishmen owed them, or else they would cary them away and make their best of them. I answerd I would not consent they should cary them away, nether would pay them any thing, for that they weare villens and had imagened falce debtes, saying English men owed them money when they owed them non; and that, yf I weare not now ready to set my foote into the bark to departe towardes themperours Court, I would have laid them all by the heeles till our men were set at liberty. Also the king sent 2 men, our enemis, after me, to tell me the Hollanders had lent hym 6,000 _taies_, and I denied to lend any, and bad them tell me he had noe need of any money, and therefore sent them to tell me soe much. But I sent his Highnesse word that I had left order with Mr. Eaton to lett hym have silk with mantas or lynen cloth and other matters to the vallue of 3000 _tais_, at same price the Hollanders lett his Highnesse have theirs; but, for money, I had non, as many in Firando knew it well, and, to take up money at intrest and lend it out for nothing, I knew not how to geve our honble. employers acco. of it; yet, yf his Highnesse would needes have it soe, it must be soe. But the _jurebasso_, Nicolas Martyn, sent from the king, tould me that the 3000 _tais_ I offerd was well, and would be taken in as 228 good part as 6000 of the Hollanders, and that the other two which came (would not com abord) were our enemies, and had enformed the king of untruthes. The dansing beares came out after us, and I gave them a bar of plate containing 4 _ta._ 7 _ma._, and Capt. Camps as much. _December 1_ (_Junguach 28_).--After midnight we departed from Onushma, and went to Ginushma before the wind turned, haveing made 38 leagues. _December 2_ (_Junguach 29_).--This morning, after sunne rising, we departed from Ginushma, and wind at W.N.W., and soe contynewd all day and night following. Soe at 2 a clock after nowne we arived at Ximina Seak,[109] and fownd the Hollanders departed from thence 2 howers before, Capt. Camps having left me a letter, and Stroyemon Dono another that Gonrok Dono departed from thence yistarday; soe they took councell to follow hym, that Stroyemon Dono might be at Edo before him. Soe I left a letter with our host at Ximina Seak to send to Mr. Eaton, dated this day of our arivall at this place, and that he should lett the king of Firando have all the kense (?) silk and bleu lynen at as loe a rate as the Hollanders sould theirs, as also the money which the 2 peces broad cloth weare sould for, and, yf any thing wanted to make up 3000 _taies_, to let hym have it in money or comodities. Soe this day and night we got 42 leagues, 8 leagues short of Camina Seak,[110] at sun rising. [109] Shimonoseki. [110] Kaminoseki. _December 3_ (_Shimutsque 1_).--This day till night we made 18 leagues to a villadge called Ewe,[111] 10 leagues past Camina Seak, where we overtook the Hollanders, and rod at an ancor all night. [111] Yu. _December 4_ (_Shimutsque 2_).--We staid heare all day per meanes of 229 contrary wind and an overgrowen sea, and the Hollanders and _bongews_ came to dyner abord our bark. _December 5_ (_Shimutsque 3_).--We departed from Ewe and rowed 2 leagues to a place called Zewa; and in the way saw a bark cast away, and sent out our and the Hollanders small boates, whoe saved the men. _December 6_ (_Shimutsque 4_).--At night we departed from Zewa, it being calme, and rowed it xiij leagues before we came to an ancor. We paid xv. _mas_ to howse and for oringes at Zewa, and gave a sack of rise to the men which we saved out of the wreck, they being of Bongo. _December 7_ (_Shimutsque 5_).--We arived within night at Bingana Tomo, wheare I went ashore and made consort for [neales, spikes, and iron hoopes]. Soe we made this day 15 leagues till night. _December 8_ (_Shimutsque 6_).--We departed from Bingana Tomo at midnight past, and got this day to Moro before sunne seting, having made 30 leagues, with such extreame wynde that we weare not able to beare but very littell seale. The Hollanders bark went out 2 howers before us, yet we overtook her and out went her 2 leagues before we weare aware, yet went into Moro together. And here we understood Gonrok Dono went from hence 2 daies past. _December 9_ (_Shimutsque 7_).--We departed from Moro at xj a clock before nowne, and arived at Fiongo[112] within night, having made xvij leagues this day, not without danger, seeing a greate bark, laden with rise, cast away in passing the straits at Fiongo. [112] Hôgo. _December 11_ (_Shimutsque 9_).--We departed this morning from Fiongo, having laden 2 barkes first with our merchandiz, to lighten our bark, she drawing much water, and now nepe tides. And the Hollanders did the like. Yet, as we passed the flattes of Osackay, we were on grownd divers tymes; yet, God be praised, we gott 230 well affe againe, and arived at Osackay at 3 a clock in thafter nowne; but at same place saw one bark cast away, laden with stones for the making of the castell, but all the people saved. _December 13_ (_Shimutsque 11_).--Our host, Cuemon Dono, the night past sent for whole company of _caboques_, and made a play with good cheare; and we gave them 2 barrs plate, is 8: 6: 0. Soe we departed towardes Miaco, and arived theare this evening at night, and, passing by Fushamy, mett with Gonrok Donos clark, whoe tould us his master was theare and ment not to departe from Miaco of 5 or 6 daies. _December 14_ (_Shimutsque 12_).--This night at sun seting Capt. Camps arived at Miaco. _December 15_ (_Shimutsque 13_).--I wrot 2 letters to Osackay, viz. 1 to Tozamon Dono that I left order at Bingana Tomo to pay 300 _tais_ plate bars to our hostis, also to provide 30 great pottes and 200 small of white salt against my retorne from Edo; 1 to the mother of Helena, that I had order from Mr. Eaton to have spoaken with her about their doughter, but could not stay till my retorne from Edo. And we made ready these presentes and delivered them, viz.:-- To Suga Dono, Cheefe Justis, 10 _cattis_ raw silk. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 05 peces ordnary damasks. 03 peces redd sayes. 05 peces ord. taffeties. in velvet bags. 25 _cattis_ cloves 25 _cattis_ pepper To Inga Dono, his father, 25 _cattis_ cloves, in velvet bag. 03 peces blak chauul taffeties. 05 peces ordnary taffeties. To Channo Shozero Dono, 231 15 _cattis_ raw silk. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 05 peces black cawul taffety. 03 peces redd sayes. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in a velvet bagg. _December 16_ (_Shimutsque 14_).--Our host at Cousattes[113] sent his man with a present of chistnuttes 7 leagues to bid me wellcom, and I gave the fello 5 _mas_ which brought them. This day we got out our letters of favor from the justis of Miaco and Chawno Shozero Dono. [113] Kusatsu. _December 17_ (_Shimutsque 15_).--We departed from Miaco this day, and went to Cousates to bed, having made this day 7 leagues. And in the way followed us 4 companies with bankettes Japon fation, viz. 1 from ostes servantes, 1 from Tome Donos brother, 1 from kinsman of our host, 1 from Maky Shozemon Dono; unto which 4 Mr. Osterwick gave 4 _ichebos_ of gould. Soe we got to Cousattes this night, our hostes name Yoichero Dono; and paid for supper and breckfast 3 _ichebos_, and 3 C. _gins_ to the servantes of howse. _December 18_ (_Shimutsque 16_).--We went to dyner to Minna Cochie,[114] our hostes name Ishia Dono; and paid i _ichebo_ to howse and ij C. _gins_ to servantes. Soe went to bedd to Shequenogize, the hostes name Ichezayemon Dono, having made xiij leagues this day. [114] Minakuchi. _December 19_ (_Shimutsque 17_).--We dyned this day at Youkaich, 7 leagues, our hostes name called Ishiais Taffio Dono; and went to bed to Quanno,[115] 4 leagues more. [115] Kuwana. _December 20_ (_Shimutsque 18_).--We went to Mia[116] from Quanno, 7 leagues per sea, and dyned at Fox, my hostes. And from thence went to bed to Cherew,[117] host called Sangusque Dono, and made 12 leagues. [116] Miya. [117] Chiriu. _December 21_ (_Shimutsque 19_).--We went to dyner to Fugecaw,[118] 232 4-1/2 leagues, the hostes name Crozemon Dono, and from thence went to Yoshenda,[119] 5-1/2 leagues, the hostes name Yamanda Sinimon Dono, to bedd. Here was a howse set on fire neare our lodging, yet sowne quenched, otherwais we had our horses redy to depart. [118] Fujikawa. [119] Yoshida. _December 22_ (_Shimutsque 20_).--We went to dyner to Array,[120] 5 leagues; and went to Hammamach[121] to supper, 4 leagues mor; the hostes name Sozero Dono, at Arrais, and heare at Hamamach, Ummea Ichazemon Dono. [120] Arai. [121] Hamamatsu. _December 23_ (_Shimutsque 21_).--We went to dyner to Cagingaua,[122] 7 leagues, and to supper to Canayea;[123] the host at Cagengaua called Yasozemon Dono, and at Canayea, Soyemon Dono. [122] Kakegawa. [123] Kanaya. _December 24_ (_Shimutsque 22_).--We went to dyner at Ocaby,[124] 5 leagues, and to soper to Egery,[125] 6 leagues; the hostes name at [Ocaby] Groboye Dono, and at thother, Ficobuye Dono. [124] Okabe. [125] Ejiri. _December 25_ (_Shimutsque 23_).--We went to dyner to Ishwary,[126] 7 leagues, and to supper to Mishma,[127] 5 leagues; the name of the host at Ishwary Skozemon Dono, and other Seden. Here we kept Christmas. [126] Yoshiwara. [127] Mishima. _December 26_ (_Shimutsque 24_).--We went to dyner to Odoro,[128] 8 leagues, the hostes name Nacafaroya Genimon Dono; and to soper to Oyesso,[129] 4 leagues, host named Matobio Dono. [128] Odawara. [129] Oiso. _December 27_ (_Shimutsque 25_).--We went to dyner to Todsque,[130] 6 leagues, the hostes name Cutero Dono; and to supper to Caninggaw,[131] 3 leagues, the hostes name Ginemon Dono. At Caningaw I receved 4 letters from Edo, viz. 1 from Cacazezemon 233 Dono, 1 from Stroyemon Dono, 1 from Capt. Adames sonne Isack, and 1 from Sobioye Dono, secretary to Gentero Dono. [130] Totska. [131] Kanagawa. _December 28_ (_Shimutsque 26_).--We stoped at a pleace 2 leagues short of Edo, called Suningaua,[132] the hostes name Gembio Dono, where Capt. Adames 2 children mett us with a present of _muchas_ and 2 rosted hens and a _baroso_ wyne; as also Gentero Dono sent us 2 horses and other two for the Hollanders, with a _bongew_ to bidd us wellcom, as the admerall Shungo Donos sonne sent his man to bid us wellcom. Soe we arived this day after nowne at Edo. And the King of Firando's brother sent me a present of _muchas_, and withall to tell me I was wellcom. And Cacazemon Dono envited the Hollanders and us to super, where we had great cheare, with many good wordes, and amongst the rest tould us that the Portingalles came not to sight of the Emperour, nether would he let them have _goshons_ for their shiping from Amacon to traffick to Japan. [132] Shinagawa. _December 29_ (_Shimutsque 27_).--I rec. a letter from Shongo Dono, with 10 hens for a present. And I deliverd the 2 _cattans_ and _wacadash_ of Capt. Adames, left per will to his sonne Joseph; where were teares shedd at delivery. _December 30_ (_Shimutsque 28_).--We went to vizet Gentero Dono, the King of Firandos brother, and carid hym a present as followeth:-- 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 10 _cattis_ white silke. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in a velvet sack. 03 peces redd sayes. 03 peces ord. taffetis. 05 pec. ordnary damaskes. from us and the Hollanders; which he took in good parte, and gave us kynd entertaynment. _December 31_ (_Shimutsque 29_).--We carid and delivered presentes 234 this day, viz.:-- 25 _cattis_ raw whit silk. 02 _tatta_ stamet cloth. 03 peces rich crimson damaskes. 05 peces ordenary damaskes. 05 peces redd silk sayes. to Otto Dono. And the like to Itania Quenusque Dono. And to the secretary of Otto Dono:-- 1 pec. ordenery damask. 4 peces ordnary taffetis. To Quenosque Donos secretary:-- 1 pec. ordnary damask. 1 pec. ordnary taffite. _January 1, 162-1/2_ (_Shimutsque 30_).--We made ready our present bordes this day; and had order to vizet a nobellman to morow. _January 3_ (_Shiwas 2_).--The King of Firandos brother, Jentero Dono, came to my lodging to vizet me, as Capt. Camps did the like; unto whome I gave the best entertaynment I could, and soe they departed. But Capt. Camps came first, and soe we sett downe the quantety of 3 presentes to be geven, viz. 1 to the prince, themperours sonne; 2 to the 2 cheefe justices of Edo, per adviz from King Firando. Also we understand themperour will be heare within 3 dayes. _January 4_ (_Shiwas 3_).--Cacazemon Dono sent me word that themperour will be at Edo this night, but that Oyen Dono, his master, will not be heare till two daies after, yet wisheth us to make all thinges ready, which we will geve in presentes, as also to put in writing our petision what we demand, because we may be dispached before the Japon new yeare, which is the first day of next moone. Towardes night Chawno Shozero Donos brother sent me word themperour 235 was arived; and Capt. Camps sent me word it was best to vizet the 2 justices at Edo to morow with presentes. _January 6_ (_Shiwas 5_).--There were presentes geven this day, as followeth:-- To Matzera Dayre Jemon Dono. To Caffia Dono, _goshon_ seale keeper. To Enoquena Cambo Dono, a _mackey bongew_. To Gentero Donos secretary. To his man brought us horses on the way. To Maczera Dayres secretary. To Caffia Donos secretary. To _mache bongews_ secretary. And Itamia Quenusque Dono, on of themperours councell, sent me 2 wild geese for a present, and withall advized me that we weare to goe vizet themperour with our present the xvth day of this moone, which is x dayes hence. This morning, 2 howrs before day, was an earthquake. _January 7_ (_Shiwas 6_).--Cacayemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me his master, Oyen Dono, would be heare to night, and gave me councell what we should say to his master when our plito about the friggat was broght in question, and that I should mak as much knowne to the Hollanders; he now thinking it could not goe against us, we having fownd and proved the presoners to be padres or frires. _January 8_ (_Shiwas 7_).--Cacayemon Dono sent me word his master, Oyen Dono, retorned yisternight. Soe I send our _jurebasso_ with the Hollandars theirs to kiss his Lo. handes on our behalfe, and to tell hym of our arivall heare, and to know his pleasure when we should com to speech with hym. _January 9_ (_Shiwas 8_).--About 10 a clock this day was an earthquake, which shooke a good while 2 severall tymes. We envited the Hollanders to dyner with Cacazemon Dono, Stroyemon 236 Dono, and Jentero Donos secretary; and had the dansing beares. _January 10_ (_Shiwas 9_).--We carid our present to Oyen Dono as followeth, viz.:-- 50 _cattis_ white twisted silke. 50 _cattis_ white raw silke. 03 _tatta._ stamet broad cloth. 07 peces ordnary damaskes. 07 peces red cheremis. 07 peces white cheremis. 05 peces ruch crimson damaskes. in velvet bagges. 50 _cattis_ cloves 50 _cattis_ peper He took it in very good parte, and gave us frendly speeches and made us colation. _January 12_ (_Shiwas 11_).--We dyned at Holland howse, where we had good cheare, with the _caboques_. _January 13_ (_Shiwas 12_).--Jentero Donos secretary sent me halfe a beefe, and the other halfe to Capt. Camps; but it was kild in the night, for non may be kild heare per themperors comand. _January 14_ (_Shiwas 13_).--We went this day, and deliverd our present to Cacazemon Dono, both Capt. Camps and my selfe, to Oyen Donos secretary, our espetiall frend. _January 15_ (_Shiwas 14_).--We and the Hollanders carid our present to Codgskin Dono, who came hither but yistarnight, although it was said he arived heare 7 daies past. And I rec. a letter from Firando from Mr. Eaton, dated the 18th and kept till the 22th ultimo, wherin he writes that the King of Firando or his offecars have let the Japons cary 3 of our men to Nangasaque to sell them to the Spaniardes; and that the Japons are kept presoners in our howse still; and that Torazamon Dono sent hym word he should geve them meate and drink, which he retorned answer I had left order to the contrary. _January 16_ (_Shiwas 15_).--We and the Hollanders carid our present to themperour, viz.:-- 200 _cattis_ white raw silk. 237 100 _cattis_ white pole silk. 050 _cattis_ white twisted silke. 002 peces stamet clo., containing 16 _tatta._ 005 peces rich crimson damask. 005 peces ruch blak sattins. 015 peces redd cheremis. 015 peces white cheremis. 005 peces damask tabling. 005 peces Sleze lawnds. 003 faggottes of steele. 300 _cattis_ of cloves. _January 18_ (_Shiwas 17_).--I wrot to Mr. Eaton not to lett our men goe with Jno. Jossens junck, nor geve meate to the Japon presoners in our howse. _January 19_ (_Shiwas 18_).--We carid our presentes to themperours sonne and his governor:-- 50 _cattis_ white raw silk. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in velvet bagg. 05 _tattamis_ stamet brod clo. 05 peces ruch crimson damaskes. 05 peces ruch wroght black sattin. 05 peces damask tabling. 05 peces damask napkening. to Dayeynanga Samma, the Emperours sonne. 25 _cattis_ pepper, in velvett bagg. 10 _cattis_ white raw silke. 05 peces ordnary taffeties. 01 _tattamy_ stamet broad clo. to Sacky Bingo Dono, his governor or secretary. _January 20_ (_Shiwas 19_).--Capt. Camps came to me to tell me the _bongews_ put hym in mynd to geve a present to the father of the King of Firandos queene, as well as to her; but he was of opinion (as I the like) that we ment not to geve any to the doughter but for the husbandes sake, nether to her yf the king had byn heare; only this is in respeckt she is queene of Firando and now greate with childe, and we the first which came to Edo after the mariadge, the king being absent, and never to be looked for hereafter. But, yf we should 238 now geve a present to her father, it must allwais contynew hereafter, for the Japons still encroche, and aske but geve nothing, nether to say the truth we have geaven away all allready, that nothing of worth restes to geve. _January 21_ (_Shiwas 20_).--I went to Capt. Camps to take councell what we were best to doe about delivering our petition to the Emperours councell to have our oulde preveleges confermed to cary out men and munition our shipps in payment for it, as we have donne in tymes past. But Cacazemon Dono, Oyen Donos secretary, sent us word we were best to stay till the councell advized us to make knowne unto them yf we were greved in any thinge and we should be remedied, and then we might mak our case knowne; otherwais, yf we went about to doe it before that tyme, it would be throwne by, and noe respect had unto it. Soe we aledged we dowbted then we should be detayned here over long; but they promised the contrary. _January 22_ (_Shiwas 21_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court to procure out our _goshon_ (or dispach); but he retorned without doing any thing. _January 23_ (_Shiwas 22_).--We and the Hollanders went to dyner to the King of Firandos howse, being envited per Jentero Dono, his brother, and were very well entertayned; and carid a present to the Queene of Firando as followeth:-- 25 _cattis_ white raw silke. 01 _tatta_ stamet cloth. 03 peces ruch crimson damaskes. 05 peces of redd sayes. We did this in respect she is Queene of Firando and now greate with childe, and within short tyme to goe from hence for Firando, she not having byn theare as yett. _January 24_ (_Shiwas 23_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to thank the prince of Firando for our kynd entertaynment yistarday; and, after, 239 I sent hym to the Court to procure our dispach, but could effect nothing. _January 25_ (_Shiwas 24_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to the Court to procure our dispach; but he retorned without doing any thing. Only the councell gave hym fare wordes, and bad hym com againe to morrow. And towardes night Stroyemon Dono and Cacazemon Dono sent me word we should have our dispach before the new moone; which God grant. _January 26_ (_Shiwas 25_).--The King of Firandos brother accompanid with other 2 noble men of themperours followers, one of 8 _mangocas_, and the other of 3 per anno, came to vizet me and to heare som musick, unto whome I gave the best entertaynment I could; and from hence they went to the Hollands howse to vizet Capt. Camps. Also I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court to procure our dispach; but retorned without doing any thing. And our _bongew_, Stroyemon Dono, and Cacazemon Dono tell us now we must of force stay heare till after the feast, before we can have our dispach. Also they say Gonrok Dono will be heare this night. _January 27_ (_Shiwas 26_).--The Queene of Firando sent me a present per her secretary, with the like to Capt. Camps, viz.:-- 2 silk coates or _kerremons_ with watta. 2 barills of wyne of Japon. 2 wild geese. _January 28_ (_Shiwas 27_).--Cacazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me that Oyen Dono said that themperour did esteeme of our nations more then ever, by meanes we had soe well defended our selves in our plito against the padres, and that we should be dispached shortly to our content. Also they tould me that the sonne of Masseamon Dono would com to vizet both us and the Hollanders to morow, which we agreed should be at Hollanders lodging, it being more comodious than ours. Also our _jurebasso_ was at Court all day, and procured nothing. 240 _January 29_ (_Shiwas 28_).--The Hollanders and we kept within dores all this day, attending the coming of Massamone his sonne, hoe sent word he would com and see us and take accoyntance with us; but came not. Nether could we doe any thing for our dispach, being now answerd we must attend 8 days more till the cheefe of the feast be past. _January 30_ (_Shiwas 29_).--We went and deliverd our presentes to the admerall Shongo Dono, and his ould father Fiongo Dono. We were very kyndly entertayned at both howses, espetially at Shongo Donos, with a bankett of _chaw_, Spanish wyne, and other matters extraordenary. And soe we went to Hollanders to dyner, and they came to us to supper, we having in thafter nowne vizeted the pagod of Ottongo Fachemon, the god of war, which out of dowbt is the devill, for his pickture sheweth it, made in forme as they paint the devill, and mounted upon a wild bore without bridell or saddell, and hath wings on his shoulders, as Mercury is paynted to have. _February 1_ (_Shonguach 1_).--We gave presentes this Japon new years day, viz.:-- 1 pec. ordnary damask to Mrs. Adams. 1 pec. ordnary taffety to her sonne Joseph. 1 pec. ditto to her doughter Susanna. 1 pec. ditto to Jenquese Dono, her good man. And I gave iij M. _gins_ to the dansing bears. And I sent Capt. Camps, viz.:-- 1 gamon bacon. 1 pec. Martelmas beefe. 3 drid netestonges. 5 duble peper botrago.[133] 10 Bolonia sausages. [133] Span., _botarga_, a kind of sausage. _February 2_ (_Shonguach 2_).--The _bongews_ sent us word we could not goe to vizet the Emperour nor his councell till the 6th of this moone 241 at least; but tould us it were good we sent our _jurebassos_ to vizet Jentero Samma, the King of Firandos brother, and Cacazemon Dono, with each a present of 10 bundelles paper of fyve, 6, or 7 _mas_ per bundell, and 5 bundelles dito to Jentero Donos secretary. _February 4_ (_Shonguach 4_).--Capt. Camps and we went to see the cytty and a great pagod called Assackxa, dedicated to a Japon saint (or rather deavill) called Quannow. We gave 1000 _gins_ to the _bose_ to shew it us, and 2 _ichebos_ to an other _bos_ where we banqueted. _February 5_ (_Shonguach 5_).--I went with Capt. Camps to the howse of Oyen Dono, themperours secretary, to have delivered hym a present of a peece of currall containing 2-1/2 _taies_, and a _catty_ wight rich campher, and to wish hym a good new yeare; but he was gon out to vizet the prince, themperours sonne. And Cacazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono came to vizet me, the first bringing me a present of wallnuttes and a salt salmon. _February 7_ (_Shonguach 7_).--We dyned all at Hollandes lodging this day, where we fownd Stroyemon Dono and Gentero Donos secretary. And, as we weare at dyner, came word Torazemon Dono was arived. Soe Capt. Camps and I sent our _jurebasso_ to bid hym wellcom. _February 8_ (_Shonguach 8_).--Torazemon Dono sent me a present of 2 _barsos_ wine, 2 wilduckes, and a great fresh barbell. And I rec. by hym a letter from Mr. Eaton, dated in Firando the 26th December, with 2 others from Tome _jurebasso_ and Jno. _jurebasso_, how they have delivered 3000 _taies_ in merchandiz and money to King of Firando, lent to hym, and that the Japons have sent our English men to Nangasaque to sell them to Spaniardes. _February 9_ (_Shonguach 9_).--Mr. Eaton wrot me in his letter how the Japons at Cochie had beate the Hollanders pilot and an other marrenar at Cochie, that they left them for dead; and the reason was because 242 they would not deliver them back our 6 English men which weare fled abord for releefe; and that they used both us and the Hollanders soe villanosly that it was insufferable. _February 10_ (_Shonguach 10_).--We sent Mr. Osterwick with our 2 _jurebassos_ for thenglish and Duch, to deliver our petition to Otto Dono, the kinges councellor; but he would not receve it, but bad them com againe to morrow and deliver it before the whole Councell, for that he hym selfe would not receve it. _February 11_ (_Shonguach 11_).--Capt. Camps and I went vizet Torazemon Dono, and carid a present because of the new year, telling hym we did not present it for a present, but for a custom of the new yeare, not to goe emptie handed to a man of his qualletye and our espetiall frend. And at same tyme came Jentero Donos secretary with Shroyemon Dono, the _bongew_, and Cacazemon Dono, with an other of themperours men, which I esteemed to be an espie sent of purpose to heare what we said. For Torazemon Dono was somthing forward in his speeches, saying Mr. Eaton had refused to geve meate to the Japon presoners left in our English howse by comandment of the King of Firando and Gonrok Dono. But I answerd that I left order with Mr. Eaton soe to do, and that we had no processe against those Japons, which yf Gonrok Dono had let hym fynd a preson out of thenglish howse and meate for them.... _February 12_ (_Shonguach 12_).--There was an earthquake about sunne setting. _February 13_ (_Shonguach 13_).--There was an other earthquake this morning about an hower after sunne rising, but of small contynewance. _February 14_ (_Shonguach 14_).--The Emperours councell sent us and the Duch word that they would geve us noe absolute answer about our petition till the King of Firando com hym selfe to Edo; but, for the rest, the Emperour would geve us leave to departe within 3 or 4 daies. _February 15_ (_Shonguach 15_).--I took councell with Capt. Camps to 243 make a demand to Torazemon Dono about the sending our men to Nangasaque to sell them, contrary to his promise and the king his master, at our departure from Firando. And Torazemon denied that our men were not sent to Nangasaque, nor that the king knew nothing thereof. Soe then I produced the 2 letters sent from our _jurebassos_, to conferme it. _February 16_ (_Shonguach 16_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Court to procure our dispach, but could effect nothing; only they said the feast of the berth of the yong prince (themperours eldest sonne) was celebrated this day, and to morow the anniversary or dying day of Ogosho Samma is to be celebrated. _February 17_ (_Shonguach 17_).--I wrot a letter to Firando to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Hatch, of arival heare of Gonrok Dono and Torazemon Dono; and that now we must stay for an answer of our petision till the King of Firando com hym selfe; and that Torazemon Dono denieth that our Englishmen are not sent to Nangasaque to be sould, neither knoweth the King of Firando any such matter; and that, for the rest, we hope to be dispached within 4 or 5 daies, and leve our _jurebassos_ heare for the rest till the King of Firando com, which, as we are enformed, is now in the way; and that this day Capt. Camps and my selfe put in writing our grevanses, to deliver them to Torazemon Dono and King Firandos brother. And Capt. Camps came and brought the articles which we ment to present to the King of Firandos brother and to Torazemon Dono, wrot in Japons, the coppies whereof we keepe; in which we laid open all our grevanses, having remeaned soe many yeares in Japon and setled our selves at Firando, when we might as well have made choise of any other province in Japon, and now to be soe misused to have som of our people kild and others extremly misused; and, lastly, others carid away captives to 244 be sould to our enemies; which yf it were not remedied, there was noe staying for us in Japon. Unto which Torazemon Dono answered that all should be amended and our people retorned, and that the King of Firando, his master, knew nothing therof. But I dowbt all will prove words, as hitherto we doe finde it. Yet Torazemon Dono sent word he would now procure our dispach to content. _February 18_ (_Shonguach 18_).--This morning, at break of day, there was an earthquake, which shaked a greate while. Capt. Camps and the Duch dyned with us this day, and envited thenglish to dyner to morow, and, after, to see a play or _caboque_. _February 19_ (_Shonguach 19_).--Capt. Camps envited us to dyner this day, and, after, to a Japon play or commody, all plaied by men and boyes, and noe woamen; at which was Torazemon Dono, with Jentero Donos secretary and Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_; and divers others brought bankettes, as Capt. Camps host, Jno. Jossens sonne in lawe, and others. And at our retorne we found our hostis sistar, Madalina Samma, and her husband Andrea, come from Oringaua; and she brought me a present of 2 wild duckes, with great shelfishes and 2 Japon _muches_ as bigg as cheeses. And late at night Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, came to vizet me, as he said, unknowne to his master, and tould me his master thought much in that we and the Hollanders did vizet Chawno Shozero Dono at Miaco and came not to hym, his howse being in the same streete, right over against the other, and he, as he thought, in frenshipp with both our nations. Unto which I answered that I did not know his Lordshipps howse was in that street, nether that he was in Miaco; but, to the contrary, was enformed he was at Fushamy; and therefore desired pardon yf I had offended therin; and that I ment to vizet his Lordshippe 245 before I went from hence, as I made accompt Capt. Camps would doe the like; only I was ashamed we had noe good thing to present his Lordshipp withall, and to goe emptie handed to a personage of his quallety was not good. But he answered me that was all one, whether we carid a present or noe; only he knew we should be welcom and our visetation taken in good parte; but I should not say he came to me. _February 20_ (_Shonguach 20_).--We could doe nothing at Court this day for our dispach, because it is a great feast, all the shops being shut up and an end made of the feast of Shonguach. Also Torazemon Dono, with the other gentelmen at play yistarday, envited per Capt. Camps, did envite them selves for to morow to an other Japon play to me, which I could not deny. Soe I envited Capt. Camps and the Duch to it, with the Hollandes host, and Jno. Yossens sonne, and the children and others of Capt. Adams, our host. _February 21_ (_Shonguach 21_).--We went to the play and, as I passed by the Hollanders lodging, I entred in and there found the King of Fingo or Figen,[134] a brave yong man, and hath 50 _mangocas_ of rent per anno. He went to see the Hollanders because on of the Hollanders servantes had served hym before, and, as he tould me, ment to have com to vizet me, had I not com thether. He used me with greate curtesie and offered greate frenshipp to all our nation, yf we came into his cuntrey. [134] ? Hizen, in Kiushiu. _February 22_ (_Shonguach 22_).--The night past a greate noblemans howse was burned near the Emperours pallas. His name is Catto Samma Dono, King of Io, or Eyo.[135] [135] Iyo, in Shikoku. _February 23_ (_Shonguach 23_).--Our hostis envited both us and the Hollanders to dyner this day; and we envited the dansing beares at night. _February 26_ (_Shonguach 26_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court 246 to procure our dispach, but effected nothing. Soe Capt. Camps and my selfe thought to have gon to the Councell to have shewed our selves, hoping it would have procured our spidiar dispach, and, to that entent, sent word to Torazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono to desire them to accompanie us. But they retorned answer it were better we staid this day, and they them selves would goe and see what they could doe, which, yf it would not take effect, then we might goe to morrow or the next day. _February 27_ (_Shonguach 27_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court, to procure our despach, but effected nothing; only Otto Dono said to our _jurebasso_ that he should write downe the names of the Duch and English, and they should have answer to morow, for that he would shew it to the rest of the Councell. _February 28_ (_Shonguach 28_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to the Court to gett our dispach; but retorned without doing any thinge, they saying it was a greate hollyday, but I could not understand for what sainte. _March 2_ (_Ninguach 1_).--Capt. Camps and I went to the Court betyme this morning, and, per meanes of Cacazemon Dono, spoake with his master Oyen Dono, desiring to have lycense to departe. And he gave us good wordes and said it was trew we had staid heare a long tyme, but now he would speake to themperour to get our dispach, and to that entent we should send our _jurebassos_ to the Court to morow that the rest of the Councell might see them, and then he would put them in mynd to dispach us. _March 3_ (_Ninguach 2_).--The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to the Court to get our dispach. And they were answerd by the Councell we should be dispached to morow; but I think it will be after a skervie fation, for nether our _bongew_, Shroyemon Dono, nor Torazemon Dono have com at us these 5 or 6 daies, nor soe much as sent to us. Soe I think our matters at Firando will groe worse and worse, till we 247 be driven out of Japon. There was an earthquake this evening about 9 a clock at night, which shook much for a small tyme. _March 4_ (_Ninguach 3_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Court, as the Duch did the like, to procure our dispach; but had nothing but wordes, saying they were busy in Councell about other matters, but would remember us shortly. Soe I think (as Capt. Camps is of same opinion) that they would keepe us heare till the King of Firando com, which it may be will not be this 2 monthes. _March 5_ (_Ninguach 4_).--I wrot 2 letters, viz. one to Skengro Dono to Miaco, to give covart to the other to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Hatch at Firando. In this letter I advized, yf any of our shiping came into Japon before our retorne, to let them stay at Cochie and not com into Firando, nor put their ordinance nor munision ashore. _March 6_ (_Ninguach 5_).--Capt. Camps and I went to the Court, and there staid till the Councell entred into themperours pallas, and then spoake to them for our dispach, which now they have promised us without feale shall be within 2 or 3 daies. Also Torazemon Dono sent me two wilduckes for a present, and withall advized me our dispach would now be shortly. And, as I am enformed, there will be warrs shortly in Japon betwixt themperour and his uncle; for themperour sent to hym to com and doe his obesance, as other subjectes doe, or else he would take his revenews from hym. But he retorned answer he owed hym noe such service, and that yf he went about to take his inheritance from hym, he would defend it by armes. Soe that 10 princes are sent to hym to turne his mynd; yf not, then warrs will ensue. _March 7_ (_Ninguach 6_).--Great aboundance of rayne per night, with an earthquake at 9 a clock at night. _March 8_ (_Ninguach 7_).--A stiffe gale most parte of day and night 248 following, which might be accompted a tuffon or harrecano, with aboundance of rayne all day. We could doe nothing about procuring our dispach this day, per means of the tempestious wether. _March 9_ (_Ninguach 8_).--The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to the Court to get our dispach, but had nothing but feare wordes, as allwais the like heretofore. Soe I went to Capt. Camps, to take councell with hym what we were best to doe. And in the meane tyme, while I was theare, Torazemon Dono, and Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, came to our lodging. Soe I went and bade them welcom, and they staid supper with me; and, amongst other speches, Torazemon Dono said it had byn better for us to have followd the King of Firandos councell, and kept Capt. Speck heare, which, by meanes of the Comander Johnson and others, was refuced, and now we saw how matters went forward. Unto whome I answered that thenglish were not in falt that he went away; "but," said I, "what could Capt. Speck doe heare now (yf he were here) then Capt. Camps hath donne?" Unto which he knew noe other answer but it was true; yet this Emperour of Japon was not soe easy to be spoaken with as his father was. Unto which I answered I knew not that, but for the King Firando he ought to heare us, we refusing all other kinges of Japon to settel our selves only in his cuntrey, when we might as well have donne it in another. He used som wordes that by meanes of our residence in his cuntrey, he was put to much more charges then heretofore about building fortresses. In fine, I think all will be nought, the king being a yong man and harkning to yong councell, which may deceave hym as it did Roboam, King Sollomans sonne. Once I dowbt this Torazemon Dono is our secret enemie, and I have the like opinion of Coa Jno., our _jurebasso_, although he be a very asse, yet he secretly doth what he can against us. _March 11_ (_Ninguach 10_).--Torazemon Dono sent for Capt. Camps and 249 me to com to hym, for that he had something to tell us from Oyen Dono, themperours secretary. Soe we went to his howse, where we mett Cacazemon Dono, Stroyemon Dono, and Jentero Donos secretary. And they tould us that, tuching the priz goodes in the friggot, the Japons said it was theirs, and not the Spaniardes or Portingales, but themperour would not beleeve them, for that we had proved them tretors in bringing padres into Japon, contrary to his comandement. Yet, notwithstanding, Oyen Dono desired to have our and the Hollanders _jurebassos_ with Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, to com in private to hym to morrow, to shew unto hym the truth, what belonged to the Spaniardes and Portingals and what to the Japons. Soe we agreed upon it, and withall tould them we never ment to withould anything from the Japons, and, for the fardells of silk and other matters which the Japons fathered, there was ticketes in them which shewed to whome they belonged, and their names written in Spanish and Portugez, all which we made knowne unto them for their better remembrance to morow. Soe we had kynd entertaynment and full promis to be dispached within a day or two without faile, with many complementall wordes both from Cacazemon Dono and the rest. _March 13_ (_Ninguach 12_).--Our pilot of Sackay, which brought us from Firando to Osacky, came to viset me, he coming from Sacky by sea in a greate bark laden with salte, and was 2 months in the way; and he sayeth that with the storme few daies past many barkes were cast away coming in company with hym, and all the people lost, his bark not escaping without greate danger; this being the 34th voyadg he hath made from Sacky to this place. The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to Court to get our dispach; but had nothing but fayre wordes as heretofore, only they said that themperours Councell receved the King of Fingo this day and feasted hym, which hindered our dispach, but to morow they would doe it. _March 14_ (_Ninguach 13_).--We sent our _jurebassos_ to Court to 250 procure our dispach. Soe they had answer that our dispach was granted, and to morow themperour would send us his present, and then we might departe when we would. _March 15_ (_Ninguach 14_).--Capt. Camps and I apointed to morow to goe to the nobles to take our leave and thank them for our dispach, and soe to dispach our selves out of Edo. Also this night, about 10 a clock, was an earthquake, but not of much contynewance. And about midnight was a fire in the towne, and much hurleburly. _March 16_ (_Ninguach 15_).--Capt. Camps and I, with Mr. Osterwick, went to Torazemon Dono to thank hym for the paines he had taken about our busynes heare, and withall did deliver unto hym a writing conserning the abuses offered unto us and our nation at Firando, in keeping of our men presoners and sending them to Nangasaque to sell them to our enemis, and make our howse a preson for the Japons, against whome we had no plito. Unto which he answerd we had reason in what we said, and that the King of Firando knew nothing thereof, and therfore all should be amended to our content; and that the presoners Japons were kept per ordenance of Gonrok Dono, and not per the King of Firando. And as Capt. Camps and I were about to goe to thank the nobles for our dispach, word was brought us we might departe when we would, and leave som one behind us to receve the present themperour ment to geve us, for that as yet it was not ready; which truly is the greatest wrong or indignety that eaver hitherto was offered to any Christians, and I think is donne of purpose per meanes of the King of Firando, whose mother is a papisticall Jesuist, and he and the rest of his bretheren and sisters papisticall Christians. Soe that I think it is impossible 251 that we shall eaver have good entertaynment in his cuntrey. God send me and the rest of our nation well out of it. _March 17_ (_Ninguach 16_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe went to the Emperours Councell to take our leave, viz: to Oyen Dono, Codgque Dono, Otto Dono, Ita Canusque Dono, the 4 princepall councellors. And we spoake to Oyen Dono and Ita Canusque Dono, whoe gave us very good wordes, and said they were ashamed we staid here soe long and that we had not themperours present delivered to us before we went from hence, but, yf we tarid 2 or 3 daies longer, it would be ready, or delivered in our abcense to whome we pleased to receave it, yf we went away before. But Codgsque Dono and Otto Dono were not at home, but hadd left order with their secretaries to answer as the former. Soe we went from thence to the lodging of Gonrok Dono, and carid hym a present from us and the Hollanders. And Itamia Canusque Dono sent me 2 silke coates or _kerremons_, and the like to the Duch. I tould Capt. Camps I ment to vizet Shongo Dono, the admirall, and cary hym a present of 1/2 a _catty_ of campher and a _tay_ wight of currall, all at my owne coste, in respect of the frenship which was betwixt Capt. Adames and hym, and to wish hym to contynew his favour to his child, now the father was dead. But Capt. Camps fell into collerik terms, and tould me I could not goe to hym nor non else without his consent. Unto which I replied I might doe with my owne what I list, and that I did not put this to the companis acco. Unto which he answerd that I now went about to procure his disgrace, and to get all the thanke to my selfe, in respeckt of a present was geven hym both this yeare as also the last, which had it not byn for thenglish, they would have given him nothing. Unto which I replied I knew nothing of that which passed the last yeare, and, for that which was donne this yeare, he might have chosen whether he would have geven it or no. 252 Yet there is suffitient witnesse he said he was sory he had not geven more in respect of our good entertaynment. But it seemed Capt. Camps was angry, for he tould me he had put up more indigneties at my hands then this, which, God is my witnesse, I know not whereby he speaketh it, for he hath contynewally ensulted over me, and thrust hym selfe still before me into presence of themperour and his Councell, saying his place was before myne in respect the Duch was admerall at sea in the Manillias voyage this yeare. Yet I suffered all this with pasyence, and let hym take his course; but to be master of my owne and geve it to whome I list, I think I offerd hym no injury. Also Oyen Dono, themperours cheefe secretary, brought me 5 silk coates or _kerremons_ of silk (as I make acco. the Hollanders had the like) with many complementall wordes; and out of these 5 coates I gave 2 to Mr. Osterwick, 1 to Robt. Jones and 1 to Jno. Collins at recept therof. Also we gave these presentes following in our house:-- 5 _cattis_ white raw silk to Capt. Adams wyfe. to Madelina Samma, her sister. 1 _catt._ white raw silk 1 pece redd silk say 1 _catty_ ditto silk to their ould mother. 1 pece red cheremis to Susana, Capt. Adams doughter. 1 halfe pece ruch crimson damask to Joseph his sonne. 1 pece ornary damask to Andreas their uncle. 1 pece ornary taffete to Maria their kinswoman. 1 pece ornary taffety to Josephs schole master. 1 pec. ditto to Yode Dono, their frend. 1 pec. red cheremy to Robt. and Jnos. hostis. We left order with Torazemon Dono to rec. our present from themperour both for us and Hollanders, as also our petition for themperour; and I left my _goshon_ with Andreas to get a new one out and send it to me. _March 18_ (_Ninguach 17_).--We departed this day from Edo towards 253 Miaco, and went to bed to Canengaua,[136] 7 leagues. But we overtook Captain Camps 2 leagues from Edo, and he out went us 3 leagues without biding us farewell. We gave 300 _taies_ to our hostis, for diet in our lodging at Edo for the tyme we staid there, besids other extraordnary which came to above 80 _taies_ more. Soe we wanted 50 _taies_ to cleare all matters, which I promised to send them from Miaco, God permiting. And Andrea, with Capt. Adams 2 children, and Jenquese Dono, accompanied us out of Edo, and brought us a duble banket, with our presents bord man. Soe we gave the bringers ij _ichebos_ to make a feast, and to the servantes in our hostes howse i _coban_ and i _ichebo_; as also one _ichebo_ to our host at Suningaua,[137] 2 leagues from Edo, being there called in by Capt. Camps, otherwais we had pased alonge; yet he went from us afterward, as above said. [136] Kanagawa. [137] Shinagawa. _March 19_ (_Ninguach 18_).--We went to Oyesso (or Oiso) to dyner, 9 leagues, and to supper to Odora,[138] 4 leagues. And per the way we overtook Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, whoe deliverd me xxviij _coban_ barrs of gould, as he did the like nomber to Capt. Camps, to employ for Cacazemon Donos sonns best advantage when shiping cometh or otherwais, the _coban_ vallued at 6 _ta._ 2 _m._ 5 _c._ per barr, is 175 _taies_; wherof I send back, per the servant of Cacazemon Dono, to deliver to our hostis at Edo, Capt. Adames woaman, at rate abovesaid, is 50 _taies_. Capt. Camps had a letter in Japons how Cornelius died within 3 daies after he arived from Osacky to Firando, and that the shipp departed to Molucas. [138] Odawara. _March 20_ (_Ninguach 19_).--We went from Odoro to Facana Yama[139] to dyner, hostes name Jembio Dono; and to soper to Nomads,[140] hostes 254 name Tozemon Dono, having made 4 leagues before dyner and 5-1/2 after. [139] Hakone. [140] Numadsu. _March 21_ (_Ninguach 20_).--We went to dyner to Cambar,[141] 6 leagues, the hostes name Sayemon Dono; and to supper to Egery,[142] 4-1/2 leagues, to our ould hostes howse as we went up. [141] Kambara. [142] Ejiri. _March 22_ (_Ninguach 21_).--We went to dyner to Ocaby,[143] 6 leagues; and to supper to Canayea,[144] past the greate river, 5 leagues. [143] Okabe. [144] Kanaya. _March 23_ (_Ninguach 22_).--We went to dyner to Fucore,[145] 7 leagues, hostes name Facherozamon Dono; and to supper to Hammamach,[146] 6 leagues. And by the way we met with Quiemon Dono, our barkman, or _sinde_,[147] of Sackay, whoe brought me 3 letters from Mr. Eaton, 2 of one date, 3th of January, and both coppis verbatum, and an other of the 10th of February; wherein he writes me all the Japon presoners which were in our howse are sett at liberty; and that the Hollanders sent our 6 English men ashore againe which weare abord their shipp, being compeld by Japons. Soe they carid them all to Nangasaque, and Jno. Yoosen hath them in his handes and will not deliver them unto us, allthough Mr. Eaton sent Ric. Hudson and a _jurebasso_ with hym to demand them, offering to pay all the charges he hath disbursed. But he answered that he would not deliver them, although the King of Firando and Governor of Nangasaque comanded hym, for that he had mad ready his junck and ment to send them to the Holland factory at Jaccatra, except we would buy his junck and pay hym 20,000 _taies_ he had disbursed in provitions to send thither. But the world knoweth that Yoosen is not worth 20,000 pence. Also this day, as we passed over a river, a _bongew_ of the King of 255 Faccatais men did misuse our horsmen, after our horses weare entred into the bark, and would have put them out per force, because we weare strangers. Whereupon they went together by the eares, and much a doe there was about it. Soe that the _bongew_ of Faccata sent word it was donne without his consent, and therefore, yf we brought out the parties which did it, were they 1, 2, 3, or 4, he would put them to death in our sight. But our horsmen weare soe bent because the Faccata men had misused them, they being themperours men, that nothing would serve them but the death of the others; which I would not consent unto, but wished them to defer the matter till we came to Miaco, and then we would bring it to passe before the justis theare. And Stroyemon Dono, the King of Firandos _bongew_, was of the same opinion; yet our horsmen weare not content. But in the end they agreed among themselves. [145] Fakuroi. [146] Hamamatsu. [147] _Send[=o]_, a boatman. _Marche 24_ (_Ninguach 23_).--This day we went to Aray[148] to dyner, 5 leagues; and to supper to Yoshenda,[149] 4 leagues. Heare our _bongew_ and the Hollanders sliped from us and went to bed 5 leagues ferther. [148] Arai. [149] Yoshida. 256 APPENDIX. 257 CORRESPONDENCE. RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[150] Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * The 12th of June we came to an ancor in the haven of Firando, in Japan, where the kinge of the place receaved us very kyndlie; Mr. Adams not being theare, but had heard of our coming per meanes of a letter sent from Sr. Thomas Smith, which caused hym to leave order with his host to send a post to hym at our coming, which he did, and our Generall wrot hym 3 severall letters, yet he arived not at Firando till the 29th of July. And the 7th of August our Generall departed for the Japan court, Mr. Adams accompanyinge hym. And it was the 6th November before he did retorne for Firando, it provinge a tediouse jorney. Yet he obtayned all priveleges that he did demand. God grant the trade may prove as benefitiall as hetherto our succeadinges have byn suckcesfull. The only crose hath byn the runinge away of 7 of our marreners in the abcense of our Generall, viz. John Bowles, Christopher Evans, Jno. Sars, Clement Lock, and Jno. Totty, Englishe men, and Jasper Malconty, and one Jaques, Flemyngs; but Bowles and Evans were the instigators of the rest. They stole away the skiffe and went for Langasaque, and there took sanctuary in the papist churches, and weare secretly convayed away for the Phillipinas per the 258 Jesuistes; but the skiffe we recovered againe. The Flemynges had setled them selves heare 3 or 4 yeares before our arivall, and have built them a howse in this place, which hath cost them allready above 2500_l._ str.; and doe disperce them selves abroade, som on way and som an other, to look out for trade, as we must doe the lyke, for they are close and will let us understande nothinge. They have som small entrance allready into Corea, per way of an iland called Tushma, which standeth within sight of Corea and is frend to the Emperor of Japan. But the chifest place which as yet they have fownd out is from hence to Syam and Pattania, from whence they bring silke, brasill wood, and deare skynns, which is all ready money heare. Mr. Adams is now entertayned into your Worships servis for a cupell of yeares, untill news com of the _Cloves_ safe arivall in England, he being now at libertie to com for his contrey when he will. He wold not be entertayned under 100_l._ str. a yeare. The Flemynges did what they could to have gotten hym from us, which made hym to stand the more on his pointes. He aledged he was a pore man and that he had spent 14 yeares allready to noe purpose, and now wold be loth to retorne for his contrey a begger, gevinge the Worpll. Compa. humbly thankes for his libertie, which he doth acknowledge came cheefely by meanes of the coming of this ship with his Maties. letters of England. Mr. Adams is of the opynion that, yf eaver the northeast or northwest passages be fownd out, it must be from these partes, and offreth his best services therein, the Emperour promisinge his best fortherance with men or letters of recomendacions to all prinses, and hath entrance allready into an iland called Yedzo, which is thought to be rather som parte of the continent of Tartaria. Mr. Adams hath drawne out the plot of Japan, with parte of that iland and Corea and other bordering places, and sendeth it to your Worships per this conveance. Yt is certen that the Hollanders had taken this discovery in hand 259 before now, but that they have soe many irons in the fyre allready with their wars in the Molucas against the Spaniardes. I am sory that I canot instantly write your Worships of much benefitt to be made in these partes; yet I see both the Spaniard, Portingale, and Duche look out very sharplie about matters of trade. And, yf they doe good, I hope in tyme we shall doe the lyke, in havinge care and usinge dilligence, for out of dowbte heare is greate store of silver in these partes, and, could we gett any greate quantety of broad cloth to vent, it wold prove a greate matter, allthough at low rates; but as yet they are soe adicted to silks, that they doe not enter into consideration of the benefitt of wearinge cloth. But tyme may altar their myndes, and in the meane tyme we must seeke out other matters benefitiall, as I have formerly said other men doe; and, for my owne part, soe long as I stay in these partes (or else where) in your Worps. service, I will use my best endevour. * * * * * * At Firando in Japan, the 30th November, 1613. Your Worps. duringe lyfe at comand, RIC. COCKS. [150] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. i, no. 121. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[151] January the , 1613[4], Firando in Japan. Mr. Wickham,--It being generally agreed upon (with your owne consent) that yow make a voyage for Edow, Sherongo, and those partes of Japan, with such a cargezon of goods and merchandiz as I should think fyttinge, beinge assisted with Capt. Adams, for the better dispaching your busynes with the Emperour, with whome yow know he hath good 260 entrance and no other employments for hym at present; yet, those matters of the Emperour being past, I pray yow detayne hym not theare, but will hym to make as much speede as he can back for Firando, where there will be necessary use of hym. And being arived in those partes, my opynion is that yow take up your lodginge in the best merchantes howse in the towne, where yow may have a gadonge fyrefree, to prevent the danger therof, which is not unknowne unto yow this cuntrey is much subject unto. And to live under the roofe of a naturall Japan is better then to be in the howse of any stranger, be he Duch, Spaniard, Portingall, or of any other nation whatsoever. And the better mans howse yow lye at, the more creditt it will be for yow, and the more securetie yow will live in what occation soeaver happen. I my selfe speake this per experience, as havinge made proofe thereof. And have an espetiall care not to trust any man with the Companies goods without makinge ready payment, for I am informed these cuntrey people are not to be trusted, nether will any marchant of accompt seeke to bye upon creddit. And for others, they are to be refused. And in my opynion it will be your best course to make choise of som one man in those partes, to assiste yow in makinge choise and receavinge of your moneyes, a thinge much to be regarded in these partes per meanes of the greate deceate is used therein. And no dowbt yow may procure such a one for a small matter. And make much of frends, when yow have them, and use these cuntrey people kyndly both in word and deede, for fayre wordes will doe much and as soone are spoaken as fowle, and allwais good will com thereof; for these cuntrey people are not to be used nether with bad wordes nor blowes, no not soe much as servantes entertayned for necessary uses; but rather put them away, yf they be not to your lykinge, and make choise of others. And to use any speeches to perswade yow from gamnynge I thinke it is 261 needlese; for I hold yow no gamster. Yet, notwithstandinge, the admonition of a frend is not to be rejected. And, to say the truth, many inconvenyences happen and fall out per meanes of gamnynge, although it be but to passe away the tyme for trifles; and therefore it is not amisse to forsweare gamnynge. Yt is good to use both Duche, Spaniardes, and Portingalls kyndly, as also all other strangers; and learne from them what yow can, but make them not partakers of your secretes or pretenses. And for sales or dispach of your comodeties, I know yow will use your best endevour for our employers benefits; and therefore I will sett yow no stynted rate or price, but wishe yow to sell away as tyme shall serve at all prises, to turne all into ready money, before any other shipinge com out of England, that it may not be said we lye still and doe nothinge but eate and drink without takinge care for any thinge. I hope yow will not let the Duch goe beyonde yow in this poynt. Yow know that as yet we have not sould our English cloth under eight _taies_ the English yard, and cloth of Cambaia under fowre for one profitt; but stand yow not upon that matter, but sell away both the one and other as yow can, as also gunpolder, allthough it be under twentie _taies_ the barell, which is loe price. Yet yow must consider it is a dangerouse comodetie to be kept, and therfore make dispach. Once use your best endevour both for that and the rest, as afforsaid, etc. And for the two parcelles of comodeties left in the custody of Andreas, alias Gendoque Dono, of Uringo, and Quedoquea Stibio Dono, att Edow and Shrongo, yow are to take acco. of it beinge parte of your cargezon. And yf Tome Same, the yonge Kynge of Firando, com unto yow with a note or remembrance of my hand, to lend hym one thousand _tais_ or more, as Capt. Adams will advize yow, I pray yow take in my note and let hym 262 have the money, in gevinge yow a bill of his hand to repay it me heare againe in Firando at demand; which Capt. Adams tells me I need not to stand in dowbt of, for that the Duch have doone the lyke heretofore and have receaved good payment. But this must be doone when yow have receaved money of the Emperour. And, havinge any overplus of that money lyinge by yow or that is receaved for any other comodetie, use your best endevour to send it to me per first sure conveance (which I think will be per Capt. Adams), that it may not be dead, but be emploied to the Companies use as occation shall be offred. And for your dyet or such as shall be with yow, I will not prescribe yow any rate, because I am unaccoynted with the place; but leave that to your owne discretion, not dowbtinge but yow will use frugallitie, etc. And because yow are to goe overland from Osekey to Shrongo in company of Capt. Adams about the Emperours busynes, and that it is fytt som one of trust goe in the bark with the rest of the goods per sea for that place, I have thought good to send Jno. Phebie with it, a man well knowne to Capt. Adams, whome yow may entertayne theare as the Companies servant under yow, yf yow fynde hym capeable or that it be fytinge. And forget not to write me per all conveances what yow doe, and learne out what yow can tuchinge trade into any place we yet know not of. And, God willing, yow shall not want to heare from me soe often as I fynd fit conveance. And it is good yow write contynewally to Mr. Eaton for Osekey, as I have willed hym to doe the lyke to yow; for soe may we from tyme to tyme understand of each others proceadings, and I be ready to supplie your wantes with such comodeties as lye by me, yf in case yow can sell them yow have theare. And for a _jurebasso_, yf he which promised yow com from Langasaque, 263 yow shall have hym with yow, otherwais yow must get one at Edow or Shrongo; and in the meane tyme Capt. Adams hath promised me that Andreas shall helpe yow, and tells me that yow canot want to fynd one there to your content. I know not what else to advize yow of for present, but, yf any thinge com to my remembrance heareafter, yow shall understand thereof per first. And soe the Lord send yow a prosperouse voyage and safely to retorne. Amen. Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. Mr. Wickham,--I pray yow have a due care to geve Capt. Adams content: which yow may easelie doe, yf yow use hym with kynde speeches and fall not into termes with hym upon any argument. I am perswaded I could live with hym 7 yeares before any exstraordenary speeches should happen betwixt us. And the necessary use we have of hym is as well knowne to yow as me. I hope a word will suffice for that matter. RIC. COCKS. [151] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. i, no. 127. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[152] Firando in Japan, the 1th Aprill, 1614. Mr. Wickham,--By George the Portingall (whoe departed from hence the 9th ultimo) I wrot yow severall letters, advisinge for the present; since which time I have recd. 2 letters from Mr. Eaton of the 1th and 13th ultimo, wherin he hath adviseth me he hath sould all his white baftas at sixteene _mas_ the peece, and certen mattes broad cloth at fyfteene _taies_ the matt. I wish all the rest were gon at same or lyke rate, both that I have here and others else where. He sayeth that som of his comodeties they will not look at, namely, 264 selas, blew byrams, and candequis maweey. Once doe what yow can to sell away, allthough somthinge under cento per cento, for it is better to have money by us then comodeties, whatsoever shall happen; for here are many reportes geven out of trubles lyke to ensue in Japan. But kepe that to your selfe, and learne out what yow can and advize me thereof per first sure conveance. I make acco. Capt. Adams will be com away before this com to your handes, otherwaies geve hym counsell to take heed of one Pedro Guzano, a papist Christian, whoe is his hoste at Miaco; for a lyinge fryre (or Jesuist) tould Mr. Peacock at Langasaque that Capt. Adams was dead in the howse of the said Guzano, which now I know is a lye per letters I receved from Mr. Eaton, for the said fryre rep[orted] he was dead before the date thereof. Once I wold wish Capt. Adams to looke to hym selfe, for these villanose papisticall rable at Langasaque doe geve it out behinde his back that he is a Lutrano and one that they make accompt hath incensed the Emperoure against them. I wish Capt. Adams at his being here to looke to hym selfe and take heed of them. And soe would I wish yow to do the lyke. Mr. Peacock departed from Langasaque towardes Cochinchina the 18th ultimo, as he advized me in a letter of that date, written from abord the jonke he goeth in called the _Roquan_. We have had much northerly windes since their departure, soe I dowbt not but they will have a spedie passage, which God grant them with a prosperouse voyage. Upon som occation I have noted that yow may esteeme I love yow not, or that I beare som secret grudge against yow, which here I doe protest (before God) I doe not, but rather doe esteeme much better of yow since your cominge hether then I did before. And soe shall yow find by proofe, yf it lye in my power to do yow good; for I regard not, but rather have quite put out of my memory, any wordes which have passed betwixt us hereto[fore]. I wish yow could make dispache of your busynese to be here ag[ainst] 265 the Syam voyage, and then shall yow see what I will doe. And tru[lye] I wold not wish yow to stay there upon small occations, but rather to leave them with your host or some other good frend that is assured. And in the meane tyme sell away what yow can; stand not upon price, but turne what yow can into money and bringe it alonge with yow. I can say no more nor geve yow no larger comition then I have doone. And soe, with my hartie comendacons to your selfe, Sr. Andrea, and the rest of our accoyntance, I comyt yow to God, restinge allwais your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Richard Wickham, deliver in Edow, Shrongo, or else where. Per way of Osekey, inclozed to Mr. Eaton. [152] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 138. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[153] Firando in Japan, the 12th of May, 1614. Mr. Wickham,-- * * * * * * Ed. Sayer arived heare yisternight from Faccatay, and brought me such money he had receaved at Tushma, which God knoweth is but littell, he not havinge sould one yard of English cloth nether all his pepper. He left John Japan with his host at Faccatay, to see to the busynes in his abcense. And this mornynge I have sent hym back againe, with order that yf he see no hope of dispache of his comodeties within 8 or 10 daies, that then he shall retorne for Firando with the rest of his cargezon. I hope the Emperour have taken the ordinance, poulder, and such other comodeties as were sent for hym. Only Capt. Adames hath writ me he refused most parte of the broad cloth was sent, in respeck it was moutheaten. Mr. Nealson hath hym comended unto yow. He and I are soe busye about 266 our building that we have small pleasure, havinge above 100 men daylie at worke; but I hope it will not last longe. On Sunday night last our kitchin was set on fire, and soe burned our new gates and gate howse; but was sowne quenched, God be praised for it. The lose will not be above 8 or 10 _taies_. I daylie expect Capt. Adames to look out about a jonck. Newes we have non but that many souldiers are sent out of Firando, and, as it is said, goe for Arima, but for what intent I know not. George the Portingale retorned for Firando the 4th currant. His wife was brought to bead of a boye the night before he came. Well fall (or fare), an ould knocker. And soe, with harty comendacons to your selfe with the rest of our frendes, I remeane Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Ric. Wickham, English merchantt, deliver in Edo or else where. Per Sr. Duzak Skidoyemon Dono. [153] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 143. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM ADAMS.[154] Firando in Japan, the 5th of June, 1614. Capt. Adames,--My last unto yow was of the 12th ultimo, sent per Duzak Skidoyemon Dono, Yasimon Donos brother in law; since which tyme your letter, dated in Edo the 27th of Aprill, came to my handes in Firando the 27th of May followinge. I was right glad to heare of your good health, but sory to understand of the longe taryinge of our goods. I pray God that the necklegence of that dreamynge fello Jno. Phebe be not the occation. Once it is a greate hinderance to the Company our broad cloth was not vented this 267 winter, soe many caveleros beinge at Court could not have wanted to have carid all away. And I am afeard that Capt. Browers cloth he sent hence the last of Aprill will com to serve the market at Edo before ours; which yf it soe fall out, yow may easely gese what a skandall it will be unto us, ours departinge hence soe many monethes before it. I wold to God ours had gon overland all with yow and Mr. Wickham; but, for me, I had no insight into tymes and seasons. I am enformed that Toba, the place wheare our goods have layne windbownd soe longe, is within 2 or 3 dayes jorney of Edo or Shrongo per land. I marvell Mr. Wickham had not put yow in mynd to have convayed our goods overland at first _costa que costa_; but now it is to late, I dowbt to our everlastinge skandall; for yf we stay 7 yeares more in Japan, we shall neaver have the lyke tyme to have vented our cloth as at this generall assembly of the nobilletie. Ould Foyne Same is very sick. It is thought he will not escape it, for the phisitions have geven hym over. He tould me it was the Emperours mynd that our cullers (or flagg) should be taken downe, because it had a crose in it; and to this day it was not set up againe. I perceave per Mr. Wickhams letter that Tome Same and Oyen Dono are very ernest to have money before we can receave it, and that in place of one thowsand _taies_ I promised to lend them they demand two thowsand. In deed I said I was content to let them have more, yf we could spare it; but I thinke we canot, and therfore they must pardon us. God grant they will be as forward to repay it when it shall be demanded. I have byn much tormented with an agew, which, after, turned into extreame ache in my boanes in all partes of my body, soe that I had thought I should have lost the use of my lymbs and was become a very crippell. But I praise God it is now somthinge aswaged, and I meane (God willinge) 4 or 5 daies hence to goe to the hot bathes at Yshew, 268 an iland of Nobisanas, whither Sr. Yasimon Dono will accompany me. Our howse is now in a good forwardnes, but hath cost caro. And soe, in hast, I rest Your ever lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To the worll. his frend, Capt. Willm. Adames, deliver in Edo or else wheare. [154] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 147. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[155] Firando in Japan, 1614, July the 25th. Mr. Wickham,-- * * * * * * With greefe of mynd I write unto yow of the ill hap and death of our frend Mr. Tempest Peacock in Cochinchina, where he arived in saffetie, as the Duch did the lyke, and sould their goods to the kinge, whoe gave order they should com to his cittie of Miaco to receave payment, but forestald them and sett upon them in their retorne and kild all that was in company, both Duch, English, and Japans their followers. But, as it is reported, Walter Carwarden was left abord the jonck and soe escaped; yet serche was made there for hym, and whether he be alive or dead, God He knoweth, or what parte of our comodetie was left abord the jonk, for out of dowbt Walter was not left there for nothing. And amongst the rest they had a thousand _pezos_ in rialls of 8, which I am assured was not ashore. Their cargezon did amount to above seaven hundred twentie and eight pownd str., as it cost first peny. It is thought that the Kynge of Cochinchina did this in revenge of som injuries offered hym per the Duch certen yeares past. God grant Walter may escape, and then I dowbt not but a good parte of our goodes will be retorned. Also there is reportes that Capt. Chongros jonck is cast away in 269 retornyng. And our host at Langasaque is retorned from the Phillipinas and bringeth newes that aboove 20 seale of Hollanders are com thether from the Moloucas, amongst whome are 2 or 3 saile of English ships; but I canot beleeve that, except it be the _Pearle_ or such lyke. Yf this be true, out of dowbt it goeth ill with the Spaniardes in the Molucas. In my next I will advize yow more hereof. At present we are about preparing a ship or jonck to make a voyage for Syam. And seeinge it hath pleased God to take away Mr. Peacock, of necessitie yow or my cuntreman Mr. Eaton must be emploied about that voyage. And the shipp will be ready to departe som 4 monethes hence. * * * * * * Cornelius, Capt. Browers kinsman, is slaine with their _jurebasso_; but Adrian, beinge sent to an other place, is thought to be escaped. I shall not be quiet till I heare of Walter. God grant he be escaped. And soe I rest allwayes Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Richard Wickham, merchantt, deliver in Edo. Per John Phebe. [155] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 155. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[156] Firando in Japan, the 25th November, 1614. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * Mr. Wm. Adames hath paid me twentie pownd str. your Wor. lent his wife in England. He [paid] it presently after the _Clove_ was gon. I find the man tractable and willing to doe your Wor. the best service he may, and hath taken greate paines about the reparing our jonck 270 called the _Sea Adventure_, otherwaies she wold not have byn ready to have made the Syam voyage this yeare. He ha[th a] great desire to find out the norther passage for England from hence, and thinketh it an easie matter to be donne in respect the Emperour of this place offreth his assistance. Your Wor. shall find me as willing as any man it shall please yow to employ in these partes to second hym. The Emperour of Japan hath banished all Jesuistes, pristes, friers, and nuns out of all his domynions, som being gon for the Phillippinas and the rest for Amacou in China. Yt is thought wars will ensue in Japan betwixt the Emperour and Fidaia Same, sonne to Ticus Same, the deceased Emperour. * * * * * * We cannot per any meanes get trade as yet from Tushma into Corea, nether have them of Tushma any other privelege but to enter into one littell towne (or fortresse), and in paine of death not to goe without the walles thereof to the landward; and yet the King of Tushma is no subject to the Emperour of Japan. I am geven to understand that up in the cuntrey of Corea they have greate citties and betwixt that and the sea mightie boggs, soe that no man can travell on horseback nor very hardlie on foote. But, for remedie against that, they have invented greate waggons or carts which goe upon broad flat whiles under seale, as shipps doe; soe that, observing monsons, they transport their goodes to and fro in thease sealing waggons. They have damasks, sattens, taffetes, and other silke stuffs made theare as well as in China. It is said that Ticus Same, otherwaies called Quabicondono (the deceased Emperour), did pretend to have convayed a greate armie in thease sealing waggons, to have assealed the Emperour of China on a sudden in his greate cittie of Paquin, where he is ordenarely rezident; but he was prevented by a Corean noble man whoe poisoned 271 hym selfe to poison the Emperour and other greate men of Japan; which is the occation that the Japans have lost all that which som 22 yeares past they had gotten pocession of in Corea, etc. RIC. COCKS. [156] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 189. ------------------- RALPH COPPINDALL TO ROBERT LARKIN AND ADAM DENTON.[157] Firando in Japan, le 5th of December, 1615. Loveing frendes,--Wishing your welfare, etc. After a tedious passage and almost out of hope to obtaine my appointed porte (by reason of the latenes of the monsoone), it pleased God (praysed be His name) to bringe me, with men, shipp, and goodes, in safety unto Firando upon the 4th September past, where I found Captaine Adames returned and his juncke in trimminge a new. He putt not into China, as was reported, but into the iland called Leque Grande, where he was indifferentlie entreated, but could not be suffered to repayre his junck as he desired, beinge forced onelie to stay for the monsone to bringe him backe againe hither. Upon the 11th September I departed from hence towardes the Emperours court with a present (which every shipp or juncke that cometh hither must of force performe), which with charges much surmounteth an indifferent custome, espetially when a shipp cometh with a small capitall, and sales soe base and slacke that nothinge is here to be expected but losse, except a trade be procured into China, the raw silkes of which cuntrey are alwaies here reddy mony and reasonable profitt. Ether, I say, we must procure a peaceable trade in China, or elles, as the Hollanders doe, to trade with them perforce. And, yf wee sett foote in the Moluccoes, this place will be a fitt storehouse from whence we may alwaies have men, munition, and victualles good store and at reasonable rates; for which purpose principally the Hollanders 272 doe mentaine this factory. The Portingalles are quite out of favour with the Emperor. They attended 40 daies at the Emperors court to deliver theire present, which at last was recd., but none of them admitted to his presence. It is thought that they will com noe more hither with any greate shippes from Amacon. Certaine Jesuites came out of Nova Espania in embassage unto the Emperor, with a letter and a present from the King of Spaine, which, after a moneth or 6 weekes attendance, the Emperor recd., but none of the embassadors admitted to his presence. All the answer to their embassage was, to gett them foorth of this cuntry with speede, upon paine of his displeasure. His cuntry is now in peace, for that the old Emperor hath made an absolute conquest, haveinge driven the young king quite out of this cuntry and made away most of his principall partakers. * * * * * * Capt. Cock is of opinion that the ginghams, both white and browne, which yow sent will prove a good commodity in the Kinge of Shashma his cuntry, who is a kinge of certaine of the most westermost ilandes of Japon, a man of greate power and hath conquered the ilandes called the Leques, which not long since weare under the governement of China. Leque Grande yeeldeth greate store of amber greece of the best sorte, and will vent 1,000 or 15,000 (_sic_) ps. of course cloth, as dutties and such like, per annum. At my being at the Emperor, I procured his letters unto the King of Shashma, to graunt us as free liberties of trade in the Leques and all other his dominions as we had in any other parte of Japon; and in February Mr. Richard Wickham is to goe thither, and (priviledges obtained accordinge to the Emperors order) to remaine there. * * * * * * Thus for present I committ yow and your affaires unto the protection 273 of the Almighty. Your loveinge frend to commaund, RAPHE COPPINDALL. Yow are to note that the people of this cuntry doe not buy our sortes of India cloth soe much for necessity as for the new and strange fashions and painteinges thereof, being a people desireinge change; for they have greate store of silkes and linnen stuffes made here better and cheaper then we can afford our India cloth. Soe that we must strive to procure strange sortes of cloth with strange painteinges every yeare; but such cloth as hath any redd painteinge will not sell here. The Hollanders sell English broade cloth for 7 and 8 _tayes_ the _tattamy_, which is 2-1/3 yardes at the leaste. The devell hawle some of them for theire paines. To his very loveinge frendes, Mr. Robert Larkin and Mr. Adam Denton, English merchantes, deliver in Patania. Per Capt. Adams, per way of Syam, whom God preserve. [157] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 317. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO [JOHN GOURNEY].[158] Firando in Japon, le 6th of December, 1615. Worshipfull,-- * * * * * * As I advised in my last the Emperor did very gratiously accept of the present Capt. Coppendall carid up unto hym, as Capt. Adames can better enforme yow whoe was an eye witnesse, the Emperour offring to geve us anything that might be for the benefit or good of our nation, esteeming us above all other Christian nations whatsoever. And, as I advised yow, the Hollanders took a Portingale junck on 274 this cost and brought her into Firando. And the Emperour hath alowed it for good prize, both men and goods, and that either we or they may take them or Spaniardes at sea and make good purchesse thereof, except they have the Emperours passe. Also yow may understand how a shipp arived at Quanto in Japon this yeare, which came out of New Spaine and brought good quantety of broad cloth, kersies, perpetuanos, and raz de Millan, which they offer at a loe rate; but I thinke it is the last that ever will be brought from thence, for it is said the Spaniardes made proclemation with 8 drums at Aguapulca and other partes that, upon payne of death, their should neaver any more Japons com nor trade into New Spayne, and that both they and all other strangers of what nation soever should forthwith avoid out of all partes of New Spaine. But in requitall hereof the Emperour of Japon hath made proclemation, in payne of death, that neaver hereafter any Japon shall trade or goe into New Spaine, and comanded the fryres or padres which came in this shipp should avoid out of his dominions; for the truth is, he is noe frend nether to Spaniardes nor Portingalles. * * * * * * Your loving frend at comand, RIC. COCKS. [158] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 319. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[159] Firando in Japon, the 25th February, 1615[6]. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * I know not whether it be come to your W[orp. to understand the] conclusion of these greate wars in Japon [wherin Fidaia] Samme, the son of Ticus Samme, lost [his life, with the] slaughter of above 275 100,000 men which took his [parte. Some] report he was burned in his castell, it being fired; others think he escaped and is in Shashma or the Liqueas. His mother cut her owne belly, and his littell childe was executed by comand from the Emperour, as also all others were the lyke which were knowne to take parte with hym. And Osakay and Sackay, two greate citties, burned to the grownd, not soe much as one howse being saved; your Worps. loosing goodes which were burned to the vallu of 155 _ta._ 5 _ma._ 8 _condr._, as apeareth per acco. sent to Capt. Jno. Jourden, your Wor. agent at Bantam. * * * * * * [And may it plea]se your Worps. to understand that the last yeare [it was agreed for a certe]n Italion marrener to goe in our junck for Syam [whose name is] Damian Marina, and an other Castalliano called Jno. [de Lievana] went with hym. Which coming to the knowledg of the Portingales and Spaniardes at Langasaque, that they had served the English, they laid handes on them and carid them presoners abord the great shipp of Amacan. The which being made knowen unto me, I wrot a letter to the capitan major of the ship, willing hym to set them at liberty, for that they were not under his comand nor jurisdiction, but under the English; and to the lyke effect I wrot an other letter to Gonrocq Dono, cheefe governor at Langasaque for the Emperour; but had a scornfull answer from the Portingale, and nothing but words from the Japon. Whereupon I got a letter testimoniall from the King of Firando to the Emperour, how these 2 men were entertayned into service of the English; and Mr. Wm. Adams being above with Capt. Ralph Coppendalle to carry a [present to] the Emperour, gave hym to understand of this matter, [and he gave] his command forthwith that the 2 men should be [set at liberty] and all their goodes restored to them. Which was [accordingly accomp]lished to the greate harts greefe both of [the 276 Spaniardes and Port]ingale, they haveing condemned them both [to death] and sent pristes to confesse them and exhibited [articles] against them to Gonrock Dono, as against traitors [to their owne] cuntry and frendes to the English and Hollanders their enemies. Which processe the capt. major deliverd both in Japons and Portugese with his ferme at it; but that in Portugese Gonrocq Dono sent to the King of Firando, and he gave it unto me, which here inclozed I send unto your Wor., together with his letter written to me, in which is manifested that they hould both English and Duch for their enemies. But that which vexeth them the most is that the Hollanders tooke a Portingale junck on the cost of Japon laden with ebony wood, the greatest parte, with tynne and serten bars of gould and much conservs. Which junck with all that was in it, men and all, the Emperour aloweth for good prize; and is [to] be thought that Mr. Wm. Adames was a cheefe occation to move the Emperour thereunto, he first asking Mr. Adames wherefore [there was] such hatred betwixt the Spaniardes and Hollanders, for [that it w]as tould hym their princese and governors were [frendes in all] other partes of the world, and that it seemed strange [to hym that they] should be enemies heare. Unto which Mr. Adames answerd that it was true they [had been] frendes of late yeares per meanes of the Kinge [of England] and other potentates; but yet, notwithstanding, [the Kinge of] Spaine did think hym selfe to have more right [in these] partes of the world then any other Christian prince, by [reason] of the footing he had gotten in the Phillippinas and in other partes of the Indies, and therefor per force ment to keepe all other nations from trading into these partes. Unto which the Emperour replied and said, the Spaniard had no reason, and therefore, seeing it was a differance or dispute amongst us which were all strangers, he would not make nor meddell in the matter, but leave 277 it to their princes to decide at home. "But," said he, "what is the occation they take men as well as goods?" "Because (said Mr. Adames) the Spaniardes take the Hollanders and have 150 or 200 of them presoners in the Phillipi[nas, for] which occation the Hollanders doe use the lyke [towards] their people, man for man and goodes for goodes." [Unto which] the Emperour answerd that they had [reason]. * * * * * * [Mr. Adames tould me that the] Emperour gave hym councell not [to seale in Japon] joncks on noe voyage, but rather stay in [Japon, and that] yf the stipend he had geven hym were not [enough] he would geve hym more. But he answerd his [word was] passed, and therefore, yf he performed not his w[ord, it would] be a dishonor unto hym. Yet truly, at his retorne to Firando, I offred to have quit hym of his promis and to have sent hym to Edo to be neare the Emperour upon all occations. Yet would he not be perswaded thereunto. But the Emperour esteemeth hym much, and he may goe and speake with hym at all tymes, when kyngs and princes are kept out. Mr. Adames tould me his tyme of serveing your Wor. 2 yeares at one hundred powndes or 400 _tais_ per anno. was out before he went towardes Syam; yet would he receave no pay till his retorne, willing me to certifie your Wor. that he thought 100_l._ very littell, and would be loth to engage hym selfe any more at that rate, [and] willed me to desyre your Wor. to let his wife have [30 or 40 powndes] str. to supplie her wantes of her selfe and childe, y[f there were any] need, and he would see it repaid heare againe. * * * * * * [And may it pleas]e your Wor. to understand that the Emperour [hath commanded] all the _tonos_ (or kinges) of Japon to com to his [court and] bring their wives (or queenes) with them, for [to remaine the]are the space of 7 yeares. He will no [char]ges of sonns, 278 doughters, or kynred, but they them selves and their queenes with them, and each one to keepe howse by hym selfe and have a servant of the Emperour allwaies neare them to understand what passeth. He aledgeth it is for their goods he doth it, to keepe Japon in quiet, which otherwais would still be in broyles. Soe now all the kinges and queenes of Japon are bound prentis to the Emperour for 7 yeares, and this _Tono_ of Firando departed from hence towardes the court 12 daies past, he being a bachelar, the Emperour haveing promised hym to geve hym his brothers doughter to wife. * * * * * * Your Worshipps most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [159] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 342. ------------------- RICHARD WICKHAM TO RICHARD COCKS.[160] (_Extract._) Meaco, le 22th May, 1616. Many report that the Emperor is dead, but the report from most of credit saye he is recovered and in resonabel good health. He hath bestowed great presents upon the chefe nobylity whome he hath despatched very honorably for theyr contery. Shimash Dono came yesterday to Fuxame, and will be imbarked within this 4 daies at furdest from Osacay. Frushma Tayo Dono came to Meaco 4 dayes since, having leave to goe for his contery after 5 yeares attendance at the court. He is much honored heare in these parts. Shongo Sama is departed from Serongaue 23 dayes since for Eado, and it is said that he will come and visit his douory in Meaco in June or July next. During the Emperors sicknes he caused his chefe phesition to be cut in peces for telling him, being asked by the Emperor why he could not 279 soner cure him, that in regard he was an ould man his medesen could not worke so efectualy upon his body as apon a yong man. Wheareupon without saying any more to him commanded Cogioodon to cause him to be bound and cut in peces. Upon the which Ximas Dono sent him his phesition, the China, who did him much good, as it is reported; which maketh me thinck that the Emperor is living by reason Ximas Dono his peopell doe report. You may be sure the China would not kepe any such secret from his master Ximas Dono, yet nether Ximas Dono nor Tozo Dono nor any nobel man since the going up hath sene the Emperor, nether of his Counsell hath any this many dayes bene admited to his presents, there being none but Cogi Dono, 2 weomen, and 2 phesitions sufered to com in his sight, which maketh many to suspect that he is dead, as they saye it is the maner to conceale the death of the Emperor a whole yeare or more before it be knowne publik. [160] India Office. _Miscellaneous Records_, T. c., no. 43. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[161] Firando in Japon, le 1th January, 1616[7]. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * May it please your Wors. to understand that, these 2 shipps [the _Thomas_ and the _Advice_] being arived at Firando in Japon and Mr. Jno. Baylie being very sick, wherof he shortly after died, it was generally thought fit that I made a journey to the court of the new Emperour Shungo Samme, to renew our privelegese (as the Hollanders ment to do the lyke), in which voyage I was 4 monethes and 5 daies before I retorned to Firando, and the Hollanders are not yet retorned. Yet the 5th day after I arived at court our present was deliverd, and had audience with many favorable wordes, but could not get my dispach in above a month after; so that once I thought we should have lost 280 all our privelegese, for the Councell sent unto us I think above twenty tymes to know whether the English nation were Christians or no. I answerd we were, and that they knew that before by our Kinges Maties. letter sent to the Emperour his father (and hym selfe), wherein it apeared he was defender of the Christian faith. "But", said they, "are not the Jesuists and fryres Christians two?" Unto which I answerd they were, but not such as we were, for that all Jesuists and fryres were banished out of England before I was borne, the English nation not houlding with the pope nor his doctryne, whose followers these padres (as they cald them) weare. Yt is strang to see how often they sent to me about this matter, and in the end gave us waynyng that we did not comunecate, confesse, nor baptiz with them, for then they should hold us to be all of one sect. Unto which I replied that their Honours needed not to stand in dowbt of any such matter, for that was not the custom of our nation. Soe, in the end, they gave me our new privelegese with the Emperours ferme, telling me they were conformable to the former. So herewith I departed, and, being 2 daies journey on my way, met an expres from Mr. Wickham, wherin he wrot me from Miaco that the justice (per the Emperours comand) had geven order that all strangers should be sent downe to Firando or Langasaque, and forthwith departe and carry all their merchandiz with them and not stay to sell any, so that he was forced to keepe within howse, and our hostes durst sell nothing. Which news from Mr. Wickham seemed very strang unto me. Whereupon I sought one to read over our privelegise, which with much a do at last I fownd a _boz_ (or pagon prist) which did it, and was that we were restrayned to have our shiping to goe to no other place in Japon but Firando, and there to make sales. Whereupon I retorned back againe to the court, where I staid 18 or 20 daies more, still suing and puting 281 up suplecations to have our privelegese enlarged as before, aledging that yf it were not soe, that my soveraigne lord King James would think it to be our misbehaviours that cauced our privelegese to be taken from us, they having so lately before byn geven us by his Matis. father of famous memory, and that it stood me upon as much as my life was worth to get it amended, otherwais I knew not how to shew my face in England. Yet, for all this, I could get nothing but wordes. Whereupon I desyred to have the ould privelegese retorned and to render back the new, with condition they would geve us 3 yeares respite to write into England and have answer whether our Kinges Matie. would be content our privelegese should be so shortned or no. Yet they would not grant me that. And then I desird we might have leave to sell such merchandiz as we had now at Miaco, Osakay, Sackay, and Edo; otherwais I knew not what to do, in respect Firando was but a fysher towne, haveing no marchantes dwelling in it, and that it was tyme now to send back our shipps and junckes, and nothing yet sould. Yet this I could not have granted nether. So that with much a doe in the end they gave me leave, as I past, to sell my goodes to any one would presently buy it, or else leave it to be sould with any Japon I thought good to trust with it. Which restrant hath much hindered our sales and put me to my shiftes, the rather for that the order of Japon is that no stranger may sell any thing at arivall of their shipps till it be knowne what the Emperour will take; so that it is allwais above a month or 6 wickes before a post can run to and fro to have lycence. And at my coming away Oyen Dono and Codsquin Dono, the Emperours secretarys, tould me that they were sory they could not remedy this matter of our privelegese at present, the reason being for that an Emperours edict per act of parliament being soe lately set out could not so sowne be recalled without scandalle, but the next yeare, yf 282 I renewed my sute, my demandes being so substantiated, they did verely think it might be amended, in respect Firando was well knowne to be but a fisher towne. So that I aledged the Emperour might as well take away all our privelegese and banish us out of Japon as to shut us up in such a corner as Firando, where no marchantes dwell. But I hope the next yeare, when Generall Keeling cometh, it may be amended; otherwais I feare me our Japon trade will not be worth the looking after. And it is to be noted that at my retorne to Miaco, haveing donne such busynes as I had theare, I would have left Richard Hudson, a boy, your Wor. servant, to have learnd to write the Japans; but might not be suffered to doe it, the Emperour haveing geven order to the contrary. Soe we withdrew all our factors from Edo, Miaco, Osakay, and Sackay to Firando. The fathers which came in the shipp from Aguapulca brought a present from the King of Spaine to the Emperour; but, after he had kept it halfe a yeare, he retorned it back, not reserving any thing, but bad them be gon. And I had allmost forgotten to adviz your Wors. of a Spaniard, which was at the Emperours court at Edo when I was theare. He went out of a ship of theirs from Xaxma, where 2 greate shipps of theirs arived out of New Spaine, bound, as they said, for the Phillippinas, but driven into that place per contrary wynd, both shipps being full of souldiers, with greate store of treasure, as it is said, above 5 millions of _pezos_. Soe they sent this man to kis the Emperours hand; but he never might be suffered to com in his sight, allthough he staid theare above a month; which vexed hym to see we had axcesse to the Emperour and he could not. So that he gave it out that our shipps and the Hollanders which were at Firando had taken and robbed all the China juncks, which was the occation that very few or non came into 283 Japon this yeare. And som greate men in the court did not want to aske me the question whether it were true or no, Mr. Wm. Adames being present. Which we gave them to understand that, concernynge the Englishe, it was most falce. And withall I enformed the two secretaries, Oyen Dono and Codsquin Dono, that, yf they lookt out well about these 2 Spanish shipps arived in Xaxma full of men and treasure, they would fynd that they were sent of purpose by the King of Spaine, haveing knowledg of the death of the ould Emperour, thinking som papisticall tono might rise and rebell and so draw all the papistes to flock to them and take part, by which meanes they might on a sudden seaz upon som strong place and keepe it till more succors came, they not wanting money nor men for thackomplishing such a strattagim. Which speeches of myne wrought so far that the Emperour sent to stay them, and, had not the greate shipp cut her cable in the howse so to escape, she had byn arested, yet with her hast she left som of her men behind; and the other shipp being of som 300 tons was cast away in a storme and driven on shore, but all the people saved. So in this sort I crid quittance with the Spaniardes for geveing out falce reportes of us, yet since verely thought to be true which I reported of them. Also may it please your Wors. that, at our being at themperours court, the amerall of the sea was very ernest with Mr. Wm. Adames to have byn pilot of a voyage they pretended to the northward to make conquest of certen ilands, as he said, rich in gould; but Mr. Adames exskewced hym selfe in that he was in your Wors. service and soe put hym afe. And as I am enformed, they verely think that our pretence to discover to the northward is to fynd out som such rich ilandes and not for any passage. Yet I tould the admerall to the contrary, and tould hym that my opinion was he might doe better to put it into the Emperours mynd to make a conquest of the Manillias and drive those small crew of 284 Spaniardes from thence, it being so neare unto Japon; they haveing conquered the Liqueas allready. He was not unwilling to listen heareunto, and said he would comunecate the matter to the Emperour. And out of dowbt yt would be an easy matter for the Emperour to doe it, yf he take it in hand, and a good occation to set the Japons heades awork, to put the remembrance of Ticus Samme and his sonne Fidaia Samme, so lately slaine and disinhereted, out of their minds. And tuching my former opinion of procuring trade into China, I am still of the same mynd. And, had it not byn for the greate wars betwixt the Tartars and them the last yeare, which cauced the Emperour of China to goe into the northermost partes of his kyngdom to withstand them, otherwais we had had news of entrance before now. Yet, notwithstanding, the Chinas which have the matter in hand have sent an expres about it againe, and caused two letters to be written in China (as from me) with my ferme at them, with two others in English from me to same effect, only for fation sake, because they might see my ferme was all one, the one letter being directed: To the mighty and powrefull Lord Fiokew, Secretary of Estate to the high and mightie Prince, the Emperour of China, manifesting that I had geven two hundred _tais_ to the bearer thereof, his Lo. servant, to buy hym necessaries in the way, hoping to receve som good news shortly from his Lo. of our entrance into China, with other complementall wordes, as the Chinas wisht me put downe. And the other letter was directed: To the greate and powrefull Lord Ticham Shafno, Councellor of Estate to the high and mighty Prince, the Emperour of China, also making relasion of ten greate bars Oban gould, amonting to 550 _tais_ Japon plate, deliverd to the said bearer to carry to hym as a toaken or small remembrance of my good will, hoping to heare som good news from hym, as in the other. But both the 10 bars gould and 200 _tais_ silver are sent from the China Capt. to them, yet put downe 285 in my name, as yf it came from me. In fine, these Chinas tell me that undowbtedly it will take effect, and the sowner yf the Portingales be sent from Macau this yeare, as they have adviz they shall. But, howsoever, these men follow the matter hardly, and tell me that the Emperour of China hath sent espies into all partes where the Spaniardes, Portingales, Hollanders, and we do trade, in these partes of the world, only to see our behaveours on towardes an other, as also how we behave our selves towardes strangers, especially towardes Chinas. And som have byn in this place and brought by our frendes to the English howse, where I used them in the best sort I could, as I have advized to Bantam, Pattania, and Syam to doe the lyke to all Chinas. * * * * * * Also may it please your Worships to understand that, since my retorne from the Japon cort, there came a mestisa Indian to me, which went to Cochinchina from Japon in the same junck which Mr. Peacock and Walter Carwarden went in, and sayeth the reportes are falce which are geven out against Mr. Peacockes host, that he set upon hym in the way to slay hym and the Duch, but rather that the matter hapned by meare chance, his said host being in the boate with hym when it was overthrowne, and escaped hardly ashore with swyming, being taken up halfe dead and hardly recovered health in a moneth after; and that Mr. Peacock carid 50 or 60 R. of 8 along with hym in his pocket, which was the occation of his drownyng, as apeard som dayes after when his body was fownd per Walter Carwarden (this mestisa accompanying hym) whoe fownd the said R. 8 in his pocket, and after gave his body buriall. And that Walter Carwarden staid in Cochinchina above a month after, before he imbarked hym selfe to retorne for Japon, the monson being past. So that, Mr. Peacock being dead and Walter Carwarden gon without going up to the court to receave the monies which the kyng owed for 286 merchandiz bought, that the kyng took occation to write Safian Dono, governor at Langasaque under the Emperour of Japon, to signefie unto hym of the death of the one Englishman and departure of the other, so that, yf an Englishman would com and receve the money he owed, he was ready to pay it. But the junck which brought that letter for Safian Dono was cast away, as well as that wherin Water Carwarden came, so that we never heard news of them. The boate wherein Mr. Peacock and the Hollanders were in was overset, or rather steamed, by another bigger boate runing against them on a sudden in turnyng at a corner, the other coming on a sudden upon them from behind a point of land, being under seale and haveing the currant with her; so that they had no meanes to avoid them, but were presently sunck downe and, the currant being swift, very few were saved, his host, a Japon, being one. I did what I could at my being at Edo to have procured the Emperours letter to the Kyng of Cochinchina in our behalfe, to have had restetution of such marchandiz he had bought, in respect we lived in Japon under his protection and that our goodes went in a Japon junck under his chape or pase; yet, doe what I could, he denid his letter, saying he would not medell in other mens matters, nether be behoulden to the King of Cochinchina for it. But now, coming to knowledg of these matters and seeing Capt. Adames to have bought a junck, going hym selfe for pilot in her, I have written to Safian Dono to let us have his letter of favour to the King of Cochinchina, to send som small adventure with hym. And Edmond Sayer is very desirous to goe along with Mr. Wm. Adames; but as yet the adventure is not determined upon. God send it good suckcesse. * * * * * * I receved a box by the _Adviz_ with a certen roote in it, which came 287 from Cape Bona Speranza; but it proveth here worth nothing, it being dried that no substance remeaneth in it. Herewithall I send your Wors. som of it, with an other peece of that which is good and cometh out of Corea. It is heare worth the wight in silver, but very littell to be had in comune mens handes, for that all is taken up for the Emperour by the Kyng of Tushma, whome only hath lycense to trade with the Coreans, and all the tribute he payeth to the Emperour is of this rowte. Yt is helde heare for the most pretious thing for phisick that is in the world, and (as they thinke) is suffitient to put lyfe into any man, yf he can but draw breath; yet must be used in measure, or else it is hurtfull. * * * * * * The China captens which labour to get us entrance into China doe tell me that your Wors. canot send a more pretiouser thing to present the Emperour of China withall then a tree of currall, ether white or red. They say the Portingales of Macau gave a white corrall tree to the Emperour of China many yeares past, which he doth esteem one of the ruchest jewells he hath. Also they say that earelings or jewelles to hang in hattes, that are greate pearls and of an orient culler, are esteemed much in China. And som very greate looking glasses and fyne Semian chowters and white baftas are good for presentes, with som guns well damasked, but not soe hevie as these are which ordenarely are sent; and som dagges or pistalls, som short and others more longer. The three peeces currall your Wors. sent for a triall were disposed of as followeth, viz. 1 branch containing 1 _ta._ 1 _ma._ 5 _co._, and 1 branch containing 9 _ma._ 2 _co._, both geven the Emperour in his present; 1 branch containing 1 _ta._ 2 _co._, sould for ten _tais_ two _mas_ plate. But yf much com it will not sell at that rate. The biger the peces or branches are, and of a red culler well polished, are most in esteem; for they make buttens or knots of them to hange their 288 purces at. * * * * * * I know not what else to write, but that my greatest sorrow is I lye in a place which hitherto hath byn chargable and not benefitiall to your Wors., by reasons of the presentes contynewally geven, it being the fation of the contrey, or else there is noe staying for us yf we doe not as other strangers doe. And were it not for the hope of trade into China, or for procuring som benefit from Syam, Pattania, and (it may be) from Cochinchina trade, it were noe staying in Japon. Yet it is certen here is silver enough, and may be carried out at pleasure; but then must we bring them comodeties to ther lyking, as the Chinas, Portingales, and Spaniardes doe, which is raw silke and silke stuffs, with Syam sapon and skins; and that is allwais ready money, as price goeth, littell more or lesse. * * * * * * And soe I take my leave, commiting your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of the Allmighty, resting allwais Your Worps. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [161] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 342. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[162] Firando in Japon, le 16th of January, 1616[7]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * As tuching the discovery to be made from hence to the northward, to seeke for passage into England, there was noe mention thereof made in our former previleges, that the Emperour offered (or promised) to assist us therein, nether would they now put in any such matter. So that, to say the truth, yf we goe about to take such a matter in 289 hand, I know not well whether the Japons will assist us or no. Yet know I nothing to the contrary but they will. The coppie of our previlegese (as we have them now) I send yow here inclozed, I geting them translated my selfe by a learned _boz_, haveing two _juribassos_ with Capt. Adames to assist me at doeing thereof. * * * * * * Your Wors. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [162] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iv, no. 433. ------------------- _Coppie of the articles (or previleges) granted to the English nation by_ SHONGO SAMME, _Emperour of Japon_.[163] Be yt knowne unto all men that the English nation throughout all Japon, in what part thereof soever they arive with their shipping, shall, with all convenyent speed they can, retyre to the towne (and port) of Firando, there to make sale of their marchandiz, defending all other places and partes whatsoever in Japon not to receave any of their goodes nor merchandiz ashore, but at Firando only. 2. But yf it fortune through contrary wyndes (or bad wether) their shiping arive in any other port in Japon, that they shalbe frendly used in paying for what they take (or buy), without exacting any ancoradge, custom, or other extraordenary matters whatsoever. 3. That yf the Emperour needeth any thing their shiping bringeth, that it shall be reserved for hym in paying the worth therof. 4. That noe man force (or constraine) thenglish to buy nor sell with them, nether thenglish the like with the Japons, but that both parties deale the one with the other in frendly sort. 5. That yf any of the English nation chance to die in any part of 290 Japon, that the good, monies, and marchandiz, or whatsoever else is found to be in his custody at the hower of his death shall be helde to be or belong to hym (or them) unto whome the capt. or cape merchant of thenglish nation sayeth it belongeth unto. 6. That yf there be any difference or controvercy (be it of life and death or otherwais) amongst the English abord their shipps or aland, yt shall be at the disposing of the capt. or cape merchant to make an end thereof, without that any other justice in Japon shall tuch them or meddell in the matter. 7. The conclusion is, to comand all _tonos_ (or kinges), governors, and other offecers in Japon whatsoever to se the premesies afforsaid accomplished. [163] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iv, no. 379A. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[164] Fushamy in Japon, le 12th of September, 1617. Loving frendes,-- My last unto yow was of the 10th present from Miaco, advising yow of my arivall theare. And yistarday we came from thence to this place of Fushamy, to which place Capt. Adames came to us. The Coreans have byn royally receaved in all places wheare they came, by comandment from themperour. And, as we entred into Miaco, they took us to be Coreans, and therefore in greate hast, as we passed, strawed the streetes with sand and gravill, multetudes of people thrunging in to see us. I stand in greate hope we shall get our priveleges enlarged as before, and all thinges to content. But I canot write yow the truth thereof till I know how it will passe. Only this encuradgement I have from 291 Oyen Donos secretary, whoe heareth how matters are lyke to passe. Yf themperour enlarge our privelegese, I will forthwith send for our comodetis, as silk, wood, skins, cloth, quicksilver, etc. The Hollandars setting their Syam lead at 6-1/2, the Emperour hath refuced it and will not meddell with it, but take all ours. The Hollandars have made a greate complaint against the _Tono_ of Firando of their bad usage donne by the mouth of Jno. Yoossen, seting hym at nought, not soe much as going to vizet hym. And, as it seemeth, he stood in dowbt we would have don the like; yet, upon good considerations, I have thought fit to proceead in an other fation, not dowbting but I shall have better justis at Firando then heretofore. Keepe all these matters to your selfe, and, when I heare more, I will adviz yow from tyme to tyme and retorne with as much speed as possibly I may; and soe in hast comyt yow to God, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. This day we delivered our present to themperour, which was well accepted of with a cherefull countenance. Yt is said that to morrow the _dyrie_ ys to geve the title to themperour which he soe much desyreth. [164] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 14. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[165] Fushamy in Japon, le 27th of September, 1617. Loving frendes,-- Many letters have I written since my departure from Firando, but never receved any from yow, but them two which yow wrot me 2 daies after I departed from thence of arivall of _Sea Adventure_ at Tushma. Soe that, the wynd having byn good ever since, I marvell I have not 292 heard from yow. We have donne what we can both by word of mouth as also with supplecation (or writing) to have had our previlegese enlarged, and the rather by meanes of the Kinges Maties. letter sent themperour. But in the end are forced to content us with them as they were, that is, only for Firando and Langasaque. And because I was ernest to have had it otherwais, the councell took the matter in snuffe, esteeming it a presumption in me to aske lardger previlegese then all other strangers had. So then I desird they would write a letter to the Kinges Matie. of England, for my discharge, to show thoccation wherefore they did it. But that they denid to doe, telling me that we might content our selves with such composition as other men had, or, yf we did not lyke it, might retorne to our cuntrey yf we pleased. So now I stay only to get out our two _goshons_ for Syam and Cochinchina, and to get a dispach from themperour, which will be 3 or 4 daies before I think it will be ended. And then will I goe for Miaco to se yf we can doe any good for sales. And then will I for Osakay and Sackay and look out for the like, to se if I can procure plate to bring downe with me; otherwais it will be late to send it per the shipp. I think it will be 15 or 20 daies hence before I shall be ready to set from Osakay towardes Firando. So that, in the meane tyme, use your best endevour to make sales of such merchandiz as are belo; and stand not upon small matters to make ready money. Yt were good, yf yow can, to receve the lead money in melted or _somo_ plate, donne by a rendador, with themperours stampe upon it, for then will it passe in saffetie. Or yt were better yf yow could get it molten into bars lyke tyn bars, but of halfe the length, and of the just goodnes with rialles of eight; for soe am I advised from Bantam. I went thother day to Miaco to have vizeted the Corean embassadors 293 with a present; but the _Tono_ of Tushma would not let me have accesse unto them. So I turned back to Fushamy. The _Tono_ of Xaxma, with them of Goto and Umbra, had leave to retorne to their cuntres 2 or 3 daies past; but the _Tono_ of Firando cannot be permitted as yet, although he be very ill at ease. The ould _dire_ died som 8 or 10 daies past. But nether he nor his sonne, which now is _daire_, will geve themperour the name or title he soe much desireth; which geveth hym much discontent, as also the death of one of his sisters whoe was marid to a greate man not far from hence and died the other day. The castell of Osakay must be new builded, with a pagod neare unto Sackay, which weare destroied in these last wars; and all at themperours owne cost. Only the westarne _tonos_ must furnish men; but themperour will pay them, and not put any enhabetant to trowble about the doing thereof. Themperour hath geven greate presentes to the Coreans, as all the greate _tonos_ of Japon have donne the like; but for what occation I am not certen. This is all I know for the present; and so comit yow to God, resting allwais Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. For God sake take heed of fire; and forget not my pigions and fishes. Comend me to all our frendes, both hees and howes. To his lovinge frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. John Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Fushamy. Pay port. one _mas_ for letter and for other matters, as per adviz. [165] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 15. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[166] 294 Fushamy in Japon, le 1th of October, 1617. Loving frendes,-- Yow will not beleeve what a trowble we have had about our previlegese, and with much ado yistarday got Langasaque set in as well as Firando, and soe sealed per themperour. But, before it could be delivered, som took acceptions thereat, and so Langasaque is razed out againe, and matters remeane as before. Yet this morning I have sent Capt. Adames againe to get Goto and Shashma put in for shiping that, yf in case the _Tono_ of Firando abuse us, we may have a retiring place, as also to abcent our selves from the Hollanders, it not being to our content to live together. But whether they will grant this or no, I know not. Once we are put to Hodgsons choise[167] to take such previlegese as they will geve us, or else goe without. My dowbt is, they will drive us affe till the Emperour be gon (whoe they say will departe to morrow), so thinking to make us follow them to Edo; but truly I will rather leave all and retorne for Firando. I doe protest unto yow I am sick to see their proceadinges, and canot eate a bit of meate that 295 doth me good, but cast it up as sowne as I have eaten it. God send me well once out of this cuntrey, yf it be His blessed will. Mr. Wickham and Capt. Adames are not halfe currant neather, as also our folkes which came with us have byn sick, except Fatchman, Richard King haveing had his part. Kept till the 2th ditto. Yisternight came your letters dated in Firando the 8th and 9th ultimo, accompanid with the _goshon_, which came in good tyme (I instantly sending it to the Cort where there was much enquiring for it). Soe we gott out our _goshons_, but the privelegese as they were the last yeare. Warry, warry, warry! Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. God grant Tozayemon Dono do not play the jemeny with us in buying much of our merchandiz and stay there till he think I am com from hence, and so I shall nether meete hym heare nor theare, to make acco. with hym. I have the lyke dowbt of Neyemon Dono. To his lovinge frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. Jno. Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Fushamy. [166] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 17. [167] This early use of the proverbial "Hobson's choice" is almost conclusive against the usual explanation of the phrase, that it was derived from the method adopted by Hobson, the Cambridge carrier, in serving his customers with horses. Hobson was born in 1544 and died in 1630. Granting that the expression arose during his life-time, it could hardly have begun to pass into common usage before the close of the sixteenth century; and in those days such popular phrases were not communicated so fast as in ours. But here we find Cocks using it as early as 1617, after an absence of some years from England; and he would hardly have picked it up abroad. Again, Cocks was not a young man; and, as a rule, proverbs are learned and become part of our vocabulary in youth. "Hobson's choice" (or Hodgson's, as Cocks writes it) may very well have been an older popular saying which was applied to the Cambridge carrier's stable arrangements from the mere accident of his bearing the name he did. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[168] Firando in Japon, the 15th of February, 1617[8]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * Consernyng attempting trade into Cochinchina, yt was generally agreed upon the last yeare, as I advized your Wor. in my letter; Ed. Sayer being sent upon that busynes, and went in a junck of Mr. Wm. Adames, 296 he being both master and owner, and was to pay for fraight and passage as other men did and according to the custom of the cuntrey, and carid a cargezon goodes with hym. * * * * * * Edmond Sayer retorned ... having donne his best endevour, with the assistance of Mr. Wm. Adames, to learne out the truth of Mr. Peacockes death. And fynd that he was murthered by a Japon, his host, with the consent of one or two of the cheefest men about the kyng, and, as it is said, the yong prince was of their councell, but the ould kyng knoweth nothing thereof but that he was cast away by mere chance or misfortune. These greate men and his host shared all the goodes and money amongst them, as well of the Hollanders as thenglish whome were slaine all together in one small boate, it being steamed or oversett with a greater full of armed men. They are enformed that Mr. Peacockes ill behaveor was partly occation; for at first the king used hym kyndly and gave us larg previlegese to trade in his domynions. And one day a greate man envited hym to dyner, and sent his cheefe page to conduct hym, he being sonne to a greate man. But he coming into the place wheare Mr. Peacock sate, he gave hym [hard] wordes and bad hym goe out and sit with the boyes. And, as som say, being in drink, he tore the previlegese the king had geven hym for free trade and cast the peeces under his feete. These and other matters (which is reported he did) did much estrang the peoples hartes from hym, and, as it was thought by som whome saw how matters went, was the cheefe occation which caused his death. Mr. Adames and Ed. Sayer were very ernest to have had speech with the kyng, which at first that greate nobelman was contented, as it seemed. But, when he knew they would bring in question the murthering of Mr. Peacock (he being giltie of it), he put them affe from tyme to tyme 297 with delaies, and in the end did flatly gainsay them. And, had they gone, out of dowbt they had byn murthered in the way. * * * * * * I am of your Wor. opinion that, except we procure trade into China, it will not quite cost to mentayne a factory in Japon.... I have this yeare byn againe at themperours court, in company of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Wm. Adames, hoping to have got our previlegese enlarged, as Codsquin Dono and Oyen Dono did put me in hope the last yeare.... We gave the present to themperour as from his Matie., and amongst the rest went a scritorio sent in adventure from my Lady Smith, esteemed at 40 markes, with the gloves, mittens, looking glasse and other silver implementes in it, with an other present aparte for the shipp, as the Japon custom is. Which presentes were taken in good sort, with many complementall wordes; but in the end were answered we had as larg prevelegese as any other strangers, wherewith we might rest contented, or, yf we fownd not trade to our content, we might departe when we pleased and seeke better in an other place. So then I desird I might have an answer to the letter he had receved from the Kinges Matie. of England, wherby he might perceve I had delivered both letter and present. But answer was made me, the letter was sent to his father, Ogosho Samma, the deceased Emperor, and therefore held ominios amongst the Japons to answer to dead mens letters. I aledged they needed not to feare that we had any accoyntance with the pristes or padres; but they tould me that was all one, the Emperour would have his owne vassales to get the benefite to bring up merchandize rather then strangers. So that now it has com to passe, which before I feared, that a company of rich usurers have gotten this sentence against us, and com downe together every yeare to Langasaque and this place, and have allwais byn accustomed to buy by the _pancado_ (as they call 298 it), or whole sale, all the goodes which came in the carick from Amacau, the Portingales having no prevelegese as we have, but only a monson trade, and therefore must of necessety sell. * * * * * * The Chinas of late tyme, within these 2 or 3 yeares, have begun a trade into certen ilandes called by them Tacca Sanga, and is named in our sea cardes Isla Fermosa, neare to the cost of China. The place the shiping enters into is called Las Islas Piscadores, but non but small shiping can enter, nether will they suffer any shiping or trade with any people but Chinas. It is within 30 leagues (as they say) of the meane of China, soe that they make 2 or 3 voyages in small shipping each monson. Andrea Dittis and Capt. Whow, his brother, are the greatest adventurers for that place. They sent 2 small junckes the last yeare, and bought silke for the one halfe they pay ether at Cochinchina or Bantam. The reason was the greate aboundance which came together this yeare and the littell money that was sent to buy, so that above one halfe was retorned into China for want of money, for they say the people are barbarous and have not the use of silver. * * * * * * I have rec. 2 letters from the Kynges Matie. to the King of China, sent from Bantam by Mr. Ball, the one in frendly sort and the other som stricter termes. Mr. Ball writes me that no Chinas at Bantam dare nether translate them nor carry them when they are translated, upon payne of their lives and even of all their generation. But these our China frendes, Dittis and Whaw, will not only translate them, but send them by such as will see them delivered. But their opinion is, yt is not good to send the thretnyng letter, for they are assured there will nothing be donne with the king by force. But as we have a good name 299 geven of us of late, that we are peacable people, soe to goe forward still in that sort. * * * * * * I had almost [forgotten to tell your Wor. of the coming of the] ambassadors from the Kyng of Corea to the Emperour of Japon, having above 500 men attending upon them. They went up at same tyme I went to themperours court, and were, by the Emperours comand, royally entertaind by all the _tonos_ (or kinges of Japon) thorow whose terretories they passed, and all at the Japons charge, they first begyning with the _Tono_ of Tushma, and next with hym of Firando, etc.; and coming to the court the Emperour made them to dyne at his owne table, they being served by all the _tonos_ (or kinges) of Japon, every one having a head attire of a redish culler with a littell mark of silver lyke a fether in it. Mr. Adames was in presence and saw it. * * * * * * Your Wor. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Worll. the Governor, deputy Committies, and Generallety of the East India Company, deliver in London. [168] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. v, no. 615. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[169] Langasaque in Japon, this 21th of February, 1618[9]. Loving frendes,-- We arrived heare yisternight an hower before sunne seting, Capt. Adames being arived the day before and came out and met us with the China Capt., all the China junckes haveing out their flagges and stremars, with St. George amongst the rest, and shott affe above 40 chambers and peeces of ordinance at my arivall. I wish I had had noe _goshon_, for the trowble and vexation it puteth 300 me unto, and know not how to remedy it. Yet now it is concluded that our _goshon_ shall goe in that new junck at Firando, and Capt. Adames goeth capt. and pilot in her, for Tonkyne. I have much speeches heare betwixt Alvaro Munos and Jorge Durons about the caffro; but Alvaro Munos standeth stiffly to it that it is the same caffro, and Jorge Durons saieth it is an other. I have delivered Mr. Nealsons letter to Jorge, and in the end the truth will com out. I know not what else to write, but leave yow to the protection of thallmightie, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. To his loving frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. Jno. Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Langasaque. [169] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 35. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO JOHN OSTERWICK.[170] Nangasaque in Japon, the 18th of February, 1619[20]. Loving frend, Mr. Osterwick,-- The next day after our departure from Firando, being the xvjth currant, we arived at Nangasaque, having, the day before, mett with a bark of Firando, which brought me a letter from Mr. Eaton and therinclozed an other from yow. My letter I opened and read over, and afterwardes sent it, with a few allmondes for Mr. Nealson, and your letter with it, per the same partie and bark which brought it, to the intent yow both might read it over and see the contentes. Yet I think it will not prove soe dangerous a matter as at the reading of the letter I suppozed it would have byn, for humors now and then are over much predomenant in som men; but, as the saying is, _nemo sine crimene vivet_. You must pardon me, yf I speak falce Latten. 301 Yistarday we sett our junckes mastes, and I hope will not now be long before she will be ready. We fynd her to be biggar of stoadg then we formerly expected. I have byn with Capt. Adames at Gonrok Dono, and in thend concluded the price of our lead at 5-1/2 _tais_ the _pico_. But Gonrok will first speake with themperours _bongews_ or councellors thereof, and, in the meane tyme, will deliver us eight hundred _taies_ in parte of payment, and will send a man to way out all the lead, and leave it in our howse till order com downe to take it and pay the rest of the money. And, as Gonrok tells me, the Hollanders have made prise at 5 _taies pico_, and waid it all and delivered it into the handes of the King of Firando. But I esteem this but a tale. And so I comit yow to thallmightie, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. To his loving frend, Mr. Wm. Nealson, English merchant, deliver in Firando. From Nangasaque. This letter should be derected Mr. Jno. Osterwick, etc. [170] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 37. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[171] Nangasaque in Japon, the 10th of Marche, 1619[20]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- After my humble dutie remembred, may it please yow to understand that, by the indirect dealinges and unlooked for proceadinges of the Hollanders, this is the therd yeare since we hadd any shipping came from England or Bantam to Japan. Neather in all this tyme have we had any conveance to enforme your Worshipps of the manifold abuses offered unto us within these kingdoms of Japon, notwithstanding the 302 lardge prevelegese we have from the Emperour that the Japons them selves may not meddell with us. Yet these Hollanders have, by sound of trumpet abord all their shipps in the harbour of Firando, procleamed open warrs against our English nation, both by sea and land, with fire and sworde, to take our shipps and goods and destroy our persons to the uttermost of their power, as to their mortall enemies. And their cheefe comander which came hither last, called Adam Westerwood, sett my life at sale, offering 50 R. of 8 to any man that could kill me, and 30 R. for each other Englishman they could kill; which their proceadinges could not be soe secretly donne, but I hadd dailie notis thereof by som of their owne people, although they were comanded upon payne of death to the contrary. And because your Wors. shall understand all how it hath passed, it is as hereafter followeth, viz.:-- After that the comander (as they call hym), Jno. Derickson Lamb, came hither from the Molucos and passed by the Manillias, where he took divers China junckes and staid soe long on that cost that the Spanish gallions came out against hym and sunck the admerall shipp, called the _New Sunne_, wherein Derickson Lamb hym selfe was, whoe escaped very hardly abord an other shipp, wherein he came to Japon. The Spaniardes also burned two other of the Hollandes fleete, and made all the rest to run away, without losse of any Spanish shipp, etc. And Jno. Derickson Lamb, going away, left the _Ould Sunne_, a great ship with 38 or 40 peeces ordinance in her, with an other shipp, called the _Gallias_, of 300 tonns, as they say, with 30 peeces of ordinance in her, and sent them abootehawling one the cost of China, and from thence to the Manillias, where they h[ad] the rifling of xvi seale of China junckes, and filled them with such as they liked and 303 sett the rest on fire, and brought the China junckes along with them, being the best and ruchliest laden, puting som 8 or 9 Hollanders into each junck; but, by fowle wether at sea, they lost company of the shipps, soe that the Chinas, being too strong for the Hollanders, cut all their throtes, and carid all the junckes into China, as we hadd certen newes thereof. These 2 shipps, the _Sunne_ and _Gallias_, arived at Firando the 6th and 8th day of June, 1618. And the 8th day of August after heare arived an English shipp, called the _Attendance_, which the Hollanders sent hither from the Molucas, to our greater disgrace, but not an Englishman in her. So that, by generall consent, it was thought fitt I went to themperours court to complaine, thinking we might have hadd restetution, considering the lardge preveleges we have in Japon. But answer was made that for factes comitted in other places themperor would not meddell with it, but for anything donne in his owne dominions he would see us have right. Soe the three forenamed shipps, _Sunne_, _Gallias_, and _Attendance_, were sett out againe, the _Sunne_ to carry their most best stuffes and silke, her full lading, to goe for Bantam; and the other two to goe for the Manillas, to meete an other Hollandes fleete, because they had certen news that 6 of the King of Spaines gallions were cast away per misfortune at Manillas, which was true, soe that the Spaniardes hadd no strength to com out against them. Soe they took 3 China junckes more, but noe greate wealth in them, only they found such good refreshing that it saved the lives of their hongerstarved men; otherwaies they hadd never lived to see Japon. Soe now may it please your Wors. to understand this last yeare, I meane reckning before Christmas, here cam 7 seale of Hollanders for this cuntrey of Japon and to this towne of Firando, viz.:-- 1. The _Bantam_, a shipp of 1000 tonns, wherin Adam Westerwood came. 304 2. The _New Moone_, a shipp of 7 or 800 tonns, vizadmerall. 3. The _Gallias_ before named, of above 300 tonns. 4. The _Attendance_, thenglish shipp before named. 5. The _Swan_, an other English shipp taken by them at Molucas. And out of these shipps 3 Englishmen escaped ashore and came to thenglish howse to seeke releefe, telling us they were used more like dogges then men amongst the Hollanders. Their names are as followeth: John Moore, John Joones, Edward Curwin; these 3 men brought presoners in Hollandes shipps. The Hollanders demanded these 3 men to be retorned back unto them; unto whome I made answer, I would first see their comition how they durst presume to take our English shiping, men, and goodes, as they did. So then they went to the _Tono_ (or King) of Firando, and demanded that their English _kengos_ (which in Japons is sclaves) should be sent back unto them. Unto whome the _tono_ made answer that he took not the English to be sclaves to the Hollanders, we having such lardge preveleges in Japon as we hadd, and therefore willed them to goe to themperour and demand them of hym, and what he ordayned should be performed, etc. Also their came a penisse from the Molucas, called the _Fox_, to bring newes of the fight betwixt thenglish fleete and the Hollanders att Jaccatra, and that these shipps should make hast to the Molucas with powder, shott, victuelles, and other provition, etc. And last of all came an other greate shipp from Pattania, called the _Angell_, being the admerall of 3 shipps which came together and sent of purpose to take the _Samson_ and _Hownd_, two other English shipps, wherin Capt. Jno. Jourden, the presedent, came cheefe comander; they Hollanders coming upon them on a sudden as they road at an ancor in 305 the roade of Pattania, nott dowbting any such matter, where they took both the said shipps, after the death of Capt. Jourden and others. Out of which shipp _Angell_ Mr. Wm. Gourden and Michell Payne escaped ashore, by the assistance of Mr. Wm. Adames; otherwais they hadd byn sent captives (as the Duch terme it) to the Molucas. Mr. Gourden was master of the _Hownd_, and Michell Payne carpenter of the _Samson_. As also a Welchman, named Hugh Williams, escaped from them and came to the English howse the morrow after. By which 3 men, as also by an open letter which I receved from Mr. Adam Denton from Pattania in the Duch shipp _Angell_, we understand of the proceadinges of the Hollanders against our nation; the copie of which letter I send your Wors. here inclozed. But to conclud the unruly dealinges of the Hollanders: when they saw they could not by any meanes gett back the Englishmen which escaped from them, allthough they laid secrett ambushes ashore to have taken them, which being reveled to me by som of their owne people, then they came to outbrave us in the streetes before our owne dores, urging us with vild speeches; soe that from words som of our people and they fell to blowes, where one of the Hollanders got a scram, which made the rest soe madd that they came on shore by multetudes, thinking by force to have entred into our howse and cutt all our throates, geveing 3 assaltes in one day. Yet the Japons took our partes, that they could doe us no harme, although there were v. or vj. C. of them against v. or vj. persons of us. And the next day morning after, when we thought nothing, a company of them entred our howse, armed with piks, swordes, and _cattans_, where they wounded John Coaker and an other, thinking they hadd kild one of them at least, as they made their bragges after. Soe that we weare constrayned to keepe in our howse a gard of Japons, night and day, armed, at meate, drink, and wages, to your Wors. greate 306 charge. Soe that the king of Firando comanded watch and ward to be kept in the streetes, that noe Hollanders might be suffered to passe by our dores. But then they went in swarmes by water, shaking their naked swords at us, calling us by a thousand filthie names; which coming to the knowledg of the _tono_, he sent for Capt. Jacob Speck, princepall (or cape merchant) of the Hollanders in Japon, and caused hym to geve a writing in Japons before witnesses, with his ferme at it, that from that tyme forward no Hollander should misuse an Englishman, nether in word nor deed, and then caused me, Richard Cocks, to geve an other to the same effect, with my ferme at it, before the same witnesses, that noe Englishman should doe the like to any Hollanders. Yet, before 3 or 4 daies were passed, the Hollanders began againe to misuse us; for that Edmond Sayer, being retorned of a voyage he hadd made for your Wors. affares to Cochinchina and arived at Nangasaque, sentt Richard King to Firando to advertis me thereof and to bring our _foyfone_ (or bark) with hym to carry the comodetis he hadd brought to Firando. But as the said Ric. King was going out in the said bark, accompanied with our _jurebasso_, the Hollanders armed out five or six barkes or shipp boates after them, full of men, with guns, pikes, swordes, and other weapons, and took hym presoner with the bark and carid hym to the Hollands howse, using hym very churlishly. The _tono_ being an eye witnesse and looker on when they did it, mooved hym soe much that he sent out certen boates full of souldiers after them, to have reskewed Ric. King; but they came to late, for the Hollanders hadd carried hym into their howse before they came. Soe the souldiers laid hand on Capt. Speck hym selfe and carid hym presoner to the _tonos_ howse, where he remeaned most parte of the day, till Richard King was sett free. But this matter was noe sowner overpast but our junck arived from 307 Syam, wherin Mr. Eaton came and advized me of their arivall on this coast, and to send them a boate or two to helpe to toe them in, which I did; and Ed. Sayer, Richard Kinge, and John Coaker went in them with our _jurebasso_. But, passing by the Hollandes shipps in this harbor, they bent a peece of ordinance against them, which took falce fire. Which they seeing, discharged 4 or 5 muskettes at them with langarell (or cheane) shott; but, by greate fortune, missed the Englishmen and kild a Japon. Which open injuries being offered against us in Japon (contrary to the preveleges geven us by the Emperour), yt was thought fitt (and agreed upon by a generall councell) that I should goe to the court of the Emperour of Japon, to make their doinges knowne unto his Matie. and to demand justice; which I did, with much labour and greate cost to your Wors. And order was geven by the Emperours comand and his previe councell to the _Tono_ or King of Firando to heare both parties and see justis performed. Yet, from that tyme till now, there is nothing donne, although I have divers tymes very instantly desired it of the kinge, whose best answer I eaver could gett was, that the Hollanders had kild no Englishman, but a Japonar, his owne vassale, which yf he were content to pardon, what hadd I to doe therwith? And that which is worse, we being makinge cables for our junck in the streetes of Firando, the servantes of a gentelman called Semi Dono picked a quarrell against Ed. Sayer as he, Wm. Eaton, and Jno. Osterwick were looking on the workmen; and, without any reazon came out against them with clubbs and staves, and knockt downe Ed. Sayer, wounding hym very sore; and the rest escaped not free, but were shrodly beaten, and, hadd they not by good fortune gotten into a howse, they hadd kild them all. For the which abuse I went first to Semi Dono to complaine, but he would not vouchsaffe to speake to 308 me. Soe I complained to the kinge, thinking to have hadd justice; but, to the contrary, he sent me word that by councell he hadd banished two men of Semi Donos out of his dominions, which were the authors thereof, as he did the like by Edmond Sayer, telling me that, yf I did not forthwith send hym to Nangasaque, he would geve orders to kill hym the first tyme he went out of the dores into the street. Unto which I made answer, it was against the preveleges geven us by the Emperour, desiring hym to lett me pleade for my selfe, to show my greefes, or else lett the matter be brought before the Emperour. But the kinge would not heare me speak any ferther in this matter, but badd me stand to the danger, yf I sent hym not away. Yet still I pleaded that the Hollanders hadd donne much more, even to the killinge of Japons, and yet were not banished nor any thing said to them for it, nether for any other abuses offered against us; and Ed. Sayer nor no other Englishman hadd nether wounded nor hurt any Japon for this matter he was banished for, yet he hym selfe being wounded almost to death. But all would not serve, soe that I was constrayned to send Ed. Sayer to Nangasaque, and soe from thence to goe for Bantam or any other place where the English fleete is, to geve the precedent and cheefe comanders to understand thereof, etc. For may it please your Wors. to understand that, having soe many Englishmen lying idly in the factory, with those which were heare before, and noe shipping to carry them away, as well to avoid charg of howse keepinge as also to geve your Wors. to understand how matters passe, it was ordayned per a general councell to buy a small _soma_ or vessell of som 50 tonns, to carry these men whose names follow (at their owne ernest request) to seek out the fleete in Java, Sumatra, or else wheare, to helpe to fight against the commune enemie, as they have procleamed them selves, I meane the Hollander, as also to 309 carry gunpowder, shott, beefe, pork, biskitt, tunnie fish, and other provition, soe much as conveniently the vessell can carry. The names of the Englishmen which goe are as followeth, viz:--Edmond Sayer, James Burges, Thomas Harod, Wm. Gorden, Robt. Hawley, Jno. Portes, Migell Payne, John Coaker, John Moore, John Joones, Ed. Curwine, Jno. Yonge, Hugh Williams, Peeter Griffine. Also there goe 9 Japon marrenars with them for their more strengthning, as also because their seals are of mattes, after the Japon fation, wherin they are more expert then our English men. And, for their better defence they carry 4 falcons, 2 of brasse and 2 of iron, with 2 long brasse bases, 2 fowlars or murtherers, 3 hargabush of crock, 5 English muskettes, and 8 Japon calivers, with good powder and shott suffitient, etc. The junck name is called the _Godspeed_, of the burthen of 50 tonns or upwardes, and cost us iiij C. xxx _tais_ first peny, being open behind as all _somas_ are, but we have made her now to steare shipp fation. God prosper her and send them a good voyage. * * * * * * Truly to my hartes greefe I am eavery day more then other out of hope of any good to be donne in Japon, except trade may be procured into China, which I am not yet out of hope of. Although Capt. Whaw of Nangasaque be dead, whoe was a cheefe dealer hearin, yet his brother, Capt. Andrea Dittis of Firando, tells me it is concluded upon, and that he expects a kinsman of his to com out of China with the Emperours passe, promesing to goe hym selfe with me in person, when we have any shipping com to goe in; for in Japon shipping we cannot goe for China. This Andrea Dittis is now chosen capten and cheefe comander of all the Chinas in Japon, both at Nangasaque, Firando, and else wheare, and I trust in God will prove the author in soe happie a matter as to gett trade into China. But of all the merchandiz we have this last yeare, before Christmas 310 came, from Syam, Cochinchina, and Tonkyn, as reed wood, lead, deare skins, and silke of severall prices, we cannot make sale of any thing; which maketh me to wonder, for the other yeare before was much greater quantety of all comodetis and yet sould dearer. * * * * * * Our lead, which never heretofore lesse then 6 _tais_, now worth 5 _tais_; but none dare buy it for feare of themperour. Soe I have set it at 5-1/2 _tais pico_. But themperours _bongew_ will not take it absolutely at that price, before he have made it knowne to themperours councell, he being now bond up to the court and called thither per themperour, as it is thought to put an other in his place, which God forbid; he being now ruch is better to be dealt withall, but, yf a new hongry fello com, he will gnawe to the very boanes, as others heretofore have fownd by experience, two or three haveing byn changed in my time. But that which cheefly spoileth the Japon trade is a company of ruch usurers whoe have gotten all the trade of Japon into their owne handes; soe that heretofore by theare meanes we lost our preveleges geven us per Ogosho Samma themperour, wherin he permitted us to trade into all partes of Japon not excepted, and now per this Emperour Shongo Samma we are pend up in Firando and Nangasaque only, all other places forbidden us. For they have soe charmed themperour and his councell, that it is in vayne to seeke for remedy. And these fellowes are nott content to have all at their owne disposing above, but they com downe to Firando and Nangasaque, where they joyne together in seting out of junckes for Syam, Cochinchina, Tonkin, Camboja, or any other place where they understand that good is to be donne, and soe furnish Japon with all sortes of comodeties which any other stranger can bring, and then stand upon their puntos, offering others what they list them selves, knowing no man will buy it but 311 them selves or such as they please to joyne in company with them, nether that any stranger can be suffered to transport it into any other parte of Japon. Which maketh me alltogether aweary of Japon. * * * * * * And for our English broad cloth, I canot find that any greate quantety will be vented in Japon. For they use it not in garmentes, except som fewe in an outward cloak or garment now of late. But the greatest use they put it to is for cases or coveringes for armours, pikes, _langenattes_, _cattans_, or sables, with muskettes or guns. And the best cullars are stametes or blackes, with reddes, for venting any quantetie. And the best tyme is against warrs, for then every noble man will have his armours and munition sett out in gallant sort. But clothes of above xxli. str. a whole clo. are too deare for Japon, for they doe not respect soe much the fynenesse of the cloth as they do the quantetie of the measure. And the cullers which are best after black and redd are sadd blewes, culler du roy, or mingled cullers neare unto that of culler due roy. * * * * * * So that, to conclude this tediouse and unprofitable discourse, I esteem our Japon trade alltogether unprofetable, yf wee procure not trade into China. But, yf it please God that your Wors. lay hould or determen to sett foote in the Molucas, then Japon must be your store howse, as it is the Hollanders. For from hence they make their provition in aboundance, viz. great ordinance both of brasse and iron, with powder and shott good cheape; beefe and pork, in greate quantetie; meale and bisquite, as much as they will; garvances, or small peaze or beanes, in abondance; and dried fish lyke a breame, called heare _tay_, in aboundance; tunnie fish salted, in greate quantetie; rack or aquavite, of any sort, in aboundance; rice, in what quantetie they will; with other sortes of Japon wine made of rise, 312 what they will; and pilchardes, in greate quantetie, either pickled or otherwais. And for provition of shiping, either tymber or plankes, with mastes, yardes, or what else to make a shipp, with good carpenters to work it, as also rozen or pitch enough, but no tarr. Also ther is hempe indifferent to make cables, and them which can resonably well work it. And for iron work, neales, and such lyke, there is noe want, and smiths that can make ancors of hamer work of 20 or 30 C. wight, yf need be; for such have byn made for carickes which came from Amacon to Nangasaque, etc. * * * * * * Also heretofore at severall tymes I have sent my acco. to Bantam, according to your Wor. order, with coppies thereof, to the precedent or cheefe in that place, the other to be sent for England. Yet, as I understand, they have detayned all at Bantam and sent non for England; and Mr. Balle per name hath wrott to some Englishmen in this place, whoe loved me not soe littell but they shewed me his letters, wherin he taxed my acco. to be erronios and alltogether falce and fetched about with a trick beyond rule, soe that he wondered they should jumpe soe neare in ballance, being soe notably falce. But yf Mr. Balle hadd byn soe good a frend unto me as he would make me to beleeve in som lynes of his letters (yet he never gave me roast meate but he did beate me with the spitt)--I beeseeke your Wors. to pardon me yf I be too forward of tonge herein--I say, yf Mr. Balle had ought me soe much good will, yt hadd byn a frendly parte to have amended that which hadd byn amiss, yf such were to be donne, and then to have sent the acco. forward, and not to keepe all back, saying it was falce or erronios.... My greefe is, I lie in a place of much losse and expence to your Wors. and no benefitt to my selfe, but losse of tyme in my ould adge, allthough God knoweth my care and paines is as much as yf 313 benefite did come thereby. Yet truly, yf the tyme or place, or other occation amend it not, I shall, as I came a pore man out of England, retorne a beggar home, yf your Wor. have noe consideration thereof, although your Wor. shall never find that I have byn a gamstar or riatouse person which have spent eather your Wor. or my owne goodes riatosly or out of order. I beseek your Wors. to pardon my overbould speeches hearin. But, yf it hadd pleased God that Generall Keeling or any other your Wors. apointed hadd com to Japon to have overseene the affares in this factory, it would have byn a greate comfort unto me and ridd me of a greate deale of care; for most an end for the space of two yeares Mr. Nealson hath byn very sick, and Mr. Jno. Osterwick littell lesse, and both of them at this instant soe extreame sick that I dowbt much of their recovery, which hath [byn] and is a hinderance to me in the proceadinges of acco. and writing out of coppies, they two being all the helpe I have hadd, others going abroad on voyages for your Wor. affares. God of his mercy send them their healthes, for they are soe weake that I esteeme they cannot write by this conveance nether to your Wors. nor noe other frendes. And, whereas heretofore I wrott your Wors. that Shongo Samma, the Emperour that now is, had shortned our preveleges, that we should trade into noe other partes of Japon but only Nangasaque and Firando, and our shipping to goe only to Firando, now he hath permitted us to goe with our shipps for Nangasaque as well as Firando at our chose. And the harbor at Nangasaque is the best in all Japon, wheare there may 1,000 seale of shipps ride land lockt, and the greatest shipps or carickes in the world may goe in and out at pleasure and ride before the towne within a cables length of the shore in 7 or 8 fathom water at least, yt being a greate cittie and many ruch marchantes dwelling 314 in it, where, to the contrary, Firando is a fisher towne and a very small and badd harbor, wherin not above 8 or 10 shipps can ride at a tyme without greate danger to spoile one other in stormy weather; and that which is worst, noe shipping can enter in or out of that harbour, but they must have both tide and winde as also 8 or 10 penisses or barkes to toe them in and out, the currant runeth soe swift that otherwaies they canot escape runing ashore; where, to the contrary, there is no such mattar at Nangasaque, yt being one of the fairest and lardgest harbours that eaver I saw, wherinto a man may enter in and goe out with shiping at all tymes, the wind serving, without helpe of boate or penisse. And in Nangasaque there is noe king nor noble man, but only the Emperours _bongew_ (or governar) of the place; soe that we need not to geve presentes to more then one at any shipps entring. But at Firando there is the king hym selfe, with two of his brothers, and 3 or 4 of his uncles, besides many other noble men of his kindred; all which look for presentes, or else it is no living amongst them; and that which is more, they are allwaies borowing and buying, but sildom or neaver make payment, except it be the king hym selfe. So that it maketh me altogether aweary to live amongst them, we not being abell to geve and lend them as the Hollanders doe, whoe geve them other mens goods which they neaver paid for. Soe that they are accompted better then true men and better used then we, as apeareth by banishing Ed. Sayer without any occation, which it may be the _Tono_ of Firando may repent before it be long, and, as som say, wisheth allready it were undon; for I have written to Syam, Pattania, and Bantam, that yf they send any shipping for Japon hearafter, that my opinion is, and the rest of the Englishmen heare are the lyke, to send them for Nangasaque, where the governor offereth to lett us have a plott of ground or to take a house in any place of the cittie where we lyke best. So that now many tyme and often we have wished that your 315 Wor. howsing att Firando stood at Nangasaque, which heretofore was not thought fitt, because then a papist Portingale bushopp lived in the towne and ther was 10 or 12 parish churches, besids monestaries, all which are now pulld downe to the grownd this yeare, an end being made thereof; and the places where all such churches and monestaries weare, with the churchyords, are all turned into streetes, and all the dead mens boanes taken out of the grownd and cast forth for their frendes and parentes to bury them where they please. I doe not rejoyce herin, but wish all Japon were Christians; yet in the tyme of that bushopp heare were soe many prists and Jesuists with their partakers, that one could not passe the streetes without being by them called Lutranos and herejos, which now we are very quiet and non of them dare open his mouth to speake such a word. And soe, beseeching the God of heaven to blesse and prosper your Wors. in all your proceadinges, I humbly take my leave, restinge Your Wors. most humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Wor. the Governor, Depute Committis, and Generalletie of the East India Company of England deliver in London. Per the way of Bantam in the juncke _Godspeed_, whom God preserve. [171] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 841. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE CLOTHWORKERS' COMPANY.[172] Nangasaque in Japon, the 10th of Marche, 1619[20]. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- May it please yow to understand that, since my arivall in Japon in these eastarne partes of the world, I wrot yow an other letter by a Dutch chirurgion, called Mr. Abraham Blancard, advising your Wors. 316 of my long voyadge into these partes, passing by Cape Bona Speranza, the Redd Sea, Bantam in Java major, the Molucas, and soe to the eastwardes of the Phillipinas into these kingdoms of Japon, wheare now I have remeaned allmost the space of vij yeares. Of the which I thought good to adviz your Wors. of the just occation of my abcense, to the entent I fall into noe broake for the neclecting thereof, as I know others have donne. I also wrot your Wors. from Bayon in France to same effect, many yeares past, by a Duchman of Middebrogh, called James Vrolick. Which former letters I make no dowbt came unto your Wors. handes, etc. Allso, may it please yow to understand that we are much molested in these partes of the world with the unruly Hollanders, whoe have procleamed open warrs against our English nation both by sea and land, and to take our shipps and goods and kill our persons as their mortall enemies, wheresoever they find us. And, for better proof thereof, they broght two English shipps this yeare into Japon, out of which 3 Englishmen escaped and came to our English howse for releefe. The shipps names taken weare, viz. the _Swan_ and the _Attendance_. They took also two other English shipps this yeare, riding at an ancor in the roade of Pattania, not dowbting any such matter, three Hollandes shipps coming upon them on the sudden. In which hurly burly Capt. John Jourden, our precedent of the Indies, lost his life, with many others. One of which 3 shipps (which took them) came this yeare to Firando in Japon, out of whome escaped other 3 Englishmen and came to the English howse for releefe, as the former did; by whome we understood the shipps taken weare the _Samson_ and the _Hownde_; the Hollanders at Firando takeing their escape in such dudgin that they demanded their captives (as it pleased them to call them) to be deliverd back againe unto them. Unto whome I answered that I would first see their comition, how they durst presume to take our shipping, 317 goods, and persons, as they did. Unto which they replied nothing, but went to the _Tono_ (or King) of Firando, demanding of hym that their English slaves (as they termed them) might be retorned back unto them. Unto whome he answerd he took not Englishmen to be slaves to them, but, yf they pretended any such matter, they might goe to the Emperour, and what he ordayned should be performed. Soe they, seeing their expectations frustrated, ment to have entred our English howse and cut all our throates; which they wanted but littell to have effected, geving 3 assalts against us in one day, they being 100 of them to 1 Englishman; yet God preserved us from them, the Japoneses, our neighbours, taking our partes. Soe that then their generall or cheefe comander, called Adam Westarwood, sett my life at sale, promesing 50 rialles of 8 to any one would kill me, and 30 of the like for the life of each other English merchant, with many other stratagems they used against us too long to be repeated. Yet God hitherto hath defended us from them all. Of the which I thought good to advertis your Wors., knowing well that many of yow are of this Right Honble. and Right Worll. Sosietie or Companie which trade into the East Indies, of which I my selfe am a pore and unworthie member, as I am the like of the Merchantes Adventurars and made free of the ould Hance. And soe, with my humble dutie remembred, with desire and my prayer unto Allmightie God to blesse and prosper your Wors. in all your proceadinges, I leave yow to the holy tuition of thallmightie. By an unworthie membar of your Right. Worll. Sosietie, RIC. COCKS, Clothworker. [172] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 839. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[173] 318 Firando in Japon, the 13th of December, 1620. Right Worll. Ser and Sers,-- After my humble dutie remembred. May it please yow to understand that my last letter was dated in Nangasaque the 10th of Marche, 1619, sent per a small junck or vessell called the _Godspeed_ to seek out our English fleete at Bantam or else wheare; but, meeting with stormy wether and contrary windes at sea, lost their voyadge, having their seales blowen from the yardes, and lost all their cables and ancors but one, and with much ado in the end retorned to this port of Firando. The said letters I send againe by this conveance; unto the which I refer me. Also may it please your Wor. to understand that this yeare are arived in Japon these shipps following, viz.:-- The _James Royall_ came the first, and brought news of the peace made betwixt the two Companies. God be praised for it; and God grant the Duch may as fermly follow the orders prescribed as I make no dowbt the English will doe, and then their will noe occation of discontent be offered hereafter. The cheefe comander in the _James_ is Capt. Martyn Pring. The _Moone_ came next; Capt. Robt. Addames, comander and admerall. The _Palsgreve_; Charles Clevenger, capt. The _Elizabeth_; Edmond Lennis, capt. The _Bull_; Mr. John Munden, master or capt. The _Unicorne_ and English _Hope_ have lost their monson, soe we know not what is becom of them, except they retorned back to Pattania or Jaccatra; which God grant. And there are arived heare for the Hollanders this yeare:-- all Holland shipps. 319 The _New Bantam_; Jno. Johnson, comander, and vizadmerall to Capt. Adams. The _Trowe_; Capt. Lefevre, comander. The _Harlam_; Wm. Jonson, master. The Duch _Hope_; Henrock Valche, capt. The _Indraught_, a merchant shipp. both English shipps. The _Swan_; Mr. Howdane, comander The _Expedition_, cast away in Firando. And the Hollanders want a shipp called the _St. Michell_, a French shipp, which should have come hether this yeare but hath lost her monson. The _James Royall_ and the _Moone_ weare both sheathed heare this yeare, and the _Bull_ all masted, and the rest repared to content; and all the shiping disposed of as followeth, viz.:-- The _James Royall_ fall laden with provition for us and Duch for Jaccatra, and soe from thence pretended to goe for England. The _Indraught_ for the Molucos, laden with provition for the Hollanders. The _Swan_, said to doe the like for Jaccatra or Bantam. The _Expedition_, cast away in this port at an ancor in a greate storme and not to be recovered. All bound for the Manillas. English shipps. The _Moone_ The _Palsgreve_ The _Elizabeth_ The _Bull_ Holland shipps. The _New Bantam_ The _Trowe_ The _Harlam_ The Duch _Hope_ * * * * * * I doe verely think the furnishing and setting out these 5 shipps afore named will stand your Wors. in above ten thousand poundes starling; but I canot justly tell it. Nether dare any man buy the lead but 320 themperour only; and his councell sett the price from tyme to tyme as they please. Soe this yeare, per generall consent, there weare 4 men sent up to themperours cort with presentes. They departed from hence the last of August, and as yet are not retorned: for thenglish, Capt. Charles Cleavenger Mr. Joseph Cockram for the Hollanders, Capt. Lafebre Matias van der Brook whome, as we understand per their letters, are frendly entertayned both of themperour and his councell, but stay longer for a dispach then they thought of, by reason of the taking of a friggat which came from Manillias, wherin weare both Portingals, Spaniardes, and Japons, and amongst the rest ij semenary pristes (or Jesuists), people defended not to com into Japon, which maketh the better for us. Yet we know not whether themperour will let us have it for good prize or noe, till our men retorne from Edo, of the which I will certefie your Wor. per my next. I did make full accompt to have retorned for England this yeare, but that Mr. Thomas Brockedon and Mr. Augusten Spalding, presedentes at Bantam, wrot me the want of merchantes in the factory as also to send along in these shipps, willing me to furnish their want out of this factory, which, God willing, I will, and wish I might have byn one of them my selfe. But I hope the next yeare som new supplies may be sent for this factory, to thentent I may now retorne for my cuntrey, I having now served your Wors. a prentishipp of ten yeares since I departed out of England; and I know there hath not wanted som to geve bad reportes of me to your Wors., but I hope to cleare my selfe before your Wors., yf God spare my life. * * * * * * Also may it please your Wors. to understand that Mr. Wm. Nealson 321 departed out of this life in Marche last, being wasted away with a consumption, and before divers witnesses gave me all he had both in these partes and else wheare, as I have it under their handes to shew; and yf God had called me to His mercy before Mr. Nealson, then had he had as much of myne. And our good frend Capt. Wm. Adames, whoe was soe longe before us in Japon, departed out of this world the xvjth of May last, and made Mr. Wm. Eaton and my selfe his overseers, geveing the one halfe of his estate to his wife and childe in England and the other halfe to a sonne and a doughter he hath in Japon. The coppie of his will with an other of his inventory (or acco. of his estate) I send to his wife and doughter per Capt. Marten Pring, their good frend well knowne to them long tyme past. And I have delivered one hundred poundes starling to divers of the _James Royalls_ company, enterd into the purcers book, to pay two for one in England, is two hundred poundes strling, to Mrs. Adames and her doughter. For yt was not his mind his wife should have all, in regard she might marry an other husband and carry all from his childe, but rather that it should be equally parted betwixt them. Of the which I thought good to adviz your Wors. And the rest of his debtes and estate being gotten in, I will ether bring or send it per first occation offerd and that may be most for their profett, according as the deceased put his trust in me and his other frend, Mr. Eaton. I know not what else to write your Wors., only, as yet, there is noe order com out of China to let us have trade, for that the Hollanders men of warr have shut up their trade that few dare look out. And, besids, the Cheenas them selves robb on an other at sea, thinking to lay all the falt on the Dutch and English; but som have byn intersepted in som provinces of Japon and paid dearly for it. And other China shipping, being sett out of Nangasaque by their owne 322 cuntremen to goe for Isla Formosa (called by them Tacca Sanga) to trade for silke, are run away for China with all the money and left their cuntremen in Japon in the lurch. And for all other matters I refer my selfe to the relation of my worll. frend Capt. Martine Pring, the bringer hereof; and soe leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting allwais Your Wors. most humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. [173] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 911. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[174] Firando in Japon, the 14th of December, 1620. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- * * * * * * I canot but be sorofull for the losse of such a man as Capt. Wm. Adames was, he having byn in such favour with two Emperours of Japon as never was any Christian in these partes of the worlde, and might freely have entred and had speech with themperours, when many Japon kinges stood without and could not be permitted. And this Emperour hath conformed the lordshipp to his sonne which thother Emperour gave to the father. * * * * * * Yt is strang to see the changes of merchandizing soe altered since our first arivall in Japon; for heretofore yearly white raw silk was sould at 500, 400, and 300 _taies_ the _pico._ at least, and now it is fallne to 130, yea som have sould for 105 _taies_ the _pico._ this yeare, which 3 yeares past was worth 300 _tais pico._ The reason is, a company of ruch men have got all the trade of Japon into their handes. Soe they agree all together and will not buy but at what price they 323 think good them selves; and is not to be remedied. And it is geven out that themperour will defend that noe more lead shall com into Japon till this greate quantety brought by us and the Hollanders be spent. For the Hollanders brought in their shipping this yeare 4000 _pico_. Eng. lead and 1000 _pico_. from Syam in their junck. Soe that the Hollanders have 5000 _pico_. lead com this yeare; but a great part of it is small barrs, such as is com in our shiping this yeare, and I think taken out of our English shipping which they took heretofore. Broad cloth, kersies, and perpetuanos I think will prove the best comodetie for Japon, and redds and stamettes and blacks best cullers, and, yf they sell not at an instant, yet tyme will vent all. Som other mingled cullers, as cullor du roy or such lyke, will not doe amis; but noe more yello nor straw culler, for that proveth the worst culler of all. * * * * * * And tuching that which I wrot your Wors. in my last letters sent from Nangasaque in the junck _Godspeed_, how that a nobellmans men of this place (called Semi Dono) fell a quarreling with Mr. Edmond Sayer and others, whereupon the King of Firando banished both them and Mr. Sayer, yet now all is revoked per the kinges order and Mr. Sayer cleared and the others recalled. And soe I leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting alwais Your Wors. most humble servant at comande, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Worll. the Governour, Deputie Comitties, and generallty of the East India Company deliver in London. By Capt. Martyn Pring in the _Royall James_, whome God preserve. [174] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 911. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[175] 324 Firando in Japon, the 20th of January, 1620[1]. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- * * * * * * I am now enformed by a messenger we sent into China that the ould Emperour hath resigned the government unto one of his sonns; and that the new Emperour hath granted our nation trade into China for two shipps a yeare, and the place apointed near to Fuckchew, and that ther wanted but the fermes of ij vizroys of ij provinces to conferme it; and that the _goshon_ or passport will be sent us the next moonson, and had byn heare before now, had it not byn letted per the wars of Tartaria. Thus much our China frendes tell me, and I hope it will prove true. * * * * * * Your Wors. humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. [175] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 924. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[176] Firando in Japon, the 30th of September, 1621. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * The 29th of June last our whole fleete of 9 shipps, English and Duch, arived in saffetie from the Manillias, very few of the men being dead, and have taken and pillaged 5 junckes, the Duch using much crueltie in killing many Chinas after they hadd rendered them selves, and many more had [byn] kild yf the English had not prevented them. * * * * * * The Duch did abuse our men in the Manillias, and, had it not byn prevented by som, they had gon together by the eares, to the 325 endangering or losse of the whole fleete, as I make acco. others will write at lardg to your Wors. therof. And now this yeare, per order of the Councell of Defence from Jaccatra, the same fleet proceadeth againe on the like voyage, the Hollanders being admerall this yeare, as the English were the last; only the Hollanders send away the shipp _Swan_ and put an other shipp called the _Muyon_ in her place, and the English joyne the shipp _Pepercorne_ to the fleet, to make them up x seale in all, and have determened that within these xv daies the _Pepercorne_ and _Muyon_ shall departe from hence, to lie upon the coast of China in a certen hight, to keepe back the China junckes which we are enformed will departe for the Manillias with the first of the monson, which yf they doe, of necessitie our 2 shipps will meete with them. And the rest of the fleete, being 8 seale, will follow after, and are to departe from hence the 1th of December, new stile. * * * * * * Also may it please your Wors. to understand that, by meanes of the governor of Nangasaque, Gonrok Dono, whoe taketh the Spaniardes and Portingals partes against us, with all the merchantes of that place, Miaco, and Edo, geving the Emperour to understand that both we and the Hollanders are pirates and theevs and live upon nothing but the spoile of the Chinas and others, which is the utter overthrow of the trade in Japon, noe one daring to com hither for feare of us. By which reportes themperour and his councell are much moved against us, as the King of Firando doth tell us, whoe is newly retorned from the Emperours court, where he hath married the Emperours kinswoaman, which hath brought hym into greate creddit, and he is the only stay now which we have in Japon. And by his order the Hollandes capt., Leonard Camps, and my selfe are apointed to goe to Edo with the presentes to themperour and his councell, to procure redresse, yf we may, and prevent our enemies 326 proceadinges. For the Emperour hath sent downe order that we shall carry out noe Japons to man our shiping, nether make nor carry out any ordinance, gunpowder, shott, guns, pikes, _langanattes_, _cattans_, nor any other warlike munition. And it was reported we should carry out nether rise, bred, nor wine, nor flesh; but that is not yet donne. But the other is procleamed, and waiters apointed to look out night and day that noe forbidden matters be convaid abord our shipps. Soe that, yf we get noe redresse for these matters, it is noe abiding for us in Japon, and better to know it at first then last what we may trust unto. * * * * * * And, as I understand by Capt. Robt. Adames, admerall the last yeare of the fleete of defence, that in the last voyage the yeare past to the Manillas the Hollanders did much abuse our English men, and Wm. Johnson vizadmerall was cheefe occation therof. Soe that they had like to have gon together by the eares in the Manillias, to the totall distraction of both fleetes, the enemie being so neare, yet by the discretion of som it was pacefied; as I make acco. Capt. Adames hath advized your Wors. at large, he being now apointed vizadmerall, much against his will, by the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra, he dowbting that yf the last yeare, when he was admerall, they feared not to doe soe, that, now themselves are admerall, they will doe worse. And herinclozed I send your Wors. a copie of a letter which I receved from Molucas in a shipp of the Hollanders, sent from Mr. Wm. Nicolles, agent, wherin your Wors. may see the proceadinges of the Hollanders in those partes, as I make acco. he hath advized therof hym selfe. Truly their proceadinges every wheare are allmost intolerable, and they are generally hated thorowout all the Indies, and we much the worse thought of now we are joyned with them. Yt is very certen that with little danger our fleet of defence may 327 take and sack Amacon in China, which is inhabeted by Portingales. For the towne is not fortefied with walls; nether will the King of China suffer them to doe it, nor to make any fortifecations, nor mount noe ordinance upon any plotforme; and 3/4 partes of the inhabetantes are Chinas. And we are credably enformed that, these 2 last yeares, when they did see but 2 or 3 of our shipp within sight of the place, they weare all ready to run out of the towne, as I have advized the Precedent and Councell of Defence at Jaccatra; and, had but 2 small shipps, as the _Bull_ and _Pepercorne_, entred this yeare, they might easely have burnt and taken 17 seale of galliotas which weare at an ancor, amongst which weare the 6 galliotas which came into Japon, being then full laden; and, had they taken this fleet, the Portingales hadd byn utterly undon, as they them selves confesse, and, that towne being taken, all the Portingalles trade in these partes of the world is quite spoiled, both for Manillias, Malacca, Goa, and else wheare. And the King of China would gladly be ridd of their neighbourhood, as our frendes which procure our entry for trade into China tell me, and doe say that he wished that we could drive them from thence. But this yeare there is 3 kings of China dead, the father and his two sonns, the wives of the two bretheren procuring the poisoning of them both. Soe that now a yong man of 14 or 15 yeares ould is com to be king, being the sonne of one of the deceased brothers; which is a stay unto our proceadinges to get trade into China, for that new petision must be made, and our joyning with the Hollanders to take China juncks is ill thought of. But the barbarousnesse of the Hollanders at Manillias the last yeare is much; for, after they had taken the China junkes and that the pore men had rendred them selves, the Hollandars did cut many of them in peeces and cast many others into the sea; wherof our men saved and took many of them up into our shipps; and much more 328 distrucktion had byn made of them, had not Capt. Adames, the admerall, prevented it. * * * * * * Notwithstanding the previleges which we and the Hollanders have from themperours of Japon, that the Japons shall not execute any justice upon our people, yet this yeare the justis of this place (but it was in the abcense of the king) did cut offe the heades of ij Hollanders which, being drunke, did brable with the Japons and drue out their knives, as their custam is, and gave a skram or 2 to som Japons, one being a souldier, yet kild noe man; and yet the Hollanders were haled out into the filds and their heads cut offe and sent home to the Hollands howse, which they refuced to receve, desiring them to leave them with the bodies, which they did, and soe left them in the filds to be eaten by crowes and dogges; which they had byn, had not som Englishmen buried them. And as som of our men goe along the streetes, the Japons kindly call them in and geve them wine and whores till they be drunk, and then stripp them of all they have (som of them stark naked) and soe turne them out of dores. And som they keepe presoners, forging debtes upon them, which som of our men sweare they owe not; yet it is noe beleeving of all, for som of our men are bad enough; yet out of dowbt the abuse is greate and never seene till the last yeare and this. For the king hath (by our procurement) from the first made an edect that the Japons should not trust our men without paying money for what they tooke; for it is an ordenary course for som of our men to leave the shipps and lie ashore in secret a wick, a fortnight, yea a month som of them, and in the end cause their hostes to keepe them presoners, telling us it is by force, yet confesse the debt som of 5, others of 10, 20, and 30 _taies_ per man which they owe, desiring it may be paid and put upon their wages. Which course of theirs I withstand in all I may, and make many set free without payment, which they murmur at as a 329 disgrance and discredett to them, swearing, woundes and blood, your Wors. are indebted to them in farr greater somms and yet they cannot be masters of their owne; soe that the trowble I have with them heare is much. Nether can ther comanders curb them, they rise in such greate multetudes, as for example I advised your Wors. the last yeare, and laid violent handes on the admerall, Capt. Adames; and this yeare the _Bulls_ company and most parte of the _Moones_ mutened, and all the rest promised them to doe the like, but were prevented, for that som of these weare taken and punished, which caused the others to feare. * * * * * * And for the shipp called the English _Hope_ (for the Hollanders have one of the same name) is ether cast away or else the company have revolted and run away with the shipp and kild the master or else carid hym away with them perforce, for every on thinketh that the master, Mr. Carnaby, would never consent thereunto; but they suspect one Thorneton and the chirurgion, with other mutenose persons in her, for that this Thornton hath a brother which they say is a piratt and entertayned per the Duke of Florence. Soe they imagin, after they have made what purchase they may, that they will direct their course thither with the shipp. This is the opinion of the cheefe in our fleete. * * * * * * Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Honorble. Sr. Thomas Smith, Knight, Governor of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Comittys deliver in London. Per way of Jaccatra, in shipp _Swan_. [176] _Ibid._, vol. viii, no. 995. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[177] 330 Firando in Japon, the 4th of October, 1621. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * As yet Gonrok Dono is not come to Firando, and God knoweth when he will; for, as it is said, he stayeth at Nangasaque to put to death many Japon Christians for haboring of papist pristes secretly, and till he com the King of this place will not suffer us to goe to the Emperour with our presentes, which maketh us stand in dowbt whether he secretly take part with Gonrok Dono and the papistes our enemies against us and stayeth us of purpose till the Spaniardes and Portingales have preveled against us at Emperours court. For the kinges mother is a papist Christian, and the king hym selfe and all his bretheren are christened. This maketh us to stand in dowbt of the worst. Yet, yf it be trew, we canot remedy it; for we canot departe from hence without the kinges leave and one of his men to goe with us, nether dare any bark carry us away without his comition. Soe that God He knoweth what our affares in these partes will com to in the end. And that which maketh me more afeard then all the rest is the unreasonablenesse and unrulynesse of our owne people, which I know not how it will be amended, as I have spoaken more at lardge in my other letter, and yet it is every day lyke to be worse then other for ought I can see. God of His goodnesse send me into a place where I may have to doe in merchantes affares and not to meddell with men of warr, yf all be as unruly as these are. And soe, ceasing from trowbling 331 your Wors. any ferther, I rest, as allwaies, Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governor of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Comittis deliver in London. Per the shipp _Swan_, per way of Jaccatra. [177] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. viii, no. 997. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[178] Firando in Japon, the 7th of September, 1622. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * Our whole Manillia fleete of x seale, viz. 5 English and 5 Duch, are saffely retorned to this port of Firando, having made a farr rucher voyage this yeare then they did the last, as apereth per the coppie of the cargezon sent hereinclozed, the like being sent to Jaccatra to the precedent. Since which tyme I have receved 2 letters from Mr. Fursland, the precedent, dated in Jaccatra the 26th of March and 25th of August last past, wherein he and his councell advized me and the rest of the merchantes in the factory to leave affe our consortshipp of the fleet of defence with the Hollanders, and to send our 5 shipps for Jaccatra with as much speed as conveniently we could; and that the _Palsgrove_ and _Moone_ should tuch at Jamby to take in their lading of peper; the _Pepercorne_ to stay upon the coast of China som tyme to look out according to their former comition geven; and the _Elizabeth_ and _Bull_ to com directly from hence for Jaccatra and bring away all the remeander left in Japon in money or merchandiz, except a cargezon of five thousand _taies_ to be left in the handes of Mr. Jno. Osterwick, 332 with one man for a second, and a therd for an assistant, as should be thought fitting; and that my selfe, Mr. Wm. Eaton, and Edmond Sayer should com alonge in the said shipps for Jaccatra, for lessenyng charges in the factory. Which directions, God willing, shall be followed soe neare as we can. The Hollanders this yeare sent a new fleet of shipps of 14 or 15 seale, greate and small, to have taken Amacan; but they had the repulse with the losse, as som say, of 300, and others say 500 men, and 4 of their shipps burned; the king of China now permitting the Portingales to fortefie Amacon, which he would never condecend unto till now, and hath geven order to the vizroy of Canton to assist them with 100,000 men against the Hollanders, yf need require. There was 4 of our 10 shipps of the fleete of defence, 2 English and 2 Hollanders, plying up and downe before Amacon before the Hollandes fleete of 15 seale arived there. The English shipps were the _Palsgrove_ and the _Bull_, whoe, in passing by, hailed them with a noes of trumpetes, but the Dutch made them noe answer nether by word of mouth nor otherwaies, but passed in by them with silence; which at first made them stand in dowbt whether they were frendes or noe. But the Hollanders made accompt to have taken the towne at first onset without the helpe of our shiping or men, and therefore vouchsafed not to speake to them; yet fayled of their purpose, but since have fortefied them selves in an iland neare to Isla Fermosa called Isla de Piscadores, where they report is a very good harbour and water enough for the greatest shipps in the worlde. The Hollanders have geven it out to the Chinas that they are Englishmen, only to bring our nation in disgrace; of the which our China frendes in Japon have adviz and have retorned answer per 2 or 3 severall conveances to the contrary, and that we had two English shipps before Amacon, when the Hollanders gave the attempt against the place, but went for Japon without assisting them at all. And the 333 Hollanders in Japon doe geve it out heare that we are halves with them in the new fortification of Piscadores, of the which our precedent writeth me to the contrary. I am afeard that their attempt against Amacon will cause both them and us to be driven out of Japon, for it hath overthrowne the China trade in these partes. Yet our China frendes still tell us we may have trade into China, yf we will, it being granted allready; but by meanes of the warrs of the Tartar against them and the death of 3 kinges of China in one or 2 yeares is the cause we have not entred before now; but, for the Hollanders, he will never suffer them to enter upon any conditions whatsoever. Mr. Osterwick and my selfe, with 2 of the cheefe of the Hollandes factory, were at Edo after the departure of our shipps the last yeare, with presentes for themperour and his councell, hoping to have gott lycense to have carid out men and munition as in tyme past, but could get nothing but feare wordes for the space of 3 months we were forced to stay at Edo before we could gett our dispach, they telling us in the end they could conclude nothing untill the arivall of the King of Firando, whome they had sent for, but at his coming they would take such order about that which we demanded, as also about the delivering the friggates goods, as should be to both our contentes. And, as we retorned, we mett the King of Firando in the way, whoe made us many faire promisses. Yet now order is com from Edo that themperour will have all the priz goodes of the friggat for hym selfe, leving the rotten hull for us and the Hollanders, and, although we have made what resistance we could, yet are we constrayned to deliver it to them, will we or nill we; and, that which is more, they constrayne us to way over all the goodes to them, we being enformed they will make plito against us for much more matters then ever we receved and beleeve the lying reportes of our enemies whoe duble all. And for carying out 334 men and munition as in tyme past, that such a mighty prince as themperour of Japon is, having once passed his word to the contrary, would not alter it now at the demand of such people as we are. And this is the best we can find now in Japon, and I dowbt wilbe every day worse then other. The 2 fryres or semenary pristes which came in the friggat from Manillia are both rosted to death at Nangasaque, with Yoshen Dies, capt. of the friggat, whoe was a Japon, put to death with the frires Spaniardes; and 12 other Japons which were marrenars in the friggat were beheaded in their sight, before the other 3 were executed. As alsoe, since that tyme, above xij other Spanish and Portingall fryres and Jesuistes have byn rosted to death at Nangasaque, and above a hundred Japons put to death by fire and sword, both men, woamen, and children, for entertayning and harboring of them. Also, now of late, a China junck arived at Shaxma in Japon, which came from Caggalion, in the Manillias, and brought 4 Spaniardes or Portingales in her for passingers, they telling the Chinas they were merchantes, but are fownd to be pristes and sent presoners to Nangasaque, where it is thought they shalbe rosted to death as the former have byn, and the China marenars in danger all to lose their lives, and the goodes seazed upon, which did all belong to Andrea Dittis, the China Capt. (our frend), whoe is forced to send his sonne to the court with great presentes to save his goodes, yf it be possible. The capt. more or major of the Portingall gallion or adventures which com from Amacon to Nangasaque, called Jeronimo de Figeredo Caravallo, with Lues Martin, Jorge Bastian, and Jarvasias Garçis, Portugezes, and Harnando Ximenes, a Spaniard, whoe was _jurebasso_ in tyms past at Bantam, are brought in question for going about to steale a fryer or padre from the Hollands howse the last yeare, and, allthough the padre 335 was brought back (which was one of them which was rosted), yet are they all empresoned and condemned and all their goodes confiscat, and looke howrly when they shall be executed. And one of the Hollandes _jurebassos_ and a scrivano, being Japons, with the master of the bark which carid hym away, his wife and children, all executed; this Emperour, Shongo Samma, being such a mortall enemie to the name of a Christian, espetially of papisticall Christians. And heretofore, when I was at the court at Edo, the Emperours councell did aske me severall tymes whether I were a Christian or our English nation soe; which I tould hym yea; and, in the end, askinge me soe often, I tould them they might perceve per the letters the Kinges Matie. of England sent to themperour of Japon whether we were Christians or noe, the Kinges Matie. writing hymselfe defender of the Christian faith. And then they asked me whether there were any difference betwixt our religion and the Spanish; unto which I answered yea, for that we held nothing of the pope of Roome, but next and emediately under God from our kinge: which it seemed in some sort to geve them content. We and the Hollanders have had much a doe in standing out for not delivring the priz goodes of the friggat, it belonging to our prince and cuntrey, as taken from their enemies. But that would not serve, the _tono_ or cheefe justis of Firando telling us that, yf we would not leave it by feare meanes, they would take it whether we would or noe, and that yf we had not absolutely proved the Portingalls to be padres, that themperour ment to have put Capt. Leonard Camps and me to death and to have sezed on all we had in the cuntrey, and, yf any resistance had byn made, to have burned all our shiping and put us all to the sword. God send us well out of Japon, for I dowbt it wilbe every day worse then other. Yt is also said the Emperour will banish all Spaniardes and Portingall 336 howseholders out of Japon, and suffer non to stay but such as com and goe in their shiping, to prevent entertayning of padres. And soe let this suffice for the present state of Japon. * * * * * * And soe I leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. This letter was first sent per the _Trow_, a Hollandes shipp, but, shee and others being retorned back per stormy wether, I send it now per the _Bull_. Firando in Japon, the 14th of November, 1622. May it please your Wors. that the 9th of September last past there departed 5 Hollandes shipps from hence, greate and small, 4 of them for Isla de Piscadores with provition, and one directly for Jaccatra, which was the _Trow_. But, by means of extremety of wether, 4 of them retorned back to Firando the 19th of September, viz. the _Bantam_, the _Trow_, the _Muoien_, the _Tortola_: all in greate extremety, mastes cutt overbord, and much provition throwne into the sea. And the other penisse called the _Santa Croix_, wherein were above 30 men, retorned not back; soe they think she is cast away. As alsoe, in the same storme, the Hollanders had other 2 shipps cast away in the roade of Cochie at Firando, the one called the _Moone_, a shipp of 7 or 800 tonns, and the other, the _Hownd_, an English shipp in tymes past. The xvijth of October the _Palsgrove_ and _Pepercorne_ put to sea on their pretended voyages, as I formerly nomenated, and 2 Duch shipps, the _Trow_ and the _Harlam_, went out with them; and 3 other Holland shipps went from hence after them the xxvjth ditto, viz. the _Bantam_, _Muoyen_, and _Tortolla_, to tuch all at Piscadores, to discharge 337 tymber and plankes which they carry to fortefie themselves. The _Moone_ is now ready to put to sea to follow the _Palsgrove_ to Jamby; and we dispach away the _Bull_ to goe in company with her; but send nether money nor goodes in the _Moone_, nether sent we any in the _Palsgrove_, the precedent Mr. Fursland comanding the contrary in his letters from Jaccatra; but we sent a cargezon of money and merchandiz in the _Bull_, amonting to 70,342 _ta._ 8 _m._ 9 _co._, as yow may see per coppie of the invoiz. The _Elizabeth_ we will dispach away as sowne as we can recover in money, for we have sould all our silk and mantas, but noe money receved but that which goeth in the _Bull_; soe I dowbt I shall be constrayned to stay here till the next monson, to sett matters right. And Edmond Sayer and Ric. Hudson are at this instant ready to departe towardes Edo with our presentes for themperour and his Councell, as the Hollanders are the like, and our frendes geve us councell not to stay behind them. And Mr. Joseph Cockram goeth in the _Bull_ for Jaccatra. Soe Mr. Jno. Osterwick and my selfe of necessety must stay heare to gett in monies to dispach away the _Elizabeth_, as I think Mr. Eaton must doe the like; for it is noe staying a shipp of such greate charges as she is any long tyme upon dowbtfull occations. I know I need not to adviz of the unrulynesse of many of our marrenars and sealers, and som of them not of the meanest sort, whoe daylie lie ashore att tipling howses, wasting their goodes and geving bad insample to others to doe the like; soe that of force many carpentars and others have byn hired to doe the shipps busynes, whiles they did lie loyteringe. I need not to name them, but refer it to the cheefe comanders them selves. I have delivered more monies of the deceased Capt. Wm. Adams unto the purcers of the _Moone_, _Bull_, and _Elizabeth_, to the some of one hundred powndes str., to pay two hundred in England to his widdow 338 Mrs. Mary Adams and her doughter in halves; as the other 100_l._ I sent in the _Royall James_ was the like. And soe I leave your Wor. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmighty, resting allwais Your Wors. humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governor, and the Right Worll. the Committies of the East India Company, deliver in London. Per the shipp _Bull_, whome God preserve. [178] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ix, no. 1078. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[179] Firando in Japon, the 31th of December, 1622. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * The Hollanders have this yeare sould greate store of broad cloth, stamettes, blacks, and other cullars, non being left to sell, and at 20 _tais_ and some above per _tattamy_, and have written for more to Jaccatra to be sent in the next shipp which cometh; as I have donne the like to the precedent, yf any be there to send it. The reason of venting broadcloth is the rumor of warrs very likely to have ensued in Japon, and God knoweth what will com of it; for, since the writing of my last, there is a greate conspirasie discoverd against the person of the Emperour Shonga Samma by 8 or 9 of the greatest and powrfullest princes in Japon, and is thought many others have a hand in it, and his owne bretheren and nearest kinsmen amongst the rest, and the king of this place not free. Soe that it is thought the adverse partie is 339 soe stronge that themperour dare not meddell with them, but will wink at the matter and make peace with them. The Hollanders have sent greate store of monies and provition to their fortefication at Piscadores, thinking to get trade with the Chinas by one meanes or other; which I am perswaded will not fall out to their exspectation, except they take the China junckes which trade to Isla Fermosa, called by them Taccasanga, which is within sight of the Piscadores. And the Emperour of Japon hath geven out his passe or _goshon_ to the Chinas to trade to Taccasanga, and soe from thence into Japon; soe, yf they be medled withall, their is noe staying in Japon for them which take them. For the 10th ultimo Edmond Sayer, with Ric. Hudson and 2 Hollanders, went from hence towardes Edo with presentes to themperour and his Councell; and we have adviz from them of their arivall at Miaco, and that all men speake ill of them and cry out against them. Soe God knoweth whether our presentes will be receved or noe; but we deliver ours apart and doe mentayne we have nothing to doe with them in their plantation at Piscadores. Of which I thought good to adviz your Wors. Silk at present is not worth soe much as it was at the arivall of our fleete, yet we have made away most of ours which rested, the presentes being geven out, and trusted it out till the next monson; as the Hollanders have donne the like. And our frend Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., still mentayneth that our nation may have trade into China, yf they will, but not the Hollanders; which God grant may once take effect. I have not what else to adviz your Wors. of, matters standing as they doe; but hope the next monson to com towardes England, God sparinge me liffe and health, and soe leave your Wors. with your affares to the 340 holy protection of thallmighty, resting Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governour of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Committies, deliver in London. Per the shipp _Elizabeth_, whome God preserve. Sent per way of Jaccatra. [179] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ix, no. 1093. ------------------- THE COUNCIL AT BATAVIA TO RICHARD COCKS.[180] (_Copy._) Mr. Cox and the rest,-- By the _Palsgrave_ and the rest of our shipps of defence, contrary to our expectacon and expresse comission, instead of your personall appeerance in this place, wee have received severall letters from your selfe and the rest, which gives us no satisfaccion for the breach of our comission, neither is therein conteyned any reason of validitie to excuse your so greate disobediance. What mooved you hereunto wee knowe not, but so many yeres should have had so much experience as to knowe what it is to infringe his superiors comition, and certaine wee are that you cannot answere this your transgretion, if wee should call you and the rest soe stricktly to accompt as your neglect deserveth. But wee will suppose that those your proceedinges were more through ignorance then out of any setled purpose of contempt towardes us, and will forbeare to censure you at present, in hoape of your conformetie now at last to our second comission, which wee send heerewith by our loving frend Mr. Joseph Cockram, whome wee have and doe appointe cheefe marchant of the _Bull_ for the whole voyage. Which shipp wee 341 have nowe made reddy, with no small charge to our employers, purposely to send her unto you, to bring awaye boath your selfe and the rest of the factors, with all the Compa. estate remayning there in the countrie, as more particulerly wee have declared in our comission to Mr. Cockram and instructions delivered to him; heereby straightly charging and comanding, in behalfe of the Honble. Companie our masters, that, uppon sight heereof, you, Mr. Richard Cock, shall deliver over into the handes and custody of Mr. Joseph Cockram all such monnies, goods, debts, etc., as pertaine to the Honnorable Compa., our imployers; and boath you, Mr. Richard Cock, Wm. Eaton, Edmond Sayre, and John Osterwick, shall all and every of you come awaye from thence uppon the shipp _Bull_ for Batavia; hereby charging you and every of you to fulfill our saide order, as you will answere the contrary at your perelles. The debts which were standing out by your last letters we hope you will have cleired and received them in before this shall come to your hands, knowing the last yere that you are to come from thence. But, if any such debts shalbe yett standing out, it concernes you that made them [to receive them] in before the shipp come awaye from thence. The China Nocheda hath two long deluded you through your owne simplicitie to give creditt unto him. You have lived long enough in those parts to be better experienced of the fraudulent practizes of those people, and, although the prejudice which the Honnorable Compa. have suffered by missing of such greate somes of monney so long, which you have delivered unto him, cannot be recompenced by him, yet it will now be respected and required that you procure all satisfaccon from him for all he owes unto the Compa. The King of Firando his debt wee hoape you have received, boath all somes of such moment as it behooves you to be carefull and dilligent in the recovering in of them; and, in hoape 342 you will herein sattisfie our expectacon, wee desist further to incite you in this matter. Having cleered all busines and gotten the Companies estate aboard their shipp, which wee desire may be with all speede convenient, you are to take frendly leave of the king and such other officers as you knowe to be meete, and to deliver over the Compa. howse and godownes into the kings hands, to appoint some whome hee shall thincke fitting to keepe the same for the Honnorable Compas. use, untill such tyme as wee shall send theither againe to repossesse the same. And for all such provitions as wee have given order unto Mr. Cockram to provide for this place, you are to see them furnished in due tyme, that soe the shipp may take the best season of the monsonn to come awaye from thence. Alsoe you are to furnish the shipp with all materialls needefull for her tryming, and eache thinge according to our order given for the perforemance of the busines, and lett the flesh that is to be provided be salted in such a tyme as it may keepe to doe us service. If the full quantetie cannot be provided in dew tyme, then furnish what you cann, for wee will that no busines shall hinder the shipps and your coming awaye from thence in dew tyme to performe her voyage unto this port of Batavia. And in case there shall be any debts of vallue standing out which cannot be recovered before your lymitted tyme of coming from thence, and that there be certaine hopes to recover in the saide debts afterward, then you shall followe such order as wee have given Mr. Cockram for the leaving of a mann there to recover such debts as shalbe remayning and cannot be gotten in as aforesaid. The China menn which you sent to refine the silver returne in this shipp. They have refined only one chist of barr plate for triall, and that wee finde so badly donn that we would not lett them proceede 343 any further. They are not suffitient to performe what they have undertaken, for they spoile all they take in hand; so that what you have agreed with them for is meerely cast awaye and lost to the Honnorable Compa. Wee have payde them no wages heere, which you are to take notice of and reccon with them there according as you can agree with them. Wee desire no more barr plate; wherefore the rest remayning, lett it be in _soma_, _seda_, and _fabuck_ plate. But, if there be any such dannger in bringing out the latter, wee desire not to stand to such an adventure. The Dutch have greate quantities sent, yet make no such dannger as you write of; wherefore, if you cannot gett it as securely as they, wee must take such as may be procured without such hassarde. Camphire which the Hollanders buy in such quanteties wee knowe no vend for; yett you may provide twenty cases or tenn _peculs_, which may serve for a triall both for England and Mu[su]l[i]pa[tam]; but any greater quantitie then prementioned send not. In this shipp we have laden a small parcell of camphire of Barouse, being in all 60 _catts_. If the quantetie be over greate, you may keepe it secrett and receive it ashore by small parcells, as you can sell it. Wee would have sent more if wee had byn ascertined of its vend there; but, acording to your former advices, this nowe sent may be too much. What part of it you cannot sell bring back with you, or leave it there with him that stays in the factory, if there be occasion to leave a man there; the ordering whereof, with all other busines, wee have referred to Mr. Cockram, as aforesaide. We expect to have a reformacion in the lavish expences for the shipps companie. It is the Honnorable Compa. expresse order that in any port, where refreshing may be had good cheape, they shall not have allowance of above foure flesh meales a weeke and three meales with salt fish 344 or such like to eate with their rice. This order you are to take notice of and to perfoarme the same; neither may you feede the saylors both aboard and ashore, which (as wee are informed) hath byn a common costom with you, to the excescive charg of the Honnorable Companie, our masters. You write the pursers aught not to be allowed the foure per cento which they bring to accompt for losse in monneys, and referr it to us to abate it. This abatement you ought to have made there, knowing it to be unreasonable, and should not send such matters unto us to decide where the pursers want no excuses for themselfes, and wee cannot contradict them but only with your barr (wee cannot see you [how ?] they can loose so much), which is no suffitient reason. Wherefore with this purser of the _Bull_ now better examine that busines, and, finding it an abuse by the pursers, abate it uppon Mr. Watts accompt; and, at your arivall heere, wee will take the like course with the rest or so many of them as are heere remayning. And because the last yere, to serve your owne turne, you made what construction you pleased of our comission for your coming from thence, wee doe nowe iterate our comission in the conclusion of our letter, least, having redd itt in the former part thereof, you should forgett it before you come to thend. Wee will and comaund in the name and behalfe of the Honnorable Compa. of Marchants of London trading [to] East India, our masters, that you, Mr. Richard Cock, William Eaton, Edmond Sayre, and John Osterwick, shall deliver over into the hands of Mr. Joseph Cockram all monneys, goods, and debts perteyning to the Honnorable Compa. aforesayde, and shall all and every of you aforenamed come away from Japon in the shipp _Bull_ for this port of Battavia. Which our order wee require you to performe, as you will answere the contrary at your perill. And soe, hoping of your conformitie unto the premises, wee conclude with our comendations 345 unto you, and committ you with your affayres to Gods direction. Your loving frends, RICHARD FURSLAND. THOMAS BROCKENDON. AUG. SPALDING. Batavia, le 22th of May, Ao. 1623. [180] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii. 13, f. 43. ------------------- _Coppie of a letter to_ FEGENO CAMME, _the Kinge or Govr. of Ferando in Japon, sent by our jurobasso_, COE JUAN, _to the Emperours courte now at Meacoe_.[181] Maye yt please your Highnes, etc. The 19th instante heare aryved one of our Honnourable Companies shipps from Batavia uppon the coaste, by whome wee have rec. letters from the Honnourable our Gennerall and Councell of India their resident, whearby wee are strictlie charged and commaunded to recover in all such debtes as wee have abroad, and for a tyme to disolve and leave this factorie and to come awaye, everie of us, uppon this shipp with the first of the moonesone, without any excuse or hinderance theirunto. The which commaund from our said Gennerall wee maye not, neither to our powers will, any waye infringe, but doe resolve by the prime of November next to departe hence; whearof wee have thought fittinge in tyme to acquainte your Highnes. The reasonns endusinge our Gennerall heareunto are many; yet not proceedinge out of any unkinde usage heare in his Maties. dominions, but rather in respect of theise followeinge, viz.:-- The dannger of the seas betweene this and Batavia, haveinge loste within this three yeares two greate and rich shipps bound for this place. Alsoe the smale hopes wee have of procuring trade into China, 346 which hetherto our Honnourable Companie have with greate charges endeavoured to procure, and partelie uppon those hopes have contynewed theire factorie heare thus longe tyme at no smale expence, hopeinge of better profight then thefect hath prodused. And now, lastlie, the losse of one of our Honnourable Companies shipps in her voyadge from England, whoe was richlie laden with comodities of our cuntrie, such as, for the moste parte, have beine vendible heare in Japon; by which meanes wee reste alltogeather unprovided of goods to supplie this factorie, and theirfore not held requisite or entended longer to be contynewed, unless wee could see better hopes to profight. Yet, notwithstandinge, if the next yeare shall produce any better encouradgement, maye then returne againe. Uppon which hopes and good expectation wee entend not to sell or put off our howses and godonns; but, accordinge to our Genneralls order, to leave them to your Highnes, intreateinge they may be kepte for us and repocessed by us, if wee shall returne hither againe. Of which your Highnes shall have due advice everie yeare. Wee have likewise written heareof unto the Lords of his Maties. Councell, a coppie whearof wee send your Highnes heare inclosed togeither with the princepall, which, if you finde requesite, maye please to cause to be delivered. And thus, intreatinge to excuse the sendinge this messenger and not comeinge our selves in respect of our short tyme of staye and not being furnished with matterialls needfull to present his Maties. Councell of Japon, we humbly take our leaves, ever restinge Your Highnes servants to comand, JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factory, Ferando in Japon, the 26th Julie, anno 1623. [181] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. ------------------- _Coppie of a consultation or letters to the Lords of his Maties. 347 Councell of Japon, sent by our jurobasso_, COE JUAN, _to the Emperours courte at Meacoe for the tyme beinge_.[182] Whearas, with the free consente and licence of his Matie. the Emperour of Japon and many favours of you, the Lords of his Majesties Councell, wee have thus longe contynewed our factorie heare in his Maties. domynions in Ferando without any molestation or injury offred by any of his Maties. subjects, wee are theirfore in all humble mannor bound to acknowledg and render all due obedient thanks for the same. And beinge now by our Gennerall and Councell of India called from hence, with order for a tyme to disolve this factorie and come all awaye for Batavia uppon the shipp now aryved and expreslie sent to that purpose, wee have thought fittinge hearof to acquainte your Honnours, that, as wee had firste admittance to settle a factorie heare and to remaine in his Majesties cuntry, soe likewise wee maye [have] the like favour now for our departure. The reasonns moveinge heareunto are larglie expressed in our letter to the Governour of this place, Fegeno Camme, from whome wee doe acknowledge to have receaved many curtesies. Wee would our selves have beine the messengers hearof, but that our occasions are more urgent heare, the tyme of our staye beinge but shorte for cleeringe our selves out of this cuntry; and theirfore doe humbly crave your Honnours pardon, and shall ever remaine obliged to your Lordshipps, and reste Your Lordpps. servants to comd., JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factory, Ferando in Japon, the 26th Julij, anno 1623. [182] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. ------------------- _Coppie of a letter to_ FEGENO CAMME, _the Kinge or Governour of 348 Ferando, in Japon, sent by_ RICHARD HUDSON _to the Emperours courte at Meacoe_.[183] Maye it please your Highnes,-- Our laste was of the 26th Julie paste, by our _jurobasso_, Coe Juan, whome wee sent expreslie with letters unto your Highnes and the Lords of his Majesties Councell of Japon, makeing knowne unto your Lordshipps our order, reced. from the Honnourable our Genneral and Councell in India, for disolveinge this factorie and comeinge all awaye with the firste of the moonsone for Batavia; which, God willinge, wee entend to performe with all convenientsie. And to this end wee wrote our former letters unto your Highnes and the Lords of his Majesties Councell, theirby craveinge our friendlie departure and excusinge the not cominge our selves nor sendinge any English to take our leaves, in respect of our urgent occasions. All which wee hoped would have prevailed. But, contrarie to expectation, wee understand by Tonomonsama, your Highnes brother, and others your nobillitie heare, that it is found expedient, and by your Highnes required, that wee send an Englishman in performeance of this busines, which wee well hoped our _jurobasso_ mighte have effected. And nowe, seeinge yt cannot be otherwise, wee doe now send the bearer hearof, Richard Hudson, whoe carreth with him certaine small presents for his Majesties Councell, beinge such as the tyme will aford and our abillitie of meanes strech unto; humbly intreateinge your Highnes to further the dispach of this messenger, that he maye returne in tyme to further the dispach of this shipp in our departure. Wee have alsoe delivered unto this bearer his Majesties _goshenn_, which was grannted us for our free traficke heare in Japon, beinge 349 theirunto required by Tonomonsama and Naygensama, as doubtinge by them yt would be demaunded to be delivered upp unto his Maties. Councell; but, if convenience yt might be granted, wee would intreat the contynewance of yt in our hands, or otherwise in your Highnes custody, that, returninge againe, wee maye have the more freer entrance. And thus, intreatinge your Highnes favourable assistance in theis our occasions, wee conclude, hopeinge to see you heare before our departure and take a friendlie farwell. In meane tyme we reste Your Highnes servants to commaund, JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factorie at Ferando in Japon, the 2th August, 1623. [183] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. THE END. INDEX. 350 351 Abbot, Maurice, deputy E.I.C. ii. 116. Achinese. Join the Dutch against the Portuguese, i. 148, 150. Adams, Mrs. (in Japan). i. 172, 183, 184, 185, 193, 247, 284, 319; ii. 11, 53, 57, 74, 97, 138, 240, 252. Adams, Isaac, [? error for Joseph] son of Will. Adams. ii. 233. Adams, Joseph, son of Will. Adams. i. 183, 284; ii. 97, 233, 240, 252. Adams, Mary (in England), wife of Will. Adams. ii. 117, 205, 338. Adams, Capt. Robert. ii. 112, 114, 115, 119, 120, 121, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 199, 207, 212, 213, 219, 222, 223, 224, 318, 326. Adams, Susanna, daughter of Will. Adams. ii. 97, 240, 252. Adams, William. _Passim_; engaged to the E. I. Company, ii. 258; voyage to Siam, i. 88; his estate in Japan, i. 181; accident to, i. 195; voyages to Cochinchina, i. 225, 243; ii. 23, 296; his wages, i. 234, 235; ii. 277; attacked at sea, i. 244; Cocks's opinion of him, ii. 263, 269; his influence with the Shoguns, ii. 277, 322; death and will, ii. 321; goshons belonging to his children, ii. 126-129, 131; child at Firando, ii. 143, 156; his children, ii. 233, 245, 253; goods, ii. 189, 222, 233, 337. Adrian, Dutchman. i. 182; ii, 269. _Advice_, ship. i. 151, 222, 223, 226, 231, 233, 289, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 330, 336, 342, 343, 348; ii. 15, 16, 40, 54, 61, 279. Aishima, or Anushma, Island. i. 142; ii. 70. Akasawa. ii. 79, 98. Albartus, Capt., Dutchman. i. 25, 158, 189, 205, 234, 239, 240, 264, 275, 298, 306, 330, 339, 344; ii. 7, 24, 25, 62, 125, 133, 136, 137, 138, 179, 197, 206. Ale, Bartholomew, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Alexander, Scotchman in the Dutch service. ii. 69. Alferis, The two. i. 147, 148. Alferis, _tuerto_. i. 43, 146; ii. 130. Amida, saint of China. Monastery at Yedo. ii. 88. _Amsterdam_, Dutch ship. ii. 189, 191. Amy, bongew of Cochinchina. i. 140. Ando Tushma Dono, nobleman. i. 171, 172. Andrea, host at Nagasaki. i. 28, 41, 42, 43. Andrea, Will. Adams's Japanese brother-in-law. i. 39, 166, 167, 183, 192, 284; ii. 95, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 138, 244, 252, 253. Andrea, boatswain. ii. 167. _Angel_, Dutch ship. ii. 304. _Ankewsen_, Dutch ship. i. 36, 82, 98, 113. Anthony, servant. i. 71. Anthony, King of Firando's caffro. i. 125, 129, 334; ii. 59. Anthony, Biscayan. i. 238; ii. 51. Antonison, Lucas. i. 8, 16, 23, 64; ii. 54. Antony, Thomas. ii. 117. Apollonario, Franciscan. i. 6, 238, 335. Arai. i. 163, 196; ii. 98, 232, 255. Arima. i. 15; Christianity in, i. 173; rescue of a friar, i. 335; troops for, ii. 266. Arima, King of. ii. 162, 163, 164, 166, 167. Asakusa, near Yedo. Temple at, ii. 241. Asberry, ----, of the _Bull_. ii. 118. Ashiya. ii. 107; fire at, ii. 108. Atkinson, Richard. i. 229. _Attendance_, English ship taken by the Dutch. ii. 303, 304, 316. Ava, King of. Conquests by, i. 17. Avery, John, purser's mate of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 179. Awoe harbour. ii. 108. Badworth, ----. ii. 113. Ball, George, in Bantam. i. 16, 229, 290, 331; ii. 9, 16, 67, 312. Balle, the King of Firando's dog. i. 247. Ballok, Dutchman. ii. 199. Bantam. Ships trading with, i. 228, 233, 265; ii. 133. _Bantam_, Dutch ship. ii. 173, 174, 175, 223, 304, 336. _Bantam, New_, Dutch ship. ii. 319. Barker, John. ii. 116. Barker, William, of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 198. Barkhout, Capt. i. 298, 335, 336, 339; ii. 7, 14, 15, 40, 42, 56, 62. Barnardo, Capt. ii. 24, 92. Barns, ----. ii. 213. Barreda, Gil de la. i. 147. Bastian, Jorge. ii. 334. Bates, Ed., of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Baylie, John, merchant. Dies in Japan, i. 145, 150, 154, 189, 193; ii. 279. Beamont, John, in Bantam. i. 48, 114; ii. 116. Beedam, ----, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 198. Benita, or Bonita, Pascual, of Nagasaki. i. 126, 146, 150; ii. 14, 145, 147, 171, 172, 180. Bicho, or Tushma, servant-boy. i. 102, 230; ii. 1, 33, 35. Bingana Tomo. i. 203, 212, 329; ii. 72, 106, 107, 229, 302. Bizen. ii. 106. Blackcolles, Henry, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Blancard, Abraham, Dutch surgeon. ii. 315. Bogens, or Bugins, Nicholas, merchant. ii. 178, 179, 181, 192, 196, 209. Bongo, or Bungo, Province of. Earthquake in, i. 167; Christianity in, i. 173. Bongo, King of. i. 213. Bongo Sama, or Nobesane, King of Firando's great-uncle. i. 2, 5, 7, 11, 14, 15, 17, 20, 41, 61, 65, 67, 78, 79, 116, 118, 121, 143, 231, 240, 256, 281; ii. 6, 8, 25, 52, 108, 115, 125, 140, 161, 171, 172, 190, 199, 201. Bongo Sama, King of Arima. ii. 162, 163. Bonomon Dono, secretary to Tonomon Sama. ii. 115. Books, Japanese. i. 205. Bordeaux. Image near, i. 238. Bowles, John. ii. 257. Brockedon, Thomas, president of the Council of Defence. ii. 116, 117, 138, 179, 204, 320; letter to recall the English from Firando. ii. 340. Brook, Matthias van der, Dutch merchant at Firando. i. 15, 16, 17, 28, 34, 41, 298, 306, 332; ii. 50, 59, 125, 142, 149, 153, 178, 180, 206, 320. Brower, Capt. i. 152; ii. 267. Browne, ----. ii. 112. Browne, Arnold, capt. of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 121, 174, 183, 213. Browne, John, at Patani. i. 154, 220, 268. Buddha. _See_ Daiboods. _Bull_, ship. ii. 112, 114, 119, 194, 205, 223, 318, 319, 331, 332, 336, 337, 341, 344; mutiny, ii. 181, 329. Burdock, Roger, of the _Moon_. ii. 175. Burges, James and Robert. i. 219, 272, 317, 332, 333, 337; ii. 309. Butbee, Christopher. ii. 205. Caboques. _Passim._ Cacazemon, Cacayemon, Cacayezemon, or Cacamon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono. i. 179, 186, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 225, 251, 305, 306, 310, 311, 312; ii. 57, 72, 83, 85, 86, 90, 95, 125, 140, 224, 233, 234, 235, 238, 239, 241, 242, 246, 249, 253. Caffia Dono, goshon seal-keeper. ii. 235. Calicut. Nawab detains English goods. ii. 48. Calsa Sama, the Shogun's youngest son. i. 78, 79, 80, 211; reported death of, i. 10; rumour of war with his father, i. 116; report of suicide of, i. 163; his disgrace, i. 164; orders respecting, i. 158. Camangare or Caminogari. i. 158. Camboja, or Cambodia. Portuguese banished from, i. 279, 288. Camps, Capt. Leonard, Dutch merchant at Firando. i. 233, 264, 286; ii. _passim_. Canzemon Dono, of Miaco, lacquer maker. ii. 192. Canzemon Sama: new name of Tonomon Sama. ii. 169. Caravalle, Lopes Sermiento, Capt. ii. 191. Carnaby, ----, master of the _Hope_. ii. 329. Carnero, Francisco, porter. i. 113, 130. Carpenter, ----. i. 114. Carwarden, Walter. His uncertain fate, i. 216, 224; ii. 268, 285, 286. Casanseque or Cazanseque, purser or scrivano. Suit against, i. 241, 242, 245, 248, 252, 263, 279, 281, 282, 283, 287, 289, 294, 296, 313; ii. 3, 14, 19, 29. Caseror. i. 16. Castleton, Capt. Samuel. i. 229, 269, 290. Cata ura. i. 99. Catsso Dono, kinsman of the King of Firando. ii. 136. Cattadomary. i. 329. Catto Sama Dono, King of Iyo. ii. 245. Chambo, Chombo, or Chamba Dono, bongew of Arima. i. 15, 20, 33. Champon, in Siam. i. 267, 269, 272, 273. Chanchew. i. 35. Chapman. ii. 113, 211. Charles, Prince of Wales. Report of his marriage, ii. 55. Charlton, Andrew. ii. 117. Chase, Thomas. i. 229. Chauno Shozero Dono, the Shogun's factor. ii. 84, 90, 91, 94, 95, 96, 231, 234, 244. Chaw, or Tea. Cups, etc., i. 145, 202; ii. 11, 28, 58. Chimpan, Capt. ii. 153. Chimpow, Chinaman. ii. 21, 24. Chimtay, Chinaman. ii. 21. China. Negotiations for trade with, i. 20, 23, 25, 29, 32, 58, 60, 66, 74, 83, 101, 116, 223, 296, 298, 340, 341, 342; ii. 2, 3, 21, 44, 125, 126, 139, 271, 284, 309, 321, 324, 327, 333, 339; Tartar wars, i. 219, 284; death of the Emperor and his son, ii. 172; succession of Emperors, ii. 324, 327; travelling spies sent to watch Europeans, ii. 285; letters of James I. to the Emperor, ii. 298; Dutch acts of piracy against Chinese, i. 259, 260; ii. 40, 41, 42, 56, 70, 302, 303; piracy against Chinese punished by Taiko Sama, i. 277; English reported taking junks, ii. 172; piracy among Chinese, ii. 321; junks taken by English and Dutch, ii. 324; cruelties of the Dutch to Chinese, ii. 324, 327. Chinese in Japan. Tiger play and tumbling, i. 235; feast of Piro, i. 256-258; complaint against the Dutch, i. 262, 306; ii. 44; visits on birth of a child, i. 332; losses by fire at Nagasaki, i. 346; visit at the new year, ii. 6; fireworks, ii. 9, 10. Chiriu. ii. 78, 231. Chisian Ducuco, Chinese councillor of state. ii. 125. Chongro, Capt. ii. 269. Chozamon Dono, son of Oyen Dono of Firando. ii. 140. Christians. Persecutions in Kokura, ii. 67; massacre and persecutions at Nagasaki, ii. 334, 335. Christmas, George, purser of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 179, 184. Christopher, German. i. 150. Chubio Dono, official at Miako, brother of Safian Dono and uncle of Gonrok Dono. i. 49, 73, 159, 179, 180, 200, 258, 289, 318, 319, 331. Chubio Dono, host at Bingana Tomo. ii. 159, 160. Cleavenger, Charles, capt. of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 117, 119, 121, 173, 174, 182, 183, 223, 318, 320. Clothworkers' Company. Letter of Cocks to, ii. 315. Clough, John, gunner. i. 84, 100. _Clove_, ship. ii. 269. Co Domingo. ii. 59, 219. Co John, or Coa John, jurebasso. i. 54, 140, 230, 284, 303, 311; ii. 5, 31, 61, 98, 119, 139, 144, 154, 156, 207, 219, 248, 345, 347, 348. Co John, servant of W. Eaton. i. 136, 141. Co John, of Goto. i. 10. Co John, of Nagasaki. i. 13. Coaker, John. i. 109; ii. 305, 307, 309. Cochi, harbour of Firando. _Passim_; buildings at, ii. 155; fires at, ii. 192, 214. Cochinchina. Loss of T. Peacock in, i. 28, 29, 140, 216; ii. 153, 268; trade and communication with, i. 224, 243, 272, 295, 298, 299, 316; ii. 60, 295, 310. Cockram, Capt. Joseph. ii. 117, 119, 122, 123, 172, 173, 174, 183, 184, 189, 192, 196, 197, 212, 213, 223, 224, 320, 337, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 349. Cocks, John, in Staffordshire, brother of R. Cocks. i. 228. Cocks, John, in Bantam, nephew of R. Cocks. ii. 16, 54. Cocks, Richard, head of the English factory at Firando. _Passim_; journeys to and from Yedo, i. 157-166, 193-214; ii. 70-108, 227-255; interview with the Shogun, i. 169; ii. 279; journey to and from Miako, i. 300-330; visits to Nagasaki, ii, 17-25; ii. 127-188; escape from fire, ii. 106; correspondence, ii. 257-349; proposes to return to England, ii. 339. Cocks, Richard, son of the host at Osaka. i. 321. Cocks, Richard, son of Maky Dono. ii. 102. Cocks, Walter, brother of R. Cocks. i. 48, 114, 152, 155, 229, 290; ii. 16, 113, 116, 117, 205. Cocora, John, cook. i. 93, 100, 110, 145. Codskin Dono, secretary to the Shogun. i. 16, 53, 141, 167, 168, 169, 170, 172, 174, 177, 184, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190, 192, 205, 303, 307, 308, 310, 313, 317; ii. 83, 84, 118, 142, 178, 236, 251, 279, 281, 283, 297. Cofio Dono. ii. 122, 167, 170. Collins, John. ii. 252. Colston, or Coleson, William, purser of the _Thomas_. i. 218, 225, 330. Comets. ii. 93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 105. Comoro Isles. Action between English and Dutch ships at, ii. 48. Cook, John. i. 160, 165, 183, 242, 248, 266; ii. 2, 109. Copland, Patrick, preacher. ii. 112. Coppindall, Ralph, capt. of the _Osiander_. i. 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 61, 63, 68, 69, 71, 76, 79, 80, 81, 85, 86, 87, 90, 96, 100, 102, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 126, 151, 229, 290; ii. 16, 54, 273, 275; letter, ii. 271. Coral. Highly esteemed in China, ii. 287. Corea. Embassy from, i. 255, 301, 304, 311, 312, 313; ii. 290, 293, 299; Dutch trade with, ii. 258; difficulty of trade with, ii. 270; sail-carts in, ii. 270; medicinal root from, ii. 287. Cornelius: Dutchmen so named. ii. 49, 253, 269. Couper, Barnard. i. 229. Coye, near Miako. i. 164. Coyemon Dono. ii. 170. Cozucke, Sophone. i. 229. Croby Dono, of Ozaka. i. 323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 330, 336, 339, 341; ii. 10, 12, 53, 57, 74. Crozemon Dono, of Fujikawa. ii. 232. Cude Dono. ii. 101. Cuemon, plasterer. ii. 170. Cuemon Dono, or Grubstreet, host at Ozaka. i. 210, 225, 230, 260, 262, 264, 302, 303, 304, 314, 322, 323, 324, 325, 330, 333, 342, 346; ii. 57, 73, 74, 76, 100, 103, 104, 105. Cuemon Dono, butcher, of Nagasaki. ii. 112, 124, 128, 130, 153. Cugero, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cuiamon Dono, bongew. i. 198. Cuiper, William. ii. 136. Cuishti, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cujero Dono. ii. 147. Cuning, Gilbert. i. 39. Curwin, Edward. ii. 304, 309. Cusa, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cushcron Dono. i. 36, 108, 131, 132, 135, 141, 216, 217; ii. 29, 38, 133, 145, 159, 164, 170, 180, 184, 211, 221. Cutero Dono, of Totska. ii. 232. Cuze Dono. ii. 170, 226. Cuzemon Dono. ii. 170. Cynemon Dono, of Ozaka. i. 346. Daiboods, or Buddha. Image at Kamakura, i. 194; image at Miako, i. 200, 201; ii. 75. Dairi or Mikado, The. Death of Goyosei, i. 311; ii. 293; preparations for his funeral, i. 320. Daravis, Salvador. i. 345, 347. Davies, Thomas, carpenter. i. 65, 71. Dayeynanga Sama, the Shogun's son. ii. 237. Dead, Festival of the. i. 46. Dembo, near Ozaka. i. 336; ii. 105. Dench, John. i. 64. Denton, Adam, chief at Patani. i. 36, 48, 87, 90, 114; ii. 47, 116, 117, 271, 305. Deo Dono. His claim to Fidaia Sama's widow, and death, i. 188. Dickenson, Gilbert. i. 217. Dittis, Capt. Andrea, head of the Chinese in Japan. _Passim._ Dittis, Augustin, son of A. Dittis. ii. 132, 189. Dittis, Ingasha, daughter of A. Dittis. ii. 110. Doca, or Dono, Sama, King of Firando. i. 140, 287. Dodisworth, Ed., at Surat. i. 156. Dodsworth, Harry. ii. 119, 178, 209. Domingo: servants and others so named. i. 11, 97, 102, 130, 148, 153, 210, 276, 310, 323; ii. 219, 221. Dorington, George. i. 72, 96, 100, 101, 114, 229. Doughtie, ----, quartermaster of the _Osiander_. i. 57. Dowriche, George, of Devonshire, serving with the Dutch. i. 276, 285, 339. Driver, John. i. 100. Durois, Jonico. ii. 20. Durois, Jorge, merchant, of Nagasaki. _Passim._ Dutch, in the East. Hostilities with the Spaniards, i. 21, 24, 25, 26, 30, 37, 43, 148, 214, 259, 265, 268, 272, 273, 283, 285, 289, ii. 40, 269, 302; hostilities with the Portuguese, i. 148, 150; ii. 51, 52, 53, 55, 273, 274, 276; attack Macao, ii. 332; piracy against Chinese, i. 259; ii. 40, 41, 42, 56, 70, 302, 303; cruelties to Chinese, ii. 324, 327; piracy under the English name, i. 260; hostilities with the English, i. 269, 292; maltreat English, ii. 54; capture an English ship, ii. 61; fight with the English at sea, ii. 303-305, 316; quarrel with the English in the Philippine Is., ii. 324, 326; trading ships and fleets, i. 193, 218, 259, 266, 267, 332; ii. 17, 18, 47, 173, 223, 319, 324, 325, 331; occupy the Pescadore Is., ii. 332. Dutch, at Firando. _Passim_; execute a slave, i. 19; coin false money, i. 22; cast cannon, i. 92; build a godown, i. 138; extension of warehouses, ii. 24, 43; damage to their shipping, i. 262; sailors desert, i. 264; unruly behaviour, i. 274; Chinese complain against, i. 306; ii. 46; quarrel with the English, ii. 109, 110, 173; brawl with Japanese, ii. 177, 189; execution of a Dutchman, ii. 181; attack the English, ii. 305-307, 317; execution of Dutchmen by the Japanese, ii. 328. Duzak Skidoyemon Dono. ii. 266. Earthquakes. In Bongo, i. 167; at Yedo, i. 167, 168, 172, 176, 193; ii. 85, 93, 235, 242, 244, 247, 250; at Miako, i. 205; ii. 77; at Kusatsu, ii. 77; cause of, ii. 93. East India Company. Letters to, ii. 269, 274, 279, 288, 295, 301, 318, 322, 324, 330, 331, 338; treaty with the Dutch, ii. 318. Eaton, ----, surgeon. ii. 174. Eaton, Helena, daughter of W. Eaton. i. 159, 209; ii. 103, 230. Eaton, William, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Eaton, William, son of W. Eaton. ii. 133. Eche Dono. i. 210. Echero, or Yechero, Dono, of Ozaka. i. 211, 324, 326, 327. Eclipses of the moon. i. 113, 293. Ejiri. i. 195; ii. 97, 232, 254. Elizabeth, Princess Palatine. News of the birth of her son, i. 36. _Elizabeth_, ship. ii. 118, 175, 212, 221, 223, 318, 319, 331, 337; mutiny, ii. 120, 121. Elks, or wild swans. ii. 91. English, in the East. Maltreated by the Dutch, ii. 54; fight the Dutch at Jacatra, ii. 304; quarrel with the Dutch in the Philippine Is., ii. 324, 326; trade, ii. 173, 223, 318, 319, 324, 325, 331. English, at Firando. _Passim_; arrival, ii. 257; building, ii. 266; prospects and trade, ii. 259, 288, 297, 309-311, 322, 323; colours struck on account of the cross, ii. 267; privileges curtailed, ii. 280, 282; withdraw factors from Yedo, etc., ii. 282; attempt to enlarge privileges, ii. 291, 292, 294, 297; privileges extended to Nagasaki, ii. 313; libellous verses against their friends, ii. 31; mutinies on ships, ii. 120, 181, 121, 182; fight of Dutch and English sailors, ii. 173; attacked by the Dutch, ii. 305-307, 317; build new godown, etc., ii. 134, 137, 141, 143, 144-171 _passim_; attempt on their magazine, ii. 201; case of arrests for debt, ii. 212, 213, 214, 215, 219, 221, 225, 226, 227, 236, 241, 243, 250, 254, 328; fire at Cochi, ii. 214; recall, ii. 331; letters and proceedings on their recall, ii. 340-349. Enoquena Cambo Dono, maky. (lacquer) bongew. ii. 235. Enquese Dono, tiler. ii. 156. Essex, Countess of. i. 268. Evans, Christopher, sailor. ii. 257. _Expedition_, ship. ii. 319. Faccata. English trade with, ii. 265. Faccata, King of. i. 128, 192. Facheman, servant. i. 13, 30; ii. 139, 295. Facherozamon Dono, of Fakuroi. ii. 254. Facie, an Englishman at Camboja. ii. 47. Facunda, or Facondo, near Nagasaki. ii. 4; fight of Portuguese and natives at, ii. 8. Fajardo, Don Juan de, governor of the Philippine Is. ii. 50. Fajardo, Luis. Fight with the Dutch, i. 43. Fakuroi. ii. 254. Farnandes, ----. i. 264. Fary, or Farie, Benjamin, cape-merchant at Siam. i. 155, 215, 220, 221, 268, 272. Febe or Phebe (Hémi). Will. Adams's property, i. 166, 174, 181, 184. Femega, Japanese woman. i. 140. Fernandes, Diego. i. 151, 228. Ferrers, John, in Siam and Bantam. i. 152, 199, 220, 272, 317, 346; ii. 117. Ferrers, Thomas. i. 152; ii. 117. Feske Dono, host at Ozaka. i. 208. Fesque Dono, bongew. i. 210, 215, 232. Festivals. Of the dead, i. 46, 163, 292; horse-racing and shooting, i. 80; ii. 212; Gonguach guench, i. 140, 258; ii. 42, 168; of Sheco, i. 187; new-year, i. 231; ii. 5; of Shaka, i. 253; ii. 38, 162; of Piro, i. 256-258; for Dono Sama of Firando, i. 287; Sanguach sanch, ii. 156; Shonguach, ii. 245. Feze Dono, justice at Nagasaki. ii. 39, 120, 128, 130, 135, 143, 185, 186, 188, 215, 216. Fezemon Dono. ii. 137. Ficobioy, founder. ii. 170. Ficobuye Dono, of Ejiri. ii. 232. Fidaia Sama (Hidéyori), son of Taiko Sama. Defeat and rumours of his fate, i. 2, 5, 10, 13, 17, 18, 19, 26, 39, 49, 78, 80, 131, 141, 142, 149, 192; ii. 270, 272, 274, 275; search for his followers, i. 12, 214, 246; his son put to death, i. 14; slaughter of his followers, i. 14; one of his followers racked, i. 177; his widow re-married, i. 188; his daughter a nun at Kamakura, i. 194. Figen or Hizen, King of. i. 126, 128, 198; ii. 58; ambassador from, i. 341. Figen a Sama, or Figeno Sama, King of Firando. _Passim_; his debts, i. 92, 107, 111, 117, 132, 198; ii. 2, 3; attendance on the Shogun, i. 98, 110, 205, 222, 254; ii. 35, 124, 278, 293; sickness, i. 156, 157, 207, 313; ii. 86, 94; meddles with English trade, i. 227; goes to Ishew, i. 235; angry with W. Adams, i. 238; offended with Cocks, i. 240; levies taxes, i. 241, 242; threatens to expel the English and Dutch, i. 246; Cocks remonstrates with him, i. 254; attack on him, ii. 26; the queen-mother, ii. 134, 136; his marriage, ii. 176, 325; his queen, ii. 237, 238, 239; Christianity in his family, ii. 250, 330. Figeredo Caravallo, Jeronimo de, Portuguese sea captain. ii. 334. Fingo, or Higo, King of. i. 146, 213; ii. 245, 249. Fingo Shiquan, rich Chinaman. ii. 21, 22, 23, 83. Fiokew, secretary of state in China. Letter to him, i. 223, 284. Fioyemon Dono. ii. 170. Fiquira, Augustino de. ii. 129. Firando. _Passim_; fires at, i. 106, 238; ii. 55; false prophecy of inundation, ii. 155; harbour blocked, ii. 200, 203; bad anchorage, ii. 314. Firando, Kings of. _See_ Doca Sama; Figen a Sama; Foyne Sama. Fishing with cormorants. i. 285. Flood, Thomas. i. 181. _Flushing_, Dutch ship. i. 264, 266, 337, 339, 341, 345. Fongo Dono, admiral. i. 182; ii. 84, 85, 88, 99, 240, 283, 284. Formosa, or Tacca Sanga, Island. Designs on, i. 80; expedition against, i. 131; loss of Twan's men at, i. 149; failure of attack on, i. 277; trade with, ii. 23, 53, 56, 298, 322, 339. Foster, James, master of the _Clove_. i. 229. Foster, Mrs. ii. 16. Fox, host of Miya. ii. 78, 231. Fox, Dutch pinnace. ii. 304. Foyne Sama, King of Firando. His debts, i. 92; his conquests in Omura, i. 140; sickness, ii. 267. Foyne's Island. ii. 113. Frederick, surgeon. i. 89. Freman, Ralph. i. 229. French. Their armament to aid the Spaniards, ii. 50; ships at Bantam, i. 268. Frost. ii. 13. Frushma, or Tushma, Tay, prince. i. 140; ii. 35, 59, 278; report of his burning Yedo, i. 18; reported slain, i. 125; said to be rebuilding Ozaka, i. 128. Fuco, or Fuca, child or servant. i. 93, 230. Fujieta. i. 164, 196; ii. 80, 98. Fujikawa. i. 197; ii. 98, 232. Fujisawa. i. 166, 194. Fukae. i. 133. Furbeshar, ----, carpenter. ii. 173. Fursland, Richard, president at Jacatra. ii. 179, 204, 206, 331, 337; letter of recall to the English at Firando, ii. 340. Fushimi. i. 79, 101, 160, 161, 205, 305, 319; ii. 74, 77, 230, 290, 291, 294. Gabriel, ----, seaman. ii. 195. Galliard, ----, gunner of the _Moon_. ii. 175. _Gallias_, Dutch ship. i. 269, 271, 336, 345; ii. 4, 18, 40, 41, 302, 303, 304. Galsworthy, Christopher, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Ganquan, Chinaman at Nagasaki. i. 238. Garcis, Jarvasias. ii. 334. Garland, Philip. ii. 206. Garrocho de la Vega, Pablo, Capt. i. 7, 9, 17, 20, 23, 40, 41, 46, 54, 64, 65, 66, 70, 122. Geemon, Dono, King of Firando's man. ii. 140. Gembio, founder. ii. 170. Gembio Dono, of Shinagawa. ii. 233. Gendoque Dono, of Uringo. ii. 261. Genemon Dono, admiral at Firando. i. 61. Genemon Dono. ii. 170, 184. Genta, Genshe, Gensero, or Gentero, Sama, the King of Firando's youngest brother, adopted son of Bongo Sama. i. 58, 120, 121, 166, 167, 171, 189; ii. 85, 117, 202, 133, 234, 236, 238, 239, 241, 242. Gerosaque, Will. Adams's man. i. 337. Gibatch, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Gifio Dono, servant of Tozayemon Dono. i. 322, 324; ii. 101, 105. Gilbert, Thomas. ii. 205. Ginemon Dono, of Kanagawa. ii. 232. Gingro, Will. Adams's clerk. i. 56. Ginushma. ii. 70, 228. Giquan, Capt. i. 155, 230, 245, 252, 263, 280, 281, 282, 283, 287, 288, 291, 294, 296, 313; ii. 3, 19, 23. Giquan, Chinaman. i. 332. Gizamon Dono. i. 98. Goa. New viceroy, i. 37. Goblen, John. i. 24. _Godspeed_, junk. ii. 113, 318. Gold fish. i. 125, 144, 285; ii. 28, 37. Gonguach guench, festival. i. 258. Gonosco, or Gonosque, Dono, bongew of Firando. i. 28, 34, 40, 44, 47, 66, 68, 118, 129, 174, 178, 231; ii. 8, 25, 34. Gonosko Dono, father-in-law of Ushanusque Dono. ii. 66. Gonrock Dono, governor of Nagasaki. _Passim_. Gonsalves, Alvaro. ii. 60, 130, 133, 135, 147. Gonsolva, Portuguese. i. 118. Goquan, Chinaman. ii. 20, 21, 27, 33, 127. Goresak Dono. ii. 170. Goresak, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Goresano, or Gorezano, John, jurebasso. i. _passim_; ii. 3, 14, 29. Gota Shoyamon Dono, minter. i. 20, 36. Gota Zazabra Dono. i. 16, 73, 85. Gotad, Chinaman. i. 120. Gotarro. ii. 92. Goto Island. i. 24, 35, 126; ii. 5, 45, 158, 161, 163; Chinese goods at, i. 24; King of, i. 221, 222, 249, 250, 313; ii. 154, 293. Goto, town of. Burned, i. 73. Goulding, John, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 175. Gourden, William, master of the _Hound_. ii. 305, 309. Gourney, or Gurney, John, of Siam. i. 16, 64, 80, 82, 87, 90, 114, 152, 229; ii. 48, 273. Grant, Nicholas. i. 92. Gray, ----, caulker. ii. 174. Green, Lawrance. i. 229. Greenwell, William. i. 229. Griffin, Peter. ii. 309. Groboye Dono, of Okabe. ii. 232. Groby Dono. ii. 3, 10, 11, 12, 129. Grubstreet. _See_ Cuemon Dono. Guarian Ushenusque Dono. ii. 1. Guenche or Guenchque. _See_ Tonomon Sama. Guinia, Martin de, Portuguese captain. i. 61, 70. Guzano, Pedro. ii. 264. _Haarlem_, Dutch ship. ii. 223, 319, 336. Hachiman, god of war. _See_ Otongo. Hakone. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 253. Hall, Peter. i. 272. Hamamatsu. i. 163; ii. 79, 98, 232, 254. Hang-chow. i. 219. Hara. i. 165. Harmonson, Derick. ii. 175. Harod, Joan. ii. 210. Harod, Thomas, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175, 210, 309. Harris, Edward, boatswain of the _Peppercorn_. Hanged, ii. 205, 207. Harris, William. ii. 205. Harrison, William, treasurer E.I.C. ii. 116. Hatch, Arthur, preacher. ii. 174, 175, 180, 198, 211, 213, 243, 247. Hawley, Robert, surgeon. i. 217, 299; ii. 20, 23, 24, 37, 38, 39, 41, 109, 119, 309. Hawtery, John. i. 160, 161, 165, 178, 183, 218. Heath, Thomas, carpenter's mate. i. 70, 71. Heath, Thomas, gunner of the _Advice_. i. 153, 218. _Hector_, ship. i. 268. Henrikson, John. ii. 175. Henry, Prince of Wales. i. 269. Hermosa Island. i. 177. Hewet, Sir Thomas. i. 229. Hewet, Sir William. i. 229. Hidétada. _See_ Shongo Sama. Hidéyori. _See_ Fidaia Sama. Hidéyoshi. _See_ Taiko Sama. Hirado. _See_ Firando. Hirakata. i. 161, 206. Hix, Alexander. ii. 205. Hobson's choice. ii. 294. Hôgo. ii. 105, 229. Hongo, Chinaman. i. 140. _Hope_, ship. ii. 170, 318, 329. _Hope_, Dutch ship. ii. 175, 176, 223, 319. Houlden, ----. ii. 209. _Hound_, ship. Taken by the Dutch. ii. 304, 305, 316, 336. Howdane, ----, capt. of the _Swan_. ii. 319. _Hozeander_. See _Osiander_. Hudson, Richard, of the English factory at Firando. i. 129; ii. 22, 124, 139, 165, 166, 254, 282, 337, 339, 348. Hughes, Hugh, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Humphrey, John, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Hunt, John, master of the _Osiander_. i. 36-229 _passim_. Icana Sama. ii. 69. Ichemon Dono. ii. 143, 153. Ichezayemon Dono. i. 324; ii, 231. Ickquam, Chinaman. ii. 17. Ikanoura. i. 13, 132, 133. Ike Dono, of Satsuma. i. 250; ii. 11. Ikshiu Island. Hot baths. i. 80, 118; ii. 37, 39, 152, 268. Imatds. i. 300, 301. Imory. ii. 158, 159, 161, 164, 165. Incobe. ii. 105. _Indraught_, Dutch ship. ii. 319. Inga Dono, chief justice of Japan. i. 159, 184, 185, 252, 309; ii. 44, 75, 230. Ingoti. i. 25. Ireland, Francis. ii. 225. Ishew. _See_ Ikshiu. Ishia Dono, of Minakuchi. ii. 231. Ishiais Taffio Dono. ii. 231. Ishibe. i. 197; ii. 77, 99. Ishiyakushi. ii. 78, 99. Ishon Dono, King of Firando's physician. i. 159, 169. Ismo Dono, noble of Satsuma. ii. 166. Ita, slave. ii. 218. Itamia Migell Dono. ii. 126, 128, 129, 131, 147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 153, 171. Itamia Quenusque Dono, councillor of the Shogun. ii. 84, 165, 234, 235, 251. Ito Stizemon Dono, poet or singer. ii. 169. Ito Yoguiche Dono. i. 97. Ive, John. ii. 175. Iyéyasu. _See_ Ogosho Sama. Iyo, King of. ii. 245. Jacatra, in Java. ii. 304, 331, 332, 338. _Jacatra_, Dutch ship. i. 35, 52, 78, 152, 153. Jacob, Dutch caulker, who came into Japan with Will. Adams. i. 171, 173. Jacobe Dono, clerk. ii. 97. Jacobe Dono, boatswain. ii. 196. Jambi, in Sumatra. ii. 331, 337. James I. of England. Letter and present to the Shogun, i. 307; his letter translated, i. 312; the same unanswered, i. 316, 317; letters to China, ii. 21, 298. James, Edward, i. 114, 229. _James Royal_, ship. ii. 112, 118, 171, 200, 318, 319, 321. Japan. _Passim_; policy of the shoguns to the tonos, i. 18, 99, 128, 311; ii. 35, 37, 163, 277, 278, 293; natives fond of change, ii. 273; dispute with Japanese sailors from England, i. 297; trading company of native merchants, ii. 310, 322; provisions and products, ii. 311, 312. Jaques, Dutchman. ii. 257. Jaquese, servant. i. 161, 190. Jeamon Dono. ii. 125. Jeffrey, or Jeffery, a boy servant. i. 102, 130, 230, 232; ii. 31. Jehan, a scribe. i. 319; ii. 75. Jembio Dono, founder. i. 99. Jembio Dono, of Hakone. ii. 253. Jenchero, or Jenquero, Dono, glover and shoemaker. ii. 170, 215. Jenkese, or Jenquese, Will. Adams's man. i. 198, 333; ii. 128, 129, 130, 138, 211, 240, 253. Jenkyn. i. 232. Jensamon Dono. ii. 125. Jenza, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Jesuits and Friars. Feeling and proclamations against them, i. 171, 173, 174, 175; banished, ii. 270; search for, ii. 21, 58; embassy of Spaniards ordered away, i. 81; ii. 272, 282; priests in Omura, i. 23, 253; ii. 218, 220; execution in Omura, ii. 256, 258; case of prisoners at Firando, ii. 137, 208, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 235, 320; executions at Nagasaki, ii. 334. Joco Conde Dono. i. 120. John Dono. i. 81, 89. John Japon, jurebasso. i. 7, 9, 25, 46, 108, 252, 283, 326, 341; ii. 1, 3, 28, 92, 139, 218, 219, 241, 265. Johnson, John, in Siam. i. 272, 317, 332, 346, 347; ii. 47. Johnson, John, Dutchman. ii. 175. Johnson, John, van Hamburg. Beheaded, ii. 179, 181. Johnson, Piter, master of a junk. i. 89, 91. Johnson, William, merchant. i. 89. Johnson, William, master of the _Jacatra_. i. 154. Johnson [Janson], William (sometimes called John), admiral of the Dutch trading fleet. ii. 114, 120, 121, 173, 179, 182, 183, 190, 194, 196, 197, 199, 200, 204, 206, 208, 211, 223, 319, 326. Johnson, William, master of the _Haarlem_. ii. 319. Jones, John. Made prisoner by the Dutch, ii. 304, 309. Jones, Morris, surgeon. i. 57, 107, 110, 112. Jones, Robert. ii. 252. Jorge, a caffro. i. 62. Joseph, General Benjamin. Slain, ii. 48. Jourdain, or Jourden, John, president of the Indies, at Bantam. i. 48, 87, 90, 101, 107, 113, 114, 126, 151, 215, 223, 226, 229, 230, 233, 268; ii. 275, 305, 316. Jourdain, John, at Patani. ii. 179. Joyemon Dono. ii. 175. Jubio Dono, servant of the King of Karatsu. i. 133, 137; ii. 25, 47, 48. Kakegawa. i. 164, 196; ii. 80, 232. Kamakura, ancient city. i. 193, 194. Kambara. i. 165, 195; ii. 80, 254. Kameyama. i. 162. Kaminoseki. i. 158, 213, 328; ii. 107, 228. Kanagawa. i. 193; ii. 82, 97, 232, 253. Kanaya. ii. 80, 232, 254. Karatsu, King of. i. 76, 89, 289; visits Firando, i. 65, 66, 75. Karatsu, Nobles of. ii. 56. Kawasaki. i. 184. Keeling, Capt. William. i. 171, 229, 233, 268, 270; ii. 48, 121, 282, 313. Keemon Dono. i. 108. Kenuske Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 308. King, Richard. i. 153, 269; ii. 2, 49, 99, 119, 179, 184, 295, 306, 307. Kitskin Dono. i. 21, 216; ii. 1, 31, 60, 129. Kokura, King of. i. 214. Kokura, persecution of Christians in. ii. 67. Kuanon. Temple of, at Asakusa, ii. 241. Kuanto. ii. 274. Kusatsu. i. 161; ii. 100, 230; earthquake at, ii. 77. Kuwana. i. 197; ii. 78, 99, 231. Ladrone Isles. i. 177, 178. Lake, Evan (Yewen), of the _Advice_. i. 297. Lamb, John Derickson, Dutch general. i. 265, 267, 269, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 285, 333, 334, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 343, 345; ii. 302. Languay. _See_ Nagoya. Lanman, Christopher. i. 229; ii. 116. Lansman, or Roman, Vincent, Dutchman. ii. 185, 199. Larkin, Robert. ii. 271. Laurenso. _See_ Sanzero. Lawrance, W. Nealson's boy. i. 249. Lawrance, R. Cocks's boy. ii. 2, 109, 134, 138, 219. Leangu, Lengow, or Liangowne, a Chinaman. i. 74, 223, 230. Lefevre, Capt., Dutchman. ii. 194, 196, 205, 208, 211, 223, 319, 320. Legg, William, of the _Bull_. ii. 175. Lennis, Edmund, capt. of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 112, 119, 121, 173, 174, 183, 213, 224, 318. Leon. ii. 71, 72, 73. Lester, James. ii. 178. Lezeamon, Dono, sea bongew. ii. 140. Lievana, Juan de. Made prisoner by the Spaniards, i. 1-90 _passim_, 103, 113, 152; ii. 275, 276. _Lion, Black_, Dutch ship. i. 153, 226, 267, 286. _Lion, Red_, Dutch ship. i. 266, 293. Lisomon Dono. ii. 170. Littell, James. ii. 121, 134, 138, 139. Lock, Clement, sailor. ii. 257. Loochoo, or Liu Kiu, Islands. i. 7, 9, 49; ii. 166, 167, 272. Lopas, Francisco. ii. 204, 207. Lubbertson, Euert. ii. 175. Lues, Spanish tailor. ii. 159, 216. Luis, Vilango. i. 148, 287, 289; ii. 36. Luisa Dono, wife of Cuemon Dono. ii. 104. Macao. Portuguese ships from, _passim_; possibility of its capture, ii. 327; attack on, by Dutch, ii. 332. Macassar. ii. 53, 54. Machado, Garcia, of Macao. ii. 23. Magazemon Dono, host at Miako. i. 206, 209, 225, 260, 279, 303, 304, 324, 346, 347; ii. 57, 58, 93, 100, 101. Magdalena Maria, Japanese sister-in-law of Will. Adams. i. 61, 284, 319; ii. 95, 244, 252. Magnafen Dono, host at Miako. i. 234. Maky (lacquer) Dono. i. 304, 318, 320, 322, 323, 324, 347; ii. 6, 100, 102, 104. Maky Shozemon Dono. ii. 231. Malacca. Fighting between Portuguese and Dutch at, i. 148, 150. Malconty, Jasper. ii. 257. Mallabar, Francisco. ii. 129. Mangosa Dono. i. 140. Mangusque, servant. ii. 186. Manillas. _See_ Philippine Islands. Manners and Customs. Caboques, _passim_; naming a child, i. 79; ii. 110, 154; changing names, i. 237; ii. 169; Chinese house-warming, i. 92; Japanese house-warming, ii. 29, 38; change of houses, ii. 96; fishing, i. 57, 58, 285; hunting, ii. 210; picnicing, ii. 31; plays by men and boys, ii. 244; selling a debtor, i. 226; one causing another's death to die himself, ii. 221; law against killing oxen, ii. 236; letter to a man who is dead, ominous, ii. 297; cutting the hair as a disgrace, i. 156; ordeal by fire, ii. 33, 36; burial, i. 320; ii. 201, 202. _See also_ Punishments. Mansho, jurebasso. i. 299. Marcus, German. i. 43. Maria, Japanese woman. ii. 174. Marin, Damian. Made prisoner by the Portuguese, i. 1-103 _passim_; ii. 186, 275, 276. Martin, Japanese, i. 82. Martin, Balthazar. ii. 220. Martin, James. ii. 182, 207. Martin, Luis. i. 41, 43, 86, 264, 286, 289; ii. 201, 220, 334. Martin, Nicholas, jurebasso. i. 1, 33, 118; ii. 170, 184, 194, 227. Massamone, or Massamoneda, Dono, father-in-law of Calsa Sama. i. 116, 163, 164, 192; ii. 239, 240. Matabio Oye Dono, host at Oiso. ii. 88. Matasabra Dono. i. 66. Matinga, Japanese woman. i. _passim_; ii. 6, 31, 38, 65, 76, 83, 100, 109, 144. Matobio Dono, of Oiso. ii. 232. Mats, boy. i. 112, 116. Mats Dayre Cunay Dono, King of Bizen. ii. 106. Matsin, or Matzera, Dayre Yemon Dono, councillor of the Shogun. ii. 165, 235. Mattem Dono. i. 193. Matzera Crodze Sama. _See_ Sangero Sama. Medina, Capt. i. 43. Mia Nots. i. 213. Miako. i 198, 205, 305, 318; ii. 100, 230; temples and monuments at, i. 200-202; ii. 75; earthquakes at, i. 205; ii. 77. Miako, in Cochinchina. ii. 268. Micarna Camme Sama, the Shogun's grandson. i. 131. Middleton, Capt. David. i. 36, 223. Migmoy, or Macchiavelli, a Japanese trader. i. 39, 168, 170, 176, 178, 179, 180. Miguel, Corean jurebasso. i. 14, 40, 46, 54, 55, 131, 132, 135; ii. 13, 29, 50, 219. Miguel, the Tico. i. 226, 251, 254. Mihara. ii. 72, 106, 107. Minakuchi. i. 161; ii. 231. Minema Soyemon Dono. ii. 140. Miracle. i. 335. Misaki. i. 182. Mishima. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232. Missaka. i. 164; ii. 98. Mitske. i. 163, 196; ii. 79, 98. Miya. i. 162, 197; ii. 78, 99, 231. Moluccas, The. Reported hostilities between the Dutch and Spaniards, i. 24, 26, 30, 37, 214, 269. Mon, boy. i. 116, 232. Mon, or Man, slave. ii. 132, 133, 135, 143, 144, 154. _Moon_, ship. ii. 114, 119, 123, 174, 221, 223, 318, 319, 329, 331, 336, 337. _Moon, New_, Dutch ship. i. 283; ii. 304. _Moon, Old_, Dutch ship. i. 283. Moore, John. ii. 304, 309. Morano Cofioze, singer. ii. 169. Moreton, Matthew, master of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 179, 209, 224. Morgan, William, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 175. Moro, Mouro, or Muru. i. 302, 328; ii. 73, 229. Mortaza Ali i. 253. Moure, John, boy. i. 51. Muki. i. 329. Munden, John, capt. of the _Bull_. ii. 119, 174, 183, 198, 203, 213, 318. Muños, Alvaro. _Passim._ Musioyen Dono, bongew of Goto. i. 293. _Muyen_, or _Mogen_, Dutch ship. ii. 179, 194, 203, 208, 209, 212, 325, 336. Nacafaroya Genimon Dono, of Odawara. ii. 232. Nafa, in Liu Kiu Islands. ii. 58. Nagasaki. Ravages of small-pox at, i. 11; Christianity in, i. 173; blockaded, i. 214, 218; fire at, i. 345, 346; Japanese traders at, ii. 297; capacity for commerce, ii. 313, 314; destruction of churches and monasteries in, ii. 315; massacre of Christians, ii. 334. Nagoya, or Languay. i. 157, 300, 329, 330; ii. 70, 108, 161, 165, 168. Narami. i. 197. Naygen Sama. ii. 349. Nealson, William, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Neve, John, purser of the _Moon_. ii. 184, 189. _New Year's Gift_, ship. i. 156. New Spain. Japanese expelled from, ii. 274. _New Zealand_, Dutch ship. ii. 198, 223. Neyemon, or Neamon, Dono, merchant at Yedo. i. 173, 196, 225, 247, 310, 319, 326, 327, 329, 346; ii. 57, 74, 295. Nicoles, or Nicolles, William, agent at Malaya. ii. 189, 200, 204, 326. Niquan, Chinaman. i. 88, 101, 102, 110, 122, 215, 219, 294, 296; ii. 6, 8, 17, 18, 22, 32, 45, 69, 139, 148. Niquan, of Nanking. ii. 22. Nobesane. _See_ Bongo Sama. Nobeske Dono. ii. 8. Noise of trumpets. i. 343; ii. 332. Nomozaky Island. i. 265. North-west passage from Japan. Will. Adams's views, ii. 258, 270, 283, 288. Nubery, Mall. ii. 120. Numadsu. ii. 254. Odawara. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232, 253. Offley, Robert. i. 229. Ogosho Sama (Iyéyasu), Shogun. Born at Okazaki, i. 163; ii. 79; defeats Fidaia Sama (Hidéyori), i. 2, 5; ii. 272, 274, 275; sues for the title of Kwambakku, i. 44; rumour of war with his son, i. 116; conversation with Will. Adams on the hatred of Spaniards and Dutch, ii. 276, 277; report of sickness, i. 128, 141; his treatment of his physician, ii. 278, 279; report of his death, i. 103, 125, 126; ii. 278; his death, i. 142, 144; his shrine at Miako, ii. 75; his tomb at Yedo, ii. 85; his anniversary, ii. 87, 243; tomb of his son, ii. 88. Oigawa. ii. 80. Oiso. i. 166, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232, 253. Okabe. ii. 232, 254. Okazaki. i. 163; ii. 79, 98. Okebank, Philip, of the _Moon_. ii. 175. Ompera. i. 342. Omura, or Umbra, Province of. ii. 8, 29, 35, 115, 293, 313; conquests in, by Foyne Sama, i. 140; Christianity in, i. 134, 173; priests seized and executed, i. 253, 256, 258. Onshma Island. ii. 227. Oque Dono. ii. 113. Ordnance. Japanese method of casting, i. 34; castings, lists, etc., i. 95, 99, 107, 108, 255, 256; ii. 136, 309. Orengawa. i. 167, 173, 174, 181, 184. _Osiander_, or _Hozeander_, ship. i. 36, 48, 50, 51, 52, 56, 61, 62, 71, 72, 80, 88, 101, 103, 109, 111, 115, 135. Osterwick, John, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Otonagen Dono. i. 66. Otongo Fachemon (Ojin Tenno, or Hachimon), god of war. Temples at Yedo, ii. 87, 89, 240. Otsu. i. 161, 197, 317; ii. 100. Otto, Matinga's maid. i. 83, 93, 230; ii. 109, 144. Otto Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 180, 308; ii. 84, 234, 242, 246, 251. Owen, ----, surgeon. ii. 174. Oyen Dono, secretary to the King of Firando. i. 5, 22, 36, 52, 59, 66, 86, 100, 107, 115, 117, 118, 126, 130, 132, 142, 220, 226, 227, 231, 232, 236, 239, 248, 252, 297, 341, 348; ii. 4, 6, 7, 25, 26, 28, 61, 63, 64, 108, 125, 135, 140, 142, 145, 185, 221, 267. Oyen Dono, secretary to the Shogun. i. 170, 175, 179, 180, 184, 185, 186, 189, 191, 205, 303, 307, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 315, 317; ii. 84, 86, 90, 92, 93, 117, 165, 234, 235, 236, 239, 241, 246, 249, 251, 252, 281, 283, 297. Ozaka. i. 158, 206, 209, 212, 302, 321; ii. 73, 102, 104, 229, 230; captured by Iyéyasu, i. 2, 5; ii. 275; great slaughter at, i. 12; rebuilding of, i. 14, 128; ii. 293; fortification of, i. 79; trade with, i. 88; fire at, i. 117; executions at, i. 130; explosion at, i. 324. _Palsgrave_, or _Palsgrove_, ship. ii. 121, 176, 193, 212, 214, 218, 223, 318, 319, 331, 332, 337, 340. Palle, father of Yoshiemon the bonze. ii. 25. Parsons, Benjamin, surgeon of the _Advice_. i. 295. Patani, in Malaya. Dutch trade with, ii. 258. Paul, servant. ii. 128, 131, 219, 226. Paul Dono, gunpowder man at Nagasaki. ii. 129, 132, 133, 135, 142, 143, 144, 159, 169. Payne, Michael, carpenter of the _Samson_. ii. 305, 309. Peacock, Tempest. Killed in Cochinchina, i. 140, 216, 224, 293, 295; ii. 264, 268, 285, 286, 296. Pedro, porter. i. 124, 131. _Peppercorn_, ship. ii. 178, 193, 203, 208, 209, 212, 325, 331, 336. Pepwell, Capt. Henry. ii. 48. Persia. English factory in, ii. 48. Pescadore Islands, near Formosa. ii. 298; occupied by the Dutch, ii. 332, 336, 339. Petersen, John, Dutchman. ii. 174. Peterson, James. ii. 50. Pheby, John. i. 16, 69, 244; ii. 262, 266. Phesemon Dono. ii. 24. Pheze Dono. ii. 118. Philippine Islands. English and Dutch trade and shipping to, i. 15, 265; ii. 123, 169, 172, 319, 324, 325, 331; capture of Shibou, i. 21; hostilities between the Dutch and Spanish, i. 24, 25, 30, 37, 259, 265, 273, 285, 286, 289; ii. 40, 269, 302; Japanese to be banished from, ii. 188; quarrels of the English and Dutch, ii. 324, 326. Pinta, woman. ii. 220. Piro, or Pilo, festival of. i. 256-258. Pitts, Richard, in Siam. i. 272, 317, 332, 346, 347; ii. 47, 48, 50. Portent in England. ii. 57. Portis, or Porteous, John. ii. 54, 56, 60, 65, 109, 110, 180, 205, 309. Portuguese, in the East. Shipping from Macao, i. 83, 106, 122, 135, 137, 175, 263, 266, 267, 333; ii. 4, 5, 8, 14, 17, 43, 169, 170, 181, 187; hostilities against the English and Dutch, i. 35, 171, 273, 278, 279; Port. junk taken by the Dutch, i. 35; ii. 273, 274, 276; fight with Dutch at Malacca, i. 148, 150; banished from Camboja, i. 279, 280; quarrel with W. Eaton in Satsuma, ii. 18, 19; fight with Dutch ships, ii. 51, 52, 53, 55; action of an English with a Port. ship, ii. 48; Port. ship taken by the English and Dutch, ii. 212; Dutch attack on Macao, ii. 332; restricted trade with Japan, ii. 144, 298. Potatoes. First planting of, in Japan, i. 11; sent from the Liu Kiu Isles, ii. 59. Priapus, Japanese. Altar of, i. 238. Price, Robert. ii. 117. Pring, Martin, captain of the _James Royal_. ii. 54, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 205, 318, 321, 322. Privileges of the English in Japan. Curtailed, ii. 280, 281; copy of, ii. 289; attempts to enlarge them, i. 312, 315, 316; ii. 238, 291, 292, 294, 297. Puchin, St. Image of, i. 238. Puloway Island. Expulsion of English by the Dutch, i. 269, 274, 275, 292. Punishments. Executions by cutting, i. 91, 120, 146, 156; ii. 134; crucifixion, i. 161; roasting a thief to death, i. 291; execution of thieves, ii. 104; imprisonment by proxy, ii. 135; burning of Jesuits, etc., ii. 334; a slave executed by the Dutch, i. 19; Dutchmen beheaded by the Japanese, ii. 177, 328; a Dutchman beheaded for killing an Englishman, ii. 181; an Englishman hanged for killing a Dutchman, ii. 175; runaway English sailors hanged, ii, 207; flogging and salting a slave of the English, i. 344; flogging and salting English sailors, ii. 198. Quannow. _See_ Kuanon. Quanto. _See_ Kuanto. Quiamo Dono. i. 88. Quiemon Dono, barkman. ii. 254. Quitamare. ii. 70. Rappado, barber. i. 93. Ravelles, or Ravello, Gonsalo, Portuguese. ii. 191, 216, 222. Refwen Dono, King of Firando's steward. i. 100. Rigote, Diego Farnando. i. 77. Riyoyets Dono. ii. 17. Roane, John. Hanged for murder, ii. 174, 175. Robin, Scotchman. i. 84. Robinson, ----. ii. 113. Rocha, Bartholomew de la. i. 63. Rodrigos, Emanuel. ii. 130, 146, 147. Roquan, Chinaman. i. 120. _Roquan_, junk. ii. 264. Rowe, Richard, master of the _Thomas_. i. 145, 147, 150, 153, 183, 215, 218, 223, 225, 228, 233. Sackay. i. 208, 323; ii. 103; destroyed, ii. 275; rebuilding of, i. 14. Sacky Bingo Dono, governor of the Shogun's son. ii. 237. Saco Dono, magistrate of Nagasaki. ii. 17. Sada Dono, father of Codgkin Dono. i. 106, 117; tomb at Yedo, ii. 85. Sadaye Dono, secretary to the governor of Ozaka. i. 211. Sadler, Francis. i. 152, 229. Safian Dono, governor of Nagasaki. i. 6, 15, 53, 73, 84, 85, 146, 159, 180, 185, 187, 196, 206, 207, 208, 215, 224, 239, 256, 258, 289, 294, 305, 309, 322, 323, 331, 333, 345; ii. 11, 13, 286. _St. Michel_, French ship. ii. 319. Salinas, Miguel de. i. 43, 148, 334. Sammabash. i. 195. _Samson_, English ship taken by the Dutch. ii. 304, 305, 316. Sanfort, Melchor van. i. 19, 70, 80, 82. Sangero, cook. ii. 139. Sangero Sama, son of Foyne Sama, King of Firando. i. 50, 54, 64, 65, 97, 125, 155, 222, 232, 249, 251; ii. 6, 14, 25, 29, 125, 140; his name changed to Matzrea Crodze Sama, ii. 169. Sangusque Dono, of Chiriu. ii. 231. Sannemon Dono. ii. 170. Sanquan, Chinaman. ii. 19. Sanquishe Dono. ii. 17, 19, 22. Sanshero, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. _Santa Cruz_, Dutch pinnace. ii. 336. Sanzero, or Laurenzo, slave of the English. i. 219. Sanzo Dono. i. 140. Saquemon Dono, magistrate at Nagasaki. ii. 17, 18. Saris, George. i. 152. Saris, Capt. John. i. 16, 48, 152, 223, 229, 297; ii. 16, 116, 205, 257. Sars, John, sailor. ii. 257. Satsuma, Province of. Prospect of trade with, i. 81, 124, 149; ii. 272; nobles of, i. 147, 148; disturbances by disbanded soldiers, i. 255; ambassador from, ii. 43, 44; priests seized in, ii. 334. Satsuma, King of. i. 52, 113, 125, 140, 214, 215, 237, 262, 313; ii. 160, 293; visits Firando, i. 4, 6, 122, 123, 250; detained at Court, i. 18; war preparations, i. 82; rebuilding Ozaka, i. 128; report of intending war against the Shogun, i. 149; friendship to the English, i. 215, 216, 220; ii. 58, 59; favours the Chinese, i. 263. Savidge, George, in Camboja. i. 288, 346; ii. 47, 67. Sayemon Dono, of Kambara. ii. 254. Sayemond, scullion. i. 30. Sayers, Edmund, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Scongero Dono. i. 99. Scott, Cornelius, pilot. ii. 41. _Sea Adventure_, junk. i. 7, 70, 79, 87, 88, 154, 155, 219, 221, 269, 282, 299, 300, 317, 340, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348; ii. 1, 2, 12, 15, 18, 36, 58, 270, 291. Sebastian, King of Portugal. Comet seen at the time of his death, ii. 97. Sebeoye Dono, of Ozaka. ii. 57. Seden, of Mishima. ii. 232. Seezamon Dono, timber man. ii. 141. Seki. i. 197; ii. 78, 79. Semi Dono, minister of the King of Firando. _Passim._ Sesque Dono. ii. 140. Seto. i. 235; ii. 17, 132, 189. Seyemon Dono. ii. 170. Sewall, Francis. i. 114. Sewall, William, of Coventry. i. 229. Shaka, festival of. i. 253; ii. 38. Shanks, Henry, gunner. i. 234, 247, 261, 284; ii. 156. Sharpe, ----. i. 87. Shashma. _See_ Satsuma. Shebe Dono, son of Cuemon Dono. ii. 100. Sheco, festival of. i. 187; ii. 85. Shemash, or Shimash, Dono, governor of Ozaka and grandson of Iyéyasu. i. 207, 321, 322, 325; ii. 74, 278, 279. Shengro, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Sheningaua. ii. 97. Shepperd, John. i. 97. Shequenogize. ii. 231. Sheraish Island. ii. 72, 73. Sheroyemon Dono. ii. 140. Shesque Dono. ii. 25. Shezemon Dono. ii. 157, 161, 164, 170. Shezero, caboque. i. 181, 188. Shezque Dono, father of Sugien Dono. i. 109. Shibou, in the Philippine Islands. Capture of, i. 21. Shikoku. Envoy from, i. 226. Shimonoseki. i. 157, 214, 301, 302, 329; ii. 71, 72, 107, 228. Shimotsai. ii. 106. Shinagawa. ii. 82, 233, 253. Shinso Dono. ii. 124. Shippard, John. i. 64, 93, 94. Shiquan, Chinaman. ii. 17, 18, 21, 28. Shisque, or Shiske, Dono. i. 328; ii. 74. Shobick, Capt. i. 155. Shobioye Dono. ii. 153. Shoby Dono. i. 267, 272, 286, 315. Shofan Dono, physician. ii. 169. Shongo Dono, admiral. i. 168, 170, 177, 178, 180, 191, 307, 309; ii. 138, 162, 240, 251. Shongo Sama (Hidétada), Shogun. Reported death, i. 10; succeeds his father, i. 142, 144; receives the English deputation, i. 168, 169; report of his intentions against Christians, i. 174; goes out hawking, i. 175; ii. 91; sends presents to the Emperor of China, i. 249; fails to control the tonos, i. 276; offended with the Dutch for piracy, i. 295; decision on the complaint of the Chinese against the Dutch, i. 306; letter and present to, from James I., i. 307; death of his daughter, i. 312; visit of his brothers, i. 315; presents to Cocks and Adams, i. 317; report of his death, ii. 14, 28; rumour of his retirement, ii. 38; his daughter betrothed to the Dairi, ii. 98, 99; rumour of wars with his uncles, ii. 247; curtails the privileges of the English, ii. 279, 282; copy of privileges granted by him, ii. 289; expected title from the Dairi, ii. 291, 293; his enmity to Christians, ii. 335, 336; conspiracy against him, ii. 338. Shonguach, festival of. ii. 245. Shono. i. 197. Short, Richard, master's mate of the _Moon_. ii. 204, 205, 208, 209. Shosque Dono, King of Firando's chamberlain. i. 66, 69, 107, 253, 256, 281, 337; ii. 26. Showan Dono, physician. ii. 169. Shoyemon Dono. ii. 159. Shoyemon Dono, master of the caboques. ii. 23, 36. Shrongo Sama, the Shogun's eldest brother. His house, ii. 96. Shroyemon Dono, of Ozaka. i. 211, 274, 278, 325, 327, 346. Shushro Dono. ii. 149. Siam. Shipping and trading with, i. 2, 87, 88, 90, 219, 243, 276, 292, 316, 332, 340, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348; ii. 1, 2, 36, 47, 130, 220, 258, 269, 310. Sichsaymon Dono. ii. 25. Sifian Dono, bongew. i. 52, 60, 62, 66, 68, 130, 232, 244. Silva, Don Jeronimo de, governor of the Philippine Is. ii. 55. Silva, Don Juan de, governor of the Philippine Is. i. 21, 24, 148, 150, 259, 285. Simon, jurebasso. i. 13, 20, 26, 76. Sinda Dono, of Sackay. i. 314, 317, 323, 327. Sinemon, carpenter. ii. 170. Sinemon Dono: new name of Sinze, barkman. i. 237. Sinzabra, boatman. i. 24. Sinze. _See_ Sinemon Dono. Skengero Dono, of Miako. i. 322, 326; ii. 57, 100, 101, 247. Skeyo, scullion. i. 132, 134, 135. Skiamon Dono. i. 24, 69, 129, 146, 337; ii. 10, 27. Skidayen Dono, chief justice at Nagasaki. ii. 152. Skidayen Dono, secretary to Gonrock Dono. ii. 133, 135, 143, 150, 152, 185, 186, 188. Skidayen Dono, trader. i. 33, 55, 61, 77, 90, 116, 119, 129, 130, 216, 219, 220, 232, 269, 334; ii. 10, 11. Skirako. i. 161. Skite, or Skeete. i. 84, 136, 232. Skozemon Dono, of Yoshiwara. ii. 232. Skrayamon Dono. i. 103. Slany, Humphrey. i. 228. Slaves or apprentices. i. 112, 115, 116, 219; ii. 1, 2, 24, 31, 132. Smart, Abraham. ii. 118, 209. Smith, a Staffordshire man, cook of the _Moon_. ii. 118. Smith, Harry. ii. 205. Smith, Henry, purser of the _Royal James_. ii. 113, 174. Smith, Sir Thomas. i. 48, 114, 152, 155, 219, 229, 231, 233, 290; ii. 16, 17, 116, 205, 257. Smith, Lady. Lacquer ware for, ii. 9; trade venture, ii. 297. Snow. Heavy fall, ii. 111. Sobioque Dono, secretary to Gentero Dono. ii. 233. Soca Sama. ii. 18. Sofa, Sofo, or Sofy, Dono, a bonze. i. 198, 204, 318, 336. Sofo Dono, physician. ii. 169. Sofo Sama. ii. 25. Soka Dono, of Faccata. ii. 115, 119, 120, 158. Somner, Thomas, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Sonchio Dono. ii. 122. Soude Giemon. ii. 153. Soyemon Dono, King of Firando's steward. i. 60, 62, 66, 92, 99, 103, 104, 107, 109, 115, 118, 125, 128, 134, 136, 142, 149, 217, 220, 232, 246, 254, 260, 276, 278, 281, 282, 285, 291; ii 13, 79. Soyemon Dono, of Kanaya. ii. 232. Soyen Dono, of Nagasaki. ii. 17. Sozero Dono, of Arai. ii. 232. Spalding, Capt. Augustine, one of the Council of Defence. ii. 116, 117, 138, 320; letter of recall to the English at Firando, ii. 340. Spaniards, in the East. Reported embassy to Japan, i. 38; hostilities with the Dutch, i. 21, 24, 25, 26, 30, 37, 43, 148, 214, 259, 265, 268, 272, 273, 283, 285, 289; ii. 40, 269, 302; loss of a ship off Satsuma, i. 193, 196; ships in Satsuma, ii. 282, 283; privateer at Tsushima, ii. 54; trade with Japan, ii. 274. Speck, Jacob, head of the Dutch in Japan. _Passim_. Starkasse, Harry. i. 332. Stibio, or Quedoquea Stibio, Dono, of Suruga. i. 165, 195; ii. 261. Sticamon Dono, King of Firando's jester. i. 77. Stroyemon, or Shroyemon, Dono, bongew. ii. 125, 224, 225, 228, 233, 236, 239, 241, 242, 244, 246, 248, 249, 253, 255. Sua. ii. 107. Suffolk, Earl of, Lord Treasurer. i. 114. Suga Dono, chief justice at Yedo. ii. 230. Sugian, or Sugien, Dono, of Omura. i. 16, 17, 20, 23, 39, 45, 60, 65, 97, 118, 122, 125, 146, 154, 232; ii. 6, 7, 30, 58, 64, 85, 140. _Sun_, Dutch ship. i. 266, 267, 269, 271, 336, 339, 342, 343; ii. 15, 16, 40, 196, 302, 303. _Sun, New_, Dutch ship. i. 268; ii. 302. Sunega, Pedro de. _See_ Zuñiga. Surat. Report of massacre of English at, i. 21. Suruga, or Shrongo. i. 165, 195; ii. 80, 98. Susanna, servant. i. 210, 331; ii. 109, 111, 134, 215, 218. Swager, Jacob. i. 17, 19, 111, 113, 121, 247, 264; ii. 149, 178. _Swan_, English ship taken by the Dutch. i. 289; ii. 120, 134, 182, 204, 304, 316, 319, 325. Sweetland, William. i. 161, 183, 208, 230. Syen Dono, governor [of Firando ?]. i. 242. Synemon Dono. i. 119, 135; ii. 26, 159, 164. Tabilo, or Tabola, Island. i. 231; ii. 31, 34, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 161, 162, 164, 165. Tacca Sackey, or Taccasanga. i. 158, 212. Taccamon Dono, chief justice at Firando. _Passim_. Tachemon, cook. ii. 24. Taffian Dono, Codgkin Dono's secretary. i. 310. Taffy, or Taffio, Dono. ii. 5, 6, 31, 170. Taiko Sama (Hidéyoshi). His siege of Odawara, i. 165; punishes piracy, i. 277; his tomb at Miako, i. 201, 202; designs on China, ii. 271. Tanares, Luis. ii. 57. Tangano. i. 346. Tango Dono. ii. 25. Tansho Sama. i 75. Tasquey. ii. 47. Tayamon Dono, master carpenter. i. 113, 142; ii. 136, 137, 151, 164, 170. Tea. _See_ Chaw. _Thomas_, ship. i. 145, 151, 218, 222, 223, 226, 228, 230; ii. 279. Thomas, cook. i. 247. Thomas, Rowland, purser of the _Osiander_. i. 53, 54, 55, 100, 110, 111. Thornton, ----. ii. 329. Ticham, or Tykam, Shafno, councillor of state in China. Communication with him, i. 58, 223; ii. 125, 284. Tiquan, sailor. ii. 1. Toba. ii. 267. Tobacco. Order for its destruction, i. 35. Tobio Dono. ii. 157, 160, 167, 170, 177, 188. Tobioye Dono, garden bongew. ii. 140. Tomari. ii. 12. Tomas, Jesuit. i. 3. Tomas, Japanese padre. ii. 221. Tome, servant or slave. i. 10, 13, 45, 51. Tome, of Nagasaki. ii. 134. Tome, or Tome Dono: jurebassos so named. i. 54, 76, 225, 226, 310, 319; ii. 97, 102, 126, 127, 139, 145, 166, 219, 241. Tome Dono, of Firando, papist. i. 60, 70, 75, 100, 104, 113, 130, 132, 135, 216, 217, 276. Tome Dono, jurebasso to Massamone Dono. i. 247, 284. Tome Dono, barkman. i. 304. Tome Sama. Another name of Figen a Sama, King of Firando, ii. 261, 267. Tomu in Bingo. _See_ Bingana Tomo. Toncha Sama. ii. 4. Tonomon Sama, or Guenche Sama, eldest brother of the King of Firando. _Passim_; his name changed to Canzemon Sama, ii. 169. Tonquin. i. 298; ii. 60, 300, 310. Toraga, or Torage. i. 24, 232. Torazemon Dono. i. 66, 106, 109, 139, 148, 149, 254, 305, 306, 310, 313, 317; ii. 6-252 _passim_. Torosacka, Will. Adams's man. ii. 130. Torres, Jeronimo de, viceroy of Goa. i. 37. _Tortola_, Dutch ship. ii. 336, 337. Totska, or Todska. i. 166; ii. 82, 97, 232. Totton, John, master of the _Advice_. i. _passim_; ii. 15, 17. Totty, John, sailor. ii. 257. Toyamon Dono, of Yedo. i. 100. Tozayemon Dono, host at Sackay. i. 199-347 _passim_; ii. 10-118 _passim_. Tozemon Dono, of Numadsu. ii. 254. Tozo Dono. ii. 279. Trebioye Dono, bongew. ii. 143, 144. Trees. i. 117, 118, 121, 122, 124, 125, 128, 247; ii. 5. _Trowe_, Dutch ship. ii. 113, 219, 223, 319, 336. Trumpeter, ----. ii. 213. Tsuchiyama. i. 162; ii. 78, 99. Tsushima Island. i. 24, 66, 88, 101, 301; ii. 54, 258, 270. Tsushima, King of. i. 312; ii. 293, 299; tribute of, a root, ii. 287. Tsuyasaki. ii. 70. Tuestro, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Turbervill, Robert, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 172, 175. Turner, Peter, i. 114, 228. Tushma. _See_ Tsushima. Tushma, boy. i. 51. Tushma Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 183, 308, 316; ii. 84. Tushma Tay. _See_ Frushma Tay. Twan, Tuan, or Towan, Dono, of Nagasaki. i. 71, 124, 126, 251; ii. 10; expedition by his son against Formosa, i. 131; privateering on the China coast, i. 149; return of his ships from Formosa, i. 277; accusations against him, ii. 39; disgraced, ii. 69. Ucana Came, of Satsuma. ii. 140. Umbra. _See_ Omura. Ummea Ichazemon Dono, of Hamamatsu. ii. 232. Unagense Dono, captain-general of Firando. i. 19, 66, 69, 111, 118, 132, 232, 234, 244, 291; ii. 1, 7, 8, 124, 125, 190. Uncam, bongew of a junk. i. 140. Underwick, Luke. ii. 205. _Unicorn_, ship. ii. 40, 170, 172, 181, 318. Unquan, Chinaman, i. 97, 237. Uquese Dono, tiler, ii. 143, 162. Ushenusque Dono, bongew. i. 14, 16, 39, 51, 66, 120, 122, 261, 266, 276; ii. 11. Utsymado. _See_ Woshmado. Valche, Henrock, capt. of the Dutch _Hope_. ii. 319. Vasconcellos, Diego de, viceroy of Goa. i. 37. Vaux, ----, Dutchman. ii. 174, 184. Vries, or Vryz, Derick de. i. 85, 89, 97, 111. Vrolick, James. ii. 316. Wacange Sama, the Shogun's son. ii. 84. Waddon, or Wadden, Peter. i. 57, 65, 91; ii. 199. Watkins, David. ii. 9. Wattary. ii. 71. Wattes, Richard, purser of the _Bull_. ii. 175, 184, 344. Weamon Dono. ii. 125. Wedmore, Richard, master's mate of the _Advice_. i. 291, 330; ii. 1, 5. Westby, Richard, in Bantam. i. 48, 290; ii. 16, 114. Westerwood, Adam, Dutch commander. ii. 302, 317. Whaw, or Whow, Chinese trader at Nagasaki. _Passim._ White, ----, of the _Bull_. ii. 113. White, Daniel, purser of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 184. Wickham, son of the host of Ozaka. i. 321; ii. 102. Wickham, Richard, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim_; letter, ii. 278. Widger, ----, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Wigen a Dono, son-in-law of Iyéyasu. His death, i. 165, 166. Wilkyn, purser's mate of the _James Royal_. ii. 112. William, Dutchman. ii. 142. Williams, Hugh. ii. 305, 309. _Willing Mind_, junk. ii. 131. Wilmot, Edmund, purser of the _Advice_. i. 151, 153, 155, 183, 199, 215, 218, 224, 225; ii. 17. Wilson, ----, master's mate of the _Thomas_. i. 223. Wilson, Nicholas, of the _Advice_. i. 218. Wilson, Ralph. i. 166, 169, 179, 180, 183, 186, 230. Wilson, Sir Thomas. ii. 117, 179, 205. Wilson, Thomas, E.I.C. i. 114, 155, 229, 230; ii. 16. Woamon Docka. ii. 132. Woman Dono. i. 328, 329; ii. 74, 104. Woshmado, or Utsymado. i. 158, 302. Wotto Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 170, 172. Wrine, James, preacher. ii. 204. Wyamon Dono, Will. Adams's man. ii. 129, 130, 187, 188. Xaxma. _See_ Satsuma. Ximenes, Hernando. i. 48, 114, 155, 157, 221, 233, 290; ii. 53, 55, 65, 145, 147, 156, 216, 334. Yada, or Yode, Dono, of Yedo. ii. 82, 87, 252. Yadeo, or Yadayo, Dono, partner of Neamon Dono. i. 310; ii. 91. Yamanda Sinimon Dono, of Yoshida. ii. 232. Yarmans, capt. of the _Gallias_. ii. 59. Yasamon Dono, master of a junk. i. 148. Yasimon Dono, or Zanzabar. i. 6-244, _passim_, 333; ii. 8, 10, 23, 27, 46, 55, 140, 148, 159, 185, 186, 204, 208, 220. Yasimon Dono, clerk to Gonrock Dono. ii. 113, 244. Yasobro. ii. 187. Yasozama Amanoia Dono, host at Ozaka. i. 39. Yasozemon Dono, of Kakegawa. ii. 232. Yayemon Dono, king's carpenter at Firando. i. 19, 42, 56, 113, 146; ii. 143, 170. Yayemon Dono, of Faccata, carpenter. ii. 159, 170. Yazemon Dono, of Faccata. ii. 115. Yechere, or Yechero, or Cynemon Dono. ii. 104, 105. Yedo. Earthquakes at, i. 167, 168, 172, 176, 193; ii. 85, 93, 235, 242, 244, 247, 250; monuments and buildings, i. 169, 172; ii. 85, 87-89, 240; fires at, ii. 95, 96, 250; nobleman's house burnt, ii. 245. Yemia Fachman, god of war. _See_ Otongo. Yewkyn Dono. i. 235. Yezo Island. ii. 258. Yoichero Dono, of Kusatsu. ii. 231. Yoiemon Dono. ii. 170. Yonge, John. ii. 309. Yongsham, Chinaman. ii. 17. Yoritomo. i. 194. Yosemon Dono. ii. 164. Yoshemon Dono, of Nagasaki. ii. 133, 135, 143, 144. Yoshida. i. 163, 196; ii. 79, 98, 232, 255. Yoshiwara. ii. 80, 97, 232. Yoshozemon Dono. ii. 184. Yosio Dono, Dutch host at Miako. i. 204. Yoske, cook. i. 13. Yoskey, servant. i. 131, 152; ii. 109. Yosky, or Yosque, king's butler at Firando. i. 61, 135. Yossen, or Yoosen, John. i. 16, 17, 18, 22, 26, 28, 33, 40, 41, 87, 154, 162, 168, 172, 180, 185, 187, 189, 190, 275, 302, 305; ii. 14, 42, 46, 47, 50, 56, 60, 90, 91, 92, 126, 153, 167, 237, 254, 291. Youkaich. ii 231. Yoyemon, oilman. ii. 170. Yoyemon Dono. ii. 170. Yoyemon Dono, smith. ii. 170. Yu. i. 302; ii. 72, 228, 229. Yui. i. 195. Zamon, Pedrogo, Will. Adams's host at Miako. i. 204. Zazabra Dono. i. 34, 216; ii. 145, 170. Zewa. ii. 229. Zezabro Dono, of Ozaka. i. 327. Zeze. ii. 100. Zuñiga, Pedro de, friar. ii. 216, 217, 222. Transcriber's Note: The author's spelling and hyphenation of words and names is inconsistent, e.g. Adams/Adames. Lower case Roman numerals often end with a 'j' instead of an 'i.' Page numbers are displayed in the right margin. Items in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Macrons over letters are indicated within brackets, e.g. [=o]. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the entry for the date (in the diary) or the piece of correspondence (in the Appendix) in which the anchor occurs. To accommodate display on narrow screens, where braces were used in the book to group data horizontally across the page, the text was formatted as indented lists instead. The entry on Febrary 13, Pg 140, is a typical example. Missing periods were added to ends of sentences, abbreviations, and index entries; missing commas were added to a list entry and between page numbers in the index. Use of italics was made consistent. Unclear and left as printed: Pg 30, 'uuse' Pg 357, 'the 26th Julij' Changes to text: Pg 23, 'is' to 'in' ...in all vj C. _tais_,... Pg 34, removed duplicate 'to' ... now ready to take bark ... Pg 34, 'tal ' to 'talk' ... had much talk about ... Pg 46, 'they' to 'the' ... to take the China goodes,... Pg 74, 'Grabstreet' to 'Grubstreet' ...our host Grubstreet ... Pg 113, 'removed duplicate 'an' ... 'rec. another to same effect.'... Pg 140, 'Hollander s' to 'Hollanders' in list Pg 153, 'b' added to ' ound' ... they are bound upon ... Pg 158, 'aud' to 'and' ... and that from hence ... Pg 226, removed from list duplicate 'my owne.' Pg 267, 'Oyen Done' to 'Oyen Dono' ... Same and Oyen Dono are ... 
8088	----	PASSAGES FROM THE AMERICAN NOTE-BOOKS, VOLUME I By Nathaniel Hawthorne Salem, June 15, 1835.--A walk down to the Juniper. The shore of the coves strewn with bunches of sea-weed, driven in by recent winds. Eel-grass, rolled and bundled up, and entangled with it,--large marine vegetables, of an olive-color, with round, slender, snake-like stalks, four or five feet long, and nearly two feet broad: these are the herbage of the deep sea. Shoals of fishes, at a little distance from the shore, discernible by their fins out of water. Among the heaps of sea-weed there were sometimes small pieces of painted wood, bark, and other driftage. On the shore, with pebbles of granite, there were round or oval pieces of brick, which the waves had rolled about till they resembled a natural mineral. Huge stones tossed about, in every variety of confusion, some shagged all over with sea-weed, others only partly covered, others bare. The old ten-gun battery, at the outer angle of the Juniper, very verdant, and besprinkled with white-weed, clover, and buttercups. The juniper-trees are very aged and decayed and moss-grown. The grass about the hospital is rank, being trodden, probably, by nobody but myself. There is a representation of a vessel under sail, cut with a penknife, on the corner of the house. Returning by the almshouse, I stopped a good while to look at the pigs,--a great herd,--who seemed to be just finishing their suppers. They certainly are types of unmitigated sensuality,--some standing in the trough, in the midst of their own and others' victuals,--some thrusting their noses deep into the food,--some rubbing their backs against a post,--some huddled together between sleeping and waking, breathing hard,--all wallowing about; a great boar swaggering round, and a big sow waddling along with her huge paunch. Notwithstanding the unspeakable defilement with which these strange sensualists spice all their food, they seem to have a quick and delicate sense of smell. What ridiculous-looking animals! Swift himself could not have imagined anything nastier than what they practise by the mere impulse of natural genius. Yet the Shakers keep their pigs very clean, and with great advantage. The legion of devils in the herd of swine,--what a scene it must have been! Sunday evening, going by the jail, the setting sun kindled up the windows most cheerfully; as if there were a bright, comfortable light within its darksome stone wall. June 18th.--A walk in North Salem in the decline of yesterday afternoon, --beautiful weather, bright, sunny, with a western or northwestern wind just cool enough, and a slight superfluity of heat. The verdure, both of trees and grass, is now in its prime, the leaves elastic, all life. The grass-fields are plenteously bestrewn with white-weed, large spaces looking as white as a sheet of snow, at a distance, yet with an indescribably warmer tinge than snow,--living white, intermixed with living green. The hills and hollows beyond the Cold Spring copiously shaded, principally with oaks of good growth, and some walnut-trees, with the rich sun brightening in the midst of the open spaces, and mellowing and fading into the shade,--and single trees, with their cool spot of shade, in the waste of sun: quite a picture of beauty, gently picturesque. The surface of the land is so varied, with woodland mingled, that the eye cannot reach far away, except now and then in vistas perhaps across the river, showing houses, or a church and surrounding village, in Upper Beverly. In one of the sunny bits of pasture, walled irregularly in with oak-shade, I saw a gray mare feeding, and, as I drew near, a colt sprang up from amid the grass,--a very small colt. He looked me in the face, and I tried to startle him, so as to make him gallop; but he stretched his long legs, one after another, walked quietly to his mother, and began to suck,--just wetting his lips, not being very hungry. Then he rubbed his head, alternately, with each hind leg. He was a graceful little beast. I bathed in the cove, overhung with maples and walnuts, the water cool and thrilling. At a distance it sparkled bright and blue in the breeze and sun. There were jelly-fish swimming about, and several left to melt away on the shore. On the shore, sprouting amongst the sand and gravel, I found samphire, growing somewhat like asparagus. It is an excellent salad at this season, salt, yet with an herb-like vivacity, and very tender. I strolled slowly through the pastures, watching my long shadow making grave, fantastic gestures in the sun. It is a pretty sight to see the sunshine brightening the entrance of a road which shortly becomes deeply overshadowed by trees on both sides. At the Cold Spring, three little girls, from six to nine, were seated on the stones in which the fountain is set, and paddling in the water. It was a pretty picture, and would have been prettier, if they had shown bare little legs, instead of pantalets. Very large trees overhung them, and the sun was so nearly gone down that a pleasant gloom made the spot sombre, in contrast with these light and laughing little figures. On perceiving me, they rose up, tittering among themselves. It seemed that, there was a sort of playful malice in those who first saw me; for they allowed the other to keep on paddling, without warning her of my approach. I passed along, and heard them come chattering behind. June 22d.--I rode to Boston in the afternoon with Mr. Proctor. It was a coolish day, with clouds and intermitting sunshine, and a pretty fresh breeze. We stopped about an hour at the Maverick House, in the sprouting branch of the city, at East Boston,--a stylish house, with doors painted in imitation of oak; a large bar; bells ringing; the bar-keeper calls out, when a bell rings, "Number--"; then a waiter replies, "Number-- answered"; and scampers up stairs. A ticket is given by the hostler, on taking the horse and chaise, which is returned to the bar-keeper when the chaise is wanted. The landlord was fashionably dressed, with the whitest of linen, neatly plaited, and as courteous as a Lord Chamberlain. Visitors from Boston thronging the house,--some, standing at the bar, watching the process of preparing tumblers of punch,--others sitting at the windows of different parlors,--some with faces flushed, puffing cigars. The bill of fare for the day was stuck up beside the bar. Opposite this principal hotel there was another, called "The Mechanics," which seemed to be equally thronged. I suspect that the company were about on a par in each; for at the Maverick House, though well dressed, they seemed to be merely Sunday gentlemen,--mostly young fellows,--clerks in dry-goods stores being the aristocracy of them. One, very fashionable in appearance, with a handsome cane, happened to stop by me and lift up his foot, and I noticed that the sole of his boot (which was exquisitely polished) was all worn out. I apprehend that some such minor deficiencies might have been detected in the general showiness of most of them. There were girls, too, but not pretty ones, nor, on the whole, such good imitations of gentility as the young men. There were as many people as are usually collected at a muster, or on similar occasions, lounging about, without any apparent enjoyment; but the observation of this may serve me to make a sketch of the mode of spending the Sabbath by the majority of unmarried, young, middling-class people, near a great town. Most of the people had smart canes and bosom-pins. Crossing the ferry into Boston, we went to the City Tavern, where the bar-room presented a Sabbath scene of repose,--stage-folk lounging in chairs half asleep, smoking cigars, generally with clean linen and other niceties of apparel, to mark the day. The doors and blinds of an oyster and refreshment shop across the street were closed, but I saw people enter it. There were two owls in a back court, visible through a window of the bar-room,--speckled gray, with dark-blue eyes,--the queerest-looking birds that exist,--so solemn and wise,--dozing away the day, much like the rest of the people, only that they looked wiser than any others. Their hooked beaks looked like hooked noses. A dull scene this. A stranger, here and there, poring over a newspaper. Many of the stage-folk sitting in chairs on the pavement, in front of the door. We went to the top of the hill which formed part of Gardiner Greene's estate, and which is now in the process of levelling, and pretty much taken away, except the highest point, and a narrow path to ascend to it. It gives an admirable view of the city, being almost as high as the steeples and the dome of the State House, and overlooking the whole mass of brick buildings and slated roofs, with glimpses of streets far below. It was really a pity to take it down. I noticed the stump of a very large elm, recently felled. No house in the city could have reared its roof so high as the roots of that tree, if indeed the church-spires did so. On our drive home we passed through Charlestown. Stages in abundance were passing the road, burdened with passengers inside and out; also chaises and barouches, horsemen and footmen. We are a community of Sabbath-breakers. August 31st.--A drive to Nahant yesterday afternoon. Stopped at Rice's, and afterwards walked down to the steamboat wharf to see the passengers land. It is strange how few good faces there are in the world, comparatively to the ugly ones. Scarcely a single comely one in all this collection. Then to the hotel. Barouches at the doors, and gentlemen and ladies going to drive, and gentlemen smoking round the piazza. The bar-keeper had one of Benton's mint-drops for a bosom-brooch! It made a very handsome one. I crossed the beach for home about sunset. The tide was so far down as just to give me a passage on the hard sand, between the sea and the loose gravel. The sea was calm and smooth, with only the surf-waves whitening along the beach. Several ladies and gentlemen on horseback were cantering and galloping before and behind me. A hint of a story,--some incident which should bring on a general war; and the chief actor in the incident to have something corresponding to the mischief he had caused. September 7th--A drive to Ipswich with B------. At the tavern was an old, fat, country major, and another old fellow, laughing and playing off jokes on each other,--one tying a ribbon upon the other's hat. One had been a trumpeter to the major's troop. Walking about town, we knocked, for a whim, at the door of a dark old house, and inquired if Miss Hannah Lord lived there. A woman of about thirty came to the door, with rather a confused smile, and a disorder about the bosom of her dress, as if she had been disturbed while nursing her child. She answered us with great kindness. Entering the burial-ground, where some masons were building a tomb, we found a good many old monuments, and several covered with slabs of red freestone or slate, and with arms sculptured on the slab, or an inlaid circle of slate. On one slate gravestone, of the Rev. Nathl. Rogers, there was a portrait of that worthy, about a third of the size of life, carved in relief, with his cloak, band, and wig, in excellent preservation, all the buttons of his waistcoat being cut with great minuteness,--the minister's nose being on a level with his cheeks. It was an upright gravestone. Returning home, I held a colloquy with a young girl about the right road. She had come out to feed a pig, and was a little suspicious that we were making fun of her, yet answered us with a shy laugh and good-nature,--the pig all the time squealing for his dinner. Displayed along the walls, and suspended from the pillars of the original King's Chapel, were coats-of-arms of the king, the successive governors, and other distinguished men. In the pulpit there was an hour-glass on a large and elaborate brass stand. The organ was surmounted by a gilt crown in the centre, supported by a gilt mitre on each side. The governor's pew had Corinthian pillars, and crimson damask tapestry. In 1727 it was lined with china, probably tiles. Saint Augustin, at mass, charged all that were accursed to go out of the church. "Then a dead body arose, and went out of the church into the churchyard, with a white cloth on its head, and stood there till mass was over. It was a former lord of the manor, whom a curate had cursed because he refused to pay his tithes. A justice also commanded the dead curate to arise, and gave him a rod; and the dead lord, kneeling, received penance thereby." He then ordered the lord to go again to his grave, which he did, and fell immediately to ashes. Saint Augustin offered to pray for the curate, that he might remain on earth to confirm men in their belief; but the curate refused, because he was in the place of rest. A sketch to be given of a modern reformer,--a type of the extreme doctrines on the subject of slaves, cold water, and other such topics. He goes about the streets haranguing most eloquently, and is on the point of making many converts, when his labors are suddenly interrupted by the appearance of the keeper of a mad-house, whence he has escaped. Much may be made of this idea. A change from a gay young girl to an old woman; the melancholy events, the effects of which have clustered around her character, and gradually imbued it with their influence, till she becomes a lover of sick-chambers, taking pleasure in receiving dying breaths and in laying out the dead; also having her mind full of funeral reminiscences, and possessing more acquaintances beneath the burial turf than above it. A well-concerted train of events to be thrown into confusion by some misplaced circumstance, unsuspected till the catastrophe, yet exerting its influence from beginning to end. On the common, at dusk, after a salute from two field-pieces, the smoke lay long and heavily on the ground, without much spreading beyond the original space over which it had gushed from the guns. It was about the height of a man. The evening clear, but with an autumnal chill. The world is so sad and solemn, that things meant in jest are liable, by an overpowering influence, to become dreadful earnest,--gayly dressed fantasies turning to ghostly and black-clad images of themselves. A story, the hero of which is to be represented as naturally capable of deep and strong passion, and looking forward to the time when he shall feel passionate love, which is to be the great event of his existence. But it so chances that he never falls in love, and although he gives up the expectation of so doing, and marries calmly, yet it is somewhat sadly, with sentiments merely of esteem for his bride. The lady might be one who had loved him early in life, but whom then, in his expectation of passionate love, he had scorned. The scene of a story or sketch to be laid within the light of a street-lantern; the time, when the lamp is near going out; and the catastrophe to be simultaneous with the last flickering gleam. The peculiar weariness and depression of spirits which is felt after a day wasted in turning over a magazine or other light miscellany, different from the state of the mind after severe study; because there has been no excitement, no difficulties to be overcome, but the spirits have evaporated insensibly. To represent the process by which sober truth gradually strips off all the beautiful draperies with which imagination has enveloped a beloved object, till from an angel she turns out to be a merely ordinary woman. This to be done without caricature, perhaps with a quiet humor interfused, but the prevailing impression to be a sad one. The story might consist of the various alterations in the feelings of the absent lover, caused by successive events that display the true character of his mistress; and the catastrophe should take place at their meeting, when he finds himself equally disappointed in her person; or the whole spirit of the thing may here be reproduced. Last evening, from the opposite shore of the North River, a view of the town mirrored in the water, which was as smooth as glass, with no perceptible tide or agitation, except a trifling swell and reflux on the sand, although the shadow of the moon danced in it. The picture of the town perfect in the water,--towers of churches, houses, with here and there a light gleaming near the shore above, and more faintly glimmering under water,--all perfect, but somewhat more hazy and indistinct than the reality. There were many clouds flitting about the sky; and the picture of each could be traced in the water,--the ghost of what was itself unsubstantial. The rattling of wheels heard long and far through the town. Voices of people talking on the other side of the river, the tones being so distinguishable in all their variations that it seemed as if what was there said might be understood; but it was not so. Two persons might be bitter enemies through life, and mutually cause the ruin of one another, and of all that were dear to them. Finally, meeting at the funeral of a grandchild, the offspring of a son and daughter married without their consent,--and who, as well as the child, had been the victims of their hatred,--they might discover that the supposed ground of the quarrel was altogether a mistake, and then be wofully reconciled. Two persons, by mutual agreement, to make their wills in each other's favor, then to wait impatiently for one another's death, and both to be informed of the desired event at the same time. Both, in most joyous sorrow, hasten to be present at the funeral, meet, and find themselves both hoaxed. The story of a man, cold and hard-hearted, and acknowledging no brotherhood with mankind. At his death they might try to dig him a grave, but, at a little space beneath the ground, strike upon a rock, as if the earth refused to receive the unnatural son into her bosom. Then they would put him into an old sepulchre, where the coffins and corpses were all turned to dust, and so he would be alone. Then the body would petrify; and he having died in some characteristic act and expression, he would seem, through endless ages of death, to repel society as in life, and no one would be buried in that tomb forever. Cannon transformed to church-bells. A person, even before middle age, may become musty and faded among the people with whom he has grown up from childhood; but, by migrating to a new place, he appears fresh with the effect of youth, which may be communicated from the impressions of others to his own feelings. In an old house, a mysterious knocking might be beard on the wall, where had formerly been a doorway, now bricked up. It might be stated, as the closing circumstance of a tale, that the body of one of the characters had been petrified, and still existed in that state. A young man to win the love of a girl, without any serious intentions, and to find that in that love, which might have been the greatest blessing of his life, he had conjured up a spirit of mischief which pursued him throughout his whole career,--and this without any revengeful purposes on the part of the deserted girl. Two lovers, or other persons, on the most private business, to appoint a meeting in what they supposed to be a place of the utmost solitude, and to find it thronged with people. October 17th.--Some of the oaks are now a deep brown red; others are changed to a light green, which, at a little distance, especially in the sunshine, looks like the green of early spring. In some trees, different masses of the foliage show each of these hues. Some of the walnut-trees have a yet more delicate green. Others are of a bright sunny yellow. Mr. ------ was married to Miss ------ last Wednesday. Yesterday Mr. Brazer, preaching on the comet, observed that not one, probably, of all who heard him, would witness its reappearance. Mrs. ------ shed tears. Poor soul! she would be contented to dwell in earthly love to all eternity! Some treasure or other thing to be buried, and a tree planted directly over the spot, so as to embrace it with its roots. A tree, tall and venerable, to be said by tradition to have been the staff of some famous man, who happened to thrust it into the ground, where it took root. A fellow without money, having a hundred and seventy miles to go, fastened a chain and padlock to his legs, and lay down to sleep in a field. He was apprehended, and carried gratis to a jail in the town whither he desired to go. An old volume in a large library,--every one to be afraid to unclasp and open it, because it was said to be a book of magic. A ghost seen by moonlight; when the moon was out, it would shine and melt through the airy substance of the ghost, as through a cloud. Prideaux, Bishop of Worcester, during the sway of the Parliament, was forced to support himself and his family by selling his household goods. A friend asked him, "How doth your lordship?" "Never better in my life," said the Bishop, "only I have too great a stomach; for I have eaten that little plate which the sequestrators left me. I have eaten a great library of excellent books. I have eaten a great deal of linen, much of my brass, some of my pewter, and now I am come to eat iron; and what will come next I know not." A scold and a blockhead,--brimstone and wood,--a good match. To make one's own reflection in a mirror the subject of a story. In a dream to wander to some place where may be heard the complaints of all the miserable on earth. Some common quality or circumstance that should bring together people the most unlike in all other respects, and make a brotherhood and sisterhood of them,--the rich and the proud finding themselves in the same category with the mean and the despised. A person to consider himself as the prime mover of certain remarkable events, but to discover that his actions have not contributed in the least thereto. Another person to be the cause, without suspecting it. October 25th.--A person or family long desires some particular good. At last it comes in such profusion as to be the great pest of their lives. A man, perhaps with a persuasion that he shall make his fortune by some singular means, and with an eager longing so to do, while digging or boring for water, to strike upon a salt-spring. To have one event operate in several places,--as, for example, if a man's head were to be cut off in one town, men's heads to drop off in several towns. Follow out the fantasy of a man taking his life by instalments, instead of at one payment,--say ten years of life alternately with ten years of suspended animation. Sentiments in a foreign language, which merely convey the sentiment without retaining to the reader any graces of style or harmony of sound, have somewhat of the charm of thoughts in one's own mind that have not yet been put into words. No possible words that we might adapt to them could realize the unshaped beauty that they appear to possess. This is the reason that translations are never satisfactory,--and less so, I should think, to one who cannot than to one who can pronounce the language. A person to be writing a tale, and to find that it shapes itself against his intentions; that the characters act otherwise than he thought; that unforeseen events occur; and a catastrophe comes which he strives in vain to avert. It might shadow forth his own fate,--he having made himself one of the personages. It is a singular thing, that, at the distance, say, of five feet, the work of the greatest dunce looks just as well as that of the greatest genius,--that little space being all the distance between genius and stupidity. Mrs. Sigourney says, after Coleridge, that "poetry has been its own exceeding great reward." For the writing, perhaps; but would it be so for the reading? Four precepts: To break off customs; to shake off spirits ill-disposed; to meditate on youth; to do nothing against one's genius. Salem, August 31st, 1836.--A walk, yesterday, down to the shore, near the hospital. Standing on the old grassy battery, that forms a semicircle, and looking seaward. The sun not a great way above the horizon, yet so far as to give a very golden brightness, when it shone out. Clouds in the vicinity of the sun, and nearly all the rest of the sky covered with clouds in masses, not a gray uniformity of cloud. A fresh breeze blowing from land seaward. If it had been blowing from the sea, it would have raised it in heavy billows, and caused it to dash high against the rocks. But now its surface was not at all commoved with billows; there was only roughness enough to take off the gleam, and give it the aspect of iron after cooling. The clouds above added to the black appearance. A few sea-birds were flitting over the water, only visible at moments, when they turned their white bosoms towards me,--as if they were then first created. The sunshine had a singular effect. The clouds would interpose in such a manner that some objects were shaded from it, while others were strongly illuminated. Some of the islands lay in the shade, dark and gloomy, while others were bright and favored spots. The white lighthouse was sometimes very cheerfully marked. There was a schooner about a mile from the shore, at anchor, laden apparently with lumber. The sea all about her had the black, iron aspect which I have described; but the vessel herself was alight. Hull, masts, and spars were all gilded, and the rigging was made of golden threads. A small white streak of foam breaking around the bows, which were towards the wind. The shadowiness of the clouds overhead made the effect of the sunlight strange, where it fell. September.--The elm-trees have golden branches intermingled with their green already, and so they had on the first of the month. To picture the predicament of worldly people, if admitted to paradise. As the architecture of a country always follows the earliest structures, American architecture should be a refinement of the log-house. The Egyptian is so of the cavern and mound; the Chinese, of the tent; the Gothic, of overarching trees; the Greek, of a cabin. "Though we speak nonsense, God will pick out the meaning of it,"--an extempore prayer by a New England divine. In old times it must have been much less customary than now to drink pure water. Walker emphatically mentions, among the sufferings of a clergyman's wife and family in the Great Rebellion, that they were forced to drink water, with crab-apples stamped in it to relish it. Mr. Kirby, author of a work on the History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals, questions whether there may not be an abyss of waters within the globe, communicating with the ocean, and whether the huge animals of the Saurian tribe--great reptiles, supposed to be exclusively antediluvian, and now extinct--may not be inhabitants of it. He quotes a passage from Revelation, where the creatures under the earth are spoken of as distinct from those of the sea, and speaks of a Saurian fossil that has been found deep in the subterranean regions. He thinks, or suggests, that these may be the dragons of Scripture. The elephant is not particularly sagacious in the wild state, but becomes so when tamed. The fox directly the contrary, and likewise the wolf. A modern Jewish adage,--"Let a man clothe himself beneath his ability, his children according to his ability, and his wife above his ability." It is said of the eagle, that, in however long a flight, he is never seen to clap his wings to his sides. He seems to govern his movements by the inclination of his wings and tail to the wind, as a ship is propelled by the action of the wind on her sails. In old country-houses in England, instead of glass for windows, they used wicker, or fine strips of oak disposed checkerwise. Horn was also used. The windows of princes and great noblemen were of crystal; those of Studley Castle, Holinshed says, of beryl. There were seldom chimneys; and they cooked their meats by a fire made against an iron back in the great hall. Houses, often of gentry, were built of a heavy timber frame, filled up with lath and plaster. People slept on rough mats or straw pallets, with a round log for a pillow; seldom better beds than a mattress, with a sack of chaff for a pillow. October 25th.--A walk yesterday through Dark Lane, and home through the village of Danvers. Landscape now wholly autumnal. Saw an elderly man laden with two dry, yellow, rustling bundles of Indian corn-stalks,--a good personification of Autumn. Another man hoeing up potatoes. Rows of white cabbages lay ripening. Fields of dry Indian corn. The grass has still considerable greenness. Wild rose-bushes devoid of leaves, with their deep, bright red seed-vessels. Meeting-house in Danvers seen at a distance, with the sun shining through the windows of its belfry. Barberry-bushes,--the leaves now of a brown red, still juicy and healthy; very few berries remaining, mostly frost-bitten and wilted. All among the yet green grass, dry stalks of weeds. The down of thistles occasionally seen flying through the sunny air. In this dismal chamber FAME was won. (Salem, Union Street.) Those who are very difficult in choosing wives seem as if they would take none of Nature's ready-made works, but want a woman manufactured particularly to their order. A council of the passengers in a street: called by somebody to decide upon some points important to him. Every individual has a place to fill in the world, and is important in some respects, whether he chooses to be so or not. A Thanksgiving dinner. All the miserable on earth are to be invited, --as the drunkard, the bereaved parent, the ruined merchant, the broken-hearted lover, the poor widow, the old man and woman who have outlived their generation, the disappointed author, the wounded, sick, and broken soldier, the diseased person, the infidel, the man with an evil conscience, little orphan children or children of neglectful parents, shall be admitted to the table, and many others. The giver of the feast goes out to deliver his invitations. Some of the guests he meets in the streets, some he knocks for at the doors of their houses. The description must be rapid. But who must be the giver of the feast, and what his claims to preside? A man who has never found out what he is fit for, who has unsettled aims or objects in life, and whose mind gnaws him, making him the sufferer of many kinds of misery. He should meet some pious, old, sorrowful person, with more outward calamities than any other, and invite him, with a reflection that piety would make all that miserable company truly thankful. Merry, in "merry England," does not mean mirthful; but is corrupted from an old Teutonic word signifying famous or renowned. In an old London newspaper, 1678, there is an advertisement, among other goods at auction, of a black girl, about fifteen years old, to be sold. We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream: it may be so the moment after death. The race of mankind to be swept away, leaving all their cities and works. Then another human pair to be placed in the world, with native intelligence like Adam and Eve, but knowing nothing of their predecessors or of their own nature and destiny. They, perhaps, to be described as working out this knowledge by their sympathy with what they saw, and by their own feelings. Memorials of the family of Hawthorne in the church of the village of Dundry, Somersetshire, England. The church is ancient and small, and has a prodigiously high tower of more modern date, being erected in the time of Edward IV. It serves as a landmark for an amazing extent of country. A singular fact, that, when man is a brute, he is the most sensual and loathsome of all brutes. A snake, taken into a man's stomach and nourished there from fifteen years to thirty-five, tormenting him most horribly. A type of envy or some other evil passion. A sketch illustrating the imperfect compensations which time makes for its devastations on the person,--giving a wreath of laurel while it causes baldness, honors for infirmities, wealth for a broken constitution,--and at last, when a man has everything that seems desirable, death seizes him. To contrast the man who has thus reached the summit of ambition with the ambitious youth. Walking along the track of the railroad, I observed a place where the workmen had bored a hole through the solid rock, in order to blast it; but, striking a spring of water beneath the rock, it gushed up through the hole. It looked as if the water were contained within the rock. A Fancy Ball, in which the prominent American writers should appear, dressed in character. A lament for life's wasted sunshine. A new classification of society to be instituted. Instead of rich and poor, high and low, they are to be classed,--First, by their sorrows: for instance, whenever there are any, whether in fair mansion or hovel, who are mourning the loss of relations and friends, and who wear black, whether the cloth be coarse or superfine, they are to make one class. Secondly, all who have the same maladies, whether they lie under damask canopies or on straw pallets or in the wards of hospitals, they are to form one class. Thirdly, all who are guilty of the same sins, whether the world knows them or not; whether they languish in prison, looking forward to the gallows, or walk honored among men, they also form a class. Then proceed to generalize and classify the whole world together, as none can claim utter exemption from either sorrow, sin, or disease; and if they could, yet Death, like a great parent, comes and sweeps them all through one darksome portal,--all his children. Fortune to come like a pedler with his goods,--as wreaths of laurel, diamonds, crowns; selling them, but asking for them the sacrifice of health, of integrity, perhaps of life in the battle-field, and of the real pleasures of existence. Who would buy, if the price were to be paid down? The dying exclamation of the Emperor Augustus, "Has it not been well acted?" An essay on the misery of being always under a mask. A veil may be needful, but never a mask. Instances of people who wear masks in all classes of society, and never take them off even in the most familiar moments, though sometimes they may chance to slip aside. The various guises under which Ruin makes his approaches to his victims: to the merchant, in the guise of a merchant offering speculations; to the young heir, a jolly companion; to the maiden, a sighing, sentimentalist lover. What were the contents of the burden of Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress? He must have been taken for a pedler travelling with his pack. To think, as the sun goes down, what events have happened in the course of the day,--events of ordinary occurrence: as, the clocks have struck, the dead have been buried. Curious to imagine what murmurings and discontent would be excited, if any of the great so-called calamities of human beings were to be abolished,--as, for instance, death. Trifles to one are matters of life and death to another. As, for instance, a farmer desires a brisk breeze to winnow his grain; and mariners, to blow them out of the reach of pirates. A recluse, like myself, or a prisoner, to measure time by the progress of sunshine through his chamber. Would it not be wiser for people to rejoice at all that they now sorrow for, and vice versa? To put on bridal garments at funerals, and mourning at weddings? For their friends to condole with them when they attained riches and honor, as only so much care added? If in a village it were a custom to hang a funeral garland or other token of death on a house where some one had died, and there to let it remain till a death occurred elsewhere, and then to hang that same garland over the other house, it would have, methinks, a strong effect. No fountain so small but that Heaven may be imaged in its bosom. Fame! Some very humble persons in a town may be said to possess it,--as, the penny-post, the town-crier, the constable,--and they are known to everybody; while many richer, more intellectual, worthier persons are unknown by the majority of their fellow-citizens. Something analogous in the world at large. The ideas of people in general are not raised higher than the roofs of the houses. All their interests extend over the earth's surface in a layer of that thickness. The meeting-house steeple reaches out of their sphere. Nobody will use other people's experience, nor has any of his own till it is too late to use it. Two lovers to plan the building of a pleasure-house on a certain spot of ground, but various seeming accidents prevent it. Once they find a group of miserable children there; once it is the scene where crime is plotted; at last the dead body of one of the lovers or of a dear friend is found there; and, instead of a pleasure-house, they build a marble tomb. The moral,--that there is no place on earth fit for the site of a pleasure-house, because there is no spot that may not have been saddened by human grief, stained by crime, or hallowed by death. It might be three friends who plan it, instead of two lovers; and the dearest one dies. Comfort for childless people. A married couple with ten children have been the means of bringing about ten funerals. A blind man on a dark night carried a torch, in order that people might see him, and not run against him, and direct him how to avoid dangers. To picture a child's (one of four or five years old) reminiscences at sunset of a long summer's day,--his first awakening, his studies, his sports, his little fits of passion, perhaps a whipping, etc. The blind man's walk. To picture a virtuous family, the different members examples of virtuous dispositions in their way; then introduce a vicious person, and trace out the relations that arise between him and them, and the manner in which all are affected. A man to flatter himself with the idea that he would not be guilty of some certain wickedness,---as, for instance, to yield to the personal temptations of the Devil,--yet to find, ultimately, that he was at that very time committing that same wickedness. What would a man do, if he were compelled to live always in the sultry heat of society, and could never bathe himself in cool solitude? A girl's lover to be slain and buried in her flower-garden, and the earth levelled over him. That particular spot, which she happens to plant with some peculiar variety of flowers, produces them of admirable splendor, beauty, and perfume; and she delights, with an indescribable impulse, to wear them in her bosom, and scent her chamber with them. Thus the classic fantasy would be realized, of dead people transformed to flowers. Objects seen by a magic-lantern reversed. A street, or other location, might be presented, where there would be opportunity to bring forward all objects of worldly interest, and thus much pleasant satire might be the result. The Abyssinians, after dressing their hair, sleep with their heads in a forked stick, in order not to discompose it. At the battle of Edge Hill, October 23, 1642, Captain John Smith, a soldier of note, Captain Lieutenant to Lord James Stuart's horse, with only a groom, attacked a Parliament officer, three cuirassiers, and three arquebusiers, and rescued the royal standard, which they had taken and were guarding. Was this the Virginian Smith? Stephen Gowans supposed that the bodies of Adam and Eve were clothed in robes of light, which vanished after their sin. Lord Chancellor Clare, towards the close of his life, went to a village church, where he might not be known, to partake of the Sacrament. A missionary to the heathen in a great city, to describe his labors in the manner of a foreign mission. In the tenth century, mechanism of organs so clumsy, that one in Westminster Abbey, with four hundred pipes, required twenty-six bellows and seventy stout men. First organ ever known in Europe received by King Pepin, from the Emperor Constantine, in 757. Water boiling was kept in a reservoir under the pipes; and, the keys being struck, the valves opened, and steam rushed through with noise. The secret of working them thus is now lost. Then came bellows organs, first used by Louis le Debonnaire. After the siege of Antwerp, the children played marbles in the streets with grape and cannon shot. A shell, in falling, buries itself in the earth, and, when it explodes, a large pit is made by the earth being blown about in all directions,-- large enough, sometimes, to hold three or four cart-loads of earth. The holes are circular. A French artillery-man being buried in his military cloak on the ramparts, a shell exploded, and unburied him. In the Netherlands, to form hedges, young trees are interwoven into a sort of lattice-work; and, in time, they grow together at the point of junction, so that the fence is all of one piece. To show the effect of gratified revenge. As an instance, merely, suppose a woman sues her lover for breach of promise, and gets the money by instalments, through a long series of years. At last, when the miserable victim were utterly trodden down, the triumpher would have become a very devil of evil passions,--they having overgrown his whole nature; so that a far greater evil would have come upon himself than on his victim. Anciently, when long-buried bodies were found undecayed in the grave, a species of sanctity was attributed to them. Some chimneys of ancient halls used to be swept by having a culverin fired up them. At Leith, in 1711, a glass bottle was blown of the capacity of two English bushels. The buff and blue of the Union were adopted by Fox and the Whig party in England. The Prince of Wales wore them. In 1621, a Mr. Copinger left a certain charity, an almshouse, of which four poor persons were to partake, after the death of his eldest son and his wife. It was a tenement and yard. The parson, head-boroughs, and his five other sons were to appoint the persons. At the time specified, however, all but one of his sons were dead; and he was in such poor circumstances that he obtained the benefit of the charity for himself, as one of the four. A town clerk arranges the publishments that are given in, according to his own judgment. To make a story from Robert Raikes seeing dirty children at play, in the streets of London, and inquiring of a woman about them. She tells him that on Sundays, when they were not employed, they were a great deal worse, making the streets like hell; playing at church, etc. He was therefore induced to employ women at a shilling to teach them on Sundays, and thus Sunday schools were established. To represent the different departments of the United States government by village functionaries. The War Department by watchmen, the law by constables, the merchants by a variety store, etc. At the accession of Bloody Mary, a man, coming into a house, sounded three times with his mouth, as with a trumpet, and then made proclamation to the family. A bonfire was built, and little children were made to carry wood to it, that they might remember the circumstance in old age. Meat and drink were provided at the bonfires. To describe a boyish combat with snowballs, and the victorious leader to have a statue of snow erected to him. A satire on ambition and fame to be made out of this idea. It might be a child's story. Our body to be possessed by two different spirits; so that half of the visage shall express one mood, and the other half another. An old English sea-captain desires to have a fast-sailing ship, to keep a good table, and to sail between the tropics without making land. A rich man left by will his mansion and estate to a poor couple. They remove into it, and find there a darksome servant, whom they are forbidden by will to turn away. He becomes a torment to them; and, in the finale, he turns out to be the former master of the estate. Two persons to be expecting some occurrence, and watching for the two principal actors in it, and to find that the occurrence is even then passing, and that they themselves are the two actors. There is evil in every human heart, which may remain latent, perhaps, through the whole of life; but circumstances may rouse it to activity. To imagine such circumstances. A woman, tempted to be false to her husband, apparently through mere whim,--or a young man to feel an instinctive thirst for blood, and to commit murder. This appetite may be traced in the popularity of criminal trials. The appetite might be observed first in a child, and then traced upwards, manifesting itself in crimes suited to every stage of life. The good deeds in an evil life,--the generous, noble, and excellent actions done by people habitually wicked,--to ask what is to become of them. A satirical article might be made out of the idea of an imaginary museum, containing such articles as Aaron's rod, the petticoat of General Harrison, the pistol with which Benton shot Jackson,--and then a diorama, consisting of political or other scenes, or done in wax-work. The idea to be wrought out and extended. Perhaps it might be the museum of a deceased old man. An article might be made respecting various kinds of ruin,--ruin as regards property,--ruin of health,--ruin of habits, as drunkenness and all kinds of debauchery,--ruin of character, while prosperous in other respects,--ruin of the soul. Ruin, perhaps, might be personified as a demon, seizing its victims by various holds. An article on fire, on smoke. Diseases of the mind and soul,--even more common than bodily diseases. Tarleton, of the Revolution, is said to have been one of the two handsomest men in Europe,--the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV., being the other. Some authorities, however, have represented him as ungainly in person and rough in manners. Tarleton was originally bred to the law, but quitted law for the army early in life. He was son to a mayor of Liverpool, born in 1754, of ancient family. He wrote his own memoirs after returning from America. Afterwards in Parliament. Never afterwards distinguished in arms. Created baronet in 1818, and died childless in 1833. Thought he was not sufficiently honored among more modern heroes. Lost part of his right hand in battle of Guilford Court House. A man of pleasure in England. It would be a good idea for a painter to paint a picture of a great actor, representing him in several different characters of one scene,-- Iago and Othello, for instance. Maine, July 5th, 1837.--Here I am, settled since night before last with B------, and living very singularly. He leads a bachelor's life in his paternal mansion, only a small part of which is occupied by a family who serve him. He provides his own breakfast and supper, and occasionally his dinner; though this is oftener, I believe, taken at the hotel, or an eating-house, or with some of his relatives. I am his guest, and my presence makes no alteration in his way of life. Our fare, thus far, has consisted of bread, butter, and cheese, crackers, herrings, boiled eggs, coffee, milk, and claret wine. He has another inmate, in the person of a queer little Frenchman, who has his breakfast, tea, and lodging here, and finds his dinner elsewhere. Monsieur S------ does not appear to be more than twenty-one years old,--a diminutive figure, with eyes askew, and otherwise of an ungainly physiognomy; he is ill-dressed also, in a coarse blue coat, thin cotton pantaloons, and unbrushed boots; altogether with as little of French coxcombry as can well be imagined, though with something of the monkey aspect inseparable from a little Frenchman. He is, nevertheless, an intelligent and well-informed man, apparently of extensive reading in his own language,--a philosopher, B------ tells me, and an infidel. His insignificant personal appearance stands in the way of his success, and prevents him from receiving the respect which is really due to his talents and acquirements; wherefore he is bitterly dissatisfied with the country and its inhabitants, and often expresses his feelings to B------ (who has gained his confidence to a certain degree) in very strong terms. Thus here are three characters, each with something out of the common way, living together somewhat like monks. B------, our host, combines more high and admirable qualities, of that sort which make up a gentleman, than any other that I have met with. Polished, yet natural, frank, open, and straightforward, yet with a delicate feeling for the sensitiveness of his companions; of excellent temper and warm heart; well acquainted with the world, with a keen faculty of observation, which he has had many opportunities of exercising, and never varying from a code of honor and principle which is really nice and rigid in its way. There is a sort of philosophy developing itself in him which will not impossibly cause him to settle down in this or some other equally singular course of life. He seems almost to have made up his mind never to be married, which I wonder at; for he has strong affections, and is fond both of women and children. The little Frenchman impresses me very strongly, too,--so lonely as he is here, struggling against the world, with bitter feelings in his breast, and yet talking with the vivacity and gayety of his nation; making this his home from darkness to daylight, and enjoying here what little domestic comfort and confidence there is for him; and then going about all the livelong day, teaching French to blockheads who sneer at him, and returning at about ten o'clock in the evening (for I was wrong in saying he supped here,--he eats no supper) to his solitary room and bed. Before retiring, he goes to B------'s bedside, and, if he finds him awake, stands talking French, expressing his dislike of the Americans, "Je hais, je hais les Yankees!"--thus giving vent to the stifled bitterness of the whole day. In the morning I hear him getting up early, at sunrise or before, humming to himself, scuffling about his chamber with his thick boots, and at last taking his departure for a solitary ramble till breakfast. Then he comes in, cheerful and vivacious enough, eats pretty heartily, and is off again, singing French chansons as he goes down the gravel-walk. The poor fellow has nobody to sympathize with him but B------, and thus a singular connection is established between two utterly different characters. Then here is myself, who am likewise a queer character in my way, and have come to spend a week or two with my friend of half a lifetime,--the longest space, probably, that we are ever destined to spend together; for Fate seems preparing changes for both of us. My circumstances, at least, cannot long continue as they are and have been; and B------, too, stands between high prosperity and utter ruin. I think I should soon become strongly attached to our way of life, so independent and untroubled by the forms and restrictions of society. The house is very pleasantly situated,--half a mile distant from where the town begins to be thickly settled, and on a swell of land, with the road running at a distance of fifty yards, and a grassy tract and a gravel-walk between. Beyond the road rolls the Kennebec, here two or three hundred yards wide. Putting my head out of the window, I can see it flowing steadily along straightway between wooded banks; but arriving nearly opposite the house, there is a large and level sand island in the middle of the stream; and just below the island the current is further interrupted by the works of the mill-dam, which is perhaps half finished, yet still in so rude a state that it looks as much like the ruins of a dam destroyed by the spring freshets as like the foundations of a dam yet to be. Irishmen and Canadians toil at work on it, and the echoes of their hammering and of the voices come across the river and up to this window. Then there is a sound of the wind among the trees round the house; and, when that is silent, the calm, full, distant voice of the river becomes audible. Looking downward thither, I see the rush of the current, and mark the different eddies, with here and there white specks or streaks of foam; and often a log comes floating on, glistening in the sun, as it rolls over among the eddies, having voyaged, for aught I know, hundreds of miles from the wild upper sources of the river, passing down, down, between lines of forest, and sometimes a rough clearing, till here it floats by cultivated banks, and will soon pass by the village. Sometimes a long raft of boards comes along, requiring the nicest skill in navigating it through the narrow passage left by the mill-dam. Chaises and wagons occasionally go over the road, the riders all giving a passing glance at the dam, or perhaps alighting to examine it more fully, and at last departing with ominous shakes of the head as to the result of the enterprise. My position is so far retired from the river and mill-dam, that, though the latter is really rather a scene, yet a sort of quiet seems to be diffused over the whole. Two or three times a day this quiet is broken by the sudden thunder from a quarry, where the workmen are blasting rocks; and a peal of thunder sounds strangely in such a green, sunny, and quiet landscape, with the blue sky brightening the river. I have not seen much of the people. There have been, however, several incidents which amused me, though scarcely worth telling. A passionate tavern-keeper, quick as a flash of gunpowder, a nervous man, and showing in his demeanor, it seems, a consciousness of his infirmity of temper. I was a witness of a scuffle of his with a drunken guest. The tavern-keeper, after they were separated, raved like a madman, and in a tone of voice having a drolly pathetic or lamentable sound mingled with its rage, as if he were lifting up his voice to weep. Then he jumped into a chaise which was standing by, whipped up the horse, and drove off rapidly, as if to give his fury vent in that way. On the morning of the Fourth of July, two printer's apprentice-lads, nearly grown, dressed in jackets and very tight pantaloons of check, tight as their skins, so that they looked like harlequins or circus-clowns, yet appeared to think themselves in perfect propriety, with a very calm and quiet assurance of the admiration of the town. A common fellow, a carpenter, who, on the strength of political partisanship, asked B------'s assistance in cutting out great letters from play-bills in order to print "Martin Van Buren Forever" on a flag; but B------ refused. B------ seems to be considerably of a favorite with the lower orders, especially with the Irishmen and French Canadians,--the latter accosting him in the street, and asking his assistance as an interpreter in making their bargains for work. I meant to dine at the hotel with B------ to-day; but having returned to the house, leaving him to do some business in the village, I found myself unwilling to move when the dinner-hour approached, and therefore dined very well on bread, cheese, and eggs. Nothing of much interest takes place. We live very comfortably in our bachelor establishment on a cold shoulder of mutton, with ham and smoked beef and boiled eggs; and as to drinkables, we had both claret and brown sherry on the dinner-table to-day. Last evening we had along literary and philosophical conversation with Monsieur S------. He is rather remarkably well-informed for a man of his age, and seems to have very just notions on ethics, etc., though damnably perverted as to religion. It is strange to hear philosophy of any sort from such a boyish figure. "We philosophers," he is fond of saying, to distinguish himself and his brethren from the Christians. One of his oddities is, that, while steadfastly maintaining an opinion that he is a very small and slow eater, and that we, in common with other Yankees, eat immensely and fast, he actually eats both faster and longer than we do, and devours, as B------avers, more victuals than both of us together. Saturday, July 8th.--Yesterday afternoon, a stroll with B------ up a large brook, he fishing for trout, and I looking on. The brook runs through a valley, on one side bordered by a high and precipitous bank; on the other there is an interval, and then the bank rises upward and upward into a high hill with gorges and ravines separating one summit from another, and here and there are bare places, where the rain-streams have washed away the grass. The brook is bestrewn with stones, some bare, some partially moss-grown, and sometimes so huge as--once at least--to occupy almost the whole breadth of the current. Amongst these the stream brawls, only that this word does not express its good-natured voice, and "murmur" is too quiet. It sings along, sometimes smooth, with the pebbles visible beneath, sometimes rushing dark and swift, eddying and whitening past some rock, or underneath the hither or the farther bank; and at these places B------ cast his line, and sometimes drew out a trout, small, not more than five or six inches long. The farther we went up the brook, the wilder it grew. The opposite bank was covered with pines and hemlocks, ascending high upwards, black and solemn. One knew that there must be almost a precipice behind, yet we could not see it. At the foot you could spy, a little way within the darksome shade, the roots and branches of the trees; but soon all sight was obstructed amidst the trunks. On the hither side, at first the bank was bare, then fringed with alder-bushes, bending and dipping into the stream, which, farther on, flowed through the midst of a forest of maple, beech, and other trees, its course growing wilder and wilder as we proceeded. For a considerable distance there was a causeway, built long ago of logs, to drag lumber upon; it was now decayed and rotten, a red decay, sometimes sunken down in the midst, here and there a knotty trunk stretching across, apparently sound. The sun being now low towards the west, a pleasant gloom and brightness were diffused through the forest, spots of brightness scattered upon the branches, or thrown down in gold upon the last year's leaves among the trees. At last we came to where a dam had been built across the brook many years ago, and was now gone to ruin, so as to make the spot look more solitary and wilder than if man had never left vestiges of his toil there. It was a framework of logs with a covering of plank sufficient to obstruct the onward flow of the brook; but it found its way past the side, and came foaming and struggling along among scattered rocks. Above the dam there was a broad and deep pool, one side of which was bordered by a precipitous wall of rocks, as smooth as if hewn out and squared, and piled one upon another, above which rose the forest. On the other side there was still a gently shelving bank, and the shore was covered with tall trees, among which I particularly remarked a stately pine, wholly devoid of bark, rising white in aged and majestic ruin, thrusting out its barkless arms. It must have stood there in death many years, its own ghost. Above the dam the brook flowed through the forest, a glistening and babbling water-path, illuminated by the sun, which sent its rays almost straight along its course. It was as lovely and wild and peaceful as it could possibly have been a hundred years ago; and the traces of labors of men long departed added a deeper peace to it. I bathed in the pool, and then pursued my way down beside the brook, growing dark with a pleasant gloom, as the sun sank and the water became more shadowy. B------ says that there was formerly a tradition that the Indians used to go up this brook, and return, after a brief absence, with large masses of lead, which they sold at the trading-stations in Augusta; whence there has always been an idea that there is a lead-mine hereabouts. Great toadstools were under the trees, and some small ones as yellow and almost the size of a half-broiled yolk of an egg. Strawberries were scattered along the brookside. Dined at the hotel or Mansion House to-day. Men were playing checkers in the parlor. The Marshal of Maine, a corpulent, jolly fellow, famed for humor. A passenger left by the stage, hiring an express onward. A bottle of champagne was quaffed at the bar. July 9th.--Went with B------ to pay a visit to the shanties of the Irish and Canadians. He says that they sell and exchange these small houses among themselves continually. They may be built in three or four days, and are valued at four or five dollars. When the turf that is piled against the walls of some of them becomes covered with grass, it makes quite a picturesque object. It was almost dusk--just candle-lighting time--when we visited them. A young Frenchwoman, with a baby in her arms, came to the door of one of them, smiling, and looking pretty and happy. Her husband, a dark, black-haired, lively little fellow, caressed the child, laughing and singing to it; and there was a red-bearded Irishman, who likewise fondled the little brat. Then we could hear them within the hut, gabbling merrily, and could see them moving about briskly in the candlelight, through the window and open door. An old Irishwoman sat in the door of another hut, under the influence of an extra dose of rum,--she being an old lady of somewhat dissipated habits. She called to B------, and began to talk to him about her resolution not to give up her house: for it is his design to get her out of it. She is a true virago, and, though somewhat restrained by respect for him, she evinced a sturdy design to remain here through the winter, or at least for a considerable time longer. He persisting, she took her stand in the doorway of the hut, and stretched out her fist in a very Amazonian attitude. "Nobody," quoth she, "shall drive me out of this house, till my praties are out of the ground." Then would she wheedle and laugh and blarney, beginning in a rage, and ending as if she had been in jest. Meanwhile her husband stood by very quiet, occasionally trying to still her; but it is to be presumed, that, after our departure, they came to blows, it being a custom with the Irish husbands and wives to settle their disputes with blows; and it is said the woman often proves the better man. The different families also have battles, and occasionally the Irish fight with the Canadians. The latter, however, are much the more peaceable, never quarrelling among themselves, and seldom with their neighbors. They are frugal, and often go back to Canada with considerable sums of money. B------ has gained much influence both with the Irish and the French,--with the latter, by dint of speaking to them in their own language. He is the umpire in their disputes, and their adviser, and they look up to him as a protector and patron-friend. I have been struck to see with what careful integrity and wisdom he manages matters among them, hitherto having known him only as a free and gay young man. He appears perfectly to understand their general character, of which he gives no very flattering description. In these huts, less than twenty feet square, he tells me that upwards of twenty people have sometimes been lodged. A description of a young lady who had formerly been insane, and now felt the approach of a new fit of madness. She had been out to ride, had exerted herself much, and had been very vivacious. On her return, she sat down in a thoughtful and despondent attitude, looking very sad, but one of the loveliest objects that ever were seen. The family spoke to her, but she made no answer, nor took the least notice; but still sat like a statue in her chair,--a statue of melancholy and beauty. At last they led her away to her chamber. We went to meeting this forenoon. I saw nothing remarkable, unless a little girl in the next pew to us, three or four years old, who fell asleep, with her bead in the lap of her maid, and looked very pretty: a picture of sleeping innocence. July 11th, Tuesday.--A drive with B------ to Hallowell, yesterday, where we dined, and afterwards to Gardiner. The most curious object in this latter place was the elegant new mansion of ------. It stands on the site of his former dwelling, which was destroyed by fire. The new building was estimated to cost about thirty thousand dollars; but twice as much has already been expended, and a great deal more will be required to complete it. It is certainly a splendid structure; the material, granite from the vicinity. At the angles it has small, circular towers; the portal is lofty and imposing. Relatively to the general style of domestic architecture in our country, it well deserves the name of castle or palace. Its situation, too, is fine, far retired from the public road, and attainable by a winding carriage-drive; standing amid fertile fields, and with large trees in the vicinity. There is also a beautiful view from the mansion, adown the Kennebec. Beneath some of the large trees we saw the remains of circular seats, whereupon the family used to sit before the former house was burned down. There was no one now in the vicinity of the place, save a man and a yoke of oxen; and what he was about, I did not ascertain. Mr. ------ at present resides in a small dwelling, little more than a cottage, beside the main road, not far from the gateway which gives access to his palace. At Gardiner, on the wharf, I witnessed the starting of the steamboat New England for Boston. There was quite a collection of people, looking on or taking leave of passengers,--the steam puffing,--stages arriving, full-freighted with ladies and gentlemen. A man was one moment too late; but running along the gunwale of a mud-scow, and jumping into a skiff, he was put on board by a black fellow. The dark cabin, wherein, descending from the sunshiny deck, it was difficult to discern the furniture, looking-glasses, and mahogany wainscoting. I met two old college acquaintances, O------, who was going to Boston, and B------ with whom we afterwards drank a glass of wine at the hotel. B------, Mons. S------, and myself continue to live in the same style as heretofore. We appear mutually to be very well pleased with each other. Mons. S------ displays many comical qualities, and manages to insure us several hearty laughs every morning and evening,--those being the seasons when we meet. I am going to take lessons from him in the pronunciation of French. Of female society I see nothing. The only petticoat that comes within our premises appertains to Nancy, the pretty, dark-eyed maid-servant of the man who lives in the other part of the house. On the road from Hallowell to Augusta we saw little booths, in two places, erected on the roadside, where boys offered beer, apples, etc., for sale. We passed an Irishwoman with a child in her arms, and a heavy bundle, and afterwards an Irishman with a light bundle, sitting by the highway. They were husband and wife; and B------ says that an Irishman and his wife, on their journeys, do not usually walk side by side, but that the man gives the woman the heaviest burden to carry, and walks on lightly ahead! A thought comes into my mind: Which sort of house excites the most contemptuous feelings in the beholder,--such a house as Mr.------'s, all circumstances considered, or the board-built and turf-buttressed hovels of these wild Irish, scattered about as if they had sprung up like mushrooms, in the dells and gorges, and along the banks of the river? Mushrooms, by the way, spring up where the roots of an old tree are hidden under the ground. Thursday, July 13th.--Two small Canadian boys came to our house yesterday, with strawberries to sell. It sounds strangely to hear children bargaining in French on the borders of Yankee-land. Among other languages spoken hereabouts must be reckoned the wild Irish. Some of the laborers on the mill-dam can speak nothing else. The intermixture of foreigners sometimes gives rise to quarrels between them and the natives. As we were going to the village yesterday afternoon, we witnessed the beginning of a quarrel between a Canadian and a Yankee,--the latter accusing the former of striking his oxen. B------ thrust himself between and parted them; but they afterwards renewed their fray, and the Canadian, I believe, thrashed the Yankee soundly,--for which he had to pay twelve dollars. Yet he was but a little fellow. Coming to the Mansion House about supper-time, we found somewhat of a concourse of people, the Governor and Council being in session on the subject of the disputed territory. The British have lately imprisoned a man who was sent to take the census; and the Mainiacs are much excited on the subject. They wish the Governor to order out the militia at once, and take possession of the territory with the strong hand. There was a British army-captain at the Mansion House; and an idea was thrown out that it would be as well to seize upon him as a hostage. I would, for the joke's sake, that it had been done. Personages at the tavern: the Governor, somewhat stared after as he walked through the bar-room; Councillors seated about, sitting on benches near the bar, or on the stoop along the front of the house; the Adjutant-General of the State; two young Blue-Noses, from Canada or the Provinces; a gentleman "thumbing his hat" for liquor, or perhaps playing off the trick of the "honest landlord" on some stranger. The decanters and wine-bottles on the move, and the beer and soda founts pouring out continual streams, with a whiz. Stage-drivers, etc., asked to drink with the aristocracy, and mine host treating and being treated. Rubicund faces; breaths odorous of brandy-and-water. Occasionally the pop of a champagne cork. Returned home, and took a lesson in French of Mons. S------. I like him very much, and have seldom met with a more honest, simple, and apparently so well-principled a man; which good qualities I impute to his being, by the father's side, of German blood. He looks more like a German--or, as he says, like a Swiss--than a Frenchman, having very light hair and a light complexion, and not a French expression. He is a vivacious little fellow, and wonderfully excitable to mirth; and it is truly a sight to see him laugh;--every feature partakes of his movement, and even his whole body shares in it, as he rises and dances about the room. He has great variety of conversation, commensurate with his experiences in life, and sometimes will talk Spanish, ore rotundo,--sometimes imitate the Catholic priests, chanting Latin songs for the dead, in deep, gruff, awful tones, producing really a very strong impression,--then he will break out into a light, French song, perhaps of love, perhaps of war, acting it out, as if on the stage of a theatre: all this intermingled with continual fun, excited by the incidents of the passing moment. He has Frenchified all our names, calling B------ Monsieur Du Pont, myself M. de L'Aubepine, and himself M. le Berger, and all, Knights of the Round-Table. And we live in great harmony and brotherhood, as queer a life as anybody leads, and as queer a set as may be found anywhere. In his more serious intervals, he talks philosophy and deism, and preaches obedience to the law of reason and morality; which law he says (and I believe him) he has so well observed, that, notwithstanding his residence in dissolute countries, he has never yet been sinful. He wishes me, eight or nine weeks hence, to accompany him on foot to Quebec, and then to Niagara and New York. I should like it well, if my circumstances and other considerations would permit. What pleases much in Mons. S------ is the simple and childlike enjoyment he finds in trifles, and the joy with which he speaks of going back to his own country, away from the dull Yankees, who here misunderstand and despise him. Yet I have never heard him speak harshly of them. I rather think that B------ and I will be remembered by him with more pleasure than anybody else in the country; for we have sympathized with him, and treated him kindly, and like a gentleman and an equal; and he comes to us at night as to home and friends. I went down to the river to-day to see B------ fish for salmon with a fly,--a hopeless business; for he says that only one instance has been known in the United States of salmon being taken otherwise than with a net. A few chubs were all the fruit of his piscatory efforts. But while looking at the rushing and rippling stream, I saw a great fish, some six feet long and thick in proportion, suddenly emerge at whole length, turn a somerset, and then vanish again beneath the water. It was of a glistening, yellowish brown, with its fins all spread, and looking very strange and startling, darting out so lifelike from the black water, throwing itself fully into the bright sunshine, and then lost to sight and to pursuit. I saw also a long, flat-bottomed boat go up the river, with a brisk wind, and against a strong stream. Its sails were of curious construction: a long mast, with two sails below, one on each side of the boat, and a broader one surmounting them. The sails were colored brown, and appeared like leather or skins, but were really cloth. At a distance, the vessel looked like, or at least I compared it to, a monstrous water-insect skimming along the river. If the sails had been crimson or yellow, the resemblance would have been much closer. There was a pretty spacious raised cabin in the after part of the boat. It moved along lightly, and disappeared between the woody banks. These boats have the two parallel sails attached to the same yard, and some have two sails, one surmounting the other. They trade to Waterville and thereabouts,--names, as "Paul Pry," on their sails. Saturday, July 15th.--Went with B------ yesterday to visit several Irish shanties, endeavoring to find out who had stolen some rails of a fence. At the first door at which we knocked (a shanty with an earthen mound heaped against the wall, two or three feet thick), the inmates were not up, though it was past eight o'clock. At last a middle-aged woman showed herself, half dressed, and completing her toilet. Threats were made of tearing down her house; for she is a lady of very indifferent morals, and sells rum. Few of these people are connected with the mill-dam,--or, at least, many are not so, but have intruded themselves into the vacant huts which were occupied by the mill-dam people last year. In two or three places hereabouts there is quite a village of these dwellings, with a clay and board chimney, or oftener an old barrel, smoked and charred with the fire. Some of their roofs are covered with sods, and appear almost subterranean. One of the little hamlets stands on both sides of a deep dell, wooded and bush-grown, with a vista, as it were, into the heart of a wood in one direction, and to the broad, sunny river in the other: there was a little rivulet, crossed by a plank, at the bottom of the dell. At two doors we saw very pretty and modest-looking young women,-- one with a child in her arms. Indeed, they all have innumerable little children; and they are invariably in good health, though always dirty of face. They come to the door while their mothers are talking with the visitors, standing straight up on their bare legs, with their little plump bodies protruding, in one hand a small tin saucepan, and in the other an iron spoon, with unwashed mouths, looking as independent as any child or grown person in the land. They stare unabashed, but make no answer when spoken to. "I've no call to your fence, Misser B------." It seems strange that a man should have the right, unarmed with any legal instrument, of tearing down the dwelling-houses of a score of families, and driving the inmates forth without a shelter. Yet B------ undoubtedly has this right; and it is not a little striking to see how quietly these people contemplate the probability of his exercising it,--resolving, indeed, to burrow in their holes as long as may be, yet caring about as little for an ejectment as those who could find a tenement anywhere, and less. Yet the women, amid all the trials of their situation, appear to have kept up the distinction between virtue and vice; those who can claim the former will not associate with the latter. When the women travel with young children, they carry the baby slung at their backs, and sleeping quietly. The dresses of the new-comers are old-fashioned, making them look aged before their time. Monsieur S------ shaving himself yesterday morning. He was in excellent spirits, and could not keep his tongue or body still, more than long enough to make two or three consecutive strokes at his beard. Then he would turn, flourishing his razor and grimacing joyously, enacting droll antics, breaking out into scraps and verses of drinking-songs, "A boire! a boire!"--then laughing heartily, and crying, "Vive la gaite!" then resuming his task, looking into the glass with grave face, on which, however, a grin would soon break out anew, and all his pranks would be repeated with variations. He turned this foolery to philosophy, by observing that mirth contributed to goodness of heart, and to make us love our fellow-creatures. Conversing with him in the evening, he affirmed, with evident belief in the truth of what he said, that he would have no objection, except that it would be a very foolish thing, to expose his whole heart, his whole inner man, to the view of the world. Not that there would not be much evil discovered there; but, as he was conscious of being in a state of mental and moral improvement, working out his progress onward, he would not shrink from such a scrutiny. This talk was introduced by his mentioning the "Minister's Black Veil," which he said he had seen translated into French, as an exercise, by a Miss Appleton of Bangor. Saw by the river-side, late in the afternoon, one of the above-described boats going into the stream with the water rippling at the prow, from the strength of the current and of the boat's motion. By and by comes down a raft, perhaps twenty yards long, guided by two men, one at each end,--the raft itself of boards sawed at Waterville, and laden with square bundles of shingles and round bundles of clapboards. "Friend," says one man, "how is the tide now?"--this being important to the onward progress. They make fast to a tree, in order to wait for the tide to rise a little higher. It would be pleasant enough to float down the Kennebec on one of these rafts, letting the river conduct you onward at its own pace, leisurely displaying to you all the wild or ordered beauties along its banks, and perhaps running you aground in some peculiarly picturesque spot, for your longer enjoyment of it. Another object, perhaps, is a solitary man paddling himself down the river in a small canoe, the light, lonely touch of his paddle in the water making the silence seem deeper. Every few minutes a sturgeon leaps forth, sometimes behind you, so that you merely hear the splash, and, turning hastily around, see nothing but the disturbed water. Sometimes he darts straight on end out of a quiet black spot on which your eyes happen to be fixed, and, when even his tail is clear of the surface, he falls down on his side and disappears. On the river-bank, an Irishwoman washing some clothes, surrounded by her children, whose babbling sounds pleasantly along the edge of the shore; and she also answers in a sweet, kindly, and cheerful voice, though an immoral woman, and without the certainty of bread or shelter from day to day. An Irishman sitting angling on the brink with an alder pole and a clothes-line. At frequent intervals, the scene is suddenly broken by a loud report like thunder, rolling along the banks, echoing and reverberating afar. It is a blast of rocks. Along the margin, sometimes sticks of timber made fast, either separately or several together; stones of some size, varying the pebbles and sand; a clayey spot, where a shallow brook runs into the river, not with a deep outlet, but finding its way across the bank in two or three single runlets. Looking upward into the deep glen whence it issues, you see its shady current. Elsewhere, a high acclivity, with the beach between it and the river, the ridge broken and caved away, so that the earth looks fresh and yellow, and is penetrated by the nests of birds. An old, shining tree-trunk, half in and half out of the water. An island of gravel, long and narrow, in the centre of the river. Chips, blocks of wood, slabs, and other scraps of lumber, strewed along the beach; logs drifting down. The high bank covered with various trees and shrubbery, and, in one place, two or three Irish shanties. Thursday, July 20th.--A drive yesterday afternoon to a pond in the vicinity of Augusta, about nine miles off, to fish for white perch. Remarkables: the steering of the boat through the crooked, labyrinthine brook, into the open pond,--the man who acted as pilot,--his talking with B------ about politics, the bank, the iron money of "a king who came to reign, in Greece, over a city called Sparta,"--his advice to B------ to come amongst the laborers on the mill-dam, because it stimulated them "to see a man grinning amongst them." The man took hearty tugs at a bottle of good Scotch whiskey, and became pretty merry. The fish caught were the yellow perch, which are not esteemed for eating; the white perch, a beautiful, silvery, round-backed fish, which bites eagerly, runs about with the line while being pulled up, makes good sport for the angler, and an admirable dish; a great chub; and three horned pouts, which swallow the hook into their lowest entrails. Several dozen fish were taken in an hour or two, and then we returned to the shop where we had left our horse and wagon, the pilot very eccentric behind us. It was a small, dingy shop, dimly lighted by a single inch of candle, faintly disclosing various boxes, barrels standing on end, articles hanging from the ceiling; the proprietor at the counter, whereon appear gin and brandy, respectively contained in a tin pint-measure and an earthenware jug, with two or three tumblers beside them, out of which nearly all the party drank; some coming up to the counter frankly, others lingering in the background, waiting to be pressed, two paying for their own liquor and withdrawing. B------ treated them twice round. The pilot, after drinking his brandy, gave a history of our fishing expedition, and how many and how large fish we caught. B------ making acquaintances and renewing them, and gaining great credit for liberality and free-heartedness,--two or three boys looking on and listening to the talk,--the shopkeeper smiling behind his counter, with the tarnished tin scales beside him,--the inch of candle burning down almost to extinction. So we got into our wagon, with the fish, and drove to Robinson's tavern, almost five miles off, where we supped and passed the night. In the bar-room was a fat old countryman on a journey, and a quack doctor of the vicinity, and an Englishman with a peculiar accent. Seeing B------'s jointed and brass-mounted fishing-pole, he took it for a theodolite, and supposed that we had been on a surveying expedition. At supper, which consisted of bread, butter, cheese, cake, doughnuts, and gooseberry-pie, we were waited upon by a tall, very tall woman, young and maiden-looking, yet with a strongly outlined and determined face. Afterwards we found her to be the wife of mine host. She poured out our tea, came in when we rang the table-bell to refill our cups, and again retired. While at supper, the fat old traveller was ushered through the room into a contiguous bedroom. My own chamber, apparently the best in the house, had its walls ornamented with a small, gilt-framed, foot-square looking-glass, with a hairbrush hanging beneath it; a record of the deaths of the family written on a black tomb, in an engraving, where a father, mother, and child were represented in a graveyard, weeping over said tomb; the mourners dressed in black, country-cut clothes; the engraving executed in Vermont. There was also a wood engraving of the Declaration of Independence, with fac-similes of the autographs; a portrait of the Empress Josephine, and another of Spring. In the two closets of this chamber were mine hostess's cloak, best bonnet, and go-to-meeting apparel. There was a good bed, in which I slept tolerably well, and, rising betimes, ate breakfast, consisting of some of our own fish, and then started for Augusta. The fat old traveller had gone off with the harness of our wagon, which the hostler had put on to his horse by mistake. The tavern-keeper gave us his own harness, and started in pursuit of the old man, who was probably aware of the exchange, and well satisfied with it. Our drive to Augusta, six or seven miles, was very pleasant, a heavy rain having fallen during the night, and laid the oppressive dust of the day before. The road lay parallel with the Kennebec, of which we occasionally had near glimpses. The country swells back from the river in hills and ridges, without any interval of level ground; and there were frequent woods, filling up the valleys or crowning the summits. The land is good, the farms look neat, and the houses comfortable. The latter are generally but of one story, but with large barns; and it was a good sign, that, while we saw no houses unfinished nor out of repair, one man at least had found it expedient to make an addition to his dwelling. At the distance of more than two miles, we had a view of white Augusta, with its steeples, and the State-House, at the farther end of the town. Observable matters along the road were the stage,--all the dust of yesterday brushed off, and no new dust contracted,--full of passengers, inside and out; among them some gentlemanly people and pretty girls, all looking fresh and unsullied, rosy, cheerful, and curious as to the face of the country, the faces of passing travellers, and the incidents of their journey; not yet damped, in the morning sunshine, by long miles of jolting over rough and hilly roads,--to compare this with their appearance at midday, and as they drive into Bangor at dusk;--two women dashing along in a wagon, and with a child, rattling pretty speedily down hill;--people looking at us from the open doors and windows;--the children staring from the wayside;--the mowers stopping, for a moment, the sway of their scythes;--the matron of a family, indistinctly seen at some distance within the house, her head and shoulders appearing through the window, drawing her handkerchief over her bosom, which had been uncovered to give the baby its breakfast,--the said baby, or its immediate predecessor, sitting at the door, turning round to creep away on all fours;--a man building a flat-bottomed boat by the roadside: he talked with B------ about the Boundary question, and swore fervently in favor of driving the British "into hell's kitchen" by main force. Colonel B------, the engineer of the mill-dam, is now here, after about a fortnight's absence. He is a plain country squire, with a good figure, but with rather a heavy brow; a rough complexion; a gait stiff, and a general rigidity of manner, something like that of a schoolmaster. He originated in a country town, and is a self-educated man. As he walked down the gravel-path to-day, after dinner, he took up a scythe, which one of the mowers had left on the sward, and began to mow, with quite a scientific swing. On the coming of the mower, he laid it down, perhaps a little ashamed of his amusement. I was interested in this; to see a man, after twenty-five years of scientific occupation, thus trying whether his arms retained their strength and skill for the labors of his youth,-- mindful of the day when he wore striped trousers, and toiled in his shirt-sleeves,--and now tasting again, for pastime, this drudgery beneath a fervid sun. He stood awhile, looking at the workmen, and then went to oversee the laborers at the mill-dam. Monday, July, 24th.--I bathed in the river on Thursday evening, and in the brook at the old dam on Saturday and Sunday,--the former time at noon. The aspect of the solitude at noon was peculiarly impressive, there being a cloudless sunshine, no wind, no rustling of the forest-leaves, no waving of the boughs, no noise but the brawling and babbling of the stream, making its way among the stones, and pouring in a little cataract round one side of the mouldering dam. Looking up the brook, there was a long vista,--now ripples, now smooth and glassy spaces, now large rocks, almost blocking up the channel; while the trees stood upon either side, mostly straight, but here and there a branch thrusting itself out irregularly, and one tree, a pine, leaning over,-- not bending,--but leaning at an angle over the brook, rough and ragged; birches, alders; the tallest of all the trees an old, dead, leafless pine, rising white and lonely, though closely surrounded by others. Along the brook, now the grass and herbage extended close to the water; now a small, sandy beach. The wall of rock before described, looking as if it had been hewn, but with irregular strokes of the workman, doing his job by rough and ponderous strength,--now chancing to hew it away smoothly and cleanly, now carelessly smiting, and making gaps, or piling on the slabs of rock, so as to leave vacant spaces. In the interstices grow brake and broad-leaved forest-grass. The trees that spring from the top of this wall have their roots pressing close to the rock, so that there is no soil between; they cling powerfully, and grasp the crag tightly with their knotty fingers. The trees on both sides are so thick, that the sight and the thoughts are almost immediately lost among confused stems, branches, and clustering green leaves,--a narrow strip of bright blue sky above, the sunshine falling lustrously down, and making the pathway of the brook luminous below. Entering among the thickets, I find the soil strewn with old leaves of preceding seasons, through which may be seen a black or dark mould; the roots of trees stretch frequently across the path; often a moss-grown brown log lies athwart, and when you set your foot down, it sinks into the decaying substance,--into the heart of oak or pine. The leafy boughs and twigs of the underbrush enlace themselves before you, so that you must stoop your head to pass under, or thrust yourself through amain, while they sweep against your face, and perhaps knock off your hat. There are rocks mossy and slippery; sometimes you stagger, with a great rustling of branches, against a clump of bushes, and into the midst of it. From end to end of all this tangled shade goes a pathway scarcely worn, for the leaves are not trodden through, yet plain enough to the eye, winding gently to avoid tree-trunks and rocks and little hillocks. In the more open ground, the aspect of a tall, fire-blackened stump, standing alone, high up on a swell of land, that rises gradually from one side of the brook, like a monument. Yesterday, I passed a group of children in this solitary valley,--two boys, I think, and two girls. One of the little girls seemed to have suffered some wrong from her companions, for she was weeping and complaining violently. Another time, I came suddenly on a small Canadian boy, who was in a hollow place, among the ruined logs of an old causeway, picking raspberries,--lonely among bushes and gorges, far up the wild valley,--and the lonelier seemed the little boy for the bright sunshine, that showed no one else in a wide space of view except him and me. Remarkable items: the observation of Mons. S------ when B------ was saying something against the character of the French people,--"You ought not to form an unfavorable judgment of a great nation from mean fellows like me, strolling about in a foreign country." I thought it very noble thus to protest against anything discreditable in himself personally being used against the honor of his country. He is a very singular person, with an originality in all his notions;--not that nobody has ever had such before, but that he has thought them out for himself. He told me yesterday that one of his sisters was a waiting-maid in the Rocher de Cancale. He is about the sincerest man I ever knew, never pretending to feelings that are not in him,--never flattering. His feelings do not seem to be warm, though they are kindly. He is so single-minded that he cannot understand badinage, but takes it all as if meant in earnest,--a German trait. He values himself greatly on being a Frenchman, though all his most valuable qualities come from Germany. His temperament is cool and pure, and he is greatly delighted with any attentions from the ladies. A short time since, a lady gave him a bouquet of roses and pinks; he capered and danced and sang, put it in water, and carried it to his own chamber; but he brought it out for us to see and admire two or three times a day, bestowing on it all the epithets of admiration in the French language,--"Superbe! magnifique!" When some of the flowers began to fade, he made the rest, with others, into a new nosegay, and consulted us whether it would be fit to give to another lady. Contrast this French foppery with his solemn moods, when we sit in the twilight, or after B------ is abed, talking of Christianity and Deism, of ways of life, of marriage, of benevolence,--in short, of all deep matters of this world and the next. An evening or two since, he began singing all manner of English songs,--such as Mrs. Hemans's "Landing of the Pilgrims," "Auld Lang Syne," and some of Moore's,--the singing pretty fair, but in the oddest tone and accent. Occasionally he breaks out with scraps from French tragedies, which he spouts with corresponding action. He generally gets close to me in these displays of musical and histrionic talent. Once he offered to magnetize me in the manner of Monsieur P------. Wednesday, July 26th.--Dined at Barker's yesterday. Before dinner, sat with several other persons in the stoop of the tavern. There were B------, J. A. Chandler, Clerk of the Court, a man of middle age or beyond, two or three stage people, and, near by, a negro, whom they call "the Doctor," a crafty-looking fellow, one of whose occupations is nameless. In presence of this goodly company, a man of a depressed, neglected air, a soft, simple-looking fellow, with an anxious expression, in a laborer's dress, approached and inquired for Mr. Barker. Mine host being gone to Portland, the stranger was directed to the bar-keeper, who stood at the door. The man asked where he should find one Mary Ann Russell,--a question which excited general and hardly suppressed mirth; for the said Mary Ann is one of a knot of women who were routed on Sunday evening by Barker and a constable. The man was told that the black fellow would give him all the information he wanted. The black fellow asked,-- "Do you want to see her?" Others of the by-standers or by-sitters put various questions as to the nature of the man's business with Mary Ann. One asked,-- "Is she your daughter?" "Why, a little nearer than that, I calkilate," said the poor devil. Here the mirth was increased, it being evident that the woman was his wife. The man seemed too simple and obtuse to comprehend the ridicule of his situation, or to be rendered very miserable by it. Nevertheless, he made some touching points. "A man generally places some little dependence on his wife," said he, "whether she's good or not." He meant, probably, that he rests some affection on her. He told us that she had behaved well, till committed to jail for striking a child; and I believe he was absent from home at the time, and had not seen her since. And now he was in search of her, intending, doubtless, to do his best to get her out of her troubles, and then to take her back to his home. Some advised him not to look after her; others recommended him to pay "the Doctor" aforesaid for guiding him to her; which finally "the Doctor" did, in consideration of a treat; and the fellow went off, having heard little but gibes and not one word of sympathy! I would like to have witnessed his meeting with his wife. There was a moral picturesqueness in the contrasts of the scene,--a man moved as deeply as his nature would admit, in the midst of hardened, gibing spectators, heartless towards him. It is worth thinking over and studying out. He seemed rather hurt and pricked by the jests thrown at him, yet bore it patiently, and sometimes almost joined in the laugh, being of an easy, unenergetic temper. Hints for characters:--Nancy, a pretty, black-eyed, intelligent servant-girl, living in Captain H------'s family. She comes daily to make the beds in our part of the house, and exchanges a good-morning with me, in a pleasant voice, and with a glance and smile,--somewhat shy, because we are not acquainted, yet capable of being made conversable. She washes once a week, and may be seen standing over her tub, with her handkerchief somewhat displaced from her white neck, because it is hot. Often she stands with her bare arms in the water, talking with Mrs. H------, or looks through the window, perhaps, at B------, or somebody else crossing the yard,--rather thoughtfully, but soon smiling or laughing. Then goeth she for a pail of water. In the afternoon, very probably, she dresses herself in silks, looking not only pretty, but lady-like, and strolls round the house, not unconscious that some gentleman may be staring at her from behind the green blinds. After supper, she walks to the village. Morning and evening, she goes a-milking. And thus passes her life, cheerfully, usefully, virtuously, with hopes, doubtless, of a husband and children.--Mrs. H------ is a particularly plump, soft-fleshed, fair-complexioned, comely woman enough, with rather a simple countenance, not nearly so piquant as Nancy's. Her walk has something of the roll or waddle of a fat woman, though it were too much to call her fat. She seems to be a sociable body, probably laughter-loving. Captain H------ himself has commanded a steamboat, and has a certain knowledge of life. Query, in relation to the man's missing wife, how much desire and resolution of doing her duty by her husband can a wife retain, while injuring him in what is deemed the most essential point? Observation. The effect of morning sunshine on the wet grass, on sloping and swelling land, between the spectator and the sun at some distance, as across a lawn. It diffused a dim brilliancy over the whole surface of the field. The mists, slow-rising farther off, part resting on the earth, the remainder of the column already ascending so high that you doubt whether to call it a fog or a cloud. Friday, July 28th.--Saw my classmate and formerly intimate friend, ------, for the first time since we graduated. He has met with good success in life, in spite of circumstance, having struggled upward against bitter opposition, by the force of his own abilities, to be a member of Congress, after having been for some time the leader of his party in the State Legislature. We met like old friends, and conversed almost as freely as we used to do in college days, twelve years ago and more. He is a singular person, shrewd, crafty, insinuating, with wonderful tact, seizing on each man by his manageable point, and using him for his own purpose, often without the man's suspecting that he is made a tool of; and yet, artificial as his character would seem to be, his conversation, at least to myself, was full of natural feeling, the expression of which can hardly be mistaken, and his revelations with regard to himself had really a great deal of frankness. He spoke of his ambition, of the obstacles which he had encountered, of the means by which he had overcome them, imputing great efficacy to his personal intercourse with people, and his study of their characters; then of his course as a member of the Legislature and Speaker, and his style of speaking and its effects; of the dishonorable things which had been imputed to him, and in what manner he had repelled the charges. In short, he would seem to have opened himself very freely as to his public life. Then, as to his private affairs, he spoke of his marriage, of his wife, his children, and told me, with tears in his eyes, of the death of a dear little girl, and how it affected him, and how impossible it had been for him to believe that she was really to die. A man of the most open nature might well have been more reserved to a friend, after twelve years' separation, than ------ was to me. Nevertheless, he is really a crafty man, concealing, like a murder-secret, anything that it is not good for him to have known. He by no means feigns the good-feeling that he professes, nor is there anything affected in the frankness of his conversation; and it is this that makes him so very fascinating. There is such a quantity of truth and kindliness and warm affections, that a man's heart opens to him, in spite of himself. He deceives by truth. And not only is he crafty, but, when occasion demands, bold and fierce as a tiger, determined, and even straightforward and undisguised in his measures,--a daring fellow as well as a sly one. Yet, notwithstanding his consummate art, the general estimate of his character seems to be pretty just. Hardly anybody, probably, thinks him better than he is, and many think him worse. Nevertheless, if no overwhelming discovery of rascality be made, he will always possess influence; though I should hardly think that he would take any prominent part in Congress. As to any rascality, I rather believe that he has thought out for himself a much higher system of morality than any natural integrity would have prompted him to adopt; that he has seen the thorough advantage of morality and honesty; and the sentiment of these qualities has now got into his mind and spirit, and pretty well impregnated them. I believe him to be about as honest as the great run of the world, with something even approaching to high-mindedness. His person in some degree accords with his character,--thin and with a thin face, sharp features, sallow, a projecting brow not very high, deep-set eyes, an insinuating smile and look, when he meets you, and is about to address you. I should think that he would do away with this peculiar expression, for it reveals more of himself than can be detected in any other way, in personal intercourse with him. Upon the whole, I have quite a good liking for him, and mean to go to--to see him. Observation. A steam-engine across the river, which almost continually during the day, and sometimes all night, may be heard puffing and panting, as if it uttered groans for being compelled to labor in the heat and sunshine, and when the world is asleep also. Monday, July 31st.--Nothing remarkable to record. A child asleep in a young lady's arms,--a little baby, two or three months old. Whenever anything partially disturbed the child, as, for instance, when the young lady or a bystander patted its cheek or rubbed its chin, the child would smile; then all its dreams seemed to be of pleasure and happiness. At first the smile was so faint, that I doubted whether it were really a smile or no; but on further efforts, it brightened forth very decidedly. This, without opening its eyes.--A constable, a homely, good-natured, business-looking man, with a warrant against an Irishman's wife for throwing a brickbat at a fellow. He gave good advice to the Irishman about the best method of coming easiest through the affair. Finally settled,--the justice agreeing to relinquish his fees, on condition that the Irishman would pay for the mending of his old boots! I went with Monsieur S------ yesterday to pick raspberries. He fell through an old log bridge thrown over a hollow; looking back, only his head and shoulders appeared through the rotten logs and among the bushes.--A shower coming on, the rapid running of a little barefooted boy, coming up unheard, and dashing swiftly past us, and showing the soles of his naked feet as he ran adown the path, and up the opposite rise. Tuesday, August 1st.--There having been a heavy rain yesterday, a nest of chimney-swallows was washed down the chimney into the fireplace of one of the front rooms. My attention was drawn to them by a most obstreperous twittering; and looking behind the fireboard, there were three young birds, clinging with their feet against one of the jambs, looking at me, open-mouthed, and all clamoring together, so as quite to fill the room with the short, eager, frightened sound. The old birds, by certain signs upon the floor of the room, appeared to have fallen victims to the appetite of the cat. La belle Nancy provided a basket filled with cotton-wool, into which the poor little devils were put; and I tried to feed them with soaked bread, of which, however, they did not eat with much relish. Tom, the Irish boy, gave it as his opinion that they were not old enough to be weaned. I hung the basket out of the window, in the sunshine, and upon looking in, an hour or two after, found that two of the birds had escaped. The other I tried to feed, and sometimes, when a morsel of bread was thrust into its open mouth, it would swallow it. But it appeared to suffer very much, vociferating loudly when disturbed, and panting, in a sluggish agony, with eyes closed, or half opened, when let alone. It distressed me a good deal; and I felt relieved, though somewhat shocked, when B------ put an end to its misery by squeezing its head and throwing it out of the window. They were of a slate-color, and might, I suppose, have been able to shift for themselves.--The other day a little yellow bird flew into one of the empty rooms, of which there are half a dozen on the lower floor, and could not find his way out again, flying at the glass of the windows, instead of at the door, thumping his head against the panes or against the ceiling. I drove him into the entry and chased him from end to end, endeavoring to make him fly through one of the open doors. He would fly at the circular light over the door, clinging to the casement, sometimes alighting on one of the two glass lamps, or on the cords that suspended them, uttering an affrighted and melancholy cry whenever I came near and flapped my handkerchief, and appearing quite tired and sinking into despair. At last he happened to fly low enough to pass through the door, and immediately vanished into the gladsome sunshine.--Ludicrous situation of a man, drawing his chaise down a sloping bank, to wash in the river. The chaise got the better of him, and, rushing downward as if it were possessed, compelled him to run at full speed, and drove him up to his chin into the water. A singular instance, that a chaise may run away with a man without a horse! Saturday, August 12th.--Left Augusta a week ago this morning for ------. Nothing particular in our drive across the country. Fellow-passenger a Boston dry-goods dealer, travelling to collect bills. At many of the country shops he would get out, and show his unwelcome visage. In the tavern, prints from Scripture, varnished and on rollers,--such as the Judgment of Christ; also a droll set of colored engravings of the story of the Prodigal Son, the figures being clad in modern costume,--or, at least, that of not more than half a century ago. The father, a grave, clerical person, with a white wig and black broadcloth suit; the son, with a cocked hat and laced clothes, drinking wine out of a glass, and caressing a woman in fashionable dress. At ------ a nice, comfortable boarding-house tavern, without a bar or any sort of wines or spirits. An old lady from Boston, with her three daughters, one of whom was teaching music, and the other two schoolmistresses. A frank, free, mirthful daughter of the landlady, about twenty-four years old, between whom and myself there immediately sprang up a flirtation, which made us both feel rather melancholy when we parted on Tuesday morning. Music in the evening, with a song by a rather pretty, fantastic little mischief of a brunette, about eighteen years old, who has married within a year, and spent the last summer in a trip to the Springs and elsewhere. Her manner of walking is by jerks, with a quiver, as if she were made of calves-feet jelly. I talk with everybody: to Mrs. T------ good sense,--to Mary, good sense, with a mixture of fun,--to Mrs. G------, sentiment, romance, and nonsense. Walked with ------ to see General Knox's old mansion,--a large, rusty-looking edifice of wood, with some grandeur in the architecture, standing on the banks of the river, close by the site of an old burial-ground, and near where an ancient fort had been erected for defence against the French and Indians. General Knox once owned a square of thirty miles in this part of the country, and he wished to settle it with a tenantry, after the fashion of English gentlemen. He would permit no edifice to be erected within a certain distance of his mansion. His patent covered, of course, the whole present town of Waldoborough and divers other flourishing commercial and country villages, and would have been of incalculable value could it have remained unbroken to the present time. But the General lived in grand style, and received throngs of visitors from foreign parts, and was obliged to part with large tracts of his possessions, till now there is little left but the ruinous mansion and the ground immediately around it. His tomb stands near the house,--a spacious receptacle, an iron door at the end of a turf-covered mound, and surmounted by an obelisk of marble. There are inscriptions to the memory of several of his family; for he had many children, all of whom are now dead, except one daughter, a widow of fifty, recently married to Hon. John H------. There is a stone fence round the monument. On the outside of this are the gravestones, and large, flat tombstones of the ancient burial-ground,--the tombstones being of red freestone, with vacant spaces, formerly inlaid with slate, on which were the inscriptions, and perhaps coats-of-arms. One of these spaces was in the shape of a heart. The people were very wrathful that the General should have laid out his grounds over this old burial-place; and he dared never throw down the gravestones, though his wife, a haughty English lady, often teased him to do so. But when the old General was dead, Lady Knox (as they called her) caused them to be prostrated, as they now lie. She was a woman of violent passions, and so proud an aristocrat, that, as long as she lived, she would never enter any house in the town except her own. When a married daughter was ill, she used to go in her carriage to the door, and send up to inquire how she did. The General was personally very popular; but his wife ruled him. The house and its vicinity, and the whole tract covered by Knox's patent, may be taken as an illustration of what must be the result of American schemes of aristocracy. It is not forty years since this house was built, and Knox was in his glory; but now the house is all in decay, while within a stone's-throw of it there is a street of smart white edifices of one and two stories, occupied chiefly by thriving mechanics, which has been laid out where Knox meant to have forests and parks. On the banks of the river, where he intended to have only one wharf for his own West Indian vessels and yacht, there are two wharves, with stores and a lime kiln. Little appertains to the mansion except the tomb and the old burial-ground, and the old fort. The descendants are all poor, and the inheritance was merely sufficient to make a dissipated and drunken fellow of the only one of the old General's sons who survived to middle age. The man's habits were as bad as possible as long as he had any money; but when quite ruined, he reformed. The daughter, the only survivor among Knox's children (herself childless), is a mild, amiable woman, therein totally differing from her mother. Knox, when he first visited his estate, arriving in a vessel, was waited upon by a deputation of the squatters, who had resolved to resist him to the death. He received them with genial courtesy, made them dine with him aboard the vessel, and sent them back to their constituents in great love and admiration of him. He used to have a vessel running to Philadelphia, I think, and bringing him all sorts of delicacies. His way of raising money was to give a mortgage on his estate of a hundred thousand dollars at a time, and receive that nominal amount in goods, which he would immediately sell at auction for perhaps thirty thousand. He died by a chicken-bone. Near the house are the remains of a covered way, by which the French once attempted to gain admittance into the fort; but the work caved in and buried a good many of them, and the rest gave up the siege. There was recently an old inhabitant living who remembered when the people used to reside in the fort. Owl's Head,--a watering-place, terminating a point of land, six or seven miles from Thomaston. A long island shuts out the prospect of the sea. Hither coasters and fishing-smacks run in when a storm is anticipated. Two fat landlords, both young men, with something of a contrast in their dispositions; one of them being a brisk, lively, active, jesting, fat man; the other more heavy and inert, making jests sluggishly, if at all. Aboard the steamboat, Professor Stuart of Andover, sitting on a sofa in the saloon, generally in conversation with some person, resolving their doubts on one point or another, speaking in a very audible voice; and strangers standing or sitting around to hear him, as if he were an ancient apostle or philosopher. He is a bulky man, with a large, massive face, particularly calm in its expression, and mild enough to be pleasing. When not otherwise occupied, he reads, without much notice of what is going on around him. He speaks without effort, yet thoughtfully. We got lost in a fog the morning after leaving Owl's Head. Fired a brass cannon, rang bell, blew steam, like a whale snorting. After one of the reports of the cannon, we heard a horn blown at no great distance, the sound coming soon after the report. Doubtful whether it came from the shore or a vessel. Continued our ringing and snorting; and by and by something was seen to mingle with the fog that obscured everything beyond fifty yards from us. At first it seemed only like a denser wreath of fog; it darkened still more, till it took the aspect of sails; then the hull of a small schooner came beating down towards us, the wind laying her over towards us, so that her gunwale was almost in the water, and we could see the whole of her sloping deck. "Schooner ahoy!" say we. "Halloo! Have you seen Boston Light this morning?" "Yes; it bears north-northwest, two miles distant." "Very much obliged to you," cries our captain. So the schooner vanishes into the mist behind. We get up our steam, and soon enter the harbor, meeting vessels of every rig; and the fog, clearing away, shows a cloudy sky. Aboard, an old one-eyed sailor, who had lost one of his feet, and had walked on the stump from Eastport to Bangor, thereby making a shocking ulcer. Penobscot Bay is full of islands, close to which the steamboat is continually passing. Some are large, with portions of forest and portions of cleared land; some are mere rocks, with a little green or none, and inhabited by sea-birds, which fly and flap about hoarsely. Their eggs may be gathered by the bushel, and are good to eat. Other islands have one house and barn on them, this sole family being lords and rulers of all the land which the sea girds. The owner of such an island must have a peculiar sense of property and lordship; he must feel more like his own master and his own man than other people can. Other islands, perhaps high, precipitous, black bluffs, are crowned with a white lighthouse, whence, as evening comes on, twinkles a star across the melancholy deep,--seen by vessels coming on the coast, seen from the mainland, seen from island to island. Darkness descending, and, looking down at the broad wake left by the wheels of the steamboat, we may see sparkles of sea-fire glittering through the gloom. Salem, August 22d.--A walk yesterday afternoon down to the Juniper and Winter Island. Singular effect of partial sunshine, the sky being broadly and heavily clouded, and land and sea, in consequence, being generally overspread with a sombre gloom. But the sunshine, somehow or other, found its way between the interstices of the clouds, and illuminated some of the distant objects very vividly. The white sails of a ship caught it, and gleamed brilliant as sunny snow, the hull being scarcely visible, and the sea around dark; other smaller vessels too, so that they looked like heavenly-winged things, just alighting on a dismal world. Shifting their sails, perhaps, or going on another tack, they almost disappear at once in the obscure distance. Islands are seen in summer sunshine and green glory; their rocks also sunny and their beaches white; while other islands, for no apparent reason, are in deep shade, and share the gloom of the rest of the world. Sometimes part of an island is illuminated and part dark. When the sunshine falls on a very distant island, nearer ones being in shade, it seems greatly to extend the bounds of visible space, and put the horizon to a farther distance. The sea roughly rushing against the shore, and dashing against the rocks, and grating back over the sands. A boat a little way from the shore, tossing and swinging at anchor. Beach birds flitting from place to place. The family seat of the Hawthornes is Wigcastle, Wigton, Wiltshire. The present head of the family, now residing there, is Hugh Hawthorne. William Hawthorne, who came over in 1635-36, was a younger brother of the family. A young man and girl meet together, each in search of a person to be known by some particular sign. They watch and wait a great while for that person to pass. At last some casual circumstance discloses that each is the one that the other is waiting for. Moral,--that what we need for our happiness is often close at hand, if we knew but how to seek for it. The journal of a human heart for a single day in ordinary circumstances. The lights and shadows that flit across it; its internal vicissitudes. Distrust to be thus exemplified:--Various good and desirable things to be presented to a young man, and offered to his acceptance,--as a friend, a wife, a fortune; but he to refuse them all, suspecting that it is merely a delusion. Yet all to be real, and he to be told so, when too late. A man tries to be happy in love; he cannot sincerely give his heart, and the affair seems all a dream. In domestic life, the same; in politics, a seeming patriot; but still he is sincere, and all seems like a theatre. An old man, on a summer day, sits on a hill-top, or on the observatory of his house, and sees the sun's light pass from one object to another connected with the events of his past life,--as the school-house, the place where his wife lived in her maidenhood,--its setting beams falling on the churchyard. An idle man's pleasures and occupations and thoughts during a day spent by the sea-shore: among them, that of sitting on the top of a cliff, and throwing stones at his own shadow, far below. A blind man to set forth on a walk through ways unknown to him, and to trust to the guidance of anybody who will take the trouble; the different characters who would undertake it: some mischievous, some well-meaning, but incapable; perhaps one blind man undertakes to lead another. At last, possibly, he rejects all guidance, and blunders on by himself. In the cabinet of the Essex Historical Society, old portraits.--Governor Leverett; a dark mustachioed face, the figure two-thirds length, clothed in a sort of frock-coat, buttoned, and a broad sword-belt girded round the waist, and fastened with a large steel buckle; the hilt of the sword steel,--altogether very striking. Sir William Pepperell, in English regimentals, coat, waistcoat, and breeches, all of red broadcloth, richly gold-embroidered; he holds a general's truncheon in his right hand, and extends the left towards the batteries erected against Louisbourg, in the country near which he is standing. Endicott, Pyncheon, and others, in scarlet robes, bands, etc. Half a dozen or more family portraits of the Olivers, some in plain dresses brown, crimson, or claret; others with gorgeous gold-embroidered waistcoats, descending almost to the knees, so as to form the most conspicuous article of dress. Ladies, with lace ruffles, the painting of which, in one of the pictures, cost five guineas. Peter Oliver, who was crazy, used to fight with these family pictures in the old Mansion House; and the face and breast of one lady bear cuts and stabs inflicted by him. Miniatures in oil, with the paint peeling off, of stern, old, yellow faces. Oliver Cromwell, apparently an old picture, half length, or one third, in an oval frame, probably painted for some New England partisan. Some pictures that had been partly obliterated by scrubbing with sand. The dresses, embroidery, laces of the Oliver family are generally better done than the faces. Governor Leverett's gloves,--the glove part of coarse leather, but round the wrist a deep, three or four inch border of spangles and silver embroidery. Old drinking-glasses, with tall stalks. A black glass bottle, stamped with the name of Philip English, with a broad bottom. The baby-linen, etc., of Governor Bradford of Plymouth County. Old manuscript sermons, some written in short-hand, others in a hand that seems learnt from print. Nothing gives a stronger idea of old worm-eaten aristocracy--of a family being crazy with age, and of its being time that it was extinct--than these black, dusty, faded, antique-dressed portraits, such as those of the Oliver family; the identical old white wig of an ancient minister producing somewhat the impression that his very scalp, or some other portion of his personal self, would do. The excruciating agonies which Nature inflicts on men (who break her laws) to be represented as the work of human tormentors; as the gout, by screwing the toes. Thus we might find that worse than the tortures of the Spanish Inquisition are daily suffered without exciting notice. Suppose a married couple fondly attached to one another, and to think that they lived solely for one another; then it to be found out that they were divorced, or that they might separate if they chose. What would be its effect? Monday, August 27th.--Went to Boston last Wednesday. Remarkables:--An author at the American Stationers' Company, slapping his hand on his manuscript, and crying, "I'm going to publish."--An excursion aboard a steamboat to Thompson's Island, to visit the Manual Labor School for boys. Aboard the steamboat several poets and various other authors; a Commodore,--Colton, a small, dark brown, sickly man, with a good deal of roughness in his address; Mr. Waterston, talking poetry and philosophy. Examination and exhibition of the boys, little tanned agriculturists. After examination, a stroll round the island, examining the products, as wheat in sheaves on the stubble-field; oats, somewhat blighted and spoiled; great pumpkins elsewhere; pastures; mowing ground;--all cultivated by the boys. Their residence, a great brick building, painted green, and standing on the summit of a rising ground, exposed to the winds of the bay. Vessels flitting past; great ships, with intricacy of rigging and various sails; schooners, sloops, with their one or two broad sheets of canvas: going on different tacks, so that the spectator might think that there was a different wind for each vessel, or that they scudded across the sea spontaneously, whither their own wills led them. The farm boys remain insulated, looking at the passing show, within sight of the city, yet having nothing to do with it; beholding their fellow-creatures skimming by them in winged machines, and steamboats snorting and puffing through the waves. Methinks an island would be the most desirable of all landed property, for it seems like a little world by itself; and the water may answer instead of the atmosphere that surrounds planets. The boys swinging, two together, standing up, and almost causing the ropes and their bodies to stretch out horizontally. On our departure, they ranged themselves on the rails of the fence, and, being dressed in blue, looked not unlike a flock of pigeons. On Friday, a visit to the Navy Yard at Charlestown, in company with the Naval Officer of Boston, and Cilley. Dined aboard the revenue-cutter Hamilton. A pretty cabin, finished off with bird's-eye maple and mahogany; two looking-glasses. Two officers in blue frocks, with a stripe of lace on each shoulder. Dinner, chowder, fried fish, corned beef,--claret, afterwards champagne. The waiter tells the Captain of the cutter that Captain Percival (Commander of the Navy Yard) is sitting on the deck of the anchor boy (which lies inside of the cutter), smoking his cigar. The captain sends him a glass of champagne, and inquires of the waiter what Percival says to it. "He said, sir, `What does he send me this damned stuff for?' but drinks, nevertheless." The Captain characterizes Percival as the roughest old devil that ever was in his manners, but a kind, good-hearted man at bottom. By and by comes in the steward. "Captain Percival is coming aboard of you, sir." "Well, ask him to walk down into the cabin"; and shortly down comes old Captain Percival, a white-haired, thin-visaged, weather-worn old gentleman, in a blue, Quaker-cut coat, with tarnished lace and brass buttons, a pair of drab pantaloons, and brown waistcoat. There was an eccentric expression in his face, which seemed partly wilful, partly natural. He has not risen to his present rank in the regular line of the profession; but entered the navy as a sailing-master, and has all the roughness of that class of officers. Nevertheless, he knows how to behave and to talk like a gentleman. Sitting down, and taking in hand a glass of champagne, he began a lecture on economy, and how well it was that Uncle Sam had a broad back, being compelled to bear so many burdens as were laid on it,-- alluding to the table covered with wine-bottles. Then he spoke of the fitting up of the cabin with expensive woods,--of the brooch in Captain Scott's bosom. Then he proceeded to discourse of politics, taking the opposite side to Cilley, and arguing with much pertinacity. He seems to have moulded and shaped himself to his own whims, till a sort of rough affectation has become thoroughly imbued throughout a kindly nature. He is full of antique prejudices against the modern fashions of the younger officers, their mustaches and such fripperies, and prophesies little better than disgrace in case of another war; owning that the boys would fight for their country, and die for her, but denying that there are any officers now like Hull and Stuart, whose exploits, nevertheless, he greatly depreciated, saying that the Boxer and Enterprise fought the only equal battle which we won during the war; and that, in that action, an officer had proposed to haul down the stars and stripes, and a common sailor threatened to cut him to pieces if he should do so. He spoke of Bainbridge as a sot and a poltroon, who wanted to run from the Macedonian, pretending to take her for a line-of-battle ship; of Commodore Elliot as a liar; but praised Commodore Downes in the highest terms. Percival seems to be the very pattern of old integrity; taking as much care of Uncle Sam's interests as if all the money expended were to come out of his own pocket. This quality was displayed in his resistance to the demand of a new patent capstan for the revenue-cutter, which, however, Scott is resolved in such a sailor-like way to get, that he will probably succeed. Percival spoke to me of how his business in the yard absorbed him, especially the fitting of the Columbus seventy-four, of which ship he discoursed with great enthusiasm. He seems to have no ambition beyond his present duties, perhaps never had any; at any rate, he now passes his life with a sort of gruff contentedness, grumbling and growling, yet in good humor enough. He is conscious of his peculiarities; for when I asked him whether it would be well to make a naval officer Secretary of the Navy, he said, "God forbid, for that an old sailor was always full of prejudices and stubborn whim-whams," instancing himself; whereto I agreed. We went round the Navy Yard with Percival and Commodore Downes, the latter a sailor and a gentleman too, with rather more of the ocean than the drawing-room about him, but courteous, frank, and good-natured. We looked at ropewalks, rigging-lofts, ships in the stocks; and saw the sailors of the station laughing and sporting with great mirth and cheerfulness, which the Commodore said was much increased at sea. We returned to the wharf at Boston in the cutter's boat. Captain Scott, of the cutter, told me a singular story of what occurred during the action between the Constitution and Macedonian--he being powder-monkey aboard the former ship. A cannon-shot came through the ship's side, and a man's head was struck off, probably by a splinter, for it was done without bruising the head or body, as clean as by a razor. Well, the man was walking pretty briskly at the time of the accident; and Scott seriously affirmed that he kept walking onward at the same pace, with two jets of blood gushing from his headless trunk, till, after going about twenty feet without a head, he sunk down at once, with his legs under him. [The corroboration of the truth of this, see Lord Bacon, Century IV. of his Sylva Sylvarum, or Natural History, in Ten Centuries, paragraph 400.] On Saturday, I called to see E. H------, having previously appointed a meeting for the purpose of inquiring about our name. He is an old bachelor, and truly forlorn. The pride of ancestry seems to be his great hobby. He had a good many old papers in his desk at the Custom-House, which he produced and dissertated upon, and afterwards went with me to his sister's, and showed me an old book, with a record of the children of the first emigrant (who came over two hundred years ago), in his own handwriting. E----'s manners are gentlemanly, and he seems to be very well informed. At a little distance, I think, one would take him to be not much over thirty; but nearer at hand one finds him to look rather venerable,--perhaps fifty or more. He is nervous, and his hands shook while he was looking over the papers, as if he had been startled by my visit; and when we came to the crossings of streets, he darted across, cautioning me, as if both were in great danger to be run over. Nevertheless, being very quick-tempered, he would face the Devil if at all irritated. He gave a most forlorn description of his life; how, when he came to Salem, there was nobody except Mr. ------ whom he cared about seeing; how his position prevented him from accepting of civilities, because he had no home where he could return them; in short, he seemed about as miserable a being as is to be found anywhere,--lonely, and with sensitiveness to feel his loneliness, and capacities, now withered, to have enjoyed the sweets of life. I suppose he is comfortable enough when busied in his duties at the Custom-House; for when I spoke to him at my entrance, he was too much absorbed to hear me at first. As we walked, he kept telling stories of the family, which seemed to have comprised many oddities, eccentric men and women, recluses and other kinds,--one of old Philip English (a Jersey man, the name originally L'Anglais), who had been persecuted by John Hawthorne, of witch-time memory, and a violent quarrel ensued. When Philip lay on his death-bed, he consented to forgive his persecutor; "But if I get well," said he, "I'll be damned if I forgive him!" This Philip left daughters, one of whom married, I believe, the son of the persecuting John, and thus all the legitimate blood of English is in our family. E---- passed from the matters of birth, pedigree, and ancestral pride to give vent to the most arrant democracy and locofocoism that I ever happened to hear, saying that nobody ought to possess wealth longer than his own life, and that then it should return to the people, etc. He says S. I------ has a great fund of traditions about the family, which she learned from her mother or grandmother (I forget which), one of them being a Hawthorne. The old lady was a very proud woman, and, as E---- says, "proud of being proud," and so is S. I------. October 7th.--A walk in Northfields in the afternoon. Bright sunshine and autumnal warmth, giving a sensation quite unlike the same degree of warmth in summer. Oaks,--some brown, some reddish, some still green; walnuts, yellow,--fallen leaves and acorns lying beneath; the footsteps crumple them in walking. In sunny spots beneath the trees, where green grass is overstrewn by the dry, fallen foliage, as I passed, I disturbed multitudes of grasshoppers basking in the warm sunshine; and they began to hop, hop, hop, pattering on the dry leaves like big and heavy drops of a thunder-shower. They were invisible till they hopped. Boys gathering walnuts. Passed an orchard, where two men were gathering the apples. A wagon, with barrels, stood among the trees; the men's coats flung on the fence; the apples lay in heaps, and each of the men was up in a separate tree. They conversed together in loud voices, which the air caused to ring still louder, jeering each other, boasting of their own feats in shaking down the apples. One got into the very top of his tree, and gave a long and mighty shake, and the big apples came down thump, thump, bushels hitting on the ground at once. "There! did you ever hear anything like that?" cried he. This sunny scene was pretty. A horse feeding apart, belonging to the wagon. The barberry-bushes have some red fruit on them, but they are frost-bitten. The rose-bushes have their scarlet hips. Distant clumps of trees, now that the variegated foliage adorns them, have a phantasmagorian, an apparition-like appearance. They seem to be of some kindred to the crimson and gold cloud-islands. It would not be strange to see phantoms peeping forth from their recesses. When the sun was almost below the horizon, his rays, gilding the upper branches of a yellow walnut-tree, had an airy and beautiful effect,--the gentle contrast between the tint of the yellow in the shade and its ethereal gold in the fading sunshine. The woods that crown distant uplands were seen to great advantage in these last rays, for the sunshine perfectly marked out and distinguished every shade of color, varnishing them as it were; while the country round, both hill and plain, being in gloomy shadow, the woods looked the brighter for it. The tide, being high, had flowed almost into the Cold Spring, so its small current hardly issued forth from the basin. As I approached, two little eels, about as long as my finger, and slender in proportion, wriggled out of the basin. They had come from the salt water. An Indian-corn field, as yet unharvested,--huge, golden pumpkins scattered among the hills of corn,--a noble-looking fruit. After the sun was down, the sky was deeply dyed with a broad sweep of gold, high towards the zenith; not flaming brightly, but of a somewhat dusky gold. A piece of water, extending towards the west, between high banks, caught the reflection, and appeared like a sheet of brighter and more glistening gold than the sky which made it bright. Dandelions and blue flowers are still growing in sunny places. Saw in a barn a prodigious treasure of onions in their silvery coats, exhaling a penetrating perfume. How exceeding bright looks the sunshine, casually reflected from a looking-glass into a gloomy region of the chamber, distinctly marking out the figures and colors of the paper-hangings, which are scarcely seen elsewhere. It is like the light of mind thrown on an obscure subject. Man's finest workmanship, the closer you observe it, the more imperfections it shows; as in a piece of polished steel a microscope will discover a rough surface. Whereas, what may look coarse and rough in Nature's workmanship will show an infinitely minute perfection, the closer you look into it. The reason of the minute superiority of Nature's work over man's is, that the former works from the innermost germ, while the latter works merely superficially. Standing in the cross-road that leads by the Mineral Spring, and looking towards an opposite shore of the lake, an ascending bank, with a douse border of trees, green, yellow, red, russet, all bright colors, brightened by the mild brilliancy of the descending sun; it was strange to recognize the sober old friends of spring and summer in this new dress. By the by, a pretty riddle or fable might be made out of the changes in apparel of the familiar trees round a house, adapted for children. But in the lake, beneath the aforesaid border of trees,--the water being, not rippled, but its glassy surface somewhat moved and shaken by the remote agitation of a breeze that was breathing on the outer lake,--this being in a sort of bay,--in the slightly agitated mirror, the variegated trees were reflected dreamily and indistinctly; a broad belt of bright and diversified colors shining in the water beneath. Sometimes the image of a tree might be almost traced; then nothing but this sweep of broken rainbow. It was like the recollection of the real scene in an observer's mind,--a confused radiance. A whirlwind, whirling the dried leaves round in a circle, not very violently. To well consider the characters of a family of persons in a certain condition,--in poverty, for instance,--and endeavor to judge how an altered condition would affect the character of each. The aromatic odor of peat-smoke in the sunny autumnal air is very pleasant. Salem, October 14th.--A walk through Beverly to Browne's Hill, and home by the iron-factory. A bright, cool afternoon. The trees, in a large part of the space through which I passed, appeared to be in their fullest glory, bright red, yellow, some of a tender green, appearing at a distance as if bedecked with new foliage, though this emerald tint was likewise the effect of frost. In some places, large tracts of ground were covered as with a scarlet cloth,--the underbrush being thus colored. The general character of these autumnal colors is not gaudy, scarcely gay; there is something too deep and rich in it: it is gorgeous and magnificent, but with a sobriety diffused. The pastures at the foot of Browne's Hill were plentifully covered with barberry-bushes, the leaves of which were reddish, and they were hung with a prodigious quantity of berries. From the summit of the hill, looking down a tract of woodland at a considerable distance, so that the interstices between the trees could not be seen, their tops presented an unbroken level, and seemed somewhat like a richly variegated carpet. The prospect from the hill is wide and interesting; but methinks it is pleasanter in the more immediate vicinity of the hill than miles away. It is agreeable to look down at the square patches of cornfield, or of potato-ground, or of cabbages still green, or of beets looking red,--all a man's farm, in short,--each portion of which he considers separately so important, while you take in the whole at a glance. Then to cast your eye over so many different establishments at once, and rapidly compare thorn,--here a house of gentility, with shady old yellow-leaved elms hanging around it; there a new little white dwelling; there an old farm-house; to see the barns and sheds and all the out-houses clustered together; to comprehend the oneness and exclusiveness and what constitutes the peculiarity of each of so many establishments, and to have in your mind a multitude of them, each of which is the most important part of the world to those who live in it,--this really enlarges the mind, and you come down the hill somewhat wiser than you go up. Pleasant to look over an orchard far below, and see the trees, each casting its own shadow; the white spires of meeting-houses; a sheet of water, partly seen among swelling lands. This Browne's Hill is a long ridge, lying in the midst of a large, level plain; it looks at a distance somewhat like a whale, with its head and tail under water, but its immense back protruding, with steep sides, and a gradual curve along its length. When you have climbed it on one side, and gaze from the summit at the other, you feel as if you had made a discovery,--the landscape being quite different on the two sides. The cellar of the house which formerly crowned the hill, and used to be named Browne's Folly, still remains, two grass-grown and shallow hollows, on the highest part of the ridge. The house consisted of two wings, each perhaps sixty feet in length, united by a middle part, in which was the entrance-hall, and which looked lengthwise along the hill. The foundation of a spacious porch may be traced on either side of the central portion; some of the stones still remain; but even where they are gone, the line of the porch is still traceable by the greener verdure. In the cellar, or rather in the two cellars, grow one or two barberry-bushes, with frost-bitten fruit; there is also yarrow with its white flower, and yellow dandelions. The cellars are still deep enough to shelter a person, all but his head at least, from the wind on the summit of the hill; but they are all grass-grown. A line of trees seems to have been planted along the ridge of the hill. The edifice must have made quite a magnificent appearance. Characteristics during the walk:--Apple-trees with only here and there an apple on the boughs, among the thinned leaves, the relics of a gathering. In others you observe a rustling, and see the boughs shaking and hear the apples thumping down, without seeing the person who does it. Apples scattered by the wayside, some with pieces bitten out, others entire, which you pick up and taste, and find them harsh, crabbed cider-apples, though they have a pretty, waxen appearance. In sunny spots of woodland, boys in search of nuts, looking picturesque among the scarlet and golden foliage. There is something in this sunny autumnal atmosphere that gives a peculiar effect to laughter and joyous voices,--it makes them infinitely more elastic and gladsome than at other seasons. Heaps of dry leaves tossed together by the wind, as if for a couch and lounging-place for the weary traveller, while the sun is warming it for him. Golden pumpkins and squashes, heaped in the angle of a house, till they reach the lower windows. Ox-teams, laden with a rustling load of Indian corn, in the stalk and ear. When all inlet of the sea runs far up into the country, you stare to see a large schooner appear amid the rural landscape; she is unloading a cargo of wood, moist with rain or salt water that has dashed over it. Perhaps you hear the sound of an axe in the woodland; occasionally, the report of a fowling-piece. The travellers in the early part of the afternoon look warm and comfortable as if taking a summer drive; but as eve draws nearer, you meet them well wrapped in top-coats or cloaks, or rough, great surtouts, and red-nosed withal, seeming to take no great comfort, but pressing homeward. The characteristic conversation among teamsters and country squires, where the ascent of a hill causes the chaise to go at the same pace as an ox-team,--perhaps discussing the qualities of a yoke of oxen. The cold, blue aspects of sheets of water. Some of the country shops with the doors closed; others still open as in summer. I meet a wood-sawyer, with his horse and saw on his shoulders, returning from work. As night draws on, you begin to see the gleaming of fires on the ceilings in the houses which you pass. The comfortless appearance of houses at bleak and bare spots,--you wonder how there can be any enjoyment in them. I meet a girl in a chintz gown, with a small shawl on her shoulders, white stockings, and summer morocco shoes,--it looks observable. Turkeys, queer, solemn objects, in black attire, grazing about, and trying to peck the fallen apples, which slip away from their bills. October 16th.--Spent the whole afternoon in a ramble to the sea-shore, near Phillips's Beach. A beautiful, warm, sunny afternoon, the very pleasantest day, probably, that there has been in the whole course of the year. People at work, harvesting, without their coats. Cocks, with their squad of hens, in the grass-fields, hunting grasshoppers, chasing them eagerly with outspread wings, appearing to take much interest in the sport, apart from the profit. Other hens picking up the ears of Indian corn. Grasshoppers, flies, and flying insects of all sorts are more abundant in these warm autumnal days than I have seen them at any other time. Yellow butterflies flutter about in the sunshine, singly, by pairs, or more, and are wafted on the gentle gales. The crickets begin to sing early in the afternoon, and sometimes a locust may be heard. In some warm spots, a pleasant buzz of many insects. Crossed the fields near Brookhouse's villa, and came upon a long beach,-- at least a mile long, I should think,--terminated by craggy rocks at either end, and backed by a high broken bank, the grassy summit of which, year by year, is continually breaking away, and precipitated to the bottom. At the foot of the bank, in some parts, is a vast number of pebbles and paving-stones, rolled up thither by the sea long ago. The beach is of a brown sand, with hardly any pebbles intermixed upon it. When the tide is part way down, there is a margin of several yards from the water's edge, along the whole mile length of the beach, which glistens like a mirror, and reflects objects, and shines bright in the sunshine, the sand being wet to that distance from the water. Above this margin the sand is not wet, and grows less and less damp the farther towards the bank you keep. In some places your footstep is perfectly implanted, showing the whole shape, and the square toe, and every nail in the heel of your boot. Elsewhere, the impression is imperfect, and even when you stamp, you cannot imprint the whole. As you tread, a dry spot flashes around your step, and grows moist as you lift your foot again. Pleasant to pass along this extensive walk, watching the surf-wave;--how sometimes it seems to make a feint of breaking, but dies away ineffectually, merely kissing the strand; then, after many such abortive efforts, it gathers itself, and forms a high wall, and rolls onward, heightening and heightening without foam at the summit of the green line, and at last throws itself fiercely on the beach, with a loud roar, the spray flying above. As you walk along, you are preceded by a flock of twenty or thirty beach birds, which are seeking, I suppose, for food on the margin of the surf, yet seem to be merely sporting, chasing the sea as it retires, and running up before the impending wave. Sometimes they let it bear them off their feet, and float lightly on its breaking summit; sometimes they flutter and seem to rest on the feathery spray. They are little birds with gray backs and snow-white breasts; their images may be seen in the wet sand almost or quite as distinctly as the reality. Their legs are long. As you draw near, they take a flight of a score of yards or more, and then recommence their dalliance with the surf-wave. You may behold their multitudinous little tracks all along your way. Before you reach the end of the beach, you become quite attached to these little sea-birds, and take much interest in their occupations. After passing in one direction, it is pleasant then to retrace your footsteps. Your tracks being all traceable, you may recall the whole mood and occupation of your mind during your first passage. Here you turned somewhat aside to pick up a shell that you saw nearer the water's edge. Here you examined a long sea-weed, and trailed its length after you for a considerable distance. Here the effect of the wide sea struck you suddenly. Here you fronted the ocean, looking at a sail, distant in the sunny blue. Here you looked at some plant on the bank. Here some vagary of mind seems to have bewildered you; for your tracks go round and round, and interchange each other without visible reason. Here you picked up pebbles and skipped them upon the water. Here you wrote names and drew faces with a razor sea-shell in the sand. After leaving the beach, clambered over crags, all shattered and tossed about everyhow; in some parts curiously worn and hollowed out, almost into caverns. The rock, shagged with sea-weed,--in some places, a thick carpet of sea-weed laid over the pebbles, into which your foot would sink. Deep tanks among these rocks, which the sea replenishes at high tide, and then leaves the bottom all covered with various sorts of sea-plants, as if it were some sea-monster's private garden. I saw a crab in one of them; five-fingers too. From the edge of the rocks, you may look off into deep, deep water, even at low tide. Among the rocks, I found a great bird, whether a wild-goose, a loon, or an albatross, I scarcely know. It was in such a position that I almost fancied it might be asleep, and therefore drew near softly, lest it should take flight; but it was dead, and stirred not when I touched it. Sometimes a dead fish was cast up. A ledge of rocks, with a beacon upon it, looking like a monument erected to those who have perished by shipwreck. The smoked, extempore fireplace, where a party cooked their fish. About midway on the beach, a fresh-water brooklet flows towards the sea. Where it leaves the land, it is quite a rippling little current; but, in flowing across the sand, it grows shallower and more shallow, and at last is quite lost, and dies in the effort to carry its little tribute to the main. An article to be made of telling the stories of the tiles of an old-fashioned chimney-piece to a child. A person conscious that he was soon to die, the humor in which he would pay his last visit to familiar persons and things. A description of the various classes of hotels and taverns, and the prominent personages in each. There should be some story connected with it,--as of a person commencing with boarding at a great hotel, and gradually, as his means grew less, descending in life, till he got below ground into a cellar. A person to be in the possession of something as perfect as mortal man has a right to demand; he tries to make it better, and ruins it entirely. A person to spend all his life and splendid talents in trying to achieve something naturally impossible,--as to make a conquest over Nature. Meditations about the main gas-pipe of a great city,--if the supply were to be stopped, what would happen? How many different scenes it sheds light on? It might be made emblematical of something. December 6th.--A fairy tale about chasing Echo to her hiding-place. Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror. A house to be built over a natural spring of inflammable gas, and to be constantly illuminated therewith. What moral could be drawn from this? It is carburetted hydrogen gas, and is cooled from a soft shale or slate, which is sometimes bituminous, and contains more or less carbonate of lime. It appears in the vicinity of Lockport and Niagara Falls, and elsewhere in New York. I believe it indicates coal. At Fredonia, the whole village is lighted by it. Elsewhere, a farm-house was lighted by it, and no other fuel used in the coldest weather. Gnomes, or other mischievous little fiends, to be represented as burrowing in the hollow teeth of some person who has subjected himself to their power. It should be a child's story. This should be one of many modes of petty torment. They should be contrasted with beneficent fairies, who minister to the pleasures of the good. A man will undergo great toil and hardship for ends that must be many years distant,--as wealth or fame,--but none for an end that may be close at hand,--as the joys of heaven. Insincerity in a man's own heart must make all his enjoyments, all that concerns him, unreal; so that his whole life must seem like a merely dramatic representation. And this would be the case, even though he were surrounded by true-hearted relatives and friends. A company of men, none of whom have anything worth hoping for on earth, yet who do not look forward to anything beyond earth! Sorrow to be personified, and its effect on a family represented by the way in which the members of the family regard this dark-clad and sad-browed inmate. A story to show how we are all wronged and wrongers, and avenge one another. To personify winds of various characters. A man living a wicked life, in one place, and simultaneously a virtuous and religious one in another. An ornament to be worn about the person of a lady,--as a jewelled heart. After many years, it happens to be broken or unscrewed, and a poisonous odor comes out. Lieutenant F. W------ of the navy was an inveterate duellist and an unerring shot. He had taken offence at Lieutenant F------, and endeavored to draw him into a duel, following him to the Mediterranean for that purpose, and harassing him intolerably. At last, both parties being in Massachusetts, F------ determined to fight, and applied to Lieutenant A------ to be his second. A------ examined into the merits of the quarrel, and came to the conclusion that F------ had not given F. W------ justifiable cause for driving him to a duel, and that he ought not to be shot. He instructed F------ in the use of the pistol, and, before the meeting, warned him, by all means, to get the first fire; for that, if F. W------ fired first, he, F------, was infallibly a dead man, as his antagonist could shoot to a hair's-breadth. The parties met; and F------, firing immediately on the word's being given, shot F. W------ through the heart. F. W------, with a most savage expression of countenance, fired, after the bullet had gone through his heart, and when the blood had entirely left his face, and shot away one of F------'s side-locks. His face probably looked as if he were already in the infernal regions; but afterwards it assumed an angelic calmness and repose. A company of persons to drink a certain medicinal preparation, which would prove a poison, or the contrary, according to their different characters. Many persons, without a consciousness of so doing, to contribute to some one end; as to a beggar's feast, made up of broken victuals from many tables; or a patch carpet, woven of shreds from innumerable garments. Some very famous jewel or other thing, much talked of all over the world. some person to meet with it, and get possession of it in some unexpected manner, amid homely circumstances. To poison a person or a party of persons with the sacramental wine. A cloud in the shape of an old woman kneeling, with arms extended towards the moon. On being transported to strange scenes, we feel as if all were unreal. This is but the perception of the true unreality of earthly things, made evident by the want of congruity between ourselves and them. By and by we become mutually adapted, and the perception is lost. An old looking-glass. Somebody finds out the secret of making all the images that have been reflected in it pass back again across its surface. Our Indian races having reared no monuments, like the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians, when they have disappeared from the earth their history will appear a fable, and they misty phantoms. A woman to sympathize with all emotions, but to have none of her own. A portrait of a person in New England to be recognized as of the same person represented by a portrait in Old England. Having distinguished himself there, he had suddenly vanished, and had never been heard of till he was thus discovered to be identical with a distinguished man in New England. Men of cold passions have quick eyes. A virtuous but giddy girl to attempt to play a trick on a man. He sees what she is about, and contrives matters so that she throws herself completely into his power, and is ruined,--all in jest. A letter, written a century or more ago, but which has never yet been unsealed. A partially insane man to believe himself the Provincial Governor or other great official of Massachusetts. The scene might be the Province House. A dreadful secret to be communicated to several people of various characters,--grave or gay,--and they all to become insane, according to their characters, by the influence of the secret. Stories to be told of a certain person's appearance in public, of his having been seen in various situations, and of his making visits in private circles; but finally, on looking for this person, to come upon his old grave and mossy tombstone. The influence of a peculiar mind, in close communion with another, to drive the latter to insanity. To look at a beautiful girl, and picture all the lovers, in different situations, whose hearts are centred upon her. May 11th, 1838.--At Boston last week. Items:--A young man, with a small mustache, dyed brown, reddish from its original light color. He walks with an affected gait, his arms crooked outwards, treading much on his toes. His conversation is about the theatre, where he has a season ticket,--about an amateur who lately appeared there, and about actresses, with other theatrical scandal.--In the smoking-room, two checker and backgammon boards; the landlord a great player, seemingly a stupid man, but with considerable shrewdness and knowledge of the world.--F------, the comedian, a stout, heavy-looking Englishman, of grave deportment, with no signs of wit or humor, yet aiming at both in conversation, in order to support his character. Very steady and regular in his life, and parsimonious in his disposition,--worth $ 50,000, made by his profession.--A clergyman, elderly, with a white neckcloth, very unbecoming, an unworldly manner, unacquaintance with the customs of the house, and learning them in a childlike way. A ruffle to his shirt, crimped.--A gentleman, young, handsome, and sea-flushed, belonging to Oswego, New York, but just arrived in port from the Mediterranean: he inquires of me about the troubles in Canada, which were first beginning to make a noise when he left the country,--whether they are all over. I tell him all is finished, except the hanging of the prisoners. Then we talk over the matter, and I tell him the fates of the principal men,-- some banished to New South Wales, one hanged, others in prison, others, conspicuous at first, now almost forgotten.--Apartments of private families in the hotel,--what sort of domesticity there may be in them; eating in public, with no board of their own. The gas that lights the rest of the house lights them also, in the chandelier from the ceiling.-- A shabby-looking man, quiet, with spectacles, at first wearing an old, coarse brown frock, then appearing in a suit of elderly black, saying nothing unless spoken to, but talking intelligently when addressed. He is an editor, and I suppose printer, of a country paper. Among the guests, he holds intercourse with gentlemen of much more respectable appearance than himself, from the same part of the country.--Bill of fare; wines printed on the back, but nobody calls for a bottle. Chairs turned down for expected guests. Three-pronged steel forks. Cold supper from nine to eleven P. M. Great, round, mahogany table, in the sitting-room, covered with papers. In the morning, before and soon after breakfast, gentlemen reading the morning papers, while others wait for their chance, or try to pick out something from the papers of yesterday or longer ago. In the forenoon, the Southern papers are brought in, and thrown damp and folded on the table. The eagerness with which those who happen to be in the room start up and make prize of them. Play-bills, printed on yellow paper, laid upon the table. Towards evening comes the Transcript. June 15th.--The red light which the sunset at this season diffuse; there being showery afternoons, but the sun setting bright amid clouds, and diffusing its radiance over those that are scattered in masses all over the sky. It gives a rich tinge to all objects, even to those of sombre lines, yet without changing the lines. The complexions of people are exceedingly enriched by it; they look warm, and kindled with a mild fire. The whole scenery and personages acquire, methinks, a passionate character. A love-scene should be laid on such an evening. The trees and the grass have now the brightest possible green, there having been so many showers alternating with such powerful sunshine. There are roses and tulips and honeysuckles, with their sweet perfume; in short, the splendor of a more gorgeous climate than ours might be brought into the picture. The situation of a man in the midst of a crowd, yet as completely in the power of another, life and all, as if they two were in the deepest solitude. Tremont, Boston, June 16th.--Tremendously hot weather to-day. Went on board the Cyane to see Bridge, the purser. Took boat from the end of Long Wharf; with two boatmen who had just landed a man. Row round to the starboard side of the sloop, where we pass up the steps, and are received by Bridge, who introduces us to one of the lieutenants,--Hazard. Sailors and midshipmen scattered about,--the middies having a foul anchor, that is, an anchor with a cable twisted round it, embroidered on the collars of their jackets. The officers generally wear blue jackets with lace on the shoulders, white pantaloons, and cloth caps. Introduced into the cabin,--a handsome room, finished with mahogany, comprehending the width of the vessel; a sideboard with liquors, and above it a looking-glass; behind the cabin, an inner room, in which is seated a lady, waiting for the captain to come on board; on each side of this inner cabin, a large and convenient state-room with bed,--the doors opening into the cabin. This cabin is on a level with the quarter-deck, and is covered by the poop-deck. Going down below stairs, you come to the ward-room, a pretty large room, round which are the state-rooms of the lieutenants, the purser, surgeon, etc. A stationary table. The ship's main-mast comes down through the middle of the room, and Bridge's chair, at dinner, is planted against it. Wine and brandy produced; and Bridge calls to the Doctor to drink with him, who answers affirmatively from his state-room, and shortly after opens the door and makes his appearance. Other officers emerge from the side of the vessel, or disappear into it, in the same way. Forward of the ward-room, adjoining it, and on the same level, is the midshipmen's room, on the larboard side of the vessel, not partitioned off, so as to be shut up. On a shelf a few books; one midshipman politely invites us to walk in; another sits writing. Going farther forward, on the same level we come to the crew's department, part of which is occupied by the cooking-establishment, where all sorts of cooking is going on for the officers and men. Through the whole of this space, ward-room and all, there is barely room to stand upright, without the hat on. The rules of the quarter-deck (which extends aft from the main-mast) are, that the midshipmen shall not presume to walk on the starboard side of it, nor the men to come upon it at all, unless to speak to an officer. The poop-deck is still more sacred,--the lieutenants being confined to the larboard side, and the captain alone having a right to the starboard. A marine was pacing the poop-deck, being the only guard that I saw stationed in the vessel,--the more stringent regulations being relaxed while she is preparing for sea. While standing on the quarter-deck, a great piping at the gangway, and the second cutter comes alongside, bringing the consul and some other gentleman to visit the vessel. After a while, we are rowed ashore with them, in the same boat. Its crew are new hands, and therefore require much instruction from the cockswain. We are seated under an awning. The guns of the Cyane are medium thirty-two pounders; some of them have percussion locks. At the Tremont, I had Bridge to dine with me: iced champagne, claret in glass pitchers. Nothing very remarkable among the guests. A wine-merchant, French apparently, though he had arrived the day before in a bark from Copenhagen: a somewhat corpulent gentleman, without so good manners as an American would have in the same line of life, but good-natured, sociable, and civil, complaining of the heat. He had rings on his fingers of great weight of metal, and one of them had a seal for letters; brooches at the bosom, three in a row, up and down; also a gold watch-guard, with a seal appended. Talks of the comparative price of living, of clothes, etc., here and in Europe. Tells of the prices of wines by the cask and pipe. Champagne, he says, is drunk of better quality here than where it grows.--A vendor of patent medicines, Doctor Jaques, makes acquaintance with me, and shows me his recommendatory letters in favor of himself and drugs, signed by a long list of people. He prefers, he says, booksellers to druggists as his agents, and inquired of me about them in this town. He seems to be an honest man enough, with an intelligent face, and sensible in his talk, but not a gentleman, wearing a somewhat shabby brown coat and mixed pantaloons, being ill-shaven, and apparently not well acquainted with the customs of a fashionable hotel. A simplicity about him that is likable, though, I believe, he comes from Philadelphia.--Naval officers, strolling about town, bargaining for swords and belts, and other military articles; with the tailor, to have naval buttons put on their shore-going coats, and for their pantaloons, suited to the climate of the Mediterranean. It is the almost invariable habit of officers, when going ashore or staying on shore, to divest themselves of all military or naval insignia, and appear as private citizens. At the Tremont, young gentlemen with long earlocks,--straw hats, light, or dark-mixed.--The theatre being closed, the play-bills of many nights ago are posted up against its walls. July 4th.--A very hot, bright, sunny day; town much thronged; booths on the Common, selling gingerbread, sugar-plums, and confectionery, spruce beer, lemonade. Spirits forbidden, but probably sold stealthily. On the top of one of the booths a monkey, with a tail two or three feet long. He is fastened by a cord, which, getting tangled with the flag over the booth, he takes hold and tries to free it. He is the object of much attention from the crowd, and played with by the boys, who toss up gingerbread to him, while he nibbles and throws it down again. He reciprocates notice, of some kind or other, with all who notice him. There is a sort of gravity about him. A boy pulls his long tail, whereat he gives a slight squeak, and for the future elevates it as much as possible. Looking at the same booth by and by, I find that the poor monkey has been obliged to betake himself to the top of one of the wooden joists that stick up high above. There are boys, going about with molasses candy, almost melted down in the sun. Shows: A mammoth rat; a collection of pirates, murderers, and the like, in wax. Constables in considerable number, parading about with their staves, sometimes conversing with each other, producing an effect by their presence, without having to interfere actively. One or two old salts, rather the worse for liquor: in general the people are very temperate. At evening the effect of things rather more picturesque; some of the booth-keepers knocking down the temporary structures, and putting the materials in wagons to carry away; other booths lighted up, and the lights gleaming through rents in the sail-cloth tops. The customers are rather riotous, calling loudly and whimsically for what they want; a young fellow and a girl coming arm in arm; two girls approaching the booth, and getting into conversation with the folks thereabout. Perchance a knock-down between two half-sober fellows in the crowd: a knock-down without a heavy blow, the receiver being scarcely able to keep his footing at any rate. Shoutings and hallooings, laughter, oaths,--generally a good-natured tumult; and the constables use no severity, but interfere, if at all, in a friendly sort of way. I talk with one about the way in which the day has passed, and he bears testimony to the orderliness of the crowd, but suspects one booth of selling liquor, and relates one scuffle. There is a talkative and witty seller of gingerbread holding forth to the people from his cart, making himself quite a noted character by his readiness of remark and humor, and disposing of all his wares. Late in the evening, during the fire-works, people are consulting how they are to get hone,-- many having long miles to walk: a father, with wife and children, saying it will be twelve o'clock before they reach home, the children being already tired to death. The moon beautifully dark-bright, not giving so white a light as sometimes. The girls all look beautiful and fairy-like in it, not exactly distinct, nor yet dim. The different characters of female countenances during the day,--mirthful and mischievous, slyly humorous, stupid, looking genteel generally, but when they speak often betraying plebeianism by the tones of their voices. Two girls are very tired, one a pale, thin, languid-looking creature; the other plump, rosy, rather overburdened with her own little body. Gingerbread figures, in the shape of Jim Crow and other popularities. In the old burial-ground, Charter Street, a slate gravestone, carved round the borders, to the memory of "Colonel John Hathorne, Esq.," who died in 1717. This was the witch-judge. The stone is sunk deep into the earth, and leans forward, and the grass grows very long around it; and, on account of the moss, it was rather difficult to make out the date. Other Hathornes lie buried in a range with him on either side. In a corner of the burial-ground, close under Dr. P-----'s garden fence, are the most ancient stones remaining in the graveyard; moss-grown, deeply sunken. One to "Dr. John Swinnerton, Physician," in 1688; another to his wife. There, too, is the grave of Nathaniel Mather, the younger brother of Cotton, and mentioned in the Magnalia as a hard student, and of great promise. "An aged man at nineteen years," saith the gravestone. It affected me deeply, when I had cleared away the grass from the half-buried stone, and read the name. An apple-tree or two hang over these old graves, and throw down the blighted fruit on Nathaniel Mather's grave,--he blighted too. It gives strange ideas, to think how convenient to Dr. P------'s family this burial-ground is,--the monuments standing almost within arm's reach of the side windows of the parlor,--and there being a little gate from the back yard through which we step forth upon those old graves aforesaid. And the tomb of the P. family is right in front, and close to the gate. It is now filled, the last being the refugee Tory, Colonel P------ and his wife. M. P------ has trained flowers over this tomb, on account of her friendly relations with Colonel P------. It is not, I think, the most ancient families that have tombs,--their ancestry for two or three generations having been reposited in the earth before such a luxury as a tomb was thought of. Men who founded families, and grew rich, a century or so ago, were probably the first. There is a tomb of the Lyndes, with a slab of slate affixed to the brick masonry on one side, and carved with a coat of arms. July 10th.--A fishing excursion, last Saturday afternoon, eight or ten miles out in the harbor. A fine wind out, which died away towards evening, and finally became quite calm. We cooked our fish on a rock named "Satan," about forty feet long and twenty broad, irregular in its shape, and of uneven surface, with pools of water here and there, left by the tide,--dark brown rock, or whitish; there was the excrement of sea-fowl scattered on it, and a few feathers. The water was deep around the rock, and swelling up and downward, waving the sea-weed. We built two fires, which, as the dusk deepened, cast a red gleam over the rock and the waves, and made the sea, on the side away from the sunset, look dismal; but by and by up came the moon, red as a house afire, and, as it rose, it grew silvery bright, and threw a line of silver across the calm sea. Beneath the moon and the horizon, the commencement of its track of brightness, there was a cone of blackness, or of very black blue. It was after nine before we finished our supper, which we ate by firelight and moonshine, and then went aboard our decked boat again,--no safe achievement in our ticklish little dory. To those remaining in the boat, we had looked very picturesque around our fires, and on the rock above them,--our statures being apparently increased to the size of the sons of Anak. The tide, now coming up, gradually dashed over the fires we had left, and so the rock again became a desert. The wind had now entirely died away, leaving the sea smooth as glass, except a quiet swell, and we could only float along, as the tide bore us, almost imperceptibly. It was as beautiful a night as ever shone,--calm, warm, bright, the moon being at full. On one side of us was Marblehead lighthouse, on the other, Baker's Island; and both, by the influence of the moonlight, had a silvery hue, unlike their ruddy beacon tinge in dark nights. They threw long reflections across the sea, like the moon. There we floated slowly with the tide till about midnight, and then, the tide turning, we fastened our vessel to a pole, which marked a rock, so as to prevent being carried back by the reflux. Some of the passengers turned in below; some stretched themselves on deck; some walked about, smoking cigars. I kept the deck all night. Once there was a little cat's-paw of a breeze, whereupon we untied ourselves from the pole; but it almost immediately died away, and we were compelled to make fast again. At about two o'clock, up rose the morning star, a round, red, fiery ball, very comparable to the moon at its rising, and, getting upward, it shone marvellously bright, and threw its long reflection into the sea, like the moon and the two lighthouses. It was Venus, and the brightest star I ever beheld; it was in the northeast. The moon made but a very small circuit in the sky, though it shone all night. The aurora borealis shot upwards to the zenith, and between two and three o'clock the first streak of dawn appeared, stretching far along the edge of the eastern horizon,-- a faint streak of light; then it gradually broadened and deepened, and became a rich saffron tint, with violet above, and then an ethereal and transparent blue. The saffron became intermixed with splendor, kindling and kindling, Baker's Island lights being in the centre of the brightness, so that they were extinguished by it, or at least grew invisible. On the other side of the boat, the Marblehead lighthouse still threw out its silvery gleam, and the moon shone brightly too; and its light looked very singularly, mingling with the growing daylight. It was not like the moonshine, brightening as the evening twilight deepens; for now it threw its radiance over the landscape, the green and other tints of which were displayed by the daylight, whereas at-evening all those tints are obscured. It looked like a milder sunshine,--a dreamy sunshine,--the sunshine of a world not quite so real and material as this. All night we had heard the Marblehead clocks telling the hour. Anon, up came the sun, without any bustle, but quietly, his antecedent splendors having gilded the sea for some time before. It had been cold towards morning, but now grew warm, and gradually burning hot in the sun. A breeze sprang up, but our first use of it was to get aground on Coney Island about five o'clock, where we lay till nine or thereabout, and then floated slowly up to the wharf. The roar of distant surf, the rolling of porpoises, the passing of shoals of fish, a steamboat smoking along at a distance, were the scene on my watch. I fished during the night, and, feeling something on the line, I drew up with great eagerness and vigor. It was two of those broad-leaved sea-weeds, with stems like snakes, both rooted on a stone,--all which came up together. Often these sea-weeds root themselves on muscles. In the morning, our pilot killed a flounder with the boat-hook, the poor fish thinking himself secure on the bottom. Ladurlad, in the Curse of Kehama, on visiting a certain celestial region, the fire in his heart and brain died away for a season, but was rekindled again on returning to earth. So may it be with me in my projected three months' seclusion from old associations. Punishment of a miser,--to pay the drafts of his heir in his tomb. July 13th.--A show of wax-figures, consisting almost wholly of murderers and their victims,--Gibbs and Hansley, the pirates, and the Dutch girl whom Gibbs murdered. Gibbs and Hansley were admirably done, as natural as life; and many people who had known Gibbs would not, according to the showman, be convinced that this wax-figure was not his skin stuffed. The two pirates were represented with halters round their necks, just ready to be turned off; and the sheriff stood behind them, with his watch, waiting for the moment. The clothes, halter, and Gibbs's hair were authentic. E. K. Avery and Cornell,--the former a figure in black, leaning on the back of a chair, in the attitude of a clergyman about to pray; an ugly devil, said to be a good likeness. Ellen Jewett and R. P. Robinson, she dressed richly, in extreme fashion, and very pretty; he awkward and stiff, it being difficult to stuff a figure to look like a gentleman. The showman seemed very proud of Ellen Jewett, and spoke of her somewhat as if this wax-figure were a real creation. Strong and Mrs. Whipple, who together murdered the husband of the latter. Lastly the Siamese twins. The showman is careful to call his exhibition the "Statuary." He walks to and fro before the figures, talking of the history of the persons, the moral lessons to be drawn therefrom, and especially of the excellence of the wax-work. He has for sale printed histories of the personages. He is a friendly, easy-mannered sort of a half-genteel character, whose talk has been moulded by the persons who most frequent such a show; an air of superiority of information, a moral instructor, with a great deal of real knowledge of the world. He invites his departing guests to call again and bring their friends, desiring to know whether they are pleased; telling that he had a thousand people on the 4th of July, and that they were all perfectly satisfied. He talks with the female visitors, remarking on Ellen Jewett's person and dress to them, he having "spared no expense in dressing her; and all the ladies say that a dress never set better, and he thinks he never knew a handsomer female." He goes to and fro, snuffing the candles, and now and then holding one to the face of a favorite figure. Ever and anon, hearing steps upon the staircase, he goes to admit a new visitor. The visitors,--a half-bumpkin, half country-squire-like man, who has something of a knowing air, and yet looks and listens with a good deal of simplicity and faith, smiling between whiles; a mechanic of the town; several decent-looking girls and women, who eye Ellen herself with more interest than the other figures,--women having much curiosity about such ladies; a gentlemanly sort of person, who looks somewhat ashamed of himself for being there, and glances at me knowingly, as if to intimate that he was conscious of being out of place; a boy or two, and myself, who examine wax faces and faces of flesh with equal interest. A political or other satire might be made by describing a show of wax-figures of the prominent public men; and, by the remarks of the showman and the spectators, their characters and public standing might be expressed. And the incident of Judge Tyler as related by E---- might be introduced. A series of strange, mysterious, dreadful events to occur, wholly destructive of a person's happiness. He to impute them to various persons and causes, but ultimately finds that he is himself the sole agent. Moral, that our welfare depends on ourselves. The strange incident in the court of Charles IX. of France: he and five other maskers being attired in coats of linen covered with pitch and bestuck with flax to represent hairy savages. They entered the hall dancing, the five being fastened together, and the king in front. By accident the five were set on fire with a torch. Two were burned to death on the spot, two afterwards died; one fled to the buttery, and jumped into a vessel of water. It might be represented as the fate of a squad of dissolute men. A perception, for a moment, of one's eventual and moral self, as if it were another person,--the observant faculty being separated, and looking intently at the qualities of the character. There is a surprise when this happens,--this getting out of one's self,--and then the observer sees how queer a fellow he is. July 27th.--Left home [Salem] on the 23d instant. To Boston by stage, and took the afternoon cars for Worcester. A little boy returning from the city, several miles, with a basket of empty custard-cups, the contents of which he had probably sold at the depot. Stopped at the Temperance House. An old gentleman, Mr. Phillips of Boston, got into conversation with one, and inquired very freely as to my character, tastes, habits, and circumstances,--a freedom sanctioned by his age, his kindly and beneficent spirit, and the wisdom of his advice. It is strange how little impertinence depends on what is actually said, but rather on the manner and motives of saying it. "I want to do you good," said he with warmth, after becoming, apparently, moved by my communications. "Well, sir," replied I, "I wish you could, for both our sakes; for I have no doubt it will be a great satisfaction to you." He asked the most direct questions of another young man; for instance, "Are you married?" having before ascertained that point with regard to myself. He told me by all means to act, in whatever way; observing that he himself would have no objection to be a servant, if no other mode of action presented itself. The landlord of the tavern, a decent, active, grave, attentive personage, giving me several cards of his house to distribute on my departure. A judge, a stout, hearty country squire, looking elderly; a hale and rugged man, in a black coat, and thin, light pantaloons. Started for Northampton at half past nine in the morning. A respectable sort of man and his son on their way to Niagara,--grocers, I believe, and calculating how to perform the tour, subtracting as few days as possible from the shop. Somewhat inexperienced travellers, and comparing everything advantageously or otherwise with Boston customs; and considering themselves a long way from home, while yet short of a hundred miles from it. Two ladies, rather good-looking. I rode outside nearly all day, and was very sociable with the driver and another outside passenger. Towards night, took up an essence-vendor for a short distance. He was returning home, after having been out on a tour two or three weeks; and nearly exhausted his stock. He was not exclusively an essence-pedler, having a large tin box, which had been filled with dry goods, combs, jewelry, etc., now mostly sold out. His essences were of anise-seed, cloves, red-cedar, wormwood, together with opodeldoc, and an oil for the hair. These matters are concocted at Ashfield, and the pedlers are sent about with vast quantities. Cologne-water is among the essences manufactured, though the bottles have foreign labels on them. The pedler was good-natured and communicative, and spoke very frankly about his trade, which he seemed to like better than farming, though his experience of it is yet brief. He spoke of the trials of temper to which pedlers are subjected, but said that it was necessary to be forbearing, because the same road must be travelled again and again. The pedlers find satisfaction for all contumelies in making good bargains out of their customers. This man was a pedler in quite a small way, making but a narrow circuit, and carrying no more than an open basket full of essences; but some go out with wagon-loads. He himself contemplated a trip westward, in which case he would send on quantities of his wares ahead to different stations. He seemed to enjoy the intercourse and seeing of the world. He pointed out a rough place in the road, where his stock of essences had formerly been broken by a jolt of the stage. What a waste of sweet smells on the desert air! The essence-labels stated the efficacy of the stuffs for various complaints of children and grown people. The driver was an acquaintance of the pedler, and so gave him his drive for nothing, though the pedler pretended to wish to force some silver into his hand; and afterwards he got down to water the horses, while the driver was busied with other matters. This driver was a little, dark ragamuffin, apparently of irascible temper, speaking with great disapprobation of his way-bill not being timed accurately, but so as to make it appear as if he were longer upon the road than he was. As he spoke, the blood darkened in his cheek, and his eye looked ominous and angry, as if he were enraged with the person to whom he was speaking; yet he had not real grit, for he had never said a word of his grievances to those concerned. "I mean to tell them of it by and by. I won't bear it more than three or four times more," said he. Left Northampton the next morning, between one and two o'clock. Three other passengers, whose faces were not visible for some hours; so we went on through unknown space, saying nothing, glancing forth sometimes to see the gleam of the lanterns on wayside objects. How very desolate looks a forest when seen in this way,--as if, should you venture one step within its wild, tangled, many-stemmed, and dark-shadowed verge, you would inevitably be lost forever. Sometimes we passed a house, or rumbled through a village, stopping perhaps to arouse some drowsy postmaster, who appeared at the door in shirt and pantaloons, yawning, received the mail, returned it again, and was yawning when last seen. A few words exchanged among the passengers, as they roused themselves from their half-slumbers, or dreamy, slumber-like abstraction. Meantime dawn broke, our faces became partially visible, the morning air grew colder, and finally cloudy day came on. We found ourselves driving through quite a romantic country, with hills or mountains on all sides, a stream on one side, bordered by a high, precipitous bank, up which would have grown pines, only that, losing their footholds, many of them had slipped downward. The road was not the safest in the world; for often the carriage approached within two or three feet of a precipice; but the driver, a merry fellow, lolled on his box, with his feet protruding horizontally, and rattled on at the rate of ten miles an hour. Breakfast between four and five,--newly caught trout, salmon, ham, boiled eggs, and other niceties,--truly excellent. A bunch of pickerel, intended for a tavern-keeper farther on, was carried by the stage-driver. The drivers carry a "time-watch" enclosed in a small wooden case, with a lock, so that it may be known in what time they perform their stages. They are allowed so many hours and minutes to do their work, and their desire to go as fast as possible, combined with that of keeping their horses in good order, produces about a right medium. One of the passengers was a young man who had been in Pennsylvania, keeping a school,--a genteel enough young man, but not a gentleman. He took neither supper nor breakfast, excusing himself from one as being weary with riding all day, and from the other because it was so early. He attacked me for a subscription for "building up a destitute church," of which he had taken an agency, and had collected two or three hundred dollars, but wanted as many thousands. Betimes in the morning, on the descent of a mountain, we arrived at a house where dwelt the married sister of the young man, whom he was going to visit. He alighted, saw his trunk taken off, and then, having perceived his sister at the door, and turning to bid us farewell, there was a broad smile, even a laugh of pleasure, which did him more credit with me than anything else; for hitherto there had been a disagreeable scornful twist upon his face, perhaps, however, merely superficial. I saw, as the stage drove off, his comely sister approaching with a lighted-up face to greet him, and one passenger on the front seat beheld them meet. "Is it an affectionate greeting?" inquired I. "Yes," said he, "I should like to share it"; whereby I concluded that there was a kiss exchanged. The highest point of our journey was at Windsor, where we could see leagues around over the mountain, a terribly bare, bleak spot, fit for nothing but sheep, and without shelter of woods. We rattled downward into a warmer region, beholding as we went the sun shining on portions of the landscape, miles ahead of us, while we were yet in chillness and gloom. It is probable that during a part of the stage the mists around us looked like sky clouds to those in the lower regions. Think of driving a stage-coach through the clouds! Seasonably in the forenoon we arrived at Pittsfield. Pittsfield is a large village, quite shut in by mountain walls, generally extending like a rampart on all sides of it, but with insulated great hills rising here and there in the outline. The area of the town is level; its houses are handsome, mostly wooden and white; but some are of brick, painted deep red, the bricks being not of a healthy, natural color. There are handsome churches, Gothic and others, and a court-house and an academy; the court-house having a marble front. There is a small wall in the centre of the town, and in the centre of the Mall rises an elm of the loftiest and straightest stem that ever I beheld, without a branch or leaf upon it till it has soared seventy or perhaps a hundred feet into the air. The top branches unfortunately have been shattered somehow or other, so that it does not cast a broad shade; probably they were broken by their own ponderous foliage. The central square of Pittsfield presents all the bustle of a thriving village,--the farmers of the vicinity in light wagons, sulkies, or on horseback; stages at the door of the Berkshire Hotel, under the stoop of which sit or lounge the guests, stage-people, and idlers, observing or assisting in the arrivals and departures. Huge trunks and bandboxes unladed and laded. The courtesy shown to ladies in aiding them to alight, in a shower, under umbrellas. The dull looks of passengers, who have driven all night, scarcely brightened by the excitement of arriving at a new place. The stage agent demanding the names of those who are going on,--some to Lebanon Springs, some to Albany. The toddy-stick is still busy at these Berkshire public-houses. At dinner soup preliminary, in city style. Guests: the court people; Briggs, member of Congress, attending a trial here; horse-dealers, country squires, store-keepers in the village, etc. My room, a narrow crib overlooking a back court-yard, where a young man and a lad were drawing water for the maid-servants,--their jokes, especially those of the lad, of whose wit the elder fellow, being a blockhead himself, was in great admiration, and declared to another that he knew as much as them both. Yet he was not very witty. Once in a while the maid-servants would come to the door, and hear and respond to their jokes, with a kind of restraint, yet both permitting and enjoying them. After or about sunset there was a heavy shower, the thunder rumbling round and round the mountain wall, and the clouds stretching from rampart to rampart. When it abated, the clouds in all parts of the visible heavens were tinged with glory from the west; some that hung low being purple and gold, while the higher ones were gray. The slender curve of the new moon was also visible brightening amidst the fading brightness of the sunny part of the sky. There are marble-quarries in and near Pittsfield, which accounts for the fact that there are none but marble gravestones in the burial-grounds; some of the monuments well carved; but the marble does not withstand the wear and tear of time and weather so well as the imported marble, and the sculpture soon loses its sharp outline. The door of one tomb, a wooden door, opening in the side of a green mound, surmounted by a marble obelisk, having been shaken from its hinges by the late explosion of the powder-house, and incompletely repaired, I peeped in at the crevices, and saw the coffins. It was the tomb of Rev. Thomas Allen, first minister of Pittsfield, deceased in 1810. It contained three coffins, all with white mould on their tops: one, a small child's, rested upon another, and the other was on the opposite side of the tomb, and the lid was considerably displaced; but, the tomb being dark, I could see neither corpse nor skeleton. Marble also occurs here in North Adams, and thus some very ordinary houses have marble doorsteps, and even the stone walls are built of fragments of marble. Wednesday, 26th.--Left Pittsfield at about eight o'clock in the Bennington stage, intending to go to Williamstown. Inside passengers,--a new-married couple taking a jaunt. The lady, with a clear, pale complexion, and a rather pensive cast of countenance, slender, and with a genteel figure; the bridegroom, a shopkeeper in New York probably, a young man with a stout black beard, black eyebrows, which formed one line across his forehead. They were very loving; and while the stage stopped, I watched them, quite entranced in each other, both leaning sideways against the back of the coach, and perusing their mutual comeliness, and apparently making complimentary observations upon it to one another. The bride appeared the most absorbed and devoted, referring her whole being to him. The gentleman seemed in a most paradisiacal mood, smiling ineffably upon his bride, and, when she spoke, responding to her with a benign expression of matrimonial sweetness, and, as it were, compassion for the "weaker vessel," mingled with great love and pleasant humor. It was very droll. The driver peeped into the coach once, and said that he had his arm round her waist. He took little freedoms with her, tapping her with his cane,--love-pats; and she seemed to see nothing amiss. They kept eating gingerbread all along the road, and dined heartily notwithstanding. Our driver was a slender, lathe-like, round-backed, rough-bearded, thin-visaged, middle-aged Yankee, who became very communicative during our drive. He was not bred a stage-driver, but had undertaken the business temporarily, as a favor to his brother-in-law. He was a native of these Berkshire mountains, but had formerly emigrated to Ohio, and had returned for a time to try the benefit of her native air on his wife's declining health,--she having complaints of a consumptive nature. He pointed out the house where he was married to her, and told the name of the country squire who tied the knot. His wife has little or no chance of recovery, and he said he would never marry again,--this resolution being expressed in answer to a remark of mine relative to a second marriage. He has no children. I pointed to a hill at some distance before us, and asked what it was. "That, sir," said he, "is a very high hill. It is known by the name of Graylock." He seemed to feel that this was a more poetical epithet than Saddleback, which is a more usual name for it. Graylock, or Saddleback, is quite a respectable mountain; and I suppose the former name has been given to it because it often has a gray cloud, or lock of gray mist, upon its head. It does not ascend into a peak, but heaves up a round ball, and has supporting ridges on each side. Its summit is not bare, like that of Mount Washington, but covered with forests. The driver said, that several years since the students of Williams College erected a building for an observatory on the top of the mountain, and employed him to haul the materials for constructing it; and he was the only man who had driven an ox-team up Graylock. It was necessary to drive the team round and round, in ascending. President Griffin rode up on horseback. Along our road we passed villages, and often factories, the machinery whirring, and girls looking out of the windows at the stage, with heads averted from their tasks, but still busy. These factories have two, three, or more boarding-houses near them, two stories high, and of double length,--often with bean-vines running up round the doors, and with altogether a domestic look. There are several factories in different parts of North Adams, along the banks of a stream,--a wild, highland rivulet, which, however, does vast work of a civilized nature. It is strange to see such a rough and untamed stream as it looks to be so subdued to the purposes of man, and making cottons and woollens, sawing boards and marbles, and giving employment to so many men and girls. And there is a sort of picturesqueness in finding these factories, supremely artificial establishments, in the midst of such wild scenery. For now the stream will be flowing through a rude forest, with the trees erect and dark, as when the Indians fished there; and it brawls and tumbles and eddies over its rock-strewn current. Perhaps there is a precipice, hundreds of feet high, beside it, down which, by heavy rains or the melting of snows, great pine-trees have slid or fallen headlong, and lie at the bottom, or half-way down, while their brethren seem to be gazing at their fall from the summit, and anticipating a like fate. And then, taking a turn in the road, behold these factories and their range of boarding-houses, with the girls looking out of the windows as aforesaid! And perhaps the wild scenery is all around the very site of the factory, and mingles its impression strangely with those opposite ones. These observations were made during a walk yesterday. I bathed in a pool of the stream that was out of sight, and where its brawling waters were deep enough to cover me, when I lay at length. A part of the road along which I walked was on the edge of a precipice, falling down straight towards the stream; and in one place the passage of heavy loads had sunk it, so that soon, probably, there will be an avalanche, perhaps carrying a stage-coach or heavy wagon down into the bed of the river. I met occasional wayfarers; once two women in a cart,--decent, brown-visaged, country matrons,--and then an apparent doctor, of whom there are seven or thereabouts in North Adams; for though this vicinity is very healthy, yet the physicians are obliged to ride considerable distances among the mountain towns, and their practice is very laborious. A nod is always exchanged between strangers meeting on the road. This morning an underwitted old man met me on a walk, and held a pretty long conversation, insisting upon shaking hands (to which I was averse, lest his band should not be clean), and insisting on his right to do so, as being "a friend of mankind." He was a gray, bald-headed, wrinkled-visaged figure, decently dressed, with cowhide shoes, a coat on one arm, and an umbrella on the other, and said that he was going to see a widow in the neighborhood. Finding that I was not provided with a wife, he recommended a certain maiden of forty years, who had three hundred acres of land. He spoke of his children, who are proprietors of a circus establishment, and have taken a granddaughter to bring up in their way of life; and he gave me a message to tell them in case we should meet. While this old man is wandering among the hills, his children are the gaze of multitudes. He told me the place where he was born, directing me to it by pointing to a wreath of mist which lay on the side of a mountain ridge, which he termed "the smoke yonder." Speaking of the widow, he said: "My wife has been dead these seven years, and why should not I enjoy myself a little?" His manner was full of quirks and quips and eccentricities, waving his umbrella and gesticulating strangely, with a great deal of action. I suppose, to help his natural foolishness, he had been drinking. We parted, he exhorting me not to forget his message to his sons, and I shouting after him a request to be remembered to the widow. Conceive something tragical to be talked about, and much might be made of this interview in a wild road among the hills, with Graylock, at a great distance, looking sombre and angry, by reason of the gray, heavy mist upon his head. The morning was cloudy, and all the near landscape lay unsunned; but there was sunshine on distant tracts, in the valleys, and in specks upon the mountain-tops. Between the ridges of hills, there are long, wide, deep valleys, extending for miles and miles, with houses scattered along them. A bulky company of mountains, swelling round head over round head, rises insulated by such broad vales from the surrounding ridges. I ought to have mentioned that I arrived at North Adams in the forenoon of the 26th, and, liking the aspect of matters indifferently well, determined to make my headquarters here for a short time. On the road to Northampton, we passed a tame crow, which was sitting on the peak of a barn. The crow flew down from its perch, and followed us a great distance, hopping along the road, and flying, with its large, black, flapping wings, from post to post of the fence, or from tree to tree. At last he gave up the pursuit with a croak of disappointment. The driver said, perhaps correctly, that the crow had scented some salmon which was in a basket under the seat, and that this was the secret of his pursuing us. This would be a terrific incident if it were a dead body that the crow scented, instead of a basket of salmon. Suppose, for instance, in a coach travelling along, that one of the passengers suddenly should die, and that one of the indications of his death would be this deportment of the crow. July 29th.--Remarkable characters:--A disagreeable figure, waning from middle age, clad in a pair of tow homespun pantaloons, and a very soiled shirt, barefoot, and with one of his feet maimed by an axe; also an arm amputated two or three inches below the elbow. His beard of a week's growth, grim and grisly, with a general effect of black; altogether a disgusting object. Yet he has the signs of having been a handsome man in his idea, though now such a beastly figure that probably no living thing but his great dog would touch him without an effort. Coming to the stoop, where several persons were sitting, "Good morning, gentlemen," said the wretch. Nobody answered for a time, till at last one said, "I don't know whom you speak to: not to me, I'm sure" (meaning that he did not claim to be a gentleman). "Why, I thought I spoke to you all at once," replied the figure, laughing. So he sat himself down on the lower step of the stoop, and began to talk; and, the conversation being turned upon his bare feet by one of the company, he related the story of his losing his toes by the glancing aside of an axe, and with what great fortitude he bore it. Then he made a transition to the loss of his arm, and, setting his teeth and drawing in his breath, said that the pain was dreadful; but this, too, he seems to have borne like an Indian; and a person testified to his fortitude by saying that he did not suppose there was any feeling in him, from observing how he bore it. The man spoke of the pain of cutting the muscles, and the particular agony at one moment, while the bone was being sawed asunder; and there was a strange expression of remembered anguish, as he shrugged his half-limb, and described the matter. Afterwards, in a reply to a question of mine, whether he still seemed to feel the hand that had been amputated, he answered that he did always; and, baring the stump, he moved the severed muscles, saying, "There is the thumb, there the forefinger," and so on. Then he talked to me about phrenology, of which he seems a firm believer and skilful practitioner, telling how he had hit upon the true character of many people. There was a great deal of sense and acuteness in his talk, and something of elevation in his expressions,--perhaps a studied elevation,--and a sort of courtesy in his manner; but his sense had something out of the way in it; there was something wild and ruined and desperate in his talk, though I can hardly say what it was. There was a trace of the gentleman and man of intellect through his deep degradation; and a pleasure in intellectual pursuits, and an acuteness and trained judgment, which bespoke a mind once strong and cultivated. "My study is man," said he. And looking at me, "I do not know your name," he said, "but there is something of the hawk-eye about you, too." This man was formerly a lawyer in good practice; but, taking to drinking, was reduced to the lowest state. Yet not the lowest; for after the amputation of his arm, being advised by divers persons to throw himself upon the public for support, he told them that, even if he should lose his other arm, he would still be able to support himself and a servant. Certainly he is a strong-minded and iron-constitutioned man; hut, looking at the stump of his arm, he said that the pain of the mind was a thousand times greater than the pain of the body. "That hand could make the pen go fast," said he. Among people in general, he does not seem to have any greater consideration in his ruin because of his former standing in society. He supports himself by making soap; and, on account of the offals used in that business, there is probably rather an evil odor in his domicile. Talking about a dead horse near his house, he said that he could not bear the scent of it. "I should not think you could smell carrion in that house," said a stage agent. Whereupon the soap-maker dropped his head, with a little snort, as it were, of wounded feeling; but immediately said that he took all in good part. There was an old squire of the village, a lawyer probably, whose demeanor was different,-- with a distance, yet with a kindliness; for he remembered the times when they met on equal terms. "You and I," said the squire, alluding to their respective troubles and sicknesses, "would have died long ago, if we had not had the courage to live." The poor devil kept talking to me long after everybody else had left the stoop, giving vent to much practical philosophy, and just observation on the ways of men, mingled with rather more assumption of literature and cultivation than belonged to the present condition of his mind. Meantime his great dog, a cleanly looking and not ill-bred dog, being the only decent attribute appertaining to his master,--a well-natured dog, too, and receiving civilly any demonstration of courtesy from other people, though preserving a certain distance of deportment,--this great dog grew weary of his master's lengthy talk, and expressed his impatience to be gone by thrusting himself between his legs, rolling over on his back, seizing his ragged trousers, or playfully taking his maimed, bare foot into his mouth,--using, in short, the kindly and humorous freedom of a friend, with a wretch to whom all are free enough, but none other kind. His master rebuked him, but with kindness too, and not so that the dog felt himself bound to desist, though he seemed willing to allow his master all the time that could possibly be spared. And at last, having said many times that he must go and shave and dress himself,--and as his beard had been at least a week growing, it might have seemed almost a week's work to get rid of it,--he rose from the stoop and went his way,--a forlorn and miserable thing in the light of the cheerful summer morning. Yet he seems to keep his spirits up, and still preserves himself a man among men, asking nothing from them; nor is it clearly perceptible what right they have to scorn him, though he seems to acquiesce, in a manner, in their doing so. And yet he cannot wholly have lost his self-respect; and doubtless there were persons on the stoop more grovelling than himself. Another character:--A blacksmith of fifty or upwards, a corpulent figure, big in the paunch and enormous in the rear; yet there is such an appearance of strength and robustness in his frame, that his corpulence appears very proper and necessary to him. A pound of flesh could not be spared from his abundance, any more than from the leanest man; and he walks about briskly, without any panting or symptom of labor or pain in his motion. He has a round, jolly face, always mirthful and humorous and shrewd, and the air of a man well to do, and well respected, yet not caring much about the opinions of men, because his independence is sufficient to itself. Nobody would take him for other than a man of some importance in the community, though his summer dress is a tow-cloth pair of pantaloons, a shirt not of the cleanest, open at the breast, and the sleeves rolled up at the elbows, and a straw hat. There is not such a vast difference between this costume and that of Lawyer H------ above mentioned, yet never was there a greater diversity of appearance than between these two men; and a glance at them would be sufficient to mark the difference. The blacksmith loves his glass, and comes to the tavern for it, whenever it seems good to him, not calling for it slyly and shyly, but marching steadily to the bar, or calling across the room for it to be prepared. He speaks with great bitterness against the new license law, and vows if it be not repealed by fair means it shall be by violence, and that he will be as ready to cock his rifle for such a cause as for any other. On this subject his talk is really fierce; but as to all other matters he is good-natured and good-hearted, fond of joke, and shaking his jolly sides with frequent laughter. His conversation has much strong, unlettered sense, imbued with humor, as everybody's talk is in New England. He takes a queer position sometimes,--queer for his figure particularly, --straddling across a chair, facing the back, with his arms resting thereon, and his chin on them, for the benefit of conversing closely with some one. When he has spent as much time in the bar-room or under the stoop as he chooses to spare, he gets up at once, and goes off with a brisk, vigorous pace. He owns a mill, and seems to be prosperous in the world. I know no man who seems more like a man, more indescribably human, than this sturdy blacksmith. There came in the afternoon a respectable man in gray homespun cloth, who arrived in a wagon, I believe, and began to inquire, after supper, about a certain new kind of mill machinery. Being referred to the blacksmith, who owned one of these mills, the stranger said that he had come from Vermont to learn about the matter. "What may I call your name?" said he to the blacksmith. "My name is Hodge," replied the latter. "I believe I have heard of you," said the stranger. Then they colloquied at much length about the various peculiarities and merits of the new invention. The stranger continued here two or three days, making his researches, and forming acquaintance with several millwrights and others. He was a man evidently of influence in his neighborhood, and the tone of his conversation was in the style of one accustomed to be heard with deference, though all in a plain and homely way. Lawyer H------ took notice of this manner; for the talk being about the nature of soap, and the evil odor arising from that process, the stranger joined in. "There need not be any disagreeable smell in making soap," said he. "Now we are to receive a lesson," said H------, and the remark was particularly apropos to the large wisdom of the stranger's tone and air. Then he gave an account of the process in his domestic establishment, saying that he threw away the whole offals of the hog, as not producing any soap, and preserved the skins of the intestines for sausages. He seemed to be hospitable, inviting those with whom he did business to take "a mouthful of dinner" with him, and treating them with liquors; for he was not an utter temperance man, though moderate in his potations. I suspect he would turn out a pattern character of the upper class of New England yeomen, if I had an opportunity of studying him. Doubtless he had been selectman, representative, and justice, and had filled all but weighty offices. He was highly pleased with the new mill contrivance, and expressed his opinion that, when his neighbors saw the success of his, it would be extensively introduced into that vicinity. Mem. The hostlers at taverns call the money given them "pergasus,"-- corrupted from "perquisites." Otherwise "knock-down money." Remarkable character:--A travelling surgeon-dentist, who has taken a room in the North Adams House, and sticks up his advertising bills on the pillars of the piazza, and all about the town. He is a tall, slim young man, six feet two, dressed in a country-made coat of light blue (taken, as he tells me, in exchange for dental operations), black pantaloons, and clumsy, cowhide hoots. Self-conceit is very strongly expressed in his air; and a doctor once told him that he owed his life to that quality; for, by keeping himself so stiffly upright, he opens his chest, and counteracts a consumptive tendency. He is not only a dentist, which trade he follows temporarily, but a licensed preacher of the Baptist persuasion, and is now on his way to the West to seek a place of settlement in his spiritual vocation. Whatever education he possesses, he has acquired by his own exertions since the age of twenty-one,--he being now twenty-four. We talk together very freely; and he has given me an account, among other matters, of all his love-affairs, which are rather curious, as illustrative of the life of a smart young country fellow in relation to the gentle sex. Nothing can exceed the exquisite self-conceit which characterizes these confidences, and which is expressed inimitably in his face, his upturned nose, and mouth, so as to be truly a caricature; and he seems strangely to find as much food for his passion in having been jilted once or twice as in his conquests. It is curious to notice his revengeful feeling against the false ones,-- hidden from himself, however, under the guise of religious interest, and desire that they may be cured of their follies. A little boy named Joe, who haunts about the bar-room and the stoop, four years old, in a thin, short jacket, and full-breeched trousers, and bare feet. The men tease him, and put quids of tobacco in his mouth, under pretence of giving him a fig; and he gets curaged, and utters a peculiar, sharp, spiteful cry, and strikes at them with a stick, to their great mirth. He is always in trouble, yet will not keep away. They despatch him with two or three cents to buy candy and nuts and raisins. They set him down in a niche of the door, and tell him to remain there a day and a half: he sits down very demurely, as if he meant to fulfil his penance; but a moment after, behold! there is little Joe capering across the street to join two or three boys who are playing in a wagon. Take this boy as the germ of a tavern-haunter, a country roue, to spend a wild and brutal youth, ten years of his prime in the State Prison, and his old age in the poorhouse. There are a great many dogs kept in the village, and many of the travellers also have dogs. Some are almost always playing about; and if a cow or a pig be passing, two or three of them scamper forth for an attack. Some of the younger sort chase pigeons, wheeling as they wheel. If a contest arises between two dogs, a number of others come with huge barking to join the fray, though I believe that they do not really take any active part in the contest, but swell the uproar by way of encouraging the combatants. When a traveller is starting from the door, his dog often gets in front of the horse, placing his forefeet down,-- looking the horse in the face, and barking loudly, then, as the horse comes on, running a little farther, and repeating the process; and this he does in spite of his master's remonstrances, till, the horse being fairly started, the dog follows on quietly. One dog, a diminutive little beast, has been taught to stand on his hind legs, and rub his face with his paw, which he does with an aspect of much endurance and deprecation. Another springs at people whom his master points out to him, barking and pretending to bite. These tricks make much mirth in the bar-room. All dogs, of whatever different sizes and dissimilar varieties, acknowledge the common bond of species among themselves, and the largest one does not disdain to suffer his tail to be smelt of, nor to reciprocate that courtesy to the smallest. They appear to take much interest in one another; but there is always a degree of caution between two strange dogs when they meet. July 31st.--A visit to what is called "Hudson's Cave," or "Hudson's Falls," the tradition being that a man by the name of Henry Hudson, many years ago, chasing a deer, the deer fell over the place, which then first became known to white men. It is not properly a cave, but a fissure in a huge ledge of marble, through which a stream has been for ages forcing its way, and has left marks of its gradually wearing power on the tall crags, having made curious hollows from the summit down to the level which it has reached at the present day. The depth of the fissure in some places is at least fifty or sixty feet, perhaps more, and at several points it nearly closes over, and often the sight of the sky is hidden by the interposition of masses of the marble crags. The fissure is very irregular, so as not to be describable in words, and scarcely to be painted,--jetting buttresses, moss-grown, impending crags, with tall trees growing on their verge, nodding over the head of the observer at the bottom of the chasm, and rooted, as it were, in air. The part where the water works its way down is very narrow; but the chasm widens, after the descent, so as to form a spacious chamber between the crags, open to the sky, and its floor is strewn with fallen fragments of marble, and trees that have been precipitated long ago, and are heaped with drift-wood, left there by the freshets, when the scanty stream becomes a considerable waterfall. One crag, with a narrow ridge, which might be climbed without much difficulty, protrudes from the middle of the rock, and divides the fall. The passage through the cave made by the stream is very crooked, and interrupted, not only by fallen wrecks, but by deep pools of water, which probably have been forded by few. As the deepest pool occurs in the most uneven part of the chasm, where the hollows in the sides of the crag are deepest, so that each hollow is almost a cave by itself, I determined to wade through it. There was an accumulation of soft stuff on the bottom, so that the water did not look more than knee-deep; but, finding that my feet sunk in it, I took off my trousers, and waded through up to my middle. Thus I reached the most interesting part of the cave, where the whirlings of the stream had left the marks of its eddies in the solid marble, all up and down the two sides of the chasm. The water is now dammed for the construction of two marble saw-mills, else it would have been impossible to effect the passage; and I presume that, for years after the cave was discovered, the waters roared and tore their way in a torrent through this part of the chasm. While I was there, I heard voices, and a small stone tumbled down; and looking up towards the narrow strip of bright light, and the sunny verdure that peeped over the top,--looking up thither from the deep, gloomy depth,--I saw two or three men; and, not liking to be to them the most curious part of the spectacle, I waded back, and put on my clothes. The marble crags are overspread with a concretion, which makes them look as gray as granite, except where the continual flow of water keeps them of a snowy whiteness. If they were so white all over, it would be a splendid show. There is a marble-quarry close in the rear, above the cave, and in process of time the whole of the crags will be quarried into tombstones, doorsteps, fronts of edifices, fireplaces, etc. That will be a pity. On such portions of the walls as are within reach, visitors have sculptured their initials, or names at full length; and the white letters showing plainly on the gray surface, they have more obvious effect than such inscriptions generally have. There was formerly, I believe, a complete arch of marble, forming a natural bridge over the top of the cave; but this is no longer so. At the bottom of the broad chamber of the cave, standing in its shadow, the effect of the morning sunshine on the dark or bright foliage of the pines and other trees that cluster on the summits of the crags was particularly beautiful; and it was strange how such great trees had rooted themselves in solid marble, for so it seemed. After passing through this romantic and most picturesque spot, the stream goes onward to turn factories. Here its voice resounds within the hollow crags; there it goes onward; talking to itself, with babbling din, of its own wild thoughts and fantasies,--the voice of solitude and the wilderness,--loud and continual, but which yet does not seem to disturb the thoughtful wanderer, so that he forgets there is a noise. It talks along its storm-strewn path; it talks beneath tall precipices and high banks,--a voice that has been the same for innumerable ages; and yet, if you listen, you will perceive a continual change and variety in its babble, and sometimes it seems to swell louder upon the ear than at others,--in the same spot, I mean. By and by man makes a dam for it, and it pours over it, still making its voice heard, while it labors. At one shop for manufacturing the marble, I saw the disk of a sun-dial as large as the top of a hogshead, intended for Williams College; also a small obelisk, and numerous gravestones. The marble is coarse-grained, but of a very brilliant whiteness. It is rather a pity that the cave is not formed of some worthless stone. In the deep valleys of the neighborhood, where the shadows at sunset are thrown from mountain to mountain, the clouds have a beautiful effect, flitting high over them, bright with heavenly gold. It seems as if the soul might rise up from the gloom, and alight upon them and soar away. Walking along one of the valleys the other evening, while a pretty fresh breeze blew across it, the clouds that were skimming over my head seemed to conform themselves to the valley's shape. At a distance, mountain summits look close together, almost as if forming one mountain, though in reality a village lies in the depths between them. A steam-engine in a factory to be supposed to possess a malignant spirit. It catches one man's arm, and pulls it off; seizes another by the coat-tails, and almost grapples him bodily; catches a girl by the hair, and scalps her; and finally draws in a man, and crushes him to death. The one-armed soap-maker, Lawyer H------, wears an iron hook, which serves him instead of a hand for the purpose of holding on. They nickname him "Black Hawk." North Adams still.--The village, viewed from the top of a hill to the westward at sunset, has a peculiarly happy and peaceful look. It lies on a level, surrounded by hills, and seems as if it lay in the hollow of a large hand. The Union Village may be seen, a manufacturing place, extending up a gorge of the hills. It is amusing to see all the distributed property of the aristocracy and commonalty, the various and conflicting interests of the town, the loves and hates, compressed into a space which the eye takes in as completely as the arrangement of a tea-table. The rush of the streams comes up the hill somewhat like the sound of a city. The hills about the village appear very high and steep sometimes, when the shadows of the clouds are thrown blackly upon them, while there is sunshine elsewhere; so that, seen in front, the effect of their gradual slope is lost. These hills, surrounding the town on all sides, give it a snug and insulated air; and, viewed from certain points, it would be difficult to tell how to get out, without climbing the mountain ridges; but the roads wind away and accomplish the passage without ascending very high. Sometimes the notes of a horn or bugle may be heard sounding afar among these passes of the mountains, announcing the coming of the stage-coach from Bennington or Troy or Greenfield or Pittsfield. There are multitudes of sheep among the hills, and they appear very tame and gentle; though sometimes, like the wicked, they "flee when no man pursueth." But, climbing a rude, rough, rocky, stumpy, ferny height yesterday, one or two of them stood and stared at me with great earnestness. I passed on quietly, but soon heard an immense baa-ing up the hill, and all the sheep came galloping and scrambling after me, baa-ing with all their might in innumerable voices, running in a compact body, expressing the utmost eagerness, as if they sought the greatest imaginable favor from me; and so they accompanied me down the hillside,-- a most ridiculous cortege. Doubtless they had taken it into their heads that I brought them salt. The aspect of the village is peculiarly beautiful towards sunset, when there are masses of cloud about the sky,--the remnants of a thunder-storm. These clouds throw a shade upon large portions of the rampart of hills, and the hills towards the west are shaded of course; the clouds also make the shades deeper in the village, and thus the sunshine on the houses and trees, and along the street, is a bright, rich gold. The green is deeper in consequence of the recent rain. The doctors walk about the village with their saddle-bags on their arms, one always with a pipe in his mouth. A little dog, named Snapper, the same who stands on his hind legs, appears to be a roguish little dog, and the other day he stole one of the servant-girl's shoes, and ran into the street with it. Being pursued, he would lift the shoe in his mouth (while it almost dragged on the ground), and run a little way, then lie down with his paws on it, and wait to be pursued again. August 11th.--This morning, it being cloudy and boding of rain, the clouds had settled upon the mountains, both on the summits and ridges, all round the town, so that there seemed to be no way of gaining access to the rest of the world, unless by climbing above the clouds. By and by they partially dispersed, giving glimpses of the mountain ramparts through their obscurity, the separate clouds lying heavily upon the mountain's breast. In warm mornings, after rain, the mist breaks forth from the forests on the ascent of the mountains, like smoke,--the smoke of a volcano; then it soars up, and becomes a cloud in heaven. But these clouds to-day were real rain-clouds. Sometimes, it is said, while laboring up the mountain-side, they suddenly burst, and pour down their moisture in a cataract, sweeping all before it. Every new aspect of the mountains, or view from a different position, creates a surprise in the mind. Scenes and characters:--A young country fellow, twenty or thereabouts, decently dressed, pained with the toothache. A doctor, passing on horseback, with his black leather saddle-bags behind him, a thin, frosty-haired man. Being asked to operate, he looks at the tooth, lances the gum, and the fellow being content to be dealt with on the spot, he seats himself in a chair on the stoop with great heroism. The doctor produces a rusty pair of iron forceps; a man holds the patient's head; the doctor perceives that, it being a difficult tooth to get at, wedged between the two largest in his jaws, he must pull very hard; and the instrument is introduced. A turn of the doctor's hand; the patient begins to utter a cry, but the tooth comes out first, with four prongs. The patient gets up, half amazed, pays the doctor ninepence, pockets the tooth, and the spectators are in glee and admiration. There was a fat woman, a stage-passenger to-day,--a wonder how she could possibly get through the door, which seemed not so wide as she. When she put her foot on the step, the stage gave a great lurch, she joking all the while. A great, coarse, red-faced dame. Other passengers,--three or four slender Williamstown students, a young girl, and a man with one leg and two crutches. One of the most sensible men in this village is a plain, tall, elderly person, who is overseeing the mending of a road,--humorous, intelligent, with much thought about matters and things; and while at work he has a sort of dignity in handling the hoe or crow-bar, which shows him to be the chief. In the evening he sits under the stoop, silent and observant from under the brim of his hat; but, occasion calling, he holds an argument about the benefit or otherwise of manufactories or other things. A simplicity characterizes him more than appertains to most Yankees. A man in a pea-green frock-coat, with velvet collar. Another in a flowered chintz frock-coat. There is a great diversity of hues in garments. A doctor, a stout, tall, round-paunched, red-faced, brutal-looking old fellow, who gets drunk daily. He sat down on the step of our stoop, looking surly, and speaking to nobody; then got up and walked homeward, with a morose swagger and a slight unevenness of gait, attended by a fine Newfoundland dog. A barouche with driver returned from beyond Greenfield or Troy empty, the passengers being left at the former place. The driver stops here for the night, and, while washing, enters into talk with an old man about the different roads over the mountain. People washing themselves at a common basin in the bar-room! and using the common hair-brushes! perhaps with a consciousness of praiseworthy neatness! A man with a cradle on his shoulder, having been cradling oats. I attended a child's funeral yesterday afternoon. There was an assemblage of people in a plain, homely apartment. Most of the men were dressed in their ordinary clothes, and one or two were in shirt-sleeves. The coffin was placed in the midst of us, covered with a velvet pall. A bepaid clergyman prayed (the audience remaining seated, while he stood up at the head of the coffin), read a passage of Scripture and commented upon it. While he read and prayed and expounded there was a heavy thunder-storm rumbling among the surrounding hills, and the lightning flashed fiercely through the gloomy room; and the preacher alluded to GOD's voice of thunder. It is the custom in this part of the country--and perhaps extensively in the interior of New England--to bury the dead first in a charnel-house, or common tomb, where they remain till decay has so far progressed as to secure them from the resurrectionists. They are then reburied, with certain ceremonies, in their own peculiar graves. O. E. S------, a widower of forty or upwards, with a son of twelve and a pair of infant twins. He is a sharp, shrewd Yankee, with a Yankee's license of honesty. He drinks sometimes more than enough, and is guilty of peccadilloes with the fair sex; yet speaks most affectionately of his wife, and is a fond and careful father. He is a tall, thin, hard-featured man, with a sly expression of almost hidden grave humor, as if there were some deviltry pretty constantly in his mind,--which is probably the case. His brother tells me that he was driven almost crazy by the loss of his wife. It appears to me that men are more affected by the deaths of their wives than wives by the deaths of their husbands. Orrin S------ smokes a pipe, as do many of the guests. A walk this forenoon up the mountain ridge that walls in the town towards the east. The road is cut zigzag, the mountain being generally as steep as the roof of a house; yet the stage to Greenfield passes over this road two or three times a week. Graylock rose up behind me, appearing, with its two summits and a long ridge between, like a huge monster crouching down slumbering, with its head slightly elevated. Graylock is properly the name for the highest elevation. It appeared to better advantage the higher the point from which I viewed it. There were houses scattered here and there up the mountainside, growing poorer as I ascended; the last that I passed was a mean log-hut, rough, rude, and dilapidated, with the smoke issuing from a chimney of small stones, plastered with clay; around it a garden of beans, with some attempt at flowers, and a green creeper running over the side of the cottage. Above this point there were various excellent views of mountain scenery, far off and near, and one village lying below in the hollow vale. Having climbed so far that the road seemed now to go downward, I retraced my steps. There was a wagon descending behind me; and as it followed the zigzag of the road I could hear the voices of the men high over my head, and sometimes I caught a glimpse of the wagon almost perpendicularly above me, while I was looking almost perpendicularly down to the log-hut aforementioned. Trees were thick on either hand,--oaks, pines, and others; and marble occasionally peeped up in the road and there was a lime-kiln by the wayside, ready for burning. Graylock had a cloud on his head this morning, the base of a heavy white cloud. The distribution of the sunshine amid mountain scenery is very striking; one does not see exactly why one spot should be in deep obscurity while others are all bright. The clouds throw their shadows upon the hillsides as they move slowly along,--a transitory blackness. I passed a doctor high up the road in a sulky, with his black leather saddle-bags. Hudson's Cave is formed by Hudson's Brook. There is a natural arch of marble still in one part of it. The cliffs are partly made verdant with green moss, chiefly gray with oxidation; on some parts the white of the marble is seen; in interstices grow brake and other shrubs, so that there is naked sublimity seen through a good deal of clustering beauty. Above, the birch, poplars, and pines grow on the utmost verge of the cliffs, which jut far over, so that they are suspended in air; and whenever the sunshine finds its way into the depths of the chasm, the branches wave across it. There is a lightness, however, about their foliage, which greatly relieves what would otherwise be a gloomy scene. After the passage of the stream through the cliffs of marble, the cliffs separate on either side, and leave it to flow onward; intercepting its passage, however, by fragments of marble, some of them huge ones, which the cliffs have flung down, thundering into the bed of the stream through numberless ages. Doubtless some of these immense fragments had trees growing on them, which have now mouldered away. Decaying trunks are heaped in various parts of the gorge. The pieces of marble that are washed by the water are of a snow-white, and partially covered with a bright green water-moss, making a beautiful contrast. Among the cliffs, strips of earth-beach extend downward, and trees and large shrubs root themselves in that earth, thus further contrasting the nakedness of the stone with their green foliage. But the immediate part where the stream forces its winding passage through the rock is stern, dark, and mysterious. Along the road, where it runs beneath a steep, there are high ridges, covered with trees,--the dew of midnight damping the earth, far towards midnoon. I observed the shadows of water-insects, as they swam in the pools of a stream. Looking down a streamlet, I saw a trunk of a tree, which has been overthrown by the wind, so as to form a bridge, yet sticking up all its branches, as if it were unwilling to assist anybody over. Green leaves, following the eddies of the rivulet, were now borne deep under water, and now emerged. Great uprooted trees, adhering midway down a precipice of earth, hung with their tops downward. There is an old man, selling the meats of butternuts under the stoop of the hotel. He makes that his station during a part of the season. He was dressed in a dark thin coat, ribbed velvet pantaloons, and a sort of moccasins, or shoes, appended to the legs of woollen stockings. He had on a straw hat, and his hair was gray, with a long, thin visage. His nuts were contained in a square tin box, having two compartments, one for the nuts, and another for maple sugar, which he sells in small cakes. He had three small tin measures for nuts,--one at one cent, others at two, four, and six cents; and as fast as they were emptied, he filled them again, and put them on the top of his box. He smoked a pipe, and talked with one man about whether it would be worth while to grow young again, and the duty of being contented with old age; about predestination and freewill and other metaphysics. I asked him what his sales amounted to in the course of a day. He said that butternuts did not sell so well as walnuts, which are not yet in season; that he might to-day have sold fifty cents' worth of walnuts, never less than a dollar's worth, often more; and when he went round with a caravan, he had sold fifteen dollars' worth per day, and once as much as twenty dollars' worth. This promises to be an excellent year for walnuts. Chestnuts have been scarce for two or three years. He had one hundred chestnut-trees on his own land, and last year he offered a man twenty-five cents if he would find him a quart of good chestnuts on them. A bushel of walnuts would cost about ten dollars. He wears a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. A drunken fellow sat down by him, and bought a cent's worth of his butternuts, and inquired what he would sell out to him for. The old man made an estimate, though evidently in jest, and then reckoned his box, measures, meats, and what little maple sugar he had, at four dollars. He had a very quiet manner, and expressed an intention of going to the Commencement at Williamstown to-morrow. His name, I believe, is Captain Gavett. Wednesday, August 15th.--I went to Commencement at Williams College,-- five miles distant. At the tavern were students with ribbons, pink or blue, fluttering from their buttonholes, these being the badges of rival societies. There was a considerable gathering of people, chiefly arriving in wagons or buggies, some in barouches, and very few in chaises. The most characteristic part of the scene was where the pedlers, gingerbread-sellers, etc., were collected, a few hundred yards from the meeting-house. There was a pedler there from New York State, who sold his wares by auction, and I could have stood and listened to him all day long. Sometimes he would put up a heterogeny [this is a word made by Mr. Hawthorne, but one that was needed.--S. H.] of articles in a lot,--as a paper of pins, a lead-pencil, and a shaving-box,--and knock them all down, perhaps for ninepence. Bunches of lead-pencils, steel-pens, pound-cakes of shaving-soap, gilt finger-rings, bracelets, clasps, and other jewelry, cards of pearl buttons, or steel ("there is some steel about them, gentlemen, for my brother stole 'em, and I bore him out in it"), bundles of wooden combs, boxes of matches, suspenders, and, in short, everything,--dipping his hand down into his wares with the promise of a wonderful lot, and producing, perhaps, a bottle of opodeldoc, and joining it with a lead-pencil,--and when he had sold several things of the same kind, pretending huge surprise at finding "just one more," if the lads lingered; saying, "I could not afford to steal them for the price; for the remorse of conscience would be worth more,"--all the time keeping an eye upon those who bought, calling for the pay, making change with silver or bills, and deciding on the goodness of banks; and saying to the boys who climbed upon his cart, "Fall down, roll down, tumble down, only get down"; and uttering everything in the queer, humorous recitative in which he sold his articles. Sometimes he would pretend that a person had bid, either by word or wink, and raised a laugh thus; never losing his self-possession, nor getting out of humor. When a man asked whether a bill were good: "No! do you suppose I'd give you good money?" When he delivered an article, he exclaimed, "You're the lucky man," setting off his wares with the most extravagant eulogies. The people bought very freely, and seemed also to enjoy the fun. One little boy bought a shaving-box, perhaps meaning to speculate upon it. This character could not possibly he overdrawn; and he was really excellent, with his allusions to what was passing, intermingled, doubtless, with a good deal that was studied. He was a man between thirty and forty, with a face expressive of other ability, as well as of humor. A good many people were the better or the worse for liquor. There was one fellow,--named Randall, I think,--a round-shouldered, bulky, ill-hung devil, with a pale, sallow skin, black beard, and a sort of grin upon his face,--a species of laugh, yet not so much mirthful as indicating a strange mental and moral twist. He was very riotous in the crowd, elbowing, thrusting, seizing hold of people; and at last a ring was formed, and a regular wrestling-match commenced between him and a farmer-looking man. Randall brandished his legs about in the most ridiculous style, but proved himself a good wrestler, and finally threw his antagonist. He got up with the same grin upon his features,--not a grin of simplicity, but intimating knowingness. When more depth or force of expression was required, he could put on the most strangely ludicrous and ugly aspect (suiting his gesture and attitude to it) that can be imagined. I should like to see this fellow when he was perfectly sober. There were a good many blacks among the crowd. I suppose they used to emigrate across the border, while New York was a slave State. There were enough of them to form a party, though greatly in the minority; and, a squabble arising, some of the blacks were knocked down, and otherwise maltreated. I saw one old negro, a genuine specimen of the slave negro, without any of the foppery of the race in our part of the State,--an old fellow, with a bag, I suppose of broken victuals, on his shoulder, and his pockets stuffed out at his hips with the like provender; full of grimaces and ridiculous antics, laughing laughably, yet without affectation; then talking with a strange kind of pathos about the whippings he used to get while he was a slave;--a singular creature, of mere feeling, with some glimmering of sense. Then there was another gray old negro, but of a different stamp, politic, sage, cautious, yet with boldness enough, talking about the rights of his race, yet so as not to provoke his audience; discoursing of the advantage of living under laws, and the wonders that might ensue, in that very assemblage, if there were no laws; in the midst of this deep wisdom, turning off the anger of a half-drunken fellow by a merry retort, a leap in the air, and a negro's laugh. I was interested--there being a drunken negro ascending the meeting-house steps, and near him three or four well-dressed and decent negro wenches--to see the look of scorn and shame and sorrow and painful sympathy which one of them assumed at this disgrace of her color. The people here show out their character much more strongly than they do with us; there was not the quiet, silent, dull decency of our public assemblages, but mirth, anger, eccentricity,--all manifesting themselves freely. There were many watermelons for sale, and people burying their muzzles deep in the juicy flesh of them. There were cider and beer. Many of the people had their mouths half opened in a grin, which, more than anything else, I think, indicates a low stage of refinement. A low-crowned hat--very low--is common. They are respectful to gentlemen. A bat being startled, probably, out of the meeting-house, by the commotion around, flew blindly about in the sunshine, and alighted on a man's sleeve. I looked at him,--a droll, winged, beast-insect, creeping up the man's arm, not over-clean, and scattering dust on the man's coat from his vampire wings. The man stared at him, and let the spectators stare for a minute, and then shook him gently off; and the poor devil took a flight across the green to the meeting-house, and then, I believe, alighted on somebody else. Probably he was put to death. Bats are very numerous in these parts. There was a drunken man, annoying people with his senseless talk and impertinences, impelled to perform eccentricities by an evil spirit in him; and a pale little boy, with a bandaged leg, whom his father brought out of the tavern and put into a barouche. Then the boy heedfully placed shawls and cushions about his leg to support it, his face expressive of pain and care,--not transitory, but settled pain, of long and forcedly patient, endurance; and this painful look, perhaps, gave his face more intelligence than it might otherwise have had, though it was naturally a sensitive face. Well-dressed ladies were in the meeting-house in silks and cambrics,--the sunburnt necks in contiguity with the delicate fabrics of the dresses showing the yeomen's daughters. Country graduates,--rough, brown-featured, schoolmaster-looking, half-bumpkin, half-scholarly figures, in black ill-cut broadcloth,--their manners quite spoilt by what little of the gentleman there was in them. The landlord of the tavern keeping his eye on a man whom he suspected of an intention to bolt. [A word meaning in Worcester, I find, "to spring out with speed and suddenness."--S. H.] The next day after Commencement was bleak and rainy from midnight till midnight, and a good many guests were added to our table in consequence. Among them were some of the Williamstown students, gentlemanly young fellows, with a brotherly feeling for each other, a freedom about money concerns, a half-boyish, half-manly character; and my heart warmed to them. They took their departure--two for South Adams and two across the Green Mountains--in the midst of the rain. There was one of the graduates with his betrothed, and his brother-in-law and wife, who stayed during the day,--the graduate the very model of a country schoolmaster in his Sunday clothes, being his Commencement suit of black broadcloth and pumps. He is engaged as assistant teacher of the academy at Shelburne Falls. There was also the high sheriff of Berkshire, Mr. Twining, with a bundle of writs under his arm, and some of them peeping out of his pockets. Also several Trojan men and women, who had been to Commencement. Likewise a young clergyman, graduate of Brown College, and student of the Divinity School at Cambridge. He had come across the Hoosic, or Green Mountains, about eighteen miles, on foot, from Charlemont, where he is preaching, and had been to Commencement. Knowing little of men and matters, and desiring to know more, he was very free in making acquaintance with people, but could not do it handsomely. A singular smile broke out upon his face on slight provocation. He was awkward in his manners, yet it was not an ungentlemanly awkwardness,-- intelligent as respects book-learning, but much deficient in worldly tact. It was pleasant to observe his consciousness of this deficiency, and how he strove to remedy it by mixing as much as possible with people, and sitting almost all day in the bar-room to study character. Sometimes he would endeavor to contribute his share to the general amusement,--as by growling comically, to provoke and mystify a dog; and by some bashful and half-apropos observations. In the afternoon there came a fresh bevy of students onward from Williamstown; but they made only a transient visit, though it was still raining. These were a rough-hewn, heavy set of fellows, from the hills and woods in this neighborhood,--great unpolished bumpkins, who had grown up farmer-boys, and had little of the literary man, save green spectacles and black broadcloth (which all of them had not), talking with a broad accent, and laughing clown-like, while sheepishness overspread all, together with a vanity at being students. One of the party was six feet seven inches high, and all his herculean dimensions were in proportion; his features, too, were cast in a mould suitable to his stature. This giant was not ill-looking, but of a rattier intelligent aspect. His motions were devoid of grace, but yet had a rough freedom, appropriate enough to such a figure. These fellows stayed awhile, talked uncouthly about college matters, and started in the great open wagon which had brought them and their luggage hither. We had a fire in the bar-room almost all day,--a great, blazing fire,--and it was pleasant to have this day of bleak November weather, and cheerful fireside talk, and wet garments smoking in the fireside heat, still in the summer-time. Thus the day wore on with a sort of heavy, lazy pleasantness; and night set in, still stormy. In the morning it was cloudy, but did not rain, and I went with the little clergyman to Hudson's Cave. The stream which they call the North Branch, and into which Hudson's Brook empties, was much swollen, and tumbled and dashed and whitened over the rocks, and formed real cascades over the dams, and rushed fast along the side of the cliffs, which had their feet in it. Its color was deep brown, owing to the washing of the banks which the rain had poured into it. Looking back, we could see a cloud on Graylock; but on other parts of Saddle Mountain there were spots of sunshine, some of most glorious brightness, contrasting with the general gloom of the sky, and the deep shadow which lay on the earth. We looked at the spot where the stream makes its entrance into the marble cliff, and it was (this morning, at least) the most striking view of the cave. The water dashed down in a misty cascade, through what looked like the portal of some infernal subterranean structure; and far within the portal we could see the mist and the falling water; and it looked as if, but for these obstructions of view, we might have had a deeper insight into a gloomy region. After our return, the little minister set off for his eighteen miles' journey across the mountain; and I was occupied the rest of the forenoon with an affair of stealing--a woman of forty or upwards being accused of stealing a needle-case and other trifles from a factory-girl at a boarding-house. She came here to take passage in a stage; but Putnam, a justice of the peace, examined her and afterwards ordered her to be searched by Laura and Eliza, the chambermaid and table-waiter. Hereupon was much fun and some sympathy. They searched, and found nothing that they sought, though she gave up a pair of pantalets, which she pretended to have taken by mistake. Afterwards, she being in the parlor, I went in; and she immediately began to talk to me, giving me an account of the affair, speaking with the bitterness of a wronged person, with a sparkling eye, yet with great fluency and self-possession. She is a yellow, thin, and battered old thing, yet rather country-lady-like in aspect and manners. I heard Eliza telling another girl about it, under my window; and she seemed to think that the poor woman's reluctance to be searched arose from the poorness of her wardrobe and of the contents of her bandbox. At parting, Eliza said to the girl, "What do you think I heard somebody say about you? That it was enough to make anybody's eyes start square out of their head to look at such red cheeks as yours." Whereupon the girl turned off the compliment with a laugh, and took her leave. There is an old blind dog, recognizing his friends by the sense of smell. I observe the eager awkwardness with which he accomplishes the recognition, his carefulness in descending steps, and generally in his locomotion. He evidently has not forgotten that he once had the faculty of sight; for he turns his eyes with earnestness towards those who attract his attention, though the orbs are plainly sightless. Here is an Englishman,--a thorough-going Tory and Monarchist,--upholding everything English, government, people, habits, education, manufactures, modes of living, and expressing his dislike of all Americanisms,--and this in a quiet, calm, reasonable way, as if it were quite proper to live in a country and draw his subsistence from it, and openly abuse it. He imports his clothes from England, and expatiates on the superiority of English boots, hats, cravats, etc. He is a man of unmalleable habits, and wears his dress of the same fashion as that of twenty years ago. August 18th.--There has come one of the proprietors, or superintendents, of a caravan of animals,--a large, portly paunched, dark-complexioned, brandy-burnt, heavy-faced man of about fifty; with a diminutive nose in proportion to the size of his face,--thick lips; nevertheless he has the air of a man who has seen much, and derived such experience as was for his purpose. Also it is the air of a man not in a subordinate station, though vulgar and coarse. He arrived in a wagon, with a span of handsome gray horses, and ordered dinner. He had left his caravan at Worcester, and came from thence and over the mountain hither, to settle stopping-places for the caravan. The nearest place to this. I believe, was Charlemont; the penultimate at Greenfield. In stopping at such a village as this, they do not expect much profit, if any; but would be content with enough to pay their travelling expenses, while they look to gather gain at larger places. In this village, it seems, the selectmen had resolved not to license any public exhibition of the kind; and it was interesting to attend to the consultations whether it were feasible to overcome the objections, and what might be the best means. Orrin S------ and the chance passers-by took part in the discussion. The scruple is that the factory-girls, having ready money by them, spend it for these nonsenses, quitting their work; whereas, were it a mere farming-town, the caravan would take little in proportion to their spendings. The opinion generally was that the license could not be obtained; and the portly man's face grew darker and downcast at the prospect; and he took out a travelling-map, and looked it carefully over, to discover some other station. This is something like the planning of the march of an army. It was finally resolved to enlist the influence of a brother-in-law of the head selectman, and try to gain his consent. Whereupon the caravan-man and the brother-in-law (who, being a tavern-keeper, was to divide the custom of the caravan people with this house) went to make the attempt,--the caravan-man stalking along with stiff, awkward bulk and stature, yet preserving a respectability withal, though with somewhat of the blackguard. Before he went, he offered a wager of "a drink of rum to a thaw of tobacco" that he did not succeed. When he came back, there was a flush in his face and a sparkle in his eye that did not look like failure; but I know not what was the result. He took a glass of wine with the brother-in-law,--a grave, thin, frosty-haired, shrewd-looking yeoman, in his shirt-sleeves,--then ordered his horses, paid his bill, and drove off, accompanied still by the same yeoman, perhaps to get the permission of the other two selectmen. If he does not get a license here, he will try at Cheshire. A fellow appears with a pink guard-chain and two breast-pins in his shirt,--one a masonic one of gold, with compass and square, and the other of colored glass, set in filigree brass,--and the shirt a soiled one. A tendency to obesity is more common in this part of the country than I have noticed it elsewhere. August 19th.--I drove with Orrin S------ last evening to an old farmer's house to get some chickens. Entering the kitchen, I observed a fireplace with rough stone jambs and back, and a marble hearth, cracked, and otherwise contrasting a roughness of workmanship with the value of the material. There was a clock without a case, the weights being visible, and the pendulum swinging in air,--and a coffee-mill fixed against the wall. A religious newspaper lay on the mantel-piece. The old farmer was reluctant to go after the fowls, declaring that it would be impossible to find them in the dark; but Orrin insisting, he lighted a lamp, and we all went together, and quickly found them, roosted about the wood-pile; whereupon Orrin speedily laid hands on five, and wrung their necks in a twinkling, they fluttering long after they should have been dead. When we had taken our departure, Orrin remarked, "How faint-hearted these old fellows are!" and it was a good observation; for it was the farmer's timorous age that made him doubt the practicability of catching the chickens, and it contrasted well with the persevering energy of the middle-aged Orrin. But Orrin inquired, somewhat dolefully, whether I should suppose that he himself bewailed the advances of age. It is a grievous point with him. In the evening there was a strange fellow in the bar-room,--a sort of mock Methodist,--a cattle-drover, who had stopped here for the night with two cows and a Durham bull. All his talk turned upon religion, and he would ever and anon burst out in some strain of scriptural-styled eloquence, chanted through his nose, like an exhortation at a camp-meeting. A group of Universalists and no-religionists sat around him, making him their butt, and holding wild argument with him; and he strangely mingled humor with his enthusiasm, and enthusiasm with his humor, so that it was almost impossible to tell whether he were in jest or earnest. Probably it was neither, but an eccentricity, an almost monomania, that has grown upon him,--perhaps the result of strong religious excitement. And, having been a backslider, he is cursed with a half-frenzied humor. In the morning he talked in the same strain at breakfast, while quaffing fourteen cups of tea,--Eliza, all the while, as she supplied him, entreating him not to drink any more. After breakfast (it being the Sabbath) he drove his two cows and bull past the stoop, raising his stair, and running after them with strange, uncouth gestures; and the last word I heard from him was an exhortation: "Gentlemen, now all of you take your Bibles, and meditate on divine things,"--this being uttered with raised hands, and a Methodistical tone, intermingled, as was his expression, with something humorous; so that, to the last, the puzzle was still kept up, whether he was an enthusiast or a jester. He wore a suit of coarse brown cloth, cut in rather a Quaker fashion; and he had a large nose, and his face expressed enthusiasm and honor,--a sort of smile and twinkle of the eye, with wildness. He is excellent at a bargain; and if, in the midst of his ghostly exhortation, the talk were turned on cattle, he eagerly seized the topic and expatiated on it. While this fellow was enumerating the Universalists in neighboring towns who had turned from their errors on their death-beds, some one exclaimed, "John Hodges! why, he isn't dead,--he's alive and well." Whereat there was a roar of laughter. While holding an argument at table, I heard him mutter to himself at something that his adversary said; and though I could not distinguish what it was, the tone did more to convince me of some degree of earnestness than aught beside. This character might be wrought into a strange portrait of something sad, terrific, and laughable. The Sabbath wore away lazily, and therefore wickedly. The heavy caravan-man inquired for some book of light reading, and, having obtained an old volume of a literary paper, betook himself to the seat of his wagon, to read. At other times he smoked, and talked sensibly enough with anybody that offered. He is a man of sense, though not quick, and seems to be a fair man. When he walks, he puts the thumb of each hand into the armhole of his waistcoat, and moves along stiffly, with a knock-kneed gait. His talk was chiefly of hotels, and such matters as a man, always travelling, without any purpose of observation for mental improvement, would be interested in. He spoke of his life as a hard one. There was a Methodist quarterly meeting here, and a love-feast. There is a fellow hereabout who refuses to pay six dollars for the coffin in which his wife was buried. She died about six months since, and I believe he is already engaged to another. He is young and rather comely, but has not a straightforward look. One man plods along, looking always on the ground, without ever lifting his eyes to the mountain scenery, and forest, and clouds, above and around him. Another walks the street with a quick, prying eye, and sharp face,--the most, expressive possible of one on the lookout for gain,--of the most disagreeable class of Yankees. There is also a sour-looking, unwholesome boy, the son of this man, whose voice is querulous and ill-natured, precisely suited to his aspect. So is his character. We have another with Indian blood in him, and the straight, black hair,-- something of the tawny skin and the quick, shining eye of the Indian. He seems reserved, but is not ill-natured when spoken to. There is so much of the white in him, that he gives the impression of belonging to a civilized race, which causes the more strange sensation on discovering that he has a wild lineage. August 22d.--I walked out into what is called the Notch this forenoon, between Saddle Mountain and another. There are good farms in this Notch, although the ground is considerably elevated,--this morning, indeed, above the clouds; for I penetrated through one in reaching the higher region, although I found sunshine there. Graylock was hidden in clouds, and the rest of Saddle Mountain had one partially wreathed about it; but it was withdrawn before long. It was very beautiful cloud-scenery. The clouds lay on the breast of the mountain, dense, white, well-defined, and some of them were in such close vicinity that it seemed as if I could infold myself in them; while others, belonging to the same fleet, were floating through the blue sky above. I had a view of Williamstown at the distance of a few miles,--two or three, perhaps,--a white village and steeple in a gradual hollow, with high mountainous swells heaving themselves up, like immense, subsiding waves, far and wide around it. On these high mountain-waves rested the white summer clouds, or they rested as still in the air above; and they were formed in such fantastic shapes that they gave the strongest possible impression of being confounded or intermixed with the sky. It was like a day-dream to look at it; and the students ought to be day-dreamers, all of them,--when cloud-land is one and the same thing with the substantial earth. By degrees all these clouds flitted away, and the sultry summer sun burned on hill and valley. As I was walking home, an old man came down the mountain-path behind me in a wagon, and gave me a drive to the village. Visitors being few in the Notch, the women and girls looked from the windows after me; the men nodded and greeted me with a look of curiosity; and two little girls whom I met, bearing tin pails, whispered one another and smiled. North Adams, August 23d.--The county commissioners held a court; in the bar-room yesterday afternoon, for the purpose of letting out the making of the new road over the mountain. The commissioners sat together in attitudes of some dignity, with one leg laid across another; and the people, to the number of twenty or thirty, sat round about with their hats on, in their shirt-sleeves, with but little, yet with some formality. Several had come from a distance to bid for the job. They sat with whips in their hands. The first bid was three dollars,--then there was a long silence,--then a bid of two dollars eighty-five cents, and finally it was knocked down at two eighteen, per rod. A disposition to bid was evidenced in one man by his joking on the bid of another. After supper, as the sun was setting, a man passed by the door with a hand-organ, connected with which was a row of figures, such as dancers, pirouetting and turning, a lady playing on a piano, soldiers, a negro wench dancing, and opening and shutting a huge red mouth,--all these keeping time to the lively or slow tunes of the organ. The man had a pleasant, but sly, dark face; he carried his whole establishment on his shoulder, it being fastened to a staff which he rested on the ground when he performed. A little crowd of people gathered about him on the stoop, peeping over each other's heads with huge admiration,--fat Otis Hodge, and the tall stage-driver, and the little boys, all declaring that it was the masterpiece of sights. Some few coppers did the man obtain, as well as much praise. He had come over the high, solitary mountain, where for miles there could hardly be a soul to hear his music. In the evening, a portly old commissioner, a cheerful man enough, was sitting reading the newspaper in the parlor, holding the candle between the newspaper and his eyes,--its rays glittering on his silver-bowed spectacles and silvery hair. A pensive mood of age had come upon him, and sometimes he heaved a long sigh, while he turned and re-turned the paper, and folded it for convenient reading. By and by a gentleman came to see him, and he talked with him cheerfully. The fat old squire, whom I have mentioned more than once, is an odd figure, with his bluff, red face,--coarsely red,--set in silver hair,-- his clumsy legs, which he moves in a strange straddle, using, I believe, a broomstick for a staff. The breadth of back of these fat men is truly a wonder. A decent man, at table the other day, took the only remaining potato out of the dish, on the end of his knife, and offered his friend half of it! The mountains look much larger and more majestic sometimes than at others,--partly because the mind may be variously disposed, so as to comprehend them more or less, and partly that an imperceptible (or almost so) haze adds a great deal to the effect. Saddleback often looks a huge, black mass,--black-green, or black-blue. The cave makes a fresh impression upon me every time I visit it,--so deep, so irregular, so gloomy, so stern,--part of its walls the pure white of the marble,--others covered with a gray decomposition and with spots of moss, and with brake growing where there is a handful of earth. I stand and look into its depths at various points, and hear the roar of the stream re-echoing up. It is like a heart that has been rent asunder by a torrent of passion, which has raged and foamed, and left its ineffaceable traces; though now there is but a little rill of feeling at the bottom. In parts, trees have fallen across the fissure,--trees with large trunks. I bathed in the stream in this old, secluded spot, which I frequent for that purpose. To reach it, I cross one branch of the stream on stones, and then pass to the other side of a little island, overgrown with trees and underbrush. Where I bathe, the stream has partially dammed itself up by sweeping together tree-trunks and slabs and branches, and a thousand things that have come down its current for years perhaps; so that there is a deep pool, full of eddies and little whirlpools which would carry me away, did I not take hold of the stem of a small tree that lies opportunely transversely across the water. The bottom is uneven, with rocks of various size, against which it is difficult to keep from stumbling, so rapid is the stream. Sometimes it bears along branches and strips of bark,--sometimes a green leaf, or perchance a dry one,-- occasionally overwhelmed by the eddies and borne deep under water, then rushing atop the waves. The forest, bordering the stream, produces its effect by a complexity of causes,--the old and stern trees, with stately trunks and dark foliage,-- as the almost black pines,--the young trees, with lightsome green foliage,--as sapling oaks, maples and poplars,--then the old, decayed trunks, that are seen lying here and there, all mouldered, so that the foot would sink into them. The sunshine, falling capriciously on a casual branch considerably within the forest verge, while it leaves nearer trees in shadow, leads the imagination into the depths. But it soon becomes bewildered there. Rocks strewn about, half hidden in the fallen leaves, must not be overlooked. August 26th.--A funeral last evening, nearly at sunset,--a coffin of a boy about ten years old laid on a one-horse wagon among some straw,--two or three barouches and wagons following. As the funeral passed through the village street, a few men formed a short procession in front of the coffin, among whom were Orrin S----- and I. The burial-ground (there are two in the town) is on the sides and summit of a round hill, which is planted with cypress and other trees, among which the white marble gravestones show pleasantly. The grave was dug on the steep slope of a hill; and the grave-digger was waiting there, and two or three other shirt-sleeved yeomen, leaning against the trees. Orrin S------, a wanton and mirth-making middle-aged man, who would not seem to have much domestic feeling, took a chief part on the occasion, assisting in taking the coffin from the wagon and in lowering it into the grave. There being some superfluous earth at the bottom of the grave, the coffin was drawn up again after being once buried, and the obstacle removed with a hoe; then it was lowered again for the last time. While this was going on, the father and mother stood weeping at the upper end of the grave, at the head of the little procession,--the mother sobbing with stifled violence, and peeping forth to discover why the coffin was drawn up again. It being fitted in its place, Orrin S------ strewed some straw upon it,--this being the custom here, because "the clods on the coffin-lid have an ugly sound." Then the Baptist minister, having first whispered to the father, removed his hat, the spectators all doing the same, and thanked them "in the name of these mourners, for this last act of kindness to them." In all these rites Orrin S------ bore the chief part with real feeling and sadly decorous demeanor. After the funeral, I took a walk on the Williamstown road, towards the west. There had been a heavy shower in the afternoon, and clouds were brilliant all over the sky, around Graylock and everywhere else. Those over the hills of the west were the most splendid in purple and gold, and, there being a haze, it added immensely to their majesty and dusky magnificence. This morning I walked a little way along the mountain road, and stood awhile in the shadow of some oak and chestnut trees,--it being a warm, bright, sunshiny morning. The shades lay long from trees and other objects, as at sunset, but how different this cheerful and light radiance from the mild repose of sunset! Locusts, crickets, and other insects were making music. Cattle were feeding briskly, with morning appetites. The wakeful voices of children were heard in a neighboring hollow. The dew damped the road, and formed many-colored drops in the grass. In short, the world was not weary with a long, sultry day, but in a fresh, recruited state, fit to carry it through such a day. A rough-looking, sunburnt, soiled-skirted, odd, middle-aged little man came to the house a day or two ago, seeking work. He had come from Ohio, and was returning to his native place, somewhere in New England, stopping occasionally to earn money to pay his way. There was something rather ludicrous in his physiognomy and aspect. He was very free to talk with all and sundry. He made a long eulogy on his dog Tiger, yesterday, insisting on his good moral character, his not being quarrelsome, his docility, and all other excellent qualities that a huge, strong, fierce mastiff could have. Tiger is the bully of the village, and keeps all the other dogs in awe. His aspect is very spirited, trotting massively along, with his tail elevated and his head likewise. "When he sees a dog that's anything near his size, he's apt to growl a little,"--Tiger had the marks of a battle on him,--"yet he's a good dog." Friday, August 31st.--A drive on Tuesday to Shelburne Falls, twenty-two miles or thereabouts distant. Started at about eight o'clock in a wagon with Mr. Leach and Mr. Birch. Our road lay over the Green Mountains, the long ridge of which was made awful by a dark, heavy, threatening cloud, apparently rolled and condensed along the whole summit. As we ascended the zigzag road, we looked behind, at every opening in the forest, and beheld a wide landscape of mountain-swells and valleys intermixed, and old Graylock and the whole of Saddleback. Over the wide scene there was a general gloom; but there was a continual vicissitude of bright sunshine flitting over it, now resting for a brief space on portions of the heights, now flooding the valleys with green brightness, now making out distinctly each dwelling, and the hotels, and then two small brick churches of the distant village, denoting its prosperity, while all around seemed under adverse fortunes. But we, who stood so elevated above mortal things, and saw so wide and far, could see the sunshine of prosperity departing from one spot and rolling towards another, so that we could not think it much matter which spot were sunny or gloomy at any one moment. The top of this Hoosic Mountain is a long ridge, marked on the county map as two thousand one hundred and sixty feet above the sea; on this summit is a valley, not very deep, but one or two miles wide, in which is the town of L------. Here there are respectable farmers, though it is a rough, and must be a bleak place. The first house, after reaching the summit, is a small, homely tavern. We left our horse in the shed, and, entering the little unpainted bar-room, we heard a voice, in a strange, outlandish accent, exclaiming "Diorama." It was an old man, with a full, gray-bearded countenance, and Mr. Leach exclaimed, "Ah, here's the old Dutchman again!" And he answered, "Yes, Captain, here's the old Dutchman,"--though, by the way, he is a German, and travels the country with this diorama in a wagon, and had recently been at South Adams, and was now returning from Saratoga Springs. We looked through the glass orifice of his machine, while he exhibited a succession of the very worst scratches and daubings that can be imagined,--worn out, too, and full of cracks and wrinkles, dimmed with tobacco-smoke, and every other wise dilapidated. There were none in a later fashion than thirty years since, except some figures that had been cut from tailors' show-bills. There were views of cities and edifices in Europe, of Napoleon's battles and Nelson's sea-fights, in the midst of which would be seen a gigantic, brown, hairy hand (the Hand of Destiny) pointing at the principal points of the conflict, while the old Dutchman explained. He gave a good deal of dramatic effect to his descriptions, but his accent and intonation cannot be written. He seemed to take interest and pride in his exhibition; yet when the utter and ludicrous miserability thereof made us laugh, he joined in the joke very readily. When the last picture had been shown, he caused a country boor, who stood gaping beside the machine, to put his head within it, and thrust out his tongue. The head becoming gigantic, a singular effect was produced. The old Dutchman's exhibition being over, a great dog, apparently an elderly dog, suddenly made himself the object of notice, evidently in rivalship of the Dutchman. He had seemed to be a good-natured, quiet kind of dog, offering his head to be patted by those who were kindly disposed towards him. This great, old dog, unexpectedly, and of his own motion, began to run round after his not very long tail with the utmost eagerness; and, catching hold of it, he growled furiously at it, and still continued to circle round, growling and snarling with increasing rage, as if one half of his body were at deadly enmity with the other. Faster and faster went he, round and roundabout, growing still fiercer, till at last he ceased in a state of utter exhaustion; but no sooner had his exhibition finished than he became the same mild, quiet, sensible old dog as before; and no one could have suspected him of such nonsense as getting enraged with his own tail. He was first taught this trick by attaching a bell to the end of his tail; but he now commences entirely of his own accord, and I really believe he feels vain at the attention he excites. It was chill and bleak on the mountain-top, and a fire was burning in the bar-room. The old Dutchman bestowed on everybody the title of "Captain," perhaps because such a title has a great chance of suiting an American. Leaving the tavern, we drove a mile or two farther to the eastern brow of the mountain, whence we had a view, over the tops of a multitude of heights, into the intersecting valleys down which we were to plunge,--and beyond them the blue and indistinctive scene extended to the east and north for at least sixty miles. Beyond the hills it looked almost as if the blue ocean might be seen. Monadnock was visible, like a sapphire cloud against the sky. Descending, we by and by got a view of the Deerfield River, which makes a bend in its course from about north and south to about east and west, coming out from one defile among the mountains, and flowing through another. The scenery on the eastern side of the Green Mountains is incomparably more striking than on the western, where the long swells and ridges have a flatness of effect; and even Graylock heaves itself so gradually that it does not much strike the beholder. But on the eastern part, peaks one or two thousand feet high rush up on either bank of the river in ranges, thrusting out their shoulders side by side. They are almost precipitous, clothed in woods, through which the naked rock pushes itself forth to view. Sometimes the peak is bald, while the forest wraps the body of the hill, and the baldness gives it an indescribably stern effect. Sometimes the precipice rises with abruptness from the immediate side of the river; sometimes there is a cultivated valley on either side,--cultivated long, and with all the smoothness and antique rurality of a farm near cities,--this gentle picture strongly set off by the wild mountain-frame around it. Often it would seem a wonder how our road was to continue, the mountains rose so abruptly on either side, and stood, so direct a wall, across our onward course; while, looking behind, it would be an equal mystery how we had gotten thither, through the huge base of the mountain, that seemed to have reared itself erect after our passage. But, passing onward, a narrow defile would give us egress into a scene where new mountains would still appear to bar us. Our road was much of it level; but scooped out among mountains. The river was a brawling stream, shallow, and roughened by rocks; now we drove on a plane with it; now there was a sheer descent down from the roadside upon it, often unguarded by any kind of fence, except by the trees that contrived to grow on the headlong interval. Between the mountains there were gorges, that led the imagination away into new scenes of wildness. I have never driven through such romantic scenery, where there was such variety and boldness of mountain shapes as this; and though it was a broad sunny day, the mountains diversified the view with sunshine and shadow, and glory and gloom. In Charlemont (I think), after passing a bridge, we saw a very curious rock on the shore of the river, about twenty feet from the roadside. Clambering down the bank, we found it a complete arch, hollowed out of the solid rock, and as high as the arched entrance of an ancient church, which it might be taken to be, though considerably dilapidated and weather-worn. The water flows through it, though the rock afforded standing room, beside the pillars. It was really like the archway of an enchanted palace, all of which has vanished except the entrance,--now only into nothingness and empty space. We climbed to the top of the arch, in which the traces of water having eddied are very perceptible. This curiosity occurs in a wild part of the river's course, and in a solitude of mountains. Farther down, the river becoming deeper, broader, and more placid, little boats were seen moored along it, for the convenience of crossing. Sometimes, too, the well-beaten track of wheels and hoofs passed down to its verge, then vanished, and appeared on the other side, indicating a ford. We saw one house, pretty, small, with green blinds, and much quietness in its environments, on the other side of the river, with a flat-bottomed boat for communication. It was a pleasant idea that the world was kept off by the river. Proceeding onward, we reached Shelburne Falls. Here the river, in the distance of a few hundred yards, makes a descent of about a hundred and fifty feet over a prodigious bed of rock. Formerly it doubtless flowed unbroken over the rock, merely creating a rapid; and traces of water having raged over it are visible in portions of the rock that now lie high and dry. At present the river roars through a channel which it has worn in the stone, leaping in two or three distinct falls, and rushing downward, as from flight to flight of a broken and irregular staircase. The mist rises from the highest of these cataracts, and forms a pleasant object in the sunshine. The best view, I think, is to stand on the verge of the upper and largest fall, and look down through the whole rapid descent of the river, as it hurries, foaming, through its rock-worn path,--the rocks seeming to have been hewn away, as when mortals make a road. These falls are the largest in this State, and have a very peculiar character. It seems as if water had had more power at some former period than now, to hew and tear its passage through such an immense ledge of rock as here withstood it. In this crag, or parts of it, now far beyond the reach of the water, it has worn what are called pot-holes,--being circular hollows in the rock, where for ages stones have been whirled round and round by the eddies of the water; so that the interior of the pot is as circular and as smooth as it could have been made by art. Often the mouth of the pot is the narrowest part, the inner space being deeply scooped out. Water is contained in most of these pot-holes, sometimes so deep that a man might drown himself therein, and lie undetected at the bottom. Some of them are of a convenient size for cooking, which might be practicable by putting in hot stones. The tavern at Shelburne Falls was about the worst I ever saw,--there being hardly anything to eat, at least nothing of the meat kind. There was a party of students from the Rensselaer school at Troy, who had spent the night there, a set of rough urchins from sixteen to twenty years old, accompanied by the wagon-driver, a short, stubbed little fellow, who walked about with great independence, thrusting his hands into his breeches-pockets, beneath his frock. The queerness was, such a figure being associated with classic youth. They were on an excursion which is yearly made from that school in search of minerals. They seemed in rather better moral habits than students used to be, but wild-spirited, rude, and unpolished, somewhat like German students, which resemblance one or two of them increased by smoking pipes. In the morning, my breakfast being set in a corner of the same room with them, I saw their breakfast-table, with a huge wash-bowl of milk in the centre, and a basin and spoon placed for each guest. In the bar-room of this tavern were posted up written advertisements, the smoked chimney-piece being thus made to serve for a newspaper: "I have rye for sale," "I have a fine mare colt," etc. There was one quaintly expressed advertisement of a horse that had strayed or been stolen from a pasture. The students, from year to year, have been in search of a particular rock, somewhere on the mountains in the vicinity of Shelburne Falls, which is supposed to contain some valuable ore; but they cannot find it. One man in the bar-room observed that it must be enchanted; and spoke of a tinker, during the Revolutionary War, who met with a somewhat similar instance. Roaming along the Hudson River, he came to a precipice which had some bunches of singular appearance embossed upon it. He knocked off one of the hunches, and carrying it home, or to a camp, or wherever he lived, he put it on the fire, and incited it down into clear lead. He sought for the spot again and again, but could never find it. Mr. Leach's brother is a student at Shelburne Falls. He is about thirty-five years old, and married; and at this mature age he is studying for the ministry, and will not finish his course for two or three years. He was bred a farmer, but has sold his farm, and invested the money, and supports himself and wife by dentistry during his studies. Many of the academy students are men grown, and some, they say, well towards forty years old. Methinks this is characteristic of American life,--these rough, weather-beaten, hard-handed, farmer-bred students. In nine cases out of ten they are incapable of any effectual cultivation; for men of ripe years, if they have any pith in them, will have long ago got beyond academy or even college instruction. I suspect nothing better than a very wretched smattering is to be obtained in these country academies. Mr. Jerkins, an instructor at Amherst, speaking of the Western mounds, expressed an opinion that they were of the same nature and origin as some small circular hills which are of very frequent occurrence here in North Adams. The burial-ground is on one of them, and there is another, on the summit of which appears a single tombstone, as if there were something natural in making these hills the repositories of the dead. A question of old H------ led to Mr. Jenkins's dissertation on this subject, to the great contentment of a large circle round the bar-room fireside on the last rainy day. A tailor is detected by Mr. Leach, because his coat had not a single wrinkle in it. I saw him exhibiting patterns of fashions to Randall, the village tailor. Mr. Leach has much tact in finding out the professions of people. He found out a blacksmith, because his right hand was much larger than the other. A man getting subscriptions for a religious and abolition newspaper in New York,--somewhat elderly and gray-haired, quick in his movements, hasty in his walk, with an eager, earnest stare through his spectacles, hurrying about with a pocket-book of subscriptions in his hand,--seldom speaking, and then in brief expressions,--sitting down before the stage comes, to write a list of subscribers obtained to his employers in New York. Withal, a city and business air about him, as of one accustomed to hurry through narrow alleys, and dart across thronged streets, and speak hastily to one man and another at jostling corners, though now transacting his affairs in the solitude of mountains. An old, gray man, seemingly astray and abandoned in this wide world, sitting in the bar-room, speaking to none, nor addressed by any one. Not understanding the meaning of the supper-bell till asked to supper by word of mouth. However, he called for a glass of brandy. A pedler, with girls' silk neckerchiefs,--or gauze,--men's silk pocket-handkerchiefs, red bandannas, and a variety of horn combs, trying to trade with the servant-girls of the house. One of them, Laura, attempts to exchange a worked vandyke, which she values at two dollars and a half; Eliza, being reproached by the pedler, "vows that she buys more of pedlers than any other person in the house." A drove of pigs passing at dusk. They appeared not so much disposed to ramble and go astray from the line of march as in daylight, but kept together in a pretty compact body. There was a general grunting, not violent at all, but low and quiet, as if they were expressing their sentiments among themselves in a companionable way. Pigs, on a march, do not subject themselves to any leader among themselves, but pass on, higgledy-piggledy, without regard to age or sex. September 1st.--Last evening, during a walk, Graylock and the whole of Saddleback were at first imbued with a mild, half-sunshiny tinge, then grew almost black,--a huge, dark mass lying on the back of the earth and encumbering it. Stretching up from behind the black mountain, over a third or more of the sky, there was a heavy, sombre blue heap or ledge of clouds, looking almost as solid as rocks. The volumes of which it was composed were perceptible, by translucent lines and fissures; but the mass, as a whole, seemed as solid, bulky, and ponderous in the cloud-world as the mountain was on earth. The mountain and cloud together had an indescribably stern and majestic aspect. Beneath this heavy cloud, there was a fleet or flock of light, vapory mists, flitting in middle air; and these were tinted, from the vanished sun, with the most gorgeous and living purple that can be conceived,--a fringe upon the stern blue. In the opposite quarter of the heavens, a rose-light was reflected, whence I know not, which colored the clouds around the moon, then well above the horizon, so that the nearly round and silver moon appeared strangely among roseate clouds,--sometimes half obscured by them. A man with a smart horse, upon which the landlord makes laudatory remarks. He replies that he has "a better at home." Dressed in a brown, bright-buttoned coat, smartly cut. He immediately becomes familiar, and begins to talk of the license law, and other similar topics,--making himself at home, as one who, being much of his time upon the road, finds himself at ease at any tavern. He inquired after a stage agent, named Brigham, who formerly resided here, but now has gone to the West. He himself was probably a horse-jockey. An old lady, stopping here over the Sabbath, waiting for to-morrow's stage for Greenfield, having been deceived by the idea that she could proceed on her journey without delay. Quiet, making herself comfortable, taken into the society of the women of the house. September 3d.--On the slope of Bald Mountain a clearing, set in the frame of the forest on all sides,--a growth of clover upon it, which, having been mowed once this year, is now appropriated to pasturage. Stumps remaining in the ground; one tall, barkless stem of a tree standing upright, branchless, and with a shattered summit. One or two other stems lying prostrate and partly overgrown with bushes and shrubbery, some of them bearing a yellow flower,--a color which Autumn loves. The stumps and trunks fire-blackened, yet nothing about them that indicates a recent clearing, but the roughness of an old clearing, that, being removed from convenient labor, has none of the polish of the homestead. The field, with slight undulations, slopes pretty directly down. Near the lower verge, a rude sort of barn, or rather haystack roofed over, and with hay protruding and hanging out. An ox feeding, and putting up his muzzle to pull down a mouthful of hay; but seeing me, a stranger, in the upper part of the field, he remains long gazing, and finally betakes himself to feeding again. A solitary butterfly flitting to and fro, blown slightly on its course by a cool September wind,--the coolness of which begins to be tempered by a bright, glittering sun. There is dew on the grass. In front, beyond the lower spread of forest, Saddle Mountain rises, and the valleys and long, swelling hills sweep away. But the impression of this clearing is solitude, as of a forgotten land. It is customary here to toll the bell at the death of a person, at the hour of his death, whether A. M. or P. M. Not, however, I suppose, if it happen in deep night. "There are three times in a man's life when he is talked about,--when he is born, when he is married, and when he dies." "Yes," said Orrin S------, "and only one of the times has he to pay anything for it out of his own pocket." (In reference to a claim by the guests of the bar-room on the man Amasa Richardson for a treat.) A wood-chopper, travelling the country in search of jobs at chopping. His baggage a bundle, a handkerchief, and a pair of coarse boots. His implement an axe, most keenly ground and sharpened, which I had noticed standing in a corner, and thought it would almost serve as a razor. I saw another wood-chopper sitting down on the ascent of Bald Mountain, with his axe on one side and a jug and provisions on the other, on the way to his day's toil. The Revolutionary pensioners come out into the sunshine to make oath that they are still above ground. One, whom Mr. S------ saluted as "Uncle John," went into the bar-room, walking pretty stoutly by the aid of a long, oaken staff,--with an old, creased, broken and ashen bell-crowned hat on his head, and wearing a brown old-fashioned suit of clothes. Pretty portly, fleshy in the face, and with somewhat of a paunch, cheerful, and his senses, bodily and mental, in no very bad order, though he is now in his ninetieth year. "An old man's withered and wilted apple," quoth Uncle John, "keeps a good while." Mr. S------ says his grandfather lived to be a hundred, and that his legs became covered with moss, like the trunk of an old tree. Uncle John would smile and cackle at a little jest, and what life there was in him seemed a good-natured and comfortable one enough. He can walk two or three miles, he says, "taking it moderate." I suppose his state is that of a drowsy man but partly conscious of life,--walking as through a dim dream, but brighter at some seasons than at others. By and by he will fall quite asleep, without any trouble. Mr. S------, unbidden, gave him a glass of gin, which the old man imbibed by the warm fireside, and grew the younger for it. September 4th.--This day an exhibition of animals in the vicinity of the village, under a pavilion of sail-cloth,--the floor being the natural grass, with here and there a rock partially protruding. A pleasant, mild shade; a strip of sunshine or a spot of glimmering brightness in some parts. Crowded,--row above row of women, on an amphitheatre of seats, on one side. In an inner pavilion an exhibition of anacondas,--four,--which the showman took, one by one, from a large box, under some blankets, and hung round his shoulders. They seemed almost torpid when first taken out, but gradually began to assume life, to stretch, to contract, twine and writhe about his neck and person, thrusting out their tongues and erecting their heads. Their weight was as much as he could bear, and they hung down almost to the ground when not contorted,--as big round as a thigh, almost,--spotted and richly variegated. Then he put them into the box again, their heads emerging and writhing forth, which the showman thrust back again. He gave a descriptive and historical account of them, and a fanciful and poetical one also. A man put his arm and head into the lion's mouth,--all the spectators looking on so attentively that a breath could not be heard. That was impressive,--its effect on a thousand persons,--more so than the thing itself. In the evening the caravan people were at the tavern, talking of their troubles in coming over the mountain,--the overturn of a cage containing two leopards and a hyena. They are a rough, ignorant set of men, apparently incapable of taking any particular enjoyment from the life of variety and adventure which they lead. There was the man who put his head into the lion's mouth, and, I suppose, the man about whom the anacondas twined, talking about their suppers, and blustering for hot meat, and calling for something to drink, without anything of the wild dignity of men familiar with the nobility of nature. A character of a desperate young man, who employs high courage and strong faculties in this sort of dangers, and wastes his talents in wild riot, addressing the audience as a snake-man,--keeping the ring while the monkey rides the pony,--singing negro and other songs. The country boors were continually getting within the barriers, and venturing too near the cages. The great lion lay with his fore paws extended, and a calm, majestic, but awful countenance. He looked on the people as if he had seen many such concourses. The hyena was the most ugly and dangerous looking beast, full of spite, and on ill terms with all nature, looking a good deal like a hog with the devil in him, the ridge of hair along his back bristling. He was in the cage with a leopard and a panther, and the latter seemed continually on the point of laying his paw on the hyena, who snarled, and showed his teeth. It is strange, though, to see how these wild beasts acknowledge and practise a degree of mutual forbearance, and of obedience to man, with their wild nature yet in them. The great white bear seemed in distress from the heat, moving his head and body in a peculiar, fantastic way, and eagerly drinking water when given it. He was thin and lank. The caravan men were so sleepy, Orrin S------ says, that he could hardly wake them in the morning. They turned over on their faces to show him. Coming out of the caravansary, there were the mountains, in the quiet sunset, and many men drunk, swearing, and fighting. Shanties with liquor for sale. The elephant lodged in the barn. September 5th.--I took a walk of three miles from the village, which brought me into Vermont. The line runs athwart a bridge,--a rude bridge, which crosses a mountain stream. The stream runs deep at the bottom of a gorge, plashing downward, with rapids and pools, and bestrewn with large rocks, deep and shady, not to be reached by the sun except in its meridian, as well on account of the depth of the gorge as of the arch of wilderness trees above it. There was a stumpy clearing beyond the bridge, where some men were building a house. I went to them, and inquired if I were in Massachusetts or Vermont, and asked for some water. Whereupon they showed great hospitality, and the master-workman went to the spring, and brought delicious water in a tin basin, and produced another jug containing "new rum, and very good; and rum does nobody any harm if they make a good use of it," quoth he. I invited them to call on me at the hotel, if they should cone to the village within two or three days. Then I took my way back through the forest, for this is a by-road, and is, much of its course, a sequestrated and wild one, with an unseen torrent roaring at an unseen depth, along the roadside. My walk forth had been an almost continued ascent, and, returning, I had an excellent view of Graylock and the adjacent mountains, at such a distance that they were all brought into one group, and comprehended at one view, as belonging to the same company,--all mighty, with a mightier chief. As I drew nearer home, they separated, and the unity of effect was lost. The more distant then disappeared behind the nearer ones, and finally Graylock itself was lost behind the hill which immediately shuts in the village. There was a warm, autumnal haze, which, I think, seemed to throw the mountains farther off, and both to enlarge and soften them. To imagine the gorges and deep hollows in among the group of mountains,-- their huge shoulders and protrusions. "They were just beginning to pitch over the mountains, as I came along," --stage-driver's expression about the caravan. A fantastic figure of a village coxcomb, striding through the bar-room, and standing with folded arms to survey the caravan men. There is much exaggeration and rattle-brain about this fellow. A mad girl leaped from the top of a tremendous precipice in Pownall, hundreds of feet high, if the tale be true, and, being buoyed up by her clothes, came safely to the bottom. Inquiries about the coming of the caravan, and whether the elephant had got to town, and reports that he had. A smart, plump, crimson-faced gentleman, with a travelling-portmanteau of peculiar neatness and convenience. He criticises the road over the mountain, having come in the Greenfield stage; perhaps an engineer. Bears still inhabit Saddleback and the neighboring mountains and forests. Six were taken in Pownall last year, and two hundred foxes. Sometimes they appear on the hills, in close proximity to this village. September 7th.--Mr. Leach and I took a walk by moonlight last evening, on the road that leads over the mountain. Remote from houses, far up on the hillside, we found a lime-kiln, burning near the road; and, approaching it, a watcher started from the ground, where he had been lying at his length. There are several of these lime-kilns in this vicinity. They are circular, built with stones, like a round tower, eighteen or twenty feet high, having a hillock heaped around in a great portion of their circumference, so that the marble may be brought and thrown in by cart-loads at the top. At the bottom there is a doorway, large enough to admit a man in a stooping posture. Thus an edifice of great solidity is constructed, which will endure for centuries, unless needless pains are taken to tear it down. There is one on the hillside, close to the village, wherein weeds grow at the bottom, and grass and shrubs too are rooted in the interstices of the stones, and its low doorway has a dungeon-like aspect, and we look down from the top as into a roofless tower. It apparently has not been used for many years, and the lime and weather-stained fragments of marble are scattered about. But in the one we saw last night a hard-wood fire was burning merrily, beneath the superincumbent marble,--the kiln being heaped full; and shortly after we came, the man (a dark, black-bearded figure, in shirt-sleeves) opened the iron door, through the chinks of which the fire was gleaming, and thrust in huge logs of wood, and stirred the immense coals with a long pole, and showed us the glowing limestone,--the lower layer of it. The heat of the fire was powerful, at the distance of several yards from the open door. He talked very sensibly with us, being doubtless glad to have two visitors to vary his solitary night-watch; for it would not do for him to fall asleep, since the fire should be refreshed as often as every twenty minutes. We ascended the hillock to the top of the kiln, and the marble was red-hot, and burning with a bluish, lambent flame, quivering up, sometimes nearly a yard high, and resembling the flame of anthracite coal, only, the marble being in large fragments, the flame was higher. The kiln was perhaps six or eight feet across. Four hundred bushels of marble were then in a state of combustion. The expense of converting this quantity into lime is about fifty dollars, and it sells for twenty-five cents per bushel at the kiln. We asked the man whether he would run across the top of the intensely burning kiln, barefooted, for a thousand dollars; and he said he would for ten. He told us that the lime had been burning forty-eight hours, and would be finished in thirty-six more. He liked the business of watching it better by night than by day; because the days were often hot, but such a mild and beautiful night as the last was just right. Here a poet might make verses with moonlight in them, and a gleam of fierce firelight flickering through. It is a shame to use this brilliant, white, almost transparent marble in this way. A man said of it, the other day, that into some pieces of it, when polished, one could see a good distance; and he instanced a certain gravestone. Visited the cave. A large portion of it, where water trickles and falls, is perfectly white. The walls present a specimen of how Nature packs the stone, crowding huge masses, as it were, into chinks and fissures, and here we see it in the perpendicular or horizontal layers, as Nature laid it. September 9th.--A walk yesterday forenoon through the Notch, formed between Saddle Mountain and another adjacent one. This Notch is otherwise called the Bellowspipe, being a long and narrow valley, with a steep wall on either side. The walls are very high, and the fallen timbers lie strewed adown the precipitous descent. The valley gradually descends from the narrowest part of the Notch, and a stream of water flows through the midst of it, which, farther onward in its course, turns a mill. The valley is cultivated, there being two or three farm-houses towards the northern end, and extensive fields of grass beyond, where stand the hay-mows of last year, with the hay cut away regularly around their bases. All the more distant portion of the valley is lonesome in the extreme; and on the hither side of the narrowest part the land is uncultivated, partly overgrown with forest, partly used as sheep-pastures, for which purpose it is not nearly so barren as sheep-pastures usually are. On the right, facing southward, rises Graylock, all beshagged with forest, and with headlong precipices of rock appearing among the black pines. Southward there is a most extensive view of the valley, in which Saddleback and its companion mountains are crouched,--wide and far,--a broad, misty valley, fenced in by a mountain wall, and with villages scattered along it, and miles of forest, which appear but as patches scattered here and there upon the landscape. The descent from the Notch southward is much more abrupt than on the other side. A stream flows down through it; and along much of its course it has washed away all the earth from a ledge of rock, and then formed a descending pavement, smooth and regular, which the scanty flow of water scarcely suffices to moisten at this period, though a heavy rain, probably, would send down a torrent, raging, roaring, and foaming. I descended along the course of the stream, and sometimes on the rocky path of it, and, turning off towards the south village, followed a cattle-path till I came to a cottage. A horse was standing saddled near the door, but I did not see the rider. I knocked, and an elderly woman, of very pleasing and intelligent aspect, came at the summons, and gave me directions how to get to the south village through an orchard and "across lots," which would bring me into the road near the Quaker meeting-house, with gravestones round it. While she talked, a young woman came into the pantry from the kitchen, with a dirty little brat, whose squalls I had heard all along; the reason of his outcry being that his mother was washing him,--a very unusual process, if I may judge by his looks. I asked the old lady for some water, and she gave me, I think, the most delicious I ever tasted. These mountaineers ought certainly to be temperance people; for their mountain springs supply them with a liquor of which the cities and the low countries can have no conception. Pure, fresh, almost sparkling, exhilarating,--such water as Adam and Eve drank. I passed the south village on a by-road, without entering it, and was taken up by the stage from Pittsfield a mile or two this side of it. Platt, the driver, a friend of mine, talked familiarly about many matters, intermixing his talk with remarks on his team and addresses to the beasts composing it, who were three mares, and a horse on the near wheel,--all bays. The horse he pronounced "a dreadful nice horse to go; but if he could shirk off the work upon the others, he would,"--which unfairness Platt corrected by timely strokes of the whip whenever the horse's traces were not tightened. One of the mares wished to go faster, hearing another horse tramp behind her; "and nothing made her so mad," quoth Platt, "as to be held in when she wanted to go." The near leader started. "O the little devil," said he, "how skittish she is!" Another stumbled, and Platt bantered her thereupon. Then he told of foundering through snow-drifts in winter, and carrying the mail on his back--four miles from Bennington. And thus we jogged on, and got to "mine inn" just as the dinner-bell was ringing. Pig-drover, with two hundred pigs. They are much more easily driven on rainy days than on fair ones. One of his pigs, a large one, particularly troublesome as to running off the road towards every object, and leading the drove. Thirteen miles about a day's journey, in the course of which the drover has to travel about thirty. They have a dog, who runs to and fro indefatigably, barking at those who straggle on the flanks of the line of march, then scampering to the other side and barking there, and sometimes having quite an affair of barking and surly grunting with some refractory pig, who has found something to munch, and refuses to quit it. The pigs are fed on corn at their halts. The drove has some ultimate market, and individuals are peddled out on the march. Some die. Merino sheep (which are much raised in Berkshire) are good for hardly anything to eat,--a fair-sized quarter dwindling down to almost nothing in the process of roasting. The tavern-keeper in Stockbridge, an elderly bachelor,--a dusty, black-dressed, antiquated figure, with a white neckcloth setting off a dim, yellow complexion, looking like one of the old wax-figures of ministers in a corner of the New England Museum. He did not seem old, but like a middle-aged man, who had been preserved in some dark and cobwebby corner for a great while. He is asthmatic. In Connecticut, and also sometimes in Berkshire, the villages are situated on the most elevated ground that can be found, so that they are visible for miles around. Litchfield is a remarkable instance, occupying a high plain, without the least shelter from the winds, and with almost as wide an expanse of view as from a mountain-top. The streets are very wide,--two or three hundred feet, at least,--with wide, green margins, and sometimes there is a wide green space between two road tracks. Nothing can be neater than the churches and houses. The graveyard is on the slope, and at the foot of a swell, filled with old and new gravestones, some of red freestone, some of gray granite, most of them of white marble, and one of cast-iron with an inscription of raised letters. There was one of the date of about 1776, on which was represented the third-length, has-relief portrait of a gentleman in a wig and other costume of that day; and as a framework about this portrait was wreathed a garland of vine-leaves and heavy clusters of grapes. The deceased should have been a jolly bottleman; but the epitaph indicated nothing of the kind. In a remote part of the graveyard,--remote from the main body of dead people,--I noticed a humble, mossy stone, on which I traced out "To the memory of Julia Africa, servant of Rev." somebody. There were also the half-obliterated traces of other graves, without any monuments, in the vicinity of this one. Doubtless the slaves here mingled their dark clay with the earth. At Litchfield there is a doctor who undertakes to cure deformed people,-- and humpbacked, lame, and otherwise defective folk go there. Besides these, there were many ladies and others boarding there, for the benefit of the air, I suppose. At Canaan, Connecticut, before the tavern, there is a doorstep, two or three paces large in each of its dimensions; and on this is inscribed the date when the builder of the house came to the town,--namely, 1731. The house was built in 1751. Then follows the age and death of the patriarch (at over ninety) and his wife, and the births of, I think, eleven sons and daughters. It would seem as if they were buried underneath; and many people take that idea. It is odd to put a family record in a spot where it is sure to be trampled underfoot. At Springfield, a blind man, who came in the stage,--elderly,--sitting in the reading-room, and, as soon as seated, feeling all around him with his cane, so as to find out his locality, and know where he may spit with safety! The cautious and scientific air with which he measures his distances. Then he sits still and silent a long while,--then inquires the hour,--then says, "I should like to go to bed." Nobody of the house being near, he receives no answer, and repeats impatiently, "I'll go to bed." One would suppose, that, conscious of his dependent condition, he would have learned a different sort of manner; but probably he has lived where he could command attention. Two travellers, eating bread and cheese of their own in the bar-room at Stockbridge, and drinking water out of a tumbler borrowed from the landlord. Eating immensely, and, when satisfied, putting the relics in their trunk, and rubbing down the table. Sample ears of various kinds of corn hanging over the looking-glass or in the bars of taverns. Four ears on a stalk (good ones) are considered a heavy harvest. A withered, yellow, sodden, dead-alive looking woman,--an opium-eater. A deaf man, with a great fancy for conversation, so that his interlocutor is compelled to halloo and bawl over the rumbling of the coach, amid which he hears best. The sharp tones of a woman's voice appear to pierce his dull organs much better than a masculine voice. The impossibility of saying anything but commonplace matters to a deaf man, of expressing any delicacy of thought in a raised tone, of giving utterance to fine feelings in a bawl. This man's deafness seemed to have made his mind and feelings uncommonly coarse; for, after the opium-eater had renewed an old acquaintance with him, almost the first question he asked, in his raised voice, was, "Do you eat opium now?" At Hartford, the keeper of a temperance hotel reading a Hebrew Bible in the bar by means of a lexicon and an English version. A negro, respectably dressed, and well-mounted on horseback, travelling on his own hook, calling for oats, and drinking a glass of brandy-and-water at the bar, like any other Christian. A young man from Wisconsin said, "I wish I had a thousand such fellows in Alabama." It made a strange impression on me,--the negro was really so human!--and to talk of owning a thousand like him! Left North Adams September 11th. Reached home September 24th, 1838. October 24th.--View from a chamber of the Tremont of the brick edifice, opposite, on the other side of Beacon Street. At one of the lower windows, a woman at work; at one above, a lady hemming a ruff or some such ladylike thing. She is pretty, young, and married; for a little boy comes to her knees, and she parts his hair, and caresses him in a motherly way. A note on colored paper is brought her; and she reads it, and puts it in her bosom. At another window, at some depth within the apartment, a gentleman in a dressing-gown, reading, and rocking in an easy-chair, etc., etc., etc. A rainy day, and people passing with umbrellas disconsolately between the spectator and these various scenes of indoor occupation and comfort. With this sketch might be mingled and worked up some story that was going on within the chamber where the spectator was situated. All the dead that had ever been drowned in a certain lake to arise. The history of a small lake from the first, till it was drained. An autumnal feature,--boys had swept together the fallen leaves from the elms along the street in one huge pile, and had made a hollow, nest-shaped, in this pile, in which three or four of them lay curled, like young birds. A tombstone-maker, whom Miss B----y knew, used to cut cherubs on the top of the tombstones, and had the art of carving the cherubs' faces in the likeness of the deceased. A child of Rev. E. P------ was threatened with total blindness. A week after the father had been informed of this, the child died; and, in the mean while, his feelings had become so much the more interested in the child, from its threatened blindness, that it was infinitely harder to give it up. Had he not been aware of it till after the child's death, it would probably have been a consolation. Singular character of a gentleman (H. H------, Esq.) living in retirement in Boston,--esteemed a man of nicest honor, and his seclusion attributed to wounded feelings on account of the failure of his firm in business. Yet it was discovered that this man had been the mover of intrigues by which men in business had been ruined, and their property absorbed, none knew how or by whom; love-affairs had been broken off, and much other mischief done; and for years he was not in the least suspected. He died suddenly, soon after suspicion fell upon him. Probably it was the love of management, of having an influence on affairs, that produced these phenomena. Character of a man who, in himself and his external circumstances, shall be equally and totally false: his fortune resting on baseless credit,-- his patriotism assumed,--his domestic affections, his honor and honesty, all a sham. His own misery in the midst of it,--it making the whole universe, heaven and earth alike, all unsubstantial mockery to him. Dr. Johnson's penance in Uttoxeter Market. A man who does penance in what might appear to lookers-on the most glorious and triumphal circumstance of his life. Each circumstance of the career of an apparently successful man to be a penance and torture to him on account of some fundamental error in early life. A person to catch fire-flies, and try to kindle his household fire with them. It would be symbolical of something. Thanksgiving at the Worcester Lunatic Asylum. A ball and dance of the inmates in the evening,--a furious lunatic dancing with the principal's wife. Thanksgiving in an almshouse might make a better sketch. The house on the eastern corner of North and Essex Streets [Salem], supposed to have been built about 1640, had, say sixty years later, a brick turret erected, wherein one of the ancestors of the present occupants used to practise alchemy. He was the operative of a scientific person in Boston, the director. There have been other alchemists of old in this town,--one who kept his fire burning seven weeks, and then lost the elixir by letting it go out. An ancient wineglass (Miss Ingersol's), long-stalked, with a small, cup-like bowl, round which is wreathed a branch of grape-vine, with a rich cluster of grapes, and leaves spread out. There is also some kind of a bird flying. The whole is excellently cut or engraved. In the Duke of Buckingham's comedy "The Chances," Don Frederic says of Don John (they are two noble Spanish gentlemen), "One bed contains us ever." A person, while awake and in the business of life, to think highly of another, and place perfect confidence in him, but to be troubled with dreams in which this seeming friend appears to act the part of a most deadly enemy. Finally it is discovered that the dream-character is the true one. The explanation would be--the soul's instinctive perception. Pandora's box for a child's story. Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting. "A person to look back on a long life ill-spent, and to picture forth a beautiful life which he would live, if he could be permitted to begin his life over again. Finally to discover that he had only been dreaming of old age,--that he was really young, and could live such a life as he had pictured." A newspaper, purporting to be published in a family, and satirizing the political and general world by advertisements, remarks on domestic affairs,--advertisement of a lady's lost thimble, etc. L. H------. She was unwilling to die, because she had no friends to meet her in the other world. Her little son F. being very ill, on his recovery she confessed a feeling of disappointment, having supposed that he would have gone before, and welcomed her into heaven! H. L. C------ heard from a French Canadian a story of a young couple in Acadie. On their marriage day, all the men of the Province were summoned to assemble in the church to hear a proclamation. When assembled, they were all seized and shipped off to be distributed through New England,-- among them the new bridegroom. His bride set off in search of him,-- wandered about New England all her lifetime, and at last, when she was old, she found her bridegroom on his deathbed. The shock was so great that it killed her likewise. January 4th, 1839.--When scattered clouds are resting on the bosoms of hills, it seems as if one might climb into the heavenly region, earth being so intermixed, with sky, and gradually transformed into it. A stranger, dying, is buried; and after many years two strangers come in search of his grave, and open it. The strange sensation of a person who feels himself an object of deep interest, and close observation, and various construction of all his actions, by another person. Letters in the shape of figures of men, etc. At a distance, the words composed by the letters are alone distinguishable. Close at hand, the figures alone are seen, and not distinguished as letters. Thus things may have a positive, a relative, and a composite meaning, according to the point of view. "Passing along the street, all muddy with puddles, and suddenly seeing the sky reflected in these puddles in such a way as quite to conceal the foulness of the street." A young man in search of happiness,--to be personified by a figure whom he expects to meet in a crowd, and is to be recognized by certain signs. All these signs are given by a figure in various garbs and actions, but he does not recognize that this is the sought-for person till too late. If cities were built by the sound of music, then some edifices would appear to be constructed by grave, solemn tones,--others to have danced forth to light, fantastic airs. Familiar spirits, according to Lilly, used to be worn in rings, watches, sword-hilts. Thumb-rings were set with jewels of extraordinary size. A very fanciful person, when dead, to have his burial in a cloud. "A story there passeth of an Indian king that sent unto Alexander a fair woman, fed with aconite and other poisons, with this intent complexionally to destroy him!"--Sir T. Browne. Dialogues of the unborn, like dialogues of the dead,--or between two young children. A mortal symptom for a person being to lose his own aspect and to take the family lineaments, which were hidden deep in the healthful visage. Perhaps a seeker might thus recognize the man he had sought, after long intercourse with him unknowingly. Some moderns to build a fire on Ararat with the remnants of the ark. Two little boats of cork, with a magnet in one and steel in the other. To have ice in one's blood. To make a story of all strange and impossible things,--as the Salamander, the Phoenix. The semblance of a human face to be formed on the side of a mountain, or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae. The face is an object of curiosity for years or centuries, and by and by a boy is born, whose features gradually assume the aspect of that portrait. At some critical juncture, the resemblance is found to be perfect. A prophecy may be connected. A person to be the death of his beloved in trying to raise her to more than mortal perfection; yet this should be a comfort to him for having aimed so highly and holily. 1840.--A man, unknown, conscious of temptation to secret crimes, puts up a note in church, desiring the prayers of the congregation for one so tempted. Some most secret thing, valued and honored between lovers, to be hung up in public places, and made the subject of remark by the city,--remarks, sneers, and laughter. To make a story out of a scarecrow, giving it odd attributes. From different points of view, it should appear to change,--now an old man, now an old woman,--a gunner, a farmer, or the Old Nick. A ground-sparrow's nest in the slope of a bank, brought to view by mowing the grass, but still sheltered and comfortably hidden by a blackberry-vine trailing over it. At first, four brown-speckled eggs,-- then two little bare young ones, which, on the slightest noise, lift their heads, and open wide mouths for food,--immediately dropping their heads, after a broad gape. The action looks as if they were making a most earnest, agonized petition. In another egg, as in a coffin, I could discern the quiet, death-like form of the little bird. The whole thing had something awful and mysterious in it. A coroner's inquest on a murdered man,--the gathering of the jury to be described, and the characters of the members,--some with secret guilt upon their souls. To represent a man as spending life and the intensest labor in the accomplishment of some mechanical trifle,--as in making a miniature coach to be drawn by fleas, or a dinner-service to be put into a cherry-stone. A bonfire to be made of the gallows and of all symbols of evil. The love of posterity is a consequence of the necessity of death. If a man were sure of living forever here, he would not care about his offspring. The device of a sun-dial for a monument over a grave, with some suitable motto. A man with the right perception of things,--a feeling within him of what is true and what is false. It might be symbolized by the talisman with which, in fairy tales, an adventurer was enabled to distinguish enchantments from realities. A phantom of the old royal governors, or some such shadowy pageant, on the night of the evacuation of Boston by the British. ------ taking my likeness, I said that such changes would come over my face that she would not know me when we met again in heaven. "See if I do not!" said she, smiling. There was the most peculiar and beautiful humor in the point itself, and in her manner, that can be imagined. Little F. H------ used to look into E----'s mouth to see where her smiles came from. "There is no Measure for Measure to my affections. If the earth fails me, I can die, and go to GOD," said ------. Selfishness is one of the qualities apt to inspire love. This might be thought out at great length. Boston, July 3d, 1839.--I do not mean to imply that I am unhappy or discontented, for this is not the case. My life only is a burden in the same way that it is to every toilsome man; and mine is a healthy weariness, such as needs only a night's sleep to remove it. But from henceforth forever I shall be entitled to call the sons of toil my brethren, and shall know how to sympathize with them, seeing that I likewise have risen at the dawn, and borne the fervor of the midday sun, nor turned my heavy footsteps homeward till eventide. Years hence, perhaps, the experience that my heart is acquiring now will flow out in truth and wisdom. August 27th.--I have been stationed all day at the end of Long Wharf, and I rather think that I had the most eligible situation of anybody in Boston. I was aware that it must be intensely hot in the midst of the city; but there was only a short space of uncomfortable heat in my region, half-way towards the centre of the harbor; and almost all the time there was a pure and delightful breeze, fluttering and palpitating, sometimes shyly kissing my brow, then dying away, and then rushing upon me in livelier sport, so that I was fain to settle my straw hat more tightly upon my head. Late in the afternoon, there was a sunny shower, which came down so like a benediction that it seemed ungrateful to take shelter in the cabin or to put up an umbrella. Then there was a rainbow, or a large segment of one, so exceedingly brilliant and of such long endurance that I almost fancied it was stained into the sky, and would continue there permanently. And there were clouds floating all about,-- great clouds and small, of all glorious and lovely hues (save that imperial crimson which was revealed to our united gaze),--so glorious indeed, and so lovely, that I had a fantasy of heaven's being broken into fleecy fragments and dispersed through space, with its blest inhabitants dwelling blissfully upon those scattered islands. February 7th, 1840.--What beautiful weather this is!--beautiful, at least, so far as sun, sky, and atmosphere are concerned, though a poor, wingless biped is sometimes constrained to wish that he could raise himself a little above the earth. How much mud and mire, how many pools of unclean water, how many slippery footsteps, and perchance heavy tumbles, might be avoided, if we could tread but six inches above the crust of this world. Physically we cannot do this; our bodies cannot; but it seems to me that our hearts and minds may keep themselves above moral mud-puddles and other discomforts of the soul's pathway. February 11th.--I have been measuring coal all day, on board of a black little British schooner, in a dismal dock at the north end of the city. Most of the time I paced the deck to keep myself warm; for the wind (northeast, I believe) blew up through the dock, as if it had been the pipe of a pair of bellows. The vessel lying deep between two wharfs, there was no more delightful prospect, on the right hand and on the left, than the posts and timbers, half immersed in the water, and covered with ice, which the rising and falling of successive tides had left upon them, so that they looked like immense icicles. Across the water, however, not more than half a mile off, appeared the Bunker Hill Monument; and what interested me considerably more, a church-steeple, with the dial of a clock upon it, whereby I was enabled to measure the march of the weary hours. Sometimes I descended into the dirty little cabin of the schooner, and warmed myself by a red-hot stove, among biscuit-barrels, pots and kettles, sea-chests, and innumerable lumber of all sorts,--my olfactories, meanwhile, being greatly refreshed by the odor of a pipe, which the captain, or some one of his crew, was smoking. But at last came the sunset, with delicate clouds, and a purple light upon the islands; and I blessed it, because it was the signal of my release. February 12th.--All day long again have I been engaged in a very black business,--as black as a coal; and, though my face and hands have undergone a thorough purification, I feel not altogether fit to hold communion with doves. Methinks my profession is somewhat akin to that of a chimney-sweeper; but the latter has the advantage over me, because, after climbing up through the darksome flue of the chimney, he emerges into the midst of the golden air, and sings out his melodies far over the heads of the whole tribe of weary earth-plodders. My toil to-day has been cold and dull enough; nevertheless, I was neither cold nor dull. March 15th.--I pray that in one year more I may find some way of escaping from this unblest Custom-House; for it is a very grievous thraldom. I do detest all offices,--all, at least, that are held on a political tenure. And I want nothing to do with politicians. Their hearts wither away, and die out of their bodies. Their consciences are turned to india-rubber, or to some substance as black as that, and which will stretch as much. One thing, if no more, I have gained by my custom-house experience,--to know a politician. It is a knowledge which no previous thought or power of sympathy could have taught me, because the animal, or the machine rather, is not in nature. March 23d.--I do think that it is the doom laid upon me, of murdering so many of the brightest hours of the day at the Custom-House, that makes such havoc with my wits, for here I am again trying to write worthily, . . . . yet with a sense as if all the noblest part of man had been left out of my composition, or had decayed out of it since my nature was given to my own keeping. . . . Never comes any bird of Paradise into that dismal region. A salt or even a coal ship is ten million times preferable; for there the sky is above me, and the fresh breeze around me, and my thoughts, having hardly anything to do with my occupation, are as free as air. Nevertheless, you are not to fancy that the above paragraph gives a correct idea of my mental and spiritual state. . . . It is only once in a while that the image and desire of a better and happier life makes me feel the iron of my chain; for, after all, a human spirit may find no insufficiency of food fit for it, even in the Custom-House. And, with such materials as these, I do think and feel and learn things that are worth knowing, and which I should not know unless I had learned them there, so that the present portion of my life shall not be quite left out of the sum of my real existence. . . . It is good for me, on many accounts, that my life has had this passage in it. I know much more than I did a year ago. I have a stronger sense of power to act as a man among men. I have gained worldly wisdom, and wisdom also that is not altogether of this world. And, when I quit this earthly cavern where I am now buried, nothing will cling to me that ought to be left behind. Men will not perceive, I trust, by my look, or the tenor of my thoughts and feelings, that I have been a custom-house officer. April 7th.--It appears to me to have been the most uncomfortable day that ever was inflicted on poor mortals. . . . Besides the bleak, unkindly air, I have been plagued by two sets of coal-shovellers at the same time, and have been obliged to keep two separate tallies simultaneously. But I was conscious that all this was merely a vision and a fantasy, and that, in reality, I was not half frozen by the bitter blast, nor tormented by those grimy coal-beavers, but that I was basking quietly in the sunshine of eternity. . . . Any sort of bodily and earthly torment may serve to make us sensible that we have a soul that is not within the jurisdiction of such shadowy demons,--it separates the immortal within us from the mortal. But the wind has blown my brains into such confusion that I cannot philosophize now. April 19th.--. . . . What a beautiful day was yesterday! My spirit rebelled against being confined in my darksome dungeon at the Custom-House. It seemed a sin,--a murder of the joyful young day,--a quenching of the sunshine. Nevertheless, there I was kept a prisoner till it was too late to fling myself on a gentle wind, and be blown away into the country. . . . When I shall be again free, I will enjoy all things with the fresh simplicity of a child of five years old. I shall grow young again, made all over anew. I will go forth and stand in a summer shower, and all the worldly dust that has collected on me shall be washed away at once, and my heart will be like a bank of fresh flowers for the weary to rest upon. . . . 6 P. M.--I went out to walk about an hour ago, and found it very pleasant, though there was a somewhat cool wind. I went round and across the Common, and stood on the highest point of it, where I could see miles and miles into the country. Blessed be God for this green tract, and the view which it affords, whereby we poor citizens may be put in mind, sometimes, that all his earth is not composed of blocks of brick houses, and of stone or wooden pavements. Blessed be God for the sky too, though the smoke of the city may somewhat change its aspect,--but still it is better than if each street were covered over with a roof. There were a good many people walking on the mall,--mechanics apparently, and shopkeepers' clerks, with their wives; and boys were rolling on the grass, and I would have liked to lie down and roll too. April 30th.--. . . . I arose this morning feeling more elastic than I have throughout the winter; for the breathing of the ocean air has wrought a very beneficial effect. . . . What a beautiful, most beautiful afternoon this has been! It was a real happiness to live. If I had been merely a vegetable,--a hawthorn-bush, for instance,-- I must have been happy in such an air and sunshine; but, having a mind and a soul, . . . . I enjoyed somewhat more than mere vegetable happiness. . . . The footsteps of May can be traced upon the islands in the harbor, and I have been watching the tints of green upon them gradually deepening, till now they are almost as beautiful as they ever can be. May 19th.--. . . . Lights and shadows are continually flitting across my inward sky, and I know neither whence they come nor whither they go; nor do I inquire too closely into them. It is dangerous to look too minutely into such phenomena. It is apt to create a substance where at first there was a mere shadow. . . . If at any time there should seem to be an expression unintelligible from one soul to another, it is best not to strive to interpret it in earthly language, but wait for the soul to make itself understood; and, were we to wait a thousand years, we need deem it no more time than we can spare. . . . It is not that I have any love of mystery, but because I abhor it, and because I have often felt that words may be a thick and darksome veil of mystery between the soul and the truth which it seeks. Wretched were we, indeed, if we had no better means of communicating ourselves, no fairer garb in which to array our essential being, than these poor rags and tatters of Babel. Yet words are not without their use even for purposes of explanation,--but merely for explaining outward acts and all sorts of external things, leaving the soul's life and action to explain itself in its own way. What a misty disquisition I have scribbled! I would not read it over for sixpence. May 29th.--Rejoice with me, for I am free from a load of coal which has been pressing upon my shoulders throughout all the hot weather. I am convinced that Christian's burden consisted of coal; and no wonder he felt so much relieved, when it fell off and rolled into the sepulchre. His load, however, at the utmost, could not have been more than a few bushels, whereas mine was exactly one hundred and thirty-five chaldrons and seven tubs. May 30th.--. . . . On board my salt-vessels and colliers there are many things happening, many pictures which, in future years, when I am again busy at the loom of fiction, I could weave in; but my fancy is rendered so torpid by my ungenial way of life that I cannot sketch off the scenes and portraits that interest me, and I am forced to trust them to my memory, with the hope of recalling them at some more favorable period. For these three or four days I have been observing a little Mediterranean boy from Malaga, not more than ten or eleven years old, but who is already a citizen of the world, and seems to be just as gay and contented on the deck of a Yankee coal-vessel as he could be while playing beside his mother's door. It is really touching to see how free and happy he is,--how the little fellow takes the whole wide world for his home, and all mankind for his family. He talks Spanish,--at least that is his native tongue; but he is also very intelligible in English, and perhaps he likewise has smatterings of the speech of other countries, whither the winds may have wafted this little sea-bird. He is a Catholic; and yesterday being Friday he caught some fish and fried them for his dinner in sweet-oil, and really they looked so delicate that I almost wished he would invite me to partake. Every once in a while he undresses himself and leaps overboard, plunging down beneath the waves as if the sea were as native to him as the earth. Then he runs up the rigging of the vessel as if he meant to fly away through the air. I must remember this little boy, and perhaps I may make something more beautiful of him than these rough and imperfect touches would promise. June 11th.--. . . . I could wish that the east-wind would blow every day from ten o'clock till five; for there is great refreshment in it to us poor mortals that toil beneath the sun. We must not think too unkindly even of the east-wind. It is not, perhaps, a wind to be loved, even in its benignest moods; but there are seasons when I delight to feel its breath upon my cheek, though it be never advisable to throw open my bosom and take it into my heart, as I would its gentle sisters of the south and west. To-day, if I had been on the wharves, the slight chill of an east-wind would have been a blessing, like the chill of death to a world-weary man. . . . . But this has been one of the idlest days that I ever spent in Boston. . . . In the morning, soon after breakfast, I went to the Athenaeum gallery, and, during the hour or two that I stayed, not a single visitor came in. Some people were putting up paintings in one division of the room; but I had the other all to myself. There are two pictures there by our friend Sarah Clarke,--scenes in Kentucky. From the picture-gallery I went to the reading-rooms of the Athenaeum, and there read the magazines till nearly twelve; thence to the Custom-House, and soon afterwards to dinner with Colonel Hall; then back to the Custom-House, but only for a little while. There was nothing in the world to do, and so at two o'clock I cane home and lay down, with the Faerie Queene in my hand. August 21st.--Last night I slept like a child of five years old, and had no dreams at all,--unless just before it was time to rise, and I have forgotten what those dreams were. After I was fairly awake this morning, I felt very bright and airy, and was glad that I had been compelled to snatch two additional hours of existence from annihilation. The sun's disk was but half above the ocean's verge when I ascended the ship's side. These early morning hours are very lightsome and quiet. Almost the whole day I have been in the shade, reclining on a pile of sails, so that the life and spirit are not entirely worn out of me. . . . The wind has been east this afternoon,--perhaps in the forenoon, too,--and I could not help feeling refreshed, when the gentle chill of its breath stole over my cheek. I would fain abominate the east-wind, . . . . but it persists in doing me kindly offices now and then. What a perverse wind it is! Its refreshment is but another mode of torment. Salem, Oct. 4th. Union Street [Family Mansion]--. . . . Here I sit in my old accustomed chamber, where I used to sit in days gone by. . . . Here I have written many tales, many that have been burned to ashes, many that doubtless deserved the same fate. This claims to be called a haunted chamber, for thousands upon thousands of visions have appeared to me in it; and some few of them have become visible to the world. If ever I should have a biographer, he ought to make great mention of this chamber in my memoirs, because so much of my lonely youth was wasted here, and here my mind and character were formed; and here I have been glad and hopeful, and here I have been despondent. And here I sat a long, long time, waiting patiently for the world to know me, and sometimes wondering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever know me at all,-- at least, till I were in my grave. And sometimes it seemed as if I were already in the grave, with only life enough to be chilled and benumbed. But oftener I was happy,--at least, as happy as I then knew how to be, or was aware of the possibility of being. By and by, the world found me out in my lonely chamber, and called me forth,--not, indeed, with a loud roar of acclamation, but rather with a still, small voice,--and forth I went, but found nothing in the world that I thought preferable to my old solitude till now. . . . And now I begin to understand why I was imprisoned so many years in this lonely chamber, and why I could never break through the viewless bolts and bars; for if I had sooner made my escape into the world, I should have grown hard and rough, and been covered with earthly dust, and my heart might have become callous by rude encounters with the multitude. . . . But living in solitude till the fulness of time was come, I still kept the dew of my youth and the freshness of my heart. . . . I used to think I could imagine all passions, all feelings, and states of the heart and mind; but how little did I know! . . . . Indeed, we are but shadows; we are not endowed with real life, and all that seems most real about us is but the thinnest substance of a dream,--till the heart be touched. That touch creates us,--then we begin to be,--thereby we are beings of reality and inheritors of eternity. . . . When we shall be endowed with our spiritual bodies, I think that they will be so constituted that we may send thoughts and feelings any distance in no time at all, and transfuse them warm and fresh into the consciousness of those whom we love. . . . But, after all, perhaps it is not wise to intermix fantastic ideas with the reality of affection. Let us content ourselves to be earthly creatures, and hold communion of spirit in such modes as are ordained to us. . . . I was not at the end of Long Wharf to-day, but in a distant region,--my authority having been put in requisition to quell a rebellion of the captain and "gang" of shovellers aboard a coal-vessel. I would you could have beheld the awful sternness of my visage and demeanor in the execution of this momentous duty. Well,--I have conquered the rebels, and proclaimed an amnesty; so to-morrow I shall return to that paradise of measurers, the end of Long Wharf,--not to my former salt-ship, she being now discharged, but to another, which will probably employ me well-nigh a fortnight longer. . . . Salt is white and pure,--there is something holy in salt. . . . I have observed that butterflies--very broad-winged and magnificent butterflies--frequently come on board of the salt-ship, where I am at work. What have these bright strangers to do on Long Wharf, where there are no flowers nor any green thing,--nothing but brick storehouses, stone piers, black ships, and the bustle of toilsome men, who neither look up to the blue sky, nor take note of these wandering gems of the air? I cannot account for them, unless they are the lovely fantasies of the mind. November.--. . . . How delightfully long the evenings are now! I do not get intolerably tired any longer; and my thoughts sometimes wander back to literature, and I have momentary impulses to write stories. But this will not be at present. The utmost that I can hope to do will be to portray some of the characteristics of the life which I am now living, and of the people with whom I am brought into contact, for future use. . . . The days are cold now, the air eager and nipping, yet it suits my health amazingly. I feel as if I could run a hundred miles at a stretch, and jump over all the houses that happen to be in my way. . . . I have never had the good luck to profit much, or indeed any, by attending lectures, so that I think the ticket had better be bestowed on somebody who can listen to Mr. ------ more worthily. My evenings are very precious to me, and some of them are unavoidably thrown away in paying or receiving visits, or in writing letters of business, and therefore I prize the rest as if the sands of the hour-glass were gold or diamond dust. I was invited to dine at Mr. Baucroft's yesterday with Miss Margaret Fuller; but Providence had given me some business to do, for which I was very thankful. Is not this a beautiful morning? The sun shines into my soul. April, 1841.--. . . . I have been busy all day, from early breakfast-time till late in the afternoon; and old Father Time has gone onward somewhat less heavily than is his wont when I am imprisoned within the walls of the Custom-House. It has been a brisk, breezy day, an effervescent atmosphere, and I have enjoyed it in all its freshness,--breathing air which had not been breathed in advance by the hundred thousand pairs of lungs which have common and indivisible property in the atmosphere of this great city. My breath had never belonged to anybody but me. It came fresh from the wilderness of ocean. . . . It was exhilarating to see the vessels, how they bounded over the waves, while a sheet of foam broke out around them. I found a good deal of enjoyment, too, in the busy scene around me; for several vessels were disgorging themselves (what an unseemly figure is this,--"disgorge," quotha, as if the vessels were sick) on the wharf, and everybody seemed to be working with might and main. It pleased me to think that I also had a part to act in the material and tangible business of this life, and that a portion of all this industry could not have gone on without my presence. Nevertheless, I must not pride myself too much on my activity and utilitarianism. I shall, doubtless, soon bewail myself at being compelled to earn my bread by taking some little share in the toils of mortal men. . . . Articulate words are a harsh clamor and dissonance. When man arrives at his highest perfection, he will again be dumb! for I suppose he was dumb at the Creation, and must go round an entire circle in order to return to that blessed state. END OF VOL. I 
7879	----	PASSAGES FROM THE FRENCH AND ITALIAN NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. I. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS IN FRANCE AND ITALY. FRANCE. Hotel de Louvre, January 6th, 1858.--On Tuesday morning, our dozen trunks and half-dozen carpet-bags being already packed and labelled, we began to prepare for our journey two or three hours before light. Two cabs were at the door by half past six, and at seven we set out for the London Bridge station, while it was still dark and bitterly cold. There were already many people in the streets, growing more numerous as we drove city-ward; and, in Newgate Street, there was such a number of market-carts, that we almost came to a dead lock with some of them. At the station we found several persons who were apparently going in the same train with us, sitting round the fire of the waiting-room. Since I came to England there has hardly been a morning when I should have less willingly bestirred myself before daylight; so sharp and inclement was the atmosphere. We started at half past eight, having taken through tickets to Paris by way of Folkestone and Boulogne. A foot-warmer (a long, flat tin utensil, full of hot water) was put into the carriage just before we started; but it did not make us more than half comfortable, and the frost soon began to cloud the windows, and shut out the prospect, so that we could only glance at the green fields--immortally green, whatever winter can do against them--and at, here and there, a stream or pool with the ice forming on its borders. It was the first cold weather of a very mild season. The snow began to fall in scattered and almost invisible flakes; and it seemed as if we had stayed our English welcome out, and were to find nothing genial and hospitable there any more. At Folkestone, we were deposited at a railway station close upon a shingly beach, on which the sea broke in foam, and which J----- reported as strewn with shells and star-fish; behind was the town, with an old church in the midst; and, close, at hand, the pier, where lay the steamer in which we were to embark. But the air was so wintry, that I had no heart to explore the town, or pick up shells with J----- on the beach; so we kept within doors during the two hours of our stay, now and then looking out of the windows at a fishing-boat or two, as they pitched and rolled with an ugly and irregular motion, such as the British Channel generally communicates to the craft that navigate it. At about one o'clock we went on board, and were soon under steam, at a rate that quickly showed a long line of the white cliffs of Albion behind us. It is a very dusky white, by the by, and the cliffs themselves do not seem, at a distance, to be of imposing height, and have too even an outline to be picturesque. As we increased our distance from England, the French coast came more and more distinctly in sight, with a low, wavy outline, not very well worth looking at, except because it was the coast of France. Indeed, I looked at it but little; for the wind was bleak and boisterous, and I went down into the cabin, where I found the fire very comfortable, and several people were stretched on sofas in a state of placid wretchedness. . . . I have never suffered from sea-sickness, but had been somewhat apprehensive of this rough strait between England and France, which seems to have more potency over people's stomachs than ten times the extent of sea in other quarters. Our passage was of two hours, at the end of which we landed on French soil, and found ourselves immediately in the clutches of the custom-house officers, who, however, merely made a momentary examination of my passport, and allowed us to pass without opening even one of our carpet-bags. The great bulk of our luggage had been registered through to Paris, for examination after our arrival there. We left Boulogne in about an hour after our arrival, when it was already a darkening twilight. The weather had grown colder than ever, since our arrival in sunny France, and the night was now setting in, wickedly black and dreary. The frost hardened upon the carriage windows in such thickness that I could scarcely scratch a peep-hole through it; but, from such glimpses as I could catch, the aspect of the country seemed pretty much to resemble the December aspect of my dear native land,--broad, bare, brown fields, with streaks of snow at the foot of ridges, and along fences, or in the furrows of ploughed soil. There was ice wherever there happened to be water to form it. We had feet-warmers in the carriage, but the cold crept in nevertheless; and I do not remember hardly in my life a more disagreeable short journey than this, my first advance into French territory. My impression of France will always be that it is an Arctic region. At any season of the year, the tract over which we passed yesterday must be an uninteresting one as regards its natural features; and the only adornment, as far as I could observe, which art has given it, consists in straight rows of very stiff-looking and slender-stemmed trees. In the dusk they resembled poplar-trees. Weary and frost-bitten,--morally, if not physically,--we reached Amiens in three or four hours, and here I underwent much annoyance from the French railway officials and attendants, who, I believe, did not mean to incommode me, but rather to forward my purposes as far as they well could. If they would speak slowly and distinctly I might understand them well enough, being perfectly familiar with the written language, and knowing the principles of its pronunciation; but, in their customary rapid utterance, it sounds like a string of mere gabble. When left to myself, therefore, I got into great difficulties. . . . It gives a taciturn personage like myself a new conception as to the value of speech, even to him, when he finds himself unable either to speak or understand. Finally, being advised on all hands to go to the Hotel du Rhin, we were carried thither in an omnibus, rattling over a rough pavement, through an invisible and frozen town; and, on our arrival, were ushered into a handsome salon, as chill as a tomb. They made a little bit of a wood-fire for us in a low and deep chimney-hole, which let a hundred times more heat escape up the flue than it sent into the room. In the morning we sallied forth to see the cathedral. The aspect of the old French town was very different from anything English; whiter, infinitely cleaner; higher and narrower houses, the entrance to most of which seeming to be through a great gateway, affording admission into a central court-yard; a public square, with a statue in the middle, and another statue in a neighboring street. We met priests in three-cornered hats, long frock-coats, and knee-breeches; also soldiers and gendarmes, and peasants and children, clattering over the pavements in wooden shoes. It makes a great impression of outlandishness to see the signs over the shop doors in a foreign tongue. If the cold had not been such as to dull my sense of novelty, and make all my perceptions torpid, I should have taken in a set of new impressions, and enjoyed them very much. As it was, I cared little for what I saw, but yet had life enough left to enjoy the cathedral of Amiens, which has many features unlike those of English cathedrals. It stands in the midst of the cold, white town, and has a high-shouldered look to a spectator accustomed to the minsters of England, which cover a great space of ground in proportion to their height. The impression the latter gives is of magnitude and mass; this French cathedral strikes one as lofty. The exterior is venerable, though but little time-worn by the action of the atmosphere; and statues still keep their places in numerous niches, almost as perfect as when first placed there in the thirteenth century. The principal doors are deep, elaborately wrought, pointed arches; and the interior seemed to us, at the moment, as grand as any that we had seen, and to afford as vast an idea of included space; it being of such an airy height, and with no screen between the chancel and nave, as in all the English cathedrals. We saw the differences, too, betwixt a church in which the same form of worship for which it was originally built is still kept up, and those of England, where it has been superseded for centuries; for here, in the recess of every arch of the side aisles, beneath each lofty window, there was a chapel dedicated to some Saint, and adorned with great marble sculptures of the crucifixion, and with pictures, execrably bad, in all cases, and various kinds of gilding and ornamentation. Immensely tall wax candles stand upon the altars of these chapels, and before one sat a woman, with a great supply of tapers, one of which was burning. I suppose these were to be lighted as offerings to the saints, by the true believers. Artificial flowers were hung at some of the shrines, or placed under glass. In every chapel, moreover, there was a confessional,--a little oaken structure, about as big as a sentry-box, with a closed part for the priest to sit in, and an open one for the penitent to kneel at, and speak, through the open-work of the priest's closet. Monuments, mural and others, to long-departed worthies, and images of the Saviour, the Virgin, and saints, were numerous everywhere about the church; and in the chancel there was a great deal of quaint and curious sculpture, fencing in the Holy of Holies, where the High Altar stands. There is not much painted glass; one or two very rich and beautiful rose-windows, however, that looked antique; and the great eastern window which, I think, is modern. The pavement has, probably, never been renewed, as one piece of work, since the structure was erected, and is foot-worn by the successive generations, though still in excellent repair. I saw one of the small, square stones in it, bearing the date of 1597, and no doubt there are a thousand older ones. It was gratifying to find the cathedral in such good condition, without any traces of recent repair; and it is perhaps a mark of difference between French and English character, that the Revolution in the former country, though all religious worship disappears before it, does not seem to have caused such violence to ecclesiastical monuments, as the Reformation and the reign of Puritanism in the latter. I did not see a mutilated shrine, or even a broken-nosed image, in the whole cathedral. But, probably, the very rage of the English fanatics against idolatrous tokens, and their smashing blows at them, were symptoms of sincerer religious faith than the French were capable of. These last did not care enough about their Saviour to beat down his crucified image; and they preserved the works of sacred art, for the sake only of what beauty there was in them. While we were in the cathedral, we saw several persons kneeling at their devotions on the steps of the chancel and elsewhere. One dipped his fingers in the holy water at the entrance: by the by, I looked into the stone basin that held it, and saw it full of ice. Could not all that sanctity at least keep it thawed? Priests--jolly, fat, mean-looking fellows, in white robes--went hither and thither, but did not interrupt or accost us. There were other peculiarities, which I suppose I shall see more of in my visits to other churches, but now we were all glad to make our stay as brief as possible, the atmosphere of the cathedral being so bleak, and its stone pavement so icy cold beneath our feet. We returned to the hotel, and the chambermaid brought me a book, in which she asked me to inscribe my name, age, profession, country, destination, and the authorization under which I travelled. After the freedom of an English hotel, so much greater than even that of an American one, where they make you disclose your name, this is not so pleasant. We left Amiens at half past one; and I can tell as little of the country between that place and Paris, as between Boulogne and Amiens. The windows of our railway carriage were already frosted with French breath when we got into it, and the ice grew thicker and thicker continually. I tried, at various times, to rub a peep-hole through, as before; but the ice immediately shot its crystallized tracery over it again; and, indeed, there was little or nothing to make it worth while to look out, so bleak was the scene. Now and then a chateau, too far off for its characteristics to be discerned; now and then a church, with a tall gray tower, and a little peak atop; here and there a village or a town, which we could not well see. At sunset there was just that clear, cold, wintry sky which I remember so well in America, but have never seen in England. At five we reached Paris, and were suffered to take a carriage to the hotel de Louvre, without any examination of the little luggage we had with us. Arriving, we took a suite of apartments, and the waiter immediately lighted a wax candle in each separate room. We might have dined at the table d'hote, but preferred the restaurant connected with and within the hotel. All the dishes were very delicate, and a vast change from the simple English system, with its joints, shoulders, beefsteaks, and chops; but I doubt whether English cookery, for the very reason that it is so simple, is not better for men's moral and spiritual nature than French. In the former case, you know that you are gratifying your animal needs and propensities, and are duly ashamed of it; but, in dealing with these French delicacies, you delude yourself into the idea that you are cultivating your taste while satisfying your appetite. This last, however, it requires a good deal of perseverance to accomplish. In the cathedral at Amiens there were printed lists of acts of devotion posted on the columns, such as prayers at the shrines of certain saints, whereby plenary indulgences might be gained. It is to be observed, however, that all these external forms were necessarily accompanied with true penitence and religious devotion. Hotel de Louvre, January 8th.--It was so fearfully cold this morning that I really felt little or no curiosity to see the city. . . . Until after one o'clock, therefore, I knew nothing of Paris except the lights which I had seen beneath our window the evening before, far, far downward, in the narrow Rue St. Honore, and the rumble of the wheels, which continued later than I was awake to hear it, and began again before dawn. I could see, too, tall houses, that seemed to be occupied in every story, and that had windows on the steep roofs. One of these houses is six stories high. This Rue St. Honore is one of the old streets in Paris, and is that in which Henry IV. was assassinated; but it has not, in this part of it, the aspect of antiquity. After one o'clock we all went out and walked along the Rue de Rivoli. . . . We are here, right in the midst of Paris, and close to whatever is best known to those who hear or read about it,--the Louvre being across the street, the Palais Royal but a little way off, the Tuileries joining to the Louvre, the Place de la Concorde just beyond, verging on which is the Champs Elysees. We looked about us for a suitable place to dine, and soon found the Restaurant des Echelles, where we entered at a venture, and were courteously received. It has a handsomely furnished saloon, much set off with gilding and mirrors; and appears to be frequented by English and Americans; its carte, a bound volume, being printed in English as well as French. . . . It was now nearly four o'clock, and too late to visit the galleries of the Louvre, or to do anything else but walk a little way along the street. The splendor of Paris, so far as I have seen, takes me altogether by surprise: such stately edifices, prolonging themselves in unwearying magnificence and beauty, and, ever and anon, a long vista of a street, with a column rising at the end of it, or a triumphal arch, wrought in memory of some grand event. The light stone or stucco, wholly untarnished by smoke and soot, puts London to the blush, if a blush could be seen on its dingy face; but, indeed, London is not to be mentioned, nor compared even, with Paris. I never knew what a palace was till I had a glimpse of the Louvre and the Tuileries; never had my idea of a city been gratified till I trod these stately streets. The life of the scene, too, is infinitely more picturesque than that of London, with its monstrous throng of grave faces and black coats; whereas, here, you see soldiers and priests, policemen in cocked hats, Zonaves with turbans, long mantles, and bronzed, half-Moorish faces; and a great many people whom you perceive to be outside of your experience, and know them ugly to look at, and fancy them villanous. Truly, I have no sympathies towards the French people; their eyes do not win me, nor do their glances melt and mingle with mine. But they do grand and beautiful things in the architectural way; and I am grateful for it. The Place de la Concorde is a most splendid square, large enough for a nation to erect trophies in of all its triumphs; and on one side of it is the Tuileries, on the opposite side the Champs Elysees, and, on a third, the Seine, adown which we saw large cakes of ice floating, beneath the arches of a bridge. The Champs Elysees, so far as I saw it, had not a grassy soil beneath its trees, but the bare earth, white and dusty. The very dust, if I saw nothing else, would assure me that I was out of England. We had time only to take this little walk, when it began to grow dusk; and, being so pitilessly cold, we hurried back to our hotel. Thus far, I think, what I have seen of Paris is wholly unlike what I expected; but very like an imaginary picture which I had conceived of St. Petersburg,-- new, bright, magnificent, and desperately cold. A great part of this architectural splendor is due to the present Emperor, who has wrought a great change in the aspect of the city within a very few years. A traveller, if he looks at the thing selfishly, ought to wish him a long reign and arbitrary power, since he makes it his policy to illustrate his capital with palatial edifices, which are, however, better for a stranger to look at, than for his own people to pay for. We have spent to-day chiefly in seeing some of the galleries of the Louvre. I must confess that the vast and beautiful edifice struck me far more than the pictures, sculpture, and curiosities which it contains,-- the shell more than the kernel inside; such noble suites of rooms and halls were those through which we first passed, containing Egyptian, and, farther onward, Greek and Roman antiquities; the walls cased in variegated marbles; the ceilings glowing with beautiful frescos; the whole extended into infinite vistas by mirrors that seemed like vacancy, and multiplied everything forever. The picture-rooms are not so brilliant, and the pictures themselves did not greatly win upon me in this one day. Many artists were employed in copying them, especially in the rooms hung with the productions of French painters. Not a few of these copyists were females; most of them were young men, picturesquely mustached and bearded; but some were elderly, who, it was pitiful to think, had passed through life without so much success as now to paint pictures of their own. From the pictures we went into a suite of rooms where are preserved many relics of the ancient and later kings of France; more relics of the elder ones, indeed, than I supposed had remained extant through the Revolution. The French seem to like to keep memorials of whatever they do, and of whatever their forefathers have done, even if it be ever so little to their credit; and perhaps they do not take matters sufficiently to heart to detest anything that has ever happened. What surprised me most were the golden sceptre and the magnificent sword and other gorgeous relics of Charlemagne,--a person whom I had always associated with a sheepskin cloak. There were suits of armor and weapons that had been worn and handled by a great many of the French kings; and a religious book that had belonged to St. Louis; a dressing-glass, most richly set with precious stones, which formerly stood on the toilet-table of Catherine de' Medici, and in which I saw my own face where hers had been. And there were a thousand other treasures, just as well worth mentioning as these. If each monarch could have been summoned from Hades to claim his own relics, we should have had the halls full of the old Childerics, Charleses, Bourbons and Capets, Henrys and Louises, snatching with ghostly hands at sceptres, swords, armor, and mantles; and Napoleon would have seen, apparently, almost everything that personally belonged to him,--his coat, his cocked hats, his camp-desk, his field-bed, his knives, forks, and plates, and even a lock of his hair. I must let it all go. These things cannot be reproduced by pen and ink. Hotel de Louvre, January 9th.--. . . . Last evening Mr. Fezaudie called. He spoke very freely respecting the Emperor and the hatred entertained against him in France; but said that he is more powerful, that is, more firmly fixed as a ruler, than ever the first Napoleon was. We, who look back upon the first Napoleon as one of the eternal facts of the past, a great bowlder in history, cannot well estimate how momentary and insubstantial the great Captain may have appeared to those who beheld his rise out of obscurity. They never, perhaps, took the reality of his career fairly into their minds, before it was over. The present Emperor, I believe, has already been as long in possession of the supreme power as his uncle was. I should like to see him, and may, perhaps, do--so, as he is our neighbor, across the way. This morning Miss ------, the celebrated astronomical lady, called. She had brought a letter of introduction to me, while consul; and her purpose now was to see if we could take her as one of our party to Rome, whither she likewise is bound. We readily consented, for she seems to be a simple, strong, healthy-humored woman, who will not fling herself as a burden on our shoulders; and my only wonder is that a person evidently so able to take care of herself should wish to have an escort. We issued forth at about eleven, and went down the Rue St. Honore, which is narrow, and has houses of five or six stories on either side, between which run the streets like a gully in a rock. One face of our hotel borders and looks on this street. After going a good way, we came to an intersection with another street, the name of which I forget; but, at this point, Ravaillac sprang at the carriage of Henry IV. and plunged his dagger into him. As we went down the Rue St. Honore, it grew more and more thronged, and with a meaner class of people. The houses still were high, and without the shabbiness of exterior that distinguishes the old part of London, being of light-colored stone; but I never saw anything that so much came up to my idea of a swarming city as this narrow, crowded, and rambling street. Thence we turned into the Rue St. Denis, which is one of the oldest streets in Paris, and is said to have been first marked out by the track of the saint's footsteps, where, after his martyrdom, he walked along it, with his head under his arm, in quest of a burial-place. This legend may account for any crookedness of the street; for it could not reasonably be asked of a headless man that he should walk straight. Through some other indirections we at last found the Rue Bergere, down which I went with J----- in quest of Hottinguer et Co., the bankers, while the rest of us went along the Boulevards, towards the Church of the Madeleine. . . . This business accomplished, J----- and I threaded our way back, and overtook the rest of the party, still a good distance from the Madeleine. I know not why the Boulevards are called so. They are a succession of broad walks through broad streets, and were much thronged with people, most of whom appeared to be bent more on pleasure than business. The sun, long before this, had come out brightly, and gave us the first genial and comfortable sensations which we have had in Paris. Approaching the Madeleine, we found it a most beautiful church, that might have been adapted from Heathenism to Catholicism; for on each side there is a range of magnificent pillars, unequalled, except by those of the Parthenon. A mourning-coach, arrayed in black and silver, was drawn up at the steps, and the front of the church was hung with black cloth, which covered the whole entrance. However, seeing the people going in, we entered along with them. Glorious and gorgeous is the Madeleine. The entrance to the nave is beneath a most stately arch; and three arches of equal height open from the nave to the side aisles; and at the end of the nave is another great arch, rising, with a vaulted half-dome, over the high altar. The pillars supporting these arches are Corinthian, with richly sculptured capitals; and wherever gilding might adorn the church, it is lavished like sunshine; and within the sweeps of the arches there are fresco paintings of sacred subjects, and a beautiful picture covers the hollow of the vault over the altar; all this, besides much sculpture; and especially a group above and around the high altar, representing the Magdalen smiling down upon angels and archangels, some of whom are kneeling, and shadowing themselves with their heavy marble wings. There is no such thing as making my page glow with the most distant idea of the magnificence of this church, in its details and in its whole. It was founded a hundred or two hundred years ago; then Bonaparte contemplated transforming it into a Temple of Victory, or building it anew as one. The restored Bourbons remade it into a church; but it still has a heathenish look, and will never lose it. When we entered we saw a crowd of people, all pressing forward towards the high altar, before which burned a hundred wax lights, some of which were six or seven feet high; and, altogether, they shone like a galaxy of stars. In the middle of the nave, moreover, there was another galaxy of wax candles burning around an immense pall of black velvet, embroidered with silver, which seemed to cover, not only a coffin, but a sarcophagus, or something still more huge. The organ was rumbling forth a deep, lugubrious bass, accompanied with heavy chanting of priests, out of which sometimes rose the clear, young voices of choristers, like light flashing out of the gloom. The church, between the arches, along the nave, and round the altar, was hung with broad expanses of black cloth; and all the priests had their sacred vestments covered with black. They looked exceedingly well; I never saw anything half so well got up on the stage. Some of these ecclesiastical figures were very stately and noble, and knelt and bowed, and bore aloft the cross, and swung the censers in a way that I liked to see. The ceremonies of the Catholic Church were a superb work of art, or perhaps a true growth of man's religious nature; and so long as men felt their original meaning, they must have been full of awe and glory. Being of another parish, I looked on coldly, but not irreverently, and was glad to see the funeral service so well performed, and very glad when it was over. What struck me as singular, the person who performed the part usually performed by a verger, keeping order among the audience, wore a gold-embroidered scarf, a cocked hat, and, I believe, a sword, and had the air of a military man. Before the close of the service a contribution-box--or, rather, a black velvet bag--was handed about by this military verger; and I gave J----- a franc to put in, though I did not in the least know for what. Issuing from the church, we inquired of two or three persons who was the distinguished defunct at whose obsequies we had been assisting, for we had some hope that it might be Rachel, who died last week, and is still above ground. But it proved to be only a Madame Mentel, or some such name, whom nobody had ever before heard of. I forgot to say that her coffin was taken from beneath the illuminated pall, and carried out of the church before us. When we left the Madeleine we took our way to the Place de la Concorde, and thence through the Elysian Fields (which, I suppose, are the French idea of heaven) to Bonaparte's triumphal arch. The Champs Elysees may look pretty in summer; though I suspect they must be somewhat dry and artificial at whatever season,--the trees being slender and scraggy, and requiring to be renewed every few years. The soil is not genial to them. The strangest peculiarity of this place, however, to eyes fresh from moist and verdant England, is, that there is not one blade of grass in all the Elysian Fields, nothing but hard clay, now covered with white dust. It gives the whole scene the air of being a contrivance of man, in which Nature has either not been invited to take any part, or has declined to do so. There were merry-go-rounds, wooden horses, and other provision for children's amusements among the trees; and booths, and tables of cakes, and candy-women; and restaurants on the borders of the wood; but very few people there; and doubtless we can form no idea of what the scene might become when alive with French gayety and vivacity. As we walked onward the Triumphal Arch began to loom up in the distance, looking huge and massive, though still a long way off. It was not, however, till we stood almost beneath it that we really felt the grandeur of this great arch, including so large a space of the blue sky in its airy sweep. At a distance it impresses the spectator with its solidity; nearer, with the lofty vacancy beneath it. There is a spiral staircase within one of its immense limbs; and, climbing steadily upward, lighted by a lantern which the doorkeeper's wife gave us, we had a bird's-eye view of Paris, much obscured by smoke or mist. Several interminable avenues shoot with painful directness right towards it. On our way homeward we visited the Place Vendome, in the centre of which is a tall column, sculptured from top to bottom, all over the pedestal, and all over the shaft, and with Napoleon himself on the summit. The shaft is wreathed round and roundabout with representations of what, as far as I could distinguish, seemed to be the Emperor's victories. It has a very rich effect. At the foot of the column we saw wreaths of artificial flowers, suspended there, no doubt, by some admirer of Napoleon, still ardent enough to expend a franc or two in this way. Hotel de Louvre, January 10th.--We had purposed going to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to-day, but the weather and walking were too unfavorable for a distant expedition; so we merely went across the street to the Louvre. . . . . Our principal object this morning was to see the pencil drawings by eminent artists. Of these the Louvre has a very rich collection, occupying many apartments, and comprising sketches by Annibale Caracci, Claude, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michel Angelo, Rubens, Rembrandt, and almost all the other great masters, whether French, Italian, Dutch, or whatever else; the earliest drawings of their great pictures, when they had the glory of their pristine idea directly before their minds' eye,-- that idea which inevitably became overlaid with their own handling of it in the finished painting. No doubt the painters themselves had often a happiness in these rude, off-hand sketches, which they never felt again in the same work, and which resulted in disappointment, after they had done their best. To an artist, the collection must be most deeply interesting: to myself, it was merely curious, and soon grew wearisome. In the same suite of apartments, there is a collection of miniatures, some of them very exquisite, and absolutely lifelike, on their small scale. I observed two of Franklin, both good and picturesque, one of them especially so, with its cloud-like white hair. I do not think we have produced a man so interesting to contemplate, in many points of view, as he. Most of our great men are of a character that I find it impossible to warm into life by thought, or by lavishing any amount of sympathy upon them. Not so Franklin, who had a great deal of common and uncommon human nature in him. Much of the time, while my wife was looking at the drawings, I sat observing the crowd of Sunday visitors. They were generally of a lower class than those of week-days; private soldiers in a variety of uniforms, and, for the most part, ugly little men, but decorous and well behaved. I saw medals on many of their breasts, denoting Crimean service; some wore the English medal, with Queen Victoria's head upon it. A blue coat, with red baggy trousers, was the most usual uniform. Some had short-breasted coats, made in the same style as those of the first Napoleon, which we had seen in the preceding rooms. The policemen, distributed pretty abundantly about the rooms, themselves looked military, wearing cocked hats and swords. There were many women of the middling classes; some, evidently, of the lowest, but clean and decent, in colored gowns and caps; and laboring men, citizens, Sunday gentlemen, young artists, too, no doubt looking with educated eyes at these art-treasures, and I think, as a general thing, each man was mated with a woman. The soldiers, however, came in pairs or little squads, accompanied by women. I did not much like any of the French faces, and yet I am not sure that there is not more resemblance between them and the American physiognomy, than between the latter and the English. The women are not pretty, but in all ranks above the lowest they have a trained expression that supplies the place of beauty. I was wearied to death with the drawings, and began to have that dreary and desperate feeling which has often come upon me when the sights last longer than my capacity for receiving them. As our time in Paris, however, is brief and precious, we next inquired our way to the galleries of sculpture, and these alone are of astounding extent, reaching, I should think, all round one quadrangle of the Louvre, on the basement floor. Hall after hall opened interminably before us, and on either side of us, paved and incrusted with variegated and beautifully polished marble, relieved against which stand the antique statues and groups, interspersed with great urns and vases, sarcophagi, altars, tablets, busts of historic personages, and all manner of shapes of marble which consummate art has transmuted into precious stones. Not that I really did feel much impressed by any of this sculpture then, nor saw more than two or three things which I thought very beautiful; but whether it be good or no, I suppose the world has nothing better, unless it be a few world-renowned statues in Italy. I was even more struck by the skill and ingenuity of the French in arranging these sculptural remains, than by the value of the sculptures themselves. The galleries, I should judge, have been recently prepared, and on a magnificent system,--the adornments being yet by no means completed,--for besides the floor and wall-casings of rich, polished marble, the vaulted ceilings of some of the apartments are painted in fresco, causing them to glow as if the sky were opened. It must be owned, however, that the statuary, often time-worn and darkened from its original brilliancy by weather-stains, does not suit well as furniture for such splendid rooms. When we see a perfection of modern finish around them, we recognize that most of these statues have been thrown down from their pedestals, hundreds of years ago, and have been battered and externally degraded; and though whatever spiritual beauty they ever had may still remain, yet this is not made more apparent by the contrast betwixt the new gloss of modern upholstery, and their tarnished, even if immortal grace. I rather think the English have given really the more hospitable reception to the maimed Theseus, and his broken-nosed, broken-legged, headless companions, because flouting them with no gorgeous fittings up. By this time poor J----- (who, with his taste for art yet undeveloped, is the companion of all our visits to sculpture and picture galleries) was wofully hungry, and for bread we had given him a stone,--not one stone, but a thousand. We returned to the hotel, and it being too damp and raw to go to our Restaurant des Echelles, we dined at the hotel. In my opinion it would require less time to cultivate our gastronomic taste than taste of any other kind; and, on the whole, I am not sure that a man would not be wise to afford himself a little discipline in this line. It is certainly throwing away the bounties of Providence, to treat them as the English do, producing from better materials than the French have to work upon nothing but sirloins, joints, joints, steaks, steaks, steaks, chops, chops, chops, chops! We had a soup to-day, in which twenty kinds of vegetables were represented, and manifested each its own aroma; a fillet of stewed beef, and a fowl, in some sort of delicate fricassee. We had a bottle of Chablis, and renewed ourselves, at the close of the banquet, with a plate of Chateaubriand ice. It was all very good, and we respected ourselves far more than if we had eaten a quantity of red roast beef; but I am not quite sure that we were right. . . . Among the relics of kings and princes, I do not know that there was anything more interesting than a little brass cannon, two or three inches long, which had been a toy of the unfortunate Dauphin, son of Louis XVI. There was a map,--a hemisphere of the world,--which his father had drawn for this poor boy; very neatly done, too. The sword of Louis XVI., a magnificent rapier, with a beautifully damasked blade, and a jewelled scabbard, but without a hilt, is likewise preserved, as is the hilt of Henry IV.'s sword. But it is useless to begin a catalogue of these things. What a collection it is, including Charlemagne's sword and sceptre, and the last Dauphin's little toy cannon, and so much between the two! Hotel de Louvre, January 11th.--This was another chill, raw day, characterized by a spitefulness of atmosphere which I do not remember ever to have experienced in my own dear country. We meant to have visited the Hotel des Invalides, but J----- and I walked to the Tivoli, the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees, and to the Place de Beaujou, and to the residence of the American minister, where I wished to arrange about my passport. After speaking with the Secretary of Legation, we were ushered into the minister's private room, where he received me with great kindness. Mr. ------ is an old gentleman with a white head, and a large, florid face, which has an expression of amiability, not unmingled with a certain dignity. He did not rise from his arm-chair to greet me,--a lack of ceremony which I imputed to the gout, feeling it impossible that he should have willingly failed in courtesy to one of his twenty-five million sovereigns. In response to some remark of mine about the shabby way in which our government treats its officials pecuniarily, he gave a detailed account of his own troubles on that score; then expressed a hope that I had made a good thing out of my consulate, and inquired whether I had received a hint to resign; to which I replied that, for various reasons, I had resigned of my own accord, and before Mr. Buchanan's inauguration. We agreed, however, in disapproving the system of periodical change in our foreign officials; and I remarked that a consul or an ambassador ought to be a citizen both of his native country and of the one in which he resided; and that his possibility of beneficent influence depended largely on his being so. Apropos to which Mr. ------ said that he had once asked a diplomatic friend of long experience, what was the first duty of a minister. "To love his own country, and to watch over its interests," answered the diplomatist. "And his second duty?" asked Mr. ------. "To love and to promote the interests of the country to which he is accredited," said his friend. This is a very Christian and sensible view of the matter; but it can scarcely have happened once in our whole diplomatic history, that a minister can have had time to overcome his first rude and ignorant prejudice against the country of his mission; and if there were any suspicion of his having done so, it would be held abundantly sufficient ground for his recall. I like Mr. ------, a good-hearted, sensible old man. J----- and I returned along the Champs Elysees, and, crossing the Seine, kept on our way by the river's brink, looking at the titles of books on the long lines of stalls that extend between the bridges. Novels, fairy-tales, dream books, treatises of behavior and etiquette, collections of bon-mots and of songs, were interspersed with volumes in the old style of calf and gilt binding, the works of the classics of French literature. A good many persons, of the poor classes, and of those apparently well to do, stopped transitorily to look at these books. On the other side of the street was a range of tall edifices with shops beneath, and the quick stir of French life hurrying, and babbling, and swarming along the sidewalk. We passed two or three bridges, occurring at short intervals, and at last we recrossed the Seine by a bridge which oversteps the river, from a point near the National Institute, and reaches the other side, not far from the Louvre. . . . Though the day was so disagreeable, we thought it best not to lose the remainder of it, and therefore set out to visit the Cathedral of Notre Dame. We took a fiacre in the Place de Carousel, and drove to the door. On entering, we found the interior miserably shut off from view by the stagings erected for the purpose of repairs. Penetrating from the nave towards the chancel, an official personage signified to us that we must first purchase a ticket for each grown person, at the price of half a franc each. This expenditure admitted us into the sacristy, where we were taken in charge by a guide, who came down upon us with an avalanche or cataract of French, descriptive of a great many treasures reposited in this chapel. I understood hardly more than one word in ten, but gathered doubtfully that a bullet which was shown us was the one that killed the late Archbishop of Paris, on the floor of the cathedral. [But this was a mistake. It was the archbishop who was killed in the insurrection of 1848. Two joints of his backbone were also shown.] Also, that some gorgeously embroidered vestments, which he drew forth, had been used at the coronation of Napoleon I. There were two large, full-length portraits hanging aloft in the sacristy, and a gold or silver gilt, or, at all events, gilt image of the Virgin, as large as life, standing on a pedestal. The guide had much to say about these, but, understanding him so imperfectly, I have nothing to record. The guide's supervision of us seemed not to extend beyond this sacristy, on quitting which he gave us permission to go where we pleased, only intimating a hope that we would not forget him; so I gave him half a franc, though thereby violating an inhibition on the printed ticket of entrance. We had been much disappointed at first by the apparently narrow limits of the interior of this famous church; but now, as we made our way round the choir, gazing into chapel after chapel, each with its painted window, its crucifix, its pictures, its confessional, and afterwards came back into the nave, where arch rises above arch to the lofty roof, we came to the conclusion that it was very sumptuous. It is the greatest of pities that its grandeur and solemnity should just now be so infinitely marred by the workmen's boards, timber, and ladders occupying the whole centre of the edifice, and screening all its best effects. It seems to have been already most richly ornamented, its roof being painted, and the capitals of the pillars gilded, and their shafts illuminated in fresco; and no doubt it will shine out gorgeously when all the repairs and adornments shall be completed. Even now it gave to my actual sight what I have often tried to imagine in my visits to the English cathedrals,-- the pristine glory of those edifices, when they stood glowing with gold and picture, fresh from the architects' and adorners' hands. The interior loftiness of Notre Dame, moreover, gives it a sublimity which would swallow up anything that might look gewgawy in its ornamentation, were we to consider it window by window, or pillar by pillar. It is an advantage of these vast edifices, rising over us and spreading about us in such a firmamental way, that we cannot spoil them by any pettiness of our own, but that they receive (or absorb) our pettiness into their own immensity. Every little fantasy finds its place and propriety in them, like a flower on the earth's broad bosom. When we emerged from the cathedral, we found it beginning to rain or snow, or both; and, as we had dismissed our fiacre at the door, and could find no other, we were at a loss what to do. We stood a few moments on the steps of the Hotel Dieu, looking up at the front of Notre Dame, with its twin towers, and its three deep-pointed arches, piercing through a great thickness of stone, and throwing a cavern-like gloom around these entrances. The front is very rich. Though so huge, and all of gray stone, it is carved and fretted with statues and innumerable devices, as cunningly as any ivory casket in which relics are kept; but its size did not so much impress me. . . . Hotel de Louvre, January 12th.--This has been a bright day as regards weather; but I have done little or nothing worth recording. After breakfast, I set out in quest of the consul, and found him up a court, at 51 Rue Caumartin, in an office rather smaller, I think, than mine at Liverpool; but, to say the truth, a little better furnished. I was received in the outer apartment by an elderly, brisk-looking man, in whose air, respectful and subservient, and yet with a kind of authority in it, I recognized the vice-consul. He introduced me to Mr. ------, who sat writing in an inner room; a very gentlemanly, courteous, cool man of the world, whom I should take to be an excellent person for consul at Paris. He tells me that he has resided here some years, although his occupancy of the consulate dates only from November last. Consulting him respecting my passport, he gave me what appear good reasons why I should get all the necessary vises here; for example, that the vise of a minister carries more weight than that of a consul; and especially that an Austrian consul will never vise a passport unless he sees his minister's name upon it. Mr. ------ has travelled much in Italy, and ought to be able to give me sound advice. His opinion was, that at this season of the year I had better go by steamer to Civita Veechia, instead of landing at Leghorn, and thence journeying to Rome. On this point I shall decide when the time comes. As I left the office the vice-consul informed me that there was a charge of five francs and some sous for the consul's vise, a tax which surprised me,--the whole business of passports having been taken from consuls before I quitted office, and the consular fee having been annulled even earlier. However, no doubt Mr. ------ had a fair claim to my five francs; but, really, it is not half so pleasant to pay a consular fee as it used to be to receive it. Afterwards I walked to Notre Dame, the rich front of which I viewed with more attention than yesterday. There are whole histories, carved in stone figures, within the vaulted arches of the three entrances in this west front, and twelve apostles in a row above, and as much other sculpture as would take a month to see. We then walked quite round it, but I had no sense of immensity from it, not even that of great height, as from many of the cathedrals in England. It stands very near the Seine; indeed, if I mistake not, it is on an island formed by two branches of the river. Behind it, is what seems to be a small public ground (or garden, if a space entirely denuded of grass or other green thing, except a few trees, can be called so), with benches, and a monument in the midst. This quarter of the city looks old, and appears to be inhabited by poor people, and to be busied about small and petty affairs; the most picturesque business that I saw being that of the old woman who sells crucifixes of pearl and of wood at the cathedral door. We bought two of these yesterday. I must again speak of the horrible muddiness, not only of this part of the city, but of all Paris, so far as I have traversed it to-day. My ways, since I came to Europe, have often lain through nastiness, but I never before saw a pavement so universally overspread with mud-padding as that of Paris. It is difficult to imagine where so much filth can come from. After dinner I walked through the gardens of the Tuileries; but as dusk was coming on, and as I was afraid of being shut up within the iron railing, I did not have time to examine them particularly. There are wide, intersecting walks, fountains, broad basins, and many statues; but almost the whole surface of the gardens is barren earth, instead of the verdure that would beautify an English pleasure-ground of this sort. In the summer it has doubtless an agreeable shade; but at this season the naked branches look meagre, and sprout from slender trunks. Like the trees in the Champs Elysees, those, I presume, in the gardens of the Tuileries need renewing every few years. The same is true of the human race,--families becoming extinct after a generation or two of residence in Paris. Nothing really thrives here; man and vegetables have but an artificial life, like flowers stuck in a little mould, but never taking root. I am quite tired of Paris, and long for a home more than ever. MARSEILLES. Hotel d'Angleterre, January 15th.--On Tuesday morning, (12th) we took our departure from the Hotel de Louvre. It is a most excellent and perfectly ordered hotel, and I have not seen a more magnificent hall, in any palace, than the dining-saloon, with its profuse gilding, and its ceiling, painted in compartments; so that when the chandeliers are all alight, it looks a fit place for princes to banquet in, and not very fit for the few Americans whom I saw scattered at its long tables. By the by, as we drove to the railway, we passed through the public square, where the Bastille formerly stood; and in the centre of it now stands a column, surmounted by a golden figure of Mercury (I think), which seems to be just on the point of casting itself from a gilt ball into the air. This statue is so buoyant, that the spectator feels quite willing to trust it to the viewless element, being as sure that it would be borne up as that a bird would fly. Our first day's journey was wholly without interest, through a country entirely flat, and looking wretchedly brown and barren. There were rows of trees, very slender, very prim and formal; there was ice wherever there happened to be any water to form it; there were occasional villages, compact little streets, or masses of stone or plastered cottages, very dirty and with gable ends and earthen roofs; and a succession of this same landscape was all that we saw, whenever we rubbed away the congelation of our breath from the carriage windows. Thus we rode on, all day long, from eleven o'clock, with hardly a five minutes' stop, till long after dark, when we came to Dijon, where there was a halt of twenty-five minutes for dinner. Then we set forth again, and rumbled forward, through cold and darkness without, until we reached Lyons at about ten o'clock. We left our luggage at the railway station, and took an omnibus for the Hotel de Provence, which we chose at a venture, among a score of other hotels. As this hotel was a little off the direct route of the omnibus, the driver set us down at the corner of a street, and pointed to some lights, which he said designated the Hotel do Provence; and thither we proceeded, all seven of us, taking along a few carpet-bags and shawls, our equipage for the night. The porter of the hotel met us near its doorway, and ushered us through an arch, into the inner quadrangle, and then up some old and worn steps,--very broad, and appearing to be the principal staircase. At the first landing-place, an old woman and a waiter or two received us; and we went up two or three more flights of the same broad and worn stone staircases. What we could see of the house looked very old, and had the musty odor with which I first became acquainted at Chester. After ascending to the proper level, we were conducted along a corridor, paved with octagonal earthen tiles; on one side were windows, looking into the courtyard, on the other doors opening into the sleeping-chambers. The corridor was of immense length, and seemed still to lengthen itself before us, as the glimmer of our conductor's candle went farther and farther into the obscurity. Our own chamber was at a vast distance along this passage; those of the rest of the party were on the hither side; but all this immense suite of rooms appeared to communicate by doors from one to another, like the chambers through which the reader wanders at midnight, in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. And they were really splendid rooms, though of an old fashion, lofty, spacious, with floors of oak or other wood, inlaid in squares and crosses, and waxed till they were slippery, but without carpets. Our own sleeping-room had a deep fireplace, in which we ordered a fire, and asked if there were not some saloon already warmed, where we could get a cup of tea. Hereupon the waiter led us back along the endless corridor, and down the old stone staircases, and out into the quadrangle, and journeyed with us along an exterior arcade, and finally threw open the door of the salle a manger, which proved to be a room of lofty height, with a vaulted roof, a stone floor, and interior spaciousness sufficient for a baronial hall, the whole bearing the same aspect of times gone by, that characterized the rest of the house. There were two or three tables covered with white cloth, and we sat down at one of them and had our tea. Finally we wended back to our sleeping-rooms,--a considerable journey, so endless seemed the ancient hotel. I should like to know its history. The fire made our great chamber look comfortable, and the fireplace threw out the heat better than the little square hole over which we cowered in our saloon at the Hotel de Louvre. . . . In the morning we began our preparations for starting at ten. Issuing into the corridor, I found a soldier of the line, pacing to and fro there as sentinel. Another was posted in another corridor, into which I wandered by mistake; another stood in the inner court-yard, and another at the porte-cochere. They were not there the night before, and I know not whence nor why they came, unless that some officer of rank may have taken up his quarters at the hotel. Miss M------ says she heard at Paris, that a considerable number of troops had recently been drawn together at Lyons, in consequence of symptoms of disaffection that have recently shown themselves here. Before breakfast I went out to catch a momentary glimpse of the city. The street in which our hotel stands is near a large public square; in the centre is a bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIV.; and the square itself is called the Place de Louis le Grand. I wonder where this statue hid itself while the Revolution was raging in Lyons, and when the guillotine, perhaps, stood on that very spot. The square was surrounded by stately buildings, but had what seemed to be barracks for soldiers,--at any rate, mean little huts, deforming its ample space; and a soldier was on guard before the statue of Louis le Grand. It was a cold, misty morning, and a fog lay throughout the area, so that I could scarcely see from one side of it to the other. Returning towards our hotel, I saw that it had an immense front, along which ran, in gigantic letters, its title,-- HOTEL DE PROVENCE ET DES AMBASSADEURS. The excellence of the hotel lay rather in the faded pomp of its sleeping-rooms, and the vastness of its salle a manger, than in anything very good to eat or drink. We left it, after a poor breakfast, and went to the railway station. Looking at the mountainous heap of our luggage the night before, we had missed a great carpet-bag; and we now found that Miss M------'s trunk had been substituted for it, and, there being the proper number of packages as registered, it was impossible to convince the officials that anything was wrong. We, of course, began to generalize forthwith, and pronounce the incident to be characteristic of French morality. They love a certain system and external correctness, but do not trouble themselves to be deeply in the right; and Miss M------ suggested that there used to be parallel cases in the French Revolution, when, so long as the assigned number were sent out of prison to be guillotined, the jailer did not much care whether they were the persons designated by the tribunal or not. At all events, we could get no satisfaction about the carpet-bag, and shall very probably be compelled to leave Marseilles without it. This day's ride was through a far more picturesque country than that we saw yesterday. Heights began to rise imminent above our way, with sometimes a ruined castle wall upon them; on our left, the rail-track kept close to the hills; on the other side there was the level bottom of a valley, with heights descending upon it a mile or a few miles away. Farther off we could see blue hills, shouldering high above the intermediate ones, and themselves worthy to be called mountains. These hills arranged themselves in beautiful groups, affording openings between them, and vistas of what lay beyond, and gorges which I suppose held a great deal of romantic scenery. By and by a river made its appearance, flowing swiftly in the same direction that we were travelling,--a beautiful and cleanly river, with white pebbly shores, and itself of a peculiar blue. It rushed along very fast, sometimes whitening over shallow descents, and even in its calmer intervals its surface was all covered with whirls and eddies, indicating that it dashed onward in haste. I do not now know the name of this river, but have set it down as the "arrowy Rhone." It kept us company a long while, and I think we did not part with it as long as daylight remained. I have seldom seen hill-scenery that struck me more than some that we saw to-day, and the old feudal towers and old villages at their feet; and the old churches, with spires shaped just like extinguishers, gave it an interest accumulating from many centuries past. Still going southward, the vineyards began to border our track, together with what I at first took to be orchards, but soon found were plantations of olive-trees, which grow to a much larger size than I supposed, and look almost exactly like very crabbed and eccentric apple-trees. Neither they nor the vineyards add anything to the picturesqueness of the landscape. On the whole, I should have been delighted with all this scenery if it had not looked so bleak, barren, brown, and bare; so like the wintry New England before the snow has fallen. It was very cold, too; ice along the borders of streams, even among the vineyards and olives. The houses are of rather a different shape here than, farther northward, their roofs being not nearly so sloping. They are almost invariably covered with white plaster; the farm-houses have their outbuildings in connection with the dwelling,--the whole surrounding three sides of a quadrangle. We travelled far into the night, swallowed a cold and hasty dinner at Avignon, and reached Marseilles sorely wearied, at about eleven o'clock. We took a cab to the Hotel d'Angleterre (two cabs, to be quite accurate), and find it a very poor place. To go back a little, as the sun went down, we looked out of the window of our railway carriage, and saw a sky that reminded us of what we used to see day after day in America, and what we have not seen since; and, after sunset, the horizon burned and glowed with rich crimson and orange lustre, looking at once warm and cold. After it grew dark, the stars brightened, and Miss M------ from her window pointed out some of the planets to the children, she being as familiar with them as a gardener with his flowers. They were as bright as diamonds. We had a wretched breakfast, and J----- and I then went to the railway station to see about our luggage. On our walk back we went astray, passing by a triumphal arch, erected by the Marseillais, in honor of Louis Napoleon; but we inquired our way of old women and soldiers, who were very kind and courteous,--especially the latter,--and were directed aright. We came to a large, oblong, public place, set with trees, but devoid of grass, like all public places in France. In the middle of it was a bronze statue of an ecclesiastical personage, stretching forth his hands in the attitude of addressing the people or of throwing a benediction over them. It was some archbishop, who had distinguished himself by his humanity and devotedness during the plague of 1720. At the moment of our arrival the piazza was quite thronged with people, who seemed to be talking amongst themselves with considerable earnestness, although without any actual excitement. They were smoking cigars; and we judged that they were only loitering here for the sake of the sunshine, having no fires at home, and nothing to do. Some looked like gentlemen, others like peasants; most of them I should have taken for the lazzaroni of this Southern city,--men with cloth caps, like the classic liberty-cap, or with wide-awake hats. There were one or two women of the lower classes, without bonnets, the elder ones with white caps, the younger bareheaded. I have hardly seen a lady in Marseilles; and I suspect, it being a commercial city, and dirty to the last degree, ill-built, narrow-streeted, and sometimes pestilential, there are few or no families of gentility resident here. Returning to the hotel, we found the rest of the party ready to go out; so we all issued forth in a body, and inquired our way to the telegraph-office, in order to send my message about the carpet-bag. In a street through which we had to pass (and which seemed to be the Exchange, or its precincts), there was a crowd even denser, yes, much denser, than that which we saw in the square of the archbishop's statue; and each man was talking to his neighbor in a vivid, animated way, as if business were very brisk to-day. At the telegraph-office, we discovered the cause that had brought out these many people. There had been attempts on the Emperor's life,-- unsuccessful, as they seem fated to be, though some mischief was done to those near him. I rather think the good people of Marseilles were glad of the attempt, as an item of news and gossip, and did not very greatly care whether it were successful or no. It seemed to have roused their vivacity rather than their interest. The only account I have seen of it was in the brief public despatch from the Syndic (or whatever he be) of Paris to the chief authority of Marseilles, which was printed and posted in various conspicuous places. The only chance of knowing the truth with any fulness of detail would be to come across an English paper. We have had a banner hoisted half-mast in front of our hotel to-day as a token, the head-waiter tells me, of sympathy and sorrow for the General and other persons who were slain by this treasonable attempt. J----- and I now wandered by ourselves along a circular line of quays, having, on one side of us, a thick forest of masts, while, on the other, was a sweep of shops, bookstalls, sailors' restaurants and drinking-houses, fruit-sellers, candy-women, and all manner of open-air dealers and pedlers; little children playing, and jumping the rope, and such a babble and bustle as I never saw or heard before; the sun lying along the whole sweep, very hot, and evidently very grateful to those who basked in it. Whenever I passed into the shade, immediately from too warm I became too cold. The sunshine was like hot air; the shade, like the touch of cold steel,--sharp, hard, yet exhilarating. From the broad street of the quays, narrow, thread-like lanes pierced up between the edifices, calling themselves streets, yet so narrow, that a person in the middle could almost touch the houses on either hand. They ascended steeply, bordered on each side by long, contiguous walls of high houses, and from the time of their first being built, could never have had a gleam of sunshine in them,--always in shadow, always unutterably nasty, and often pestiferous. The nastiness which I saw in Marseilles exceeds my heretofore experience. There is dirt in the hotel, and everywhere else; and it evidently troubles nobody,--no more than if all the people were pigs in a pigsty. . . . Passing by all this sweep of quays, J----- and I ascended to an elevated walk, overlooking the harbor, and far beyond it; for here we had our first view of the Mediterranean, blue as heaven, and bright with sunshine. It was a bay, widening forth into the open deep, and bordered with heights, and bold, picturesque headlands, some of which had either fortresses or convents on them. Several boats and one brig were under sail, making their way towards the port. I have never seen a finer sea-view. Behind the town, there seemed to be a mountainous landscape, imperfectly visible, in consequence of the intervening edifices. THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA. Steamer Calabrese, January 17th.--If I had remained at Marseilles, I might have found many peculiarities and characteristics of that Southern city to notice; but I fear that these will not be recorded if I leave them till I touch the soil of Italy. Indeed, I doubt whether there be anything really worth recording in the little distinctions between one nation and another; at any rate, after the first novelty is over, new things seem equally commonplace with the old. There is but one little interval when the mind is in such a state that it can catch the fleeting aroma of a new scene. And it is always so much pleasanter to enjoy this delicious newness than to attempt arresting it, that it requires great force of will to insist with one's self upon sitting down to write. I can do nothing with Marseilles, especially here on the Mediterranean, long after nightfall, and when the steamer is pitching in a pretty lively way. (Later.)--I walked out with J----- yesterday morning, and reached the outskirts of the city, whence we could see the bold and picturesque heights that surround Marseilles as with a semicircular wall. They rise into peaks, and the town, being on their lower slope, descends from them towards the sea with a gradual sweep. Adown the streets that descend these declivities come little rivulets, running along over the pavement, close to the sidewalks, as over a pebbly bed; and though they look vastly like kennels, I saw women washing linen in these streams, and others dipping up the water for household purposes. The women appear very much in public at Marseilles. In the squares and places you see half a dozen of them together, sitting in a social circle on the bottoms of upturned baskets, knitting, talking, and enjoying the public sunshine, as if it were their own household fire. Not one in a thousand of them, probably, ever has a household fire for the purpose of keeping themselves warm, but only to do their little cookery; and when there is sunshine they take advantage of it, and in the short season of rain and frost they shrug their shoulders, put on what warm garments they have, and get through the winter somewhat as grasshoppers and butterflies do,--being summer insects like then. This certainly is a very keen and cutting air, sharp as a razor, and I saw ice along the borders of the little rivulets almost at noonday. To be sure, it is midwinter, and yet in the sunshine I found myself uncomfortably warm, but in the shade the air was like the touch of death itself. I do not like the climate. There are a great number of public places in Marseilles, several of which are adorned with statues or fountains, or triumphal arches or columns, and set out with trees, and otherwise furnished as a kind of drawing-rooms, where the populace may meet together and gossip. I never before heard from human lips anything like this bustle and babble, this thousand-fold talk which you hear all round about you in the crowd of a public square; so entirely different is it from the dulness of a crowd in England, where, as a rule, everybody is silent, and hardly half a dozen monosyllables will come from the lips of a thousand people. In Marseilles, on the contrary, a stream of unbroken talk seems to bubble from the lips of every individual. A great many interesting scenes take place in these squares. From the window of our hotel (which looked into the Place Royale) I saw a juggler displaying his art to a crowd, who stood in a regular square about him, none pretending to press nearer than the prescribed limit. While the juggler wrought his miracles his wife supplied him with his magic materials out of a box; and when the exhibition was over she packed up the white cloth with which his table was covered, together with cups, cards, balls, and whatever else, and they took their departure. I have been struck with the idle curiosity, and, at the same time, the courtesy and kindness of the populace of Marseilles, and I meant to exemplify it by recording how Miss S------ and I attracted their notice, and became the centre of a crowd of at least fifty of them while doing no more remarkable thing than settling with a cab-driver. But really this pitch and swell is getting too bad, and I shall go to bed, as the best chance of keeping myself in an equable state. ROME. 37 Palazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, January 24th.--We left Marseilles in the Neapolitan steamer Calabrese, as noticed above, a week ago this morning. There was no fault to be found with the steamer, which was very clean and comfortable, contrary to what we had understood beforehand; except for the coolness of the air (and I know not that this was greater than that of the Atlantic in July), our voyage would have been very pleasant; but for myself, I enjoyed nothing, having a cold upon me, or a low fever, or something else that took the light and warmth out of everything. I went to bed immediately after my last record, and was rocked to sleep pleasantly enough by the billows of the Mediterranean; and, coming on deck about sunrise next morning, found the steamer approaching Genoa. We saw the city, lying at the foot of a range of hills, and stretching a little way up their slopes, the hills sweeping round it in the segment of a circle, and looking like an island rising abruptly out of the sea; for no connection with the mainland was visible on either side. There was snow scattered on their summits and streaking their sides a good way down. They looked bold, and barren, and brown, except where the snow whitened them. The city did not impress me with much expectation of size or splendor. Shortly after coming into the port our whole party landed, and we found ourselves at once in the midst of a crowd of cab-drivers, hotel-runnets, and coin missionaires, who assaulted us with a volley of French, Italian, and broken English, which beat pitilessly about our ears; for really it seemed as if all the dictionaries in the world had been torn to pieces, and blown around us by a hurricane. Such a pother! We took a commissionaire, a respectable-looking man, in a cloak, who said his name was Salvator Rosa; and he engaged to show us whatever was interesting in Genoa. In the first place, he took us through narrow streets to an old church, the name of which I have forgotten, and, indeed, its peculiar features; but I know that I found it pre-eminently magnificent,--its whole interior being incased in polished marble, of various kinds and colors, its ceiling painted, and its chapels adorned with pictures. However, this church was dazzled out of sight by the Cathedral of San Lorenzo, to which we were afterwards conducted, whose exterior front is covered with alternate slabs of black and white marble, which were brought, either in whole or in part, from Jerusalem. Within, there was a prodigious richness of precious marbles, and a pillar, if I mistake not, from Solomon's Temple; and a picture of the Virgin by St. Luke; and others (rather more intrinsically valuable, I imagine), by old masters, set in superb marble frames, within the arches of the chapels. I used to try to imagine how the English cathedrals must have looked in their primeval glory, before the Reformation, and before the whitewash of Cromwell's time had overlaid their marble pillars; but I never imagined anything at all approaching what my eyes now beheld: this sheen of polished and variegated marble covering every inch of its walls; this glow of brilliant frescos all over the roof, and up within the domes; these beautiful pictures by great masters, painted for the places which they now occupied, and making an actual portion of the edifice; this wealth of silver, gold, and gems, that adorned the shrines of the saints, before which wax candles burned, and were kept burning, I suppose, from year's end to year's end; in short, there is no imagining nor remembering a hundredth part of the rich details. And even the cathedral (though I give it up as indescribable) was nothing at all in comparison with a church to which the commissionaire afterwards led us; a church that had been built four or five hundred years ago, by a pirate, in expiation of his sins, and out of the profit of his rapine. This last edifice, in its interior, absolutely shone with burnished gold, and glowed with pictures; its walls were a quarry of precious stones, so valuable were the marbles out of which they were wrought; its columns and pillars were of inconceivable costliness; its pavement was a mosaic of wonderful beauty, and there were four twisted pillars made out of stalactites. Perhaps the best way to form some dim conception of it is to fancy a little casket, inlaid inside with precious stones, so that there shall not a hair's-breadth be left unprecious-stoned, and then to conceive this little bit of a casket iucreased to the magnitude of a great church, without losing anything of the excessive glory that was compressed into its original small compass, but all its pretty lustre made sublime by the consequent immensity. At any rate, nobody who has not seen a church like this can imagine what a gorgeous religion it was that reared it. In the cathedral, and in all the churches, we saw priests and many persons kneeling at their devotions; and our Salvator Rosa, whenever we passed a chapel or shrine, failed not to touch the pavement with one knee, crossing himself the while; and once, when a priest was going through some form of devotion, he stopped a few moments to share in it. He conducted us, too, to the Balbi Palace, the stateliest and most sumptuous residence, but not more so than another which he afterwards showed us, nor perhaps than many others which exist in Genoa, THE SUPERB. The painted ceilings in these palaces are a glorious adornment; the walls of the saloons, incrusted with various-colored marbles, give an idea of splendor which I never gained from anything else. The floors, laid in mosaic, seem too precious to tread upon. In the royal palace, many of the floors were of various woods, inlaid by an English artist, and they looked like a magnification of some exquisite piece of Tunbridge ware; but, in all respects, this palace was inferior to others which we saw. I say nothing of the immense pictorial treasures which hung upon the walls of all the rooms through which we passed; for I soon grew so weary of admirable things, that I could neither enjoy nor understand them. My receptive faculty is very limited, and when the utmost of its small capacity is full, I become perfectly miserable, and the more so the better worth seeing are the things I am forced to reject. I do not know a greater misery; to see sights, after such repletion, is to the mind what it would be to the body to have dainties forced down the throat long after the appetite was satiated. All this while, whenever we emerged into the vaultlike streets, we were wretchedly cold. The commissionaire took us to a sort of pleasure-garden, occupying the ascent of a hill, and presenting seven different views of the city, from as many stations. One of the objects pointed out to us was a large yellow house, on a hillside, in the outskirts of Genoa, which was formerly inhabited for six months by Charles Dickens. Looking down from the elevated part of the pleasure-gardens, we saw orange-trees beneath us, with the golden fruit hanging upon them, though their trunks were muffled in straw; and, still lower down, there was ice and snow. Gladly (so far as I myself was concerned) we dismissed the commissionaire, after he had brought us to the hotel of the Cross of Malta, where we dined; needlessly, as it proved, for another dinner awaited us, after our return on board the boat. We set sail for Leghorn before dark, and I retired early, feeling still more ill from my cold than the night before. The next morning we were in the crowded port of Leghorn. We all went ashore, with some idea of taking the rail for Pisa, which is within an hour's distance, and might have been seen in time for our departure with the steamer. But a necessary visit to a banker's, and afterwards some unnecessary formalities about our passports, kept us wandering through the streets nearly all day; and we saw nothing in the slightest degree interesting, except the tomb of Smollett, in the burial-place attached to the English Chapel. It is surrounded by an iron railing, and marked by a slender obelisk of white marble, the pattern of which is many times repeated over surrounding graves. We went into a Jewish synagogue,--the interior cased in marbles, and surrounded with galleries, resting upon arches above arches. There were lights burning at the altar, and it looked very like a Christian church; but it was dirty, and had an odor not of sanctity. In Leghorn, as everywhere else, we were chilled to the heart, except when the sunshine fell directly upon us; and we returned to the steamer with a feeling as if we were getting back to our home; for this life of wandering makes a three days' residence in one place seem like home. We found several new passengers on board, and among others a monk, in a long brown frock of woollen cloth, with an immense cape, and a little black covering over his tonsure. He was a tall figure, with a gray beard, and might have walked, just as he stood, out of a picture by one of the old masters. This holy person addressed me very affably in Italian; but we found it impossible to hold much conversation. The evening was beautiful, with a bright young moonlight, not yet sufficiently powerful to overwhelm the stars, and as we walked the deck, Miss M------ showed the children the constellations, and told their names. J----- made a slight mistake as to one of them, pointing it out to me as "O'Brien's belt!" Elba was presently in view, and we might have seen many other interesting points, had it not been for our steamer's practice of resting by day, and only pursuing its voyage by night. The next morning we found ourselves in the harbor of Civita Vecchia, and, going ashore with our luggage, went through a blind turmoil with custom-house officers, inspectors of passports, soldiers, and vetturino people. My wife and I strayed a little through Civita Vecchia, and found its streets narrow, like clefts in a rock (which seems to be the fashion of Italian towns), and smelling nastily. I had made a bargain with a vetturino to send us to Rome in a carriage, with four horses, in eight hours; and as soon as the custom-house and passport people would let us, we started, lumbering slowly along with our mountain of luggage. We had heard rumors of robberies lately committed on this route; especially of a Nova Scotia bishop, who was detained on the road an hour and a half, and utterly pillaged; and certainly there was not a single mile of the dreary and desolate country over which we passed, where we might not have been robbed and murdered with impunity. Now and then, at long distances, we came to a structure that was either a prison, a tavern, or a barn, but did not look very much like either, being strongly built of stone, with iron-grated windows, and of ancient and rusty aspect. We kept along by the seashore a great part of the way, and stopped to feed our horses at a village, the wretched street of which stands close along the shore of the Mediterranean, its loose, dark sand being made nasty by the vicinity. The vetturino cheated us, one of the horses giving out, as he must have known it would do, half-way on our journey; and we staggered on through cold and darkness, and peril, too, if the banditti were not a myth,-- reaching Rome not much before midnight. I perpetrated unheard-of briberies on the custom-house officers at the gates, and was permitted to pass through and establish myself at Spillman's Hotel, the only one where we could gain admittance, and where we have been half frozen ever since. And this is sunny Italy, and genial Rome! Palazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, February 3d.--We have been in Rome a fortnight to-day, or rather at eleven o'clock to-night; and I have seldom or never spent so wretched a time anywhere. Our impressions were very unfortunate, arriving at midnight, half frozen in the wintry rain, and being received into a cold and cheerless hotel, where we shivered during two or three days; meanwhile seeking lodgings among the sunless, dreary alleys which are called streets in Rome. One cold, bright day after another has pierced me to the heart, and cut me in twain as with a sword, keen and sharp, and poisoned at point and edge. I did not think that cold weather could have made me so very miserable. Having caught a feverish influenza, I was really glad of being muffled up comfortably in the fever heat. The atmosphere certainly has a peculiar quality of malignity. After a day or two we settled ourselves in a suite of ten rooms, comprehending one flat, or what is called the second piano of this house. The rooms, thus far, have been very uncomfortable, it being impossible to warm them by means of the deep, old-fashioned, inartificial fireplaces, unless we had the great logs of a New England forest to burn in them; so I have sat in my corner by the fireside with more clothes on than I ever wore before, and my thickest great-coat over all. In the middle of the day I generally venture out for an hour or two, but have only once been warm enough even in the sunshine, and out of the sun never at any time. I understand now the force of that story of Diogenes when he asked the Conqueror, as the only favor he could do him, to stand out of his sunshine, there being such a difference in these Southern climes of Europe between sun and shade. If my wits had not been too much congealed, and my fingers too numb, I should like to have kept a minute journal of my feelings and impressions during the past fortnight. It would have shown modern Rome in an aspect in which it has never yet been depicted. But I have now grown somewhat acclimated, and the first freshness of my discomfort has worn off, so that I shall never be able to express how I dislike the place, and how wretched I have been in it; and soon, I suppose, warmer weather will come, and perhaps reconcile me to Rome against my will. Cold, narrow lanes, between tall, ugly, mean-looking whitewashed houses, sour bread, pavements most uncomfortable to the feet, enormous prices for poor living; beggars, pickpockets, ancient temples and broken monuments, and clothes hanging to dry about them; French soldiers, monks, and priests of every degree; a shabby population, smoking bad cigars,--these would have been some of the points of my description. Of course there are better and truer things to be said. . . . It would be idle for me to attempt any sketches of these famous sites and edifices,--St. Peter's, for example,--which have been described by a thousand people, though none of them have ever given me an idea of what sort of place Rome is. . . . The Coliseum was very much what I had preconceived it, though I was not prepared to find it turned into a sort of Christian church, with a pulpit on the verge of the open space. . . . The French soldiers, who keep guard within it, as in other public places in Rome, have an excellent opportunity to secure the welfare of their souls. February 7th.--I cannot get fairly into the current of my journal since we arrived, and already I perceive that the nice peculiarities of Roman life are passing from my notice before I have recorded them. It is a very great pity. During the past week I have plodded daily, for an hour or two, through the narrow, stony streets, that look worse than the worst backside lanes of any other city; indescribably ugly and disagreeable they are, . . . . without sidewalks, but provided with a line of larger square stones, set crosswise to each other, along which there is somewhat less uneasy walking. . . . Ever and anon, even in the meanest streets, --though, generally speaking, one can hardly be called meaner than another,--we pass a palace, extending far along the narrow way on a line with the other houses, but distinguished by its architectural windows, iron-barred on the basement story, and by its portal arch, through which we have glimpses, sometimes of a dirty court-yard, or perhaps of a clean, ornamented one, with trees, a colonnade, a fountain, and a statue in the vista; though, more likely, it resembles the entrance to a stable, and may, perhaps, really be one. The lower regions of palaces come to strange uses in Rome. . . . In the basement story of the Barberini Palace a regiment of French soldiers (or soldiers of some kind [we find them to be retainers of the Barberini family, not French]) seems to be quartered, while no doubt princes have magnificent domiciles above. Be it palace or whatever other dwelling, the inmates climb through rubbish often to the comforts, such as they may be, that await them above. I vainly try to get down upon paper the dreariness, the ugliness, shabbiness, un-home-likeness of a Roman street. It is also to be said that you cannot go far in any direction without coming to a piazza, which is sometimes little more than a widening and enlarging of the dingy street, with the lofty facade of a church or basilica on one side, and a fountain in the centre, where the water squirts out of some fantastic piece of sculpture into a great stone basin. These fountains are often of immense size and most elaborate design. . . . There are a great many of these fountain-shapes, constructed under the orders of one pope or another, in all parts of the city; and only the very simplest, such as a jet springing from a broad marble or porphyry vase, and falling back into it again, are really ornamental. If an antiquary were to accompany me through the streets, no doubt he would point out ten thousand interesting objects that I now pass over unnoticed, so general is the surface of plaster and whitewash; but often I can see fragments of antiquity built into the walls, or perhaps a church that was a Roman temple, or a basement of ponderous stones that were laid above twenty centuries ago. It is strange how our ideas of what antiquity is become altered here in Rome; the sixteenth century, in which many of the churches and fountains seem to have been built or re-edified, seems close at hand, even like our own days; a thousand years, or the days of the latter empire, is but a modern date, and scarcely interests us; and nothing is really venerable of a more recent epoch than the reign of Constantine. And the Egyptian obelisks that stand in several of the piazzas put even the Augustan or Republican antiquities to shame. I remember reading in a New York newspaper an account of one of the public buildings of that city,--a relic of "the olden time," the writer called it; for it was erected in 1825! I am glad I saw the castles and Gothic churches and cathedrals of England before visiting Rome, or I never could have felt that delightful reverence for their gray and ivy-hung antiquity after seeing these so much older remains. But, indeed, old things are not so beautiful in this dry climate and clear atmosphere as in moist England. . . . Whatever beauty there may be in a Roman ruin is the remnant of what was beautiful originally; whereas an English ruin is more beautiful often in its decay than even it was in its primal strength. If we ever build such noble structures as these Roman ones, we can have just as good ruins, after two thousand years, in the United States; but we never can have a Furness Abbey or a Kenilworth. The Corso, and perhaps some other streets, does not deserve all the vituperation which I have bestowed on the generality of Roman vias, though the Corso is narrow, not averaging more than nine paces, if so much, from sidewalk to sidewalk. But palace after palace stands along almost its whole extent,--not, however, that they make such architectural show on the street as palaces should. The enclosed courts were perhaps the only parts of these edifices which the founders cared to enrich architecturally. I think Linlithgow Palace, of which I saw the ruins during my last tour in Scotland, was built, by an architect who had studied these Roman palaces. There was never any idea of domestic comfort, or of what we include in the name of home, at all implicated in such structures, they being generally built by wifeless and childless churchmen for the display of pictures and statuary in galleries and long suites of rooms. I have not yet fairly begun the sight-seeing of Rome. I have been four or five times to St. Peter's, and always with pleasure, because there is such a delightful, summerlike warmth the moment we pass beneath the heavy, padded leather curtains that protect the entrances. It is almost impossible not to believe that this genial temperature is the result of furnace-heat, but, really, it is the warmth of last summer, which will be included within those massive walls, and in that vast immensity of space, till, six months hence, this winter's chill will just have made its way thither. It would be an excellent plan for a valetudinarian to lodge during the winter in St. Peter's, perhaps establishing his household in one of the papal tombs. I become, I think, more sensible of the size of St. Peter's, but am as yet far from being overwhelmed by it. It is not, as one expects, so big as all out of doors, nor is its dome so immense as that of the firmament. It looked queer, however, the other day, to see a little ragged boy, the very least of human things, going round and kneeling at shrine after shrine, and a group of children standing on tiptoe to reach the vase of holy water. . . . On coming out of St. Peter's at my last visit, I saw a great sheet of ice around the fountain on the right hand, and some little Romans awkwardly sliding on it. I, too, took a slide, just for the sake of doing what I never thought to do in Rome. This inclement weather, I should suppose, must make the whole city very miserable; for the native Romans, I am told, never keep any fire, except for culinary purposes, even in the severest winter. They flee from their cheerless houses into the open air, and bring their firesides along with them in the shape of small earthen vases, or pipkins, with a handle by which they carry them up and down the streets, and so warm at least their hands with the lighted charcoal. I have had glimpses through open doorways into interiors, and saw them as dismal as tombs. Wherever I pass my summers, let me spend my winters in a cold country. We went yesterday to the Pantheon. . . . When I first came to Rome, I felt embarrassed and unwilling to pass, with my heresy, between a devotee and his saint; for they often shoot their prayers at a shrine almost quite across the church. But there seems to be no violation of etiquette in so doing. A woman begged of us in the Pantheon, and accused my wife of impiety for not giving her an alms. . . . People of very decent appearance are often unexpectedly converted into beggars as you approach them; but in general they take a "No" at once. February 9th.--For three or four days it has been cloudy and rainy, which is the greater pity, as this should be the gayest and merriest part of the Carnival. I go out but little,--yesterday only as far as Pakenham's and Hooker's bank in the Piazza de' Spagna, where I read Galignani and the American papers. At last, after seeing in England more of my fellow-compatriots than ever before, I really am disjoined from my country. To-day I walked out along the Pincian Hill. . . . As the clouds still threatened rain, I deemed it my safest course to go to St. Peter's for refuge. Heavy and dull as the day was, the effect of this great world of a church was still brilliant in the interior, as if it had a sunshine of its own, as well as its own temperature; and, by and by, the sunshine of the outward world came through the windows, hundreds of feet aloft, and fell upon the beautiful inlaid pavement. . . . Against a pillar, on one side of the nave, is a mosaic copy of Raphael's Transfiguration, fitly framed within a great arch of gorgeous marble; and, no doubt, the indestructible mosaic has preserved it far more completely than the fading and darkening tints in which the artist painted it. At any rate, it seemed to me the one glorious picture that I have ever seen. The pillar nearest the great entrance, on the left of the nave, supports the monument to the Stuart family, where two winged figures, with inverted torches, stand on either side of a marble door, which is closed forever. It is an impressive monument, for you feel as if the last of the race had passed through that door. Emerging from the church, I saw a French sergeant drilling his men in the piazza. These French soldiers are prominent objects everywhere about the city, and make up more of its sight and sound than anything else that lives. They stroll about individually; they pace as sentinels in all the public places; and they march up and down in squads, companies, and battalions, always with a very great din of drum, fife, and trumpet; ten times the proportion of music that the same number of men would require elsewhere; and it reverberates with ten times the noise, between the high edifices of these lanes, that it could make in broader streets. Nevertheless, I have no quarrel with the French soldiers; they are fresh, healthy, smart, honest-looking young fellows enough, in blue coats and red trousers; . . . . and, at all events, they serve as an efficient police, making Rome as safe as London; whereas, without them, it would very likely be a den of banditti. On my way home I saw a few tokens of the Carnival, which is now in full progress; though, as it was only about one o'clock, its frolics had not commenced for the day. . . . I question whether the Romans themselves take any great interest in the Carnival. The balconies along the Corso were almost entirely taken by English and Americans, or other foreigners. As I approached the bridge of St. Angelo, I saw several persons engaged, as I thought, in fishing in the Tiber, with very strong lines; but on drawing nearer I found that they were trying to hook up the branches, and twigs, and other drift-wood, which the recent rains might have swept into the river. There was a little heap of what looked chiefly like willow twigs, the poor result of their labor. The hook was a knot of wood, with the lopped-off branches projecting in three or four prongs. The Tiber has always the hue of a mud-puddle; but now, after a heavy rain which has washed the clay into it, it looks like pease-soup. It is a broad and rapid stream, eddying along as if it were in haste to disgorge its impurities into the sea. On the left side, where the city mostly is situated, the buildings hang directly over the stream; on the other, where stand the Castle of St. Angelo and the Church of St. Peter, the town does not press so imminent upon the shore. The banks are clayey, and look as if the river had been digging them away for ages; but I believe its bed is higher than of yore. February 10th.--I went out to-day, and, going along the Via Felice and the Via delle Quattro Fontane, came unawares to the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, on the summit of the Esquiline Hill. I entered it, without in the least knowing what church it was, and found myself in a broad and noble nave, both very simple and very grand. There was a long row of Ionic columns of marble, twenty or thereabouts on each side, supporting a flat roof. There were vaulted side aisles, and, at the farther end, a bronze canopy over the high altar; and all along the length of the side aisles were shrines with pictures, sculpture, and burning lamps; the whole church, too, was lined with marble: the roof was gilded; and yet the general effect of severe and noble simplicity triumphed over all the ornament. I should have taken it for a Roman temple, retaining nearly its pristine aspect; but Murray tells us that it was founded A. D. 342 by Pope Liberius, on the spot precisely marked out by a miraculous fall of snow, in the month of August, and it has undergone many alterations since his time. But it is very fine, and gives the beholder the idea of vastness, which seems harder to attain than anything else. On the right hand, approaching the high altar, there is a chapel, separated from the rest of the church by an iron paling; and, being admitted into it with another party, I found it most elaborately magnificent. But one magnificence outshone another, and made itself the brightest conceivable for the moment. However, this chapel was as rich as the most precious marble could make it, in pillars and pilasters, and broad, polished slabs, covering the whole walls (except where there were splendid and glowing frescos; or where some monumental statuary or bas-relief, or mosaic picture filled up an arched niche). Its architecture was a dome, resting on four great arches; and in size it would alone have been a church. In the centre of the mosaic pavement there was a flight of steps, down which we went, and saw a group in marble, representing the nativity of Christ, which, judging by the unction with which our guide talked about it, must have been of peculiar sanctity. I hate to leave this chapel and church, without being able to say any one thing that may reflect a portion of their beauty, or of the feeling which they excite. Kneeling against many of the pillars there were persons in prayer, and I stepped softly, fearing lest my tread on the marble pavement should disturb them,--a needless precaution, however, for nobody seems to expect it, nor to be disturbed by the lack of it. The situation of the church, I should suppose, is the loftiest in Rome: it has a fountain at one end, and a column at the other; but I did not pay particular attention to either, nor to the exterior of the church itself. On my return, I turned aside from the Via delle Quattro Fontane into the Via Quirinalis, and was led by it into the Piazza di Monte Cavallo. The street through which I passed was broader, cleanlier, and statelier than most streets in Rome, and bordered by palaces; and the piazza had noble edifices around it, and a fountain, an obelisk, and two nude statues in the centre. The obelisk was, as the inscription indicated, a relic of Egypt; the basin of the fountain was an immense bowl of Oriental granite, into which poured a copious flood of water, discolored by the rain; the statues were colossal,--two beautiful young men, each holding a fiery steed. On the pedestal of one was the inscription, OPUS PHIDIAE; on the other, OPUS PRAXITELIS. What a city is this, when one may stumble, by mere chance,--at a street corner, as it were,--on the works of two such sculptors! I do not know the authority on which these statues (Castor and Pollux, I presume) are attributed to Phidias and Praxiteles; but they impressed me as noble and godlike, and I feel inclined to take them for what they purport to be. On one side of the piazza is the Pontifical Palace; but, not being aware of this at the time, I did not look particularly at the edifice. I came home by way of the Corso, which seemed a little enlivened by Carnival time; though, as it was not yet two o'clock, the fun had not begun for the day. The rain throws a dreary damper on the festivities. February 13th.--Day before yesterday we took J----- and R----- in a carriage, and went to see the Carnival, by driving up and down the Corso. It was as ugly a day, as respects weather, as has befallen us since we came to Rome,--cloudy, with an indecisive wet, which finally settled into a rain; and people say that such is generally the weather in Carnival time. There is very little to be said about the spectacle. Sunshine would have improved it, no doubt; but a person must have very broad sunshine within himself to be joyous on such shallow provocation. The street, at all events, would have looked rather brilliant under a sunny sky, the balconies being hung with bright-colored draperies, which were also flung out of some of the windows. . . . Soon I had my first experience of the Carnival in a handful of confetti, right slap in my face. . . . Many of the ladies wore loose white dominos, and some of the gentlemen had on defensive armor of blouses; and wire masks over the face were a protection for both sexes,--not a needless one, for I received a shot in my right eye which cost me many tears. It seems to be a point of courtesy (though often disregarded by Americans and English) not to fling confetti at ladies, or at non-combatants, or quiet bystanders; and the engagements with these missiles were generally between open carriages, manned with youths, who were provided with confetti for such encounters, and with bouquets for the ladies. We had one real enemy on the Corso; for our former friend Mrs. T------ was there, and as often as we passed and repassed her, she favored us with a handful of lime. Two or three times somebody ran by the carriage and puffed forth a shower of winged seeds through a tube into our faces and over our clothes; and, in the course of the afternoon, we were hit with perhaps half a dozen sugar-plums. Possibly we may not have received our fair share of these last salutes, for J----- had on a black mask, which made him look like an imp of Satan, and drew many volleys of confetti that we might otherwise have escaped. A good many bouquets were flung at our little R-----, and at us generally. . . . This was what is called masking-day, when it is the rule to wear masks in the Corso, but the great majority of people appeared without them. . . . Two fantastic figures, with enormous heads, set round with frizzly hair, came and grinned into our carriage, and J----- tore out a handful of hair (which proved to be sea-weed) from one of their heads, rather to the discomposure of the owner, who muttered his indignation in Italian. . . . On comparing notes with J----- and R-----, indeed with U---- too, I find that they all enjoyed the Carnival much more than I did. Only the young ought to write descriptions of such scenes. My cold criticism chills the life out of it. February 14th.--Friday, 12th, was a sunny day, the first that we had had for some time; and my wife and I went forth to see sights as well as to make some calls that had long been due. We went first to the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which I have already mentioned, and, on our return, we went to the Piazza di Monte Cavallo, and saw those admirable ancient statues of Castor and Pollux, which seem to me sons of the morning, and full of life and strength. The atmosphere, in such a length of time, has covered the marble surface of these statues with a gray rust, that envelops both the men and horses as with a garment; besides which, there are strange discolorations, such as patches of white moss on the elbows, and reddish streaks down the sides; but the glory of form overcomes all these defects of color. It is pleasant to observe how familiar some little birds are with these colossal statues,--hopping about on their heads and over their huge fists, and very likely they have nests in their ears or among their hair. We called at the Barberini Palace, where William Story has established himself and family for the next seven years, or more, on the third piano, in apartments that afford a very fine outlook over Rome, and have the sun in them through most of the day. Mrs. S---- invited us to her fancy ball, but we declined. On the staircase ascending to their piano we saw the ancient Greek bas-relief of a lion, whence Canova is supposed to have taken the idea of his lions on the monument in St. Peter's. Afterwards we made two or three calls in the neighborhood of the Piazza de' Spagna, finding only Mr. Hamilton Fish and family, at the Hotel d'Europe, at home, and next visited the studio of Mr. C. G. Thompson, whom I knew in Boston. He has very greatly improved since those days, and, being always a man of delicate mind, and earnestly desiring excellence for its own sake, he has won himself the power of doing beautiful and elevated works. He is now meditating a series of pictures from Shakespeare's "Tempest," the sketches of one or two of which he showed us, likewise a copy of a small Madonna, by Raphael, wrought with a minute faithfulness which it makes one a better man to observe. . . . Mr. Thompson is a true artist, and whatever his pictures have of beauty comes from very far beneath the surface; and this, I suppose, is one weighty reason why he has but moderate success. I should like his pictures for the mere color, even if they represented nothing. His studio is in the Via Sistina; and at a little distance on the other side of the same street is William Story's, where we likewise went, and found him at work on a sitting statue of Cleopatra. William Story looks quite as vivid, in a graver way, as when I saw him last, a very young man. His perplexing variety of talents and accomplishments--he being a poet, a prose writer, a lawyer, a painter, a musician, and a sculptor--seems now to be concentrating itself into this latter vocation, and I cannot see why he should not achieve something very good. He has a beautiful statue, already finished, of Goethe's Margaret, pulling a flower to pieces to discover whether Faust loves her; a very type of virginity and simplicity. The statue of Cleopatra, now only fourteen days advanced in the clay, is as wide a step from the little maidenly Margaret as any artist could take; it is a grand subject, and he is conceiving it with depth and power, and working it out with adequate skill. He certainly is sensible of something deeper in his art than merely to make beautiful nudities and baptize them by classic names. By the by, he told me several queer stories of American visitors to his studio: one of them, after long inspecting Cleopatra, into which he has put all possible characteristics of her time and nation and of her own individuality, asked, "Have you baptized your statue yet?" as if the sculptor were waiting till his statue were finished before he chose the subject of it,--as, indeed, I should think many sculptors do. Another remarked of a statue of Hero, who is seeking Leander by torchlight, and in momentary expectation of finding his drowned body, "Is not the face a little sad?" Another time a whole party of Americans filed into his studio, and ranged themselves round his father's statue, and, after much silent examination, the spokesman of the party inquired, "Well, sir, what is this intended to represent?" William Story, in telling these little anecdotes, gave the Yankee twang to perfection. . . . The statue of his father, his first work, is very noble, as noble and fine a portrait-statue as I ever saw. In the outer room of his studio a stone-cutter, or whatever this kind of artisan is called, was at work, transferring the statue of Hero from the plaster-cast into marble; and already, though still in some respects a block of stone, there was a wonderful degree of expression in the face. It is not quite pleasant to think that the sculptor does not really do the whole labor on his statues, but that they are all but finished to his hand by merely mechanical people. It is generally only the finishing touches that are given by his own chisel. Yesterday, being another bright day, we went to the basilica of St. John Lateran, which is the basilica next in rank to St. Peter's, and has the precedence of it as regards certain sacred privileges. It stands on a most noble site, on the outskirts of the city, commanding a view of the Sabine and Alban hills, blue in the distance, and some of them hoary with sunny snow. The ruins of the Claudian aqueduct are close at hand. The church is connected with the Lateran palace and museum, so that the whole is one edifice; but the facade of the church distinguishes it, and is very lofty and grand,--more so, it seems to me, than that of St. Peter's. Under the portico is an old statue of Constantine, representing him as a very stout and sturdy personage. The inside of the church disappointed me, though no doubt I should have been wonderstruck had I seen it a month ago. We went into one of the chapels, which was very rich in colored marbles; and, going down a winding staircase, found ourselves among the tombs and sarcophagi of the Corsini family, and in presence of a marble Pieta very beautifully sculptured. On the other side of the church we looked into the Torlonia Chapel, very rich and rather profusely gilded, but, as it seemed to me, not tawdry, though the white newness of the marble is not perfectly agreeable after being accustomed to the milder tint which time bestows on sculpture. The tombs and statues appeared like shapes and images of new-fallen snow. The most interesting thing which we saw in this church (and, admitting its authenticity, there can scarcely be a more interesting one anywhere) was the table at which the Last Supper was eaten. It is preserved in a corridor, on one side of the tribune or chancel, and is shown by torchlight suspended upon the wall beneath a covering of glass. Only the top of the table is shown, presenting a broad, flat surface of wood, evidently very old, and showing traces of dry-rot in one or two places. There are nails in it, and the attendant said that it had formerly been covered with bronze. As well as I can remember, it may be five or six feet square, and I suppose would accommodate twelve persons, though not if they reclined in the Roman fashion, nor if they sat as they do in Leonardo da Vinci's picture. It would be very delightful to believe in this table. There are several other sacred relics preserved in the church; for instance, the staircase of Pilate's house up which Jesus went, and the porphyry slab on which the soldiers cast lots for his garments. These, however, we did not see. There are very glowing frescos on portions of the walls; but, there being much whitewash instead of incrusted marble, it has not the pleasant aspect which one's eye learns to demand in Roman churches. There is a good deal of statuary along the columns of the nave, and in the monuments of the side aisles. In reference to the interior splendor of Roman churches, I must say that I think it a pity that painted windows are exclusively a Gothic ornament; for the elaborate ornamentation of these interiors puts the ordinary daylight out of countenance, so that a window with only the white sunshine coming through it, or even with a glimpse of the blue Italian sky, looks like a portion left unfinished, and therefore a blotch in the rich wall. It is like the one spot in Aladdin's palace which he left for the king, his father-in-law, to finish, after his fairy architects had exhausted their magnificence on the rest; and the sun, like the king, fails in the effort. It has what is called a porta santa, which we saw walled up, in front of the church, one side of the main entrance. I know not what gives it its sanctity, but it appears to be opened by the pope on a year of jubilee, once every quarter of a century. After our return . . . . I took R----- along the Pincian Hill, and finally, after witnessing what of the Carnival could be seen in the Piazza del Popolo from that safe height, we went down into the Corso, and some little distance along it. Except for the sunshine, the scene was much the same as I have already described; perhaps fewer confetti and more bouquets. Some Americans and English are said to have been brought before the police authorities, and fined for throwing lime. It is remarkable that the jollity, such as it is, of the Carnival, does not extend an inch beyond the line of the Corso; there it flows along in a narrow stream, while in the nearest street we see nothing but the ordinary Roman gravity. February 15th.--Yesterday was a bright day, but I did not go out till the afternoon, when I took an hour's walk along the Pincian, stopping a good while to look at the old beggar who, for many years past, has occupied one of the platforms of the flight of steps leading from the Piazza de' Spagna to the Triniti de' Monti. Hillard commemorates him in his book. He is an unlovely object, moving about on his hands and knees, principally by aid of his hands, which are fortified with a sort of wooden shoes; while his poor, wasted lower shanks stick up in the air behind him, loosely vibrating as he progresses. He is gray, old, ragged, a pitiable sight, but seems very active in his own fashion, and bestirs himself on the approach of his visitors with the alacrity of a spider when a fly touches the remote circumference of his web. While I looked down at him he received alms from three persons, one of whom was a young woman of the lower orders; the other two were gentlemen, probably either English or American. I could not quite make out the principle on which he let some people pass without molestation, while he shuffled from one end of the platform to the other to intercept an occasional individual. He is not persistent in his demands, nor, indeed, is this a usual fault among Italian beggars. A shake of the head will stop him when wriggling towards you from a distance. I fancy he reaps a pretty fair harvest, and no doubt leads as contented and as interesting a life as most people, sitting there all day on those sunny steps, looking at the world, and making his profit out of it. It must be pretty much such an occupation as fishing, in its effect upon the hopes and apprehensions; and probably he suffers no more from the many refusals he meets with than the angler does, when he sees a fish smell at his bait and swim away. One success pays for a hundred disappointments, and the game is all the better for not being entirely in his own favor. Walking onward, I found the Pincian thronged with promenaders, as also with carriages, which drove round the verge of the gardens in an unbroken ring. To-day has been very rainy. I went out in the forenoon, and took a sitting for my bust in one of a suite of rooms formerly occupied by Canova. It was large, high, and dreary from the want of a carpet, furniture, or anything but clay and plaster. A sculptor's studio has not the picturesque charm of that of a painter, where there is color, warmth, and cheerfulness, and where the artist continually turns towards you the glow of some picture, which is resting against the wall. . . . I was asked not to look at the bust at the close of the sitting, and, of course, I obeyed; though I have a vague idea of a heavy-browed physiognomy, something like what I have seen in the glass, but looking strangely in that guise of clay. . . . It is a singular fascination that Rome exercises upon artists. There is clay elsewhere, and marble enough, and heads to model, and ideas may be made sensible objects at home as well as here. I think it is the peculiar mode of life that attracts, and its freedom from the inthralments of society, more than the artistic advantages which Rome offers; and, no doubt, though the artists care little about one another's works, yet they keep each other warm by the presence of so many of them. The Carnival still continues, though I hardly see how it can have withstood such a damper as this rainy day. There were several people-- three, I think--killed in the Corso on Saturday; some accounts say that they were run over by the horses in the race; others, that they were ridden down by the dragoons in clearing the course. After leaving Canova's studio, I stepped into the church of San Luigi de' Francesi, in the Via di Ripetta. It was built, I believe, by Catherine de' Medici, and is under the protection of the French government, and a most shamefully dirty place of worship, the beautiful marble columns looking dingy, for the want of loving and pious care. There are many tombs and monuments of French people, both of the past and present,-- artists, soldiers, priests, and others, who have died in Rome. It was so dusky within the church that I could hardly distinguish the pictures in the chapels and over the altar, nor did I know that there were any worth looking for. Nevertheless, there were frescos by Domenichino, and oil-paintings by Guido and others. I found it peculiarly touching to read the records, in Latin or French, of persons who had died in this foreign laud, though they were not my own country-people, and though I was even less akin to them than they to Italy. Still, there was a sort of relationship in the fact that neither they nor I belonged here. February 17th.--Yesterday morning was perfectly sunny, and we went out betimes to see churches; going first to the Capuchins', close by the Piazza Barberini. ["The Marble Faun" takes up this description of the church and of the dead monk, which we really saw, just as recounted, even to the sudden stream of blood which flowed from the nostrils, as we looked at him.-- ED.] We next went to the Trinita de' Monti, which stands at the head of the steps, leading, in several flights, from the Piazza de' Spagna. It is now connected with a convent of French nuns, and when we rang at a side door, one of the sisterhood answered the summons, and admitted us into the church. This, like that of the Capuchins', had a vaulted roof over the nave, and no side aisles, but rows of chapels instead. Unlike the Capuchins', which was filthy, and really disgraceful to behold, this church was most exquisitely neat, as women alone would have thought it worth while to keep it. It is not a very splendid church, not rich in gorgeous marbles, but pleasant to be in, if it were only for the sake of its godly purity. There was only one person in the nave; a young girl, who sat perfectly still, with her face towards the altar, as long as we stayed. Between the nave and the rest of the church there is a high iron railing, and on the other side of it were two kneeling figures in black, so motionless that I at first thought them statues; but they proved to be two nuns at their devotions; and others of the sisterhood came by and by and joined them. Nuns, at least these nuns, who are French, and probably ladies of refinement, having the education of young girls in charge, are far pleasanter objects to see and think about than monks; the odor of sanctity, in the latter, not being an agreeable fragrance. But these holy sisters, with their black crape and white muslin, looked really pure and unspotted from the world. On the iron railing above mentioned was the representation of a golden heart, pierced with arrows; for these are nuns of the Sacred Heart. In the various chapels there are several paintings in fresco, some by Daniele da Volterra; and one of them, the "Descent from the Cross," has been pronounced the third greatest picture in the world. I never should have had the slightest suspicion that it was a great picture at all, so worn and faded it looks, and so hard, so difficult to be seen, and so undelightful when one does see it. From the Trinita we went to the Santa Maria del Popolo, a church built on a spot where Nero is said to have been buried, and which was afterwards made horrible by devilish phantoms. It now being past twelve, and all the churches closing from twelve till two, we had not time to pay much attention to the frescos, oil-pictures, and statues, by Raphael and other famous men, which are to be seen here. I remember dimly the magnificent chapel of the Chigi family, and little else, for we stayed but a short time; and went next to the sculptor's studio, where I had another sitting for my bust. After I had been moulded for about an hour, we turned homeward; but my wife concluded to hire a balcony for this last afternoon and evening of the Carnival, and she took possession of it, while I went home to send to her Miss S------ and the two elder children. For my part, I took R-----, and walked, by way of the Pincian, to the Piazza del Popolo, and thence along the Corso, where, by this time, the warfare of bouquets and confetti raged pretty fiercely. The sky being blue and the sun bright, the scene looked much gayer and brisker than I had before found it; and I can conceive of its being rather agreeable than otherwise, up to the age of twenty. We got several volleys of confetti. R----- received a bouquet and a sugar-plum, and I a resounding hit from something that looked more like a cabbage than a flower. Little as I have enjoyed the Carnival, I think I could make quite a brilliant sketch of it, without very widely departing from truth. February 19th.--Day before yesterday, pretty early, we went to St. Peter's, expecting to see the pope cast ashes on the heads of the cardinals, it being Ash-Wednesday. On arriving, however, we found no more than the usual number of visitants and devotional people scattered through the broad interior of St. Peter's; and thence concluded that the ceremonies were to be performed in the Sistine Chapel. Accordingly, we went out of the cathedral, through the door in the left transept, and passed round the exterior, and through the vast courts of the Vatican, seeking for the chapel. We had blundered into the carriage-entrance of the palace; there is an entrance from some point near the front of the church, but this we did not find. The papal guards, in the strangest antique and antic costume that was ever seen,--a party-colored dress, striped with blue, red, and yellow, white and black, with a doublet and ruff, and trunk-breeches, and armed with halberds,--were on duty at the gateways, but suffered us to pass without question. Finally, we reached a large court, where some cardinals' red equipages and other carriages were drawn up, but were still at a loss as to the whereabouts of the chapel. At last an attendant kindly showed us the proper door, and led us up flights of stairs, along passages and galleries, and through halls, till at last we came to a spacious and lofty apartment adorned with frescos; this was the Sala Regia, and the antechamber to the Sistine Chapel. The attendant, meanwhile, had informed us that my wife could not be admitted to the chapel in her bonnet, and that I myself could not enter at all, for lack of a dress-coat; so my wife took off her bonnet, and, covering her head with her black lace veil, was readily let in, while I remained in the Sala Regia, with several other gentlemen, who found themselves in the same predicament as I was. There was a wonderful variety of costume to be seen and studied among the persons around me, comprising garbs that have been elsewhere laid aside for at least three centuries,--the broad, plaited, double ruff, and black velvet cloak, doublet, trunk-breeches, and sword of Queen Elizabeth's time,--the papal guard, in their striped and party-colored dress as before described, looking not a little like harlequins; other soldiers in helmets and jackboots; French officers of various uniform; monks and priests; attendants in old-fashioned and gorgeous livery; gentlemen, some in black dress-coats and pantaloons, others in wide-awake hats and tweed overcoats; and a few ladies in the prescribed costume of black; so that, in any other country, the scene might have been taken for a fancy ball. By and by, the cardinals began to arrive, and added their splendid purple robes and red hats to make the picture still more brilliant. They were old men, one or two very aged and infirm, and generally men of bulk and substance, with heavy faces, fleshy about the chin. Their red hats, trimmed with gold-lace, are a beautiful piece of finery, and are identical in shape with the black, loosely cocked beavers worn by the Catholic ecclesiastics generally. Wolsey's hat, which I saw at the Manchester Exhibition, might have been made on the same block, but apparently was never cocked, as the fashion now is. The attendants changed the upper portions of their master's attire, and put a little cap of scarlet cloth on each of their heads, after which the cardinals, one by one, or two by two, as they happened to arrive, went into the chapel, with a page behind each holding up his purple train. In the mean while, within the chapel, we heard singing and chanting; and whenever the voluminous curtains that hung before the entrance were slightly drawn apart, we outsiders glanced through, but could see only a mass of people, and beyond them still another chapel, divided from the hither one by a screen. When almost everybody had gone in, there was a stir among the guards and attendants, and a door opened, apparently communicating with the inner apartments of the Vatican. Through this door came, not the pope, as I had partly expected, but a bulky old lady in black, with a red face, who bowed towards the spectators with an aspect of dignified complaisance as she passed towards the entrance of the chapel. I took off my hat, unlike certain English gentlemen who stood nearer, and found that I had not done amiss, for it was the Queen of Spain. There was nothing else to be seen; so I went back through the antechambers (which are noble halls, richly frescoed on the walls and ceilings), endeavoring to get out through the same passages that had let me in. I had already tried to descend what I now supposed to be the Scala Santa, but had been turned back by a sentinel. After wandering to and fro a good while, I at last found myself in a long, long gallery, on each side of which were innumerable inscriptions, in Greek and Latin, on slabs of marble, built into the walls; and classic altars and tablets were ranged along, from end to end. At the extremity was a closed iron grating, from which I was retreating; but a French gentleman accosted me, with the information that the custode would admit me, if I chose, and would accompany me through the sculpture department of the Vatican. I acceded, and thus took my first view of those innumerable art-treasures, passing from one object to another, at an easy pace, pausing hardly a moment anywhere, and dismissing even the Apollo, and the Laocoon, and the Torso of Hercules, in the space of half a dozen breaths. I was well enough content to do so, in order to get a general idea of the contents of the galleries, before settling down upon individual objects. Most of the world-famous sculptures presented themselves to my eye with a kind of familiarity, through the copies and casts which I had seen; but I found the originals more different than I anticipated. The Apollo, for instance, has a face which I have never seen in any cast or copy. I must confess, however, taking such transient glimpses as I did, I was more impressed with the extent of the Vatican, and the beautiful order in which it is kept, and its great sunny, open courts, with fountains, grass, and shrubs, and the views of Rome and the Campagna from its windows,--more impressed with these, and with certain vastly capacious vases, and two seat sarcophagi,--than with the statuary. Thus I went round the whole, and was dismissed through the grated barrier into the gallery of inscriptions again; and after a little more wandering, I made my way out of the palace. . . . Yesterday I went out betimes, and strayed through some portion of ancient Rome, to the Column of Trajan, to the Forum, thence along the Appian Way; after which I lost myself among the intricacies of the streets, and finally came out at the bridge of St. Angelo. The first observation which a stranger is led to make, in the neighborhood of Roman ruins, is that the inhabitants seem to be strangely addicted to the washing of clothes; for all the precincts of Trajan's Forum, and of the Roman Forum, and wherever else an iron railing affords opportunity to hang them, were whitened with sheets, and other linen and cotton, drying in the sun. It must be that washerwomen burrow among the old temples. The second observation is not quite so favorable to the cleanly character of the modern Romans; indeed, it is so very unfavorable, that I hardly know how to express it. But the fact is, that, through the Forum, . . . . and anywhere out of the commonest foot-track and roadway, you must look well to your steps. . . . If you tread beneath the triumphal arch of Titus or Constantine, you had better look downward than upward, whatever be the merit of the sculptures aloft. . . . After a while the visitant finds himself getting accustomed to this horrible state of things; and the associations of moral sublimity and beauty seem to throw a veil over the physical meannesses to which I allude. Perhaps there is something in the mind of the people of these countries that enables them quite to dissever small ugliness from great sublimity and beauty. They spit upon the glorious pavement of St. Peter's, and wherever else they like; they place paltry-looking wooden confessionals beneath its sublime arches, and ornament them with cheap little colored prints of the crucifixion; they hang tin hearts and other tinsel and trumpery at the gorgeous shrines of the saints, in chapels that are incrusted with gems, or marbles almost as precious; they put pasteboard statues of saints beneath the dome of the Pantheon; in short, they let the sublime and the ridiculous come close together, and are not in the least troubled by the proximity. It must be that their sense of the beautiful is stronger than in the Anglo-Saxon mind, and that it observes only what is fit to gratify it. To-day, which was bright and cool, my wife and I set forth immediately after breakfast, in search of the Baths of Diocletian, and the church of Santa Maria degl' Angeli. We went too far along the Via di Porta Pia, and after passing by two or three convents, and their high garden walls, and the villa Bonaparte on one side, and the villa Torlonia on the other, at last issued through the city gate. Before us, far away, were the Alban hills, the loftiest of which was absolutely silvered with snow and sunshine, and set in the bluest and brightest of skies. We now retraced our steps to the Fountain of the Termini, where is a ponderous heap of stone, representing Moses striking the rock; a colossal figure, not without a certain enormous might and dignity, though rather too evidently looking his awfullest. This statue was the death of its sculptor, whose heart was broken on account of the ridicule it excited. There are many more absurd aquatic devices in Rome, however, and few better. We turned into the Piazza de' Termini, the entrance of which is at this fountain; and after some inquiry of the French soldiers, a numerous detachment of whom appear to be quartered in the vicinity, we found our way to the portal of Santa Maria degl' Angeli. The exterior of this church has no pretensions to beauty or majesty, or, indeed, to architectural merit of any kind, or to any architecture whatever; for it looks like a confused pile of ruined brickwork, with a facade resembling half the inner curve of a large oven. No one would imagine that there was a church under that enormous heap of ancient rubbish. But the door admits you into a circular vestibule, once an apartment of Diocletian's Baths, but now a portion of the nave of the church, and surrounded with monumental busts; and thence you pass into what was the central hall; now, with little change, except of detail and ornament, transformed into the body of the church. This space is so lofty, broad, and airy, that the soul forthwith swells out and magnifies itself, for the sake of filling it. It was Michael Angelo who contrived this miracle; and I feel even more grateful to him for rescuing such a noble interior from destruction, than if he had originally built it himself. In the ceiling above, you see the metal fixtures whereon the old Romans hung their lamps; and there are eight gigantic pillars of Egyptian granite, standing as they stood of yore. There is a grand simplicity about the church, more satisfactory than elaborate ornament; but the present pope has paved and adorned one of the large chapels of the transept in very beautiful style, and the pavement of the central part is likewise laid in rich marbles. In the choir there are several pictures, one of which was veiled, as celebrated pictures frequently are in churches. A person, who seemed to be at his devotions, withdrew the veil for us, and we saw a Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Domenichino, originally, I believe, painted in fresco in St. Peter's, but since transferred to canvas, and removed hither. Its place at St. Peter's is supplied by a mosaic copy. I was a good deal impressed by this picture,--the dying saint, amid the sorrow of those who loved him, and the fury of his enemies, looking upward, where a company of angels, and Jesus with them, are waiting to welcome him and crown him; and I felt what an influence pictures might have upon the devotional part of our nature. The nailmarks in the hands and feet of Jesus, ineffaceable, even after he had passed into bliss and glory, touched my heart with a sense of his love for us. I think this really a great picture. We walked round the church, looking at other paintings and frescos, but saw no others that greatly interested us. In the vestibule there are monuments to Carlo Maratti and Salvator Rosa, and there is a statue of St. Bruno, by Houdon, which is pronounced to be very fine. I thought it good, but scarcely worthy of vast admiration. Houdon was the sculptor of the first statue of Washington, and of the bust, whence, I suppose, all subsequent statues have been, and will be, mainly modelled. After emerging from the church, I looked back with wonder at the stack of shapeless old brickwork that hid the splendid interior. I must go there again, and breathe freely in that noble space. February 20th.--This morning, after breakfast, I walked across the city, making a pretty straight course to the Pantheon, and thence to the bridge of St. Angelo, and to St. Peter's. It had been my purpose to go to the Fontana Paolina; but, finding that the distance was too great, and being weighed down with a Roman lassitude, I concluded to go into St. Peter's. Here I looked at Michael Angelo's Pieta, a representation of the dead Christ, in his mother's lap. Then I strolled round the great church, and find that it continues to grow upon me both in magnitude and beauty, by comparison with the many interiors of sacred edifices which I have lately seen. At times, a single, casual, momentary glimpse of its magnificence gleams upon my soul, as it were, when I happen to glance at arch opening beyond arch, and I am surprised into admiration. I have experienced that a landscape and the sky unfold the deepest beauty in a similar way; not when they are gazed at of set purpose, but when the spectator looks suddenly through a vista, among a crowd of other thoughts. Passing near the confessional for foreigners to-day, I saw a Spaniard, who had just come out of the one devoted to his native tongue, taking leave of his confessor, with an affectionate reverence, which--as well as the benign dignity of the good father--it was good to behold. . . . I returned home early, in order to go with my wife to the Barberini Palace at two o'clock. We entered through the gateway, through the Via delle Quattro Fontane, passing one or two sentinels; for there is apparently a regiment of dragoons quartered on the ground-floor of the palace; and I stumbled upon a room containing their saddles, the other day, when seeking for Mr. Story's staircase. The entrance to the picture-gallery is by a door on the right hand, affording us a sight of a beautiful spiral staircase, which goes circling upward from the very basement to the very summit of the palace, with a perfectly easy ascent, yet confining its sweep within a moderate compass. We looked up through the interior of the spiral, as through a tube, from the bottom to the top. The pictures are contained in three contiguous rooms of the lower piano, and are few in number, comprising barely half a dozen which I should care to see again, though doubtless all have value in their way. One that attracted our attention was a picture of "Christ disputing with the Doctors," by Albert Duerer, in which was represented the ugliest, most evil-minded, stubborn, pragmatical, and contentious old Jew that ever lived under the law of Moses; and he and the child Jesus were arguing, not only with their tongues, but making hieroglyphics, as it were, by the motion of their hands and fingers. It is a very queer, as well as a very remarkable picture. But we passed hastily by this, and almost all others, being eager to see the two which chiefly make the collection famous,--Raphael's Fornarina, and Guido's portrait of Beatrice Cenci. These were found in the last of the three rooms, and as regards Beatrice Cenci, I might as well not try to say anything; for its spell is indefinable, and the painter has wrought it in a way more like magic than anything else. . . . It is the most profoundly wrought picture in the world; no artist did it, nor could do it, again. Guido may have held the brush, but he painted "better than he knew." I wish, however, it were possible for some spectator, of deep sensibility, to see the picture without knowing anything of its subject or history; for, no doubt, we bring all our knowledge of the Cenci tragedy to the interpretation of it. Close beside Beatrice Cenci hangs the Fornarina. . . . While we were looking at these works Miss M------ unexpectedly joined us, and we went, all three together, to the Rospigliosi Palace, in the Piazza di Monte Cavallo. A porter, in cocked hat, and with a staff of office, admitted us into a spacious court before the palace, and directed us to a garden on one side, raised as much as twenty feet above the level on which we stood. The gardener opened the gate for us, and we ascended a beautiful stone staircase, with a carved balustrade, bearing many marks of time and weather. Reaching the garden-level, we found it laid out in walks, bordered with box and ornamental shrubbery, amid which were lemon-trees, and one large old exotic from some distant clime. In the centre of the garden, surrounded by a stone balustrade, like that of the staircase, was a fish-pond, into which several jets of water were continually spouting; and on pedestals, that made part of the balusters, stood eight marble statues of Apollo, Cupid, nymphs, and other such sunny and beautiful people of classic mythology. There had been many more of these statues, but the rest had disappeared, and those which remained had suffered grievous damage, here to a nose, there to a hand or foot, and often a fracture of the body, very imperfectly mended. There was a pleasant sunshine in the garden, and a springlike, or rather a genial, autumnal atmosphere, though elsewhere it was a day of poisonous Roman chill. At the end of the garden, which was of no great extent, was an edifice, bordering on the piazza, called the Casino, which, I presume, means a garden-house. The front is richly ornamented with bas-reliefs, and statues in niches; as if it were a place for pleasure and enjoyment, and therefore ought to be beautiful. As we approached it, the door swung open, and we went into a large room on the ground-floor, and, looking up to the ceiling, beheld Guido's Aurora. The picture is as fresh and brilliant as if he had painted it with the morning sunshine which it represents. It could not be more lustrous in its lines, if he had given it the last touch an hour ago. Three or four artists were copying it at that instant, and positively their colors did not look brighter, though a great deal newer than his. The alacrity and movement, briskness and morning stir and glow, of the picture are wonderful. It seems impossible to catch its glory in a copy. Several artists, as I said, were making the attempt, and we saw two other attempted copies leaning against the wall, but it was easy to detect failure in just essential points. My memory, I believe, will be somewhat enlivened by this picture hereafter: not that I remember it very distinctly even now; but bright things leave a sheen and glimmer in the mind, like Christian's tremulous glimpse of the Celestial City. In two other rooms of the Casino we saw pictures by Domenichino, Rubens, and other famous painters, which I do not mean to speak of, because I cared really little or nothing about them. Returning into the garden, the sunny warmth of which was most grateful after the chill air and cold pavement of the Casino, we walked round the laguna, examining the statues, and looking down at some little fishes that swarmed at the stone margin of the pool. There were two infants of the Rospigliosi family: one, a young child playing with a maid and head-servant; another, the very chubbiest and rosiest boy in the world, sleeping on its nurse's bosom. The nurse was a comely woman enough, dressed in bright colors, which fitly set off the deep lines of her Italian face. An old painter very likely would have beautified and refined the pair into a Madonna, with the child Jesus; for an artist need not go far in Italy to find a picture ready composed and tinted, needing little more than to be literally copied. Miss M------ had gone away before us; but my wife and I, after leaving the Palazzo Rospigliosi, and on our way hone, went into the Church of St. Andrea, which belongs to a convent of Jesuits. I have long ago exhausted all my capacity of admiration for splendid interiors of churches, but methinks this little, little temple (it is not more than fifty or sixty feet across) has a more perfect and gem-like beauty than any other. Its shape is oval, with an oval dome, and, above that, another little dome, both of which are magnificently frescoed. Around the base of the larger dome is wreathed a flight of angels, and the smaller and upper one is encircled by a garland of cherubs,--cherub and angel all of pure white marble. The oval centre of the church is walled round with precious and lustrous marble of a red-veined variety interspersed with columns and pilasters of white; and there are arches opening through this rich wall, forming chapels, which the architect seems to have striven hard to make even more gorgeous than the main body of the church. They contain beautiful pictures, not dark and faded, but glowing, as if just from the painter's hands; and the shrines are adorned with whatever is most rare, and in one of them was the great carbuncle; at any rate, a bright, fiery gem as big as a turkey's egg. The pavement of the church was one star of various-colored marble, and in the centre was a mosaic, covering, I believe, the tomb of the founder. I have not seen, nor expect to see, anything else so entirely and satisfactorily finished as this small oval church; and I only wish I could pack it in a large box, and send it home. I must not forget that, on our way from the Barberini Palace, we stopped an instant to look at the house, at the corner of the street of the four fountains, where Milton was a guest while in Rome. He seems quite a man of our own day, seen so nearly at the hither extremity of the vista through which we look back, from the epoch of railways to that of the oldest Egyptian obelisk. The house (it was then occupied by the Cardinal Barberini) looks as if it might have been built within the present century; for mediaeval houses in Rome do not assume the aspect of antiquity; perhaps because the Italian style of architecture, or something similar, is the one more generally in vogue in most cities. February 21st.--This morning I took my way through the Porta del Popolo, intending to spend the forenoon in the Campagna; but, getting weary of the straight, uninteresting street that runs out of the gate, I turned aside from it, and soon found myself on the shores of the Tiber. It looked, as usual, like a saturated solution of yellow mud, and eddied hastily along between deep banks of clay, and over a clay bed, in which doubtless are hidden many a richer treasure than we now possess. The French once proposed to draw off the river, for the purpose of recovering all the sunken statues and relics; but the Romans made strenuous objection, on account of the increased virulence of malaria which would probably result. I saw a man on the immediate shore of the river, fifty feet or so beneath the bank on which I stood, sitting patiently, with an angling rod; and I waited to see what he might catch. Two other persons likewise sat down to watch him; but he caught nothing so long as I stayed, and at last seemed to give it up. The banks and vicinity of the river are very bare and uninviting, as I then saw them; no shade, no verdure,--a rough, neglected aspect, and a peculiar shabbiness about the few houses that were visible. Farther down the stream the dome of St. Peter's showed itself on the other side, seeming to stand on the outskirts of the city. I walked along the banks, with some expectation of finding a ferry, by which I might cross the river; but my course was soon interrupted by the wall, and I turned up a lane that led me straight back again to the Porta del Popolo. I stopped a moment, however, to see some young men pitching quoits, which they appeared to do with a good deal of skill. I went along the Via di Ripetta, and through other streets, stepping into two or three churches, one of which was the Pantheon. . . . There are, I think, seven deep, pillared recesses around the circumference of it, each of which becomes a sufficiently capacious chapel; and alternately with these chapels there is a marble structure, like the architecture of a doorway, beneath which is the shrine of a saint; so that the whole circle of the Pantheon is filled up with the seven chapels and seven shrines. A number of persons were sitting or kneeling around; others came in while I was there, dipping their fingers in the holy water, and bending the knee, as they passed the shrines and chapels, until they reached the one which, apparently, they had selected as the particular altar for their devotions. Everybody seemed so devout, and in a frame of mind so suited to the day and place, that it really made me feel a little awkward not to be able to kneel down along with them. Unlike the worshippers in our own churches, each individual here seems to do his own individual acts of devotion, and I cannot but think it better so than to make an effort for united prayer as we do. It is my opinion that a great deal of devout and reverential feeling is kept alive in people's hearts by the Catholic mode of worship. Soon leaving the Pantheon, a few minutes' walk towards the Corso brought me to the Church of St. Ignazio, which belongs to the College of the Jesuits. It is spacious and of beautiful architecture, but not strikingly distinguished, in the latter particular, from many others; a wide and lofty nave, supported upon marble columns, between which arches open into the side aisles, and at the junction of the nave and transept a dome, resting on four great arches. The church seemed to be purposely somewhat darkened, so that I could not well see the details of the ornamentation, except the frescos on the ceiling of the nave, which were very brilliant, and done in so effectual a style, that I really could not satisfy myself that some of the figures did not actually protrude from the ceiling,--in short, that they were not colored bas-reliefs, instead of frescos. No words can express the beautiful effect, in an upholstery point of view, of this kind of decoration. Here, as at the Pantheon, there were many persons sitting silent, kneeling, or passing from shrine to shrine. I reached home at about twelve, and, at one, set out again, with my wife, towards St. Peter's, where we meant to stay till after vespers. We walked across the city, and through the Piazza de Navona, where we stopped to look at one of Bernini's absurd fountains, of which the water makes but the smallest part,--a little squirt or two amid a prodigious fuss of gods and monsters. Thence we passed by the poor, battered-down torso of Pasquin, and came, by devious ways, to the bridge of St. Angelo; the streets bearing pretty much their weekday aspect, many of the shops open, the market-stalls doing their usual business, and the people brisk and gay, though not indecorously so. I suppose there was hardly a man or woman who had not heard mass, confessed, and said their prayers; a thing which--the prayers, I mean--it would be absurd to predicate of London, New York, or any Protestant city. In however adulterated a guise, the Catholics do get a draught of devotion to slake the thirst of their souls, and methinks it must needs do them good, even if not quite so pure as if it came from better cisterns, or from the original fountain-head. Arriving at St. Peter's shortly after two, we walked round the whole church, looking at all the pictures and most of the monuments, . . . . and paused longest before Guido's "Archangel Michael overcoming Lucifer." This is surely one of the most beautiful things in the world, one of the human conceptions that are imbued most deeply with the celestial. . . . We then sat down in one of the aisles and awaited the beginning of vespers, which we supposed would take place at half past three. Four o'clock came, however, and no vespers; and as our dinner-hour is five, . . . . we at last cane away without hearing the vesper hymn. February 23d.--Yesterday, at noon, we set out for the Capitol, and after going up the acclivity (not from the Forum, but from the opposite direction), stopped to look at the statues of Castor and Pollux, which, with other sculptures, look down the ascent. Castor and his brother seem to me to have heads disproportionately large, and are not so striking, in any respect, as such great images ought to be. But we heartily admired the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, . . . . and looked at a fountain, principally composed, I think, of figures representing the Nile and the Tiber, who loll upon their elbows and preside over the gushing water; and between them, against the facade of the Senator's Palace, there is a statue of Minerva, with a petticoat of red porphyry. Having taken note of these objects, we went to the museum, in an edifice on our left, entering the piazza, and here, in the vestibule, we found various old statues and relics. Ascending the stairs, we passed through a long gallery, and, turning to our left, examined somewhat more carefully a suite of rooms running parallel with it. The first of these contained busts of the Caesars and their kindred, from the epoch of the mightiest Julius downward; eighty-three, I believe, in all. I had seen a bust of Julius Caesar in the British Museum, and was surprised at its thin and withered aspect; but this head is of a very ugly old man indeed,--wrinkled, puckered, shrunken, lacking breadth and substance; careworn, grim, as if he had fought hard with life, and had suffered in the conflict; a man of schemes, and of eager effort to bring his schemes to pass. His profile is by no means good, advancing from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose, and retreating, at about the same angle, from the latter point to the bottom of his chin, which seems to be thrust forcibly down into his meagre neck,--not that he pokes his head forward, however, for it is particularly erect. The head of Augustus is very beautiful, and appears to be that of a meditative, philosophic man, saddened with the sense that it is not very much worth while to be at the summit of human greatness after all. It is a sorrowful thing to trace the decay of civilization through this series of busts, and to observe how the artistic skill, so requisite at first, went on declining through the dreary dynasty of the Caesars, till at length the master of the world could not get his head carved in better style than the figure-head of a ship. In the next room there were better statues than we had yet seen; but in the last room of the range we found the "Dying Gladiator," of which I had already caught a glimpse in passing by the open door. It had made all the other treasures of the gallery tedious in my eagerness to come to that. I do not believe that so much pathos is wrought into any other block of stone. Like all works of the highest excellence, however, it makes great demands upon the spectator. He must make a generous gift of his sympathies to the sculptor, and help out his skill with all his heart, or else he will see little more than a skilfully wrought surface. It suggests far more than it shows. I looked long at this statue, and little at anything else, though, among other famous works, a statue of Antinous was in the same room. I was glad when we left the museum, which, by the by, was piercingly chill, as if the multitude of statues radiated cold out of their marble substance. We might have gone to see the pictures in the Palace of the Conservatori, and S-----, whose receptivity is unlimited and forever fresh, would willingly have done so; but I objected, and we went towards the Forum. I had noticed, two or three times, an inscription over a mean-looking door in this neighborhood, stating that here was the entrance to the prison of the holy apostles Peter and Paul; and we soon found the spot, not far from the Forum, with two wretched frescos of the apostles above the inscription. We knocked at the door without effect; but a lame beggar, who sat at another door of the same house (which looked exceedingly like a liquor-shop), desired us to follow him, and began to ascend to the Capitol, by the causeway leading from the Forum. A little way upward we met a woman, to whom the beggar delivered us over, and she led us into a church or chapel door, and pointed to a long flight of steps, which descended through twilight into utter darkness. She called to somebody in the lower regions, and then went away, leaving us to get down this mysterious staircase by ourselves. Down we went, farther and farther from the daylight, and found ourselves, anon, in a dark chamber or cell, the shape or boundaries of which we could not make out, though it seemed to be of stone, and black and dungeon-like. Indistinctly, and from a still farther depth in the earth, we heard voices,--one voice, at least,--apparently not addressing ourselves, but some other persons; and soon, directly beneath our feet, we saw a glimmering of light through a round, iron-grated hole in the bottom of the dungeon. In a few moments the glimmer and the voice came up through this hole, and the light disappeared, and it and the voice came glimmering and babbling up a flight of stone stairs, of which we had not hitherto been aware. It was the custode, with a party of visitors, to whom he had been showing St. Peter's dungeon. Each visitor was provided with a wax taper, and the custode gave one to each of us, bidding us wait a moment while he conducted the other party to the upper air. During his absence we examined the cell, as well as our dim lights would permit, and soon found an indentation in the wall, with an iron grate put over it for protection, and an inscription above informing us that the Apostle Peter had here left the imprint of his visage; and, in truth, there is a profile there,--forehead, nose, mouth, and chin,--plainly to be seen, an intaglio in the solid rock. We touched it with the tips of our fingers, as well as saw it with our eyes. The custode soon returned, and led us down the darksome steps, chattering in Italian all the time. It is not a very long descent to the lower cell, the roof of which is so low that I believe I could have reached it with my hand. We were now in the deepest and ugliest part of the old Mamertine Prison, one of the few remains of the kingly period of Rome, and which served the Romans as a state-prison for hundreds of years before the Christian era. A multitude of criminals or innocent persons, no doubt, have languished here in misery, and perished in darkness. Here Jugurtha starved; here Catiline's adherents were strangled; and, methinks, there cannot be in the world another such an evil den, so haunted with black memories and indistinct surmises of guilt and suffering. In old Rome, I suppose, the citizens never spoke of this dungeon above their breath. It looks just as bad as it is; round, only seven paces across, yet so obscure that our tapers could not illuminate it from side to side,-- the stones of which it is constructed being as black as midnight. The custode showed us a stone post, at the side of the cell, with the hole in the top of it, into which, he said, St. Peter's chain had been fastened; and he uncovered a spring of water, in the middle of the stone floor, which he told us had miraculously gushed up to enable the saint to baptize his jailer. The miracle was perhaps the more easily wrought, inasmuch as Jugurtha had found the floor of the dungeon oozy with wet. However, it is best to be as simple and childlike as we can in these matters; and whether St. Peter stamped his visage into the stone, and wrought this other miracle or no, and whether or no he ever was in the prison at all, still the belief of a thousand years and more gives a sort of reality and substance to such traditions. The custode dipped an iron ladle into the miraculous water, and we each of us drank a sip; and, what is very remarkable, to me it seemed hard water and almost brackish, while many persons think it the sweetest in Rome. I suspect that St. Peter still dabbles in this water, and tempers its qualities according to the faith of those who drink it. The staircase descending into the lower dungeon is comparatively modern, there having been no entrance of old, except through the small circular opening in the roof. In the upper cell the custode showed us an ancient flight of stairs, now built into the wall, which used to lead from the Capitol. The whole precincts are now consecrated, and I believe the upper portion, perhaps both upper and lower, are a shrine or a chapel. I now left S------ in the Forum, and went to call on Mr. J. P. K------ at the Hotel d'Europe. I found him just returned from a drive,--a gentleman of about sixty, or more, with gray hair, a pleasant, intellectual face, and penetrating, but not unkindly eyes. He moved infirmly, being on the recovery from an illness. We went up to his saloon together, and had a talk,--or, rather, he had it nearly all to himself,--and particularly sensible talk, too, and full of the results of learning and experience. In the first place, he settled the whole Kansas difficulty; then he made havoc of St. Peter, who came very shabbily out of his hands, as regarded his early character in the Church, and his claims to the position he now holds in it. Mr. K------ also gave a curious illustration, from something that happened to himself, of the little dependence that can be placed on tradition purporting to be ancient, and I capped his story by telling him how the site of my town-pump, so plainly indicated in the sketch itself, has already been mistaken in the city council and in the public prints. February 24th.--Yesterday I crossed the Ponte Sisto, and took a short ramble on the other side of the river; and it rather surprised me to discover, pretty nearly opposite the Capitoline Hill, a quay, at which several schooners and barks, of two or three hundred tons' burden, were moored. There was also a steamer, armed with a large gun and two brass swivels on her forecastle, and I know not what artillery besides. Probably she may have been a revenue-cutter. Returning I crossed the river by way of the island of St. Bartholomew over two bridges. The island is densely covered with buildings, and is a separate small fragment of the city. It was a tradition of the ancient Romans that it was formed by the aggregation of soil and rubbish brought down by the river, and accumulating round the nucleus of some sunken baskets. On reaching the hither side of the river, I soon struck upon the ruins of the theatre of Marcellus, which are very picturesque, and the more so from being closely linked in, indeed, identified with the shops, habitations, and swarming life of modern Rome. The most striking portion was a circular edifice, which seemed to have been composed of a row of Ionic columns standing upon a lower row of Doric, many of the antique pillars being yet perfect; but the intervening arches built up with brickwork, and the whole once magnificent structure now tenanted by poor and squalid people, as thick as mites within the round of an old cheese. From this point I cannot very clearly trace out my course; but I passed, I think, between the Circus Maximus and the Palace of the Caesars, and near the Baths of Caracalla, and went into the cloisters of the Church of San Gregorio. All along I saw massive ruins, not particularly picturesque or beautiful, but huge, mountainous piles, chiefly of brickwork, somewhat tweed-grown here and there, but oftener bare and dreary. . . . All the successive ages since Rome began to decay have done their best to ruin the very ruins by taking away the marble and the hewn stone for their own structures, and leaving only the inner filling up of brickwork, which the ancient architects never designed to be seen. The consequence of all this is, that, except for the lofty and poetical associations connected with it, and except, too, for the immense difference in magnitude, a Roman ruin may be in itself not more picturesque than I have seen an old cellar, with a shattered brick chimney half crumbling down into it, in New England. By this time I knew not whither I was going, and turned aside from a broad, paved road (it was the Appian Way) into the Via Latina, which I supposed would lead to one of the city gates. It was a lonely path: on my right hand extensive piles of ruin, in strange shapes or shapelessness, built of the broad and thin old Roman bricks, such as may be traced everywhere, when the stucco has fallen away from a modern Roman house; for I imagine there has not been a new brick made here for a thousand years. On my left, I think, was a high wall, and before me, grazing in the road . . . . [the buffalo calf of the Marble Faun.--ED.]. The road went boldly on, with a well-worn track up to the very walls of the city; but there it abruptly terminated at an ancient, closed-up gateway. From a notice posted against a door, which appeared to be the entrance to the ruins on my left, I found that these were the remains of Columbaria, where the dead used to be put away in pigeon-holes. Reaching the paved road again, I kept on my course, passing the tomb of the Scipios, and soon came to the gate of San Sebastiano, through which I entered the Campagna. Indeed, the scene around was so rural, that I had fancied myself already beyond the walls. As the afternoon was getting advanced, I did not proceed any farther towards the blue hills which I saw in the distance, but turned to my left, following a road that runs round the exterior of the city wall. It was very dreary and solitary,-- not a house on the whole track, with the broad and shaggy Campagna on one side, and the high, bare wall, looking down over my head, on the other. It is not, any more than the other objects of the scene, a very picturesque wall, but is little more than a brick garden-fence seen through a magnifying-glass, with now and then a tower, however, and frequent buttresses, to keep its height of fifty feet from toppling over. The top was ragged, and fringed with a few weeds; there had been embrasures for guns and eyelet-holes for musketry, but these were plastered up with brick or stone. I passed one or two walled-up gateways (by the by, the Parts, Latina was the gate through which Belisarius first entered Rome), and one of these had two high, round towers, and looked more Gothic and venerable with antique strength than any other portion of the wall. Immediately after this I came to the gate of San Giovanni, just within which is the Basilica of St. John Lateran, and there I was glad to rest myself upon a bench before proceeding homeward. There was a French sentinel at this gateway, as at all the others; for the Gauls have always been a pest to Rome, and now gall her worse than ever. I observed, too, that an official, in citizen's dress, stood there also, and appeared to exercise a supervision over some carts with country produce, that were entering just then. February 25th.--We went this forenoon to the Palazzo Borghese, which is situated on a street that runs at right angles with the Corso, and very near the latter. Most of the palaces in Rome, and the Borghese among them, were built somewhere about the sixteenth century; this in 1590, I believe. It is an immense edifice, standing round the four sides of a quadrangle; and though the suite of rooms comprising the picture-gallery forms an almost interminable vista, they occupy only a part of the ground-floor of one side. We enter from the street into a large court, surrounded with a corridor, the arches of which support a second series of arches above. The picture-rooms open from one into another, and have many points of magnificence, being large and lofty, with vaulted ceilings and beautiful frescos, generally of mythological subjects, in the flat central part of the vault. The cornices are gilded; the deep embrasures of the windows are panelled with wood-work; the doorways are of polished and variegated marble, or covered with a composition as hard, and seemingly as durable. The whole has a kind of splendid shabbiness thrown over it, like a slight coating of rust; the furniture, at least the damask chairs, being a good deal worn, though there are marble and mosaic tables, which may serve to adorn another palace when this one crumbles away with age. One beautiful hall, with a ceiling more richly gilded than the rest, is panelled all round with large looking-glasses, on which are painted pictures, both landscapes and human figures, in oils; so that the effect is somewhat as if you saw these objects represented in the mirrors. These glasses must be of old date, perhaps coeval with the first building of the palace; for they are so much dimmed, that one's own figure appears indistinct in them, and more difficult to be traced than the pictures which cover them half over. It was very comfortless,-- indeed, I suppose nobody ever thought of being comfortable there, since the house was built,--but especially uncomfortable on a chill, damp day like this. My fingers were quite numb before I got half-way through the suite of apartments, in spite of a brazier of charcoal which was smouldering into ashes in two or three of the rooms. There was not, so far as I remember, a single fireplace in the suite. A considerable number of visitors--not many, however--were there; and a good many artists; and three or four ladies among them were making copies of the more celebrated pictures, and in all or in most cases missing the especial points that made their celebrity and value. The Prince Borghese certainly demeans himself like a kind and liberal gentleman, in throwing open this invaluable collection to the public to see, and for artists to carry away with them, and diffuse all over the world, so far as their own power and skill will permit. It is open every day of the week, except Saturday and Sunday, without any irksome restriction or supervision; and the fee, which custom requires the visitor to pay to the custode, has the good effect of making us feel that we are not intruders, nor received in an exactly eleemosynary way. The thing could not be better managed. The collection is one of the most celebrated in the world, and contains between eight and nine hundred pictures, many of which are esteemed masterpieces. I think I was not in a frame for admiration to-day, nor could achieve that free and generous surrender of myself which I have already said is essential to the proper estimate of anything excellent. Besides, how is it possible to give one's soul, or any considerable part of it, to a single picture, seen for the first time, among a thousand others, all of which set forth their own claims in an equally good light? Furthermore, there is an external weariness, and sense of a thousand-fold sameness to be overcome, before we can begin to enjoy a gallery of the old Italian masters. . . . I remember but one painter, Francia, who seems really to have approached this awful class of subjects (Christs and Madonnas) in a fitting spirit; his pictures are very singular and awkward, if you look at them with merely an external eye, but they are full of the beauty of holiness, and evidently wrought out as acts of devotion, with the deepest sincerity; and are veritable prayers upon canvas. . . . I was glad, in the very last of the twelve rooms, to come upon some Dutch and Flemish pictures, very few, but very welcome; Rubens, Rembrandt, Vandyke, Paul Potter, Teniers, and others,--men of flesh and blood, and warm fists, and human hearts. As compared with them, these mighty Italian masters seem men of polished steel; not human, nor addressing themselves so much to human sympathies, as to a formed, intellectual taste. March 1st.--To-day began very unfavorably; but we ventured out at about eleven o'clock, intending to visit the gallery of the Colonna Palace. Finding it closed, however, on account of the illness of the custode, we determined to go to the picture-gallery of the Capitol; and, on our way thither, we stepped into Il Gesu, the grand and rich church of the Jesuits, where we found a priest in white, preaching a sermon, with vast earnestness of action and variety of tones, insomuch that I fancied sometimes that two priests were in the agony of sermonizing at once. He had a pretty large and seemingly attentive audience clustered round him from the entrance of the church, half-way down the nave; while in the chapels of the transepts and in the remoter distances were persons occupied with their own individual devotion. We sat down near the chapel of St. Ignazio, which is adorned with a picture over the altar, and with marble sculptures of the Trinity aloft, and of angels fluttering at the sides. What I particularly noted (for the angels were not very real personages, being neither earthly nor celestial) was the great ball of lapis lazuli, the biggest in the world, at the feet of the First Person in the Trinity. The church is a splendid one, lined with a great variety of precious marbles, . . . . but partly, perhaps, owing to the dusky light, as well as to the want of cleanliness, there was a dingy effect upon the whole. We made but a very short stay, our New England breeding causing us to feel shy of moving about the church in sermon time. It rained when we reached the Capitol, and, as the museum was not yet open, we went into the Palace of the Conservators, on the opposite side of the piazza. Around the inner court of the ground-floor, partly under two opposite arcades, and partly under the sky, are several statues and other ancient sculptures; among them a statue of Julius Caesar, said to be the only authentic one, and certainly giving an impression of him more in accordance with his character than the withered old face in the museum; also, a statue of Augustus in middle age, still retaining a resemblance to the bust of him in youth; some gigantic heads and hands and feet in marble and bronze; a stone lion and horse, which lay long at the bottom of a river, broken and corroded, and were repaired by Michel Angelo; and other things which it were wearisome to set down. We inquired of two or three French soldiers the way into the picture-gallery; but it is our experience that French soldiers in Rome never know anything of what is around them, not even the name of the palace or public place over which they stand guard; and though invariably civil, you might as well put a question to a statue of an old Roman as to one of them. While we stood under the loggia, however, looking at the rain plashing into the court, a soldier of the Papal Guard kindly directed us up the staircase, and even took pains to go with us to the very entrance of the picture-rooms. Thank Heaven, there are but two of them, and not many pictures which one cares to look at very long. Italian galleries are at a disadvantage as compared with English ones, inasmuch as the pictures are not nearly such splendid articles of upholstery; though, very likely, having undergone less cleaning and varnishing, they may retain more perfectly the finer touches of the masters. Nevertheless, I miss the mellow glow, the rich and mild external lustre, and even the brilliant frames of the pictures I have seen in England. You feel that they have had loving care taken of them; even if spoiled, it is because they have been valued so much. But these pictures in Italian galleries look rusty and lustreless, as far as the exterior is concerned; and, really, the splendor of the painting, as a production of intellect and feeling, has a good deal of difficulty in shining through such clouds. There is a picture at the Capitol, the "Rape of Europa," by Paul Veronese, that would glow with wonderful brilliancy if it were set in a magnificent frame, and covered with a sunshine of varnish; and it is a kind of picture that would not be desecrated, as some deeper and holier ones might be, by any splendor of external adornment that could be bestowed on it. It is deplorable and disheartening to see it in faded and shabby plight,--this joyous, exuberant, warm, voluptuous work. There is the head of a cow, thrust into the picture, and staring with wild, ludicrous wonder at the godlike bull, so as to introduce quite a new sentiment. Here, and at the Borghese Palace, there were some pictures by Garofalo, an artist of whom I never heard before, but who seemed to have been a man of power. A picture by Marie Subleyras--a miniature copy from one by her husband, of the woman anointing the feet of Christ--is most delicately and beautifully finished, and would be an ornament to a drawing-room; a thing that could not truly be said of one in a hundred of these grim masterpieces. When they were painted life was not what it is now, and the artists had not the same ends in view. . . . It depresses the spirits to go from picture to picture, leaving a portion of your vital sympathy at every one, so that you come, with a kind of half-torpid desperation, to the end. On our way down the staircase we saw several noteworthy bas-reliefs, and among them a very ancient one of Curtius plunging on horseback into the chasm in the Forum. It seems to me, however, that old sculpture affects the spirits even more dolefully than old painting; it strikes colder to the heart, and lies heavier upon it, being marble, than if it were merely canvas. My wife went to revisit the museum, which we had already seen, on the other side of the piazza; but, being cold, I left her there, and went out to ramble in the sun; for it was now brightly, though fitfully, shining again. I walked through the Forum (where a thorn thrust itself out and tore the sleeve of my talma) and under the Arch of Titus, towards the Coliseum. About a score of French drummers were beating a long, loud roll-call, at the base of the Coliseum, and under its arches; and a score of trumpeters responded to these, from the rising ground opposite the Arch of Constantine; and the echoes of the old Roman ruins, especially those of the Palace of the Caesars, responded to this martial uproar of the barbarians. There seemed to be no cause for it; but the drummers beat, and the trumpeters blew, as long as I was within hearing. I walked along the Appian Way as far as the Baths of Caracalla. The Palace of the Caesars, which I have never yet explored, appears to be crowned by the walls of a convent, built, no doubt, out of some of the fragments that would suffice to build a city; and I think there is another convent among the baths. The Catholics have taken a peculiar pleasure in planting themselves in the very citadels of paganism, whether temples or palaces. There has been a good deal of enjoyment in the destruction of old Rome. I often think so when I see the elaborate pains that have been taken to smash and demolish some beautiful column, for no purpose whatever, except the mere delight of annihilating a noble piece of work. There is something in the impulse with which one sympathizes; though I am afraid the destroyers were not sufficiently aware of the mischief they did to enjoy it fully. Probably, too, the early Christians were impelled by religious zeal to destroy the pagan temples, before the happy thought occurred of converting them into churches. March 3d.--This morning was U----'s birthday, and we celebrated it by taking a barouche, and driving (the whole family) out on the Appian Way as far as the tomb of Cecilia Metella. For the first time since we came to Rome, the weather was really warm,--a kind of heat producing languor and disinclination to active movement, though still a little breeze which was stirring threw an occasional coolness over us, and made us distrust the almost sultry atmosphere. I cannot think the Roman climate healthy in any of its moods that I have experienced. Close on the other side of the road are the ruins of a Gothic chapel, little more than a few bare walls and painted windows, and some other fragmentary structures which we did not particularly examine. U---- and I clambered through a gap in the wall, extending from the basement of the tomb, and thus, getting into the field beyond, went quite round the mausoleum and the remains of the castle connected with it. The latter, though still high and stalwart, showed few or no architectural features of interest, being built, I think, principally of large bricks, and not to be compared to English ruins as a beautiful or venerable object. A little way beyond Cecilia Metella's tomb, the road still shows a specimen of the ancient Roman pavement, composed of broad, flat flagstones, a good deal cracked and worn, but sound enough, probably, to outlast the little cubes which make the other portions of the road so uncomfortable. We turned back from this point and soon re-entered the gate of St. Sebastian, which is flanked by two small towers, and just within which is the old triumphal arch of Drusus,--a sturdy construction, much dilapidated as regards its architectural beauty, but rendered far more picturesque than it could have been in its best days by a crown of verdure on its head. Probably so much of the dust of the highway has risen in clouds and settled there, that sufficient soil for shrubbery to root itself has thus been collected, by small annual contributions, in the course of two thousand years. A little farther towards the city we turned aside from the Appian Way, and came to the site of some ancient Columbaria, close by what seemed to partake of the character of a villa and a farm-house. A man came out of the house and unlocked a door in a low building, apparently quite modern; but on entering we found ourselves looking into a large, square chamber, sunk entirely beneath the surface of the ground. A very narrow and steep staircase of stone, and evidently ancient, descended into this chamber; and, going down, we found the walls hollowed on all sides into little semicircular niches, of which, I believe, there were nine rows, one above another, and nine niches in each row. Thus they looked somewhat like the little entrances to a pigeon-house, and hence the name of Columbarium. Each semicircular niche was about a foot in its semidiameter. In the centre of this subterranean chamber was a solid square column, or pier, rising to the roof, and containing other niches of the same pattern, besides one that was high and deep, rising to the height of a man from the floor on each of the four sides. In every one of the semicircular niches were two round holes covered with an earthen plate, and in each hole were ashes and little fragments of bones,--the ashes and bones of the dead, whose names were inscribed in Roman capitals on marble slabs inlaid into the wall over each individual niche. Very likely the great ones in the central pier had contained statues, or busts, or large urns; indeed, I remember that some such things were there, as well as bas-reliefs in the walls; but hardly more than the general aspect of this strange place remains in my mind. It was the Columbarium of the connections or dependants of the Caesars; and the impression left on me was, that this mode of disposing of the dead was infinitely preferable to any which has been adopted since that day. The handful or two of dry dust and bits of dry bones in each of the small round holes had nothing disgusting in them, and they are no drier now than they were when first deposited there. I would rather have my ashes scattered over the soil to help the growth of the grass and daisies; but still I should not murmur much at having them decently pigeon-holed in a Roman tomb. After ascending out of this chamber of the dead, we looked down into another similar one, containing the ashes of Pompey's household, which was discovered only a very few years ago. Its arrangement was the same as that first described, except that it had no central pier with a passage round it, as the former had. While we were down in the first chamber the proprietor of the spot--a half-gentlemanly and very affable kind of person--came to us, and explained the arrangements of the Columbarium, though, indeed, we understood them better by their own aspect than by his explanation. The whole soil around his dwelling is elevated much above the level of the road, and it is probable that, if he chose to excavate, he might bring to light many more sepulchral chambers, and find his profit in them too, by disposing of the urns and busts. What struck me as much as anything was the neatness of these subterranean apartments, which were quite as fit to sleep in as most of those occupied by living Romans; and, having undergone no wear and tear, they were in as good condition as on the day they were built. In this Columbarium, measuring about twenty feet square, I roughly estimate that there have been deposited together the remains of at least seven or eight hundred persons, reckoning two little heaps of bones and ashes in each pigeon-hole, nine pigeon-holes in each row, and nine rows on each side, besides those on the middle pier. All difficulty in finding space for the dead would be obviated by returning to the ancient fashion of reducing them to ashes,--the only objection, though a very serious one, being the quantity of fuel that it would require. But perhaps future chemists may discover some better means of consuming or dissolving this troublesome mortality of ours. We got into the carriage again, and, driving farther towards the city, came to the tomb of the Scipios, of the exterior of which I retain no very definite idea. It was close upon the Appian Way, however, though separated from it by a high fence, and accessible through a gateway, leading into a court. I think the tomb is wholly subterranean, and that the ground above it is covered with the buildings of a farm-house; but of this I cannot be certain, as we were led immediately into a dark, underground passage, by an elderly peasant, of a cheerful and affable demeanor. As soon as he had brought us into the twilight of the tomb, he lighted a long wax taper for each of us, and led us groping into blacker and blacker darkness. Even little R----- followed courageously in the procession, which looked very picturesque as we glanced backward or forward, and beheld a twinkling line of seven lights, glimmering faintly on our faces, and showing nothing beyond. The passages and niches of the tomb seem to have been hewn and hollowed out of the rock, not built by any art of masonry; but the walls were very dark, almost black, and our tapers so dim that I could not gain a sufficient breadth of view to ascertain what kind of place it was. It was very dark, indeed; the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky could not be darker. The rough-hewn roof was within touch, and sometimes we had to stoop to avoid hitting our heads; it was covered with damps, which collected and fell upon us in occasional drops. The passages, besides being narrow, were so irregular and crooked, that, after going a little way, it would have been impossible to return upon our steps without the help of the guide; and we appeared to be taking quite an extensive ramble underground, though in reality I suppose the tomb includes no great space. At several turns of our dismal way, the guide pointed to inscriptions in Roman capitals, commemorating various members of the Scipio family who were buried here; among them, a son of Scipio Africanus, who himself had his death and burial in a foreign land. All these inscriptions, however, are copies,--the originals, which were really found here, having been removed to the Vatican. Whether any bones and ashes have been left, or whether any were found, I do not know. It is not, at all events, a particularly interesting spot, being such shapeless blackness, and a mere dark hole, requiring a stronger illumination than that of our tapers to distinguish it from any other cellar. I did, at one place, see a sort of frieze, rather roughly sculptured; and, as we returned towards the twilight of the entrance-passage, I discerned a large spider, who fled hastily away from our tapers,--the solitary living inhabitant of the tomb of the Scipios. One visit that we made, and I think it was before entering the city gates, I forgot to mention. It was to an old edifice, formerly called the Temple of Bacchus, but now supposed to have been the Temple of Virtue and Honor. The interior consists of a vaulted hall, which was converted from its pagan consecration into a church or chapel, by the early Christians; and the ancient marble pillars of the temple may still be seen built in with the brick and stucco of the later occupants. There is an altar, and other tokens of a Catholic church, and high towards the ceiling, there are some frescos of saints or angels, very curious specimens of mediaeval, and earlier than mediaeval art. Nevertheless, the place impressed me as still rather pagan than Christian. What is most remarkable about this spot or this vicinity lies in the fact that the Fountain of Egeria was formerly supposed to be close at hand; indeed, the custode of the chapel still claims the spot as the identical one consecrated by the legend. There is a dark grove of trees, not far from the door of the temple; but Murray, a highly essential nuisance on such excursions as this, throws such overwhelming doubt, or rather incredulity, upon the site, that I seized upon it as a pretext for not going thither. In fact, my small capacity for sight-seeing was already more than satisfied. On account of ------ I am sorry that we did not see the grotto, for her enthusiasm is as fresh as the waters of Egeria's well can be, and she has poetical faith enough to light her cheerfully through all these mists of incredulity. Our visits to sepulchral places ended with Scipio's tomb, whence we returned to our dwelling, and Miss M------ came to dine with us. March 10th.--On Saturday last, a very rainy day, we went to the Sciarra Palace, and took U---- with us. It is on the Corso, nearly opposite to the Piazza Colonna. It has (Heaven be praised!) but four rooms of pictures, among which, however, are several very celebrated ones. Only a few of these remain in my memory,--Raphael's "Violin Player," which I am willing to accept as a good picture; and Leonardo da Vinci's "Vanity and Modesty," which also I can bring up before my mind's eye, and find it very beautiful, although one of the faces has an affected smile, which I have since seen on another picture by the same artist, Joanna of Aragon. The most striking picture in the collection, I think, is Titian's "Bella Donna,"--the only one of Titian's works that I have yet seen which makes an impression on me corresponding with his fame. It is a very splendid and very scornful lady, as beautiful and as scornful as Gainsborough's Lady Lyndoch, though of an entirely different type. There were two Madonnas by Guido, of which I liked the least celebrated one best; and several pictures by Garofalo, who always produces something noteworthy. All the pictures lacked the charm (no doubt I am a barbarian to think it one) of being in brilliant frames, and looked as if it were a long, long while since they were cleaned or varnished. The light was so scanty, too, on that heavily clouded day, and in those gloomy old rooms of the palace, that scarcely anything could be fairly made out. [I cannot refrain from observing here, that Mr. Hawthorne's inexorable demand for perfection in all things leads him to complain of grimy pictures and tarnished frames and faded frescos, distressing beyond measure to eyes that never failed to see everything before him with the keenest apprehension. The usual careless observation of people both of the good and the imperfect is much more comfortable in this imperfect world. But the insight which Mr. Hawthorne possessed was only equalled by his outsight, and he suffered in a way not to be readily conceived, from any failure in beauty, physical, moral, or intellectual. It is not, therefore, mere love of upholstery that impels him to ask for perfect settings to priceless gems of art; but a native idiosyncrasy, which always made me feel that "the New Jerusalem," "even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal," "where shall in no wise enter anything that defileth, neither what worketh abomination nor maketh a lie," would alone satisfy him, or rather alone not give him actual pain. It may give an idea of this exquisite nicety of feeling to mention, that one day he took in his fingers a half-bloomed rose, without blemish, and, smiling with an infinite joy, remarked, "This is perfect. On earth a flower only can be perfect."--ED.] The palace is about two hundred and fifty years old, and looks as if it had never been a very cheerful place; most shabbily and scantily furnished, moreover, and as chill as any cellar. There is a small balcony, looking down on the Corso, which probably has often been filled with a merry little family party, in the carnivals of days long past. It has faded frescos, and tarnished gilding, and green blinds, and a few damask chairs still remain in it. On Monday we all went to the sculpture-gallery of the Vatican, and saw as much of the sculpture as we could in the three hours during which the public are admissible. There were a few things which I really enjoyed, and a few moments during which I really seemed to see them; but it is in vain to attempt giving the impression produced by masterpieces of art, and most in vain when we see them best. They are a language in themselves, and if they could be expressed as well any way except by themselves, there would have been no need of expressing those particular ideas and sentiments by sculpture. I saw the Apollo Belvedere as something ethereal and godlike; only for a flitting moment, however, and as if he had alighted from heaven, or shone suddenly out of the sunlight, and then had withdrawn himself again. I felt the Laocoon very powerfully, though very quietly; an immortal agony, with a strange calmness diffused through it, so that it resembles the vast rage of the sea, calm on account of its immensity; or the tumult of Niagara, which does not seem to be tumult, because it keeps pouring on for ever and ever. I have not had so good a day as this (among works of art) since we came to Rome; and I impute it partly to the magnificence of the arrangements of the Vatican,--its long vistas and beautiful courts, and the aspect of immortality which marble statues acquire by being kept free from dust. A very hungry boy, seeing in one of the cabinets a vast porphyry vase, forty-four feet in circumference, wished that he had it full of soup. Yesterday, we went to the Pamfili Doria Palace, which, I believe, is the most splendid in Rome. The entrance is from the Corso into a court, surrounded by a colonnade, and having a space of luxuriant verdure and ornamental shrubbery in the centre. The apartments containing pictures and sculptures are fifteen in number, and run quite round the court in the first piano,--all the rooms, halls, and galleries of beautiful proportion, with vaulted roofs, some of which glow with frescos; and all are colder and more comfortless than can possibly be imagined without having been in them. The pictures, most of them, interested me very little. I am of opinion that good pictures are quite as rare as good poets; and I do not see why we should pique ourselves on admiring any but the very best. One in a thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the applause of men, from generation to generation, till its colors fade or blacken out of sight, and its canvas rots away; the rest should be put in garrets, or painted over by newer artists, just as tolerable poets are shelved when their little day is over. Nevertheless, there was one long gallery containing many pictures that I should be glad to see again under more favorable circumstances, that is, separately, and where I might contemplate them quite undisturbed, reclining in an easy-chair. At one end of the long vista of this gallery is a bust of the present Prince Doria, a smooth, sharp-nosed, rather handsome young man, and at the other end his princess, an English lady of the Talbot family, apparently a blonde, with a simple and sweet expression. There is a noble and striking portrait of the old Venetian admiral, Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del Piombo, and some other portraits and busts of the family. In the whole immense range of rooms I saw but a single fireplace, and that so deep in the wall that no amount of blaze would raise the atmosphere of the room ten degrees. If the builder of the palace, or any of his successors, have committed crimes worthy of Tophet, it would be a still worse punishment for him to wander perpetually through this suite of rooms on the cold floors of polished brick tiles or marble or mosaic, growing a little chiller and chiller through every moment of eternity,-- or, at least, till the palace crumbles down upon him. Neither would it assuage his torment in the least to be compelled to gaze up at the dark old pictures,--the ugly ghosts of what may once have been beautiful. I am not going to try any more to receive pleasure from a faded, tarnished, lustreless picture, especially if it be a landscape. There were two or three landscapes of Claude in this palace, which I doubt not would have been exquisite if they had been in the condition of those in the British National Gallery; but here they looked most forlorn, and even their sunshine was sunless. The merits of historical painting may be quite independent of the attributes that give pleasure, and a superficial ugliness may even heighten the effect; but not so of landscapes. Via Porta, Palazzo Larazani, March 11th.--To-day we called at Mr. Thompson's studio, and . . . . he had on the easel a little picture of St. Peter released from prison by the angel, which I saw once before. It is very beautiful indeed, and deeply and spiritually conceived, and I wish I could afford to have it finished for myself. I looked again, too, at his Georgian slave, and admired it as much as at first view; so very warm and rich it is, so sensuously beautiful, and with an expression of higher life and feeling within. I do not think there is a better painter than Mr. Thompson living,--among Americans at least; not one so earnest, faithful, and religious in his worship of art. I had rather look at his pictures than at any except the very finest of the old masters, and, taking into consideration only the comparative pleasure to be derived, I would not except more than one or two of those. In painting, as in literature, I suspect there is something in the productions of the day that takes the fancy more than the works of any past age,--not greater merit, nor nearly so great, but better suited to this very present time. After leaving him, we went to the Piazza de' Termini, near the Baths of Diocletian, and found our way with some difficulty to Crawford's studio. It occupies several great rooms, connected with the offices of the Villa Negroni; and all these rooms were full of plaster casts and a few works in marble,--principally portions of his huge Washington monument, which he left unfinished at his death. Close by the door at which we entered stood a gigantic figure of Mason, in bag-wig, and the coat, waistcoat, breeches, and knee and shoe buckles of the last century, the enlargement of these unheroic matters to far more than heroic size having a very odd effect. There was a figure of Jefferson on the same scale; another of Patrick Henry, besides a horse's head, and other portions of the equestrian group which is to cover the summit of the monument. In one of the rooms was a model of the monument itself, on a scale, I should think, of about an inch to afoot. It did not impress me as having grown out of any great and genuine idea in the artist's mind, but as being merely an ingenious contrivance enough. There were also casts of statues that seemed to be intended for some other monument referring to Revolutionary times and personages; and with these were intermixed some ideal statues or groups,--a naked boy playing marbles, very beautiful; a girl with flowers; the cast of his Orpheus, of which I long ago saw the marble statue; Adam and Eve; Flora,--all with a good deal of merit, no doubt, but not a single one that justifies Crawford's reputation, or that satisfies me of his genius. They are but commonplaces in marble and plaster, such as we should not tolerate on a printed page. He seems to have been a respectable man, highly respectable, but no more, although those who knew him seem to have rated him much higher. It is said that he exclaimed, not very long before his death, that he had fifteen years of good work still in him; and he appears to have considered all his life and labor, heretofore, as only preparatory to the great things that he was to achieve hereafter. I should say, on the contrary, that he was a man who had done his best, and had done it early; for his Orpheus is quite as good as anything else we saw in his studio. People were at work chiselling several statues in marble from the plaster models,--a very interesting process, and which I should think a doubtful and hazardous one; but the artists say that there is no risk of mischief, and that the model is sure to be accurately repeated in the marble. These persons, who do what is considered the mechanical part of the business, are often themselves sculptors, and of higher reputation than those who employ them. It is rather sad to think that Crawford died before he could see his ideas in the marble, where they gleam with so pure and celestial a light as compared with the plaster. There is almost as much difference as between flesh and spirit. The floor of one of the rooms was burdened with immense packages, containing parts of the Washington monument, ready to be forwarded to its destination. When finished, and set up, it will probably make a very splendid appearance, by its height, its mass, its skilful execution; and will produce a moral effect through its images of illustrious men, and the associations that connect it with our Revolutionary history; but I do not think it will owe much to artistic force of thought or depth of feeling. It is certainly, in one sense, a very foolish and illogical piece of work,--Washington, mounted on an uneasy steed, on a very narrow space, aloft in the air, whence a single step of the horse backward, forward, or on either side, must precipitate him; and several of his contemporaries standing beneath him, not looking up to wonder at his predicament, but each intent on manifesting his own personality to the world around. They have nothing to do with one another, nor with Washington, nor with any great purpose which all are to work out together. March 14th.--On Friday evening I dined at Mr. T. B. Read's, the poet and artist, with a party composed of painters and sculptors,--the only exceptions being the American banker and an American tourist who has given Mr. Read a commission. Next to me at table sat Mr. Gibson, the English sculptor, who, I suppose, stands foremost in his profession at this day. He must be quite an old man now, for it was whispered about the table that he is known to have been in Rome forty-two years ago, and he himself spoke to me of spending thirty-seven years here, before he once returned home. I should hardly take him to be sixty, however, his hair being more dark than gray, his forehead unwrinkled, his features unwithered, his eye undimmed, though his beard is somewhat venerable. . . . He has a quiet, self-contained aspect, and, being a bachelor, has doubtless spent a calm life among his clay and marble, meddling little with the world, and entangling himself with no cares beyond his studio. He did not talk a great deal; but enough to show that he is still an Englishman in many sturdy traits, though his accent has something foreign about it. His conversation was chiefly about India, and other topics of the day, together with a few reminiscences of people in Liverpool, where he once resided. There was a kind of simplicity both in his manner and matter, and nothing very remarkable in the latter. . . . The gist of what he said (upon art) was condemnatory of the Pre-Raphaelite modern school of painters, of whom he seemed to spare none, and of their works nothing; though he allowed that the old Pre-Raphaelites had some exquisite merits, which the moderns entirely omit in their imitations. In his own art, he said the aim should be to find out the principles on which the Greek sculptors wrought, and to do the work of this day on those principles and in their spirit; a fair doctrine enough, I should think, but which Mr. Gibson can scarcely be said to practise. . . . The difference between the Pre-Raphaelites and himself is deep and genuine, they being literalists and realists, in a certain sense, and he a pagan idealist. Methinks they have hold of the best end of the matter. March 18th.--To-day, it being very bright and mild, we set out, at noon, for an expedition to the Temple of Vesta, though I did not feel much inclined for walking, having been ill and feverish for two or three days past with a cold, which keeps renewing itself faster than I can get rid of it. We kept along on this side of the Corso, and crossed the Forum, skirting along the Capitoline Hill, and thence towards the Circus Maximus. On our way, looking down a cross street, we saw a heavy arch, and, on examination, made it out to be the Arch of Janus Quadrifrons, standing in the Forum Boarium. Its base is now considerably below the level of the surrounding soil, and there is a church or basilica close by, and some mean edifices looking down upon it. There is something satisfactory in this arch, from the immense solidity of its structure. It gives the idea, in the first place, of a solid mass constructed of huge blocks of marble, which time can never wear away, nor earthquakes shake down; and then this solid mass is penetrated by two arched passages, meeting in the centre. There are empty niches, three in a row, and, I think, two rows on each face; but there seems to have been very little effort to make it a beautiful object. On the top is some brickwork, the remains of a mediaeval fortress built by the Frangipanis, looking very frail and temporary being brought thus in contact with the antique strength of the arch. A few yards off, across the street, and close beside the basilica, is what appears to be an ancient portal, with carved bas-reliefs, and an inscription which I could not make out. Some Romans were lying dormant in the sun, on the steps of the basilica; indeed, now that the sun is getting warmer, they seem to take advantage of every quiet nook to bask in, and perhaps to go to sleep. We had gone but a little way from the arch, and across the Circus Maximus, when we saw the Temple of Vesta before us, on the hank of the Tiber, which, however, we could not see behind it. It is a most perfectly preserved Roman ruin, and very beautiful, though so small that, in a suitable locality, one would take it rather for a garden-house than an ancient temple. A circle of white marble pillars, much time-worn and a little battered, though but one of them broken, surround the solid structure of the temple, leaving a circular walk between it and the pillars, the whole covered by a modern roof which looks like wood, and disgraces and deforms the elegant little building. This roof resembles, as much as anything else, the round wicker cover of a basket, and gives a very squat aspect to the temple. The pillars are of the Corinthian order, and when they were new and the marble snow-white and sharply carved and cut, there could not have been a prettier object in all Rome; but so small an edifice does not appear well as a ruin. Within view of it, and, indeed, a very little way off, is the Temple of Fortuna Virilis, which likewise retains its antique form in better preservation than we generally find a Roman ruin, although the Ionic pillars are now built up with blocks of stone and patches of brickwork, the whole constituting a church which is fixed against the side of a tall edifice, the nature of which I do not know. I forgot to say that we gained admittance into the Temple of Vesta, and found the interior a plain cylinder of marble, about ten paces across, and fitted up as a chapel, where the Virgin takes the place of Vesta. In very close vicinity we came upon the Ponto Rotto, the old Pons Emilius which was broken down long ago, and has recently been pieced out by connecting a suspension bridge with the old piers. We crossed by this bridge, paying a toll of a baioccho each, and stopped in the midst of the river to look at the Temple of Vesta, which shows well, right on the brink of the Tiber. We fancied, too, that we could discern, a little farther down the river, the ruined and almost submerged piers of the Sublician bridge, which Horatius Cocles defended. The Tiber here whirls rapidly along, and Horatius must have had a perilous swim for his life, and the enemy a fair mark at his head with their arrows. I think this is the most picturesque part of the Tiber in its passage through Rome. After crossing the bridge, we kept along the right bank of the river, through the dirty and hard-hearted streets of Trastevere (which have in no respect the advantage over those of hither Rome), till we reached St. Peter's. We saw a family sitting before their door on the pavement in the narrow and sunny street, engaged in their domestic avocations,--the old woman spinning with a wheel. I suppose the people now begin to live out of doors. We entered beneath the colonnade of St. Peter's and immediately became sensible of an evil odor,--the bad odor of our fallen nature, which there is no escaping in any nook of Rome. . . . Between the pillars of the colonnade, however, we had the pleasant spectacle of the two fountains, sending up their lily-shaped gush, with rainbows shining in their falling spray. Parties of French soldiers, as usual, were undergoing their drill in the piazza. When we entered the church, the long, dusty sunbeams were falling aslantwise through the dome and through the chancel behind it. . . . March 23d.--On the 21st we all went to the Coliseum, and enjoyed ourselves there in the bright, warm sun,--so bright and warm that we were glad to get into the shadow of the walls and under the arches, though, after all, there was the freshness of March in the breeze that stirred now and then. J----- and baby found some beautiful flowers growing round about the Coliseum; and far up towards the top of the walls we saw tufts of yellow wall-flowers and a great deal of green grass growing along the ridges between the arches. The general aspect of the place, however, is somewhat bare, and does not compare favorably with an English ruin both on account of the lack of ivy and because the material is chiefly brick, the stone and marble having been stolen away by popes and cardinals to build their palaces. While we sat within the circle, many people, of both sexes, passed through, kissing the iron cross which stands in the centre, thereby gaining an indulgence of seven years, I believe. In front of several churches I have seen an inscription in Latin, "INDULGENTIA PLENARIA ET PERPETUA PRO CUNCTIS MORTUIS ET VIVIS"; than which, it seems to me, nothing more could be asked or desired. The terms of this great boon are not mentioned. Leaving the Coliseum, we went and sat down in the vicinity of the Arch of Constantine, and J----- and R----- went in quest of lizards. J----- soon caught a large one with two tails; one, a sort of afterthought, or appendix, or corollary to the original tail, and growing out from it instead of from the body of the lizard. These reptiles are very abundant, and J----- has already brought home several, which make their escape and appear occasionally darting to and fro on the carpet. Since we have been here, J----- has taken up various pursuits in turn. First he voted himself to gathering snail-shells, of which there are many sorts; afterwards he had a fever for marbles, pieces of which he found on the banks of the Tiber, just on the edge of its muddy waters, and in the Palace of the Caesars, the Baths of Caracalla, and indeed wherever else his fancy led him; verde antique, rosso antico, porphyry, giallo antico, serpentine, sometimes fragments of bas-reliefs and mouldings, bits of mosaic, still firmly stuck together, on which the foot of a Caesar had perhaps once trodden; pieces of Roman glass, with the iridescence glowing on them; and all such things, of which the soil of Rome is full. It would not be difficult, from the spoil of his boyish rambles, to furnish what would be looked upon as a curious and valuable museum in America. Yesterday we went to the sculpture-galleries of the Vatican. I think I enjoy these noble galleries and their contents and beautiful arrangement better than anything else in the way of art, and often I seem to have a deep feeling of something wonderful in what I look at. The Laocoon on this visit impressed me not less than before; it is such a type of human beings, struggling with an inextricable trouble, and entangled in a complication which they cannot free themselves from by their own efforts, and out of which Heaven alone can help them. It was a most powerful mind, and one capable of reducing a complex idea to unity, that imagined this group. I looked at Canova's Perseus, and thought it exceedingly beautiful, but, found myself less and less contented after a moment or two, though I could not tell why. Afterwards, looking at the Apollo, the recollection of the Perseus disgusted me, and yet really I cannot explain how one is better than the other. I was interested in looking at the busts of the Triumvirs, Antony, Augustus, and Lepidus. The first two are men of intellect, evidently, though they do not recommend themselves to one's affections by their physiognomy; but Lepidus has the strangest, most commonplace countenance that can be imagined,--small-featured, weak, such a face as you meet anywhere in a man of no mark, but are amazed to find in one of the three foremost men of the world. I suppose that it is these weak and shallow men, when chance raises them above their proper sphere, who commit enormous crimes without any such restraint as stronger men would feel, and without any retribution in the depth of their conscience. These old Roman busts, of which there are so many in the Vatican, have often a most lifelike aspect, a striking individuality. One recognizes them as faithful portraits, just as certainly as if the living originals were standing beside them. The arrangement of the hair and beard too, in many cases, is just what we see now, the fashions of two thousand years ago having come round again. March 25th.--On Tuesday we went to breakfast at William Story's in the Palazzo Barberini. We had a very pleasant time. He is one of the most agreeable men I know in society. He showed us a note from Thackeray, an invitation to dinner, written in hieroglyphics, with great fun and pictorial merit. He spoke of an expansion of the story of Blue Beard, which he himself had either written or thought of writing, in which the contents of the several chambers which Fatima opened, before arriving at the fatal one, were to be described. This idea has haunted my mind ever since, and if it had but been my own I am pretty sure that it would develop itself into something very rich. I mean to press William Story to work it out. The chamber of Blue Beard, too (and this was a part of his suggestion), might be so handled as to become powerfully interesting. Were I to take up the story I would create an interest by suggesting a secret in the first chamber, which would develop itself more and more in every successive hall of the great palace, and lead the wife irresistibly to the chamber of horrors. After breakfast, we went to the Barberini Library, passing through the vast hall, which occupies the central part of the palace. It is the most splendid domestic hall I have seen, eighty feet in length at least, and of proportionate breadth and height; and the vaulted ceiling is entirely covered, to its utmost edge and remotest corners, with a brilliant painting in fresco, looking like a whole heaven of angelic people descending towards the floor. The effect is indescribably gorgeous. On one side stands a Baldacchino, or canopy of state, draped with scarlet cloth, and fringed with gold embroidery; the scarlet indicating that the palace is inhabited by a cardinal. Green would be appropriate to a prince. In point of fact, the Palazzo Barberini is inhabited by a cardinal, a prince, and a duke, all belonging to the Barberini family, and each having his separate portion of the palace, while their servants have a common territory and meeting-ground in this noble hall. After admiring it for a few minutes, we made our exit by a door on the opposite side, and went up the spiral staircase of marble to the library, where we were received by an ecclesiastic, who belongs to the Barberini household, and, I believe, was born in it. He is a gentle, refined, quiet-looking man, as well he may be, having spent all his life among these books, where few people intrude, and few cares can come. He showed us a very old Bible in parchment, a specimen of the earliest printing, beautifully ornamented with pictures, and some monkish illuminations of indescribable delicacy and elaboration. No artist could afford to produce such work, if the life that he thus lavished on one sheet of parchment had any value to him, either for what could be done or enjoyed in it. There are about eight thousand volumes in this library, and, judging by their outward aspect, the collection must be curious and valuable; but having another engagement, we could spend only a little time here. We had a hasty glance, however, of some poems of Tasso, in his own autograph. We then went to the Palazzo Galitzin, where dwell the Misses Weston, with whom we lunched, and where we met a French abbe, an agreeable man, and an antiquarian, under whose auspices two of the ladies and ourselves took carriage for the Castle of St. Angelo. Being admitted within the external gateway, we found ourselves in the court of guard, as I presume it is called, where the French soldiers were playing with very dirty cards, or lounging about, in military idleness. They were well behaved and courteous, and when we had intimated our wish to see the interior of the castle, a soldier soon appeared, with a large unlighted torch in his hand, ready to guide us. There is an outer wall, surrounding the solid structure of Hadrian's tomb; to which there is access by one or two drawbridges; the entrance to the tomb, or castle, not being at the base, but near its central height. The ancient entrance, by which Hadrian's ashes, and those of other imperial personages, were probably brought into this tomb, has been walled up,--perhaps ever since the last emperor was buried here. We were now in a vaulted passage, both lofty and broad, which circles round the whole interior of the tomb, from the base to the summit. During many hundred years, the passage was filled with earth and rubbish, and forgotten, and it is but partly excavated, even now; although we found it a long, long and gloomy descent by torchlight to the base of the vast mausoleum. The passage was once lined and vaulted with precious marbles (which are now entirely gone), and paved with fine mosaics, portions of which still remain; and our guide lowered his flaming torch to show them to us, here and there, amid the earthy dampness over which we trod. It is strange to think what splendor and costly adornment were here wasted on the dead. After we had descended to the bottom of this passage, and again retraced our steps to the highest part, the guide took a large cannon-ball, and sent it, with his whole force, rolling down the hollow, arched way, rumbling, and reverberating, and bellowing forth long thunderous echoes, and winding up with a loud, distant crash, that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. We saw the place, near the centre of the mausoleum, and lighted from above, through an immense thickness of stone and brick, where the ashes of the emperor and his fellow-slumberers were found. It is as much as twelve centuries, very likely, since they were scattered to the winds, for the tomb has been nearly or quite that space of time a fortress; The tomb itself is merely the base and foundation of the castle, and, being so massively built, it serves just as well for the purpose as if it were a solid granite rock. The mediaeval fortress, with its antiquity of more than a thousand years, and having dark and deep dungeons of its own, is but a modern excrescence on the top of Hadrian's tomb. We now ascended towards the upper region, and were led into the vaults which used to serve as a prison, but which, if I mistake not, are situated above the ancient structure, although they seem as damp and subterranean as if they were fifty feet under the earth. We crept down to them through narrow and ugly passages, which the torchlight would not illuminate, and, stooping under a low, square entrance, we followed the guide into a small, vaulted room,--not a room, but an artificial cavern, remote from light or air, where Beatrice Cenci was confined before her execution. According to the abbe, she spent a whole year in this dreadful pit, her trial having dragged on through that length of time. How ghostlike she must have looked when she came forth! Guido never painted that beautiful picture from her blanched face, as it appeared after this confinement. And how rejoiced she must have been to die at last, having already been in a sepulchre so long! Adjacent to Beatrice's prison, but not communicating with it, was that of her step-mother; and next to the latter was one that interested me almost as much as Beatrice's,--that of Benvenuto Cellini, who was confined here, I believe, for an assassination. All these prison vaults are more horrible than can be imagined without seeing them; but there are worse places here, for the guide lifted a trap-door in one of the passages, and held his torch down into an inscrutable pit beneath our feet. It was an oubliette, a dungeon where the prisoner might be buried alive, and never come forth again, alive or dead. Groping about among these sad precincts, we saw various other things that looked very dismal; but at last emerged into the sunshine, and ascended from one platform and battlement to another, till we found ourselves right at the feet of the Archangel Michael. He has stood there in bronze for I know not how many hundred years, in the act of sheathing a (now) rusty sword, such being the attitude in which he appeared to one of the popes in a vision, in token that a pestilence which was then desolating Rome was to be stayed. There is a fine view from the lofty station over Rome and the whole adjacent country, and the abbe pointed out the site of Ardea, of Corioli, of Veii, and other places renowned in story. We were ushered, too, into the French commandant's quarters in the castle. There is a large hall, ornamented with frescos, and accessible from this a drawing-room, comfortably fitted up, and where we saw modern furniture, and a chess-board, and a fire burning clear, and other symptoms that the place had perhaps just been vacated by civilized and kindly people. But in one corner of the ceiling the abbe pointed out a ring, by which, in the times of mediaeval anarchy, when popes, cardinals, and barons were all by the ears together, a cardinal was hanged. It was not an assassination, but a legal punishment, and he was executed in the best apartment of the castle as an act of grace. The fortress is a straight-lined structure on the summit of the immense round tower of Hadrian's tomb; and to make out the idea of it we must throw in drawbridges, esplanades, piles of ancient marble balls for cannon; battlements and embrasures, lying high in the breeze and sunshine, and opening views round the whole horizon; accommodation for the soldiers; and many small beds in a large room. How much mistaken was the emperor in his expectation of a stately, solemn repose for his ashes through all the coming centuries, as long as the world should endure! Perhaps his ghost glides up and down disconsolate, in that spiral passage which goes from top to bottom of the tomb, while the barbarous Gauls plant themselves in his very mausoleum to keep the imperial city in awe. Leaving the Castle of St. Angelo, we drove, still on the same side of the Tiber, to the Villa Pamfili, which lies a short distance beyond the walls. As we passed through one of the gates (I think it was that of San Pancrazio) the abbe pointed out the spot where the Constable de Bourbon was killed while attempting to scale the walls. If we are to believe Benvenuto Cellini, it was he who shot the constable. The road to the villa is not very interesting, lying (as the roads in the vicinity of Rome often do) between very high walls, admitting not a glimpse of the surrounding country; the road itself white and dusty, with no verdant margin of grass or border of shrubbery. At the portal of the villa we found many carriages in waiting, for the Prince Doria throws open the grounds to all comers, and on a pleasant day like this they are probably sure to be thronged. We left our carriage just within the entrance, and rambled among these beautiful groves, admiring the live-oak trees, and the stone-pines, which latter are truly a majestic tree, with tall columnar stems, supporting a cloud-like density of boughs far aloft, and not a straggling branch between there and the ground. They stand in straight rows, but are now so ancient and venerable as to have lost the formal look of a plantation, and seem like a wood that might have arranged itself almost of its own will. Beneath them is a flower-strewn turf, quite free of underbrush. We found open fields and lawns, moreover, all abloom with anemones, white and rose-colored and purple and golden, and far larger than could be found out of Italy, except in hot-houses. Violets, too, were abundant and exceedingly fragrant. When we consider that all this floral exuberance occurs in the midst of March, there does not appear much ground for complaining of the Roman climate; and so long ago as the first week of February I found daisies among the grass, on the sunny side of the Basilica of St. John Lateran. At this very moment I suppose the country within twenty miles of Boston may be two feet deep with snow, and the streams solid with ice. We wandered about the grounds, and found them very beautiful indeed; nature having done much for them by an undulating variety of surface, and art having added a good many charms, which have all the better effect now that decay and neglect have thrown a natural grace over them likewise. There is an artificial ruin, so picturesque that it betrays itself; weather-beaten statues, and pieces of sculpture, scattered here and there; an artificial lake, with upgushing fountains; cascades, and broad-bosomed coves, and long, canal-like reaches, with swans taking their delight upon them. I never saw such a glorious and resplendent lustre of white as shone between the wings of two of these swans. It was really a sight to see, and not to be imagined beforehand. Angels, no doubt, have just such lustrous wings as those. English swans partake of the dinginess of the atmosphere, and their plumage has nothing at all to be compared to this; in fact, there is nothing like it in the world, unless it be the illuminated portion of a fleecy, summer cloud. While we were sauntering along beside this piece of water, we were surprised to see U---- on the other side. She had come hither with E---- S------ and her two little brothers, and with our R-----, the whole under the charge of Mrs. Story's nursery-maids. U---- and E---- crossed, not over, but beneath the water, through a grotto, and exchanged greetings with us. Then, as it was getting towards sunset and cool, we took our departure; the abbe, as we left the grounds, taking me aside to give me a glimpse of a Columbarium, which descends into the earth to about the depth to which an ordinary house might rise above it. These grounds, it is said, formed the country residence of the Emperor Galba, and he was buried here after his assassination. It is a sad thought that so much natural beauty and long refinement of picturesque culture is thrown away, the villa being uninhabitable during all the most delightful season of the year on account of malaria. There is truly a curse on Rome and all its neighborhood. On our way home we passed by the great Paolina fountain, and were assailed by many beggars during the short time we stopped to look at it. It is a very copious fountain, but not so beautiful as the Trevi, taking into view merely the water-gush of the latter. March 26th.--Yesterday, between twelve and one, our whole family went to the Villa Ludovisi, the entrance to which is at the termination of a street which passes out of the Piazza Barberini, and it is no very great distance from our own street, Via Porta Pinciana. The grounds, though very extensive, are wholly within the walls of the city, which skirt them, and comprise a part of what were formerly the gardens of Sallust. The villa is now the property of Prince Piombini, a ticket from whom procured us admission. A little within the gateway, to the right, is a casino, containing two large rooms filled with sculpture, much of which is very valuable. A colossal head of Juno, I believe, is considered the greatest treasure of the collection, but I did not myself feel it to be so, nor indeed did I receive any strong impression of its excellence. I admired nothing so much, I think, as the face of Penelope (if it be her face) in the group supposed also to represent Electra and Orestes. The sitting statue of Mars is very fine; so is the Arria and Paetus; so are many other busts and figures. By and by we left the casino and wandered among the grounds, threading interminable alleys of cypress, through the long vistas of which we could see here and there a statue, an urn, a pillar, a temple, or garden-house, or a bas-relief against the wall. It seems as if there must have been a time, and not so very long ago,--when it was worth while to spend money and thought upon the ornamentation of grounds in the neighborhood of Rome. That time is past, however, and the result is very melancholy; for great beauty has been produced, but it can be enjoyed in its perfection only at the peril of one's life. . . . For my part, and judging from my own experience, I suspect that the Roman atmosphere, never wholesome, is always more or less poisonous. We came to another and larger casino remote from the gateway, in which the Prince resides during two months of the year. It was now under repair, but we gained admission, as did several other visitors, and saw in the entrance-hall the Aurora of Guercino, painted in fresco on the ceiling. There is beauty in the design; but the painter certainly was most unhappy in his black shadows, and in the work before us they give the impression of a cloudy and lowering morning which is likely enough to turn to rain by and by. After viewing the fresco we mounted by a spiral staircase to a lofty terrace, and found Rome at our feet, and, far off, the Sabine and Alban mountains, some of them still capped with snow. In another direction there was a vast plain, on the horizon of which, could our eyes have reached to its verge, we might perhaps have seen the Mediterranean Sea. After enjoying the view and the warm sunshine we descended, and went in quest of the gardens of Sallust, but found no satisfactory remains of them. One of the most striking objects in the first casino was a group by Bernini,--Pluto, an outrageously masculine and strenuous figure, heavily bearded, ravishing away a little, tender Proserpine, whom he holds aloft, while his forcible gripe impresses itself into her soft virgin flesh. It is very disagreeable, but it makes one feel that Bernini was a man of great ability. There are some works in literature that bear an analogy to his works in sculpture, when great power is lavished a little outside of nature, and therefore proves to be only a fashion,--and not permanently adapted to the tastes of mankind. March 27th.--Yesterday forenoon my wife and I went to St. Peter's to see the pope pray at the chapel of the Holy Sacrament. We found a good many people in the church, but not an inconvenient number; indeed, not so many as to make any remarkable show in the great nave, nor even in front of the chapel. A detachment of the Swiss Guard, in their strange, picturesque, harlequin-like costume, were on duty before the chapel, in which the wax tapers were all lighted, and a prie-dieu was arranged near the shrine, and covered with scarlet velvet. On each side, along the breadth of the side aisle, were placed seats, covered with rich tapestry or carpeting; and some gentlemen and ladies--English, probably, or American--had comfortably deposited themselves here, but were compelled to move by the guards before the pope's entrance. His Holiness should have appeared precisely at twelve, but we waited nearly half an hour beyond that time; and it seemed to me particularly ill-mannered in the pope, who owes the courtesy of being punctual to the people, if not to St. Peter. By and by, however, there was a stir; the guard motioned to us to stand away from the benches, against the backs of which we had been leaning; the spectators in the nave looked towards the door, as if they beheld something approaching; and first, there appeared some cardinals, in scarlet skull-caps and purple robes, intermixed with some of the Noble Guard and other attendants. It was not a very formal and stately procession, but rather straggled onward, with ragged edges, the spectators standing aside to let it pass, and merely bowing, or perhaps slightly bending the knee, as good Catholics are accustomed to do when passing before the shrines of saints. Then, in the midst of the purple cardinals, all of whom were gray-haired men, appeared a stout old man, with a white skull-cap, a scarlet, gold-embroidered cape falling over his shoulders, and a white silk robe, the train of which was borne up by an attendant. He walked slowly, with a sort of dignified movement, stepping out broadly, and planting his feet (on which were red shoes) flat upon the pavement, as if he were not much accustomed to locomotion, and perhaps had known a twinge of the gout. His face was kindly and venerable, but not particularly impressive. Arriving at the scarlet-covered prie-dieu, he kneeled down and took off his white skull-cap; the cardinals also kneeled behind and on either side of him, taking off their scarlet skull-caps; while the Noble Guard remained standing, six on one side of his Holiness and six on the other. The pope bent his head upon the prie-dieu, and seemed to spend three or four minutes in prayer; then rose, and all the purple cardinals, and bishops, and priests, of whatever degree, rose behind and beside him. Next, he went to kiss St. Peter's toe; at least I believe he kissed it, but I was not near enough to be certain; and lastly, he knelt down, and directed his devotions towards the high altar. This completed the ceremonies, and his Holiness left the church by a side door, making a short passage into the Vatican. I am very glad I have seen the pope, because now he may be crossed out of the list of sights to be seen. His proximity impressed me kindly and favorably towards him, and I did not see one face among all his cardinals (in whose number, doubtless, is his successor) which I would so soon trust as that of Pio Nono. This morning I walked as far as the gate of San Paolo, and, on approaching it, I saw the gray sharp pyramid of Caius Cestius pointing upward close to the two dark-brown, battlemented Gothic towers of the gateway, each of these very different pieces of architecture looking the more picturesque for the contrast of the other. Before approaching the gateway and pyramid, I walked onward, and soon came in sight of Monte Testaccio, the artificial hill made of potsherds. There is a gate admitting into the grounds around the hill, and a road encircling its base. At a distance, the hill looks greener than any other part of the landscape, and has all the curved outlines of a natural hill, resembling in shape a headless sphinx, or Saddleback Mountain, as I used to see it from Lenox. It is of very considerable height,--two or three hundred feet at least, I should say,--and well entitled, both by its elevation and the space it covers, to be reckoned among the hills of Rome. Its base is almost entirely surrounded with small structures, which seem to be used as farm-buildings. On the summit is a large iron cross, the Church having thought it expedient to redeem these shattered pipkins from the power of paganism, as it has so many other Roman ruins. There was a pathway up the hill, but I did not choose to ascend it under the hot sun, so steeply did it clamber up. There appears to be a good depth of soil on most parts of Monte Testaccio, but on some of the sides you observe precipices, bristling with fragments of red or brown earthenware, or pieces of vases of white unglazed clay; and it is evident that this immense pile is entirely composed of broken crockery, which I should hardly have thought would have aggregated to such a heap had it all been thrown here,--urns, teacups, porcelain, or earthen,--since the beginning of the world. I walked quite round the hill, and saw, at no great distance from it, the enclosure of the Protestant burial-ground, which lies so close to the pyramid of Caius Cestius that the latter may serve as a general monument to the dead. Deferring, for the present, a visit to the cemetery, or to the interior of the pyramid, I returned to the gateway of San Paolo, and, passing through it, took a view of it from the outside of the city wall. It is itself a portion of the wall, having been built into it by the Emperor Aurelian, so that about half of it lies within and half without. The brick or red stone material of the wall being so unlike the marble of the pyramid, the latter is as distinct, and seems as insulated, as if it stood alone in the centre of a plain; and really I do not think there is a more striking architectural object in Rome. It is in perfect condition, just as little ruined or decayed as on the day when the builder put the last peak on the summit; and it ascends steeply from its base, with a point so sharp that it looks as if it would hardly afford foothold to a bird. The marble was once white, but is now covered with a gray coating like that which has gathered upon the statues of Castor and Pollux on Monte Cavallo. Not one of the great blocks is displaced, nor seems likely to be through all time to come. They rest one upon another, in straight and even lines, and present a vast smooth triangle, ascending from a base of a hundred feet, and narrowing to an apex at the height of a hundred and twenty-five, the junctures of the marble slabs being so close that, in all these twenty centuries, only a few little tufts of grass, and a trailing plant or two, have succeeded in rooting themselves into the interstices. It is good and satisfactory to see anything which, being built for an enduring monument, has endured so faithfully, and has a prospect of such an interminable futurity before it. Once, indeed, it seemed likely to be buried; for three hundred years ago it had become covered to the depth of sixteen feet, but the soil has since been dug away from its base, which is now lower than that of the road which passes through the neighboring gate of San Paolo. Midway up the pyramid, cut in the marble, is an inscription in large Roman letters, still almost as legible as when first wrought. I did not return through the Paolo gateway, but kept onward, round the exterior of the wall, till I came to the gate of San Sebastiano. It was a hot and not a very interesting walk, with only a high bare wall of brick, broken by frequent square towers, on one side of the road, and a bank and hedge or a garden wall on the other. Roman roads are most inhospitable, offering no shade, and no seat, and no pleasant views of rustic domiciles; nothing but the wheel-track of white dust, without a foot path running by its side, and seldom any grassy margin to refresh the wayfarer's feet. April 3d.--A few days ago we visited the studio of Mr. ------, an American, who seems to have a good deal of vogue as a sculptor. We found a figure of Pocahontas, which he has repeated several times; another, which he calls "The Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish," a figure of a smiling girl playing with a cat and dog, and a schoolboy mending a pen. These two last were the only ones that gave me any pleasure, or that really had any merit; for his cleverness and ingenuity appear in homely subjects, but are quite lost in attempts at a higher ideality. Nevertheless, he has a group of the Prodigal Son, possessing more merit than I should have expected from Mr. ------, the son reclining his head on his father's breast, with an expression of utter weariness, at length finding perfect rest, while the father bends his benign countenance over him, and seems to receive him calmly into himself. This group (the plaster-cast standing beside it) is now taking shape out of an immense block of marble, and will be as indestructible as the Laocoon; an idea at once awful and ludicrous, when we consider that it is at best but a respectable production. I have since been told that Mr. ------ had stolen, adopted, we will rather say, the attitude and idea of the group from one executed by a student of the French Academy, and to be seen there in plaster. (We afterwards saw it in the Medici Casino.) Mr. ------ has now been ten years in Italy, and, after all this time, he is still entirely American in everything but the most external surface of his manners; scarcely Europeanized, or much modified even in that. He is a native of ------, but had his early breeding in New York, and might, for any polish or refinement that I can discern in him, still be a country shopkeeper in the interior of New York State or New England. How strange! For one expects to find the polish, the close grain and white purity of marble, in the artist who works in that noble material; but, after all, he handles club, and, judging by the specimens I have seen here, is apt to be clay, not of the finest, himself. Mr. ------ is sensible, shrewd, keen, clever; an ingenious workman, no doubt; with tact enough, and not destitute of taste; very agreeable and lively in his conversation, talking as fast and as naturally as a brook runs, without the slightest affectation. His naturalness is, in fact, a rather striking characteristic, in view of his lack of culture, while yet his life has been concerned with idealities and a beautiful art. What degree of taste he pretends to, he seems really to possess, nor did I hear a single idea from him that struck me as otherwise than sensible. He called to see us last evening, and talked for about two hours in a very amusing and interesting style, his topics being taken from his own personal experience, and shrewdly treated. He spoke much of Greenough, whom he described as an excellent critic of art, but possessed of not the slightest inventive genius. His statue of Washington, at the Capitol, is taken precisely from the Plodian Jupiter; his Chanting Cherubs are copied in marble from two figures in a picture by Raphael. He did nothing that was original with himself To-day we took R-----, and went to see Miss ------, and as her studio seems to be mixed up with Gibson's, we had an opportunity of glancing at some of his beautiful works. We saw a Venus and a Cupid, both of them tinted; and, side by side with them, other statues identical with these, except that the marble was left in its pure whiteness. We found Miss ------ in a little upper room. She has a small, brisk, wide-awake figure, not ungraceful; frank, simple, straightforward, and downright. She had on a robe, I think, but I did not look so low, my attention being chiefly drawn to a sort of man's sack of purple or plum-colored broadcloth, into the side-pockets of which her hands were thrust as she came forward to greet us. She withdrew one hand, however, and presented it cordially to my wife (whom she already knew) and to myself, without waiting for an introduction. She had on a shirt-front, collar, and cravat like a man's, with a brooch of Etruscan gold, and on her curly head was a picturesque little cap of black velvet, and her face was as bright and merry, and as small of feature as a child's. It looked in one aspect youthful, and yet there was something worn in it too. There never was anything so jaunty as her movement and action; she was very peculiar, but she seemed to be her actual self, and nothing affected or made up; so that, for my part, I gave her full leave to wear what may suit her best, and to behave as her inner woman prompts. I don't quite see, however, what she is to do when she grows older, for the decorum of age will not be consistent with a costume that looks pretty and excusable enough in a young woman. Miss ------ led us into a part of the extensive studio, or collection of studios, where some of her own works were to be seen: Beatrice Cenci, which did not very greatly impress me; and a monumental design, a female figure,--wholly draped even to the stockings and shoes,--in a quiet sleep. I liked this last. There was also a Puck, doubtless full of fun; but I had hardly time to glance at it. Miss ------ evidently has good gifts in her profession, and doubtless she derives great advantage from her close association with a consummate artist like Gibson; nor yet does his influence seem to interfere with the originality of her own conceptions. In one way, at least, she can hardly fail to profit,--that is, by the opportunity of showing her works to the throngs of people who go to see Gibson's own; and these are just such people as an artist would most desire to meet, and might never see in a lifetime, if left to himself. I shook hands with this frank and pleasant little person, and took leave, not without purpose of seeing her again. Within a few days, there have been many pilgrims in Rome, who come hither to attend the ceremonies of holy week, and to perform their vows, and undergo their penances. I saw two of them near the Forum yesterday, with their pilgrim staves, in the fashion of a thousand years ago. . . . I sat down on a bench near one of the chapels, and a woman immediately came up to me to beg. I at first refused; but she knelt down by my side, and instead of praying to the saint prayed to me; and, being thus treated as a canonized personage, I thought it incumbent on me to be gracious to the extent of half a paul. My wife, some time ago, came in contact with a pickpocket at the entrance of a church; and, failing in his enterprise upon her purse, he passed in, dipped his thieving fingers in the holy water, and paid his devotions at a shrine. Missing the purse, he said his prayers, in the hope, perhaps, that the saint would send him better luck another time. April 10th.--I have made no entries in my journal recently, being exceedingly lazy, partly from indisposition, as well as from an atmosphere that takes the vivacity out of everybody. Not much has happened or been effected. Last Sunday, which was Easter Sunday, I went with J----- to St. Peter's, where we arrived at about nine o'clock, and found a multitude of people already assembled in the church. The interior was arrayed in festal guise, there being a covering of scarlet damask over the pilasters of the nave, from base to capital, giving an effect of splendor, yet with a loss as to the apparent dimensions of the interior. A guard of soldiers occupied the nave, keeping open a wide space for the passage of a procession that was momently expected, and soon arrived. The crowd was too great to allow of my seeing it in detail; but I could perceive that there were priests, cardinals, Swiss guards, some of them with corselets on, and by and by the pope himself was borne up the nave, high over the heads of all, sitting under a canopy, crowned with his tiara. He floated slowly along, and was set down in the neighborhood of the high altar; and the procession being broken up, some of its scattered members might be seen here and there, about the church,--officials in antique Spanish dresses; Swiss guards, in polished steel breastplates; serving-men, in richly embroidered liveries; officers, in scarlet coats and military boots; priests, and divers other shapes of men; for the papal ceremonies seem to forego little or nothing that belongs to times past, while it includes everything appertaining to the present. I ought to have waited to witness the papal benediction from the balcony in front of the church; or, at least, to hear the famous silver trumpets, sounding from the dome; but J----- grew weary (to say the truth, so did I), and we went on a long walk, out of the nearest city gate, and back through the Janiculum, and, finally, homeward over the Ponto Rotto. Standing on the bridge, I saw the arch of the Cloaca Maxima, close by the Temple of Vesta, with the water rising within two or three feet of its keystone. The same evening we went to Monte Cavallo, where, from the gateway of the Pontifical Palace, we saw the illumination of St. Peter's. Mr. Akers, the sculptor, had recommended this position to us, and accompanied us thither, as the best point from which the illumination could be witnessed at a distance, without the incommodity of such a crowd as would be assembled at the Pincian. The first illumination, the silver one, as it is called, was very grand and delicate, describing the outline of the great edifice and crowning dome in light; while the day was not yet wholly departed. As ------ finally remarked, it seemed like the glorified spirit of the Church, made visible, or, as I will add, it looked as this famous and never-to-be-forgotten structure will look to the imaginations of men, through the waste and gloom of future ages, after it shall have gone quite to decay and ruin: the brilliant, though scarcely distinct gleam of a statelier dome than ever was seen, shining on the background of the night of Time. This simile looked prettier in my fancy than I have made it look on paper. After we had enjoyed the silver illumination a good while, and when all the daylight had given place to the constellated night, the distant outline of St. Peter's burst forth, in the twinkling of an eye, into a starry blaze, being quite the finest effect that I ever witnessed. I stayed to see it, however, only a few minutes; for I was quite ill and feverish with a cold,--which, indeed, I have seldom been free from, since my first breathing of the genial atmosphere of Rome. This pestilence kept me within doors all the next day, and prevented me from seeing the beautiful fireworks that were exhibited in the evening from the platform on the Pincian, above the Piazza del Popolo. On Thursday, I paid another visit to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol, where I was particularly struck with a bust of Cato the Censor, who must have been the most disagreeable, stubborn, ugly-tempered, pig-headed, narrow-minded, strong-willed old Roman that ever lived. The collection of busts here and at the Vatican are most interesting, many of the individual heads being full of character, and commending themselves by intrinsic evidence as faithful portraits of the originals. These stone people have stood face to face with Caesar, and all the other emperors, and with statesmen, soldiers, philosophers, and poets of the antique world, and have been to them like their reflections in a mirror. It is the next thing to seeing the men themselves. We went afterwards into the Palace of the Conservatori, and saw, among various other interesting things, the bronze wolf suckling Romulus and Remus, who sit beneath her dugs, with open mouths to receive the milk. On Friday, we all went to see the Pope's Palace on the Quirinal. There was a vast hall, and an interminable suite of rooms, cased with marble, floored with marble or mosaics or inlaid wood, adorned with frescos on the vaulted ceilings, and many of them lined with Gobelin tapestry; not wofully faded, like almost all that I have hitherto seen, but brilliant as pictures. Indeed, some of them so closely resembled paintings, that I could hardly believe they were not so; and the effect was even richer than that of oil-paintings. In every room there was a crucifix; but I did not see a single nook or corner where anybody could have dreamed of being comfortable. Nevertheless, as a stately and solemn residence for his Holiness, it is quite a satisfactory affair. Afterwards, we went into the Pontifical Gardens, connected with the palace. They are very extensive, and laid out in straight avenues, bordered with walls of box, as impervious as if of stone,--not less than twenty feet high, and pierced with lofty archways, cut in the living wall. Some of the avenues were overshadowed with trees, the tops of which bent over and joined one another from either side, so as to resemble a side aisle of a Gothic cathedral. Marble sculptures, much weather-stained, and generally broken-nosed, stood along these stately walks; there were many fountains gushing up into the sunshine; we likewise found a rich flower-garden, containing rare specimens of exotic flowers, and gigantic cactuses, and also an aviary, with vultures, doves, and singing birds. We did not see half the garden, but, stiff and formal as its general arrangement is, it is a beautiful place,--a delightful, sunny, and serene seclusion. Whatever it may be to the pope, two young lovers might find the Garden of Eden here, and never desire to stray out of its precincts. They might fancy angels standing in the long, glimmering vistas of the avenues. It would suit me well enough to have my daily walk along such straight paths, for I think them favorable to thought, which is apt to be disturbed by variety and unexpectedness. April 12th.--We all, except R-----, went to-day to the Vatican, where we found our way to the Stanze of Raphael, these being four rooms, or halls, painted with frescos. No doubt they were once very brilliant and beautiful; but they have encountered hard treatment since Raphael's time, especially when the soldiers of the Constable de Bourbon occupied these apartments, and made fires on the mosaic floors. The entire walls and ceilings are covered with pictures; but the handiwork or designs of Raphael consist of paintings on the four sides of each room, and include several works of art. The School of Athens is perhaps the most celebrated; and the longest side of the largest hall is occupied by a battle-piece, of which the Emperor Constantine is the hero, and which covers almost space enough for a real battle-field. There was a wonderful light in one of the pictures,--that of St. Peter awakened in his prison, by the angel; it really seemed to throw a radiance into the hall below. I shall not pretend, however, to have been sensible of any particular rapture at the sight of these frescos; so faded as they are, so battered by the mischances of years, insomuch that, through all the power and glory of Raphael's designs, the spectator cannot but be continually sensible that the groundwork of them is an old plaster wall. They have been scrubbed, I suppose,--brushed, at least,--a thousand times over, till the surface, brilliant or soft, as Raphael left it, must have been quite rubbed off, and with it, all the consummate finish, and everything that made them originally delightful. The sterner features remain, the skeleton of thought, but not the beauty that once clothed it. In truth, the frescos, excepting a few figures, never had the real touch of Raphael's own hand upon them, having been merely designed by him, and finished by his scholars, or by other artists. The halls themselves are specimens of antique magnificence, paved with elaborate mosaics; and wherever there is any wood-work, it is richly carved with foliage and figures. In their newness, and probably for a hundred years afterwards, there could not have been so brilliant a suite of rooms in the world. Connected with them--at any rate, not far distant--is the little Chapel of San Lorenzo, the very site of which, among the thousands of apartments of the Vatican, was long forgotten, and its existence only known by tradition. After it had been walled up, however, beyond the memory of man, there was still a rumor of some beautiful frescos by Fra Angelico, in an old chapel of Pope Nicholas V., that had strangely disappeared out of the palace, and, search at length being made, it was discovered, and entered through a window. It is a small, lofty room, quite covered over with frescos of sacred subjects, both on the walls and ceiling, a good deal faded, yet pretty distinctly preserved. It would have been no misfortune to me, if the little old chapel had remained still hidden. We next issued into the Loggie, which consist of a long gallery, or arcade or colonnade, the whole extent of which was once beautifully adorned by Raphael. These pictures are almost worn away, and so defaced as to be untraceable and unintelligible, along the side wall of the gallery; although traceries of Arabesque, and compartments where there seem to have been rich paintings, but now only an indistinguishable waste of dull color, are still to be seen. In the coved ceiling, however, there are still some bright frescos, in better preservation than any others; not particularly beautiful, nevertheless. I remember to have seen (indeed, we ourselves possess them) a series of very spirited and energetic engravings, old and coarse, of these frescos, the subject being the Creation, and the early Scripture history; and I really think that their translation of the pictures is better than the original. On reference to Murray, I find that little more than the designs is attributed to Raphael, the execution being by Giulio Romano and other artists. Escaping from these forlorn splendors, we went into the sculpture-gallery, where I was able to enjoy, in some small degree, two or three wonderful works of art; and had a perception that there were a thousand other wonders around me. It is as if the statues kept, for the most part, a veil about them, which they sometimes withdraw, and let their beauty gleam upon my sight; only a glimpse, or two or three glimpses, or a little space of calm enjoyment, and then I see nothing but a discolored marble image again. The Minerva Medica revealed herself to-day. I wonder whether other people are more fortunate than myself, and can invariably find their way to the inner soul of a work of art. I doubt it; they look at these things for just a minute, and pass on, without any pang of remorse, such as I feel, for quitting them so soon and so willingly. I am partly sensible that some unwritten rules of taste are making their way into my mind; that all this Greek beauty has done something towards refining me, though I am still, however, a very sturdy Goth. . . . April 15th.--Yesterday I went with J----- to the Forum, and descended into the excavations at the base of the Capitol, and on the site of the Basilica of Julia. The essential elements of old Rome are there: columns, single, or in groups of two or three, still erect, but battered and bruised at some forgotten time with infinite pains and labor; fragments of other columns lying prostrate, together with rich capitals and friezes; the bust of a colossal female statue, showing the bosom and upper part of the arms, but headless; a long, winding space of pavement, forming part of the ancient ascent to the Capitol, still as firm and solid as ever; the foundation of the Capitol itself, wonderfully massive, built of immense square blocks of stone, doubtless three thousand years old, and durable for whatever may be the lifetime of the world; the Arch of Septimius, Severus, with bas-reliefs of Eastern wars; the Column of Phocas, with the rude series of steps ascending on four sides to its pedestal; the floor of beautiful and precious marbles in the Basilica of Julia, the slabs cracked across,--the greater part of them torn up and removed, the grass and weeds growing up through the chinks of what remain; heaps of bricks, shapeless bits of granite, and other ancient rubbish, among which old men are lazily rummaging for specimens that a stranger may be induced to buy,--this being an employment that suits the indolence of a modern Roman. The level of these excavations is about fifteen feet, I should judge, below the present street, which passes through the Forum, and only a very small part of this alien surface has been removed, though there can be no doubt that it hides numerous treasures of art and monuments of history. Yet these remains do not make that impression of antiquity upon me which Gothic ruins do. Perhaps it is so because they belong to quite another system of society and epoch of time, and, in view of them, we forget all that has intervened betwixt them and us; being morally unlike and disconnected with them, and not belonging to the same train of thought; so that we look across a gulf to the Roman ages, and do not realize how wide the gulf is. Yet in that intervening valley lie Christianity, the Dark Ages, the feudal system, chivalry and romance, and a deeper life of the human race than Rome brought to the verge of the gulf. To-day we went to the Colonna Palace, where we saw some fine pictures, but, I think, no masterpieces. They did not depress and dishearten me so much as the pictures in Roman palaces usually do; for they were in remarkably good order as regards frames and varnish; indeed, I rather suspect some of them had been injured by the means adopted to preserve their beauty. The palace is now occupied by the French Ambassador, who probably looks upon the pictures as articles of furniture and household adornment, and does not choose to have squares of black and forlorn canvas upon his walls. There were a few noble portraits by Vandyke; a very striking one by Holbein, one or two by Titian, also by Guercino, and some pictures by Rubens, and other forestieri painters, which refreshed my weary eyes. But--what chiefly interested me was the magnificent and stately hall of the palace; fifty-five of my paces in length, besides a large apartment at either end, opening into it through a pillared space, as wide as the gateway of a city. The pillars are of giallo antico, and there are pilasters of the same all the way up and down the walls, forming a perspective of the richest aspect, especially as the broad cornice flames with gilding, and the spaces between the pilasters are emblazoned with heraldic achievements and emblems in gold, and there are Venetian looking-glasses, richly decorated over the surface with beautiful pictures of flowers and Cupids, through which you catch the gleam of the mirror; and two rows of splendid chandeliers extend from end to end of the hall, which, when lighted up, if ever it be lighted up, now-a-nights, must be the most brilliant interior that ever mortal eye beheld. The ceiling glows with pictures in fresco, representing scenes connected with the history of the Colonna family; and the floor is paved with beautiful marbles, polished and arranged in square and circular compartments; and each of the many windows is set in a great architectural frame of precious marble, as large as the portal of a door. The apartment at the farther end of the hall is elevated above it, and is attained by several marble steps, whence it must have been glorious in former days to have looked down upon a gorgeous throng of princes, cardinals, warriors, and ladies, in such rich attire as might be worn when the palace was built. It is singular how much freshness and brightness it still retains; and the only objects to mar the effect were some ancient statues and busts, not very good in themselves, and now made dreary of aspect by their corroded surfaces,--the result of long burial under ground. In the room at the entrance of the hall are two cabinets, each a wonder in its way,--one being adorned with precious stones; the other with ivory carvings of Michael Angelo's Last Judgment, and of the frescos of Raphael's Loggie. The world has ceased to be so magnificent as it once was. Men make no such marvels nowadays. The only defect that I remember in this hall was in the marble steps that ascend to the elevated apartment at the end of it; a large piece had been broken out of one of them, leaving a rough irregular gap in the polished marble stair. It is not easy to conceive what violence can have done this, without also doing mischief to all the other splendor around it. April 16th.--We went this morning to the Academy of St. Luke (the Fine Arts Academy at Rome) in the Via Bonella, close by the Forum. We rang the bell at the house door; and after a few moments it was unlocked or unbolted by some unseen agency from above, no one making his appearance to admit us. We ascended two or three flights of stairs, and entered a hall, where was a young man, the custode, and two or three artists engaged in copying some of the pictures. The collection not being vastly large, and the pictures being in more presentable condition than usual, I enjoyed them more than I generally do; particularly a Virgin and Child by Vandyke, where two angels are singing and playing, one on a lute and the other on a violin, to remind the holy infant of the strains he used to hear in heaven. It is one of the few pictures that there is really any pleasure in looking at. There were several paintings by Titian, mostly of a voluptuous character, but not very charming; also two or more by Guido, one of which, representing Fortune, is celebrated. They did not impress me much, nor do I find myself strongly drawn towards Guido, though there is no other painter who seems to achieve things so magically and inscrutably as he sometimes does. Perhaps it requires a finer taste than mine to appreciate him; and yet I do appreciate him so far as to see that his Michael, for instance, is perfectly beautiful. . . . In the gallery, there are whole rows of portraits of members of the Academy of St. Luke, most of whom, judging by their physiognomies, were very commonplace people; a fact which makes itself visible in a portrait, however much the painter may try to flatter his sitter. Several of the pictures by Titian, Paul Veronese, and other artists, now exhibited in the gallery, were formerly kept in a secret cabinet in the Capitol, being considered of a too voluptuous character for the public eye. I did not think them noticeably indecorous, as compared with a hundred other pictures that are shown and looked at without scruple;--Calypso and her nymphs, a knot of nude women by Titian, is perhaps as objectionable as any. But even Titian's flesh-tints cannot keep, and have not kept their warmth through all these centuries. The illusion and lifelikeness effervesces and exhales out of a picture as it grows old; and we go on talking of a charm that has forever vanished. From St. Luke's we went to San Pietro in Vincoli, occupying a fine position on or near the summit of the Esquiline mount. A little abortion of a man (and, by the by, there are more diminutive and ill-shapen men and women in Rome than I ever saw elsewhere, a phenomenon to be accounted for, perhaps, by their custom of wrapping the new-born infant in swaddling-clothes), this two-foot abortion hastened before us, as we drew nigh, to summon the sacristan to open the church door. It was a needless service, for which we rewarded him with two baiocchi. San Pietro is a simple and noble church, consisting of a nave divided from the side aisles by rows of columns, that once adorned some ancient temple; and its wide, unencumbered interior affords better breathing-space than most churches in Rome. The statue of Moses occupies a niche in one of the side aisles on the right, not far from the high altar. I found it grand and sublime, with a beard flowing down like a cataract; a truly majestic figure, but not so benign as it were desirable that such strength should be. The horns, about which so much has been said, are not a very prominent feature of the statue, being merely two diminutive tips rising straight up over his forehead, neither adding to the grandeur of the head, nor detracting sensibly from it. The whole force of this statue is not to be felt in one brief visit, but I agree with an English gentleman, who, with a large party, entered the church while we were there, in thinking that Moses has "very fine features,"--a compliment for which the colossal Hebrew ought to have made the Englishman a bow. Besides the Moses, the church contains some attractions of a pictorial kind, which are reposited in the sacristy, into which we passed through a side door. The most remarkable of these pictures is a face and bust of Hope, by Guido, with beautiful eyes lifted upwards; it has a grace which artists are continually trying to get into their innumerable copies, but always without success; for, indeed, though nothing is more true than the existence of this charm in the picture, yet if you try to analyze it, or even look too intently at it, it vanishes, till you look again with more trusting simplicity. Leaving the church, we wandered to the Coliseum, and to the public grounds contiguous to them, where a score and more of French drummers were beating each man his drum, without reference to any rub-a-dub but his own. This seems to be a daily or periodical practice and point of duty with them. After resting ourselves on one of the marble benches, we came slowly home, through the Basilica of Constantine, and along the shady sides of the streets and piazzas, sometimes, perforce, striking boldly through the white sunshine, which, however, was not so hot as to shrivel us up bodily. It has been a most beautiful and perfect day as regards weather, clear and bright, very warm in the sunshine, yet freshened throughout by a quiet stir in the air. Still there is something in this air malevolent, or, at least, not friendly. The Romans lie down and fall asleep in it, in any vacant part of the streets, and wherever they can find any spot sufficiently clean, and among the ruins of temples. I would not sleep in the open air for whatever my life may be worth. On our way home, sitting in one of the narrow streets, we saw an old woman spinning with a distaff; a far more ancient implement than the spinning-wheel, which the housewives of other nations have long since laid aside. April 18th.--Yesterday, at noon, the whole family of us set out on a visit to the Villa Borghese and its grounds, the entrance to which is just outside of the Porta del Popolo. After getting within the grounds, however, there is a long walk before reaching the casino, and we found the sun rather uncomfortably hot, and the road dusty and white in the sunshine; nevertheless, a footpath ran alongside of it most of the way through the grass and among the young trees. It seems to me that the trees do not put forth their leaves with nearly the same magical rapidity in this southern land at the approach of summer, as they do in more northerly countries. In these latter, having a much shorter time to develop themselves, they feel the necessity of making the most of it. But the grass, in the lawns and enclosures along which we passed, looked already fit to be mowed, and it was interspersed with many flowers. Saturday being, I believe, the only day of the week on which visitors are admitted to the casino, there were many parties in carriages, artists on foot, gentlemen on horseback, and miscellaneous people, to whom the door was opened by a custode on ringing a bell. The whole of the basement floor of the casino, comprising a suite of beautiful rooms, is filled with statuary. The entrance hall is a very splendid apartment, brightly frescoed, and paved with ancient mosaics, representing the combats with beasts and gladiators in the Coliseum, curious, though very rudely and awkwardly designed, apparently after the arts had begun to decline. Many of the specimens of sculpture displayed in these rooms are fine, but none of them, I think, possess the highest merit. An Apollo is beautiful; a group of a fighting Amazon, and her enemies trampled under her horse's feet, is very impressive; a Faun, copied from that of Praxiteles, and another, who seems to be dancing, were exceedingly pleasant to look at. I like these strange, sweet, playful, rustic creatures, . . . . linked so prettily, without monstrosity, to the lower tribes. . . . Their character has never, that I know of, been wrought out in literature; and something quite good, funny, and philosophical, as well as poetic, might very likely be educed from them. . . . The faun is a natural and delightful link betwixt human and brute life, with something of a divine character intermingled. The gallery, as it is called, on the basement floor of the casino, is sixty feet in length, by perhaps a third as much in breadth, and is (after all I have seen at the Colonna Palace and elsewhere) a more magnificent hall than I imagined to be in existence. It is floored with rich marble in beautifully arranged compartments, and the walls are almost entirely eased with marble of various sorts, the prevailing kind being giallo antico, intermixed with verd antique, and I know not what else; but the splendor of the giallo antico gives the character to the room, and the large and deep niches along the walls appear to be lined with the same material. Without coming to Italy, one can have no idea of what beauty and magnificence are produced by these fittings up of polished marble. Marble to an American means nothing but white limestone. This hall, moreover, is adorned with pillars of Oriental alabaster, and wherever is a space vacant of precious and richly colored marble it is frescoed with arabesque ornaments; and over the whole is a coved and vaulted ceiling, glowing with picture. There never can be anything richer than the whole effect. As to the sculpture here it was not very fine, so far as I can remember, consisting chiefly of busts of the emperors in porphyry; but they served a good purpose in the upholstery way. There were also magnificent tables, each composed of one great slab of porphyry; and also vases of nero antico, and other rarest substance. It remains to be mentioned that, on this almost summer day, I was quite chilled in passing through these glorious halls; no fireplace anywhere; no possibility of comfort; and in the hot season, when their coolness might be agreeable, it would be death to inhabit them. Ascending a long winding staircase, we arrived at another suite of rooms, containing a good many not very remarkable pictures, and a few more pieces of statuary. Among the latter, is Canova's statue of Pauline, the sister of Bonaparte, who is represented with but little drapery, and in the character of Venus holding the apple in her hand. It is admirably done, and, I have no doubt, a perfect likeness; very beautiful too; but it is wonderful to see how the artificial elegance of the woman of this world makes itself perceptible in spite of whatever simplicity she could find in almost utter nakedness. The statue does not afford pleasure in the contemplation. In one of these upper rooms are some works of Bernini; two of them, Aeneas and Anchises, and David on the point of slinging a stone at Goliath, have great merit, and do not tear and rend themselves quite out of the laws and limits of marble, like his later sculpture. Here is also his Apollo overtaking Daphne, whose feet take root, whose, finger-tips sprout into twigs, and whose tender body roughens round about with bark, as he embraces her. It did not seem very wonderful to me; not so good as Hillard's description of it made me expect; and one does not enjoy these freaks in marble. We were glad to emerge from the casino into the warm sunshine; and, for my part, I made the best of my way to a large fountain, surrounded by a circular stone seat of wide sweep, and sat down in a sunny segment of the circle. Around grew a solemn company of old trees,--ilexes, I believe,-- with huge, contorted trunks and evergreen branches, . . . . deep groves, sunny openings, the airy gush of fountains, marble statues, dimly visible in recesses of foliage, great urns and vases, terminal figures, temples, --all these works of art looking as if they had stood there long enough to feel at home, and to be on friendly and familiar terms with the grass and trees. It is a most beautiful place, . . . . and the Malaria is its true master and inhabitant! April 22d.--We have been recently to the studio of Mr. Brown [now dead], the American landscape-painter, and were altogether surprised and delighted with his pictures. He is a plain, homely Yankee, quite unpolished by his many years' residence in Italy; he talks ungrammatically, and in Yankee idioms; walks with a strange, awkward gait and stooping shoulders; is altogether unpicturesque; but wins one's confidence by his very lack of grace. It is not often that we see an artist so entirely free from affectation in his aspect and deportment. His pictures were views of Swiss and Italian scenery, and were most beautiful and true. One of them, a moonlight picture, was really magical,-- the moon shining so brightly that it seemed to throw a light even beyond the limits of the picture,--and yet his sunrises and sunsets, and noontides too, were nowise inferior to this, although their excellence required somewhat longer study, to be fully appreciated. I seemed to receive more pleasure front Mr. Brown's pictures than from any of the landscapes by the old masters; and the fact serves to strengthen me in the belief that the most delicate if not the highest charm of a picture is evanescent, and that we continue to admire pictures prescriptively and by tradition, after the qualities that first won them their fame have vanished. I suppose Claude was a greater landscape-painter than Brown; but for my own pleasure I would prefer one of the latter artist's pictures,--those of the former being quite changed from what he intended them to be by the effect of time on his pigments. Mr. Brown showed us some drawings from nature, done with incredible care and minuteness of detail, as studies for his paintings. We complimented him on his patience; but he said, "O, it's not patience,--it's love!" In fact, it was a patient and most successful wooing of a beloved object, which at last rewarded him by yielding itself wholly. We have likewise been to Mr. B------'s [now dead] studio, where we saw several pretty statues and busts, and among them an Eve, with her wreath of fig-leaves lying across her poor nudity; comely in some points, but with a frightful volume of thighs and calves. I do not altogether see the necessity of ever sculpturing another nakedness. Man is no longer a naked animal; his clothes are as natural to him as his skin, and sculptors have no more right to undress him than to flay him. Also, we have seen again William Story's Cleopatra,--a work of genuine thought and energy, representing a terribly dangerous woman; quiet enough for the moment, but very likely to spring upon you like a tigress. It is delightful to escape to his creations from this universal prettiness, which seems to be the highest conception of the crowd of modern sculptors, and which they almost invariably attain. Miss Bremer called on us the other day. We find her very little changed from what she was when she came to take tea and spend an evening at our little red cottage, among the Berkshire hills, and went away so dissatisfied with my conversational performances, and so laudatory of my brow and eyes, while so severely criticising my poor mouth and chin. She is the funniest little old fairy in person whom one can imagine, with a huge nose, to which all the rest of her is but an insufficient appendage; but you feel at once that she is most gentle, kind, womanly, sympathetic, and true. She talks English fluently, in a low quiet voice, but with such an accent that it is impossible to understand her without the closest attention. This was the real cause of the failure of our Berkshire interview; for I could not guess, half the time, what she was saying, and, of course, had to take an uncertain aim with my responses. A more intrepid talker than myself would have shouted his ideas across the gulf; but, for me, there must first be a close and unembarrassed contiguity with my companion, or I cannot say one real word. I doubt whether I have ever really talked with half a dozen persons in my life, either men or women. To-day my wife and I have been at the picture and sculpture galleries of the Capitol. I rather enjoyed looking at several of the pictures, though at this moment I particularly remember only a very beautiful face of a man, one of two heads on the same canvas by Vandyke. Yes; I did look with new admiration at Paul Veronese's "Rape of Europa." It must have been, in its day, the most brilliant and rejoicing picture, the most voluptuous, the most exuberant, that ever put the sunshine to shame. The bull has all Jupiter in him, so tender and gentle, yet so passionate, that you feel it indecorous to look at him; and Europa, under her thick rich stuffs and embroideries, is all a woman. What a pity that such a picture should fade, and perplex the beholder with such splendor shining through such forlornness! We afterwards went into the sculpture-gallery, where I looked at the Faun of Praxiteles, and was sensible of a peculiar charm in it; a sylvan beauty and homeliness, friendly and wild at once. The lengthened, but not preposterous ears, and the little tail, which we infer, have an exquisite effect, and make the spectator smile in his very heart. This race of fauns was the most delightful of all that antiquity imagined. It seems to me that a story, with all sorts of fun and pathos in it, might be contrived on the idea of their species having become intermingled with the human race; a family with the faun blood in them, having prolonged itself from the classic era till our own days. The tail might have disappeared, by dint of constant intermarriages with ordinary mortals; but the pretty hairy ears should occasionally reappear in members of the family; and the moral instincts and intellectual characteristics of the faun might be most picturesquely brought out, without detriment to the human interest of the story. Fancy this combination in the person of a young lady! I have spoken of Mr. Gibson's colored statues. It seems (at least Mr. Nichols tells me) that he stains them with tobacco juice. . . . Were he to send a Cupid to America, he need not trouble himself to stain it beforehand. April 25th.--Night before last, my wife and I took a moonlight ramble through Rome, it being a very beautiful night, warm enough for comfort, and with no perceptible dew or dampness. We set out at about nine o'clock, and, our general direction being towards the Coliseum, we soon came to the Fountain of Trevi, full on the front of which the moonlight fell, making Bernini's sculptures look stately and beautiful, though the semicircular gush and fall of the cascade, and the many jets of the water, pouring and bubbling into the great marble basin, are of far more account than Neptune and his steeds, and the rest of the figures. . . . We ascended the Capitoline Hill, and I felt a satisfaction in placing my hand on those immense blocks of stone, the remains of the ancient Capitol, which form the foundation of the present edifice, and will make a sure basis for as many edifices as posterity may choose to rear upon it, till the end of the world. It is wonderful, the solidity with which those old Romans built; one would suppose they contemplated the whole course of Time as the only limit of their individual life. This is not so strange in the days of the Republic, when, probably, they believed in the permanence of their institutions; but they still seemed to build for eternity, in the reigns of the emperors, when neither rulers nor people had any faith or moral substance, or laid any earnest grasp on life. Reaching the top of the Capitoline Hill, we ascended the steps of the portal of the Palace of the Senator, and looked down into the piazza, with the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the centre of it. The architecture that surrounds the piazza is very ineffective; and so, in my opinion, are all the other architectural works of Michael Angelo, including St. Peter's itself, of which he has made as little as could possibly be made of such a vast pile of material. He balances everything in such a way that it seems but half of itself. We soon descended into the piazza, and walked round and round the statue of Marcus Aurelius, contemplating it from every point and admiring it in all. . . . On these beautiful moonlight nights, Rome appears to keep awake and stirring, though in a quiet and decorous way. It is, in fact, the pleasantest time for promenades, and we both felt less wearied than by any promenade in the daytime, of similar extent, since our residence in Rome. In future, I mean to walk often after nightfall. Yesterday, we set out betimes, and ascended the dome of St. Peter's. The best view of the interior of the church, I think, is from the first gallery beneath the dome. The whole inside of the dome is set with mosaic-work, the separate pieces being, so far as I could see, about half an inch square. Emerging on the roof, we had a fine view of all the surrounding Rome, including the Mediterranean Sea in the remote distance. Above us still rose the whole mountain of the great dome, and it made an impression on me of greater height and size than I had yet been able to receive. The copper ball at the summit looked hardly bigger than a man could lift; and yet, a little while afterwards, U----, J-----, and I stood all together in that ball, which could have contained a dozen more along with us. The esplanade of the roof is, of course, very extensive; and along the front of it are ranged the statues which we see from below, and which, on nearer examination, prove to be roughly hewn giants. There is a small house on the roof, where, probably, the custodes of this part of the edifice reside; and there is a fountain gushing abundantly into a stone trough, that looked like an old sarcophagus. It is strange where the water comes from at such a height. The children tasted it, and pronounced it very warm and disagreeable. After taking in the prospect on all sides we rang a bell, which summoned a man, who directed us towards a door in the side of the dome, where a custode was waiting to admit us. Hitherto the ascent had been easy, along a slope without stairs, up which, I believe, people sometimes ride on donkeys. The rest of the way we mounted steep and narrow staircases, winding round within the wall, or between the two walls of the dome, and growing narrower and steeper, till, finally, there is but a perpendicular iron ladder, by means of which to climb into the copper ball. Except through small windows and peep-holes, there is no external prospect of a higher point than the roof of the church. Just beneath the ball there is a circular room capable of containing a large company, and a door which ought to give access to a gallery on the outside; but the custode informed us that this door is never opened. As I have said, U----, J-----, and I clambered into the copper ball, which we found as hot as an oven; and, after putting our hands on its top, and on the summit of St. Peter's, were glad to clamber down again. I have made some mistake, after all, in my narration. There certainly is a circular balcony at the top of the dome, for I remember walking round it, and looking, not only across the country, but downwards along the ribs of the dome; to which are attached the iron contrivances for illuminating it on Easter Sunday. . . . Before leaving the church we went to look at the mosaic copy of the "Transfiguration," because we were going to see the original in the Vatican, and wished to compare the two. Going round to the entrance of the Vatican, we went first to the manufactory of mosaics, to which we had a ticket of admission. We found it a long series of rooms, in which the mosaic artists were at work, chiefly in making some medallions of the heads of saints for the new church of St. Paul's. It was rather coarse work, and it seemed to me that the mosaic copy was somewhat stiffer and more wooden than the original, the bits of stone not flowing into color quite so freely as paint from a brush. There was no large picture now in process of being copied; but two or three artists were employed on small and delicate subjects. One had a Holy Family of Raphael in hand; and the Sibyls of Guercino and Domenichino were hanging on the wall, apparently ready to be put into mosaic. Wherever great skill and delicacy, on the artists' part were necessary, they seemed quite adequate to the occasion; but, after all, a mosaic of any celebrated picture is but a copy of a copy. The substance employed is a stone-paste, of innumerable different views, and in bits of various sizes, quantities of which were seen in cases along the whole series of rooms. We next ascended an amazing height of staircases, and walked along I know not what extent of passages, . . . . till we reached the picture-gallery of the Vatican, into which I had never been before. There are but three rooms, all lined with red velvet, on which hung about fifty pictures, each one of them, no doubt, worthy to be considered a masterpiece. In the first room were three Murillos, all so beautiful that I could have spent the day happily in looking at either of them; for, methinks, of all painters he is the tenderest and truest. I could not enjoy these pictures now, however, because in the next room, and visible through the open door, hung the "Transfiguration." Approaching it, I felt that the picture was worthy of its fame, and was far better than I could at once appreciate; admirably preserved, too, though I fully believe it must have possessed a charm when it left Raphael's hand that has now vanished forever. As church furniture and an external adornment, the mosaic copy is preferable to the original, but no copy could ever reproduce all the life and expression which we see here. Opposite to it hangs the "Communion of St. Jerome," the aged, dying saint, half torpid with death already, partaking of the sacrament, and a sunny garland of cherubs in the upper part of the picture, looking down upon him, and quite comforting the spectator with the idea that the old man needs only to be quite dead in order to flit away with them. As for the other pictures I did but glance at, and have forgotten them. The "Transfiguration" is finished with great minuteness and detail, the weeds and blades of grass in the foreground being as distinct as if they were growing in a natural soil. A partly decayed stick of wood with the bark is likewise given in close imitation of nature. The reflection of a foot of one of the apostles is seen in a pool of water at the verge of the picture. One or two heads and arms seem almost to project from the canvas. There is great lifelikeness and reality, as well as higher qualities. The face of Jesus, being so high aloft and so small in the distance, I could not well see; but I am impressed with the idea that it looks too much like human flesh and blood to be in keeping with the celestial aspect of the figure, or with the probabilities of the scene, when the divinity and immortality of the Saviour beamed from within him through the earthly features that ordinarily shaded him. As regards the composition of the picture, I am not convinced of the propriety of its being in two so distinctly separate parts,--the upper portion not thinking of the lower, and the lower portion not being aware of the higher. It symbolizes, however, the spiritual short-sightedness of mankind that, amid the trouble and grief of the lower picture, not a single individual, either of those who seek help or those who would willingly afford it, lifts his eyes to that region, one glimpse of which would set everything right. One or two of the disciples point upward, but without really knowing what abundance of help is to be had there. April 27th.--To-day we have all been with Mr. Akers to some studios of painters; first to that of Mr. Wilde, an artist originally from Boston. His pictures are principally of scenes from Venice, and are miracles of color, being as bright as if the light were transmitted through rubies and sapphires. And yet, after contemplating them awhile, we became convinced that the painter had not gone in the least beyond nature, but, on the contrary, had fallen short of brilliancies which no palette, or skill, or boldness in using color, could attain. I do not quite know whether it is best to attempt these things. They may be found in nature, no doubt, but always so tempered by what surrounds them, so put out of sight even while they seem full before our eyes, that we question the accuracy of a faithful reproduction of them on canvas. There was a picture of sunset, the whole sky of which would have outshone any gilded frame that could have been put around it. There was a most gorgeous sketch of a handful of weeds and leaves, such as may be seen strewing acres of forest-ground in an American autumn. I doubt whether any other man has ever ventured to paint a picture like either of these two, the Italian sunset or the American autumnal foliage. Mr. Wilde, who is still young, talked with genuine feeling and enthusiasm of his art, and is certainly a man of genius. We next went to the studio of an elderly Swiss artist, named Mueller, I believe, where we looked at a great many water-color and crayon drawings of scenes in Italy, Greece, and Switzerland. The artist was a quiet, respectable, somewhat heavy-looking old gentleman, from whose aspect one would expect a plodding pertinacity of character rather than quickness of sensibility. He must have united both these qualities, however, to produce such pictures as these, such faithful transcripts of whatever Nature has most beautiful to show, and which she shows only to those who love her deeply and patiently. They are wonderful pictures, compressing plains, seas, and mountains, with miles and miles of distance, into the space of a foot or two, without crowding anything or leaving out a feature, and diffusing the free, blue atmosphere throughout. The works of the English watercolor artists which I saw at the Manchester Exhibition seemed to me nowise equal to these. Now, here are three artists, Mr. Brown, Mr. Wilde, and Mr. Mueller, who have smitten me with vast admiration within these few days past, while I am continually turning away disappointed from the landscapes of the most famous among the old masters, unable to find any charm or illusion in them. Yet I suppose Claude, Poussin, and Salvator Rosa must have won their renown by real achievements. But the glory of a picture fades like that of a flower. Contiguous to Mr. Mueller's studio was that of a young German artist, not long resident in Rome, and Mr. Akers proposed that we should go in there, as a matter of kindness to the young man, who is scarcely known at all, and seldom has a visitor to look at his pictures. His studio comprised his whole establishment; for there was his little bed, with its white drapery, in a corner of the small room, and his dressing-table, with its brushes and combs, while the easel and the few sketches of Italian scenes and figures occupied the foreground. I did not like his pictures very well, but would gladly have bought them all if I could have afforded it, the artist looked so cheerful, patient, and quiet, doubtless amidst huge discouragement. He is probably stubborn of purpose, and is the sort of man who will improve with every year of his life. We could not speak his language, and were therefore spared the difficulty of paying him any compliments; but Miss Shepard said a few kind words to him in German. and seemed quite to win his heart, insomuch that he followed her with bows and smiles a long way down the staircase. It is a terrible business, this looking at pictures, whether good or bad, in the presence of the artists who paint them; it is as great a bore as to hear a poet read his own verses. It takes away all my pleasure in seeing the pictures, and even remakes me question the genuineness of the impressions which I receive from them. After this latter visit Mr. Akers conducted us to the shop of the jeweller Castellani, who is a great reproducer of ornaments in the old Roman and Etruscan fashion. These antique styles are very fashionable just now, and some of the specimens he showed us were certainly very beautiful, though I doubt whether their quaintness and old-time curiousness, as patterns of gewgaws dug out of immemorial tombs, be not their greatest charm. We saw the toilet-case of an Etruscan lady,--that is to say, a modern imitation of it,--with her rings for summer and winter, and for every day of the week, and for thumb and fingers; her ivory comb; her bracelets; and more knick-knacks than I can half remember. Splendid things of our own time were likewise shown us; a necklace of diamonds worth eighteen thousand scudi, together with emeralds and opals and great pearls. Finally we came away, and my wife and Miss Shepard were taken up by the Misses Weston, who drove with them to visit the Villa Albani. During their drive my wife happened to raise her arm, and Miss Shepard espied a little Greek cross of gold which had attached itself to the lace of her sleeve. . . . Pray heaven the jeweller may not discover his loss before we have time to restore the spoil! He is apparently so free and careless in displaying his precious wares,--putting inestimable genes and brooches great and small into the hands of strangers like ourselves, and leaving scores of them strewn on the top of his counter,--that it would seem easy enough to take a diamond or two; but I suspect there must needs be a sharp eye somewhere. Before we left the shop he requested me to honor him with my autograph in a large book that was full of the names of his visitors. This is probably a measure of precaution. April 30th.--I went yesterday to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol, and looked pretty thoroughly through the busts of the illustrious men, and less particularly at those of the emperors and their relatives. I likewise took particular note of the Faun of Praxiteles, because the idea keeps recurring to me of writing a little romance about it, and for that reason I shall endeavor to set down a somewhat minutely itemized detail of the statue and its surroundings. . . . We have had beautiful weather for two or three days, very warm in the sun, yet always freshened by the gentle life of a breeze, and quite cool enough the moment you pass within the limit of the shade. . . . In the morning there are few people there (on the Pincian) except the gardeners, lazily trimming the borders, or filling their watering-pots out of the marble-brimmed basin of the fountain; French soldiers, in their long mixed-blue surtouts, and wide scarlet pantaloons, chatting with here and there a nursery-maid and playing with the child in her care; and perhaps a few smokers, . . . . choosing each a marble seat or wooden bench in sunshine or shade as best suits him. In the afternoon, especially within an hour or two of sunset, the gardens are much more populous, and the seats, except when the sun falls full upon them, are hard to come by. Ladies arrive in carriages, splendidly dressed; children are abundant, much impeded in their frolics, and rendered stiff and stately by the finery which they wear; English gentlemen and Americans with their wives and families; the flower of the Roman population, too, both male and female, mostly dressed with great nicety; but a large intermixture of artists, shabbily picturesque; and other persons, not of the first stamp. A French band, comprising a great many brass instruments, by and by begins to play; and what with music, sunshine, a delightful atmosphere, flowers, grass, well-kept pathways, bordered with box-hedges, pines, cypresses, horse-chestnuts, flowering shrubs, and all manner of cultivated beauty, the scene is a very lively and agreeable one. The fine equipages that drive round and round through the carriage-paths are another noticeable item. The Roman aristocracy are magnificent in their aspect, driving abroad with beautiful horses, and footmen in rich liveries, sometimes as many as three behind and one sitting by the coachman. May 1st.--This morning, I wandered for the thousandth time through some of the narrow intricacies of Rome, stepping here and there into a church. I do not know the name of the first one, nor had it anything that in Rome could be called remarkable, though, till I came here, I was not aware that any such churches existed,--a marble pavement in variegated compartments, a series of shrines and chapels round the whole floor, each with its own adornment of sculpture and pictures, its own altar with tall wax tapers before it, some of which were burning; a great picture over the high altar, the whole interior of the church ranged round with pillars and pilasters, and lined, every inch of it, with rich yellow marble. Finally, a frescoed ceiling over the nave and transepts, and a dome rising high above the central part, and filled with frescos brought to such perspective illusion, that the edges seem to project into the air. Two or three persons are kneeling at separate shrines; there are several wooden confessionals placed against the walls, at one of which kneels a lady, confessing to a priest who sits within; the tapers are lighted at the high altar and at one of the shrines; an attendant is scrubbing the marble pavement with a broom and water, a process, I should think, seldom practised in Roman churches. By and by the lady finishes her confession, kisses the priest's hand, and sits down in one of the chairs which are placed about the floor, while the priest, in a black robe, with a short, white, loose jacket over his shoulders, disappears by a side door out of the church. I, likewise, finding nothing attractive in the pictures, take my departure. Protestantism needs a new apostle to convert it into something positive. . . . I now found my way to the Piazza Navona. It is to me the most interesting piazza in Rome; a large oblong space, surrounded with tall, shabby houses, among which there are none that seem to be palaces. The sun falls broadly over the area of the piazza, and shows the fountains in it;--one a large basin with great sea-monsters, probably of Bernini's inventions, squirting very small streams of water into it; another of the fountains I do not at all remember; but the central one is an immense basin, over which is reared an old Egyptian obelisk, elevated on a rock, which is cleft into four arches. Monstrous devices in marble, I know not of what purport, are clambering about the cloven rock or burrowing beneath it; one and all of them are superfluous and impertinent, the only essential thing being the abundant supply of water in the fountain. This whole Piazza Navona is usually the scene of more business than seems to be transacted anywhere else in Rome; in some parts of it rusty iron is offered for sale, locks and keys, old tools, and all such rubbish; in other parts vegetables, comprising, at this season, green peas, onions, cauliflowers, radishes, artichokes, and others with which I have never made acquaintance; also, stalls or wheelbarrows containing apples, chestnuts (the meats dried and taken out of the shells), green almonds in their husks, and squash-seeds,--salted and dried in an oven,--apparently a favorite delicacy of the Romans. There are also lemons and oranges; stalls of fish, mostly about the size of smelts, taken from the Tiber; cigars of various qualities, the best at a baioccho and a half apiece; bread in loaves or in small rings, a great many of which are strung together on a long stick, and thus carried round for sale. Women and men sit with these things for sale, or carry them about in trays or on boards on their heads, crying them with shrill and hard voices. There is a shabby crowd and much babble; very little picturesqueness of costume or figure, however, the chief exceptions being, here and there, an old white-bearded beggar. A few of the men have the peasant costume,--a short jacket and breeches of light blue cloth and white stockings,--the ugliest dress I ever saw. The women go bareheaded, and seem fond of scarlet and other bright colors, but are homely and clumsy in form. The piazza is dingy in its general aspect, and very dirty, being strewn with straw, vegetable-tops, and the rubbish of a week's marketing; but there is more life in it than one sees elsewhere in Rome. On one side of the piazza is the Church of St. Agnes, traditionally said to stand on the site of the house where that holy maiden was exposed to infamy by the Roman soldiers, and where her modesty and innocence were saved by miracle. I went into the church, and found it very splendid, with rich marble columns, all as brilliant as if just built; a frescoed dome above; beneath, a range of chapels all round the church, ornamented not with pictures but bas-reliefs, the figures of which almost step and struggle out of the marble. They did not seem very admirable as works of art, none of them explaining themselves or attracting me long enough to study out their meaning; but, as part of the architecture of the church, they had a good effect. Out of the busy square two or three persons had stepped into this bright and calm seclusion to pray and be devout, for a little while; and, between sunrise and sunset of the bustling market-day, many doubtless snatch a moment to refresh their souls. In the Pantheon (to-day) it was pleasant looking up to the circular opening, to see the clouds flitting across it, sometimes covering it quite over, then permitting a glimpse of sky, then showing all the circle of sunny blue. Then would come the ragged edge of a cloud, brightened throughout with sunshine, passing and changing quickly,--not that the divine smile was not always the same, but continually variable through the medium of earthly influences. The great slanting beam of sunshine was visible all the way down to the pavement, falling upon motes of dust, or a thin smoke of incense imperceptible in the shadow. Insects were playing to and fro in the beam, high up toward the opening. There is a wonderful charm in the naturalness of all this, and one might fancy a swarm of cherubs coming down through the opening and sporting in the broad ray, to gladden the faith of worshippers on the pavement beneath; or angels bearing prayers upward, or bringing down responses to them, visible with dim brightness as they pass through the pathway of heaven's radiance, even the many hues of their wings discernible by a trusting eye; though, as they pass into the shadow, they vanish like the motes. So the sunbeam would represent those rays of divine intelligence which enable us to see wonders and to know that they are natural things. Consider the effect of light and shade in a church where the windows are open and darkened with curtains that are occasionally lifted by a breeze, letting in the sunshine, which whitens a carved tombstone on the pavement of the church, disclosing, perhaps, the letters of the name and inscription, a death's-head, a crosier, or other emblem; then the curtain falls and the bright spot vanishes. May 8th.--This morning my wife and I went to breakfast with Mrs. William Story at the Barberini Palace, expecting to meet Mrs. Jameson, who has been in Rome for a month or two. We had a very pleasant breakfast, but Mrs. Jameson was not present on account of indisposition, and the only other guests were Mrs. A------ and Mrs. H------, two sensible American ladies. Mrs. Story, however, received a note from Mrs. Jameson, asking her to bring us to see her at her lodgings; so in the course of the afternoon she called on us, and took us thither in her carriage. Mrs. Jameson lives on the first piano of an old palazzo on the Via di Ripetta, nearly opposite the ferry-way across the Tiber, and affording a pleasant view of the yellow river and the green bank and fields on the other side. I had expected to see an elderly lady, but not quite so venerable a one as Mrs. Jameson proved to be; a rather short, round, and massive personage, of benign and agreeable aspect, with a sort of black skullcap on her head, beneath which appeared her hair, which seemed once to have been fair, and was now almost white. I should take her to be about seventy years old. She began to talk to us with affectionate familiarity, and was particularly kind in her manifestations towards myself, who, on my part, was equally gracious towards her. In truth, I have found great pleasure and profit in her works, and was glad to hear her say that she liked mine. We talked about art, and she showed us a picture leaning up against the wall of the room; a quaint old Byzantine painting, with a gilded background, and two stiff figures (our Saviour and St. Catherine) standing shyly at a sacred distance from one another, and going through the marriage ceremony. There was a great deal of expression in their faces and figures; and the spectator feels, moreover, that the artist must have been a devout man,--an impression which we seldom receive from modern pictures, however awfully holy the subject, or however consecrated the place they hang in. Mrs. Jameson seems to be familiar with Italy, its people and life, as well as with its picture-galleries. She is said to be rather irascible in her temper; but nothing could be sweeter than her voice, her look, and all her manifestations to-day. When we were coming away she clasped my hand in both of hers, and again expressed the pleasure of having seen me, and her gratitude to me for calling on her; nor did I refrain from responding Amen to these effusions. . . . Taking leave of Mrs. Jameson, we drove through the city, and out of the Lateran Gate; first, however, waiting a long while at Monaldini's bookstore in the Piazza de' Spagna for Mr. Story, whom we finally took up in the street, after losing nearly an hour. Just two miles beyond the gate is a space on the green campagna where, for some time past, excavations have been in progress, which thus far have resulted in the discovery of several tombs, and the old, buried, and almost forgotten church or basilica of San Stefano. It is a beautiful spot, that of the excavations, with the Alban hills in the distance, and some heavy, sunlighted clouds hanging above, or recumbent at length upon them, and behind the city and its mighty dome. The excavations are an object of great interest both to the Romans and to strangers, and there were many carriages and a great many visitors viewing the progress of the works, which are carried forward with greater energy than anything else I have seen attempted at Rome. A short time ago the ground in the vicinity was a green surface, level, except here and there a little hillock, or scarcely perceptible swell; the tomb of Cecilia Metella showing itself a mile or two distant, and other rugged ruins of great tombs rising on the plain. Now the whole site of the basilica is uncovered, and they have dug into the depths of several tombs, bringing to light precious marbles, pillars, a statue, and elaborately wrought sarcophagi; and if they were to dig into almost every other inequality that frets the surface of the campagna, I suppose the result might be the same. You cannot dig six feet downward anywhere into the soil, deep enough to hollow out a grave, without finding some precious relic of the past; only they lose somewhat of their value when you think that you can almost spurn them out of the ground with your foot. It is a very wonderful arrangement of Providence that these things should have been preserved for a long series of coming generations by that accumulation of dust and soil and grass and trees and houses over them, which will keep them safe, and cause their reappearance above ground to be gradual, so that the rest of the world's lifetime may have for one of its enjoyments the uncovering of old Rome. The tombs were accessible by long flights of steps going steeply downward, and they were thronged with so many visitors that we had to wait some little time for our own turn. In the first into which we descended we found two tombs side by side, with only a partition wall between; the outer tomb being, as is supposed, a burial-place constructed by the early Christians, while the adjoined and minor one was a work of pagan Rome about the second century after Christ. The former was much less interesting than the latter. It contained some large sarcophagi, with sculpture upon them of rather heathenish aspect; and in the centre of the front of each sarcophagus was a bust in bas-relief, the features of which had never been wrought, but were left almost blank, with only the faintest indications of a nose, for instance. It is supposed that sarcophagi were kept on hand by the sculptors, and were bought ready made, and that it was customary to work out the portrait of the deceased upon the blank face in the centre; but when there was a necessity for sudden burial, as may have been the case in the present instance, this was dispensed with. The inner tomb was found without any earth in it, just as it had been left when the last old Roman was buried there; and it being only a week or two since it was opened, there was very little intervention of persons, though much of time, between the departure of the friends of the dead and our own visit. It is a square room, with a mosaic pavement, and is six or seven paces in length and breadth, and as much in height to the vaulted roof. The roof and upper walls are beautifully ornamented with frescos, which were very bright when first discovered, but have rapidly faded since the admission of the air, though the graceful and joyous designs, flowers and fruits and trees, are still perfectly discernible. The room must have been anything but sad and funereal; on the contrary, as cheerful a saloon, and as brilliant, if lighted up, as one could desire to feast in. It contained several marble sarcophagi, covering indeed almost the whole floor, and each of them as much as three or four feet in length, and two much longer. The longer ones I did not particularly examine, and they seemed comparatively plainer; but the smaller sarcophagi were covered with the most delicately wrought and beautiful bas-reliefs that I ever beheld; a throng of glad and lovely shapes in marble clustering thickly and chasing one another round the sides of these old stone coffins. The work was as perfect as when the sculptor gave it his last touch; and if he had wrought it to be placed in a frequented hall, to be seen and admired by continual crowds as long as the marble should endure, he could not have chiselled with better skill and care, though his work was to be shut up in the depths of a tomb forever. This seems to me the strangest thing in the world, the most alien from modern sympathies. If they had built their tombs above ground, one could understand the arrangement better; but no sooner had they adorned them so richly, and furnished them with such exquisite productions of art, than they annihilated them with darkness. It was an attempt, no doubt, to render the physical aspect of death cheerful, but there was no good sense in it. We went down also into another tomb close by, the walls of which were ornamented with medallions in stucco. These works presented a numerous series of graceful designs, wrought by the hand in the short space of (Mr. Story said it could not have been more than) five or ten minutes, while the wet plaster remained capable of being moulded; and it was marvellous to think of the fertility of the artist's fancy, and the rapidity and accuracy with which he must have given substantial existence to his ideas. These too--all of them such adornments as would have suited a festal hall--were made to be buried forthwith in eternal darkness. I saw and handled in this tomb a great thigh-bone, and measured it with my own; it was one of many such relics of the guests who were laid to sleep in these rich chambers. The sarcophagi that served them for coffins could not now be put to a more appropriate use than as wine-coolers in a modern dining-room; and it would heighten the enjoyment of a festival to look at them. We would gladly have stayed much longer; but it was drawing towards sunset, and the evening, though bright, was unusually cool, so we drove home; and on the way, Mr. Story told us of the horrible practices of the modern Romans with their dead,--how they place them in the church, where, at midnight, they are stripped of their last rag of funeral attire, put into the rudest wooden coffins, and thrown into a trench,--a half-mile, for instance, of promiscuous corpses. This is the fate of all, except those whose friends choose to pay an exorbitant sum to have them buried under the pavement of a church. The Italians have an excessive dread of corpses, and never meddle with those of their nearest and dearest relatives. They have a horror of death, too, especially of sudden death, and most particularly of apoplexy; and no wonder, as it gives no time for the last rites of the Church, and so exposes them to a fearful risk of perdition forever. On the whole, the ancient practice was, perhaps, the preferable one; but Nature has made it very difficult for us to do anything pleasant and satisfactory with a dead body. God knows best; but I wish he had so ordered it that our mortal bodies, when we have done with them, might vanish out of sight and sense, like bubbles. A person of delicacy hates to think of leaving such a burden as his decaying mortality to the disposal of his friends; but, I say again, how delightful it would be, and how helpful towards our faith in a blessed futurity, if the dying could disappear like vanishing bubbles, leaving, perhaps, a sweet fragrance diffused for a minute or two throughout the death-chamber. This would be the odor of sanctity! And if sometimes the evaporation of a sinful soul should leave an odor not so delightful, a breeze through the open windows would soon waft it quite away. Apropos of the various methods of disposing of dead bodies, William Story recalled a newspaper paragraph respecting a ring, with a stone of a new species in it, which a widower was observed to wear upon his finger. Being questioned as to what the gem was, he answered, "It is my wife." He had procured her body to be chemically resolved into this stone. I think I could make a story on this idea: the ring should be one of the widower's bridal gifts to a second wife; and, of course, it should have wondrous and terrible qualities, symbolizing all that disturbs the quiet of a second marriage,--on the husband's part, remorse for his inconstancy, and the constant comparison between the dead wife of his youth, now idealized, and the grosser reality which he had now adopted into her place; while on the new wife's finger it should give pressures, shooting pangs into her heart, jealousies of the past, and all such miserable emotions. By the by, the tombs which we looked at and entered may have been originally above ground, like that of Cecilia Metella, and a hundred others along the Appian Way; though, even in this case, the beautiful chambers must have been shut up in darkness. Had there been windows, letting in the light upon the rich frescos and exquisite sculptures, there would have been a satisfaction in thinking of the existence of so much visual beauty, though no eye had the privilege to see it. But darkness, to objects of sight, is annihilation, as long as the darkness lasts. May 9th.--Mrs. Jameson called this forenoon to ask us to go and see her this evening; . . . . so that I had to receive her alone, devolving part of the burden on Miss Shepard and the three children, all of whom I introduced to her notice. Finding that I had not been farther beyond the walls of Rome than the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she invited me to take a drive of a few miles with her this afternoon. . . . The poor lady seems to be very lame; and I am sure I was grateful to her for having taken the trouble to climb up the seventy steps of our staircase, and felt pain at seeing her go down them again. It looks fearfully like the gout, the affection being apparently in one foot. The hands, by the way, are white, and must once have been, perhaps now are, beautiful. She must have been a perfectly pretty woman in her day,--a blue or gray eyed, fair-haired beauty. I think that her hair is not white, but only flaxen in the extreme. At half past four, according to appointment, I arrived at her lodgings, and had not long to wait before her little one-horse carriage drove up to the door, and we set out, rumbling along the Via Scrofa, and through the densest part of the city, past the theatre of Marcellus, and thence along beneath the Palatine Hill, and by the Baths of Caracalla, through the gate of San Sebastiano. After emerging from the gate, we soon came to the little Church of "Domine, quo vadis?" Standing on the spot where St. Peter is said to have seen a vision of our Saviour bearing his cross, Mrs. Jameson proposed to alight; and, going in, we saw a cast from Michael Angelo's statue of the Saviour; and not far from the threshold of the church, yet perhaps in the centre of the edifice, which is extremely small, a circular stone is placed, a little raised above the pavement, and surrounded by a low wooden railing. Pointing to this stone, Mrs. Jameson showed me the prints of two feet side by side, impressed into its surface, as if a person had stopped short while pursuing his way to Rome. These, she informed me, were supposed to be the miraculous prints of the Saviour's feet; but on looking into Murray, I am mortified to find that they are merely facsimiles of the original impressions, which are treasured up among the relics of the neighboring Basilica of San Sebastiano. The marks of sculpture seemed to me, indeed, very evident in these prints, nor did they indicate such beautiful feet as should have belonged to the hearer of the best of glad tidings. Hence we drove on a little way farther, and came to the Basilica of San Sebastiano, where also we alighted, and, leaning on my arm, Mrs. Jameson went in. It is a stately and noble interior, with a spacious unencumbered nave, and a flat ceiling frescoed and gilded. In a chapel at the left of the entrance is the tomb of St. Sebastian,--a sarcophagus containing his remains, raised on high before the altar, and beneath it a recumbent statue of the saint pierced with gilded arrows. The sculpture is of the school of Bernini,--done after the design of Bernini himself, Mrs. Jameson said, and is more agreeable and in better taste than most of his works. We walked round the basilica, glancing at the pictures in the various chapels, none of which seemed to be of remarkable merit, although Mrs. Jameson pronounced rather a favorable verdict on one of St. Francis. She says that she can read a picture like the page of a book; in fact, without perhaps assuming more taste and judgment than really belong to her, it was impossible not to perceive that she gave her companion no credit for knowing one single simplest thing about art. Nor, on the whole, do I think she underrated me; the only mystery is, how she came to be so well aware of my ignorance on artistical points. In the basilica the Franciscan monks were arranging benches on the floor of the nave, and some peasant children and grown people besides were assembling, probably to undergo an examination in the catechism, and we hastened to depart, lest our presence should interfere with their arrangements. At the door a monk met us, and asked for a contribution in aid of his church, or some other religious purpose. Boys, as we drove on, ran stoutly along by the side of the chaise, begging as often as they could find breath, but were constrained finally to give up the pursuit. The great ragged bulks of the tombs along the Appian Way now hove in sight, one with a farm-house on its summit, and all of them preposterously huge and massive. At a distance, across the green campagna on our left, the Claudian aqueduct strode away over miles of space, and doubtless reached even to that circumference of blue hills which stand afar off, girdling Rome about. The tomb of Cecilia Metella came in sight a long while before we reached it, with the warm buff hue of its travertine, and the gray battlemented wall which the Caetanis erected on the top of its circular summit six hundred years ago. After passing it, we saw an interminable line of tombs on both sides of the way, each of which might, for aught I know, have been as massive as that of Cecilia Metella, and some perhaps still more monstrously gigantic, though now dilapidated and much reduced in size. Mrs. Jameson had an engagement to dinner at half past six, so that we could go but a little farther along this most interesting road, the borders of which are strewn with broken marbles; fragments of capitals, and nameless rubbish that once was beautiful. Methinks the Appian Way should be the only entrance to Rome,--through an avenue of tombs. The day had been cloudy, chill, and windy, but was now grown calmer and more genial, and brightened by a very pleasant sunshine, though great dark clouds were still lumbering up the sky. We drove homeward, looking at the distant dome of St. Peter's and talking of many things,--painting, sculpture, America, England, spiritualism, and whatever else came up. She is a very sensible old lady, and sees a great deal of truth; a good woman, too, taking elevated views of matters; but I doubt whether she has the highest and finest perceptions in the world. At any rate, she pronounced a good judgment on the American sculptors now in Rome, condemning them in the mass as men with no high aims, no worthy conception of the purposes of their art, and desecrating marble by the things they wrought in it. William Story, I presume, is not to be included in this censure, as she had spoken highly of his sculpturesque faculty in our previous conversation. On my part, I suggested that the English sculptors were little or nothing better than our own, to which she acceded generally, but said that Gibson had produced works equal to the antique,--which I did not dispute, but still questioned whether the world needed Gibson, or was any the better for him. We had a great dispute about the propriety of adopting the costume of the day in modern sculpture, and I contended that either the art ought to be given up (which possibly would be the best course), or else should be used for idealizing the man of the day to himself; and that, as Nature makes us sensible of the fact when men and women are graceful, beautiful, and noble, through whatever costume they wear, so it ought to be the test of the sculptor's genius that he should do the same. Mrs. Jameson decidedly objected to buttons, breeches, and all other items of modern costume; and, indeed, they do degrade the marble, and make high sculpture utterly impossible. Then let the art perish as one that the world has done with, as it has done with many other beautiful things that belonged to an earlier time. It was long past the hour of Mrs. Jameson's dinner engagement when we drove up to her door in the Via Ripetta. I bade her farewell with much good-feeling on my own side, and, I hope, on hers, excusing myself, however, from keeping the previous engagement to spend the evening with her, for, in point of fact, we had mutually had enough of one another for the time being. I am glad to record that she expressed a very favorable opinion of our friend Mr. Thompson's pictures. May 12th.--To-day we have been to the Villa Albani, to which we had a ticket of admission through the agency of Mr. Cass (the American Minister). We set out between ten and eleven o'clock, and walked through the Via Felice, the Piazza Barberini, and a long, heavy, dusty range of streets beyond, to the Porta Salara, whence the road extends, white and sunny, between two high blank walls to the gate of the villa, which is at no great distance. We were admitted by a girl, and went first to the casino, along an aisle of overshadowing trees, the branches of which met above our heads. In the portico of the casino, which extends along its whole front, there are many busts and statues, and, among them, one of Julius Caesar, representing him at an earlier period of life than others which I have seen. His aspect is not particularly impressive; there is a lack of chin, though not so much as in the older statues and busts. Within the edifice there is a large hall, not so brilliant, perhaps, with frescos and gilding as those at the Villa Borghese, but lined with the most beautiful variety of marbles. But, in fact, each new splendor of this sort outshines the last, and unless we could pass from one to another all in the same suite, we cannot remember them well enough to compare the Borghese with the Albani, the effect being more on the fancy than on the intellect. I do not recall any of the sculpture, except a colossal bas-relief of Antinous, crowned with flowers, and holding flowers in his hand, which was found in the ruins of Hadrian's Villa. This is said to be the finest relic of antiquity next to the Apollo and the Laocoon; but I could not feel it to be so, partly, I suppose, because the features of Autinous do not seem to me beautiful in themselves; and that heavy, downward look is repeated till I am more weary of it than of anything else in sculpture. We went up stairs and down stairs, and saw a good many beautiful things, but none, perhaps, of the very best and beautifullest; and second-rate statues, with the corroded surface of old marble that has been dozens of centuries under the ground, depress the spirits of the beholder. The bas-relief of Antinous has at least the merit of being almost as white and fresh, and quite as smooth, as if it had never been buried and dug up again. The real treasures of this villa, to the number of nearly three hundred, were removed to Paris by Napoleon, and, except the Antinous, not one of them ever came back. There are some pictures in one or two of the rooms, and among them I recollect one by Perugino, in which is a St. Michael, very devout and very beautiful; indeed, the whole picture (which is in compartments, representing the three principal points of the Saviour's history) impresses the beholder as being painted devoutly and earnestly by a religious man. In one of the rooms there is a small bronze Apollo, supposed by Winckelmann to be an original of Praxiteles; but I could not make myself in the least sensible of its merit. The rest of the things in the casino I shall pass over, as also those in the coffee-house,--an edifice which stands a hundred yards or more from the casino, with an ornamental garden, laid out in walks and flower-plats between. The coffee-house has a semicircular sweep of porch with a good many statues and busts beneath it, chiefly of distinguished Romans. In this building, as in the casino, there are curious mosaics, large vases of rare marble, and many other things worth long pauses of admiration; but I think that we were all happier when we had done with the works of art, and were at leisure to ramble about the grounds. The Villa Albani itself is an edifice separate from both the coffee-house and casino, and is not opened to strangers. It rises, palace-like, in the midst of the garden, and, it is to be hoped, has some possibility of comfort amidst its splendors.--Comfort, however, would be thrown away upon it; for besides that the site shares the curse that has fallen upon every pleasant place in the vicinity of Rome, . . . . it really has no occupant except the servants who take care of it. The Count of Castelbarco, its present proprietor, resides at Milan. The grounds are laid out in the old fashion of straight paths, with borders of box, which form hedges of great height and density, and as even as a brick wall at the top and sides. There are also alleys forming long vistas between the trunks and beneath the boughs of oaks, ilexes, and olives; and there are shrubberies and tangled wildernesses of palm, cactus, rhododendron, and I know not what; and a profusion of roses that bloom and wither with nobody to pluck and few to look at them. They climb about the sculpture of fountains, rear themselves against pillars and porticos, run brimming over the walls, and strew the path with their falling leaves. We stole a few, and feel that we have wronged our consciences in not stealing more. In one part of the grounds we saw a field actually ablaze with scarlet poppies. There are great lagunas; fountains presided over by naiads, who squirt their little jets into basins; sunny lawns; a temple, so artificially ruined that we half believed it a veritable antique; and at its base a reservoir of water, in which stone swans seemed positively to float; groves of cypress; balustrades and broad flights of stone stairs, descending to lower levels of the garden; beauty, peace, sunshine, and antique repose on every side; and far in the distance the blue hills that encircle the campagna of Rome. The day was very fine for our purpose; cheerful, but not too bright, and tempered by a breeze that seemed even a little too cool when we sat long in the shade. We enjoyed it till three o'clock. . . . At the Capitol there is a sarcophagus with a most beautiful bas-relief of the discovery of Achilles by Ulysses, in which there is even an expression of mirth on the faces of many of the spectators. And to-day at the Albani a sarcophagus was ornamented with the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis. Death strides behind every man, to be sure, at more or less distance, and, sooner or later, enters upon any event of his life; so that, in this point of view, they might each and all serve for bas-reliefs on a sarcophagus; but the Romans seem to have treated Death as lightly and playfully as they could, and tried to cover his dart with flowers, because they hated it so much. May 15th.--My wife and I went yesterday to the Sistine Chapel, it being my first visit. It is a room of noble proportions, lofty and long, though divided in the midst by a screen or partition of white marble, which rises high enough to break the effect of spacious unity. There are six arched windows on each side of the chapel, throwing down their light from the height of the walls, with as much as twenty feet of space (more I should think) between them and the floor. The entire walls and ceiling of this stately chapel are covered with paintings in fresco, except the space about ten feet in height from the floor, and that portion was intended to be adorned by tapestries from pictures by Raphael, but, the design being prevented by his premature death, the projected tapestries have no better substitute than paper-hangings. The roof, which is flat at top, and coved or vaulted at the sides, is painted in compartments by Michael Angelo, with frescos representing the whole progress of the world and of mankind from its first formation by the Almighty . . . . till after the flood. On one of the sides of the chapel are pictures by Perugino, and other old masters, of subsequent events in sacred history; and the entire wall behind the altar, a vast expanse from the ceiling to the floor, is taken up with Michael Angelo's summing up of the world's history and destinies in his "Last Judgment." There can be no doubt that while these frescos continued in their perfection, there was nothing else to be compared with the magnificent and solemn beauty of this chapel. Enough of ruined splendor still remains to convince the spectator of all that has departed; but methinks I have seen hardly anything else so forlorn and depressing as it is now, all dusky and dim, even the very lights having passed into shadows, and the shadows into utter blackness; so that it needs a sunshiny day, under the bright Italian heavens, to make the designs perceptible at all. As we sat in the chapel there were clouds flitting across the sky; when the clouds came the pictures vanished; when the sunshine broke forth the figures sadly glimmered into something like visibility,--the Almighty moving in chaos,--the noble shape of Adam, the beautiful Eve; and, beneath where the roof curves, the mighty figures of sibyls and prophets, looking as if they were necessarily so gigantic because the thought within them was so massive. In the "Last Judgment" the scene of the greater part of the picture lies in the upper sky, the blue of which glows through betwixt the groups of naked figures; and above sits Jesus, not looking in the least like the Saviour of the world, but, with uplifted arm, denouncing eternal misery on those whom he came to save. I fear I am myself among the wicked, for I found myself inevitably taking their part, and asking for at least a little pity, some few regrets, and not such a stern denunciatory spirit on the part of Him who had thought us worth dying for. Around him stand grim saints, and, far beneath, people are getting up sleepily out of their graves, not well knowing what is about to happen; many of them, however, finding themselves clutched by demons before they are half awake. It would be a very terrible picture to one who should really see Jesus, the Saviour, in that inexorable judge; but it seems to me very undesirable that he should ever be represented in that aspect, when it is so essential to our religion to believe him infinitely kinder and better towards us than we deserve. At the last day--I presume, that is, in all future days, when we see ourselves as we are--man's only inexorable judge will be himself, and the punishment of his sins will be the perception of them. In the lower corner of this great picture, at the right hand of the spectator, is a hideous figure of a damned person, girdled about with a serpent, the folds of which are carefully knotted between his thighs, so as, at all events, to give no offence to decency. This figure represents a man who suggested to Pope Paul III. that the nudities of the "Last Judgment" ought to be draped, for which offence Michael Angelo at once consigned him to hell. It shows what a debtor's prison and dungeon of private torment men would make of hell if they had the control of it. As to the nudities, if they were ever more nude than now, I should suppose, in their fresh brilliancy, they might well have startled a not very squeamish eye. The effect, such as it is, of this picture, is much injured by the high altar and its canopy, which stands close against the wall, and intercepts a considerable portion of the sprawl of nakedness with which Michael Angelo has filled his sky. However, I am not unwilling to believe, with faith beyond what I can actually see, that the greatest pictorial miracles ever yet achieved have been wrought upon the walls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. In the afternoon I went with Mr. Thompson to see what bargain could be made with vetturinos for taking myself and family to Florence. We talked with three or four, and found them asking prices of various enormity, from a hundred and fifty scudi down to little more than ninety; but Mr. Thompson says that they always begin in this way, and will probably come down to somewhere about seventy-five. Mr. Thompson took me into the Via Portoghese, and showed me an old palace, above which rose--not a very customary feature of the architecture of Rome--a tall, battlemented tower. At one angle of the tower we saw a shrine of the Virgin, with a lamp, and all the appendages of those numerous shrines which we see at the street-corners, and in hundreds of places about the city. Three or four centuries ago, this palace was inhabited by a nobleman who had an only son and a large pet monkey, and one day the monkey caught the infant up and clambered to this lofty turret, and sat there with him in his arms grinning and chattering like the Devil himself. The father was in despair, but was afraid to pursue the monkey lest he should fling down the child from the height of the tower and make his escape. At last he vowed that if the boy were safely restored to him he would build a shrine at the summit of the tower, and cause it to be kept as a sacred place forever. By and by the monkey came down and deposited the child on the ground; the father fulfilled his vow, built the shrine, and made it obligatory, on all future possessors of the palace to keep the lamp burning before it. Centuries have passed, the property has changed hands; but still there is the shrine on the giddy top of the tower, far aloft over the street, on the very spot where the monkey sat, and there burns the lamp, in memory of the father's vow. This being the tenure by which the estate is held, the extinguishment of that flame might yet turn the present owner out of the palace. May 21st.--Mamma and I went, yesterday forenoon, to the Spada Palace, which we found among the intricacies of Central Rome; a dark and massive old edifice, built around a court, the fronts giving on which are adorned with statues in niches, and sculptured ornaments. A woman led us up a staircase, and ushered us into a great gloomy hall, square and lofty, and wearing a very gray and ancient aspect, its walls being painted in chiaroscuro, apparently a great many years ago. The hall was lighted by small windows, high upward from the floors, and admitting only a dusky light. The only furniture or ornament, so far as I recollect, was the colossal statue of Pompey, which stands on its pedestal at one side, certainly the sternest and severest of figures, and producing the most awful impression on the spectator. Much of the effect, no doubt, is due to the sombre obscurity of the hall, and to the loneliness in which the great naked statue stands. It is entirely nude, except for a cloak that hangs down from the left shoulder; in the left hand, it holds a globe; the right arm is extended. The whole expression is such as the statue might have assumed, if, during the tumult of Caesar's murder, it had stretched forth its marble hand, and motioned the conspirators to give over the attack, or to be quiet, now that their victim had fallen at its feet. On the left leg, about midway above the ankle, there is a dull, red stain, said to be Caesar's blood; but, of course, it is just such a red stain in the marble as may be seen on the statue of Antinous at the Capitol. I could not see any resemblance in the face of the statue to that of the bust of Pompey, shown as such at the Capitol, in which there is not the slightest moral dignity, or sign of intellectual eminence. I am glad to have seen this statue, and glad to remember it in that gray, dim, lofty hall; glad that there were no bright frescos on the walls, and that the ceiling was wrought with massive beams, and the floor paved with ancient brick. From this anteroom we passed through several saloons containing pictures, some of which were by eminent artists; the Judith of Guido, a copy of which used to weary me to death, year after year, in the Boston Athenaeum; and many portraits of Cardinals in the Spada family, and other pictures, by Guido. There were some portraits, also of the family, by Titian; some good pictures by Guercino; and many which I should have been glad to examine more at leisure; but, by and by, the custode made his appearance, and began to close the shutters, under pretence that the sunshine would injure the paintings,--an effect, I presume, not very likely to follow after two or three centuries' exposure to light, air, and whatever else might hurt them. However, the pictures seemed to be in much better condition, and more enjoyable, so far as they had merit, than those in most Roman picture-galleries; although the Spada Palace itself has a decayed and impoverished aspect, as if the family had dwindled from its former state and grandeur, and now, perhaps, smuggled itself into some out-of-the-way corner of the old edifice. If such be the case, there is something touching in their still keeping possession of Pompey's statue, which makes their house famous, and the sale of which might give them the means of building it up anew; for surely it is worth the whole sculpture-gallery of the Vatican. In the afternoon Mr. Thompson and I went, for the third or fourth time, to negotiate with vetturinos. . . . So far as I know them they are a very tricky set of people, bent on getting as much as they can, by hook or by crook, out of the unfortunate individual who falls into their hands. They begin, as I have said, by asking about twice as much as they ought to receive; and anything between this exorbitant amount and the just price is what they thank heaven for, as so much clear gain. Nevertheless, I am not quite sure that the Italians are worse than other people even in this matter. In other countries it is the custom of persons in trade to take as much as they can get from the public, fleecing one man to exactly the same extent as another; here they take what they can obtain from the individual customer. In fact, Roman tradesmen do not pretend to deny that they ask and receive different prices from different people, taxing them according to their supposed means of payment; the article supplied being the same in one case as in another. A shopkeeper looked into his books to see if we were of the class who paid two pauls, or only a paul and a half for candles; a charcoal-dealer said that seventy baiocchi was a very reasonable sum for us to pay for charcoal, and that some persons paid eighty; and Mr. Thompson, recognizing the rule, told the old vetturino that "a hundred and fifty scudi was a very proper charge for carrying a prince to Florence, but not for carrying me, who was merely a very good artist." The result is well enough; the rich man lives expensively, and pays a larger share of the profits which people of a different system of trade-morality would take equally from the poor man. The effect on the conscience of the vetturino, however, and of tradesmen of all kinds, cannot be good; their only intent being, not to do justice between man and man, but to go as deep as they can into all pockets, and to the very bottom of some. We had nearly concluded a bargain, a day or two ago, with a vetturino to take or send us to Florence, via Perugia, in eight days, for a hundred scudi; but he now drew back, under pretence of having misunderstood the terms, though, in reality, no doubt, he was in hopes of getting a better bargain from somebody else. We made an agreement with another man, whom Mr. Thompson knows and highly recommends, and immediately made it sure and legally binding by exchanging a formal written contract, in which everything is set down, even to milk, butter, bread, eggs, and coffee, which we are to have for breakfast; the vetturino being to pay every expense for himself, his horses, and his passengers, and include it within ninety-five scudi, and five crowns in addition for buon-mano. . . . . May 22d.--Yesterday, while we were at dinner, Mr. ------ called. I never saw him but once before, and that was at the door of our little red cottage in Lenox; he sitting in a wagon with one or two of the Sedgewicks, merely exchanging a greeting with me from under the brim of his straw hat, and driving on. He presented himself now with a long white beard, such as a palmer might have worn as the growth of his long pilgrimages, a brow almost entirely bald, and what hair he has quite hoary; a forehead impending, yet not massive; dark, bushy eyebrows and keen eyes, without much softness in them; a dark and sallow complexion; a slender figure, bent a little with age; but at once alert and infirm. It surprised me to see him so venerable; for, as poets are Apollo's kinsmen, we are inclined to attribute to them his enviable quality of never growing old. There was a weary look in his face, as if he were tired of seeing things and doing things, though with certainly enough still to see and do, if need were. My family gathered about him, and he conversed with great readiness and simplicity about his travels, and whatever other subject came up; telling us that he had been abroad five times, and was now getting a little home-sick, and had no more eagerness for sights, though his "gals" (as he called his daughter and another young lady) dragged him out to see the wonders of Rome again. His manners and whole aspect are very particularly plain, though not affectedly so; but it seems as if in the decline of life, and the security of his position, he had put off whatever artificial polish he may have heretofore had, and resumed the simpler habits and deportment of his early New England breeding. Not but what you discover, nevertheless, that he is a man of refinement, who has seen the world, and is well aware of his own place in it. He spoke with great pleasure of his recent visit to Spain. I introduced the subject of Kansas, and methought his face forthwith assumed something of the bitter keenness of the editor of a political newspaper, while speaking of the triumph of the administration over the Free-Soil opposition. I inquired whether he had seen S------, and he gave a very sad account of him as he appeared at their last meeting, which was in Paris. S------, he thought, had suffered terribly, and would never again be the man he was; he was getting fat; he talked continually of himself, and of trifles concerning himself, and seemed to have no interest for other matters; and Mr. ------ feared that the shock upon his nerves had extended to his intellect, and was irremediable. He said that S------ ought to retire from public life, but had no friend true enough to tell him so. This is about as sad as anything can be. I hate to have S------ undergo the fate of a martyr, because he was not naturally of the stuff that martyrs are made of, and it is altogether by mistake that he has thrust himself into the position of one. He was merely, though with excellent abilities, one of the best of fellows, and ought to have lived and died in good fellowship with all the world. S------ was not in the least degree excited about this or any other subject. He uttered neither passion nor poetry, but excellent good sense, and accurate information on whatever subject transpired; a very pleasant man to associate with, but rather cold, I should imagine, if one should seek to touch his heart with one's own. He shook hands kindly all round, but not with any warmth of gripe; although the ease of his deportment had put us all on sociable terms with him. At seven o'clock we went by invitation to take tea with Miss Bremer. After much search, and lumbering painfully up two or three staircases in vain, and at last going about in a strange circuity, we found her in a small chamber of a large old building, situated a little way from the brow of the Tarpeian Rock. It was the tiniest and humblest domicile that I have seen in Rome, just large enough to hold her narrow bed, her tea-table, and a table covered with books,--photographs of Roman ruins, and some pages written by herself. I wonder whether she be poor. Probably so; for she told us that her expense of living here is only five pauls a day. She welcomed us, however, with the greatest cordiality and lady-like simplicity, making no allusion to the humbleness of her environment (and making us also lose sight of it, by the absence of all apology) any more than if she were receiving us in a palace. There is not a better bred woman; and yet one does not think whether she has any breeding or no. Her little bit of a round table was already spread for us with her blue earthenware teacups; and after she had got through an interview with the Swedish Minister, and dismissed him with a hearty pressure of his hand between both her own, she gave us our tea, and some bread, and a mouthful of cake. Meanwhile, as the day declined, there had been the most beautiful view over the campagna, out of one of her windows; and, from the other, looking towards St. Peter's, the broad gleam of a mildly glorious sunset; not so pompous and magnificent as many that I have seen in America, but softer and sweeter in all its changes. As its lovely hues died slowly away, the half-moon shone out brighter and brighter; for there was not a cloud in the sky, and it seemed like the moonlight of my younger days. In the garden, beneath her window, verging upon the Tarpeian Rock, there was shrubbery and one large tree, softening the brow of the famous precipice, adown which the old Romans used to fling their traitors, or sometimes, indeed, their patriots. Miss Bremer talked plentifully in her strange manner,--good English enough for a foreigner, but so oddly intonated and accented, that it is impossible to be sure of more than one word in ten. Being so little comprehensible, it is very singular how she contrives to make her auditors so perfectly certain, as they are, that she is talking the best sense, and in the kindliest spirit. There is no better heart than hers, and not many sounder heads; and a little touch of sentiment comes delightfully in, mixed up with a quick and delicate humor and the most perfect simplicity. There is also a very pleasant atmosphere of maidenhood about her; we are sensible of a freshness and odor of the morning still in this little withered rose,--its recompense for never having been gathered and worn, but only diffusing fragrance on its stem. I forget mainly what we talked about,--a good deal about art, of course, although that is a subject of which Miss Bremer evidently knows nothing. Once we spoke of fleas,--insects that, in Rome, come home to everybody's business and bosom, and are so common and inevitable, that no delicacy is felt about alluding to the sufferings they inflict. Poor little Miss Bremer was tormented with one while turning out our tea. . . . She talked, among other things, of the winters in Sweden, and said that she liked them, long and severe as they are; and this made me feel ashamed of dreading the winters of New England, as I did before coming from home, and do now still more, after five or six mild English Decembers. By and by, two young ladies came in,--Miss Bremen's neighbors, it seemed,--fresh from a long walk on the campagna, fresh and weary at the same time. One apparently was German, and the other French, and they brought her an offering of flowers, and chattered to her with affectionate vivacity; and, as we were about taking leave, Miss Bremer asked them to accompany her and us on a visit to the edge of the Tarpeian Rock. Before we left the room, she took a bunch of roses that were in a vase, and gave them to Miss Shepard, who told her that she should make her six sisters happy by giving one to each. Then we went down the intricate stairs, and, emerging into the garden, walked round the brow of the hill, which plunges headlong with exceeding abruptness; but, so far as I could see in the moonlight, is no longer quite a precipice. Then we re-entered the house, and went up stairs and down again, through intricate passages, till we got into the street, which was still peopled with the ragamuffins who infest and burrow in that part of Rome. We returned through an archway, and descended the broad flight of steps into the piazza of the Capitol; and from the extremity of it, just at the head of the long graded way, where Castor and Pollux and the old milestones stand, we turned to the left, and followed a somewhat winding path, till we came into the court of a palace. This court is bordered by a parapet, leaning over which we saw the sheer precipice of the Tarpeian Rock, about the height of a four-story house. . . . On the edge of this, before we left the court, Miss Bremer bade us farewell, kissing my wife most affectionately on each cheek, . . . . and then turning towards myself, . . . . she pressed my hand, and we parted, probably never to meet again. God bless her good heart! . . . . She is a most amiable little woman, worthy to be the maiden aunt of the whole human race. I suspect, by the by, that she does not like me half so well as I do her; it is my impression that she thinks me unamiable, or that there is something or other not quite right about me. I am sorry if it be so, because such a good, kindly, clear-sighted, and delicate person is very apt to have reason at the bottom of her harsh thoughts, when, in rare cases, she allows them to harbor with her. To-day, and for some days past, we have been in quest of lodgings for next winter; a weary search, up interminable staircases, which seduce us upward to no successful result. It is very disheartening not to be able to place the slightest reliance on the integrity of the people we are to deal with; not to believe in any connection between their words and their purposes; to know that they are certainly telling you falsehoods, while you are not in a position to catch hold of the lie, and hold it up in their faces. This afternoon we called on Mr. and Mrs. ------ at the Hotel de l'Europe, but found only the former at home. We had a pleasant visit, but I made no observations of his character save such as I have already sufficiently recorded; and when we had been with him a little while, Mrs. Chapman, the artist's wife, Mr. Terry, and my friend, Mr. Thompson, came in. ------ received them all with the same good degree of cordiality that he did ourselves, not cold, not very warm, not annoyed, not ecstatically delighted; a man, I should suppose, not likely to have ardent individual preferences, though perhaps capable of stern individual dislikes. But I take him, at all events, to be a very upright man, and pursuing a narrow track of integrity; he is a man whom I would never forgive (as I would a thousand other men) for the slightest moral delinquency. I would not be bound to say, however, that he has not the little sin of a fretful and peevish habit; and yet perhaps I am a sinner myself for thinking so. May 23d.--This morning I breakfasted at William Story's, and met there Mr. Bryant, Mr. T------ (an English gentleman), Mr. and Mrs. Apthorp, Miss Hosmer, and one or two other ladies. Bryant was very quiet, and made no conversation audible to the general table. Mr. T------ talked of English politics and public men; the "Times" and other newspapers, English clubs and social habits generally; topics in which I could well enough bear my part of the discussion. After breakfast, and aside from the ladies, he mentioned an illustration of Lord Ellenborough's lack of administrative ability,--a proposal seriously made by his lordship in reference to the refractory Sepoys. . . . We had a very pleasant breakfast, and certainly a breakfast is much preferable to a dinner, not merely in the enjoyment, while it is passing, but afterwards. I made a good suggestion to Miss Hosmer for the design of a fountain,--a lady bursting into tears, water gushing from a thousand pores, in literal translation of the phrase; and to call the statue "Niobe, all Tears." I doubt whether she adopts the idea; but Bernini would have been delighted with it. I should think the gush of water might be so arranged as to form a beautiful drapery about the figure, swaying and fluttering with every breath of wind, and rearranging itself in the calm; in which case, the lady might be said to have "a habit of weeping." . . . . Apart, with William Story, he and I talked of the unluckiness of Friday, etc. I like him particularly well. . . . We have been plagued to-day with our preparations for leaving Rome to-morrow, and especially with verifying the inventory of furniture, before giving up the house to our landlord. He and his daughter have been examining every separate article, down even to the kitchen skewers, I believe, and charging us to the amount of several scudi for cracks and breakages, which very probably existed when we came into possession. It is very uncomfortable to have dealings with such a mean people (though our landlord is German),--mean in their business transactions; mean even in their beggary; for the beggars seldom ask for more than a mezzo baioccho, though they sometimes grumble when you suit your gratuity exactly to their petition. It is pleasant to record that the Italians have great faith in the honor of the English and Americans, and never hesitate to trust entire strangers, to any reasonable extent, on the strength of their being of the honest Anglo-Saxon race. This evening, U---- and I took a farewell walk in the Pincian Gardens to see the sunset; and found them crowded with people, promenading and listening to the music of the French baud. It was the feast of Whitsunday, which probably brought a greater throng than usual abroad. When the sun went down, we descended into the Piazza del Popolo, and thence into the Via Ripetta, and emerged through a gate to the shore of the Tiber, along which there is a pleasant walk beneath a grove of trees. We traversed it once and back again, looking at the rapid river, which still kept its mud-puddly aspect even in the clear twilight, and beneath the brightening moon. The great bell of St. Peter's tolled with a deep boom, a grand and solemn sound; the moon gleamed through the branches of the trees above us; and U---- spoke with somewhat alarming fervor of her love for Rome, and regret at leaving it. We shall have done the child no good office in bringing her here, if the rest of her life is to be a dream of this "city of the soul," and an unsatisfied yearning to come back to it. On the other hand, nothing elevating and refining can be really injurious, and so I hope she will always be the better for Rome, even if her life should be spent where there are no pictures, no statues, nothing but the dryness and meagreness of a New England village. JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. Civita Castellana, May 24th.--We left Rome this morning, after troubles of various kinds, and a dispute in the first place with Lalla, our female servant, and her mother. . . . Mother and daughter exploded into a livid rage, and cursed us plentifully,--wishing that we might never come to our journey's end, and that we might all break our necks or die of apoplexy,--the most awful curse that an Italian knows how to invoke upon his enemies, because it precludes the possibility of extreme unction. However, as we are heretics, and certain of damnation therefore, anyhow, it does not much matter to us; and also the anathemas may have been blown back upon those who invoked them, like the curses that were flung out from the balcony of St Peter's during Holy Week and wafted by heaven's breezes right into the faces of some priests who stood near the pope. Next we had a disagreement, with two men who brought down our luggage, and put it on the vettura; . . . . and, lastly, we were infested with beggars, who hung round the carriages with doleful petitions, till we began to move away; but the previous warfare had put me into too stern a mood for almsgiving, so that they also were doubtless inclined to curse more than to bless, and I am persuaded that we drove off under a perfect shower of anathemas. We passed through the Porta del Popolo at about eight o'clock; and after a moment's delay, while the passport was examined, began our journey along the Flaminian Way, between two such high and inhospitable walls of brick or stone as seem to shut in all the avenues to Rome. We had not gone far before we heard military music in advance of us, and saw the road blocked up with people, and then the glitter of muskets, and soon appeared the drummers, fifers, and trumpeters, and then the first battalion of a French regiment, marching into the city, with two mounted officers at their head; then appeared a second and then a third battalion, the whole seeming to make almost an army, though the number on their caps showed them all to belong to one regiment,--the 1st; then came a battery of artillery, then a detachment of horse,--these last, by the crossed keys on their helmets, being apparently papal troops. All were young, fresh, good-looking men, in excellent trim as to uniform and equipments, and marched rather as if they were setting out on a campaign than returning from it; the fact being, I believe, that they have been encamped or in barracks within a few miles of the city. Nevertheless, it reminded me of the military processions of various kinds which so often, two thousand years ago and more, entered Rome over the Flaminian Way, and over all the roads that led to the famous city,--triumphs oftenest, but sometimes the downcast train of a defeated army, like those who retreated before Hannibal. On the whole, I was not sorry to see the Gauls still pouring into Rome; but yet I begin to find that I have a strange affection for it, and so did we all,--the rest of the family in a greater degree than myself even. It is very singular, the sad embrace with which Rome takes possession of the soul. Though we intend to return in a few months, and for a longer residence than this has been, yet we felt the city pulling at our heartstrings far more than London did, where we shall probably never spend much time again. It may be because the intellect finds a home there more than in any other spot in the world, and wins the heart to stay with it, in spite of a good many things strewn all about to disgust us. The road in the earlier part of the way was not particularly picturesque,--the country undulated, but scarcely rose into hills, and was destitute of trees; there were a few shapeless ruins, too indistinct for us to make out whether they were Roman or mediaeval. Nothing struck one so much, in the forenoon, as the spectacle of a peasant-woman riding on horseback as if she were a man. The houses were few, and those of a dreary aspect, built of gray stone, and looking bare and desolate, with not the slightest promise of comfort within doors. We passed two or three locandas or inns, and finally came to the village (if village it were, for I remember no houses except our osteria) of Castel Nuovo di Porta, where we were to take a dejeuner a la fourchette, which was put upon the table between twelve and one. On this journey, according to the custom of travellers in Italy, we pay the vetturino a certain sum, and live at his expense; and this meal was the first specimen of his catering on our behalf. It consisted of a beefsteak, rather dry and hard, but not unpalatable, and a large omelette; and for beverage, two quart bottles of red wine, which, being tasted, had an agreeable acid flavor. . . . The locanda was built of stone, and had what looked like an old Roman altar in the basement-hall, and a shrine, with a lamp before it, on the staircase; and the large public saloon in which we ate had a brick floor, a ceiling with cross-beams, meagrely painted in fresco, and a scanty supply of chairs and settees. After lunch, we wandered out into a valley or ravine near the house, where we gathered some flowers, and J----- found a nest with the young birds in it, which, however, he put back into the bush whence he took it. Our afternoon drive was more picturesque and noteworthy. Soracte rose before us, bulging up quite abruptly out of the plain, and keeping itself entirely distinct from a whole horizon of hills. Byron well compares it to a wave just on the bend, and about to break over towards the spectator. As we approached it nearer and nearer, it looked like the barrenest great rock that ever protruded out of the substance of the earth, with scarcely a strip or a spot of verdure upon its steep and gray declivities. The road kept trending towards the mountain, following the line of the old Flaminian Way, which we could see, at frequent intervals, close beside the modern track. It is paved with large flag-stones, laid so accurately together, that it is still, in some places, as smooth and even as the floor of a church; and everywhere the tufts of grass find it difficult to root themselves into the interstices. Its course is straighter than that of the road of to-day, which often turns aside to avoid obstacles which the ancient one surmounted. Much of it, probably, is covered with the soil and overgrowth deposited in later years; and, now and then, we could see its flag-stones partly protruding from the bank through which our road has been cut, and thus showing that the thickness of this massive pavement was more than a foot of solid stone. We lost it over and over again; but still it reappeared, now on one side of us, now on the other; perhaps from beneath the roots of old trees, or the pasture-land of a thousand years old, and leading on towards the base of Soracte. I forget where we finally lost it. Passing through a town called Rignano, we found it dressed out in festivity, with festoons of foliage along both sides of the street, which ran beneath a triumphal arch, bearing an inscription in honor of a ducal personage of the Massimi family. I know no occasion for the feast, except that it is Whitsuntide. The town was thronged with peasants, in their best attire, and we met others on their way thither, particularly women and girls, with heads bare in the sunshine; but there was no tiptoe jollity, nor, indeed, any more show of festivity than I have seen in my own country at a cattle-show or muster. Really, I think, not half so much. The road still grew more and more picturesque, and now lay along ridges, at the bases of which were deep ravines and hollow valleys. Woods were not wanting; wilder forests than I have seen since leaving America, of oak-trees chiefly; and, among the green foliage, grew golden tufts of broom, making a gay and lovely combination of hues. I must not forget to mention the poppies, which burned like live coals along the wayside, and lit up the landscape, even a single one of them, with wonderful effect. At other points, we saw olive-trees, hiding their eccentricity of boughs under thick masses of foliage of a livid tint, which is caused, I believe, by their turning their reverse sides to the light and to the spectator. Vines were abundant, but were of little account in the scene. By and by we came in sight, of the high, flat table-land, on which stands Civita Castellana, and beheld, straight downward, between us and the town, a deep level valley with a river winding through it; it was the valley of the Treja. A precipice, hundreds of feet in height, falls perpendicularly upon the valley, from the site of Civita Castellana; there is an equally abrupt one, probably, on the side from which we saw it; and a modern road, skilfully constructed, goes winding down to the stream, crosses it by a narrow stone bridge, and winds upward into the town. After passing over the bridge, I alighted, with J----- and R-----, . . . . and made the ascent on foot, along walls of natural rock, in which old Etruscan tombs were hollowed out. There are likewise antique remains of masonry, whether Roman or of what earlier period, I cannot tell. At the summit of the acclivity, which brought us close to the town, our vetturino took us into the carriage again and quickly brought us to what appears to be really a good hotel, where all of us are accommodated with sleeping-chambers in a range, beneath an arcade, entirely secluded from the rest of the population of the hotel. After a splendid dinner (that is, splendid, considering that it was ordered by our hospitable vetturino), U----, Miss Shepard, J-----, and I walked out of the little town, in the opposite direction from our entrance, and crossed a bridge at the height of the table-land, instead of at its base. On either side, we had a view down into a profound gulf, with sides of precipitous rock, and heaps of foliage in its lap, through which ran the snowy track of a stream; here snowy, there dark; here hidden among the foliage, there quite revealed in the broad depths of the gulf. This was wonderfully fine. Walking on a little farther, Soracte came fully into view, starting with bold abruptness out of the middle of the country; and before we got back, the bright Italian moon was throwing a shower of silver over the scene, and making it so beautiful that it seemed miserable not to know how to put it into words; a foolish thought, however, for such scenes are an expression in themselves, and need not be translated into any feebler language. On our walk we met parties of laborers, both men and women, returning from the fields, with rakes and wooden forks over their shoulders, singing in chorus. It is very customary for women to be laboring in the fields. TO TERNI.--BORGHETTO. May 25th.--We were aroused at four o'clock this morning; had some eggs and coffee, and were ready to start between five and six; being thus matutinary, in order to get to Terni in time to see the falls. The road was very striking and picturesque; but I remember nothing particularly, till we came to Borghetto, which stands on a bluff, with a broad valley sweeping round it, through the midst of which flows the Tiber. There is an old castle on a projecting point; and we saw other battlemented fortresses, of mediaeval date, along our way, forming more beautiful ruins than any of the Roman remains to which we have become accustomed. This is partly, I suppose, owing to the fact that they have been neglected, and allowed to mantle their decay with ivy, instead of being cleaned, propped up, and restored. The antiquarian is apt to spoil the objects that interest him. Sometimes we passed through wildernesses of various trees, each contributing a different hue of verdure to the scene; the vine, also, marrying itself to the fig-tree, so that a man might sit in the shadow of both at once, and temper the luscious sweetness of the one fruit with the fresh flavor of the other. The wayside incidents were such as meeting a man and woman borne along as prisoners, handcuffed and in a cart; two men reclining across one another, asleep, and lazily lifting their heads to gaze at us as we passed by; a woman spinning with a distaff as she walked along the road. An old tomb or tower stood in a lonely field, and several caves were hollowed in the rocks, which might have been either sepulchres or habitations. Soracte kept us company, sometimes a little on one side, sometimes behind, looming up again and again, when we thought that we had done with it, and so becoming rather tedious at last, like a person who presents himself for another and another leave-taking after the one which ought to have been final. Honeysuckles sweetened the hedges along the road. After leaving Borghetto, we crossed the broad valley of the Tiber, and skirted along one of the ridges that border it, looking back upon the road that we had passed, lying white behind us. We saw a field covered with buttercups, or some other yellow flower, and poppies burned along the roadside, as they did yesterday, and there were flowers of a delicious blue, as if the blue Italian sky had been broken into little bits, and scattered down upon the green earth. Otricoli by and by appeared, situated on a bold promontory above the valley, a village of a few gray houses and huts, with one edifice gaudily painted in white and pink. It looked more important at a distance than we found it on our nearer approach. As the road kept ascending, and as the hills grew to be mountains, we had taken two additional horses, making six in all, with a man and boy running beside them, to keep them in motion. The boy had two club feet, so inconveniently disposed that it seemed almost inevitable for him to stumble over them at every step; besides which, he seemed to tread upon his ankles, and moved with a disjointed gait, as if each of his legs and thighs had been twisted round together with his feet. Nevertheless, he had a bright, cheerful, intelligent face, and was exceedingly active, keeping up with the horses at their trot, and inciting them to better speed when they lagged. I conceived a great respect for this poor boy, who had what most Italian peasants would consider an enviable birthright in those two club feet, as giving him a sufficient excuse to live on charity, but yet took no advantage of them; on the contrary, putting his poor misshapen hoofs to such good use as might have shamed many a better provided biped. When he quitted us, he asked no alms of the travellers, but merely applied to Gaetano for some slight recompense for his well-performed service. This behavior contrasted most favorably with that of some other boys and girls, who ran begging beside the carriage door, keeping up a low, miserable murmur, like that of a kennel-stream, for a long, long way. Beggars, indeed, started up at every point, when we stopped for a moment, and whenever a hill imposed a slower pace upon us; each village had its deformity or its infirmity, offering his wretched petition at the step of the carriage; and even a venerable, white-haired patriarch, the grandfather of all the beggars, seemed to grow up by the roadside, but was left behind from inability to join in the race with his light-footed juniors. No shame is attached to begging in Italy. In fact, I rather imagine it to be held an honorable profession, inheriting some of the odor of sanctity that used to be attached to a mendicant and idle life in the days of early Christianity, when every saint lived upon Providence, and deemed it meritorious to do nothing for his support. Murray's guide-book is exceedingly vague and unsatisfactory along this route; and whenever we asked Gaetano the name of a village or a castle, he gave some one which we had never heard before, and could find nothing of in the book. We made out the river Nar, however, or what I supposed to be such, though he called it Nera. It flows through a most stupendous mountain-gorge; winding its narrow passage between high hills, the broad sides of which descend steeply upon it, covered with trees and shrubbery, that mantle a host of rocky roughnesses, and make all look smooth. Here and there a precipice juts sternly forth. We saw an old castle on a hillside, frowning down into the gorge; and farther on, the gray tower of Narni stands upon a height, imminent over the depths below, and with its battlemented castle above now converted into a prison, and therefore kept in excellent repair. A long winding street passes through Narni, broadening at one point into a market-place, where an old cathedral showed its venerable front, and the great dial of its clock, the figures on which were numbered in two semicircles of twelve points each; one, I suppose, for noon, and the other for midnight. The town has, so far as its principal street is concerned, a city-like aspect, with large, fair edifices, and shops as good as most of those at Rome, the smartness of which contrasts strikingly with the rude and lonely scenery of mountain and stream, through which we had come to reach it. We drove through Narni without stopping, and came out from it on the other side, where a broad, level valley opened before us, most unlike the wild, precipitous gorge which had brought us to the town. The road went winding down into the peaceful vale, through the midst of which flowed the same stream that cuts its way between the impending hills, as already described. We passed a monk and a soldier,--the two curses of Italy, each in his way,-- walking sociably side by side; and from Narni to Terni I remember nothing that need be recorded. Terni, like so many other towns in the neighborhood, stands in a high and commanding position, chosen doubtless for its facilities of defence, in days long before the mediaeval warfares of Italy made such sites desirable. I suppose that, like Narni and Otricoli, it was a city of the Umbrians. We reached it between eleven and twelve o'clock, intending to employ the afternoon on a visit to the famous falls of Terni; but, after lowering all day, it has begun to rain, and we shall probably have to give them up. Half past eight o'clock.--It has rained in torrents during the afternoon, and we have not seen the cascade of Terni; considerably to my regret, for I think I felt the more interest in seeing it, on account of its being artificial. Methinks nothing was more characteristic of the energy and determination of the old Romans, than thus to take a river, which they wished to be rid of, and fling it over a giddy precipice, breaking it into ten million pieces by the fall. . . . We are in the Hotel delle tre Colonne, and find it reasonably good, though not, so far as we are concerned, justifying the rapturous commendations of previous tourists, who probably travelled at their own charges. However, there is nothing really to be complained of, either in our accommodations or table, and the only wonder is how Gaetano contrives to get any profit out of our contract, since the hotel bills would alone cost us more than we pay him for the journey and all. It is worth while to record as history of vetturino commissary customs, that for breakfast this morning we had coffee, eggs, and bread and butter; for lunch an omelette, some stewed veal, and a dessert of figs and grapes, besides two decanters of a light-colored acid wine, tasting very like indifferent cider; for dinner, an excellent vermicelli soup, two young fowls, fricasseed, and a hind quarter of roast lamb, with fritters, oranges, and figs, and two more decanters of the wine aforesaid. This hotel is an edifice with a gloomy front upon a narrow street, and enterable through an arch, which admits you into an enclosed court; around the court, on each story, run the galleries, with which the parlors and sleeping-apartments communicate. The whole house is dingy, probably old, and seems not very clean; but yet bears traces of former magnificence; for instance, in our bedroom, the door of which is ornamented with gilding, and the cornices with frescos, some of which appear to represent the cascade of Terni, the roof is crossed with carved beams, and is painted in the interstices; the floor has a carpet, but rough tiles underneath it, which show themselves at the margin. The windows admit the wind; the door shuts so loosely as to leave great cracks; and, during the rain to-day, there was a heavy shower through our ceiling, which made a flood upon the carpet. We see no chambermaids; nothing of the comfort and neatness of an English hotel, nor of the smart splendors of an American one; but still this dilapidated palace affords us a better shelter than I expected to find in the decayed country towns of Italy. In the album of the hotel I find the names of more English travellers than of any other nation except the Americans, who, I think, even exceed the former; and, the route being the favorite one for tourists between Rome and Florence, whatever merit the inns have is probably owing to the demands of the Anglo-Saxons. I doubt not, if we chose to pay for it, this hotel would supply us with any luxury we might ask for; and perhaps even a gorgeous saloon and state bedchamber. After dinner, J----- and I walked out in the dusk to see what we could of Terni. We found it compact and gloomy (but the latter characteristic might well enough be attributed to the dismal sky), with narrow streets, paved from wall to wall of the houses, like those of all the towns in Italy; the blocks of paving-stone larger than the little square torments of Rome. The houses are covered with dingy stucco, and mostly low, compared with those of Rome, and inhospitable as regards their dismal aspects and uninviting doorways. The streets are intricate, as well as narrow; insomuch that we quickly lost our way, and could not find it again, though the town is of so small dimensions, that we passed through it in two directions, in the course of our brief wanderings. There are no lamp-posts in Terni; and as it was growing dark, and beginning to rain again, we at last inquired of a person in the principal piazza, and found our hotel, as I expected, within two minutes' walk of where we stood. FOLIGNO. May 26th.--At six o'clock this morning, we packed ourselves into our vettura, my wife and I occupying the coupe, and drove out of the city gate of Terni. There are some old towers near it, ruins of I know not what, and care as little, in the plethora of antiquities and other interesting objects. Through the arched gateway, as we approached, we had a view of one of the great hills that surround the town, looking partly bright in the early sunshine, and partly catching the shadows of the clouds that floated about the sky. Our way was now through the Vale of Terni, as I believe it is called, where we saw somewhat of the fertility of Italy: vines trained on poles, or twining round mulberry and other trees, ranged regularly like orchards; groves of olives and fields of grain. There are interminable shrines in all sorts of situations; some under arched niches, or little penthouses, with a brick-tiled roof, just large enough to cover them; or perhaps in some bit of old Roman masonry, on the wall of a wayside inn, or in a shallow cavity of the natural rock, or high upward in the deep cuts of the road; everywhere, in short, so that nobody need be at a loss when he feels the religious sentiment stir within him. Our way soon began to wind among the hills, which rose steep and lofty from the scanty, level space that lay between; they continually thrust themselves across the passage, and appeared as if determined to shut us completely in. A great hill would put its foot right before us; but, at the last moment, would grudgingly withdraw it, and allow us just room enough to creep by. Adown their sides we discerned the dry beds of mountain torrents, which had lived too fierce a life to let it be a long one. On here and there a hillside or promontory we saw a ruined castle or a convent, looking from its commanding height upon the road, which very likely some robber-knight had formerly infested with his banditti, retreating with his booty to the security of such strongholds. We came, once in a while, to wretched villages, where there was no token of prosperity or comfort; but perhaps there may have been more than we could appreciate, for the Italians do not seem to have any of that sort of pride which we find in New England villages, where every man, according to his taste and means, endeavors to make his homestead an ornament to the place. We miss nothing in Italy more than the neat doorsteps and pleasant porches and thresholds and delightful lawns or grass-plots, which hospitably invite the imagination into a sweet domestic interior. Everything, however sunny and luxuriant may be the scene around, is especially dreary and disheartening in the immediate vicinity of an Italian home. At Strettura (which, as the name indicates, is a very narrow part of the valley) we added two oxen to our horses, and began to ascend the Monte Somma, which, according to Murray, is nearly four thousand feet high where we crossed it. When we came to the steepest part of the ascent, Gaetano, who exercises a pretty decided control over his passengers, allowed us to walk; and we all, with one exception, alighted, and began to climb the mountain on foot. I walked on briskly, and soon left the rest of the party behind, reaching the top of the pass in such a short time that I could not believe it, and kept onward, expecting still another height to climb. But the road began to descend, winding among the depths of the hills as heretofore; now beside the dry, gravelly bed of a departed stream, now crossing it by a bridge, and perhaps passing through some other gorge, that yet gave no decided promise of an outlet into the world beyond. A glimpse might occasionally be caught, through a gap between the hill-tops, of a company of distant mountain-peaks, pyramidal, as these hills are apt to be, and resembling the camp of an army of giants. The landscape was not altogether savage; sometimes a hillside was covered with a rich field of grain, or an orchard of olive-trees, looking not unlike puffs of smoke, from the peculiar line of their foliage; but oftener there was a vast mantle of trees and shrubbery from top to bottom, the golden tufts of the broom shining out amid the verdure, and gladdening the whole. Nothing was dismal except the houses; those were always so, whether the compact, gray lines of village hovels, with a narrow street between, or the lonely farm-house, standing far apart from the road, built of stone, with window-gaps high in the wall, empty of glass; or the half-castle, half-dwelling, of which I saw a specimen or two, with what looked like a defensive rampart, drawn around its court. I saw no look of comfort anywhere; and continually, in this wild and solitary region, I met beggars, just as if I were still in the streets of Rome. Boys and girls kept beside me, till they delivered me into the hands of others like themselves; hoary grandsires and grandmothers caught a glimpse of my approach, and tottered as fast as they could to intercept me; women came out of the cottages, with rotten cherries on a plate, entreating me to buy them for a mezzo baioccho; a man, at work on the road, left his toil to beg, and was grateful for the value of a cent; in short, I was never safe from importunity, as long as there was a house or a human being in sight. We arrived at Spoleto before noon, and while our dejeuner was being prepared, looked down from the window of the inn into the narrow street beneath, which, from the throng of people in it, I judged to be the principal one: priests, papal soldiers, women with no bonnets on their heads; peasants in breeches and mushroom hats; maids and matrons, drawing water at a fountain; idlers, smoking on a bench under the window; a talk, a bustle, but no genuine activity. After lunch we walked out to see the lions of Spoleto, and found our way up a steep and narrow street that led us to the city gate, at which, it is traditionally said, Hannibal sought to force an entrance, after the battle of Thrasymene, and was repulsed. The gateway has a double arch, on the inner one of which is a tablet, recording the above tradition as an unquestioned historical fact. From the gateway we went in search of the Duomo, or cathedral, and were kindly directed thither by an officer, who was descending into the town from the citadel, which is an old castle, now converted into a prison. The cathedral seemed small, and did not much interest us, either by the Gothic front or its modernized interior. We saw nothing else in Spoleto, but went back to the inn and resumed our journey, emerging from the city into the classic valley of the Clitumnus, which we did not view under the best of auspices, because it was overcast, and the wind as chill as if it had the cast in it. The valley, though fertile, and smilingly picturesque, perhaps, is not such as I should wish to celebrate, either in prose or poetry. It is of such breadth and extent, that its frame of mountains and ridgy hills hardly serve to shut it in sufficiently, and the spectator thinks of a boundless plain, rather than of a secluded vale. After passing Le Vene, we came to the little temple which Byron describes, and which has been supposed to be the one immortalized by Pliny. It is very small, and stands on a declivity that falls immediately from the road, right upon which rises the pediment of the temple, while the columns of the other front find sufficient height to develop themselves in the lower ground. A little farther down than the base of the edifice we saw the Clitumnus, so recently from its source in the marble rock, that it was still as pure as a child's heart, and as transparent as truth itself. It looked airier than nothing, because it had not substance enough to brighten, and it was clearer than the atmosphere. I remember nothing else of the valley of Clitumnus, except that the beggars in this region of proverbial fertility are wellnigh profane in the urgency of their petitions; they absolutely fall down on their knees as you approach, in the same attitude as if they were praying to their Maker, and beseech you for alms with a fervency which I am afraid they seldom use before an altar or shrine. Being denied, they ran hastily beside the carriage, but got nothing, and finally gave over. I am so very tired and sleepy that I mean to mention nothing else to-night, except the city of Trevi, which, on the approach from Spoleto, seems completely to cover a high, peaked hill, from its pyramidal tip to its base. It was the strangest situation in which to build a town, where, I should suppose, no horse can climb, and whence no inhabitant would think of descending into the world, after the approach of age should begin to stiffen his joints. On looking back on this most picturesque of towns (which the road, of course, did not enter, as evidently no road could), I saw that the highest part of the hill was quite covered with a crown of edifices, terminating in a church-tower; while a part of the northern side was apparently too steep for building; and a cataract of houses flowed down the western and southern slopes. There seemed to be palaces, churches, everything that a city should have; but my eyes are heavy, and I can write no more about them, only that I suppose the summit of the hill was artificially tenured, so as to prevent its crumbling down, and enable it to support the platform of edifices which crowns it. May 27th.--We reached Foligno in good season yesterday afternoon. Our inn seemed ancient; and, under the same roof, on one side of the entrance, was the stable, and on the other the coach-house. The house is built round a narrow court, with a well of water at bottom, and an opening in the roof at top, whence the staircases are lighted that wind round the sides of the court, up to the highest story. Our dining-room and bedrooms were in the latter region, and were all paved with brick, and without carpets; and the characteristic of the whole was all exceeding plainness and antique clumsiness of fitting up. We found ourselves sufficiently comfortable, however; and, as has been the case throughout our journey, had a very fair and well-cooked dinner. It shows, as perhaps I have already remarked, that it is still possible to live well in Italy, at no great expense, and that the high prices charged to the forestieri at Rome and elsewhere are artificial, and ought to be abated. . . . The day had darkened since morning, and was now ominous of rain; but as soon as we were established, we sallied out to see whatever was worth looking at. A beggar-boy, with one leg, followed us, without asking for anything, apparently only for the pleasure of our company, though he kept at too great a distance for conversation, and indeed did not attempt to speak. We went first to the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, and a modernized interior, stuccoed and whitewashed, looking as neat as a New England meeting-house, and very mean, after our familiarity with the gorgeous churches in other cities. There were some pictures in the chapels, but, I believe, all modern, and I do not remember a single one of them. Next we went, without any guide, to a church attached to a convent of Dominican monks, with a Gothic exterior, and two hideous pictures of Death,--the skeleton leaning on his scythe, one on each side of the door. This church, likewise, was whitewashed, but we understood that it had been originally frescoed all over, and by famous hands; but these pictures, having become much injured, they were all obliterated, as we saw,--all, that is to say, except a few specimens of the best preserved, which were spared to show the world what the whole had been. I thanked my stars that the obliteration of the rest had taken place before our visit; for if anything is dreary and calculated to make the beholder utterly miserable, it is a faded fresco, with spots of the white plaster dotted over it. Our one-legged boy had followed us into the church and stood near the door till he saw us ready to come out, when he hurried on before us, and waited a little way off to see whither we should go. We still went on at random, taking the first turn that offered itself, and soon came to another old church,--that of St. Mary within the Walls,--into which we entered, and found it whitewashed, like the other two. This was especially fortunate, for the doorkeeper informed us that, two years ago, the whole church (except, I suppose, the roof, which is of timber) had been covered with frescos by Pinturicchio, all of which had been ruthlessly obliterated, except a very few fragments. These he proceeded to show us; poor, dim ghosts of what may once have been beautiful,--now so far gone towards nothingness that I was hardly sure whether I saw a glimmering of the design or not. By the by, it was not Pinturicchio, as I have written above, but Giotto, assisted, I believe, by Cimabue, who painted these frescos. Our one-legged attendant had followed us also into this church, and again hastened out of it before us; and still we heard the dot of his crutch upon the pavement, as we passed from street to street. By and by a sickly looking man met us, and begged for "qualche cosa"; but the boy shouted to him, "Niente!" whether intimating that we would give him nothing, or that he himself had a prior claim to all our charity, I cannot tell. However, the beggar-man turned round, and likewise followed our devious course. Once or twice we missed him; but it was only because he could not walk so fast as we; for he appeared again as we emerged from the door of another church. Our one-legged friend we never missed for a moment; he kept pretty near us,--near enough to be amused by our indecision whither to go; and he seemed much delighted when it began to rain, and he saw us at a loss how to find our way back to the hotel. Nevertheless, he did not offer to guide us; but stumped on behind with a faster or slower dot of his crutch, according to our pace. I began to think that he must have been engaged as a spy upon our movements by the police who had taken away my passport at the city gate. In this way he attended us to the door of the hotel, where the beggar had already arrived. The latter again put in his doleful petition; the one-legged boy said not a word, nor seemed to expect anything, and both had to go away without so much as a mezzo baioccho out of our pockets. The multitude of beggars in Italy makes the heart as obdurate as a paving-stone. We left Foligno this morning, and, all ready for us at the door of the hotel, as we got into the carriage, were our friends, the beggar-man and the one-legged boy; the latter holding out his ragged hat, and smiling with as confident an air as if he had done us some very particular service, and were certain of being paid for it, as from contract. It was so very funny, so impudent, so utterly absurd, that I could not help giving him a trifle; but the man got nothing,--a fact that gives me a twinge or two, for he looked sickly and miserable. But where everybody begs, everybody, as a general rule, must be denied; and, besides, they act their misery so well that you are never sure of the genuine article. PERUGIA. May 25th.--As I said last night, we left Foligno betimes in the morning, which was bleak, chill, and very threatening, there being very little blue sky anywhere, and the clouds lying heavily on some of the mountain-ridges. The wind blew sharply right in U----'s face and mine, as we occupied the coupe, so that there must have been a great deal of the north in it. We drove through a wide plain--the Umbrian valley, I suppose--and soon passed the old town of Spello, just touching its skirts, and wondering how people, who had this rich and convenient plain from which to choose a site, could think of covering a huge island of rock with their dwellings,--for Spello tumbled its crooked and narrow streets down a steep descent, and cannot well have a yard of even space within its walls. It is said to contain some rare treasures of ancient pictorial art. I do not remember much that we saw on our route. The plains and the lower hillsides seemed fruitful of everything that belongs to Italy, especially the olive and the vine. As usual, there were a great many shrines, and frequently a cross by the wayside. Hitherto it had been merely a plain wooden cross; but now almost every cross was hung with various instruments, represented in wood, apparently symbols of the crucifixion of our Saviour,--the spear, the sponge, the crown of thorns, the hammer, a pair of pincers, and always St. Peter's cock, made a prominent figure, generally perched on the summit of the cross. From our first start this morning we had seen mists in various quarters, betokening that there was rain in those spots, and now it began to spatter in our own faces, although within the wide extent of our prospect we could see the sunshine falling on portions of the valley. A rainbow, too, shone out, and remained so long visible that it appeared to have made a permanent stain in the sky. By and by we reached Assisi, which is magnificently situated for pictorial purposes, with a gray castle above it, and a gray wall around it, itself on a mountain, and looking over the great plain which we had been traversing, and through which lay our onward way. We drove through the Piazza Grande to an ancient house a little beyond, where a hospitable old lady receives travellers for a consideration, without exactly keeping an inn. In the piazza we saw the beautiful front of a temple of Minerva, consisting of several marble pillars, fluted, and with rich capitals supporting a pediment. It was as fine as anything I had seen at Rome, and is now, of course, converted into a Catholic church. I ought to have said that, instead of driving straight to the old lady's, we alighted at the door of a church near the city gate, and went in to inspect some melancholy frescos, and thence clambered up a narrow street to the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, old enough, but not very impressive. I really remember not a single object that we saw within, but am pretty certain that the interior had been stuccoed and whitewashed. The ecclesiastics of old time did an excellent thing in covering the interiors of their churches with brilliant frescos, thus filling the holy places with saints and angels, and almost with the presence of the Divinity. The modern ecclesiastics do the next best thing in obliterating the wretched remnants of what has had its day and done its office. These frescos might be looked upon as the symbol of the living spirit that made Catholicism a true religion, and glorified it as long as it did live; now the glory and beauty have departed from one and the other. My wife, U----, and Miss Shepard now set out with a cicerone to visit the great Franciscan convent, in the church of which are preserved some miraculous specimens, in fresco and in oils, of early Italian art; but as I had no mind to suffer any further in this way, I stayed behind with J----- and R-----, who we're equally weary of these things. After they were gone we took a ramble through the city, but were almost swept away by the violence of the wind, which struggled with me for my hat, and whirled R----- before it like a feather. The people in the public square seemed much diverted at our predicament, being, I suppose, accustomed to these rude blasts in their mountain-home. However, the wind blew in momentary gusts, and then became more placable till another fit of fury came, and passed as suddenly as before. We walked out of the same gate through which we had entered,--an ancient gate, but recently stuccoed and whitewashed, in wretched contrast to the gray, venerable wall through which it affords ingress,--and I stood gazing at the magnificent prospect of the wide valley beneath. It was so vast that there appeared to be all varieties of weather in it at the same instant; fields of sunshine, tracts of storm,--here the coming tempest, there the departing one. It was a picture of the world on a vast canvas, for there was rural life and city life within the great expanse, and the whole set in a frame of mountains,--the nearest bold and dust-net, with the rocky ledges showing through their sides, the distant ones blue and dim,--so far stretched this broad valley. When I had looked long enough,--no, not long enough, for it would take a great while to read that page,--we returned within the gate, and we clambered up, past the cathedral and into the narrow streets above it. The aspect of everything was immeasurably old; a thousand years would be but a middle age for one of those houses, built so massively with huge stones and solid arches, that I do not see how they are ever to tumble down, or to be less fit for human habitation than they are now. The streets crept between them, and beneath arched passages, and up and down steps of stone or ancient brick, for it would be altogether impossible for a carriage to ascend above the Grand Piazza, though possibly a donkey or a chairman's mule might find foothold. The city seems like a stony growth out of the hillside, or a fossilized city,--so old and singular it is, without enough life and juiciness in it to be susceptible of decay. An earthquake is the only chance of its ever being ruined, beyond its present ruin. Nothing is more strange than to think that this now dead city--dead, as regards the purposes for which men live nowadays--was, centuries ago, the seat and birthplace almost of art, the only art in which the beautiful part of the human mind then developed itself. How came that flower to grow among these wild mountains? I do not conceive, however, that the people of Assisi were ever much more enlightened or cultivated on the side of art than they are at present. The ecclesiastics were then the only patrons; and the flower grew here because there was a great ecclesiastical garden in which it was sheltered and fostered. But it is very curious to think of Assisi, a school of art within, and mountain and wilderness without. My wife and the rest of the party returned from the convent before noon, delighted with what they had seen, as I was delighted not to have seen it. We ate our dejeuner, and resumed our journey, passing beneath the great convent, after emerging from the gate opposite to that of our entrance. The edifice made a very good spectacle, being of great extent, and standing on a double row of high and narrow arches, on which it is built up from the declivity of the hill. We soon reached the Church of St. Mary of the Angels, which is a modern structure, and very spacious, built in place of one destroyed by an earthquake. It is a fine church, opening out a magnificent space in its nave and aisles; and beneath the great dome stands the small old chapel, with its rude stone walls, in which St. Francis founded his order. This chapel and the dome appear to have been the only portions of the ancient church that were not destroyed by the earthquake. The dwelling of St. Francis is said to be also preserved within the church; but we did not see it, unless it were a little dark closet into which we squeezed to see some frescos by La Spagna. It had an old wooden door, of which U---- picked off a little bit of a chip, to serve as a relic. There is a fresco in the church, on the pediment of the chapel, by Overbeck, representing the Assumption of the Virgin. It did not strike me as wonderfully fine. The other pictures, of which there were many, were modern, and of no great merit. We pursued our way, and came, by and by, to the foot of the high hill on which stands Perugia, and which is so long and steep that Gaetano took a yoke of oxen to aid his horses in the ascent. We all, except my wife, walked a part of the way up, and I myself, with J----- for my companion, kept on even to the city gate,--a distance, I should think, of two or three miles, at least. The lower part of the road was on the edge of the hill, with a narrow valley on our left; and as the sun had now broken out, its verdure and fertility, its foliage and cultivation, shone forth in miraculous beauty, as green as England, as bright as only Italy. Perugia appeared above us, crowning a mighty hill, the most picturesque of cities; and the higher we ascended, the more the view opened before us, as we looked back on the course that we had traversed, and saw the wide valley, sweeping down and spreading out, bounded afar by mountains, and sleeping in sun and shadow. No language nor any art of the pencil can give an idea of the scene. When God expressed himself in the landscape to mankind, he did not intend that it should be translated into any tongue save his own immediate one. J----- meanwhile, whose heart is now wholly in snail-shells, was rummaging for them among the stones and hedges by the roadside; yet, doubtless, enjoyed the prospect more than he knew. The coach lagged far behind us, and when it came up, we entered the gate, where a soldier appeared, and demanded my passport. We drove to the Grand Hotel de France, which is near the gate, and two fine little boys ran beside the carriage, well dressed and well looking enough to have been a gentleman's sons, but claiming Gaetano for their father. He is an inhabitant of Perugia, and has therefore reached his own home, though we are still little more than midway to our journey's end. Our hotel proves, thus far, to be the best that we have yet met with. We are only in the outskirts of Perugia; the bulk of the city, where the most interesting churches and the public edifices are situated, being far above us on the hill. My wife, U----, Miss Shepard, and R----- streamed forth immediately, and saw a church; but J-----, who hates them, and I remained behind; and, for my part, I added several pages to this volume of scribble. This morning was as bright as morning could be, even in Italy, and in this transparent mountain atmosphere. We at first declined the services of a cicerone, and went out in the hopes of finding our way to whatever we wished to see, by our own instincts. This proved to be a mistaken hope, however; and we wandered about the upper city, much persecuted by a shabby old man who wished to guide us; so, at last, Miss Shepard went back in quest of the cicerone at the hotel, and, meanwhile, we climbed to the summit of the hill of Perugia, and, leaning over a wall, looked forth upon a most magnificent view of mountain and valley, terminating in some peaks, lofty and dim, which surely must be the Apennines. There again a young man accosted us, offering to guide us to the Cambio or Exchange; and as this was one of the places which we especially wished to see, we accepted his services. By the by, I ought to have mentioned that we had already entered a church (San Luigi, I believe), the interior of which we found very impressive, dim with the light of stained and painted windows, insomuch that it at first seemed almost dark, and we could only see the bright twinkling of the tapers at the shrines; but, after a few minutes, we discerned the tall octagonal pillars of the nave, marble, and supporting a beautiful roof of crossed arches. The church was neither Gothic nor classic, but a mixture of both, and most likely barbarous; yet it had a grand effect in its tinted twilight, and convinced me more than ever how desirable it is that religious edifices should have painted windows. The door of the Cambio proved to be one that we had passed several times, while seeking for it, and was very near the church just mentioned, which fronts on one side of the same piazza. We were received by an old gentleman, who appeared to be a public officer, and found ourselves in a small room, wainscoted with beautifully carved oak, roofed with a coved ceiling, painted with symbols of the planets, and arabesqued in rich designs by Raphael, and lined with splendid frescos of subjects, scriptural and historical, by Perugino. When the room was in its first glory, I can conceive that the world had not elsewhere to show, within so small a space, such magnificence and beauty as were then displayed here. Even now, I enjoyed (to the best of my belief, for we can never feel sure that we are not bamboozling ourselves in such matters) some real pleasure in what I saw; and especially seemed to feel, after all these ages, the old painter's devout sentiment still breathing forth from the religious pictures, the work of a hand that had so long been dust. When we had looked long at these, the old gentleman led us into a chapel, of the same size as the former room, and built in the same fashion, wainscoted likewise with old oak. The walls were also frescoed, entirely frescoed, and retained more of their original brightness than those we had already seen, although the pictures were the production of a somewhat inferior hand, a pupil of Perugino. They seemed to be very striking, however, not the less so, that one of them provoked an unseasonable smile. It was the decapitation of John the Baptist; and this holy personage was represented as still on his knees, with his hands clasped in prayer, although the executioner was already depositing the head in a charger, and the blood was spouting from the headless trunk, directly, as it were, into the face of the spectator. While we were in the outer room, the cicerone who first offered his services at the hotel had come in; so we paid our chance guide, and expected him to take his leave. It is characteristic of this idle country, however, that if you once speak to a person, or connect yourself with him by the slightest possible tie, you will hardly get rid of him by anything short of main force. He still lingered in the room, and was still there when I came away; for, having had as many pictures as I could digest, I left my wife and U---- with the cicerone, and set out on a ramble with J-----. We plunged from the upper city down through some of the strangest passages that ever were called streets; some of them, indeed, being arched all over, and, going down into the unknown darkness, looked like caverns; and we followed one of them doubtfully, till it opened out upon the light. The houses on each side were divided only by a pace or two, and communicated with one another, here and there, by arched passages. They looked very ancient, and may have been inhabited by Etruscan princes, judging from the massiveness of some of the foundation stones. The present inhabitants, nevertheless, are by no means princely,--shabby men, and the careworn wives and mothers of the people,--one of whom was guiding a child in leading-strings through these antique alleys, where hundreds of generations have trod before those little feet. Finally we came out through a gateway, the same gateway at which we entered last night. I ought to have mentioned, in the narrative of yesterday, that we crossed the Tiber shortly before reaching Perugia, already a broad and rapid stream, and already distinguished by the same turbid and mud-puddly quality of water that we see in it at Rome. I think it will never be so disagreeable to me hereafter, now that I find this turbidness to be its native color, and not (like that of the Thames) accruing from city sewers or any impurities of the lowlands. As I now remember, the small Chapel of Santa Maria degl' Angeli seems to have been originally the house of St. Francis. May 29th.--This morning we visited the Church of the Dominicans, where we saw some quaint pictures by Fra Angelico, with a good deal of religious sincerity in them; also a picture of St. Columba by Perugino, which unquestionably is very good. To confess the truth, I took more interest in a fair Gothic monument, in white marble, of Pope Benedict XII., representing him reclining under a canopy, while two angels draw aside the curtain, the canopy being supported by twisted columns, richly ornamented. I like this overflow and gratuity of device with which Gothic sculpture works out its designs, after seeing so much of the simplicity of classic art in marble. We then tried to find the Church of San Pietro in Martire, but without success, although every person of whom we inquired immediately attached himself or herself to us, and could hardly be got rid of by any efforts on our part. Nobody seemed to know the church we wished for, but all directed us to another Church of San Pietro, which contains nothing of interest; whereas the right church is supposed to contain a celebrated picture by Perugino. Finally, we ascended the hill and the city proper of Perugia (for our hotel is in one of the suburbs), and J----- and I set out on a ramble about the city. It was market-day, and the principal piazza, with the neighboring streets, was crowded with people. . . . The best part of Perugia, that in which the grand piazzas and the principal public edifices stand, seems to be a nearly level plateau on the summit of the hill; but it is of no very great extent, and the streets rapidly run downward on either side. J----- and I followed one of these descending streets, and were led a long way by it, till we at last emerged from one of the gates of the city, and had another view of the mountains and valleys, the fertile and sunny wilderness in which this ancient civilization stands. On the right of the gate there was a rude country-path, partly overgrown with grass, bordered by a hedge on one side, and on the other by the gray city wall, at the base of which the track kept onward. We followed it, hoping that it would lead us to some other gate by which we might re-enter the city; but it soon grew so indistinct and broken, that it was evidently on the point of melting into somebody's olive-orchard or wheat-fields or vineyards, all of which lay on the other side of the hedge; and a kindly old woman of whom I inquired told me (if I rightly understood her Italian) that I should find no further passage in that direction. So we turned back, much broiled in the hot sun, and only now and then relieved by the shadow of an angle or a tower. A lame beggar-man sat by the gate, and as we passed him J----- gave him two baiocchi (which he himself had begged of me to buy an orange with), and was loaded with the pauper's prayers and benedictions as we entered the city. A great many blessings can be bought for very little money anywhere in Italy; and whether they avail anything or no, it is pleasant to see that the beggars have gratitude enough to bestow them in such abundance. Of all beggars I think a little fellow, who rode beside our carriage on a stick, his bare feet scampering merrily, while he managed his steed with one hand, and held out the other for charity, howling piteously the while, amused me most. PASSIGNANO. May 29th.--We left Perugia at about three o'clock to-day, and went down a pretty steep descent; but I have no particular recollection of the road till it again began to descend, before reaching the village of Magione. We all, except my wife, walked up the long hill, while the vettura was dragged after us with the aid of a yoke of oxen. Arriving first at the village, I leaned over the wall to admire the beautiful paese ("le bel piano," as a peasant called it, who made acquaintance with me) that lay at the foot of the hill, so level, so bounded within moderate limits by a frame of hills and ridges, that it looked like a green lake. In fact, I think it was once a real lake, which made its escape from its bed, as I have known some lakes to have done in America. Passing through and beyond the village, I saw, on a height above the road, a half-ruinous tower, with great cracks running down its walls, half-way from top to bottom. Some little children had mounted the hill with us, begging all the way; they were recruited with additional members in the village; and here, beneath the ruinous tower, a madman, as it seemed, assaulted us, and ran almost under the carriage-wheels, in his earnestness to get a baioccho. Ridding ourselves of these annoyances, we drove on, and, between five and six o'clock, came in sight of the Lake of Thrasymene, obtaining our first view of it, I think, in its longest extent. There were high hills, and one mountain with its head in the clouds, visible on the farther shore, and on the horizon beyond it; but the nearer banks were long ridges, and hills of only moderate height. The declining sun threw a broad sheen of brightness over the surface of the lake, so that we could not well see it for excess of light; but had a vision of headlands and islands floating about in a flood of gold, and blue, airy heights bounding it afar. When we first drew near the lake, there was but a narrow tract, covered with vines and olives, between it and the hill that rose on the other side. As we advanced, the tract grew wider, and was very fertile, as was the hillside, with wheat-fields, and vines, and olives, especially the latter, which, symbol of peace as it is, seemed to find something congenial to it in the soil stained long ago with blood. Farther onward, the space between the lake and hill grew still narrower, the road skirting along almost close to the water-side; and when we reached the town of Passignano there was but room enough for its dirty and ugly street to stretch along the shore. I have seldom beheld a lovelier scene than that of the lake and the landscape around it; never an uglier one than that of this idle and decaying village, where we were immediately surrounded by beggars of all ages, and by men vociferously proposing to row us out upon the lake. We declined their offers of a boat, for the evening was very fresh and cool, insomuch that I should have liked an outside garment,--a temperature that I had not anticipated, so near the beginning of June, in sunny Italy. Instead of a row, we took a walk through the village, hoping to come upon the shore of the lake, in some secluded spot; but an incredible number of beggar-children, both boys and girls, but more of the latter, rushed out of every door, and went along with us, all howling their miserable petitions at the same moment. The village street is long, and our escort waxed more numerous at every step, till Miss Shepard actually counted forty of these little reprobates, and more were doubtless added afterwards. At first, no doubt, they begged in earnest hope of getting some baiocchi; but, by and by, perceiving that we had determined not to give them anything, they made a joke of the matter, and began to laugh and to babble, and turn heels over head, still keeping about us, like a swarm of flies, and now and then begging again with all their might. There were as few pretty faces as I ever saw among the same number of children; and they were as ragged and dirty little imps as any in the world, and, moreover, tainted the air with a very disagreeable odor from their rags and dirt; rugged and healthy enough, nevertheless, and sufficiently intelligent; certainly bold and persevering too; so that it is hard to say what they needed to fit them for success in life. Yet they begin as beggars, and no doubt will end so, as all their parents and grandparents do; for in our walk through the village, every old woman and many younger ones held out their hands for alms, as if they had all been famished. Yet these people kept their houses over their heads; had firesides in winter, I suppose, and food out of their little gardens every day; pigs to kill, chickens, olives, wine, and a great many things to make life comfortable. The children, desperately as they begged, looked in good bodily ease, and happy enough; but, certainly, there was a look of earnest misery in the faces of some of the old women, either genuine or exceedingly well acted. I could not bear the persecution, and went into our hotel, determining not to venture out again till our departure; at least not in the daylight. My wife and the rest of the family, however, continued their walk, and at length were relieved from their little pests by three policemen (the very images of those in Rome, in their blue, long-skirted coats, cocked chapeaux-bras, white shoulder-belts, and swords), who boxed their ears, and dispersed them. Meanwhile, they had quite driven away all sentimental effusion (of which I felt more, really, than I expected) about the Lake of Thrasymene. The inn of Passignano promised little from its outward appearance; a tall, dark old house, with a stone staircase leading us up from one sombre story to another, into a brick-paved dining-room, with our sleeping-chambers on each side. There was a fireplace of tremendous depth and height, fit to receive big forest-logs, and with a queer, double pair of ancient andirons, capable of sustaining them; and in a handful of ashes lay a small stick of olive-wood,--a specimen, I suppose, of the sort of fuel which had made the chimney black, in the course of a good many years. There must have been much shivering and misery of cold around this fireplace. However, we needed no fire now, and there was promise of good cheer in the spectacle of a man cleaning some lake-fish for our dinner, while the poor things flounced and wriggled under the knife. The dinner made its appearance, after a long while, and was most plentiful, . . . . so that, having measured our appetite in anticipation of a paucity of food, we had to make more room for such overflowing abundance. When dinner was over, it was already dusk, and before retiring I opened the window, and looked out on Lake Thrasymene, the margin of which lies just on the other side of the narrow village street. The moon was a day or two past the full, just a little clipped on the edge, but gave light enough to show the lake and its nearer shores almost as distinctly as by day; and there being a ripple on the surface of the water, it made a sheen of silver over a wide space. AREZZO. May 30th.--We started at six o'clock, and left the one ugly street of Passignano, before many of the beggars were awake. Immediately in the vicinity of the village there is very little space between the lake in front and the ridge of hills in the rear; but the plain widened as we drove onward, so that the lake was scarcely to be seen, or often quite hidden among the intervening trees, although we could still discern the summits of the mountains that rise far beyond its shores. The country was fertile, presenting, on each side of the road, vines trained on fig-trees; wheat-fields and olives, in greater abundance than any other product. On our right, with a considerable width of plain between, was the bending ridge of hills that shut in the Roman army, by its close approach to the lake at Passignano. In perhaps half all hour's drive, we reached the little bridge that throws its arch over the Sanguinetto, and alighted there. The stream has but about a yard's width of water; and its whole course, between the hills and the lake, might well have been reddened and swollen with the blood of the multitude of slain Romans. Its name put me in mind of the Bloody Brook at Deerfield, where a company of Massachusetts men were massacred by the Indians. The Sanguinetto flows over a bed of pebbles; and J----- crept under the bridge, and got one of them for a memorial, while U----, Miss Shepard, and R----- plucked some olive twigs and oak leaves, and made them into wreaths together,--symbols of victory and peace. The tower, which is traditionally named after Hannibal, is seen on a height that makes part of the line of enclosing hills. It is a large, old castle, apparently of the Middle Ages, with a square front, and a battlemented sweep of wall. The town of Torres (its name, I think), where Hannibal's main army is supposed to have lain while the Romans came through the pass, was in full view; and I could understand the plan of the battle better than any system of military operations which I have hitherto tried to fathom. Both last night and to-day, I found myself stirred more sensibly than I expected by the influences of this scene. The old battle-field is still fertile in thoughts and emotions, though it is so many ages since the blood spilt there has ceased to make the grass and flowers grow more luxuriantly. I doubt whether I should feel so much on the field of Saratoga or Monmouth; but these old classic battle-fields belong to the whole world, and each man feels as if his own forefathers fought them. Mine, by the by, if they fought them at all, must have been on the side of Hannibal; for, certainly, I sympathized with him, and exulted in the defeat of the Romans on their own soil. They excite much the same emotion of general hostility that the English do. Byron has written some very fine stanzas on the battle-field,--not so good as others that he has written on classical scenes and subjects, yet wonderfully impressing his own perception of the subject on the reader. Whenever he has to deal with a statue, a ruin, a battle-field, he pounces upon the topic like a vulture, and tears out its heart in a twinkling, so that there is nothing more to be said. If I mistake not, our passport was examined by the papal officers at the last custom-house in the pontifical territory, before we traversed the path through which the Roman army marched to its destruction. Lake Thrasymene, of which we took our last view, is not deep set among the hills, but is bordered by long ridges, with loftier mountains receding into the distance. It is not to be compared to Windermere or Loch Lomond for beauty, nor with Lake Champlain and many a smaller lake in my own country, none of which, I hope, will ever become so historically interesting as this famous spot. A few miles onward our passport was countersigned at the Tuscan custom-house, and our luggage permitted to pass without examination on payment of a fee of nine or ten pauls, besides two pauls to the porters. There appears to be no concealment on the part of the officials in thus waiving the exercise of their duty, and I rather imagine that the thing is recognized and permitted by their superiors. At all events, it is very convenient for the traveller. We saw Cortona, sitting, like so many other cities in this region, on its hill, and arrived about noon at Arezzo, which also stretches up a high hillside, and is surrounded, as they all are, by its walls or the remains of one, with a fortified gate across every entrance. I remember one little village, somewhere in the neighborhood of the Clitumnus, which we entered by one gateway, and, in the course of two minutes at the utmost, left by the opposite one, so diminutive was this walled town. Everything hereabouts bears traces of times when war was the prevalent condition, and peace only a rare gleam of sunshine. At Arezzo we have put up at the Hotel Royal, which has the appearance of a grand old house, and proves to be a tolerable inn enough. After lunch, we wandered forth to see the town, which did not greatly interest me after Perugia, being much more modern and less picturesque in its aspect. We went to the cathedral,--a Gothic edifice, but not of striking exterior. As the doors were closed, and not to be opened till three o'clock, we seated ourselves under the trees, on a high, grassy space surrounded and intersected with gravel-walks,--a public promenade, in short, near the cathedral; and after resting ourselves here we went in search of Petrarch's house, which Murray mentions as being in this neighborhood. We inquired of several people, who knew nothing about the matter; one woman misdirected us, out of mere fun, I believe, for she afterwards met us and asked how we had succeeded. But finally, through ------'s enterprise and perseverance, we found the spot, not a stone's-throw from where we had been sitting. Petrarch's house stands below the promenade which I have just mentioned, and within hearing of the reverberations between the strokes of the cathedral bell. It is two stories high, covered with a light-colored stucco, and has not the slightest appearance of antiquity, no more than many a modern and modest dwelling-house in an American city. Its only remarkable feature is a pointed arch of stone, let into the plastered wall, and forming a framework for the doorway. I set my foot on the doorsteps, ascended them, and Miss Shepard and J----- gathered some weeds or blades of grass that grew in the chinks between the steps. There is a long inscription on a slab of marble set in the front of the house, as is the fashion in Arezzo when a house has been the birthplace or residence of a distinguished man. Right opposite Petrarch's birth-house--and it must have been the well whence the water was drawn that first bathed him--is a well which Boccaccio has introduced into one of his stories. It is surrounded with a stone curb, octagonal in shape, and evidently as ancient as Boccaccio's time. It has a wooden cover, through which is a square opening, and looking down I saw my own face in the water far beneath. There is no familiar object connected with daily life so interesting as a well; and this well or old Arezzo, whence Petrarch had drunk, around which he had played in his boyhood, and which Boccaccio has made famous, really interested me more than the cathedral. It lies right under the pavement of the street, under the sunshine, without any shade of trees about it, or any grass, except a little that grows in the crevices of its stones; but the shape of its stone-work would make it a pretty object in an engraving. As I lingered round it I thought of my own town-pump in old Salem, and wondered whether my townspeople would ever point it out to strangers, and whether the stranger would gaze at it with any degree of such interest as I felt in Boccaccio's well. O, certainly not; but yet I made that humble town-pump the most celebrated structure in the good town. A thousand and a thousand people had pumped there, merely to water oxen or fill their teakettles; but when once I grasped the handle, a rill gushed forth that meandered as far as England, as far as India, besides tasting pleasantly in every town and village of our own country. I like to think of this, so long after I did it, and so far from home, and am not without hopes of some kindly local remembrance on this score. Petrarch's house is not a separate and insulated building, but stands in contiguity and connection with other houses on each side; and all, when I saw them, as well as the whole street, extending down the slope of the hill, had the bright and sunny aspect of a modern town. As the cathedral was not yet open, and as J----- and I had not so much patience as my wife, we left her and Miss Shepard, and set out to return to the hotel. We lost our way, however, and finally had to return to the cathedral, to take a fresh start; and as the door was now open we went in. We found the cathedral very stately with its great arches, and darkly magnificent with the dim rich light coming through its painted windows, some of which are reckoned the most beautiful that the whole world has to show. The hues are far more brilliant than those of any painted glass I saw in England, and a great wheel window looks like a constellation of many-colored gems. The old English glass gets so smoky and dull with dust, that its pristine beauty cannot any longer be even imagined; nor did I imagine it till I saw these Italian windows. We saw nothing of my wife and Miss Shepard; but found afterwards that they had been much annoyed by the attentions of a priest who wished to show them the cathedral, till they finally told him that they had no money with them, when he left them without another word. The attendants in churches seem to be quite as venal as most other Italians, and, for the sake of their little profit, they do not hesitate to interfere with the great purposes for which their churches were built and decorated; hanging curtains, for instance, before all the celebrated pictures, or hiding them away in the sacristy, so that they cannot be seen without a fee. Returning to the hotel, we looked out of the window, and, in the street beneath, there was a very busy scene, it being Sunday, and the whole population, apparently, being astir, promenading up and down the smooth flag-stones, which made the breadth of the street one sidewalk, or at their windows, or sitting before their doors. The vivacity of the population in these parts is very striking, after the gravity and lassitude of Rome; and the air was made cheerful with the talk and laughter of hundreds of voices. I think the women are prettier than the Roman maids and matrons, who, as I think I have said before, have chosen to be very uncomely since the rape of their ancestresses, by way of wreaking a terrible spite and revenge. I have nothing more to say of Arezzo, except that, finding the ordinary wine very bad, as black as ink, and tasting as if it had tar and vinegar in it, we called for a bottle of Monte Pulciano, and were exceedingly gladdened and mollified thereby. INCISA. We left Arezzo early on Monday morning, the sun throwing the long shadows of the trees across the road, which at first, after we had descended the hill, lay over a plain. As the morning advanced, or as we advanced, the country grew more hilly. We saw many bits of rustic life,--such as old women tending pigs or sheep by the roadside, and spinning with a distaff; women sewing under trees, or at their own doors; children leading goats, tied by the horns, while they browse; sturdy, sunburnt creatures, in petticoats, but otherwise manlike, at work side by side with male laborers in the fields. The broad-brimmed, high-crowned hat of Tuscan straw is the customary female head-dress, and is as unbecoming as can possibly be imagined, and of little use, one would suppose, as a shelter from the sun, the brim continually blowing upward from the face. Some of the elder women wore black felt hats, likewise broad-brimmed; and the men wore felt hats also, shaped a good deal like a mushroom, with hardly any brim at all. The scenes in the villages through which we passed were very lively and characteristic, all the population seeming to be out of doors: some at the butcher's shop, others at the well; a tailor sewing in the open air, with a young priest sitting sociably beside him; children at play; women mending clothes, embroidering, spinning with the distaff at their own doorsteps; many idlers, letting the pleasant morning pass in the sweet-do-nothing; all assembling in the street, as in the common room of one large household, and thus brought close together, and made familiar with one another, as they can never be in a different system of society. As usual along the road we passed multitudes of shrines, where the Virgin was painted in fresco, or sometimes represented in bas-reliefs, within niches, or under more spacious arches. It would be a good idea to place a comfortable and shady seat beneath all these wayside shrines, where the wayfarer might rest himself, and thank the Virgin for her hospitality; nor can I believe that it would offend her, any more than other incense, if he were to regale himself, even in such consecrated spots, with the fragrance of a pipe or cigar. In the wire-work screen, before many of the shrines, hung offerings of roses and other flowers, some wilted and withered, some fresh with that morning's dew, some that never bloomed and never faded,--being artificial. I wonder that they do not plant rose-trees and all kinds of fragrant and flowering shrubs under the shrines, and twine and wreathe them all around, so that the Virgin may dwell within a bower of perpetual freshness; at least put flower-pots, with living plants, into the niche. There are many things in the customs of these people that might be made very beautiful, if the sense of beauty were as much alive now as it must have been when these customs were first imagined and adopted. I must not forget, among these little descriptive items, the spectacle of women and girls bearing huge bundles of twigs and shrubs, or grass, with scarlet poppies and blue flowers intermixed; the bundles sometimes so huge as almost to hide the woman's figure from head to heel, so that she looked like a locomotive mass of verdure and flowers; sometimes reaching only half-way down her back, so as to show the crooked knife slung behind, with which she had been reaping this strange harvest-sheaf. A Pre-Raphaelite painter--the one, for instance, who painted the heap of autumnal leaves, which we saw at the Manchester Exhibition--would find an admirable subject in one of these girls, stepping with a free, erect, and graceful carriage, her burden on her head; and the miscellaneous herbage and flowers would give him all the scope he could desire for minute and various delineation of nature. The country houses which we passed had sometimes open galleries or arcades on the second story and above, where the inhabitants might perform their domestic labor in the shade and in the air. The houses were often ancient, and most picturesquely time-stained, the plaster dropping in spots from the old brickwork; others were tinted of pleasant and cheerful lines; some were frescoed with designs in arabesques, or with imaginary windows; some had escutcheons of arms painted on the front. Wherever there was a pigeon-house, a flight of doves were represented as flying into the holes, doubtless for the invitation and encouragement of the real birds. Once or twice I saw a bush stuck up before the door of what seemed to be a wine-shop. If so, it is the ancient custom, so long disused in England, and alluded to in the proverb, "Good wine needs no bush." Several times we saw grass spread to dry on the road, covering half the track, and concluded it to have been cut by the roadside for the winter forage of his ass by some poor peasant, or peasant's wife, who had no grass land, except the margin of the public way. A beautiful feature of the scene to-day, as the preceding day, were the vines growing on fig-trees (?) [This interrogation-mark must mean that Mr. Hawthorne was not sure they were fig-trees.--ED.], and often wreathed in rich festoons from one tree to another, by and by to be hung with clusters of purple grapes. I suspect the vine is a pleasanter object of sight under this mode of culture than it can be in countries where it produces a more precious wine, and therefore is trained more artificially. Nothing can be more picturesque than the spectacle of an old grapevine, with almost a trunk of its own, clinging round its tree, imprisoning within its strong embrace the friend that supported its tender infancy, converting the tree wholly to its own selfish ends, as seemingly flexible natures are apt to do, stretching out its innumerable arms on every bough, and allowing hardly a leaf to sprout except its own. I must not yet quit this hasty sketch, without throwing in, both in the early morning, and later in the forenoon, the mist that dreamed among the hills, and which, now that I have called it mist, I feel almost more inclined to call light, being so quietly cheerful with the sunshine through it. Put in, now and then, a castle on a hilltop; a rough ravine, a smiling valley; a mountain stream, with a far wider bed than it at present needs, and a stone bridge across it, with ancient and massive arches;--and I shall say no more, except that all these particulars, and many better ones which escape me, made up a very pleasant whole. At about noon we drove into the village of Incisa, and alighted at the albergo where we were to lunch. It was a gloomy old house, as much like my idea of an Etruscan tomb as anything else that I can compare it to. We passed into a wide and lofty entrance-hall, paved with stone, and vaulted with a roof of intersecting arches, supported by heavy columns of stuccoed-brick, the whole as sombre and dingy as can well be. This entrance-hall is not merely the passageway into the inn, but is likewise the carriage-house, into which our vettura is wheeled; and it has, on one side, the stable, odorous with the litter of horses and cattle, and on the other the kitchen, and a common sitting-room. A narrow stone staircase leads from it to the dining-room, and chambers above, which are paved with brick, and adorned with rude frescos instead of paper-hangings. We look out of the windows, and step into a little iron-railed balcony, before the principal window, and observe the scene in the village street. The street is narrow, and nothing can exceed the tall, grim ugliness of the village houses, many of them four stories high, contiguous all along, and paved quite across; so that nature is as completely shut out from the precincts of this little town as from the heart of the widest city. The walls of the houses are plastered, gray, dilapidated; the windows small, some of them drearily closed with wooden shutters, others flung wide open, and with women's heads protruding, others merely frescoed, for a show of light and air. It would be a hideous street to look at in a rainy day, or when no human life pervaded it. Now it has vivacity enough to keep it cheerful. People lounge round the door of the albergo, and watch the horses as they drink from a stone trough, which is built against the wall of the house, and filled with the unseen gush of a spring. At first there is a shade entirely across the street, and all the within-doors of the village empties itself there, and keeps up a babblement that seems quite disproportioned even to the multitude of tongues that make it. So many words are not spoken in a New England village in a whole year as here in this single day. People talk about nothing as if they were terribly in earnest, and laugh at nothing as if it were all excellent joke. As the hot noon sunshine encroaches on our side of the street, it grows a little more quiet. The loungers now confine themselves to the shady margin (growing narrower and narrower) of the other side, where, directly opposite the albergo, there are two cafes and a wine-shop, "vendita di pane, vino, ed altri generi," all in a row with benches before them. The benchers joke with the women passing by, and are joked with back again. The sun still eats away the shadow inch by inch, beating down with such intensity that finally everybody disappears except a few passers-by. Doubtless the village snatches this half-hour for its siesta. There is a song, however, inside one of the cafes, with a burden in which several voices join. A girl goes through the street, sheltered under her great bundle of freshly cut grass. By and by the song ceases, and two young peasants come out of the cafe, a little affected by liquor, in their shirt-sleeves and bare feet, with their trousers tucked up. They resume their song in the street, and dance along, one's arm around his fellow's neck, his own waist grasped by the other's arm. They whirl one another quite round about, and come down upon their feet. Meeting a village maid coming quietly along, they dance up and intercept her for a moment, but give way to her sobriety of aspect. They pass on, and the shadow soon begins to spread from one side of the street, which presently fills again, and becomes once more, for its size, the noisiest place I ever knew. We had quite a tolerable dinner at this ugly inn, where many preceding travellers had written their condemnatory judgments, as well as a few their favorable ones, in pencil on the walls of the dining-room. TO FLORENCE. At setting off [from Incisa], we were surrounded by beggars as usual, the most interesting of whom were a little blind boy and his mother, who had besieged us with gentle pertinacity during our whole stay there. There was likewise a man with a maimed hand, and other hurts or deformities; also, an old woman who, I suspect, only pretended to be blind, keeping her eyes tightly squeezed together, but directing her hand very accurately where the copper shower was expected to fall. Besides these, there were a good many sturdy little rascals, vociferating in proportion as they needed nothing. It was touching, however, to see several persons--themselves beggars for aught I know--assisting to hold up the little blind boy's tremulous hand, so that he, at all events, might not lack the pittance which we had to give. Our dole was but a poor one, after all, consisting of what Roman coppers we had brought into Tuscany with us; and as we drove off, some of the boys ran shouting and whining after us in the hot sunshine, nor stopped till we reached the summit of the hill, which rises immediately from the village street. We heard Gaetano once say a good thing to a swarm of beggar-children, who were infesting us, "Are your fathers all dead?"--a proverbial expression, I suppose. The pertinacity of beggars does not, I think, excite the indignation of an Italian, as it is apt to do that of Englishmen or Americans. The Italians probably sympathize more, though they give less. Gaetano is very gentle in his modes of repelling them, and, indeed, never interferes at all, as long as there is a prospect of their getting anything. Immediately after leaving Incisa, we saw the Arno, already a considerable river, rushing between deep banks, with the greenish line of a duck-pond diffused through its water. Nevertheless, though the first impression was not altogether agreeable, we soon became reconciled to this line, and ceased to think it an indication of impurity; for, in spite of it, the river is still to a certain degree transparent, and is, at any rate, a mountain stream, and comes uncontaminated from its source. The pure, transparent brown of the New England rivers is the most beautiful color; but I am content that it should be peculiar to them. Our afternoon's drive was through scenery less striking than some which we had traversed, but still picturesque and beautiful. We saw deep valleys and ravines, with streams at the bottom; long, wooded hillsides, rising far and high, and dotted with white dwellings, well towards the summits. By and by, we had a distant glimpse of Florence, showing its great dome and some of its towers out of a sidelong valley, as if we were between two great waves of the tumultuous sea of hills; while, far beyond, rose in the distance the blue peaks of three or four of the Apennines, just on the remote horizon. There being a haziness in the atmosphere, however, Florence was little more distinct to us than the Celestial City was to Christian and Hopeful, when they spied at it from the Delectable Mountains. Keeping steadfastly onward, we ascended a winding road, and passed a grand villa, standing very high, and surrounded with extensive grounds. It must be the residence of some great noble; and it has an avenue of poplars or aspens, very light and gay, and fit for the passage of the bridal procession, when the proprietor or his heir brings home his bride; while, in another direction from the same front of the palace, stretches an avenue or grove of cypresses, very long, and exceedingly black and dismal, like a train of gigantic mourners. I have seen few things more striking, in the way of trees, than this grove of cypresses. From this point we descended, and drove along an ugly, dusty avenue, with a high brick wall on one side or both, till we reached the gate of Florence, into which we were admitted with as little trouble as custom-house officers, soldiers, and policemen can possibly give. They did not examine our luggage, and even declined a fee, as we had already paid one at the frontier custom-house. Thank heaven, and the Grand Duke! As we hoped that the Casa del Bello had been taken for us, we drove thither in the first place, but found that the bargain had not been concluded. As the house and studio of Mr. Powers were just on the opposite side of the street, I went to it, but found him too much engrossed to see me at the moment; so I returned to the vettura, and we told Gaetano to carry us to a hotel. He established us at the Albergo della Fontana, a good and comfortable house. . . . Mr. Powers called in the evening,--a plain personage, characterized by strong simplicity and warm kindliness, with an impending brow, and large eyes, which kindle as he speaks. He is gray, and slightly bald, but does not seem elderly, nor past his prime. I accept him at once as an honest and trustworthy man, and shall not vary from this judgment. Through his good offices, the next day, we engaged the Casa del Bello, at a rent of fifty dollars a month, and I shall take another opportunity (my fingers and head being tired now) to write about the house, and Mr. Powers, and what appertains to him, and about the beautiful city of Florence. At present, I shall only say further, that this journey from Rome has been one of the brightest and most uncareful interludes of my life; we have all enjoyed it exceedingly, and I am happy that our children have it to look back upon. June 4th.--At our visit to Powers's studio on Tuesday, we saw a marble copy of the fisher-boy holding a shell to his ear, and the bust of Proserpine, and two or three other ideal busts; various casts of most of the ideal statues and portrait busts which he has executed. He talks very freely about his works, and is no exception to the rule that an artist is not apt to speak in a very laudatory style of a brother artist. He showed us a bust of Mr. Sparks by Persico,--a lifeless and thoughtless thing enough, to be sure,--and compared it with a very good one of the same gentleman by himself; but his chiefest scorn was bestowed on a wretched and ridiculous image of Mr. King, of Alabama, by Clark Mills, of which he said he had been employed to make several copies for Southern gentlemen. The consciousness of power is plainly to be seen, and the assertion of it by no means withheld, in his simple and natural character; nor does it give me an idea of vanity on his part to see and hear it. He appears to consider himself neglected by his country,--by the government of it, at least,--and talks with indignation of the byways and political intrigue which, he thinks, win the rewards that ought to be bestowed exclusively on merit. An appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars was made, some years ago, for a work of sculpture by him, to be placed in the Capitol; but the intermediate measures necessary to render it effective have been delayed; while the above-mentioned Clark Mills-- certainly the greatest bungler that ever botched a block of marble--has received an order for an equestrian statue of Washington. Not that Mr. Powers is made bitter or sour by these wrongs, as he considers them; he talks of them with the frankness of his disposition when the topic comes in his way, and is pleasant, kindly, and sunny when he has done with it. His long absence from our country has made him think worse of us than we deserve; and it is an effect of what I myself am sensible, in my shorter exile: the most piercing shriek, the wildest yell, and all the ugly sounds of popular turmoil, inseparable from the life of a republic, being a million times more audible than the peaceful hum of prosperity and content which is going on all the while. He talks of going home, but says that he has been talking of it every year since he first came to Italy; and between his pleasant life of congenial labor, and his idea of moral deterioration in America, I think it doubtful whether he ever crosses the sea again. Like most exiles of twenty years, he has lost his native country without finding another; but then it is as well to recognize the truth,--that an individual country is by no means essential to one's comfort. Powers took us into the farthest room, I believe, of his very extensive studio, and showed us a statue of Washington that has much dignity and stateliness. He expressed, however, great contempt for the coat and breeches, and masonic emblems, in which he had been required to drape the figure. What would he do with Washington, the most decorous and respectable personage that ever went ceremoniously through the realities of life? Did anybody ever see Washington nude? It is inconceivable. He had no nakedness, but I imagine he was born with his clothes on, and his hair powdered, and made a stately bow on his first appearance in the world. His costume, at all events, was a part of his character, and must be dealt with by whatever sculptor undertakes to represent him. I wonder that so very sensible a man as Powers should not see the necessity of accepting drapery, and the very drapery of the day, if he will keep his art alive. It is his business to idealize the tailor's actual work. But he seems to be especially fond of nudity, none of his ideal statues, so far as I know them, having so much as a rag of clothes. His statue of California, lately finished, and as naked as Venus, seemed to me a very good work; not an actual woman, capable of exciting passion, but evidently a little out of the category of human nature. In one hand she holds a divining-rod. "She says to the emigrants," observed Powers, "'Here is the gold, if you choose to take it.'" But in her face, and in her eyes, very finely expressed, there is a look of latent mischief, rather grave than playful, yet somewhat impish or sprite-like; and, in the other hand, behind her back, she holds a bunch of thorns. Powers calls her eyes Indian. The statue is true to the present fact and history of California, and includes the age-long truth as respects the "auri sacra fames." . . . . When we had looked sufficiently at the sculpture, Powers proposed that we should now go across the street and see the Casa del Bello. We did so in a body, Powers in his dressing-gown and slippers, and his wife and daughters without assuming any street costume. The Casa del Bello is a palace of three pianos, the topmost of which is occupied by the Countess of St. George, an English lady, and two lower pianos are to be let, and we looked at both. The upper one would have suited me well enough; but the lower has a terrace, with a rustic summer-house over it, and is connected with a garden, where there are arbors and a willow-tree, and a little wilderness of shrubbery and roses, with a fountain in the midst. It has likewise an immense suite of rooms, round the four sides of a small court, spacious, lofty, with frescoed ceilings and rich hangings, and abundantly furnished with arm-chairs, sofas, marble tables, and great looking-glasses. Not that these last are a great temptation, but in our wandering life I wished to be perfectly comfortable myself, and to make my family so, for just this summer, and so I have taken the lower piano, the price being only fifty dollars per month (entirely furnished, even to silver and linen). Certainly this is something like the paradise of cheapness we were told of, and which we vainly sought in Rome. . . . To me has been assigned the pleasantest room for my study; and when I like I can overflow into the summer-house or an arbor, and sit there dreaming of a story. The weather is delightful, too warm to walk, but perfectly fit to do nothing in, in the coolness of these great rooms. Every day I shall write a little, perhaps,--and probably take a brief nap somewhere between breakfast and tea,--but go to see pictures and statues occasionally, and so assuage and mollify myself a little after that uncongenial life of the consulate, and before going back to my own hard and dusty New England. After concluding the arrangement for the Casa del Bello, we stood talking a little while with Powers and his wife and daughter before the door of the house, for they seem so far to have adopted the habits of the Florentines as to feel themselves at home on the shady side of the street. The out-of-door life and free communication with the pavement, habitual apparently among the middle classes, reminds me of the plays of Moliere and other old dramatists, in which the street or the square becomes a sort of common parlor, where most of the talk and scenic business of the people is carried on. June 5th.--For two or three mornings after breakfast I have rambled a little about the city till the shade grew narrow beneath the walls of the houses, and the heat made it uncomfortable to be in motion. To-day I went over the Ponte Carraja, and thence into and through the heart of the city, looking into several churches, in all of which I found people taking advantage of the cool breadth of these sacred interiors to refresh themselves and say their prayers. Florence at first struck me as having the aspect of a very new city in comparison with Rome; but, on closer acquaintance, I find that many of the buildings are antique and massive, though still the clear atmosphere, the bright sunshine, the light, cheerful hues of the stucco, and--as much as anything else, perhaps--the vivacious character of the human life in the streets, take away the sense of its being an ancient city. The streets are delightful to walk in after so many penitential pilgrimages as I have made over those little square, uneven blocks of the Roman pavement, which wear out the boots and torment the soul. I absolutely walk on the smooth flags of Florence for the mere pleasure of walking, and live in its atmosphere for the mere pleasure of living; and, warm as the weather is getting to be, I never feel that inclination to sink down in a heap and never stir again, which was my dull torment and misery as long as I stayed in Rome. I hardly think there can be a place in the world where life is more delicious for its own simple sake than here. I went to-day into the Baptistery, which stands near the Duomo, and, like that, is covered externally with slabs of black and white marble, now grown brown and yellow with age. The edifice is octagonal, and on entering, one immediately thinks of the Pantheon,--the whole space within being free from side to side, with a dome above; but it differs from the severe simplicity of the former edifice, being elaborately ornamented with marble and frescos, and lacking that great eye in the roof that looks so nobly and reverently heavenward from the Pantheon. I did little more than pass through the Baptistery, glancing at the famous bronze doors, some perfect and admirable casts of which I had already seen at the Crystal Palace. The entrance of the Duomo being just across the piazza, I went in there after leaving the Baptistery, and was struck anew--for this is the third or fourth visit--with the dim grandeur of the interior, lighted as it is almost exclusively by painted windows, which seem to me worth all the variegated marbles and rich cabinet-work of St. Peter's. The Florentine Cathedral has a spacious and lofty nave, and side aisles divided from it by pillars; but there are no chapels along the aisles, so that there is far more breadth and freedom of interior, in proportion to the actual space, than is usual in churches. It is woful to think how the vast capaciousness within St. Peter's is thrown away, and made to seem smaller than it is by every possible device, as if on purpose. The pillars and walls of this Duomo are of a uniform brownish, neutral tint; the pavement, a mosaic work of marble; the ceiling of the dome itself is covered with frescos, which, being very imperfectly lighted, it is impossible to trace out. Indeed, it is but a twilight region that is enclosed within the firmament of this great dome, which is actually larger than that of St. Peter's, though not lifted so high from the pavement. But looking at the painted windows, I little cared what dimness there might be elsewhere; for certainly the art of man has never contrived any other beauty and glory at all to be compared to this. The dome sits, as it were, upon three smaller domes,--smaller, but still great,--beneath which are three vast niches, forming the transepts of the cathedral and the tribune behind the high altar. All round these hollow, dome-covered arches or niches are high and narrow windows crowded with saints, angels, and all manner of blessed shapes, that turn the common daylight into a miracle of richness and splendor as it passes through their heavenly substance. And just beneath the swell of the great central dome is a wreath of circular windows quite round it, as brilliant as the tall and narrow ones below. It is a pity anybody should die without seeing an antique painted window, with the bright Italian sunshine glowing through it. This is "the dim, religious light" that Milton speaks of; but I doubt whether he saw these windows when he was in Italy, or any but those faded or dusty and dingy ones of the English cathedrals, else he would have illuminated that word "dim" with some epithet that should not chase away the dimness, yet should make it shine like a million of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topazes,--bright in themselves, but dim with tenderness and reverence because God himself was shining through them. I hate what I have said. All the time that I was in the cathedral the space around the high altar, which stands exactly under the dome, was occupied by priests or acolytes in white garments, chanting a religious service. After coming out, I took a view of the edifice from a corner of the street nearest to the dome, where it and the smaller domes can be seen at once. It is greatly more satisfactory than St. Peter's in any view I ever had of it,--striking in its outline, with a mystery, yet not a bewilderment, in its masses and curves and angles, and wrought out with a richness of detail that gives the eyes new arches, new galleries, new niches, new pinnacles, new beauties, great and small, to play with when wearied with the vast whole. The hue, black and white marbles, like the Baptistery, turned also yellow and brown, is greatly preferable to the buff travertine of St. Peter's. From the Duomo it is but a moderate street's length to the Piazza del Gran Duca, the principal square of Florence. It is a very interesting place, and has on one side the old Governmental Palace,--the Palazzo Vecchio,--where many scenes of historic interest have been enacted; for example, conspirators have been hanged from its windows, or precipitated from them upon the pavement of the square below. It is a pity that we cannot take as much interest in the history of these Italian Republics as in that of England, for the former is much the more picturesque and fuller of curious incident. The sobriety of the Anglo-Saxon race--in connection, too, with their moral sense--keeps them from doing a great many things that would enliven the page of history; and their events seem to come in great masses, shoved along by the agency of many persons, rather than to result from individual will and character. A hundred plots for a tragedy might be found in Florentine history for one in English. At one corner of the Palazzo Vecchio is a bronze equestrian statue of Cosmo de' Medici, the first Grand Duke, very stately and majestic; there are other marble statues--one of David, by Michael Angelo--at each side of the palace door; and entering the court I found a rich antique arcade within, surrounded by marble pillars, most elaborately carved, supporting arches that were covered with faded frescos. I went no farther, but stepped across a little space of the square to the Loggia di Lanzi, which is broad and noble, of three vast arches, at the end of which, I take it, is a part of the Palazzo Uffizi fronting on the piazza. I should call it a portico if it stood before the palace door; but it seems to have been constructed merely for itself, and as a shelter for the people from sun and rain, and to contain some fine specimens of sculpture, as well antique as of more modern times. Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus stands here; but it did not strike me so much as the cast of it in the Crystal Palace. A good many people were under these great arches; some of whom were reclining, half or quite asleep, on the marble seats that are built against the back of the loggia. A group was reading an edict of the Grand Duke, which appeared to have been just posted on a board, at the farther end of it; and I was surprised at the interest which they ventured to manifest, and the freedom with which they seemed to discuss it. A soldier was on guard, and doubtless there were spies enough to carry every word that was said to the ear of absolute authority. Glancing myself at the edict, however, I found it referred only to the furtherance of a project, got up among the citizens themselves, for bringing water into the city; and on such topics, I suppose there is freedom of discussion. June 7th.--Saturday evening we walked with U---- and J----- into the city, and looked at the exterior of the Duomo with new admiration. Since my former view of it, I have noticed--which, strangely enough, did not strike me before--that the facade is but a great, bare, ugly space, roughly plastered over, with the brickwork peeping through it in spots, and a faint, almost invisible fresco of colors upon it. This front was once nearly finished with an incrustation of black and white marble, like the rest of the edifice; but one of the city magistrates, Benedetto Uguccione, demolished it, three hundred years ago, with the idea of building it again in better style. He failed to do so, and, ever since, the magnificence of the great church has been marred by this unsightly roughness of what should have been its richest part; nor is there, I suppose, any hope that it will ever be finished now. The campanile, or bell-tower, stands within a few paces of the cathedral, but entirely disconnected from it, rising to a height of nearly three hundred feet, a square tower of light marbles, now discolored by time. It is impossible to give an idea of the richness of effect produced by its elaborate finish; the whole surface of the four sides, from top to bottom, being decorated with all manner of statuesque and architectural sculpture. It is like a toy of ivory, which some ingenious and pious monk might have spent his lifetime in adorning with scriptural designs and figures of saints; and when it was finished, seeing it so beautiful, he prayed that it might be miraculously magnified from the size of one foot to that of three hundred. This idea somewhat satisfies me, as conveying an impression how gigantesque the campanile is in its mass and height, and how minute and varied in its detail. Surely these mediaeval works have an advantage over the classic. They combine the telescope and the microscope. The city was all alive in the summer evening, and the streets humming with voices. Before the doors of the cafes were tables, at which people were taking refreshment, and it went to my heart to see a bottle of English ale, some of which was poured foaming into a glass; at least, it had exactly the amber hue and the foam of English bitter ale; but perhaps it may have been merely a Florentine imitation. As we returned home over the Arno, crossing the Ponte di Santa Trinita, we were struck by the beautiful scene of the broad, calm river, with the palaces along its shores repeated in it, on either side, and the neighboring bridges, too, just as perfect in the tide beneath as in the air above,--a city of dream and shadow so close to the actual one. God has a meaning, no doubt, in putting this spiritual symbol continually beside us. Along the river, on both sides, as far as we could see, there was a row of brilliant lamps, which, in the far distance, looked like a cornice of golden light; and this also shone as brightly in the river's depths. The lilies of the evening, in the quarter where the sun had gone down, were very soft and beautiful, though not so gorgeous as thousands that I have seen in America. But I believe I must fairly confess that the Italian sky, in the daytime, is bluer and brighter than our own, and that the atmosphere has a quality of showing objects to better advantage. It is more than mere daylight; the magic of moonlight is somehow mixed up with it, although it is so transparent a medium of light. Last evening, Mr. Powers called to see us, and sat down to talk in a friendly and familiar way. I do not know a man of more facile intercourse, nor with whom one so easily gets rid of ceremony. His conversation, too, is interesting. He talked, to begin with, about Italian food, as poultry, mutton, beef, and their lack of savoriness as compared with our own; and mentioned an exquisite dish of vegetables which they prepare from squash or pumpkin blossoms; likewise another dish, which it will be well for us to remember when we get back to the Wayside, where we are overrun with acacias. It consists of the acacia-blossoms in a certain stage of their development fried in olive-oil. I shall get the receipt from Mrs. Powers, and mean to deserve well of my country by first trying it, and then making it known; only I doubt whether American lard, or even butter, will produce the dish quite so delicately as fresh Florence oil. Meanwhile, I like Powers all the better, because he does not put his life wholly into marble. We had much talk, nevertheless, on matters of sculpture, for he drank a cup of tea with us, and stayed a good while. He passed a condemnatory sentence on classic busts in general, saying that they were conventional, and not to be depended upon as trite representations of the persons. He particularly excepted none but the bust of Caracalla; and, indeed, everybody that has seen this bust must feel the justice of the exception, and so be the more inclined to accept his opinion about the rest. There are not more than half a dozen--that of Cato the Censor among the others--in regard to which I should like to ask his judgment individually. He seems to think the faculty of making a bust an extremely rare one. Canova put his own likeness into all the busts he made. Greenough could not make a good one; nor Crawford, nor Gibson. Mr. Harte, he observed,--an American sculptor, now a resident in Florence,--is the best man of the day for making busts. Of course, it is to be presumed that he excepts himself; but I would not do Powers the great injustice to imply that there is the slightest professional jealousy in his estimate of what others have done, or are now doing, in his own art. If he saw a better man than himself, he would recognize him at once, and tell the world of him; but he knows well enough that, in this line, there is no better, and probably none so good. It would not accord with the simplicity of his character to blink a fact that stands so broadly before him. We asked him what he thought, of Mr. Gibson's practice of coloring his statues, and he quietly and slyly said that he himself had made wax figures in his earlier days, but had left off making them now. In short, he objected to the practice wholly, and said that a letter of his on the subject had been published in the London "Athenaeum," and had given great offence to some of Mr. Gibson's friends. It appeared to me, however, that his arguments did not apply quite fairly to the case, for he seems to think Gibson aims at producing an illusion of life in the statue, whereas I think his object is merely to give warmth and softness to the snowy marble, and so bring it a little nearer to our hearts and sympathies. Even so far, nevertheless, I doubt whether the practice is defensible, and I was glad to see that Powers scorned, at all events, the argument drawn from the use of color by the antique sculptors, on which Gibson relies so much. It might almost be implied, from the contemptuous way in which Powers spoke of color, that he considers it an impertinence on the face of visible nature, and would rather the world had been made without it; for he said that everything in intellect or feeling can be expressed as perfectly, or more so, by the sculptor in colorless marble, as by the painter with all the resources of his palette. I asked him whether he could model the face of Beatrice Cenci from Guido's picture so as to retain the subtle expression, and he said he could, for that the expression depended entirely on the drawing, "the picture being a badly colored thing." I inquired whether he could model a blush, and he said "Yes"; and that he had once proposed to an artist to express a blush in marble, if he would express it in picture. On consideration, I believe one to be as impossible as the other; the life and reality of the blush being in its tremulousness, coming and going. It is lost in a settled red just as much as in a settled paleness, and neither the sculptor nor painter can do more than represent the circumstances of attitude and expression that accompany the blush. There was a great deal of truth in what Powers said about this matter of color, and in one of our interminable New England winters it ought to comfort us to think how little necessity there is for any hue but that of the snow. Mr. Powers, nevertheless, had brought us a bunch of beautiful roses, and seemed as capable of appreciating their delicate blush as we were. The best thing he said against the use of color in marble was to the effect that the whiteness removed the object represented into a sort of spiritual region, and so gave chaste permission to those nudities which would otherwise suggest immodesty. I have myself felt the truth of this in a certain sense of shame as I looked at Gibson's tinted Venus. He took his leave at about eight o'clock, being to make a call on the Bryants, who are at the Hotel de New York, and also on Mrs. Browning, at Casa Guidi. END OF VOL. I. 
8089	----	PASSAGES FROM THE AMERICAN NOTE-BOOKS, VOLUME II By Nathaniel Hawthorne [EXTRACTS FROM HIS PRIVATE LETTERS.] Brook Farm, Oak Hill, April 13th, 1841.--. . . . Here I am in a polar Paradise! I know not how to interpret this aspect of nature,--whether it be of good or evil omen to our enterprise. But I reflect that the Plymouth pilgrims arrived in the midst of storm, and stepped ashore upon mountain snowdrifts; and, nevertheless, they prospered, and became a great people,--and doubtless it will be the same with us. I laud my stars, however, that you will not have your first impressions of (perhaps) our future home from such a day as this. . . . Through faith, I persist in believing that Spring and Summer will come in their due season; but the unregenerated man shivers within me, and suggests a doubt whether I may not have wandered within the precincts of the Arctic Circle, and chosen my heritage among everlasting snows. . . . Provide yourself with a good stock of furs, and, if you can obtain the skin of a polar bear, you will find it a very suitable summer dress for this region. . . . I have not yet taken my first lesson in agriculture, except that I went to see our cows foddered, yesterday afternoon. We have eight of our own; and the number is now increased by a transcendental heifer belonging to Miss Margaret Fuller. She is very fractious, I believe, and apt to kick over the milk-pail. . . . I intend to convert myself into a milkmaid this evening, but I pray Heaven that Mr. Ripley may be moved to assign me the kindliest cow in the herd, otherwise I shall perform my duty with fear and trembling. . . . I like my brethren in affliction very well; and, could you see us sitting round our table at meal-times, before the great kitchen fire, you would call it a cheerful sight. Mrs. B------ is a most comfortable woman to behold. She looks as if her ample person were stuffed full of tenderness,--indeed, as if she were all one great, kind heart. * * * * * * April 14th, 10 A. M.--. . . . I did not milk the cows last night, because Mr. Ripley was afraid to trust them to my hands, or me to their horns, I know not which. But this morning I have done wonders. Before breakfast, I went out to the barn and began to chop hay for the cattle, and with such "righteous vehemence," as Mr. Ripley says, did I labor, that in the space of ten minutes I broke the machine. Then I brought wood and replenished the fires; and finally went down to breakfast, and ate up a huge mound of buckwheat cakes. After breakfast, Mr. Ripley put a four-pronged instrument into my hands, which he gave me to understand was called a pitchfork; and he and Mr. Farley being armed with similar weapons, we all three commenced a gallant attack upon a heap of manure. This office being concluded, and I having purified myself, I sit down to finish this letter. . . . Miss Fuller's cow hooks the other cows, and has made herself ruler of the herd, and behaves in a very tyrannical manner. . . . I shall make an excellent husbandman,--I feel the original Adam reviving within me. April 16th.--. . . . Since I last wrote, there has been an addition to our community of four gentlemen in sables, who promise to be among our most useful and respectable members. They arrived yesterday about noon. Mr. Ripley had proposed to them to join us, no longer ago than that very morning. I had some conversation with them in the afternoon, and was glad to hear them express much satisfaction with their new abode and all the arrangements. They do not appear to be very communicative, however, --or perhaps it may be merely an external reserve, like my own, to shield their delicacy. Several of their prominent characteristics, as well as their black attire, lead me to believe that they are members of the clerical profession; but I have not yet ascertained from their own lips what has been the nature of their past lives. I trust to have much pleasure in their society, and, sooner or later, that we shall all of us derive great strength from our intercourse with them. I cannot too highly applaud the readiness with which these four gentlemen in black have thrown aside all the fopperies and flummeries which have their origin in a false state of society. When I last saw them, they looked as heroically regardless of the stains and soils incident to our profession as I did when I emerged from the gold-mine. . . . I have milked a cow!!! . . . . The herd has rebelled against the usurpation of Miss Fuller's heifer; and, whenever they are turned out of the barn, she is compelled to take refuge under our protection. So much did she impede my labors by keeping close to me, that I found it necessary to give her two or three gentle pats with a shovel; but still she preferred to trust herself to my tender mercies, rather than venture among the horns of the herd. She is not an amiable cow; but she has a very intelligent face, and seems to be of a reflective cast of character. I doubt not that she will soon perceive the expediency of being on good terms with the rest of the sisterhood. I have not yet been twenty yards from our house and barn; but I begin to perceive that this is a beautiful place. The scenery is of a mild and placid character, with nothing bold in its aspect; but I think its beauties will grow upon us, and make us love it the more, the longer we live here. There is a brook, so near the house that we shall be able to hear its ripple in the summer evenings, . . . . but, for agricultural purposes, it has been made to flow in a straight and rectangular fashion, which does it infinite damage as a picturesque object. . . . It was a moment or two before I could think whom you meant by Mr. Dismal View. Why, he is one of the best of the brotherhood, so far as cheerfulness goes; for if he do not laugh himself, he makes the rest of us laugh continually. He is the quaintest and queerest personage you ever saw,--full of dry jokes, the humor of which is so incorporated with the strange twistifications of his physiognomy, that his sayings ought to be written down, accompanied with illustrations by Cruikshank. Then he keeps quoting innumerable scraps of Latin, and makes classical allusions, while we are turning over the goldmine; and the contrast between the nature of his employment and the character of his thoughts is irresistibly ludicrous. I have written this epistle in the parlor, while Farmer Ripley, and Farmer Farley, and Farmer Dismal View were talking about their agricultural concerns. So you will not wonder if it is not a classical piece of composition, either in point of thought or expression. * * * * * * Mr. Ripley has bought four black pigs. April 22d.--. . . . What an abominable hand do I scribble! but I have been chopping wood, and turning a grindstone all the forenoon; and such occupations are apt to disturb the equilibrium of the muscles and sinews. It is an endless surprise to me how much work there is to be done in the world; but, thank God, I am able to do my share of it,--and my ability increases daily. What a great, broad-shouldered, elephantine personage I shall become by and by! I milked two cows this morning, and would send you some of the milk, only that it is mingled with that which was drawn forth by Mr. Dismal View and the rest of the brethren. April 28th.--. . . . I was caught by a cold during my visit to Boston. It has not affected my whole frame, but took entire possession of my head, as being the weakest and most vulnerable part. Never did anybody sneeze with such vehemence and frequency; and my poor brain has been in a thick fog; or, rather, it seemed as if my head were stuffed with coarse wool. . . . Sometimes I wanted to wrench it off, and give it a great kick, like a football. This annoyance has made me endure the bad weather with even less than ordinary patience; and my faith was so far exhausted that, when they told me yesterday that the sun was setting clear, I would not even turn my eyes towards the west. But this morning I am made all over anew, and have no greater remnant of my cold than will serve as an excuse for doing no work to-day. The family has been dismal and dolorous throughout the storm. The night before last, William Allen was stung by a wasp on the eyelid; whereupon the whole side of his face swelled to an enormous magnitude, so that, at the breakfast-table, one half of him looked like a blind giant (the eye being closed), and the other half had such a sorrowful and ludicrous aspect that I was constrained to laugh out of sheer pity. The same day, a colony of wasps was discovered in my chamber, where they had remained throughout the winter, and were now just bestirring themselves, doubtless with the intention of stinging me from head to foot A similar discovery was made in Mr. Farley's room. In short, we seem to have taken up our abode in a wasps' nest. Thus you see a rural life is not one of unbroken quiet and serenity. If the middle of the day prove warm and pleasant, I promise myself to take a walk. . . . I have taken one walk with Mr. Farley; and I could not have believed that there was such seclusion at so short a distance from a great city. Many spots seem hardly to have been visited for ages,--not since John Eliot preached to the Indians here. If we were to travel a thousand miles, we could not escape the world more completely than we can here. * * * * * * I read no newspapers, and hardly remember who is President, and feel as if I had no more concern with what other people trouble themselves about than if I dwelt in another planet. May 1st.--. . . . Every day of my life makes me feel more and more how seldom a fact is accurately stated; how, almost invariably, when a story has passed through the mind of a third person, it becomes, so far as regards the impression that it makes in further repetitions, little better than a falsehood, and this, too, though the narrator be the most truth-seeking person in existence. How marvellous the tendency is! . . . Is truth a fantasy which we are to pursue forever and never grasp? * * * * * * My cold has almost entirely departed. Were it a sunny day, I should consider myself quite fit for labor out of doors; but as the ground is so damp, and the atmosphere so chill, and the sky so sullen, I intend to keep myself on the sick-list this one day longer, more especially as I wish to read Carlyle on Heroes. * * * * * * There has been but one flower found in this vicinity,--and that was an anemone, a poor, pale, shivering little flower, that had crept under a stone-wall for shelter. Mr. Farley found it, while taking a walk with me. . . . . This is May-day! Alas, what a difference between the ideal and the real! May 4th.--. . . . My cold no longer troubles me, and all the morning I have been at work under the clear blue sky, on a hillside. Sometimes it almost seemed as if I were at work in the sky itself, though the material in which I wrought was the ore from our gold-mine. Nevertheless, there is nothing so unseemly and disagreeable in this sort of toil as you could think. It defiles the hands, indeed, but not the soul. This gold ore is a pure and wholesome substance, else our mother Nature would not devour it so readily, and derive so much nourishment from it, and return such a rich abundance of good grain and roots in requital of it. The farm is growing very beautiful now,--not that we yet see anything of the peas and potatoes which we have planted; but the grass blushes green on the slopes and hollows. I wrote that word "blush" almost unconsciously; so we will let it go as an inspired utterance. When I go forth afield, . . . . I look beneath the stonewalls, where the verdure is richest, in hopes that a little company of violets, or some solitary bud, prophetic of the summer, may be there. . . . But not a wildflower have I yet found. One of the boys gathered some yellow cowslips last Sunday; but I am well content not to have found them, for they are not precisely what I should like to send to you, though they deserve honor and praise, because they come to us when no others will. We have our parlor here dressed in evergreen as at Christmas. That beautiful little flower-vase . . . . stands on Mr. Ripley's study-table, at which I am now writing. It contains some daffodils and some willow-blossoms. I brought it here rather than keep it in my chamber, because I never sit there, and it gives me many pleasant emotions to look round and be surprised--for it is often a surprise, though I well know that it is there--by something connected with the idea [of a friend]. * * * * * * I do not believe that I should be patient here if I were not engaged in a righteous and heaven-blessed way of life. When I was in the Custom-House and then at Salem I was not half so patient. . . . We had some tableaux last evening, the principal characters being sustained by Mr. Farley and Miss Ellen Slade. They went off very well. . . . I fear it is time for me--sod-compelling as I am--to take the field again. May 11th.--. . . . This morning I arose at milking-time in good trim for work; and we have been employed partly in an Augean labor of clearing out a wood-shed, and partly in carting loads of oak. This afternoon I hope to have something to do in the field, for these jobs about the house are not at all to my taste. June 1st.--. . . . I have been too busy to write a long letter by this opportunity, for I think this present life of mine gives me an antipathy to pen and ink, even more than my Custom-House experience did. . . . In the midst of toil, or after a hard day's work in the goldmine, my soul obstinately refuses to be poured out on paper. That abominable gold-mine! Thank God, we anticipate getting rid of its treasures in the course of two or three days! Of all hateful places that is the worst, and I shall never comfort myself for having spent so many days of blessed sunshine there. It is my opinion that a man's soul may be buried and perish under a dung-heap, or in a furrow of the field, just as well as under a pile of money. Mr. George Bradford will probably be here to-day, so that there will be no danger of my being under the necessity of laboring more than I like hereafter. Meantime my health is perfect, and my spirits buoyant, even in the gold-mine. August 12th.--. . . . I am very well, and not at all weary, for yesterday's rain gave us a holiday; and, moreover, the labors of the farm are not so pressing as they have been. And, joyful thought! in a little more than a fortnight; I shall be free from my bondage,--. . . . free to enjoy Nature,--free to think and feel! . . . . Even my Custom-House experience was not such a thraldom and weariness; my mind and heart were free. O, labor is the curse of the world, and nobody can meddle with it without becoming proportionably brutified! Is it a praiseworthy matter that I have spent five golden months in providing food for cows and horses? It is not so. August 18th.--I am very well, only somewhat tired with walking half a dozen miles immediately after breakfast, and raking hay ever since. We shall quite finish haying this week, and then there will be no more very hard or constant labor during the one other week that I shall remain a slave. August 22d.--. . . . I had an indispensable engagement in the bean-field, whither, indeed, I was glad to betake myself, in order to escape a parting scene with ------. He was quite out of his wits the night before, and I sat up with him till long past midnight. The farm is pleasanter now that he is gone; for his unappeasable wretchedness threw a gloom over everything. Since I last wrote, we have done haying, and the remainder of my bondage will probably be light. It will be a long time, however, before I shall know how to make a good use of leisure, either as regards enjoyment or literary occupation. . . . It is extremely doubtful whether Mr. Ripley will succeed in locating his community on this farm. He can bring Mr. E------ to no terms, and the more they talk about the matter, the further they appear to be from a settlement. We must form other plans for ourselves; for I can see few or no signs that Providence purposes to give us a home here. I am weary, weary, thrice weary, of waiting so many ages. Whatever may be my gifts, I have not hitherto shown a single one that may avail to gather gold. I confess that I have strong hopes of good from this arrangement with M------; but when I look at the scanty avails of my past literary efforts, I do not feel authorized to expect much from the future. Well, we shall see. Other persons have bought large estates and built splendid mansions with such little books as I mean to write; so that perhaps it is not unreasonable to hope that mine may enable me to build a little cottage, or, at least, to buy or hire one. But I am becoming more and more convinced that we must not lean upon this community. Whatever is to be done must be done by my own undivided strength. I shall not remain here through the winter, unless with an absolute certainty that there will be a house ready for us in the spring. Otherwise, I shall return to Boston;--still, however, considering myself an associate of the community, so that we may take advantage of any more favorable aspect of affairs. How much depends on these little books! Methinks if anything could draw out my whole strength, it would be the motives that now press upon me. Yet, after all, I must keep these considerations out of my mind, because an external pressure always disturbs instead of assisting me. Salem, September 3d.--. . . . But really I should judge it to be twenty years since I left Brook Farm; and I take this to be one proof that my life there was an unnatural and unsuitable, and therefore an unreal one. It already looks like a dream behind me. The real Me was never an associate of the community; there has been a spectral Appearance there, sounding the horn at daybreak, and milking the cows, and hoeing potatoes, and raking hay, toiling in the sun, and doing me the honor to assume my name. But this spectre was not myself. Nevertheless, it is somewhat remarkable that my hands have, during the past summer, grown very brown and rough, insomuch that many people persist in believing that I, after all, was the aforesaid spectral horn-sounder, cow-milker, potato-hoer, and hay-raker. But such people do not know a reality from a shadow. Enough of nonsense. I know not exactly how soon I shall return to the farm. Perhaps not sooner than a fortnight, from to-morrow. Salem, September 14th.--. . . . Master Cheever is a very good subject for a sketch, especially if he be portrayed in the very act of executing judgment on an evildoer. The little urchin may be laid across his knee, and his arms and legs, and whole person indeed, should be flying all abroad, in an agony of nervous excitement and corporeal smart. The Master, on the other hand, must be calm, rigid, without anger or pity, the very personification of that immitigable law whereby suffering follows sin. Meantime the lion's head should have a sort of sly twist on one side of its mouth, and a wink of one eye, in order to give the impression that, after all, the crime and the punishment are neither of them the most serious things in the world. I could draw the sketch myself, if I had but the use of ------'s magic fingers. Then the Acadians will do very well for the second sketch. They might be represented as just landing on the wharf; or as presenting themselves before Governor Shirley, seated in the great chair. Another subject might be old Cotton Mather, venerable in a three-cornered hat and other antique attire, walking the streets of Boston, and lifting up his hands to bless the people, while they all revile him. An old dame should be seen, flinging water, or emptying some vials of medicine on his head from the latticed window of an old-fashioned house; and all around must be tokens of pestilence and mourning,--as a coffin borne along,--a woman or children weeping on a doorstep. Can the tolling of the Old South bell be painted? If not this, then the military council, holden at Boston by the Earl of Loudon and other captains and governors, might be taken, his lordship in the great chair, an old-fashioned, military figure, with a star on his breast. Some of Louis XV.'s commanders will give the costume. On the table, and scattered about the room, must be symbols of warfare,--swords, pistols, plumed hats, a drum, trumpet, and rolled-up banner in one leap. It were not amiss to introduce the armed figure of an Indian chief, as taking part in the council,--or standing apart from the English, erect and stern. Now for Liberty Tree. There is an engraving of that famous vegetable in Snow's History of Boston. If represented, I see not what scene can be beneath it, save poor Mr. Oliver, taking the oath. He must have on a bag-wig, ruffled sleeves, embroidered coat, and all such ornaments, because he is the representative of aristocracy and an artificial system. The people may be as rough and wild as the fancy can make them; nevertheless, there must be one or two grave, puritanical figures in the midst. Such an one might sit in the great chair, and be an emblem of that stern, considerate spirit which brought about the Revolution. But this would be a hard subject. But what a dolt am I to obtrude my counsel. . . . September 16th.--. . . . I do not very well recollect Monsieur du Miroir, but, as to Mrs. Bullfrog, I give her up to the severest reprehension. The story was written as a mere experiment in that style; it did not come from any depth within me,--neither my heart nor mind had anything to do with it. I recollect that the Man of Adamant seemed a fine idea to nee when I looked at it prophetically; but I failed in giving shape and substance to the vision which I saw. I don't think it can be very good. . . . I cannot believe all these stories about ------, because such a rascal never could be sustained and countenanced by respectable men. I take him to be neither better nor worse than the average of his tribe. However, I intend to have all my copyrights taken out in my own name; and, if he cheat me once, I will have nothing more to do with him, but will straightway be cheated by some other publisher,--that being, of course, the only alternative. Governor Shirley's young French wife might be the subject of one of the cuts. She should sit in the great chair,--perhaps with a dressing-glass before her,--and arrayed in all manner of fantastic finery, and with an outre French air, while the old Governor is leaning fondly over her, and a puritanic councillor or two are manifesting their disgust in the background. A negro footman and a French waiting-maid might be in attendance. In Liberty Tree might be a vignette, representing the chair in a very shattered, battered, and forlorn condition, after it had been ejected from Hutchinson's house. This would serve to impress the reader with the woful vicissitudes of sublunary things. . . . Did you ever behold such a vile scribble as I write since I became a farmer? My chirography always was abominable, but now it is outrageous. Brook Farm, September 22d, 1841.--. . . . Here I am again, slowly adapting myself to the life of this queer community, whence I seem to have been absent half a lifetime, so utterly have I grown apart from the spirit, and manners of the place. . . . I was most kindly received; and the fields and woods looked very pleasant in the bright sunshine of the day before yesterday. I have a friendlier disposition towards the farm, now that I am no longer obliged to toil in its stubborn furrows. Yesterday and to-day, however, the weather has been intolerable,--cold, chill, sullen, so that it is impossible to be on kindly terms with Mother Nature. . . . I doubt whether I shall succeed in writing another volume of Grandfather's Library while I remain here. I have not the sense of perfect seclusion which has always been essential to my power of producing anything. It is true, nobody intrudes into my room; but still I cannot be quiet. Nothing here is settled; everything is but beginning to arrange itself, and though I would seem to have little to do with aught beside my own thoughts, still I cannot but partake of the ferment around me. My mind will not be abstracted. I must observe, and think, and feel, and content myself with catching glimpses of things which may be wrought out hereafter. Perhaps it will be quite as well that I find myself unable to set seriously about literary occupation for the present. It will be good to have a longer interval between my labor of the body and that of the mind. I shall work to the better purpose after the beginning of November. Meantime I shall see these people and their enterprise under a new point of view, and perhaps be able to determine whether we have any call to cast in our lot among them. * * * * * * I do wish the weather would put off this sulky mood. Had it not been for the warmth and brightness of Monday, when I arrived here, I should have supposed that all sunshine had left Brook Farm forever. I have no disposition to take long walks in such a state of the sky; nor have I any buoyancy of spirit. I am a very dull person just at this time. September 25th.--. . . . One thing is certain. I cannot and will not spend the winter here. The time would be absolutely thrown away so far as regards any literary labor to be performed. . . . The intrusion of an outward necessity into labors of the imagination and intellect is, to me, very painful. . . . I had rather a pleasant walk to a distant meadow a day or two ago, and we found white and purple grapes in great abundance, ripe, and gushing with rich, pure juice when the hand pressed the clusters. Did you know what treasures of wild grapes there are in this land? If we dwell here, we will make our own wine. . . . September 27th.--. . . . Now, as to the affair with ------, I fully confide in your opinion that he intends to make an unequal bargain with poor, simple, innocent me,--never having doubted this myself. But how is he to accomplish it? I am not, nor shall be, the least in his power, whereas he is, to a certain extent, in mine. He might announce his projected Library, with me for the editor, in all the newspapers in the universe; but still I could not be bound to become the editor, unless by my own act; nor should I have the slightest scruple in refusing to be so, at the last moment, if he persisted in treating me with injustice. Then, as for his printing Grandfather's Chair, I have the copyright in my own hands, and could and would prevent the sale, or make him account to me for the profits, in case of need. Meantime he is making arrangements for publishing the Library, contracting with other booksellers, and with printers and engravers, and, with every step, making it more difficult for himself to draw back. I, on the other hand, do nothing which I should not do if the affair with ------ were at an end; for, if I write a book, it will be just as available for some other publisher as for him. Instead of getting me into his power by this delay, he has trusted to my ignorance and simplicity, and has put himself in my power. He is not insensible of this. At our last interview, he himself introduced the subject of the bargain, and appeared desirous to close it. But I was not prepared,--among other reasons, because I do not yet see what materials I shall have for the republications in the Library; the works that he has shown me being ill adapted for that purpose; and I wish first to see some French and German books which he has sent for to New York. And, before concluding the bargain, I have promised George Hillard to consult him, and let him do the business. Is not this consummate discretion? and am I not perfectly safe? . . . . I look at the matter with perfect composure, and see all round my own position, and know that it is impregnable. * * * * * * I was elected to two high offices last night,--viz. to be a trustee of the Brook Farm estate, and Chairman of the Committee of Finance! . . . . From the nature of my office, I shall have the chief direction of all the money affairs of the community, the making of bargains, the supervision of receipts and expenditures, etc., etc., etc. . . . My accession to these august offices does not at all decide the question of my remaining here permanently. I told Mr. Ripley that I could not spend the winter at the farm, and that it was quite uncertain whether I returned in the spring. . . . Take no part, I beseech you, in these magnetic miracles. I am unwilling that a power should be exercised on you of which we know neither the origin nor consequence, and the phenomena of which seem rather calculated to bewilder us than to teach us any truths about the present or future state of being. . . . Supposing that the power arises from the transfusion of one spirit into another, it seems to me that the sacredness of an individual is violated by it; there would be an intruder into the holy of holies. . . . I have no faith whatever, that people are raised to the seventh heaven, or to any heaven at all, or that they gain any insight into the mysteries of life beyond death by means of this strange science. Without distrusting that the phenomena have really occurred, I think that they are to be accounted for as the result of a material and physical, not of a spiritual, influence. Opium has produced many a brighter vision of heaven, I fancy, and just as susceptible of proof as these. They are dreams. . . . And what delusion can be more lamentable and mischievous, than to mistake the physical and material for the spiritual? what so miserable as to lose the soul's true, though hidden knowledge and consciousness of heaven in the mist of an earth-born vision? If we would know what heaven is before we come thither, let us retire into the depths of our own spirits, and we shall find it there among holy thoughts and feelings; but let us not degrade high heaven and its inhabitants into any such symbols and forms as Miss L------ describes; do not let an earthly effluence from Mrs. P------'s corporeal system bewilder and perhaps contaminate something spiritual and sacred. I should as soon think of seeking revelations of the future state in the rottenness of the grave,--where so many do seek it. . . . The view which I take of this matter is caused by no want of faith in mysteries; but from a deep reverence of the soul, and of the mysteries which it knows within itself, but never transmits to the earthly eye and ear. Keep the imagination sane,--that is one of the truest conditions of communion with heaven. Brook Farm, September 26th.--A walk this morning along the Needham road. A clear, breezy morning, after nearly a week of cloudy and showery weather. The grass is much more fresh and vivid than it was last month, and trees still retain much of their verdure, though here and there is a shrub or a bough arrayed in scarlet and gold. Along the road, in the midst of a beaten track, I saw mushrooms or toadstools which had sprung up probably during the night. The houses in this vicinity are, many of them, quite antique, with long, sloping roots, commencing at a few feet from the ground, and ending in a lofty peak. Some of them have huge old elms overshadowing the yard. One may see the family sleigh near the door, it having stood there all through the summer sunshine, and perhaps with weeds sprouting through the crevices of its bottom, the growth of the months since snow departed. Old barns, patched and supported by timbers leaning against the sides, and stained with the excrement of past ages. In the forenoon I walked along the edge of the meadow towards Cow Island. Large trees, almost a wood, principally of pine with the green pasture-glades intermixed, and cattle feeding. They cease grazing when an intruder appears, and look at him with long and wary observation, then bend their heads to the pasture again. Where the firm ground of the pasture ceases, the meadow begins, loose, spongy, yielding to the tread, sometimes permitting the foot to sink into black mud, or perhaps over ankles in water. Cattle-paths, somewhat firmer than the general surface, traverse the dense shrubbery which has overgrown the meadow. This shrubbery consists of small birch, elders, maples, and other trees, with here and there white-pines of larger growth. The whole is tangled and wild and thick-set, so that it is necessary to part the nestling stems and branches, and go crashing through. There are creeping plants of various sorts which clamber up the trees; and some of them have changed color in the slight frosts which already have befallen these low grounds, so that one sees a spiral wreath of scarlet leaves twining up to the top of a green tree, intermingling its bright hues with their verdure, as if all were of one piece. Sometimes, instead of scarlet, the spiral wreath is of a golden yellow. Within the verge of the meadow, mostly near the firm shore of pasture ground, I found several grapevines, hung with an abundance of large purple grapes. The vines had caught hold of maples and alders, and climbed to the summit, curling round about and interwreathing their twisted folds in so intimate a manner that it was not easy to tell the parasite from the supporting tree or shrub. Sometimes the same vine had enveloped several shrubs, and caused a strange, tangled confusion, converting all these poor plants to the purpose of its own support, and hindering their growing to their own benefit and convenience. The broad vine-leaves, some of them yellow or yellowish-tinged, were seen apparently growing on the same stems with the silver-mapled leaves, and those of the other shrubs, thus married against their will by the conjugal twine; and the purple clusters of grapes hung down from above and in the midst so that one might "gather grapes," if not "of thorns," yet of as alien bushes. One vine had ascended almost to the tip of a large white-pine, spreading its leaves and hanging its purple clusters among all its boughs,--still climbing and clambering, as if it would not be content till it had crowned the very summit with a wreath of its own foliage and bunches of grapes. I mounted high into the tree, and ate the fruit there, while the vine wreathed still higher into the depths above my head. The grapes were sour, being not yet fully ripe. Some of them, however, were sweet and pleasant. September 27th.--A ride to Brighton yesterday morning, it being the day of the weekly cattle-fair. William Allen and myself went in a wagon, carrying a calf to be sold at the fair. The calf had not had his breakfast, as his mother had preceded him to Brighton, and he kept expressing his hunger and discomfort by loud, sonorous baas, especially when we passed any cattle in the fields or in the road. The cows, grazing within hearing, expressed great interest, and some of them came galloping to the roadside to behold the calf. Little children, also, on their way to school, stopped to laugh and point at poor little Bessie. He was a prettily behaved urchin, and kept thrusting his hairy muzzle between William and myself, apparently wishing to be stroked and patted. It was an ugly thought that his confidence in human nature, and nature in general, was to be so ill rewarded as by cutting his throat, and selling him in quarters. This, I suppose, has been his fate before now! It was a beautiful morning, clear as crystal, with an invigorating, but not disagreeable coolness. The general aspect of the country was as green as summer,--greener indeed than mid or latter summer,--and there were occasional interminglings of the brilliant hues of autumn, which made the scenery more beautiful, both visibly and in sentiment. We saw no absolutely mean nor poor-looking abodes along the road. There were warm and comfortable farm-houses, ancient, with the porch, the sloping roof, the antique peak, the clustered chimney, of old times; and modern cottages, smart and tasteful; and villas, with terraces before them, and dense shade, and wooden urns on pillars, and other such tokens of gentility. Pleasant groves of oak and walnut, also, there were, sometimes stretching along valleys, sometimes ascending a hill and clothing it all round, so as to make it a great clump of verdure. Frequently we passed people with cows, oxen, sheep, or pigs for Brighton Fair. On arriving at Brighton, we found the village thronged with people, horses, and vehicles. Probably there is no place in New England where the character of an agricultural population may be so well studied. Almost all the farmers within a reasonable distance make it a point, I suppose, to attend Brighton Fair pretty frequently, if not on business, yet as amateurs. Then there are all the cattle-people and butchers who supply the Boston market, and dealers from far and near; and every man who has a cow or a yoke of oxen, whether to sell or buy, goes to Brighton on Monday. There were a thousand or two of cattle in the extensive pens belonging to the tavern-keeper, besides many that were standing about. One could hardly stir a step without running upon the horns of one dilemma or another, in the shape of ox, cow, bull, or ram. The yeomen appeared to be more in their element than I have ever seen them anywhere else, except, indeed, at labor,--more so than at musterings and such gatherings of amusement. And yet this was a sort of festal day, as well as a day of business. Most of the people were of a bulky make, with much bone and muscle, and some good store of fat, as if they had lived on flesh-diet; with mottled faces, too, hard and red, like those of persons who adhered to the old fashion of spirit-drinking. Great, round-paunched country squires were there too, sitting under the porch of the tavern, or waddling about, whip in hand, discussing the points of the cattle. There were also gentlemen-farmers, neatly, trimly, and fashionably dressed, in handsome surtouts, and trousers strapped under their boots. Yeomen, too, in their black or blue Sunday suits, cut by country tailors, and awkwardly worn. Others (like myself) had on the blue stuff frocks which they wear in the fields, the most comfortable garments that ever were invented. Country loafers were among the throng,--men who looked wistfully at the liquors in the bar, and waited for some friend to invite them to drink,--poor, shabby, out-at-elbowed devils. Also, dandies from the city, corseted and buckramed, who had come to see the humors of Brighton Fair. All these, and other varieties of mankind, either thronged the spacious bar-room of the hotel, drinking, smoking, talking, bargaining, or walked about among the cattle-pens, looking with knowing eyes at the horned people. The owners of the cattle stood near at hand, waiting for offers. There was something indescribable in their aspect, that showed them to be the owners, though they mixed among the crowd. The cattle, brought from a hundred separate farms, or rather from a thousand, seemed to agree very well together, not quarrelling in the least. They almost all had a history, no doubt, if they could but have told it. The cows had each given her milk to support families,--had roamed the pastures, and come home to the barn-yard, had been looked upon as a sort of member of the domestic circle, and was known by a name, as Brindle or Cherry. The oxen, with their necks bent by the heavy yoke, had toiled in the plough-field and in haying-time for many years, and knew their master's stall as well as the master himself knew his own table. Even the young steers and the little calves had something of domestic sacredness about them; for children had watched their growth, and petted them, and played with them. And here they all were, old and young, gathered from their thousand homes to Brighton Fair; whence the great chance was that they would go to the slaughter-house, and thence be transmitted, in sirloins, joints, and such pieces, to the tables of the Boston folk. William Allen had come to buy four little pigs to take the places of four who have now grown large at our farm, and are to be fatted and killed within a few weeks. There were several hundreds, in pens appropriated to their use, grunting discordantly, and apparently in no very good humor with their companions or the world at large. Most or many of these pigs had been imported from the State of New York. The drovers set out with a large number, and peddle them along the road till they arrive at Brighton with the remainder. William selected four, and bought them at five cents per pound. These poor little porkers were forthwith seized by the tails, their legs tied, and they thrown into our wagon, where they kept up a continual grunt and squeal till we got home. Two of them were yellowish, or light gold-color, the other two were black and white speckled; and all four of very piggish aspect and deportment. One of them snapped at William's finger most spitefully, and bit it to the bone. All the scene of the Fair was very characteristic and peculiar,--cheerful and lively, too, in the bright, warm sun. I must see it again; for it ought to be studied. September 28th.--A picnic party in the woods, yesterday, in honor of little Frank Dana's birthday, he being six years old. I strolled out, after dinner, with Mr. Bradford, and in a lonesome glade we met the apparition of an Indian chief, dressed in appropriate costume of blanket, feathers, and paint, and armed with a musket. Almost at the same time, a young gypsy fortune-teller came from among the trees, and proposed to tell my fortune. While she was doing this, the goddess Diana let fly an arrow, and hit me smartly in the hand. The fortune-teller and goddess were in fine contrast, Diana being a blonde, fair, quiet, with a moderate composure; and the gypsy (O. G.) a bright, vivacious, dark-haired, rich-complexioned damsel,--both of them very pretty, at least pretty enough to make fifteen years enchanting. Accompanied by these denizens of the wild wood, we went onward, and came to a company of fantastic figures, arranged in a ring for a dance or a game. There was a Swiss girl, an Indian squaw, a negro of the Jim Crow order, one or two foresters, and several people in Christian attire, besides children of all ages. Then followed childish games, in which the grown people took part with mirth enough,--while I, whose nature it is to be a mere spectator both of sport and serious business, lay under the trees and looked on. Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson and Miss Fuller, who arrived an hour or two before, came forth into the little glade where we were assembled. Here followed much talk. The ceremonies of the day concluded with a cold collation of cakes and fruit. All was pleasant enough,--an excellent piece of work,--"would 't were done!" It has left a fantastic impression on my memory, this intermingling of wild and fabulous characters with real and homely ones, in the secluded nook of the woods. I remember them, with the sunlight breaking through overshadowing branches, and they appearing and disappearing confusedly,--perhaps starting out of the earth; as if the every-day laws of nature were suspended for this particular occasion. There were the children, too, laughing and sporting about, as if they were at home among such strange shapes,--and anon bursting into loud uproar of lamentation, when the rude gambols of the merry archers chanced to overturn them. And apart, with a shrewd, Yankee observation of the scene, stands our friend Orange, a thick-set, sturdy figure, enjoying the fun well enough, yet rather laughing with a perception of its nonsensicalness than at all entering into the spirit of the thing. This morning I have been helping to gather apples. The principal farm labors at this time are ploughing for winter rye, and breaking up the greensward for next year's crop of potatoes, gathering squashes, and not much else, except such year-round employments as milking. The crop of rye, to be sure, is in process of being thrashed, at odd intervals. I ought to have mentioned among the diverse and incongruous growths of the picnic party our two Spanish boys from Manilla;--Lucas, with his heavy features and almost mulatto complexion; and Jose, slighter, with rather a feminine face,--not a gay, girlish one, but grave, reserved, eying you sometimes with an earnest but secret expression, and causing you to question what sort of person he is. Friday, October 1st.--I have been looking at our four swine,--not of the last lot, but those in process of fattening. They lie among the clean rye straw in the sty, nestling close together; for they seem to be beasts sensitive to the cold, and this is a clear, bright, crystal morning, with a cool northwest-wind. So there lie these four black swine, as deep among the straw as they can burrow, the very symbols of slothful ease and sensuous comfort. They seem to be actually oppressed and overburdened with comfort. They are quick to notice any one's approach, and utter a low grunt thereupon,--not drawing a breath for that particular purpose, but grunting with their ordinary breath,--at the same time turning an observant, though dull and sluggish eye upon the visitor. They seem to be involved and buried in their own corporeal substance, and to look dimly forth at the outer world. They breathe not easily, and yet not with difficulty nor discomfort; for the very unreadiness and oppression with which their breath cones appears to make them sensible of the deep sensual satisfaction which they feel. Swill, the remnant of their last meal, remains in the trough, denoting that their food is more abundant than even a hog can demand. Anon they fall asleep, drawing short and heavy breaths, which heave their huge sides up and down; but at the slightest noise they sluggishly unclose their eyes, and give another gentle grunt. They also grunt among themselves, without any external cause; but merely to express their swinish sympathy. I suppose it is the knowledge that these four grunters are doomed to die within two or three weeks that gives them a sort of awfulness in my conception. It makes me contrast their present gross substance of fleshly life with the nothingness speedily to come. Meantime the four newly bought pigs are running about the cow-yard, lean, active, shrewd, investigating everything, as their nature is. When I throw an apple among them, they scramble with one another for the prize, and the successful one scampers away to eat it at leisure. They thrust their snouts into the mud, and pick a grain of corn out of the rubbish. Nothing within their sphere do they leave unexamined, grunting all the time with infinite variety of expression. Their language is the most copious of that of any quadruped, and, indeed, there is something deeply and indefinably interesting in the swinish race. They appear the more a mystery the longer one gazes at them. It seems as if there were an important meaning to them, if one could but find it out. One interesting trait in them is their perfect independence of character. They care not for man, and will not adapt themselves to his notions, as other beasts do; but are true to themselves, and act out their hoggish nature. October 7th.--Since Saturday last (it being now Thursday), I have been in Boston and Salem, and there has been a violent storm and rain during the whole time. This morning shone as bright as if it meant to make up for all the dismalness of the past days. Our brook, which in the summer was no longer a running stream, but stood in pools along its pebbly course, is now full from one grassy verge to the other, and hurries along with a murmuring rush. It will continue to swell, I suppose, and in the winter and spring it will flood all the broad meadows through which it flows. I have taken a long walk this forenoon along the Needham road, and across the bridge, thence pursuing a cross-road through the woods, parallel with the river, which I crossed again at Dedham. Most of the road lay through a growth of young oaks principally. They still retain their verdure, though, looking closely in among them, one perceives the broken sunshine falling on a few sere or bright-hued tufts of shrubbery. In low, marshy spots, on the verge of the meadows or along the river-side, there is a much more marked autumnal change. Whole ranges of bushes are there painted with many variegated lines, not of the brightest tint, but of a sober cheerfulness. I suppose this is owing more to the late rains than to the frost; for a heavy rain changes the foliage somewhat at this season. The first marked frost was seen last Saturday morning. Soon after sunrise it lay, white as snow, over all the grass, and on the tops of the fences, and in the yard, on the heap of firewood. On Sunday, I think, there was a fall of snow, which, however, did not lie on the ground a moment. There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is peculiarly genial; and in sheltered places, as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house, one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine. It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature. And the green grass, strewn with a few withered leaves, looks the more green and beautiful for them. In summer or spring, Nature is farther from one's sympathies. October 8th.--Another gloomy day, lowering with portents of rain close at hand. I have walked up into the pastures this morning, and looked about me a little. The woods present a very diversified appearance just now, with perhaps more varieties of tint than they are destined to wear at a somewhat later period. There are some strong yellow hues, and some deep red; there are innumerable shades of green, some few having the depth of summer; others, partially changed towards yellow, look freshly verdant with the delicate tinge of early summer or of May. Then there is the solemn and dark green of the pines. The effect is, that every tree in the wood and every bush among the shrubbery has a separate existence, since, confusedly intermingled, each wears its peculiar color, instead of being lost in the universal emerald of summer. And yet there is a oneness of effect likewise, when we choose to look at a whole sweep of woodland instead of analyzing its component trees. Scattered over the pasture, which the late rains have kept tolerably green, there are spots or islands of dusky red,--a deep, substantial line, very well fit to be close to the ground,--while the yellow, and light, fantastic shades of green soar upward to the sky. These red spots are the blueberry and whortleberry bushes. The sweetfern is changed mostly to russet, but still retains its wild and delightful fragrance when pressed in the hand. Wild China-asters are scattered about, but beginning to wither. A little while ago, mushrooms or toadstools were very numerous along the wood-paths and by the roadsides, especially after rain. Some were of spotless white, some yellow, and some scarlet. They are always mysteries and objects of interest to me, springing as they do so suddenly from no root or seed, and growing one wonders why. I think, too, that some varieties are pretty objects, little fairy tables, centre-tables, standing on one leg. But their growth appears to be checked now, and they are of a brown tint and decayed. The farm business to-day is to dig potatoes. I worked a little at it. The process is to grasp all the stems of a hill and pull them up. A great many of the potatoes are thus pulled, clinging to the stems and to one another in curious shapes,--long red things, and little round ones, imbedded in the earth which clings to the roots. These being plucked off, the rest of the potatoes are dug out of the hill with a hoe, the tops being flung into a heap for the cow-yard. On my way home, I paused to inspect the squash-field. Some of the squashes lay in heaps as they were gathered, presenting much variety of shape and hue,--as golden yellow, like great lumps of gold, dark green, striped and variegated; and some were round, and some lay curling their long necks, nestling, as it were, and seeming as if they had life. In my walk yesterday forenoon I passed an old house which seemed to be quite deserted. It was a two-story, wooden house, dark and weather-beaten. The front windows, some of them, were shattered and open, and others were boarded up. Trees and shrubbery were growing neglected, so as quite to block up the lower part. There was an aged barn near at hand, so ruinous that it had been necessary to prop it up. There were two old carts, both of which had lost a wheel. Everything was in keeping. At first I supposed that there would be no inhabitants in such a dilapidated place; but, passing on, I looked back, and saw a decrepit and infirm old man at the angle of the house, its fit occupant. The grass, however, was very green and beautiful around this dwelling, and, the sunshine falling brightly on it, the whole effect was cheerful and pleasant. It seemed as if the world was so glad that this desolate old place, where there was never to be any more hope and happiness, could not at all lessen the general effect of joy. I found a small turtle by the roadside, where he had crept to warm himself in the genial sunshine. He had a sable back, and underneath his shell was yellow, and at the edges bright scarlet. His head, tail, and claws were striped yellow, black, and red. He withdrew himself as far as he possibly could into his shell, and absolutely refused to peep out, even when I put him into the water. Finally, I threw him into a deep pool and left him. These mailed gentlemen, from the size of a foot or more down to an inch, were very numerous in the spring; and now the smaller kind appear again. Saturday, October 9th.--Still dismal weather. Our household, being composed in great measure of children and young people, is generally a cheerful one enough, even in gloomy weather. For a week past we have been especially gladdened with a little seamstress from Boston, about seventeen years old; but of such a petite figure, that, at first view, one would take her to be hardly in her teens. She is very vivacious and smart, laughing and singing and talking all the time,--talking sensibly; but still taking the view of matters that a city girl naturally would. If she were larger than she is, and of less pleasing aspect, I think she might be intolerable; but being so small, and with a fair skin, and as healthy as a wild-flower, she is really very agreeable; and to look at her face is like being shone upon by a ray of the sun. She never walks, but bounds and dances along, and this motion, in her diminutive person, does not give the idea of violence. It is like a bird, hopping from twig to twig, and chirping merrily all the time. Sometimes she is rather vulgar, but even that works well enough into her character, and accords with it. On continued observation, one discovers that she is not a little girl, but really a little woman, with all the prerogatives and liabilities of a woman. This gives a new aspect to her, while the girlish impression still remains, and is strangely combined with the sense that this frolicsome maiden has the material for the sober bearing of a wife. She romps with the boys, runs races with them in the yard, and up and down the stairs, and is heard scolding laughingly at their rough play. She asks William Allen to place her "on top of that horse," whereupon he puts his large brown hands about her waist, and, swinging her to and fro, lifts her on horseback. William threatens to rivet two horseshoes round her neck, for having clambered, with the other girls and boys, upon a load of hay, whereby the said load lost its balance and slid off the cart. She strings the seed-berries of roses together, making a scarlet necklace of them, which she fastens about her throat. She gathers flowers of everlasting to wear in her bonnet, arranging them with the skill of a dress-maker. In the evening, she sits singing by the hour, with the musical part of the establishment, often breaking into laughter, whereto she is incited by the tricks of the boys. The last thing one hears of her, she is tripping up stairs to bed, talking lightsomely or warbling; and one meets her in the morning, the very image of bright morn itself, smiling briskly at you, so that one takes her for a promise of cheerfulness through the day. Be it said, with all the rest, that there is a perfect maiden modesty in her deportment. She has just gone away, and the last I saw of her was her vivacious face peeping through the curtain of the cariole, and nodding a gay farewell to the family, who were shouting their adieus at the door. With her other merits, she is an excellent daughter, and supports her mother by the labor of her hands. It would be difficult to conceive beforehand how much can be added to the enjoyment of a household by mere sunniness of temper and liveliness of disposition; for her intellect is very ordinary, and she never says anything worth hearing, or even laughing at, in itself. But she herself is an expression well worth studying. Brook Farm, October 9th.--A walk this afternoon to Cow Island. The clouds had broken away towards noon, and let forth a few sunbeams, and more and more blue sky ventured to appear, till at last it was really warm and sunny,--indeed, rather too warm in the sheltered hollows, though it is delightful to be too warm now, after so much stormy chillness. O the beauty of grassy slopes, and the hollow ways of paths winding between hills, and the intervals between the road and wood-lots, where Summer lingers and sits down, strewing dandelions of gold, and blue asters, as her parting gifts and memorials! I went to a grapevine, which I have already visited several times, and found some clusters of grapes still remaining, and now perfectly ripe. Coming within view of the river, I saw several wild ducks under the shadow of the opposite shore, which was high, and covered with a grove of pines. I should not have discovered the ducks had they not risen and skimmed the surface of the glassy stream, breaking its dark water with a bright streak, and, sweeping round, gradually rose high enough to fly away. I likewise started a partridge just within the verge of the woods, and in another place a large squirrel ran across the wood-path from one shelter of trees to the other. Small birds, in flocks, were flitting about the fields, seeking and finding I know not what sort of food. There were little fish, also, darting in shoals through the pools and depths of the brooks, which are now replenished to their brims, and rush towards the river with a swift, amber-colored current. Cow Island is not an island,--at least, at this season,--though, I believe, in the time of freshets, the marshy Charles floods the meadows all round about it, and extends across its communication with the mainland. The path to it is a very secluded one, threading a wood of pines, and just wide enough to admit the loads of meadow hay which are drawn from the splashy shore of the river. The island has a growth of stately pines, with tall and ponderous stems, standing at distance enough to admit the eve to travel far among them; and, as there is no underbrush, the effect is somewhat like looking among the pillars of a church. I returned home by the high-road. On my right, separated from the road by a level field, perhaps fifty yards across, was a range of young forest-trees, dressed in their garb of autumnal glory. The sun shone directly upon them; and sunlight is like the breath of life to the pomp of autumn. In its absence, one doubts whether there be any truth in what poets have told about the splendor of an American autumn; but when this charm is added, one feels that the effect is beyond description. As I beheld it to-day, there was nothing dazzling; it was gentle and mild, though brilliant and diversified, and had a most quiet and pensive influence. And yet there were some trees that seemed really made of sunshine, and others were of a sunny red, and the whole picture was painted with but little relief of darksome lines, only a few evergreens. But there was nothing inharmonious; and, on closer examination, it appeared that all the tints had a relationship among themselves. And this, I suppose, is the reason that, while nature seems to scatter them so carelessly, they still never shock the beholder by their contrasts, nor disturb, but only soothe. The brilliant scarlet and the brilliant yellow are different lines of the maple-leaves, and the first changes into the last. I saw one maple-tree, its centre yellow as gold, set in a framework of red. The native poplars have different shades of green, verging towards yellow, and are very cheerful in the sunshine. Most of the oak-leaves have still the deep verdure of summer; but where a change has taken place, it is into a russet-red, warm, but sober. These colors, infinitely varied by the progress which different trees have made in their decay, constitute almost the whole glory of autumnal woods; but it is impossible to conceive how much is done with such scanty materials. In my whole walk I saw only one man, and he was at a distance, in the obscurity of the trees. He had a horse and a wagon, and was getting a load of dry brushwood. Sunday, October 10th.--I visited my grapevine this afternoon, and ate the last of its clusters. This vine climbs around a young maple-tree, which has now assumed the yellow leaf. The leaves of the vine are more decayed than those of the maple. Thence to Cow Island, a solemn and thoughtful walk. Returned by another path of the width of a wagon, passing through a grove of hard wood, the lightsome hues of which make the walk more cheerful than among the pines. The roots of oaks emerged from the soil, and contorted themselves across the path. The sunlight, also, broke across in spots, and otherwheres the shadow was deep; but still there was intermingling enough of bright hues to keep off the gloom from the whole path. Brooks and pools have a peculiar aspect at this season. One knows that the water must be cold, and one shivers a little at the sight of it; and yet the grass about the pool may be of the deepest green, and the sun may be shining into it. The withered leaves which overhanging trees shed upon its surface contribute much to the effect. Insects have mostly vanished in the fields and woods. I hear locusts yet, singing in the sunny hours, and crickets have not yet finished their song. Once in a while I see a caterpillar,--this afternoon, for instance, a red, hairy one, with black head and tail. They do not appear to be active, and it makes one rather melancholy to look at them. Tuesday, October 12th.--The cawing of the crow resounds among the woods. A sentinel is aware of your approach a great way off, and gives the alarm to his comrades loudly and eagerly,--Caw, caw, caw! Immediately the whole conclave replies, and you behold them rising above the trees, flapping darkly, and winging their way to deeper solitudes. Sometimes, however, they remain till you come near enough to discern their sable gravity of aspect, each occupying a separate bough, or perhaps the blasted tip-top of a pine. As you approach, one after another, with loud cawing, flaps his wings and throws himself upon the air. There is hardly a more striking feature in the landscape nowadays than the red patches of blueberry and whortleberry bushes, as seen on a sloping hillside, like islands among the grass, with trees growing in them; or crowning the summit of a bare, brown hill with their somewhat russet liveliness; or circling round the base of an earth-imbedded rock. At a distance, this hue, clothing spots and patches of the earth, looks more like a picture than anything else,--yet such a picture as I never saw painted. The oaks are now beginning to look sere, and their leaves have withered borders. It is pleasant to notice the wide circle of greener grass beneath the circumference of an overshadowing oak. Passing an orchard, one hears an uneasy rustling in the trees, and not as if they were struggling with the wind. Scattered about are barrels to contain the gathered apples; and perhaps a great heap of golden or scarlet apples is collected in one place. Wednesday, October 13th.--A good view, from an upland swell of our pasture, across the valley of the river Charles. There is the meadow, as level as a floor, and carpeted with green, perhaps two miles from the rising ground on this side of the river to that on the opposite side. The stream winds through the midst of the flat space, without any banks at all; for it fills its bed almost to the brim, and bathes the meadow grass on either side. A tuft of shrubbery, at broken intervals, is scattered along its border; and thus it meanders sluggishly along, without other life than what it gains from gleaming in the sun. Now, into the broad, smooth meadow, as into a lake, capes and headlands put themselves forth, and shores of firm woodland border it, covered with variegated foliage, making the contrast so much the stronger of their height and rough outline with the even spread of the plain. And beyond, and far away, rises a long, gradual swell of country, covered with an apparently dense growth of foliage for miles, till the horizon terminates it; and here and there is a house, or perhaps two, among the contiguity of trees. Everywhere the trees wear their autumnal dress, so that the whole landscape is red, russet, orange, and yellow, blending in the distance into a rich tint of brown-orange, or nearly that,--except the green expanse so definitely hemmed in by the higher ground. I took a long walk this morning, going first nearly to Newton, thence nearly to Brighton, thence to Jamaica Plain, and thence home. It was a fine morning, with a northwest-wind; cool when facing the wind, but warm and most genially pleasant in sheltered spots; and warm enough everywhere while I was in motion. I traversed most of the by-ways which offered themselves to me; and, passing through one in which there was a double line of grass between the wheel-tracks and that of the horses' feet, I came to where had once stood a farm-house, which appeared to have been recently torn down. Most of the old timber and boards had been carted away; a pile of it, however, remained. The cellar of the house was uncovered, and beside it stood the base and middle height of the chimney. The oven, in which household bread had been baked for daily food, and puddings and cake and jolly pumpkin-pies for festivals, opened its month, being deprived of its iron door. The fireplace was close at hand. All round the site of the house was a pleasant, sunny, green space, with old fruit-trees in pretty fair condition, though aged. There was a barn, also aged, but in decent repair; and a ruinous shed, on the corner of which was nailed a boy's windmill, where it had probably been turning and clattering for years together, till now it was black with time and weather-stain. It was broken, but still it went round whenever the wind stirred. The spot was entirely secluded, there being no other house within a mile or two. No language can give an idea of the beauty and glory of the trees, just at this moment. It would be easy, by a process of word-daubing, to set down a confused group of gorgeous colors, like a bunch of tangled skeins of bright silk; but there is nothing of the reality in the glare which would thus be produced. And yet the splendor both of individual clusters and of whole scenes is unsurpassable. The oaks are now far advanced in their change of hue; and, in certain positions relatively to the sun, they light up and gleam with a most magnificent deep gold, varying according as portions of the foliage are in shadow or sunlight. On the sides which receive the direct rays, the effect is altogether rich; and in other points of view it is equally beautiful, if less brilliant. This color of the oak is more superb than the lighter yellow of the maples and walnuts. The whole landscape is now covered with this indescribable pomp; it is discerned on the uplands afar off; and Blue Hill in Milton, at the distance of several miles, actually glistens with rich, dark light,--no, not glistens, nor gleams,--but perhaps to say glows subduedly will be a truer expression for it. Met few people this morning; a grown girl, in company with a little boy, gathering barberries in a secluded lane; a portly, autumnal gentleman, wrapped in a greatcoat, who asked the way to Mr. Joseph Goddard's; and a fish-cart from the city, the driver of which sounded his horn along the lonesome way. Monday, October 18th.--There has been a succession of days which were cold and bright in the forenoon, and gray, sullen, and chill towards night. The woods have now taken a soberer tint than they wore at my last date. Many of the shrubs which looked brightest a little while ago are now wholly bare of leaves. The oaks have generally a russet-brown shade, although some of them are still green, as are likewise other scattered trees in the forests. The bright yellow and the rich scarlet are no more to be seen. Scarcely any of them will now bear a close examination; for this shows them to be rugged, wilted, and of faded, frost-bitten hue; but at a distance, and in the mass, and enlivened by the sun, they have still somewhat of the varied splendor which distinguished them a week ago. It is wonderful what a difference the sunshine makes; it is like varnish, bringing out the hidden veins in a piece of rich wood. In the cold, gray atmosphere, such as that of most of our afternoons now, the landscape lies dark,--brown, and in a much deeper shadow than if it were clothed in green. But, perchance, a gleam of sun falls on a certain spot of distant shrubbery or woodland, and we see it brighten with many lines, standing forth prominently from the dimness around it. The sunlight gradually spreads, and the whole sombre scene is changed to a motley picture,--the sun bringing out many shades of color, and converting its gloom to an almost laughing cheerfulness. At such times I almost doubt whether the foliage has lost any of its brilliancy. But the clouds intercept the sun again, and lo! old Autumn appears, clad in his cloak of russet-brown. Beautiful now, while the general landscape lies in shadow, looks the summit of a distant hill (say a mile off), with the sunshine brightening the trees that cover it. It is noticeable that the outlines of hills, and the whole bulk of them at the distance of several miles, become stronger, denser, and more substantial in this autumn atmosphere and in these autumnal tints than in summer. Then they looked blue, misty, and dim. Now they show their great humpbacks more plainly, as if they had drawn nearer to us. A waste of shrubbery and small trees, such as overruns the borders of the meadows for miles together, looks much more rugged, wild, and savage in its present brown color than when clad in green. I passed through a very pleasant wood-path yesterday, quite shut in and sheltered by trees that had not thrown off their yellow robes. The sun shone strongly in among them, and quite kindled them; so that the path was brighter for their shade than if it had been quite exposed to the sun. In the village graveyard, which lies contiguous to the street, I saw a man digging a grave, and one inhabitant after another turned aside from his way to look into the grave and talk with the digger. I heard him laugh, with the traditionary mirthfulness of men of that occupation. In the hollow of the woods, yesterday afternoon, I lay a long while watching a squirrel, who was capering about among the trees over my head (oaks and white-pines, so close together that their branches intermingled). The squirrel seemed not to approve of my presence, for he frequently uttered a sharp, quick, angry noise, like that of a scissors-grinder's wheel. Sometimes I could see him sitting on an impending bough, with his tail over his hack, looking down pryingly upon me. It seems to be a natural posture with him, to sit on his hind legs, holding up his fore paws. Anon, with a peculiarly quick start, he would scramble along the branch, and be lost to sight in another part of the tree, whence his shrill chatter would again be heard. Then I would see him rapidly descending the trunk, and running along the ground; and a moment afterwards, casting my eye upward, I beheld him flitting like a bird among the high limbs at the summit, directly above me. Afterwards, he apparently became accustomed to my society, and set about some business of his own. He came down to the ground, took up a piece of a decayed bough (a heavy burden for such a small personage), and, with this in his mouth, again climbed up and passed from the branches of one tree to those of another, and thus onward and onward till he went out of sight. Shortly afterwards he returned for another burden, and this he repeated several times. I suppose he was building a nest,--at least, I know not what else could have been his object. Never was there such an active, cheerful, choleric, continually-in-motion fellow as this little red squirrel, talking to himself, chattering at me, and as sociable in his own person as if he had half a dozen companions, instead of being alone in the lonesome wood. Indeed, he flitted about so quickly, and showed himself in different places so suddenly, that I was in some doubt whether there were not two or three of them. I must mention again the very beautiful effect produced by the masses of berry-bushes, lying like scarlet islands in the midst of withered pasture-ground, or crowning the tops of barren hills. Their hue, at a distance, is lustrous scarlet, although it does not look nearly as bright and gorgeous when examined close at hand. But at a proper distance it is a beautiful fringe on Autumn's petticoat. Friday, October 22d.--A continued succession of unpleasant, Novembery days, and autumn has made rapid progress in the work of decay. It is now somewhat of a rare good fortune to find a verdant, grassy spot, on some slope, or in a dell; and even such seldom-seen oases are bestrewn with dried brown leaves,--which, however, methinks, make the short, fresh grass look greener around them. Dry leaves are now plentiful everywhere, save where there are none but pine-trees. They rustle beneath the tread, and there is nothing more autumnal than that sound. Nevertheless, in a walk this afternoon, I have seen two oaks which retained almost the greenness of summer. They grew close to the huge Pulpit Rock, so that portions of their trunks appeared to grasp the rough surface; and they were rooted beneath it, and, ascending high into the air, overshadowed the gray crag with verdure. Other oaks, here and there, have a few green leaves or boughs among their rustling and rugged shade. Yet, dreary as the woods are in a bleak, sullen day, there is a very peculiar sense of warmth and a sort of richness of effect in the slope of a bank and in sheltered spots, where bright sunshine falls, and the brown oaken foliage is gladdened by it. There is then a feeling of comfort, and consequently of heart-warmth, which cannot be experienced in summer. I walked this afternoon along a pleasant wood-path, gently winding, so that but little of it could be seen at a time, and going up and down small mounds, now plunging into a denser shadow and now emerging from it. Part of the way it was strewn with the dusky, yellow leaves of white-pines,--the cast-off garments of last year; part of the way with green grass, close-cropped, and very fresh for the season. Sometimes the trees met across it; sometimes it was bordered on one side by an old rail-fence of moss-grown cedar, with bushes sprouting beneath it, and thrusting their branches through it; sometimes by a stone-wall of unknown antiquity, older than the wood it closed in. A stone-wall, when shrubbery has grown around it, and thrust its roots beneath it, becomes a very pleasant and meditative object. It does not belong too evidently to man, having been built so long ago. It seems a part of nature. Yesterday I found two mushrooms in the woods, probably of the preceding night's growth. Also I saw a mosquito, frost-pinched, and so wretched that I felt avenged for all the injuries which his tribe inflicted upon me last summer, and so did not molest this lone survivor. Walnuts in their green rinds are falling from the trees, and so are chestnut-burrs. I found a maple-leaf to-day, yellow all over, except its extremest point, which was bright scarlet. It looked as if a drop of blood were hanging from it. The first change of the maple-leaf is to scarlet; the next, to yellow. Then it withers, wilts, and drops off, as most of them have already done. October 27th.--Fringed gentians,--I found the last, probably, that will be seen this year, growing on the margin of the brook. 1842.--Some man of powerful character to command a person, morally subjected to him, to perform some act. The commanding person suddenly to die; and, for all the rest of his life, the subjected one continues to perform that act. "Solomon dies during the building of the temple, but his body remains leaning on a staff, and overlooking the workmen, as if it were alive." A tri-weekly paper, to be called the Tertian Ague. Subject for a picture,--Satan's reappearance in Pandemonium, shining out from a mist, with "shape star-bright." Five points of Theology,--Five Points at New York. It seems a greater pity that an accomplished worker with the hand should perish prematurely, than a person of great intellect; because intellectual arts may be cultivated in the next world, but not physical ones. To trace out the influence of a frightful and disgraceful crime in debasing and destroying a character naturally high and noble, the guilty person being alone conscious of the crime. A man, virtuous in his general conduct, but committing habitually some monstrous crime,--as murder,--and doing this without the sense of guilt, but with a peaceful conscience,--habit, probably, reconciling him to it; but something (for instance, discovery) occurs to make him sensible of his enormity. His horror then. The strangeness, if they could be foreseen and forethought, of events which do not seem so strange after they have happened. As, for instance, to muse over a child's cradle, and foresee all the persons in different parts of the world with whom he would have relations. A man to swallow a small snake,--and it to be a symbol of a cherished sin. Questions as to unsettled points of history, and mysteries of nature, to be asked of a mesmerized person. Gordier, a young man of the Island of Jersey, was paying his addresses to a young lady of Guernsey. He visited the latter island, intending to be married. He disappeared on his way from the beach to his mistress's residence, and was afterwards found dead in a cavity of the rocks. After a time, Galliard, a merchant of Guernsey, paid his addresses to the young lady; but she always felt a strong, unaccountable antipathy to him. He presented her with a beautiful trinket. The mother of Gordier, chancing to see this trinket, recognized it as having been bought by her dead son as a present for his mistress. She expired on learning this; and Galliard, being suspected of the murder, committed suicide. The cure of Montreux in Switzerland, ninety-six years old, still vigorous in mind and body, and able to preach. He had a twin-brother, also a preacher, and the exact likeness of himself. Sometimes strangers have beheld a white-haired, venerable, clerical personage, nearly a century old; and, upon riding a few miles farther, have been astonished to meet again this white-haired, venerable, century-old personage. When the body of Lord Mohun (killed in a duel) was carried home, bleeding, to his house, Lady Mohun was very angry because it was "flung upon the best bed." A prophecy, somewhat in the style of Swift's about Partridge, but embracing various events and personages. An incident that befell Dr. Harris, while a Junior at college. Being in great want of money to buy shirts or other necessaries, and not knowing how to obtain it, he set out on a walk from Cambridge to Boston. On the way, he cut a stick, and, after walking a short distance, perceived that something had become attached to the end of it. It proved to be a gold ring, with the motto, "God speed thee, friend." Brobdingnag lay on the northwest coast of the American continent. People with false hair and other artifices may be supposed to deceive Death himself; so that he does not know when their hour is come. Bees are sometimes drowned (or suffocated) in the honey which they collect. So some writers are lost in their collected learning. Advice of Lady Pepperell's father on her marriage,--never to work one moment after Saturday sunset,--never to lay down her knitting except in the middle of the needle,--always to rise with the sun,--to pass an hour daily with the housekeeper,--to visit every room daily from garret to cellar,--to attend herself to the brewing of beer and the baking of bread,--and to instruct every member of the family in their religious duties. Service of plate, presented by the city of London to Sir William Pepperell, together with a table of solid silver. The table very narrow, but long; the articles of plate numerous, but of small dimensions,--the tureen not holding more than three pints. At the close of the Revolution, when the Pepperell and Sparhawk property was confiscated, this plate was sent to the grandson of Sir William, in London. It was so valuable, that Sheriff Moulton of old York, with six well-armed men, accompanied it to Boston. Pepperell's only daughter married Colonel Sparhawk, a fine gentleman of the day. Andrew Pepperell, the son, was rejected by a young lady (afterwards the mother of Mrs. General Knox), to whom he was on the point of marriage, as being addicted to low company and low pleasures. The lover, two days afterwards, in the streets of Portsmouth, was sun-struck, and fell down dead. Sir William had built an elegant house for his son and his intended wife; but after the death of the former he never entered it. He lost his cheerfulness and social qualities, and gave up intercourse with people, except on business. Very anxious to secure his property to his descendants by the provisions of his will, which was drawn up by Judge Sewall, then a young lawyer. Yet the Judge lived to see two of Sir William's grandchildren so reduced that they were to have been numbered among the town's poor, and were only rescued from this fate by private charity. The arms and crest of the Pepperell family were displayed over the door of every room in Sir William's house. In Colonel Sparhawk's house there were forty portraits, most of them in full length. The house built for Sir William's son was occupied as barracks during the Revolution, and much injured. A few years after the peace, it was blown down by a violent tempest, and finally no vestige of it was left, but there remained only a summer-house and the family tomb. At Sir William's death, his mansion was hung with black, while the body lay in state for a week. All the Sparhawk portraits were covered with black crape, and the family pew was draped with black. Two oxen were roasted, and liquid hospitality dispensed in proportion. Old lady's dress seventy or eighty years ago. Brown brocade gown, with a nice lawn handkerchief and apron,--short sleeves, with a little ruffle, just below the elbow,--black mittens,--a lawn cap, with rich lace border,--a black velvet hood on the back of the head, tied with black ribbon under the chin. She sat in an old-fashioned easy-chair, in a small, low parlor,--the wainscot painted entirely black, and the walls hung with a dark velvet paper. A table, stationary ever since the house was built, extending the whole length of a room. One end was raised two steps higher than the rest. The Lady Ursula, an early Colonial heroine, was wont to dine at the upper end, while her servants sat below. This was in the kitchen. An old garden and summer-house, and roses, currant-bushes, and tulips, which Lady Ursula had brought from Grondale Abbey in Old England. Although a hundred and fifty years before, and though their roots were propagated all over the country, they were still flourishing in the original garden. This Lady Ursula was the daughter of Lord Thomas Cutts of Grondale Abbey in England. She had been in love with an officer named Fowler, who was supposed to have been slain in battle. After the death of her father and mother, Lady Ursula came to Kittery, bringing twenty men-servants and several women. After a time, a letter arrived from her lover, who was not killed, but merely a prisoner to the French. He announced his purpose to come to America, where he would arrive in October. A few days after the letter came, she went out in a low carriage to visit her work-people, and was blessing the food for their luncheon, when she fell dead, struck by an Indian tomahawk, as did all the rest save one. They were buried where the massacre took place, and a stone was erected, which (possibly) still remains. The lady's family had a grant from Sir Ferdinando Gorges of the territory thereabout, and her brother had likewise come over and settled in the vicinity. I believe very little of this story. Long afterwards, at about the commencement of the Revolution, a descendant of Fowler came from England, and applied to the Judge of Probate to search the records for a will, supposed to have been made by Lady Ursula in favor of her lover as soon as she heard of his existence. In the mean time the estate had been sold to Colonel Whipple. No will could be found. (Lady Ursula was old Mrs. Cutts, widow of President Cutts.) The mode of living of Lady Ursula's brother in Kittery. A drawbridge to the house, which was raised every evening, and lowered in the morning, for the laborers and the family to pass out. They kept thirty cows, a hundred sheep, and several horses. The house spacious,--one room large enough to contain forty or fifty guests. Two silver branches for candles,--the walls ornamented with paintings and needlework. The floors were daily rubbed with wax, and shone like a mahogany table. A domestic chaplain, who said prayers every morning and evening in a small apartment called the chapel. Also a steward and butler. The family attended the Episcopal Church at Christmas, Easter, and Good Friday, and gave a grand entertainment once a year. Madam Cutts, at the last of these entertainments, wore a black damask gown, and cuffs with double lace ruffles, velvet shoes, blue silk stockings, white and silver stomacher. The daughter and granddaughters in rich brocades and yellow satin. Old Major Cutts in brown velvet, laced with gold, and a large wig. The parson in his silk cassock, and his helpmate in brown damask. Old General Atkinson in scarlet velvet, and his wife and daughters in white damask. The Governor in black velvet, and his lady in crimson tabby trimmed with silver. The ladies wore bell-hoops, high-heeled shoes, paste buckles, silk stockings, and enormously high head-dresses, with lappets of Brussels lace hanging thence to the waist. Among the eatables, a silver tub of the capacity of four gallons, holding a pyramid of pancakes powdered with white sugar. The date assigned to all this about 1690. What is the price of a day's labor in Lapland, where the sun never sets for six months? Miss Asphyxia Davis! A life, generally of a grave hue, may be said to be embroidered with occasional sports and fantasies. A father confessor,--his reflections on character, and the contrast of the inward man with the outward, as he looks around on his congregation, all whose secret sins are known to him. A person with an ice-cold hand,--his right hand, which people ever afterwards remember when once they have grasped it. A stove possessed by a Devil. June 1st, 1842.--One of my chief amusements is to see the boys sail their miniature vessels on the Frog Pond. There is a great variety of shipping owned among the young people, and they appear to have a considerable knowledge of the art of managing vessels. There is a full-rigged man-of-war, with, I believe, every spar, rope, and sail, that sometimes makes its appearance; and, when on a voyage across the pond, it so identically resembles a great ship, except in size, that it has the effect of a picture. All its motions,--its tossing up and down on the small waves, and its sinking and rising in a calm swell, its heeling to the breeze,--the whole effect, in short, is that of a real ship at sea; while, moreover, there is something that kindles the imagination more than the reality would do. If we see a real, great ship, the mind grasps and possesses, within its real clutch, all that there is of it; while here the mimic ship is the representation of an ideal one, and so gives us a more imaginative pleasure. There are many schooners that ply to and fro on the pond, and pilot-boats, all perfectly rigged. I saw a race, the other day, between the ship above mentioned and a pilot-boat, in which the latter came off conqueror. The boys appear to be well acquainted with all the ropes and sails, and can call them by their nautical names. One of the owners of the vessels remains on one side of the pond, and the other on the opposite side, and so they send the little bark to and fro, like merchants of different countries, consigning their vessels to one another. Generally, when any vessel is on the pond, there are full-grown spectators, who look on with as much interest as the boys themselves. Towards sunset, this is especially the case: for then are seen young girls and their lovers; mothers, with their little boys in hand; schoolgirls, beating hoops round about, and occasionally running to the side of the pond; rough tars, or perhaps masters or young mates of vessels, who make remarks about the miniature shipping, and occasionally give professional advice to the navigators; visitors from the country; gloved and caned young gentlemen;--in short, everybody stops to take a look. In the mean time; dogs are continually plunging into the pond, and swimming about, with noses pointed upward, and snatching at floating chips; then, emerging, they shake themselves, scattering a horizontal shower on the clean gowns of ladies and trousers of gentlemen; then scamper to and fro on the grass, with joyous barks. Some boys cast off lines of twine with pin-hooks, and perhaps pull out a horned-pout,--that being, I think, the only kind of fish that inhabits the Frog Pond. The ship-of-war above mentioned is about three feet from stem to stern, or possibly a few inches more. This, if I mistake not, was the size of a ship-of-the-line in the navy of Liliput. Fancy pictures of familiar places which one has never been in, as the green-room of a theatre, etc. The famous characters of history,--to imagine their spirits now extant on earth, in the guise of various public or private personages. The case quoted in Combe's Physiology of a young man of great talents and profound knowledge of chemistry, who had in view some new discovery of importance. In order to put his mind into the highest possible activity, he shut himself up for several successive days, and used various methods of excitement. He had a singing-girl, he drank spirits, smelled, penetrating odors, sprinkled Cologne-water round the room, etc., etc. Eight days thus passed, when he was seized with a fit of frenzy which terminated in mania. Flesh and Blood,--a firm of butchers. Miss Polly Syllable, a schoolmistress. Mankind are earthen jugs with spirits in them. A spendthrift,--in one sense he has his money's worth by the purchase of large lots of repentance and other dolorous commodities. To symbolize moral or spiritual disease by disease of the body; as thus, --when a person committed any sin, it might appear in some form on the body,--this to be wrought out. "Shrieking fish," a strange idea of Leigh Hunt. In my museum, all the ducal rings that have been thrown into the Adriatic. An association of literary men in the other world,--or dialogues of the dead, or something of that kind. Imaginary diseases to be cured by impossible remedies,--as a dose of the Grand Elixir, in the yolk of a Phoenix's egg. The disease may be either moral or physical. A physician for the cure of moral diseases. To point out the moral slavery of one who deems himself a free man. A stray leaf from the book of fate, picked up in the street. Concord, August 5th.--A rainy day,--a rainy day. I am commanded to take pen in hand, and I am therefore banished to the little ten-foot-square apartment misnamed my study; but perhaps the dismalness of the day and the dulness of my solitude will be the prominent characteristics of what I write. And what is there to write about? Happiness has no succession of events, because it is a part of eternity; and we have been living in eternity ever since we came to this old manse. Like Enoch, we seem to have been translated to the other state of being, without having passed through death. Our spirits must have flitted away unconsciously, and we can only perceive that we have cast off our mortal part by the more real and earnest life of our souls. Externally, our Paradise has very much the aspect of a pleasant old domicile on earth. This antique house--for it looks antique, though it was created by Providence expressly for our use, and at the precise time when we wanted it--stands behind a noble avenue of balm-of-Gilead trees; and when we chance to observe a passing traveller through the sunshine and the shadow of this long avenue, his figure appears too dim and remote to disturb the sense of blissful seclusion. Few, indeed, are the mortals who venture within our sacred precincts. George Prescott, who has not yet grown earthly enough, I suppose, to be debarred from occasional visits to Paradise, comes daily to bring three pints of milk from some ambrosial cow; occasionally, also, he makes an offering of mortal flowers. Mr. Emerson comes sometimes, and has been feasted on our nectar and ambrosia. Mr. Thoreau has twice listened to the music of the spheres, which, for our private convenience, we have packed into a musical-box. E. H------, who is much more at home among spirits than among fleshly bodies, came hither a few times merely to welcome us to the ethereal world; but latterly she has vanished into some other region of infinite space. One rash mortal, on the second Sunday after our arrival, obtruded himself upon us in a gig. There have since been three or four callers, who preposterously think that the courtesies of the lower world are to be responded to by people whose home is in Paradise. I must not forget to mention that the butcher comes twice or thrice a week; and we have so far improved upon the custom of Adam and Eve, that we generally furnish forth our feasts with portions of some delicate calf or lamb, whose unspotted innocence entitles them to the happiness of becoming our sustenance. Would that I were permitted to record the celestial dainties that kind Heaven provided for us on the first day of our arrival! Never, surely, was such food heard of on earth,--at least, not by me. Well, the above-mentioned persons are nearly all that have entered into the hallowed shade of our avenue; except, indeed, a certain sinner who came to bargain for the grass in our orchard, and another who came with a new cistern. For it is one of the drawbacks upon our Eden that it contains no water fit either to drink or to bathe in; so that the showers have become, in good truth, a godsend. I wonder why Providence does not cause a clear, cold fountain to bubble up at our doorstep; methinks it would not be unreasonable to pray for such a favor. At present we are under the ridiculous necessity of sending to the outer world for water. Only imagine Adam trudging out of Paradise with a bucket in each hand, to get water to drink, or for Eve to bathe in! Intolerable! (though our stout handmaiden really fetches our water.) In other respects Providence has treated us pretty tolerably well; but here I shall expect something further to be done. Also, in the way of future favors, a kitten would be very acceptable. Animals (except, perhaps, a pig) seem never out of place, even in the most paradisiacal spheres. And, by the way, a young colt comes up our avenue, now and then, to crop the seldom-trodden herbage; and so does a company of cows, whose sweet breath well repays us for the food which they obtain. There are likewise a few hens, whose quiet cluck is heard pleasantly about the house. A black dog sometimes stands at the farther extremity of the avenue, and looks wistfully hitherward; but when I whistle to him, he puts his tail between his legs, and trots away. Foolish dog! if he had more faith, he should have bones enough. Saturday, August 6th.--Still a dull day, threatening rain, yet without energy of character enough to rain outright. However, yesterday there were showers enough to supply us well with their beneficent outpouring. As to the new cistern, it seems to be bewitched; for, while the spout pours into it like a cataract, it still remains almost empty. I wonder where Mr. Hosmer got it; perhaps from Tantalus, under the eaves of whose palace it must formerly have stood; for, like his drinking-cup in Hades, it has the property of filling itself forever, and never being full. After breakfast I took my fishing-rod, and went down through our orchard to the river-side; but as three or four boys were already in possession of the best spots along the shore, I did not fish. This river of ours is the most sluggish stream that I ever was acquainted with. I had spent three weeks by its side, and swam across it every day, before I could determine which way its current ran; and then I was compelled to decide the question by the testimony of others, and not by my own observation. Owing to this torpor of the stream, it has nowhere a bright, pebbly shore, nor is there so much as a narrow strip of glistening sand in any part of its course; but it slumbers along between broad meadows, or kisses the tangled grass of mowing-fields and pastures, or bathes the overhanging boughs of elder-bushes and other waterloving plants. Flags and rushes grow along its shallow margin. The yellow water-lily spreads its broad flat leaves upon its surface; and the fragrant white pond-lily occurs in many favored spots,--generally selecting a situation just so far from the river's brink that it cannot be grasped except at the hazard of plunging in. But thanks be to the beautiful flower for growing at any rate. It is a marvel whence it derives its loveliness and perfume, sprouting as it does from the black mud over which the river sleeps, and from which the yellow lily likewise draws its unclean life and noisome odor. So it is with many people in this world; the same soil and circumstances may produce the good and beautiful, and the wicked and ugly. Some have the faculty of assimilating to themselves only what is evil, and so they become as noisome as the yellow water-lily. Some assimilate none but good influences, and their emblem is the fragrant and spotless pond-lily, whose very breath is a blessing to all the region round about. . . . Among the productions of the river's margin, I must not forget the pickerel-weed, which grows just on the edge of the water, and shoots up a long stalk crowned with a blue spire, from among large green leaves. Both the flower and the leaves look well in a vase with pond-lilies, and relieve the unvaried whiteness of the latter; and, being all alike children of the waters, they are perfectly in keeping with one another. . . . I bathe once, and often twice, a day in our river; but one dip into the salt sea would be worth more than a whole week's soaking in such a lifeless tide. I have read of a river somewhere (whether it be in classic regions or among our Western Indians I know not) which seemed to dissolve and steal away the vigor of those who bathed in it. Perhaps our stream will be found to have this property. Its water, however, is pleasant in its immediate effect, being as soft as milk, and always warmer than the air. Its hue has a slight tinge of gold, and my limbs, when I behold them through its medium, look tawny. I am not aware that the inhabitants of Concord resemble their native river in any of their moral characteristics. Their forefathers, certainly, seem to have had the energy and impetus of a mountain torrent, rather than the torpor of this listless stream,--as it was proved by the blood with which they stained their river of Peace. It is said there are plenty of fish in it; but my most important captures hitherto have been a mud-turtle and an enormous eel. The former made his escape to his native element,--the latter we ate; and truly he had the taste of the whole river in his flesh, with a very prominent flavor of mud. On the whole, Concord River is no great favorite of mine; but I am glad to have any river at all so near at hand, it being just at the bottom of our orchard. Neither is it without a degree and kind of picturesqueness, both in its nearness and in the distance, when a blue gleam from its surface, among the green meadows and woods, seems like an open eye in Earth's countenance. Pleasant it is, too, to behold a little flat-bottomed skiff gliding over its bosom, which yields lazily to the stroke of the paddle, and allows the boat to go against its current almost as freely as with it. Pleasant, too, to watch an angler, as he strays along the brink, sometimes sheltering himself behind a tuft of bushes, and trailing his line along the water, in hopes to catch a pickerel. But, taking the river for all in all, I can find nothing more fit to compare it with than one of the half-torpid earthworms which I dig up for bait. The worm is sluggish, and so is the river,--the river is muddy, and so is the worm. You hardly know whether either of them be alive or dead; but still, in the course of time, they both manage to creep away. The best aspect of the Concord is when there is a northwestern breeze curling its surface, in a bright, sunshiny day. It then assumes a vivacity not its own. Moonlight, also, gives it beauty, as it does to all scenery of earth or water. Sunday, August 7th.--At sunset last evening I ascended the hill-top opposite our house; and, looking downward at the long extent of the river, it struck me that I had done it some injustice in my remarks. Perhaps, like other gentle and quiet characters, it will be better appreciated the longer I am acquainted with it. Certainly, as I beheld it then, it was one of the loveliest features in a scene of great rural beauty. It was visible through a course of two or three miles, sweeping in a semicircle round the hill on which I stood, and being the central line of a broad vale on either side. At a distance, it looked like a strip of sky set into the earth, which it so etherealized and idealized that it seemed akin to the upper regions. Nearer the base of the hill, I could discern the shadows of every tree and rock, imaged with a distinctness that made them even more charming than the reality; because, knowing them to be unsubstantial, they assumed the ideality which the soul always craves in the contemplation of earthly beauty. All the sky, too, and the rich clouds of sunset, were reflected in the peaceful bosom of the river; and surely, if its bosom can give back such an adequate reflection of heaven, it cannot be so gross and impure as I described it yesterday. Or, if so, it shall be a symbol to me that even a human breast, which may appear least spiritual in some aspects, may still have the capability of reflecting an infinite heaven in its depths, and therefore of enjoying it. It is a comfortable thought, that the smallest and most turbid mud-puddle can contain its own picture of heaven. Let us remember this, when we feel inclined to deny all spiritual life to some people, in whom, nevertheless, our Father may perhaps see the image of His face. This dull river has a deep religion of its own: so, let us trust, has the dullest human soul, though, perhaps, unconsciously. The scenery of Concord, as I beheld it from the summit of the hill, has no very marked characteristics, but has a great deal of quiet beauty, in keeping with the river. There are broad and peaceful meadows, which, I think, are among the most satisfying objects in natural scenery. The heart reposes on them with a feeling that few things else can give, because almost all other objects are abrupt and clearly defined; but a meadow stretches out like a small infinity, yet with a secure homeliness which we do not find either in an expanse of water or of air. The hills which border these meadows are wide swells of land, or long and gradual ridges, some of them densely covered with wood. The white village, at a distance on the left, appears to be embosomed among wooded hills. The verdure of the country is much more perfect than is usual at this season of the year, when the autumnal hue has generally made considerable progress over trees and grass. Last evening, after the copious showers of the preceding two days, it was worthy of early June, or, indeed, of a world just created. Had I not then been alone, I should have had a far deeper sense of beauty, for I should have looked through the medium of another spirit. Along the horizon there were masses of those deep clouds in which the fancy may see images of all things that ever existed or were dreamed of. Over our old manse, of which I could catch but a glimpse among its embowering trees, appeared the immensely gigantic figure of a hound, crouching down with head erect, as if keeping watchful guard while the master of the mansion was away. . . . How sweet it was to draw near my own home, after having lived homeless in the world so long! . . . . With thoughts like these, I descended the hill, and clambered over the stone-wall, and crossed the road, and passed up our avenue, while the quaint old house put on an aspect of welcome. Monday, August 8th.--I wish I could give a description of our house, for it really has a character of its own, which is more than can be said of most edifices in these days. It is two stories high, with a third story of attic chambers in the gable-roof. When I first visited it, early in June, it looked pretty much as it did during the old clergyman's lifetime, showing all the dust and disarray that might be supposed to have gathered about him in the course of sixty years of occupancy. The rooms seemed never to have been painted; at all events, the walls and panels, as well as the huge cross-beams, had a venerable and most dismal tinge of brown. The furniture consisted of high-backed, short-legged, rheumatic chairs, small, old tables, bedsteads with lofty posts, stately chests of drawers, looking-glasses in antique black frames, all of which were probably fashionable in the days of Dr. Ripley's predecessor. It required some energy of imagination to conceive the idea of transforming this ancient edifice into a comfortable modern residence. However, it has been successfully accomplished. The old Doctor's sleeping-apartment, which was the front room on the ground-floor, we have converted into a parlor; and by the aid of cheerful paint and paper, a gladsome carpet, pictures and engravings, new furniture, bijouterie, and a daily supply of flowers, it has become one of the prettiest and pleasantest rooms in the whole world. The shade of our departed host will never haunt it; for its aspect has been changed as completely as the scenery of a theatre. Probably the ghost gave one peep into it, uttered a groan, and vanished forever. The opposite room has been metamorphosed into a store-room. Through the house, both in the first and second story, runs a spacious hall or entry, occupying more space than is usually devoted to such a purpose in modern times. This feature contributes to give the whole house an airy, roomy, and convenient appearance; we can breathe the freer by the aid of the broad passageway. The front door of the hall looks up the stately avenue, which I have already mentioned; and the opposite door opens into the orchard, through which a path descends to the river. In the second story we have at present fitted up three rooms,--one being our own chamber, and the opposite one a guest-chamber, which contains the most presentable of the old Doctor's ante-Revolutionary furniture. After all, the moderns have invented nothing better, as chamber furniture, than these chests of drawers, which stand on four slender legs, and rear an absolute tower of mahogany to the ceiling, the whole terminating in a fantastically carved summit. Such a venerable structure adorns our guest-chamber. In the rear of the house is the little room which I call my study, and which, in its day, has witnessed the intellectual labors of better students than myself. It contains, with some additions and alterations, the furniture of my bachelor-room in Boston; but there is a happier disposal of things now. There is a little vase of flowers on one of the bookcases, and a larger bronze vase of graceful ferns that surmounts the bureau. In size the room is just what it ought to be; for I never could compress my thoughts sufficiently to write in a very spacious room. It has three windows, two of which are shaded by a large and beautiful willow-tree, which sweeps against the overhanging eaves. On this side we have a view into the orchard, and, beyond, a glimpse of the river. The other window is the one from which Mr. Emerson, the predecessor of Dr. Ripley, beheld the first fight of the Revolution,-- which he might well do, as the British troops were drawn up within a hundred yards of the house; and on looking forth just now, I could still perceive the western abutments of the old bridge, the passage of which was contested. The new monument is visible from base to summit. Notwithstanding all we have done to modernize the old place, we seem scarcely to have disturbed its air of antiquity. It is evident that other wedded pairs have spent their honeymoons here, that children have been born here, and people have grown old and died in these rooms, although for our behoof the same apartments have consented to look cheerful once again. Then there are dark closets, and strange nooks and corners, where the ghosts of former occupants might hide themselves in the daytime, and stalk forth when night conceals all our sacrilegious improvements. We have seen no apparitions as yet; but we hear strange noises, especially in the kitchen, and last night, while sitting in the parlor, we heard a thumping and pounding as of somebody at work in my study. Nay, if I mistake not (for I was half asleep), there was a sound as of some person crumpling paper in his hand in our very bedchamber. This must have been old Dr. Ripley with one of his sermons. There is a whole chest of them in the garret; but he need have no apprehensions of our disturbing them. I never saw the old patriarch myself, which I regret, as I should have been glad to associate his venerable figure at ninety years of age with the house in which he dwelt. Externally the house presents the same appearance as in the Doctor's day. It had once a coat of white paint; but the storms and sunshine of many years have almost obliterated it, and produced a sober, grayish hue, which entirely suits the antique form of the structure. To repaint its reverend face would be a real sacrilege. It would look like old Dr. Ripley in a brown wig. I hardly know why it is that our cheerful and lightsome repairs and improvements in the interior of the house seem to be in perfectly good taste, though the heavy old beams and high wainscoting of the walls speak of ages gone by. But so it is. The cheerful paper-hangings have the air of belonging to the old walls; and such modernisms as astral lamps, card-tables, gilded Cologne-bottles, silver taper-stands, and bronze and alabaster flower-vases do not seem at all impertinent. It is thus that an aged man may keep his heart warm for new things and new friends, and often furnish himself anew with ideas; though it would not be graceful for him to attempt to suit his exterior to the passing fashions of the day. August 9th.--Our orchard in its day has been a very productive and profitable one; and we were told that in one year it returned Dr. Ripley a hundred dollars, besides defraying the expense of repairing the house. It is now long past its prime: many of the trees are moss-grown, and have dead and rotten branches intermixed among the green and fruitful ones. And it may well be so; for I suppose some of the trees may have been set out by Mr. Emerson, who died in the first year of the Revolutionary War. Neither will the fruit, probably, bear comparison with the delicate productions of modern pomology. Most of the trees seem to have abundant burdens upon them; but they are homely russet apples, fit only for baking and cooking. (But we are yet to have practical experience of our fruit.) Justice Shallow's orchard, with its choice pippins and leather-coats, was doubtless much superior. Nevertheless, it pleases me to think of the good minister, walking in the shadows of these old, fantastically shaped apples-trees, here plucking some of the fruit to taste, there pruning away a too luxuriant branch, and all the while computing how many barrels may be filled, and how large a sum will be added to his stipend by their sale. And the same trees offer their fruit to me as freely as they did to him,--their old branches, like withered hands and arms, holding out apples of the same flavor as they held out to Dr. Ripley in his lifetime. Thus the trees, as living existences, form a peculiar link between the dead and us. My fancy has always found something very interesting in an orchard. Apple-trees, and all fruit-trees, have a domestic character which brings them into relationship with man. They have lost, in a great measure, the wild nature of the forest-tree, and have grown humanized by receiving the care of man, and by contributing to his wants. They have become a part of the family; and their individual characters are as well understood and appreciated as those of the human members. One tree is harsh and crabbed, another mild; one is churlish and illiberal, another exhausts itself with its free-hearted bounties. Even the shapes of apple-trees have great individuality, into such strange postures do they put themselves, and thrust their contorted branches so grotesquely in all directions. And when they have stood around a house for many years, and held converse with successive dynasties of occupants, and gladdened their hearts so often in the fruitful autumn, then it would seem almost sacrilege to cut them down. Besides the apple-trees, there are various other kinds of fruit in close vicinity to the house. When we first arrived, there were several trees of ripe cherries, but so sour that we allowed them to wither upon the branches. Two long rows of currant-bushes supplied us abundantly for nearly four weeks. There are a good many peach-trees, but all of an old date,--their branches rotten, gummy, and mossy,--and their fruit, I fear, will be of very inferior quality. They produce most abundantly, however,--the peaches being almost as numerous as the leaves; and even the sprouts and suckers from the roots of the old trees have fruit upon them. Then three are pear-trees of various kinds, and one or two quince-trees. On the whole, these fruit-trees, and the other items and adjuncts of the place, convey a very agreeable idea of the outward comfort in which the good old Doctor must have spent his life. Everything seems to have fallen to his lot that could possibly be supposed to render the life of a country clergyman easy and prosperous. There is a barn, which probably used to be filled annually with his hay and other agricultural products. There are sheds, and a hen-house, and a pigeon-house, and an old stone pigsty, the open portion of which is overgrown with tall weeds, indicating that no grunter has recently occupied it. . . . I have serious thoughts of inducting a new incumbent in this part of the parsonage. It is our duty to support a pig, even if we have no design of feasting upon him; and, for my own part, I have a great sympathy and interest for the whole race of porkers, and should have much amusement in studying the character of a pig. Perhaps I might try to bring out his moral and intellectual nature, and cultivate his affections. A cat, too, and perhaps a dog, would be desirable additions to our household. August 10th.--The natural taste of man for the original Adam's occupation is fast developing itself in me. I find that I am a good deal interested in our garden, although, as it was planted before we came here, I do not feel the same affection for the plants that I should if the seed had been sown by my own hands. It is something like nursing and educating another person's children. Still, it was a very pleasant moment when I gathered the first string-beans, which were the earliest esculent that the garden contributed to our table. And I love to watch the successive development of each new vegetable, and mark its daily growth, which always affects me with surprise. It is as if something were being created under my own inspection, and partly by my own aid. One day, perchance, I look at my bean-vines, and see only the green leaves clambering up the poles; again, to-morrow, I give a second glance, and there are the delicate blossoms; and a third day, on a somewhat closer observation, I discover the tender young beans, hiding among the foliage. Then, each morning, I watch the swelling of the pods and calculate how soon they will be ready to yield their treasures. All this gives a pleasure and an ideality, hitherto unthought of, to the business of providing sustenance for my family. I suppose Adam felt it in Paradise; and, of merely and exclusively earthly enjoyments, there are few purer and more harmless to be experienced. Speaking of beans, by the way, they are a classical food, and their culture must have been the occupation of many ancient sages and heroes. Summer-squashes are a very pleasant vegetable to be acquainted with. They grow in the forms of urns and vases,--some shallow, others deeper, and all with a beautifully scalloped edge. Almost any squash in our garden might be copied by a sculptor, and would look lovely in marble, or in china; and, if I could afford it, I would have exact imitations of the real vegetable as portions of my dining-service. They would be very appropriate dishes for holding garden-vegetables. Besides the summer-squashes, we have the crook-necked winter-squash, which I always delight to look at, when it turns up its big rotundity to ripen in the autumn sun. Except a pumpkin, there is no vegetable production that imparts such an idea of warmth and comfort to the beholder. Our own crop, however, does not promise to be very abundant; for the leaves formed such a superfluous shade over the young blossoms, that most of them dropped off without producing the germ of fruit. Yesterday and to-day I have cut off an immense number of leaves, and have thus given the remaining blossoms a chance to profit by the air and sunshine; but the season is too far advanced, I am afraid, for the squashes to attain any great bulk, and grow yellow in the sun. We have muskmelons and watermelons, which promise to supply us with as many as we can eat. After all, the greatest interest of these vegetables does not seem to consist in their being articles of food. It is rather that we love to see something born into the world; and when a great squash or melon is produced, it is a large and tangible existence, which the imagination can seize hold of and rejoice in. I love, also, to see my own works contributing to the life and well-being of animate nature. It is pleasant to have the bees come and suck honey out of my squash-blossoms, though, when they have laden themselves, they fly away to some unknown hive, which will give me back nothing in return for what my garden has given them. But there is much more honey in the world, and so I am content. Indian corn, in the prime and glory of its verdure, is a very beautiful vegetable, both considered in the separate plant, and in a mass in a broad field, rustling and waving, and surging up and down in the breeze and sunshine of a summer afternoon. We have as many as fifty hills, I should think, which will give us an abundant supply. Pray Heaven that we may be able to eat it all! for it is not pleasant to think that anything which Nature has been at the pains to produce should be thrown away. But the hens will be glad of our superfluity, and so will the pigs, though we have neither hens nor pigs of our own. But hens we must certainly keep. There is something very sociable and quiet, and soothing, too, in their soliloquies and converse among themselves; and, in an idle and half-meditative mood, it is very pleasant to watch a party of hens picking up their daily subsistence, with a gallant chanticleer in the midst of them. Milton had evidently contemplated such a picture with delight. I find that I have not given a very complete idea of our garden, although it certainly deserves an ample record in this chronicle, since my labors in it are the only present labors of my life. Besides what I have mentioned, we have cucumber-vines, which to-day yielded us the first cucumber of the season, a bed of beets, and another of carrots, and another of parsnips and turnips, none of which promise us a very abundant harvest. In truth, the soil is worn out, and, moreover, received very little manure this season. Also, we have cabbages in superfluous abundance, inasmuch as we neither of us have the least affection for them; and it would be unreasonable to expect Sarah, the cook, to eat fifty head of cabbages. Tomatoes, too, we shall have by and by. At our first arrival, we found green peas ready for gathering, and these, instead of the string-beans, were the first offering of the garden to our board. Saturday, August 13th.--My life, at this time, is more like that of a boy, externally, than it has been since I was really a boy. It is usually supposed that the cares of life come with matrimony; but I seem to have cast off all care, and live on with as much easy trust in Providence as Adam could possibly have felt before he had learned that there was a world beyond Paradise. My chief anxiety consists in watching the prosperity of my vegetables, in observing how they are affected by the rain or sunshine, in lamenting the blight of one squash and rejoicing at the luxurious growth of another. It is as if the original relation between man and Nature were restored in my case, and as if I were to look exclusively to her for the support of my Eve and myself,--to trust to her for food and clothing, and all things needful, with the full assurance that she would not fail me. The fight with the world,--the struggle of a man among men,--the agony of the universal effort to wrench the means of living from a host of greedy competitors,--all this seems like a dream to me. My business is merely to live and to enjoy; and whatever is essential to life and enjoyment will come as naturally as the dew from heaven. This is, practically at least, my faith. And so I awake in the morning with a boyish thoughtlessness as to how the outgoings of the day are to be provided for, and its incomings rendered certain. After breakfast, I go forth into my garden, and gather whatever the bountiful Mother has made fit for our present sustenance; and of late days she generally gives me two squashes and a cucumber, and promises me green corn and shell-beans very soon. Then I pass down through our orchard to the river-side, and ramble along its margin in search of flowers. Usually I discern a fragrant white lily, here and there along the shore, growing, with sweet prudishness, beyond the grasp of mortal arm. But it does not escape me so. I know what is its fitting destiny better than the silly flower knows for itself; so I wade in, heedless of wet trousers, and seize the shy lily by its slender stem. Thus I make prize of five or six, which are as many as usually blossom within my reach in a single morning;--some of them partially worm-eaten or blighted, like virgins with an eating sorrow at the heart; others as fair and perfect as Nature's own idea was, when she first imagined this lovely flower. A perfect pond-lily is the most satisfactory of flowers. Besides these, I gather whatever else of beautiful chances to be growing in the moist soil by the river-side,--an amphibious tribe, yet with more richness and grace than the wild-flowers of the deep and dry woodlands and hedge-rows,-- sometimes the white arrow-head, always the blue spires and broad green leaves of the pickerel-flower, which contrast and harmonize so well with the white lilies. For the last two or three days, I have found scattered stalks of the cardinal-flower, the gorgeous scarlet of which it is a joy even to remember. The world is made brighter and sunnier by flowers of such a hue. Even perfume, which otherwise is the soul and spirit of a flower, may be spared when it arrays itself in this scarlet glory. It is a flower of thought and feeling, too; it seems to have its roots deep down in the hearts of those who gaze at it. Other bright flowers sometimes impress me as wanting sentiment; but it is not so with this. Well, having made up my bunch of flowers, I return home with them. . . . . Then I ascend to my study, and generally read, or perchance scribble in this journal, and otherwise suffer Time to loiter onward at his own pleasure, till the dinner-hour. In pleasant days, the chief event of the afternoon, and the happiest one of the day, is our walk. . . . . So comes the night; and I look back upon a day spent in what the world would call idleness, and for which I myself can suggest no more appropriate epithet, but which, nevertheless, I cannot feel to have been spent amiss. True, it might be a sin and shame, in such a world as ours, to spend a lifetime in this manner; but for a few summer weeks it is good to live as if this world were heaven. And so it is, and so it shall be, although, in a little while, a flitting shadow of earthly care and toil will mingle itself with our realities. Monday, August 15th.--George Hillard and his wife arrived from Boston in the dusk of Saturday evening, to spend Sunday with us. It was a pleasant sensation, when the coach rumbled up our avenue, and wheeled round at the door; for I felt that I was regarded as a man with a household, a man having a tangible existence and locality in the world,--when friends came to avail themselves of our hospitality. It was a sort of acknowledgment and reception of us into the corps of married people,--a sanction by no means essential to our peace and well-being, but yet agreeable enough to receive. So we welcomed them cordially at the door, and ushered them into our parlor, and soon into the supper-room. . . . The night flitted over us all, and passed away, and up rose a gray and sullen morning, . . . . and we had a splendid breakfast of flapjacks, or slapjacks, and whortleberries, which I gathered on a neighboring hill, and perch, bream, and pout, which I hooked out of the river the evening before. About nine o'clock, Hillard and I set out for a walk to Walden Pond, calling by the way at Mr. Emerson's, to obtain his guidance or directions, and he accompanied us in his own illustrious person. We turned aside a little from our way, to visit Mr. ------, a yeoman, of whose homely and self-acquired wisdom Mr. Emerson has a very high opinion. We found him walking in his fields, a short and stalwart and sturdy personage of middle age, with a face of shrewd and kind expression, and manners of natural courtesy. He had a very free flow of talk; for, with a little induction from Mr. Emerson, he began to discourse about the state of the nation, agriculture, and business in general, uttering thoughts that had come to him at the plough, and which had a sort of flavor of the fresh earth about them. His views were sensible and characteristic, and had grown in the soil where we found them; . . . . and he is certainly a man of intellectual and moral substance, a sturdy fact, a reality, something to be felt and touched, whose ideas seem to be dug out of his mind as he digs potatoes, beets, carrots, and turnips out of the ground. After leaving Mr. ------, we proceeded through wood-paths to Walden Pond, picking blackberries of enormous size along the way. The pond itself was beautiful and refreshing to my soul, after such long and exclusive familiarity with our tawny and sluggish river. It lies embosomed among wooded hills, it is not very extensive, but large enough for waves to dance upon its surface, and to look like a piece of blue firmament, earthen-circled. The shore has a narrow, pebbly strand, which it was worth a day's journey to look at, for the sake of the contrast between it and the weedy, oozy margin of the river. Farther within its depths, you perceive a bottom of pure white sand, sparkling through the transparent water, which, methought, was the very purest liquid in the world. After Mr. Emerson left us, Hillard and I bathed in the pond, and it does really seem as if my spirit, as well as corporeal person, were refreshed by that bath. A good deal of mud and river slime had accumulated on my soul; but these bright waters washed them all away. We returned home in due season for dinner. . . . To my misfortune, however, a box of Mediterranean wine proved to have undergone the acetous fermentation; so that the splendor of the festival suffered some diminution. Nevertheless, we ate our dinner with a good appetite, and afterwards went universally to take our several siestas. Meantime there came a shower, which so besprinkled the grass and shrubbery as to make it rather wet for our after-tea ramble. The chief result of the walk was the bringing home of an immense burden of the trailing clematis-vine, now just in blossom, and with which all our flower-stands and vases are this morning decorated. On our return we found Mr. and Mrs. S------, and E. H------, who shortly took their leave, and we sat up late, telling ghost-stories. This morning, at seven, our friends left us. We were both pleased with the visit, and so, I think, were our guests. * * * * * * Monday, August 22d.--I took a walk through the woods yesterday afternoon, to Mr. Emerson's, with a book which Margaret Fuller had left, after a call on Saturday eve. I missed the nearest way, and wandered into a very secluded portion of the forest; for forest it might justly be called, so dense and sombre was the shade of oaks and pines. Once I wandered into a tract so overgrown with bushes and underbrush that I could scarcely force a passage through. Nothing is more annoying than a walk of this kind, where one is tormented by an innumerable host of petty impediments. It incenses and depresses me at the same time. Always when I flounder into the midst of bushes, which cross and intertwine themselves about my legs, and brush my face, and seize hold of my clothes, with their multitudinous grip,--always, in such a difficulty, I feel as if it were almost as well to lie down and die in rage and despair as to go one step farther. It is laughable, after I have got out of the moil, to think how miserably it affected me for the moment; but I had better learn patience betimes, for there are many such bushy tracts in this vicinity, on the margins of meadows, and my walks will often lead me into them. Escaping from the bushes, I soon came to an open space among the woods,--a very lovely spot, with the tall old trees standing around as quietly as if no one had intruded there throughout the whole summer. A company of crows were holding their Sabbath on their summits. Apparently they felt themselves injured or insulted by my presence; for, with one consent, they began to Caw! caw! caw! and, launching themselves sullenly on the air, took flight to some securer solitude. Mine, probably, was the first human shape that they had seen all day long,--at least, if they had been stationary in that spot; but perhaps they had winged their way over miles and miles of country, had breakfasted on the summit of Graylock, and dined at the base of Wachusett, and were merely come to sup and sleep among the quiet woods of Concord. But it was my impression at the time, that they had sat still and silent on the tops of the trees all through the Sabbath day, and I felt like one who should unawares disturb an assembly of worshippers. A crow, however, has no real pretensions to religion, in spite of his gravity of mien and black attire. Crows are certainly thieves, and probably infidels. Nevertheless, their voices yesterday were in admirable accordance with the influences of the quiet, sunny, warm, yet autumnal afternoon. They were so far above my head that their loud clamor added to the quiet of the scene, instead of disturbing it. There was no other sound, except the song of the cricket, which is but an audible stillness; for, though it be very loud and heard afar, yet the mind does not take note of it as a sound, so entirely does it mingle and lose its individuality among the other characteristics of coming autumn. Alas for the summer! The grass is still verdant on the hills and in the valleys; the foliage of the trees is as dense as ever, and as green; the flowers are abundant along the margin of the river, and in the hedge-rows, and deep among the woods; the days, too, are as fervid as they were a month ago; and yet in every breath of wind and in every beam of sunshine there is an autumnal influence. I know not how to describe it. Methinks there is a sort of coolness amid all the heat, and a mildness in the brightest of the sunshine. A breeze cannot stir without thrilling me with the breath of autumn, and I behold its pensive glory in the far, golden gleams among the long shadows of the trees. The flowers, even the brightest of them,--the golden-rod and the gorgeous cardinals,-- the most glorious flowers of the year,--have this gentle sadness amid their pomp. Pensive autumn is expressed in the glow of every one of them. I have felt this influence earlier in some years than in others. Sometimes autumn may be perceived even in the early days of July. There is no other feeling like that caused by this faint, doubtful, yet real perception, or rather prophecy, of the year's decay, so deliciously sweet and sad at the same time. After leaving the book at Mr. Emerson's I returned through the woods, and, entering Sleepy Hollow, I perceived a lady reclining near the path which bends along its verge. It was Margaret herself. She had been there the whole afternoon, meditating or reading; for she had a book in her hand, with some strange title, which I did not understand, and have forgotten. She said that nobody had broken her solitude, and was just giving utterance to a theory that no inhabitant of Concord ever visited Sleepy Hollow, when we saw a group of people entering the sacred precincts. Most of them followed a path which led them away from us; but an old man passed near us, and smiled to see Margaret reclining on the ground, and me sitting by her side. He made some remark about the beauty of the afternoon, and withdrew himself into the shadow of the wood. Then we talked about autumn, and about the pleasures of being lost in the woods, and about the crows, whose voices Margaret had heard; and about the experiences of early childhood, whose influence remains upon the character after the recollection of them has passed away; and about the sight of mountains from a distance, and the view from their summits; and about other matters of high and low philosophy. In the midst of our talk, we heard footsteps above us, on the high bank; and while the person was still hidden among the trees, he called to Margaret, of whom he had gotten a glimpse. Then he emerged from the green shade, and, behold! it was Mr. Emerson. He appeared to have had a pleasant time; for he said that there were Muses in the woods to-day, and whispers to be heard in the breezes. It being now nearly six o'clock, we separated,--Margaret and Mr. Emerson towards his home, and I towards mine. . . . Last evening there was the most beautiful moonlight that ever hallowed this earthly world; and when I went to bathe in the river, which was as calm as death, it seemed like plunging down into the sky. But I had rather be on earth than even in the seventh heaven, just now. Wednesday, August 24th.--I left home at five o'clock this morning to catch some fish for breakfast. I shook our summer apple-tree, and ate the golden apple which fell from it. Methinks these early apples, which come as a golden promise before the treasures of autumnal fruit, are almost more delicious than anything that comes afterwards. We have but one such tree in our orchard; but it supplies us with a daily abundance, and probably will do so for at least a week to come. Meantime other trees begin to cast their ripening windfalls upon the grass; and when I taste them, and perceive their mellowed flavor and blackening seeds, I feel somewhat overwhelmed with the impending bounties of Providence. I suppose Adam, in Paradise, did not like to see his fruits decaying on the ground, after he had watched them through the sunny days of the world's first summer. However, insects, at the worst, will hold a festival upon them, so that they will not be thrown away, in the great scheme of Nature. Moreover, I have one advantage over the primeval Adam, inasmuch as there is a chance of disposing of my superfluous fruits among people who inhabit no Paradise of their own. Passing a little way down along the river-side, I threw in my line, and soon drew out one of the smallest possible of fishes. It seemed to be a pretty good morning for the angler,--an autumnal coolness in the air, a clear sky, but with a fog across the lowlands and on the surface of the river, which a gentle breeze sometimes condensed into wreaths. At first I could barely discern the opposite shore of the river; but, as the sun arose, the vapors gradually dispersed, till only a warm, smoky tint was left along the water's surface. The farm-houses across the river made their appearance out of the dusky cloud; the voices of boys were heard, shouting to the cattle as they drove them to the pastures; a man whetted his scythe, and set to work in a neighboring meadow. Meantime, I continued to stand on the oozy margin of the stream, beguiling the little fish; and though the scaly inhabitants of our river partake somewhat of the character of their native element, and are but sluggish biters, still I contrived to pull out not far from two dozen. They were all bream, a broad, flat, almost circular fish, shaped a good deal like a flounder, but swimming on their edges, instead of on their sides. As far as mere pleasure is concerned, it is hardly worth while to fish in our river, it is so much like angling in a mud-puddle; and one does not attach the idea of freshness and purity to the fishes, as we do to those which inhabit swift, transparent streams, or haunt the shores of the great briny deep. Standing on the weedy margin, and throwing the line over the elder-bushes that dip into the water, it seems as if we could catch nothing but frogs and mud-turtles, or reptiles akin to them. And even when a fish of reputable aspect is drawn out, one feels a shyness about touching him. As to our river, its character was admirably expressed last night by some one who said "it was too lazy to keep itself clean." I might write pages and pages, and only obscure the impression which this brief sentence conveys. Nevertheless, we made bold to eat some of my fish for breakfast, and found them very savory; and the rest shall meet with due entertainment at dinner, together with some shell-beans, green corn, and cucumbers from our garden; so this day's food comes directly and entirely from beneficent Nature, without the intervention of any third person between her and us. Saturday, August 27th.--A peach-tree, which grows beside our house and brushes against the window, is so burdened with fruit that I have had to prop it up. I never saw more splendid peaches in appearance,--great, round, crimson-cheeked beauties, clustering all over the tree. A pear-tree, likewise, is maturing a generous burden of small, sweet fruit, which will require to be eaten at about the same time as the peaches. There is something pleasantly annoying in this superfluous abundance; it is like standing under a tree of ripe apples, and giving it a shake, with the intention of bringing down a single one, when, behold, a dozen come thumping about our ears. But the idea of the infinite generosity and exhaustless bounty of our Mother Nature is well worth attaining; and I never had it so vividly as now, when I find myself, with the few mouths which I am to feed, the sole inheritor of the old clergyman's wealth of fruits. His children, his friends in the village, and the clerical guests who came to preach in his pulpit, were all wont to eat and be filled from these trees. Now, all these hearty old people have passed away, and in their stead is a solitary pair, whose appetites are more than satisfied with the windfalls which the trees throw down at their feet. Howbeit, we shall have now and then a guest to keep our peaches and pears from decaying. G. B------, my old fellow-laborer at the community at Brook Farm, called on me last evening, and dined here to-day. He has been cultivating vegetables at Plymouth this summer, and selling them in the market. What a singular mode of life for a man of education and refinement,--to spend his days in hard and earnest bodily toil, and then to convey the products of his labor, in a wheelbarrow, to the public market, and there retail them out,--a peck of peas or beans, a bunch of turnips, a squash, a dozen ears of green corn! Few men, without some eccentricity of character, would have the moral strength to do this; and it is very striking to find such strength combined with the utmost gentleness, and an uncommon regularity of nature. Occasionally he returns for a day or two to resume his place among scholars and idle people, as, for instance, the present week, when he has thrown aside his spade and hoe to attend the Commencement at Cambridge. He is a rare man,--a perfect original, yet without any one salient point; a character to be felt and understood, but almost impossible to describe: for, should you seize upon any characteristic, it would inevitably be altered and distorted in the process of writing it down. Our few remaining days of summer have been latterly grievously darkened with clouds. To-day there has been an hour or two of hot sunshine; but the sun rose amid cloud and mist, and before he could dry up the moisture of last night's shower upon the trees and grass, the clouds have gathered between him and us again. This afternoon the thunder rumbles in the distance, and I believe a few drops of rain have fallen; but the weight of the shower has burst elsewhere, leaving us nothing but its sullen gloom. There is a muggy warmth in the atmosphere, which takes all the spring and vivacity out of the mind and body. Sunday, August 28th.--Still another rainy day,--the heaviest rain, I believe, that has fallen since we came to Concord (not two months ago). There never was a more sombre aspect of all external nature. I gaze from the open window of my study somewhat disconsolately, and observe the great willow-tree which shades the house, and which has caught and retained a whole cataract of rain among its leaves and boughs; and all the fruit-trees, too, are dripping continually, even in the brief intervals when the clouds give us a respite. If shaken to bring down the fruit, they will discharge a shower upon the head of him who stands beneath. The rain is warm, coming from some southern region; but the willow attests that it is an autumnal spell of weather, by scattering down no infrequent multitude of yellow leaves, which rest upon the sloping roof of the house, and strew the gravel-path and the grass. The other trees do not yet shed their leaves, though in some of them a lighter tint of verdure, tending towards yellow, is perceptible. All day long we hear the water drip, drip, dripping, splash, splash, splashing, from the eaves, and babbling and foaming into the tubs which have been set out to receive it. The old unpainted shingles and boards of the mansion and out-houses are black with the moisture which they have imbibed. Looking at the river, we perceive that its usually smooth and mirrored surface is blurred by the infinity of rain-drops; the whole landscape--grass, trees, and houses--has a completely water-soaked aspect, as if the earth were wet through. The wooded hill, about a mile distant, whither we went to gather whortleberries, has a mist upon its summit, as if the demon of the rain were enthroned there; and if we look to the sky, it seems as if all the water that had been poured down upon us were as nothing to what is to come. Once in a while, indeed, there is a gleam of sky along the horizon, or a half-cheerful, half-sullen lighting up of the atmosphere; the rain-drops cease to patter down, except when the trees shake off a gentle shower; but soon we hear the broad, quiet, slow, and sure recommencement of the rain. The river, if I mistake not, has risen considerably during the day, and its current will acquire some degree of energy. In this sombre weather, when some mortals almost forget that there ever was any golden sunshine, or ever will be any hereafter, others seem absolutely to radiate it from their own hearts and minds. The gloom cannot pervade them; they conquer it, and drive it quite out of their sphere, and create a moral rainbow of hope upon the blackest cloud. As for myself, I am little other than a cloud at such seasons, but such persons contrive to make me a sunny one, shining all through me. And thus, even without the support of a stated occupation, I survive these sullen days and am happy. This morning we read the Sermon on the Mount. In the course of the forenoon, the rain abated for a season, and I went out and gathered some corn and summer-squashes, and picked up the windfalls of apples and pears and peaches. Wet, wet, wet,--everything was wet; the blades of the corn-stalks moistened me; the wet grass soaked my boots quite through; the trees threw their reserved showers upon my head; and soon the remorseless rain began anew, and drove me into the house. When shall we be able to walk again to the far hills, and plunge into the deep woods, and gather more cardinals along the river's margin? The track along which we trod is probably under water now. How inhospitable Nature is during a rain! In the fervid heat of sunny days, she still retains some degree of mercy for us; she has shady spots, whither the sun cannot come; but she provides no shelter against her storms. It makes one shiver to think how dripping with wet are those deep, umbrageous nooks, those overshadowed banks, where we find such enjoyment during sultry afternoons. And what becomes of the birds in such a soaking rain as this? Is hope and an instinctive faith so mixed up with their nature that they can be cheered by the thought that the sunshine will return? or do they think, as I almost do, that there is to be no sunshine any more? Very disconsolate must they be among the dripping leaves; and when a single summer makes so important a portion of their lives, it seems hard that so much of it should be dissolved in rain. I, likewise, am greedy of the summer days for my own sake; the life of man does not contain so many of them that one can be spared without regret. Tuesday, August 30th.--I was promised, in the midst of Sunday's rain, that Monday should be fair, and, behold! the sun came back to us, and brought one of the most perfect days ever made since Adam was driven out of Paradise. By the by, was there ever any rain in Paradise? If so, how comfortless must Eve's bower have been! and what a wretched and rheumatic time must they have had on their bed of wet roses! It makes me shiver to think of it. Well, it seemed as if the world was newly created yesterday morning, and I beheld its birth; for I had risen before the sun was over the hill, and had gone forth to fish. How instantaneously did all dreariness and heaviness of the earth's spirit flit away before one smile of the beneficent sun! This proves that all gloom is but a dream and a shadow, and that cheerfulness is the real truth. It requires many clouds, long brooding over us, to make us sad, but one gleam of sunshine always suffices to cheer up the landscape. The banks of the river actually laughed when the sunshine fell upon them; and the river itself was alive and cheerful, and, by way of fun and amusement, it had swept away many wreaths of meadow-hay, and old, rotten branches of trees, and all such trumpery. These matters came floating downwards, whirling round and round in the eddies, or hastening onward in the main current; and many of them, before this time, have probably been carried into the Merrimack, and will be borne onward to the sea. The spots where I stood to fish, on my preceding excursion, were now under water; and the tops of many of the bushes, along the river's margin, barely emerged from the stream. Large spaces of meadow are overflowed. There was a northwest-wind throughout the day; and as many clouds, the remnants of departed gloom, were scattered about the sky, the breeze was continually blowing them across the sun. For the most part, they were gone again in a moment; but sometimes the shadow remained long enough to make me dread a return of sulky weather. Then would come the burst of sunshine, making me feel as if a rainy day were henceforth an impossibility. . . . In the afternoon Mr. Emerson called, bringing Mr. ------. He is a good sort of humdrum parson enough, and well fitted to increase the stock of manuscript sermons, of which there must be a fearful quantity already in the world. Mr. ------, however, is probably one of the best and most useful of his class, because no suspicion of the necessity of his profession, constituted as it now is, to mankind, and of his own usefulness and success in it, has hitherto disturbed him; and therefore he labors with faith and confidence, as ministers did a hundred years ago. After the visitors were gone, I sat at the gallery window, looking down the avenue; and soon there appeared an elderly woman,--a homely, decent old matron, dressed in a dark gown, and with what seemed a manuscript book under her arm. The wind sported with her gown, and blew her veil across her face, and seemed to make game of her, though on a nearer view she looked like a sad old creature, with a pale, thin countenance, and somewhat of a wild and wandering expression. She had a singular gait, reeling, as it were, and yet not quite reeling, from one side of the path to the other; going onward as if it were not much matter whether she went straight or crooked. Such were my observations as she approached through the scattered sunshine and shade of our long avenue, until, reaching the door, she gave a knock, and inquired for the lady of the house. Her manuscript contained a certificate, stating that the old woman was a widow from a foreign land, who had recently lost her son, and was now utterly destitute of friends and kindred, and without means of support. Appended to the certificate there was a list of names of people who had bestowed charity on her, with the amounts of their several donations,-- none, as I recollect, higher than twenty-five cents. Here is a strange life, and a character fit for romance and poetry. All the early part of her life, I suppose, and much of her widowhood, were spent in the quiet of a home, with kinsfolk around her, and children, and the lifelong gossiping acquaintances that some women always create about them. But in her decline she has wandered away from all these, and from her native country itself, and is a vagrant, yet with something of the homeliness and decency of aspect belonging to one who has been a wife and mother, and has had a roof of her own above her head,--and, with all this, a wildness proper to her present life. I have a liking for vagrants of all sorts, and never, that I know of, refused my mite to a wandering beggar, when I had anything in my own pocket. There is so much wretchedness in the world, that we may safely take the word of any mortal professing to need our assistance; and, even should we be deceived, still the good to ourselves resulting from a kind act is worth more than the trifle by which we purchase it. It is desirable, I think, that such persons should be permitted to roam through our land of plenty, scattering the seeds of tenderness and charity, as birds of passage bear the seeds of precious plants from land to land, without even dreaming of the office which they perform. Thursday, September 1st.--Mr. Thoreau dined with us yesterday. . . . He is a keen and delicate observer of nature,--a genuine observer,--which, I suspect, is almost as rare a character as even an original poet; and Nature, in return for his love, seems to adopt him as her especial child, and shows him secrets which few others are allowed to witness. He is familiar with beast, fish, fowl, and reptile, and has strange stories to tell of adventures and friendly passages with these lower brethren of mortality. Herb and flower, likewise, wherever they grow, whether in garden or wildwood, are his familiar friends. He is also on intimate terms with the clouds, and can tell the portents of storms. It is a characteristic trait, that he has a great regard for the memory of the Indian tribes, whose wild life would have suited him so well; and, strange to say, he seldom walks over a ploughed field without picking up an arrow-point, spearhead, or other relic of the red man, as if their spirits willed him to be the inheritor of their simple wealth. With all this he has more than a tincture of literature,--a deep and true taste for poetry, especially for the elder poets, and he is a good writer,--at least he has written a good article, a rambling disquisition on Natural History, in the last Dial, which, he says, was chiefly made up from journals of his own observations. Methinks this article gives a very fair image of his mind and character,--so true, innate, and literal in observation, yet giving the spirit as well as letter of what he sees, even as a lake reflects its wooded banks, showing every leaf, yet giving the wild beauty of the whole scene. Then there are in the article passages of cloudy and dreamy metaphysics, and also passages where his thoughts seem to measure and attune themselves into spontaneous verse, as they rightfully may, since there is real poetry in them. There is a basis of good sense and of moral truth, too, throughout the article, which also is a reflection of his character; for he is not unwise to think and feel, and I find him a healthy and wholesome man to know. After dinner (at which we cut the first watermelon and muskmelon that our garden has grown), Mr. Thoreau and I walked up the bank of the river, and at a certain point he shouted for his boat. Forthwith a young man paddled it across, and Mr. Thoreau and I voyaged farther up the stream, which soon became more beautiful than any picture, with its dark and quiet sheet of water, half shaded, half sunny, between high and wooded banks. The late rains have swollen the stream so much that many trees are standing up to their knees, as it were, in the water, and boughs, which lately swung high in air, now dip and drink deep of the passing wave. As to the poor cardinals which glowed upon the bank a few days since, I could see only a few of their scarlet hats, peeping above the tide. Mr. Thoreau managed the boat so perfectly, either with two paddles or with one, that it seemed instinct with his own will, and to require no physical effort to guide it. He said that, when some Indians visited Concord a few years ago, he found that he had acquired, without a teacher, their precise method of propelling and steering a canoe. Nevertheless he was desirous of selling the boat of which he was so fit a pilot, and which was built by his own hands; so I agreed to take it, and accordingly became possessor of the Musketaquid. I wish I could acquire the aquatic skill of the original owner. September 2d.--Yesterday afternoon Mr. Thoreau arrived with the boat. The adjacent meadow being overflowed by the rise of the stream, he had rowed directly to the foot of the orchard, and landed at the bars, after floating over forty or fifty yards of water where people were lately making hay. I entered the boat with him, in order to have the benefit of a lesson in rowing and paddling. . . . I managed, indeed, to propel the boat by rowing with two oars, but the use of the single paddle is quite beyond my present skill. Mr. Thoreau had assured me that it was only necessary to will the boat to go in any particular direction, and she would immediately take that course, as if imbued with the spirit of the steersman. It may be so with him, but it is certainly not so with me. The boat seemed to be bewitched, and turned its head to every point of the compass except the right one. He then took the paddle himself, and, though I could observe nothing peculiar in his management of it, the Musketaquid immediately became as docile as a trained steed. I suspect that she has not yet transferred her affections from her old master to her new one. By and by, when we are better acquainted, she will grow more tractable. . . . We propose to change her name from Musketaquid (the Indian name of the Concord River, meaning the river of meadows) to the Pond-Lily, which will be very beautiful and appropriate, as, during the summer season, she will bring home many a cargo of pond-lilies from along the river's weedy shore. It is not very likely that I shall make such long voyages in her as Mr. Thoreau has made. He once followed our river down to the Merrimack, and thence, I believe, to Newburyport in this little craft. In the evening, ---- ------ called to see us, wishing to talk with me about a Boston periodical, of which he had heard that I was to be editor, and to which he desired to contribute. He is an odd and clever young man, with nothing very peculiar about him,--some originality and self-inspiration in his character, but none, or, very little, in his intellect. Nevertheless, the lad himself seems to feel as if he were a genius. I like him well enough, however; but, after all, these originals in a small way, after one has seen a few of them, become more dull and commonplace than even those who keep the ordinary pathway of life. They have a rule and a routine, which they follow with as little variety as other people do their rule and routine; and when once we have fathomed their mystery, nothing can be more wearisome. An innate perception and reflection of truth give the only sort of originality that does not finally grow intolerable. September 4th.--I made a voyage in the Pond-Lily all by myself yesterday morning, and was much encouraged by my success in causing the boat to go whither I would. I have always liked to be afloat, but I think I have never adequately conceived of the enjoyment till now, when I begin to feel a power over that which supports me. I suppose I must have felt something like this sense of triumph when I first learned to swim; but I have forgotten it. O that I could run wild!--that is, that I could put myself into a true relation with Nature, and be on friendly terms with all congenial elements. We had a thunder-storm last evening; and to-day has been a cool, breezy autumnal day, such as my soul and body love. September 18th.--How the summer-time flits away, even while it seems to be loitering onward, arm in arm with autumn! Of late I have walked but little over the hills and through the woods, my leisure being chiefly occupied with my boat, which I have now learned to manage with tolerable skill. Yesterday afternoon I made a voyage alone up the North Branch of Concord River. There was a strong west-wind blowing dead against me, which, together with the current, increased by the height of the water, made the first part of the passage pretty toilsome. The black river was all dimpled over with little eddies and whirlpools; and the breeze, moreover, caused the billows to beat against the bow of the boat, with a sound like the flapping of a bird's wing. The water-weeds, where they were discernible through the tawny water, were straight outstretched by the force of the current, looking as if they were forced to hold on to their roots with all their might. If for a moment I desisted from paddling, the head of the boat was swept round by the combined might of wind and tide. However, I toiled onward stoutly, and, entering the North Branch, soon found myself floating quietly along a tranquil stream, sheltered from the breeze by the woods and a lofty hill. The current, likewise, lingered along so gently that it was merely a pleasure to propel the boat against it. I never could have conceived that there was so beautiful a river-scene in Concord as this of the North Branch. The stream flows through the midmost privacy and deepest heart of a wood, which, as if but half satisfied with its presence, calm, gentle, and unobtrusive as it is, seems to crowd upon it, and barely to allow it passage; for the trees are rooted on the very verge of the water, and dip their pendent branches into it. On one side there is a high bank, forming the side of a hill, the Indian name of which I have forgotten, though Mr. Thoreau told it to me; and here, in some instances, the trees stand leaning over the river, stretching out their arms as if about to plunge in headlong. On the other side, the bank is almost on a level with the water; and there the quiet congregation of trees stood with feet in the flood, and fringed with foliage down to its very surface. Vines here and there twine themselves about bushes or aspens or alder-trees, and hang their clusters (though scanty and infrequent this season) so that I can reach them from my boat. I scarcely remember a scene of more complete and lovely seclusion than the passage of the river through this wood. Even an Indian canoe, in olden times, could not have floated onward in deeper solitude than my boat. I have never elsewhere had such an opportunity to observe how much more beautiful reflection is than what we call reality. The sky, and the clustering foliage on either hand, and the effect of sunlight as it found its way through the shade, giving lightsome hues in contrast with the quiet depth of the prevailing tints, --all these seemed unsurpassably beautiful when beheld in upper air. But on gazing downward, there they were, the same even to the minutest particular, yet arrayed in ideal beauty, which satisfied the spirit incomparably more than the actual scene. I am half convinced that the reflection is indeed the reality, the real thing which Nature imperfectly images to our grosser sense. At any rate, the disembodied shadow is nearest to the soul. There were many tokens of autumn in this beautiful picture. Two or three of the trees were actually dressed in their coats of many colors,--the real scarlet and gold which they wear before they put on mourning. These stood on low, marshy spots, where a frost has probably touched them already. Others were of a light, fresh green, resembling the hues of spring, though this, likewise, is a token of decay. The great mass of the foliage, however, appears unchanged; but ever and anon down came a yellow leaf, half flitting upon the air, half falling through it, and finally settling upon the water. A multitude of these were floating here and there along the river, many of them curling upward, so as to form little boats, fit for fairies to voyage in. They looked strangely pretty, with yet a melancholy prettiness, as they floated along. The general aspect of the river, however, differed but little from that of summer,--at least the difference defies expression. It is more in the character of the rich yellow sunlight than in aught else. The water of the stream has now a thrill of autumnal coolness; yet whenever a broad gleam fell across it, through an interstice of the foliage, multitudes of insects were darting to and fro upon its surface. The sunshine, thus falling across the dark river, has a most beautiful effect. It burnishes it, as it were, and yet leaves it as dark as ever. On my return, I suffered the boat to float almost of its own will down the stream, and caught fish enough for this morning's breakfast. But, partly from a qualm of conscience, I finally put them all into the water again, and saw them swim away as if nothing had happened. Monday, October 10th.--A long while, indeed, since my last date. But the weather has been generally sunny and pleasant, though often very cold; and I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house. So I have spent almost all the daylight hours in the open air. My chief amusement has been boating up and down the river. A week or two ago (September 27 and 28) I went on a pedestrian excursion with Mr. Emerson, and was gone two days and one night, it being the first and only night that I have spent away from home. We were that night at the village of Harvard, and the next morning walked three miles farther, to the Shaker village, where we breakfasted. Mr. Emerson had a theological discussion with two of the Shaker brethren; but the particulars of it have faded from my memory; and all the other adventures of the tour have now so lost their freshness that I cannot adequately recall them. Wherefore let them rest untold. I recollect nothing so well as the aspect of some fringed gentians, which we saw growing by the roadside, and which were so beautiful that I longed to turn back and pluck them. After an arduous journey, we arrived safe home in the afternoon of the second day,--the first time that I ever came home in my life; for I never had a home before. On Saturday of the same week, my friend D. R------ came to see us, and stayed till Tuesday morning. On Wednesday there was a cattleshow in the village, of which I would give a description, if it had possessed any picturesque points. The foregoing are the chief outward events of our life. In the mean time autumn has been advancing, and is said to be a month earlier than usual. We had frosts, sufficient to kill the bean and squash vines, more than a fortnight ago; but there has since been some of the most delicious Indian-summer weather that I ever experienced,--mild, sweet, perfect days, in which the warm sunshine seemed to embrace the earth and all earth's children with love and tenderness. Generally, however, the bright days have been vexed with winds from the northwest, somewhat too keen and high for comfort. These winds have strewn our avenue with withered leaves, although the trees still retain some density of foliage, which is now imbrowned or otherwise variegated by autumn. Our apples, too, have been falling, falling, falling; and we have picked the fairest of them from the dewy grass, and put them in our store-room and elsewhere. On Thursday, John Flint began to gather those which remained on the trees; and I suppose they will amount to nearly twenty barrels, or perhaps more. As usual when I have anything to sell, apples are very low indeed in price, and will not fetch me more than a dollar a barrel. I have sold my share of the potato-field for twenty dollars and ten bushels of potatoes for my own use. This may suffice for the economical history of our recent life. 12 o'clock, M.--Just now I heard a sharp tapping at the window of my study, and, looking up from my book (a volume of Rabelais), behold! the head of a little bird, who seemed to demand admittance! He was probably attempting to get a fly, which was on the pane of glass against which he rapped; and on my first motion the feathered visitor took wing. This incident had a curious effect on me. It impressed me as if the bird had been a spiritual visitant, so strange was it that this little wild thing should seem to ask our hospitality. November 8th.--I am sorry that our journal has fallen so into neglect; but I see no chance of amendment. All my scribbling propensities will be far more than gratified in writing nonsense for the press; so that any gratuitous labor of the pen becomes peculiarly distasteful. Since the last date, we have paid a visit of nine days to Boston and Salem, whence we returned a week ago yesterday. Thus we lost above a week of delicious autumnal weather, which should have been spent in the woods or upon the river. Ever since our return, however, until to-day, there has been a succession of genuine Indian-summer days, with gentle winds or none at all, and a misty atmosphere, which idealizes all nature, and a mild, beneficent sunshine, inviting one to lie down in a nook and forget all earthly care. To-day the sky is dark and lowering, and occasionally lets fall a few sullen tears. I suppose we must bid farewell to Indian summer now, and expect no more love and tenderness from Mother Nature till next spring be well advanced. She has already made herself as unlovely in outward aspect as can well be. We took a walk to Sleepy Hollow yesterday, and beheld scarcely a green thing, except the everlasting verdure of the family of pines, which, indeed, are trees to thank God for at this season. A range of young birches had retained a pretty liberal coloring of yellow or tawny leaves, which became very cheerful in the sunshine. There were one or two oak-trees whose foliage still retained a deep, dusky red, which looked rich and warm; but most of the oaks had reached the last stage of autumnal decay,--the dusky brown hue. Millions of their leaves strew the woods and rustle underneath the foot; but enough remain upon the boughs to make a melancholy harping when the wind sweeps over them. We found some fringed gentians in the meadow, most of them blighted and withered; but a few were quite perfect. The other day, since our return from Salem, I found a violet; yet it was so cold that day, that a large pool of water, under the shadow of some trees, had remained frozen from morning till afternoon. The ice was so thick as not to be broken by some sticks and small stones which I threw upon it. But ice and snow too will soon be no extraordinary matters with us. During the last week we have had three stoves put up, and henceforth no light of a cheerful fire will gladden us at eventide. Stoves are detestable in every respect, except that they keep us perfectly comfortable. Thursday, November 24th.--This is Thanksgiving Day, a good old festival, and we have kept it with our hearts, and, besides, have made good cheer upon our turkey and pudding, and pies and custards, although none sat at our board but our two selves. There was a new and livelier sense, I think, that we have at last found a home, and that a new family has been gathered since the last Thanksgiving Day. There have been many bright cold days latterly,--so cold that it has required a pretty rapid pace to keep one's self warm a-walking. Day before yesterday I saw a party of boys skating on a pond of water that has overflowed a neighboring meadow. Running water has not yet frozen. Vegetation has quite come to a stand, except in a few sheltered spots. In a deep ditch we found a tall plant of the freshest and healthiest green, which looked as if it must have grown within the last few weeks. We wander among the wood-paths, which are very pleasant in the sunshine of the afternoons, the trees looking rich and warm,--such of them, I mean, as have retained their russet leaves; and where the leaves are strewn along the paths, or heaped plentifully in some hollow of the hills, the effect is not without a charm. To-day the morning rose with rain, which has since changed to snow and sleet; and now the landscape is as dreary as can well be imagined,--white, with the brownness of the soil and withered grass everywhere peeping out. The swollen river, of a leaden hue, drags itself sullenly along; and this may be termed the first winter's day. Friday, March 31st, 1843.--The first month of spring is already gone; and still the snow lies deep on hill and valley, and the river is still frozen from bank to bank, although a late rain has caused pools of water to stand on the surface of the ice, and the meadows are overflowed into broad lakes. Such a protracted winter has not been known for twenty years, at least. I have almost forgotten the wood-paths and shady places which I used to know so well last summer; and my views are so much confined to the interior of our mansion, that sometimes, looking out of the window, I am surprised to catch a glimpse of houses, at no great distance, which had quite passed out of my recollection. From present appearances, another month may scarcely suffice to wash away all the snow from the open country; and in the woods and hollows it may linger yet longer. The winter will not have been a day less than five months long; and it would not be unfair to call it seven. A great space, indeed, to miss the smile of Nature, in a single year of human life. Even out of the midst of happiness I have sometimes sighed and groaned; for I love the sunshine and the green woods, and the sparkling blue water; and it seems as if the picture of our inward bliss should be set in a beautiful frame of outward nature. . . . As to the daily course of our life, I have written with pretty commendable diligence, averaging from two to four hours a day; and the result is seen in various magazines. I might have written more, if it had seemed worth while; but I was content to earn only so much gold as might suffice for our immediate wants, having prospect of official station and emolument which would do away with the necessity of writing for bread. Those prospects have not yet had their fulfilment; and we are well content to wait, because an office would inevitably remove us from our present happy home,--at least from an outward home; for there is an inner one that will accompany us wherever we go. Meantime, the magazine people do not pay their debts; so that we taste some of the inconveniences of poverty. It is an annoyance, not a trouble. Every day, I trudge through snow and slosh to the village, look into the post-office, and spend an hour at the reading-room; and then return home, generally without having spoken a word to a human being. . . . In the way of exercise I saw and split wood, and, physically, I never was in a better condition than now. This is chiefly owing, doubtless, to a satisfied heart, in aid of which comes the exercise above mentioned, and about a fair proportion of intellectual labor. On the 9th of this mouth, we left home again on a visit to Boston and Salem. I alone went to Salem, where I resumed all my bachelor habits for nearly a fortnight, leading the same life in which ten years of my youth flitted away like a dream. But how much changed was I! At last I had caught hold of a reality which never could be taken from me. It was good thus to get apart from my happiness, for the sake of contemplating it. On the 21st, I returned to Boston, and went out to Cambridge to dine with Longfellow, whom I had not seen since his return from Europe. The next day we came back to our old house, which had been deserted all this time; for our servant had gone with us to Boston. Friday, April 7th.--My wife has gone to Boston to see her sister M------, who is to be married in two or three weeks, and then immediately to visit Europe for six months. . . . I betook myself to sawing and splitting wood; there being an inward unquietness which demanded active exercise, and I sawed, I think, more briskly than ever before. When I re-entered the house, it was with somewhat of a desolate feeling; yet not without an intermingled pleasure, as being the more conscious that all separation was temporary, and scarcely real, even for the little time that it may last. After my solitary dinner, I lay down, with the Dial in my hand, and attempted to sleep; but sleep would not come. . . . So I arose, and began this record in the journal, almost at the commencement of which I was interrupted by a visit from Mr. Thoreau, who came to return a book, and to announce his purpose of going to reside at Staten Island, as private tutor in the family of Mr. Emerson's brother. We had some conversation upon this subject, and upon the spiritual advantages of change of place, and upon the Dial, and upon Mr. Alcott, and other kindred or concatenated subjects. I am glad, on Mr. Thoreau's own account, that he is going away, as he is out of health, and may be benefited by his removal; but, on my account, I should like to have him remain here, he being one of the few persons, I think, with whom to hold intercourse is like hearing the wind among the boughs of a forest-tree; and, with all this wild freedom, there is high and classic cultivation in him too. . . . I had a purpose, if circumstances would permit, of passing the whole term of my wife's absence without speaking a word to any human being; but now my Pythagorean vow has been broken, within three or four hours after her departure. Saturday, April 8th.--After journalizing yesterday afternoon, I went out and sawed and split wood till teatime, then studied German (translating Lenore), with an occasional glance at a beautiful sunset, which I could not enjoy sufficiently by myself to induce me to lay aside the book. After lamplight, finished Lenore, and drowsed over Voltaire's Candide, occasionally refreshing myself with a tune from Mr. Thoreau's musical-box, which he had left in my keeping. The evening was but a dull one. I retired soon after nine, and felt some apprehension that the old Doctor's ghost would take this opportunity to visit me; but I rather think his former visitations have not been intended for me, and that I am not sufficiently spiritual for ghostly communication. At all events, I met with no disturbance of the kind, and slept soundly enough till six o'clock or thereabouts. The forenoon was spent with the pen in my hand, and sometimes I had the glimmering of an idea, and endeavored to materialize it in words; but on the whole my mind was idly vagrant, and refused to work to any systematic purpose. Between eleven and twelve I went to the post-office, but found no letter; then spent above an hour reading at the Athenaeum. On my way home, I encountered Mr. Flint, for the first time these many weeks, although he is our next neighbor in one direction. I inquired if he could sell us some potatoes, and he promised to send half a bushel for trial. Also, he encouraged me to hope that he might buy a barrel of our apples. After my encounter with Mr. Flint, I returned to our lonely old abbey, opened the door without the usual heart-spring, ascended to my study, and began to read a tale of Tieck. Slow work, and dull work too! Anon, Molly, the cook, rang the bell for dinner,--a sumptuous banquet of stewed veal and macaroni, to which I sat down in solitary state. My appetite served me sufficiently to eat with, but not for enjoyment. Nothing has a zest in my present widowed state. [Thus far I had written, when Mr. Emerson called.] After dinner, I lay down on the couch, with the Dial in my hand as a soporific, and had a short nap; then began to journalize. Mr. Emerson came, with a sunbeam in his face; and we had as good a talk as I ever remember to have had with him. He spoke of Margaret Fuller, who, he says, has risen perceptibly into a higher state since their last meeting. [There rings the tea-bell.] Then we discoursed of Ellery Channing, a volume of whose poems is to be immediately published, with revisions by Mr. Emerson himself and Mr. Sam G. Ward. . . . He calls them "poetry for poets." Next Mr. Thoreau was discussed, and his approaching departure; in respect to which we agreed pretty well. . . . We talked of Brook Farm, and the singular moral aspects which it presents, and the great desirability that its progress and developments should be observed and its history written; also of C. N------, who, it appears, is passing through a new moral phasis. He is silent, inexpressive, talks little or none, and listens without response, except a sardonic laugh; and some of his friends think that he is passing into permanent eclipse. Various other matters were considered or glanced at, and finally, between five and six o'clock, Mr. Emerson took his leave. I then went out to chop wood, my allotted space for which had been very much abridged by his visit; but I was not sorry. I went on with the journal for a few minutes before tea, and have finished the present record in the setting sunshine and gathering dusk. . . . Salem.--. . . . Here I am, in my old chamber, where I produced those stupendous works of fiction which have since impressed the universe with wonderment and awe! To this chamber, doubtless, in all succeeding ages, pilgrims will come to pay their tribute of reverence;--they will put off their shoes at the threshold for fear of desecrating the tattered old carpets! "There," they will exclaim, "is the very bed in which he slumbered, and where he was visited by those ethereal visions which he afterwards fixed forever in glowing words! There is the wash-stand at which this exalted personage cleansed himself from the stains of earth, and rendered his outward man a fitting exponent of the pure soul within. There, in its mahogany frame, is the dressing-glass, which often reflected that noble brow, those hyacinthine locks, that mouth bright with smiles or tremulous with feeling, that flashing or melting eye, that--in short, every item of the magnanimous face of this unexampled man. There is the pine table,--there the old flag-bottomed chair on which he sat, and at which he scribbled, during his agonies of inspiration! There is the old chest of drawers in which he kept what shirts a poor author may be supposed to have possessed! There is the closet in which was reposited his threadbare suit of black! There is the worn-out shoe-brush with which this polished writer polished his boots. There is--" but I believe, this will be pretty much all, so here I close the catalogue. . . . A cloudy veil stretches over the abyss of my nature. I have, however, no love of secrecy and darkness. I am glad to think that God sees through my heart, and, if any angel has power to penetrate into it, he is welcome to know everything that is there. Yes, and so may any mortal who is capable of full sympathy, and therefore worthy to come into my depths. But he must find his own way there. I can neither guide nor enlighten him. It is this involuntary reserve, I suppose, that has given the objectivity to my writings; and when people think that I am pouring myself out in a tale or an essay, I am merely telling what is common to human nature, not what is peculiar to myself. I sympathize with them, not they with me. . . . I have recently been both lectured about and preached about here in my native city; the preacher was Rev. Mr. Fox of Newburyport; but how he contrived to put me into a sermon I know not. I trust he took for his text, "Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile." Salem, March 12th.--. . . . That poor home! how desolate it is now! Last night, being awake, . . . . my thoughts travelled back to the lonely old Manse; and it seemed as if I were wandering up stairs and down stairs all by myself. My fancy was almost afraid to be there alone. I could see every object in a dim, gray light,--our chamber, the study, all in confusion; the parlor, with the fragments of that abortive breakfast on the table, and the precious silver forks, and the old bronze image, keeping its solitary stand upon the mantelpiece. Then, methought, the wretched Vigwiggie came, and jumped upon the window-sill, and clung there with her fore paws, mewing dismally for admittance, which I could not grant her, being there myself only in the spirit. And then came the ghost of the old Doctor, stalking through the gallery, and down the staircase, and peeping into the parlor; and though I was wide awake, and conscious of being so many miles from the spot, still it was quite awful to think of the ghost having sole possession of our home; for I could not quite separate myself from it, after all. Somehow the Doctor and I seemed to be there tete-a-tete. . . . I believe I did not have any fantasies about the ghostly kitchen-maid; but I trust Mary left the flat-irons within her reach, so that she may do all her ironing while we are away, and never disturb us more at midnight. I suppose she comes thither to iron her shroud, and perhaps, likewise, to smooth the Doctor's band. Probably, during her lifetime, she allowed him to go to some ordination or other grand clerical celebration with rumpled linen, and ever since, and throughout all earthly futurity (at least, as long as the house shall stand), she is doomed to exercise a nightly toil with a spiritual flat-iron. Poor sinner!--and doubtless Satan heats the irons for her. What nonsense is all this! but, really, it does make me shiver to think of that poor home of ours. March 16th.--. . . . As for this Mr. ------, I wish he would not be so troublesome. His scheme is well enough, and might possibly become popular; but it has no peculiar advantages with reference to myself, nor do the subjects of his proposed books particularly suit my fancy as themes to write upon. Somebody else will answer his purpose just as well; and I would rather write books of my own imagining than be hired to develop the ideas of an engraver; especially as the pecuniary prospect is not better, nor so good, as it might be elsewhere. I intend to adhere to my former plan of writing one or two mythological story-books, to be published under O'Sullivan's auspices in New York,---which is the only place where books can be published with a chance of profit. As a matter of courtesy, I may call on Mr. ------, if I have time; but I do not intend to be connected with this affair. Sunday, April 9th.--. . . . After finishing my record in the journal, I sat a long time in grandmother's chair, thinking of many things. . . . My spirits were at a lower ebb than they ever descend to when I am not alone; nevertheless, neither was I absolutely sad. Many times I wound and rewound Mr. Thoreau's little musical-box; but certainly its peculiar sweetness had evaporated, and I am pretty sure that I should throw it out of the window were I doomed to hear it long and often. It has not an infinite soul. When it was almost as dark as the moonlight would let it be, I lighted the lamp, and went on with Tieck's tale, slowly and painfully, often wishing for help in my difficulties. At last I determined to learn a little about pronouns and verbs before proceeding further, and so took up the phrase-book, with which I was commendably busy, when, at about a quarter to nine, came a knock at my study door, and, behold, there was Molly with a letter! How she came by it I did not ask, being content to suppose it was brought by a heavenly messenger. I had not expected a letter; and what a comfort it was to me in my loneliness and sombreness! I called Molly to take her note (enclosed), which she received with a face of delight as broad and bright as the kitchen fire. Then I read, and re-read, and re-re-read, and quadruply, quintuply, and sextuply re-read my epistle, until I had it all by heart, and then continued to re-read it for the sake of the penmanship. Then I took up the phrase-book again; but could not study, and so bathed and retired, it being now not far from ten o'clock. I lay awake a good deal in the night, but saw no ghost. I arose about seven, and found that the upper part of my nose, and the region round about, was grievously discolored; and at the angle of the left eye there is a great spot of almost black purple, and a broad streak of the same hue semicircling beneath either eye, while green, yellow, and orange overspread the circumjacent country. It looks not unlike a gorgeous sunset, throwing its splendor over the heaven of my countenance. It will behoove me to show myself as little as possible, else people will think I have fought a pitched battle. . . . The Devil take the stick of wood! What had I done, that it should bemaul me so? However, there is no pain, though, I think, a very slight affection of the eyes. This forenoon I began to write, and caught an idea by the skirts, which I intend to hold fast, though it struggles to get free. As it was not ready to be put upon paper, however, I took up the Dial, and finished reading the article on Mr. Alcott. It is not very satisfactory, and it has not taught me much. Then I read Margaret's article on Canova, which is good. About this time the dinner-bell rang, and I went down without much alacrity, though with a good appetite enough. . . . It was in the angle of my right eye, not my left, that the blackest purple was collected. But they both look like the very Devil. Half past five o'clock.--After writing the above, . . . . I again set to work on Tieck's tale, and worried through several pages; and then, at half past four, threw open one of the western windows of my study, and sallied forth to take the sunshine. I went down through the orchard to the river-side. The orchard-path is still deeply covered with snow; and so is the whole visible universe, except streaks upon the hillsides, and spots in the sunny hollows, where the brown earth peeps through. The river, which a few days ago was entirely imprisoned, has now broken its fetters; but a tract of ice extended across from near the foot of the monument to the abutment of the old bridge, and looked so solid that I supposed it would yet remain for a day or two. Large cakes and masses of ice came floating down the current, which, though not very violent, hurried along at a much swifter pace than the ordinary one of our sluggish river-god. These ice-masses, when they struck the barrier of ice above mentioned, acted upon it like a battering-ram, and were themselves forced high out of the water, or sometimes carried beneath the main sheet of ice. At last, down the stream came an immense mass of ice, and, striking the barrier about at its centre, it gave way, and the whole was swept onward together, leaving the river entirely free, with only here and there a cake of ice floating quietly along. The great accumulation, in its downward course, hit against a tree that stood in mid-current, and caused it to quiver like a reed; and it swept quite over the shrubbery that bordered what, in summer-time, is the river's bank, but which is now nearly the centre of the stream. Our river in its present state has quite a noble breadth. The little hillock which formed the abutment of the old bridge is now an island with its tuft of trees. Along the hither shore a row of trees stand up to their knees, and the smaller ones to their middles, in the water; and afar off, on the surface of the stream, we see tufts of bushes emerging, thrusting up their heads, as it were, to breathe. The water comes over the stone-wall, and encroaches several yards on the boundaries of our orchard. [Here the supper-bell rang.] If our boat were in good order, I should now set forth on voyages of discovery, and visit nooks on the borders of the meadows, which by and by will be a mile or two from the water's edge. But she is in very bad condition, full of water, and, doubtless, as leaky as a sieve. On coming from supper, I found that little Puss had established herself in the study, probably with intent to pass the night here. She now lies on the footstool between my feet, purring most obstreperously. The day of my wife's departure, she came to me, talking with the greatest earnestness; but whether it was to condole with me on my loss, or to demand my redoubled care for herself, I could not well make out. As Puss now constitutes a third part of the family, this mention of her will not appear amiss. How Molly employs herself, I know not. Once in a while, I hear a door slam like a thunder-clap; but she never shows her face, nor speaks a word, unless to announce a visitor or deliver a letter. This day, on my part, will have been spent without exchanging a syllable with any human being, unless something unforeseen should yet call for the exercise of speech before bedtime. Monday, April 10th.--I sat till eight o'clock, meditating upon this world and the next, . . . . and sometimes dimly shaping out scenes of a tale. Then betook myself to the German phrase-book. Ah! these are but dreary evenings. The lamp would not brighten my spirits, though it was duly filled. . . . This forenoon was spent in scribbling, by no means to my satisfaction, until past eleven, when I went to the village. Nothing in our box at the post-office. I read during the customary hour, or more, at the Athenaeum, and returned without saying a word to mortal. I gathered, from some conversation that I heard, that a son of Adam is to be buried this afternoon from the meeting-house; but the name of the deceased escaped me. It is no great matter, so it be but written in the Book of Life. My variegated face looks somewhat more human to-day; though I was unaffectedly ashamed to meet anybody's gaze, and therefore turned my back or my shoulder as much as possible upon the world. At dinner, behold an immense joint of roast veal! I would willingly have had some assistance in the discussion of this great piece of calf. I am ashamed to eat alone; it becomes the mere gratification of animal appetite,--the tribute which we are compelled to pay to our grosser nature; whereas in the company of another it is refined and moralized and spiritualized; and over our earthly victuals (or rather vittles, for the former is a very foolish mode of spelling),--over our earthly vittles is diffused a sauce of lofty and gentle thoughts, and tough meat is mollified with tender feelings. But oh! these solitary meals are the dismallest part of my present experience. When the company rose from table, they all, in my single person, ascended to the study, and employed themselves in reading the article on Oregon in the Democratic Review. Then they plodded onward in the rugged and bewildering depths of Tieck's tale until five o'clock, when, with one accord, they went out to split wood. This has been a gray day, with now and then a sprinkling of snow-flakes through the air. . . . To-day no more than yesterday have I spoken a word to mortal. . . . It is now sunset, and I must meditate till dark. April 11th.--I meditated accordingly, but without any very wonderful result. Then at eight o'clock bothered myself till after nine with this eternal tale of Tieck. The forenoon was spent in scribbling; but at eleven o'clock my thoughts ceased to flow,--indeed, their current has been wofully interrupted all along,--so I threw down my pen, and set out on the daily journey to the village. Horrible walking! I wasted the customary hour at the Athenaeum, and returned home, if home it may now be called. Till dinner-time I labored on Tieck's tale, and resumed that agreeable employment after the banquet. Just when I was on the point of choking with a huge German word, Molly announced Mr. Thoreau. He wished to take a row in the boat, for the last time, perhaps, before he leaves Concord. So we emptied the water out of her, and set forth on our voyage. She leaks, but not more than she did in the autumn. We rowed to the foot of the hill which borders the North Branch, and there landed, and climbed the moist and snowy hillside for the sake of the prospect. Looking down the river, it might well have been mistaken for an arm of the sea, so broad is now its swollen tide; and I could have fancied that, beyond one other headland, the mighty ocean would outspread itself before the eye. On our return we boarded a large cake of ice, which was floating down the river, and were borne by it directly to our own landing-place, with the boat towing behind. Parting with Mr. Thoreau, I spent half an hour in chopping wood, when Molly informed me that Mr. Emerson wished to see me. He had brought a letter of Ellery Channing, written in a style of very pleasant humor. This being read and discussed, together with a few other matters, he took his leave, since which I have been attending to my journalizing duty; and thus this record is brought down to the present moment. April 25th.--Spring is advancing, sometimes with sunny days, and sometimes, as is the case now, with chill, moist, sullen ones. There is an influence in the season that makes it almost impossible for me to bring my mind down to literary employment; perhaps because several months' pretty constant work has exhausted that species of energy,-- perhaps because in spring it is more natural to labor actively than to think. But my impulse now is to be idle altogether,--to lie in the sun, or wander about and look at the revival of Nature from her death-like slumber, or to be borne down the current of the river in my boat. If I had wings, I would gladly fly; yet would prefer to be wafted along by a breeze, sometimes alighting on a patch of green grass, then gently whirled away to a still sunnier spot. . . . O, how blest should I be were there nothing to do! Then I would watch every inch and hair's-breadth of the progress of the season; and not a leaf should put itself forth, in the vicinity of our old mansion, without my noting it. But now, with the burden of a continual task upon me, I have not freedom of mind to make such observations. I merely see what is going on in a very general way. The snow, which, two or three weeks ago, covered hill and valley, is now diminished to one or two solitary specks in the visible landscape; though doubtless there are still heaps of it in the shady places in the woods. There have been no violent rains to carry it off: it has diminished gradually, inch by inch, and day after day; and I observed, along the roadside, that the green blades of grass had sometimes sprouted on the very edge of the snowdrift the moment that the earth was uncovered. The pastures and grass-fields have not yet a general effect of green; nor have they that cheerless brown tint which they wear in later autumn, when vegetation has entirely ceased. There is now a suspicion of verdure,-- the faint shadow of it,--but not the warm reality. Sometimes, in a happy exposure,--there is one such tract across the river, the carefully cultivated mowing-field, in front of an old red homestead,--such patches of land wear a beautiful and tender green, which no other season will equal; because, let the grass be green as it may hereafter, it will not be so set off by surrounding barrenness. The trees in our orchard, and elsewhere, have as yet no leaves; yet to the most careless eye they appear full of life and vegetable blood. It seems as if, by one magic touch, they might instantaneously put forth all their foliage, and the wind, which now sighs through their naked branches, might all at once find itself impeded by innumerable leaves. This sudden development would be scarcely more wonderful than the gleam of verdure which often brightens, in a moment, as it were, along the slope of a bank or roadside. It is like a gleam of sunlight. Just now it was brown, like the rest of the scenery: look again, and there is an apparition of green grass. The Spring, no doubt, comes onward with fleeter footsteps, because Winter has lingered so long that, at best, she can hardly retrieve half the allotted term of her reign. The river, this season, has encroached farther on the land than it has been known to do for twenty years past. It has formed along its course a succession of lakes, with a current through the midst. My boat has lain at the bottom of the orchard, in very convenient proximity to the house. It has borne me over stone fences; and, a few days ago, Ellery Channing and I passed through two rails into the great northern road, along which we paddled for some distance. The trees have a singular appearance in the midst of waters. The curtailment of their trunks quite destroys the proportions of the whole tree; and we become conscious of a regularity and propriety in the forms of Nature, by the effect of this abbreviation. The waters are now subsiding, but gradually. Islands become annexed to the mainland, and other islands emerge from the flood, and will soon, likewise, be connected with the continent. We have seen on a small scale the process of the deluge, and can now witness that of the reappearance of the earth. Crows visited us long before the snow was off. They seem mostly to have departed now, or else to have betaken themselves to remote depths of the woods, which they haunt all summer long. Ducks came in great numbers, and many sportsmen went in pursuit of them, along the river; but they also have disappeared. Gulls come up from seaward, and soar high overhead, flapping their broad wings in the upper sunshine. They are among the most picturesque birds that I am acquainted with; indeed, quite the most so, because the manner of their flight makes them almost stationary parts of the landscape. The imagination has time to rest upon them; they have not flitted away in a moment. You go up among the clouds, and lay hold of these soaring gulls, and repose with them upon the sustaining atmosphere. The smaller birds,--the birds that build their nests in our trees, and sing for us at morning-red,--I will not describe. . . . But I must mention the great companies of blackbirds-- more than the famous "four-and-twenty" who were baked in a pie--that congregate on the tops of contiguous trees, and vociferate with all the clamor of a turbulent political meeting. Politics must certainly be the subject of such a tumultuous debate; but still there is a melody in each individual utterance, and a harmony in the general effect. Mr. Thoreau tells me that these noisy assemblages consist of three different species of blackbirds; but I forget the other two. Robins have been long among us, and swallows have more recently arrived. April 26th.--Here is another misty day, muffling the sun. The lilac-shrubs under my study window are almost in leaf. In two or three days more, I may put forth my hand and pluck a green bough. These lilacs appear to be very aged, and have lost the luxuriant foliage of their prime. Old age has a singular aspect in lilacs, rose-bushes, and other ornamental shrubs. It seems as if such things, as they grow only for beauty, ought to flourish in immortal youth, or at least to die before their decrepitude. They are trees of Paradise, and therefore not naturally subject to decay; but have lost their birthright by being transplanted hither. There is a kind of ludicrous unfitness in the idea of a venerable rose-bush; and there is something analogous to this in human life. Persons who can only be graceful and ornamental--who can give the world nothing but flowers--should die young, and never be seen with gray hairs and wrinkles, any more than the flower-shrubs with mossy bark and scanty foliage, like the lilacs under my window. Not that beauty is not worthy of immortality. Nothing else, indeed, is worthy of it; and thence, perhaps, the sense of impropriety when we see it triumphed over by time. Apple-trees, on the other hand, grow old without reproach. Let them live as long as they may, and contort themselves in whatever fashion they please, they are still respectable, even if they afford us only an apple or two in a season, or none at all. Human flower-shrubs, if they will grow old on earth, should, beside their lovely blossoms, bear some kind of fruit that will satisfy earthly appetites; else men will not be satisfied that the moss should gather on them. Winter and Spring are now struggling for the mastery in my study; and I yield somewhat to each, and wholly to neither. The window is open, and there is a fire in the stove. The day when the window is first thrown open should be an epoch in the year; but I have forgotten to record it. Seventy or eighty springs have visited this old house; and sixty of them found old Dr. Ripley here,--not always old, it is true, but gradually getting wrinkles and gray hairs, and looking more and more the picture of winter. But he was no flower-shrub, but one of those fruit-trees or timber-trees that acquire a grace with their old age. Last Spring found this house solitary for the first time since it was built; and now again she peeps into our open windows and finds new faces here. . . . It is remarkable how much uncleanness winter brings with it, or leaves behind it. . . . The yard, garden, and avenue, which should be my department, require a great amount of labor. The avenue is strewed with withered leaves,--the whole crop, apparently, of last year,--some of which are now raked into heaps; and we intend to make a bonfire of them. . . . There are quantities of decayed branches, which one tempest after another has flung down, black and rotten. In the garden are the old cabbages which we did not think worth gathering last autumn, and the dry bean-vines, and the withered stalks of the asparagus-bed; in short, all the wrecks of the departed year,--its mouldering relics, its dry bones. It is a pity that the world cannot be made over anew every spring. Then, in the yard, there are the piles of firewood, which I ought to have sawed and thrown into the shed long since, but which will cumber the earth, I fear, till June, at least. Quantities of chips are strewn about, and on removing them we find the yellow stalks of grass sprouting underneath. Nature does her best to beautify this disarray. The grass springs up most industriously, especially in sheltered and sunny angles of the buildings, or round the doorsteps,--a locality which seems particularly favorable to its growth; for it is already high enough to bend over and wave in the wind. I was surprised to observe that some weeds (especially a plant that stains the fingers with its yellow juice) had lived, and retained their freshness and sap as perfectly as in summer, through all the frosts and snows of last winter. I saw them, the last green thing, in the autumn; and here they are again, the first in the spring. Thursday, April 27th.--I took a walk into the fields, and round our opposite hill, yesterday noon, but made no very remarkable observation. The frogs have begun their concerts, though not as yet with a full choir. I found no violets nor anemones, nor anything in the likeness of a flower, though I looked carefully along the shelter of the stone-walls, and in all spots apparently propitious. I ascended the hill, and had a wide prospect of a swollen river, extending around me in a semicircle of three or four miles, and rendering the view much finer than in summer, had there only been foliage. It seemed like the formation of a new world; for islands were everywhere emerging, and capes extending forth into the flood; and these tracts, which were thus won from the watery empire, were among the greenest in the landscape. The moment the deluge leaves them, Nature asserts them to be her property by covering them with verdure; or perhaps the grass had been growing under the water. On the hill-top where I stood, the grass had scarcely begun to sprout; and I observed that even those places which looked greenest in the distance were but scantily grass-covered when I actually reached them. It was hope that painted them so bright. Last evening we saw a bright light on the river, betokening that a boat's party were engaged in spearing fish. It looked like a descended star,-- like red Mars,--and, as the water was perfectly smooth, its gleam was reflected downward into the depths. It is a very picturesque sight. In the deep quiet of the night I suddenly heard the light and lively note of a bird from a neighboring tree,--a real song, such as those which greet the purple dawn, or mingle with the yellow sunshine. What could the little bird mean by pouring it forth at midnight? Probably the note gushed out from the midst of a dream, in which he fancied himself in Paradise with his mate; and, suddenly awaking, he found he was on a cold, leafless bough, with a New England mist penetrating through his feathers. That was a sad exchange of imagination for reality; but if he found his mate beside him, all was well. This is another misty morning, ungenial in aspect, but kinder than it looks; for it paints the hills and valleys with a richer brush than the sunshine could. There is more verdure now than when I looked out of the window an hour ago. The willow-tree opposite my study window is ready to put forth its leaves. There are some objections to willows. It is not a dry and cleanly tree; it impresses me with an association of sliminess; and no trees, I think, are perfectly satisfactory, which have not a firm and hard texture of trunk and branches. But the willow is almost the earliest to put forth its leaves, and the last to scatter them on the ground; and during the whole winter its yellow twigs give it a sunny aspect, which is not without a cheering influence in a proper point of view. Our old house would lose much were this willow to be cut down, with its golden crown over the roof in winter, and its heap of summer verdure. The present Mr. Ripley planted it, fifty years ago, or thereabouts. Friday, June 2d.--Last night there came a frost, which has done great damage to my garden. The beans have suffered very much, although, luckily, not more than half that I planted have come up. The squashes, both summer and winter, appear to be almost killed. As to the other vegetables, there is little mischief done,--the potatoes not being yet above ground, except two or three; and the peas and corn are of a hardier nature. It is sad that Nature will so sport with us poor mortals, inviting us with sunny smiles to confide in her; and then, when we are entirely in her power, striking us to the heart. Our summer commences at the latter end of June, and terminates somewhere about the first of August. There are certainly not more than six weeks of the whole year when a frost may be deemed anything remarkable. Friday, June 23d.--Summer has come at last,--the longest days, with blazing sunshine, and fervid heat. Yesterday glowed like molten brass. Last night was the most uncomfortably and unsleepably sultry that we have experienced since our residence in Concord; and to-day it scorches again. I have a sort of enjoyment in these seven-times-heated furnaces of midsummer, even though they make me droop like a thirsty plant. The sunshine can scarcely be too burning for my taste; but I am no enemy to summer showers. Could I only have the freedom to be perfectly idle now, --no duty to fulfil, no mental or physical labor to perform,--I should be as happy as a squash, and much in the same mode; but the necessity of keeping my brain at work eats into my comfort, as the squash-bugs do into the heart of the vines. I keep myself uneasy and produce little, and almost nothing that is worth producing. The garden looks well now: the potatoes flourish; the early corn waves in the wind; the squashes, both for summer and winter use, are more forward, I suspect, than those of any of my neighbors. I am forced, however, to carry on a continual warfare with the squash-bugs, who, were I to let them alone for a day, would perhaps quite destroy the prospects of the whole summer. It is impossible not to feel angry with these unconscionable insects, who scruple not to do such excessive mischief to me, with only the profit of a meal or two to themselves. For their own sakes they ought at least to wait till the squashes are better grown. Why is it, I wonder, that Nature has provided such a host of enemies for every useful esculent, while the weeds are suffered to grow unmolested, and are provided with such tenacity of life, and such methods of propagation, that the gardener must maintain a continual struggle or they will hopelessly overwhelm him? What hidden virtue is in these things, that it is granted them to sow themselves with the wind, and to grapple the earth with this immitigable stubbornness, and to flourish in spite of obstacles, and never to suffer blight beneath any sun or shade, but always to mock their enemies with the same wicked luxuriance? It is truly a mystery, and also a symbol. There is a sort of sacredness about them. Perhaps, if we could penetrate Nature's secrets, we should find that what we call weeds are more essential to the well-being of the world than the most precious fruit or grain. This may be doubted, however, for there is an unmistakable analogy between these wicked weeds and the bad habits and sinful propensities which have overrun the moral world; and we may as well imagine that there is good in one as in the other. Our peas are in such forwardness that I should not wonder if we had some of them on the table within a week. The beans have come up ill, and I planted a fresh supply only the day before yesterday. We have watermelons in good advancement, and muskmelons also within three or four days. I set out some tomatoes last night, also some capers. It is my purpose to plant some more corn at the end of the month, or sooner. There ought to be a record of the flower-garden, and of the procession of the wild-flowers, as minute, at least, as of the kitchen vegetables and pot-herbs. Above all, the noting of the appearance of the first roses should not be omitted; nor of the Arethusa, one of the delicatest, gracefullest, and in every manner sweetest of the whole race of flowers. For a fortnight past I have found it in the swampy meadows, growing up to its chin in heaps of wet moss. Its hue is a delicate pink, of various depths of shade, and somewhat in the form of a Grecian helmet. To describe it is a feat beyond my power. Also the visit of two friends, who may fitly enough be mentioned among flowers, ought to have been described. Mrs. F. S------ and Miss A. S------. Also I have neglected to mention the birth of a little white dove. I never observed, until the present season, how long and late the twilight lingers in these longest days. The orange line of the western horizon remains till ten o'clock, at least, and how much later I am unable to say. The night before last, I could distinguish letters by this lingering gleam between nine and ten o'clock. The dawn, I suppose, shows itself as early as two o'clock, so that the absolute dominion of night has dwindled to almost nothing. There seems to be also a diminished necessity, or, at all events, a much less possibility, of sleep than at other periods of the year. I get scarcely any sound repose just now. It is summer, and not winter, that steals away mortal life. Well, we get the value of what is taken from us. Saturday, July 1st.--We had our first dish of green peas (a very small one) yesterday. Every day for the last week has been tremendously hot; and our garden flourishes like Eden itself, only Adam could hardly have been doomed to contend with such a ferocious banditti of weeds. Sunday, July 9th.--I know not what to say, and yet cannot be satisfied without marking with a word or two this anniversary. . . . But life now swells and heaves beneath me like a brim-full ocean; and the endeavor to comprise any portion of it in words is like trying to dip up the ocean in a goblet. . . . God bless and keep us! for there is something more awful in happiness than in sorrow,--the latter being earthly and finite, the former composed of the substance and texture of eternity, so that spirits still embodied may well tremble at it. July 18th.--This morning I gathered our first summer-squashes. We should have had them some days earlier, but for the loss of two of the vines, either by a disease of the roots or by those infernal bugs. We have had turnips and carrots several times. Currants are now ripe, and we are in the full enjoyment of cherries, which turn out much more delectable than I anticipated. George Hillard and Mrs. Hillard paid us a visit on Saturday last. On Monday afternoon he left us, and Mrs. Hillard still remains here. Friday, July 28th.--We had green corn for dinner yesterday, and shall have some more to-day, not quite full grown, but sufficiently so to be palatable. There has been no rain, except one moderate shower, for many weeks; and the earth appears to be wasting away in a slow fever. This weather, I think, affects the spirits very unfavorably. There is an irksomeness, a restlessness, a pervading dissatisfaction, together with an absolute incapacity to bend the mind to any serious effort. With me, as regards literary production, the summer has been unprofitable; and I only hope that my forces are recruiting themselves for the autumn and winter. For the future, I shall endeavor to be so diligent nine months of the year that I may allow myself a full and free vacation of the other three. Monday, July 31st.--We had our first cucumber yesterday. There were symptoms of rain on Saturday, and the weather has since been as moist as the thirstiest soul could desire. Wednesday, September 13th.--There was a frost the night before last, according to George Prescott; but no effects of it were visible in our garden. Last night, however, there was another, which has nipped the leaves of the winter-squashes and cucumbers, but seems to have done no other damage. This is a beautiful morning, and promises to be one of those heavenly days that render autumn, after all, the most delightful season of the year. We mean to make a voyage on the river this afternoon. Sunday, September 23d.--I have gathered the two last of our summer-squashes to-day. They have lasted ever since the 18th of July, and have numbered fifty-eight edible ones, of excellent quality. Last Wednesday, I think, I harvested our winter-squashes, sixty-three in number, and mostly of fine size. Our last series of green corn, planted about the 1st of July, was good for eating two or three days ago. We still have beans; and our tomatoes, though backward, supply us with a dish every day or two. My potato-crop promises well; and, on the whole, my first independent experiment of agriculture is quite a successful one. This is a glorious day,--bright, very warm, yet with an unspeakable gentleness both in its warmth and brightness. On such days it is impossible not to love Nature, for she evidently loves us. At other seasons she does not give me this impression, or only at very rare intervals; but in these happy, autumnal days, when she has perfected the harvests, and accomplished every necessary thing that she had to do, she overflows with a blessed superfluity of love. It is good to be alive now. Thank God for breath,--yes, for mere breath! when it is made up of such a heavenly breeze as this. It comes to the cheek with a real kiss; it would linger fondly around us, if it might; but, since it must be gone, it caresses us with its whole kindly heart, and passes onward, to caress likewise the next thing that it meets. There is a pervading blessing diffused over all the world. I look out of the window and think, "O perfect day! O beautiful world! O good God!" And such a day is the promise of a blissful eternity. Our Creator would never have made such weather; and given us the deep heart to enjoy it, above and beyond all thought, if he had not meant us to be immortal. It opens the gates of heaven, and gives us glimpses far inward. Bless me! this flight has carried me a great way; so now let me come back to our old abbey. Our orchard is fast ripening; and the apples and great thumping pears strew the grass in such abundance that it becomes almost a trouble--though a pleasant one--to gather them. This happy breeze, too, shakes them down, as if it flung fruit to us out of the sky; and often, when the air is perfectly still, I hear the quiet fall of a great apple. Well, we are rich in blessings, though poor in money. . . . Friday, October 6th.--Yesterday afternoon I took a solitary walk to Walden Pond. It was a cool, windy day, with heavy clouds rolling and tumbling about the sky, but still a prevalence of genial autumn sunshine. The fields are still green, and the great masses of the woods have not yet assumed their many-colored garments; but here and there are solitary oaks of deep, substantial red, or maples of a more brilliant hue, or chestnuts either yellow or of a tenderer green than in summer. Some trees seem to return to their hue of May or early June before they put on the brighter autumnal tints. In some places, along the borders of low and moist land, a whole range of trees were clothed in the perfect gorgeousness of autumn, of all shades of brilliant color, looking like the palette on which Nature was arranging the tints wherewith to paint a picture. These hues appeared to be thrown together without design; and yet there was perfect harmony among them, and a softness and a delicacy made up of a thousand different brightnesses. There is not, I think, so much contrast among these colors as might at first appear. The more you consider them, the more they seem to have one element among them all, which is the reason that the most brilliant display of them soothes the observer, instead of exciting him. And I know not whether it be more a moral effect or a physical one, operating merely on the eye; but it is a pensive gayety, which causes a sigh often, and never a smile. We never fancy, for instance, that these gayly clad trees might be changed into young damsels in holiday attire, and betake themselves to dancing on the plain. If they were to undergo such a transformation, they would surely arrange themselves in funeral procession, and go sadly along, with their purple and scarlet and golden garments trailing over the withering grass. When the sunshine falls upon them, they seem to smile; but it is as if they were heart-broken. But it is in vain for me to attempt to describe these autumnal brilliancies, or to convey the impression which they make on me. I have tried a thousand times, and always without the slightest self-satisfaction. Fortunately there is no need of such a record, for Nature renews the picture year after year; and even when we shall have passed away from the world, we can spiritually create these scenes, so that we may dispense with all efforts to put them into words. Walden Pond was clear and beautiful as usual. It tempted me to bathe; and, though the water was thrillingly cold, it was like the thrill of a happy death. Never was there such transparent water as this. I threw sticks into it, and saw them float suspended on an almost invisible medium. It seemed as if the pure air were beneath them, as well as above. It is fit for baptisms; but one would not wish it to be polluted by having sins washed into it. None but angels should bathe in it; but blessed babies might be dipped into its bosom. In a small and secluded dell that opens upon the most beautiful cove of the whole lake, there is a little hamlet of huts or shanties, inhabited by the Irish people who are at work upon the railroad. There are three or four of these habitations, the very rudest, I should imagine, that civilized men ever made for themselves,--constructed of rough boards, with the protruding ends. Against some of them the earth is heaped up to the roof, or nearly so; and when the grass has had time to sprout upon them, they will look like small natural hillocks, or a species of ant-hills,--something in which Nature has a larger share than man. These huts are placed beneath the trees, oaks, walnuts, and white-pines, wherever the trunks give them space to stand; and by thus adapting themselves to natural interstices, instead of making new ones, they do not break or disturb the solitude and seclusion of the place. Voices are heard, and the shouts and laughter of children, who play about like the sunbeams that come down through the branches. Women are washing in open spaces, and long lines of whitened clothes are extended from tree to tree, fluttering and gambolling in the breeze. A pig, in a sty even more extemporary than the shanties, is grunting and poking his snout through the clefts of his habitation. The household pots and kettles are seen at the doors; and a glance within shows the rough benches that serve for chairs, and the bed upon the floor. The visitor's nose takes note of the fragrance of a pipe. And yet, with all these homely items, the repose and sanctity of the old wood do not seem to be destroyed or profaned. It overshadows these poor people, and assimilates them somehow or other to the character of its natural inhabitants. Their presence did not shock me any more than if I had merely discovered a squirrel's nest in a tree. To be sure, it is a torment to see the great, high, ugly embankment of the railroad, which is here thrusting itself into the lake, or along its margin, in close vicinity to this picturesque little hamlet. I have seldom seen anything more beautiful than the cove on the border of which the huts are situated; and the more I looked, the lovelier it grew. The trees overshadowed it deeply; but on one side there was some brilliant shrubbery which seemed to light up the whole picture with the effect of a sweet and melancholy smile. I felt as if spirits were there,--or as if these shrubs had a spiritual life. In short, the impression was indefinable; and, after gazing and musing a good while, I retraced my steps through the Irish hamlet, and plodded on along a wood-path. According to my invariable custom, I mistook my way, and, emerging upon the road, I turned my back instead of my face towards Concord, and walked on very diligently till a guide-board informed me of my mistake. I then turned about, and was shortly overtaken by an old yeoman in a chaise, who kindly offered me a drive, and soon set me down in the village. [EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS.] Salem, April 14th, 1844.--. . . . I went to George Hillard's office, and he spoke with immitigable resolution of the necessity of my going to dine with Longfellow before returning to Concord; but I have an almost miraculous power of escaping from necessities of this kind. Destiny itself has often been worsted in the attempt to get me out to dinner. Possibly, however, I may go. Afterwards I called on Colonel Hall, who held me long in talk about politics and other sweetmeats. Then I stepped into a book auction, not to buy, but merely to observe, and, after a few moments, who should come in, with a smile as sweet as sugar (though savoring rather of molasses), but, to my horror and petrifaction, ---- ------! I anticipated a great deal of bore and botheration; but, through Heaven's mercy, he merely spoke a few words, and left me. This is so unlike his deportment in times past, that I suspect "The Celestial Railroad" must have given him a pique; and, if so, I shall feel as if Providence had sufficiently rewarded me for that pious labor. In the course of the forenoon I encountered Mr. Howes in the street. He looked most exceedingly depressed, and, pressing my hand with peculiar emphasis, said that he was in great affliction, having just heard of his son George's death in Cuba. He seemed encompassed and overwhelmed by this misfortune, and walks the street as in a heavy cloud of his own grief, forth from which he extended his hand to meet my grasp. I expressed my sympathy, which I told him I was now the more capable of feeling in a father's suffering, as being myself the father of a little girl,--and, indeed, the being a parent does give one the freedom of a wider range of sorrow as well as of happiness. He again pressed my hand, and left me. . . . When I got to Salem, there was great joy, as you may suppose. . . . Mother hinted an apprehension that poor baby would be spoilt, whereupon I irreverently observed that, having spoiled her own three children, it was natural for her to suppose that all other parents would do the same; when she averred that it was impossible to spoil such children as E---- and I, because she had never been able to do anything with us. . . . I could hardly convince them that Una had begun to smile so soon. It surprised my mother, though her own children appear to have been bright specimens of babyhood. E---- could walk and talk at nine months old. I do not understand that I was quite such a miracle of precocity, but should think it not impossible, inasmuch as precocious boys are said to make stupid men. May 27th, 1844.--. . . . My cook fills his office admirably. He prepared what I must acknowledge to be the best dish of fried fish and potatoes for dinner to-day that I ever tasted in this house. I scarcely recognized the fish of our own river. I make him get all the dinners, while I confine myself to the much lighter task of breakfast and tea. He also takes his turn in washing the dishes. We had a very pleasant dinner at Longfellow's, and I liked Mrs. Longfellow very much. The dinner was late and we sat long; so that C---- and I did not get to Concord till half past nine o'clock, and truly the old Manse seemed somewhat dark and desolate. The next morning George Prescott came with Una's Lion, who greeted me very affectionately, but whined and moaned as if he missed somebody who should have been here. I am not quite so strict as I should be in keeping him out of the house; but I commiserate him and myself, for are we not both of us bereaved? C----, whom I can no more keep from smoking than I could the kitchen chimney, has just come into the study with a cigar, which might perfume this letter and make you think it came from my own enormity, so I may as well stop here. May 29th.--C---- is leaving me, to my unspeakable relief; for he has had a bad cold, which caused him to be much more troublesome and less amusing than might otherwise have been the case. May 31st.--. . . . I get along admirably, and am at this moment superintending the corned beef, which has been on the fire, as it appears to me, ever since the beginning of time, and shows no symptom of being done before the crack of doom. Mrs. Hale says it must boil till it becomes tender; and so it shall, if I can find wood to keep the fire a-going. Meantime, I keep my station in the dining-room, and read or write as composedly as in my own study. Just now, there came a very important rap at the front door, and I threw down a smoked herring which I had begun to eat, as there is no hope of the corned beef to-day, and went to admit the visitor. Who should it be but Ben B------, with a very peculiar and mysterious grin upon his face! He put into my hand a missive directed to "Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne." It contained a little bit of card, signifying that Dr. L. F------ and Miss C. B------ receive their friends Thursday eve, June 6. I am afraid I shall be too busy washing my dishes to pay many visits. The washing of dishes does seem to me the most absurd and unsatisfactory business that I ever undertook. If, when once washed, they would remain clean for ever and ever (which they ought in all reason to do, considering how much trouble it is), there would be less occasion to grumble; but no sooner is it done, than it requires to be done again. On the whole, I have come to the resolution not to use more than one dish at each meal. However, I moralize deeply on this and other matters, and have discovered that all the trouble and affliction in the world come from the necessity of cleansing away our earthly stains. I ate the last morsel of bread yesterday, and congratulate myself on being now reduced to the fag-end of necessity. Nothing worse can happen, according to ordinary modes of thinking, than to want bread; but, like most afflictions, it is more in prospect than reality. I found one cracker in the tureen, and exulted over it as if it had been so much gold. However, I have sent a petition to Mrs. P------ stating my destitute condition, and imploring her succor; and, till it arrive, I shall keep myself alive on herrings and apples, together with part of a pint of milk, which I share with Leo. He is my great trouble now, though an excellent companion too. But it is not easy to find food for him, unless I give him what is fit for Christians,--though, for that matter, he appears to be as good a Christian as most laymen, or even as some of the clergy. I fried some pouts and eels, yesterday, on purpose for him, for he does not like raw fish. They were very good, but I should hardly have taken the trouble on my own account. George P------ has just come to say that Mrs. P------ has no bread at present, and is gone away this afternoon, but that she will send me some to-morrow. I mean to have a regular supply from the same source. . . . You cannot imagine how much the presence of Leo relieves the feeling of perfect loneliness. He insists upon being in the room with me all the time, except at night, when he sleeps in the shed, and I do not find myself severe enough to drive him out. He accompanies me likewise in all my walks to the village and elsewhere; and, in short, keeps at my heels all the time, except when I go down cellar. Then he stands at the head of the stairs and howls, as if he never expected to see me again. He is evidently impressed with the present solitude of our old abbey, both on his own account and mine, and feels that he may assume a greater degree of intimacy than would be otherwise allowable. He will be easily brought within the old regulations after your return. P. S. 3 o'clock.--The beef is done!!! Concord. The old Manse. June 2d.--. . . . Everything goes on well with me. At the time of writing my last letter, I was without bread. Well, just at supper-time came Mrs. B------ with a large covered dish, which proved to contain a quantity of specially good flapjacks, piping hot, prepared, I suppose, by the fair hands of Miss Martha or Miss Abby, for Mrs. P------ was not at home. They served me both for supper and breakfast; and I thanked Providence and the young ladies, and compared myself to the prophet fed by ravens,--though the simile does rather more than justice to myself, and not enough to the generous donors of the flapjacks. The next morning, Mrs. P------ herself brought two big loaves of bread, which will last me a week, unless I have some guests to provide for. I have likewise found a hoard of crackers in one of the covered dishes; so that the old castle is sufficiently provisioned to stand a long siege. The corned beef is exquisitely done, and as tender as a young lady's heart, all owing to my skilful cookery; for I consulted Mrs. Hale at every step, and precisely followed her directions. To say the truth, I look upon it as such a masterpiece in its way, that it seems irreverential to eat it. Things on which so much thought and labor are bestowed should surely be immortal. . . . Leo and I attended divine services this morning in a temple not made with hands. We went to the farthest extremity of Peter's path, and there lay together under an oak, on the verge of the broad meadow. Concord, June 6th.--. . . . Mr. F------ arrived yesterday, and appeared to be in most excellent health, and as happy as the sunshine. About the first thing he did was to wash the dishes; and he is really indefatigable in the kitchen, so that I am quite a gentleman of leisure. Previous to his arrival, I had kindled no fire for four entire days, and had lived all that time on the corned beef, except one day, when Ellery and I went down the river on a fishing excursion. Yesterday, we boiled some lamb, which we shall have cold for dinner to-day. This morning, Mr. F------ fried a sumptuous dish of eels for breakfast. Mrs. P------ continues to be the instrument of Providence, and yesterday sent us a very nice plum. pudding, I have told Mr. F------ that I shall be engaged in the forenoons, and he is to manage his own occupations and amusements during that time. . . . Leo, I regret to say, has fallen under suspicion of a very great crime,-- nothing less than murder,--a fowl crime it may well be called, for it is the slaughter of one of Mr. Hayward's hens. He has been seen to chase the hens, several times, and the other day one of them was found dead. Possibly he may be innocent, and, as there is nothing but circumstantial evidence, it must be left with his own conscience. Meantime, Mr. Hayward, or somebody else, seems to have given him such a whipping that he is absolutely stiff, and walks about like a rheumatic old gentleman. I am afraid, too, that he is an incorrigible thief. Ellery says he has seen him coming up the avenue with a calf's whole head in his mouth. How he came by it is best known to Leo himself. If he were a dog of fair character, it would be no more than charity to conclude that he had either bought it, or had it given to him; but with the other charges against him, it inclines me to great distrust of his moral principles. Be that as it may, he managed his stock of provisions very thriftily,--burying it in the earth, and eating a portion of it whenever he felt an appetite. If he insists upon living by highway robbery, it would be well to make him share his booty with us. . . . June 10th.--. . . . Mr. F------ is in perfect health, and absolutely in the seventh heaven, and he talks and talks and talks and talks; and I listen and listen and listen with a patience for which, in spite of all my sins, I firmly expect to be admitted to the mansions of the blessed. And there is really a contentment in being able to make this poor, world-worn, hopeless, half-crazy man so entirely comfortable as he seems to be here. He is an admirable cook. We had some roast veal and a baked rice-pudding on Sunday, really a fine dinner, and cooked in better style than Mary can equal; and George Curtis came to dine with us. Like all male cooks, he is rather expensive, and has a tendency to the consumption of eggs in his various concoctions. . . . I have had my dreams of splendor; but never expected to arrive at the dignity of keeping a man-cook. At first we had three meals a day, but now only two. . . . * * * * * * We dined at Mr. Emerson's the other day, in company with Mr. Hedge. Mr. Bradford has been to see us two or three times. . . . He looks thinner than ever. [PASSAGES FROM NOTE-BOOKS.] May 5th, 1850.--I left Portsmouth last Wednesday, at the quarter past twelve, by the Concord Railroad, which at New Market unites with the Boston and Maine Railroad about ten miles from Portsmouth. The station at New Market is a small wooden building, with one railroad passing on one side, and another on another, and the two crossing each other at right angles. At a little distance stands a black, large, old, wooden church, with a square tower, and broken windows, and a great rift through the middle of the roof, all in a stage of dismal ruin and decay. A farm-house of the old style, with a long sloping roof, and as black as the church, stands on the opposite side of the road, with its barns; and these are all the buildings in sight of the railroad station. On the Concord rail, in the train of cars, with the locomotive puffing, and blowing off its steam, and making a great bluster in that lonely place, while along the other railroad stretches the desolate track, with the withered weeds growing up betwixt the two lines of iron, all so desolate. And anon you hear a low thunder running along these iron rails; it grows louder; an object is seen afar off; it approaches rapidly, and comes down upon you like fate, swift and inevitable. In a moment, it dashes along in front of the station-house, and comes to a pause, the locomotive hissing and fuming in its eagerness to go on. How much life has come at once into this lonely place! Four or five long cars, each, perhaps, with fifty people in it, reading newspapers, reading pamphlet novels, chattering, sleeping; all this vision of passing life! A moment passes, while the luggage-men are putting on the trunks and packages; then the bell strikes a few times, and away goes the train again, quickly out of sight of those who remain behind, while a solitude of hours again broods over the station-house, which, for an instant, has thus been put in communication with far-off cities, and then remains by itself, with the old, black, ruinous church, and the black old farm-house, both built years and years ago, before railroads were ever dreamed of. Meantime, the passenger, stepping from the solitary station into the train, finds himself in the midst of a new world all in a moment. He rushes out of the solitude into a village; thence, through woods and hills, into a large inland town; beside the Merrimack, which has overflowed its banks, and eddies along, turbid as a vast mud-puddle, sometimes almost laving the doorstep of a house, and with trees standing in the flood half-way up their trunks. Boys, with newspapers to sell, or apples and lozenges; many passengers departing and entering, at each new station; the more permanent passenger, with his check or ticket stuck in his hat-band, where the conductor may see it. A party of girls, playing at ball with a young man. Altogether it is a scene of stirring life, with which a person who had been waiting long for the train to come might find it difficult at once to amalgamate himself. It is a sombre, brooding day, and begins to rain as the cars pass onward. In a little more than two hours we find ourselves in Boston surrounded by eager hackmen. Yesterday I went to the Athenaeum, and, being received with great courtesy by Mr. Folsom, was shown all over the edifice from the very bottom to the very top, whence I looked out over Boston. It is an admirable point of view; but, it being an overcast and misty day, I did not get the full advantage of it. The library is in a noble hall, and looks splendidly with its vista of alcoves. The most remarkable sight, however, was Mr. Hildreth, writing his history of the United States. He sits at a table, at the entrance of one of the alcoves, with his books and papers before him, as quiet and absorbed as he would be in the loneliest study; now consulting an authority; now penning a sentence or a paragraph, without seeming conscious of anything but his subject. It is very curious thus to have a glimpse of a book in process of creation under one's eye. I know not how many hours he sits there; but while I saw him he was a pattern of diligence and unwandering thought. He had taken himself out of the age, and put himself, I suppose, into that about which he was writing. Being deaf, he finds it much the easier to abstract himself. Nevertheless, it is a miracle. He is a thin, middle-aged man, in black, with an intelligent face, rather sensible than scholarlike. Mr. Folsom accompanied me to call upon Mr. Ticknor, the historian of Spanish literature. He has a fine house, at the corner of Park and Beacon Streets, perhaps the very best position in Boston. A marble hall, a wide and easy staircase, a respectable old man-servant evidently long at home in the mansion, to admit us. We entered the library, Mr. Folsom considerably in advance, as being familiar with the house; and I heard Mr. Ticknor greet him in friendly tones, their scholar-like and bibliographical pursuits, I suppose, bringing them into frequent conjunction. Then I was introduced, and received with great distinction, but yet without any ostentatious flourish of courtesy. Mr. Ticknor has a great head, and his hair is gray or grayish. You recognize in him at once the man who knows the world, the scholar, too, which probably is his more distinctive character, though a little more under the surface. He was in his slippers; a volume of his book was open on a table, and apparently he had been engaged in revising or annotating it. His library is a stately and beautiful room for a private dwelling, and itself looks large and rich. The fireplace has a white marble frame about it, sculptured with figures and reliefs. Over it hung a portrait of Sir Walter Scott, a copy, I think, of the one that represents him in Melrose Abbey. Mr. Ticknor was most kind in his alacrity to solve the point on which Mr. Folsom, in my behalf, had consulted him (as to whether there had been any English translation of the Tales of Cervantes); and most liberal in his offers of books from his library. Certainly, he is a fine example of a generous-principled scholar, anxious to assist the human intellect in its efforts and researches. Methinks he must have spent a happy life (as happiness goes among mortals), writing his great three-volumed book for twenty years; writing it, not for bread, nor with any uneasy desire of fame, but only with a purpose to achieve something true and enduring. He is, I apprehend, a man of great cultivation and refinement, and with quite substance enough to be polished and refined, without being worn too thin in the process,--a man of society. He related a singular story of an attempt of his to become acquainted with me years ago, when he mistook my kinsman Eben for me. At half past four, I went to Mr. Thompson's, the artist who has requested to paint my picture. This was the second sitting. The portrait looked dimly out from the canvas, as from a cloud, with something that I could recognize as my outline, but no strong resemblance as yet. I have had three portraits taken before this,--an oil picture, a miniature, and a crayon sketch,--neither of them satisfactory to those most familiar with my physiognomy. In fact, there is no such thing as a true portrait; they are all delusions, and I never saw any two alike, nor hardly any two that I would recognize, merely by the portraits themselves, as being of the same man. A bust has more reality. This artist is a man of thought, and with no mean idea of his art; a Swedenborgian, or, as he prefers to call it, a member of the New Church; and I have generally found something marked in men who adopt that faith. He had painted a good picture of Bryant. He seems to me to possess truth in himself, and to aim at it in his artistic endeavors. May 6th.--This morning it is an easterly rain (south-easterly, I should say just now at twelve o'clock), and I went at nine, by appointment, to sit for my picture. The artist painted awhile; but soon found that he had not so much light as was desirable, and complained that his tints were as muddy as the weather. Further sitting was therefore postponed till to-morrow at eleven. It will be a good picture; but I see no assurance, as yet, of the likeness. An artist's apartment is always very interesting to me, with its pictures, finished and unfinished; its little fancies in the pictorial way,--as here two sketches of children among flowers and foliage, representing Spring and Summer, Winter and Autumn being yet to come out of the artist's mild; the portraits of his wife and children; here a clergyman, there a poet; here a woman with the stamp of reality upon her, there a feminine conception which we feel not to have existed. There was an infant Christ, or rather a child Christ, not unbeautiful, but scarcely divine. I love the odor of paint in an artist's room; his palette and all his other tools have a mysterious charm for me. The pursuit has always interested my imagination more than any other, and I remember before having my first portrait taken, there was a great bewitchery in the idea, as if it were a magic process. Even now, it is not without interest to me. I left Mr. Thompson before ten, and took my way through the sloppy streets to the Athenaeum, where I looked over the newspapers and periodicals, and found two of my old stories (Peter Goldthwaite and the Shaker Bridal) published as original in the last London Metropolitan! The English are much more unscrupulous and dishonest pirates than ourselves. However, if they are poor enough to perk themselves in such false feathers as these, Heaven help them! I glanced over the stories, and they seemed painfully cold and dull. It is the more singular that these should be so published, inasmuch as the whole book was republished in London, only a few months ago. Mr. Fields tells me that two publishers in London had advertised the Scarlet Letter as in press, each book at a shilling. * * * * * * Certainly life is made much more tolerable, and man respects himself far more, when he takes his meals with a certain degree of order and state. There should be a sacred law in these matters; and, as consecrating the whole business, the preliminary prayer is a good and real ordinance. The advance of man from a savage and animal state may be as well measured by his mode and morality of dining, as by any other circumstance. At Mr. Fields's, soon after entering the house, I heard the brisk and cheerful notes of a canary-bird, singing with great vivacity, and making its voice echo through the large rooms. It was very pleasant, at the close of the rainy, east-windy day, and seemed to fling sunshine through the dwelling. May 7th.--I did not go out yesterday afternoon, but after tea I went to Parker's. The drinking and smoking shop is no bad place to see one kind of life. The front apartment is for drinking. The door opens into Court Square, and is denoted, usually, by some choice specimens of dainties exhibited in the windows, or hanging beside the door-post; as, for instance, a pair of canvas-back ducks, distinguishable by their delicately mottled feathers; an admirable cut of raw beefsteak; a ham, ready boiled, and with curious figures traced in spices on its outward fat; a half, or perchance the whole, of a large salmon, when in season; a bunch of partridges, etc., etc. A screen stands directly before the door, so as to conceal the interior from an outside barbarian. At the counter stand, at almost all hours,--certainly at all hours when I have chanced to observe,--tipplers, either taking a solitary glass, or treating all round, veteran topers, flashy young men, visitors from the country, the various petty officers connected with the law, whom the vicinity of the Court-House brings hither. Chiefly, they drink plain liquors, gin, brandy, or whiskey, sometimes a Tom and Jerry, a gin cocktail (which the bar-tender makes artistically, tossing it in a large parabola from one tumbler to another, until fit for drinking), a brandy-smash, and numerous other concoctions. All this toping goes forward with little or no apparent exhilaration of spirits; nor does this seem to be the object sought,--it being rather, I imagine, to create a titillation of the coats of the stomach and a general sense of invigoration, without affecting the brain. Very seldom does a man grow wild and unruly. The inner room is hung round with pictures and engravings of various kinds,--a painting of a premium ox, a lithograph of a Turk and of a Turkish lady, . . . . and various showily engraved tailors' advertisements, and other shop-bills; among them all, a small painting of a drunken toper, sleeping on a bench beside the grog-shop,--a ragged, half-hatless, bloated, red-nosed, jolly, miserable-looking devil, very well done, and strangely suitable to the room in which it hangs. Round the walls are placed some half a dozen marble-topped tables, and a centre-table in the midst; most of them strewn with theatrical and other show-bills; and the large theatre-bills, with their type of gigantic solidity and blackness, hung against the walls. Last evening, when I entered, there was one guest somewhat overcome with liquor, and slumbering with his chair tipped against one of the marble tables. In the course of a quarter of an hour, he roused himself (a plain, middle-aged man), and went out with rather an unsteady step, and a hot, red face. One or two others were smoking, and looking over the papers, or glancing at a play-bill. From the centre of the ceiling descended a branch with two gas-burners, which sufficiently illuminated every corner of the room. Nothing is so remarkable in these bar-rooms and drinking-places, as the perfect order that prevails: if a man gets drunk, it is no otherwise perceptible than by his going to sleep, or his inability to walk. Pacing the sidewalk in front of this grog-shop of Parker's (or sometimes, on cold and rainy days, taking his station inside), there is generally to be observed an elderly ragamuffin, in a dingy and battered hat, an old surtout, and a more than shabby general aspect; a thin face and red nose, a patch over one eye, and the other half drowned in moisture. He leans in a slightly stooping posture on a stick, forlorn and silent, addressing nobody, but fixing his one moist eye on you with a certain intentness. he is a man who has been in decent circumstances at some former period of his life, but, falling into decay (perhaps by dint of too frequent visits at Parker's bar), he now haunts about the place, as a ghost haunts the spot where he was murdered, "to collect his rents," as Parker says,--that is, to catch an occasional ninepence from some charitable acquaintances, or a glass of liquor at the bar. The word "ragamuffin," which I have used above, does not accurately express the man, because there is a sort of shadow or delusion of respectability about him, and a sobriety too, and a kind of decency in his groggy and red-nosed destitution. Underground, beneath the drinking and smoking rooms, is Parker's eating-hall, extending all the way to Court Street. All sorts of good eating may be had there, and a gourmand may feast at what expense he will. I take an interest in all the nooks and crannies and every development of cities; so here I try to make a description of the view from the back windows of a house in the centre of Boston, at which I now glance in the intervals of writing. The view is bounded, at perhaps thirty yards' distance, by a row of opposite brick dwellings, standing, I think, on Temple Place; houses of the better order, with tokens of genteel families visible in all the rooms betwixt the basements and the attic windows in the roof; plate-glass in the rear drawing-rooms, flower-pots in some of the windows of the upper stories. Occasionally, a lady's figure, either seated or appearing with a flitting grace, or dimly manifest farther within the obscurity of the room. A balcony, with a wrought-iron fence running along under the row of drawing-room windows, above the basement. In the space betwixt the opposite row of dwellings and that in which I am situated are the low out-houses of the above-described houses, with flat roofs; or solid brick walls, with walks on them, and high railings, for the convenience of the washerwomen in hanging out their clothes. In the intervals are grass-plots, already green, because so sheltered; and fruit-trees, now beginning to put forth their leaves, and one of them, a cherry-tree, almost in full blossom. Birds flutter and sing among these trees. I should judge it a good site for the growth of delicate fruit; for, quite enclosed on all sides by houses, the blighting winds cannot molest the trees. They have sunshine on them a good part of the day, though the shadow must come early, and I suppose there is a rich soil about the roots. I see grapevines clambering against one wall, and also peeping over another, where the main body of the vine is invisible to me. In another place, a frame is erected for a grapevine, and probably it will produce as rich clusters as the vines of Madeira, here in the heart of the city, in this little spot of fructifying earth, while the thunder of wheels rolls about it on every side. The trees are not all fruit-trees. One pretty well-grown buttonwood-tree aspires upward above the roofs of the houses. In the full verdure of summer, there will be quite a mass or curtain of foliage between the hither and the thither row of houses. Afternoon.--At eleven, I went to give Mr. Thompson a sitting for my picture. I like the painter. He seems to reverence his art and to aim at truth in it, as I said before; a man of gentle disposition too, and simplicity of life and character. I seated myself in the pictorial chair, with the only light in the room descending upon me from a high opening, almost at the ceiling, the rest of the sole window being shuttered. He began to work, and we talked in an idle and desultory way,--neither of us feeling very conversable,--which he attributed to the atmosphere, it being a bright, west-windy, bracing day. We talked about the pictures of Christ, and how inadequate and untrue they are. He said he thought artists should attempt only to paint child-Christs, human powers being inadequate to the task of painting such purity and holiness in a manly development. Then he said that an idea of a picture had occurred to him that morning, while reading a chapter in the New Testament,--how "they parted his garments among them, and for his vesture did cast lots." His picture was to represent the soldier to whom the garment without a seam had fallen, after taking it home and examining it, and becoming impressed with a sense of the former wearer's holiness. I do not quite see how he would make such a picture tell its own story;-- but I find the idea suggestive to my own mind, and I think I could make something of it. We talked of physiognomy and impressions of character, --first impressions,--and how apt they are to come aright in the face of the closest subsequent observation. There were several visitors in the course of the sitting, one a gentleman, a connection from the country, with whom the artist talked about family matters and personal affairs,--observing on the poorness of his own business, and that he had thoughts of returning to New York. I wish he would meet with better success. Two or three ladies also looked in. Meanwhile Mr. Thompson had been painting with more and more eagerness, casting quick, keen glances at me, and then making hasty touches on the picture, as if to secure with his brush what he had caught with his eye. He observed that he was just getting interested in the work, and I could recognize the feeling that was in him as akin to what I have experienced myself in the glow of composition. Nevertheless, he seemed able to talk about foreign matters, through it all. He continued to paint in this rapid way, up to the moment of closing the sitting; when he took the canvas from the easel, without giving me time to mark what progress he had made, as he did the last time. The artist is middle-sized, thin, a little stooping, with a quick, nervous movement. He has black hair, not thick, a beard under his chin, a small head, but well-developed forehead, black eyebrows, eyes keen, but kindly, and a dark face, not indicating robust health, but agreeable in its expression. His voice is gentle and sweet, and such as comes out from amidst refined feelings. He dresses very simply and unpictorially in a gray frock or sack, and does not seem to think of making a picture of himself in his own person. At dinner to-day there was a young Frenchman, whom ------ befriended a year or so ago, when he had not another friend in America, and obtained employment for him in a large dry-goods establishment. He is a young man of eighteen or thereabouts, with smooth black hair, neatly dressed; his face showing a good disposition, but with nothing of intellect or character. It is funny to think of this poor little Frenchman, a Parisian too, eating our most un-French victuals,--our beefsteaks, and roasts, and various homely puddings and hams, and all things most incongruent to his hereditary stomach; but nevertheless he eats most cheerfully and uncomplainingly. He has not a large measure of French vivacity, never rattles, never dances, nor breaks into ebullitions of mirth and song; on the contrary, I have never known a youth of his age more orderly and decorous. He is kind-hearted and grateful, and evinces his gratitude to the mother of the family and to his benefactress by occasional presents, not trifling when measured by his small emolument of five dollars per week. Just at this time he is confined to his room by indisposition, caused, it is suspected, by a spree on Sunday last. Our gross Saxon orgies would soon be the ruin of his French constitution. A thought to-day. Great men need to be lifted upon the shoulders of the whole world, in order to conceive their great ideas or perform their great deeds. That is, there must be an atmosphere of greatness round about them. A hero cannot be a hero unless in an heroic world. May 8th.--I went last evening to the National Theatre to see a pantomime. It was Jack the Giant-Killer, and somewhat heavy and tedious. The audience was more noteworthy than the play. The theatre itself is for the middling and lower classes, and I had not taken my seat in the most aristocratic part of the house; so that I found myself surrounded chiefly by young sailors, Hanover Street shopmen, mechanics, and other people of that class. It is wonderful! the difference that exists in the personal aspect and dress, and no less in the manners, of people in this quarter of the city, as compared with other parts of it. One would think that Oak Hall should give a common garb and air to the great mass of the Boston population; but it seems not to be so; and perhaps what is most singular is, that the natural make of the men has a conformity and suitableness to the dress. Glazed caps and Palo Alto hats were much worn. It is a pity that this picturesque and comparatively graceful hat should not have been generally adopted, instead of falling to the exclusive use of a rowdy class. In the next box to me were two young women, with an infant, but to which of them appertaining I could not at first discover. One was a large, plump girl, with a heavy face, a snub nose, coarse-looking, but good-natured, and with no traits of evil,--save, indeed, that she had on the vilest gown of dirty white cotton, so pervadingly dingy that it was white no longer, as it seemed to me. The sleeves were short, and ragged at the borders, and her shawl, which she took off on account of the heat, was old and faded,--the shabbiest and dirtiest dress that I ever saw a woman wear. Yet she was plump, and looked comfortable in body and mind. I imagine that she must have had a better dress at home, but had come to the theatre extemporaneously, and, not going to the dress circle, considered her ordinary gown good enough for the occasion. The other girl seemed as young or younger than herself. She was small, with a particularly intelligent and pleasant face, not handsome, perhaps, but as good or better than if it were. It was mobile with whatever sentiment chanced to be in her mind, as quick and vivacious a face in its movements as I have ever seen; cheerful, too, and indicative of a sunny, though I should think it might be a hasty, temper. She was dressed in a dark gown (chintz, I suppose the women call it), a good, homely dress, proper enough for the fireside, but a strange one to appear in at a theatre. Both these girls appeared to enjoy themselves very much,--the large and heavy one in her own duller mode; the smaller manifesting her interest by gestures, pointing at the stage, and with so vivid a talk of countenance that it was precisely as if she had spoken. She was not a brunette, and this made the vivacity of her expression the more agreeable. Her companion, on the other hand, was so dark, that I rather suspected her to have a tinge of African blood. There were two men who seemed to have some connection with these girls,-- one an elderly, gray-headed personage, well-stricken in liquor, talking loudly and foolishly, but good-humoredly; the other a young man, sober, and doing his best to keep his elder friend quiet. The girls seemed to give themselves no uneasiness about the matter.--Both the men wore Palo Alto hats. I could not make out whether either of the men were the father of the child, though I was inclined to set it down as a family party. As the play went on, the house became crowded and oppressively warm, and the poor little baby grew dark red, or purple almost, with the uncomfortable heat in its small body. It must have been accustomed to discomfort, and have concluded it to be the condition of mortal life, else it never would have remained so quiet. Perhaps it had been quieted with a sleeping-potion. The two young women were not negligent of it; but passed it to and fro between them, each willingly putting herself to inconvenience for the sake of tending it. But I really feared it might die in some kind of a fit, so hot was the theatre, so purple with heat, yet strangely quiet, was the child. I was glad to hear it cry at last; but it did not cry with any great rage and vigor, as it should, but in a stupid kind of way. Hereupon the smaller of the two girls, after a little inefficacious dandling, at once settled the question of maternity by nursing her baby. Children must be hard to kill, however injudicious the treatment. The two girls and their cavaliers remained till nearly the close of the play. I should like well to know who they are,--of what condition in life, and whether reputable as members of the class to which they belong. My own judgment is that they are so. Throughout the evening, drunken young sailors kept stumbling into and out of the boxes, calling to one another from different parts of the house, shouting to the performers, and singing the burden of songs. It was a scene of life in the rough. May 14th.--A stable opposite the house,--an old wooden construction, low, in three distinct parts; the centre being the stable proper, where the horses are kept, and with a chamber over it for the hay. On one side is the department for chaises and carriages; on the other, the little office where the books are kept. In the interior region of the stable everything is dim and undefined,--half-traceable outlines of stalls, sometimes the shadowy aspect of a horse. Generally a groom is dressing a horse at the stable door, with a care and accuracy that leave no part of the animal unvisited by the currycomb and brush; the horse, meanwhile, evidently enjoying it, but sometimes, when the more sensitive parts are touched, giving a half-playful kick with his hind legs, and a little neigh. If the men bestowed half as much care on their own personal cleanliness, they would be all the better and healthier men therefor. They appear to be busy men, these stablers, yet have a lounging way with them, as if indolence were somehow diffused through their natures. The apparent head of the establishment is a sensible, thoughtful-looking, large-featured, and homely man, past the middle age, clad rather shabbily in gray, stooping somewhat, and without any smartness about him. There is a groom, who seems to be a very comfortable kind of personage,--a man of forty-five or thereabouts (R. W. Emerson says he was one of his schoolmates), but not looking so old; corpulent, not to say fat, with a white frock, which his goodly bulk almost fills, enveloping him from neck nearly to ankles. On his head he wears a cloth cap of a jockey shape; his pantaloons are turned up an inch or two at bottom, and he wears brogans on his feet. His hair, as may be seen when he takes off his cap to wipe his brow, is black and in perfect preservation, with not exactly a curl, yet a vivacious and elastic kind of twist in it. His face is fresh-colored, comfortable, sufficiently vivid in expression, not at all dimmed by his fleshly exuberance, because the man possesses vigor enough to carry it off. His bodily health seems perfect; so, indeed, does his moral and intellectual. He is very active and assiduous in his duties, currycombing and rubbing down the horses with alacrity and skill; and, when not otherwise occupied, you may see him talking jovially with chance acquaintances, or observing what is going forward in the street. If a female acquaintance happens to pass, he touches his jockey cap, and bows, accomplishing this courtesy with a certain smartness that proves him a man of the world. Whether it be his greater readiness to talk, or the wisdom of what he says, he seems usually to be the centre talker of the group. It is very pleasant to see such an image of earthly comfort as this. A fat man who feels his flesh as a disease and encumbrance, and on whom it presses so as to make him melancholy with dread of apoplexy, and who moves heavily under the burden of himself,--such a man is a doleful and disagreeable object. But if he have vivacity enough to pervade all his earthiness, and bodily force enough to move lightly under it, and if it be not too unmeasured to have a trimness and briskness in it, then it is good and wholesome to look at him. In the background of the house, a cat, occasionally stealing along on the roofs of the low out-houses; descending a flight of wooden steps into the brick area; investigating the shed, and entering all dark and secret places; cautious, circumspect, as if in search of something; noiseless, attentive to every noise. Moss grows on spots of the roof; there are little boxes of earth here and there, with plants in them. The grass-plots appertaining to each of the houses whose rears are opposite ours (standing in Temple Place) are perhaps ten or twelve feet broad, and three times as long. Here and there is a large, painted garden-pot, half buried in earth. Besides the large trees in blossom, there are little ones, probably of last year's setting out. Early in the day chambermaids are seen hanging the bedclothes out of the upper windows; at the window of the basement of the same house, I see a woman ironing. Were I a solitary prisoner, I should not doubt to find occupation of deep interest for my whole day in watching only one of the houses. One house seems to be quite shut up; all the blinds in the three windows of each of the four stories being closed, although in the roof-windows of the attic story the curtains are hung carelessly upward, instead of being drawn. I thick the house is empty, perhaps for the summer. The visible side of the whole row of houses is now in the shade,--they looking towards, I should say, the southwest. Later in the day, they are wholly covered with sunshine, and continue so through the afternoon; and at evening the sunshine slowly withdraws upward, gleams aslant upon the windows, perches on the chimneys, and so disappears. The upper part of the spire and the weathercock of the Park Street Church appear over one of the houses, looking as if it were close behind. It shows the wind to be cast now. At one of the windows of the third story sits a woman in a colored dress, diligently sewing on something white. She sews, not like a lady, but with an occupational air. Her dress, I observe, on closer observation, is a kind of loose morning sack, with, I think, a silky gloss on it; and she seems to have a silver comb in her hair,--no, this latter item is a mistake. Sheltered as the space is between the two rows of houses, a puff of the east-wind finds its way in, and shakes off some of the withering blossoms from the cherry-trees. Quiet as the prospect is, there is a continual and near thunder of wheels proceeding from Washington Street. In a building not far off, there is a hall for exhibitions; and sometimes, in the evenings, loud music is heard from it; or, if a diorama be shown (that of Bunker Hill, for instance, or the burning of Moscow), an immense racket of imitative cannon and musketry. May, 16th.--It has been an easterly rain yesterday and to-day, with occasional lightings up, and then a heavy downfall of the gloom again. Scenes out of the rear windows,--the glistening roof of the opposite houses; the chimneys, now and then choked with their own smoke, which a blast drives down their throats. The church-spire has a mist about it. Once this morning a solitary dove came and alighted on the peak of an attic window, and looked down into the areas, remaining in this position a considerable time. Now it has taken a flight, and alighted on the roof of this house, directly over the window at which I sit, so that I can look up and see its head and beak, and the tips of its claws. The roofs of the low out-houses are black with moisture; the gutters are full of water, and there is a little puddle where there is a place for it in the hollow of a board. On the grass-plot are strewn the fallen blossoms of the cherry-tree, and over the scene broods a parallelogram of sombre sky. Thus it will be all day as it was yesterday; and, in the evening, one window after another will be lighted up in the drawing-rooms. Through the white curtains may be seen the gleam of an astral-lamp, like a fixed star. In the basement rooms, the work of the kitchen going forward; in the upper chambers, here and there a light. In a bar-room, a large, oval basin let into the counter, with a brass tube rising from the centre, out of which gushes continually a miniature fountain, and descends in a soft, gentle, never-ceasing rain into the basin, where swim a company of gold-fishes. Some of them gleam brightly in their golden armor; others have a dull white aspect, going through some process of transformation. One would think that the atmosphere, continually filled with tobacco-smoke, might impregnate the water unpleasantly for the scaly people; but then it is continually flowing away and being renewed. And what if some toper should be seized with the freak of emptying his glass of gin or brandy into the basin,--would the fishes die or merely get jolly? I saw, for a wonder, a man pretty drunk at Parker's the other evening,--a well-dressed man, of not ungentlemanly aspect. He talked loudly and foolishly, but in good phrases, with a great flow of language, and he was no otherwise impertinent than in addressing his talk to strangers. Finally, after sitting a long time staring steadfastly across the room in silence, he arose, and staggered away as best he might, only showing his very drunken state when he attempted to walk. Old acquaintances,--a gentleman whom I knew ten years ago, brisk, active, vigorous, with a kind of fire of physical well-being and cheerful spirits glowing through him. Now, after a course, I presume, of rather free living, pale, thin, oldish, with a grave and care or pain worn brow,--yet still lively and cheerful in his accost, though with something invincibly saddened in his tones. Another, formerly commander of a revenue vessel, --a man of splendid epaulets and very aristocratic equipment and demeanor; now out of service and without position, and changed into a brandy-burnt and rowdyish sort of personage. He seemed as if he might still be a gentleman if he would; but his manners show a desperate state of mind by their familiarity, recklessness, the lack of any hedge of reserve about himself, while still he is evidently a man of the world, accustomed to good society. He has latterly, I think, been in the Russian service, and would very probably turn pirate on fair occasion. Lenox, July 14th.--The tops of the chestnut-trees have a whitish appearance, they being, I suppose, in bloom. Red raspberries are just through the season. Language,--human language,--after all, is but little better than the croak and cackle of fowls and other utterances of brute nature,-- sometimes not so adequate. July 16th.--The tops of the chestnut-trees are peculiarly rich, as if a more luscious sunshine were falling on them than anywhere else. "Whitish," as above, don't express it. The queer gestures and sounds of a hen looking about for a place to deposit her egg; her self-important gait; the sideway turn of her head and cock of her eye, as she pries into one and another nook, croaking all the while,--evidently with the idea that the egg in question is the most important thing that has been brought to pass since the world began. A speckled black and white and tufted hen of ours does it to most ludicrous perfection; and there is something laughably womanish in it too. July 25th.--As I sit in my study, with the windows open, the occasional incident of the visit of some winged creature,--wasp, hornet, or bee,-- entering out of the warm sunny atmosphere, soaring round the room in large sweeps, then buzzing against the glass, as not satisfied with the place, and desirous of getting out. Finally, the joyous, uprising curve with which, coming to the open part of the window, it emerges into the cheerful glow of the outside. August 4th.--Dined at hotel with J. T. Fields and wife. Afternoon, drove with them to Pittsfield and called on Dr. Holmes. August 5th.--Drove with Fields and his wife to Stockbridge, being thereto invited by Mr. Field of Stockbridge, in order to ascend Monument Mountain. Found at Mr. Field's Dr. Holmes and Mr. Duyckinck of New York; also Mr. Cornelius Matthews and Herman Melville. Ascended the mountain; that is to say, Mrs. Fields and Miss Jenny Field, Mr. Field and Mr. Fields, Dr. Holmes, Messrs. Duyckinck, Matthews, Melville, Mr. Henry Sedgewick, and I, and were caught in a shower. Dined at Mr. Field's. Afternoon, under guidance of J. T. Headley, the party scrambled through the ice-glen. August 7th.--Messrs. Duyckink, Matthews, Melville, and Melville, junior, called in the forenoon. Gave them a couple of bottles of Mr. Mansfield's champagne, and walked down to the lake with them. At twilight Mr. Edwin P. Whipple and wife called. August 8th.--Mr. and Mrs. Whipple took tea with us. August 12th.--Seven chickens hatched. J. T. Readley and brother called. Eight chickens. August 19th.--Monument Mountain, in the early sunshine; its base enveloped in mist, parts of which are floating in the sky, so that the great hill looks really as if it were founded on a cloud. Just emerging from the mist is seen a yellow field of rye, and, above that, forest. August 21st.--Eight more chickens hatched. Ascended a mountain with my wife; a beautiful, mellow, autumnal sunshine. August 24th.--In the afternoons, nowadays, this valley in which I dwell seems like a vast basin filled with golden sunshine as with wine. August 31st.--J. R. Lowell called in the evening. September 1st.--Mr. and Mrs. Lowell called in the forenoon, on their way to Stockbridge or Lebanon to meet Miss Bremer. September 2d.--"When I grow up," quoth J-----, in illustration of the might to which he means to attain,--"when I grow up, I shall be two men." September 3d.--Foliage of maples begins to change. Julian, after picking up a handful of autumnal maple-leaves the other day,--"Look, papa, here's a bunch of fire!" September 7th.--In a wood, a heap or pile of logs and sticks, that had been cut for firewood, and piled up square, in order to be carted away to the house when convenience served,--or, rather, to be sledded in sleighing time. But the moss had accumulated on them, and leaves falling over them from year to year and decaying, a kind of soil had quite covered them, although the softened outline of the woodpile was perceptible in the green mound. It was perhaps fifty years--perhaps more--since the woodman had cut and piled those logs and sticks, intending them for his winter fires. But he probably needs no fire now. There was something strangely interesting in this simple circumstance. Imagine the long-dead woodman, and his long-dead wife and family, and the old man who was a little child when the wood was cut, coming back from their graves, and trying to make a fire with this mossy fuel. September 19th.--Lying by the lake yesterday afternoon, with my eyes shut, while the waves and sunshine were playing together on the water, the quick glimmer of the wavelets was perceptible through my closed eyelids. October 13th.--A windy day, with wind northwest, cool, with a prevalence of dull gray clouds over the sky, but with brief, quick glimpses of sunshine. The foliage having its autumn hues, Monument Mountain looks like a headless sphinx, wrapped in a rich Persian shawl. Yesterday, through a diffused mist, with the sun shining on it, it had the aspect of burnished copper. The sun-gleams on the hills are peculiarly magnificent just in these days. One of the children, drawing a cow on the blackboard, says, "I'll kick this leg out a little more,"--a very happy energy of expression, completely identifying herself with the cow; or perhaps, as the cow's creator, conscious of full power over its movements. October 14th.--The brilliancy of the foliage has passed its acme; and indeed it has not been so magnificent this season as in some others, owing to the gradual approaches of cooler weather, and there having been slight frosts instead of severe ones. There is still a shaggy richness on the hillsides. October 16th.--A morning mist, filling up the whole length and breadth of the valley betwixt my house and Monument Mountain, the summit of the mountain emerging. The mist reaches almost to my window, so dense as to conceal everything, except that near its hither boundary a few ruddy or yellow tree-tops appear, glorified by the early sunshine, as is likewise the whole mist-cloud. There is a glen between this house and the lake, through which winds a little brook with pools and tiny waterfalls over the great roots of trees. The glen is deep and narrow, and filled with trees; so that, in the summer, it is all a dense shadow of obscurity. Now, the foliage of the trees being almost entirely a golden yellow, instead of being full of shadow, the glen is absolutely full of sunshine, and its depths are more brilliant than the open plain or the mountain-tops. The trees are sunshine, and, many of the golden leaves being freshly fallen, the glen is strewn with sunshine, amid which winds and gurgles the bright, dark little brook. December 1st.--I saw a dandelion in bloom near the lake. December 19th.--If the world were crumbled to the finest dust, and scattered through the universe, there would not be an atom of the dust for each star. "Generosity is the flower of justice." The print in blood of a naked foot to be traced through the street of a town. Sketch of a personage with the malignity of a witch, and doing the mischief attributed to one,--but by natural means; breaking off love-affairs, teaching children vices, ruining men of wealth, etc. Ladislaus, King of Naples, besieging the city of Florence, agreed to show mercy, provided the inhabitants would deliver to him a certain virgin of famous beauty, the daughter of a physician of the city. When she was sent to the king, every one contributing something to adorn her in the richest manner, her father gave her a perfumed handkerchief, at that time a universal decoration, richly wrought. This handkerchief was poisoned with his utmost art, . . . . and they presently died in one another's arms. Of a bitter satirist,--of Swift, for instance,--it might be said, that the person or thing on which his satire fell shrivelled up as if the Devil had spit on it. The Fount of Tears,--a traveller to discover it,--and other similar localites. Benvenuto Cellini saw a Salamander in the household fire. It was shown him by his father, in childhood. For the virtuoso's collection,--the pen with which Faust signed away his salvation, with a drop of blood dried in it. An article on newspaper advertisements,--a country newspaper, methinks, rather than a city one. An eating-house, where all the dishes served out, even to the bread and salt, shall be poisoned with the adulterations that are said to be practised. Perhaps Death himself might be the cook. Personify the century,--talk of its present middle age,--of its youth,-- and its adventures and prospects. An uneducated countryman, supposing he had a live frog in his stomach, applied himself to the study of medicine in order to find a cure for this disease; and he became a profound physician. Thus misfortune, physical or moral, may be the means of educating and elevating us. "Mather's Manuductio ad Ministerium,"--or "Directions for a candidate" for the ministry,--with the autographs of four successive clergymen in it, all of them, at one time or another, residents of the old Manse,-- Daniel Bliss, 1734; William Emerson, 1770; Ezra Ripley, 1781; and Samuel Ripley, son of the preceding. The book, according to a Latin memorandum, was sold to Daniel Bliss by Daniel Bremner, who, I suppose, was another student of divinity. Printed at Boston "for Thomas Hancock, and sold at his shop in Ann St. near the Draw Bridge, 1726." William Emerson was son-in-law of Daniel Bliss. Ezra Ripley married the widow of said William Emerson, and Samuel Ripley was their son. Mrs. Prescott has an ox whose visage bears a strong resemblance to Daniel Webster,--a majestic brute. The spells of witches have the power of producing meats and viands that have the appearance of a sumptuous feast, which the Devil furnishes. But a Divine Providence seldom permits the meat to be good, but it has generally some bad taste or smell,--mostly wants salt,--and the feast is often without bread. An article on cemeteries, with fantastic ideas of monuments; for instance, a sun-dial;--a large, wide carved stone chair, with some such motto as "Rest and Think," and others, facetious or serious. "Mamma, I see a part of your smile,"--a child to her mother, whose mouth was partly covered by her hand. "The syrup of my bosom,"--an improvisation of a little girl, addressed to an imaginary child. "The wind-turn," "the lightning-catch," a child's phrases for weathercock and lightning-rod. "Where's the man-mountain of these Liliputs?" cried a little boy, as he looked at a small engraving of the Greeks getting into the wooden horse. When the sun shines brightly on the new snow, we discover ranges of hills, miles away towards the south, which we have never seen before. To have the North Pole for a fishing-pole, and the Equinoctial Line for a fishing-line. If we consider the lives of the lower animals, we shall see in them a close parallelism to those of mortals;--toil, struggle, danger, privation, mingled with glimpses of peace and ease; enmity, affection, a continual hope of bettering themselves, although their objects lie at less distance before them than ours can do. Thus, no argument for the imperfect character of our existence and its delusory promises, and its apparent injustice, can be drawn in reference to our immortality, without, in a degree, being applicable to our brute brethren. Lenox, February 12th, 1851.--A walk across the lake with Una. A heavy rain, some days ago, has melted a good deal of the snow on the intervening descent between our house and the lake; but many drifts, depths, and levels yet remain; and there is a frozen crust, sufficient to bear a man's weight, and very slippery. Adown the slopes there are tiny rivulets, which exist only for the winter. Bare, brown spaces of grass here and there, but still so infrequent as only to diversify the scene a little. In the woods, rocks emerging, and, where there is a slope immediately towards the lake, the snow is pretty much gone, and we see partridge-berries frozen, and outer shells of walnuts, and chestnut-burrs, heaped or scattered among the roots of the trees. The walnut-husks mark the place where the boys, after nutting, sat down to clear the walnuts of their outer shell. The various species of pine look exceedingly brown just now,--less beautiful than those trees which shed their leaves. An oak-tree, with almost all its brown foliage still rustling on it. We clamber down the bank, and step upon the frozen lake, It was snow-covered for a considerable time; but the rain overspread it with a surface of water, or imperfectly melted snow, which is now hard frozen again; and the thermometer having been frequently below zero, I suppose the ice may be four or five feet thick. Frequently there are great cracks across it, caused, I suppose, by the air beneath, and giving an idea of greater firmness than if there were no cracks; round holes, which have been hewn in the marble pavement by fishermen, and are now frozen over again, looking darker than the rest of the surface; spaces where the snow was more imperfectly dissolved than elsewhere little crackling spots, where a thin surface of ice, over the real mass, crumples beneath one's foot; the track of a line of footsteps, most of them vaguely formed, but some quite perfectly, where a person passed across the lake while its surface was in a state of slush, but which are now as hard as adamant, and remind one of the traces discovered by geologists in rocks that hardened thousands of ages ago. It seems as if the person passed when the lake was in an intermediate state between ice and water. In one spot some pine boughs, which somebody had cut and heaped there for an unknown purpose. In the centre of the lake, we see the surrounding hills in a new attitude, this being a basin in the midst of them. Where they are covered with wood, the aspect is gray or black; then there are bare slopes of unbroken snow, the outlines and indentations being much more hardly and firmly defined than in summer. We went southward across the lake, directly towards Monument Mountain, which reposes, as I said, like a headless sphinx. Its prominences, projections, and roughnesses are very evident; and it does not present a smooth and placid front, as when the grass is green and the trees in leaf. At one end, too, we are sensible of precipitous descents, black and shaggy with the forest that is likely always to grow there; and, in one streak, a headlong sweep downward of snow. We just set our feet on the farther shore, and then immediately returned, facing the northwest-wind, which blew very sharply against us. After landing, we came homeward, tracing up the little brook so far as it lay in our course. It was considerably swollen, and rushed fleetly on its course between overhanging banks of snow and ice, from which depended adamantine icicles. The little waterfalls with which we had impeded it in the summer and autumn could do no more than form a large ripple, so much greater was the volume of water. In some places the crust of frozen snow made a bridge quite over the brook; so that you only knew it was there by its brawling sound beneath. The sunsets of winter are incomparably splendid, and when the ground is covered with snow, no brilliancy of tint expressible by words can come within an infinite distance of the effect. Our southern view at that time, with the clouds and atmospherical hues, is quite indescribable and unimaginable; and the various distances of the hills which lie between us and the remote dome of Taconic are brought out with an accuracy unattainable in summer. The transparency of the air at this season has the effect of a telescope in bringing objects apparently near, while it leaves the scene all its breadth. The sunset sky, amidst its splendor, has a softness and delicacy that impart themselves to a white marble world. February 18th.--A walk, yesterday afternoon, with the children; a bright, and rather cold day, breezy from the north and westward. There has been a good deal of soaking rain lately, and it has, in great measure, cleared hills and plains of snow, only it may be seen lying in spots, and on each side of stone-walls, in a pretty broad streak. The grass is brown and withered, and yet, scattered all amongst it, on close inspection, one finds a greenness,--little shrubs that have kept green under all the severity of winter, and seem to need no change to fit them for midsummer. In the woods we see stones covered with moss that retains likewise a most lively green. Where the trees are dense, the snow still lies under them. On the sides of the mountains, some miles off, the black pines and the white snow among them together produce a gray effect. The little streams are the most interesting objects at this time; some that have an existence only at this season,--Mississippis of the moment;--yet glide and tumble along as if they were perennial. The familiar ones seem strange by their breadth and volume; their little waterfalls set off by glaciers on a small scale. The sun has by this time force enough to make sheltered nooks in the angles of woods, or on banks, warm and comfortable. The lake is still of adamantine substance, but all round the borders there is a watery margin, altogether strewed or covered with thin and broken ice, so that I could not venture on it with the children. A chickadee was calling in the woods yesterday,--the only small bird I have taken note of yet; but, crows have been cawing in the woods for a week past, though not in very great numbers. February 22d.--For the last two or three days there has been a warm, soaking, southeasterly rain, with a spongy moisture diffused through the atmosphere. The snow has disappeared, except in spots which are the ruins of high drifts, and patches far up on the hillsides. The mists rest all day long on the brows of the hills that shut in our valley. The road over which I walk every day to and from the village is in the worst state of mud and mire, soft, slippery, nasty to tread upon; while the grass beside it is scarcely better, being so oozy and so overflowed with little streams, and sometimes an absolute bog. The rivulets race along the road, adown the hills; and wherever there is a permanent brooklet, however generally insignificant, it is now swollen into importance, and the rumble and tumble of its waterfalls may be heard a long way off. The general effect of the day and scenery is black, black, black. The streams are all as turbid as mud-puddles. Imitators of original authors might be compared to plaster casts of marble statues, or the imitative book to a cast of the original marble. March 11th.--After the ground had been completely freed of snow, there has been a snow-storm for the two days preceding yesterday, which made the earth all white again. This morning, at sunrise, the thermometer stood at about 18 degrees above zero. Monument Mountain stands out in great prominence, with its dark forest-covered sides, and here and there a large, white patch, indicating tillage or pasture land; but making a generally dark contrast with the white expanse of the frozen and snow-covered lake at its base, and the more undulating white of the surrounding country. Yesterday, under the sunshine of midday, and with many voluminous clouds hanging over it, and a mist of wintry warmth in the air, it had a kind of visionary aspect, although still it was brought out in striking relief. But though one could see all its bulgings, round swells, and precipitous abruptnesses, it looked as much akin to the clouds as to solid earth and rock substance. In the early sunshine of the morning, the atmosphere being very clear, I saw the dome of Taconic with more distinctness than ever before, the snow-patches and brown, uncovered soil on its round head being fully visible. Generally it is but a dark blue unvaried mountain-top. All the ruggedness of the intervening hill-country was likewise effectively brought out. There seems to be a sort of illuminating quality in new snow, which it loses after being exposed for a day or two to the suit and atmosphere. For a child's story,--the voyage of a little boat, made of a chip, with a birch-bark sail, down a river. March 31st.--A walk with the children yesterday forenoon. We went through the wood, where we found partridge-berries, half hidden among the dry, fallen leaves; thence down to the brook. This little brook has not cleansed itself from the disarray of the past autumn and winter, and is much embarrassed and choked up with brown leaves, twigs, and bits of branches. It rushes along merrily and rapidly, gurgling cheerfully, and tumbling over the impediments of stones with which the children and I made little waterfalls last year. At many spots, there are small basins or pools of calmer and smoother depth,--three feet, perhaps, in diameter, and a foot or two deep,--in which little fish are already sporting about; all elsewhere is tumble and gurgle and mimic turbulence. I sat on the withered leaves at the foot of a tree, while the children played, a little brook being the most fascinating plaything that a child can have. Una jumped to and fro across it; Julian stood beside a pool, fishing with a stick, without hook or line, and wondering that he caught nothing. Then he made new waterfalls with mighty labor, pulling big stones out of the earth, and flinging them into the current. Then they sent branches of trees, or the outer shells of walnuts, sailing down the stream, and watched their passages through the intricacies of the way,--how they were hurried over in a cascade, hurried dizzily round in a whirlpool, or brought quite to a stand-still amongst the collected rubbish. At last Julian tumbled into the brook, and was wetted through and through so that we were obliged to come home; he squelching along all the way, with his india-rubber shoes full of water. There are still patches of snow on the hills; also in the woods, especially on the northern margins. The lake is not yet what we may call thawed out, although there is a large space of blue water, and the ice is separated from the shore everywhere, and is soft, water-soaked, and crumbly. On favorable slopes and exposures, the earth begins to look green; and almost anywhere, if one looks closely, one sees the greenness of the grass, or of little herbage, amidst the brown. Under the nut-trees are scattered some of the nuts of last year; the walnuts have lost their virtue, the chestnuts do not seem to have much taste, but the butternuts are in no manner deteriorated. The warmth of these days has a mistiness, and in many respects resembles the Indian summer, and is not at all provocative of physical exertion. Nevertheless, the general impression is of life, not death. One feels that a new season has begun. Wednesday, April 9th.--There was a great rain yesterday,--wind from the southeast, and the last visible vestige of snow disappeared. It was a small patch near the summit of Bald Mountain, just on the upper verge of a grove of trees. I saw a slight remnant of it yesterday afternoon, but to-day it is quite gone. The grass comes up along the roadside and on favorable exposures, with a sort of green blush. Frogs have been melodious for a fortnight, and the birds sing pleasantly. April 20th.--The children found Houstonias more than a week ago. There have been easterly wind, continual cloudiness, and occasional rain for a week. This morning opened with a great snow-storm from the northeast, one of the most earnest snow-storms of the year, though rather more moist than in midwinter. The earth is entirely covered. Now, as the day advances towards noon, it shows some symptoms of turning to rain. April 28th.--For a week we have found the trailing arbutus pretty abundant in the woods. A day or two since, Una found a few purple violets, and yesterday a dandelion in bloom. The fragrance of the arbutus is spicy and exquisite. May 16th.--In our walks now, the children and I find blue, white, and golden violets, the former, especially, of great size and richness. Houstonias are very abundant, blue-whitening some of the pastures. They are a very sociable little flower, and dwell close together in communities,--sometimes covering a space no larger than the palm of the hand, but keeping one another in cheerful heart and life,--sometimes they occupy a much larger space. Lobelia, a pink flower, growing in the woods. Columbines, of a pale red, because they have lacked sun, growing in rough and rocky places on banks in the copses, precipitating towards the lake. The leaves of the trees are not yet out, but are so apparent that the woods are getting a very decided shadow. Water-weeds on the edge of the lake, of a deep green, with roots that seem to have nothing to do with earth, but with water only. May 23d.--I think the face of nature can never look more beautiful than now, with this so fresh and youthful green,--the trees not being fully in leaf, yet enough so to give airy shade to the woods. The sunshine fills them with green light. Monument Mountain and its brethren are green, and the lightness of the tint takes away something from their massiveness and ponderosity, and they respond with livelier effect to the shine and shade of the sky. Each tree now within sight stands out in its own individuality of line. This is a very windy day, and the light shifts with magical alternation. In a walk to the lake just now with the children, we found abundance of flowers,--wild geranium, violets of all families, red columbines, and many others known and unknown, besides innumerable blossoms of the wild strawberry, which has been in bloom for the past fortnight. The Houstonias seem quite to overspread some pastures, when viewed from a distance. Not merely the flowers, but the various shrubs which one sees,--seated, for instance, on the decayed trunk of a tree,--are well worth looking at, such a variety and such enjoyment they have of their new growth. Amid these fresh creations, we see others that have already run their course, and have done with warmth and sunshine,--the hoary periwigs, I mean, of dandelions gone to seed. August 7th.--Fourier states that, in the progress of the world, the ocean is to lose its saltness, and acquire the taste of a peculiarly flavored lemonade. October 13th.--How pleasant it is to see a human countenance which cannot be insincere,--in reference to baby's smile. The best of us being unfit to die, what an inexpressible absurdity to put the worst to death! "Is that a burden of sunshine on Apollo's back?" asked one of the children,--of the chlamys on our Apollo Belvedere. October 21st.--Going to the village yesterday afternoon, I saw the face of a beautiful woman, gazing at me from a cloud. It was the full face, not the bust. It had a sort of mantle on the head, and a pleasant expression of countenance. The vision lasted while I took a few steps, and then vanished. I never before saw nearly so distinct a cloud-picture, or rather sculpture; for it came out in alto-rilievo on the body of the cloud. October 27th.--The ground this morning is white with a thin covering of snow. The foliage has still some variety of hue. The dome of Taconic looks dark, and seems to have no snow on it, though I don't understand how that can be. I saw, a moment ago, on the lake, a very singular spectacle. There is a high northwest-wind ruffling the lake's surface, and making it blue, lead-colored, or bright, in stripes or at intervals; but what I saw was a boiling up of foam, which began at the right bank of the lake, and passed quite across it; and the mist flew before it, like the cloud out of a steam-engine. A fierce and narrow blast of wind must have ploughed the water in a straight line, from side to side of the lake. As fast as it went on, the foam subsided behind it, so that it looked somewhat like a sea-serpent, or other monster, swimming very rapidly. October 29th.--On a walk to Scott's pond, with Ellery Channing, we found a wild strawberry in the woods, not quite ripe, but beginning to redden. For a week or two, the cider-mills have been grinding apples. Immense heaps of apples lie piled near them, and the creaking of the press is heard as the horse treads on. Farmers are repairing cider-barrels; and the wayside brook is made to pour itself into the bunghole of a barrel, in order to cleanse it for the new cider. November 3d.--The face of the country is dreary now in a cloudy day like the present. The woods on the hillsides look almost black, and the cleared spaces a kind of gray brown. Taconic, this morning (4th), was a black purple, as dense and distinct as Monument Mountain itself. I hear the creaking of the cider-press; the patient horse going round and round, perhaps thirsty, to make the liquor which he never can enjoy. We left Lenox Friday morning, November 21, 1851, in a storm of snow and sleet, and took the cars at Pittsfield, and arrived at West Newton that evening. Happiness in this world, when it comes, comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness, without dreaming of it; but likely enough it is gone the moment we say to ourselves, "Here it is!" like the chest of gold that treasure-seekers find. West Newton, April 13th, 1852.--One of the severest snow-storms of the winter. April 30th.--Wrote the last page (199th MS.) of the Blithedale Romance. May 1st.--Wrote Preface. Afterwards modified the conclusion, and lengthened it to 201 pages. First proof-sheets, May 14. Concord, Mass., August 20th.--A piece of land contiguous to and connected with a handsome estate, to the adornment and good appearance of which it was essential.--But the owner of the strip of land was at variance with the owner of the estate, so he always refused to sell it at any price, but let it lie there, wild and ragged, in front of and near the mansion-house. When he dies, the owner of the estate, who has rejoiced at the approach of the event all through his enemy's illness, hopes at last to buy it; but, to his infinite discomfiture, the enemy enjoined in his will that his body should be buried in the centre of this strip of land. All sorts of ugly weeds grow most luxuriantly out of the grave in poisonous rankness. The Isles of Shoals, Monday, August 30th.--Left Concord at a quarter of nine A. M. Friday, September 3, set sail at about half past ten to the Isles of Shoals. The passengers were an old master of a vessel; a young, rather genteel man from Greenland, N. H.; two Yankees from Hamilton and Danvers; and a country trader (I should judge) from some inland town of New Hampshire. The old sea-captain, preparatory to sailing, bought a bunch of cigars (they cost ten cents), and occasionally puffed one. The two Yankees had brought guns on board, and asked questions about the fishing of the Shoals. They were young men, brothers, the youngest a shopkeeper in Danvers, the other a farmer, I imagine, at Hamilton, and both specimens of the least polished kind of Yankee, and therefore proper to those localities. They were at first full of questions, and greatly interested in whatever was going forward; but anon the shopkeeper began to grow, first a little, then very sick, till he lay along the boat, longing, as he afterwards said, for a little fresh water to be drowned in. His brother attended him in a very kindly way, but became sick himself before he reached the end of the voyage. The young Greenlander talked politics, or rather discussed the personal character of Pierce. The New Hampshire trader said not a word, or hardly one, all the way. A Portsmouth youth (whom I forgot to mention) sat in the stern of the boat, looking very white. The skipper of the boat is a Norwegian, a good-natured fellow, not particularly intelligent, and speaking in a dialect somewhat like Irish. He had a man with him, a silent and rather sulky fellow, who, at the captain's bidding, grimly made himself useful. The wind not being favorable, we had to make several tacks before reaching the islands, where we arrived at about two o'clock. We landed at Appledore, on which is Laighton's Hotel,--a large building with a piazza or promenade before it, about an hundred and twenty feet in length, or more,--yes, it must be more. It is an edifice with a centre and two wings, the central part upwards of seventy feet. At one end of the promenade is a covered veranda, thirty or forty feet square, so situated that the breeze draws across it from the sea on one side of the island to the sea on the other, and it is the breeziest and comfortablest place in the world on a hot day. There are two swings beneath it, and here one may sit or walk, and enjoy life, while all other mortals are suffering. As I entered the door of the hotel, there met me a short, corpulent, round, and full-faced man, rather elderly, if not old. He was a little lame. He addressed me in a hearty, hospitable tone, and, judging that it must be my landlord, I delivered a letter of introduction from Pierce. Of course it was fully efficient in obtaining the best accommodations that were to be had. I found that we were expected, a man having brought the news of our intention the day before. Here ensued great inquiries after the General, and wherefore he had not come. I was looked at with considerable curiosity on my own account, especially by the ladies, of whom there were several, agreeable and pretty enough. There were four or five gentlemen, most of whom had not much that was noteworthy. After dinner, which was good and abundant, though somewhat rude in its style, I was introduced by Mr. Laighton to Mr. Thaxter, his son-in-law, and Mr. Weiss, a clergyman of New Bedford, who is staying here for his health. They showed me some of the remarkable features of the island, such as a deep chasm in the cliffs of the shore, towards the southwest; also a monument of rude stones, on the highest point of the island, said to have been erected by Captain John Smith before the settlement at Plymouth. The tradition is just as good as truth. Also, some ancient cellars, with thistles and other weeds growing in them, and old fragmentary bricks scattered about. The date of these habitations is not known; but they may well be the remains of the settlement that Cotton Mather speaks about; or perhaps one of them was the house where Sir William Pepperell was born, and where he went when he and somebody else set up a stick, and travelled to seek their fortunes in the direction in which it fell. In the evening, the company at the hotel made up two whist parties, at one of which I sat down,--my partner being an agreeable young lady from Portsmouth. We played till I, at least, was quite weary. It had been the beautifullest of weather all day, very hot on the mainland, but a delicious climate under our veranda. Saturday, September 4th.--Another beautiful day, rather cooler than the preceding, but not too cool. I can bear this coolness better than that of the interior. In the forenoon, I took passage for Star Island, in a boat that crosses daily whenever there are passengers. My companions were the two Yankees, who had quite recovered from yesterday's sickness, and were in the best of spirits and the utmost activity of mind of which they were capable. Never was there such a string of questions as they directed to the boatman,--questions that seemed to have no gist, so far as related to any use that could be made of the answers. They appear to be very good young men, however, well-meaning, and with manners not disagreeable, because their hearts are not amiss. Star Island is less than a mile from Appledore. It is the most populous island of the group,--has been, for three or four years, an incorporated township, and sends a representative to the New Hampshire legislature. The number of voters is variously represented as from eighteen to twenty-eight. The inhabitants are all, I presume, fishermen. Their houses stand in pretty close neighborhood to one another, scattered about without the slightest regularity or pretence of a street, there being no wheel-carriages on the island. Some of the houses are very comfortable two-story dwellings. I saw two or three, I think, with flowers. There are also one or two trees on the island. There is a strong odor of fishiness, and the little cove is full of mackerel-boats, and other small craft for fishing, in some of which little boys of no growth at all were paddling about. Nearly in the centre of this insular metropolis is a two-story house, with a flag-staff in the yard. This is the hotel. On the highest point of Star Island stands the church,--a small, wooden structure; and, sitting in its shadow, I found a red-baize-skirted fisherman, who seemed quite willing to converse. He said that there was a minister here, who was also the schoolmaster; but that he did not keep school just now, because his wife was very much out of health. The school-house stood but a little way from the meeting-house, and near it was the minister's dwelling; and by and by I had a glimpse of the good man himself, in his suit of black, which looked in very decent condition at the distance from which I viewed it. His clerical air was quite distinguishable, and it was rather curious to see it, when everybody else wore red-baize shirts and fishing-boots, and looked of the scaly genus. He did not approach me, and I saw him no nearer. I soon grew weary of Gosport, and was glad to re-embark, although I intend to revisit the island with Mr. Thaxter, and see more of its peculiarities and inhabitants. I saw one old witch-looking woman creeping about with a cane, and stooping down, seemingly to gather herbs. On mentioning her to Mr. Thaxter, after my return, he said that it was probably "the bearded woman." I did not observe her beard; but very likely she may have had one. The larger part of the company at the hotel returned to the mainland to-day. There remained behind, however, a Mr. T------ from Newburyport, --a man of natural refinement, and a taste for reading that seems to point towards the writings of Emerson, Thoreau, and men of that class. I have had a good deal of talk with him, and at first doubted whether he might not be a clergyman; but Mr. Thaxter tells me that he has made his own way in the world,--was once a sailor before the mast, and is now engaged in mercantile pursuits. He looks like nothing of this kind, being tall and slender, with very quiet manners, not beautiful, though pleasing from the refinement that they indicate. He has rather a precise and careful pronunciation, but yet a natural way of talking. In the afternoon I walked round a portion of the island that I had not previously visited, and in the evening went with Mr. Titcomb to Mr. Thaxter's to drink apple-toddy. We found Mrs. Thaxter sitting in a neat little parlor, very simply furnished, but in good taste. She is not now, I believe, more than eighteen years old, very pretty, and with the manners of a lady,--not prim and precise, but with enough of freedom and ease. The books on the table were "Pre-Raphaelitism," a tract on spiritual mediums, etc. There were several shelves of books on one side of the room, and engravings on the walls. Mr. Weiss was there, and I do not know but he is an inmate of Mr. Thaxter's. By and by came in Mr. Thaxter's brother, with a young lady whose position I do not know,-- either a sister or the brother's wife. Anon, too, came in the apple-toddy, a very rich and spicy compound; after which we had some glees and negro melodies, in which Mr. Thaxter sang a noble bass, and Mrs. Thaxter sang like a bird, and Mr. Weiss sang, I suppose, tenor, and the brother took some other part, and all were very mirthful and jolly. At about ten o'clock Mr. Titcomb and myself took leave, and emerging into the open air, out of that room of song, and pretty youthfulness of woman, and gay young men, there was the sky, and the three-quarters waning moon, and the old sea moaning all round about the island. Sunday, September 5th.--To-day I have done little or nothing except to roam along the shore of the island, and to sit under the piazza, talking with Mr. Laighton or some of his half-dozen guests; and about an hour before dinner I came up to my room, and took a brief nap. Since dinner I have been writing the foregoing journal. I observe that the Fanny Ellsler, our passenger and mail boat, has arrived from Portsmouth, and now lies in a little cove, moored to the rocky shore, with a flag flying at her main-mast. We have been watching her for some hours, but she stopped to fish, and then went to some other island, before putting in here. I must go and see what news she has brought. "What did you fire at?" asked one of the Yankees just now of a boy who had been firing a gun. "Nothing," said the boy. "Did you hit it?" rejoined the Yankee. The farmer is of a much ruder and rougher mould than his brother,-- heavier in frame and mind, and far less cultivated. It was on this account, probably, that he labored as a farmer, instead of setting up a shop. When it is warm, as yesterday, he takes off his coat, and, not minding whether or no his shirt-sleeves be soiled, goes in this guise to meals or wherever else,---not resuming his coat as long as he is more comfortable without it. His shoulders have a stoop, and altogether his air is that of a farmer in repose. His brother is handsome, and might have quite the aspect of a smart, comely young man, if well dressed. This island is said to be haunted by a spectre called "Old Bab." He was one of Captain Kidd's men, and was slain for the protection of the treasure. Mr. Laighton said that, before he built his house, nothing would have induced the inhabitant of another island to come to this after nightfall. The ghost especially haunts the space between the hotel and the cove in front. There has, in times past, been great search for the treasure. Mr. Thaxter tells me that the women on the island are very timid as to venturing on the sea,--more so than the women of the mainland,--and that they are easily frightened about their husbands. Very few accidents happen to the boats or men,--none, I think, since Mr. Thaxter has been here. They are not an enterprising set of people, never liking to make long voyages. Sometimes one of them will ship on a voyage to the West Indies, but generally only on coastwise trips, or fishing or mackerel voyages. They have a very strong local attachment, and return to die. They are now generally temperate, formerly very much the contrary. September 5th.--A large part of the guests took their departure after an early breakfast this morning, including Mr. Titcomb, Mr. Weiss, the two Yankees, and Mr. Thaxter,--who, however, went as skipper or supercargo, and will return with the boat. I have been fishing for cunners off the rocks, but with intolerably poor success. There is nothing so dispiriting as poor fishing, and I spend most of the time with my head on my hands, looking at the sea breaking against the rocks, shagged around the bases with sea-weed. It is a sunny forenoon, with a cool breeze from the southwest. The mackerel craft are in the offing. Mr. Laighton says that the Spy (the boat which went to the mainland this morning) is now on her return with all her colors set; and he thinks that Pierce is on board, he having sent Mr. Thaxter to invite him to come in this boat. Pierce arrived before dinner in the Spy, accompanied by Judge Upham and his brother and their wives, his own wife, Mr. Furness, and three young ladies. After dinner some of the gentlemen crossed over to Gosport, where we visited the old graveyard, in which were monuments to Rev. Mr. Tucke (died 1773, after forty years' settlement) and to another and later minister of the island. They were of red freestone, lying horizontally on piles of the granite fragments, such as are scattered all about. There were other graves, marked by the rudest shapes of stones at head and foot. And so many stones protruded from the ground, that it was wonderful how space and depth enough was found between them to cover the dead. We went to the house of the town clerk of Gosport (a drunken fisherman, Joe Caswell by name) and there found the town records, commencing in 1732 in a beautiful style of penmanship. They are imperfect, the township having been broken up, probably at the time of the Revolution. Caswell, being very drunk, immediately put in a petition to Pierce to build a sea-mole for the protection of the navigation of the island when he should be President. He was dressed in the ordinary fisherman's style,--red-baize shirt, trousers tucked into large boots, which, as he had just come ashore, were wet with salt water. He led us down to the shore of the island, towards the east, and showed us Betty Moody's Hole. This Betty Moody was a woman of the island in old times. The Indians came off on a depredating excursion, and she fled from them with a child, and hid herself in this hole, which is formed by several great rocks being lodged so as to cover one of the fissures which are common along these shores. I crept into the hole, which is somewhat difficult of access, long, low, and narrow, and might well enough be a hiding-place. The child, or children, began to cry; and Betty, fearful of discovery, murdered them to save herself. Joe Caswell did not tell the latter part of the story, but Mr. Thaxter did. Not far from the spot there is a point of rocks extending out farther into the ocean than the rest of the island. Some four or five years ago there was a young woman residing at Gosport in the capacity of schoolteacher. She was of a romantic turn, and used to go and sit on this point of rock to view the waves. One day, when the wind was high, and the surf raging against the rocks, a great wave struck her, as she sat on the edge, and seemed to deprive her of sense; another wave, or the reflex of the same one, carried her off into the sea, and she was seen no more. This happened, I think, in 1846. Passing a rock near the centre of the island, which rose from the soil about breast-high, and appeared to have been split asunder, with an incalculably aged and moss-grown fissure, the surfaces of which, however, precisely suited each other; Mr. Hatch mentioned that there was an idea among the people, with regard to rocks thus split, that they were rent asunder at the time of the Crucifixion. Judge Upham observed that this superstition was common in all parts of the country. Mr. Hatch said that he was professionally consulted, the other day, by a man who had been digging for buried treasure at Dover Point; up the Piscataqua River; and, while he and his companions were thus engaged, the owner of the land came upon them, and compelled Hatch's client to give him a note for a sum of money. The object was to inquire whether this note was obligatory. Hatch says that there are a hundred people now resident in Portsmouth, who, at one time or another, have dug for treasure. The process is, in the first place, to find out the site of the treasure by the divining-rod. A circle is then described with the steel rod about the spot, and a man walks around within its verge, reading the Bible to keep off the evil spirit while his companions dig. If a word is spoken, the whole business is a failure. Once the person who told him the story reached the lid of the chest, so that the spades plainly scraped upon it, when one of the men spoke, and the chest immediately moved sideways into the earth. Another time, when he was reading the Bible within the circle, a creature like a white horse, but immoderately large, came from a distance towards the circle, looked at him, and then began to graze about the spot. He saw the motion of the jaws, but heard no sound of champing. His companions saw the gigantic horse precisely as he did, only to them it appeared bay instead of white. The islanders stared with great curiosity at Pierce. One pretty young woman appeared inclined to engross him entirely to herself. There is a bowling-alley on the island, at which some of the young fishermen were rolling. September 7th.--. . . . I have made no exploration to-day, except a walk with the guests in the morning, but have lounged about the piazza and veranda. It has been a calm, warm, sunny day, the sea slumbering against the shores, and now and then breaking into white foam. The surface of the island is plentifully overgrown with whortleberry and bayberry bushes. The sheep cut down the former, so that few berries are produced; the latter gives a pleasant fragrance when pressed in the hand. The island is one great ledge of rock, four hundred acres in extent, with a little soil thrown scantily over it; but the bare rock everywhere emerging, not only in points, but still more in flat surfaces. The only trees, I think, are two that Mr. Laighton has been trying to raise in front of the hotel, the taller of which looks scarcely so much as ten feet high. It is now about sunset, and the Fanny, with the mail, is just arrived at the moorings. So still is it, that the sounds on board (as of throwing oars into a small boat) are distinctly heard, though a quarter of a mile off. She has the Stars and Stripes flying at the main-mast. There appear to be no passengers. The only reptile on the island is a very vivid and beautiful green snake, which is exceedingly abundant. Yesterday, while catching grasshoppers for fish-bait, I nearly griped one in my hand; indeed, I rather think I did gripe it. The snake was as much startled as myself, and, in its fright, stood an instant on its tail, before it recovered presence of mind to glide away. These snakes are quite harmless. September 8th.--Last evening we could hear the roaring of the beaches at Hampton and Rye, nine miles off. The surf likewise swelled against the rocky shores of the island, though there was little or no wind, and, except for the swell, the surface was smooth. The sheep bleated loudly; and all these tokens, according to Mr. Laighton, foreboded a storm to windward. This morning, nevertheless, there were no further signs of it; it is sunny and calm, or only the slightest breeze from the westward; a haze sleeping along the shore, betokening a warm day; the surface of the sea streaked with smoothness, and gentle ruffles of wind. It has been the hottest day that I have known here, and probably one of the hottest of the season ashore; and the land is now imperceptible in the haze. Smith's monument is about seven feet high, and probably ten or twelve in diameter at its base. It is a cairn or mere heap of stones, thrown together as they came to hand, though with some selection of large and flat ones, towards the base, and with smaller ones thrown in. At the foundation, there are large rocks, naturally imbedded in the earth. I see no reason to disbelieve that a part of this monument may have been erected by Captain Smith, although subsequent visitors may have added to it. Laighton says it is known to have stood upwards of a hundred years. It is a work of considerable labor, and would more likely have been erected by one who supposed himself the first discoverer of the island than by anybody afterwards for mere amusement. I observed in some places, towards the base, that the lichens had grown from one stone to another; and there is nothing in the appearance of the monument that controverts the supposition of its antiquity. It is an irregular circle, somewhat decreasing towards the top. Few of the stones, except at the base, are bigger than a man could easily lift,--many of them are not more than a foot across. It stands towards the southern part of the island; and all the other islands are visible from it,--Smutty Nose, Star Island, and White Island,--on which is the lighthouse,--much of Laighton's island (the proper name of which is Hog, though latterly called Appledore), and Duck Island, which looks like a mere reef of rocks, and about a mile farther into the ocean, easterly of Hog Island. Laighton's Hotel, together with the house in which his son-in-law resides, which was likewise built by Laighton, and stands about fifty yards from the hotel, occupies the middle of a shallow valley, which passes through the island from east to west. Looking from the veranda, you have the ocean opening towards the east, and the bay towards Rye Beach and Portsmouth on the west. In the same storm that overthrew Minot's Light, a year or two ago, a great wave passed entirely through this valley; and Laighton describes it, when it came in from the sea, as toppling over to the height of the cupola of his hotel. It roared and whitened through, from sea to sea, twenty feet abreast, rolling along huge rocks in its passage. It passed beneath his veranda, which stands on posts, and probably filled the valley completely. Would I had been here to see! The day has been exceedingly hot. Since dinner, the Spy has arrived from Portsmouth, with a party of half a dozen or more men and women and children, apparently from the interior of New Hampshire. I am rather sorry to receive these strangers into the quiet life that we are leading here; for we had grown quite to feel ourselves at home, and the two young ladies, Mr. Thaxter, his wife and sister, and myself, met at meal-times like one family. The young ladies gathered shells, arranged them, laughed gently, sang, and did other pretty things in a young-ladylike way. These new-comers are people of uncouth voices and loud laughter, and behave themselves as if they were trying to turn their expedition to as much account as possible in the way of enjoyment. John's boat, the regular passenger-boat, is now coming in, and probably brings the mail. In the afternoon, while some of the new-comers were fishing off the rocks, west of the hotel, a shark came close in shore. Hearing their outcries, I looked out of my chamber window, and saw the dorsal fin and the fluke of his tail stuck up out of the water, as he moved to and fro. He must have been eight or ten feet long. He had probably followed the small fish into the bay, and got bewildered, and, at one time, he was almost aground. Oscar, Mr. Laighton's son, ran down with a gun, and fired at the shark, which was then not more than ten yards from the shore. He aimed, according to his father's directions, just below the junction of the dorsal fin with the body; but the gun was loaded only with shot, and seemed to produce no effect. Oscar had another shot at him afterwards; the shark floundered a little in the water, but finally got off and disappeared, probably without very serious damage. He came so near the shore that he might have been touched with a boat-hook. September 9th.--Mr. Thaxter rowed me this morning, in his dory, to White Island, on which is the lighthouse. There was scarcely a breath of air, and a perfectly calm sea; an intensely hot sunshine, with a little haze, so that the horizon was indistinct. Here and there sail-boats sleeping on the water, or moving almost imperceptibly over it. The lighthouse island would be difficult of access in a rough sea, the shore being so rocky. On landing, we found the keeper peeling his harvest of onions, which he had gathered prematurely, because the insects were eating them. His little patch of garden seemed to be a strange kind of soil, as like marine mud as anything; but he had a fair crop of marrow squashes, though injured, as he said, by the last storm; and there were cabbages and a few turnips. I recollect no other garden vegetables. The grass grows pretty luxuriantly, and looked very green where there was any soil; but he kept no cow, nor even a pig nor a hen. His house stands close by the garden, --a small stone building, with peaked roof, and whitewashed. The lighthouse stands on a ledge of rock, with a galley between, and there is a long covered way, triangular in shape, connecting his residence with it. We ascended into the lantern, which is eighty-seven feet high. It is a revolving light, with several great illuminators of copper silvered, and colored lamp-glasses. Looking downward, we had the island displayed as on a chart, with its little bays, its isthmus of shingly beach connecting two parts of the island, and overflowed at high tide; its sunken rocks about it, indicated by the swell, or slightly breaking surf. The keeper of the lighthouse was formerly a writing-master. He has a sneaking kind of look, and does not bear a very high character among his neighbors. Since he kept the light, he has lost two wives,--the first a young creature whom he used to leave alone upon this desolate rock, and the gloom and terror of the situation were probably the cause of her death. The second wife, experiencing the same kind of treatment, ran away from him, and returned to her friends. He pretends to be religious, but drinks. About a year ago he attempted to row out alone from Portsmouth. There was a head wind and head tide, and he would have inevitably drifted out to sea, if Mr. Thaxter had not saved him. While we were standing in his garden-patch, I heard a woman's voice inside the dwelling, but know not whose it was. A lighthouse nine miles from shore would be a delightful place for a new-married couple to spend their honeymoon, or their whole first year. On our way back we landed at another island called Londoner's Rock, or some such name. It has but little soil. As we approached it, a large bird flew away. Mr. Thaxter took it to be a gannet; and, while walking over the island, an owl started up from among the rocks near us, and flew away, apparently uncertain of its course. It was a brown owl, but Mr. Thaxter says that there are beautiful white owls, which spend the winter here, and feed upon rats. These are very abundant, and live amidst the rocks,--probably having been brought hither by vessels. The water to-day was not so transparent as sometimes, but had a slight haze diffused through it, somewhat like that of the atmosphere. The passengers brought by the Spy, yesterday, still remain with us. They consist of country traders, a country doctor, and such sorts of people, rude, shrewd, and simple, and well-behaved enough; wondering at sharks, and equally at lobsters; sitting down to table with their coats off; helping themselves out of the dish with their own forks; taking pudding on the plates off which they have eaten meat. People at just this stage of manners are more disagreeable than at any other stage. They are aware of some decencies, but not so deeply aware as to make them a matter of conscience. They may be heard talking of the financial affairs of the expedition, reckoning what money each has paid. One offers to pay another three or four cents, which the latter has overpaid. "It's of no consequence, sir," says his friend, with a tone of conscious liberality, "that's near enough." This is a most tremendously hot day. There is a young lady staying at the hotel, afflicted with what her friends call erysipelas, but which is probably scrofula. She seems unable to walk, or sit up; but every pleasant day, about the middle of the forenoon, she is dragged out beneath the veranda, on a sofa. To-day she has been there until late in the decline of the afternoon. It is a delightful place, where the breezes stir, if any are in motion. The young girls, her sisters or cousins, and Mr. Thaxter's sister, sat round her, babbling cheerfully, and singing; and they were so merry that it did not seem as if there could be an incurably sick one in the midst of them. The Spy came to-day, with more passengers of no particular character. She still remains off the landing, moored, with her sails in the wind. The mail arrived to-day, but nothing for me. Close by the veranda, at the end of the hotel, is drawn up a large boat, of ten or twelve tons, which got injured in some gale, and probably will remain there for years to decay, and be a picturesque and characteristic object. The Spy has been lying in the broad track of golden light, thrown by the sun, far down towards the horizon, over the rippling water, her sails throwing distinct, dark shadows over the brightness. She has now got under way, and set sail on a northwest course for Portsmouth; carrying off, I believe, all the passengers she brought to-day. September 10th.--Here is another beautiful morning, with the sun dimpling in the early sunshine. Four sailboats are in sight, motionless on the sea, with the whiteness of their sails reflected in it. The heat-haze sleeps along the shore, though not so as quite to hide it, and there is the promise of another very warm day. As yet, however, the air is cool and refreshing. Around the island, there is the little ruffle of a breeze; but where the sail-boats are, a mile or more off, the sea is perfectly calm. The crickets sing, and I hear the chirping of birds besides. At the base of the lighthouse yesterday, we saw the wings and feathers of a decayed little bird, and Mr. Thaxter said they often flew against the lantern with such force as to kill themselves, and that large quantities of them might be picked up. How came these little birds out of their nests at night? Why should they meet destruction from the radiance that proves the salvation of other beings? Mr. Thaxter had once a man living with him who had seen "Old Bab," the ghost. He met him between the hotel and the sea, and describes him as dressed in a sort of frock, and with a very dreadful countenance. Two or three years ago, the crew of a wrecked vessel, a brigantine, wrecked near Boon Island, landed on Hog Island of a winter night, and found shelter in the hotel. It was from the eastward. There were six or seven men, with the mate and captain. It was midnight when they got ashore. The common sailors, as soon as they were physically comfortable, seemed to be perfectly at ease. The captain walked the floor, bemoaning himself for a silver watch which he had lost; the mate, being the only married man, talked about his Eunice. They all told their dreams of the preceding night, and saw in them prognostics of the misfortune. There is now a breeze, the blue ruffle of which seems to reach almost across to the mainland, yet with streaks of calm; and, in one place, the glassy surface of a lake of calmness, amidst the surrounding commotion. The wind, in the early morning, was from the west, and the aspect of the sky seemed to promise a warm and sunny day. But all at once, soon after breakfast, the wind shifted round to the eastward; and great volumes of fog, almost as dense as cannon-smoke, came sweeping from the eastern ocean, through the valley, and past the house. It soon covered the whole sea, and the whole island, beyond a verge of a few hundred yards. The chilliness was not so great as accompanies a change of wind on the mainland. We had been watching a large ship that was slowly making her way between us and the land towards Portsmouth. This was now hidden. The breeze is still very moderate; but the boat, moored near the shore, rides with a considerable motion, as if the sea were getting up. Mr. Laighton says that the artist who adorned Trinity Church in New York with sculpture wanted some real wings from which to imitate the wings of cherubim. Mr. Thaxter carried him the wings of the white owl that winters here at the Shoals, together with those of some other bird; and the artist gave his cherubim the wings of an owl. This morning there have been two boat-loads of visitors from Rye. They merely made a flying call, and took to their boats again,--a disagreeable and impertinent kind of people. The Spy arrived before dinner, with several passengers. After dinner came the Fanny, bringing, among other freight, a large basket of delicious pears to me, together with a note from Mr. B. B. Titcomb. He is certainly a man of excellent, taste and admirable behavior. I sent a plateful of pears to the room of each guest now in the hotel, kept a dozen for myself, and gave the balance to Mr. Laighton. The two Portsmouth young ladies returned in the Spy. I had grown accustomed to their presence, and rather liked them; one of them being gay and rather noisy, and the other quiet and gentle. As to new-comers, I feel rather a distaste to them; and so, I find, does Mr. Laighton,--a rather singular sentiment for a hotel-keeper to entertain towards his guests. However, he treats them very hospitably, when once within his doors. The sky is overcast, and, about the time of the Spy and the Fanny sailed, there were a few drops of rain. The wind, at that time, was strong enough to raise white-caps to the eastward of the island, and there was good hope of a storm. Now, however, the wind has subsided, and the weather-seers know not what to forebode. September 11th.--The wind shifted and veered about, towards the close of yesterday, and later it was almost calm, after blowing gently from the northwest,--notwithstanding which it rained. There being a mistiness in the air, we could see the gleam of the lighthouse itself by the highest point of this island, or by our being in a valley. As we sat in the piazza in the evening, we saw the light from on board some vessel move slowly through the distant obscurity,--so slowly that we were only sensible of its progress by forgetting it and looking again. The plash and murmur of the waves around the island were soothingly audible. It was not unpleasantly cold, and Mr. Laighton, Mr. Thaxter and myself sat under the piazza till long after dark; the former at a little distance, occasionally smoking his pipe, and Mr. Thaxter and I talking about poets and the stage. The latter is an odd subject to be discussed in this stern and wild scene, which has precisely the same characteristics now as two hundred years ago. The mosquitoes were very abundant last night, and they are certainly a hardier race than their inland brethren. This morning there is a sullen sky, with scarcely any breeze. The clouds throw shadows of varied darkness upon the sea. I know not which way the wind is; but the aspect of things seems to portend a calm drizzle as much as anything else. About eleven o'clock, Mr. Thaxter took me over to Smutty Nose in his dory. A sloop from the eastward, laden with laths, bark, and other lumber, and a few barrels of mackerel, filled yesterday, and was left by her skipper and crew. All the morning we have seen boats picking up her deck-load, which was scattered over the sea, and along the shores of the islands. The skipper and his three men got into Smutty Nose in the boat; and the sloop was afterwards boarded by the Smutty Noses and brought into that island. We saw her lying at the pier,--a black, ugly, rotten old thing, with the water half-way over her decks. The wonder was, how she swam so long. The skipper, a man of about thirty-five or forty, in a blue pilot-cloth overcoat, and a rusty, high-crowned hat jammed down over his brow, looked very forlorn; while the islanders were grouped about, indolently enjoying the matter. I walked with Mr. Thaxter over the island, and saw first the graves of the Spaniards. They were wrecked on this island a hundred years ago, and lie buried in a range about thirty feet in length, to the number of sixteen, with rough, moss-grown pieces of granite on each side of this common grave. Near this spot, yet somewhat removed, so as not to be confounded with it, are other individual graves, chiefly of the Haley family, who were once possessors of the island. These have slate gravestones. There is also, within a small enclosure of rough pine boards, a white marble gravestone, in memory of a young man named Bekker, son of the person who now keeps the hotel on Smutty Nose. He was buried, Mr. Thaxter says, notwithstanding his marble monument, in a rude pine box, which he himself helped to make. We walked to the farthest point of the island, and I have never seen a more dismal place than it was on this sunless and east-windy day, being the farthest point out into the melancholy sea, which was in no very agreeable mood, and roared sullenly against the wilderness of rocks. One mass of rock, more than twelve feet square, was thrown up out of the sea in a storm, not many years since, and now lies athwartwise, never to be moved unless another omnipotent wave shall give it another toss. On shore, such a rock would be a landmark for centuries. It is inconceivable how a sufficient mass of water could be brought to bear on this ponderous mass; but, not improbably, all the fragments piled upon one another round these islands have thus been flung to and fro at one time or another. There is considerable land that would serve tolerably for pasture on Smutty Nose, and here and there a little enclosure of richer grass, built round with a strong stonewall. The same kind of enclosure is prevalent on Star Island,--each small proprietor fencing off his little bit of tillage or grass. Wild-flowers are abundant and various on these islands; the bayberry-bush is plentiful on Smutty Nose, and makes the hand that crushes it fragrant. The hotel is kept by a Prussian, an old soldier, who fought at the Battle of Waterloo. We saw him in the barn,--a gray, heavy, round-skulled old fellow, troubled with deafness. The skipper of the wrecked sloop had, apparently, just been taking a drop of comfort, but still seemed downcast. He took passage in a fishing-vessel, the Wave, of Kittery, for Portsmouth; and I know not why, but there was something that made me smile in his grim and gloomy look, his rusty, jammed hat, his rough and grisly beard, and in his mode of chewing tobacco, with much action of the jaws, getting out the juice as largely as possible, as men always do when disturbed in mind. I looked at him earnestly, and was conscious of something that marked him out from among the careless islanders around him. Being as much discomposed as it was possible for him to be, his feelings individualized the man and magnetized the observer. When he got aboard the fishing-vessel, he seemed not entirely at his ease, being accustomed to command and work amongst his own little crew, and now having nothing to do. Nevertheless, unconsciously perhaps, he lent a hand to whatever was going on, and yet had a kind of strangeness about him. As the Wave set sail, we were just starting in our dory, and a young fellow, an acquaintance of Mr. Thaxter, proposed to take us in tow; so we were dragged along at her stern very rapidly, and with a whitening wake, until we came off Hog Island. Then the dory was cast loose, and Mr. Thaxter rowed ashore against a head sea. The day is still overcast, and the wind is from the eastward; but it does not increase, and the sun appears occasionally on the point of shining out. A boat--the Fanny, I suppose, from Portsmouth--has just come to her moorings in front of the hotel. A sail-boat has put off from her, with a passenger in the stern. Pray God she bring me a letter with good news from home; for I begin to feel as if I had been long enough away. There is a bowling-alley on Smutty Nose, at which some of the Star-Islanders were playing, when we were there. I saw only two dwelling-houses besides the hotel. Connected with Smutty Nose by a stone-wall there is another little bit of island, called Malaga. Both are the property of Mr. Laighton. Mr. Laighton says that the Spanish wreck occurred forty-seven years ago, instead of a hundred. Some of the dead bodies were found on Malaga, others on various parts of the next island. One or two had crept to a stone-wall that traverses Smutty Nose, but were unable to get over it. One was found among the bushes the next summer. Mr. Haley had them buried at his own expense. The skipper of the wrecked sloop, yesterday, was unwilling to go to Portsmouth until he was shaved,--his beard being of several days' growth. It seems to be the impulse of people under misfortune to put on their best clothes, and attend to the decencies of life. The Fanny brought a passenger,--a thin, stiff, black-haired young man, who enters his name as Mr. Tufts, from Charlestown. He, and a country trader, his wife, sister, and two children (all of whom have been here several days) are now the only guests besides myself. September 12th.--The night set in sullen and gloomy, and morning has dawned in pretty much the same way. The wind, however, seems rising somewhat, and grumbles past the angle of the house. Perhaps we shall see a storm yet from the eastward; and, having the whole sweep of the broad Atlantic between here and Ireland, I do not see why it should not be fully equal to a storm at sea. It has been raining more or less all the forenoon, and now, at twelve o'clock, blows, as Mr. Laighton says, "half a gale" from the southeast. Through the opening of our shallow valley, towards the east, there is the prospect of a tumbling sea, with hundreds of white-caps chasing one another over it. In front of the hotel, being to leeward, the water near the shore is but slightly ruffled; but farther the sea is agitated, and the surf breaks over Square Rock. All round the horizon, landward as well as seaward, the view is shut in by a mist. Sometimes I have a dim sense of the continent beyond, but no more distinct than the thought of the other world to the unenlightened soul. The sheep bleat in their desolate pasture. The wind shakes the house. A loon, seeking, I suppose, some quieter resting-place than on the troubled waves, was seen swimming just now in the cove not more than a hundred yards from the hotel. Judging by the pother which this "half a gale" makes with the sea, it must have been a terrific time, indeed, when that great wave rushed and roared across the islands. Since dinner, I have been to the eastern shore to look at the sea. It is a wild spectacle, but still, I suppose, lacks an infinite deal of being a storm. Outside of this island there is a long and low one (or two in a line), looking more like a reef of rocks than an island, and at the distance of a mile or more. There the surf and spray break gallantly,-- white-sheeted forms rising up all at once, and hovering a moment in the air. Spots which, in calm times, are not discernible from the rest of the ocean, now are converted into white, foamy breakers. The swell of the waves against our shore makes a snowy depth, tinged with green, for many feet back from the shore. The longer waves swell, overtop, and rush upon the rocks; and, when they return, the waters pour back in a cascade. Against the outer points of Smutty Nose and Star Island, there is a higher surf than here; because, the wind being from the southeast, these islands receive it first, and form a partial barrier in respect to this. While I looked, there was moisture in the air, and occasional spats of rain. The uneven places in the rocks were full of the fallen rain. It is quite impossible to give an idea of these rocky shores,--how confusedly they are tossed together, lying in all directions; what solid ledges, what great fragments thrown out from the rest. Often the rocks are broken, square and angular, so as to form a kind of staircase; though, for the most part, such as would require a giant stride to ascend them. Sometimes a black trap-rock runs through the bed of granite; sometimes the sea has eaten this away, leaving a long, irregular fissure. In some places, owing to the same cause perhaps, there is a great hollow place excavated into the ledge, and forming a harbor, into which the sea flows; and, while there is foam and fury at the entrance, it is comparatively calm within. Some parts of the crag are as much as fifty feet of perpendicular height, down which you look over a bare and smooth descent, at the base of which is a shaggy margin of sea-weed. But it is vain to try to express this confusion. As much as anything else, it seems as if some of the massive materials of the world remained superfluous, after the Creator had finished, and were carelessly thrown down here, where the millionth part of them emerge from the sea, and in the course of thousands of years have become partially bestrewn with a little soil. The wind has changed to southwest, and blows pretty freshly. The sun shone before it set; and the mist, which all day has overhung the land, now takes the aspect of a cloud,--drawing a thin veil between us and the shore, and rising above it. In our own atmosphere there is no fog nor mist. September 13th.--I spent last evening, as well as part of the evening before, at Mr. Thaxter's. It is certainly a romantic incident to find such a young man on this lonely island; his marriage with the pretty Miranda is true romance. In our talk we have glanced over many matters, and, among the rest, that of the stage, to prepare himself for which was his first motive in coming hither. He appears quite to have given up any dreams of that kind now. What he will do on returning to the world, as his purpose is, I cannot imagine; but, no doubt, through all their remaining life, both he and she will look back to this rocky ledge, with its handful of soil, as to a Paradise. Last evening we (Mr., Mrs., and Miss Thaxter) sat and talked of ghosts and kindred subjects; and they told me of the appearance of a little old woman in a striped gown, that had come into that house a few months ago. She was seen by nobody but an Irish nurse, who spoke to her, but received no answer. The little woman drew her chair up towards the fire, and stretched out her feet to warm them. By and by the nurse, who suspected nothing of her ghostly character, went to get a pail of water; and, when she came back, the little woman was not there. It being known precisely how many and what people were on the island, and that no such little woman was among them, the fact of her being a ghost is incontestable. I taught them how to discover the hidden sentiments of letters by suspending a gold ring over them. Ordinarily, since I have been here, we have spent the evening under the piazza, where Mr. Laighton sits to take the air. He seems to avoid the within-doors whenever he can. So there he sits in the sea-breezes, when inland people are probably drawing their chairs to the fireside; and there I sit with him,--not keeping up a continual flow of talk, but each speaking as any wisdom happens to come into his mind. The wind, this morning, is from the northwestward, rather brisk, but not very strong. There is a scattering of clouds about the sky; but the atmosphere is singularly clear, and we can see several hills of the interior, the cloud-like White Mountains, and, along the shore, the long white beaches and the dotted dwellings, with great distinctness. Many small vessels spread their wings, and go seaward. I have been rambling over the southern part of the island, and looking at the traces of habitations there. There are several enclosures,--the largest perhaps thirty yards square,--surrounded with a rough stonewall of very mossy antiquity, built originally broad and strong, two or three large stones in width, and piled up breast-high or more, and taking advantage of the extending ledge to make it higher. Within this enclosure there is almost a clear space of soil, which was formerly, no doubt, cultivated as a garden, but is now close cropt by the sheep and cattle, except where it produces thistles, or the poisonous weed called mercury, which seems to love these old walls, and to root itself in or near them. These walls are truly venerable, gray, and mossy; and you see at once that the hands that piled the stones must have been long ago turned to dust. Close by the enclosure is the hollow of an old cellar, with rocks tumbled into it, but the layers of stone at the side still to be traced, and bricks, broken or with rounded edges, scattered about, and perhaps pieces of lime; and weeds and grass growing about the whole. Several such sites of former human homes may be seen there, none of which can possibly be later than the Revolution, and probably they are as old as the settlement of the island. The site has Smutty Nose and Star opposite, with a road (that is, a water-road) between, varying from half a mile to a mile. Duck Island is also seen on the left; and, on the right, the shore of the mainland. Behind, the rising ground intercepts the view. Smith's monument is visible. I do not see where the inhabitants could have kept their boats, unless in the chasms worn by the sea into the rocks. One of these chasms has a spring of fresh water in the gravelly base, down to which the sea has worn out. The chasm has perpendicular, though irregular, sides, which the waves have chiselled out very square. Its width varies from ten to twenty feet, widest towards the sea; and on the shelves, up and down the sides, some soil has been here and there accumulated, on which grow grass and wild-flowers,--such as golden-rod, now in bloom, and raspberry-bushes, the fruit of which I found ripe,--the whole making large parts of the sides of the chasm green, its verdure overhanging the strip of sea that dashes and foams into the hollow. Sea-weed, besides what grows upon and shags the submerged rocks, is tossed into the harbor, together with stray pieces of wood, chips, barrel-staves, or (as to-day) an entire barrel, or whatever else the sea happens to have on hand. The water rakes to and fro over the pebbles at the bottom of the chasm, drawing back, and leaving much of it bare, then rushing up, with more or less of foam and fury, according to the force and direction of the wind; though, owing to the protection of the adjacent islands, it can never have a gale blowing right into its mouth. The spring is situated so far down the chasm, that, at half or two-thirds tide, it is covered by the sea. Twenty minutes after the retiring of the tide suffices to restore to it its wonted freshness. In another chasm, very much like the one here described, I saw a niche in the rock, about tall enough for a person of moderate stature to stand upright. It had a triangular floor and a top, and was just the place to hold the rudest statue that ever a savage made. Many of the ledges on the island have yellow moss or lichens spread on them in large patches. The moss of those stone walls does really look very old. "Old Bab," the ghost, has a ring round his neck, and is supposed either to have been hung or to have had his throat cut, but he steadfastly declines telling the mode of his death. There is a luminous appearance about him as he walks, and his face is pale and very dreadful. The Fanny arrived this forenoon, and sailed again before dinner. She brought, as passenger, a Mr. Balch, brother to the country trader who has been spending a few days here. On her return, she has swept the islands of all the non-residents except myself. The wind being ahead, and pretty strong, she will have to beat up, and the voyage will be anything but agreeable. The spray flew before her bows, and doubtless gave the passengers all a thorough wetting within the first half-hour. The view of Star Island or Gosport from the north is picturesque,--the village, or group of houses, being gathered pretty closely together in the centre of the island, with some green about them; and above all the other edifices, wholly displayed, stands the little stone church, with its tower and belfry. On the right is White Island, with the lighthouse; to the right of that, and a little to the northward, Londoner's Rock, where, perhaps, of old, some London ship was wrecked. To the left of Star Island, and nearer Hog, or Appledore, is Smutty Nose. Pour the blue sea about these islets, and let the surf whiten and steal up from their points, and from the reefs about them (which latter whiten for an instant, and then are lost in the whelming and eddying depths), the northwest-wind the while raising thousands of white-caps, and the evening sun shining solemnly over the expanse,--and it is a stern and lovely scene. The valleys that intersect, or partially intersect, the island are a remarkable feature. They appear to be of the same formation as the fissures in the rocks, but, as they extend farther from the sea, they accumulate a little soil along the irregular sides, and so become green and shagged with bushes, though with the rock everywhere thrusting itself through. The old people of the isles say that their fathers could remember when the sea, at high tide, flowed quite through the valley in which the hotel stands, and that boats used to pass. Afterwards it was a standing pond; then a morass, with cat-tail flags growing in it. It has filled up, so far as it is filled, by the soil being washed down from the higher ground on each side. The storms, meanwhile, have tossed up the shingle and paving-stones at each end of the valley, so as to form a barrier against the passage of any but such mighty waves as that which thundered through a year or two ago. The old inhabitants lived in the centre or towards the south of the island, and avoided the north and east because the latter were so much bleaker in winter. They could moor their boats in the road, between Smutty Nose and Hog, but could not draw them up. Mr. Laighton found traces of old dwellings in the vicinity of the hotel, and it is supposed that the principal part of the population was on this island. I spent the evening at Mr. Thaxter's, and we drank a glass of his 1820 Scheidam. The northwest-wind was high at ten o'clock, when I came home, the tide full, and the murmur of the waves broad and deep. September 14th.--Another of the brightest of sunny mornings. The wind is not nearly so high as last night, but it is apparently still from the northwest, and serves to make the sea look very blue and cold. The atmosphere is so transparent that objects seem perfectly distinct along the mainland. To-day I must be in Portsmouth; to-morrow, at home. A brisk west, or northwest wind, making the sea so blue, gives a very distinct outline in its junction with the sky. September 16th.--On Tuesday, the 14th, there was no opportunity to get to the mainland. Yesterday morning opened with a southeast rain, which continued all day. The Fanny arrived in the forenoon, with some coal for Mr. Laighton, and sailed again before dinner, taking two of the maids of the house; but as it rained pouring, and as I could not, at any rate, have got home to-night, there would have been no sense in my going. It began to clear up in the decline of the day; the sun shot forth some golden arrows a little before his setting; and the sky was perfectly clear when I went to bed, after spending the evening at Mr. Thaxter's. This morning is clear and bright; but the wind is northwest, making the sea look blue and cold, with little breaks of white foam. It is unfavorable for a trip to the mainland; but doubtless I shall find an opportunity of getting ashore before night. The highest part of Appledore is about eighty feet above the sea. Mr. Laighton has seen whales off the island,--both on the eastern side and between it and the mainland; once a great crowd of them, as many as fifty. They were drawn in by pursuing their food,--a small fish called herring-bait, which came ashore in such abundance that Mr. Laighton dipped up basketfuls of them. No attempt was made to take the whales. There are vague traditions of trees on these islands. One of them, Cedar Island, is said to have been named from the trees that grew on it. The matter appears improbable, though, Mr. Thaxter says, large quantities of soil are annually washed into the sea; so that the islands may have been better clad with earth and its productions than now. Mrs. Thaxter tells me that there are several burial-places on this island; but nobody has been buried here since the Revolution. Her own marriage was the first one since that epoch, and her little Karl, now three months old, the first-born child in all those eighty years. [Then follow extracts from the Church Records of Gosport.] This book of the church records of Gosport is a small folio, well bound in dark calf, and about an inch thick; the paper very stout, with a water-mark of an armed man in a sitting posture, holding a spear . . . . over a lion, who brandishes a sword; on alternate pages the Crown, and beneath it the letters G. R. The motto of the former device Pro Patria. The book is written in a very legible hand, probably by the Rev. Mr. Tucke. The ink is not much faded. Concord, March 9th, 1853.--Finished, this day, the last story of Tanglewood Tales. They were written in the following order. The Pomegranate Seeds. The Minotaur. The Golden Fleece. The Dragons' Teeth. Circe's Palace. The Pygmies. The introduction is yet to be written. Wrote it 13th March. I went to Washington (my first visit) on 14th April. Caresses, expressions of one sort or another, are necessary to the life of the affections, as leaves are to the life of a tree. If they are wholly restrained, love will die at the roots. June 9th.--Cleaning the attic to-day, here at the Wayside, the woman found an immense snake, flat and outrageously fierce, thrusting out its tongue. Ellen, the cook, killed it. She called it an adder, but it appears to have been a striped snake. It seems a fiend, haunting the house. On further inquiry, the snake is described as plaided with brown and black. Cupid in these latter times has probably laid aside his bow and arrows, and uses fire-arms,--a pistol,--perhaps a revolver. I burned great heaps of old letters and other papers, a little while ago, preparatory to going to England. Among them were hundreds of ------'s letters. The world has no more such, and now they are all dust and ashes. What a trustful guardian of secret matters is fire! What should we do without fire and death? END OF VOL. II 
7880	----	PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS IN FRANCE AND ITALY. FLORENCE (Continued). June 8th.--I went this morning to the Uffizi gallery. The entrance is from the great court of the palace, which communicates with Lung' Arno at one end, and with the Grand Ducal Piazza at the other. The gallery is in the upper story of the palace, and in the vestibule are some busts of the princes and cardinals of the Medici family,--none of them beautiful, one or two so ugly as to be ludicrous, especially one who is all but buried in his own wig. I at first travelled slowly through the whole extent of this long, long gallery, which occupies the entire length of the palace on both sides of the court, and is full of sculpture and pictures. The latter, being opposite to the light, are not seen to the best advantage; but it is the most perfect collection, in a chronological series, that I have seen, comprehending specimens of all the masters since painting began to be an art. Here are Giotto, and Cimabue, and Botticelli, and Fra Angelico, and Filippo Lippi, and a hundred others, who have haunted me in churches and galleries ever since I have been in Italy, and who ought to interest me a great deal more than they do. Occasionally to-day I was sensible of a certain degree of emotion in looking at an old picture; as, for example, by a large, dark, ugly picture of Christ hearing the cross and sinking beneath it, when, somehow or other, a sense of his agony, and the fearful wrong that mankind did (and does) its Redeemer, and the scorn of his enemies, and the sorrow of those who loved him, came knocking at any heart and got entrance there. Once more I deem it a pity that Protestantism should have entirely laid aside this mode of appealing to the religious sentiment. I chiefly paid attention to the sculpture, and was interested in a long series of busts of the emperors and the members of their families, and some of the great men of Rome. There is a bust of Pompey the Great, bearing not the slightest resemblance to that vulgar and unintellectual one in the gallery of the Capitol, altogether a different cast of countenance. I could not judge whether it resembled the face of the statue, having seen the latter so imperfectly in the duskiness of the hall of the Spada Palace. These, I presume, are the busts which Mr. Powers condemns, from internal evidence, as unreliable and conventional. He may be right,--and is far more likely, of course, to be right than I am,--yet there certainly seems to be character in these marble faces, and they differ as much among themselves as the same number of living faces might. The bust of Caracalla, however, which Powers excepted from his censure, certainly does give stronger assurance of its being an individual and faithful portrait than any other in the series. All the busts of Caracalla--of which I have seen many--give the same evidence of their truth; and I should like to know what it was in this abominable emperor that made him insist upon having his actual likeness perpetuated, with all the ugliness of its animal and moral character. I rather respect him for it, and still more the sculptor, whose hand, methinks, must have trembled as he wrought the bust. Generally these wicked old fellows, and their wicked wives and daughters, are not so hideous as we might expect. Messalina, for instance, has small and pretty features, though with rather a sensual development of the lower part of the face. The busts, it seemed to me, are usually superior as works of art to those in the Capitol, and either better preserved or more thoroughly restored. The bust of Nero might almost be called handsome here, though bearing his likeness unmistakably. I wish some competent person would undertake to analyze and develop his character, and how and by what necessity--with all his elegant tastes, his love of the beautiful, his artist nature--he grew to be such a monster. Nero has never yet had justice done him, nor have any of the wicked emperors; not that I suppose them to have been any less monstrous than history represents them; but there must surely have been something in their position and circumstances to render the terrible moral disease which seized upon them so generally almost inevitable. A wise and profound man, tender and reverent of the human soul, and capable of appreciating it in its height and depth, has a great field here for the exercise of his powers. It has struck me, in reading the history of the Italian republics, that many of the tyrants, who sprung up after the destruction of their liberties, resembled the worst of the Roman emperors. The subject of Nero and his brethren has often perplexed me with vain desires to come at the truth. There were many beautiful specimens of antique, ideal sculpture all along the gallery,--Apollos, Bacchuses, Venuses, Mercurys, Fauns,--with the general character of all of which I was familiar enough to recognize them at a glance. The mystery and wonder of the gallery, however, the Venus de' Medici, I could nowhere see, and indeed was almost afraid to see it; for I somewhat apprehended the extinction of another of those lights that shine along a man's pathway, and go out in a snuff the instant he comes within eyeshot of the fulfilment of his hopes. My European experience has extinguished many such. I was pretty well contented, therefore, not to find the famous statue in the whole of my long journey from end to end of the gallery, which terminates on the opposite side of the court from that where it commences. The ceiling, by the by, through the entire length, is covered with frescos, and the floor paved with a composition of stone smooth and polished like marble. The final piece of sculpture, at the end of the gallery, is a copy of the Laocoon, considered very fine. I know not why, but it did not impress me with the sense of mighty and terrible repose--a repose growing out of the infinitude of trouble-- that I had felt in the original. Parallel with the gallery, on both sides of the palace-court, there runs a series of rooms devoted chiefly to pictures, although statues and bas-reliefs are likewise contained in some of them. I remember an unfinished bas-relief by Michael Angelo of a Holy Family, which I touched with my finger, because it seemed as if he might have been at work upon it only an hour ago. The pictures I did little more than glance at, till I had almost completed again the circuit of the gallery, through this series of parallel rooms, and then I came upon a collection of French and Dutch and Flemish masters, all of which interested me more than the Italian generally. There was a beautiful picture by Claude, almost as good as those in the British National Gallery, and very like in subject; the sun near the horizon, of course, and throwing its line of light over the ripple of water, with ships at the strand, and one or two palaces of stately architecture on the shore. Landscapes by Rembrandt; fat Graces and other plump nudities by Rubens; brass pans and earthen pots and herrings by Terriers and other Dutchmen; none by Gerard Douw, I think, but several by Mieris; all of which were like bread and beef and ale, after having been fed too long on made dishes. This is really a wonderful collection of pictures; and from first, to last--from Giotto to the men of yesterday--they are in admirable condition, and may be appreciated for all the merit that they ever possessed. I could not quite believe that I was not to find the Venus de' Medici; and still, as I passed from one room to another, my breath rose and fell a little, with the half-hope, half-fear, that she might stand before me. Really, I did not know that I cared so much about Venus, or any possible woman of marble. At last, when I had come from among the Dutchmen, I believe, and was looking at some works of Italian artists, chiefly Florentines, I caught a glimpse of her through the door of the next room. It is the best room of the series, octagonal in shape, and hung with red damask, and the light comes down from a row of windows, passing quite round, beneath an octagonal dome. The Venus stands somewhat aside from the centre of the room, and is surrounded by an iron railing, a pace or two from her pedestal in front, and less behind. I think she might safely be left to the reverence her womanhood would win, without any other protection. She is very beautiful, very satisfactory; and has a fresh and new charm about her unreached by any cast or copy. The line of the marble is just so much mellowed by time, as to do for her all that Gibson tries, or ought to try to do for his statues by color, softening her, warming her almost imperceptibly, making her an inmate of the heart, as well as a spiritual existence. I felt a kind of tenderness for her; an affection, not as if she were one woman, but all womanhood in one. Her modest attitude, which, before I saw her I had not liked, deeming that it might be an artificial shame, is partly what unmakes her as the heathen goddess, and softens her into woman. There is a slight degree of alarm, too, in her face; not that she really thinks anybody is looking at her, yet the idea has flitted through her mind, and startled her a little. Her face is so beautiful and intellectual, that it is not dazzled out of sight by her form. Methinks this was a triumph for the sculptor to achieve. I may as well stop here. It is of no use to throw heaps of words upon her; for they all fall away, and leave her standing in chaste and naked grace, as untouched as when I began. She has suffered terribly by the mishaps of her long existence in the marble. Each of her legs has been broken into two or three fragments, her arms have been severed, her body has been broken quite across at the waist, her head has been snapped off at the neck. Furthermore, there have been grievous wounds and losses of substance in various tender parts of her person. But on account of the skill with which the statue has been restored, and also because the idea is perfect and indestructible, all these injuries do not in the least impair the effect, even when you see where the dissevered fragments have been reunited. She is just as whole as when she left the hands of the sculptor. I am glad to have seen this Venus, and to have found her so tender and so chaste. On the wall of the room, and to be taken in at the same glance, is a painted Venus by Titian, reclining on a couch, naked and lustful. The room of the Venus seems to be the treasure-place of the whole Uffizi Palace, containing more pictures by famous masters than are to be found in all the rest of the gallery. There were several by Raphael, and the room was crowded with the easels of artists. I did not look half enough at anything, but merely took a preliminary taste, as a prophecy of enjoyment to come. As we were at dinner to-day, at half past three, there was a ring at the door, and a minute after our servant brought a card. It was Mr. Robert Browning's, and on it was written in pencil an invitation for us to go to see them this evening. He had left the card and gone away; but very soon the bell rang again, and he had come back, having forgotten to give his address. This time he came in; and he shook hands with all of us, children and grown people, and was very vivacious and agreeable. He looked younger and even handsomer than when I saw him in London, two years ago, and his gray hairs seemed fewer than those that had then strayed into his youthful head. He talked a wonderful quantity in a little time, and told us--among other things that we should never have dreamed of--that Italian people will not cheat you, if you construe them generously, and put them upon their honor. Mr. Browning was very kind and warm in his expressions of pleasure at seeing us; and, on our part, we were all very glad to meet him. He must be an exceedingly likable man. . . . They are to leave Florence very soon, and are going to Normandy, I think he said, for the rest of the summer. The Venus de' Medici has a dimple in her chin. June 9th.--We went last evening, at eight o'clock, to see the Brownings; and, after some search and inquiry, we found the Casa Guidi, which is a palace in a street not very far from our own. It being dusk, I could not see the exterior, which, if I remember, Browning has celebrated in song; at all events, Mrs. Browning has called one of her poems "Casa Guidi Windows." The street is a narrow one; but on entering the palace, we found a spacious staircase and ample accommodations of vestibule and hall, the latter opening on a balcony, where we could hear the chanting of priests in a church close by. Browning told us that this was the first church where an oratorio had ever been performed. He came into the anteroom to greet us, as did his little boy, Robert, whom they call Pennini for fondness. The latter cognomen is a diminutive of Apennino, which was bestowed upon him at his first advent into the world because he was so very small, there being a statue in Florence of colossal size called Apennino. I never saw such a boy as this before; so slender, fragile, and spirit-like,--not as if he were actually in ill health, but as if he had little or nothing to do with human flesh and blood. His face is very pretty and most intelligent, and exceedingly like his mother's. He is nine years old, and seems at once less childlike and less manly than would befit that age. I should not quite like to be the father of such a boy, and should fear to stake so much interest and affection on him as he cannot fail to inspire. I wonder what is to become of him,--whether he will ever grow to be a man,--whether it is desirable that he should. His parents ought to turn their whole attention to making him robust and earthly, and to giving him a thicker scabbard to sheathe his spirit in. He was born in Florence, and prides himself on being a Florentine, and is indeed as un-English a production as if he were native of another planet. Mrs. Browning met us at the door of the drawing-room, and greeted us most kindly,--a pale, small person, scarcely embodied at all; at any rate, only substantial enough to put forth her slender fingers to be grasped, and to speak with a shrill, yet sweet, tenuity of voice. Really, I do not see how Mr. Browning can suppose that he has an earthly wife any more than an earthly child; both are of the elfin race, and will flit away from him some day when he least thinks of it. She is a good and kind fairy, however, and sweetly disposed towards the human race, although only remotely akin to it. It is wonderful to see how small she is, how pale her cheek, how bright and dark her eyes. There is not such another figure in the world; and her black ringlets cluster down into her neck, and make her face look the whiter by their sable profusion. I could not form any judgment about her age; it may range anywhere within the limits of human life or elfin life. When I met her in London at Lord Houghton's breakfast-table, she did not impress me so singularly; for the morning light is more prosaic than the dim illumination of their great tapestried drawing-room; and besides, sitting next to her, she did not have occasion to raise her voice in speaking, and I was not sensible what a slender voice she has. It is marvellous to me how so extraordinary, so acute, so sensitive a creature can impress us, as she does, with the certainty of her benevolence. It seems to me there were a million chances to one that she would have been a miracle of acidity and bitterness. We were not the only guests. Mr. and Mrs. E------, Americans, recently from the East, and on intimate terms with the Brownings, arrived after us; also Miss F. H------, an English literary lady, whom I have met several times in Liverpool; and lastly came the white head and palmer-like beard of Mr. ------ with his daughter. Mr. Browning was very efficient in keeping up conversation with everybody, and seemed to be in all parts of the room and in every group at the same moment; a most vivid and quick-thoughted person, logical and common-sensible, as, I presume, poets generally are in their daily talk. Mr. ------, as usual, was homely and plain of manner, with an old-fashioned dignity, nevertheless, and a remarkable deference and gentleness of tone in addressing Mrs. Browning. I doubt, however, whether he has any high appreciation either of her poetry or her husband's, and it is my impression that they care as little about his. We had some tea and some strawberries, and passed a pleasant evening. There was no very noteworthy conversation; the most interesting topic being that disagreeable and now wearisome one of spiritual communications, as regards which Mrs. Browning is a believer, and her husband an infidel. Mr. ------ appeared not to have made up his mind on the matter, but told a story of a successful communication between Cooper the novelist and his sister, who had been dead fifty years. Browning and his wife had both been present at a spiritual session held by Mr. Hume, and had seen and felt the unearthly hands, one of which had placed a laurel wreath on Mrs. Browning's head. Browning, however, avowed his belief that these hands were affixed to the feet of Mr. Hume, who lay extended in his chair, with his legs stretched far under the table. The marvellousness of the fact, as I have read of it, and heard it from other eye-witnesses, melted strangely away in his hearty gripe, and at the sharp touch of his logic; while his wife, ever and anon, put in a little gentle word of expostulation. I am rather surprised that Browning's conversation should be so clear, and so much to the purpose at the moment, since his poetry can seldom proceed far without running into the high grass of latent meanings and obscure allusions. Mrs. Browning's health does not permit late hours, so we began to take heave at about ten o'clock. I heard her ask Mr. ------ if he did not mean to revisit Europe, and heard him answer, not uncheerfully, taking hold of his white hair, "It is getting rather too late in the evening now." If any old age can be cheerful, I should think his might be; so good a man, so cool, so calm, so bright, too, we may say. His life has been like the days that end in pleasant sunsets. He has a great loss, however, or what ought to be a great loss,--soon to be encountered in the death of his wife, who, I think, can hardly live to reach America. He is not eminently an affectionate man. I take him to be one who cannot get closely home to his sorrow, nor feel it so sensibly as he gladly would; and, in consequence of that deficiency, the world lacks substance to him. It is partly the result, perhaps, of his not having sufficiently cultivated his emotional nature. His poetry shows it, and his personal intercourse, though kindly, does not stir one's blood in the least. Little Pennini, during the evening, sometimes helped the guests to cake and strawberries; joined in the conversation, when he had anything to say, or sat down upon a couch to enjoy his own meditations. He has long curling hair, and has not yet emerged from his frock and short hose. It is funny to think of putting him into trousers. His likeness to his mother is strange to behold. June 10th.--My wife and I went to the Pitti Palace to-day; and first entered a court where, yesterday, she had seen a carpet of flowers, arranged for some great ceremony. It must have been a most beautiful sight, the pavement of the court being entirely covered by them, in a regular pattern of brilliant lines, so as really to be a living mosaic. This morning, however, the court had nothing but its usual stones, and the show of yesterday seemed so much the more inestimable as having been so evanescent. Around the walls of the court there were still some pieces of splendid tapestry which had made part of yesterday's magnificence. We went up the staircase, of regally broad and easy ascent, and made application to be admitted to see the grand-ducal apartments. An attendant accordingly took the keys, and ushered us first into a great hall with a vaulted ceiling, and then through a series of noble rooms, with rich frescos above and mosaic floors, hung with damask, adorned with gilded chandeliers, and glowing, in short, with more gorgeousness than I could have imagined beforehand, or can now remember. In many of the rooms were those superb antique cabinets which I admire more than any other furniture ever invented; only these were of unexampled art and glory, inlaid with precious stones, and with beautiful Florentine mosaics, both of flowers and landscapes,--each cabinet worth a lifetime's toil to make it, and the cost a whole palace to pay for it. Many of the rooms were covered with arras, of landscapes, hunting-scenes, mythological subjects, or historical scenes, equal to pictures in truth of representation, and possessing an indescribable richness that makes them preferable as a mere adornment of princely halls and chambers. Some of the rooms, as I have said, were laid in mosaic of stone and marble, otherwise in lovely patterns of various woods; others were covered with carpets, delightful to tread upon, and glowing like the living floor of flowers which my wife saw yesterday. There were tables, too, of Florentine mosaic, the mere materials of which--lapis lazuli, malachite, pearl, and a hundred other precious things--were worth a fortune, and made a thousand times more valuable by the artistic skill of the manufacturer. I toss together brilliant words by the handful, and make a rude sort of patchwork, but can record no adequate idea of what I saw in this suite of rooms; and the taste, the subdued splendor, so that it did not shine too high, but was all tempered into an effect at once grand and soft,--this was quite as remarkable as the gorgeous material. I have seen a very dazzling effect produced in the principal cabin of an American clipper-ship quite opposed to this in taste. After making the circuit of the grand-ducal apartments, we went into a door in the left wing of the palace, and ascended a narrow flight of stairs,--several tortuous flights indeed,--to the picture-gallery. It fills a great many stately halls, which themselves are well worth a visit for the architecture and frescos; only these matters become commonplace after travelling through a mile or two of them. The collection of pictures--as well for their number as for the celebrity and excellence of many of them--is the most interesting that I have seen, and I do not yet feel in a condition, nor perhaps ever shall, to speak of a single one. It gladdened my very heart to find that they were not darkened out of sight, nor apparently at all injured by time, but were well kept and varnished, brilliantly framed, and, no doubt, restored by skilful touches if any of them needed it. The artists and amateurs may say what they like; for my part, I know no drearier feeling than that inspired by a ruined picture,--ruined, that is, by time, damp, or rough treatment,--and I would a thousand times rather an artist should do his best towards reviving it, than have it left in such a condition. I do not believe, however, that these pictures have been sacrilegiously interfered with; at all events, I saw in the masterpieces no touch but what seemed worthy of the master-hand. The most beautiful picture in the world, I am convinced, is Raphael's "Madonna della Seggiola." I was familiar with it in a hundred engravings and copies, and therefore it shone upon one as with a familiar beauty, though infinitely more divine than I had ever seen it before. An artist was copying it, and producing certainly something very like a fac-simile, yet leaving out, as a matter of course, that mysterious something that renders the picture a miracle. It is my present opinion that the pictorial art is capable of something more like magic, more wonderful and inscrutable in its methods, than poetry or any other mode of developing the beautiful. But how does this accord with what I have been saying only a minute ago? How then can the decayed picture of a great master ever be restored by the touches of an inferior hand? Doubtless it never can be restored; but let some devoted worshipper do his utmost, and the whole inherent spirit of the divine picture may pervade his restorations likewise. I saw the "Three Fates" of Michael Angelo, which were also being copied, as were many other of the best pictures. Miss Fanny Howorth, whom I met in the gallery, told me that to copy the "Madonna della Seggiola," application must be made five years beforehand, so many are the artists who aspire to copy it. Michael Angelo's Fates are three very grim and pitiless old women, who respectively spin, hold, and cut the thread of human destiny, all in a mood of sombre gloom, but with no more sympathy than if they had nothing to do with us. I remember seeing an etching of this when I was a child, and being struck, even then, with the terrible, stern, passionless severity, neither loving us nor hating us, that characterizes these ugly old women. If they were angry, or had the least spite against human kind, it would render them the more tolerable. They are a great work, containing and representing the very idea that makes a belief in fate such a cold torture to the human soul. God give me the sure belief in his Providence! In a year's time, with the advantage of access to this magnificent gallery, I think I might come to have some little knowledge of pictures. At present I still know nothing; but am glad to find myself capable, at least, of loving one picture better than another. I cannot always "keep the heights I gain," however, and after admiring and being moved by a picture one day, it is within my experience to look at it the next as little moved as if it were a tavern-sign. It is pretty much the same with statuary; the same, too, with those pictured windows of the Duomo, which I described so rapturously a few days ago. I looked at them again the next morning, and thought they would have been hardly worthy of my eulogium, even had all the separate windows of the cathedral combined their narrow lights into one grand, resplendent, many-colored arch at the eastern end. It is a pity they are so narrow. England has many a great chancel-window that, though dimmer in its hues, dusty, and perhaps made up of heterogeneous fragments, eclipses these by its spacious breadth. From the gallery, I went into the Boboli Gardens, which are contiguous to the palace; but found them too sunny for enjoyment. They seem to consist partly of a wilderness; but the portion into which I strayed was laid out with straight walks, lined with high box-hedges, along which there was only a narrow margin of shade. I saw an amphitheatre, with a wide sweep of marble seat around it, enclosing a grassy space, where, doubtless, the Medici may have witnessed splendid spectacles. June 11th.--I paid another visit to the Uffizi gallery this morning, and found that the Venus is one of the things the charm of which does not diminish on better acquaintance. The world has not grown weary of her in all these ages; and mortal man may look on her with new delight from infancy to old age, and keep the memory of her, I should imagine, as one of the treasures of spiritual existence hereafter. Surely, it makes me more ready to believe in the high destinies of the human race, to think that this beautiful form is but nature's plan for all womankind, and that the nearer the actual woman approaches it, the more natural she is. I do not, and cannot think of her as a senseless image, but as a being that lives to gladden the world, incapable of decay and death; as young and fair to-day as she was three thousand years ago, and still to be young and fair as long as a beautiful thought shall require physical embodiment. I wonder how any sculptor has had the impertinence to aim at any other presentation of female beauty. I mean no disrespect to Gibson or Powers, or a hundred other men who people the world with nudities, all of which are abortions as compared with her; but I think the world would be all the richer if their Venuses, their Greek Slaves, their Eves, were burnt into quicklime, leaving us only this statue as our image of the beautiful. I observed to-day that the eyes of the statue are slightly hollowed out, in a peculiar way, so as to give them a look of depth and intelligence. She is a miracle. The sculptor must have wrought religiously, and have felt that something far beyond his own skill was working through his hands. I mean to leave off speaking of the Venus hereafter, in utter despair of saying what I wish; especially as the contemplation of the statue will refine and elevate my taste, and make it continually more difficult to express my sense of its excellence, as the perception of it grows upon one. If at any time I become less sensible of it, it will be my deterioration, not any defect in the statue. I looked at many of the pictures, and found myself in a favorable mood for enjoying them. It seems to me that a work of art is entitled to credit for all that it makes us feel in our best moments; and we must judge of its merits by the impression it then makes, and not by the coldness and insensibility of our less genial moods. After leaving the Uffizi Palace, . . . . I went into the Museum of Natural History, near the Pitti Palace. It is a very good collection of almost everything that Nature has made,--or exquisite copies of what she has made,--stones, shells, vegetables, insects, fishes, animals, man; the greatest wonders of the museum being some models in wax of all parts of the human frame. It is good to have the wholeness and summed-up beauty of woman in the memory, when looking at the details of her system as here displayed; for these last, to the natural eye, are by no means beautiful. But they are what belong only to our mortality. The beauty that makes them invisible is our immortal type, which we shall take away with us. Under glass cases, there were some singular and horribly truthful representations, in small wax figures, of a time of pestilence; the hasty burial, or tossing into one common sepulchre, of discolored corpses,--a very ugly piece of work, indeed. I think Murray says that these things were made for the Grand Duke Cosmo; and if so, they do him no credit, indicating something dark and morbid in his character. June 13th.--We called at the Powers's yesterday morning to leave R----- there for an hour or two to play with the children; and it being not yet quite time for the Pitti Palace, we stopped into the studio. Soon Mr. Powers made his appearance, in his dressing-gown and slippers and sculptor's cap, smoking a cigar. . . . He was very cordial and pleasant, as I have always found him, and began immediately to be communicative about his own works, or any other subject that came up. There were two casts of the Venus de' Medici in the rooms, which he said were valuable in a commercial point of view, being genuine casts from the mould taken from the statue. He then gave us a quite unexpected but most interesting lecture on the Venus, demonstrating it, as he proceeded, by reference to the points which he criticised. The figure, he seemed to allow, was admirable, though I think he hardly classes it so high as his own Greek Slave or Eva; but the face, he began with saying, was that of an idiot. Then, leaning on the pedestal of the cast, he continued, "It is rather a bold thing to say, isn't it, that the sculptor of the Venus de' Medici did not know what he was about?" Truly, it appeared to me so; but Powers went on remorselessly, and showed, in the first place, that the eye was not like any eye that Nature ever made; and, indeed, being examined closely, and abstracted from the rest of the face, it has a very queer look,--less like a human eye than a half-worn buttonhole! Then he attacked the ear, which, he affirmed and demonstrated, was placed a good deal too low on the head, thereby giving an artificial and monstrous height to the portion of the head above it. The forehead met with no better treatment in his hands, and as to the mouth, it was altogether wrong, as well in its general make as in such niceties as the junction of the skin of the lips to the common skin around them. In a word, the poor face was battered all to pieces and utterly demolished; nor was it possible to doubt or question that it fell by its own demerits. All that could be urged in its defence--and even that I did not urge--being that this very face had affected me, only the day before, with a sense of higher beauty and intelligence than I had ever then received from sculpture, and that its expression seemed to accord with that of the whole figure, as if it were the sweetest note of the same music. There must be something in this; the sculptor disregarded technicalities, and the imitation of actual nature, the better to produce the effect which he really does produce, in somewhat the same way as a painter works his magical illusions by touches that have no relation to the truth if looked at from the wrong point of view. But Powers considers it certain that the antique sculptor had bestowed all his care on the study of the human figure, and really did not know how to make a face. I myself used to think that the face was a much less important thing with the Greeks, among whom the entire beauty of the form was familiarly seen, than with ourselves, who allow no other nudity. After annihilating the poor visage, Powers showed us his two busts of Proserpine and Psyche, and continued his lecture by showing the truth to nature with which these are modelled. I freely acknowledge the fact; there is no sort of comparison to be made between the beauty, intelligence, feeling, and accuracy of representation in these two faces and in that of the Venus de' Medici. A light--the light of a soul proper to each individual character--seems to shine from the interior of the marble, and beam forth from the features, chiefly from the eyes. Still insisting upon the eye, and hitting the poor Venus another and another and still another blow on that unhappy feature, Mr. Powers turned up and turned inward and turned outward his own Titanic orb,--the biggest, by far, that ever I saw in mortal head,--and made us see and confess that there was nothing right in the Venus and everything right in Psyche and Proserpine. To say the truth, their marble eyes have life, and, placing yourself in the proper position towards them, you can meet their glances, and feel them mingle with your own. Powers is a great man, and also a tender and delicate one, massive and rude of surface as he looks; and it is rather absurd to feel how he impressed his auditor, for the time being, with his own evident idea that nobody else is worthy to touch marble. Mr. B------ told me that Powers has had many difficulties on professional grounds, as I understood him, and with his brother artists. No wonder! He has said enough in my hearing to put him at swords' points with sculptors of every epoch and every degree between the two inclusive extremes of Phidias and Clark Mills. He has a bust of the reigning Grand Duchess of Tuscany, who sat to him for it. The bust is that of a noble-looking lady; and Powers remarked that royal personages have a certain look that distinguishes them from other people, and is seen in individuals of no lower rank. They all have it; the Queen of England and Prince Albert have it; and so likewise has every other Royalty, although the possession of this kingly look implies nothing whatever as respects kingly and commanding qualities. He said that none of our public men, whatever authority they may have held, or for whatever length of time, possess this look, but he added afterwards that Washington had it. Commanders of armies sometimes have it, but not in the degree that royal personages do. It is, as well as I could make out Powers's idea, a certain coldness of demeanor, and especially of eye, that surrounds them with an atmosphere through which the electricity of human brotherhood cannot pass. From their youth upward they are taught to feel themselves apart from the rest of mankind, and this manner becomes a second nature to them in consequence, and as a safeguard to their conventional dignity. They put themselves under glass, as it were (the illustration is my own), so that, though you see them, and see them looking no more noble and dignified than other mortals, nor so much so as many, still they keep themselves within a sort of sanctity, and repel you by an invisible barrier. Even if they invite you with a show of warmth and hospitality, you cannot get through. I, too, recognize this look in the portraits of Washington; in him, a mild, benevolent coldness and apartness, but indicating that formality which seems to have been deeper in him than in any other mortal, and which built up an actual fortification between himself and human sympathy. I wish, for once, Washington could come out of his envelopment and show us what his real dimensions were. Among other models of statues heretofore made, Powers showed us one of Melancholy, or rather of Contemplation, from Milton's "Penseroso"; a female figure with uplifted face and rapt look, "communing with the skies." It is very fine, and goes deeply into Milton's thought; but, as far as the outward form and action are concerned, I remember seeing a rude engraving in my childhood that probably suggested the idea. It was prefixed to a cheap American edition of Milton's poems, and was probably as familiar to Powers as to myself. It is very remarkable how difficult it seems to be to strike out a new attitude in sculpture; a new group, or a new single figure. One piece of sculpture Powers exhibited, however, which was very exquisite, and such as I never saw before. Opening a desk, he took out something carefully enclosed between two layers of cotton-wool, on removing which there appeared a little baby's hand most delicately represented in the whitest marble; all the dimples where the knuckles were to be, all the creases in the plump flesh, every infantine wrinkle of the soft skin being lovingly recorded. "The critics condemn minute representation," said Powers; "but you may look at this through a microscope and see if it injures the general effect." Nature herself never made a prettier or truer little hand. It was the hand of his daughter,--"Luly's hand," Powers called it,--the same that gave my own such a frank and friendly grasp when I first met "Luly." The sculptor made it only for himself and his wife, but so many people, he said, had insisted on having a copy, that there are now forty scattered about the world. At sixty years, Luly ought to have her hand sculptured again, and give it to her grandchildren with the baby's hand of five months old. The baby-hand that had done nothing, and felt only its mother's kiss; the old lady's hand that had exchanged the love-pressure, worn the marriage-ring, closed dead eyes,--done a lifetime's work, in short. The sentiment is rather obvious, but true nevertheless. Before we went away, Powers took us into a room apart--apparently the secretest room he had--and showed us some tools and machinery, all of his own contrivance and invention. "You see I am a bit of a Yankee," he observed. This machinery is chiefly to facilitate the process of modelling his works, for--except in portrait-busts--he makes no clay model as other sculptors do, but models directly in the plaster; so that instead of being crumbled, like clay, the original model remains a permanent possession. He has also invented a certain open file, which is of great use in finishing the surface of the marble; and likewise a machine for making these files and for punching holes through iron, and he demonstrated its efficiency by punching a hole through an iron bar, with a force equivalent to ten thousand pounds, by the mere application of a part of his own weight. These inventions, he says, are his amusement, and the bent of his nature towards sculpture must indeed have been strong, to counteract, in an American, such a capacity for the contrivance of steam-engines. . . . I had no idea of filling so many pages of this journal with the sayings and characteristics of Mr. Powers, but the man and his talk are fresh, original, and full of bone and muscle, and I enjoy him much. We now proceeded to the Pitti Palace, and spent several hours pleasantly in its saloons of pictures. I never enjoyed pictures anywhere else as I do in Florence. There is an admirable Judith in this gallery by Allori; a face of great beauty and depth, and her hand clutches the head of Holofernes by the hair in a way that startles the spectator. There are two peasant Madonnas by Murillo; simple women, yet with a thoughtful sense of some high mystery connected with the baby in their arms. Raphael grows upon me; several other famous painters--Guido, for instance--are fading out of my mind. Salvator Rosa has two really wonderful landscapes, looking from the shore seaward; and Rubens too, likewise on a large scale, of mountain and plain. It is very idle and foolish to talk of pictures; yet, after poring over them and into them, it seems a pity to let all the thought excited by them pass into nothingness. The copyists of pictures are very numerous, both in the Pitti and Uffizi galleries; and, unlike sculptors, they appear to be on the best of terms with one another, chatting sociably, exchanging friendly criticism, and giving their opinions as to the best mode of attaining the desired effects. Perhaps, as mere copyists, they escape the jealousy that might spring up between rival painters attempting to develop original ideas. Miss Howorth says that the business of copying pictures, especially those of Raphael, is a regular profession, and she thinks it exceedingly obstructive to the progress or existence of a modern school of painting, there being a regular demand and sure sale for all copies of the old masters, at prices proportioned to their merit; whereas the effort to be original insures nothing, except long neglect, at the beginning of a career, and probably ultimate failure, and the necessity of becoming a copyist at last. Some artists employ themselves from youth to age in nothing else but the copying of one single and selfsame picture by Raphael, and grow at last to be perfectly mechanical, making, I suppose, the same identical stroke of the brush in fifty successive pictures. The weather is very hot now,--hotter in the sunshine, I think, than a midsummer day usually is in America, but with rather a greater possibility of being comfortable in the shade. The nights, too, are warm, and the bats fly forth at dusk, and the fireflies quite light up the green depths of our little garden. The atmosphere, or something else, causes a sort of alacrity in my mind and an affluence of ideas, such as they are; but it does not thereby make me the happier. I feel an impulse to be at work, but am kept idle by the sense of being unsettled with removals to be gone through, over and over again, before I can shut myself into a quiet room of my own, and turn the key. I need monotony too, an eventless exterior life, before I can live in the world within. June 15th.--Yesterday we went to the Uffizi gallery, and, of course, I took the opportunity to look again at the Venus de' Medici after Powers's attack upon her face. Some of the defects he attributed to her I could not see in the statue; for instance, the ear appeared to be in accordance with his own rule, the lowest part of it being about in a straight line with the upper lip. The eyes must be given up, as not, when closely viewed, having the shape, the curve outwards, the formation of the lids, that eyes ought to have; but still, at a proper distance, they seemed to have intelligence in them beneath the shadow cast by the brow. I cannot help thinking that the sculptor intentionally made every feature what it is, and calculated them all with a view to the desired effect. Whatever rules may be transgressed, it is a noble and beautiful face,--more so, perhaps, than if all rules had been obeyed. I wish Powers would do his best to fit the Venus's figure (which he does not deny to be admirable) with a face which he would deem equally admirable and in accordance with the sentiment of the form. We looked pretty thoroughly through the gallery, and I saw many pictures that impressed me; but among such a multitude, with only one poor mind to take note of them, the stamp of each new impression helps to obliterate a former one. I am sensible, however, that a process is going on, and has been ever since I came to Italy, that puts me in a state to see pictures with less toil, and more pleasure, and makes me more fastidious, yet more sensible of beauty where I saw none before. It is the sign, I presume, of a taste still very defective, that I take singular pleasure in the elaborate imitations of Van Mieris, Gerard Douw, and other old Dutch wizards, who painted such brass pots that you can see your face in them, and such earthen pots that they will surely hold water; and who spent weeks and months in turning a foot or two of canvas into a perfect microscopic illusion of some homely scene. For my part, I wish Raphael had painted the "Transfiguration" in this style, at the same time preserving his breadth and grandeur of design; nor do I believe that there is any real impediment to the combination of the two styles, except that no possible space of human life could suffice to cover a quarter part of the canvas of the "Transfiguration" with such touches as Gerard Douw's. But one feels the vast scope of this wonderful art, when we think of two excellences so far apart as that of this last painter and Raphael. I pause a good while, too, before the Dutch paintings of fruit and flowers, where tulips and roses acquire an immortal bloom, and grapes have kept the freshest juice in them for two or three hundred years. Often, in these pictures, there is a bird's-nest, every straw perfectly represented, and the stray feather, or the down that the mother-bird plucked from her bosom, with the three or four small speckled eggs, that seem as if they might be yet warm. These pretty miracles have their use in assuring us that painters really can do something that takes hold of us in our most matter-of-fact moods; whereas, the merits of the grander style of art may be beyond our ordinary appreciation, and leave us in doubt whether we have not befooled ourselves with a false admiration. Until we learn to appreciate the cherubs and angels that Raphael scatters through the blessed air, in a picture of the "Nativity," it is not amiss to look at, a Dutch fly settling on a peach, or a bumblebee burying himself in a flower. It is another token of imperfect taste, no doubt, that queer pictures and absurd pictures remain in my memory, when better ones pass away by the score. There is a picture of Venus, combing her son Cupid's head with a small-tooth comb, and looking with maternal care among his curls; this I shall not forget. Likewise, a picture of a broad, rubicund Judith by Bardone,--a widow of fifty, of an easy, lymphatic, cheerful temperament, who has just killed Holofernes, and is as self-complacent as if she had been carving a goose. What could possibly have stirred up this pudding of a woman (unless it were a pudding-stick) to do such a deed! I looked with much pleasure at an ugly, old, fat, jolly Bacchus, astride on a barrel, by Rubens; the most natural and lifelike representation of a tipsy rotundity of flesh that it is possible to imagine. And sometimes, amid these sensual images, I caught the divine pensiveness of a Madonna's face, by Raphael, or the glory and majesty of the babe Jesus in her arm, with his Father shining through him. This is a sort of revelation, whenever it comes. This morning, immediately after breakfast, I walked into the city, meaning to make myself better acquainted with its appearance, and to go into its various churches; but it soon grew so hot, that I turned homeward again. The interior of the Duomo was deliciously cool, to be sure,--cool and dim, after the white-hot sunshine; but an old woman began to persecute me, so that I came away. A male beggar drove me out of another church; and I took refuge in the street, where the beggar and I would have been two cinders together, if we had stood long enough on the sunny sidewalk. After my five summers' experience of England, I may have forgotten what hot weather is; but it does appear to me that an American summer is not so fervent as this. Besides the direct rays, the white pavement throws a furnace-heat up into one's face; the shady margin of the street is barely tolerable; but it is like going through the ordeal of fire to cross the broad bright glare of an open piazza. The narrow streets prove themselves a blessing at this season, except when the sun looks directly into them; the broad eaves of the houses, too, make a selvage of shade, almost always. I do not know what becomes of the street-merchants at the noontide of these hot days. They form a numerous class in Florence, displaying their wares--linen or cotton cloth, threads, combs, and all manner of haberdashery--on movable counters that are borne about on wheels. In the shady morning, you see a whole side of a street in a piazza occupied by them, all offering their merchandise at full cry. They dodge as they can from shade to shade; but at last the sunshine floods the whole space, and they seem to have melted away, leaving not a rag of themselves or what they dealt in. Cherries are very abundant now, and have been so ever since we came here, in the markets and all about the streets. They are of various kinds, some exceedingly large, insomuch that it is almost necessary to disregard the old proverb about making two bites of a cherry. Fresh figs are already spoken of, though I have seen none; but I saw some peaches this morning, looking as if they might be ripe. June 16th.--Mr. and Mrs. Powers called to see us last evening. Mr. Powers, as usual, was full of talk, and gave utterance to a good many instructive and entertaining ideas. As one instance of the little influence the religion of the Italians has upon their morals, he told a story of one of his servants, who desired leave to set up a small shrine of the Virgin in their room--a cheap print, or bas-relief, or image, such as are sold everywhere at the shops --and to burn a lamp before it; she engaging, of course, to supply the oil at her own expense. By and by, her oil-flask appeared to possess a miraculous property of replenishing itself, and Mr. Powers took measures to ascertain where the oil came from. It turned out that the servant had all the time been stealing the oil from them, and keeping up her daily sacrifice and worship to the Virgin by this constant theft. His talk soon turned upon sculpture, and he spoke once more of the difficulty imposed upon an artist by the necessity of clothing portrait statues in the modern costume. I find that he does not approve either of nudity or of the Roman toga for a modern statue; neither does he think it right to shirk the difficulty--as Chantrey did in the case of Washington --by enveloping him in a cloak; but acknowledges the propriety of taking the actual costume of the age and doing his best with it. He himself did so with his own Washington, and also with a statue that he made of Daniel Webster. I suggested that though this costume might not appear ridiculous to us now, yet, two or three centuries hence, it would create, to the people of that day, an impossibility of seeing the real man through the absurdity of his envelopment, after it shall have entirely grown out of fashion and remembrance; and Webster would seem as absurd to them then as he would to us now in the masquerade of some bygone day. It might be well, therefore, to adopt some conventional costume, never actual, but always graceful and noble. Besides, Webster, for example, had other costumes than that which he wore in public, and perhaps it was in those that he lived his most real life; his dressing-gown, his drapery of the night, the dress that he wore on his fishing-excursions; in these other costumes he spent three fourths of his time, and most probably was thus arrayed when he conceived the great thoughts that afterwards, in some formal and outside mood, he gave forth to the public. I scarcely think I was right, but am not sure of the contrary. At any rate, I know that I should have felt much more sure that I knew the real Webster, if I had seen him in any of the above-mentioned dresses, than either in his swallow-tailed coat or frock. Talking of a taste for painting and sculpture, Powers observed that it was something very different and quite apart from the moral sense, and that it was often, perhaps generally, possessed by unprincipled men of ability and cultivation. I have had this perception myself. A genuine love of painting and sculpture, and perhaps of music, seems often to have distinguished men capable of every social crime, and to have formed a fine and hard enamel over their characters. Perhaps it is because such tastes are artificial, the product of cultivation, and, when highly developed, imply a great remove from natural simplicity. This morning I went with U---- to the Uffizi gallery, and again looked with more or less attention at almost every picture and statue. I saw a little picture of the golden age, by Zucchero, in which the charms of youths and virgins are depicted with a freedom that this iron age can hardly bear to look at. The cabinet of gems happened to be open for the admission of a privileged party, and we likewise went in and saw a brilliant collection of goldsmiths' work, among which, no doubt, were specimens from such hands as Benvenuto Cellini. Little busts with diamond eyes; boxes of gems; cups carved out of precious material; crystal vases, beautifully chased and engraved, and sparkling with jewels; great pearls, in the midst of rubies; opals, rich with all manner of lovely lights. I remember Benvenuto Cellini, in his memoirs, speaks of manufacturing such playthings as these. I observed another characteristic of the summer streets of Florence to-day; tables, movable to and fro, on wheels, and set out with cool iced drinks and cordials. June 17th.--My wife and I went, this morning, to the Academy of Fine Arts, and, on our way thither, went into the Duomo, where we found a deliciously cool twilight, through which shone the mild gleam of the painted windows. I cannot but think it a pity that St. Peter's is not lighted by such windows as these, although I by no means saw the glory in them now that I have spoken of in a record of my former visit. We found out the monument of Giotto, a tablet, and portrait in bas-relief, on the wall, near the entrance of the cathedral, on the right hand; also a representation, in fresco, of a knight on horseback, the memorial of one John Rawkwood, close by the door, to the left. The priests were chanting a service of some kind or other in the choir, terribly inharmonious, and out of tune. . . . On reaching the Academy, the soldier or policeman at the entrance directed us into the large hall, the walls of which were covered on both sides with pictures, arranged as nearly as possible in a progressive series, with reference to the date of the painters; so that here the origin and procession of the art may be traced through the course of, at least, two hundred years. Giotto, Cimabue, and others of unfamiliar names to me, are among the earliest; and, except as curiosities, I should never desire to look once at them, nor think of looking twice. They seem to have been executed with great care and conscientiousness, and the heads are often wrought out with minuteness and fidelity, and have so much expression that they tell their own story clearly enough; but it seems not to have been the painter's aim to effect a lifelike illusion, the background and accessories being conventional. The trees are no more like real trees than the feather of a pen, and there is no perspective, the figure of the picture being shadowed forth on a surface of burnished gold. The effect, when these pictures, some of them very large, were new and freshly gilded, must have been exceedingly brilliant, and much resembling, on an immensely larger scale, the rich illuminations in an old monkish missal. In fact, we have not now, in pictorial ornament, anything at all comparable to what their splendor must have been. I was most struck with a picture, by Fabriana Gentile, of the Adoration of the Magi, where the faces and figures have a great deal of life and action, and even grace, and where the jewelled crowns, the rich embroidered robes, and cloth of gold, and all the magnificence of the three kings, are represented with the vividness of the real thing: a gold sword-hilt, for instance, or a pair of gold spurs, being actually embossed on the picture. The effect is very powerful, and though produced in what modern painters would pronounce an unjustifiable way, there is yet pictorial art enough to reconcile it to the spectator's mind. Certainly, the people of the Middle Ages knew better than ourselves what is magnificence, and how to produce it; and what a glorious work must that have been, both in its mere sheen of burnished gold, and in its illuminating art, which shines thus through the gloom of perhaps four centuries. Fra Angelico is a man much admired by those who have a taste for Pre-Raphaelite painters; and, though I take little or no pleasure in his works, I can see that there is great delicacy of execution in his heads, and that generally he produces such a Christ, and such a Virgin, and such saints, as he could not have foreseen, except in a pure and holy imagination, nor have wrought out without saying a prayer between every two touches of his brush. I might come to like him, in time, if I thought it worth while; but it is enough to have an outside perception of his kind and degree of merit, and so to let him pass into the garret of oblivion, where many things as good, or better, are piled away, that our own age may not stumble over them. Perugino is the first painter whose works seem really worth preserving for the genuine merit that is in them, apart from any quaintness and curiosity of an ancient and new-born art. Probably his religion was more genuine than Raphael's, and therefore the Virgin often revealed herself to him in a loftier and sweeter face of divine womanhood than all the genius of Raphael could produce. There is a Crucifixion by him in this gallery, which made me partly feel as if I were a far-off spectator,--no, I did not mean a Crucifixion, but a picture of Christ dead, lying, with a calm, sweet face, on his mother's knees ["a Pieta"]. The most inadequate and utterly absurd picture here, or in any other gallery, is a head of the Eternal Father, by Carlo Dolce; it looks like a feeble saint, on the eve of martyrdom, and very doubtful how he shall be able to bear it; very finely and prettily painted, nevertheless. After getting through the principal gallery we went into a smaller room, in which are contained a great many small specimens of the old Tuscan artists, among whom Fra Angelico makes the principal figure. These pictures are all on wood, and seem to have been taken from the shrines and altars of ancient churches; they are predellas and triptychs, or pictures on three folding tablets, shaped quaintly, in Gothic peaks or arches, and still gleaming with backgrounds of antique gold. The wood is much worm-eaten, and the colors have often faded or changed from what the old artists meant then to be; a bright angel darkening into what looks quite as much like the Devil. In one of Fra Angelico's pictures,--a representation of the Last Judgment,--he has tried his saintly hand at making devils indeed, and showing them busily at work, tormenting the poor, damned souls in fifty ghastly ways. Above sits Jesus, with the throng of blessed saints around him, and a flow of tender and powerful love in his own face, that ought to suffice to redeem all the damned, and convert the very fiends, and quench the fires of hell. At any rate, Fra Angelico had a higher conception of his Saviour than Michael Angelo. June 19th.--This forenoon we have been to the Church of St. Lorenzo, which stands on the site of an ancient basilica, and was itself built more than four centuries ago. The facade is still an ugly height of rough brickwork, as is the case with the Duomo, and, I think, some other churches in Florence; the design of giving them an elaborate and beautiful finish having been delayed from cycle to cycle, till at length the day for spending mines of wealth on churches is gone by. The interior had a nave with a flat roof, divided from the side aisles by Corinthian pillars, and, at the farther end, a raised space around the high altar. The pavement is a mosaic of squares of black and white marble, the squares meeting one another cornerwise; the pillars, pilasters, and other architectural material is dark brown or grayish stone; and the general effect is very sombre, especially as the church is somewhat dimly lighted, and as the shrines along the aisles, and the statues, and the monuments of whatever kind, look dingy with time and neglect. The nave is thickly set with wooden seats, brown and worn. What pictures there are, in the shrines and chapels, are dark and faded. On the whole, the edifice has a shabby aspect. On each side of the high altar, elevated on four pillars of beautiful marble, is what looks like a great sarcophagus of bronze. They are, in fact, pulpits, and are ornamented with mediaeval bas-reliefs, representing scenes in the life of our Saviour. Murray says that the resting-place of the first Cosmo de' Medici, the old banker, who so managed his wealth as to get the posthumous title of "father of his country," and to make his posterity its reigning princes,--is in front of the high altar, marked by red and green porphyry and marble, inlaid into the pavement. We looked, but could not see it there. There were worshippers at some of the shrines, and persons sitting here and there along the nave, and in the aisles, rapt in devotional thought, doubtless, and sheltering themselves here from the white sunshine of the piazzas. In the vicinity of the choir and the high altar, workmen were busy repairing the church, or perhaps only making arrangements for celebrating the great festival of St. John. On the left hand of the choir is what is called the old sacristy, with the peculiarities or notabilities of which I am not acquainted. On the right hand is the new sacristy, otherwise called the Capella dei Depositi, or Chapel of the Buried, built by Michael Angelo, to contain two monuments of the Medici family. The interior is of somewhat severe and classic architecture, the walls and pilasters being of dark stone, and surmounted by a dome, beneath which is a row of windows, quite round the building, throwing their light down far beneath, upon niches of white marble. These niches are ranged entirely around the chapel, and might have sufficed to contain more than all the Medici monuments that the world would ever care to have. Only two of these niches are filled, however. In one of them sits Giuliano de' Medici, sculptured by Michael Angelo,--a figure of dignity, which would perhaps be very striking in any other presence than that of the statue which occupies the corresponding niche. At the feet of Giuliano recline two allegorical statues, Day and Night, whose meaning there I do not know, and perhaps Michael Angelo knew as little. As the great sculptor's statues are apt to do, they fling their limbs abroad with adventurous freedom. Below the corresponding niche, on the opposite side of the chapel, recline two similar statues, representing Morning and Evening, sufficiently like Day and Night to be their brother and sister; all, in truth, having sprung from the same father. . . . But the statue that sits above these two latter allegories, Morning and Evening, is like no other that ever came from a sculptor's hand. It is the one work worthy of Michael Angelo's reputation, and grand enough to vindicate for him all the genius that the world gave him credit for. And yet it seems a simple thing enough to think of or to execute; merely a sitting figure, the face partly overshadowed by a helmet, one hand supporting the chin, the other resting on the thigh. But after looking at it a little while the spectator ceases to think of it as a marble statue; it comes to life, and you see that the princely figure is brooding over some great design, which, when he has arranged in his own mind, the world will be fain to execute for him. No such grandeur and majesty has elsewhere been put into human shape. It is all a miracle; the deep repose, and the deep life within it. It is as much a miracle to have achieved this as to make a statue that would rise up and walk. The face, when one gazes earnestly into it, beneath the shadow of its helmet, is seen to be calmly sombre; a mood which, I think, is generally that of the rulers of mankind, except in moments of vivid action. This statue is one of the things which I look at with highest enjoyment, but also with grief and impatience, because I feel that I do not come at all which it involves, and that by and by I must go away and leave it forever. How wonderful! To take a block of marble, and convert it wholly into thought, and to do it through all the obstructions and impediments of drapery; for there is nothing nude in this statue but the face and hands. The vest is the costume of Michael Angelo's century. This is what I always thought a sculptor of true genius should be able to do,--to show the man of whatever epoch, nobly and heroically, through the costume which he might actually have worn. The statue sits within a square niche of white marble, and completely fills it. It seems to me a pity that it should be thus confined. At the Crystal Palace, if I remember, the effect is improved by a free surrounding space. Its naturalness is as if it came out of the marble of its own accord, with all its grandeur hanging heavily about it, and sat down there beneath its weight. I cannot describe it. It is like trying to stop the ghost of Hamlet's father, by crossing spears before it. Communicating with the sacristy is the Medicean Chapel, which was built more than two centuries ago, for the reception of the Holy Sepulchre; arrangements having been made about that time to steal this most sacred relic from the Turks. The design failing, the chapel was converted by Cosmo II. into a place of sepulture for the princes of his family. It is a very grand and solemn edifice, octagonal in shape, with a lofty dome, within which is a series of brilliant frescos, painted not more than thirty years ago. These pictures are the only portion of the adornment of the chapel which interferes with the sombre beauty of the general effect; for though the walls are incrusted, from pavement to dome, with marbles of inestimable cost, and it is a Florentine mosaic on a grander scale than was ever executed elsewhere, the result is not gaudy, as in many of the Roman chapels, but a dark and melancholy richness. The architecture strikes me as extremely fine; each alternate side of the octagon being an arch, rising as high as the cornice of the lofty dome, and forming the frame of a vast niche. All the dead princes, no doubt, according to the general design, were to have been honored with statues within this stately mausoleum; but only two--those of Ferdinand I. and Cosmo II.--seem to have been placed here. They were a bad breed, and few of them deserved any better monument than a dunghill; and yet they have this grand chapel for the family at large, and yonder grand statue for one of its most worthless members. I am glad of it; and as for the statue, Michael Angelo wrought it through the efficacy of a kingly idea, which had no reference to the individual whose name it bears. In the piazza adjoining the church is a statue of the first Cosmo, the old banker, in Roman costume, seated, and looking like a man fit to hold authority. No, I mistake; the statue is of John de' Medici, the father of Cosmo, and himself no banker, but a soldier. June 21st.--Yesterday, after dinner, we went, with the two eldest children, to the Boboli Gardens. . . . We entered by a gate, nearer to our house than that by the Pitti Palace, and found ourselves almost immediately among embowered walks of box and shrubbery, and little wildernesses of trees, with here and there a seat under an arbor, and a marble statue, gray with ancient weather-stains. The site of the garden is a very uneven surface, and the paths go upward and downward, and ascend, at their ultimate point, to a base of what appears to be a fortress, commanding the city. A good many of the Florentines were rambling about the gardens, like ourselves: little parties of school-boys; fathers and mothers, with their youthful progeny; young men in couples, looking closely into every female face; lovers, with a maid or two attendant on the young lady. All appeared to enjoy themselves, especially the children, dancing on the esplanades, or rolling down the slopes of the hills; and the loving pairs, whom it was rather embarrassing to come upon unexpectedly, sitting together on the stone seat of an arbor, with clasped hands, a passionate solemnity in the young man's face, and a downcast pleasure in the lady's. Policemen, in cocked hats and epaulets, cross-belts, and swords, were scattered about the grounds, but interfered with nobody, though they seemed to keep an eye on all. A sentinel stood in the hot sunshine, looking down over the garden from the ramparts of the fortress. For my part, in this foreign country, I have no objection to policemen or any other minister of authority; though I remember, in America, I had an innate antipathy to constables, and always sided with the mob against law. This was very wrong and foolish, considering that I was one of the sovereigns; but a sovereign, or any number of sovereigns, or the twenty-millionth part of a sovereign, does not love to find himself, as an American must, included within the delegated authority of his own servants. There is a sheet of water somewhere in the Boboli Gardens, inhabited by swans; but this we did not see. We found a smaller pond, however, set in marble, and surrounded by a parapet, and alive with a multitude of fish. There were minnows by the thousand, and a good many gold-fish; and J-----, who had brought some bread to feed the swans, threw in handfuls of crumbs for the benefit of these finny people. They seemed to be accustomed to such courtesies on the part of visitors; and immediately the surface of the water was blackened, at the spot where each crumb fell, with shoals of minnows, thrusting one another even above the surface in their eagerness to snatch it. Within the depths of the pond, the yellowish-green water--its hue being precisely that of the Arno-- would be reddened duskily with the larger bulk of two or three gold-fishes, who finally poked their great snouts up among the minnows, but generally missed the crumb. Beneath the circular margin of the pond, there are little arches, into the shelter of which the fish retire, when the noonday sun burns straight down into their dark waters. We went on through the garden-paths, shadowed quite across by the high walls of box, and reached an esplanade, whence we had a good view of Florence, with the bare brown ridges on the northern side of the Arno, and glimpses of the river itself, flowing like a street, between two rows of palaces. A great way off, too, we saw some of the cloud-like peaks of the Apennines, and, above them, the clouds into which the sun was descending, looking quite as substantial as the distant mountains. The city did not present a particularly splendid aspect, though its great Duomo was seen in the middle distance, sitting in its circle of little domes, with the tall campanile close by, and within one or two hundred yards of it, the high, cumbrous bulk of the Palazzo Vecchio, with its lofty, machicolated, and battlemented tower, very picturesque, yet looking exceedingly like a martin-box, on a pole. There were other domes and towers and spires, and here and there the distinct shape of an edifice; but the general picture was of a contiguity of red earthen roofs, filling a not very broad or extensive valley, among dry and ridgy hills, with a river-gleam lightening up the landscape a little. U---- took out her pencil and tablets, and began to sketch the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio; in doing which, she immediately became an object of curiosity to some little boys and larger people, who failed not, under such pretences as taking a grasshopper off her dress, or no pretence at all, to come and look over her shoulder. There is a kind of familiarity among these Florentines, which is not meant to be discourteous, and ought to be taken in good part. We continued to ramble through the gardens, in quest of a good spot from which to see the sunset, and at length found a stone bench, on the slope of a hill, whence the entire cloud and sun scenery was fully presented to us. At the foot of the hill were statues, and among them a Pegasus, with wings outspread; and, a little beyond, the garden-front of the Pitti Palace, which looks a little less like a state-prison here, than as it fronts the street. Girls and children, and young men and old, were taking their pleasure in our neighborhood; and, just before us, a lady stood talking with her maid. By and by, we discovered her to be Miss Howorth. There was a misty light, streaming down on the hither side of the ridge of hills, that was rather peculiar; but the most remarkable thing was the shape into which the clouds gathered themselves, after the disappearance of the sun. It was like a tree, with a broad and heavy mass of foliage, spreading high upward on the sky, and a dark and well-defined trunk, which rooted itself on the verge of the horizon. This morning we went to the Pitti Palace. The air was very sultry, and the pavements, already heated with the sun, made the space between the buildings seem like a close room. The earth, I think, is too much stoned out of the streets of an Italian city,--paved, like those of Florence, quite across, with broad flagstones, to the line where the stones of the houses on each side are piled up. Thunder rumbled over our heads, however, and the clouds were so dark that we scarcely hoped to reach the palace without feeling the first drops of the shower. The air still darkened and darkened, so that by the time we arrived at the suite of picture-rooms the pictures seemed all to be changed to Rembrandts; the shadows as black as midnight, with only some highly illuminated portions gleaming out. The obscurity of the atmosphere made us sensible how splendid is the adornment of these saloons. For the gilded cornices shone out, as did the gilding of the arches and wreathed circles that divide the ceiling into compartments, within which the frescos are painted, and whence the figures looked dimly down, like gods out of a mysterious sky. The white marble sculptures also gleamed from their height, where winged cupids or cherubs gambolled aloft in bas-reliefs; or allegoric shapes reclined along the cornices, hardly noticed, when the daylight comes brightly into the window. On the walls, all the rich picture-frames glimmered in gold, as did the framework of the chairs, and the heavy gilded pedestals of the marble, alabaster, and mosaic tables. These are very magnificent saloons; and since I have begun to speak of their splendor, I may as well add that the doors are framed in polished, richly veined marble, and the walls hung with scarlet damask. It was useless to try to see the pictures. All the artists engaged in copying laid aside their brushes; and we looked out into the square before the palace, where a mighty wind sprang up, and quickly raised a prodigious cloud of dust. It hid the opposite side of the street, and was carried, in a great dusky whirl, higher than the roofs of the houses, higher than the top of the Pitti Palace itself. The thunder muttered and grumbled, the lightning now and then flashed, and a few rain-drops pattered against the windows; but, for a long time, the shower held off. At last it came down in a stream, and lightened the air to such a degree that we could see some of the pictures, especially those of Rubens, and the illuminated parts of Salvator Rosa's, and, best of all, Titian's "Magdalen," the one with golden hair clustering round her naked body. The golden hair, indeed, seemed to throw out a glory of its own. This Magdalen is very coarse and sensual, with only an impudent assumption of penitence and religious sentiment, scarcely so deep as the eyelids; but it is a splendid picture, nevertheless, with those naked, lifelike arms, and the hands that press the rich locks about her, and so carefully permit those voluptuous breasts to be seen. She a penitent! She would shake off all pretence to it as easily as she would shake aside that clustering hair. . . . Titian must have been a very good-for-nothing old man. I looked again at Michael Angelo's Fates to-day; but cannot satisfactorily make out what he meant by them. One of them--she who holds the distaff--has her mouth open, as if uttering a cry, and might be fancied to look somewhat irate. The second, who holds the thread, has a pensive air, but is still, I think, pitiless at heart. The third sister looks closely and coldly into the eyes of the second, meanwhile cutting the thread with a pair of shears. Michael Angelo, if I may presume to say so, wished to vary the expression of these three sisters, and give each a different one, but did not see precisely how, inasmuch as all the fatal Three are united, heart and soul, in one purpose. It is a very impressive group. But, as regards the interpretation of this, or of any other profound picture, there are likely to be as many interpretations as there are spectators. It is very curious to read criticisms upon pictures, and upon the same face in a picture, and by men of taste and feeling, and to find what different conclusions they arrive at. Each man interprets the hieroglyphic in his own way; and the painter, perhaps, had a meaning which none of them have reached; or possibly he put forth a riddle, without himself knowing the solution. There is such a necessity, at all events, of helping the painter out with the spectator's own resources of feeling and imagination, that you can never be sure how much of the picture you have yourself made. There is no doubt that the public is, to a certain extent, right and sure of its ground, when it declares, through a series of ages, that a certain picture is a great work. It is so; a great symbol, proceeding out of a great mind; but if it means one thing, it seems to mean a thousand, and, often, opposite things. June 27th.--I have had a heavy cold and fever almost throughout the past week, and have thereby lost the great Florentine festivity, the Feast of St. John, which took place on Thursday last, with the fireworks and illuminations the evening before, and the races and court ceremonies on the day itself. However, unless it were more characteristic and peculiar than the Carnival, I have not missed anything very valuable. Mr. Powers called to see me one evening, and poured out, as usual, a stream of talk, both racy and oracular in its character. Speaking of human eyes, he observed that they did not depend for their expression upon color, nor upon any light of the soul beaming through them, nor any glow of the eyeball, nor upon anything but the form and action of the surrounding muscles. He illustrates it by saying, that if the eye of a wolf, or of whatever fiercest animal, could be placed in another setting, it would be found capable of the utmost gentleness of expression. "You yourself," said he, "have a very bright and sharp look sometimes; but it is not in the eye itself." His own eyes, as I could have sworn, were glowing all the time he spoke; and, remembering how many times I have seemed to see eyes glow, and blaze, and flash, and sparkle, and melt, and soften; and how all poetry is illuminated with the light of ladies' eyes; and how many people have been smitten by the lightning of an eye, whether in love or anger, it was difficult to allow that all this subtlest and keenest fire is illusive, not even phosphorescent, and that any other jelly in the same socket would serve as well as the brightest eye. Nevertheless, he must be right; of course he must, and I am rather ashamed ever to have thought otherwise. Where should the light come from? Has a man a flame inside of his head? Does his spirit manifest itself in the semblance of flame? The moment we think of it, the absurdity becomes evident. I am not quite sure, however, that the outer surface of the eye may not reflect more light in some states of feeling than in others; the state of the health, certainly, has an influence of this kind. I asked Powers what he thought of Michael Angelo's statue of Lorenzo de' Medici. He allowed that its effect was very grand and mysterious; but added that it owed this to a trick,--the effect being produced by the arrangement of the hood, as he called it, or helmet, which throws the upper part of the face into shadow. The niche in which it sits has, I suppose, its part to perform in throwing a still deeper shadow. It is very possible that Michael Angelo may have calculated upon this effect of sombre shadow, and legitimately, I think; but it really is not worthy of Mr. Powers to say that the whole effect of this mighty statue depends, not on the positive efforts of Michael Angelo's chisel, but on the absence of light in a space of a few inches. He wrought the whole statue in harmony with that small part of it which he leaves to the spectator's imagination, and if he had erred at any point, the miracle would have been a failure; so that, working in marble, he has positively reached a degree of excellence above the capability of marble, sculpturing his highest touches upon air and duskiness. Mr. Powers gave some amusing anecdotes of his early life, when he was a clerk in a store in Cincinnati. There was a museum opposite, the proprietor of which had a peculiar physiognomy that struck Powers, insomuch that he felt impelled to make continual caricatures of it. He used to draw them upon the door of the museum, and became so familiar with the face, that he could draw them in the dark; so that, every morning, here was this absurd profile of himself, greeting the museum-man when he came to open his establishment. Often, too, it would reappear within an hour after it was rubbed out. The man was infinitely annoyed, and made all possible efforts to discover the unknown artist, but in vain; and finally concluded, I suppose, that the likeness broke out upon the door of its own accord, like the nettle-rash. Some years afterwards, the proprietor of the museum engaged Powers himself as an assistant; and one day Powers asked him if he remembered this mysterious profile. "Yes," said he, "did you know who drew them?" Powers took a piece of chalk, and touched off the very profile again, before the man's eyes. "Ah," said he, "if I had known it at the time, I would have broken every bone in your body!" Before he began to work in marble, Powers had greater practice and success in making wax figures, and he produced a work of this kind called "The Infernal Regions," which he seemed to imply had been very famous. He said he once wrought a face in wax which was life itself, having made the eyes on purpose for it, and put in every hair in the eyebrows individually, and finished the whole with similar minuteness; so that, within the distance of a foot or two, it was impossible to tell that the face did not live. I have hardly ever before felt an impulse to write down a man's conversation as I do that of Mr. Powers. The chief reason is, probably, that it is so possible to do it, his ideas being square, solid, and tangible, and therefore readily grasped and retained. He is a very instructive man, and sweeps one's empty and dead notions out of the way with exceeding vigor; but when you have his ultimate thought and perception, you feel inclined to think and see a little further for yourself. He sees too clearly what is within his range to be aware of any region of mystery beyond. Probably, however, this latter remark does him injustice. I like the man, and am always glad to encounter the mill-stream of his talk. . . . Yesterday he met me in the street (dressed in his linen blouse and slippers, with a little bit of a sculptor's cap on the side of his head), and gave utterance to a theory of colds, and a dissertation on the bad effects of draughts, whether of cold air or hot, and the dangers of transfusing blood from the veins of one living subject to those of another. On the last topic, he remarked that, if a single particle of air found its way into the veins, along with the transfused blood, it caused convulsions and inevitable death; otherwise the process might be of excellent effect. Last evening, we went to pass the evening with Miss Blagden, who inhabits a villa at Bellosguardo, about a mile outside of the walls. The situation is very lofty, and there are good views from every window of the house, and an especially fine one of Florence and the hills beyond, from the balcony of the drawing-room. By and by came Mr. Browning, Mr. Trollope, Mr. Boott and his young daughter, and two or three other gentlemen. . . . Browning was very genial and full of life, as usual, but his conversation has the effervescent aroma which you cannot catch, even if you get the very words that seem to be imbued with it. He spoke most rapturously of a portrait of Mrs. Browning, which an Italian artist is painting for the wife of an American gentleman, as a present from her husband. The success was already perfect, although there had been only two sittings as yet, and both on the same day; and in this relation, Mr. Browning remarked that P------, the American artist, had had no less than seventy-three sittings of him for a portrait. In the result, every hair and speck of him was represented; yet, as I inferred from what he did not say, this accumulation of minute truths did not, after all, amount to the true whole. I do not remember much else that Browning said, except a playful abuse of a little King Charles spaniel, named Frolic, Miss Blagden's lap-dog, whose venerable age (he is eleven years old) ought to have pleaded in his behalf. Browning's nonsense is of very genuine and excellent quality, the true babble and effervescence of a bright and powerful mind; and he lets it play among his friends with the faith and simplicity of a child. He must be an amiable man. I should like him much, and should make him like me, if opportunities were favorable. I conversed principally with Mr. Trollope, the son, I believe, of the Mrs. Trollope to whom America owes more for her shrewd criticisms than we are ever likely to repay. Mr. Trollope is a very sensible and cultivated man, and, I suspect, an author: at least, there is a literary man of repute of this name, though I have never read his works. He has resided in Italy eighteen years. It seems a pity to do this. It needs the native air to give life a reality; a truth which I do not fail to take home regretfully to myself, though without feeling much inclination to go back to the realities of my own. We had a pleasant cup of tea, and took a moonlight view of Florence from the balcony. . . . June 28th.--Yesterday afternoon, J----- and I went to a horse-race, which took place in the Corso and contiguous line of streets, in further celebration of the Feast of St. John. A crowd of people was already collected, all along the line of the proposed race, as early as six o'clock; and there were a great many carriages driving amid the throng, open barouches mostly, in which the beauty and gentility of Florence were freely displayed. It was a repetition of the scene in the Corso at Rome, at Carnival time, without the masks, the fun, and the confetti. The Grand Duke and Duchess and the Court likewise made their appearance in as many as seven or eight coaches-and-six, each with a coachman, three footmen, and a postilion in the royal livery, and attended by a troop of horsemen in scarlet coats and cocked hats. I did not particularly notice the Grand Duke himself; but, in the carriage behind him, there sat only a lady, who favored the people along the street with a constant succession of bows, repeated at such short intervals, and so quickly, as to be little more than nods; therefore not particularly graceful or majestic. Having the good fortune, to be favored with one of these nods, I lifted my hat in response, and may therefore claim a bowing acquaintance with the Grand Duchess. She is a Bourbon of the Naples family, and was a pale, handsome woman, of princely aspect enough. The crowd evinced no enthusiasm, nor the slightest feeling of any kind, in acknowledgment of the presence of their rulers; and, indeed, I think I never saw a crowd so well behaved; that is, with so few salient points, so little ebullition, so absolutely tame, as the Florentine one. After all, and much contrary to my expectations, an American crowd has incomparably more life than any other; and, meeting on any casual occasion, it will talk, laugh, roar, and be diversified with a thousand characteristic incidents and gleams and shadows, that you see nothing of here. The people seems to have no part even in its own gatherings. It comes together merely as a mass of spectators, and must not so much as amuse itself by any activity of mind. The race, which was the attraction that drew us all together, turned out a very pitiful affair. When we had waited till nearly dusk, the street being thronged quite across, insomuch that it seemed impossible that it should be cleared as a race-course, there came suddenly from every throat a quick, sharp exclamation, combining into a general shout. Immediately the crowd pressed back on each side of the street; a moment afterwards, there was a rapid pattering of hoofs over the earth with which the pavement was strewn, and I saw the head and back of a horse rushing past. A few seconds more, and another horse followed; and at another little interval, a third. This was all that we had waited for; all that I saw, or anybody else, except those who stood on the utmost verge of the course, at the risk of being trampled down and killed. Two men were killed in this way on Thursday, and certainly human life was never spent for a poorer object. The spectators at the windows, to be sure, having the horses in sight for a longer time, might get a little more enjoyment out of the affair. By the by, the most picturesque aspect of the scene was the life given to it by the many faces, some of them fair ones, that looked out from window and balcony, all along the curving line of lofty palaces and edifices, between which the race-course lay; and from nearly every window, and over every balcony, was flung a silken texture, or cloth of brilliant line, or piece of tapestry or carpet, or whatever adornment of the kind could be had, so as to dress up the street in gala attire. But, the Feast of St. John, like the Carnival, is but a meagre semblance of festivity, kept alive factitiously, and dying a lingering death of centuries. It takes the exuberant mind and heart of a people to keep its holidays alive. I do not know whether there be any populace in Florence, but I saw none that I recognized as such, on this occasion. All the people were respectably dressed and perfectly well behaved; and soldiers and priests were scattered abundantly among the throng. On my way home, I saw the Teatro Goldoni, which is in our own street, lighted up for a representation this Sunday evening. It shocked my New England prejudices a little. Thus forenoon, my wife and I went to the Church of Santa Croce, the great monumental deposit of Florentine worthies. The piazza before it is a wide, gravelled square, where the liberty of Florence, if it really ever had any genuine liberty, came into existence some hundreds of years ago, by the people's taking its own rights into its hands, and putting its own immediate will in execution. The piazza has not much appearance of antiquity, except that the facade of one of the houses is quite covered with ancient frescos, a good deal faded and obliterated, yet with traces enough of old glory to show that the colors must have been well laid on. The front of the church, the foundation of which was laid six centuries ago, is still waiting for its casing of marbles, and I suppose will wait forever, though a carpenter's staging is now erected before it, as if with the purpose of doing something. The interior is spacious, the length of the church being between four and five hundred feet. There is a nave, roofed with wooden cross-beams, lighted by a clere-story and supported on each side by seven great pointed arches, which rest upon octagonal pillars. The octagon seems to be a favorite shape in Florence. These pillars were clad in yellow and scarlet damask, in honor of the Feast of St. John. The aisles, on each side of the nave, are lighted with high and somewhat narrow windows of painted glass, the effect of which, however, is much diminished by the flood of common daylight that comes in through the windows of the clere-story. It is like admitting too much of the light of reason and worldly intelligence into the mind, instead of illuminating it wholly through a religious medium. The many-hued saints and angels lose their mysterious effulgence, when we get white light enough, and find we see all the better without their help. The main pavement of the church is brickwork; but it is inlaid with many sepulchral slabs of marble, on some of which knightly or priestly figures are sculptured in bas-relief. In both of the side aisles there are saintly shrines, alternating with mural monuments, some of which record names as illustrious as any in the world. As you enter, the first monument, on your right is that of Michael Angelo, occupying the ancient burial-site of his family. The general design is a heavy sarcophagus of colored marble, with the figures of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture as mourners, and Michael Angelo's bust above, the whole assuming a pyramidal form. You pass a shrine, within its framework of marble pillars and a pediment, and come next to Dante's monument, a modern work, with likewise its sarcophagus, and some huge, cold images weeping and sprawling over it, and an unimpressive statue of Dante sitting above. Another shrine intervenes, and next you see the tomb of Alfieri, erected to his memory by the Countess of Albany, who pays, out of a woman's love, the honor which his country owed him. Her own monument is in one of the chapels of the transept. Passing the next shrine you see the tomb of Macchiavelli, which, I think, was constructed not many years after his death. The rest of the monuments, on this side of the church, commemorate people of less than world-wide fame; and though the opposite side has likewise a monument alternating with each shrine, I remember only the names of Raphael Morghen and of Galileo. The tomb of the latter is over against that of Michael Angelo, being the first large tomb on the left-hand wall as you enter the church. It has the usual heavy sarcophagus, surmounted by a bust of Galileo, in the habit of his time, and is, of course, duly provided with mourners in the shape of Science or Astronomy, or some such cold-hearted people. I wish every sculptor might be at once imprisoned for life who shall hereafter chisel an allegoric figure; and as for those who have sculptured them heretofore, let them be kept in purgatory till the marble shall have crumbled away. It is especially absurd to assign to this frozen sisterhood of the allegoric family the office of weeping for the dead, inasmuch as they have incomparably less feeling than a lump of ice, which might contrive to shed a tear if the sun shone on it. But they seem to let themselves out, like the hired mourners of an English funeral, for the very reason that, having no interest in the dead person, nor any affections or emotions whatever, it costs them no wear and tear of heart. All round both transepts of the church there is a series of chapels, into most of which we went, and generally found an inscrutably dark picture over the altar, and often a marble bust or two, or perhaps a mediaeval statue of a saint or a modern monumental bas-relief in marble, as white as new-fallen snow. A chapel of the Bonapartes is here, containing memorials of two female members of the family. In several chapels, moreover, there were some of those distressing frescos, by Giotto, Cimabue, or their compeers, which, whenever I see them,--poor, faded relics, looking as if the Devil had been rubbing and scrubbing them for centuries, in spite against the saints,--my heart sinks and my stomach sickens. There is no other despondency like this; it is a new shade of human misery, akin to the physical disease that comes from dryrot in a wall. These frescos are to a church what dreary, old remembrances are to a mind; the drearier because they were once bright: Hope fading into Disappointment, Joy into Grief, and festal splendor passing into funereal duskiness, and saddening you all the more by the grim identity that you find to exist between gay things and sorrowful ones. Only wait long enough, and they turn out to be the very same. All the time we were in the church some great religious ceremony had been going forward; the organ playing and the white-robed priests bowing, gesticulating, and making Latin prayers at the high altar, where at least a hundred wax tapers were burning in constellations. Everybody knelt, except ourselves, yet seemed not to be troubled by the echoes of our passing footsteps, nor to require that we should pray along with them. They consider us already lost irrevocably, no doubt, and therefore right enough in taking no heed of their devotions; not but what we took so much heed, however, as to give the smallest possible disturbance. By and by we sat down in the nave of the church till the ceremony should be concluded; and then my wife left me to go in quest of yet another chapel, where either Cimabue or Giotto, or both, have left some of their now ghastly decorations. While she was gone I threw my eyes about the church, and came to the conclusion that, in spite of its antiquity, its size, its architecture, its painted windows, its tombs of great men, and all the reverence and interest that broods over them, it is not an impressive edifice. Any little Norman church in England would impress me as much, and more. There is something, I do not know what, but it is in the region of the heart, rather than in the intellect, that Italian architecture, of whatever age or style, never seems to reach. Leaving the Santa Croce, we went next in quest of the Riccardi Palace. On our way, in the rear of the Grand Ducal Piazza, we passed by the Bargello, formerly the palace of the Podesta of Florence, and now converted into a prison. It is an immense square edifice of dark stone, with a tall, lank tower rising high above it at one corner. Two stone lions, symbols of the city, lash their tails and glare at the passers-by; and all over the front of the building windows are scattered irregularly, and grated with rusty iron bars; also there are many square holes, which probably admit a little light and a breath or two of air into prisoners' cells. It is a very ugly edifice, but looks antique, and as if a vast deal of history might have been transacted within it, or have beaten, like fierce blasts, against its dark, massive walls, since the thirteenth century. When I first saw the city it struck me that there were few marks of antiquity in Florence; but I am now inclined to think otherwise, although the bright Italian atmosphere, and the general squareness and monotony of the Italian architecture, have their effect in apparently modernizing everything. But everywhere we see the ponderous Tuscan basements that never can decay, and which will look, five hundred years hence, as they look now; and one often passes beneath an abbreviated remnant of what was once a lofty tower, perhaps three hundred feet high, such as used to be numerous in Florence when each noble of the city had his own warfare to wage; and there are patches of sculpture that look old on houses, the modern stucco of which causes them to look almost new. Here and there an unmistakable antiquity stands in its own impressive shadow; the Church of Or San Michele, for instance, once a market, but which grew to be a church by some inherent fitness and inevitable consecration. It has not the least the aspect of a church, being high and square, like a mediaeval palace; but deep and high niches are let into its walls, within which stand great statues of saints, masterpieces of Donatello, and other sculptors of that age, before sculpture began to be congealed by the influence of Greek art. The Riccardi Palace is at the corner of the Via Larga. It was built by the first Cosmo de' Medici, the old banker, more than four centuries ago, and was long the home of the ignoble race of princes which he left behind him. It looks fit to be still the home of a princely race, being nowise dilapidated nor decayed externally, nor likely to be so, its high Tuscan basement being as solid as a ledge of rock, and its upper portion not much less so, though smoothed into another order of stately architecture. Entering its court from the Via Larga, we found ourselves beneath a pillared arcade, passing round the court like a cloister; and on the walls of the palace, under this succession of arches, were statues, bas-reliefs, and sarcophagi, in which, first, dead Pagans had slept, and then dead Christians, before the sculptured coffins were brought hither to adorn the palace of the Medici. In the most prominent place was a Latin inscription of great length and breadth, chiefly in praise of old Cosino and his deeds and wisdom. This mansion gives the visitor a stately notion of the life of a commercial man in the days when merchants were princes; not that it seems to be so wonderfully extensive, nor so very grand, for I suppose there are a dozen Roman palaces that excel it in both these particulars. Still, we cannot but be conscious that it must have been, in some sense, a great man who thought of founding a homestead like this, and was capable of filling it with his personality, as the hand fills a glove. It has been found spacious enough, since Cosmo's time, for an emperor and a pope and a king, all of whom have been guests in this house. After being the family mansion of the Medici for nearly two centuries, it was sold to the Riccardis, but was subsequently bought of then by the government, and it is now occupied by public offices and societies. After sufficiently examining the court and its antiquities, we ascended a noble staircase that passes, by broad flights and square turns, to the region above the basement. Here the palace is cut up and portioned off into little rooms and passages, and everywhere there were desks, inkstands, and men, with pens in their fingers or behind their ears. We were shown into a little antique chapel, quite covered with frescos in the Giotto style, but painted by a certain Gozzoli. They were in pretty good preservation, and, in fact, I am wrong in comparing them to Giotto's works, inasmuch as there must have been nearly two hundred years between the two artists. The chapel was furnished with curiously carved old chairs, and looked surprisingly venerable within its little precinct. We were next guided into the grand gallery, a hall of respectable size, with a frescoed ceiling, on which is represented the blue sky, and various members of the Medici family ascending through it by the help of angelic personages, who seem only to have waited for their society to be perfectly happy. At least, this was the meaning, so far as I could make it out. Along one side of the gallery were oil-pictures on looking-glasses, rather good than otherwise; but Rome, with her palaces and villas, takes the splendor out of all this sort of thing elsewhere. On our way home, and on our own side of the Ponte Vecchio, we passed the Palazzo Guicciardini, the ancient residence of the historian of Italy, who was a politic statesman of his day, and probably as cruel and unprincipled as any of those whose deeds he has recorded. Opposite, across the narrow way, stands the house of Macchiavelli, who was his friend, and, I should judge, an honester man than he. The house is distinguished by a marble tablet, let into the wall, commemorative of Macchiavelli, but has nothing antique or picturesque about it, being in a continuous line with other smooth-faced and stuccoed edifices. June 30th.--Yesterday, at three o'clock P. M., I went to see the final horse-race of the Feast of St. John, or rather to see the concourse of people and grandees whom it brought together. I took my stand in the vicinity of the spot whence the Grand Duke and his courtiers view the race, and from this point the scene was rather better worth looking at than from the street-corners whence I saw it before. The vista of the street, stretching far adown between two rows of lofty edifices, was really gay and gorgeous with the silks, damasks, and tapestries of all bright hues, that flaunted from windows and balconies, whence ladies looked forth and looked down, themselves making the liveliest part of the show. The whole capacity of the street swarmed with moving heads, leaving scarce room enough for the carriages, which, as on Sunday, passed up and down, until the signal for the race was given. Equipages, too, were constantly arriving at the door of the building which communicates with the open loggia, where the Grand Ducal party sit to see and to be seen. Two sentinels were standing at the door, and presented arms as each courtier or ambassador, or whatever dignity it might be, alighted. Most of them had on gold-embroidered court-dresses; some of them had military uniforms, and medals in abundance at the breast; and ladies also came, looking like heaps of lace and gauze in the carriages, but lightly shaking themselves into shape as they went up the steps. By and by a trumpet sounded, a drum beat, and again appeared a succession of half a dozen royal equipages, each with its six horses, its postilion, coachman, and three footmen, grand with cocked hats and embroidery; and the gray-headed, bowing Grand Duke and his nodding Grand Duchess as before. The Noble Guard ranged themselves on horseback opposite the loggia; but there was no irksome and impertinent show of ceremony and restraint upon the people. The play-guard of volunteer soldiers, who escort the President of the United States in his Northern progresses, keep back their fellow-citizens much more sternly and immitigably than the Florentine guard kept back the populace from its despotic sovereign. This morning J----- and I have been to the Uffizi gallery. It was his first visit there, and he passed a sweeping condemnation upon everything he saw, except a fly, a snail-shell, a caterpillar, a lemon, a piece of bread, and a wineglass, in some of the Dutch pictures. The Venus de' Medici met with no sort of favor. His feeling of utter distaste reacted upon me, and I was sensible of the same weary lack of appreciation that used to chill me through, in my earlier visits to picture-galleries; the same doubt, moreover, whether we do not bamboozle ourselves in the greater part of the admiration which we learn to bestow. I looked with some pleasure at one of Correggio's Madonnas in the Tribune,--no divine and deep-thoughted mother of the Saviour, but a young woman playing with her first child, as gay and thoughtless as itself. I looked at Michael Angelo's Madonna, in which William Ware saw such prophetic depth of feeling; but I suspect it was one of the many instances in which the spectator sees more than the painter ever dreamed of. Straying through the city, after leaving the gallery, we went into the Church of Or San Michele, and saw in its architecture the traces of its transformation from a market into a church. In its pristine state it consisted of a double row of three great open arches, with the wind blowing through them, and the sunshine falling aslantwise into them, while the bustle of the market, the sale of fish, flesh, or fruit went on within, or brimmed over into the streets that enclosed them on every side. But, four or five hundred years ago, the broad arches were built up with stone-work; windows were pierced through and filled with painted glass; a high altar, in a rich style of pointed Gothic, was raised; shrines and confessionals were set up; and here it is, a solemn and antique church, where a man may buy his salvation instead of his dinner. At any rate, the Catholic priests will insure it to him, and take the price. The sculpture within the beautifully decorated niches, on the outside of the church, is very curious and interesting. The statues of those old saints seem to have that charm of earnestness which so attracts the admirers of the Pre-Raphaelite painters. It appears that a picture of the Virgin used to hang against one of the pillars of the market-place while it was still a market, and in the year 1291 several miracles were wrought by it, insomuch that a chapel was consecrated for it. So many worshippers came to the shrine that the business of the market was impeded, and ultimately the Virgin and St. Michael won the whole space for themselves. The upper part of the edifice was at that time a granary, and is still used for other than religious purposes. This church was one spot to which the inhabitants betook themselves much for refuge and divine assistance during the great plague described by Boccaccio. July 2d.--We set out yesterday morning to visit the Palazzo Buonarotti, Michael Angelo's ancestral home. . . . It is in the Via Ghibellina, an ordinary-looking, three-story house, with broad-brimmed eaves, a stuccoed front, and two or three windows painted in fresco, besides the real ones. Adown the street, there is a glimpse of the hills outside of Florence. The sun shining heavily directly upon the front, we rang the door-bell, and then drew back into the shadow that fell from the opposite side of the street. After we had waited some time a man looked out from an upper window, and a woman from a lower one, and informed us that we could not be admitted now, nor for two or three months to come, the house being under repairs. It is a pity, for I wished to see Michael Angelo's sword and walking-stick and old slippers, and whatever other of his closest personalities are to be shown. . . . We passed into the Piazza of the Grand Duke, and looked into the court of the Palazzo Vecchio, with its beautifully embossed pillars; and, seeing just beyond the court a staircase of broad and easy steps, we ascended it at a venture. Upward and upward we went, flight after flight of stairs, and through passages, till at last we found an official who ushered us into a large saloon. It was the Hall of Audience. Its heavily embossed ceiling, rich with tarnished gold, was a feature of antique magnificence, and the only one that it retained, the floor being paved with tiles and the furniture scanty or none. There were, however, three cabinets standing against the walls, two of which contained very curious and exquisite carvings and cuttings in ivory; some of them in the Chinese style of hollow, concentric balls; others, really beautiful works of art: little crucifixes, statues, saintly and knightly, and cups enriched with delicate bas-reliefs. The custode pointed to a small figure of St. Sebastian, and also to a vase around which the reliefs seemed to assume life. Both these specimens, he said, were by Benvenuto Cellini, and there were many others that might well have been wrought by his famous hand. The third cabinet contained a great number and variety of crucifixes, chalices, and whatever other vessels are needed in altar service, exquisitely carved out of amber. They belong to the chapel of the palace, and into this holy closet we were now conducted. It is large enough to accommodate comfortably perhaps thirty worshippers, and is quite covered with frescos by Ghirlandaio in good preservation, and with remnants enough of gilding and bright color to show how splendid the chapel must have been when the Medicean Grand Dukes used to pray here. The altar is still ready for service, and I am not sure that some of the wax tapers were not burning; but Lorenzo the Magnificent was nowhere to be seen. The custode now led us back through the Hall of Audience into a smaller room, hung with pictures chiefly of the Medici and their connections, among whom was one Carolina, an intelligent and pretty child, and Bianca Capella. There was nothing else to show us, except a very noble and most spacious saloon, lighted by two large windows at each end, coming down level with the floor, and by a row of windows on one side just beneath the cornice. A gilded framework divides the ceiling into squares, circles, and octagons, the compartments of which are filled with pictures in oil; and the walls are covered with immense frescos, representing various battles and triumphs of the Florentines. Statues by Michael Angelo, John of Bologna, and Bandinello, as well historic as ideal, stand round the hall, and it is really a fit theatre for the historic scenes of a country to be acted in. It was built, moreover, with the idea of its being the council-hall of a free people; but our own little Faneuil, which was meant, in all simplicity, to be merely a spot where the townspeople should meet to choose their selectmen, has served the world better in that respect. I wish I had more room to speak of this vast, dusky, historic hall. [This volume of journal closes here.] July 4th 1858.--Yesterday forenoon we went to see the Church of Santa Maria Novella. We found the piazza, on one side of which the church stands, encumbered with the amphitheatrical ranges of wooden seats that had been erected to accommodate the spectators of the chariot-races, at the recent Feast of St. John. The front of the church is composed of black and white marble, which, in the course of the five centuries that it has been built, has turned brown and yellow. On the right hand, as you approach, is a long colonnade of arches, extending on a line with the facade, and having a tomb beneath every arch. This colonnade forms one of the enclosing walls of a cloister. We found none of the front entrances open, but on our left, in a wall at right angles with the church, there was an open gateway, approaching which, we saw, within the four-sided colonnade, an enclosed green space of a cloister. This is what is called the Chiostro Verde, so named from the prevailing color of the frescos with which the walls beneath the arches are adorned. This cloister is the reality of what I used to imagine when I saw the half-ruinous colonnades connected with English cathedrals, or endeavored to trace out the lines along the broken wall of some old abbey. Not that this extant cloister, still perfect and in daily use for its original purposes, is nearly so beautiful as the crumbling ruin which has ceased to be trodden by monkish feet for more than three centuries. The cloister of Santa Maria has not the seclusion that is desirable, being open, by its gateway, to the public square; and several of the neighbors, women as well as men, were loitering within its precincts. The convent, however, has another and larger cloister, which I suppose is kept free from interlopers. The Chiostro Verde is a walk round the four sides of a square, beneath an arched and groined roof. One side of the walk looks upon an enclosed green space with a fountain or a tomb (I forget which) in the centre; the other side is ornamented all along with a succession of ancient frescos, representing subjects of Scripture history. In the days when the designs were more distinct than now, it must have been a very effective way for a monk to read Bible history, to see its personages and events thus passing visibly beside him in his morning and evening walks. Beneath the frescos on one side of the cloistered walk, and along the low stone parapet that separates it from the grass-plat on the other, are inscriptions to the memory of the dead who are buried underneath the pavement. The most of these were modern, and recorded the names of persons of no particular note. Other monumental slabs were inlaid with the pavement itself. Two or three Dominican monks, belonging to the convent, passed in and out, while we were there, in their white habits. After going round three sides, we came to the fourth, formed by the wall of the church, and heard the voice of a priest behind a curtain that fell down before a door. Lifting it aside, we went in, and found ourselves in the ancient chapter-house, a large interior formed by two great pointed arches crossing one another in a groined roof. The broad spaces of the walls were entirely covered with frescos that are rich even now, and must have glowed with an inexpressible splendor, when fresh from the artists' hands, five hundred years ago. There is a long period, during which frescos illuminate a church or a hall in a way that no other adornment can; when this epoch of brightness is past, they become the dreariest ghosts of perished magnificence. . . . This chapter-house is the only part of the church that is now used for the purposes of public worship. There are several confessionals, and two chapels or shrines, each with its lighted tapers. A priest performed mass while we were there, and several persons, as usual, stepped in to do a little devotion, either praying on their own account, or uniting with the ceremony that was going forward. One man was followed by two little dogs, and in the midst of his prayers, as one of the dogs was inclined to stray about the church, he kept snapping his fingers to call him back. The cool, dusky refreshment of these holy places, affording such a refuge from the hot noon of the streets and piazzas, probably suggests devotional ideas to the people, and it may be, when they are praying, they feel a breath of Paradise fanning them. If we could only see any good effects in their daily life, we might deem it an excellent thing to be able to find incense and a prayer always ascending, to which every individual may join his own. I really wonder that the Catholics are not better men and women. When we had looked at the old frescos, . . . . we emerged into the cloister again, and thence ventured into a passage which would have led us to the Chiostro Grande, where strangers, and especially ladies, have no right to go. It was a secluded corridor, very neatly kept, bordered with sepulchral monuments, and at the end appeared a vista of cypress-trees, which indeed were but an illusory perspective, being painted in fresco. While we loitered along the sacristan appeared and offered to show us the church, and led us into the transept on the right of the high altar, and ushered us into the sacristy, where we found two artists copying some of Fra Angelico's pictures. These were painted on the three wooden leaves of a triptych, and, as usual, were glorified with a great deal of gilding, so that they seemed to float in the brightness of a heavenly element. Solomon speaks of "apples of gold in pictures of silver." The pictures of Fra Angelico, and other artists of that age, are really pictures of gold; and it is wonderful to see how rich the effect, and how much delicate beauty is attained (by Fra Angelico at least) along with it. His miniature-heads appear to me much more successful than his larger ones. In a monkish point of view, however, the chief value of the triptych of which I am speaking does not lie in the pictures, for they merely serve as the framework of some relics, which are set all round the edges of the three leaves. They consist of little bits and fragments of bones, and of packages carefully tied up in silk, the contents of which are signified in Gothic letters appended to each parcel. The sacred vessels of the church are likewise kept in the sacristy. . . . Re-entering the transept, our guide showed us the chapel of the Strozzi family, which is accessible by a flight of steps from the floor of the church. The walls of this chapel are covered with frescos by Orcagna, representing around the altar the Last Judgment, and on one of the walls heaven and the assembly of the blessed, and on the other, of course, hell. I cannot speak as to the truth of the representation; but, at all events, it was purgatory to look at it. . . . We next passed into the choir, which occupies the extreme end of the church behind the great square mass of the high altar, and is surrounded with a double row of ancient oaken seats of venerable shape and carving. The choir is illuminated by a threefold Gothic window, full of richly painted glass, worth all the frescos that ever stained a wall or ceiling; but these walls, nevertheless, are adorned with frescos by Ghirlandaio, and it is easy to see must once have made a magnificent appearance. I really was sensible of a sad and ghostly beauty in many of the figures; but all the bloom, the magic of the painter's touch, his topmost art, have long ago been rubbed off, the white plaster showing through the colors in spots, and even in large spaces. Any other sort of ruin acquires a beauty proper to its decay, and often superior to that of its pristine state; but the ruin of a picture, especially of a fresco, is wholly unredeemed; and, moreover, it dies so slowly that many generations are likely to be saddened by it. We next saw the famous picture of the Virgin by Cimabue, which was deemed a miracle in its day, . . . . and still brightens the sombre walls with the lustre of its gold ground. As to its artistic merits, it seems to me that the babe Jesus has a certain air of state and dignity; but I could see no charm whatever in the broad-faced Virgin, and it would relieve my mind and rejoice my spirit if the picture were borne out of the church in another triumphal procession (like the one which brought it there), and reverently burnt. This should be the final honor paid to all human works that have served a good office in their day, for when their day is over, if still galvanized into false life, they do harm instead of good. . . . . The interior of Santa Maria Novella is spacious and in the Gothic style, though differing from English churches of that order of architecture. It is not now kept open to the public, nor were any of the shrines and chapels, nor even the high altar itself, adorned and lighted for worship. The pictures that decorated the shrines along the side aisles have been removed, leaving bare, blank spaces of brickwork, very dreary and desolate to behold. This is almost worse than a black oil-painting or a faded fresco. The church was much injured by the French, and afterwards by the Austrians, both powers having quartered their troops within the holy precincts. Its old walls, however, are yet stalwart enough to outlast another set of frescos, and to see the beginning and the end of a new school of painting as long-lived as Cimabue's. I should be sorry to have the church go to decay, because it was here that Boccaccio's dames and cavaliers encountered one another, and formed their plan of retreating into the country during the plague. . . . At the door we bought a string of beads, with a small crucifix appended, in memory of the place. The beads seem to be of a grayish, pear-shaped seed, and the seller assured us that they were the tears of St. Job. They were cheap, probably because Job shed so many tears in his lifetime. It being still early in the day, we went to the Uffizi gallery, and after loitering a good while among the pictures, were so fortunate as to find the room of the bronzes open. The first object that attracted us was John of Bologna's Mercury, poising himself on tiptoe, and looking not merely buoyant enough to float, but as if he possessed more than the eagle's power of lofty flight. It seems a wonder that he did not absolutely fling himself into the air when the artist gave him the last touch. No bolder work was ever achieved; nothing so full of life has been done since. I was much interested, too, in the original little wax model, two feet high, of Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus. The wax seems to be laid over a wooden framework, and is but roughly finished off. . . . In an adjoining room are innumerable specimens of Roman and Etruscan bronzes, great and small. A bronze Chimera did not strike me as very ingeniously conceived, the goat's head being merely an adjunct, growing out of the back of the monster, without possessing any original and substantive share in its nature. The snake's head is at the end of the tail. The object most really interesting was a Roman eagle, the standard of the Twenty-fourth Legion, about the size of a blackbird. July 8th.--On the 6th we went to the Church of the Annunziata, which stands in the piazza of the same name. On the corner of the Via dei Servi is the palace which I suppose to be the one that Browning makes the scene of his poem, "The Statue and the Bust," and the statue of Duke Ferdinand sits stately on horseback, with his face turned towards the window, where the lady ought to appear. Neither she nor the bust, however, was visible, at least not to my eyes. The church occupies one side of the piazza, and in front of it, as likewise on the two adjoining sides of the square, there are pillared arcades, constructed by Brunelleschi or his scholars. After passing through these arches, and still before entering the church itself, you come to an ancient cloister, which is now quite enclosed in glass as a means of preserving some frescos of Andrea del Sarto and others, which are considered valuable. Passing the threshold of the church, we were quite dazzled by the splendor that shone upon us from the ceiling of the nave, the great parallelograms of which, viewed from one end, look as if richly embossed all over with gold. The whole interior, indeed, has an effect of brightness and magnificence, the walls being covered mostly with light-colored marble, into which are inlaid compartments of rarer and richer marbles. The pillars and pilasters, too, are of variegated marbles, with Corinthian capitals, that shine just as brightly as if they were of solid gold, so faithfully have they been gilded and burnished. The pavement is formed of squares of black and white marble. There are no side aisles, but ranges of chapels, with communication from one to another, stand round the whole extent of the nave and choir; all of marble, all decorated with pictures, statues, busts, and mural monuments; all worth, separately, a day's inspection. The high altar is of great beauty and richness, . . . . and also the tomb of John of Bologna in a chapel at the remotest extremity of the church. In this chapel there are some bas-reliefs by him, and also a large crucifix, with a marble Christ upon it. I think there has been no better sculptor since the days of Phidias. . . . The church was founded by seven gentlemen of Florence, who formed themselves into a religious order called "Servants of Mary." Many miraculous cures were wrought here; and the church, in consequence, was so thickly hung with votive offerings of legs, arms, and other things in wax, that they used to tumble upon people's heads, so that finally they were all cleared out as rubbish. The church is still, I should imagine, looked upon as a place of peculiar sanctity; for while we were there it had an unusual number of kneeling worshippers, and persons were passing from shrine to shrine all round the nave and choir, praying awhile at each, and thus performing a pilgrimage at little cost of time and labor. One old gentleman, I observed, carried a cushion or pad, just big enough for one knee, on which he carefully adjusted his genuflexions before each altar. An old woman in the choir prayed alternately to us and to the saints, with most success, I hope, in her petitions to the latter, though certainly her prayers to ourselves seemed the more fervent of the two. When we had gone entirely round the church, we came at last to the chapel of the Annunziata, which stands on the floor of the nave, on the left hand as we enter. It is a very beautiful piece of architecture,--a sort of canopy of marble, supported upon pillars; and its magnificence within, in marble and silver, and all manner of holy decoration, is quite indescribable. It was built four hundred years ago, by Pietro de' Medici, and has probably been growing richer ever since. The altar is entirely of silver, richly embossed. As many people were kneeling on the steps before it as could find room, and most of them, when they finished their prayers, ascended the steps, kissed over and over again the margin of the silver altar, laid their foreheads upon it, and then deposited an offering in a box placed upon the altar's top. From the dulness of the chink in the only case when I heard it, I judged it to be a small copper coin. In the inner part of this chapel is preserved a miraculous picture of the "Santissima Annunziata," painted by angels, and held in such holy repute that forty thousand dollars have lately been expended in providing a new crown for the sacred personage represented. The picture is now veiled behind a curtain; and as it is a fresco, and is not considered to do much credit to the angelic artists, I was well contented not to see it. We found a side door of the church admitting us into the great cloister, which has a walk of intersecting arches round its four sides, paved with flat tombstones, and broad enough for six people to walk abreast. On the walls, in the semicircles of each successive arch, are frescos representing incidents in the lives of the seven founders of the church, and all the lower part of the wall is incrusted with marble inscriptions to the memory of the dead, and mostly of persons who have died not very long ago. The space enclosed by the cloistered walk, usually made cheerful by green grass, has a pavement of tombstones laid in regular ranges. In the centre is a stone octagonal structure, which at first I supposed to be the tomb of some deceased mediaeval personage; but, on approaching, I found it a well, with its bucket hanging within the curb, and looking as if it were in constant use. The surface of the water lay deep beneath the deepest dust of the dead people, and thence threw up its picture of the sky; but I think it would not be a moderate thirst that would induce me to drink of that well. On leaving the church we bought a little gilt crucifix. . . . On Sunday evening I paid a short visit to Mr. Powers, and, as usual, was entertained and instructed with his conversation. It did not, indeed, turn upon artistical subjects; but the artistic is only one side of his character, and, I think, not the principal side. He might have achieved valuable success as an engineer and mechanician. He gave a dissertation on flying-machines, evidently from his own experience, and came to the conclusion that it is impossible to fly by means of steam or any other motive-power now known to man. No force hitherto attained would suffice to lift the engine which generated it. He appeared to anticipate that flying will be a future mode of locomotion, but not till the moral condition of mankind is so improved as to obviate the bad uses to which the power might be applied. Another topic discussed was a cure for complaints of the chest by the inhalation of nitric acid; and he produced his own apparatus for that purpose, being merely a tube inserted into a bottle containing a small quantity of the acid, just enough to produce the gas for inhalation. He told me, too, a remedy for burns accidentally discovered by himself; viz., to wear wash-leather, or something equivalent, over the burn, and keep it constantly wet. It prevents all pain, and cures by the exclusion of the air. He evidently has a great tendency to empirical remedies, and would have made a natural doctor of mighty potency, possessing the shrewd sense, inventive faculty, and self-reliance that such persons require. It is very singular that there should be an ideal vein in a man of this character. This morning he called to see me, with intelligence of the failure of the new attempt to lay the electric cable between England and America; and here, too, it appears the misfortune might have been avoided if a plan of his own for laying the cable had been adopted. He explained his process, and made it seem as practicable as to put up a bell-wire. I do not remember how or why (but appositely) he repeated some verses, from a pretty little ballad about fairies, that had struck his fancy, and he wound up his talk with some acute observations on the characters of General Jackson and other public men. He told an anecdote, illustrating the old general's small acquaintance with astronomical science, and his force of will in compelling a whole dinner-party of better instructed people than himself to succumb to him in an argument about eclipses and the planetary system generally. Powers witnessed the scene himself. He thinks that General Jackson was a man of the keenest and surest intuitions, in respect to men and measures, but with no power of reasoning out his own conclusions, or of imparting them intellectually to other persons. Men who have known Jackson intimately, and in great affairs, would not agree as to this intellectual and argumentative deficiency, though they would fully allow the intuitive faculty. I have heard General Pierce tell a striking instance of Jackson's power of presenting his own view of a subject with irresistible force to the mind of the auditor. President Buchanan has likewise expressed to me as high admiration of Jackson as I ever heard one man award to another. Surely he was a great man, and his native strength, as well of intellect as character, compelled every man to be his tool that came within his reach; and the more cunning the individual might be, it served only to make him the sharper tool. Speaking of Jackson, and remembering Raphael's picture of Pope Julius II., the best portrait in the whole world, and excellent in all its repetitions, I wish it had been possible for Raphael to paint General Jackson! Referring again to General Jackson's intuitions, and to Powers's idea that he was unable to render a reason to himself or others for what he chose to do, I should have thought that this very probably might have been the case, were there not such strong evidence to the contrary. The highest, or perhaps any high administrative ability is intuitive, and precedes argument, and rises above it. It is a revelation of the very thing to be done, and its propriety and necessity are felt so strongly that very likely it cannot be talked about; if the doer can likewise talk, it is an additional and gratuitous faculty, as little to be expected as that a poet should be able to write an explanatory criticism on his own poem. The English overlook this in their scheme of government, which requires that the members of the national executive should be orators, and the readiest and most fluent orators that can be found. The very fact (on which they are selected) that they are men of words makes it improbable that they are likewise men of deeds. And it is only tradition and old custom, founded on an obsolete state of things, that assigns any value to parliamentary oratory. The world has done with it, except as an intellectual pastime. The speeches have no effect till they are converted into newspaper paragraphs; and they had better be composed as such, in the first place, and oratory reserved for churches, courts of law, and public dinner-tables. July 10th.--My wife and I went yesterday forenoon to see the Church of San Marco, with which is connected a convent of Dominicans. . . . The interior is not less than three or four hundred years old, and is in the classic style, with a flat ceiling, gilded, and a lofty arch, supported by pillars, between the nave and choir. There are no side aisles, but ranges of shrines on both sides of the nave, each beneath its own pair of pillars and pediments. The pavement is of brick, with here and there a marble tombstone inlaid. It is not a magnificent church; but looks dingy with time and apparent neglect, though rendered sufficiently interesting by statues of mediaeval date by John of Bologna and other old sculptors, and by monumental busts and bas-reliefs: also, there is a wooden crucifix by Giotto, with ancient gilding on it; and a painting of Christ, which was considered a wonderful work in its day. Each shrine, or most of them, at any rate, had its dark old picture, and there is a very old and hideous mosaic of the Virgin and two saints, which I looked at very slightly, with the purpose of immediately forgetting it. Savonarola, the reforming monk, was a brother of this convent, and was torn from its shelter, to be subsequently hanged and burnt in the Grand Ducal Piazza. A large chapel in the left transept is of the Salviati family, dedicated to St. Anthony, and decorated with several statues of saints, and with some old frescos. When we had more than sufficiently examined these, the custode proposed to show us some frescos of Fra Angelico, and conducted us into a large cloister, under the arches of which, and beneath a covering of glass, he pointed to a picture of St. Dominic kneeling at the Cross. There are two or three others by the angelic friar in different parts of the cloister, and a regular series, filling up all the arches, by various artists. Its four-sided, cloistered walk surrounds a square, open to the sky as usual, and paved with gray stones that have no inscriptions, but probably are laid over graves. Its walls, however, are incrusted, and the walk itself is paved with monumental inscriptions on marble, none of which, so far as I observed, were of ancient date. Either the fashion of thus commemorating the dead is not ancient in Florence, or the old tombstones have been removed to make room for new ones. I do not know where the monks themselves have their burial-place; perhaps in an inner cloister, which we did not see. All the inscriptions here, I believe, were in memory of persons not connected with the convent. A door in the wall of the cloister admitted us into the chapter-house, its interior moderately spacious, with a roof formed by intersecting arches. Three sides of the walls were covered with blessed whitewash; but on the fourth side, opposite to the entrance, was a great fresco of the Crucifixion, by Fra Angelico, surrounded with a border or pictured framework, in which are represented the heads of saints, prophets, and sibyls, as large as life. The cross of the Saviour and those of the thieves were painted against a dark red sky; the figures upon them were lean and attenuated, evidently the vague conceptions of a man who had never seen a naked figure. Beneath, was a multitude of people, most of whom were saints who had lived and been martyred long after the Crucifixion; and some of these had wounds from which gilded rays shone forth, as if the inner glory and blessedness of the holy men blazed through them. It is a very ugly picture, and its ugliness is not that of strength and vigor, but of weakness and incompetency. Fra Angelico should have confined himself to miniature heads, in which his delicacy of touch and minute labor often produce an excellent effect. The custode informed us that there were more frescos of this pious artist in the interior of the convent, into which I might be allowed admittance, but not my wife. I declined seeing them, and heartily thanked heaven for my escape. Returning through the church, we stopped to look at a shrine on the right of the entrance, where several wax candles were lighted, and the steps of which were crowded with worshippers. It was evidently a spot of special sanctity, and, approaching the steps, we saw, behind a gilded framework of stars and protected by glass, a wooden image of the Saviour, naked, covered with spots of blood, crowned with thorns, and expressing all the human wretchedness that the carver's skill could represent. The whole shrine, within the glass, was hung with offerings, as well of silver and gold as of tinsel and trumpery, and the body of Christ glistened with gold chains and ornaments, and with watches of silver and gold, some of which appeared to be of very old manufacture, and others might be new. Amid all this glitter the face of pain and grief looked forth, not a whit comforted. While we stood there, a woman, who had been praying, arose from her knees and laid an offering of a single flower upon the shrine. The corresponding arch, on the opposite side of the entrance, contained a wax-work within a large glass case, representing the Nativity. I do not remember how the Blessed Infant looked, but the Virgin was gorgeously dressed in silks, satins, and gauzes, with spangles and ornaments of all kinds, and, I believe, brooches of real diamonds on her bosom. Her attire, judging from its freshness and newness of glitter, might have been put on that very morning. July 13th.--We went for the second time, this morning, to the Academy of Fine Arts, and I looked pretty thoroughly at the Pre-Raphaelite pictures, few of which are really worth looking at nowadays. Cimabue and Giotto might certainly be dismissed, henceforth and forever, without any detriment to the cause of good art. There is what seems to me a better picture than either of these has produced, by Bonamico Buffalmacco, an artist of about their date or not long after. The first real picture in the series is the "Adoration of the Magi," by Gentile da Fabriano, a really splendid work in all senses, with noble and beautiful figures in it, and a crowd of personages, managed with great skill. Three pictures by Perugino are the only other ones I cared to look at. In one of these, the face of the Virgin who holds the dead Christ on her knees has a deeper expression of woe than can ever have been painted since. After Perugino the pictures cease to be interesting; the art came forward with rapid strides, but the painters and their productions do not take nearly so much hold of the spectator as before. They all paint better than Giotto and Cimabue,--in some respects better than Perugino; but they paint in vain, probably because they were not nearly so much in earnest, and meant far less, though possessing the dexterity to express far more. Andrea del Sarto appears to have been a good painter, yet I always turn away readily from his pictures. I looked again, and for a good while, at Carlo Dolce's portrait of the Eternal Father, for it is a miracle and masterpiece of absurdity, and almost equally a miracle of pictorial art. It is the All-powerless, a fair-haired, soft, consumptive deity, with a mouth that has fallen open through very weakness. He holds one hand on his stomach, as if the wickedness and wretchedness of mankind made him qualmish; and he is looking down out of Heaven with an expression of pitiable appeal, or as if seeking somewhere for assistance in his heavy task of ruling the universe. You might fancy such a being falling on his knees before a strong-willed man, and beseeching him to take the reins of omnipotence out of his hands. No wonder that wrong gets the better of right, and that good and ill are confounded, if the Supreme Head were as here depicted; for I never saw, and nobody else ever saw, so perfect a representation of a person burdened with a task infinitely above his strength. If Carlo Dolce had been wicked enough to know what he was doing, the picture would have been most blasphemous,--a satire, in the very person of the Almighty, against all incompetent rulers, and against the rickety machine and crazy action of the universe. Heaven forgive me for such thoughts as this picture has suggested! It must be added that the great original defect in the character as here represented is an easy good-nature. I wonder what Michael Angelo would have said to this painting. In the large, enclosed court connected with the Academy there are a number of statues, bas-reliefs, and casts, and what was especially interesting, the vague and rude commencement of a statue of St. Matthew by Michael Angelo. The conceptions of this great sculptor were so godlike that he seems to have been discontented at not likewise possessing the godlike attribute of creating and embodying them with an instantaneous thought, and therefore we often find sculptures from his hand left at the critical point of their struggle to get out of the marble. The statue of St. Matthew looks like the antediluvian fossil of a human being of an epoch when humanity was mightier and more majestic than now, long ago imprisoned in stone, and half uncovered again. July 16th.--We went yesterday forenoon to see the Bargello. I do not know anything more picturesque in Florence than the great interior court of this ancient Palace of the Podesta, with the lofty height of the edifice looking down into the enclosed space, dark and stern, and the armorial bearings of a long succession of magistrates carved in stone upon the walls, a garland, as it were, of these Gothic devices extending quite round the court. The best feature of the whole is the broad stone staircase, with its heavy balustrade, ascending externally from the court to the iron-grated door in the second story. We passed the sentinels under the lofty archway that communicates with the street, and went up the stairs without being questioned or impeded. At the iron-grated door, however, we were met by two officials in uniform, who courteously informed us that there was nothing to be exhibited in the Bargello except an old chapel containing some frescos by Giotto, and that these could only be seen by making a previous appointment with the custode, he not being constantly on hand. I was not sorry to escape the frescos, though one of them is a portrait of Dante. We next went to the Church of the Badia, which is built in the form of a Greek cross, with a flat roof embossed and once splendid with now tarnished gold. The pavement is of brick, and the walls of dark stone, similar to that of the interior of the cathedral (pietra serena), and there being, according to Florentine custom, but little light, the effect was sombre, though the cool gloomy dusk was refreshing after the hot turmoil and dazzle of the adjacent street. Here we found three or four Gothic tombs, with figures of the deceased persons stretched in marble slumber upon them. There were likewise a picture or two, which it was impossible to see; indeed, I have hardly ever met with a picture in a church that was not utterly wasted and thrown away in the deep shadows of the chapel it was meant to adorn. If there is the remotest chance of its being seen, the sacristan hangs a curtain before it for the sake of his fee for withdrawing it. In the chapel of the Bianco family we saw (if it could be called seeing) what is considered the finest oil-painting of Fra Filippo Lippi. It was evidently hung with reference to a lofty window on the other side of the church, whence sufficient light might fall upon it to show a picture so vividly painted as this is, and as most of Fra Filippo Lippi's are. The window was curtained, however, and the chapel so dusky that I could make out nothing. Several persons came in to say their prayers during the little time that we remained in the church, and as we came out we passed a good woman who sat knitting in the coolness of the vestibule, which was lined with mural tombstones. Probably she spends the day thus, keeping up the little industry of her fingers, slipping into the church to pray whenever a devotional impulse swells into her heart, and asking an alms as often as she sees a person of charitable aspect. From the church we went to the Uffizi gallery, and reinspected the greater part of it pretty faithfully. We had the good fortune, too, again to get admittance into the cabinet of bronzes, where we admired anew the wonderful airiness of John of Bologna's Mercury, which, as I now observed, rests on nothing substantial, but on the breath of a zephyr beneath him. We also saw a bronze bust of one of the Medici by Benvenuto Cellini, and a thousand other things the curiosity of which is overlaid by their multitude. The Roman eagle, which I have recorded to be about the size of a blackbird, I now saw to be as large as a pigeon. On our way towards the door of the gallery, at our departure, we saw the cabinet of gems open, and again feasted our eyes with its concentrated brilliancies and magnificences. Among them were two crystal cups, with engraved devices, and covers of enamelled gold, wrought by Benvenuto Cellini, and wonderfully beautiful. But it is idle to mention one or two things, when all are so beautiful and curious; idle, too, because language is not burnished gold, with here and there a brighter word flashing like a diamond; and therefore no amount of talk will give the slightest idea of one of these elaborate handiworks. July 27th.--I seldom go out nowadays, having already seen Florence tolerably well, and the streets being very hot, and myself having been engaged in sketching out a romance [The Marble Faun.--ED.], which whether it will ever come to anything is a point yet to be decided. At any rate, it leaves me little heart for journalizing and describing new things; and six months of uninterrupted monotony would be more valuable to me just now, than the most brilliant succession of novelties. Yesterday I spent a good deal of time in watching the setting out of a wedding party from our door; the bride being the daughter of an English lady, the Countess of ------. After all, there was nothing very characteristic. The bridegroom is a young man of English birth, son of the Countess of St. G------, who inhabits the third piano of this Casa del Bello. The very curious part of the spectacle was the swarm of beggars who haunted the street all day; the most wretched mob conceivable, chiefly women, with a few blind people, and some old men and boys. Among these the bridal party distributed their beneficence in the shape of some handfuls of copper, with here and there a half-paul intermixed; whereupon the whole wretched mob flung themselves in a heap upon the pavement, struggling, lighting, tumbling one over another, and then looking up to the windows with petitionary gestures for more and more, and still for more. Doubtless, they had need enough, for they looked thin, sickly, ill-fed, and the women ugly to the last degree. The wedding party had a breakfast above stairs, which lasted till four o'clock, and then the bridegroom took his bride in a barouche and pair, which was already crammed with his own luggage and hers. . . . He was a well-looking young man enough, in a uniform of French gray with silver epaulets; more agreeable in aspect than his bride, who, I think, will have the upper hand in their domestic life. I observed that, on getting into the barouche, he sat down on her dress, as he could not well help doing, and received a slight reprimand in consequence. After their departure, the wedding guests took their leave; the most noteworthy person being the Pope's Nuncio (the young man being son of the Pope's Chamberlain, and one of the Grand Duke's Noble Guard), an ecclesiastical personage in purple stockings, attended by two priests, all of whom got into a coach, the driver and footmen of which wore gold-laced cocked hats and other splendors. To-day I paid a short visit to the gallery of the Pitti Palace. I looked long at a Madonna of Raphael's, the one which is usually kept in the Grand Duke's private apartments, only brought into the public gallery for the purpose of being copied. It is the holiest of all Raphael's Madonnas, with a great reserve in the expression, a sense of being apart, and yet with the utmost tenderness and sweetness; although she drops her eyelids before her like a veil, as it were, and has a primness of eternal virginity about the mouth. It is one of Raphael's earlier works, when he mixed more religious sentiment with his paint than afterwards. Perugino's pictures give the impression of greater sincerity and earnestness than Raphael's, though the genius of Raphael often gave him miraculous vision. July 28th.--Last evening we went to the Powers's, and sat with them on the terrace, at the top of the house, till nearly ten o'clock. It was a delightful, calm, summer evening, and we were elevated far above all the adjacent roofs, and had a prospect of the greater part of Florence and its towers, and the surrounding hills, while directly beneath us rose the trees of a garden, and they hardly sent their summits higher than we sat. At a little distance, with only a house or two between, was a theatre in full action, the Teatro Goldoni, which is an open amphitheatre, in the ancient fashion, without any roof. We could see the upper part of the proscenium, and, had we been a little nearer, might have seen the whole performance, as did several boys who crept along the tops of the surrounding houses. As it was, we heard the music and the applause, and now and then an actor's stentorian tones, when we chose to listen. Mrs. P------ and my wife, U---- and Master Bob, sat in a group together, and chatted in one corner of our aerial drawing-room, while Mr. Powers and myself leaned against the parapet, and talked of innumerable things. When the clocks struck the hour, or the bells rang from the steeples, as they are continually doing, I spoke of the sweetness of the Florence bells, the tones of some of them being as if the bell were full of liquid melody, and shed it through the air on being upturned. I had supposed, in my lack of musical ear, that the bells of the Campanile were the sweetest; but Mr. Powers says that there is a defect in their tone, and that the bell of the Palazzo Vecchio is the most melodious he ever heard. Then he spoke of his having been a manufacturer of organs, or, at least, of reeds for organs, at one period of his life. I wonder what he has not been! He told me of an invention of his in the musical line, a jewsharp with two tongues; and by and by he produced it for my inspection. It was carefully kept in a little wooden case, and was very neatly and elaborately constructed, with screws to tighten it, and a silver centre-piece between the two tongues. Evidently a great deal of thought had been bestowed on this little harp; but Mr. Powers told me that it was an utter failure, because the tongues were apt to interfere and jar with one another, although the strain of music was very sweet and melodious-- as he proved, by playing on it a little--when everything went right. It was a youthful production, and he said that its failure had been a great disappointment to him at the time; whereupon I congratulated him that his failures had been in small matters, and his successes in great ones. We talked, furthermore, about instinct and reason, and whether the brute creation have souls, and, if they have none, how justice is to be done them for their sufferings here; and Mr. Powers came finally to the conclusion that brutes suffer only in appearance, and that God enjoys for them all that they seem to enjoy, and that man is the only intelligent and sentient being. We reasoned high about other states of being; and I suggested the possibility that there might be beings inhabiting this earth, contemporaneously with us, and close beside us, but of whose existence and whereabout we could have no perception, nor they of ours, because we are endowed with different sets of senses; for certainly it was in God's power to create beings who should communicate with nature by innumerable other senses than those few which we possess. Mr. Powers gave hospitable reception to this idea, and said that it had occurred to himself; and he has evidently thought much and earnestly about such matters; but is apt to let his idea crystallize into a theory, before he can have sufficient data for it. He is a Swedenborgian in faith. The moon had risen behind the trees, while we were talking, and Powers intimated his idea that beings analogous to men--men in everything except the modifications necessary to adapt them to their physical circumstances--inhabited the planets, and peopled them with beautiful shapes. Each planet, however, must have its own standard of the beautiful, I suppose; and probably his sculptor's eye would not see much to admire in the proportions of an inhabitant of Saturn. The atmosphere of Florence, at least when we ascend a little way into it, suggests planetary speculations. Galileo found it so, and Mr. Powers and I pervaded the whole universe; but finally crept down his garret-stairs, and parted, with a friendly pressure of the hand. VILLA MONTANTO. MONTE BENI. August 2d.--We had grown weary of the heat of Florence within the walls, . . . . there being little opportunity for air and exercise except within the precincts of our little garden, which, also, we feared might breed malaria, or something akin to it. We have therefore taken this suburban villa for the two next months, and, yesterday morning, we all came out hither. J----- had preceded us with B. P------. The villa is on a hill called Bellosguardo, about a mile beyond the Porta Romana. Less than half an hour's walk brought us, who were on foot, to the iron gate of our villa, which we found shut and locked. We shouted to be let in, and while waiting for somebody to appear, there was a good opportunity to contemplate the external aspect of the villa. After we had waited a few minutes, J----- came racing down to the gate, laughing heartily, and said that Bob and he had been in the house, but had come out, shutting the door behind them; and as the door closed with a springlock, they could not get in again. Now as the key of the outer gate as well as that of the house itself was in the pocket of J-----'s coat, left inside, we were shut out of our own castle, and compelled to carry on a siege against it, without much likelihood of taking it, although the garrison was willing to surrender. But B. P------ called in the assistance of the contadini who cultivate the ground, and live in the farm-house close by; and one of them got into a window by means of a ladder, so that the keys were got, the gates opened, and we finally admitted. Before examining any other part of the house, we climbed to the top of the tower, which, indeed, is not very high, in proportion to its massive square. Very probably, its original height was abbreviated, in compliance with the law that lowered so many of the fortified towers of noblemen within the walls of Florence. . . . The stairs were not of stone, built in with the original mass of the tower, as in English castles, but of now decayed wood, which shook beneath us, and grew more and more crazy as we ascended. It will not be many years before the height of the tower becomes unattainable. . . . Near at hand, in the vicinity of the city, we saw the convent of Monte Olivetto, and other structures that looked like convents, being built round an enclosed square; also numerous white villas, many of which had towers, like that we were standing upon, square and massive, some of them battlemented on the summit, and others apparently modernized for domestic purposes. Among them U---- pointed out Galileo's tower, whither she made an excursion the other day. It looked lower than our own, but seemed to stand on a higher elevation. We also saw the duke's villa, the Poggio, with a long avenue of cypresses leading from it, as if a funeral were going forth. And having wasted thus much of description on the landscape, I will finish with saying that it lacked only water to be a very fine one. It is strange what a difference the gleam of water makes, and how a scene awakens and comes to life wherever it is visible. The landscape, moreover, gives the beholder (at least, this beholder) a sense of oppressive sunshine and scanty shade, and does not incite a longing to wander through it on foot, as a really delightful landscape should. The vine, too, being cultivated in so trim a manner, does not suggest that idea of luxuriant fertility, which is the poetical notion of a vineyard. The olive-orchards have a pale and unlovely hue. An English view would have been incomparably richer in its never-fading green; and in my own country, the wooded hills would have been more delightful than these peaks and ridges of dreary and barren sunshine; and there would have been the bright eyes of half a dozen little lakes, looking heavenward, within an extent like that of the Val d' Arno. By and by mamma's carriage came along the dusty road, and passed through the iron gateway, which we had left open for her reception. We shouted down to her and R-----, and they waved their handkerchiefs upward to us; and, on my way down, I met R----- and the servant coming up through the ghostly rooms. The rest of the day we spent mostly in exploring the premises. The house itself is of almost bewildering extent, insomuch that we might each of us have a suite of rooms individually. I have established myself on the ground-floor, where I have a dressing-room, a large vaulted saloon, hung with yellow damask, and a square writing-study, the walls and ceilings of the two latter apartments being ornamented with angels and cherubs aloft in fresco, and with temples, statues, vases, broken columns, peacocks, parrots, vines, and sunflowers below. I know not how many more saloons, anterooms, and sleeping-chambers there are on this same basement story, besides an equal number over them, and a great subterranean establishment. I saw some immense jars there, which I suppose were intended to hold oil; and iron kettles, for what purpose I cannot tell. There is also a chapel in the house, but it is locked up, and we cannot yet with certainty find the door of it, nor even, in this great wilderness of a house, decide absolutely what space the holy precincts occupy. Adjoining U----'s chamber, which is in the tower, there is a little oratory, hung round with sacred prints of very ancient date, and with crucifixes, holy-water vases, and other consecrated things; and here, within a glass case, there is the representation of an undraped little boy in wax, very prettily modelled, and holding up a heart that looks like a bit of red sealing-wax. If I had found him anywhere else I should have taken him for Cupid; but, being in an oratory, I presume him to have some religious signification. In the servants' room a crucifix hung on one side of the bed, and a little vase for holy water, now overgrown with a cobweb, on the other; and, no doubt, all the other sleeping-apartments would have been equally well provided, only that their occupants were to be heretics. The lower floor of the house is tolerably furnished, and looks cheerful with its frescos, although the bare pavements in every room give an impression of discomfort. But carpets are universally taken up in Italy during summer-time. It must have been an immense family that could have ever filled such a house with life. We go on voyages of discovery, and when in quest of any particular point, are likely enough to fetch up at some other. This morning I had difficulty in finding my way again to the top of the tower. One of the most peculiar rooms is constructed close to the tower, under the roof of the main building, but with no external walls on two sides! It is thus left open to the air, I presume for the sake of coolness. A parapet runs round the exposed sides for the sake of security. Some of the palaces in Florence have such open loggias in their upper stories, and I saw others on our journey hither, after arriving in Tuscany. The grounds immediately around the house are laid out in gravel-walks, and ornamented with shrubbery, and with what ought to be a grassy lawn; but the Italian sun is quite as little favorable to beauty of that kind as our own. I have enjoyed the luxury, however, almost for the first time since I left my hill-top at the Wayside, of flinging myself at full length on the ground without any fear of catching cold. Moist England would punish a man soundly for taking such liberties with her greensward. A podere, or cultivated tract, comprising several acres, belongs to the villa, and seems to be fertile, like all the surrounding country. The possessions of different proprietors are not separated by fences, but only marked out by ditches; and it seems possible to walk miles and miles, along the intersecting paths, without obstruction. The rural laborers, so far as I have observed, go about in their shirt-sleeves, and look very much like tanned and sunburnt Yankees. Last night it was really a work of time and toil to go about making our defensive preparations for the night; first closing the iron gate, then the ponderous and complicated fastenings of the house door, then the separate barricadoes of each iron-barred window on the lower floor, with a somewhat slighter arrangement above. There are bolts and shutters, however, for every window in the house, and I suppose it would not be amiss to put them all in use. Our garrison is so small that we must depend more upon the strength of our fortifications than upon our own active efforts in case of an attack. In England, in an insulated country house, we should need all these bolts and bars, and Italy is not thought to be the safer country of the two. It deserves to be recorded that the Count Montanto, a nobleman, and seemingly a man of property, should deem it worth while to let his country seat, and reside during the hot months in his palace in the city, for the consideration of a comparatively small sum a month. He seems to contemplate returning hither for the autumn and winter, when the situation must be very windy and bleak, and the cold death-like in these great halls; and then, it is to be supposed, he will let his palace in town. The Count, through the agency of his son, bargained very stiffly for, and finally obtained, three dollars in addition to the sum which we at first offered him. This indicates that even a little money is still a matter of great moment in Italy. Signor del Bello, who, I believe, is also a nobleman, haggled with us about some cracked crockery at our late residence, and finally demanded and received fifty cents in compensation. But this poor gentleman has been a spendthrift, and now acts as the agent of another. August 3d.--Yesterday afternoon William Story called on me, he being on a day or two's excursion from Siena, where he is spending the summer with his family. He was very entertaining and conversative, as usual, and said, in reply to my question whether he were not anxious to return to Cleopatra, that he had already sketched out another subject for sculpture, which would employ him during next winter. He told me, what I was glad to hear, that his sketches of Italian life, intended for the "Atlantic Monthly," and supposed to be lost, have been recovered. Speaking of the superstitiousness of the Italians, he said that they universally believe in the influence of the evil eye. The evil influence is supposed not to be dependent on the will of the possessor of the evil eye; on the contrary, the persons to whom he wishes well are the very ones to suffer by it. It is oftener found in monks than in any other class of people; and on meeting a monk, and encountering his eye, an Italian usually makes a defensive sign by putting both hands behind him, with the forefingers and little fingers extended, although it is a controverted point whether it be not more efficacious to extend the hand with its outspread fingers towards the suspected person. It is considered an evil omen to meet a monk on first going out for the day. The evil eye may be classified with the phenomena of mesmerism. The Italians, especially the Neapolitans, very generally wear amulets. Pio Nono, perhaps as being the chief of all monks and other religious people, is supposed to have an evil eye of tenfold malignancy; and its effect has been seen in the ruin of all schemes for the public good so soon as they are favored by him. When the pillar in the Piazza de' Spagna, commemorative of his dogma of the Immaculate Conception, was to be erected, the people of Rome refused to be present, or to have anything to do with it, unless the pope promised to abstain from interference. His Holiness did promise, but so far broke his word as to be present one day while it was being erected, and on that day a man was killed. A little while ago there was a Lord Clifford, an English Catholic nobleman, residing in Italy, and, happening to come to Rome, he sent his compliments to Pio Nono, and requested the favor of an interview. The pope, as it happened, was indisposed, or for some reason could not see his lordship, but very kindly sent him his blessing. Those who knew of it shook their heads, and intimated that it would go ill with his lordship now that he had been blessed by Pio Nono, and the very next day poor Lord Clifford was dead! His Holiness had better construe the scriptural injunction literally, and take to blessing his enemies. I walked into town with J------ this morning, and, meeting a monk in the Via Furnace, I thought it no more than reasonable, as the good father fixed his eyes on me, to provide against the worst by putting both hands behind me, with the forefingers and little fingers stuck out. In speaking of the little oratory connected with U----'s chamber, I forgot to mention the most remarkable object in it. It is a skull, the size of life (or death). . . . This part of the house must be very old, probably coeval with the tower. The ceiling of U----'s apartment is vaulted with intersecting arches; and adjoining it is a very large saloon, likewise with a vaulted and groined ceiling, and having a cushioned divan running all round the walls. The windows of these rooms look out on the Val d' Arno. The apartment above this saloon is of the same size, and hung with engraved portraits, printed on large sheets by the score and hundred together, and enclosed in wooden frames. They comprise the whole series of Roman emperors, the succession of popes, the kings of Europe, the doges of Venice, and the sultans of Turkey. The engravings bear different dates between 1685 and thirty years later, and were executed at Rome. August 4th.--We ascended our tower yesterday afternoon to see the sunset. In my first sketch of the Val d' Arno I said that the Arno seemed to hold its course near the bases of the hills. I now observe that the line of trees which marks its current divides the valley into two pretty equal parts, and the river runs nearly east and west. . . . At last, when it was growing dark, we went down, groping our way over the shaky staircases, and peeping into each dark chamber as we passed. I gratified J----- exceedingly by hitting my nose against the wall. Reaching the bottom, I went into the great saloon, and stood at a window watching the lights twinkle forth, near and far, in the valley, and listening to the convent bells that sounded from Monte Olivetto, and more remotely still. The stars came out, and the constellation of the Dipper hung exactly over the Val d' Arno, pointing to the North Star above the hills on my right. August 12th.--We drove into town yesterday afternoon, with Miss Blagden, to call on Mr. Kirkup, an old Englishman who has resided a great many years in Florence. He is noted as an antiquarian, and has the reputation of being a necromancer, not undeservedly, as he is deeply interested in spirit-rappings, and holds converse, through a medium, with dead poets and emperors. He lives in an old house, formerly a residence of the Knights Templars, hanging over the Arno, just as you come upon the Ponte Vecchio; and, going up a dark staircase and knocking at a door on one side of the landing-place, we were received by Mr. Kirkup. He had had notice of our visit, and was prepared for it, being dressed in a blue frock-coat of rather an old fashion, with a velvet collar, and in a thin waistcoat and pantaloons fresh from the drawer; looking very sprucely, in short, and unlike his customary guise, for Miss Blagden hinted to us that the poor gentleman is generally so untidy that it is not quite pleasant to take him by the hand. He is rather low of stature, with a pale, shrivelled face, and hair and beard perfectly white, and the hair of a particularly soft and silken texture. He has a high, thin nose, of the English aristocratic type; his eyes have a queer, rather wild look, and the eyebrows are arched above them, so that he seems all the time to be seeing something that strikes him with surprise. I judged him to be a little crack-brained, chiefly on the strength of this expression. His whole make is delicate, his hands white and small, and his appearance and manners those of a gentleman, with rather more embroidery of courtesy than belongs to an Englishman. He appeared to be very nervous, tremulous, indeed, to his fingers' ends, without being in any degree disturbed or embarrassed by our presence. Finally, he is very deaf; an infirmity that quite took away my pleasure in the interview, because it is impossible to say anything worth while when one is compelled to raise one's voice above its ordinary level. He ushered us through two or three large rooms, dark, dusty, hung with antique-looking pictures, and lined with bookcases containing, I doubt not, a very curious library. Indeed, he directed my attention to one case, and said that he had collected those works, in former days, merely for the sake of laughing at them. They were books of magic and occult sciences. What he seemed really to value, however, were some manuscript copies of Dante, of which he showed us two: one, a folio on parchment, beautifully written in German text, the letters as clear and accurately cut as printed type; the other a small volume, fit, as Mr. Kirkup said, to be carried in a capacious mediaeval sleeve. This also was on vellum, and as elegantly executed as the larger one; but the larger had beautiful illuminations, the vermilion and gold of which looked as brilliant now as they did five centuries ago. Both of these books were written early in the fourteenth century. Mr. Kirkup has also a plaster cast of Dante's face, which he believes to be the original one taken from his face after death; and he has likewise his own accurate tracing from Giotto's fresco of Dante in the chapel of the Bargello. This fresco was discovered through Mr. Kirkup's means, and the tracing is particularly valuable, because the original has been almost destroyed by rough usage in drawing out a nail that had been driven into the eye. It represents the profile of a youthful but melancholy face, and has the general outline of Dante's features in other portraits. Dante has held frequent communications with Mr. Kirkup through a medium, the poet being described by the medium as wearing the same dress seen in the youthful portrait, but as hearing more resemblance to the cast taken from his dead face than to the picture from his youthful one. There was a very good picture of Savonarola in one of the rooms, and many other portraits, paintings, and drawings, some of them ancient, and others the work of Mr. Kirkup himself. He has the torn fragment of an exquisite drawing of a nude figure by Rubens, and a portfolio of other curious drawings. And besides books and works of art, he has no end of antique knick-knackeries, none of which we had any time to look at; among others some instruments with which nuns used to torture themselves in their convents by way of penance. But the greatest curiosity of all, and no antiquity, was a pale, large-eyed little girl, about four years old, who followed the conjurer's footsteps wherever he went. She was the brightest and merriest little thing in the world, and frisked through those shadowy old chambers, among the dead people's trumpery, as gayly as a butterfly flits among flowers and sunshine. The child's mother was a beautiful girl named Regina, whose portrait Mr. Kirkup showed us on the wall. I never saw a more beautiful and striking face claiming to be a real one. She was a Florentine, of low birth, and she lived with the old necromancer as his spiritual medium. He showed us a journal, kept during her lifetime, and read from it his notes of an interview with the Czar Alexander, when that potentate communicated to Mr. Kirkup that he had been poisoned. The necromancer set a great value upon Regina, . . . . and when she died he received her poor baby into his heart, and now considers it absolutely his own. At any rate, it is a happy belief for him, since he has nothing else in the world to love, and loves the child entirely, and enjoys all the bliss of fatherhood, though he must have lived as much as seventy years before he began to taste it. The child inherits her mother's gift of communication with the spiritual world, so that the conjurer can still talk with Regina through the baby which she left, and not only with her, but with Dante, and any other great spirit that may choose to visit him. It is a very strange story, and this child might be put at once into a romance, with all her history and environment; the ancient Knight Templar palace, with the Arno flowing under the iron-barred windows, and the Ponte Vecchio, covered with its jewellers' shops, close at hand; the dark, lofty chambers with faded frescos on the ceilings, black pictures hanging on the walls, old books on the shelves, and hundreds of musty antiquities, emitting an odor of past centuries; the shrivelled, white-bearded old man, thinking all the time of ghosts, and looking into the child's eyes to seek them; and the child herself, springing so freshly out of the soil, so pretty, so intelligent, so playful, with never a playmate save the conjurer and a kitten. It is a Persian kitten, and lay asleep in a window; but when I touched it, it started up at once in as gamesome a mood as the child herself. The child looks pale, and no wonder, seldom or never stirring out of that old palace, or away from the river atmosphere. Miss Blagden advised Mr. Kirkup to go with her to the seaside or into the country, and he did not deny that it might do her good, but seemed to be hampered by an old man's sluggishness and dislike of change. I think he will not live a great while, for he seems very frail. When he dies the little girl will inherit what property he may leave. A lady, Catharine Fleeting, an Englishwoman, and a friend of Mr. Kirkup, has engaged to take her in charge. She followed us merrily to the door, and so did the Persian kitten, and Mr. Kirkup shook hands with us, over and over again, with vivacious courtesy, his manner having been characterized by a great deal of briskness throughout the interview. He expressed himself delighted to have met one (whose books he had read), and said that the day would be a memorable one to him,--which I did not in the least believe. Mr. Kirkup is an intimate friend of Trelawny, author of "Adventures of a Younger Son," and, long ago, the latter promised him that, if he ever came into possession of the family estate, he would divide it with him. Trelawny did really succeed to the estate, and lost no time in forwarding to his friend the legal documents, entitling him to half of the property. But Mr. Kirkup declined the gift, as he himself was not destitute, and Trelawny had a brother. There were two pictures of Trelawny in the saloons, one a slight sketch on the wall, the other a half-length portrait in a Turkish dress; both handsome, but indicating no very amiable character. It is not easy to forgive Trelawny for uncovering dead Byron's limbs, and telling that terrible story about them,--equally disgraceful to himself, be it truth or a lie. It seems that Regina had a lover, and a sister who was very disreputable It rather adds than otherwise to the romance of the affair,--the idea that this pretty little elf has no right whatever to the asylum which she has found. Her name is Imogen. The small manuscript copy of Dante which he showed me was written by a Florentine gentleman of the fourteenth century, one of whose ancestors the poet had met and talked with in Paradise. August 19th.--Here is a good Italian incident, which I find in Valery. Andrea del Castagno was a painter in Florence in the fifteenth century; and he had a friend, likewise a painter, Domenico of Venice. The latter had the secret of painting in oils, and yielded to Castagno's entreaties to impart it to him. Desirous of being the sole possessor of this great secret, Castagno waited only the night to assassinate Domenico, who so little suspected his treachery, that he besought those who found him bleeding and dying to take him to his friend Castagno, that he might die in his arms. The murderer lived to be seventy-four years old, and his crime was never suspected till he himself revealed it on his death-bed. Domenico did actually die in Castagno's arms. The death scene would have been a good one for the latter to paint in oils. September 1st.--Few things journalizable have happened during the last month, because Florence and the neighborhood have lost their novelty; and furthermore, I usually spend the whole day at home, having been engaged in planning and sketching out a romance. I have now done with this for the present, and mean to employ the rest of the time we stay here chiefly in revisiting the galleries, and seeing what remains to be seen in Florence. Last Saturday, August 28th, we went to take tea at Miss Blagden's, who has a weekly reception on that evening. We found Mr. Powers there, and by and by Mr. Boott and Mr. Trollope came in. Miss ------ has lately been exercising her faculties as a spiritual writing-medium; and, the conversation turning on that subject, Mr. Powers related some things that he had witnessed through the agency of Mr. Home, who had held a session or two at his house. He described the apparition of two mysterious hands from beneath a table round which the party were seated. These hands purported to belong to the aunt of the Countess Cotterel, who was present, and were a pair of thin, delicate, aged, lady-like hands and arms, appearing at the edge of the table, and terminating at the elbow in a sort of white mist. One of the hands took up a fan and began to use it. The countess then said, "Fan yourself as you used to do, dear aunt"; and forthwith the hands waved the fan back and forth in a peculiar manner, which the countess recognized as the manner of her dead aunt. The spirit was then requested to fan each member of the party; and accordingly, each separate individual round the table was fanned in turn, and felt the breeze sensibly upon his face. Finally, the hands sank beneath the table, I believe Mr. Powers said; but I am not quite sure that they did not melt into the air. During this apparition, Mr. Home sat at the table, but not in such a position or within such distance that he could have put out or managed the spectral hands; and of this Mr. Powers satisfied himself by taking precisely the same position after the party had retired. Mr. Powers did not feel the hands at this time, but he afterwards felt the touch of infant hands, which were at the time invisible. He told of many of the wonders, which seem to have as much right to be set down as facts as anything else that depends on human testimony. For example, Mr. K------, one of the party, gave a sudden start and exclamation. He had felt on his knee a certain token, which could have been given him only by a friend, long ago in his grave. Mr. Powers inquired what was the last thing that had been given as a present to a deceased child; and suddenly both he and his wife felt a prick as of some sharp instrument, on their knees. The present had been a penknife. I have forgotten other incidents quite as striking as these; but, with the exception of the spirit-hands, they seemed to be akin to those that have been produced by mesmerism, returning the inquirer's thoughts and veiled recollections to himself, as answers to his queries. The hands are certainly an inexplicable phenomenon. Of course, they are not portions of a dead body, nor any other kind of substance; they are impressions on the two senses, sight and touch, but how produced I cannot tell. Even admitting their appearance,--and certainly I do admit it as freely and fully as if I had seen them myself,--there is no need of supposing them to come from the world of departed spirits. Powers seems to put entire faith in the verity of spiritual communications, while acknowledging the difficulty of identifying spirits as being what they pretend to be. He is a Swedenborgian, and so far prepared to put faith in many of these phenomena. As for Home, Powers gives a decided opinion that he is a knave, but thinks him so organized, nevertheless, as to be a particularly good medium for spiritual communications. Spirits, I suppose, like earthly people, are obliged to use such instruments as will answer their purposes; but rather than receive a message from a dead friend through the organism of a rogue or charlatan, methinks I would choose to wait till we meet. But what most astonishes me is the indifference with which I listen to these marvels. They throw old ghost stories quite into the shade; they bring the whole world of spirits down amongst us, visibly and audibly; they are absolutely proved to be sober facts by evidence that would satisfy us of any other alleged realities; and yet I cannot force my mind to interest myself in them. They are facts to my understanding, which, it might have been anticipated, would have been the last to acknowledge them; but they seem not to be facts to my intuitions and deeper perceptions. My inner soul does not in the least admit them; there is a mistake somewhere. So idle and empty do I feel these stories to be, that I hesitated long whether or no to give up a few pages of this not very important journal to the record of them. We have had written communications through Miss ------ with several spirits; my wife's father, mother, two brothers, and a sister, who died long ago, in infancy; a certain Mary Hall, who announces herself as the guardian spirit of Miss ------; and, queerest of all, a Mary Runnel, who seems to be a wandering spirit, having relations with nobody, but thrusts her finger into everybody's affairs. My wife's mother is the principal communicant; she expresses strong affection, and rejoices at the opportunity of conversing with her daughter. She often says very pretty things; for instance, in a dissertation upon heavenly music; but there is a lack of substance in her talk, a want of gripe, a delusive show, a sentimental surface, with no bottom beneath it. The same sort of thing has struck me in all the poetry and prose that I have read from spiritual sources. I should judge that these effusions emanated from earthly minds, but had undergone some process that had deprived them of solidity and warmth. In the communications between my wife and her mother, I cannot help thinking that (Miss ------ being unconsciously in a mesmeric state) all the responses are conveyed to her fingers from my wife's mind. . . . We have tried the spirits by various test questions, on every one of which they have failed egregiously. Here, however, the aforesaid Mary Runnel comes into play. The other spirits have told us that the veracity of this spirit is not to be depended upon; and so, whenever it is possible, poor Mary Runnel is thrust forward to bear the odium of every mistake or falsehood. They have avowed themselves responsible for all statements signed by themselves, and have thereby brought themselves into more than one inextricable dilemma; but it is very funny, where a response or a matter of fact has not been thus certified, how invariably Mary Runnel is made to assume the discredit of it, on its turning out to be false. It is the most ingenious arrangement that could possibly have been contrived; and somehow or other, the pranks of this lying spirit give a reality to the conversations which the more respectable ghosts quite fail in imparting. The whole matter seems to me a sort of dreaming awake. It resembles a dream, in that the whole material is, from the first, in the dreamer's mind, though concealed at various depths below the surface; the dead appear alive, as they always do in dreams; unexpected combinations occur, as continually in dreams; the mind speaks through the various persons of the drama, and sometimes astonishes itself with its own wit, wisdom, and eloquence, as often in dreams; but, in both cases, the intellectual manifestations are really of a very flimsy texture. Mary Runnel is the only personage who does not come evidently from dream-land; and she, I think, represents that lurking scepticism, that sense of unreality, of which we are often conscious, amid the most vivid phantasmagoria of a dream. I should be glad to believe in the genuineness of these spirits, if I could; but the above is the conclusion to which my soberest thoughts tend. There remains, of course, a great deal for which I cannot account, and I cannot sufficiently wonder at the pigheadedness both of metaphysicians and physiologists, in not accepting the phenomena, so far as to make them the subject of investigation. In writing the communications, Miss ------ holds the pencil rather loosely between her fingers; it moves rapidly, and with equal facility whether she fixes her eyes on the paper or not. The handwriting has far more freedom than her own. At the conclusion of a sentence, the pencil lays itself down. She sometimes has a perception of each word before it is written; at other times, she is quite unconscious what is to come next. Her integrity is absolutely indubitable, and she herself totally disbelieves in the spiritual authenticity of what is communicated through her medium. September 3d.--We walked into Florence yesterday, betimes after breakfast, it being comfortably cool, and a gray, English sky; though, indeed, the clouds had a tendency to mass themselves more than they do on an overcast English day. We found it warmer in Florence, but, not inconveniently so, even in the sunniest streets and squares. We went to the Uffizi gallery, the whole of which with its contents is now familiar to us, except the room containing drawings; and our to-day's visit was especially to them. The door giving admittance to them is the very last in the gallery; and the rooms, three in number, are, I should judge, over the Loggia de' Lanzi, looking on the Grand Ducal Piazza. The drawings hang on the walls, framed and glazed; and number, perhaps, from one to two hundred in each room; but this is only a small portion of the collection, which amounts, it is said, to twenty thousand, and is reposited in portfolios. The sketches on the walls are changed, from time to time, so as to exhibit all the most interesting ones in turn. Their whole charm is artistic, imaginative, and intellectual, and in no degree of the upholstery kind; their outward presentment being, in general, a design hastily shadowed out, by means of colored crayons, on tinted paper, or perhaps scratched rudely in pen and ink; or drawn in pencil or charcoal, and half rubbed out; very rough things, indeed, in many instances, and the more interesting on that account, because it seems as if the artist had bestirred himself to catch the first glimpse of an image that did but reveal itself and vanish. The sheets, or sometimes scraps of paper, on which they are drawn, are discolored with age, creased, soiled; but yet you are magnetized by the hand of Raphael, Michael Angelo, Leonardo, or whoever may have jotted down those rough-looking master-touches. They certainly possess a charm that is lost in the finished picture; and I was more sensible of forecasting thought, skill, and prophetic design, in these sketches than in the most consummate works that have been elaborated from them. There is something more divine in these; for I suppose the first idea of a picture is real inspiration, and all the subsequent elaboration of the master serves but to cover up the celestial germ with something that belongs to himself. At any rate, the first sketch is the more suggestive, and sets the spectator's imagination at work; whereas the picture, if a good one, leaves him nothing to do; if bad, it confuses, stupefies, disenchants, and disheartens him. First thoughts have an aroma and fragrance in them, that they do not lose in three hundred years; for so old, and a good deal more, are some of these sketches. None interested me more than some drawings, on separate pieces of paper, by Perugino, for his picture of the mother and friends of Jesus round his dead body, now at the Pitti Palace. The attendant figures are distinctly made out, as if the Virgin, and John, and Mary Magdalen had each favored the painter with a sitting; but the body of Jesus lies in the midst, dimly hinted with a few pencil-marks. There were several designs by Michael Angelo, none of which made much impression on me; the most striking was a very ugly demon, afterwards painted in the Sistine Chapel. Raphael shows several sketches of Madonnas,--one of which has flowered into the Grand Duke's especial Madonna at the Pitti Palace, but with a different face. His sketches were mostly very rough in execution; but there were two or three designs for frescos, I think, in the Vatican, very carefully executed; perhaps because these works were mainly to be done by other hands than his own. It seems to one that the Pre-Raphaelite artists made more careful drawings than the later ones; and it rather surprised me to see how much science they possessed. We looked at few other things in the gallery; and, indeed, it was not one of the days when works of art find me impressible. We stopped a little while in the Tribune, but the Venus de' Medici seemed to me to-day little more than any other piece of yellowish white marble. How strange that a goddess should stand before us absolutely unrecognized, even when we know by previous revelations that she is nothing short of divine! It is also strange that, unless when one feels the ideal charm of a statue, it becomes one of the most tedious and irksome things in the world. Either it must be a celestial thing or an old lump of stone, dusty and time-soiled, and tiring out your patience with eternally looking just the same. Once in a while you penetrate through the crust of the old sameness, and see the statue forever new and immortally young. Leaving the gallery we walked towards the Duomo, and on our way stopped to look at the beautiful Gothic niches hollowed into the exterior walls of the Church of San Michele. They are now in the process of being cleaned, and each niche is elaborately inlaid with precious marbles, and some of them magnificently gilded; and they are all surmounted with marble canopies as light and graceful as frost-work. Within stand statues, St. George, and many other saints, by Donatello and others, and all taking a hold upon one's sympathies, even if they be not beautiful. Classic statues escape you with their slippery beauty, as if they were made of ice. Rough and ugly things can be clutched. This is nonsense, and yet it means something. . . . The streets were thronged and vociferative with more life and outcry than usual. It must have been market-day in Florence, for the commerce of the streets was in great vigor, narrow tables being set out in them, and in the squares, burdened with all kinds of small merchandise, such as cheap jewelry, glistening as brightly as what we had just seen in the gem-room of the Uffizi; crockery ware; toys, books, Italian and French; silks; slippers; old iron; all advertised by the dealers with terribly loud and high voices, that reverberated harshly from side to side of the narrow streets. Italian street-cries go through the head; not that they are so very sharp, but exceedingly hard, like a blunt iron bar. We stood at the base of the Campanile, and looked at the bas-reliefs which wreathe it round; and, above them, a row of statues; and from bottom to top a marvellous minuteness of inlaid marbles, filling up the vast and beautiful design of this heaven-aspiring tower. Looking upward to its lofty summit,--where angels might alight, lapsing downward from heaven, and gaze curiously at the bustle of men below,--I could not but feel that there is a moral charm in this faithful minuteness of Gothic architecture, filling up its outline with a million of beauties that perhaps may never be studied out by a single spectator. It is the very process of nature, and no doubt produces an effect that we know not of. Classic architecture is nothing but an outline, and affords no little points, no interstices where human feelings may cling and overgrow it like ivy. The charm, as I said, seems to be moral rather than intellectual; for in the gem-room of the Uffizi you may see fifty designs, elaborated on a small scale, that have just as much merit as the design of the Campanile. If it were only five inches long, it might be a case for some article of toilet; being two hundred feet high, its prettiness develops into grandeur as well as beauty, and it becomes really one of the wonders of the world. The design of the Pantheon, on the contrary, would retain its sublimity on whatever scale it might be represented. Returning homewards, we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, and went to the Museum of Natural History, where we gained admittance into the rooms dedicated to Galileo. They consist of a vestibule, a saloon, and a semicircular tribune, covered with a frescoed dome, beneath which stands a colossal statue of Galileo, long-bearded, and clad in a student's gown, or some voluminous garb of that kind. Around the tribune, beside and behind the statue, are six niches,--in one of which is preserved a forefinger of Galileo, fixed on a little gilt pedestal, and pointing upward, under a glass cover. It is very much shrivelled and mummy-like, of the color of parchment, and is little more than a finger-bone, with the dry skin or flesh flaking away from it; on the whole, not a very delightful relic; but Galileo used to point heavenward with this finger, and I hope has gone whither he pointed. Another niche contains two telescopes, wherewith he made some of his discoveries; they are perhaps a yard long, and of very small calibre. Other astronomical instruments are displayed in the glass cases that line the rooms; but I did not understand their use any better than the monks, who wished to burn Galileo for his heterodoxy about the planetary system. . . . After dinner I climbed the tower. . . . Florence lay in the sunshine, level, compact, and small of compass. Above the tiled roofs rose the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, the loftiest and the most picturesque, though built, I suppose, with no idea of making it so. But it attains, in a singular degree, the end of causing the imagination to fly upward and alight on its airy battlements. Near it I beheld the square mass of Or San Michele, and farther to the left the bulky Duomo and the Campanile close beside it, like a slender bride or daughter; the dome of San Lorenzo too. The Arno is nowhere visible. Beyond, and on all sides of the city, the hills pile themselves lazily upward in ridges, here and there developing into a peak; towards their bases white villas were strewn numerously, but the upper region was lonely and bare. As we passed under the arch of the Porta Romana this morning, on our way into the city, we saw a queer object. It was what we at first took for a living man, in a garb of light reddish or yellowish red color, of antique or priestly fashion, and with a cowl falling behind. His face was of the same hue, and seemed to have been powdered, as the faces of maskers sometimes are. He sat in a cart, which he seemed to be driving into the Deity with a load of earthen jars and pipkins, the color of which was precisely like his own. On closer inspection, this priestly figure proved to be likewise an image of earthenware, but his lifelikeness had a very strange and rather ghastly effect. Adam, perhaps, was made of just such red earth, and had the complexion of this figure. September 7th.--I walked into town yesterday morning, by way of the Porta San Frediano. The gate of a city might be a good locality for a chapter in a novel, or for a little sketch by itself, whether by painter or writer. The great arch of the gateway, piercing through the depth and height of the massive masonry beneath the battlemented summit; the shadow brooding below, in the immense thickness of the wall and beyond it, the vista of the street, sunny and swarming with life; outside of the gate, a throng of carts, laden with fruits, vegetables, small flat barrels of wine, waiting to be examined by the custom-house officers; carriages too, and foot-passengers entering, and others swarming outward. Under the shadowy arch are the offices of the police and customs, and probably the guard-room of the soldiers, all hollowed out in the mass of the gateway. Civil officers loll on chairs in the shade, perhaps with an awning over their heads. Where the sun falls aslantwise under the arch a sentinel, with musket and bayonet, paces to and fro in the entrance, and other soldiers lounge close by. The life of the city seems to be compressed and made more intense by this barrier; and on passing within it you do not breathe quite so freely, yet are sensible of an enjoyment in the close elbowing throng, the clamor of high voices from side to side of the street, and the million of petty sights, actions, traffics, and personalities, all so squeezed together as to become a great whole. The street by which I entered led me to the Carraja Bridge; crossing which, I kept straight onward till I came to the Church of Santa Maria Novella. Doubtless, it looks just the same as when Boccaccio's party stood in a cluster on its broad steps arranging their excursion to the villa. Thence I went to the Church of St. Lorenzo, which I entered by the side door, and found the organ sounding and a religious ceremony going forward. It is a church of sombre aspect, with its gray walls and pillars, but was decked out for some festivity with hangings of scarlet damask and gold. I sat awhile to rest myself, and then pursued my way to the Duomo. I entered, and looked at Sir John Hawkwood's painted effigy, and at several busts and statues, and at the windows of the chapel surrounding the dome, through which the sunshine glowed, white in the outer air, but a hundred-hued splendor within. I tried to bring up the scene of Lorenzo de' Medici's attempted assassination, but with no great success; and after listening a little while to the chanting of the priests and acolytes, I went to the Bank. It is in a palace of which Raphael was the architect, in the Piazza Gran Duca. I next went, as a matter of course, to the Uffizi gallery, and, in the first place, to the Tribune, where the Venus de' Medici deigned to reveal herself rather more satisfactorily than at my last visit. . . . I looked into all the rooms, bronzes, drawings, and gem-room; a volume might easily be written upon either subject. The contents of the gem-room especially require to be looked at separately in order to convince one's self of their minute magnificences; for, among so many, the eye slips from one to another with only a vague outward sense that here are whole shelves full of little miracles, both of nature's material and man's workmanship. Greater [larger] things can be reasonably well appreciated with a less scrupulous though broader attention; but in order to estimate the brilliancy of the diamond eyes of a little agate bust, for instance, you have to screw your mind down to them and nothing else. You must sharpen your faculties of observation to a point, and touch the object exactly on the right spot, or you do not appreciate it at all. It is a troublesome process when there are a thousand such objects to be seen. I stood at an open window in the transverse corridor, and looked down upon the Arno, and across at the range of edifices that impend over it on the opposite side. The river, I should judge, may be a hundred or a hundred and fifty yards wide in its course between the Ponte alle Grazie and the Ponte Vecchio; that is, the width between strand and strand is at least so much. The river, however, leaves a broad margin of mud and gravel on its right bank, on which water-weeds grow pretty abundantly, and creep even into the stream. On my first arrival in Florence I thought the goose-pond green of the water rather agreeable than otherwise; but its hue is now that of unadulterated mud, as yellow as the Tiber itself, yet not impressing me as being enriched with city sewerage like that other famous river. From the Ponte alle Grazie downward, half-way towards the Ponte Vecchio, there is an island of gravel, and the channel on each side is so shallow as to allow the passage of men and horses wading not overleg. I have seen fishermen wading the main channel from side to side, their feet sinking into the dark mud, and thus discoloring the yellow water with a black track visible, step by step, through its shallowness. But still the Arno is a mountain stream, and liable to be tetchy and turbulent like all its kindred, and no doubt it often finds its borders of hewn stone not too far apart for its convenience. Along the right shore, beneath the Uffizi and the adjacent buildings, there is a broad paved way, with a parapet; on the opposite shore the edifices are built directly upon the river's edge, and impend over the water, supported upon arches and machicolations, as I think that peculiar arrangement of buttressing arcades is called. The houses are picturesquely various in height, from two or three stories to seven; picturesque in hue likewise,--pea-green, yellow, white, and of aged discoloration,--but all with green blinds; picturesque also in the courts and galleries that look upon the river, and in the wide arches that open beneath, intended perhaps to afford a haven for the household boat. Nets were suspended before one or two of the houses, as if the inhabitants were in the habit of fishing out of window. As a general effect, the houses, though often palatial in size and height, have a shabby, neglected aspect, and are jumbled too closely together. Behind their range the city swells upward in a hillside, which rises to a great height above, forming, I believe, a part of the Boboli Gardens. I returned homewards over the Ponte Vecchio, which is a continuous street of ancient houses, except over the central arch, so that a stranger might easily cross the river without knowing it. In these small, old houses there is a community of goldsmiths, who set out their glass cases, and hang their windows with rings, bracelets, necklaces, strings of pearl, ornaments of malachite and coral, and especially with Florentine mosaics; watches, too, and snuff-boxes of old fashion or new; offerings for shrines also, such as silver hearts pierced with swords; an infinity of pretty things, the manufacture of which is continually going on in the little back-room of each little shop. This gewgaw business has been established on the Ponte Vecchio for centuries, although, long since, it was an art of far higher pretensions than now. Benvenuto Cellini had his workshop here, probably in one of these selfsame little nooks. It would have been a ticklish affair to be Benvenuto's fellow-workman within such narrow limits. Going out of the Porta Romana, I walked for some distance along the city wall, and then, turning to the left, toiled up the hill of Bellosguardo, through narrow zigzag lanes between high walls of stone or plastered brick, where the sun had the fairest chance to frizzle me. There were scattered villas and houses, here and there concentrating into a little bit of a street, paved with flag-stones from side to side, as in the city, and shadowed quite across its narrowness by the height of the houses. Mostly, however, the way was inhospitably sunny, and shut out by the high wall from every glimpse of a view, except in one spot, where Florence spread itself before my eyes, with every tower, dome, and spire which it contains. A little way farther on my own gray tower rose before me, the most welcome object that I had seen in the course of the day. September 10th.--I went into town again yesterday, by way of the Porta San Frediano, and observed that this gate (like the other gates of Florence, as far as I have observed) is a tall, square structure of stone or brick, or both, rising high above the adjacent wall, and having a range of open loggie in the upper story. The arch externally is about half the height of the structure. Inside, towards the town, it rises nearly to the roof. On each side of the arch there is much room for offices, apartments, storehouses, or whatever else. On the outside of the gate, along the base, are those iron rings and sockets for torches, which are said to be the distinguishing symbol of illustrious houses. As contrasted with the vista of the narrow, swarming street through the arch from without, the view from the inside might be presented with a glimpse of the free blue sky. I strolled a little about Florence, and went into two or three churches; into that of the Annunziata for one. I have already described this church, with its general magnificence, and it was more magnificent than ever to-day, being hung with scarlet silk and gold-embroidery. A great many people were at their devotions, thronging principally around the Virgin's shrine. I was struck now with the many bas-reliefs and busts in the costume of their respective ages, and seemingly with great accuracy of portraiture, in the passage leading from the front of the church into the cloisters. The marble was not at all abashed nor degraded by being made to assume the guise of the mediaeval furred robe, or the close-fitting tunic with elaborate ruff, or the breastplate and gorget, or the flowing wig, or whatever the actual costume might be; and one is sensible of a rectitude and reality in the affair, and respects the dead people for not putting themselves into an eternal masquerade. The dress of the present day will look equally respectable in one or two hundred years. The Fair is still going on, and one of its principal centres is before this church, in the Piazza of the Annunziata. Cloth is the chief commodity offered for sale, and none of the finest; coarse, unbleached linen and cotton prints for country-people's wear, together with yarn, stockings, and here and there an assortment of bright-colored ribbons. Playthings, of a very rude fashion, were also displayed; likewise books in Italian and French; and a great deal of iron-work. Both here and in Rome they have this odd custom of offering rusty iron implements for sale, spread out on the pavements. There was a good deal of tinware, too, glittering in the sunshine, especially around the pedestal of the bronze statue of Duke Ferdinand, who curbs his horse and looks down upon the bustling piazza in a very stately way. . . . The people attending the fair had mostly a rustic appearance; sunburnt faces, thin frames; no beauty, no bloom, no joyousness of young or old; an anxious aspect, as if life were no easy or holiday matter with them; but I should take them to be of a kindly nature, and reasonably honest. Except the broad-brimmed Tuscan hats of the women, there was no peculiarity of costume. At a careless glance I could very well have mistaken most of the men for Yankees; as for the women, there is very little resemblance between them and ours,--the old being absolutely hideous, and the young ones very seldom pretty. It was a very dull crowd. They do not generate any warmth among themselves by contiguity; they have no pervading sentiment, such as is continually breaking out in rough merriment from an American crowd; they have nothing to do with one another; they are not a crowd, considered as one mass, but a collection of individuals. A despotic government has perhaps destroyed their principle of cohesion, and crumbled them to atoms. Italian crowds are noted for their civility; possibly they deserve credit for native courtesy and gentleness; possibly, on the other hand, the crowd has not spirit and self-consciousness enough to be rampant. I wonder whether they will ever hold another parliament in the Piazza of Santa Croce! I paid a visit to the gallery of the Pitti Palace. There is too large an intermixture of Andrea del Sarto's pictures in this gallery; everywhere you see them, cold, proper, and uncriticisable, looking so much like first-rate excellence, that you inevitably quarrel with your own taste for not admiring them. . . . It was one of the days when my mind misgives me whether the pictorial art be not a humbug, and when the minute accuracy of a fly in a Dutch picture of fruit and flowers seems to me something more reliable than the master-touches of Raphael. The gallery was considerably thronged, and many of the visitors appeared to be from the country, and of a class intermediate between gentility and labor. Is there such a rural class in Italy? I saw a respectable-looking man feeling awkward and uncomfortable in a new and glossy pair of pantaloons not yet bent and creased to his natural movement. Nothing pleased me better to-day than some amber cups, in one of the cabinets of curiosities. They are richly wrought, and the material is as if the artist had compressed a great deal of sunshine together, and when sufficiently solidified had moulded these cups out of it and let them harden. This simile was suggested by ------. Leaving the palace, I entered the Boboli Gardens, and wandered up and down a good deal of its uneven surface, through broad, well-kept edges of box, sprouting loftily, trimmed smoothly, and strewn between with cleanly gravel; skirting along plantations of aged trees, throwing a deep shadow within their precincts; passing many statues, not of the finest art, yet approaching so near it, as to serve just as good a purpose for garden ornament; coming now and then to the borders of a fishpool, or a pond, where stately swans circumnavigated an island of flowers;--all very fine and very wearisome. I have never enjoyed this garden; perhaps because it suggests dress-coats, and such elegant formalities. September 11th.--We have heard a good deal of spirit matters of late, especially of wonderful incidents that attended Mr. Home's visit to Florence, two or three years ago. Mrs. Powers told a very marvellous thing; how that when Mr. Home was holding a seance in her house, and several persons present, a great scratching was heard in a neighboring closet. She addressed the spirit, and requested it not to disturb the company then, as they were busy with other affairs, promising to converse with it on a future occasion. On a subsequent night, accordingly, the scratching was renewed, with the utmost violence; and in reply to Mrs. Powers's questions, the spirit assured her that it was not one, but legion, being the ghosts of twenty-seven monks, who were miserable and without hope! The house now occupied by Powers was formerly a convent, and I suppose these were the spirits of all the wicked monks that had ever inhabited it; at least, I hope that there were not such a number of damnable sinners extant at any one time. These ghostly fathers must have been very improper persons in their lifetime, judging by the indecorousness of their behavior even after death, and in such dreadful circumstances; for they pulled Mrs. Powers's skirts so hard as to break the gathers. . . . It was not ascertained that they desired to have anything done for their eternal welfare, or that their situation was capable of amendment anyhow; but, being exhorted to refrain from further disturbance, they took their departure, after making the sign of the cross on the breast of each person present. This was very singular in such reprobates, who, by their own confession, had forfeited all claim to be benefited by that holy symbol: it curiously suggests that the forms of religion may still be kept up in purgatory and hell itself. The sign was made in a way that conveyed the sense of something devilish and spiteful; the perpendicular line of the cross being drawn gently enough, but the transverse one sharply and violently, so as to leave a painful impression. Perhaps the monks meant this to express their contempt and hatred for heretics; and how queer, that this antipathy should survive their own damnation! But I cannot help hoping that the case of these poor devils may not be so desperate as they think. They cannot be wholly lost, because their desire for communication with mortals shows that they need sympathy, therefore are not altogether hardened, therefore, with loving treatment, may be restored. A great many other wonders took place within the knowledge and experience of Mrs. P------. She saw, not one pair of hands only, but many. The head of one of her dead children, a little boy, was laid in her lap, not in ghastly fashion, as a head out of the coffin and the grave, but just as the living child might have laid it on his mother's knees. It was invisible, by the by, and she recognized it by the features and the character of the hair, through the sense of touch. Little hands grasped hers. In short, these soberly attested incredibilities are so numerous that I forget nine tenths of them, and judge the others too cheap to be written down. Christ spoke the truth surely, in saying that men would not believe, "though one rose from the dead." In my own case, the fact makes absolutely no impression. I regret such confirmation of truth as this. Within a mile of our villa stands the Villa Columbaria, a large house, built round a square court. Like Mr. Powers's residence, it was formerly a convent. It is inhabited by Major Gregorie, an old soldier of Waterloo and various other fights, and his family consists of Mrs. ------, the widow of one of the Major's friends, and her two daughters. We have become acquainted with the family, and Mrs. ------, the married daughter, has lent us a written statement of her experiences with a ghost, who has haunted the Villa Columbaria for many years back. He had made Mrs. ------ aware of his presence in her room by a sensation of extreme cold, as if a wintry breeze were blowing over her; also by a rustling of the bed-curtains; and, at such times, she had a certain consciousness, as she says, that she was not ALONE. Through Mr. Home's agency, the ghost was enabled to explain himself, and declared that he was a monk, named Giannane, who died a very long time ago in Mrs. ------'s present bedchamber. He was a murderer, and had been in a restless and miserable state ever since his death, wandering up and down the house, but especially haunting his own death-chamber and a staircase that communicated with the chapel of the villa. All the interviews with this lost spirit were attended with a sensation of severe cold, which was felt by every one present. He made his communications by means of table-rapping, and by the movements of chairs and other articles, which often assumed an angry character. The poor old fellow does not seem to have known exactly what he wanted with Mrs. ------, but promised to refrain from disturbing her any more, on condition that she would pray that he might find some repose. He had previously declined having any masses said for his soul. Rest, rest, rest, appears to be the continual craving of unhappy spirits; they do not venture to ask for positive bliss: perhaps, in their utter weariness, would rather forego the trouble of active enjoyment, but pray only for rest. The cold atmosphere around this monk suggests new ideas as to the climate of Hades. If all the afore-mentioned twenty-seven monks had a similar one, the combined temperature must have been that of a polar winter. Mrs. ------ saw, at one time, the fingers of her monk, long, yellow, and skinny; these fingers grasped the hands of individuals of the party, with a cold, clammy, and horrible touch. After the departure of this ghost other seances were held in her bedchamber, at which good and holy spirits manifested themselves, and behaved in a very comfortable and encouraging way. It was their benevolent purpose, apparently, to purify her apartments from all traces of the evil spirit, and to reconcile her to what had been so long the haunt of this miserable monk, by filling it with happy and sacred associations, in which, as Mrs. ------ intimates, they entirely succeeded. These stories remind me of an incident that took place at the old manse, in the first summer of our marriage. . . . September 17th.--We walked yesterday to Florence, and visited the church of St. Lorenzo, where we saw, for the second time, the famous Medici statues of Michael Angelo. I found myself not in a very appreciative state, and, being a stone myself, the statue of Lorenzo was at first little more to me than another stone; but it was beginning to assume life, and would have impressed me as it did before if I had gazed long enough. There was a better light upon the face, under the helmet, than at my former visit, although still the features were enough overshadowed to produce that mystery on which, according to Mr. Powers, the effect of the statue depends. I observe that the costume of the figure, instead of being mediaeval, as I believe I have stated, is Roman; but, be it what it may, the grand and simple character of the figure imbues the robes with its individual propriety. I still think it the greatest miracle ever wrought in marble. We crossed the church and entered a cloister on the opposite side, in quest of the Laurentian Library. Ascending a staircase we found an old man blowing the bellows of the organ, which was in full blast in the church; nevertheless he found time to direct us to the library door. We entered a lofty vestibule, of ancient aspect and stately architecture, and thence were admitted into the library itself; a long and wide gallery or hall, lighted by a row of windows on which were painted the arms of the Medici. The ceiling was inlaid with dark wood, in an elaborate pattern, which was exactly repeated in terra-cotta on the pavement beneath our feet. Long desks, much like the old-fashioned ones in schools, were ranged on each side of the mid aisle, in a series from end to end, with seats for the convenience of students; and on these desks were rare manuscripts, carefully preserved under glass; and books, fastened to the desks by iron chains, as the custom of studious antiquity used to be. Along the centre of the hall, between the two ranges of desks, were tables and chairs, at which two or three scholarly persons were seated, diligently consulting volumes in manuscript or old type. It was a very quiet place, imbued with a cloistered sanctity, and remote from all street-cries and rumble of the city,--odorous of old literature,--a spot where the commonest ideas ought not to be expressed in less than Latin. The librarian--or custode he ought rather to be termed, for he was a man not above the fee of a paul--now presented himself, and showed us some of the literary curiosities; a vellum manuscript of the Bible, with a splendid illumination by Ghirlandaio, covering two folio pages, and just as brilliant in its color as if finished yesterday. Other illuminated manuscripts--or at least separate pages of them, for the volumes were kept under glass, and not to be turned over--were shown us, very magnificent, but not to be compared with this of Ghirlandaio. Looking at such treasures I could almost say that we have left behind us more splendor than we have kept alive to our own age. We publish beautiful editions of books, to be sure, and thousands of people enjoy them; but in ancient times the expense that we spread thinly over a thousand volumes was all compressed into one, and it became a great jewel of a book, a heavy folio, worth its weight in gold. Then, what a spiritual charm it gives to a book to feel that every letter has been individually wrought, and the pictures glow for that individual page alone! Certainly the ancient reader had a luxury which the modern one lacks. I was surprised, moreover, to see the clearness and accuracy of the chirography. Print does not surpass it in these respects. The custode showed us an ancient manuscript of the Decameron; likewise, a volume containing the portraits of Petrarch and of Laura, each covering the whole of a vellum page, and very finely done. They are authentic portraits, no doubt, and Laura is depicted as a fair-haired beauty, with a very satisfactory amount of loveliness. We saw some choice old editions of books in a small separate room; but as these were all ranged in shut bookcases, and as each volume, moreover, was in a separate cover or modern binding, this exhibition did us very little good. By the by, there is a conceit struggling blindly in my mind about Petrarch and Laura, suggested by those two lifelike portraits, which have been sleeping cheek to cheek through all these centuries. But I cannot lay hold of it. September 21st.--Yesterday morning the Val d' Arno was entirely filled with a thick fog, which extended even up to our windows, and concealed objects within a very short distance. It began to dissipate itself betimes, however, and was the forerunner of an unusually bright and warm day. We set out after breakfast and walked into town, where we looked at mosaic brooches. These are very pretty little bits of manufacture; but there seems to have been no infusion of fresh fancy into the work, and the specimens present little variety. It is the characteristic commodity of the place; the central mart and manufacturing locality being on the Ponte Vecchio, from end to end of which they are displayed in cases; but there are other mosaic shops scattered about the town. The principal devices are roses,--pink, yellow, or white,--jasmines, lilies of the valley, forget-me-nots, orange blossoms, and others, single or in sprigs, or twined into wreaths; parrots, too, and other birds of gay plumage,-- often exquisitely done, and sometimes with precious materials, such as lapis lazuli, malachite, and still rarer gems. Bracelets, with several different, yet relative designs, are often very beautiful. We find, at different shops, a great inequality of prices for mosaics that seemed to be of much the same quality. We went to the Uffizi gallery, and found it much thronged with the middle and lower classes of Italians; and the English, too, seemed more numerous than I have lately seen them. Perhaps the tourists have just arrived here, starting at the close of the London season. We were amused with a pair of Englishmen who went through the gallery; one of them criticising the pictures and statues audibly, for the benefit of his companion. The critic I should take to be a country squire, and wholly untravelled; a tall, well-built, rather rough, but gentlemanly man enough; his friend, a small personage, exquisitely neat in dress, and of artificial deportment, every attitude and gesture appearing to have been practised before a glass. Being but a small pattern of a man, physically and intellectually, he had thought it worth while to finish himself off with the elaborateness of a Florentine mosaic; and the result was something like a dancing-master, though without the exuberant embroidery of such persons. Indeed, he was a very quiet little man, and, though so thoroughly made up, there was something particularly green, fresh, and simple in him. Both these Englishmen were elderly, and the smaller one had perfectly white hair, glossy and silken. It did not make him in the least venerable, however, but took his own character of neatness and prettiness. He carried his well-brushed and glossy hat in his hand in such a way as not to ruffle its surface; and I wish I could put into one word or one sentence the pettiness, the minikinfinical effect of this little man; his self-consciousness so lifelong, that, in some sort, he forgot himself even in the midst of it; his propriety, his cleanliness and unruffledness; his prettiness and nicety of manifestation, like a bird hopping daintily about. His companion, as I said, was of a completely different type; a tall, gray-haired man, with the rough English face, a little tinted with port wine; careless, natural manner, betokening a man of position in his own neighborhood; a loud voice, not vulgar, nor outraging the rules of society, but betraying a character incapable of much refinement. He talked continually in his progress through the gallery, and audibly enough for us to catch almost everything he said, at many yards' distance. His remarks and criticisms, addressed to his small friend, were so entertaining, that we strolled behind him for the sake of being benefited by them; and I think he soon became aware of this, and addressed himself to us as well as to his more immediate friend. Nobody but an Englishman, it seems to me, has just this kind of vanity,--a feeling mixed up with scorn and good-nature; self-complacency on his own merits, and as an Englishman; pride at being in foreign parts; contempt for everybody around him; a rough kindliness towards people in general. I liked the man, and should be glad to know him better. As for his criticism, I am sorry to remember only one. It was upon the picture of the Nativity, by Correggio, in the Tribune, where the mother is kneeling before the Child, and adoring it in an awful rapture, because she sees the eternal God in its baby face and figure. The Englishman was highly delighted with this picture, and began to gesticulate, as if dandling a baby, and to make a chirruping sound. It was to him merely a representation of a mother fondling her infant. He then said, "If I could have my choice of the pictures and statues in the Tribune, I would take this picture, and that one yonder" (it was a good enough Enthronement of the Virgin by Andrea del Sarto) "and the Dancing Faun, and let the rest go." A delightful man; I love that wholesome coarseness of mind and heart, which no education nor opportunity can polish out of the genuine Englishman; a coarseness without vulgarity. When a Yankee is coarse, he is pretty sure to be vulgar too. The two critics seemed to be considering whether it were practicable to go from the Uffizi to the Pitti gallery; but "it confuses one," remarked the little man, "to see more than one gallery in a day." (I should think so,--the Pitti Palace tumbling into his small receptacle on the top of the Uffizi.) "It does so," responded the big man, with heavy emphasis. September 23d.--The vintage has been going on in our podere for about a week, and I saw a part of the process of making wine, under one of our back windows. It was on a very small scale, the grapes being thrown into a barrel, and crushed with a sort of pestle; and as each estate seems to make its own wine, there are probably no very extensive and elaborate appliances in general use for the manufacture. The cider-making of New England is far more picturesque; the great heap of golden or rosy apples under the trees, and the cider-mill worked by a circumgyratory horse, and all agush with sweet juice. Indeed, nothing connected with the grape-culture and the vintage here has been picturesque, except the large inverted pyramids in which the clusters hang; those great bunches, white or purple, really satisfy my idea both as to aspect and taste. We can buy a large basketful for less than a paul; and they are the only things that one can never devour too much of--and there is no enough short of a little too much without subsequent repentance. It is a shame to turn such delicious juice into such sour wine as they make in Tuscany. I tasted a sip or two of a flask which the contadini sent us for trial,-- the rich result of the process I had witnessed in the barrel. It took me altogether by surprise; for I remembered the nectareousness of the new cider which I used to sip through a straw in my boyhood, and I never doubted that this would be as dulcet, but finer and more ethereal; as much more delectable, in short, as these grapes are better than puckery cider apples. Positively, I never tasted anything so detestable, such a sour and bitter juice, still lukewarm with fermentation; it was a wail of woe, squeezed out of the wine-press of tribulation, and the more a man drinks of such, the sorrier he will be. Besides grapes, we have had figs, and I have now learned to be very fond of them. When they first began to appear, two months ago, they had scarcely any sweetness, and tasted very like a decaying squash: this was an early variety, with purple skins. There are many kinds of figs, the best being green-skinned, growing yellower as they ripen; and the riper they are, the more the sweetness within them intensifies, till they resemble dried figs in everything, except that they retain the fresh fruit-flavor; rich, luscious, yet not palling. We have had pears, too, some of them very tolerable; and peaches, which look magnificently, as regards size and downy blush, but, have seldom much more taste than a cucumber. A succession of fruits has followed us, ever since our arrival in Florence:--first, and for a long time, abundance of cherries; then apricots, which lasted many weeks, till we were weary of them; then plums, pears, and finally figs, peaches, and grapes. Except the figs and grapes, a New England summer and autumn would give us better fruit than any we have found in Italy. Italy beats us I think in mosquitoes; they are horribly pungent little satanic particles. They possess strange intelligence, and exquisite acuteness of sight and smell,--prodigious audacity and courage to match it, insomuch that they venture on the most hazardous attacks, and get safe off. One of them flew into my mouth, the other night, and sting me far down in my throat; but luckily I coughed him up in halves. They are bigger than American mosquitoes; and if you crush them, after one of their feasts, it makes a terrific bloodspot. It is a sort of suicide--at least, a shedding of one's own blood--to kill them; but it gratifies the old Adam to do it. It shocks me to feel how revengeful I am; but it is impossible not to impute a certain malice and intellectual venom to these diabolical insects. I wonder whether our health, at this season of the year, requires that we should be kept in a state of irritation, and so the mosquitoes are Nature's prophetic remedy for some disease; or whether we are made for the mosquitoes, not they for us. It is possible, just possible, that the infinitesimal doses of poison which they infuse into us are a homoeopathic safeguard against pestilence; but medicine never was administered in a more disagreeable way. The moist atmosphere about the Arno, I suppose, produces these insects, and fills the broad, ten-mile valley with them; and as we are just on the brim of the basin, they overflow into our windows. September 25th.--U---- and I walked to town yesterday morning, and went to the Uffizi gallery. It is not a pleasant thought that we are so soon to give up this gallery, with little prospect (none, or hardly any, on my part) of ever seeing it again. It interests me and all of us far more than the gallery of the Pitti Palace, wherefore I know not, for the latter is the richer of the two in admirable pictures. Perhaps it is the picturesque variety of the Uffizi--the combination of painting, sculpture, gems, and bronzes--that makes the charm. The Tribune, too, is the richest room in all the world; a heart that draws all hearts to it. The Dutch pictures, moreover, give a homely, human interest to the Uffizi; and I really think that the frequency of Andrea del Santo's productions at the Pitti Palace--looking so very like masterpieces, yet lacking the soul of art and nature--have much to do with the weariness that comes from better acquaintance with the latter gallery. The splendor of the gilded and frescoed saloons is perhaps another bore; but, after all, my memory will often tread there as long as I live. What shall we do in America? Speaking of Dutch pictures, I was much struck yesterday, as frequently before, with a small picture by Teniers the elder. It seems to be a pawnbroker in the midst of his pledges; old earthen jugs, flasks, a brass kettle, old books, and a huge pile of worn-out and broken rubbish, which he is examining. These things are represented with vast fidelity, yet with bold and free touches, unlike the minute, microscopic work of other Dutch masters; and a wonderful picturesqueness is wrought out of these humble materials, and even the figure and head of the pawnbroker have a strange grandeur. We spent no very long time at the Uffizi, and afterwards crossed the Ponte alle Grazie, and went to the convent of San Miniato, which stands on a hill outside of the Porta San Gallo. A paved pathway, along which stand crosses marking stations at which pilgrims are to kneel and pray, goes steeply to the hill-top, where, in the first place, is a smaller church and convent than those of San Miniato. The latter are seen at a short distance to the right, the convent being a large, square battlemented mass, adjoining which is the church, showing a front of aged white marble, streaked with black, and having an old stone tower behind. I have seen no other convent or monastery that so well corresponds with my idea of what such structures were. The sacred precincts are enclosed by a high wall, gray, ancient, and luxuriously ivy-grown, and lofty and strong enough for the rampart of a fortress. We went through the gateway and entered the church, which we found in much disarray, and masons at work upon the pavement. The tribune is elevated considerably above the nave, and accessible by marble staircases; there are great arches and a chapel, with curious monuments in the Gothic style, and ancient carvings and mosaic works, and, in short, a dim, dusty, and venerable interior, well worth studying in detail. . . . The view of Florence from the church door is very fine, and seems to include every tower, dome, or whatever object emerges out of the general mass. September 28th.--I went to the Pitti Palace yesterday, and to the Uffizi to-day, paying them probably my last visit, yet cherishing an unreasonable doubt whether I may not see them again. At all events, I have seen them enough for the present, even what is best of them; and, at the same time, with a sad reluctance to bid them farewell forever, I experience an utter weariness of Raphael's old canvas, and of the time-yellowed marble of the Venus de' Medici. When the material embodiment presents itself outermost, and we perceive them only by the grosser sense, missing their ethereal spirit, there is nothing so heavily burdensome as masterpieces of painting and sculpture. I threw my farewell glance at the Venus de' Medici to-day with strange insensibility. The nights are wonderfully beautiful now. When the moon was at the full, a few nights ago, its light was an absolute glory, such as I seem only to have dreamed of heretofore, and that only in my younger days. At its rising I have fancied that the orb of the moon has a kind of purple brightness, and that this tinge is communicated to its radiance until it has climbed high aloft and sheds a flood of white over hill and valley. Now that the moon is on the wane, there is a gentler lustre, but still bright; and it makes the Val d' Arno with its surrounding hills, and its soft mist in the distance, as beautiful a scene as exists anywhere out of heaven. And the morning is quite as beautiful in its own way. This mist, of which I have so often spoken, sets it beyond the limits of actual sense and makes it ideal; it is as if you were dreaming about the valley,--as if the valley itself were dreaming, and met you half-way in your own dream. If the mist were to be withdrawn, I believe the whole beauty of the valley would go with it. Until pretty late in the morning, we have the comet streaming through the sky, and dragging its interminable tail among the stars. It keeps brightening from night to night, and I should think must blaze fiercely enough to cast a shadow by and by. I know not whether it be in the vicinity of Galileo's tower, and in the influence of his spirit, but I have hardly ever watched the stars with such interest as now. September 29th.--Last evening I met Mr. Powers at Miss Blagden's, and he talked about his treatment, by our government in reference, to an appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars made by Congress for a statue by him. Its payment and the purchase of the statue were left at the option of the President, and he conceived himself wronged because the affair was never concluded. . . . As for the President, he knows nothing of art, and probably acted in the matter by the advice of the director of public works. No doubt a sculptor gets commissions as everybody gets public employment and emolument of whatever kind from our government, not by merit or fitness, but by political influence skilfully applied. As Powers himself observed, the ruins of our Capitol are not likely to afford sculptures equal to those which Lord Elgin took from the Parthenon, if this be the system under which they are produced. . . . I wish our great Republic had the spirit to do as much, according to its vast means, as Florence did for sculpture and architecture when it was a republic; but we have the meanest government and the shabbiest, and--if truly represented by it--we are the meanest and shabbiest people known in history. And yet the less we attempt to do for art the better, if our future attempts are to have no better result than such brazen troopers as the equestrian statue of General Jackson, or even such naked respectabilities as Greenough's Washington. There is something false and affected in our highest taste for art; and I suppose, furthermore, we are the only people who seek to decorate their public institutions, not by the highest taste among them, but by the average at best. There was also at Miss Blagden's, among other company, Mr. ------, an artist in Florence, and a sensible man. I talked with him about Home, the medium, whom he had many opportunities of observing when the latter was in these parts. Mr. ------ says that Home is unquestionably a knave, but that he himself is as much perplexed at his own preternatural performances as any other person; he is startled and affrighted at the phenomena which he produces. Nevertheless, when his spiritual powers fall short, he does his best to eke them out with imposture. This moral infirmity is a part of his nature, and I suggested that perhaps if he were of a firmer and healthier moral make, if his character were sufficiently sound and dense to be capable of steadfast principle, he would not have possessed the impressibility that fits him for the so-called spiritual influences. Mr. ------ says that Louis Napoleon is literally one of the most skilful jugglers in the world, and that probably the interest he has taken in Mr. Home was caused partly by a wish to acquire his art. This morning Mr. Powers invited me to go with him to the Grand Duke's new foundry, to see the bronze statue of Webster which has just been cast from his model. It is the second cast of the statue, the first having been shipped some months ago on board of a vessel which was lost; and, as Powers observed, the statue now lies at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean somewhere in the vicinity of the telegraphic cable. We were received with much courtesy and emphasis by the director of the foundry, and conducted into a large room walled with bare, new brick, where the statue was standing in front of the extinct furnace: a majestic Webster indeed, eight feet high, and looking even more colossal than that. The likeness seemed to me perfect, and, like a sensible man, Powers' has dressed him in his natural costume, such as I have seen Webster have on while making a speech in the open air at a mass meeting in Concord,--dress-coat buttoned pretty closely across the breast, pantaloons and boots,--everything finished even to a seam and a stitch. Not an inch of the statue but is Webster; even his coat-tails are imbued with the man, and this true artist has succeeded in showing him through the broadcloth as nature showed him. He has felt that a man's actual clothes are as much a part of him as his flesh, and I respect him for disdaining to shirk the difficulty by throwing the meanness of a cloak over it, and for recognizing the folly of masquerading our Yankee statesman in a Roman toga, and the indecorousness of presenting him as a brassy nudity. It would have been quite as unjustifiable to strip him to his skeleton as to his flesh. Webster is represented as holding in his right hand the written roll of the Constitution, with which he points to a bundle of fasces, which he keeps from falling by the grasp of his left, thus symbolizing him as the preserver of the Union. There is an expression of quiet, solid, massive strength in the whole figure; a deep, pervading energy, in which any exaggeration of gesture would lessen and lower the effect. He looks really like a pillar of the state. The face is very grand, very Webster stern and awful, because he is in the act of meeting a great crisis, and yet with the warmth of a great heart glowing through it. Happy is Webster to have been so truly and adequately sculptured; happy the sculptor in such a subject, which no idealization of a demigod could have supplied him with. Perhaps the statue at the bottom of the sea will be cast up in some future age, when the present race of man is forgotten, and if so, that far posterity will look up to us as a grander race than we find ourselves to be. Neither was Webster altogether the man he looked. His physique helped him out, even when he fell somewhat short of its promise; and if his eyes had not been in such deep caverns their fire would not have looked so bright. Powers made me observe how the surface of the statue was wrought to a sort of roughness instead of being smoothed, as is the practice of other artists. He said that this had cost him great pains, and certainly it has an excellent effect. The statue is to go to Boston, and I hope will be placed in the open air, for it is too mighty to be kept under any roof that now exists in America. . . . After seeing this, the director showed us some very curious and exquisite specimens of castings, such as baskets of flowers, in which the most delicate and fragile blossoms, the curl of a petal, the finest veins in a leaf, the lightest flower-spray that ever quivered in a breeze, were perfectly preserved; and the basket contained an abundant heap of such sprays. There were likewise a pair of hands, taken actually from life, clasped together as they were, and they looked like parts of a man who had been changed suddenly from flesh to brass. They were worn and rough and unhandsome hands, and so very real, with all their veins and the pores of the skin, that it was shocking to look at them. A bronze leaf, cast also from the life, was as curious and more beautiful. Taking leave of Powers, I went hither and thither about Florence, seeing for the last time things that I have seen many times before: the market, for instance, blocking up a line of narrow streets with fruit-stalls, and obstreperous dealers crying their peaches, their green lemons, their figs, their delicious grapes, their mushrooms, their pomegranates, their radishes, their lettuces. They use one vegetable here which I have not known so used elsewhere; that is, very young pumpkins or squashes, of the size of apples, and to be cooked by boiling. They are not to my taste, but the people here like unripe things,--unripe fruit, unripe chickens, unripe lamb. This market is the noisiest and swarmiest centre of noisy and swarming Florence, and I always like to pass through it on that account. I went also to Santa Croce, and it seemed to me to present a longer vista and broader space than almost any other church, perhaps because the pillars between the nave and aisles are not so massive as to obstruct the view. I looked into the Duomo, too, and was pretty well content to leave it. Then I came homeward, and lost my way, and wandered far off through the white sunshine, and the scanty shade of the vineyard walls, and the olive-trees that here and there branched over them. At last I saw our own gray battlements at a distance, on one side, quite out of the direction in which I was travelling, so was compelled to the grievous mortification of retracing a great many of my weary footsteps. It was a very hot day. This evening I have been on the towertop star-gazing, and looking at the comet, which waves along the sky like an immense feather of flame. Over Florence there was an illuminated atmosphere, caused by the lights of the city gleaming upward into the mists which sleep and dream above that portion of the valley, as well as the rest of it. I saw dimly, or fancied I saw, the hill of Fiesole on the other side of Florence, and remembered how ghostly lights were seen passing thence to the Duomo on the night when Lorenzo the Magnificent died. From time to time the sweet bells of Florence rang out, and I was loath to come down into the lower world, knowing that I shall never again look heavenward from an old tower-top in such a soft calm evening as this. Yet I am not loath to go away; impatient rather; for, taking no root, I soon weary of any soil in which I may be temporarily deposited. The same impatience I sometimes feel or conceive of as regards this earthly life. . . . I forgot to mention that Powers showed me, in his studio, the model of the statue of America, which he wished the government to buy. It has great merit, and embodies the ideal of youth, freedom, progress, and whatever we consider as distinctive of our country's character and destiny. It is a female figure, vigorous, beautiful, planting its foot lightly on a broken chain, and pointing upward. The face has a high look of intelligence and lofty feeling; the form, nude to the middle, has all the charms of womanhood, and is thus warmed and redeemed out of the cold allegoric sisterhood who have generally no merit in chastity, being really without sex. I somewhat question whether it is quite the thing, however, to make a genuine woman out of an allegory we ask, Who is to wed this lovely virgin? and we are not satisfied to banish her into the realm of chilly thought. But I liked the statue, and all the better for what I criticise, and was sorry to see the huge package in which the finished marble lies bundled up, ready to be sent to our country,--which does not call for it. Mr. Powers and his two daughters called to take leave of us, and at parting I expressed a hope of seeing him in America. He said that it would make him very unhappy to believe that he should never return thither; but it seems to me that he has no such definite purpose of return as would be certain to bring itself to pass. It makes a very unsatisfactory life, thus to spend the greater part of it in exile. In such a case we are always deferring the reality of life till a future moment, and, by and by, we have deferred it till there are no future moments; or, if we do go back, we find that life has shifted whatever of reality it had to the country where we deemed ourselves only living temporarily; and so between two stools we come to the ground, and make ourselves a part of one or the other country only by laying our bones in its soil. It is particularly a pity in Powers's case, because he is so very American in character, and the only convenience for him of his Italian residence is, that here he can supply himself with marble, and with workmen to chisel it according to his designs. SIENA. October 2d.--Yesterday morning, at six o'clock, we left our ancient tower, and threw a parting glance--and a rather sad one--over the misty Val d' Arno. This summer will look like a happy one in our children's retrospect, and also, no doubt, in the years that remain to ourselves; and, in truth, I have found it a peaceful and not uncheerful one. It was not a pleasant morning, and Monte Morello, looking down on Florence, had on its cap, betokening foul weather, according to the proverb. Crossing the suspension-bridge, we reached the Leopoldo railway without entering the city. By some mistake,--or perhaps because nobody ever travels by first-class carriages in Tuscany,--we found we had received second-class tickets, and were put into a long, crowded carriage, full of priests, military men, commercial travellers, and other respectable people, facing one another lengthwise along the carriage, and many of them smoking cigars. They were all perfectly civil, and I think I must own that the manners of this second-class would compare favorably with those of an American first-class one. At Empoli, about an hour after we started, we had to change carriages, the main train proceeding to Leghorn. . . . My observations along the road were very scanty: a hilly country, with several old towns seated on the most elevated hill-tops, as is common throughout Tuscany, or sometimes a fortress with a town on the plain at its base; or, once or twice, the towers and battlements of a mediaeval castle, commanding the pass below it. Near Florence the country was fertile in the vine and olive, and looked as unpicturesque as that sort of fertility usually makes it; not but what I have come to think better of the tint of the olive-leaf than when I first saw it. In the latter part of our journey I remember a wild stream, of a greenish hue, but transparent, rushing along over a rough bed, and before reaching Siena we rumbled into a long tunnel, and emerged from it near the city. . . . We drove up hill and down (for the surface of Siena seems to be nothing but an irregularity) through narrow old streets, and were set down at the Aquila Nera, a grim-looking albergo near the centre of the town. Mrs. S------ had already taken rooms for us there, and to these we were now ushered up the highway of a dingy stone staircase, and into a small, brick-paved parlor. The house seemed endlessly old, and all the glimpses that we caught of Siena out of window seemed more ancient still. Almost within arm's reach, across a narrow street, a tall palace of gray, time-worn stone clambered skyward, with arched windows, and square windows, and large windows and small, scattered up and down its side. It is the Palazzo Tolomei, and looks immensely venerable. From the windows of our bedrooms we looked into a broader street, though still not very wide, and into a small piazza, the most conspicuous object in which was a column, hearing on its top a bronze wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. This symbol is repeated in other parts of the city, and scours to indicate that the Sienese people pride themselves in a Roman origin. In another direction, over the tops of the houses, we saw a very high tower, with battlements projecting around its summit, so that it was a fortress in the air; and this I have since found to be the Palazzo Publico. It was pleasant, looking downward into the little old piazza and narrow streets, to see the swarm of life on the pavement, the life of to-day just as new as if it had never been lived before; the citizens, the priests, the soldiers, the mules and asses with their panniers, the diligence lumbering along, with a postilion in a faded crimson coat bobbing up and down on the off-horse. Such a bustling scene, vociferous, too, with various street-cries, is wonderfully set off by the gray antiquity of the town, and makes the town look older than if it were a solitude. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Story came, and accompanied us to look for lodgings. They also drove us about the city in their carriage, and showed us the outside of the Palazzo Publico, and of the cathedral and other remarkable edifices. The aspect of Siena is far more picturesque than that of any other town in Italy, so far as I know Italian towns; and yet, now that I have written it, I remember Perugia, and feel that the observation is a mistake. But at any rate Siena is remarkably picturesque, standing on such a site, on the verge and within the crater of an extinct volcano, and therefore being as uneven as the sea in a tempest; the streets so narrow, ascending between tall, ancient palaces, while the side streets rush headlong down, only to be threaded by sure-footed mules, such as climb Alpine heights; old stone balconies on the palace fronts; old arched doorways, and windows set in frames of Gothic architecture; arcades, resembling canopies of stone, with quaintly sculptured statues in the richly wrought Gothic niches of each pillar;--everything massive and lofty, yet minutely interesting when you look at it stone by stone. The Florentines, and the Romans too, have obliterated, as far as they could, all the interest of their mediaeval structures by covering them with stucco, so that they have quite lost their character, and affect the spectator with no reverential idea of age. Here the city is all overwritten with black-letter, and the glad Italian sun makes the effect so much the stronger. We took a lodging, and afterwards J----- and I rambled about, and went into the cathedral for a moment, and strayed also into the Piazza del Campo, the great public square of Siena. I am not in the mood for further description of public places now, so shall say a word or two about the old palace in which we have established ourselves. We have the second piano, and dwell amid faded grandeur, having for our saloon what seems to have been a ball-room. It is ornamented with a great fresco in the centre of the vaulted ceiling, and others covering the sides of the apartment, and surrounded with arabesque frameworks, where Cupids gambol and chase one another. The subjects of the frescos I cannot make out, not that they are faded like Giotto's, for they are as fresh as roses, and are done in an exceedingly workmanlike style; but they are allegories of Fame and Plenty and other matters, such as I could never understand. Our whole accommodation is in similar style,--spacious, magnificent, and mouldy. In the evening Miss S------ and I drove to the railway, and on the arrival of the train from Florence we watched with much eagerness the unlading of the luggage-van. At last the whole of our ten trunks and tin bandbox were produced, and finally my leather bag, in which was my journal and a manuscript book containing my sketch of a romance. It gladdened my very heart to see it, and I shall think the better of Tuscan promptitude and accuracy for so quickly bringing it back to me. (It was left behind, under one of the rail-carriage seats.) We find all the public officials, whether of railway, police, or custom-house, extremely courteous and pleasant to encounter; they seem willing to take trouble and reluctant to give it, and it is really a gratification to find that such civil people will sometimes oblige you by taking a paul or two aside. October 3d.--I took several strolls about the city yesterday, and find it scarcely extensive enough to get lost in; and if we go far from the centre we soon come to silent streets, with only here and there an individual; and the inhabitants stare from their doors and windows at the stranger, and turn round to look at him after he has passed. The interest of the old town would soon be exhausted for the traveller, but I can conceive that a thoughtful and shy man might settle down here with the view of making the place a home, and spend many years in a sombre kind of happiness. I should prefer it to Florence as a residence, but it would be terrible without an independent life in one's own mind. U---- and I walked out in the afternoon, and went into the Piazza del Campo, the principal place of the city, and a very noble and peculiar one. It is much in the form of an amphitheatre, and the surface of the ground seems to be slightly scooped out, so that it resembles the shallow basin of a shell. It is thus a much better site for an assemblage of the populace than if it were a perfect level. A semicircle or truncated ellipse of stately and ancient edifices surround the piazza, with arches opening beneath them, through which streets converge hitherward. One side of the piazza is a straight line, and is occupied by the Palazzo Publico, which is a most noble and impressive Gothic structure. It has not the mass of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, but is more striking. It has a long battlemented front, the central part of which rises eminent above the rest, in a great square bulk, which is likewise crowned with battlements. This is much more picturesque than the one great block of stone into which the Palazzo Vecchio is consolidated. At one extremity of this long front of the Palazzo Publico rises a tower, shooting up its shaft high, high into the air, and bulging out there into a battlemented fortress, within which the tower, slenderer than before, climbs to a still higher region. I do not know whether the summit of the tower is higher or so high as that of the Palazzo Vecchio; but the length of the shaft, free of the edifice, is much greater, and so produces the more elevating effect. The whole front of the Palazzo Publico is exceedingly venerable, with arched windows, Gothic carvings, and all the old-time ornaments that betoken it to have stood a great while, and the gray strength that will hold it up at least as much longer. At one end of the facade, beneath the shadow of the tower, is a grand and beautiful porch, supported on square pillars, within each of which is a niche containing a statue of mediaeval sculpture. The great Piazza del Campo is the market-place of Siena. In the morning it was thronged with booths and stalls, especially of fruit and vegetable dealers; but as in Florence, they melted away in the sunshine, gradually withdrawing themselves into the shadow thrown from the Palazzo Publico. On the side opposite the palace is an antique fountain of marble, ornamented with two statues and a series of bas-reliefs; and it was so much admired in its day that its sculptor received the name "Del Fonte." I am loath to leave the piazza and palace without finding some word or two to suggest their antique majesty, in the sunshine and the shadow; and how fit it seemed, notwithstanding their venerableness, that there should be a busy crowd filling up the great, hollow amphitheatre, and crying their fruit and little merchandises, so that all the curved line of stately old edifices helped to reverberate the noise. The life of to-day, within the shell of a time past, is wonderfully fascinating. Another point to which a stranger's footsteps are drawn by a kind of magnetism, so that he will be apt to find himself there as often as he strolls out of his hotel, is the cathedral. It stands in the highest part of the city, and almost every street runs into some other street which meanders hitherward. On our way thither, U---- and I came to a beautiful front of black and white marble, in somewhat the same style as the cathedral; in fact, it was the baptistery, and should have made a part of it, according to the original design, which contemplated a structure of vastly greater extent than this actual one. We entered the baptistery, and found the interior small, but very rich in its clustered columns and intersecting arches, and its frescos, pictures, statues, and ornaments. Moreover, a father and mother had brought their baby to be baptized, and the poor little thing, in its gay swaddling-clothes, looked just like what I have seen in old pictures, and a good deal like an Indian pappoose. It gave one little slender squeak when the priest put the water on its forehead, and then was quiet again. We now went round to the facade of the cathedral. . . . It is of black and white marble, with, I believe, an intermixture of red and other colors; but time has toned them down, so that white, black, and red do not contrast so strongly with one another as they may have done five hundred years ago. The architecture is generally of the pointed Gothic style, but there are likewise carved arches over the doors and windows, and a variety which does not produce the effect of confusion,--a magnificent eccentricity, an exuberant imagination flowering out in stone. On high, in the great peak of the front, and throwing its colored radiance into the nave within, there is a round window of immense circumference, the painted figures in which we can see dimly from the outside. But what I wish to express, and never can, is the multitudinous richness of the ornamentation of the front: the arches within arches, sculptured inch by inch, of the deep doorways; the statues of saints, some making a hermitage of a niche, others standing forth; the scores of busts, that look like faces of ancient people gazing down out of the cathedral; the projecting shapes of stone lions,--the thousand forms of Gothic fancy, which seemed to soften the marble and express whatever it liked, and allow it to harden again to last forever. But my description seems like knocking off the noses of some of the busts, the fingers and toes of the statues, the projecting points of the architecture, jumbling them all up together, and flinging them down upon the page. This gives no idea of the truth, nor, least of all, can it shadow forth that solemn whole, mightily combined out of all these minute particulars, and sanctifying the entire space of ground over which this cathedral-front flings its shadow, or on which it reflects the sun. A majesty and a minuteness, neither interfering with the other, each assisting the other; this is what I love in Gothic architecture. We went in and walked about; but I mean to go again before sketching the interior in my poor water-colors. October 4th.--On looking again at the Palazzo Publico, I see that the pillared portal which I have spoken of does not cover an entrance to the palace, but is a chapel, with an altar, and frescos above it. Bouquets of fresh flowers are on the altar, and a lamp burns, in all the daylight, before the crucifix. The chapel is quite unenclosed, except by an openwork balustrade of marble, on which the carving looks very ancient. Nothing could be more convenient for the devotions of the crowd in the piazza, and no doubt the daily prayers offered at the shrine might be numbered by the thousand,--brief, but I hope earnest,--like those glimpses I used to catch at the blue sky, revealing so much in an instant, while I was toiling at Brook Farm. Another picturesque thing about the Palazzo Publico is a great stone balcony quaintly wrought, about midway in the front and high aloft, with two arched windows opening into it. After another glimpse at the cathedral, too, I realize how utterly I have failed in conveying the idea of its elaborate ornament, its twisted and clustered pillars, and numberless devices of sculpture; nor did I mention the venerable statues that stand all round the summit of the edifice, relieved against the sky,--the highest of all being one of the Saviour, on the topmost peak of the front; nor the tall tower that ascends from one side of the building, and is built of layers of black and white marble piled one upon another in regular succession; nor the dome that swells upward close beside this tower. Had the cathedral been constructed on the plan and dimensions at first contemplated, it would have been incomparably majestic; the finished portion, grand as it is, being only what was intended for a transept. One of the walls of what was to have been the nave is still standing, and looks like a ruin, though, I believe, it has been turned to account as the wall of a palace, the space of the never-completed nave being now a court or street. The whole family of us were kindly taken out yesterday, to dine and spend the day at the Villa Belvedere with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Story. The vicinity of Siena is much more agreeable than that of Florence, being cooler, breezier, with more foliage and shrubbery both near at hand and in the distance; and the prospect, Mr. Story told us, embraces a diameter of about a hundred miles between hills north and south. The Villa Belvedere was built and owned by an Englishman now deceased, who has left it to his butler, and its lawns and shrubbery have something English in their character, and there was almost a dampness in the grass, which really pleased me in this parched Italy. Within the house the walls are hung with fine old-fashioned engravings from the pictures of Gainsborough, West, and other English painters. The Englishman, though he had chosen to live and die in Italy, had evidently brought his native tastes and peculiarities along with him. Mr. Story thinks of buying this villa: I do not know but I might be tempted to buy it myself if Siena were a practicable residence for the entire year; but the winter here, with the bleak mountain-winds of a hundred miles round about blustering against it, must be terribly disagreeable. We spent a very pleasant day, turning over books or talking on the lawn, whence we could behold scenes picturesque afar, and rich vineyard glimpses near at hand. Mr. Story is the most variously accomplished and brilliant person, the fullest of social life and fire, whom I ever met; and without seeming to make an effort, he kept us amused and entertained the whole day long; not wearisomely entertained neither, as we should have been if he had not let his fountain play naturally. Still, though he bubbled and brimmed over with fun, he left the impression on me that . . . . there is a pain and care, bred, it may be, out of the very richness of his gifts and abundance of his outward prosperity. Rich, in the prime of life, . . . . and children budding and blossoming around him as fairly as his heart could wish, with sparkling talents,--so many, that if he choose to neglect or fling away one, or two, or three, he would still have enough left to shine with,--who should be happy if not he? . . . . Towards sunset we all walked out into the podere, pausing a little while to look down into a well that stands on the verge of the lawn. Within the spacious circle of its stone curb was an abundant growth of maidenhair, forming a perfect wreath of thickly clustering leaves quite round, and trailing its tendrils downward to the water which gleamed beneath. It was a very pretty sight. Mr. Story bent over the well and uttered deep, musical tones, which were reverberated from the hollow depths with wonderful effect, as if a spirit dwelt within there, and (unlike the spirits that speak through mediums) sent him back responses even profounder and more melodious than the tones that awakened them. Such a responsive well as this might have been taken for an oracle in old days. We went along paths that led from one vineyard to another, and which might have led us for miles across the country. The grapes had been partly gathered, but still there were many purple or white clusters hanging heavily on the vines. We passed cottage doors, and saw groups of contadini and contadine in their festal attire, and they saluted us graciously; but it was observable that one of the men generally lingered on our track to see that no grapes were stolen, for there were a good many young people and children in our train, not only our own, but some from a neighboring villa. These Italian peasants are a kindly race, but, I doubt, not very hospitable of grape or fig. There was a beautiful sunset, and by the time we reached the house again the comet was already visible amid the unextinguished glow of daylight. A Mr. and Mrs. B------, Scotch people from the next villa, had come to see the Storys, and we sat till tea-time reading, talking, William Story drawing caricatures for his children's amusement and ours, and all of us sometimes getting up to look at the comet, which blazed brighter and brighter till it went down into the mists of the horizon. Among the caricatures was one of a Presidential candidate, evidently a man of very malleable principles, and likely to succeed. Late in the evening (too late for little Rosebud) we drove homeward. The streets of old Siena looked very grim at night, and it seemed like gazing into caverns to glimpse down some of the side streets as we passed, with a light burning dimly at the end of them. It was after ten when we reached home, and climbed up our gloomy staircase, lighted by the glimmer of some wax moccoli which I had in my pocket. October 5th.--I have been two or three times into the cathedral; . . . . the whole interior is of marble, in alternate lines of black and white, each layer being about eight inches in width and extending horizontally. It looks very curiously, and might remind the spectator of a stuff with horizontal stripes. Nevertheless, the effect is exceedingly rich, these alternate lines stretching away along the walls and round the clustered pillars, seen aloft, and through the arches; everywhere, this inlay of black and white. Every sort of ornament that could be thought of seems to have been crammed into the cathedral in one place or another: gilding, frescos, pictures; a roof of blue, spangled with golden stars; a magnificent wheel-window of old painted glass over the entrance, and another at the opposite end of the cathedral; statues, some of marble, others of gilded bronze; pulpits of carved marble; a gilded organ; a cornice of marble busts of the popes, extending round the entire church; a pavement, covered all over with a strange kind of mosaic work in various marbles, wrought into marble pictures of sacred subjects; immense clustered pillars supporting the round arches that divide the nave from the side aisles; a clere-story of windows within pointed arches;--it seemed as if the spectator were reading an antique volume written in black-letter of a small character, but conveying a high and solemn meaning. I can find no way of expressing its effect on me, so quaint and venerable as I feel this cathedral to be in its immensity of striped waistcoat, now dingy with five centuries of wear. I ought not to say anything that might detract from the grandeur and sanctity of the blessed edifice, for these attributes are really uninjured by any of the Gothic oddities which I have hinted at. We went this morning to the Institute of the Fine Arts, which is interesting as containing a series of the works of the Sienese painters from a date earlier than that of Cimabue. There is a dispute, I believe, between Florence and Siena as to which city may claim the credit of having originated the modern art of painting. The Florentines put forward Cimabue as the first artist, but as the Sienese produce a picture, by Guido da Siena, dated before the birth of Cimabue, the victory is decidedly with them. As to pictorial merit, to my taste there is none in either of these old painters, nor in any of their successors for a long time afterwards. At the Institute there are several rooms hung with early productions of the Sienese school, painted before the invention of oil-colors, on wood shaped into Gothic altar-pieces. The backgrounds still retain a bedimmed splendor of gilding. There is a plentiful use of red, and I can conceive that the pictures must have shed an illumination through the churches where they were displayed. There is often, too, a minute care bestowed on the faces in the pictures, and sometimes a very strong expression, stronger than modern artists get, and it is very strange how they attained this merit while they were so inconceivably rude in other respects. It is remarkable that all the early faces of the Madonna are especially stupid, and all of the same type, a sort of face such as one might carve on a pumpkin, representing a heavy, sulky, phlegmatic woman, with a long and low arch of the nose. This same dull face continues to be assigned to the Madonna, even when the countenances of the surrounding saints and angels are characterized with power and beauty, so that I think there must have been some portrait of this sacred personage reckoned authentic, which the early painters followed and religiously repeated. At last we came to a picture by Sodoma, the most illustrious representative of the Sienese school. It was a fresco; Christ bound to the pillar, after having been scourged. I do believe that painting has never done anything better, so far as expression is concerned, than this figure. In all these generations since it was painted it must have softened thousands of hearts, drawn down rivers of tears, been more effectual than a million of sermons. Really, it is a thing to stand and weep at. No other painter has done anything that can deserve to be compared to this. There are some other pictures by Sodoma, among them a Judith, very noble and admirable, and full of a profound sorrow for the deed which she has felt it her mission to do. Aquila Nera, October 7th.--Our lodgings in Siena had been taken only for five days, as they were already engaged after that period; so yesterday we returned to our old quarters at the Black Eagle. In the forenoon J----- and I went out of one of the gates (the road from it leads to Florence) and had a pleasant country walk. Our way wound downward, round the hill on which Siena stands, and gave us views of the Duomo and its campanile, seemingly pretty near, after we had walked long enough to be quite remote from them. Sitting awhile on the parapet of a bridge, I saw a laborer chopping the branches off a poplar-tree which he had felled; and, when it was trimmed, he took up the large trunk on one of his shoulders and carried it off, seemingly with ease. He did not look like a particularly robust man; but I have never seen such an herculean feat attempted by an Englishman or American. It has frequently struck me that the Italians are able to put forth a great deal of strength in such insulated efforts as this; but I have been told that they are less capable of continued endurance and hardship than our own race. I do not know why it should be so, except that I presume their food is less strong than ours. There was no other remarkable incident in our walk, which lay chiefly through gorges of the hills, winding beneath high cliffs of the brown Siena earth, with many pretty scenes of rural landscape; vineyards everywhere, and olive-trees; a mill on its little stream, over which there was an old stone bridge, with a graceful arch; farm-houses; a villa or two; subterranean passages, passing from the roadside through the high banks into the vineyards. At last we turned aside into a road which led us pretty directly to another gate of the city, and climbed steeply upward among tanneries, where the young men went about with their well-shaped legs bare, their trousers being tucked up till they were strictly breeches and nothing else. The campanile stood high above us; and by and by, and very soon, indeed, the steep ascent of the street brought us into the neighborhood of the Piazza del Campo, and of our own hotel. . . . From about twelve o'clock till one, I sat at my chamber window watching the specimens of human life as displayed in the Piazza Tolomei. [Here follow several pages of moving objects.] . . . . Of course, a multitude of other people passed by, but the curiousness of the catalogue is the prevalence of the martial and religious elements. The general costume of the inhabitants is frocks or sacks, loosely made, and rather shabby; often, shirt-sleeves; or the coat hung over one shoulder. They wear felt hats and straw. People of respectability seem to prefer cylinder hats, either black or drab, and broadcloth frock-coats in the French fashion; but, like the rest, they look a little shabby. Almost all the women wear shawls. Ladies in swelling petticoats, and with fans, some of which are highly gilded, appear. The people generally are not tall, but have a sufficient breadth of shoulder; in complexion, similar to Americans; bearded, universally. The vehicle used for driving is a little gig without a top; but these are seldom seen, and still less frequently a cab or other carriages. The gait of the people has not the energy of business or decided purpose. Everybody appears to lounge, and to have time for a moment's chat, and a disposition to rest, reason or none. After dinner I walked out of another gate of the city, and wandered among some pleasant country lanes, bordered with hedges, and wearing an English aspect; at least, I could fancy so. The vicinity of Siena is delightful to walk about in; there being a verdant outlook, a wide prospect of purple mountains, though no such level valley as the Val d' Arno; and the city stands so high that its towers and domes are seen more picturesquely from many points than those of Florence can be. Neither is the pedestrian so cruelly shut into narrow lanes, between high stone-walls, over which he cannot get a glimpse of landscape. As I walked by the hedges yesterday I could have fancied that the olive-trunks were those of apple-trees, and that I was in one or other of the two lands that I love better than Italy. But the great white villas and the farm-houses were unlike anything I have seen elsewhere, or that I should wish to see again, though proper enough to Italy. October 9th.--Thursday forenoon, 8th, we went to see the Palazzo Publico. There are some fine old halls and chapels, adorned with ancient frescos and pictures, of which I remember a picture of the Virgin by Sodoma, very beautiful, and other fine pictures by the same master. The architecture of these old rooms is grand, the roofs being supported by ponderous arches, which are covered with frescos, still magnificent, though faded, darkened, and defaced. We likewise saw an antique casket of wood, enriched with gilding, which had once contained an arm of John the Baptist,--so the custode told us. One of the halls was hung with the portraits of eight popes and nearly forty cardinals, who were natives of Siena. I have done hardly any other sight-seeing except a daily visit to the cathedral, which I admire and love the more the oftener I go thither. Its striped peculiarity ceases entirely to interfere with the grandeur and venerable beauty of its impression; and I am never weary of gazing through the vista of its arches, and noting continually something that I had not seen before in its exuberant adornment. The pavement alone is inexhaustible, being covered all over with figures of life-size or larger, which look like immense engravings of Gothic or Scriptural scenes. There is Absalom hanging by his hair, and Joab slaying him with a spear. There is Samson belaboring the Philistines with the jawbone of an ass. There are armed knights in the tumult of battle, all wrought with wonderful expression. The figures are in white marble, inlaid with darker stone, and the shading is effected by means of engraved lines in the marble, filled in with black. It would be possible, perhaps, to print impressions from some of these vast plates, for the process of cutting the lines was an exact anticipation of the modern art of engraving. However, the same thing was done--and I suppose at about the same period--on monumental brasses, and I have seen impressions or rubbings from those for sale in the old English churches. Yesterday morning, in the cathedral, I watched a woman at confession, being curious to see how long it would take her to tell her sins, the growth of a week perhaps. I know not how long she had been confessing when I first observed her, but nearly an hour passed before the priest came suddenly from the confessional, looking weary and moist with perspiration, and took his way out of the cathedral. The woman was left on her knees. This morning I watched another woman, and she too was very long about it, and I could see the face of the priest behind the curtain of the confessional, scarcely inclining his ear to the perforated tin through which the penitent communicated her outpourings. It must be very tedious to listen, day after day, to the minute and commonplace iniquities of the multitude of penitents, and it cannot be often that these are redeemed by the treasure-trove of a great sin. When her confession was over the woman came and sat down on the same bench with me, where her broad-brimmed straw hat was lying. She seemed to be a country woman, with a simple, matronly face, which was solemnized and softened with the comfort that she had obtained by disburdening herself of the soil of worldly frailties and receiving absolution. An old woman, who haunts the cathedral, whispered to her, and she went and knelt down where a procession of priests were to pass, and then the old lady begged a cruzia of me, and got a half-paul. It almost invariably happens, in church or cathedral, that beggars address their prayers to the heretic visitor, and probably with more unction than to the Virgin or saints. However, I have nothing to say against the sincerity of this people's devotion. They give all the proof of it that a mere spectator can estimate. Last evening we all went out to see the comet, which then reached its climax of lustre. It was like a lofty plume of fire, and grew very brilliant as the night darkened. October 10th.--This morning, too, we went to the cathedral, and sat long listening to the music of the organ and voices, and witnessing rites and ceremonies which are far older than even the ancient edifice where they were exhibited. A good many people were present, sitting, kneeling, or walking about,--a freedom that contrasts very agreeably with the grim formalities of English churches and our own meeting-houses. Many persons were in their best attire; but others came in, with unabashed simplicity, in their old garments of labor, sunburnt women from their toil among the vines and olives. One old peasant I noticed with his withered shanks in breeches and blue yarn stockings. The people of whatever class are wonderfully tolerant of heretics, never manifesting any displeasure or annoyance, though they must see that we are drawn thither by curiosity alone, and merely pry while they pray. I heartily wish the priests were better men, and that human nature, divinely influenced, could be depended upon for a constant supply and succession of good and pure ministers, their religion has so many admirable points. And then it is a sad pity that this noble and beautiful cathedral should be a mere fossil shell, out of which the life has died long ago. But for many a year yet to come the tapers will burn before the high altar, the Host will be elevated, the incense diffuse its fragrance, the confessionals be open to receive the penitents. I saw a father entering with two little bits of boys, just big enough to toddle along, holding his hand on either side. The father dipped his fingers into the marble font of holy water,--which, on its pedestals, was two or three times as high as those small Christians, --and wetted a hand of each, and taught them how to cross themselves. When they come to be men it will be impossible to convince those children that there is no efficacy in holy water, without plucking up all religious faith and sentiment by the roots. Generally, I suspect, when people throw off the faith they were born in, the best soil of their hearts is apt to cling to its roots. Raised several feet above the pavement, against every clustered pillar along the nave of the cathedral, is placed a statue of Gothic sculpture. In various places are sitting statues of popes of Sienese nativity, all of whom, I believe, have a hand raised in the act of blessing. Shrines and chapels, set in grand, heavy frames of pillared architecture, stand all along the aisles and transepts, and these seem in many instances to have been built and enriched by noble families, whose arms are sculptured on the pedestals of the pillars, sometimes with a cardinal's hat above to denote the rank of one of its members. How much pride, love, and reverence in the lapse of ages must have clung to the sharp points of all this sculpture and architecture! The cathedral is a religion in itself, --something worth dying for to those who have an hereditary interest in it. In the pavement, yesterday, I noticed the gravestone of a person who fell six centuries ago in the battle of Monte Aperto, and was buried here by public decree as a meed of valor. This afternoon I took a walk out of one of the city gates, and found the country about Siena as beautiful in this direction as in all others. I came to a little stream flowing over into a pebbly bed, and collecting itself into pools, with a scanty rivulet between. Its glen was deep, and was crossed by a bridge of several lofty and narrow arches like those of a Roman aqueduct. It is a modern structure, however. Farther on, as I wound round along the base of a hill which fell down upon the road by precipitous cliffs of brown earth, I saw a gray, ruined wall on the summit, surrounded with cypress-trees. This tree is very frequent about Siena, and the scenery is made soft and beautiful by a variety of other trees and shrubbery, without which these hills and gorges would have scarcely a charm. The road was thronged with country people, mostly women and children, who had been spending the feast-day in Siena; and parties of boys were chasing one another through the fields, pretty much as boys do in New England of a Sunday, but the Sienese lads had not the sense of Sabbath-breaking like our boys. Sunday with these people is like any other feast-day, and consecrated cheerful enjoyment. So much religious observance, as regards outward forms, is diffused through the whole week that they have no need to intensify the Sabbath except by making it gladden the other days. Returning through the same gate by which I had come out, I ascended into the city by a long and steep street, which was paved with bricks set edgewise. This pavement is common in many of the streets, which, being too steep for horses and carriages, are meant only to sustain the lighter tread of mules and asses. The more level streets are paved with broad, smooth flag-stones, like those of Florence,--a fashion which I heartily regret to change for the little penitential blocks of Rome. The walls of Siena in their present state, and so far as I have seen them, are chiefly brick; but there are intermingled fragments of ancient stone-work, and I wonder why the latter does not prevail more largely. The Romans, however,--and Siena had Roman characteristics,--always liked to build of brick, a taste that has made their ruins (now that the marble slabs are torn off) much less grand than they ought to have been. I am grateful to the old Sienese for having used stone so largely in their domestic architecture, and thereby rendered their city so grimly picturesque, with its black palaces frowning upon one another from arched windows, across narrow streets, to the height of six stories, like opposite ranks of tall men looking sternly into one another's eyes. October 11th.--Again I went to the cathedral this morning, and spent an hour listening to the music and looking through the orderly intricacies of the arches, where many vistas open away among the columns of the choir. There are five clustered columns on each side of the nave; then under the dome there are two more arches, not in a straight line, but forming the segment of a circle; and beyond the circle of the dome there are four more arches, extending to the extremity of the chancel. I should have said, instead of "clustered columns" as above, that there are five arches along the nave supported by columns. This cathedral has certainly bewitched me, to write about it so much, effecting nothing with my pains. I should judge the width of each arch to be about twenty feet, and the thickness of each clustered pillar is eight; or ten more, and the length of the entire building may be between two and three hundred feet; not very large, certainly, but it makes an impression of grandeur independent of size. . . . I never shall succeed even in reminding myself of the venerable magnificence of this minster, with its arches, its columns, its cornice of popes' heads, its great wheel windows, its manifold ornament, all combining in one vast effect, though many men have labored individually, and through a long course of time, to produce this multifarious handiwork and headwork. I now took a walk out of the city. A road turned immediately to the left as I emerged from the city, and soon proved to be a rustic lane leading past several villas and farm-houses. It was a very pleasant walk, with vineyards and olive-orchards on each side, and now and then glimpses of the towers and sombre heaped-up palaces of Siena, and now a rural seclusion again; for the hills rise and the valleys fall like the swell and subsidence of the sea after a gale, so that Siena may be quite hidden within a quarter of a mile of its wall, or may be visible, I doubt not, twenty miles away. It is a fine old town, with every promise of health and vigor in its atmosphere, and really, if I could take root anywhere, I know not but it could as well be here as in another place. It would only be a kind of despair, however, that would ever make me dream of finding a home in Italy; a sense that I had lost my country through absence or incongruity, and that earth is not an abiding-place. I wonder that we Americans love our country at all, it having no limits and no oneness; and when you try to make it a matter of the heart, everything falls away except one's native State; neither can you seize hold of that unless you tear it out of the Union, bleeding and quivering. Yet unquestionably, we do stand by our national flag as stoutly as any people in the world, and I myself have felt the heart throb at sight of it as sensibly as other men. I think the singularity of our form of government contributes to give us a kind of patriotism, by separating us from other nations more entirely. If other nations had similar institutions,--if England, especially, were a democracy,--we should as readily make ourselves at home in another country as now in a new State. October 12th.--And again we went to the cathedral this forenoon, and the whole family, except myself, sketched portions of it. Even Rosebud stood gravely sketching some of the inlaid figures of the pavement. As for me, I can but try to preserve some memorial of this beautiful edifice in ill-fitting words that never hit the mark. This morning visit was not my final one, for I went again after dinner and walked quite round the whole interior. I think I have not yet mentioned the rich carvings of the old oaken seats round the choir, and the curious mosaic of lighter and darker woods, by which figures and landscapes are skilfully represented on the backs of some of the stalls. The process seems to be the same as the inlaying and engraving of the pavement, the material in one case being marble, in the other wood. The only other thing that I particularly noticed was, that in the fonts of holy water at the front entrance, marble fish are sculptured in the depths of the basin, and eels and shellfish crawling round the brim. Have I spoken of the sumptuous carving of the capitals of the columns? At any rate I have left a thousand beauties without a word. Here I drop the subject. As I took my parting glance the cathedral had a gleam of golden sunshine in its far depths, and it seemed to widen and deepen itself, as if to convince me of my error in saying, yesterday, that it is not very large. I wonder how I could say it. After taking leave of the cathedral, I found my way out of another of the city gates, and soon turned aside into a green lane. . . . Soon the lane passed through a hamlet consisting of a few farm-houses, the shabbiest and dreariest that can be conceived, ancient, and ugly, and dilapidated, with iron-grated windows below, and heavy wooden shutters on the windows above,--high, ruinous walls shutting in the courts, and ponderous gates, one of which was off its hinges. The farm-yards were perfect pictures of disarray and slovenly administration of home affairs. Only one of these houses had a door opening on the road, and that was the meanest in the hamlet. A flight of narrow stone stairs ascended from the threshold to the second story. All these houses were specimens of a rude antiquity, built of brick and stone, with the marks of arched doors and windows where a subsequent generation had shut up the lights, or the accesses which the original builders had opened. Humble as these dwellings are,--though large and high compared with rural residences in other countries,--they may very probably date back to the times when Siena was a warlike republic, and when every house in its neighborhood had need to be a fortress. I suppose, however, prowling banditti were the only enemies against whom a defence would be attempted. What lives must now be lived there,--in beastly ignorance, mental sluggishness, hard toil for little profit, filth, and a horrible discomfort of fleas; for if the palaces of Italy are overrun with these pests, what must the country hovels be! . . . . We are now all ready for a start to-morrow. RADICOFANI. October 13th.--We arranged to begin our journey at six. . . . It was a chill, lowering morning, and the rain blew a little in our faces before we had gone far, but did not continue long. The country soon lost the pleasant aspect which it wears immediately about Siena, and grew very barren and dreary. Then it changed again for the better, the road leading us through a fertility of vines and olives, after which the dreary and barren hills came back again, and formed our prospect throughout most of the day. We stopped for our dejeuner a la fourchette at a little old town called San Quirico, which we entered through a ruined gateway, the town being entirely surrounded by its ancient wall. This wall is far more picturesque than that of Siena, being lofty and built of stone, with a machicolation of arches running quite round its top, like a cornice. It has little more than a single street, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, narrow, paved with flag-stones in the Florentine fashion, and lined with two rows of tall, rusty stone houses, without a gap between them from end to end. The cafes were numerous in relation to the size of the town, and there were two taverns,--our own, the Eagle, being doubtless the best, and having three arched entrances in its front. Of these, the middle one led to the guests' apartments, the one on the right to the barn, and that on the left to the stable, so that, as is usual in Italian inns, the whole establishment was under one roof. We were shown into a brick-paved room on the first floor, adorned with a funny fresco of Aurora on the ceiling, and with some colored prints, both religious and profane. . . . As we drove into the town we noticed a Gothic church with two doors of peculiar architecture, and while our dejeuner was being prepared we went to see it. The interior had little that was remarkable, for it had been repaired early in the last century, and spoilt of course; but an old triptych is still hanging in a chapel beside the high altar. It is painted on wood, and dates back beyond the invention of oil-painting, and represents the Virgin and some saints and angels. Neither is the exterior of the church particularly interesting, with the exception of the carving and ornaments of two of the doors. Both of them have round arches, deep and curiously wrought, and the pillars of one of the two are formed of a peculiar knot or twine in stone-work, such as I cannot well describe, but it is both ingenious and simple. These pillars rest on two nondescript animals, which look as much like walruses as anything else. The pillars of the other door consist of two figures supporting the capitals, and themselves standing on two handsomely carved lions. The work is curious, and evidently very ancient, and the material a red freestone. After lunch, J----- and I took a walk out of the gate of the town opposite to that of our entrance. There were no soldiers on guard, as at city gates of more importance; nor do I think that there is really any gate to shut, but the massive stone gateway still stands entire over the empty arch. Looking back after we had passed through, I observed that the lofty upper story is converted into a dove-cot, and that pumpkins were put to ripen in some open chambers at one side. We passed near the base of a tall, square tower, which is said to be of Roman origin. The little town is in the midst of a barren region, but its immediate neighborhood is fertile, and an olive-orchard, venerable of aspect, lay on the other side of the pleasant lane with its English hedges, and olive-trees grew likewise along the base of the city wall. The arched machicolations, which I have before mentioned, were here and there interrupted by a house which was built upon the old wall or incorporated into it; and from the windows of one of then I saw ears of Indian corn hung out to ripen in the sun, and somebody was winnowing grain at a little door that opened through the wall. It was very pleasant to see the ancient warlike rampart thus overcome with rustic peace. The ruined gateway is partly overgrown with ivy. Returning to our inn, along the street, we saw ------ sketching one of the doors of the Gothic church, in the midst of a crowd of the good people of San Quirico, who made no scruple to look over her shoulder, pressing so closely as hardly to allow her elbow-room. I must own that I was too cowardly to come forward and take my share of this public notice, so I turned away to the inn and there awaited her coming. Indeed, she has seldom attempted to sketch without finding herself the nucleus of a throng. VITERBO. The Black Eagle, October 14th.--Perhaps I had something more to say of San Quirico, but I shall merely add that there is a stately old palace of the Piccolomini close to the church above described. It is built in the style of the Roman palaces, and looked almost large enough to be one of them. Nevertheless, the basement story, or part of it, seems to be used as a barn and stable, for I saw a yoke of oxen in the entrance. I cannot but mention a most wretched team of vettura-horses which stopped at the door of our albergo: poor, lean, downcast creatures, with deep furrows between their ribs; nothing but skin and bone, in short, and not even so much skin as they should have had, for it was partially worn off from their backs. The harness was fastened with ropes, the traces and reins were ropes; the carriage was old and shabby, and out of this miserable equipage there alighted an ancient gentleman and lady, whom our waiter affirmed to be the Prefect of Florence and his wife. We left San Quirico at two o'clock, and followed an ascending road till we got into the region above the clouds; the landscape was very wide, but very dreary and barren, and grew more and more so till we began to climb the mountain of Radicofani, the peak of which had been blackening itself on the horizon almost the whole day. When we had come into a pretty high region we were assailed by a real mountain tempest of wind, rain, and hail, which pelted down upon us in good earnest, and cooled the air a little below comfort. As we toiled up the mountain its upper region presented a very striking aspect, looking as if a precipice had been smoothed and squared for the purpose of rendering the old castle on its summit more inaccessible than it was by nature. This is the castle of the robber-knight, Ghino di Tacco, whom Boccaccio introduces into the Decameron. A freebooter of those days must have set a higher value on such a rock as this than if it had been one mass of diamond, for no art of mediaeval warfare could endanger him in such a fortress. Drawing yet nearer, we found the hillside immediately above us strewn with thousands upon thousands of great fragments of stone. It looked as if some great ruin had taken place there, only it was too vast a ruin to have been the dismemberment and dissolution of anything made by man. We could now see the castle on the height pretty distinctly. It seemed to impend over the precipice; and close to the base of the latter we saw the street of a town on as strange and inconvenient a foundation as ever one was built upon. I suppose the inhabitants of the village were dependants of the old knight of the castle; his brotherhood of robbers, as they married and had families, settled there under the shelter of the eagle's nest. But the singularity is, how a community of people have contrived to live and perpetuate themselves so far out of the reach of the world's help, and seemingly with no means of assisting in the world's labor. I cannot imagine how they employ themselves except in begging, and even that branch of industry appears to be left to the old women and the children. No house was ever built in this immediate neighborhood for any such natural purpose as induces people to build them on other sites. Even our hotel, at which we now arrived, could not be said to be a natural growth of the soil; it had originally been a whim of one of the Grand Dukes of Tuscany,--a hunting-palace,--intended for habitation only during a few weeks of the year. Of all dreary hotels I ever alighted at, methinks this is the most so; but on first arriving I merely followed the waiter to look at our rooms, across stone-paved basement-halls dismal as Etruscan tombs; up dim staircases, and along shivering corridors, all of stone, stone, stone, nothing but cold stone. After glancing at these pleasant accommodations, my wife and I, with J-----, set out to ascend the hill and visit the town of Radicofani. It is not more than a quarter of a mile above our hotel, and is accessible by a good piece of road, though very steep. As we approached the town, we were assailed by some little beggars; but this is the case all through Italy, in city or solitude, and I think the mendicants of Radicofani are fewer than its proportion. We had not got far towards the village, when, looking back over the scene of many miles that lay stretched beneath us, we saw a heavy shower apparently travelling straight towards us over hill and dale. It seemed inevitable that it should soon be upon us, so I persuaded my wife to return to the hotel; but J----- and I kept onward, being determined to see Radicofani with or without a drenching. We soon entered the street; the blackest, ugliest, rudest old street, I do believe, that ever human life incrusted itself with. The first portion of it is the overbrimming of the town in generations subsequent to that in which it was surrounded by a wall; but after going a little way we came to a high, square tower planted right across the way, with an arched gateway in its basement story, so that it looked like a great short-legged giant striding over the street of Radicofani. Within the gateway is the proper and original town, though indeed the portion outside of the gate is as densely populated, as ugly, and as ancient, as that within. The street was very narrow, and paved with flag-stones not quite so smooth as those of Florence; the houses are tall enough to be stately, if they were not so inconceivably dingy and shabby; but, with their half-dozen stories, they make only the impression of hovel piled upon hovel,--squalor immortalized in undecaying stone. It was now getting far into the twilight, and I could not distinguish the particularities of the little town, except that there were shops, a cafe or two, and as many churches, all dusky with age, crowded closely together, inconvenient stifled too in spite of the breadth and freedom of the mountain atmosphere outside the scanty precincts of the street. It was a death-in-life little place, a fossilized place, and yet the street was thronged, and had all the bustle of a city; even more noise than a city's street, because everybody in Radicofani knows everybody, and probably gossips with everybody, being everybody's blood relation, as they cannot fail to have become after they and their forefathers have been shut up together within the narrow walls for many hundred years. They looked round briskly at J----- and me, but were courteous, as Italians always are, and made way for us to pass through the throng, as we kept on still ascending the steep street. It took us but a few minutes to reach the still steeper and winding pathway which climbs towards the old castle. After ascending above the village, the path, though still paved, becomes very rough, as if the hoofs of Ghino di Tacco's robber cavalry had displaced the stones and they had never been readjusted. On every side, too, except where the path just finds space enough, there is an enormous rubbish of huge stones, which seems to have fallen from the precipice above, or else to have rained down out of the sky. We kept on, and by and by reached what seemed to have been a lower outwork of the castle on the top; there was the massive old arch of a gateway, and a great deal of ruin of man's work, beside the large stones that here, as elsewhere, were scattered so abundantly. Within the wall and gateway just mentioned, however, there was a kind of farm-house, adapted, I suppose, out of the old ruin, and I noticed some ears of Indian corn hanging out of a window. There were also a few stacks of hay, but no signs of human or animal life; and it is utterly inexplicable to me, where these products of the soil could have come from, for certainly they never grew amid that barrenness. We had not yet reached Ghino's castle, and, being now beneath it, we had to bend our heads far backward to see it rising up against the clear sky while we were now in twilight. The path upward looked terribly steep and rough, and if we had climbed it we should probably have broken our necks in descending again into the lower obscurity. We therefore stopped here, much against J-----'s will, and went back as we came, still wondering at the strange situation of Radicofani; for its aspect is as if it had stepped off the top of the cliff and lodged at its base, though still in danger of sliding farther down the hillside. Emerging from the compact, grimy life of its street, we saw that the shower had swept by, or probably had expended itself in a region beneath us, for we were above the scope of many of the showery clouds that haunt a hill-country. There was a very bright star visible, I remember, and we saw the new moon, now a third towards the full, for the first time this evening. The air was cold and bracing. But I am excessively sleepy, so will not describe our great dreary hotel, where a blast howled in an interminable corridor all night. It did not seem to have anything to do with the wind out of doors, but to be a blast that had been casually shut in when the doors were closed behind the last Grand Duke who came hither and departed, and ever since it has been kept prisoner, and makes a melancholy wail along the corridor. The dreamy stupidity of this conceit proves how sleepy I am. SETTE VENE. October 15th.--We left Radicofani long before sunrise, and I saw that ceremony take place from the coupe of the vettura for the first time in a long while. A sunset is the better sight of the two. I have always suspected it, and have been strengthened in the idea whenever I have had an opportunity of comparison. Our departure from Radicofani was most dreary, except that we were very glad to get away; but, the cold discomfort of dressing in a chill bedroom by candlelight, and our uncertain wandering through the immense hotel with a dim taper in search of the breakfast-room, and our poor breakfast of eggs, Italian bread, and coffee,--all these things made me wish that people were created with roots like trees, so they could not befool themselves with wandering about. However, we had not long been on our way before the morning air blew away all our troubles, and we rumbled cheerfully onward, ready to encounter even the papal custom-house officers at Ponte Centino. Our road thither was a pretty steep descent. I remember the barren landscape of hills, with here and there a lonely farm-house, which there seemed to be no occasion for, where nothing grew. At Ponte Centino my passport was examined, and I was invited into an office where sat the papal custom-house officer, a thin, subtle-looking, keen-eyed, sallow personage, of aspect very suitable to be the agent of a government of priests. I communicated to him my wish to pass the custom-house without giving the officers the trouble of examining my luggage. He inquired whether I had any dutiable articles, and wrote for my signature a declaration in the negative; and then he lifted a sand-box, beneath which was a little heap of silver coins. On this delicate hint I asked what was the usual fee, and was told that fifteen pauls was the proper sum. I presume it was entirely an illegal charge, and that he had no right to pass any luggage without examination; but the thing is winked at by the authorities, and no money is better spent for the traveller's convenience than these fifteen pauls. There was a papal military officer in the room, and he, I believe, cheated me in the change of a Napoleon, as his share of the spoil. At the door a soldier met me with my passport, and looked as if he expected a fee for handing it to me; but in this he was disappointed. After I had resumed my seat in the coupe, the porter of the custom-house--a poor, sickly-looking creature, half dead with the malaria of the place--appeared, and demanded a fee for doing nothing to my luggage. He got three pauls, and looked but half contented. This whole set of men seem to be as corrupt as official people can possibly be; and yet I hardly know whether to stigmatize them as corrupt, because it is not their individual delinquency, but the operation of a regular system. Their superiors know what men they are, and calculate upon their getting a living by just these means. And, indeed, the custom-house and passport regulations, as they exist in Italy, would be intolerable if there were not this facility of evading them at little cost. Such laws are good for nothing but to be broken. We now began to ascend again, and the country grew fertile and picturesque. We passed many mules and donkeys, laden with a sort of deep firkin on each side of the saddle, and these were heaped up with grapes, both purple and white. We bought some, and got what we should have thought an abundance at small price, only we used to get twice as many at Montanto for the same money. However, a Roman paul bought us three or four pounds even here. We still ascended, and came soon to the gateway of the town of Acquapendente, which stands on a height that seems to descend by natural terraces to the valley below. . . . French soldiers, in their bluish-gray coats and scarlet trousers, were on duty at the gate, and one of them took my passport and the vetturino's, and we then drove into the town to wait till they should be vised. We saw but one street, narrow, with tall, rusty, aged houses, built of stone, evil smelling; in short, a kind of place that would be intolerably dismal in cloudy England, and cannot be called cheerful even under the sun of Italy. . . . Priests passed, and burly friars, one of whom was carrying a wine-barrel on his head. Little carts, laden with firkins of grapes, and donkeys with the same genial burden, brushed passed our vettura, finding scarce room enough in the narrow street. All the idlers of Acquapendente--and they were many--assembled to gaze at us, but not discourteously. Indeed, I never saw an idle curiosity exercised in such a pleasant way as by the country-people of Italy. It almost deserves to be called a kindly interest and sympathy, instead of a hard and cold curiosity, like that of our own people, and it is displayed with such simplicity that it is evident no offence is intended. By and by the vetturino brought his passport and my own, with the official vise, and we kept on our way, still ascending, passing through vineyards and olives, and meeting grape-laden donkeys, till we came to the town of San Lorenzo Nuovo, a place built by Pius VI. as the refuge for the people of a lower town which had been made uninhabitable by malaria. The new town, which I suppose is hundreds of years old, with all its novelty shows strikingly the difference between places that grow up and shape out their streets of their own accord, as it were, and one that is built on a settled plan of malice aforethought. This little rural village has gates of classic architecture, a spacious piazza, and a great breadth of straight and rectangular streets, with houses of uniform style, airy and wholesome looking to a degree seldom seen on the Continent. Nevertheless, I must say that the town looked hatefully dull and ridiculously prim, and, of the two, I had rather spend my life in Radicofani. We drove through it, from gate to gate, without stopping, and soon came to the brow of a hill, whence we beheld, right beneath us, the beautiful lake of Bolsena; not exactly at our feet, however, for a portion of level ground lay between, haunted by the pestilence which has depopulated all these shores, and made the lake and its neighborhood a solitude. It looked very beautiful, nevertheless, with a sheen of a silver mid a gray like that of steel as the wind blew and the sun shone over it; and, judging by my own feelings, I should really have thought that the breeze from its surface was bracing and healthy. Descending the hill, we passed the ruins of the old town of San Lorenzo, of which the prim village on the hill-top may be considered the daughter. There is certainly no resemblance between parent and child, the former being situated on a sort of precipitous bluff, where there could have been no room for piazzas and spacious streets, nor accessibility except by mules, donkeys, goats, and people of Alpine habits. There was an ivy-covered tower on the top of the bluff, and some arched cavern mouths that looked as if they opened into the great darkness. These were the entrances to Etruscan tombs, for the town on top had been originally Etruscan, and the inhabitants had buried themselves in the heart of the precipitous bluffs after spending their lives on its summit. Reaching the plain, we drove several miles along the shore of the lake, and found the soil fertile and generally well cultivated, especially with the vine, though there were tracks apparently too marshy to be put to any agricultural purpose. We met now and then a flock of sheep, watched by sallow-looking and spiritless men and boys, who, we took it for granted, would soon perish of malaria, though, I presume, they never spend their nights in the immediate vicinity of the lake. I should like to inquire whether animals suffer from the bad qualities of the air. The lake is not nearly so beautiful on a nearer view as it is from the hill above, there being no rocky margin, nor bright, sandy beach, but everywhere this interval of level ground, and often swampy marsh, betwixt the water and the hill. At a considerable distance from the shore we saw two islands, one of which is memorable as having been the scene of an empress's murder, but I cannot stop to fill my journal with historical reminiscences. We kept onward to the town of Bolsena, which stands nearly a mile from the lake, and on a site higher than the level margin, yet not so much so, I should apprehend, as to free it from danger of malaria. We stopped at an albergo outside of the wall of the town, and before dinner had time to see a good deal of the neighborhood. The first aspect of the town was very striking, with a vista into its street through the open gateway, and high above it an old, gray, square-built castle, with three towers visible at the angles, one of them battlemented, one taller than the rest, and one partially ruined. Outside of the town-gate there were some fragments of Etruscan ruin, capitals of pillars and altars with inscriptions; these we glanced at, and then made our entrance through the gate. There it was again,--the same narrow, dirty, time-darkened street of piled-up houses which we have so often seen; the same swarm of ill-to-do people, grape-laden donkeys, little stands or shops of roasted chestnuts, peaches, tomatoes, white and purple figs; the same evidence of a fertile land, and grimy poverty in the midst of abundance which nature tries to heap into their hands. It seems strange that they can never grasp it. We had gone but a little way along this street, when we saw a narrow lane that turned aside from it and went steeply upward. Its name was on the corner,--the Via di Castello,--and as the castle promised to be more interesting than anything else, we immediately began to ascend. The street--a strange name for such an avenue--clambered upward in the oddest fashion, passing under arches, scrambling up steps, so that it was more like a long irregular pair of stairs than anything that Christians call a street; and so large a part of it was under arches that we scarcely seemed to be out of doors. At last U----, who was in advance, emerged into the upper air, and cried out that we had ascended to an upper town, and a larger one than that beneath. It really seemed like coming up out of the earth into the midst of the town, when we found ourselves so unexpectedly in upper Bolsena. We were in a little nook, surrounded by old edifices, and called the Piazza del Orologio, on account of a clock that was apparent somewhere. The castle was close by, and from its platform there was a splendid view of the lake and all the near hill-country. The castle itself is still in good condition, and apparently as strong as ever it was as respects the exterior walls; but within there seemed to be neither floor nor chamber, nothing but the empty shell of the dateless old fortress. The stones at the base and lower part of the building were so massive that I should think the Etrurians must have laid them; and then perhaps the Romans built a little higher, and the mediaeval people raised the battlements and towers. But we did not look long at the castle, our attention being drawn to the singular aspect of the town itself, which--to speak first of its most prominent characteristic--is the very filthiest place, I do believe, that was ever inhabited by man. Defilement was everywhere; in the piazza, in nooks and corners, strewing the miserable lanes from side to side, the refuse of every day, and of accumulated ages. I wonder whether the ancient Romans were as dirty a people as we everywhere find those who have succeeded them; for there seems to have been something in the places that have been inhabited by Romans, or made famous in their history, and in the monuments of every kind that they have raised, that puts people in mind of their very earthliness, and incites them to defile therewith whatever temple, column, ruined palace, or triumphal arch may fall in their way. I think it must be an hereditary trait, probably weakened and robbed of a little of its horror by the influence of milder ages; and I am much afraid that Caesar trod narrower and fouler ways in his path to power than those of modern Rome, or even of this disgusting town of Bolsena. I cannot imagine anything worse than these, however. Rotten vegetables thrown everywhere about, musty straw, standing puddles, running rivulets of dissolved nastiness,--these matters were a relief amid viler objects. The town was full of great black hogs wallowing before every door, and they grunted at us with a kind of courtesy and affability as if the town were theirs, and it was their part to be hospitable to strangers. Many donkeys likewise accosted us with braying; children, growing more uncleanly every day they lived, pestered us with begging; men stared askance at us as they lounged in corners, and women endangered us with slops which they were flinging from doorways into the street. No decent words can describe, no admissible image can give an idea of this noisome place. And yet, I remember, the donkeys came up the height loaded with fruit, and with little flat-sided barrels of wine; the people had a good atmosphere--except as they polluted it themselves--on their high site, and there seemed to be no reason why they should not live a beautiful and jolly life. I did not mean to write such an ugly description as the above, but it is well, once for all, to have attempted conveying an idea of what disgusts the traveller, more or less, in all these Italian towns. Setting aside this grand characteristic, the upper town of Bolsena is a most curious and interesting place. It was originally an Etruscan city, the ancient Volsinii, and when taken and destroyed by the Romans was said to contain two thousand statues. Afterwards the Romans built a town upon the site, including, I suppose, the space occupied by the lower city, which looks as if it had brimmed over like Radicofani, and fallen from the precipitous height occupied by the upper. The latter is a strange confusion of black and ugly houses, piled massively out of the ruins of former ages, built rudely and without plan, as a pauper would build his hovel, and yet with here and there an arched gateway, a cornice, a pillar, that might have adorned a palace. . . . The streets are the narrowest I have seen anywhere,--of no more width, indeed, than may suffice for the passage of a donkey with his panniers. They wind in and out in strange confusion, and hardly look like streets at all, but, nevertheless, have names printed on the corners, just as if they were stately avenues. After looking about us awhile and drawing half-breaths so as to take in the less quantity of gaseous pollution, we went back to the castle, and descended by a path winding downward from it into the plain outside of the town-gate. It was now dinner-time, . . . . and we had, in the first place, some fish from the pestiferous lake; not, I am sorry to say, the famous stewed eels which, Dante says, killed Pope Martin, but some trout. . . . By the by, the meal was not dinner, but our midday colazione. After despatching it, we again wandered forth and strolled round the outside of the lower town, which, with the upper one, made as picturesque a combination as could be desired. The old wall that surrounds the lower town has been appropriated, long since, as the back wall of a range of houses; windows have been pierced through it; upper chambers and loggie have been built upon it; so that it looks something like a long row of rural dwellings with one continuous front or back, constructed in a strange style of massive strength, contrasting with the vines that here and there are trained over it, and with the wreaths of yellow corn that hang from the windows. But portions of the old battlements are interspersed with the line of homely chambers and tiled house-tops. Within the wall the town is very compact, and above its roofs rises a rock, the sheer, precipitous bluff on which stands the upper town, whose foundations impend over the highest roof in the lower. At one end is the old castle, with its towers rising above the square battlemented mass of the main fortress; and if we had not seen the dirt and squalor that dwells within this venerable outside, we should have carried away a picture of gray, grim dignity, presented by a long past age to the present one, to put its mean ways and modes to shame. ------ sat diligently sketching, and children came about her, exceedingly unfragrant, but very courteous and gentle, looking over her shoulders, and expressing delight as they saw each familiar edifice take its place in the sketch. They are a lovable people, these Italians, as I find from almost all with whom we come in contact; they have great and little faults, and no great virtues that I know of; but still are sweet, amiable, pleasant to encounter, save when they beg, or when you have to bargain with them. We left Bolsena and drove to Viterbo, passing the gate of the picturesque town of Montefiascone, over the wall of which I saw spires and towers, and the dome of a cathedral. I was sorry not to taste, in its own town, the celebrated est, which was the death-draught of the jolly prelate. At Viterbo, however, I called for some wine of Montefiascone, and had a little straw-covered flask, which the waiter assured us was the genuine est-wine. It was of golden color, and very delicate, somewhat resembling still champagne, but finer, and requiring a calmer pause to appreciate its subtle delight. Its good qualities, however, are so evanescent, that the finer flavor became almost imperceptible before we finished the flask. Viterbo is a large, disagreeable town, built at the foot of a mountain, the peak of which is seen through the vista of some of the narrow streets. There are more fountains in Viterbo than I have seen in any other city of its size, and many of them of very good design. Around most of them there were wine-hogsheads, waiting their turn to be cleansed and rinsed, before receiving the wine of the present vintage. Passing a doorway, J----- saw some men treading out the grapes in a great vat with their naked feet. Among the beggars here, the loudest and most vociferous was a crippled postilion, wearing his uniform jacket, green, faced with red; and he seemed to consider himself entitled still to get his living from travellers, as having been disabled in the way of his profession. I recognized his claim, and was rewarded with a courteous and grateful bow at our departure. . . . To beggars--after my much experience both in England and Italy--I give very little, though I am not certain that it would not often be real beneficence in the latter country. There being little or no provision for poverty and age, the poor must often suffer. Nothing can be more earnest than their entreaties for aid; nothing seemingly more genuine than their gratitude when they receive it. They return you the value of their alms in prayers, and say, "God will accompany you." Many of them have a professional whine, and a certain doleful twist of the neck and turn of the head, which hardens my heart against them at once. A painter might find numerous models among them, if canvas had not already been more than sufficiently covered with their style of the picturesque. There is a certain brick-dust colored cloak worn in Viterbo, not exclusively by beggars, which, when ragged enough, is exceedingly artistic. ROME. 68 Piazza Poli, October 17th.--We left Viterbo on the 15th, and proceeded, through Monterosi, to Sette Verse. There was nothing interesting at Sette Verse, except an old Roman bridge, of a single arch, which had kept its sweep, composed of one row of stones, unbroken for two or more thousand years, and looked just as strong as ever, though gray with age, and fringed with plants that found it hard to fix themselves in its close crevices. The next day we drove along the Cassian Way towards Rome. It was a most delightful morning, a genial atmosphere; the more so, I suppose, because this was the Campagna, the region of pestilence and death. I had a quiet, gentle, comfortable pleasure, as if, after many wanderings, I was drawing near Rome, for, now that I have known it once, Rome certainly does draw into itself my heart, as I think even London, or even little Concord itself, or old sleepy Salem, never did and never will. Besides, we are to stay here six months, and we had now a house all prepared to receive us; so that this present approach, in the noontide of a genial day, was most unlike our first one, when we crept towards Rome through the wintry midnight, benumbed with cold, ill, weary, and not knowing whither to betake ourselves. Ah! that was a dismal tine! One thing, however, that disturbed even my present equanimity a little was the necessity of meeting the custom-house at the Porta del Popolo; but my past experience warranted me in believing that even these ogres might be mollified by the magic touch of a scudo; and so it proved. We should have escaped any examination at all, the officer whispered me, if his superior had not happened to be present; but, as the case stood, they took down only one trunk from the top of the vettura, just lifted the lid, closed it again, and gave us permission to proceed. So we came to 68 Piazza Poli, and found ourselves at once at home, in such a comfortable, cosey little house, as I did not think existed in Rome. I ought to say a word about our vetturino, Constantino Bacci, an excellent and most favorable specimen of his class; for his magnificent conduct, his liberality, and all the good qualities that ought to be imperial, S----- called him the Emperor. He took us to good hotels, and feasted us with the best; he was kind to us all, and especially to little Rosebud, who used to run by his side, with her small white hand in his great brown one; he was cheerful in his deportment, and expressed his good spirits by the smack of his whip, which is the barometer of a vetturino's inward weather; he drove admirably, and would rumble up to the door of an albergo, and stop to a hair's-breadth just where it was most convenient for us to alight; he would hire postilions and horses, where other vetturini would take nothing better than sluggish oxen, to help us up the hilly roads, so that sometimes we had a team of seven; he did all that we could possibly require of him, and was content and more, with a buon mono of five scudi, in addition to the stipulated price. Finally, I think the tears had risen almost to his eyelids when we parted with him. Our friends, the Thompsons, through whose kindness we procured this house, called to see us soon after our arrival. In the afternoon, I walked with Rosebud to the Medici Gardens, and on our way thither, we espied our former servant, Lalla, who flung so many and such bitter curses after us, on our departure from Rome, sitting at her father's fruit-stall. Thank God, they have not taken effect. After going to the Medici, we went to the Pincian Gardens, and looked over into the Borghese grounds, which, methought, were more beautiful than ever. The same was true of the sky, and of every object beneath it; and as we came homeward along the Corso, I wondered at the stateliness and palatial magnificence of that noble street. Once, I remember, I thought it narrow, and far unworthy of its fame. In the way of costume, the men in goat-skin breeches, whom we met on the Campagna, were very striking, and looked like Satyrs. October 21st.--. . . . I have been twice to St. Peter's, and was impressed more than at any former visit by a sense of breadth and loftiness, and, as it were, a visionary splendor and magnificence. I also went to the Museum of the Capitol; and the statues seemed to me more beautiful than formerly, and I was not sensible of the cold despondency with which I have so often viewed them. Yesterday we went to the Corsini Palace, which we had not visited before. It stands in the Trastevere, in the Longara, and is a stately palace, with a grand staircase, leading to the first floor, where is situated the range of picture-rooms. There were a good many fine pictures, but none of them have made a memorable impression on my mind, except a portrait by Vandyke, of a man in point-lace, very grand and very real. The room in which this picture hung had many other portraits by Holbein, Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens, and other famous painters, and was wonderfully rich in this department. In another, there was a portrait of Pope Julius II., by Raphael, somewhat differing from those at the Pitti and the Uffizi galleries in Florence, and those I have seen in England and Paris; thinner, paler, perhaps older, more severely intellectual, but at least, as high a work of art as those. The palace has some handsome old furniture, and gilded chairs, covered with leather cases, possibly relics of Queen Christina's time, who died here. I know not but the most curious object was a curule chair of marble, sculptured all out of one piece, and adorned with bas-reliefs. It is supposed to be Etruscan. It has a circular back, sweeping round, so as to afford sufficient rests for the elbows; and, sitting down in it, I discovered that modern ingenuity has not made much real improvement on this chair of three or four thousand years ago. But some chairs are easier for the moment, yet soon betray you, and grow the more irksome. We strolled along Longara, and found the piazza of St. Peter's full of French soldiers at their drill. . . . We went quite round the interior of the church, and perceiving the pavement loose and broken near the altar where Guido's Archangel is placed, we picked up some bits of rosso antico and gray marble, to be set in brooches, as relics. We have the snuggest little set of apartments in Rome, seven rooms, including an antechamber; and though the stairs are exceedingly narrow, there is really a carpet on them,--a civilized comfort, of which the proudest palaces in the Eternal City cannot boast. The stairs are very steep, however, and I should not wonder if some of us broke our noses down them. Narrowness of space within doors strikes us all rather ludicrously, yet not unpleasantly, after being accustomed to the wastes and deserts of the Montanto Villa. It is well thus to be put in training for the over-snugness of our cottage in Concord. Our windows here look out on a small and rather quiet piazza, with an immense palace on the left hand, and a smaller yet statelier one on the right, and just round the corner of the street, leading out of our piazza, is the Fountain of Trevi, of which I can hear the plash in the evening, when other sounds are hushed. Looking over what I have said of Sodoma's "Christ Bound," at Sierra, I see that I have omitted to notice what seems to me one of its most striking characteristics,--its loneliness. You feel as if the Saviour were deserted, both in heaven and earth; the despair is in him which made him say, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Even in this extremity, however, he is still Divine, and Sodoma almost seems to have reconciled the impossibilities of combining an omnipresent divinity with a suffering and outraged humanity. But this is one of the cases in which the spectator's imagination completes what the artist merely hints at. Mr. ------, the sculptor, called to see us, the other evening, and quite paid Powers off for all his trenchant criticisms on his brother artists. He will not allow Powers to be an artist at all, or to know anything of the laws of art, although acknowledging him to be a great bust-maker, and to have put together the Greek Slave and the Fisher-Boy very ingeniously. The latter, however (he says), is copied from the Apollino in the Tribune of the Uzi; and the former is made up of beauties that had no reference to one another; and he affirms that Powers is ready to sell, and has actually sold, the Greek Slave, limb by limb, dismembering it by reversing the process of putting it together,--a head to one purchaser, an arm or a foot to another, a hand to a third. Powers knows nothing scientifically of the human frame, and only succeeds in representing it as a natural bone-doctor succeeds in setting a dislocated limb by a happy accident or special providence. (The illustration was my own, and adopted by Mr. ------.) Yet Mr. ------ seems to acknowledge that he did succeed. I repeat these things only as another instance how invariably every sculptor uses his chisel and mallet to smash and deface the marble-work of every other. I never heard Powers speak of Mr. ------, but can partly imagine what he would have said. Mr. ------ spoke of Powers's disappointment about the twenty-five-thousand-dollar appropriation from Congress, and said that he was altogether to blame, inasmuch as he attempted to sell to the nation for that sum a statue which, to Mr. ------'s certain knowledge, he had already offered to private persons for a fifth part of it. I have not implicit faith in Mr. ------'s veracity, and doubt not Powers acted fairly in his own eyes. October 23d.--I am afraid I have caught one of the colds which the Roman air continually affected me with last winter; at any rate, a sirocco has taken the life out of me, and I have no spirit to do anything. This morning I took a walk, however, out of the Porta Maggiore, and looked at the tomb of the baker Eurysaces, just outside of the gate,--a very singular ruin covered with symbols of the man's trade in stone-work, and with bas-reliefs along the cornice, representing people at work, making bread. An inscription states that the ashes of his wife are likewise reposited there, in a bread-basket. The mausoleum is perhaps twenty feet long, in its largest extent, and of equal height; and if good bakers were as scarce in ancient Rome as in the modern city, I do not wonder that they were thought worthy of stately monuments. None of the modern ones deserve any better tomb than a pile of their own sour loaves. I walked onward a good distance beyond the gate alongside of the arches of the Claudian aqueduct, which, in this portion of it, seems to have had little repair, and to have needed little, since it was built. It looks like a long procession, striding across the Campagna towards the city, and entering the gate, over one of its arches, within the gate, I saw two or three slender jets of water spurting from the crevices; this aqueduct being still in use to bring the Acqua Felice into Rome. Returning within the walls, I walked along their inner base, to the Church of St. John Lateran, into which I went, and sat down to rest myself, being languid and weary, and hot with the sun, though afraid to trust the coolness of the shade. I hate the Roman atmosphere; indeed, all my pleasure in getting back--all my home-feeling--has already evaporated, and what now impresses me, as before, is the languor of Rome,--its weary pavements, its little life, pressed down by a weight of death. Quitting St. John Lateran, I went astray, as I do nine times out of ten in these Roman intricacies, and at last, seeing the Coliseum in the vista of a street, I betook myself thither to get a fresh start. Its round of stones looked vast and dreary, but not particularly impressive. The interior was quite deserted; except that a Roman, of respectable appearance, was making a pilgrimage at the altars, kneeling and saying a prayer at each one. Outside of the Coliseum, a neat-looking little boy came and begged of me; and I gave him a baiocco, rather because he seemed to need it so little than for any other reason. I observed that he immediately afterwards went and spoke to a well-dressed man, and supposed that the child was likewise begging of him. I watched the little boy, however, and saw that, in two or three other instances, after begging of other individuals, he still returned to this well-dressed man; the fact being, no doubt, that the latter was fishing for baiocci through the medium of his child,--throwing the poor little fellow out as a bait, while he himself retained his independent respectability. He had probably come out for a whole day's sport; for, by and by, he went between the arches of the Coliseum, followed by the child, and taking with him what looked like a bottle of wine, wrapped in a handkerchief. November 2d.--The weather lately would have suited one's ideal of an English November, except that there have been no fogs; but of ugly, hopeless clouds, chill, shivering winds, drizzle, and now and then pouring rain, much more than enough. An English coal-fire, if we could see its honest face within doors, would compensate for all the unamiableness of the outside atmosphere; but we might ask for the sunshine of the New Jerusalem, with as much hope of getting it. It is extremely spirit-crushing, this remorseless gray, with its icy heart; and the more to depress the whole family, U---- has taken what seems to be the Roman fever, by sitting down in the Palace of the Caesars, while Mrs. S----- sketched the ruins. . . . [During four months of the illness of his daughter, Mr. Hawthorne wrote no word of Journal.--ED.] February 27th, 1859.--For many days past, there have been tokens of the coming Carnival in the Corso and the adjacent streets; for example, in the shops, by the display of masks of wire, pasteboard, silk, or cloth, some of beautiful features, others hideous, fantastic, currish, asinine, huge-nosed, or otherwise monstrous; some intended to cover the whole face, others concealing only the upper part, also white dominos, or robes bedizened with gold-lace and theatric splendors, displayed at the windows of mercers or flaunting before the doors. Yesterday, U---- and I came along the Corso, between one and two o'clock, after a walk, and found all these symptoms of impending merriment multiplied and intensified; . . . . rows of chairs, set out along the sidewalks, elevated a foot or two by means of planks; great baskets, full of confetti, for sale in the nooks and recesses of the streets; bouquets of all qualities and prices. The Corso was becoming pretty well thronged with people; but, until two o'clock, nobody dared to fling as much as a rosebud or a handful of sugar-plums. There was a sort of holiday expression, however, on almost everybody's face, such as I have not hitherto seen in Rome, or in any part of Italy; a smile gleaming out, an aurora of mirth, which probably will not be very exuberant in its noontide. The day was so sunny and bright that it made this opening scene far more cheerful than any day of the last year's carnival. As we threaded our way through the Corso, U---- kept wishing she could plunge into the fun and uproar as J----- would, and for my own part, though I pretended to take no interest in the matter, I could have bandied confetti and nosegays as readily and as riotously as any urchin there. But my black hat and grave talma would have been too good a mark for the combatants, . . . . so we went home before a shot was fired. . . . March 7th.--I, as well as the rest of the family, have followed up the Carnival pretty faithfully, and enjoyed it as well, or rather better than could have been expected; principally in the street, as a more looker-on,--which does not let one into the mystery of the fun,--and twice from a balcony, where I threw confetti, and partly understood why the young people like it so much. Certainly, there cannot well be a more picturesque spectacle in human life, than that stately, palatial avenue of the Corso, the more picturesque because so narrow, all hung with carpets and Gobelin tapestry, and the whole palace-heights alive with faces; and all the capacity of the street thronged with the most fantastic figures that either the fancies of folks alive at this day are able to contrive, or that live traditionally from year to year. . . . The Prince of Wales has fought manfully through the Carnival with confetti and bouquets, and U---- received several bouquets from him, on Saturday, as her carriage moved along. March 8th.--I went with U---- to Mr. Motley's balcony, in the Corso, and saw the Carnival from it yesterday afternoon; but the spectacle is strangely like a dream, in respect to the difficulty of retaining it in the mind and solidifying it into a description. I enjoyed it a good deal, and assisted in so far as to pelt all the people in cylinder hats with handfuls of confetti. The scene opens with a long array of cavalry, who ride through the Corso, preceded by a large band, playing loudly on their brazen instruments. . . . There were some splendid dresses, particularly contadina costumes of scarlet and gold, which seem to be actually the festal attire of that class of people, and must needs be so expensive that one must serve for a lifetime, if indeed it be not an inheritance. . . . March 9th.--I was, yesterday, an hour or so among the people on the sidewalks of the Corso, just on the edges of the fun. They appeared to be in a decorous, good-natured mood, neither entering into the merriment, nor harshly repelling; and when groups of maskers overflowed among them, they received their jokes in good part. Many women of the lower class were in the crowd of bystanders; generally broad and sturdy figures, clad evidently in their best attire, and wearing a good many ornaments; such as gold or coral beads and necklaces, combs of silver or gold, heavy ear-rings, curiously wrought brooches, perhaps cameos or mosaics, though I think they prefer purely metallic work to these. One ornament very common among them is a large bodkin, which they stick through their hair. It is usually of silver, but sometimes it looks like steel, and is made in the shape of a sword,--a long Spanish thrusting sword, for example. Dr. Franco told us a story of a woman of Trastevere, who was addressed rudely at the Carnival by a gentleman; she warned him to desist, but as he still persisted, she drew the bodkin from her hair, and stabbed him to the heart. By and by I went to Mr. Motley's balcony, and looked down on the closing scenes of the Carnival. Methought the merry-makers labored harder to be mirthful, and yet were somewhat tired of their eight play-days; and their dresses looked a little shabby, rumpled, and draggled; but the lack of sunshine--which we have had on all the preceding days--may have produced this effect. The wheels of some of the carriages were wreathed round and spoked with green foliage, making a very pretty and fanciful appearance, as did likewise the harnesses of the horses, which were trimmed with roses. The pervading noise and uproar of human voices is one of the most effective points of the matter; but the scene is quite indescribable, and its effect not to be conceived without both witnessing and taking part in it. If you merely look at it, it depresses you; if you take even the slightest share in it, you become aware that it has a fascination, and you no longer wonder that the young people, at least, take such delight in plunging into this mad river of fun that goes roaring between the narrow limits of the Corso. As twilight came on, the moccoli commenced, and as it grew darker the whole street twinkled with lights, which would have been innumerable if every torch-bearer had not been surrounded by a host of enemies, who tried to extinguish his poor little twinkle. It was a pity to lose so much splendor as there might have been; but yet there was a kind of symbolism in the thought that every one of those thousands of twinkling lights was in charge of somebody, who was striving with all his might to keep it alive. Not merely the street-way, but all the balconies and hundreds of windows were lit up with these little torches; so that it seemed as if the stars had crumbled into glittering fragments, and rained down upon the Corso, some of them lodging upon the palace-fronts, some falling on the ground. Besides this, there were gas-lights burning with a white flame; but this illumination was not half so interesting as that of the torches, which indicated human struggle. All this time there were myriad voices shouting, "SENZA MOCCOLO!" and mingling into one long roar. We, in our balcony, carried on a civil war against one another's torches, as is the custom of human beings, within even the narrowest precincts; but after a while we grew tired, and so did the crowd, apparently; for the lights vanished, one after another, till the gas-lights--which at first were an unimportant part of the illumination--shone quietly out, overpowering the scattered twinkles of the moccoli. They were what the fixed stars are to the transitory splendors of human life. Mr. Motley tells me, that it was formerly the custom to have a mock funeral of harlequin, who was supposed to die at the close of the Carnival, during which he had reigned supreme, and all the people, or as many as chose, bore torches at his burial. But this being considered an indecorous mockery of Popish funereal customs, the present frolic of the moccoli was instituted,--in some sort, growing out of it. All last night, or as much of it as I was awake, there was a noise of song and of late revellers in the streets; but to-day we have waked up in the sad and sober season of Lent. It is worthy of remark, that all the jollity of the Carnival is a genuine ebullition of spirit, without the aid of wine or strong drink. March 11th.--Yesterday we went to the Catacomb of St. Calixtus, the entrance to which is alongside of the Appian Way, within sight of the tomb of Cecilia Metella. We descended not a very great way under ground, by a broad flight of stone steps, and, lighting some wax tapers, with which we had provided ourselves, we followed the guide through a great many intricate passages, which mostly were just wide enough for me to touch the wall on each side, while keeping my elbows close to my body; and as to height, they were from seven to ten feet, and sometimes a good deal higher It was rather picturesque, when we saw the long line of our tapers, for another large party had joined us, twinkling along the dark passage, and it was interesting to think of the former inhabitants of these caverns. . . . In one or two places there was the round mark in the stone or plaster, where a bottle had been deposited. This was said to have been the token of a martyr's burial-place, and to have contained his blood. After leaving the Catacomb, we drove onward to Cecilia Metella's tomb, which we entered and inspected. Within the immensely massive circular substance of the tomb was a round, vacant space, and this interior vacancy was open at the top, and had nothing but some fallen stones and a heap of earth at the bottom. On our way home we entered the Church of "Domine, quo vadis," and looked at the old fragment of the Appian Way, where our Saviour met St. Peter, and left the impression of his feet in one of the Roman paving-stones. The stone has been removed, and there is now only a fac-simile engraved in a block of marble, occupying the place where Jesus stood. It is a great pity they had not left the original stone; for then all its brother-stones in the pavement would have seemed to confirm the truth of the legend. While we were at dinner, a gentleman called and was shown into the parlor. We supposed it to be Mr. May; but soon his voice grew familiar, and my wife was sure it was General Pierce, so I left the table, and found it to be really he. I was rejoiced to see him, though a little saddened to see the marks of care and coming age, in many a whitening hair, and many a furrow, and, still more, in something that seemed to have passed away out of him, without leaving any trace. His voice, sometimes, sounded strange and old, though generally it was what it used to be. He was evidently glad to see me, glad to see my wife, glad to see the children, though there was something melancholy in his tone, when he remarked what a stout boy J----- had grown. Poor fellow! he has neither son nor daughter to keep his heart warm. This morning I have been with him to St. Peter's, and elsewhere about the city, and find him less changed than he seemed to be last night; not at all changed in heart and affections. We talked freely about all matters that came up; among the rest, about the project--recognizable by many tokens--for bringing him again forward as a candidate for the Presidency next year. He appears to be firmly resolved not again to present himself to the country, and is content to let his one administration stand, and to be judged by the public and posterity on the merits of that. No doubt he is perfectly sincere; no doubt, too, he would again be a candidate, if a pretty unanimous voice of the party should demand it. I retain all my faith in his administrative faculty, and should be glad, for his sake, to have it fully rccognized; but the probabilities, as far as I can see, do not indicate for him another Presidential term. March 15th.--This morning I went with my wife and Miss Hoar to Miss Hosmer's studio, to see her statue of Zenobia. We found her in her premises, springing about with a bird-like action. She has a lofty room, with a skylight window; it was pretty well warmed with a stove, and there was a small orange-tree in a pot, with the oranges growing on it, and two or three flower-shrubs in bloom. She herself looked prettily, with her jaunty little velvet cap on the side of her head, whence came clustering out, her short brown curls; her face full of pleasant life and quick expression; and though somewhat worn with thought and struggle, handsome and spirited. She told us that "her wig was growing as gray as a rat." There were but very few things in the room; two or three plaster busts, a headless cast of a plaster statue, and a cast of the Minerva Medica, which perhaps she had been studying as a help towards the design of her Zenobia; for, at any rate, I seemed to discern a resemblance or analogy between the two. Zenobia stood in the centre of the room, as yet unfinished in the clay, but a very noble and remarkable statue indeed, full of dignity and beauty. It is wonderful that so brisk a woman could have achieved a work so quietly impressive; and there is something in Zenobia's air that conveys the idea of music, uproar, and a great throng all about her; whilst she walks in the midst of it, self-sustained, and kept in a sort of sanctity by her native pride. The idea of motion is attained with great success; you not only perceive that she is walking, but know at just what tranquil pace she steps, amid the music of the triumph. The drapery is very fine and full; she is decked with ornaments; but the chains of her captivity hang from wrist to wrist; and her deportment--indicating a soul so much above her misfortune, yet not insensible to the weight of it--makes these chains a richer decoration than all her other jewels. I know not whether there be some magic in the present imperfect finish of the statue, or in the material of clay, as being a better medium of expression than even marble; but certainly I have seldom been more impressed by a piece of modern sculpture. Miss Hosmer showed us photographs of her Puck--which I have seen in the marble--and likewise of the Will-o'-the-Wisp, both very pretty and fanciful. It indicates much variety of power, that Zenobia should be the sister of these, which would seem the more natural offspring of her quick and vivid character. But Zenobia is a high, heroic ode. . . . . On my way up the Via Babuino, I met General Pierce. We have taken two or three walks together, and stray among the Roman ruins, and old scenes of history, talking of matters in which he is personally concerned, yet which are as historic as anything around us. He is singularly little changed; the more I see him, the more I get him back, just such as he was in our youth. This morning, his face, air, and smile were so wonderfully like himself of old, that at least thirty years are annihilated. Zenobia's manacles serve as bracelets; a very ingenious and suggestive idea. March 18th.--I went to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol yesterday, and saw, among other things, the Venus in her secret cabinet. This was my second view of her: the first time, I greatly admired her; now, she made no very favorable impression. There are twenty Venuses whom I like as well, or better. On the whole, she is a heavy, clumsy, unintellectual, and commonplace figure; at all events, not in good looks to-day. Marble beauties seem to suffer the same occasional eclipses as those of flesh and blood. We looked at the Faun, the Dying Gladiator, and other famous sculptures; but nothing had a glory round it, perhaps because the sirocco was blowing. These halls of the Capitol have always had a dreary and depressing effect upon me, very different from those of the Vatican. I know not why, except that the rooms of the Capitol have a dingy, shabby, and neglected look, and that the statues are dusty, and all the arrangements less magnificent than at the Vatican. The corroded and discolored surfaces of the statues take away from the impression of immortal youth, and turn Apollo [The Lycian Apollo] himself into an old stone; unless at rare intervals, when he appears transfigured by a light gleaming from within. March 23d.--I am wearing away listlessly these last precious days of my abode in Rome. U----'s illness is disheartening, and by confining ------, it takes away the energy and enterprise that were the spring of all our movements. I am weary of Rome, without having seen and known it as I ought, and I shall be glad to get away from it, though no doubt there will be many yearnings to return hereafter, and many regrets that I did not make better use of the opportunities within my grasp. Still, I have been in Rome long enough to be imbued with its atmosphere, and this is the essential condition of knowing a place; for such knowledge does not consist in having seen every particular object it contains. In the state of mind in which I now stand towards Rome, there is very little advantage to be gained by staying here longer. And yet I had a pleasant stroll enough yesterday afternoon, all by myself, from the Corso down past the Church of St. Andrea della Valle,-- the site where Caesar was murdered,--and thence to the Farnese Palace, the noble court of which I entered; thence to the Piazza Cenci, where I looked at one or two ugly old palaces, and fixed on one of them as the residence of Beatrice's father; then past the Temple of Vesta, and skirting along the Tiler, and beneath the Aventine, till I somewhat unexpectedly came in sight of the gray pyramid of Caius Cestius. I went out of the city gate, and leaned on the parapet that encloses the pyramid, advancing its high, unbroken slope and peak, where the great blocks of marble still fit almost as closely to one another as when they were first laid; though, indeed, there are crevices just large enough for plants to root themselves, and flaunt and trail over the face of this great tomb; only a little verdure, however, over a vast space of marble, still white in spots, but pervadingly turned gray by two thousand years' action of the atmosphere. Thence I came home by the Caelian, and sat down on an ancient flight of steps under one of the arches of the Coliseum, into which the sunshine fell sidelong. It was a delightful afternoon, not precisely like any weather that I have known elsewhere; certainly never in America, where it is always too cold or too hot. It, resembles summer more than anything which we New-Englanders recognize in our idea of spring, but there was an indescribable something, sweet, fresh, gentle, that does not belong to summer, and that thrilled and tickled my heart with a feeling partly sensuous, partly spiritual. I go to the Bank and read Galignani and the American newspapers; thence I stroll to the Pincian or to the Medici Gardens; I see a good deal of General Pierce, and we talk over his Presidential life, which, I now really think, he has no latent desire nor purpose to renew. Yet he seems to have enjoyed it while it lasted, and certainly he was in his element as an administrative man; not far-seeing, not possessed of vast stores of political wisdom in advance of his occasions, but endowed with a miraculous intuition of what ought to be done just at the time for action. His judgment of things about him is wonderful, and his Cabinet recognized it as such; for though they were men of great ability, he was evidently the master-mind among them. None of them were particularly his personal friends when he selected them; they all loved him when they parted; and he showed me a letter, signed by all, in which they expressed their feelings of respect and attachment at the close of his administration. There was a noble frankness on his part, that kept the atmosphere always clear among them, and in reference to this characteristic Governor Marcy told him that the years during which he had been connected with his Cabinet had been the happiest of his life. Speaking of Caleb Cushing, he told me that the unreliability, the fickleness, which is usually attributed to him, is an actual characteristic, but that it is intellectual, not moral. He has such comprehensiveness, such mental variety and activity, that, if left to himself, he cannot keep fast hold of one view of things, and so cannot, without external help, be a consistent man. He needs the influence of a more single and stable judgment to keep him from divergency, and, on this condition, he is a most inestimable coadjutor. As regards learning and ability, he has no superior. Pierce spoke the other day of the idea among some of his friends that his life had been planned, from a very early period, with a view to the station which he ultimately reached. He smiled at the notion, said that it was inconsistent with his natural character, and that it implied foresight and dexterity beyond what any mortal is endowed with. I think so too; but nevertheless, I was long and long ago aware that he cherished a very high ambition, and that, though he might not anticipate the highest things, he cared very little about inferior objects. Then as to plans, I do not think that he had any definite ones; but there was in him a subtle faculty, a real instinct, that taught him what was good for him,--that is to say, promotive of his political success,--and made him inevitably do it. He had a magic touch, that arranged matters with a delicate potency, which he himself hardly recognized; and he wrought through other minds so that neither he nor they always knew when and how far they were under his influence. Before his nomination for the Presidency I had a sense that it was coming, and it never seemed to me an accident. He is a most singular character; so frank, so true, so immediate, so subtle, so simple, so complicated. I passed by the tower in the Via Portoghese to-day, and observed that the nearest shop appears to be for the sale of cotton or linen cloth. . . . The upper window of the tower was half open; of course, like all or almost all other Roman windows, it is divided vertically, and each half swings back on hinges. . . . Last week a fritter-establishment was opened in our piazza. It was a wooden booth erected in the open square, and covered with canvas painted red, which looked as if it had withstood much rain and sunshine. In front were three great boughs of laurel, not so much for shade, I think, as ornament. There were two men, and their apparatus for business was a sort of stove, or charcoal furnace, and a frying-pan to place over it; they had an armful or two of dry sticks, some flour, and I suppose oil, and this seemed to be all. It was Friday, and Lent besides, and possibly there was some other peculiar propriety in the consumption of fritters just then. At all events, their fire burned merrily from morning till night, and pretty late into the evening, and they had a fine run of custom; the commodity being simply dough, cut into squares or rhomboids, and thrown into the boiling oil, which quickly turned them to a light brown color. I sent J----- to buy some, and, tasting one, it resembled an unspeakably bad doughnut, without any sweetening. In fact, it was sour, for the Romans like their bread, and all their preparations of flour, in a state of acetous fermentation, which serves them instead of salt or other condiment. This fritter-shop had grown up in a night, like Aladdin's palace, and vanished as suddenly; for after standing through Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, it was gone on Monday morning, and a charcoal-strewn place on the pavement where the furnace had been was the only memorial of it. It was curious to observe how immediately it became a lounging-place for idle people, who stood and talked all day with the fritter-friers, just as they might at any old shop in the basement, of a palace, or between the half-buried pillars of the Temple of Minerva, which had been familiar to them and their remote grandfathers. April 14th.--Yesterday afternoon I drove with Mr. and Mrs. Story and Mr. Wilde to see a statue of Venus, which has just been discovered, outside of the Porta Portese, on the other side of the Tiber. A little distance beyond the gate we came to the entrance of a vineyard, with a wheel-track through the midst of it; and, following this, we soon came to a hillside, in which an excavation had been made with the purpose of building a grotto for keeping and storing wine. They had dug down into what seemed to be an ancient bathroom, or some structure of that kind, the excavation being square and cellar-like, and built round with old subterranean walls of brick and stone. Within this hollow space the statue had been found, and it was now standing against one of the walls, covered with a coarse cloth, or a canvas bag. This being removed, there appeared a headless marble figure, earth-stained, of course, and with a slightly corroded surface, but wonderfully delicate and beautiful, the shape, size, and attitude, apparently, of the Venus de' Medici, but, as we all thought, more beautiful than that. It is supposed to be the original, from which the Venus de' Medici was copied. Both arms were broken off, but the greater part of both, and nearly the whole of one hand, had been found, and these being adjusted to the figure, they took the well-known position before the bosom and the middle, as if the fragmentary woman retained her instinct of modesty to the last. There were the marks on the bosom and thigh where the fingers had touched; whereas in the Venus de' Medici, if I remember rightly, the fingers are sculptured quite free of the person. The man who showed the statue now lifted from a corner a round block of marble, which had been lying there among other fragments, and this he placed upon the shattered neck of the Venus; and behold, it was her head and face, perfect, all but the nose! Even in spite of this mutilation, it seemed immediately to light up and vivify the entire figure; and, whatever I may heretofore have written about the countenance of the Venus de' Medici, I here record my belief that that head has been wrongfully foisted upon the statue; at all events, it is unspeakably inferior to this newly discovered one. This face has a breadth and front which are strangely deficient in the other. The eyes are well opened, most unlike the buttonhole lids of the Venus de' Medici; the whole head is so much larger as to entirely obviate the criticism that has always been made on the diminutive head of the De' Medici statue. If it had but a nose! They ought to sift every handful of earth that has been thrown out of the excavation, for the nose and the missing hand and fingers must needs be there; and, if they were found, the effect would be like the reappearance of a divinity upon earth. Mutilated as we saw her, it was strangely interesting to be present at the moment, as it were, when she had just risen from her long burial, and was shedding the unquenchable lustre around her which no eye had seen for twenty or more centuries. The earth still clung about her; her beautiful lips were full of it, till Mr. Story took a thin chip of wood and cleared it away from between them. The proprietor of the vineyard stood by; a man with the most purple face and hugest and reddest nose that I ever beheld in my life. It must have taken innumerable hogsheads of his thin vintage to empurple his face in this manner. He chuckled much over the statue, and, I suppose, counts upon making his fortune by it. He is now awaiting a bid from the Papal government, which, I believe, has the right of pre-emption whenever any relics of ancient art are discovered. If the statue could but be smuggled out of Italy, it might command almost any price. There is not, I think, any name of a sculptor on the pedestal, as on that of the Venus de' Medici. A dolphin is sculptured on the pillar against which she leans. The statue is of Greek marble. It was first found about eight days ago, but has been offered for inspection only a day or two, and already the visitors come in throngs, and the beggars gather about the entrance of the vineyard. A wine shop, too, seems to have been opened on the premises for the accommodation of this great concourse, and we saw a row of German artists sitting at a long table in the open air, each with a glass of thin wine and something to eat before him; for the Germans refresh nature ten times to other persons once. How the whole world might be peopled with antique beauty if the Romans would only dig! April 19th.--General Pierce leaves Rome this morning for Venice, by way of Ancona, and taking the steamer thence to Trieste. I had hoped to make the journey along with him; but U----'s terrible illness has made it necessary for us to continue here another mouth, and we are thankful that this seems now to be the extent of our misfortune. Never having had any trouble before that pierced into my very vitals, I did not know what comfort there might be in the manly sympathy of a friend; but Pierce has undergone so great a sorrow of his own, and has so large and kindly a heart, and is so tender and so strong, that he really did the good, and I shall always love him the better for the recollection of his ministrations in these dark days. Thank God, the thing we dreaded did not come to pass. Pierce is wonderfully little changed. Indeed, now that he has won and enjoyed--if there were any enjoyment in it--the highest success that public life could give him, he seems more like what he was in his early youth than at any subsequent period. He is evidently happier than I have ever known him since our college days; satisfied with what he has been, and with the position in the country that remains to him, after filling such an office. Amid all his former successes,--early as they came, and great as they were,--I always perceived that something gnawed within him, and kept him forever restless and miserable. Nothing he won was worth the winning, except as a step gained toward the summit. I cannot tell how early he began to look towards the Presidency; but I believe he would have died an unhappy man without it. And yet what infinite chances there seemed to be against his attaining it! When I look at it in one way, it strikes me as absolutely miraculous; in another, it came like an event that I had all along expected. It was due to his wonderful tact, which is of so subtle a character that he himself is but partially sensible of it. I have found in him, here in Rome, the whole of my early friend, and even better than I used to know him; a heart as true and affectionate, a mind much widened and deepened by his experience of life. We hold just the same relation to each other as of yore, and we have passed all the turning-off places, and may hope to go on together still the same dear friends as long as we live. I do not love him one whit the less for having been President, nor for having done me the greatest good in his power; a fact that speaks eloquently in his favor, and perhaps says a little for myself. If he had been merely a benefactor, perhaps I might not have borne it so well; but each did his best for the other as friend for friend. May 15th.--Yesterday afternoon we went to the Barberini picture-gallery to take a farewell look at the Beatrice Cenci, which I have twice visited before since our return from Florence. I attempted a description of it at my first visit, more than a year ago, but the picture is quite indescribable and unaccountable in its effect, for if you attempt to analyze it you can never succeed in getting at the secret of its fascination. Its peculiar expression eludes a straightforward glance, and can only be caught by side glimpses, or when the eye falls upon it casually, as it were, and without thinking to discover anything, as if the picture had a life and consciousness of its own, and were resolved not to betray its secret of grief or guilt, though it wears the full expression of it when it imagines itself unseen. I think no other such magical effect can ever have been wrought by pencil. I looked close into its eyes, with a determination to see all that there was in them, and could see nothing that might not have been in any young girl's eyes; and yet, a moment afterwards, there was the expression--seen aside, and vanishing in a moment--of a being unhumanized by some terrible fate, and gazing at me out of a remote and inaccessible region, where she was frightened to be alone, but where no sympathy could reach her. The mouth is beyond measure touching; the lips apart, looking as innocent as a baby's after it has been crying. The picture never can be copied. Guido himself could not have done it over again. The copyists get all sorts of expression, gay, as well as grievous; some copies have a coquettish air, a half-backward glance, thrown alluring at the spectator, but nobody ever did catch, or ever will, the vanishing charm of that sorrow. I hated to leave the picture, and yet was glad when I had taken my last glimpse, because it so perplexed and troubled me not to be able to get hold of its secret. Thence we went to the Church of the Capuchins, and saw Guido's Archangel. I have been several times to this church, but never saw the picture before, though I am familiar with the mosaic copy at St. Peter's, and had supposed the latter to be an equivalent representation of the original. It is nearly or quite so as respects the general effect; but there is a beauty in the archangel's face that immeasurably surpasses the copy,--the expression of heavenly severity, and a degree of pain, trouble, or disgust, at being brought in contact with sin, even for the purpose of quelling and punishing it. There is something finical in the copy, which I do not find in the original. The sandalled feet are here those of an angel; in the mosaic they are those of a celestial coxcomb, treading daintily, as if he were afraid they would be soiled by the touch of Lucifer. After looking at the Archangel we went down under the church, guided by a fleshy monk, and saw the famous cemetery, where the dead monks of many centuries back have been laid to sleep in sacred earth from Jerusalem. . . . FRANCE. Hotel des Colonies, Marseilles, May 29th, Saturday.--Wednesday was the day fixed for our departure from Rome, and after breakfast I walked to the Pincian, and saw the garden and the city, and the Borghese grounds, and St. Peter's in an earlier sunlight than ever before. Methought they never looked so beautiful, nor the sky so bright and blue. I saw Soracte on the horizon, and I looked at everything as if for the last time; nor do I wish ever to see any of these objects again, though no place ever took so strong a hold of my being as Rome, nor ever seemed so close to me and so strangely familiar. I seem to know it better than my birthplace, and to have known it longer; and though I have been very miserable there, and languid with the effects of the atmosphere, and disgusted with a thousand things in its daily life, still I cannot say I hate it, perhaps might fairly own a love for it. But life being too short for such questionable and troublesome enjoyments, I desire never to set eyes on it again. . . . . . . . We traversed again that same weary and dreary tract of country which we passed over in a winter afternoon and night on our first arrival in Rome. It is as desolate a country as can well be imagined, but about midway of our journey we came to the sea-shore, and kept very near it during the rest of the way. The sight and fragrance of it were exceedingly refreshing after so long an interval, and U---- revived visibly as we rushed along, while J----- chuckled and contorted himself with ineffable delight. We reached Civita Vecchia in three or four hours, and were there subjected to various troubles. . . . All the while Miss S------ and I were bothering about the passport, the rest of the family sat in the sun on the quay, with all kinds of bustle and confusion around them; a very trying experience to U---- after the long seclusion and quiet of her sick-chamber. But she did not seem to suffer from it, and we finally reached the steamer in good condition and spirits. . . . I slept wretchedly in my short and narrow berth, more especially as there was an old gentleman who snored as if he were sounding a charge; it was terribly hot too, and I rose before four o'clock, and was on deck amply in time to watch the distant approach of sunrise. We arrived at Leghorn pretty early, and might have gone ashore and spent the day. Indeed, we had been recommended by Dr. Franco, and had fully purposed to spend a week or ten days there, in expectation of benefit to U----'s health from the sea air and sea bathing, because he thought her still too feeble to make the whole voyage to Marseilles at a stretch. But she showed herself so strong that we thought she would get as much good from our three days' voyage as from the days by the sea-shore. Moreover, . . . . we all of us still felt the languor of the Roman atmosphere, and dreaded the hubbub and crazy confusion of landing at an Italian port. . . . So we lay in the harbor all day without stirring from the steamer. . . . It would have been pleasant, however, to have gone to Pisa, fifteen miles off, and seen the leaning tower; but, for my part, I have arrived at that point where it is somewhat pleasanter to sit quietly in any spot whatever than to see whatever grandest or most beautiful thing. At least this was my mood in the harbor of Leghorn. From the deck of the steamer there were many things visible that might have been interesting to describe: the boats of peculiar rig, and covered with awning; the crowded shipping; the disembarkation of horses from the French cavalry, which were lowered from steamers into gondolas or lighters, and hung motionless, like the sign of the Golden Fleece, during the transit, only kicking a little when their feet happened to graze the vessel's side. One horse plunged overboard, and narrowly escaped drowning. There was likewise a disembarkation of French soldiers in a train of boats, which rowed shoreward with sound of trumpet. The French are concentrating a considerable number of troops at this point. Our steamer was detained by order of the French government to take on board despatches; so that, instead of sailing at dusk, as is customary, we lay in the harbor till seven of the next morning. A number of young Sardinian officers, in green uniform, came on board, and a pale and picturesque-looking Italian, and other worthies of less note,--English, American, and of all races,--among them a Turk with a little boy in Christian dress; also a Greek gentleman with his young bride. At the appointed time we weighed anchor for Genoa, and had a beautiful day on the Mediterranean, and for the first time in my life I saw the real dark blue of the sea. I do not remember noticing it on my outward voyage to Italy. It is the most beautiful hue that can be imagined, like a liquid sky; and it retains its lustrous blue directly under the side of the ship, where the water of the mid-Atlantic looks greenish. . . . We reached Genoa at seven in the afternoon. . . . Genoa looks most picturesquely from the sea, at the foot of a sheltering semicircle of lofty hills; and as we lay in the harbor we saw, among other interesting objects, the great Doria Palace, with its gardens, and the cathedral, and a heap and sweep of stately edifices, with the mountains looking down upon he city, and crowned with fortresses. The variety of hue in the houses, white, green, pink, and orange, was very remarkable. It would have been well to go ashore here for an hour or two and see the streets, --having already seen the palaces, churches, and public buildings at our former visit,--and buy a few specimens of Genoa goldsmiths' work; but I preferred the steamer's deck, so the evening passed pleasantly away; the two lighthouses at the entrance of the port kindled up their fires, and at nine o'clock the evening gun thundered from the fortress, and was reverberated from the heights. We sailed away at eleven, and I was roused from my first sleep by the snortings and hissings of the vessel as she got under way. At Genoa we took on board some more passengers, an English nobleman with his lady being of the number. These were Lord and Lady J------, and before the end of our voyage his lordship talked to me of a translation of Tasso in which he is engaged, and a stanza or two of which he repeated to me. I really liked the lines, and liked too the simplicity and frankness with which he spoke of it to me a stranger, and the way be seemed to separate his egotism from the idea which he evidently had that he is going to make an excellent translation. I sincerely hope it may be so. He began it without any idea of publishing it, or of ever bringing it to a conclusion, but merely as a solace and occupation while in great trouble during an illness of his wife, but he has gradually come to find it the most absorbing occupation he ever undertook; and as Mr. Gladstone and other high authorities give him warm encouragement, he now means to translate the entire poem, and to publish it with beautiful illustrations, and two years hence the world may expect to see it. I do not quite perceive how such a man as this--a man of frank, warm, simple, kindly nature, but surely not of a poetical temperament, or very refined, or highly cultivated--should make a good version of Tasso's poems; but perhaps the dead poet's soul may take possession of this healthy organization, and wholly turn him to its own purposes. The latter part of our voyage to-day lay close along the coast of France, which was hilly and picturesque, and as we approached Marseilles was very bold and striking. We steered among rocky islands, rising abruptly out of the sea, mere naked crags, without a trace of verdure upon them, and with the surf breaking at their feet. They were unusual specimens of what hills would look like without the soil, that is to them what flesh is to a skeleton. Their shapes were often wonderfully fine, and the great headlands thrust themselves out, and took such lines of light and shade that it seemed like sailing through a picture. In the course of the afternoon a squall came up and blackened the sky all over in a twinkling; our vessel pitched and tossed, and a brig a little way from us had her sails blown about in wild fashion. The blue of the sea turned as black as night, and soon the rain began to spatter down upon us, and continued to sprinkle and drizzle a considerable time after the wind had subsided. It was quite calm and pleasant when we entered the harbor of Marseilles, which lies at the foot of very fair hills, and is set among great cliffs of stone. I did not attend much to this, however, being in dread of the difficulty of landing and passing through the custom-house with our twelve or fourteen trunks and numberless carpet-bags. The trouble vanished into thin air, nevertheless, as we approached it, for not a single trunk or bag was opened, and, moreover, our luggage and ourselves were not only landed, but the greater part of it conveyed to the railway without any expense. Long live Louis Napoleon, say I. We established ourselves at the Hotel des Colonies, and then Mss S------, J-----, and I drove hither and thither about Marseilles, making arrangements for our journey to Avignon, where we mean to go to-day. We might have avoided a good deal of this annoyance; but travellers, like other people, are continually getting their experience just a little too late. It was after nine before we got back to the hotel and took our tea in peace. AVIGNON. Hotel de l'Europe, June 1st.--I remember nothing very special to record about Marseilles; though it was really like passing from death into life, to find ourselves in busy, cheerful, effervescing France, after living so long between asleep and awake in sluggish Italy. Marseilles is a very interesting and entertaining town, with its bold surrounding heights, its wide streets,--so they seemed to us after the Roman alleys,--its squares, shady with trees, its diversified population of sailors, citizens, Orientals, and what not; but I have no spirit for description any longer; being tired of seeing things, and still more of telling myself about them. Only a young traveller can have patience to write his travels. The newest things, nowadays, have a familiarity to my eyes; whereas in their lost sense of novelty lies the charm and power of description. On Monday (30th May), though it began with heavy rain, we set early about our preparations for departure, . . . . and, at about three, we left the Hotel des Colonies. It is a very comfortable hotel, though expensive. The Restaurant connected with it occupies the enclosed court-yard and the arcades around it; and it was a good amusement to look down from the surrounding gallery, communicating with our apartments, and see the fashion and manner of French eating, all the time going forward. In sunny weather a great awning is spread over the whole court, across from the upper stories of the house. There is a grass-plat in the middle, and a very spacious and airy dining-saloon is thus formed. Our railroad carriage was comfortable, and we found in it, besides two other Frenchwomen, two nuns. They were very devout, and sedulously read their little books of devotion, repeated prayers under their breath, kissed the crucifixes which hung at their girdles, and told a string of beads, which they passed from one to the other. So much were they occupied with these duties, that they scarcely looked at the scenery along the road, though, probably, it is very rare for them to see anything outside of their convent walls. They never failed to mutter a prayer and kiss the crucifix whenever we plunged into a tunnel. If they glanced at their fellow-passengers, it was shyly and askance, with their lips in motion all the time, like children afraid to let their eyes wander from their lesson-book. One of them, however, took occasion to pull down R-----'s dress, which, in her frisky movements about the carriage, had got out of place, too high for the nun's sense of decorum. Neither of them was at all pretty, nor was the black stuff dress and white muslin cap in the least becoming, neither were their features of an intelligent or high-bred stamp. Their manners, however, or such little glimpses as I could get of them, were unexceptionable; and when I drew a curtain to protect one of them from the sun, she made me a very courteous gesture of thanks. We had some very good views both of sea and hills; and a part of our way lay along the banks of the Rhone. . . . By the by, at the station at Marseilles I bought the two volumes of the "Livre des Merveilles," by a certain author of my acquaintance, translated into French, and printed and illustrated in very pretty style. Miss S------ also bought them, and, in answer to her inquiry for other works by the same author, the bookseller observed that "she did not think Monsieur Nathaniel had published anything else." The Christian name deems to be the most important one in France, and still more especially in Italy. We arrived at Avignon, Hotel de l'Europe, in the dusk of the evening. . . . The lassitude of Rome still clings to us, and I, at least, feel no spring of life or activity, whether at morn or eve. In the morning we found ourselves very pleasantly situated as regards lodgings. The gallery of our suite of rooms looks down as usual into an enclosed court, three sides of which are formed by the stone house and its two wings, and the third by a high wall, with a gateway of iron between two lofty stone pillars, which, for their capitals, have great stone vases, with grass growing in them, and hanging over the brim. There is a large plane-tree in one corner of the court, and creeping plants clamber up trellises; and there are pots of flowers and bird-cages, all of which give a very fresh and cheerful aspect to the enclosure. The court is paved with small round stones; the omnibus belonging to the hotel, and all the carriages of guests drive into it; and the wide arch of the stable-door opens under the central part of the house. Nevertheless, the scene is not in all respects that of a stable-yard; for gentlemen and ladies come from the salle a manger and other rooms, and stand talking in the court, or occupy chairs and seats there; children play about; the hostess or her daughter often appears and talks with her guests or servants; dogs lounge, and, in short, the court might well enough be taken for the one scene of a classic play. The hotel seems to be of the first class, though such would not be indicated, either in England or America, by thus mixing up the stable with the lodgings. I have taken two or three rambles about the town, and have climbed a high rock which dominates over it, and gives a most extensive view from the broad table-land of its summit. The old church of Avignon --as old as the times of its popes, and older--stands close beside this mighty and massive crag. We went into it, and found it a dark old place, with broad, interior arches, and a singularly shaped dome; a venerable Gothic and Grecian porch, with ancient frescos in its arched spaces; some dusky pictures within; an ancient chair of stone, formerly occupied by the popes, and much else that would have been exceedingly interesting before I went to Rome. But Rome takes the charm out of an inferior antiquity, as well as the life out of human beings. This forenoon J----- and I have crossed the Rhone by a bridge, just the other side of one of the city gates, which is near our hotel. We walked along the riverside, and saw the ruins of an ancient bridge, which ends abruptly in the midst of the stream; two or three arches still making tremendous strides across, while the others have long ago been crumbled away by the rush of the rapid river. The bridge was originally founded by St. Benezet, who received a Divine order to undertake the work, while yet a shepherd-boy, with only three sous in his pocket; and he proved the authenticity of the mission by taking an immense stone on his shoulder, and laying it for the foundation. There is still an ancient chapel midway on the bridge, and I believe St. Benezet lies buried there, in the midst of his dilapidated work. The bridge now used is considerably lower down the stream. It is a wooden suspension-bridge, broader than the ancient one, and doubtless more than supplies its place; else, unquestionably, St. Benezet would think it necessary to repair his own. The view from the inner side of this ruined structure, grass-grown and weedy, and leading to such a precipitous plunge into the swift river, is very picturesque, in connection with the gray town and above it, the great, massive bulk of the cliff, the towers of the church, and of a vast old edifice, shapeless, ugly, and venerable, which the popes built and occupied as their palace, many centuries ago. . . . After dinner we all set out on a walk, in the course of which we called at a bookseller's shop to show U---- an enormous cat, which I had already seen. It is of the Angora breed, of a mottled yellow color, and is really a wonder; as big and broad as a tolerably sized dog, very soft and silken, and apparently of the gentlest disposition. I never imagined the like, nor felt anything so deeply soft as this great beast. Its master seems very fond and proud of it; and, great favorite as the cat is, she does not take airs upon herself, but is gently shy and timid in her demonstrations. We ascended the great Rocher above the palace of the popes, and on our way looked into the old church, which was so dim in the decline of day that we could not see within the dusky arches, through which the chapels communicated with the nave. Thence we pursued our way up the farther ascent, and, standing on the edge of the precipice,--protected by a parapet of stone, and in other places by an iron railing,--we could look down upon the road that winds its dusky track far below, and at the river Rhone, which eddies close beside it. This is indeed a massive and lofty cliff, and it tumbles down so precipitously that I could readily have flung myself from the bank, and alighted on my head in the middle of the river. The Rhone passes so near its base that I threw stones a good way into its current. We talked with a man of Avignon, who leaned over the parapet near by, and he was very kind in explaining the points of view, and told us that the river, which winds and doubles upon itself so as to look like at least two rivers, is really the Rhone alone. The Durance joins with it within a few miles below Avignon, but is here invisible. Hotel de l'Europe, June 2d.--This morning we went again to the Duomo of the popes; and this time we allowed the custode, or sacristan, to show us the curiosities of it. He led us into a chapel apart, and showed us the old Gothic tomb of Pope John XXII., where the recumbent statue of the pope lies beneath one of those beautiful and venerable canopies of stone which look at once so light and so solemn. I know not how many hundred years old it is, but everything of Gothic origin has a faculty of conveying the idea of age; whereas classic forms seem to have nothing to do with time, and so lose the kind of impressiveness that arises from suggestions of decay and the past. In the sacristy the guide opened a cupboard that contained the jewels and sacred treasures of the church, and showed a most exquisite figure of Christ in ivory, represented as on a cross of ebony; and it was executed with wonderful truth and force of expression, and with great beauty likewise. I do not see what a full-length marble statue could have had that was lacking in this little ivory figure of hardly more than a foot high. It is about two centuries old, by an unknown artist. There is another famous ivory statuette in Avignon which seems to be more celebrated than this, but can hardly be superior. I shall gladly look at it if it comes in my way. Next to this, the prettiest thing the man showed us was a circle of emeralds, in one of the holy implements; and then he exhibited a little bit or a pope's skull; also a great old crozier, that looked as if made chiefly of silver, and partly gilt; but I saw where the plating of silver was worn away, and betrayed the copper of its actual substance. There were two or three pictures in the sacristy, by ancient and modern French artists, very unlike the productions of the Italian masters, but not without a beauty of their own. Leaving the sacristy, we returned into the church, where U---- and J----- began to draw the pope's old stone chair. There is a beast, or perhaps more than one, grotesquely sculptured upon it; the seat is high and square, the back low and pointed, and it offers no enticing promise to a weary man. The interior of the church is massively picturesque, with its vaulted roof, and a stone gallery, heavily ornamented, running along each side of the nave. Each arch of the nave gives admittance to a chapel, in all of which there are pictures, and sculptures in most of them. One of these chapels is of the time of Charlemagne, and has a vaulted roof of admirable architecture, covered with frescos of modern date and little merit. In an adjacent chapel is the stone monument of Pope Benedict, whose statue reposes on it, like many which I have seen in the cathedral of York and other old English churches. In another part we saw a monument, consisting of a plain slab supported on pillars; it is said to be of a Roman or very early Christian epoch. In another chapel was a figure of Christ in wax, I believe, and clothed in real drapery; a very ugly object. Also, a figure reposing under a slab, which strikes the spectator with the idea that it is really a dead person enveloped in a shroud. There are windows of painted glass in some of the chapels; and the gloom of the dimly lighted interior, especially beneath the broad, low arches, is very impressive. While we were there some women assembled at one of the altars, and went through their acts of devotion without the help of a priest; one and another of them alternately repeating prayers, to which the rest responded. The murmur of their voices took a musical tone, which was reverberated by the vaulted arches. U---- and I now came out; and, under the porch, we found an old woman selling rosaries, little religious books, and other holy things. We bought two little medals of the Immaculate Virgin, one purporting to be of silver, the other of gold; but as both together cost only two or three sous, the genuineness of the material may well be doubted. We sat down on the steps, of a crucifix which is placed in front of the church, and the children began to draw the porch, of which I hardly know whether to call the architecture classic or Gothic (as I said before); at all events it has a venerable aspect, and there are frescos within its arches by Simone Memmi. . . . The popes' palace is contiguous to the church, and just below it, on the hillside. It is now occupied as barracks by some regiments of soldiers, a number of whom were lounging before the entrance; but we passed the sentinel without being challenged, and addressed ourselves to the concierge, who readily assented to our request to be shown through the edifice. A French gentleman and lady, likewise, came with similar purpose, and went the rounds along with us. The palace is such a confused heap and conglomeration of buildings, that it is impossible to get within any sort of a regular description. It is a huge, shapeless mass of architecture; and if it ever had any pretence to a plan, it has lost it in the modern alterations. For instance, an immense and lofty chapel, or rather church, has had two floors, one above the other, laid at different stages of its height; and the upper one of these floors, which extends just where the arches of the vaulted root begin to spring from the pillars, is ranged round with the beds of one of the regiments of soldiers. They are small iron bedsteads, each with its narrow mattress, and covered with a dark blanket. On some of them lay or lounged a soldier; other soldiers were cleaning their accoutrements; elsewhere we saw parties of them playing cards. So it was wherever we went among those large, dingy, gloomy halls and chambers, which, no doubt, were once stately and sumptuous, with pictures, with tapestry, and all sorts of adornment that the Middle Ages knew how to use. The windows threw a sombre light through embrasures at least two feet thick. There were staircases of magnificent breadth. We were shown into two small chapels, in different parts of the building, both containing the remains of old frescos wofully defaced. In one of them was a light, spiral staircase of iron, built in the centre of the room as a means of contemplating the frescos, which were said to be the work of our old friend Giotto. . . . Finally, we climbed a long, long, narrow stair, built in the thickness of the wall, and thus gained access to the top of one of the towers, whence we saw the noblest landscapes, mountains, plains, and the Rhone, broad and bright, winding hither and thither, as if it had lost its way. Beneath our feet was the gray, ugly old palace, and its many courts, just as void of system and as inconceivable as when we were burrowing through its bewildering passages. No end of historical romances might be made out of this castle of the popes; and there ought to be a ghost in every room, and droves of them in some of the rooms; for there have been murders here in the gross and in detail, as well hundreds of years ago, as no longer back than the French Revolution, when there was a great massacre in one of the courts. Traces of this bloody business were visible in actual stains on the wall only a few years ago. Returning to the room of the concierge, who, being a little stiff with age, had sent an attendant round with us, instead of accompanying us in person, he showed us a picture of Rienzi, the last of the Roman tribunes, who was once a prisoner here. On a table, beneath the picture, stood a little vase of earthenware containing some silver coin. We took it as a hint, in the customary style of French elegance, that a fee should be deposited here, instead of being put into the hand of the concierge; so the French gentleman deposited half a franc, and I, in my magnificence, twice as much. Hotel de l'Europe, June 6th.--We are still here. . . . I have been daily to the Rocher des Dons, and have grown familiar with the old church on its declivity. I think I might become attached to it by seeing it often. A sombre old interior, with its heavy arches, and its roof vaulted like the top of a trunk; its stone gallery, with ponderous adornments, running round three sides. I observe that it is a daily custom of the old women to say their prayers in concert, sometimes making a pilgrimage, as it were, from chapel to chapel. The voice of one of them is heard running through the series of petitions, and at intervals the voices of the others join and swell into a chorus, so that it is like a river connecting a series of lakes; or, not to use so gigantic a simile, the one voice is like a thread, on which the beads of a rosary are strung. One day two priests came and sat down beside these prayerful women, and joined in their petitions. I am inclined to hope that there is something genuine in the devotion of these old women. The view from the top of the Rocker des Dons (a contraction of Dominis) grows upon me, and is truly magnificent; a vast mountain-girdled plain, illuminated by the far windings and reaches of the Rhone. The river is here almost as turbid as the Tiber itself; but, I remember, in the upper part of its course the waters are beautifully transparent. A powerful rush is indicated by the swirls and eddies of its broad surface. Yesterday was a race day at Avignon, and apparently almost the whole population and a great many strangers streamed out of the city gate nearest our hotel, on their way to the race-course. There were many noticeable figures that might come well into a French picture or description; but only one remains in my memory,--a young man with a wooden leg, setting off for the course--a walk of several miles, I believe--with prodigious courage and alacrity, flourishing his wooden leg with an air and grace that seemed to render it positively flexible. The crowd returned towards sunset, and almost all night long, the streets and the whole air of the old town were full of song and merriment. There was a ball in a temporary structure, covered with an awning, in the Place d'Horloge, and a showman has erected his tent and spread forth his great painted canvases, announcing an anaconda and a sea-tiger to be seen. J----- paid four sous for admittance, and found that the sea-tiger was nothing but a large seal, and the anaconda altogether a myth. I have rambled a good deal about the town. Its streets are crooked and perplexing, and paved with round pebbles for the most part, which afford more uncomfortable pedestrianism than the pavement of Rome itself. It is an ancient-looking place, with some large old mansions, but few that are individually impressive; though here and there one sees an antique entrance, a corner tower, or other bit of antiquity, that throws a venerable effect over the gray commonplace of past centuries. The town is not overclean, and often there is a kennel of unhappy odor. There appear to have been many more churches and devotional establishments under the ancient dominion of the popes than have been kept intact in subsequent ages; the tower and facade of a church, for instance, form the front of a carpenter's shop, or some such plebeian place. The church where Laura lay has quite disappeared, and her tomb along with it. The town reminds me of Chester, though it does not in the least resemble it, and is not nearly so picturesque. Like Chester, it is entirely surrounded by a wall; and that of Avignon--though it has no delightful promenade on its top, as the wall of Chester has--is the more perfectly preserved in its mediaeval form, and the more picturesque of the two. J----- and I have once or twice walked nearly round it, commencing from the gate of Ouelle, which is very near our hotel. From this point it stretches for a considerable distance along by the river, and here there is a broad promenade, with trees, and blocks of stone for seats; on one side "the arrowy Rhone," generally carrying a cooling breeze along with it; on the other, the gray wall, with its battlements and machicolations, impending over what was once the moat, but which is now full of careless and untrained shrubbery. At intervals there are round towers swelling out from the wall, and rising a little above it. After about half a mile along the river-side the wall turns at nearly right angles, and still there is a wide road, a shaded walk, a boulevard; and at short distances are cafes, with their little round tables before the door, or small shady nooks of shrubbery. So numerous are these retreats and pleasaunces that I do not see how the little old town can support them all, especially as there are a great many cafes within the walls. I do not remember seeing any soldiers on guard at the numerous city gates, but there is an office in the side of each gate for levying the octroi, and old women are sometimes on guard there. This morning, after breakfast, J----- and I crossed the suspension-bridge close by the gate nearest our hotel, and walked to the ancient town of Villeneuve, on the other side of the Rhone. The first bridge leads to an island, from the farther side of which another very long one, with a timber foundation, accomplishes the passage of the other branch of the Rhone. There was a good breeze on the river, but after crossing it we found the rest of the walk excessively hot. This town of Villeneuve is of very ancient origin, and owes its existence, it is said, to the famous holiness of a female saint, which gathered round her abode and burial-place a great many habitations of people who reverenced her. She was the daughter of the King of Saragossa, and I presume she chose this site because it was so rocky and desolate. Afterwards it had a long mediaeval history; and in the time of the Avignon popes, the cardinals, regretful of their abandoned Roman villas, built pleasure-houses here, so that the town was called Villa Nueva. After they had done their best, it must have seemed to these poor cardinals but a rude and sad exchange for the Borghese, the Albani, the Pamfili Doria, and those other perfectest results of man's luxurious art. And probably the tradition of the Roman villas had really been kept alive, and extant examples of them all the way downward from the times of the empire. But this Villeneuve is the stoniest, roughest town that can be imagined. There are a few large old houses, to be sure, but built on a line with shabby village dwellings and barns, and so presenting little but samples of magnificent shabbiness. Perhaps I might have found traces of old splendor if I had sought for them; but, not having the history of the place in my mind, I passed through its scrambling streets without imagining that Princes of the Church had once made their abode here. The inhabitants now are peasants, or chiefly such; though, for aught I know, some of the French noblesse may burrow in these palaces that look so like hovels. A large church, with a massive tower, stands near the centre of the town; and, of course, I did not fail to enter its arched door,--a pointed arch, with many frames and mouldings, one within another. An old woman was at her devotions, and several others came in and knelt during my stay there. It was quite an interesting interior; a long nave, with six pointed arches on each side, beneath which were as many chapels. The walls were rich with pictures, not only in the chapels, but up and down the nave, above the arches. There were gilded virgins, too, and much other quaint device that produced an effect that I rather liked than otherwise. At the end of the church, farthest from the high altar, there were four columns of exceedingly rich marble, and a good deal more of such precious material was wrought into the chapels and altars. There was an old stone seat, also, of some former pope or prelate. The church was dim enough to cause the lamps in the shrines to become points of vivid light, and, looking from end to end, it was a long, venerable, tarnished, Old World vista, not at all tampered with by modern taste. We now went on our way through the village, and, emerging from a gate, went clambering towards the castle of St. Andre, which stands, perhaps, a quarter of a mile beyond it. This castle was built by Philip le Bel, as a restraint to the people of Avignon in extending their power on this side of the Rhone. We happened not to take the most direct way, and so approached the castle on the farther side and were obliged to go nearly round the hill on which it stands, before striking into the path which leads to its gate. It crowns a very bold and difficult hill, directly above the Rhone, opposite to Avignon,--which is so far off that objects are not minutely distinguishable,--and looking down upon the long, straggling town of Villeneuve. It must have been a place of mighty strength, in its day. Its ramparts seem still almost entire, as looked upon from without, and when, at length, we climbed the rough, rocky pathway to the entrance, we found the two vast round towers, with their battlemented summits and arched gateway between them, just as perfect as they could have been five hundred or more years ago. Some external defences are now, however, in a state of ruin; and there are only the remains of a tower, that once arose between the two round towers, and was apparently much more elevated than they. A little in front of the gate was a monumental cross of stone; and in the arch, between the two round towers, were two little boys at play; and an old woman soon showed herself, but took no notice of us. Casting our eyes within the gateway, we saw what looked a rough village street, betwixt old houses built ponderously of stone, but having far more the aspect of huts than of castle-hails. They were evidently the dwellings of peasantry, and people engaged in rustic labor; and no doubt they have burrowed into the primitive structures of the castle, and, as they found convenient, have taken their crumbling materials to build barns and farm-houses. There was space and accommodation for a very considerable population; but the men were probably at work in the fields, and the only persons visible were the children aforesaid, and one or two old women bearing bundles of twigs on their backs. They showed no curiosity respecting us, and though the wide space included within the castle-rampart seemed almost full of habitations ruinous or otherwise, I never found such a solitude in any ruin before. It contrasts very favorably in this particular with English castles, where, though you do not find rustic villages within the warlike enclosure, there is always a padlocked gate, always a guide, and generally half a dozen idle tourists. But here was only antiquity, with merely the natural growth of fungous human life upon it. We went to the end of the castle court and sat down, for lack of other shade, among some inhospitable nettles that grew close to the wall. Close by us was a great gap in the ramparts,--it may have been a breach which was once stormed through; and it now afforded us an airy and sunny glimpse of distant hills. . . . J----- sketched part of the broken wall, which, by the by, did not seem to me nearly so thick as the walls of English castles. Then we returned through the gate, and I stopped, rather impatiently, under the hot sun, while J----- drew the outline of the two round towers. This done, we resumed our way homeward, after drinking from a very deep well close by the square tower of Philip le Bel. Thence we went melting through the sunshine, which beat upward as pitilessly from the white road as it blazed downwards from the sky. . . . GENEVA. Hotel d'Angleterre, June 11th.--We left Avignon on Tuesday, 7th, and took the rail to Valence, where we arrived between four and five, and put up at the Hotel de la Poste, an ancient house, with dirty floors and dirt generally, but otherwise comfortable enough. . . . Valence is a stately old town, full of tall houses and irregular streets. We found a cathedral there, not very large, but with a high and venerable interior, a nave supported by tall pillars, from the height of which spring arches. This loftiness is characteristic of French churches, as distinguished from those of Italy. . . . We likewise saw, close by the cathedral, a large monument with four arched entrances meeting beneath a vaulted roof; but, on inquiry of an old priest and other persons, we could get no account of it, except that it was a tomb, and of unknown antiquity. The architecture seemed classic, and yet it had some Gothic peculiarities, and it was a reverend and beautiful object. Had I written up my journal while the town was fresh in my remembrance, I might have found much to describe; but a succession of other objects have obliterated most of the impressions I have received here. Our railway ride to Valence was intolerably hot. I have felt nothing like it since leaving America, and that is so long ago that the terrible discomfort was just as good as new. . . . We left Valence at four, and came that afternoon to Lyons, still along the Rhone. Either the waters of this river assume a transparency in winter which they lose in summer, or I was mistaken in thinking them transparent on our former journey. They are now turbid; but the hue does not suggest the idea of a running mud-puddle, as the water of the Tiber does. No streams, however, are so beautiful in the quality of their waters as the clear, brown rivers of New England. The scenery along this part of the Rhone, as we have found all the way from Marseilles, is very fine and impressive; old villages, rocky cliffs, castellated steeps, quaint chateaux, and a thousand other interesting objects. We arrived at Lyons at five o'clock, and went to the Hotel de l'Univers, to which we had been recommended by our good hostess at Avignon. The day had become showery, but J----- and I strolled about a little before nightfall, and saw the general characteristics of the place. Lyons is a city of very stately aspect, hardly inferior to Paris; for it has regular streets of lofty houses, and immense squares planted with trees, and adorned with statues and fountains. New edifices of great splendor are in process of erection; and on the opposite side of the Rhone, where the site rises steep and high, there are structures of older date, that have an exceedingly picturesque effect, looking down upon the narrow town. The next morning I went out with J----- in quest of my bankers, and of the American Consul; and as I had forgotten the directions of the waiter of the hotel, I of course went astray, and saw a good deal more of Lyons than I intended. In my wanderings I crossed the Rhone, and found myself in a portion of the city evidently much older than that with which I had previously made acquaintance; narrow, crooked, irregular, and rudely paved streets, full of dingy business and bustle,--the city, in short, as it existed a century ago, and how much earlier I know not. Above rises that lofty elevation of ground which I before noticed; and the glimpses of its stately old buildings through the openings of the street were very picturesque. Unless it be Edinburgh, I have not seen any other city that has such striking features. Altogether unawares, immediately after crossing the bridge, we came upon the cathedral; and the grand, time-blackened Gothic front, with its deeply arched entrances, seemed to me as good as anything I ever saw,--unexpectedly more impressive than all the ruins of Rome. I could but merely glance at its interior; so that its noble height and venerable space, filled with the dim, consecrated light of pictured windows, recur to me as a vision. And it did me good to enjoy the awfulness and sanctity of Gothic architecture again, after so long shivering in classic porticos. . . . We now recrossed the river. . . . The Frank methods and arrangements in matters of business seem to be excellent, so far as effecting the proposed object is concerned; but there is such an inexorable succession of steel-wrought forms, that life is not long enough for so much accuracy. The stranger, too, goes blindfold through all these processes, not knowing what is to turn up next, till, when quite in despair, he suddenly finds his business mysteriously accomplished. . . . We left Lyons at four o'clock, taking the railway for Geneva. The scenery was very striking throughout the journey; but I allowed the hills, deep valleys, high impending cliffs, and whatever else I saw along the road, to pass from me without an ink-blot. We reached Geneva at nearly ten o'clock. . . . It is situated partly on low, flat ground, bordering the lake, and behind this level space it rises by steep, painfully paved streets, some of which can hardly be accessible by wheeled carriages. The prosperity of the town is indicated by a good many new and splendid edifices, for commercial and other purposes, in the vicinity of the lake; but intermixed with these there are many quaint buildings of a stern gray color, and in a style of architecture that I prefer a thousand times to the monotony of Italian streets. Immensely high, red roofs, with windows in them, produce an effect that delights me. They are as ugly, perhaps, as can well be conceived, but very striking and individual. At each corner of these ancient houses frequently is a tower, the roof of which rises in a square pyramidal form, or, if the tower be round, in a round pyramidal form. Arched passages, gloomy and grimy, pass from one street to another. The lower town creeps with busy life, and swarms like an ant-hill; but if you climb the half-precipitous streets, you find yourself among ancient and stately mansions, high roofed, with a strange aspect of grandeur about them, looking as if they might still be tenanted by such old magnates as dwelt in them centuries ago. There is also a cathedral, the older portion exceedingly fine; but it has been adorned at some modern epoch with a Grecian portico,--good in itself, but absurdly out of keeping with the edifice which it prefaces. This being a Protestant country, the doors were all shut,--an inhospitality that made me half a Catholic. It is funny enough that a stranger generally profits by all that is worst for the inhabitants of the country where he himself is merely a visitor. Despotism makes things all the pleasanter for the stranger. Catholicism lends itself admirably to his purposes. There are public gardens (one, at least) in Geneva. . . . Nothing struck me so much, I think, as the color of the Rhone, as it flows under the bridges in the lower town. It is absolutely miraculous, and, beautiful as it is, suggests the idea that the tubs of a thousand dyers have emptied their liquid indigo into the stream. When once you have conquered and thrust out this idea, it is an inexpressible delight to look down into this intense, brightly transparent blue, that hurries beneath you with the speed of a race-horse. The shops of Geneva are very tempting to a traveller, being full of such little knick-knacks as he would be glad to carry away in memory of the place: wonderful carvings in wood and ivory, done with exquisite taste and skill; jewelry that seems very cheap, but is doubtless dear enough, if you estimate it by the solid gold that goes into its manufacture; watches, above all things else, for a third or a quarter of the price that one pays in England, looking just as well, too, and probably performing the whole of a watch's duty as uncriticisably. The Swiss people are frugal and inexpensive in their own habits, I believe, plain and simple, and careless of ornament; but they seem to reckon on other people's spending a great deal of money for gewgaws. We bought some of their wooden trumpery, and likewise a watch for U----. . . . Next to watches, jewelry, and wood-carving, I should say that cigars were one of the principal articles of commerce in Geneva. Cigar-shops present themselves at every step or two, and at a reasonable rate, there being no duties, I believe, on imported goods. There was no examination of our trunks on arrival, nor any questions asked on that score. VILLENEUVE. Hotel de Byron, June 12th.--Yesterday afternoon we left Geneva by a steamer, starting from the quay at only a short distance from our hotel. The forenoon had been showery; but the suit now came out very pleasantly, although there were still clouds and mist enough to give infinite variety to the mountain scenery. At the commencement of our voyage the scenery of the lake was not incomparably superior to that of other lakes on which I have sailed, as Lake Windermere, for instance, or Loch Lomond, or our own Lake Champlain. It certainly grew more grand and beautiful, however, till at length I felt that I had never seen anything worthy to be put beside it. The southern shore has the grandest scenery; the great hills on that side appearing close to the water's edge, and after descending, with headlong slope, directly from their rocky and snow-streaked summits down into the blue water. Our course lay nearer to the northern shore, and all our stopping-places were on that side. The first was Coppet, where Madame de Stael or her father, or both, were either born or resided or died, I know not which, and care very little. It is a picturesque village, with an old church, and old, high-roofed, red-tiled houses, the whole looking as if nothing in it had been changed for many, many years. All these villages, at several of which we stopped momentarily, look delightfully unmodified by recent fashions. There is the church, with its tower crowned by a pyramidal roof, like an extinguisher; then the chateau of the former lord, half castle and half dwelling-house, with a round tower at each corner, pyramid topped; then, perhaps, the ancient town-house or Hotel de Ville, in an open paved square; and perhaps the largest mansion in the whole village will have been turned into a modern inn, but retaining all its venerable characteristics of high, steep sloping roof, and antiquated windows. Scatter a delightful shade of trees among the houses, throw in a time-worn monument of one kind or another, swell out the delicious blue of the lake in front, and the delicious green of the sunny hillside sloping up and around this closely congregated neighborhood of old, comfortable houses, and I do not know what more I can add to this sketch. Often there was an insulated house or cottage, embowered in shade, and each seeming like the one only spot in the wide world where two people that had good consciences and loved each other could spend a happy life. Half-ruined towers, old historic castles, these, too, we saw. And all the while, on the other side of the lake, were the high hills, sometimes dim, sometimes black, sometimes green, with gray precipices of stone, and often snow-patches, right above the warm sunny lake whereon we were sailing. We passed Lausanne, which stands upward, on the slope of the hill, the tower of its cathedral forming a conspicuous object. We mean to visit this to-morrow; so I may pretermit further mention of it here. We passed Vevay and Clarens, which, methought, was particularly picturesque; for now the hills had approached close to the water on the northern side also, and steep heights rose directly above the little gray church and village; and especially I remember a rocky cliff which ascends into a rounded pyramid, insulated from all other peaks and ridges. But if I could perform the absolute impossibility of getting one single outline of the scene into words, there would be all the color wanting, the light, the haze, which spiritualizes it, and moreover makes a thousand and a thousand scenes out of that single one. Clarens, however, has still another interest for me; for I found myself more affected by it, as the scene of the love of St. Preux and Julie, than I have often been by scenes of poetry and romance. I read Rousseau's romance with great sympathy, when I was hardly more than a boy; ten years ago, or thereabouts, I tried to read it again without success; but I think, from my feeling of yesterday, that it still retains its hold upon my imagination. Farther onward, we saw a white, ancient-looking group of towers, beneath a mountain, which was so high, and rushed so precipitately down upon this pile of building as quite to dwarf it; besides which, its dingy whiteness had not a very picturesque effect. Nevertheless, this was the Castle of Chillon. It appears to sit right upon the water, and does not rise very loftily above it. I was disappointed in its aspect, having imagined this famous castle as situated upon a rock, a hundred, or, for aught I know, a thousand feet above the surface of the lake; but it is quite as impressive a fact--supposing it to be true--that the water is eight hundred feet deep at its base. By this time, the mountains had taken the beautiful lake into their deepest heart; they girdled it quite round with their grandeur and beauty, and, being able to do no more for it, they here withheld it from extending any farther; and here our voyage came to an end. I have never beheld any scene so exquisite; nor do I ask of heaven to show me any lovelier or nobler one, but only to give me such depth and breadth of sympathy with nature, that I may worthily enjoy this. It is beauty more than enough for poor, perishable mortals. If this be earth, what must heaven be! It was nearly eight o'clock when we arrived; and then we had a walk of at least a mile to the Hotel Byron. . . . I forgot to mention that in the latter part of our voyage there was a shower in some part of the sky, and though none of it fell upon us, we had the benefit of those gentle tears in a rainbow, which arched itself across the lake from mountain to mountain, so that our track lay directly under this triumphal arch. We took it as a good omen, nor were we discouraged, though, after the rainbow had vanished, a few sprinkles of the shower came down. We found the Hotel Byron very grand indeed, and a good one too. There was a beautiful moonlight on the lake and hills, but we contented ourselves with looking out of our lofty window, whence, likewise, we had a sidelong glance at the white battlements of Chillon, not more than a mile off, on the water's edge. The castle is wofully in need of a pedestal. If its site were elevated to a height equal to its own, it would make a far better appearance. As it now is, it looks, to speak profanely of what poetry has consecrated, when seen from the water, or along the shore of the lake, very like an old whitewashed factory or mill. This morning I walked to the Castle of Chillon with J-----, who sketches everything he sees, from a wildflower or a carved chair to a castle or a range of mountains. The morning had sunshine thinly scattered through it; but, nevertheless, there was a continual sprinkle, sometimes scarcely perceptible, and then again amounting to a decided drizzle. The road, which is built along on a little elevation above the lake shore, led us past the Castle of Chillon; and we took a side-path, which passes still nearer the castle gate. The castle stands on an isthmus of gravel, permanently connecting it with the mainland. A wooden bridge, covered with a roof, passes from the shore to the arched entrance; and beneath this shelter, which has wooden walls as well as roof and floor, we saw a soldier or gendarme who seemed to act as warder. As it sprinkled rather more freely than at first, I thought of appealing to his hospitality for shelter from the rain, but concluded to pass on. The castle makes a far better appearance on a nearer view, and from the land, than when seen at a distance, and from the water. It is built of stone, and seems to have been anciently covered with plaster, which imparts the whiteness to which Byron does much more than justice, when he speaks of "Chillon's snow-white battlements." There is a lofty external wall, with a cluster of round towers about it, each crowned with its pyramidal roof of tiles, and from the central portion of the castle rises a square tower, also crowned with its own pyramid to a considerably greater height than the circumjacent ones. The whole are in a close cluster, and make a fine picture of ancient strength when seen at a proper proximity; for I do not think that distance adds anything to the effect. There are hardly any windows, or few, and very small ones, except the loopholes for arrows and for the garrison of the castle to peep from on the sides towards the water; indeed, there are larger windows at least in the upper apartments; but in that direction, no doubt, the castle was considered impregnable. Trees here and there on the land side grow up against the castle wall, on one part of which, moreover, there was a green curtain of ivy spreading from base to battlement. The walls retain their machicolations, and I should judge that nothing had been [altered], nor any more work been done upon the old fortress than to keep it in singularly good repair. It was formerly a castle of the Duke of Savoy, and since his sway over the country ceased (three hundred years at least), it has been in the hands of the Swiss government, who still keep some arms and ammunition there. We passed on, and found the view of it better, as we thought, from a farther point along the road. The raindrops began to spatter down faster, and we took shelter under an impending precipice, where the ledge of rock had been blasted and hewn away to form the road. Our refuge was not a very convenient and comfortable one, so we took advantage of the partial cessation of the shower to turn homeward, but had not gone far when we met mamma and all her train. As we were close by the castle entrance, we thought it advisable to seek admission, though rather doubtful whether the Swiss gendarme might not deem it a sin to let us into the castle on Sunday. But he very readily admitted us under his covered drawbridge, and called an old man from within the fortress to show us whatever was to be seen. This latter personage was a staid, rather grim, and Calvinistic-looking old worthy; but he received us without scruple, and forthwith proceeded to usher us into a range of most dismal dungeons, extending along the basement of the castle, on a level with the surface of the lake. First, if I remember aright, we came to what he said had been a chapel, and which, at all events, looked like an aisle of one, or rather such a crypt as I have seen beneath a cathedral, being a succession of massive pillars supporting groined arches,--a very admirable piece of gloomy Gothic architecture. Next, we came to a very dark compartment of the same dungeon range, where he pointed to a sort of bed, or what might serve for a bed, hewn in the solid rock, and this, our guide said, had been the last sleeping-place of condemned prisoners on the night before their execution. The next compartment was still duskier and dismaller than the last, and he bade us cast our eyes up into the obscurity and see a beam, where the condemned ones used to be hanged. I looked and looked, and closed my eyes so as to see the clearer in this horrible duskiness on opening them again. Finally, I thought I discerned the accursed beam, and the rest of the party were certain that they saw it. Next beyond this, I think, was a stone staircase, steep, rudely cut, and narrow, down which the condemned were brought to death; and beyond this, still on the same basement range of the castle, a low and narrow [corridor] through which we passed and saw a row of seven massive pillars, supporting two parallel series of groined arches, like those in the chapel which we first entered. This was Bonnivard's prison, and the scene of Byron's poem. The arches are dimly lighted by narrow loopholes, pierced through the immensely thick wall, but at such a height above the floor that we could catch no glimpse of land or water, or scarcely of the sky. The prisoner of Chillon could not possibly have seen the island to which Byron alludes, and which is a little way from the shore, exactly opposite the town of Villeneuve. There was light enough in this long, gray, vaulted room, to show us that all the pillars were inscribed with the names of visitors, among which I saw no interesting one, except that of Byron himself, which is cut, in letters an inch long or more, into one of the pillars next to that to which Bonnivard was chained. The letters are deep enough to remain in the pillar as long as the castle stands. Byron seems to have had a fancy for recording his name in this and similar ways; as witness the record which I saw on a tree of Newstead Abbey. In Bonnivard's pillar there still remains an iron ring, at the height of perhaps three feet from the ground. His chain was fastened to this ring, and his only freedom was to walk round this pillar, about which he is said to have worn a path in the stone pavement of the dungeon; but as the floor is now covered with earth or gravel, I could not satisfy myself whether this be true. Certainly six years, with nothing else to do in them save to walk round the pillar, might well suffice to wear away the rock, even with naked feet. This column, and all the columns, were cut and hewn in a good style of architecture, and the dungeon arches are not without a certain gloomy beauty. On Bonnivard's pillar, as well as on all the rest, were many names inscribed; but I thought better of Byron's delicacy and sensitiveness for not cutting his name into that very pillar. Perhaps, knowing nothing of Bonnivard's story, he did not know to which column he was chained. Emerging from the dungeon-vaults, our guide led us through other parts of the castle, showing us the Duke of Savoy's kitchen, with a fireplace at least twelve feet long; also the judgment-hall, or some such place, hung round with the coats of arms of some officers or other, and having at one end a wooden post, reaching from floor to ceiling, and having upon it the marks of fire. By means of this post, contumacious prisoners were put to a dreadful torture, being drawn up by cords and pulleys, while their limbs were scorched by a fire underneath. We also saw a chapel or two, one of which is still in good and sanctified condition, and was to be used this very day, our guide told us, for religious purposes. We saw, moreover, the Duke's private chamber, with a part of the bedstead on which he used to sleep, and be haunted with horrible dreams, no doubt, and the ghosts of wretches whom he had tortured and hanged; likewise the bedchamber of his duchess, that had in its window two stone seats, where, directly over the head of Bonnivard, the ducal pair might look out on the beautiful scene of lake and mountains, and feel the warmth of the blessed sun. Under this window, the guide said, the water of the lake is eight hundred feet in depth; an immense profundity, indeed, for an inland lake, but it is not very difficult to believe that the mountain at the foot of which Chillon stands may descend so far beneath the water. In other parts of the lake and not distant, more than nine hundred feet have been sounded. I looked out of the duchess's window, and could certainly see no appearance of a bottom in the light blue water. The last thing that the guide showed us was a trapdoor, or opening, beneath a crazy old floor. Looking down into this aperture we saw three stone steps, which we should have taken to be the beginning of a flight of stairs that descended into a dungeon, or series of dungeons, such as we had already seen. But inspecting them more closely, we saw that the third step terminated the flight, and beyond was a dark vacancy. Three steps a person would grope down, planting his uncertain foot on a dimly seen stone; the fourth step would be in the empty air. The guide told us that it used to be the practice to bring prisoners hither, under pretence of committing them to a dungeon, and make them go down the three steps and that fourth fatal one, and they would never more be heard of; but at the bottom of the pit there would be a dead body, and in due time a mouldy skeleton, which would rattle beneath the body of the next prisoner that fell. I do not believe that it was anything more than a secret dungeon for state prisoners whom it was out of the question either to set at liberty or bring to public trial. The depth of the pit was about forty-five feet. Gazing intently down, I saw a faint gleam of light at the bottom, apparently coming from some other aperture than the trap-door over which we were bending, so that it must have been contemplated to supply it with light and air in such degree as to support human life. U---- declared she saw a skeleton at the bottom; Miss S------ thought she saw a hand, but I saw only the dim gleam of light. There are two or three courts in the castle, but of no great size. We were now led across one of them, and dismissed out of the arched entrance by which we had come in. We found the gendarme still keeping watch on his roofed drawbridge, and as there was the same gentle shower that had been effusing itself all the morning, we availed ourselves of the shelter, more especially as there were some curiosities to examine. These consisted chiefly of wood-carvings,--such as little figures in the national costume, boxes with wreaths of foliage upon them, paper knives, the chamois goat, admirably well represented. We at first hesitated to make any advances towards trade with the gendarme because it was Sunday, and we fancied there might be a Calvinistic scruple on his part about turning a penny on the Sabbath; but from the little I know of the Swiss character, I suppose they would be as ready as any other men to sell, not only such matters, but even their own souls, or any smaller--or shall we say greater--thing on Sunday or at any other time. So we began to ask the prices of the articles, and met with no difficulty in purchasing a salad spoon and fork, with pretty bas-reliefs carved on the handles, and a napkin-ring. For Rosebud's and our amusement, the gendarme now set a musical-box a-going; and as it played a pasteboard figure of a dentist began to pull the tooth of a pasteboard patient, lifting the wretched simulacrum entirely from the ground, and keeping him in this horrible torture for half an hour. Meanwhile, mamma, Miss Shepard, U----, and J----- sat down all in a row on a bench and sketched the mountains; and as the shower did not cease, though the sun most of the time shone brightly, they were kept actual prisoners of Chillon much longer than we wished to stay. We took advantage of the first cessation,--though still the drops came dimpling into the water that rippled against the pebbles beneath the bridge,--of the first partial cessation of the shower, to escape, and returned towards the hotel, with this kindliest of summer rains falling upon us most of the way In the afternoon the rain entirely ceased, and the weather grew delightfully radiant, and warmer than could well be borne in the sunshine. U---- and I walked to the village of Villeneuve, --a mile from the hotel,--and found a very commonplace little old town of one or two streets, standing on a level, and as uninteresting as if there were not a hill within a hundred miles. It is strange what prosaic lines men thrust in amid the poetry of nature. . . . Hotel de l'Angleterre, Geneva, June 14th.--Yesterday morning was very fine, and we had a pretty early breakfast at Hotel Byron, preparatory to leaving it. This hotel is on a magnificent scale of height and breadth, its staircases and corridors being the most spacious I have seen; but there is a kind of meagreness in the life there, and a certain lack of heartiness, that prevented us from feeling at home. We were glad to get away, and took the steamer on our return voyage, in excellent spirits. Apparently it had been a cold night in the upper regions, for a great deal more snow was visible on some of the mountains than we had before observed; especially a mountain called "Diableries" presented a silver summit, and broad sheets and fields of snow. Nothing ever can have been more beautiful than those groups of mighty hills as we saw them then, with the gray rocks, the green slopes, the white snow-patches and crests, all to be seen at one glance, and the mists and fleecy clouds tumbling, rolling, hovering about their summits, filling their lofty valleys, and coming down far towards the lower world, making the skyey aspects so intimate with the earthly ones, that we hardly knew whether we were sojourning in the material or spiritual world. It was like sailing through the sky, moreover, to be borne along on such water as that of Lake Leman,--the bluest, brightest, and profoundest element, the most radiant eye that the dull earth ever opened to see heaven withal. I am writing nonsense, but it is because no sense within my mind will answer the purpose. Some of these mountains, that looked at no such mighty distance, were at least forty or fifty miles off, and appeared as if they were near neighbors and friends of other mountains, from which they were really still farther removed. The relations into which distant points are brought, in a view of mountain scenery, symbolize the truth which we can never judge within our partial scope of vision, of the relations which we bear to our fellow-creatures and human circumstances. These mighty mountains think that they have nothing to do with one another, each seems itself its own centre, and existing for itself alone; and yet to an eye that can take them all in, they are evidently portions of one grand and beautiful idea, which could not be consummated without the lowest and the loftiest of them. I do not express this satisfactorily, but have a genuine meaning in it nevertheless. We passed again by Chillon, and gazed at it as long as it was distinctly visible, though the water view does no justice to its real picturesqueness, there being no towers nor projections on the side towards the lake, nothing but a wall of dingy white, with an indentation that looks something like a gateway. About an hour and a half brought us to Ouchy, the point where passengers land to take the omnibus to Lausanne. The ascent from Ouchy to Lausanne is a mile and a half, which it took the omnibus nearly half an hour to accomplish. We left our shawls and carpet-bags in the salle a manger of the Hotel Faucon, and set forth to find the cathedral, the pinnacled tower of which is visible for a long distance up and down the lake. Prominent as it is, however, it is by no means very easy to find it while rambling through the intricate streets and declivities of the town itself, for Lausanne is the town, I should fancy, in all the world the most difficult to go directly from one point to another. It is built on the declivity of a hill, adown which run several valleys or ravines, and over these the contiguity of houses extends, so that the communication is kept up by means of steep streets and sometimes long weary stairs, which must be surmounted and descended again in accomplishing a very moderate distance. In some inscrutable way we at last arrived at the cathedral, which stands on a higher site than any other in Lausanne. It has a very venerable exterior, with all the Gothic grandeur which arched mullioned windows, deep portals, buttresses, towers, and pinnacles, gray with a thousand years, can give to architecture. After waiting awhile we obtained entrance by means of an old woman, who acted the part of sacristan, and was then showing the church to some other visitors. The interior disappointed us; not but what it was very beautiful, but I think the excellent repair that it was in, and the Puritanic neatness with which it is kept, does much towards effacing the majesty and mystery that belong to an old church. Every inch of every wall and column, and all the mouldings and tracery, and every scrap of grotesque carving, had been washed with a drab mixture. There were likewise seats all up and down the nave, made of pine wood, and looking very new and neat, just such seats as I shall see in a hundred meeting-houses (if ever I go into so many) in America. Whatever might be the reason, the stately nave, with its high-groined roof, the clustered columns and lofty pillars, the intersecting arches of the side-aisles, the choir, the armorial and knightly tombs that surround what was once the high altar, all produced far less effect than I could have thought beforehand. As it happened, we had more ample time and freedom to inspect this cathedral than any other that we have visited, for the old woman consented to go away and leave us there, locking the door behind her. The others, except Rosebud, sat down to sketch such portions as struck their fancy; and for myself, I looked at the monuments, of which some, being those of old knights, ladies, bishops, and a king, were curious from their antiquity; and others are interesting as bearing memorials of English people, who have died at Lausanne in comparatively recent years. Then I went up into the pulpit, and tried, without success, to get into the stone gallery that runs all round the nave; and I explored my way into various side apartments of the cathedral, which I found fitted up with seats for Sabbath schools, perhaps, or possibly for meetings of elders of the Church. I opened the great Bible of the church, and found it to be a French version, printed at Lille some fifty years ago. There was also a liturgy, adapted, probably, to the Lutheran form of worship. In one of the side apartments I found a strong box, heavily clamped with iron, and having a contrivance, like the hopper of a mill, by which money could be turned into the top, while a double lock prevented its being abstracted again. This was to receive the avails of contributions made in the church; and there were likewise boxes, stuck on the ends of long poles, wherewith the deacons could go round among the worshippers, conveniently extending the begging-box to the remotest curmudgeon among them all. From the arrangement of the seats in the nave, and the labels pasted or painted on them, I judged that the women sat on one side and the men on the other, and the seats for various orders of magistrates, and for ecclesiastical and collegiate people, were likewise marked out. I soon grew weary of these investigations, and so did Rosebud and J-----, who essayed to amuse themselves with running races together over the horizontal tombstones in the pavement of the choir, treading remorselessly over the noseless effigies of old dignitaries, who never expected to be so irreverently treated. I put a stop to their sport, and banished them to different parts of the cathedral; and by and by, the old woman appeared again, and released us from durance. . . . While waiting for our dejeuner, we saw the people dining at the regular table d'hote of the hotel, and the idea was strongly borne in upon me, that the professional mystery of a male waiter is a very unmanly one. It is so absurd to see the solemn attentiveness with which they stand behind the chairs, the earnestness of their watch for any crisis that may demand their interposition, the gravity of their manner in performing some little office that the guest might better do for himself, their decorous and soft steps; in short, as I sat and gazed at them, they seemed to me not real men, but creatures with a clerical aspect, engendered out of a very artificial state of society. When they are waiting on myself, they do not appear so absurd; it is necessary to stand apart in order to see them properly. We left Lausanne--which was to us a tedious and weary place--before four o'clock. I should have liked well enough to see the house of Gibbon, and the garden in which he walked, after finishing "The Decline and Fall"; but it could not be done without some trouble and inquiry, and as the house did not come to see me, I determined not to go and see the house. There was, indeed, a mansion of somewhat antique respectability, near our hotel, having a garden and a shaded terrace behind it, which would have answered accurately enough to the idea of Gibbon's residence. Perhaps it was so; far more probably not. Our former voyages had been taken in the Hirondelle; we now, after broiling for some time in the sunshine by the lakeside, got on board of the Aigle, No. 2. There were a good many passengers, the larger proportion of whom seemed to be English and American, and among the latter a large party of talkative ladies, old and young. The voyage was pleasant while we were protected from the sun by the awning overhead, but became scarcely agreeable when the sun had descended so low as to shine in our faces or on our backs. We looked earnestly for Mont Blanc, which ought to have been visible during a large part of our course; but the clouds gathered themselves hopelessly over the portion of the sky where the great mountain lifted his white peak; and we did not see it, and probably never shall. As to the meaner mountains, there were enough of them, and beautiful enough; but we were a little weary, and feverish with the heat. . . . I think I had a head-ache, though it is so unusual a complaint with me, that I hardly know it when it comes. We were none of us sorry, therefore, when the Eagle brought us to the quay of Geneva, only a short distance from our hotel. . . . To-day I wrote to Mr. Wilding, requesting him to secure passages for us from Liverpool on the 15th of next month, or 1st of August. It makes my heart thrill, half pleasantly, half otherwise; so much nearer does this step seem to bring that home whence I have now been absent six years, and which, when I see it again, may turn out to be not my home any longer. I likewise wrote to Bennoch, though I know not his present address; but I should deeply grieve to leave England without seeing him. He and Henry Bright are the only two men in England to whom I shall be much grieved to bid farewell; but to the island itself I cannot bear to say that word as a finality. I shall dreamily hope to come back again at some indefinite time; rather foolishly perhaps, for it will tend to take the substance out of my life in my own land. But this, I suspect, is apt to be the penalty of those who stay abroad and stay too long. HAVRE. Hotel Wheeler, June 22d.--We arrived at this hotel last evening from Paris, and find ourselves on the borders of the Petit Quay Notre Dame, with steamers and boats right under our windows, and all sorts of dock-business going on briskly. There are barrels, bales, and crates of goods; there are old iron cannon for posts; in short, all that belongs to the Wapping of a great seaport. . . . The American partialities of the guests [of this hotel] are consulted by the decorations of the parlor, in which hang two lithographs and colored views of New York, from Brooklyn and from Weehawken. The fashion of the house is a sort of nondescript mixture of Frank, English, and American, and is not disagreeable to us after our weary experience of Continental life. The abundance of the food is very acceptable in comparison with the meagreness of French and Italian meals; and last evening we supped nobly on cold roast beef and ham, set generously before us, in the mass, instead of being doled out in slices few and thin. The waiter has a kindly sort of manner, and resembles the steward of a vessel rather than a landsman; and, in short, everything here has undergone a change, which might admit of very effective description. I may now as well give up all attempts at journalizing. So I shall say nothing of our journey across France from Geneva. . . . To-night, we shall take our departure in a steamer for Southampton, whence we shall go to London; thence, in a week or two, to Liverpool; thence to Boston and Concord, there to enjoy--if enjoyment it prove--a little rest and a sense that we are at home. [More than four months were now taken up in writing "The Marble Faun," in great part at the seaside town of Redcar, Yorkshire, Mr. Hawthorne having concluded to remain another year in England, chiefly to accomplish that romance. In Redcar, where he remained till September or October, he wrote no journal, but only the book. He then went to Leamington, where he finished "The Marble Faun" in March, and there is a little journalizing soon after leaving Redcar.--ED.] ENGLAND. Leamington, November 14th, 1859.--J---- and I walked to Lillington the other day. Its little church was undergoing renovation when we were here two years ago, and now seems to be quite renewed, with the exception of its square, gray, battlemented tower, which has still the aspect of unadulterated antiquity. On Saturday J----- and I walked to Warwick by the old road, passing over the bridge of the Avon, within view of the castle. It is as fine a piece of English scenery as exists anywhere,-- the quiet little river, shadowed with drooping trees, and, in its vista, the gray towers and long line of windows of the lordly castle, with a picturesquely varied outline; ancient strength, a little softened by decay. . . . The town of Warwick, I think, has been considerably modernized since I first saw it. The whole of the central portion of the principal street now looks modern, with its stuccoed or brick fronts of houses, and, in many cases, handsome shop windows. Leicester Hospital and its adjoining chapel still look venerably antique; and so does a gateway that half bestrides the street. Beyond these two points on either side it has a much older aspect. The modern signs heighten the antique impression. February 5th, 1860.--Mr. and Mrs. Bennoch are staying for a little while at Mr. B------'s at Coventry, and Mr. B------ called upon us the other day, with Mr. Bennoch, and invited us to go and see the lions of Coventry; so yesterday U---- and I went. It was not my first visit, therefore I have little or nothing to record, unless it were to describe a ribbon-factory into which Mr. B------ took us. But I have no comprehension of machinery, and have only a confused recollection of an edifice of four or five stories, on each floor of which were rows of huge machines, all busy with their iron hands and joints in turning out delicate ribbons. It was very curious and unintelligible to me to observe how they caused different colored patterns to appear, and even flowers to blossom, on the plain surface of a ribbon. Some of the designs were pretty, and I was told that one manufacturer pays 500 pounds annually to French artists (or artisans, for I do not know whether they have a connection with higher art) merely for new patterns of ribbons. The English find it impossible to supply themselves with tasteful productions of this sort merely from the resources of English fancy. If an Englishman possessed the artistic faculty to the degree requisite to produce such things, he would doubtless think himself a great artist, and scorn to devote himself to these humble purposes. Every Frenchman is probably more of an artist than one Englishman in a thousand. We ascended to the very roof of the factory, and gazed thence over smoky Coventry, which is now a town of very considerable size, and rapidly on the increase. The three famous spires rise out of the midst, that of St. Michael being the tallest and very beautiful. Had the day been clear, we should have had a wide view on all sides; for Warwickshire is well laid out for distant prospects, if you can only gain a little elevation from which to see them. Descending from the roof, we next went to see Trinity Church, which has just come through an entire process of renovation, whereby much of its pristine beauty has doubtless been restored; but its venerable awfulness is greatly impaired. We went into three churches, and found that they had all been subjected to the same process. It would be nonsense to regret it, because the very existence of these old edifices is involved in their being renewed; but it certainly does deprive them of a great part of their charm, and puts one in mind of wigs, padding, and all such devices for giving decrepitude the aspect of youth. In the pavement of the nave and aisles there are worn tombstones, with defaced inscriptions, and discolored marbles affixed against the wall; monuments, too, where a mediaeval man and wife sleep side by side on a marble slab; and other tombs so old that the inscriptions are quite gone. Over an arch, in one of the churches, there was a fresco, so old, dark, faded, and blackened, that I found it impossible to make out a single figure or the slightest hint of the design. On the whole, after seeing the churches of Italy, I was not greatly impressed with these attempts to renew the ancient beauty of old English minsters; it would be better to preserve as sedulously as possible their aspect of decay, in which consists the principal charm. . . . On our way to Mr. B------'s house, we looked into the quadrangle of a charity-school and old men's hospital, and afterwards stepped into a large Roman Catholic church, erected within these few years past, and closely imitating the mediaeval architecture and arrangements. It is strange what a plaything, a trifle, an unserious affair, this imitative spirit makes of a huge, ponderous edifice, which if it had really been built five hundred years ago would have been worthy of all respect. I think the time must soon come when this sort of thing will be held in utmost scorn, until the lapse of time shall give it a claim to respect. But, methinks, we had better strike out any kind of architecture, so it be our own, however wretched, than thus tread back upon the past. Mr. B------ now conducted us to his residence, which stands a little beyond the outskirts of the city, on the declivity of a hill, and in so windy a spot that, as he assured me, the very plants are blown out of the ground. He pointed to two maimed trees whose tops were blown off by a gale two or three years since; but the foliage still covers their shortened summits in summer, so that he does not think it desirable to cut them down. In America, a man of Mr. B------'s property would take upon himself the state and dignity of a millionaire. It is a blessed thing in England, that money gives a man no pretensions to rank, and does not bring the responsibilities of a great position. We found three or four gentlemen to meet us at dinner,--a Mr. D------ and a Mr. B------, an author, having written a book called "The Philosophy of Necessity," and is acquainted with Emerson, who spent two or three days at his house when last in England. He was very kindly appreciative of my own productions, as was also his wife, next to whom I sat at dinner. She talked to me about the author of "Adam Bede," whom she has known intimately all her life. . . . Miss Evans (who wrote "Adam Bede") was the daughter of a steward, and gained her exact knowledge of English rural life by the connection with which this origin brought her with the farmers. She was entirely self-educated, and has made herself an admirable scholar in classical as well as in modern languages. Those who knew her had always recognized her wonderful endowments, and only watched to see in what way they would develop themselves. She is a person of the simplest manners and character, amiable and unpretending, and Mrs. B------ spoke of her with great affection and respect. . . . Mr. B------, our host, is an extremely sensible man; and it is remarkable how many sensible men there are in England,--men who have read and thought, and can develop very good ideas, not exactly original, yet so much the product of their own minds that they can fairly call them their own. February 18th.--. . . . This present month has been somewhat less dismal than the preceding ones; there have been some sunny and breezy days when there was life in the air, affording something like enjoyment in a walk, especially when the ground was frozen. It is agreeable to see the fields still green through a partial covering of snow; the trunks and branches of the leafless trees, moreover, have a verdant aspect, very unlike that of American trees in winter, for they are covered with a delicate green moss, which is not so observable in summer. Often, too, there is a twine of green ivy up and down the trunk. The other day, as J----- and I were walking to Whitnash, an elm was felled right across our path, and I was much struck by this verdant coating of moss over all its surface,--the moss plants too minute to be seen individually, but making the whole tree green. It has a pleasant effect here, where it is the natural aspect of trees in general; but in America a mossy tree-trunk is not a pleasant object, because it is associated with damp, low, unwholesome situations. The lack of foliage gives many new peeps and vistas, hereabouts, which I never saw in summer. March 17th.--J----- and I walked to Warwick yesterday forenoon, and went into St. Mary's Church, to see the Beauchamp chapel. . . . On one side of it were some worn steps ascending to a confessional, where the priest used to sit, while the penitent, in the body of the church, poured his sins through a perforated auricle into this unseen receptacle. The sexton showed us, too, a very old chest which had been found in the burial vault, with some ancient armor stored away in it. Three or four helmets of rusty iron, one of them barred, the last with visors, and all intolerably weighty, were ranged in a row. What heads those must have been that could bear such massiveness! On one of the helmets was a wooden crest--some bird or other--that of itself weighed several pounds. . . . April 23d.--We have been here several weeks. . . . Had I seen Bath earlier in my English life, I might have written many pages about it, for it is really a picturesque and interesting city. It is completely sheltered in the lap of hills, the sides of the valley rising steep and high from the level spot on which it stands, and through which runs the muddy little stream of the Avon. The older part of the town is on the level, and the more modern growth--the growth of more than a hundred years--climbs higher and higher up the hillside, till the upper streets are very airy and lofty. The houses are built almost entirely of Bath stone, which in time loses its original buff color, and is darkened by age and coal-smoke into a dusky gray; but still the city looks clean and pure as compared with most other English towns. In its architecture, it has somewhat of a Parisian aspect, the houses having roofs rising steep from their high fronts, which are often adorned with pillars, pilasters, and other good devices, so that you see it to be a town built with some general idea of beauty, and not for business. There are Circuses, Crescents, Terraces, Parades, and all such fine names as we have become familiar with at Leamington, and other watering-places. The declivity of most of the streets keeps them remarkably clean, and they are paved in a very comfortable way, with large blocks of stone, so that the middle of the street is generally practicable to walk upon, although the sidewalks leave no temptation so to do, being of generous width. In many alleys, and round about the abbey and other edifices, the pavement is of square flags, like those of Florence, and as smooth as a palace floor. On the whole, I suppose there is no place in England where a retired man, with a moderate income, could live so tolerably as at Bath; it being almost a city in size and social advantages; quite so, indeed, if eighty thousand people make a city,--and yet having no annoyance of business nor spirit of worldly struggle. All modes of enjoyment that English people like may be had here; and even the climate is said to be milder than elsewhere in England. How this may be, I know not; but we have rain or passing showers almost every day since we arrived, and I suspect the surrounding hills are just about of that inconvenient height, that keeps catching clouds, and compelling them to squeeze out their moisture upon the included valley. The air, however, certainly is preferable to that of Leamington. . . . There are no antiquities except the abbey, which has not the interest of many other English churches and cathedrals. In the midst of the old part of the town stands the house which was formerly Beau Nash's residence, but which is now part of the establishment of an ale-merchant. The edifice is a tall, but rather mean-looking, stone building, with the entrance from a little side court, which is so cumbered with empty beer-barrels as hardly to afford a passage. The doorway has some architectural pretensions, being pillared and with some sculptured devices--whether lions or winged heraldic monstrosities I forget--on the pediment. Within, there is a small entry, not large enough to be termed a hall, and a staircase, with carved balustrade, ascending by angular turns and square landing-places. For a long course of years, ending a little more than a century ago, princes, nobles, and all the great and beautiful people of old times, used to go up that staircase, to pay their respects to the King of Bath. On the side of the house there is a marble slab inserted, recording that here he resided, and that here he died in 1767, between eighty and ninety years of age. My first acquaintance with him was in Smollett's "Roderick Random," and I have met him in a hundred other novels. His marble statue is in a niche at one end of the great pump-room, in wig, square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, and all the queer costume of the period, still looking ghost-like upon the scene where he used to be an autocrat. Marble is not a good material for Beau Nash, however; or, if so, it requires color to set him off adequately. . . . It is usual in Bath to see the old sign of the checker-board on the doorposts of taverns. It was originally a token that the game might be played there, and is now merely a tavern-sign. LONDON. 31 Hertford Street, Mayfair, May 16th, 1860.--I came hither from Bath on the 14th, and am staying with my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Motley. I would gladly journalize some of my proceedings, and describe things and people; but I find the same coldness and stiffness in my pen as always since our return to England. I dined with the Motleys at Lord Dufferin's, on Monday evening, and there met, among a few other notable people, the Honorable Mrs. Norton, a dark, comely woman, who doubtless was once most charming, and still has charms, at above fifty years of age. In fact, I should not have taken her to be greatly above thirty, though she seems to use no art to make herself look younger, and talks about her time of life, without any squeamishness. Her voice is very agreeable, having a sort of muffled quality, which is excellent in woman. She is of a very cheerful temperament, and so has borne a great many troubles without being destroyed by them. But I can get no color into my sketch, so shall leave it here. London, May 17th. [From a letter.]--Affairs succeed each other so fast, that I have really forgotten what I did yesterday. I remember seeing my dear friend, Henry Bright, and listening to him, as we strolled in the Park, and along the Strand. To-day I met at breakfast Mr. Field Talfourd, who promises to send you the photograph of his portrait of Mr. Browning. He was very agreeable, and seemed delighted to see me again. At lunch, we had Lord Dufferin, the Honorable Mrs. Norton, and Mr. Sterling (author of the "Cloister Life of Charles V."), with whom we are to dine on Sunday. You would be stricken dumb, to see how quietly I accept a whole string of invitations, and what is more, perform my engagements without a murmur. A German artist has come to me with a letter of introduction, and a request that I will sit to him for a portrait in bas-relief. To this, likewise, I have assented! subject to the condition that I shall have my leisure. The stir of this London life, somehow or other, has done me a wonderful deal of good, and I feel better than for months past. This is strange, for if I had my choice, I should leave undone almost all the things I do. I have had time to see Bennoch only once. [This closes the European Journal. After Mr. Hawthorne's return to America, he published "Our Old Home," and began a new romance, of which two chapters appeared in the Atlantic Monthly. But the breaking out of the war stopped all imaginative work with him, and all journalizing, until 1862, when he went to Maine for a little excursion, and began another journal, from which I take one paragraph, giving a slight note of his state of mind at an interesting period of his country's history. --ED.] West Gouldsborough, August 15th, 1862.--It is a week ago, Saturday, since J----- and I reached this place, . . . . Mr. Barney S. Hill's. At Hallowell, and subsequently all along the route, the country was astir with volunteers, and the war is all that seems to be alive, and even that doubtfully so. Nevertheless, the country certainly shows a good spirit, the towns offering everywhere most liberal bounties, and every able-bodied man feels an immense pull and pressure upon him to go to the war. I doubt whether any people was ever actuated by a more genuine and disinterested public spirit; though, of course, it is not unalloyed with baser motives and tendencies. We met a train of cars with a regiment or two just starting for the South, and apparently in high spirits. Everywhere some insignia of soldiership were to be seen,-- bright buttons, a red stripe down the trousers, a military cap, and sometimes a round-shouldered bumpkin in the entire uniform. They require a great deal to give them the aspect of soldiers; indeed, it seems as if they needed to have a good deal taken away and added, like the rough clay of a sculptor as it grows to be a model. The whole talk of the bar-rooms and every other place of intercourse was about enlisting and the war, this being the very crisis of trial, when the voluntary system is drawing to an end, and the draft almost immediately to commence. END OF VOL. II. 
7876	----	PASSAGES FROM THE ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. I. To Francis Bennoch, Esq., The dear and valued friend, who, by his generous and genial hospitality and unfailing sympathy, contributed so largely (as is attested by the book itself) to render Mr. Hawthorne's residence in England agreeable and homelike, these ENGLISH NOTES are dedicated, with sincere respect and regard, by The Editor. PREFACE It seems justly due to Mr. Hawthorne that the occasion of any portion of his private journals being brought before the Public should be made known, since they were originally designed for his own reference only. There had been a constant and an urgent demand for a life or memoir of Mr. Hawthorne; yet, from the extreme delicacy and difficulty of the subject, the Editor felt obliged to refuse compliance with this demand. Moreover, Mr. Hawthorne had frequently and emphatically expressed the hope that no one would attempt to write his Biography; and the Editor perceived that it would be impossible for any person, outside of his own domestic circle, to succeed in doing it, on account of his extreme reserve. But it was ungracious to do nothing, and therefore the Editor, believing that Mr. Hawthorne himself was alone capable of satisfactorily answering the affectionate call for some sketch of his life, concluded to publish as much as possible of his private records, and even extracts from his private letters, in order to gratify the desire of his friends and of literary artists to become more intimately acquainted with him. The Editor has been severely blamed and wondered at, in some instances, for allowing many things now published to see the light; but it has been a matter both of conscience and courtesy to withhold nothing that could be given up. Many of the journals were doubtless destroyed; for the earliest date found in his American papers was that of 1835. The Editor has transcribed the manuscripts just as they were left, without making any new arrangement or altering any sequence,--merely omitting some passages, and being especially careful to preserve whatever could throw any light upon his character. To persons on a quest for characteristics, however, each of his books reveals a great many, and it is believed that with the aid of the Notes (both American and English) the Tales and Romances will make out a very complete and true picture of his individuality; and the Notes are often an open sesame to the artistic works. Several thickly written pages of observations--fine and accurate etchings--have been omitted, sometimes because too personal with regard to himself or others, and sometimes because they were afterwards absorbed into one or another of the Romances or papers in Our Old Home. It seemed a pity not to give these original cartoons fresh from his mind, because they are so carefully finished at the first stroke. Yet, as Mr. Hawthorne chose his own way of presenting them to the public, it was thought better not to exhibit what he himself withheld. Besides, to any other than a fellow-artist they might seem mere repetitions. It is very earnestly hoped that these volumes of notes--American, English, and presently Italian--will dispel an often-expressed opinion that Mr. Hawthorne was gloomy and morbid. He had the inevitable pensiveness and gravity of a person who possessed what a friend of his called "the awful power of insight"; but his mood was always cheerful and equal, and his mind peculiarly healthful, and the airy splendor of his wit and humor was the light of his home. He saw too far to be despondent, though his vivid sympathies and shaping imagination often made him sad in behalf of others. He also perceived morbidness, wherever it existed, instantly, as if by the illumination of his own steady cheer; and he had the plastic power of putting himself into each person's situation, and of looking from every point of view, which made his charity most comprehensive. From this cause he necessarily attracted confidences, and became confessor to very many sinning and suffering souls, to whom he gave tender sympathy and help, while resigning judgment to the Omniscient and All-wise. Throughout his journals it will be seen that Mr. Hawthorne is entertaining, and not asserting, opinions and ideas. He questions, doubts, and reflects with his pen, and, as it were, instructs himself. So that these Note-Books should be read, not as definitive conclusions of his mind, but merely as passing impressions often. Whatever conclusions be arrived at are condensed in the works given to the world by his own hand, in which will never be found a careless word. He was so extremely scrupulous about the value and effect of every expression that the Editor has felt great compunction in allowing a single sentence to be printed. unrevised by himself; but, with the consideration of the above remarks always kept in mind, these volumes are intrusted to the generous interpretation of the reader. If any one must be harshly criticised, it ought certainly to be the Editor. When a person breaks in, unannounced, upon the morning hours of an artist, and finds him not in full dress, the intruder, and not the surprised artist, is doubtless at fault. S. H. Dresden, April, 1870. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS Liverpool, August 4th, 1853.--A month lacking two days since we left America,--a fortnight and some odd days since we arrived in England. I began my services, such as they are, on Monday last, August 1st, and here I sit in my private room at the Consulate, while the Vice-Consul and clerk are carrying on affairs in the outer office. The pleasantest incident of the morning is when Mr. Pearce (the Vice-Consul) makes his appearance with the account-books, containing the receipts and expenditures of the preceding day, and deposits on my desk a little rouleau of the Queen's coin, wrapped up in a piece of paper. This morning there were eight sovereigns, four half-crowns, and a shilling,--a pretty fair day's work, though not more than the average ought to be. This forenoon, thus far, I have had two calls, not of business,--one from an American captain and his son, another from Mr. H---- B----, whom I met in America, and who has showed us great attention here. He has arranged for us to go to the theatre with some of his family this evening. Since I have been in Liverpool we have hardly had a day, until yesterday, without more or less of rain, and so cold and shivery that life was miserable. I am not warm enough even now, but am gradually getting acclimated in that respect. Just now I have been fooled out of half a crown by a young woman, who represents herself as an American and destitute, having come over to see an uncle whom she found dead, and she has no means of getting back again. Her accent is not that of an American, and her appearance is not particularly prepossessing, though not decidedly otherwise. She is decently dressed and modest in deportment, but I do not quite trust her face. She has been separated from her husband, as I understand her, by course of law, has had two children, both now dead. What she wants is to get back to America, and perhaps arrangements may be made with some shipmaster to take her as stewardess or in some subordinate capacity. My judgment, on the whole, is that she is an English woman, married to and separated from an American husband,--of no very decided virtue. I might as well have kept my half-crown, and yet I might have bestowed it worse. She is very decent in manner, cheerful, at least not despondent. At two o'clock I went over to the Royal Rock Hotel, about fifteen or twenty minutes' steaming from this side of the river. We are going there on Saturday to reside for a while. Returning, I found that, Mr. B., from the American Chamber of Commerce, had called to arrange the time and place of a visit to the Consul from a delegation of that body. Settled for to-morrow at quarter past one at Mr. Blodgett's. August 5th.--An invitation this morning from the Mayor to dine at the Town Hall on Friday next. Heaven knows I had rather dine at the humblest inn in the city, inasmuch as a speech will doubtless be expected from me. However, things must be as they may. At a quarter past one I was duly on hand at Mr. Blodgett's to receive the deputation from the Chamber of Commerce. They arrived pretty seasonably, in two or three carriages, and were ushered into the drawing-room,--seven or eight gentlemen, some of whom I had met before. Hereupon ensued a speech from Mr. B., the Chairman of the delegation, short and sweet, alluding to my literary reputation and other laudatory matters, and occupying only a minute or two. The speaker was rather embarrassed, which encouraged me a little, and yet I felt more diffidence on this occasion than in my effort at Mr. Crittenden's lunch, where, indeed, I was perfectly self-possessed. But here, there being less formality, and more of a conversational character in what was said, my usual diffidence could not so well be kept in abeyance. However, I did not break down to an intolerable extent, and, winding up my eloquence as briefly as possible, we had a social talk. Their whole stay could not have been much more than a quarter of an hour. A call, this morning, at the Consulate, from Dr. Bowrug, who is British minister, or something of the kind, in China, and now absent on a twelvemonth's leave. The Doctor is a brisk person, with the address of a man of the world,--free, quick to smile, and of agreeable manners. He has a good face, rather American than English in aspect, and does not look much above fifty, though he says he is between sixty and seventy. I should take him rather for an active lawyer or a man of business than for a scholar and a literary man. He talked in a lively way for ten or fifteen minutes, and then took his leave, offering me any service in his power in London,--as, for instance, to introduce me to the Athenaeum Club. August 8th.--Day before yesterday I escorted my family to Rock Ferry, two miles either up or down the Mersey (and I really don't know which) by steamer, which runs every half-hour. There are steamers going continually to Birkenhead and other landings, and almost always a great many passengers on the transit. At this time the boat was crowded so as to afford scanty standing-room; it being Saturday, and therefore a kind of gala-day. I think I have never seen a populace before coming to England; but this crowd afforded a specimen of one, both male and female. The women were the most remarkable; though they seemed not disreputable, there was in them a coarseness, a freedom, an--I don't know what, that was purely English. In fact, men and women here do things that would at least make them ridiculous in America. They are not afraid to enjoy themselves in their own way, and have no pseudo-gentility to support. Some girls danced upon the crowded deck, to the miserable music of a little fragment of a band which goes up and down the river on each trip of the boat. Just before the termination of the voyage a man goes round with a bugle turned upwards to receive the eleemosynary pence and half-pence of the passengers. I gave one of them, the other day, a silver fourpence, which fell into the vitals of the instrument, and compelled the man to take it to pieces. At Rock Ferry there was a great throng, forming a scene not unlike one of our muster-days or a Fourth of July, and there were bands of music and banners, and small processions after them, and a school of charity children, I believe, enjoying a festival. And there was a club of respectable persons, playing at bowls on the bowling-green of the hotel, and there were children, infants, riding on donkeys at a penny a ride, while their mothers walked alongside to prevent a fall. Yesterday, while we were at dinner, Mr. B. came in his carriage to take us to his residence, Poulton Hall. He had invited us to dine; but I misunderstood him, and thought he only intended to give us a drive. Poulton Hall is about three miles from Rock Ferry, the road passing through some pleasant rural scenery, and one or two villages, with houses standing close together, and old stone or brick cottages, with thatched roofs, and now and then a better mansion, apart among trees. We passed an old church, with a tower and spire, and, half-way up, a patch of ivy, dark green, and some yellow wall-flowers, in full bloom, growing out of the crevices of the stone. Mr. B. told us that the tower was formerly quite clothed with ivy from bottom to top, but that it had fallen away for lack of the nourishment that it used to find in the lime between the stones. This old church answered to my Transatlantic fancies of England better than anything I have yet seen. Not far from it was the Rectory, behind a deep grove of ancient trees; and there lives the Rector, enjoying a thousand pounds a year and his nothing-to-do, while a curate performs the real duty on a stipend of eighty pounds. We passed through a considerable extent of private road, and finally drove over a lawn, studded with trees and closely shaven, till we reached the door of Poulton Hall. Part of the mansion is three or four hundred years old; another portion is about a hundred and fifty, and still another has been built during the present generation. The house is two stories high, with a sort of beetle-browed roof in front. It is not very striking, and does not look older than many wooden houses which I have seen in America. There is a curious stately staircase, with a twisted balustrade much like that of the old Province House in Boston. The drawing-room is a handsome modern apartment, being beautifully painted and gilded and paper-hung, with a white marble fireplace and rich furniture, so that the impression is that of newness, not of age. It is the same with the dining-room, and all the rest of the interior so far as I saw it. Mr. B. did not inherit this old hall, nor, indeed, is he the owner, but only the tenant of it. He is a merchant of Liverpool, a bachelor, with two sisters residing with him. In the entrance-hall, there was a stuffed fox with glass eyes, which I never should have doubted to be an actual live fox except for his keeping so quiet; also some grouse and other game. Mr. B. seems to be a sportsman, and is setting out this week on an excursion to Scotland, moor-fowl shooting. While the family and two or three guests went to dinner, we walked out to see the place. The gardener, an Irishman, showed us through the garden, which is large and well cared for. They certainly get everything from Nature which she can possibly be persuaded to give them, here in England. There were peaches and pears growing against the high brick southern walls,--the trunk and branches of the trees being spread out perfectly flat against the wall, very much like the skin of a dead animal nailed up to dry, and not a single branch protruding. Figs were growing in the same way. The brick wall, very probably, was heated within, by means of pipes, in order to re-enforce the insufficient heat of the sun. It seems as if there must be something unreal and unsatisfactory in fruit that owes its existence to such artificial methods. Squashes were growing under glass, poor things! There were immensely large gooseberries in the garden; and in this particular berry, the English, I believe, have decidedly the advantage over ourselves. The raspberries, too, were large and good. I espied one gigantic hog-weed in the garden; and, really, my heart warmed to it, being strongly reminded of the principal product of my own garden at Concord. After viewing the garden sufficiently, the gardener led us to other parts of the estate, and we had glimpses of a delightful valley, its sides shady with beautiful trees, and a rich, grassy meadow at the bottom. By means of a steam-engine and subterranean pipes and hydrants, the liquid manure from the barn-yard is distributed wherever it is wanted over the estate, being spouted in rich showers from the hydrants. Under this influence, the meadow at the bottom of the valley had already been made to produce three crops of grass during the present season, and would produce another. The lawn around Poulton Hall, like thousands of other lawns in England, is very beautiful, but requires great care to keep it so, being shorn every three or four days. No other country will ever have this charm, nor the charm of lovely verdure, which almost makes up for the absence of sunshine. Without the constant rain and shadow which strikes us as so dismal, these lawns would be as brown as an autumn leaf. I have not, thus far, found any such magnificent trees as I expected. Mr. B. told me that three oaks, standing in a row on his lawn, were the largest in the county. They were very good trees, to be sure, and perhaps four feet in diameter near the ground, but with no very noble spread of foliage. In Concord there are, if not oaks, yet certainly elms, a great deal more stately and beautiful. But, on the whole, this lawn, and the old Hall in the midst of it, went a good way towards realizing some of my fancies of English life. By and by a footman, looking very quaint and queer in his livery coat, drab breeches, and white stockings, came to invite me to the table, where I found Mr. B. and his sisters and guests sitting at the fruit and wine. There were port, sherry, madeira, and one bottle of claret, all very good; but they take here much heavier wines than we drink now in America. After a tolerably long session we went to the tea-room, where I drank some coffee, and at about the edge of dusk the carriage drew up to the door to take us home. Mr. B. and his sisters have shown us genuine kindness, and they gave us a hearty invitation to come and ramble over the house whenever we pleased, during their absence in Scotland. They say that there are many legends and ghost-stories connected with the house; and there is an attic chamber, with a skylight, which is called the Martyr's chamber, from the fact of its having, in old times, been tenanted by a lady, who was imprisoned there, and persecuted to death for her religion. There is an old black-letter library, but the room containing it is shut, barred, and padlocked,--the owner of the house refusing to let it be opened, lest some of the books should be stolen. Meanwhile the rats are devouring them, and the damps destroying them. August 9th.--A pretty comfortable day, as to warmth, and I believe there is sunshine overhead; but a sea-cloud, composed of fog and coal-smoke, envelops Liverpool. At Rock Ferry, when I left it at half past nine, there was promise of a cheerful day. A good many gentlemen (or, rather, respectable business people) came in the boat, and it is not unpleasant, on these fine mornings, to take the breezy atmosphere of the river. The huge steamer Great Britain, bound for Australia, lies right off the Rock Ferry landing; and at a little distance are two old hulks of ships of war, dismantled, roofed over, and anchored in the river, formerly for quarantine purposes, but now used chiefly or solely as homes for old seamen, whose light labor it is to take care of these condemned ships. There are a great many steamers plying up and down the river to various landings in the vicinity; and a good many steam-tugs; also, many boats, most of which have dark-red or tan-colored sails, being oiled to resist the wet; also, here and there, a yacht or pleasure-boat, and a few ships riding stately at their anchors, probably on the point of sailing. The river, however, is by no means crowded; because the immense multitude of ships are ensconced in the docks, where their masts make an intricate forest for miles up and down the Liverpool shore. The small black steamers, whizzing industriously along, many of them crowded with passengers, snake up the chief life of the scene. The Mersey has the color of a mud-puddle, and no atmospheric effect, as far as I have seen, ever gives it a more agreeable tinge. Visitors to-day, thus far, have been H. A. B., with whom I have arranged to dine with us at Rock Ferry, and then he is to take us on board the Great Britain, of which his father is owner (in great part). Secondly, Monsieur H., the French Consul, who can speak hardly any English, and who was more powerfully scented with cigar-smoke than any man I ever encountered; a polite, gray-haired, red-nosed gentleman, very courteous and formal. Heaven keep him from me! At one o'clock, or thereabouts, I walked into the city, down through Lord Street, Church Street, and back to the Consulate through various untraceable crookednesses. Coming to Chapel Street, I crossed the graveyard of the old Church of St. Nicholas. This is, I suppose, the oldest sacred site in Liverpool, a church having stood here ever since the Conquest, though, probably, there is little or nothing of the old edifice in the present one, either the whole of the edifice or else the steeple, being thereto shaken by a chime of bells,-- perhaps both, at different times,--has tumbled down; but the present church is what we Americans should call venerable. When the first church was built, and long afterwards, it must have stood on the grassy verge of the Mersey; but now there are pavements and warehouses, and the thronged Prince's and George's Docks, between it and the river; and all around it is the very busiest bustle of commerce, rumbling wheels, hurrying men, porter-shops, everything that pertains to the grossest and most practical life. And, notwithstanding, there is the broad churchyard extending on three sides of it, just as it used to be a thousand years ago. It is absolutely paved from border to border with flat tombstones, on a level with the soil and with each other, so that it is one floor of stone over the whole space, with grass here and there sprouting between the crevices. All these stones, no doubt, formerly had inscriptions; but as many people continually pass, in various directions, across the churchyard, and as the tombstones are not of a very hard material, the records on many of them are effaced. I saw none very old. A quarter of a century is sufficient to obliterate the letters, and make all smooth, where the direct pathway from gate to gate lies over the stones. The climate and casual footsteps rub out any inscription in less than a hundred years. Some of the monuments are cracked. On many is merely cut "The burial place of" so and so; on others there is a long list of half-readable names; on some few a laudatory epitaph, out of which, however, it were far too tedious to pick the meaning. But it really is interesting and suggestive to think of this old church, first built when Liverpool was a small village, and remaining, with its successive dead of ten centuries around it, now that the greatest commercial city in the world has its busiest centre there. I suppose people still continue to be buried in the cemetery. The greatest upholders of burials in cities are those whose progenitors have been deposited around or within the city churches. If this spacious churchyard stood in a similar position in one of our American cities, I rather suspect that long ere now it would have run the risk of being laid out in building-lots, and covered with warehouses; even if the church itself escaped,--but it would not escape longer than till its disrepair afforded excuse for tearing it down. And why should it, when its purposes might be better served in another spot? We went on board the Great Britain before dinner, between five and six o'clock,--a great structure, as to convenient arrangement and adaptation, but giving me a strong impression of the tedium and misery of the long voyage to Australia. By way of amusement, she takes over fifty pounds' worth of playing-cards, at two shillings per pack, for the use of passengers; also, a small, well-selected library. After a considerable time spent on board, we returned to the hotel and dined, and Mr. B. took his leave at nine o'clock. August 10th.--I left Rock Ferry for the city at half past nine. In the boat which arrived thence, there were several men and women with baskets on their heads, for this is a favorite way of carrying burdens; and they trudge onward beneath them, without any apparent fear of an overturn, and seldom putting up a hand to steady them. One woman, this morning, had a heavy load of crockery; another, an immense basket of turnips, freshly gathered, that seemed to me as much as a man could well carry on his back. These must be a stiff-necked people. The women step sturdily and freely, and with not ungraceful strength. The trip over to town was pleasant, it being a fair morning, only with a low-hanging fog. Had it been in America, I should have anticipated a day of burning heat. Visitors this morning. Mr. Ogden of Chicago, or somewhere in the Western States, who arrived in England a fortnight ago, and who called on me at that time. He has since been in Scotland, and is now going to London and the Continent; secondly, the Captain of the Collins steamer Pacific, which sails to-day; thirdly, an American shipmaster, who complained that he had never, in his heretofore voyages, been able to get sight of the American Consul. Mr. Pearce's customary matutinal visit was unusually agreeable to-day, inasmuch as he laid on my desk nineteen golden sovereigns and thirteen shillings. It being the day of the steamer's departure, an unusual number of invoice certificates had been required,--my signature to each of which brings me two dollars. The autograph of a living author has seldom been so much in request at so respectable a price. Colonel Crittenden told me that he had received as much as fifty pounds on a single day. Heaven prosper the trade between America and Liverpool! August 15th.--Many scenes which I should have liked to record have occurred; but the pressure of business has prevented me from recording them from day to day. On Thursday I went, on invitation from Mr. B., to the prodigious steamer Great Britain, down the harbor, and some miles into the sea, to escort her off a little way on her voyage to Australia. There is an immense enthusiasm among the English people about this ship, on account of its being the largest in the world. The shores were lined with people to see her sail, and there were innumerable small steamers, crowded with men, all the way out into the ocean. Nothing seems to touch the English nearer than this question of nautical superiority; and if we wish to hit them to the quick, we must hit them there. On Friday, at 7 P.M., I went to dine with the Mayor. It was a dinner given to the Judges and the Grand Jury. The Judges of England, during the time of holding an Assize, are the persons first in rank in the kingdom. They take precedence of everybody else,--of the highest military officers, of the Lord Lieutenants, of the Archbishops,--of the Prince of Wales,--of all except the Sovereign, whose authority and dignity they represent. In case of a royal dinner, the Judge would lead the Queen to the table. The dinner was at the Town Hall, and the rooms and the whole affair were all in the most splendid style. Nothing struck me more than the footmen in the city livery. They really looked more magnificent in their gold-lace and breeches and white silk stockings than any officers of state. The rooms were beautiful; gorgeously painted and gilded, gorgeously lighted, gorgeously hung with paintings,--the plate was gorgeous, and the dinner gorgeous in the English fashion. After the removal of the cloth the Mayor gave various toasts, prefacing each with some remarks,--the first, of course, the Sovereign, after which "God save the Queen" was sung, the company standing up and joining in the chorus, their ample faces glowing with wine, enthusiasm, and loyalty. Afterwards the Bar, and various other dignities and institutions were toasted; and by and by came the toast to the United States, and to me, as their Representative. Hereupon either "Hail Columbia," or "Yankee Doodle," or some other of our national tunes (but Heaven knows which), was played; and at the conclusion, being at bay, and with no alternative, I got upon my legs, and made a response. They received me and listened to my nonsense with a good deal of rapping, and my speech seemed to give great satisfaction; my chief difficulty being in not knowing how to pitch my voice to the size of the room. As for the matter, it is not of the slightest consequence. Anybody may make an after-dinner speech who will be content to talk onward without saying anything. My speech was not more than two or three inches long; and, considering that I did not know a soul there, except the Mayor himself, and that I am wholly unpractised in all sorts of oratory, and that I had nothing to say, it was quite successful. I hardly thought it was in me, but, being once started, I felt no embarrassment, and went through it as coolly as if I were going to be hanged. Yesterday, after dinner, I took a walk with my family. We went through by-ways and private roads, and saw more of rural England, with its hedge-rows, its grassy fields, and its whitewashed old stone cottages, than we have before seen since our arrival. August 20th.--This being Saturday, there early commenced a throng of visitants to Rock Ferry. The boat in which I came over brought from the city a multitude of factory-people. They had bands of music, and banners inscribed with the names of the mills they belong to, and other devices: pale-looking people, but not looking exactly as if they were underfed. They are brought on reduced terms by the railways and steamers, and come from great distances in the interior. These, I believe, were from Preston. I have not yet had an opportunity of observing how they amuse themselves during these excursions. At the dock, the other day, the steamer arrived from Rock Ferry with a countless multitude of little girls, in coarse blue gowns, who, as they landed, formed in procession, and walked up the dock. These girls had been taken from the workhouses and educated at a charity-school, and would by and by be apprenticed as servants. I should not have conceived it possible that so many children could have been collected together, without a single trace of beauty or scarcely of intelligence in so much as one individual; such mean, coarse, vulgar features and figures betraying unmistakably a low origin, and ignorant and brutal parents. They did not appear wicked, but only stupid, animal, and soulless. It must require many generations of better life to wake the soul in them. All America could not show the like. August 22d.--A Captain Auld, an American, having died here yesterday, I went with my clerk and an American shipmaster to take the inventory of his effects. His boarding-house was in a mean street, an old dingy house, with narrow entrance,--the class of boarding-house frequented by mates of vessels, and inferior to those generally patronized by masters. A fat elderly landlady, of respectable and honest aspect, and her daughter, a pleasing young woman enough, received us, and ushered us into the deceased's bedchamber. It was a dusky back room, plastered and painted yellow; its one window looking into the very narrowest of back-yards or courts, and out on a confused multitude of back buildings, appertaining to other houses, most of them old, with rude chimneys of wash-rooms and kitchens, the bricks of which seemed half loose. The chattels of the dead man were contained in two trunks, a chest, a sail-cloth bag, and a barrel, and consisted of clothing, suggesting a thickset, middle-sized man; papers relative to ships and business, a spyglass, a loaded iron pistol, some books of navigation, some charts, several great pieces of tobacco, and a few cigars; some little plaster images, that he had probably bought for his children, a cotton umbrella, and other trumpery of no great value. In one of the trunks we found about twenty pounds' worth of English and American gold and silver, and some notes of hand, due in America. Of all these things the clerk made an inventory; after which we took possession of the money and affixed the consular seal to the trunks, bag, and chest. While this was going on, we heard a great noise of men quarrelling in an adjoining court; and, altogether, it seemed a squalid and ugly place to live in, and a most undesirable one to die in. At the conclusion of our labors, the young woman asked us if we would not go into another chamber, and look at the corpse, and appeared to think that we should be rather glad than otherwise of the privilege. But, never having seen the man during his lifetime, I declined to commence his acquaintance now. His bills for board and nursing amount to about the sum which we found in his trunk; his funeral expenses will be ten pounds more; the surgeon has sent in a bill of eight pounds, odd shillings; and the account of another medical man is still to be rendered. As his executor, I shall pay his landlady and nurse; and for the rest of the expenses, a subscription must be made (according to the custom in such cases) among the shipmasters, headed by myself. The funeral pomp will consist of a hearse, one coach, four men, with crape hatbands, and a few other items, together with a grave at five pounds, over which his friends will be entitled to place a stone, if they choose to do so, within twelve months. As we left the house, we looked into the dark and squalid dining-room, where a lunch of cold meat was set out; but having no associations with the house except through this one dead man, it seemed as if his presence and attributes pervaded it wholly. He appears to have been a man of reprehensible habits, though well advanced in years. I ought not to forget a brandy-flask (empty) among his other effects. The landlady and daughter made a good impression on me, as honest and respectable persons. August 24th.--Yesterday, in the forenoon, I received a note, and shortly afterwards a call at the Consulate from Miss H----, whom I apprehend to be a lady of literary tendencies. She said that Miss L. had promised her an introduction, but that, happening to pass through Liverpool, she had snatched the opportunity to make my acquaintance. She seems to be a mature lady, rather plain, but with an honest and intelligent face. It was rather a singular freedom, methinks, to come down upon a perfect stranger in this way,--to sit with him in his private office an hour or two, and then walk about the streets with him, as she did; for I did the honors of Liverpool, and showed her the public buildings. Her talk was sensible, but not particularly brilliant nor interesting; a good, solid personage, physically and intellectually. She is an English woman. In the afternoon, at three o'clock, I attended the funeral of Captain Auld. Being ushered into the dining-room of his boarding-house, I found brandy, gin, and wine set out on a tray, together with some little spicecakes. By and by came in a woman, who asked if I were going to the funeral; and then proceeded to put a mourning-band on my hat,--a black-silk band, covering the whole hat, and streaming nearly a yard behind. After waiting the better part of an hour, nobody else appeared, although several shipmasters had promised to attend. Hereupon, the undertaker was anxious to set forth; but the landlady, who was arrayed in shining black silk, thought it a shame that the poor man should be buried with such small attendance. So we waited a little longer, during which interval I heard the landlady's daughter sobbing and wailing in the entry; and but for this tender-heartedness there would have been no tears at all. Finally we set forth,--the undertaker, a friend of his, and a young man, perhaps the landlady's son, and myself, in the black-plumed coach, and the landlady, her daughter, and a female friend, in the coach behind. Previous to this, however, everybody had taken some wine or spirits; for it seemed to be considered disrespectful not to do so. Before us went the plumed hearse, a stately affair, with a bas-relief of funereal figures upon its sides. We proceeded quite across the city to the Necropolis, where the coffin was carried into a chapel, in which we found already another coffin, and another set of mourners, awaiting the clergyman. Anon he appeared,--a stern, broad-framed, large, and bald-headed man, in a black-silk gown. He mounted his desk, and read the service in quite a feeble and unimpressive way, though with no lack of solemnity. This done, our four bearers took up the coffin, and carried it out of the chapel; but, descending the steps, and, perhaps, having taken a little too much brandy, one of them stumbled, and down came the coffin,--not quite to the ground, however; for they grappled with it, and contrived, with a great struggle, to prevent the misadventure. But I really expected to see poor Captain Auld burst forth among us in his grave-clothes. The Necropolis is quite a handsome burial-place, shut in by high walls, so overrun with shrubbery that no part of the brick or stone is visible. Part of the space within is an ornamental garden, with flowers and green turf; the rest is strewn with flat gravestones, and a few raised monuments; and straight avenues run to and fro between. Captain Auld's grave was dug nine feet deep. It is his own for twelve months; but, if his friends do not choose to give him a stone, it will become a common grave at the end of that time; and four or five more bodies may then be piled upon his. Every one seemed greatly to admire the grave; the undertaker praised it, and also the dryness of its site, which he took credit to himself for having chosen. The grave-digger, too, was very proud of its depth, and the neatness of his handiwork. The clergyman, who had marched in advance of us from the chapel, now took his stand at the head of the grave, and, lifting his hat, proceeded with what remained of the service, while we stood bareheaded around. When he came to a particular part, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the undertaker lifted a handful of earth, and threw it rattling on the coffin,--so did the landlady's son, and so did I. After the funeral the undertaker's friend, an elderly, coarse-looking man, looked round him, and remarked that "the grass had never grown on the parties who died in the cholera year"; but at this the undertaker laughed in scorn. As we returned to the gate of the cemetery, the sexton met us, and pointed to a small office, on entering which we found the clergyman, who was waiting for his burial-fees. There was now a dispute between the clergyman and the undertaker; the former wishing to receive the whole amount for the gravestone, which the undertaker, of course, refused to pay. I explained how the matter stood; on which the clergyman acquiesced, civilly enough; but it was very strange to see the worldly, business-like way in which he entered into this squabble, so soon after burying poor Captain Auld. During our drive back in the mourning-coach, the undertaker, his friend, and the landlady's son still kept descanting on the excellence of the grave,--"Such a fine grave,"--"Such a nice grave,"--"Such a splendid grave,"--and, really, they seemed almost to think it worth while to die, for the sake of being buried there. They deemed it an especial pity that such a grave should ever become a common grave. "Why," said they to me, "by paying the extra price you may have it for your own grave, or for your family!" meaning that we should have a right to pile ourselves over the defunct Captain. I wonder how the English ever attain to any conception of a future existence, since they so overburden themselves with earth and mortality in their ideas of funerals. A drive with an undertaker, in a sable-plumed coach!--talking about graves!--and yet he was a jolly old fellow, wonderfully corpulent, with a smile breaking out easily all over his face,--although, once in a while, he looked professionally lugubrious. All the time the scent of that horrible mourning-coach is in my nostrils, and I breathe nothing but a funeral atmosphere. Saturday, August 27th.--This being the gala-day of the manufacturing people about Liverpool, the steamboats to Rock Ferry were seasonably crowded with large parties of both sexes. They were accompanied with two bands of music, in uniform; and these bands, before I left the hotel, were playing, in competition and rivalry with each other in the coach-yard, loud martial strains from shining brass instruments. A prize is to be assigned to one or to the other of these bands, and I suppose this was a part of the competition. Meanwhile the merry-making people who thronged the courtyard were quaffing coffee from blue earthen mugs, which they brought with them,--as likewise they brought the coffee, and had it made in the hotel. It had poured with rain about the time of their arrival, notwithstanding which they did not seem disheartened; for, of course, in this climate, it enters into all their calculations to be drenched through and through. By and by the sun shone out, and it has continued to shine and shade every ten minutes ever since. All these people were decently dressed; the men generally in dark clothes, not so smartly as Americans on a festal day, but so as not to be greatly different as regards dress. They were paler, smaller, less wholesome-looking and less intelligent, and, I think, less noisy, than so many Yankees would have been. The women and girls differed much more from what American girls and women would be on a pleasure-excursion, being so shabbily dressed, with no kind of smartness, no silks, nothing but cotton gowns, I believe, and ill-looking bonnets,-- which, however, was the only part of their attire that they seemed to care about guarding from the rain. As to their persons, they generally looked better developed and healthier than the men; but there was a woful lack of beauty and grace, not a pretty girl among them, all coarse and vulgar. Their bodies, it seems to me, are apt to be very long in proportion to their limbs,--in truth, this kind of make is rather characteristic of both sexes in England. The speech of these folks, in some instances, was so broad Lancashire that I could not well understand it. A WALK TO BEBBINGTON. Rock Ferry, August 29th.--Yesterday we all took a walk into the country. It was a fine afternoon, with clouds, of course, in different parts of the sky, but a clear atmosphere, bright sunshine, and altogether a Septembrish feeling. The ramble was very pleasant, along the hedge-lined roads in which there were flowers blooming, and the varnished holly, certainly one of the most beautiful shrubs in the world, so far as foliage goes. We saw one cottage which I suppose was several hundred years old. It was of stone, filled into a wooden frame, the black-oak of which was visible like an external skeleton; it had a thatched roof, and was whitewashed. We passed through a village,--higher Bebbington, I believe,--with narrow streets and mean houses all of brick or stone, and not standing wide apart from each other as in American country villages, but conjoined. There was an immense almshouse in the midst; at least, I took it to be so. In the centre of the village, too, we saw a moderate-sized brick house, built in imitation of a castle with a tower and turret, in which an upper and an under row of small cannon were mounted,--now green with moss. There were also battlements along the roof of the house, which looked as if it might have been built eighty or a hundred years ago. In the centre of it there was the dial of a clock, but the inner machinery had been removed, and the hands, hanging listlessly, moved to and fro in the wind. It was quite a novel symbol of decay and neglect. On the wall, close to the street, there were certain eccentric inscriptions cut into slabs of stone, but I could make no sense of them. At the end of the house opposite the turret, we peeped through the bars of an iron gate and beheld a little paved court-yard, and at the farther side of it a small piazza, beneath which seemed to stand the figure of a man. He appeared well advanced in years, and was dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches, with a white or straw hat on his head. Behold, too, in a kennel beside the porch, a large dog sitting on his hind legs, chained! Also, close beside the gateway, another man, seated in a kind of arbor! All these were wooden images; and the whole castellated, small, village-dwelling, with the inscriptions and the queer statuary, was probably the whim of some half-crazy person, who has now, no doubt, been long asleep in Bebbington churchyard. The bell of the old church was ringing as we went along, and many respectable-looking people and cleanly dressed children were moving towards the sound. Soon we reached the church, and I have seen nothing yet in England that so completely answered my idea of what such a thing was, as this old village church of Bebbington. It is quite a large edifice, built in the form of a cross, a low peaked porch in the side, over which, rudely cut in stone, is the date 1300 and something. The steeple has ivy on it, and looks old, old, old; so does the whole church, though portions of it have been renewed, but not so as to impair the aspect of heavy, substantial endurance, and long, long decay, which may go on hundreds of years longer before the church is a ruin. There it stands, among the surrounding graves, looking just the same as it did in Bloody Mary's days; just as it did in Cromwell's time. A bird (and perhaps many birds) had its nest in the steeple, and flew in and out of the loopholes that were opened into it. The stone framework of the windows looked particularly old. There were monuments about the church, some lying flat on the ground, others elevated on low pillars, or on cross slabs of stone, and almost all looking dark, moss-grown, and very antique. But on reading some of the inscriptions, I was surprised to find them very recent; for, in fact, twenty years of this climate suffices to give as much or more antiquity of aspect, whether to gravestone or edifice, than a hundred years of our own,--so soon do lichens creep over the surface, so soon does it blacken, so soon do the edges lose their sharpness, so soon does Time gnaw away the records. The only really old monuments (and those not very old) were two, standing close together, and raised on low rude arches, the dates on which were 1684 and 1686. On one a cross was rudely cut into the stone. But there may have been hundreds older than this, the records on which had been quite obliterated, and the stones removed, and the graves dug over anew. None of the monuments commemorate people of rank; on only one the buried person was recorded as "Gent." While we sat on the flat slabs resting ourselves, several little girls, healthy-looking and prettily dressed enough, came into the churchyard, and began to talk and laugh, and to skip merrily from one tombstone to another. They stared very broadly at us, and one of them, by and by, ran up to U. and J., and gave each of them a green apple, then they skipped upon the tombstones again, while, within the church, we heard them singing, sounding pretty much as I have heard it in our pine-built New England meeting-houses. Meantime the rector had detected the voices of these naughty little girls, and perhaps had caught glimpses of them through the windows; for, anon, out came the sexton, and, addressing himself to us, asked whether there had been any noise or disturbance in the churchyard. I should not have borne testimony against these little villagers, but S. was so anxious to exonerate our own children that she pointed out these poor little sinners to the sexton, who forthwith turned them out. He would have done the same to us, no doubt, had my coat been worse than it was; but, as the matter stood, his demeanor was rather apologetic than menacing, when he informed us that the rector had sent him. We stayed a little longer, looking at the graves, some of which were between the buttresses of the church and quite close to the wall, as if the sleepers anticipated greater comfort and security the nearer they could get to the sacred edifice. As we went out of the churchyard, we passed the aforesaid little girls, who were sitting behind the mound of a tomb, and busily babbling together. They called after us, expressing their discontent that we had betrayed them to the sexton, and saying that it was not they who made the noise. Going homeward, we went astray in a green lane, that terminated in the midst of a field, without outlet, so that we had to retrace a good many of our footsteps. Close to the wall of the church, beside the door, there was an ancient baptismal font of stone. In fact, it was a pile of roughly hewn stone steps, five or six feet high, with a block of stone at the summit, in which was a hollow about as big as a wash-bowl. It was full of rainwater. The church seems to be St. Andrew's Church, Lower Bebbington, built in 1100. September 1st.--To-day we leave the Rock Ferry Hotel, where we have spent nearly four weeks. It is a comfortable place, and we have had a good table and have been kindly treated. We occupied a large parlor, extending through the whole breadth of the house, with a bow-window, looking towards Liverpool, and adown the intervening river, and to Birkenhead, on the hither side. The river would be a pleasanter object, if it were blue and transparent, instead of such a mud-puddly hue; also, if it were always full to its brine; whereas it generally presents a margin, and sometimes a very broad one, of glistening mud, with here and there a small vessel aground on it. Nevertheless, the parlor-window has given us a pretty good idea of the nautical business of Liverpool; the constant objects being the little black steamers puffing unquietly along, sometimes to our own ferry, sometimes beyond it to Eastham, and sometimes towing a long string of boats from Runcorn or otherwhere up the river, laden with goods, and sometimes gallanting a tall ship in or out. Some of these ships lie for days together in the river, very majestic and stately objects, often with the flag of the stars and stripes waving over them. Now and then, after a gale at sea, a vessel comes in with her masts broken short off in the midst, and with marks of rough handling about the hull. Once a week comes a Cunard steamer, with its red funnel pipe whitened by the salt spray; and, firing off cannon to announce her arrival, she moors to a large iron buoy in the middle of the river, and a few hundred yards from the stone pier of our ferry. Immediately comes poring towards her a little mail-steamer, to take away her mail-bags and such of the passengers as choose to land; and for several hours afterwards the Cunard lies with the smoke and steam coming out of her, as if she were smoking her pipe after her toilsome passage across the Atlantic. Once a fortnight comes an American steamer of the Collins line; and then the Cunard salutes her with cannon, to which the Collins responds, and moors herself to another iron buoy, not far from the Cunard. When they go to sea, it is with similar salutes; the two vessels paying each other the more ceremonious respect, because they are inimical and jealous of each other. Besides these, there are other steamers of all sorts and sizes, for pleasure-excursions, for regular trips to Dublin, the Isle of Man, and elsewhither; and vessels which are stationary, as floating lights, but which seem to relieve one another at intervals; and small vessels, with sails looking as if made of tanned leather; and schooners, and yachts, and all manner of odd-looking craft, but none so odd as the Chinese junk. This junk lies by our own pier, and looks as if it were copied from some picture on an old teacup. Beyond all these objects we see the other side of the Mersey, with the delectably green fields opposite to us, while the shore becomes more and more thickly populated, until about two miles off we see the dense centre of the city, with the dome of the Custom House, and steeples and towers; and, close to the water, the spire of St. Nicholas; and above, and intermingled with the whole city scene, the duskiness of the coal-smoke gushing upward. Along the bank we perceive the warehouses of the Albert dock, and the Queen's tobacco warehouses, and other docks, and, nigher to us, a shipyard or two. In the evening all this sombre picture gradually darkens out of sight, and in its place appear only the lights of the city, kindling into a galaxy of earthly stars, for a long distance, up and down the shore; and, in one or two spots, the bright red gleam of a furnace, like the "red planet Mars"; and once in a while a bright, wandering beam gliding along the river, as a steamer cones or goes between us and Liverpool. ROCK PARK. September 2d.--We got into our new house in Rock Park yesterday. It is quite a good house, with three apartments, beside kitchen and pantry on the lower floor; and it is three stories high, with four good chambers in each story. It is a stone edifice, like almost all the English houses, and handsome in its design. The rent, without furniture, would probably have been one hundred pounds; furnished, it is one hundred and sixty pounds. Rock Park, as the locality is called, is private property, and is now nearly covered with residences for professional people, merchants, and others of the upper middling class; the houses being mostly built, I suppose, on speculation, and let to those who occupy them. It is the quietest place imaginable, there being a police station at the entrance, and the officer on duty allows no ragged or ill-looking person to pass. There being a toll, it precludes all unnecessary passage of carriages; and never were there more noiseless streets than those that give access to these pretty residences. On either side there is thick shrubbery, with glimpses through it of the ornamented portals, or into the trim gardens with smooth-shaven lawns, of no large extent, but still affording reasonable breathing-space. They are really an improvement on anything, save what the very rich can enjoy, in America. The former occupants of our house (Mrs. Campbell and family) having been fond of flowers, there are many rare varieties in the garden, and we are told that there is scarcely a month in the year when a flower will not be found there. The house is respectably, though not very elegantly, furnished. It was a dismal, rainy day yesterday, and we had a coal-fire in the sitting-room, beside which I sat last evening as twilight came on, and thought, rather sadly, how many times we have changed our home since we were married. In the first place, our three years at the Old Manse; then a brief residence at Salem, then at Boston, then two or three years at Salem again; then at Lenox, then at West Newton, and then again at Concord, where we imagined that we were fixed for life, but spent only a year. Then this farther flight to England, where we expect to spend four years, and afterwards another year or two in Italy, during all which time we shall have no real home. For, as I sat in this English house, with the chill, rainy English twilight brooding over the lawn, and a coal-fire to keep me comfortable on the first evening of September, and the picture of a stranger--the dead husband of Mrs. Campbell--gazing down at me from above the mantel-piece,--I felt that I never should be quite at home here. Nevertheless, the fire was very comfortable to look at, and the shape of the fireplace--an arch, with a deep cavity--was an improvement on the square, shallow opening of an American coal-grate. September 7th.--It appears by the annals of Liverpool, contained in Gore's Directory, that in 1076 there was a baronial castle built by Roger de Poictiers on the site of the present St. George's Church. It was taken down in 1721. The church now stands at one of the busiest points of the principal street of the city. The old Church of St. Nicholas, founded about the time of the Conquest, and more recently rebuilt, stood within a quarter of a mile of the castle. In 1150, Birkenhead Priory was founded on the Cheshire side of the Mersey. The monks used to ferry passengers across to Liverpool until 1282, when Woodside Ferry was established,--twopence for a horseman, and a farthing for a foot-passenger. Steam ferry-boats now cross to Birkenhead, Monk's Ferry, and Woodside every ten minutes; and I believe there are large hotels at all these places, and many of the business men of Liverpool have residences in them. In 1252 a tower was built by Sir John Stanley, which continued to be a castle of defence to the Stanley family for many hundred years, and was not finally taken down till 1820, when its site had become the present Water Street, in the densest commercial centre of the city. There appear to have been other baronial castles and residences in different parts of the city, as a hall in old Hall Street, built by Sir John de la More, on the site of which a counting-house now stands. This knightly family of De la More sometimes supplied mayors to the city, as did the family of the Earls of Derby. About 1582, Edward, Earl of Derby, maintained two hundred and fifty citizens of Liverpool, fed sixty aged persons twice a day, and provided twenty-seven hundred persons with meat, drink, and money every Good Friday. In 1644, Prince Rupert besieged the town for twenty-four days, and finally took it by storm. This was June 26th, and the Parliamentarians, under Sir John Meldrum, repossessed it the following October. In 1669 the Mayor of Liverpool kept an inn. In 1730 there was only one carriage in town, and no stage-coach came nearer than Warrington, the roads being impassable. In 1734 the Earl of Derby gave a great entertainment in the tower. In 1737 the Mayor was George Norton, a saddler, who frequently took, the chair with his leather apron on. His immediate predecessor seems to have been the Earl of Derby, who gave the above-mentioned entertainment during his mayoralty. Where George's Dock now is, there used to be a battery of fourteen eighteen-pounders for the defence of the town, and the old sport of bull-baiting was carried on in that vicinity, close to the Church of St. Nicholas. September 12th.--On Saturday a young man was found wandering about in West Derby, a suburb of Liverpool, in a state of insanity, and, being taken before a magistrate, he proved to be an American. As he seemed to be in a respectable station of life, the magistrate sent the master of the workhouse to me, in order to find out whether I would take the responsibility of his expenses, rather than have him put in the workhouse. My clerk went to investigate the matter, and brought me his papers. His name proves to be ---- ------, belonging to ------, twenty-five years of age. One of the papers was a passport from our legation in Naples; likewise there was a power of attorney from his mother (who seems to have been married a second time) to dispose of some property of hers abroad; a hotel bill, also, of some length, in which were various charges for wine; and, among other evidences of low funds, a pawnbroker's receipt for a watch, which he had pledged at five pounds. There was also a ticket for his passage to America, by the screw steamer Andes, which sailed on Wednesday last. The clerk found him to the last degree incommunicative; and nothing could be discovered from him but what the papers disclosed. There were about a dozen utterly unintelligible notes among the papers, written by himself since his derangement. I decided to put him into the insane hospital, where he now accordingly is, and to-morrow (by which time he may be in a more conversable mood) I mean to pay him a visit. The clerk tells me that there is now, and has been for three years, an American lady in the Liverpool almshouse, in a state of insanity. She is very accomplished, especially in music; but in all this time it has been impossible to find out who she is, or anything about her connections or previous life. She calls herself Jenny Lind, and as for any other name or identity she keeps her own secret. September 14th.--It appears that Mr. ------ (the insane young gentleman) being unable to pay his bill at the inn where he was latterly staying, the landlord had taken possession of his luggage, and satisfied himself in that way. My clerk, at my request, has taken his watch out of pawn. It proves to be not a very good one, though doubtless worth more than five pounds, for which it was pledged. The Governor of the Lunatic Asylum wrote me yesterday, stating that the patient was in want of a change of clothes, and that, according to his own account, he had left his luggage at the American Hotel. After office-hours, I took a cab, and set out with my clerk, to pay a visit to the Asylum, taking the American Hotel in our way. The American Hotel is a small house, not at all such a one as American travellers of any pretension would think of stopping at, but still very respectable, cleanly, and with a neat sitting-room, where the guests might assemble, after the American fashion. We asked for the landlady, and anon down she came, a round, rosy, comfortable-looking English dame of fifty or thereabouts. On being asked whether she knew a Mr. ------, she readily responded that he had been there, but, had left no luggage, having taken it away before paying his bill; and that she had suspected him of meaning to take his departure without paying her at all. Hereupon she had traced him to the hotel before mentioned, where she had found that he had stayed two nights,--but was then, I think, gone from thence. Afterwards she encountered him again, and, demanding her due, went with him to a pawnbroker's, where he pledged his watch and paid her. This was about the extent of the landlady's knowledge of the matter. I liked the woman very well, with her shrewd, good-humored, worldly, kindly disposition. Then we proceeded to the Lunatic Asylum, to which we were admitted by a porter at the gate. Within doors we found some neat and comely servant-women, one of whom showed us into a handsome parlor, and took my card to the Governor. There was a large bookcase, with a glass front, containing handsomely bound books, many of which, I observed, were of a religious character. In a few minutes the Governor came in, a middle-aged man, tall, and thin for an Englishman, kindly and agreeable enough in aspect, but not with the marked look of a man of force and ability. I should not judge from his conversation that he was an educated man, or that he had any scientific acquaintance with the subject of insanity. He said that Mr. ------ was still quite incommunicative, and not in a very promising state; that I had perhaps better defer seeing him for a few days; that it would not be safe, at present, to send him home to America without an attendant, and this was about all. But on returning home I learned from my wife, who had had a call from Mrs. Blodgett, that Mrs. Blodgett knew Mr. ------ and his mother, who has recently been remarried to a young husband, and is now somewhere in Italy. They seemed to have boarded at Mrs. Blodgett's house on their way to the Continent, and within a week or two, an acquaintance and pastor of Mr. ------, the Rev. Dr. ------, has sailed for America. If I could only have caught him, I could have transferred the care, expense, and responsibility of the patient to him. The Governor of the Asylum mentioned, by the way, that Mr. ------ describes himself as having been formerly a midshipman in the navy. I walked through the St. James's cemetery yesterday. It is a very pretty place, dug out of the rock, having formerly, I believe, been a stone-quarry. It is now a deep and spacious valley, with graves and monuments on its level and grassy floor, through which run gravel-paths, and where grows luxuriant shrubbery. On one of the steep sides of the valley, hewn out of the rock, are tombs, rising in tiers, to the height of fifty feet or more; some of them cut directly into the rock with arched portals, and others built with stone. On the other side the bank is of earth, and rises abruptly, quite covered with trees, and looking very pleasant with their green shades. It was a warm and sunny day, and the cemetery really had a most agreeable aspect. I saw several gravestones of Americans; but what struck me most was one line of an epitaph on an English woman, "Here rests in peace a virtuous wife." The statue of Huskisson stands in the midst of the valley, in a kind of mausoleum, with a door of plate-glass, through which you look at the dead statesman's effigy. September 22d.--. . . . Some days ago an American captain came to the office, and said he had shot one of his men, shortly after sailing from New Orleans, and while the ship was still in the river. As he described the event, he was in peril of his life from this man, who was an Irishman; and he fired his pistol only when the man was coming upon him, with a knife in one hand, and some other weapon of offence in the other, while he himself was struggling with one or two more of the crew. He was weak at the time, having just recovered from the yellow fever. The shots struck the man in the pit of the stomach, and he lived only about a quarter of an hour. No magistrate in England has a right to arrest or examine the captain, unless by a warrant from the Secretary of State, on the charge of murder. After his statement to me, the mother of the slain man went to the police officer, and accused him of killing her son. Two or three days since, moreover, two of the sailors came before me, and gave their account of the matter; and it looked very differently from that of the captain. According to them, the man had no idea of attacking the captain, and was so drunk that he could not keep himself upright without assistance. One of these two men was actually holding him up when the captain fired two barrels of his pistol, one immediately after the other, and lodged two balls in the pit of his stomach. The man sank down at once, saying, "Jack, I am killed,"--and died very shortly. Meanwhile the captain drove this man away, under threats of shooting him likewise. Both the seamen described the captain's conduct, both then and during the whole voyage, as outrageous, and I do not much doubt that it was so. They gave their evidence like men who wished to tell the truth, and were moved by no more than a natural indignation at the captain's wrong. I did not much like the captain from the first,--a hard, rough man, with little education, and nothing of the gentleman about him, a red face and a loud voice. He seemed a good deal excited, and talked fast and much about the event, but yet not as if it had sunk deeply into him. He observed that he "would not have had it happen for a thousand dollars," that being the amount of detriment which he conceives himself to suffer by the ineffaceable blood-stain on his hand. In my opinion it is little short of murder, if at all; but what would be murder on shore is almost a natural occurrence when done in such a hell on earth as one of these ships, in the first hours of the voyage. The men are then all drunk,-- some of them often in delirium tremens; and the captain feels no safety for his life except in making himself as terrible as a fiend. It is the universal testimony that there is a worse set of sailors in these short voyages between Liverpool and America than in any other trade whatever. There is no probability that the captain will ever be called to account for this deed. He gave, at the time, his own version of the affair in his log-book; and this was signed by the entire crew, with the exception of one man, who had hidden himself in the hold in terror of the captain. His mates will sustain his side of the question; and none of the sailors would be within reach of the American courts, even should they be sought for. October 1st.--On Thursday I went with Mr. Ticknor to Chester by railway. It is quite an indescribable old town, and I feel at last as if I had had a glimpse of old England. The wall encloses a large space within the town, but there are numerous houses and streets not included within its precincts. Some of the principal streets pass under the ancient gateways; and at the side there are flights of steps, giving access to the summit. Around the top of the whole wall, a circuit of about two miles, there runs a walk, well paved with flagstones, and broad enough for three persons to walk abreast. On one side--that towards the country--there is a parapet of red freestone three or four feet high. On the other side there are houses, rising up immediately from the wall, so that they seem a part of it. The height of it, I suppose, may be thirty or forty feet, and, in some parts, you look down from the parapet into orchards, where there are tall apple-trees, and men on the branches, gathering fruit, and women and children among the grass, filling bags or baskets. There are prospects of the surrounding country among the buildings outside the wall; at one point, a view of the river Dee, with an old bridge of arches. It is all very strange, very quaint, very curious to see how the town has overflowed its barrier, and how, like many institutions here, the ancient wall still exists, but is turned to quite another purpose than what it was meant for,--so far as it serves any purpose at all. There are three or four towers in the course of the circuit; the most interesting being one from the top of which King Charles the First is said to have seen the rout of his army by the Parliamentarians. We ascended the short flight of steps that led up into the tower, where an old man pointed out the site of the battle-field, now thickly studded with buildings, and told us what we had already learned from the guide-book. After this we went into the cathedral, which I will perhaps describe on some other occasion, when I shall have seen more of it, and to better advantage. The cloisters gave us the strongest impression of antiquity; the stone arches being so worn and blackened by time. Still an American must always have imagined a better cathedral than this. There were some immense windows of painted glass, but all modern. In the chapter-house we found a coal-fire burning in a grate, and a large heap of old books--the library of the cathedral--in a discreditable state of decay,--mildewed, rotten, neglected for years. The sexton told us that they were to be arranged and better ordered. Over the door, inside, hung two failed and tattered banners, being those of the Cheshire regiment. The most utterly indescribable feature of Chester is the Rows, which every traveller has attempted to describe. At the height of several feet above some of the oldest streets, a walk runs through the front of the houses, which project over it. Back of the walk there are shops; on the outer side is a space of two or three yards, where the shopmen place their tables, and stands, and show-cases; overhead, just high enough for persons to stand erect, a ceiling. At frequent intervals little narrow passages go winding in among the houses, which all along are closely conjoined, and seem to have no access or exit, except through the shops, or into these narrow passages, where you can touch each side with your elbows, and the top with your hand. We penetrated into one or two of them, and they smelt anciently and disagreeably. At one of the doors stood a pale-looking, but cheerful and good-natured woman, who told us that she had come to that house when first married, twenty-one years before, and had lived there ever since; and that she felt as if she had been buried through the best years of her life. She allowed us to peep into her kitchen and parlor,--small, dingy, dismal, but yet not wholly destitute of a home look. She said that she had seen two or three coffins in a day, during cholera times, carried out of that narrow passage into which her door opened. These avenues put me in mind of those which run through ant-hills, or those which a mole makes underground. This fashion of Rows does not appear to be going out; and, for aught I can see, it may last hundreds of years longer. When a house becomes so old as to be untenantable, it is rebuilt, and the new one is fashioned like the old, so far as regards the walk running through its front. Many of the shops are very good, and even elegant, and these Rows are the favorite places of business in Chester. Indeed, they have many advantages, the passengers being sheltered from the rain, and there being within the shops that dimmer light by which tradesmen like to exhibit their wares. A large proportion of the edifices in the Rows must be comparatively modern; but there are some very ancient ones, with oaken frames visible on the exterior. The Row, passing through these houses, is railed with oak, so old that it has turned black, and grown to be as hard as stone, which it might be mistaken for, if one did not see where names and initials have been cut into it with knives at some bygone period. Overhead, cross-beams project through the ceiling so low as almost to hit the head. On the front of one of these buildings was the inscription, "GOD'S PROVIDENCE IS MINE INHERITANCE," said to have been put there by the occupant of the house two hundred years ago, when the plague spared this one house only in the whole city. Not improbably the inscription has operated as a safeguard to prevent the demolition of the house hitherto; but a shopman of an adjacent dwelling told us that it was soon to be taken down. Here and there, about some of the streets through which the Rows do not run, we saw houses of very aged aspect, with steep, peaked gables. The front gable-end was supported on stone pillars, and the sidewalk passed beneath. Most of these old houses seemed to be taverns,--the Black Bear, the Green Dragon, and such names. We thought of dining at one of them, but, on inspection, they looked rather too dingy and close, and of questionable neatness. So we went to the Royal Hotel, where we probably fared just as badly at much more expense, and where there was a particularly gruff and crabbed old waiter, who, I suppose, thought himself free to display his surliness because we arrived at the hotel on foot. For my part, I love to see John Bull show himself. I must go again and again and again to Chester, for I suppose there is not a more curious place in the world. Mr. Ticknor, who has been staying at Rock Park with us since Tuesday, has steamed away in the Canada this morning. His departure seems to make me feel more abroad, more dissevered from my native country, than before. October 3d.--Saturday evening, at six, I went to dine with Mr. Aiken, a wealthy merchant here, to meet two of the sons of Burns. There was a party of ten or twelve, Mr. Aiken and his two daughters included. The two sons of Burns have both been in the Indian army, and have attained the ranks of Colonel and Major; one having spent thirty, and the other twenty-seven years in India. They are now old gentlemen of sixty and upwards, the elder with a gray head, the younger with a perfectly white one,--rather under than above the middle stature, and with a British roundness of figure,--plain, respectable, intelligent-looking persons, with quiet manners. I saw no resemblance in either of them to any portrait of their father. After the ladies left the table, I sat next to the Major, the younger of the two, and had a good deal of talk with him. He seemed a very kindly and social man, and was quite ready to speak about his father, nor was he at all reluctant to let it be seen how much he valued the glory of being descended from the poet. By and by, at Mr. Aiken's instance, he sang one of Burns's songs,--the one about "Annie" and the "rigs of barley." He sings in a perfectly simple style, so that it is little more than a recitative, and yet the effect is very good as to humor, sense, and pathos. After rejoining the ladies, he sang another, "A posie for my ain dear May," and likewise "A man's a man for a' that." My admiration of his father, and partly, perhaps, my being an American, gained me some favor with him, and he promised to give me what he considered the best engraving of Burns, and some other remembrance of him. The Major is that son of Burns who spent an evening at Abbotsford with Sir Walter Scott, when, as Lockhart writes, "the children sang the ballads of their sires." He spoke with vast indignation of a recent edition of his father's works by Robert Chambers, in which the latter appears to have wronged the poet by some misstatements.--I liked them both and they liked me, and asked me to go and see there at Cheltenham, where they reside. We broke up at about midnight. The members of this dinner-party were of the more liberal tone of thinking here in Liverpool. The Colonel and Major seemed to be of similar principles; and the eyes of the latter glowed, when he sang his father's noble verse, "The rank is but the guinea's stamp," etc. It would have been too pitiable if Burns had left a son who could not feel the spirit of that verse. October 8th.--Coning to my office, two or three mornings ago, I found Mrs. ------, the mother of Mr. ------, the insane young man of whom I had taken charge. She is a lady of fifty or thereabouts, and not very remarkable anyway, nor particularly lady-like. However, she was just come off a rapid journey, having travelled from Naples, with three small children, without taking rest, since my letter reached her. A son (this proved to be her new husband) of about twenty had come with her to the Consulate. She was, of course, infinitely grieved about the young man's insanity, and had two or three bursts of tears while we talked the matter over. She said he was the hope of her life,--the best, purest, most innocent child that ever was, and wholly free from every kind of vice. But it appears that he had a previous attack of insanity, lasting three months, about three years ago. After I had told her all I knew about him, including my personal observations at a visit a week or two since, we drove in a cab to the Asylum. It must have been a dismal moment to the poor lady, as we entered the gateway through a tall, prison-like wall. Being ushered into the parlor, the Governor soon appeared, and informed us that Mr. ------ had had a relapse within a few days, and was not now so well as when I saw him. He complains of unjust confinement, and seems to consider himself, if I rightly understand, under persecution for political reasons. The Governor, however, proposed to call him down, and I took my leave, feeling that it would be indelicate to be present at his first interview with his mother. So here ended my guardianship of the poor young fellow. In the afternoon I called at the Waterloo Hotel, where Mrs. ------ was staying, and found her in the coffee-room with the children. She had determined to take a lodging in the vicinity of the Asylum, and was going to remove thither as soon as the children had had something to eat. They seemed to be pleasant and well-behaved children, and impressed me more favorably than the mother, whom I suspect to be rather a foolish woman, although her present grief makes her appear in a more respectable light than at other times. She seemed anxious to impress me with the respectability and distinction of her connections in America, and I had observed the same tendency in the insane patient, at my interview with him. However, she has undoubtedly a mother's love for this poor shatterbrain, and this may weigh against the folly of her marrying an incongruously youthful second husband, and many other follies. This was day before yesterday, and I have heard nothing of her since. The same day I had applications for assistance in two other domestic affairs; one from an Irishman, naturalized in America, who wished me to get him a passage thither, and to take charge of his wife and family here, at my own private expense, until he could remit funds to carry them across. Another was from an Irishman, who had a power of attorney from a countrywoman of his in America, to find and take charge of an infant whom she had left in the Liverpool work-house, two years ago. I have a great mind to keep a list of all the business I am consulted about and employed in. It would be very curious. Among other things, all penniless Americans, or pretenders to Americanism, look upon me as their banker; and I could ruin myself any week, if I had not laid down a rule to consider every applicant for assistance an impostor until he prove himself a true and responsible man,--which it is very difficult to do. Yesterday there limped in a very respectable-looking old man, who described himself as a citizen of Baltimore, who had been on a trip to England and elsewhere, and, being detained longer than he expected, and having had an attack of rheumatism, was now short of funds to pay his passage home, and hoped that I would supply the deficiency. He had quite a plain, homely, though respectable manner, and, for aught I know, was the very honestest man alive; but as he could produce no kind of proof of his character and responsibility, I very quietly explained the impossibility of my helping him. I advised him to try to obtain a passage on board of some Baltimore ship, the master of which might be acquainted with him, or, at all events, take his word for payment, after arrival. This he seemed inclined to do, and took his leave. There was a decided aspect of simplicity about this old man, and yet I rather judge him to be an impostor. It is easy enough to refuse money to strangers and unknown people, or whenever there may be any question about identity; but it will not be so easy when I am asked for money by persons whom I know, but do not like to trust. They shall meet the eternal "No," however. October 13th.--In Ormerod's history of Chester it is mentioned that Randal, Earl of Chester, having made an inroad into Wales about 1225, the Welshmen gathered in mass against him, and drove him into the castle of Nothelert in Flintshire. The Earl sent for succor to the Constable of Chester, Roger Lacy, surnamed "Hell," on account of his fierceness. It was then fair-time at Chester, and the constable collected a miscellaneous rabble of fiddlers, players, cobblers, tailors, and all manner of debauched people, and led them to the relief of the Earl. At sight of this strange army the Welshmen fled; and forever after the Earl assigned to the constable of Chester power over all fiddlers, shoemakers, etc., within the bounds of Cheshire. The constable retained for himself and his heirs the control of the shoemakers; and made over to his own steward, Dutton, that of the fiddlers and players, and for many hundreds of years afterwards the Duttons of Dutton retained the power. On midsummer-day, they used to ride through Chester, attended by all the minstrels playing on their several instruments, to the Church of St. John, and there renew their licenses. It is a good theme for a legend. Sir Peter Leycester, writing in Charles the Second's time, copies the Latin deed from the constable to Dutton; rightly translated, it seems to mean "the magisterial power over all the lewd people . . . . in the whole of Cheshire," but the custom grew into what is above stated. In the time of Henry VII., the Duttons claimed, by prescriptive right, that the Cheshire minstrels should deliver them, at the feast of St. John, four bottles of wine and a lance, and that each separate minstrel should pay fourpence halfpenny. . . . Another account says Ralph Dutton was the constable's son-in-law, and "a lusty youth." October 19th.--Coming to the ferry this morning a few minutes before the boat arrived from town, I went into the ferry-house, a small stone edifice, and found there an Irishman, his wife and three children, the oldest eight or nine years old, and all girls. There was a good fire burning in the room, and the family was clustered round it, apparently enjoying the warmth very much; but when I went in both husband and wife very hospitably asked me to come to the fire, although there was not more than room at it for their own party. I declined on the plea that I was warm enough, and then the woman said that they were very cold, having been long on the road. The man was gray-haired and gray-bearded, clad in an old drab overcoat, and laden with a huge bag, which seemed to contain bedclothing or something of the kind. The woman was pale, with a thin, anxious, wrinkled face, but with a good and kind expression. The children were quite pretty, with delicate faces, and a look of patience and endurance in them, but yet as if they had suffered as little as they possibly could. The two elder were cuddled up close to the father, the youngest, about four years old, sat in its mother's lap, and she had taken off its small shoes and stockings, and was warming its feet at the fire. Their little voices had a sweet and kindly sound as they talked in low tones to their parents and one another. They all looked very shabby, and yet had a decency about them; and it was touching to see how they made themselves at home at this casual fireside, and got all the comfort they could out of the circumstances. By and by two or three market-women came in and looked pleasantly at them, and said a word or two to the children. They did not beg of me, as I supposed they would; but after looking at them awhile, I pulled out a piece of silver, and handed it to one of the little girls. She took it very readily, as if she partly expected it, and then the father and mother thanked me, and said they had been travelling a long distance, and had nothing to subsist upon, except what they picked up on the road. They found it impossible to live in England, and were now on their way to Liverpool, hoping to get a passage back to Ireland, where, I suppose, extreme poverty is rather better off than here. I heard the little girl say that she should buy bread with the money. There is not much that can be caught in the description of this scene; but it made me understand, better than before, how poor people feel, wandering about in such destitute circumstances, and how they suffer; and yet how they have a life not quite miserable, after all, and how family love goes along with them. Soon the boat arrived at the pier, and we all went on board; and as I sat in the cabin, looking up through a broken pane in the skylight, I saw the woman's thin face, with its anxious, motherly aspect; and the youngest child in her arms, shrinking from the chill wind, but yet not impatiently; and the eldest of the girls standing close by with her expression of childish endurance, but yet so bright and intelligent that it would evidently take but a few days to make a happy and playful child of her. I got into the interior of this poor family, and understand, through sympathy, more of them than I can tell. I am getting to possess some of the English indifference as to beggars and poor people; but still, whenever I come face to face with them, and have any intercourse, it seems as if they ought to be the better for me. I wish, instead of sixpence, I had given the poor family ten shillings, and denied it to a begging subscriptionist, who has just fleeced me to that amount. How silly a man feels in this latter predicament! I have had a good many visitors at the Consulate from the United States within a short time,--among others, Mr. D. D. Barnard, our late minister to Berlin, returning homeward to-day by the Arctic; and Mr. Sickles, Secretary of Legation to London, a fine-looking, intelligent, gentlemanly young man. . . . With him came Judge Douglas, the chosen man of Young America. He is very short, extremely short, but has an uncommonly good head, and uncommon dignity without seeming to aim at it, being free and simple in manners. I judge him to be a very able man, with the Western sociability and free-fellowship. Generally I see no reason to be ashamed of my countrymen who come out here in public position, or otherwise assuming the rank of gentlemen. October 20th.--One sees incidents in the streets here, occasionally, which could not be seen in an American city. For instance, a week or two since, I was passing a quiet-looking, elderly gentleman, when, all of a sudden, without any apparent provocation, he uplifted his stick, and struck a black-gowned boy a smart blow on the shoulders. The boy looked at him wofully and resentfully, but said nothing, nor can I imagine why the thing was done. In Tythebarne Street to-day I saw a woman suddenly assault a man, clutch at his hair, and cuff him about the ears. The man, who was of decent aspect enough, immediately took to his heels, full speed, and the woman ran after him, and, as far as I could discern the pair, the chase continued. October 22d.--At a dinner-party at Mr. Holland's last evening, a gentleman, in instance of Charles Dickens's unweariability, said that during some theatrical performances in Liverpool he acted in play and farce, spent the rest of the night making speeches, feasting, and drinking at table, and ended at seven o'clock in the morning by jumping leap-frog over the backs of the whole company. In Moore's diary he mentions a beautiful Guernsey lily having been given to his wife, and says that the flower was originally from Guernsey. A ship from there had been wrecked on the coast of Japan, having many of the lilies on board, and the next year the flowers appeared,--springing up, I suppose, on the wave-beaten strand. Wishing to send a letter to a dead man, who may be supposed to have gone to Tophet,--throw it into the fire. Sir Arthur Aston had his brains beaten out with his own wooden leg, at the storming of Tredagh in Ireland by Cromwell. In the county of Cheshire, many centuries ago, there lived a half-idiot, named Nixon, who had the gift of prophecy, and made many predictions about places, families, and important public events, since fulfilled. He seems to have fallen into fits of insensibility previous to uttering his prophecies. The family of Mainwaring (pronounced Mannering), of Bromborough, had an ass's head for a crest. "Richard Dawson, being sick of the plague, and perceiving he must die, rose out of his bed and made his grave, and caused his nephew to cast straw into the grave, which was not far from the house, and went and laid him down in the said grave, and caused clothes to be laid upon him, and so departed out of this world. This he did because he was a strong man, and heavier than his said nephew and a serving-wench were able to bury. He died about the 24th of August. Thus was I credibly told he did, 1625." This was in the township of Malpas, recorded in the parish register. At Bickley Hall, taken down a few years ago, used to be shown the room where the body of the Earl of Leicester was laid for a whole twelvemonth,--1659 to 1660,--he having been kept unburied all that time, owing to a dispute which of his heirs should pay his funeral expenses. November 5th.--We all, together with Mr. Squarey, went to Chester last Sunday, and attended the cathedral service. A great deal of ceremony, and not unimposing, but rather tedious before it was finished,--occupying two hours or more. The Bishop was present, but did nothing except to pronounce the benediction. In America the sermon is the principal thing; but here all this magnificent ceremonial of prayer and chanted responses and psalms and anthems was the setting to a short, meagre discourse, which would not have been considered of any account among the elaborate intellectual efforts of New England ministers. While this was going on, the light came through the stained glass windows and fell upon the congregation, tingeing them with crimson. After service we wandered about the aisles, and looked at the tombs and monuments,--the oldest of which was that of some nameless abbot, with a staff and mitre half obliterated from his tomb, which was under a shallow arch on one side of the cathedral. There were also marbles on the walls, and lettered stones in the pavement under our feet; but chiefly, if not entirely, of modern date. We lunched at the Royal Hotel, and then walked round the city walls, also crossing the bridge of one great arch over the Dee, and penetrating as far into Wales as the entrance of the Marquis of Westminster's Park at Eaton. It was, I think, the most lovely day as regards weather that I have seen in England. I passed, to-day, a man chanting a ballad in the street about a recent murder, in a voice that had innumerable cracks in it, and was most lugubrious. The other day I saw a man who was reading in a loud voice what seemed to be an account of the late riots and loss of life in Wigan. He walked slowly along the street as he read, surrounded by a small crowd of men, women, and children; and close by his elbow stalked a policeman, as if guarding against a disturbance. November 14th.--There is a heavy dun fog on the river and over the city to-day, the very gloomiest atmosphere that ever I was acquainted with. On the river the steamboats strike gongs or ring bells to give warning of their approach. There are lamps burning in the counting-rooms and lobbies of the warehouses, and they gleam distinctly through the windows. The other day, at the entrance of the market-house, I saw a woman sitting in a small hand-wagon, apparently for the purpose of receiving alms. There was no attendant at hand; but I noticed that one or two persons who passed by seemed to inquire whether she wished her wagon to be moved. Perhaps this is her mode of making progress about the city, by the voluntary aid of boys and other people who help to drag her. There is something in this--I don't yet well know what--that has impressed me, as if I could make a romance out of the idea of a woman living in this manner a public life, and moving about by such means. November 29th.--Mr. H. A. B. told me of his friend Mr. ------ (who was formerly attache to the British Legation at Washington, and whom I saw at Concord), that his father, a clergyman, married a second wife. After the marriage, the noise of a coffin being nightly carried down the stairs was heard in the parsonage. It could be distinguished when the coffin reached a certain broad lauding and rested on it. Finally, his father had to remove to another residence. Besides this, Mr. ------ had had another ghostly experience,--having seen a dim apparition of an uncle at the precise instant when the latter died in a distant place. The attache is a credible and honorable fellow, and talks of these matters as if he positively believed them. But Ghostland lies beyond the jurisdiction of veracity. In a garden near Chester, in taking down a summer-house, a tomb was discovered beneath it, with a Latin inscription to the memory of an old doctor of medicine, William Bentley, who had owned the place long ago, and died in 1680. And his dust and bones had lain beneath all the merry times in the summer-house. December 1st.--It is curious to observe how many methods people put in practice here to pick up a halfpenny. Yesterday I saw a man standing bareheaded and barelegged in the mud and misty weather, playing on a fife, in hopes to get a circle of auditors. Nobody, however, seemed to take any notice. Very often a whole band of musicians will strike up,-- passing a hat round after playing a tune or two. On board the ferry, until the coldest weather began, there were always some wretched musicians, with an old fiddle, an old clarinet, and an old verdigrised brass bugle, performing during the passage, and, as the boat neared the shore, sending round one of their number to gather contributions in the hollow of the brass bugle. They were a very shabby set, and must have made a very scanty living at best. Sometimes it was a boy with an accordion, and his sister, a smart little girl, with a timbrel,--which, being so shattered that she could not play on it, she used only to collect halfpence in. Ballad-singers, or rather chanters or croakers, are often to be met with in the streets, but hand-organ players are not more frequent than in our cities. I still observe little girls and other children barelegged and barefooted on the wet sidewalks. There certainly never was anything so dismal as the November weather has been; never any real sunshine; almost always a mist; sometimes a dense fog, like slightly rarefied wool, pervading the atmosphere. An epitaph on a person buried on a hillside in Cheshire, together with some others, supposed to have died of the plague, and therefore not admitted into the churchyards:-- "Think it not strange our bones ly here, Thine may ly thou knowst not where." Elizabeth Hampson. These graves were near the remains of two rude stone crosses, the purpose of which was not certainly known, although they were supposed to be boundary marks. Probably, as the plague-corpses were debarred from sanctified ground, the vicinity of these crosses was chosen as having a sort of sanctity. "Bang beggar,"--an old Cheshire term for a parish beadle. Hawthorne Hall, Cheshire, Macclesfield Hundred, Parish of Wilmslow, and within the hamlet of Morley. It was vested at an early period in the Lathoms of Irlam, Lancaster County, and passed through the Leighs to the Pages of Earlshaw. Thomas Leigh Page sold it to Mr. Ralph Bower of Wilmslow, whose children owned it in 1817. The Leighs built a chancel in the church of Wilmslow, where some of them are buried, their arms painted in the windows. The hall is an "ancient, respectable mansion of brick." December 2d.--Yesterday, a chill, misty December day, yet I saw a woman barefooted in the street, not to speak of children. Cold and uncertain as the weather is, there is still a great deal of small trade carried on in the open air. Women and men sit in the streets with a stock of combs and such small things to sell, the women knitting as if they sat by a fireside. Cheap crockery is laid out in the street, so far out that without any great deviation from the regular carriage-track a wheel might pass straight through it. Stalls of apples are innumerable, but the apples are not fit for a pig. In some streets herrings are very abundant, laid out on boards. Coals seem to be for sale by the wheelbarrowful. Here and there you see children with some small article for sale,--as, for instance, a girl with two linen caps. A somewhat overladen cart of coal was passing along and some small quantity of the coal fell off; no sooner had the wheels passed than several women and children gathered to the spot, like hens and chickens round a handful of corn, and picked it up in their aprons. We have nothing similar to these street-women in our country. December 10th.--I don't know any place that brings all classes into contiguity on equal ground so completely as the waiting-room at Rock Ferry on these frosty days. The room is not more than eight feet, square, with walls of stone, and wooden benches ranged round them, and an open stove in one corner, generally well furnished with coal. It is almost always crowded, and I rather suspect that many persons who have no fireside elsewhere creep in here and spend the most comfortable part of their day. This morning, when I looked into the room, there were one or two gentlemen and other respectable persons; but in the best place, close to the fire, and crouching almost into it, was an elderly beggar, with the raggedest of overcoats, two great rents in the shoulders of it disclosing the dingy lining, all bepatched with various stuff covered with dirt, and on his shoes and trousers the mud of an interminable pilgrimage. Owing to the posture in which he sat, I could not see his face, but only the battered crown and rim of the very shabbiest hat that ever was worn. Regardless of the presence of women (which, indeed, Englishmen seldom do regard when they wish to smoke), he was smoking a pipe of vile tobacco; but, after all, this was fortunate, because the man himself was not personally fragrant. He was terribly squalid,--terribly; and when I had a glimpse of his face, it well befitted the rest of his development,-- grizzled, wrinkled, weather-beaten, yet sallow, and down-looking, with a watchful kind of eye turning upon everybody and everything, meeting the glances of other people rather boldly, yet soon shrinking away; a long thin nose, a gray beard of a week's growth; hair not much mixed with gray, but rusty and lifeless;--a miserable object; but it was curious to see how he was not ashamed of himself, but seemed to feel that he was one of the estates of the kingdom, and had as much right to live as other men. He did just as he pleased, took the best place by the fire, nor would have cared though a nobleman were forced to stand aside for him. When the steamer's bell rang, he shouldered a large and heavy pack, like a pilgrim with his burden of sin, but certainly journeying to hell instead of heaven. On board he looked round for the best position, at first stationing himself near the boiler-pipe; but, finding the deck damp underfoot, he went to the cabin-door, and took his stand on the stairs, protected from the wind, but very incommodiously placed for those who wished to pass. All this was done without any bravado or forced impudence, but in the most quiet way, merely because he was seeking his own comfort, and considered that he had a right to seek it. It was an Englishman's spirit; but in our country, I imagine, a beggar considers himself a kind of outlaw, and would hardly assume the privileges of a man in any place of public resort. Here beggary is a system, and beggars are a numerous class, and make themselves, in a certain way, respected as such. Nobody evinced the slightest disapprobation of the man's proceedings. In America, I think, we should see many aristocratic airs on such provocation, and probably the ferry people would there have rudely thrust the beggar aside; giving him a shilling, however, which no Englishman would ever think of doing. There would also have been a great deal of fun made of his squalid and ragged figure; whereas nobody smiled at him this morning, nor in any way showed the slightest disrespect. This is good; but it is the result of a state of things by no means good. For many days there has been a great deal of fog on the river, and the boats have groped their way along, continually striking their bells, while, on all sides, there are responses of bell and gong; and the vessels at anchor look shadow-like as we glide past them, and the master of one steamer shouts a warning to the master of another which he meets. The Englishmen, who hate to run any risk without an equivalent object, show a good deal of caution and timidity on these foggy days. December 13th.--Chill, frosty weather; such an atmosphere as forebodes snow in New England, and there has been a little here. Yet I saw a barefooted young woman yesterday. The feet of these poor creatures have exactly the red complexion of their hands, acquired by constant exposure to the cold air. At the ferry-room, this morning, was a small, thin, anxious-looking woman, with a bundle, seeming in rather poor circumstances, but decently dressed, and eying other women, I thought, with an expression of slight ill-will and distrust; also, an elderly, stout, gray-haired woman, of respectable aspect, and two young lady-like persons, quite pretty, one of whom was reading a shilling volume of James's "Arabella Stuart." They talked to one another with that up-and-down intonation which English ladies practise, and which strikes an unaccustomed ear as rather affected, especially in women of size and mass. It is very different from an American lady's mode of talking: there is the difference between color and no color; the tone variegates it. One of these young ladies spoke to me, making some remark about the weather,--the first instance I have met with of a gentlewoman's speaking to an unintroduced gentleman. Besides these, a middle-aged man of the lower class, and also a gentleman's out-door servant, clad in a drab great-coat, corduroy breeches, and drab cloth gaiters buttoned from the knee to the ankle. He complained to the other man of the cold weather; said that a glass of whiskey, every half-hour, would keep a man comfortable; and, accidentally hitting his coarse foot against one of the young lady's feet, said, "Beg pardon, ma'am,"--which she acknowledged with a slight movement of the head. Somehow or other, different classes seem to encounter one another in an easier manner than with us; the shock is less palpable. I suppose the reason is that the distinctions are real, and therefore need not be continually asserted. Nervous and excitable persons need to talk a great deal, by way of letting off their steam. On board the Rock Ferry steamer, a gentleman coming into the cabin, a voice addresses him from a dark corner, "How do you do, sir?"--"Speak again!" says the gentleman. No answer from the dark corner; and the gentleman repeats, "Speak again!" The speaker now comes out of the dark corner, and sits down in a place where he can be seen. "Ah!" cries the gentleman, "very well, I thank you. How do you do? I did not recognize your voice." Observable, the English caution, shown in the gentleman's not vouchsafing to say, "Very well, thank you!" till he knew his man. What was the after life of the young man, whom Jesus, looking on, "loved," and bade him sell all that he had, and give to the poor, and take up his cross and follow him? Something very deep and beautiful might be made out of this. December 31st.--Among the beggars of Liverpool, the hardest to encounter is a man without any legs, and, if I mistake not, likewise deficient in arms. You see him before you all at once, as if he had sprouted halfway out of the earth, and would sink down and reappear in some other place the moment he has done with you. His countenance is large, fresh, and very intelligent; but his great power lies in his fixed gaze, which is inconceivably difficult to bear. He never once removes his eye from you till you are quite past his range; and you feel it all the same, although you do not meet his glance. He is perfectly respectful; but the intentness and directness of his silent appeal is far worse than any impudence. In fact, it is the very flower of impudence. I would rather go a mile about than pass before his battery. I feel wronged by him, and yet unutterably ashamed. There must be great force in the man to produce such an effect. There is nothing of the customary squalidness of beggary about him, but remarkable trimness and cleanliness. A girl of twenty or thereabouts, who vagabondizes about the city on her hands and knees, possesses, to a considerable degree, the same characteristics. I think they hit their victims the more effectually from being below the common level of vision. January 3d, 1854.--Night before last there was a fall of snow, about three or four inches, and, following it, a pretty hard frost. On the river, the vessels at anchor showed the snow along their yards, and on every ledge where it could lie. A blue sky and sunshine overhead, and apparently a clear atmosphere close at hand; but in the distance a mistiness became perceptible, obscuring the shores of the river, and making the vessels look dim and uncertain. The steamers were ploughing along, smoking their pipes through the frosty air. On the landing stage and in the streets, hard-trodden snow, looking more like my New England Home than anything I have yet seen. Last night the thermometer fell as low as 13 degrees, nor probably is it above 20 degrees to-day. No such frost has been known in England these forty years! and Mr. Wilding tells me that he never saw so much snow before. January 6th.--I saw, yesterday, stopping at a cabinet-maker's shop in Church Street, a coach with four beautiful white horses, and a postilion on each near-horse; behind, in the dicky, a footman; and on the box a coachman, all dressed in livery. The coach-panel bore a coat-of-arms with a coronet, and I presume it must have been the equipage of the Earl of Derby. A crowd of people stood round, gazing at the coach and horses; and when any of them spoke, it was in a lower tone than usual. I doubt not they all had a kind of enjoyment of the spectacle, for these English are strangely proud of having a class above them. Every Englishman runs to "The Times" with his little grievance, as a child runs to his mother. I was sent for to the police court the other morning, in the case of an American sailor accused of robbing a shipmate at sea. A large room, with a great coal-fire burning on one side, and above it the portrait of Mr. Rushton, deceased, a magistrate of many years' continuance. A long table, with chairs, and a witness-box. One of the borough magistrates, a merchant of the city, sat at the head of the table, with paper and pen and ink before him; but the real judge was the clerk of the court, whose professional knowledge and experience governed all the proceedings. In the short time while I was waiting, two cases were tried, in the first of which the prisoner was discharged. The second case was of a woman,--a thin, sallow, hard-looking, careworn, rather young woman,--for stealing a pair of slippers out of a shop: The trial occupied five minutes or less, and she was sentenced to twenty-one days' imprisonment,--whereupon, without speaking, she looked up wildly first into one policeman's face, then into another's, at the same time wringing her hands with no theatric gesture, but because her torment took this outward shape,--and was led away. The Yankee sailor was then brought up,--an intelligent, but ruffian-like fellow,--and as the case was out of the jurisdiction of the English magistrates, and as it was not worth while to get him sent over to America for trial, he was forthwith discharged. He stole a comforter. If mankind were all intellect, they would be continually changing, so that one age would be entirely unlike another. The great conservative is the heart, which remains the same in all ages; so that commonplaces of a thousand years' standing are as effective as ever. Monday, February 20th.--At the police court on Saturday, I attended the case of the second mate and four seamen of the John and Albert, for assaulting, beating, and stabbing the chief mate. The chief mate has been in the hospital ever since the assault, and was brought into the court to-day to give evidence,--a man of thirty, black hair, black eyes, a dark complexion, disagreeable expression; sallow, emaciated, feeble, apparently in pain, one arm disabled. He sat bent and drawn upward, and had evidently been severely hurt, and was not yet fit to be out of bed. He had some brandy-and-water to enable him to sustain himself. He gave his evidence very clearly, beginning (sailor-like) with telling in what quarter the wind was at the time of the assault, and which sail was taken in. His testimony bore on one man only, at whom he cast a vindictive look; but I think he told the truth as far as he knew and remembered it. Of the prisoners the second mate was a mere youth, with long sandy hair, and an intelligent and not unprepossessing face, dressed as neatly as a three or four weeks' captive, with small, or no means, could well allow, in a frock-coat, and with clean linen,--the only linen or cotton shirt in the company. The other four were rude, brutish sailors, in flannel or red-baize shirts. Three of them appeared to give themselves little concern; but the fourth, a red-haired and red-bearded man,--Paraman, by name,--evidently felt the pressure of the case upon himself. He was the one whom the mate swore to have given him the first blow; and there was other evidence of his having been stabbed with a knife. The captain of the ship, the pilot, the cook, and the steward, all gave their evidence; and the general bearing of it was, that the chief mate had a devilish temper, and had misused the second mate and crew,--that the four seamen had attacked him, and that Paraman had stabbed him; while all but the steward concurred in saying that the second mate had taken no part in the affray. The steward, however, swore to having seen him strike the chief mate with a wooden marlinspike, which was broken by the blow. The magistrate dismissed all but Paraman, whom I am to send to America for trial. In my opinion the chief mate got pretty nearly what he deserved, under the code of natural justice. While business was going forward, the magistrate, Mr. Mansfield, talked about a fancy ball at which he had been present the evening before, and of other matters grave and gay. It was very informal; we sat at the table, or stood with our backs to the fire; policemen came and went; witnesses were sworn on the greasiest copy of the Gospels I ever saw, polluted by hundreds and thousands of perjured kisses; and for hours the prisoners were kept standing at the foot of the table, interested to the full extent of their capacity, while all others were indifferent. At the close of the case, the police officers and witnesses applied to me about their expenses. Yesterday I took a walk with my wife and two children to Bebbington Church. A beautifully sunny morning. My wife and U. attended church, J. and I continued our walk. When we were at a little distance from the church, the bells suddenly chimed out with a most cheerful sound, and sunny as the morning. It is a pity we have no chimes of bells, to give the churchward summons, at home. People were standing about the ancient church-porch and among the tombstones. In the course of our walk, we passed many old thatched cottages, built of stone, and with what looked like a cow-house or pigsty at one end, making part of the cottage; also an old stone farm-house, which may have been a residence of gentility in its day. We passed, too, a small Methodist chapel, making one of a row of low brick edifices. There was a sound of prayer within. I never saw a more unbeautiful place of worship; and it had not even a separate existence for itself, the adjoining tenement being an alehouse. The grass along the wayside was green, with a few daisies. There was green holly in the hedges, and we passed through a wood, up some of the tree-trunks of which ran clustering ivy. February 23d.--There came to see me the other day a young gentleman with a mustache and a blue cloak, who announced himself as William Allingham, and handed me a copy of his poems, a thin volume, with paper covers, published by Routledge. I thought I remembered hearing his name, but had never seen any of his works. His face was intelligent, dark, pleasing, and not at all John-Bullish. He said that he had been employed in the Customs in Ireland, and was now going to London to live by literature,-- to be connected with some newspaper, I imagine. He had been in London before, and was acquainted with some of the principal literary people,-- among others, Tennyson and Carlyle. He seemed to have been on rather intimate terms with Tennyson. We talked awhile in my dingy and dusky Consulate, and he then took leave. His manners are good, and he appears to possess independence of mind. Yesterday I saw a British regiment march down to George's Pier, to embark in the Niagara for Malta. The troops had nothing very remarkable about them; but the thousands of ragged and squalid wretches, who thronged the pier and streets to gaze on them, were what I had not seen before in such masses. This was the first populace I have beheld; for even the Irish, on the other side of the water, acquire a respectability of aspect. John Bull is going with his whole heart into the Turkish war. He is very foolish. Whatever the Czar may propose to himself, it is for the interest of democracy that he should not be easily put down. The regiment, on its way to embark, carried the Queen's colors, and, side by side with them, the banner of the 28th,--yellow, with the names of the Peninsular and other battles in which it had been engaged inscribed on it in a double column. It is a very distinguished regiment; and Mr. Henry Bright mentioned as one of its distinctions, that Washington had formerly been an officer in it. I never heard of this. February 27th.--We walked to Woodside in the pleasant forenoon, and thence crossed to Liverpool. On our way to Woodside, we saw the remains of the old Birkenhead Priory, built of the common red freestone, much time-worn, with ivy creeping over it, and birds evidently at hone in its old crevices. These ruins are pretty extensive, and seem to be the remains of a quadrangle. A handsome modern church, likewise of the same red freestone, has been built on part of the site occupied by the Priory; and the organ was sounding within, while we walked about the premises. On some of the ancient arches, there were grotesquely carved stone faces. The old walls have been sufficiently restored to make them secure, without destroying their venerable aspect. It is a very interesting spot; and so much the more so because a modern town, with its brick and stone houses, its flags and pavements, has sprung up about the ruins, which were new a thousand years ago. The station of the Chester railway is within a hundred yards. Formerly the monks of this Priory kept the only ferry that then existed on the Mersey. At a dinner at Mr. Bramley Moore's a little while ago, we had a prairie-hen from the West of America. It was a very delicate bird, and a gentleman carved it most skilfully to a dozen guests, and had still a second slice to offer to them. Aboard the ferry-boat yesterday, there was a laboring man eating oysters. He took them one by one from his pocket in interminable succession, opened them with his jack-knife, swallowed each one, threw the shell overboard, and then sought for another. Having concluded his meal, he took out a clay tobacco-pipe, filled it, lighted it with a match, and smoked it,--all this, while the other passengers were looking at him, and with a perfect coolness and independence, such as no single man can ever feel in America. Here a man does not seem to consider what other people will think of his conduct, but only whether it suits his own convenience to do so and so. It may be the better way. A French military man, a veteran of all Napoleon's wars, is now living, with a false leg and arm, both movable by springs, false teeth, a false eye, a silver nose with a flesh-colored covering, and a silver plate replacing part of the skull. He has the cross of the Legion of Honor. March 18th.--On Saturday I went with Mr. B---- to the Dingle, a pleasant domain on the banks of the Mersey almost opposite to Rock Ferry. Walking home, we looked into Mr. Thorn's Unitarian Chapel, Mr. B----'s family's place of worship. There is a little graveyard connected with the chapel, a most uninviting and unpicturesque square of ground, perhaps thirty or forty yards across, in the midst of back fronts of city buildings. About half the space was occupied by flat tombstones, level with the ground, the remainder being yet vacant. Nevertheless, there were perhaps more names of men generally known to the world on these few tombstones than in any other churchyard in Liverpool,--Roscoe, Blanco White, and the Rev. William Enfield, whose name has a classical sound in my ears, because, when a little boy, I used to read his "Speaker" at school. In the vestry of the chapel there were many books, chiefly old theological works, in ancient print and binding, much mildewed and injured by the damp. The body of the chapel is neat, but plain, and, being not very large, has a kind of social and family aspect, as if the clergyman and his people must needs have intimate relations among themselves. The Unitarian sect in Liverpool have, as a body, great wealth and respectability. Yesterday I walked with my wife and children to the brow of a hill, overlooking Birkenhead and Tranmere, and commanding a fine view of the river, and Liverpool beyond. All round about new and neat residences for city people are springing up, with fine names,--Eldon Terrace, Rose Cottage, Belvoir Villa, etc., etc., with little patches of ornamented garden or lawn in front, and heaps of curious rock-work, with which the English are ridiculously fond of adorning their front yards. I rather think the middling classes--meaning shopkeepers, and other respectabilities of that level--are better lodged here than in America; and, what I did not expect, the houses are a great deal newer than in our new country! Of course, this can only be the case in places circumstanced like Liverpool and its suburbs. But, scattered among these modern villas, there are old stone cottages of the rudest structure, and doubtless hundreds of years old, with thatched roofs, into which the grass has rooted itself, and now looks verdant. These cottages are in themselves as ugly as possible, resembling a large kind of pigsty; but often, by dint of the verdure on their thatch and the shrubbery clustering about them, they look picturesque. The old-fashioned flowers in the gardens of New England--blue-bells, crocuses, primroses, foxglove, and many others--appear to be wild flowers here on English soil. There is something very touching and pretty in this fact, that the Puritans should have carried their field and hedge flowers, and nurtured theme in their gardens, until, to us, they seem entirely the product of cultivation. March 16th.--Yesterday, at the coroner's court, attending the inquest on a black sailor who died on board an American vessel, after her arrival at this port. The court-room is capable of accommodating perhaps fifty people, dingy, with a pyramidal skylight above, and a single window on one side, opening into a gloomy back court. A private room, also lighted with a pyramidal skylight, is behind the court-room, into which I was asked, and found the coroner, a gray-headed, grave, intelligent, broad, red-faced man, with an air of some authority, well mannered and dignified, but not exactly a gentleman,--dressed in a blue coat, with a black cravat, showing a shirt-collar above it. Considering how many and what a variety of cases of the ugliest death are constantly coming before him, he was much more cheerful than could be expected, and had a kind of formality and orderliness which I suppose balances the exceptionalities with which he has to deal. In the private room with him was likewise the surgeon, who professionally attends the court. We chatted about suicide and such matters,--the surgeon, the coroner, and I,--until the American case was ready, when we adjourned to the court-room, and the coroner began the examination. The American captain was a rude, uncouth Down-Easter, about thirty years old, and sat on a bench, doubled and bent into an indescribable attitude, out of which he occasionally straightened himself, all the time toying with a ruler, or some such article. The case was one of no interest; the man had been frost-bitten, and died from natural causes, so that no censure was deserved or passed upon the captain. The jury, who had been examining the body, were at first inclined to think that the man had not been frostbitten, but that his feet had been immersed in boiling water; but, on explanation by the surgeon, readily yielded their opinion, and gave the verdict which the coroner put into their mouths, exculpating the captain from all blame. In fact, it is utterly impossible that a jury of chance individuals should not be entirely governed by the judgment of so experienced and weighty a man as the coroner. In the court-room were two or three police officers in uniform, and some other officials, a very few idle spectators, and a few witnesses waiting to be examined. And while the case was going forward, a poor-looking woman came in, and I heard her, in an undertone, telling an attendant of a death that had just occurred. The attendant received the communication in a very quiet and matter-of-course way, said that it should be attended to, and the woman retired. THE DIARY OF A CORONER would be a work likely to meet with large popular acceptance. A dark passageway, only a few yards in extent, leads from the liveliest street in Liverpool to this coroner's court-room, where all the discussion is about murder and suicide. It seems, that, after a verdict of suicide, the corpse can only be buried at midnight, without religious rites. "His lines are cast in pleasant places,"--applied to a successful angler. A woman's chastity consists, like an onion, of a series of coats. You may strip off the outer ones without doing much mischief, perhaps none at all; but you keep taking off one after another, in expectation of coming to the inner nucleus, including the whole value of the matter. It proves however, that there is no such nucleus, and that chastity is diffused through the whole series of coats, is lessened with the removal of each, and vanishes with the final one, which you supposed would introduce you to the hidden pearl. March 23d.--Mr. B. and I took a cab Saturday afternoon, and drove out of the city in the direction of Knowsley. On our way we saw many gentlemen's or rich people's places, some of them dignified with the title of Halls,--with lodges at their gates, and standing considerably removed from the road. The greater part of them were built of brick,--a material with which I have not been accustomed to associate ideas of grandeur; but it was much in use here in Lancashire, in the Elizabethan age,--more, I think, than now. These suburban residences, however, are of much later date than Elizabeth's time. Among other places, Mr. B. called at the Hazels, the residence of Sir Thomas Birch, a kinsman of his. It is a large brick mansion, and has old trees and shrubbery about it, the latter very fine and verdant,--hazels, holly, rhododendron, etc. Mr. B. went in, and shortly afterwards Sir Thomas Birch came out,--a very frank and hospitable gentleman,--and pressed me to enter and take luncheon, which latter hospitality I declined. His house is in very nice order. He had a good many pictures, and, amongst them, a small portrait of his mother, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, when a youth. It is unfinished, and when the painter was at the height of his fame, he was asked to finish it. But Lawrence, after looking at the picture, refused to retouch it, saying that there was a merit in this early sketch which he could no longer attain. It was really a very beautiful picture of a lovely woman. Sir Thomas Birch proposed to go with us and get us admittance into Knowsley Park, where we could not possibly find entrance without his aid. So we went to the stables, where the old groom had already shown hospitality to our cabman, by giving his horse some provender, and himself some beer. There seemed to be a kindly and familiar sort of intercourse between the old servant and the Baronet, each of them, I presume, looking on their connection as indissoluble. The gate-warden of Knowsley Park was an old woman, who readily gave us admittance at Sir Thomas Birch's request. The family of the Earl of Derby is not now at the Park. It was a very bad time of year to see it; the trees just showing the earliest symptoms of vitality, while whole acres of ground were covered with large, dry, brown ferns,--which I suppose are very beautiful when green. Two or three hares scampered out of these ferns, and sat on their hind legs looking about them, as we drove by. A sheet of water had been drawn off, in order to deepen its bed. The oaks did not seem to me so magnificent as they should be in an ancient noble property like this. A century does not accomplish so much for a tree, in this slow region, as it does in ours. I think, however, that they were more individual and picturesque, with more character in their contorted trunks; therein somewhat resembling apple-trees. Our forest-trees have a great sameness of character, like our people,-- because one and the other grow too closely. In one part of the Park we came to a small tower, for what purpose I know not, unless as an observatory; and near it was a marble statue on a high pedestal. The statue had been long exposed to the weather, and was overgrown and ingrained with moss and lichens, so that its classic beauty was in some sort gothicized. A half-mile or so from this point, we saw the mansion of Knowsley, in the midst of a very fine prospect, with a tolerably high ridge of hills in the distance. The house itself is exceedingly vast, a front and two wings, with suites of rooms, I suppose, interminable. The oldest part, Sir Thomas Birch told us, is a tower of the time of Henry VII. Nevertheless, the effect is not overwhelming, because the edifice looks low in proportion to its great extent over the ground; and besides, a good deal of it is built of brick, with white window-frames, so that, looking at separate parts, I might think them American structures, without the smart addition of green Venetian blinds, so universal with us. Portions, however, were built of red freestone; and if I had looked at it longer, no doubt I should have admired it more. We merely drove round it from the rear to the front. It stands in my memory rather like a college or a hospital, than as the ancestral residence of a great English noble. We left the Park in another direction, and passed through a part of Lord Sefton's property, by a private road. By the by, we saw half a dozen policemen, in their blue coats and embroidered collars, after entering Knowsley Park; but the Earl's own servants would probably have supplied their place, had the family been at home. The mansion of Croxteth, the seat of Lord Sefton, stands near the public road, and, though large, looked of rather narrow compass after Knowsley. The rooks were talking together very loquaciously in the high tops of the trees near Sir Thomas Birch's house, it being now their building-time. It was a very pleasant sound, the noise being comfortably softened by the remote height. Sir Thomas said that more than half a century ago the rooks used to inhabit another grove of lofty trees, close in front of the house; but being noisy, and not altogether cleanly in their habits, the ladies of the family grew weary of them and wished to remove them. Accordingly, the colony was driven away, and made their present settlement in a grove behind the house. Ever since that time not a rook has built in the ancient grove; every year, however, one or another pair of young rooks attempt to build among the deserted tree-tops, but the old rooks tear the new nest to pieces as often as it is put together. Thus, either the memory of aged individual rooks or an authenticated tradition in their society has preserved the idea that the old grove is forbidden and inauspicious to them. A soil of General Arnold, named William Fitch Arnold, and born in 1794, now possesses the estate of Little Messenden Abbey, Bucks County, and is a magistrate for that county. He was formerly Captain of the 19th Lancers. He has now two sons and four daughters. The other three sons of General Arnold, all older than this one, and all military men, do not appear to have left children; but a daughter married to Colonel Phipps, of the Mulgrave family, has a son and two daughters. I question whether any of our true-hearted Revolutionary heroes have left a more prosperous progeny than this arch-traitor. I should like to know their feelings with respect to their ancestor. April 3d.--I walked with J-----, two days ago, to Eastham, a village on the road to Chester, and five or six miles from Rock Ferry. On our way we passed through a village, in the centre of which was a small stone pillar, standing on a pedestal of several steps, on which children were sitting and playing. I take it to have been an old Catholic cross; at least, I know not what else it is. It seemed very ancient. Eastham is the finest old English village I have seen, with many antique houses, and with altogether a rural and picturesque aspect, unlike anything in America, and yet possessing a familiar look, as if it were something I had dreamed about. There were thatched stone cottages intermixed with houses of a better kind, and likewise a gateway and gravelled walk, that perhaps gave admittance to the Squire's mansion. It was not merely one long, wide street, as in most New England villages, but there were several crooked ways, gathering the whole settlement into a pretty small compass. In the midst of it stood a venerable church of the common red freestone, with a most reverend air, considerably smaller than that of Bebbington, but more beautiful, and looking quite as old. There was ivy on its spire and elsewhere. It looked very quiet and peaceful, and as if it had received the people into its low arched door every Sabbath for many centuries. There were many tombstones about it, some level with the ground, some raised on blocks of stone, on low pillars, moss-grown and weather-worn; and probably these were but the successors of other stones that had quite crumbled away, or been buried by the accumulation of dead men's dust above them. In the centre of the churchyard stood an old yew-tree, with immense trunk, which was all decayed within, so that it is a wonder how the tree retains any life,--which, nevertheless, it does. It was called "the old Yew of Eastham," six hundred years ago! After passing through the churchyard, we saw the village inn on the other side. The doors were fastened, but a girl peeped out of the window at us, and let us in, ushering us into a very neat parlor. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, a straw carpet on the floor, a mahogany sideboard, and a mahogany table in the middle of the room; and, on the walls, the portraits of mine host (no doubt) and of his wife and daughters,--a very nice parlor, and looking like what I might have found in a country tavern at home, only this was an ancient house, and there is nothing at home like the glimpse, from the window, of the church, and its red, ivy-grown tower. I ordered some lunch, being waited on by the girl, who was very neat, intelligent, and comely,--and more respectful than a New England maid. As we came out of the inn, some village urchins left their play, and ran to me begging, calling me "Master!" They turned at once from play to begging, and, as I gave them nothing, they turned to their play again. This village is too far from Liverpool to have been much injured as yet by the novelty of cockney residences, which have grown up almost everywhere else, so far as I have visited. About a mile from it, however, is the landing-place of a steamer (which runs regularly, except in the winter months), where a large, new hotel is built. The grounds about it are extensive and well wooded. We got some biscuits at the hotel, and I gave the waiter (a splendid gentleman in black) four halfpence, being the surplus of a shilling. He bowed and thanked me very humbly. An American does not easily bring his mind to the small measure of English liberality to servants; if anything is to be given, we are ashamed not to give more, especially to clerical-looking persons, in black suits and white neckcloths. I stood on the Exchange at noon, to-day, to see the 18th Regiment, the Connaught Rangers, marching down to embark for the East. They were a body of young, healthy, and cheerful-looking men, and looked greatly better than the dirty crowd that thronged to gaze at them. The royal banner of England, quartering the lion, the leopard, and the harp, waved on the town-house, and looked gorgeous and venerable. Here and there a woman exchanged greetings with an individual soldier, as he marched along, and gentlemen shook hands with officers with whom they happened to be acquainted. Being a stranger in the land, it seemed as if I could see the future in the present better than if I had been an Englishman; so I questioned with myself how many of these ruddy-cheeked young fellows, marching so stoutly away, would ever tread English ground again. The populace did not evince any enthusiasm, yet there could not possibly be a war to which the country could assent more fully than to this. I somewhat doubt whether the English populace really feels a vital interest in the nation. Some years ago, a piece of rude marble sculpture, representing St. George and the Dragon, was found over the fireplace of a cottage near Rock Ferry, on the road to Chester. It was plastered over with pipe-clay, and its existence was unknown to the cottagers, until a lady noticed the projection and asked what it was. It was supposed to have originally adorned the walls of the Priory at Birkenhead. It measured fourteen and a half by nine inches, in which space were the heads of a king and queen, with uplifted hands, in prayer; their daughters also in prayer, and looking very grim; a lamb, the slain dragon, and St. George, proudly prancing on what looks like a donkey, brandishing a sword over his head. The following is a legend inscribed on the inner margin of a curious old box:-- "From Birkenhead into Hilbree A squirrel might leap from tree to tree." I do not know where Hilbree is; but all round Birkenhead a squirrel would scarcely find a single tree to climb upon. All is pavement and brick buildings now. Good Friday.--The English and Irish think it good to plant on this day, because it was the day when our Saviour's body was laid in the grave. Seeds, therefore, are certain to rise again. At dinner the other day, Mrs. ------ mentioned the origin of Franklin's adoption of the customary civil dress, when going to court as a diplomatist. It was simply that his tailor had disappointed him of his court suit, and he wore his plain one with great reluctance, because he had no other. Afterwards, gaining great success and praise by his mishap, he continued to wear it from policy. The grandmother of Mrs. ------ died fifty years ago, at the age of twenty-eight. She had great personal charms, and among them a head of beautiful chestnut hair. After her burial in the family tomb, the coffin of one of her children was laid on her own, so that the lid seems to have decayed, or been broken from this cause; at any rate, this was the case when the tomb was opened about a year ago. The grandmother's coffin was then found to be filled with beautiful, glossy, living chestnut ringlets, into which her whole substance seems to have been transformed, for there was nothing else but these shining curls, the growth of half a century in the tomb. An old man, with a ringlet of his youthful mistress treasured on his heart, might be supposed to witness this wonderful thing. Madam ------, who is now at my house, and very infirm, though not old, was once carried to the grave, and on the point of being buried. It was in Barbary, where her husband was Consul-General. He was greatly attached to her, and told the pall-bearers at the grave that he must see her once more. When her face was uncovered, he thought he discerned signs of life, and felt a warmth. Finally she revived, and for many years afterwards supposed the funeral procession to have been a dream; she having been partially conscious throughout, and having felt the wind blowing on her, and lifting the shroud from her feet,--for I presume she was to be buried in Oriental style, without a coffin. Long after, in London, when she was speaking of this dream, her husband told her the facts, and she fainted away. Whenever it is now mentioned, her face turns white. Mr. ------, her son, was born on shipboard, on the coast of Spain, and claims four nationalities,--those of Spain, England, Ireland, and the United States; his father being Irish, his mother a native of England, himself a naturalized citizen of the United States, and his father having registered his birth and baptism in a Catholic church of Gibraltar, which gives him Spanish privileges. He has hereditary claims to a Spanish countship. His infancy was spent in Barbary, and his lips first lisped in Arabic. There has been an unsettled and wandering character in his whole life. The grandfather of Madam ------, who was a British officer, once horsewhipped Paul Jones,--Jones being a poltroon. How singular it is that the personal courage of famous warriors should be so often called in question! May 20th.--I went yesterday to a hospital to take the oath of a mate to a protest. He had met with a severe accident by a fall on shipboard. The hospital is a large edifice of red freestone, with wide, airy passages, resounding with footsteps passing through them. A porter was waiting in the vestibule. Mr. Wilding and myself were shown to the parlor, in the first instance,--a neat, plainly furnished room, with newspapers and pamphlets lying on the table and sofas. Soon the surgeon of the house came,--a brisk, alacritous, civil, cheerful young man, by whom we were shown to the apartment where the mate was lying. As we went through the principal passage, a man was borne along in a chair looking very pale, rather wild, and altogether as if he had just been through great tribulation, and hardly knew as yet whereabouts he was. I noticed that his left arm was but a stump, and seemed done up in red baize,--at all events it was of a scarlet line. The surgeon shook his right hand cheerily, and he was carried on. This was a patient who had just had his arm cut off. He had been a rough person apparently, but now there was a kind of tenderness about him, through pain and helplessness. In the chamber where the mate lay, there were seven beds, all of them occupied by persons who had met with accidents. In the centre of the room was a stationary pine table, about the length of a man, intended, I suppose, to stretch patients upon for necessary operations. The furniture of the beds was plain and homely. I thought that the faces of the patients all looked remarkably intelligent, though they were evidently men of the lower classes. Suffering had educated them morally and intellectually. They gazed curiously at Mr. Wilding and me, but nobody said a word. In the bed next to the mate lay a little boy with a broken thigh. The surgeon observed that children generally did well with accidents; and this boy certainly looked very bright and cheerful. There was nothing particularly interesting about the mate. After finishing our business, the surgeon showed us into another room of the surgical ward, likewise devoted to cases of accident and injury. All the beds were occupied, and in two of them lay two American sailors who had recently been stabbed. They had been severely hurt, but were doing very well. The surgeon thought that it was a good arrangement to have several cases together, and that the patients kept up one another's spirits,--being often merry together. Smiles and laughter may operate favorably enough from bed to bed; but dying groans, I should think, must be somewhat of a discouragement. Nevertheless, the previous habits and modes of life of such people as compose the more numerous class of patients in a hospital must be considered before deciding this matter. It is very possible that their misery likes such bedfellows as it here finds. As we were taking our leave, the surgeon asked us if we should not like to see the operating-room; and before we could reply he threw open the door, and behold, there was a roll of linen "garments rolled in blood,"-- and a bloody fragment of a human arm! The surgeon glanced at me, and smiled kindly, but as if pitying my discomposure. Gervase Elwes, son of Sir Gervase Elwes, Baronet, of Stoke, Suffolk, married Isabella, daughter of Sir Thomas Hervey, Knight, and sister of the first Earl of Bristol. This Gervase died before his father, but left a son, Henry, who succeeded to the Baronetcy. Sir Henry died without issue, and was succeeded by his sister's son, John Maggott Twining, who assumed the name of Elwes. He was the famous miser, and must have had Hawthorne blood in him, through his grandfather, Gervase, whose mother was a Hawthorne. It was to this Gervase that my ancestor, William Hawthorne, devised some land in Massachusetts, "if he would come over, and enjoy it." My ancestor calls him his nephew. June 12th.--Barry Cornwall, Mr. Procter, called on me a week or more ago, but I happened not to be in the office. Saturday last he called again, and as I had crossed to Rock Park he followed me thither. A plain, middle-sized, English-looking gentleman, elderly, with short, white hair, and particularly quiet in his manners. He talks in a somewhat low tone without emphasis, scarcely distinct. His head has a good outline, and would look well in marble. I liked him very well. He talked unaffectedly, showing an author's regard to his reputation, and was evidently pleased to hear of his American celebrity. He said that in his younger days he was a scientific pugilist, and once took a journey to have a sparring encounter with the Game-Chicken. Certainly, no one would have looked for a pugilist in this subdued old gentleman. He is now Commissioner of Lunacy, and makes periodical circuits through the country, attending to the business of his office. He is slightly deaf, and this may be the cause of his unaccented utterance,--owing to his not being able to regulate his voice exactly by his own ear. He is a good man, and much better expressed by his real name, Procter, than by his poetical one, Barry Cornwall. . . . He took my hand in both of his at parting. . . . June 17th.--At eleven, at this season (and how much longer I know not), there is still a twilight. If we could only have such dry, deliciously warm evenings as we used to have in our own land, what enjoyment there might be in these interminable twilights! But here we close the window-shutters, and make ourselves cosey by a coal-fire. All three of the children, and, I think, my wife and myself, are going through the hooping-cough. The east-wind of this season and region is most horrible. There have been no really warm days; for though the sunshine is sometimes hot, there is never any diffused heat throughout the air. On passing from the sunshine into the shade, we immediately feel too cool. June 20th.--The vagabond musicians about town are very numerous. On board the steam ferry-boats, I have heretofore spoken of them. They infest them from May to November, for very little gain apparently. A shilling a day per man must be the utmost of their emolument. It is rather sad to see somewhat respectable old men engaged in this way, with two or three younger associates. Their instruments look much the worse for wear, and even my unmusical ear can distinguish more discord than harmony. They appear to be a very quiet and harmless people. Sometimes there is a woman playing on a fiddle, while her husband blows a wind instrument. In the streets it is not unusual to find a band of half a dozen performers, who, without any provocation or reason whatever, sound their brazen instruments till the houses re-echo. Sometimes one passes a man who stands whistling a tune most unweariably, though I never saw anybody give him anything. The ballad-singers are the strangest, from the total lack of any music in their cracked voices. Sometimes you see a space cleared in the street, and a foreigner playing, while a girl-- weather-beaten, tanned, and wholly uncomely in face and shabby in attire dances ballets. The common people look on, and never criticise or treat any of these poor devils unkindly or uncivilly; but I do not observe that they give them anything. A crowd--or, at all events, a moderate-sized group--is much more easily drawn together here than with us. The people have a good deal of idle and momentary curiosity, and are always ready to stop when another person has stopped, so as to see what has attracted his attention. I hardly ever pause to look at a shop-window, without being immediately incommoded by boys and men, who stop likewise, and would forthwith throng the pavement if I did not move on. June 30th.--If it is not known how and when a man dies, it makes a ghost of him for many years thereafter, perhaps for centuries. King Arthur is an example; also the Emperor Frederic, and other famous men, who were thought to be alive ages after their disappearance. So with private individuals. I had an uncle John, who went a voyage to sea about the beginning of the War of 1812, and has never returned to this hour. But as long as his mother lived, as many as twenty years, she never gave up the hope of his return, and was constantly hearing stories of persons whose description answered to his. Some people actually affirmed that they had seen him in various parts of the world. Thus, so far as her belief was concerned, he still walked the earth. And even to this day I never see his name, which is no very uncommon one, without thinking that this may be the lost uncle. Thus, too, the French Dauphin still exists, or a kind of ghost of him; the three Tells, too, in the cavern of Uri. July 6th.--Mr. Cecil, the other day, was saying that England could produce as fine peaches as any other country. I asked what was the particular excellence of a peach, and he answered, "Its cooling and refreshing quality, like that of a melon!" Just think of this idea of the richest, most luscious, of all fruits! But the untravelled Englishman has no more idea of what fruit is than of what sunshine is; he thinks he has tasted the first and felt the last, but they are both alike watery. I heard a lady in Lord Street talking about the "broiling sun," when I was almost in a shiver. They keep up their animal heat by means of wine and ale, else they could not bear this climate. July 19th.--A week ago I made a little tour in North Wales with Mr. Bright. We left Birkenhead by railway for Chester at two o'clock; thence for Bangor; thence by carriage over the Menai bridge to Beaumaris. At Beaumaris, a fine old castle,--quite coming up to my idea of what an old castle should be. A gray, ivy-hung exterior wall, with large round towers at intervals; within this another wall, the place of the portcullis between; and again, within the second wall the castle itself, with a spacious green court-yard in front. The outer wall is so thick that a passage runs in it all round the castle, which covers a space of three acres. This passage gives access to a chapel, still very perfect, and to various apartments in the towers,--all exceedingly dismal, and giving very unpleasant impressions of the way in which the garrison of the castle lived. The main castle is entirely roofless, but the hall and other rooms are pointed out by the guide, and the whole is tapestried with abundant ivy, so that my impression is of gray walls, with here and there a vast green curtain; a carpet of green over the floors of halls and apartments; and festoons around all the outer battlement, with an uneven and rather perilous foot-path running along the top. There is a fine vista through the castle itself, and the two gateways of the two encompassing walls. The passage within the wall is very rude, both underfoot and on each side, with various ascents and descents of rough steps,--sometimes so low that your head is in danger; and dark, except where a little light comes through a loophole or window in the thickness of the wall. In front of the castle a tennis-court was fitted up, by laying a smooth pavement on the ground, and casing the walls with tin or zinc, if I recollect aright. All this was open to the sky; and when we were there, some young men of the town were playing at the game. There are but very few of these tennis-courts in England; and this old castle was a very strange place for one. The castle is the property of Sir Richard Bulkely, whose seat is in the vicinity, and who owns a great part of the island of Anglesea, on which Beaumaris lies. The hotel where we stopped was the Bulkely Arms, and Sir Richard has a kind of feudal influence in the town. In the morning we walked along a delightful road, bordering on the Menai Straits, to Bangor Ferry. It was really a very pleasant road, overhung by a growth of young wood, exceedingly green and fresh. English trees are green all about their stems, owing to the creeping plants that overrun them. There were some flowers in the hedges, such as we cultivate in gardens. At the ferry, there was a whitewashed cottage; a woman or two, some children, and a fisherman-like personage, walking to and fro before the door. The scenery of the strait is very beautiful and picturesque, and directly opposite to us lay Bangor,--the strait being here almost a mile across. An American ship from Boston lay in the middle of it. The ferry-boat was just putting off for the Bangor side, and, by the aid of a sail, soon neared the shore. At Bangor we went to a handsome hotel, and hired a carriage and two horses for some Welsh place, the name of which I forget; neither can I remember a single name of the places through which we posted that day, nor could I spell them if I heard them pronounced, nor pronounce them if I saw them spelt. It was a circuit of about forty miles, bringing us to Conway at last. I remember a great slate-quarry; and also that many of the cottages, in the first part of our drive, were built of blocks of slate. The mountains were very bold, thrusting themselves up abruptly in peaks,--not of the dumpling formation, which is somewhat too prevalent among the New England mountains. At one point we saw Snowdon, with its bifold summit. We also visited the smaller waterfall (this is a translation of an unpronounceable Welsh name), which is the largest in Wales. It was a very beautiful rapid, and the guide-book considers it equal in sublimity to Niagara. Likewise there were one or two lakes which the guide-book greatly admired, but which to me, who remembered a hundred sheets of blue water in New England, seemed nothing more than sullen and dreary puddles, with bare banks, and wholly destitute of beauty. I think they were nowhere more than a hundred yards across. But the hills were certainly very good, and, though generally bare of trees, their outlines thereby were rendered the stronger and more striking. Many of the Welsh women, particularly the older ones, wear black beaver hats, high-crowned, and almost precisely like men's. It makes them look ugly and witchlike. Welsh is still the prevalent language, and the only one spoken by a great many of the inhabitants. I have had Welsh people in my office, on official business, with whom I could not communicate except through an interpreter. At some unutterable village we went into a little church, where we saw an old stone image of a warrior, lying on his back, with his hands clasped. It was the natural son (if I remember rightly) of David, Prince of Wales, and was doubtless the better part of a thousand years old. There was likewise a stone coffin of still greater age; some person of rank and renown had mouldered to dust within it, but it was now open and empty. Also, there were monumental brasses on the walls, engraved with portraits of a gentleman and lady in the costumes of Elizabeth's time. Also, on one of the pews, a brass record of some persons who slept in the vault beneath; so that, every Sunday, the survivors and descendants kneel and worship directly over their dead ancestors. In the churchyard, on a flat tombstone, there was the representation of a harp. I supposed that it must be the resting-place of a bard; but the inscription was in memory of a merchant, and a skilful manufacturer of harps. This was a very delightful town. We saw a great many things which it is now too late to describe, the sharpness of the first impression being gone; but I think I can produce something of the sentiment of it hereafter. We arrived at Conway late in the afternoon, to take the rail for Chester. I must see Conway, with its old gray wall and its unrivalled castle, again. It was better than Beaumaris, and I never saw anything more picturesque than the prospect from the castle-wall towards the sea. We reached Chester at 10 P. M. The next morning, Mr. Bright left for Liverpool before I was awake. I visited the Cathedral, where the organ was sounding, sauntered through the Rows, bought some playthings for the children, and left for home soon after twelve. Liverpool, August 8th.--Visiting the Zoological Gardens the other day with J-----, it occurred to me what a fantastic kind of life a person connected with them might be depicted as leading,--a child, for instance. The grounds are very extensive, and include arrangements for all kinds of exhibitions calculated to attract the idle people of a great city. In one enclosure is a bear, who climbs a pole to get cake and gingerbread from the spectators. Elsewhere, a circular building, with compartments for lions, wolves, and tigers. In another part of the garden is a colony of monkeys, the skeleton of an elephant, birds of all kinds. Swans and various rare water-fowl were swimming on a piece of water, which was green, by the by, and when the fowls dived they stirred up black mud. A stork was parading along the margin, with melancholy strides of its long legs, and came slowly towards us, as if for companionship. In one apartment was an obstreperously noisy society of parrots and macaws, most gorgeous and diversified of hue. These different colonies of birds and beasts were scattered about in various parts of the grounds, so that you came upon them unexpectedly. Also, there were archery and shooting-grounds, and a sewing. A theatre, also, at which a rehearsal was going on,--we standing at one of the doors, and looking in towards the dusky stage where the company, in their ordinary dresses, were rehearsing something that had a good deal of dance and action in it. In the open air there was an arrangement of painted scenery representing a wide expanse of mountains, with a city at their feet, and before it the sea, with actual water, and large vessels upon it, the vessels having only the side that would be presented to the spectator. But the scenery was so good that at a first casual glance I almost mistook it for reality. There was a refreshment-room, with drinks and cakes and pastry, but, so far as I saw, no substantial victual. About in the centre of the garden there was an actual, homely-looking, small dwelling-house, where perhaps the overlookers of the place live. Now this might be wrought, in an imaginative description, into a pleasant sort of a fool's paradise, where all sorts of unreal delights should cluster round some suitable personage; and it would relieve, in a very odd and effective way, the stern realities of life on the outside of the garden-walls. I saw a little girl, simply dressed, who seemed to have her habitat within the grounds. There was also a daguerreotypist, with his wife and family, carrying on his business in a shanty, and perhaps having his home in its inner room. He seemed to be an honest, intelligent, pleasant young man, and his wife a pleasant woman; and I had J-----'s daguerreotype taken for three shillings, in a little gilded frame. In the description of the garden, the velvet turf, of a charming verdure, and the shrubbery and shadowy walks and large trees, and the slopes and inequalities of ground, must not be forgotten. In one place there was a maze and labyrinth, where a person might wander a long while in the vain endeavor to get out, although all the time looking at the exterior garden, over the low hedges that border the walks of the maze. And this is like the inappreciable difficulties that often beset us in life. I will see it again before long, and get some additional record of it. August 10th.--We went to the Isle of Man, a few weeks ago, where S----- and the children spent a fortnight. I spent two Sundays with them. I never saw anything prettier than the little church of Kirk Madden there. It stands in a perfect seclusion of shadowy trees,--a plain little church, that would not be at all remarkable in another situation, but is most picturesque in its solitude and bowery environment. The churchyard is quite full and overflowing with graves, and extends down the gentle slope of a hill, with a dark mass of shadow above it. Some of the tombstones are flat on the ground, some erect, or laid horizontally on low pillars or masonry. There were no very old dates on any of these stones; for the climate soon effaces inscriptions, and makes a stone of fifty years look as old as one of five hundred,--unless it be slate, or something harder than the usual red freestone. There was an old Runic monument, however, near the centre of the churchyard, that had some strange sculpture on it, and an inscription still legible by persons learned in such matters. Against the tower of the church, too, there is a circular stone, with carving on it, said to be of immemorial antiquity. There is likewise a tall marble monument, as much as fifty feet high, erected some years ago to the memory of one of the Athol family by his brother-officers of a local regiment of which he was colonel. At one of the side-entrances of the church, and forming the threshold within the thickness of the wall, so that the feet of all who enter must tread on it, is a flat tombstone of somebody who felt himself a sinner, no doubt, and desired to be thus trampled upon. The stone is much worn. The structure is extremely plain inside and very small. On the walls, over the pews, are several monumental sculptures,--a quite elaborate one to a Colonel Murray, of the Coldstreamn Guards; his military profession being designated by banners and swords in marble.--Another was to a farmer. On one side of the church-tower there was a little penthouse, or lean-to,--merely a stone roof, about three or four feet high, and supported by a single pillar, beneath which was once deposited the bier. I have let too much time pass before attempting to record my impressions of the Isle of Man; but, as regards this church, no description can come up to its quiet beauty, its seclusion, and its every requisite for an English country church. Last Sunday I went to Eastham, and, entering the churchyard, sat down on a tombstone under the yew-tree which has been known for centuries as the Great Tree of Eastham. Some of the village people were sitting on the graves near the door; and an old woman came towards me, and said, in a low, kindly, admonishing tone, that I must not let the sexton see me, because he would not allow any one to be there in sacrament-time. I inquired why she and her companions were there, and she said they were waiting for the sacrament. So I thanked her, gave her a sixpence, and departed. Close under the eaves, I saw two upright stones, in memory of two old servants of the Stanley family,--one over ninety, and the other over eighty years of age. August 12th.--J----- and I went to Birkenhead Park yesterday. There is a large ornamental gateway to the Park, and the grounds within are neatly laid out, with borders of shrubbery. There is a sheet of water, with swans and other aquatic fowl, which swim about, and are fed with dainties by the visitors. Nothing can be more beautiful than a swan. It is the ideal of a goose,--a goose beautified and beatified. There were not a great many visitors, but some children were dancing on the green, and a few lover-like people straying about. I think the English behave better than the Americans at similar places. There was a camera-obscure, very wretchedly indistinct. At the refreshment-room were ginger-beer and British wines. August 21st.--I was in the Crown Court on Saturday, sitting in the sheriff's seat. The judge was Baron ------, an old gentleman of sixty, with very large, long features. His wig helped him to look like some strange kind of animal,--very queer, but yet with a sagacious, and, on the whole, beneficent aspect. During the session some mischievous young barrister occupied himself with sketching the judge in pencil; and, being handed about, it found its way to me. It was very like and very laughable, but hardly caricatured. The judicial wig is an exceedingly odd affair; and as it covers both ears, it would seem intended to prevent his Lordship, and justice in his person, from hearing any of the case on either side, that thereby he may decide the better. It is like the old idea of blindfolding the statue of Justice. It seems to me there is less formality, less distance between the judge, jury, witnesses, and bar, in the English courts than in our own. The judge takes a very active part in the trial, constantly asking a question of the witness on the stand, making remarks on the conduct of the trial, putting in his word on all occasions, and allowing his own sense of the matter in hand to be pretty plainly seen; so that, before the trial is over, and long before his own charge is delivered, he must have exercised a very powerful influence over the minds of the jury. All this is done, not without dignity, yet in a familiar kind of way. It is a sort of paternal supervision of the whole matter, quite unlike the cold awfulness of an American judge. But all this may be owing partly to the personal characteristics of Baron ------. It appeared to me, however, that, from the closer relations of all parties, truth was likely to be arrived at and justice to be done. As an innocent man, I should not be afraid to be tried by Baron ------. EATON HALL. August 24th.--I went to Eaton Hall yesterday with my wife and Mr. G. P. Bradford, via Chester. On our way, at the latter place, we visited St. John's Church. It is built of the same red freestone as the cathedral, and looked exceedingly antique, and venerable; this kind of stone, from its softness, and its liability to be acted upon by the weather, being liable to an early decay. Nevertheless, I believe the church was built above a thousand years ago,--some parts of it, at least,--and the surface of the tower and walls is worn away and hollowed in shallow sweeps by the hand of Time. There were broken niches in several places, where statues had formerly stood. All, except two or three, had fallen or crumbled away, and those which remained were much damaged. The face and details of the figure were almost obliterated. There were many gravestones round the church, but none of them of any antiquity. Probably, as the names become indistinguishable on the older stones, the graves are dug over again, and filled with new occupants and covered with new stones, or perhaps with the old ones newly inscribed. Closely connected with the church was the clergyman's house, a comfortable-looking residence; and likewise in the churchyard, with tombstones all about it, even almost at the threshold, so that the doorstep itself might have been a tombstone, was another house, of respectable size and aspect. We surmised that this might be the sexton's dwelling, but it proved not to be so; and a woman, answering our knock, directed us to the place where he might be found. So Mr. Bradford and I went in search of him, leaving S----- seated on a tombstone. The sexton was a jolly-looking, ruddy-faced man, a mechanic of some sort, apparently, and he followed us to the churchyard with much alacrity. We found S----- standing at a gateway, which opened into the most ancient, and now quite ruinous, part of the church, the present edifice covering much less ground than it did some centuries ago. We went through this gateway, and found ourselves in an enclosure of venerable walls, open to the sky, with old Norman arches standing about, beneath the loftiest of which the sexton told us the high altar used to stand. Of course, there were weeds and ivy growing in the crevices, but not so abundantly as I have seen them elsewhere. The sexton pointed out a piece of a statue that had once stood in one of the niches, and which he himself, I think, had dug up from several feet below the earth; also, in a niche of the walls, high above our heads, he showed us an ancient wooden coffin, hewn out of a solid log of oak, the hollow being made rudely in the shape of a human figure. This too had been dug up, and nobody knew how old it was. While we looked at all this solemn old trumpery, the curate, quite a young man, stood at the back door of his house, elevated considerably above the ruins, with his young wife (I presume) and a friend or two, chatting cheerfully among themselves. It was pleasant to see them there. After examining the ruins, we went inside of the church, and found it a dim and dusky old place, quite paved over with tombstones, not an inch of space being left in the aisles or near the altar, or in any nook or corner, uncovered by a tombstone. There were also mural monuments and escutcheons, and close against the wall lay the mutilated statue of a Crusader, with his legs crossed, in the style which one has so often read about. The old fellow seemed to have been represented in chain armor; but he had been more battered and bruised since death than even during his pugnacious life, and his nose was almost knocked away. This figure had been dug up many years ago, and nobody knows whom it was meant to commemorate. The nave of the church is supported by two rows of Saxon pillars, not very lofty, but six feet six inches (so the sexton says) in diameter. They are covered with plaster, which was laid on ages ago, and is now so hard and smooth that I took the pillars to be really composed of solid shafts of gray stone. But, at one end of the church, the plaster had been removed from two of the pillars, in order to discover whether they were still sound enough to support the building; and they prove to be made of blocks of red freestone, just as sound as when it came from the quarry; for though this stone soon crumbles in the open air, it is as good as indestructible when sheltered from the weather. It looked very strange to see the fresh hue of these two pillars amidst the dingy antiquity of the rest of the structure. The body of the church is covered with pews, the wooden enclosures of which seemed of antique fashion. There were also modern stoves; but the sexton said it was very cold there, in spite of the stoves. It had, I must say, a disagreeable odor pervading it, in which the dead people of long ago had doubtless some share,--a musty odor, by no means amounting to a stench, but unpleasant, and, I should think, unwholesome. Old wood-work, and old stones, and antiquity of all kinds, moral and physical, go to make up this smell. I observed it in the cathedral, and Chester generally has it, especially under the Rows. After all, the necessary damp and lack of sunshine, in such a shadowy old church as this, have probably more to do with it than the dead people have; although I did think the odor was particularly strong over some of the tombstones. Not having shillings to give the sexton, we were forced to give him half a crown. The Church of St. John is outside of the city walls. Entering the East gate, we walked awhile under the Rows, bought our tickets for Eaton Hall and its gardens, and likewise some playthings for the children; for this old city of Chester seems to me to possess an unusual number of toy-shops. Finally we took a cab, and drove to the Hall, about four miles distant, nearly the whole of the way lying through the wooded Park. There are many sorts of trees, making up a wilderness, which looked not unlike the woods of our own Concord, only less wild. The English oak is not a handsome tree, being short and sturdy, with a round, thick mass of foliage, lying all within its own bounds. It was a showery day. Had there been any sunshine, there might doubtless have been many beautiful effects of light and shadow in these woods. We saw one or two herds of deer, quietly feeding, a hundred yards or so distant. They appeared to be somewhat wilder than cattle, but, I think, not much wilder than sheep. Their ancestors have probably been in a half-domesticated state, receiving food at the hands of man, in winter, for centuries. There is a kind of poetry in this, quite as much as if they were really wild deer, such as their forefathers were, when Hugh Lupus used to hunt them. Our miserable cab drew up at the steps of Eaton Hall, and, ascending under the portico, the door swung silently open, and we were received very civilly by two old men,--one, a tall footman in livery; the other, of higher grade, in plain clothes. The entrance-hall is very spacious, and the floor is tessellated or somehow inlaid with marble. There was statuary in marble on the floor, and in niches stood several figures in antique armor, of various dates; some with lances, and others with battle-axes and swords. There was a two-handed sword, as much as six feet long; but not nearly so ponderous as I have supposed this kind of weapon to be, from reading of it. I could easily have brandished it. I don't think I am a good sight-seer; at least, I soon get satisfied with looking at the sights, and wish to go on to the next. The plainly dressed old man now led us into a long corridor, which goes, I think, the whole length of the house, about five hundred feet, arched all the way, and lengthened interminably by a looking-glass at the end, in which I saw our own party approaching like a party of strangers. But I have so often seen this effect produced in dry-goods stores and elsewhere, that I was not much impressed. There were family portraits and other pictures, and likewise pieces of statuary, along this arched corridor; and it communicated with a chapel with a scriptural altar-piece, copied from Rubens, and a picture of St. Michael and the Dragon, and two, or perhaps three, richly painted windows. Everything here is entirely new and fresh, this part having been repaired, and never yet inhabited by the family. This brand-newness makes it much less effective than if it had been lived in; and I felt pretty much as if I were strolling through any other renewed house. After all, the utmost force of man can do positively very little towards making grand things or beautiful things. The imagination can do so much more, merely on shutting one's eyes, that the actual effect seems meagre; so that a new house, unassociated with the past, is exceedingly unsatisfactory, especially when you have heard that the wealth mud skill of man has here done its best. Besides, the rooms, as we saw them, did not look by any means their best, the carpets not being down, and the furniture being covered with protective envelopes. However, rooms cannot be seen to advantage by daylight; it being altogether essential to the effect, that they should be illuminated by artificial light, which takes them somewhat out of the region of bare reality. Nevertheless, there was undoubtedly great splendor, for the details of which I refer to the guide-book. Among the family portraits, there was one of a lady famous for her beautiful hand; and she was holding it up to notice in the funniest way, --and very beautiful it certainly was. The private apartments of the family were not shown us. I should think it impossible for the owner of this house to imbue it with his personality to such a degree as to feel it to be his home. It must be like a small lobster in a shell much too large for him. After seeing what was to be seen of the rooms, we visited the gardens, in which are noble conservatories and hot-houses, containing all manner of rare and beautiful flowers, and tropical fruits. I noticed some large pines, looking as if they were really made of gold. The gardener (under-gardener I suppose he was) who showed this part of the spectacle was very intelligent as well as kindly, and seemed to take an interest in his business. He gave S----- a purple everlasting flower, which will endure a great many years, as a memento of our visit to Eaton Hall. Finally, we took a view of the front of the edifice, which is very fine, and much more satisfactory than the interior,--and returned to Chester. We strolled about under the unsavory Rows, sometimes scudding from side to side of the street, through the shower; took lunch in a confectioner's shop, and drove to the railway station in time for the three-o'clock train. It looked picturesque to see two little girls, hand in hand, racing along the ancient passages of the Rows; but Chester has a very evil smell. At the railroad station, S----- saw a small edition of "Twice-Told Tales," forming a volume of the Cottage Library; and, opening it, there was the queerest imaginable portrait of myself,--so very queer that we could not but buy it. The shilling edition of "The Scarlet Letter" and "Seven Gables" are at all the book-stalls and shop-windows; but so is "The Lamplighter," and still more trashy books. August 26th.--All past affairs, all home conclusions, all people whom I have known in America and meet again here, are strangely compelled to undergo a new trial. It is not that they suffer by comparison with circumstances of English life and forms of English manhood or womanhood; but, being free from my old surroundings, and the inevitable prejudices of home, I decide upon them absolutely. I think I neglected to record that I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face that she is pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray, and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook, and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks, she moves the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and yourself. The ear-trumpet seems a sensible part of her, like the antennae of some insects. If you have any little remark to make, you drop it in; and she helps you to make remarks by this delicate little appeal of the trumpet, as she slightly directs it towards you; and if you have nothing to say, the appeal is not strong enough to embarrass you. All her talk was about herself and her affairs; but it did not seem like egotism, because it was so cheerful and free from morbidness. And this woman is an Atheist, and thinks that the principle of life will become extinct when her body is laid in the grave! I will not think so; were it only for her sake. What! only a few weeds to spring out of her mortality, instead of her intellect and sympathies flowering and fruiting forever! September 13th.--My family went to Rhyl last Thursday, and on Saturday I joined them there, in company with O'Sullivan, who arrived in the Behama from Lisbon that morning. We went by way of Chester, and found S----- waiting for us at the Rhyl station. Rhyl is a most uninteresting place, --a collection of new lodging-houses and hotels, on a long sand-beach, which the tide leaves bare almost to the horizon. The sand is by no means a marble pavement, but sinks under the foot, and makes very heavy walking; but there is a promenade in front of the principal range of houses, looking on the sea, whereon we have rather better footing. Almost all the houses were full, and S----- had taken a parlor and two bedrooms, and is living after the English fashion, providing her own table, lights, fuel, and everything. It is very awkward to our American notions; but there is an independence about it, which I think must make it agreeable on better acquaintance. But the place is certainly destitute of attraction, and life seems to pass very heavily. The English do not appear to have a turn for amusing themselves. Sunday was a bright and hot day, and in the forenoon I set out on a walk, not well knowing whither, over a very dusty road, with not a particle of shade along its dead level. The Welsh mountains were before me, at the distance of three or four miles,--long ridgy hills, descending pretty abruptly upon the plain; on either side of the road, here and there, an old whitewashed, thatched stone cottage, or a stone farm-house, with an aspect of some antiquity. I never suffered so much before, on this side of the water, from heat and dust, and should probably have turned back had I not espied the round towers and walls of an old castle at some distance before me. Having looked at a guide-book, previously to setting out, I knew that this must be Rhyddlan Castle, about three miles from Rhyl; so I plodded on, and by and by entered an antiquated village, on one side of which the castle stood. This Welsh village is very much like the English villages, with narrow streets and mean houses or cottages, built in blocks, and here and there a larger house standing alone; everything far more compact than in our rural villages, and with no grassy street-margin nor trees; aged and dirty also, with dirty children staring at the passenger, and an undue supply of mean inns; most, or many of the men in breeches, and some of the women, especially the elder ones, in black beaver hats. The streets were paved with round pebbles, and looked squalid and ugly. The children and grown people stared lazily at me as I passed, but showed no such alert and vivacious curiosity as a community of Yankees would have done. I turned up a street that led me to the castle, which looked very picturesque close at hand,--more so than at a distance, because the towers and walls have not a sufficiently broken outline against the sky. There are several round towers at the angles of the wall very large in their circles, built of gray stone, crumbling, ivy-grown, everything that one thinks of in an old ruin. I could not get into the inner space of the castle without climbing over a fence, or clambering down into the moat; so I contented myself with walking round it, and viewing it from the outside. Through the gateway I saw a cow feeding on the green grass in the inner court of the castle. In one of the walls there was a large triangular gap, where perhaps the assailants had made a breach. Of course there were weeds on the ruinous top of the towers, and along the summit of the wall. This was the first castle built by Edward I. in Wales, and he resided here during the erection of Conway Castle, and here Queen Eleanor gave birth to a princess. Some few years since a meeting of Welsh bards was held within it. After viewing it awhile, and listening to the babble of some children who lay on the grass near by, I resumed my walk, and, meeting a Welshman in the village street, I asked him my nearest way back to Rhyl. "Dim Sassenach," said he, after a pause. How odd that an hour or two on the railway should have brought me amongst a people who speak no English! Just below the castle, there is an arched stone bridge over the river Clwyd, and the best view of the edifice is from hence. It stands on a gentle eminence, commanding the passage of the river, and two twin round towers rise close beside one another, whence, I suppose, archers have often drawn their bows against the wild Welshmen, on the river-banks. Behind was the line of mountains; and this was the point of defence between the hill country and the lowlands. On the bridge stood a good many idle Welshmen, leaning over the parapet, and looking at some small vessels that had come up the river from the sea. There was the frame of a new vessel on the stocks near by. As I returned, on my way home, I again inquired my way of a man in breeches, who, I found, could speak English very well. He was kind, and took pains to direct me, giving me the choice of three ways, viz. the one by which I came, another across the fields, and a third by the embankment along the river-side. I chose the latter, and so followed the course of the Clwyd, which is very ugly, with a tidal flow and wide marshy banks. On its farther side was Rhyddlan marsh, where a battle was fought between the Welsh and Saxons a thousand years ago. I have forgotten to mention that the castle and its vicinity was the scene of the famous battle of the fiddlers, between De Blandeville, Earl of Chester, and the Welsh, about the time of the Conqueror. CONWAY CASTLE. September 13th.--On Monday we went with O'Sullivan to Conway by rail. Certainly this must be the most perfect specimen of a ruinous old castle in the whole world; it quite fills up one's idea. We first walked round the exterior of the wall, at the base of which are hovels, with dirty children playing about them, and pigs rambling along, and squalid women visible in the doorways; but all these things melt into the picturesqueness of the scene, and do not harm it. The whole town of Conway is built in what was once the castle-yard, and the whole circuit of the wall is still standing in a delightful state of decay. At the angles, and at regular intervals, there are round towers, having half their circle on the outside of the walls, and half within. Most of these towers have a great crack pervading them irregularly from top to bottom; the ivy hangs upon them,--the weeds grow on the tops. Gateways, three or four of them, open through the walls, and streets proceed from them into the town. At some points, very old cottages or small houses are close against the sides, and, old as they are, they must have been built after the whole structure was a ruin. In one place I saw the sign of an alehouse painted on the gray stones of one of the old round towers. As we entered one of the gates, after making the entire circuit, we saw an omnibus coming down the street towards us, with its horn sounding. Llandudno was its place of destination; and, knowing no more about it than that it was four miles off, we took our seats. Llandudno is a watering-village at the base of the Great Orme's Head, at the mouth of the Conway River. In this omnibus there were two pleasant-looking girls, who talked Welsh together,--a guttural, childish kind of a babble. Afterwards we got into conversation with them, and found them very agreeable. One of them was reading Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy." On reaching Llandudno, S----- waited at the hotel, while O'Sullivan, U----, and I ascended the Great Orme's Head. There are copper-mines here, and we heard of a large cave, with stalactites, but did not go so far as that. We found the old shaft of a mine, however, and threw stones down it, and counted twenty before we heard them strike the bottom. At the base of the Head, on the side opposite the village, we saw a small church with a broken roof, and horizontal gravestones of slate within the stone enclosure around it. The view from the hill was most beautiful,--a blue summer sea, with the distant trail of smoke from a steamer, and many snowy sails; in another direction the mountains, near and distant, some of them with clouds below their peaks. We went to one of the mines which are still worked, and boys came running to meet us with specimens of the copper ore for sale. The miners were not now hoisting ore from the shaft, but were washing and selecting the valuable fragments from great heaps of crumbled stone and earth. All about this spot there are shafts and well-holes, looking fearfully deep and black, and without the slightest protection, so that we might just as easily have walked into them as not. Having examined these matters sufficiently, we descended the hill towards the village, meeting parties of visitors, mounted on donkeys, which is a much more sensible way of ascending in a hot day than to walk. On the sides and summit of the hill we found yellow gorse,--heath of two colors, I think, and very beautiful,--and here and there a harebell. Owing to the long-continued dry weather, the grass was getting withered and brown, though not so much so as on American hill-pastures at this season. Returning to the village, we all went into a confectioner's shop, and made a good luncheon. The two prettiest young ladies whom I have seen in England came into the shop and ate cakes while we were there. They appeared to be living together in a lodging-house, and ordered some of their housekeeping articles from the confectioner. Next we went into the village bazaar,--a sort of tent or open shop, full of knick-knacks and gewgaws, and bought some playthings for the children. At half past one we took our seats in the omnibus, to return to Conway. We had as yet only seen the castle wall and the exterior of the castle; now we were to see the inside. Right at the foot of it an old woman has her stand for the sale of lithographic views of Conway and other places; but these views are ridiculously inadequate, so that we did not buy any of them. The admittance into the castle is by a wooden door of modern construction, and the present seneschal is, I believe, the sexton of a church. He remembered me as having been there a month or two ago; and probably, considering that I was already initiated, or else because he had many other visitors, he left us to wander about the castle at will. It is altogether impossible to describe Conway Castle. Nothing ever can have been so perfect in its own style, and for its own purposes, when it was first built; and now nothing else can be so perfect as a picture of ivy-grown, peaceful ruin. The banqueting-hall, all open to the sky and with thick curtains of ivy tapestrying the walls, and grass and weeds growing on the arches that overpass it, is indescribably beautiful. The hearthstones of the great old fireplaces, all about the castle, seem to be favorite spots for weeds to grow. There are eight large round towers, and out of four of them, I think, rise smaller towers, ascending to a much greater height, and once containing winding staircases, all of which are now broken, and inaccessible from below, though, in at least one of the towers, the stairs seemed perfect, high aloft. It must have been the rudest violence that broke down these stairs; for each step was a thick and heavy slab of stone, built into the wall of the tower. There is no such thing as a roof in any part; towers, hall, kitchen, all are open to the sky. One round tower, directly overhanging the railway, is so shattered by the falling away of the lower part, that you can look quite up into it and through it, while sitting in the cars; and yet it has stood thus, without falling into complete ruin, for more than two hundred years. I think that it was in this tower that we found the castle oven, an immense cavern, big enough to bake bread for an army. The railway passes exactly at the base of the high rock, on which this part of the castle is situated, and goes into the town through a great arch that has been opened in the castle wall. The tubular bridge across the Conway has been built in a style that accords with the old architecture, and I observed that one little sprig of ivy had rooted itself in the new structure. There are numberless intricate passages in the thickness of the castle walls, forming communications between tower and tower,--damp, chill passages, with rough stone on either hand, darksome, and very likely leading to dark pitfalls. The thickness of the walls is amazing; and the people of those days must have been content with very scanty light, so small were the apertures,--sometimes merely slits and loopholes, glimmering through many feet of thickness of stone. One of the towers was said to have been the residence of Queen Eleanor; and this was better lighted than the others, containing an oriel-window, looking out of a little oratory, as it seemed to be, with groined arches and traces of ornamental sculpture, so that we could dress up some imperfect image of a queenly chamber, though the tower was roofless and floorless. There was another pleasant little windowed nook, close beside the oratory, where the Queen might have sat sewing or looking down the river Conway at the picturesque headlands towards the sea. We imagined her stately figure in antique robes, standing beneath the groined arches of the oratory. There seem to have been three chambers, one above another, in these towers, and the one in which was the embowed window was the middle one. I suppose the diameter of each of these circular rooms could not have been more than twenty feet on the inside. All traces of wood-work and iron-work are quite gone from the whole castle. These are said to have been taken away by a Lord Conway in the reign of Charles II. There is a grassy space under the windows of Queen Eleanor's tower,--a sort of outwork of the castle, where probably, when no enemy was near, the Queen used to take the open air in summer afternoons like this. Here we sat down on the grass of the ruined wall, and agreed that nothing in the world could be so beautiful and picturesque as Conway Castle, and that never could there have been so fit a time to see it as this sunny, quiet, lovely afternoon. Sunshine adapts itself to the character of a ruin in a wonderful way; it does not "flout the ruins gray," as Scott says, but sympathizes with their decay, and saddens itself for their sake. It beautifies the ivy too. We saw, at the corner of this grass-plot around Queen Eleanor's tower, a real trunk of a tree of ivy, with so stalwart a stem, and such a vigorous grasp of its strong branches, that it would be a very efficient support to the wall, were it otherwise inclined to fall. O that we could have ivy in America! What is there to beautify us when our time of ruin comes? Before departing, we made the entire circuit of the castle on its walls, and O'Sullivan and I climbed by a ladder to the top of one of the towers. While there, we looked down into the street beneath, and saw a photographist preparing to take a view of the castle, and calling out to some little girl in some niche or on some pinnacle of the walls to stand still that he might catch her figure and face. I think it added to the impressiveness of the old castle, to see the streets and the kitchen-gardens and the homely dwellings that had grown up within the precincts of this feudal fortress, and the people of to-day following their little businesses about it. This does not destroy the charm; but tourists and idle visitors do impair it. The earnest life of to-day, however, petty and homely as it may be, has a right to its place alongside of what is left of the life of other days; and if it be vulgar itself, it does not vulgarize the scene. But tourists do vulgarize it; and I suppose we did so, just like others. We took the train back to Rhyl, where we arrived at about four o'clock, and, having dined, we again took the rail for Chester, and thence to Rock Park (that is, O'Sullivan and I), and reached home at about eleven o'clock. Yesterday, September 13th, I began to wear a watch from Bennet's, 65 Cheapside, London. W. C. Bennet warrants it as the best watch which they can produce. If it prove as good and as durable as he prophesies, J----- will find it a perfect time-keeper long after his father has done with Time. If I had not thought of his wearing it hereafter, I should have been content with a much inferior one. No. 39,620. September 20th.--I went back to Rhyl last Friday in the steamer. We arrived at the landing-place at nearly four o'clock, having started at twelve, and I walked thence to our lodgings, 18 West Parade. The children and their mother were all gone out, and I sat some time in our parlor before anybody came. The next morning I made an excursion in the omnibus as far as Ruthin, passing through Rhyddlan, St. Asaph, Denbigh, and reaching Ruthin at one o'clock. All these are very ancient places. St. Asaph has a cathedral which is not quite worthy of that name, but is a very large and stately church in excellent repair. Its square battlemented tower has a very fine appearance, crowning the clump of village houses on the hill-top, as you approach from Rhyddlan. The ascent of the hill is very steep; so it is at Denbigh and at Ruthin,--the steepest streets, indeed, that I ever climbed. Denbigh is a place of still more antique aspect than St. Asaph; it looks, I think, even older than Chester, with its gabled houses, many of their windows opening on hinges, and their fronts resting on pillars, with an open porch beneath. The castle makes an admirably ruinous figure on the hill, higher than the village. I had come hither with the purpose of inspecting it, but as it began to rain just then, I concluded to get into the omnibus and go to Ruthin. There was another steep ascent from the commencement of the long street of Ruthin, till I reached the market-place, which is of nearly triangular shape, and an exceedingly old-looking place. Houses of stone or plastered brick; one or two with timber frames; the roofs of an uneven line, and bulging out or sinking in; the slates moss-grown. Some of them have two peaks and even three in a row, fronting on the streets, and there is a stone market-house with a table of regulations. In this market-place there is said to be a stone on which King Arthur beheaded one of his enemies; but this I did not see. All these villages were very lively, as the omnibus drove in; and I rather imagine it was market-day in each of them,--there being quite a bustle of Welsh people. The old women came round the omnibus courtesying and intimating their willingness to receive alms,--witch-like women, such as one sees in pictures or reads of in romances, and very unlike anything feminine in America. Their style of dress cannot have changed for centuries. It was quite unexpected to me to hear Welsh so universally and familiarly spoken. Everybody spoke it. The omnibus-driver could speak but imperfect English; there was a jabber of Welsh all through the streets and market-places; and it flowed out with a freedom quite different from the way in which they expressed themselves in English. I had had an idea that Welsh was spoken rather as a freak and in fun than as a native language; it was so strange to find another language the people's actual and earnest medium of thought within so short a distance of England. But English is scarcely more known to the body of the Welsh people than to the peasantry of France. However, they sometimes pretend to ignorance, when they might speak it fairly enough. I took luncheon at the hotel where the omnibus stopped, and then went to search out the castle. It appears to have been once extensive, but the remains of it are now very few, except a part of the external wall. Whatever other portion may still exist, has been built into a modern castellated mansion, which has risen within the wide circuit of the fortress,--a handsome and spacious edifice of red freestone, with a high tower, on which a flag was flying. The grounds were well laid out in walks, and really I think the site of the castle could not have been turned to better account. I am getting tired of antiquity. It is certainly less interesting in the long run than novelty; and so I was well content with the fresh, warm, red hue of the modern house, and the unworn outline of its walls, and its cheerful, large windows; and was willing that the old ivy-grown ruins should exist now only to contrast with the modernisms. These ancient walls, by the by, are of immense thickness. There is a passage through the interior of a portion of them, the width from this interior passage to the outer one being fifteen feet on one side, and I know not how much on the other. It continued showery all day; and the omnibus was crowded. I had chosen the outside from Rhyl to Denbigh, but, all the rest of the journey, imprisoned myself within. On our way home, an old lady got into the omnibus,--a lady of tremendous rotundity; and as she tumbled from the door to the farthest part of the carriage, she kept advising all the rest of the passengers to get out. "I don't think there will be much rain, gentlemen," quoth she, "you'll be much more comfortable on the outside." As none of us complied, she glanced along the seats. "What! are you all Saas'uach?" she inquired. As we drove along, she talked Welsh with great fluency to one of the passengers, a young woman with a baby, and to as many others as could understand her. It has a strange, wild sound, like a language half blown away by the wind. The lady's English was very good; but she probably prided herself on her proficiency in Welsh. My excursion to-day had been along the valley of the Clwyd, a very rich and fertile tract of country. The next day we all took a long walk on the beach, picking up shells. On Monday we took an open carriage and drove to Rhyddlan; whence we sent back the carriage, meaning to walk home along the embankment of the river Clwyd, after inspecting the castle. The fortress is very ruinous, having been dismantled by the Parliamentarians. There are great gaps,--two, at least, in the walls that connect the round towers, of which there were six, one on each side of a gateway in front, and the same at a gateway towards the river, where there is a steep descent to a wall and square tower, at the water-side. Great pains and a great deal of gunpowder must have been used in converting this castle into a ruin. There were one or two fragments lying where they had fallen more than two hundred years ago, which, though merely a conglomeration of small stones and mortar, were just as hard as if they had been solid masses of granite. The substantial thickness of the walls is composed of these agglomerated small stones and mortar, the casing being hewn blocks of red freestone. This is much worn away by the weather, wherever it has been exposed to the air; but, under shelter, it looks as if it might have been hewn only a year or two ago. Each of the round towers had formerly a small staircase turret rising beside and ascending above it, in which a warder might be posted, but they have all been so battered and shattered that it is impossible for an uninstructed observer to make out a satisfactory plan of then. The interior of each tower was a small room, not more than twelve or fifteen feet across; and of these there seem to have been three stories, with loop-holes for archery and not much other light than what came through them. Then there are various passages and nooks and corners and square recesses in the stone, some of which must have been intended for dungeons, and the ugliest and gloomiest dungeons imaginable, for they could not have had any light or air. There is not, the least, splinter of wood-work remaining in any part of the castle,--nothing but bare stone, and a little plaster in one or two places, on the wall. In the front gateway we looked at the groove on each side, in which the portcullis used to rise and fall; and in each of the contiguous round towers there was a loop-hole, whence an enemy on the outer side of the portcullis might be shot through with an arrow. The inner court-yard is a parallelogram, nearly a square, and is about forty-five of my paces across. It is entirely grass-grown, and vacant, except for two or three trees that have been recently set out, and which are surrounded with palings to keep away the cows that pasture in and about the place. No window looks from the walls or towers into this court-yard; nor are there any traces of buildings having stood within the enclosure, unless it be what looks something like the flue of a chimney within one of the walls. I should suppose, however, that there must have been, when the castle was in its perfect state, a hall, a kitchen, and other commodious apartments and offices for the King and his train, such as there were at Conway and Beaumaris. But if so, all fragments have been carried away, and all hollows of the old foundations scrupulously filled up. The round towers could not have comprised all the accommodation of the castle. There is nothing more striking in these ruins than to look upward from the crumbling base, and see flights of stairs, still comparatively perfect, by which you might securely ascend to the upper heights of the tower, although all traces of a staircase have disappeared below, and the upper portion cannot be attained. On three sides of the fortress is a moat, about sixty feet wide, and cased with stone. It was probably of great depth in its day, but it is now partly filled up with earth, and is quite dry and grassy throughout its whole extent. On the inner side of the moat was the outer wall of the castle, portions of which still remain. Between the outer wall and the castle itself the space is also about sixty feet. The day was cloudy and lowering, and there were several little spatterings of rain, while we rambled about. The two children ran shouting hither and thither, and were continually clambering into dangerous places, racing along ledges of broken wall. At last they altogether disappeared for a good while; their voices, which had heretofore been plainly audible, were hushed, nor was there any answer when we began to call them, while making ready for our departure. But they finally appeared, coming out of the moat, where they had been picking and eating blackberries,--which, they said, grew very plentifully there, and which they were very reluctant to leave. Before quitting the castle, I must not forget the ivy, which makes a perfect tapestry over a large portion of the walls. We walked about the village, which is old and ugly; small, irregular streets, contriving to be intricate, though there are few of them; mean houses, joining to each other. We saw, in the principal one, the parliament house in which Edward I. gave a Charter, or allowed rights of some kind to his Welsh subjects. The ancient part of its wall is entirely distinguishable from what has since been built upon it. Thence we set out to walk along the embankment, although the sky looked very threatening. The wind, however, was so strong, and had such a full sweep at us, on the top of the bank, that we decided on taking a path that led from it across the moor. But we soon had cause to repent of this; for, which way soever we turned, we found ourselves cut off by a ditch or a little stream; so that here we were, fairly astray on Rhyddlan moor, the old battle-field of the Saxons and Britons, and across which, I suppose, the fiddlers and mountebanks had marched to the relief of the Earl of Chester. Anon, too, it began to shower; and it was only after various leaps and scramblings that we made our way to a large farm-house, and took shelter under a cart-shed. The back of the house to which we gained access was very dirty and ill-kept; some dirty children peeped at us as we approached, and nobody had the civility to ask us in; so we took advantage of the first cessation of the shower to resume our way. We were shortly overtaken by a very intelligent-looking and civil man, who seemed to have come from Rhyddlan, and said he was going to Rhyl. We followed his guidance over stiles and along hedge-row paths which we never could have threaded rightly by ourselves. By and by our kind guide had to stop at an intermediate farm; but he gave us full directions how to proceed, and we went on till it began to shower again pretty briskly, and we took refuge in a little bit of old stone cottage, which, small as it was, had a greater antiquity than any mansion in America. The door was open, and as we approached, we saw several children gazing at us; and their mother, a pleasant-looking woman, who seemed rather astounded at the visit that was about to befall her, tried to draw a tattered curtain over a part of her interior, which she fancied even less fit to be seen than the rest. To say the truth, the house was not at all better than a pigsty; and while we sat there, a pig came familiarly to the door, thrust in his snout, and seemed surprised that he should be driven away, instead of being admitted as one of the family. The floor was of brick; there was no ceiling, but only the peaked gable overhead. The room was kitchen, parlor, and, I suppose, bedroom for the whole family; at all events, there was only the tattered curtain between us and the sleeping accommodations. The good woman either could not or would not speak a word of English, only laughing when S----- said, "Dim Sassenach?" but she was kind and hospitable, and found a chair for each of us. She had been making some bread, and the dough was on the dresser. Life with these people is reduced to its simplest elements. It is only a pity that they cannot or do not choose to keep themselves cleaner. Poverty, except in cities, need not be squalid. When the shower abated a little, we gave all the pennies we had to the children, and set forth again. By the by, there were several colored prints stuck up against the walls, and there was a clock ticking in a corner and some paper-hangings pinned upon the slanting roof. It began to rain again before we arrived at Rhyl, and we were driven into a small tavern. After staying there awhile, we set forth between the drops; but the rain fell still heavier, so that we were pretty well damped before we got to our lodgings. After dinner, I took the rail for Chester and Rock Park, and S----- and the children and maid followed the next day. September 22d.--I dined on Wednesday evening at Mr. John Heywood's, Norris Green. Mr. Mouckton Mimes and lady were of the company. Mr. Mimes is a very agreeable, kindly man, resembling Longfellow a good deal in personal appearance; and he promotes, by his genial manners, the same pleasant intercourse which is so easily established with Longfellow. He is said to be a very kind patron of literary men, and to do a great deal of good among young and neglected people of that class. He is considered one of the best conversationists at present in society: it may very well be so; his style of talking being very simple and natural, anything but obtrusive, so that you might enjoy its agreeableness without suspecting it. He introduced me to his wife (a daughter of Lord Crewe), with whom and himself I had a good deal of talk. Mr. Milnes told me that he owns the land in Yorkshire, whence some of the pilgrims of the Mayflower emigrated to Plymouth, and that Elder Brewster was the Postmaster of the village. . . . He also said that in the next voyage of the Mayflower, after she carried the Pilgrims, she was employed in transporting a cargo of slaves from Africa,--to the West Indies, I suppose. This is a queer fact, and would be nuts for the Southerners. Mem.--An American would never understand the passage in Bunyan about Christian and Hopeful going astray along a by-path into the grounds of Giant Despair,--from there being no stiles and by-paths in our country. September 26th.--On Saturday evening my wife and I went to a soiree given by the Mayor and Mrs. Lloyd at the Town Hall to receive the Earl of Harrowby. It was quite brilliant, the public rooms being really magnificent, and adorned for the occasion with a large collection of pictures, belonging to Mr. Naylor. They were mostly, if not entirely, of modern artists,--of Turner, Wilkie, Landseer, and others of the best English painters. Turner's seemed too ethereal to have been done by mortal hands. The British Scientific Association being now in session here, many distinguished strangers were present. September 29th.--Mr. Monekton Milnes called on me at the Consulate day before yesterday. He is pleasant and sensible. Speaking of American politicians, I remarked that they were seldom anything but politicians, and had no literary or other culture beyond their own calling. He said the case was the same in England, and instanced Sir ------, who once called on him for information when an appeal had been made to him respecting two literary gentlemen. Sir ------ had never heard the names of either of these gentlemen, and applied to Mr. Milnes as being somewhat conversant with the literary class, to know whether they were distinguished and what were their claims. The names of the two literary men were James Sheridan Knowles and Alfred Tennyson. October 5th.--Yesterday I was present at a dejeuner on board the James Barnes, on occasion of her coming under the British flag, having been built for the Messrs. Barnes by Donald McKay of Boston. She is a splendid vessel, and magnificently fitted up, though not with consummate taste. It would be worth while that ornamental architects and upholsterers should study this branch of art, since the ship-builders seem willing to expend a good deal of money on it. In fact, I do not see that there is anywhere else so much encouragement to the exercise of ornamental art. I saw nothing to criticise in the solid and useful details of the ship; the ventilation, in particular, being free and abundant, so that the hundreds of passengers who will have their berths between decks, and at a still lower depth, will have good air and enough of it. There were four or five hundred persons, principally Liverpool merchants and their wives, invited to the dejeuner; and the tables were spread between decks, the berths for passengers not being yet put in. There was not quite light enough to make the scene cheerful, it being an overcast day; and, indeed, there was an English plainness in the arrangement of the festal room, which might have been better exchanged for the flowery American taste, which I have just been criticising. With flowers, and the arrangement of flags, we should have made something very pretty of the space between decks; but there was nothing to hide the fact that in a few days hence there would be crowded berths and sea-sick steerage passengers where we were now feasting. The cheer was very good,--cold fowl and meats; cold pies of foreign manufacture very rich, and of mysterious composition; and champagne in plenty, with other wines for those who liked them. I sat between two ladies, one of them Mrs. ------, a pleasant young woman, who, I believe, is of American provincial nativity, and whom I therefore regarded as half a countrywoman. We talked a good deal together, and I confided to her my annoyance at the prospect of being called up to answer a toast; but she did not pity me at all, though she felt, much alarm about her husband, Captain ------, who was in the same predicament. Seriously, it is the most awful part of my official duty,-- this necessity of making dinner-speeches at the Mayor's, and other public or semi-public tables. However, my neighborhood to Mrs. ------ was good for me, inasmuch as by laughing over the matter with her came to regard it in a light and ludicrous way; and so, when the time actually came, I stood up with a careless dare-devil feeling. The chairman toasted the president immediately after the Queen, and did me the honor to speak of myself in a most flattering manner, something like this: "Great by his position under the Republic,--greater still, I am bold to say, in the Republic of letters!" I made no reply at all to this; in truth, I forgot all about it when I began to speak, and merely thanked the company in behalf of the President, and my countrymen, and made a few remarks with no very decided point to them. However, they cheered and applauded, and I took advantage of the applause to sit down, and Mrs. ------ informed me that I had succeeded admirably. It was no success at all, to be sure; neither was it a failure, for I had aimed at nothing, and I had exactly hit it. But after sitting down, I was conscious of an enjoyment in speaking to a public assembly, and felt as if I should like to rise again. It is something like being under fire,--a sort of excitement, not exactly pleasure, but more piquant than most pleasures. I have felt this before, in the same circumstances; but, while on my legs, my impulse is to get through with my remarks and sit down again as quickly as possible. The next speech, I think, was by Rev. Dr. ------, the celebrated Arctic gentleman, in reply to a toast complimentary to the clergy. He turned aside from the matter in hand, to express his kind feelings towards America, where he said he had been most hospitably received, especially at Cambridge University. He also made allusions to me, and I suppose it would have been no more than civil in me to have answered with a speech in acknowledgment, but I did not choose to make another venture, so merely thanked him across the corner of the table, for he sat near me. He is a venerable-looking, white-haired gentleman, tall and slender, with a pale, intelligent, kindly face. Other speeches were made; but from beginning to end there was not one breath of eloquence, nor even one neat sentence; and I rather think that Englishmen would purposely avoid eloquence or neatness in after-dinner speeches. It seems to be no part of their object. Yet any Englishman almost, much more generally than Americans, will stand up and talk on in a plain way, uttering one rough, ragged, and shapeless sentence after another, and will have expressed himself sensibly, though in a very rude manner, before he sits down. And this is quite satisfactory to his audience, who, indeed, are rather prejudiced against the man who speaks too glibly. The guests began to depart shortly after three o'clock. This morning I have seen two reports of my little speech,--one exceedingly incorrect; another pretty exact, but not much to my taste, for I seem to have left out everything that would have been fittest to say. October 6th.--The people, for several days, have been in the utmost anxiety, and latterly in the highest exultation about Sebastopol,--and all England, and Europe to boot, have been fooled by the belief that it had fallen. This, however, now turns out to be incorrect; and the public visage is somewhat grim, in consequence. I am glad of it. In spite of his actual sympathies, it is impossible for a true American to be otherwise than glad. Success makes an Englishman intolerable; and, already, on the mistaken idea that the way was open to a prosperous conclusion of the war, The Times had begun to throw out menaces against America. I shall never love England till she sues to us for help, and, in the mean time, the fewer triumphs she obtains, the better for all parties. An Englishman in adversity is a very respectable character; he does not lose his dignity, but merely comes to a proper conception of himself. It is rather touching to an observer to see how much the universal heart is in this matter,--to see the merchants gathering round the telegraphic messages, posted on the pillars of the Exchange news-room, the people in the street who cannot afford to buy a paper clustering round the windows of the news-offices, where a copy is pinned up,--the groups of corporals and sergeants at the recruiting rendezvous, with a newspaper in the midst of them and all earnest and sombre, and feeling like one man together, whatever their rank. I seem to myself like a spy or a traitor when I meet their eyes, and am conscious that I neither hope nor fear in sympathy with them, although they look at me in full confidence of sympathy. Their heart "knoweth its own bitterness," and as for me, being a stranger and all alien, I "intermeddle not with their joy." October 9th.--My ancestor left England in 1630. I return in 1853. I sometimes feel as if I myself had been absent these two hundred and twenty-three years, leaving England just emerging from the feudal system, and finding it, on my return, on the verge of republicanism. It brings the two far-separated points of time very closely together, to view the matter thus. October 16th.--A day or two ago arrived the sad news of the loss of the Arctic by collision with a French steamer off Newfoundland, and the loss also of three or four hundred people. I have seldom been more affected by anything quite alien from my personal and friendly concerns, than by the death of Captain Luce and his son. The boy was a delicate lad, and it is said that he had never been absent from his mother till this time, when his father had taken him to England to consult a physician about a complaint in his hip. So his father, while the ship was sinking, was obliged to decide whether he would put the poor, weakly, timorous child on board the boat, to take his hard chance of life there, or keep him to go down with himself and the ship. He chose the latter; and within half an hour, I suppose, the boy was among the child-angels. Captain Luce could not do less than die, for his own part, with the responsibility of all those lost lives upon him. He may not have been in the least to blame for the calamity, but it was certainly too heavy a one for him to survive. He was a sensible man, and a gentleman, courteous, quiet, with something almost melancholy in his address and aspect. Oftentimes he has come into my inner office to say good-by before his departures, but I cannot precisely remember whether or no he took leave of me before this latest voyage. I never exchanged a great many words with him; but those were kind ones. October 19th.--It appears to be customary for people of decent station, but in distressed circumstances, to go round among their neighbors and the public, accompanied by a friend, who explains the case. I have been accosted in the street in regard to one of these matters; and to-day there came to my office a grocer, who had become security for a friend, and who was threatened with an execution,--with another grocer for supporter and advocate. The beneficiary takes very little active part in the affair, merely looking careworn, distressed, and pitiable, and throwing in a word of corroboration, or a sigh, or an acknowledgment, as the case may demand. In the present instance, the friend, a young, respectable-looking tradesman, with a Lancashire accent, spoke freely and simply of his client's misfortunes, not pressing the case unduly, but doing it full justice, and saying, at the close of the interview, that it was no pleasant business for himself. The broken grocer was an elderly man, of somewhat sickly aspect. The whole matter is very foreign to American habits. No respectable American would think of retrieving his affairs by such means, but would prefer ruin ten times over; no friend would take up his cause; no public would think it worth while to prevent the small catastrophe. And yet the custom is not without its good side as indicating a closer feeling of brotherhood, a more efficient sense of neighborhood, than exists among ourselves, although, perhaps, we are more careless of a fellow-creature's ruin, because ruin with us is by no means the fatal and irretrievable event that it is in England. I am impressed with the ponderous and imposing look of an English legal document,--an assignment of real estate in England, for instance,-- engrossed on an immense sheet of thickest paper, in a formal hand, beginning with "This Indenture" in German text, and with occasional phrases of form, breaking out into large script,--very long and repetitious, fortified with the Mayor of Manchester's seal, two or three inches in diameter, which is certified by a notary-public, whose signature, again, is to have my consular certificate and official seal. November 2d.--A young Frenchman enters, of gentlemanly aspect, with a grayish cloak or paletot overspreading his upper person, and a handsome and well-made pair of black trousers and well-fitting boots below. On sitting down, he does not throw off nor at all disturb the cloak. Eying him more closely, one discerns that he has no shirt-collar, and that what little is visible of his shirt-bosom seems not to be of to-day nor of yesterday,--perhaps not even of the day before. His manner is not very good; nevertheless, he is a coxcomb and a jackanapes. He avers himself a naturalized citizen of America, where he has been tutor in several families of distinction, and has been treated like a son. He left America on account of his health, and came near being tutor in the Duke of Norfolk's family, but failed for lack of testimonials; he is exceedingly capable and accomplished, but reduced in funds, and wants employment here, of the means of returning to America, where he intends to take a situation under government, which he is sure of obtaining. He mentioned a quarrel which he had recently had with an Englishman in behalf of America, and would have fought a duel had such been the custom of the country. He made the Englishman foam at the mouth, and told him that he had been twelve years at a military school, and could easily kill him. I say to him that I see little or no prospect of his getting employment here, but offer to inquire whether any situation, as clerk or otherwise, can be obtained for him in a vessel returning to America, and ask his address. He has no address. Much to my surprise, he takes his leave without requesting pecuniary aid, but hints that he shall call again. He is a very disagreeable young fellow, like scores of others who call on me in the like situation. His English is very good for a Frenchman, and he says he speaks it the least well of five languages. He has been three years in America, and obtained his naturalization papers, he says, as a special favor, and by means of strong interest. Nothing is so absolutely odious as the sense of freedom and equality pertaining to an American grafted on the mind of a native of any other country in the world. A naturalized citizen is HATEFUL. Nobody has a right to our ideas, unless born to them. November 9th.--I lent the above Frenchman a small sum; he advertised for employment as a teacher; and he called this morning to thank me for my aid, and says Mr. C------ has engaged him for his children, at a guinea a week, and that he has also another engagement. The poor fellow seems to have been brought to a very low ebb. He has pawned everything, even to his last shirt, save the one he had on, and had been living at the rate of twopence a day. I had procured him a chance to return to America, but he was ashamed to go back in such poor circumstances, and so determined to seek better fortune here. I like him better than I did,--partly, I suppose, because I have helped him. November 14th.--The other day I saw an elderly gentleman walking in Dale Street, apparently in a state of mania; for as he limped along (being afflicted with lameness) he kept talking to himself, and sometimes breaking out into a threat against some casual passenger. He was a very respectable-looking man; and I remember to have seen him last summer, in the steamer, returning from the Isle of Man, where he had been staying at Castle Mona. What a strange and ugly predicament it would be for a person of quiet habits to be suddenly smitten with lunacy at noonday in a crowded street, and to walk along through a dim maze of extravagances,-- partly conscious of then, but unable to resist the impulse to give way to them! A long-suppressed nature might be represented as bursting out in this way, for want of any other safety-valve. In America, people seem to consider the government merely as a political administration; and they care nothing for the credit of it, unless it be the administration of their own political party. In England, all people, of whatever party, are anxious for the credit of their rulers. Our government, as a knot of persons, changes so entirely every four years, that the institution has come to be considered a temporary thing. Looking at the moon the other evening, little R----- said, "It blooms out in the morning!" taking the moon to be the bud of the sun. The English are a most intolerant people. Nobody is permitted, nowadays, to have any opinion but the prevalent one. There seems to be very little difference between their educated and ignorant classes in this respect; if any, it is to the credit of the latter, who do not show tokens of such extreme interest in the war. It is agreeable, however, to observe how all Englishmen pull together,--how each man comes forward with his little scheme for helping on the war,--how they feel themselves members of one family, talking together about their common interest, as if they were gathered around one fireside; and then what a hearty meed of honor they award to their soldiers! It is worth facing death for. Whereas, in America, when our soldiers fought as good battles, with as great proportionate loss, and far more valuable triumphs, the country seemed rather ashamed than proud of them. Mrs. Heywood tells me that there are many Catholics among the lower classes in Lancashire and Cheshire,--probably the descendants of retainers of the old Catholic nobility and gentry, who are more numerous in these shires than in other parts of England. The present Lord Sefton's grandfather was the first of that race who became Protestant. December 25th.--Commodore P------ called to see me this morning,--a brisk, gentlemanly, offhand, but not rough, unaffected and sensible man, looking not so elderly as he ought, on account of a very well made wig. He is now on his return from a cruise in the East Indian seas, and goes home by the Baltic, with a prospect of being very well received on account of his treaty with Japan. I seldom meet with a man who puts himself more immediately on conversable terms than the Commodore. He soon introduced his particular business with me,--it being to inquire whether I would recommend some suitable person to prepare his notes and materials for the publication of an account of his voyage. He was good enough to say that he had fixed upon me, in his own mind, for this office; but that my public duties would of course prevent me from engaging in it. I spoke of Herman Melville, and one or two others; but he seems to have some acquaintance with the literature of the day, and did not grasp very cordially at any name that I could think of; nor, indeed, could I recommend any one with full confidence. It would be a very desirable task for a young literary man, or, for that matter, for an old one; for the world can scarcely have in reserve a less hackneyed theme than Japan. This is a most beautiful day of English winter; clear and bright, with the ground a little frozen, and the green grass along the waysides at Rock Ferry sprouting up through the frozen pools of yesterday's rain. England is forever green. On Christmas day, the children found wall-flowers, pansies, and pinks in the garden; and we had a beautiful rose from the garden of the hotel grown in the open air. Yet one is sensible of the cold here, as much as in the zero atmosphere of America. The chief advantage of the English climate is that we are not tempted to heat our rooms to so unhealthy a degree as in New England. I think I have been happier this Christmas than ever before,--by my own fireside, and with my wife and children about me,--more content to enjoy what I have,--less anxious for anything beyond it in this life. My early life was perhaps a good preparation for the declining half of life; it having been such a blank that any thereafter would compare favorably with it. For a long, long while, I have occasionally been visited with a singular dream; and I have an impression that I have dreamed it ever since I have been in England. It is, that I am still at college,--or, sometimes, even at school,--and there is a sense that I have been there unconscionably long, and have quite failed to make such progress as my contemporaries have done; and I seem to meet some of them with a feeling of shame and depression that broods over me as I think of it, even when awake. This dream, recurring all through these twenty or thirty years, must be one of the effects of that heavy seclusion in which I shut myself up for twelve years after leaving college, when everybody moved onward, and left me behind. How strange that it should come now, when I may call myself famous and prosperous!--when I am happy, too! January 3d, 1855.--The progress of the age is trampling over the aristocratic institutions of England, and they crumble beneath it. This war has given the country a vast impulse towards democracy. The nobility will never hereafter, I think, assume or be permitted to rule the nation in peace, or command armies in war, on any ground except the individual ability which may appertain to one of their number, as well as to a commoner. And yet the nobles were never positively more noble than now; never, perhaps, so chivalrous, so honorable, so highly cultivated; but, relatively to the rest of the world, they do not maintain their old place. The pressure of the war has tested and proved this fact, at home and abroad. At this moment it would be an absurdity in the nobles to pretend to the position which was quietly conceded to them a year ago. This one year has done the work of fifty ordinary ones; or, more accurately, it has made apparent what has long been preparing itself. January 6th.--The American ambassador called on me to-day and stayed a good while,--an hour or two. He is visiting at Mr. William Browne's, at Richmond Hill, having come to this region to bring his niece, who is to be bride's-maid at the wedding of an American girl. I like Mr. ------. He cannot exactly be called gentlemanly in his manners, there being a sort of rusticity about him; moreover, he has a habit of squinting one eye, and an awkward carriage of his head; hut, withal, a dignity in his large person, and a consciousness of high position and importance, which gives him ease and freedom. Very simple and frank in his address, he may be as crafty as other diplomatists are said to be; but I see only good sense and plainness of speech,--appreciative, too, and genial enough to make himself conversable. He talked very freely of himself and of other public people, and of American and English affairs. He returns to America, he says, next October, and then retires forever from public life, being sixty-four years of age, and having now no desire except to write memoirs of his times, and especially of the administration of Mr. Polk. I suggested a doubt whether the people would permit him to retire; and he immediately responded to my hint as regards his prospects for the Presidency. He said that his mind was fully made up, and that he would never be a candidate, and that he had expressed this decision to his friends in such a way as to put it out of his own power to change it. He acknowledged that he should have been glad of the nomination for the Presidency in 1852, but that it was now too late, and that he was too old,--and, in short, he seemed to be quite sincere in his nolo episcopari; although, really, he is the only Democrat, at this moment, whom it would not be absurd to talk of for the office. As he talked, his face flushed, and he seemed to feel inwardly excited. Doubtless, it was the high vision of half his lifetime which he here relinquished. I cannot question that he is sincere; but, of course, should the people insist upon having him for President, he is too good a patriot to refuse. I wonder whether he can have had any object in saying all this to me. He might see that it would be perfectly natural for me to tell it to General Pierce. But it is a very vulgar idea,--this of seeing craft and subtlety, when there is a plain and honest aspect. January 9th.--I dined at Mr. William Browne's (M. P.) last, evening with a large party. The whole table and dessert service was of silver. Speaking of Shakespeare, Mr. ------ said that the Duke of Somerset, who is now nearly fourscore, told him that the father of John and Charles Kemble had made all possible research into the events of Shakespeare's life, and that he had found reason to believe that Shakespeare attended a certain revel at Stratford, and, indulging too much in the conviviality of the occasion, he tumbled into a ditch on his way home, and died there! The Kemble patriarch was an aged man when he communicated this to the Duke; and their ages, linked to each other; would extend back a good way; scarcely to the beginning of the last century, however. If I mistake not, it was from the traditions of Stratford that Kemble had learned the above. I do not remember ever to have seen it in print,--which is most singular. Miss L---- has an English rather than an American aspect,--being of stronger outline than most of our young ladies, although handsomer than English women generally, extremely self-possessed and well poised without affectation or assumption, but quietly conscious of rank, as much so as if she were an Earl's daughter. In truth, she felt pretty much as an Earl's daughter would do towards the merchants' wives and daughters who made up the feminine portion of the party. I talked with her a little, and found her sensible, vivacious, and firm-textured, rather than soft and sentimental. She paid me some compliments; but I do not remember paying her any. Mr. J-----'s daughters, two pale, handsome girls, were present. One of them is to be married to a grandson of Mr. ------, who was also at the dinner. He is a small young man, with a thin and fair mustache, . . . . and a lady who sat next me whispered that his expectations are 6,000 pounds per annum. It struck me, that, being a country gentleman's son, he kept himself silent and reserved, as feeling himself too good for this commercial dinner-party; but perhaps, and I rather think so, he was really shy and had nothing to say, being only twenty-one, and therefore quite a boy among Englishmen. The only man of cognizable rank present, except Mr. ------ and the Mayor of Liverpool, was a Baronet, Sir Thomas Birch. January 17th.--S---- and I were invited to be present at the wedding of Mr. J-------'s daughter this morning, but we were also bidden to the funeral services of Mrs. G------, a young American lady; and we went to the "house of mourning," rather than to the "house of feasting." Her death was very sudden. I crossed to Rock Ferry on Saturday, and met her husband in the boat. He said his wife was rather unwell, and that he had just been sent for to see her; but he did not seem at all alarmed. And yet, on reaching home, he found her dead! The body is to be conveyed to America, and the funeral service was read over her in her house, only a few neighbors and friends being present. We were shown into a darkened room, where there was a dim gaslight burning, and a fire glimmering, and here and there a streak of sunshine struggling through the drawn curtains. Mr. G------ looked pale, and quite overcome with grief,--this, I suppose, being his first sorrow,--and he has a young baby on his hands, and no doubt, feels altogether forlorn in this foreign land. The clergyman entered in his canonicals, and we walked in a little procession into another room, where the coffin was placed. Mr. G------ sat down and rested his head on the coffin: the clergyman read the service; then knelt down, as did most of the company, and prayed with great propriety of manner, but with no earnestness,--and we separated. Mr. G------ is a small, smooth, and pretty young man, not emphasized in any way; but grief threw its awfulness about him to-day in a degree which I should not have expected. January 20th.--Mr. Steele, a gentleman of Rock Ferry, showed me this morning a pencil-case formerly belonging to Dr. Johnson. It is six or seven inches long, of large calibre, and very clumsily manufactured of iron, perhaps plated in its better days, but now quite bare. Indeed, it looks as rough as an article of kitchen furniture. The intaglio on the end is a lion rampant. On the whole, it well became Dr. Johnson to have used such a stalwart pencil-case. It had a six-inch measure on a part of it, so that it must have been at least eight inches long. Mr. Steele says he has seen a cracked earthen teapot, of large size, in which Miss Williams used to make tea for Dr. Johnson. God himself cannot compensate us for being born for any period short of eternity. All the misery endured here constitutes a claim for another life, and, still more, all the happiness; because all true happiness involves something more than the earth owns, and needs something more than a mortal capacity for the enjoyment of it. After receiving an injury on the head, a person fancied all the rest of his life that he heard voices flouting, jeering, and upbraiding him. February 19th.--I dined with the Mayor at the Town Hall last Friday evening. I sat next to Mr. W. J------, an Irish-American merchant, who is in very good standing here. He told me that he used to be very well acquainted with General Jackson, and that he was present at the street fight between him and the Bentons, and helped to take General Jackson off the ground. Colonel Benton shot at him from behind; but it was Jesse Benton's ball that hit him and broke his arm. I did not understand him to infer any treachery or cowardice from the circumstance of Colonel Benton's shooting at Jackson from behind, but, suppose it occurred in the confusion and excitement of a street fight. Mr. W. J------ seems to think that, after all, the reconciliation between the old General and Benton was merely external, and that they really hated one another as before. I do not think so. These dinners of the Mayors are rather agreeable than otherwise, except for the annoyance, in my case, of being called up to speak to a toast, and that is less disagreeable than at first. The suite of rooms at the Town House is stately and splendid, and all the Mayors, as far as I have seen, exercise hospitality in a manner worthy of the chief magistrates of a great city. They are supposed always to spend much more than their salary (which is 2,000 pounds) in these entertainments. The town provides the wines, I am told, and it might be expected that they should be particularly good,--at least, those which improve by age, for a quarter of a century should be only a moderate age for wine from the cellars of centuries-long institutions, like a corporate borough. Each Mayor might lay in a supply of the best vintage he could find, and trust his good name to posterity to the credit of that wine; and so he would be kindly and warmly remembered long after his own nose had lost its rubicundity. In point of fact, the wines seem to be good, but not remarkable. The dinner was good, and very handsomely served, with attendance enough, both in the hall below--where the door was wide open at the appointed hour, notwithstanding the cold--and at table; some being in the rich livery of the borough, and some in plain clothes. Servants, too, were stationed at various points from the hall to the reception-room; and the last one shouted forth the name of the entering guest. There were, I should think, about fifty guests at this dinner. Two bishops were present. The Bishops of Chester and New South Wales, dressed in a kind of long tunics, with black breeches and silk stockings, insomuch that I first fancied they were Catholics. Also Dr. McNeil, in a stiff-collared coat, looking more like a general than a divine. There were two officers in blue uniforms; and all the rest of us were in black, with only two white waistcoats,--my own being one,--and a rare sprinkling of white cravats. How hideously a man looks in them! I should like to have seen such assemblages as must have gathered in that reception-room, and walked with stately tread to the dining-hall, in times past, the Mayor and other civic dignitaries in their robes, noblemen in their state dresses, the Consul in his olive-leaf embroidery, everybody in some sort of bedizenment,--and then the dinner would have been a magnificent spectacle, worthy of the gilded hall, the rich table-service, and the powdered and gold-laced servitors. At a former dinner I remember seeing a gentleman in small-clothes, with a dress-sword; but all formalities of the kind are passing away. The Mayor's dinners, too, will no doubt be extinct before many years go by. I drove home from the Woodside Ferry in a cab with Bishop Burke and two other gentlemen. The Bishop is nearly seven feet high. After writing the foregoing account of a civic banquet, where I ate turtle-soup, salmon, woodcock, oyster patties, and I know not what else, I have been to the News-room and found the Exchange pavement densely thronged with people of all ages and of all manner of dirt and rags. They were waiting for soup-tickets, and waiting very patiently too, without outcry or disturbance, or even sour looks,--only patience and meekness in their faces. Well, I don't know that they have a right to be impatient of starvation; but, still there does seem to be an insolence of riches and prosperity, which one day or another will have a downfall. And this will be a pity, too. On Saturday I went with my friend Mr. Bright to Otterpool and to Larkhill to see the skaters on the private waters of those two seats of gentlemen; and it is a wonder to behold--and it is always a new wonder to me--how comfortable Englishmen know how to make themselves; locating their dwellings far within private grounds, with secure gateways and porters' lodges, and the smoothest roads and trimmest paths, and shaven lawns, and clumps of trees, and every bit of the ground, every hill and dell, made the most of for convenience and beauty, and so well kept that even winter cannot cause disarray; and all this appropriated to the same family for generations, so that I suppose they come to believe it created exclusively and on purpose for them. And, really, the result is good and beautiful. It is a home,--an institution which we Americans have not; but then I doubt whether anybody is entitled to a home in this world, in so full a sense. The day was very cold, and the skaters seemed to enjoy themselves exceedingly. They were, I suppose, friends of the owners of the grounds, and Mr. Bright said they were treated in a jolly way, with hot luncheons. The skaters practise skating more as an art, and can perform finer manoeuvres on the ice, than our New England skaters usually can, though the English have so much less opportunity for practice. A beggar-woman was haunting the grounds at Otterpool, but I saw nobody give her anything. I wonder how she got inside of the gate. Mr. W. J------ spoke of General Jackson as having come from the same part of Ireland as himself, and perhaps of the same family. I wonder whether he meant to say that the General was born in Ireland,--that having been suspected in America. February 21st.--Yesterday two companies of work-people came to our house in Rock Park, asking assistance, being out of work and with no resource other than charity. There were a dozen or more in each party. Their deportment was quiet and altogether unexceptionable,--no rudeness, no gruffness, nothing of menace. Indeed, such demonstrations would not have been safe, as they were followed about by two policemen; but they really seem to take their distress as their own misfortune and God's will, and impute it to nobody as a fault. This meekness is very touching, and makes one question the more whether they have all their rights. There have been disturbances, within a day or two, in Liverpool, and shops have been broken open and robbed of bread and money; but this is said to have been done by idle vagabonds, and not by the really hungry work-people. These last submit to starvation gently and patiently, as if it were an every-day matter with them, or, at least, nothing but what lay fairly within their horoscope. I suppose, in fact, their stomachs have the physical habit that makes hunger not intolerable, because customary. If they had been used to a full meat diet, their hunger would be fierce, like that of ravenous beasts; but now they are trained to it. I think that the feeling of an American, divided, as I am, by the ocean from his country, has a continual and immediate correspondence with the national feeling at home; and it seems to be independent of any external communication. Thus, my ideas about the Russian war vary in accordance with the state of the public mind at home, so that I am conscious whereabouts public sympathy is. March 7th.--J----- and I walked to Tranmere, and passed an old house which I suppose to be Tranmere Hall. Our way to it was up a hollow lane, with a bank and hedge on each side, and with a few thatched stone cottages, centuries old, their ridge-poles crooked and the stones time-worn, scattered along. At one point there was a wide, deep well, hewn out of the solid red freestone, and with steps, also hewn in solid rock, leading down to it. These steps were much hollowed by the feet of those who had come to the well; and they reach beneath the water, which is very high. The well probably supplied water to the old cotters and retainers of Tranmere Hall five hundred years ago. The Hall stands on the verge of a long hill which stretches behind Tranmere and as far as Birkenhead. It is an old gray stone edifice, with a good many gables, and windows with mullions, and some of them extending the whole breadth of the gable. In some parts of the house, the windows seem to have been built up; probably in the days when daylight was taxed. The form of the Hall is multiplex, the roofs sloping down and intersecting one another, so as to make the general result indescribable. There were two sun-dials on different sides of the house, both the dial-plates of which were of stone; and on one the figures, so far as I could see, were quite worn off, but the gnomon still cast a shadow over it in such a way that I could judge that it was about noon. The other dial had some half-worn hour-marks, but no gnomon. The chinks of the stones of the house were very weedy, and the building looked quaint and venerable; but it is now converted into a farm-house, with the farm-yard and outbuildings closely appended. A village, too, has grown up about it, so that it seems out of place among modern stuccoed dwellings, such as are erected for tradesmen and other moderate people who have their residences in the neighborhood of a great city. Among these there are a few thatched cottages, the homeliest domiciles that ever mortals lived in, belonging to the old estate. Directly across the street is a Wayside Inn, "licensed to sell wine, spirits, ale, and tobacco." The street itself has been laid out since the land grew valuable by the increase of Liverpool and Birkenhead; for the old Hall would never have been built on the verge of a public way. March 27th.--I attended court to day, at St. George's Hall, with my wife, Mr. Bright, and Mr. Channing, sitting in the High Sheriff's seat. It was the civil side, and Mr. Justice Cresswell presided. The lawyers, as far as aspect goes, seemed to me inferior to an American bar, judging from their countenances, whether as intellectual men or gentlemen. Their wigs and gowns do not impose on the spectator, though they strike him as an imposition. Their date is past. Mr. Warren, of the "Ten Thousand a Year," was in court,--a pale, thin, intelligent face, evidently a nervous man, more unquiet than anybody else in court,--always restless in his seat, whispering to his neighbors, settling his wig, perhaps with an idea that people single him out. St. George's Hall--the interior hall itself, I mean--is a spacious, lofty, and most rich and noble apartment, and very satisfactory. The pavement is made of mosaic tiles, and has a beautiful effect. April 7th.--I dined at Mr. J. P. Heywood's on Thursday, and met there Mr. and Mrs. ------ of Smithell's Hall. The Hall is an old edifice of some five hundred years, and Mrs. ------ says there is a bloody footstep at the foot of the great staircase. The tradition is that a certain martyr, in Bloody Mary's time, being examined before the occupant of the Hall, and committed to prison, stamped his foot, in earnest protest against the injustice with which he was treated. Blood issued from his foot, which slid along the stone pavement, leaving a long footmark, printed in blood. And there it has remained ever since, in spite of the scrubbings of all succeeding generations. Mrs. ------ spoke of it with much solemnity, real or affected. She says that they now cover the bloody impress with a carpet, being unable to remove it. In the History of Lancashire, which I looked at last night, there is quite a different account,--according to which the footstep is not a bloody one, but is a slight cavity or inequality in the surface of the stone, somewhat in the shape of a man's foot with a peaked shoe. The martyr's name was George Marsh. He was a curate, and was afterwards burnt. Mrs. ------ asked me to go and see the Hall and the footmark; and as it is in Lancashire, and not a great way off, and a curious old place, perhaps I may. April 12th.--The Earl of ------, whom I saw the other day at St. George's Hall, has a somewhat elderly look,--a pale and rather thin face, which strikes one as remarkably short, or compressed from top to bottom. Nevertheless, it has great intelligence, and sensitiveness too, I should think, but a cold, disagreeable expression. I should take him to be a man of not very pleasant temper,--not genial. He has no physical presence nor dignity, yet one sees him to be a person of rank and consequence. But, after all, there is nothing about him which it need have taken centuries of illustrious nobility to produce, especially in a man of remarkable ability, as Lord ------ certainly is. S-----, who attended court all through the Hapgood trial, and saw Lord ------ for hours together every day, has come to conclusions quite different from mine. She thinks him a perfectly natural person, without any assumption, any self-consciousness, any scorn of the lower world. She was delighted with his ready appreciation and feeling of what was passing around him,-- his quick enjoyment of a joke,--the simplicity and unaffectedness of his emotion at whatever incidents excited his interest,--the genial acknowledgment of sympathy, causing him to look round and exchange glances with those near him, who were not his individual friends, but barristers and other casual persons. He seemed to her all that a nobleman ought to be, entirely simple and free from pretence and self-assertion, which persons of lower rank can hardly help bedevilling themselves with. I saw him only for a very few moments, so cannot put my observation against hers, especially as I was influenced by what I had heard the Liverpool people say of him. I do not know whether I have mentioned that the handsomest man I have seen in England was a young footman of Mr. Heywood's. In his rich livery, he was a perfect Joseph Andrews. In my Romance, the original emigrant to America may have carried away with him a family secret, whereby it was in his power, had he so chosen, to have brought about the ruin of the family. This secret he transmits to his American progeny, by whom it is inherited throughout all the intervening generations. At last, the hero of the Romance comes to England, and finds, that, by means of this secret, he still has it in his power to procure the downfall of the family. It would be something similar to the story of Meleager, whose fate depended on the firebrand that his mother had snatched from the flames. April 24th.--On Saturday I was present at a dejeuner on board the Donald McKay; the principal guest being Mr. Layard, M. P. There were several hundred people, quite filling the between decks of the ship, which was converted into a saloon for the occasion. I sat next to Mr. Layard, at the head of the table, and so had a good opportunity of seeing and getting acquainted with him. He is a man in early middle age,--of middle stature, with an open, frank, intelligent, kindly face. His forehead is not expansive, but is prominent in the perceptive regions, and retreats a good deal. His mouth is full,--I liked him from the first. He was very kind and complimentary to me, and made me promise to go and see him in London. It would have been a very pleasant entertainment, only that my pleasure in it was much marred by having to acknowledge a toast, in honor of the President. However, such things do not trouble me nearly so much as they used to do, and I came through it tolerably enough. Mr. Layard's speech was the great affair of the day. He speaks with much fluency (though he assured me that he had to put great force upon himself to speak publicly), and, as he warms up, seems to engage with his whole moral and physical man,--quite possessed with what he has to say. His evident earnestness and good faith make him eloquent, and stand him instead of oratorical graces. His views of the position of England and the prospects of the war were as dark as well could be; and his speech was exceedingly to the purpose, full of common-sense, and with not one word of clap-trap. Judging from its effect upon the audience, he spoke the voice of the whole English people,--although an English Baronet, who sat next below me, seemed to dissent, or at least to think that it was not exactly the thing for a stranger to hear. It concluded amidst great cheering. Mr. Layard appears to be a true Englishman, with a moral force and strength of character, and earnestness of purpose, and fulness of common-sense, such as have always served England's turn in her past successes; but rather fit for resistance than progress. No doubt, he is a good and very able man; but I question whether he could get England out of the difficulties which he sees so clearly, or could do much better than Lord Palmerston, whom he so decries. April 25th.--Taking the deposition of sailors yesterday, in a case of alleged ill-usage by the officers of a vessel, one of the witnesses was an old seaman of sixty. In reply to some testimony of his, the captain said, "You were the oldest man in the ship, and we honored you as such." The mate also said that he never could have thought of striking an old man like that. Indeed, the poor old fellow had a kind of dignity and venerableness about him, though he confessed to having been drunk, and seems to have been a mischief-maker, what they call a sea-preacher,-- promoting discontent and grumbling. He must have been a very handsome man in his youth, having regular features of a noble and beautiful cast. His beard was gray; but his dark hair had hardly a streak of white, and was abundant all over his head. He was deaf, and seemed to sit in a kind of seclusion, unless when loudly questioned or appealed to. Once he broke forth from a deep silence thus, "I defy any man!" and then was silent again. It had a strange effect, this general defiance, which he meant, I suppose, in answer to some accusation that he thought was made against him. His general behavior throughout the examination was very decorous and proper; and he said he had never but once hitherto been before a consul, and that was in 1819, when a mate had ill-used him, and, "being a young man then, I gave him a beating,"--whereupon his face gleamed with a quiet smile, like faint sunshine on an old ruin. "By many a tempest has his beard been shook"; and I suppose he must soon go into a workhouse, and thence, shortly, to his grave. He is now in a hospital, having, as the surgeon certifies, some ribs fractured; but there does not appear to have been any violence used upon him aboard the ship of such a nature as to cause this injury, though he swears it was a blow from a rope, and nothing else. What struck me in the case was the respect and rank that his age seemed to give him, in the view of the officers; and how, as the captain's expression signified, it lifted him out of his low position, and made him a person to be honored. The dignity of his manner is perhaps partly owing to the ancient mariner, with his long experience, being an oracle among the forecastle men. May 3d.--It rains to-day, after a very long period of east-wind and dry weather. The east-wind here, blowing across the island, seems to be the least damp of all the winds; but it is full of malice and mischief, of an indescribably evil temper, and stabs one like a cold, poisoned dagger. I never spent so disagreeable a spring as this, although almost every day for a month has been bright. Friday, May 11th.--A few weeks ago, a sailor, a most pitiable object, came to my office to complain of cruelty from his captain and mate. They had beaten him shamefully, of which he bore grievous marks about his face and eyes, and bruises on his head and other parts of his person: and finally the ship had sailed, leaving him behind. I never in my life saw so forlorn a fellow, so ragged, so wretched; and even his wits seemed to have been beaten out of him, if perchance he ever had any. He got an order for the hospital; and there he has been, off and on, ever since, till yesterday, when I received a message that he was dying, and wished to see the Consul; so I went with Mr. Wilding to the hospital. We were ushered into the waiting-room,--a kind of parlor, with a fire in the grate, and a centre-table, whereon lay one or two medical journals, with wood engravings; and there was a young man, who seemed to be an official of the house, reading. Shortly the surgeon appeared,--a brisk, cheerful, kindly sort of person, whom I have met there on previous visits. He told us that the man was dying, and probably would not be able to communicate anything, but, nevertheless, ushered us up to the highest floor, and into the room where he lay. It was a large, oblong room, with ten or twelve beds in it, each occupied by a patient. The surgeon said that the hospital was often so crowded that they were compelled to lay some of the patients on the floor. The man whom we came to see lay on his bed in a little recess formed by a projecting window; so that there was a kind of seclusion for him to die in. He seemed quite insensible to outward things, and took no notice of our approach, nor responded to what was said to him,--lying on his side, breathing with short gasps,--his apparent disease being inflammation of the chest, although the surgeon said that he might be found to have sustained internal injury by bruises. he was restless, tossing his head continually, mostly with his eyes shut, and much compressed and screwed up, but sometimes opening them; and then they looked brighter and darker than when I first saw them. I think his face was not at any time so stupid as at his first interview with me; but whatever intelligence he had was rather inward than outward, as if there might be life and consciousness at a depth within, while as to external matters he was in a mist. The surgeon felt his wrist, and said that there was absolutely no pulsation, and that he might die at any moment, or might perhaps live an hour, but that there was no prospect of his being able to communicate with me. He was quite restless, nevertheless, and sometimes half raised himself in bed, sometimes turned himself quite over, and then lay gasping for an instant. His woollen shirt being thrust up on his arm, there appeared a tattooing of a ship and anchor, and other nautical emblems, on both of them, which another sailor-patient, on examining them, said must have been done years ago. This might be of some importance, because the dying man had told me, when I first saw him, that he was no sailor, but a farmer, and that, this being his first voyage, he had been beaten by the captain for not doing a sailor's duty, which he had had no opportunity of learning. These sea-emblems indicated that he was probably a seaman of some years' service. While we stood in the little recess, such of the other patients as were convalescent gathered near the foot of the bed; and the nurse came and looked on, and hovered about us,--a sharp-eyed, intelligent woman of middle age, with a careful and kind expression, neglecting nothing that was for the patient's good, yet taking his death as coolly as any other incident in her daily business. Certainly, it was a very forlorn death-bed; and I felt--what I have heretofore been inclined to doubt-- that it might, be a comfort to have persons whom one loves, to go with us to the threshold of the other world, and leave us only when we are fairly across it. This poor fellow had a wife and two children on the other side of the water. At first he did not utter any sound; but by and by he moaned a little, and gave tokens of being more sensible to outward concerns,--not quite so misty and dreamy as hitherto. We had been talking all the while--myself in a whisper, but the surgeon in his ordinary tones--about his state, without his paying any attention. But now the surgeon put his mouth down to the man's face and said, "Do you know that you are dying?" At this the patient's head began to move upon the pillow; and I thought at first that it was only the restlessness that he had shown all along; but soon it appeared to be an expression of emphatic dissent, a negative shake of the head. He shook it with all his might, and groaned and mumbled, so that it was very evident how miserably reluctant he was to die. Soon after this he absolutely spoke. "O, I want you to get me well! I want to get away from here!" in a groaning and moaning utterance. The surgeon's question had revived him, but to no purpose; for, being told that the Consul had come to see him, and asked whether he had anything to communicate, he said only, "O, I want him to get me well!" and the whole life that was left in him seemed to be unwillingness to die. This did not last long; for he soon relapsed into his first state, only with his face a little more pinched and screwed up, and his eyes strangely sunken. And lost in his head; and the surgeon said that there would be no use in my remaining. So I took my leave. Mr. Wilding had brought a deposition of the man's evidence, which he had clearly made at the Consulate, for him to sign, and this we left with the surgeon, in case there should be such an interval of consciousness and intelligence before death as to make it possible for him to sign it. But of this there is no probability. I have just received a note from the hospital, stating that the sailor, Daniel Smith, died about three quarters of an hour after I saw him. May 18th.--The above-mentioned Daniel Smith had about him a bundle of letters, which I have examined. They are all very yellow, stained with sea-water, smelling of bad tobacco-smoke, and much worn at the folds. Never were such ill-written letters, nor such incredibly fantastic spelling. They seem to be from various members of his family,--most of them from a brother, who purports to have been a deck-hand in the coasting and steamboat trade between Charleston and other ports; others from female relations; one from his father, in which he inquires how long his son has been in jail, and when the trial is to come on,--the offence, however, of which he was accused, not being indicated. But from the tenor of his brother's letters, it would appear that he was a small farmer in the interior of South Carolina, sending butter, eggs, and poultry to be sold in Charleston by his brother, and receiving the returns in articles purchased there. This was his own account of himself; and he affirmed, in his deposition before me, that he had never had any purpose of shipping for Liverpool, or anywhere else; but that, going on board the ship to bring a man's trunk ashore, he was compelled to remain and serve as a sailor. This was a hard fate, certainly, and a strange thing to happen in the United States at this day,--that a free citizen should be absolutely kidnapped, carried to a foreign country, treated with savage cruelty during the voyage, and left to die on his arrival. Yet all this has unquestionably been done, and will probably go unpunished. The seed of the long-stapled cotton, now cultivated in America, was sent there in 1786 from the Bahama Islands, by some of the royalist refugees, who had settled there. The inferior short-stapled cotton had been previously cultivated for domestic purposes. The seeds of every other variety have been tried without success. The kind now grown was first introduced into Georgia. Thus to the refugees America owes as much of her prosperity as is due to the cotton-crops, and much of whatever harm is to result from slavery. May 22d.--Captain J------ says that he saw, in his late voyage to Australia and India, a vessel commanded by an Englishman, who had with him his wife and thirteen children. This ship was the home of the family, and they had no other. The thirteen children had all been born on board, and had been brought up on board, and knew nothing of dry land, except by occasionally setting foot on it. Captain J------ is a very agreeable specimen of the American shipmaster, --a pleasant, gentlemanly man, not at all refined, and yet with fine and honorable sensibilities. Very easy in his manners and conversation, yet gentle,--talking on freely, and not much minding grammar; but finding a sufficient and picturesque expression for what he wishes to say; very cheerful and vivacious; accessible to feeling, as yesterday, when talking about the recent death of his mother. His voice faltered, and the tears came into his eyes, though before and afterwards he smiled merrily, and made us smile; fond of his wife, and carrying her about the world with him, and blending her with all his enjoyments; an excellent and sagacious man of business; liberal in his expenditure; proud of his ship and flag; always well dressed, with some little touch of sailor-like flashiness, but not a whit too much; slender in figure, with a handsome face, and rather profuse brown beard and whiskers; active and alert; about thirty-two. A daguerreotype sketch of any conversation of his would do him no justice, for its slang, its grammatical mistakes, its mistaken words (as "portable" for "portly"), would represent a vulgar man, whereas the impression he leaves is by no means that of vulgarity; but he is a character quite perfect within itself, fit for the deck and the cabin, and agreeable in the drawing-room, though not amenable altogether to its rules. Being so perfectly natural, he is more of a gentleman for those little violations of rule, which most men, with his opportunities, might escape. The men whose appeals to the Consul's charity are the hardest to be denied are those who have no country,---Hungarians, Poles, Cubans, Spanish-Americans, and French republicans. All exiles for liberty come to me, if the representative of America were their representative. Yesterday, came an old French soldier, and showed his wounds; to-day, a Spaniard, a friend of Lopez,--bringing his little daughter with him. He said he was starving, and looked so. The little girl was in good condition enough, and decently dressed.--May 23d. May 30th.--The two past days have been Whitsuntide holidays; and they have been celebrated at Tranmere in a manner very similar to that of the old "Election" in Massachusetts, as I remember it a good many years ago, though the festival has now almost or quite died out. Whitsuntide was kept up on our side of the water, I am convinced, under pretence of rejoicings at the election of Governor. It occurred at precisely the same period of the year,--the same week; the only difference being, that Monday and Tuesday are the Whitsun festival days, whereas, in Massachusetts, Wednesday was "Election day," and the acme of the merry-making. I passed through Tranmere yesterday forenoon, and lingered awhile to see the sports. The greatest peculiarity of the crowd, to my eye, was that they seemed not to have any best clothes, and therefore had put on no holiday suits,--a grimy people, as at all times, heavy, obtuse, with thick beer in their blood. Coarse, rough-complexioned women and girls were intermingled, the girls with no maiden trimness in their attire, large and blowsy. Nobody seemed to have been washed that day. All the enjoyment was of an exceedingly sombre character, so far as I saw it, though there was a richer variety of sports than at similar festivals in America. There were wooden horses, revolving in circles, to be ridden a certain number of rounds for a penny; also swinging cars gorgeously painted, and the newest named after Lord Raglan; and four cars balancing one another, and turned by a winch; and people with targets and rifles,-- the principal aim being to hit an apple bobbing on a string before the target; other guns for shooting at the distance of a foot or two, for a prize of filberts; and a game much in fashion, of throwing heavy sticks at earthen mugs suspended on lines, three throws for a penny. Also, there was a posture-master, showing his art in the centre of a ring of miscellaneous spectators, and handing round his bat after going through all his attitudes. The collection amounted to only one halfpenny, and, to eke it out, I threw in three more. There were some large booths with tables placed the whole length, at which sat men and women drinking and smoking pipes; orange-girls, a great many, selling the worst possible oranges, which had evidently been boiled to give them a show of freshness. There were likewise two very large structures, the walls made of boards roughly patched together, and rooted with canvas, which seemed to have withstood a thousand storms. Theatres were there, and in front there were pictures of scenes which were to be represented within; the price of admission being twopence to one theatre, and a penny to the other. But, small as the price of tickets was, I could not see that anybody bought them. Behind the theatres, close to the board wall, and perhaps serving as the general dressing-room, was a large windowed wagon, in which I suppose the company travel and live together. Never, to my imagination, was the mysterious glory that has surrounded theatrical representation ever since my childhood brought down into such dingy reality as this. The tragedy queens were the same coarse and homely women and girls that surrounded me on the green. Some of the people had evidently been drinking more than was good for them; but their drunkenness was silent and stolid, with no madness in it. No ebullition of any sort was apparent. May 31st.--Last Sunday week, for the first time, I heard the note of the cuckoo. "Cuck-oo--cuck-oo" it says, repeating the word twice, not in a brilliant metallic tone, but low and flute-like, without the excessive sweetness of the flute,--without an excess of saccharine juice in the sound. There are said to be always two cuckoos seen together. The note is very soft and pleasant. The larks I have not yet heard in the sky; though it is not infrequent to hear one singing in a cage, in the streets of Liverpool. Brewers' draymen are allowed to drink as much of their master's beverage as they like, and they grow very brawny and corpulent, resembling their own horses in size, and presenting, one would suppose, perfect pictures of physical comfort and well-being. But the least bruise, or even the hurt of a finger, is liable to turn to gangrene or erysipelas, and become fatal. When the wind blows violently, however clear the sky, the English say, "It is a stormy day." And, on the other hand, when the air is still, and it does not actually rain, however dark and lowering the sky may be, they say, "The weather is fine!" June 2d.--The English women of the lower classes have a grace of their own, not seen in each individual, but nevertheless belonging to their order, which is not to be found in American women of the corresponding class. The other day, in the police court, a girl was put into the witness-box, whose native graces of this sort impressed me a good deal. She was coarse, and her dress was none of the cleanest, and nowise smart. She appeared to have been up all night, too, drinking at the Tranmere wake, and had since ridden in a cart, covered up with a rug. She described herself as a servant-girl, out of place; and her charm lay in all her manifestations,--her tones, her gestures, her look, her way of speaking and what she said, being so appropriate and natural in a girl of that class; nothing affected; no proper grace thrown away by attempting to appear lady-like,--which an American girl would have attempted,--and she would also have succeeded in a certain degree. If each class would but keep within itself, and show its respect for itself by aiming at nothing beyond, they would all be more respectable. But this kind of fitness is evidently not to be expected in the future; and something else must be substituted for it. These scenes at the police court are often well worth witnessing. The controlling genius of the court, except when the stipendiary magistrate presides, is the clerk, who is a man learned in the law. Nominally the cases are decided by the aldermen, who sit in rotation, but at every important point there comes a nod or a whisper from the clerk; and it is that whisper which sets the defendant free or sends him to prison. Nevertheless, I suppose the alderman's common-sense and native shrewdness are not without their efficacy in producing a general tendency towards the right; and, no doubt, the decisions of the police court are quite as often just as those of any other court whatever. June 11th.--I walked with J----- yesterday to Bebington Church. When I first saw this church, nearly two years since, it seemed to me the fulfilment of my ideal of an old English country church. It is not so satisfactory now, although certainly a venerable edifice. There used some time ago to be ivy all over the tower; and at my first view of it, there was still a little remaining on the upper parts of the spire. But the main roots, I believe, were destroyed, and pains were taken to clear away the whole of the ivy, so that now it is quite bare,--nothing but homely gray stone, with marks of age, but no beauty. The most curious thing about the church is the font. It is a massive pile, composed of five or six layers of freestone in an octagon shape, placed in the angle formed by the projecting side porch and the wall of the church, and standing under a stained-glass window. The base is six or seven feet across, and it is built solidly up in successive steps, to the height of about six feet,--an octagonal pyramid, with the basin of the font crowning the pile hewn out of the solid stone, and about a foot in diameter and the same in depth. There was water in it from the recent rains,--water just from heaven, and therefore as holy as any water it ever held in old Romish times. The aspect of this aged font is extremely venerable, with moss in the basin and all over the stones; grass, and weeds of various kinds, and little shrubs, rooted in the chinks of the stones and between the successive steps. At each entrance of Rock Park, where we live, there is a small Gothic structure of stone, each inhabited by a policeman and his family; very small dwellings indeed, with the main apartment opening directly out-of-doors; and when the door is open, one can see the household fire, the good wife at work, perhaps the table set, and a throng of children clustering round, and generally overflowing the threshold. The policeman walks about the Park in stately fashion, with his silver-laced blue uniform and snow-white gloves, touching his hat to gentlemen who reside in the Park. In his public capacity he has rather an awful aspect, but privately he is a humble man enough, glad of any little job, and of old clothes for his many children, or, I believe, for himself. One of the two policemen is a shoemaker and cobbler. His pay, officially, is somewhere about a guinea a week. The Park, just now, is very agreeable to look at, shadowy with trees and shrubs, and with glimpses of green leaves and flower-gardens through the branches and twigs that line the iron fences. After a shower the hawthorn blossoms are delightfully fragrant. Golden tassels of the laburnum are abundant. I may have mentioned elsewhere the traditional prophecy, that, when the ivy should reach the top of Bebbington spire, the tower was doomed to fall. It lies still, therefore, a chance of standing for centuries. Mr. Turner tells me that the font now used is inside of the church, but the one outside is of unknown antiquity, and that it was customary, in papistical time, to have the font without the church. There is a little boy often on board the Rock Ferry steamer with an accordion,--an instrument I detest; but nevertheless it becomes tolerable in his hands, not so much for its music, as for the earnestness and interest with which he plays it. His body and the accordion together become one musical instrument on which his soul plays tunes, for he sways and vibrates with the music from head to foot and throughout his frame, half closing his eyes and uplifting his face, as painters represent St. Cecilia and other famous musicians; and sometimes he swings his accordion in the air, as if in a perfect rapture. After all, my ears, though not very nice, are somewhat tortured by his melodies, especially when confined within the cabin. The boy is ten years old, perhaps, and rather pretty; clean, too, and neatly dressed, very unlike all other street and vagabond children whom I have seen in Liverpool. People give him their halfpence more readily than to any other musicians who infest the boat. J-----, the other day, was describing a soldier-crab to his mother, he being much interested in natural history, and endeavoring to give as strong an idea as possible of its warlike characteristics, and power to harm those who molest it. Little R----- sat by, quietly listening and sewing, and at last, lifting her head, she remarked, "I hope God did not hurt himself, when he was making him!" LEAMINGTON. June 21st.--We left Rock Ferry and Liverpool on Monday the 18th by the rail for this place; a very dim and rainy day, so that we had no pleasant prospects of the country; neither would the scenery along the Great Western Railway have been in any case very striking, though sunshine would have made the abundant verdure and foliage warm and genial. But a railway naturally finds its way through all the common places of a country, and is certainly a most unsatisfactory mode of travelling, the only object being to arrive. However, we had a whole carriage to ourselves, and the children enjoyed the earlier part of the journey very much. We skirted Shrewsbury, and I think I saw the old tower of a church near the station, perhaps the same that struck Falstaff's "long hour." As we left the town I saw the Wrekin, a round, pointed hill of regular shape, and remembered the old toast, "To all friends round the Wrekin!" As we approached Birmingham, the country began to look somewhat Brummagemish, with its manufacturing chimneys, and pennons of flame quivering out of their tops; its forges, and great heaps of mineral refuse; its smokiness and other ugly symptoms. Of Birmingham itself we saw little or nothing, except the mean and new brick lodging-houses, on the outskirts of the town. Passing through Warwick, we had a glimpse of the castle,--an ivied wall and two turrets, rising out of imbosoming foliage; one's very idea of an old castle. We reached Leamington at a little past six, and drove to the Clarendon Hotel,--a very spacious and stately house, by far the most splendid hotel I have yet seen in England. The landlady, a courteous old lady in black, showed my wife our rooms, and we established ourselves in an immensely large and lofty parlor, with red curtains and ponderous furniture, perhaps a very little out of date. The waiter brought me the book of arrivals, containing the names of all visitors for from three to five years back. During two years I estimated that there had been about three hundred and fifty persons only, and while we were there, I saw nobody but ourselves to support the great hotel. Among the names were those of princes, earls, countesses, and baronets; and when the people of the house heard from R-----'s nurse that I too was a man of office, and held the title of Honorable in my own country, they greatly regretted that I entered myself as plain "Mister" in the book. We found this hotel very comfortable, and might doubtless have made it luxurious, had we chosen to go to five times the expense of similar luxuries in America; but we merely ordered comfortable things, and so came off at no very extravagant rate,--and with great honor, at all events, in the estimation of the waiter. During the afternoon we found lodgings, and established ourselves in them before dark. This English custom of lodgings, of which we had some experience at Rhyl last year, has its advantages; but is rather uncomfortable for strangers, who, in first settling themselves down, find that they must undertake all the responsibility of housekeeping at an instant's warming, and cannot get even a cup of tea till they have made arrangements with the grocer. Soon, however, there comes a sense of being at home, and by our exclusive selves, which never can be attained at hotels nor boarding-houses. Our house is well situated and respectably furnished, with the dinginess, however, which is inseparable from lodging-houses,--as if others had used these things before and would use them again after we had gone,--a well-enough adaptation, but a lack of peculiar appropriateness; and I think one puts off real enjoyment from a sense of not being truly fitted. July 1st.--On Friday I took the rail with J----- for Coventry. It was a bright and very warm day, oppressively so, indeed; though I think that there is never in this English climate the pervading warmth of an American summer day. The sunshine may be excessively hot, but an overshadowing cloud or the shade of a tree or of a building at once affords relief; and if the slightest breeze stirs, you feel the latent freshness of the air. Coventry is some nine or ten miles from Leamington. The approach to it from the railway presents nothing very striking,--a few church-towers, and one or two tall steeples; and the houses first seen are of modern and unnoticeable aspect. Getting into the interior of the town, however, you find the streets very crooked, and some of them very narrow. I saw one place where it seemed possible to shake hands from one jutting storied old house to another. There were whole streets of the same kind of houses, one story impending over another, such as used to be familiar to me in Salem, and in some streets of Boston. In fact, the whole aspect of the town--its irregularity and continual indirectness--reminded me very much of Boston, as I used to see it, in rare visits thither, when a child. These Coventry houses, however, many of them, are much larger than any of similar style that I have seen elsewhere, and they spread into greater bulk as they ascend, by means of one story jutting over the other. Probably the New-Englanders continued to follow this fashion of architecture after it had been abandoned in the mother country. The old house built, by Philip English, in Salem, dated about 1692; and it was in this style,--many gabled, and impending. Here the edifices of such architecture seem to be Elizabethan, and of earlier date. A woman in Stratford told us that the rooms, very low on the ground-floor, grew loftier from story to story to the attic. The fashion of windows, in Coventry, is such as I have not hitherto seen. In the highest story, a window of the ordinary height extends along the whole breadth of the house, ten, fifteen, perhaps twenty feet, just like any other window of a commonplace house, except for this inordinate width. One does not easily see what the inhabitants want of so much window-light; but the fashion is very general, and in modern houses, or houses that have been modernized, this style of window is retained. Thus young people who grow up amidst old people contract quaint and old-fashioned manners and aspect. I imagine that these ancient towns--such as Chester and Stratford, Warwick and Coventry--contain even a great deal more antiquity than meets the eye. You see many modern fronts; but if you peep or penetrate inside, you find an antique arrangement,--old rafters, intricate passages, and ancient staircases, which have put on merely a new outside, and are likely still to prove good for the usual date of a new house. They put such an immense and stalwart ponderosity into their frameworks, that I suppose a house of Elizabeth's time, if renewed, has at least an equal chance of durability with one that is new in every part. All the hotels in Coventry, so far as I noticed them, are old, with new fronts; and they have an archway for the admission of vehicles into the court-yard, and doors opening into the rooms of the building on each side of the arch. Maids and waiters are seen darting across the arched passage from door to door, and it requires a guide (in my case, at least) to show you the way to the coffee-room or the bar. I have never been up stairs in any of them, but can conceive of infinite bewilderment of zigzag corridors between staircase and chamber. It was fair-day in Coventry, and this gave what no doubt is an unusual bustle to the streets. In fact, I have not seen such crowded and busy streets in any English town; various kinds of merchandise being for sale in the open air, and auctioneers disposing of miscellaneous wares, pretty much as they do at musters and other gatherings in the United States. The oratory of the American auctioneer, however, greatly surpasses that of the Englishman in vivacity and fun. But this movement and throng, together with the white glow of the sun on the pavements, make the scene, in my recollection, assume an American aspect, and this is strange in so antique and quaint a town as Coventry. We rambled about without any definite aim, but found our way, I believe, to most of the objects that are worth seeing. St. Michael's Church was most magnificent,--so old, yet enduring; so huge, so rich; with such intricate minuteness in its finish, that, look as long as you will at it, you can always discover something new directly before your eyes. I admire this in Gothic architecture,--that you cannot master it all at once, that it is not a naked outline; but, as deep and rich as human nature itself, always revealing new ideas. It is as if the builder had built himself and his age up into it, and as if the edifice had life. Grecian temples are less interesting to me, being so cold and crystalline. I think this is the only church I have seen where there are any statues still left standing in the niches of the exterior walls. We did not go inside. The steeple of St. Michael's is three hundred and three feet high, and no doubt the clouds often envelop the tip of the spire. Trinity, another church with a tall spire, stands near St. Michael's, but did not attract me so much; though I, perhaps, might have admired it equally, had I seen it first or alone. We certainly know nothing of church-building in America, and of all English things that I have seen, methinks the churches disappoint me least. I feel, too, that there is something much more wonderful in them than I have yet had time to know and experience. In the course of the forenoon, searching about everywhere in quest of Gothic architecture, we found our way into St. Mary's Hall. The doors were wide open; it seemed to be public,--there was a notice on the wall desiring visitors to give nothing to attendants for showing it, and so we walked in. I observed, in the guide-books, that we should have obtained an order for admission from some member of the town council; but we had none, and found no need of it. An old woman, and afterwards an old man, both of whom seemed to be at home on the premises, told us that we might enter, and troubled neither themselves nor us any further. St. Mary's Hall is now the property of the Corporation of Coventry, and seems to be the place where the Mayor and Council hold their meetings. It was built by one of the old guilds or fraternities of merchants and tradesmen The woman shut the kitchen door when I approached, so that I did not see the great fireplaces and huge cooking-utensils which are said to be there. Whether these are ever used nowadays, and whether the Mayor of Coventry gives such hospitable banquets as the Mayor of Liverpool, I do not know. We went to the Red Lion, and had a luncheon of cold lamb and cold pigeon-pie. This is the best way of dining at English hotels,--to call the meal a luncheon, in which case you will get as good or better a variety than if it were a dinner, and at less than half the cost. Having lunched, we again wandered about town, and entered a quadrangle of gabled houses, with a church, and its churchyard on one side. This proved to be St. John's Church, and a part of the houses were the locality of Bond's Hospital, for the reception of ten poor men, and the remainder was devoted to the Bablake School. Into this latter I peered, with a real American intrusiveness, which I never found in myself before, but which I must now assume, or miss a great many things which I am anxious to see. Running along the front of the house, under the jut of the impending story, there was a cloistered walk, with windows opening on the quadrangle. An arched oaken door, with long iron hinges, admitted us into a school-room about twenty feet square, paved with brick tiles, blue and red. Adjoining this there is a larger school-room which we did not enter, but peeped at, through one of the inner windows, from the cloistered walk. In the room which we entered, there were seven scholars' desks, and an immense arched fireplace, with seats on each side, under the chimney, on a stone slab resting on a brick pedestal. The opening of the fireplace was at least twelve feet in width. On one side of the room were pegs for fifty-two boys' hats and clothes, and there was a boy's coat, of peculiar cut, hanging on a peg, with the number "50" in brass upon it. The coat looked ragged and shabby. An old school-book was lying on one of the desks, much tattered, and without a title; but it seemed to treat wholly of Saints' days and festivals of the Church. A flight of stairs, with a heavy balustrade of carved oak, ascended to a gallery, about eight or nine feet from the lower floor, which runs along two sides of the room, looking down upon it. The room is without a ceiling, and rises into a peaked gable, about twenty feet high. There is a large clock in it, and it is lighted by two windows, each about ten feet wide,--one in the gallery, and the other beneath it. Two benches or settles, with backs, stood one on each side of the fireplace. An old woman in black passed through the room while I was making my observations, and looked at me, but said nothing. The school was founded in 1563, by Thomas Whealby, Mayor of Coventry; the revenue is about 900 pounds, and admits children of the working-classes at eleven years old, clothes and provides for them, and finally apprentices them for seven years. We saw some of the boys playing in the quadrangle, dressed in long blue coats or gowns, with cloth caps on their heads. I know not how the atmosphere of antiquity, and massive continuance from age to age, which was the charm to me in this scene of a charity school-room, can be thrown over it in description. After noting down these matters, I looked into the quiet precincts of Bond's Hospital, which, no doubt, was more than equally interesting; but the old men were lounging about or lolling at length, looking very drowsy, and I had not the heart nor the face to intrude among them. There is something altogether strange to an American in these charitable institutions,--in the preservation of antique modes and customs which is effected by them, insomuch that, doubtless, without at all intending it, the founders have succeeded in preserving a model of their own long-past age down into the midst of ours, and how much later nobody can know. We were now rather tired, and went to the railroad, intending to go home; but we got into the wrong train, and were carried by express, with hurricane speed, to Bradon, where we alighted, and waited a good while for the return train to Coventry. At Coventry again we had more than an hour to wait, and therefore wandered wearily up into the city, and took another look at its bustling streets, in which there seems to be a good emblem of what England itself really is,--with a great deal of antiquity in it, and which is now chiefly a modification of the old. The new things are based and supported on the sturdy old things, and often limited and impeded by them; but this antiquity is so massive that there seems to be no means of getting rid of it without tearing society to pieces. July 2d.--To-day I shall set out on my return to Liverpool, leaving my family here. TO THE LAKES. July 4th.--I left Leamington on Monday, shortly after twelve, having been accompanied to the railway station by U---- and J-----, whom I sent away before the train started. While I was waiting, a rather gentlemanly, well-to-do, English-looking man sat down by me, and began to talk of the Crimea, of human affairs in general, of God and his Providence, of the coming troubles of the world, and of spiritualism, in a strange free way for an Englishman, or, indeed, for any man. It was easy to see that he was an enthusiast of some line or other. He being bound for Birmingham and I for Rugby, we soon had to part; but he asked my name, and told me his own, which I did not much attend to, and immediately forgot. [Here follows a long account of a visit to Lichfield and Uttoxeter, condensed in "Our Old Home."] July 6th.--The day after my arrival, by way of Lichfield and Uttoxeter, at Liverpool, the door of the Consulate opened, and in came the very sociable personage who accosted me at the railway station at Leamington. He was on his way towards Edinburgh, to deliver a course of lectures or a lecture, and had called, he said, to talk with me about spiritualism, being desirous of having the judgment of a sincere mind on the subject. In his own mind, I should suppose, he is past the stage of doubt and inquiry; for he told me that in every action of his life he is governed by the counsels received from the spiritual world through a medium. I did not inquire whether this medium (who is a small boy) had suggested his visit to me. My remarks to him were quite of a sceptical character in regard to the faith to which he had surrendered himself. He has formerly lived in America, and had had a son born there. He gave me a pamphlet written by himself, on the cure of consumption and other diseases by antiseptic remedies. I hope he will not bore me any more, though he seems to be a very sincere and good man; but these enthusiasts who adopt such extravagant ideas appear to one to lack imagination, instead of being misled by it, as they are generally supposed to be. NEWBY BRIDGE.--FOOT OF WINDERMERE. July 13th.--I left Liverpool on Saturday last, by the London and Northwestern Railway, for Leamington, spent Sunday there, and started on Monday for the English lakes, with the whole family. We should not have taken this journey just now, but I had an official engagement which it was convenient to combine with a pleasure-excursion. The first night we arrived at Chester, and put up at the Albion Hotel, where we found ourselves very comfortable. We took the rail at twelve the next day, and went as far as Milnethorpe station, where we engaged seats in an old-fashioned stage-coach, and came to Newby Bridge. I suppose there are not many of these coaches now running on any road in Great Britain; but this appears to be the genuine machine, in all respects, and especially in the round, ruddy coachman, well moistened with ale, good-natured, courteous, and with a proper sense of his dignity and important position. U----, J-----, and I mounted atop, S-----, nurse, and R----- got inside, and we bowled off merrily towards the hearts of the hills. It was more than half past nine when we arrived at Newby Bridge, and alighted at the Swan Hotel, where we now are. It is a very agreeable place: not striking as to scenery, but with a pleasant rural aspect. A stone bridge of five arches crosses the river Severn (which is the communication between Windermere Lake and Morecambe Bay) close to the house, which sits low--and well sheltered in the lap of hills,--an old-fashioned inn, where the landlord and his people have a simple and friendly way of dealing with their guests, and yet provide them with all sorts of facilities for being comfortable. They load our supper and breakfast tables with trout, cold beef, ham, toast, and muffins; and give us three fair courses for dinner, and excellent wine, the cost of all which remains to be seen. This is not one of the celebrated stations among the lakes; but twice a day the stage-coach passes from Milnethorpe towards Ulverton, and twice returns, and three times a little steamer passes to and fro between our hotel and the head of the lake. Young ladies, in broad-brimmed hats, stroll about, or row on the river in the light shallops, of which there are abundance; sportsmen sit on the benches under the windows of the hotel, arranging their fishing-tackle; phaetons and post-chaises, with postilions in scarlet jackets and white breeches, with one high-topped boot, and the other leathered far up on the leg to guard against friction between the horses, dash up to the door. Morning and night comes the stage-coach, and we inspect the outside passengers, almost face to face with us, from our parlor-windows, up one pair of stairs. Little boys, and J----- among them, spend hours on hours fishing in the clear, shallow river for the perch, chubs, and minnows that may be seen flashing, like gleams of light over the flat stones with which the bottom is paved. I cannot answer for the other boys, but J----- catches nothing. There are a good many trees on the hills and roundabout, and pleasant roads loitering along by the gentle river-side, and it has been so sunny and warm since we came here that we shall have quite a genial recollection of the place, if we leave it before the skies have time to frown. The day after we came, we climbed a high and pretty steep hill, through a path shadowed with trees and shrubbery, up to a tower, from the summit of which we had a wide view of mountain scenery and the greater part of Windermere. This lake is a lovely little pool among the hills, long and narrow, beautifully indented with tiny bays and headlands; and when we saw it, it was one smile (as broad a smile as its narrowness allowed) with really brilliant sunshine. All the scenery we have yet met with is in excellent taste, and keeps itself within very proper bounds,-- never getting too wild and rugged to shock the sensibilities of cultivated people, as American scenery is apt to do. On the rudest surface of English earth, there is seen the effect of centuries of civilization, so that you do not quite get at naked Nature anywhere. And then every point of beauty is so well known, and has been described so much, that one must needs look through other people's eyes, and feels as if he were seeing a picture rather than a reality. Man has, in short, entire possession of Nature here, and I should think young men might sometimes yearn for a fresher draught. But an American likes it. FURNESS ABBEY. Yesterday, July 12th, we took a phaeton and went to Furness Abbey,--a drive of about sixteen miles, passing along the course of the Leam to Morecambe Bay, and through Ulverton and other villages. These villages all look antique, and the smallest of them generally are formed of such close, contiguous clusters of houses, and have such narrow and crooked streets, that they give you an idea of a metropolis in miniature. The houses along the road (of which there are not many, except in the villages) are almost invariably old, built of stone, and covered with a light gray plaster; generally they have a little flower-garden in front, and, often, honeysuckles, roses, or some other sweet and pretty rustic adornment, are flowering over the porch. I have hardly had such images of simple, quiet, rustic comfort and beauty, as from the look of these houses; and the whole impression of our winding and undulating road, bordered by hedges, luxuriantly green, and not too closely clipped, accords with this aspect. There is nothing arid in an English landscape; and one cannot but fancy that the same may be true of English rural life. The people look wholesome and well-to-do,--not specimens of hard, dry, sunburnt muscle, like our yeomen,--and are kind and civil to strangers, sometimes making a little inclination of the head in passing. Miss Martineau, however, does not seem to think well of their mental and moral condition. We reached Furness Abbey about twelve. There is a railway station close by the ruins; and a new hotel stands within the precincts of the abbey grounds; and continually there is the shriek, the whiz, the rumble, the bell-ringing, denoting the arrival of the trains; and passengers alight, and step at once (as their choice may be) into the refreshment-room, to get a glass of ale or a cigar,--or upon the gravelled paths of the lawn, leading to the old broken walls and arches of the abbey. The ruins are extensive, and the enclosure of the abbey is stated to have covered a space of sixty-five acres. It is impossible to describe them. The most interesting part is that which was formerly the church, and which, though now roofless, is still surrounded by walls, and retains the remnants of the pillars that formerly supported the intermingling curves of the arches. The floor is all overgrown with grass, strewn with fragments and capitals of pillars. It was a great and stately edifice, the length of the nave and choir having been nearly three hundred feet, and that of the transept more than half as much. The pillars along the nave were alternately a round, solid one and a clustered one. Now, what remains of some of them is even with the ground; others present a stump just high enough to form a seat; and others are, perhaps, a man's height from the ground,--and all are mossy, and with grass and weeds rooted into their chinks, and here and there a tuft of flowers, giving its tender little beauty to their decay. The material of the edifice is a soft red stone, and it is now extensively overgrown with a lichen of a very light gray line, which, at a little distance, makes the walls look as if they had long ago been whitewashed, and now had partially returned to their original color. The arches of the nave and transept were noble and immense; there were four of them together, supporting a tower which has long since disappeared,--arches loftier than I ever conceived to have been made by man. Very possibly, in some cathedral that I have seen, or am yet to see, there may be arches as stately as these; but I doubt whether they can ever show to such advantage in a perfect edifice as they do in this ruin,--most of them broken, only one, as far as I recollect, still completing its sweep. In this state they suggest a greater majesty and beauty than any finished human work can show; the crumbling traces of the half-obliterated design producing somewhat of the effect of the first idea of anything admirable, when it dawns upon the mind of an artist or a poet,--an idea which, do what he may, he is sure to fall short of in his attempt to embody it. In the middle of the choir is a much-dilapidated monument of a cross-legged knight (a crusader, of course) in armor, very rudely executed; and, against the wall, lie two or three more bruised and battered warriors, with square helmets on their heads and visors down. Nothing can be uglier than these figures; the sculpture of those days seems to have been far behind the architecture. And yet they knew how to put a grotesque expression into the faces of their images, and we saw some fantastic shapes and heads at the lower points of arches which would do to copy into Punch. In the chancel, just at the point below where the high altar stands, was the burial-place of the old Barons of Kendal. The broken crusader, perhaps, represents one of them; and some of their stalwart bones might be found by digging down. Against the wall of the choir, near the vacant space where the altar was, are some stone seats with canopies richly carved in stone, all quite perfectly preserved, where the priests used to sit at intervals, during the celebration of mass. Conceive all these shattered walls, with here and there an arched door, or the great arched vacancy of a window; these broken stones and monuments scattered about; these rows of pillars up and down the nave; these arches, through which a giant might have stepped, and not needed to bow his head, unless in reverence to the sanctity of the place,--conceive it all, with such verdure and embroidery of flowers as the gentle, kindly moisture of the English climate procreates on all old things, making them more beautiful than new,--conceive it with the grass for sole pavement of the long and spacious aisle, and the sky above for the only roof. The sky, to be sure, is more majestic than the tallest of those arches; and yet these latter, perhaps, make the stronger impression of sublimity, because they translate the sweep of the sky to our finite comprehension. It was a most beautiful, warm, sunny day, and the ruins had all the pictorial advantage of bright light and deep shadows. I must not forget that birds flew in and out among the recesses, and chirped and warbled, and made themselves at home there. Doubtless, the birds of the present generation are the posterity of those who first settled in the ruins, after the Reformation; and perhaps the old monks of a still earlier day may have watched them building about the abbey, before it was a ruin at all. We had an old description of the place with us, aided by which we traced out the principal part of the edifice, such as the church, as already mentioned, and, contiguous to this, the Chapter-house, which is better preserved than the church; also the kitchen, and the room where the monks met to talk; and the range of wall, where their cells probably were. I never before had given myself the trouble to form any distinct idea of what an abbey or monastery was,--a place where holy rites were daily and continually to be performed, with places to eat and sleep contiguous and convenient, in order that the monks might always be at hand to perform those rites. They lived only to worship, and therefore lived under the same roof with their place of worship, which, of course, was the principal object in the edifice, and hallowed the whole of it. We found, too, at one end of the ruins, what is supposed to have been a school-house for the children of the tenantry or villeins of the abbey. All round this room is a bench of stone against the wall, and the pedestal also of the master's seat. There are, likewise, the ruins of the mill; and the mill-stream, which is just as new as ever it was, still goes murmuring and babbling, and passes under two or three old bridges, consisting of a low gray arch overgrown with grass and shrubbery. That stream was the most fleeting and vanishing thing about the ponderous and high-piled abbey; and yet it has outlasted everything else, and might still outlast another such edifice, and be none the worse for wear. There is not a great deal of ivy upon the walls, and though an ivied wall is a beautiful object, yet it is better not to have too much,--else it is but one wall of unbroken verdure, on which you can see none of the sculptural ornaments, nor any of the hieroglyphics of Time. A sweep of ivy here and there, with the gray wall everywhere showing through, makes the better picture; and I think that nothing is so effective as the little bunches of flowers, a mere handful, that grow in spots where the seeds have been carried by the wind ages ago. I have made a miserable botch of this description; it is no description, but merely an attempt to preserve something of the impression it made on me, and in this I do not seem to have succeeded at all. I liked the contrast between the sombreness of the old walls, and the sunshine falling through them, and gladdening the grass that floored the aisles; also, I liked the effect of so many idle and cheerful people, strolling into the haunts of the dead monks, and going babbling about, and peering into the dark nooks; and listening to catch some idea of what the building was from a clerical-looking personage, who was explaining it to a party of his friends. I don't know how well acquainted this gentleman might be with the subject; but he seemed anxious not to impart his knowledge too extensively, and gave a pretty direct rebuff to an honest man who ventured an inquiry of him. I think that the railway, and the hotel within the abbey grounds, add to the charm of the place. A moonlight solitary visit might be very good, too, in its way; but I believe that one great charm and beauty of antiquity is, that we view it out of the midst of quite another mode of life; and the more perfectly this can be done, the better. It can never be done more perfectly than at Furness Abbey, which is in itself a very sombre scene, and stands, moreover, in the midst of a melancholy valley, the Saxon name of which means the Vale of the Deadly Nightshade. The entrance to the stable-yard of the hotel is beneath a pointed arch of Saxon architecture, and on one side of this stands an old building, looking like a chapel, but which may have been a porter's lodge. The Abbot's residence was in this quarter; and the clerical personage, before alluded to, spoke of these as the oldest part of the ruins. About half a mile on the hither side of the abbey stands the village of Dalton, in which is a castle built on a Roman foundation, and which was afterwards used by the abbots (in their capacity of feudal lords) as a prison. The abbey was founded about 1027 by King Stephen, before he came to the throne; and the faces of himself and of his queen are still to be seen on one of the walls. We had a very agreeable drive home (our drive hither had been uncomfortably sunny and hot), and we stopped at Ulverton to buy a pair of shoes for J----- and some drawing-books and stationery. As we passed through the little town in the morning, it was all alive with the bustle and throng of the weekly market; and though this had ceased on our return, the streets still looked animated, because the heat of the day drew most of the population, I should imagine, out of doors. Old men look very antiquated here in their old-fashioned coats and breeches, sunning themselves by the wayside. We reached home somewhere about eight o'clock,--home I see I have called it; and it seems as homelike a spot as any we have found in England,--the old inn, close by the bridge, beside the clear river, pleasantly overshadowed by trees. It is entirely English, and like nothing that one sees in America; and yet. I feel as if I might have lived here a long while ago, and had now come back because I retained pleasant recollections of it. The children, too, make themselves at home. J----- spends his time from morning to night fishing for minnows or trout, and catching nothing at all, and U---- and R----- have been riding between fields and barn in a hay-cart. The roads give us beautiful walks along the river-side, or wind away among the gentle hills; and if we had nothing else to look at in these walks, the hedges and stone fences would afford interest enough, so many and pretty are the flowers, roses, honeysuckles, and other sweet things, and so abundantly does the moss and ivy grow among the old stones of the fences, which would never have a single shoot of vegetation on them in America till the very end of time. But here, no sooner is a stone fence built, than Nature sets to work to make it a part of herself. She adopts it and adorns it, as if it were her own child. A little sprig of ivy may be seen creeping up the side, and clinging fast with its many feet; a tuft of grass roots itself between two of the stones, where a little dust from the road has been moistened into soil for it: a small bunch of fern grows in another such crevice; a deep, soft, green moss spreads itself over the top and all along the sides of the fence; and wherever nothing else will grow, lichens adhere to the stones and variegate their lines. Finally, a great deal of shrubbery is sure to cluster along its extent, and take away all hardness from the outline; and so the whole stone fence looks as if God had had at least as much to do with it as man. The trunks of the trees, too, exhibit a similar parasitical vegetation. Parasitical is an unkind phrase to bestow on this beautiful love and kindness which seems to exist here between one plant and another; the strong thing--being always ready to give support and sustenance, and the weak thing to repay with beauty, so that both are the richer,--as in the case of ivy and woodbine, clustering up the trunk of a tall tree, and adding Corinthian grace to its lofty beauty. Mr. W------, our landlord, has lent us a splendid work with engravings, illustrating the antiquities of Furness Abbey. I gather from it that the hotel must have been rebuilt or repaired from an old manor-house, which was itself erected by a family of Prestons, after the Reformation, and was a renewal from the Abbot's residence. Much of the edifice probably, as it exists now, may have been part of the original one; and there are bas-reliefs of Scripture subjects, sculptured in stone, and fixed in the wall of the dining-room, which have been there since the Abbot's time. This author thinks that what we had supposed to be the school-house (on the authority of an old book) was really the building for the reception of guests, with its chapel. He says that the tall arches in the church are sixty feet high. The Earl of Burlington, I believe, is the present proprietor of the abbey. THE LAKES. July 16th.--On Saturday, we left Newby Bridge, and came by steamboat up Windermere Lake to Lowwood Hotel, where we now are. The foot of the lake is just above Newby Bridge, and it widens from that point, but never to such a breadth that objects are not pretty distinctly visible from shore to shore. The steamer stops at two or three places in the course of its voyage, the principal one being Bowness, which has a little bustle and air of business about it proper to the principal port of the lake. There are several small yachts, and many skiffs rowing about. The banks are everywhere beautiful, and the water, in one portion, is strewn with islands; few of which are large enough to be inhabitable, but they all seem to be appropriated, and kept in the neatest order. As yet, I have seen no wildness; everything is perfectly subdued and polished and imbued with human taste, except, indeed, the outlines of the hills, which continue very much the same as God made them. As we approached the head of the lake, the congregation of great hills in the distance became very striking. The shapes of these English mountains are certainly far more picturesque than those which I have seen in Eastern America, where their summits are almost invariably rounded, as I remember them. They are great hillocks, great bunches of earth, similar to one another in their developments. Here they have variety of shape, rising into peaks, falling in abrupt precipices, stretching along in zigzag outlines, and thus making the most of their not very gigantic masses, and producing a remarkable effect. We arrived at the Lowwood Hotel, which is very near the head of the lake, not long after two o'clock. It stands almost on the shore of Windermere, with only a green lawn between,--an extensive hotel, covering a good deal of ground; but low, and rather village-inn-like than lofty. We found the house so crowded as to afford us no very comfortable accommodations, either as to parlor or sleeping-rooms, and we find nothing like the home-feeling into which we at once settled down at Newby Bridge. There is a very pretty vicinity, and a fine view of mountains to the northwest, sitting together in a family group, sometimes in full sunshine, sometimes with only a golden gleam on one or two of them, sometimes all in a veil of cloud, from which here and there a great, dusky head raises itself, while you are looking at a dim obscurity. Nearer, there are high, green slopes, well wooded, but with such decent and well-behaved wood as you perceive has grown up under the care of man; still no wildness, no ruggedness,--as how should there be, when, every half-mile or so, a porter's lodge or a gentleman's gateway indicates that the whole region is used up for villas. On the opposite shore of the lake there is a mimic castle, which I suppose I might have mistaken for a real one two years ago. It is a great, foolish toy of gray stone. A steamboat comes to the pier as many as six times a day, and stage-coaches and omnibuses stop at the door still oftener, communicating with Ambleside and the town of Windermere, and with the railway, which opens London and all the world to us. We get no knowledge of our fellow-guests, all of whom, like ourselves, live in their own circles, and are just as remote from us as if the lake lay between. The only words I have spoken since arriving here have been to my own family or to a waiter, save to one or two young pedestrians who met me on a walk, and asked me the distance to Lowwood Hotel. "Just beyond here," said I, and I might stay for months without occasion to speak again. Yesterday forenoon J----- and I walked to Ambleside,--distant barely two miles. It is a little town, chiefly of modern aspect, built on a very uneven hillside, and with very irregular streets and lanes, which bewilder the stranger as much as those of a larger city. Many of the houses look old, and are probably the cottages and farm-houses which composed the rude village a century ago; but there are stuccoed shops and dwellings, such as may have been built within a year or two; and three hotels, one of which has the look of a good old village inn; and the others are fashionable or commercial establishments. Through the midst of the village comes tumbling and rumbling a mountain streamlet, rushing through a deep, rocky dell, gliding under an old stone inch, and turning, when occasion calls, the great block of a water-mill. This is the only very striking feature of the village,--the stream taking its rough pathway to the lake as it used to do before the poets had made this region fashionable. In the evening, just before eight o'clock, I took a walk alone, by a road which goes up the hill, back of our hotel, and which I supposed might be the road to the town of Windermere. But it went up higher and higher, and for the mile or two that it led me along, winding up, I saw no traces of a town; but at last it turned into a valley between two high ridges, leading quite away from the lake, within view of which the town of Windermere is situated. It was a very lonely road, though as smooth, hard, and well kept as any thoroughfare in the suburbs of a city; hardly a dwelling on either side, except one, half barn, half farm-house, and one gentleman's gateway, near the beginning of the road, and another more than a mile above. At, two or three points there were stone barns, which are here built with great solidity. At one place there was a painted board, announcing that a field of five acres was to be sold, and referring those desirous of purchasing to a solicitor in London. The lake country is but a London suburb. Nevertheless, the walk was lonely and lovely; the copses and the broad hillside, the glimpses of the lake, the great misty company of pikes and fells, beguiled me into a sense of something like solitude; and the bleating of the sheep, remote and near, had a like tendency. Gaining the summit of the hill, I had the best view of Windermere which I have yet attained,--the best, I should think, that can be had, though, being towards the south, it brings the softer instead of the more striking features of the landscape into view. But it shows nearly the whole extent of the lake, all the way from Lowwood, beyond Newby Bridge, and I think there can hardly be anything more beautiful in the world. The water was like a strip and gleam of sky, fitly set among lovely slopes of earth. It was no broader than many a river, and yet you saw at once that it could be no river, its outline being so different from that of a running stream, not straight nor winding, but stretching to one side or the other, as the shores made room for it. This morning it is raining, and we are not very comfortable nor contented, being all confined to our little parlor, which has a broken window, against which I have pinned The Times to keep out the chill damp air. U---- has been ill, in consequence of having been overheated at Newby Bridge. We have no books, except guide-books, no means of amusement, nothing to do. There are no newspapers, and I shall remember Lowwood not very agreeably. As far as we are concerned, it is a scrambling, ill-ordered hotel, with insufficient attendance, wretched sleeping-accommodations, a pretty fair table, but German-silver forks and spoons; our food does not taste very good, and yet there is really no definite fault to be found with it. Since writing the above, I have found the first volume of Sir Charles Grandison, and two of G. P. R. James's works, in the coffee-room. The days pass heavily here, and leave behind them a sense of having answered no very good purpose. They are long enough, at all events, for the sun does not set till after eight o'clock, and rises I know not when. One of the most remarkable distinctions between England and the United States is the ignorance into which we fall of whatever is going on in the world the moment we get away from the great thoroughfares and centres of life. In Leamington we heard no news from week's end to week's end, and knew not where to find a newspaper; and here the case is neither better nor worse. The rural people really seem to take no interest in public affairs; at all events, they have no intelligence on such subjects. It is possible that the cheap newspapers may, in time, find their way into the cottages, or, at least, into the country taverns; but it is not at all so now. If they generally know that Sebastopol is besieged, it is the extent of their knowledge. The public life of America is lived through the mind and heart of every man in it; here the people feel that they have nothing to do with what is going forward, and, I suspect, care little or nothing about it. Such things they permit to be the exclusive concern of the higher classes. In front of our hotel, on the lawn between us and the lake, there are two trees, which we have hitherto taken to be yews; but on examining them more closely, I find that they are pine-trees, and quite dead and dry, although they have the aspect of dark rich life. But this is caused by the verdure of two great ivy-vines, which have twisted round them like gigantic snakes, and, clambering up and throttling the life out of them, have put out branches, and made crowns of thick green leaves, so that, at a little distance, it is quite impossible not to take them for genuine trees. The trunks of the ivy-vines must be more than a foot in circumference, and one feels they have stolen the life that belonged to the pines. The dead branches of one of the pines stick out horizontally through the ivy-boughs. The other shows nothing but the ivy, and in shape a good deal resembles a poplar. When the pine trunks shall have quite crumbled away, the ivy-stems will doubtless have gained sufficient strength to sustain themselves independently. July 19th.--Yesterday S----- went down the lake in the steamboat to take U----, baby, and nurse to Newby Bridge, while the three rest of us should make a tour through the lake region. After mamma's departure, and when I had finished some letters, J----- and I set out on a walk, which finally brought us to Bowness, through much delightful shade of woods, and past beautiful rivulets or brooklets, and up and down many hills. This chief harbor of the lakes seemed alive and bustling with tourists, it being a sunny and pleasant day, so that they were all abroad, like summer insects. The town is a confused and irregular little place, of very uneven surface. There is an old church in it, and two or three large hotels. We stayed there perhaps half an hour, and then went to the pier, where shortly a steamer arrived, with music sounding,--on the deck of which, with her back to us, sat a lady in a gray travelling-dress. J----- cried out, "Mamma! mamma!" to which the lady deigned no notice, but, he repeating it, she turned round, and was as much surprised, no doubt, to see her husband and son, as if this little lake had been the great ocean, and we meeting each other from opposite shores of it. We soon steamed back to Lowwood, and took a car thence for Rydal and Grasmere, after a cold luncheon. At Bowness I met Miss Charlotte Cushman, who has been staying at the Lowwood Hotel with us since Monday, without either party being aware of it. Our road to Rydal lay through Ambleside, which is certainly a very pretty town, and looks cheerfully in a sunny day. We saw Miss Martineau's residence, called "The Knoll," standing high up on a hillock, and having at its foot a Methodist chapel, for which, or whatever place of Christian worship, this good lady can have no occasion. We stopped a moment in the street below her house, and deliberated a little whether to call on her; but concluded we would not. After leaving Ambleside, the road winds in and out among the hills, and soon brings us to a sheet (or napkin, rather than a sheet) of water, which the driver tells us is Rydal Lake! We had already heard that it was but three quarters of a mile long, and one quarter broad; still, it being an idea of considerable size in our minds, we had inevitably drawn its ideal, physical proportions on a somewhat corresponding scale. It certainly did look very small; and I said, in my American scorn, that I could carry it away easily in a porringer; for it is nothing more than a grass-bordered pool among the surrounding hills which ascend directly from its margin; so that one might fancy it, not, a permanent body of water, but a rather extensive accumulation of recent rain. Moreover, it was rippled with a breeze, and so, as I remember it, though the sun shone, it looked dull and sulky, like a child out of humor. Now, the best thing these small ponds can do is to keep perfectly calm and smooth, and not attempt to show off any airs of their own, but content themselves with serving as a mirror for whatever of beautiful or picturesque there may be in the scenery around them. The hills about Rydal Water are not very lofty, but are sufficiently so as objects of every-day view,-- objects to live with; and they are craggier than those we have hitherto seen, and bare of wood, which indeed would hardly grow on some of their precipitous sides. On the roadside, as we reach the foot of the lake, stands a spruce and rather large house of modern aspect, but with several gables and much overgrown with ivy,--a very pretty and comfortable house, built, adorned, and cared for with commendable taste. We inquired whose it was, and the coachman said it was "Mr. Wordsworth's," and that "Mrs. Wordsworth was still residing there." So we were much delighted to have seen his abode, and as we were to stay the night at Grasmere, about two miles farther on, we determined to come back and inspect it as particularly as should be allowable. Accordingly, after taking rooms at Brown's Hotel, we drove back in our return car, and, reaching the head of Rydal Water, alighted to walk through this familiar scene of so many years of Wordsworth's life. We ought to have seen De Quincey's former residence and Hartley Coleridge's cottage, I believe, on our way, but were not aware of it at the time. Near the lake there is a stone-quarry, and a cavern of some extent, artificially formed, probably by taking out the stone. Above the shore of the lake, not a great way from Wordsworth's residence, there is a flight of steps hewn in a rock and ascending to a rock seat where a good view of the lake may be attained; and, as Wordsworth has doubtless sat there hundreds of times, so did we ascend and sit down, and look at the hills and at the flags on the lake's shore. Reaching the house that had been pointed out to us as Wordsworth's residence, we began to peer about at its front and gables, and over the garden wall, on both sides of the road, quickening our enthusiasm as much as we could, and meditating to pilfer some flower or ivy-leaf from the house or its vicinity, to be kept as sacred memorials. At this juncture a man approached, who announced himself as the gardener of the place, and said, too, that this was not Wordsworth's house at all, but the residence of Mr. Ball, a Quaker gentleman; but that his ground adjoined Wordsworth's, and that he had liberty to take visitors through the latter. How absurd it would have been if we had carried away ivy-leaves and tender recollections from this domicile of a respectable Quaker! The gardener was an intelligent man, of pleasant, sociable, and respectful address; and as we went along he talked about the poet, whom he had known, and who, he said, was very familiar with the country people. He led us through Mr. Ball's grounds, up a steep hillside, by winding, gravelled walks, with summer-houses at points favorable for them. It was a very shady and pleasant spot, containing about an acre of ground, and all turned to good account by the manner of laying it out; so that it seemed more than it really is. In one place, on a small, smooth slab of slate, let into a rock, there is an inscription by Wordsworth, which I think I have read in his works, claiming kindly regards from those who visit the spot after his departure, because many trees had been spared at his intercession. His own grounds, or rather his ornamental garden, is separated from Mr. Ball's only by a wire fence, or some such barrier, and the gates have no fastening, so that the whole appears like one possession, and doubtless was so as regarded the poet's walks and enjoyments. We approached by paths so winding that I hardly know how the house stands in relation to the road; but, after much circuity, we really did see Wordsworth's residence,--an old house with an uneven ridge-pole, built of stone, no doubt, but plastered over with some neutral tint,--a house that would not have been remarkably pretty in itself, but so delightfully situated, so secluded, so hedged about with shrubbery, and adorned with flowers, so ivy-grown on one side, so beautified with the personal care of him who lived in it and loved it, that it seemed the very place for a poet's residence; and as if, while he lived so long in it, his poetry had manifested itself in flowers, shrubbery, and ivy. I never smelt such a delightful fragrance of flowers as there was all through the garden. In front of the house there is a circular terrace of two ascents, in raising which Wordsworth had himself performed much of the labor; and here there are seats, from which we obtained a fine view down the valley of the Rothay, with Windermere in the distance,--a view of several miles, and which we did not suppose could be seen, after winding among the hills so far from the lake. It is very beautiful and picture-like. While we sat here, S----- happened to refer to the ballad of little Barbara Lewthwaite, and J----- began to repeat the poem concerning her, and the gardener said that "little Barbara" had died not a great while ago, an elderly woman, leaving grown-up children behind her. Her marriage-name was Thompson, and the gardener believed there was nothing remarkable in her character. There is a summer-house at one extremity of the grounds, in deepest shadow, but with glimpses of mountain views through trees which shut it in, and which have spread intercepting boughs since Wordsworth died. It is lined with pine-cones, in a pretty way enough, but of doubtful taste. I rather wonder that people of real taste should help Nature out, and beautify her, or perhaps rather prettify her so much as they do,--opening vistas, showing one thing, hiding another, making a scene picturesque, whether or no. I cannot rid myself of the feeling that there is something false--a kind of humbug--in all this. At any rate, the traces of it do not contribute to my enjoyment, and, indeed, it ought to be done so exquisitely as to leave no trace. But I ought not to criticise in any way a spot which gave me so much pleasure, and where it is good to think of Wordsworth in quiet, past days, walking in his home-shadow of trees which he knew, and training flowers, and trimming shrubs, and chanting in an undertone his own verses up and down the winding walks. The gardener gave J----- a cone from the summer-house, which had fallen on the seat, and S----- got some mignonette, and leaves of laurel and ivy, and we wended our way back to the hotel. Wordsworth was not the owner of this house; it being the property of Lady Fleming. Mrs. Wordsworth still lives there, and is now at home. Five o'clock.---All day it has been cloudy and showery, with thunder now and then; the mists hang low on the surrounding hills, adown which, at various points, we can see the snow-white fall of little streamlets ("forces" they call them here) swollen by the rain. An overcast day is not so gloomy in the hill-country as in the lowlands; there are more breaks, more transfusion of skylight through the gloom, as has been the case to-day, and as I found in Lenox; we get better acquainted with clouds by seeing at what height they be on the hillsides, and find that the difference betwixt a fair day and a cloudy and rainy one is very superficial, after all. Nevertheless, rain is rain, and wets a man just as much among the mountains as anywhere else; so we have been kept within doors all day, till an hour or so ago, when J----- and I went down to the village in quest of the post-office. We took a path that leads from the hotel across the fields, and, coming into a wood, crosses the Rothay by a one-arched bridge and passes the village church. The Rothay is very swift and turbulent to-day, and hurries along with foam-specks on its surface, filling its banks from brim to brim,--a stream perhaps twenty feet wide, perhaps more; for I am willing that the good little river should have all it can fairly claim. It is the St. Lawrence of several of these English lakes, through which it flows, and carries off their superfluous waters. In its haste, and with its rushing sound, it was pleasant both to see and hear; and it sweeps by one side of the old churchyard where Wordsworth lies buried,--- the side where his grave is made. The church of Grasmere is a very plain structure, with a low body, on one side of which is a small porch with a pointed arch. The tower is square and looks ancient; but the whole is overlaid with plaster of a buff or pale yellow hue. It was originally built, I suppose, of rough shingly stones, as many of the houses hereabouts are now, and, like many of them, the plaster is used to give a finish. We found the gate of the churchyard wide open; and the grass was lying on the graves, having probably been mowed yesterday. It is but a small churchyard, and with few monuments of any pretension in it, most of them being slate headstones, standing erect. From the gate at which we entered, a distinct foot-track leads to the corner nearest the riverside, and I turned into it by a sort of instinct, the more readily as I saw a tourist-looking man approaching from that point, and a woman looking among the gravestones. Both of these persons had gone by the time I came up, so that J----- and I were left to find Wordsworth's grave all by ourselves. At this corner of the churchyard there is a hawthorn bush or tree, the extremest branches of which stretch as far as where Wordsworth lies. This whole corner seems to be devoted to himself and his family and friends; and they all lie very closely together, side by side, and head to foot, as room could conveniently be found. Hartley Coleridge lies a little behind, in the direction of the church, his feet being towards Wordsworth's head, who lies in the row of those of his own blood. I found out Hartley Coleridge's grave sooner than Wordsworth's; for it is of marble, and, though simple enough, has more of sculptured device about it, having been erected, as I think the inscription states, by his brother and sister. Wordsworth has only the very simplest slab of slate, with "William Wordsworth" and nothing else upon it. As I recollect it, it is the midmost grave of the row. It is or has been well grass-grown, but the grass is quite worn away from the top, though sufficiently luxuriant at the sides. It looks as if people had stood upon it, and so does the grave next to it, which I believe is one of his children. I plucked some grass and weeds from it, and as he was buried within so few years they may fairly be supposed to have drawn their nutriment from his mortal remains, and I gathered them from just above his head. There is no fault to be found with his grave,--within view of the hills, within sound of the river, murmuring near by,--no fault except that he is crowded so closely with his kindred; and, moreover, that, being so old a churchyard, the earth over him must all have been human once. He might have had fresh earth to himself; but he chose this grave deliberately. No very stately and broad-based monument can ever be erected over it without infringing upon, covering, and overshadowing the graves, not only of his family, but of individuals who probably were quite disconnected with him. But it is pleasant to think and know--were it but on the evidence of this choice of a resting-place--that he did not care for a stately monument. After leaving the churchyard, we wandered about in quest of the post-office, and for a long time without success. This little town of Grasmere seems to me as pretty a place as ever I met with in my life. It is quite shut in by hills that rise up immediately around it, like a neighborhood of kindly giants. These hills descend steeply to the verge of the level on which the village stands, and there they terminate at once, the whole site of the little town being as even as a floor. I call it a village; but it is no village at all,--all the dwellings standing apart, each in its own little domain, and each, I believe, with its own little lane leading to it, independently of the rest. Most of these are old cottages, plastered white, with antique porches, and roses and other vines trained against them, and shrubbery growing about them; and some are covered with ivy. There are a few edifices of more pretension and of modern build, but not so strikingly so as to put the rest out of countenance. The post-office, when we found it, proved to be an ivied cottage, with a good deal of shrubbery round it, having its own pathway, like the other cottages. The whole looks like a real seclusion, shut out from the great world by these encircling hills, on the sides of which, whenever they are not too steep, you see the division lines of property, and tokens of cultivation,--taking from them their pretensions to savage majesty, but bringing them nearer to the heart of man. Since writing the above, I have been again with S----- to see Wordsworth's grave, and, finding the door of the church open, we went in. A woman and little girl were sweeping at the farther end, and the woman came towards us out of the cloud of dust which she had raised. We were surprised at the extremely antique appearance of the church. It is paved with bluish-gray flagstones, over which uncounted generations have trodden, leaving the floor as well laid as ever. The walls are very thick, and the arched windows open through them at a considerable distance above the floor. There is no middle aisle; but first a row of pews next either wall, and then an aisle on each side of the pews, occupying the centre of the church,--then, two side aisles, but no middle one. And down through the centre or the church runs a row of five arches, very rude and round-headed, all of rough stone, supported by rough and massive pillars, or rather square, stone blocks, which stand in the pews, and stood in the same places probably, long before the wood of those pews began to grow. Above this row of arches is another row, built upon the same mass of stone, and almost as broad, but lower; and on this upper row rests the framework, the oaken beams, the black skeleton of the roof. It is a very clumsy contrivance for supporting the roof, and if it were modern, we certainly should condemn it as very ugly; but being the relic of a simple age it comes in well with the antique simplicity of the whole structure. The roof goes up, barn-like, into its natural angle, and all the rafters and cross-beams are visible. There is an old font; and in the chancel is a niche, where (judging from a similar one in Furness Abbey) the holy water used to be placed for the priest's use while celebrating mass. Around the inside of the porch is a stone bench, against the wall, narrow and uneasy, but where a great many people had sat, who now have found quieter resting-places. The woman was a very intelligent-looking person, not of the usual English ruddiness, but rather thin and somewhat pale, though bright, of aspect. Her way of talking was very agreeable. She inquired if we wished to see Wordsworth's monument, and at once showed it to us,--a slab of white marble fixed against the upper end of the central row of stone arches, with a pretty long inscription, and a profile bust, in bas-relief, of his aged countenance. The monument, is placed directly over Wordsworth's pew, and could best be seen and read from the very corner seat where he used to sit. The pew is one of those occupying the centre of the church, and is just across the aisle from the pulpit, and is the best of all for the purpose of seeing and hearing the clergyman, and likewise as convenient as any, from its neighborhood to the altar. On the other side of the aisle, beneath the pulpit, is Lady Fleming's pew. This and one or two others are curtained, Wordsworth's was not. I think I can bring up his image in that corner seat of his pew--a white-headed, tall, spare man, plain in aspect--better than in any other situation. The woman said that she had known him very well, and that he had made some verses on a sister of hers. She repeated the first lines, something about a lamb, but neither S----- nor I remembered them. On the walls of the chancel there are monuments to the Flemings, and painted escutcheons of their arms; and along the side walls also, and on the square pillars of the row of arches, there are other monuments, generally of white marble, with the letters of the inscription blackened. On these pillars, likewise, and in many places in the walls, were hung verses from Scripture, painted on boards. At one of the doors was a poor-box,--an elaborately carved little box, of oak, with the date 1648, and the name of the church--St. Oswald's--upon it. The whole interior of the edifice was plain, simple, almost to grimness,--or would have been so, only that the foolish church-wardens, or other authority, have washed it over with the same buff color with which they have overlaid the exterior. It is a pity; it lightens it up, and desecrates it greatly, especially as the woman says that there were formerly paintings on the walls, now obliterated forever. I could have stayed in the old church much longer, and could write much more about it, but there must be an end to everything. Pacing it from the farther end to the elevation before the altar, I found that it was twenty-five paces long. On looking again at the Rothay, I find I did it some injustice; for at the bridge, in its present swollen state, it is nearer twenty yards than twenty feet across. Its waters are very clear, and it rushes along with a speed which is delightful to see, after an acquaintance with the muddy and sluggish Avon and Leam. Since tea I have taken a stroll from the hotel in a different direction from heretofore, and passed the Swan Inn, where Scott used to go daily to get a draught of liquor, when he was visiting Wordsworth, who had no wine nor other inspiriting fluid in his house. It stands directly on the wayside,--a small, whitewashed house, with an addition in the rear that seems to have been built since Scott's time. On the door is the painted sign of a swan, and the name "Scott's Swan Hotel." I walked a considerable distance beyond it, but, a shower cooling up, I turned back, entered the inn, and, following the mistress into a snug little room, was served with a glass of bitter ale. It is a very plain and homely inn, and certainly could not have satisfied Scott's wants if he had required anything very far-fetched or delicate in his potations. I found two Westmoreland peasants in the room, with ale before them. One went away almost immediately; but the other remained, and, entering into conversation with him, he told me that he was going to New Zealand, and expected to sail in September. I announced myself as an American, and he said that a large party had lately gone from hereabouts to America; but he seemed not to understand that there was any distinction between Canada and the States. These people had gone to Quebec. He was a very civil, well-behaved, kindly sort of person, of a simple character, which I took to belong to the class and locality, rather than to himself individually. I could not very well understand all that he said, owing to his provincial dialect; and when he spoke to his own countrymen, or to the women of the house, I really could but just catch a word here and there. How long it takes to melt English down into a homogeneous mass! He told me that there was a public library in Grasmere to which he has access in common with the other inhabitants, and a reading-room connected with it, where he reads The Times in the evening. There was no American smartness in his mind. When I left the house, it was showering briskly; but the drops quite ceased, and the clouds began to break away before I reached my hotel, and I saw the new moon over my right shoulder. July 21st.--We left Grasmere yesterday, after breakfast; it being a delightful morning, with some clouds, but the cheerfullest sunshine on great part of the mountainsides and on ourselves. We returned, in the first place, to Ambleside, along the border of Grasmere Lake, which would be a pretty little piece of water, with its steep and high surrounding hills, were it not that a stubborn and straight-lined stone fence, running along the eastern shore, by the roadside, quite spoils its appearance. Rydal Water, though nothing can make a lake of it, looked prettier and less diminutive than at the first view; and, in fact, I find that it is impossible to know accurately how any prospect or other thing looks, until after at least a second view, which always essentially corrects the first. This, I think, is especially true in regard to objects which we have heard much about, and exercised our imagination upon; the first view being a vain attempt to reconcile our idea with the reality, and at the second we begin to accept the thing for what it really is. Wordsworth's situation is really a beautiful one; and Nab Scaur behind his house rises with a grand, protecting air. We passed Nab's cottage, in which De Quincey formerly lived, and where Hartley Coleridge lived and died. It is a small, buff-tinted, plastered stone cottage, immediately on the roadside, and originally, I should think, of a very humble class; but it now looks as if persons of taste might some time or other have sat down in it, and caused flowers to spring up about it. It is very agreeably situated under the great, precipitous hill, and with Rydal Water close at band, on the other side of the road. An advertisement of lodgings to let was put up on this cottage. I question whether any part of the world looks so beautiful as England-- this part of England, at least--on a fine summer morning. It makes one think the more cheerfully of human life to see such a bright universal verdure; such sweet, rural, peaceful, flower-bordered cottages,--not cottages of gentility, but dwellings of the laboring poor; such nice villas along the roadside, so tastefully contrived for comfort and beauty, and adorned more and more, year after year, with the care and after-thought of people who mean to live in them a great while, and feel as if their children might live in them also, and so they plant trees to overshadow their walks, and train ivy and all beautiful vines up against their walls, and thus live for the future in another sense than we Americans do. And the climate helps them out, and makes everything moist, and green, and full of tender life, instead of dry and arid, as human life and vegetable life is so apt to be with us. Certainly, England can present a more attractive face than we can; even in its humbler modes of life, to say nothing of the beautiful lives that might be led, one would think, by the higher classes, whose gateways, with broad, smooth gravelled drives leading through them, one sees every mile or two along the road, winding into some proud seclusion. All this is passing away, and society most assume new relations; but there is no harm in believing that there has been something very good in English life,-- good for all classes while the world was in a state out of which these forms naturally grew. Passing through Ambleside, our phaeton and pair turned towards Ullswater, which we were to reach through the Pass of Kirkstone. This is some three or four miles from Ambleside, and as we approached it the road kept ascending higher and higher, the hills grew more bare, and the country lost its soft and delightful verdure. At last the road became so steep that J----- and I alighted to walk. This is the aspiring road that Wordsworth speaks of in his ode; it passes through the gorge of precipitous hills,--or almost precipitous,--too much so for even the grass to grow on many portions, which are covered with gray smugly stones; and I think this pass, in its middle part, must have looked just the same when the Romans marched through it as it looks now. No trees could ever have grown on the steep hillsides, whereon even the English climate can generate no available soil. I do not know that I have seen anything more impressive than the stern gray sweep of these naked mountains, with nothing whatever to soften or adorn them. The notch of the White Mountains, as I remember it in my youthful days, is more wonderful and richly picturesque, but of quite a different character. About the centre and at the highest point of the pass stands an old stone building of mean appearance, with the usual sign of an alehouse, "Licensed to retail foreign spirits, ale, and tobacco," over the door, and another small sign, designating it as the highest inhabitable house in England. It is a chill and desolate place for a residence. They keep a visitor's book here, and we recorded our names in it, and were not too sorry to leave the mean little hovel, smelling as it did of tobacco-smoke, and possessing all other characteristics of the humblest alehouse on the level earth. The Kirkstone, which gives the pass its name, is not seen in approaching from Ambleside, until some time after you begin to descend towards Brothers' Water. When the driver first pointed it out, a little way up the hill on our left, it looked no more than a bowlder of a ton or two in weight, among a hundred others nearly as big; and I saw hardly any resemblance to a church or church-spire, to which the fancies of past generations have likened it. As we descended the pass, however, and left the stone farther and farther behind, it continued to show itself, and assumed a more striking and prominent aspect, standing out clearly relieved against the sky, so that no traveller would fail to observe it, where there are so few defined objects to attract notice, amid the naked monotony of the stern hills; though, indeed, if I had taken it for any sort of an edifice, it would rather have been for a wayside inn or a shepherd's hut than for a church. We lost sight of it, and again beheld it more and more brought out against the sky, by the turns of the road, several times in the course of our descent. There is a very fine view of Brothers' Water, shut in by steep hills, as we go down Kirkstone Pass. At about half past twelve we reached Patterdale, at the foot of Ullswater, and here took luncheon. The hotels are mostly very good all through this region, and this deserved that character. A black-coated waiter, of more gentlemanly appearance than most Englishmen, yet taking a sixpence with as little scruple as a lawyer would take his fee; the mistress, in lady-like attire, receiving us at the door, and waiting upon us to the carriage-steps; clean, comely housemaids everywhere at hand,-- all appliances, in short, for being comfortable, and comfortable, too, within one's own circle. And, on taking leave, everybody who has done anything for you, or who might by possibility have done anything, is to be feed. You pay the landlord enough, in all conscience; and then you pay all his servants, who have been your servants for the time. But, to say the truth, there is a degree of the same kind of annoyance in an American hotel, although it is not so much an acknowledged custom. Here, in the houses where attendance is not charged in the bill, no wages are paid by the host to those servants--chambermaid, waiter, and boots--who come into immediate contact with travellers. The drivers of the cars, phaetons, and flys are likewise unpaid, except by their passengers, and claim threepence a mile with the same sense of right as their masters in charging for the vehicles and horses. When you come to understand this claim, not as an appeal to your generosity, but as an actual and necessary part of the cost of the journey, it is yielded to with a more comfortable feeling; and the traveller has really option enough, as to the amount which he will give, to insure civility and good behavior on the driver's part. Ullswater is a beautiful lake, with steep hills walling it about, so steep, on the eastern side, that there seems hardly room for a road to run along the base. We passed up the western shore, and turned off from it about midway, to take the road towards Keswick. We stopped, however, at Lyulph's Tower, while our chariot went on up a hill, and took a guide to show us the way to Airey Force,--a small cataract, which is claimed as private property, and out of which, no doubt, a pretty little revenue is raised. I do not think that there can be any rightful appropriation, as private property, of objects of natural beauty. The fruits of the land, and whatever human labor can produce from it, belong fairly enough to the person who has a deed or a lease; but the beautiful is the property of him who can hive it and enjoy it. It is very unsatisfactory to think of a cataract under lock and key. However, we were shown to Airey Force by a tall and graceful mountain-maid, with a healthy cheek, and a step that had no possibility of weariness in it. The cascade is an irregular streak of foamy water, pouring adown a rude shadowy glen. I liked well enough to see it; but it is wearisome, on the whole, to go the rounds of what everybody thinks it necessary to see. It makes me a little ashamed. It is somewhat as if we were drinking out of the same glass, and eating from the same dish, as a multitude of other people. Within a few miles of Keswick, we passed along at the foot of Saddleback, and by the entrance of the Vale of St. John, and down the valley, on one of the slopes, we saw the Enchanted Castle. Thence we drove along by the course of the Greta, and soon arrived at Keswick, which lies at the base of Skiddaw, and among a brotherhood of picturesque eminences, and is itself a compact little town, with a market-house, built of the old stones of the Earl of Derwentwater's ruined castle, standing in the centre,--the principal street forking into two as it passes it. We alighted at the King's Arms, and went in search of Southey's residence, which we found easily enough, as it lies just on the outskirts of the town. We inquired of a group of people, two of whom, I thought, did not seem to know much about the matter; but the third, an elderly man, pointed it out at once,--a house surrounded by trees, so as to be seen only partially, and standing on a little eminence, a hundred yards or so from the road. We went up a private lane that led to the rear of the place, and so penetrated quite into the back-yard without meeting anybody,--passing a small kennel, in which were two hounds, who gazed at us, but neither growled nor wagged their tails. The house is three stories high, and seems to have a great deal of room in it, so as not to discredit its name, "Greta Hall,"--a very spacious dwelling for a poet. The windows were nearly all closed; there were no signs of occupancy, but a general air of neglect. S-----, who is bolder than I in these matters, ventured through what seemed a back garden gate, and I soon heard her in conversation with some man, who now presented himself, and proved to be a gardener. He said he had formerly acted in that capacity for Southey, although a gardener had not been kept by him as a regular part of his establishment. This was an old man with an odd crookedness of legs, and strange, disjointed limp. S----- had told him that we were Americans, and he took the idea that we had come this long distance, over sea and land, with the sole purpose of seeing Southey's residence, so that he was inclined to do what he could towards exhibiting it. This was but little; the present occupant (a Mr. Radday, I believe the gardener called him) being away, and the house shut up. But he showed us about the grounds, and allowed us to peep into the windows of what had been Southey's library, and into those of another of the front apartments, and showed us the window of the chamber in the rear, in which Southey died. The apartments into which we peeped looked rather small and low,--not particularly so, but enough to indicate an old building. They are now handsomely furnished, and we saw over one of the fireplaces an inscription about Southey; and in the corner of the same room stood a suit, of bright armor. It is taller than the country-houses of English gentlemen usually are, and it is even stately. All about, in front, beside it and behind, there is a great profusion of trees, most of which were planted by Southey, who came to live here more than fifty years ago, and they have, of course, grown much more shadowy now than he ever beheld them; for he died about fourteen years since. The grounds are well laid out, and neatly kept, with the usual lawn and gravelled walks, and quaint little devices in the ornamental way. These may be of later date than Southey's time. The gardener spoke respectfully of Southey, and of his first wife, and observed that "it was a great loss to the neighborhood when that family went down." The house stands directly above the Greta, the murmur of which is audible all about it; for the Greta is a swift little river, and goes on its way with a continual sound, which has both depth and breadth. The gardener led us to a walk along its banks, close by the Hall, where he said Southey used to walk for hours and hours together. He might, indeed, get there from his study in a moment. There are two paths, one above the other, well laid out on the steep declivity of the high bank; and there is such a very thick shade of oaks and elms, planted by Southey himself over the bank, that all the ground and grass were moist, although it had been a sunny day. It is a very sombre walk; not many glimpses of the sky through those dense boughs. The Greta is here, perhaps, twenty yards across, and very dark of hue, and its voice is melancholy and very suggestive of musings and reveries; but I should question whether it were favorable to any settled scheme of thought. The gardener told us that there used to be a pebbly beach on the margin of the river, and that it was Southey's habit to sit and write there, using a tree of peculiar shape for a table. An alteration in the current of the river has swept away the beach, and the tree, too, has fallen. All these things were interesting to me, although Southey was not, I think, a picturesque man, --not one whose personal character takes a strong hold on the imagination. In these walks he used to wear a pair of shoes heavily clamped with iron; very ponderous they must have been, from the particularity with which the gardener mentioned them. The gardener took leave of us at the front entrance of the grounds, and, returning to the King's Arms, we ordered a one-horse fly for the fall of Lodore. Our drive thither was along the banks of Derwentwater, and it is as beautiful a road, I imagine, as can be found in England or anywhere else. I like Derwentwater the best of all the lakes, so far as I have yet seen them. Skiddaw lies at the head of a long even ridge of mountains, rising into several peaks, and one higher than the rest. On the eastern side there are many noble eminences, and on the west, along which we drove, there is a part of the way a lovely wood, and nearly the whole distance a precipitous range of lofty cliffs, descending sheer down without any slope, except what has been formed in the lapse of ages by the fall of fragments, and the washing down of smaller stones. The declivity thus formed along the base of the cliffs is in some places covered with trees or shrubs; elsewhere it is quite bare and barren. The precipitous parts of the cliffs are very grand; the whole scene, indeed, might be characterized as one of stern grandeur with an embroidery of rich beauty, without lauding it too much. All the sternness of it is softened by vegetative beauty wherever it can possibly be thrown in; and there is not here, so strongly as along Windermere, evidence that human art has been helping out Nature. I wish it were possible to give any idea of the shapes of the hills; with these, at least, man has nothing to do, nor ever will have anything to do. As we approached the bottom of the lake, and of the beautiful valley in which it lies, we saw one hill that seemed to crouch down like a Titanic watch-dog, with its rear towards the spectator, guarding the entrance to the valley. The great superiority of these mountains over those of New England is their variety and definiteness of shape, besides the abundance everywhere of water prospects, which are wanting among our own hills. They rise up decidedly, and each is a hill by itself, while ours mingle into one another, and, besides, have such large bases that you can tell neither where they begin nor where they end. Many of these Cumberland mountains have a marked vertebral shape, so that they often look like a group of huge lions, lying down with their backs turned toward each other. They slope down steeply from narrow ridges; hence their picturesque seclusions of valleys and dales, which subdivide the lake region into so many communities. Our hills, like apple-dumplings in a dish, have no such valleys as these. There is a good inn at Lodore,--a small, primitive country inn, which has latterly been enlarged and otherwise adapted to meet the convenience of the guests brought thither by the fame of the cascade; but it is still a country inn, though it takes upon itself the title of hotel. We found pleasant rooms here, and established ourselves for the night. From this point we have a view of the beautiful lake, and of Skiddaw at the head of it. The cascade is within three or four minutes' walk, through the garden gate, towards the cliff, at the base of which the inn stands. The visitor would need no other guide than its own voice, which is said to be audible sometimes at the distance of four miles. As we were coming from Keswick, we caught glimpses of its white foam high up the precipice; and it is only glimpses that can be caught anywhere, because there is no regular sheet of falling water. Once, I think, it must have fallen abruptly over the edge of the long line of precipice that here extends along parallel with the shore of the lake; but, in the course of time, it has gnawed and sawed its way into the heart of the cliff,--this persistent little stream,--so that now it has formed a rude gorge, adown which it hurries and tumbles in the wildest way, over the roughest imaginable staircase. Standing at the bottom of the fall, you have a far vista sloping upward to the sky, with the water everywhere as white as snow, pouring and pouring down, now on one side of the gorge, now on the other, among immense bowlders, which try to choke its passage. It does not attempt to leap over these huge rocks, but finds its way in and out among then, and finally gets to the bottom after a hundred tumbles. It cannot be better described than in Southey's verses, though it is worthy of better poetry than that. After all, I do not know that the cascade is anything more than a beautiful fringe to the grandeur of the scene; for it is very grand,--this fissure through the cliff,--with a steep, lofty precipice on the right hand, sheer up and down, and on the other hand, too, another lofty precipice, with a slope of its own ruin on which trees and shrubbery have grown. The right-hand precipice, however, has shelves affording sufficient hold for small trees, but nowhere does it slant. If it were not for the white little stream falling gently downward, and for the soft verdure upon either precipice, and even along the very pathway of the cascade, it would be a very stern vista up that gorge. I shall not try to describe it any more. It has not been praised too much, though it may have been praised amiss. I went thither again in the morning, and climbed a good way up, through the midst of its rocky descent, and I think I could have reached the top in this way. It is remarkable that the bounds of the water, from one step of its broken staircase to another, give an impression of softness and gentleness; but there are black, turbulent pools among the great bowlders, where the stream seems angry at the difficulties which it meets with. Looking upward in the sunshine, I could see a rising mist, and I should not wonder if a speck of rainbow were sometimes visible. I noticed a small oak in the bed of the cascade, and there is a lighter vegetation scattered about. At noon we took a car for Portinscale, and drove back along the road to Keswick, through which we passed, stopping to get a perhaps of letters at the post-office, and reached Portinscale, which is a mile from Keswick. After dinner we walked over a bridge, and through a green lane, to the church where Southey is buried. It is a white church, of Norman architecture, with a low, square tower. As we approached, we saw two persons entering the portal, and, following them in, we found the sexton, who was a tall, thin old man, with white hair, and an intelligent, reverent face, showing the edifice to a stout, red-faced, self-important, good-natured John Bull of a gentleman. Without any question on our part, the old sexton immediately led us to Southey's monument, which is placed in a side aisle, where there is not breadth for it to stand free of the wall; neither is it in a very good light. But, it seemed to me a good work of art,--a recumbent figure of white marble, on a couch, the drapery of which he has drawn about him,--being quite enveloped in what may be a shroud. The sculptor has not intended to represent death, for the figure lies on its side, and has a book in its hand, and the face is lifelike, and looks full of expression,--a thin, high-featured, poetic face, with a finely proportioned head and abundant hair. It represents Southey rightly, at whatever age he died, in the full maturity of manhood, when he was strongest and richest. I liked the statue, and wished that it lay in a broader aisle, or in the chancel, where there is an old tomb of a knight and lady of the Ratcliffe family, who have held the place of honor long enough to yield it now to a poet. Southey's sculptor was Lough. I must not forget to mention that John Bull, climbing on a bench, to get a better view of the statue, tumbled off with a racket that resounded irreverently through the church. The old, white-headed, thin sexton was a model man of his class, and appeared to take a loving and cheerful interest in the building, and in those who, from age to age, have worshipped and been buried there. It is a very ancient and interesting church. Within a few years it has been thoroughly repaired as to the interior, and now looks as if it might endure ten more centuries; and I suppose we see little that is really ancient, except the double row of Norman arches, of light freestone, that support the oaken beams and rafters of the roof. All the walls, however, are venerable, and quite preserve the identity of the edifice. There is a stained-glass window of modern manufacture, and in one of the side windows, set amidst plain glass, there is a single piece, five hundred years old, representing St. Anthony, very finely executed, though it looks a little faded. Along the walls, on each side, between the arched windows, there are marble slabs affixed, with inscriptions to the memories of those who used to occupy the seats beneath. I remember none of great antiquity, nor any old monument, except that in the chancel, over the knight and lady of the Ratcliffe family. This consists of a slab of stone, on four small stone pillars, about two feet high. The slab is inlaid with a brass plate, on which is sculptured the knight in armor, and the lady in the costume of Elizabeth's time, exceedingly well done and well preserved, and each figure about eighteen inches in length. The sexton showed us a rubbing of them on paper. Under the slab, which, supported by the low stone pillars, forms a canopy for them, lie two sculptured figures of stone, of life size, and at full length, representing the same persons; but I think the sculptor was hardly equal in his art to the engraver. The most-curious antique relic in the church is the font. The bowl is very capacious, sufficiently so to admit of the complete immersion of a child of two or three months old. On the outside, in several compartments, there are bas-reliefs of Scriptural and symbolic subjects, --such as the tree of life, the word proceeding out of God's mouth, the crown of thorns,--all in the quaintest taste, sculptured by some hand of a thousand years ago, and preserving the fancies of monkish brains, in stone. The sexton was very proud of this font and its sculpture, and took a kindly personal interest, in showing it; and when we had spent as much time as we could inside, he led us to Southey's grave in the churchyard. He told us that he had known Southey long and well, from early manhood to old age; for he was only twenty-nine when he came to Keswick to reside. He had known Wordsworth too, and Coleridge, and Lovell; and he had seen Southey and Wordsworth walking arm in arm together in that churchyard. He seemed to revere Southey's memory, and said that he had been much lamented, and that as many as a hundred people came to the churchyard when he was buried. He spoke with great praise of Mrs. Southey, his first wife, telling of her charity to the poor, and how she was a blessing to the neighborhood; but he said nothing in favor of the second Mrs. Southey, and only mentioned her selling the library, and other things, after her husband's death, and going to London. Yet I think she was probably a good woman, and meets with less than justice because she took the place of another good woman, and had not time and opportunity to prove herself as good. As for Southey himself, my idea is, that few better or more blameless men have ever lived; but he seems to lack color, passion, warmth, or something that should enable me to bring him into close relation with myself. The graveyard where his body lies is not so rural and picturesque as that where Wordsworth is buried; although Skiddaw rises behind it, and the Greta is murmuring at no very great distance away. But the spot itself has a somewhat bare and bold aspect, with no shadow of trees, no shrubbery. Over his grave there is a ponderous, oblong block of slate, a native mineral of this region, as hard as iron, and which will doubtless last quite as long as Southey's works retain any vitality in English literature. It is not a monument fit for a poet. There is nothing airy or graceful about it,--and, indeed, there cannot be many men so solid and matter-of-fact as to deserve a tomb like that. Wordsworth's grave is much better, with only a simple headstone, and the grass growing over his mortality, which, for a thousand years, at least, it never can over Southey's. Most of the monuments are of this same black slate, and some erect headstones are curiously sculptured, and seem to have been recently erected. We now returned to the hotel, and took a car for the valley of St. John. The sky seemed to portend rain in no long time, and Skiddaw had put on his cap; but the people of the hotel and the driver said that there would be no rain this afternoon, and their opinion proved correct. After driving a few miles, we again cane within sight of the Enchanted Castle. It stands rather more than midway adown the declivity of one of the ridges that form the valley to the left, as you go southward, and its site would have been a good one for a fortress, intended to defend the lower entrance of this mountain defile. At a proper distance, it looks not unlike the gray dilapidation of a Gothic castle, which has been crumbling and crumbling away for ages, until Time might be supposed to have imperceptibly stolen its massive pile from man, and given it back to Nature; its towers and battlements and arched entrances being so much defaced and decayed that all the marks of human labor had nearly been obliterated, and the angles of the hewn stone rounded away, while mosses and weeds and bushes grow over it as freely as over a natural ledge of rocks. It is conceivable that in some lights, and in some states of the atmosphere, a traveller, at the entrance of the valley, might really imagine that he beheld a castle here; but, for myself, I must acknowledge that it required a willing fancy to make me see it. As we drew nearer, the delusion did not immediately grow less strong; but, at length, we found ourselves passing at the foot of the declivity, and, behold! it was nothing but an enormous ledge of rock, coming squarely out of the hillside, with other parts of the ledge cropping out in its vicinity. Looking back, after passing, we saw a knoll or hillock, of which the castled rock is the bare face. There are two or three stone cottages along the roadside, beneath the magic castle, and within the enchanted ground. Scott, in the Bridal of Triermain, locates the castle in the middle of the valley, and makes King Arthur ride around it, which any mortal would have great difficulty in doing. This vale of St. John has very striking scenery. Blencathra shuts it in to the northward, lying right across the entrance; and on either side there are lofty crags and declivities, those to the west being more broken and better wooded than the ridge to the eastward, which stretches along for several miles, steep, high, and bare, producing only grass enough for sheep pasture, until it rises into the dark brow of Helvellyn. Adown this ridge, seen afar, like a white ribbon, comes here and there a cascade, sending its voice before it, which distance robs of all its fury, and makes it the quietest sound in the world; and while you see the foamy leap of its upper course a mile or two away, you may see and hear the selfsame little brook babbling through a field, and passing under the arch of a rustic bridge beneath your feet. It is a deep seclusion, with mountains and crags on all sides. About a mile beyond the castle we stopped at a little wayside inn, the King's Head, and put up for the night. This, I believe, is the only inn which I have found in England--the only one where I have eaten and slept --that does not call itself a hotel. It is very primitive in its arrangements,--a long, low, whitewashed, unadorned, and ugly cottage of two stories. At one extremity is a barn and cow-house, and next to these the part devoted to the better class of guests, where we had our parlor and chambers, contiguous to which is the kitchen and common room, paved with flagstones,--and, lastly, another barn and stable; all which departments are not under separate roofs, but under the same long contiguity, and forming the same building. Our parlor opens immediately upon the roadside, without any vestibule. The house appears to be of some antiquity, with beams across the low ceilings; but the people made us pretty comfortable at bed and board, and fed us with ham and eggs, veal-steaks, honey, oatcakes, gooseberry-tarts, and such cates and dainties,--making a moderate charge for all. The parlor was adorned with rude engravings. I remember only a plate of the Duke of Wellington, at three stages of his life; and there were minerals, delved, doubtless, out of the hearts of the mountains, upon the mantel-piece. The chairs were of an antiquated fashion, and had very capacious seats. We were waited upon by two women, who looked and acted not unlike the countryfolk of New England,--say, of New Hampshire,--except that these may have been more deferential. While we remained here, I took various walks to get a glimpse of Helvellyn, and a view of Thirlmere,--which is rather two lakes than one, being so narrow at one point as to be crossed by a foot-bridge. Its shores are very picturesque, coming down abruptly upon it, and broken into crags and prominences, which view their shaggy faces in its mirror; and Helvellyn slopes steeply upward, from its southern shore, into the clouds. On its eastern bank, near the foot-bridge, stands Armboth House, which Miss Martineau says is haunted; and I saw a painted board at the entrance of the road which leads to it advertising lodgings there. The ghosts, of course, pay nothing for their accommodations. At noon, on the day after our arrival, J----- and I went to visit the Enchanted Castle; and we were so venturesome as to turn aside from the road, and ascend the declivity towards its walls, which indeed we hoped to surmount. It proved a very difficult undertaking, the site of the fortress being much higher and steeper than we had supposed; but we did clamber upon what we took for the most elevated portion, when lo! we found that we had only taken one of the outworks, and that there was a gorge of the hill betwixt us and the main walls; while the citadel rose high above, at more than twice the elevation which we had climbed. J----- wished to go on, and I allowed him to climb, till he appeared to have reached so steep and lofty a height that he looked hardly bigger than a monkey, and I should not at all have wondered had he come rolling down to the base of the rock where I sat. But neither did he get actually within the castle, though he might have done so but for a high stone fence, too difficult for him to climb, which runs from the rock along the hillside. The sheep probably go thither much oftener than any other living thing, and to them we left the castle of St. John, with a shrub waving from its battlements, instead of a banner. After dinner we ordered a car for Ambleside, and while it was getting ready, I went to look at the river of St. John, which, indeed, flows close beside our inn, only just across the road, though it might well be overlooked unless you specially sought for it. It is a brook brawling over the stones, very much as brooks do in New England, only we never think of calling them rivers there. I could easily have made a leap from shore to shore, and J----- scrambled across on no better footing than a rail. I believe I have complained of the want of brooks in other parts of England, but there is no want of them here, and they are always interesting, being of what size they may. We drove down the valley, and gazed at the vast slope of Helvellyn, and at Thirlmere beneath it, and at Eagle's Crag and Raven's Crag, which beheld themselves in it, and we cast many a look behind at Blencathra, and that noble brotherhood of mountains out of the midst of which we came. But, to say the truth, I was weary of fine scenery, and it seemed to me that I had eaten a score of mountains, and quaffed as many lakes, all in the space of two or three days,--and the natural consequence was a surfeit. There was scarcely a single place in all our tour where I should not have been glad to spend a month; but, by flitting so quickly from one point to another, I lost all the more recondite beauties, and had come away without retaining even the surface of much that I had seen. I am slow to feel,--slow, I suppose, to comprehend, and, like the anaconda, I need to lubricate any object a great deal before I can swallow it and actually make it my own. Yet I shall always enjoy having made this journey, and shall wonder the more at England, which comprehends so much, such a rich variety, within its narrow bounds. If England were all the world, it still would have been worth while for the Creator to have made it, and mankind would have had no cause to find fault with their abode; except that there is not room enough for so many as might be happy here. We left the great inverted arch of the valley behind us, looking back as long as we could at Blencathra, and Skiddaw over its shoulder, and the clouds were gathering over them at our last glimpse. Passing by Dummail Raise (which is a mound of stones over an old British king), we entered Westmoreland, and soon had the vale of Grasmere before us, with the church where Wordsworth lies, and Nab Scaur and Rydal Water farther on. At Ambleside we took another car for Newby Bridge, whither we drove along the eastern shore of Windermere. The superb scenery through which we had been passing made what we now saw look tame, although a week ago we should have thought it more than commonly interesting. Hawkshead is the only village on our road,--a small, whitewashed old town, with a whitewashed old Norman church, low, and with a low tower, on the same pattern with others that we have seen hereabouts. It was between seven and eight o'clock when we reached Newby Bridge, and heard U----'s voice greeting us, and saw her head, crowned with a wreath of flowers, looking down at us, out of the window of our parlor. And to-day, July 23d, I have written this most incomplete and unsatisfactory record of what we have done and seen since Wednesday last. I am pretty well convinced that all attempts at describing scenery, especially mountain scenery, are sheer nonsense. For one thing, the point of view being changed, the whole description, which you made up from the previous point of view, is immediately falsified. And when you have done your utmost, such items as those setting forth the scene in a play,--"a mountainous country, in the distance a cascade tumbling over a precipice, and in front a lake; on one side an ivy-covered cottage,"-- this dry detail brings the matter before one's mind's eyes more effectually than all the art of word-painting. July 27th.--We are still at Newby Bridge, and nothing has occurred of remarkable interest, nor have we made any excursions, beyond moderate walks. Two days have been rainy, and to-day there is more rain. We find such weather as tolerable here as it would probably be anywhere; but it passes rather heavily with the children,--and for myself, I should prefer sunshine. Though Mr. White's books afford me some entertainment, especially an odd volume of Ben Jonson's plays, containing "Volpone," "The Alchemist," "Bartholomew Fair," and others. "The Alchemist" is certainly a great play. We watch all arrivals and other events from our parlor window,--a stage-coach driving up four times in the twenty-four hours, with its forlorn outsiders, all saturated with rain; the steamer, from the head of the lake, landing a crowd of passengers, who stroll up to the hotel, drink a glass of ale, lean over the parapet of the bridge, gaze at the flat stones which pave the bottom of the Liver, and then hurry back to the steamer again; cars, phaetons, horsemen, all damped and disconsolate. There are a number of young men staying at the hotel, some of whom go forth in all the rain, fishing, and come back at nightfall, trudging heavily, but with creels on their backs that do not seem very heavy. Yesterday was fair, and enlivened us a good deal. Returning from a walk in the forenoon, I found a troop of yeomanry cavalry in the stable-yard of the hotel. They were the North Lancashire Regiment, and were on their way to Liverpool for the purpose of drill. Not being old campaigners, their uniforms and accoutrements were in so much the finer order, all bright, and looking span-new, and they themselves were a body of handsome and stalwart young men; and it was pleasant to look at their helmets, and red jackets and carbines, and steel scabbarded swords, and gallant steeds,--all so martial in aspect,--and to know that they were only play-soldiers, after all, and were never likely to do nor suffer any warlike mischief. By and by their bugles sounded, and they trotted away, wheeling over the ivy-grown stone bridge, and disappearing behind the trees on the Milnethorpe road. Our host comes forth from the bar with a bill, which he presents to an orderly-sergeant. He, the host, then tells me that he himself once rode many years, a trooper, in this regiment, and that all his comrades were larger men than himself. Yet Mr. Thomas White is a good-sized man, and now, at all events, rather overweight for a dragoon. Yesterday came one of those bands of music that seem to itinerate everywhere about the country. It consisted of a young woman who played the harp, a bass-viol player, a fiddler, a flutist, and a bugler, besides a little child, of whom, I suppose, the woman was the mother. They sat down on a bench by the roadside, opposite the house, and played several tunes, and by and by the waiter brought them a large pitcher of ale, which they quaffed with apparent satisfaction; though they seemed to be foreigners by their mustachios and sallow hue, and would perhaps have preferred a vinous potation. One would like to follow these people through their vagrant life, and see them in their social relations, and overhear their talk with each other. All vagrants are interesting; and there is a much greater variety of them here than in America,--people who cast themselves on Fortune, and take whatever she gives without a certainty of anything. I saw a travelling tinker yesterday,--a man with a leather apron, and a string of skewers hung at his girdle, and a pack over his shoulders, in which, no doubt, were his tools and materials of trade. It is remarkable what a natural interest everybody feels in fishing. An angler from the bridge immediately attracts a group to watch his luck. It is the same with J-----, fishing for minnows, on the platform near which the steamer lands its passengers. By the by, U---- caught a minnow last evening, and, immediately after, a good-sized perch,--her first fish. July 30th.--We left Newby Bridge, all of us, on Saturday, at twelve o'clock, and steamed up the lake to Ambleside; a pretty good day as to weather, but with a little tendency to shower. There was nothing new on the lake, and no new impressions, as far as I can remember. At Ambleside, S----- and nurse went shopping, after which we took a carriage for Grasmere, and established ourselves at Brown's Hotel. I find that my impressions from our previous sight of all these scenes do not change on revision. They are very beautiful; but, if I must say it, I am a little weary of them. We soon tire of things which we visit merely by way of spectacle, and with which we have no real and permanent connection. In such cases we very quickly wish the spectacle to be taken away, and another substituted; at all events I do not care about seeing anything more of the English lakes for at least a year. Perhaps a part of my weariness is owing to the hotel-life which we lead. At an English hotel the traveller feels as if everybody, from the landlord downward, united in a joint and individual purpose to fleece him, because all the attendants who come in contact with him are to be separately considered. So, after paying, in the first instance, a very heavy bill, for what would seem to cover the whole indebtedness, there remain divers dues still to be paid, to no trifling amount, to the landlord's servants,--dues not to be ascertained, and which you never can know whether you have properly satisfied. You can know, perhaps, when you have less than satisfied them, by the aspect of the waiter, which I wish I could describe, not disrespectful in the slightest degree, but a look of profound surprise, a gaze at the offered coin (which he nevertheless pockets) as if he either did not see it, or did not know it, or could not believe his eyesight;--all this, however, with the most quiet forbearance, a Christian-like non-recognition of an unmerited wrong and insult; and finally, all in a moment's space indeed, he quits you and goes about his other business. If you have given him too much, you are made sensible of your folly by the extra amount of his gratitude, and the bows with which he salutes you from the doorstep. Generally, you cannot very decidedly say whether you have been right or wrong; but, in almost all cases, you decidedly feel that you have been fleeced. Then the living at the best of English hotels, so far as my travels have brought me acquainted with them, deserves but moderate praise, and is especially lacking in variety. Nothing but joints, joints, joints; sometimes, perhaps, a meat-pie, which, if you eat it, weighs upon your conscience, with the idea that you have eaten the scraps of other people's dinners. At the lake hotels, the fare is lamb and mutton and grout,--the latter not always fresh, and soon tired of. We pay like nabobs, and are expected to be content with plain mutton. We spent the day yesterday at Grasmere, in quiet walks about the hotel; and at a little past six in the afternoon, I took my departure in the stage-coach for Windermere. The coach was greatly overburdened with outside passengers,--fifteen in all, besides the four insiders, and one of the fifteen formed the apex of an immense pile of luggage on the top. It seems to me miraculous that we did not topple over, the road being so hilly and uneven, and the driver, I suspect, none the steadier for his visits to all the tap-rooms along the route from Cockermouth. There was a tremendous vibration of the coach now and then; and I saw that, in case of our going over, I should be flung headlong against the high stone fence that bordered most of the road. In view of this I determined to muffle my head in the folds of my thick shawl at the moment of overturn, and as I could do no better for myself, I awaited my fate with equanimity. As far as apprehension goes, I had rather travel from Maine to Georgia by rail, than from Grasmere to Windermere by stage-coach. At Lowwood, the landlady espied me from the window, and sent out a large packet that had arrived by mail; but as it was addressed to some person of the Christian name of William, I did not venture to open it. She said, also, that a gentleman had been there, who very earnestly desired to see me, and I have since had reason to suppose that this was Allingham, the poet. We arrived at Windermere at half past seven, and waited nearly an hour for the train to start. I took a ticket for Lancaster, and talked there about the war with a gentleman in the coffee-room, who took me for an Englishman, as most people do nowadays, and I heard from him--as you may from all his countrymen--an expression of weariness and dissatisfaction with the whole business. These fickle islanders! How differently they talked a year ago! John Bull sees now that he never was in a worse predicament in his life; and yet it would not take much to make him roar as bellicosely as ever. I went to bed at eleven, and slept unquietly on feathers. I had purposed to rise betimes, and see the town of Lancaster before breakfast. But here I reckoned without my host; for, in the first place, I had no water for my ablutions, and my boots were not brushed; and so I could not get down stairs till the hour I named for my coffee and chops; and, secondly, the breakfast was delayed half an hour, though promised every minute. In fine, I had but just time to take a hasty walk round Lancaster Castle, and see what I could of the town on my way,--a not very remarkable town, built of stone, with taller houses than in the middle shires of England, narrow streets up and down an eminence on which the castle is situated, with the town immediately about it. The castle is a satisfactory edifice, but so renovated that the walls look almost entirely modern, with the exception of the fine old front, with the statue of an armed warrior, very likely John of Gaunt himself, in a niche over the Norman arch of the entrance. Close beside the castle stands an old church. The train left Lancaster at half past nine, and reached Liverpool at twelve, over as flat and uninteresting a country as I ever travelled. I have betaken myself to the Rock Ferry Hotel, where I am as comfortable as I could be anywhere but at home; but it is rather comfortless to think of hone as three years off, and three thousand miles away. With what a sense of utter weariness, not fully realized till then, we shall sink down on our own threshold, when we reach it. The moral effect of being without a settled abode is very wearisome. Our coachman from Grasmere to Windermere looked like a great beer-barrel, oozy with his proper liquor. I suppose such solid soakers never get upset. THE LAUNCH. August 2d.--Mr. ------ has urged me very much to go with his father and family to see the launch of a great ship which has been built for their house, and afterwards to partake of a picnic; so, on Tuesday morning I presented myself at the landing-stage, and met the party, to take passage for Chester. It was a showery morning, and looked wofully like a rainy day; but nothing better is to be expected in England; and, after all, there is seldom such a day that you cannot glide about pretty securely between the drops of rain. This, however, did not turn out one of those tolerable days, but grew darker and darker, and worse and worse; and was worst of all when we had passed about six miles beyond Chester, and were just on the borders of Wales, on the hither side of the river Dee, where the ship was to be launched. Here the train stopped, and absolutely deposited our whole party of excursionists, under a heavy shower, in the midst of a muddy potato-field, whence we were to wade through mud and mire to the ship-yard, almost half a mile off. Some kind Christian, I know not whom, gave me half of his umbrella, and half of his cloak, and thereby I got to a shed near the ship, without being entirely soaked through. The ship had been built on the banks of the Dee, at a spot where it is too narrow for her to be launched directly across, and so she lay lengthwise of the river, and was so arranged as to take the water parallel with the stream. She is, for aught I know, the largest ship in the world; at any rate, longer than the Great Britain,--an iron-screw steamer,--and looked immense and magnificent, and was gorgeously dressed out in flags. Had it been a pleasant day, all Chester and half Wales would have been there to see the launch; and, in spite of the rain, there were a good many people on the opposite shore, as well as on our side; and one or two booths, and many of the characteristics of a fair,--that is to say, men and women getting intoxicated without any great noise and confusion. The ship was expected to go off at about twelve o'clock, and at that juncture all Mr. ------'s friends assembled under the bows of the ship, where we were a little sheltered from the rain by the projection of that part of the vessel over our heads. The bottle of port-wine with which she was to be christened was suspended from the bows to the platform where we stood by a blue ribbon; and the ceremony was to be performed by Mrs. ------, who, I could see, was very nervous in anticipation of the ceremony. Mr. ------ kept giving her instructions in a whisper, and showing her how to throw the bottle; and as the critical moment approached, he took hold of it along with her. All this time we were waiting in momentary expectation of the ship going off, everything being ready, and only the touch of a spring, as it were, needed to make her slide into the water. But the chief manager kept delaying a little longer, and a little longer; though the pilot on board sent to tell him that it was time she was off. "Yes, yes; but I want as much water as I can get," answered the manager; and so he held on till, I suppose, the tide had raised the river Dee to its very acme of height. At last the word was given; the ship began slowly to move; Mrs. ------ threw the bottle against the bow with a spasmodic effort that dashed it into a thousand pieces, and diffused the fragrance of the old port all around, where it lingered several minutes. I did not think that there could have been such a breathless moment in an affair of this kind. The ship moved majestically down toward the river; and unless it were Niagara, I never saw anything grander and more impressive than the motion of this mighty mass as she departed from us. We on the platform, and everybody along both shores of the Dee, took off our hats in the rain, waved handkerchiefs, cheered, shouted,--"Beautiful!" "What a noble launch!" "Never was so fair a sight!"--and, really, it was so grand, that calm, majestic movement, that I felt the tears come into my eyes. The wooden pathway adown which she was gliding began to smoke with the friction; when all at once, when we expected to see her plunge into the Dee, she came to a full stop. Mr. ------, the father of my friend, a gentleman with white hair, a dark, expressive face, bright eyes, and an Oriental cast of features, immediately took the alarm. A moment before his countenance had been kindled with triumph; but now he turned pale as death, and seemed to grow ten years older while I was looking at him. Well he might, for his noble ship was stuck fast in the land of the Dee, and without deepening the bed of the river, I do not see how her vast iron hulk is ever to be got out. [This steamer was afterwards successfully floated off on the 29th of the same month.] There was no help for it. A steamboat was hitched on to the stranded vessel, but broke two or three cables without stirring her an inch. So, after waiting long after we had given up all hope, we went to the office of the ship-yard, and there took a lunch; and still the rain was pouring, pouring, pouring, and I never experienced a blacker affair in all my days. Then we had to wait a great while for a train to take us back, so that it was almost five o'clock before we arrived at Chester, where I spent an hour in rambling about the old town, under the Rows; and on the walls, looking down on the treetops, directly under my feet, and through their thick branches at the canal, which creeps at the base, and at the cathedral; walking under the dark intertwining arches of the cloisters, and looking up at the great cathedral tower, so wasted away externally by time and weather that it looks, save for the difference of color between white snow and red freestone, like a structure of snow, half dissolved by several warm days. At the lunch I met with a graduate of Cambridge (England), tutor of a grandson of Percival, with his pupil (Percival, the assassinated minister, I mean). I should not like this position of tutor to a young Englishman; it certainly has an ugly twang of upper servitude. I observed that the tutor gave his pupil the best seat in the railway carriage, and in all respects provided for his comfort before thinking of his own; and this, not as a father does for his child, out of love, but from a sense of place and duty, which I did not quite see how a gentleman could consent to feel. And yet this Mr. C------ was evidently a gentleman, and a quiet, intelligent, agreeable, and, no doubt, learned man. K------ being mentioned, Mr. C------ observed that he had known him well at college, having been his contemporary there. He did not like him, however,--thought him a "dangerous man," as well as I could gather; he thinks there is some radical defect in K------'s moral nature, a lack of sincerity; and, furthermore, he believes him to be a sensualist in his disposition, in support of which view he said Mr. K------ had made drawings, such as no pure man could have made, or could allow himself to show or look at. This was the only fact which Mr. C------ adduced, bearing on his opinion of K------; otherwise, it seemed to be one of those early impressions which a collegian gets of his fellow-students, and which he never gets rid of, whatever the character of the person may turn out to be in after years. I have judged several persons in this way, and still judge them so, though the world has cone to very different conclusions. Which is right?--the world, which has the man's whole mature life on its side; or his early companion, who has nothing for it but some idle passages of his youth? Mr. M------ remarked of newspaper reporters, that they may be known at all celebrations, and of any public occasion, by the enormous quantity of luncheon they eat. August 12th.--Mr. B------ dined with us at the Rock Ferry Hotel the day before yesterday. Speaking of Helvellyn, and the death of Charles Cough, about whom Wordsworth and Scott have both sung, Mr. B------ mentioned a version of that story which rather detracts from the character of the faithful dog. But somehow it lowers one's opinion of human nature itself, to be compelled so to lower one's standard of a dog's nature. I don't intend to believe the disparaging story, but it reminds me of the story of the New-Zealander who was asked whether he loved a missionary who had been laboring for his soul and those of his countrymen. "To be sure I loved him. Why, I ate a piece of him for my breakfast this morning!" For the last week or two I have passed my time between the hotel and the Consulate, and a weary life it is, and one that leaves little of profit behind it. I am sick to death of my office,--brutal captains and brutal sailors; continual complaints of mutual wrong, which I have no power to set right, and which, indeed, seem to have no right on either side; calls of idleness or ceremony from my travelling countrymen, who seldom know what they are in search of at the commencement of their tour, and never have attained any desirable end at the close of it; beggars, cheats, simpletons, unfortunates, so mixed up that it is impossible to distinguish one from another, and so, in self-defence, the Consul distrusts them all. . . . At the hotel, yesterday, there was a large company of factory people from Preston, who marched up from the pier with a band of military music playing before them. They spent the day in the gardens and ball-room of the hotel, dancing and otherwise merry-making; but I saw little of them, being at the Consulate. Towards evening it drizzled, and the assemblage melted away gradually; and when the band marched down to the pier, there were few to follow, although one man went dancing before the musicians, flinging out his arms, and footing it with great energy and gesticulation. Some young women along the road likewise began to dance as the music approached. Thackeray has a dread of servants, insomuch that he hates to address them, or to ask them for anything. His morbid sensibility, in this regard, has perhaps led him to study and muse upon them, so that he may be presumed to have a more intimate knowledge of this class than any other man. Carlyle dresses so badly, and wears such a rough outside, that the flunkies are rude to him at gentlemen's doors. In the afternoon J----- and I took a walk towards Tranmere Hall, and beyond, as far as Oxton. This part of the country, being so near Liverpool and Birkenhead, is all sprinkled over with what they call "Terraces," "Bellevues," and other pretty names for semi-detached villas ("Recluse Cottage" was one) for a somewhat higher class. But the old, whitewashed stone cottage is still frequent, with its roof of slate or thatch, which perhaps is green with weeds or grass. Through its open door, you see that it has a pavement of flagstones, or perhaps of red freestone; and hogs and donkeys are familiar with the threshold. The door always opens directly into the kitchen, without any vestibule; and, glimpsing in, you see that a cottager's life must be the very plainest and homeliest that ever was lived by men and women. Yet the flowers about the door often indicate a native capacity for the beautiful; but often there is only a pavement of round stones or of flagstones, like those within. At one point where there was a little bay, as it were, in the hedge fence, we saw something like a small tent or wigwam,--an arch of canvas three or four feet high, and open in front, under which sat a dark-complexioned woman and some children. The woman was sewing, and I took them for gypsies. August 17th.--Yesterday afternoon J----- and I went to Birkenhead Park, which I have already described. . . . It so happened that there was a large school spending its holiday there; a school of girls of the lower classes, to the number of a hundred and fifty, who disported themselves on the green, under the direction of the schoolmistresses and of an old gentleman. It struck me, as it always has, to observe how the lower orders of this country indicate their birth and station by their aspect and features. In America there would be a good deal of grace and beauty among a hundred and fifty children and budding girls, belonging to whatever rank of life. But here they had universally a most plebeian look,--stubbed, sturdy figures, round, coarse faces, snub-noses,--the most evident specimens of the brown bread of human nature. They looked wholesome and good enough, and fit to sustain their rough share of life; but it would have been impossible to make a lady out of any one of them. Climate, no doubt, has most to do with diffusing a slender elegance over American young-womanhood; but something, perhaps, is also due to the circumstance of classes not being kept apart there as they are here: they interfuse, amid the continual ups and downs of our social life; and so, in the lowest stations of life, you may see the refining influence of gentle blood. At all events, it is only necessary to look at such an assemblage of children as I saw yesterday, to be convinced that birth and blood do produce certain characteristics. To be sure, I have seen no similar evidence in England or elsewhere of old gentility refining and elevating the race. These girls were all dressed in black gowns, with white aprons and neckerchiefs, and white linen caps on their heads,--a very dowdyish attire, and well suited to their figures. I saw only two of their games,--in one, they stood in a circle, while two of their number chased one another within and without the ring of girls, which opened to let the fugitive pass, but closed again to impede the passage of the pursuer. The other was blind-man's-buff on a new plan: several of the girls, sometimes as many as twenty, being blinded at once, and pursuing a single one, who rang a hand-bell to indicate her whereabouts. This was very funny; the bell-girl keeping just beyond their reach, and drawing them after her in a huddled group, so that they sometimes tumbled over one another and lay sprawling. I think I have read of this game in Strutt's "English Sports and Pastimes." We walked from the Park home to Rock Ferry, a distance of three or four miles,--a part of which was made delightful by a foot-path, leading us through fields where the grass had just been mown, and others where the wheat harvest was commenced. The path led us into the very midst of the rural labor that was going forward; and the laborers rested a moment to look at us; in fact, they seemed to be more willing to rest than American laborers would have been. Children were loitering along this path or sitting down beside it; and we met one little maid, passing from village to village, intent on some errand. Reaching Tranmere, I went into an alehouse, nearly opposite the Hall, and called for a glass of ale. The doorstep before the house, and the flagstone floor of the entry and tap-room, were chalked all over in corkscrew lines,--an adornment that gave an impression of care and neatness, the chalked lines being evidently freshly made. It was a low, old-fashioned room ornamented with a couple of sea-shells, and an earthen-ware figure on the mantel-piece; also with advertisements of Allsop's ale, and other drinks, and with a pasteboard handbill of "The Ancient Order of Foresters"; any member of which, paying sixpence weekly, is entitled to ten shillings per week, and the attendance of a first-rate physician in sickness, and twelve pounds to be paid to his friends in case of death. Any member of this order, when travelling, is sure (says the handbill) to meet with a brother member to lend him a helping hand, there being nearly three thousand districts of this order, and more than a hundred and nine thousand members in Great Britain, whence it has extended to Australia, America, and other countries. Looking up at the gateway of Tranmere Hall, I discovered an inscription on the red freestone lintel, and, though much time-worn, I succeeded in reading it. "Labor omnia vincit. 1614." There were likewise some initials which I could not satisfactorily make out. The sense of this motto would rather befit the present agricultural occupants of the house than the idle gentlefolks who built and formerly inhabited it. SMITHELL'S HALL. August 25th.--On Thursday I went by invitation to Smithell's Hall in Bolton le Moors to dine and spend the night. The Hall is two or three miles from the town of Bolton, where I arrived by railway from Liverpool, and which seems to be a pretty large town, though the houses are generally modern, or with modernized fronts of brick or stucco. It is a manufacturing town, and the tall brick chimneys rise numerously in the neighborhood, and are so near Smithell's Hall that I suspect the atmosphere is somewhat impregnated with their breath. Mr. ------ can comfort himself with the rent which he receives from the factories erected upon his own grounds; and I suppose the value of his estate has greatly increased by the growth of manufactories; although, unless he wish to sell it, I do not see what good this can do him. Smithell's Hall is one of the oldest residences of England, and still retains very much the aspect that it must have had several centuries ago. The house formerly stood around all four sides of a quadrangle, enclosing a court, and with an entrance through an archway. One side of this quadrangle was removed in the time of the present Mr. ------'s father, and the front is now formed by the remaining three sides. They look exceedingly ancient and venerable, with their range of gables and lesser peaks. The house is probably timber-framed throughout, and is overlaid with plaster, and its generally light line is painted with a row of trefoils in black, producing a very quaint effect. The wing, forming one side of the quadrangle, is a chapel, and has been so from time immemorial; and Mr. ------ told me that he had a clergyman, and even a bishop, in his own diocese. The drawing-room is on the opposite side of the quadrangle; and through an arched door, in the central portion, there is a passage to the rear of the house. It is impossible to describe such an old rambling edifice as this, or to get any clear idea of its plan, even by going over it, without the aid of a map. Mr. ------ has added some portions, and altered others, but with due regard to harmony with the original structure, and the great body of it is still mediaeval. The entrance-hall opens right upon the quadrangular court; and is a large, low room, with a settle of carved old oak, and other old oaken furniture,--a centre-table with periodicals and newspapers on it,--some family pictures on the walls,--and a large, bright coal-fire in the spacious grate. The fire is always kept up, throughout summer and winter, and it seemed to me an excellent plan, and rich with cheerful effects; insuring one comfortable place, and that the most central in the house, whatever may be the inclemency of the weather. It was a cloudy, moist, showery day, when I arrived; and this fire gave me the brightest and most hospitable smile, and took away any shivery feeling by its mere presence. The servant showed me thence into a low-studded dining-room, where soon Mrs. ------ made her appearance, and, after some talk, brought me into the billiard-room, opening from the hall, where Mr. ------ and a young gentleman were playing billiards, and two ladies looking on. After the game was finished, Mr. ------ took me round to see the house and grounds. The peculiarity of this house is what is called "The Bloody Footstep." In the time of Bloody Mary, a Protestant clergyman--George Marsh by name --was examined before the then proprietor of the Hall, Sir Roger Barton, I think, and committed to prison for his heretical opinions, and was ultimately burned at the stake. As his guards were conducting him from the justice-room, through the stone-paved passage that leads from front to rear of Smithell's Hall, he stamped his foot upon one of the flagstones in earnest protestation against the wrong which he was undergoing. The foot, as some say, left a bloody mark in the stone; others have it, that the stone yielded like wax under his foot, and that there has been a shallow cavity ever since. This miraculous footprint is still extant; and Mrs. ------ showed it to me before her husband took me round the estate. It is almost at the threshold of the door opening from the rear of the house, a stone two or three feet square, set among similar ones, that seem to have been worn by the tread of many generations. The footprint is a dark brown stain in the smooth gray surface of the flagstone; and, looking sidelong at it, there is a shallow cavity perceptible, which Mrs. ------ accounted for as having been worn by people setting their feet just on this place, so as to tread the very spot, where the martyr wrought the miracle. The mark is longer than any mortal foot, as if caused by sliding along the stone, rather than sinking into it; and it might be supposed to have been made by a pointed shoe, being blunt at the heel, and decreasing towards the toe. The blood-stained version of the story is more consistent with the appearance of the mark than the imprint would be; for if the martyr's blood oozed out through his shoe and stocking, it might have made his foot slide along the stone, and thus have lengthened the shape. Of course it is all a humbug,--a darker vein cropping up through the gray flagstone; but, it is probably a fact, and, for aught I know, may be found in Fox's Book of Martyrs, that George Marsh underwent an examination in this house [There is a full and pathetic account of the examination and martyrdom of George Marsh in the eleventh section of Fox's Book of Martyrs, as I have just found (June 9, 1867). He went to Smithell's hall, among other places, to be questioned by Mr. Barton.--ED.]; and the tradition may have connected itself with the stone within a short time after the martyrdom; or, perhaps, when the old persecuting knight departed this life, and Bloody Mary was also dead, people who had stood at a little distance from the Hall door, and had seen George Marsh lift his hand and stamp his foot just at this spot,--perhaps they remembered this action and gesture, and really believed that Providence had thus made an indelible record of it on the stone; although the very stone and the very mark might have lain there at the threshold hundreds of years before. But, even if it had been always there, the footprint might, after the fact, be looked upon as a prophecy, from the time when the foundation of the old house was laid, that a holy and persecuted man should one day set his foot here, on the way that was to lead him to the stake. At any rate, the legend is a good one. Mrs. ------ tells me that the miraculous stone was once taken up from the pavement, and flung out of doors, where it remained many years; and in proof of this, it is cracked quite across at one end. This is a pity, and rather interferes with the authenticity, if not of the stone itself, yet of its position in the pavement. It is not far from the foot of the staircase, leading up to Sir Roger Barton's examination-room, whither we ascended, after examining the footprint. This room now opens sideways on the Chapel, into which it looks down, and which is spacious enough to accommodate a pretty large congregation. On one of the walls of the Chapel there is a marble tablet to the memory of one of the present family,--Mr.------'s father, I suppose; he being the first of the name who possessed the estate. The present owners, however, seem to feel pretty much the same pride in the antiquity and legends of the house as if it had come down to them in an unbroken succession of their own forefathers. It has, in reality, passed several times from one family to another, since the Conquest. Mr. ------ led me through a spacious old room, which was formerly panelled with carved oak, but which is converted into a brew-house, up a pair of stairs, into the garret of one of the gables, in order to show me the ancient framework of the house. It is of oak, and preposterously ponderous,--immense beams and rafters, which no modern walls could support,--a gigantic old skeleton, which architects say must have stood a thousand years; and, indeed, it is impossible to ascertain the date of the original foundation, though it is known to have been repaired and restored between five and six centuries ago. Of course, in the lapse of ages, it must continually have been undergoing minor changes, but without at all losing its identity. Mr. ------ says that this old oak wood, though it looks as strong and as solid as ever, has really lost its strength, and that it would snap short off, on application of any force. After this we took our walk through the grounds, which are well wooded, though the trees will bear no comparison with those which I have seen in the midland parts of England. It takes, I suspect, a much longer time for trees to attain a good size here than in America; and these trees, I think Mr. ------ told me, were principally set out by himself. He is upwards of sixty,--a good specimen of the old English country-gentleman, sensible, loving his land and his trees and his dogs and his game, doing a little justice-business, and showing a fitness for his position; so that you feel satisfied to have him keep it. He was formerly a member of Parliament. I had met him before at dinner at Mrs. H------'s. . . . He took pleasure in showing me his grounds, through which he has laid out a walk, winding up and down through dells and over hillocks, and now and then crossing a rustic bridge; so that you have an idea of quite an extensive domain. Beneath the trees there is a thick growth of ferns, serving as cover for the game. A little terrier-dog, who had hitherto kept us company, all at once disappeared; and soon afterwards we heard the squeak of some poor victim in the cover, whereupon Mr. ------ set out with agility, and ran to the rescue.--By and by the terrier came back with a very guilty look. From the wood we passed into the open park, whence we had a distant view of the house; and, returning thither, we viewed it in other aspects, and on all sides. One portion of it is occupied by Mr. ------'s gardener, and seems not to have been repaired, at least as to its exterior, for a great many years,--showing the old wooden frame, painted black, with plaster in the interstices; and broad windows, extending across the whole breadth of the rooms, with hundreds of little diamond-shaped panes of glass. Before dinner I was shown to my room, which opens from an ancient gallery, lined with oak, and lighted by a row of windows along one side of the quadrangle. Along this gallery are the doors of several sleeping-chambers, one of which--I think it is here--is called "The Dead Man's Chamber." It is supposed to have been the room where the corpses of persons connected with the household used to be laid out. My own room was called "The Beam Chamber," from am immense cross-beam that projects from the ceiling, and seems to be an entire tree, laid across, and left rough-hewn, though at present it is whitewashed. The but of the tree (for it diminishes from one end of the chamber to the other) is nearly two feet square, in its visible part. We dined, at seven o'clock, in a room some thirty-five or forty feet long, and proportionably broad, all panelled with the old carved oak which Mr. ------ took from the room which he had converted into a brew-house. The oak is now of a very dark brown hue, and, being highly polished, it produces a sombre but rich effect. It is supposed to be of the era of Henry the Seventh, and when I examined it the next morning, I found it very delicately and curiously wrought. There are carved profiles of persons in the costume of the times, done with great skill; also foliage, intricate puzzles of intersecting lines, sacred devices, anagrams, and, among others, the device of a bar across a tun, indicating the name of Barton. Most of the carving, however, is less elaborate and intricate than these specimens, being in a perpendicular style, and on one pattern. Before the wood grew so very dark, the beauty of the work must have been much more easily seen than now, as to particulars, though I hardly think that the general effect could have been better; at least, the sombre richness that overspreads the entire square of the room is suitable to such an antique house. An elaborate Gothic cornice runs round the whole apartment. The sideboard and other furniture are of Gothic patterns, and, very likely, of genuine antiquity; but the fireplace is perhaps rather out of keeping, being of white marble with the arms of this family sculptured on it. Though hardly sunset when we sat down to dinner, yet, it being an overcast day, and the oaken room so sombre, we had candles burning on the table; and, long before dinner was over, the candle-light was all the light we had. It is always pleasanter to dine by artificial light. Mrs. ------'s dinner was a good one, and Mr. ------'s wines were very good. I had Mrs. ------ on one side, and another lady on the other side. . . . After dinner there were two card-parties formed in the dining-room, at one of which there was a game of Vingt-et-un, and at the other a game of whist, at which Mrs. ------ and I lost several shillings to a Mrs. Halton and Mr. Gaskell. . . . After finishing our games at cards, Mrs. Halton drove off in a pony-chaise to her own house; the other ladies retired, and the gentlemen sat down to chat awhile over the hall fire, occasionally sipping a glass of wine-and-water, and finally we all went off to our rooms. It was past twelve o'clock when I composed myself to sleep, and I could not have slept long, when a tremendous clap of thunder woke me just in time to see a vivid flash of lightning. I saw no ghosts, though Mrs. ------ tells me there is one, which makes a disturbance, unless religious services are regularly kept up in the Chapel. In the morning, before breakfast, we had prayers, read by Mr. ------, in the oak dining-room, all the servants coming in, and everybody kneeling down. I should like to know how much true religious feeling is indicated by this regular observance of religious rites in English families. In America, if people kneel down to pray, it is pretty certain that they feel a genuine interest in the matter, and their daily life is supposed to be in accordance with their devotions. If an American is an infidel, he knows it; but an Englishman is often so without suspecting it,--being kept from that knowledge by this formality of family prayer, and his other regularities of external worship. . . . There was a parrot in a corner of the dining-room, and, when prayers were over, Mrs. ------ praised it very highly for having been so silent; it being Poll's habit, probably, to break in upon the sacred exercises with unseemly interjections and remarks. While we were at breakfast, Poll began to whistle and talk very vociferously, and in a tone and with expressions that surprised me, till I learned that the bird is usually kept in the kitchen and servants' hall, and is only brought into the dining-room at prayer-time and breakfast. Thus its mouth is full of kitchen talk, which flows out before the gentlefolks with the queerest effect. After breakfast I examined the carvings of the room. Mr. ------ has added to its decorations the coats of arms of all the successive possessors of the house, with those of the families into which they married, including the Ratcliffes, Stanleys, and others. From the dining-room I passed into the library, which contains books enough to make a rainy day pass pleasantly. I remember nothing else that I need to record; and as I sat by the hall fire, talking with Mr. Gaskell, at about eleven o'clock, the butler brought me word that a fly, which I had bespoken, was ready to convey me to the railway. I took leave of Mrs. ------, her last request being that I would write a ghost-story for her house,--and drove off. SHREWSBURY September 5th.--Yesterday we all of us set forth from Rock Ferry at half past twelve, and reached Shrewsbury between three and four o'clock, and took up our quarters at the Lion Hotel. We found Shrewsbury situated on an eminence, around which the Severn winds, making a peninsula of it, quite densely covered by the town. The streets ascend, and curve about, and intersect each other with the customary irregularity of these old English towns, so that it is quite impossible to go directly to any given point, or for a stranger to find his way to a place which he wishes to reach, though, by what seems a singular good fortune, the sought-for place is always offering itself when least expected. On this account I never knew such pleasant walking as in old streets like those of Shrewsbury. And there are passages opening under archways, and winding up between high edifices, very tempting to the explorer, and generally leading to some court, or some queer old range of buildings or piece of architecture, which it would be the greatest pity to miss seeing. There was a delightful want of plan in the laying out of these ancient towns. In fact, they never were laid out at all, nor were restrained by any plan whatever, but grew naturally, with streets as eccentric as the pathway of a young child toddling about the floor. The first curious thing we particularly noticed, when we strolled out after dinner, was the old market-house, which stands in the midst of an oblong square; a gray edifice, elevated on pillars and arches, and with the statue of an armed knight, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, in a central niche, in its front. The statue is older than the market-house, having been moved thither from one of the demolished towers of the city wall in 1795. The market-house was erected in 1595. There are other curious sculptures and carvings and quirks of architecture about this building; and the houses that stand about the square are, many of them, very striking specimens of what dwelling-houses used to be in Elizabeth's time, and earlier. I have seen no such stately houses, in that style, as we found here in Shrewsbury. There were no such fine ones in Coventry, Stratford, Warwick, Chester, nor anywhere else where we have been. Their stately height and spaciousness seem to have been owing to the fact that Shrewsbury was a sort of metropolis of the country round about, and therefore the neighboring gentry had their town-houses there, when London was several days' journey off, instead of a very few hours; and, besides, it was once much the resort of kings, and the centre-point of great schemes of war and policy. One such house, formerly belonging to a now extinct family, that of Ireland, rises to the height of four stories, and has a front consisting of what look like four projecting towers. There are ranges of embowered windows, one above another, to the full height of the house, and these are surmounted by peaked gables. The people of those times certainly did not deny themselves light; and while window-glass was an article of no very remote introduction, it was probably a point of magnificence and wealthy display to have enough of it. One whole side of the room must often have been formed by the window. This Ireland mansion, as well as all the rest of the old houses in Shrewsbury, is a timber house,--that is, a skeleton of oak, filled up with brick, plaster, or other material, and with the beams of the timber marked out with black paint; besides which, in houses of any pretension, there are generally trefoils, and other Gothic-looking ornaments, likewise painted black. They have an indescribable charm for me,--the more, I think, because they are wooden; but, indeed, I cannot tell why it is that I like them so well, and am never tired of looking at them. A street was a development of human life, in the days when these houses were built, whereas a modern street is but the cold plan of an architect, without individuality or character, and without the human emotion which a man kneads into the walls which he builds on a scheme of his own. We strolled to a pleasant walk under a range of trees, along the shore of the Severn. It is called the Quarry Walk. The Severn is a pretty river, the largest, I think (unless it be such an estuary as the Mersey), that I have met with in England; that is to say, about a fair stone's-throw across. It is very gentle in its course, and winds along between grassy and sedgy banks, with a good growth of weeds in some part of its current. It has one stately bridge, called the English Bridge, of several arches, and, as we sauntered along the Quarry Walk, we saw a ferry where the boat seemed to be navigated across by means of a rope, stretched from bank to bank of the river. After leaving the Quarry Walk, we passed an old tower of red freestone, the only one remaining of those formerly standing at intervals along the whole course of the town wall; and we also went along what little is now left of the wall itself. And thence, through the irregular streets, which gave no account of themselves, we found our way, I know not how, back to our hotel. It is an uncheerful old hotel, which takes upon itself to be in the best class of English country hotels, and charges the best price; very dark in the lower apartments, pervaded with a musty odor, but provided with a white-neckclothed waiter, who spares no ceremony in serving the joints of mutton. J----- and I afterwards walked forth again, and went this time to the castle, which stands exactly above the railway station. A path, from its breadth quite a street, leads up to the arched gateway; but we found a board, giving notice that these are private grounds, and no strangers admitted; so that we only passed through the gate a few steps, and looked about us, and retired, on perceiving a man approaching us through the trees and shrubbery. A private individual, it seems, has burrowed in this old warlike den, and turned the keep, and any other available apartment, into a modern dwelling, and laid out his pleasure-grounds within the precincts of the castle wall, which allows verge enough for the purpose. The ruins have been considerably repaired. This castle was built at various times, the keep by Edward I., and other portions at an earlier period, and it stands on the isthmus left by the Severn in its wandering course about the town. The Duke of Cleveland now owns it. I do not know who occupies it. In the course of this walk, we passed St. Mary's Church,--a very old church indeed, no matter how old, but say, eight hundred or a thousand years. It has a very tall spire, and the spire is now undergoing repairs; and, seeing the door open, I went into the porch, but found no admission further. Then, walking around it, through the churchyard, we saw that all the venerable Gothic windows--one of them grand in size-- were set with stained glass, representing coats of arms and ancient armor, and kingly robes, and saints with glories about their heads, and Scriptural people; but all of these, as far as our actual perception was concerned, quite colorless, and with only a cold outline, dimly filled up. Yet, had we been within the church, and had the sunlight been streaming through, what a warm, rich, gorgeous, roseate, golden life would these figures have showed! In the churchyard, close upon the street, so that its dust must be continually scattered over the spot, I saw a heavy gray tombstone, with a Latin inscription, purporting that Bishop Butler, the author of the Analogy, in his lifetime had chosen this as a burial-place for himself and his family. There is a statue of him within the church. From the top of the spire a man, above a hundred years ago, attempted to descend, by means of a rope, to the other side of the Severn; but the rope broke, and he fell in his midway flight, and was killed. It was an undertaking worthy of Sam Patch. There is a record of the fact on the outside of the tower. I remember nothing more that we saw yesterday; but, before breakfast, J----- and I sallied forth again, and inspected the gateway and interior court of the Council House,--a very interesting place, both in itself and for the circumstances connected with it, it having been the place where the councillors for the Welsh marches used to reside during their annual meetings; and Charles the First also lived here for six weeks in 1612. James II. likewise held his court here in 1687. The house was originally built in 1501,--that is, the Council House itself,--the gateway, and the house through which it passes, being of as late date as 1620. This latter is a fine old house, in the usual style of timber architecture, with the timber lines marked out, and quaint adornments in black paint; and the pillars of the gateway which passes beneath the front chamber are of curiously carved oak, which has probably stood the action of English atmosphere better than marble would have done. Passing through this gateway, we entered a court, and saw some old buildings more or less modernized, but without destroying their aged stateliness, standing round three sides of it, with arched entrances and bow-windows, and windows in the roofs, and peaked gables, and all the delightful irregularity and variety that these houses have, and which make them always so fresh,--and with so much detail that every minute you see something heretofore unseen. It must have been no unfit residence for a king and his court, when those three sides of the square, all composing one great fantastic house, were in their splendor. The square itself, too, must have been a busy and cheerful scene, thronged with attendants, guests, horses, etc. After breakfast, we all walked out, and, crossing the English Bridge, looked at the Severn over its parapet. The river is here broader than elsewhere, and very shallow, and has an island covered with bushes, about midway across. Just over the bridge we saw a church, of red freestone, and evidently very ancient. This is the Church of the Holy Cross, and is a portion of the Abbey of St. Peter and St. John, which formerly covered ten acres of ground. We did not have time to go into the church; but the windows and other points of architecture, so far as we could discern them, and knew how to admire them, were exceedingly venerable and beautiful. On the other side of the street, over a wide space, there are other remains of the old abbey; and the most interesting was a stone pulpit, now standing in the open air, seemingly in a garden, but which originally stood in the refectory of the abbey, and was the station whence one of the monks read to his brethren at their meals. The pulpit is much overgrown with ivy. We should have made further researches among these remains, though they seem now to be in private grounds; but a large mastiff came nut of his kennel, and, approaching us to the length of his iron chain, began barking very fiercely. Nor had we time to see half that we would gladly have seen and studied here and elsewhere about Shrewsbury. It would have been very interesting to have visited Hotspur's and Falstaff's battle-field, which is four miles from the town; too distant, certainly, for Falstaff to have measured the length of the fight by Shrewsbury clock. There is now a church, built there by Henry IV., and said to cover the bones of those slain in the battle. Returning into the town, we penetrated some narrow lanes, where, as the old story goes, people might almost shake hands across from the top windows of the opposite houses, impending towards each other. Emerging into a wider street, at a spot somewhat more elevated than other parts of the town, we went into a shop to buy some Royal Shrewsbury cakes, which we had seen advertised at several shop windows. They are a very rich cake, with plenty of eggs, sugar, and butter, and very little flour. A small public building of stone, of modern date, was close by; and asking the shopwoman what it was, she said it was the Butter Cross, or market for butter, eggs, and poultry. It is a remarkable site, for here, in ancient times, stood a stone cross, where heralds used to make proclamation, and where criminals of state used to be executed. David, the last of the Welsh princes, was here cruelly put to death by Edward I., and many noblemen were beheaded on this spot, after being taken prisoners in the battle of Shrewsbury. I can only notice one other memorable place in Shrewsbury, and that is the Raven Inn, where Farquhar wrote his comedy of "The Recruiting Officer" in 1701. The window of the room in which he wrote is said to look into the inn yard, and I went through the arched entrance to see if I could distinguish it. The hostlers were currying horses in the yard, and so stared at me that I gave but the merest glance. The Shrewsbury inns have not only the customary names of English inns,--as the Lion, the Stag,--but they have also the carved wooden figures of the object named, whereas, in all other towns, the name alone remains. We left Shrewsbury at half past ten, and arrived in London at about four in the afternoon. LONDON. September 7th.--On Wednesday, just before dusk, J----- and I walked forth, for the first time, in London. Our lodgings are in George Street, Hanover Square, No. 21; and St. George's Church, where so many marriages in romance and in fashionable life have been celebrated, is a short distance below our house, in the same street. The edifice seems to be of white marble, now much blackened with London smoke, and has a Grecian pillared portico. In the square, just above us, is a statue of William Pitt. We went down Bond Street, and part of Regent Street, just estraying a little way from our temporary nest, and taking good account of landmarks and corners, so as to find our way readily back again. It is long since I have had such a childish feeling; but all that I had heard and felt about the vastness of London made it seem like swimming in a boundless ocean, to venture one step beyond the only spot I knew. My first actual impression of London was of stately and spacious streets, and by no means so dusky and grimy as I had expected,--not merely in the streets about this quarter of the town, which is the aristocratic quarter, but in all the streets through which we had passed from the railway station. If I had not first been so imbued with the smoke and dinginess of Liverpool, I should doubtless have seen a stronger contrast betwixt dusky London and the cheerful glare of our American cities. There are no red bricks here; all are of a dark hue, and whatever of stone or stucco has been white soon clothes itself in mourning. Yesterday forenoon I went out alone, and plunged headlong into London, and wandered about all day, without any particular object in view, but only to lose myself for the sake of finding myself unexpectedly among things that I had always read and dreamed about. The plan was perfectly successful, for, besides vague and unprofitable wanderings, I saw, in the course of the day, Hyde Park, Regent's Park, Whitehall, the two new Houses of Parliament, Charing Cross, St. Paul's, the, Strand, Fleet Street, Cheapside, Whitechapel, Leadenhall Street, the Haymarket, and a great many other places, the names of which were classic in my memory. I think what interests me most here, is the London of the writers of Queen Anne's age,--whatever Pope, The Spectator, De Foe, and down as late as Johnson and Goldsmith, have mentioned. The Monument, for instance, which is of no great height nor beauty compared with that on Bunker Hill, charmed me prodigiously. St. Paul's appeared to me unspeakably grand and noble, and the more so from the throng and bustle continually going on around its base, without in the least disturbing the sublime repose of its great dome, and, indeed, of all its massive height and breadth. Other edifices may crowd close to its foundation, and people may tramp as they like about it; but still the great cathedral is as quiet and serene as if it stood in the middle of Salisbury Plain. There cannot be anything else in its way so good in the world as just this effect of St. Paul's in the very heart and densest tumult of London. I do not know whether the church is built of marble, or of whatever other white or nearly white material; but in the time that it has been standing there, it has grown black with the smoke of ages, through which there are nevertheless gleams of white, that make a most picturesque impression on the whole. It is much better than staring white; the edifice would not be nearly so grand without this drapery of black. I did not find these streets of the old city so narrow and irregular as I expected. All the principal ones are sufficiently broad, and there are few houses that look antique, being, I suppose, generally modern-fronted, when not actually of modern substance. There is little or no show or pretension in this part of London; it has a plain, business air,--an air of homely, actual life, as of a metropolis of tradesmen, who have been carrying on their traffic here, in sober earnest, for hundreds of years. You observe on the sign-boards, "Established ninety years in Threadneedle Street," "Established in 1109,"--denoting long pedigrees of silk-mercers and hosiers,--De Foe's contemporaries still represented by their posterity, who handle the hereditary yardstick on the same spot. I must not forget to say that I crossed the Thames over a bridge which, I think, is near Charing Cross. Afterwards, I found my way to London Bridge, where there was a delightful density of throng. The Thames is not so wide and majestic as I had imagined,--nothing like the Mersey, for example. As a picturesque object, however, flowing through the midst of a city, it would lose by any increase of width. Omnibuses are a most important aid to wanderers about London. I reached home, well wearied, about six o'clock. In the course of the day, I had seen one person whom I knew,--Mr. Clarke, to whom Henry B------ introduced me, when we went to see the great ship launched on the Dee. This, I believe, was in Regent Street. In that street, too, I saw a company of dragoons, beautifully mounted, and defensively armed, in brass helmets and steel cuirasses, polished to the utmost excess of splendor. It was a pretty sight. At one of the public edifices, on each side of the portal, sat a mounted trooper similarly armed, and with his carbine resting on his knee, just as motionless as a statue. This, too, as a picturesque circumstance, was very good, and really made an impression on me with respect to the power and stability of the government, though I could not help smiling at myself for it. But then the thought, that for generations an armed warrior has always sat just there, on his war-steed, and with his weapon in his hand, is pleasant to the imagination,-- although it is questionable whether his carbine be loaded; and, no doubt, if the authorities had any message to send, they would choose some other messenger than this heavy dragoon,--the electric wire, for instance. Still, if he and his horse were to be withdrawn from their post, night or day (for I suppose the sentinels are on duty all night), it seems as if the monarchy would be subverted, and the English constitution crumble into rubbish; and, in honest fact, it will signify something like that, when guard is relieved there for the last time. September 8th.--Yesterday forenoon S-----, the two eldest children, and I went forth into London streets, and proceeded down Regent Street, and thence to St. James's Park, at the entrance of which is a statue of somebody,--I forget whom. On the very spacious gravel-walks, covering several acres, in the rear of the Horse Guards, some soldiers were going through their exercise; and, after looking at them awhile, we strolled through the Park, alongside of a sheet of water, in which various kinds of ducks, geese, and rare species of waterfowl were swimming. There was one swan of immense size, which moved about among the lesser fowls like a stately, full-rigged ship among gunboats. By and by we found ourselves near what we since have discovered to be Buckingham Palace,--a long building, in the Italian style, but of no impressiveness, and which one soon wearies of looking at. The Queen having gone to Scotland the day before, the palace now looked deserted, although there was a one-horse cab, of shabby aspect, standing at the principal front, where doubtless the carriages of princes and the nobility draw up. There is a fountain playing before the palace, and water-fowl love to swim under its perpetual showers. These ducks and geese are very tame, and swim to the margin of the pond to be fed by visitors, looking up at you with great intelligence. S----- asked a man in a sober suit of livery (of whom we saw several about the Park), whose were some of the large mansions which we saw, and he pointed out Stafford House, the residence of the Duke of Sutherland, --a very noble edifice, much more beautiful than the palace, though not so large; also the house of the Earl of Ellesmere, and residences of other noblemen. This range of mansions, along the park, from the spot whence we viewed them, looks very much like Beacon Street, in Boston, bordering on the Common, allowing for a considerable enlargement of scale in favor of the Park residences. The Park, however, has not the beautiful elms that overshadow Boston Common, nor such a pleasant undulation of surface, nor the fine off-view of the country, like that across Charles River. I doubt whether London can show so delightful a spot as that Common, always excepting the superiority of English lawns, which, however, is not so evident in the London parks, there being less care bestowed on the grass than I should have expected. From this place we wandered into what I believe to be Hyde Park, attracted by a gigantic figure on horseback, which loomed up in the distance. The effect of this enormous steed and his rider is very grand, seen in the misty atmosphere. I do not understand why we did not see St. James's Palace, which is situated, I believe, at the extremity of the same range of mansions of which Stafford House is the opposite end. From the entrance of Hyde Park, we seem to have gone along Piccadilly, and, making two or three turns, and getting bewildered, I put S----- and the children into a cab, and sent them home. Continuing my wanderings, I went astray among squares of large aristocratic-looking edifices, all apparently new, with no shops among them, some yet unfinished, and the whole seeming like a city built for a colony of gentlefolks, who might be expected to emigrate thither in a body. It was a dreary business to wander there, turning corner after corner, and finding no way of getting into a less stately and more genial region. At last, however, I passed in front of the Queen's Mews, where sentinels were on guard, and where a jolly-looking man, in a splendidly laced scarlet coat and white-topped boots, was lounging at the entrance. He looked like the prince of grooms or coachmen. . . . The corner of Hyde Park was within a short distance, and I took a Hansom at the cab-stand there, and drove to the American Despatch Agency, 26 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, having some documents of state to be sent by to-day's steamer. The business of forwarding despatches to America, and distributing them to the various legations and consulates in Europe, must be a pretty extensive one; for Mr. Miller has a large office, and two clerks in attendance. From this point I went through Covent Garden Market, and got astray in the city, so that I can give no clear account of my afternoon's wanderings. I passed through Holborn, however, and I think it was from that street that I passed through an archway (which I almost invariably do, when I see one), and found myself in a very spacious, gravelled square, surrounded on the four sides by a continuous edifice of dark brick, very plain, and of cold and stern aspect. This was Gray's Inn, all tenanted by a multitude of lawyers. Passing thence, I saw "Furnival's Inn" over another archway, but, being on the opposite side of the street, I did not go thither. In Holborn, still, I went through another arched entrance, over which was "Staples Inn," and here likewise seemed to be offices; but, in a court opening inwards from this, there was a surrounding seclusion of quiet dwelling-houses, with beautiful green shrubbery and grass-plots in the court, and a great many sunflowers in full bloom. The windows were open; it was a lovely summer afternoon, and I have a sense that bees were humming in the court, though this may have been suggested by my fancy, because the sound would have been so well suited to the scene. A boy was reading at one of the windows. There was not a quieter spot in England than this, and it was very strange to have drifted into it so suddenly out of the bustle and rumble of Holborn; and to lose all this repose as suddenly, on passing through the arch of the outer court. In all the hundreds of years since London was built, it has not been able to sweep its roaring tide over that little island of quiet. In Holborn I saw the most antique-looking houses that I have yet met with in London, but none of very remarkable aspect. I think I must have been under a spell of enchantment to-day, connecting me with St. Paul's; for, trying to get away from it by various avenues, I still got bewildered, and again and again saw its great dome and pinnacles before me. I observe that the smoke has chiefly settled on the lower part of the edifice, leaving its loftier portions and its spires much less begrimed. It is very beautiful, very rich. I did not think that anything but Gothic architecture could so have interested me. The statues, the niches, the embroidery, as it were, of sculpture traced around it, produced a delightful effect. In front of St. Paul's there is a statue of Queen Anne, which looks rather more majestic, I doubt not, than that fat old dame ever did. St. Paul's churchyard had always been a place of immense interest in my imagination. It is merely the not very spacious street, running round the base of the church,--at least, this street is included in the churchyard, together with the enclosure immediately about the church, sowed with tombstones. I meant to look for the children's book-shop, but forgot it, or neglected it, from not feeling so much interest in a thing near at hand as when it seemed unattainable. I watched a man tearing down the brick wall of a house that did not appear very old; but it surprised me to see how crumbly the brick-work was, one stroke of his pick often loosening several bricks in a row. It is my opinion that brick houses, after a moderate term of years, stand more by habit and courtesy than through any adhesive force of the old mortar. I recommenced my wanderings; but I remember nothing else particularly claiming to be mentioned, unless it be Paternoster Row,--a little, narrow, darksome lane, in which, it being now dusk in that density of the city, I could not very well see what signs were over the doors. In this street, or thereabouts, I got into an omnibus, and, being set down near Regent's Circus, reached home well wearied. September 9th.--Yesterday, having some tickets to the Zoological Gardens, we went thither with the two eldest children. It was a most beautiful sunny day, the very perfection of English weather,--which is as much as to say, the best weather in the world, except, perhaps, some few days in an American October. These gardens are at the end of Regent's Park, farthest from London, and they are very extensive; though, I think, not quite worthy of London,--not so good as one would expect them to be,--not so fine and perfect a collection of beasts, birds, and fishes, as one might fairly look for, when the greatest metropolis of the world sets out to have such a collection at all.--My idea was, that here every living thing was provided for, in the way best suited to its nature and habits, and that the refinement of civilization had here restored a garden of Eden, where all the animal kingdom had regained a happy home. This is not quite the case; though, I believe, the creatures are as comfortable as could be expected, and there are certainly a good many strange beasts here. The hippopotamus is the chief treasure of the collection,--an immense, almost misshapen, mass of flesh. At this moment I do not remember anything that interested me except a sick monkey,--a very large monkey, and elderly he seemed to be. His keeper brought him some sweetened apple and water, and some tea; for the monkey had quite lost his appetite, and refused all ordinary diet. He came, however, quite eagerly, and smelt of the tea and apple, the keeper exhorting him very tenderly to eat. But the poor monkey shook his head slowly, and with the most pitiable expression, at the same time extending his hand to take the keeper's, as if claiming his sympathy and friendship. By and by the keeper (who is rather a surly fellow) essayed harsher measures, and insisted that the monkey should eat what had been brought for him, and hereupon ensued somewhat of a struggle, and the tea was overturned upon the straw of the bed. Then the keeper scolded him, and, seizing him by one arm, drew him out of his little bedroom into the larger cage, upon which the wronged monkey began a loud, dissonant, reproachful chatter, more expressive of a sense of injury than any words could be. Observing the spectators in front of the cage, he seemed to appeal to them, and addressed his chatter thitherward, and stretched out his long, lean arm and black hand between the bars, as if claiming the grasp of any one friend he might have in the whole world. He was placable, however; for when the keeper called him in a gentler tone, he hobbled towards him with a very stiff and rusty movement, and the scene closed with their affectionately hugging one another. But I fear the poor monkey will die. In a future state of being, I think it will be one of my inquiries, in reference to the mysteries of the present state, why monkeys were made. The Creator could not surely have meant to ridicule his own work. It might rather be fancied that Satan had perpetrated monkeys, with a malicious purpose of parodying the masterpiece of creation! The Aquarium, containing, in some of its compartments, specimens of the animal and vegetable life of the sea, and, in others, those of the fresh water, was richly worth inspecting; but not nearly so perfect as it might be. Now I think we have a right to claim, in a metropolitan establishment of this kind, in all its departments, a degree of perfection that shall quite outdo the unpractised thought of any man on that particular subject. There were a good many well-dressed people and children in the gardens, Saturday being a fashionable day for visiting them. One great amusement was feeding some bears with biscuits and cakes, of which they seemed exceedingly fond. One of the three bears clambered to the top of a high pole, whence he invited the spectators to hand him bits of cake on the end of a stick, or to toss them into his mouth, which he opened widely for that purpose. Another, apparently an elderly bear, not having skill nor agility for these gymnastics, sat on the ground, on his hinder end, groaning most pitifully. The third took what stray bits he could get, without earning them by any antics. At four o'clock there was some music from the band of the First Life-Guards, a great multitude of chairs being set on the greensward in the sunshine and shade, for the accommodation of the auditors. Here we had the usual exhibition of English beauty, neither superior nor otherwise to what I have seen in other parts of England. Before the music was over, we walked slowly homeward, along beside Regent's Park, which is very prettily laid out, but lacks some last touch of richness and beauty; though, after all, I do not well see what more could be done with grass, trees, and gravel-walks. The children, especially J-----, who had raced from one thing to another all day long, grew tired; so we put them into a cab, and walked slowly through Portland Place, where are a great many noble mansions, yet no very admirable architecture; none that possessed, nor that ever can possess, the indefinable charm of some of those poor old timber houses in Shrewsbury. The art of domestic architecture is lost. We can rear stately and beautiful dwellings (though we seldom do), but they do not seem proper to the life of man, in the same way that his shell is proper to the lobster; nor, indeed, is the mansion of the nobleman proper to him, in the same kind and degree, that a hut is proper to a peasant. From Portland Place we passed into Regent Street, and soon reached home. September 10th.--Yesterday forenoon we walked out with the children, intending for Charing Cross; but, missing our way, as usual, we went down a rather wide and stately street, and saw before us an old brick edifice with a pretty extensive front, over which rose a clock-tower,--the whole dingy, and looking both gloomy and mean. There was an arched entrance beneath the clock-tower, at which two Guardsmen, in their bear-skin caps, were stationed as sentinels; and from this circumstance, and our having some guess at the locality, we concluded the old brick building to be St. James's Palace. Otherwise we might have taken it for a prison, or for a hospital, which, in truth, it was at first intended for. But, certainly, there are many paupers in England who live in edifices of far more architectural pretension externally than this principal palace of the English sovereigns. Seeing other people go through the archway, we also went, meeting no impediment from the sentinels, and found ourselves in a large paved court, in the centre of which a banner was stuck down, with a few soldiers standing near it. This flag was the banner of the regiment of guards on duty. The aspect of the interior court was as naked and dismal as the outside, the brick being of that dark hue almost universal in England. On one side of the court there was a door which seemed to give admission to a chapel, into which several persons went, and probably we might have gone too, had we liked. From this court, we penetrated into at least two or three others; for the palace is very extensive, and all of it, so far as I could see, on the same pattern,--large, enclosed courts, paved, and quite bare of grass, shrubbery, or any beautiful thing,--dark, stern, brick walls, without the slightest show of architectural beauty, or even an ornament over the square, commonplace windows, looking down on those forlorn courts. A carriage-drive passes through it, if I remember aright, from the principal front, emerging by one of the sides; and I suppose that the carriages roll through the palace, at the levees and drawing-rooms. There was nothing to detain us here any long time, so we went from court to court, and came out through a side-opening. The edifice is battlemented all round, and this, with somewhat of fantastic in the shape of the clock-tower, is the only attempt at ornament in the whole. Then we skirted along St. James's Park, passing Marlborough House,--a red brick building,--and a very long range of stone edifices, which, whether they were public or private, one house or twenty, we knew not. We ascended the steps of the York column, and soon reached Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square, where there are more architectural monuments than in any other one place in London; besides two fountains, playing in large reservoirs of water, and various edifices of note and interest. Northumberland House, now, and for a long while, the town residence of the Percys, stands on the Strand side,--over the entrance a lion, very spiritedly sculptured, flinging out his long tail. On another side of the square is Morley's Hotel, exceedingly spacious, and looking more American than anything else in the hotel line that I have seen here. The Nelson monument, with Lord Nelson, in a cocked hat, on its top, is very grand in its effect. All about the square there were sundry loungers, people looking at the bas-reliefs on Nelson's Column, children paddling in the reservoirs of the fountains; and, it being a sunny day, it was a cheerful and lightsome, as well as an impressive scene. On second thoughts, I do not know but that London should have a far better display of architecture and sculpture than this, on its finest site, and in its very centre; for, after all, there is nothing of the very best. But I missed nothing at the time. In the afternoon S----- and I set out to attend divine service in Westminster Abbey. On our way thither we passed through Pall Mall, which is full of club-houses, and we were much struck with the beauty of the one lately erected for the Carleton Club. It is built of a buff-colored or yellowish stone, with pillars or pilasters of polished Aberdeen granite, wonderfully rich and beautiful; and there is a running border of sculptured figures all round the upper part of the building, besides other ornament and embroidery, wherever there was room or occasion for it. It being an oblong square, the smooth and polished aspect in this union of two rich colors in it,--this delicacy and minuteness of finish, this lavish ornament--made me think of a lady's jewel-box; and if it could be reduced to the size of about a foot square, or less, it would make the very prettiest one that ever was seen. I question whether it have any right to be larger than a jewel-box; but it is certainly a most beautiful edifice. We turned down Whitehall, at the head of which, over the very spot where the Regicides were executed, stands the bronze equestrian statue of Charles I.,--the statue that was buried under the earth during the whole of Cromwell's time, and emerged after the Restoration. We saw the Admiralty and the Horse-Guards, and, in front of the latter, the two mounted sentinels, one of whom was flirting and laughing with some girls. On the other side of the street stands the Banqueting-House, built by Inigo Jones; from a window of which King Charles stepped forth, wearing a kingly head, which, within a few minutes afterwards, fell with a dead thump on the scaffold. It was nobly done,-- and nobly suffered. How rich is history in the little space around this spot! I find that the day after I reached London, I entirely passed by Westminster Abbey without knowing it, partly because my eyes were attracted by the gaudier show of the new Houses of Parliament, and partly because this part of the Abbey has been so much repaired and renewed that it has not the marks of age. Looking at its front, I now found it very grand and venerable; but it is useless to attempt a description: these things are not to be translated into words; they can be known only by seeing them, and, until seen, it is well to shape out no idea of them. Impressions, states of mind, produced by noble spectacles of whatever kind, are all that it seems worth while to attempt reproducing with the pen. After coming out of the Abbey, we looked at the two Houses of Parliament, directly across the way,--an immense structure, and certainly most splendid, built of a beautiful warm-colored stone. The building has a very elaborate finish, and delighted me at first; but by and by I began to be sensible of a weariness in the effect, a lack of variety in the plan and ornament, a deficiency of invention; so that instead of being more and more interested the longer one looks, as is the case with an old Gothic edifice, and continually reading deeper into it, one finds that one has seen all in seeing a little piece, and that the magnificent palace has nothing better to show one or to do for one. It is wonderful how the old weather-stained and smoke-blackened Abbey shames down this brand-newness; not that the Parliament houses are not fine objects to look at, too. Yesterday morning we walked to Charing Cross, with U---- and J-----, and there took a cab to the Tower, driving thither through the Strand, Fleet Street, past St. Paul's, and amid all the thickest throng of the city. I have not a very distinct idea of the Tower, but remember that our cab drove within an outer gate, where we alighted at a ticket-office; the old royal fortress being now a regular show-place, at sixpence a head, including the sight of armory and crown-jewels. We saw about the gate several warders or yeomen of the guard, or beefeaters, dressed in scarlet coats of antique fashion, richly embroidered with golden crowns, both on the breast and back, and other royal devices and insignia; so that they looked very much like the kings on a pack of cards, or regular trumps, at all events. I believe they are old soldiers, promoted to this position for good conduct. One of them took charge of us, and when a sufficient number of visitors had collected with us, he led us to see what very small portion of the Tower is shown. There is a great deal of ground within the outer precincts; and it has streets and houses and inhabitants and a church within it; and, going up and down behind the warder, without any freedom to get acquainted with the place by strolling about, I know little more about it than when I went in,--only recollecting a mean and disagreeable confusion of brick walls, barracks, paved courts, with here and there a low bulky turret, of rather antique aspect, and, in front of one of the edifices, a range of curious old cannon, lying on the ground, some of them immensely large and long, and beautifully wrought in brass. I observed by a plan, however, that the White Tower, containing the armory, stands about in the centre of the fortress, and that it is a square, battlemented structure, having a turret at each angle. We followed the warder into the White Tower, and there saw, in the first place, a long gallery of mounted knights, and men at arms, which has been so often described that when I wish to recall it to memory I shall turn to some other person's account of it. I was much struck, however, with the beautiful execution of a good many of the suits of armor, and the exquisite detail with which they were engraved. The artists of those days attained very great skill, in this kind of manufacture. The figures of the knights, too, in full array, undoubtedly may have shown a combination of stateliness and grace which heretofore I have not believed in,--not seeing how it could be compatible with iron garments. But it is quite incomprehensible how, in the time of the heaviest armor, they could strike a blow, or possess any freedom of movement, except such as a turtle is capable of; and, in truth, they are said not to have been able to rise up when overthrown. They probably stuck out their lances, and rode straight at the enemy, depending upon upsetting him by their mass and weight. In the row of knights is Henry VIII.; also Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who must have been an immensely bulky man; also, a splendid suit of armor, gilded all over, presented by the city of London to Charles I.; also, two or three suits of boys' armor, for the little princes of the House of Stuart. They began to wear these burdens betimes, in order that their manhood might be the more tolerant of them. We went through this gallery so hastily that it would have been about as well not to have seen it at all. Then we went up a winding stair to another room, containing armor and weapons, and beautiful brass cannon, that appeared to have been for ornament rather than use, some of them being quite covered with embossed sculpture, marvellously well wrought. In this room was John of Gaunt's suit, indicating a man seven feet high, and the armor seems to bear the marks of much wear; but this may be owing to great scrubbing, throughout the centuries since John of Gaunt died. There, too, we saw the cloak in which Wolfe fell, on the Plains of Abraham,--a coarse, faded, threadbare, light-colored garment, folded up under a glass case. Many other things we might have seen, worthy of being attended to, had there been time to look at them. Following into still another room, we were told that this was Sir Walter Raleigh's apartment, while confined in the Tower, so that it was within these walls that he wrote the History of the World. The room was formerly lighted by lancet windows, and must have been very gloomy; but, if he had the whole length of it to himself, it was a good space to walk and meditate in. On one side of the apartment is a low door, giving admittance, we were told, to the cell where Raleigh slept; so we went in, and found it destitute of any window, and so dark that we could not estimate its small extent except by feeling about. At the threshold of this sleeping-kennel, there were one or two inscriptions, scratched in the wall, but not, I believe, by Raleigh. In this apartment, among a great many other curious things, are shown the devilish instruments of torture which the Spaniards were bringing to England in their Armada; and, at the end of the room, sits Queen Elizabeth on horseback, in her high ruff and faded finery. Very likely none of these clothes were ever on her actual person. Here, too, we saw a headsman's block,--not that on which Raleigh was beheaded, which I would have given gold to see, but the one which was used for the Scotch Lords Kilmarnock, Lovat, and others, executed on account of the Rebellion of 1745. It is a block of oak, about two feet high, with a large knot in it, so that it would not easily be split by a blow of the axe; hewn and smoothed in a very workmanlike way, and with a hollow to accommodate the head and shoulders on each side. There were two or three very strong marks of the axe in the part over which the neck lay, and several smaller cuts; as if the first stroke nearly severed the head, and then the chopping off was finished by smaller blows, as we see a butcher cutting meat with his cleaver. A headsman's axe was likewise shown us,--its date unknown. In the White Tower we were shown the Regalia, under a glass, and within an iron cage. Edward the Confessor's golden staff was very finely wrought; and there were a great many pretty things; but I have a suspicion, I know not why, that these are not the real jewels,--at least, that such inestimable ones as the Koh-i-noor (or however it is spelt) are less freely exhibited. The warder then led us into a paved court, which he said was the place of execution of all royal personages and others, who, from motives of fear or favor, were beheaded privately. Raleigh was among these, and so was Anne Boleyn. We then followed to the Beauchamp Tower, where many state prisoners of note were confined, and where, on the walls of one of the chambers, there are several inscriptions and sculptures of various devices, done by the prisoners,--and very skilfully done, too, though perhaps with no better instrument than an old nail. These poor wretches had time and leisure enough to spend upon their work. This chamber is lighted by small lancet windows, pierced at equal intervals round the circle of the Beauchamp Tower; and it contains a large, square fireplace, in which is now placed a small modern stove. We were hurried away, before we could even glance at the inscriptions, and we saw nothing else, except the low, obscure doorway in the Bloody Tower, leading to the staircase, under which were found the supposed bones of the little princes; and lastly, the round, Norman arch, opening to the water passage, called the Traitor's Gate. Finally, we ate some cakes and buns in the refreshment-room connected with the ticket-office, and then left the fortress. The ancient moat, by the way, has been drained within a few years, and now forms a great hollow space, with grassy banks, round about the citadel. We now wished to see the Thames, and therefore threaded our way along Thames Street, towards London Bridge, passing through a fish-market, which I suppose to be the actual Billingsgate, whence originated all the foul language in England. Under London Bridge there is a station for steamers running to Greenwich and Woolwich. We got on board one of these, not very well knowing, nor much caring, whither it might take us, and steamed down the river, which is bordered with the shabbiest, blackest, ugliest, meanest buildings: it is the back side of the town; and, in truth, the muddy tide of the Thames deserves to see no better. There was a great deal of shipping in the river, and many steamers, and it was much more crowded than the Mersey, where all the ships go into docks; but the vessels were not so fine. By and by we reached Greenwich, and went ashore there, proceeding up from the quay, past beer-shops and eating-houses in great numbers and variety. Greenwich Hospital is here a very prominent object, and after passing along its extensive front, facing towards the river, we entered one of the principal gates, as we found ourselves free to do. We now left the hospital, and steamed back to London Bridge, whence we went up into the city, and, to finish the labors of the day, ascended the Monument. This seems to be still a favorite adventure with the cockneys; for we heard one woman, who went up with us, saying that she had been thinking of going up all her life, and another said that she had gone up thirty years ago. There is an iron railing, or rather a cage, round the top, through which it would be impossible for people to force their way, in order to precipitate themselves, as six persons have heretofore done. There was a mist over London, so that we did not gain a very clear view, except of the swarms of people running about, like ants, in the streets at the foot of the Monument. Descending, I put S----- and the children into a cab, and I myself wandered about the city. Passing along Fleet Street, I turned in through an archway, which I rightly guessed to be the entrance to the Temple. It is a very large space, containing many large, solemn, and serious edifices of dark brick, and no sooner do you pass under the arch than all the rumble and bustle of London dies away at once; and it seems as if a person might live there in perfect quiet, without suspecting that it was not always a Sabbath. People appear to have their separate residences here; but I do not understand what is the economy of their lives. Quite in the deepest interior of this region, there is a large garden, bordering on the Thames, along which it has a gravel-walk, and benches where it would be pleasant to sit. On one edge of the garden, there is some scanty shrubbery, and flowers of no great brilliancy; and the greensward, with which the garden is mostly covered, is not particularly rich nor verdant. Emerging from the Temple, I stopped at a tavern in the Strand, the waiter of which observed to me, "They say Sebastopol is taken, sir!" It was only such an interesting event that could have induced an English waiter to make a remark to a stranger, not called for in the way of business. The best view we had of the town--in fact, the only external view, and the only time we really saw the White Tower--was from the river, as we steamed past it. Here the high, square, battlemented White Tower, with the four turrets at its corners, rises prominently above all other parts of the fortress. September 13th.--Mr. ------, the American Minister, called on me on Tuesday, and left his card; an intimation that I ought sooner to have paid my respects to him; so yesterday forenoon I set out to find his residence, 56 Harley Street. It is a street out of Cavendish Square, in a fashionable quarter, although fashion is said to be ebbing away from it. The ambassador seems to intend some little state in his arrangements; but, no doubt, the establishment compares shabbily enough with those of the legations of other great countries, and with the houses of the English aristocracy. A servant, not in livery, or in a very unrecognizable one, opened the door for me, and gave my card to a sort of upper attendant, who took it in to Mr. ------. He had three gentlemen with him, so desired that I should be ushered into the office of the legation, until he should be able to receive me. Here I found a clerk or attache, Mr. M------, who has been two or three years on this side of the water; an intelligent person, who seems to be in correspondence with the New York Courier and Enquirer. By and by came in another American to get a passport for the Continent, and soon the three gentlemen took leave of the ambassador, and I was invited to his presence. The tall, large figure of Mr. ------ has a certain air of state and dignity; he carries his head in a very awkward way, but still looks like a man of long and high authority, and, with his white hair, is now quite venerable. There is certainly a lack of polish, a kind of rusticity, notwithstanding which you feel him to be a man of the world. I should think he might succeed very tolerably in English society, being heavy and sensible, cool, kindly, and good-humored, with a great deal of experience of life. We talked about various matters, politics among the rest; and he observed that if the President had taken the advice which he gave him in two long letters, before his inauguration, he would have had a perfectly quiet and successful term of office. The advice was, to form a perfectly homogeneous cabinet of Union men, and to satisfy the extremes of the party by a fair distribution of minor offices; whereas he formed his cabinet of extreme men, on both sides, and gave the minor offices to moderate ones. But the antislavery people, surely, had no representative in the cabinet. Mr. ------ further observed, that he thought the President had a fair chance of re-nomination, for that the South could not, in honor, desert him; to which I replied that the South had been guilty of such things heretofore. Mr. ------ thinks that the next Presidential term will be more important and critical, both as to our foreign relations and internal affairs, than any preceding one,--which I should judge likely enough to be the case, although I heard the sane prophecy often made respecting the present term. The ambassador dined with us at Rock Park a year or two ago, and I then felt, and always feel, as if he were a man of hearty feeling and simplicity, and certainly it would be unjust to conclude otherwise, merely from the fact (very suspicious, it is true) of his having been a life-long politician. After we had got through a little matter of business (respecting a young American who has enlisted at Liverpool), the Minister rang his bell, and ordered another visitor to be admitted; and so I took my leave. In the other room I found the Secretary of Legation,--a tall, slender man of about forty, with a small head and face,--gentlemanly enough, sensible, and well informed, yet I should judge, not quite up to his place. There was also a Dr. B------ from Michigan present, and I rather fancy the ambassador is quite as much bored with visitors as the consul at Liverpool. Before I left the office, Mr. ------ came in with Miss Sarah Clarke on his arm. She had come thither to get her passport vised; and when her business was concluded, we went out together. She was going farther towards the West End, and I into the city; so we soon parted, and I lost myself among the streets and squares, arriving at last at Oxford Street, though even then I did not know whether my face were turned cityward or in the opposite direction. Crossing Regent Street, however, I became sure of my whereabout, and went on through Holborn, and sought hither and thither for Grace Church Street, in order to find the American Consul, General Campbell; for I needed his aid to get a bank post-bill cashed. But I could not find the street, go where I would; so at last I went to No. 65 Cheapside, and introduced myself to Mr. ------, whom I already knew by letter, and by a good many of his poems, which he has sent me, and by two excellent watches, which I bought of him. This establishment, though it has the ordinary front of dingy brick, common to buildings in the city, looks like a time-long stand, the old shop of a London tradesman, with a large figure of a watch over the door, a great many watches (and yet no gorgeous show of them) in the window, a low, dark front shop, and a little room behind, where there was a chair or two. Mr. ------ is a small, slender young man, quite un-English in aspect, with black, curly hair, a thin, dark, colorless visage, very animated and of quick expression, with a nervous temperament. . . . He dismounted from a desk when my card was handed to him, and turned to me with a vivid, glad look of recognition. We talked, in the first place, about poetry and such matters, about England and America, and the nature and depth of their mutual dislike, and, of course, the slavery question came up, as it always does, in one way or another. Anon, I produced my bank post-bill; and Mr. ------ kindly engaged to identify me at the bank, being ready to swear to me, he said, on the strength of my resemblance to my engraved portrait. So we set out for the Bank of England, and, arriving there, were directed to the proper clerk, after much inquiry; but he told us that the bill was not yet due, having been drawn at seven days, and having two still to run,--which was the fact. As I was almost shillingless, Mr. ------ now offered to cash it for me. He is very kind and good. . . . Arriving at his shop again, he went out to procure the money, and soon returned with it. At my departure he gave me a copy of a new poem of his, entitled "Verdicts," somewhat in the manner of Lowell's satire. . . . Mr. ------ resides now at Greenwich, whither he hoped I would come and see him on my return to London. Perhaps I will, for I like him. It seems strange to see an Englishman with so little physical ponderosity and obtuseness of nerve. After parting from him, it being three o'clock or thereabouts, I resumed my wanderings about the city, of which I never weary as long as I can put one foot before the other. Seeing that the door of St. Paul's, under one of the semicircular porches, was partially open, I went in, and found that the afternoon service was about to be performed; so I remained to hear it, and to see what I could of the cathedral. What a total and admirable contrast between this and a Gothic church! the latter so dim and mysterious, with its various aisles, its intricacy of pointed arches, its dark walls and columns and pavement, and its painted glass windows, bedimming even what daylight might otherwise get into its eternal evening. But this cathedral was full of light, and light was proper to it. There were no painted windows, no dim recesses, but a wide and airy space beneath the dome; and even through the long perspective of the nave there was no obscurity, but one lofty and beautifully rounded arch succeeding to another, as far as the eye could reach. The walls were white, the pavement constructed of squares of gray and white marble. It is a most grand and stately edifice, and its characteristic stems to be to continue forever fresh and new; whereas such a church as Westminster Abbey must have been as venerable as it is now from the first day when it grew to be an edifice at all. How wonderful man is in his works! How glad I am that there can be two such admirable churches, in their opposite styles, as St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey! The organ was played while I was there, and there was an anthem beautifully chanted by voices that came from afar off and remotely above, as if out of a sunny sky. Meanwhile I looked at such monuments as were near; chiefly those erected to military or naval men,--Picton, General Ponsonby, Lord St. Vincent, and others; but against one of the pillars stands a statue of Dr. Johnson,--a noble and thoughtful figure, with a development of muscle befitting an athlete. I doubt whether sculptors do not err in point of taste, by making all their statues models of physical perfection, instead of expressing by them the individual character and habits of the man. The statue in the market-place at Lichfield has more of the homely truth of Johnson's actual personality than this. St. Paul's, as yet, is by no means crowded with monuments; there is, indeed, plenty of room for a mob of the illustrious, yet to come. But it seems to me that the character of the edifice would be injured by allowing the monuments to be clustered together so closely as at Westminster, by incrusting the walls with them, or letting the statues throng about the pedestals of columns. There must be no confusion in such a cathedral as this, and I question whether the effect will ever be better than it is now, when each monument has its distinct place, and as your eye wanders around, you are not distracted from noting each marble man, in his niche against the wall, or at the base of a marble pillar. Space, distance, light, regularity, are to be preserved, even if the result should be a degree of nakedness. I saw Mr. Appleton of the Legation, and Dr. Brown, on the floor of the cathedral. They were about to go over the whole edifice, and had engaged a guide for that purpose; but, as I intend to go thither again with S-----, I did not accompany them, but went away the quicker that one of the gentlemen put on his hat, and I was ashamed of being seen in company with a man who could wear his hat in a cathedral. Not that he meant any irreverence; but simply felt that he was in a great public building,--as big, nearly, as all out of doors,--and so forgot that it was a consecrated place of worship. The sky is the dome of a greater cathedral than St. Paul's, and built by a greater architect than Sir Christopher Wren, and yet we wear our hats unscrupulously beneath it. I remember no other event of importance, except that I penetrated into a narrow lane or court, either in the Strand or Fleet Street, where was a tavern, calling itself the "Old Thatched House," and purporting to have been Nell Gwyn's dairy. I met with a great many alleys and obscure archways, in the course of the day's wanderings. September 14th.--Yesterday, in the earlier part of the day, it poured with rain, and I did not go out till five o'clock in the afternoon; nor did I then meet with anything interesting. I walked through Albemarle Street, for the purpose of looking at Murray's shop, but missed it entirely, at my first inquisition. The street is one of hotels, principally, with only a few tradesmen's shops, and has a quiet, aristocratic aspect. On my return, down the other sidewalk, I did discover the famous publisher's locality; but merely by the name "Mr. Murray," engraved on a rather large brass plate, such as doctors use, on the door. There was no sign of a book, nor of its being a place of trade in any way; and I should have taken the house to be, if not a private mansion, then a lawyer's office. At seven o'clock S-----, U----, and I went to dine with Mr. R---- S------ in Portland Place. . . . Mr. S------'s house is a very fine one, and he gave us a very quiet, elegant, and enjoyable dinner, in much better taste and with less fuss than some others we have attended elsewhere. Mr. S------ is a friend of Thackeray, and, speaking of the last number of The Newcomes,--so touching that nobody can read it aloud without breaking down,--he mentioned that Thackeray himself had read it to James Russell Lowell and William Story in a cider-cellar! I read all the preceding numbers of The Newcomes to my wife, but happened not to have an opportunity to read this last, and was glad of it,--knowing that my eyes would fill, and my voice quiver. Mr. S------ likes Thackeray, and thinks him a good fellow. Mr. S------ has a--or I don't know but I ought better to say the--beautiful full-length picture of Washington by Stuart, and I was proud to see that noblest face and figure here in England. The picture of a man beside whom, considered physically, any English nobleman whom I have seen would look like common clay. Speaking of Thackeray, I cannot but wonder at his coolness in respect to his own pathos, and compare it with my emotions, when I read the last scene of The Scarlet Letter to my wife, just after writing it,--tried to read it rather, for my voice swelled and heaved, as if I were tossed up and down on an ocean as it subsides after a storm. But I was in a very nervous state then, having gone through a great diversity of emotion, while writing it, for many months. I think I have never overcome my own adamant in any other instance. Tumblers, hand-organists, puppet-showmen, bagpipers, and all such vagrant mirth-makers, are very numerous in the streets of London. The other day, passing through Fleet Street, I saw a crowd filling up a narrow court, and high above their heads a tumbler, standing on his head, on the top of a pole, that reached as high as the third story of the neighboring Houses. Sliding down the pole head foremost, he disappeared out of my sight. A multitude of Punches go the mounds continually. Two have passed through Hanover Street, where we reside, this morning. The first asked two shillings for his performance; so we sent him away. The second demanded, in the first place, half a crown; but finally consented to take a shilling, and gave us the show at that price, though much maimed in its proportions. Besides the spectators in our windows, he had a little crowd on the sidewalk, to whom he went round for contributions, but I did not observe that anybody gave him so much as a halfpenny. It is strange to see how many people are aiming at the small change in your pocket. In every square a beggar-woman meets you, and turns back to follow your steps with her miserable murmur. At the street-crossings there are old men or little girls with their brooms; urchins propose to brush your boots; and if you get into a cab, a man runs to open the door for you, and touches his hat for a fee, as he closes it again. September 15th.--It was raining yesterday, and I kept within doors till after four o'clock, when J----- and I took a walk into the city. Seeing the entrance to Clement's Inn, we went through it, and saw the garden, with a kneeling bronze figure in it; and when just in the midst of the Inn, I remembered that Justice Shallow was of old a student there. I do not well understand these Inns of Court, or how they differ from other places. Anybody seems to be free to reside in them, and a residence does not seem to involve any obligation to study law, or to have any connection therewith. Clement's Inn consists of large brick houses, accessible by narrow lanes and passages, but, by some peculiar privilege or enchantment, enjoying a certain quiet and repose, though in close vicinity to the noisiest part of the city. I got bewildered in the neighborhood of St. Paul's, and, try how I might to escape from it, its huge dusky dome kept showing itself before me, through one street and another. In my endeavors to escape it, I at one time found myself in St. John's Street, and was in hopes to have seen the old St. John's gate, so familiar for above a century on the cover of the Gentleman's Magazine. But I suppose it is taken down, for we went through the entire street, I think, and saw no trace of it. Either afterwards or before this we came upon Smithfield, a large irregular square, filled up with pens for cattle, of which, however, there were none in the market at that time. I leaned upon a post, at the western end of the square, and told J----- how the martyrs had been burnt at Smithfield in Bloody Mary's days. Again we drifted back to St. Paul's; and, at last, in despair of ever getting out of this enchanted region, I took a Hansom cab to Charing Cross, whence we easily made our way home. LIVERPOOL. September 16th.--I took the ten-o'clock train yesterday morning from the Euston station, and arrived at Liverpool at about five, passing through the valley of Trent, without touching at Birmingham. English scenery, on the tracks, is the tamest of the tame, hardly a noticeable hill breaking the ordinary gentle undulation of the landscape, but still the verdure and finish of the fields and parks make it worth while to throw out a glance now and then, as you rush by. Few separate houses are seen, as in America; but sometimes a village, with the square, gray, battlemented tower of its Norman church, and rows of thatched cottages, reminding one of the clustered mud-nests of swallows, under the eaves of a barn; here and there a lazy little river, like the Trent; perhaps, if you look sharply where the guide-book indicates, the turrets of an old castle in the distance; perhaps the great steeple and spires of a cathedral; perhaps the tall chimney of a manufactory; but, on the whole, the traveller comes to his journey's end unburdened with a single new idea. I observe that the harvest is not all gathered in as yet, and this rainy weather must look very gloomy to the farmer. I saw gleaners, yesterday, in the stubble-fields. There were two gentlemen in the same railway-carriage with me, and we did not exchange half a dozen words the whole day. I am here, established at Mrs. Blodgett's boarding-house, which I find quite full; insomuch that she had to send one of her sea-captains to sleep in another house, in order to make room for me. It is exclusively American society: four shipmasters, and a doctor from Pennsylvania, who has been travelling a year on the Continent, and who seems to be a man of very active intelligence, interested in everything, and especially in agriculture. . . . He asserted that we are fifty years ahead of England in agricultural science, and that he could cultivate English soil to far better advantage than English farmers do, and at vastly less expense. Their tendency to cling to old ideas, which retards them in everything else, keeps them behindhand in this matter too. Really, I do not know any other place in England where a man can be made so sensible that he lives in a progressive world as here in Mrs. Blodgett's boarding-house. The captains talk together about their voyages, and how they manage with their unruly mates and crews; and how freights are in America, and the prospects of business; and of equinoctial gales, and the qualities of different ships, and their commanders, and how crews, mates, and masters have all deteriorated since their remembrance. . . . But these men are alive, and talk of real matters, and of matters which they know. The shipmasters who come to Mrs. Blodgett's are favorable specimens of their class; being all respectable men, in the employ of good houses, and raised by their capacity to the command of first-rate ships. In my official intercourse with them, I do not generally see their best side; as they are seldom before me except as complainants, or when summoned to answer to some complaint made by a seaman. But hearing their daily talk, and listening to what is in their minds, and their reminiscences of what they have gone through, one becomes sensible that they are men of energy and ability, fit to be trusted, and retaining a hardy sense of honor, and a loyalty to their own country, the stronger because they have compared it with many others. Most of them are gentlemen, too, to a certain extent,--some more than others, perhaps; and none to a very exquisite point, or, if so, it is none the better for them as sailors or as men. September 17th.--It is singular to feel a sense of my own country returning upon me with the intercourse of the people whom I find here. . . . The doctor is much the most talkative of our company, and sometimes bores me thereby; though he seldom says anything that is not either instructive or amusing. He tells a curious story of Prince Albert, and how he avails himself of American sharp-shooting. During the doctor's tour in Scotland, which he has just finished, he became acquainted with one of the Prince's attaches, who invited him very earnestly to join his Royal highness's party, promising him a good gun, and a keeper to load it for him, two good dogs, besides as many cigars as he could smoke and as much wine as he could drink, on the condition that whatever game he shot should be the Prince's. "The Prince," said the attache, "is very fond of having Americans in his shooting-parties, on account of their being such excellent shots; and there was one with him last year who shot so admirably that his Royal Highness himself left off shooting in utter astonishment." The attache offered to introduce the doctor to the Prince, who would be certain to receive him very graciously. . . . I think, perhaps, we talk of kings and queens more at our table than people do at other tables in England; not, of course, that we like them better, or admire them more, but that they are curiosities. Yet I would not say that the doctor may not be susceptible on the point of royal attentions; for he told us with great complacency how emphatically, on two or three occasions, Louis Napoleon had returned his bow, and the last time had turned and made some remark (evidently about the doctor) to the Empress. . . . I ought not to omit mentioning that he has been told in France that he personally resembles the Emperor, and I suspect he is trying to heighten the resemblance by training his mustache on the pattern of that which adorns the imperial upper lip. He is a genuine American character, though modified by a good deal of travel; a very intelligent man, full of various ability, with eyes all over him for any object of interest,--a little of the bore, sometimes,--quick to appreciate character, with a good deal of tact, gentlemanly in his manners, but yet lacking a deep and delicate refinement. Not but that Americans are as capable of this last quality as other people are; but what with the circumstances amid which we grow up, and the peculiar activity of our minds, we certainly do often miss it. By the by, he advanced a singular proposition the other evening, namely, that the English people do not so well understand comfort, or attain it so perfectly in their domestic arrangements, as we do. I thought he hardly supported this opinion so satisfactorily as some of his other new ideas. I saw in an American paper yesterday, that an opera, still unfinished, had been written on the story of The Scarlet Letter, and that several scenes of it had been performed successfully in New York. I should think it might possibly succeed as an opera, though it would certainly fail as a play. LONDON. September 24th.--On Saturday, at half past three o'clock, I left Liverpool by the London and Northwest Railway for London. Mrs. Blodgett's table had been thinned by several departures during the week. . . . My mind had been considerably enlivened, and my sense of American superiority renewed, by intercourse with these people; and there is no danger of one's intellect becoming a standing pool in such society. I think better of American shipmasters, too, than I did from merely meeting them in my office. They keep up a continual discussion of professional matters, and of all things having any reference to their profession; the laws of insurance, the rights of vessels in foreign ports, the authority and customs of vessels of war with regard to merchantmen, etc.,--with stories and casual anecdotes of their sea-adventures, gales, shipwrecks, icebergs, and collisions of vessels, and hair-breadth escapes. Their talk runs very much on the sea, and on the land as connected with the sea; and their interest does not seem to extend very far beyond the wide field of their professional concerns. Nothing remarkable occurred on the journey to London. The greater part of the way there were only two gentlemen in the same compartment with me; and we occupied each our corner, with little other conversation than in comparing watches at the various stations. I got out of the carriage only once, at Rugby, I think, and for the last seventy or eighty miles the train did not stop. There was a clear moon the latter part of the journey, and the mist lay along the ground, looking very much like a surface of water. We reached London at about ten, and I found S----- expecting me. Yesterday the children went with Fanny to the Zoological Gardens; and, after sending them off, S----- and I walked to Piccadilly, and there took a cab for Kensington Gardens. It was a delightful day,--the best of all weather, the real English good weather,--more like an Indian summer than anything else within my experience; a mellow sunshine, with great warmth in it,--a soft, balmy air, with a slight haze through it. If the sun made us a little too warm, we had but to go into the shade to be immediately refreshed. The light of these days is very exquisite, so gently bright, without any glare,--a veiled glow. In short, it is the kindliest mood of Nature, and almost enough to compensate for chill and dreary months. Moreover, there is more of such weather here than the English climate has ever had credit for. Kensington Gardens form an eminently beautiful piece of artificial woodland and park scenery. The old palace of Kensington, now inhabited by the Duchess of Inverness, stands at one extremity; an edifice of no great mark, built of brick, covering much ground, and low in proportion to its extent. In front of it, at a considerable distance, there is a sheet of water; and in all directions there are vistas of wide paths among noble trees, standing in groves, or scattered in clumps; everything being laid out with free and generous spaces, so that you can see long streams of sunshine among the trees, and there is a pervading influence of quiet and remoteness. Tree does not interfere with tree; the art of man is seen conspiring with Nature, as if they had consulted together how to make a beautiful scene, and had taken ages of quiet thought and tender care to accomplish it. We strolled slowly along these paths, and sometimes deviated from them, to walk beneath the trees, many of the leaves of which lay beneath our feet, yellow and brown, and with a pleasant smell of vegetable decay. These were the leaves of chestnut-trees; the other trees (unless elms) have yet, hardly begun to shed their foliage, although you can discern a sober change of line in the woodland masses; and the trees individualize themselves by assuming each its own tint, though in a very modest way. If they could have undergone the change of an American autumn, it would have been like putting on a regal robe. Autumn often puts one on in America, but it is apt to be very ragged. There were a good many well-dressed people scattered through the grounds,--young men and girls, husbands with their wives and children, nursery-maids and little babes playing about in the grass. Anybody might have entered the gardens, I suppose; but only well-dressed people were there not, of the upper classes, but shop-keepers, clerks, apprentices, and respectability of that sort. It is pleasant to think that the people have the freedom, and therefore the property, of parks like this, more beautiful and stately than a nobleman can keep to himself. The extent of Kensington Gardens, when reckoned together with Hyde Park, from which it is separated only by a fence of iron rods, is very great, comprising miles of greensward and woodland. The large artificial sheet of water, called the Serpentine River, lies chiefly in Hyde Park, but comes partly within the precincts of the gardens. It is entitled to honorable mention among the English lakes, being larger than some that are world-celebrated,--several miles long, and perhaps a stone's-throw across in the widest part. It forms the paradise of a great many ducks of various breeds, which are accustomed to be fed by visitors, and come flying from afar, touching the water with their wings, and quacking loudly when bread or cake is thrown to them. I bought a bun of a little hunchbacked man, who kept a refreshment-stall near the Serpentine, and bestowed it pied-meal on these ducks, as we loitered along the bank. We left the park by another gate, and walked homeward, till we came to Tyburnia, and saw the iron memorial which marks where the gallows used to stand. Thence we turned into Park Lane, then into Upper Grosvenor Street, and reached Hanover Square sooner than we expected. In the evening I walked forth to Charing Cross, and thence along the Strand and Fleet Street, where I made no new discoveries, unless it were the Mitre Tavern. I mean to go into it some day. The streets were much thronged, and there seemed to be a good many young people,--lovers, it is to be hoped,--who had spent the day together, and were going innocently home. Perhaps so,--perhaps not. September 25th.--Yesterday forenoon J----- and I walked out, with no very definite purpose; but, seeing a narrow passageway from the Strand down to the river, we went through it, and gained access to a steamboat, plying thence to London Bridge. The fare was a halfpenny apiece, and the boat almost too much crowded for standing-room. This part of the river presents the water-side of London in a rather pleasanter aspect than below London Bridge,--the Temple, with its garden, Somerset House,--and generally, a less tumble-down and neglected look about the buildings; although, after all, the metropolis does not see a very stately face in its mirror. I saw Alsatia betwixt the Temple and Blackfriar's Bridge. Its precincts looked very narrow, and not particularly distinguishable, at this day, from the portions of the city on either side of it. At London Bridge we got aboard of a Woolwich steamer, and went farther down the river, passing the Custom-House and the Tower, the only prominent objects rising out of the dreary range of shabbiness which stretches along close to the water's edge. From this remote part of London we walked towards the heart of the city; and, as we went, matters seemed to civilize themselves by degrees, and the streets grew crowded with cabs, omnibuses, drays, and carts. We passed, I think, through Whitechapel, and, reaching St. Paul's, got into an omnibus, and drove to Regent Street, whence it was but a step or two home. In the afternoon, at four o'clock, S----- and I went to call on the American Ambassador and Miss L------. The lady was not at home, but we went in to see Mr. ------ and were shown into a stately drawing-room, the furniture of which was sufficiently splendid, but rather the worse for wear,--being hired furniture, no doubt. The ambassador shortly appeared, looking venerable, as usual,--or rather more so than usual,--benign, and very pale. His deportment towards ladies is highly agreeable and prepossessing, and he paid very kind attention to S-----, thereby quite confirming her previous good feeling towards him. She thinks that he is much changed since she saw him last, at dinner, at our house,--more infirm, more aged, and with a singular depression in his manner. I, too, think that age has latterly come upon him with great rapidity. He said that Miss L------ was going home on the 6th of October, and that he himself had long purposed going, but had received despatches which obliged him to put off his departure. The President, he said, had just written, requesting him to remain till April, but this he was determined not to do. I rather think that he does really wish to return, and not for any ambitious views concerning the Presidency, but from an old man's natural desire to be at home, and among his own people. S----- spoke to him about an order from the Lord Chamberlain for admission to view the two Houses of Parliament; and the ambassador drew from his pocket a colored silk handkerchief, and made a knot in it, in order to remind himself to ask the Lord Chamberlain. The homeliness of this little incident has a sort of propriety and keeping with much of Mr. ------'s manner, but I would rather not have him do so before English people. He arranged to send a close carriage for us to come and see him socially this evening. After leaving his house we drove round Hyde Park, and thence to Portland Place, where we left cards for Mrs. Russell Sturgis; thence into Regent's Park, thence home. U---- and J----- accompanied us throughout these drives, but remained in the carriage during our call on Mr. ------. In the evening I strolled out, and walked as far as St. Paul's,--never getting enough of the bustle of London, which may weary, but can never satisfy me. By night London looks wild and dreamy, and fills me with a sort of pleasant dread. It was a clear evening, with a bright English moon,--that is to say, what we Americans should call rather dim. September 26th.--Yesterday, at eleven, I walked towards Westminster Abbey, and as I drew near the Abbey bells were clamorous for joy, chiming merrily, musically, and, obstreperously,--the most rejoicing sound that can be conceived; and we ought to have a chime of bells in every American town and village, were it only to keep alive the celebration of the Fourth of July. I conjectured that there might have been another victory over the Russians, that perhaps the northern side of Sebastopol had surrendered; but soon I saw the riddle that these merry bells were proclaiming. There were a great many private carriages, and a large concourse of loungers and spectators, near the door of the church that stands close under the eaves of the Abbey. Gentlemen and ladies, gayly dressed, were issuing forth, carriages driving away, and others drawing up to the door in their turn; and, in short, a marriage had just been celebrated in the church, and this was the wedding-party. The last time I was there, Westminster was flinging out its great voice of joy for a national triumph; now, for the happy union of two lovers. What a mighty sympathizer is this old Abbey! It is pleasant to recognize the mould and fashion of English features through the marble of many of the statues and busts in the Abbey, even though they may be clad in Roman robes. I am inclined to think them, in many cases, faithful likenesses; and it brings them nearer to the mind, to see these original sculptures,--you see the man at but one remove, as if you caught his image in a looking-glass. The bust of Gay seemed to me very good,--a thoughtful and humorous sweetness in the face. Goldsmith has as good a position as any poet in the Abbey, his bust and tablet filling the pointed arch over a door that seems to lead towards the cloisters. No doubt he would have liked to be assured of so conspicuous a place. There is one monument to a native American, "Charles Wragg, Esq., of South Carolina,"--the only one, I suspect, in Westminster Abbey, and he acquired this memorial by the most un-American of qualities, his loyalty to his king. He was one of the refugees leaving America in 1777, and being shipwrecked on his passage the monument was put up by his sister. It is a small tablet with a representation of Mr. Wragg's shipwreck at the base. Next to it is the large monument of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, which I think Addison ridicules,--the Admiral, in a full-bottomed wig and Roman dress, but with a broad English face, reclining with his head on his hand, and looking at you with great placidity. I stood at either end of the nave, and endeavored to take in the full beauty and majesty of the edifice; but apparently was not in a proper state of mind, for nothing came of it. It is singular how like an avenue of overarching trees are these lofty aisles of a cathedral. Leaving the Abbey about one o'clock, I walked into the city as far as Grace Church Street, and there called on the American Consul, General ------, who had been warmly introduced to me last year by a letter from the President. I like the General; a kindly and honorable man, of simple manners and large experience of life. Afterwards I called on Mr. Oakford, an American connected in business with Mr. Crosby, from whom I wanted some information as to the sailing of steamers from Southampton to Lisbon. Mr. Crosby was not in town. . . . At eight o'clock Mr. ------ sent his carriage, according to previous arrangement, to take us to spend the evening socially. Miss L------ received us with proper cordiality, and looked quite becomingly,--more sweet and simple in aspect than when I have seen her in full dress. Shortly the ambassador appeared, and made himself highly agreeable; not that he is a brilliant conversationist, but his excellent sense and good-humor, and all that he has seen and been a part of, are sufficient resources to draw upon. We talked of the Queen, whom he spoke of with high respect; . . . . of the late Czar, whom he knew intimately while minister to Russia,--and he quite confirms all that has been said about the awful beauty of his person. Mr. ------'s characterization of him was quite favorable; he thought better of his heart than most people, and adduced his sports with a school of children,--twenty of whom, perhaps, he made to stand rigidly in a row, like so many bricks,--then, giving one a push, would laugh obstreperously to see the whole row tumble down. He would lie on his back, and allow the little things to scramble over him. His Majesty admitted Mr. ------ to great closeness of intercourse, and informed him of a conspiracy which was then on foot for the Czar's murder. On the evening, when the assassination was to take place, the Czar did not refrain from going to the public place where it was to be perpetrated, although, indeed, great precautions had been taken to frustrate the schemes of the conspirators. Mr. ------ said, that, in case the plot had succeeded, all the foreigners, including himself, would likewise have been murdered, the native Russians having a bitter hatred against foreigners. He observed that he had been much attached to the Czar, and had never joined in the English abuse of him. His sympathies, however, are evidently rather English than Russian, in this war. Speaking of the present emperor, he said that Lord Heytebury, formerly English ambassador in Russia, lately told him that he complimented the Czar Nicholas on the good qualities of his son, saying that he was acknowledged by all to be one of the most amiable youths in the world. "Too amiable, I fear, for his position," answered the Czar. "He has too much of his mother in him." September 27th.--Yesterday, much earlier than English people ever do such things, General ------ made us a call on his way to the Consulate, and sat talking a stricken hour or thereabouts. Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Oakford and her daughter came. After sitting a long while, they took U---- to their house, near St. John's Wood, to spend the night. I had been writing my journal and official correspondence during such intervals as these calls left me; and now, concluding these businesses, S-----, J-----, and I went out and took a cab for the terminus of the Crystal Palace Railway, whither we proceeded over Waterloo Bridge, and reached the palace not far from three o'clock. It was a beautifully bright day, such as we have in wonderful succession this month. The Crystal Palace gleamed in the sunshine; but I do not think a very impressive edifice can be built of glass,--light and airy, to be sure, but still it will be no other than an overgrown conservatory. It is unlike anything else in England; uncongenial with the English character, without privacy, destitute of mass, weight, and shadow, unsusceptible of ivy, lichens, or any mellowness from age. The train of carriages stops within the domain of the palace, where there is a long ascending corridor up into the edifice. There was a very pleasant odor of heliotrope diffused through the air; and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the Crystal Palace is sweet with various flower-scents, and mild and balmy, though sufficiently fresh and cool. It would be a delightful climate for invalids to spend the winter in; and if all England could be roofed over with glass, it would be a great improvement on its present condition. The first thing we did, before fairly getting into the palace, was to sit down in a large ante-hall, and get some bread and butter and a pint of Bass's pale ale, together with a cup of coffee for S-----. This was the best refreshment we could find at that spot; but farther within we found abundance of refreshment-rooms, and John Bull and his wife and family at fifty little round tables, busily engaged with cold fowl, cold beef, ham, tongue, and bottles of ale and stout, and half-pint decanters of sherry. The English probably eat with more simple enjoyment than any other people; not ravenously, as we often do, and not exquisitely and artificially, like the French, but deliberately and vigorously, and with due absorption in the business, so that nothing good is lost upon them. . . . It is remarkable how large a feature the refreshment-rooms make in the arrangements of the Crystal Palace. The Crystal Palace is a gigantic toy for the English people to play with. The design seems to be to reproduce all past ages, by representing the features of their interior architecture, costume, religion, domestic life, and everything that can be expressed by paint and plaster; and, likewise, to bring all climates and regions of the earth within these enchanted precincts, with their inhabitants and animals in living semblance, and their vegetable productions, as far as possible, alive and real. Some part of the design is already accomplished to a wonderful degree. The Indian, the Egyptian, and especially the Arabian, courts are admirably executed. I never saw or conceived anything so gorgeous as the Alhambra. There are Byzantine and mediaeval representations, too,-- reproductions of ancient apartments, decorations, statues from tombs, monuments, religious and funereal,--that gave me new ideas of what antiquity has been. It takes down one's overweening opinion of the present time, to see how many kinds of beauty and magnificence have heretofore existed, and are now quite passed away and forgotten; and to find that we, who suppose that, in all matters of taste, our age is the very flower-season of the time,--that we are poor and meagre as to many things in which they were rich. There is nothing gorgeous now. We live a very naked life. This was the only reflection I remember making, as we passed from century to century, through the succession of classic, Oriental, and mediaeval courts, adown the lapse of time,--seeing all these ages in as brief a space as the Wandering Jew might glance along them in his memory. I suppose a Pompeian house with its courts and interior apartments was as faithfully shown as it was possible to do it. I doubt whether I ever should feel at home in such a house. In the pool of a fountain, of which there are several beautiful ones within the palace, besides larger ones in the garden before it, we saw tropical plants growing,--large water-lilies of various colors, some white, like our Concord pond-lily, only larger, and more numerously leafed. There were great circular green leaves, lying flat on the water, with a circumference equal to that of a centre-table. Tropical trees, too, varieties of palm and others, grew in immense pots or tubs, but seemed not to enjoy themselves much. The atmosphere must, after all, be far too cool to bring out their native luxuriance; and this difficulty can never be got over at a less expense than that of absolutely stewing the visitors and attendants. Otherwise, it would be very practicable to have all the vegetable world, at least, within these precincts. The palace is very large, and our time was short, it being desirable to get home early; so, after a stay of little more than two hours, we took the rail back again, and reached Hanover Square at about six. After tea I wandered forth, with some thought of going to the theatre, and, passing the entrance of one, in the Strand, I went in, and found a farce in progress. It was one of the minor theatres, very minor indeed; but the pieces, so far as I saw them, were sufficiently laughable. There were some Spanish dances, too, very graceful and pretty. Between the plays a girl from the neighboring saloon came to the doors of the boxes, offering lemonade and ginger-beer to the occupants. A person in my box took a glass of lemonade, and shared it with a young lady by his side, both sipping out of the same glass. The audience seemed rather heavy,--not briskly responsive to the efforts of the performers, but good-natured, and willing to be pleased, especially with some patriotic dances, in which much waving and intermingling of the French and English flags was introduced. Theatrical performances soon weary me of late years; and I came away before the curtain rose on the concluding piece. September 28th.--8---- and I walked to Charing Cross yesterday forenoon, and there took a Hansom cab to St. Paul's Cathedral. It had been a thick, foggy morning, but had warmed and brightened into one of the balmiest and sunniest of noons. As we entered the cathedral, the long bars of sunshine were falling from its upper windows through the great interior atmosphere, and were made visible by the dust, or mist, floating about in it. It is a grand edifice, and I liked it quite as much as on my first view of it, although a sense of coldness and nakedness is felt when we compare it with Gothic churches. It is more an external work than the Gothic churches are, and is not so made out of the dim, awful, mysterious, grotesque, intricate nature of man. But it is beautiful and grand. I love its remote distances, and wide, clear spaces, its airy massiveness; its noble arches, its sky-like dome, which, I think, should be all over light, with ground-glass, instead of being dark, with only diminutive windows. We walked round, looking at the monuments, which are so arranged, at the bases of columns and in niches, as to coincide with the regularity of the cathedral, and be each an additional ornament to the whole, however defective individually as works of art. We thought that many of these monuments were striking and impressive, though there was a pervading sameness of idea,--a great many Victorys and Valors and Britannias, and a great expenditure of wreaths, which must have cost Victory a considerable sum at any florist's whom she patronizes. A very great majority of the memorials are to naval and military men, slain in Bonaparte's wars; men in whom one feels little or no interest (except Picton, Abercrombie, Moore, Nelson, of course, and a few others really historic), they having done nothing remarkable, save having been shot, nor shown any more brains than the cannonballs that killed them. All the statues have the dust of years upon then, strewn thickly in the folds of their marble garments, and on any limb stretched horizontally, and on their noses, so that the expression is much obscured. I think the nation might employ people to brush away the dust from the statues of its heroes. But, on the whole, it is very fine to look through the broad arches of the cathedral, and see, at the foot of some distant pillar, a group of sculptured figures, commemorating some man and deed that (whether worth remembering or not) the nation is so happy as to reverence. In Westminster Abbey, the monuments are so crowded, and so oddly patched together upon the walls, that they are ornamental only in a mural point of view; and, moreover, the quaint and grotesque taste of many of them might well make the spectator laugh,--an effect not likely to be produced by the monuments in St. Paul's. But, after all, a man might read the walls of the Abbey day after day with ever-fresh interest, whereas the cold propriety of the cathedral would weary him in due time. We did not ascend to the galleries and other points of interest aloft, nor go down into the vaults, where Nelson's sarcophagus is shown, and many monuments of the old Gothic cathedral, which stood on this site, before the great fire. They say that these lower regions are comfortably warm and dry; but as we walked round in front, within the iron railing of the churchyard, we passed an open door, giving access to the crypt, and it breathed out a chill like death upon us. It is pleasant to stand in the centre of the cathedral, and hear the noise of London, loudest all round this spot,--how it is calmed into a sound as proper to be heard through the aisles as the tones of its own organ. If St. Paul's were to be burnt again (having already been bunt and risen three or four times since the sixth century), I wonder whether it would ever be rebuilt in the same spot! I doubt whether the city and the nation are so religious as to consecrate their midmost heart for the site of a church, where land would be so valuable by the square inch. Coming from the cathedral, we went through Paternoster Row, and saw Ave Mary Lane; all this locality appearing to have got its nomenclature from monkish personages. We now took a cab for the British Museum, but found this to be one of the days on which strangers are not admitted; so we slowly walked into Oxford Street, and then strolled homeward, till, coming to a sort of bazaar, we went in and found a gallery of pictures. This bazaar proved to be the Pantheon, and the first picture we saw in the gallery was Haydon's Resurrection of Lazarus,--a great height and breadth of canvas, right before you as you ascend the stairs. The face of Lazarus is very awful, and not to be forgotten; it is as true as if the painter had seen it, or had been himself the resurrected man and felt it; but the rest of the picture signified nothing, and is vulgar and disagreeable besides. There are several other pictures by Haydon in this collection,--the Banishment of Aristides, Nero with his Harp, and the Conflagration of Rome; but the last is perfectly ridiculous, and all of them are exceedingly unpleasant. I should be sorry to live in a house that contained one of them. The best thing of Haydon was a hasty dash of a sketch for a small, full-length portrait of Wordsworth, sitting on the crag of a mountain. I doubt whether Wordsworth's likeness has ever been so poetically brought out. This gallery is altogether of modern painters, and it seems to be a receptacle for pictures by artists who can obtain places nowhere else,--at least, I never heard of their names before. They were very uninteresting, almost without exception, and yet some of the pictures were done cleverly enough. There is very little talent in this world, and what there is, it seems to me, is pretty well known and acknowledged. We don't often stumble upon geniuses in obscure corners. Leaving the gallery, we wandered through the rest of the bazaar, which is devoted to the sale of ladies' finery, jewels, perfumes, children's toys, and all manner of small and pretty rubbish. . . . In the evening I again sallied forth, and lost myself for an hour or two; at last recognizing my whereabouts in Tottenham Court Road. In such quarters of London it seems to be the habit of people to take their suppers in the open air. You see old women at the corners, with kettles of hot water for tea or coffee; and as I passed a butcher's open shop, he was just taking out large quantities of boiled beef, smoking hot. Butchers' stands are remarkable for their profuse expenditure of gas; it belches forth from the pipes in great flaring jets of flame, uncovered by any glass, and broadly illuminating the neighborhood. I have not observed that London ever goes to bed. September 29th.--Yesterday we walked to the British Museum. A sentinel or two kept guard before the gateway of this extensive edifice in Great Russell Street, and there was a porter at the lodge, and one or two policemen lounging about, but entrance was free, and we walked in without question. Officials and policemen were likewise scattered about the great entrance-hall, none of whom, however, interfered with us; so we took whatever way we chose, and wandered about at will. It is a hopeless, and to me, generally, a depressing business to go through an immense multifarious show like this, glancing at a thousand things, and conscious of some little titillation of mind from them, but really taking in nothing, and getting no good from anything. One need not go beyond the limits of the British Museum to be profoundly accomplished in all branches of science, art, and literature; only it would take a lifetime to exhaust it in any one department; but to see it as we did, and with no prospect of ever seeing it more at leisure, only impressed me with the truth of the old apothegm, "Life is short, and Art is long." The fact is, the world is accumulating too many materials for knowledge. We do not recognize for rubbish what is really rubbish; and under this head might be reckoned very many things one sees in the British Museum; and, as each generation leaves its fragments and potsherds behind it, such will finally be the desperate conclusion of the learned. We went first among some antique marbles,--busts, statues, terminal gods, with several of the Roman emperors among them. We saw here the bust whence Haydon took his ugly and ridiculous likeness of Nero,--a foolish thing to do. Julius Caesar was there, too, looking more like a modern old man than any other bust in the series. Perhaps there may be a universality in his face, that gives it this independence of race and epoch. We glimpsed along among the old marbles,--Elgin and others, which are esteemed such treasures of art;--the oddest fragments, many of them smashed by their fall from high places, or by being pounded to pieces by barbarians, or gnawed away by time; the surface roughened by being rained upon for thousands of years; almost always a nose knocked off; sometimes a headless form; a great deficiency of feet and hands,--poor, maimed veterans in this hospital of incurables. The beauty of the most perfect of them must be rather guessed at, and seen by faith, than with the bodily eye; to look at the corroded faces and forms is like trying to see angels through mist and cloud. I suppose nine tenths of those who seem to be in raptures about these fragments do not really care about them; neither do I. And if I were actually moved, I should doubt whether it were by the statues or by my own fancy. We passed, too, through Assyrian saloons and Egyptian saloons,--all full of monstrosities and horrible uglinesses, especially the Egyptian, and all the innumerable relics that I saw of them in these saloons, and among the mummies, instead of bringing me closer to them, removed me farther and farther; there being no common ground of sympathy between them and us. Their gigantic statues are certainly very curious. I saw a hand and arm up to the shoulder fifteen feet in length, and made of some stone that seemed harder and heavier than granite, not having lost its polish in all the rough usage that it has undergone. There was a fist on a still larger scale, almost as big as a hogshead. Hideous, blubber-lipped faces of giants, and human shapes with beasts' heads on them. The Egyptian controverted Nature in all things, only using it as a groundwork to depict, the unnatural upon. Their mummifying process is a result of this tendency. We saw one very perfect mummy,--a priestess, with apparently only one more fold of linen betwixt us and her antique flesh, and this fitting closely to her person from head to foot, so that we could see the lineaments of her face and the shape of her limbs as perfectly as if quite bare. I judge that she may have been very beautiful in her day,--whenever that was. One or two of the poor thing's toes (her feet were wonderfully small and delicate) protruded from the linen, and, perhaps, not having been so perfectly embalmed, the flesh had fallen away, leaving only some little bones. I don't think this young woman has gained much by not turning to dust in the time of the Pharaohs. We also saw some bones of a king that had been taken out of a pyramid; a very fragmentary skeleton. Among the classic marbles I peeped into an urn that once contained the ashes of dead people, and the bottom still had an ashy hue. I like this mode of disposing of dead bodies; but it would be still better to burn them and scatter the ashes, instead of hoarding them up,--to scatter them over wheat-fields or flowerbeds. Besides these antique halls, we wandered through saloons of antediluvian animals, some set up in skeletons, others imprisoned in solid stone; also specimens of still extant animals, birds, reptiles, shells, minerals,-- the whole circle of human knowledge and guess-work,--till I wished that the whole Past might be swept away, and each generation compelled to bury and destroy whatever it had produced, before being permitted to leave the stage. When we quit a house, we are expected to make it clean for the next occupant; why ought we not to leave a clean world for the next generation? We did not see the library of above half a million of volumes; else I suppose I should have found full occasion to wish that burnt and buried likewise. In truth, a greater part of it is as good as buried, so far as any readers are concerned. Leaving the Museum, we sauntered home. After a little rest, I set out for St. John's Wood, and arrived thither by dint of repeated inquiries. It is a pretty suburb, inhabited by people of the middling class. U---- met me joyfully, but seemed to have had a good time with Mrs. Oakford and her daughter; and, being pressed to stay to tea, I could not well help it. Before tea I sat talking with Mrs. Oakford and a friend of hers, Miss Clinch, about the Americans and the English, especially dwelling on the defects of the latter,--among which we reckoned a wretched meanness in money transactions, a lack of any embroidery of honor and liberality in their dealings, so that they require close watching, or they will be sure to take you at advantage. I hear this character of them from Americans on all hands, and my own experience confirms it as far as it goes, not merely among tradespeople, but among persons who call themselves gentlefolks. The cause, no doubt, or one cause, lies in the fewer chances of getting money here, the closer and sharper regulation of all the modes of life; nothing being left to liberal and gentlemanly feelings, except fees to servants. They are not gamblers in England, as we to some extent are; and getting their money painfully, or living within an accurately known income, they are disinclined to give up so much as a sixpence that they can possibly get. But the result is, they are mean in petty things. By and by Mr. Oakford came in, well soaked with the heaviest shower that I ever knew in England, which had been rattling on the roof of the little side room where we sat, and had caught him on the outside of the omnibus. At a little before eight o'clock I came home with U---- in a cab,--the gaslight glittering on the wet streets through which we drove, though the sky was clear overhead. September 30th.--Yesterday, a little before twelve, we took a cab, and went to the two Houses of Parliament,--the most immense building, methinks, that ever was built; and not yet finished, though it has now been occupied for years. Its exterior lies hugely along the ground, and its great unfinished tower is still climbing towards the sky; but the result (unless it be the riverfront, which I have not yet seen) seems not very impressive. The interior is much more successful. Nothing can be more magnificent and gravely gorgeous than the Chamber of Peers,--a large oblong hall, panelled with oak, elaborately carved, to the height of perhaps twenty feet. Then the balustrade of the gallery runs around the hall, and above the gallery are six arched windows on each side, richly painted with historic subjects. The roof is ornamented and gilded, and everywhere throughout there is embellishment of color and carving on the broadest scale, and, at the same time, most minute and elaborate; statues of full size in niches aloft; small heads of kings, no bigger than a doll; and the oak is carved in all parts of the panelling as faithfully as they used to do it in Henry VII's time,--as faithfully and with as good workmanship, but with nothing like the variety and invention which I saw in the dining-room of Smithell's Hall. There the artist wrought with his heart and head; but much of this work, I suppose, was done by machinery. Be that as it may, it is a most noble and splendid apartment, and, though so fine, there is not a touch of finery; it glistens and glows with even a sombre magnificence, owing to the rich, deep lines, and the dim light, bedimmed with rich colors by coming through the painted windows. In arched recesses, that serve as frames, at each end of the hall, there are three pictures by modern artists from English history; and though it was not possible to see them well as pictures, they adorned and enriched the walls marvellously as architectural embellishments. The Peers' seats are four rows of long sofas on each side, covered with red morocco; comfortable seats enough, but not adapted to any other than a decorously exact position. The woolsack is between these two divisions of sofas, in the middle passage of the floor,--a great square seat, covered with scarlet, and with a scarlet cushion set up perpendicularly for the Chancellor to lean against. In front of the woolsack there is another still larger ottoman, on which he might be at full length,--for what purpose intended, I know not. I should take the woolsack to be not a very comfortable seat, though I suppose it was originally designed to be the most comfortable one that could be contrived, in view of the Chancellor's much sitting. The throne is the first object you see on entering the hall, being close to the door; a chair of antique form, with a high, peaked back, and a square canopy above, the whole richly carved and quite covered with burnished gilding, besides being adorned with rows of rock crystals,-- which seemed to me of rather questionable taste. It is less elevated above the floor than one imagines it ought to be. While we were looking at it, I saw two Americans,--Western men, I should judge,--one of them with a true American slouch, talking to the policeman in attendance, and describing our Senate Chamber in contrast with the House of Lords. The policeman smiled and ah-ed, and seemed to make as courteous and liberal responses as he could. There was quite a mixed company of spectators, and, I think, other Americans present besides the above two and ourselves. The Lord Chamberlain's tickets appear to be distributed with great impartiality. There were two or three women of the lower middle class, with children or babies in arms, one of whom lifted up its voice loudly in the House of Peers. We next, after long contemplating this rich hall, proceeded through passages and corridors to a great central room, very beautiful, which seems to be used for purposes of refreshment, and for electric telegraphs; though I should not suppose this could be its primitive and ultimate design. Thence we went into the House of Commons, which is larger than the Chamber of Peers, and much less richly ornamented, though it would have appeared splendid had it come first in order. The speaker's chair, if I remember rightly, is loftier and statelier than the throne itself. Both in this hall and in that of the Lords, we were at first surprised by the narrow limits within which the great ideas of the Lords and Commons of England are physically realized; they would seem to require a vaster space. When we hear of members rising on opposite sides of the House, we think of them as but dimly discernible to their opponents, and uplifting their voices, so as to be heard afar; whereas they sit closely enough to feel each other's spheres, to note all expression of face, and to give the debate the character of a conversation. In this view a debate seems a much more earnest and real thing than as we read it in a newspaper. Think of the debaters meeting each other's eyes, their faces flushing, their looks interpreting their words, their speech growing into eloquence, without losing the genuineness of talk! Yet, in fact, the Chamber of Peers is ninety feet long and half as broad, and high, and the Chamber of Commons is still larger. Thence we went to Westminster Hall, through a gallery with statues on each side,--beautiful statues too, I thought; seven of them, of which four were from the times of the civil wars,--Clarendon, Falkland, Hampden, Selden, Somers, Mansfield, and Walpole. There is room for more in this corridor, and there are niches for hundreds of their marble brotherhood throughout the edifice; but I suppose future ages will have to fill the greater part of them. Yet I cannot help imagining that this rich and noble edifice has more to do with the past than with the future; that it is the glory of a declining empire; and that the perfect bloom of this great stone flower, growing out of the institutions of England, forbodes that they have nearly lived out their life. It sums up all. Its beauty and magnificence are made out of ideas that are gone by. We entered Westminster Hall (which is incorporated into this new edifice, and forms an integral part of it) through a lofty archway, whence a double flight of broad steps descends to the stone pavement. After the elaborate ornament of the rooms we had just been viewing, this venerable hall looks extremely simple and bare,--a gray stone floor, gray and naked stone walls, but a roof sufficiently elaborate, its vault being filled with carved beams and rafters of chestnut, very much admired and wondered at for the design and arrangement. I think it would have pleased me more to have seen a clear vaulted roof, instead of this intricacy of wooden points, by which so much skylight space is lost. They make (be it not irreverently said) the vast and lofty apartment look like the ideal of an immense barn. But it is a noble space, and all without the support of a single pillar. It is about eighty of my paces from the foot of the steps to the opposite end of the hall, and twenty-seven from side to side; very high, too, though not quite proportionately to its other dimensions. I love it for its simplicity and antique nakedness, and deem it worthy to have been the haunt and home of History through the six centuries since it was built. I wonder it does not occur to modern ingenuity to make a scenic representation, in this very hall, of the ancient trials for life or death, pomps, feasts, coronations, and every great historic incident in the lives of kings, Parliaments, Protectors, and all illustrious men, that have occurred here. The whole world cannot show another hall such as this, so tapestried with recollections of whatever is most striking in human annals. Westminster Abbey being just across the street, we went thither from the hall, and sought out the cloisters, which we had not yet visited. They are in excellent preservation,--broad walks, canopied with intermingled arches of gray stone, on which some sort of lichen, or other growth of ages (which seems, however, to have little or nothing vegetable in it), has grown. The pavement is entirely made of flat tombstones, inscribed with half-effaced names of the dead people beneath; and the wall all round bears the marble tablets which give a fuller record of their virtues. I think it was from a meditation in these cloisters that Addison wrote one of his most beautiful pieces in the Spectator. It is a pity that this old fashion of a cloistered walk is not retained in our modern edifices; it was so excellent for shelter and for shade during a thoughtful hour,--this sombre corridor beneath an arched stone roof, with the central space of richest grass, on which the sun might shine or the shower fall, while the monk or student paced through the prolonged archway of his meditations. As we came out from the cloisters, and walked along by the churchyard of the Abbey, a woman came begging behind us very earnestly. "A bit of bread," she said, "and I will give you a thousand blessings! Hunger is hard to bear. O kind gentleman and kind lady, a penny for a bit of bread! It is a hard thing that gentlemen and ladies should see poor people wanting bread, and make no difference whether they are good or bad." And so she followed us almost all round the Abbey, assailing our hearts in most plaintive terms, but with no success; for she did it far too well to be anything but an impostor, and no doubt she had breakfasted better, and was likely to have a better dinner, than ourselves. And yet the natural man cries out against the philosophy that rejects beggars. It is a thousand to one that they are impostors, but yet we do ourselves a wrong by hardening our hearts against them. At last, without turning round, I told her that I should give her nothing,--with some asperity, doubtless, for the effort to refuse creates a bitterer repulse than is necessary. She still followed us a little farther, but at last gave it up, with a deep groan. I could not have performed this act of heroism on my first arrival from America. Whether the beggar-woman had invoked curses on us, and Heaven saw fit to grant some slight response, I know not, but it now began to rain on my wife's velvet; so I put her and J----- into a cab, and hastened to ensconce myself in Westminster Abbey while the shower should last. Poets' Corner has never seemed like a strange place to me; it has been familiar from the very first; at all events, I cannot now recollect the previous conception, of which the reality has taken the place. I seem always to have known that somewhat dim corner, with the bare brown stone-work of the old edifice aloft, and a window shedding down its light on the marble busts and tablets, yellow with time, that cover the three walls of the nook up to a height of about twenty feet. Prior's is the largest and richest monument. It is observable that the bust and monument of Congreve are in a distant part of the Abbey. His duchess probably thought it a degradation to bring a gentleman among the beggarly poets. I walked round the aisles, and paced the nave, and came to the conclusion that Westminster Abbey, both in itself and for the variety and interest of its monuments, is a thousand times preferable to St. Paul's. There is as much difference as between a snow-bank and a chimney-corner in their relation to the human heart. By the by, the monuments and statues in the Abbey seem all to be carefully dusted. The shower being over, I walked down into the city, where I called on Mr. B------ and left S-----'s watch to be examined and put in order. He told me that he and his brother had lately been laying out and letting a piece of land at Blackheath, that had been left them by their father, and that the ground-rent would bring them in two thousand pounds per annum. With such an independent income, I doubt whether any American would consent to be anything but a gentleman,--certainly not an operative watchmaker. How sensible these Englishmen are in some things! Thence I went at a venture, and lost myself, of course. At one part of my walk I came upon St. Luke's Hospital, whence I returned to St. Paul's, and thence along Fleet Street and the Strand. Contiguous to the latter is Holywell Street,--a narrow lane, filled up with little bookshops and bookstalls, at some of which I saw sermons and other works of divinity, old editions of classics, and all such serious matters, while at stalls and windows close beside them (and, possibly, at the same stalls) there were books with title-pages displayed, indicating them to be of the most indecent kind. October 2d.--Yesterday forenoon I went with J----- into the city to 67 Grace Church Street, to get a bank post-note cashed by Mr. Oakford, and afterwards to the offices of two lines of steamers, in Moorgate Street and Leadenhall Street. The city was very much thronged. It is a marvel what sets so many people a going at all hours of the day. Then it is to be considered that these are but a small portion of those who are doing the business of the city; much the larger part being occupied in offices at desks, in discussions of plans of enterprise, out of sight of the public, while these earnest hurriers are merely the froth in the pot. After seeing the steam-officials, we went to London Bridge, which always swarms with more passengers than any of the streets. Descending the steps that lead to the level of the Thames, we took passage in a boat bound up the river to Chelsea, of which there is one starting every ten minutes, the voyage being of forty minutes' duration. It began to sprinkle a little just as we started; but after a slight showeriness, lasting till we had passed Westminster Bridge, the day grew rather pleasant. At Westminster Bridge we had a good view of the river-front of the two Houses of Parliament, which look very noble from this point,--a long and massive extent, with a delightful promenade for the legislative people exactly above the margin of the river. This is certainly a magnificent edifice, and yet I doubt whether it is so impressive as it might and ought to have been made, considering its immensity. It makes no more impression than you can well account to yourself for, and you rather wonder that it does not make more. The reason must be that the architect has not "builded better than he knew." He felt no power higher and wiser than himself, making him its instrument. He reckoned upon and contrived all his effects with malice aforethought, and therefore missed the crowning glory,--that being a happiness which God, out of his pure grace, mixes up with only the simple-hearted, best efforts of men. October 3d.--I again went into the city yesterday forenoon, to settle about the passages to Lisbon, taking J----- with me. From Hungerford Bridge we took the steamer to London Bridge, that being an easy and speedy mode of accomplishing distances that take many footsteps through the crowded thoroughfares. After leaving the steamer-office, we went back through the Strand, and, crossing Waterloo Bridge, walked a good way on to the Surrey side of the river; a coarse, dingy, disagreeable suburb, with shops apparently for country produce, for old clothes, second-hand furniture, for ironware, and other things bulky and inelegant. How many scenes and sorts of life are comprehended within London! There was much in the aspect of these streets that reminded me of a busy country village in America on an immensely magnified scale. Growing rather weary anon, we got into an omnibus, which took us as far as the Surrey Zoological Gardens, which J----- wished very much to see. They proved to be a rather poor place of suburban amusement; poor, at least, by daylight, their chief attraction for the public consisting in out-of-door representations of battles and sieges. The storming of Sebastopol (as likewise at the Cremorne Gardens) was advertised for the evening, and we saw the scenery of Sebastopol, painted on a vast scale, in the open air, and really looking like miles and miles of hill and water; with a space for the actual manoeuvring of ships on a sheet of real water in front of the scene, on which some ducks were now swimming about, in place of men-of-war. The climate of England must often interfere with this sort of performance; and I can conceive of nothing drearier for spectators or performers than a drizzly evening. Convenient to this central spot of entertainment there were liquor and refreshment rooms, with pies and cakes. The menagerie, though the ostensible staple of the gardens, is rather poor and scanty; pretty well provided with lions and lionesses, also one or two giraffes, some camels, a polar bear,--who plunged into a pool of water for bits of cake,--and two black bears, who sat on their haunches or climbed poles; besides a wilderness of monkeys, some parrots and macaws, an ostrich, various ducks, and other animal and ornithological trumpery; some skins of snakes so well stuffed that I took them for living serpents till J----- discovered the deception, and an aquarium, with a good many common fishes swimming among sea-weed. The garden is shaded with trees, and set out with greensward and gravel-walks, from which the people were sweeping the withered autumnal leaves, which now fall every day. Plaster statues stand here and there, one of them without a head, thus disclosing the hollowness of the trunk; there were one or two little drizzly fountains, with the water dripping over the rock-work, of which the English are so fond; and the buildings for the animals and other purposes had a flimsy, pasteboard aspect of pretension. The garden was in its undress; few visitors, I suppose, coming hither at this time of day,--only here and there a lady and children, a young man and girl, or a couple of citizens, loitering about. I take pains to remember these small items, because they suggest the day-life or torpidity of what may look very brilliant at night. These corked-up fountains, slovenly greensward, cracked casts of statues, pasteboard castles, and duck-pond Bay of Balaclava then shining out in magic splendor, and the shabby attendants whom we saw sweeping and shovelling probably transformed into the heroes of Sebastopol. J----- thought it a delightful place; but I soon grew very weary, and came away about four o'clock, and, getting into a city omnibus, we alighted on the hither side of Blackfriar's Bridge. Turning into Fleet Street, I looked about for a place to dine at, and chose the Mitre Tavern, in memory of Johnson and Boswell. It stands behind a front of modern shops, through which is an archway, giving admittance into a narrow court-yard, which, I suppose, was formerly open to Fleet Street. The house is of dark brick, and, comparing it with other London edifices, I should take it to have been at least refronted since Johnson's time; but within, the low, sombre coffee-room which we entered might well enough have been of that era or earlier. It seems to be a good, plain, respectable inn; and the waiter gave us each a plate of boiled beef, and, for dessert, a damson tart, which made up a comfortable dinner. After dinner, we zigzagged homeward through Clifford's link passage, Holborn, Drury Lane, the Strand, Charing Cross, Pall Mall, and Regent Street; but I remember only an ancient brick gateway as particularly remarkable. I think it was the entrance to Lincoln's Inn. We reached home at about six. There is a woman who has several times passed through this Hanover Street, in which we live, stopping occasionally to sing songs under the windows; and last evening, between nine and ten o'clock, she came and sang "Kathleen O'Moore" richly and sweetly. Her voice rose up out of the dim, chill street, and made our hearts throb in unison with it as we sat in our comfortable drawing-room. I never heard a voice that touched me more deeply. Somebody told her to go away, and she stopped like a nightingale suddenly shot; but, finding that S----- wished to know something about her, Fanny and one of the maids ran after her, and brought her into the hall. It seems she was educated to sing at the opera, and married an Italian opera-singer, who is now dead; lodging in a model lodging-house at threepence a night, and being a penny short to-night, she tried this method, in hope of getting this penny. She takes in plain sewing when she can get any, and picks up a trifle about the street by means of her voice, which, she says, was once sweet, but has now been injured by the poorness of her living. She is a pale woman, with black eyes, Fanny says, and may have been pretty once, but is not so now. It seems very strange, that with such a gift of Heaven, so cultivated, too, as her voice is, making even an unsusceptible heart vibrate like a harp-string, she should not have had an engagement among the hundred theatres and singing-rooms of London; that she should throw away her melody in the streets for the mere chance of a penury, when sounds not a hundredth part so sweet are worth from other lips purses of gold. October 5th.--It rained almost all day on Wednesday, so that I did not go out till late in the afternoon, and then only took a stroll along Oxford Street and Holborn, and back through Fleet Street and the Strand. Yesterday, at a little after ten, I went to the ambassador's to get my wife's passport for Lisbon. While I was talking with the clerk, Mr. ------ made his appearance in a dressing-gown, with a morning cheerfulness and alacrity in his manner. He was going to Liverpool with his niece, who returns to America by the steamer of Saturday. She has had a good deal of success in society here; being pretty enough to be remarked among English women, and with cool, self-possessed, frank, and quiet manners, which look very like the highest breeding. I next went to Westminster Abbey, where I had long promised myself another quiet visit; for I think I never could be weary of it; and when I finally leave England, it will be this spot which I shall feel most unwilling to quit forever. I found a party going through the seven chapels (or whatever their number may be), and again saw those stately and quaint old tombs,--ladies and knights stretched out on marble slabs, or beneath arches and canopies of stone, let into the walls of the Abbey, reclining on their elbows, in ruff and farthingale or riveted armor, or in robes of state, once painted in rich colors, of which only a few patches of scarlet now remain; bearded faces of noble knights, whose noses, in many cases, had been smitten off; and Mary, Queen of Scots, had lost two fingers of her beautiful hands, which she is clasping in prayer. There must formerly have been very free access to these tombs; for I observed that all the statues (so far as I examined them) were scratched with the initials of visitors, some of the names being dated above a century ago. The old coronation-chair, too, is quite covered, over the back and seat, with initials cut into it with pocket-knives, just as Yankees would do it; only it is not whittled away, as would have been its fate in our hands. Edward the Confessor's shrine, which is chiefly of wood, likewise abounds in these inscriptions, although this was esteemed the holiest shrine in England, so that pilgrims still come to kneel and kiss it. Our guide, a rubicund verger of cheerful demeanor, said that this was true in a few instances. There is a beautiful statue in memory of Horace Walpole's mother; and I took it to be really a likeness, till the verger said that it was a copy of a statue which her son had admired in Italy, and so had transferred it to his mother's grave. There is something characteristic in this mode of filial duty and honor. In all these chapels, full of the tombs and effigies of kings, dukes, arch-prelates, and whatever is proud and pompous in mortality, there is nothing that strikes me more than the colossal statue of plain Mr. Watt, sitting quietly in a chair, in St. Paul's Chapel, and reading some papers. He dwarfs the warriors and statesmen; and as to the kings, we smile at them. Telford is in another of the chapels. This visit to the chapels was much more satisfactory than my former one; although I in vain strove to feel it adequately, and to make myself sensible how rich and venerable was what I saw. This realization must come at its own time, like the other happinesses of life. It is unaccountable that I could not now find the seat of Sir George Downing's squire, though I examined particularly every seat on that side of Henry VII's Chapel, where I before found it. I must try again. . . . October 6th.--Yesterday was not an eventful day. I took J----- with me to the city, called on Mr. Sturgis at the Barings' House, and got his checks for a bank post-note. The house is at 8 Bishopsgate Street, Within. It has no sign of any kind, but stands back from the street, behind an iron-grated fence. The firm appears to occupy the whole edifice, which is spacious, and fit for princely merchants. Thence I went and paid for the passages to Lisbon (32 pounds) at the Peninsular Steam Company's office, and thence to call on General ------. I forgot to mention, that, first of all, I went to Mr. B------'s, whom I found kind and vivacious as usual. It now rained heavily, and, being still showery when we came to Cheapside again, we first stood under an archway (a usual resort for passengers through London streets), and then betook ourselves to sanctuary, taking refuge in St. Paul's Cathedral. The afternoon service was about to begin, so, after looking at a few of the monuments, we sat down in the choir, the richest and most ornamented part of the cathedral, with screens or partitions of oak, cunningly carved. Small white-robed choristers were flitting noiselessly about, making preparations for the service, which by and by began. It is a beautiful idea, that, several times in the course of the day, a man can slip out of the thickest throng and bustle of London into this religious atmosphere, and hear the organ, and the music of young, pure voices; but, after all, the rites are lifeless in our day. We found, on emerging, that we had escaped a very heavy shower, and it still sprinkled and misted as we went homeward through Holborn and Oxford Street. SOUTHAMPTON October 11th.--We all left London on Sunday morning, between ten and eleven, from the Waterloo station, and arrived in Southampton about two, without meeting with anything very remarkable on the way. We put up at Chapple's Castle Hotel, which is one of the class styled "commercial," and, though respectable, not such a one as the nobility and gentry usually frequent. I saw little difference in the accommodation, except that young women attended us instead of men,--a pleasant change. It was a showery day, but J----- and I walked out to see the shore and the town and the docks, and, if possible, the ship in which S----- was to sail. The most noteworthy object was the remains of an old castle, near the water-side; the square, gray, weed grown, weird keep of which shows some modern chimney-pots above its battlements, while remaining portions of the fortress are made to seem as one of the walls for coal-depots, and perhaps for small dwellings. The English characteristically patch new things into old things in this manner, materially, legally, constitutionally, and morally. Walking along the pier, we observed some pieces of ordnance, one of which was a large brass cannon of Henry VIII.'s time, about twelve feet long, and very finely made. The bay of Southampton presents a pleasant prospect, and I believe it is the great rendezvous of the yacht-club. Old and young seafaring people were strolling about, and lounging at corners, just as they do on Sunday afternoons in the minor seaports of America. From the shore we went up into the town, which is handsome, and of a cheerful aspect, with streets generally wide and well paved,--a cleanly town, not smoke-begrimed. The houses, if not modern, are, at least with few exceptions, new fronted. We saw one relic of antiquity,--a fine mediaeval gateway across the principal street, much more elevated than the gates of Chester, with battlements at the top, and a spacious apartment over the great arch for the passage of carriages, and the smaller one on each side for foot-passengers. There were two statues in armor or antique costume on the hither side of the gateway, and two old paintings on the other. This, so far as I know, is the only remnant of the old wall of Southampton. On Monday the morning was bright, alternating with a little showeriness. U----, J-----, and I went into the town to do some shopping before the steamer should sail; and a little after twelve we drove down to the dock. The Madeira is a pleasant-looking ship enough, not very large, but accommodating, I believe, about seventy passengers. We looked at my wife's little stateroom, with its three berths for herself and the two children; and then sat down in the saloon, and afterwards on deck, to spend the irksome and dreary hour or two before parting. Many of the passengers seemed to be Portuguese, undersized, dark, mustachioed people, smoking cigars. John Bull was fairly represented too. . . . U---- was cheerful, and R----- seemed anxious to get off. Poor Fanny was altogether cast down, and shed tears, either from regret at leaving her native land, or dread of sea-sickness, or general despondency, being a person of no spring of spirits. I waited till the captain came on board, --a middle-aged or rather elderly man, with a sensible expression, but, methought, with a hard, cold eye, to whom I introduced my wife, recommending her to his especial care, as she was unattended by any gentleman; and then we thought it best to cut short the parting scene. So we bade one another farewell; and, leaving them on the deck of the vessel, J----- and I returned to the hotel, and, after dining at the table d'hote, drove down to the railway. This is the first great parting that we have ever had. It was three o'clock when we left Southampton. In order to get to Worcester, where we were to spend the night, we strode, as it were, from one line of railway to another, two or three times, and did not arrive at our journey's end till long after dark. At Worcester we put ourselves into the hands of a cabman, who drove us to the Crown Hotel,--one of the old-fashioned hotels, with an entrance through an arched passage, by which vehicles were admitted into the inn-yard, which has also an exit, I believe, into another street. On one side of the arch was the coffee-room, where, after looking at our sleeping-chambers on the other side of the arch, we had some cold pigeon-pie for supper, and for myself a pint of ale. It should be mentioned, that, in the morning, before embarking S----- and the children on board the steamer, I saw a fragment of a rainbow among the clouds, and remembered the old adage bidding "sailors take warning." In the afternoon, as J----- and I were railing from Southampton, we saw another fragmentary rainbow, which, by the same adage, should be the "sailor's delight." The weather has rather tended to confirm the first omen, but the sea-captains tell me that the steamer must have gone beyond the scope of these winds. WORCESTER. October 14th.---In the morning of Tuesday, after breakfast in the coffee-room, J----- and I walked about to see the remarkables of Worcester. It is not a particularly interesting city, compared with other old English cities; the general material of the houses being red brick, and almost all modernized externally, whatever may be the age of their original framework. We saw a large brick jail in castellated style, with battlements,--a very barren and dreary-looking edifice; likewise, in the more central part of the town, a Guildhall with a handsome front, ornamented with a statue of Queen Anne above the entrance, and statues of Charles I. and Charles II. on either side of the door, with the motto, "Floreat semper civitas fidelis." Worcester seems to pride itself upon its loyalty. We entered the building, and in the large interior hall saw some old armor hanging on the wall at one end,-- corselets, helmets, greaves, and a pair of breeches of chain mail. An inscription told us that these suits of armor had been left by Charles I. after the battle of Worcester, and presented to the city at a much later date by a gentleman of the neighborhood. On the stone floor of the hall, under the armor, were two brass cannon, one of which had been taken from the French in a naval battle within the present century; the other was a beautiful piece, bearing, I think, the date of 1632, and manufactured in Brussels for the Count de Burgh, as a Latin inscription testified. This likewise was a relic of the battle of Worcester, where it had been lost by Charles. Many gentlemen--connected with the city government, I suppose--were passing through the hall; and, looking through its interior doors, we saw stately staircases and council-rooms panelled with oak or other dark wood. There seems to be a good deal of state in the government of these old towns. Worcester Cathedral would have impressed me much had I seen it earlier; though its aspect is less venerable than that of Chester or Lichfield, having been faithfully renewed and repaired, and stone-cutters and masons were even now at work on the exterior. At our first visit, we found no entrance; but coming again at ten o'clock, when the service was to begin, we found the door open, and the chorister-boys, in their white robes, standing in the nave and aisles, with elder people in the same garb, and a few black-robed ecclesiastics and an old verger. The interior of the cathedral has been covered with a light-colored paint at some recent period. There is, as I remember, very little stained glass to enrich and bedim the light; and the effect produced is a naked, daylight aspect, unlike what I have seen in any other Gothic cathedral. The plan of the edifice, too, is simple; a nave and side aisles, with great clustered pillars, from which spring the intersecting arches; and, somehow or other, the venerable mystery which I have found in Westminster Abbey and elsewhere does not lurk in these arches and behind these pillars. The choir, no doubt, is richer and more beautiful; but we did not enter it. I remember two tombs, with recumbent figures on there, between the pillars that divide the nave from the side aisles, and there were also mural monuments,--one, well executed, to an officer slain in the Peninsular war, representing him falling from his horse; another by a young widow to her husband, with an inscription of passionate grief, and a record of her purpose finally to sleep beside him. He died in 1803. I did not see on the monument any record of the consummation of her purpose; and so perhaps she sleeps beside a second husband. There are more antique memorials than these two on the wall, and I should have been interested to examine them; but the service was now about to begin in the choir, and at the far-off end of the nave the old verger waved his hand to banish us from the cathedral. At the same time he moved towards us, probably to say that he would show it to us after service; but having little time, and being so moderately impressed with what I had already seen, I took my departure, and so disappointed the old man of his expected shilling or half-crown. The tomb of King John is somewhere in this cathedral. We renewed our rambles through the town, and, passing the Museum of the Worcester Natural History Society, I yielded to J-----'s wish to go in. There are three days in the week, I believe, on which it is open to the public; but this being one of the close days, we were admitted on payment of a shilling. It seemed a very good and well-arranged collection in most departments of Natural History, and J-----, who takes more interest in these matters than I do, was much delighted. We were left to examine the hall and galleries quite at our leisure. Besides the specimens of beasts, birds, shells, fishes, minerals, fossils, insects, and all other natural things before the flood and since, there was a stone bearing a Roman inscription, and various antiquities, coins, and medals, and likewise portraits, some of which were old and curious. Leaving the museum, we walked down to the stone bridge over the Severn, which is here the largest river I have seen in England, except, of course, the Mersey and the Thames. A flight of steps leads from the bridge down to a walk along the river-side, and this we followed till we reached the spot where an angler was catching chubs and dace, under the walls of the bishop's palace, which here faces the river. It seems to be an old building, but with modern repairs and improvements. The angler had pretty good success while we were looking at him, drawing out two or three silvery fish, and depositing them in his basket, which was already more than half full. The Severn is not a transparent stream, and looks sluggish, but has really movement enough to carry the angler's float along pretty fast. There were two vessels of considerable size (that is, as large as small schooners) lying at the bridge. We now passed under an old stone archway, through a lane that led us from the river-side up past the cathedral, whence a gentleman and lady were just emerging, and the verger was closing the door behind them. We returned to our hotel, and ordered luncheon,--some cold chicken, cold ham, and ale, and after paying the bill (about fifteen shillings, to which I added five shillings for attendance) we took our departure in a fly for the railway. The waiter (a young woman), chambermaid, and boots, all favored us with the most benign and deferential looks at parting, whence it was easy to see that I had given them more than they had any claim to receive. Nevertheless, this English system of fees has its good side, and I never travel without finding the advantage of it, especially on railways, where the officials are strictly forbidden to take fees, and where, in consequence, a fee secures twice as much good service as anywhere else. Be it recorded, that I never knew an Englishman to refuse a shilling,--or, for that matter, a halfpenny. From Worcester we took tickets to Wolverhampton, and thence to Birkenhead. It grew dark before we reached Chester, and began to rain; and when we got to Birkenhead it was a pitiless, pelting storm, under which, on the deck of the steamboat, we crossed the detestable Mersey, two years' trial of which has made me detest it every day more and more. It being the night of rejoicing for the taking of Sebastopol and the visit of the Duke of Cambridge, we found it very difficult to get a cab on the Liverpool side; but after much waiting in the rain, and afterwards in one of the refreshment-rooms, on the landing stage, we took a Hansom and drove off. The cloudy sky reflected the illuminations, and we saw some gas-lighted stars and other devices, as we passed, very pretty, but much marred by the wind and rain. So we finally arrived at Mrs. Blodgett's, and made a good supper of ham and cold chicken, like our luncheon, after which, wet as we were, and drizzling as the weather was, and though it was two hours beyond his bedtime, I took J----- out to see the illuminations. I wonder what his mother would have said. But the boy must now begin to see life and to feel it. There was a crowd of people in the street; such a crowd that we could hardly make a passage through them, and so many cabs and omnibuses that it was difficult to cross the ways. Some of the illuminations were very brilliant; but there was a woful lack of variety and invention in the devices. The star of the garter, which kept flashing out from the continual extinguishment of the wind and rain,--V and A, in capital letters of light,--were repeated a hundred times; as were loyal and patriotic mottoes,--crowns formed by colored lamps. In some instances a sensible tradesman had illuminated his own sign, thereby at once advertising his loyalty and his business. Innumerable flags were suspended before the houses and across the streets, and the crowd plodded on, silent, heavy, and without any demonstration of joy, unless by the discharge of pistols close at one's ear. The rain, to be sure, was quite sufficient to damp any joyous ebullition of feeling; but the next day, when the rain had ceased, and when the streets were still thronged with people, there was the same heavy, purposeless strolling from place to place, with no more alacrity of spirit than while it rained. The English do not know how to rejoice; and, in their present circumstances, to say the truth, have not much to rejoice for. We soon came home; but I believe it was nearly, if not quite, eleven. At Mrs. Blodgett's, Mr. Archer (surgeon to some prison or house of correction here in Liverpool) spoke of an attorney who many years ago committed forgery, and, being apprehended, took a dose of prussic acid. Mr. Archer came with the stomach-pump, and asked the patient how much prussic acid he had taken. "Sir," he replied, attorney-like, "I decline answering that question!" He recovered, and afterwards arrived at great wealth in New South Wales. November 14th.--At dinner at Mr. Bright's, a week or two ago, Mr. Robertson Gladstone spoke of a magistrate of Liverpool, many years since, Sir John ------. Of a morning, sitting on the bench in the police court, he would take five shillings out of his pocket and say, "Here, Mr. Clerk, so much for my fine. I was drunk last night!" Mr. Gladstone witnessed this personally. November 16th.--I went to the North Hospital yesterday, to take the deposition of a dying man as to his ill treatment by the second and third mates of the ship Assyria, on the voyage from New Orleans. This hospital is a very gloomy place, with its wide bleak entries and staircases, which may be very good for summer weather, but which are most congenial at this bleak November season. I found the physicians of the house laughing and talking very cheerfully with Mr. Wilding, who had preceded me. We went forthwith, up two or three pairs of stairs, to the ward where the sick man lay, and where there were six or eight other beds, in almost each of which was a patient,--narrow beds, shabbily furnished. The man whom I came to see was the only one who was not perfectly quiet; neither was he very restless. The doctor, informing him of my presence, intimated that his disease might be lethal, and that I was come to hear what he had to say as to the causes of his death. Afterwards, a Testament was sought for, in order to swear him, and I administered the oath, and made him kiss the book. He then (in response to Mr. Wilding's questions) told how he had been beaten and ill-treated, hanged and thwacked, from the moment he came on board, to which usage he ascribed his death. Sometimes his senses seemed to sink away, so that I almost thought him dead; but by and by the questions would appear to reach him, and bring him back, and he went on with his evidence, interspersing it, however, with dying groans, and almost death rattles. In the midst of whatever he was saying, he often recurred to a sum of four dollars and a half, which he said he had put into the hands of the porter of the hospital, and which he wanted to get back. Several times he expressed his wish to return to America (of which he was not a native), and, on the whole, I do not think he had any real sense of his precarious condition, notwithstanding that he assented to the doctor's hint to that effect. He sank away so much at one time, that they brought him wine in a tin cup, with a spout to drink out of, and he mustered strength to raise himself in his bed and drink; then hemmed, with rather a disappointed air, as if it did not stimulate and refresh him, as drink ought to do. When he had finished his evidence (which Mr. Wilding took down in writing from his mouth), he marked his cross at the foot of the paper, and we ceased to torment him with further question. His deposition will probably do no good, so far as the punishment of the persons implicated is concerned; for he appears to have come on board in a sickly state, and never to have been well during the passage. On a pallet, close by his bed, lay another seaman of the same ship, who had likewise been abused by the same men, and bore more ostensible marks of ill usage than this man did, about the head and face. There is a most dreadful state of things aboard our ships. Hell itself can be no worse than some of them, and I do pray that some New-Englander with the rage of reform in him may turn his thoughts this way. The first step towards better things--the best practicable step for the present--is to legalize flogging on shipboard; thereby doing away with the miscellaneous assaults and batteries, kickings, fisticuffings, ropes'-endings, marline-spikings, which the inferior officers continually perpetrate, as the only mode of keeping up anything like discipline. As in many other instances, philanthropy has overshot itself by the prohibition of flogging, causing the captain to avoid the responsibility of solemn punishment, and leave his mates to make devils of themselves, by habitual and hardly avoidable ill treatment of the seamen. After I left the dying sailor, his features seemed to contract and grow sharp. Some young medical students stood about the bed, watching death creep upon him, and anticipating, perhaps, that in a day or two they would have the poor fellow's body on the dissecting-table. Dead patients, I believe, undergo this fate, unless somebody chooses to pay their funeral expenses; but the captain of the Assyria (who seems to be respectable and kind-hearted, though master of a floating hell) tells me that he means to bury the man at his own cost. This morning there is a note from the surgeon of the hospital, announcing his death, and likewise the dangerous state of his shipmate whom I saw on the pallet beside him. Sea-captains call a dress-coat a "claw-hammer." November 22d.--I went on board the ship William Lapscott, lying in the river, yesterday, to take depositions in reference to a homicide committed in New York. I sat on a sofa in the cabin, and Mr. Wilding at a table, with his writing-materials before him, and the crew were summoned, one by one,--rough, piratical-looking fellows, contrasting strongly with the gewgaw cabin in which I received them. There is no such finery on land as in the cabin of one of these ships in the Liverpool trade, finished off with a complete panelling of rosewood, mahogany, and bird's-eye maple, polished and varnished, and gilded along the cornices and the edges of the panels. It is all a piece of elaborate cabinet-work; and one does not altogether see why it should be given to the gales, and the salt-sea atmosphere, to be tossed upon the waves, and occupied by a rude shipmaster in his dreadnaught clothes, when the fairest lady in the land has no such boudoir. A telltale compass hung beneath the skylight, and a clock was fastened near it, and ticked loudly. A stewardess, with the aspect of a woman at home, went in and out of the cabin, about her domestic calls. Through the cabin door (it being a house on deck) I could see the arrangement of the ship. The first sailor that I examined was a black-haired, powerful fellow, in an oil-skin jacket, with a good face enough, though he, too, might have been taken for a pirate. In the affray in which the homicide occurred, he had received a cut across the forehead, and another slantwise across his nose, which had quite cut it in two, on a level with the face, and had thence gone downward to his lower jaw. But neither he nor any one else could give any testimony elucidating the matter into which I had come to inquire. A seaman had been stabbed just before the vessel left New York, and had been sent on shore and died there. Most of these men were in the affray, and all of then were within a few yards of the spot where it occurred; but those actually present all pleaded that they were so drunk that the whole thing was now like a dream, with no distinct images; and, if any had been sober, they took care to know nothing that could inculpate any individual. Perhaps they spoke truth; they certainly had a free and honest-like way of giving their evidence, as if their only object was to tell all the truth they knew. But I rather think, in the forecastle, and during the night-watches, they have whispered to one another a great deal more than they told me, and have come to a pretty accurate conclusion as to the man who gave the stab. While the examination proceeded, there was a drawing of corks in a side closet; and, at its conclusion, the captain asked us to stay to dinner, but we excused ourselves, and drank only a glass of wine. The captain apologized for not joining us, inasmuch as he had drunk no wine for the last seventeen years. He appears to be a particularly good and trustworthy man, and is the only shipmaster whom I have met with, who says that a crew can best be governed by kindness. In the inner closet there was a cage containing two land-birds, who had come aboard him, tired almost to death, three or four hundred miles from shore; and he had fed them and been tender of them, from a sense of what was due to hospitality. He means to give them to J-----. November 28th.--I have grown wofully aristocratic in my tastes, I fear, since coming to England; at all events, I am conscious of a certain disgust at going to dine in a house with a small entrance-hall and a narrow staircase, parlor with chintz curtains, and all other arrangements on a similar scale. This is pitiable. However, I really do not think I should mind these things, were it not for the bustle, the affectation, the intensity, of the mistress of the house. It is certain that a woman in England is either decidedly a lady or decidedly not a lady. There seems to be no respectable medium. Bill of fare: broiled soles, half of a roast pig, a haricot of mutton, stewed oysters, a tart, pears, figs, with sherry and port wine, both good, and the port particularly so. I ate some pig, and could hardly resist the lady's importunities to eat more; though to my fancy it tasted of swill,--had a flavor of the pigsty. On the parlor table were some poor editions of popular books, Longfellow's poems and others. The lady affects a literary taste, and bothered me about my own productions. A beautiful subject for a romance, or for a sermon, would be the subsequent life of the young man whom Jesus bade to sell all he had and give to the poor; and he went away sorrowful, and is not recorded to have done what he was bid. December 11th.--This has been a foggy morning and forenoon, snowing a little now and then, and disagreeably cold. The sky is of an inexpressibly dreary, dun color. It is so dark at times that I have to hold my book close to my eyes, and then again it lightens up a little. On the whole, disgustingly gloomy; and thus it has been for a long while past, although the disagreeableness seems to be very near the earth, and just above the steeples and house-tops very probably there may be a bright, sunshiny day. At about twelve there is a faint glow of sunlight, like the gleaming reflection from a not highly polished copper kettle. December 26th.--On Christmas eve and yesterday, there were little branches of mistletoe hanging in several parts of the house, in the kitchen, the entries, the parlor, and the smoking-room,--suspended from the gas-fittings. The maids of the house did their utmost to entrap the gentlemen boarders, old and young; under the privileged places, and there to kiss them, after which they were expected to pay a shilling. It is very queer, being customarily so respectful, that they should assume this license now, absolutely trying to pull the gentlemen into the kitchen by main force, and kissing the harder and more abundantly the more they were resisted. A little rosy-checked Scotch lass--at other times very modest --was the most active in this business. I doubt whether any gentleman but myself escaped. I heard old Mr. S------ parleying with the maids last evening, and pleading his age; but he seems to have met with no mercy, for there was a sound of prodigious smacking immediately afterwards. J----- was assaulted, and fought, most vigorously; but was outrageously kissed,--receiving some scratches, moreover, in the conflict. The mistletoe has white, wax-looking berries, and dull green leaves, with a parasitical stem. Early in the morning of Christmas day, long before daylight, I heard music in the street, and a woman's voice, powerful and melodious, singing a Christmas hymn. Before bedtime I presume one half of England, at a moderate calculation, was the worse for liquor. The market-houses, at this season, show the national taste for heavy feeding,--carcasses of prize oxen, immensely fat, and bulky; fat sheep, with their woolly heads and tails still on, and stars and other devices ingeniously wrought on the quarters; fat pigs, adorned with flowers, like corpses of virgins; hares, wild-fowl, geese, ducks, turkeys; and green boughs and banners suspended about the stalls,--and a great deal of dirt and griminess on the stone floor of the market-house, and on the persons of the crowd. There are some Englishmen whom I like,--one or two for whom I might say I have an affection; but still there is not the same union between us as if they were Americans. A cold, thin medium intervenes betwixt our most intimate approaches. It puts me in mind of Alnaschar and his princess, with the cold steel blade of his scimitar between them. Perhaps if I were at home I might feel differently; but in a foreign land I can never forget the distinction between English and American. January 1st, 1856.--Last night, at Mrs. Blodgett's, we sat up till twelve o'clock to open the front door, and let the New Year in. After the coming guest was fairly in the house, the back door was to be opened, to let the Old Year out; but I was tired, and did not wait for the latter ceremony. When the New Year made its entrance, there was a general shaking of hands, and one of the shipmasters said that it was customary to kiss the ladies all round; but to my great satisfaction, we did not proceed to such extremity. There was singing in the streets, and many voices of people passing, and when twelve had struck, all the bells of the town, I believe, rang out together. I went up stairs, sad and lonely, and, stepping into J-----'s little room, wished him a Happy New Year, as he slept, and many of them. To a cool observer, a country does not show to best advantage during a time of war. All its self-conceit is doubly visible, and, indeed, is sedulously kept uppermost by direct appeals to it. The country must be humbugged, in order to keep its courage up. Sentiment seems to me more abundant in middle-aged ladies in England than in the United States. I don't know how it may be with young ladies. The shipmasters bear testimony to the singular delicacy of common sailors in their behavior in the presence of women; and they say that this good trait is still strongly observable even in the present race of seamen, greatly deteriorated as it is. On shipboard, there is never an indecorous word or unseemly act said or done by sailors when a woman can be cognizant of it; and their deportment in this respect differs greatly from that of landsmen of similar position in society. This is remarkable, considering that a sailor's female acquaintances are usually and exclusively of the worst kind, and that his intercourse with them has no relation whatever to morality or decency. For this very reason, I suppose, he regards a modest woman as a creature divine and to be reverenced. January 16th.---I have suffered wofully from low spirits for some time past; and this has not often been the case since I grew to be a man, even in the least auspicious periods of my life. My desolate bachelor condition, I suppose, is the cause. Really, I have no pleasure in anything, and I feel my tread to be heavier, and my physical movement more sluggish, than in happier times. A weight is always upon me. My appetite is not good. I sleep ill, lying awake till late at night, to think sad thoughts and to imagine sombre things, and awaking before light with the same thoughts and fancies still in my mind. My heart sinks always as I ascend the stairs to my office, from a dim augury of ill news from Lisbon that I may perhaps hear,--of black-sealed letters, or some such horrors. Nothing gives me any joy. I have learned what the bitterness of exile is, in these days; and I never should have known it but for the absence of "Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,"--I can perfectly appreciate that line of Goldsmith; for it well expresses my own torpid, unenterprising, joyless state of mind and heart. I am like an uprooted plant, wilted and drooping. Life seems so purposeless as not to be worth the trouble of carrying it on any further. I was at a dinner, the other evening, at Mr. B------'s, where the entertainment was almost entirely American,--New York oysters, raw, stewed, and fried; soup of American partridges, particularly good; also terrapin soup, rich, but not to my taste; American pork and beans, baked in Yankee style; a noble American turkey, weighing thirty-one pounds; and, at the other end of the table, an American round of beef, which the Englishmen present allowed to be delicious, and worth a guinea an ounce. I forget the other American dishes, if there were any more,--O yes! canvas-back ducks, coming on with the sweets, in the usual English fashion. We ought to have had Catawba wine; but this was wanting, although there was plenty of hock, champagne, sherry, madeira, port, and claret. Our host is a very jolly man, and the dinner was a merrier and noisier one than any English dinner within my experience. February 8th.--I read to-day, in the little office-Bible (greasy with perjuries) St. Luke's account of the agony, the trial, the crucifixion, and the resurrection; and how Christ appeared to the two disciples, on their way to Emmaus, and afterwards to a company of disciples. On both these latter occasions he expounded the Scriptures to them, and showed the application of the old prophecies to himself; and it is to be supposed that he made them fully, or at least sufficiently, aware what his character was,--whether God, or man, or both, or something between, together with all other essential points of doctrine. But none of this doctrine or of these expositions is recorded, the mere facts being most simply stated, and the conclusion to which he led them, that, whether God himself, or the Son of God, or merely the Son of man, he was, at all events, the Christ foretold in the Jewish Scriptures. This last, therefore, must have been the one essential point. February 18th.--On Saturday there called on me an elderly Robinson-Crusoe sort of man, Mr. H------, shipwright, I believe, of Boston, who has lately been travelling in the East. About a year ago he was here, after being shipwrecked on the Dutch coast, and I assisted him to get home. Again, I have supplied him with five pounds, and my credit for an outside garment. He is a spare man, with closely cropped gray, or rather white hair, close-cropped whiskers fringing round his chin, and a close-cropped white mustache, with his under lip and a portion of his chin bare beneath,--sunburnt and weather-worn. He has been in Syria and Jerusalem, through the Desert, and at Sebastopol; and says he means to get Ticknor to publish his travels, and the story of his whole adventurous life, on his return home. A free-spoken, confiding, hardy, religious, unpolished, simple, yet world-experienced man; very talkative, and boring me with longer visits than I like. He has brought home, among other curiosities, "a lady's arm," as he calls it, two thousand years old,--a piece of a mummy, of course; also some coins, one of which, a gold coin of Vespasian, he showed me, and said he bought it of an Arab of the desert. The Bedouins possess a good many of these coins, handed down immemorially from father to son, and never sell them unless compelled by want. He had likewise a Hebrew manuscript of the Book of Ruth, on a parchment roll, which was put into his care to be given to Lord Haddo. He was at Sebastopol during the siege, and nearly got his head knocked off by a cannon-ball. His strangest statement is one in reference to Lord Raglan. He says that an English officer told him that his Lordship shut himself up, desiring not to be disturbed, as he needed sleep. When fifteen hours had gone by, his attendants thought it time to break open the door; and Lord Raglan was found dead, with a bottle of strychnine by the bedside. The affair, so far as the circumstances indicated suicide, was hushed up, and his death represented as a natural one. The English officer seems to have been an unscrupulous fellow, jesting thus with the fresh memory of his dead commander; for it is impossible to believe a word of the story. Even if Lord Raglan had wished for death, he would hardly have taken strychnine, when there were so many chances of being honorably shot. In Wood's Narrative of the Campaign, it is stated that he died surrounded by the members of his staff, after having been for some time ill. It appears, however, by the same statement, that no serious apprehensions had been entertained, until, one afternoon, he shut himself in, desiring not to be disturbed till evening. After two or three hours he called Lord Burghersh,--"Frank, Frank!" and was found to be almost in a state of collapse, and died that evening. Mr. H------'s story might very well have been a camp rumor. It seems to me that the British Ministry, in its notion of a life-peerage, shows an entire misunderstanding of what makes people desire the peerage. It is not for the immediate personal distinction; but because it removes the peer and his consanguinity from the common rank of men, and makes a separate order of them, as if they should grow angelic. A life-peer is but a mortal amid the angelic throng. February 28th.--I went yesterday with Mrs. ------ and another lady, and Mr. M------, to the West Derby Workhouse. . . . [Here comes in the visit to the West Derby Workhouse, which was made the subject of a paper in Our Old Home, called "Outside Glimpses of English Poverty." As the purpose in publishing these passages from the private note-books is to give to those who ask for a memoir of Mr. Hawthorne every possible incident recorded by himself which shows his character and nature, the editor thinks it proper to disclose the fact that Mr. Hawthorne was himself the gentleman of that party who took up in his arms the little child, so fearfully repulsive in its condition. And it seems better to quote his own words in reference to it, than merely to say it was he. Under date February 28, 1856. "After this, we went to the ward where the children were kept, and, on entering this, we saw, in the first place, two or three unlovely and unwholesome little imps, who were lazily playing together. One of them (a child about six years old, but I know not whether girl or boy) immediately took the strangest fancy for me. It was a wretched, pale, half-torpid little thing, with a humor in its eyes which the Governor said was the scurvy. I never saw, till a few moments afterwards, a child that I should feel less inclined to fondle. "But this little, sickly, humor-eaten fright prowled around me, taking hold of my skirts, following at my heels, and at last held up its hands, smiled in my face, and, standing directly before me, insisted on my taking it up! Not that it said a word, for I rather think it was underwitted, and could not talk; but its face expressed such perfect confidence that it was going to be taken up and made much of, that it was impossible not to do it. It was as if God had promised the child this favor on my behalf, and that I must needs fulfil the contract. I held my undesirable burden a little while; and, after setting the child down, it still followed me, holding two of my fingers and playing with them, just as if it were a child of my own. It was a foundling, and out of all human kind it chose me to be its father! We went up stairs into another ward; and, on coming down again, there was this same child waiting for me, with a sickly smile round its defaced mouth, and in its dim red eyes. . . . I never should have forgiven myself if I had repelled its advances."--ED.] After leaving the workhouse, we drove to Norris Green; and Mrs. ------ showed me round the grounds, which are very good and nicely kept. O these English homes, what delightful places they are! I wonder how many people live and die in the workhouse, having no other home, because other people have a great deal more home than enough. . . . We had a very pleasant dinner, and Mr. M------ and I walked back, four miles and a half, to Liverpool, where we arrived just before midnight. Why did Christ curse the fig-tree? It was not in the least to blame; and it seems most unreasonable to have expected it to bear figs out of season. Instead of withering it away, it would have been as great a miracle, and far more beautiful, and, one would think, of more beneficent influence, to have made it suddenly rich with ripe fruit. Then, to be sure, it might have died joyfully, having answered so good a purpose. I have been reminded of this miracle by the story of a man in Heywood, a town in Lancashire, who used such horribly profane language that a plane-tree in front of his cottage is said to have withered away from that hour. I can draw no moral from the incident of the fig-tree, unless it be that all things perish from the instant when they cease to answer some divine purpose. March 6th.--Yesterday I lunched on board Captain Russell's ship, the Princeton. These daily lunches on shipboard might answer very well the purposes of a dinner; being, in fact, noontide dinners, with soup, roast mutton, mutton-chops, and a macaroni pudding,--brandy, port and sherry wines. There were three elderly Englishmen at table, with white heads, which, I think, is oftener the predicament of elderly heads here than in America. One of these was a retired Custom-House officer, and the other two were connected with shipping in some way. There is a satisfaction in seeing Englishmen eat and drink, they do it so heartily, and, on the whole, so wisely,--trusting so entirely that there is no harm in good beef and mutton, and a reasonable quantity of good liquor; and these three hale old men, who had acted on this wholesome faith for so long, were proofs that it is well on earth to live like earthly creatures. In America, what squeamishness, what delicacy, what stomachic apprehension, would there not be among three stomachs of sixty or seventy years' experience! I think this failure of American stomachs is partly owing to our ill usage of our digestive powers, and partly to our want of faith in them. After lunch, we all got into an omnibus, and went to the Mersey Iron Foundry, to see the biggest piece of ordnance in the world, which is almost finished. The overseer of the works received us, and escorted us courteously throughout the establishment; which is very extensive, giving employment to a thousand men, what with night-work and day-work. The big gun is still on the axle, or turning-machine, by means of which it has been bored. It is made entirely of wrought and welded iron, fifty tons of which were originally used; and the gun, in its present state, bored out and smoothed away, weighs nearly twenty-three tons. It has, as yet, no trunnions, and does not look much like a cannon, but only a huge iron cylinder, immensely solid, and with a bore so large that a young man of nineteen shoved himself into it, the whole length, with a light, in order to see whether it is duly smooth and regular. I suppose it will have a better effect, as to the impression of size, when it is finished, polished, mounted, aid fully equipped, after the fashion of ordinary cannon. It is to throw a ball of three hundred pounds' weight five miles, and woe be to whatever ship or battlement shall bear the brunt! After inspecting the gun we went through other portions of the establishment, and saw iron in various stages of manufacture. I am not usually interested in manufacturing processes, being quite unable to understand them, at least in cotton-machinery and the like; but here there were such exhibitions of mighty strength, both of men and machines, that I had a satisfaction in looking on. We saw lumps of iron, intensely white-hot, and in all but a melting state, passed through rollers of various size and pressure, and speedily converted into long bars, which came curling and waving out of the rollers like great red ribbons, or like fiery serpents wriggling out of Tophet; and finally, being straightened out, they were laid to cool in heaps. Trip-hammers are very pleasant things to look at, working so massively as they do, and yet so accurately; chewing up the hot iron, as it were, and fashioning it into shape, with a sort of mighty and gigantic gentleness in their mode of action. What great things man has contrived, and is continually performing! What a noble brute he is! Also, I found much delight in looking at the molten iron, boiling and bubbling in the furnace, and sometimes slopping over, when stirred by the attendant. There were numberless fires on all sides, blinding us with their intense glow; and continually the pounding strokes of huge hammers, some wielded by machinery and others by human arms. I had a respect for these stalwart workmen, who seemed to be near kindred of the machines amid which they wrought,--mighty men, smiting stoutly, and looking into the fierce eyes of the furnace fearlessly, and handling the iron at a temperature which would have taken the skin off from ordinary fingers. They looked strong, indeed, but pale; for the hot atmosphere in which they live cannot but be deleterious, and I suppose their very strength wears them quickly out. But I would rather live ten years as an iron-smith than fifty as a tailor. So much heat can be concentrated into a mass of iron, that a lump a foot square heats all the atmosphere about it, and burns the face at a considerable distance. As the trip-hammer strikes the lump, it seems still more to intensify the heat by squeezing it together, and the fluid iron oozes out like sap or juice. "He was ready for the newest fashions!"--this expression was used by Mrs. Blodgett in reference to Mr. ------ on his first arrival in England, and it is a very tender way of signifying that a person is rather poorly off as to apparel. March 15th.--Mr. ------, our new ambassador, arrived on Thursday afternoon by the Atlantic, and I called at the Adelphi Hotel, after dinner, to pay him my respects. I found him and his family at supper. . . . They seem to be plain, affable people. . . . The ambassador is a venerable old gentleman, with a full head of perfectly white hair, looking not unlike an old-fashioned wig; and this, together with his collarless white neckcloth and his brown coat, gave him precisely such an aspect as one would expect in a respectable person of pre-revolutionary days. There was a formal simplicity, too, in his manners, that might have belonged to the same era. He must have been a very handsome man in his youthful days, and is now comely, very erect, moderately tall, not overburdened with flesh; of benign and agreeable address, with a pleasant smile; but his eyes, which are not very large, impressed me as sharp and cold. He did not at all stamp himself upon me as a man of much intellectual or characteristic vigor. I found no such matter in his conversation, nor did I feel it in the indefinable way by which strength always makes itself acknowledged. B------, though, somehow, plain and uncouth, yet vindicates himself as a large man of the world, able, experienced, fit to handle difficult circumstances of life; dignified, too, and able to hold his own in any society. Mr. ------ has a kind of venerable dignity; but yet, if a person could so little respect himself as to insult him, I should say that there was no innate force in Mr. ------ to prevent it. It is very strange that he should have made so considerable a figure in public life, filling offices that the strongest men would have thought worthy of their highest ambition. There must be something shrewd and sly under his apparent simplicity; narrow, cold, selfish, perhaps. I fancied these things in his eyes. He has risen in life by the lack of too powerful qualities, and by a certain tact, which enables him to take advantage of circumstances and opportunities, and avail himself of his unobjectionableness, just at the proper time. I suppose he must be pronounced a humbug, yet almost or quite an innocent one. Yet he is a queer representative to be sent from brawling and boisterous America at such a critical period. It will be funny if England sends him back again, on hearing the news of ------'s dismissal. Mr. ------ gives me the impression of being a very amiable man in his own family. He has brought his son with him, as Secretary of Legation,--a small young man, with a little mustache. It will be a feeble embassy. I called again the next morning, and introduced Mrs. ------, who, I believe, accompanied the ladies about town. This simplicity in Mr. ------'s manner puzzles and teases me; for, in spite of it, there was a sort of self-consciousness, as if he were being looked at,--as if he were having his portrait taken. LONDON. March 22d.--Yesterday,--no, day before yesterday,--I left Liverpool for London by rail, from the Lime Street station. The journey was a dull and monotonous one, as usual. Three passengers were in the same carriage with me at starting; but they dropped off; and from Rugby I was alone. We reached London after ten o'clock; and I took a cab for St. James's Place, No. 32, where I found Mr. B------ expecting me. He had secured a bedroom for me at this lodging-house, and I am to be free of his drawing-room during my stay. We breakfasted at nine, and then walked down to his counting-room, in Old Broad Street, in the city. It being a dim, dingy morning, London looked very dull, the more so as it was Good Friday, and therefore the streets were comparatively thin of people and vehicles, and had on their Sunday aspect. If it were not for the human life and bustle of London, it would be a very stupid place, with a heavy and dreary-monotony of unpicturesque streets. We went up Bolt Court, where Dr. Johnson used to live; and this was the only interesting site we saw. After spending some time in the counting-room, while Mr. ------ read his letters, we went to London Bridge, and took the steamer for Waterloo Bridge, with partly an intent to go to Richmond, but the day was so damp and dusky that we concluded otherwise. So we came home, visiting, on our way, the site of Covent Garden Theatre, lately burnt down. The exterior walls still remain perfect, and look quite solid enough to admit of the interior being renewed, but I believe it is determined to take them down. After a slight lunch and a glass of wine, we walked out, along Piccadilly, and to Hyde Park, which already looks very green, and where there were a good many people walking and driving, and rosy-faced children at play. Somehow or other the shine and charm are gone from London, since my last visit; and I did not very much admire, nor feel much interested in anything. We returned (and I, for my part, was much wearied) in time for dinner at five. The evening was spent at home in various talk, and I find Mr. ------ a very agreeable companion, and a young man of thought and information, with a self-respecting character, and I think him a safe person to live with. This St. James's Place is in close vicinity to St. James's Palace, the gateway and not very splendid front of which we can see from the corner. The club-houses and the best life of the town are near at hand. Addison, before his marriage, used to live in St. James's Place, and the house where Mr. Rogers recently died is up the court, not that this latter residence excites much interest in my mind. I remember nothing else very noteworthy in this first day's experience, except that on Sir Watkins Williams Wynn's door, not far from this house, I saw a gold knocker, which is said to be unscrewed every night lest it should be stolen. I don't know whether it be really gold; for it did not look so bright as the generality of brass ones. I received a very good letter from J----- this morning. He was to go to Mr. Bright's at Sandhays yesterday, and remain till Monday. After writing the above, I walked along the Strand, Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill and Cheapside to Wood Street,--a very narrow street, insomuch that one has to press close against the wall to escape being grazed when a cart is passing. At No. 77 I found the place of business of Mr. Bennoch, who came to see me at Rock Ferry with Mr. Jerdan, not long after my arrival in England. I found him in his office; but he did not at first recognize me, so much stouter have I grown during my residence in England,--a new man, as he says. Mr. Bennoch is a kindly, frank, very good man, and was bounteous in his plans for making my time pass pleasantly. We talked of ------, from whom he has just received a letter, and who says he will fight for England in case of a war. I let Bennoch know that I, at least, should take the other side. After arranging to go to Greenwich Fair, and afterwards to dine with Bennoch, I left him and went to Mr. ------'s office, and afterwards strayed forth again, and crossed London Bridge. Thence I rambled rather drearily along through several shabby and uninteresting streets on the other side of the Thames; and the dull streets in London are really the dullest and most disheartening in the world. By and by I found my way to Southwark Bridge, and so crossed to Upper Thames Street, which was likewise very stupid, though I believe Clenman's paternal house in "Little Dorrit" stands thereabouts. . . . Next, I got into Ludgate Hill, near St. Paul's, and being quite foot-weary, I took a Paddington omnibus, and rode up into Regent Street, whence I came home. March 24th.--Yesterday being a clear day for England, we determined upon an expedition to Hampton Court; so walked out betimes towards the Waterloo station; but first crossed the Thames by Westminster Bridge, and went to Lambeth Palace. It stands immediately on the bank of the river, not far above the bridge. We merely walked round it, and saw only an old stone tower or two, partially renewed with brick, and a high connecting wall, within which appeared gables and other portions of the palace, all of an ancient plan and venerable aspect, though evidently much patched up and restored in the course of the many ages since its foundation. There is likewise a church, part of which looks old, connected with the palace. The streets surrounding it have many gabled houses, and a general look of antiquity, more than some other parts of London. We then walked to the Waterloo station, on the same side of the river; and at twenty minutes past one took the rail for Hampton Court, distant some twelve or fifteen miles. On arriving at the terminus, we beheld Hampton Palace, on the other side of the Thames,--an extensive structure, with a front of red brick, long and comparatively low, with the great Hall which Wolsey built rising high above the rest. We crossed the river (which is here but a narrow stream) by a stone bridge. The entrance to the palace is about half a quarter of a mile from the railway, through arched gates, which give a long perspective into the several quadrangles. These quadrangles, one beyond another, are paved with stone, and surrounded by the brick walls of the palace, the many windows of which look in upon them. Soldiers were standing sentinel at the exterior gateways, and at the various doors of the palace; but they admitted everybody without question and without fee. Policemen, or other attendants, were in most of the rooms, but interfered with no one; so that, in this respect, it was one of the pleasantest places to visit that I have found in England. A good many people, of all classes, were strolling through the apartments. We first went into Wolsey's great Hall, up a most spacious staircase, the walls and ceiling of which were covered with an allegorical fresco by Verrio, wonderfully bright and well preserved; and without caring about the design or execution, I greatly liked the brilliancy of the colors. The great Hall is a most noble and beautiful room, above a hundred feet long and sixty high and broad. Most of the windows are of stained or painted glass, with elaborate designs, whether modern or ancient I know not, but certainly brilliant in effect. The walls, from the floor to perhaps half their height, are covered with antique tapestry, which, though a good deal faded, still retains color enough to be a very effective adornment, and to give an idea of how rich a mode of decking a noble apartment this must have been. The subjects represented were from Scripture, and the figures seemed colossal. On looking closely at this tapestry, you could see that it was thickly interwoven with threads of gold, still glistening. The windows, except one or two that are long, do not descend below the top of this tapestry, and are therefore twenty or thirty feet above the floor; and this manner of lighting a great room seems to add much to the impressiveness of the enclosed space. The roof is very magnificent, of carved oak, intricately and elaborately arched, and still as perfect to all appearance as when it was first made. There are banners, so fresh in their hues, and so untattered, that I think they must be modern, suspended along beneath the cornice of the hall, and exhibiting Wolsey's arms and badges. On the whole, this is a perfect sight, in its way. Next to the hall there is a withdrawing-room, more than seventy feet long, and twenty-five feet high. The walls of this apartment, too, are covered with ancient tapestry, of allegorical design, but more faded than that of the hall. There is also a stained-glass window; and a marble statue of Venus on a couch, very lean and not very beautiful; and some cartoons of Carlo Cignani, which have left no impression on my memory; likewise, a large model of a splendid palace of some East Indian nabob. I am not sure, after all, that Verrio's frescoed grand staircase was not in another part of the palace; for I remember that we went from it through an immensely long suite of apartments, beginning with the Guard-chamber. All these rooms are wainscoted with oak, which looks new, being, I believe, of the date of King William's reign. Over many of the doorways, or around the panels, there are carvings in wood by Gibbons, representing wreaths of flowers, fruit, and foliage, the most perfectly beautiful that can be conceived; and the wood being of a light hue (lime-wood, I believe), it has a fine effect on the dark oak panelling. The apartments open one beyond another, in long, long, long succession,-- rooms of state, and kings' and queens' bedchambers, and royal closets bigger than ordinary drawing-rooms, so that the whole suite must be half a mile, or it may be a mile, in extent. From the windows you get views of the palace-grounds, broad and stately walks, and groves of trees, and lawns, and fountains, and the Thames and adjacent country beyond. The walls of all these rooms are absolutely covered with pictures, including works of all the great masters, which would require long study before a new eye could enjoy them; and, seeing so many of them at once, and having such a nothing of time to look at them all, I did not even try to see any merit in them. Vandyke's picture of Charles I., on a white horse beneath an arched gateway, made more impression on me than any other, and as I recall it now, it seems as if I could see the king's noble, melancholy face, and armed form, remembered not in picture, but in reality. All Sir Peter Lely's lewd women, and Kneller's too, were in these rooms; and the jolly old stupidity of George III. and his family, many times repeated; and pictures by Titian, Rubens, and other famous hands, intermixed with many by West, which provokingly drew the eye away from their betters. It seems to me that a picture, of all other things, should be by itself; whereas people always congregate them in galleries. To endeavor really to see them, so arranged, is like trying to read a hundred poems at once,--a most absurd attempt. Of all these pictures, I hardly recollect any so well as a ridiculous old travesty of the Resurrection and Last Judgment, where the dead people are represented as coming to life at the sound of the trumpet,--the flesh re-establishing itself on the bones, one man picking up his skull, and putting it on his shoulders,--and all appearing greatly startled, only half awake, and at a loss what to do next. Some devils are dragging away the damned by the heels and on sledges, and above sits the Redeemer and some angelic and sainted people, looking complacently down upon the scene! We saw, in one of the rooms, the funeral canopy beneath which the Duke of Wellington lay in state,--very gorgeous, of black velvet embroidered with silver and adorned with escutcheons; also, the state bed of Queen Anne, broad, and of comfortable appearance, though it was a queen's,--the materials of the curtains, quilt, and furniture, red velvet, still brilliant in hue; also King William's bed and his queen Mary's, with enormously tall posts, and a good deal the worse for time and wear. The last apartment we entered was the gallery containing Raphael's cartoons, which I shall not pretend to admire nor to understand. I can conceive, indeed, that there is a great deal of expression in them, and very probably they may, in every respect, deserve all their fame; but on this point I can give no testimony. To my perception they were a series of very much faded pictures, dimly seen (for this part of the palace was now in shadow), and representing figures neither graceful nor beautiful, nor, as far as I could discern, particularly grand. But I came to them with a wearied mind and eye; and also I had a previous distaste to them through the medium of engravings. But what a noble palace, nobly enriched, is this Hampton Court! The English government does well to keep it up, and to admit the people freely into it, for it is impossible for even a Republican not to feel something like awe--at least a profound respect--for all this state, and for the institutions which are here represented, the sovereigns whose moral magnificence demands such a residence; and its permanence, too, enduring from age to age, and each royal generation adding new splendors to those accumulated by their predecessors. If one views the matter in another way, to be sure, we may feel indignant that such dolt-heads, rowdies, and every way mean people, as many of the English sovereigns have been, should inhabit these stately halls, contrasting its splendors with their littleness; but, on the whole, I readily consented within myself to be impressed for a moment with the feeling that royalty has its glorious side. By no possibility can we ever have such a place in America. Leaving Hampton Court at about four o'clock, we walked through Bushy Park,--a beautiful tract of ground, well wooded with fine old trees, green with moss, all up their twisted trunks,--through several villages, Twickenham among the rest, to Richmond. Before entering Twickenham, we passed a lath-and-plaster castellated edifice, much time-worn, and with the plaster peeling off from the laths, which I fancied might be Horace Walpole's toy-castle. Not that it really could have been; but it was like the image, wretchedly mean and shabby, which one forms of such a place, in its decay. From Hampton Court to the Star and Garter, on Richmond Hill, is about six miles. After glancing cursorily at the prospect, which is famous, and doubtless very extensive and beautiful if the English mistiness would only let it be seen, we took a good dinner in the large and handsome coffee-room of the hotel, and then wended our way to the rail-station, and reached home between eight and nine o'clock. We must have walked not far from fifteen miles in the course of the day. March 25th.--Yesterday, at one o'clock, I called by appointment on Mr. Bennoch, and lunched with him and his partners and clerks. This lunch seems to be a legitimate continuation of the old London custom of the master living at the same table with his apprentices. The meal was a dinner for the latter class. The table was set in an upper room of the establishment; and the dinner was a large joint of roast mutton, to which ten people sat down, including a German silk-merchant as a guest besides myself. Mr. Bennoch was at the head of the table, and one of his partners at the foot. For the apprentices there was porter to drink, and for the partners and guests some sparkling Moselle, and we had a sufficient dinner with agreeable conversation. Bennoch said that G. G------ used to be very fond of these lunches while in England. After lunch, Mr. Bennoch took me round the establishment, which is quite extensive, occupying, I think, two or three adjacent houses, and requiring more. He showed me innumerable packages of ribbons, and other silk manufactures, and all sorts of silks, from the raw thread to the finest fabrics. He then offered to show me some of the curiosities of old London, and took me first to Barber-Surgeons' Hall, in Monkwell Street. It was at this place that the first anatomical studies were instituted in England. At the time of its foundation, the Barbers and Surgeons were one company; but the latter, I believe, are now the exclusive possessors of the Hall. The edifice was built by Inigo Jones, and the principal room is a fine one, with finely carved wood-work on the ceiling and walls. There is a skylight in the roof, letting down a sufficient radiance on the long table beneath, where, no doubt, dead people have been dissected, and where, for many generations, it has been the custom of the society to hold its stated feasts. In this room hangs the most valuable picture by Holbein now in existence, representing the company of Barber-Surgeons kneeling before Henry VIII., and receiving their charter from his hands. The picture is about six feet square. The king is dressed in scarlet, and quite fulfils one's idea of his aspect. The Barber-Surgeons, all portraits, are an assemblage of grave-looking personages, in dark costumes. The company has refused five thousand pounds for this unique picture; and the keeper of the Hall told me that Sir Robert Peel had offered a thousand pounds for liberty to take out only one of the heads, that of a person named Pen, he conditioning to have a perfect fac-simile painted in. I did not see any merit in this head over the others. Beside this great picture hung a most exquisite portrait by Vandyke; an elderly, bearded man, of noble and refined countenance, in a rich, grave dress. There are many other pictures of distinguished men of the company, in long past times, and of some of the kings and great people of England, all darkened with age, and producing a rich and sombre effect, in this stately old hall. Nothing is more curious in London than these ancient localities and customs of the City Companies,--each trade and profession having its own hall, and its own institutions. The keeper next showed us the plate which is used at the banquets. I should like to be present at one of these feasts. I saw also an old vellum manuscript, in black-letter, which appeared to be a record of the proceedings of the company; and at the end there were many pages ruled for further entries, but none had been made in the volume for the last three or four hundred years. I think it was in the neighborhood of Barber-Surgeons' Hall, which stands amid an intricacy of old streets, where I should never have thought of going, that I saw a row of ancient almshouses, of Elizabethan structure. They looked wofully dilapidated. In front of one of them was an inscription, setting forth that some worthy alderman had founded this establishment for the support of six poor men; and these six, or their successors, are still supported, but no larger number, although the value of the property left for that purpose would now suffice for a much larger number. Then Mr. Bennoch took me to Cripplegate, and, entering the door of a house, which proved to be a sexton's residence, we passed by a side entrance into the church-porch of St. Giles, of which the sexton's house seems to be an indivisible contiguity. This is a very ancient church, that escaped the great fire of London. The galleries are supported by arches, the pillars of which are cased high upwards with oak; but all this oaken work and the oaken pews are comparatively modern, though so solid and dark that they agree well enough with the general effect of the church. Proceeding to the high altar, we found it surrounded with many very curious old monuments and memorials, some in carved oak, some in marble; grim old worthies, mostly in the costume of Queen Elizabeth's time. Here was the bust of Speed, the historian; here was the monument of Fox, author of The Book of Martyrs. High up on the wall, beside the altar, there was a black wooden coffin, and a lady sitting upright within it, with her hands clasped in prayer, it being her awakening moment at the Resurrection. Thence we passed down the centre aisle, and about midway we stopped before a marble bust, fixed against one of the pillars. And this was the bust of Milton! Yes, and Milton's bones lay beneath our feet; for he was buried under the pew over the door of which I was leaning. The bust, I believe, is the original of the one in Westminster Abbey. Treading over the tombstones of the old citizens of London, both in the aisles and the porch, and within doors and without, we went into the churchyard, one side of which is fenced in by a portion of London Wall, very solid, and still high, though the accumulation of human dust has covered much of its base. This is the most considerable portion now remaining of the ancient wall of London. The sexton now asked us to go into the tower of the church, that he might show us the oldest part of the structure, and we did so, and, looking down from the organ gallery, I saw a woman sitting alone in the church, waiting for the rector, whose ghostly consolation, I suppose, she needed. This old church-tower was formerly lighted by three large windows,--one of them of very great size; but the thrifty church-wardens of a generation or two ago had built them up with brick, to the great disfigurement of the church. The sexton called my attention to the organ-pipe, which is of sufficient size, I believe, to admit three men. From Cripplegate we went to Milton Street (as it is now called), through which we walked for a very excellent reason; for this is the veritable Grub Street, where my literary kindred of former times used to congregate. It is still a shabby-looking street, with old-fashioned houses, and inhabited chiefly by people of the poorer classes, though not by authors. Next we went to Old Broad Street, and, being joined by Mr. B------, we set off for London Bridge, turning out of our direct course to see London stone in Watling Street. This famous stone appears now to be built into the wall of St. Swithin's Church, and is so encased that you can only see and touch the top of it through a circular hole. There are one or two long cuts or indentations in the top, which are said to have been made by Jack Cade's sword when he struck it against the stone. If so, his sword was of a redoubtable temper. Judging by what I saw, London stone was a rudely shaped and unhewn post. At the London Bridge station, we took the rail for Greenwich, and, it being only about five miles off, we were not long in reaching the town. It was Easter Monday; and during the first three days of Easter, from time immemorial, a fair has been held at Greenwich, and this was what we had come to see. [This fair is described in Our Old Home, in "A Loudon Suburb."] Reaching Mr. Bennoch's house, we found it a pretty and comfortable one, and adorned with many works of art; for he seems to be a patron of art and literature, and a warm-hearted man, of active benevolence and vivid sympathies in many directions. His face shows this. I have never seen eyes of a warmer glow than his. On the walls of one room there were a good many sketches by Haydon, and several artists' proofs of fine engravings, presented by persons to whom he had been kind. In the drawing-room there was a marble bust of Mrs. ------, and one, I think, of himself, and one of the Queen, which Mr. Bennoch said was very good, and it is unlike any other I have seen. It is intended as a gift, from a number of subscribers, to Miss Nightingale. Likewise a crayon sketch of ------, looking rather morbid and unwholesome, as the poor lady really is. Also, a small picture of Mr. Bennoch in a military dress, as an officer, probably of city-horse. By and by came in a young gentleman, son of Haydon, the painter of high art, and one or two ladies staying in the house, and anon Mrs. ------. And so we went in to dinner. Bennoch is an admirable host, and warms his guests like a household fire by the influence of his kindly face and glowing eyes, and by such hospitable demeanor as best suits this aspect. After the cloth was removed, came in Mr. Newton Crosland, a young man who once called on me in Liverpool,--the husband of a literary lady, formerly Camilla Toulmin. The lady herself was coming to spend the evening. The husband (and I presume the wife) is a decided believer in spiritual manifestations. We talked of politics and spiritualism and literature; and before we rose from table, Mr. Bennoch drank the health of the ladies, and especially of Mrs. ------, in terms very kind towards her and me. I responded in her behalf as well as I could, and left it to Mr. Bowman, as a bachelor, to respond for the ladies generally,--which he did briefly, toasting Mrs. B------. We had heard the sound of the piano in the drawing-room for some time, and now adjourning thither, I had the pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Newton Crosland,--a rather tall, thin, pale, and lady-like person, looking, I thought, of a sensitive character. She expressed in a low tone and quiet way great delight at seeing my distinguished self! for she is a vast admirer of The Scarlet Letter, and especially of the character of Hester; indeed, I remember seeing a most favorable criticism of the book from her pen, in one of the London magazines. . . . At eleven o'clock Mrs. Crosland entered the tiniest pony-carriage, and set forth for her own residence, with a lad walking at the pony's head, and carrying a lantern. . . . March 26th.--Yesterday was not a very eventful day. After writing in my journal I went out at twelve, and visited, for the first time, the National Gallery. It is of no use for me to criticise pictures, or to try to describe them, but I have an idea that I might acquire a taste, with a little attention to the subject, for I find I already begin to prefer some pictures to others. This is encouraging. Of those that I saw yesterday, I think I liked several by Murillo best. There were a great many people in the gallery, almost entirely of the middle, with a few of the lower classes; and I should think that the effect of the exhibition must at least tend towards refinement. Nevertheless, the only emotion that I saw displayed was in broad grins on the faces of a man and two women, at sight of a small picture of Venus, with a Satyr peeping at her with an expression of gross animal delight and merriment. Without being aware of it, this man and the two women were of that same Satyr breed. If I lived in London, I would endeavor to educate myself in this and other galleries of art; but as the case stands, it would be of no use. I saw two of Turner's landscapes; but did not see so much beauty in them as in some of Claude's. A view of the grand canal in Venice, by Canaletto, seemed to me wonderful,--absolutely perfect,--a better reality, for I could see the water of the canal moving and dimpling; and the palaces and buildings on each side were quite as good in their way. Leaving the gallery, I walked down into the city, and passed through Smithfield, where I glanced at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. . . . Then I went into St. Paul's, and walked all round the great cathedral, looking, I believe, at every monument on the floor. There is certainly nothing very wonderful in any of them, and I do wish it would not so generally happen that English warriors go into battle almost nude; at least, we must suppose so, from their invariably receiving their death-wounds in that condition. I will not believe that a sculptor or a painter is a man of genius unless he can wake the nobleness of his subject, illuminate and transfigure any given pattern of coat and breeches. Nevertheless, I never go into St. Paul's without being impressed anew with the grandeur of the edifice, and the general effect of these same groups of statuary ranged in their niches and at the bases of the pillars as adornments of the cathedral. Coming homeward, I went into the enclosure of the Temple, and near the entrance saw "Dr. Johnson's staircase" printed over a doorway; so I not only looked in, but went up the first flight, of some broad, well-worn stairs, passing my hand over a heavy, ancient, broken balustrade, on which, no doubt, Johnson's hand had often rested. It was here that Boswell used to visit him, in their early acquaintance. Before my lunch, I had gone into Bolt Court, where he died. This morning there have been letters from Mr. Wilding, enclosing an invitation to me to be one of the stewards of the anniversary dinner of the Literary Fund. No, I thank you, gentlemen! March 27th.--Yesterday I went out at about twelve, and visited the British Museum; an exceedingly tiresome affair. It quite crushes a person to see so much at once, and I wandered from hall to hall with a weary and heavy heart, wishing (Heaven forgive me!) that the Elgin marbles and the frieze of the Parthenon were all burnt into lime, and that the granite Egyptian statues were hewn and squared into building-stones, and that the mummies had all turned to dust two thousand years ago; and, in fine, that all the material relics of so many successive ages had disappeared with the generations that produced them. The present is burdened too much with the past. We have not time, in our earthly existence, to appreciate what is warm with life, and immediately around us; yet we heap up these old shells, out of which human life has long emerged, casting them off forever. I do not see how future ages are to stagger onward under all this dead weight, with the additions that will be continually made to it. After leaving the Museum, I went to see Bennoch, and arrange with him our expedition of to-day; and he read me a letter from Topper, very earnestly inviting me to come and spend a night or two with him. Then I wandered about the city, and was lost in the vicinity of Holborn; so that for a long while I was under a spell of bewilderment, and kept returning, in the strangest way, to the same point in Lincoln's Inn Fields. . . . Mr. Bowman and I went to the Princess's Theatre in the evening. Charles Kean performed in Louis XI. very well indeed,--a thoughtful and highly skilled actor,--much improved since I saw him, many years ago, in America. ALDERSHOTT CAMP. April 1st.--After my last date on Thursday, I visited the National Gallery. At three o'clock, having packed a travelling-bag, I went to Bennoch's office, and lunched with him; and at about five we took the rail from the Waterloo station for Aldershott Camp. At Tamborough we were cordially received by Lieutenant Shaw, of the North Cork Rifles, and were escorted by him, in a fly, to his quarters. The camp is a large city, composed of numberless wooden barracks, arranged in regular streets, on a wide, bleak heath, with an extensive and dreary prospect on all sides. Lieutenant Shaw assigned me one room in his hut, and Bennoch another, and made us as comfortable as kind hospitality could; but the huts are very small, and the rooms have no size at all; neither are they air-tight, and the sharp wind whistles in at the crevices; and, on the whole, of all discomfortable places, I am inclined to reckon Aldershott Camp the most so. I suppose the government has placed the camp on that windy heath, and built such wretched huts, for the very purpose of rendering life as little desirable as may be to the soldiers, so that they should throw it away the more willingly. At seven o'clock we dined at the regimental mess, with the officers of the North Cork. The mess-room is by far the most endurable place to be found in camp. The hut is large, and the mess-room is capable of receiving between thirty and forty guests, besides the officers of the regiment, when a great dinner-party is given. As I saw it, the whole space was divided into a dining-room and two anterooms by red curtains drawn across; and the second anteroom seems to be a general rendezvous for the officers, where they meet at all times, and talk, or look over the newspapers and the army-register, which constitute the chief of their reading. The Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment received Bennoch and me with great cordiality, as did all the other officers, and we sat down to a splendid dinner. All the officers of the regiment are Irishmen, and all of them, I believe, men of fortune; and they do what they can towards alleviating their hardships in camp by eating and drinking of the best that can be obtained of all good things. The table service and plate were as fine as those in any nobleman's establishment; the dishes numerous and admirably got up; and the wines delectable and genuine,--as they had need to be; for there is a great consumption of them. I liked these Irish officers exceedingly;--not that it would be possible to live long among them without finding existence a bore; for they have no thought, no intellectual movement, no ideas, that I was aware of, beyond horses, dogs, drill, garrisons, field-days, whist, wine, cigars, and all that kind of thing; yet they were really gentlemen living on the best terms with one another,--courteous, kind, most hospitable, with a rich Irish humor, softened down by social refinements,--not too refined either, but a most happy sort of behavior, as natural as that of children, and with a safe freedom that made one feel entirely at my ease. I think well of the Irish gentlemen, for their sakes; and I believe I might fairly attribute to Lieutenant-Colonel Stowell (next whom I sat) a higher and finer cultivation than the above description indicates. Indeed, many of them may have been capable of much more intellectual intercourse than that of the mess-table; but I suppose it would not have been in keeping with their camp life, nor suggested by it. Several of the elder officers were men who had been long in the army; and the Colonel--a bluff, hearty old soldier, with a profile like an eagle's head and beak--was a veteran of the Peninsula, and had a medal on his breast with clasps for three famous battles besides that of Waterloo. The regimental band played during dinner, and the Lieutenant-Colonel apologized to me for its not playing "Hail Columbia," the tune not coning within their musical accomplishments. It was no great matter, however; for I should not have distinguished it from any other tune; but, to do me what honor was possible, in the way of national airs, the band was ordered to play a series of negro melodies, and I was entirely satisfied. It is really funny that the "wood-notes wild" of those poor black slaves should have been played in a foreign laud as an honorable compliment to one of their white countrymen. After dinner we played whist, and then had some broiled bones for supper, and finally went home to our respective huts not much earlier than four o'clock. But I don't wonder these gentlemen sit up as long as they can keep their eyes open; for never was there anything so utterly comfortless as their camp-beds. They are really worse than the bed of honor, no wider, no softer, no warmer, and affording not nearly so sound sleep. Indeed, I got hardly any sleep at all, and almost as soon as I did close my eyes, the bugles sounded, and the drums beat reveille, and from that moment the camp was all astir; so I pretty soon uprose, and went to the mess-room for my breakfast, feeling wonderfully fresh and well, considering what my night had been. Long before this, however, this whole regiment, and all the other regiments, marched off to take part in a general review, and Bennoch and I followed, as soon as we had eaten a few mutton-chops. It was a bright, sunshiny day; but with a strong east-wind, as piercing and pitiless as ever blew; and this wide, undulating plain of Aldershott seemed just the place where the east-wind was at home. Still, it acted, on the whole, like an invigorating cordial; and whereas in pleasanter circumstances I should have lain down, and gone to sleep, I now felt as if I could do without sleep for a month. In due time we found out the place of the North Cork Regiment in the general battle-array, and were greeted as old comrades by the Colonel and other officers. Soon the soldiers (who, when we first reached them, were strolling about, or standing at ease) were called into order; and anon we saw a group of mounted officers riding along the lines, and among them a gentleman in a civilian's round hat, and plain frock and trousers, riding on a white horse. This group of riders turned the front of the regiment, and then passed along the rear, coming close to where we stood; and as the plainly dressed gentleman rode by, he bent towards me, and I tried to raise my hat, but did not succeed very well, because the fierce wind had compelled me to jam it tightly upon my head. The Duke of Cambridge (for this was he) is a comely-looking gentlemanly man, of bluff English face, with a great deal of brown beard about it. Though a pretty tall man, he appears, on horseback, broad and round in proportion to his height. I looked at him with a certain sort of interest, and a feeling of kindness; for one does feel kindly to whatever human being is anywise marked out from the rest, unless it be by his disagreeable qualities. The troops, from twelve to fifteen thousand, now fell into marching order, and went to attack a wood, where we were to suppose the enemy to be stationed. The sham-fight seemed to me rather clumsily managed, and without any striking incident or result. The officers had prophesied, the night before, that General K------, commanding in the camp, would make a muddle of it; and probably he did. After the review, the Duke of Cambridge with his attendant officers took their station, and all the regiments marched in front of him, saluting as they passed. As each colonel rode by, and as the banner of each regiment was lowered, the Duke lifted his hat. The most splendid effect of this parade was the gleam of the sun upon the long line of bayonets,--the sheen of all that steel appearing like a wavering fringe of light upon the dark masses of troops below. It was very fine. But I was glad when all was done, and I could go back to the mess-room, whither I carried an excellent appetite for luncheon. After this we walked about the camp,--looked at some model tents, inspected the arrangements and modes of living in the huts of the privates; and thus gained more and more adequate ideas of the vile uncomfortableness of a military life. Finally, I went to the anteroom and turned over the regimental literature,--a peerage and baronetage,--an army and militia register, a number of the Sporting Magazine, and one of the United Service, while Bennoch took another walk. Before dinner we both tried to catch a little nap by way of compensation for last night's deficiencies; but, for my part, the attempt was fruitless. The dinner was as splendid and as agreeable as that of the evening before; and I believe it was nearly two o'clock when Bennoch and I bade farewell to our kind entertainers. For my part I fraternized with these military gentlemen in a way that augurs the very best things for the future peace of the two countries. They all expressed the warmest sympathies towards America and it was easy to judge from their conversation that there is no real friendliness on the part of the military towards the French. The old antipathy is just as strong as ever,--stronger than ever, perhaps, on account of the comparatively more brilliant success of the French in this Russian war. So, with most Christian sentiments of peace and brotherly love, we returned to our hut, and lay down, each in his narrow bed. Early in the morning the drums and bugles began the usual bedevilment; and shortly after six I dressed, and we had breakfast at the mess-room, shook hands with Lieutenant Shaw (our more especial host), and drove off to the railway station at Ash. I know not whether I have mentioned that the villages neighboring to the camp have suffered terribly as regards morality from the vicinity of the soldiers. Quiet old English towns, that till within a little time ago had kept their antique simplicity and innocence, have now no such thing as female virtue in them, so far as the lower classes are concerned. This is expressing the matter too strongly, no doubt; but there is too much truth in it, nevertheless; and one of the officers remarked that even ladies of respectability had grown much more free in manners and conversation than at first. I have heard observations similar to this from a Nova-Scotian, in reference to the moral influence of soldiers when stationed in the provinces. WOOTON. Wooton stands in a hollow, near the summit of one of the long swells that here undulate over the face of the country. There is a good deal of wood behind it, as should be the case with the residence of the author of the Sylva; but I believe few, if any, of these trees are known to have been planted by John Evelyn, or even to have been coeval with his time. The house is of brick, partly ancient, and consists of a front and two projecting wings, with a porch and entrance in the centre. It has a desolate, meagre aspect, and needs something to give it life and stir and jollity. The present proprietor is of the old Evelyn family, and is now one of the two members of Parliament for Surrey; but he is a very shy and retiring man, unmarried, sees little company, and seems either not to know how to make himself comfortable or not to care about it. A servant told us that Mr. ------ had just gone out, but Tupper, who is apparently on intimate terms with him, thought it best that we should go into the house, while he went in search of the master. So the servant ushered us through a hall,--where were many family pictures by Lely, and, for aught I know, by Vandyke, and by Kneller, and other famous painters,--up a grand staircase, and into the library, the inner room of which contained the ponderous volumes which John Evelyn used to read. Nevertheless, it was a room of most barren aspect, without a carpet on the floor, with pine bookcases, with a common whitewashed ceiling, with no luxurious study-chairs, and without a fire. There was an open folio on the table, and a sheet of manuscript that appeared to have been recently written. I took down a book from the shelves (a volume of annals, connected with English history), and Tupper afterwards told us that this one single volume, for its rarity, was worth either two or three hundred pounds. Against one of the windows of this library there grows a magnolia-tree, with a very large stem, and at least fifty years old. Mrs. Tupper and I waited a good while, and then Bennoch and Tupper came back, without having found Mr. ------. Tupper wished very much to show the prayer-book used by King Charles at his execution, and some curious old manuscript volumes; but the servant said that his master always kept these treasures locked up, and trusted the key to nobody. We therefore had to take our leave without seeing them; and I have not often entered a house that one feels to be more forlorn than Wooton,--although we did have a glimpse of a dining-room, with a table laid for three or four guests, and looking quite brilliant with plate and glass and snowy napery. There was a fire, too, in this one room. Mr. ------ is making extensive alterations in the house, or has recently done so, and this is perhaps one reason of its ungenial meagreness and lack of finish. Before our departure from Wooton, Tupper had asked me to leave my card for Mr. ------; but I had no mind to overstep any limit of formal courtesy in dealing with an Englishman, and therefore declined. Tupper, however, on his own responsibility, wrote his name, Bennoch's, and mine on a piece of paper, and told the servant to show them to Mr. ------. We soon had experience of the good effect of this; for we had scarcely got back before somebody drove up to Tupper's door, and one of the girls, looking out, exclaimed that there was Mr. ------ himself, and another gentleman. He had set out, the instant he heard of our call, to bring the three precious volumes for me to see. This surely was most kind; a kindness which I should never have dreamed of expecting from a shy, retiring man like Mr. ------. So he and his friend were ushered into the dining-room, and introduced. Mr. ------ is a young-looking man, dark, with a mustache, rather small, and though he has the manners of a man who has seen the world, it evidently requires an effort in him to speak to anybody; and I could see his whole person slightly writhing itself, as it were, while he addressed me. This is strange in a man of his public position, member for the county, necessarily mixed up with life in many forms, the possessor of sixteen thousand pounds a year, and the representative of an ancient name. Nevertheless, I liked him, and felt as if I could become intimately acquainted with him, if circumstances were favorable; but, at a brief interview like this, it was hopeless to break through two great reserves; so I talked more with his companion--a pleasant young man, fresh from college, I should imagine--than with Mr. ------ himself. The three books were really of very great interest. One was an octavo volume of manuscript in John Evelyn's own hand, the beginning of his published diary, written as distinctly as print, in a small, clear character. It can be read just as easily as any printed book. Another was a Church of England prayer-book, which King Charles used on the scaffold, and which was stained with his sacred blood, and underneath are two or three lines in John Evelyn's hand, certifying this to be the very book. It is an octavo, or small folio, and seems to have been very little used, scarcely opened, except in one spot; its leaves elsewhere retaining their original freshness and elasticity. It opens most readily at the commencement of the common service; and there, on the left-hand page, is a discoloration, of a yellowish or brownish hue, about two thirds of an inch large, which, two hundred years ago and a little more, was doubtless red. For on that page had fallen a drop of King Charles's blood. The other volume was large, and contained a great many original letters, written by the king during his troubles. I had not time to examine them with any minuteness, and remember only one document, which Mr. ------ pointed out, and which had a strange pathos and pitifulness in it. It was a sort of due-bill, promising to pay a small sum for beer, which had been supplied to his Majesty, so soon as God should enable him, or the distracted circumstances of his kingdom make it possible,--or some touching and helpless expression of that kind. Prince Hal seemed to consider it an unworthy matter, that a great prince should think of "that poor creature, small beer," at all; but that a great prince should not be able to pay for it is far worse. Mr. ------ expressed his regret that I was not staying longer in this part of the country, as he would gladly have seen me at Wooten, and he succeeded in saying something about my books; and I hope I partly succeeded in showing him that I was very sensible of his kindness in letting me see those relics. I cannot say whether or no I expressed it sufficiently. It is better with such a man, or, indeed, with any man, to say too little than too much; and, in fact, it would have been indecorous in me to take too much of his kindness to my own share, Bennoch being likewise in question. We had a cup of coffee, and then took our leave; Tupper accompanying us part way down the village street, and bidding us an affectionate farewell. BATTLE ABBEY. Bennoch and I recommenced our travels, and, changing from one railway to another, reached Tunbridge Wells at nine or ten in the evening. . . . The next day was spent at Tunbridge Wells, which is famous for a chalybeate spring, and is a watering-place of note, most healthily situated on a high, breezy hill, with many pleasant walks in the neighborhood. . . . From Tunbridge Wells we transported ourselves to Battle,--the village in which is Battle Abbey. It is a large village, with many antique houses and some new ones; and in its principal street, on one side, with a wide, green space before it, you see the gray, embattled, outer wall, and great, square, battlemented entrance tower (with a turret at each corner), of the ancient Abbey. It is the perfect reality of a Gothic battlement and gateway, just as solid and massive as when it was first built, though hoary and venerable with the many intervening centuries. There are only two days in the week on which visitors are allowed entrance, and this was not one of them. Nevertheless, Bennoch was determined to get in, and he wished me to send Lady Webster my card with his own; but this I utterly refused, for the honor of America and for my own honor; because I will not do anything to increase the reputation we already have as a very forward people. Bennoch, however, called at a bookshop on the other side of the street, near the gateway of the castle; and making friends, as he has a marvellous tact in doing, with the bookseller, the latter offered to take in his card to the housekeeper, and see if Lady Webster would not relax her rule in our favor. Meanwhile, we went into the old church of Battle, which was built in Norman times, though subsequently to the Abbey. As we entered the church door, the bell rang for joy at the news of peace, which had just been announced by the London papers. The church has been whitewashed in modern times, and does not look so venerable as it ought, with its arches and pillared aisles. In the chancel stands a marble tomb, heavy, rich, and elaborate, on the top of which lie the broken-nosed statues of Sir Anthony Browne and his lady, who were the Lord and Lady of Battle Abbey in Henry VIII.'s time. The knight is in armor, and the lady in stately garb, and (save for their broken noses) they are in excellent preservation. The pavement of the chancel and aisles is all laid with tombstones, and on two or three of these there were engraved brasses, representing knights in armor, and churchmen, with inscriptions in Latin. Some of them are very old. On the walls, too, there are various monuments, principally of dignitaries connected with the Abbey. Two hatchments, in honor of persons recently dead, were likewise suspended in the chancel. The best pew of the church is, of course, that of the Webster family. It is curtained round, carpeted, furnished with chairs and footstools, and more resembles a parlor than a pew; especially as there is a fireplace in one of the pointed archways, which I suppose has been bricked up in order to form it. On the opposite side of the aisle is the pew of some other magnate, containing a stove. The rest of the parishioners have to keep themselves warm with the fervor of their own piety. I have forgotten what else was interesting, except that we were shown a stone coffin, recently dug up, in which was hollowed a place for the head of the corpse. Returning to the bookshop, we found that Lady Webster had sent her compliments, and would be very happy to have us see the Abbey. How thoroughly kind these English people can be when they like, and how often they like to be so! We lost no time in ringing the bell at the arched entrance, under the great tower, and were admitted by an old woman who lives, I believe, in the thickness of the wall. She told us her room used to be the prison of the Abbey, and under the great arch she pointed to a projecting beam, where she said criminals used to be hanged. At two of the intersecting points of the arches, which form the roof of the gateway, were carved faces of stone, said to represent King Harold and William the Conqueror. The exterior wall, of which this tower is the gateway, extends far along the village street, and encloses a very large space, within which stands the mansion, quite secluded from unauthorized visitors, or even from the sight of those without, unless it be at very distant eyeshot. We rang at the principal door of the edifice (it is under a deep arch, in the Norman style, but of modern date), and a footman let its in, and then delivered us over to a respectable old lady in black. She was a Frenchwoman by birth, but had been very long in the service of the family, and spoke English almost without an accent; her French blood being indicated only by her thin and withered aspect, and a greater gentility of manner than would have been seen in an Englishwoman of similar station. She ushered us first into a grand and noble hall, the arched and carved oaken roof of which ascended into the gable. It was nearly sixty feet long, and its height equal to its length,--as stately a hall, I should imagine, as is anywhere to be found in a private mansion. It was lighted, at one end, by a great window, beneath which, occupying the whole breadth of the hall, hung a vast picture of the Battle of Hastings; and whether a good picture or no, it was a rich adornment of the hall. The walls were wainscoted high upward with oak: they were almost covered with noble pictures of ancestry, and of kings and great men, and beautiful women; there were trophies of armor hung aloft; and two armed figures, one in brass mail, the other in bright steel, stood on a raised dais, underneath the great picture. At the end of the hall, opposite the picture, a third of the way up towards the roof, was a gallery. All these things that I have enumerated were in perfect condition, without rust, untouched by decay or injury of any kind; but yet they seemed to belong to a past age, and were mellowed, softened in their splendor, a little dimmed with time,--toned down into a venerable magnificence. Of all domestic things that I have seen in England, it satisfied me most. Then the Frenchwoman showed us into various rooms and offices, most of which were contrived out of the old abbey-cloisters, and the vaulted cells and apartments in which the monks used to live. If any house be haunted, I should suppose this might be. If any church-property bring a curse with it, as people say, I do not see how the owners of Battle Abbey can escape it, taking possession of and dwelling in these holy precincts, as they have done, and laying their kitchen hearth with the stones of overthrown altars. The Abbey was first granted, I believe, to Sir Anthony Browne, whom I saw asleep with his lady in the church. It was his first wife. I wish it had been his second; for she was Surrey's Geraldine. The posterity of Sir Anthony kept the place till 1719, and then sold it to the Websters, a family of Baronets, who are still the owners and occupants. The present proprietor is Sir Augustus Webster, whose mother is the lady that so kindly let us into the Abbey. Mr. Bennoch gave the nice old French lady half a crown, and we next went round among the ruined portions of the Abbey, under the gardener's guidance. We saw two ivied towers, insulated from all other ruins; and an old refectory, open to the sky, and a vaulted crypt, supported by pillars; and we saw, too, the foundation and scanty remains of a chapel, which had been long buried out of sight of man, and only dug up within present memory,--about forty years ago. There had always been a tradition that this was the spot where Harold had planted his standard, and where his body was found after the battle; and the discovery of the ruined chapel confirmed the tradition. I might have seen a great deal more, had there been time; and I have forgotten much of what I did see; but it is an exceedingly interesting place. There is an avenue of old yew-trees, which meet above like a cloistered arch; and this is called the Monks' Walk. I rather think they were ivy, though growing unsupported. As we were retiring, the gardener suddenly stopped, as if he were alarmed, and motioned to us to do the same, saying, "I believe it is my lady!" And so it was,--a tall and stately lady in black, trimming shrubs in the garden. She bowed to us very graciously,--we raised our hats, and thus we met and parted without more ado. As we went through the arch of the entrance tower, Bennoch gave the old female warder a shilling, and the gardener followed us to get half a crown. HASTINGS. We took a fly and driver from the principal hotel of Battle, and drove off for Hastings, about seven miles distant. Hastings is now a famous watering and sea-bathing place, and seems to be well sheltered from the winds, though open to the sea, which here stretches off towards France. We climbed a high and steep hill, terraced round its base with streets of modern lodging-houses, and crowned on its summit with the ruins of a castle, the foundation of which was anterior to the Conquest. This castle has no wall towards the sea, the precipice being too high and sheer to admit of attack on that side. I have quite exhausted my descriptive faculty for the present, so shall say nothing of this old castle, which indeed (the remains being somewhat scanty and scraggling) is chiefly picturesque and interesting from its bold position on such a headlong hill. Clambering down on another side from that of our ascent, we entered the town of Hastings, which seems entirely modern, and made up of lodging-houses, shops, hotels, parades, and all such makings up of watering-places generally. We took a delightful warm bath, washing off all weariness and naughtiness, and coming out new men. Then we walked to St. Leonard's,--a part of Hastings, I believe, but a mile or two from the castle, and there called at the lodgings of two friends of Bennoch. These were Mr. Martin, the author of Bon Gaultier's ballads, and his wife, the celebrated actress, Helen Faucett. Mr. Martin is a barrister, a gentleman whose face and manners suited me at once; a simple, refined, sincere, not too demonstrative person. His wife, too, I liked; a tall, dark, fine, and lady-like woman, with the simplest manners, that give no trouble at all, and so must be perfect. With these two persons I felt myself, almost in a moment, on friendly terms, and in true accord, and so I talked, I think, more than I have at any time since coming to London. We took a pleasant lunch at their house; and then they walked with us to the railway station, and there they took leave of Bennoch affectionately and of me hardly less so; for, in truth, we had grown to be almost friends in this very little while. And as we rattled away, I said to Bennoch earnestly, "What good people they are!"--and Bennoch smiled, as if he had known perfectly well that I should think and say so. And thus we rushed onward to London; and I reached St. James's Place between nine and ten o'clock, after a very interesting tour, the record of which I wish I could have kept as we went along, writing each day's history before another day's adventures began. END OF VOL. I. 
7877	----	PASSAGES FROM THE ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS By Nathaniel Hawthorne VOL. II. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS. LONDON.--MILTON-CLUB DINNER. April 4th, 1856.--On Tuesday I went to No. 14 Ludgate Hill, to dine with Bennoch at the Milton Club; a club recently founded for dissenters, nonconformists, and people whose ideas, religious or political, are not precisely in train with the establishment in church and state. I was shown into a large reading-room, well provided with periodicals and newspapers, and found two or three persons there; but Bennoch had not yet arrived. In a few moments, a tall gentleman with white hair came in,--a fine and intelligent-looking man, whom I guessed to be one of those who were to meet me. He walked about, glancing at the periodicals; and soon entered Mr. Tupper, and, without seeing me, exchanged warm greetings with the white-haired gentleman. "I suppose," began Mr. Tupper, "you have come to meet--" Now, conscious that my name was going to be spoken, and not knowing but the excellent Mr. Tupper might say something which he would not, quite like me to overhear, I advanced at once, with outstretched hand, and saluted him. He expressed great joy at the recognition, and immediately introduced me to Mr. Hall. The dining-room was pretty large and lofty, and there were sixteen guests at table, most of them authors, or people connected with the press; so that the party represented a great deal of the working intellect of London at this present day and moment,--the men whose plays, whose songs, whose articles, are just now in vogue. Mr. Tom Taylor was one of the very few whose writings I had known anything about. He is a tall, slender, dark young man, not English-looking, and wearing colored spectacles, so that I should readily have taken him for an American literary man. I did not have much opportunity of talking with him, nor with anybody else, except Dr. ------, who seemed a shrewd, sensible man, with a certain slight acerbity of thought. Mr. Herbert Ingram, recently elected member of Parliament, was likewise present, and sat on Bennoch's left. It was a very good dinner, with an abundance of wine, which Bennoch sent round faster than was for the next day's comfort of his guests. It is singular that I should thus far have quite forgotten W------ H--------, whose books I know better than those of any other person there. He is a white-headed, stout, firm-looking, and rather wrinkled-faced old gentleman, whose temper, I should imagine, was not the very sweetest in the world. There is all abruptness, a kind of sub-acidity, if not bitterness, in his address; he seemed not to be, in short, so genial as I should have anticipated from his books. As soon as the cloth was removed, Bennoch, without rising from his chair, made a speech in honor of his eminent and distinguished guest, which illustrious person happened to be sitting in the selfsame chair that I myself occupied. I have no recollection of what he said, nor of what I said in reply, but I remember that both of us were cheered and applauded much more than the occasion deserved. Then followed about fifty other speeches; for every single individual at table was called up (as Tupper said, "toasted and roasted"), and, for my part, I was done entirely brown (to continue T-----'s figure). Everybody said something kind, not a word or idea of which can I find in my memory. Certainly, if I never get any more praise in my life, I have had enough of it for once. I made another little bit of a speech, too, in response to something that was said in reference to the present difficulties between England and America, and ended, as a proof that I deemed war impossible, with drinking success to the British army, and calling on Lieutenant Shaw, of the Aldershott Camp, to reply. I am afraid I must have said something very wrong, for the applause was vociferous, and I could hear the gentlemen whispering about the table, "Good!" "Good!" "Yes, he is a fine fellow,"--and other such ill-earned praises; and I took shame to myself, and held my tongue (publicly) the rest of the evening. But in such cases something must be allowed to the excitement of the moment, and to the effect of kindness and goodwill, so broadly and warmly displayed; and even a sincere man must not be held to speak as if he were under oath. We separated, in a blessed state of contentment with one another, at about eleven; and (lest I should starve before morning) I went with Mr. D------ to take supper at his house in Park Lane. Mr. D------ is a pale young gentleman, of American aspect, being a West-Indian by birth. He is one of the principal writers of editorials for the Times. We were accompanied in the carriage by another gentleman, Mr. M------, who is connected with the management of the same paper. He wrote the letters from Scutari, which drew so much attention to the state of the hospitals. Mr. D------ is the husband of the former Miss ------, the actress, and when we reached his house, we found that she had just come home from the theatre, and was taking off her stage-dress. Anon she came down to the drawing-room,--a seemingly good, simple, and intelligent lady, not at all pretty, and, I should think, older than her husband. She was very kind to me, and told me that she had read one of my books--The House of the Seven Gables--thirteen years ago; which I thought remarkable, because I did not write it till eight or nine years afterwards. The principal talk during supper (which consisted of Welsh-rabbit and biscuits, with champagne and sodawater) was about the Times, and the two contributors expressed vast admiration of Mr. ------, who has the chief editorial management of the paper. It is odd to find how little we outsiders know of men who really exercise a vast influence on affairs, for this Mr. ------ is certainly of far more importance in the world than a minister of state. He writes nothing himself; but the character of the Times seems to depend upon his intuitive, unerring judgment; and if ever he is absent from his post, even for a day or two, they say that the paper immediately shows it. In reply to my questions, they appeared to acknowledge that he was a man of expediency, but of a very high expediency, and that he gave the public the very best principles which it was capable of receiving. Perhaps it may be so: the Times's articles are certainly not written in so high a moral vein as might be wished; but what they lack in height they gain in breadth. Every sensible man in England finds his own best common-sense there; and, in effect, I think its influence is wholesome. Apropos of public speaking, Dr. ------ said that Sir Lytton Bulwer asked him (I think the anecdote was personal to himself) whether he felt his heart beat when he was going to speak. "Yes." "Does your voice frighten you?" "Yes." "Do all your ideas forsake you?" "Yes." "Do you wish the floor to open and swallow you?" "Yes." "Why, then, you'll make an orator!" Dr. ------ told of Canning, too, how once, before rising to speak in the House of Commons, he bade his friend feel his pulse, which was throbbing terrifically. "I know I shall make one of my best speeches," said Canning, "because I'm in such an awful funk!" President Pierce, who has a great deal of oratorical power, is subject to a similar horror and reluctance. REFORM-CLUB DINNER. April 5th.--On Thursday, at eight o'clock, I went to the Reform Club, to dine with Dr. ------. The waiter admitted me into a great basement hall, with a tessellated or mosaic or somehow figured floor of stone, and lighted from a dome of lofty height. In a few minutes Dr. ------ appeared, and showed me about the edifice, which is very noble and of a substantial magnificence that was most satisfactory to behold,--no wood-work imitating better materials, but pillars and balustrades of marble, and everything what it purports to be. The reading-room is very large, and luxuriously comfortable, and contains an admirable library: there are rooms and conveniences for every possible purpose; and whatever material for enjoyment a bachelor may need, or ought to have, he can surely find it here, and on such reasonable terms that a small income will do as much for him as a far greater one on any other system. In a colonnade, on the first floor, surrounding the great basement hall, there are portraits of distinguished reformers, and black niches for others yet to come. Joseph Hume, I believe, is destined to fill one of these blanks; but I remarked that the larger part of the portraits, already hung up, are of men of high rank,--the Duke of Sussex, for instance; Lord Durham, Lord Grey; and, indeed, I remember no commoner. In one room, I saw on the wall the fac-simile, so common in the United States, of our Declaration of Independence. Descending again to the basement hall, an elderly gentleman came in, and was warmly welcomed by Dr. ------. He was a very short man, but with breadth enough, and a back excessively bent,--bowed almost to deformity; very gray hair, and a face and expression of remarkable briskness and intelligence. His profile came out pretty boldly, and his eyes had the prominence that indicates, I believe, volubility of speech, nor did he fail to talk from the instant of his appearance; and in the tone of his voice, and in his glance, and in the whole man, there was something racy,--a flavor of the humorist. His step was that of an aged man, and he put his stick down very decidedly at every footfall; though as he afterwards told me that he was only fifty-two, he need not yet have been infirm. But perhaps he has had the gout; his feet, however, are by no means swollen, but unusually small. Dr. ------ introduced him as Mr. Douglas Jerrold, and we went into the coffee-room to dine. The coffee-room occupies one whole side of the edifice, and is provided with a great many tables, calculated for three or four persons to dine at; and we sat down at one of these, and Dr. ------ ordered some mulligatawny soup, and a bottle of white French wine. The waiters in the coffee-room are very numerous, and most of them dressed in the livery of the Club, comprising plush breeches and white-silk stockings; for these English Reformers do not seem to include Republican simplicity of manners in their system. Neither, perhaps, is it anywise essential. After the soup, we had turbot, and by and by a bottle of Chateau Margaux, very delectable; and then some lambs' feet, delicately done, and some cutlets of I know not what peculiar type; and finally a ptarmigan, which is of the same race of birds as the grouse, but feeds high up towards the summits of the Scotch mountains. Then some cheese, and a bottle of Chambertin. It was a very pleasant dinner, and my companions were both very agreeable men; both taking a shrewd, satirical, yet not ill-natured, view of life and people, and as for Mr. Douglas Jerrold, he often reminded me of E---- C------, in the richer veins of the latter, both by his face and expression, and by a tincture of something at once wise and humorously absurd in what he said. But I think he has a kinder, more genial, wholesomer nature than E----, and under a very thin crust of outward acerbity I grew sensible of a very warm heart, and even of much simplicity of character in this man, born in London, and accustomed always to London life. I wish I had any faculty whatever of remembering what people say; but, though I appreciate anything good at the moment, it never stays in my memory; nor do I think, in fact, that anything definite, rounded, pointed, separable, and transferable from the general lump of conversation was said by anybody. I recollect that they laughed at Mr. ------, and at his shedding a tear into a Scottish river, on occasion of some literary festival. . . . They spoke approvingly of Bulwer, as valuing his literary position, and holding himself one of the brotherhood of authors; and not so approvingly of Charles Dickens, who, born a plebeian, aspires to aristocratic society. But I said that it was easy to condescend, and that Bulwer knew he could not put off his rank, and that he would have all the advantages of it in spite of his authorship. We talked about the position of men of letters in England, and they said that the aristocracy hated and despised and feared them; and I asked why it was that literary men, having really so much power in their hands, were content to live unrecognized in the State. Douglas Jerrold talked of Thackeray and his success in America, and said that he himself purposed going and had been invited thither to lecture. I asked him whether it was pleasant to a writer of plays to see them performed; and he said it was intolerable, the presentation of the author's idea being so imperfect; and Dr. ------ observed that it was excruciating to hear one of his own songs sung. Jerrold spoke of the Duke of Devonshire with great warmth, as a true, honest, simple, most kind-hearted man, from whom he himself had received great courtesies and kindnesses (not, as I understood, in the way of patronage or essential favors); and I (Heaven forgive me!) queried within myself whether this English reforming author would have been quite so sensible of the Duke's excellence if his Grace had not been a duke. But indeed, a nobleman, who is at the same time a true and whole-hearted man, feeling his brotherhood with men, does really deserve some credit for it. In the course of the evening, Jerrold spoke with high appreciation of Emerson; and of Longfellow, whose Hiawatha he considered a wonderful performance; and of Lowell, whose Fable for Critics he especially admired. I mentioned Thoreau, and proposed to send his works to Dr. ------, who, being connected with the Illustrated News, and otherwise a writer, might be inclined to draw attention to then. Douglas Jerrold asked why he should not have them too. I hesitated a little, but as he pressed me, and would have an answer, I said that I did not feel quite so sure of his kindly judgment on Thoreau's books; and it so chanced that I used the word "acrid" for lack of a better, in endeavoring to express my idea of Jerrold's way of looking at men and books. It was not quite what I meant; but, in fact, he often is acrid, and has written pages and volumes of acridity, though, no doubt, with an honest purpose, and from a manly disgust at the cant and humbug of the world. Jerrold said no more, and I went on talking with Dr. ------; but, in a minute or two, I became aware that something had gone wrong, and, looking at Douglas Jerrold, there was an expression of pain and emotion on his face. By this time a second bottle of Burgundy had been opened (Clos Vougeot, the best the Club could produce, and far richer than the Chambertin), and that warm and potent wine may have had something to do with the depth and vivacity of Mr. Jerrold's feelings. But he was indeed greatly hurt by that little word "acrid." "He knew," he said, "that the world considered him a sour, bitter, ill-natured man; but that such a man as I should have the sane opinion was almost more than he could bear." As he spoke, he threw out his arms, sank back in his seat, and I was really a little apprehensive of his actual dissolution into tears. Hereupon I spoke, as was good need, and though, as usual, I have forgotten everything I said, I am quite sure it was to the purpose, and went to this good fellow's heart, as it came warmly from my own. I do remember saying that I felt him to be as genial as the glass of Burgundy which I held in my hand; and I think that touched the very right spot; for he smiled, and said he was afraid the Burgundy was better than he, but yet he was comforted. Dr. ------ said that he likewise had a reputation for bitterness; and I assured him, if I might venture to join myself to the brotherhood of two such men, that I was considered a very ill-natured person by many people in my own country. Douglas Jerrold said he was glad of it. We were now in sweetest harmony, and Jerrold spoke more than it would become me to repeat in praise of my own books, which he said he admired, and he found the man more admirable than his books! I hope so, certainly. We now went to the Haymarket Theatre, where Douglas Jerrold is on the free list; and after seeing a ballet by some Spanish dancers, we separated, and betook ourselves to our several homes. I like Douglas Jerrold very much. April 8th.--On Saturday evening, at ten o'clock, I went to a supper-party at Mr. D------'s, and there met five or six people,--Mr. Faed, a young and distinguished artist; Dr. Eliotson, a dark, sombre, taciturn, powerful-looking man, with coal-black hair, and a beard as black, fringing round his face; Mr. Charles Reade, author of Christie Johnstone and other novels, and many plays,--a tall man, more than thirty, fair-haired, and of agreeable talk and demeanor. On April 6th, I went to the Waterloo station, and there meeting Bennoch and Dr. ------, took the rail for Woking, where we found Mr. Hall's carriage waiting to convey us to Addlestone, about five miles off. On arriving we found that Mr. and Mrs. Hall had not yet returned from church. Their place is an exceedingly pretty one, and arranged in very good taste. The house is not large; but is filled, in every room, with fine engravings, statuettes, ingenious prettinesses or beautifulnesses in the way of flower-stands, cabinets, and things that seem to have bloomed naturally out of the characters of its occupants. There is a conservatory connected with the drawing-room, and enriched with lovely plants, one of which has a certain interest as being the plant on which Coleridge's eyes were fixed when he died. This conservatory is likewise beautified with several very fine casts of statues by modern sculptors, among which was the Greek Slave of Powers, which my English friends criticised as being too thin and meagre; but I defended it as in accordance with American ideas of feminine beauty. From the conservatory we passed into the garden, but did not minutely examine it, knowing that Mr. Hall would wish to lead us through it in person. So, in the mean time, we took a walk in the neighborhood, over stiles and along by-paths, for two or three miles, till we reached the old village of Chertsey. In one of its streets stands an ancient house, gabled, and with the second story projecting over the first, and bearing an inscription to the purport that the poet Cowley had once resided, and, I think, died there. Thence we passed on till we reached a bridge over the Thames, which at this point, about twenty-five miles from London, is a narrow river, but looks clean and pure, and unconscious what abominations the city sewers will pour into it anon. We were caught in two or three showers in the course of our walk; but got back to Firfield without being very much wetted. Our host and hostess had by this time returned from church, and Mrs. Hall came frankly and heartily to the door to greet us, scolding us (kindly) for having got wet. . . . I liked her simple, easy, gentle, quiet manners, and I liked her husband too. He has a wide and quick sympathy, and expresses it freely. . . . The world is the better for him. The shower being now over, we went out upon the beautiful lawn before his house, where there were a good many trees of various kinds, many of which have been set out by persons of great or small distinction, and are labelled with their names. Thomas Moore's name was appended to one; Maria Edgeworth's to another; likewise Fredrika Bremer's, Jenny Lind's; also Grace Greenwood's, and I know not whose besides. This is really a pleasant method of enriching one's grounds with memorials of friends, nor is there any harm in making a shrubbery of celebrities. Three holes were already dug, and three new trees lay ready to be planted, and for me there was a sumach to plant,--a tree I never liked; but Mr. Hall said that they had tried to dig up a hawthorn, but found it clung too fast to the soil. So, since better might not be, and telling Mr. Hall that I supposed I should have a right to hang myself on this tree whenever I chose, I seized a spade, and speedily shovelled in a great deal of dirt; and there stands my sumach, an object of interest to posterity! Bennoch also and Dr. ------ set out their trees, and indeed, it was in some sense a joint affair, for the rest of the party held up each tree, while its godfather shovelled in the earth; but, after all, the gardener had more to do with it than we. After this important business was over, Mr. Hall led us about his rounds, which are very nicely planned and ordered; and all this he has bought, and built, and laid out, from the profits of his own and his wife's literary exertions. We dined early, and had a very pleasant dinner, and, after the cloth was removed, Mr. Hall was graciously pleased to drink my health, following it with a long tribute to my genius. I answered briefly; and one half of my short speech was in all probability very foolish. . . . After the ladies (there were three, one being a girl of seventeen, with rich auburn hair, the adopted daughter of the Halls) had retired, Dr. ------ having been toasted himself, proposed Mrs. Hall's health. I did not have a great deal of conversation with Mrs. Hall; but enough to make me think her a genuine and good woman, unspoilt by a literary career, and retaining more sentiment than even most girls keep beyond seventeen. She told me that it had been the dream of her life to see Longfellow and myself! . . . . Her dream is half accomplished now, and, as they say Longfellow is coming over this summer, the remainder may soon be rounded out. On taking leave, our kind hosts presented me with some beautiful flowers, and with three volumes of a work, by themselves, on Ireland; and Dr. ------ was favored also with some flowers, and a plant in a pot, and Bennoch too had his hands full, . . . . and we went on our way rejoicing. [Here follows an account of the Lord Mayor's dinner, taken mostly for Our Old Home; but I think I will copy this more exact description of the lady mentioned in "Civic Banquets."--ED.] . . . . My eyes were mostly drawn to a young lady, who sat nearly opposite me, across the table. She was, I suppose, dark, and yet not dark, but rather seemed to be of pure white marble, yet not white; but the purest and finest complexion, without a shade of color in it, yet anything but sallow or sickly. Her hair was a wonderful deep raven-black, black as night, black as death; not raven-black, for that has a shiny gloss, and hers had not, but it was hair never to be painted nor described,--wonderful hair, Jewish hair. Her nose had a beautiful outline, though I could see that it was Jewish too; and that, and all her features, were so fine that sculpture seemed a despicable art beside her, and certainly my pen is good for nothing. If any likeness could be given, however; it must be by sculpture, not painting. She was slender and youthful, and yet had a stately and cold, though soft and womanly grace; and, looking at her, I saw what were the wives of the old patriarchs in their maiden or early-married days,--what Judith was, for, womanly as she looked, I doubt, not she could have slain a man in a just cause,--what Bathsheba was, only she seemed to have no sin in her,-- perhaps what Eve was, though one could hardly think her weak enough to eat the apple. . . . Whether owing to distinctness of race, my sense that she was a Jewess, or whatever else, I felt a sort of repugnance, simultaneously with my perception that she was an admirable creature. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. At ten o'clock the next day [after the Lord Mayor's dinner] I went to lunch with Bennoch, and afterwards accompanied him to one of the government offices in Downing Street. He went thither, not on official business, but on a matter connected with a monument to Miss Mitford, in which Mr. Harness, a clergyman and some sort of a government clerk, is interested. I gathered from this conversation that there is no great enthusiasm about the monumental affair among the British public. It surprised me to hear allusions indicating that Miss Mitford was not the invariably amiable person that her writings would suggest; but the whole drift of what they said tended, nevertheless, towards the idea that she was an excellent and generous person, loved most by those who knew her best. From Downing Street we crossed over and entered Westminster Hall, and passed through it, and up the flight of steps at its farthest end, and along the avenue of statues, into the vestibule of the House of Commons. It was now somewhat past five, and we stood at the inner entrance of the House, to see the members pass in, Bennoch pointing out to me the distinguished ones. I was not much impressed with the appearance of the members generally; they seemed to me rather shabbier than English gentlemen usually, and I saw or fancied in many of them a certain self-importance, as they passed into the interior, betokening them to be very full of their dignity. Some of them looked more American--more like American politicians--than most Englishmen do. There was now and then a gray-headed country gentleman, the very type of stupidity; and two or three city members came up and spoke to Bennoch, and showed themselves quite as dull, in their aldermanic way, as the country squires. . . . Bennoch pointed out Lord John Russell, a small, very short, elderly gentleman, in a brown coat, and so large a hat--not large of brim, but large like a peck-measure--that I saw really no face beneath it. By and by came a rather tall, slender person, in a black frock-coat, buttoned up, and black pantaloons, taking long steps, but I thought rather feebly or listlessly. His shoulders were round, or else he had a habitual stoop in them. He had a prominent nose, a thin face, and a sallow, very sallow complexion; . . . . and had I seen him in America I should have taken him for a hard-worked editor of a newspaper, weary and worn with night-labor and want of exercise,--aged before his time. It was Disraeli, and I never saw any other Englishman look in the least like him; though, in America, his appearance would not attract notice as being unusual. I do not remember any other noteworthy person whom we saw enter; in fact, the House had already been some time in session, and most of the members were in their places. We were to dine at the Refectory of the House with the new member for Boston; and, meanwhile, Bennoch obtained admittance for us into the Speaker's gallery, where we had a view of the members, and could hear what was going on. A Mr. Muntz was speaking on the Income Tax, and he was followed by Sir George Cornewall Lewis and others; but it was all very uninteresting, without the slightest animation or attempt at oratory,--which, indeed, would have been quite out of place. We saw Lord Palmerston; but at too great a distance to distinguish anything but a gray head. The House had daylight in it when we entered, and for some time afterwards; but, by and by, the roof, which I had taken to be a solid and opaque ceiling, suddenly brightened, and showed itself to be transparent; a vast expanse of tinted and figured glass, through which came down a great, mild radiance on the members below. The character of the debate, however, did not grow more luminous or vivacious; so we went down into the vestibule, and there waited for Mr. ------, who soon came and led us into the Refectory. It was very much like the coffee-room of a club. The strict rule forbids the entrance of any but members of Parliament; but it seems to be winked at, although there is another room, opening beyond this, where the law of seclusion is strictly enforced. The dinner was good, not remarkably so, but good enough,--a soup, some turbot or salmon, cutlets, and I know not what else, and claret, sherry, and port; for, as Mr. ------ said, "he did not wish to be stingy." Mr. ------ is a self-made man, and a strong instance of the difference between the Englishman and the American, when self-made, and without early education. He is no more a gentleman now than when he began life, --not a whit more refined, either outwardly or inwardly; while the American would have been, after the same experience, not distinguishable outwardly, and perhaps as refined within, as nine tenths of the gentlemen born, in the House of Commons. And, besides, an American comes naturally to any distinctions to which success in life may bring him; he takes them as if they were his proper inheritance, and in no wise to be wondered at. Mr. ------, on the other hand, took evidently a childish delight in his position, and felt a childish wonder in having arrived at it; nor did it seem real to him, after all. . . . We again saw Disraeli, who has risen from the people by modes perhaps somewhat like those of Mr. ------. He came and stood near our table, looking at the bill of fare, and then sat down on the opposite side of the room with another gentleman, and ate his dinner. The story of his marriage does him much credit; and indeed I am inclined to like Disraeli, as a man who has made his own place good among a hostile aristocracy, and leads instead of following them. From the House of Commons we went to Albert Smith's exhibition, or lecture, of the ascent of Mont Blanc, to which Bennoch had orders. It was very amusing, and in some degree instructive. We remained in the saloon at the conclusion of the lecture; and when the audience had dispersed, Mr. Albert Smith made his appearance. . . . Nothing of moment happened the next day, at least, not till two o'clock, when I went with Mr. Bowman to Birch's eating-house (it is not Birch's now, but this was the name of the original founder, who became an alderman, and has long been dead) for a basin of turtle-soup. It was very rich, very good, better than we had at the Lord Mayor's, and the best I ever ate. In the evening, Mr. J. B. Davis, formerly our Secretary of Legation, called to take us to dine at Mr. ------'s in Camden Town. Mr. ------ calls his residence Vermont House; but it hardly has a claim to any separate title, being one of the centre houses of a block. I forget whether I mentioned his calling on me. He is a Vermonter, a graduate of Yale College, who has been here several years, and has established a sort of book brokerage, buying libraries for those who want them, and rare works and editions for American collectors. His business naturally brings him into relations with literary people; and he is himself a kindly and pleasant man. On our arrival we found Mr. D------ and one of his sisters already there; and soon came a Mr. Peabody, who, if I mistake not, is one of the Salem Peabodys, and has some connection with the present eminent London Mr. Peabody. At any rate, he is a very sensible, well-instructed, and widely and long travelled man. Mr. Tom Taylor was also expected; but, owing to some accident or mistake, he did not come for above an hour, all which time our host waited. . . . But Mr. Tom Taylor, a wit, a satirist, and a famous diner out, is too formidable and too valuable a personage to be treated cavalierly. In the interim Mr. ------ showed us some rare old books, which he has in his private collection, a black-letter edition of Chaucer, and other specimens of the early English printers; and I was impressed, as I have often been, with the idea that we have made few, if any, improvements in the art of printing, though we have greatly facilitated the modes of it. He showed us Dryden's translation of Virgil, with Dr. Johnson's autograph in it and a large collection of Bibles, of all dates,--church Bibles, family Bibles of the common translation, and older ones. He says he has written or is writing a history of the Bible (as a printed work, I presume). Many of these Bibles had, no doubt, been in actual and daily use from generation to generation; but they were now all splendidly bound, and were likewise very clean and smooth,--in fact, every leaf had been cleansed by a delicate process, a part of which consisted in soaking the whole book in a tub of water, during several days. Mr. ------ is likewise rich in manuscripts, having a Spanish document with the signature of the son of Columbus; a whole little volume in Franklin's handwriting, being the first specimen of it; and the original manuscripts of many of the songs of Burns. Among these I saw "Auld Lang Syne," and "Bruce's Address to his Army." We amused ourselves with these matters as long as we could; but at last, as there was to be a party in the evening, dinner could no longer be put off; so we took our seats at table, and immediately afterwards Mr. Taylor made his appearance with his wife and another lady. Mr. Taylor is reckoned a brilliant conversationist; but I suppose he requires somebody to draw him out and assist him; for I could hear nothing that I thought very remarkable on this occasion. He is not a kind of man whom I can talk with, or greatly help to talk; so, though I sat next to him, nothing came of it. He told me some stories of his life in the Temple,--little funny incidents, that he afterwards wrought into his dramas; in short, a sensible, active-minded, clearly perceptive man, with a humorous way of showing up men and matters. . . . I wish I could know exactly what the English style good conversation. Probably it is something like plum-pudding,--as heavy, but seldom so rich. After dinner Mr. Tom Taylor and Mr. D------, with their respective ladies, took their leave; but when we returned to the drawing-room, we found it thronged with a good many people. Mr. S. C. Hall was there with his wife, whom I was glad to see again, for this was the third time of meeting her, and, in this whirl of new acquaintances, I felt quite as if she were an old friend. Mr. William Howitt was also there, and introduced me to his wife,--a very natural, kind, and pleasant lady; and she presented me to one or two daughters. Mr. Marston, the dramatist, was also introduced to me; and Mr. Helps, a thin, scholarly, cold sort of a man. Dr. Mackay and his wife were there, too; and a certain Mr. Jones, a sculptor,--a jolly, large, elderly person, with a twinkle in his eye. Also a Mr. Godwin, who impressed me as quite a superior person, gentlemanly, cultivated, a man of sensibility; but it is quite impossible to take a clear imprint from any one character, where so many are stamped upon one's notice at once. This Mr. Godwin, as we were discussing Thackeray, said that he is most beautifully tender and devoted to his wife, whenever she can be sensible of his attentions. He says that Thackeray, in his real self, is a sweet, sad man. I grew weary of so many people, especially of the ladies, who were rather superfluous in their oblations, quite stifling me, indeed, with the incense that they burnt under my nose. So far as I could judge, they had all been invited there to see me. It is ungracious, even hoggish, not to be gratified with the interest they expressed in me; but then it is really a bore, and one does not know what to do or say. I felt like the hippopotamus, or-- to use a more modest illustration--like some strange insect imprisoned under a tumbler, with a dozen eyes watching whatever I did. By and by, Mr. Jones, the sculptor, relieved me by standing up against the mantel-piece, and telling an Irish story, not to two or three auditors, but to the whole drawing-room, all attentive as to a set exhibition. It was very funny. The next day after this I went with Mr. Bowman to call on our minister, and found that he, and four of the ladies of his family, with his son, had gone to the Queen's Drawing-room. We lunched at the Wellington; and spent an hour or more in looking out of the window of that establishment at the carriages, with their pompous coachmen and footmen, driving to and from the Palace of St. James, and at the Horse Guards, with their bright cuirasses, stationed along the street. . . . Then I took the rail for Liverpool. . . . While I was still at breakfast at the Waterloo, J----- came in, ruddy-cheeked, smiling, very glad to see me, and looking, I thought, a good deal taller than when I left him. And so ended my London excursion, which has certainly been rich in incident and character, though my account of it be but meagre. SCOTLAND.--GLASGOW. May 10th.--Last Friday, May 2d, I took the rail, with Mr. Bowman, from the Lime Street station, for Glasgow. There was nothing of much interest along the road, except that, when we got beyond Penrith, we saw snow on the tops of some of the hills. Twilight came on as we were entering Scotland; and I have only a recollection of bleak and bare hills and villages dimly seen, until, nearing Glasgow, we saw the red blaze of furnace-lights at frequent iron-founderies. We put up at the Queen's Hotel, where we arrived about ten o'clock; a better hotel than I have anywhere found in England,--new, well arranged, and with brisk attendance. In the morning I rambled largely about Glasgow, and found it to be chiefly a modern-built city, with streets mostly wide and regular, and handsome houses and public edifices of a dark gray stone. In front of our hotel, in an enclosed green space, stands a tall column surmounted by a statue of Sir Walter Scott,--a good statue, I should think, as conveying the air and personal aspect of the man. There is a bronze equestrian statue of the Queen in one of the streets, and one or two more equestrian or other statues of eminent persons. I passed through the Trongate and the Gallow-Gate, and visited the Salt-Market, and saw the steeple of the Tolbooth, all of which Scott has made interesting; and I went through the gate of the University, and penetrated into its enclosed courts, round which the College edifices are built. They are not Gothic, but of the age, I suppose, of James I.,--with odd-looking, conical-roofed towers, and here and there the bust of a benefactor in niches round the courts, and heavy stone staircases ascending from the pavement, outside the buildings, all of dark gray granite, cold, hard, and venerable. The University stands in High Street, in a dense part of the town, and a very old and shabby part, too. I think the poorer classes of Glasgow excel even those in Liverpool in the bad eminence of filth, uncombed and unwashed children, drunkenness, disorderly deportment, evil smell, and all that makes city poverty disgusting. In my opinion, however, they are a better-looking people than the English (and this is true of all classes), more intelligent of aspect, with more regular features. I looked for the high cheek-bones, which have been attributed, as a characteristic feature, to the Scotch, but could not find them. What most distinguishes them front the English is the regularity of the nose, which is straight, or sometimes a little curved inward; whereas the English nose has no law whatever, but disports itself in all manner of irregularity. I very soon learned to recognize the Scotch face, and when not too Scotch, it is a handsome one. In another part of the High Street, up a pretty steep slope, and on one side of a public green, near an edifice which I think is a medical college, stands St. Mungo's Cathedral. It is hardly of cathedral dimensions, though a large and fine old church. The price of a ticket of admittance is twopence; so small that it might be as well to make the entrance free. The interior is in excellent repair, with the nave and side aisles, and clustered pillars, and intersecting arches, that belong to all these old churches; and a few monuments along the walls. I was going away without seeing any more than this; but the verger, a friendly old gentleman, with a hearty Scotch way of speaking, told me that the crypts were what chiefly interested strangers; and so he guided me down into the foundation-story of the church, where there is an intricacy and entanglement of immensely massive and heavy arches, supporting the structure above. The view through these arches, among the great shafts of the columns, was very striking. In the central part is a monument; a recumbent figure, if I remember rightly, but it is not known whom it commemorates. There is also a monument to a Scotch prelate, which seems to have been purposely defaced, probably in Covenant times. These intricate arches were the locality of one of the scenes in "Rob Roy," when Rob gives Frank Osbaldistone some message or warning, and then escapes from him into the obscurity behind. In one corner is St. Mungo's well, secured with a wooden cover; but I should not care to drink water that comes from among so many old graves. After viewing the cathedral, I got back to the hotel just in time to go from thence to the steamer wharf, and take passage up the Clyde. There was nothing very interesting in this little voyage. We passed many small iron steamers, and some large ones; and green fields along the river-shores, villas, villages, and all such suburban objects; neither am I quite sure of the name of the place we landed at, though I think it was Bowling. Here we took the railway for Balloch; and the only place or thing I remember during this transit was a huge bluff or crag, rising abruptly from a river-side, and looking, in connection with its vicinity to the Highlands, just such a site as would be taken for the foundation of a castle. On inquiry it turned out that this abrupt and double-headed hill (for it has two summits, with a cleft between) is the site of Dumbarton Castle, for ages one of the strongest fortresses in Scotland, and still kept up as a garrisoned place. At the distance and point of view at which we passed it, the castle made no show. Arriving at Balloch, we found it a small village, with no marked features, and a hotel, where we got some lunch, and then we took a stroll over the bridge across the Levers, while waiting for the steamer to take us up Loch Lomond. It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and sunny; and after walking about a mile, we had a fine view of Loch Lomond, and of the mountains around and beyond it,--Ben Lomond among the rest. It is vain, at a week's distance, to try to remember the shapes of mountains; so I shall attempt no description of them, and content myself with saying that they did not quite come up to my anticipations. In due time we returned to our hotel, and found in the coffee-room a tall, white-haired, venerable gentleman, and a pleasant-looking young lady, his daughter. They had been eating lunch, and the young lady helped her father on with his outside garment, and his comforter, and gave him his stick, just as any other daughter might do,--all of which I mention because he was a nobleman; and, moreover, had engaged all the post-horses at the inn, so that we could not continue our travels by land, along the side of Loch Lomond, as we had first intended. At four o'clock the railway train arrived again, with a very moderate number of passengers, who (and we among them) immediately embarked on board a neat little steamer which was waiting for us. The day was bright and cloudless; but there was a strong, cold breeze blowing down the lake, so that it was impossible, without vast discomfort, to stand in the bow of the steamer and look at the scenery. I looked at it, indeed, along the sides, as we passed, and on our track behind; and no doubt it was very fine; but from all the experience I have had, I do not think scenery can be well seen from the water. At any rate, the shores of Loch Lomond have faded completely out of my memory; nor can I conceive that they really were very striking. At a year's interval, I can recollect the cluster of hills around the head of Lake Windermere; at twenty years' interval, I remember the shores of Lake Champlain; but of the shores of this Scottish lake I remember nothing except some oddly shaped rocks, called "The Cobbler and his Daughter," on a mountain-top, just before we landed. But, indeed, we had very imperfect glimpses of the hills along the latter part of the course, because the wind had grown so very cold that we took shelter below, and merely peeped at Loch Lomond's sublimities from the cabin-windows. The whole voyage up Loch Lomond is, I think, about thirty-two miles; but we landed at a place called Tarbet, much short of the ultimate point. There is here a large hotel; but we passed it, and walked onward a mile or two to Arroquhar, a secluded glen among the hills, where is a new hotel, built in the old manor-house style, and occupying the site of what was once a castle of the chief of the MacFarlanes. Over the portal is a stone taken from the former house, bearing the date 1697. There is a little lake near the house, and the hills shut in the whole visible scene so closely that there appears no outlet nor communication with the external world; but in reality this little lake is connected with Loch Long, and Loch Long is an arm of the sea; so that there is water communication between Arroquhar and Glasgow. We found this a very beautiful place; and being quite sheltered from all winds that blew, we strolled about late into the prolonged twilight, and admired the outlines of the surrounding hills, and fancied resemblances to various objects in the shapes of the crags against the evening sky. The sun had not set till nearly, if not quite, eight o'clock; and before the daylight had quite gone, the northern lights streamed out, and I do not think that there was much darkness over the glen of Arroquhar that night. At all events, before the darkness came, we withdrew into the coffee-room. We had excellent beds and sleeping-rooms in this new hotel, and I remember nothing more till morning, when we were astir betimes, and had some chops for breakfast. Then our host, Mr. Macregor, who is also the host of our hotel at Glasgow, and has many of the characteristics of an American landlord, claiming to be a gentleman and the equal of his guests, took us in a drosky, and drove us to the shore of Loch Lomond, at a point about four miles from Arroquhar. The lake is here a mile and a half wide, and it was our object to cross to Inversnaid, on the opposite shore; so first we waved a handkerchief, and then kindled some straw on the beach, in order to attract the notice of the ferryman at Inversnaid. It was half an hour before our signals and shoutings resulted in the putting off of a boat, with two oarsmen, who made the transit pretty speedily; and thus we got across Loch Lomond. At Inversnaid there is a small hotel, and over the rock on which it stands a little waterfall tumbles into the lake,--a very little one, though I believe it is reckoned among the other picturesque features of the scene. We were now in Rob Roy's country, and at the distance of a mile or so, along the shore of the lake, is Rob Roy's cave, where he and his followers are supposed to have made their abode in troublous times. While lunch was getting ready, we again took the boat, and went thither. Landing beneath a precipitous, though not very lofty crag, we clambered up a rude pathway, and came to the mouth of the cave, which is nothing but a fissure or fissures among some great rocks that have tumbled confusedly together. There is hardly anywhere space enough for half a dozen persons to crowd themselves together, nor room to stand upright. On the whole, it is no cave at all, but only a crevice; and, in the deepest and darkest part, you can look up and see the sky. It may have sheltered Rob Roy for a night, and might partially shelter any Christian during a shower. Returning to the hotel, we started in a drosky (I do not know whether this is the right name of the vehicle, or whether it has a right name, but it is a carriage in which four persons sit back to back, two before and two behind) for Aberfoyle. The mountain-side ascends very steeply from the inn door, and, not to damp the horse's courage in the outset, we went up on foot. The guide-book says that the prospect from the summit of the ascent is very fine; but I really believe we forgot to turn round and look at it. All through our drive, however, we had mountain views in plenty, especially of great Ben Lomond, with his snow-covered head, round which, since our entrance into the Highlands, we had been making a circuit. Nothing can possibly be drearier than the mountains at this season; bare, barren, and bleak, with black patches of withered heath variegating the dead brown of the herbage on their sides; and as regards trees the hills are perfectly naked. There were no frightful precipices, no boldly picturesque features, along our road; but high, weary slopes, showing miles and miles of heavy solitude, with here and there a highland hut, built of stone and thatched; and, in one place, an old gray, ruinous fortress, a station of the English troops after the rebellion of 1715; and once or twice a village of hills, the inhabitants of which, old and young, ran to their doors to stare at us. For several miles after we left Inversnaid, the mountain-stream which makes the waterfall brawled along the roadside. All the hills are sheep-pastures, and I never saw such wild, rough, ragged-looking creatures as the sheep, with their black faces and tattered wool. The little lambs were very numerous, poor things, coming so early in the season into this inclement region; and it was laughable to see how invariably, when startled by our approach, they scampered to their mothers, and immediately began to suck. It would seem as if they sought a draught from the maternal udder, wherewith to fortify and encourage their poor little hearts; but I suppose their instinct merely drove them close to their dams, and, being there, they took advantage of their opportunity. These sheep must lead a hard life during the winter; for they are never fed nor sheltered. The day was sunless, and very uncomfortably cold; and we were not sorry to walk whenever the steepness of the road gave us cause. I do not remember what o'clock it was, but not far into the afternoon, when we reached the Baillie Nicol-Jarvie Inn at Aberfoyle; a scene which is much more interesting in the pages of Rob Roy than we found it in reality. Here we got into a sort of cart, and set out, over another hill-path, as dreary as or drearier than the last, for the Trosachs. On our way, we saw Ben Venue, and a good many other famous Bens, and two or three lochs; and when we reached the Trosachs, we should probably have been very much enraptured if our eyes had not already been weary with other mountain shapes. But, in truth, I doubt if anybody ever does really see a mountain, who goes for the set and sole purpose of seeing it. Nature will not let herself be seen in such cases. You must patiently bide her time; and by and by, at some unforeseen moment, she will quietly and suddenly unveil herself, and for a brief space allow you to look right into the heart of her mystery. But if you call out to her peremptorily, "Nature! unveil yourself this very moment!" she only draws her veil the closer; and you may look with all your eyes, and imagine that you see all that she can show, and yet see nothing. Thus, I saw a wild and confused assemblage of heights, crags, precipices, which they call the Trosachs, but I saw them calmly and coldly, and was glad when the drosky was ready to take us on to Callender. The hotel at the Trosachs, by the by, is a very splendid one, in the form of an old feudal castle, with towers and turrets. All among these wild hills there is set preparation for enraptured visitants; and it seems strange that the savage features do not subside of their own accord, and that there should still be cold winds and snow on the top of Ben Lomond, and rocks and heather, and ragged sheep, now that there are so many avenues by which the commonplace world is sluiced in among the Highlands. I think that this fashion of the picturesque will pass away. We drove along the shore of Lake Vennachar, and onward to Callender, which I believe is either the first point in the Lowlands or the last in the Highlands. It is a large village on the river Teith. We stopped here to dine, and were some time in getting any warmth into our benumbed bodies; for, as I said before, it was a very cold day. Looking from the window of the hotel, I saw a young man in Highland dress, with bare thighs, marching through the village street towards the Lowlands, with a martial and elastic step, as if he were going forth to conquer and occupy the world. I suppose he was a soldier who had been absent on leave, returning to the garrison at Stirling. I pitied his poor thighs, though he certainly did not look uncomfortable. After dinner, as dusk was coming on and we had still a long drive before us (eighteen miles, I believe), we took a close carriage and two horses, and set off for Stirling. The twilight was too obscure to show many things along the road, and by the time we drove into Stirling we could but dimly see the houses in the long street in which stood our hotel. There was a good fire in the coffee-room, which looked like a drawing-room in a large old-fashioned mansion, and was hung round with engravings of the portraits of the county members, and a master of fox-hounds, and other pictures. We made ourselves comfortable with some tea, and retired early. In the morning we were stirring betimes, and found Stirling to be a pretty large town, of rather ancient aspect, with many gray stone houses, the gables of which are notched on either side, like a flight of stairs. The town stands on the slope of a hill, at the summit of which, crowning a long ascent, up which the paved street reaches all the way to its gate, is Stirling Castle. Of course we went thither, and found free entrance, although the castle is garrisoned by five or six hundred men, among whom are barelegged Highlanders (I must say that this costume is very fine and becoming, though their thighs did look blue and frost-bitten) and also some soldiers of other Scotch regiments, with tartan trousers. Almost immediately on passing the gate, we found an old artillery-man, who undertook to show us round the castle. Only a small portion of it seems to be of great antiquity. The principal edifice within the castle wall is a palace, that was either built or renewed by James VI.; and it is ornamented with strange old statues, one of which is his own. The old Scottish Parliament House is also here. The most ancient part of the castle is the tower, where one of the Earls of Douglas was stabbed by a king, and afterwards thrown out of the window. In reading this story, one imagines a lofty turret, and the dead man tumbling headlong from a great height; but, in reality, the window is not more than fifteen or twenty feet from the garden into which he fell. This part of the castle was burned last autumn; but is now under repair, and the wall of the tower is still stanch and strong. We went up into the chamber where the murder took place, and looked through the historic window. Then we mounted the castle wall, where it broods over a precipice of many hundred feet perpendicular, looking down upon a level plain below, and forth upon a landscape, every foot of which is richly studded with historic events. There is a small peep-hole in the wall, which Queen Mary is said to have been in the habit of looking through. It is a most splendid view; in the distance, the blue Highlands, with a variety of mountain outlines that I could have studied unweariably; and in another direction, beginning almost at the foot of the Castle Hill, were the Links of Forth, where, over a plain of miles in extent the river meandered, and circled about, and returned upon itself again and again and again, as if knotted into a silver chain, which it was difficult to imagine to be all one stream. The history of Scotland might be read from this castle wall, as on a book of mighty page; for here, within the compass of a few miles, we see the field where Wallace won the battle of Stirling, and likewise the battle-field of Bannockburn, and that of Falkirk, and Sheriffmuir, and I know not how many besides. Around the Castle Hill there is a walk, with seats for old and infirm persons, at points sheltered from the wind. We followed it downward, and I think we passed over the site where the games used to be held, and where, this morning, some of the soldiers of the garrison were going through their exercises. I ought to have mentioned, that, passing through the inner gateway of the castle, we saw the round tower, and glanced into the dungeon, where the Roderic Dhu of Scott's poem was left to die. It is one of the two round towers, between which the portcullis rose and fell. EDINBURGH.--THE PALACE OF HOLYROOD. At eleven o'clock we took the rail for Edinburgh, and I remember nothing more, except that the cultivation and verdure of the country were very agreeable, after our experience of Highland barrenness and desolation, until we found the train passing close at the base of the rugged crag of Edinburgh Castle. We established ourselves at Queen's Hotel, in Prince's Street, and then went out to view the city. The monument to Sir Walter Scott--a rather fantastic and not very impressive affair, I thought-- stands almost directly in front of a hotel. We went along Prince's Street, and thence, by what turns I know not, to the Palace of Holyrood, which stands on a low and sheltered site, and is a venerable edifice. Arthur's Seat rises behind it,--a high hill, with a plain between. As we drew near the Palace, Mr. Bowman, who has been here before, pointed out the windows of Queen Mary's apartments, in a circular tower on the left of the gateway. On entering the enclosed quadrangle, we bought tickets for sixpence each, admitting us to all parts of the Palace that are shown to visitors; and first we went into a noble hall or gallery, a long and stately room, hung with pictures of ancient Scottish kings; and though the pictures were none of them authentic, they, at least, answer an excellent purpose in the way of upholstery. It was here that the young Pretender gave the ball which makes one of the scenes in Waverley. Thence we passed into the old historic rooms of the Palace,--Darnley's and Queen Mary's apartments, which everybody has seen and described. They are very dreary and shabby-looking rooms, with bare floors, and here and there a piece of tapestry, faded into a neutral tint; and carved and ornamented ceilings, looking shabbier than plain whitewash. We saw Queen Mary's old bedstead, low, with four tall posts,--and her looking-glass, which she brought with her from France, and which has often reflected the beauty that set everybody mad,--and some needlework and other womanly matters of hers; and we went into the little closet where she was having such a cosey supper-party with two or three friends, when the conspirators broke in, and stabbed Rizzio before her face. We saw, too, the blood-stain at the threshold of the door in the next room, opening upon the stairs. The body of Rizzio was flung down here, and the attendant told us that it lay in that spot all night. The blood-stain covers a large space,--much larger than I supposed,--and it gives the impression that there must have been a great pool and sop of blood on all the spot covered by Rizzio's body, staining the floor deeply enough never to be washed out. It is now of a dark brown hue; and I do not see why it may not be the genuine, veritable stain. The floor, thereabouts, appears not to have been scrubbed much; for I touched it with my finger, and found it slightly rough; but it is strange that the many footsteps should not have smoothed it, in three hundred years. One of the articles shown us in Queen Mary's apartments was the breastplate supposed to have been worn by Lord Ruthven at the murder, a heavy plate of iron, and doubtless a very uncomfortable waistcoat. HOLYROOD ABBEY. From the Palace, we passed into the contiguous ruin of Holyrood Abbey; which is roofless, although the front, and some broken columns along the nave, and fragments of architecture here and there, afford hints of a magnificent Gothic church in bygone times. It deserved to be magnificent; for here have been stately ceremonials, marriages of kings, coronations, investitures, before the high altar, which has now been overthrown or crumbled away; and the floor--so far as there is any floor --consists of tombstones of the old Scottish nobility. There are likewise monuments, bearing the names of illustrious Scotch families; and inscriptions, in the Scotch dialect, on the walls. In one of the front towers,--the only remaining one, indeed,--we saw the marble tomb of a nobleman, Lord Belhaven, who is represented reclining on the top,--with a bruised nose, of course. Except in Westminster Abbey, I do not remember ever to have seen an old monumental statue with the nose entire. In all political or religious outbreaks, the mob's first impulse is to hit the illustrious dead on their noses. At the other end of the Abbey, near the high altar, is the vault where the old Scottish kings used to be buried; but, looking in through the window, I saw only a vacant space,--no skull, nor bone, nor the least fragment of a coffin. In fact, I believe the royal dead were turned out of their last home, on occasion of the Revolutionary movements, at the accession of William III. HIGH STREET AND THE GRASS-MARKET. Quitting the Abbey and the Palace, we turned into the Canongate, and passed thence into High Street, which, I think, is a continuation of the Canongate; and being now in the old town of Edinburgh, we saw those immensely tall houses, seven stories high, where the people live in tiers, all the way from earth to middle air. They were not so quaint and strange looking as I expected; but there were some houses of very antique individuality, and among them that of John Knox, which looks still in good repair. One thing did not in the least fall short of my expectations,--the evil odor, for which Edinburgh has an immemorial renown,--nor the dirt of the inhabitants, old and young. The town, to say the truth, when you are in the midst of it, has a very sordid, grimy, shabby, upswept, unwashen aspect, grievously at variance with all poetic and romantic associations. From the High Street we turned aside into the Grass-Market, the scene of the Porteous Mob; and we found in the pavement a cross on the site where the execution of Porteous is supposed to have taken place. THE CASTLE. Returning thence to the High Street, we followed it up to the Castle, which is nearer the town, and of more easy access from it, than I had supposed. There is a large court or parade before the castle gate, with a parapet on the abrupt side of the hill, looking towards Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, mud overhanging a portion of the old town. As we leaned over this parapet, my nose was conscious of the bad odor of Edinburgh, although the streets, whence it must have come, were hundreds of feet below. I have had some experience of this ugly smell in the poor streets of Liverpool; but I think I never perceived it before crossing the Atlantic. It is the odor of an old system of life; the scent of the pine forests is still too recent with us for it to be known in America. The Castle of Edinburgh is free (as appears to be the case with all garrisoned places in Great Britain) to the entrance of any peaceable person. So we went in, and found a large space enclosed within the walls, and dwellings for officers, and accommodation for soldiers, who were being drilled, or loitering about; and as the hill still ascends within the external wall of the castle, we climbed to the summit, and there found an old soldier whom we engaged to be our guide. He showed us Mons Meg, a great old cannon, broken at the breech, but still aimed threateningly from the highest ramparts; and then he admitted us into an old chapel, said to have been built by a Queen of Scotland, the sister of Harold, King of England, and occupying the very highest part of the hill. It is the smallest place of worship I ever saw, but of venerable architecture, and of very solid construction. The old soldier had not much more to show us; but he pointed out the window whence one of the kings of Scotland is said, when a baby, to have been lowered down, the whole height of the castle, to the bottom of the precipice on which it stands,--a distance of seven hundred feet. After the soldier had shown us to the extent of his jurisdiction, we went into a suite of rooms, in one of which I saw a portrait of Queen Mary, which gave me, for the first time, an idea that she was really a very beautiful woman. In this picture she is wonderfully so,--a tender womanly grace, which was none the less tender and graceful for being equally imbued with queenly dignity and spirit. It was too lovely a head to be cut off. I should be glad to know the authenticity of this picture. I do not know that we did anything else worthy of note, before leaving Edinburgh. There is matter enough, in and about the town, to interest the visitor for a very long time; but when the visit is calculated on such brevity as ours was, we get weary of the place, before even these few hours come to an end. Thus, for my part, I was not sorry when, in the course of the afternoon, we took the rail for Melrose, where we duly arrived, and put up at the George Inn. MELROSE. Melrose is a village of rather antique aspect, situated on the slope and at the bottom of the Eildon Hills, which, from this point of view, appear like one hill, with a double summit. The village, as I said, has an old look, though many of the houses have at least been refronted at some recent date; but others are as ancient, I suppose, as the days when the Abbey was in its splendor,--a rustic and peasant-like antiquity, however, low-roofed, and straw-thatched. There is an aged cross of stone in the centre of the town. Our first object, of course, was to see the Abbey, which stands just on the outskirts of the village, and is attainable only by applying at a neighboring house, the inhabitant of which probably supports himself, and most comfortably, too, as a showman of the ruin. He unlocked the wooden gate, and admitted us into what is left of the Abbey, comprising only the ruins of the church, although the refectory, the dormitories, and the other parts of the establishment, formerly covered the space now occupied by a dozen village houses. Melrose Abbey is a very satisfactory ruin, all carpeted along its nave and transepts with green grass; and there are some well-grown trees within the walls. We saw the window, now empty, through which the tints of the painted glass fell on the tombstone of Michael Scott, and the tombstone itself, broken in three pieces, but with a cross engraven along its whole length. It must have been the monument of an old monk or abbot, rather than a wizard. There, too, is still the "marble stone" on which the monk and warrior sat them down, and which is supposed to mark the resting-place of Alexander of Scotland. There are remains, both without and within the Abbey, of most curious and wonderfully minute old sculpture,--foliage, in places where it is almost impossible to see them, and where the sculptor could not have supposed that they would be seen, but which yet are finished faithfully, to the very veins of each leaf, in stone; and there is a continual variety of this accurate toil. On the exterior of the edifice there is equal minuteness of finish, and a great many niches for statues; all of which, I believe, are now gone, although there are carved faces at some points and angles. The graveyard around the Abbey is still the only one which the village has, and is crowded with gravestones, among which I read the inscription of one erected by Sir Walter Scott to the memory of Thomas Pardy, one of his servants. Some sable birds--either rooks or jackdaws-- were flitting about the ruins, inside and out. Mr. Bowman and I talked about revisiting Melrose by moonlight; but, luckily, there was to be no moon that evening. I do not myself think that daylight and sunshine make a ruin less effective than twilight or moonshine. In reference to Scott's description, I think he deplorably diminishes the impressiveness of the scene by saying that the alternate buttresses, seen by moonlight, look as if made of ebon and ivory. It suggests a small and very pretty piece of cabinet-work; not these gray, rough walls, which Time has gnawed upon for a thousand years, without eating them away. Leaving the Abbey, we took a path or a road which led us to the river Tweed, perhaps a quarter of a mile off; and we crossed it by a foot-bridge,--a pretty wide stream, a dimpling breadth of transparent water flowing between low banks, with a margin of pebbles. We then returned to our inn, and had tea, and passed a quiet evening by the fireside. This is a good, unpretentious inn; and its visitors' book indicates that it affords general satisfaction to those who come here. In the morning we breakfasted on broiled salmon, taken, no doubt, in the neighboring Tweed. There was a very coarse-looking man at table with us, who informed us that he owned the best horse anywhere round the Eildon Hills, and could make the best cast for a salmon, and catch a bigger fish than anybody,--with other self-laudation of the same kind. The waiter afterwards told us that he was the son of an Admiral in the neighborhood; and soon, his horse being brought to the door, we saw him mount and ride away. He sat on horseback with ease and grace, though I rather suspect, early as it was, that he was already in his cups. The Scotch seem to me to get drunk at very unseasonable hours. I have seen more drunken people here than during all my residence in England, and, generally, early in the day. Their liquor, so far as I have observed, makes them good-natured and sociable, imparting a perhaps needed geniality to their cold natures. After breakfast we took a drosky, or whatever these fore-and-aft-seated vehicles are called, and set out for DRYBURGH ABBEY, three miles distant. It was a cold though rather bright morning, with a most shrewd and bitter wind, which blew directly in my face as I sat beside the driver. An English wind is bad enough, but methinks a Scotch one, is rather worse; at any rate, I was half frozen, and wished Dryburgh Abbey in Tophet, where it would have been warmer work to go and see it. Some of the border hills were striking, especially the Cowden Knowe, which ascends into a prominent and lofty peak. Such villages as we passed did not greatly differ from English villages. By and by we came to the banks of the Tweed, at a point where there is a ferry. A carriage was on the river-bank, the driver waiting beside it; for the people who came in it had already been ferried across to see the Abbey. The ferryman here is a young girl; and, stepping into the boat, she shoved off, and so skilfully took advantage of the eddies of the stream, which is here deep and rapid, that we were soon on the other side. She was by no means an uncomely maiden, with pleasant Scotch features, and a quiet intelligence of aspect, gleaming into a smile when spoken to; much tanned with all kinds of weather, and, though slender, yet so agile and muscular that it was no shame for a man to let himself be rowed by her. From the ferry we had a walk of half a mile, more or less, to a cottage, where we found another young girl, whose business it is to show the Abbey. She was of another mould than the ferry-maiden,--a queer, shy, plaintive sort of a body,--and answered all our questions in a low, wailing tone. Passing through an apple-orchard, we were not long in reaching the Abbey, the ruins of which are much more extensive and more picturesque than those of Melrose, being overrun with bushes and shrubbery, and twined about with ivy, and all such vegetation as belongs, naturally, to old walls. There are the remains of the refectory, and other domestic parts of the Abbey, as well as the church, and all in delightful state of decay,--not so far gone but that we had bits of its former grandeur in the columns and broken arches, and in some portions of the edifice that still retain a roof. In the chapter-house we saw a marble statue of Newton, wofully maltreated by damps and weather; and though it had no sort of business there, it fitted into the ruins picturesquely enough. There is another statue, equally unauthorized; both having been placed here by a former Earl of Buchan, who seems to have been a little astray in his wits. On one side of the church, within an arched recess, are the monuments of Sir Walter Scott and his family,--three ponderous tombstones of Aberdeen granite, polished, but already dimmed and dulled by the weather. The whole floor of the recess is covered by these monuments, that of Sir Walter being the middle one, with Lady (or, as the inscription calls her, Dame) Scott beyond him, next to the church wall, and some one of his sons or daughters on the hither side. The effect of his being buried here is to make the whole of Dryburgh Abbey his monument. There is another arched recess, twin to the Scott burial-place, and contiguous to it, in which are buried a Pringle family; it being their ancient place of sepulture. The spectator almost inevitably feels as if they were intruders, although their rights here are of far older date than those of Scott. Dryburgh Abbey must be a most beautiful spot of a summer afternoon; and it was beautiful even on this not very genial morning, especially when the sun blinked out upon the ivy, and upon the shrubberied paths that wound about the ruins. I think I recollect the birds chirruping in this neighborhood of it. After viewing it sufficiently,--sufficiently for this one time,--we went back to the ferry, and, being set across by the same Undine, we drove back to Melrose. No longer riding against the wind, I found it not nearly so cold as before. I now noticed that the Eildon Hills, seen from this direction, rise from one base into three distinct summits, ranged in a line. According to "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," they were cleft into this shape by the magic of Michael Scott. Reaching Melrose . . . . without alighting, we set off for ABBOTSFORD, three miles off. The neighborhood of Melrose, leading to Abbotsford, has many handsome residences of modern build and very recent date,--suburban villas, each with its little lawn and garden ground, such as we see in the vicinity of Liverpool. I noticed, too, one castellated house, of no great size, but old, and looking as if its tower were built, not for show, but for actual defence in the old border warfare. We were not long in reaching Abbotsford. The house, which is more compact, and of considerably less extent than I anticipated, stands in full view from the road, and at only a short distance from it, lower down towards the river. Its aspect disappointed me; but so does everything. It is but a villa, after all; no castle, nor even a large manor-house, and very unsatisfactory when you consider it in that light. Indeed, it impressed me, not as a real house, intended for the home of human beings,--a house to die in or to be born in,--but as a plaything,-- something in the same category as Horace Walpole's Strawberry Hill. The present owner seems to have found it insufficient for the actual purposes of life; for he is adding a wing, which promises to be as extensive as the original structure. We rang at the front door (the family being now absent), and were speedily admitted by a middle-aged or somewhat elderly man,--the butler, I suppose, or some upper servant,--who at once acceded to our request to be permitted to see the house. We stepped from the porch immediately into the entrance-hall; and having the great Hall of Battle Abbey in my memory, and the ideal of a baronial hall in my mind, I was quite taken aback at the smallness and narrowness and lowness of this; which, however, is a very fine one, on its own little scale. In truth, it is not much more than a vestibule. The ceiling is carved; and every inch of the walls is covered with claymores, targets, and other weapons and armor, or old-time curiosities, tastefully arranged, many of which, no doubt, have a history attached to them,--or had, in Sir Walter's own mind. Our attendant was a very intelligent person, and pointed out much that was interesting; but in such a multitudinous variety it was almost impossible to fix the eye upon any one thing. Probably the apartment looked smaller than it really was, on account of being so wainscoted and festooned with curiosities. I remember nothing particularly, unless it be the coal-grate in the fireplace, which was one formerly used by Archbishop Sharpe, the prelate whom Balfour of Burley murdered. Either in this room or the next one, there was a glass case containing the suit of clothes last worn by Scott,--a short green coat, somewhat worn, with silvered buttons, a pair of gray tartan trousers, and a white hat. It was in the hall that we saw these things; for there too, I recollect, were a good many walking-sticks that had been used by Scott, and the hatchet with which he was in the habit of lopping branches from his trees, as he walked among them. From the hall we passed into the study;--a small room, lined with the books which Sir Walter, no doubt, was most frequently accustomed to refer to; and our guide pointed out some volumes of the Moniteur, which he used while writing the history of Napoleon. Probably these were the driest and dullest volumes in his whole library. About mid-height of the walls of the study there is a gallery, with a short flight of steps for the convenience of getting at the upper books. A study-table occupied the centre of the room, and at one end of the table stands an easy-chair, covered with morocco, and with ample space to fling one's self back. The servant told me that I might sit down in this chair, for that Sir Walter sat there while writing his romances, "and perhaps," quoth the man, smiling, "you may catch some inspiration." What a bitter word this would have been if he had known me to be a romance-writer! "No, I never shall be inspired to write romances!" I answered, as if such an idea had never occurred to me. I sat down, however. This study quite satisfied me, being planned on principles of common-sense, and made to work in, and without any fantastic adaptation of old forms to modern uses. Next to the study is the library, an apartment of respectable size, and containing as many books as it can hold, all protected by wire-work. I did not observe what or whose works were here; but the attendant showed us one whole compartment full of volumes having reference to ghosts, witchcraft, and the supernatural generally. It is remarkable that Scott should have felt interested in such subjects, being such a worldly and earthly man as he was; but then, indeed, almost all forms of popular superstition do clothe the ethereal with earthly attributes, and so make it grossly perceptible. The library, like the study, suited me well,--merely the fashion of the apartment, I mean,--and I doubt not it contains as many curious volumes as are anywhere to be met with within a similar space. The drawing-room adjoins it; and here we saw a beautiful ebony cabinet, which was presented to Sir Walter by George IV.; and some pictures of much interest,--one of Scott himself at thirty-five, rather portly, with a heavy face, but shrewd eyes, which seem to observe you closely. There is a full-length of his eldest son, an officer of dragoons, leaning on his charger; and a portrait of Lady Scott,--a brunette, with black hair and eyes, very pretty, warm, vivacious, and un-English in her aspect. I am not quite sure whether I saw all these pictures in the drawing-room, or some of them in the dining-room; but the one that struck me most--and very much indeed--was the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, literally the head cut off and lying on a dish. It is said to have been painted by an Italian or French artist, two days after her death. The hair curls or flows all about it; the face is of a death-like hue, but has an expression of quiet, after much pain and trouble,--very beautiful, very sweet and sad; and it affected me strongly with the horror and strangeness of such a head being severed from its body. Methinks I should not like to have it always in the room with me. I thought of the lovely picture of Mary that I had seen at Edinburgh Castle, and reflected what a symbol it would be,--how expressive of a human being having her destiny in her own hands,--if that beautiful young Queen were painted as carrying this dish, containing her own woful head, and perhaps casting a curious and pitiful glance down upon it, as if it were not her own. Also, in the drawing-room, there was a plaster cast of Sir Walter's face, taken after death; the only one in existence, as our guide assured us. It is not often that one sees a homelier set of features than this; no elevation, no dignity, whether bestowed by nature or thrown over them by age or death; sunken cheeks, the bridge of the nose depressed, and the end turned up; the mouth puckered, and no chin whatever, or hardly any. The expression was not calm and happy; but rather as if he were in a perturbed slumber, perhaps nothing short of nightmare. I wonder that the family allow this cast to be shown,--the last record that there is of Scott's personal reality, and conveying such a wretched and unworthy idea of it. Adjoining the drawing-room is the dining-room, in one corner of which, between two windows, Scott died. It was now a quarter of a century since his death; but it seemed to me that we spoke with a sort of hush in our voices, as if he were still dying here, or had but just departed. I remember nothing else in this room. The next one is the armory, which is the smallest of all that we had passed through; but its walls gleam with the steel blades of swords, and the barrels of pistols, matchlocks, firelocks, and all manner of deadly weapons, whether European or Oriental; for there are many trophies here of East Indian warfare. I saw Rob Roy's gun, rifled and of very large bore; and a beautiful pistol, formerly Claverhouse's; and the sword of Montrose, given him by King Charles, the silver hilt of which I grasped. There was also a superb claymore, in an elaborately wrought silver sheath, made for Sir Walter Scott, and presented to him by the Highland Society, for his services in marshalling the clans when George IV. came to Scotland. There were a thousand other things, which I knew must be most curious, yet did not ask nor care about them, because so many curiosities drive one crazy, and fret one's heart to death. On the whole, there is no simple and great impression left by Abbotsford; and I felt angry and dissatisfied with myself for not feeling something which I did not and could not feel. But it is just like going to a museum, if you look into particulars; and one learns from it, too, that Scott could not have been really a wise man, nor an earnest one, nor one that grasped the truth of life; he did but play, and the play grew very sad toward its close. In a certain way, however, I understand his romances the better for having seen his house; and his house the better for having read his romances. They throw light on one another. We had now gone through all the show-rooms; and the next door admitted us again into the entrance-hall, where we recorded our names in the visitors' book. It contains more names of Americans, I should judge, from casting my eyes back over last year's record, than of all other people in the world, including Great Britain. Bidding farewell to Abbotsford, I cannot but confess a sentiment of remorse for having visited the dwelling-place--as just before I visited the grave of the mighty minstrel and romancer with so cold a heart and in so critical a mood,--his dwelling-place and his grave whom I had so admired and loved, and who had done so much for my happiness when I was young. But I, and the world generally, now look at him from a different point of view; and, besides, these visits to the actual haunts of famous people, though long dead, have the effect of making us sensible, in some degree, of their human imperfections, as if we actually saw them alive. I felt this effect, to a certain extent, even with respect to Shakespeare, when I visited Stratford-on-Avon. As for Scott, I still cherish him in a warm place, and I do not know that I have any pleasanter anticipation, as regards books, than that of reading all his novels over again after we get back to the Wayside. [This Mr. Hawthorne did, aloud to his family, the year following his return to America.--ED.] It was now one or two o'clock, and time for us to take the rail across the borders. Many a mile behind us, as we rushed onward, we could see the threefold Eildon Hill, and probably every pant of the engine carried us over some spot of ground which Scott has made fertile with poetry. For Scotland--cold, cloudy, barren little bit of earth that it is--owes all the interest that the world feels in it to him. Few men have done so much for their country as he. However, having no guide-book, we were none the wiser for what we saw out of the window of the rail-carriage; but, now and then, a castle appeared, on a commanding height, visible for miles round, and seemingly in good repair,--now, in some low and sheltered spot, the gray walls of an abbey; now, on a little eminence, the ruin of a border fortress, and near it the modern residence of the laird, with its trim lawn and shrubbery. We were not long in coming to BERWICK, a town which seems to belong both to England and Scotland, or perhaps is a kingdom by itself, for it stands on both sides of the boundary river, the Tweed, where it empties into the German Ocean. From the railway bridge we had a good view over the town, which looks ancient, with red roofs on all the gabled houses; and it being a sunny afternoon, though bleak and chill, the sea-view was very fine. The Tweed is here broad, and looks deep, flowing far beneath the bridge, between high banks. This is all that I can say of Berwick (pronounced Berrick), for though we spent above an hour at the station waiting for the train, we were so long in getting our dinner, that we had not time for anything else. I remember, however, some gray walls, that looked like the last remains of an old castle, near the railway station. We next took the train for NEWCASTLE, the way to which, for a considerable distance, lies within sight of the sea; and in close vicinity to the shore we saw Holy Isle, on which are the ruins of an abbey. Norham Castle must be somewhere in this neighborhood, on the English shore of the Tweed. It was pretty late in the afternoon--almost nightfall--when we reached Newcastle, over the roofs of which, as over those of Berwick, we had a view from the railway, and like Berwick, it was a congregation of mostly red roofs; but, unlike Berwick (the atmosphere over which was clear and transparent), there came a gush of smoke from every chimney, which made it the dimmest and smokiest place I ever saw. This is partly owing to the iron founderies and furnaces; but each domestic chimney, too, was smoking on its own account,--coal being so plentiful there, no doubt, that the fire is always kept freshly heaped with it, reason or none. Out of this smoke-cloud rose tall steeples; and it was discernible that the town stretched widely over an uneven surface, on the banks of the Tyne, which is navigable up hither ten miles from the sea for pretty large vessels. We established ourselves at the Station Hotel, and then walked out to see something of the town; but I remember only a few streets of duskiness and dinginess, with a glimpse of the turrets of a castle to which we could not find our way. So, as it was getting twilightish and very cold, we went back to the hotel, which is a very good one, better than any one I have seen in the South of England, and almost or quite as good as those of Scotland. The coffee-room is a spacious and handsome apartment, adorned with a full-length portrait of Wellington, and other pictures, and in the whole establishment there was a well-ordered alacrity and liberal provision for the comfort of guests that one seldom sees in English inns. There are a good many American guests in Newcastle, and through all the North. An old Newcastle gentleman and his friend came into the smoking-room, and drank three glasses of hot whiskey-toddy apiece, and were still going on to drink more when we left them. These respectable persons probably went away drunk that night, yet thought none the worse of themselves or of one another for it. It is like returning to times twenty years gone by for a New-Englander to witness such simplicity of manners. The next morning, May 8th, I rose and breakfasted early, and took the rail soon after eight o'clock, leaving Mr. Bowman behind; for he had business in Newcastle, and would not follow till some hours afterwards. There is no use in trying to make a narrative of anything that one sees along an English railway. All I remember of this tract of country is that one of the stations at which we stopped for an instant is called "Washington," and this is, no doubt, the old family place, where the De Wessyngtons, afterwards the Washingtons, were first settled in England. Before reaching York, first one old lady and then another (Quaker) lady got into the carriage along with me; and they seemed to be going to York, on occasion of some fair or celebration. This was all the company I had, and their advent the only incident. It was about eleven o'clock when I beheld York Cathedral rising huge above the old city, which stands on the river Ouse, separated by it from the railway station, but communicating by a ferry (or two) and a bridge. I wandered forth, and found my way over the latter into the ancient and irregular streets of YORK, crooked, narrow, or of unequal width, puzzling, and many of them bearing the name of the particular gate in the old walls of the city to which they lead. There were no such fine, ancient, stately houses as some of those in Shrewsbury were, nor such an aspect of antiquity as in Chester; but still York is a quaint old place, and what looks most modern is probably only something old, hiding itself behind a new front, as elsewhere in England. I found my way by a sort of instinct, as directly as possible, to YORK MINSTER. It stands in the midst of a small open space,--or a space that looks small in comparison with the vast bulk of the cathedral. I was not so much impressed by its exterior as I have usually been by Gothic buildings; because it is rectangular in its general outline and in its towers, and seems to lack the complexity and mysterious plan which perplexes and wonder-strikes me in most cathedrals. Doubtless, however, if I had known better how to admire it, I should have found it wholly admirable. At all events, it has a satisfactory hugeness. Seeking my way in, I at first intruded upon the Registry of Deeds, which occupies a building patched up against the mighty side of the cathedral, and hardly discernible, so small the one and so large the other. I finally hit upon the right door, and I felt no disappointment in my first glance around at the immensity of enclosed space;--I see now in my mind's eye a dim length of nave, a breadth in the transepts like a great plain, and such an airy height beneath the central tower that a worshipper could certainly get a good way towards heaven without rising above it. I only wish that the screen, or whatever they call it, between the choir and nave, could be thrown down, so as to give us leave to take in the whole vastitude at once. I never could understand why, after building a great church, they choose to sunder it in halves by this mid-partition. But let me be thankful for what I got, and especially for the height and massiveness of the clustered pillars that support the arches on which rests the central tower. I remember at Furness Abbey I saw two tall pillars supporting a broken arch, and thought it, the most majestic fragment of architecture that could possibly be. But these pillars have a nobler height, and these arches a greater sweep. What nonsense to try to write about a cathedral! There is a great, cold bareness and bleakness about the interior; for there are very few monuments, and those seem chiefly to be of ecclesiastical people. I saw no armed knights, asleep on the tops of their tombs; but there was a curious representation of a skeleton, at full length, under the table-slab of one of the monuments. The walls are of a grayish hue, not so agreeable as the rich dark tint of the inside of Westminster Abbey; but a great many of the windows are still filled with ancient painted glass, the very small squares and pieces of which are composed into splendid designs of saints and angels, and scenes from Scripture. There were a few watery blinks of sunshine out of doors, and whenever these came through the old painted windows, some of the more vivid colors were faintly thrown upon the pavement of the cathedral,--very faintly, it is true; for, in the first place, the sunshine was not brilliant; and painted glass, too, fades in the course of the ages, perhaps, like all man's other works. There were two or three windows of modern manufacture, and far more magnificent, as to brightness of color and material beauty, than the ancient ones; but yet they looked vulgar, glaring, and impertinent in comparison, because such revivals or imitations of a long-disused art cannot have the good faith and earnestness of the originals. Indeed, in the very coloring, I felt the same difference as between heart's blood and a scarlet dye. It is a pity, however, that the old windows cannot be washed, both inside and out, for now they have the dust of centuries upon them. The screen or curtain between the nave and choir has eleven carved figures, at full length, which appeared to represent kings, some of them wearing crowns, and bearing sceptres or swords. They were in wood, and wrought by some Gothic hand. These carvings, and the painted windows, and the few monuments, are all the details that the mind can catch hold of in the immensity of this cathedral; and I must say that it was a dreary place on that cold, cloudy day. I doubt whether a cathedral is a sort of edifice suited to the English climate. The first buildings of the kind were probably erected by people who had bright and constant sunshine, and who desired a shadowy awfulness--like that of a forest, with its arched wood-paths--into which to retire in their religious moments. In America, on a hot summer's day, how delightful its cool and solemn depths would be! The painted windows, too, were evidently contrived, in the first instance, by persons who saw how effective they would prove when a vivid sun shone through them. But in England, the interior of a cathedral, nine days out of ten, is a vast sullenness, and as chill as death and the tomb. At any rate, it was so to-day, and so thought one of the old vergers, who kept walking as briskly as he could along the width of the transepts. There were several of these old men when I first came in, but they went off, all but this one, before I departed. None of them said a word to me, nor I to them; and admission to the Minster seems to be entirely free. After emerging from this great gloom, I wandered to and fro about York, and contrived to go astray within no very wide space. If its history be authentic, it is an exceedingly old city, having been founded about a thousand years before the Christian era. There used to be a palace of the Roman emperors here, and the Emperor Severus died here, as did some of his successors; and Constantine the Great was born here. I know not what, if any, relics of those earlier times there may be; but York is still partly surrounded with a wall, and has several gates, which the city authorities take pains to keep in repair. I grow weary in my endeavor to find my way back to the railway, and inquired it of one of the good people of York,--a respectable, courteous, gentlemanly person,-- and he told me to walk along the walls. Then he went on a considerable distance; but seemed to repent of not doing more for me; so he waited till I came up, and, walking along by my side, pointed out the castle, now the jail, and the place of execution, and directed me to the principal gateway of the city, and instructed me how to reach the ferry. The path along the wall leads, in one place, through a room over the arch of a gateway,--a low, thick-walled, stone apartment, where doubtless the gatekeeper used to lodge, and to parley with those who desired entrance. I found my way to the ferry over the Ouse, according to this kind Yorkist's instructions. The ferryman told me that the fee for crossing was a halfpenny, which seemed so ridiculously small that I offered him more; but this unparalleled Englishman declined taking anything beyond his rightful halfpenny. This seems so wonderful to me that I can hardly trust my own memory. Reaching the station, I got some dinner, and at four o'clock, just as I was starting, came Mr. Bowman, my very agreeable and sensible travelling companion. Our journeying together was ended here; for he was to keep on to London, and I to return to Liverpool. So we parted, and I took the rail westward across England, through a very beautiful, and in some degree picturesque, tract of country, diversified with hills, through the valleys and vistas of which goes the railroad, with dells diverging from it on either hand, and streams and arched bridges, and old villages, and a hundred pleasant English sights. After passing Rochdale, however, the dreary monotony of Lancashire succeeded this variety. Between nine and ten o'clock I reached the Tithebarn station in Liverpool. Ever since until now, May 17th, I have employed my leisure moments in scribbling off the journal of my tour; but it has greatly lost by not having been written daily, as the scenes and occurrences were fresh. The most picturesque points can be seized in no other way, and the hues of the affair fade as quickly as those of a dying dolphin; or as, according to Audubon, the plumage of a dead bird. One thing that struck me as much as anything else in the Highlands I had forgotten to put down. In our walk at Balloch, along the road within view of Loch Lomond and the neighboring hills, it was a brilliant sunshiny afternoon, and I never saw any atmosphere so beautiful as that among the mountains. It was a clear, transparent, ethereal blue, as distinct as a vapor, and yet by no means vaporous, but a pure, crystalline medium. I have witnessed nothing like this among the Berkshire hills nor elsewhere. York is full of old churches, some of them very antique in appearance, the stones weather-worn, their edges rounded by time, blackened, and with all the tokens of sturdy and age-long decay; and in some of them I noticed windows quite full of old painted glass, a dreary kind of minute patchwork, all of one dark and dusty hue, when seen from the outside. Yet had I seen them from the interior of the church, there doubtless would have been rich and varied apparitions of saints, with their glories round their heads, and bright-winged angels, and perhaps even the Almighty Father himself, so far as conceivable and representable by human powers. It requires light from heaven to make them visible. If the church were merely illuminated from the inside,--that is, by what light a man can get from his own understanding,--the pictures would be invisible, or wear at best but a miserable aspect. LIVERPOOL. May 24th.--Day before yesterday I had a call at the Consulate from one of the Potentates of the Earth,--a woolly-haired negro, rather thin and spare, between forty and fifty years of age, plainly dressed; at the first glimpse of whom, I could readily have mistaken him for some ship's steward, seeking to enter a complaint of his captain. However, this was President Roberts, of Liberia, introduced by a note from Mrs. O'Sullivan, whom he has recently met in Madeira. I was rather favorably impressed with him; for his deportment was very simple, and without any of the flourish and embroidery which a negro might be likely to assume on finding himself elevated from slavery to power. He is rather shy, reserved, at least, and undemonstrative, yet not harshly so,--in fine, with manners that offer no prominent points for notice or criticism; although I felt, or thought I felt, that his color was continually before his mind, and that he walks cautiously among men, as conscious that every new introduction is a new experiment. He is not in the slightest degree an interesting man (so far as I discovered in a very brief interview), apart from his position and history; his face is not striking, nor so agreeable as if it were jet black; but there may be miles and miles of depth in him which I know nothing of. Our conversation was of the most unimportant character; for he had called merely to deliver the note, and sat only a few minutes, during which he merely responded to my observations, and originated no remarks. Intelligence, discretion, tact--these are probably his traits; not force of character and independence. The same day I took the rail from the Little Street station for MANCHESTER, to meet Bennoch, who had asked me thither to dine with him. I had never visited Manchester before, though now so long resident within twenty miles of it; neither is it particularly worth visiting, unless for the sake of its factories, which I did not go to see. It is a dingy and heavy town, with very much the aspect of Liverpool, being, like the latter, built almost entirely within the present century. I stopped at the Albion Hotel, and, as Bennoch was out, I walked forth to view the city, and made only such observations as are recorded above. Opposite the hotel stands the Infirmary,--a very large edifice, which, when erected, was on the outskirts, or perhaps in the rural suburbs, of the town, but it is now almost in its centre. In the enclosed space before it stands the statue of Peel, and sits a statue of Dr. Dalton, the celebrated chemist, who was a native of Manchester. Returning to the hotel, I sat down in the room where we were to dine, and in due time Bennoch made his appearance, with the same glow and friendly warmth in his face that I had left burning there when we parted in London. If this man has not a heart, then no man ever had. I like him inexpressibly for his heart and for his intellect, and for his flesh and blood; and if he has faults, I do not know them, nor care to know them, nor value him the less if I did know them. He went to his room to dress; and in the mean time a middle-aged, dark man, of pleasant aspect, with black hair, black eyebrows, and bright, dark eyes came in, limping a little, but not much. He seemed not quite a man of the world, a little shy in manner, yet he addressed me kindly and sociably. I guessed him to be Mr. Charles Swain, the poet, whom Mr. Bennoch had invited to dinner. Soon came another guest whom Mr. Swain introduced to me as Mr. ------, editor of the Manchester Examiner. Then came Bennoch, who made us all regularly acquainted, or took for granted that we were so; and lastly appeared a Mr. W------, a merchant in Manchester, and a very intelligent man; and the party was then complete. Mr. Swain, the poet, is not a man of fluent conversation; he said, indeed, very little, but gave me the impression of amiability and simplicity of character, with much feeling. Mr. W------ is a very sensible man. He has spent two or three years in America, and seems to have formed juster conclusions about us than most of his countrymen do. He is the only Englishman, I think, whom I have met, who fairly acknowledges that the English do cherish doubt, jealousy, suspicion, in short, an unfriendly feeling, towards the Americans. It is wonderful how every American, whatever class of the English he mingles with, is conscious of this feeling, and how no Englishman, except this sole Mr. W------, will confess it. He expressed some very good ideas, too, about the English and American press, and the reasons why the Times may fairly be taken as the exponent of British feeling towards us, while the New York Herald, immense as its circulation is, can be considered, in no similar degree or kind, the American exponent. We sat late at table, and after the other guests had retired, Bennoch and I had some very friendly talk, and he proposed that on my wife's return we should take up our residence in his house at Blackheath, while Mrs. Bennoch and himself were absent for two months on a trip to Germany. If his wife and mine ratify the idea, we will do so. The next morning we went out to see the Exchange, and whatever was noticeable about the town. Time being brief, I did not visit the cathedral, which, I believe, is a thousand years old. There are many handsome shops in Manchester; and we went into one establishment, devoted to pictures, engravings, and decorative art generally, which is most perfect and extensive. The firm, if I remember, is that of the Messrs. Agnew, and, though originating here, they have now a house in London. Here I saw some interesting objects, purchased by them at the recent sale of the Rogers collection; among other things, a slight pencil and water-color sketch by Raphael. An unfinished affair, done in a moment, as this must have been, seems to bring us closer to the hand that did it than the most elaborately painted picture can. Were I to see the Transfiguration, Raphael would still be at the distance of centuries. Seeing this little sketch, I had him very near me. I know not why,-- perhaps it might be fancied that he had only laid down the pencil for an instant, and would take it up again in a moment more. I likewise saw a copy of a handsome, illustrated edition of Childe Harold, presented by old John Murray to Mr. Rogers, with an inscription on the fly-leaf, purporting that it was a token of gratitude from the publisher, because, when everybody else thought him imprudent in giving four hundred guineas for the poem, Mr. Rogers told him it would turn out the best bargain he ever made. There was a new picture by Millais, the distinguished Pre-Raphaelite artist, representing a melancholy parting between two lovers. The lady's face had a great deal of sad and ominous expression; but an old brick wall, overrun with foliage, was so exquisitely and elaborately wrought that it was hardly possible to look at the personages of the picture. Every separate leaf of the climbing and clustering shrubbery was painfully made out; and the wall was reality itself, with the weather-stains, and the moss, and the crumbling lime between the bricks. It is not well to be so perfect in the inanimate, unless the artist can likewise make man and woman as lifelike, and to as great a depth, too, as the Creator does. Bennoch left town for some place in Yorkshire, and I for Liverpool. I asked him to come and dine with me at the Adelphi, meaning to ask two or three people to meet him; but he had other engagements, and could not spare a day at present, though he promises to come before long. Dining at Mr. Rathbone's one evening last week (May 21st), it was mentioned that BORROW, author of the Bible in Spain, is supposed to be of gypsy descent by the mother's side. Hereupon Mr. Martineau mentioned that he had been a schoolfellow of Borrow, and though he had never heard of his gypsy blood, he thought it probable, from Borrow's traits of character. He said that, Borrow had once run away from school, and carried with him a party of other boys, meaning to lead a wandering life. If an Englishman were individually acquainted with all our twenty-five millions of Americans, and liked every one of them, and believed that each man of those millions was a Christian, honest, upright, and kind, he would doubt, despise, and hate them in the aggregate, however he might love and honor the individuals. Captain ------ and his wife Oakum; they spent all evening at Mrs. B------'s. The Captain is a Marblehead man by birth, not far from sixty years old; very talkative and anecdotic in regard to his adventures; funny, good-humored, and full of various nautical experience. Oakum (it is a nickname which he gives his wife) is an inconceivably tall woman,-- taller than he,--six feet, at least, and with a well-proportioned largeness in all respects, but looks kind and good, gentle, smiling,--and almost any other woman might sit like a baby on her lap. She does not look at all awful and belligerent, like the massive English women one often sees. You at once feel her to be a benevolent giantess, and apprehend no harm from her. She is a lady, and perfectly well mannered, but with a sort of naturalness and simplicity that becomes her; for any the slightest affectation would be so magnified in her vast personality that it would be absolutely the height of the ridiculous. This wedded pair have no children, and Oakum has so long accompanied her husband on his voyages that I suppose by this time she could command a ship as well as he. They sat till pretty late, diffusing cheerfulness all about them, and then, "Come, Oakum," cried the Captain, "we must hoist sail!" and up rose Oakum to the ceiling, and moved tower-like to the door, looking down with a benignant smile on the poor little pygmy women about her. "Six feet," did I say? Why, she must be seven, eight, nine; and, whatever be her size, she is as good as she is big. June 11th.--Monday night (9th), just as I was retiring, I received a telegraphic message announcing my wife's arrival at SOUTHAMPTON. So, the next day, I arranged the consular business for an absence of ten days, and set forth with J-----, and reached Birmingham, between eight and nine, evening. We put up at the Queen's Hotel, a very large establishment, contiguous to the railway. Next morning we left Birmingham, and made our first stage to Leamington, where we had to wait nearly an hour, which we spent in wandering through some of the streets that had been familiar to us last year. Leamington is certainly a beautiful town, new, bright, clean, and as unlike as possible to the business towns of England. However, the sun was burning hot, and I could almost have fancied myself in America. From Leamington we took tickets for Oxford, where we were obliged to make another stop of two hours; and these we employed to what advantage we could, driving up into town, and straying hither and thither, till J-----'s weariness weighed upon me, and I adjourned with him to a hotel. Oxford is an ugly old town, of crooked and irregular streets, gabled houses, mostly plastered of a buff or yellow hue; some new fronts; and as for the buildings of the University, they seem to be scattered at random, without any reference to one another. I passed through an old gateway of Christ Church, and looked at its enclosed square, and that is, in truth, pretty much all I then saw of the University of Oxford. From Christ Church we rambled along a street that led us to a bridge across the Isis; and we saw many row-boats lying in the river,--the lightest craft imaginable, unless it were an Indian canoe. The Isis is but a narrow stream, and with a sluggish current. I believe the students of Oxford are famous for their skill in rowing. To me as well as to J----- the hot streets were terribly oppressive; so we went into the Roebuck Hotel, where we found a cool and pleasant coffee-room. The entrance to this hotel is through an arch, opening from High Street, and giving admission into a paved court, the buildings all around being part of the establishment,--old edifices with pointed gables and old-fashioned projecting windows, but all in fine repair, and wearing a most quiet, retired, and comfortable aspect. The court was set all round with flowers, growing in pots or large pedestalled vases; on one side was the coffee-room, and all the other public apartments, and the other side seemed to be taken up by the sleeping-chambers and parlors of the guests. This arrangement of an inn, I presume, is very ancient, and it resembles what I have seen in the hospitals, free schools, and other charitable establishments in the old English towns; and, indeed, all large houses were arranged on somewhat the same principle. By and by two or three young men came in, in wide-awake hats, and loose, blouse-like, summerish garments; and from their talk I found them to be students of the University, although their topics of conversation were almost entirely horses and boats. One of them sat down to cold beef and a tankard of ale; the other two drank a tankard of ale together, and went away without paying for it,--rather to the waiter's discontent. Students are very much alike, all the world over, and, I suppose, in all time; but I doubt whether many of my fellows at college would have gone off without paying for their beer. We reached Southampton between seven and eight o'clock. I cannot write to-day. June 15th.--The first day after we reached Southampton was sunny and pleasant; but we made little use of the fine weather, except that S----- and I walked once along the High Street, and J----- and I took a little ramble about town in the afternoon. The next day there was a high and disagreeable wind, and I did not once stir out of the house. The third day, too, I kept entirely within doors, it being a storm of wind and rain. The Castle Hotel stands within fifty yards of the water-side; so that this gusty day showed itself to the utmost advantage,--the vessels pitching and tossing at their moorings, the waves breaking white out of a tumultuous gray surface, the opposite shore glooming mistily at the distance of a mile or two; and on the hither side boatmen and seafaring people scudding about the pier in waterproof clothes; and in the street, before the hotel door, a cabman or two, standing drearily beside his horse. But we were sunny within doors. Yesterday it was breezy, sunny, shadowy, showery; and we ordered a cab to take us to Clifton Villa, to call on Mrs. ------, a friend of B------'s, who called on us the day after our arrival. Just, as we were ready to start, Mrs. ------ again called, and accompanied us back to her house. It is in Shirley, about two miles from Southampton pier, and is a pleasant suburban villa, with a pretty ornamented lawn and shrubbery about it. Mrs. ------ is an instructress of young ladies; and at B------'s suggestion, she is willing to receive us for two or three weeks, during the vacation, until we are ready to go to London. She seems to be a pleasant and sensible woman, and to-morrow we shall decide whether to go there. There was nothing very remarkable in this drive; and, indeed, my stay hereabouts thus far has been very barren of sights and incidents externally interesting, though the inner life has been rich. Southampton is a very pretty town, and has not the dinginess to which I have been accustomed in many English towns. The High Street reminds me very much of American streets in its general effect; the houses being mostly stuccoed white or light, and cheerful in aspect, though doubtless they are centuries old at heart. The old gateway, which I presume I have mentioned in describing my former visit to Southampton, stands across High Street, about in the centre of the town, and is almost the only token of antiquity that presents itself to the eye. June 17th.--Yesterday morning, June 16th, S-----, Mrs. ------, and I took the rail for Salisbury, where we duly arrived without any accident or anything noticeable, except the usual verdure and richness of an English summer landscape. From the railway station we walked up into Salisbury, with the tall spire (four hundred feet high) of the cathedral before our eyes. Salisbury is an antique city, but with streets more regular than I have seen in most old towns, and the houses have a more picturesque aspect than those of Oxford, for instance, where almost all are mean-looking alike,--though I could hardly judge of Oxford on that hot, weary day. Through one or more of the streets there runs a swift, clear little stream, which, being close to the pavement, and bordered with stone, may be called, I suppose, a kennel, though possessing the transparent purity of a rustic rivulet. It is a brook in city garb. We passed under the pointed arch of a gateway, which stands in one of the principal streets, and soon came in front of THE CATHEDRAL. I do not remember any cathedral with so fine a site as this, rising up out of the centre of a beautiful green, extensive enough to show its full proportions, relieved and insulated from all other patchwork and impertinence of rusty edifices. It is of gray stone, and looks as perfect as when just finished, and with the perfection, too, that could not have come in less than six centuries of venerableness, with a view to which these edifices seem to have been built. A new cathedral would lack the last touch to its beauty and grandeur. It needs to be mellowed and ripened, like some pictures; although I suppose this awfulness of antiquity was supplied, in the minds of the generation that built cathedrals, by the sanctity which they attributed to them. Salisbury Cathedral is far more beautiful than that of York, the exterior of which was really disagreeable to my eye; but this mighty spire and these multitudinous gray pinnacles and towers ascend towards heaven with a kind of natural beauty, not as if man had contrived them. They might be fancied to have grown up, just as the spires of a tuft of grass do, at the same time that they have a law of propriety and regularity among themselves. The tall spire is of such admirable proportion that it does not seem gigantic; and indeed the effect of the whole edifice is of beauty rather than weight and massiveness. Perhaps the bright, balmy sunshine in which we saw it contributed to give it a tender glory, and to soften a little its majesty. When we went in, we heard the organ, the forenoon service being near conclusion. If I had never seen the interior of York Cathedral, I should have been quite satisfied, no doubt, with the spaciousness of this nave and these side aisles, and the height of their arches, and the girth of these pillars; but with that recollection in my mind they fell a little short of grandeur. The interior is seen to disadvantage, and in a way the builder never meant it to be seen; because there is little or no painted glass, nor any such mystery as it makes, but only a colorless, common daylight, revealing everything without remorse. There is a general light hue, moreover, like that of whitewash, over the whole of the roof and walls of the interior, pillars, monuments, and all; whereas, originally, every pillar was polished, and the ceiling was ornamented in brilliant colors, and the light came, many-hued, through the windows, on all this elaborate beauty, in lieu of which there is nothing now but space. Between the pillars that separate the nave from the side aisles, there are ancient tombs, most of which have recumbent statues on them. One of these is Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, son of Fair Rosamond, in chain mail; and there are many other warriors and bishops, and one cross-legged Crusader, and on one tombstone a recumbent skeleton, which I have likewise seen in two or three other cathedrals. The pavement of the aisles and nave is laid in great part with flat tombstones, the inscriptions on which are half obliterated, and on the walls, especially in the transepts, there are tablets, among which I saw one to the poet Bowles, who was a canon of this cathedral. The ecclesiastical dignitaries bury themselves and monument themselves to the exclusion of almost everybody else, in these latter times; though still, as of old, the warrior has his place. A young officer, slain in the Indian wars, was memorialized by a tablet, and may be remembered by it, six hundred years hence, as we now remember the old Knights and Crusaders. It deserves to be mentioned that I saw one or two noses still unbroken among these recumbent figures. Most of the antique statues, on close examination, proved to be almost, entirely covered with names and initials, scratched over the once polished surface. The cathedral and its relics must have been far less carefully watched, at some former period, than now. Between the nave and the choir, as usual, there is a screen that half destroys the majesty of the building, by abridging the spectator of the long vista which he might otherwise have of the whole interior at a glance. We peeped through the barrier, and saw some elaborate monuments in the chancel beyond; but the doors of the screen are kept locked, so that the vergers may raise a revenue by showing strangers through the richest part of the cathedral. By and by one of these vergers came through the screen, with a gentleman and lady whom he was taking round, and we joined ourselves to the party. He showed us into the cloisters, which had long been neglected and ruinous, until the time of Bishop Dennison, the last prelate, who has been but a few years dead. This Bishop has repaired and restored the cloisters in faithful adherence to the original plan; and they now form a most delightful walk about a pleasant and verdant enclosure, in the centre of which sleeps good Bishop Dennison, with a wife on either side of him, all three beneath broad flat stones. Most cloisters are darksome and grim; but these have a broad paved walk beneath the vista of arches, and are light, airy, and cheerful; and from one corner you can get the best possible view of the whole height and beautiful proportion of the cathedral spire. One side of this cloistered walk seems to be the length of the nave of the cathedral. There is a square of four such sides; and of places for meditation, grave, yet not too sombre, it seemed to me one of the best. While we stayed there, a jackdaw was walking to and fro across the grassy enclosure, and haunting around the good Bishop's grave. He was clad in black, and looked like a feathered ecclesiastic; but I know not whether it were Bishop Dennison's ghost, or that of some old monk. On one side of the cloisters, and contiguous to the main body of the cathedral, stands the chapter-house. Bishop Dennison had it much at heart to repair this part of the holy edifice; and, if I mistake not, did begin the work; for it had been long ruinous, and in Cromwell's time his dragoons stationed their horses there. Little progress, however, had been made in the repairs when the Bishop died; and it was decided to restore the building in his honor, and by way of monument to him. The repairs are now nearly completed; and the interior of this chapter-house gave me the first idea, anywise adequate, of the splendor of these Gothic church edifices. The roof is sustained by one great central pillar of polished marble,--small pillars clustered about a great central column, which rises to the ceiling, and there gushes out with various beauty, that overflows all the walls; as if the fluid idea had sprung out of that fountain, and grown solid in what we see. The pavement is elaborately ornamented; the ceiling is to be brilliantly gilded and painted, as it was of yore, and the tracery and sculptures around the walls are to be faithfully renewed from what remains of the original patterns. After viewing the chapter-house, the verger--an elderly man of grave, benign manner, clad in black and talking of the cathedral and the monuments as if he loved them--led us again into the nave of the cathedral, and thence within the screen of the choir. The screen is as poor as possible,--mere barren wood-work, without the least attempt at beauty. In the chancel there are some meagre patches of old glass, and some of modern date, not very well worth looking at. We saw several interesting monuments in this part of the cathedral,--one belonging to the ducal family of Somerset, and erected in the reign of James I.; it is of marble, and extremely splendid and elaborate, with kneeling figures and all manner of magnificence,--more than I have seen in any monument except that of Mary of Scotland in Westminster Abbey. The more ancient tombs are also very numerous, and among them that of the Bishop who founded the cathedral. Within the screen, against the wall, is erected a monument, by Chantrey, to the Earl of Malmesbury; a full-length statue of the Earl in a half-recumbent position, holding an open volume and looking upward,--a noble work,--a calm, wise, thoughtful, firm, and not unbenignant face. Beholding its expression, it really was impossible not to have faith in the high character of the individual thus represented; and I have seldom felt this effect from any monumental bust or statue, though I presume it is always aimed at. I am weary of trying to describe cathedrals. It is utterly useless; there is no possibility of giving the general effect, or any shadow of it, and it is miserable to put down a few items of tombstones, and a bit of glass from a painted window, as if the gloom and glory of the edifice were thus to be reproduced. Cathedrals are almost the only things (if even those) that have quite filled out my ideal here in this old world; and cathedrals often make me miserable from my inadequacy to take them wholly in; and, above all, I despise myself when I sit down to describe them. We now walked around the Close, which is surrounded by some of the quaintest and comfortablest ecclesiastical residences that can be imagined. These are the dwelling-houses of the Dean and the canons, and whatever other high officers compose the Bishop's staff; and there was one large brick mansion, old, but not so ancient as the rest, which we took to be the Bishop's palace. I never beheld anything--I must say again so cosey, so indicative of domestic comfort for whole centuries together,--houses so fit to live in or to die in, and where it would be so pleasant to lead a young wife beneath the antique portal, and dwell with her till husband and wife were patriarchal,--as these delectable old houses. They belong naturally to the cathedral, and have a necessary relation to it, and its sanctity is somehow thrown over them all, so that they do not quite belong to this world, though they look full to overflowing of whatever earthly things are good for man. These are places, however, in which mankind makes no progress; the rushing tumult of human life here subsides into a deep, quiet pool, with perhaps a gentle circular eddy, but no onward movement. The same identical thought, I suppose, goes round in a slow whirl from one generation to another, as I have seen a withered leaf do in the vortex of a brook. In the front of the cathedral there is a most stately and beautiful tree, which flings its verdure upward to a very lofty height; but far above it rises the tall spire, dwarfing the great tree by comparison. When the cathedral had sufficiently oppressed us with its beauty, we returned to sublunary matters, and went wandering about Salisbury in search of a luncheon, which we finally took in a confectioner's shop. Then we inquired hither and thither, at various livery-stables, for a conveyance to Stonehenge, and at last took a fly from the Lamb Hotel. The drive was over a turnpike for the first seven miles, over a bare, ridgy country, showing little to interest us. We passed a party of seven or eight men, in a coarse uniform dress, resembling that worn by convicts and apparently under the guardianship of a stout, authoritative, yet rather kindly-looking man with a cane. Our driver said that they were lunatics from a neighboring asylum, out for a walk. Seven miles from Salisbury, we turned aside from the turnpike, and drove two miles across Salisbury Plain, which is an apparently boundless extent of unenclosed land, treeless and houseless. It is not exactly a plain, but a green sea of long and gentle swells and subsidences, affording views of miles upon miles to a very far horizon. We passed large flocks of sheep, with the shepherds watching them; but the dogs seemed to take most of the care of the flocks upon their own shoulders, and would scamper to turn the sheep when they inclined to stray whither they should not; and then arose a thousand-fold bleating, not unpleasant to the ear; for it did not apparently indicate any fear or discomfort on the part of the flock. The sheep and lambs are all black-faced, and have a very funny expression. As we drove over the plain (my seat was beside the driver), I saw at a distance a cluster of large gray stones, mostly standing upright, and some of them slightly inclined towards each other, --very irregular, and so far off forming no very picturesque or noteworthy spectacle. Of course I knew at once that this was STONEHENGE, and also knew that the reality was going to dwindle wofully within my ideal, as almost everything else does. When we reached the spot, we found a picnic-party just finishing their dinner, on one of the overthrown stones of the druidical temple; and within the sacred circle an artist was painting a wretched daub of the scene, and an old shepherd --the very Shepherd of Salisbury Plain sat erect in the centre of the ruin. There never was a ruder thing than Stonehenge made by mortal hands. It is so very rude that it seems as if Nature and man had worked upon it with one consent, and so it is all the stranger and more impressive from its rudeness. The spectator wonders to see art and contrivance, and a regular and even somewhat intricate plan, beneath all the uncouth simplicity of this arrangement of rough stones; and certainly, whatever was the intellectual and scientific advancement of the people who built Stonehenge, no succeeding architects will ever have a right to triumph over them; for nobody's work in after times is likely to endure till it becomes a mystery as to who built it, and how, and for what purpose. Apart from the moral considerations suggested by it, Stonehenge is not very well worth seeing. Materially, it is one of the poorest of spectacles, and when complete, it must have been even less picturesque than now,--a few huge, rough stones, very imperfectly squared, standing on end, and each group of two supporting a third large stone on their tops; other stones of the same pattern overthrown and tumbled one upon another; and the whole comprised within a circuit of about a hundred feet diameter; the short, sheep-cropped grass of Salisbury Plain growing among all these uncouth bowlders. I am not sure that a misty, lowering day would not have better suited Stonehenge, as the dreary midpoint of the great, desolate, trackless plain; not literally trackless, however, for the London and Exeter Road passes within fifty yards of the ruins, and another road intersects it. After we had been there about an hour, there came a horseman within the Druid's circle,--evidently a clerical personage by his white neckcloth, though his loose gray riding pantaloons were not quite in keeping. He looked at us rather earnestly, and at last addressed Mrs. ------, and announced himself as Mr. Hinchman,--a clergyman whom she had been trying to find in Salisbury, in order to avail herself of him as a cicerone; and he had now ridden hither to meet us. He told us that the artist whom we found here could give us more information than anybody about Stonehenge; for it seems he has spent a great many years here, painting and selling his poor sketches to visitors, and also selling a book which his father wrote about the remains. This man showed, indeed, a pretty accurate, acquaintance with these old stones, and pointed out, what is thought to be the altar-stone, and told us of some relation between this stone and two other stones, and the rising of the sun at midsummer, which might indicate that Stonehenge was a temple of solar worship. He pointed out, too, to how little depth the stones were planted in the earth, insomuch that I have no doubt the American frosts would overthrow Stonehenge in a single winter; and it is wonderful that it should have stood so long, even in England. I have forgotten what else he said; but I bought one of his books, and find it a very unsatisfactory performance, being chiefly taken up with an attempt to prove these remains to be an antediluvian work, constructed, I think the author says, under the superintendence of Father Adam himself! Before our departure we were requested to write our names in the album which the artist keeps for the purpose; and he pointed out Ex-President Fillmore's autograph, and those of one or two other Americans who have been here within a short time. It is a very curious life that this artist leads, in this great solitude, and haunting Stonehenge like the ghost of a Druid; but he is a brisk little man, and very communicative on his one subject. Mr. Hinchman rode with us over the plain, and pointed out Salisbury spire, visible close to Stonehenge. Under his guidance we returned by a different road from that which brought us thither,--and a much more delightful one. I think I never saw such continued sylvan beauty as this road showed us, passing through a good deal of woodland scenery,--fine old trees, standing each within its own space, and thus having full liberty to outspread itself, and wax strong and broad for ages, instead of being crowded, and thus stifled and emaciated, as human beings are here, and forest-trees are in America. Hedges, too, and the rich, rich verdure of England; and villages full of picturesque old houses, thatched, and ivied, or perhaps overrun with roses,--and a stately mansion in the Elizabethan style; and a quiet stream, gliding onward without a ripple from its own motion, but rippled by a large fish darting across it; and over all this scene a gentle, friendly sunshine, not ardent enough to crisp a single leaf or blade of grass. Nor must the village church be forgotten, with its square, battlemented tower, dating back to the epoch of the Normans. We called at a house where one of Mrs. ------'s pupils was residing with her aunt,--a thatched house of two stories high, built in what was originally a sand-pit, but which, in the course of a good many years, has been transformed into the most delightful and homelike little nook almost that can be found in England. A thatched cottage suggests a very rude dwelling indeed; but this had a pleasant parlor and drawing-room, and chambers with lattice-windows, opening close beneath the thatched roof; and the thatch itself gives an air to the place as if it were a bird's nest, or some such simple and natural habitation. The occupants are an elderly clergyman, retired from professional duty, and his sister; and having nothing else to do, and sufficient means, they employ themselves in beautifying this sweet little retreat--planting new shrubbery, laying out new walks around it, and helping Nature to add continually another charm; and Nature is certainly a more genial playfellow in England than in my own country. She is always ready to lend her aid to any beautifying purpose. Leaving these good people, who were very hospitable, giving tea and offering wine, we reached Salisbury in time to take the train for Southampton. June 18th.--Yesterday we left the Castle Hotel, after paying a bill of twenty pounds for a little more than a week's board. In America we could not very well have lived so simply, but we might have lived luxuriously for half the money. This Castle Hotel was once an old Roman castle, the landlord says, and the circular sweep of the tower is still seen towards the street, although, being painted white, and built up with modern additions, it would not be taken for an ancient structure. There is a dungeon beneath it, in which the landlord keeps his wine. J----- and I, quitting the hotel, walked towards Shinley along the water-side, leaving the rest of the family to follow in a fly. There are many traces, along the shore, of the fortifications by which Southampton was formerly defended towards the water, and very probably their foundations may be as ancient as Roman times. Our hotel was no doubt connected with this chain of defences, which seems to have consisted of a succession of round towers, with a wall extending from one to another. We saw two or three of these towers still standing, and likely to stand, though ivy-grown and ruinous at the summit, and intermixed and even amalgamated with pot-houses and mean dwellings; and often, through an antique arch, there was a narrow doorway, giving access to the house of some sailor or laborer or artisan, and his wife gossiping at it with her neighbor, or his children playing about it. After getting beyond the precincts of Southampton our walk was not very interesting, except to J-----, who kept running down to the verge of the water, looking for shells and sea-insects. June 29th.--Yesterday, 28th, I left Liverpool from the Lime Street station; an exceedingly hot day for England, insomuch that the rail carriages were really uncomfortable. I have now passed over the London and Northwestern Railway so often that the northern part of it is very wearisome, especially as it has few features of interest even to a new observer. At Stafford--no, at Wolverhampton--we diverged to a track which I have passed over only once before. We stopped an hour and a quarter at Wolverhampton, and I walked up into the town, which is large and old,--old, at least, in its plan, or lack of plan,--the streets being irregular, and straggling over an uneven surface. Like many of the English towns, it reminds me of Boston, though dingier. The sun was so hot that I actually sought the shady sides of the streets; and this, of itself, is one long step towards establishing a resemblance between an English town and an American one. English railway carriages seem to me more tiresome than any other; and I suppose it is owing to the greater motion, arising from their more elastic springs. A slow train, too, like that which I was now in, is more tiresome than a quick one, at least to the spirits, whatever it may be to the body. We loitered along through afternoon and evening, stopping at every little station, and nowhere getting to the top of our speed, till at last, in the late dusk, we reached GLOUCESTER, and I put up at the Wellington Hotel, which is but a little way from the station. I took tea and a slice or two of ham in the coffee-room, and had a little talk with two people there; one of whom, on learning that I was an American, said, "But I suppose you have now been in England some time?" He meant, finding me not absolutely a savage, that I must have been caught a good while ago. . . . The next morning I went into the city, the hotel being on its outskirts, and rambled along in search of the cathedral. Some church-bells were chiming and clashing for a wedding or other festal occasion, and I followed the sound, supposing that it might proceed from the cathedral, but this was not the case. It was not till I had got to a bridge over the Severn, quite out of the town, that I saw again its tower, and knew how to shape my course towards it. I did not see much that was strange or interesting in Gloucester. It is old, with a good many of those antique Elizabethan houses with two or three peaked gables on a line together; several old churches, which always cluster about a cathedral, like chickens round a hen; a hospital for decayed tradesmen; another for bluecoat boys; a great many butcher's shops, scattered in all parts of the town, open in front, with a counter or dresser on which to display the meat, just in the old fashion of Shakespeare's house. It is a large town, and has a good deal of liveliness and bustle, in a provincial way. In short, judging by the sheep, cattle, and horses, and the people of agricultural aspect that I saw about the streets, I should think it must have been market-day. I looked here and there for the old Bell Inn, because, unless I misremember, Fielding brings Tom Jones to this inn, while he and Partridge were travelling together. It is still extant; for, on my arrival the night before, a runner from it had asked me to go thither; but I forgot its celebrity at the moment. I saw nothing of it in my rambles about Gloucester, but at last I found THE CATHEDRAL, though I found no point from which a good view of the exterior can be seen. It has a very beautiful and rich outside, however, and a lofty tower, very large and ponderous, but so finished off, and adorned with pinnacles, and all manner of architectural devices,--wherewith these old builders knew how to alleviate their massive structures,--that it seems to sit lightly in the air. The porch was open, and some workmen were trundling barrows into the nave; so I followed, and found two young women sitting just within the porch, one of whom offered to show me round the cathedral. There was a great dust in the nave, arising from the operations of the workmen. They had been laying a new pavement, and scraping away the plaster, which had heretofore been laid over the pillars and walls. The pillars come out from the process as good as new,--great, round, massive columns, not clustered like those of most cathedrals; they are twenty-one feet in circumference, and support semicircular arches. I think there are seven of these columns, on each side of the nave, which did not impress me as very spacious; and the dust and racket of the work-people quite destroyed the effect which should have been produced by the aisles and arches; so that I hardly stopped to glance at this part, though I saw some mural monuments and recumbent statues along the walls. The choir is separated from the nave by the usual screen, and now by a sail-cloth or something of that kind, drawn across, in order to keep out the dust, while the repairs are going on. When the young woman conducted me hither, I was at once struck by the magnificent eastern window, the largest in England, which fills, or looks vast enough to fill, all that end of the cathedral,--a most splendid window, full of old painted glass, which looked as bright as sunshine, though the sun was not really shining through it. The roof of the choir is of oak and very fine, and as much as ninety feet high. There are chapels opening from the choir, and within them the monuments of the eminent people who built them, and of benefactors or prelates, or of those otherwise illustrious in their day. My recollection of what I saw here is very dim and confused; more so than I anticipated. I remember somewhere within the choir the tomb of Edward II. with his effigy upon the top of it, in a long robe, with a crown on his head, and a ball and sceptre in his hand; likewise, a statue of Robert, son of the Conqueror, carved in Irish oak and painted. He lolls in an easy posture on his tomb, with one leg crossed lightly over the other, to denote that he was a Crusader. There are several monuments of mitred abbots who formerly presided over the cathedral. A Cavalier and his wife, with the dress of the period elaborately represented, lie side by side in excellent preservation; and it is remarkable that though their noses are very prominent, they have come down from the past without any wear and tear. The date of the Cavalier's death is 1637, and I think his statue could not have been sculptured until after the Restoration, else he and his dame would hardly have come through Cromwell's time unscathed. Here, as in all the other churches in England, Cromwell is said to have stabled his horses, and broken the windows, and belabored the old monuments. There is one large and beautiful chapel, styled the Lady's Chapel, which is, indeed, a church by itself, being ninety feet long, and comprising everything that appertains to a place of worship. Here, too, there are monuments, and on the floor are many old bricks and tiles, with inscriptions on them, or Gothic devices, and flat tombstones, with coats of arms sculptured on them; as, indeed, there are everywhere else, except in the nave, where the new pavement has obliterated them. After viewing the choir and the chapels, the young woman led me down into the crypts below, where the dead persons who are commemorated in the upper regions were buried. The low ponderous pillars and arches of these crypts are supposed to be older than the upper portions of the building. They are about as perfect, I suppose, as when new, but very damp, dreary, and darksome; and the arches intersect one another so intricately, that, if the girl had deserted me, I might easily have got lost there. These are chapels where masses used to be said for the souls of the deceased; and my guide said that a great many skulls and bones had been dug up here. No doubt a vast population has been deposited in the course of a thousand years. I saw two white skulls, in a niche, grinning as skulls always do, though it is impossible to see the joke. These crypts, or crypts like these, are doubtless what Congreve calls the "aisles and monumental caves of Death," in that passage which Dr. Johnson admired so much. They are very singular,--something like a dark shadow or dismal repetition of the upper church below ground. Ascending from the crypts, we went next to the cloisters, which are in a very perfect state, and form an unbroken square about the green grass-plot, enclosed within. Here also it is said Cromwell stabled his horses; but if so, they were remarkably quiet beasts, for tombstones, which form the pavement, are not broken, nor cracked, nor bear any hoof-marks. All around the cloisters, too, the stone tracery that shuts them in like a closed curtain, carefully drawn, remains as it was in the days of the monks, insomuch that it is not easy to get a glimpse of the green enclosure. Probably there used to be painted glass in the larger apertures of this stone-work; otherwise it is perfect. These cloisters are very different from the free, open, and airy ones of Salisbury; but they are more in accordance with our notions of monkish habits; and even at this day, if I were a canon of Gloucester, I would put that dim ambulatory to a good use. The library is adjacent to the cloisters, and I saw some rows of folios and quartos. I have nothing else to record about the cathedral, though if I were to stay there a month, I suppose it might then begin to be understood. It is wicked to look at these solemn old churches in a hurry. By the by, it was not built in a hurry; but in full three hundred years, having been begun in 1188 and only finished in 1498, not a great many years before Papistry began to go out of vogue in England. From Gloucester I took the rail for Basingstoke before noon. The first part of the journey was through an uncommonly beautiful tract of country, hilly, but not wild; a tender and graceful picturesqueness,--fine, single trees and clumps of trees, and sometimes wide woods, scattered over the landscape, and filling the nooks of the hills with luxuriant foliage. Old villages scattered frequently along our track, looking very peaceful, with the peace of past ages lingering about them; and a rich, rural verdure of antique cultivation everywhere. Old country-seats--specimens of the old English hall or manor-house--appeared on the hillsides, with park-scenery surrounding the mansions; and the gray churches rose in the midst of all the little towns. The beauty of English scenery makes me desperate, it is so impossible to describe it, or in any way to record its impression, and such a pity to leave it undescribed; and, moreover, I always feel that I do not get from it a hundredth or a millionth part of the enjoyment that there really is in it, hurrying past it thus. I was really glad when we rumbled into a tunnel, piercing for a long distance through a hill; and, emerging on the other side, we found ourselves in a comparatively level and uninteresting tract of country, which lasted till we reached Southampton. English scenery, to be appreciated and to be reproduced with pen and pencil, requires to be dwelt upon long, and to be wrought out with the nicest touches. A coarse and hasty brush is not the instrument for such work. July 6th.--Monday, June 30th, was a warm and beautiful day, and my wife and I took a cab from Southampton and drove to NETLEY ABBEY, about three or four miles. The remains of the Abbey stand in a sheltered place, but within view of Southampton Water; and it is a most picturesque and perfect ruin, all ivy-grown, of course, and with great trees where the pillars of the nave used to stand, and also in the refectory and the cloister court; and so much soil on the summit of the broken walls, that weeds flourish abundantly there, and grass too; and there was a wild rosebush, in full bloom, as much as thirty or forty feet from the ground. S----- and I ascended a winding stair, leading up within a round tower, the steps much foot-worn; and, reaching the top, we came forth at the height where a gallery had formerly run round the church, in the thickness of the wall. The upper portions of the edifice were now chiefly thrown down; but I followed a foot-path, on the top of the remaining wall, quite to the western entrance of the church. Since the time when the Abbey was taken from the monks, it has been private property; and the possessor, in Henry VIII.'s days, or subsequently, built a residence for himself within its precincts out of the old materials. This has now entirely disappeared, all but some unsightly old masonry, patched into the original walls. Large portions of the ruin have been removed, likewise, to be used as building-materials elsewhere; and this is the Abbey mentioned, I think, by Dr. Watts, concerning which a Mr. William Taylor had a dream while he was contemplating pulling it down. He dreamed that a part of it fell upon his head; and, sure enough, a piece of the wall did come down and crush him. In the nave I saw a large mass of conglomerated stone that had fallen from the wall between the nave and cloisters, and thought that perhaps this was the very mass that killed poor Mr. Taylor. The ruins are extensive and very interesting; but I have put off describing them too long, and cannot make a distinct picture of them now. Moreover, except to a spectator skilled in architecture, all ruined abbeys are pretty much alike. As we came away, we noticed some women making baskets at the entrance, and one of them urged us to buy some of her handiwork; for that she was the gypsy of Netley Abbey, and had lived among the ruins these thirty years. So I bought one for a shilling. She was a woman with a prominent nose, and weather-tanned, but not very picturesque or striking. TO BLACKHEATH. On the 6th July, we left the Villa, with our enormous luggage, and took our departure from Southampton by the noon train. The main street of Southampton, though it looks pretty fresh and bright, must be really antique, there being a great many projecting windows, in the old-time style, and these make the vista of the street very picturesque. I have no doubt that I missed seeing many things more interesting than the few that I saw. Our journey to London was without any remarkable incident, and at the Waterloo station we found one of Mr. Bennoch's clerks, under whose guidance we took two cabs for the East Kent station at London Bridge, and there railed to Blackheath, where we arrived in the afternoon. On Thursday I went into London by one of the morning trains, and wandered about all day,--visiting the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, and Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, the two latter of which I have already written about in former journals. On Friday, S-----, J-----, and I walked over the heath, and through the Park to Greenwich, and spent some hours in the Hospital. The painted hall struck me much more than at my first view of it; it is very beautiful indeed, and the effect of its frescoed ceiling most rich and magnificent, the assemblage of glowing hues producing a general result of splendor. . . . In the evening I went with Mr. and Mrs. ------ to a conversazione at Mrs. Newton Crosland's, who lives on Blackheath. . . . I met with one person who interested me,--Mr. Bailey, the author of Festus; and I was surprised to find myself already acquainted with him. It is the same Mr. Bailey whom I met a few months ago, when I first dined at Mr. -----'s,--a dark, handsome, rather picturesque-looking man, with a gray beard, and dark hair, a little dimmed with gray. He is of quiet and very agreeable deportment, and I liked him and believed in him. . . . There is sadness glooming out of him, but no unkindness nor asperity. Mrs. Crosland's conversazione was enriched with a supper, and terminated with a dance, in which Mr. ------ joined with heart and soul, but Mrs. ------ went to sleep in her chair, and I would gladly have followed her example if I could have found a chair to sit upon. In the course of the evening I had some talk with a pale, nervous young lady, who has been a noted spiritual medium. Yesterday I went into town by the steamboat from Greenwich to London Bridge, with a nephew of Mr. ------'s, and, calling at his place of business, he procured us an order from his wine-merchants, by means of which we were admitted into THE WINE-VAULTS OF THE LONDON DOCKS. We there found parties, with an acquaintance, who was going, with two French gentlemen, into the vaults. It is a good deal like going down into a mine, each visitor being provided with a lamp at the end of a stick; and following the guide along dismal passages, running beneath the streets, and extending away interminably,--roughly arched overhead with stone, from which depend festoons of a sort of black fungus, caused by the exhalations of the wine. Nothing was ever uglier than this fungus. It is strange that the most ethereal effervescence of rich wine can produce nothing better. The first series of vaults which we entered were filled with port-wine, and occupied a space variously estimated at from eleven to sixteen acres,--which I suppose would hold more port-wine than ever was made. At any rate, the pipes and butts were so thickly piled that in some places we could hardly squeeze past them. We drank from two or three vintages; but I was not impressed with any especial excellence in the wine. We were not the only visitors, for, far in the depths of the vault, we passed a gentleman and two young ladies, wandering about like the ghosts of defunct wine-bibhers, in a Tophet specially prepared for then. People employed here sometimes go astray, and, their lamps being extinguished, they remain long in this everlasting gloom. We went likewise to the vaults of sherry-wine, which have the same characteristics as those just described, but are less extensive. It is no guaranty for the excellence or even for the purity of the wine, that it is kept in these cellars, under the lock and key of the government; for the merchants are allowed to mix different vintages, according to their own pleasure, and to adulterate it as they like. Very little of the wine probably comes out as it goes in, or is exactly what it pretends to be. I went back to Mr. ------'s office, and we drove together to make some calls jointly and separately. I went alone to Mrs. Heywood's; afterwards with Mr. ------ to the American minister's, whom we found at home; and I requested of him, on the part of the Americans at Liverpool, to tell me the facts about the American gentleman being refused admittance to the Levee. The ambassador did not seem to me to make his point good for having withdrawn with the rejected guest. July 9th. (Our wedding-day.)--We were invited yesterday evening to Mrs. S. C. Hall's, where Jenny Lind was to sing; so we left Blackheath at about eight o'clock in a brougham, and reached Ashley Place, as the dusk was gathering, after nine. The Halls reside in a handsome suite of apartments, arranged on the new system of flats, each story constituting a separate tenement, and the various families having an entrance-hall in common. The plan is borrowed from the Continent, and seems rather alien to the traditionary habits of the English; though, no doubt, a good degree of seclusion is compatible with it. Mr. Hall received us with the greatest cordiality before we entered the drawing-room. Mrs. Hall, too, greeted us with most kindly warmth. Jenny Lind had not yet arrived; but I found Dr. Mackay there, and I was introduced to Miss Catherine Sinclair, who is a literary lady, though none of her works happen to be known to me. Soon the servant announced Madam Goldschmidt, and this famous lady made her appearance, looking quite different from what I expected. Mrs. Hall established her in the inner drawing-room, where was a piano and a harp; and shortly after, our hostess came to me, and said that Madam Goldschmidt wished to be introduced to me. There was a gentle peremptoriness in the summons, that made it something like being commanded into the presence of a princess; a great favor, no doubt, but yet a little humbling to the recipient. However, I acquiesced with due gratitude, and was presented accordingly. She made room for me on the sofa, and I sat down, and began to talk. Jenny Lind is rather tall,--quite tall, for a woman,--certainly no beauty, but with sense and self-reliance in her aspect and manners. She was suffering under a severe cold, and seemed worn down besides, so probably I saw her under disadvantages. Her conversation is quite simple, and I should have great faith in her sincerity; and there is about her the manner of a person who knows the world, and has conquered it. She said something or other about The Scarlet Letter; and, on my part, I paid her such compliments as a man could pay who had never heard her sing. . . . Her conversational voice is an agreeable one, rather deep, and not particularly smooth. She talked about America, and of our unwholesome modes of life, as to eating and exercise, and of the ill-health especially of our women; but I opposed this view as far as I could with any truth, insinuating my opinion that we are about as healthy as other people, and affirming for a certainty that we live longer. In good faith, so far as I have any knowledge of the matter, the women of England are as generally out of health as those of America; always something has gone wrong with them; and as for Jenny Lind, she looks wan and worn enough to be an American herself. This charge of ill-health is almost universally brought forward against us nowadays,--and, taking the whole country together, I do not believe the statistics will bear it out. The rooms, which were respectably filled when we arrived, were now getting quite full. I saw Mr. Stevens, the American man of libraries, and had some talk with him; and Durham, the sculptor; and Mr. and Mrs. Hall introduced me to various people, some of whom were of note,--for instance, Sir Emerson Tennent, a man of the world, of some parliamentary distinction, wearing a star; Mr. Samuel Lover, a most good-natured, pleasant Irishman, with a shining and twinkling visage; Miss Jewsbury, whom I found very conversable. She is known in literature, but not to me. We talked about Emerson, whom she seems to have been well acquainted with while he was in England; and she mentioned that Miss Martineau had given him a lock of hair; it was not her own hair, but a mummy's. After our return, Mrs. ------ told us that Miss Jewsbury had written, among other things, three histories, and as she asked me to introduce her to S-----, and means to cultivate our acquaintance, it would be well to know something of them. We were told that she is now employed in some literary undertaking of Lady Morgan's, who, at the age of ninety, is still circulating in society, and is as brisk in faculties as ever. I should like to see her ladyship, that is, I should not be sorry to see her; for distinguished people are so much on a par with others, socially, that it would be foolish to be overjoyed at seeing anybody whomsoever. Leaving out the illustrious Jenny Lind, I suspect that I was myself the greatest lion of the evening; for a good many persons sought the felicity of knowing me, and had little or nothing to say when that honor and happiness was conferred on them. It is surely very wrong and ill-mannered in people to ask for an introduction unless they are prepared to make talk; it throws too great an expense and trouble on the wretched lion, who is compelled, on the spur of the moment, to convert a conversable substance out of thin air, perhaps for the twentieth time that evening. I am sure I did not say--and I think I did not hear said-- one rememberable word in the course of this visit; though, nevertheless, it was a rather agreeable one. In due season ices and jellies were handed about; and some ladies and gentlemen--professional, perhaps--were kind enough to sing songs, and play on the piano and harp, while persons in remote corners went on with whatever conversation they had in hand. Then came supper; but there were so many people to go into the supper-room that we could not all crowd thither together, and, coming late, I got nothing but some sponge-cake and a glass of champagne, neither of which I care for. After supper, Mr. Lover sang some Irish songs, his own in music and words, with rich, humorous effect, to which the comicality of his face contributed almost as much as his voice and words. The Lord Mayor looked in for a little while, and though a hard-featured Jew enough, was the most picturesque person there. July 10th.--Mrs. Heywood had invited me to dinner last evening. . . . Her house is very finely situated, overlooking Hyde Park, and not a great way from where Tyburn tree used to stand. When I arrived, there were no guests but Mr. and Mrs. D------; but by and by came Mr. Monckton Milnes and lady, the Bishop of Lichfield, Mr. Tom Taylor, Mr. Ewart, M. P., Sir Somebody Somerville, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave, and others. Mr. Milnes, whom I had not seen for more than a year, greeted me very cordially, and so did Mr. Taylor. I took Mrs. Musgrave in to dinner. She is an Irish lady, and Mrs. Heywood had recommended her to me as being very conversable; but I had a good deal more talk with Mrs. M------, with whom I was already acquainted, than with her. Mrs. M------ is of noble blood, and therefore not snobbish,--quite unaffected, gentle, sweet, and easy to get on with, reminding me of the best-mannered American women. But how can anything characteristic be said or done among a dozen people sitting at table in full dress? Speaking of full dress, the Bishop wore small-clothes and silk stockings, and entered the drawing-room with a three-cornered hat, which he kept flattened out under his arm. He asked the briefest blessing possible, and, sitting at the ultra end of the table, I heard nothing further from him till he officiated as briefly before the cloth was withdrawn. Mrs. M------ talked about Tennyson, with whom her husband was at the University, and whom he continues to know intimately. She says that he considers Maud his best poem. He now lives in the Isle of Wight, spending all the year round there, and has recently bought the place on which he resides. She was of opinion that he would have been gratified by my calling on him, which I had wished to do, while we were at Southampton; but this is a liberty which I should hardly venture upon with a shy man like Tennyson,--more especially as he might perhaps suspect me of doing it on the score of my own literary character. But I should like much to see him Mr. Tom Taylor, during dinner, made some fun for the benefit of the ladies on either side of him. I liked him very well this evening. When the ladies had not long withdrawn, and after the wine had once gone round, I asked Mr. Heywood to make my apologies to Mrs. Heywood, and took leave; all London lying betwixt me and the London Bridge station, where I was to take the rail homeward. At the station I found Mr. Bennoch, who had been dining with the Lord Mayor to meet Sir William Williams, and we railed to Greenwich, and reached home by midnight. Mr. and Mrs. Bennoch have set out on their Continental journey to-day,--leaving us, for a little space, in possession of what will be more like a home than anything that we shall hereafter find in England. This afternoon I had taken up the fourth volume of Jerdan's Autobiography,--wretched twaddle, though it records such constant and apparently intimate intercourse with distinguished people,--and was reading it, between asleep and awake, on the sofa, when Mr. Jerdan himself was announced. I saw him, in company with Mr. Bennoch, nearly three years ago, at Rock Park, and wondered then what there was in so uncouth an individual to get him so freely into polished society. He now looks rougher than ever,--time-worn, but not reverend; a thatch of gray hair on his head; an imperfect set of false teeth; a careless apparel, checked trousers, and a stick, for he had walked a mile or two from his own dwelling. I suspect--and long practice at the Consulate has made me keen-sighted-- that Mr. Jerdan contemplated some benefit from my purse; and, to the extent of a sovereign or so, I would not mind contributing to his comfort. He spoke of a secret purpose of Mr. ------ and himself to obtain me a degree or diploma in some Literary Institution,--what one I know not, and did not ask; but the honor cannot be a high one, if this poor old fellow can do aught towards it. I am afraid he is a very disreputable senior, but certainly not the less to be pitied on that account; and there was something very touching in his stiff and infirm movement, as he resumed his stick and took leave, waving me a courteous farewell, and turning upon me a smile, grim with age, as he went down the steps. In that gesture and smile I fancied some trace of the polished man of society, such as he may have once been; though time and hard weather have roughened him, as they have the once polished marble pillars which I saw so rude in aspect at Netley Abbey. Speaking of Dickens last evening, Mr. ------ mentioned his domestic tastes,--how he preferred home enjoyments to all others, and did not willingly go much into society. Mrs. ------, too, the other day told us of his taking on himself all possible trouble as regards his domestic affairs. . . . There is a great variety of testimony, various and varied, as to the character of Dickens. I must see him before I finally leave England. July 13th.--On Friday morning (11th), at nine o'clock, I took the rail into town to breakfast with Mr. Milnes. As he had named a little after ten as the hour, I could not immediately proceed to his house, and so walked moderately over London Bridge and into the city, meaning to take a cab from Charing Cross, or thereabouts. Passing through some street or other, contiguous to Cheapside, I saw in a court-yard the entrance to the Guildhall, and stepped in to look at it. It is a spacious hall, about one hundred and fifty feet long, and perhaps half as broad, paved with flagstones which look worn and some of them cracked across; the roof is very lofty and was once vaulted, but has been shaped anew in modern times. There is a vast window partly filled with painted glass, extending quite along each end of the hall, and a row of arched windows on either side, throwing their light from far above downward upon the pavement. This fashion of high windows, not reaching within twenty or thirty feet of the floor, serves to give great effect to the large enclosed space of an antique hall. Against the walls are several marble monuments; one to the Earl of Chatham, a statue of white marble, with various allegorical contrivances, fronting an obelisk or pyramid of dark marble; and another to his son, William Pitt, of somewhat similar design and of equal size; each of them occupying the whole space, I believe, between pavement and ceiling. There is likewise a statue of Beckford, a famous Lord Mayor,--the most famous except Whittington, and that one who killed Wat Tyler; and like those two, his fame is perhaps somewhat mythological, though he lived and bustled within less than a century. He is said to have made a bold speech to the King; but this I will not believe of any Englishman--at least, of any plebeian Englishman--until I hear it. But there stands his statue in the Guildhall in the act of making his speech, as if the monstrous attempt had petrified him. Lord Nelson, too, has a monument, and so, I think, has some other modern worthy. At one end of the hall, under one of the great painted windows, stand three or four old statues of mediaeval kings, whose identities I forget; and in the two corners of the opposite end are two gigantic absurdities of painted wood, with grotesque visages, whom I quickly recognized as Gog and Magog. They stand each on a pillar, and seem to be about fifteen feet high, and look like enormous playthings for the children of giants; and it is strange to see them in this solemn old hall, among the memorials of dead heroes and statesmen. There is an annual banquet in the Guildhall, given by the Lord Mayor and sheriffs, and I believe it is the very acme of civic feasting. After viewing the hall, as it still lacked something of ten, I continued my walk through that entanglement of city streets, and quickly found myself getting beyond my reckoning. I cannot tell whither I went, but I passed through a very dirty region, and I remember a long, narrow, evil-odored street, cluttered up with stalls, in which were vegetables and little bits of meat for sale; and there was a frowzy multitude of buyers and sellers. Still I blundered on, and was getting out of the density of the city into broader streets, but still shabby ones, when, looking at my watch, I found it to be past ten, and no cab-stand within sight. It was a quarter past when I finally got into one; and the driver told me that it would take half an hour to go from thence to Upper Brook Street; so that I was likely to exceed the license implied in Mr. Milnes's invitation. Whether I was quite beyond rule I cannot say; but it did not lack more than ten minutes of eleven when I was ushered up stairs, and I found all the company assembled. However, it is of little consequence, except that if I had come early, I should have been introduced to many of the guests, whom now I could only know across the table. Mrs. Milnes greeted me very kindly, and Mr. Milnes came towards me with an elderly gentleman in a blue coat and gray pantaloons,--with a long, rather thin, homely visage, exceedingly shaggy eyebrows, though no great weight of brow, and thin gray hair, and introduced me to the Marquis of Lansdowne. The Marquis had his right hand wrapped up in a black-silk handkerchief; so he gave me his left, and, from some awkwardness in meeting it, when I expected the right, I gave him only three of my fingers,--a thing I never did before to any person, and it is droll that I should have done it to a Marquis. He addressed me with great simplicity and natural kindness, complimenting me on my works, and speaking about the society of Liverpool in former days. Lord Lansdowne was the friend of Moore, and has about him the aroma communicated by the memories of many illustrious people with whom he has associated. Mr. Ticknor, the Historian of Spanish Literature, now greeted me. Mr. Milnes introduced me to Mrs. Browning, and assigned her to me to conduct into the breakfast-room. She is a small, delicate woman, with ringlets of dark hair, a pleasant, intelligent, and sensitive face, and a low, agreeable voice. She looks youthful and comely, and is very gentle and lady-like. And so we proceeded to the breakfast-room, which is hung round with pictures; and in the middle of it stood a large round table, worthy to have been King Arthur's, and here we seated ourselves without any question of precedence or ceremony. On one side of me was an elderly lady, with a very fine countenance, and in the course of breakfast I discovered her to be the mother of Florence Nightingale. One of her daughters (not Florence) was likewise present. Mrs. Milnes, Mrs. Browning, Mrs. Nightingale, and her daughter were the only ladies at table; and I think there were as many as eight or ten gentlemen, whose names--as I came so late--I was left to find out for myself, or to leave unknown. It was a pleasant and sociable meal, and, thanks to my cold beef and coffee at home, I had no occasion to trouble myself much about the fare; so I just ate some delicate chicken, and a very small cutlet, and a slice of dry toast, and thereupon surceased from my labors. Mrs. Browning and I talked a good deal during breakfast, for she is of that quickly appreciative and responsive order of women with whom I can talk more freely than with any man; and she has, besides, her own originality, wherewith to help on conversation, though, I should say, not of a loquacious tendency. She introduced the subject of spiritualism, which, she says, interests her very much; indeed, she seems to be a believer. Mr. Browning, she told me, utterly rejects the subject, and will not believe even in the outward manifestations, of which there is such overwhelming evidence. We also talked of Miss Bacon; and I developed something of that lady's theory respecting Shakespeare, greatly to the horror of Mrs. Browning, and that of her next neighbor,--a nobleman, whose name I did not hear. On the whole, I like her the better for loving the man Shakespeare with a personal love. We talked, too, of Margaret Fuller, who spent her last night in Italy with the Brownings; and of William Story, with whom they have been intimate, and who, Mrs. Browning says, is much stirred about spiritualism. Really, I cannot help wondering that so fine a spirit as hers should not reject the matter, till, at least, it is forced upon her. I like her very much. Mrs. Nightingale had been talking at first with Lord Lansdowne, who sat next her, but by and by she turned to nee, and began to speak of London smoke Then, there being a discussion about Lord Byron on the other side of the table, she spoke to me about Lady Byron, whom she knows intimately, characterizing her as a most excellent and exemplary person, high-principled, unselfish, and now devoting herself to the care of her two grandchildren,--their mother, Byron's daughter, being dead. Lady Byron, she says, writes beautiful verses. Somehow or other, all this praise, and more of the same kind, gave me an idea of an intolerably irreproachable person; and I asked Mrs. Nightingale if Lady Byron were warm-hearted. With some hesitation, or mental reservation,--at all events, not quite outspokenly,--she answered that she was. I was too much engaged with these personal talks to attend much to what was going on elsewhere; but all through breakfast I had been more and more impressed by the aspect of one of the guests, sitting next to Milnes. He was a man of large presence,--a portly personage, gray-haired, but scarcely as yet aged; and his face had a remarkable intelligence, not vivid nor sparkling, but conjoined with great quietude,--and if it gleamed or brightened at one time more than another, it was like the sheen over a broad surface of sea. There was a somewhat careless self-possession, large and broad enough to be called dignity; and the more I looked at him, the more I knew that he was a distinguished person, and wondered who. He might have been a minister of state; only there is not one of them who has any right to such a face and presence. At last,--I do not know how the conviction came,--but I became aware that it was Macaulay, and began to see some slight resemblance to his portraits. But I have never seen any that is not wretchedly unworthy of the original. As soon as I knew him, I began to listen to his conversation, but he did not talk a great deal, contrary to his usual custom; for I am told he is apt to engross all the talk to himself. Probably he may have been restrained by the presence of Ticknor, and Mr. Palfrey, who were among his auditors and interlocutors; and as the conversation seemed to turn much on American subjects, he could not well have assumed to talk them down. I am glad to have seen him,--a face fit for a scholar, a man of the world, a cultivated intelligence. After we left the table, and went into the library, Mr. Browning introduced himself to me,--a younger man than I expected to see, handsome, with brown hair. He is very simple and agreeable in manner, gently impulsive, talking as if his heart were uppermost. He spoke of his pleasure in meeting me, and his appreciation of my books; and--which has not often happened to me--mentioned that The Blithedale Romance was the one he admired most. I wonder why. I hope I showed as much pleasure at his praise as he did at mine; for I was glad to see how pleasantly it moved him. After this, I talked with Ticknor and Miles, and with Mr. Palfrey, to whom I had been introduced very long ago by George Hillard, and had never seen him since. We looked at some autographs, of which Mr. Milnes has two or three large volumes. I recollect a leaf from Swift's Journal to Stella; a letter from Addison; one from Chatterton, in a most neat and legible hand; and a characteristic sentence or two and signature of Oliver Cromwell, written in a religious book. There were many curious volumes in the library, but I had not time to look at them. I liked greatly the manners of almost all,--yes, as far as I observed,-- all the people at this breakfast, and it was doubtless owing to their being all people either of high rank or remarkable intellect, or both. An Englishman can hardly be a gentleman, unless he enjoy one or other of these advantages; and perhaps the surest way to give him good manners is to make a lord of him, or rather of his grandfather or great-grandfather. In the third generation, scarcely sooner, he will be polished into simplicity and elegance, and his deportment will be all the better for the homely material out of which it is wrought and refined. The Marquis of Lansdowne, for instance, would have been a very commonplace man in the common ranks of life; but it has done him good to be a nobleman. Not that his tact is quite perfect. In going up to breakfast, he made me precede him; in returning to the library, he did the same, although I drew back, till he impelled me up the first stair, with gentle persistence. By insisting upon it, he showed his sense of condescension much more than if, when he saw me unwilling to take precedence, he had passed forward, as if the point were not worth either asserting or yielding. Heaven knows, it was in no humility that I would have trodden behind him. But he is a kind old man; and I am willing to believe of the English aristocracy generally that they are kind, and of beautiful deportment; for certainly there never can have been mortals in a position more advantageous for becoming so. I hope there will come a time when we shall be so; and I already know a few Americans, whose noble and delicate manners may compare well with any I have seen. I left the house with Mr. Palfrey. He has cone to England to make some researches in the State Paper Office, for the purposes of a work which he has in hand. He mentioned to me a letter which he had seen, written from New England in the time of Charles II. and referring to the order sent by the minister of that day for the appearance of Governor Bellingham and my ancestor on this side of the water. The signature of this letter is an anagram of my ancestor's name. The letter itself is a very bold and able one, controverting the propriety of the measure above indicated; and Mr. Palfrey feels certain that it was written by my aforesaid ancestor. I mentioned my wish to ascertain the place in England whence the family emigrated; and Mr. Palfrey took me to the Record Office, and introduced me to Mr. Joseph Hunter,--a venerable and courteous gentleman, of antiquarian pursuits. The office was odorous of musty parchments, hundreds of years old. Mr. Hunter received me with great kindness, and gave me various old records and rolls of parchment, in which to seek for my family name; but I was perplexed with the crabbed characters, and soon grew weary and gave up the quest. He says that it is very seldom that an American family, springing from the early settlers, can be satisfactorily traced back to their English ancestry. July 16th.--Monday morning I took the rail from Blackheath to London. It is a very pleasant place, Blackheath, and far more rural than one would expect, within five or six miles of London,--a great many trees, making quite a mass of foliage in the distance; green enclosures; pretty villas, with their nicely kept lawns, and gardens, with grass-plots and flower borders; and village streets, set along the sidewalks with ornamental trees; and the houses standing a little back, and separated one from another,--all this within what is called the Park, which has its gateways, and the sort of semi-privacy with which I first became acquainted at Rock Park. From the London Bridge station I took a cab for Paddington, and then had to wait above two hours before a train started for Birkenhead. Meanwhile I walked a little about the neighborhood, which is very dull and uninteresting; made up of crescents and terraces, and rows of houses that have no individuality, and second-rate shops,--in short, the outskirts of the vast city, when it begins to have a kind of village character but no rurality or sylvan aspect, as at Blackheath. My journey, when at last we started, was quite unmarked by incident, and extremely tedious; it being a slow train, which plods on without haste and without rest. At about ten o'clock we reached Birkenhead, and there crossed the familiar and detestable Mersey, which, as usual, had a cloudy sky brooding over it. Mrs. Blodgett received me most hospitably, but was impelled, by an overflow of guests, to put me into a little back room, looking into the court, and formerly occupied by my predecessor, General Armstrong. . . . She expressed a hope that I might not see his ghost,--nor have I, as yet. Speaking of ghosts, Mr. H. A. B------ told me a singular story to-day of an apparition that haunts the Times Office, in Printing-House Square. A Mr. W------ is the engineer of the establishment, and has his residence in the edifice, which is built, I believe, on the site of Merchant Taylor's school,--an old house that was no longer occupied for its original purpose, and, being supposed haunted, was left untenanted. The father-in-law of Mr. W------, an old sea-captain, came on a visit to him and his wife, and was put into their guest-chamber, where he passed the night. The next morning, assigning no very satisfactory reason, he cut his visit short and went away. Shortly afterwards, a young lady came to visit the W------'s; but she too went away the next morning,--going first to make a call, as she said, to a friend, and sending thence for her trunks. Mrs. W------ wrote to this young lady, asking an explanation. The young lady replied, and gave a singular account of an apparition,-- how she was awakened in the night by a bright light shining through the window, which was parallel to the bed; then, if I remember rightly, her curtains were withdrawn, and a shape looked in upon her,--a woman's shape, she called it; but it was a skeleton, with lambent flames playing about its bones, and in and out among the ribs. Other persons have since slept in this chamber, and some have seen the shape, others not. Mr. W------ has slept there himself without seeing anything. He has had investigations by scientific people, apparently under the idea that the phenomenon might have been caused by some of the Times's work-people, playing tricks on the magic-lantern principle; but nothing satisfactory has thus far been elucidated. Mr. B------ had this story from Mrs. Gaskell. . . . Supposing it a ghost, nothing else is so remarkable as its choosing to haunt the precincts of the Times newspaper. July 29th.--On Saturday, 26th, I took the rail from the Lime Street station for London, via the Trent Valley, and reached Blackheath in the evening. . . . Sunday morning my wife and I, with J-----, railed into London, and drove to the Essex Street Chapel, where Mr. Channing was to preach. The Chapel is the same where Priestley and Belsham used to preach,--one of the plainest houses of worship I was ever in, as simple and undecorated as the faith there inculcated. They retain, however, all the form and ceremonial of the English Established Church, though so modified as to meet the doctrinal views of the Unitarians. There may be good sense in this, inasmuch as it greatly lessens the ministerial labor to have a stated form of prayer, instead of a necessity for extempore outpourings; but it must be, I should think, excessively tedious to the congregation, especially as, having made alterations in these prayers, they cannot attach much idea of sanctity to them. [Here follows a long record of Mr. Hawthorne's visit to Miss Bacon,-- condensed in Our Old Hone, in the paper called "Recollections of a Gifted Woman."] August 2d.--On Wednesday (30th July) we went to Marlborough House to see the Vernon gallery of pictures. They are the works, almost entirely of English artists of the last and present century, and comprise many famous paintings; and I must acknowledge that I had more enjoyment of them than of those portions of the National Gallery which I had before seen,-- including specimens of the grand old masters. My comprehension has not reached their height. I think nothing pleased me more than a picture by Sir David Wilkie,--The Parish Beadle, with a vagrant boy and a monkey in custody; it is exceedingly good and true throughout, and especially the monkey's face is a wonderful production of genius, condensing within itself the whole moral and pathos of the picture. Marlborough House was the residence of the Great Duke, and is to be that of the Prince of Wales, when another place is found for the pictures. It adjoins St. James's Palace. In its present state it is not a very splendid mansion, the rooms being small, though handsomely shaped, with vaulted ceilings, and carved white-marble fireplaces. I left S----- here after an hour or two, and walked forth into the hot and busy city with J-----. . . . I called at Routledge's bookshop, in hopes to make an arrangement with him about Miss Bacon's business. But Routledge himself is making a journey in the north, and neither of the partners was there, so that I shall have to go thither some other day. Then we stepped into St. Paul's Cathedral to cool ourselves, and it was delightful so to escape from the sunny, sultry turmoil of Fleet Street and Ludgate, and find ourselves at once in this remote, solemn, shadowy seclusion, marble-cool. O that we had cathedrals in America, were it only for the sensuous luxury! We strolled round the cathedral, and I delighted J----- much by pointing out the monuments of three British generals, who were slain in America in the last war,--the naughty and bloodthirsty little man! We then went to Guildhall, where I thought J----- would like to see Gog and Magog; but he had never heard of those illustrious personages, and took no interest in them. . . . But truly I am grateful to the piety of former times for raising this vast, cool canopy of marble [St. Paul's] in the midst of the feverish city. I wandered quite round it, and saw, in a remote corner, a monument to the officers of the Coldstream Guards, slain in the Crimea. It was a mural tablet, with the names of the officers on an escutcheon; and two privates of the Guards, in marble bas-relief, were mourning over them. Over the tablet hung two silken banners, new and glossy, with the battles in which the regiment has been engaged inscribed on them,--not merely Crimean but Peninsular battles. These banners will bang there till they drop away in tatters. After thus refreshing myself in the cathedral, I went again to Routledge's in Farrington Street, and saw one of the firm. He expressed great pleasure at seeing me, as indeed he might, having published and sold, without any profit on my part, uncounted thousands of my books. I introduced the subject of Miss Bacon's work; and he expressed the utmost willingness to do everything in his power towards bringing it before the world, but thought that his firm--it being their business to publish for the largest circle of readers--was not the most eligible for the publication of such a book. Very likely this may be so. At all events, however, I am to send him the manuscript, and he will at least give me his advice and assistance in finding a publisher. He was good enough to express great regret that I had no work of my own to give him for publication; and, truly, I regret it too, since, being a resident in England, I could now have all the publishing privileges of a native author. He presented me with a copy of an illustrated edition of Longfellow's Poems, and I took my leave. Thence I went to the Picture Gallery at the British Institution, where there are three rooms full of paintings by the first masters, the property of private persons. Every one of them, no doubt, was worth studying for a long, long time; and I suppose I may have given, on an average, a minute to each. What an absurdity it would seem, to pretend to read two or three hundred poems, of all degrees between an epic and a ballad, in an hour or two! And a picture is a poem, only requiring the greater study to be felt and comprehended; because the spectator must necessarily do much for himself towards that end. I saw many beautiful things,--among them some landscapes by Claude, which to the eye were like the flavor of a rich, ripe melon to the palate. August 7th.--Yesterday we took the rail for London, it being a fine, sunny day, though not so very warm as many of the preceding days have been. . . . We went along Piccadilly as far as the Egyptian Hall. It is quite remarkable how comparatively quiet the town has become, now that the season is over. One can see the difference in all the region west of Temple Bar; and, indeed, either the hot weather or some other cause seems to have operated in assuaging the turmoil in the city itself. I never saw London Bridge so little thronged as yesterday. At the Egyptian Hall, or in the same edifice, there is a gallery of pictures, the property of Lord Ward, who allows the public to see them, five days of the week, without any trouble or restriction,--a great kindness on his Lordship's part, it must be owned. It is a very valuable collection, I presume, containing specimens of many famous old masters; some of the early and hard pictures by Raphael and his master and fellow-pupils,--very curious, and nowise beautiful; a perfect, sunny glimpse of Venice, by Canaletto; and saints, and Scriptural, allegorical, and mythological people, by Titian, Guido, Correggio, and many more names than I can remember. There is likewise a dead Magdalen by Canova, and a Venus by the same, very pretty, and with a vivid light of joyous expression in her face; . . . . also Powers's Greek Slave, in which I see little beauty or merit; and two or three other statues. We then drove to Ashley Place, to call on Mrs. S. C. Hall, whom we found at home. In fact, Wednesday is her reception-day; although, as now everybody is out of town, we were the only callers. She is an agreeable and kindly woman. She told us that her husband and herself propose going to America next year, and I heartily wish they may meet with a warm and friendly reception. I have been seldom more assured of the existence of a heart than in her; also a good deal of sentiment. She had been visiting Bessie, the widow of Moore, at Sloperton, and gave S----- a rose from his cottage. Such things are very true and unaffected in her. The only wonder is that she has not lost such girlish freshness of feeling as prompts them. We did not see Mr. Hall, he having gone to the Crystal Palace. Taking our leave, we returned along Victoria Street--a new street, penetrating through what was recently one of the worst parts of the town, and now bordered with large blocks of buildings, in a dreary, half-finished state, and left so for want of funds--till we came to Westminster Abbey. We went in and spent an hour there, wandering all round the nave and aisles, admiring the grand old edifice itself, but finding more to smile at than to admire in the monuments. . . . The interior view of the Abbey is better than can be described; the heart aches, as one gazes at it, for lack of power and breadth enough to take its beauty and grandeur in. The effect was heightened by the sun shining through the painted window in the western end, and by the bright sunshine that came through the open portal, and lay on the pavement,--that space so bright, the rest of the vast floor so solemn and sombre. At the western end, in a corner from which spectators are barred out, there is a statue of Wordsworth, which I do not recollect seeing at any former visit. Its only companion in the same nook is Pope's friend, Secretary Craggs. Downing Street, that famous official precinct, took its name from Sir George Downing, who was proprietor or lessee of property there. He was a native of my own old native town, and his descendants still reside there,--collateral descendants, I suppose,--and follow the drygoods business (drapers). August 10th.--I journeyed to Liverpool via Chester. . . . One sees a variety of climate, temperature, and season in a ride of two hundred miles, north and south, through England. Near London, for instance, the grain was reaped, and stood in sheaves in the stubble-fields, over which girls and children might be seen gleaning; farther north, the golden, or greenish-golden, crops were waving in the wind. In one part of our way the atmosphere was hot and dry; at another point it had been cooled and refreshed by a heavy thunder-shower, the pools of which still lay along our track. It seems to me that local varieties of weather are more common in this island, and within narrower precincts, than in America. . . . I never saw England of such a dusky and dusty green before,--almost sunbrowned, indeed. Sometimes the green hedges formed a marked framework to a broad sheet of golden grain-field. As we drew near Oxford, just before reaching the station I had a good view of its domes, towers, and spires,--better, I think, than when J----- and I rambled through the town a month or two ago. Mr. Frank Scott Haydon, of the Record Office, London, writes me that he has found a "Henry Atte Hawthorne" on a roll which he is transcribing, of the first Edward III. He belonged to the Parish of Aldremeston, in the hundred of Blakenhurste, Worcester County. August 21st.--Yesterday, at twelve o'clock, I took the steamer for Runcorn, from the pier-head. In the streets, I had noticed that it was a breezy day; but on the river there was a very stiff breeze from the northeast, right ahead, blowing directly in our face the whole way; and truly this river Mersey is never without a breeze, and generally in the direction of its course,--an evil-tempered, unkindly, blustering wind, that you cannot meet without being exasperated by it. As it came straight against us, it was impossible to find a shelter anywhere on deck, except it were behind the stove-pipe; and, besides, the day was overcast and threatening rain. I have undergone very miserable hours on the Mersey, where, in the space of two years, I voyaged thousands of miles,--and this trip to Runcorn reminded me of them, though it was less disagreeable after more than a twelvemonth's respite. We had a good many passengers on board, most of whom were of the second class, and congregated on the forward deck; more women than men, I think, and some of them with their husbands and children. Several produced lunch and bottles, and refreshed themselves very soon after we started. By and by the wind became so disagreeable that I went below, and sat in the cabin, only occasionally looking out, to get a peep at the shores of the river, which I had never before seen above Eastham. However, they are not worth looking at; level and monotonous, without trees or beauty of any kind,--here and there a village, and a modern church, on the low ridge behind; perhaps, a windmill, which the gusty day had set busily to work. The river continues very wide--no river indeed, but an estuary--during almost the whole distance to Runcorn; and nearly at the end of our voyage we approached some abrupt and prominent hills, which, many a time, I have seen on my passages to Rock Ferry, looking blue and dim, and serving for prophets of the weather; for when they can be distinctly seen adown the river, it is a token of coming rain. We met many vessels, and passed many which were beating up against the wind, and which keeled over, so that their decks must have dipped,--schooners and vessels that come from the Bridgewater Canal. We shipped a sea ourselves, which gave the fore-deck passengers a wetting. Before reaching Runcorn, we stopped to land some passengers at another little port, where there was a pier and a lighthouse, and a church within a few yards of the river-side,--a good many of the river-craft, too, in dock, forming quite a crowd of masts. About ten minutes' further steaming brought us to Runcorn, where were two or three tall manufacturing chimneys, with a pennant of black smoke from each; two vessels of considerable size on the stocks; a church or two; and a meagre, uninteresting, shabby, brick-built town, rising from the edge of the river, with irregular streets,--not village-like, but paved, and looking like a dwarfed, stunted city. I wandered through it till I came to a tall, high-pedestalled windmill on the outer verge, the vans of which were going briskly round. Thence retracing my steps, I stopped at a poor hotel, and took lunch, and, finding that I was in time to take the steamer back, I hurried on board, and we set sail (or steam) before three. I have heard of an old castle at Runcorn, but could discover nothing of it. It was well that I returned so promptly, for we had hardly left the pier before it began to rain, and there was a heavy downfall throughout the voyage homeward. Runcorn is fourteen miles from Liverpool, and is the farthest point to which a steamer runs. I had intended to come home by rail,--a circuitous route,--but the advice of the landlady of the hotel, and the aspect of the weather, and a feeling of general discouragement prevented me. An incident in S. C. Hall's Ireland, of a stone cross, buried in Cromwell's time, to prevent its destruction by his soldiers. It was forgotten, and became a mere doubtful tradition, but one old man had been told by his father, and he by his father, etc., that it was buried near a certain spot; and at last, two hundred years after the cross was buried, the vicar of the parish dug in that spot and found it. In my (English) romance, an American might bring the tradition from over the sea, and so discover the cross, which had been altogether forgotten. August 24th.--Day before yesterday I took the rail for Southport,--a cool, generally overcast day, with glimmers of faint sunshine. The ride is through a most uninteresting tract of country, at first, glimpses of the river, with the thousands of masts in the docks; the dismal outskirts of a great town, still spreading onward, with beginnings of streets, and insulated brick buildings and blocks; farther on, a wide monotony of level plain, and here and there a village and a church; almost always a windmill in sight, there being plenty of breeze to turn its vans on this windy coast. The railway skirts along the sea the whole distance, but is shut out from the sight of it by the low sand-hills, which seem to have been heaped up by the waves. There are one or two lighthouses on the shore. I have not seen a drearier landscape, even in Lancashire. Reaching Southport at three, I rambled about, with a view to discover whether it be a suitable residence for my family during September. It is a large village, or rather more than a village, which seems to be almost entirely made up of lodging-houses, and, at any rate, has been built up by the influx of summer visitors,--a sandy soil, level, and laid out with well-paved streets, the principal of which are enlivened with bazaars, markets, shops, hotels of various degrees, and a showy vivacity of aspect. There are a great many donkey-carriages,--large vehicles, drawn by a pair of donkeys; bath-chairs, with invalid ladies; refreshment-rooms in great numbers,--a place where everybody seems to be a transitory guest, nobody at home. The main street leads directly down to the sea-shore, along which there is an elevated embankment, with a promenade on the top, and seats, and the toll of a penny. The shore itself, the tide being then low, stretched out interminably seaward, a wide waste of glistering sands; and on the dry border, people were riding on donkeys, with the drivers whipping behind; and children were digging with their little wooden spades; and there were donkey-carriages far out on the sands,--a pleasant and breezy drive. A whole city of bathing-machines was stationed near the shore, and I saw others in the seaward distance. The sea-air was refreshing and exhilarating, and if S----- needs a seaside residence, I should think this might do as well as any other. I saw a large brick edifice, enclosed within a wall, and with somewhat the look of an almshouse or hospital; and it proved to be an Infirmary, charitably established for the reception of poor invalids, who need sea-air and cannot afford to pay for it. Two or three of such persons were sitting under its windows. I do not think that the visitors of Southport are generally of a very opulent class, but of the middle rank, from Manchester and other parts of this northern region. The lodging-houses, however, are of sufficiently handsome style and arrangement. OXFORD. [Mr. Hawthorne extracted from his recorded Oxford experiences his excursion to Blenheim, but left his observations of the town itself untouched,--and these I now transcribe.--ED.] August 31st.--. . . . Yesterday we took the rail for London, and drove across the city to the Paddington station, where we met Bennoch, and set out with him for Oxford. I do not quite understand the matter, but it appears that we were expected guests of Mr. Spiers, a very hospitable gentleman, and Ex-Mayor of Oxford, and a friend of Bennoch and of the Halls. Mr. S. C. Hall met us at the Oxford station, and under his guidance we drove to a quiet, comfortable house in St. Giles Street, where rooms had been taken for us. Durham, the sculptor, is likewise of the party. After establishing ourselves at these lodgings, we walked forth to take a preliminary glimpse of the city, and Mr. Hall, being familiar with the localities, served admirably as a guide. If I remember aright, I spoke very slightingly of the exterior aspect of Oxford, as I saw it with J----- during an hour or two's stay here, on my way to Southampton (to meet S----- on her return from Lisbon). I am bound to say that my impressions are now very different; and that I find Oxford exceedingly picturesque and rich in beauty and grandeur and in antique stateliness. I do not remember very particularly what we saw,--time-worn fronts of famous colleges and halls of learning everywhere about the streets, and arched entrances; passing through which, we saw bits of sculpture from monkish hands,--the most grotesque and ludicrous faces, as if the slightest whim of these old carvers took shape in stone, the material being so soft and manageable by them; an ancient stone pulpit in the quadrangle of Maudlin College (Magdalen), one of only three now extant in England; a splendid--no, not splendid, but dimly magnificent--chapel, belonging to the same College, with painted windows of rare beauty, not brilliant with diversified hues, but of a sombre tint. In this chapel there is an alabaster monument,--a recumbent figure of the founder's father, as large as life,--which, though several centuries old, is as well preserved as if fresh from the chisel. In the High Street, which, I suppose, is the noblest old street in England, Mr. Hall pointed out, the Crown Inn, where Shakespeare used to spend the night, and was most hospitably welcomed by the pretty hostess (the mother of Sir William Davenant) on his passage between Stratford and London. It is a three-story house, with other houses contiguous,--an old timber mansion, though now plastered and painted of a yellowish line. The ground-floor is occupied as a shoe-shop; but the rest of the house is still kept as a tavern. . . . It is not now term time, and Oxford loses one of its most characteristic features by the absence of the gownsmen; but still there is a good deal of liveliness in the streets. We walked as far as a bridge beyond Maudlin College, and then drove homeward. At six we went to dine with the hospitable Ex-Mayor, across the wide, tree-bordered street; for his house is nearly opposite our lodgings. He is an intelligent and gentlemanly person, and was Mayor two years ago, and has done a great deal to make peace between the University and the town, heretofore bitterly inimical. His house is adorned with pictures and drawings, and he has an especial taste for art. . . . The dinner-table was decorated with pieces of plate, vases, and other things, which were presented to him as tokens of public or friendly regard and approbation of his action in the Mayoralty. After dinner, too, he produced a large silver snuff-box, which had been given him on the same account; in fact, the inscription affirmed that it was one of five pieces of plate so presented. The vases are really splendid,--one of them two feet high, and richly ornamented. It will hold five or six bottles of wine, and he said that it had been filled, and, I believe, sent round as a loving-cup at some of his entertainments. He cordially enjoys these things, and his genuine benevolence produces all this excellent hospitality. . . . But Bennoch proposed a walk, and we set forth. We rambled pretty extensively about the streets, sometimes seeing the shapes of old edifices dimly and doubtfully, it being an overcast night; or catching a partial view of a gray wall, or a pillar, or a Gothic archway, by lamplight. . . . The clock had some time ago struck eleven, when we were passing under a long extent of antique wall and towers, which were those of Baliol College. Mr. D------ led us into the middle of the street, and showed us a cross, which was paved into it, on a level with the rest of the road. This was the spot where Latimer and Ridley and another Bishop were martyred in Bloody Mary's time. There is a memorial to them in another street; but this, where I set my foot at nearly midnight, was the very spot where their flesh burned to ashes, and their bones whitened. It has been a most beautiful morning, and I have seen few pleasanter scenes than this street in which we lodge, with its spacious breadth, its two rows of fine old trees, with sidewalks as wide as the whole width of some streets; and, on the opposite side, the row of houses, some of them ancient with picturesque gables, partially disclosed through the intervening foliage. . . . From our window we have a slantwise glimpse, to the right, of the walls of St. John's College, and the general aspect of St. Giles. It is of an antiquity not to shame those mediaeval halls. Our own lodgings are in a house that seems to be very old, with panelled walls, and beams across the ceilings, lattice-windows in the chambers, and a musty odor such as old houses inevitably have. Nevertheless, everything is extremely neat, clean, and comfortable; and in term time our apartments are occupied by a Mr. Stebbing, whose father is known in literature by some critical writings, and who is a graduate and an admirable scholar. There is a bookcase of five shelves, containing his books, mostly standard works, and indicating a safe and solid taste. After lunch to-day we (that is, Mrs. Hall, her adopted daughter, S-----, and I, with the Ex-Mayor) set forth, in an open barouche, to see the remarkables of Oxford, while the rest of the guests went on foot. We first drew up at New College (a strange name for such an old place, but it was new some time since the Conquest), and went through its quiet and sunny quadrangles, and into its sunny and shadowy gardens. I am in despair about the architecture and old edifices of these Oxford colleges, it is so impossible to express them in words. They are themselves--as the architect left them, and as Time has modified and improved them--the expression of an idea which does not admit of being otherwise expressed, or translated into anything else. Those old battlemented walls around the quadrangles; many gables; the windows with stone pavilions, so very antique, yet some of them adorned with fresh flowers in pots,--a very sweet contrast; the ivy mantling the gray stone; and the infinite repose, both in sunshine and shadow,--it is as if half a dozen bygone centuries had set up their rest here, and as if nothing of the present time ever passed through the deeply recessed archway that shuts in the College from the street. Not but what people have very free admittance; and many parties of young men and girls and children came into the gardens while we were there. These gardens of New College are indescribably beautiful,--not gardens in an American sense, but lawns of the richest green and softest velvet grass, shadowed over by ancient trees, that have lived a quiet life here for centuries, and have been nursed and tended with such care, and so sheltered from rude winds, that certainly they must have been the happiest of all trees. Such a sweet, quiet, sacred, stately seclusion-- so age-long as this has been, and, I hope, will continue to be--cannot exist anywhere else. One side of the garden wall is formed by the ancient wall of the city, which Cromwell's artillery battered, and which still retains its pristine height and strength. At intervals, there are round towers that formed the bastions; that is to say, on the exterior they are round towers, but within, in the garden of the College, they are semicircular recesses, with iron garden-seats arranged round them. The loop-holes through which the archers and musketeers used to shoot still pierce through deep recesses in the wall, which is here about six feet thick. I wish I could put into one sentence the whole impression of this garden, but it could not be done in many pages. We looked also at the outside of the wall, and Mr. Parker, deeply skilled in the antiquities of the spot, showed us a weed growing,--here in little sprigs, there in large and heavy festoons,--hanging plentifully downward from a shallow root. It is called the Oxford plant, being found only here, and not easily, if at all, introduced anywhere else. It bears a small and pretty blue flower, not altogether unlike the forget-me-not, and we took some of it away with us for a memorial. We went into the chapel of New College, which is in such fresh condition that I think it must be modern; and yet this cannot be, since there are old brasses inlaid into tombstones in the pavement, representing mediaeval ecclesiastics and college dignitaries; and busts against the walls, in antique garb; and old painted windows, unmistakable in their antiquity. But there is likewise a window, lamentable to look at, which was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and exhibits strikingly the difference between the work of a man who performed it merely as a matter of taste and business, and what was done religiously and with the whole heart; at least, it shows that the artists and public of the last age had no sympathy with Gothic art. In the chancel of this church there are more painted windows, which I take to be modern, too, though they are in much better taste, and have an infinitely better effect, than Sir Joshua's. At any rate, with the sunshine through them, they looked very beautiful, and tinted the high altar and the pavement with brilliant lines. The sacristan opened a tall and narrow little recess in the wall of the chancel, and showed it entirely filled with the crosier of William of Wickham. It appears to be made of silver gilt, and is a most rich and elaborate relic, at least six feet high. Modern art cannot, or does not, equal the chasing and carving of this splendid crosier, which is enriched with figures of saints and, apostles, and various Gothic devices,--very minute, but all executed as faithfully as if the artist's salvation had depended upon every notch he made in the silver. . . . Leaving New College, Bennoch and I, under Mr. Parker's guidance, walked round Christ Church meadows, part of our way lying along the banks of the Cherwell, which unites with the Isis to form the Thames, I believe. The Cherwell is a narrow and remarkably sluggish stream; but is deep in spots, and capriciously so,--so that a person may easily step from knee-deep to fifteen feet in depth. A gentleman present used a queer expression in reference to the drowning of two college men; he said "it was an awkward affair." I think this is equal to Longfellow's story of the Frenchman who avowed himself very much "displeased" at the news of his father's death. At the confluence of the Cherwell and Isis we saw a good many boats, belonging to the students of the various colleges; some of them being very large and handsome barges, capable of accommodating a numerous party, with room on board for dancing and merry-making. Some of them are calculated to be drawn by horses, in the manner of canal-boats; others are propellable by oars. It is practicable to perform the voyage between Oxford and London--a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles--in three days. The students of Oxford are famous boatmen; there is a constant rivalship, on this score, among the different colleges; and annually, I believe, there is a match between Oxford and Cambridge. The Cambridge men beat the Oxonians in this year's trial. On our return into the city, we passed through Christ Church, which, as regards the number of students, is the most considerable college of the University. It has a stately dome; but my memory is confused with battlements, towers, and gables, and Gothic staircases and cloisters. If there had been nothing else in Oxford but this one establishment, my anticipations would not have been disappointed. The bell was tolling for worship in the chapel; and Mr. Parker told us that Dr. Pusey is a canon, or in some sort of dignity, in Christ Church, and would soon probably make his appearance in the quadrangle, on his way to chapel; so we walked to and fro, waiting an opportunity to see him. A gouty old dignitary, in a white surplice, came hobbling along from one extremity of the court; and by and by, from the opposite corner, appeared Dr. Pusey, also in a white surplice, and with a lady by his side. We met him, and I stared pretty fixedly at him, as I well might; for he looked on the ground, as if conscious that he would be stared at. He is a man past middle life, of sufficient breadth and massiveness, with a pale, intellectual, manly face. He was talking with the lady, and smiled, but not jollily. Mr. Parker, who knows him, says that he is a man of kind and gentle affections. The lady was his niece. Thence we went through High Street and Broad Street, and passing by Baliol College,--a most satisfactory pile and range of old towered and gabled edifices,--we came to the cross on the pavement, which is supposed to mark the spot where the bishops were martyred. But Mr. Parker told us the mortifying fact, that he had ascertained that this could not possibly have been the genuine spot of martyrdom, which must have taken place at a point within view, but considerably too far off to be moistened by any tears that may be shed here. It is too bad. We concluded the rambles of the day by visiting the gardens of St. John's College; and I desire, if possible, to say even more in admiration of them than of those of New College,--such beautiful lawns, with tall, ancient trees, and heavy clouds of foliage, and sunny glimpses through archways of leafy branches, where, to-day, we could see parties of girls, making cheerful contrast with the sombre walls and solemn shade. The world, surely, has not another place like Oxford; it is a despair to see such a place and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime and more than one, to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily. At dinner, to-day, the golden vases were all ranged on the table, the largest and central one containing a most magnificent bouquet of dahlias and other bright-hued flowers. On Tuesday, our first visit was to Christ Church, where we saw the large and stately hall, above a hundred feet long by forty wide, and fifty to the top of its carved oaken roof, which is ornamented with festoons, as it were, and pendants of solid timber. The walls are panelled with oak, perhaps half-way upward, and above are the rows of arched windows on each side; but, near the upper end, two great windows come nearly to the floor. There is a dais, where the great men of the College and the distinguished guests sit at table, and the tables of the students are arranged along the length of the hall. All around, looking down upon those who sit at meat, are the portraits of a multitude of illustrious personages who were members of the learned fraternity in times past; not a portrait being admitted there (unless it he a king, and I remember only Henry VIII.) save those who were actually students on the foundation, receiving the eleemosynary aid of the College. Most of them were divines; but there are likewise many statesmen, eminent during the last three hundred years, and, among many earlier ones, the Marquis of Wellesley and Canning. It is an excellent idea, for their own glory, and as examples to the rising generations, to have this multitude of men, who have done good and great things, before the eyes of those who ought to do as well as they, in their own time. Archbishops, Prime Ministers, poets, deep scholars,--but, doubtless, an outward success has generally been their claim to this position, and Christ Church may have forgotten a better man than the best of them. It is not, I think, the tendency of English life, nor of the education of their colleges, to lead young men to high moral excellence, but to aim at illustrating themselves in the sight of mankind. Thence we went into the kitchen, which is arranged very much as it was three centuries ago, with two immense fireplaces. There was likewise a gridiron, which, without any exaggeration, was large enough to have served for the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. The college dinners are good, but plain, and cost the students one shilling and eleven pence each, being rather cheaper than a similar one could be had at an inn. There is no provision for breakfast or supper in commons; but they can have these meals sent to their rooms from the buttery, at a charge proportioned to the dishes they order. There seems to be no necessity for a great expenditure on the part of Oxford students. From the kitchen we went to the chapel, which is the cathedral of Oxford, and well worth seeing, if there had not been so many other things to see. It is now under repair, and there was a great heap of old wood-work and panelling lying in one of the aisles, which had been stripped away from some of the ancient pillars, leaving them as good as new. There is a shrine of a saint, with a wooden canopy over it; and some painted glass, old and new; and a statue of Cyril Jackson, with a face of shrewdness and insight; and busts, as mural monuments. Our next visit was to MERTON COLLEGE, which, though not one of the great colleges, is as old as any of them, and looks exceedingly venerable. We were here received by a friend of Mr. Spiers, in his academic cap, but without his gown, which is not worn, except in term time. He is a very civil gentleman, and showed us some antique points of architecture,--such as a Norman archway, with a passage over it, through which the Queen of Charles I. used to go to chapel; and an edifice of the thirteenth century, with a stone roof, which is considered to be very curious. How ancient is the aspect of these college quadrangles! so gnawed by time as they are, so crumbly, so blackened, and so gray where they are not black,--so quaintly shaped, too, with here a line of battlement and there a row of gables; and here a turret, with probably a winding stair inside; and lattice-windows, with stone mullions, and little panes of glass set in lead; and the cloisters, with a long arcade, looking upon the green or pebbled enclosure. The quality of the stone has a great deal to do with the apparent antiquity. It is a stone found in the neighborhood of Oxford, and very soon begins to crumble and decay superficially, when exposed to the weather; so that twenty years do the work of a hundred, so far as appearances go. If you strike one of the old walls with a stick, a portion of it comes powdering down. The effect of this decay is very picturesque, and is especially striking, I think, on edifices of classic architecture, such as some of the Oxford colleges are, greatly enriching the Grecian columns, which look so cold when the outlines are hard and distinct. The Oxford people, however, are tired of this crumbly stone, and when repairs are necessary, they use a more durable material, which does not well assort with the antiquity into which it is intruded. Mr. E------ showed us the library of Merton College. It occupies two sides of an old building, and has a very delightful fragrance of ancient books. The halls containing it are vaulted, and roofed with oak, not carved and ornamented, but laid flat, so that they look very like a grand and spacious old garret. All along, there is a row of alcoves on each side, with rude benches and reading-desks, in the simplest style, and nobody knows how old. The books look as old as the building. The more valuable were formerly chained to the bookcases; and a few of them have not yet broken their chains. It was a good emblem of the dark and monkish ages, when learning was imprisoned in their cloisters, and chained in their libraries, in the days when the schoolmaster had not yet gone abroad. Mr. E------ showed us a very old copy of the Bible; and a vellum manuscript, most beautifully written in black-letter and illuminated, of the works of Duns Scotus, who was a scholar of Merton College. He then showed us the chapel, a large part of which has been renewed and ornamented with pictured windows and other ecclesiastical splendor, and paved with encaustic tiles, according to the Puseyite taste of the day; for Merton has adopted the Puseyite doctrines, and is one of their chief strongholds in Oxford. If they do no other good, they at least do much for the preservation and characteristic restoration of the old English churches; but perhaps, even here, there is as much antiquity spoiled as retained. In the portion of the chapel not yet restored, we saw the rude old pavement, inlaid with gravestones, in some of which were brasses, with the figures of the college dignitaries, whose dust slumbered beneath; and I think it was here that I saw the tombstone of Anthony-a-Wood, the gossiping biographer of the learned men of Oxford. From the chapel we went into the college gardens, which are very pleasant, and possess the advantage of looking out on the broad verdure of Christ Church meadows and the river beyond. We loitered here awhile, and then went to Mr. ------'s rooms, to which the entrance is by a fine old staircase. They had a very comfortable, aspect,--a wainscoted parlor and bedroom, as nice and cosey as a bachelor could desire, with a good collection of theological books; and on a peg hung his gown, with a red border about it, denoting him to be a proproctor. He was kind enough to order a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, college ale, and a certain liquor called "Archdeacon." . . . . We ate and drank, . . . . and, bidding farewell to good Mr. E------, we pursued our way to the RATCLIFFE LIBRARY. This is a very handsome edifice, of a circular shape; the lower story consisting altogether of arches, open on all sides, as if to admit anybody to the learning here stored up. I always see great beauty and lightsomeness in these classic and Grecian edifices, though they seem cold and intellectual, and not to have had their mortar moistened with human life-blood, nor to have the mystery of human life in them, as Gothic structures do. The library is in a large and beautiful room, in the story above the basement, and, as far as I saw, consisted chiefly or altogether of scientific works. I saw Silliman's Journal on one of the desks, being the only trace of American science, or American learning or ability in any department, which I discovered in the University of Oxford. After seeing the library, we went to the top of the building, where we had an excellent view of Oxford and the surrounding country. Then we went to the Convocation Hall, and afterwards to the theatre, where S----- sat down in the Chancellor's chair, which is very broad, and ponderously wrought of oak. I remember little here, except the amphitheatre of benches, and the roof, which seems to be supported by golden ropes, and on the wall, opposite the door, some full-length portraits, among which one of that ridiculous coxcomb, George IV., was the most prominent. These kings thrust themselves impertinently forward by bust, statue, and picture, on all occasions, and it is not wise in them to show their shallow foreheads among men of mind. THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY. Mr. Spiers tried to get us admittance to the Bodleian Library; but this is just the moment when it is closed for the purpose of being cleaned; so we missed seeing the principal halls of this library, and were only admitted into what was called the Picture Gallery. This, however, satisfied all my desires, so far as the backs of books are concerned, for they extend through a gallery, running round three sides of a quadrangle, making an aggregate length of more than four hundred feet,--a solid array of bookcases, full of books, within a protection of open iron-work. Up and down the gallery there are models of classic temples; and about midway in its extent stands a brass statue of Earl Pembroke, who was Chancellor of the University in James I's time; not in scholarly garb, however, but in plate and mail, looking indeed like a thunderbolt of war. I rapped him with my knuckles, and he seemed to be solid metal, though, I should imagine, hollow at heart. A thing which interested me very much was the lantern of Guy Fawkes. It was once tinned, no doubt, but is now nothing but rusty iron, partly broken. As this is called the Picture Gallery, I must not forget the pictures, which are ranged in long succession over the bookcases, and include almost all Englishmen whom the world has ever heard of, whether in statesmanship or literature, I saw a canvas on which had once been a lovely and unique portrait of Mary of Scotland; but it was consigned to a picture-cleaner to be cleansed, and, discovering that it was painted over another picture, he had the curiosity to clean poor Mary quite away, thus revealing a wishy-washy woman's face, which now hangs in the gallery. I am so tired of seeing notable things that I almost wish that whatever else is remarkable in Oxford could be obliterated in some similar manner. From the Bodleian we went to THE TAYLOR INSTITUTE, which was likewise closed; but the woman who had it in charge had formerly been a servant of Mr. Spiers, and he so overpersuaded her that she finally smiled and admitted us. It would truly have been a pity to miss it; for here, on the basement floor, are the original models of Chantrey's busts and statues, great and small; and in the rooms above are a far richer treasure,--a large collection of original drawings by Raphael and Michael Angelo. These are far better for my purpose than their finished pictures,--that is to say, they bring me much closer to the hands that drew them and the minds that imagined them. It is like looking into their brains, and seeing the first conception before it took shape outwardly (I have somewhere else said about the same thing of such sketches). I noticed one of Raphael's drawings, representing the effect of eloquence; it was a man speaking in the centre of a group, between whose ears and the orator's mouth connecting lines were drawn. Raphael's idea must have been to compose his picture in such a way that their auricular organs should not fail to be in a proper relation with the eloquent voice; and though this relation would not have been individually traceable in the finished picture, yet the general effect--that of deep and entranced attention--would have been produced. In another room there are some copies of Raphael's cartoons, and some queer mediaeval pictures, as stiff and ugly as can well be conceived, yet successful in telling their own story. We looked a little while at these, and then, thank Heaven! went home and dressed for dinner. I can write no more to-day. Indeed, what a mockery it is to write at all! [Here follows the drive to Cumnor Place, Stanton Harcourt, Nuneham Courtney, Godstowe, etc.,--already published in Our Old Home.--ED.] September 9th.--The morning after our excursion on the Thames was as bright and beautiful as many preceding ones had been. After breakfast S----- and I walked a little about the town, and bought Thomas a Kempis, in both French and English, for U----. . . . Mr. De la Motte, the photographer, had breakfasted with us, and Mr. Spiers wished him to take a photograph of our whole party. So, in the first place, before the rest were assembled, he made an experimental group of such as were there; and I did not like my own aspect very much. Afterwards, when we were all come, he arranged us under a tree in the garden,--Mr. and Mrs. Spiers, with their eldest son, Mr. and Mrs. Hall and Fanny, Mr. Addison, my wife and me,--and stained the glass with our figures and faces in the twinkling of an eye; not S-----'s face, however, for she turned it away, and left only a portion of her bonnet and dress,--and Mrs. Hall, too, refused to countenance the proceeding. But all the rest of us were caught to the life, and I was really a little startled at recognizing myself so apart from myself, and done so quickly too. This was the last important incident of our visit to Oxford, except that Mr. Spiers was again most hospitable at lunch. Never did anybody attend more faithfully to the comfort of his friends than does this good gentleman. But he has shown himself most kind in every possible way, and I shall always feel truly grateful. No better way of showing our sense of his hospitality, and all the trouble he has taken for us (and our memory of him), has occurred to us, than to present him with a set of my Tales and Romances; so, by the next steamer, I shall write to Ticknor and Fields to send them, elegantly bound, and S----- will emblazon his coat of arms in each volume. He accompanied us and Mr. and Mrs. Hall to the railway station, and we left Oxford at two o'clock. It had been a very pleasant visit, and all the persons whom we met were kind and agreeable, and disposed to look at one another in a sunny aspect. I saw a good deal of Mr. Hall. He is a thoroughly genuine man, of kind heart and true affections, a gentleman of taste and refinement, and full of humor. On the Saturday after our return to Blackheath, we went to HAMPTON COURT, about which, as I have already recorded a visit to it, I need say little here. But I was again impressed with the stately grandeur of Wolsey's great Hall, with its great window at each end, and one side window, descending almost to the floor, and a row of windows on each side, high towards the roof, and throwing down their many-colored light on the stone pavement, and on the Gobelin tapestry, which must have been gorgeously rich when the walls were first clothed with it. I fancied, then, that no modern architect could produce so fine a room; but oddly enough, in the great entrance-hall of the Euston station, yesterday, I could not see how this last fell very much short of Wolsey's Hall in grandeur. We were quite wearied in passing through the endless suites of rooms in Hampton Court, and gazing at the thousands of pictures; it is too much for one day,--almost enough for one life, in such measure as life can be bestowed on pictures. It would have refreshed us had we spent half the time in wandering about the grounds, which, as we glimpsed at them from the windows of the Palace, seemed very beautiful, though laid out with an antique formality of straight lines and broad gravelled paths. Before the central window there is a beautiful sheet of water, and a fountain upshooting itself and plashing into it, with a continuous and pleasant sound. How beautifully the royal robe of a monarchy is embroidered! Palaces, pictures, parks! They do enrich life; and kings and aristocracies cannot keep these things to themselves, they merely take care of them for others. Even a king, with all the glory that can be shed around him, is but the liveried and bedizened footman of his people, and the toy of their delight. I am very glad that I came to this country while the English are still playing with such a toy. Yesterday J----- and I left Blackheath, and reached Liverpool last night. The rest of my family will follow in a few days; and so finishes our residence in Bennoch's house, where I, for my part, have spent some of the happiest hours that I have known since we left our American home. It is a strange, vagabond, gypsy sort of life,--this that we are leading; and I know not whether we shall finally be spoiled for any other, or shall enjoy our quiet Wayside, as we never did before, when once we reach it again. The evening set in misty and obscure; and it was dark almost when J----- and I arrived at the landing stage on our return. I was struck with the picturesque effect of the high tower and tall spire of St. Nicholas, rising upward, with dim outline, into the duskiness; while midway of its height the dial-plates of an illuminated clock blazed out, like two great eyes of a giant. September 13th.--On Saturday my wife, with all her train, arrived at Mrs. B------'s; and on Tuesday--vagabonds as we are--we again struck our tent, and set out for SOUTHPORT. I do not know what sort of character it will form in the children,--this unsettled, shifting, vagrant life, with no central home to turn to, except what we carry in ourselves. It was a windy day, and, judging by the look of the trees, on the way to Southport, it must be almost always windy, and with the blast in one prevailing direction; for invariably their branches, and the whole contour and attitude of the tree, turn from seaward, with a strangely forlorn aspect. Reaching Southport, we took an omnibus, and under the driver's guidance came to our tall stone house, fronting on the sands, and styled "Brunswick Terrace." . . . . The English system of lodging-houses has its good points; but it is, nevertheless, a contrivance for bearing the domestic cares of home about with you whithersoever you go; and immediately you have to set about producing your own bread and cheese. However, Fanny took most of this trouble off our hands, though there was inevitably the stiffness and discomfort of a new housekeeping on the first day of our arrival; besides that, it was cool, and the wind whistled and grumbled and eddied into the chinks of the house. Meanwhile, in all my experience of Southport, I have never yet seen the sea, but only an interminable breadth of sands, looking pooly or plashy in some places, and barred across with drier reaches of sand, but no expanse of water. It must be miles and miles, at low water, to the veritable sea-shore. We are about twenty miles north of Liverpool, on the border of the Irish Sea; and Ireland and, I suppose, the Isle of Man intervene betwixt us and the ocean, not much to our benefit; for the air of the English coast, under ocean influences, is said to be milder than when it comes across the land,--milder, therefore, above or below Ireland, because then the Gulf Stream ameliorates it. Betimes, the forenoon after our arrival, I had to take the rail to Liverpool, but returned, a little after five, in the midst of a rain,-- still low water and interminable sands; still a dreary, howling blast. We had a cheerful fireside, however, and should have had a pleasant evening, only that the wind on the sea made us excessively drowsy. This morning we awoke to hear the wind still blustering, and blowing up clouds, with fitful little showers, and soon blowing them away again, and letting the brightest of sunshine fall over the plashy waste of sand. We have already walked forth on the shore with J----- and R-----, who pick up shells, and dig wells in the sand with their little wooden spades; but soon we saw a rainbow on the western sky, and then a shower came spattering down upon us in good earnest. We first took refuge under the bridge that stretches between the two portions of the promenade; but as there was a chill draught there, we made the best of our way home. The sun has now again come out brightly, though the wind is still tumbling a great many clouds about the sky. Evening.--Later, I walked out with U----, and, looking seaward, we saw the foam and spray of the advancing tide, tossed about on the verge of the horizon,--a long line, like the crests and gleaming helmets of an army. In about half an hour we found almost the whole waste of sand covered with water, and white waves breaking out all over it; but, the bottom being so nearly level, and the water so shallow, there was little of the spirit and exultation of the sea in a strong breeze. Of the long line of bathing-machines, one after another was hitched to a horse, and trundled forth into the water, where, at a long distance from shore, the bathers found themselves hardly middle deep. September 19th.--The wind grumbled and made itself miserable all last night, and this morning it is still howling as ill-naturedly as ever, and roaring and rumbling in the chimneys. The tide is far out, but, from an upper window, I fancied, at intervals, that I could see the plash of the surf-wave on the distant limit of the sand; perhaps, however, it was only a gleam on the sky. Constantly there have been sharp spatters of rain, hissing and rattling against the windows, while a little before or after, or perhaps simultaneously, a rainbow, somewhat watery of texture, paints itself on the western clouds. Gray, sullen clouds hang about the sky, or sometimes cover it with a uniform dulness; at other times, the portions towards the sun gleam almost lightsomely; now, there may be an airy glimpse of clear blue sky in a fissure of the clouds; now, the very brightest of sunshine comes out all of a sudden, and gladdens everything. The breadth of sands has a various aspect, according as there are pools, or moisture enough to glisten, or a drier tract; and where the light gleams along a yellow ridge or bar, it is like sunshine itself. Certainly the temper of the day shifts; but the smiles come far the seldomest, and its frowns and angry tears are most reliable. By seven o'clock pedestrians began to walk along the promenade, close buttoned against the blast; later, a single bathing-machine got under way, by means of a horse, and travelled forth seaward; but within what distance it finds the invisible margin I cannot say,--at all events, it looks like a dreary journey. Just now I saw a sea-gull, wheeling on the blast, close in towards the promenade. September 21st.--Yesterday morning was bright, sunny and windy, and cool and exhilarating. I went to Liverpool at eleven, and, returning at five, found the weather still bright and cool. The temperature, methinks, must soon diminish the population of Southport, which, judging from appearances, must be mainly made up of temporary visitors. There is a newspaper, The Southport Visitor, published weekly, and containing a register of all the visitants in the various hotels and lodging-houses. It covers more than two sides of the paper, to the amount of some hundreds. The guests come chiefly from Liverpool, Manchester, and the neighboring country-towns, and belong to the middle classes. It is not a fashionable watering-place. Only one nobleman's name, and those of two or three baronets, now adorn the list. The people whom we see loitering along the beach and the promenade have, at best, a well-to-do, tradesmanlike air. I do not find that there are any public amusements; nothing but strolling on the sands, donkey-riding, or drives in donkey-carts; and solitary visitors must find it a dreary place. Yet one or two of the streets are brisk and lively, and, being well thronged, have a holiday aspect. There are no carriages in town save donkey-carts; some of which are drawn by three donkeys abreast, and are large enough to hold a whole family. These conveyances will take you far out on the sands through wet and dry. The beach is haunted by The Flying Dutchman, --a sort of boat on wheels, schooner-rigged with sails, and which sometimes makes pretty good speed, with a fair wind. This morning we have been walking with J----- and R----- out over the "ribbed sea sands," a good distance from shore. Throughout the week, the tides will be so low as not to cover the shallow basin of this bay, if a bay it be. The weather was sullen, with now and then a faint gleam of sunshine, lazily tracing our shadows on the sand; the wind rather quieter than on preceding days. . . . In the sunshine the sands seem to be frequented by great numbers of gulls, who begin to find the northern climate too wintry. You see their white wings in the sunlight, but they become almost or quite invisible in the shade. We shall soon have an opportunity of seeing how a watering-place looks when the season is quite over; for we have concluded to remain here till December, and everybody else will take flight in a week or two. A short time ago, in the evening, in a street of Liverpool, I saw a decent man, of the lower orders, taken much aback by being roughly brushed against by a rowdy fellow. He looked after him, and exclaimed indignantly, "Is that a Yankee?" It shows the kind of character we have here. October 7th.--On Saturday evening, I gave a dinner to Bennoch, at the Adelphi Hotel. The chief point or characteristic of English customs was, that Mr. Radley, our landlord, himself attended at table, and officiated as chief waiter. He has a fortune of 100,000 pounds,--half a million of dollars,--and is an elderly man of good address and appearance. In America, such a man would very probably be in Congress; at any rate, he would never conceive the possibility of changing plates, or passing round the table with hock and champagne. Some of his hock was a most rich and imperial wine, such as can hardly be had on the Rhine itself. There were eight gentlemen besides Bennoch. A donkey, the other day, stubbornly refusing to come out of a boat which had brought him across the Mersey; at last, after many kicks had been applied, and other persecutions of that kind, a man stepped forward, addressing him affectionately, "Come along, brother,"--and the donkey obeyed at once. October 26th.--On Thursday, instead of taking the rail for Liverpool, I set out, about eleven, for a long walk. It was an overcast morning, such as in New England would have boded rain; but English clouds are not nearly so portentous as American in that respect. Accordingly, the sun soon began to peep through crevices, and I had not gone more than a mile or two when it shone a little too warmly for comfort, yet not more than I liked. It was very much like our pleasant October days at home; indeed, the climates of the two countries more nearly coincide during the present month than at any other season of the year. The air was almost perfectly still; but once in a while it stirred, and breathed coolly in my face; it is very delightful, this latent freshness, in a warm atmosphere. The country about Southport has as few charms as it is possible for any region to have. In the close neighborhood of the shore, it is nothing but sand-hillocks, covered with coarse grass; and this is the original nature of the whole site on which the town stands, although it is now paved, and has been covered with soil enough to make gardens, and to nourish here and there a few trees. A little farther inland the surface seems to have been marshy, but has been drained by ditches across the fields and along the roadside; and the fields are embanked on all sides with parapets of earth which appear as if intended to keep out inundations. In fact, Holland itself cannot be more completely on a level with the sea. The only dwellings are the old, whitewashed stone cottages, with thatched roofs, on the brown straw of which grow various weeds and mosses, brightening it with green patches, and sprouting along the ridgepole,--the homeliest hovels that ever mortals lived in, and which they share with pigs and cows at one end. Hens, too, run in and out of the door. One or two of these hovels bore signs, "Licensed to sell beer, ale, and tobacco," and generally there were an old woman and some children visible. In all cases there was a ditch, full of water, close at hand, stagnant, and often quite covered with a growth of water-weeds,--very unwholesome, one would think, in the neighborhood of a dwelling; and, in truth, the children and grown people did look pale. In the fields, along the roadside, men and women were harvesting their carrots and other root-crops, especially digging potatoes,--the pleasantest of all farm labor, in my opinion, there being such a continual interest in opening the treasures of each hill. As I went on, the country began to get almost imperceptibly less flat, and there was some little appearance of trees. I had determined to go to Ormskirk, but soon got out of the way, and came to a little hamlet that looked antique and picturesque, with its small houses of stone and brick, built, with the one material and repaired with the other perhaps ages afterward. Here I inquired my way of a woman, who told me, in broad Lancashire dialect, "that I main go back, and turn to my left, till I came to a finger-post"; and so I did, and found another little hamlet, the principal object in which was a public-house, with a large sign, representing a dance round a Maypole. It was now about one o'clock; so I entered, and, being ushered into what, I suppose, they called the coffee-room, I asked for some cold neat and ale. There was a jolly, round, rather comely woman for a hostess, with a free, hospitable, yet rather careless manner. The coffee-room smelt rather disagreeably of bad tobacco-smoke, and was shabbily furnished with an old sofa and flag-bottomed chairs, and adorned with a print of "Old Billy," a horse famous for a longevity of about sixty years; and also with colored engravings of old-fashioned hunting-scenes, conspicuous with scarlet coats. There was a very small bust of Milton on the mantel-piece. By and by the remains of an immense round of beef, three quarters cut away, were put on the table; then some smoking-hot potatoes; and finally the hostess told me that their own dinner was just ready, and so she had brought me in some hot chops, thinking I might prefer them to the cold meat. I did prefer them; and they were stewed or fried chops, instead of broiled, and were very savory. There was household bread too, and rich cheese, and a pint of ale, home brewed, not very mighty, but good to quench thirst, and, by way of condiment, some pickled cabbage; so, instead of a lunch, I made quite a comfortable dinner. Moreover, there was a cold pudding on the table, and I called for a clean plate, and helped myself to some of it. It was of rice, and was strewn over, rather than intermixed, with some kinds of berries, the nature of which I could not exactly make out. I then set forth again. It was still sunny and warm, and I walked more slowly than before dinner; in fact, I did little more than lounge along, sitting down, at last, on the stone parapet of a bridge. The country grew more pleasant, more sylvan, and, though still of a level character, not so drearily flat. Soon appeared the first symptom that I had seen of a gentleman's residence,--a lodge at a park gate, then a long stretch of wall, with a green lawn, and afterwards an extent of wooded land; then another gateway, with a neat lodge on each side of it, and, lastly, another extent of wood. The Hall or Mansion-house, however, was nowhere apparent, being, doubtless, secluded deep and far within its grounds. I inquired of a boy who was the owner of the estate, and he answered, "Mr. Scarisbrick"; and no doubt it is a family of local eminence. Along the road,--an old inn; some aged stone houses, built for merely respectable occupants; a canal, with two canal-boats, heaped up with a cargo of potatoes; two little girls, who were watching lest some cows should go astray, and had their two little chairs by the roadside, and their dolls and other playthings, and so followed the footsteps of the cows all day long. I met two boys, coming from Ormskirk, mounted on donkeys, with empty panniers, on which they had carried vegetables to market. Finally, between two and three o'clock, I saw the great tower of Ormskirk Church, with its spire, not rising out of the tower, but sprouting up close beside it; and, entering the town, I directed my steps first to this old church. ORMSKIRK CHURCH. It stands on a gentle eminence, sufficient to give it a good site, and has a pavement of flat gravestones in front. It is doubtless, as regards its foundation, a very ancient church, but has not exactly a venerable aspect, being in too good repair, and much restored in various parts; not ivy-grown, either, though green with moss here and there. The tower is square and immensely massive, and might have supported a very lofty spire; so that it is the more strange that what spire it has should be so oddly stuck beside it, springing out of the church wall. I should have liked well enough to enter the church, as it is the burial-place of the Earls of Derby, and perhaps may contain some interesting monuments; but as it was all shut up, and even the iron gates of the churchyard closed and locked, I merely looked at the outside. From the church, a street leads to the market-place, in which I found a throng of men and women, it being market-day; wares of various kinds, tin, earthen, and cloth, set out on the pavements; droves of pigs; ducks and fowls; baskets of eggs; and a man selling quack medicines, recommending his nostrums as well as he could. The aspect of the crowd was very English,--portly and ruddy women; yeomen with small-clothes and broad-brimmed hats, all very quiet and heavy and good-humored. Their dialect was so provincial that I could not readily understand more than here and there a word. But, after all, there were few traits that could be made a note of. I soon grew weary of the scene, and so I went to the railway station, and waited there nearly an hour for the train to take me to Southport. Ormskirk is famous for its gingerbread, which women sell to the railway passengers at a sixpence for a rouleau of a dozen little cakes. November 30th.--A week ago last Monday, Herman Melville came to see me at the Consulate, looking much as he used to do, and with his characteristic gravity and reserve of manner. . . . We soon found ourselves on pretty much our former terms of sociability and confidence. . . . He is thus far on his way to Constantinople. I do not wonder that he found it necessary to take an airing through the world, after so many years of toilsome pen-labor, following upon so wild and adventurous a youth as his was. I invited him to come and stay with us at Southport, as long as he might remain in this vicinity, and accordingly he did come the next day. . . . . On Wednesday we took a pretty long walk together, and sat down in a hollow among the sand-hills, sheltering ourselves from the high cool wind. Melville, as he always does, began to reason of Providence and futurity, and of everything else that lies beyond human ken. . . . He has a very high and noble nature, and is better worth immortality than the most of us. . . . On Saturday we went to Chester together. I love to take every opportunity of going to Chester; it being the one only place, within easy reach of Liverpool, which possesses any old English interest. We went to THE CATHEDRAL. Its gray nave impressed me more than at any former visit. Passing into the cloisters, an attendant took possession of us, and showed us about. Within the choir there is a profusion of very rich oaken carving, both on the screen that separates it from the nave, and on the seats and walls; very curious and most elaborate, and lavished (one would say) most wastefully, where nobody would think of looking for it,--where, indeed, amid the dimness of the cathedral, the exquisite detail of the elaboration could not possibly be seen. Our guide lighted some of the gas-burners, of which there are many hundreds, to help us see them; but it required close scrutiny, even then. It must have been out of the question, when the whole means of illumination were only a few smoky torches or candles. There was a row of niches, where the monks used to stand, for four hours together, in the performance of some of their services; and to relieve them a little, they were allowed partially to sit on a projection of the seats, which were turned up in the niche for that purpose; but if they grew drowsy, so as to fail to balance themselves, the seat was so contrived as to slip down, thus bringing the monk to the floor. These projections on the seats are each and all of them carved with curious devices, no two alike. The guide showed us one, representing, apparently, the first quarrel of a new-married couple, wrought with wonderful expression. Indeed, the artist never failed to bring out his idea in the most striking manner,--as, for instance, Satan, under the guise of a lion, devouring a sinner bodily; and again in the figure of a dragon, with a man halfway down his gullet, the legs hanging out. The carver may not have seen anything grotesque in this, nor intended it at all by way of joke; but certainly there would appear to be a grim mirthfulness in some of the designs. One does not see why such fantasies should be strewn about the holy interior of a cathedral, unless it were intended to contain everything that belongs to the heart of man, both upward and downward. In a side aisle of the choir, we saw a tomb, said to be that of the Emperor Henry IV. of Germany, though on very indistinct authority. This is an oblong tomb, carved, and, on one side, painted with bright colors and gilded. During a very long period it was built and plastered into the wall, and the exterior side was whitewashed; but, on being removed, the inner side was found to have been ornamented with gold and color, in the manner in which we now see it. If this were customary with tombs, it must have added vastly to the gorgeous magnificence, to which the painted windows and polished pillars and ornamented ceilings contributed so much. In fact, a cathedral in its fresh estate seems to have been like a pavilion of the sunset, all purple and gold; whereas now it more resembles deepest and grayest twilight. Afterwards, we were shown into the ancient refectory, now used as the city grammar-school, and furnished with the usual desks and seats for the boys. In one corner of this large room was the sort of pulpit or elevated seat, with a broken staircase of stone ascending to it, where one of the monks used to read to his brethren, while sitting at their meals. The desks were cut and carved with the scholars' knives, just as they used to be in the school-rooms where I was a scholar. Thence we passed into the chapter-house, but, before that, we went through a small room, in which Melville opened a cupboard, and discovered a dozen or two of wine-bottles; but our guide told us that they were now empty, and never were meant for jollity, having held only sacramental wine. In the chapter-house, we saw the library, some of the volumes of which were antique folios. There were two dusty and tattered banners hanging on the wall, and the attendant promised to make us laugh by something that he would tell us about them. The joke was that these two banners had been in the battle of Bunker Hill; and our countrymen, he said, always smiled on hearing this. He had discovered us to be Americans by the notice we took of a mural tablet in the choir, to the memory of a Lieutenant-Governor Clarke, of New York, who died in Chester before the Revolution. From the chapter-house he ushered us back into the nave, ever and anon pointing out some portion of the edifice more ancient than the rest, and when I asked him how he knew this, he said that he had learnt it from the archaeologists, who could read off such things like a book. This guide was a lively, quick-witted man, who did his business less by rote, and more with a vivacious interest, than any guide I ever met. After leaving the cathedral we sought out the Yacht Inn, near the water-gate. This was, for a long period of time, the principal inn of Chester, and was the house at which Swift once put up, on his way to Holyhead, and where he invited the clergy to come and sup with him. We sat down in a small snuggery, conversing with the landlord. The Chester people, according to my experience, are very affable, and fond of talking with strangers about the antiquities and picturesque characteristics of their town. It partly lives, the landlord told us, by its visitors, and many people spend the summer here on account of the antiquities and the good air. He showed us a broad, balustraded staircase, leading into a large, comfortable, old-fashioned parlor, with windows looking on the street and on the Custom House that stood opposite. This was the room where Swift expected to receive the clergy of Chester; and on one of the window-panes were two acrid lines, written with the diamond of his ring, satirizing those venerable gentlemen, in revenge for their refusing his invitation. The first line begins rather indistinctly; but the writing grows fully legible, as it proceeds. The Yacht Tavern is a very old house, in the gabled style. The timbers and framework are still perfectly sound. In the same street is the Bishop's house (so called as having been the residence of a prelate long ago), which is covered with curious sculpture, representing Scriptural scenes. And in the same neighborhood is the county court, accessible by an archway, through which we penetrated, and found ourselves in a passage, very ancient and dusky, overlooked from the upper story by a gallery, to which an antique staircase ascended, with balustrades and square landing-places. A printer saw us here, and asked us into his printing-office, and talked very affably; indeed, he could have hardly been more civil, if he had known that both Melville and I have given a good deal of employment to the brethren of his craft. December 15th.--An old gentleman has recently paid me a good many visits,--a Kentucky man, who has been a good deal in England and Europe generally without losing the freshness and unconventionality of his earlier life. He was a boatman, and afterwards captain of a steamer on the Ohio and Mississippi; but has gained property, and is now the owner of mines of coal and iron, which he is endeavoring to dispose of here in England. A plain, respectable, well-to-do-looking personage, of more than seventy years; very free of conversation, and beginning to talk with everybody as a matter of course; tall, stalwart, a dark face, with white curly hair and keen eyes; and an expression shrewd, yet kindly and benign. He fought through the whole War of 1812, beginning with General Harrison at the battle of Tippecanoe, which he described to me. He says that at the beginning of the battle, and for a considerable time, he heard Tecumseh's voice, loudly giving orders. There was a man named Wheatley in the American camp, a strange, incommunicative person,--a volunteer, making war entirely on his own book, and seeking revenge for some relatives of his, who had been killed by the Indians. In the midst of the battle this Wheatley ran at a slow trot past R------ (my informant), trailing his rifle, and making towards the point where Tecumseh's voice was heard. The fight drifted around, and R------ along with it; and by and by he reached a spot where Wheatley lay dead, with his head on Tecumseh's breast. Tecumseh had been shot with a rifle, but, before expiring, appeared to have shot Wheatley with a pistol, which he still held in his hand. R------ affirms that Tecumseh was flayed by the Kentucky men on the spot, and his skin converted into razor-straps. I have left out the most striking point of the narrative, after all, as R------ told it, viz. that soon after Wheatley passed him, he suddenly ceased to hear Tecumseh's voice ringing through the forest, as he gave his orders. He was at the battle of New Orleans, and gave me the story of it from beginning to end; but I remember only a few particulars in which he was personally concerned. He confesses that his hair bristled upright--every hair in his head--when he heard the shouts of the British soldiers before advancing to the attack. His uncomfortable sensations lasted till he began to fire, after which he felt no more of them. It was in the dusk of the morning, or a little before sunrise, when the assault was made; and the fight lasted about two hours and a half, during which R------ fired twenty-four times; and said he, "I saw my object distinctly each time, and I was a good rifle-shot." He was raising his rifle to fire the twenty-fifth time, when an American officer, General Carroll, pressed it down, and bade him fire no more. "Enough is enough," quoth the General. For there needed no more slaughter, the British being in utter rout and confusion. In this retreat many of the enemy would drop down among the dead, then rise, run a considerable distance, and drop again, thus confusing the riflemen's aim. One fellow had thus got about four hundred and fifty yards from the American line, and, thinking himself secure, he made a derisive gesture. "I'll have a shot at him anyhow," cried a rifleman; so he fired, and the poor devil dropped. R------ himself, with one of his twenty-four shots, hit a British officer, who fell forward on his face, about thirty paces from our line, and as the enemy were then retreating (they advanced and were repelled two or three times) he ran out, and turned him over on his back. The officer was a man about thirty-eight, tall and fine-looking; his eyes were wide open, clear and bright, and were fixed full on R------ with a somewhat stern glance, but there was the sweetest and happiest smile over his face that could be conceived. He seemed to be dead;--at least, R------ thinks that he did not really see him, fixedly as he appeared to gaze. The officer held his sword in his hand, and R------ tried in vain to wrest it from him, until suddenly the clutch relaxed. R------ still keeps the sword hung up over his mantel-piece. I asked him how the dead man's aspect affected him. He replied that he felt nothing at the time; but that ever since, in all trouble, in uneasy sleep, and whenever he is out of tune, or waking early, or lying awake at night, he sees this officer's face, with the clear bright eyes and the pleasant smile, just as distinctly as if he were bending over him. His wound was in the breast, exactly on the spot that R------ had aimed at, and bled profusely. The enemy advanced in such masses, he says, that it was impossible not to hit them unless by purposely firing over their heads. After the battle, R------ leaped over the rampart, and took a prisoner who was standing unarmed in the midst of the slain, having probably dropped down during the heat of the action, to avoid the hail-storm of rifle-shots. As he led him in, the prisoner paused, and pointed to an officer who was lying dead beside his dead horse, with his foot still in the stirrup. "There lies our General," said he. The horse had been killed by a grape-shot, and Pakenham himself, apparently, by a six-pounder ball, which had first struck the earth, covering him from head to foot with mud and clay, and had then entered his side, and gone upward through his breast. His face was all besmirched with the moist earth. R------ took the slain General's foot out of the stirrup, and then went to report his death. Much more he told me, being an exceedingly talkative old man, and seldom, I suppose, finding so good a listener as myself. I like the man,--a good-tempered, upright, bold and free old fellow; of a rough breeding, but sufficiently smoothed by society to be of pleasant intercourse. He is as dogmatic as possible, having formed his own opinions, often on very disputable grounds, and hardened in them; taking queer views of matters and things, and giving shrewd and not ridiculous reasons for them; but with a keen, strong sense at the bottom of his character. A little while ago I met an Englishman in a railway carriage, who suggests himself as a kind of contrast to this warlike and vicissitudinous backwoodsman. He was about the same age as R------, but had spent, apparently, his whole life in Liverpool, and has long occupied the post of Inspector of Nuisances,--a rather puffy and consequential man; gracious, however, and affable, even to casual strangers like myself. The great contrast betwixt him and the American lies in the narrower circuit of his ideas; the latter talking about matters of history of his own country and the world,--glancing over the whole field of politics, propounding opinions and theories of his own, and showing evidence that his mind had operated for better or worse on almost all conceivable matters; while the Englishman was odorous of his office, strongly flavored with that, and otherwise most insipid. He began his talk by telling me of a dead body which he had lately discovered in a house in Liverpool, where it had been kept about a fortnight by the relatives, partly from want of funds for the burial, and partly in expectation of the arrival of some friends from Glasgow. There was a plate of glass in the coffin-lid, through which the Inspector of Nuisances, as he told me, had looked and seen the dead man's face in an ugly state of decay, which he minutely described. However, his conversation was not altogether of this quality; for he spoke about larks, and how abundant they are just now, and what a good pie they make, only they must be skinned, else they will have a bitter taste. We have since had a lark-pie ourselves, and I believe it was very good in itself; only the recollection of the Nuisance-man's talk was not a very agreeable flavor. A very racy and peculiarly English character might be made out of a man like this, having his life-concern wholly with the disagreeables of a great city. He seemed to be a good and kindly person, too, but earthy,--even as if his frame had been moulded of clay impregnated with the draining of slaughter-houses. December 21st.--On Thursday evening I dined for the first time with the new Mayor at the Town Hall. I wish to preserve all the characteristic traits of such banquets, because, being peculiar to England, these municipal feasts may do well to picture in a novel. There was a big old silver tobacco-box, nearly or quite as large round as an ordinary plate, out of which the dignitaries of Liverpool used to fill their pipes, while sitting in council or after their dinners. The date "1690" was on the lid. It is now used as a snuff-box, and wends its way, from guest to guest, round the table. We had turtle, and, among other good things, American canvasback ducks. . . . These dinners are certainly a good institution, and likely to be promotive of good feeling; the Mayor giving them often, and inviting, in their turn, all the respectable and eminent citizens of whatever political bias. About fifty gentlemen were present that evening. I had the post of honor at the Mayor's right hand; and France, Turkey, and Austria were toasted before the Republic, for, as the Mayor whispered me, he must first get his allies out of the way. The Turkish Consul and the Austrian both made better English speeches than any Englishman, during the evening; for it is inconceivable what shapeless and ragged utterances Englishmen are content to put forth, without attempting anything like a wholeness; but inserting a patch here and a patch there, and finally getting out what they wish to say, indeed, but in most disorganized guise. . . . I can conceive of very high enjoyment in making a speech; one is in such a curious sympathy with his audience, feeling instantly how every sentence affects them, and wonderfully excited and encouraged by the sense that it has gone to the right spot. Then, too, the imminent emergency, when a man is overboard, and must sink or swim, sharpens, concentrates, and invigorates the mind, and causes matters of thought and sentiment to assume shape and expression, though, perhaps, it seemed hopeless to express them, just before you rose to speak. Yet I question much whether public speaking tends to elevate the orator, intellectually or morally; the effort, of course, being to say what is immediately received by the audience, and to produce an effect on the instant. I don't quite see how an honest man can be a good and successful orator; but I shall hardly undertake to decide the question on my merely post-prandial experience. The Mayor toasted his guests by their professions,--the merchants, for instance, the bankers, the solicitors,--and while one of the number responded, his brethren also stood up, each in his place, thus giving their assent to what he said. I think the very worst orator was a major of Artillery, who spoke in a meek, little, nervous voice, and seemed a good deal more discomposed than probably he would have been in the face of the enemy. The first toast was "The Ladies," to which an old bachelor responded. December 31st.--Thus far we have come through the winter, on this bleak and blasty shore of the Irish Sea, where, perhaps, the drowned body of Milton's friend Lycidas might have been washed ashore more than two centuries ago. This would not be very likely, however, so wide a tract of sands, never deeply covered by the tide, intervening betwixt us and the sea. But it is an excessively windy place, especially here on the Promenade; always a whistle and a howl,--always an eddying gust through the corridors and chambers,--often a patter of hail or rain or snow against the windows; and in the long evenings the sounds outside are very much as if we were on shipboard in mid-ocean, with the waves dashing against the vessel's sides. I go to town almost daily, starting at about eleven, and reaching Southport again at a little past live; by which time it is quite dark, and continues so till nearly eight in the morning. Christmas time has been marked by few characteristics. For a week or two previous to Christmas day, the newspapers contained rich details respecting market-stalls and butchers' shops,--what magnificent carcasses of prize oxen and sheep they displayed. . . . The Christmas Waits came to us on Christmas eve, and on the day itself, in the shape of little parties of boys or girls, singing wretched doggerel rhymes, and going away well pleased with the guerdon of a penny or two. Last evening came two or three older choristers at pretty near bedtime, and sang some carols at our door. They were psalm tunes, however. Everybody with whom we have had to do, in any manner of service, expects a Christmas-box; but, in most cases, a shilling is quite a satisfactory amount. We have had holly and mistletoe stuck up on the gas-fixtures and elsewhere about the house. On the mantel-piece in the coroner's court the other day, I saw corked and labelled phials, which it may be presumed contained samples of poisons that have brought some poor wretches to their deaths, either by murder or suicide. This court might be wrought into a very good and pregnant description, with its grimy gloom illuminated by a conical skylight, constructed to throw daylight down on corpses; its greasy Testament covered over with millions of perjured kisses; the coroner himself, whose life is fed on all kinds of unnatural death; its subordinate officials, who go about scenting murder, and might be supposed to have caught the scent in their own garments; its stupid, brutish juries, settling round corpses like flies; its criminals, whose guilt is brought face to face with them here, in closer contact than at the subsequent trial. O---- P------, the famous Mormonite, called on me a little while ago,--a short, black-haired, dark-complexioned man; a shrewd, intelligent, but unrefined countenance, excessively unprepossessing; an uncouth gait and deportment; the aspect of a person in comfortable circumstances, and decently behaved, but of a vulgar nature and destitute of early culture. I think I should have taken him for a shoemaker, accustomed to reflect in a rude, strong, evil-disposed way on matters of this world and the next, as he sat on his bench. He said he had been residing in Liverpool about six months; and his business with me was to ask for a letter of introduction that should gain him admittance to the British Museum, he intending a visit to London. He offered to refer me to respectable people for his character; but I advised him to apply to Mr. Dallas, as the proper person for his purpose. March 1st, 1857.--On the night of last Wednesday week, our house was broken into by robbers. They entered by the back window of the breakfast-room, which is the children's school-room, breaking or cutting a pane of glass, so as to undo the fastening. I have a dim idea of having heard a noise through my sleep; but if so, it did not more than slightly disturb me. U---- heard it, she being at watch with R-----; and J-----, having a cold, was also wakeful, and thought the noise was of servants moving about below. Neither did the idea of robbers occur to U----. J-----, however, hearing U---- at her mother's door, asking for medicine for R-----, called out for medicine for his cold, and the thieves probably thought we were bestirring ourselves, and so took flight. In the morning the servants found the hall door and the breakfast-room window open; some silver cups and some other trifles of plate were gone from the sideboard, and there were tokens that the whole lower part of the house had been ransacked; but the thieves had evidently gone off in a hurry, leaving some articles which they would have taken, had they been more at leisure. We gave information to the police, and an inspector and constable soon came to make investigations, taking a list of the missing articles, and informing themselves as to all particulars that could be known. I did not much expect ever to hear any more of the stolen property; but on Sunday a constable came to request my presence at the police-office to identify the lost things. The thieves had been caught in Liverpool, and some of the property found upon them, and some of it at a pawnbroker's where they had pledged it. The police-office is a small dark room, in the basement story of the Town Hall of Southport; and over the mantel-piece, hanging one upon another, there are innumerable advertisements of robberies in houses, and on the highway,--murders, too, and garrotings; and offences of all sorts, not only in this district, but wide away, and forwarded from other police-stations. Bring thus aggregated together, one realizes that there are a great many more offences than the public generally takes note of. Most of these advertisements were in pen and ink, with minute lists of the articles stolen; but the more important were in print; and there, too, I saw the printed advertisement of our own robbery, not for public circulation, but to be handed about privately, among police-officers and pawnbrokers. A rogue has a very poor chance in England, the police being so numerous, and their system so well organized. In a corner of the police-office stood a contrivance for precisely measuring the heights of prisoners; and I took occasion to measure J-----, and found him four feet seven inches and a half high. A set of rules for the self-government of police-officers was nailed on the door, between twenty and thirty in number, and composing a system of constabulary ethics. The rules would be good for men in almost any walk of life; and I rather think the police-officers conform to them with tolerable strictness. They appear to be subordinated to one another on the military plan. The ordinary constable does not sit down in the presence of his inspector, and this latter seems to be half a gentleman; at least, such is the bearing of our Southport inspector, who wears a handsome uniform of green and silver, and salutes the principal inhabitants, when meeting them in the street, with an air of something like equality. Then again there is a superintendent, who certainly claims the rank of a gentleman, and has perhaps been an officer in the army. The superintendent of this district was present on this occasion. The thieves were brought down from Liverpool on Tuesday, and examined in the Town Hall. I had been notified to be present, but, as a matter of courtesy, the police-officers refrained from calling me as a witness, the evidence of the servants being sufficient to identify the property. The thieves were two young men, not much over twenty,--James and John Macdonald, terribly shabby, dirty, jail-bird like, yet intelligent of aspect, and one of them handsome. The police knew them already, and they seemed not much abashed by their position. There were half a dozen magistrates on the bench,--idle old gentlemen of Southport and the vicinity, who lounged into the court, more as a matter of amusement than anything else, and lounged out again at their own pleasure; for these magisterial duties are a part of the pastime of the country gentlemen of England. They wore their hats on the bench. There were one or two of them more active than their fellows; but the real duty was done by the Clerk of the Court. The seats within the bar were occupied by the witnesses, and around the great table sat some of the more respectable people of Southport; and without the bar were the commonalty in great numbers; for this is said to be the first burglary that has occurred here within the memory of man, and so it has caused a great stir. There seems to be a strong case against the prisoners. A boy attached to the railway testified to having seen them at Birchdale on Wednesday afternoon, and directed them on their way to Southport; Peter Pickup recognized them as having applied to him for lodgings in the course of that evening; a pawnbroker swore to one of them as having offered my top-coat for sale or pledge in Liverpool; and my boots were found on the feet of one of them,--all this in addition to other circumstances of pregnant suspicion. So they were committed for trial at the Liverpool assizes, to be holden some time in the present month. I rather wished them to escape. February 27th.--Coming along the promenade, a little before sunset, I saw the mountains of the Welsh coast shadowed very distinctly against the horizon. Mr. Channing told me that he had seen these mountains once or twice during his stay at Southport; but, though constantly looking for them, they have never before greeted my eyes in all the months that we have spent here. It is said that the Isle of Man is likewise discernible occasionally; but as the distance must be between sixty and seventy miles, I should doubt it. How misty is England! I have spent four years in a gray gloom. And yet it suits me pretty well. TO YORK. April 10th.--At Skipton. My wife, J-----, and I left Southport to-day for a short tour to York and its neighborhood. The weather has been exceedingly disagreeable for weeks past, but yesterday and to-day have been pleasant, and we take advantage of the first glimpses of spring-like weather. We came by Preston, along a road that grew rather more interesting as we proceeded to this place, which is about sixty miles from Southport, and where we arrived between five and six o'clock. First of all, we got some tea; and then, as it was a pleasant sunset, we set forth from our old-fashioned inn to take a walk. Skipton is an ancient town, and has an ancient though well-repaired aspect, the houses being built of gray stone, but in no picturesque shapes; the streets well paved; the site irregular and rising gradually towards Skipton Castle, which overlooks the town, as an old lordly castle ought to overlook the feudal village which it protects. The castle was built shortly after the Conquest by Robert de Romeli, and was afterwards the property and residence of the famous Cliffords. We met an honest man, as we approached the gateway, who kindly encouraged us to apply for admittance, notwithstanding it was Good Friday; telling us how to find the housekeeper, who would probably show us over the castle. So we passed through the gate, between two embattled towers; and in the castle court we met a flock of young damsels, who had been rambling about the precincts. They likewise directed us in our search for the housekeeper, and S-----, being bolder than I in such assaults on feudal castles, led the way down a dark archway, and up an exterior stairway, and, knocking at a door, immediately brought the housekeeper to a parley. She proved to be a nowise awful personage, but a homely, neat, kindly, intelligent, and middle-aged body. She seemed to be all alone in this great old castle, and at once consented to show us about,--being, no doubt, glad to see any Christian visitors. The castle is now the property of Sir R. Tufton; but the present family do not make it their permanent residence, and have only occasionally visited it. Indeed, it could not well be made an eligible or comfortable residence, according to modern ideas; the rooms occupying the several stories of large round towers, and looking gloomy and sombre, if not dreary,--not the less so for what has been done to modernize them; for instance, modern paper-hangings, and, in some of the rooms, marble fireplaces. They need a great deal more light and higher ceilings; and I rather imagine that the warm, rich effect of glowing tapestry is essential to keep one's spirit cheerful in these ancient rooms. Modern paper-hangings are too superficial and wishy-washy for the purpose. Tapestry, it is true, there is now, completely covering the walls of several of the rooms, but all faded into ghastliness; nor could some of it have been otherwise than ghastly, even in its newness, for it represented persons suffering various kinds of torture, with crowds of monks and nuns looking on. In another room there was the story of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, and other subjects not to be readily distinguished in the twilight that was gathering in these antique chambers. We saw, too, some very old portraits of the Cliffords and the Thanets, in black frames, and the pictures themselves sadly faded and neglected. The famous Countess Anne of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomery was represented on one of the leaves of a pair of folding doors, and one of her husbands, I believe, on the other leaf. There was the picture of a little idiot lordling, who had choked himself to death; and a portrait of Oliver Cromwell, who battered this old castle, together with almost every other English or Welsh castle that I ever saw or heard of. The housekeeper pointed out the grove of trees where his cannon were planted during the siege. There was but little furniture in the rooms; amongst other articles, an antique chair, in which Mary, Queen of Scots, is said to have rested. The housekeeper next took us into the part of the castle which has never been modernized since it was repaired, after the siege of Cromwell. This is a dismal series of cellars above ground, with immensely thick walls, letting in but scanty light, and dim staircases of stone; and a large hall, with a vast fireplace, where every particle of heat must needs have gone up chimney,--a chill and heart-breaking place enough. Quite in the midst of this part of the castle is the court-yard,--a space of some thirty or forty feet in length and breadth, open to the sky, but shut completely in on every side by the buildings of the castle, and paved over with flat stones. Out of this pavement, however, grows a yew-tree, ascending to the tops of the towers, and completely filling, with its branches and foliage, the whole open space between them. Some small birds--quite a flock of them--were twittering and fluttering among the upper branches. We went upward, through two or three stories of dismal rooms,--among others, through the ancient guard-room,--till we came out on the roof of one of the towers, and had a very fine view of an amphitheatre of ridgy hills which shut in and seclude the castle and the town. The upper foliage was within our reach, close to the parapet of the tower; so we gathered a few twigs as memorials. The housekeeper told us that the yew-tree is supposed to be eight hundred years old, and, comparing it with other yews that I have seen, I should judge that it must measure its antiquity by centuries, at all events. It still seems to be in its prime. Along the base of the castle, on the opposite side to the entrance, flows a stream, sending up a pleasant murmur from among the trees. The housekeeper said it was not a stream, but only a "wash," whatever that may be; and I conjecture that it creates the motive-power of some factory-looking edifices, which we saw on our first arrival at Skipton. We now took our leave of the housekeeper, and came homeward to our inn, where I have written the foregoing pages by a bright fire; but I think I write better descriptions after letting the subject lie in my mind a day or two. It is too new to be properly dealt with immediately after coming from the scene. The castle is not at all crumbly, but in excellent repair, though so venerable. There are rooks cawing about the shapeless patches of their nests, in the tops of the trees. In the castle wall, as well as in the round towers of the gateway, there seem to be little tenements, perhaps inhabited by the servants and dependants of the family. They looked in very good order, with tokens of present domesticity about them. The whole of this old castle, indeed, was as neat as a new, small dwelling, in spite of an inevitable musty odor of antiquity. April 11th.--This morning we took a carriage and two horses, and set out for BOLTON PRIORY, a distance of about six miles. The morning was cool, with breezy clouds, intermingled with sunshine, and, on the whole, as good as are nine tenths of English mornings. J----- sat beside the driver, and S----- and I in the carriage, all closed but one window. As we drove through Skipton, the little town had a livelier aspect than yesterday when it wore its Good Friday's solemnity; but now its market-place was thronged, principally with butchers, displaying their meat under little movable pent-houses, and their customers. The English people really like to think and talk of butcher's meat, and gaze at it with delight; and they crowd through the avenues of the market-houses and stand enraptured round a dead ox. We passed along by the castle wall, and noticed the escutcheon of the Cliffords or the Thanets carved in stone over the portal, with the motto Desormais, the application of which I do not well see; these ancestral devices usually referring more to the past, than to the future. There is a large old church, just at the extremity of the village, and just below the castle, on the slope of the hill. The gray wall of the castle extends along the road a considerable distance, in good repair, with here and there a buttress, and the semicircular bulge of a tower. The scenery along the road was not particularly striking,--long slopes, descending from ridges; a generally hard outline of country, with not many trees, and those, as yet, destitute of foliage. It needs to be softened with a good deal of wood. There were stone farm-houses, looking ancient, and able to last till twice as old. Instead of the hedges, so universal in other parts of England, there were stone fences of good height and painful construction, made of small stones, which I suppose have been picked up out of the fields through hundreds of years. They reminded me of old Massachusetts, though very unlike our rude stone walls, which, nevertheless, last longer than anything else we build. Another New England feature was the little brooks, which here and there flowed across our road, rippling over the pebbles, clear and bright. I fancied, too, an intelligence and keenness in some of the Yorkshire physiognomies, akin to those characteristics in my countrymen's faces. We passed an ancient, many-gabled inn, large, low, and comfortable, bearing the name of the Devonshire House, as does our own hotel, for the Duke of Devonshire is a great proprietor in these parts. A mile or so beyond, we came to a gateway, broken through what, I believe, was an old wall of the Priory grounds; and here we alighted, leaving our driver to take the carriage to the inn. Passing through this hole in the wall, we saw the ruins of the Priory at the bottom of the beautiful valley about a quarter of a mile off; and, well as the monks knew how to choose the sites of their establishments, I think they never chose a better site than this,--in the green lap of protecting hills, beside a stream, and with peace and fertility looking down upon it on every side. The view down the valley is very fine, and, for my part, I am glad that some peaceable and comfort-loving people possessed these precincts for many hundred years, when nobody else knew how to appreciate peace and comfort. The old gateway tower, beneath which was formerly the arched entrance into the domain of the Priory, is now the central part of a hunting-seat of the Duke of Devonshire, and the edifice is completed by a wing of recent date on each side. A few hundred yards from this hunting-box are the remains of the Priory, consisting of the nave of the old church, which is still in good repair, and used as the worshipping-place of the neighborhood (being a perpetual curacy of the parish of Skipton), and the old ruined choir, roofless, with broken arches, ivy-grown, but not so rich and rare a ruin as either Melrose, Netley, or Furness. Its situation makes its charm. It stands near the river Wharfe,--a broad and rapid stream, which hurries along between high banks, with a sound which the monks must have found congenial to their slumberous moods. It is a good river for trout, too; and I saw two or three anglers, with their rods and baskets, passing through the ruins towards its shore. It was in this river Wharfe that the boy of Egremont was drowned, at the Strid, a mile or two higher up the stream. In the first place, we rambled round the exterior of the ruins; but, as I have said, they are rather bare and meagre in comparison with other abbeys, and I am not sure that the especial care and neatness with which they are preserved does not lessen their effect on the beholder. Neglect, wildness, crumbling walls, the climbing and conquering ivy; masses of stone lying where they fell; trees of old date, growing where the pillars of the aisles used to stand,--these are the best points of ruined abbeys. But, everything here is kept with such trimness that it gives you the idea of a petrifaction. Decay is no longer triumphant; the Duke of Devonshire has got the better of it. The grounds around the church and the ruins are still used for burial, and there are several flat tombstones and altar tombs, with crosiers engraved or carved upon them, which at first I took to be the memorials of bishops or abbots, and wondered that the sculpture should still be so distinct. On one, however, I read the date 1850 and the name of a layman; for the tombstones were all modern, the humid English atmosphere giving them their mossy look of antiquity, and the crosier had been assumed only as a pretty device. Close beside the ruins there is a large, old stone farm-house, which must have been built on the site of a part of the Priory,--the cells, dormitories, refectory, and other portions pertaining to the monks' daily life, I suppose, and built, no doubt, with the sacred stones. I should imagine it would be a haunted house, swarming with cowled spectres. We wished to see the interior of the church, and procured a guide from this farm-house,--the sexton, probably,--a gray-haired, ruddy, cheery, and intelligent man, of familiar though respectful address. The entrance of the church was undergoing improvement, under the last of the abbots, when the Reformation occurred; and it has ever remained in an unfinished state, till now it is mossy with age, and has a beautiful tuft of wall-flowers growing on a ledge over the Gothic arch of the doorway. The body of the church is of much anterior date, though the oaken roof is supposed to have been renewed in Henry VIII's time. This, as I said before, was the nave of the old Abbey church, and has a one-sided and unbalanced aspect, there being only a single aisle, with its row of sturdy pillars. The pavement is covered with pews of old oak, very homely and unornamental; on the side opposite the aisle there are two or three windows of modern stained glass, somewhat gaudy and impertinent; there are likewise some hatchments and escutcheons over the altar and elsewhere. On the whole, it is not an impressive interior; but, at any rate, it had the true musty odor which I never conceived of till I came to England,--the odor of dead men's decay, garnered up and shut in, and kept from generation to generation; not disgusting nor sickening, because it is so old, and of the past. On one side of the altar there was a small square chapel,--or what had once been a chapel, separated from the chancel by a partition about a man's height, if I remember aright. Our guide led us into it, and observed that some years ago the pavement had been taken up in this spot, for burial purposes; but it was found that it had already been used in that way, and that the corpses had been buried upright. Inquiring further, I found that it was the Clapham family, and another that was called Morley, that were so buried; and then it occurred to me that this was the vault Wordsworth refers to in one of his poems,--the burial-place of the Claphams and Mauleverers, whose skeletons, for aught I know, were even then standing upright under our feet. It is but a narrow place, perhaps a square of ten feet. We saw little or nothing else that was memorable, unless it were the signature of Queen Adelaide in a visitors' book. On our way back to Skipton it rained and hailed, but the sun again shone out before we arrived. We took the train for Leeds at half past ten, and arrived there in the afternoon, passing the ruined Abbey of Kirkstall on our way. The ruins looked more interesting than those of Bolton, though not so delightfully situated, and now in the close vicinity of manufactories, and only two or three miles from Leeds. We took a dish of soup, and spent a miserable hour in and about the railway station of Leeds; whence we departed at four, and reached YORK in an hour or two. We put up at the Black Swan, and before tea went out, on the cool bright edge of evening, to get a glimpse of the cathedral, which impressed me more grandly than when I first saw it, nearly a year ago. Indeed, almost any object gains upon me at the second sight. I have spent the evening in writing up my journal,--an act of real virtue. After walking round the cathedral, we went up a narrow and crooked street, very old and shabby, but with an antique house projecting as much as a yard over the pavement on one side,--a timber house it seemed to be, plastered over and stained yellow or buff. There was no external door, affording entrance into this edifice; but about midway of its front we came to a low, Gothic, stone archway, passing right through the house; and as it looked much time-worn, and was sculptured with untraceable devices, we went through. There was an exceedingly antique, battered, and shattered pair of oaken leaves, which used doubtless to shut up the passage in former times, and keep it secure; but for the last centuries, probably, there has been free ingress and egress. Indeed, the portal arch may never have been closed since the Reformation. Within, we found a quadrangle, of which the house upon the street formed one side, the others being composed of ancient houses, with gables in a row, all looking upon the paved quadrangle, through quaint windows of various fashion. An elderly, neat, pleasant-looking woman now came in beneath the arch, and as she had a look of being acquainted here, we asked her what the place was; and she told us, that in the old Popish times the prebends of the cathedral used to live here, to keep them from doing mischief in the town. The establishment, she said, was now called "The College," and was let in rooms and small tenements to poor people. On consulting the York Guide, I find that her account was pretty correct; the house having been founded in Henry VI.'s time, and called St. William's College, the statue of the patron saint being sculptured over the arch. It was intended for the residence of the parsons and priests of the cathedral, who had formerly caused troubles and scandals by living in the town. We returned to the front of the cathedral on our way homeward, and an old man stopped us, to inquire if we had ever seen the Fiddler of York. We answered in the negative, and said that we had not time to see him now; but the old gentleman pointed up to the highest pinnacle of the southern front, where stood the Fiddler of York, one of those Gothic quaintnesses which blotch the grandeur and solemnity of this and other cathedrals. April 12th.--This morning was bleak and most ungenial; a chilly sunshine, a piercing wind, a prevalence of watery cloud,--April weather, without the tenderness that ought to be half revealed in it. This is EASTER SUNDAY, and service at the cathedral commenced at half past ten; so we set out betimes and found admittance into the vast nave, and thence into the choir. An attendant ushered S----- and J----- to a seat at a distance from me, and then gave me a place in one of the stalls where the monks used to sit or kneel while chanting the services. I think these stalls are now appropriated to the prebends. They are of carved oaken wood, much less elaborate and wonderfully wrought than those of Chester Cathedral, where all was done with head and heart, each a separate device, instead of cut, by machinery like this. The whole effect of this carved work, however, lining the choir with its light tracery and pinnacles, is very fine. The whole choir, from the roof downward, except the old stones of the outer walls, is of modern renovation, it being but a few years since this part of the cathedral was destroyed by fire. The arches and pillars and lofty roof, however, have been well restored; and there was a vast east window, full of painted glass, which, if it be modern, is wonderfully chaste and Gothic-like. All the other windows have painted glass, which does not flare and glare as if newly painted. But the light, whitewashed aspect of the general interior of the choir has a cold and dreary effect. There is an enormous organ, all clad in rich oaken carving, of similar pattern to that of the stalls. It was communion day, and near the high altar, within a screen, I saw the glistening of the gold vessels wherewith the services were to be performed. The choir was respectably filled with a pretty numerous congregation, among whom I saw some officers in full dress, with their swords by their sides, and one, old white-bearded warrior, who sat near me, seemed very devout at his religious exercises. In front of me and on the corresponding benches, on the other side of the choir, sat two rows of white-robed choristers, twenty in all, and these, with some women; performed the vocal part of the music. It is not good to see musicians, for they are sometimes coarse and vulgar people, and so the auditor loses faith in any fine and spiritual tones that they may breathe forth. The services of Easter Sunday comprehend more than the ordinary quantity of singing and chanting; at all events, nearly an hour and a half were thus employed, with some intermixture of prayers and reading of Scriptures; and, being almost congealed with cold, I thought it would never come to an end. The spirit of my Puritan ancestors was mighty within me, and I did not wonder at their being out of patience with all this mummery, which seemed to me worse than papistry because it was a corruption of it. At last a canon gave out the text, and preached a sermon about twenty minutes long,--the coldest, driest, most superficial rubbish; for this gorgeous setting of the magnificent cathedral, the elaborate music, and the rich ceremonies seem inevitably to take the life out of the sermon, which, to be anything, must be all. The Puritans showed their strength of mind and heart by preferring a sermon an hour and a half long, into which the preacher put his whole soul, and lopping away all these externals, into which religious life had first leafed and flowered, and then petrified. After the service, while waiting for my wife in the nave, I was accosted by a young gentleman who seemed to be an American, and whom I have certainly seen before, but whose name I could not recollect. This, he said, was his first visit to York, and he was evidently inclined to join me in viewing the curiosities of the place, but, not knowing his name, I could not introduce him to my wife, and so made a parting salute. After dinner, we set forth and took a promenade along the wall, and a ramble through some of the crooked streets, noting the old, jutting-storied houses, story above story, and the old churches, gnawed like a bone by the tooth of Time, till we came suddenly to the Black Swan before we expected it. . . . I rather fancy that I must have observed most of the external peculiarities at my former visit, and therefore need not make another record of them in this journal. In the course of our walk we saw a procession of about fifty charity-school boys, in flat caps, each with bands under his chin, and a green collar to his coat; all looking unjoyous, and as if they had no home nor parents' love. They turned into a gateway, which closed behind them; and as the adjoining edifice seemed to be a public institution,--at least, not private,--we asked what it was, and found it to be a hospital or residence for Old Maiden ladies, founded by a gentlewoman of York; I know not whether she herself is of the sisterhood. It must be a very singular institution, and worthy of intimate study, if it were possible to make one's way within the portal. After writing the above, J----- and I went out for another ramble before tea; and, taking a new course, we came to a grated iron fence and gateway, through which we could see the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey. They are very extensive, and situated quite in the midst of the city, and the wall and then a tower of the Abbey seem to border more than one of the streets. Our walk was interesting, as it brought us unexpectedly upon several relics of antiquity,--a loop-holed and battlemented gateway; and at various points fragments of the old Gothic stone-work, built in among more recent edifices, which themselves were old; grimness intermixed with quaintness and grotesqueness; old fragments of religious or warlike architecture mingled with queer domestic structures,--the general effect sombre, sordid, and grimy; but yet with a fascination that makes us fain to linger about such scenes, and come to them again. We passed round the cathedral, and saw jackdaws fluttering round the pinnacles, while the bells chimed the quarters, and little children played on the steps under the grand arch of the entrance. It is very stately, very beautiful, this minster; and doubtless would be very satisfactory, could I only know it long and well enough,--so rich as its front is, even with almost all the niches empty of their statues; not stern in its effect, which I suppose must be owing to the elaborate detail with which its great surface is wrought all over, like the chasing of a lady's jewel-box, and yet so grand! There is a dwelling-house on one side, gray with antiquity, which has apparently grown out of it like an excrescence; and though a good-sized edifice, yet the cathedral is so large that its vastness is not in the least deformed by it. If it be a dwelling-house, I suppose it is inhabited by the person who takes care of the cathedral. This morning, while listening to the tedious chanting and lukewarm sermon, I depreciated the whole affair, cathedral and all; but now I do more justice, at least to the latter, and am only sorry that its noble echoes must follow at every syllable, and re-reverberate at the commas and semicolons, such poor discourses as the canon's. But, after all, it was the Puritans who made the sermon of such importance in religious worship as we New-Englanders now consider it; and we are absurd in considering this magnificent church and all those embroidered ceremonies only in reference to it. Before going back to the hotel, I went again up the narrow and twisted passage of College Street, to take another glance at St. William's College. I underestimated the projection of the front over the street; it is considerably more than three feet, and is about eight or nine feet above the pavement. The little statue of St. William is an alto-relievo over the arched entrance, and has an escutcheon of arms on each side, all much defaced. In the interior of the quadrangle, the houses have not gables nor peaked fronts, but have peaked windows on the red-tiled roofs. The doorway, opposite the entrance-arch, is rather stately; and on one side is a large, projecting window, which is said to belong to the room where the printing-press of Charles I. was established in the days of the Parliament. THE MINSTER. Monday, April 13th.--This morning was chill, and, worse, it was showery, so that our purposes to see York were much thwarted. At about ten o'clock, however, we took a cab, and drove to the cathedral, where we arrived while service was going on in the choir, and ropes were put up as barriers between us and the nave; so that we were limited to the south transept, and a part of one of the aisles of the choir. It was dismally cold. We crept cheerlessly about within our narrow precincts (narrow, that is to say, in proportion to the vast length and breadth of the cathedral), gazing up into the hollow height of the central tower, and looking at a monumental brass, fastened against one of the pillars, representing a beruffed lady of the Tudor times, and at the canopied tomb of Archbishop de Grey, who ruled over the diocese in the thirteenth century. Then we went into the side aisle of the choir, where there were one or two modern monuments; and I was appalled to find that a sermon was being preached by the ecclesiastic of the day, nor were there any signs of an imminent termination. I am not aware that there was much pith in the discourse, but there was certainly a good deal of labor and earnestness in the preacher's mode of delivery; although, when he came to a close, it appeared that the audience was not more than half a dozen people. The barriers being now withdrawn, we walked adown the length of the nave, which did not seem to me so dim and vast as the recollection which I have had of it since my visit of a year ago. But my pre-imaginations and my memories are both apt to play me false with all admirable things, and so create disappointments for me, while perhaps the thing itself is really far better than I imagine or remember it. We engaged an old man, one of the attendants pertaining to the cathedral, to be our guide, and he showed us first the stone screen in front of the choir, with its sculptured kings of England; and then the tombs in the north transept,-- one of a modern archbishop, and one of an ancient one, behind which the insane person who set fire to the church a few years ago hid himself at nightfall. Then our guide unlocked a side door, and led us into the chapter-house,--an octagonal hall, with a vaulted roof, a tessellated floor, and seven arched windows of old painted glass, the richest that I ever saw or imagined, each looking like an inestimable treasury of precious stories, with a gleam and glow even in the sullen light of this gray morning. What would they be with the sun shining through them! With all their brilliancy, moreover, they were as soft as rose-leaves. I never saw any piece of human architecture so beautiful as this chapter-house; at least, I thought so while I was looking at it, and think so still; and it owed its beauty in very great measure to the painted windows: I remember looking at these windows from the outside yesterday, and seeing nothing but an opaque old crust of conglomerated panes of glass; but now that gloomy mystery was radiantly solved. Returning into the body of the cathedral, we next entered the choir, where, instead of the crimson cushions and draperies which we had seen yesterday, we found everything folded in black. It was a token of mourning for one of the canons, who died on Saturday night. The great east window, seventy-five feet high, and full of old painted glass in many exquisitely wrought and imagined Scriptural designs, is considered the most splendid object in the Minster. It is a pity that it is partially hidden from view, even in the choir, by a screen before the high altar; but indeed, the Gothic architects seem first to imagine beautiful and noble things, and then to consider how they may best be partially screened from sight. A certain secrecy and twilight effect belong to their plan. We next went round the side aisles of the choir, which contain many interesting monuments of prelates, and a specimen of the very common Elizabethan design of an old gentleman in a double ruff and trunk breeches, with one of his two wives on either side of him, all kneeling in prayer; and their conjoint children, in two rows, kneeling in the lower compartments of the tomb. We saw, too, a rich marble monument of one of the Strafford family, and the tombstone of the famous Earl himself,--a flat tombstone in the pavement of the aisle, covering the vault where he was buried, and with four iron rings fastened into the four corners of the stone whereby to lift it. And now the guide led us into the vestry, where there was a good fire burning in the grate, and it really thawed my heart, which was congealed with the dismal chill of the cathedral. Here we saw a good many curious things,--for instance, two wooden figures in knightly armor, which had stood sentinels beside the ancient clock before it was replaced by a modern one; and, opening a closet, the guide produced an old iron helmet, which had been found in a tomb where a knight had been buried in his armor; and three gold rings and one brass one, taken out of the graves, and off the finger-bones of mediaeval archbishops,--one of them with a ruby set in it; and two silver-gilt chalices, also treasures of the tombs; and a wooden head, carved in human likeness, and painted to the life, likewise taken from a grave where an archbishop was supposed to have been buried. They found no veritable skull nor bones, but only this block-head, as if Death had betrayed the secret of what the poor prelate really was. We saw, too, a canopy of cloth, wrought with gold threads, which had been borne over the head of King James I., when he came to York, on his way to receive the English Crown. There were also some old brass dishes, In which pence used to be collected in monkish times. Over the door of this vestry were hung two banners of a Yorkshire regiment, tattered in the Peninsular wars, and inscribed with the names of the battles through which they had been borne triumphantly; and Waterloo was among them. The vestry, I think, occupies that excrescential edifice which I noticed yesterday as having grown out of the cathedral. After looking at these things, we went down into the crypts, under the choir. These were very interesting, as far as we could see them; being more antique than anything above ground, but as dark as any cellar. There is here, in the midst of these sepulchral crypts, a spring of water, said to be very pure and delicious, owing to the limestone through which the rain that feeds its source is filtered. Near it is a stone trough, in which the monks used to wash their hands. I do not remember anything more that we saw at the cathedral, and at noon we returned to the Black Swan. The rain still continued, so that S----- could not share in any more of my rambles, but J----- and I went out again, and discovered the Guildhall. It is a very ancient edifice of Richard II.'s time, and has a statue over the entrance which looks time-gnawed enough to be of coeval antiquity, although in reality it is only a representation of George II. in his royal robes. We went in, and found ourselves in a large and lofty hall, with an oaken roof and a stone pavement, and the farther end was partitioned off as a court of justice. In that portion of the hall the Judge was on the bench, and a trial was going forward; but in the hither portion a mob of people, with their hats on, were lounging and talking, and enjoying the warmth of the stoves. The window over the judgment-seat had painted glass in it, and so, I think, had some of the hall windows. At the end of the hall hung a great picture of Paul defending himself before Agrippa, where the Apostle looked like an athlete, and had a remarkably bushy black beard. Between two of the windows hung an Indian bell from Burmah, ponderously thick and massive. Both the picture and the bell had been presented to the city as tokens of affectionate remembrance by its children; and it is pleasant to think that such failings exist in these old stable communities, and that there are permanent localities where such gifts can be kept from generation to generation. At four o'clock we left the city of York, still in a pouring rain. The Black Swan, where we had been staying, is a good specimen of the old English inn, sombre, quiet, with dark staircases, dingy rooms, curtained beds,--all the possibilities of a comfortable life and good English fare, in a fashion which cannot have been much altered for half a century. It is very homelike when one has one's family about him, but must be prodigiously stupid for a solitary man. We took the train for Manchester, over pretty much the same route that I travelled last year. Many of the higher hills in Yorkshire were white with snow, which, in our lower region, softened into rain; but as we approached Manchester, the western sky reddened, and gave promise of better weather. We arrived at nearly eight o'clock, and put up at the Palatine Hotel. In the evening I scrawled away at my journal till past ten o'clock; for I have really made it a matter of conscience to keep a tolerably full record of my travels, though conscious that everything good escapes in the process. In the morning we went out and visited the MANCHESTER CATHEDRAL, a particularly black and grimy edifice, containing some genuine old wood carvings within the choir. We stayed a good while, in order to see some people married. One couple, with their groomsman and bride's-maid, were sitting within the choir; but when the clergyman was robed and ready, there entered five other couples, each attended by groomsman and bride's-maid. They all were of the lower orders; one or two respectably dressed, but most of them poverty-stricken,--the men in their ordinary loafer's or laborer's attire, the women with their poor, shabby shawls drawn closely about them; faded untimely, wrinkled with penury and care; nothing fresh, virgin-like, or hopeful about them; joining themselves to their mates with the idea of making their own misery less intolerable by adding another's to it. All the six couple stood up in a row before the altar, with the groomsmen and bride's-maids in a row behind them; and the clergyman proceeded to marry them in such a way that it almost seemed to make every man and woman the husband and wife of every other. However, there were some small portions of the service directed towards each separate couple; and they appeared to assort themselves in their own fashion afterwards, each one saluting his bride with a kiss. The clergyman, the sexton, and the clerk all seemed to find something funny in this affair; and the woman who admitted us into the church smiled too, when she told us that a wedding-party was waiting to be married. But I think it was the saddest thing we have seen since leaving home; though funny enough if one likes to look at it from a ludicrous point of view. This mob of poor marriages was caused by the fact that no marriage fee is paid during Easter. This ended the memorable things of our tour; for my wife and J----- left Manchester for Southport, and I for Liverpool, before noon. April 19th.--On the 15th, having been invited to attend at the laying of the corner-stone of MR. BROWNE'S FREE LIBRARY, I went to the Town Hall, according to the programme, at eleven o'clock. There was already a large number of people (invited guests, members of the Historical Society, and other local associations) assembled in the great hall-room, and one of these was delivering an address to Mr. Browne as I entered. Approaching the outer edge of the circle, I was met and cordially greeted by Monckton Milnes, whom I like, and who always reminds me of Longfellow, though his physical man is more massive. While we were talking together, a young man approached him with a pretty little expression of surprise and pleasure at seeing him there. He had a slightly affected or made-up manner, and was rather a comely person. Mr. Milnes introduced him to me as Lord ------. Hereupon, of course, I observed him more closely; and I must say that I was not long in discovering a gentle dignity and half-imperceptible reserve in his manner; but still my first impression was quite as real as my second one. He occupies, I suppose, the foremost position among the young men of England, and has the fairest prospects of a high course before him; nevertheless, he did not impress me as possessing the native qualities that could entitle him to a high public career. He has adopted public life as his hereditary profession, and makes the very utmost of all his abilities, cultivating himself to a determined end, knowing that he shall have every advantage towards attaining his object. His natural disadvantages must have been, in some respects, unusually great; his voice, for instance, is not strong, and appeared to me to have a more positive defect than mere weakness. Doubtless he has struggled manfully against this defect; and it made me feel a certain sympathy, and, indeed, a friendliness, for which he would not at all have thanked me, had he known it. I felt, in his person, what a burden it is upon human shoulders, the necessity of keeping up the fame and historical importance of an illustrious house; at least, when the heir to its honors has sufficient intellect and sensibility to feel the claim that his country and his ancestors and his posterity all have upon him. Lord ------ is fully capable of feeling these claims; but I would not care, methinks, to take his position, unless I could have considerably more than his strength. In a little while we formed ourselves into a procession, four in a row, and set forth from the Town Hall, through James Street, Lord Street, Lime Street, all the way through a line of policemen and a throng of people; and all the windows were alive with heads, and I never before was so conscious of a great mass of humanity, though perhaps I may often have seen as great a crowd. But a procession is the best point of view from which to see the crowd that collects together. The day, too, was very fine, even sunshiny, and the streets dry,--a blessing which cannot be overestimated; for we should have been in a strange trim for the banquet, had we been compelled to wade through the ordinary mud of Liverpool. The procession itself could not have been a very striking object. In America, it would have had a hundred picturesque and perhaps ludicrous features,--the symbols of the different trades, banners with strange devices, flower-shows, children, volunteer soldiers, cavalcades, and every suitable and unsuitable contrivance; but we were merely a trail of ordinary-looking individuals, in great-coats, and with precautionary umbrellas. The only characteristic or professional costume, as far as I noticed, was that of the Bishop of Chester, in his flat cap and black-silk gown; and that of Sir Henry Smith, the General of the District, in full uniform, with a star and half a dozen medals on his breast. Mr. Browne himself, the hero of the day, was the plainest and simplest man of all,--an exceedingly unpretending gentleman in black; small, white-haired, pale, quiet, and respectable. I rather wondered why he chose to be the centre of all this ceremony; for he did not seem either particularly to enjoy it, or to be at all incommoded by it, as a more nervous and susceptible man might have been. The site of the projected edifice is on one of the streets bordering on St. George's Hall; and when we came within the enclosure, the corner-stone, a large square of red freestone, was already suspended over its destined place. It has a brass plate let into it, with an inscription, which will perhaps not be seen again till the present English type has grown as antique as black-letter is now. Two or three photographs were now taken of the site, the corner-stone, Mr. Browne, the distinguished guests, and the crowd at large; then ensued a prayer from the Bishop of Chester, and speeches from Mr. Holme, Mr. Browne, Lord ------, Sir John Pakington, Sir Henry Smith, and as many others as there was time for. Lord ------ acquitted himself very creditably, though brought out unexpectedly, and with evident reluctance. I am convinced that men, liable to be called on to address the public, keep a constant supply of commonplaces in their minds, which, with little variation, can be adapted to one subject about as well as to another; and thus they are always ready to do well enough, though seldom to do particularly well. From the scene of the corner-stone, we went to St. George's Hall, where a drawing-room and dressing-room had been prepared for the principal guests. Before the banquet, I had some conversation with Sir James Kay Shuttleworth, who had known Miss Bronte very intimately, and bore testimony to the wonderful fidelity of Mrs. Gaskell's life of her. He seemed to have had an affectionate regard for her, and said that her marriage promised to have been productive of great happiness; her husband being not a remarkable man, but with the merit of an exceeding love for her. Mr. Browne now took me up into the gallery, which by this time was full of ladies; and thence we had a fine view of the noble hall, with the tables laid, in readiness for the banquet. I cannot conceive of anything finer than this hall: it needs nothing but painted windows to make it perfect, and those I hope it may have one day or another. At two o'clock we sat down to the banquet, which hardly justified that name, being only a cold collation, though sufficiently splendid in its way. In truth, it would have been impossible to provide a hot dinner for nine hundred people in a place remote from kitchens. The principal table extended lengthwise of the hall, and was a little elevated above the other tables, which stretched across, about twenty in all. Before each guest, besides the bill of fare, was laid a programme of the expected toasts, among which appeared my own name, to be proposed by Mr. Monckton Milnes. These things do not trouble me quite as much as they used, though still it sufficed to prevent much of the enjoyment which I might have had if I could have felt myself merely a spectator. My left-hand neighbor was Colonel Campbell of the Artillery; my right-hand one was Mr. Picton, of the Library Committee; and I found them both companionable men, especially the Colonel, who had served in China and in the Crimea, and owned that he hated the French. We did not make a very long business of the eatables, and then came the usual toasts of ceremony, and afterwards those more peculiar to the occasion, one of the first of which was "The House of Stanley," to which Lord ------ responded. It was a noble subject, giving scope for as much eloquence as any man could have brought to bear upon it, and capable of being so wrought out as to develop and illustrate any sort of conservative or liberal tendencies which the speaker might entertain. There could not be a richer opportunity for reconciling and making friends betwixt the old system of society and the new; but Lord ------ did not seem to make anything of it. I remember nothing that he said excepting his statement that the family had been five hundred years connected with the town of Liverpool. I wish I could have responded to "The House of Stanley," and his Lordship could have spoken in my behalf. None of the speeches were remarkably good; the Bishop of Chester's perhaps the best, though he is but a little man in aspect, not at all filling up one's idea of a bishop, and the rest were on an indistinguishable level, though, being all practised speakers, they were less hum-y and ha-y than English orators ordinarily are. I was really tired to death before my own turn came, sitting all that time, as it were, on the scaffold, with the rope round my neck. At last Monckton Milnes was called up and made a speech, of which, to my dismay, I could hardly hear a single word, owing to his being at a considerable distance, on the other side of the chairman, and flinging his voice, which is a bass one, across the hall, instead of adown it, in my direction. I could not distinguish one word of any allusions to my works, nor even when he came to the toast, did I hear the terms in which he put it, nor whether I was toasted on my own basis, or as representing American literature, or as Consul of the United States. At all events, there was a vast deal of clamor; and uprose peers and bishop, general, mayor, knights and gentlemen, everybody in the hall greeting me with all the honors. I had uprisen, too, to commence my speech; but had to sit down again till matters grew more quiet, and then I got up, and proceeded to deliver myself with as much composure as I ever felt at my own fireside. It is very strange, this self-possession and clear-sightedness which I have experienced when standing before an audience, showing me my way through all the difficulties resulting from my not having heard Monckton Milnes's speech; and on since reading the latter, I do not see how I could have answered it better. My speech certainly was better cheered than any other; especially one passage, where I made a colossus of Mr. Browne, at which the audience grew so tumultuous in their applause that they drowned my figure of speech before it was half out of my mouth. After rising from table, Lord ------ and I talked about our respective oratorical performances; and he appeared to have a perception that he is not naturally gifted in this respect. I like Lord ------, and wish that it were possible that we might know one another better. If a nobleman has any true friend out of his own class, it ought to be a republican. Nothing further of interest happened at the banquet, and the next morning came out the newspapers with the reports of my speech, attributing to me a variety of forms of ragged nonsense, which, poor speaker as I am, I was quite incapable of uttering. May 10th.--The winter is over, but as yet we scarcely have what ought to be called spring; nothing but cold east-winds, accompanied with sunshine, however, as east-winds generally are in this country. All milder winds seem to bring rain. The grass has been green for a month,--indeed, it has never been entirely brown,--and now the trees and hedges are beginning to be in foliage. Weeks ago the daisies bloomed, even in the sandy grass-plot bordering on the promenade beneath our front windows; and in the progress of the daisy, and towards its consummation, I saw the propriety of Burns's epithet, "wee, modest, crimson-nipped flower,"--its little white petals in the bud being fringed all round with crimson, which fades into pure white when the flower blooms. At the beginning of this month I saw fruit-trees in blossom, stretched out flat against stone walls, reminding me of a dead bird nailed against the side of a barn. But it has been a backward and dreary spring; and I think Southport, in the course of it, has lost its advantage over the rest of the Liverpool neighborhood in point of milder atmosphere. The east-wind feels even rawer here than in the city. Nevertheless, the columns, of the Southport Visitor begin to be well replenished with the names of guests, and the town is assuming its aspect of summer life. To say the truth, except where cultivation has done its utmost, there is very little difference between winter and summer in the mere material aspect of Southport; there being nothing but a waste of sand intermixed with plashy pools to seaward, and a desert of sand-hillocks on the land side. But now the brown, weather-hardened donkey-women haunt people that stray along the reaches, and delicate persons face the cold, rasping, ill-tempered blast on the promenade, and children dig in the sands; and, for want of something better, it seems to be determined that this shall be considered spring. Southport is as stupid a place as I ever lived in; and I cannot but bewail our ill fortune to have been compelled to spend so many months on these barren sands, when almost every other square yard of England contains something that would have been historically or poetically interesting. Our life here has been a blank. There was, indeed, a shipwreck, a month or two ago, when a large ship came ashore within a mile from our windows; the larger portion of the crew landing safely on the hither sands, while six or seven betook themselves to the boat, and were lost in attempting to gain the shore, on the other side of the Ribble. After a lapse of several weeks, two or three of their drowned bodies were found floating in this vicinity, and brought to Southport for burial; so that it really is not at all improbable that Milton's Lycidas floated hereabouts, in the rise and lapse of the tides, and that his bones may still be whitening among the sands. In the same gale that wrecked the above-mentioned vessel, a portion of a ship's mast was driven ashore, after evidently having been a very long time in and under water; for it was covered with great barnacles, and torn sea-weed, insomuch that there was scarcely a bare place along its whole length; clusters of sea-anemones were sticking to it, and I know not what strange marine productions besides. J----- at once recognized the sea-anemones, knowing them by his much reading of Gosse's Aquarium; and though they must now have been two or three days high and dry out of water, he made an extempore aquarium out of a bowl, and put in above a dozen of these strange creatures. In a little while they bloomed out wonderfully, and even seemed to produce young anemones; but, from some fault in his management, they afterwards grew sickly and died. S----- thinks that the old storm-shattered mast, so studded with the growth of the ocean depths, is a relic of the Spanish Armada which strewed its wrecks along all the shores of England; but I hardly think it would have taken three hundred years to produce this crop of barnacles and sea-anemones. A single summer might probably have done it. Yesterday we all of us except R----- went to Liverpool to see the performances of an American circus company. I had previously been, a day or two before, with J-----, and had been happy to perceive that the fact of its being an American establishment really induced some slight swelling of the heart within me. It is ridiculous enough, to be sure, but I like to find myself not wholly destitute of this noble weakness, patriotism. As for the circus, I never was fond of that species of entertainment, nor do I find in this one the flash and glitter and whirl which I remember in other American exhibitions. [Here follow the visits to Lincoln and Boston, printed in Our Old Home. --ED.] May 27th.--We left Boston by railway at noon, and arrived in PETERBOROUGH in about an hour and a quarter, and have put up at the Railway Hotel. After dinner we walked into the town to see THE CATHEDRAL, of the towers and arches of which we had already had a glimpse from our parlor window. Our journey from Boston hitherward was through a perfectly level country,--the fens of Lincolnshire,--green, green, and nothing else, with old villages and farm-houses and old church-towers; very pleasant and rather wearisomely monotonous. To return to Peterborough. It is a town of ancient aspect; and we passed, on our way towards the market-place, a very ancient-looking church, with a very far projecting porch, opening in front and on each side through arches of broad sweep. The street by which we approached from our hotel led us into the market-place, which had what looked like an old Guildhall on one side. On the opposite side, above the houses, appeared the towers of the cathedral, and a street leads from the market-place to its front, through an arched gateway, which used to be the external entrance to the abbey, I suppose, of which the cathedral was formerly the church. The front of the cathedral is very striking, and unlike any other that I have seen; being formed by three lofty and majestic arches in a row, with three gable peaks above them, forming a sort of colonnade, within which is the western entrance of the nave. The towers are massive, but low in proportion to their bulk. There are no spires, but pinnacles and statues, and all the rich detail of Gothic architecture, the whole of a venerable gray line. It is in perfect repair, and has not suffered externally, except by the loss of multitudes of statues, gargoyles, and miscellaneous eccentricities of sculpture, which used to smile, frown, laugh, and weep over the faces of these old fabrics. We entered through a side portal, and sat down on a bench in the nave, and kept ourselves quiet; for the organ was sounding, and the choristers were chanting in the choir. The nave and transepts are very noble, with clustered pillars and Norman arches, and a great height under the central tower; the whole, however, being covered with plaster and whitewash, except the roof, which is of painted oak. This latter adornment has the merit, I believe, of being veritably ancient; but certainly I should prefer the oak of its native hue, for the effect of the paint is to make it appear as if the ceiling were covered with imitation mosaic-work or an oil-cloth carpet. After sitting awhile, we were invited by a verger, who came from within the screen, to enter the choir and hear the rest of the service. We found the choristers there in their white garments, and an audience of half a dozen people, and had time to look at the interior of the choir. All the carved wood-work of the tabernacle, the Bishop's throne, the prebends' stalls, and whatever else, is modern; for this cathedral seems to have suffered wofully from Cromwell's soldiers, who hacked at the old oak, and hammered and pounded upon the marble tombs, till nothing of the first and very few of the latter remain. It is wonderful how suddenly the English people lost their sense of the sanctity of all manner of externals in religion, without losing their religion too. The French, in their Revolution, underwent as sudden a change; but they became pagans and atheists, and threw away the substance with the shadow. I suspect that the interior arrangement of the choir and the chancel has been greatly modernized; for it is quite unlike anything that I have seen elsewhere. Instead of one vast eastern window, there are rows of windows lighting the Lady Chapel, and seen through rows of arches in the screen of the chancel; the effect being, whoever is to have the credit of it, very rich and beautiful. There is, I think, no stained glass in the windows of the nave, though in the windows of the chancel there is some of recent date, and from fragments of veritable antique. The effect of the whole interior is grand, expansive, and both ponderous and airy; not dim, mysterious, and involved, as Gothic interiors often are, the roundness and openness of the arches being opposed to this latter effect. When the chanting came to a close, one verger took his stand at the entrance of the choir, and another stood farther up the aisle, and then the door of a stall opened, and forth came a clerical dignity of much breadth and substance, aged and infirm, and was ushered out of the choir with a great deal of ceremony. We took him for the bishop, but he proved to be only a canon. We now engaged an attendant to show us through the Lady Chapel and the other penetralia, which it did not take him long to accomplish. One of the first things he showed us was the tombstone, in the pavement of the southern aisle, beneath which Mary, Queen of Scots, had been originally buried, and where she lay for a quarter of a century, till borne to her present resting-place in Westminster Abbey. It is a plain marble slab, with no inscription. Near this, there was a Saxon monument of the date 870, with sculpture in relief upon it,--the memorial of an Abbot Hedda, who was killed by the Danes when they destroyed the monastery that preceded the abbey and church. I remember, likewise, the recumbent figure of the prelate, whose face has been quite obliterated by Puritanic violence; and I think that there is not a single tomb older than the parliamentary wars, which has not been in like manner battered and shattered, except the Saxon abbot's just mentioned. The most pretentious monument remaining is that of a Mr. Deacon, a gentleman of George I.'s time, in wig and breeches, leaning on his elbow, and resting one hand upon a skull. In the north aisle, precisely opposite to that of Queen Mary, the attendant pointed out to us the slab beneath which lie the ashes of Catharine of Aragon, the divorced queen of Henry VIII. In the nave there was an ancient font, a venerable and beautiful relic, which has been repaired not long ago, but in such a way as not to lessen its individuality. This sacred vessel suffered especial indignity from Cromwell's soldiers; insomuch that if anything could possibly destroy its sanctity, they would have effected that bad end. On the eastern wall of the nave, and near the entrance, hangs the picture of old Scarlet, the sexton who buried both Mary of Scotland and Catharine of Aragon, and not only these two queens, but everybody else in Peterborough, twice over. I think one feels a sort of enmity and spite against these grave-diggers, who live so long, and seem to contract a kindred and partnership with Death, being boon companions with him, and taking his part against mankind. In a chapel or some side apartment, there were two pieces of tapestry wretchedly faded, the handiwork of two nuns, and copied from two of Raphael's cartoons. We now emerged from the cathedral, and walked round its exterior, admiring it to our utmost capacity, and all the more because we had not heard of it beforehand, and expected to see nothing so huge, majestic, grand, and gray. And of all the lovely closes that I ever beheld, that of Peterborough Cathedral is to me the most delightful; so quiet it is, so solemnly and nobly cheerful, so verdant, so sweetly shadowed, and so presided over by the stately minster, and surrounded by ancient and comely habitations of Christian men. The most enchanting place, the most enviable as a residence in all this world, seemed to me that of the Bishop's secretary, standing in the rear of the cathedral, and bordering on the churchyard; so that you pass through hallowed precincts in order to come at it, and find it a Paradise, the holier and sweeter for the dead men who sleep so near. We looked through the gateway into the lawn, which really seemed hardly to belong to this world, so bright and soft the sunshine was, so fresh the grass, so lovely the trees, so trained and refined and mellowed down was the whole nature of the spot, and so shut in and guarded from all intrusion. It is in vain to write about it; nowhere but in England can there be such a spot, nor anywhere but in the close of Peterborough Cathedral. May 28th.--I walked up into the town this morning, and again visited the cathedral. On the way, I observed the Falcon Inn, a very old-fashioned hostelry, with a thatched roof, and what looked like the barn door or stable door in a side front. Very likely it may have been an inn ever since Queen Elizabeth's time. The Guildhall, as I supposed it to be, in the market-place, has a basement story entirely open on all sides, but from its upper story it communicates with a large old house in the rear. I have not seen an older-looking town than Peterborough; but there is little that is picturesque about it, except within the domain of the cathedral. It was very fortunate for the beauty and antiquity of these precincts, that Henry VIII. did not suffer the monkish edifices of the abbey to be overthrown and utterly destroyed, as was the case with so many abbeys, at the Reformation; but, converting the abbey church into a cathedral, he preserved much of the other arrangement of the buildings connected with it. And so it happens that to this day we have the massive and stately gateway, with its great pointed arch, still keeping out the world from those who have inherited the habitations of the old monks; for though the gate is never closed, one feels himself in a sacred seclusion the instant he passes under the archway. And everywhere there are old houses that appear to have been adapted from the monkish residences, or from their spacious offices, and made into convenient dwellings for ecclesiastics, or vergers, or great or small people connected with the cathedral; and with all modern comfort they still retain much of the quaintness of the olden time,--arches, even rows of arcades, pillars, walls, beautified with patches of Gothic sculpture, not wilfully put on by modern taste, but lingering from a long past; deep niches, let into the fronts of houses, and occupied by images of saints; a growth of ivy, overspreading walls, and just allowing the windows to peep through,--so that no novelty, nor anything of our hard, ugly, and actual life comes into these limits, through the defences of the gateway, without being mollified and modified. Except in some of the old colleges of Oxford, I have not seen any other place that impressed me in this way; and the grounds of Peterborough Cathedral have the advantage over even the Oxford colleges, insomuch that the life is here domestic,--that of the family, that of the affections,--a natural life, which one deludes himself with imagining may be made into something sweeter and purer in this beautiful spot than anywhere else. Doubtless the inhabitants find it a stupid and tiresome place enough, and get morbid and sulky, and heavy and obtuse of head and heart, with the monotony of their life. But still I must needs believe that a man with a full mind, and objects to employ his affection, ought to be very happy here. And perhaps the forms and appliances of human life are never fit to make people happy until they cease to be used for the purposes for which they were directly intended, and are taken, as it were, in a sidelong application. I mean that the monks, probably, never enjoyed their own edifices while they were a part of the actual life of the day, so much as these present inhabitants now enjoy them when a new use has grown up apart from the original one. Towards noon we all walked into the town again, and on our way went into the old church with the projecting portal, which I mentioned yesterday. A woman came hastening with the keys when she saw us looking up at the door. The interior had an exceeding musty odor, and was very ancient, with side aisles opening by a row of pointed arches into the nave, and a gallery of wood on each side, and built across the two rows of arches. It was paved with tombstones, and I suppose the dead people contributed to the musty odor. Very naked and unadorned it was, except with a few mural monuments of no great interest. We stayed but a little while, and amply rewarded the poor woman with a sixpence. Thence we proceeded to the cathedral, pausing by the way to look at the old Guildhall, which is no longer a Guildhall, but a butter-market; and then we bought some prints of exterior and interior views of the Minster, of which there are a great variety on note-paper, letter-sheets, large engravings, and lithographs. It is very beautiful; there seems to be nothing better than to say this over again. We found the doors most hospitably open, and every part entirely free to us,--a kindness and liberality which we have nowhere else experienced in England, whether as regards cathedrals or any other public buildings. My wife sat down to draw the font, and I walked through the Lady Chapel meanwhile, pausing over the empty bed of Queen Mary, and the grave of Queen Catharine, and looking at the rich and sumptuous roof, where a fountain, as it were, of groins of arches spouts from numberless pilasters, intersecting one another in glorious intricacy. Under the central tower, opening to either transept, to the nave, and to the choir, are four majestic arches, which I think must equal in height those of which I saw the ruins, and one, all but perfect, at Furness Abbey. They are about eighty feet high. I may as well give up Peterborough here, though I hate to leave it undescribed even to the tufts of yellow flowers, which grow on the projections high out of reach, where the winds have sown their seeds in soil made by the aged decay of the edifice. I could write a page, too, about the rooks or jackdaws that flit and clamor about the pinnacles, and dart in and out of the eyelet-holes, the piercings,--whatever they are called,--in the turrets and buttresses. On our way back to the hotel, J----- saw an advertisement of some knights in armor that were to tilt to-day; so he and I waited, and by and by a procession appeared, passing through the antique market-place, and in front of the abbey gateway, which might have befitted the same spot three hundred years ago. They were about twenty men-at-arms on horseback, with lances and banners. We were a little too near for the full enjoyment of the spectacle; for, though some of the armor was real, I could not help observing that other suits were made of silver paper or gold tinsel. A policeman (a queer anomaly in reference to such a mediaeval spectacle) told us that they were going to joust and run at the ring, in a field a little beyond the bridge. TO NOTTINGHAM. May 28th.--We left Peterborough this afternoon, and, however reluctant to leave the cathedral, we were glad to get away from the hotel; for, though outwardly pretentious, it is a wretched and uncomfortable place, with scanty table, poor attendance, and enormous charges. The first stage of our journey to-day was to Grantham, through a country the greater part of which was as level as the Lincolnshire landscapes have been, throughout our experience of them. We saw several old villages, gathered round their several churches; and one of these little communities, "Little Byforth," had a very primitive appearance,--a group of twenty or thirty dwellings of stone and thatch, without a house among them that could be so modern as a hundred years. It is a little wearisome to think of people living from century to century in the same spot, going in and out of the same doors, cultivating the same fields, meeting the same faces, and marrying one another over and over again; and going to the same church, and lying down in the same churchyard,--to appear again, and go through the same monotonous round in the next generation. At Grantham, our route branches off from the main line; and there was a delay of about an hour, during which we walked up into the town, to take a nearer view of a tall gray steeple which we saw from the railway station. The streets that led from the station were poor and commonplace; and, indeed, a railway seems to have the effect of making its own vicinity mean. We noticed nothing remarkable until we got to the marketplace, in the centre of which there is a cross, doubtless of great antiquity, though it is in too good condition not to have been recently repaired. It consists of an upright pillar, with a pedestal of half a dozen stone steps, which are worn hollow by the many feet that have scraped their hobnailed shoes upon them. Among these feet, it is highly probable, may have been those of Sir Isaac Newton, who was a scholar of the free school of this town; and when J----- scampered up the steps, we told him so. Visible from the market-place also stands the Angel Inn, which seems to be a wonderfully old inn, being adorned with gargoyles and other antique sculpture, with projecting windows, and an arched entrance, and presenting altogether a frontispiece of so much venerable state that I feel curious to know its history. Had I been aware that the chief hotel of Grantham were such a time-honored establishment, I should have arranged to pass the night there, especially as there were interesting objects enough in the town to occupy us pleasantly. The church--the steeple of which is seen over the market-place, but is removed from it by a street or two--is very fine; the tower and spire being adorned with arches, canopies, and niches,--twelve of the latter for the twelve Apostles, all of whom have now vanished,--and with fragments of other Gothic ornaments. The jackdaws have taken up their abodes in the crevices and crannies of the upper half of the steeple. We left Grantham at nearly seven, and reached NOTTINGHAM just before eight. The castle, situated on a high and precipitous rock, directly over the edge of which look the walls, was visible, as we drove from the station to our hotel. We followed the advice of a railway attendant in going first to the May Pole, which proved to be a commercial inn, with the air of a drinking-shop, in a by-alley; and, furthermore, they could not take us in. So we drove to the George the Fourth, which seems to be an excellent house; and here I have remained quiet, the size of the town discouraging me from going out in the twilight which was fast coming on after tea. These are glorious long days for travel; daylight fairly between four in the morning and nine at night, and a margin of twilight on either side. May 29th.--After breakfast, this morning, I wandered out and lost myself; but at last found the post-office, and a letter from Mr. Wilding, with some perplexing intelligence. Nottingham is an unlovely and uninteresting town. The castle I did not see; but, I happened upon a large and stately old church, almost cathedralic in its dimensions. On returning to the hotel, we deliberated on the mode of getting to Newstead Abbey, and we finally decided upon taking a fly, in which conveyance, accordingly, we set out before twelve. It was a slightly overcast day, about half intermixed of shade and sunshine, and rather cool, but not so cool that we could exactly wish it warmer. Our drive to Newstead lay through what was once a portion of Sherwood Forest, though all of it, I believe, has now become private property, and is converted into fertile fields, except where the owners of estates have set out plantations. We have now passed out of the fen-country, and the land rises and falls in gentle swells, presenting a pleasant, but not striking, character of scenery. I remember no remarkable object on the road,--here and there an old inn, a gentleman's seat of moderate pretension, a great deal of tall and continued hedge, a quiet English greenness and rurality, till, drawing near NEWSTEAD ABBEY, we began to see copious plantations, principally of firs, larches, and trees of that order, looking very sombre, though with some intermingling of lighter foliage. It was after one when we reached "The Hut,"--a small, modern wayside inn, almost directly across the road from the entrance-gate of Newstead. The post-boy calls the distance ten miles from Nottingham. He also averred that it was forbidden to drive visitors within the gates; so we left the fly at the inn, and set out to walk from the entrance to the house. There is no porter's lodge; and the grounds, in this outlying region, had not the appearance of being very primly kept, but were well wooded with evergreens, and much overgrown with ferns, serving for cover for hares, which scampered in and out of their hiding-places. The road went winding gently along, and, at the distance of nearly a mile, brought us to a second gate, through which we likewise passed, and walked onward a good way farther, seeing much wood, but as yet nothing of the Abbey. At last, through the trees, we caught a glimpse of its battlements, and saw, too, the gleam of water, and then appeared the Abbey's venerable front. It comprises the western wall of the church, which is all that remains of that fabric,--a great, central window, entirely empty, without tracery or mullions; the ivy clambering up on the inside of the wall, and hanging over in front. The front of the inhabited part of the house extends along on a line with this church wall, rather low, with battlements along its top, and all in good keeping with the ruinous remnant. We met a servant, who replied civilly to our inquiries about the mode of gaining admittance, and bade us ring a bell at the corner of the principal porch. We rang accordingly, and were forthwith admitted into a low, vaulted basement, ponderously wrought with intersecting arches, dark and rather chilly, just like what I remember to have seen at Battle Abbey; and, after waiting here a little while, a respectable elderly gentlewoman appeared, of whom we requested to be shown round the Abbey. She courteously acceded, first presenting us to a book in which to inscribe our names. I suppose ten thousand people, three fourths of them Americans, have written descriptions of Newstead Abbey; and none of them, so far as I have read, give any true idea of the place; neither will my description, if I write one. In fact, I forget very much that I saw, and especially in what order the objects came. In the basement was Byron's bath,--a dark and cold and cellarlike hole, which it must have required good courage to plunge into; in this region, too, or near it, was the chapel, which Colonel Wildman has decorously fitted up, and where service is now regularly performed, but which was used as a dog's kennel in Byron's time. After seeing this, we were led to Byron's own bedchamber, which remains just as when he slept in it,--the furniture and all the other arrangements being religiously preserved. It was in the plainest possible style, homely, indeed, and almost mean,--an ordinary paper-hanging, and everything so commonplace that it was only the deep embrasure of the window that made it look unlike a bedchamber in a middling-class lodging-house. It would have seemed difficult, beforehand, to fit up a room in that picturesque old edifice so that it should be utterly void of picturesqueness; but it was effected in this apartment, and I suppose it is a specimen of the way in which old mansions used to be robbed of their antique character, and adapted to modern tastes, before mediaeval antiquities came into fashion. Some prints of the Cambridge colleges, and other pictures indicating Byron's predilections at the time, and which he himself had hung there, were on the walls. This, the housekeeper told us, had been the Abbot's chamber, in the monastic time. Adjoining it is the haunted room, where the ghostly monk, whom Byron introduces into Don Juan, is said to have his lurking-place. It is fitted up in the same style as Byron's, and used to be occupied by his valet or page. No doubt in his Lordship's day, these were the only comfortable bedrooms in the Abbey; and by the housekeeper's account of what Colonel Wildman has done, it is to be inferred that the place must have been in a most wild, shaggy, tumble-down condition, inside and out, when he bought it. It is very different now. After showing us these two apartments of Byron and his servant, the housekeeper led us from one to another and another magnificent chamber fitted up in antique style, with oak panelling, and heavily carved bedsteads, of Queen Elizabeth's time, or of the Stuarts, hung with rich tapestry curtains of similar date, and with beautiful old cabinets of carved wood, sculptured in relief, or tortoise-shell and ivory. The very pictures and realities, these rooms were, of stately comfort; and they were called by the name of kings,--King Edward's, King Charles II's, King Henry VII's chamber; and they were hung with beautiful pictures, many of them portraits of these kings. The chimney-pieces were carved and emblazoned; and all, so far as I could judge, was in perfect keeping, so that if a prince or noble of three centuries ago were to come to lodge at Newstead Abbey, he would hardly know that he had strayed out of his own century. And yet he might have known by some token, for there are volumes of poetry and light literature on the tables in these royal bedchambers, and in that of Henry VII. I saw The House of the Seven Gables and The Scarlet Letter in Routledge's edition. Certainly the house is admirably fitted up; and there must have been something very excellent and comprehensive in the domestic arrangements of the monks, since they adapt themselves so well to a state of society entirely different from that in which they originated. The library is a very comfortable room, and provocative of studious ideas, though lounging and luxurious. It is long, and rather low, furnished with soft couches, and, on the whole, though a man might dream of study, I think he would be most likely to read nothing but novels there. I know not what the room was in monkish times, but it was waste and ruinous in Lord Byron's. Here, I think, the housekeeper unlocked a beautiful cabinet, and took out the famous skull which Lord Byron transformed into a drinking-goblet. It has a silver rim and stand, but still the ugly skull is bare and evident, and the naked inner bone receives the wine. I should think it would hold at least a quart,--enough to overpower any living head into which this death's-head should transfer its contents; and a man must be either very drunk or very thirsty, before he would taste wine out of such a goblet. I think Byron's freak was outdone by that of a cousin of my own, who once solemnly assured me that he had a spittoon made out of the skull of his enemy. The ancient coffin in which the goblet-skull was found was shown us in the basement of the Abbey. There was much more to see in the house than I had any previous notion of; but except the two chambers already noticed, nothing remained the least as Byron left it. Yes, another place there was,--his own small dining-room, with a table of moderate size, where, no doubt, the skull-goblet has often gone its rounds. Colonel Wildman's dining-room was once Byron's shooting-gallery, and the original refectory of the monks. It is now magnificently arranged, with a vaulted roof, a music-gallery at one end, suits of armor and weapons on the walls, and mailed arms extended, holding candelabras. There are one or two painted windows, commemorative of the Peninsular war, and the battles in which the Colonel and his two brothers fought,--for these Wildmen seem to have been mighty troopers, and Colonel Wildman is represented as a fierce-looking mustachioed hussar at two different ages. The housekeeper spoke of him affectionately, but says that he is now getting into years, and that they fancy him failing. He has no children. He appears to have been on good terms with Byron, and had the latter ever returned to England, he was under promise to make his first visit to his old home, and it was in such an expectation that Colonel Wildman had kept Byron's private apartments in the same condition in which he found them. Byron was informed of all the Colonel's fittings up and restorations, and when he introduces the Abbey in Don Juan, the poet describes it, not as he himself left it, but as Colonel Wildman has restored it. There is a beautiful drawing-room, and all these apartments are adorned with pictures, the collection being especially rich in portraits by Sir Peter Lely,--that of Nell Gwynn being one, who is one of the few beautiful women whom I have seen on canvas. We parted with the housekeeper, and I with a good many shillings, at the door by which we entered; and our next business was to see the private grounds and gardens. A little boy attended us through the first part of our progress, but soon appeared the veritable gardener,--a shrewd and sensible old man, who has been very many years on the place. There was nothing of special interest as concerning Byron until we entered the original old monkish garden, which is still laid out in the same fashion as the monks left it, with a large, oblong piece of water in the centre, and terraced banks rising at two or three different stages with perfect regularity around it; so that the sheet of water looks like the plate of an immense looking-glass, of which the terraces form the frame. It seems as if, were there any giant large enough, he might raise up this mirror and set it on end. In the monks' garden, there is a marble statue of Pan, which, the gardener told us, was brought by the "Wicked Lord" (great-uncle of Byron) from Italy, and was supposed by the country people to represent the Devil, and to be the object of his worship,--a natural idea enough, in view of his horns and cloven feet and tail, though this indicates, at all events, a very jolly devil. There is also a female statue, beautiful from the waist upward, but shaggy and cloven-footed below, and holding a little cloven-footed child by the hand. This, the old gardener assured us, was Pandora, wife of the above-mentioned Pan, with her son. Not far from this spot, we came to the tree on which Byron carved his own name and that of his sister Augusta. It is a tree of twin stems,--a birch-tree, I think,--growing up side by side. One of the stems still lives and flourishes, but that on which he carved the two names is quite dead, as if there had been something fatal in the inscription that has made it forever famous. The names are still very legible, although the letters had been closed up by the growth of the bark before the tree died. They must have been deeply cut at first. There are old yew-trees of unknown antiquity in this garden, and many other interesting things; and among them may be reckoned a fountain of very pure water, called the "Holy Well," of which we drank. There are several fountains, besides the large mirror in the centre of the garden; and these are mostly inhabited by carp, the genuine descendants of those which peopled the fish-ponds in the days of the monks. Coming in front of the Abbey, the gardener showed us the oak that Byron planted, now a vigorous young tree; and the monument which he erected to his Newfoundland dog, and which is larger than most Christians get, being composed of a marble, altar-shaped tomb, surrounded by a circular area of steps, as much as twenty feet in diameter. The gardener said, however, that Byron intended this, not merely as the burial-place of his dog, but for himself too, and his sister. I know not how this may have been, but this inconvenience would have attended his being buried there, that, on transfer of the estate, his mortal remains would have become the property of some other man. We had now come to the empty space,--a smooth green lawn, where had once been the Abbey church. The length had been sixty-four yards, the gardener said, and within his remembrance there had been many remains of it, but now they are quite removed, with the exception of the one ivy-grown western wall, which, as I mentioned, forms a picturesque part of the present front of the Abbey. Through a door in this wall the gardener now let us out. . . . In the evening our landlady, who seems to be a very intelligent woman, of a superior class to most landladies, came into our parlor, while I was out, and talked about the present race of Byrons and Lovelaces, who have often been at this house. There seems to be a taint in the Byron blood which makes those who inherit it wicked, mad, and miserable. Even Colonel Wildman comes in for a share of this ill luck, for he has almost ruined himself by his expenditure on the estate, and by his lavish hospitality, especially to the Duke of Sussex, who liked the Colonel, and used often to visit him during his lifetime, and his Royal Highness's gentlemen ate and drank Colonel Wildman almost up. So says our good landlady. At any rate, looking at this miserable race of Byrons, who held the estate so long, and at Colonel Wildman, whom it has ruined in forty years, we might see grounds for believing in the evil fate which is supposed to attend confiscated church property. Nevertheless, I would accept the estate, were it offered me. . . . . Glancing back, I see that I have omitted some items that were curious in describing the house; for instance, one of the cabinets had been the personal property of Queen Elizabeth. It seems to me that the fashion of modern furniture has nothing to equal these old cabinets for beauty and convenience. In the state apartments, the floors were so highly waxed and polished that we slid on them as if on ice, and could only make sure of our footing by treading on strips of carpeting that were laid down. June 7th.--We left Nottingham a week ago, and made our first stage to Derby, where we had to wait an hour or two at a great, bustling, pell-mell, crowded railway station. It was much thronged with second and third class passengers, coming and departing in continual trains; for these were the Whitsuntide holidays, which set all the lower orders of English people astir. This time of festival was evidently the origin of the old "Election" holidays in Massachusetts; the latter occurring at the same period of the year, and being celebrated (so long as they could be so) in very much the same way, with games, idleness, merriment of set purpose, and drunkenness. After a weary while we took the train for MATLOCK, via Ambergate, and arrived of the former place late in the afternoon. The village of Matlock is situated on the banks of the Derwent, in a delightful little nook among the hills, which rise above it in steeps, and in precipitous crags, and shut out the world so effectually that I wonder how the railway ever found it out. Indeed, it does make its approach to this region through a long tunnel. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon when we arrived, and my present impressions are, that I have never seen anywhere else such exquisite scenery as that which surrounds the village. The street itself, to be sure, is commonplace enough, and hot, dusty, and disagreeable; but if you look above it, or on either side, there are green hills descending abruptly down, and softened with woods, amid which are seen villas, cottages, castles; and beyond the river is a line of crags, perhaps three hundred feet high, clothed with shrubbery in some parts from top to bottom, but in other places presenting a sheer precipice of rock, over which tumbles, as it were, a cascade of ivy and creeping plants. It is very beautiful, and, I might almost say, very wild; but it has those characteristics of finish, and of being redeemed from nature, and converted into a portion of the adornment of a great garden, which I find in all English scenery. Not that I complain of this; on the contrary, there is nothing that delights an American more, in contrast with the roughness and ruggedness of his native scenes,--to which, also, he might be glad to return after a while. We put up at the old Bath Hotel,--an immense house, with passages of such extent that at first it seemed almost a day's journey from parlor to bedroom. The house stands on a declivity, and after ascending one pair of stairs, we came, in travelling along the passageway, to a door that opened upon a beautifully arranged garden, with arbors and grottos, and the hillside rising steep above. During all the time of our stay at Matlock there was brilliant sunshine, and, the grass and foliage being in their freshest and most luxuriant phase, the place has left as bright a picture as I have anywhere in my memory. The morning after our arrival we took a walk, and, following the sound of a church-bell, entered what appeared to be a park, and, passing along a road at the base of a line of crags, soon came in sight of a beautiful church. I rather imagine it to be the place of worship of the Arkwright family, whose seat is in this vicinity,--the descendants of the famous Arkwright who contributed so much towards turning England into a cotton manufactory. We did not enter the church, but passed beyond it, and over a bridge, and along a road that ascended among the hills and finally brought us out by a circuit to the other end of Matlock village, after a walk of three or four miles. In the afternoon we took a boat across the Derwent,--a passage which half a dozen strokes of the oars accomplished, --and reached a very pleasant seclusion called "The Lovers' Walk." A ferriage of twopence pays for the transit across the river, and gives the freedom of these grounds, which are threaded with paths that meander and zigzag to the top of the precipitous ridge, amid trees and shrubbery, and the occasional ease of rustic seats. It is a sweet walk for lovers, and was so for us; although J-----, with his scramblings and disappearances, and shouts from above, and headlong scamperings down the precipitous paths, occasionally frightened his mother. After gaining the heights, the path skirts along the precipice, allowing us to see down into the village street, and, nearer, the Derwent winding through the valley so close beneath us that we might have flung a stone into it. These crags would be very rude and harsh if left to themselves, but they are quite softened and made sweet and tender by the great deal of foliage that clothes their sides, and creeps and clambers over them, only letting a stern face of rock be seen here and there, and with a smile rather than a frown. The next day, Monday, we went to see the grand cavern. The entrance is high up on the hillside, whither we were led by a guide, of whom there are many, and they all pay tribute to the proprietor of the cavern. There is a small shed by the side of the cavern mouth, where the guide provided himself and us with tallow candles, and then led us into the darksome and ugly pit, the entrance of which is not very imposing, for it has a door of rough pine boards, and is kept under lock and key. This is the disagreeable phase-one of the disagreeable phases--of man's conquest over nature in England,--cavern mouths shut up with cellar doors, cataracts under lock and key, precipitous crags compelled to figure in ornamented gardens,--and all accessible at a fixed amount of shillings or pence. It is not possible to draw a full free breath under such circumstances. When you think of it, it makes the wildest scenery look like the artificial rock-work which Englishmen are so fond of displaying in the little bit of grass-plot under their suburban parlor windows. However, the cavern was dreary enough and wild enough, though in a mean sort of way; for it is but a long series of passages and crevices, generally so narrow that you scrape your elbows, and so low that you hit your head. It has nowhere a lofty height, though sometimes it broadens out into ample space, but not into grandeur, the roof being always within reach, and in most places smoky with the tallow candles that have been held up to it. A very dirty, sordid, disagreeable burrow, more like a cellar gone mad than anything else; but it served to show us how the crust of the earth is moulded. This cavern was known to the Romans, and used to be worked by them as a lead-mine. Derbyshire spar is now taken from it; and in some of its crevices the gleam of the tallow candles is faintly reflected from the crystallizations; but, on the whole, I felt like a mole, as I went creeping along, and was glad when we came into the sunshine again. I rather think my idea of a cavern is taken from the one in the Forty Thieves, or in Gil Blas,--a vast, hollow womb, roofed and curtained with obscurity. This reality is very mean. Leaving the cavern, we went to the guide's cottage, situated high above the village, where he showed us specimens of ornaments and toys manufactured by himself from Derbyshire spar and other materials. There was very pretty mosaic work, flowers of spar, and leaves of malachite, and miniature copies of Cleopatra's Needle, and other Egyptian monuments, and vases of graceful pattern, brooches, too, and many other things. The most valuable spar is called Blue John, and is only to be found in one spot, where, also, the supply is said to be growing scant. We bought a number of articles, and then came homeward, still with our guide, who showed us, on the way, the Romantic Rocks. These are some crags which have been rent away and stand insulated from the hillside, affording a pathway between it and then; while the places can yet be seen where the sundered rocks would fit into the craggy hill if there were but a Titan strong enough to adjust them again. It is a very picturesque spot, and the price for seeing it is twopence; though in our case it was included in the four shillings which we had paid for seeing the cavern. The representative men of England are the showmen and the policemen; both very good people in their way. Returning to the hotel, J----- and his mother went through the village to the river, near the railway, where J----- set himself to fishing, and caught three minnows. I followed, after a while, to fetch them back, and we called into one or two of the many shops in the village, which have articles manufactured of the spar for sale. Some of these are nothing short of magnificent. There was an inlaid table, valued at sixty guineas, and a splendid ornament for any drawing-room; another, inlaid with the squares of a chess-board. We heard of a table in the possession of the Marquis of Westminster, the value of which is three hundred guineas. It would be easy and pleasant to spend a great deal of money in such things as we saw there; but all our purchases in Matlock did not amount to more than twenty shillings, invested in brooches, shawl-pins, little vases and toys, which will be valuable to us as memorials on the other side of the water. After this, we visited a petrifying cave, of which there are several hereabouts. The process of petrifaction requires some months, or perhaps a year or two, varying with the size of the article to be operated upon. The articles are placed in the cave, under the drippings from the roof, and a hard deposit is formed upon them, and sometimes, as in the case of a bird's-nest, causes a curious result,-- every straw and hair being immortalized and stiffened into stone. A horse's head was in process of petrifaction; and J----- bought a broken eggshell for a penny, though larger articles are expensive. The process would appear to be entirely superficial,--a mere crust on the outside of things,--but we saw some specimens of petrified oak, where the stony substance seemed to be intimately incorporated with the wood, and to have really changed it into stone. These specimens were immensely ponderous, and capable of a high polish, which brought out beautiful streaks and shades. One might spend a very pleasant summer in Matlock, and I think there can be no more beautiful place in the world; but we left it that afternoon, and railed to Manchester, where we arrived between ten and eleven at night. The next day I left S----- to go to the Art Exhibition, and took J----- with me to Liverpool, where I had an engagement that admitted of no delay. Thus ended our tour, in which we had seen but a little bit of England, yet rich with variety and interest. What a wonderful land! It is our forefathers' land; our land, for I will not give up such a precious inheritance. We are now back again in flat and sandy Southport, which, during the past week, has been thronged with Whitsuntide people, who crowd the streets, and pass to and fro along the promenade, with a universal and monotonous air of nothing to do, and very little enjoyment. It is a pity that poor folks cannot employ their little hour of leisure to better advantage, in a country where the soil is so veined with gold. These are delightfully long days. Last night, at half past nine, I could read with perfect ease in parts of the room remote from the window; and at nearly half past eleven there was a broad sheet of daylight in the west, gleaming brightly over the plashy sands. I question whether there be any total night at this season. June 21st.--Southport, I presume, is now in its most vivid aspect; there being a multitude of visitors here, principally of the middling classes, and a frequent crowd, whom I take to be working-people from Manchester and other factory towns. It is the strangest place to come to for the pleasures of the sea, of which we scarcely have a glimpse from month's end to mouth's end, nor any fresh, exhilarating breath from it, but a lazy, languid atmosphere, brooding over the waste of sands; or even if there be a sulky and bitter wind blowing along the promenade, it still brings no salt elixir. I never was more weary of a place in all my life, and never felt such a disinterested pity as for the people who come here for pleasure. Nevertheless, the town has its amusements; in the first place, the daylong and perennial one of donkey-riding along the sands, large parties of men and girls pottering along together; the Flying Dutchman trundles hither and thither when there is breeze enough; an arch cry-man sets up his targets on the beach; the bathing-houses stand by scores and fifties along the shore, and likewise on the banks of the Ribble, a mile seaward; the hotels have their billiard-rooms; there is a theatre every evening; from morning till night comes a succession of organ-grinders, playing interminably under your window; and a man with a bassoon and a monkey, who takes your pennies and pulls off his cap in acknowledgment; and wandering minstrels, with guitar and voice; and a Highland bagpipe, squealing out a tangled skein of discord, together with a Highland maid, who dances a hornpipe; and Punch and Judy,--in a word, we have specimens of all manner of vagrancy that infests England. In these long days, and long and pleasant ones, the promenade is at its liveliest about nine o'clock, which is but just after sundown; and our little R----- finds it difficult to go to sleep amid so much music as comes to her ears from bassoon, bagpipe, organ, guitar, and now and then a military band. One feature of the place is the sick and infirm people, whom we see dragged along in bath-chairs, or dragging their own limbs languidly; or sitting on benches; or meeting in the streets, and making acquaintance on the strength of mutual maladies,--pale men leaning on their ruddy wives; cripples, three or four together in a ring, and planting their crutches in the centre. I don't remember whether I have ever mentioned among the notabilities of Southport the Town Crier,--a meek-looking old man, who sings out his messages in a most doleful tone, as if he took his title in a literal sense, and were really going to cry, or crying in the world's behalf; one other stroller, a foreigner with a dog, shaggy round the head and shoulders, and closely shaven behind. The poor little beast jumped through hoops, ran about on two legs of one side, danced on its hind legs, or on its fore paws, with its hind ones straight up in the air,--all the time keeping a watch on his master's eye, and evidently mindful of many a beating. June 25th.--The war-steamer Niagara came up the Mersey a few days since, and day before yesterday Captain Hudson called at my office,--a somewhat meagre, elderly gentleman, of simple and hearty manners and address, having his purser, Mr. Eldredge, with him, who, I think, rather prides himself upon having a Napoleonic profile. The captain is an old acquaintance of Mrs. Blodgett, and has cone ashore principally with a view to calling on her; so, after we had left our cards for the Mayor, I showed these naval gentlemen the way to her house. Mrs. Blodgett and Miss W------ were prodigiously glad to see him and they all three began to talk of old times and old acquaintances; for when Mrs. Blodgett was a rich lady at Gibraltar, she used to have the whole navy-list at her table,--young midshipmen and lieutenants then perhaps, but old, gouty, paralytic commodores now, if still even partly alive. It was arranged that Mrs. Blodgett, with as many of the ladies of her family as she chose to bring, should accompany me on my official visit to the ship the next day; and yesterday we went accordingly, Mrs. Blodgett, Miss W------, and six or seven American captains' wives, their husbands following in another boat. I know too little of ships to describe one, or even to feel any great interest in the details of this or of any other ship; but the nautical people seemed to see much to admire. She lay in the Sloyne, in the midst of a broad basin of the Mersey, with a pleasant landscape of green England, now warm with summer sunshine, on either side, with churches and villa residences, and suburban and rural beauty. The officers of the ship are gentlemanly men, externally very well mannered, although not polished and refined to any considerable extent. At least, I have not found naval men so, in general; but still it is pleasant to see Americans who are not stirred by such motives as usually interest our countrymen,--no hope nor desire of growing rich, but planting their claims to respectability on other grounds, and therefore acquiring a certain nobleness, whether it be inherent in their nature or no. It always seems to me they look down upon civilians with quiet and not ill-natured scorn, which one has the choice of smiling or being provoked at. It is not a true life which they lead, but shallow and aimless; and unsatisfactory it must be to the better minds among them; nor do they appear to profit by what would seem the advantages presented to them in their world-wide, though not world-deep experience. They get to be very clannish too. After seeing the ship, we landed, all of us, ladies and captain, and went to the gardens of the Rock Ferry Hotel, where J----- and I stayed behind the rest. TO SCOTLAND. June 28th.--On the 26th my wife, J-----, and I left Southport, taking the train for Preston, and as we had to stop an hour or two before starting for Carlisle, I walked up into the town. The street through which most of my walk lay was brick-built, lively, bustling, and not particularly noteworthy; but, turning a little way down another street, the town had a more ancient aspect. The day was intensely hot, the sun lying bright and broad as ever I remember it in an American city; so that I was glad to get back again to the shade and shelter of the station. The heat and dust, moreover, made our journey to Carlisle very uncomfortable. It was through very pretty, and sometimes picturesque scenery, being on the confines of the hill-country, which we could see on our left, dim and blue; and likewise we had a refreshing breath from the sea in passing along the verge of Morecambe Bay. We reached Carlisle at about five o'clock, and, after taking tea at the Bush Hotel, set forth to look at the town. The notable objects were a castle and a cathedral; and we first found our way to the castle, which stands on elevated ground, on the side of the city towards Scotland. A broad, well-constructed path winds round the castle at the base of the wall, on the verge of a steep descent to the plain beneath, through which winds the river Eden. Along this path we walked quite round the castle, a circuit of perhaps half a mile,-- pleasant, being shaded by the castle's height and by the foliage of trees. The walls have been so much rebuilt and restored that it is only here and there that we see an old buttress, or a few time-worn stones intermixed with the new facing with which the aged substance is overlaid. The material is red freestone, which seems to be very abundant in this part of the country. We found no entrance to the castle till the path had led us from the free and airy country into a very mean part of the town, where the wretched old houses thrust themselves between us and the castle wall, and then, passing through a narrow street, we walked up what appeared like a by-lane, and the portal of the castle was before us. There was a sentry-box just within the gate, and a sentinel was on guard, for Carlisle Castle is a national fortress, and has usually been a depot for arms and ammunition. The sergeant, or corporal of the guard, sat reading within the gateway, and, on my request for admittance, he civilly appointed one of the soldiers to conduct us to the castle. As I recollect, the chief gateway of the castle, with the guard-room in the thickness of the wall, is situated some twenty yards behind the first entrance where we met the sentinel. It was an intelligent young soldier who showed as round the castle, and very civil, as I always find soldiers to be. He had not anything particularly interesting to show, nor very much to say about it; and what he did say, so far as it referred to the history of the castle, was probably apocryphal. The castle has an inner and outer ward on the descent of the hill; and included within the circuit of the exterior wall. Having been always occupied by soldiers, it has not been permitted to assume the picturesque aspect of a ruin, but the buildings of the interior have either been constantly repaired, as they required it, or have been taken down when past repair. We saw a small part of the tower where Mary, Queen of Scots, was confined on her first coming to England; these remains consist only of a portion of a winding stone staircase, at which we glanced through a window. The keep is very large and massive, and, no doubt, old in its inner substance. We ascended to the castle walls, and looked out over the river towards the Scottish hills, which are visible in the distance,--the Scottish border being not more than eight or nine miles off. Carlisle Castle has stood many sieges, and witnessed many battles under its walls. There are now, on its ramparts, only some half a dozen old-fashioned guns, which our soldier told us had gone quite out of use in these days. They were long iron twelve-pounders, with one or two carronades. The soldier was of an artillery regiment, and wore the Crimean medal. He said the garrison now here consists only of about twenty men, all of whom had served in the Crimea, like himself. They seem to lead a very dull and monotonous life, as indeed it must be, without object or much hope, or any great employment of the present, like prisoners, as indeed they are. Our guide showed us on the rampart a place where the soldiers had been accustomed to drop themselves down at night, hanging by their hands from the top of the wall, and alighting on their feet close beside the path on the outside. The height seemed at least that of an ordinary house, but the soldier said that nine times out of ten the fall might be ventured without harm; and he spoke from experience, having himself got out of the castle in this manner. The place is now boarded up, so as to make egress difficult or impossible. The castle, after all, was not particularly worth seeing. The soldier's most romantic story was of a daughter of Lord Scroope, a former governor of the castle, when Mary of Scotland was confined here. She attempted to assist the Queen in escaping, but was shot dead in the gateway by the warder; and the soldier pointed out the very spot where the poor young lady fell and died;--all which would be very interesting were there a word of truth in the story. But we liked our guide for his intelligence, simplicity, and for the pleasure which he seemed to take, as an episode of his dull daily life, in talking to strangers. He observed that the castle walls were solid, and, indeed, there was breadth enough to drive a coach and four along the top; but the artillery of the Crimea would have shelled them into ruins in a very few hours. When we got back to the guard-house, he took us inside, and showed the dismal and comfortless rooms where soldiers are confined for drunkenness, and other offences against military laws, telling us that he himself had been confined there, and almost perished with cold. I should not much wonder if he were to get into durance again, through misuse of the fee which I put into his hand at parting. The cathedral is at no great distance from the castle; and though the streets are mean and sordid in the vicinity, the close has the antique repose and shadowy peace, at once domestic and religious, which seem peculiar and universal in cathedral closes. The foundation of this cathedral church is very ancient, it having been the church portion of an old abbey, the refectory and other remains of which are still seen around the close. But the whole exterior of the building, except here and there a buttress, and one old patch of gray stones, seems to have been renewed within a very few years with red freestone; and, really, I think it is all the more beautiful for being new,--the ornamental parts being so sharply cut, and the stone, moreover, showing various shadings, which will disappear when it gets weatherworn. There is a very large and fine east window, of recent construction, wrought with delicate stone tracery. The door of the south transept stood open, though barred by an iron grate. We looked in, and saw a few monuments on the wall, but found nobody to give us admittance. The portal of this entrance is very lovely with wreaths of stone foliage and flowers round the arch, recently carved; yet not so recently but that the swallows have given their sanction to it, as if it were a thousand years old, and have built their nests in the deeply carved recesses. While we were looking, a little bird flew into the small opening between two of these petrified flowers, behind which was his nest, quite out of sight. After some attempts to find the verger, we went back to the hotel. . . . In the morning my wife and J----- went back to see the interior of the cathedral, while I strayed at large about the town, again passing round the castle site, and thence round the city, where I found some inconsiderable portions of the wall which once girt it about. It was market-day in Carlisle, and the principal streets were much thronged with human life and business on that account; and in as busy a street as any stands a marble statue, in robes of antique state, fitter for a niche in Westminster Abbey than for the thronged street of a town. It is a statue of the Earl of Lonsdale, Lord Lieutenant of Cumberland, who died about twenty years ago. [Here follows the record of the visits to the "Haunts of Burns," already published in Our Old Home.--ED.] GLASGOW. July 1st.--Immediately after our arrival yesterday, we went out and inquired our way to the cathedral, which we reached through a good deal of Scotch dirt, and a rabble of Scotch people of all sexes and ages. The women of Scotland have a faculty of looking exceedingly ugly as they grow old. The cathedral I have already noticed in the record of my former visit to Scotland. I did it no justice then, nor shall do it any better justice now; but it is a fine old church, although it makes a colder and severer impression than most of the Gothic architecture which I have elsewhere seen. I do not know why this should be so; for portions of it are wonderfully rich, and everywhere there are arches opening beyond arches, and clustered pillars and groined roofs, and vistas, lengthening along the aisles. The person who shows it is an elderly man of jolly aspect and demeanor; he is enthusiastic about the edifice, and makes it the thought and object of his life; and being such a merry sort of man, always saying something mirthfully, and yet, in all his thoughts, words, and actions, having reference to this solemn cathedral, he has the effect of one of the corbels or gargoyles,--those ludicrous, strange sculptures which the Gothic architects appended to their arches. The upper portion of the minster, though very stately and beautiful, is not nearly so extraordinary as the crypts. Here the intricacy of the arches, and the profound system on which they are arranged, is inconceivable, even when you see them,--a whole company of arches uniting in one keystone; arches uniting to form a glorious canopy over the shrine or tomb of a prelate; arches opening through and beyond one another, whichever way you look,-- all amidst a shadowy gloom, yet not one detail wrought out the less beautifully and delicately because it could scarcely be seen. The wreaths of flowers that festoon one of the arches are cut in such relief that they do but just adhere to the stone on which they grow. The pillars are massive, and the arches very low, the effect being a twilight, which at first leads the spectator to imagine himself underground; but by and by I saw that the sunshine came in through the narrow windows, though it scarcely looked like sunshine then. For many years these crypts were used as burial-ground, and earth was brought in, for the purpose of making graves; so that the noble columns were half buried, and the beauty of the architecture quite lost and forgotten. Now the dead men's bones and the earth that covered them have all been removed, leaving the original pavement of the crypt, or a new one in its stead, with only the old relics of saints, martyrs, and heroes underneath, where they have lain so long that they have become a part of the spot. . . . I was quite chilled through, and the old verger regretted that we had not come during the late hot weather, when the everlasting damp and chill of the spot would have made us entirely comfortable. These crypts originated in the necessity of keeping the floor of the upper cathedral on one level, the edifice being built on a declivity, and the height of the crypt being measured by the descent of the site. After writing the above, we walked out and saw something of the newer portion of Glasgow; and, really, I am inclined to think it the stateliest of cities. The Exchange and other public buildings, and the shops in Buchanan Street, are very magnificent; the latter, especially, excelling those of London. There is, however, a pervading sternness and grimness resulting from the dark gray granite, which is the universal building-material both of the old and new edifices. Later in the forenoon we again walked out, and went along Argyle Street, and through the Trongate and the Salt-Market. The two latter were formerly the principal business streets, and together with High Street, the abode of the rich merchants and other great people of the town. High Street, and, still more, the Salt-Market, now swarm with the lower orders to a degree which I never witnessed elsewhere; so that it is difficult to make one's way among the sullen and unclean crowd, and not at all pleasant to breathe in the noisomeness of the atmosphere. The children seem to have been unwashed from birth. Some of the gray houses appear to have once been stately and handsome, and have their high gable ends notched at the edges, like a flight of stairs. We saw the Tron steeple, and the statue of King William III., and searched for the Old Tolbooth. . . . Wandering up the High Street, we turned once more into the quadrangle of the University, and mounted a broad stone staircase which ascends square, and with right-angular turns on one corner, on the outside of the edifices. It is very striking in appearance, being ornamented with a balustrade, on which are large globes of stone, and a great lion and unicorn curiously sculptured on the opposite side. While we waited here, staring about us, a man approached, and offered to show us the interior. He seemed to be in charge of the College buildings. We accepted his offer, and were led first up this stone staircase, and into a large and stately hall, panelled high towards the ceiling with dark oak, and adorned with elaborately carved cornices, and other wood-work. There was a long reading-table towards one end of the hall, on which were laid pamphlets and periodicals; and a venerable old gentleman, with white head and bowed shoulders, sat there reading a newspaper. This was the Principal of the University, and as he looked towards us graciously, yet as if expecting some explanation of our entrance, I approached and apologized for intruding on the plea of our being strangers and anxious to see the College. He made a courteous response, though in exceedingly decayed and broken accents, being now eighty-six years old, and gave us free leave to inspect everything that was to be seen. This hall was erected two years after the Restoration of Charles II., and has been the scene, doubtless, of many ceremonials and high banquetings since that period; and, among other illustrious personages, Queen Victoria has honored it with her presence. Thence we went into several recitation or lecture rooms in various parts of the buildings; but they were all of an extreme plainness, very unlike the rich old Gothic libraries and chapels and halls which we saw in Oxford. Indeed, the contrast between this Scotch severity and that noble luxuriance, and antique majesty, and rich and sweet repose of Oxford, is very remarkable, both within the edifices and without. But we saw one or two curious things,--for instance, a chair of mahogany, elaborately carved with the arms of Scotland and other devices, and having a piece of the kingly stone of Scone inlaid in its seat. This chair is used by the Principal on certain high occasions, and we ourselves, of course, sat down in it. Our guide assigned to it a date preposterously earlier than could have been the true one, judging either by the character of the carving or by the fact that mahogany has not been known or used much more than a century and a half. Afterwards he led us into the Divinity Hall, where, he said, there were some old portraits of historic people, and among them an original picture of Mary, Queen of Scots. There was, indeed, a row of old portraits at each end of the apartment,--for instance, Zachariah Boyd, who wrote the rhyming version of the Bible, which is still kept, safe from any critical eye, in the library of the University to which he presented this, besides other more valuable benefactions,--for which they have placed his bust in a niche in the principal quadrangle; also, John Knox makes one of the row of portraits; and a dozen or two more of Scotch worthies, all very dark and dingy. As to the picture of Mary of Scotland, it proved to be not hers at all, but a picture of Queen Mary, the consort of William III., whose portrait, together with that of her sister, Queen Anne, hangs in the same row. We told our guide this, but he seemed unwilling to accept it as a fact. There is a museum belonging to the University; but this, for some reason or other, could not be shown to us just at this time, and there was little else to show. We just looked at the gardens, but, though of large extent, they are so meagre and bare--so unlike that lovely shade of the Oxford gardens--that we did not care to make further acquaintance with them. Then we went back to our hotel, and if there were not already more than enough of description, both past and to come, I should describe George's Square, on one side of which the hotel is situated. A tall column rises in the grassy centre of it, lifting far into the upper air a fine statue of Sir Walter Scott, which we saw to great advantage last night, relieved against the sunset sky; and there are statues of Sir John Moore, a native of Glasgow, and of James Watt, at corners of the square. Glasgow is certainly a noble city. After lunch we embarked on board the steamer, and came up the Clyde. Ben Lomond, and other Highland hills, soon appeared on the horizon; we passed Douglas Castle on a point of land projecting into the river; and, passing under the precipitous height of Dumbarton Castle, which we had long before seen, came to our voyage's end at this village, where we have put up at the Elephant Hotel. July 2d.--After tea, not far from seven o'clock, it being a beautiful decline of day, we set out to walk to DUMBARTON CASTLE, which stands apart from the town, and is said to have been once surrounded by the waters of the Clyde. The rocky height on which the castle stands is a very striking object, bulging up out of the Clyde, with abrupt decision, to the elevation of five hundred feet. The summit is cloven in twain, the cleft reaching nearly to the bottom on the side towards the river, but not coming down so deeply on the landward side. It is precipitous all around; and wherever the steepness admits, or does not make assault impossible, there are gray ramparts round the hill, with cannon threatening the lower world. Our path led its beneath one of these precipices several hundred feet sheer down, and with an ivied fragment of ruined wall at the top. A soldier who sat by the wayside told us that this was called the "Lover's Leap," because a young girl, in some love-exigency, had once jumped down from it, and came safely to the bottom. We reached the castle gate, which is near the shore of the Clyde, and there found another artillery soldier, who guided us through the fortress. He said that there were now but about a dozen soldiers stationed in the castle, and no officer. The lowest battery looks towards the river, and consists of a few twelve-pound cannon; but probably the chief danger of attack was from the land, and the chief pains have been taken to render the castle defensible in that quarter. There are flights of stone stairs ascending up through the natural avenue, in the cleft of the double-summited rock; and about midway there is an arched doorway, beneath which there used to be a portcullis,--so that if an enemy had won the lower part of the fortress, the upper portion was still inaccessible. Where the cleft of the rock widens into a gorge, there are several buildings, old, but not appertaining to the ancient castle, which has almost entirely disappeared. We ascended both summits, and, reaching the loftiest point on the right, stood upon the foundation of a tower that dates back to the fifth century, whence we had a glorious prospect of Highlands and Lowlands; the chief object being Ben Lomond, with its great dome, among a hundred other blue and misty hills, with the sun going down over them; and, in another direction, the Clyde, winding far downward through the plain, with the headland of Dumbeck close at hand, and Douglas Castle at no great distance. On the ramparts beneath us the soldier pointed out the spot where Wallace scaled the wall, climbing an apparently inaccessible precipice, and taking the castle. The principal parts of the ancient castle appear to have been on the other and lower summit of the hill, and thither we now went, and traced the outline of its wall, although none of it is now remaining. Here is the magazine, still containing some powder, and here is a battery of eighteen-pound guns, with pyramids of balls, all in readiness against an assault; which, however, hardly any turn of human affairs can hereafter bring about. The appearance of a fortress is kept up merely for ceremony's sake; and these cannon have grown antiquated. Moreover, as the soldier told us, they are seldom or never fired, even for purposes of rejoicing or salute, because their thunder produces the singular effect of depriving the garrison of water. There is a large tank, and the concussion causes the rifts of the stone to open, and thus lets the water out. Above this battery, and elsewhere about the fortress, there are warders' turrets of stone, resembling great pepper-boxes. When Dr. Johnson visited the castle, he introduced his bulky person into one of these narrow receptacles, and found it difficult to get out again. A gentleman who accompanied him was just stepping forward to offer his assistance, but Boswell whispered him to take no notice, lest Johnson should be offended; so they left him to get out as he could. He did finally extricate himself, else we might have seen his skeleton in the turret. Boswell does not tell this story, which seems to have been handed down by local tradition. The less abrupt declivities of the rock are covered with grass, and afford food for a few sheep, who scamper about the heights, and seem to have attained the dexterity of goats in clambering. I never knew a purer air than this seems to be, nor a lovelier golden sunset. Descending into the gorge again, we went into the armory, which is in one of the buildings occupying the space between the two hill-tops. It formerly contained a large collection of arms; but these have been removed to the Tower of London, and there are now only some tattered banners, of which I do not know the history, and some festoons of pistols, and grenades, shells, and grape and canister shot, kept merely as curiosities; and, far more interesting than the above, a few battle-axes, daggers, and spear-heads from the field of Bannockburn; and, more interesting still, the sword of William Wallace. It is a formidable-looking weapon, made for being swayed with both hands, and, with its hilt on the floor, reached about to my chin; but the young girl who showed us the armory said that about nine inches had been broken off the point. The blade was not massive, but somewhat thin, compared with its great length; and I found that I could blandish it, using both hands, with perfect ease. It is two-edged, without any gaps, and is quite brown and lustreless with old rust, from point to hilt. These were all the memorables of our visit to Dumbarton Castle, which is a most interesting spot, and connected with a long series of historical events. It was first besieged by the Danes, and had a prominent share in all the warfare of Scotland, so long as the old warlike times and manners lasted. Our soldier was very intelligent and courteous, but, as usual with these guides, was somewhat apocryphal in his narrative; telling us that Mary, Queen of Scots, was confined here before being taken to England, and that the cells in which she then lived are still extant, under one of the ramparts. The fact is, she was brought here when a child of six years old, before going to France, and doubtless scrambled up and down these heights as freely and merrily as the sheep we saw. We now returned to our hotel, a very nice one, and found the street of Dumbarton all alive in the summer evening with the sports of children and the gossip of grown people. There was almost no night, for at twelve o'clock there was still a golden daylight, and Yesterday, before it died, must have met the Morrow. In the lower part of the fortress there is a large sun-dial of stone, which was made by a French officer imprisoned here during the Peninsular war. It still numbers faithfully the hours that are sunny, and it is a lasting memorial of him, in the stronghold of his enemies. INVERANNAN. Evening.--After breakfast at Dumbarton, I went out to look at the town, which is of considerable size, and possesses both commerce and manufactures. There was a screw-steamship at the pier, and many sailor-looking people were seen about the streets. There are very few old houses, though still the town retains an air of antiquity which one does not well see how to account for, when everywhere there is a modern front, and all the characteristics of a street built to-day. Turning from the main thoroughfare I crossed a bridge over the Clyde, and gained from it the best view of the cloven crag of Dumbarton Castle that I had yet found. The two summits are wider apart, more fully relieved from each other, than when seen from other points; and the highest ascends into a perfect pyramid, the lower one being obtusely rounded. There seem to be iron-works, or some kind of manufactory, on the farther side of the bridge; and I noticed a quaint, chateau-like mansion, with hanging turrets standing apart from the street, probably built by some person enriched by business. We left Dumbarton at noon, taking the rail to Balloch, and the steamer to the head of Loch Lomond. Wild mountain scenery is not very good to describe, nor do I think any distinct impressions are ever conveyed by such attempts; so I mean to be brief in what I saw about this part of our tour, especially as I suspect that I have said whatever I knew how to say in the record of my former visit to the Highlands. As for Loch Lomond, it lies amidst very striking scenery, being poured in among the gorges of steep and lofty mountains, which nowhere stand aside to give it room, but, on the contrary, do their best to shut it in. It is everywhere narrow, compared with its length of thirty miles; but it is the beauty of a lake to be of no greater width than to allow of the scenery of one of its shores being perfectly enjoyed from the other. The scenery of the Highlands, so far as I have seen it, cannot properly be called rich, but stern and impressive, with very hard outlines, which are unsoftened, mostly, by any foliage, though at this season they are green to their summits. They have hardly flesh enough to cover their bones,--hardly earth enough to lie over their rocky substance,--as may be seen by the minute variety,--the notched and jagged appearance of the profile of their sides and tops; this being caused by the scarcely covered rocks wherewith these great hills are heaped together. Our little steamer stopped at half a dozen places on its voyage up the lake, most of them being stations where hotels have been established. Morally, the Highlands must have been more completely sophisticated by the invention of railways and steamboats than almost any other part of the world; but physically it can have wrought no great change. These mountains, in their general aspect, must be very much the same as they were thousands of years ago; for their sides never were capable of cultivation, nor even with such a soil and so bleak an atmosphere could they have been much more richly wooded than we see them now. They seem to me to be among the unchangeable things of nature, like the sea and sky; but there is no saying what use human ingenuity may hereafter put them to. At all events, I have no doubt in the world that they will go out of fashion in due time; for the taste for mountains and wild scenery is, with most people, an acquired taste, and it was easy to see to-day that nine people in ten care nothing about them. One group of gentlemen and ladies--at least, men and women--spent the whole time in listening to a trial for murder, which was read aloud by one of their number from a newspaper. I rather imagine that a taste for trim gardens is the most natural and universal taste as regards landscape. But perhaps it is necessary for the health of the human mind and heart that there should be a possibility of taking refuge in what is wild and uncontaminated by any meddling of man's hand, and so it has been ordained that science shall never alter the aspect of the sky, whether stern, angry, or beneficent,-- nor of the awful sea, either in calm or tempest,--nor of these rude Highlands. But they will go out of general fashion, as I have said, and perhaps the next fashionable taste will be for cloud land,--that is, looking skyward, and observing the wonderful variety of scenery, that now constantly passes unnoticed, among the clouds. At the head of the lake, we found that there was only a horse-cart to convey our luggage to the hotel at Inverannan, and that we ourselves must walk, the distance being two miles. It had sprinkled occasionally during our voyage, but was now sunshiny, and not excessively warm; so we set forth contentedly enough, and had an agreeable walk along an almost perfectly level road; for it is one of the beauties of these hills, that they descend abruptly down, instead of undulating away forever. There were lofty heights on each side of us, but not so lofty as to have won a distinctive name; and adown their sides we could see the rocky pathways of cascades, which, at this season, are either quite dry, or mere trickles of a rill. The hills and valleys abound in streams, sparkling through pebbly beds, and forming here and there a dark pool; and they would be populous with trout if all England, with one fell purpose, did not come hither to fish them. A fisherman must find it difficult to gratify his propensities in these days; for even the lakes and streams in Norway are now preserved. J-----, by the way, threatens ominously to be a fisherman. He rode the latter portion of the way to the hotel on the luggage-cart; and when we arrived, we found that he had already gone off to catch fish, or to attempt it (for there is as much chance of his catching a whale as a trout), in a mountain stream near the house. I went in search of him, but without success, and was somewhat startled at the depth and blackness of some of the pools into which the stream settled itself and slept. Finally, he came in while we were at dinner. We afterwards walked out with him, to let him play at fishing again, and discovered on the bank of the stream a wonderful oak, with as many as a dozen holes springing either from close to the ground or within a foot or two of it, and looking like twelve separate trees, at least, instead of one. INVERSNAID. July 3d.--Last night seemed to close in clear, and even at midnight it was still light enough to read; but this morning rose on us misty and chill, with spattering showers of rain. Clouds momentarily settled and shifted on the hill-tops, shutting us in even more completely than these steep and rugged green walls would be sure to do, even in the clearest weather. Often these clouds came down and enveloped us in a drizzle, or rather a shower, of such minute drops that they had not weight enough to fall. This, I suppose, was a genuine Scotch mist; and as such it is well enough to have experienced it, though I would willingly never see it again. Such being the state of the weather, my wife did not go out at all, but I strolled about the premises, in the intervals of rain-drops, gazing up at the hillsides, and recognizing that there is a vast variety of shape, of light and shadow, and incidental circumstance, even in what looks so monotonous at first as the green slope of a hill. The little rills that come down from the summits were rather more distinguishable than yesterday, having been refreshed by the night's rain; but still they were very much out of proportion with the wide pathways of bare rock adown which they ran. These little rivulets, no doubt, often lead through the wildest scenery that is to be found in the Highlands, or anywhere else, and to the formation and wildness of which they have greatly contributed by sawing away for countless ages, and thus deepening the ravines. I suspect the American clouds are more picturesque than those of Great Britain, whatever our mountains may be; at least, I remember the Berkshire hills looking grander, under the influence of mist and cloud, than the Highlands did to-day. Our clouds seem to be denser and heavier, and more decided, and form greater contrasts of light and shade. I have remarked in England that the cloudy firmament, even on a day of settled rain, always appears thinner than those I had been accustomed to at home, so as to deceive me with constant expectations of better weather. It has been the same to-day. Whenever I looked upward, I thought it might be going to clear up; but, instead of that, it began to rain more in earnest after midday, and at half past two we left Inverannan in a smart shower. At the head of the lake, we took the steamer, with the rain pouring more heavily than ever, and landed at Inversnaid under the same dismal auspices. We left a very good hotel behind us, and have come to another that seems also good. We are more picturesquely situated at this spot than at Inverannan, our hotel being within a short distance of the lake shore, with a glen just across the water, which will doubtless be worth looking at when the mist permits us to see it. A good many tourists were standing about the door when we arrived, and looked at us with the curiosity of idle and weather-bound people. The lake is here narrow, but a hundred fathoms deep; so that a great part of the height of the mountains which beset it round is hidden beneath its surface. July 4th.--This morning opened still misty, but with a more hopeful promise than yesterday, and when I went out, after breakfast, there were gleams of sunshine here and there on the hillsides, falling, one did not exactly see how, through the volumes of cloud. Close beside the hotel of Inversnaid is the waterfall; all night, my room being on that side of the house, I had heard its voice, and now I ascended beside it to a point where it is crossed by a wooden bridge. There is thence a view, upward and downward, of the most striking descents of the river, as I believe they call it, though it is but a mountain-stream, which tumbles down an irregular and broken staircase in its headlong haste to reach the lake. It is very picturesque, however, with its ribbons of white foam over the precipitous steps, and its deep black pools, overhung by black rocks, which reverberate the rumble of the falling water. J----- and I ascended a little distance along the cascade, and then turned aside; he going up the hill, and I taking a path along its side which gave me a view across the lake. I rather think this particular stretch of Loch Lomond, in front of Inversnaid, is the most beautiful lake and mountain view that I have ever seen. It is so shut in that you can see nothing beyond, nor would suspect anything more to exist than this watery vale among the hills; except that, directly opposite, there is the beautiful glen of Invernglass, which winds away among the feet of Ben Crook, Ben Ein, Ben Vain, and Ben Voirlich, standing mist-inwreathed together. The mists, this morning, had a very soft and beautiful effect, and made the mountains tenderer than I have hitherto felt them to be; and they lingered about their heads like morning-dreams, flitting and retiring, and letting the sunshine in, and snatching it away again. My wife came up, and we enjoyed it together, till the steamer came smoking its pipe along the loch, stopped to land some passengers, and steamed away again. While we stood there, a Highlander passed by us, with a very dark tartan, and bare shanks, most enormously calved. I presume he wears the dress for the sole purpose of displaying those stalwart legs; for he proves to be no genuine Gael, but a manufacturer, who has a shooting-box, or a share in one, on the hill above the hotel. We now engaged a boat, and were rowed to Rob Roy's cave, which is perhaps half a mile distant up the lake. The shores look much more striking from a rowboat, creeping along near the margin, than from a steamer in the middle of the loch; and the ridge, beneath which Rob's cave lies, is precipitous with gray rocks, and clothed, too, with thick foliage. Over the cave itself there is a huge ledge of rock, from which immense fragments have tumbled down, ages and ages ago, and fallen together in such a way as to leave a large irregular crevice in Rob Roy's cave. We scrambled up to its mouth by some natural stairs, and scrambled down into its depths by the aid of a ladder. I suppose I have already described this hole in the record of my former visit. Certainly, Rob Roy, and Robert Bruce, who is said to have inhabited it before him, were not to be envied their accommodations; yet these were not so very intolerable when compared with a Highland cabin, or with cottages such as Burns lived in. J----- had chosen to remain to fish. On our return from the cave, we found that he had caught nothing; but just as we stepped into the boat, a fish drew his float far under water, and J------ tugging at one end of the line, and the fish at the other, the latter escaped, with the hook in his month. J------ avers that he saw the fish, and gives its measurement as about eighteen inches; but the fishes that escape us are always of tremendous size. The boatman thought, however, that it might have been a pike. THE TROSACHS' HOTEL.--ARDCHEANOCHROCHAN. July 5th.--Not being able to get a post-chaise, we took places in the omnibus for the bead of Loch Katrine. Going up to pay a parting visit to the waterfall before starting, I met with Miss C------, as she lately was, who is now on her wedding tour as Mrs. B------. She was painting the falls in oil, with good prospect of a successful picture. She came down to the hotel to see my wife, and soon afterwards J----- and I set out to ascend the steep hill that comes down upon the lake of Inversnaid, leaving the omnibus to follow at leisure. The Highlander who took us to Rob Roy's cave had foreboded rain, from the way in which the white clouds hung about the mountain-tops; nor was his augury at fault, for just at three o'clock, the time he foretold, there were a few rain-drops, and a more defined shower during the afternoon, while we were on Loch Katrine. The few drops, however, did not disturb us; and, reaching the top of the hill, J----- and I turned aside to examine the old stone fortress which was erected in this mountain pass to bridle the Highlanders after the rebellion of 1745. It stands in a very desolate and dismal situation, at the foot of long bare slopes, on mossy ground, in the midst of a disheartening loneliness, only picturesque because it is so exceedingly ungenial and unlovely. The chief interest of this spot in the fact that Wolfe, in his earlier military career, was stationed here. The fortress was a very plain structure, built of rough stones, in the form of a parallelogram, one side of which I paced, and found it between thirty and forty of my paces long. The two ends have fallen down; the two sides that remain are about twenty feet high, and have little port-holes for defence, but no openings of the size of windows. The roof is gone, and the interior space overgrown with grass. Two little girls were at play in one corner, and, going round to the rear of the ruin, I saw that a small Highland cabin had been built against the wall. A dog sat in the doorway, and gave notice of my approach, and some hens kept up their peculiarly domestic converse about the door. We kept on our way, often looking back towards Loch Lomond, and wondering at the grandeur which Ben Vain and Ben Voirlich, and the rest of the Ben fraternity, had suddenly put on. The mists which had hung about them all day had now descended lower, and lay among the depths and gorges of the hills, where also the sun shone softly down among them, and filled those deep mountain laps, as it were, with a dimmer sunshine. Ben Vain, too, and his brethren, had a veil of mist all about them, which seemed to render them really transparent; and they had unaccountably grown higher, vastly higher, than when we viewed them from the shore of the lake. It was as if we were looking at them through the medium of a poet's imagination. All along the road, since we left Inversnaid, there had been the stream, which there formed the waterfall, and which here was brawling down little declivities, and sleeping in black pools, which we disturbed by flinging stones into them from the roadside. We passed a drunken old gentleman, who civilly bade me "good day"; and a man and woman at work in a field, the former of whom shouted to inquire the hour; and we had come in sight of little Loch Arklet before the omnibus came up with us. It was about five o'clock when we reached the head of LOCH KATRINE, and went on board the steamer Rob Roy; and, setting forth on our voyage, a Highland piper made music for us the better part of the way. We did not see Loch Katrine, perhaps, under its best presentment; for the surface was roughened with a little wind, and darkened even to inky blackness by the clouds that overhung it. The hill-tops, too, wore a very dark frown. A lake of this size cannot be terrific, and is therefore seen to best advantage when it is beautiful. The scenery of its shores is not altogether so rich and lovely as I had preimagined; not equal, indeed, to the best parts of Loch Lomond,--the hills being lower and of a more ridgy shape, and exceedingly bare, at least towards the lower end. But they turn the lake aside with headland after headland, and shut it in closely, and open one vista after another, so that the eye is never weary, and, least of all, as we approach the end. The length of the loch is ten miles, and at its termination it meets the pass of the Trosachs, between Ben An and Ben Venue, which are the rudest and shaggiest of hills. The steamer passes Ellen's Isle, but to the right, which is the side opposite to that on which Fitz-James must be supposed to have approached it. It is a very small island, situated where the loch narrows, and is perhaps less than a quarter of a mile distant from either shore. It looks like a lump of rock, with just soil enough to support a crowd of dwarf oaks, birches, and firs, which do not grow so high as to be shadowy trees. Our voyage being over, we landed, and found two omnibuses, one of which took us through the famous pass of the Trosachs, a distance of a mile and a quarter, to a hotel, erected in castellated guise by Lord Willoughby d'Eresby. We were put into a parlor within one of the round towers, panelled all round, and with four narrow windows, opening through deep embrasures. No play-castle was ever more like the reality, and it is a very good hotel, like all that we have had experience of in the Highlands. After tea we walked out, and visited a little kirk that stands near the shore of Loch Achray, at a good point of view for seeing the hills round about. This morning opened cloudily; but after breakfast I set out alone, and walked through the pass of the Trosachs, and thence by a path along the right shore of the lake. It is a very picturesque and beautiful path, following the windings of the lake,--now along the beach, now over an impending bank, until it comes opposite to Ellen's Isle, which on this side looks more worthy to be the island of the poem than as we first saw it. Its shore is craggy and precipitous, but there was a point where it seemed possible to land, nor was it too much to fancy that there might be a rustic habitation among the shrubbery of this rugged spot. It is foolish to look into these matters too strictly. Scott evidently used as much freedom with his natural scenery as he did with his historic incidents; and he could have made nothing of either one or the other if he had been more scrupulous in his arrangement and adornment of them. In his description of the Trosachs, he has produced something very beautiful, and as true as possible, though certainly its beauty has a little of the scene-painter's gloss on it. Nature is better, no doubt, but Nature cannot be exactly reproduced on canvas or in print; and the artist's only resource is to substitute something that may stand instead of and suggest the truth. The path still kept onward, after passing Ellen's Isle, and I followed it, finding it wilder, more shadowy with overhanging foliage of trees, old and young,--more like a mountain-path in Berkshire or New Hampshire, yet still with an Old World restraint and cultivation about it,--the farther I went. At last I came upon some bars, and though the track was still seen beyond, I took this as a hint to stop, especially as I was now two or three miles from the hotel, and it just then began to rain. My umbrella was a poor one at best, and had been tattered and turned inside out, a day or two ago, by a gust on Loch Lomond; but I spread it to the shower, and, furthermore, took shelter under the thickest umbrage I could find. The rain came straight down, and bubbled in the loch; the little rills gathered force, and plashed merrily over the stones; the leaves of the trees condensed the shower into large drops, and shed them down upon me where I stood. Still I was comfortable enough in a thick Skye Tweed, and waited patiently till the rain abated; then took my way homeward, and admired the pass of the Trosachs more than when I first traversed it. If it has a fault, it is one that few scenes in Great Britain share with it,--that is, the trees and shrubbery, with which the precipices are shagged, conceal them a little too much. A crag, streaked with black and white, here and there shows its head aloft, or its whole height from base to summit, and suggests that more of such sublimity is bidden than revealed. I think, however, that it is this unusual shagginess which made the scene a favorite with Scott, and with the people on this side of the ocean generally. There are many scenes as good in America, needing only the poet. July 6th.--We dined yesterday at the table d'hote, at the suggestion of the butler, in order to give less trouble to the servants of the hotel, and afford them an opportunity to go to kirk. The dining-room is in accordance with the rest of the architecture and fittings up of the house, and is a very good reproduction of an old baronial hall, with high panellings and a roof of dark, polished wood. There were about twenty guests at table; and if they and the waiters had been dressed in mediaeval costume, we might have imagined ourselves banqueting in the Middle Ages. After dinner we all took a walk through the Trosachs' pass again, and by the right-hand path along the lake as far as Ellen's Isle. It was very pleasant, there being gleams of calm evening sunshine gilding the mountain-sides, and putting a golden crown occasionally on the Tread of Ben Venue. It is wonderful how many aspects a mountain has,--how many mountains there are in every single mountain!---how they vary too, in apparent attitude and bulk. When we reached the lake its surface was almost unruffled, except by now and then the narrow pathway of a breeze, as if the wing of an unseen spirit had just grazed it in flitting across. The scene was very beautiful, and, on the whole, I do not know that Walter Scott has overcharged his description, although he has symbolized the reality by types and images which it might not precisely suggest to other minds. We were reluctant to quit the spot, and cherish still a hope of seeing it again, though the hope does not seem very likely to be gratified. This was a lowering and sullen morning, but soon after breakfast I took a walk in the opposite direction to Loch Katrine, and reached the Brig of Turk, a little beyond which is the new Trosachs' Hotel, and the little rude village of Duncraggan, consisting of a few hovels of stone, at the foot of a bleak and dreary hill. To the left, stretching up between this and other hills, is the valley of Glenfinlas,--a very awful region in Scott's poetry and in Highland tradition, as the haunt of spirits and enchantments. It presented a very desolate prospect. The walk back to the Trosachs showed me Ben Venue and Ben An under new aspects,--the bare summit of the latter rising in a perfect pyramid, whereas from other points of view it looks like quite a different mountain. Sometimes a gleam of sunshine came out upon the rugged side of Ben Venue, but his prevailing mood, like that of the rest of the landscape, was stern and gloomy. I wish I could give an idea of the variety of surface upon one of these hillsides,--so bulging out and hollowed in, so bare where the rock breaks through, so shaggy in other places with heath, and then, perhaps, a thick umbrage of birch, oak, and ash ascending from the base high upward. When I think I have described them, I remember quite a different aspect, and find it equally true, and yet lacking something to make it the whole or an adequate truth. J----- had gone with me part of the way, but stopped to fish with a pin-hook in Loch Achray, which bordered along our path. When I returned, I found him much elated at having caught a fish, which, however, had got away, carrying his pin-hook along with it. Then he had amused himself with taking some lizards by the tail, and had collected several in a small hollow of the rocks. We now walked home together, and at half past three we took our seats in a genuine old-fashioned stage-coach, of which there are few specimens now to be met with. The coachman was smartly dressed in the Queen's scarlet, and was a very pleasant and affable personage, conducting himself towards the passengers with courteous authority. Inside we were four, including J-----, but on the top there were at least a dozen, and I would willingly have been there too, but had taken an inside seat, under apprehension of rain, and was not allowed to change it. Our drive was not marked by much describable incident. On changing horses at Callender, we alighted, and saw Ben Ledi behind us, making a picturesque background to the little town, which seems to be the meeting-point of the Highlands and Lowlands. We again changed horses at Doune, an old town, which would doubtless have been well worth seeing, had time permitted. Thence we kept on till the coach drew up at a spacious hotel, where we alighted, fancying that we had reached Stirling, which was to have been our journey's end; but, after fairly establishing ourselves, we found that it was the BRIG OF ALLAN. The place is three miles short of Stirling. Nevertheless, we did not much regret the mistake, finding that the Brig of Allan is the principal Spa of Scotland, and a very pleasant spot, to all outward appearance. After tea we walked out, both up and down the village street, and across the bridge, and up a gentle eminence beyond it, whence we had a fine view of a glorious plain, out of which rose several insulated headlands. One of these was the height on which stands Stirling Castle, and which reclines on the plain like a hound or a lion or a sphinx, holding the castle on the highest part, where its head should be. A mile or two distant from this picturesque hill rises another, still more striking, called the Abbey Craig, on which is a ruin, and where is to be built the monument to William Wallace. I cannot conceive a nobler or more fitting pedestal. The sullenness of the day had vanished, the air was cool but invigorating, and the cloud scenery was as fine as that below it. . . . Though it was nearly ten o'clock, the boys of the village were in full shout and play, for these long and late summer evenings keep the children out of bed interminably. STIRLING. July 7th.--We bestirred ourselves early this morning, . . . . and took the rail for Stirling before eight. It is but a few minutes' ride, so that doubtless we were earlier on the field than if we had slept at Stirling. After our arrival our first call was at the post-office, where I found a large package containing letters from America, but none from U----. We then went to a bookseller's shop, and bought some views of Stirling and the neighborhood; and it is surprising what a quantity and variety of engravings there are of every noted place that we have visited. You seldom find two sets alike. It is rather nauseating to find that what you came to see has already been looked at in all its lights, over and over again, with thousand-fold repetition; and, beyond question, its depictment in words has been attempted still oftener than with the pencil. It will be worth while to go back to America, were it only for the chance of finding a still virgin scene. We climbed the steep slope of the Castle Hill, sometimes passing an antique-looking house, with a high, notched gable, perhaps with an ornamented front, until we came to the sculptures and battlemented wall, with an archway, that stands just below the castle. . . . A shabby-looking man now accosted us, and could hardly be shaken off. I have met with several such boors in my experience of sight-seeing. He kept along with us, in spite of all hints to the contrary, and insisted on pointing out objects of interest. He showed us a house in Broad Street, below the castle and cathedral, which he said had once been inhabited by Henry Darnley, Queen Mary's husband. There was little or nothing peculiar in its appearance; a large, gray, gabled house standing lengthwise to the street, with three windows in the roof, and connected with other houses on each side. Almost directly across the street, he pointed to an archway, through the side of a house, and, peeping through it, we found a soldier on guard in a court-yard, the sides of which were occupied by an old mansion of the Argyle family, having towers at the corners, with conical tops, like those reproduced in the hotel at the Trosachs. It is now occupied as a military hospital. Shaking off our self-inflicted guide, we now made our way to the castle parade, and to the gateway, where a soldier with a tremendously red nose and two medals at once took charge of us. Beyond all doubt, I have written quite as good a description of the castle and Carse of Stirling in a former portion of my journal as I can now write. We passed through the outer rampart of Queen Anne; through the old round gate-tower of an earlier day, and beneath the vacant arch where the portcullis used to fall, thus reaching the inner region, where stands the old palace on one side, and the old Parliament House on the other. The former looks aged, ragged, and rusty, but makes a good appearance enough pictorially, being adorned all round about with statues, which may have been white marble once, but are as gray as weather-beaten granite now, and look down from between the windows above the basement story. A photograph would give the idea of very rich antiquity, but as it really stands, looking on a gravelled court-yard, and with "CANTEEN" painted on one of its doors, the spectator does not find it very impressive. The great hall of this palace is now partitioned off into two or three rooms, and the whole edifice is arranged to serve as barracks. Of course, no trace of ancient magnificence, if anywise destructible, can be left in the interior. We were not shown into this palace, nor into the Parliament House, nor into the tower, where King James stabbed the Earl of Douglas. When I was here a year ago, I went up the old staircase and into the room where the murder was committed, although it had recently been the scene of a fire, which consumed as much of it as was inflammable. The window whence the Earl's body was thrown then remained; but now the whole tower seems to have been renewed, leaving only the mullions of the historic window. We merely looked up at the new, light-colored freestone of the restored tower in passing, and ascended to the ramparts, where we found one of the most splendid views, morally and materially, that this world can show. Indeed, I think there cannot be such a landscape as the Carse of Stirling, set in such a frame as it is,--the Highlands, comprehending our friends, Ben Lomond, Ben Venue, Ben An, and the whole Ben brotherhood, with the Grampians surrounding it to the westward and northward, and in other directions some range of prominent objects to shut it in; and the plain itself, so worthy of the richest setting, so fertile, so beautiful, so written over and over again with histories. The silver Links of Forth are as sweet and gently picturesque an object as a man sees in a lifetime. I do not wonder that Providence caused great things to happen on this plain; it was like choosing a good piece of canvas to paint a great picture upon. The battle of Bannockburn (which we saw beneath us, with the Gillie's Hill on the right) could not have been fought upon a meaner plain, nor Wallace's victory gained; and if any other great historic act still remains to be done in this country, I should imagine the Carse of Stirling to be the future scene of it. Scott seems to me hardly to have done justice--to this landscape, or to have bestowed pains enough to put it in strong relief before the world; although it is from the light shed on it, and so much other Scottish scenery, by his mind, that we chiefly see it, and take an interest in it. . . . I do not remember seeing the hill of execution before,--a mound on the same level as the castle's base, looking towards the Highlands. A solitary cow was now feeding upon it. I should imagine that no person could ever have been unjustly executed there; the spot is too much in the sight of heaven and earth to countenance injustice. Descending from the ramparts, we went into the Armory, which I did not see on my former visit. The superintendent of this department is an old soldier of very great intelligence and vast communicativeness, and quite absorbed in thinking of and handling weapons; for he is a practical armorer. He had few things to show us that were very interesting,--a helmet or two, a bomb and grenade from the Crimea; also some muskets from the same quarter, one of which, with a sword at the end, he spoke of admiringly, as the best weapon in the collection, its only fault being its extreme weight. He showed us, too, some Minie rifles, and whole ranges of the old-fashioned Brown Bess, which had helped to win Wellington's victories; also the halberts of sergeants now laid aside, and some swords that had been used at the battle of Sheriffmuir. These latter were very short, not reaching to the floor, when I held one of them, point downward, in my hand. The shortness of the blade and consequent closeness of the encounter must have given the weapon a most dagger-like murderousness. Ranging in the hall of arms, there were two tattered banners that had gone through the Peninsular battles, one of them belonging to the gallant 42d Regiment. The armorer gave my wife a rag from each of these banners, consecrated by so much battle-smoke; also a piece of old oak, half burned to charcoal, which had been rescued from the panelling of the Douglas Tower. We saw better things, moreover, than all these rusty weapons and ragged flags; namely, the pulpit and communion-table of John Knox. The frame of the former, if I remember aright, is complete; but one or two of the panels are knocked out and lost, and, on the whole, it looks as if it had been shaken to pieces by the thunder of his holdings forth,--much worm-eaten, too, is the old oak wood, as well it may be, for the letters MD (1500) are carved on its front. The communion-table is polished, and in much better preservation. Then the armorer showed us a Damascus blade, of the kind that will cut a delicate silk handkerchief while floating in the air; and some inlaid matchlock guns. A child's little toy-gun was lying on a workbench among all this array of weapons; and when I took it up and smiled, he said that it was his son's. So he called in a little fellow four years old, who was playing in the castle yard, and made him go through the musket exercise, which he did with great good-will. This small Son of a Gun, the father assured us, cares for nothing but arms, and has attained all his skill with the musket merely by looking at the soldiers on parade. . . . Our soldier, who had resigned the care of us to the armorer, met us again at the door, and led us round the remainder of the ramparts, dismissing us finally at the gate by which we entered. All the time we were in the castle there had been a great discordance of drums and fifes, caused by the musicians who were practising just under the walls; likewise the sergeants were drilling their squads of men, and putting them through strange gymnastic motions. Most, if not all, of the garrison belongs to a Highland regiment, and those whom we saw on duty, in full costume, looked very martial and gallant. Emerging from the castle, we took the broad and pleasant footpath, which circles it about midway on the grassy steep which descends from the rocky precipice on which the walls are built. This is a very beautiful walk, and affords a most striking view of the castle, right above our heads, the height of its wall forming one line with the precipice. The grassy hillside is almost as precipitous as the dark gray rock that rises out of it, to form the foundations of the castle; but wild rose-bushes, both of a white and red variety, are abundant here, and all in bloom; nor are these the only flowers. There is also shrubbery in some spots, tossing up green waves against the precipice; and broad sheets of ivy here and there mantle the headlong rock, which also has a growth of weeds in its crevices. The castle walls above, however, are quite bare of any such growth. Thus, looking up at the old storied fortress, and looking down over the wide, historic plain, we wandered half-way round the castle, and then, retracing our steps, entered the town close by an old hospital. A hospital it was, or had been intended for; but the authorities of the town had made some convenient arrangement with those entitled to its charity, and had appropriated the ancient edifice to themselves. So said a boy who showed us into the Guildhall,--an apartment with a vaulted oaken roof, and otherwise of antique aspect and furniture; all of which, however, were modern restorations. We then went into an old church or cathedral, which was divided into two parts; one of them, in which I saw the royal arms, being probably for the Church-of-England service, and the other for the Kirk of Scotland. I remember little or nothing of this edifice, except that the Covenanters had uplifted it with pews and a gallery, and whitewash; though I doubt not it was a stately Gothic church, with innumerable enrichments and incrustations of beauty, when it passed from popish hands into theirs. Thence we wandered downward, through a back street, amid very shabby houses, some of which bore tokens of having once been the abodes of courtly and noble personages. We paused before one that displayed, I think, the sign of a spirit-retailer, and looked as disreputable as a house could, yet was built of stalwart stone, and had two circular towers in front, once, doubtless, crowned with conical tops. We asked an elderly man whether he knew anything of the history of this house; and he said that he had been acquainted with it for almost fifty years, but never knew anything noteworthy about it. Reaching the foot of the hill, along whose back the streets of Stirling run, and which blooms out into the Castle Craig, we returned to the railway, and at noon took leave of Stirling. I forgot to tell of the things that awakened rather more sympathy in us than any other objects in the castle armory. These were some rude weapons--pikes, very roughly made; and old rusty muskets, broken and otherwise out of order; and swords, by no means with Damascus blades-- that had been taken from some poor weavers and other handicraft men who rose against the government in 1820. I pitied the poor fellows much, seeing how wretched were their means of standing up against the cannon, bayonets, swords, shot, shell, and all manner of murderous facilities possessed by their oppressors. Afterwards, our guide showed, in a gloomy quadrangle of the castle, the low windows of the dungeons where two of the leaders of the insurrectionists had been confined before their execution. I have not the least shadow of doubt that these men had a good cause to fight for; but what availed it with such weapons! and so few even of those! . . . . I believe I cannot go on to recount any further this evening the experiences of to-day. It has been a very rich day; only that I have seen more than my sluggish powers of reception can well take in at once. After quitting Stirling, we came in somewhat less than an hour to LINLITHGOW, and, alighting, took up our quarters at the Star and Garter Hotel, which, like almost all the Scottish caravan-saries of which we have had experience, turns out a comfortable one. . . . We stayed within doors for an hour or two, and I busied myself with writing up my journal. At about three, however, the sky brightened a little, and we set forth through the ancient, rusty, and queer-looking town of Linlithgow, towards the palace and the ancient church, which latter was one of St. David's edifices, and both of which stand close together, a little removed from the long street of the village. But I can never describe them worthily, and shall make nothing of the description if I attempt it now. July 8th.--At about three o'clock yesterday, as I said, we walked forth through the ancient street of Linlithgow, and, coming to the market-place, stopped to look at an elaborate and heavy stone fountain, which we found by an inscription to be the fac-simile of an old one that used to stand on the same site. Turning to the right, the outer entrance to the palace fronts on this market-place, if such it be; and close to it, a little on one side, is the church. A young woman, with a key in her hand, offered to admit us into the latter; so we went in, and found it divided by a wall across the middle into two parts. The hither portion, being the nave, was whitewashed, and looked as bare and uninteresting as an old Gothic church of St. David's epoch possibly could do. The interior portion, being the former choir, is covered with pews over the whole floor, and further defaced by galleries, that unmercifully cut midway across the stately and beautiful arches. It is likewise whitewashed. There were, I believe, some mural monuments of Bailies and other such people stuck up about the walls, but nothing that much interested me, except an ancient oaken chair, which the girl said was the chair of St. Crispin, and it was fastened to the wall, in the holiest part of the church. I know not why it was there; but as it had been the chair of so distinguished a personage, we all sat down in it. It was in this church that the apparition of St. James appeared to King James IV., to warn him against engaging in that war which resulted in the battle of Flodden, where he and the flower of his nobility were slain. The young woman showed us the spot where the apparition spake to him,--a side chapel, with a groined roof, at the end of the choir next the nave. The Covenanters seem to have shown some respect to this one chapel, by refraining from drawing the gallery across its height; so that, except for the whitewash, and the loss of the painted glass in the window, and probably of a good deal of rich architectural detail, it looks as it did when the ghostly saint entered beneath its arch, while the king was kneeling there. We stayed but a little while in the church, and then proceeded to the palace, which, as I said, is close at hand. On entering the outer enclosure through an ancient gateway, we were surprised to find how entire the walls seemed to be; but the reason is, I suppose, that the ruins have not been used as a stone-quarry, as has almost always been the case with old abbeys and castles. The palace took fire and was consumed, so far as consumable, in 1745, while occupied by the soldiers of General Hawley; but even yet the walls appear so stalwart that I should imagine it quite possible to rebuild and restore the stately rooms on their original plan. It was a noble palace, one hundred and seventy-five feet in length by one hundred and sixty-five in breadth, and though destitute of much architectural beauty externally, yet its aspect from the quadrangle which the four sides enclose is venerable and sadly beautiful. At each of the interior angles there is a circular tower, up the whole height of the edifice and overtopping it, and another in the centre of one of the sides, all containing winding staircases. The walls facing upon the enclosed quadrangle are pierced with many windows, and have been ornamented with sculpture, rich traces of which still remain over the arched entrance-ways; and in the grassy centre of the court there is the ruin and broken fragments of a fountain, which once used to play for the delight of the king and queen, and lords and ladies, who looked down upon it from hall and chamber. Many old carvings that belonged to it are heaped together there; but the water has disappeared, though, had it been a natural spring, it would have outlasted all the heavy stone-work. As far as we were able, and could find our way, we went through every room of the palace, all round the four sides. From the first floor upwards it is entirely roofless. In some of the chambers there is an accumulation of soil, and a goodly crop of grass; in others there is still a flooring of flags or brick tiles, though damp and moss-grown, and with weeds sprouting between the crevices. Grass and weeds, indeed, have found soil enough to flourish in, even on the highest ranges of the walls, though at a dizzy height above the ground; and it was like an old and trite touch of romance, to see how the weeds sprouted on the many hearth-stones and aspired under the chimney-flues, as if in emulation of the long-extinguished flame. It was very mournful, very beautiful, very delightful, too, to see how Nature takes back the palace, now that kings have done with it, and adopts it as a part of her great garden. On one side of the quadrangle we found the roofless chamber where Mary, Queen of Scots, was born, and in the same range the bedchamber that was occupied by several of the Scottish Jameses; and in one corner of the latter apartment there is a narrow, winding staircase, down which I groped, expecting to find a door, either into the enclosed quadrangle or to the outside of the palace. But it ends in nothing, unless it be a dungeon; and one does not well see why the bedchamber of the king should be so convenient to a dungeon. It is said that King James III. once escaped down this secret stair, and lay concealed from some conspirators who had entered his chamber to murder him. This range of apartments is terminated, like the other sides of the palace, by a circular tower enclosing a staircase, up which we mounted, winding round and round, and emerging at various heights, until at last we found ourselves at the very topmost point of the edifice; and here there is a small pepper-box of a turret, almost as entire as when the stones were first laid. It is called Queen Margaret's bower, and looks forth on a lovely prospect of mountain and plain, and on the old red roofs of Linlithgow town, and on the little loch that lies within the palace grounds. The cold north-wind blew chill upon us through the empty window-frames, which very likely were never glazed; but it must be a delightful nook in a calmer and warmer summer evening. Descending from this high perch, we walked along ledges and through arched corridors, and stood, contemplative, in the dampness of the banqueting-hall, and sat down on the seats that still occupy the embrasures of the deep windows. In one of the rooms, the sculpture of a huge fireplace has recently been imitated and restored, so as to give an idea of what the richness of the adornments must have been when the building was perfect. We burrowed down, too, a little way, in the direction of the cells, where prisoners used to be confined; but these were too ugly and too impenetrably dark to tempt us far. One vault, exactly beneath a queen's very bedchamber, was designated as a prison. I should think bad dreams would have winged up, and made her pillow an uncomfortable one. There seems to be no certain record as respects the date of this palace, except that the most recent part was built by James I., of England, and bears the figures 1620 on its central tower. In this part were the kitchens and other domestic offices. In Robert Bruce's time there was a castle here, instead of a palace, and an ancestor of our friend Bennoch was the means of taking it from the English by a stratagem in which valor went halves. Four centuries afterwards, it was a royal residence, and might still have been nominally so, had not Hawley's dragoons lighted their fires on the floors of the magnificent rooms; but, on the whole, I think it more valuable as a ruin than if it were still perfect. Scotland, and the world, needs only one Holyrood; and Linlithgow, were it still a perfect palace, must have been second in interest to that, from its lack of association with historic events so grand and striking. After tea we took another walk, and this time went along the High Street, in quest of the house whence Bothwellhaugh fired the shot that killed the Regent Murray. It has been taken down, however; or, if any part of it remain, it has been built into and incorporated with a small house of dark stone, which forms one range with two others that stand a few feet back from the general line of the street. It is as mean-looking and commonplace an edifice as is anywhere to be seen, and is now occupied by one Steele, a tailor. We went under a square arch (if an arch can be square), that goes quite through the house, and found ourselves in a little court; but it was not easy to identify anything as connected with the historic event, so we did but glance about us, and returned into the street. It is here narrow, and as Bothwellhaugh stood in a projecting gallery, the Regent must have been within a few yards of the muzzle of his carbine. The street looks as old as any that I have seen, except, perhaps, a vista here and there in Chester,--the houses all of stone, many of them tall, with notched gables, and with stone staircases going up outside, the steps much worn by feet now dust; a pervading ugliness, which yet does not fail to be picturesque; a general filth and evil odor of gutters and people, suggesting sorrowful ideas of what the inner houses must be, when the outside looks and smells so badly; and, finally, a great rabble of the inhabitants, talking, idling, sporting, staring about their own thresholds and those of dram-shops, the town being most alive in the long twilight of the summer evening. There was nothing uncivil in the deportment of these dirty people, old or young; but they did stare at us most unmercifully. We walked very late, entering, after all that we had seen, into the palace grounds, and skirting along Linlithgow Loch, which would be very beautiful if its banks were made shadowy with trees, instead of being almost bare. We viewed the palace on the outside, too, and saw what had once been the principal entrance, but now looked like an arched window, pretty high in the wall; for it had not been accessible except by a drawbridge. I might write pages in telling how venerable the ruin, looked, as the twilight fell deeper and deeper around it; but we have had enough of Linlithgow, especially as there have been so many old palaces and old towns to write about, and there will still be more. We left Linlithgow early this morning, and reached Edinburgh in half an hour. To-morrow I suppose I shall try to set down what I see; at least, some points of it. July 9th.--Arriving at EDINBURGH, and acting under advice of the cabman, we drove to Addison's Alma Hotel, which we find to be in Prince's Street, having Scott's monument a few hundred yards below, and the Castle Hill about as much above. The Edinburgh people seem to be accustomed to climb mountains within their own houses; so we had to mount several staircases before we reached our parlor, which is a very good one, and commands a beautiful view of Prince's Street, and of the picturesque old town, and the valley between, and of the castle on its hill. Our first visit was to the castle, which we reached by going across the causeway that bridges the valley, and has some edifices of Grecian architecture on it, contrasting strangely with the nondescript ugliness of the old town, into which we immediately pass. As this is my second visit to Edinburgh, I surely need not dwell upon describing it at such length as if I had never been here before. After climbing up through various wards of the castle to the topmost battery, where Mons Meg holds her station, looking like an uncouth dragon,--with a pile of huge stone balls beside her for eggs,--we found that we could not be admitted to Queen Mary's apartments, nor to the crown-room, till twelve o'clock; moreover, that there was no admittance to the crown-room without tickets from the crown-office, in Parliament Square. There being no help for it, I left my wife and J----- to wander through the fortress, and came down through High Street in quest of Parliament Square, which I found after many inquiries of policemen, and after first going to the Justiciary Court, where there was a great throng endeavoring to get in; for the trial of Miss Smith for the murder of her lover is causing great excitement just now. There was no difficulty made about the tickets, and, returning, found S----- and J-----; but J----- grew tired of waiting, and set out to return to our hotel, through the great strange city, all by himself. Through means of an attendant, we were admitted into Queen Margaret's little chapel, on the top of the rock; and then we sat down, in such shelter as there was, to avoid the keen wind, blowing through the embrasures of the ramparts, and waited as patiently as we could. Twelve o'clock came, and we went into the crown-room, with a throng of other visitors,--so many that they could only be admitted in separate groups. The Regalia of Scotland lie on a circular table within an iron railing, round and round which the visitors pass, gazing with all their eyes. The room was dark, however, except for the dim twinkle of a candle or gaslight; and the regalia did not show to any advantage, though there are some rich jewels, set in their ancient gold. The articles consist of a two-handed sword, with a hilt and scabbard of gold, ornamented with gems, and a mace, with a silver handle, all very beautifully made; besides the golden collar and jewelled badge of the Garter, and something else which I forget. Why they keep this room so dark I cannot tell; but it is a poor show, and gives the spectator an idea of the poverty of Scotland, and the minuteness of her sovereignty, which I had not gathered from her royal palaces. Thence we went into Queen Mary's room, and saw that beautiful portrait-- that very queen and very woman--with which I was so much impressed at my last visit. It is wonderful that this picture does not drive all the other portraits of Mary out of the field, whatever may be the comparative proofs of their authenticity. I do not know the history of this one, except that it is a copy by Sir William Gordon of a picture by an Italian, preserved at Dunrobin Castle. After seeing what the castle had to show, which is but little except itself, its rocks, and its old dwellings of princes and prisoners, we came down through the High Street, inquiring for John Knox's house. It is a strange-looking edifice, with gables on high, projecting far, and some sculpture, and inscriptions referring to Knox. There is a tobacconist's shop in the basement story, where I learned that the house used to be shown to visitors till within three months, but it is now closed, for some reason or other. Thence we crossed a bridge into the new town, and came back through Prince's Street to the hotel, and had a good dinner, as preparatory to fresh wearinesses; for there is no other weariness at all to be compared to that of sight-seeing. In mid afternoon we took a cab and drove to Holyrood Palace, which I have already described, as well as the chapel, and do not mean to meddle with either of them again. We looked at our faces in the old mirrors that Queen Mary brought from France with her, and which had often reflected her own lovely face and figure; and I went up the winding stair through which the conspirators ascended. This, I think, was not accessible at my former visit. Before leaving the palace, one of the attendants advised us to see some pictures in the apartments occupied by the Marquis of Breadalbane during the queen's residence here. We found some fine old portraits and other paintings by Vandyke, Sir Peter Lely, Sir Godfrey Kneller, and a strange head by Rubens, amid all which I walked wearily, wishing that there were nothing worth looking at in the whole world. My wife differs altogether from me in this matter; . . . . but we agreed, on this occasion, in being tired to death. Just as we got through with the pictures, I became convinced of what I had been dimly suspecting all the while, namely, that at my last visit to the palace I had seen these selfsame pictures, and listened to the selfsame woman's civil answers, in just the selfsame miserable weariness of mood. We left the palace, and toiled up through the dirty Canongate, looking vainly for a fly, and employing our time, as well as we could, in looking at the squalid mob of Edinburgh, and peeping down the horrible vistas of the closes, which were swarming with dirty life, as some mouldy and half-decayed substance might swarm with insects,--vistas down alleys where sin, sorrow, poverty, drunkenness, all manner of sombre and sordid earthly circumstances, had imbued the stone, brick, and wood of the habitations for hundreds of years. And such a multitude of children too; that was a most striking feature. After tea I went down into the valley between the old town and the new, which is now laid out as an ornamental garden, with grass, shrubbery, flowers, gravelled walks, and frequent seats. Here the sun was setting, and gilded the old town with its parting rays, making it absolutely the most picturesque scene possible to be seen. The mass of tall, ancient houses, heaped densely together, looked like a Gothic dream; for there seemed to be towers and all sorts of stately architecture, and spires ascended out of the mass; and above the whole was the castle, with a diadem of gold on its topmost turret. It wanted less than a quarter of nine when the last gleam faded from the windows of the old town, and left the crowd of buildings dim and indistinguishable, to reappear on the morrow in squalor, lifting their meanness skyward, the home of layer upon layer of unfortunate humanity. The change symbolized the difference between a poet's imagination of life in the past--or in a state which he looks at through a colored and illuminated medium--and the sad reality. This morning we took a cab, and set forth between ten and eleven to see Edinburgh and its environs; driving past the University, and other noticeable objects in the old town, and thence out to Arthur's Seat. Salisbury Crags are a very singular feature of the outskirts. From the heights, beneath Arthur's Seat, we had a fine prospect of the sea, with Leith and Portobello in the distance, and of a fertile plain at the foot of the hill. In the course of our drive our cabman pointed out Dumbiedikes' house; also the cottage of Jeanie Deans,--at least, the spot where it formerly stood; and Muschat's Cairn, of which a small heap of stones is yet remaining. Near this latter object are the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, a roofless gable, and other remains, standing on the abrupt hillside. We drove homeward past a parade-ground on which a body of cavalry was exercising, and we met a company of infantry on their route thither. Then we drove near Calton Hill, which seems to be not a burial-ground, although the site of stately monuments. In fine, we passed through the Grass-Market, where we saw the cross in the pavement in the street, marking the spot, as I recorded before, where Porteous was executed. Thence we passed through the Cowgate, all the latter part of our drive being amongst the tall, quaint edifices of the old town, alike venerable and squalid. From the Grass-Market the rock of the castle looks more precipitous than as we had hitherto seen it, and its prisons, palaces, and barracks approach close to its headlong verge, and form one steep line with its descent. We drove quite round the Castle Hill, and returned down Prince's Street to our hotel. There can be no other city in the world that affords more splendid scenery, both natural and architectural, than Edinburgh. Then we went to St. Giles's Cathedral, which I shall not describe, it having been kirkified into three interior divisions by the Covenanters; and I left my wife to take drawings, while J----- and I went to Short's Observatory, near the entrance of the castle. Here we saw a camera-obscura, which brought before us, without our stirring a step, almost all the striking objects which we had been wandering to and fro to see. We also saw the mites in cheese, gigantically magnified by a solar microscope; likewise some dioramic views, with all which I was mightily pleased, and for myself, being tired to death of sights, I would as lief see them as anything else. We found, on calling for mamma at St. Giles's, that she had gone away; but she rejoined us between four and five o'clock at our hotel, where the next thing we did was to dine. Again after dinner we walked out, looking at the shop-windows of jewellers, where ornaments made of cairngorm pebbles are the most peculiar attraction. As it was our wedding-day, . . . . I gave S----- a golden and amethyst-bodied cairngorm beetle with a ruby head; and after sitting awhile in Prince's Street Gardens, we came home. July 10th.--Last evening I walked round the castle rock, and through the Grass-Market, where I stood on the inlaid cross in the pavement, thence down the High Street beyond John Knox's house. The throng in that part of the town was very great. There is a strange fascination in these old streets, and in the peeps down the closes; but it doubtless would be a great blessing were a fire to sweep through the whole of ancient Edinburgh. This system of living on flats, up to I know not what story, must be most unfavorable to cleanliness, since they have to fetch their water all that distance towards heaven, and how they get rid of their rubbish is best known to themselves. My wife has gone to Roslin this morning, and since her departure it has been drizzly, so that J----- and I, after a walk through the new part of the town, are imprisoned in our parlor with little resource except to look across the valley to the castle, where Mons Meg is plainly visible on the upper platform, and the lower ramparts, zigzagging about the edge of the precipice, which nearly in front of us is concealed or softened by a great deal of shrubbery, but farther off descends steeply down to the grass below. Somewhere on this side of the rock was the point where Claverhouse, on quitting Edinburgh before the battle of Killiecrankie, clambered up to hold an interview with the Duke of Gordon. What an excellent thing it is to have such striking and indestructible landmarks and time-marks that they serve to affix historical incidents to, and thus, as it were, nail down the Past for the benefit of all future ages! The old town of Edinburgh appears to be situated, in its densest part, on the broad back of a ridge, which rises gradually to its termination in the precipitous rock, on which stands the castle. Between the old town and the new is the valley, which runs along at the base of this ridge, and which, in its natural state, was probably rough and broken, like any mountain gorge. The lower part of the valley, adjacent to the Canongate, is now a broad hollow space, fitted up with dwellings, shops, or manufactories; the next portion, between two bridges, is converted into an ornamental garden free to the public, and contains Scott's beautiful monument,--a canopy of Gothic arches and a fantastic spire, beneath which he sits, thoughtful and observant of what passes in the contiguous street; the third portion of the valley, above the last bridge, is another ornamental garden, open only to those who have pass-keys. It is an admirable garden, with a great variety of surface, and extends far round the castle rock, with paths that lead up to its very base, among leafy depths of shrubbery, and winds beneath the sheer, black precipice. J----- and I walked there this forenoon, and took refuge from a shower beneath an overhanging jut of the rock, where a bench had been placed, and where a curtain of hanging ivy helped to shelter us. On our return to the hotel, we found mamma just alighting from a cab. She had had very bad fortune in her excursion to Roslin, having had to walk a long distance to the chapel, and being caught in the rain; and, after all, she could only spend seven minutes in viewing the beautiful Roslin architecture. MELROSE. July 11th.--We left Edinburgh, where we had found at Addison's, 87 Prince's Street, the most comfortable hotel in Great Britain, and went to Melrose, where we put up at the George. This is all travelled ground with me, so that I need not much perplex myself with further description, especially as it is impossible, by any repetition of attempts, to describe Melrose Abbey. We went thither immediately after tea, and were shown over the ruins by a very delectable old Scotchman, incomparably the best guide I ever met with. I think he must take pains to speak the Scotch dialect, he does it with such pungent felicity and effect, and it gives a flavor to everything he says, like the mustard and vinegar in a salad. This is not the man I saw when here before. The Scotch dialect is still, in a greater or less degree, universally prevalent in Scotland, insomuch that we generally find it difficult to comprehend the answers to our questions, though more, I think, from the unusual intonation than either from strange words or pronunciation. But this old man, though he spoke the most unmitigated Scotch, was perfectly intelligible,--perhaps because his speech so well accorded with the classic standard of the Waverley Novels. Moreover, he is thoroughly acquainted with the Abbey, stone by stone; and it was curious to see him, as we walked among its aisles, and over the grass beneath its roofless portions, pick up the withered leaves that had fallen there, and do other such little things, as a good housewife might do to a parlor. I have met with two or three instances where the guardian of an old edifice seemed really to love it, and this was one, although the old man evidently had a Scotch Covenanter's contempt and dislike of the faith that founded the Abbey. He repeated King David's dictum that King David the First was "a sair saint for the crown," as bestowing so much wealth on religious edifices; but really, unless it be Walter Scott, I know not any Scotchman who has done so much for his country as this same St. David. As the founder of Melrose and many other beautiful churches and abbeys, he left magnificent specimens of the only kind of poetry which the age knew how to produce; and the world is the better for him to this day,--which is more, I believe, than can be said of any hero or statesman in Scottish annals. We went all over the ruins, of course, and saw the marble stone of King Alexander, and the spot where Bruce's heart is said to be buried, and the slab of Michael Scott, with the cross engraved upon it; also the exquisitely sculptured kail-leaves, and other foliage and flowers, with which the Gothic artists inwreathed this edifice, bestowing more minute and faithful labor than an artist of these days would do on the most delicate piece of cabinet-work. We came away sooner than we wished, but we hoped to return thither this morning; and, for my part, I cherish a presentiment that this will not be our last visit to Scotland and Melrose. . . . J----- and I then walked to the Tweed, where we saw two or three people angling, with naked legs, or trousers turned up, and wading among the rude stones that make something like a dam over the wide and brawling stream. I did not observe that they caught any fish, but J----- was so fascinated with the spectacle that he pulled out his poor little fishing-line, and wished to try his chance forthwith. I never saw the angler's instinct stronger in anybody. We walked across the foot-bridge that here spans the Tweed; and J----- observed that he did not see how William of Deloraine could have found so much difficulty in swimming his horse across so shallow a river. Neither do I. It now began to sprinkle, and we hastened back to the hotel. It was not a pleasant morning; but we started immediately after breakfast for ABBOTSFORD, which is but about three miles distant. The country between Melrose and that place is not in the least beautiful, nor very noteworthy,--one or two old irregular villages; one tower that looks principally domestic, yet partly warlike, and seems to be of some antiquity; and an undulation, or rounded hilly surface of the landscape, sometimes affording wide vistas between the slopes. These hills, which, I suppose, are some of them on the Abbotsford estate, are partly covered with woods, but of Scotch fir, or some tree of that species, which creates no softened undulation, but overspreads the hill like a tightly fitting wig. It is a cold, dreary, disheartening neighborhood, that of Abbotsford; at least, it has appeared so to me at both of my visits,--one of which was on a bleak and windy May morning, and this one on a chill, showery morning of midsummer. The entrance-way to the house is somewhat altered since my last visit; and we now, following the direction of a painted finger on the wall, went round to a side door in the basement story, where we found an elderly man waiting as if in expectation of visitors. He asked us to write our names in a book, and told us that the desk on the leaf of which it lay was the one in which Sir Walter found the forgotten manuscript of Waverley, while looking for some fishing-tackle. There was another desk in the room, which had belonged to the Colonel Gardiner who appears in Waverley. The first apartment into which our guide showed us was Sir Walter's study, where I again saw his clothes, and remarked how the sleeve of his old green coat was worn at the cuff,--a minute circumstance that seemed to bring Sir Walter very near me. Thence into the library; thence into the drawing-room, whence, methinks, we should have entered the dining-room, the most interesting of all, as being the room where he died. But this room seems not to be shown now. We saw the armory, with the gun of Rob Roy, into the muzzle of which I put my finger, and found the bore very large; the beautifully wrought pistol of Claverhouse, and a pair of pistols that belonged to Napoleon; the sword of Montrose, which I grasped, and drew half out of the scabbard; and Queen Mary's iron jewel-box, six or eight inches long, and two or three high, with a lid rounded like that of a trunk, and much corroded with rust. There is no use in making a catalogue of these curiosities. The feeling in visiting Abbotsford is not that of awe; it is little more than going to a museum. I do abhor this mode of making pilgrimages to the shrines of departed great men. There is certainly something wrong in it, for it seldom or never produces (in me, at least) the right feeling. It is an odd truth, too, that a house is forever after spoiled and ruined as a home, by having been the abode of a great man. His spirit haunts it, as it were, with a malevolent effect, and takes hearth and hall away from the nominal possessors, giving all the world the right to enter there because he had such intimate relations with all the world. We had intended to go to Dryburgh Abbey; but as the weather more than threatened rain, . . . . we gave up the idea, and so took the rail for Berwick, after one o'clock. On our road we passed several ruins in Scotland, and some in England,--one old castle in particular, beautifully situated beside a deep-banked stream. The road lies for many miles along the coast, affording a fine view of the German Ocean, which was now blue, sunny, and breezy, the day having risen out of its morning sulks. We waited an hour or more at Berwick, and J----- and I took a hasty walk into the town. It is a rough and rude assemblage of rather mean houses, some of which are thatched. There seems to have been a wall about the town at a former period, and we passed through one of the gates. The view of the river Tweed here is very fine, both above and below the railway bridge, and especially where it flows, a broad tide, and between high banks, into the sea. Thence we went onward along the coast, as I have said, pausing a few moments in smoky Newcastle, and reaching Durham about eight o'clock. DURHAM. I wandered out in the dusk of the evening,--for the dusk comes on comparatively early as we draw southward,--and found a beautiful and shadowy path along the river-side, skirting its high banks, up and adown which grow noble elms. I could not well see, in that obscurity of twilight boughs, whither I was going, or what was around me; but I judged that the castle or cathedral, or both, crowned the highest line of the shore, and that I was walking at the base of their walls. There was a pair of lovers in front of me, and I passed two or three other tender couples. The walk appeared to go on interminably by the river-side, through the same sweet shadow; but I turned and found my way into the cathedral close, beneath an ancient archway, whence, issuing again, I inquired my way to the Waterloo Hotel, where we had put up. ITEMS.--We saw the Norham Castle of Marmion, at a short distance from the station of the same name. Viewed from the railway, it has not a very picturesque appearance,--a high, square ruin of what I suppose was the keep.--At Abbotsford, treasured up in a glass case in the drawing-room, were memorials of Sir Walter Scott's servants and humble friends,--for instance, a brass snuff-box of Tom Purdie,--there, too, among precious relics of illustrious persons.--In the armory, I grasped with some interest the sword of Sir Adam Ferguson, which he had worn in the Peninsular war. Our guide said, of his own knowledge, that "he was a very funny old gentleman." He died only a year or two since. July 11th.--The morning after our arrival in Durham being Sunday, we attended service in the cathedral. . . . We found a tolerable audience, seated on benches, within and in front of the choir; and people continually strayed in and out of the sunny churchyard and sat down, or walked softly and quietly up and down the side aisle. Sometimes, too, one of the vergers would come in with a handful of little boys, whom he had caught playing among the tombstones. DURHAM CATHEDRAL has one advantage over the others which I have seen, there being no organ-screen, nor any sort of partition between the choir and nave; so that we saw its entire length, nearly five hundred feet, in one vista. The pillars of the nave are immensely thick, but hardly of proportionate height, and they support the round Norman arch; nor is there, as far as I remember, a single pointed arch in the cathedral. The effect is to give the edifice an air of heavy grandeur. It seems to have been built before the best style of church architecture had established itself; so that it weighs upon the soul, instead of helping it to aspire. First, there are these round arches, supported by gigantic columns; then, immediately above, another row of round arches, behind which is the usual gallery that runs, as it were, in the thickness of the wall, around the nave of the cathedral; then, above all, another row of round arches, enclosing the windows of the clere-story. The great pillars are ornamented in various ways,--some with a great spiral groove running from bottom to top; others with two spirals, ascending in different directions, so as to cross over one another; some are fluted or channelled straight up and down; some are wrought with chevrons, like those on the sleeve of a police-inspector. There are zigzag cuttings and carvings, which I do not know how to name scientifically, round the arches of the doors and windows; but nothing that seems to have flowered out spontaneously, as natural incidents of a grand and beautiful design. In the nave, between the columns of the side aisles, I saw one or two monuments. . . . The cathedral service is very long; and though the choral part of it is pleasant enough, I thought it not best to wait for the sermon, especially as it would have been quite unintelligible, so remotely as I sat in the great space. So I left my seat, and after strolling up and down the aisle a few times, sallied forth into the churchyard. On the cathedral door there is a curious old knocker, in the form of a monstrous face, which was placed there, centuries ago, for the benefit of fugitives from justice, who used to be entitled to sanctuary here. The exterior of the cathedral, being huge, is therefore grand; it has a great central tower, and two at the western end; and reposes in vast and heavy length, without the multitude of niches, and crumbling statues, and richness of detail, that make the towers and fronts of some cathedrals so endlessly interesting. One piece of sculpture I remember,--a carving of a cow, a milk-maid, and a monk, in reference to the legend that the site of the cathedral was, in some way, determined by a woman bidding her cow go home to Dunholme. Cadmus was guided to the site of his destined city in some such way as this. It was a very beautiful day, and though the shadow of the cathedral fell on this side, yet, it being about noontide, it did not cover the churchyard entirely, but left many of the graves in sunshine. There were not a great many monuments, and these were chiefly horizontal slabs, some of which looked aged, but on closer inspection proved to be mostly of the present century. I observed an old stone figure, however, half worn away, which seemed to have something like a bishop's mitre on its head, and may perhaps have lain in the proudest chapel of the cathedral before occupying its present bed among the grass. About fifteen paces from the central tower, and within its shadow, I found a weather-worn slab of marble, seven or eight feet long, the inscription on which interested me somewhat. It was to the memory of Robert Dodsley, the bookseller, Johnson's acquaintance, who, as his tombstone rather superciliously avers, had made a much better figure as an author than "could have been expected in his rank of life." But, after all, it is inevitable that a man's tombstone should look down on him, or, at all events, comport itself towards him "de haut en bas." I love to find the graves of men connected with literature. They interest me more, even though of no great eminence, than those of persons far more illustrious in other walks of life. I know not whether this is because I happen to be one of the literary kindred, or because all men feel themselves akin, and on terms of intimacy, with those whom they know, or might have known, in books. I rather believe that the latter is the case. My wife had stayed in the cathedral, but she came out at the end of the sermon, and told me of two little birds, who had got into the vast interior, and were in great trouble at not being able to find their way out again. Thus, two winged souls may often have been imprisoned within a faith of heavy ceremonials. We went round the edifice, and, passing into the close, penetrated through an arched passage into the crypt, which, methought, was in a better style of architecture than the nave and choir. At one end stood a crowd of venerable figures leaning against the wall, being stone images of bearded saints, apostles, patriarchs, kings,--personages of great dignity, at all events, who had doubtless occupied conspicuous niches in and about the cathedral till finally imprisoned in this cellar. I looked at every one, and found not an entire nose among them, nor quite so many heads as they once had. Thence we went into the cloisters, which are entire, but not particularly interesting. Indeed, this cathedral has not taken hold of my affections, except in one aspect, when it was exceedingly grand and beautiful. After looking at the crypt and the cloisters, we returned through the close and the churchyard, and went back to the hotel through a path by the river-side. This is the same dim and dusky path through which I wandered the night before, and in the sunshine it looked quite as beautiful as I knew it must,-- a shadow of elm-trees clothing the high bank, and overarching the paths above and below; some of the elms growing close to the water-side, and flinging up their topmost boughs not nearly so high as where we stood, and others climbing upward and upward, till our way wound among their roots; while through the foliage the quiet river loitered along, with this lovely shade on both its banks, to pass through the centre of the town. The stately cathedral rose high above us, and farther onward, in a line with it, the battlemented walls of the old Norman castle, gray and warlike, though now it has become a University. This delightful walk terminates at an old bridge in the heart of the town; and the castle hangs immediately over its busiest street. On this bridge, last night, in the embrasure, or just over the pier, where there is a stone seat, I saw some old men seated, smoking their pipes and chatting. In my judgment, a river flowing through the centre of a town, and not too broad to make itself familiar, nor too swift, but idling along, as if it loved better to stay there than to go, is the pleasantest imaginable piece of scenery; so transient as it is, and yet enduring,--just the same from life's end to life's end; and this river Wear, with its sylvan wildness, and yet so sweet and placable, is the best of all little rivers,--not that it is so very small, but with a bosom broad enough to be crossed by a three-arched bridge. Just above the cathedral there is a mill upon its shore, as ancient as the times of the Abbey. We went homeward through the market-place and one or two narrow streets; for the town has the irregularity of all ancient settlements, and, moreover, undulates upward and downward, and is also made more unintelligible to a stranger, in its points and bearings, by the tortuous course of the river. After dinner J----- and I walked along the bank opposite to that on which the cathedral stands, and found the paths there equally delightful with those which I have attempted to describe. We went onward while the river gleamed through the foliage beneath us, and passed so far beyond the cathedral that we began to think we were getting into the country, and that it was time to return; when all at once we saw a bridge before us, and beyond that, on the opposite bank of the Wear, the cathedral itself! The stream had made a circuit without our knowing it. We paused upon the bridge, and admired and wondered at the beauty and glory of the scene, with those vast, ancient towers rising out of the green shade, and looking as if they were based upon it. The situation of Durham Cathedral is certainly a noble one, finer even than that of Lincoln, though the latter stands even at a more lordly height above the town. But as I saw it then, it was grand, venerable, and sweet, all at once; and I never saw so lovely and magnificent a scene, nor, being content with this, do I care to see a better. The castle beyond came also into the view, and the whole picture was mirrored in the tranquil stream below. And so, crossing the bridge, the path led us back through many a bower of hollow shade; and we then quitted the hotel, and took the rail for YORK, where we arrived at about half past nine. We put up at the Black Swan, with which we had already made acquaintance at our previous visit to York. It is a very ancient hotel; for in the coffee-room I saw on the wall an old printed advertisement, announcing that a stage-coach would leave the Black Swan in London, and arrive at the Black Swan in York, with God's permission, in four days. The date was 1706; and still, after a hundred and fifty years, the Black Swan receives travellers in Coney Street. It is a very good hotel, and was much thronged with guests when we arrived, as the Sessions come on this week. We found a very smart waiter, whose English faculties have been brightened by a residence of several years in America. In the morning, before breakfast, I strolled out, and walked round the cathedral, passing on my way the sheriff's javelin-men, in long gowns of faded purple embroidered with gold, carrying halberds in their hands; also a gentleman in a cocked hat, gold-lace, and breeches, who, no doubt, had something to do with the ceremonial of the Sessions. I saw, too, a procession of a good many old cabs and other carriages, filled with people, and a banner flaunting above each vehicle. These were the piano-forte makers of York, who were going out of town to have a jollification together. After breakfast we all went to the cathedral, and no sooner were we within it than we found how much our eyes had recently been educated, by our greater power of appreciating this magnificent interior; for it impressed us both with a joy that we never felt before. J----- felt it too, and insisted that the cathedral must have been altered and improved since we were last here. But it is only that we have seen much splendid architecture since then, and so have grown in some degree fitted to enjoy it. York Cathedral (I say it now, for it is my present feeling) is the most wonderful work that ever came from the hands of man. Indeed, it seems like "a house not made with hands," but rather to have come down from above, bringing an awful majesty and sweetness with it and it is so light and aspiring, with all its vast columns and pointed arches, that one would hardly wonder if it should ascend back to heaven again by its mere spirituality. Positively the pillars and arches of the choir are so very beautiful that they give the impression of being exquisitely polished, though such is not the fact; but their beauty throws a gleam around them. I thank God that I saw this cathedral again, and I thank him that he inspired the builder to make it, and that mankind has so long enjoyed it, and will continue to enjoy it. July 14th.--We left York at twelve o'clock, and were delayed an hour or two at Leeds, waiting for a train. I strolled up into the town, and saw a fair, with puppet-shows, booths of penny actors, merry-go-rounds, clowns, boxers, and other such things as I saw, above a year ago, at Greenwich fair, and likewise at Tranmere, during the Whitsuntide holidays. We resumed our journey, and reached Southport in pretty good trim at about nine o'clock. It has been a very interesting tour. We find Southport just as we left it, with its regular streets of little and big lodging-houses, where the visitors perambulate to and fro without any imaginable object. The tide, too, seems not to have been up over the waste of sands since we went away; and far seaward stands the same row of bathing-machines, and just on the verge of the horizon a gleam of water, --even this being not the sea, but the mouth of the river Ribble, seeking the sea amid the sandy desert. But we shall soon say good-by to Southport. OLD TRAFFORD, MANCHESTER. July 22d.--We left Southport for good on the 20th, and have established ourselves in this place, in lodgings that had been provided for us by Mr. Swain; our principal object being to spend a few weeks in the proximity of the Arts' Exhibition. We are here, about three miles from the Victoria Railway station in Manchester on one side, and nearly a mile from the Exhibition on the other. This is a suburb of Manchester, and consists of a long street, called the Stratford Road, bordered with brick houses two stories high, such as are usually the dwellings of tradesmen or respectable mechanics, but which are now in demand for lodgings, at high prices, on account of the Exhibition. It seems to be rather a new precinct of the city, and the houses, though ranged along a continuous street, are but a brick border of the green fields in the rear. Occasionally you get a glimpse of this country aspect between two houses; but the street itself, even with its little grass-plots and bits of shrubbery under the front windows, is as ugly as it can be made. Some of the houses are better than I have described; but the brick used here in building is very unsightly in hue and surface. Betimes in the morning the Exhibition omnibuses begin to trundle along, and pass at intervals of two and a half minutes through the day,--immense vehicles constructed to carry thirty-nine passengers, and generally with a good part of that number inside and out. The omnibuses are painted scarlet, bordered with white, have three horses abreast, and a conductor in a red coat. They perform the journey from this point into town in about half an hour; and yesterday morning, being in a hurry to get to the railway station, I found that I could outwalk them, taking into account their frequent stoppages. We have taken the whole house (except some inscrutable holes, into which the family creeps), of respectable people, who never took lodgers until this juncture. Their furniture, however, is of the true lodging-house pattern, sofas and chairs which have no possibility of repose in them; rickety tables; an old piano and old music, with "Lady Helen Elizabeth" somebody's name written on it. It is very strange how nothing but a genuine home can ever look homelike. They appear to be good people; a little girl of twelve, a daughter, waits on table; and there is an elder daughter, who yesterday answered the door-bell, looking very like a young lady, besides five or six smaller children, who make less uproar of grief or merriment than could possibly be expected. The husband is not apparent, though I see his hat in the hall. The house is new, and has a trim, light-colored interior of half-gentility. I suppose the rent, in ordinary times, might be 25 pounds per annum; but we pay at the rate of 335 pounds for the part which we occupy. This, like all the other houses in the neighborhood, was evidently built to be sold or let; the builder never thought of living in it himself, and so that subtile element, which would have enabled him to create a home, was entirely left out. This morning, J----- and I set forth on a walk, first towards the palace of the Arts' Exhibition, which looked small compared with my idea of it, and seems to be of the Crystal Palace order of architecture, only with more iron to its glass. Its front is composed of three round arches in a row. We did not go in. . . . Turning to the right, we walked onward two or three miles, passing the Botanic Garden, and thence along by suburban villas, Belgrave terraces, and other such prettinesses in the modern Gothic or Elizabethan style, with fancifully ornamented flower-plats before them; thence by hedgerows and fields, and through two or three villages, with here and there an old plaster and timber-built thatched house, among a street full of modern brick-fronts,--the alehouse, or rural inn, being generally the most ancient house in the village. It was a sultry, heavy day, and I walked without much enjoyment of the air and exercise. We crossed a narrow and swift river, flowing between deep banks. It must have been either the Mersey, still an infant stream, and little dreaming of the thousand mighty ships that float on its farther tide, or else the Irwell, which empties into the Mersey. We passed through the village beyond this stream, and went to the railway station, and then were brought back to Old Trafford, and deposited close by the Exhibition. It has showered this afternoon; and I beguiled my time for half an hour by setting down the vehicles that went past; not that they were particularly numerous, but for the sake of knowing the character of the travel along the road. July 26th.--Day before yesterday we went to the Arts' Exhibition, of which I do not think that I have a great deal to say. The edifice, being built more for convenience than show, appears better in the interior than from without,--long vaulted vistas, lighted from above, extending far away, all hung with pictures; and, on the floor below, statues, knights in armor, cabinets, vases, and all manner of curious and beautiful things, in a regular arrangement. Scatter five thousand people through the scene, and I do not know how to make a better outline sketch. I was unquiet, from a hopelessness of being able to enjoy it fully. Nothing is more depressing to me than the sight of a great many pictures together; it is like having innumerable books open before you at once, and being able to read only a sentence or two in each. They bedazzle one another with cross lights. There never should be more than one picture in a room, nor more than one picture to be studied in one day. Galleries of pictures are surely the greatest absurdities that ever were contrived, there being no excuse for them, except that it is the only way in which pictures can be made generally available and accessible. We went first into the Gallery of British Painters, where there were hundreds of pictures, every one of which would have interested me by itself; but I could not fix nay mind on one more than another, so I wandered about, to get a general idea of the Exhibition. Truly it is very fine; truly, also, every great show is a kind of humbug. I doubt whether there were half a dozen people there who got the kind of enjoyment that it was intended to create,--very respectable people they seemed to be, and very well behaved, but all skimming the surface, as I did, and none of them so feeding on what was beautiful as to digest it, and make it a part of themselves. Such a quantity of objects must be utterly rejected before you can get any real profit from one! It seemed like throwing away time to look twice even at whatever was most precious; and it was dreary to think of not fully enjoying this collection, the very flower of Time, which never bloomed before, and never, by any possibility, can bloom again. Viewed hastily, moreover, it is somewhat sad to think that mankind, after centuries of cultivation of the beautiful arts, can produce no more splendid spectacle than this. It is not so very grand, although, poor as it is, I lack capacity to take in even the whole of it. What gave me most pleasure (because it required no trouble nor study to come at the heart of it) were the individual relics of antiquity, of which there are some very curious ones in the cases ranged along the principal saloon or nave of the building. For example, the dagger with which Felton killed the Duke of Buckingham,--a knife with a bone handle and a curved blade, not more than three inches long; sharp-pointed, murderous-looking, but of very coarse manufacture. Also, the Duke of Alva's leading staff of iron; and the target of the Emperor Charles V., which seemed to be made of hardened leather, with designs artistically engraved upon it, and gilt. I saw Wolsey's portrait, and, in close proximity to it, his veritable cardinal's hat in a richly ornamented glass case, on which was an inscription to the effect that it had been bought by Charles Kean at the sale of Horace Walpole's collection. It is a felt hat with a brim about six inches wide all round, and a rather high crown; the color was, doubtless, a bright red originally, but now it is mottled with a grayish hue, and there are cracks in the brim, as if the hat had seen a good deal of wear. I suppose a far greater curiosity than this is the signet-ring of one of the Pharaohs, who reigned over Egypt during Joseph's prime ministry,--a large ring to be worn on the thumb, if at all,--of massive gold, seal part and all, and inscribed with some characters that looked like Hebrew. I had seen this before in Mr. Mayer's collection in Liverpool. The mediaeval and English relics, however, interested me more,--such as the golden and enamelled George worn by Sir Thomas More; or the embroidered shirt of Charles I.,--the very one, I presume, which he wore at his execution. There are no blood-marks on it, it being very nicely washed and folded. The texture of the linen cloth--if linen it be--is coarser than any peasant would wear at this day, but the needle-work is exceedingly fine and elaborate. Another relic of the same period,--the Cavalier General Sir Jacob Astley's buff-coat, with his belt and sword; the leather of the buff-coat, for I took it between my fingers, is about a quarter of an inch thick, of the same material as a wash-leather glove, and by no means smoothly dressed, though the sleeves are covered with silver-lace. Of old armor, there are admirable specimens; and it makes one's head ache to look at the iron pots which men used to thrust their heads into. Indeed, at one period they seem to have worn an inner iron cap underneath the helmet. I doubt whether there ever was any age of chivalry. . . . It certainly was no chivalric sentiment that made men case themselves in impenetrable iron, and ride about in iron prisons, fearfully peeping at their enemies through little slits and gimlet-holes. The unprotected breast of a private soldier must have shamed his leaders in those days. The point of honor is very different now. I mean to go again and again, many times more, and will take each day some one department, and so endeavor to get some real use and improvement out of what I see. Much that is most valuable must be immitigably rejected; but something, according to the measure of my poor capacity, will really be taken into my mind. After all, it was an agreeable day, and I think the next one will be more so. July 28th.--Day before yesterday I paid a second visit to the Exhibition, and devoted the day mainly to seeing the works of British painters, which fill a very large space,--two or three great saloons at the right side of the nave. Among the earliest are Hogarth's pictures, including the Sigismunda, which I remember to have seen before, with her lover's heart in her hand, looking like a monstrous strawberry; and the March to Finchley, than which nothing truer to English life and character was ever painted, nor ever can be; and a large stately portrait of Captain Coram, and others, all excellent in proportion as they come near to ordinary life, and are wrought out through its forms. All English painters resemble Hogarth in this respect. They cannot paint anything high, heroic, and ideal, and their attempts in that direction are wearisome to look at; but they sometimes produce good effects by means of awkward figures in ill-made coats and small-clothes, and hard, coarse-complexioned faces, such as they might see anywhere in the street. They are strong in homeliness and ugliness, weak in their efforts at the beautiful. Sir Thomas Lawrence attains a sort of grace, which you feel to be a trick, and therefore get disgusted with it. Reynolds is not quite genuine, though certainly he has produced some noble and beautiful heads. But Hogarth is the only English painter, except in the landscape department; there are no others who interpret life to me at all, unless it be some of the modern Pre-Raphaelites. Pretty village scenes of common life,--pleasant domestic passages, with a touch of easy humor in them,--little pathoses and fancynesses, are abundant enough; and Wilkie, to be sure, has done more than this, though not a great deal more. His merit lies, not in a high aim, but in accomplishing his aim so perfectly. It is unaccountable that the English painters' achievements should be so much inferior to those of the English poets, who have really elevated the human mind; but, to be sure, painting has only become an English art subsequently to the epochs of the greatest poets, and since the beginning of the last century, during which England had no poets. I respect Haydon more than I once did, not for his pictures, they being detestable to see, but for his heroic rejection of whatever his countrymen and he himself could really do, and his bitter resolve to achieve something higher,-- failing in which, he died. No doubt I am doing vast injustice to a great many gifted men in what I have here written,--as, for instance, Copley, who certainly has painted a slain man to the life; and to a crowd of landscape-painters, who have made wonderful reproductions of little English streams and shrubbery, and cottage doors and country lanes. And there is a picture called "The Evening Gun" by Danby,--a ship of war on a calm, glassy tide, at sunset, with the cannon-smoke puffing from her porthole; it is very beautiful, and so effective that you can even hear the report breaking upon the stillness, with so grand a roar that it is almost like stillness too. As for Turner, I care no more for his light-colored pictures than for so much lacquered ware or painted gingerbread. Doubtless this is my fault, my own deficiency; but I cannot help it,--not, at least, without sophisticating myself by the effort. The only modern pictures that accomplish a higher end than that of pleasing the eye--the only ones that really take hold of my mind, and with a kind of acerbity, like unripe fruit--are the works of Hunt, and one or two other painters of the Pre-Raphaelite school. They seem wilfully to abjure all beauty, and to make their pictures disagreeable out of mere malice; but at any rate, for the thought and feeling which are ground up with the paint, they will bear looking at, and disclose a deeper value the longer you look. Never was anything so stiff and unnatural as they appear; although every single thing represented seems to be taken directly out of life and reality, and, as it were, pasted down upon the canvas. They almost paint even separate hairs. Accomplishing so much, and so perfectly, it seems unaccountable that the picture does not live; but Nature has an art beyond these painters, and they leave out some medium,--some enchantment that should intervene, and keep the object from pressing so baldly and harshly upon the spectator's eyeballs. With the most lifelike reproduction, there is no illusion. I think if a semi-obscurity were thrown over the picture after finishing it to this nicety, it might bring it nearer to nature. I remember a heap of autumn leaves, every one of which seems to have been stiffened with gum and varnish, and then put carefully down into the stiffly disordered heap. Perhaps these artists may hereafter succeed in combining the truth of detail with a broader and higher truth. Coming from such a depth as their pictures do, and having really an idea as the seed of them, it is strange that they should look like the most made-up things imaginable. One picture by Hunt that greatly interested me was of some sheep that had gone astray among heights and precipices, and I could have looked all day at these poor, lost creatures,--so true was their meek alarm and hopeless bewilderment, their huddling together, without the slightest confidence of mutual help; all that the courage and wisdom of the bravest and wisest of them could do being to bleat, and only a few having spirits enough even for this. After going through these modern masters, among whom were some French painters who do not interest me at all, I did a miscellaneous business, chiefly among the water-colors and photographs, and afterwards among the antiquities and works of ornamental art. I have forgotten what I saw, except the breastplate and helmet of Henry of Navarre, of steel, engraved with designs that have been half obliterated by scrubbing. I remember, too, a breastplate of an Elector of Saxony, with a bullet-hole through it. He received his mortal wound through that hole, and died of it two days afterwards, three hundred years ago. There was a crowd of visitors, insomuch that, it was difficult to get a satisfactory view of the most interesting objects. They were nearly all middling-class people; the Exhibition, I think, does not reach the lower classed at all; in fact, it could not reach them, nor their betters either, without a good deal of study to help it out. I shall go to-day, and do my best to get profit out of it. July 30th.--We all, with R----- and Fanny, went to the Exhibition yesterday, and spent the day there; not J-----, however, for he went to the Botanical Gardens. After some little skirmishing with other things, I devoted myself to the historical portraits, which hang on both sides of the great nave, and went through them pretty faithfully. The oldest are pictures of Richard II. and Henry IV. and Edward IV. and Jane Shore, and seem to have little or no merit as works of art, being cold and stiff, the life having, perhaps, faded out of them; but these older painters were trustworthy, inasmuch as they had no idea of making a picture, but only of getting the face before them on canvas as accurately as they could. All English history scarcely supplies half a dozen portraits before the time of Henry VIII.; after that period, and through the reigns of Elizabeth and James, there are many ugly pictures by Dutchmen and Italians; and the collection is wonderfully rich in portraits of the time of Charles I. and the Commonwealth. Vandyke seems to have brought portrait-painting into fashion; and very likely the king's love of art diffused a taste for it throughout the nation, and remotely suggested, even to his enemies, to get their pictures painted. Elizabeth has perpetuated her cold, thin visage on many canvases, and generally with some fantasy of costume that makes her ridiculous to all time. There are several of Mary of Scotland, none of which have a gleam of beauty; but the stiff old brushes of these painters could not catch the beautiful. Of all the older pictures, the only one that I took pleasure in looking at was a portrait of Lord Deputy Falkland, by Vansomer, in James I.'s time,--a very stately, full-length figure in white, looking out of the picture as if he saw you. The catalogue says that this portrait suggested an incident in Horace Walpole's Castle of Otranto; but I do not remember it. I have a haunting doubt of the value of portrait-painting; that is to say, whether it gives you a genuine idea of the person purporting to be represented. I do not remember ever to have recognized a man by having previously seen his portrait. Vandyke's pictures are full of grace and nobleness, but they do not look like Englishmen,--the burly, rough, wine-flushed and weather-reddened faces, and sturdy flesh and blood, which we see even at the present day, when they must naturally have become a good deal refined from either the country gentleman or the courtier of the Stuarts' age. There is an old, fat portrait of Gervoyse Holles, in a buff-coat,--a coarse, hoggish, yet manly man. The painter is unknown; but I honor him, and Gervoyse Holles too,--for one was willing to be truly rendered, and the other dared to do it. It seems to be the aim of portrait-painters generally, especially of those who have been most famous, to make their pictures as beautiful and noble as can anywise consist with retaining the very slightest resemblance to the person sitting to them. They seldom attain even the grace and beauty which they aim at, but only hit some temporary or individual taste. Vandyke, however, achieved graces that rise above time and fashion, and so did Sir Peter Lely, in his female portraits; but the doubt is, whether the works of either are genuine history. Not more so, I suspect, than the narrative of a historian who should seek to make poetry out of the events which he relates, rejecting those which could not possibly be thus idealized. I observe, furthermore, that a full-length portrait has seldom face enough; not that it lacks its fair proportion by measurement, but the artist does not often find it possible to make the face so intellectually prominent as to subordinate the figure and drapery. Vandyke does this, however. In his pictures of Charles I., for instance, it is the melancholy grace of the visage that attracts the eye, and it passes to the rest of the composition only by an effort. Earlier and later pictures are but a few inches of face to several feet of figure and costume, and more insignificant than the latter because seldom so well done; and I suspect the same would generally be the case now, only that the present simplicity of costume gives the face a chance to be seen. I was interrupted here, and cannot resume the thread; but considering how much of his own conceit the artist puts into a portrait, how much affectation the sitter puts on, and then again that no face is the same to any two spectators; also, that these portraits are darkened and faded with age, and can seldom be more than half seen, being hung too high, or somehow or other inconvenient, on the whole, I question whether there is much use in looking at them. The truest test would be, for a man well read in English history and biography, and himself an observer of insight, to go through the series without knowing what personages they represented, and write beneath each the name which the portrait vindicated for itself. After getting through the portrait-gallery, I went among the engravings and photographs, and then glanced along the old masters, but without seriously looking at anything. While I was among the Dutch painters, a gentleman accosted me. It was Mr. J------, whom I once met at dinner with Bennoch. He told me that "the Poet Laureate" (as he called him) was in the Exhibition rooms; and as I expressed great interest, Mr. J------ was kind enough to go in quest of him. Not for the purpose of introduction, however, for he was not acquainted with Tennyson. Soon Mr. J------ returned, and said that he had found the Poet Laureate,--and, going into the saloon of the old masters, we saw him there, in company with Mr. Woolner, whose bust of him is now in the Exhibition. Gazing at him with all my eyes, I liked him well, and rejoiced more in him than in all the other wonders of the Exhibition. How strange that in these two or three pages I cannot get one single touch that may call him up hereafter! I would most gladly have seen more of this one poet of our day, but forbore to follow him; for I must own that it seemed mean to be dogging him through the saloons, or even to look at him, since it was to be done stealthily, if at all. He is as un-English as possible; indeed an Englishman of genius usually lacks the national characteristics, and is great abnormally. Even the great sailor, Nelson, was unlike his countrymen in the qualities that constituted him a hero; he was not the perfection of an Englishman, but a creature of another kind,--sensitive, nervous, excitable, and really more like a Frenchman. Un-English as he was, Tennyson had not, however, an American look. I cannot well describe the difference; but there was something more mellow in him,--softer, sweeter, broader, more simple than we are apt to be. Living apart from men as he does would hurt any one of us more than it does him. I may as well leave him here, for I cannot touch the central point. August 2d.--Day before yesterday I went again to the Exhibition, and began the day with looking at the old masters. Positively, I do begin to receive some pleasure from looking at pictures; but as yet it has nothing to do with any technical merit, nor do I think I shall ever get so far as that. Some landscapes by Ruysdael, and some portraits by Murillo, Velasquez, and Titian, were those which I was most able to appreciate; and I see reason for allowing, contrary to my opinion, as expressed a few pages back, that a portrait may preserve some valuable characteristics of the person represented. The pictures in the English portrait-gallery are mostly very bad, and that may be the reason why I saw so little in them. I saw too, at this last visit, a Virgin and Child, which appeared to me to have an expression more adequate to the subject than most of the innumerable virgins and children, in which we see only repetitions of simple maternity; indeed, any mother, with her first child, would serve an artist for one of them. But, in this picture the Virgin had a look as if she were loving the infant as her own child, and at the same time rendering him an awful worship, as to her Creator. While I was sitting in the central saloon, listening to the music, a young man accosted me, presuming that I was so-and-so, the American author. He himself was a traveller for a publishing firm; and he introduced conversation by talking of Uttoxeter, and my description of it in an annual. He said that the account had caused a good deal of pique among the good people of Uttoxeter, because of the ignorance which I attribute to them as to the circumstance which connects Johnson with their town. The spot where Johnson stood can, it appears, still be pointed out. It is on one side of the market-place, and not in the neighborhood of the church. I forget whether I recorded, at the time, that an Uttoxeter newspaper was sent me, containing a proposal that a statue or memorial should be erected on the spot. It would gratify me exceedingly if such a result should come from my pious pilgrimage thither. My new acquaintance, who was cockneyish, but very intelligent and agreeable, went on to talk about many literary matters and characters; among others, about Miss Bronte, whom he had seen at the Chapter Coffee-House, when she and her sister Anne first went to London. He was at that time connected with the house of ------ and ------, and he described the surprise and incredulity of Mr.------, when this little, commonplace-looking woman presented herself as the author of Jane Eyre. His story brought out the insignificance of Charlotte Bronte's aspect, and the bluff rejection of her by Mr. ------, much more strongly than Mrs. Gaskell's narrative. Chorlton Road, August 9th.--We have changed our lodgings since my last date, those at Old Trafford being inconvenient, and the landlady a sharp, peremptory housewife, better fitted to deal with her own family than to be complaisant to guests. We are now a little farther from the Exhibition, and not much better off as regards accommodation, but the housekeeper is a pleasant, civil sort of a woman, auspiciously named Mrs. Honey. The house is a specimen of the poorer middle-class dwellings as built nowadays,--narrow staircase, thin walls, and, being constructed for sale, very ill put together indeed,--the floors with wide cracks between the boards, and wide crevices admitting both air and light over the doors, so that the house is full of draughts. The outer walls, it seems to me, are but of one brick in thickness, and the partition walls certainly no thicker; and the movements, and sometimes the voices, of people in the contiguous house are audible to us. The Exhibition has temporarily so raised the value of lodgings here that we have to pay a high price for even such a house as this. Mr. Wilding having gone on a tour to Scotland, I had to be at the Consulate every day last week till yesterday; when I absented myself from duty, and went to the Exhibition. U---- and I spent an hour together, looking principally at the old Dutch masters, who seem to me the most wonderful set of men that ever handled a brush. Such lifelike representations of cabbages, onions, brass kettles, and kitchen crockery; such blankets, with the woollen fuzz upon them; such everything I never thought that the skill of man could produce! Even the photograph cannot equal their miracles. The closer you look, the more minutely true the picture is found to be, and I doubt if even the microscope could see beyond the painter's touch. Gerard Dow seems to be the master among these queer magicians. A straw mat, in one of his pictures, is the most miraculous thing that human art has yet accomplished; and there is a metal vase, with a dent in it, that is absolutely more real than reality. These painters accomplish all they aim at,--a praise, methinks, which can be given to no other men since the world began. They must have laid down their brushes with perfect satisfaction, knowing that each one of their million touches had been necessary to the effect, and that there was not one too few nor too many. And it is strange how spiritual and suggestive the commonest household article--an earthen pitcher, for example-- becomes, when represented with entire accuracy. These Dutchmen got at the soul of common things, and so made them types and interpreters of the spiritual world. Afterwards I looked at many of the pictures of the old masters, and found myself gradually getting a taste for them; at least, they give me more and more pleasure the oftener I come to see them. Doubtless, I shall be able to pass for a man of taste by the time I return to America. It is an acquired taste, like that for wines; and I question whether a man is really any truer, wiser, or better for possessing it. From the old masters, I went among the English painters, and found myself more favorably inclined towards some of them than at my previous visits; seeing something wonderful even in Turner's lights and mists and yeasty waves, although I should like him still better if his pictures looked in the least like what they typify. The most disagreeable of English painters is Etty, who had a diseased appetite for woman's flesh, and spent his whole life, apparently, in painting them with enormously developed busts. I do not mind nudity in a modest and natural way; but Etty's women really thrust their nudity upon you with malice aforethought, . . . . and the worst of it is they are not beautiful. Among the last pictures that I looked at was Hogarth's March to Finchley; and surely nothing can be covered more thick and deep with English nature than that piece of canvas. The face of the tall grenadier in the centre, between two women, both of whom have claims on him, wonderfully expresses trouble and perplexity; and every touch in the picture meant something and expresses what it meant. The price of admission, after two o'clock, being sixpence, the Exhibition was thronged with a class of people who do not usually come in such large numbers. It was both pleasant and touching to see how earnestly some of them sought to get instruction from what they beheld. The English are a good and simple people, and take life in earnest. August 14th.--Passing by the gateway of the Manchester Cathedral the other morning, on my way to the station, I found a crowd collected, and, high overhead, the bells were chiming for a wedding. These chimes of bells are exceedingly impressive, so broadly gladsome as they are, filling the whole air, and every nook of one's heart with sympathy. They are good for a people to rejoice with, and good also for a marriage, because through all their joy there is something solemn,--a tone of that voice which we have heard so often at funerals. It is good to see how everybody, up to this old age of the world, takes an interest in weddings, and seems to have a faith that now, at last, a couple have come together to make each other happy. The high, black, rough old cathedral tower sent out its chime of bells as earnestly as for any bridegroom and bride that came to be married five hundred years ago. I went into the churchyard, but there was such a throng of people on its pavement of flat tombstones, and especially such a cluster along the pathway by which the bride was to depart, that I could only see a white dress waving along, and really do not know whether she was a beauty or a fright. The happy pair got into a post-chaise that was waiting at the gate, and immediately drew some crimson curtains, and so vanished into their Paradise. There were two other post-chaises and pairs, and all three had postilions in scarlet. This is the same cathedral where, last May, I saw a dozen couples married in the lump. In a railway carriage, two or three days ago, an old merchant made rather a good point of one of the uncomfortable results of the electric telegraph. He said that formerly a man was safe from bad news, such as intelligence of failure of debtors, except at the hour of opening his letters in the morning; and then he was in some degree prepared for it, since, among (say) fifteen letters, he would be pretty certain to find some "queer" one. But since the telegraph has come into play, he is never safe, and may be hit with news of failure, shipwreck, fall of stocks, or whatever disaster, at all hours of the day. I went to the Exhibition on Wednesday with U----, and looked at the pencil sketches of the old masters; also at the pictures generally, old and new. I particularly remember a spring landscape, by John Linnell the younger. It is wonderfully good; so tender and fresh that the artist seems really to have caught the evanescent April and made her permanent. Here, at least, is eternal spring. I saw a little man, behind an immense beard, whom I take to be the Duke of Newcastle; at least, there was a photograph of him in the gallery, with just such a beard. He was at the Palace on that day. August 16th.--I went again to the Exhibition day before yesterday, and looked much at both the modern and ancient pictures, as also at the water-colors. I am making some progress as a connoisseur, and have got so far as to be able to distinguish the broader differences of style,-- as, for example, between Rubens and Rembrandt. I should hesitate to claim any more for myself thus far. In fact, however, I do begin to have a liking for good things, and to be sure that they are good. Murillo seems to me about the noblest and purest painter that ever lived, and his "Good Shepherd" the loveliest picture I have seen. It is a hopeful symptom, moreover, of improving taste, that I see more merit in the crowd of painters than I was at first competent to acknowledge. I could see some of their defects from the very first; but that is the earliest stage of connoisseurship, after a formal and ignorant admiration. Mounting a few steps higher, one sees beauties. But how much study, how many opportunities, are requisite to form and cultivate a taste! The Exhibition must be quite thrown away on the mass of spectators. Both they and I are better able to appreciate the specimens of ornamental art contained in the Oriental Room, and in the numerous cases that are ranged up and down the nave. The gewgaws of all Time are here, in precious metals, glass, china, ivory, and every other material that could be wrought into curious and beautiful shapes; great basins and dishes of embossed gold from the Queen's sideboard, or from the beaufets of noblemen; vessels set with precious stones; the pastoral staffs of prelates, some of them made of silver or gold, and enriched with gems, and what have been found in the tombs of the bishops; state swords, and silver maces; the rich plate of colleges, elaborately wrought,--great cups, salvers, tureens, that have been presented by loving sons to their Alma Mater; the heirlooms of old families, treasured from generation to generation, and hitherto only to be seen by favored friends; famous historical jewels, some of which are painted in the portraits of the historical men and women that hang on the walls; numerous specimens of the beautiful old Venetian glass, some of which looks so fragile that it is a wonder how it could bear even the weight of the wine, that used to be poured into it, without breaking. These are the glasses that tested poison, by being shattered into fragments at its touch. The strangest and ugliest old crockery, pictured over with monstrosities,--the Palissy ware, embossed with vegetables, fishes, lobsters, that look absolutely real; the delicate Sevres china, each piece made inestimable by pictures from a master's hand;--in short, it is a despair and misery to see so much that is curious and beautiful, and to feel that far the greater portion of it will slip out of the memory, and be as if we had never seen it. But I mean to look again and again at these things. We soon perceive that the present day does not engross all the taste and ingenuity that has ever existed in the mind of man; that, in fact, we are a barren age in that respect. August 20th.--I went to the Exhibition on Monday, and again yesterday, and measurably enjoyed both visits. I continue to think, however, that a picture cannot be fully enjoyed except by long and intimate acquaintance with it, nor can I quite understand what the enjoyment of a connoisseur is. He is not usually, I think, a man of deep, poetic feeling, and does not deal with the picture through his heart, nor set it in a poem, nor comprehend it morally. If it be a landscape, he is not entitled to judge of it by his intimacy with nature; if a picture of human action, he has no experience nor sympathy of life's deeper passages. However, as my acquaintance with pictures increases, I find myself recognizing more and more the merit of the acknowledged masters of the art; but, possibly, it is only because I adopt the wrong principles which may have been laid down by the connoisseurs. But there can be no mistake about Murillo,-- not that I am worthy to admire him yet, however. Seeing the many pictures of Holy Families, and the Virgin and Child, which have been painted for churches and convents, the idea occurs, that it was in this way that the poor monks and nuns gratified, as far as they could, their natural longing for earthly happiness. It was not Mary and her heavenly Child that they really beheld, or wished for; but an earthly mother rejoicing over her baby, and displaying it probably to the world as an object worthy to be admired by kings,--as Mary does, in the Adoration of the Magi. Every mother, I suppose, feels as if her first child deserved everybody's worship. I left the Exhibition at three o'clock, and went to Manchester, where I sought out Mr. C S------- in his little office. He greeted me warmly, and at five we took the omnibus for his house, about four miles from town. He seems to be on pleasant terms with his neighbors, for almost everybody that got into the omnibus exchanged kindly greetings with him, and indeed his kindly, simple, genial nature comes out so evidently that it would be difficult not to like him. His house stands, with others, in a green park,--a small, pretty, semi-detached suburban residence of brick, with a lawn and garden round it. In close vicinity, there is a deep clough or dell, as shaggy and wild as a poet could wish, and with a little stream running through it, as much as five miles long. The interior of the house is very pretty, and nicely, even handsomely and almost sumptuously, furnished; and I was very glad to find him so comfortable. His recognition as a poet has been hearty enough to give him a feeling of success, for he showed me various tokens of the estimation in which he is held,--for instance, a presentation copy of Southey's works, in which the latter had written "Amicus amico,--poeta poetae." He said that Southey had always been most kind to him. . . . There were various other testimonials from people of note, American as well as English. In his parlor there is a good oil-painting of himself, and in the drawing-room a very fine crayon sketch, wherein his face, handsome and agreeable, is lighted up with all a poet's ecstasy; likewise a large and fine engraving from the picture. The government has recognized his poetic merit by a pension of fifty pounds,--a small sung, it is true, but enough to mark him out as one who has deserved well of his country. . . . The man himself is very good and lovable. . . . I was able to gratify him by saying that I had recently seen many favorable notices of his poems in the American newspapers; an edition having been published a few months since on our side of the ocean. He was much pleased at this, and asked me to send him the notices. . . . August 30th.--I have been two or three times to the Exhibition since my last date, and enjoy it more as I become familiar with it. There is supposed to be about a third of the good pictures here which England contains; and it is said that the Tory nobility and gentry have contributed to it much more freely and largely than the Whigs. The Duke of Devonshire, for instance, seems to have sent nothing. Mr. Ticknor, the Spanish historian, whom I met yesterday, observed that we should not think quite so much of this Exhibition as the English do after we have been to Italy, although it is a good school in which to gain a preparatory knowledge of the different styles of art. I am glad to hear that there are better things still to be seen. Nevertheless, I should suppose that certain painters are better represented here than they ever have been or will be elsewhere. Vandyke, certainly, can be seen nowhere else so well; Rembrandt and Rubens have satisfactory specimens; and the whole series of English pictorial achievement is shown more perfectly than within any other walls. Perhaps it would be wise to devote myself to the study of this latter, and leave the foreigners to be studied on their own soil. Murillo can hardly have done better than in the pictures by him which we see here. There is nothing of Raphael's here that is impressive. Titian has some noble portraits, but little else that I care to see. In all these old masters, Murillo only excepted, it is very rare, I must say, to find any trace of natural feeling and passion; and I am weary of naked goddesses, who never had any real life and warmth in the painter's imagination,--or, if so, it was the impure warmth of an unchaste woman, who sat for him. Last week I dined at Mr. F. Heywood's to meet Mr. Adolphus, the author of a critical work on the Waverley Novels, published long ago, and intended to prove, from internal evidence, that they were written by Sir Walter Scott. . . . His wife was likewise of the party, . . . . and also a young Spanish lady, their niece, and daughter of a Spaniard of literary note. She herself has literary tastes and ability, and is well known to Prescott, whom, I believe, she has assisted in his historical researches, and also to Professor Ticknor; and furthermore she is very handsome and unlike an English damsel, very youthful and maiden-like; and her manners have all ardor and enthusiasm that were pleasant to see, especially as she spoke warmly of my writings; and yet I should wrong her if I left the impression of her being forthputting and obtrusive, for it was not the fact in the least. She speaks English like a native, insomuch that I should never have suspected her to be anything else. My nerves recently have not been in an exactly quiet and normal state. I begin to weary of England and need another clime. September 6th.--I think I paid my last visit to the Exhibition, and feel as if I had had enough of it, although I have got but a small part of the profit it might have afforded me. But pictures are certainly quite other things to me now from what they were at my first visit; it seems even as if there were a sort of illumination within them, that makes me see them more distinctly. Speaking of pictures, the miniature of Anne of Cleves is here, on the faith of which Henry VIII. married her; also, the picture of the Infanta of Spain, which Buckingham brought over to Charles I. while Prince of Wales. This has a delicate, rosy prettiness. One rather interesting portion of the Exhibition is the Refreshment-room, or rather rooms; for very much space is allowed both to the first and second classes. I have looked most at the latter, because there John Ball and his wife may be seen in full gulp aid guzzle, swallowing vast quantities of cold boiled beef, thoroughly moistened with porter or bitter ale; and very good meat and drink it is. At my last visit, on Friday, I met Judge Pollock of Liverpool, who introduced me to a gentleman in a gray slouched hat as Mr. Du Val, an artist, resident in Manchester; and Mr. Du Val invited me to dine with him at six o'clock. So I went to Carlton Grove, his residence, and found it a very pretty house, with its own lawn and shrubbery about it. . . . There was a mellow fire in the grate, which made the drawing-room very cosey and pleasant, as the dusk came on before dinner. Mr. Du Val looked like an artist, and like a remarkable man. . . . We had very good talk, chiefly about the Exhibition, and Du Val spoke generously and intelligently of his brother-artists. He says that England might furnish five exhibitions, each one as rich as the present. I find that the most famous picture here is one that I have hardly looked at, "The Three Marys," by Annibal Caracci. In the drawing-room there were several pictures and sketches by Du Val, one of which I especially liked,--a misty, moonlight picture of the Mersey, near Seacombe. I never saw painted such genuine moonlight. . . . I took my leave at half past ten, and found my cab at the door, and my cabman snugly asleep inside of it; and when Mr. Du Val awoke him, he proved to be quite drunk, insomuch that I hesitated whether to let him clamber upon the box, or to take post myself, and drive the cabman home. However, I propounded two questions to him: first, whether his horse would go of his own accord; and, secondly, whether he himself was invariably drunk at that time of night, because, if it were his normal state, I should be safer with him drunk than sober. Being satisfied on these points, I got in, and was driven home without accident or adventure; except, indeed, that the cabman drew up and opened the door for me to alight at a vacant lot on Stratford Road, just as if there had been a house and home and cheerful lighted windows in that vacancy. On my remonstrance he resumed the whip and reins, and reached Boston Terrace at last; and, thanking me for an extra sixpence as well as he could speak, he begged me to inquire for "Little John" whenever I next wanted a cab. Cabmen are, as a body, the most ill-natured and ungenial men in the world; but this poor little man was excellently good-humored. Speaking of the former rudeness of manners, now gradually refining away, of the Manchester people, Judge ------ said that, when he first knew Manchester, women, meeting his wife in the street, would take hold of her dress and say, "Ah, three and sixpence a yard!" The men were very rough, after the old Lancashire fashion. They have always, however, been a musical people, and this may have been a germ of refinement in them. They are still much more simple and natural than the Liverpool people, who love the aristocracy, and whom they heartily despise. It is singular that the great Art-Exhibition should have come to pass in the rudest great town in England. LEAMINGTON. Lansdowne Cirrus, September 10th.--We have become quite weary of our small, mean, uncomfortable, and unbeautiful lodgings at Chorlton Road, with poor and scanty furniture within doors, and no better prospect from the parlor windows than a mud-puddle, larger than most English lakes, on a vacant building-lot opposite our house. The Exhibition, too, was fast becoming a bore; for you must really love a picture, in order to tolerate the sight of it many times. Moreover, the smoky and sooty air of that abominable Manchester affected my wife's throat disadvantageously; so, on a Tuesday morning, we struck our tent and set forth again, regretting to leave nothing except the kind disposition of Mrs. Honey, our housekeeper. I do not remember meeting with any other lodging-house keeper who did not grow hateful and fearful on short acquaintance; but I attribute this, not so much to the people themselves, as, primarily, to the unfair and ungenerous conduct of some of their English guests, who feel so sure of being cheated that they always behave as if in an enemy's country, and therefore they find it one. The rain poured down upon us as we drove away in two cabs, laden with mountainous luggage to the London Road station; and the whole day was grim with cloud and moist with showers. We went by way of Birmingham, and stayed three hours at the great dreary station there, waiting for the train to Leamington, whither Fanny had gone forward the day before to secure lodgings for us (as she is English, and understands the matter) We all were tired and dull by the time we reached the Leamington station, where a note from Fanny gave us the address of our lodgings. Lansdowne Circus is really delightful after that ugly and grimy suburb of Manchester. Indeed, there could not possibly be a greater contrast than between Leamington and Manchester,--the latter built only for dirty uses, and scarcely intended as a habitation for man; the former so cleanly, so set out with shade trees, so regular in its streets, so neatly paved, its houses so prettily contrived and nicely stuccoed, that it does not look like a portion of the work-a-day world. KENILWORTH. September 13th.--The weather was very uncertain through the last week, and yesterday morning, too, was misty and sunless; notwithstanding which we took the rail for Kenilworth before eleven. The distance from Leamington is less than five miles, and at the Kenilworth station we found a little bit of an omnibus, into which we packed ourselves, together with two ladies, one of whom, at least, was an American. I begin to agree partly with the English, that we are not a people of elegant manners. At all events there is sometimes a bare, hard, meagre sort of deportment, especially in our women, that has not its parallel elsewhere. But perhaps what sets off this kind of behavior, and brings it into alto relievo, is the fact of such uncultivated persons travelling abroad, and going to see sights that would not be interesting except to people of some education and refinement. We saw but little of the village of Kenilworth, passing through it sidelong fashion, in the omnibus; but I learn that it has between three and four thousand inhabitants, and is of immemorial antiquity. We saw a few old, gabled, and timber-framed houses; but generally the town was of modern aspect, although less so in the immediate vicinity of the castle gate, across the road from which there was an inn, with bowling-greens, and a little bunch of houses and shops. Apart from the high road there is a gate-house, ancient, but in excellent repair, towered, turreted, and battlemented, and looking like a castle in itself. Until Cromwell's time, the entrance to the castle used to be beneath an arch that passed through this structure; but the gate-house being granted to one of the Parliament officers, he converted it into a residence, and apparently added on a couple of gables, which now look quite as venerable as the rest of the edifice. Admission within the outer grounds of the castle is now obtained through a little wicket close beside the gate-house, at which sat one or two old men, who touched their hats to us in humble willingness to accept a fee. One of them had guide-books for sale; and, finding that we were not to be bothered by a cicerone, we bought one of his books. The ruins are perhaps two hundred yards from the gate-house and the road, and the space between is a pasture for sheep, which also browse in the inner court, and shelter themselves in the dungeons and state apartments of the castle. Goats would be fitter occupants, because they would climb to the tops of the crumbling towers, and nibble the weeds and shrubbery that grow there. The first part of the castle which we reach is called Caesar's Tower, being the oldest portion of the ruins, and still very stalwart and massive, and built of red freestone, like all the rest. Caesar's Tower being on the right, Leicester's Buildings, erected by the Earl of Leicester, Queen Elizabeth's favorite, are on the left; and between these two formerly stood other structures which have now as entirely disappeared as if they had never existed; and through the wide gap, thus opened, appears the grassy inner court, surrounded on three sides by half-fallen towers and shattered walls. Some of these were erected by John of Gaunt; and among these ruins is the Banqueting-Hall,-- or rather was,--for it has now neither floor nor roof, but only the broken stone-work of some tall, arched windows, and the beautiful, old ivied arch of the entrance-way, now inaccessible from the ground. The ivy is very abundant about the ruins, and hangs its green curtains quite from top to bottom of some of the windows. There are likewise very large and aged trees within the castle, there being no roof nor pavement anywhere, except in some dungeon-like nooks; so that the trees having soil and air enough, and being sheltered from unfriendly blasts, can grow as if in a nursery. Hawthorn, however, next to ivy, is the great ornament and comforter of these desolate ruins. I have not seen so much nor such thriving hawthorn anywhere else,--in the court, high up on crumbly heights, on the sod that carpets roofless rooms,--everywhere, indeed, and now rejoicing in plentiful crops of red berries. The ivy is even more wonderfully luxuriant; its trunks being, in some places, two or three feet in diameter, and forming real buttresses against the walls, which are actually supported and vastly strengthened by this parasite, that clung to them at first only for its own convenience, and now holds them up, lest it should be ruined by their fall. Thus an abuse has strangely grown into a use, and I think we may sometimes see the same fact, morally, in English matters. There is something very curious in the close, firm grip which the ivy fixes upon the wall, closer and closer for centuries. Neither is it at all nice as to what it clutches, in its necessity for support. I saw in the outer court an old hawthorn-tree, to which a plant of ivy had married itself, and the ivy trunk and the hawthorn trunk were now absolutely incorporated, and in their close embrace you could not tell which was which. At one end of the Banqueting-Hall, there are two large bay-windows, one of which looks into the inner court, and the other affords a view of the surrounding country. The former is called Queen Elizabeth's Dressing-room. Beyond the Banqueting-Hall is what is called the Strong Tower, up to the top of which we climbed principally by the aid of the stones that have tumbled down from it. A lady sat half-way down the crumbly descent, within the castle, on a camp-stool, and before an easel, sketching this tower, on the summit of which we sat. She said it was Amy Robsart's Tower; and within it, open to the day, and quite accessible, we saw a room that we were free to imagine had been occupied by her. I do not find that these associations of real scenes with fictitious events greatly heighten the charm of them. By this time the sun had come out brightly, and with such warmth that we were glad to sit down in the shadow. Several sight-seers were now rambling about, and among them some school-boys, who kept scrambling up to points whither no other animal, except a goat, would have ventured. Their shouts and the sunshine made the old castle cheerful; and what with the ivy and the hawthorn, and the other old trees, it was very beautiful and picturesque. But a castle does not make nearly so interesting and impressive a ruin as an abbey, because the latter was built for beauty, and on a plan in which deep thought and feeling were involved; and having once been a grand and beautiful work, it continues grand and beautiful through all the successive stages of its decay. But a castle is rudely piled together for strength and other material conveniences; and, having served these ends, it has nothing left to fall back upon, but crumbles into shapeless masses, which are often as little picturesque as a pile of bricks. Without the ivy and the shrubbery, this huge Kenilworth would not be a pleasant object, except for one or two window-frames, with broken tracery, in the Banqueting-Hall. . . . We stayed from eleven till two, and identified the various parts of the castle as well as we could by the guide-book. The ruins are very extensive, though less so than I should have imagined, considering that seven acres were included within the castle wall. But a large part of the structures have been taken away to build houses in Kenilworth village and elsewhere, and much, too, to make roads with, and a good deal lies under the green turf in the court-yards, inner and outer. As we returned to the gate, my wife and U---- went into the gate-house to see an old chimney-piece, and other antiquities, and J----- and I proceeded a little way round the outer wall, and saw the remains of the moat, and Lin's Tower,--a real and shattered fabric of John of Gaunt. The omnibus now drove up, and one of the old men at the gate came hobbling up to open the door, and was rewarded with a sixpence, and we drove down to the King's Head. . . . We then walked out and bought prints of the castle, and inquired our way to the church and to the ruins of the Priory. The latter, so far as we could discover them, are very few and uninteresting; and the church, though it has a venerable exterior, and an aged spire, has been so modernized within, and in so plain a fashion, as to have lost what beauty it may once have had. There were a few brasses and mural monuments, one of which was a marble group of a dying woman and her family by Westmacott. The sexton was a cheerful little man, but knew very little about his church, and nothing of the remains of the Priory. The day was spent very pleasantly amid this beautiful green English scenery, these fine old Warwickshire trees, and broad, gently swelling fields. LIVERPOOL. September 17th.--I took the train for Rugby, and thence to Liverpool. The most noticeable character at Mrs. Blodgett's now is Mr. T------, a Yankee, who has seen the world, and gathered much information and experience already, though still a young man,--a handsome man, with black curly hair, a dark, intelligent, bright face, and rather cold blue eyes, but a very pleasant air and address. His observing faculties are very strongly developed in his forehead, and his reflective ones seem to be adequate to making some, if not the deepest, use of what he sees. He has voyaged and travelled almost all over the world, and has recently published a book of his peregrinations, which has been well received. He is of exceeding fluent talk, though rather too much inclined to unfold the secret springs of action in Louis Napoleon, and other potentates, and to tell of revolutions that are coming at some unlooked-for moment, but soon. Still I believe in his wisdom and foresight about as much as in any other man's. There are no such things. He is a merchant, and meditates settling in London, and making a colossal fortune there during the next ten or twenty years; that being the period during which London is to hold the exchanges of the world, and to continue its metropolis. After that, New York is to be the world's queen city. There is likewise here a young American, named A------, who has been at a German University, and favors us with descriptions of his student life there, which seems chiefly to have consisted in drinking beer and fighting duels. He shows a cut on his nose as a trophy of these combats. He has with him a dog of St. Bernard, who is a much more remarkable character than himself,--an immense dog, a noble and gentle creature; and really it touches my heart that his master is going to take him from his native snow-mountain to a Southern plantation to die. Mr. A------ says that there are now but five of these dogs extant at the convent; there having, within two or three years, been a disease among them, with which this dog also has suffered. His master has a certificate of his genuineness, and of himself being the rightful purchaser; and he says that as he descended the mountain, every peasant along the road stopped him, and would have compelled him to give up the dog had he not produced this proof of property. The neighboring mountaineers are very jealous of the breed being taken away, considering them of such importance to their own safety. This huge animal, the very biggest dog I ever saw, though only eleven months old, and not so high by two or three inches as he will be, allows Mr. ------ to play with him, and take him on his shoulders (he weighs, at least, a hundred pounds), like any lapdog. LEAMINGTON. Lansdowne Circus, October 10th.--I returned hither from Liverpool last week, and have spent the time idly since then, reposing myself after the four years of unnatural restraint in the Consulate. Being already pretty well acquainted with the neighborhood of Leamington, I have little or nothing to record about the prettiest, cheerfullest, cleanest of English towns. On Saturday we took the rail for Coventry, about a half-hour's travel distant. I had been there before, more than two years ago. . . . No doubt I described it on my first visit; and it is not remarkable enough to be worth two descriptions,--a large town of crooked and irregular streets and lanes, not looking nearly so ancient as it is, because of new brick and stuccoed fronts which have been plastered over its antiquity; although still there are interspersed the peaked gables of old-fashioned, timber-built houses; or an archway of worn stone, which, if you pass through it, shows like an avenue from the present to the past; for just in the rear of the new-fangled aspect lurks the old arrangement of court-yards, and rustiness, and grimness, that would not be suspected from the exterior. Right across the narrow street stands St. Michael's Church with its tall, tall tower and spire. The body of the church has been almost entirely recased with stone since I was here before; but the tower still retains its antiquity, and is decorated with statues that look down from their lofty niches seemingly in good preservation. The tower and spire are most stately and beautiful, the whole church very noble. We went in, and found that the vulgar plaster of Cromwell's time has been scraped from the pillars and arches, leaving them all as fresh and splendid as if just made. We looked also into Trinity Church, which stands close by St. Michael's, separated only, I think, by the churchyard. We also visited St. John's Church, which is very venerable as regards its exterior, the stone being worn and smoothed--if not roughened, rather--by centuries of storm and fitful weather. This wear and tear, however, has almost ceased to be a charm to my mind, comparatively to what it was when I first began to see old buildings. Within, the church is spoiled by wooden galleries, built across the beautiful pointed arches. We saw nothing else particularly worthy of remark except Ford's Hospital, in Grey Friars' Street. It has an Elizabethan front of timber and plaster, facing on the street, with two or three peaked gables in a row, beneath which is a low, arched entrance, giving admission into a small paved quadrangle, open to the sky above, but surrounded by the walls, lozenge-paned windows, and gables of the Hospital. The quadrangle is but a few paces in width, and perhaps twenty in length; and, through a half-closed doorway, at the farther end, there was a glimpse into a garden. Just within the entrance, through an open door, we saw the neat and comfortable apartment of the Matron of the Hospital; and, along the quadrangle, on each side, there were three or four doors, through which we glanced into little rooms, each containing a fireplace, a bed, a chair or two,--a little, homely, domestic scene, with one old woman in the midst of it; one old woman in each room. They are destitute widows, who have their lodging and home here,--a small room for each one to sleep, cook, and be at home in,--and three and sixpence a week to feed and clothe themselves with,--a cloak being the only garment bestowed on them. When one of the sisterhood dies each old woman has to pay twopence towards the funeral; and so they slowly starve and wither out of life, and claim each their twopence contribution in turn. I am afraid they have a very dismal time. There is an old man's hospital in another part of the town, on a similar plan. A collection of sombre and lifelike tales might be written on the idea of giving the experiences of these Hospitallers, male and female; and they might be supposed to be written by the Matron of one, who had acquired literary taste and practice as a governess,--and by the Master of the other, a retired school-usher. It was market-day in Coventry, and far adown the street leading from it there were booths and stalls, and apples, pears, toys, books, among which I saw my Twice-Told Tales, with an awful portrait of myself as frontispiece,--and various country produce, offered for sale by men, women, and girls. The scene looked lively, but had not much vivacity in it. October 27th.--The autumn has advanced progressively, and is now fairly established, though still there is much green foliage, in spite of many brown trees, and an enormous quantity of withered leaves, too damp to rustle, strewing the paths,--whence, however, they are continually swept up and carried off in wheelbarrows, either for neatness or for the agricultural worth, as manure, of even a withered leaf. The pastures look just as green as ever,--a deep, bright verdure, that seems almost sunshine in itself, however sombre the sky may be. The little plats of grass and flowers, in front of our circle of houses, might still do credit to an American midsummer; for I have seen beautiful roses here within a day or two; and dahlias, asters, and such autumnal flowers, are plentiful; and I have no doubt that the old year's flowers will bloom till those of the new year appear. Really, the English winter is not so terrible as ours. October 30th.--Wednesday was one of the most beautiful of all days, and gilded almost throughout with the precious English sunshine,--the most delightful sunshine ever made, both for its positive fine qualities and because we seldom get it without too great an admixture of water. We made no use of this lovely day, except to walk to an Arboretum and Pinetum on the outskirts of the town. U---- and Mrs. Shepard made an excursion to Guy's Cliff. [Here comes in the visit to Leicester's Hospital and Redfern's Shop, and St. Mary's Church, printed in Our Old Home.--ED.] From Redfern's we went back to the market-place, expecting to find J----- at the Museum, but the keeper said he had gone away. We went into this museum, which contains the collections in Natural History, etc., of a county society. It is very well arranged, and is rich in specimens of ornithology, among which was an albatross, huge beyond imagination. I do not think that Coleridge could have known the size of the fowl when he caused it to be hung round the neck of his Ancient Mariner. There were a great many humming-birds from various parts of the world, and some of their breasts actually gleamed and shone as with the brightest lustre of sunset. Also, many strange fishes, and a huge pike taken from the river Avon, and so long that I wonder how he could turn himself about in such a little river as the Avon is near Warwick. A great curiosity was a bunch of skeleton leaves and flowers, prepared by a young lady, and preserving all the most delicate fibres of the plant, looking like inconceivably fine lace-work, white as snow, while the substance was quite taken away. In another room there were minerals, shells, and a splendid collection of fossils, among which were remains of antediluvian creatures, several feet long. In still another room, we saw some historical curiosities,--the most interesting of which were two locks of reddish-brown hair, one from the head and one from the beard of Edward IV. They were fastened to a manuscript letter which authenticates the hair as having been taken from King Edward's tomb in 1739. Near these relics was a seal of the great Earl of Warwick, the mighty kingmaker; also a sword from Bosworth Field, smaller and shorter than those now in use; for, indeed, swords seem to have increased in length, weight, and formidable aspect, now that the weapon has almost ceased to be used in actual warfare. The short Roman sword was probably more murderous than any weapon of the same species, except the bowie-knife. Here, too, were Parliamentary cannon-balls, etc. . . . [The visit to Whitnash intervenes here.--ED.] LONDON. 24 Great Russell Street, November 10th.--We have been thinking and negotiating about taking lodgings in London lately, and this morning we left Leamington and reached London with no other misadventure than that of leaving the great bulk of our luggage behind us,--the van which we hired to take it to the railway station having broken down under its prodigious weight, in the middle of the street. On our journey we saw nothing particularly worthy of note,--but everywhere the immortal verdure of England, scarcely less perfect than in June, so far as the fields are concerned, though the foliage of the trees presents pretty much the same hues as those of our own forests, after the gayety and gorgeousness have departed from them. Our lodgings are in close vicinity to the British Museum, which is the great advantage we took them for. I felt restless and uncomfortable, and soon strolled forth, without any definite object, and walked as far as Charing Cross. Very dull and dreary the city looked, and not in the least lively, even where the throng was thickest and most brisk. As I trudged along, my reflection was, that never was there a dingier, uglier, less picturesque city than London; and that it is really wonderful that so much brick and stone, for centuries together, should have been built up with so poor a result. Yet these old names of the city--Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, the Strand-used to throw a glory over these homely precincts when I first saw them, and still do so in a less degree. Where Farrington Street opens upon Fleet Street, moreover, I had a glimpse of St. Paul's, along Ludgate Street, in the gathering dimness, and felt as if I saw an old friend. In that neighborhood--speaking of old friends--I met Mr. Parker of Boston, who told me sad news of a friend whom I love as much as if I had known him for a lifetime, though he is, indeed, but of two or three years' standing. He said that my friend's bankruptcy is in to-day's Gazette. Of all men on earth, I had rather this misfortune should have happened to any other; but I hope and think he has sturdiness and buoyancy enough to rise up beneath it. I cannot conceive of his face otherwise than with a glow on it, like that of the sun at noonday. Before I reached our lodgings, the dusk settled into the streets, and a mist bedewed and bedamped me, and I went astray, as is usual with me, and had to inquire my way; indeed, except in the principal thoroughfares, London is so miserably lighted that it is impossible to recognize one's whereabouts. On my arrival I found our parlor looking cheerful with a brisk fire; . . . . but the first day or two in new lodgings is at best an uncomfortable time. Fanny has just come in with more unhappy news about ------. Pray Heaven it may not be true! . . . . Troubles are a sociable brotherhood; they love to come hand in hand, or sometimes, even, to come side by side, with long looked-for and hoped-for good fortune. . . . November 11th.--This morning we all went to the British Museum, always a most wearisome and depressing task to me. I strolled through the lower rooms with a good degree of interest, looking at the antique sculptures, some of which were doubtless grand and beautiful in their day. . . . The Egyptian remains are, on the whole, the more satisfactory; for, though inconceivably ugly, they are at least miracles of size and ponderosity,--for example, a hand and arm of polished granite, as much as ten feet in length. The upper rooms, containing millions of specimens of Natural History, in all departments, really made my heart ache with a pain and woe that I have never felt anywhere but in the British Museum, and I hurried through them as rapidly as I could persuade J----- to follow me. We had left the rest of the party still intent on the Grecian sculptures; and though J----- was much interested in the vast collection of shells, he chose to quit the Museum with me in the prospect of a stroll about London. He seems to have my own passion for thronged streets, and the utmost bustle of human life. We went first to the railway station, in quest of our luggage, which we found. Then we made a pretty straight course down to Holborn, and through Newgate Street, stopping a few moments to look through the iron fence at the Christ's Hospital boys, in their long blue coats and yellow petticoats and stockings. It was between twelve and one o'clock; and I suppose this was their hour of play, for they were running about the enclosed space, chasing and overthrowing one another, without their caps, with their yellow petticoats tucked up, and all in immense activity and enjoyment. They were eminently a healthy and handsome set of boys. Then we went into Cheapside, where I called at Mr. Bennett's shop, to inquire what are the facts about ------. When I mentioned his name, Mr. Bennett shook his head and expressed great sorrow; but, on further talk, I found that he referred only to the failure, and had heard nothing about the other rumor. It cannot, therefore, be true; for Bennett lives in his neighborhood, and could not have remained ignorant of such a calamity. There must be some mistake; none, however, in regard to the failure, it having been announced in the Times. From Bennett's shop--which is so near the steeple of Bow Church that it would tumble upon it if it fell over--we strolled still eastward, aiming at London Bridge; but missed it, and bewildered ourselves among many dingy and frowzy streets and lanes. I bore towards the right, however, knowing that that course must ultimately bring me to the Thames; and at last I saw before me ramparts, towers, circular and square, with battlemented summits, large sweeps and curves of fortification, as well as straight and massive walls and chimneys behind them (all a great confusion--to my eye), of ancient and more modern structure, and four loftier turrets rising in the midst; the whole great space surrounded by a broad, dry moat, which now seemed to be used as an ornamental walk, bordered partly with trees. This was the Tower; but seen from a different and more picturesque point of view than I have heretofore gained of it. Being so convenient for a visit, I determined to go in. At the outer gate, which is not a part of the fortification, a sentinel walks to and fro, besides whom there was a warder, in the rich old costume of Henry VIII's time, looking very gorgeous indeed,--as much so as scarlet and gold can make him. As J----- and I were not going to look at the Jewel-room, we loitered about in the open space, before the White Tower, while the tall, slender, white-haired, gentlemanly warder led the rest of the party into that apartment. We found what one might take for a square in a town, with gabled houses lifting their peaks on one side, and various edifices enclosing the other sides, and the great White Tower,--now more black than white,--rising venerable, and rather picturesque than otherwise, the most prominent object in the scene. I have no plan nor available idea of it whatever in my mind, but it seems really to be a town within itself, with streets, avenues, and all that pertains to human life. There were soldiers going through their exercise in the open space, and along at the base of the White Tower lay a great many cannon and mortars, some of which were of Turkish manufacture, and immensely long and ponderous. Others, likewise of mighty size, had once belonged to the famous ship Great Harry, and had lain for ages under the sea. Others were East-Indian. Several were beautiful specimens of workmanship. The mortars--some so large that a fair-sized man might easily be rammed into them--held their great mouths slanting upward to the sky, and mostly contained a quantity of rain-water. While we were looking at these warlike toys,--for I suppose not one of them will ever thunder in earnest again,--the warder reappeared with his ladies, and, leading us all to a certain part of the open space, he struck his foot on the small stones with which it is paved, and told us that we were standing on the spot where Anne Boleyn and Catharine Parr were beheaded. It is not exactly in the centre of the square, but on a line with one of the angles of the White Tower. I forgot to mention that the middle of the open space is occupied by a marble statue of Wellington, which appeared to me very poor and laboriously spirited. Lastly, the warder led us under the Bloody Tower, and by the side of the Wakefield Tower, and showed us the Traitor's Gate, which is now closed up, so as to afford no access to the Thames. No; we first visited the Beauchamp Tower, famous as the prison of many historical personages. Some of its former occupants have left their initials or names, and inscriptions of piety and patience, cut deep into the freestone of the walls, together with devices--as a crucifix, for instance--neatly and skilfully done. This room has a long, deep fireplace; it is chiefly lighted by a large window, which I fancy must have been made in modern times; but there are four narrow apertures, throwing in a little light through deep alcoves in the thickness of the octagon wall. One would expect such a room to be picturesque; but it is really not of striking aspect, being low, with a plastered ceiling,--the beams just showing through the plaster,--a boarded floor, and the walls being washed over with a buff color. A warder sat within a railing, by the great window, with sixpenny books to sell, containing transcripts of the inscriptions on the walls. We now left the Tower, and made our way deviously westward, passing St. Paul's, which looked magnificently and beautifully, so huge and dusky as it was, with here and there a space on its vast form where the original whiteness of the marble came out like a streak of moonshine amid the blackness with which time has made it grander than it was in its newness. It is a most noble edifice; and I delight, too, in the statues that crown some of its heights, and in the wreaths of sculpture which are hung around it. November 12th.--This morning began with such fog, that at the window of my chamber, lighted only from a small court-yard, enclosed by high, dingy walls, I could hardly see to dress. It kept alternately darkening, and then brightening a little, and darkening again, so much that we could but just discern the opposite houses; but at eleven or thereabouts it grew so much clearer that we resolved to venture out. Our plan for the day was to go in the first place to Westminster Abbey; and to the National Gallery, if we should find time. . . . The fog darkened again as we went down Regent Street, and the Duke of York's Column was but barely visible, looming vaguely before us; nor, from Pall Mall, was Nelson's Pillar much more distinct, though methought his statue stood aloft in a somewhat clearer atmosphere than ours. Passing Whitehall, however, we could scarcely see Inigo Jones's Banqueting-House, on the other side of the street; and the towers and turrets of the new Houses of Parliament were all but invisible, as was the Abbey itself; so that we really were in some doubt whither we were going. We found our way to Poets' Corner, however, and entered those holy precincts, which looked very dusky and grim in the smoky light. . . . I was strongly impressed with the perception that very commonplace people compose the great bulk of society in the home of the illustrious dead. It is wonderful how few names there are that one cares anything about a hundred years after their departure; but perhaps each generation acts in good faith in canonizing its own men. . . . But the fame of the buried person does not make the marble live,--the marble keeps merely a cold and sad memory of a man who would else be forgotten. No man who needs a monument ever ought to have one. The painted windows of the Abbey, though mostly modern, are exceedingly rich and beautiful; and I do think that human art has invented no other such magnificent method of adornment as this. Our final visit to-day was to the National Gallery, where I came to the conclusion that Murillo's St. John was the most lovely picture I have ever seen, and that there never was a painter who has really made the world richer, except Murillo. November 12th.--This morning we issued forth, and found the atmosphere chill and almost frosty, tingling upon our cheeks. . . . The gateway of Somerset House attracted us, and we walked round its spacious quadrangle, encountering many government clerks hurrying to their various offices. At least, I presumed them to be so. This is certainly a handsome square of buildings, with its Grecian facades and pillars, and its sculptured bas-reliefs, and the group of statuary in the midst of the court. Besides the part of the edifice that rises above ground, there appear to be two subterranean stories below the surface. From Somerset House we pursued our way through Temple Bar, but missed it, and therefore entered by the passage from what was formerly Alsatia, but which now seems to be a very respectable and humdrum part of London. We came immediately to the Temple Gardens, which we walked quite round. The grass is still green, but the trees are leafless, and had an aspect of not being very robust, even at more genial seasons of the year. There were, however, large quantities of brilliant chrysanthemums, golden, and of all hues, blooming gorgeously all about the borders; and several gardeners were at work, tending these flowers, and sheltering them from the weather. I noticed no roses, nor even rose-bushes, in the spot where the factions of York and Lancaster plucked their two hostile flowers. Leaving these grounds, we went to the Hall of the Middle Temple, where we knocked at the portal, and, finding it not fastened, thrust it open. A boy appeared within, and the porter or keeper, at a distance, along the inner passage, called to us to enter; and, opening the door of the great hall, left us to view it till he should be at leisure to attend to us. Truly it is a most magnificent apartment; very lofty,--so lofty, indeed, that the antique oak roof was quite hidden, as regarded all its details, in the sombre gloom that brooded under its rafters. The hall was lighted by four great windows, I think, on each of the two sides, descending half-way from the ceiling to the floor, leaving all beneath enclosed by oaken panelling, which, on three sides, was carved with escutcheons of such members of the society as have held the office of reader. There is likewise, in a large recess or transept, a great window, occupying the full height of the hall, and splendidly emblazoned with the arms of the Templars who have attained to the dignity of Chief Justices. The other windows are pictured, in like manner, with coats of arms of local dignitaries connected with the Temple; and besides all these there are arched lights, high towards the roof, at either end full of richly and chastely colored glass, and all the illumination that the great hall had come through these glorious panes, and they seemed the richer for the sombreness in which we stood. I cannot describe, or even intimate, the effect of this transparent glory, glowing down upon us in that gloomy depth of the hall. The screen at the lower end was of carved oak, very dark and highly polished, and as old as Queen Elizabeth's time. The keeper told us that the story of the Armada was said to be represented in these carvings, but in the imperfect light we could trace nothing of it out. Along the length of the apartment were set two oaken tables for the students of law to dine upon; and on the dais, at the upper end, there was a cross-table for the big-wigs of the society; the latter being provided with comfortable chairs, and the former with oaken benches. From a notification, posted near the door, I gathered that the cost of dinners is two shillings to each gentleman, including, as the attendant told me, ale and wine. I am reluctant to leave this hall without expressing how grave, how grand, how sombre, and how magnificent I feel it to be. As regards historical association, it was a favorite dancing-hall of Queen Elizabeth, and Sir Christopher Hatton danced himself into her good graces here. We next went to the Temple Church, and, finding the door ajar, made free to enter beneath its Norman arches, which admitted us into a circular vestibule, very ancient and beautiful. In the body of the church beyond we saw a boy sitting, but nobody either forbade or invited our entrance. On the floor of the vestibule lay about half a score of Templars,--the representatives of the warlike priests who built this church and formerly held these precincts,--all in chain armor, grasping their swords, and with their shields beside them. Except two or three, they lay cross-legged, in token that they had really fought for the Holy Sepulchre. I think I have seen nowhere else such well-preserved monumental knights as these. We proceeded into the interior of the church, and were greatly impressed with its wonderful beauty,--the roof springing, as it were, in a harmonious and accordant fountain, out of the clustered pillars that support its groined arches; and these pillars, immense as they are, are polished like so many gems. They are of Purbeck marble, and, if I mistake not, had been covered with plaster for ages until latterly redeemed and beautified anew. But the glory of the church is its old painted windows; and, positively, those great spaces over the chancel appeared to be set with all manner of precious stones,--or it was as if the many-colored radiance of heaven were breaking upon us,--or as if we saw the wings of angels, storied over with richly tinted pictures of holy things. But it is idle to talk of this marvellous adornment; it is to be seen and wondered at, not written about. Before we left the church, the porter made his appearance, in time to receive his fee,-- which somebody, indeed, is always ready to stretch out his hand for. And so ended our visit to the Temple, which, by the by, though close to the midmost bustle of London, is as quiet as if it were always Sunday there. We now went to St. Paul's. U---- and Miss Shepard ascended to the Whispering Gallery, and we, sitting under the dome, at the base of one of the pillars, saw them far above us, looking very indistinct, for those misty upper-depths seemed almost to be hung with clouds. This cathedral, I think, does not profit by gloom, but requires cheerful sunshine to show it to the best advantage. The statues and sculptures in St. Paul's are mostly covered with years of dust, and look thereby very grim and ugly; but there are few memories there from which I should care to brush away the dust, they being, in nine cases out of ten, naval and military heroes of second or third class merit. I really remember no literary celebrity admitted solely on that account, except Dr. Johnson. The Crimean war has supplied two or three monuments, chiefly mural tablets; and doubtless more of the same excrescences will yet come out upon the walls. One thing that I newly noticed was the beautiful shape of the great, covered marble vase that serves for a font. From St. Paul's we went down Cheapside, and, turning into King Street, visited Guildhall, which we found in process of decoration for a public ball, to take place next week. It looked rather gewgawish thus gorgeous, being hung with flags of all nations, and adorned with military trophies; and the scene was repeated by a range of looking-glasses at one end of the room. The execrably painted windows really shocked us by their vulgar glare, after those of the Temple Hall and Church; yet, a few years ago, I might very likely have thought them beautiful. Our own national banner, I must remember to say, was hanging in Guildhall, but with only ten stars, and an insufficient number of stripes. November 15th.--Yesterday morning we went to London Bridge and along Lower Thames Street, and quickly found ourselves in Billingsgate Market, --a dirty, evil-smelling, crowded precinct, thronged with people carrying fish on their heads, and lined with fish-shops and fish-stalls, and pervaded with a fishy odor. The footwalk was narrow,--as indeed was the whole street,--and filthy to travel upon; and we had to elbow our way among rough men and slatternly women, and to guard our heads from the contact of fish-trays; very ugly, grimy, and misty, moreover, is Billingsgate Market, and though we heard none of the foul language of which it is supposed to be the fountain-head, yet it has its own peculiarities of behavior. For instance, U---- tells me that one man, staring at her and her governess as they passed, cried out, "What beauties!"--another, looking under her veil, greeted her with, "Good morning, my love!" We were in advance, and heard nothing of these civilities. Struggling through this fishy purgatory, we caught sight of the Tower, as we drew near the end of the street; and I put all my party under charge of one of the Trump Cards, not being myself inclined to make the rounds of the small part of the fortress that is shown, so soon after my late visit. When they departed with the warder, I set out by myself to wander about the exterior of the Tower, looking with interest at what I suppose to be Tower Hill,--a slight elevation of the large open space into which Great Tower Street opens; though, perhaps, what is now called Trinity Square may have been a part of Tower Hill, and possibly the precise spot where the executions took place. Keeping to the right, round the Tower, I found the moat quite surrounded by a fence of iron rails, excluding me from a pleasant gravel-path, among flowers and shrubbery, on the inside, where I could see nursery-maids giving children their airings. Possibly these may have been the privileged inhabitants of the Tower, which certainly might contain the population of a large village. The aspect of the fortress has so much that is new and modern about it that it can hardly be called picturesque, and yet it seems unfair to withhold that epithet from such a collection of gray ramparts. I followed the iron fence quite round the outer grounds, till it approached the Thames, and in this direction the moat and the pleasure-ground terminate in a narrow graveyard, which extends beneath the walls, and looks neglected and shaggy with long grass. It appeared to contain graves enough, but only a few tombstones, of which I could read the inscription of but one; it commemorated a Mr. George Gibson, a person of no note, nor apparently connected with the place. St. Katharine's Dock lies along the Thames, in this vicinity; and while on one side of me were the Tower, the quiet gravel-path, and the shaggy graveyard, on the other were draymen and their horses, dock-laborers, sailors, empty puncheons, and a miscellaneous spectacle of life,--including organ-grinders, men roasting chestnuts over small ovens on the sidewalk, boys and women with boards or wheelbarrows of apples, oyster-stands, besides pedlers of small wares, dirty children at play, and other figures and things that a Dutch painter would seize upon. I went a little way into St. Katharine's Dock, and found it crowded with great ships; then, returning, I strolled along the range of shops that front towards this side of the Tower. They have all something to do with ships, sailors, and commerce; being for the sale of ships' stores, nautical instruments, arms, clothing, together with a tavern and grog-shop at every other door; bookstalls, too, covered with cheap novels and song-books; cigar-shops in great numbers; and everywhere were sailors, and here and there a soldier, and children at the doorsteps, and women showing themselves at the doors or windows of their domiciles. These latter figures, however, pertain rather to the street up which I walked, penetrating into the interior of this region, which, I think, is Blackwall--no, I forget what its name is. At all events, it has an ancient and most grimy and rough look, with its old gabled houses, each of them the seat of some petty trade and business in its basement story. Among these I saw one house with three or four peaks along its front,--a second story projecting over the basement, and the whole clapboarded over. . . . There was a butcher's stall in the lower story, with a front open to the street, in the ancient fashion, which seems to be retained only by butchers' shops. This part of London having escaped the Great Fire, I suppose there may be many relics of architectural antiquity hereabouts. At the end of an hour I went back to the Refreshment-room, within the outer gate of the Tower, where the rest of us shortly appeared. We now returned westward by way of Great Tower Street, Eastcheap, and Cannon Street, and, entering St. Paul's, sat down beneath the misty dome to rest ourselves. The muffled roar of the city, as we heard it there, is very soothing, and keeps one listening to it, somewhat as the flow of a river keeps us looking at it. It is a grand and quiet sound; and, ever and anon, a distant door slammed somewhere in the cathedral, and reverberated long and heavily, like the roll of thunder or the boom of cannon. Every noise that is loud enough to be heard in so vast an edifice melts into the great quietude. The interior looked very sombre, and the dome hung over us like a cloudy sky. I wish it were possible to pass directly from St. Paul's into York Minster, or from the latter into the former; that is, if one's mind could manage to stagger under both in the same day. There is no other way of judging of their comparative effect. Under the influence of that grand lullaby,--the roar of the city,--we sat for some time after we were sufficiently rested; but at last plunged forth again, and went up Newgate Street, pausing to look through the iron railings of Christ's Hospital. The boys, however, were not at play; so we went onward, in quest of Smithfield, and on our way had a greeting from Mr. Silsbee, a gentleman of our own native town. Parting with him, we found Smithfield, which is still occupied with pens for cattle, though I believe it has ceased to be a cattle-market. Except it be St. Bartholomew's hospital on one side, there is nothing interesting in this ugly square; though, no doubt, a few feet under the pavement there are bones and ashes as precious as anything of the kind on earth. I wonder when men will begin to erect monuments to human error; hitherto their pillars and statues have only been for the sake of glorification. But, after all, the present fashion may be the better and wholesomer. . . . November 16th.--Mr. Silsbee called yesterday, and talked about matters of art, in which he is deeply interested, and which he has had good opportunities of becoming acquainted with, during three years' travel on the Continent. He is a man of great intelligence and true feeling, and absolutely brims over with ideas,--his conversation flowing in a constant stream, which it appears to be no trouble whatever to him to keep up. . . . He took his leave after a long call, and left with us a manuscript, describing a visit to Berlin, which I read to my wife in the evening. It was well worth reading. He made an engagement to go with us to the Crystal Palace, and came rather for that purpose this morning. We drove to the London Bridge station, where we bought return tickets that entitled us to admission to the Palace, as well as conveyance thither, for half a crown apiece. On our arrival we entered by the garden front, thus gaining a fine view of the ornamental grounds, with their fountains and stately pathways, bordered with statues; and of the edifice itself, so vast and fairy-like, looking as if it were a bubble, and might vanish at a touch. There is as little beauty in the architecture of the Crystal Palace, however, as was possible to be with such gigantic use of such a material. No doubt, an architectural order of which we have as yet little or no idea is to be developed from the use of glass as a building-material, instead of brick and stone. It will have its own rules and its own results; but, meanwhile, even the present Palace is positively a very beautiful object. On entering we found the atmosphere chill and comfortless,--more so, it seemed to me, than the open air itself. It was not a genial day; though now and then the sun gleamed out, and once caused fine effects in the glasswork of a crystal fountain in one of the courts. We were under Mr. Silshee's guidance for the day, . . . . and first we looked at the sculpture, which is composed chiefly of casts or copies of the most famous statues of all ages, and likewise of those crumbs and little fragments which have fallen from Time's jaw,--and half-picked bones, as it were, that have been gathered up from spots where he has feasted full,--torsos, heads and broken limbs, some of them half worn away, as if they had been rolled over and over in the sea. I saw nothing in the sculptural way, either modern or antique, that impressed me so much as a statue of a nude mother by a French artist. In a sitting posture, with one knee over the other, she was clasping her highest knee with both hands; and in the hollow cradle thus formed by her arms lay two sweet little babies, as snug and close to her heart as if they had not yet been born,--two little love-blossoms,--and the mother encircling them and pervading them with love. But an infinite pathos and strange terror are given to this beautiful group by some faint bas-reliefs on the pedestal, indicating that the happy mother is Eve, and Cain and Abel the two innocent babes. Then we went to the Alhambra, which looks like an enchanted palace. If it had been a sunny day, I should have enjoyed it more; but it was miserable to shiver and shake in the Court of the Lions, and in those chambers which were contrived as places of refuge from a fervid temperature. Furthermore, it is not quite agreeable to see such clever specimens of stage decoration; they are so very good that it gets to be past a joke, without becoming actual earnest. I had not a similar feeling in respect to the reproduction of mediaeval statues, arches, doorways, all brilliantly colored as in the days of their first glory; yet I do not know but that the first is as little objectionable as the last. Certainly, in both cases, scenes and objects of a past age are here more vividly presented to the dullest mind than without such material facilities they could possibly be brought before the most powerful imagination. Truly, the Crystal Palace, in all its departments, offers wonderful means of education. I marvel what will come of it. Among the things that I admired most was Benvenuto Cellini's statue of Perseus holding the head of Medusa, and standing over her headless and still writhing body, out of which, at the severed neck, gushed a vast exuberance of snakes. Likewise, a sitting statue, by Michel Angelo, of one of the Medici, full of dignity and grace and reposeful might. Also the bronze gate of a baptistery in Florence, carved all over with relieves of Scripture subjects, executed in the most lifelike and expressive manner. The cast itself was a miracle of art. I should have taken it for the genuine original bronze. We then wandered into the House of Diomed, which seemed to me a dismal abode, affording no possibility of comfort. We sat down in one of the rooms, on an iron bench, very cold. It being by this time two o'clock, we went to the Refreshment-room and lunched; and before we had finished our repast, my wife discovered that she had lost her sable tippet, which she had been carrying on her arm. Mr. Silsbee most kindly and obligingly immediately went in quest of it, . . . . but to no purpose. . . . Upon entering the Tropical Saloon, we found a most welcome and delightful change of temperature among those gigantic leaves of banyan-trees, and the broad expanse of water-plants, floating on lakes, and spacious aviaries, where birds of brilliant plumage sported and sang amid such foliage as they knew at home. Howbeit, the atmosphere was a little faint and sickish, perhaps owing to the odor of the half-tepid water. The most remarkable object here was the trunk of a tree, huge beyond imagination, --a pine-tree from California. It was only the stripped-off bark, however, which had been conveyed hither in segments, and put together again beyond the height of the palace roof; and the hollow interior circle of the tree was large enough to contain fifty people, I should think. We entered and sat down in all the remoteness from one another that is attainable in a good-sized drawing-room. We then ascended the gallery to get a view of this vast tree from a more elevated position, and found it looked even bigger from above. Then we loitered slowly along the gallery as far as it extended, and afterwards descended into the nave; for it was getting dusk, and a horn had sounded, and a bell rung a warning to such as delayed in the remote regions of the building. Mr. Silsbee again most kindly went in quest of the sables, but still without success. . . . I have not much enjoyed the Crystal Palace, but think it a great and admirable achievement. November 19th.--On Tuesday evening Mr. Silsbee came to read some letters which he has written to his friends, chiefly giving his observations on Art, together with descriptions of Venice and other cities on the Continent. They were very good, and indicate much sensibility and talent. After the reading we had a little oyster-supper and wine. I had written a note to ------, and received an answer, indicating that he was much weighed down by his financial misfortune. . . . However, he desired me to come and see him; so yesterday morning I wended my way down into the city, and after various reluctant circumlocutions arrived at his house. The interior looked confused and dismal. It seems to me nobody else runs such risks as a man of business, because he risks everything. Every other man, into whatever depth of poverty he may sink, has still something left, be he author, scholar, handicraftman, or what not; the merchant has nothing. We parted with a long and strong grasp of the hand, and ------ promised to come and see us soon. . . . On my way home I called at Truebner's in Pater Noster Row. . . . I waited a few minutes, he being busy with a tall, muscular, English-built man, who, after he had taken leave, Truebner told me was Charles Reade. I once met him at an evening party, but should have been glad to meet him again, now that I appreciate him so much better after reading Never too Late to Mend. December 6th.--All these days, since my last date, have been marked by nothing very well worthy of detail and description. I have walked the streets a great deal in the dull November days, and always take a certain pleasure in being in the midst of human life,--as closely encompassed by it as it is possible to be anywhere in this world; and in that way of viewing it there is a dull and sombre enjoyment always to be had in Holborn, Fleet Street, Cheapside, and the other busiest parts of London. It is human life; it is this material world; it is a grim and heavy reality. I have never had the same sense of being surrounded by materialisms and hemmed in with the grossness of this earthly existence anywhere else; these broad, crowded streets are so evidently the veins and arteries of an enormous city. London is evidenced in every one of them, just as a megatherium is in each of its separate bones, even if they be small ones. Thus I never fail of a sort of self-congratulation in finding myself, for instance, passing along Ludgate Hill; but, in spite of this, it is really an ungladdened life to wander through these huge, thronged ways, over a pavement foul with mud, ground into it by a million of footsteps; jostling against people who do not seem to be individuals, but all one mass, so homogeneous is the street-walking aspect of them; the roar of vehicles pervading me,--wearisome cabs and omnibuses; everywhere the dingy brick edifices heaving themselves up, and shutting out all but a strip of sullen cloud, that serves London for a sky,--in short, a general impression of grime and sordidness; and at this season always a fog scattered along the vista of streets, sometimes so densely as almost to spiritualize the materialism and make the scene resemble the other world of worldly people, gross even in ghostliness. It is strange how little splendor and brilliancy one sees in London,--in the city almost none, though some in the shops of Regent Street. My wife has had a season of indisposition within the last few weeks, so that my rambles have generally been solitary, or with J----- only for a companion. I think my only excursion with my wife was a week ago, when we went to Lincoln's Inn Fields, which truly are almost fields right in the heart of London, and as retired and secluded as if the surrounding city were a forest, and its heavy roar were the wind among the branches. We gained admission into the noble Hall, which is modern, but built in antique style, and stately and beautiful exceedingly. I have forgotten all but the general effect, with its lofty oaken roof, its panelled walls, with the windows high above, and the great arched window at one end full of painted coats of arms, which the light glorifies in passing through them, as if each were the escutcheon of some illustrious personage. Thence we went to the chapel of Lincoln's Inn, where, on entering, we found a class of young choristers receiving instruction from their music-master, while the organ accompanied their strains. These young, clear, fresh, elastic voices are wonderfully beautiful; they are like those of women, yet have something more birdlike and aspiring, more like what one conceives of the singing of angels. As for the singing of saints and blessed spirits that have once been human, it never can resemble that of these young voices; for no duration of heavenly enjoyments will ever quite take the mortal sadness out of it. In this chapel we saw some painted windows of the time of James I., a period much subsequent, to the age when painted glass was in its glory; but the pictures of Scriptural people in these windows were certainly very fine,--the figures being as large as life, and the faces having much expression. The sunshine came in through some of them, and produced a beautiful effect, almost as if the painted forms were the glorified spirits of those holy personages. After leaving Lincoln's Inn, we looked at Gray's Inn, which is a great, quiet domain, quadrangle beyond quadrangle, close beside Holborn, and a large space of greensward enclosed within it. It is very strange to find so much of ancient quietude right in the monster city's very jaws, which yet the monster shall not eat up,--right in its very belly, indeed, which yet, in all these ages, it shall not digest and convert into the same substance as the rest of its bustling streets. Nothing else in London is so like the effect of a spell, as to pass under one of these archways, and find yourself transported from the jumble, mob, tumult, uproar, as of an age of week-days condensed into the present hour, into what seems an eternal sabbath. Thence we went into Staple Inn, I think it was,--which has a front upon Holborn of four or five ancient gables in a row, and a low arch under the impending story, admitting you into a paved quadrangle, beyond which you have the vista of another. I do not understand that the residences and chambers in these Inns of Court are now exclusively let to lawyers; though such inhabitants certainly seem to preponderate there. Since then J----- and I walked down into the Strand, and found ourselves unexpectedly mixed up with a crowd that grew denser as we approached Charing Cross, and became absolutely impermeable when we attempted to make our way to Whitehall. The wicket in the gate of Northumberland House, by the by, was open, and gave me a glimpse of the front of the edifice within,--a very partial glimpse, however, and that obstructed by the solid person of a footman, who, with some women, were passing out from within. The crowd was a real English crowd, perfectly undemonstrative, and entirely decorous, being composed mostly of well-dressed people, and largely of women. The cause of the assemblage was the opening of Parliament by the Queen, but we were too late for any chance of seeing her Majesty. However, we extricated ourselves from the multitude, and, going along Pall Mall, got into the Park by the steps at the foot of the Duke of York's Column, and thence went to the Whitehall Gateway, outside of which we found the Horse Guards drawn up,--a regiment of black horses and burnished cuirasses. On our way thither an open carriage came through the gateway into the Park, conveying two ladies in court dresses; and another splendid chariot pressed out through the gateway,--the coachman in a cocked hat and scarlet and gold embroidery, and two other scarlet and gold figures hanging behind. It was one of the Queen's carriages, but seemed to have nobody in it. I have forgotten to mention what, I think, produced more effect on me than anything else, namely, the clash of the bells from the steeple of St. Martin's Church and those of St. Margaret. Really, London seemed to cry out through them, and bid welcome to the Queen. December 7th.--This being a muddy and dismal day, I went only to the BRITISH MUSEUM, which is but a short walk down the street (Great Russell Street). I have now visited it often enough to be on more familiar terms with it than at first, and therefore do not feel myself so weighed down by the many things to be seen. I have ceased to expect or hope or wish to devour and digest the whole enormous collection; so I content myself with individual things, and succeed in getting now and then a little honey from them. Unless I were studying some particular branch of history or science or art, this is the best that can be done with the British Museum. I went first to-day into the Townley Gallery, and so along through all the ancient sculpture, and was glad to find myself able to sympathize more than heretofore with the forms of grace and beauty which are preserved there,--poor, maimed immortalities as they are,--headless and legless trunks, godlike cripples, faces beautiful and broken-nosed,-- heroic shapes which have stood so long, or lain prostrate so long, in the open air, that even the atmosphere of Greece has almost dissolved the external layer of the marble; and yet, however much they may be worn away, or battered and shattered, the grace and nobility seem as deep in them as the very heart of the stone. It cannot be destroyed, except by grinding them to powder. In short, I do really believe that there was an excellence in ancient sculpture, which has yet a potency to educate and refine the minds of those who look at it even so carelessly and casually as I do. As regards the frieze of the Parthenon, I must remark that the horses represented on it, though they show great spirit and lifelikeness, are rather of the pony species than what would be considered fine horses now. Doubtless, modern breeding has wrought a difference in the animal. Flaxman, in his outlines, seems to have imitated these classic steeds of the Parthenon, and thus has produced horses that always appeared to me affected and diminutively monstrous. From the classic sculpture, I passed through an Assyrian room, where the walls are lined with great slabs of marble sculptured in bas-relief with scenes in the life of Senmacherib, I believe; very ugly, to be sure, yet artistically done in their own style, and in wonderfully good preservation. Indeed, if the chisel had cut its last stroke in them yesterday, the work could not be more sharp and distinct. In glass cases, in this room, are little relics and scraps of utensils, and a great deal of fragmentary rubbish, dug up by Layard in his researches,-- things that it is hard to call anything but trash, but which yet may be of great significance as indicating the modes of life of a long-past race. I remember nothing particularly just now, except some pieces of broken glass, iridescent with certainly the most beautiful hues in the world,--indescribably beautiful, and unimaginably, unless one can conceive of the colors of the rainbow, and a thousand glorious sunsets, and the autumnal forest-leaves of America, all condensed upon a little fragment of a glass cup,--and that, too, without becoming in the least glaring or flagrant, but mildly glorious, as we may fancy the shifting lines of an angel's wing may be. I think this chaste splendor will glow in my memory for years to come. It is the effect of time, and cannot be imitated by any known process of art. I have seen it in specimens of old Roman glass, which has been famous here in England; but never in anything is there the brilliancy of these Oriental fragments. How strange that decay, in dark places, and underground, and where there are a billion chances to one that nobody will ever see its handiwork, should produce these beautiful effects! The glass seems to become perfectly brittle, so that it would vanish, like a soap-bubble, if touched. Ascending the stairs, I went through the halls of fossil remains,--which I care little for, though one of them is a human skeleton in limestone,-- and through several rooms of mineralogical specimens, including all the gems in the world, among which is seen, not the Koh-i-noor itself, but a fac-simile of it in crystal. I think the aerolites are as interesting as anything in this department, and one piece of pure iron, laid against the wall of the room, weighs about fourteen hundred pounds. Whence could it have come? If these aerolites are bits of other planets, how happen they to be always iron? But I know no more of this than if I were a philosopher. Then I went through rooms of shells and fishes and reptiles and tortoises, crocodiles and alligators and insects, including all manner of butterflies, some of which had wings precisely like leaves, a little withered and faded, even the skeleton and fibres of the leaves represented; and immense hairy spiders, covering, with the whole circumference of their legs, a space as big as a saucer; and centipedes little less than a foot long; and winged insects that look like jointed twigs of a tree. In America, I remember, when I lived in Lenox, I found an insect of this species, and at first really mistook it for a twig. It was smaller than these specimens in the Museum. I suppose every creature, almost, that runs or creeps or swims or flies, is represented in this collection of Natural History; and it puzzles me to think what they were all made for, though it is quite as mysterious why man himself was made. By and by I entered the room of Egyptian mummies, of which there are a good many, one of which, the body of a priestess, is unrolled, except the innermost layer of linen. The outline of her face is perfectly visible. Mummies of cats, dogs, snakes, and children are in the wall-cases, together with a vast many articles of Egyptian manufacture and use,--even children's toys; bread, too, in flat cakes; grapes, that have turned to raisins in the grave; queerest of all, methinks, a curly wig, that is supposed to have belonged to a woman,--together with the wooden box that held it. The hair is brown, and the wig is as perfect as if it had been made for some now living dowager. From Egypt we pass into rooms containing vases and other articles of Grecian and Roman workmanship, and funeral urns, and beads, and rings, none of them very beautiful. I saw some splendid specimens, however, at a former visit, when I obtained admission to a room not indiscriminately shown to visitors. What chiefly interested me in that room was a cast taken from the face of Cromwell after death; representing a wide-mouthed, long-chinned, uncomely visage, with a triangular English nose in the very centre. There were various other curiosities, which I fancied were safe in my memory, but they do not now come uppermost. To return to my to-day's progress through the Museum;--next to the classic rooms are the collections of Saxon and British and early English antiquities, the earlier portions of which are not very interesting to me, possessing little or no beauty in themselves, and indicating a kind of life too remote from our own to be readily sympathized with. Who cares for glass beads and copper brooches, and knives, spear-heads, and swords, all so rusty that they look as much like pieces of old iron hoop as anything else? The bed of the Thames has been a rich treasury of antiquities, from the time of the Roman Conquest downwards; it seems to preserve bronze in considerable perfection, but not iron. Among the mediaeval relics, the carvings in ivory are often very exquisite and elaborate. There are likewise caskets and coffers, and a thousand other Old World ornamental works; but I saw so many and such superior specimens of them at the Manchester Exhibition, that I shall say nothing of them here. The seal-ring of Mary, Queen of Scots, is in one of the cases; it must have been a thumb-ring, judging from its size, and it has a dark stone, engraved with armorial bearings. In another case is the magic glass formerly used by Dr. Doe, and in which, if I rightly remember, used to be seen prophetic visions or figures of persons and scenes at a distance. It is a round ball of glass or crystal, slightly tinged with a pinkish hue, and about as big as a small apple, or a little bigger than an egg would be if perfectly round. This ancient humbug kept me looking at it perhaps ten minutes; and I saw my own face dimly in it, but no other vision. Lastly, I passed through the Ethnographical Rooms; but I care little for the varieties of the human race,--all that is really important and interesting being found in our own variety. Perhaps equally in any other. This brought me to the head of one of the staircases, descending which I entered the library. Here--not to speak of the noble rooms and halls--there are numberless treasures beyond all price; too valuable in their way for me to select any one as more curious and valuable than many others. Letters of statesmen and warriors of all nations, and several centuries back,--among which, long as it has taken Europe to produce them, I saw none so illustrious as those of Washington, nor more so than Franklin's, whom America gave to the world in her nonage; and epistles of poets and artists, and of kings, too, whose chirography appears to have been much better than I should have expected from fingers so often cramped in iron gauntlets. In another case there were the original autograph copies of several famous works,--for example, that of Pope's Homer, written on the backs of letters, the direction and seals of which appear in the midst of "the Tale of Troy divine," which also is much scratched and interlined with Pope's corrections; a manuscript of one of Ben Jonson's masques; of the Sentimental Journey, written in much more careful and formal style than might be expected, the book pretending to be a harum-scarum; of Walter Scott's Kenilworth, bearing such an aspect of straightforward diligence that I shall hardly think of it again as a romance;--in short, I may as well drop the whole matter here. All through the long vista of the king's library, we come to cases in which--with their pages open beneath the glass--we see books worth their weight in gold, either for their uniqueness or their beauty, or because they have belonged to illustrious men, and have their autographs in them. The copy of the English translation of Montaigne, containing the strange scrawl of Shakespeare's autograph, is here. Bacon's name is in another book; Queen Elizabeth's in another; and there is a little devotional volume, with Lady Jane Grey's writing in it. She is supposed to have taken it to the scaffold with her. Here, too, I saw a copy, which was printed at a Venetian press at the time, of the challenge which the Admirable Crichton caused to be posted on the church doors of Venice, defying all the scholars of Italy to encounter him. But if I mention one thing, I find fault with myself for not putting down fifty others just as interesting,--and, after all, there is an official catalogue, no doubt, of the whole. As I do not mean to fill any more pages with the British Museum, I will just mention the hall of Egyptian antiquities on the ground-floor of the edifice, though I did not pass through it to-day. They consist of things that would be very ugly and contemptible if they were not so immensely magnified; but it is impossible not to acknowledge a certain grandeur, resulting from the scale on which those strange old sculptors wrought. For instance, there is a granite fist of prodigious size, at least a yard across, and looking as if it were doubled in the face of Time, defying him to destroy it. All the rest of the statue to which it belonged seems to have vanished; but this fist will certainly outlast the Museum, and whatever else it contains, unless it be some similar Egyptian ponderosity. There is a beetle, wrought out of immensely hard black stone, as big as a hogshead. It is satisfactory to see a thing so big and heavy. Then there are huge stone sarcophagi, engraved with hieroglyphics within and without, all as good as new, though their age is reckoned by thousands of years. These great coffins are of vast weight and mass, insomuch that when once the accurately fitting lids were shut down, there might have seemed little chance of their being lifted again till the Resurrection. I positively like these coffins, they are so faithfully made, and so black and stern,--and polished to such a nicety, only to be buried forever; for the workmen, and the kings who were laid to sleep within, could never have dreamed of the British Museum. There is a deity named Pasht, who sits in the hall, very big, very grave, carved of black stone, and very ludicrous, wearing a dog's head. I will just mention the Rosetta Stone, with a Greek inscription, and another in Egyptian characters which gave the clew to a whole field of history; and shall pretermit all further handling of this unwieldy subject. In all the rooms I saw people of the poorer classes, some of whom seemed to view the objects intelligently, and to take a genuine interest in them. A poor man in London has great opportunities of cultivating himself if he will only make the best of them; and such an institution as the British Museum can hardly fail to attract, as the magnet does steel, the minds that are likeliest to be benefited by it in its various departments. I saw many children there, and some ragged boys. It deserves to be noticed that some small figures of Indian Thugs, represented as engaged in their profession and handiwork of cajoling and strangling travellers, have been removed from the place which they formerly occupied in the part of the Museum shown to the general public. They are now in the more private room, and the reason of their withdrawal is, that, according to the Chaplain of Newgate, the practice of garroting was suggested to the English thieves by this representation of Indian Thugs. It is edifying, after what I have written in the preceding paragraph, to find that the only lesson known to have been inculcated here is that of a new mode of outrage. December 8th.--This morning, when it was time to rise, there was but a glimmering of daylight, and we had candles on the breakfast-table at nearly ten o'clock. All abroad there was a dense dim fog brooding through the atmosphere, insomuch that we could hardly see across the street. At eleven o'clock I went out into the midst of the fog-bank, which for the moment seemed a little more interfused with daylight; for there seem to be continual changes in the density of this dim medium, which varies so much that now you can but just see your hand before you, and a moment afterwards you can see the cabs dashing out of the duskiness a score of yards off. It is seldom or never, moreover, an unmitigated gloom, but appears to be mixed up with sunshine in different proportions; sometimes only one part sun to a thousand of smoke and fog, and sometimes sunshine enough to give the whole mass a coppery line. This would have been a bright sunny day but for the interference of the fog; and before I had been out long, I actually saw the sun looking red and rayless, much like the millionth magnification of a new halfpenny. I was bound towards Bennoch's; for he had written a note to apologize for not visiting us, and I had promised to call and see him to-day. I went to Marlborough House to look at the English pictures, which I care more about seeing, here in England, than those of foreign artists, because the latter will be found more numerously and better on the Continent. I saw many pictures that pleased me; nothing that impressed me very strongly. Pictorial talent seems to be abundant enough, up to a certain point; pictorial genius, I should judge, is among the rarest of gifts. To be sure, I very likely might not recognize it where it existed; and yet it ought to have the power of making itself known even to the uninstructed mind, as literary genius does. If it exist only for connoisseurs, it is a very suspicious matter. I looked at all Turner's pictures, and at many of his drawings; and must again confess myself wholly unable to understand more than a very few of them. Even those few are tantalizing. At a certain distance you discern what appears to be a grand and beautiful picture, which you shall admire and enjoy infinitely if you can get within the range of distinct vision. You come nearer, and find only blotches of color and dabs of the brush, meaning nothing when you look closely, and meaning a mystery at the point where the painter intended to station you. Some landscapes there were, indeed, full of imaginative beauty, and of the better truth etherealized out of the prosaic truth of Nature; only it was still impossible actually to see it. There was a mist over it; or it was like a tract of beautiful dreamland, seen dimly through sleep, and glimmering out of sight, if looked upon with wide-open eyes. These were the more satisfactory specimens. There were many others which I could not comprehend in the remotest degree; not even so far as to conjecture whether they purported to represent earth, sea, or sky. In fact, I should not have known them to be pictures at all, but might have supposed that the artist had been trying his brush on the canvas, mixing up all sorts of hues, but principally white paint, and now and then producing an agreeable harmony of color without particularly intending it. Now that I have done my best to understand them without an interpreter, I mean to buy Ruskin's pamphlet at my next visit, and look at them through his eyes. But I do not think that I can be driven out of the idea that a picture ought to have something in common with what the spectator sees in nature. Marlborough House may be converted, I think, into a very handsome residence for the young Prince of Wales. The entrance from the court-yard is into a large, square central hall, the painted ceiling of which is at the whole height of the edifice, and has a gallery on one side, whence it would be pleasant to look down on a festal scene below. The rooms are of fine proportions, with vaulted ceilings, and with fireplaces and mantel-pieces of great beauty, adorned with pillars and terminal figures of white and of variegated marble; and in the centre of each mantel-piece there is a marble tablet, exquisitely sculptured with classical designs, done in such high relief that the figures are sometimes almost disengaged from the background. One of the subjects was Androcles, or whatever was his name, taking the thorn out of the lion's foot. I suppose these works are of the era of the first old Duke and Duchess. After all, however, for some reason or other, the house does not at first strike you as a noble and princely one, and you have to convince yourself of it by examining it more in detail. On leaving Marlborough House, I stepped for a few moments into the National Gallery, and looked, among other things, at the Turners and Claudes that hung there side by side. These pictures, I think, are quite the most comprehensible of Turner's productions; but I must say I prefer the Claudes. The latter catches "the light that never was on sea or land" without taking you quite away from nature for it. Nevertheless, I will not be quite certain that I care for any painter except Murillo, whose St. John I should like to own. As far as my own pleasure is concerned, I could not say as much for any other picture; for I have always found an infinite weariness and disgust resulting from a picture being too frequently before my eyes. I had rather see a basilisk, for instance, than the very best of those old, familiar pictures in the Boston Athenaeum; and most of those in the National Gallery might soon affect me in the same way. From the Gallery I almost groped my way towards the city, for the fog seemed to grow denser and denser as I advanced; and when I reached St. Paul's, the sunny intermixture above spoken of was at its minimum, so that, the smoke-cloud grew really black about the dome and pinnacles, and the statues of saints looked down dimly from their standpoints on high. It was very grand, however, to see the pillars and porticos, and the huge bulk of the edifice, heaving up its dome from an obscure foundation into yet more shadowy obscurity; and by the time I reached the corner of the churchyard nearest Cheapside, the whole vast cathedral had utterly vanished, leaving "not a wrack behind," unless those thick, dark vapors were the elements of which it had been composed, and into which it had again dissolved. It is good to think, nevertheless,--and I gladly accept the analogy and the moral,--that the cathedral was really there, and as substantial as ever, though those earthly mists had hidden it from mortal eyes. I found ------ in better spirits than when I saw him last, but his misfortune has been too real not to affect him long and deeply. He was cheerful, however, and his face shone with almost its old lustre. It has still the cheeriest glow that I ever saw in any human countenance. I went home by way of Holborn, and the fog was denser than ever,--very black, indeed more like a distillation of mud than anything else; the ghost of mud,--the spiritualized medium of departed mud, through which the dead citizens of London probably tread in the Hades whither they are translated. So heavy was the gloom, that gas was lighted in all the shop-windows; and the little charcoal-furnaces of the women and boys, roasting chestnuts, threw a ruddy, misty glow around them. And yet I liked it. This fog seems an atmosphere proper to huge, grimy London; as proper to London as that light neither of the sun nor moon is to the New Jerusalem. On reaching home, I found the same fog diffused through the drawing-room, though how it could have got in is a mystery. Since nightfall, however, the atmosphere is clear again. December 20th.--Here we are still in London, at least a month longer than we expected, and at the very dreariest and dullest season of the year. Had I thought of it sooner, I might have found interesting people enough to know, even when all London is said to be out of town; but meditating a stay only of a week or two (on our way to Rome), it did not seem worth while to seek acquaintances. I have been out only for one evening; and that was at Dr. ------'s, who had been attending all the children in the measles. (Their illness was what detained us.) He is a homoeopathist, and is known in scientific or general literature; at all events, a sensible and enlightened man, with an un-English freedom of mind on some points. For example, he is a Swedenborgian, and a believer in modern spiritualism. He showed me some drawings that had been made under the spiritual influence by a miniature-painter who possesses no imaginative power of his own, and is merely a good mechanical and literal copyist; but these drawings, representing angels and allegorical people, were done by an influence which directed the artist's hand, he not knowing what his next touch would be, nor what the final result. The sketches certainly did show a high and fine expressiveness, if examined in a trustful mood. Dr. ------ also spoke of Mr. Harris, the American poet of spiritualism, as being the best poet of the day; and he produced his works in several volumes, and showed me songs, and paragraphs of longer poems, in support of his opinion. They seemed to me to have a certain light and splendor, but not to possess much power, either passionate or intellectual. Mr. Harris is the medium of deceased poets, Milton and Lord Byron among the rest; and Dr. ------ said that Lady Byron--who is a devoted admirer of her husband, in spite of their conjugal troubles--pronounced some of these posthumous strains to be worthy of his living genius. Then the Doctor spoke of various strange experiences which he himself has had in these spiritual matters; for he has witnessed the miraculous performances of Home, the American medium, and he has seen with his own eyes, and felt with his own touch, those ghostly hands and arms the reality of which has been certified to me by other beholders. Dr. ------ tells me that they are cold, and that it is a somewhat awful matter to see and feel them. I should think so, indeed. Do I believe in these wonders? Of course; for how is it possible to doubt either the solemn word or the sober observation of a learned and sensible man like Dr. ------? But again, do I really believe it? Of course not; for I cannot consent to have heaven and earth, this world and the next, beaten up together like the white and yolk of an egg, merely out of respect to Dr. ------'s sanity and integrity. I would not believe my own sight, nor touch of the spiritual hands; and it would take deeper and higher strains than those of Mr. Harris to convince me. I think I might yield to higher poetry or heavenlier wisdom than mortals in the flesh have ever sung or uttered. Meanwhile, this matter of spiritualism is surely the strangest that ever was heard of; and yet I feel unaccountably little interest in it,--a sluggish disgust, and repugnance to meddle with it,--insomuch that I hardly feel as if it were worth this page or two in my not very eventful journal. One or two of the ladies present at Dr. ------'s little party seemed to be mediums. I have made several visits to the picture-galleries since my last date; and I think it fair towards my own powers of appreciation to record that I begin to appreciate Turner's pictures rather better than at first. Not that I have anything to recant as respects those strange, white-grounded performances in the chambers at the Marlborough House; but some of his happier productions (a large landscape illustrative of Childe Harold, for instance) seem to me to have more magic in them than any other pictures. I admire, too, that misty, morning landscape in the National Gallery; and, no doubt, his very monstrosities are such as only he could have painted, and may have an infinite value for those who can appreciate the genius in them. The shops in London begin to show some tokens of approaching Christmas; especially the toy-shops, and the confectioners',--the latter ornamenting their windows with a profusion of bonbons and all manner of pygmy figures in sugar; the former exhibiting Christmas-trees, hung with rich and gaudy fruit. At the butchers' shops, there is a great display of fat carcasses, and an abundance of game at the poulterers'. We think of going to the Crystal Palace to spend the festival day, and eat our Christmas dinner; but, do what we may, we shall have no home feeling or fireside enjoyment. I am weary, weary of London and of England, and can judge now how the old Loyalists must have felt, condemned to pine out their lives here, when the Revolution had robbed them of their native country. And yet there is still a pleasure in being in this dingy, smoky, midmost haunt of men; and I trudge through Fleet Street and Ludgate Street and along Cheapside with an enjoyment as great as I ever felt in a wood-path at home; and I have come to know these streets as well, I believe, as I ever knew Washington Street in Boston, or even Essex Street in my stupid old native town. For Piccadilly or for Regent Street, though more brilliant promenades, I do not care nearly so much. December 27th.--Still leading an idle life, which, however, may not be quite thrown away, as I see some things, and think many thoughts. The other day we went to Westminster Abbey, and through the chapels; and it being as sunny a day as could well be in London, and in December, we could judge, in some small degree, what must have been the splendor of those tombs and monuments when first erected there. I presume I was sufficiently minute in describing my first visit to the chapels, so I shall only mention the stiff figure of a lady of Queen Elizabeth's court, reclining on the point of her elbow under a mural arch through all these dusty years; . . . . and the old coronation-chair, with the stone of Scone beneath the seat, and the wood-work cut and scratched all over with names and initials. . . . I continue to go to the picture-galleries. I have an idea that the face of Murillo's St. John has a certain mischievous intelligence in it. This has impressed me almost from the first. It is a boy's face, very beautiful and very pleasant too, but with an expression that one might fairly suspect to be roguish if seen in the face of a living boy. About equestrian statues, as those of various kings at Charing Cross, and otherwhere about London, and of the Duke of Wellington opposite Apsley House, and in front of the Exchange, it strikes me as absurd, the idea of putting a man on horseback on a place where one movement of the steed forward or backward or sideways would infallibly break his own and his rider's neck. The English sculptors generally seem to have been aware of this absurdity, and have endeavored to lessen it by making the horse as quiet as a cab-horse on the stand, instead of rearing rampant, like the bronze group of Jackson at Washington. The statue of Wellington, at the Piccadilly corner of the Park, has a stately and imposing effect, seen from far distances, in approaching either through the Green Park, or from the Oxford Street corner of Hyde Park. January 3d, 1858.--On Thursday we had the pleasure of a call from Mr. Coventry Patmore, to whom Dr. Wilkinson gave me a letter of introduction, and on whom I had called twice at the British Museum without finding him. We had read his Betrothal and Angel in the House with unusual pleasure and sympathy, and therefore were very glad to make his personal acquaintance. He is a man of much more youthful aspect than I had expected, . . . . a slender person to be an Englishman, though not remarkably so had he been an American; with an intelligent, pleasant, and sensitive face,--a man very evidently of refined feelings and cultivated mind. . . . He is very simple and agreeable in his manners; a little shy, yet perfectly frank, and easy to meet on real grounds. . . . He said that his wife had proposed to come with him, and had, indeed, accompanied him to town, but was kept away. . . . We were very sorry for this, because Mr. Patmore seems to acknowledge her as the real "Angel in the House," although he says she herself ignores all connection with the poem. It is well for her to do so, and for her husband to feel that the character is her real portrait; and both, I suppose, are right. It is a most beautiful and original poem,--a poem for happy married people to read together, and to understand by the light of their own past and present life; but I doubt whether the generality of English people are capable of appreciating it. I told Mr. Patmore that I thought his popularity in America would be greater than at home, and he said that it was already so; and he appeared to estimate highly his American fame, and also our general gift of quicker and more subtle recognition of genius than the English public. . . . We mutually gratified each other by expressing high admiration of one another's works, and Mr. Patmore regretted that in the few days of our further stay here we should not have time to visit him at his home. It would really give me pleasure to do so. . . . I expressed a hope of seeing him in Italy during our residence there, and he seemed to think it possible, as his friend, and our countryman, Thomas Buchanan Read, had asked him to come thither and be his guest. He took his leave, shaking hands with all of us because he saw that we were of his own people, recognizing him as a true poet. He has since given me the new edition of his poems, with a kind rote. We are now making preparations for our departure, which we expect will take place on Tuesday; and yesterday I went to our Minister's to arrange about the passport. The very moment I rang at his door, it swung open, and the porter ushered me with great courtesy into the anteroom; not that he knew me, or anything about me, except that I was an American citizen. This is the deference which an American servant of the public finds it expedient to show to his sovereigns. Thank Heaven, I am a sovereign again, and no longer a servant; and really it is very singular how I look down upon our ambassadors and dignitaries of all sorts, not excepting the President himself. I doubt whether this is altogether a good influence of our mode of government. I did not see, and, in fact, declined seeing, the Minister himself, but only his son, the Secretary of Legation, and a Dr. P------, an American traveller just from the Continent. He gave a fearful account of the difficulties that beset a person landing with much luggage in Italy, and especially at Civita Vecchia, the very port at which we intended to debark. I have been so long in England that it seems a cold and shivery thing to go anywhere else. Bennoch came to take tea with us on the 5th, it being his first visit since we came to London, and likewise his farewell visit on our leaving for the Continent. On his departure, J----- and I walked a good way down Oxford Street and Holborn with him, and I took leave of him with the kindest wishes for his welfare. END OF VOL. II. 
8901	----	THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON. A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. Letters and Journals. Vol. I. _____________________________ EDITED BY ROWLAND E. PROTHERO. 1898. PREFACE Two great collections of Byron's letters have been already printed. In Moore's 'Life', which appeared in 1830, 561 were given. These, in FitzGreene Halleck's American edition of Byron's 'Works', published in 1847, were increased to 635. The first volume of a third collection, edited by Mr. W. E. Henley, appeared early in 1897. A comparison of the number of letters contained in these three collections down to August 22, 1811, shows that Moore prints 61, Halleck 78, and Mr. Henley 88. In other words, the edition of 1897, which was the most complete so far as it goes, added 27 letters to that of 1830, and 10 to that of 1847. But it should be remembered that by far the greater part of the material added by Halleck and Mr. Henley was seen and rejected by Moore. The present edition, down to August 22, 1811, prints 168 letters, or an addition of 107 to Moore, 90 to Halleck, and 80 to Mr. Henley. Of this additional matter considerably more than two-thirds was inaccessible to Moore in 1830. In preparing this volume for the press, use has been also made of a mass of material, bearing more or less directly on Byron's life, which was accumulated by the grandfather and father of Mr. Murray. The notes thus contain, it is believed, many details of biographical interest, which are now for the first time published. It is necessary to make these comparisons, in order to define the position which this edition claims to hold with regard to its predecessors. On the other hand, no one can regret more sincerely than myself--no one has more cause to regret--the circumstances which placed this wealth of new material in my hands rather than in those of the true poet and brilliant critic, who, to enthusiasm for Byron, and wide acquaintance with the literature and social life of the day, adds the rarer gift of giving life and significance to bygone events or trivial details by unconsciously interesting his readers in his own living personality. Byron's letters appeal on three special grounds to all lovers of English literature. They offer the most suggestive commentary on his poetry; they give the truest portrait of the man; they possess, at their best, in their ease, freshness, and racy vigour, a very high literary value. The present volume, which covers the period from 1798 to August, 1811, includes the letters written Lord Byron from his eleventh to his twenty-third year. They therefore illustrate the composition of his youthful poetry, of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', and of the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold'. They carry his history down to the eve of that morning in March, 1812, when he awoke and found himself famous--in a degree and to an extent which to the present generation seem almost incomprehensible. If the letters were selected for their literary value alone, it is probable that very few of those contained in the present volume would find a place in a collection formed on this principle. But biographical interest also demands consideration, and, in the case of Byron, this claim is peculiarly strong. He has for years suffered much from the suppression of the material on which a just estimate of his life may be formed. It is difficult not to regret the destruction of the 'Memoirs', in which he himself intended his history to be told. Their loss cannot be replaced; but their best substitute is found in his letters. Through them a truer conception of Byron can be formed than any impression which is derived from Dallas, Leigh Hunt, Medwin, or even Moore. It therefore seems only fair to Byron, that they should be allowed, as far as possible, to interpret his career. For other reasons also it appears to me too late, or too soon, to publish only those letters which possess a high literary value. The real motive of such a selection would probably be misread, and thus further misconceptions of Byron's character would be encouraged. With one exception, therefore, the whole of the available material has been published. The exception consists of some of the business letters written by Byron to his solicitor. Enough of these have been printed to indicate the pecuniary difficulties which undoubtedly influenced his life and character; but it was not considered necessary to publish the whole series. Men of genius ask money from their lawyers in the same language, and with the same arguments, as the most ordinary persons. The picture which the letters give of Byron, is, it is believed, unique in its completeness, while the portrait has the additional value of being painted by his own hand. Byron's career lends itself only too easily to that method of treatment, which dashes off a likeness by vigorous strokes with a full brush, seizing with false emphasis on some salient feature, and revelling in striking contrasts of light and shade. But the style here adopted by the unconscious artist is rather that in which Richardson the novelist painted his pathetic picture of Clarissa Harlowe. With slow, laborious touches, with delicate gradations of colour, sometimes with almost tedious minuteness and iteration, the gradual growth of a strangely composite character is presented, surrounded by the influences which controlled or moulded its development, and traced through all the varieties of its rapidly changing moods. Written, as Byron wrote, with habitual exaggeration, and on the impulse of the moment, his letters correct one another, and, from this point of view, every letter contained in the volume adds something to the truth and completeness of the portrait. Round the central figure of Byron are grouped his relations and friends, and two of the most interesting features in the volume are the strength of his family affections, and the width, if not the depth, of his capacity for friendship. His father died when the child was only three years old. But a bundle of his letters, written from Valenciennes to his sister, Mrs. Leigh, in 1790-91, still exists, to attest, with startling plainness of speech, the strength of the tendencies which John Byron transmitted to his son. The following extract contains the father's only allusion to the boy:-- "Valenciennes, Feb. 16, 1791. Have you never received any letters from me by way of Bologne? I have sent two. For God's sake send me some, as I have a great deal to pay. With regard to Mrs. Byron, I am glad she writes to you. She is very amiable at a distance; but I defy you and all the Apostles to live with her two months, for, if any body could live with her, it was me. 'Mais jeu de Mains, jeu de Vilains'. For my son, I am happy to hear he is well; but for his walking, 'tis impossible, as he is club-footed." Between his mother and himself, in spite of frequent and violent collisions, there existed a real affection, while the warmth of his love for his half-sister Augusta, who had much of her brother's power of winning affection, lost nothing in its permanence from the rarity of their personal intercourse. Outside the family circle, the volume introduces the only two men among his contemporaries who remained his lifelong friends. In his affection for Lord Clare, whom he very rarely saw after leaving school, there was a tinge of romance, and in him Byron seems to have personified the best memories of an idealized Harrow. In Hobhouse he found at once the truest and the most intimate of his friends, a man whom he both liked and respected, and to whose opinion and judgment he repeatedly deferred. On Hobhouse's side, the sentiment which induced him, eminently sensible and practical as he was, to treasure the nosegay which Byron had given him, long after it was withered, shows how attractive must have been the personality of the donor. Without the 'Dictionary of National Biography', the labour of preparing the letters for the press would be trebled. Both in the facts which it supplies, and in the sources of information which it suggests, it is an invaluable aid. In conclusion, I desire to express my special obligations to Lord Lovelace and Mr. Richard Edgcumbe, who have read the greater part of the proofs, and to both of whom I am indebted for several useful suggestions. R. E. PROTHERO. March, 1898. List of Letters 1798 1. Nov. 8. To Mrs. Parker 1799. 2. March 13. To his Mother 3. Undated. To John Hanson 1803. 4. May 1. To his Mother 5. June 23, To his Mother 6. Sept. To his Mother 1804. 7. March 22. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 8. March 26. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 9. April 2. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 10. April 9. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 11 Aug. 18. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 12. Aug. 29. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 13. Oct. 25. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 14. Nov. 2. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 15. Nov. 11. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 16. Nov. 17. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 17. Nov. 21. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 18. Dec. 1. To John Hanson 1805. 19. Jan. 30. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 20. April 4. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 21. April 15. To Hargreaves Hanson 22. April 20. To Hargreaves Hanson 23. April 23. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 24. April 25. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 25. May 11. To John Hanson 26. June 5. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 27. June 27. To John Hanson 28. July 2. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 29. July 8. To John Hanson 30. Aug. 4. To Charles O. Gordon 31. Aug. 6. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 32. Aug. 10. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 33. Aug. 14. To Charles O. Gordon. 34. Aug. 19. To Hargreaves Hanson 35. Undated. To Hargreaves Hanson 36. Oct. 25. To Hargreaves Hanson 37. Oct. 26. To John Hanson 38. Nov. 6. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 39. Nov. 12. To Hargreaves Hanson 40. Nov. 23. To John Hanson 41. Nov. 30. To John Hanson 42. Dec. 4. To John Hanson 43. Dec. 13. To John Hanson 44. Dec. 26. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 45. Dec. 27. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 1806 46. Jan. 7. To the Hon. Augusta Byron 47. Feb. 26. To his Mother 48. March 3. To John Hanson 49. March 10. To John Hanson 50. March 25. To John Hanson 51. May 16. To Henry Angelo 52. Aug. 9. To John M.B. Pigot 53. Aug. 10. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 54. Aug. 10. To John M.B. Pigot 55. Aug. 16. To John M.B. Pigot 56. Aug. 18. To John M.B. Pigot 57. Aug. 26. To John M. B. Pigot 58. Undated. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 59. Dec. 7. To John Hanson 1807. 60. Jan. 12. To J. Ridge 61. Jan. 13. To John M. B. Pigot 62. Jan. 31. To Captain John Leacroft 63. Feb. 4. " " " 64. Feb. 4. " " " 65. Feb. 6. To the Earl of Clare 66. Feb. 8. To Mrs. Hanson 67. March 6. To William Bankes 68. Undated. " " 69. Undated. To----Falkner 70. April 2. To John Hanson 71. April. To John M. B. Pigot 72. April 19. To John Hanson 73. June 11. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 74. June 30. " " " 75. July 5. " " " 76. July 13. " " " 77. July 20. To John Hanson 78. Aug. 2. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 79. Aug. 11. " " " 80. Oct. 19. To John Hanson 81. Oct. 26. To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot 82. Nov. 20. To J. Ridge 83. Dec. 2. To John Hanson 84. Nov. 9 (1820) To John Murray 1808. 85. Jan. 13. To Henry Drury 86. Jan. 16. To John Cam Hobhouse 87. Jan. 20. To Robert Charles Dallas 88. Jan. 21. " " " 89. Jan. 25. To John Hanson 90. Jan. 25. " " 91. Feb. 2. To James De Bathe 92. Feb. 11. To William Harness 93. Feb. 21. To J. Ridge 94. Feb. 26. To the Rev. John Becher 95. March 28. " " " 96. April 26. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 97. Sept. 14. To the Rev. John Becher 98. Sept. 18. To John Jackson 99. Oct. 4. " " 100. Oct. 7. To his Mother 101. Nov. 2. " " 102. Nov. 3. To Francis Hodgson 103. Nov. 18. To John Hanson 104. Nov. 27. To Francis Hodgson 105. Nov. 30. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 106. Dec. 14. " " " 107. Dec. 17. To John Hanson 108. Dec. 17. To Francis Hodgson 1809. 109. Jan. 15. To John Hanson 110. Jan. 25. To R. C. Dallas 111. Feb. 7. " " " 112. Feb. 11. " " " 113. Feb. 12. " " " 114. Feb. 16. " " " 115. Feb. 19. " " " 116. Feb. 22. " " " 117. March 6. To his Mother 118. March 18. To William Harness 119. Undated. To William Bankes 120. April 25. To R. C. Dallas 121. April 26. To John Hanson 122. May 15. To the Rev. R. Lowe 123. June 22. To his Mother 124. June 28. To the Rev. Henry Drury 125. June 25-30. To Francis Hodgson 126. July 16. " " " 127. Aug. 6. " " " 128. Aug. 11. To his Mother 129. Aug. 15. To Mr. Rushton 130. Sept. 15. To his Mother 131. Nov. 12. " " " 1810. 132. March 19. To his Mother 133. April 9. To his Mother 134. April I0. To his Mother 135. April 17. To his Mother 136. May 3. To Henry Drury 137. May 5. To Francis Hodgson 138. May 18. To his Mother 139. May 24. To his Mother 140. June 17. To Henry Drury 141. June 28. To his Mother 142. July 1. To his Mother 143. July 4. To Francis Hodgson 144. July 25. To his Mother 145. July 27. To his Mother 146. July 30. To his Mother 147. Oct. 2. To his Mother 148. Oct. 3. To Francis Hodgson 149. Oct. 4. To John Cam Hobhouse 150. Nov. 14. To Francis Hodgson 1811. 151. Jan. 14. To his Mother I52. Feb. 28. To his Mother 153. June 25. To his Mother 154. June 28. To R. C. Dallas 155. June 29. To Francis Hodgson 156. July 17. To Henry Drury 157. July 23. To his Mother 158. July 30. To William Miller 159. Aug. 2. To John M. B. Pigot 160. Aug. 4. To John Hanson 161. Aug. 7. To Scrope Berdmore Davies 162. Aug. 12. To R. C. Dallas 163. Aug. 12. To----Bolton 164. Aug. 16. To----Bolton 165. Aug. 20. To----Bolton 166. Aug. 21. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 167. Aug. 21. To R. C. Dallas 168. Aug. 22. To Francis Hodgson CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL II. CAMBRIDGE AND JUVENILE POEMS III. ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS IV. TRAVELS IN ALBANIA, GREECE, ETC.--DEATH OF MRS. BYRON APPENDIX I. REVIEW OF WORDSWORTH'S POEMS APPENDIX II. ARTICLE FROM THE 'EDINBURGH REVIEW', FOR JANUARY, 1808 APPENDIX III. REVIEW OF GELL'S 'GEOGRAPHY OF ITHACA', AND 'ITINERARY OF GREECE' THE LETTERS OF LORD BYRON. CHAPTER I. 1788-1805. CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL. Catherine Gordon of Gight (1765-1811), afterwards Mrs. Byron, and mother of the poet, was descended on the paternal side from Sir William Gordon of Gight, the third son, by Annabella Stewart, daughter of James I of Scotland, of George, second Earl of Huntly, Chancellor of Scotland (1498-1502), and Lord-Lieutenant of the North from 1491 to his death in 1507. The owners of Gight, now a ruin, once a feudal stronghold, were a hot-headed, hasty-handed race, sufficiently notable to be commemorated by Thomas the Rhymer, and to leave their mark in the traditions of Aberdeenshire. In the seventh generation from Sir William Gordon, the property passed to an heiress, Mary Gordon. By her marriage with Alexander Davidson of Newton, who assumed the name of Gordon, she had a son Alexander, Mrs. Byron's grandfather, who married Margaret Duff of Craigston, a cousin of the first Earl of Fife. Their eldest son, George, the fifth of the Gordons of Gight who bore that name, married Catherine Innes of Rosieburn, and by her became the father of Catherine Gordon, born in 1765, afterwards Mrs. Byron. Both her parents dying early, Catherine Gordon was brought up at Banff by her grandmother, commonly called Lady Gight, a penurious, illiterate woman, who, however, was careful that her granddaughter was better educated than herself. Thus, for the second time, Gight, which, with other property, was worth between £23,000 and £24,000, passed to an heiress. Miss Catherine Gordon had her full share of feminine vanity. At the age of thirty-five she was a stout, dumpy, coarse-looking woman, awkward in her movements, provincial in her accent and manner. But as her son was vain of his personal appearance, and especially of his hands, neck, and ears, so she, when other charms had vanished, clung to her pride in her arms and hands. She exhausted the patience of Stewartson the artist, who in 1806, after forty sittings, painted her portrait, by her anxiety to have a particular turn in her elbow exhibited in the most pleasing light. Of her ancestry she was, to use her son's expression, as "proud as Lucifer," looked down upon the Byron family, and regarded the Duke of Gordon as an inferior member of her clan. In later life, at any rate, her temper was ungovernable; her language, when excited, unrestrained; her love of gossip insatiable. Capricious in her moods, she flew from one extreme to the other, passing, for the slightest cause, from passionate affection to equally passionate resentment. How far these defects were produced, as they certainly were aggravated, by her husband's ill treatment and her hard struggle with poverty, it is impossible to say. She had many good qualities. She bore her ruin, as her letters show, with good sense, dignity, and composure. She lived on a miserable pittance without running into debt; she pinched herself in order to give her son a liberal supply of money; she was warm-hearted and generous to those in distress. She adored her scamp of a husband, and, in her own way, was a devoted mother. In politics she affected democratic opinions, took in the 'Morning Chronicle', and paid for it, as is shown by a bill sent in after her death, at the rate of £4 17s. 6d. for the half-year--no small deduction from her narrow income. She was fond of books, subscribed to the Southwell Book Club, copied passages which struck her in the course of her reading, collected all the criticisms on her son's poetry, made shrewd remarks upon them herself (Moore's 'Journal and Correspondence', vol. v. p. 295), and corresponded with her friends on literary subjects. In 1785 Miss Catherine Gordon was at Bath, where, it may be mentioned, her father had, some years before, committed suicide. There she met, and there, on May 13, 1785, in the parish church of St. Michael, as the register shows, she married Captain John Byron. Captain John Byron (1755-91), born at Plymouth, was the eldest son of Admiral the Hon. John Byron (1723-86)--known in the Royal Navy as "Hardy Byron" or "Foul-weather Jack"--by his marriage (1748) with Sophia Trevanion of Carhais, in Cornwall. The admiral, next brother to William, fifth Lord Byron, was a distinguished naval officer, whose 'Narrative' of his shipwreck in the 'Wager' was published in 1768, and whose 'Voyage round the World' in the 'Dolphin' was described by "an officer in the said ship" in 1767. His eldest son, John Byron, educated at Westminster and a French Military Academy, entered the Guards and served in America. A gambler, a spendthrift, a profligate scamp, disowned by his father, he in 1778 ran away with, and in 1779 married, Lady Carmarthen, wife of Francis, afterwards fifth Duke of Leeds, née Lady Amelia d'Arcy, only child and heiress of the last Earl of Holderness, and Baroness Conyers in her own right. Captain Byron and his wife lived in Paris, where were born to them a son and a daughter, both of whom died in infancy, and Augusta, born 1783, the poet's half-sister, who subsequently married her first cousin, Colonel George Leigh. In 1784 Lady Conyers died, and Captain Byron returned to England, a widower, over head and ears in debt, and in search of an heiress. It was a rhyme in Aberdeenshire-- "When the heron leaves the tree, The laird of Gight shall landless be." Tradition has it that, at the marriage of Catherine Gordon with "mad Jack Byron," the heronry at Gight passed over to Kelly or Haddo, the property of the Earl of Aberdeen. "The land itself will not be long in following," said his lordship, and so it proved. For a few months Mrs. Byron Gordon--for her husband assumed the name, and by this title her Scottish friends always addressed her--lived at Gight. But the ready money, the outlying lands, the rights of fishery, the timber, failed to liquidate Captain Byron's debts, and in 1786 Gight itself was sold to Lord Aberdeen for £17,850. Mrs. Byron Gordon found herself, at the end of eighteen months, stripped of her property, and reduced to the income derived from £4200, subject to an annuity payable to her grandmother. She bore the reverse with a composure which shows her to have been a woman of no ordinary courage. Her letters on the subject are sensible, not ill-expressed, and, considering the circumstances in which they were written, give a favourable impression of her character. The wreck of their fortunes compelled Mrs. Byron Gordon and her husband to retire to France. At the beginning of 1788 she had returned to London, and on January 22, 1788, at 16, Holles Street (since numbered 24, and now destroyed), in the back drawing-room of the first floor, gave birth to her only child, George Gordon, afterwards sixth Lord Byron. Hanson gives the names of the nurse, Mrs. Mills, the man-midwife, Mr. Combe, the doctor, Dr. Denman, who attended Mrs. Byron at her confinement. Dallas was, therefore, mistaken in his supposition that the poet was born at Dover. The child was baptized in London on February 29, 1788, as is proved by the register of the parish of Marylebone. Shortly after the birth of her son, Mrs. Byron settled in Aberdeen, where she lived for upwards of eight years. During her stay there, in the summer of 1791, her husband died at Valenciennes. In the year 1794, by the death of his cousin William John Byron (1772-94) from a wound received at the siege of Calvi, in Corsica, her son became the heir to his great-uncle, the "wicked Lord Byron" (William, fifth Lord Byron, 1722-98), and a solicitor named Hanson was appointed to protect the boy's interests. From Aberdeen Mrs. Byron kept up a correspondence with her sister-in-law, Frances Leigh ('née' Byron), wife of General Charles Leigh, to whom, in a letter, dated March 27, 1791, she speaks of her son as "very well, and really a charming boy." Writing again to Mrs. Leigh, December 8, 1794, she says, "I think myself much obliged to you for being so interested for George; you may be sure I would do anything I could for my son, but I really don't see what can be done for him in that case. You say you are afraid Lord B. will dispose of the estates that are left, if he can; if he has it in his power, nobody can prevent him from selling them; if he has not, no one will buy them from him. You know Lord Byron. Do you think he will do anything for George, or be at any expense to give him a proper education; or, if he wish to do it, is his present fortune such a one that he could spare anything out of it? You know how poor I am, not that I mean to ask him to do anything for him, that is to say, to be of any expense on his account." If any application was made to the boy's great-uncle, it was unsuccessful. On May 19, 1798, Lord Byron died, and Hanson informed Mrs. Byron that her son had succeeded to the title and estates. At the end of the summer of that year, the little Lord Byron, with his mother and the nurse May Gray, reached Newstead, and, within a few weeks from their arrival, his first letter was written. His letters to his mother, it may be observed, are always addressed to "the Honourable Mrs. Byron," a title to which she had no claim. 1.--To Mrs. Parker. [1] Newstead Abbey, Nov. 8th, 1798. Dear Madam,--My Mamma being unable to write herself desires I will let you know that the potatoes are now ready and you are welcome to them whenever you please. She begs you will ask Mrs. Parkyns if she would wish the poney to go round by Nottingham or to go home the nearest way as it is now quite well but too small to carry me. I have sent a young Rabbit which I beg Miss Frances will accept off and which I promised to send before. My Mamma desires her best compliments to you all in which I join. I am, Dear Aunt, yours sincerely, BYRON. I hope you will excuse all blunders as it is the first letter I ever wrote. [Footnote 1: This letter, the first that Byron wrote, was written when he was ten years and ten months old. It is preserved in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and a facsimile is given by Elze, in his 'Life of Lord Byron'. It is apparently addressed to his aunt, Mrs. Parker. Charlotte Augusta Byron, daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron, married Christopher Parker (1761-1804), Vice-Admiral 1804, the son of Admiral of the Fleet Sir Peter Parker, Bart. (1721-1811). Her son, who, on the death of his grandfather, succeeded to the baronetcy as Sir Peter Parker, second Bart. (1786-1814), commanded H.M.S. 'Menelaus', and was killed in an attack on a body of American militia encamped near Baltimore. (See Byron's "Elegy on the Death of Sir Peter Parker," and his letter to Moore, October 7, 1814.) Her daughter Margaret, one of Byron's early loves, inspired, as he says, his "first dash into poetry" (see 'Poems', vol. i, p. 5, note 1).] 2.--To his Mother. Nottingham, 13 March, 1799. Dear Mama,--I am very glad to hear you are well. I am so myself, thank God; upon my word I did not expect so long a Letter from you; however I will answer it as well as I can. Mrs. Parkyns and the rest are well and are much obliged to you for the present. Mr. Rogers [1] could attend me every night at a separate hour from the Miss Parkynses, and I am astonished you do not acquiesce in this Scheme which would keep me in Mind of what I have almost entirely forgot. I recommend this to you because, if some plan of this kind is not adopted, I shall be called, or rather branded with the name of a dunce, which you know I could never bear. I beg you will consider this plan seriously and I will lend it all the assistance in my power. I shall be very glad to see the Letter you talk of, and I have time just to say I hope every body is well at Newstead, And remain, your affectionate Son, BYRON. P.S.--Pray let me know when you are to send in the Horses to go to Newstead. May [2] desires her Duty and I also expect an answer by the miller. [Footnote 1: Dummer Rogers, "Teacher of French, English, Latin, and Mathematicks", was, according to 'Notes and Queries' (4th series, vol. iii. p. 561), an American loyalist, pensioned by the English Government. He lived at Hen Cross, Nottingham, when Byron was staying in that city, partly with Mrs. Parkyns, partly at Mr. Gill's, in St. James's Lane, to be attended by a man named Lavender, "trussmaker to the general hospital", who had some local reputation for the treatment of misshapen limbs. Lavender, in 1814 ('Nottingham Directory' for 1814), appears as a "surgeon". Rogers, who read parts of Virgil and Cicero with Byron, represents him as, for his age, a fair scholar. He was often, during his lessons, in violent pain, from the position in which his foot was kept; and Rogers one day said to him, "It makes me uncomfortable, my Lord, to see you sitting there in such pain as I know you must be suffering". "Never mind, Mr. Rogers," answered the boy; "you shall not see any signs of it in _me_." Many years after, when in the neighbourhood of Nottingham, Byron sent a kind message to his old instructor, bidding the bearer tell him that he could still recite twenty verses of Virgil which he had read with Rogers when suffering torture all the time. [Footnote 2: Byron's nurse, who had accompanied him from Aberdeen (see p. 10, note 1).] 3.--To John Hanson. [1] SIR,--I am not a little disappointed at your Stay, for this last week I expected you every hour; but, however, I beg it as a favour that you will come up soon from Newstead as the Holidays commence in three weeks Time. I congratulate you on Capt. Hanson's [1] being appointed commander of The 'Brazen' Sloop of War, and I congratulate myself on Lord Portsmouth's [2] Marriage, hoping his Lady, when he and I meet next, will keep him in a little better order. The manner I knew that Capt. Hanson was appointed Commander of the Ship before mentioned was this. I saw it in the public Paper, and now, since you are going to Newstead, I beg if you meet Gray [3] send her a packing as fast as possible, and give my Compliments to Mrs. Hanson and to all my comrades of the Battalions in and out upon different Stations, And remain, your little friend, BYRON. I forgot to tell you how I was. I am at present very well and my foot goes but indifferently; I cannot perceive any alteration. [Footnote 1: John Hanson, of 6, Chancery Lane, a well-known London solicitor, was introduced to the Byron family by an Aberdeenshire friend of Mrs. Byron, Mr. Farquhar, a member of Parliament, and a civilian practising in Doctors' Commons. The acquaintance began in January, 1788, with Byron's birth, for the midwife and the nurse were recommended by Mrs. Hanson. Six years later, Hanson was employed by Mrs. Byron to watch the interests of her son, who in 1794 had become heir-presumptive to his great-uncle. It was Hanson who, in the summer of 1798, communicated the news of the death of Lord Byron to Mrs. Byron, and with his wife received her and her son at Newstead. From that time till the close of the minority, Hanson was intimately associated with Byron, both as a man of business and a friend. He selected Dr. Glennie's school for the boy, persuaded Lord Carlisle to become his guardian, introduced the ward to Lord Carlisle, and entered him at Harrow. It was at his house in Earl's Court that Byron, for five years, spent a considerable part of his successive holidays. There he made acquaintance with Hanson's children--his sons Charles, Hargreaves (his contemporary at Harrow), and Newton, and his daughter, Mary Anne, who subsequently (March 7, 1814) married the Earl of Portsmouth, Byron giving her away. This letter was written by Byron a few weeks after he had gone to school at Dr. Glennie's, in Lordship Lane, Dulwich. He remained there from August, 1799, to April, 1801. In a letter to Mrs. Byron, dated September 1, 1799, Hanson describes Dr. Glennie's "Academy," where he had shortly before left the boy:-- "I left my entertaining companion with Mr. Glennie last Thursday week, and I have since learnt from him that he is very comfortable and likes the situation. His schoolfellows are very fine youths, and their deportment does very great credit to their Preceptor. I succeeded in getting Lord Byron a separate room, and I am persuaded the greatest attention will be paid to him. Mr. Glennie is a Scotchman, has travelled a great deal, and seems every way qualified for his present situation." [Footnote 2: Captain James Hanson, R.N., was the brother of John Hanson to whom the letter is written. Byron was born with a caul, prized by sailors as a preservative from drowning. The caul was sold by Mrs. Mills, the nurse who attended Mrs. Byron in January, 1788, to Captain Hanson. In January, 1800, Captain Hanson, in command of H.M.S. 'Brazen', had captured a French vessel, which he sent to Portsmouth with a prize crew. On the 26th of the month, while shorthanded, he was caught in a storm off Newhaven. The 'Brazen' foundered, and Captain Hanson with all his men, except one, were drowned.] [Footnote 3: In the late autumn of 1799 Lord Portsmouth was staying with the Hansons before his marriage (November 23, 1799) with Miss Norton, sister of Lord Grantley. In rough play he pinched Byron's ear; the boy picked up a conch shell which was lying on the ground, and hurled it at Lord Portsmouth's head, missing it by a hair's breadth, and smashing the glass behind. In vain Mrs. Hanson tried to make the peace by saying that Byron did not mean the missile for Lord Portsmouth. "But I 'did' mean it!" he reiterated; "I will teach a fool of an earl to pinch another noble's ear."] [Footnote: 4. The following extract from a letter written by Hanson to Mrs. Byron (September 1, 1799) places the character of Byron's nurse in a different light to that which is given in Moore's 'Life':-- "I assure you, Madam, I should not have taken the liberty to have interfered in your domestic Arrangements, had I not thought it absolutely necessary to apprize you of the proceedings of your Servant, Mrs. Gray; her conduct towards your son while at Nottingham was shocking, and I was persuaded you needed but a hint of it to dismiss her. Mrs. Parkyns, when I saw her, said something to me about her; but when I found from dispassionate persons at Nottingham, it was the general Topic of conversation, it would have ill become me to have remained silent. My honourable little companion, tho' disposed to retain his feelings, could not refrain, from the harsh usage he had received at her hands, from complaining to me, and such is his dread of the Woman that I really believe he would forego the satisfaction of seeing you if he thought he was to meet her again. He told me that she was perpetually beating him, and that his bones sometimes ached from it; that she brought all sorts of Company of the very lowest Description into his apartments; that she was out late at nights, and he was frequently left to put himself to bed; that she would take the Chaise-boys into the Chaise with her, and stopped at every little Ale-house to drink with them. But, Madam, this is not all; she has even----traduced yourself. I entertain a very great affection for Lord Byron, and I trust I shall not be considered solely in my professional character, but as his Friend. I introduced him to my Friends, Lord Grantley and his Brother General Norton, who were vastly taken with him, as indeed are every one. And I should be mortified in the highest degree to see the honourable feelings of my little fellow exposed to insult by the inordinate Indiscretions of any Servant. He has Ability and a quickness of Conception, and a correct Discrimination that is seldom seen in a youth, and he is a fit associate of men, and choice indeed must be the Company that is selected for him."] 4.--To his Mother. Harrow-on-the-Hill, Sunday, May 1st, 1803. MY DEAR MOTHER,--I received your Letter the other day. And am happy to hear you are well. I hope you will find Newstead in as favorable a state as you can wish. I wish you would write to Sheldrake to tell him to make haste with my shoes. [1] I am sorry to say that Mr. Henry Drury [2] has behaved himself to me in a manner I neither'can' nor 'will bear'. He has seized now an opportunity of showing his resentment towards me. To day in church I was talking to a Boy who was sitting next me; 'that' perhaps was not right, but hear what followed. After Church he spoke not a word to me, but he took this Boy to his pupil room, where he abused me in a most violent manner, called me 'blackguard', said he 'would' and 'could' have me expelled from the School, and bade me thank his 'Charity' that 'prevented' him; this was the Message he sent me, to which I shall return no answer, but submit my case to 'you' and those you may think 'fit' to 'consult'. Is this fit usage for any body? had I 'stole' or behaved in the most 'abominable' way to him, his language could not have been more outrageous. What must the boys think of me to hear such a Message ordered to be delivered to me by a 'Master'? Better let him take away my life than ruin my 'Character'. My Conscience acquits me of ever 'meriting' expulsion at this School; I have been 'idle' and I certainly ought not to talk in church, but I have never done a mean action at this School to him or 'any one'. If I had done anything so 'heinous', why should he allow me to stay at the School? Why should he himself be so 'criminal' as to overlook faults which merit the 'appellation' of a 'blackguard'? If he had had it in his power to have me expelled, he would long ago have 'done' it; as it is, he has done 'worse'. If I am treated in this Manner, I will not stay at this School. I write you that I will not as yet appeal to Dr. Drury; his Son's influence is more than mine and 'justice' would be 'refused' me. Remember I told you, when I 'left' you at 'Bath', that he would seize every means and opportunity of revenge, not for leaving him so much as the mortification he suffered, because I begged you to let me leave him. If I had been the Blackguard he talks of, why did he not of his own accord refuse to keep me as his 'pupil'? You know Dr. Drury's first letter, in it were these Words: "My son and Lord Byron have had some Disagreements; but I hope that his future behaviour will render a change of Tutors unnecessary." Last Term I was here but a short time, and though he endeavoured, he could find nothing to abuse me in. Among other things I forgot to tell you he said he had a great mind to expel the Boy for speaking to me, and that if he ever again spoke to me he would expel him. Let him explain his meaning; he abused me, but he neither did nor can mention anything bad of me, further than what every boy else in the School has done. I fear him not; but let him explain his meaning; 'tis all I ask. I beg you will write to Dr. Drury to let him know what I have said. He has behaved to me, as also Mr. Evans, very kindly. If you do not take notice of this, I will leave the School myself; but I am sure 'you' will not see me 'ill treated'; better that I should suffer anything than this. I believe you will be tired by this time of reading my letter, but, if you love me, you will now show it. Pray write me immediately. I shall ever remain, Your affectionate Son, BYRON. P.S.--Hargreaves Hanson desires his love to you and hopes you are very well. I am not in want of any Money so will not ask you for any. God bless, bless you. [Footnote 1: Byron appears to have suffered from what would now be described as infantile paralysis, which affected the inner muscles of the right leg and foot, and rendered him permanently lame. Before leaving London for Aberdeen, Mrs. Byron consulted John Hunter, who, in correspondence with Dr. Livingstone of Aberdeen, advised her as to the treatment of her son. Writing, May 31, 1791, to Mrs. Leigh, she says, "George's foot turns inward, and it is the right foot; he walks quite on the side of his foot." In 1798 the child was placed under the care of Lavender (see p. 7, note 1) at Nottingham, doubtless on the recommendation of his aunt. In July, 1799, he was taken to London, in order to consult Dr. Baillie. From July, 1799, till the end of 1802, he was attended by Baillie in consultation with Dr. Laurie of 2, Bartholomew's Close. Special appliances were made for the boy, under their superintendence, by a scientific bootmaker named Sheldrake, in the Strand. In 'The Lancet' for 1827-8 (vol. ii. p. 779) Mr. T. Sheldrake describes "Lord Byron's case," giving an illustration of the foot. His account does not tally, in some respects, with that taken from contemporary letters, and his sketch represents the left not the right leg. But the nature and extent of Byron's lameness have been the subject of a curious variety of opinion. Lady Blessington, Moore, Gait, the Contessa Albrizzi, never knew which foot was deformed. Jackson, the boxer, thought it was the 'left' foot. Trelawney says that it proceeded from a contraction of the back sinews, and that the 'right' foot was most distorted. The lasts from which his shoes were made by Swift, the Southwell bootmaker, are preserved in the Nottingham Museum, and in both the foot is perfect in shape. The last pair of shoes modelled on them were made May 7, 1807. Mrs. Leigh Hunt says that the 'left' foot was shrunken, but was not a club-foot. Stendhal says the 'right' foot. Thorwaldsen indicates the 'left' foot. Dr. James Millingen, who inspected the feet after the poet's death, says that there was a malformation of the 'left' foot and leg, and that he was born club-footed. Two surgical boots are in the possession of Mr. Murray, made for Byron as a child; both are for the 'right' foot, ankle, and leg, and, assuming that they were made to fit the foot, they are too long and thin for a club-foot. Both at Dulwich and at Harrow, Byron was frequently seen by Laurie, whom Mrs. Byron paid, as she once complained in a letter to Laurie, "at the rate of £150 a year." It is difficult to see what more could have been done for the boy, and the explanation of the failure to effect a cure is probably to be found in the following extracts from two of Laurie's letters to Mrs. Byron. The first is dated December 7, 1801:-- "Agreeable to your desire, I waited on Lord Byron at Harrow, and I think it proper to inform you that I found his foot in a much worse state than when I last saw it,--the shoe entirely wet through and the brace round his ancle quite loose. I much fear his extreme inattention will counteract every exertion on my part to make him better. I have only to add that with proper care and bandaging, his foot may still be greatly recovered; but any delay further than the present vacation would render it folly to undertake it." The second letter is dated October 2, 1802. In it Laurie complains that the boy had spent several days in London without seeing him, and adds-- "I cannot help lamenting he has so little sense of the Benefit he has already received as to be so apparently neglectful."] [Footnote 2: For Henry Drury (afterwards an intimate friend of Byron) and his father, the Head-master of Harrow, see p. 41, note 2. When Byron went to Harrow, in April, 1801, he was placed in Henry Drury's house. But in January, 1803, he refused to go back to school unless he was removed from Drury's care. He was in consequence placed at Evans's house. Dr. Drury, writing to explain the new arrangement, says, in a letter to Hanson, dated February 4, 1803-- "The reason why Lord Byron wishes for this change arises from the repeated complaints of Mr. Henry Drury respecting his Inattention to Business, and his propensity to make others laugh and disregard their Employments as much as himself. On this subject I have had many very serious conversations with him, and though Mr. H. D. had repeatedly requested me to withdraw him from his Tuition, yet, relying on my own remonstrances and arguments to rectify his Error, and on his own reflection to confirm him in what is right, I was unwilling to accede to my son's wishes. Lord Byron has now made the request himself; I am glad it has been made, as he thereby imposes on himself an additional responsibility, and encourages me to hope that by this change he intends to lay aside all that negligence and those Childish Practices which were the cause of former complaints." Fresh troubles soon arose, as Byron's letter indicates. Hanson forwarded the boy's complaint to Dr. Drury, from whom he received the following answer, dated May 15, 1803:-- "The Perusal of the inclosed has allowed me to inquire into the whole Matter, and to relieve your young friend's Mind from any uneasy impression it might have sustained from a hasty word I fairly confess. I am sorry it was ever uttered; but certainly it was never intended to make so deep a wound as his letter intimates. "I may truly say, without any parade of words, that I am deeply interested in Lord Byron's welfare. He possesses, as his letter proves, a mind that feels, and that can discriminate reasonably on points in which it conceives itself injured. When I look forward to the Possibility of the exercise of his Talents hereafter, and his supplying the Deficiencies of fortune by the exertion of his abilities and by application, I feel particularly hurt to see him idle, and negligent, and apparently indifferent to the great object to be pursued. This event, and the conversations which have passed between us relative to it, will probably awaken in his mind a greater degree of emulation, and make him studious of acquiring Distinction among his Schoolfellows, as well as of securing to himself the affectionate regard of his Instructors."] 5.--To his Mother. Harrow-on-the-Hill, June 23rd, 6th, 8th, 30th, 1803. My dear Mother,--I am much obliged to you for the Money you sent me. I have already wrote to you several times about writing to Sheldrake: I wish you would write to him, or Mr. Hanson to call on him, to tell him to make an Instrument for my leg immediately, as I want one, rather. I have been placed in a higher form in this School to day, and Dr. Drury and I go on very well; write soon, my Dear Mother. I remain, your affectionate Son, BYRON. 6.--To his Mother. [1] Southwell, [Sept. 1803]. MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have sent Mealey [2] to day to you, before William came, but now I shall write myself. I _promise_ you, upon my _honour_, I will come over tomorrow in the _Afternoon_. I was not wishing to resist your _Commands_, and really seriously intended coming over tomorrow, ever since I received your last Letter; you know as well as I do that it is not your Company I dislike, but the place you reside in. I know it is time to go to Harrow. It will make me _unhappy_; but I will _obey_. I only desire, entreat, this one day, and on my _honour_ I will be over tomorrow in the evening or afternoon. I am sorry you disapprove my Companions, who, however, are the first this County affords, and my equals in most respects; but I will be permitted to chuse for myself. I shall never interfere in your's and I desire you will not molest me in mine. If you grant me this favour, and allow me this one day unmolested, you will eternally oblige your Unhappy Son, BYRON. I shall attempt to offer no excuse as you do not desire one. I only entreat you as a Governor, not as a Mother, to allow me this one day. Those that I most love live in this County; therefore in the name of Mercy I entreat this one day to take leave, and then I will join you again at Southwell to prepare to go to a place where--I will write no more; it would only incense you. Adieu. Tomorrow I come. [Footnote 1: This letter is endorsed by Hanson, "Lord Byron to his mother, "1803". In September, 1803, at the end of the summer holidays, Byron did not return to Harrow. Dr. Drury asked the reason, received no reply, and, on October 4, applied to Hanson for an explanation. Hanson's inquiry drew from Mrs. Byron, on October 30, the following answer, with which was enclosed the above letter from Byron:-- "You may well be surprized, and so may Dr. Drury, that Byron is not returned to Harrow. But the Truth is, I cannot get him to return to school, though I have done all in my power for six weeks past. He has no indisposition that I know of, but love, desperate love, the 'worst' of all 'maladies' in my opinion. In short, the Boy is distractedly in love with Miss Chaworth, and he has not been with me three weeks all the time he has been in this county, but spent all his time at Annesley. If my son was of a proper age and the lady 'disengaged', it is the last of all connexions that I would wish to take place; it has given me much uneasiness. To prevent all trouble in future, I am determined he shall not come here again till Easter; therefore I beg you will find some proper situation for him at the next Holydays. I don't care what I pay. I wish Dr. Drury would keep him. I shall go over to Newstead to-morrow and make a 'last effort' to get him to Town." The effort, if made, failed. On November 7, 1803, Mrs. Byron wrote again:-- "Byron is really so unhappy that I have agreed, much against my inclination, to let him remain in this County till after the next Holydays." It was not till January, 1804, that Byron returned to Harrow. Miss Mary Anne Chaworth, the object of Byron's passion, was then living with her mother, Mrs. Clarke, at Annesley, near Newstead (see 'Poems', vol. i. p. 189, and note 1). The grand-niece of the Mr. Chaworth who was killed in a duel by William, fifth Lord Byron, on January 26, 1765 ('Annual Register', 1765, pp. 208-212; and 'State Trials', vol. xix. pp. 1178-1236), and the heiress of Annesley, she married, in August, 1805, John Musters, by whom she had a daughter, born in 1806. (See "Well! thou art happy!" 'Poems', vol. i. p. 277; see also, for other allusions to Mrs. Chaworth Musters, 'ibid'., pp. 210, 239, 282, 285; and "The Dream" of July, 1816.) In Byron's memorandum-book, he describes a visit which he paid to Matlock with Miss Chaworth's mother, her stepfather Mr. Clarke, some friends, "and 'my' M. A. C. Alas! why do I say MY? Our union would have healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers,--it would have joined lands broad and rich, it would have joined at least 'one' heart, and two persons not ill matched in years (she is two years my elder) and--and--and--'what' has been the result?" ('Life', p. 27). Mrs. Musters, after an unhappy married life, died in February, 1832, at Wiverton Hall, near Nottingham. The connection between the families of Chaworth and Byron came through the marriage of William, third Lord Byron (died 1695), with Elizabeth Chaworth (died 1683), daughter of George Chaworth, created (1627) Viscount Chaworth of Armagh (Thoroton's 'Nottinghamshire', vol. i. p. 198).] [Footnote 2: Owen Mealey, the steward at Newstead.] 7.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [1] [At 63, Portland Place, London.] Burgage Manor, [Thursday], March 22d, 1804. Although, My ever Dear Augusta, I have hitherto appeared remiss in replying to your kind and affectionate letters; yet I hope you will not attribute my neglect to a want of affection, but rather to a shyness naturally inherent in my Disposition. I will now endeavour as amply as lies in my power to repay your kindness, and for the Future I hope you will consider me not only as _a Brother_ but as your warmest and most affectionate _Friend_, and if ever Circumstances should require it your _protector_. Recollect, My Dearest Sister, that you are _the nearest relation_ I have in _the world both by the ties of Blood_ and _affection_. If there is anything in which I can serve you, you have only to mention it; Trust to your Brother, and be assured he will never betray your confidence. When You see my Cousin and future Brother George Leigh, [2] tell him that I already consider him as my Friend, for whoever is beloved by you, my amiable Sister, will always be equally Dear to me. I arrived here today at 2 o'clock after a fatiguing Journey, I found my Mother perfectly well. She desires to be kindly remembered to you; as she is just now Gone out to an assembly, I have taken the first opportunity to write to you, I hope she will not return immediately; for if she was to take it into her head to peruse my epistle, there is one part of it which would produce from her a panegyric on _a friend of yours_, not at all agreeable to me, and I fancy, _not particularly delightful to you_. If you see Lord Sidney Osborne [3] I beg you will remember me to him; I fancy he has almost forgot me by this time, for it is rather more than a year Since I had the pleasure of Seeing him.--Also remember me to poor old Murray; [4] tell him we will see that something is to be done for him, for _while I live he shall never be abandoned In his old Age_. Write to me Soon, my Dear Augusta, And do not forget to love me, In the meantime, I remain, more than words can express, your ever sincere, affectionate Brother and Friend, BYRON. P.S. Do not forget to knit the purse you promised me, Adieu my beloved Sister. [Footnote: 1. The Hon. Augusta Byron, Byron's half-sister (January, 1783-November, 1851), was the daughter of Captain John Byron by his first wife, Amelia d'Arcy (died 1784), only child of the last Earl of Holderness, Baroness Conyers in her own right, the divorced wife of Francis, Marquis of Carmarthen, subsequently fifth Duke of Leeds. After the return of Captain and Mrs. Byron to London early in 1788, she was brought up by her grandmother, the Countess of Holderness. When the latter died, Augusta Byron divided her time between her half-sister, Lady Mary Osborne, who married, July 16, 1801, Lord Pelham, subsequently (1805) Earl of Chichester; her half-brother George, who succeeded his father as sixth Duke of Leeds in 1799; her cousin, the Earl of Carlisle; and General and Mrs. Harcourt. From their houses her letters during the period 1803-7 are written. In 1807 she married her first cousin, Colonel George Leigh of the Tenth Dragoons, the son of General Charles Leigh, by Frances, daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron. By her husband, who was a friend of the Prince Regent and well known in society, she was the mother of seven children. Their home was at Newmarket, till, in April, 1818, they were granted apartments in Flag Court, St. James's Palace, where she died in November, 1851. Augusta Byron seems scarcely to have seen her brother between his infancy and 1802. Lady Holderness and Mrs. Byron were not on friendly terms, and it was not till the former's death that any intimacy was renewed between the brother and sister. Writing on October 18, 1801, to Augusta Byron, Mrs. Byron says, in allusion to the death of Lady Holderness, "As I wish to bury what is past in _oblivion_, I shall avoid all reflections on a person now no more; my opinion of yourself I have suspended for some years; the time is now arrived when I shall form a very _decided_ one. I take up my pen now, however, to condole with you on the melancholy event that has happened, to offer you every consolation in my power, to assure you of the inalterable regard and friendship of myself and son. We will be extremely happy if ever we can be of any service to you, now or at any future period. I take it upon me to answer for him; although he knows so little of you, he often mentions you to me in the most affectionate manner, indeed the goodness of his heart and amiable disposition is such that your being his sister, had he never seen you, would be a sufficient claim upon him and ensure you every attention in his power to bestow. Ah, Augusta, need I assure you that you will ever be dear to me as the Daughter of the man I tenderly loved, as the sister of my beloved, my darling Boy, and I take God to witness you _once_ was dear to me on your own account, and may be so _again_. I still recollect with a degree of horror the many _sleepless_ nights, and days of _agony_, I have passed by your bedside drowned in tears, while you lay insensible and at the gates of death. Your recovery certainly was wonderful, and thank God I did my duty. These days you cannot remember, but I never will forget them ... Your brother is at Harrow School, and, if you wish to see him, I have now no desire to keep you asunder." From 1802 till Byron's death, Augusta took in him the interest of an elder sister. Writing to Hanson (June 17, 1804), she says-- "Pray write me a line and mention all you hear of my dear Brother: he was a most delightful correspondent while he remained in Nottinghamshire: but I can't obtain a single line from Harrow. I was much struck with his _general improvement_; it was beyond the expectations raised by what you had told me, and his letters gave me the most excellent opinion of both his _Head_ and _Heart_." In this tone the letters are continued (see extracts p. 39; p. 45, note 1; and p. 97 [Letter 48], [Foot]note 1 [further down]). From the end of 1805, with some interruptions, and less regularity, the correspondence between brother and sister was maintained to the end of Byron's life. To Augusta, then Mrs. Leigh, Byron sent a presentation copy of 'Childe Harold', with the inscription: "To Augusta, my dearest sister, and my best friend, who has ever loved me much better than I deserved, this volume is presented by her father's son and most affectionate brother." She was the god-mother of Byron's daughter Augusta Ada, born December 10, 1815. In January, 1816, when Lady Byron was still with her husband, she writes of and to Mrs. Leigh: "In this at least, I _am_ 'truth itself,' when I say that, whatever the situation may be, there is no one whose society is dearer to me, or can contribute more to my happiness." Lady Byron left Byron on January 15, 1816. Writing to Mrs. Leigh from Kirby Mallory, she speaks of her as her "best comforter," notices her absolute unselfishness, and says that Augusta's presence in Byron's house in Piccadilly is her "great comfort" (Lady Byron's letters to Mrs. Leigh, January 16 and January 23, 1816, quoted in the 'Quarterly Review' for October, 1869, p. 414). Through Mrs. Leigh passed many communications between Byron and Lady Byron after the separation. To her, Byron, in 1816 and 1817, wrote the two sets of "Stanzas to Augusta," the "Epistle to Augusta," and the Journal of his journey through the Alps, "which contains all the germs of 'Manfred' (letter to Murray, August, 1817). She was in his thoughts on the Rhine, and in the third canto of 'Childe Harold':-- "But one thing want these banks of Rhine, Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine." To her he was writing a letter at Missolonghi (February 23, 1824), which he did not live to finish, "My dearest Augusta, I received a few days ago your and Lady Byron's report of Ada's health." He carried with him everywhere the pocket Bible which she had given him. "I have a Bible," he told Dr. Kennedy ('Conversations'), "which my sister gave me, who is an excellent woman, and I read it very often." His last articulate words were "My sister--my child." Several volumes of Mrs. Leigh's commonplace books are in existence, filled with extracts mostly on religious topics. She was, wrote the late Earl Stanhope, in a letter quoted in the 'Quarterly Review' (October, 1869, p. 421), "very fond" of talking about Byron. "She was," he continues, "extremely unprepossessing in her person and appearance--more like a nun than anything, and never can have had the least pretension to beauty. I thought her shy and sensitive to a fault in her mind and character." Frances, Lady Shelley, who died in January, 1873, and was intimately acquainted with Byron and his contemporaries, speaks of her as a "Dowdy-Goody." "I have seen," she writes (see 'Quarterly Review', October, 1869, p. 421, quoting from a letter signed E. M. U., which appeared in the 'Times' for September II, 1869), "a great deal of Mrs. Leigh (Augusta), having passed some days with her and Colonel Leigh, for my husband's shooting near Newmarket, when Lord Byron was in the house, and, as she told me, was writing 'The Corsair', to my great astonishment, for it was a wretched small house, full of her ill-trained children, who were always running up and down stairs, and going into 'uncle's' bedroom, where he remained all the morning."] [Footnote 2: See preceding note.] [Footnote 3: Francis, fifth Duke of Leeds, married, October 14, 1788, as his second wife, Miss Catherine Anguish, by whom he had two children: the eldest, a son, Sydney Godolphin Osborne, was born December 16, 1789.] [Footnote 4: Joe Murray had been for many years in the employment of William, fifth Lord Byron. At his master's death, in 1798, he was taken into the service of the Duke of Leeds. "I saw poor Joseph Murray the other night," writes Augusta Byron to Hanson (June 17, 1804), "who wishes me particularly to apply to Col. Leigh, to get him into some City Charity which the Prince of Wales is at the head of. I cannot understand what he means, nor can any body else, and therefore, as he said he was advised by you, I think it better to apply to you on the subject. I'm sure Col. Leigh would be happy to oblige him; but in general he dislikes _asking favours_ of the _Prince_, and this present moment is a bad one to chuse for the purpose, as H.R.H. is so much taken up with _public affairs_. I am very anxious about poor Joseph, and would almost do anything to serve him. I fear he is too old and infirm to go to service again." Three years later (March 19, 1807), Augusta Byron writes again to Hanson:-- "I have just had a pitiful note from poor old Murray, telling me of his dismissal from the Duchess of Leeds; but he says he does not leave her till June. I therefore hope something may in the mean time be done for him. He requests me to write word of it to my Brother. I shall certainly comply with his wishes, and send _two lines_ on that subject to Southwell, where I conclude he is." Byron made Murray an allowance of £20 a year (see Letter 83), took him, as soon as he could, into his service, and was careful, as he promises, to provide that he should not be "abandoned in his old age." His affection for Murray is marked by the postscript to the letter to Mrs. Byron of June 22, 1809 (see also 'Life', pp. 74, 121); as also by his draft will of 1811, in which he leaves Murray £50 a year for life. 8.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [63, Portland Place, London.] Southwell, March 26th, 1804. I received your affectionate letter, my ever Dear Sister, yesterday and I now hasten to comply with your injunction by answering it as soon as possible. Not, my Dear Girl, that it can be in the least irksome to me to write to you, on the Contrary it will always prove my Greatest pleasure, but I am sorry that I am afraid my correspondence will not prove the most entertaining, for I have nothing that I can relate to you, except my affection for you, which I can never sufficiently express, therefore I should tire you, before I had half satisfied myself. Ah, How unhappy I have hitherto been in being so long separated from so amiable a Sister! but fortune has now sufficiently atoned by discovering to me a relation whom I love, a Friend in whom I can confide. In both these lights, my Dear Augusta, I shall ever look upon you, and I hope you will never find your Brother unworthy of your affection and Friendship. I am as you may imagine a little dull here; not being on terms of intimacy with Lord Grey [1] I avoid Newstead, and my resources of amusement are Books, and writing to my Augusta, which, wherever I am, will always constitute my Greatest pleasure. I am not reconciled to Lord Grey, _and I never will_. He was once my _Greatest Friend_, my reasons for ceasing that Friendship are such as I cannot explain, not even to you, my Dear Sister, (although were they to be made known to any body, you would be the first,) but they will ever remain hidden in my own breast. They are Good ones, however, for although I am _violent_ I am not _capricious_ in my _attachments_. My mother disapproves of my quarrelling with him, but if she knew the cause (which she never will know,) She would reproach me no more. He Has forfeited all _title to my esteem_, but I hold him in too much _contempt_ ever _to hate him_. My mother desires to be kindly remembered to you. I shall soon be in town to resume my studies at Harrow; I will certainly call upon you in my way up. Present my respects to Mrs. Harcourt; [2] I am Glad to hear that I am in her Good Graces for I shall always esteem her on account of her behaviour to you, my Dear Girl. Pray tell me If you see Lord S. Osborne, and how he is; what little I know of him I like very much and If we were better acquainted I doubt not I should like him still better. Do not forget to tell me how Murray is. As to your Future prospects, my Dear Girl, _may they be happy_! I am sure you deserve Happiness and if _you_ do not meet with it I shall begin to think it is "a bad world we live in." Write to me soon. I am impatient to hear from you. God bless you, My amiable Augusta, I remain, Your ever affectionate Brother and Friend, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Henry, third Earl of Sussex, died in 1799, when the earldom lapsed. He was, however, succeeded in the ancient barony of Grey de Ruthyn by his daughter's son, Henry Edward, twentieth Baron Grey de Ruthyn (1780-1810), to whom Newstead was let. "I am glad," writes Mrs. Byron to Hanson, March 10, 1803, "that Newstead is well let. I cannot find Lord Grey de Ruthin's Title in the Peerage of England, Ireland, or Scotland. I suppose he is a _new_ Peer." Lord Grey de Ruthyn married, in 1809, Anna Maria, daughter of William Kelham, of Ryton-upon-Dunsmore, Warwick. (See postscript to Byron's Letter to his mother, August 11, 1809.) The lease of Newstead terminated in April, 1808.] [Footnote 2: Probably the wife of General the Hon. William Harcourt (1742-1830), who distinguished himself in the War of American Independence, succeeded his only brother in 1809 as third (and last) Earl Harcourt, was created a field-marshal in 1821, and died in 1830. He married, in 1778, Mary, daughter of the Rev. William Danby, and widow of Thomas Lockhart. She died in 1833.] 9.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [At General Harcourt's, St. Leonard's Hill, Windsor, Berkshire.] Burgage Manor, April 2d, 1804. I received your present, my beloved Augusta, which was very acceptable, not that it will be of any use as a token of remembrance, No, my affection for you will never permit me to forget you. I am afraid, my Dear Girl, that you will be absent when I am in town. I cannot exactly say when I return to Harrow, but however it will be in a very short time. I hope you were entertained by Sir Wm. Fawcet's funeral on Saturday. [1] Though I should imagine such spectacles rather calculated to excite Gloomy ideas. But I believe _your motive was not quite of so mournful a cast_. You tell me that you are tired of London. I am rather surprised to hear that, for I thought the Gaieties of the Metropolis were particularly pleasing to _young ladies_. For my part I detest it; the smoke and the noise feel particularly unpleasant; but however it is preferable to this horrid place, where I am oppressed with _ennui_, and have no amusement of any kind, except the conversation of my mother, which is sometimes very _edifying_, but not always very _agreeable_. There are very few books of any kind that are either instructive or amusing, no society but old parsons and old Maids;--I shoot a Good deal; but, thank God, I have not so far lost my reason as to make shooting my only amusement. There are indeed some of my neighbours whose only pleasures consist in field sports, but in other respects they are only one degree removed from the brute creation. These however I endeavour not to imitate, but I sincerely wish for the company of a few friends about my own age to soften the austerity of the scene. I am an absolute Hermit; in a short time my Gravity which is increased by my solitude will qualify me for an Archbishoprick; I really begin to think that I should become a mitre amazingly well. You tell me to write to you when I have nothing better to do; I am sure writing to you, my Dear Sister, must ever form my Greatest pleasure, but especially so, at this time. Your letters and those of one of my Harrow friends form my only resources for driving away _dull care_. For Godsake write me a letter as long as may fill _twenty sheets_ of paper, recollect it is my only pleasure, if you won't Give me twenty sheets, at least send me as long an epistle as you can and as soon as possible; there will be time for me to receive one more Letter at Southwell, and as soon as I Get to Harrow I will write to you. Excuse my not writing more, my Dear Augusta, for I am sure you will be sufficiently tired of reading this complaining narrative. God bless you, my beloved Sister. Adieu. I remain your sincere and affectionate Friend and Brother, BYRON. Remember me kindly to Mrs. Harcourt. [Footnote 1: General the Right Hon. Sir William Fawcett, K.B. (1728-1804), Colonel of the 3rd Dragoon Guards, Adjutant-General (1778-1797), and Governor of Chelsea Hospital (1796-1804), died at his house in Great George Street, Westminster, March 22, 1804. He had served during the rebellion of 1745, and distinguished himself during the Seven Years' War, where he was aide-de-camp first to General Elliot, and afterwards to the Marquis of Granby. An excellent linguist, he translated from the French, 'Reveries: or Memoirs upon the Art of War, by Field-Marshal Count Saxe' (1757); and from the German, 'Regulations for the Prussian Cavalry' (1757), 'Regulations for the Prussian Infantry', and 'The Prussian Tacticks' (1759). His military and diplomatic services were commemorated by a magnificent funeral on Saturday, March 31, 1804. The body was carried through the streets from Westminster to the chapel of Chelsea Hospital, the Prince Regent, the Duke of Clarence, and the Duke of Kent following the hearse, and eight general officers acting as pall-bearers.] 10.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [At General Harcourt's, St. Leonard's Hill, Windsor, Berkshire.] Burgage Manor, April 9th, 1804. A thousand thanks, my dear and Beloved Augusta, for your affectionate Letter, and so ready compliance with the request of a peevish and fretful Brother; it acted as a cordial on my drooping spirits and for a while dispelled the Gloom which envelopes me in this uncomfortable place. You see what power your letters have over me, so I hope you will be liberal in your epistolary consolation. You will address your next letter to Harrow as I set out from Southwell on Wednesday, and am sorry that I cannot contrive to be with you, as I must resume my studies at Harrow directly. If I speak in public at all, it will not be till the latter end of June or the beginning of July. You are right in your conjecture for I feel not a little nervous in the anticipation _of my Debut_ [1] as _an orator_. By the bye, I do not dislike Harrow. I find _ways_ and _means_ to amuse _myself very pleasantly_ there; the friend, whose correspondence I find so amusing, is an old sporting companion of mine, whose recitals of Shooting and Hunting expeditions are amusing to me as having often been his companion in them, and I hope to be so still oftener. My mother Gives a _party_ to night at which the principal _Southwell Belles_ will be present, with one of which, although I don't as yet know whom I shall so far _honour, having never seen them_, I intend to _fall violently_ in love; it will serve as an amusement _pour passer le temps_ and it will at least have the charm of novelty to recommend it, then you know in the course of a few weeks I shall be quite _au désespoir_, shoot myself and Go out of the world with _éclat_, and my History will furnish materials for a pretty little Romance which shall be entitled and denominated the loves of Lord B. and the cruel and Inconstant Sigismunda Cunegunda Bridgetina, etc., etc., Princess of Terra Incognita. Don't you think that I have a very good Knack for _novel writing_? I have Just this minute been called away from writing to you by two Gentlemen who have given me an invitation to go over to Screveton, a village a few miles off, and spend a few days; but however I shall not accept it, so you will continue to address your letters to Harrow as usual. Write to me as soon as possible and give me a long letter. Remember me to Mrs. Harcourt and all who enquire after me. Continue to love me and believe me, Your truly affectionate Brother and Friend, BYRON. P.S.--My Mother's love to you, Adieu. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Byron, writing to Hanson, July 24, 1804, says, "I was informed by a Gentleman yesterday that he had been at Harrow and heard him speaking, and that he acquitted himself uncommonly well." Byron's name occurs in three of the Harrow speech-bills--July 5, 1804; June 6, 1805; and July 4, 1805. The three bills are printed below:-- HARROW SCHOOL PUBLIC SPEECHES. 1. JULY 5, 1804. Erskine, Maj. Cæsar } Ex Sallustio. Sinclair Cato } Long C. Canuleius ad Pleb. Ex Livio. Molloy, Sr. The Country Box Lloyd. Lord Byron Latinus } Leeke Drances } Ex Virgilio. Peel, Sr. Turnus } Chaplin Henry the Fifth to his Shakespear. Soldiers Clayton Micispa ad Jugurtham Ex Sallustio. Rowley Germanicus moriens Ex Tacito. Grenside, Sr. General Wolfe to his Enfield. Soldiers Morant, Sr. Dido Ex Virgilio. Mr. Calthorpe, Sr. In Catilinam Ex Cicerone. Lloyd, Sr. The Ghost Shakespear. Mr. Powys Tiresias Ex Horatio. Sir Thomas Acland The Boil'd Pig Wesley. Leveson Gower Ad Antonium Ex Cicerone. Drury, Max. Earl of Strafford Hume. 2. JUNE 6, 1805. There were no Speeches for May, 1805. Dr. Butler came to Harrow this year, after the Easter Holiday.--G.B. [1] Doveton Canulcius Ex Livio. Farrer, Sr. Medea Ex Ovidio. Long Caractacus Mason. Rogers Manlius Ex Sallustio. Molloy Micipsa Ex Sallustio. Lord Byron Zanga Young. Drury, Sr. Memmius Ex Sallustio. Hoare Ajax } Ex Ovidio. East Ulysses } Leeke The Passions: an Ode Collins. Calvert, Sr. Galgacus Ex Tacito. Bazett Catilina ad Consp. Ex Sallustio. Franks, Sr. Antony Shakespeare. Wildman, Majr. Sat. ix., Lib. i. Ex Horatio. Lloyd, Sr. The Bard: an Ode Gray. 3. JULY 4, 1805. Lyon Piso ad Milites Ex Tacito. East Cato Addison. Saumarez Drances } Ex Virgilio, _Æn._ xi Annesley Turnus } Calvert Lord Strafford's Hume. Defence Erskine, Sr. Achilles Ex Homero, _Il._ xvi Bazett York Shakespeare. Harrington Camillus Ex Livio. Leeke Ode to the Passions Collins. Sneyd Electra Ex Sophocle. Long Satan's Soliloquy Milton, _P.L._, b. iv Gibson Brutus } Ex Lucano. Drury, Sr. Cato } Lord Byron Lear Shakespeare. Hoare Otho ad Milites Ex Livio. Wildman Caractacus Mason. Franks Wolsey Shakespeare. Of Byron's oratorical powers, Dr. Drury, Head-master of Harrow, formed a high opinion. "The upper part of the school," he writes (see 'Life', p. 20), composed declamations, which, after a revisal by the tutors, were submitted to the master. To him the authors repeated them, that they might be improved in manner and action, before their public delivery. I certainly was much pleased with Lord Byron's attitude, gesture, and delivery, as well as with his composition. All who spoke on that day adhered, as usual, to the letter of their composition, as, in the earlier part of his delivery, did Lord Byron; but, to my surprise, he suddenly diverged from the written composition, with a boldness and rapidity sufficient to alarm me, lest he should fail in memory as to the conclusion. There was no failure; he came round to the close of his composition without discovering any impediment and irregularity on the whole. I questioned him why he had altered his declamation. He declared he had made no alteration, and did not know, in speaking, that he had deviated from it one letter. I believed him; and, from a knowledge of his temperament, am convinced that, fully impressed with the sense and substance of the subject, he was hurried on to expressions and colourings more striking than what his pen had expressed." "My qualities," says Byron, in one of his note-books (quoted by Moore, 'Life', p. 20), "were much more oratorical and martial than poetical; and Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our head-master), had a great notion that I should turn out an orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action. I remember that my first declamation astonished him into some unwonted (for he was economical of such) and sudden compliments before the declaimers at our first rehearsal." For his subjects Byron chose passages expressive of vehement passion, such as Lear's address to the storm, or the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, from Young's tragedy 'The Revenge'. Zanga's character and speech are famous in history from their application to Benjamin Franklin, in Wedderburn's speech before the Privy Council (January, 1774) on the Whately Letters (Stanhope's 'History of England', vol. v. p. 327, ed. 1853):-- "I forg'd the letter, and dispos'd the picture, I hated, I despis'd, and I destroy."] [Sub-Footnote A: Note, in Dr. G. Butler's writing, in the bound volume of Speech-Bills presented by him to the Harrow School Library.] 11.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. Burgage Manor, August 18th, 1804. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--I seize this interval of my _amiable_ mother's absence this afternoon, again to inform you, or rather to desire to be informed by you, of what is going on. For my own part I can send nothing to amuse you, excepting a repetition of my complaints against my tormentor, whose _diabolical_ disposition (pardon me for staining my paper with so harsh a word) seems to increase with age, and to acquire new force with Time. The more I see of her the more my dislike augments; nor can I so entirely conquer the appearance of it, as to prevent her from perceiving my opinion; this, so far from calming the Gale, blows it into a _hurricane_, which threatens to destroy everything, till exhausted by its own violence, it is lulled into a sullen torpor, which, after a short period, is again roused into fresh and revived phrenzy, to me most terrible, and to every other Spectator astonishing. She then declares that she plainly sees I hate her, that I am leagued with her bitter enemies, viz. Yourself, L'd C[arlisle] and Mr. H[anson], and, as I never Dissemble or contradict her, we are all _honoured_ with a multiplicity of epithets, too _numerous_, and some of them too _gross_, to be repeated. In this society, and in this amusing and instructive manner, have I dragged out a weary fortnight, and am condemned to pass another or three weeks as happily as the former. No captive Negro, or Prisoner of war, ever looked forward to their emancipation, and return to Liberty with more Joy, and with more lingering expectation, than I do to my escape from this maternal bondage, and this accursed place, which is the region of dullness itself, and more stupid than the banks of Lethe, though it possesses contrary qualities to the river of oblivion, as the detested scenes I now witness, make me regret the happier ones already passed, and wish their restoration. Such Augusta is the happy life I now lead, such my _amusements_. I wander about hating everything I behold, and if I remained here a few months longer, I should become, what with _envy, spleen and all uncharitableness_, a complete _misanthrope_, but notwithstanding this, Believe me, Dearest Augusta, ever yours, etc., etc., BYRON. 12.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. [1] Burgage Manor, August 29, 1804. I received the arms, my dear Miss Pigot, and am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken. It is impossible I should have any fault to find with them. The sight of the drawings gives me great pleasure for a double reason,--in the first place, they will ornament my books, in the next, they convince me that _you_ have not entirely _forgot_ me. I am, however, sorry you do not return sooner--you have already been gone an _age_. I perhaps may have taken my departure for London before you come back; but, however, I will hope not. Do not overlook my watch-riband and purse, as I wish to carry them with me. Your note was given me by Harry, [2] at the play, whither I attended Miss Leacroft, [3] and Dr. S----; and now I have sat down to answer it before I go to bed. If I am at Southwell when you return,--and I sincerely hope you will soon, for I very much regret your absence,--I shall be happy to hear you sing my favourite, "The Maid of Lodi." [4] My mother, together with myself, desires to be affectionately remembered to Mrs. Pigot, and, believe me, my dear Miss Pigot, I remain, your affectionate friend, BYRON. P.S.--If you think proper to send me any answer to this, I shall be extremely happy to receive it. Adieu. P.S.2d.--As you say you are a novice in the art of knitting, I hope it don't give you too much trouble. Go on _slowly_, but surely. Once more, adieu. [Footnote 1: Elizabeth Bridget Pigot lived with her mother and two brothers on Southwell Green, in a house opposite Burgage Manor. Miss Pigot thus describes her first meeting with Byron ('Life', p. 32):-- "The first time I was introduced to him was at a party at his mother's, when he was so shy that she was forced to send for him three times before she could persuade him to come into the drawing-room, to play with the young people at a round game. He was then a fat, bashful boy, with his hair combed straight over his forehead, and extremely like a miniature picture that his mother had painted by M. de Chambruland. The next morning Mrs. Byron brought him to call at our house, when he still continued shy and formal in his manner. The conversation turned upon Cheltenham, where we had been staying, the amusements there, the plays, etc.; and I mentioned that I had seen the character of Gabriel Lackbrain very well performed. His mother getting up to go, he accompanied her, making a formal bow, and I, in allusion to the play, said, 'Good-by, Gaby.' His countenance lighted up, his handsome mouth displayed a broad grin, all his shyness vanished, never to return, and, upon his mother's saying, 'Come, Byron, are you ready?'--no, she might go by herself, he would stay and talk a little longer; and from that moment he used to come in and go out at all hours, as it pleased him, and in our house considered himself perfectly at home." The character of "Gabriel Lackbrain," mentioned above, occurs in 'Life', a comedy by F. Reynolds. It was at Byron's suggestion that Moore, when preparing the 'Life', applied to Miss Pigot for letters. On January 22, 1828, he was taken to call on her and her mother by the Rev. John Becher. "Their reception of me most cordial and flattering; made me sit in the chair which Byron used to sit in, and remarked, as a singularity, that this was the poor fellow's birthday; he would to-day have been forty. On parting with Mrs. Pigot, a fine, intelligent old lady, who has been bedridden for years, she kissed my hand most affectionately, and said that, much as she had always admired me as a poet, it was as the friend of Byron she valued and loved me ... Her affection, indeed, to his memory is unbounded, and she seems unwilling to allow that he had a single fault ... Miss Pigot in the evening, with his letters, which interested me exceedingly; some written when he was quite a boy, and the bad spelling and scrambling handwriting delightful; spelling, indeed, was a very late accomplishment with him" ('Diary of Thomas Moore', vol. v. p. 249). (See "To Eliza," 'Poems', vol. i. pp.47-49; see also the lines "To M. S. G.," 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 79, 80; see for the lines which Byron wrote in her copy of Burns, 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 233, 234.) Miss Pigot died at Southwell in 1866, her brother John (see letter of August 9, 1806, p. 100, note 3) in 1871. Her brother Henry, whom Byron used to call his grandson, died October 28, 1830, a captain in the 23rd Native Infantry in the service of the East India Company. The following undated note (1810) from Mrs. Pigot to Mrs. Byron illustrates the enthusiastic interest with which the Pigots followed Byron's career:-- "Indeed, my dear Mrs. Byron, you have given me a very 'great treat' in sending me 'English Bards' to look at; you know how very highly I thought of the 'first' edition, and this is certainly much improved; indeed, I do not think anybody but Lord Byron could (in these our days) have produced such a work, for it has all the fire of ancient genius. I have always been accustomed to tell you my thoughts most sincerely, and I cannot say that I like that addition to the part where 'Bowles' is mentioned; it wants that 'brilliant spirit' which almost invariably accompanies Lord B.'s writings. Maurice, too, and his granite weight of leaves, is in truth a heavy comparison. But I turn with pleasure from these specks in the sun to notice 'Vice and folly, Greville and Argyle;' it is 'most admirable': the 'same pen' may 'equal', but I think it is not in the power of human abilities to 'exceed' it. As to Lord Carlisle, I think he well deserves the Note Lord B. has put in; I am 'very much' pleased with it, and the little word 'Amen' at the end, gives a point 'indescribably good'. The whole of the conclusion is excellent, and the Postscript I think must entertain everybody except 'Jeffrey'. I hope the poor Bear is well; I wish you could make him understand that he is 'immortalized', for, if 'four-leg'd Bears' have any vanity, it would certainly delight him. Walter Scott, too (I really do not mean to call him a Bear), will be highly gratified: the compliment to him is very elegant: in short, I look upon it as a most 'highly finished' work, and Lord Byron has certainly taken the Palm from 'all our' Poets.... A good account of yourself I assure you will always give the most sincere pleasure to my dear Mrs. Byron's very affectionate friend, Margt. Pigot. Elizabeth begs her compts."] [Footnote 2: Henry Pigot. (See p. 33, note 1.)] [Footnote 3: Miss Julia Leacroft, daughter of a neighbour, Mr. John Leacroft. (See lines "To Lesbia," 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 41-43.) The private theatricals in September, 1806 (see p. 117 [Letter 81], [Foot]note 3 [4]), were held at Mr. Leacroft's house. Later, Captain Leacroft expostulated with Byron on his attentions to his sister, and, according to Moore, threatened to call him out. Byron was ready to meet him; but afterwards, on consulting Becher, resolved never to go near the house again.--'Prose and Verse of Thomas Moore', edited by Richard Herne Shepherd (London, 1878), p. 420. (But see Letters 62, 63, 64.) ] [Footnote 4: By Dibdin, set to music by Shield. (See Moore's 'Life', p. 33.) Byron's love for simple ballad music lasted throughout his life. As a boy at Harrow, he was famous for the vigour with which he sang "This Bottle's the Sun of our Table" at Mother Barnard's. He liked the Welsh air "Mary Anne," sung by Miss Chaworth; the songs in 'The Duenna'; "When Time who steals our Years away," which he sang with Miss Pigot; or "Robin Adair," in which he was accompanied by Miss Hanson on her harp. "It is very odd," he said to Miss Pigot, "I sing much better to your playing than to any one else's." "That is," she answered, "because I play to your singing." Moore ('Journal and Correspondence', vol. v. pp. 295, 296), speaking of "Byron's chanting method of repeating poetry," says that "it is the men who have the worst ears for music that 'sing' out poetry in this manner, having no nice perception of the difference there ought to be between animated reading and 'chant'." Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc.', pp. 224, 225) expresses the same opinion, when he says, "I can discover from a poet's versification whether or not he has an ear for music. To instance poets of the present day:--from Bowles's and Moore's, I should know that they had fine ears for music; from Southey's, Wordsworth's, and Byron's, that they had no ears for it."] 13.-To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, Malton, Yorkshire.] Harrow-on-the-Hill, October 25th, 1804. My dear Augusta,--In compliance with your wishes, as well as gratitude for your affectionate letter, I proceed as soon as possible to answer it; I am glad to hear that _any body_ gives a good account of me; but from the quarter you mention, I should imagine it was exaggerated. That you are unhappy, my dear Sister, makes me so also; were it in my power to relieve your sorrows you would soon recover your spirits; as it is, I sympathize better than you yourself expect. But really, after all (pardon me my dear Sister), I feel a little inclined to laugh at you, for love, in my humble opinion, is utter nonsense, a mere jargon of compliments, romance, and deceit; now, for my part, had I fifty mistresses, I should in the course of a fortnight, forget them all, and, if by any chance I ever recollected one, should laugh at it as a dream, and bless my stars, for delivering me from the hands of the little mischievous Blind God. Can't you drive this Cousin [1] of ours out of your pretty little head (for as to _hearts_ I think they are out of the question), or if you are so far gone, why don't you give old L'Harpagon [2] (I mean the General) the slip, and take a trip to Scotland, you are now pretty near the Borders. Be sure to Remember me to my formal Guardy Lord Carlisle, [3] whose magisterial presence I have not been into for some years, nor have I any ambition to attain so great an honour. As to your favourite Lady Gertrude, I don't remember her; pray, is she handsome? I dare say she is, for although they are a _disagreeable, formal, stiff_ Generation, yet they have by no means plain _persons_, I remember Lady Cawdor was a sweet, pretty woman; pray, does your sentimental Gertrude resemble her? I have heard that the duchess of Rutland was handsome also, but we will say nothing about her temper, as I hate Scandal. Adieu, my pretty Sister, forgive my levity, write soon, and God bless you. I remain, your very affectionate Brother, BYRON. P.S.--I left my mother at Southwell, some time since, in a monstrous pet with you for not writing. I am sorry to say the old lady and myself don't agree like lambs in a meadow, but I believe it is all my own fault, I am rather too fidgety, which my precise mama objects to, we differ, then argue, and to my shame be it spoken fall out a _little_, however after a storm comes a calm; what's become of our aunt the amiable antiquated Sophia? [4] is she yet in the land of the living, or does she sing psalms with the _Blessed_ in the other world. Adieu. I am happy enough and Comfortable here. My friends are not numerous, but select; among them I rank as the principal Lord Delawarr, [5] who is very amiable and my particular friend; do you know the family at all? Lady Delawarr is frequently in town, perhaps you may have seen her; if she resembles her son she is the most amiable woman in Europe. I have plenty of acquaintances, but I reckon them as mere Blanks. Adieu, my dear Augusta. [Footnote 1: Colonel George Leigh.] [Footnote 2: General Leigh, father of the colonel. Both Harpagon and Cléante ('L'Avare') wish to marry Mariane; but the miser prefers his casket to the lady, who therefore marries Cléante. ] [Footnote 3: Frederick Howard, fifth Earl of Carlisle (1748-1825), was, on his mother's side, connected with the Byron family. The Hon. Isabella Byron (1721-1795), daughter of the fourth Lord Byron, married, in 1742, Henry, fourth Earl of Carlisle. She subsequently, after the death of Lord Carlisle (1758), married, as her second husband, Sir William Musgrave. She was a woman of considerable ability, and apparently, in later life, of eccentric habits--a "recluse in pride and rags." She was the reputed writer of some published poetry, and of 'Maxims addressed to Young Ladies'. Some of these maxims might have been of use to her grand-nephew: "Habituate yourself to that way of life most agreeable to the person to whom you are united; be content in retirement, or with society, in town, or country." Her 'Answer' to Mrs. Greville's ode on 'Indifference' has more of the neck-or-nothing temper of the Byrons:-- "Is that your wish, to lose all sense In dull lethargic ease, And wrapt in cold indifference, But half be pleased or please? ... It never shall be my desire To bear a heart unmov'd, To feel by halves the gen'rous fire, Or be but half belov'd. Let me drink deep the dang'rous cup, In hopes the prize to gain, Nor tamely give the pleasure up For fear to share the pain. Give me, whatever I possess, To know and feel it all; When youth and love no more can bless, Let death obey my call." Lady Carlisle's son, Frederick, who was educated at Eton and Cambridge, succeeded his father as fifth Earl of Carlisle, in 1758, when he was ten years old. After leaving Cambridge, he started on a continental tour with two Eton friends--Lord FitzWilliam and Charles James Fox. A lively letter-writer, his correspondence with his friend George Selwyn, while in Italy, shows him to have been a young man of wit, feeling, and taste. It is curious to notice that, at Rome, he singles out, like his cousin in 'Childe Harold' or 'Manfred', as the most striking objects, the general aspect of the "marbled wilderness", the moonlight view of the amphitheatre, the Laocoon, the Belvedere Apollo, and the group of Niobe and her daughters. One other taste he shared with Byron--he was a lover of dogs, and "Rover" was his constant companion abroad. Lord Carlisle returned to England in 1769. Like Fox, he was a prodigious dandy. They "once travelled from Paris to Lyons for the express purpose of buying waistcoats; and during the whole journey they talked of nothing else" ('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 73, 74). Already well known in London society, Carlisle was a close friend of George Selwyn, a familiar figure at White's and Brookes's, an inveterate gambler, an adorer of Lady Sarah Bunbury, who, as Lady Sarah Lennox, had won the heart of George III. The flirtation provoked from Lord Holland an adaptation of 'Lydia, dic per omnes':-- "Sally, Sally, don't deny, But, for God's sake, tell me why You have flirted so, to spoil That once lively youth, Carlisle? He used to mount while it was dark; Now he lies in bed till noon, And, you not meeting in the park, Thinks that he gets up too soon," etc. In 1770 Lord Carlisle married Lady Margaret Leveson Gower, a beautiful and charming woman. "Everybody," writes Lord Holland to George Selwyn (May 2, 1770), "says it is impossible not to admire Lady Carlisle." But matrimony did not at once steady his character. For the next few years--though in 1773 he published a volume of 'Poems'--his pursuits were mainly those of a young man of fashion, and he impoverished himself at the gaming-table. From 1777 onwards, however, his life took a more serious turn. In that year he became Treasurer of the Household, and was sworn a member of the Privy Council. In 1778 he was the chief of the three commissioners sent out by Lord North to negotiate with the United States. There he declined a challenge from Lafayette, provoked by reflections on the French court and nation, which he had issued with his fellow-commissioners in their political capacity. In 1779 he was nominated Lord-Lieutenant of Yorkshire, and First Lord of Trade and Plantations. He was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland from 1780 to 1782, and held the post of Lord Privy Seal in the Duke of Portland's administration of 1783. Till the outbreak of the French Revolutionary wars, he was an opponent of Pitt; but after 1792 he consistently supported the Government. Carlisle was a collector of pictures, statuary, and works of art. He was also a writer of verse, tragedies, and pamphlets; but, in literature, his admirable letters are his best claim to be remembered. One of his two tragedies, 'The Father's Revenge' (1783), was praised by Walpole, and received the guarded approval of Dr. Johnson. His published poetry consisted of an ode on the death of Gray, verses on that of Lord Nelson, "Lines for the Monument of a favourite Spaniel," an address to Sir Joshua Reynolds, and translations from Dante. The first two poems provoked Richard Tickell to write the 'Wreath of Fashion' (1780). "The following lines," says Tickell, in his "Advertisement," were "occasioned by the Author's having lately studied, with infinite attention, several fashionable productions in the 'Sentimental' stile.... For example, A Noble Author has lately published his works, which consist of 'three' compositions: 'one' an Ode upon the death of Mr. Gray; the two others upon the death of his Lordship's 'Spaniel'." "Here, placid 'Carlisle' breathes his gentle line, Or haply, gen'rous 'Hare', re-echoes thine. Soft flows the lay: as when, with tears, He paid The last sad honours to his------Spaniel's shade! And lo! he grasps the badge of wit, a wand; He waves it thrice and 'Storer' is at hand." His contemporaries seem to have thought that his poetry, weak though it was, was indebted to his Eton friends, "the Hare with many friends," and Antony Storer. The latter's name is linked with that of Carlisle in another satire, 'Pandolfo Attonito':-- "Fall'n though I am, I ne'er shall mourn, Like the dark Peer on Storer's urn," where a note refers to "Antony Storer, formerly Member for Morpeth ('as some persons' near Carlisle and Castle Howard 'may possibly recollect'), a gentleman well known in the circles of fashion and polite literature." Carlisle's name occurs in many of the satires of the day on literary subjects. 'The Shade of Pope' (ii. 191, 192) says-- "Carlisle is lost with Gillies in surprize, As Lysias charms soft Jersey's classic eyes;" and in the 'Pursuits of Literature' (Dialogue ii. line 234), a note to the line-- "While lyric Carlisle purrs o'er love transformed," again associates his name with that of Lady Jersey. In 1799 Lord Carlisle was persuaded by Hanson to become Byron's guardian, in order to facilitate legal proceedings for the recovery of the Rochdale property, illegally sold by William, fifth Lord Byron. He was introduced to his ward by Hanson, who took the boy to Grosvenor Place, to see his guardian and consult Dr. Baillie in July, 1799. He seemed anxious to befriend the boy; but Byron was eager, as Hanson notes, to leave the house. When Mrs. Byron, in 1800, was anxious to remove her son from Dr. Glennie's care, Carlisle exercised his authority, and forbade the schoolmaster to give him up to his mother. He probably, on this occasion, experienced Mrs. Byron's temper, for Augusta Byron, writing to Hanson (November 18, 1804), says that he dreaded "having any concern whatever with Mrs. Byron." Byron does not seem to have met his guardian again till January, 1805, when Augusta Byron writes to Hanson: "I hear from Lady Gertrude Howard that Lord Carlisle was 'very much' pleased with my brother, and I am sure, from what he said to me at Castle Howard, is disposed to show him all the kindness and attention in his power. I know you are so partial to Byron and so much interested in all that concerns him, that you will rejoice almost as much as I do that his acquaintance with Lord C. is renewed. In the mean time it is a great comfort for me to think that he has spent his Holydays so comfortably and so much to his wishes. You will easily believe that he is a 'very great favourite of mine', and I may add the more I see and hear of him, the more I 'must' love and esteem him." It may be doubted whether Carlisle ever saw the dedication of 'Hours of Idleness'. Augusta Byron, in a letter to Hanson of February 7, 1807, says, "I return you my Brother's poems with many Thanks. Mrs. B. has had the attention to send me 2 copies. I like some of them very much: but you will laugh when I tell you I have never had courage to shew them to Lord Carlisle for fear of his disapproving others." The years 1806-7, spent at Southwell, as his sister says, "in idleness and ill humour with the whole World," were not the most creditable of Byron's life, and Carlisle's efforts to make him return to Cambridge failed. It is, moreover, certain that in 1809 Carlisle was ill; it is also probable that at a time when the scandal of Mary Anne Clarke and the Duke of York threatened to come before the House of Lords, he was unwilling to connect himself in public with a cousin of whom he knew no good, and of whose political views he was ignorant. These causes may have combined to produce the coldly formal letter, in which he told Byron the course of procedure to be adopted in taking his seat in the House of Lords, and ignored the young man's wish that his cousin and guardian should introduce him. (For Byron's attack upon Carlisle, and his subsequent admission of having done him "some wrong," see 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 723-740; and 'Childe Harold', Canto III. stanzas xxix., xxx.) It is possible that the "paralytic puling" may have been suggested by the "placid purring" of previous satirists. In March, 1814, his sister Augusta was trying hard to persuade Byron, as he notes in his Diary, "to make it up with Carlisle. I have refused 'every' body else, but I can't deny her anything, though I had as leif 'drink up Eisel--eat a crocodile.'" Lord Carlisle had three daughters: the eldest, Lady Caroline Isabella Howard, married, in 1789, John, first Lord Cawdor, and died in 1848; the second, Lady Elizabeth, married, in 1799, John Henry, fifth Duke of Rutland, and died in 1825; the third, Lady Gertrude, married, in 1806, William Sloane Stanley, of Paultons, Hants, and died in 1870.] [Footnote 4: No "Aunt Sophia" appears in the pedigree; but his grandmother was Sophia Trevanion, who married, in 1748, the Hon. John Byron, afterwards Admiral Byron. Mrs. Byron knew Dr. Johnson well, and she and Miss Burney were the only two friends who, as Mrs. Piozzi (then Mrs. Thrale) thought, might regret her departure from Streatham in 1782 ('Life and Writings of Mrs. Piozzi', vol. i. p. 171). "Mrs. Byron, who really loves me," says Mrs. Piozzi ('ibid.', p. 125), "was disgusted at Miss Burney's carriage to me." In August, 1820, Mrs. Piozzi writes to a Miss Willoughby, to tell her "what wonders Lord Byron is come home to do, for I see his arrival in the paper. His grandmother was my intimate friend, a Cornish lady, Sophia Trevanion, wife to the Admiral, 'pour ses péchés', and we called her Mrs. B_i_ron always, after the French fashion" ('Life and Writings, etc.', vol. ii. pp. 456, 457)' Mrs. Byron died at Bath in 1790.] [Footnote 5: Lady Delawarr, widow of John Richard, fourth Earl Delawarr, whom she married in 1783, died in 1826. Her only son, George John, fifth earl, succeeded his father in 1795. He went from Harrow to Brasenose College, Oxford; married, in 1813, Lady Elizabeth Sackville; was Lord Chamberlain 1858-9; and died in 1869. He was the "Euryalus" of "Childish Recollections" (see 'Poems', vol. i. p. 100; and lines "To George, Earl of Delawarr," 'ibid.', p. 126).] 14.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. Friday, November 2d, 1804. This morning, my dear Augusta, I received your affectionate letter, and it reached me at a time when I wanted consolation, not however of your kind for I am not yet old enough or Goose enough to be in love; no, my sorrows are of a different nature, though more calculated to provoke risibility than excite compassion. You must know, Sister of mine, that I am the most unlucky wight in Harrow, perhaps in Christendom, and am no sooner out of one scrape than into another. And to day, this very morning, I had a thundering Jobation from our Good Doctor, [1] which deranged my _nervous system_, for at least five minutes. But notwithstanding He and I now and then disagree, yet upon the whole we are very good friends, for there is so much of the Gentleman, so much mildness, and nothing of pedantry in his character, that I cannot help liking him, and will remember his instructions with gratitude as long as I live. He leaves Harrow soon, _apropos_, so do I. This quitting will be a considerable loss to the school. He is the best master we ever had, and at the same time respected and feared; greatly will he be regretted by all who know him. You tell me you don't know my friend L'd Delawarr; he is considerably younger than me, but the most good tempered, amiable, clever fellow in the universe. To all which he adds the quality (a good one in the eyes of women) of being remarkably handsome, almost too much so for a boy. He is at present very low in the school, not owing to his want of ability, but to his years. I am nearly at the top of it; by the rules of our Seminary he is under my power, but he is too goodnatured ever to offend me, and I like him too well ever to exert my authority over him. If ever you should meet, and chance to know him, take notice of him on my account. You say that you shall write to the Dowager Soon; her address is at Southwell, _that_ I need hardly inform you. Now, Augusta, I am going to tell you a secret, perhaps I shall appear undutiful to you, but, believe me, my affection for you is founded on a more firm basis. My mother has lately behaved to me in such an eccentric manner, that so far from feeling the affection of a Son, it is with difficulty I can restrain my dislike. Not that I can complain of want of liberality; no, She always supplies me with as much money as I can spend, and more than most boys hope for or desire. But with all this she is so hasty, so impatient, that I dread the approach of the holidays, more than most boys do their return from them. In former days she spoilt me; now she is altered to the contrary; for the most trifling thing, she upbraids me in a most outrageous manner, and all our disputes have been lately heightened by my one with that object of my cordial, deliberate detestation, Lord Grey de Ruthyn. She wishes me to explain my reasons for disliking him, which I will never do; would I do it to any one, be assured you, my dear Augusta, would be the first who would know them. She also insists on my being reconciled to him, and once she let drop such an odd expression that I was half inclined to believe the dowager was in love with him. But I hope not, for he is the most disagreeable person (in my opinion) that exists. He called once during my last vacation; she threatened, stormed, begged me to make it up, "he himself loved me, and wished it;" but my reason was so excellent--that neither had effect, nor would I speak or stay in the same room, till he took his departure. No doubt this appears odd; but was my reason known, which it never will be if I can help it, I should be justified in my conduct. Now if I am to be tormented with her and him in this style, I cannot submit to it. You, Augusta, are the only relation I have who treats me as a friend; if you too desert me, I have nobody I can love but Delawarr. If it was not for his sake, Harrow would be a desert, and I should dislike staying at it. You desire me to burn your epistles; indeed I cannot do that, but I will take care that They shall be invisible. If you burn any of mine, I shall be _monstrous angry_; take care of them till we meet. Delawarr [2] and myself are in a manner connected, for one of our forefathers in Charles the 1st's time married into their family. Hartington, [3] whom you enquire after, is on very good terms with me, nothing more, he is of a soft milky disposition, and of a happy apathy of temper which defies the softer emotions, and is insensible of ill treatment; so much for him. Don't betray me to the Dowager. I should like to know your Lady Gertrude, as you and her are so great Friends. Adieu, my Sister, write. From [Signature, etc., cut out.] [Footnote 1: The Rev. Joseph Drury, D.D. (1750-1834), educated at Westminster and Trinity College, Cambridge, was appointed an Assistant-master at Harrow before he was one and twenty. He was Head-master from 1784 to 1805. In that year he retired, and till his death in 1834 lived at Cockwood, in Devonshire, where he devoted himself to farming. The following statement by Dr. Drury illustrates Byron's respect for his Head-master ('Life', p. 20):-- "After my retreat from Harrow, I received from him two very affectionate letters. In my occasional visits subsequently to London, when he had fascinated the public with his productions, I demanded of him, why, as in 'duty bound', he had sent none to me? 'Because,' said he, 'you are the only man I never wish to read them;' but in a few moments, he added, 'What do you think of the 'Corsair'?'" Dr. Drury married Louisa Heath, sister of the Rev. Benjamin Heath, his predecessor in the Head-mastership. They had four children, all of whom have some connection with Byron's life. (1) Henry Joseph Drury (1778-1841), educated at Eton and King's College, Cambridge (Fellow), Assistant-master at Harrow School, married (December 20, 1808) Ann Caroline Tayler, and had a numerous family. Mrs. Drury's sister married the Rev. F. Hodgson (see page 195 [Letter 102], [Foot]note 1). (2) Benjamin Heath Drury (1782-1835), educated at Eton and King's College, Cambridge (Fellow), Assistant-master at Eton. (3) Charles Drury (1788-1869), educated at Harrow and Queen's College, Oxford (Fellow). (4) Louisa Heath Drury (1787-1873) married John Herman Merivale. Dr. Drury's brother, Mark Drury, the Lower Master at Harrow, was the candidate whom Byron supported for the Head-mastership.] [Footnote 2: Thomas, third Lord Delawarr, Captain-general of all the Colonies planted or to be planted in Virginia, died in 1618. His fourth daughter, Cecilie, widow of Sir Francis Bindlose, married Sir John Byron, created Lord Byron by Charles I. His fifth daughter, Lucy, married Sir Robert Byron, brother to Lord Byron. But the first Lord Byron left no heirs, and the title descended to his brother, Richard Byron, from whom the poet was descended.] [Footnote 3: William Spencer, Marquis of Hartington (1790-1858), succeeded his father as sixth Duke of Devonshire in 1811, and died unmarried. His sister, Georgiana Dorothy, married, in 1801, Lord Carlisle's eldest son.] 15.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. Harrow, Saturday, 11th Novr, 1804. I thought, my dear Augusta, [1] that your opinion of my _meek mamma_ would coincide with mine; Her temper is so variable, and, when inflamed, so furious, that I dread our meeting; not but I dare say, that I am troublesome enough, but I always endeavour to be as dutiful as possible. She is so very strenuous, and so tormenting in her entreaties and commands, with regard to my reconciliation, with that detestable Lord G. [2] that I suppose she has a penchant for his Lordship; but I am confident that he does not return it, for he rather dislikes her than otherwise, at least as far as I can judge. But she has an excellent opinion of her personal attractions, sinks her age a good six years, avers that when I was born she was only eighteen, when you, my dear Sister, know as well as I know that she was of age when she married my father, and that I was not born for three years afterwards. But vanity is the weakness of _your sex_,--and these are mere foibles that I have related to you, and, provided she never molested me, I should look upon them as follies very excusable in a woman. But I am now coming to what must shock you, as much as it does me, when she has occasion to lecture me (not very seldom you will think no doubt) she does not do it in a manner that commands respect, and in an impressive style. No! did she do that, I should amend my faults with pleasure, and dread to offend a kind though just mother. But she flies into a fit of phrenzy, upbraids me as if I was the most undutiful wretch in existence, rakes up the ashes of my _father_, abuses him, says I shall be a true Byrrone, which is the worst epithet she can invent. Am I to call this woman mother? Because by nature's law she has authority over me, am I to be trampled upon in this manner? am I to be goaded with insult, loaded with obloquy, and suffer my feelings to be outraged on the most trivial occasions? I owe her respect as a Son, But I renounce her as a Friend. What an example does she shew me! I hope in God I shall never follow it. I have not told you all, nor can I; I respect you as a female, nor, although I ought to confide in you as a Sister, will I shock you with the repetition of Scenes, which you may judge of by the Sample I have given you, and which to all but you are buried in oblivion. Would they were so in my mind! I am afraid they never will. And can I, my dear Sister, look up to this mother, with that respect, that affection I ought? Am I to be eternally subjected to her caprice? I hope not--; indeed a few short years will emancipate me from the Shackles I now wear, and then perhaps she will govern her passion better than at present. You mistake me, if you think I dislike Lord Carlisle; I respect him, and might like him did I know him better. For him too my mother has an antipathy, why I know not. I am afraid he could be but of little use to me, in separating me from her, which she would oppose with all her might; but I dare say he would assist me if he could, so I take the will for the Deed, and am obliged to him in exactly the same manner as if he succeeded in his efforts. I am in great hopes, that at Christmas I shall be with Mr. Hanson during the vacation, I shall do all I can to avoid a visit to my mother wherever she is. It is the first duty of a parent, to impress precepts of obedience in their children, but her method is so violent, so capricious, that the patience of Job, the versatility of a member of the House of Commons could not support it. I revere Dr. Drury much more than I do her, yet he is never violent, never outrageous: I dread offending him, not however through fear, but the respect I bear him makes me unhappy when I am under his displeasure. My mother's precepts, never convey instruction, never fix upon my mind; to be sure they are calculated, to inculcate obedience, so are chains, and tortures, but though they may restrain for a time, the mind revolts from such treatment. Not that Mrs. Byron ever injures my _sacred_ person. I am rather too old for that, but her words are of that rough texture, which offend more than personal ill usage. "A talkative woman is like an Adder's tongue," so says one of the prophets, but which I can't tell, and very likely you don't wish to know, but he was a true one whoever he was. The postage of your letters, My dear Augusta, don't fall upon me; but if they did, it would make no difference, for I am Generally in cash, and should think the trifle I paid for your epistles the best laid out I ever spent in my life. Write Soon. Remember me to Lord Carlisle, and, believe me, I ever am Your affectionate Brother and Friend, BYRONE. [Footnote 1: In consequence of this letter, Augusta Byron wrote as follows to Hanson, and Byron spent the Christmas holidays of 1804 with his solicitor:-- "Castle Howard, Nov. 18, 1804. My Dear Sir,--I am afraid you will think I presume almost too much upon the kind permission you have so often given me of applying to you about my Brother's concerns. The reason that induces me now to do so is his having lately written me several Letters containing the most extraordinary accounts of his Mother's conduct towards him and complaints of the uncomfortable Situation he is in during the Holidays when with her. All this you will easily imagine has more _vexed_ than _surprized_ me. I am quite unhappy about him, and wish I could in any way remedy the grievances he confides to me. I wished, as the most likely means of doing this, to mention the subject to Lord Carlisle, who has always expressed the greatest interest about Byron and also shewn me the greatest Kindness. Finding that he did _not object_ to it, I yesterday had some conversation with Lord C. on the subject, and it is partly by his advice and wishes that I trouble you with this Letter. He authorized me to tell you that, if you would allow my Brother to spend the next vacation with you (which _he_ seems _strongly_ to wish), that it would put it into his power to see more of him and shew him more attention than he has hitherto, being withheld from doing so from the dread of having any concern whatever with Mrs. Byron. I need hardly add that it is almost MY first wish that this should be accomplished. I am sure you are of my opinion that it is now of the greatest consequence to Byron to secure the friendship of Lord C., the only relation he has who possesses the _Will_ and _power_ to be of use to him. I think the Letters he writes me _quite perfect_ and he does not express one sentiment or idea I should wish different; he tells me he is soon to leave Harrow, but does not say where he is to go. I conclude to Oxford or Cambridge. Pray be so good as to write me a few lines on this subject. I trust entirely to the interest and friendship you have ever so kindly expressed for my Brother, for _my Forgiveness_. Of course you will not mention to Mrs. B. having heard from me, as she would only accuse me of wishing to estrange her Son from her, which would be very far from being the case further than his Happiness and comfort are concerned in it. My opinion is that _as_ they cannot agree, they had better be separated, for such eternal Scenes of wrangling are enough to spoil the very best temper and Disposition in the universe. I shall hope to hear from you soon, my dear sir, and remain, Most sincerely yours, AUGUSTA BYRON."] [Footnote 2: Lord Grey de Ruthyn. (See p. 23, note 1.)] 16.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, Malton, Yorkshire.] Harrow-on-the-Hill, Novr., Saturday, 17th, 1804. I am glad to hear, My dear Sister, that you like Castle Howard so well, I have no doubt what you say is true and that Lord C. is much more amiable than he has been represented to me. Never having been much with him and always hearing him reviled, it was hardly possible I should have conceived a very _great friendship_ for his L'dship. My mother, you inform me, commends my _amiable disposition_ and _good understanding;_ if she does this to you, it is a great deal more than I ever hear myself, for the one or the other is always found fault with, and I am told to copy the _excellent pattern_ which I see before me in _herself._ You have got an invitation too, you may accept it if you please, but if you value your own comfort, and like a pleasant situation, I advise you to avoid Southwell.--I thank you, My dear Augusta, for your readiness to assist me, and will in some manner avail myself of it; I do not however wish to be separated from _her_ entirely, but not to be so much with her as I hitherto have been, for I do believe she likes me; she manifests that in many instances, particularly with regard to money, which I never want, and have as much as I desire. But her conduct is so strange, her caprices so impossible to be complied with, her passions so outrageous, that the evil quite overbalances her _agreeable qualities._ Amongst other things I forgot to mention a most _ungovernable appetite_ for Scandal, which she never can govern, and employs most of her time abroad, in displaying the faults, and censuring the foibles, of her acquaintance; therefore I do not wonder, that my precious Aunt, comes in for her share of encomiums; This however is nothing to what happens when my conduct admits of animadversion; "then comes the tug of war." My whole family from the conquest are upbraided! myself abused, and I am told that what little accomplishments I possess either in mind or body are derived from her and _her alone._ When I leave Harrow I know not; that depends on her nod; I like it very well. The master Dr. Drury, is the most amiable _clergyman_ I ever knew; he unites the Gentleman with the Scholar, without affectation or pedantry, what little I have learnt I owe to him alone, nor is it his fault that it was not more. I shall always remember his instructions with Gratitude, and cherish a hope that it may one day be in my power to repay the numerous obligations, I am under; to him or some of his family. Our holidays come on in about a fortnight. I however have not mentioned that to my mother, nor do I intend it; but if I can, I shall contrive to evade going to Southwell. Depend upon it I will not approach her for some time to come if It is in my power to avoid it, but she must not know, that it is my wish to be absent. I hope you will excuse my sending so short a letter, but the Bell has just rung to summon us together. Write Soon, and believe me, Ever your affectionate Brother, BYRON. I am afraid you will have some difficulty in decyphering my epistles, but _that_ I know you will excuse. Adieu. Remember me to Lord Carlisle. 17.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, Malton, Yorkshire.] Harrow-on-the-Hill, Novr. 21st, 1804. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--This morning I received your by no means unwelcome epistle, and thinking it demands an immediate answer, once more take up my pen to employ it in your service. There is no necessity for my mother to know anything of my intentions, till the time approaches; and when it does come, Mr. H. has only to write her a note saying, that, as I could not accept the invitation he gave me last holidays, he imagined I might do it now; to this she surely can make no objections; but, if she entertained the slightest idea of my making any complaint of her very _lenient_ treatment, the scene that would ensue beggars all power of description. You may have some little idea of it, from what I have told you, and what you yourself know. I wrote to you the other day; but you make no mention of receiving my letter in yours of the 18th inst. It is however of little importance, containing merely a recapitulation of circumstances which I have before detailed at full length. To Lord Carlisle make my warmest acknowledgements. I feel more gratitude, than my feelings can well express; I am truly obliged to him for his endeavours, and am perfectly satisfied with your explanation of his reserve, though I was hitherto afraid it might proceed from personal dislike. I have some idea that I leave Harrow these holidays. The Dr., whose character I gave you in my last, leaves the mastership at Easter. Who his successor may be I know not, but he will not be a better I am confident. You inform me that you intend to visit my mother, then you will have an opportunity of seeing what I have described, and hearing a great _deal of Scandal_. She does not trouble me much with epistolary communications; when I do receive them, they are very concise, and much to the purpose. However I will do her the justice to say that she behaves, or rather means, well, and is in some respects very kind, though her manners are not the most conciliating. She likewise expresses a great deal of affection for you, but disapproves your marriage, wishes to know my opinion of it, and complains that you are negligent and do not write to her or care about her. How far her opinion of your love for her is well grounded, you best know. I again request you will return my sincere thanks to Lord Carlisle, and for the future I shall consider him as more my friend than I have hitherto been taught to think. I have more reasons than one, to wish to avoid going to Notts, for there I should be obliged to associate with Lord G. whom I detest, his manners being unlike those of a Gentleman, and the information to be derived from him but little except about shooting, which I do not intend to devote my life to. Besides, I have a particular reason for not liking him. Pray write to me soon. Adieu, my Dear Augusta. I remain, your affectionate Brother, BYRON. 18.-To John Hanson [1]. Saturday, Dec. 1st, 1804. MY DEAR SIR,--Our vacation commences on the 5th of this Month, when I propose to myself the pleasure of spending the Holidays at your House, if it is not too great an Inconvenience. I tell you fairly, that at Southwell I should have nothing in the World to do, but play at cards and listen to the edifying Conversation of old Maids, two things which do not at all suit my inclinations. In my Mother's last Letter I find that my poney and pointers are not yet procured, and that Lord Grey is still at Newstead. The former I should be very dull at such a place as Southwell without; the latter is still more disagreeable to be with. I presume he goes on in the old way,--quarrelling with the farmers, and stretching his judicial powers (he being now in the commission) to the utmost, becoming a torment to himself, and a pest to all around him.--I am glad you approve of my Gun, feeling myself happy, that it has been tried by so _distinguished_ a _Sportsman_. I hope your Campaigns against the Partridges and the rest of the feathered Tribe have been attended with no serious Consequences--_trifling accidents_ such as the top of a few fingers and a Thumb, you _Gentlemen_ of the _city_ being used to, of course occasion no interruption to your field sports. Your Accommodation I have no doubt I shall be perfectly satisfied with, only do exterminate that _vile Generation_ of _Bugs_ which nearly ate me up the last Time I _sojourned_ at your House. After undergoing the Purgatory of Harrow _board_ and _Lodging_ for three Months I shall not be _particular_ or exorbitant in my demands. Pray give my best Compliments to Mrs. Hanson and the now _quilldriving_ Hargreaves [2]. Till I see you, I remain, Yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Byron spent the Christmas holidays of 1804-5 with the Hansons. He gave Hanson to understand that it was his wish to leave the school, and that Dr. Drury agreed with him in the decision. Hanson, after consulting Lord Carlisle, wrote to Drury, urging that Byron was too young to leave the school. Drury's reply, dated December 29, 1804, gave a different colour to the matter. "Your letter," he writes, "supposes that Lord Byron was desirous to leave school, and that I acquiesced in his Wish: but I must do him the Justice to observe that _the wish originated with me._ During his last residence at Harrow his conduct gave me much trouble and uneasiness; and as two of his Associates were to leave me at Christmas, I certainly suggested to him _my wish_ that he might be placed under the care of some private Tutor previously to his admission to either of the Universities. This I did no less with a view to the forming of his mind and manners, than to my own comfort; and I am fully convinced that if such a situation can be procured for his Lordship, it will be much more advantageous for him than a longer residence at school, where his animal spirits and want of judgment may induce him to do wrong, whilst his age and person must prevent his Instructors from treating him in some respects as a schoolboy. If we part now, we may entertain affectionate dispositions towards each other, and his Lordship will have left the school with credit; as my dissatisfactions were expressed to him only privately, and in such a manner as not to affect his public situation in the school." Finally, however, Dr. Drury, yielding to the appeal of Lord Carlisle and Hanson, allowed the boy to return to Harrow, and Byron remained at the school till July, 1805, the last three months being passed under the rule of Dr. Butler.] [Footnote 2: Hargreaves Hanson, second son of John Hanson, had just left Harrow, and was articled as a pupil in his father's business. He died in 1811, at the age of 23.] 19.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. 6, Chancery Lane, Wednesday, 30th Jany., 1805. I have delayed writing to you so long, My dearest Augusta, from ignorance of your residence, not knowing whether you _graced_ Castle Howard, or Kireton with your _presence._ The instant Mr. H[anson] informed me where you was, I prepared to address you, and you have but just forestalled my intention. And now, I scarcely know what to begin with; I have so many things, to tell you. I wish to God, that we were together, for It is impossible that I can confine all I have got to say in an epistle, without I was to follow your example, and fill eleven pages, as I was informed, by my _proficiency_ in _the art of magic,_ that you sometimes send that _number_ to _Lady Gertrude._ To begin with an article of _grand importance;_ I on Saturday dined with Lord Carlisle, and on further acquaintance I like them all very much. Amongst other circumstances, I heard of your _boldness_ as a _Rider,_ especially one anecdote about your horse carrying you into the stable _perforce._ I should have admired amazingly to have seen your progress, provided you met with no accident. I hope you recollect the circumstance, and know what I allude to; else, you may think that I am _soaring_ into the _Regions of Romance._ I wish you to corroborate my account in your next, and inform me whether my information was correct. I think your friend Lady G. is a sweet girl. If your taste in _love_, is as good as it is in _friendship_, I shall think you a _very discerning little Gentlewoman_. His Lordship too improves upon further acquaintance, Her Ladyship I always liked, but of the Junior part of the family Frederick [1] is my favourite. I believe with regard to my future destination, that I return to Harrow until June, and then I'm off for the university. Could I have found Room there, I was to have gone immediately. I have contrived to pass the holidays with Mr. and Mrs. Hanson, to whom I am greatly obliged for their hospitality. You are now within a days journey of my _amiable Mama_. If you wish your spirits _raised_, or rather _roused_, I would recommend you to pass a week or two with her. However I daresay she would behave very well to _you_, for you do not know her disposition so well as I do. I return you, my dear Girl, a thousand thanks for hinting to Mr. H. and Lord C. my uncomfortable situation, I shall always remember it with gratitude, as a most _essential service_. I rather think that, if you were any time with my mother, she would bore you about your marriage which she _disapproves_ of, as much for the sake of finding fault as any thing, for that is her favourite amusement. At any rate she would be very inquisitive, for she was always tormenting me about it, and, if you told her any thing, she might very possibly divulge it; I therefore advise you, _when you see her_ to say nothing, or as little, about it, as you can help. If you make haste, you can answer this _well written_ epistle by return of post, for I wish again to hear from you immediately; you need not fill _eleven pages, nine_ will be sufficient; but whether it contains nine pages or nine lines, it will always be most welcome, my beloved Sister, to Your affectionate Brother and Friend, BYRON. [Footnote 1: The Hon. Frederick Howard, third son of Lord Carlisle, the "young, gallant Howard" of _Childe Harold_ (Canto III. stanzas xxix, xxx; see Byron's note), was killed at Waterloo. "The best of his race," says Byron, in a letter to Moore, July 7, 1815.] 20.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [London], Thursday, 4th April, 1805. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--You certainly have excellent reasons for complaint against my want of punctuality in our correspondence; but, as it does not proceed from want of affection, but an idle disposition, you will, I hope, accept my excuses. I am afraid, however, that when I shall take up my pen, you will not be greatly _edified_ or _amused_, especially at present, since, I sit down in very bad spirits, out of humour with myself, and all the world, except _you_. I left Harrow yesterday, and am now at Mr. Hanson's till Sunday morning, when I depart for Nottinghamshire, to pay a visit to my _mother_, with whom I shall remain for a week or two, when I return to town, and from thence to Harrow, until July, when I take my departure for the university, but which I am as yet undecided. Mr. H. Recommends Cambridge; Ld. Carlisle allows me to chuse for myself, and I must own I prefer Oxford. But, I am not violently bent upon it, and whichever is determined upon will meet with my concurrence.--This is the outline of my plans for the next 6 months. I am Glad that you are Going to pay his _Lordship_ a visit, as I shall have an opportunity of seeing you on my return to town, a pleasure, which, as I have been long debarred of it, will be doubly felt after so long a separation. My visit to the Dowager does not promise me all the happiness I could wish; however, it must be gone through, as it is some time since I have seen her. It shall be as short as possible. I shall expect to find a letter from you, when I come down, as I wish to know when you go to town, and how long you remain there. If you stay till The middle of next month, you may have an opportunity of hearing me speak, as the first day of our _Harrow orations_ occurs in May. My friend Delawarr [1], (as you observed) danced with the little Princess, nor did I in the least _envy_ him the honour. I presume you have heard That Dr. Drury leaves Harrow this Easter, and That, as a memorial of our Gratitude for his long services, The scholars presented him with plate to the amount of 330 Guineas. I hope you will excuse this _Hypocondriac_ epistle, as I never was in such low spirits in my life. Adieu, my Dearest Sister, and believe me, Your ever affectionate though negligent Brother, BYRON. [Footnote 1: On February 25, 1805, their Majesties gave a magnificent "house-warming" at Windsor Castle. "The expenditure," says the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1805 (part i. pp. 262-264), "cannot have cost less than £50,000. The floor of the ball-room, instead of being chalked, was painted with most fanciful and appropriate devices by an eminent artist." The "little Princess" Charlotte of Wales, we are told, left the Castle at half-past nine.] 21.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Burgage Manor, Southwell, Notts, 15 April, 1805. DEAR HARGREAVES,--As I have been unable to return to Town with your father, I must request, that you will take care of my Books, and a parcel which I expect from my Taylor's, and, as I understand you are going to pay Farleigh a visit, I would be obliged to you to leave them under the care of one of the Clerks, or a Servant, who may inform me where to find them. I shall be in Town on Wednesday the 24th at furthest, when I shall not hope to see you, or wish it; not but what I should be glad of your _entertaining and loquacious Society_, but as I think you will be more amused at Farleigh, it would be selfish in me to wish that you should forego the pleasures of contemplating _pigs_, _poultry_, _pork_, _pease_, and _potatoes_ together, with other Rural Delights, for my Company. Much pleasure may you find in your excursion and I dare say, when you have exchanged _pleadings_ for _ploughshares_ and _fleecing clients_ for _feeding flocks_, you will be in no hurry to resume your Law Functions. Remember me to your Father and Mother and the Juniors, and if you should find it convenient to dispatch a note in answer to this epistle, it will afford great pleasure to Yours very sincerely and affectionately, BYRON. P.S.--It is hardly necessary to inform you that I am heartily tired of Southwell, for I am at this minute experiencing those delights which I have recapitulated to you and which are more entertaining to be _talked_ of at a distance than enjoyed at Home. I allude to the Eloquence of a _near relation_ of mine, which is as remarkable as your _taciturnity_. 22.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Burgage Manor, April 20, 1805. Dear Hargreaves,--Dr. Butler, [1] our new Master, has thought proper to postpone our Meeting till the 8th of May, which obliges me to delay my return to Town for one week, so that instead of Wednesday the 24th I shall not arrive in London till the 1st of May, on which Day (If I live) I shall certainly be in town, where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you. I shall remain with you only a week, as we are all to return to the very day, on account of the prolongation of our Holidays. However, if you shall previous to that period take a _jaunt_ into Hants, I beg you will leave my _valuables_, etc., etc., in the care of one of the _Gentlemen_ of your office, as that _Razor faced Villain_, James, might perhaps take the Liberty of walking off with a suit. I have heard several times from Tattersall [2] and it is very probable we may see him on my return. I beg you will excuse this short epistle as my time is at present rather taken up, and Believe Me, Yours very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: The Rev. George Butler (1774-1853), who was Senior Wrangler (1794), succeeded Dr. Drury as Head-master of Harrow School in April, 1805. He was then Fellow, tutor, and classical lecturer at Sydney Sussex College, Cambridge. From affection to Dr. Drury, Byron supported the candidature of his brother, Mark Drury, and avenged himself on Butler for the defeat of his candidate by the lines on "Pomposus" (see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 16, 17, "On a Change of Masters," etc.; and pp. 84-106, "Childish Recollections"). At a later period he became reconciled to Butler, who knew the Continent well, was an excellent linguist, and gave him valuable advice for his foreign tour in 1809-11. Butler resigned the Head-mastership of Harrow in April, 1824, and retired to a country living. In 1842 he was appointed to the Deanery of Peterborough, where he died in 1853.] [Footnote 2: John Cecil Tattersall entered Harrow in May, 1801. He was the "Davus" of "Childish Recollections" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 97, 98, and notes). He went from Harrow to Christ Church, Oxford, took orders, and died December 8, 1812.] 23.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [The Earl of Carlisle's, Grosvenor Place, London.] Burgage Manor, April 23d, 1805. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--I presume by this time, that you are safely arrived at the Earl's, at least I _hope_ so; nor shall I feel myself perfectly easy, till I have the pleasure of hearing from yourself of your safety. I myself shall set out for town this day (Tuesday) week, and intend waiting upon you on Thursday at farthest; in the mean time I must console myself as well as I can; and I am sure, no unhappy mortal ever required much more consolation than I do at present. You as well as myself know the _sweet_ and _amiable_ temper of a certain personage to whom I am nearly related; of _course_, the pleasure I have enjoyed during my vacation, (although it has been greater than I expected) yet has not been so _superabundant_ as to make me wish to stay a day longer than I can avoid. However, notwithstanding the dullness of the place, and certain _unpleasant things_ that occur In a family not a hundred miles distant from Southwell, I contrived to pass my time in peace, till to day, when unhappily, In a most inadvertent manner, I said that Southwell was not _peculiarly_ to my taste; but however, I merely expressed this in common conversation, without speaking disrespectfully of the _sweet_ town; (which, between you and I, I wish was swallowed up by an earthquake, provided my _Eloquent mother_ was not in it). No sooner had the unlucky sentence, which I believe was prompted by my evil Genius, escaped my lips, than I was treated with an Oration in the _ancient style_, which I have often so _pathetically_ described to you, unequalled by any thing of _modern_ or _antique_ date; nay the _Philippics_ against Lord Melville [1] were nothing to it; one would really Imagine, to have heard the _Good Lady_, that I was a most _treasonable culprit_, but thank St. Peter, after undergoing this _Purgatory_ for the last hour, it is at length blown over, and I have sat down under these _pleasing impressions_ to address you, so that I am afraid my epistle will not be the most entertaining. I assure you upon my _honour_, jesting apart, I have never been so _scurrilously_, and _violently_ abused by any person, as by that woman, whom I think I am to call mother, by that being who gave me birth, to whom I ought to look up with veneration and respect, but whom I am sorry I cannot love or admire. Within one little hour, I have not only heard myself, but have heard my _whole family_, by the father's side, _stigmatized_ in terms that the _blackest malevolence_ would perhaps shrink from, and that too in words you would be shocked to hear. Such, Augusta, such is my mother; _my mother!_ I disclaim her from this time, and although I cannot help treating her with respect, I cannot reverence, as I ought to do, that parent who by her outrageous conduct forfeits all title to filial affection. To you, Augusta, I must look up, as my nearest relation, to you I must confide what I cannot mention to others, and I am sure you will pity me; but I entreat you to keep this a secret, nor expose that unhappy failing of this woman, which I must bear with patience. I would be very sorry to have it discovered, as I have only one week more, for the present. In the mean time you may write to me with the greatest safety, as she would not open any of my letters, even from you. I entreat then that you will favour me with an answer to this. I hope however to have the pleasure of seeing you on the day appointed, but If you could contrive any way that I may avoid being asked to dinner by L'd C. I would be obliged to you, as I hate strangers. Adieu, my Beloved Sister, I remain ever yours, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Henry Dundas (1742-1811), created Viscount Melville in 1802, Lord Advocate (1775-83), made himself useful to Lord North's Government as a shrewd, hard-working man of business, a ready speaker--in broad Scotch, and a consummate election agent. For twenty years he was the right-hand man of Pitt-- "Too proud from pilfered greatness to descend, Too humble not to call Dundas his friend." Not only was he Pitt's political colleague, but in private life his boon companion. A well-known epigram commemorates in a dialogue their convivial habits-- 'Pitt'. "I cannot see the Speaker, Hal; can you?" 'Dundas'. "Not see the Speaker, Billy? I see two." Melville, for a long series of years, held important political posts. He was Treasurer of the Navy (1782-1800); member of the Board of Control for India (1784-1802) and President (1790-1802); Home Secretary (1791-94); Secretary of War (1794-1801); First Lord of the Admiralty (1804-5). In 1802 a Commission had been appointed to examine into the accounts of the naval department for the past twenty years, and, in consequence of their tenth report, a series of resolutions were moved in the House of Commons (April, 1805) against Melville. The voting was even--216 for and 216 against; the resolutions were carried by the casting vote of Speaker Abbott. "Pitt was overcome; his friend was ruined. At the sound of the Speaker's voice, the Prime Minister crushed his hat over his brows to hide the tears that poured over his cheeks: he pushed in haste out of the House. Some of his opponents, I am ashamed to say, thrust themselves near, 'to see how Billy took it.'" (Mark Boyd's 'Reminiscences of Fifty Years', p. 404.) Melville, who was heard at the bar of the House of Commons in his own defence, was impeached before the House of Lords (June 26, 1805) of high crimes and misdemeanours. At the close of the proceedings, which began in Westminster Hall on April 29, 1806, Melville was acquitted on all the charges. Whitbread took the leading part in the impeachment. See 'All the Talents: a Satirical Poem', by Polypus (E. S. Barrett)-- "Rough as his porter, bitter as his barm, He sacrificed his fame to M--lv--lle's harm." Dialogue ii.] 24.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [The Earl of Carlisle's, Grosvenor Place, London.] Burgage Manor, Southwell, Friday, April 25th, 1805. My dearest Augusta,--Thank God, I believe I shall be in town on Wednesday next, and at last relieved from those _agreeable amusements_, I described to you in my last. I return you and Lady G. many thanks for your _benediction_, nor do I doubt its efficacy as it is bestowed by _two such Angelic beings_; but as I am afraid my _profane blessing_ would but expedite your road to _Purgatory_, instead of _Salvation_, you must be content with my best wishes in return, since the _unhallowed adjurations_ of a mere mortal would be of no effect. You say, you are sick of the Installation; [1] and that L'd C. was not present; I however saw his name in the _Morning Post_, as one of the Knights Companions. I indeed expected that _you_ would have been present at the Ceremony. I have seen this young Roscius [2] several times at the hazard of my life, from the _affectionate squeezes_ of the surrounding crowd. I think him tolerable in some characters, but by no means equal to the ridiculous praises showered upon him by _John Bull_. I am afraid that my stay in town ceases after the 10th. I should not continue it so long, as we meet on the 8th at Harrow, But, I remain on purpose to hear our _Sapient_ and _noble Legislators_ of Both Houses debate on the Catholic Question, [3] as I have no doubt there will be many _nonsensical_, and some _Clever_ things said on the occasion. I am extremely glad that you _sport_ an audience Chamber for the Benefit of your _modest_ visitors, amongst whom I have the _honour_ to reckon myself: I shall certainly be most happy again to see you, notwithstanding my _wise_ and _Good_ mother (who is at this minute thundering against Somebody or other below in the Dining Room), has interdicted my visiting at his _Lordship's_ house, with the threat of her malediction, in case of disobedience, as she says he has behaved very ill to her; the truth of this I much doubt, nor should the orders of all the mothers (especially such mothers) in the world, prevent me from seeing my Beloved Sister after so long an Absence. I beg you will forgive this _well written epistle_, for I write in a great Hurry, and, believe me, with the greatest impatience again to behold you, your Attached Brother and [Friend, BYRON]. P.S.--By the bye Lady G. ought not to complain of your writing a _decent_ long letter to me, since I remember your _11 Pages_ to her, at which I did not make the least complaint, but submitted like a _meek Lamb_ to the innovation of my privileges, for nobody _ought_ to have had so long an epistle but my _most excellent Self_. [Footnote 1: On St. George's Day, April 23, 1805, seven Knights were installed at Windsor as Knights of the Garter, each in turn being invested with the surcoat, girdle, and sword. The new Knights were the Dukes of Rutland and Beaufort; the Marquis of Abercorn; the Earls of Chesterfield, Pembroke, and Winchilsea; and, by proxy, the Earl of Hardwicke. Lady Louisa Strangways, writing to her sister, Lady Harriet Frampton, on April 24, 1805 ('Journal of Mary Frampton', p. 129), says, "I was full dressed for seventeen hours yesterday, and sat in one spot for seven, which is enough to tire any one who enjoyed what was going on, which I did not. I saw them walk to St. George's Chapel, which was the best part, as it did not last long ... Their dresses were very magnificent. The Knights, before they were installed, were in white and silver, like the old pictures of Henry VIII., and afterwards they had a purple mantle put on. They had immense plumes of ostrich feathers, with a heron's feather in the middle."] [Footnote 2: William Henry West Betty (1791-1874), the "Young Roscius," made his first appearance on the stage at Belfast, in 1803, in the part of "Osman," in Hill's 'Zara;' and on December 1, 1804, at Covent Garden, as "Selim" disguised as "Achmet," in Browne's 'Barbarossa'. In the winter season of 1804-5, when he appeared at Covent Garden and Drury Lane, such crowds collected to see him, that the military were called out to preserve order. Leslie ('Autobiographical Recollections', vol. i. p. 218) speaks of him as a boy "of handsome features and graceful manners, with a charming voice." Fox, who saw him in 'Hamlet', said, "This is finer than Garrick" ('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 88). Northcote ('Conversations', p. 23) spoke of his acting as "a beautiful effusion of natural sensibility; and then that graceful play of the limbs in youth gave such an advantage over every one about him." "Young Roscius's premature powers," writes Mrs. Piozzi, February 21, 1805, "attract universal attention, and I suppose that if less than an angel had told 'his' parents that a bulletin of that child's health should be necessary to quiet the anxiety of a metropolis for his safety, they would not have believed the prediction" ('Life and Writings of Mrs. Piozzi', vol. ii. p. 263). In society he was the universal topic of conversation, and he commanded a salary of £50 a night, at a time when John Kemble was paid £37 16's'. a week ('Life of Frederick Reynolds', vol. ii. p. 364). "When," writes Mrs. Byron of her son to Hanson (December 8, 1804), "he goes to see the Young Roscius, I hope he will take care of himself in the crowd, and not go alone." Betty lost his attractiveness with the growth of his beard. Byron's opinion of the merits of the youthful prodigy became that of the general public; but not till the actor had made a large fortune. He retired from the stage in 1824.] [Footnote 3: On March 25, 1805, petitions were presented by Lord Grenville in the House of Lords, and Fox in the House of Commons, calling the attention of the country to the claims of the Roman Catholics, and praying their relief from their disabilities, civil, naval, and military. On Friday, May 10, Lord Grenville moved, in the Upper House, for a committee of the whole House to consider the petition. At six o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, May 14, the motion was negatived by a division of 178 against 49. On Monday, May 13, Fox, in the Lower House, made a similar motion, which was negatived, at five o'clock on the morning of Wednesday, May 15, by a division of 336 against 126. Byron, on April 21, 1812, in the second of his three Parliamentary speeches, supported the relief of the Roman Catholics.] 25.--To John Hanson. Harrow-on-the-Hill, 11 May, 1805. Dear Sir,--As you promised to cash my Draft on the Day that I left your house, and as you was only prevented by the Bankers being shut up, I will be very much obliged to you to _give the ready_ to this old Girl, Mother Barnard, [1] who will either present herself or send a Messenger, as she demurs on its being not payable till the 25th of June. Believe me, Sir, by doing this you will greatly oblige Yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote: 1. Mother Barnard was the keeper of the "tuck-shop" at Harrow.] 26.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [The Earl of Carlisle's, Grosvenor Place, London.] [Harrow, Wednesday, June 5, 1805.] My Dearest Augusta,--At last you have a _decent_ specimen of the dowager's talents for epistles in the _furioso_ style. You are now freed from the _shackles_ of her correspondence, and when I revisit her, I shall be bored with long stories of your _ingratitude_, etc., etc. She is as I have before declared certainly mad (to say she was in her senses, would be condemning her as a Criminal), her conduct is a _happy_ compound of derangement and Folly. I had the other day an epistle from her; not a word was mentioned about you, but I had some of the usual _compliments_ on my own account. I am now about to answer her letter, though I shall scarcely have patience, to treat her with civility, far less with affection, that was almost over before, and this has given the finishing stroke to _filial_, which now gives way to _fraternal_ duty. Believe me, dearest Augusta, not ten thousand _such_ mothers, or indeed any mothers, Could induce me to give you up.--No, No, as the dowager says in that rare epistle which now lies before me, "the time has been, but that is past long since," and nothing now can influence your _pretty_ _sort of_ a _brother_ (bad as he is) to forget that he is your _Brother_. Our first Speech day will be over ere this reaches you, but against the 2d you shall have timely notice.--I am glad to hear your illness is not of a Serious nature; _young Ladies_ ought not to throw themselves in to the fidgets about a trifling delay of 9 or 10 years; age brings experience and when you in the flower of youth, between 40 and 50, shall then marry, you will no doubt say that I am a _wise man_, and that the later one makes one's self miserable with the matrimonial clog, the better. Adieu, my dearest Augusta, I bestow my _patriarchal blessing_ on you and Lady G. and remain, [Signature cut out.] 27.--To John Hanson. Harrow-on-the-Hill, 27 June, 1805. Dear Sir,--I will be in Town on Saturday Morning, but it is absolutely necessary for me to return to Harrow on Tuesday or Wednesday, as Thursday is our 2d Speechday and Butler says he cannot dispense with my Presence on that Day. I thank you for your Compliment in the Beginning of your Letter, and with the Hope of seeing you and Hargreaves well on Saturday, I remain, yours, etc., etc., BYRON. 28.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Address cut out], Tuesday, July 2d, 1805. My dearest Augusta,--I am just returned from Cambridge, where I have been to enter myself at Trinity College.--Thursday is our Speechday at Harrow, and as I forgot to remind you of its approach, previous to our first declamation, [1] I have given you _timely_ notice this time. If you intend doing me the _honour_ of attending, I would recommend you not to come without a Gentleman, as I shall be too much engaged all the morning to take care of you, and I should not imagine you would admire _stalking_ about by yourself. You had better be there by 12 o'clock as we begin at 1, and I should like to procure you a good place; Harrow is 11 miles from town, it will just make a _comfortable_ mornings drive for you. I don't know how you are to come, but for _Godsake_ bring as few women with you as possible. I would wish you to Write me an answer immediately, that I may know on Thursday morning, whether you will drive over or not, and I will arrange my other engagements accordingly. I _beg_, _Madam_, you may make your appearance in one of his Lordships most _dashing_ carriages, as our Harrow _etiquette_, admits of nothing but the most _superb_ vehicles, on our Grand _Festivals_. In the mean time, believe me, dearest Augusta, Your affectionate Brother, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Byron, writing to Hanson (June 25, 1805), says, "The fame of Byron's oratory has reached Southwell" (see page 27, note 1).] 29.--To John Hanson. Harrow, 8 July, 1805. My dear Sir,--I have just received a Letter from my Mother, in which she talks of coming to Town about the _commencement_ of our Holidays. If she does, it will be impossible for me to call on _my Sister_, previous to my leaving it, and at the same time I cannot conceive what the Deuce she can want at this season in London. I have written to tell her that my Holidays commence on the 6th of August, but however, July the 1st is the proper day.--I beg that if you cannot find some means to keep her in the Country that you at least will connive at this deception which I can palliate, and then I shall be down in the country before she knows where I am. My reasons for this are, that I do _not wish_ to be detained in Town so uncomfortably as I know I shall be if I remain with her; that _I do wish_ to see my Sister; and in the next place she can just as well come to Town after my return to Notts, as I don't desire to be dragged about according to her caprice, and there are some other causes I think unnecessary to be now mentioned. If you will only contrive by settling this business (if it is in your power), or if that is impossible, not mention anything about the day our Holidays commence, of which you can be easily supposed not to be informed. If, I repeat, you can by any means prevent this Mother from executing her purposes, believe me, you will greatly oblige Yours truly, BYRON. 30.--To Charles O. Gordon. [1] Burgage Manor, Southwell, Notts, August 4, 1805. Although I am greatly afraid, my Dearest Gordon, that you will not receive this epistle till you return from Abergeldie, (as your letter stated that you would be at Ledbury on Thursday next) yet, that is not my fault, for I have not deferred answering yours a moment, and, as I have just now concluded my Journey, my first, and, I trust you will believe me when I say, most pleasing occupation will be to write to you. We have played the Eton and were most confoundedly beat; [2] however it was some comfort to me that I got 11 notches the 1st Innings and 7 the 2nd, which was more than any of our side except Brockman & Ipswich could contrive to hit. After the match we dined together, and were extremely friendly, not a single discordant word was uttered by either party. To be sure, we were most of us rather drunk and went together to the Haymarket Theatre, where we kicked up a row, As you may suppose, when so many Harrovians & Etonians met at one place; I was one of seven in a single hackney, 4 Eton and 3 Harrow, and then we all got into the same box, and the consequence was that such a devil of a noise arose that none of our neighbours could hear a word of the drama, at which, not being _highly delighted_, they began to quarrel with us, and we nearly came to a _battle royal_. How I got home after the play God knows. I hardly recollect, as my brain was so much confused by the heat, the row, and the wine I drank, that I could not remember in the morning how I found my way to bed. The rain was so incessant in the evening that we could hardly get our Jarveys, which was the cause of so many being stowed into one. I saw young Twilt, your brother, with Malet, and saw also an old schoolfellow of mine whom I had not beheld for six years, but he was not the one whom you were so good as to enquire after for me, and for which I return you my sincere thanks. I set off last night at eight o'clock to my mother's, and am just arrived this afternoon, and have not delayed a second in thanking you for so soon fulfilling my request that you would correspond with me. My address at Cambridge will be Trinity College, but I shall not go there till the 20th of October. You may continue to direct your letters here, when I go to Hampshire which will not be till you have returned to Harrow. I will send my address previous to my departure from my mother's. I agree with you in the hope that we shall continue our correspondence for a long time. I trust, my dearest friend, that it will only be interrupted by our being some time or other in the same place or under the same roof, as, when I have finished my _Classical Labour_, and my minority is expired, I shall expect you to be a frequent visitor to Newstead Abbey, my seat in this county which is about 12 miles from my mother's house where I now am. There I can show you plenty of hunting, shooting and fishing, and be assured no one ever will be more welcome guest than yourself--nor is there any one whose correspondence can give me more pleasure, or whose friendship yield me greater delight than yours, sweet, dearest Charles, believe me, will always be the sentiments of Yours most affectionately, BYRON. [Footnote 1: This and Letter 33 are written to Byron's Harrow friend, Charles Gordon, one of his "juniors and favourites," whom he "spoilt by indulgence." Gordon, who was the son of David Gordon of Abergeldie, died in 1829.] [Footnote 2: Byron's reputation as a cricketer rests on this match between Eton and Harrow. It was played on the old cricket ground in Dorset Square, August 2, 1805, and ended in a victory for Eton by an innings and two runs. The score is thus given by Lillywhite, in his _Cricket Scores and Biographies of Celebrated Cricketers from 1745 to 1826_ (vol. i. pp. 319, 320)-- HARROW. First Innings. Second Innings. -------------------------------------------------------- Lord Ipswich, b Carter --10 b Heaton --21 T. Farrer, Esq., b Carter -- 7 c Bradley-- 3 T. Drury, Esq., b Carter -- 0 st Heaton-- 6 --Bolton, Esq., run out -- 2 b Heaton -- 0 C. Lloyd, Esq., b Carter -- 0 b Carter -- 0 A. Shakespeare, Esq., st Heaton-- 8 runout -- 5 Lord Byron, c Barnard-- 7 b Carter -- 2 Hon. T. Erskine, b Carter -- 4 b Heaton -- 8 W. Brockman, Esq., b Heaton -- 9 b Heaton --10 E. Stanley, Esq., not out -- 3 c Canning-- 7 --Asheton, Esq., b Carter -- 3 not out -- 0 Byes -- 2 Byes -- 3 -- -- 55 65 ETON. -------------------------------------------------------- --Heaton, Esq., b Lloyd -- 0 --Slingsby, Esq., b Shakespeare--29 --Carter, Esq., b Shakespeare-- 3 --Farhill, Esq., c Lloyd -- 6 --Canning, Esq., c Farrer --12 --Camplin, Esq., b Ipswich --42 --Bradley, Esq., b Lloyd --16 --Barnard, Esq., b Shakespeare-- 0 --Barnard, Esq., not out -- 3 --Kaye, Esq., b Byron -- 7 --Dover, Esq., c Bolton -- 4 Byes -- 0 -- 122 At this match Lord Stratford de Redcliffe remembers seeing a "moody-looking boy" dismissed for a small score. The boy was Byron. But the moment is not favourable to expression of countenance. 31.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, Malton, Yorkshire.] Burgage Manor, August 6th, 1805. Well, my dearest Augusta, here I am, once more situated at my mother's house, which together with its _inmate_ is as _agreeable_ as ever. I am at this moment _vis à vis_ and Téte à téte with that amiable personage, who is, whilst I am writing, pouring forth complaints against your _ingratitude_, giving me many oblique hints that I ought not to correspond with you, and concluding with an interdiction that if you ever after the expiration of my minority are invited to my residence, _she_ will no longer condescend to grace it with her _Imperial_ presence. You may figure to yourself, for your amusement, my solemn countenance on the occasion, and the _meek Lamblike_ demeanour of her Ladyship, which, contrasted with my _Saintlike visage_, forms a _striking family painting_, whilst in the back ground, the portraits of my Great Grandfather and Grandmother, suspended in their frames, seem to look with an eye of pity on their _unfortunate descendant_, whose _worth_ and _accomplishments_ deserve a milder fate. I am to remain in this _Garden_ of _Eden_ one month, I do not indeed reside at Cambridge till October, but I set out for Hampshire in September where I shall be on a visit till the commencement of the term. In the mean time, Augusta, your _sympathetic_ correspondence must be some alleviation to my sorrows, which however are too ludicrous for me to regard them very seriously; but they are _really_ more _uncomfortable_ than _amusing_. I presume you were rather surprised not to see my _consequential_ name in the papers [1] amongst the orators of our 2nd speech day, but unfortunately some wit who had formerly been at Harrow, suppressed the merits of Long [2], Farrer [3] and myself, who were always supposed to take the Lead in Harrow eloquence, and by way of a _hoax_ thought proper to insert a panegyric on those speakers who were really and truly allowed to have rather disgraced than distinguished themselves, of course for the _wit_ of the thing, the best were left out and the worst inserted, which accounts for the _Gothic omission_ of my _superior talents._ Perhaps it was done with a view to weaken our vanity, which might be too much raised by the flattering paragraphs bestowed on our performance the 1st speechday; be that as it may, we were omitted in the account of the 2nd, to the astonishment of all Harrow. These are _disappointments_ we _great men_ are liable to, and we must learn to bear them with philosophy, especially when they arise from attempts at wit. I was indeed very ill at that time, and after I had finished my speech was so overcome by the exertion that I was obliged to quit the room. I had caught cold by sleeping in damp sheets which was the cause of my indisposition. However I am now perfectly recovered, and live in hopes of being emancipated from the slavery of Burgage manor. But Believe me, Dearest Augusta, whether well or ill, I always am your affect. Brother, BYRON. [Footnote 1: See page 27, note 1.] [Footnote 2: Edward Noel Long, son of E. B. Long of Hampton Lodge, Surrey, the "Cleon" of "Childish Recollections" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 101, 102), entered Harrow in April, 1801. He went with Byron to Trinity College, Cambridge, and till the end of the summer of 1806 was his most intimate friend. "We were," says Byron, in his Diary ('Life', p. 31), "rival swimmers, fond of riding, reading, and of conviviality. Our evenings we passed in music (he was musical, and played on more than one instrument--flute and violoncello), in which I was audience; and I think that our chief beverage was soda-water. In the day we rode, bathed, and lounged, reading occasionally. I remember our buying, with vast alacrity, Moore's new quarto (in 1806), and reading it together in the evenings. ... _His_ friendship, and a violent though pure passion--which held me at the same period--were the then romance of the most romantic period of my life." Long was Byron's companion at Littlehampton in August, 1806. In 1807 he entered the Guards, served with distinction in the expedition to Copenhagen, and was drowned early in 1809, "on his passage to Lisbon with his regiment in the 'St. George' transport, which was run foul of in the night by another transport" ('Life', p. 31. See also Byron's lines "To Edward Noel Long, Esq.," 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 184-188).] [Footnote 3: Thomas Farrer entered Harrow in April, 1801. He played in Byron's XI. against Eton, on the ground in Dorset Square, on August 2, 1805.] CHAPTER II. 1805-1808. CAMBRIDGE AND JUVENILE POEMS. 32.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, Malton, Yorkshire.] Burgage Manor, August 10th, 1805. I have at last succeeded, my dearest Augusta, in pacifying the dowager, and mollifying that _piece_ of _flint_ which the good Lady denominates her heart. She now has condescended to send you her _love_, although with many comments on the occasion, and many compliments to herself. But to me she still continues to be a torment, and I doubt not would continue so till the end of my life. However this is the last time she ever will have an opportunity, as, when I go to college, I shall employ my vacations either in town; or during the summer I intend making a tour through the Highlands, and to Visit the Hebrides with a party of my friends, whom I have engaged for the purpose. This my old preceptor Drury recommended as the most improving way of employing my Summer Vacation, and I have now an additional reason for following his advice, as I by that means will avoid the society of this woman, whose detestable temper destroys every Idea of domestic comfort. It is a happy thing that she is my mother and not my wife, so that I can rid myself of her when I please, and indeed, if she goes on in the style that she has done for this last week that I have been with her, I shall quit her before the month I was to drag out in her company, is expired, and place myself any where, rather than remain with such a vixen. As I am to have a very handsome allowance,[1] which does not deprive her of a sixpence, since there is an addition made from my fortune by the Chancellor for the purpose, I shall be perfectly independent of her, and, as she has long since trampled upon, and harrowed up every affectionate tie, It is my serious determination never again to visit, or be upon any friendly terms with her. This I owe to myself, and to my own comfort, as well as Justice to the memory of my nearest relations, who have been most shamefully libelled by this female 'Tisiphom', a name which your 'Ladyship' will recollect to have belonged to one of the Furies. You need not take the precaution of writing in so enigmatical a style in your next, as, bad as the woman is, she would not dare to open any letter addressed to me from you. Whenever you can find time to write, believe me, your epistles will be productive of the greatest pleasure, to your Affectionate Brother, BYRON. [Footnote 1: During Byron's schooldays, Mrs. Byron received £500 a year from the Court of Chancery for his education. When he went to Cambridge, she gave up this allowance to her son, and the expenditure of a certain sum was sanctioned by Chancery for furniture, clothes, plate, etc. At the same time, Mrs. Byron applied for an allowance of £200 a year, but in 1807 the allowance had not been granted. Her pension, it may be added, most irregularly paid at all times, was reduced to £200 a year. Writing to Hanson (September 23, 1805), she says, "I give up the five hundred a year to my son, and you will supply him with money accordingly. The two hundred a year addition I shall reserve for myself; nor can I do with less, as my house will always be a home for my son whenever he chooses to come to it."] 33.--To Charles O. Gordon. Burgage Manor, August 14, 1805. Believe me, my dearest Charles, no letter from you can ever be unentertaining or dull, at least to me; on the contrary they will always be productive of the highest pleasure as often as you think proper to gratify me by your correspondence. My answer to your first was addressed to Ledbury; and I fear you will not receive it till you return from your tour, which I hope may answer your expectation in every respect; I recollect some years ago passing near Abergeldie on an excursion through the Highlands, it was at that time a most beautiful place. I suppose you will soon have a view of the eternal snows that summit the top of Lachin y Gair, which towers so magnificently above the rest of our _Northern Alps_. I still remember with pleasure the admiration which filled my mind, when I first beheld it, and further on the dark frowning mountains which rise near Invercauld, together with the romantic rocks that overshadow Mar Lodge, a seat of Lord Fife's, and the cataract of the Dee, which dashes down the declivity with impetuous violence in the grounds adjoining to the House. All these I presume you will soon see, so that it is unnecessary for me to expatiate on the subject. I sincerely wish that every happiness may attend you in your progress. I have given you an account of our match in my epistle to Herefordshire. We unfortunately lost it. I got 11 notches the first innings and 7 the 2nd, making 18 in all, which was more runs than any of our side (except Ipswich) could make. Brockman also scored 18. We were very _convivial_ in the evening.[1] [Footnote 1: Here the letter, which is printed from a copy made by the Rev. W. Harness (see page 177 [Letter 92], [Foot]note 1), comes to an end.] 34.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Burgage Manor, August 19th, 1805. My Dear Hargreaves,--You may depend upon my Observance of your father's Invitation to Farleigh [1] in September, where I hope we shall be the cause of much destruction to the feathered Tribe and great Amusement to ourselves. The Lancashire Trial [2] comes on very soon, and Mr. Hanson will come down by Nottingham; perhaps, I may then have a chance of seeing him; at all events, I shall probably accompany him on his way back; as I hope his Health is by this time perfectly reestablished, and will not require a journey to Harrowgate. I shall not as you justly conjecture have any occasion for my _Chapeau de Bras_, as there is nobody in the Neighbourhood who would be worth the trouble of wearing it, when I went to their parties. I am uncommonly dull at this place, as you may easily imagine, nor do I think I shall have much Amusement till the commencement of the shooting season. I shall expect (when you next write) an account of your military preparations, to repel the Invader of our Isle whenever he makes the attempt.--_You_ will doubtless acquire _great Glory_ on the occasion, and in expectation of hearing of your Warlike Exploits, I remain, yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Hanson had property at Farleigh, near Basingstoke.] [Footnote 2: The Rochdale property of the Byron family had been illegally sold by William, fifth Lord Byron. Proceedings were taken to recover the property; but fresh points arose at every stage, and eventually Byron, unable to wait longer, sold Newstead.] 35.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Burgage Manor. My Dear Hargeaves,--I would be obliged to you, if you would write to your father, and enquire--what time it will be most convenient for him to receive my visit, and I will come to Town immediately to the time appointed and accompany you to the _Rural Shades_ and _Fertile Fields_ of Hants. You must excuse the laconic Style of my Epistle as this place is damned dull and I have nothing to relate, but believe me, Yours truly, BYRON. 36.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Trinity Coll., October 25, 1805. Dear Hargreaves,--I presume your father has by this time informed you of our safe Arrival here. [1] I can as yet hardly form an Opinion in favour, or against the College, but as soon as I am settled you shall have an account. I wish you to pack up carefully--& send immediately the remainder of my books, and also my _Stocks_ which were left in Chancery Lane. _Mon Chapeau de Bras_ take care of till Winter extends his Icy Reign and I shall visit the Metropolis. Tell your father that I am getting in the furniture he spoke of, but shall defer papering and painting till the Recess. The sooner you execute my _commands_ the better. Beware of Mr. Terry, And believe me, yours faithfully, BYRON. The Bills for Furniture I shall send to Mr. H., your worthy papa, according to his _particular Desire_. The Cambridge Coach sets off from the White Horse, Fetter Lane. [Footnote 1: Byron entered Trinity on July 1, 1805; but he did not go into residence till the following October. His tutors were the Rev. Thomas Jones (1756-1807), who was Senior Tutor from 1787 till his death in 1807, and the Rev. George Frederick Tavell (B.A., 1792; M.A., 1795), to whom Byron alludes in 'Hints from Horace', lines 228-230:-- "Unlucky Tavell! doom'd to daily cares By pugilistic pupils, and by bears!"] 37.--To John Hanson. Trinity Coll., Oct. 26, 1805. Dear Sir,--I will be obliged to you to order me down 4 Dozen of Wine--Port, Sherry, Claret, and Madeira, one dozen of each. I have got part of my furniture in, and begin to admire a College life. Yesterday my appearance in the Hall in my State Robes was _Superb_, but uncomfortable to my _Diffidence_. You may order the Saddle, etc., etc., for "Oateater" as soon as you please and I will pay for them. I remain, Sir, yours truly, BYRON. P.S.--Give Hargreaves a hint to be expeditious in his sending my _Valuables_ which I begin to want. Your Cook had the Impudence to charge my Servant 15 Shillings for 5 Days provision which I think is exorbitant; but I hear that in _Town_ it is but reasonable. Pray is it the custom to allow your Servants 3/6 per Diem, in London? I will thank you for Information on the Subject. 38.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, near Malton, Yorkshire.] Trin. Coll. [Wednesday], Novr. 6th, 1805. My dear Augusta,--As might be supposed I like a College Life extremely, especially as I have escaped the Trammels or rather _Fetters_ of my domestic Tyrant Mrs. Byron, who continued to plague me during my visit in July and September. I am now most pleasantly situated in _Super_excellent Rooms, flanked on one side by my Tutor, on the other by an old Fellow, both of whom are rather checks upon my _vivacity_. I am allowed 500 a year, a Servant and Horse, so Feel as independent as a German Prince who coins his own Cash, or a Cherokee Chief who coins no Cash at all, but enjoys what is more precious, Liberty. I talk in raptures of that _Goddess_ because my amiable Mama was so despotic. I am afraid the Specimens I have lately given her of my Spirit, and determination to submit to no more unreasonable demands, (or the insults which follow a refusal to obey her implicitly whether right or wrong,) have given high offence, as I had a most _fiery_ Letter from the _Court_ at _Southwell_ on Tuesday, because I would not turn off my Servant, (whom I had not the least reason to distrust, and who had an excellent Character from his last Master) at her suggestion, from some caprice she had taken into her head. [1] I sent back to the Epistle, which was couched in _elegant_ terms, a severe answer, which so nettled her Ladyship, that after reading it, she returned it in a Cover without deigning a Syllable in return. The Letter and my answer you shall behold when you next see me, that you may judge of the Comparative merits of Each. I shall let her go on in the _Heroics_, till she cools, without taking the least notice. Her Behaviour to me for the last two Years neither merits my respect, nor deserves my affection. I am comfortable here, and having one of the best allowances in College, go on Gaily, but not extravagantly. I need scarcely inform you that I am not the least obliged to Mrs. B. for it, as it comes off my property, and She refused to fit out a single thing for me from her own pocket; [2] my Furniture is paid for, & she has moreover a handsome addition made to her own income, which I do not in the least regret, as I would wish her to be happy, but by _no means_ to live with me in _person_. The sweets of her society I have already drunk to the last dregs, I hope we shall meet on more affectionate Terms, or meet no more. But why do I say _meet?_ her temper precludes every idea of happiness, and therefore in future I shall avoid her _hospitable_ mansion, though she has the folly to suppose She is to be mistress of my house when I come of [age]. I must apologize to you for the [dullness?] of this letter, but to tell you the [truth] [the effects] of last nights Claret have no[t gone] out of my head, as I supped with a large party. I suppose that Fool Hanson in his _vulgar_ Idiom, by the word Jolly did not mean Fat, but High Spirits, for so far from increasing I have lost one pound in a fortnight as I find by being regularly weighed. Adieu, Dearest Augusta. [Signature cut out.] [NB: Words in square brackets were cut and torn out with the seal.] [Footnote 1: The servant, Byron's valet Frank, was accused of obtaining money on false pretences from a Nottingham tradesman, and Mrs. Byron informed her son of the charge. Frank was afterwards transported. (See letter to Lord Clare, February 6, 1807; and letter to Hanson, April 19, 1807.)] [Footnote 2: See page 76, note 1.] 39.--To Hargreaves Hanson. Trinity Coll., Novr. 12th, 1805. DEAR HARGREAVES,--Return my Thanks to your father for the _Expedition_ he has used in filling my _Cellar_. He deserves commendation for the _Attention_ he paid to my Request. The Time of "Oateater's" Journey approaches; I presume he means to repair his Neglect by Punctuality in this Respect. However, no _Trinity Ale_ will be forthcoming, till I have broached the promised _Falernum._ College improves in every thing but Learning. Nobody here seems to look into an Author, ancient or modern, if they can avoid it. The Muses, poor Devils, are totally neglected, except by a few Musty old _Sophs_ and _Fellows_, who, however agreeable they may be to _Minerva_, are perfect Antidotes to the _Graces._ Even I (great as is my _inclination_ for Knowledge) am carried away by the Tide, having only supped at Home twice since I saw your father, and have more engagements on my Hands for a week to come. Still my Tutor and I go on extremely well and for the first three weeks of my life I have not involved myself in any Scrape of Consequence. I have News for you which I bear with _Christian_ Resignation and without any _violent Transports_ of _Grief._ My Mother (whose diabolical Temper you well know) has taken it into her _Sagacious_ Head to quarrel with me her _dutiful Son._ She has such a Devil of a Disposition, that she cannot be quiet, though there are fourscore miles between us, which I wish were lengthened to 400. The Cause too frivolous to require taking up your time to read or mine to write. At last in answer to a _Furious Epistle_ I returned a _Sarcastick_ Answer, which so incensed the _Amiable Dowager_ that my Letter was sent back without her deigning a Line in the cover. When I next see you, you shall behold her Letter and my Answer, which will amuse you as they both contain fiery Philippics. I must request you will write immediately, that I may be informed when my Servant shall convey "Oateater" from London; the 20th was the appointed; but I wish to hear further from your father. I hope all the family are in a convalescent State. I shall see you at Christmas (if I live) as I propose passing the Vacation, which is only a Month, in London. Believe me, Mr. Terry, your's Truly, BYRON. 40.--To John Hanson. Trin. Coll. Cambridge, Novr. 23, 1805. Dear Sir,--Your Advice was good but I have not determined whether I shall follow it; this Place is the _Devil_ or at least his principal residence. They call it the University, but any other Appellation would have suited it much better, for Study is the last pursuit of the Society; the Master [1] eats, drinks, and sleeps, the Fellows [2] _Drink, dispute and pun_; the Employment of the Under graduates you will probably conjecture without my description. I sit down to write with a Head confused with Dissipation which, tho' I hate, I cannot avoid. I have only supped at Home 3 times since my Arrival, and my table is constantly covered with invitations, after all I am the most _steady_ Man in College, nor have I got into many Scrapes, and none of consequence. Whenever you appoint a day my Servant shall come up for "Oateater," and as the Time of paying my Bills now approaches, the remaining £50 will be very _agreeable_. You need not make any deduction as I shall want most of it; I will settle with you for the Saddle and Accoutrements _next_ quarter. The Upholsterer's Bill will not be sent in yet as my rooms are to be papered and painted at Xmas when I will procure them. No Furniture has been got except what was absolutely necessary including some Decanters and Wine Glasses. Your Cook certainly deceived you, as I know my Servant was in Town 5 days, and she stated 4. I have yet had no reason to distrust him, but we will examine the affair when I come to Town when I intend lodging at Mrs. Massingbird's. My Mother and I have quarrelled, which I bear with the _patience_ of a Philosopher; custom reconciles me to everything. In the Hope that Mrs. H. and the _Battalion_ are in good Health. I remain, Sir, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: William Lort Mansel (1753-1820), Master of Trinity (1798-1820), Bishop of Bristol (1808-1820), was the chief wit of Cambridge in his day, and the author of many neat epigrams. "I wish," said Rogers (_Table-Talk_, etc., p. 60), "somebody would collect all the Epigrams written by Dr. Mansel; they are remarkably neat and clever." Beloe, in _The Sexagenarian_ (vol. i. p. 98), speaks of Mansel as "a young man remarkable for his personal confidence, for his wit and humour, and, above all, for his gallantries." Apparently, on the same somewhat unreliable authority, he was, as Master, a severe disciplinarian, and extremely tenacious of his dignity (i. p. 99).] [Footnote 2: Byron probably refers to Richard Porson (1759-1808), Professor of Greek (1792-1808). The son of the parish clerk of Bacton and Earl Ruston, in Norfolk, Porson was entered, by the kindness of friends, on the foundation of Eton College (1774-1778). At Trinity, Cambridge, he became a Scholar in 1780, and a Fellow (1782-1792). In 1792, as he could not conscientiously take orders, he vacated his Fellowship, but was elected Professor of Greek. When Byron was at Cambridge, Porson's health and powers were failing. Silent and reserved, except in the society of his friends, a sloven in his person, he had probably taken to drink as a cure for sleeplessness. In a note to the _Pursuits of Literature_ (Dialogue iv. lines 508-516), "What," asks the author, J. T. Mathias, himself a Fellow of Trinity, "is mere genius without a regulated life! To show the deformity of vice to the rising hopes of the country, the policy of ancient Sparta exhibited an inebriated slave." Yet Porson's fine love of truth and genius for textual criticism make him one of the greatest, if not the greatest, name in British scholarship. Porson married, in 1795, Mrs. Lunan, sister of Mr. Perry, the editor of the 'Morning Chronicle', for which he frequently wrote. In the 'Shade of Alexander Pope', Mathias again attacks him as "Dogmatic Bardolph in his nuptial noose." Porson's wife died shortly after their marriage. His controversial method was merciless. Of his 'Letters to Archdeacon Travis', Green ('Lover of Literature', p. 213) says that "he dandles Travis as a tyger would a fawn: and appears only to reserve him alive, for a time, that he may gratify his appetite for sport, before he consigns his feeble prey, by a rougher squeeze, to destruction."] 41.--To John Hanson. Trinity College, Cambridge, Novr. 30, 1805. Sir,--After the contents of your Epistle, you will probably be less surprized at my answer, than I have been at many points of yours; [1] never was I more astonished than at the perusal, for I confess I expected very different treatment. Your _indirect_ charge of Dissipation does not affect me, nor do I fear the strictest inquiry into my conduct; neither here nor at _Harrow_ have I disgraced myself, the "Metropolis" and the "Cloisters" are alike unconscious of my Debauchery, and on the plains of _merry Sherwood_ I have experienced _Misery_ alone; in July I visited them for the last time. Mrs. Byron and myself are now totally separated, injured by her, I sought refuge with Strangers, too late I see my error, for how was kindness to be expected from _others_, when denied by a _parent_? In you, Sir, I imagined I had found an Instructor; for your advice I thank you; the Hospitality of yourself and Mrs. H. on many occasions I shall always gratefully remember, for I am not of opinion that even present Injustice can cancel past obligations. Before I proceed, it will be necessary to say a few words concerning Mrs. Byron; you hinted a probability of her appearance at Trinity; the instant I hear of her arrival I quit Cambridge, though _Rustication_ or _Expulsion_ be the consequence. Many a weary week of _torment_ have I passed with her, nor have I forgot the insulting _Epithets_ with which myself, my _Sister_, my _father_ and my _Family_ have been repeatedly reviled. To return to you, Sir, though I feel obliged by your Hospitality, etc., etc., in the present instance I have been completely deceived. When I came down to College, and even previous to that period I stipulated that not only my Furniture, but even my Gowns and Books, should be paid for that I might set out free from _Debt_. Now with all the _Sang Froid_ of your profession you tell me, that not only I shall not be permitted to repair my rooms (which was at first agreed to) but that I shall not even be indemnified for my present expence. In one word, hear my determination. I will _never_ pay for them out of my allowance, and the Disgrace will not attach to me but to _those_ by whom I have been deceived. Still, Sir, not even the Shadow of dishonour shall reflect on _my_ Name, for I will see that the Bills are discharged; whether by you or not is to me indifferent, so that the men I employ are not the victims of my Imprudence or your Duplicity. I have ordered nothing extravagant; every man in College is allowed to fit up his rooms; mine are secured to me during my residence which will probably be some time, and in rendering them decent I am more praiseworthy than culpable. The Money I requested was but a secondary consideration; as a _Lawyer_ you were not obliged to advance it till due; as a _Friend_ the request might have been complied with. When it is required at Xmas I shall expect the demand will be answered. In the course of my letter I perhaps have expressed more asperity than I intended, it is my nature to feel warmly, nor shall any consideration of interest or Fear ever deter me from giving vent to my Sentiments, when injured, whether by a Sovereign or a Subject. I remain, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: The quarrel arose from Byron misunderstanding a letter from Hanson on the subject of the allowance made by the Court of Chancery for his furniture.] 42.--To John Hanson. Trin. Coll. Cambridge, Dec. 4, 1805. Sir,--In charging you with downright _Duplicity_ I wronged you, nor do I hesitate to atone for an Injury which I feel I have committed, or add to my Fault by the Vindication of an expression dictated by Resentment, an _expression_ which deserves Censure, and demands the apology I now offer; for I think that Disposition indeed _mean_ which adds Obstinacy to Insult, by attempting the Palliation of unmerited Invective from the mistaken principle of disdaining the Avowal of even _self convicted_ Error. In regard to the other _Declarations_ my Sentiments remain _unaltered;_ the event will shew whether my Prediction is false. I know Mrs. Byron too well to imagine that she would part with a _Sous_, and if by some _Miracle_ she was prevailed upon, the _Details_ of her _Generosity_ in allowing me part of my _own property_ would be continually _thundered_ in my ears, or _launched_ in the _Lightening_ of her letters, so that I had rather encounter the Evils of Embarrassment than lie under an obligation to one who would continually reproach me with her Benevolence, as if her Charity had been extended to a _Stranger_ to the Detriment of her own Fortune. My opinion is perhaps harsh for a Son, but it is justified by experience, it is confirmed by _Facts_, it was generated by oppression, it has been nourished by Injury. To you, Sir, I attach no Blame. I am too much indebted to your kindness to retain my anger for a length of Time, that _Kindness_ which, by a forcible contrast, has taught me to spurn the _Ties_ of _Blood_ unless strengthened by proper and gentle Treatment. I declare upon my honor that the Horror of entering Mrs. Byron's House has of late years been so implanted in my Soul, that I dreaded the approach of the Vacations as the _Harbingers_ of _Misery_. My letters to my Sister, written during my residence at Southwell, would prove my Assertion. With my kind remembrances to Mrs. H. and Hargreaves, I remain, Sir, yours truly, BYRON. 43.--To John Hanson. Trin. Coll. Cambridge, Dec. 13, 1805. DEAR SIR,--I return you my Thanks for the remaining £50 which came in extremely _apropos_, and on my visit to Town about the 19th will give you a regular receipt. In your Extenuation of Mrs. Byron's Conduct you use as a _plea_, that, by her being my Mother, greater allowance ought to be made for those _little_ Traits in her Disposition, so much more _energetic_ than _elegant_. I am afraid, (however good your intention) that you have added to rather than diminished my Dislike, for independent of the moral Obligations she is under to _protect, cherish_, and _instruct_ her _offspring_, what can be expected of that Man's heart and understanding who has continually (from Childhood to Maturity) beheld so pernicious an Example? His nearest relation is the first person he is taught to revere as his Guide and Instructor; the perversion of Temper before him leads to a corruption of his own, and when that is depraved, vice quickly becomes habitual, and, though timely Severity may sometimes be necessary & justifiable, surely a peevish harassing System of Torment is by no means commendable, & when that is interrupted by ridiculous Indulgence, the only purpose answered is to soften the feelings for a moment which are soon after to be doubly wounded by the recal of accustomed Harshness. I will now give this disagreeable Subject to the _Winds_. I conclude by observing that I am the more confirmed in my opinion of the Futility of Natural Ties, unless supported not only by Attachment but _affectionate_ and _prudent_ Behaviour. Tell Mrs. H. that the predicted alteration in my Manners and Habits has not taken place. I am still the Schoolboy and as great a _Rattle_ as ever, and between ourselves College is not the place to improve either Morals or Income. I am, Sir, yours truly, BYRON. 44.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [[Cas]tle Howard, [ne]ar Malton, Yorkshire.] 16, Piccadilly, [Thursday], Decr. 26th, 1805. My dearest Augusta,--By the Date of my Letter you will perceive that I have taken up my Residence in the metropolis, where I presume we shall behold you in the latter end of January. I sincerely hope you will make your appearance at that Time, as I have some subjects to discuss with you, which I do not wish to communicate in my Epistle. The Dowager has thought proper to solicit a reconciliation which in some measure I have agreed to; still there is a coolness which I do not feel inclined to _thaw_, as terms of Civility are the only resource against her impertinent and unjust proceedings with which you are already acquainted. Town is not very full and the weather has been so unpropitious that I have not been able to make use of my Horses above twice since my arrival. I hope your everlasting negotiation with the Father of your _Intended_ is near a conclusion in _some_ manner; if you do not hurry a little, you will be verging into the "_Vale of Years_," and, though you may be blest with Sons and daughters, you will never live to see your _Grandchildren_. When convenient, favour me with an Answer and believe me, [Signature cut out.] 45.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howar[d], neat Malto[n], Yorkshire.] 16, Piccadilly, [Friday], Decr. 27th, 1805. My Dear Augusta,--You will doubtless be surprised to see a second epistle so close upon the arrival of the first, (especially as it is not my custom) but the Business I mentioned rather mysteriously in my last compels me again to proceed. But before I disclose it, I must require the most inviolable Secrecy, for if ever I find that it has transpired, all confidence, all Friendship between us has concluded. I do not mean this exordium as a threat to induce you to comply with my request but merely (whether you accede or not) to keep it a Secret. And although your compliance would essentially oblige me, yet, believe me, my esteem will not be diminished by your Refusal; nor shall I suffer a complaint to escape. The Affair is briefly thus; like all other young men just let loose, and especially one as I am, freed from the worse than bondage of my maternal home, I have been extravagant, and consequently am in want of Money. You will probably now imagine that I am going to apply to you for some. No, if you would offer me thousands, I declare solemnly that I would without hesitation refuse, nor would I accept them were I in danger of Starvation. All I expect or wish is, that you will be joint Security with me for a few Hundreds a person (one of the money lending tribe) has offered to advance in case I can bring forward any collateral guarantee that he will not be a loser, the reason of this requisition is my being a Minor, and might refuse to discharge a debt contracted in my non-age. If I live till the period of my minority expires, you cannot doubt my paying, as I have property to the amount of 100 times the sum I am about to raise; if, as I think rather probable, a pistol or a Fever cuts short the thread of my existence, you will receive half the _Dross_ saved since I was ten years old, and can be no great loser by discharging a debt of 7 or £800 from as many thousands. It is far from my Breast to exact any promise from you that would be detrimental, or tend to lower me in your opinion. If you suppose this leads to either of those consequences, forgive my impertinence and bury it in oblivion. I have many Friends, most of them in the same predicament with myself; to those who are not, I am too proud to apply, for I hate obligation; my Relations you know I _detest_; who then is there that I can address on the subject but yourself? to you therefore I appeal, and if I am disappointed, at least let me not be tormented by the advice of Guardians, and let silence rule your Resolution. I know you will think me foolish, if not criminal; but tell me so yourself, and do not rehearse my failings to others, no, not even to that proud Grandee the Earl, who, whatever his qualities may be, is certainly not amiable, and that Chattering puppy Hanson would make still less allowance for the foibles of a Boy. I am now trying the experiment, whether a woman can retain a secret; let me not be deceived. If you have the least doubt of my integrity, or that you run too great a Risk, do not hesitate in your refusal. Adieu. I expect an answer with impatience, believe me, whether you accede or not, [Signature cut out.] P.S.--I apologize for the numerous errors probably enveloped in this cover; the temper of my mind at present, and the hurry I have written in, must plead for pardon. Adieu. 46.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron. [Castle Howard, near Malton, Yorkshire.] 16, Piccadilly, [Tuesday], January 7th, 1805. [In another hand]--6. My dearest Augusta,--Your efforts to reanimate my sinking spirits will, I am afraid, fail in their effect, for my melancholy proceeds from a very different cause to that which you assign, as, my nerves were always of the strongest texture.--I will not however pretend to say I possess that _Gaieté de Coeur_ which formerly distinguished me, but as the diminution of it arises from what you could not alleviate, and might possibly be painful, you will excuse the Disclosure. Suffice it to know, that it cannot spring from Indisposition, as my Health was never more firmly established than now, nor from the subject on which I lately wrote, as that is in a promising Train, and even were it otherwise, the Failure would not lead to Despair. You know me too well to think it is _Love_; & I have had no quarrel or dissention with Friend or enemy, you may therefore be easy, since no unpleasant consequence will be produced from the present Sombre cast of my Temper. I fear the Business will not be concluded before your arrival in Town, when we will settle it together, as by the 20th these _sordid Bloodsuckers_ who have agreed to furnish the Sum, will have drawn up the Bond. Believe me, my dearest Sister, it never entered in to my head, that you either could or would propose to antic[ipate] my application to others, by a P[resent from?] yourself; I and I only will be [injured] by my own extravagance, nor would I have wished you to take the least concern, had any other means been open for extrication. As it is, I hope you will excuse my Impertinence, or if you feel an inclination to retreat, do not let affection for me counterbalance prudence. [Signature cut out.] [Footnote 1: Words in square brackets accidentally torn off the edge of the paper, and conjecturally supplied.] 47.--To his Mother. 16, Piccadilly, Febry. 26, 1806. Dear Mother,--Notwithstanding your sage and economical advice I have paid my _Harrow_ Debts, as I can better afford to wait for the Money than the poor Devils who were my creditors. I have also discharged my college Bills amounting to £231,--£75 of which I shall trouble Hanson to repay, being for Furniture, and as my allowance is £500 per annum, I do not chuse to lose the overplus as it makes only £125 per Quarter. I happen to have a few hundreds in ready Cash by me, [1] so I have paid the accounts; but I find it inconvenient to remain at College, not for the expence, as I could live on my allowance (only I am naturally extravagant); however the mode of going on does not suit my constitution. Improvement at an English University to a Man of Rank is, you know, impossible, and the very Idea _ridiculous_. Now I sincerely desire to finish my Education and, having been sometime at Cambridge, the Credit of the University is as much attached to my Name, as if I had pursued my Studies _there_ for a Century; but, believe me, it is nothing more than a Name, which is already acquired. I can now leave it with Honour, as I have paid everything, & wish to pass a couple of years abroad, where I am certain of employing my time to far more advantage and at much less expence, than at our English Seminaries. 'Tis true I cannot enter France; but Germany and the Courts of Berlin, Vienna & Petersburg are still open, I shall lay the Plan before Hanson & Lord C. I presume you will all agree, and if you do not, I will, if possible, get away without your Consent, though I should admire it more in the regular manner & with a Tutor of your furnishing. This is my project, at present I wish _you_ to be silent to Hanson about it. Let me have your Answer. I intend remaining in Town a Month longer, when perhaps I shall bring my Horses and myself down to your residence in that _execrable_ Kennel. I hope you have engaged a Man Servant, else it will be impossible for me to visit you, since my Servant must attend chiefly to his horses; at the same Time you must cut an indifferent Figure with only maids in your habitation. I remain, your's, BYRON. [Footnote 1: "The Bills," writes Mrs. Byron to Hanson (January 11, 1806), "are coming in thick upon me to double the amount I expected; he went and ordered just what he pleased here, at Nottingham, and in London. However, it is of no use to say anything about it, and I beg you will take no notice. I am determined to have everything clear within the year, if possible." Again she writes (March 1, 1806): "I beg you will not mention to my son, having heard from me, but try to get out of him his reason for wishing to leave England, and where he got the money. I much fear he has fallen into bad hands, not only in regard to Money Matters, but in other respects. My idea is that he has inveigled himself with some woman that he wishes to get rid of and finds it difficult. But whatever it is, he must be got out of it." Again (March 4, 1806): "That Boy will be the death of me, and drive me mad! I never will consent to his going Abroad. Where can he get Hundreds? Has he got into the hands of Moneylenders? He has no feeling, no Heart. This I have long known; he has behaved as ill as possible to me for years back. This bitter Truth I can no longer conceal: it is wrung from me by _heart-rending agony_. I am well rewarded. I came to Nottinghamshire to please him, and now he hates it. He knows that I am doing everything in my power to pay his Debts, and he writes to me about hiring servants!" Once more (April 24, 1806): "Lord Byron has given £31 10s. to Pitt's statue. He has also bought a Carriage, which he says was intended for me, which I _refused_ to accept of, being in hopes it would stop his having one."] 48.--To John Hanson. 16, Piccadilly, March 3, 1806. Sir,--I called at your House in Chancery Lane yesterday Evening, as I expected you would have been in Town, but was disappointed. If convenient, I should be glad to see you on Wednesday Morning about one o'Clock, as I wish for your advice on some Business. On Saturday one of my Horses threw me; I was stunned for a short time, but soon recovered and suffered no material _Injury_; the accident happened on the Harrow Road. I have paid Jones's Bill amounting to £231.4.5 of which I expect to be reimbursed £75 for Furniture. I have got his Bankers' receipt and the account ready for your Inspection. I now owe nothing at Cambridge; but shall not return this Term, [1] as I have been extremely _unwell_, and at the same time can stay where I am at much less Expence and _equal Improvement_. I wish to consult you on several Subjects and expect you will pay me a visit on Wednesday; in the mean time, I remain, yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Lectures began on February 5, 1806, as is stated on the College bills, sent in by Mr. Jones, the Senior Tutor of Trinity. But Byron preferred to remain in London. Augusta Byron writes to Hanson (March 7, 1806)---- "I trouble you again in consequence of some conversation I had last night with Lord Carlisle about my Brother. He expressed himself to me as kindly on that subject as on all others, and though he says it may not be productive of any good, and that he may be only _able to join his lamentations_ with yours, he should like to talk to you and try if anything can be done. I was much surprized and vexed to see my Brother a week ago at the Play, as I think he ought to be employing his time more profitably at Cambridge."] 49.--To John Hanson. 16, Piccadilly, near Park Lane, 10th March, 1806. SIR,--As in all probability you will not make your appearance tomorrow I must disclose by Letter the Business I intended to have discussed at our interview.--We know each other sufficiently to render Apology unnecessary. I shall therefore without further Prelude proceed to the Subject in Question. You are not ignorant, that I have lately lived at considerable Expence, to support which my allotted Income by the 'sapient' Court of Chancery is inadequate.--I confess I have borrowed a trifling sum and now wish to raise £500 to discharge some Debts I have contracted; my approaching Quarter will bring me £200 due from my Allowance, and if you can procure me the other £300 at a moderate Interest, it will save 100 per cent I must pay my _Israelite_ for the same purpose.--You see by this I have an _excellent_ Idea of Oeconomy even in my Extravagance by being willing to pay as little Money as possible, for the Cash must be disbursed _somewhere_ or _somehow_, and if you decline (as in prudence I tell you fairly you ought), the _Tribe_ of _Levi_ will be my _dernier resort_. However I thought proper to make this Experiment with very slender hopes of success indeed, since Recourse to the _Law_ is at best a _desperate_ effort. I have now laid open my affairs to you without Disguise and Stated the Facts as they appear, declining all Comments, or the use of any Sophistry to palliate my application, or urge my request. All I desire is a speedy Answer, whether successful or not. Believe me, yours truly, BYRON. 50.--To John Hanson. 16, Piccadilly, 25th March, 1806. SIR,--Your last Letter, as I expected, contained much advice, but no Money. I could have excused the former unaccompanied by the latter, since any one thinks himself capable of giving that, but very few chuse to own themselves competent to the other. I do not now write to urge a 2nd Request, one Denial is sufficient. I only require what is my right. This is Lady Day. £125 is due for my last Quarter, and £75 for my expenditure in Furniture at Cambridge and I will thank you to remit. The Court of Chancery may perhaps put in Force your Threat. I have always understood it formed a Sanction for legal plunderers to protract the Decision of Justice from year to year, till weary of spoil it at length condescended to give Sentence, but I never yet understood even its unhallowed Hands preyed upon the Orphan it was bound to protect. Be it so, only let me have your answer. I remain, etc., etc., BYRON. 51.--To Henry Angelo. [1] Trinity College, Cambridge, May 16, 1806. SIR,--You cannot be more indignant, at the insolent and unmerited conduct of Mr. Mortlock, [2] than those who authorised you to request his permission. However we do not yet despair of gaining our point, and every effort shall be made to remove the obstacles, which at present prevent the execution of our project. I yesterday waited on the Master of this College, [3] who, having a personal dispute with the Mayor, declined interfering, but recommended an application to the Vice Chancellor, whose authority is paramount in the University. I shall communicate this to Lord Altamount,[4] and we will endeavour to bend the obstinacy of the _upstart_ magistrate, who seems to be equally deficient in justice and common civility. On my arrival in town, which will take place in a few days, you will see me at Albany Buildings, when we will discuss the subject further. Present my remembrance to the Messrs. Angelo, junior, and believe me, we will yet _humble_ this _impertinent bourgeois_. I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Henry Angelo, the famous fencing-master, was at the head of his profession for nearly forty years. His position was recognized at least as early as 1787, when he published _The School of Fencing_, and fenced, with the Chevalier de St. George and other celebrities, before the Prince of Wales at Carlton House. In 1806 he was travelling down every other week to Cambridge, as he states in his _Pic Nic_ (1837), to visit his pupils. He had made Byron's acquaintance at Harrow by teaching him to fence, and in later years had many bouts with him with the foils, single-sticks, and Highland broadsword. His _Reminiscences_ (1830), together with his _Pic Nic_, contain numerous anecdotes of Byron, to whom he seems to have been sincerely attached. In 1806 he had several rooms in London for the use of his pupils. One of these was at 13, Bond Street, which he shared with Gentleman Jackson, the pugilist and ex-champion. In Cruikshank's picture of the room (Pierce Egan's _Life in London_, p. 254), two fencers have unmasked and stopped their bout to see Jackson spar with Corinthian Tom. Angelo contributed an article on fencing to Sir John Sinclair's _Code of Health and Longevity_, vol. ii. p. 163. Angelo, who retired from London in 1821, and lived near Bath, was in 1806 at the height of his reputation. An old Etonian (1767), he knew every one in London; had dined at the same table with the Prince of Wales, acted with Lord Barrymore, sung comic songs with Dibdin, punned with Bannister and Colman, fished at Benham on the invitation of the Margravine of Anspach, played the flute to Lady Melfort's accompaniment on the piano, and claimed his share of the table-talk at the Keep Line Club. Nearly every celebrity of the day, from Lord Sidmouth and Lord Liverpool to Kean and Macready, was his pupil.] [Footnote 2: Mr. Mortlock, the Mayor of Cambridge, is thus mentioned in a letter from S. T. Coleridge to Southey, dated September 26, 1794: "All last night I was obliged to listen to the damned chatter of "Mortlock, our mayor, a fellow that would certainly be a pantisocrat "were his head and heart as highly illuminated as his face. In the tropical latitude of this fellow's nose was I obliged to fry" (_Letters of S. T. Coleridge_ (1895), vol. i. p. 87).] [Footnote 3: William Lort Mansel, Master of Trinity, and Bishop of Bristol. (See page 84 [Letter 40], [Foot]note 1.)] [Footnote 4: Howe Peter Browne, Lord Altamont (1788-1845), of Jesus College, succeeded his father in 1809 as second Marquis of Sligo. Byron spent some time with him at Athens in 1810. Lord Sligo's letter on the origin of the 'Giaour' is quoted by Moore ('Life', p. 178). (See also page 289 [Letter 144], [Foot]note 1 [3].)] 52.--To John M. B. Pigot. [1] 16, Piccadilly, August 9, 1806. MY DEAR PIGOT,--Many thanks for your amusing narrative of the last proceedings of my amiable Alecto, who now begins to feel the effects of her folly. I have just received a penitential epistle, to which, apprehensive of pursuit, I have despatched a moderate answer, with a _kind_ of promise to return in a fortnight;--this, however (_entre nous_), I never mean to fulfil. Her soft warblings must have delighted her auditors, her higher notes being particularly musical, and on a calm moonlight evening would be heard to great advantage. Had I been present as a spectator, nothing would have pleased me more; but to have come forward as one of the _dramatis personae_--St. Dominic defend me from such a scene! Seriously, your mother has laid me under great obligations, and you, with the rest of your family, merit my warmest thanks for your kind connivance at my escape from "Mrs. Byron _furiosa_." Oh! for the pen of Ariosto to rehearse, in epic, the scolding of that momentous eve,--or rather, let me invoke the shade of Dante to inspire me, for none but the author of the Inferno could properly preside over such an attempt. But, perhaps, where the pen might fail, the pencil would succeed. What a group!--Mrs. B. the principal figure; you cramming your ears with cotton, as the only antidote to total deafness; Mrs.----in vain endeavouring to mitigate the wrath of the lioness robbed of her whelp; and last, though not least, Elizabeth and _Wousky_,--wonderful to relate!--both deprived of their parts of speech, and bringing up the rear in mute astonishment. How did S. B. receive the intelligence? How many _puns_ did he utter on so _facetious_ an event? In your next inform me on this point, and what excuse you made to A. You are probably, by this time, tired of deciphering this hieroglyphical letter;--like Tony Lumpkin, you will pronounce mine to be "a damned up and down hand." All Southwell, without doubt, is involved in amazement. _Apropos_, how does my blue-eyed nun, the fair----? Is she "_robed in sable garb of woe?_" Here I remain at least a week or ten days; previous to my departure you shall receive my address, but what it will be I have not determined. My lodgings must be kept secret from Mrs. B. You may present my compliments to her, and say any attempt to pursue me will fail, as I have taken measures to retreat immediately to Portsmouth, on the first intimation of her removal from Southwell. You may add, I have proceeded to a friend's house in the country, there to remain a fortnight. I have now _blotted_ (I must not say written) a complete double letter, and in return shall expect a _monstrous budget_. Without doubt, the dames of Southwell reprobate the pernicious example I have shown, and tremble lest their _babes_ should disobey their mandates, and quit, in dudgeon, their mammas on any grievance. Adieu. When you begin your next, drop the "lordship," and put "Byron" in its place. Believe me yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: J. M. B. Pigot, eldest brother of Miss E. B. Pigot (see Letter of August 29, 1804, page 32, note 1). To him Byron addressed his "Reply" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 53-56) and verses "To the Sighing Strephon" ('Ibid'., pp. 63-66). In 1805-6 Pigot was studying medicine at Edinburgh, and in his vacations saw much of Byron. He died at Ruddington, Notts., November 26, 1871, aged 86. It would appear that Byron had, with the connivance of the Pigots, escaped to London, after a quarrel with his mother; but the caution to keep his lodgings secret gives a theatrical air to the letter, as the rooms, kept by Mrs. Massingberd, were originally taken by Mrs. Byron, and often occupied by her, and she was at the time corresponding with Hanson about her son's debt to Mrs. Massingberd, who seems to have been both landlady and money-lender to Byron.] 53.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. London, August 10, 1806. MY DEAR BRIDGET,--As I have already troubled your brother with more than he will find pleasure in deciphering, you are the next to whom I shall assign the employment of perusing this second epistle. You will perceive from my first, that no idea of Mrs. B.'s arrival had disturbed me at the time it was written; _not_ so the present, since the appearance of a note from the _illustrious cause_ of my _sudden decampment_ has driven the "natural ruby from my cheeks," and completely blanched my woebegone countenance. This gunpowder intimation of her arrival (confound her activity!) breathes less of terror and dismay than you will probably imagine, from the volcanic temperament of her ladyship; and concludes with the comfortable assurance of _present motion_ being prevented by the fatigue of her journey, for which my _blessings_ are due to the rough roads and restive quadrupeds of his Majesty's highways. As I have not the smallest inclination to be chased round the country, I shall e'en make a merit of necessity; and since, like Macbeth, "they've tied me to the stake, I cannot fly," I shall imitate that valorous tyrant, and bear-like fight the "course," all escape being precluded. I can now engage with less disadvantage, having drawn the enemy from her intrenchments, though, like the _prototype_ to whom I have compared myself, with an excellent chance of being knocked on the head. However, "lay on Macduff", and "damned be he who first cries, Hold, enough." I shall remain in town for, at least, a week, and expect to hear from _you_ before its expiration. I presume the printer has brought you the offspring of my _poetic mania_. [1] Remember in the first line to read "_loud_ the winds whistle," instead of "round," which that blockhead Ridge had inserted by mistake, and makes nonsense of the whole stanza. Addio!--Now to encounter my _Hydra_. Yours ever. [Footnote 1: Byron's first volume of verse was now in the press. The line to which he alludes is the first line of the poem, "On Leaving Newstead Abbey" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 1-4). It now runs-- "Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle." (For the bibliography of his early poems, see 'Poems', vol. i., Bibliographical Note; and vol. vi., Appendix.) The first collection ('Fugitive Pieces', printed by S. and J. Ridge, Newark, 4to, 1806) was destroyed, with the exception of two copies, by the advice of the Rev. J. T. Becher (see page 182 [Letter 94], [Foot]note 1 [2]). The second collection ('Poems on Various Occasions', printed by S. and J. Ridge, Newark, 12mo, 1807) was published anonymously. It is to this edition that Letters 60, 61, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, refer. In the summer of 1807, 'Poems on Various Occasions' was superseded by the third collection, called 'Hours of Idleness' (printed by S. and J. Ridge, Newark, 12mo, 1807), published with the author's name. To this edition Letters 76 and 78 refer. 'Hours of Idleness' was reviewed by Lord Brougham ('Notes from a Diary', by Sir M. E. Grant Duff, vol. ii. p. 189) in the 'Edinburgh Review' for January, 1808. The fourth and final collection, entitled 'Poems Original and Translated' (printed by S. and J. Ridge, Newark, 12mo, 1808), was dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle. 54.--To John M. B. Pigot. London, Sunday, midnight, August 10, 1806. Dear Pigot,--This _astonishing_ packet will, doubtless, amaze you; but having an idle hour this evening, I wrote the enclosed stanzas, [2] which I request you will deliver to Ridge, to be printed _separate_ from my other compositions, as you will perceive them to be improper for the perusal of ladies; of course, none of the females of your family must see them. I offer 1000 apologies for the trouble I have given you in this and other instances. Yours truly. [Footnote 1: These are probably some silly lines "To Mary," written in the erotic style of Moore's early verse. To the same Mary, of whom nothing is known, are addressed the lines "To Mary, on receiving her Picture" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 32, 33).] 55.--To John M. B. Pigot. Piccadilly, August 16, 1806. I cannot exactly say with Caesar, "Veni, vidi, vici:" however, the most important part of his laconic account of success applies to my present situation; for, though Mrs. Byron took the _trouble_ of "_coming_," and "_seeing_," yet your humble servant proved the _victor_. After an obstinate engagement of some hours, in which we suffered considerable damage, from the quickness of the enemy's fire, they at length retired in confusion, leaving behind the artillery, field equipage, and some prisoners: their defeat is decisive for the present campaign. To speak more intelligibly, Mrs. B. returns immediately, but I proceed, with all my laurels, to Worthing, on the Sussex coast; to which place you will address (to be left at the post office) your next epistle. By the enclosure of a second _gingle of rhyme_, you will probably conceive my muse to be _vastly prolific_; her inserted production was brought forth a few years ago, and found by accident on Thursday among some old papers. I have recopied it, and, adding the proper date, request that it may be printed with the rest of the family. I thought your sentiments on the last bantling would coincide with mine, but it was impossible to give it any other garb, being founded on _facts_. My stay at Worthing will not exceed three weeks, and you may _possibly_ behold me again at Southwell the middle of September. Will you desire Ridge to suspend the printing of my poems till he hears further from me, as I have determined to give them a new form entirely? This prohibition does not extend to the two last pieces I have sent with my letters to you. You will excuse the _dull vanity_ of this epistle, as my brain is a _chaos_ of absurd images, and full of business, preparations, and projects. I shall expect an answer with impatience;--believe me, there is nothing at this moment could give me greater delight than your letter. 56.--To John M. B. Pigot. London, August 18, 1806. I am just on the point of setting off for Worthing, and write merely to request you will send that _idle scoundrel Charles_ with my horses immediately; tell him I am excessively provoked he has not made his appearance before, or written to inform me of the cause of his delay, particularly as I supplied him with money for his journey. On _no_ pretext is he to postpone his _march_ one day longer; and if, in obedience to the caprices of Mrs. B. (who, I presume, is again spreading desolation through her little monarchy), he thinks proper to disregard my positive orders, I shall not, in future, consider him as my servant. He must bring the surgeon's bill with him, which I will discharge immediately on receiving it. Nor can I conceive the reason of his not acquainting Frank with the state of my unfortunate quadrupeds. Dear Pigot, forgive this _petulant_ effusion, and attribute it to the idle conduct of that _precious_ rascal, who, instead of obeying my injunctions, is sauntering through the streets of that _political Pandemonium_, Nottingham. Present my remembrance to your family and the Leacrofts, and believe me, etc. P.S.--I delegate to _you_ the unpleasant task of despatching him on his journey--Mrs. B.'s orders to the contrary are not to be attended to: he is to proceed first to London, and then to Worthing, without delay. Every thing I have _left_ must be sent to London. My _Poetics you_ will _pack up_ for the same place, and not even reserve a copy for yourself and sister, as I am about to give them an _entire new form_: when they are complete, you shall have the _first fruits_. Mrs. B. on no account is to _see_ or touch them. Adieu. 57.--To John M. B. Pigot. Little Hampton, August 26, 1806. I this morning received your epistle, which I was obliged to send for to Worthing, whence I have removed to this place, on the same coast, about eight miles distant from the former. You will probably not be displeased with this letter, when it informs you that I am £30,000 richer than I was at our parting, having just received intelligence from my lawyer that a cause has been gained at Lancaster assizes, [1] which will be worth that sum by the time I come of age. Mrs. B. is, doubtless, acquainted of this acquisition, though not apprised of its exact _value_, of which she had better be ignorant; for her behaviour under any sudden piece of favourable intelligence, is, if possible, more ridiculous than her detestable conduct on the most trifling circumstances of an unpleasant nature. You may give my compliments to her, and say that her detaining my servant's things shall only lengthen my absence: for unless they are immediately despatched to 16, Piccadilly, together with those which have been so long delayed, belonging to myself, she shall never again behold my _radiant countenance_ illuminating her gloomy mansion. If they are sent, I may probably appear in less than two years from the date of my present epistle. Metrical compliment is an ample reward for my strains: you are one of the few votaries of Apollo who unite the sciences over which that deity presides. I wish you to send my poems to my lodgings in London immediately, as I have several alterations and some additions to make; _every_ copy must be sent, as I am about to _amend_ them, and you shall soon behold them in all their glory. I hope you have kept them from that upas tree, that antidote to the arts, Mrs. B. _Entre nous_, --you may expect to see me soon. Adieu. Yours ever. [Footnote 1: Byron was disappointed in his expectations. Fresh legal difficulties arose, and Newstead had to be sold before they were settled (see page 78 [Letter 34], [Foot]note 2).] 58.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. [1] My Dear Bridget,--I have only just dismounted from my _Pegasus_, which has prevented me from descending to _plain prose_ in an epistle of greater length to your _fair_ self. You regretted, in a former letter, that my poems were not more extensive; I now for your satisfaction announce that I have nearly doubled them, partly by the discovery of some I conceived to be lost, and partly by some new productions. We shall meet on Wednesday next; till then, believe me, Yours affectionately, BYRON. P.S.--Your brother John is seized with a poetic mania, and is now rhyming away at the rate of three lines _per hour_--so much for _inspiration_! Adieu! [Footnote 1: This letter was written about September, 1806, from Harrogate, where Byron had gone with John Pigot. It forms the conclusion of a longer letter, written by Pigot to his sister, from which Moore quotes ('Life', p. 37) the following passage:-- "Harrowgate is still extremely full; Wednesday (to-day) is our ball-night, and I meditate going into the room for an hour, although I am by no means fond of strange faces. Lord B., you know, is even more shy than myself; but for an hour this evening I will shake it off.... How do our theatricals proceed? Lord Byron can say 'all' his part, and I 'most' of mine. He certainly acts it inimitably. Lord B. is now 'poetising', and, since he has been here, has written some very pretty verses ['To a Beautiful Quaker,' see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 38-41]. He is very good in trying to amuse me as much as possible, but it is not in my nature to be happy without either female society or study.... There are many pleasant rides about here, which I have taken in company with Bo'swain, who, with Brighton, is universally admired. 'You' must read this to Mrs. B., as it is a little 'Tony Lumpkinish'. Lord B. desires some space left: therefore, with respect to all the comedians 'elect', believe me," etc., etc. (For the theatricals to which Mr. Pigot alludes, see page 117 [Letter 65], [Foot]note 3 [4].) Brighton, it may be added, was one of Byron's horses; the other was called Sultan. Bo'swain was the dog to which Byron addressed the well-known epitaph (see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 280, 281, and note 1). Moore also quotes Pigot's recollections of the visit to Harrogate ('Life', pp. 37, 38). "We, I remember, went in Lord Byron's own carriage, with post-horses; and he sent his groom with two saddle-horses, and a beautifully formed, very ferocious, bull-mastiff, called Nelson, to meet us there. Boatswain went by the side of his valet Frank on the box, with us. "The bull-dog, Nelson, always wore a muzzle, and was occasionally sent for into our private room, when the muzzle was taken off, much to my annoyance, and he and his master amused themselves with throwing the room into disorder. There was always a jealous feud between this Nelson and Boatswain; and whenever he latter came into the room while the former was there, they instantly seized each other; and then, Byron, myself, Frank, and all the waiters that could be found, were vigorously engaged in parting them,--which was in general only effected by thrusting poker and tongs into the mouths of each. But, one day, Nelson unfortunately escaped out of the room without his muzzle, and going into the stable-yard fastened upon the throat of a horse from which he could not be disengaged. The stable-boys ran in alarm to find Frank, who taking one of his Lord's Wogdon's pistols, always kept loaded in his room, shot poor Nelson through the head, to the great regret of Byron. "We were at the Crown Inn, at Low Harrowgate. We always dined in the public room, but retired very soon after dinner to our private one; for Byron was no more a friend to drinking than myself. We lived retired, and made few acquaintance; for he was naturally shy, 'very' shy; which people who did not know him mistook for pride. While at Harrowgate he accidentally met with Professor Hailstone from Cambridge, and appeared much delighted to see him. The professor was at Upper Harrowgate: we called upon him one evening to take him to the theatre, I think,--and Lord Byron sent his carriage for him, another time, to a ball at the Granby. This desire to show attention to one of the professors of his college is a proof that, though he might choose to satirise the mode of education in the university, and to abuse the antiquated regulations and restrictions to which undergraduates are subjected, he had yet a due discrimination in his respect for the individuals who belonged to it. I have always, indeed, heard him speak in high terms of praise of Hailstone, as well as of his master, Bishop Mansel, of Trinity College, and of others whose names I have now forgotten. "Few people understood Byron; but I know that he had naturally a kind and feeling heart, and that there was not a single spark of malice in his composition." Professor Hailstone was Woodwardian Professor of Geology (1788-1818). (For Bishop Mansel, see page 84, note 1.)] 59.--To John Hanson. [1] Southwell, Dec. 7th, 1806. Sir,--A Letter to Mrs. Byron has just arrived which states, from what "you have _heard_ of the Tenor of my Letters," you will not put up with Insult. I presume this means (for I will not be positive on what is rather ambiguously expressed) that some offence to you has been conveyed in the above mentioned Epistles. If you will peruse the papers in question, you will discover that the _person_ insulted is not _yourself_, or any one of your "_Connections_." On Mr. B.'s apology, I have expressed my opinion in a Letter to your Son, if any Misrepresentation has taken place, it must be those "Connections" to whom I am to pay such Deference, & whose conduct to me has deserved such _ample respect_. I must now beg leave to observe in turn, that I am by no means disposed to bear Insult, &, be the consequences what they may, I will always declare, in plain and explicit Terms, my Grievance, nor will I overlook the slightest Mark of disrespect, & silently brood over affronts from a mean and interested dread of Injury to my person or property. The former I have Strength and resolution to protect; the latter is too trifling by its Loss to occasion a moments Uneasiness. Though not conversant with the methodical & dilatory arrangements of Law or Business, I know enough of Justice to direct my conduct by the principles of Equity, nor can I reconcile the "Insolence of office" to her regulations or forget in an Instant a poignant Affront. But enough of this Dispute. You will perceive my Sentiments on the Subject, in my correspondence with Mr. B. and Mr. H. Junior. In future to prevent a repetition and altercation I shall advise; but as, even then, some Demur may take place, I wish to be informed, if the equitable Court of Chancery, whose paternal care of their Ward can never be sufficiently commended, have determined, in the great Flow of parental Affection, to withhold their beneficent Support, till I return to "Alma Mater" (i.e.) Cambridge. Your Information on this point will oblige, as a College life is neither conducive to my Improvement, nor suitable to my Inclination. As to the reverse of the Rochdale Trial, I received the News of Success without confidence or exultation; I now sustain the Loss without repining. My Expectations from _Law_ were never very sanguine. I remain, yr very obedt. sert., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Hanson's partner, Birch, the "Mr. B." of the letter, seems to have irritated Byron by withholding the income allotted to him by the Court of Chancery for his education at Cambridge. The attempt to compel his return to Trinity by cutting off the supplies, failed. He did not appear again at Cambridge till the summer term of 1807.] 60.--To J. Ridge. Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Jany. 12, 1807. Mr. Ridge,--I understand from some of my friends, that several of the papers are in the habit of publishing extracts from my volume, particularly the _Morning Herald_. I cannot say for my own part I have observed this, but I am assured it is so. The thing is of no consequence to me, except that I dislike it. But it is to you, and as publisher you should put a stop to it. The _Morning Herald_ is the paper; of course you cannot address any other, as I am sure I have seen nothing of the kind in mine. You will act upon this as you think proper, and proceed with the 2d. Edition as you please. I am in no hurry, and I still think you were _premature_ in undertaking it. Etc., etc., BYRON. P.S.--Present a copy of the _Antijacobin_ therein to Mrs. Byron. 61.--To John M. B. Pigot. Southwell, Jan. 13, 1807. I ought to begin with _sundry_ apologies, for my own negligence, but the variety of my avocations in _prose_ and _verse_ must plead my excuse. With this epistle you will receive a volume of all my _Juvenilia_, published since your departure: it is of considerably greater size than the _copy_ in your possession, which I beg you will destroy, as the present is much more complete. That _unlucky_ poem to my poor Mary [1] has been the cause of some animadversion from _ladies in years_. I have not printed it in this collection, in consequence of my being pronounced a most _profligate sinner_, in short, a "_young Moore_," [2] by------, your----friend. I believe, in general, they have been favourably received, and surely the age of their author will preclude _severe_ criticism. The adventures of my life from sixteen to nineteen, and the dissipation into which I have been thrown in London, have given a voluptuous tint to my ideas; but the occasions which called forth my muse could hardly admit any other colouring. This volume is _vastly_ correct and miraculously chaste. Apropos, talking of love, ... ... If you can find leisure to answer this farrago of unconnected nonsense, you need not doubt what gratification will accrue from your reply to yours ever, etc. [Footnote 1: See page 104 [Letter 53], [Foot]note 2 [1].] [Footnote 2: Thomas Moore (1779-1852) had already published 'Anacreon' (1800), 'The Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little' (1801), and 'Odes, Epistles, and other Poems' (1806). In all, especially in the second, the poetry was of an erotic character. "So heartily," said Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc.', pp. 281, 282), "has Moore repented of having published 'Little's Poems', that I have seen him shed tears--tears of deep contrition--when we were talking of them. Young ladies read his 'Lalla Rookh' without being aware (I presume) of the grossness of 'The Veiled Prophet'. These lines by Mr. Sneyd are amusing enough-- "''Lalla Rookh' Is a naughty book By Tommy Moore, Who has written four, Each warmer Than the former. So the most recent Is the least decent.'"] 62.--To Captain John Leacroft. [1] January 31, 1807. Sir,--Upon serious reflection on the conversation we last night held, I am concerned to say, that the only effectual method to crash the animadversions of officious malevolence, is by my declining all future intercourse with those whom my acquaintance has unintentionally injured. At the same time I must observe that I do not form this resolution from any resentment at your representation, which was temperate and gentlemanly, but from a thorough conviction that the desirable end can be attained by no other line of conduct. I beg leave to return my thanks to Mr. & Mrs. Leacroft, for the attention and hospitality I have always experienced, of which I shall ever retain a grateful remembrance. So much to them; with your permission, I must add a few words for myself. You will be sensible, that a coolness between families, hitherto remarkable for their intimacy, cannot remain unobserved in a town, whose inhabitants are notorious for officious curiosity; that the causes for our separation will be mis-represented I have little doubt; if, therefore, I discover that such misrepresentation does take place, I shall call upon you, to unite with myself in making a serious example of those _men_, be they _who_ they may, that dare to cast an aspersion on the character I am sacrificing my own comfort to protect. If, on the other hand, they imagine, that my conduct is the consequence of intimidation, from my conference with you, I must require a further explanation of what passed between us on the subject, as, however careful I am of your Sister's honour, I am equally tenacious of my own. I do not wish this to be misconstrued into any desire to quarrel; it is what I shall endeavour to avoid; but, as a young man very lately entered into the world, I feel compelled to state, that I can permit no suspicion to be attached to my name with impunity. I have the honour to remain, Your very obedient Servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: This and the two following letters refer to a quarrel between Byron and the Leacroft family, which arose from his attentions to Miss Julia Leacroft. Moore's statement, that Captain Leacroft, the lady's brother (see page 34 [Letter 12], [foot]note 3), sent a challenge to Byron, who was at first inclined to accept it, is inaccurate. But it is possible that Byron was acting on the advice of the Rev. J. T. Becher, when he decided, in order to prevent misunderstanding, to break off his acquaintance with the Leacrofts absolutely.] 63.--To Captain John Leacroft. February 4th, 1807. Sir,--I have just received your note, which conveys all that can be said on the subject. I can easily conceive your feelings must have been irritated in the course of the affair. I am sorry that I have been the unintentional cause of so disagreeable a business. The line of conduct, however painful to myself, which I have adopted, is the only effectual method to prevent the remarks of a _meddling world_. I therefore again take my leave for the last time. I repeat, that, though the intercourse, from which I have derived so many hours of happiness, is for ever interrupted, the remembrance can never be effaced from the bosom of Your very obedient Servant, BYRON. 64.--To Captain John Leacroft. February 4th, 1807. Sir,--I am concerned to be obliged again to trouble you, as I had hoped that our conversations had terminated amicably. Your good Father, it seems, has desired otherwise; he has just sent a most _agreeable_ epistle, in which I am honoured with the appellations of _unfeeling_ and ungrateful. But as the consequences of all this must ultimately fall on you and myself, I merely write this to apprise you that the dispute is not of my seeking, and that, if we must cut each other's throats to please our relations, you will do me the justice to say it is from no _personal_ animosity between us, or from any insult on my part, that such _disagreeable_ events (for I am not so much enamoured of quarrels as to call them _pleasant_) have arisen. I remain, your's, etc., BYRON. 65.-To the Earl of Clare. [1] Southwell, Notts, February 6, 1807. My Dearest Clare,--Were I to make all the apologies necessary to atone for my late negligence, you would justly say you had received a petition instead of a letter, as it would be filled with prayers for forgiveness; but instead of this, I will acknowledge my _sins_ at once, and I trust to your friendship and generosity rather than to my own excuses. Though my health is not perfectly re-established, I am out of all danger, and have recovered every thing but my spirits, which are subject to depression. You will be astonished to hear I have lately written to Delawarr, [2] for the purpose of explaining (as far as possible without involving some _old friends_ of mine in the business) the cause of my behaviour to him during my last residence at Harrow (nearly two years ago), which you will recollect was rather "_en cavalier_." Since that period, I have discovered he was treated with injustice both by those who misrepresented his conduct, and by me in consequence of their suggestions. I have therefore made all the reparation in my power, by apologizing for my mistake, though with very faint hopes of success; indeed I never expected any answer, but desired one for form's sake; _that_ has not yet arrived, and most probably never will. However, I have _eased_ my own _conscience_ by the atonement, which is humiliating enough to one of my disposition; yet I could not have slept satisfied with the reflection of having, _even unintentionally_, injured any individual. I have done all that could be done to repair the injury, and there the affair must end. Whether we renew our intimacy or not is of very trivial consequence. My time has lately been much occupied with very different pursuits. I have been _transporting_ a servant, [3] who cheated me,--rather a disagreeable event;--performing in private theatricals; [4]--publishing a volume of poems (at the request of my friends, for their perusal);--making love,--and taking physic. The two last amusements have not had the best effect in the world; for my attentions have been divided amongst so many fair damsels, and the drugs I swallow are of such variety in their composition, that between Venus and Æsculapius I am harassed to death. However, I have still leisure to devote some hours to the recollections of past, regretted friendships, and in the interval to take the advantage of the moment, to assure you how much I am, and ever will be, my dearest Clare, Your truly attached and sincere BYRON. [Footnote 1: John Fitzgibbon (1792-1851), son of the first Earl of Clare, by his wife Anne Whaley, succeeded his father as second Earl in January, 1802. A schoolfellow of Byron's at Harrow, he was the "Lycus" of "Childish Recollections," and one of his dearest friends. Clare, after leaving Harrow, went to a private tutor, the Rev. Mr. Smith, at Woodnesborough, near Sandwich. There he formed so close a friendship with Lord John Russell as to provoke Byron's jealousy ('Life', p. 21). Clare was at Christ Church, Oxford (B.A. 1812); Byron at Trinity, Cambridge. They rarely met after leaving Harrow. Their meeting on the road between Imola and Bologna in 1821, "annihilated for a moment," says Byron (see 'Life', p. 540; 'Detached Thoughts', November 5, 1821), "all the years between the present time and the days of Harrow. We were but five minutes together, and on the public road; but I hardly recollect an hour of my existence which could be weighed against them. Of all I have ever known, he has always been the least altered in everything from the excellent qualities and kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during absence and distance." Lord Clare was Governor of Bombay from 1830 to 1834.] [Footnote 2: See page 41 [Letter 14], note 1 [Footnote 5].] [Footnote 3: See page 81 [Letter 38], [Foot]note 1.] [Footnote 4: In the theatricals, which took place at Southwell in the autumn of 1806, Byron was the chief mover. A letter received by Mr. Pigot, quoted by Moore ('Life', p. 38), shows how eagerly his return from Harrogate was expected:-- "Tell Lord Byron that, if any accident should retard his return, his mother desires he will write to her, as she shall be 'miserable' if he does not arrive the day he fixes. Mr. W. B. has written a card to Mrs. H. to offer for the character of 'Henry Woodville,'--Mr. and Mrs.---- not approving of their son's taking a part in the play: but I believe he will persist in it. Mr. G. W. says, that sooner than the party should be disappointed, 'he' will take any part,--sing--dance--in short, do any thing to oblige. Till Lord Byron returns, nothing can be done; and positively he must not be later than Tuesday or Wednesday." A full account of the theatricals is given in a manuscript written by Miss Bristoe, one of the performers. Two plays were represented, (1) Cumberland's 'Wheel of Fortune' and (2) Allingham's 'Weathercock'. The following were the respective casts:-- (1) 'Penruddock', Lord Byron. 'Sir David Daw', Mr. C. Becher. 'Woodville', Captain Lightfoot. 'Sydenham', Mr. Pigot. 'Henry Woodville', Mr. H. Houson. 'Mrs. Woodville', Miss Bristoe. 'Emily Tempest', Miss J. Leacroft 'Dame Dunckley', Miss Leacroft. 'Weazel', Mr. G. Wylde. 'Jenkins', Mr. G. Heathcote. (2) 'Tristram Fickle', Lord Byron. 'Old Fickle', Mr. Pigot. 'Briefwit', Captain Lightfoot. 'Sneer', Mr. R. Leacroft. 'Variella', Miss Bristoe. 'Ready', Miss Leacroft. 'Gardener', Mr. C. Becher. 'Barber', Mr. G. Wylde. Between the two plays, a member of the Southwell choir sang "The Death of Abercrombie." The brave General, attended by two aides-de-camp, all three in the costume of the Southwell volunteers, appeared on the stage, and the General, sinking into the outstretched arms of his two friends, warbled out his dying words in a style which convulsed Byron with laughter. The play itself nearly came to an untimely conclusion. Captain Lightfoot screwed his failing courage to the sticking point by several glasses of wine, with the result that, being a very abstemious man, he became tipsy. But "restoratives were administered," and he went through his part with credit. Byron, who was the star of the company, repeatedly brought down the house by his acting. (For Byron's Prologue to 'The Wheel of Fortune', see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 45, 46.) Moore's account of the epilogue, written by the Rev. J. T. Becher, and spoken by Byron, is erroneous. Only one word gave any opportunity for mimicry. It occurs in the lines-- "Tempest becalmed forgets his blust'ring rage, He calls Dame Dunckley 'sister' off the stage." In pronouncing the word "sister," Byron "took off exactly the voice and manner of Mr. R. Leacroft."] 66.--To Mrs. Hanson. Southwell, Feb. 8, 1807. Dear Madam,--Having understood from Mrs. Byron that Mr. Hanson is in a very indifferent State of Health, I have taken the Liberty of addressing you on the Subject. Though the _Governor_ & _I_ have lately not been on the _best_ of _Terms_, yet I should be extremely sorry to learn he was in Danger, and I trust _he_ and _I_ will live to have many more _Squabbles_ in _this world_, before we _finally make peace_ in the next. If therefore you can favor me with any _salutary_ Intelligence of the _aforesaid_ Gentleman, believe me, nothing will be more acceptable to Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--Remember me to all the family now in _Garrison_, particularly my old Friend Harriet. 67.--To William Bankes. [1] Southwell, March 6, 1807. Dear Bankes,--Your critique is valuable for many reasons: in the first place, it is the only one in which flattery has borne so slight a part; in the _next_, I am _cloyed_ with insipid compliments. I have a better opinion of your judgment and ability than your _feelings_. Accept my most sincere thanks for your kind decision, not less welcome, because totally unexpected. With regard to a more exact estimate, I need not remind you how few of the _best poems_, in our language, will stand the test of _minute_ or _verbal_ criticism: it can, therefore, hardly be expected the effusions of a boy (and most of these pieces have been produced at an early period) can derive much merit either from the subject or composition. Many of them were written under great depression of spirits, and during severe indisposition:--hence the gloomy turn of the ideas. We coincide in opinion that the "_poësies érotiques_" are the most exceptionable; they were, however, grateful to the _deities_, on whose altars they were offered--more I seek not. The portrait of Pomposus [2] was drawn at Harrow, after a _long sitting_; this accounts for the resemblance, or rather the _caricatura_. He is _your_ friend, he _never was mine_--for both our sakes I shall be silent on this head. The _collegiate_ rhymes [3] are not personal--one of the notes may appear so, but could not be omitted. I have little doubt they will be deservedly abused--a just punishment for my unfilial treatment of so excellent an Alma Mater. I sent you no copy, lest _we_ should be placed in the situation of _Gil Blas_ and the _Archbishop_ of Grenada; [4] though running some hazard from the experiment, I wished your _verdict_ to be unbiassed. Had my "_Libellus_" been presented previous to your letter, it would have appeared a species of bribe to purchase compliment. I feel no hesitation in saying, I was more anxious to hear your critique, however severe, than the praises of the _million_. On the same day I was honoured with the encomiums of _Mackenzie_, the celebrated author of the _Man of Feeling_ [5] Whether _his_ approbation or _yours_ elated me most, I cannot decide. You will receive my _Juvenilia_,--at least all yet published. I have a large volume in manuscript, which may in part appear hereafter; at present I have neither time nor inclination to prepare it for the press. In the spring I shall return to Trinity, to dismantle my rooms, and bid you a final adieu. The _Cam_ will not be much increased by my _tears_ on the occasion. Your further remarks, however _caustic_ or bitter, to a palate vitiated with the _sweets of adulation_, will be of service. Johnson has shown us _that no poetry_ is perfect; but to correct mine would be an Herculean labour. In fact I never looked beyond the moment of composition, and published merely at the request of my friends. Notwithstanding so much has been said concerning the "Genus irritabile vatum," we shall never quarrel on the subject--poetic fame is by no means the "acme" of my wishes.--Adieu. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: William John Bankes, of Kingston Lacy, Dorsetshire, was Byron's friend, possibly at Harrow, though his name does not occur in the school lists, certainly at Trinity College, Cambridge (B.A. 1808). He represented Truro from 1810 to 1812, when he left England on his Eastern travels. At Philæ he discovered an obelisk, the geometrical elevation and inscriptions of which he published in 1820. In Mesopotamia he encountered John Silk Buckingham, whom he afterwards charged with making use of his notes in his 'Travels', a statement, found to be libellous, which (October 19, 1826) cost Bankes £400 in damages. He also travelled with Giovanni Finati, a native of Ferrara, who, under the assumed name of Mahomet, made the campaigns against the Wahabees for the recovery of Mecca and Medina. Finati's Italian 'Narrative' was translated by Bankes, to whom it is dedicated by his "attached and faithful servant Hadjee Mahomet," and published in 1830. In 1822 Bankes was elected M.P. for Cambridge University, but lost his seat to Sir J. Copley in 1826. At a bye-election in 1827, he was again unsuccessful. His candidature gave occasion to Macaulay's squib, which appeared in the 'Times' for May 14, 1827, 'A Country Clergyman's Trip to Cambridge'. "A letter--and free--bring it here: I have no correspondent who franks. No! Yes! Can it be? Why, my dear, 'Tis our glorious, our Protestant Bankes. 'Dear Sir as I know your desire That the Church should receive due protection, I humbly presume to require Your aid at the Cambridge election,'"etc., etc. Bankes subsequently represented Marlborough (1829-1832) and Dorsetshire (1833-1834). He was Byron's "collegiate pastor, and master and patron," "ruled the roast" at Trinity, "or, rather, the 'roasting', and was father of all mischief" (Byron to Murray, October 12, 1820). "William Bankes," Byron told Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 172), "is another of my early friends. He is very clever, very original, and has a fund of information: he is also very good-natured, but he is not much of a flatterer." Bankes died at Venice in 1855.] [Footnote 2: Dr. Butler, Head-master of Harrow. (See page 58 [Letter 22],[Foot]note 1.)] [Footnote 3: "Thoughts suggested by a College Examination" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 28-31); and "Granta, A Medley" ('Poems', vol. i. pp. 56-62).] [Footnote 4: Alluding to 'Gil Blas', bk. vii. chap, iv., where Gil Blas ventures to criticize the Archbishop's work, and is dismissed for his candour. "Adieu, monsieur Gil Blas; Je vous souhaite toutes sortes de prosperités, avec un peu plus de goût."] [Footnote 5: The praise was worth having. Henry Mackenzie (1745-1831) was not only the author of the lackadaisical 'Man of Feeling', but in real life a shrewd, hard-headed man. As a novelist, he wrote 'The Man of Feeling' (1771), 'The Man of Honour' (1773), and 'Julia de Roubigne' (1777). As a playwright, he produced four plays, none of which succeeded. As an essayist, he contributed to the 'Mirror' (1779-80) and the 'Lounger' (1785-86). As a political writer, he supported Pitt, and was rewarded by the comptrollership of taxes. An original member of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, many of his papers appear in its 'Transactions'. In Edinburgh society he was "the life of the company," a connecting link on the literary side between David Hume, Walter Scott, and Lord Cockburn, and in all matters of sport a fund of anecdotes and reminiscences.] 68.--To William Bankes. [1] For my own part, I have suffered severely in the decease of my two greatest friends, the only beings I ever loved (females excepted); I am therefore a solitary animal, miserable enough, and so perfectly a citizen of the world, that whether I pass my days in Great Britain or Kamschatka, is to me a matter of perfect indifference. I cannot evince greater respect for your alteration than by immediately adopting it--this shall be done in the next edition. I am sorry your remarks are not more frequent, as I am certain they would be equally beneficial. Since my last, I have received two critical opinions from Edinburgh, both too flattering for me to detail. One is from Lord Woodhouselee, [2] at the head of the Scotch literati, and a most _voluminous_ writer (his last work is a _Life_ of Lord Kaimes); the other from Mackenzie, who sent his decision a second time, more at length. I am not personally acquainted with either of these gentlemen, nor ever requested their sentiments on the subject: their praise is voluntary, and transmitted through the medium of a friend, at whose house they read the productions. Contrary to my former intention, I am now preparing a volume for the public at large: my amatory pieces will be exchanged, and others substituted in their place. The whole will be considerably enlarged, and appear the latter end of May. This is a hazardous experiment; but want of better employment, the encouragement I have met with, and my own vanity, induce me to stand the test, though not without _sundry palpitations_. The book will circulate fast enough in this country from mere curiosity; what I prin----... [letter incomplete] [Footnote 1: This fragment refers, like the previous letter, to Byron's volume of verse, 'Poems on Various Occasions'.] [Footnote 2: Alexander Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee, one of the Senators of the College of Justice in Scotland, and a friend of Robert Burns. Besides the 'Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Hon. Henry Home of Kames' (1807), he published 'Elements of General History' (1801), 'Essay on the Principles of Translation', etc. He died in 1813. His 'Universal History', in six vols., appeared in 1834.] 69.--To----Falkner. [1] Sir,--The volume of little pieces which accompanies this, would have been presented before, had I not been apprehensive that Miss Falkner's indisposition might render some trifles unwelcome. There are some errors of the printer which I have not had time to correct in the collection: you have it thus, with "all its imperfections on its head," a heavy weight, when joined with the faults of its author. Such _Juvenilia_, as they can claim no great degree of approbation, I may venture to hope, will also escape the severity of uncalled for, though perhaps _not_ undeserved, criticism. They were written on many and various occasions, and are now published merely for the perusal of a friendly circle. Believe me, sir, if they afford the slightest amusement to yourself and the rest of my _social_ readers, I shall have gathered all the _bays_ I ever wish to adorn the head of yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--I hope Miss F. is in a state of recovery. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Byron's landlord at Burgage Manor.] 70.--To John Hanson. [Farleigh House, Basingstoke, Hants.] Southwell, April 2nd, 1807. Dear Sir,--Before I proceed in Reply to the other parts of your Epistle, allow me to congratulate you on the _Accession_ of _Dignity_ and _profit_, which will doubtless accrue, from your official appointment. You was fortunate in obtaining Possession at so critical a period; your Patrons "exeunt omnes." [1] I trust they will soon supersede the Cyphers, their successors. The Reestablishment of your Health is another happy event, and, though _secondary_ in my _Statement_, is by no means so in my _Wishes_. As to our Feuds, they are purely _official_, the natural consequence of our relative Situations, but as little connected with _personal animosity_, as the _Florid Declamations_ of _parliamentary_ Demagogues. I return you my thanks for your favorable opinion of my muse; I have lately been honoured with many very flattering literary critiques, from men of high Reputation in the Sciences, particularly Lord Woodhouselee and Henry Mackenzie, both _Scots_ and of great Eminence as Authors themselves. I have received also some most favorable Testimonies from _Cambridge_. This you will _marvel_ at, as indeed I did myself. Encouraged by these and several other Encomiums, I am about to publish a Volume at large; this will be very different from the present; the amatory effusions, not to be wondered at from the _dissipated_ Life I have led, will be cut out, and others substituted. I coincide with you in opinion that the _Poet_ yields to the _orator_; but as nothing can be done in the latter capacity till the Expiration of my _Minority_, the former occupies my present attention, and both _ancients_ and _moderns_ have declared that the two pursuits are so nearly similar as to require in a great measure the same Talents, and he who excels in the one, would on application succeed in the other. Lyttleton, Glover, and Young (who was a celebrated Preacher and a Bard) are instances of the kind. _Sheridan & Fox_ also; _these_ are _great Names_. I may imitate, I can never equal them. You speak of the _Charms_ of Southwell; the _Place_ I _abhor_. The Fact is I remain here because I can appear no where else, being _completely done_ up. _Wine_ and _Women_ have _dished_ your _humble Servant_, not a _Sou_ to be _had_; all _over_; condemned to exist (I cannot say live) at this _Crater_ of Dullness till my _Lease_ of _Infancy_ expires. To appear at Cambridge is impossible; no money even to pay my College expences. You will be surprized to hear I am grown _very thin_; however it is the _Fact_, so much so, that the people here think I am _going_. I have lost 18 LB in my weight, that is one Stone & 4 pounds since January, this was ascertained last Wednesday, on account of a _Bet_ with an acquaintance. However don't be alarmed; I have taken every means to accomplish the end, by violent exercise and Fasting, as I found myself too plump. I shall continue my Exertions, having no other amusement; I wear _seven_ Waistcoats and a great Coat, run, and play at cricket in this Dress, till quite exhausted by excessive perspiration, use the Hip Bath daily; eat only a quarter of a pound of Butcher's Meat in 24 hours, no Suppers or Breakfast, only one Meal a Day; drink no malt liquor, but a little Wine, and take Physic occasionally. By these means my _Ribs_ display Skin of no great Thickness, & my Clothes have been taken in nearly _half a yard_. Do you believe me now? Adieu. Remembrance to Spouse and the Acorns. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: In March, 1807, George III demanded from the Coalition Ministry a written pledge that they would propose no further concessions to the Roman Catholics. They refused to give it, and the Tories, with the Duke of Portland as their nominal head, were recalled to the Government.] 71.--To John M. B. Pigot. Southwell, April, 1807. My Dear Pigot,--Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your first examination--"_Courage_, mon ami." The title of Doctor will do wonders with the damsels. I shall most probably be in Essex or London when you arrive at this damned place, where I am detained by the publication of my _rhymes_. Adieu.--Believe me, Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--Since we met, I have reduced myself by violent exercise, _much_ physic, and _hot_ bathing, from 14 stone 6 lb. to 12 stone 7 lb. In all I have lost 27 pounds. [1] Bravo!--what say you? [Footnote 1: The following extract is taken from a ledger in the possession of Messrs. Merry, of St. James's Street, S.W.:-- "1806--January 4. Lord Byron (boots, no hat) 13 stone 12 lbs 1807--July 8. Lord Byron (shoes) 10 stone 13 lbs 1807--July 23. Lord Byron (shoes) 11 stone 0 lbs 1807--August 13. Lord Byron (shoes) 10 stone 11-1/2 lbs 1808--May 27. Lord Byron (shoes) 11 stone 1 lbs 1809--June 10. Lord Byron (shoes) 11 stone 5-3/4 lbs 1811--July 15. Lord Byron (shoes) 9 stone 11-1/2 lbs"] 72.--To John Hanson. [6, Chancery Lane, Temple Bar, London.] Southwell, 19 April, 1807. Sir,--My last was an Epistle "_entre nous_;" _this_ is a _Letter_ of _Business_, Of course the _formalities_ of _official communication_ must be attended to. From lying under pecuniary difficulties, I shall draw for the Quarter due the 25th June, in a short Time. You will recollect I was to receive £100 for the Expence of Furniture, etc., at Cambridge. I placed in your possession accounts to amount and then I have received £70, for which I believe you have my Receipt. This extra £25 or £30 (though the Bills are long ago discharged from my own purse) I should not have troubled you for, had not my present Situation rendered even that Trifle of some Consequence. I have therefore to request that my Draft for £150, instead of £125 the simple Quarter, may be honoured, but think it necessary to apprize you previous to its appearance, and indeed to request an early Answer, as I had one Draft returned by Mistake from your _House_, some Months past. I have no Inclination to be placed in a similar Dilemma. I lent Mrs. B. _£60_ last year; of this I have never received a Sou and in all probability never shall. I do not mention the circumstance as any Reproach on that worthy and lamblike Dame, [1] but merely to show you how affairs stand. 'Tis true myself and two Servants lodge in the House, but my Horses, etc., and their expences are defrayed by your humble Sert. I quit Cambridge in July, and shall have considerable payments to make at that period; for this purpose I must sell my _Steeds_. I paid Jones in January £150, £38 to my Stable Keeper, £21 to my wine Merchant, £20 to a _Lawyer_ for the prosecution of a Scoundrel, a late Servant. In short I have done all I can, but am now completely _done_ up. Your answer will oblige Yours, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Byron, on the other hand, tells a different story. "Lord Byron," she writes to Hanson (March 19, 1807), "has now been with me seven months, with two Men Servants, for which I have never received one farthing, as he requires the five hundred a year for himself. Therefore it is impossible I can keep him and them out of my small income of four hundred a year,--two in Scotland [Mrs. Gordon of Gight (see Chapter I. p. 4) was dead], and the pension is now reduced to two hundred a year. But if the Court allows the additional two hundred, I shall be perfectly satisfied. "I do not know what to say about Byron's returning to Cambridge. When he was there, I believe he did nothing but drink, gamble, and spend money." A month later (April 29, 1807), she consults Hanson about raising £1000 by a loan from Mrs. Parkyns on her security. "Byron from their last letter gave up all hopes of getting the money, and behaved very well on the occasion, and proposed selling his Horses and plans of OEconomy that I much fear will be laid aside if the Money is procured. My only motive for wishing it was to keep him clear of the Jews; but at present he does not seem at all disposed to have anything to do with them, even if he is disappointed in this resource. I wish to act for the best: but God knows what is for the best." Eventually money was provided on Mrs. Byron's security (see Letters of March 6 [Letter 117] and April 26 [Letter 121], 1809), and he resided at Trinity for a few days at the end of the May term, 1807. 73.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. June 11, 1807. Dear Queen Bess,--_Savage_ ought to be _immortal_:--though not a _thorough-bred bull-dog_, he is the finest puppy I ever _saw_, and will answer much better; in his great and manifold kindness he has already bitten my fingers, and disturbed the _gravity_ of old Boatswain, who is _grievously discomposed_. I wish to be informed what he _costs_, his _expenses_, etc., etc., that I may indemnify Mr. G----. My thanks are _all_ I can give for the trouble he has taken, make a _long speech_, and conclude it with 1 2 3 4 5 6 7. [1] I am out of practice, so _deputize_ you as a legate,--_ambassador_ would not do in a matter concerning the _Pope_, which I presume this must, as the _whole_ turns upon a _Bull_. Yours, BYRON. P.S.--I write in bed. [Footnote 1: He here alludes to an odd fancy or trick of his own; --whenever he was at a loss for something to say, he used always to gabble over "1 2 3 4 5 6 7" (Moore).] 74.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. Cambridge, June 30, 1807. "Better late than never, Pal," [1] is a saying of which you know the origin, and as it is applicable on the present occasion, you will excuse its conspicuous place in the front of my epistle. I am almost superannuated here. My old friends (with the exception of a very few) all departed, and I am preparing to follow them, but remain till Monday to be present at three _Oratorios_, two _Concerts_, a _Fair_, and a Ball. I find I am not only _thinner_ but _taller_ by an inch since my last visit. I was obliged to tell every body my _name_, nobody having the least recollection of my _visage_, or person. Even the hero of _my Cornelian_ [2] (who is now sitting _vis-à-vis_ reading a volume of my _Poetics_) passed me in Trinity walks without recognising me in the least, and was thunderstruck at the alteration which had taken place in my countenance, etc., etc. Some say I look _better_, others _worse_, but all agree I am _thinner_,--more I do not require. I have lost two pounds in my weight since I left your _cursed_, _detestable_, and _abhorred_ abode of _scandal_, where, excepting yourself and John Becher, [3] I care not if the whole race were consigned to the _Pit of Acheron_, which I would visit in person rather than contaminate my _sandals_ with the polluted dust of Southwell. _Seriously_, unless obliged by the _emptiness_ of my purse to revisit Mrs. B., you will see me no more. On Monday I depart for London. I quit Cambridge with little regret, because our _set_ are _vanished_, and my _musical protégé_ before mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the metropolis. You may have heard me observe he is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself. I found him grown considerably, and as you will suppose, very glad to see his former _Patron_. He is nearly my height, very _thin_, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know;--I hope I shall never have occasion to change it. Every body here conceives me to be an _invalid_. The University at present is very gay from the fètes of divers kinds. I supped out last night, but eat (or ate) nothing, sipped a bottle of claret, went to bed at two, and rose at eight. I have commenced early rising, and find it agrees with me. The Masters and the Fellows all very _polite_, but look a little _askance_--don't much admire _lampoons_ [4]--truth always disagreeable. Write, and tell me how the inhabitants of your _Menagerie_ go _on_, and if my publication goes _off_ well: do the quadrupeds _growl_? Apropos, my bull-dog is deceased--"Flesh both of cur and man is grass." Address your answer to Cambridge. If I am gone, it will be forwarded. Sad news just arrived--Russians beat [5]--a bad set, eat nothing but _oil_, consequently must melt before a _hard fire_. I get awkward in my academic habiliments for want of practice. Got up in a window to hear the oratorio at St. Mary's, popped down in the middle of the _Messiah_, tore a _woeful_ rent in the back of my best black silk gown, and damaged an egregious pair of breeches. Mem.--never tumble from a church window during service. Adieu, dear----! do not remember me to any body:--to _forget_ and be forgotten by the people of Southwell is all I aspire to. [Footnote 1: The allusion is to the farce _Better Late than Never_ (attributed to Miles Peter Andrews, but really, according to Reynolds (_Life_, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80), by himself, Topham, and Andrews), in which Pallet, an artist, is a prominent character. It was played at Drury Lane for the first time October 17, 1790, with Kemble as "Saville" and Mrs. Jordan as "Augusta."] [Footnote 2: "The hero of _my Cornelian_" was a Cambridge chorister named Edleston, whose life, as Harness has recorded in a MS. note, Byron saved from drowning. This began their acquaintance. (See Byron's lines on "The Cornelian," _Poems_, vol. i. 66-67.) Edleston died of consumption in May, 1811. Byron, writing to Mrs. Pigot, gives the following account of his death:-- "Cambridge, Oct. 28, 1811. Dear Madam,--I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a _cornelian_, which some years ago I consigned to Miss Pigot, indeed _gave_ to her, and now I am going to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is _dead_, and though a long time has elapsed since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed of that person (in whom I was very much interested), it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me at No. 8, St. James's Street, London, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him that formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in May last of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relatives that I have lost between May and the end of August. "Believe me, dear Madam, yours very sincerely, "BYRON. "P.S.--I go to London to-morrow." The cornelian heart was, of course, returned, and Lord Byron, at the same time, reminded that he had left it with Miss Pigot as a deposit, _not_ a gift (Moore).] [Footnote 3: See page 182 [Letter 94], [Foot]note 1 [2].] [Footnote 4: See "Thoughts suggested by a College Examination" (_Poems_, vol. i. pp. 28-31), also "Granta: a Medley" (_Poems_, vol. i. pp. 56-62).] [Footnote 5: The Battle of Friedland, June 15, 1807. This is almost the first allusion that Byron makes to the war.] 75.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. Trin. Coll. Camb. July 5, 1807. Since my last letter I have determined to reside _another year_ at Granta, as my rooms, etc., etc., are finished in great style, several old friends come up again, and many new acquaintances made; consequently my inclination leads me forward, and I shall return to college in October if still _alive_. My life here has been one continued routine of dissipation--out at different places every day, engaged to more dinners, etc., etc., than my _stay_ would permit me to fulfil. At this moment I write with a bottle of claret in my _head_ and _tears_ in my _eyes_; for I have just parted with my "_Cornelian_" who spent the evening with me. As it was our last interview, I postponed my engagement to devote the hours of the _Sabbath_ to friendship:--Edleston and I have separated for the present, and my mind is a chaos of hope and sorrow. To-morrow I set out for London: you will address your answer to "Gordon's Hotel, Albemarle Street," where I _sojourn_ during my visit to the metropolis. I rejoice to hear you are interested in my _protégé_; he has been my _almost constant_ associate since October, 1805, when I entered Trinity College. His _voice_ first attracted my attention, his _countenance_ fixed it, and his _manners_ attached me to him for ever. He departs for a _mercantile house_ in _town_ in October, and we shall probably not meet till the expiration of my minority, when I shall leave to his decision either entering as a _partner_ through my interest, or residing with me altogether. Of course he would in his present frame of mind prefer the _latter_, but he may alter his opinion previous to that period;--however, he shall have his choice. I certainly love him more than any human being, and neither time nor distance have had the least effect on my (in general) changeable disposition. In short, we shall, put _Lady E. Butler_ and _Miss Ponsonby_ [1] to the blush, _Pylades_ and _Orestes_ out of countenance, and want nothing but a catastrophe like _Nisus_ and _Euryalus_, to give _Jonathan_ and _David_ the "go by." He certainly is perhaps more attached to _me_ than even I am in return. During the whole of my residence at Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, without passing _one_ tiresome moment, and separated each time with increasing reluctance. I hope you will one day see us together. He is the only being I esteem, though I _like_ many. The Marquis of Tavistock [2] was down the other day; I supped with him at his tutor's--entirely a Whig party. The opposition muster strong here now, and Lord Hartington, the Duke of Leinster, etc., etc., are to join us in October, so every thing will be _splendid_. The _music_ is all over at present. Met with another "_accidency_"--upset a butter-boat in the lap of a lady--look'd very _blue_--_spectators_ grinned--"curse 'em!" Apropos, sorry to say, been _drunk_ every day, and not quite _sober_ yet--however, touch no meat, nothing but fish, soup, and vegetables, consequently it does me no harm--sad dogs all the _Cantabs_. Mem.--_we mean_ to reform next January. This place is a _monotony of endless variety_--like it--hate Southwell. Has Ridge sold well? or do the ancients demur? What ladies have bought? Saw a girl at St. Mary's the image of Anne----, [3] thought it was her--all in the wrong--the lady stared, so did I--I _blushed_, so did _not_ the lady,--sad thing--wish women had _more modesty_. Talking of women, puts me in mind of my terrier Fanny--how is she? Got a headache, must go to bed, up early in the morning to travel. My _protégé_ breakfasts with me; parting spoils my appetite--excepting from Southwell. Mem. _I hate Southwell_. Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: Lady Eleanor Butler (c. 1745-1829), sister of the seventeenth Earl of Ormonde, and Sarah Ponsonby (circ. 1755-1831), cousin of the Earl of Bessborough, were the two "Ladies of the Vale," or "Ladies of Llangollen." About the year 1779 they settled in a cottage at Plasnewydd, in the Vale of Llangollen, where they lived, with their maidservant, Mary Caryll, for upwards of half a century. They are buried, with their servant, in the churchyard of Plasnewydd, under a triangular pyramid. Though they had withdrawn from the world, they watched its proceedings with the keenest interest. "If," writes Mrs. Piozzi, from Brynbella, July 9, 1796, "Mr. Bunbury's 'Little Gray Man' is printed, do send it hither; the ladies at Llangollen are dying for it. They like those old Scandinavian tales and the imitations of them exceedingly; and tell me about the prince and princess of 'this' loyal country, one province of which alone had disgraced itself" ('Life and Writings of Mrs. Piozzi', vol. ii. p. 234). Nor did they despise the theatre. Charles Mathews ('Memoirs', vol. iii. pp. 150, 151), writing from Oswestry, September 4, 1820, says, "The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby, were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh, such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed.... As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear, even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men's coats; and regular black beaver men's hats. They looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen.... I was highly flattered, as they never were in the theatre before." Among the many people who visited them in their retreat, and have left descriptions of them, are Madame de Genlis, De Quincey, Prince Pückler-Muskau. Their friendships were sung by Sotheby and Anne Seward, and their cottage was depicted by Pennant. "It is very singular," writes John Murray, August 24, 1829, to his son ('Memoir of John Murray', vol. ii. p. 304), "that the ladies, intending to 'retire' from the world, absolutely brought all the world to visit them, for after a few years of seclusion their strange story was the universal subject of conversation, and there has been no person of rank, talent, and importance in any way who did not procure introductions to them." [Footnote 2: Lord Tavistock's experience at Cambridge resembled that of Byron. He had received only a "pretended education," and the Duke of Bedford had come to the conclusion that "nothing was learned at English Universities." "Tavistock left Cambridge in May," Lord J. Russell notes in his Diary for 1808, "having been there in supposition two years" (Walpole's 'Life of Lord John Russell', vol. i. pp. 44 and 35).] [Footnote 3: Probably Miss Anne Houson, daughter of the Rev. Henry Houson of Southwell. She married the Rev. Luke Jackson, died December 25, 1821, and is buried at Hucknall Torkard. (For verses addressed to her, see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 70-2, 244-45, 246-47, 251-52, 253.)] 76.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. Gordon's Hotel, July 13, 1807. You write most excellent epistles--a fig for other correspondents, with their nonsensical apologies for "_knowing nought about it_"--you send me a delightful budget. I am here in a perpetual vortex of dissipation (very pleasant for all that), and, strange to tell, I get thinner, being now below eleven stone considerably. Stay in town a _month_, perhaps six weeks, trip into Essex, and then, as a favour, _irradiate_ Southwell for three days with the light of my countenance; but nothing shall ever make me _reside_ there again. I positively return to Cambridge in October; we are to be uncommonly gay, or in truth I should _cut_ the University. An extraordinary circumstance occurred to me at Cambridge; a girl so very like----made her appearance, that nothing but the most _minute inspection_ could have undeceived me. I wish I had asked if _she_ had ever been at H---- What the devil would Ridge have? is not fifty in a fortnight, before the advertisements, a sufficient sale? [1] I hear many of the London booksellers have them, and Crosby [2] has sent copies to the principal watering places. Are they liked or not in Southwell? ... I wish Boatswain had _swallowed_ Damon! How is Bran? by the immortal gods, Bran ought to be a _Count_ of the _Holy Roman Empire_. The intelligence of London cannot be interesting to you, who have rusticated all your life--the annals of routs riots, balls and boxing-matches, cards and crim. cons., parliamentary discussion, political details, masquerades, mechanics, Argyle Street Institution and aquatic races, love and lotteries, Brookes's and Buonaparte, opera-singers and oratorios, wine, women, wax-work, and weathercocks, can't accord with your _insulated_ ideas of decorum and other _silly expressions_ not inserted in _our vocabulary_. Oh! Southwell, Southwell, how I rejoice to have left thee, and how I curse the heavy hours I dragged along, for so many months, among the Mohawks who inhabit your kraals!--However, one thing I do not regret, which is having _pared off_ a sufficient quantity of flesh to enable me to slip into "an eel-skin," and vie with the _slim_ beaux of modern times; though I am sorry to say, it seems to be the mode amongst _gentlemen_ to grow _fat_, and I am told I am at least fourteen pound below the fashion. However, I _decrease_ instead of enlarging, which is extraordinary, as _violent_ exercise in London is impracticable; but I attribute the _phenomenon_ to our _evening squeezes_ at public and private parties. I heard from Ridge this morning (the 14th, my letter was begun yesterday): he says the poems go on as well as can be wished; the seventy-five sent to town are circulated, and a demand for fifty more complied with, the day he dated his epistle, though the advertisements are not yet half published. Adieu. P.S.--Lord Carlisle, on receiving my poems, sent, before he opened the book, a tolerably handsome letter:[1]--I have not heard from him since. His opinions I neither know nor care about: if he is the least insolent, I shall enrol him with _Butler_ and the other worthies. He is in Yorkshire, poor man! and very ill! He said he had not had time to read the contents, but thought it necessary to acknowledge the receipt of the volume immediately. Perhaps the Earl "_bears no brother near the throne"--if so_, I will make his _sceptre_ totter _in his hands_.--Adieu! [Footnote 1: This is probably the third collection of early verse, 'Hours of Idleness', the first collection published with Byron's name (see page 104 [Letter 53], [Foot]note 1).] [Footnote 2: B. Crosby & Co., of Stationers' Court, were the London agents of Ridge, the Newark bookseller. Crosby was also the publisher of a magazine called 'Monthly Literary Recreations', in which (July, 1807) appeared a highly laudatory notice of 'Hours of Idleness', and Byron's review of Wordsworth's 'Poems' (2 vols. 1807. See Appendix I.), and his "Stanzas to Jessy" (see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 234-236). These lines were enclosed with the following letter, addressed to "Mr. Crosby, Stationers' Court:"-- "July 21, 1807. Sir,--I have sent according to my promise some Stanzas for 'Literary Recreations'. The insertion I leave to the option of the Editors. They have never appeared before. I should wish to know whether they are admitted or not, and when the work will appear, as I am desirous of a copy. Etc., etc., BYRON. P.S.--Send your answer when convenient."] [Footnote 3: "My Dear Lord,--Your letter of yesterday found me an invalid, and unable to do justice to your poems by a dilligent ['sic'] perusal of them. In the meantime I take the first occasion to thank you for sending them to me, and to express a sincere satisfaction in finding you employ your leisure in such occupations. Be not disconcerted if the reception of your works should not be that you may have a right to look for from the public. Persevere, whatever that reception may be, and tho' the Public maybe found very fastidious, ... you will stand better with the world than others who only pursue their studies in Bond St. or at Tatershall's. Believe me to be, yours most sincerely, CARLISLE. July 8th, 1807."] 77.--To John Hanson. July 20th, 1807. Sir,--Your proposal to make Mrs. Byron my _Treasurer_ is very kind, but does not meet with my approbation. Mrs. Byron has already made more _free_ with my _funds_ than suits my convenience & I do not chuse to expose her to the Danger of Temptation. Things will therefore stand as they are; the remedy would be worse than the Disease. I wish you would order your Drafts payable to me and not Mrs. B. This is worse than Hannibal Higgins; [1] who the Devil could suppose that any Body would have mistaken him for a _real personage?_ & what earthly consequence could it be whether the Blank in the Draft was filled up with _Wilkins, Tomkyns, Simkins, Wiggins, Spriggins, Jiggins_, or _Higgins?_ If I had put in _James Johnson_ you would not have demurred, & why object to Hannibal Higgins? particularly after his _respectable Endorsements_. As to Business, I make no pretensions to a Knowledge of any thing but a Greek Grammer or a Racing Calendar; but if the _Quintessence_ of information on that head consists in unnecessary & unpleasant delays, explanations, rebuffs, retorts, repartees, & recriminations, the House of H.& B. stands pre-eminent in the profession, as from the Bottom of his Soul testifies Yours, etc., etc., BYRON. P.S--Will you dine with me on Sunday Tête a Tête at six o'clock? I should be happy to see you before, but my Engagements will not permit me, as on Wednesday I go to the House. I shall have Hargreaves & his Brother on some day after you; I don't like to annoy Children with the _formal_ Faces of _legal_ papas. [Footnote 1: The point of the allusion is that Byron had endorsed one of Hanson's drafts with the name of "Hannibal Higgins," and had been solemnly warned of the consequences of so tampering with the dignity of the law.] 78.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. August 2, 1807. London begins to disgorge its contents--town is empty--consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts--very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by _reviewers_, admired by _duchesses_, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to _rustic readers_. I have now a review before me, entitled _Literary Recreations_ [1] where my _hardship_ is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but think _him_ a very discerning gentleman, and _myself_ a devilish _clever_ fellow. His critique pleases me particularly, because it is of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just to give an agreeable _relish_ to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, common-place compliment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th Number of _Literary Recreations_ for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article--it is printed in a periodical publication--and though I have written a paper (a review of Wordsworth), which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it--even the editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon, [2] requested he would introduce my _Poetical_ Lordship to her _Highness_, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly, in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterwards; and, as the Duchess was on the eve of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady, _whose taste I shall not dispute_, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure, a few days ago, for the same _blessed_ seat of "_dark rolling winds_." Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a _third_--at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my _own name_, and _say nothing_, but enjoy my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more: and "A Friend to the Cause of Literature" begs I will _gratify_ the _public_ with some new work "at no very distant period." Who would not be a bard?--that is to say, if all critics would be so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this _gentle_ encouragement. If so, have at 'em? By the by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after two in the morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account. [3] I shall extend the poem to eight or ten books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for _egotism!_ My _laurels_ have turned my brain, but the _cooling acids_ of forthcoming criticism will probably restore me to _modesty_. Southwell is a damned place--I have done with it--at least in all probability; excepting yourself, I esteem no one within its precincts. You were my only _rational_ companion; and in plain truth, I had more respect for you than the whole _bevy_, with whose foibles I amused myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave yourself more trouble with me and my manuscripts than a thousand _dolls_ would have done. Believe me, I have not forgotten your good nature in _this circle_ of _sin_, and one day I trust I shall be able to evince my gratitude. Adieu. Yours, etc. P.S.--Remember me to Dr. P. [Footnote 1: See page 137 [Letter 76], [Foot]note 2.] [Footnote 2: The Duchess of Gordon (1748-1812), 'née' Jean Maxwell of Monreith, daughter of Sir W. Maxwell, Bart., married in 1767 the Duke of Gordon. The most successful matchmaker of the age, she married three of her daughters to three dukes--Manchester, Richmond, and Bedford. A fourth daughter was Lady Mandalina Sinclair, afterwards, by a second marriage, Lady Mandalina Palmer. A fifth was married to Lord Cornwallis (see the extraordinary story told in the 'Recollections of Samuel Rogers', pp. 145-146). According to Wraxall ('Posthumous Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 319), she schemed to secure Pitt for her daughter Lady Charlotte, and Eugène Beauharnais for Lady Georgiana, afterwards Duchess of Bedford. Cyrus Redding ('Memoirs of William Beckford', vol. ii. pp. 337-339) describes her attack upon the owner of Fonthill, where she stayed upwards of a week, magnificently entertained, without once seeing the wary master of the house. She was also the social leader of the Tories, and her house in Pall Mall, rented from the Duke of Buckingham, was the meeting-place of the party. Malcontents accused her of using her power tyrannically:-- "Not Gordon's broad and brawny Grace, The last new Woman in the Place With more contempt could blast." 'Pandolfo Attonito' (1800). Lord Alexander Gordon died in 1808.] [Footnote 3: William Hutton (1723-1815), a Birmingham bookseller, who took to literature and became a voluminous writer of poems, and of topographical works which still have their value. In his 'Trip to Redcar and Coatham' (Preface, p. vi.) he says, "I took up my pen at the advanced age of fifty-six ... I drove the quill thirty years, during which time I wrote and published thirty books." 'The Battle of Bosworth Field' was published in 1788. A new edition, with additions by John Nichols, appeared in 1813. Byron's poem was never published.] 79.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. London, August 11, 1807. On Sunday next I set off for the Highlands. [1] A friend of mine accompanies me in my carriage to Edinburgh. There we shall leave it, and proceed in a _tandem_ (a species of open carriage) though the western passes to Inverary, where we shall purchase _shelties_, to enable us to view places inaccessible to _vehicular conveyances_. On the coast we shall hire a vessel, and visit the most remarkable of the Hebrides; and, if we have time and favourable weather, mean to sail as far as Iceland, only 300 miles from the northern extremity of Caledonia, to peep at _Hecla_. This last intention you will keep a secret, as my nice _mamma_ would imagine I was on a Voyage of _Discovery_, and raised the accustomed _maternal warwhoop_. Last week I swam in the Thames from Lambeth through the two bridges, Westminster and Blackfriars, a distance, including the different turns and tracks made on the way, of three miles! [2] You see I am in excellent training in case of a _squall_ at sea. I mean to collect all the Erse traditions, poems, etc., etc., and translate, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next spring under the denomination of _"The Highland "Harp"_ or some title equally _picturesque_. Of Bosworth Field, one book is finished, another just began. It will be a work of three or four years, and most probably never _conclude_. What would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla? they would be written at least with _fire_. How is the immortal Bran? and the Phoenix of canine quadrupeds, Boatswain? I have lately purchased a thorough-bred bull-dog, worthy to be the coadjutor of the aforesaid celestials--his name is _Smut!_ "Bear it, ye breezes, on your _balmy_ wings." Write to me before I set off, I conjure you, by the fifth rib of your grandfather. Ridge goes on well with the books--I thought that worthy had not done much in the country. In town they have been very successful; Carpenter (Moore's publisher) told me a few days ago they sold all their's immediately, and had several enquiries made since, which, from the books being gone, they could not supply. The Duke of York, the Marchioness of Headfort, the Duchess of Gordon, etc., etc., were among the purchasers; and Crosby says the circulation will be still more extensive in the winter, the summer season being very bad for a sale, as most people are absent from London. However, they have gone off extremely well altogether. I shall pass very near you on my journey through Newark, but cannot approach. Don't tell this to Mrs. B, who supposes I travel a different road. If you have a letter, order it to be left at Ridge's shop, where I shall call, or the post-office, Newark, about six or eight in the evening. If your brother would ride over, I should be devilish glad to see him--he can return the same night, or sup with us and go home the next morning--the Kingston Arms is my inn. Adieu. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: This projected trip to the Highlands, mentioned in his letter to Augusta Byron of August 30, 1805, seems to have become a joke among Byron's friends. Moore quotes ('Life', p. 56) a letter written by Miss Pigot to her brother: "How can you ask if Lord B. is going to visit the Highlands in the summer? Why, don't _you_ know that he never knows his own mind for ten minutes together? I tell him he is as fickle as the winds, and as uncertain as the waves."] [Footnote 2: "The first time I saw Lord Byron," says Leigh Hunt ('Lord Byron and his Contemporaries', p. 1), "he was rehearsing the part of Leander, under the auspices of Mr. Jackson the prize-fighter. It was in the river Thames, before he went to Greece. I had been bathing, and was standing on the floating machine adjusting my clothes, when I noticed a respectable-looking manly person who was eyeing something at a distance. This was Mr. Jackson waiting for his pupil. The latter was swimming with somebody for a wager." On this occasion, however, Hunt only saw "his Lordship's head bob up and down in the water, like a "buoy."] 80.--To John Hanson. Dorant's Hotel, October 19th, 1807. Dear Hanson,--I will thank you to disburse the quarter due as soon as possible, for I am at this moment contemplating with woeful visage, one _solitary Guinea, two bad sixpences_ and a shilling, being _all_ the _cash_ at present in possession of Yours very truly, BYRON. 81.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot. Trinity College, Cambridge, October 26, 1807. My Dear Elizabeth,--Fatigued with sitting up till four in the morning for the last two days at hazard, I take up my pen to inquire how your highness and the rest of my female acquaintance at the seat of archiepiscopal grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my negligence in not writing more frequently; but racing up and down the country for these last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a correspondent? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as _thin_ as ever (not having gained an ounce since my reduction), and rather in better humour;--but, after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank St. Dominica, I have done with it: I have been twice within eight miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to _suffocate_ in its heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough--a villainous chaos of din and drunkenness, nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunting, mathematics, and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise compared with the eternal dulness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of doing nothing but make _love, enemies_, and _verses_. Next January (but this is _entre nous only_, and pray let it be so, or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my curious projects,) I am going to _sea_ for four or five months, with my cousin Captain Bettesworth, [1] who commands the _Tartar_, the finest frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West Indies, or--to the devil; and if there is a possibility of taking me to the latter, Bettesworth will do it; for he has received four and twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself. I have got a new friend, the finest in the world, a _tame bear_. [2] When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him, and my reply was, "he should _sit for a fellowship._" Sherard will explain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This answer delighted them not. We have several parties here, and this evening a large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and poets, sup with me,--a precious mixture, but they go on well together; and for me, I am a _spice_ of every thing except a jockey; by the bye, I was dismounted again the other day. Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214 pages of a novel--one poem of 380 lines, [3] to be published (without my name) in a few weeks, with notes,--560 lines of Bosworth Field, and 250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. _Apropos_, I have been praised to the skies in the _Critical Review_, [4] and abused greatly in another publication. [5] So much the better, they tell me, for the sale of the book: it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share, nor do the humblest escape;--so I bear it like a philosopher. It is odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five pages of abuse, my censor only quotes _two lines_ from different poems, in support of his opinion. Now, the proper way to _cut up_, is to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of praise, and more than _my modesty_ will allow said on the subject. Adieu. P.S.--Write, write, write!!! [Footnote 1: George Edmund Byron Bettesworth (1780-1808), as lieutenant of the 'Centaur', was wounded (1804) in the capture of the 'Curieux'. In command of the latter vessel he captured the 'Dame Ernouf' (1805), and was again wounded. He was made a post-captain in the latter year, when he brought home despatches from Nelson at Antigua, announcing Villeneuve's return to Europe. He was killed off Bergen in 1808, while in command of the 'Tartar'. Captain Bettesworth, whose father assumed the name of Bettesworth in addition to that of Trevanion, married, in 1807, Lady Alethea Grey, daughter of Earl Grey. Through his grandmother, Sophia Trevanion, Byron was Captain Bettesworth's cousin.] [Footnote 2: See 'Poems', vol. i. p. 406. ] [Footnote 3: This poem, printed in book form, but not published, under the title of 'British Bards', is the foundation of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. The MS. is in the possession of Mr. Murray.] [Footnote 4: For September, 1807. In noticing the Elegy on Newstead Abbey, the writer says, "We could not but hail, with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza:-- "'Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine, Thee to irradiate with meridian ray.'"] [Footnote 5: The first number of 'The Satirist: A Monthly Meteor' (October, 1807).] 82.--To J. Ridge. Trinity College, Cambridge, November 20, 1807. Sir,--I am happy to hear every thing goes on so well, and I presume you will soon commence, though I am still of opinion the first Edition had better be entirely sold, before you risk the printing of a second. As Curly recommends fine wove Foolscap, let it be used, and I will order a design in London for a plate, my own portrait would perhaps be best, but as that would take up so long a time in completing we will substitute probably a view of Harrow, [1] or Newstead in its stead. You will omit the poems mentioned below: Stanzas on a view of Harrow. To a Quaker. The First Kiss of Love. College Examinations. Lines to the Rev. J. T. Becher. To be inserted, not exactly in the place, but in different parts of the volume, I will send you five poems never yet published. Two of tolerable length, at least much longer than any of the above, which are ordered to be omitted. Mention in your answer when you would like to receive the manuscripts that they may be sent. By the bye, I must have the proofs of the Manuscripts sent to Cambridge as they occur; the proofs from the printed copy you can manage with care, if Mr. Becher will assist you. Attend to the list of _Errata_, that we may not have a _Second Edition_ of them also. The Preface we have done with, perhaps I may send an Advertisement, a dedication shall be forthcoming in due Season. You will send a proof of the first Sheet for Inspection, and soon too, for I am about to set out for London next week. If I remain there any time, I shall apprize you where to send the Manuscript Proofs. Do you think the others will be sold before the next are ready, what says Curly? remember I have advised you not to risk it a second time, and it is not too late to retract. However, you must abide by your own discretion: Etc., etc., BYRON. P.S.--You will print from the Copy I sent you with the alterations, pray attend to these, and be careful of mistakes. In my last I gave you directions concerning the Title page and Mottoes. [Footnote 1: A view of Harrow was given.] 83.--To John Hanson. Trin. Coll., Cambridge, Dec. 2nd, 1807. My Dear Sir,--I hope to take my New Years Day dinner with you _en famille_. Tell Hargreaves I will bring his Blackstones, and shall have no objection to see my Daniel's _Field Sports_, if they have not escaped his recollection.--I certainly wish the expiration of my minority as much as you do, though for a reason more nearly affecting my magisterial person at this moment, namely, the want of twenty pounds, for no spendthrift peer, or unlucky poet, was ever less indebted to _Cash_ than George Gordon is at present, or is more likely to continue in the same predicament.--My present quarter due on the 25th was drawn long ago, and I must be obliged to you for the loan of twenty on my next, to be deducted when the whole becomes tangible, that is, probably, some months after it is exhausted. Reserve Murray's quarter, [1] of course, and I shall have just 100 _!_. to receive at Easter, but if the risk of my demand is too great, inform me, that I may if possible convert my Title into cash, though I am afraid twenty pounds will be too much to ask as Times go, if I were an Earl ... but a Barony must fetch ten, perhaps fifteen, and that is something when we have not as many pence. Your answer will oblige Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--Remember me to Mrs. H. in particular, and the family in general. [Footnote 1: Joe Murray. (See page 21 [Letter 7], [Foot]note 3 [4].)] 84.--To John Murray. [1] Ravenna, 9bre 19, 1820. What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews [2] has set me to my recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother,--even if he had previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more surpassing degree than he did as far as he went. He was indolent, too; but whenever he stripped, he overthrew all antagonists. His conquests will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his _Downing_ one, which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily _won_. Hobhouse was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of him than any man. William Bankes [3] also a great deal. I myself recollect more of his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived most together at a very idle period of _my_ life. When I went up to Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow, to which I had become attached during the two last years of my stay there; wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no rooms vacant at Christchurch); wretched from some private domestic circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and met him often _then_ at Bankes's, (who was my collegiate pastor, and master, and patron,) and at Rhode's, Milnes's, Price's, Dick's, Macnamara's, Farrell's, Gally Knight's, and others of that _set_ of contemporaries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with any one else, except my old schoolfellow Edward Long [4] (with whom I used to pass the day in riding and swimming), and William Bankes, who was good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities. It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from Cambridge, to which I had returned again to _reside_ for my degree, that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of Hobhouse, [5] who, after hating me for two years, because I wore a _white hat_, and a _grey_ coat, and rode a _grey_ horse (as he says himself), took me into his good graces because I had written some poetry. I had always lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their company--but now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not at this period resident in College. I met _him_ chiefly in London, and at uncertain periods at Cambridge. Hobhouse, in the mean time, did great things: he founded the Cambridge "Whig Club" (which he seems to have forgotten), and the "Amicable Society," which was dissolved in consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and made himself very popular with "us youth," and no less formidable to all tutors, professors, and heads of Colleges. William Bankes was gone; while he stayed, he ruled the roast--or rather the _roasting_--and was father of all mischiefs. Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great cronies. He was not good tempered--nor am I--but with a little tact his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often, at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his _papers_ (and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and _as_ he _wrote_ remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to Newstead together, [6] where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_ dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visiters, and used to sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual garments. [7] Matthews always denominated me "the Abbot," and never called me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his death. The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a few days after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw Hobhouse out of a _window_, in consequence of I know not what commerce of jokes ending in this epigram. Hobhouse came to me and said, that "his respect and regard for me as host would not permit him to call out any of my guests, and that he should go to town next morning." He did. It was in vain that I represented to him that the window was not high, and that the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went. Matthews and myself had travelled down from London together, talking all the way incessantly upon one single topic. When we got to Loughborough, I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a moment to some other subject, at which he was indignant. "Come," said he, "don't let us break through--let us go on as we began, to our journey's end;" and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones, [8] the tutor, in his odd way, had said, on putting him in, "Mr. Matthews, I recommend to your attention not to damage any of the moveables, for Lord Byron, Sir, is a young man of _tumultuous passions_." Matthews was delighted with this; and whenever anybody came to visit him, begged them to handle the very door with caution; and used to repeat Jones's admonition in his tone and manner. There was a large mirror in the room, on which he remarked, "that he thought his friends were grown uncommonly assiduous in coming to _see him_, but he soon discovered that they only came to _see themselves_." Jones's phrase of "_tumultuous passions_" and the whole scene, had put him into such good humour, that I verily believe that I owed to it a portion of his good graces. When at Newstead, somebody by accident rubbed against one of his white silk stockings, one day before dinner; of course the gentleman apologised. "Sir," answered Matthews, "it may be all very well for you, who have a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's; but to me, who have only this _one pair_, which I have put on in honour of the Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such carelessness; besides, the expense of washing." He had the same sort of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild Irishman, named Farrell, one evening began to say something at a large supper at Cambridge, Matthews roared out "Silence!" and then, pointing to Farrell, cried out, in the words of the oracle, "Orson is endowed with reason." You may easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he had acquired, on hearing this compliment. When Hobhouse published his volume of poems, the _Miscellany_ (which Matthews would call the "_Miss-sell-any_"), all that could be drawn from him was, that the preface was "extremely like _Walsh_." Hobhouse thought this at first a compliment; but we never could make out what it was, [9] for all we know of _Walsh_ is his Ode to King William, [10] and Pope's epithet of "_knowing Walsh_." [11] When the Newstead party broke up for London, Hobhouse and Matthews, who were the greatest friends possible, agreed, for a whim, to _walk together_ to town. They quarrelled by the way, and actually walked the latter half of the journey, occasionally passing and repassing, without speaking. When Matthews had got to Highgate, he had spent all his money but three-pence halfpenny, and determined to spend that also in a pint of beer, which I believe he was drinking before a public-house, as Hobhouse passed him (still without speaking) for the last time on their route. They were reconciled in London again. One of Matthews's passions was "the fancy;" and he sparred uncommonly well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist. In swimming, too, he swam well; but with _effort_ and _labour_, and _too high_ out of the water; so that Scrope Davies [1] and myself, of whom he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so; but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that "the Dean had lived, And our prediction proved a lie." His head was uncommonly handsome, very like what _Pope's_ was in his youth. His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his brother Henry's, if Henry be _he_ of _King's College_. His passion for boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with Dogherty [13] (whom I had backed and made the match for against Tom Belcher [14]), and I saw them spar together at my own lodgings with the gloves on. As he was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to please him, but the match went off. It was of course to have been a private fight, in a private room. On one occasion, being too late to go home and dress, he was equipped by a friend (Mr. Baillie, I believe,) in a magnificently fashionable and somewhat exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to the Opera, and took his station in Fop's Alley. During the interval between the opera and the ballet, an acquaintance took his station by him and saluted him: "Come round," said Matthews, "come round." "Why should I come round?" said the other; "you have only to turn your head--I am close by you." "That is exactly what I cannot do," said Matthews; "don't you see the state I am in?" pointing to his buckram shirt collar and inflexible cravat,--and there he stood with his head always in the same perpendicular position during the whole spectacle. One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and presented it to Matthews. "Now, sir," said he to Hobhouse afterwards, "this I call _courteous_ in the Abbot--another man would never have thought that I might do better with half a guinea than throw it to a door-keeper;--but here is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives me a ticket for the theatre." These were only his oddities, for no man was more liberal, or more honourable in all his doings and dealings, than Matthews. He gave Hobhouse and me, before we set out for Constantinople, a most splendid entertainment, to which we did ample justice. One of his fancies was dining at all sorts of out-of-the-way places. Somebody popped upon him in I know not what coffee-house in the Strand--and what do you think was the attraction? Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to _dine with his hat on_. This he called his "_hat_ house," and used to boast of the comfort of being covered at meal times. When Sir Henry Smith [15] was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a tradesman named "Hiron," Matthews solaced himself with shouting under Hiron's windows every evening, "Ah me! what perils do environ The man who meddles with _hot Hiron_." He was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices of----, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his slumbers in the lodge of Trinity; and when he appeared at the window foaming with wrath, and crying out, "I know you, gentlemen, I know you!" were wont to reply, "We beseech thee to hear us, good Lort!"--"Good Lort deliver us!" (Lort was his Christian name.) As he was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects, although by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct, and as I was no less independent, our conversation and correspondence used to alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree. You must be almost tired of my packets, which will have cost a mint of postage. Salute Gifford and all my friends. Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: This letter, though written twelve years later, belongs to the Cambridge period of Byron's life. It is therefore introduced here. (For John Murray, see [Foot]note [1] to letter to R. C. Dallas [Letter 167] of August 21, 1811.)] [Footnote 2: Charles Skinner Matthews was known at Eton as Matthews 'major', his 'minor' being his brother Henry, the author of 'The Diary of an Invalid', afterwards a Judge in the Supreme Court of Ceylon, who died in 1828. They were the sons of John Matthews of Belmont, Herefordshire, M.P. for that county (1802-6). C. S. Matthews became a Scholar of Trinity, Cambridge; Ninth Wrangler in 1805; First Members' Prizeman in 1807; Fellow of Downing in 1808. He was drowned in the Cam in August, 1811. He at the time contemplated standing as Member for the University of Cambridge. For a description of the accident, see letter from Henry Drury to Francis Hodgson ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 182-185). In the note to 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xci., Byron speaks of Matthews: "I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was acquired; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority."] [Footnote 3: See page 120 [Letter 67], [Foot]note 1.] [Footnote 4: See page 73 [Letter 31], [Foot]note 2.] [Footnote 5: See page 163 [Letter 83], note 1 [5].] [Footnote 6: Of this visit to Newstead, Matthews wrote the following account to his sister:-- "London, May 22, 1809. "My Dear----,--I must begin with giving you a few particulars of the singular place which I have lately quitted. Newstead Abbey is situate 136 miles from London,--four on this side Mansfield. It is so fine a piece of antiquity, that I should think there must be a description, and, perhaps, a picture of it in Grose. The ancestors of its present owner came into possession of it at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries,--but the building itself is of a much earlier date. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still completely an _abbey_, and most part of it is still standing in the same state as when it was first built. There are two tiers of cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which, though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might easily be made so; and many of the original rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall, are still in use. Of the abbey church only one end remains; and the old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap of rubbish. Leading from the abbey to the modern part of the habitation is a noble room, seventy feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth; but every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those which the present Lord has lately fitted up. The house and gardens are entirely surrounded by a wall with battlements. In front is a large lake, bordered here and there with castellated buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence at the further extremity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak and barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles, except a solitary clump or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. For the late Lord, being at enmity with his son, to whom the estate was secured by entail, resolved, out of spite to the same, that the estate should descend to him in as miserable a plight as he could possibly reduce it to; for which cause, he took no care of the mansion, and fell to lopping of every tree he could lay his hands on, so furiously, that he reduced immense tracts of woodland country to the desolate state I have just described. However, his son died before him, so that all his rage was thrown away. So much for the place, concerning which I have thrown together these few particulars, meaning my account to be, like the place itself, without any order or connection. But if the place itself appear rather strange to you, the ways of the inhabitants will not appear much less so. Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may introduce you to my Lord and his visitants. But have a care how you proceed; be mindful to go there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about you. For, should you make any blunder,--should you go to the right of the hall steps, you are laid hold of by a bear; and should you go to the left, your case is still worse, for you run full against a wolf!--Nor, when you have attained the door, is your danger over; for the hall being decayed, and therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of inmates are very probably banging at one end of it with their pistols; so that if you enter without giving loud notice of your approach, you have only escaped the wolf and the bear to expire by the pistol-shots of the merry monks of Newstead. Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four others, and was, now and then, increased by the presence of a neighbouring parson. As for our way of living, the order of the day was generally this:--for breakfast we had no set hour, but each suited his own convenience, --everything remaining on the table till the whole party had done; though had one wished to breakfast at the early hour of ten, one would have been rather lucky to find any of the servants up. Our average hour of rising was one. I, who generally got up between eleven and twelve, was always,--even when an invalid,--the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy of early rising. It was frequently past two before the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amusements of the morning, there was reading, fencing, single-stick, or shuttle-cock, in the great room; practising with pistols in the hall; walking--riding--cricket--sailing on the lake, playing with the bear, or teasing the wolf. Between seven and eight we dined; and our evening lasted from that time till one, two, or three in the morning. The evening diversions may be easily conceived. I must not omit the custom of handing round, after dinner, on the removal of the cloth, a human skull filled with burgundy. After revelling on choice viands, and the finest wines of France, we adjourned to tea, where we amused ourselves with reading, or improving conversation,--each, according to his fancy,--and, after sandwiches, etc., retired to rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been provided, with all the proper apparatus of crosses, beads, tonsures, etc., often gave a variety to our appearance, and to our pursuits. You may easily imagine how chagrined I was at being ill nearly the first half of the time I was there. But I was led into a very different reflection from that of Dr. Swift, who left Pope's house without ceremony, and afterwards informed him, by letter, that it was impossible for two sick friends to live together; for I found my shivering and invalid frame so perpetually annoyed by the thoughtless and tumultuous health of every one about me, that I heartily wished every soul in the house to be as ill as myself. "The journey back I performed on foot, together with another of the guests. We walked about twenty-five miles a day; but were a week on the road, from being detained by the rain. So here I close my account of an expedition which has somewhat extended my knowledge of this country. And where do you think I am going next? To Constantinople!--at least, such an excursion has been proposed to me. Lord B. and another friend of mine are going thither next month, and have asked me to join the party; but it seems to be but a wild scheme, and requires twice thinking upon. "Addio, my dear I., yours very affectionately, C. S. MATTHEWS."] [Footnote 7: A joke, related by Hobhouse, reminds us of the youth of the party. In the Long Gallery at Newstead was placed a stone coffin, from which, as he passed down the Gallery at night, he heard a groan proceeding. On going nearer, a cowled figure rose from the coffin and blew out the candle. It was Matthews.] [Footnote 8: The Rev. Thomas Jones. (See page 79 [Letter 36], [Foot]note 1.)] [Footnote 9: The only thing remarkable about Walsh's preface is that Dr. Johnson praises it as "very judicious," but is, at the same time, silent respecting the poems to which it is prefixed (Moore).] [Footnote 10: No "Ode" under this title is to be found in Walsh's Poems. Byron had, no doubt, in mind _The Golden Age Restored_--a composition in which, says Dr. Johnson, "there was something of humour, while the facts were recent; but it now strikes no longer."] [Footnote 11: "----Granville the polite, And _knowing Walsh_, would tell me I could write." "About fifteen," says Pope, "I got acquainted with Mr. Walsh. He used to encourage me much, and tell me, that there was one way left of excelling: for though we had several great poets, we never had any one great poet that was correct; and he desired me to make that my study and aim" (Spence's _Anecdotes_, edit. 1820, p. 280).] [Footnote 12: See page 165 [Letter 86], [Foot]note 2.] [Footnote 13: Dan Dogherty, Irish champion (1806-11), came into notice as a pugilist in 1806. He was beaten by Belcher in April, 1808, near the Rubbing House on Epsom Downs, and again on the Curragh of Kildare, in 1813, in thirty-five minutes, after twenty-six rounds.] [Footnote 14: Tom Belcher (1783-1854), younger brother of Jem Belcher the champion, fought and won his first fight in London, in 1804, against Warr. The fight took place in Tothill Fields, Westminster. Twice beaten by Dutch Sam (Elias Samuel), in 1806 and 1807, he never held the championship, which a man of his height (5 ft. 9 ins.) and weight (10 st. 12 lbs.) could scarcely hope to win. But he repeatedly established the superiority of art over strength, and was one of the most popular and respectable pugilists of the day. Under his management the Castle Tavern at Holborn, in which he succeeded Gregson (page 207 [Letter 108], [Foot]note 1 [2]), was the head-quarters of pugilism.] [Footnote 15: Sir Henry Smyth, Baronet, of Trinity Hall, A.M. 1805, was found between eleven and twelve at night, on May 11, 1805, "inciting to a disturbance" at the shop of a Mrs. Thrower on Market Hill. Other members of the University seem to have been equally guilty. The sentence of the Vice-Chancellor and Heads was "that he be suspended from his degree and banished from the University." The others were admonished only; so it was clearly considered that Smyth was the ring-leader.] 85.--To Henry Drury. [1] Dorant's Hotel, Jan. 13, 1808. My Dear Sir,--Though the stupidity of my servants, or the porter of the house, in not showing you up stairs (where I should have joined you directly), prevented me the pleasure of seeing you yesterday, I hoped to meet you at some public place in the evening. However, my stars decreed otherwise, as they generally do, when I have any favour to request of them. I think you would have been surprised at my figure, for, since our last meeting, I am reduced four stone in weight. I then weighed fourteen stone seven pound, and now only _ten stone and a half_. I have disposed of my _superfluities_ by means of hard exercise and abstinence. Should your Harrow engagements allow you to visit town between this and February, I shall be most happy to see you in Albemarle Street. If I am not so fortunate, I shall endeavour to join you for an afternoon at Harrow, though, I fear, your cellar will by no means contribute to my cure. As for my worthy preceptor, Dr. B., [2] our encounter would by no means prevent the _mutual endearments_ he and I were wont to lavish on each other. We have only spoken once since my departure from Harrow in 1805, and then he politely told Tatersall [3] I was not a proper associate for his pupils. This was long before my strictures in verse; but, in plain _prose_, had I been some years older, I should have held my tongue on his perfections. But, being laid on my back, when that schoolboy thing was written--or rather dictated--expecting to rise no more, my physician having taken his sixteenth fee, and I his prescription, I could not quit this earth without leaving a memento of my constant attachment to Butler in gratitude for his manifold good offices. I meant to have been down in July; but thinking my appearance, immediately after the publication, would be construed into an insult, I directed my steps elsewhere. Besides, I heard that some of the boys had got hold of my _Libellus_, contrary to my wishes certainly, for I never transmitted a single copy till October, when I gave one to a boy, since gone, after repeated importunities. You will, I trust, pardon this egotism. As you had touched on the subject I thought some explanation necessary. Defence I shall not attempt, _Hic murus aheneus esto, nil conscire sibi_--and "so on" (as Lord Baltimore [4] said on his trial for a rape)--I have been so long at Trinity as to forget the conclusion of the line; but though I cannot finish my quotation, I will my letter, and entreat you to believe me, gratefully and affectionately, etc. P.S.--I will not lay a tax on your time by requiring an answer, lest you say, as Butler said to Tatersall (when I had written his reverence an impudent epistle on the expression before mentioned), viz. "that I wanted to draw him into a correspondence." [Footnote 1: See page 12 [Letter 4], [Foot]note 1 [2]; and page 41 [Letter 14], [Foot] note 2 [1].] [Footnote 2: Dr. Butler, Head-master of Harrow (see page 58 [Letter 22], [Foot]note 1).] [Footnote 3: See page 59 [Letter 22], [Foot]note 1 [2].] [Footnote 4: Francis Calvert, seventh Lord Baltimore (1731-1771), was charged with decoying a young milliner, named Sarah Woodcock, to his house, and with rape. On February 12, 1768, he was committed for trial at the Spring assizes, was tried at Kingston, March 26, 1768, and acquitted. The story is the subject of a romance, 'Injured Innocence; or the Rape of Sarah Woodcock;' A Tale, by S. J., Esq., of Magdalen College, Oxford. New York (no date). "I thank God," Lord Baltimore is reported to have said, "that I have had firmness and resolution to meet my accusers face to face, and provoke an enquiry into my conduct, 'Hic murus aheneus esto, nil conscire sibi'" ('Ann. Register' for 1768, p. 234). His body lay in state at Exeter Change, previous to its interment at Epsom (Leigh Hunt's 'The Town', edit. 1893, p. 191).] 86.--To John Cam Hobhouse. [1] Newstead Abbey, Notts, January 16, 1808. My Dear Hobhouse,--I do not know how the _dens_-descended Davies [2] came to mention his having received a copy of my epistle to you, but I addressed him and you on the same evening, and being much incensed at the account I had received from Wallace, I communicated the contents to the Birdmore, though without any of that malice wherewith you charge me. I shall leave my card at Batts, and hope to see you in your progress to the North. I have lately discovered Scrope's genealogy to be ennobled by a collateral tie with the Beardmore, Chirurgeon and Dentist to Royalty, and that the town of Southwell contains cousins of Scrope's, who disowned them (I grieve to speak it) on visiting that city in my society. How I found this out I will disclose, the first time "we three meet again." But why did he conceal his lineage? "Ah, my dear H., it was _cruel_, it was _insulting_, it was _unnecessary_." I have (notwithstanding your kind invitation to Wallace) been alone since the 8th of December; nothing of moment has occurred since our anniversary row. I shall be in London on the 19th; there are to be oxen roasted and sheep boiled on the 22nd, with ale and uproar for the mobility; a feast is also providing for the tenantry. For my own part, I shall know as little of the matter as a corpse of the funeral solemnized in its honour. A letter addressed to Reddish's will find me. I still intend publishing the _Bards_, but I have altered a good deal of the "Body of the Book," added and interpolated, with some excisions; your lines still stand, [3] and in all there will appear 624 lines. I should like much to see your Essay upon Entrails: is there any honorary token of silver gilt? any cups, or pounds sterling attached to the prize, besides glory? I expect to see you with a medal suspended from your button-hole, like a Croix de St. Louis. Fletcher's father is deceased, and has left his son tway cottages, value ten pounds per annum. I know not how it is, but Fletch., though only the third brother, conceives himself entitled to all the estates of the defunct, and I have recommended him to a lawyer, who, I fear, will triumph in the spoils of this ancient family. A Birthday Ode has been addressed to me by a country schoolmaster, in which I am likened to the Sun, or Sol, as he classically saith; the people of Newstead are compared to Laplanders. I am said to be a Baron, and a Byron, the truth of which is indisputable. Feronia is again to reign (she must have some woods to govern first), but it is altogether a very pleasant performance, and the author is as superior to Pye, as George Gordon to George Guelph. To be sure some of the lines are too short, but then, to make amends, the Alexandrines have from fifteen to seventeen syllables, so we may call them Alexandrines the great. I shall be glad to hear from you, and beg you to believe me, Yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: John Cam Hobhouse (1786-1869), created in 1851 Baron Broughton de Gyfford, was the eldest son of Mr. Benjamin Hobhouse, created a baronet in 1812, and M.P. (from 1797 to 1818) successively for Bletchingley, Grampound, and Hindon. From a school at Bristol, John Cam Hobhouse was sent to Westminster, and thence to Trinity, Cambridge, where he won (1808) the Hulsean Prize for an essay on "Sacrifices," and made acquaintance with Byron, as related in Letter 84. In 1809 he published a poetical miscellany, consisting of sixty-five pieces, under the title of 'Imitations and Translations from the Ancient and Modern Classics, together with original Poems never before published' (London, 1809, 8vo). (For Byron's nine contributions, see 'Poems', vol. i., Bibliographical Note.) In 1809-10 he was Byron's travelling companion abroad (see 'A Journey through Albania, etc.' London, 1813, 4to). In 1813 he travelled with Douglas Kinnaird in Sweden, Germany, Austria, and Italy; in 1814 he was at Paris with the allied armies; and in April, 1815, was there again till the second Napoleonic war broke out, returning to witness the second restoration of the Bourbons (see his 'Letters--written by an Englishman resident in Paris, etc.' Anon., London, 1816, 2 vols., 8vo). During 1814 he was much with Byron in London. He notes going with him to Drury Lane, and being introduced with him to Kean (May 19); dining with him at Lord Tavistock's (June 4); dining with him at Douglas Kinnaird's, to meet Kean (December 14). He was Byron's best man at his marriage at Seaham (January 2, 1815), and it was to him that the bride said, "If I am not happy, it will be my own fault." He was the last person who shook hands with Byron on Dover pier, when the latter left England in 1816. Later in the same year he was with him at the Villa Diodati, on the Lake of Geneva, and travelled with him to Venice. To him Byron dedicated 'The Siege of Corinth', In the next year he was again with Byron in the Villa La Mira on the banks of the Brenta, and at Venice, where he prepared the commentary on the fourth canto of 'Childe Harold', which Byron dedicated to him. Part of the notes were published separately ('Historical Illustrations, etc.' London, 1818, 8vo). In 1818 Hobhouse stood for Westminster, but was defeated by George Lamb, the representative of the official Whigs. He was an original member of "The Rota Club," afterwards known as "Harrington's," to which Michael Bruce, Douglas Kinnaird, Scrope Davies, and others belonged, and which Byron, writing from Italy, expressed a wish to join. He had now embarked on political life. His pamphlet, 'A Defence of the People' (1819), was followed in the same year by 'A Trifling Mistake', which was declared by the House of Commons to be a breach of privilege. In consequence, he was committed to Newgate. The death of George III., and the dissolution of Parliament, set him free. He contested Westminster, won the seat with Sir Francis Burdett as his colleague, and represented it for thirteen years. He took the part of Queen Caroline against the Government. At the Queen's funeral (August 7, 1821) he attended the procession which escorted her body (August 13) from Brandenburg House to Harwich, and saw the coffin placed upon the vessel. His political career was long, independent, useful, and distinguished, and he specially associated himself with such questions as the shortening of the hours for infant labour, the opening up of metropolitan vestries, and the subject of parliamentary reform. In 1832 he was made a Privy Councillor, and became Secretary at War in Lord Grey's Ministry. This post, finding himself unable to effect essential reforms at the War Office, he exchanged for that of Secretary for Ireland (1833); but he resigned both his office and his seat a few weeks later, being opposed to the Government on a question of taxation. In 1834 he joined Lord Melbourne's Government as First Commissioner of Woods and Forests, with a seat in the Cabinet. In Lord Melbourne's second administration, and again in Lord J. Russell's Government of 1846, he was President of the Board of Control. On his retirement from public life, in 1852, he received high recognition of his official services from the Queen, who conferred on him the Grand Cross of the Bath and a peerage. Hobhouse was present at Her Majesty's first Council, and is said to have originated the phrase, "Her Majesty's Opposition." In 1822 he travelled in Italy (see 'Italy: Remarks made in Several Visits from the Year 1816 to 1834', London, 1859, 2 vols., 8vo). There, on September 20, at Pisa, he for the last time saw Byron, whose parting words were, "Hobhouse, you should never have come, or you should never go." In July, 1824, when Byron's body was brought home, he boarded the 'Florida' in Sandgate Creek, and took charge of the funeral ceremonies from Westminster Stairs to the interment at Hucknall Torkard. He prepared an article for the 'Quarterly Review', exposing the absurdities of Medwin's 'Conversations' and of Dallas's 'Recollections'; but, owing to difficulties with Southey, it was not published. It was the substance of this article which afterwards appeared in the 'Westminster Review' in 1825. In 1830 he wrote, but, by Lord Holland's advice, withheld, a refutation of the charges made against the dead poet as to his separation from Lady Byron. He has, however, left on record that it was not fear which induced Byron to agree to the separation, but that, on the contrary, he was ready to "go into court." The staunchest of Byron's friends, Hobhouse was also the most sensible and candid. As such Byron valued him. Talking to Lady Blessington at Genoa, in 1823, he said ('Conversations', p. 93) that Hobhouse was "the most impartial, or perhaps," added he, "'unpartial', of my friends; he always told me my faults, but I must do him the justice to add, that he told them to 'me', and not to others." On another occasion he said (p. 172), "If friendship, as most people imagine, consists in telling one truth--unvarnished, unadorned truth--he is indeed a friend: yet, hang it, I must be candid, and say I have had many other, and more agreeable, proofs of Hobhouse's friendship than the truths he always told me; but the fact is, I wanted him to sugar them over a little with flattery, as nurses do the physic given to children; and he never would, and therefore I have never felt quite content with him, though, 'au fond', I respect him the more for his candour, while I respect myself very much less for my weakness in disliking it."] [Footnote 2: Scrope Berdmore Davies (1783-1852), born at Horsley, in Gloucestershire, was educated at Eton, and King's College, Cambridge, where he was admitted a Scholar in July, 1802, and a Fellow in July, 1805. In 1803 he was awarded by the Provost of Eton the Belham Scholarship, given to those Scholars of King's who had behaved well at Eton, and held it till 1816. A witty companion, with "a dry caustic manner, and an irresistible stammer" ('Life of Rev, F. Hodgson', vol. i. p. 204), Davies was, during the Regency and afterwards, a popular member of fashionable society. A daring gambler and shrewd calculator, he at one time won heavily at the gaming-tables. On June 10, 1814, as he told Hobhouse, he won £6065 at Watier's Club at Macao. Captain Cronow, in his 'Reminiscences' (ed. 1860, vol. i. pp. 93-96), sketches him among "Golden Ball" Hughes, "King" Allen, and other dandies. But luck turned against him, and he retired, poverty-stricken and almost dependent upon his Fellowship, to Paris, where he died, May 23, 1852. It was supposed he had for many years occupied himself with writing his recollections of his friends. But the notes, if they were ever written, have disappeared. Byron, who hated obligations, as he himself says, counted Davies as a friend, though not on the same plane as Hobhouse. He borrowed from Davies £4800 before he left England in 1809, repaid him in 1814, and dedicated to him his 'Parisina'. In his 'MS. Journal' ('Life', pp. 129, 130) he says, "One of the cleverest men I ever knew, in conversation, was Scrope Berdmore Davies. Hobhouse is also very good in that line, though it is of less consequence to a man who has other ways of showing his talents than in company. Scrope was always ready, and often witty--Hobhouse was witty, but not always so ready, being more diffident." Byron appointed him one of the executors of his will of 1811. In his 'Journal' for March 28, 1814 ('Life', p. 234), occurs this entry: "Yesterday, dined tête à tête at the Cocoa with Scrope Davies--sat from six till midnight--drank between us one bottle of champagne and six of claret, neither of which wines ever affect me. Offered to take Scrope home in my carriage; but he was tipsy and pious, and I was obliged to leave him on his knees praying to I know not what purpose or pagod. No headach, nor sickness, that night, nor to-day. Got up, if anything, earlier than usual--sparred with Jackson 'ad sudorem', and have been much better in health than for many days. I have heard nothing more from Scrope." Scrope Davies visited Byron at the Villa Diodati, in 1816, and brought back with him 'Childe Harold', canto iii. On his return he gave evidence in the case of 'Byron v. Johnson', before the Lord Chancellor, November 28, 1816, when an injunction was obtained to restrain Johnson from publishing a volume containing 'Lord Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land', and other works, which he professed to have bought from Byron for £500. According to Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 153, 154), Scrope Davies, asked to give his private opinion of Byron, said that he considered him "very agreeable and clever, but vain, overbearing, suspicious, and jealous. Byron hated Palmerston, but liked Peel, and thought that the whole world ought to be constantly employed in admiring his poetry and himself."] [Footnote 3: For Hobhouse's lines on Bowles, see 'English Bards, etc.', line 384, and note.] 87.--To Robert Charles Dallas. [1] Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Jan. 20, 1808. Sir,--Your letter was not received till this morning, I presume from being addressed to me in Notts., where I have not resided since last June; and as the date is the 6th, you will excuse the delay of my answer. If the little volume you mention has given pleasure to the author of _Percival_ and _Aubrey_, I am sufficiently repaid by his praise. Though our periodical censors have been uncommonly lenient, I confess a tribute from a man of acknowledged genius is still more flattering. But I am afraid I should forfeit all claim to candour, if I did not decline such praise as I do not deserve; and this is, I am sorry to say, the case in the present instance. My compositions speak for themselves, and must stand or fall by their own worth or demerit: _thus far_ I feel highly gratified by your favourable opinion. But my pretensions to virtue are unluckily so few, that though I should be happy to merit, I cannot accept, your applause in that respect. One passage in your letter struck me forcibly: you mention the two Lords Lyttleton [2] in the manner they respectively deserve, and will be surprised to hear the person who is now addressing you has been frequently compared to the _latter_. I know I am injuring myself in your esteem by this avowal, but the circumstance was so remarkable from your observation, that I cannot help relating the fact. The events of my short life have been of so singular a nature, that, though the pride commonly called honour has, and I trust ever will, prevent me from disgracing my name by a mean or cowardly action, I have been already held up as the votary of licentiousness, and the disciple of infidelity. How far justice may have dictated this accusation, I cannot pretend to say; but, like the _gentleman_ to whom my religious friends, in the warmth of their charity, have already devoted me, I am made worse than I really am. However, to quit myself (the worst theme I could pitch upon), and return to my poems, I cannot sufficiently express my thanks, and I hope I shall some day have an opportunity of rendering them in person. A second edition is now in the press, with some additions and considerable omissions; you will allow me to present you with a copy. The 'Critical', [3] 'Monthly', [4] and 'Anti-Jacobin [5] Reviews' have been very indulgent; but the 'Eclectic' [6] has pronounced a furious Philippic, not against the _book_ but the _author_, where you will find all I have mentioned asserted by a reverend divine who wrote the critique. Your name and connection with our family have been long known to me, and I hope your person will be not less so: you will find me an excellent compound of a "Brainless" and a "Stanhope." [7] I am afraid you will hardly be able to read this, for my hand is almost as bad as my character; but you will find me, as legibly as possible, Your obliged and obedient servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Robert Charles Dallas (1754-1842), born in Jamaica and educated in Scotland, read law at the Inner Temple. About 1775 he returned to Jamaica to look after his property and take up a lucrative appointment. Three years later he returned to England, married, and took his wife back with him to the West Indies. His wife's health compelled him to return to Europe, and he lived for some time in France. At the outbreak of the Revolution he emigrated to America; but finally settled down to literary work in England. His first publication (1797) was _Miscellaneous Writings consisting of Poems; Lucretia, a Tragedy; and Moral Essays, with a Vocabulary of the Passions_. He translated a number of French books bearing on the French Revolution, by Bertrand de Moleville, Mallet du Pan, Hue, and Joseph Weber; also a work on Volcanoes by the Abbé Ordinaire, and an historical novel by Madame de Genlis, _The Siege of Rochelle_. He wrote a number of novels, among them _Percival, or Nature Vindicated_ (1801); _Aubrey: a Novel_ (1804); _The Morlands; Tales illustrative of the Simple and Surprising_ (1805); _The Knights; Tales illustrative of the Marvellous_ (1808). Later (1819 and 1823) he published two volumes of poems. He says (preface to _Percival_, p. ix.) that his object is "to improve the heart, as well as to please the fancy, and to be the auxiliary of the Divine and the Moralist." He is one of the writers, others being "Gleaner" Pratt and Lord Carlisle, "whose writings" (_Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Percival Stockdale_, 1809, vol. i. Preface, p. xvi.) "dart through the general fog of our literary dulness." Stockdale further says of him that he was "a man of a most affectionate and virtuous mind. He has had the moral honour, in several novels, to exert his talents, which were worthy of their glorious cause, in the service of good conduct and religion." Dallas's sister, Henrietta Charlotte, married George Anson Byron, the son of Admiral the Hon. John Byron, and was therefore Byron's aunt by marriage. On the score of this connection, Dallas introduced himself to Byron by complimenting him, in a letter dated January 6, 1808, on his _Hours of Idleness_. A well-meaning, self-satisfied, dull, industrious man, he gave Byron excellent moral advice, to which the latter responded as the _fanfaron de ses vices_, evidently with great amusement to himself. _English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers_ was brought out under Dallas's auspices, as well as _Childe Harold_ and _The Corsair_, the profits of which Byron made over to him. Dallas distrusted his own literary judgment in the matter of Byron's verse, and consulted Walter Wright, the author of Horæ Ioniæ, about the prospects of 'Childe Harold'. "I have told him," said Wright, "that I have no doubt this will succeed. Lord Byron had offered him before some translations from Horace, which I told him would never sell, and he did not take them" ('Diary of H. Crabb Robinson', vol. i. pp. 29, 30). The connection between Dallas and Byron practically ended in 1814. The publication of Dallas's 'Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron from the Year 1808 to the end of 1814' was stopped by a decree obtained by Byron's executors, in the Court of Chancery, August 23, 1824. But the book was published by the writer's son, the Rev. A. R. C. Dallas.] [Footnote 2: Byron refers to the following passage in Dallas's letter of January 6, 1808: "A spirit that brings to my mind another noble author, who was not only a fine poet, orator, and historian, but one of the closest reasoners we have on the truth of that religion, of which forgiveness is a prominent principle: the great and the good Lord Lyttelton, whose fame will never die. His son, to whom he had transmitted genius but not virtue, sparkled for a moment, and went out like a falling star, and with him the title became extinct. He was the victim of inordinate passions, and he will be heard of in this world only by those who read the English Peerage" ('Correspondence of Lord Byron', p. 20, the suppressed edition). Dallas was, of course, aware that Byron's predecessor in the title, William, fifth Lord Byron, was known as the "wicked Lord Byron." George, first Lord Lyttelton (1709-1773), to whom Pope refers ('Imitations of Horace', bk. i. Ep. i. 1. 30) as "Still true to virtue, and as warm as true," was a voluminous writer in prose and verse, but owed his political importance to his family connection with Chatham, Temple, and George Grenville. Horace Walpole calls him a "wise moppet" ('Letters', vol. ii. p. 28, ed. Cunningham), and repeatedly sneers at his dulness. His son Thomas, second Lord Lyttelton (1744-1779), the "wicked Lord Lyttelton," appears in W. Combe's 'Diaboliad' as the "Peer of words, Well known,--and honour'd in the House of Lords,-- Whose Eloquence all Parallel defies!" who claims the throne of Hell as the worst of living men. His 'Poems by a Young Nobleman lately deceased' (published in 1780, after his death) may have helped Dallas in his allusion. He was the hero and the victim of the famous ghost story which Dr. Johnson was "willing to believe."] [Footnote 3: 'The Critical Review' (3rd series, vol. xii. pp. 47-53) specially praises lines "On Leaving Newstead Abbey" and "Childish Recollections."] [Footnote 4: In 'Monthly Literary Recreations' (July, 1807, pp. 67-71), "Childish Recollections" and "The Tear" are particularly commended. "As friends to the cause of literature, we have thought proper not to disguise our opinion of his powers, that we might alter his determination, and lead him once more to the Castalian fount."] [Footnote 5: 'The Anti-Jacobin Review' (December, 1807, pp. 407, 408) says that the poems "exhibit strong proofs of genius, accompanied by a lively but chastened imagination, a classical taste, and a benevolent heart."] [Footnote 6: _The Eclectic Review_ (vol. iii. part ii. pp. 989-993) begins its review thus: "The notice we take of this publication regards the author rather than the book; the book is a collection of juvenile pieces, some of very moderate merit, and others of very questionable morality; but the author is a _nobleman_!"] [Footnote 7: Characters in the novel called _Percival_.] 88.--To Robert Charles Dallas. Dorant's, January 21, 1808. Sir,--Whenever leisure and inclination permit me the pleasure of a visit, I shall feel truly gratified in a personal acquaintance with one whose mind has been long known to me in his writings. You are so far correct in your conjecture, that I am a member of the University of Cambridge, where I shall take my degree of A.M. this term; but were reasoning, eloquence, or virtue, the objects of my search, Granta is not their metropolis, nor is the place of her situation an "El Dorado," far less an Utopia. The intellects of her children are as stagnant as her Cam, and their pursuits limited to the church--not of Christ, but of the nearest benefice. As to my reading, I believe I may aver, without hyperbole, it has been tolerably extensive in the historical department; so that few nations exist, or have existed, with whose records I am not in some degree acquainted, from Herodotus down to Gibbon. Of the classics, I know about as much as most school-boys after a discipline of thirteen years; of the law of the land as much as enables me to keep "within the statute"--to use the poacher's vocabulary. I did study the "Spirit of Laws" [1] and the Law of Nations; but when I saw the latter violated every month, I gave up my attempts at so useless an accomplishment:--of geography, I have seen more land on maps than I should wish to traverse on foot;--of mathematics, enough to give me the headach without clearing the part affected;--of philosophy, astronomy, and metaphysics, more than I can comprehend; and of common sense so little, that I mean to leave a Byronian prize at each of our "Almæ Matres" for the first discovery,--though I rather fear that of the longitude will precede it. I once thought myself a philosopher, and talked nonsense with great decorum: I defied pain, and preached up equanimity. For some time this did very well, for no one was in _pain_ for me but my friends, and none lost their patience but my hearers. At last, a fall from my horse convinced me bodily suffering was an evil; and the worst of an argument overset my maxims and my temper at the same moment: so I quitted Zeno for Aristippus, and conceive that pleasure constitutes the [Greek (transliterated): to kalon]. In morality, I prefer Confucius to the Ten Commandments, and Socrates to St. Paul (though the two latter agree in their opinion of marriage). In religion, I favour the Catholic emancipation, but do not acknowledge the Pope; and I have refused to take the sacrament, because I do not think eating bread or drinking wine from the hand of an earthly vicar will make me an inheritor of heaven. I hold virtue, in general, or the virtues severally, to be only in the disposition, each a _feeling_, not a principle. I believe truth the prime attribute of the Deity, and death an eternal sleep, at least of the body. You have here a brief compendium of the sentiments of the _wicked_ George, Lord Byron; and, till I get a new suit, you will perceive I am badly cloathed. I remain yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: In Byron's "List of historical writers whose works I have perused in different languages" ('Life', pp. 46, 47), occurs the name of Montesquieu. It is to his 'Esprit des Lois' that Byron refers.] 89.--To John Hanson. Dorant's, January 25th, 1808. Sir,--The picture I have drawn of my finances is unfortunately a true one, and I find the colours may be heightened but not improved by time.--I have inclosed the receipt, and return my thanks for the loan, which shall be repaid the first opportunity. In the concluding part of my last I gave my reasons for not troubling you with my society at present, but when I can either communicate or receive pleasure, I shall not be long absent. Yrs., etc., BYRON. P.S.--I have received a letter from Whitehead, of course you know the contents, and must act as you think proper. 90.--To John Hanson. Dorant's, January 25th, 1808. Dear Sir,--Some time ago I gave Mitchell the sadler [_sic_] a letter for you, requesting his bill might be paid from the Balance of the Quarter you obliged me by advancing. If he has received this you will further oblige me by paying what remains, I believe somewhere about five pounds, if so much. You will confer a favour upon me by the loan of twenty. I will endeavour to repay it next week, as I have immediate occasion for that sum, and I should not require it of you could I obtain it elsewhere. I am now in my one and twentieth year, and cannot command as many pounds. To Cambridge I cannot go without paying my bills, and at present I could as soon compass the National Debt; in London I must not remain, nor shall I, when I can procure a trifle to take me out of it. Home I have none; and if there was a possibility of getting out of the Country, I would gladly avail myself of it. But even that is denied me, my Debts amount to three thousand, three hundred to Jews, eight hundred to Mrs. B. of Nottingham, to coachmaker and other tradesmen a thousand more, and these must be much increased, before they are lessened. Such is the prospect before me, which is by no means brightened by ill-health. I would have called on you, but I have neither spirits to enliven myself or others, or inclination to bring a gloomy face to spoil a group of happy ones. I remain, Your obliged and obedt. sert., BYRON. P.S.--Your answer to the former part will oblige, as I shall be reduced to a most unpleasant dilemma if it does not arrive. 91.--To James De Bathe. [1] Dorant's Hotel, February 2d, 1808. My Dear De Bathe,--Last Night I saw your Father and Brother, the former I have not the pleasure of knowing, but the latter informed me _you_ came to Town on _Saturday_ and returned _yesterday_. I have received a pressing Invitation from Henry Drury to pay him a visit; in his Letter he mentions a very old _Friend_ of yours, who told him he would join my party, if I could inform him on what day I meant to go over. This Friend you will readily conclude to be a Lord _B_.; but not the one who now addresses you. Shall I bring him to you? and insure a welcome for myself which perhaps might not otherwise be the case. This will not be for a Fortnight to come. I am waiting for Long, who is now at Chatham, when he arrives we shall probably drive down and dine with Drury. I confess Harrow has lost most of its charms for me. I do not know if Delawarr is still there; but, with the exception of yourself and the Earl, I shall find myself among Strangers. Long has a Brother at Butler's, and all his predilections remain in full force; mine are weakened, if not destroyed, and though I can safely say, I never knew a Friend out of Harrow, I question whether I have one left in it. You leave Harrow in July; may I ask what is your future Destination? In January _1809_ I shall be twenty one & in the Spring of the same year proceed abroad, not on the usual Tour, but a route of a more extensive Description. What say you? are you disposed for a view of the Peloponnesus and a voyage through the Archipelago? I am merely in jest with regard to you, but very serious with regard to my own Intention which is fixed on the _Pilgrimage_, unless some political view or accident induce me to postpone it. Adieu! if you have Leisure, I shall be as happy to hear from you, as I would have been to have _seen_ you. Believe me, Yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Sir James Wynne De Bathe (1792-1828) succeeded his father as second baronet, February 22, 1808. "Clare, Dorset, Charles Gordon, De Bathe, Claridge, and John Wingfield, were my juniors and favourites, whom I spoilt by indulgence" ('Life', p. 21). De Bathe's name does not appear in the Harrow School lists. A Captain De Bathe interested himself in the case of Medora Leigh in 1843 (see Charles Mackay's 'Medora Leigh', pp. 92, 93, and elsewhere in the volume).] 92.--To William Harness. [1] Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Feb. II, 1808. My Dear Harness,--As I had no opportunity of returning my verbal thanks, I trust you will accept my written acknowledgments for the compliment you were pleased to pay some production of my unlucky muse last November,--I am induced to do this not less from the pleasure I feel in the praise of an old schoolfellow, than from justice to you, for I had heard the story with some slight variations. Indeed, when we met this morning, Wingfield [2] had not undeceived me; but he will tell you that I displayed no resentment in mentioning what I had heard, though I was not sorry to discover the truth. Perhaps you hardly recollect, some years ago, a short, though, for the time, a warm friendship between us. Why it was not of longer duration I know not. I have still a gift of yours in my possession, that must always prevent me from forgetting it. I also remember being favoured with the perusal of many of your compositions, and several other circumstances very pleasant in their day, which I will not force upon your memory, but entreat you to believe me, with much regret at their short continuance, and a hope they are not irrevocable, Yours very sincerely, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: William Harness (1790-1869), son of Dr. J. Harness, Commissioner of the Transport Board, was educated at Harrow and Christ's College, Cambridge. Ordained in 1812, he was, from 1823 to 1826, Curate at Hampstead. "I could quiz you heartily," writes Mrs. Franklin to Miss Mitford (September 6, 1824), "for having told me in three successive letters of Mr. Harness's chapel at Hampstead. I understand he now lives a very retired life" ('The Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford', vol. i. p. 61). From 1826 to 1844 he was Incumbent of Regent Square Chapel; Minister of Brompton Chapel (1844-47); Perpetual Curate (1849-69) of All Saints', Knightsbridge, which he built from subscriptions raised by himself. He is described by Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. iii. p. 212) as "a clergyman with Oxford propensities, and a worshipper of the heathen Muses as well as of the Christian Graces;" and again (iii. 326), as "a man of taste, of High Church principles and liberal in spirit." Miss Mitford ('The Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford', vol. ii. p. 289) writes that "he has neither Catholic nor Puseyite tendencies,--only it is a large and liberal mind like Bishop Stanley's, believing good men and good Christians may exist among Papists, and will be as safe there as if they were Protestants." Again (vol. ii. p. 295) she says of him: "Besides his varied accomplishments, and his admirable goodness and kindness, he has all sorts of amusing peculiarities. With a temper never known to fail, an indulgence the largest, a tenderness as of a woman, he has the habit of talking like a cynic! and with more learning, ancient and modern, and a wider grasp of literature than almost any one I know, professes to read nothing and care for nothing but 'Shakespeare and the Bible.' He is the finest reader of both that I ever heard. His preaching, which has been so much admired, is too rapid, but his reading the prayers is perfection. The best parish priest in London, and the truest Christian." Miss Mitford's praise may be exaggerated; but she had known Harness for a lifetime. Harness edited 'Shakespeare' (1825, 8 vols.), as well as 'Massinger' (1830) and 'Ford' (1831); wrote for the 'Quarterly' and 'Blackwood'; and published a number of sermons, including 'The Wrath of Cain', 'A Boyle Lecture' (1822). He wrote 'The Life of Mary Russell Mitford' (1870), in collaboration with the Rev. A. G. L'Estrange, whose 'Life of the Rev. W. Harness' is the chief authority for his career. His friendship with Byron began at Harrow ('Life', pp. 23, 24), where Byron, who was older than Harness, took pity upon his lameness and weakness, and protected him from the bullies of the school. At a later period they became estranged, as is shown by the following letter from Byron to Harness ('Life', pp. 24, 25):-- "We both seem perfectly to recollect, with a mixture of pleasure and regret, the hours we once passed together, and I assure you, most sincerely, they are numbered among the happiest of my brief chronicle of enjoyment. I am now 'getting into years', that is to say, I was 'twenty' a month ago, and another year will send me into the world to run my career of folly with the rest. I was then just fourteen,--you were almost the first of my Harrow friends, certainly the 'first' in my esteem, if not in date; but an absence from Harrow for some time, shortly after, and new connections on your side, and the difference in our conduct (an advantage decidedly in your favour) from that turbulent and riotous disposition of mine, which impelled me into every species of mischief,--all these circumstances combined to destroy an intimacy, which affection urged me to continue, and memory compels me to regret. But there is not a circumstance attending that period, hardly a sentence we exchanged, which is not impressed on my mind at this moment. I need not say more,--this assurance alone must convince you, had I considered them as trivial, they would have been less indelible. How well I recollect the perusal of your 'first flights'! There is another circumstance you do not know;--the 'first lines' I ever attempted at Harrow were addressed to 'you'. You were to have seen them; but Sinclair had the copy in his possession when we went home;--and, on our return, we were 'strangers'. They were destroyed, and certainly no great loss; but you will perceive from this circumstance my opinions at an age when we cannot be hypocrites. I have dwelt longer on this theme than I intended, and I shall now conclude with what I ought to have begun. We were once friends,--nay, we have always been so, for our separation was the effect of chance, not of dissension. I do not know how far our destinations in life may throw us together, but if opportunity and inclination allow you to waste a thought on such a hare-brained being as myself, you will find me at least sincere, and not so bigoted to my faults as to involve others in the consequences. Will you sometimes write to me? I do not ask it often; and, if we meet, let us be what we 'should' be, and what we 'were'." The following is Harness's own account of the circumstances in which Letter 92 was written:-- "A coolness afterwards arose, which Byron alludes to in the first of the accompanying letters, and we never spoke during the last year of his remaining at school, nor till after the publication of his 'Hours of Idleness'. Lord Byron was then at Cambridge; I, in one of the upper forms, at Harrow. In an English theme I happened to quote from the volume, and mention it with praise. It was reported to Byron that I had, on the contrary, spoken slightingly of his work and of himself, for the purpose of conciliating the favour of Dr. Butler, the master, who had been severely satirised in one of the poems. Wingfield, who was afterwards Lord Powerscourt, a mutual friend of Byron and myself, disabused him of the error into which he had been led, and this was the occasion of the first letter of the collection. Our intimacy was renewed, and continued from that time till his going abroad. Whatever faults Lord Byron might have had towards others, to myself he was always uniformly affectionate. I have many slights and neglects towards him to reproach myself with; but I cannot call to mind a single instance of caprice or unkindness, in the whole course of our friendship, to allege against him." In December, 1811, Harness paid Byron a visit at Newstead, the only other guest being Francis Hodgson, who, like Harness, was not then ordained. He thus describes the visit ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 219-221):-- "When Byron returned, with the MS. of the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold' in his portmanteau, I paid him a visit at Newstead. It was winter--dark, dreary weather--the snow upon the ground; and a straggling, gloomy, depressive, partially inhabited place the Abbey was. Those rooms, however, which had been fitted up for residence were so comfortably appointed, glowing with crimson hangings, and cheerful with capacious fires, that one soon lost the melancholy feeling of being domiciled in the wing of an extensive ruin. Many tales are related or fabled of the orgies which, in the poet's early youth, had made clamorous these ancient halls of the Byrons. I can only say that nothing in the shape of riot or excess occurred when I was there. The only other visitor was Dr. Hodgson, the translator of 'Juvenal', and nothing could be more quiet and regular than the course of our days. Byron was retouching, as the sheets passed through the press, the stanzas of 'Childe Harold'. Hodgson was at work in getting out the ensuing number of the 'Monthly Review', of which he was principal editor. I was reading for my degree. When we met, our general talk was of poets and poetry--of who could or who could not write; but it occasionally rose into very serious discussions on religion. Byron, from his early education in Scotland, had been taught to identify the principles of Christianity with the extreme dogmas of Calvinism. His mind had thus imbibed a most miserable prejudice, which appeared to be the only obstacle to his hearty acceptance of the Gospel. Of this error we were most anxious to disabuse him. The chief weight of the argument rested with Hodgson, who was older, a good deal, than myself. I cannot even now--at a distance of more than fifty years--recall those conversations without a deep feeling of admiration for the judicious zeal and affectionate earnestness (often speaking with tears in his eyes) which Dr. Hodgson evinced in his advocacy of the truth. The only difference, except perhaps in the subjects talked about, between our life at Newstead Abbey and that of the great families around us, was the hours we kept. It was, as I have said, winter, and the days were cold; and, as nothing tempted us to rise early, we got up late. This flung the routine of the day rather backward, and we did not go early to bed. My visit to Newstead lasted about three weeks, when I returned to Cambridge to take my degree." To Harness Byron intended to dedicate 'Childe Harold', but feared to do so, "lest it should injure him in his profession."] [Footnote 2: Three Wingfields, sons of Lord Powerscourt, entered Harrow in February, 1801. The Hon. Richard Wingfield succeeded his father as fifth Viscount Powerscourt in 1809, and died in 1823. Edward became a clergyman and died of cholera in 1825; John, Byron's friend, the "Alonzo" of "Childish Recollections" entered the Coldstream Guards, and died of fever at Coimbra, May 14, 1811. "Of all human beings, I was perhaps at one time most attached to poor Wingfield, who died at Coimbra, 1811, before I returned to England" ('Life', p. 21). To his memory Byron wrote the lines in 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xci.] 93.--To J. Ridge. [Mr. Ridge, Newark.] Dorant's Hotel, February 21st, 1808. Mr. Ridge,--Something has occurred which will make considerable alteration in my new volume. You must _go back_ and _cut out_ the whole _poem_ of 'Childish Recollections'. [1] Of course you will be surprized at this, and perhaps displeased, but it must be _done_. I cannot help its detaining you a _month_ longer, but there will be enough in the volume without it, and as I am now reconciled to Dr. Butler I cannot allow my satire to appear against him, nor can I alter that part relating to him without spoiling the whole. You will therefore omit the whole poem. Send me an _immediate_ answer to this letter but _obey_ the directions. It is better that my reputation should suffer as a poet by the omission than as a man of honour by the insertion. Etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: For "Childish Recollections," see 'Poems', vol.i. p.101. A previous letter, written to Ridge from Dorant's Hotel, January 9, 1808, illustrates the rapidity with which Byron's moods changed. In this case, the lines on "Euryalus" (Lord Delawarr: see page 41 [Letter 13], [Foot]note 1 [5]) were to be omitted:-- "Mr. Ridge,--In Childish Recollections omit the whole character of 'Euryalus', and insert instead the lines to 'Florio' as a part of the poem, and send me a proof in due course. "Etc. etc., "BYRON. "P.S.--The first line of the passage to be omitted begins 'Shall fair Euryalus,' etc., and ends at 'Toil for more;' omit the _whole_."] CHAPTER III. 1808-1809. 'ENGLISH BARDS, AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS.' 94.--To the Rev. John Becher. [1] Dorant's Hotel, Feb. 26, 1808. MY DEAR BECHER,--Now for Apollo. I am happy that you still retain your predilection, and that the public allow me some share of praise. I am of so much importance that a most violent attack is preparing for me in the next number of the 'Edinburgh Review'. [2] This I had from the authority of a friend who has seen the proof and manuscript of the critique. You know the system of the Edinburgh gentlemen is universal attack. They praise none; and neither the public nor the author expects praise from them. It is, however, something to be noticed, as they profess to pass judgment only on works requiring the public attention. You will see this when it comes out;--it is, I understand, of the most unmerciful description; but I am aware of it, and hope 'you' will not be hurt by its severity. Tell Mrs. Byron not to be out of humour with them, and to prepare her mind for the greatest hostility on their part. It will do no injury whatever, and I trust her mind will not be ruffled. They defeat their object by indiscriminate abuse, and they never praise except the partisans of Lord Holland and Co. [3] It is nothing to be abused when Southey, Moore, Lauderdale, Strangford, and Payne Knight, share the same fate. [4] I am sorry--but "Childish Recollections" must be suppressed during this edition. I have altered, at your suggestion, the _obnoxious allusions_ in the sixth stanza of my last ode. And now, my dear Becher, I must return my best acknowledgments for the interest you have taken in me and my poetical bantlings, and I shall ever be proud to show how much I esteem the _advice_ and the _adviser._ Believe me, most truly, etc. [Footnote 1: The Rev. John Thomas Becher (1770-1848), educated at Westminster and Christ Church, Oxford, was appointed Vicar of Rumpton, Notts., and Midsomer Norton, 1801; Prebendary of Southwell in 1818; and chairman of Newark Quarter Sessions in 1816. In all matters relating to the condition of the poor he made himself an acknowledged authority. He was the originator of a house of correction, a Friendly Society, and a workhouse at Southwell. He was one of the "supervisors" appointed to organize the Milbank Penitentiary, which was opened in June, 1816. On Friendly Societies he published three works (1824, 1825, and 1826), in which, 'inter alia', he sought to prove that labourers, paying sixpence a week from the time they were twenty, could secure not only sick-pay, but an annuity of five shillings a week at the age of sixty-five. His 'Anti-Pauper System' (1828) pointed to indoor relief as the true cure to pauperism. It was by Becher's advice that Byron destroyed his 'Fugitive Pieces'. No one who has read the silly verses which Becher condemned, can doubt that the counsel was wise (see Byron's Lines to Becher, 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 112-114, 114-116, 247-251). The following are the lines in which Becher expostulated with Byron on the mischievous tendency of his verses:-- "Say, Byron! why compel me to deplore Talents designed for choice poetic lore, Deigning to varnish scenes, that shun the day, With guilty lustre, and with amorous lay? Forbear to taint the Virgin's spotless mind, In Power though mighty, be in Mercy kind, Bid the chaste Muse diffuse her hallowed light, So shall thy Page enkindle pure delight, Enhance thy native worth, and proudly twine, With Britain's Honors, those that are divine." [Footnote 2: See, for the Review itself, Appendix II. "As an author," writes Byron to Hobhouse, February 27, 1808, "I am cut to atoms by the E-----'Review;' it is just out, and has completely demolished my little fabric of fame. This is rather scurvy treatment for a Whig Review; but politics and poetry are different things, and I am no adept in either. I therefore submit in silence." Among the less sentimental effects of this Review upon Byron's mind, he used to mention that, on the day he read it, he drank three bottles of claret to his own share after dinner; that nothing, however, relieved him till he had given vent to his indignation in rhyme, and that "after the first twenty lines, he felt himself considerably better" (Moore, 'Life', p. 69). "I was sitting with Charles Lamb," H. Crabb Robinson told De Morgan, "when Wordsworth came in, with fume in his countenance and the 'Edinburgh Review' in his hand. 'I have no patience with these Reviewers,' he said; 'here is a young man, a lord, and a minor, it appears, who publishes a little volume of poetry; and these fellows attack him, as if no one may write poetry unless he lives in a garret. The young man will do something, if he goes on.' When I became acquainted with Lady Byron, I told her this story, and she said, 'Ah! if Byron had known that, he would never have attacked Wordsworth. He once went out to dinner where Wordsworth was to be; when he came home, I said, "Well, how did the young poet get on with the old one?" "To tell you the truth," said he, "I had but one feeling from the beginning of the visit to the end--'reverence!'"'" ('Diary,' iii. 488.)] [Footnote 3: That is to say, the 'Edinburgh Review' praised only Whigs. Henry Richard Vassall Fox, third Lord Holland (1773-1840), the "nephew of Fox, and friend of Grey," married, in 1797, Elizabeth Vassall, the divorced wife of Sir Godfrey Webster. He held the office of Lord Privy Seal in the Ministry of All the Talents (October, 1806, to March, 1807). During the long exclusion of the Whigs from office (1807-32), when there seemed as little chance of a Whig Administration as of "a thaw in Nova Zembla," Holland, in the House of Lords, supported Catholic Emancipation, advocated the emancipation of slaves, opposed the detention of Napoleon as a prisoner of war, and moved the abolition of capital punishment for minor offences. From November, 1830, to his death, with brief intervals, he was Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, in the administrations of Lord Grey and of Lord Melbourne. Outside the House he kept the party together by his great social gifts. An admirable talker, 'raconteur', and mimic, with a wit's relish for wit, the charm of his good temper was irresistible. "In my whole experience of our race," said Lord Brougham, "I never saw such a temper, nor anything that at all resembled it" ('Statesmen of the Time of George III.', ed. 1843, 3rd series, p. 341). Greville speaks of "his imperturbable temper, unflagging vivacity and spirit, his inexhaustible fund of anecdote, extensive information, sprightly wit" ('Memoirs', iii. 446). Leslie, in his 'Autobiographical Recollections' (vol. i. p. 100), adds the tribute that "he was, without any exception, the very best-tempered man I have ever known." Lord John Russell (preface to vol. vi. of the 'Life of Thomas Moore') says that "he won without seeming to court, instructed without seeming to teach, and he amused without labouring to be witty." George Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 264) "never met a man who so disarms opposition in discussion, as I have often seen him, without yielding an iota, merely by the unpretending simplicity and sincerity of his manner." Sydney Smith ('Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith', chap. x. p. 187) considered that his "career was one great, incessant, and unrewarded effort to resist oppression, promote justice, and restrain the abuse of power. He had an invincible hatred of tyranny and oppression, and the most ardent love of public happiness and attachment to public rights." A lover of art, a scholar, a linguist, he wrote memoirs, satires, and verses, collected materials for a life of his uncle, Charles James Fox, and translated both from the Spanish and Italian. His 'Account of the Life and Writings of Lope Felix de Vega Carpio' (1806) was reviewed favourably by the 'Edinburgh Review' for October, 1806. Byron attacked him in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' (lines 540-559, and 'notes'), on the supposition that Lord Holland had instigated the article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on 'Hours of Idleness' (January, 1808). In 1812, learning his mistake, and hearing from Rogers that Lord and Lady Holland desired the satire to be withdrawn, he gave orders that the whole impression should be burned (see 'Introduction to English Sards, and Scotch Reviewers, Poems,' vol. i. p. 294). In his 'Journal' (November 17, 1813) he writes, "I have had a most kind letter from Lord Holland on 'The Bride of Abydos,' which he likes, and so does Lady H. This is very good-natured in both, from whom I do not deserve any quarter. Yet I 'did' think at the time, that my cause of enmity proceeded from Holland House, and am glad I was wrong, and wish I had not been in such a hurry with that confounded Satire, of which I would suppress even the memory; but people, now they can't get it, make a fuss, I verily believe out of contradiction."] [Footnote 4: In the early numbers of the 'Edinburgh Review' reviews were published of Southey's 'Thalaba' and 'Madoc;' of Moore's 'Odes of Anacreon' and 'Poems;' of Lord Lauderdale's 'Inquiry into the Nature and Origin of Public Wealth;' of Lord Strangford's 'Translations from Camoëns;' of Payne Knight's 'Principles of Taste.'] 95.--To the Rev. John Becher. Dorant's, March 28, 1808. I have lately received a copy of the new edition from Ridge, and it is high time for me to return my best thanks to you for the trouble you have taken in the superintendence. This I do most sincerely, and only regret that Ridge has not seconded you as I could wish,--at least, in the bindings, paper, etc., of the copy he sent to me. Perhaps those for the public may be more respectable in such articles. You have seen the 'Edinburgh Review', of course. I regret that Mrs. Byron is so much annoyed. For my own part, these "paper bullets of the brain" have only taught me to stand fire; and, as I have been lucky enough upon the whole, my repose and appetite are not discomposed. Pratt, [1] the gleaner, author, poet, etc., etc., addressed a long rhyming epistle to me on the subject, by way of consolation; but it was not well done, so I do not send it, though the name of the man might make it go down. The E. Rs. have not performed their task well; at least the literati tell me this; and I think _I_ could write a more sarcastic critique on _myself_ than any yet published. For instance, instead of the remark,--ill-natured enough, but not keen,--about Macpherson, I (quoad reviewers) could have said, "Alas, this imitation only proves the assertion of Dr. Johnson, that many men, women, and _children_, could write such poetry as Ossian's." [2] I am _thin_ and in exercise. During the spring or summer I trust we shall meet. I hear Lord Ruthyn leaves Newstead in April. As soon as he quits it for ever, I wish much you would take a ride over, survey the mansion, and give me your candid opinion on the most advisable mode of proceeding with regard to the _house_. _Entre nous_, I am cursedly dipped; my debts, _every_ thing inclusive, will be nine or ten thousand before I am twenty-one. But I have reason to think my property will turn out better than general expectation may conceive. Of Newstead I have little hope or care; but Hanson, my agent, intimated my Lancashire property was worth three Newsteads. I believe we have it hollow; though the defendants are protracting the surrender, if possible, till after my majority, for the purpose of forming some arrangement with me, thinking I shall probably prefer a sum in hand to a reversion. Newstead I may _sell_;--perhaps I will not,--though of that more anon. I will come down in May or June. Yours most truly, etc. [Footnote 1: Samuel Jackson Pratt (1749-1814), actor, itinerant lecturer, poet of the Cruscan school, tragedian, and novelist, published a large number of volumes. His 'Gleanings' in England, Holland, Wales, and Westphalia attained some reputation. His 'Sympathy, a Poem' (1788) passed through several editions. His stage-name, as well as his 'nom de plume', was Courtney Melmoth. He was the discoverer and patron of the cobbler-poet, Blacket (see also 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', line 319, note 2).] [Footnote 2: "Dr. Johnson's reply to the friend who asked him if any man 'living' could have written such a book, is well known: 'Yes, sir; many men, many women, and many children.' I inquired of him myself if this story was authentic, and he said it was" (Mrs. Piozzi, 'Johnsoniana', p. 84).--[Moore.]] 96.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Six Mile Bottom, Newmarket, Cambridge.] Dorant's, [Tuesday], April 26th, 1808. My dear Augusta,--I regret being compelled to trouble you again, but it is necessary I should request you will inform Col. Leigh, if the P's consent is not obtained in a few days, it will be of little service to Mr. Wallace, who is ordered to join the 17th in ten days, the Regiment is stationed in the East Indies, and, as he has already served there nine years, he is unwilling to return. I shall feel particularly obliged by Col. Leigh's interference, as I think from his influence the Prince's consent might be obtained. I am not much in the habit of asking favours, or pressing exertion, but, on this occasion, my wish to save Wallace must plead my excuse. I have been introduced to Julia Byron [1] by Trevannion at the Opera; she is pretty, but I do not admire her; there is too much Byron in her countenance, I hear she is clever, a very great defect in a woman, who becomes conceited in course; altogether I have not much inclination to improve the acquaintance. I have seen my old friend George, [1] who will prove the best of the family, and will one day be Lord B. I do not much care how soon. Pray name my nephew after his uncle; it must be a nephew, (I _won't_ have a _niece,_) I will make him my _heir,_ for I shall never marry, unless I am ruined, and then his _inheritance_ would not be great. George will have the title and his _laurels;_ my property, (if any is left in five years time,) I can leave to whom I please, and your son shall be the legatee. Adieu. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: George Anson Byron, R.N. (1758-1793), second son of Admiral the Hon. John Byron, by his wife Sophia Trevanion, and brother of Byron's father, married Henrietta Charlotte Dallas, by whom he had a son, George, who was at this time in the Royal Navy, and in 1824 succeeded as seventh Lord Byron; and a daughter, Julia Byron, who married, in 1817, the Rev. Robert Heath. Of his cousin George, Byron writes in his 'Journal' for November 30, 1813 ('Life,' p. 209): "I like George much more than most people like their heirs. He is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor." Again on December 1, 1813, he says, "I hope he will be an admiral, and, perhaps, Lord Byron into the bargain. If he would but marry, I would engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship." George Anson Byron and his wife both died in 1793.] 97.--To the Rev. John Becher. Newstead Abbey, Notts., Sept. 14, 1808. My dear Becher,--I am much obliged to you for your inquiries, and shall profit by them accordingly. I am going to get up a play here; the hall will constitute a most admirable theatre. I have settled the 'dram. pers.,' and can do without ladies, as I have some young friends who will make tolerable substitutes for females, and we only want three male characters, beside Mr. Hobhouse and myself, for the play we have fixed on, which will be the 'Revenge.' [1] Pray direct Nicholson the carpenter to come over to me immediately, and inform me what day you will dine and pass the night here. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Young's tragedy (1721), from which one of Byron's Harrow speeches in the character of "Zanga" was taken (see page 27 [Letter 10], [Foot]note 1).] 98.--To John Jackson. [1] N. A., Notts., September 18, 1808. Dear Jack,--I wish you would inform me what has been done by Jekyll, at No. 40, Sloane Square, concerning the pony I returned as unsound. I have also to request you will call on Louch at Brompton, and inquire what the devil he meant by sending such an insolent letter to me at Brighton; and at the same time tell him I by no means can comply with the charge he has made for things pretended to be damaged. Ambrose behaved most scandalously about the pony. You may tell Jekyll if he does not refund the money, I shall put the affair into my lawyer's hands. Five and twenty guineas is a sound price for a pony, and by God, if it costs me five hundred pounds, I will make an example of Mr. Jekyll, and that immediately, unless the cash is returned. Believe me, dear Jack, etc. [Footnote 1: John Jackson (1769-1845), better known as "Gentleman" Jackson, was champion of England from 1795 to 1803. His three fights were against Fewterel (1788), George Ingleston (1789), and Mendoza (1795). In his fight at Ingatestone with "George the Brewer," he slipped on the wet stage, and, falling, dislocated his ankle and broke his leg. His fight with Mendoza at Hornchurch, Essex, was decided in nine rounds. At the end of the third round "the odds rose two to one on Mendoza." In the fifth, Jackson "seized hold of his opponent by the hair, and served him out in that defenceless state till he fell to the ground." The fight was practically over, and the odds at once turned in favour of Jackson, who thenceforward had matters all his own way. Even if Mendoza had worn a wig, he probably would have succumbed to Jackson, who was a more powerful man with a longer reach, and as scientific, though not so ornamental, a boxer. In 1803 Jackson retired from the ring. "I can see him now" ('Pugilistica,' vol. i. 98), "as I saw him in '84, walking down Holborn Hill towards Smithfield. He had on a scarlet coat worked in gold at the button-holes, ruffles, and frill of fine lace, a small white stock, no collar (they were not then invented), a looped hat with a broad black band, buff knee-breeches, and long silk strings, striped white silk stockings, pumps, and paste buckles; his waistcoat was pale blue satin, sprigged with white. It was impossible to look on his fine ample chest, his noble shoulders, his waist, (if anything too small,) his large, but not too large hips, ... his limbs, his balustrade calf and beautifully turned, but not over delicate ankle, his firm foot, and peculiarly small hand, without thinking that nature had sent him on earth as a model. On he went at a good five miles and a half an hour, the envy of all men, and the admiration of all women." His rooms at 13, Bond Street, became the head-quarters of the Pugilistic Club, with whose initials, P.C., the ropes and stakes at prize-rings were marked (see page 99 [Letter 51], [Foot]note 1; and Pierce Egan's 'Life in London,' pp. 252-254). From 1803 to 1824, when he retired from the profession, he was, as Pierce Egan says of him (p. 254), unrivalled as "a teacher of the Art of 'self-defence.'" His character stood high. "From the highest to the lowest person in the Sporting World, his 'decision' is law." "This gentleman," says Moore, in a note to 'Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress' (p. 13), "as he well deserves to be called, from the correctness of his conduct and the peculiar urbanity of his manners, forms that useful link between the amateurs and the professors of pugilism, which, when broken, it will be difficult, if not wholly impossible, to replace." He was Byron's guest at Cambridge, Newstead, and Brighton; received from him many letters; and is described by him, in a note to 'Don Juan' (Canto XI. stanza xix.), as "my old friend and corporeal pastor and master." Jackson's monument in Brompton Cemetery, a couchant lion and a mourning athlete, was subscribed for "by several noblemen and gentlemen, to record their admiration of one whose excellence of heart and incorruptible worth endeared him to all who knew him."] 99.--To John Jackson. N. A., Notts., October 4, 1808. You will make as good a bargain as possible with this Master Jekyll, if he is not a gentleman. If he is a _gentleman_, inform me, for I shall take very different steps. If he is not, you must get what you can of the money, for I have too much business on hand at present to commence an action. Besides, Ambrose is the man who ought to refund,--but I have done with him. You can settle with L. out of the balance, and dispose of the bidets, etc., as you best can. I should be very glad to see you here; but the house is filled with workmen, and undergoing a thorough repair. I hope, however, to be more fortunate before many months have elapsed. If you see Bold Webster, [1] remember me to him, and tell him I have to regret Sydney, who has perished, I fear, in my rabbit warren, for we have seen nothing of him for the last fortnight. Adieu. [2] Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Sir Godfrey Vassal Webster (1788-1836).] [Footnote 2: A third letter to Jackson, written from Newstead, December 12, 1808, runs as follows:-- "My Dear Jack,--You will get the greyhound from the owner at any price, and as many more of the same breed (male or female) as you can collect. "Tell D'Egville his dress shall be returned--I am obliged to him for the pattern. I am sorry you should have so much trouble, but I was not aware of the difficulty of procuring the animals in question. I shall have finished part of my mansion in a few weeks, and, if you can pay me a visit at Christmas, I shall be very glad to see you. Believe me, etc." In a bill, for 1808, sent in to Byron by Messrs. Finn and Johnson, tailors, of Nottingham, appears the following item: "Masquerade Jackett with belt and rich Turban, £11:9:6." This is probably the dress made from d'Egville's pattern. James d'Egville learned dancing from Gaetano Vestris, well known at the Court of Frederick the Great, and from Gardel, the Court teacher of Marie Antoinette. He, his brother Louis, and his sister Madame Michau, were the most famous teachers of the day in England. The real name of the family was Hervey; that of d'Egville was assumed for professional purposes. James d'Egville enjoyed a great reputation, both as an actor and a dancer, in Paris and London. He was Acting-Manager and Director of the King's Theatre (October, 1807, to January, 1808), but was dismissed, owing to a disagreement between the managers, in the course of which he was accused of French proclivities and republican principles (see Waters's 'Opera-Glass', pp. 133-145). A man of taste and cultivation, he produced some musical extravaganzas and ballets; 'e.g. Don Quichotte ou les Noces de Gamache, L'Elèvement d'Adonis, The Rape of Dejanira', etc. A coloured print, in the possession of his great-nephew, Mr. Louis d'Egville, represents him, with Deshayes, in one of his most successful appearances, the ballet-pantomime of 'Achille et Deidamie'. He was an enthusiastic sportsman.] 100.--To his Mother. Newstead Abbey, Notts, October 7, 1808. Dear Madam,--I have no beds for the Hansons or any body else at present. The Hansons sleep at Mansfield. I do not know that I resemble Jean Jacques Rousseau. [1] I have no ambition to be like so illustrious a madman--but this I know, that I shall live in my own manner, and as much alone as possible. When my rooms are ready I shall be glad to see you: at present it would be improper, and uncomfortable to both parties. You can hardly object to my rendering my mansion habitable, notwithstanding my departure for Persia in March (or May at farthest), since _you_ will be _tenant_ till my return; and in case of any accident (for I have already arranged my will to be drawn up the moment I am twenty-one), I have taken care you shall have the house and manor for _life_, besides a sufficient income. So you see my improvements are not entirely selfish. As I have a friend here, we will go to the Infirmary Ball on the 12th; we will drink tea with Mrs. Byron [2] at eight o'clock, and expect to see you at the ball. If that lady will allow us a couple of rooms to dress in, we shall be highly obliged:--if we are at the ball by ten or eleven, it will be time enough, and we shall return to Newstead about three or four. Adieu. Believe me, yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', quoted by Moore ('Life', p. 72), he thus refers to the comparison with Rousseau:-- "My mother, before I was twenty, would have it that I was like Rousseau, and Madame de Stael used to say so too in 1813, and the 'Edinburgh Review' has something of the sort in its critique on the fourth canto of 'Childe Harold'. I can't see any point of resemblance:--he wrote prose, I verse: he was of the people; I of the aristocracy: he was a philosopher; I am none: he published his first work at forty; I mine at eighteen: his first essay brought him universal applause; mine the contrary: he married his housekeeper; I could not keep house with my wife: he thought all the world in a plot against him; my little world seems to think me in a plot against it, if I may judge by their abuse in print and coterie: he liked botany; I like flowers, herbs, and trees, but know nothing of their pedigrees: he wrote music; I limit my knowledge of it to what I catch by _ear_--I never could learn any thing by _study_, not even a _language_--it was all by rote and ear, and memory: he had a _bad_ memory; I _had_, at least, an excellent one (ask Hodgson the poet--a good judge, for he has an astonishing one): he wrote with hesitation and care; I with rapidity, and rarely with pains: _he_ could never ride, nor swim, nor 'was cunning of fence;' _I_ am an excellent swimmer, a decent, though not at all a dashing, rider, (having staved in a rib at eighteen, in the course of scampering,) and was sufficient of fence, particularly of the Highland broadsword,--not a bad boxer, when I could keep my temper, which was difficult, but which I strove to do ever since I knocked down Mr. Purling, and put his knee-pan out (with the gloves on), in Angelo's and Jackson's rooms in 1806, during the sparring, --and I was, besides, a very fair cricketer,--one of the Harrow eleven, when we played against Eton in 1805. Besides, Rousseau's way of life, his country, his manners, his whole character, were so very different, that I am at a loss to conceive how such a comparison could have arisen, as it has done three several times, and all in rather a remarkable manner. I forgot to say that _he_ was also short-sighted, and that hitherto my eyes have been the contrary, to such a degree that, in the largest theatre of Bologna, I distinguished and read some busts and inscriptions, painted near the stage, from a box so distant and so _darkly_ lighted, that none of the company (composed of young and very bright-eyed people, some of them in the same box,) could make out a letter, and thought it was a trick, though I had never been in that theatre before. "Altogether, I think myself justified in thinking the comparison not well founded. I don't say this out of pique, for Rousseau was a great man; and the thing, if true, were flattering enough;--but I have no idea of being pleased with the chimera."] [Footnote 2: The Hon. Mrs. George Byron, 'née' Frances Levett, Byron's great-aunt, widow of the Hon. George Byron, fourth brother of William, fifth Lord Byron.] 101.--To his Mother. Newstead Abbey, November 2, 1808. DEAR MOTHER,--If you please, we will forget the things you mention. I have no desire to remember them. When my rooms are finished, I shall be happy to see you; as I tell but the truth, you will not suspect me of evasion. I am furnishing the house more for you than myself, and I shall establish you in it before I sail for India, which I expect to do in March, if nothing particularly obstructive occurs. I am now fitting up the _green_ drawing-room; the red for a bed-room, and the rooms over as sleeping-rooms. They will be soon completed;--at least I hope so. I wish you would inquire of Major Watson (who is an old Indian) what things will be necessary to provide for my voyage. I have already procured a friend to write to the Arabic Professor at Cambridge, [1] for some information I am anxious to procure. I can easily get letters from government to the ambassadors, consuls, etc., and also to the governors at Calcutta and Madras. I shall place my property and my will in the hands of trustees till my return, and I mean to appoint you one. From Hanson I have heard nothing--when I do, you shall have the particulars. After all, you must own my project is not a bad one. If I do not travel now, I never shall, and all men should one day or other. I have at present no connections to keep me at home; no wife, or unprovided sisters, brothers, etc. I shall take care of you, and when I return I may possibly become a politician. A few years' knowledge of other countries than our own will not incapacitate me for that part. If we see no nation but our own, we do not give mankind a fair chance;--it is from _experience_, not books, we ought to judge of them. There is nothing like inspection, and trusting to our own senses. Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: The Rev. John Palmer, Fellow of St. John's, Adam's Professor of Arabic (1804-19).] 102.--To Francis Hodgson. [1] Newstead Abbey, Notts., Nov. 3, 1808. My Dear Hodgson,--I expected to have heard ere this the event of your interview with the mysterious Mr. Haynes, my volunteer correspondent; however, as I had no business to trouble you with the adjustment of my concerns with that illustrious stranger, I have no right to complain of your silence. You have of course seen Drury, [2] in all the pleasing palpitations of anticipated wedlock. Well! he has still something to look forward to, and his present extacies are certainly enviable. "Peace be with him and with his spirit," and his flesh also, at least just now ... Hobhouse and your humble are still here. Hobhouse hunts, etc., and I do nothing; we dined the other day with a neighbouring Esquire (not Collet of Staines), and regretted your absence, as the Bouquet of Staines was scarcely to be compared to our last "feast of reason." You know, laughing is the sign of a rational animal; so says Dr. Smollett. I think so, too, but unluckily my spirits don't always keep pace with my opinions. I had not so much scope for risibility the other day as I could have wished, for I was seated near a woman, to whom, when a boy, I was as much attached as boys generally are, and more than a man should be. [3] I knew this before I went, and was determined to be valiant, and converse with _sang froid_; but instead I forgot my valour and my nonchalance, and never opened my lips even to laugh, far less to speak, and the lady was almost as absurd as myself, which made both the object of more observation than if we had conducted ourselves with easy indifference. You will think all this great nonsense; if you had seen it, you would have thought it still more ridiculous. What fools we are! We cry for a plaything, which, like children, we are never satisfied with till we break open, though like them we cannot get rid of it by putting it in the fire. I have tried for Gifford's _Epistle to Pindar_,[4] and the bookseller says the copies were cut up for _waste paper_; if you can procure me a copy I shall be much obliged. Adieu! Believe me, my dear Sir, yours ever sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Francis Hodgson (1781-1852), educated at Eton (1794-99) and at King's College, Cambridge, Scholar (1799), Fellow (1802), hesitated between literature and the bar as his profession. For three years he was a private tutor, for one (1806) a master at Eton. In 1807 he became a resident tutor at King's. It was not till 1812 that he decided to take orders. Two years later he married Miss Tayler, a sister of Mrs. Henry Drury, and took a country curacy. In 1816 he was given the Eton living of Bakewell, in Derbyshire, became Archdeacon of Derby in 1836, and in 1840 Provost of Eton. At Eton he died December 29, 1852. Hodgson's literary facility was extraordinary. He rhymed with an ease which almost rivals that of Byron, and from 1807 to 1818 he poured out quantities of verse, English and Latin, original and translated, besides writing articles for the 'Quarterly', the 'Monthly', and the 'Critical' Reviews. He published his 'Translation of Juvenal' in 1807, in which he was assisted by Drury and Merivale; 'Lady Jane Grey', a Tale; and other Poems (1809); 'Sir Edgar, a Tale' (1810); 'Leaves of Laurel' (1812); 'Charlemagne, an Epic Poem' (1815), translated from the original of Lucien Bonaparte, Prince of Canino, by S. Butler and Francis Hodgson; 'The Friends, a Poem in Four Books; Mythology for Versification' (1831); 'A Charge, as Archdeacon of Derby' (1837); 'Sermons' (1846); and other works. His acquaintance with Byron began in 1807, when Byron was meditating 'British Bards', and Hodgson, provoked by a review of his 'Juvenal' in the 'Edinburgh Review', was composing his 'Gentle Alterative prepared for the Reviewers', which appears on pp. 56, 57 of 'Lady Jane Grey'. There are some curious points of resemblance between the two poems, though Hodgson's lines can hardly be compared for force and sting to 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. Like Byron (see 'English Bards, etc'., line 513, note 7), he makes merry over the blunder of the 'Edinburgh' reviewer, who, in an article on Payne Knight's 'Principles of Taste', severely criticized some Greek lines which he attributed to Knight, but which, in fact, were by Pindar:-- "And when he frown'd on Kn--'s erroneous Greek, Bad him in Pindar's page that error seek." Like Byron also, he attributes the blunder to Hallam, and speaks of "Hallam's baffled art." The article was written by Lord Holland's physician, Dr. Allen, who, according to Sydney Smith, had "the creed of a philosopher and the legs of a clergyman." Like Byron also (see 'English Bards, etc'., line 820), he appeals to Gifford, who was an old family friend, to return to the fray:-- "Oh! for that voice, whose cadence loud and strong Drove Delia Crusca from the field of song-- And with a force that guiltier fools should feel, Rack'd a vain butterfly on Satire's wheel." In a note appended to the words in his satire--"Like clowns detest nobility"--he refers to the 'Edinburgh's' treatment of Byron's verse. The link thus established between Byron and Hodgson grew stronger for the next few years. Hodgson suppressed Moore's challenge to the author of 'English Bards'; was Byron's guest at Newstead (see page 179 [Letter 92], in [Foot]note [further down]); pleaded with him on the subject of religion; translated his lines, "I would I were a careless child," into Latin verse ('Lady Jane Grey', p. 94); addressed him in poetry, as, for instance, in the "Lines to a Friend going abroad" ('Sir Edgar', p. 173). Byron, on his side, seems to have been sincerely attached to Hodgson, to whom he left, by his first will (1811), one-third of his personal goods, and in 1813 gave £1000 to enable him to marry. Hodgson corresponded with Mrs. Leigh and with Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron, endeavoured to heal the breach between husband and wife, and was one of the mourners at Hucknall Torkard Church. In Haydon's 'Table-Talk' (vol. ii. pp. 367-8) is recorded a conversation with Hobhouse on the subject of Hodgson. Haydon's account of Hobhouse's words is confused; but he definitely asserts that Hodgson's life was dissipated, and insinuates that he perverted Byron's character. Part of the explanation is probably this: Hodgson's friend, the Rev. Robert Bland, kept a mistress, described as a woman of great personal and mental attraction. He asked Hodgson, during his absence on the Continent, to visit the lady and send him frequent news of her. Hodgson did so, with the result that, at Bland's return, the lady refused to see him. When Byron came back from his Eastern tour, he received a frantic letter from Bland, telling him that Hodgson had stolen her love. To this Byron refers in his letter to Harness, December 15, 1811, and probably told an embellished story to Hobhouse. But Hodgson himself warmly repudiated the charge; and there is no reason to think that his version of the affair is not the truth.] [Footnote 2: The Rev. Henry Drury married, December 20, 1808, Ann Caroline, daughter of Archdale Wilson Tayler, of Boreham Wood, Herts. Their five sons were all educated at Harrow: Henry, Archdeacon of Wilts and editor of 'Arundines Cami' (1841); Byron, Vice-Admiral R.N.; Benjamin Heath, Vice-President of Caius College, Cambridge; Heber, Colonel in the Madras Army; Charles Curtis, General of the Bengal Staff Corps (see also page 41 [Letter 14], [Foot]note 2 [1]).] [Footnote 3: Mrs. Chaworth Musters (see Byron's lines, "Well! thou art happy," 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 277-279).] [Footnote 4: William Gifford (1756-1826), a self-taught scholar, first a ploughboy, then boy on board a Brixham coaster, afterwards shoemaker's apprentice, was sent by friends to Exeter College, Oxford (1779-81). In the 'Baviad' (1794) and the 'Maeviad' (1795) he attacked many of the smaller writers of the day, who were either silly, like the Delia Cruscan school, or discreditable, like Williams, who wrote as "Anthony Pasquin." In his 'Epistle to Peter Pindar' (1800) he succeeds in laying bare the true character of John Wolcot. As editor of the 'Anti-Jacobin, or Weekly Examiner' (November, 1797, to July, 1798), he supported the political views of Canning and his friends. As editor of the 'Quarterly Review', from its foundation (February, 1809) to his resignation in September, 1824, he did yeoman's service to sound literature by his good sense and adherence to the best models. It was a period when all criticism was narrow, and, to some degree, warped by political prejudice. In these respects, Gifford's work may not have risen above--it certainly did not fall below--the highest standard of contemporary criticism. His editions of 'Massinger' (1805), which superseded that of Monck Mason and Davies (1765), of 'Ben Jonson' (1816), of 'Ford' (1827), are valuable. To his translation of 'Juvenal' (1802) is prefixed his autobiography. His translation of 'Persius' appeared in 1821. To Gifford, Byron usually paid the utmost deference. "Any suggestion of yours, even if it were conveyed," he writes to him, in 1813, "in the less tender text of the 'Baviad,' or a Monk Mason note to Massinger, would be obeyed." See also his letter (September 7, 1811), in which he calls Gifford his "Magnus Apollo," and values his praise above the gems of Samarcand. "He was," says Sir Walter Scott ('Diary,' January 18, 1827), "a little man, dumpled up together, and so ill-made as to seem almost deformed, but with a singular expression of talent in his countenance." Byron was attracted to Gifford, partly by his devotion to the classical models of literature, partly by the outspoken frankness of his literary criticism, partly also, perhaps, by his physical deformity. 103.--To John Hanson. Newstead Abbey, Notts., November 18th, 1808. Dear Sir,--I am truly glad to hear your health is reinstated. As for my affairs I am sure you will do your best, and, though I should be glad to get rid of my Lancashire property for an equivalent in money, I shall not take any steps of that nature without good advice and mature consideration. I am (as I have already told you) going abroad in the spring; for this I have many reasons. In the first place, I wish to study India and Asiatic policy and manners. I am young, tolerably vigorous, abstemious in my way of living; I have no pleasure in fashionable dissipation, and I am determined to take a wider field than is customary with travellers. If I return, my judgment will be more mature, and I shall still be young enough for politics. With regard to expence, travelling through the East is rather inconvenient than expensive: it is not like the tour of Europe, you undergo hardship, but incur little hazard of spending money. If I live here I must have my house in town, a separate house for Mrs. Byron; I must keep horses, etc., etc. When I go abroad I place Mrs. Byron at Newstead (there is one great expence saved), I have no horses to keep. A voyage to India will take me six months, and if I had a dozen attendants cannot cost me five hundred pounds; and you will agree with me that a like term of months in England would lead me into four times that expenditure. I have written to Government for letters and permission of the Company, so you see I am _serious._ You honour my debts; they amount to perhaps twelve thousand pounds, and I shall require perhaps three or four thousand at setting out, with credit on a Bengal agent. This you must manage for me. If my resources are not adequate to the supply I must _sell_, but _not Newstead._ I will at least transmit that to the next Lord. My debts must be paid, if possible, in February. I shall leave my affairs to the care of _trustees_, of whom, with your acquiescence, I shall _name you_ one, Mr. Parker another, and two more, on whom I am not yet determined. Pray let me hear from you soon. Remember me to Mrs. Hanson, whom I hope to see on her return. Present my best respects to the young lady, and believe me, etc., BYRON. 104.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Notts., Nov. 27, 1808. My Dear Sir,--Boatswain [1] is to be buried in a vault waiting for myself. I have also written an epitaph, which I would send, were it not for two reasons: one is, that it is too long for a letter; and the other, that I hope you will some day read it on the spot where it will be engraved. You discomfort me with the intelligence of the real orthodoxy of the Arch-fiend's name, [2] but alas! it must stand with me at present; if ever I have an opportunity of correcting, I shall liken him to Geoffrey of Monmouth, a noted liar in his way, and perhaps a more correct prototype than the Carnifex of James II. I do not think the composition of your poem "a sufficing reason" for not keeping your promise of a Christmas visit. Why not come? I will never disturb you in your moments of inspiration; and if you wish to collect any materials for the _scenery_?,[3] Hardwicke (where Mary was confined for several years) is not eight miles distant, and, independent of the interest you must take in it as her vindicator, is a most beautiful and venerable object of curiosity. I shall take it very ill if you do not come; my mansion is improving in comfort, and, when you require solitude, I shall have an apartment devoted to the purpose of receiving your poetical reveries. I have heard from our Drury; he says little of the Row, which I regret: indeed I would have sacrificed much to have contributed in any way (as a schoolboy) to its consummation; but Butler survives, and thirteen boys have been expelled in vain. Davies is not here, but Hobhouse hunts as usual, and your humble servant "drags at each remove a lengthened chain." I have heard from his Grace of Portland [4] on the subject of my expedition: he talks of difficulties; by the gods! if he throws any in my way I will next session ring such a peal in his ears, That he shall wish the fiery Dane Had rather been his guest again. [5] You do not tell me if Gifford is really my commentator: it is too good to be true, for I know nothing would gratify my vanity so much as the reality; even the idea is too precious to part with. I shall expect you here; let me have no more excuses. Hobhouse desires his best remembrance. We are now lingering over our evening potations. I have extended my letter further than I ought, and beg you will excuse it; on the opposite page I send you some stanzas [6] I wrote off on being questioned by a former flame as to my motives for quitting this country. You are the first reader. Hobhouse hates everything of the kind, therefore I do not show them to him. Adieu! Believe me, yours very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Boatswain, the Newfoundland dog, died November 18, 1808. (For Byron's inscriptions in prose and verse, see 'Poems', vol. i. p. 280.)] [Footnote 2: Byron at first thought that Jeffrey, the editor of the 'Edinburgh Review', spelt his name in the same way as the Judge Jeffreys of the Bloody Assizes. He probably writes "orthodoxy" for "orthography" as a joke. (See the lines quoted from 'British Bards' in notes to 'English. Bards, etc.', line 439, note 2.)] [Footnote 3: It is stated that Hodgson was writing a poem on Mary Queen of Scots ('Life of Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. p. 107). No such poem was apparently ever published. In Hodgson's 'Lady Jane Grey', Queen Mary of England plays a part; hence, possibly, the mistake.] [Footnote 4: Byron asked the Duke of Portland to procure him "permission from the E.I. Directors to pass through their settlements." The duke replied, in effect, that Byron trespassed on his time and patience. So Byron at least took his answer (see 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers,' line 1016 and note 2).] [Footnote 5: 'Marmion', Canto II. stanza xxxi.] [Footnote 6: See stanzas "To a Lady on being asked my Reason for Quitting England in the Spring" ('Poems', vol. i. p. 282).] 105.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Ld. Chichester's, Stratton Street, London.] Newstead Abbey, Notts., [Wednesday], Novr. 30th, 1808. My Dearest Augusta,--I return you my best thanks for making me an uncle, and forgive the sex this time; but the next _must_ be a nephew. You will be happy to hear my Lancashire property is likely to prove extremely valuable; indeed my pecuniary affairs are altogether far superior to my expectations or any other person's. If I would _sell_, my income would probably be six thousand per annum; but I will not part at least with Newstead, or indeed with the other, which is of a nature to increase in value yearly. I am living here _alone_, which suits my inclinations better than society of any kind. Mrs. Byron I have shaken off for two years, and I shall not resume her yoke in future, I am afraid my disposition will suffer in your estimation; but I never can forgive that woman, or breathe in comfort under the same roof. I am a very unlucky fellow, for I think I had naturally not a bad heart; but it has been so bent, twisted, and trampled on, that it has now become as hard as a Highlander's heelpiece. I do not know that much alteration has taken place in my person, except that I am grown much thinner, and somewhat taller! I saw Col. Leigh at Brighton in July, where I should have been glad to have seen you; I only know your husband by sight, though I am acquainted with many of the Tenth. Indeed my relations are those whom I know the least, and in most instances, I am not very anxious to improve the acquaintance. I hope you are quite recovered, I shall be in town in January to take my seat, and will call, if convenient; let me hear from you before. [Signature cut off, and over the page is, in Mrs. Leigh's writing, this endorsement: "Sent to Miss Alderson to go to Germany, May 29th, 1843."] 106.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Ld. Chichester's, Stratton Street, London.] Newstead Abbey, Notts., Decr. 14th, 1808. My Dearest Augusta,--When I stated in my last, that my intercourse with the world had hardened my heart, I did not mean from any matrimonial disappointment, no, I have been guilty of many absurdities, but I hope in God I shall always escape that worst of evils, Marriage. I have no doubt there are exceptions, and of course include you amongst them, but you will recollect, that "_exceptions only prove the Rule_." I live here much in my own manner, that is, _alone_, for I could not bear the company of my best friend, above a month; there is such a sameness in mankind upon the whole, and they grow so much more disgusting every day, that, were it not for a portion of Ambition, and a conviction that in times like the present we ought to perform our respective duties, I should live here all my life, in unvaried Solitude. I have been visited by all our Nobility and Gentry; but I return no visits. Joseph Murray is at the head of my household, poor honest fellow! I should be a great Brute, if I had not provided for him in the manner most congenial to his own feelings, and to mine. I have several horses, and a considerable establishment, but I am not addicted to hunting or shooting. I hate all field sports, though a few years since I was a tolerable adept in the _polite_ arts of Foxhunting, Hawking, Boxing, etc., etc. My Library is rather extensive, (and as you perhaps know) I am a mighty Scribbler; I flatter myself I have made some improvements in Newstead, and, as I am independent, I am happy, as far as any person unfortunate enough to be born into this world, can be said to be so. I shall be glad to hear from you when convenient, and beg you to believe me, Very sincerely yours, BYRON. 107.--To John Hanson. Newstead Abbey, Notts., Dec. 17, 1808. My Dear Sir,--I regret the contents of your letter as I think we shall be thrown on our backs from the delay. I do not know if our best method would not be to compromise if possible, as you know the state of my affairs will not be much bettered by a protracted and possibly unsuccessful litigation. However, I am and have been so much in the dark during the whole transaction that I am not a competent judge of the most expedient measures. I suppose it will end in my marrying a _Golden Dolly_ [1] or blowing my brains out; it does not much matter which, the remedies are nearly alike. I shall be glad to hear from you further on the business. I suppose now it will be still more difficult to come to any terms. Have you seen Mrs. Massingberd, and have you arranged my Israelitish accounts? Pray remember me to Mrs. Hanson, to Harriet, and all the family, female and male. Believe me also, yours very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Byron also advised his marriage with an heiress. The following passage is taken from her letter to Hanson, January 30, 1809:-- "I was sorry I could not see you here. Byron told me he intended to put his servants on Board Wages at Newstead. I was very sorry to hear of the great expence the Newstead _fête_ would put him to. I can see nothing but the Road to Ruin in all this, which grieves me to the heart and makes me still worse than I would otherwise be (unless, indeed, Coal Mines turn to Gold Mines), or that he mends his fortune in the old and usual way by marrying a Woman with two or three hundred thousand pounds. I have no doubt of his being a great speaker and a celebrated public character, and _all_ that; but that _won't add_ to his fortune, but bring on more expenses on him, and there is nothing to be had in this country to make a man rich in his line of life." In another letter to Hanson, dated March 4, 1809, she returns to the same subject:-- "I have had a very dismal letter from my son, informing me that he is _ruined_. He wishes to borrow my money. This I shall be very ready to oblige him in, on such security as you approve. As it is my _all_, this is very necessary, and I am sure he would not wish to have it on any other terms. It cannot be paid up, however, under six months' notice. I wish he would take the debt of a thousand pounds, that I have been security for, on himself, and pay about eighty pounds he owes here. I wish to God he would exert himself and retrieve his affairs. He must marry a Woman of _fortune_ this spring; love matches is all nonsense. Let him make use of the Talents God has given him. He is an English Peer, and has all the privileges of that situation. What is this about proving his grandfather's marriage? I thought it had been in Lancashire. If it was not, it surely easily can be proved. Is nothing going forward concerning the Rochdale Property? I am sure, if I was Lord Byron, I would sell no estates to pay Jews; I only would pay what was lawful. Pray answer the note immediately, and answer all my questions concerning lending the money, the Rochdale property, and why B. don't or can't take his seat, which is very hard, and very provoking. I am, Dear Sir, yours sincerely, C. G. BYRON."] 108.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Notts., Dec. 17, 1808. My Dear Hodgson,--I have just received your letter, and one from B. Drury, [1] which I would send, were it not too bulky to despatch within a sheet of paper; but I must impart the contents and consign the answer to your care. In the first place, I cannot address the answer to him, because the epistle is without date or direction; and in the next, the contents are so singular that I can scarce believe my optics, "which are made the fools of the other senses, or else worth all the rest." A few weeks ago, I wrote to our friend Harry Drury of facetious memory, to request he would prevail on his brother at Eton to receive the son of a citizen in London well known unto me as a pupil; the family having been particularly polite during the short time I was with them, induced me to this application. "Now mark what follows," as somebody or Southey sublimely saith: on this day, the 17th December, arrives an epistle signed B. Drury, containing not the smallest reference to tuition or _in_tuition, but a _petition_ for _Robert Gregson_, [2] of pugilistic notoriety, now in bondage for certain paltry pounds sterling, and liable to take up his everlasting abode in Banco Regis. Had this letter been from any of my _lay_ acquaintance, or, in short, from anyone but the gentleman whose signature it bears, I should have marvelled not. If Drury is serious, I congratulate pugilism on the acquisition of such a patron, and shall be happy to advance any sum necessary for the liberation of the captive Gregson; but I certainly hope to be certified from you or some reputable housekeeper of the fact, before I write to Drury on the subject. When I say the _fact_, I mean of the _letter_ being written by _Drury_, not having any doubt as to the authenticity of the statement. The letter is now before me, and I keep it for your perusal. When I hear from you I shall address my answer to him, under _your care_; for as it is now the vacation at Eton, and the letter is without _time_ or _place_, I cannot venture to consign my sentiments on so _momentous_ a _concern_ to chance. To you, my dear Hodgson, I have not much to say. If you can make it convenient or pleasant to trust yourself here, be assured it will be both to me. [Footnote 1: Benjamin Heath Drury (1782-1835), second son of the Headmaster of Harrow (see page 41 [Letter 14], [Foot]note 2 [1]), was a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, and Assistant-master at Eton. Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. pp. 209 and 233) says that Drury was "passionately devoted to theatricals," and, with his friend Knapp, frequently drove up to London after school-hours to sup with Edmund Kean and Arnold at Drury Lane or the Hummums in Covent Garden. On one occasion they took with them Lord Eldon's son, then a school-boy at Eton. After supper the party were "run in" by the watchmen, and bailed out at Bow Street by the Lord Chancellor's secretary.] [Footnote 2: Bob Gregson (1778-1824), the big-boned, burly landlord of the Castle, Holborn, known as "Bob's Chop-house," was a familiar figure in the sporting world. When captain of the Liverpool and Wigan Packet, he established his reputation in Lancashire as a fighter. He stood 6 feet 1-1/2 inches in height, and weighed 15 stone 6 pounds. But, in spite of the eulogies of Pierce Egan--a low-caste Irishman, who was first a compositor, then a comedian, and afterwards a newspaper reporter (see Grantley Berkeley's 'My Life and Recollections', vol. i. pp. 107, 108)--Gregson had no science, and depended only on his strength, courage, and endurance. He was beaten by Gully at Six Mile Bottom in 1807, and again in 1808 at Markyate Street; also by Tom Cribb at Moulsey Hurst in 1808 ('Pugilistica', vol. i. pp. 237-241). Failing as landlord of the Castle, he set up a school of boxing at Dublin, where he afterwards kept "the Punch House," in Moor Street. He died at Liverpool in 1824. According to Egan ('Boxiana', vol. i. pp. 357, 358), Gregson "united Pugilism with Poetry." On this claim he adopted the letters "P.P." after his name. Egan gives some of his doggerel among "Prime Chaunts for the Fancy" ('ibid'., p. 358). Moore, in 'Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress', attributes to him his "Lines to Miss Grace Maddox" (pp. 75-77); "Ya-Hip, my Hearties!" (pp. 80-83); and "The Annual Pill" (pp. 84-86).] 109.--To John Hanson. Newstead Abbey, Jan. 15th, 1809. My Dear Sir,--I am much obliged by your kind invitation, but I wish you, if possible, to be here on the 22nd. [1] Your presence will be of great service, everything is prepared for your reception exactly as if I remained, and I think Hargreaves will be gratified by the appearance of the place, and the humours of the day. I shall on the first opportunity pay my respects to your family, and though I will not trespass on your hospitality on the 22nd, my obligation is not less for your agreeable offer, which on any other occasion would be immediately accepted, but I wish you much to be present at the festivities, and I hope you will add Charles to the party. Consider, as the Courtier says in the tragedy of _Tom Thumb_ [2]-- "This is a day; your Majesties may boast of it, And since it never can come o'er, 'tis fit you make the most of it." I shall take my seat as soon as circumstances will admit. I have not yet chosen my side in politics, nor shall I hastily commit myself with professions, or pledge my support to any men or measures, but though I shall not run headlong into opposition, I will studiously avoid a connection with ministry. I cannot say that my opinion is strongly in favour of either party; [3] on the one side we have the late underlings of Pitt, possessing all his ill fortune, without his talents; this may render their failure more excusable, but will not diminish the public contempt; on the other, we have the ill-assorted fragments of a worn-out minority; Mr. Windham with his coat _twice_ turned, and my Lord Grenville who perhaps has more sense than he can make good use of; between the two and the shuttlecock of both, a Sidmouth, and the general _football_ Sir F. Burdett, kicked at by all, and owned by none. I shall stand aloof, speak what I think, but not often, nor too soon. I will preserve my independence, if possible, but if involved with a party, I will take care not to be the _last_ or _least_ in the ranks. As to _patriotism_, the word is obsolete, perhaps improperly, so, for all men in the Country are patriots, knowing that their own existence must stand or fall with the Constitution, yet everybody thinks he could alter it for the better, and govern a people, who are in fact easily governed, but always claim the privilege of grumbling. So much for Politics, of which I at present know little and care less; bye and bye, I shall use the senatorial privilege of talking, and indeed in such times, and in such a crew, it must be difficult to hold one's tongue. Believe me, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Byron's coming of age was celebrated at Newstead on January 22, 1809.] [Footnote 2: See O'Hara's acting version of Fielding's _Tom Thumb the Great_, act i. sc. I-- "_Doodle_. A Day we never saw before; A Day of fun and drollery. _Noodle_. That you may say, Their Majesties may boast of it; And since it never can come more, 'Tis fit they make the most of it."] [Footnote 3: Lord Grenville (1759-1834) became First Lord of the Treasury; Lord Sidmouth, Lord Privy Seal; and William Windham, Secretary for War, in February, 1806. They, with Fox and his friends, formed the administration of "All the Talents," which in March, 1807, fell over the Roman Catholic question. They were succeeded by the Duke of Portland's Ministry, which included the "late underlings of Pitt,"--Perceval, Canning, Dundas, etc. "Weathercock" Windham, in the Ministry of "All the Talents," was responsible for the conduct of a war which, as leader of the so-called "New Opposition," he had vigorously opposed. Sir Francis Burdett's zeal for Parliamentary Reform involved him in hostility to both Whigs and Tories, who had combined to exclude him from Parliament after his election for Middlesex (1802-6). In 1807 he had been elected for Westminster.] 110.--To R. C. Dallas. Reddish's Hotel, Jan. 25, 1809. My Dear Sir,--My only reason for not adopting your lines is because they are _your_ lines. [1] You will recollect that Lady Wortley Montague said to Pope: "No touching, for the good will be given to you, and the bad attributed to me." I am determined it shall be all my own, except such alterations as may be absolutely required; but I am much obliged by the trouble you have taken, and your good opinion. The couplet on Lord C. [2] may be scratched out and the following inserted: Roscommon! Sheffield! with your spirits fled, No future laurels deck a noble head. Nor e'en a hackney'd Muse will deign to smile On minor Byron, nor mature Carlisle. This will answer the purpose of concealment. Now for some couplets on Mr. Crabbe, [3] which you may place after "Gifford, Sotheby, M'Niel:" There be who say, in these enlightened days, That splendid lies are all the Poet's praise; That strained invention, ever on the wing, Alone impels the modern Bard to sing. 'Tis true that all who rhyme, nay, all who write, Shrink from that fatal word to genius, trite: Yet Truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires. This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest; Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. I am sorry to differ with you with regard to the title, [4] but I mean to retain it with this addition: _The British [the word "British" is struck through] English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_; and if we call it a _Satire_, it will obviate the objection, as the Bards also were Welch. Your title is too humorous;--and as I know a little of----, I wish not to embroil myself with him, though I do not commend his treatment of----. I shall be glad to hear from you or see you, and beg you to believe me, Yours very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Dallas (January 24, 1809) takes "the liberty of sending you some two dozen lines," etc.] [Footnote 2: The couplet on Lord Carlisle, as it stood in 'British Bards', was-- "On one alone Apollo deigns to smile, And crowns a new Roscommon in Carlisle." (See 'English Bards, etc.', lines 723, 'et seqq.'; see also line 927, note 2. For Lord Carlisle, see page 36, note 2.)] [Footnote 3: For "Gifford, Sotheby, Macneil," see 'English Bards, etc'., line 818, and 'notes'. Dallas had written (January 24, 1809), "I am sorry you have not found a place among the genuine sons of Apollo for Crabbe, who, in spite of something bordering on servility in his dedication, may surely rank with some you have admitted to his temple" (see 'English Bards, etc'., lines 849-858).] [Footnote 4: Dallas suggested as a title, 'The Parish Poor of Parnassus'.] 111.--To R. C. Dallas. February 7, 1809. My Dear Sir,--Suppose we have this couplet-- Though sweet the sound, disdain a borrow'd tone, Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own: [1] or, Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone, Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. So much for your admonition; but my note of notes, my solitary pun, [2] must not be given up--no, rather "Let mightiest of all the beasts of chace That roam in woody Caledon" come against me; my annotation must stand. We shall never sell a thousand; then why print so many? Did you receive my yesterday's note? I am troubling you, but I am apprehensive some of the lines are omitted by your young amanuensis, to whom, however, I am infinitely obliged. Believe me, yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Dallas (February 6, 1809) objected to the rhyme in the couplet:-- "Translation's servile work at length disown, And quit Achaia's Muse to court your own." (For the corrected couplet, see 'English Bards, etc'., lines 889, 890.)] [Footnote 2: See 'English Bards, etc.', line 1016, note 2.] 112.--To R. C. Dallas. February 11, 1809. I wish you to call, if possible, as I have some alterations to suggest as to the part about Brougham. [1] B. [Footnote 1: See 'ibid.', line 524, note 2.] 113.--To R. C. Dallas. February 12, 1809. Excuse the trouble, but I have added two lines which are necessary to complete the poetical character of Lord Carlisle. [1] ..........in his age His scenes alone had damn'd our singing stage; But Managers for once cried, "hold, enough!" Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff! Yours, etc., B. [Footnote 1: See 'ibid.', lines 733-736. Another letter, written February 15, 1809, runs as follows:-- "I wish you much to call on me, about _One_, not later, if convenient, as I have some thirty or forty lines for addition. Believe me, etc., B."] 114.--To R. C. Dallas. February 16, 1809. _Ecce iterum Crispinus!_--I send you some lines to be placed after "Gifford, Sotheby, M'Niel." [1] Pray call tomorrow any time before two, and Believe me, etc., B. P.S.--Print soon, or I shall overflow with more rhyme. [Footnote 1: See 'English Bards, etc.', lines 819-830.] 115.--To R. C. Dallas. February 19, 1809. I enclose some lines to be inserted, the first six after "Lords too are bards," etc., or rather immediately following the line: "Ah! who would take their titles with their rhymes." The four next will wind up the panegyric on Lord Carlisle, and come after "tragic stuff." [1] Yours truly. In these our times with daily wonders big, A letter'd Peer is like a letter'd Pig: Both know their alphabet, but who from thence Infers that Peers or Pigs have manly sense? Still less that such should woo the graceful Nine? Parnassus was not made for Lords and Swine. Roscommon, Sheffield, etc., etc. ... ... tragic stuff. Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh, And case his volumes in congenial calf: Yes, doff that covering where morocco shines, "And hang a calf-skin on those recreant" lines. [Footnote 1: See 'ibid.', lines 736-740.] 116.--To R. C. Dallas. February 22, 1809. A cut at the opera.--_Ecce signum_! from last night's observation, and inuendos against the Society for the Suppression of Vice. [1] The lines will come well in after the couplets concerning Naldi and Catalani! [2] Yours truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: See 'English Bards, etc.', lines 618-631, note 1, for the "cut at the opera." The piece which provoked the outburst was 'I Villegiatori Rezzani', at the King's Theatre, February 21, 1809. Guiseppe Naldi (1770-1820) made his 'début' in London, at the King's Theatre, in April, 1806. (For further details, see 'English Bards, etc.', line 613, note 2.) Angelica Catalani, born at Sinigaglia, in 1779, or, according to some authorities, 1785, came out at Venice, in an opera by Nasolini. She sang in many capitals of Europe, married at Lisbon a French officer named Vallabrègue, and came to London in October, 1806. The salary paid her was a cause of the O. P. riots at Covent Garden in 1809, when one of the cries was, "No foreigners! No Catalani!" A series of caricatures, one set by Isaac Cruikshank, and several medals, commemorate the riots. Madame Catalani died at Paris in 1849.] [Footnote 2: See 'English Bards, etc.', lines 632-637.] 117.--To his Mother. 8, St. James's Street, March 6, 1809. Dear Mother,--My last letter was written under great depression of spirits from poor Falkland's death, [1] who has left without a shilling four children and his wife. I have been endeavouring to assist them, which, God knows, I cannot do as I could wish, for my own embarrassments and the many claims upon me from other quarters. What you say is all very true: come what may, _Newstead_ and I _stand_ or fall together. I have now lived on the spot, I have fixed my heart upon it, and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige of our inheritance. I have that pride within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure privations; but could I obtain in exchange for Newstead Abbey the first fortune in the country, I would reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that score; Mr. Hanson talks like a man of business on the subject,--I feel like a man of honour, and I will not sell Newstead. I shall get my seat [2] on the return of the affidavits from Carhais, in Cornwall, and will do something in the House soon: I must dash, or it is all over. My Satire must be kept secret for a _month_; after that you may say what you please on the subject. Lord Carlisle has used me infamously, and refused to state any particulars of my family to the Chancellor. I have _lashed_ him in my rhymes, and perhaps his lordship may regret not being more conciliatory. They tell me it will have a sale; I hope so, for the bookseller has behaved well, as far as publishing well goes. Believe me, etc. P.S.--You shall have a mortgage on one of the farms. [3] [Footnote 1: Captain Charles John Cary, R.N., succeeded his brother Thomas in 1796 as ninth Lord Falkland. He married, in 1803, Miss Anton, the daughter of a West India merchant. He had been recently dismissed from his ship "on account of some irregularities arising from too free a circulation of the bottle." But he had received a promise of being reinstated, and, in high spirits at the prospect, dined one evening in March, 1809, at Stevens's Coffeehouse, in Bond Street. There he applied to Mr. Powell an offensive nickname. "He lost his life for a joke, and one too he did not make himself" (Medwin, 'Conversations', ed. 1825, p. 66). A challenge resulted. The parties met on Goldar's Green, and Falkland, mortally wounded, died two days later in Powell's house in Devonshire Place, on March 7, 1809. ('Annual Register', vol. li. pp. 449, 450.) For a more detailed account, see 'Gentleman's Magazine' for March, 1809. Both accounts give March 7 as the date of Falkland's death. A posthumous child was born to Lady Falkland. Byron stood godfather, and gave £500 at the christening. [Footnote 2: Byron took his seat in the House of Lords, March 13, 1809. The delay was caused by the difficulty of proving the marriage of Admiral the Hon. John Byron with Miss Sophia Trevanion in the private chapel of Carhais. Probably Carlisle neither possessed nor withheld any information.] [Footnote 3: Byron had borrowed £1000 for his return to Cambridge in 1807: £200 from Messrs. Wylde and Co., bankers, of Southwell; and the remainder from the Misses Parkyns, and his great-aunt, the Hon. Mrs. George Byron. For this debt his mother made herself liable. No mortgage was given (see page 221 [Letter 121], [Foot]note 2 [1]).] 118.--To William Harness. 8, St. James's Street, March 18, 1809. There was no necessity for your excuses: if you have time and inclination to write, "for what we receive, the Lord make us thankful,"--if I do not hear from you, I console myself with the idea that you are much more agreeably employed. I send down to you by this post a certain Satire lately published, and in return for the three and sixpence expenditure upon it, only beg that if you should guess the author, you will keep his name secret; at least for the present. London is full of the Duke's business. [1] The Commons have been at it these last three nights, and are not yet come to a decision. I do not know if the affair will be brought before our House, unless in the shape of an impeachment. If it makes its appearance in a debatable form, I believe I shall be tempted to say something on the subject.--I am glad to hear you like Cambridge: firstly, because, to know that you are happy is pleasant to one who wishes you all possible sublunary enjoyment; and, secondly, I admire the morality of the sentiment. _Alma Mater_ was to me _injusta noverca_; and the old beldam only gave me my M.A. degree because she could not avoid it. [2]--You know what a farce a noble Cantab. must perform. I am going abroad, if possible, in the spring, and before I depart I am collecting the pictures of my most intimate school-fellows; I have already a few, and shall want yours, or my cabinet will be incomplete. I have employed one of the first miniature painters [3] of the day to take them, of course, at my own expense, as I never allow my acquaintance to incur the least expenditure to gratify a whim of mine. To mention this may seem indelicate; but when I tell you a friend of ours first refused to sit, under the idea that he was to disburse on the occasion, you will see that it is necessary to state these preliminaries to prevent the recurrence of any similar mistake. I shall see you in time, and will carry you to the 'limner'. It will be a tax on your patience for a week; but pray excuse it, as it is possible the resemblance may be the sole trace I shall be able to preserve of our past friendship and acquaintance. Just now it seems foolish enough; but in a few years, when some of us are dead, and others are separated by inevitable circumstances, it will be a kind of satisfaction to retain in these images of the living the idea of our former selves, and, to contemplate, in the resemblances of the dead, all that remains of judgment, feeling, and a host of passions. But all this will be dull enough for you, and so good night; and, to end my chapter, or rather my homily, Believe me, my dear H., yours most affectionately, [Footnote 1: This was the inquiry into the charges made by Colonel Gwyllym Wardle, M.P. for Okehampton (1807-12), against the Duke of York and his mistress, Mary Ann Clarke. The inquiry began January 27, 1809, and ended March 20, 1809, with the duke's resignation, the Commons having previously (March 17) acquitted him of "personal connivance and corruption." The case has passed into literature. Wardle, the valorous Dowler, and Lowten, Mr. Perker's clerk, had all figured in the trial before they played their parts in 'Pickwick'. Wardle, who was a colonel of the Welsh Fusiliers ("Wynne's Lambs") had fought at Vinegar Hill. After losing his seat, he took a farm between Tunbridge Wells and Rochester, from which he fled to escape his creditors, and died at Florence, November 30, 1834, aged seventy-two.] [Footnote 2: Byron took his M.A. degree, July 4, 1808. In another letter to Harness, dated February, 1809, he says, "I do not know how you and Alma Mater agree. I was but an untoward child myself, and I believe the good lady and her brat were equally rejoiced when I was weaned, and if I obtained her benediction at parting, it was, at best, equivocal."] [Footnote 3: George Sanders (1774-1846) painted miniatures, made watercolour copies of continental master-pieces, and afterwards became a portrait-painter in oils. He painted several portraits of Byron, two of which have been often engraved.] 119.--To William Bankes. Twelve o'clock, Friday night. My Dear Bankes,--I have just received your note; believe me I regret most sincerely that I was not fortunate enough to see it before, as I need not repeat to you that your conversation for half an hour would have been much more agreeable to me than gambling [1] or drinking, or any other fashionable mode of passing an evening abroad or at home.--I really am very sorry that I went out previous to the arrival of your despatch: in future pray let me hear from you before six, and whatever my engagements may be, I will always postpone them.--Believe me, with that deference which I have always from my childhood paid to your _talents_, and with somewhat a better opinion of your heart than I have hitherto entertained, Yours ever, etc. [Footnote 1: "I learn with delight," writes Hobhouse from Cambridge, May 12, 1808, "from Scrope Davies, that you have totally given up dice. To be sure you must give it up; for you to be seen every night in the very vilest company in town--could anything be more shocking, anything more unfit? I speak feelingly on this occasion, 'non ignara mali miseris, &c'. I know of nothing that should bribe me to be present once more at such horrible scenes. Perhaps 'tis as well that we are both acquainted with the extent of the evil, that we may be the more earnest in abstaining from it. You shall henceforth be 'Diis animosus hostis'." Moore quotes ('Life', p. 86) the following extract from Byron's 'Journal':-- "I have a notion that gamblers are as happy as many people, being always _excited_. Women, wine, fame, the table,--even ambition, _sate_ now and then; but every turn of the card and cast of the dice keeps the gamester alive: besides, one can game ten times longer than one can do any thing else. I was very fond of it when young, that is to say, of hazard, for I hate all _card_ games,--even faro. When macco (or whatever they spell it) was introduced, I gave up the whole thing, for I loved and missed the _rattle_ and _dash_ of the box and dice, and the glorious uncertainty, not only of good luck or bad luck, but of _any luck at all_, as one had sometimes to throw _often_ to decide at all. I have thrown as many as fourteen mains running, and carried off all the cash upon the table occasionally; but I had no coolness, or judgment, or calculation. It was the delight of the thing that pleased me. Upon the whole, I left off in time, without being much a winner or loser. Since one-and-twenty years of age I played but little, and then never above a hundred, or two, or three."] 120.--To R. C. Dallas. April 25, 1809. Dear Sir,--I am just arrived at Batt's Hotel, Jermyn Street, St. James's, from Newstead, and shall be very glad to see you when convenient or agreeable. Hobhouse is on his way up to town, full of printing resolution, [1] and proof against criticism.--Believe me, with great sincerity, Yours truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: See page 163 [Letter 86], [Foot]note 1. Hobhouse's miscellany was published in 1809, under the title of 'Imitations and Translations from the Antient and Modern Classics: Together with Original Poems never before published'.] 121.--To John Hanson. Batt's Hotel, Jermyn Street, April 26th, 1809. DEAR SIR,--I wish to know before I make my final effort elsewhere, if you can or cannot assist me in raising a sum of money on fair and equitable terms and immediately. [1] I called twice this morning, and beg you will favour me with an answer when convenient. I hope all your family are well. I should like to see them together before my departure. The Court of Chancery it seems will not pay the money, of which indeed I do not know the precise amount; the Duke of Portland will not pay his debt, and with the Rochdale property nothing is done.--My debts are daily increasing, and it is with difficulty I can command a shilling. As soon as possible I shall get quit of this country, but I wish to do justice to my creditors (though I do not like their importunity), and particularly to my securities, for their annuities must be paid off soon, or the interest will swallow up everything. Come what may, in every shape and in any shape, I can meet ruin, but I will never sell Newstead; the Abbey and I shall stand or fall together, and, were my head as grey and defenceless as the Arch of the Priory, I would abide by this resolution. The whole of my wishes are summed up in this; procure me, either of my own or borrowed of others, three thousand pounds, and place two in Hammersley's hands for letters of credit at Constantinople; if possible sell Rochdale in my absence, pay off these annuities and my debts, and with the little that remains do as you will, but allow me to depart from this cursed country, and I promise to turn Mussulman, rather than return to it. Believe me to be, Yours truly, BYRON. P.S.--Is my will finished? I should like to sign it while I have anything to leave. [Footnote 1: Money was obtained, partly by means of a life insurance effected with the Provident Institution. The medical report, signed by Benjamin Hutchinson, F.R.C.S., London, states that Hutchinson had attended Byron for the last four or five years; that he was, when last seen by Hutchinson, in very good health; that he never was afflicted with any serious malady; that he was sober and temperate; that he "sometimes used much exercise, and at others was of a studious and sedentary turn;" and thus concludes: "I do believe that he possesses an unimpaired, healthy constitution, and I am not aware of any circumstance which may be considered as tending to shorten his life." Mrs. Byron (April 9, 1809) begs Hanson to see that Byron gave some security for the thousand pounds for which she was bound. She adds: "There is some Trades People at Nottingham that will be completely ruined if he does not pay them, which I would not have happen for the whole world." No security seems to have been given, and the tradesmen remained unpaid. Mrs. Byron's death was doubtless accelerated by anxiety from these causes.] 122.-To the Rev. R. Lowe. [1] 8, St. James Street, May 15, 1809. MY DEAR SIR,--I have just been informed that a report is circulating in Notts of an intention on my part to sell Newstead, which is rather unfortunate, as I have just tied the property up in such a manner as to prevent the practicability, even if my inclination led me to dispose of it. But as such a report may render my tenants uncomfortable, I will feel very much obliged if you will be good enough to contradict the rumour, should it come to your ears, on my authority. I rather conjecture it has arisen from the sale of some copyholds of mine in Norfolk. [2] I sail for Gibraltar in June, and thence to Malta when, of course, you shall have the promised detail. I saw your friend Thornhill last night, who spoke of you as a friend ought to do. Excuse this trouble, and believe me to be, with great sincerity, Yours affectionately, BYRON. [Footnote 1. The Rev. Robert Lowe was some years older than Byron, and had known him intimately at Southwell in his early youth. Miss Pigot was a cousin of Mr. Lowe, as was also the Rev. J. T. Becher of Southwell. Mrs. Chaworth Musters, who contributed this letter to 'The Life and Letters of Viscount Sherbrooke' (vol. i. p. 46), adds that her grandfather was, naturally, excessively annoyed at having been made the mouthpiece of an untruth, and that the coolness which arose in consequence lasted up to the end of Byron's life. There can, however, be no doubt that Byron made the statement in all sincerity.] [Footnote 2: At Wymondham.] CHAPTER IV. TRAVELS IN ALBANIA, GREECE, ETC.--DEATH OF MRS. BYRON. 1809-1811. 123.--To his Mother. Falmouth, June 22, 1809. DEAR MOTHER,--I am about to sail in a few days; probably before this reaches you. Fletcher begged so hard, that I have continued him in my service. If he does not behave well abroad, I will send him back in a _transport_. I have a German servant (who has been with Mr. Wilbraham in Persia before, and was strongly recommended to me by Dr. Butler, of Harrow), Robert and William; [1] they constitute my whole suite. I have letters in plenty:--you shall hear from me at the different ports I touch upon; but you must not be alarmed if my letters miscarry. The Continent is in a fine state--an insurrection has broken out at Paris, and the Austrians are beating Buonaparte--the Tyrolese have risen. There is a picture of me in oil, to be sent down to Newstead soon. [2] --I wish the Miss Pigots had something better to do than carry my miniatures to Nottingham to copy. Now they have done it, you may ask them to copy the others, which are greater favourites than my own. As to money matters, I am ruined--at least till Rochdale is sold; and if that does not turn out well, I shall enter into the Austrian or Russian service--perhaps the Turkish, if I like their manners. The world is all before me, and I leave England without regret, and without a wish to revisit any thing it contains, except _yourself_, and your present residence. Believe me, yours ever sincerely. P.S.--Pray tell Mr. Rushton his son is well, and doing well; so is Murray, [3] indeed better than I ever saw him; he will be back in about a month. I ought to add the leaving Murray to my few regrets, as his age perhaps will prevent my seeing him again. Robert I take with me; I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal. [Footnote 1: Robert Rushton and William Fletcher, the "little page" and "staunch yeoman" of Childe Harold's "Good Night," Canto I. stanza xiii.] [Footnote 2: By George Sanders.] [Footnote 3: "Joe" Murray was sent back from Gibraltar, and with him returned the homesick Robert Rushton. 124.--To the Rev. Henry Drury. Falmouth, June 28, 1809. MY DEAR DRURY,--We sail to-morrow in the Lisbon packet, having been detained till now by the lack of wind, and other necessaries. These being at last procured, by this time tomorrow evening we shall be embarked on the vide vorld of vaters, vor all the vorld like Robinson Crusoe. The Malta vessel not sailing for some weeks, we have determined to go by way of Lisbon, and, as my servants term it, to see "that there "'Portingale'"--thence to Cadiz and Gibraltar, and so on our old route to Malta and Constantinople, if so be that Captain Kidd, our gallant, or rather gallows, commander, understands plain sailing and Mercator, and takes us on a voyage all according to the chart. Will you tell Dr. Butler that I have taken the treasure of a servant, Friese, the native of Prussia Proper, into my service from his recommendation? He has been all among the Worshippers of Fire in Persia, and has seen Persepolis and all that. Hobhouse has made woundy preparations for a book on his return; 100 pens, two gallons of Japan Ink, and several volumes of best blank, is no bad provision for a discerning public. I have laid down my pen, but have promised to contribute a chapter on the state of morals, and a further treatise on the same to be intituled "..., 'Simplified,... or Proved to be Praiseworthy from Ancient Authors and Modern Practice.'" Hobhouse further hopes to indemnify himself in Turkey for a life of exemplary chastity at home. Pray buy his 'Missellingany', as the Printer's Devil calls it. I suppose it is in print by this time. Providence has interposed in our favour with a fair wind to carry us out of its reach, or he would have hired a Faqui to translate it into the Turcoman lingo. "The cock is crowing, I must be going, And can no more." 'Ghost of Gaffer Thumb'. [1] Adieu.--Believe me, etc., etc. [Footnote 1: In Fielding's burlesque tragedy, 'The Tragedy of Tragedies; or the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great'(1730), occur the lines-- "Arthur, beware; I must this moment hence, Not frighted by your voice, but by the cock's." The burlesque was altered by Kane O'Hara, and published as performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, in 1805. In this prompt-book version (act i.) appear the lines quoted by Byron. "'Ghost'. Grizzle's Rebellion, What need I tell you on? Or by a red cow Tom Thumb devoured? ('cock crows') Hark the cock crowing! I must be going: I can no more {'vanishes'}."] 125.--To Francis Hodgson. Falmouth, June 25, 1809. MY DEAR HODGSON,--Before this reaches you, Hobhouse, two officers' wives, three children, two waiting-maids, ditto subalterns for the troops, three Portuguese esquires and domestics, in all nineteen souls, will have sailed in the Lisbon packet, with the noble Captain Kidd, a gallant commander as ever smuggled an anker of right Nantz. We are going to Lisbon first, because the Malta packet has sailed, d'ye see?--from Lisbon to Gibraltar, Malta, Constantinople, and "all that," as Orator Henley said, when he put the Church, and "all that," in danger. [1] This town of Falmouth, as you will partly conjecture, is no great ways from the sea. It is defended on the sea-side by tway castles, St. Maws and Pendennis, extremely well calculated for annoying every body except an enemy. St. Maws is garrisoned by an able-bodied person of fourscore, a widower. He has the whole command and sole management of six most unmanageable pieces of ordnance, admirably adapted for the destruction of Pendennis, a like tower of strength on the opposite side of the Channel. We have seen St. Maws, but Pendennis they will not let us behold, save at a distance, because Hobhouse and I are suspected of having already taken St. Maws by a coup de main. The town contains many Quakers and salt fish--the oysters have a taste of copper, owing to the soil of a mining country--the women (blessed be the Corporation therefor!) are flogged at the cart's tail when they pick and steal, as happened to one of the fair sex yesterday noon. She was pertinacious in her behaviour, and damned the mayor. This is all I know of Falmouth. Nothing occurred of note in our way down, except that on Hartford Bridge we changed horses at an inn, where the great----, Beckford, [2] sojourned for the night. We tried in vain to see the martyr of prejudice, but could not. What we thought singular, though you perhaps will not, was that Ld Courtney [3] travelled the same night on the same road, only one stage _behind_ him. Hodgson, remember me to the Drury, and remember me to yourself when drunk. I am not worth a sober thought. Look to my satire at Cawthorn's, Cockspur Street, and look to the 'Miscellany' of the Hobhouse. It has pleased Providence to interfere in behalf of a suffering public by giving him a sprained wrist, so that he cannot write, and there is a cessation of ink-shed. I don't know when I can write again, because it depends on that experienced navigator, Captain Kidd, and the "stormy winds that (don't) blow" at this season. I leave England without regret--I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation, but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab;--and thus ends my first chapter. Adieu. [4] Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: Henley, in one of his publications entitled 'Oratory Transactions', engaged "to execute singly what would sprain a dozen of modern doctors of the tribe of Issachar--to write, read, and study twelve hours a day, and yet appear as untouched by the yoke as if he never wore it--to teach in one year what schools or universities teach in five;" and he furthermore pledged himself to persevere in his bold scheme until he had "put the church,--and all that--, in danger." (Moore).] [Footnote 2: William Beckford (1760-1844), son of Chatham's friend who was twice Lord Mayor of London, at the age of eleven succeeded it is said, to a million of ready money and a hundred thousand a year. Before he was seventeen he wrote his 'Biographical Memoirs of Extraordinary Painters', designed as a satire on the 'Vies des Peintres Flamands', ('Memoirs of William Beckford', by Cyrus Redding, vol. i. p. 96.) His travels (1777-82) in Switzerland, the Low Countries, and Italy are described in his 'Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents, in a series of letters from various parts of Europe', published anonymously in 1783, and reprinted, with additions and omissions, in 1834 and 1840. In the previous year he had written 'Vathek' in French, in "three days and two nights," without, as he says, taking off his clothes; "the severe application made me very ill." This statement, if made by Beckford, as Redding implies, is untrue. Evidence exists to prove that 'Vathek' was a careful and elaborate composition. The book was published with his name in 1787; but a translation, made and printed without his leave, had already (1784) appeared, and was often mistaken for the original. In 1783 he married Lady Margaret Gordon, with whom he lived in Switzerland till her death in 1786. One of his two daughters--he had no son--became Mrs. Orde, the other the Duchess of Hamilton. From 1787 to 1791, and again from 1794 to 1796, he visited Portugal and Spain, and to this period belong his 'Sketches of Spain and Portugal' (1834), and his 'Recollections of an Excursion to the 'Monasteries of Alobaca and Batalha' (1835). Between his two visits to Portugal, on the last of which he occupied the retreat at Cintra celebrated by Byron ('Childe Harold', Canto I. stanzas xviii.-xxii.), he saw the destruction of the Bastille, bought Gibbon's library at Lausanne (in 1796), and, shutting himself up in it "for six weeks, from early in the morning until night, only now and then taking "a ride," read himself "nearly blind" (Cyrus Redding's "Recollections of the Author of Vathek," 'New Monthly Magazine', vol. lxxi. p. 307). He also wrote two burlesque novels, to ridicule, it is said, those written by his sister, Mrs. Henry: 'Azemia; a Descriptive and Sentimental Novel. By Jacquetta Agneta Mariana Jenks of Bellgrove Priory in Wales' (1796); and 'Modern Novel-Writing, or the Elegant Enthusiast. By the Rt. Hon. Lady Harriet Marlow'(1797). He represented Wells from 1784 to 1790, and Hindon from 1806 to 1820; but took no part in political life. He was now settled at Fonthill (1796-1822), absorbed in collecting books, pictures, and engravings, laying out the grounds, indulging his architectural extravagances, and shutting himself and his palace out from the world by a gigantic wall. When Rogers visited him at Fonthill, and arrived at the gate, he was told that neither his servant nor his horses could be admitted, but that Mr. Beckford's attendants and horses would be at his service ('Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 217). Beckford had been taught music by Mozart, and Rogers says ('ibid'.) that "in the evening Beckford would amuse us by reading one of his unpublished works; or he would extemporize on the pianoforte, producing the most novel and charming melodies." In 1822 his gigantic fortune had dwindled; he was in embarrassed circumstances; Fonthill and most of its contents were sold, and Beckford settled in Lansdowne Terrace, Bath, where he still collected books and works of art, laid out the grounds, and built the tower on Lansdowne Hill, which are now the property of the city. At Bath he died in 1844. 'Vathek' is a masterpiece, which, as an Eastern tale, is unrivalled in European literature. "For correctness of costume," says Byron, in one of his diaries, "beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be a translation. As an Eastern tale, even 'Rasselas' must bow before it: his 'Happy Valley' will not bear a comparison with the Hall of Eblis." Beckford's letters are, in their way, equally masterpieces, and, like 'Vathek', have the appearance of being struck off without labour. Reprinted, as their writer says (Preface to the edition of 1840), because "some justly admired Authors... condescended to glean a few stray thoughts from these letters," they suggest, in some respects, comparison with Byron's own work. There is the same prodigality of power, the same simple nervous style, the same vein of melancholy, the same cynical contempt for mankind. In both writers there is a passionate feeling for the grander aspects of nature, though Beckford was also thrilled, as Byron was not, by the beauties of art. In both there are similar inconsistencies and incongruities of temperament, and the same vein of reckless self-indulgence appears to run by the side of nobler enthusiasms. In both there is a taste for Oriental magnificence, which, in Beckford, was to some degree corrected by his artistic perceptions. Both, finally, described not so much the objects they saw, as the impression which those objects produced on themselves, and thus steeped their pictures, clear and vivid though they are, in an atmosphere of their own personality.] [Footnote 3: William, third Viscount Courtenay, died unmarried in 1835, and with him the viscountcy became extinct. In 1831 he proved before Parliament his title to the earldom of Devon, which passed at his death to a cousin, William, tenth Earl of Devon (1777-1859).] [Footnote 4: In this letter the following verses were enclosed:-- "Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809. "Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo's off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o'er the mast. From aloft the signal's streaming, Hark! the farewell gun is fired, Women screeching, tars blaspheming, Tell us that our time's expired. Here's a rascal Come to task all, Prying from the Custom-house; Trunks unpacking, Cases cracking, Not a corner for a mouse 'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket, Ere we sail on board the Packet. Now our boatmen quit their mooring, And all hands must ply the oar; Baggage from the quay is lowering, We're impatient--push from shore. 'Have a care! that case holds liquor-- Stop the boat--I'm sick--oh Lord!' 'Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker Ere you've been an hour on board.' Thus are screaming Men and women, Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks; Here entangling, All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax. Such the general noise and racket, Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet. Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain, Gallant Kidd, commands the crew; Passengers their berths are clapt in, Some to grumble, some to spew. 'Hey day! call you that a cabin? Why 'tis hardly three feet square; Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-- Who the deuce can harbour there?' 'Who, sir? plenty-- Nobles twenty-- Did at once my vessel fill'-- 'Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still: Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket, Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.' Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? Stretch'd along the deck like logs-- Bear a hand, you jolly tar you! Here's a rope's end for the dogs. Hobhouse muttering fearful curses, As the hatchway down he rolls; Now his breakfast, now his verses, Vomits forth--and damns our souls. 'Here's a stanza On Braganza-- Help!'--'A couplet?'--'No, a cup Of warm water.'-- 'What's the matter?' 'Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.' Now at length we're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky May unship us in a crack. But, since life at most a jest is, As philosophers allow, Still to laugh by far the best is, Then laugh on--as I do now. Laugh at all things, Great and small things, Sick or well, at sea or shore; While we're quaffing, Let's have laughing-- Who the devil cares for more?-- Some good wine! and who would lack it, Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet? "BYRON." 126.--To Francis Hodgson. Lisbon, July 16, 1809. Thus far have we pursued our route, and seen all sorts of marvellous sights, palaces, convents, etc.;--which, being to be heard in my friend Hobhouse's forthcoming Book of Travels, I shall not anticipate by smuggling any account whatsoever to you in a private and clandestine manner. I must just observe, that the village of Cintra in Estremadura is the most beautiful, perhaps, in the world. I am very happy here, because I loves oranges, and talks bad Latin to the monks, who understand it, as it is like their own,--and I goes into society (with my pocket-pistols), and I swims in the Tagus all across at once, and I rides on an ass or a mule, and swears Portuguese, and have got a diarrhoea and bites from the mosquitoes. But what of that? Comfort must not be expected by folks that go a pleasuring. When the Portuguese are pertinacious, I say 'Carracho!'--the great oath of the grandees, that very well supplies the place of "Damme,"--and, when dissatisfied with my neighbour, I pronounce him 'Ambra di merdo'. With these two phrases, and a third, 'Avra louro', which signifieth "Get an ass," I am universally understood to be a person of degree and a master of languages. How merrily we lives that travellers be!--if we had food and raiment. But, in sober sadness, any thing is better than England, and I am infinitely amused with my pilgrimage as far as it has gone. To-morrow we start to ride post near 400 miles as far as Gibraltar, where we embark for Melita and Byzantium. A letter to Malta will find me, or to be forwarded, if I am absent. Pray embrace the Drury and Dwyer, and all the Ephesians you encounter. I am writing with Butler's donative pencil, which makes my bad hand worse. Excuse illegibility. Hodgson! send me the news, and the deaths and defeats and capital crimes and the misfortunes of one's friends; and let us hear of literary matters, and the controversies and the criticisms. All this will be pleasant--'Suave mari magno', etc. Talking of that, I have been sea-sick, and sick of the sea. Adieu. Yours faithfully, etc. 127.--To Francis Hodgson. Gibraltar, August 6, 1809. I have just arrived at this place after a journey through Portugal, and a part of Spain, of nearly 500 miles. We left Lisbon and travelled on horseback to Seville and Cadiz, and thence in the 'Hyperion' frigate to Gibraltar. The horses are excellent--we rode seventy miles a day. Eggs and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we found, and, in such torrid weather, quite enough. My health is better than in England. Seville is a fine town, and the Sierra Morena, part of which we crossed, a very sufficient mountain; but damn description, it is always disgusting. Cadiz, sweet Cadiz! [1]--it is the first spot in the creation. The beauty of its streets and mansions is only excelled by the loveliness of its inhabitants. For, with all national prejudice, I must confess the women of Cadiz are as far superior to the English women in beauty as the Spaniards are inferior to the English in every quality that dignifies the name of man. Just as I began to know the principal persons of the city, I was obliged to sail. You will not expect a long letter after my riding so far "on hollow pampered jades of Asia." Talking of Asia puts me in mind of Africa, which is within five miles of my present residence. I am going over before I go on to Constantinople. Cadiz is a complete Cythera. Many of the grandees who have left Madrid during the troubles reside there, and I do believe it is the prettiest and cleanest town in Europe. London is filthy in the comparison. The Spanish women are all alike, their education the same. The wife of a duke is, in information, as the wife of a peasant,--the wife of peasant, in manner, equal to a duchess. Certainly they are fascinating; but their minds have only one idea, and the business of their lives is intrigue. I have seen Sir John Carr [2] at Seville and Cadiz, and, like Swift's barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would not put me into black and white [3]. Pray remember me [4] to the Drurys and the Davies, and all of that stamp who are yet extant. Send me a letter and news to Malta. My next epistle shall be from Mount Caucasus or Mount Sion. I shall return to Spain before I see England, for I am enamoured of the country. Adieu, and believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: In 'Childe Harold' (Canto I., after stanza lxxxiv.), instead of the song "To Inez," Byron originally wrote the song beginning "Oh never talk again to me Of northern climes and British ladies, It has not been your lot to see, Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz."] [Footnote 2: Sir John Carr (1772-1832), a native of Devonshire, and a barrister of the Middle Temple, was knighted by the Duke of Bedford as Viceroy of Ireland about 1807. He published 'The Fury of Discord, a Poem' (1803); 'The Sea-side Hero, a Drama in 3 Acts' (1804); and 'Poems'(1809). But he is best known by his travels, which gained him the nickname of "Jaunting Carr," and considerable profit. 'The Stranger in France' (1803) was bought by Johnson for £100. 'A Northern Summer, or Travels round the Baltic, etc._(1805), 'The Stranger in Ireland' (1806), and 'A Tour through Holland_(1807), were bought for £500, £700, and £600 respectively by Sir Richard Phillips, who, but for the ridicule cast upon Carr by Edward Dubois (in 'My Pocket Book; or Hints for a Ryhte Merrie and Conceited Tour in Quarto, to be called "The Stranger in Ireland in 1805," by a Knight Errant'), would have given £600 for his 'Caledonian Sketches' (1808). In spite, however, of this proof of damages, the jury found, in Carr's action against Messrs. Hood and Sharpe, the publishers of 'My Pocket Book', that the criticism was fair and justifiable (1808). Carr published, in 1811, his 'Descriptive Travels in the Southern and Eastern Parts of Spain', without mentioning Byron's name. Byron concluded his MS. of 'Childe Harold', Canto I. with three stanzas on "Green Erin's Knight and Europe's Wandering Star" (see, for the lines, 'Childe Harold', at the end of Canto I.). In letter vii. of 'Intercepted Letters; or the Twopenny Post-bag', by Thomas Brown the Younger (1813), occur the following lines:-- "Since the Chevalier C--rr took to marrying lately, The Trade is in want of a 'Traveller' greatly-- No job, Sir, more easy--your 'Country' once plann'd, A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand."] [Footnote 3: "Once stopping at an inn at Dundalk, the Dean was so much amused with a prating barber, that rather than be alone he invited him to dinner. The fellow was rejoiced at this unexpected honour, and being dressed out in his best apparel came to the inn, first inquiring of the groom what the clergyman's name was who had so kindly invited him. 'What the vengeance!' said the servant,' don't you know Dean Swift?' At which the barber turned pale, and, running into the house, fell upon his knees and intreated the Dean 'not to put him into print; for that he was a poor barber, had a large family to maintain, and if his reverence put him into black and white he should lose all his customers.' Swift laughed heartily at the poor fellow's simplicity, bade him sit down and eat his dinner in peace, for he assured him he would neither put him nor his wife in print." Sheridan's 'Life of Swift'.--(Moore).] [Footnote 4: "This sort of passage," says the Rev. Francis Hodgson, in a note on his copy of this letter, "constantly occurs in his correspondence. Nor was his interest confined to mere remembrances and inquiries after health. Were it possible to state 'all' he has done for numerous friends, he would appear amiable indeed. For myself, I am bound to acknowledge, in the fullest and warmest manner, his most generous and well-timed aid; and, were my poor friend Bland alive, he would as gladly bear the like testimony;--though I have most reason, of all men, to do so." (Moore).] 128.--To his Mother. Gibraltar, August 11th, 1809. Dear Mother,-I have been so much occupied since my departure from England, that till I could address you at length I have forborne writing altogether. As I have now passed through Portugal, and a considerable part of Spain, and have leisure at this place, I shall endeavour to give you a short detail of my movements. We sailed from Falmouth on the 2nd of July, reached Lisbon after a very favourable passage of four days and a half, and took up our abode in that city. It has been often described without being worthy of description; for, except the view from the Tagus, which is beautiful, and some fine churches and convents, it contains little but filthy streets, and more filthy inhabitants. To make amends for this, the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles from the capital, is, perhaps in every respect, the most delightful in Europe; it contains beauties of every description, natural and artificial. Palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cataracts, and precipices; convents on stupendous heights--a distant view of the sea and the Tagus; and, besides (though that is a secondary consideration), is remarkable as the scene of Sir Hew Dalrymple's Convention.[1] It unites in itself all the wildness of the western highlands, with the verdure of the south of France. Near this place, about ten miles to the right, is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as it might be of any other country, in point of magnificence without elegance. There is a convent annexed; the monks, who possess large revenues, are courteous enough, and understand Latin, so that we had a long conversation: they have a large library, and asked me if the _English_ had _any books_ in their country? I sent my baggage, and part of the servants, by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on horseback from Aldea Galbega (the first stage from Lisbon, which is only accessible by water) to Seville (one of the most famous cities in Spain), where the Government called the Junta is now held. The distance to Seville is nearly four hundred miles, and to Cadiz almost ninety farther towards the coast. I had orders from the governments, and every possible accommodation on the road, as an English nobleman, in an English uniform, is a very respectable personage in Spain at present. The horses are remarkably good, and the roads (I assure you upon my honour, for you will hardly believe it) very far superior to the best English roads, without the smallest toll or turnpike. You will suppose this when I rode post to Seville, in four days, through this parching country in the midst of summer, without fatigue or annoyance. Seville is a beautiful town; though the streets are narrow, they are clean. We lodged in the house of two Spanish unmarried ladies, who possess _six_ houses in Seville, and gave me a curious specimen of Spanish manners. They are women of character, and the eldest a fine woman, the youngest pretty, but not so good a figure as Donna Josepha. The freedom of manner, which is general here, astonished me not a little; and in the course of further observation, I find that reserve is not the characteristic of the Spanish belles, who are, in general, very handsome, with large black eyes, and very fine forms. The eldest honoured your _unworthy_ son with very particular attention, embracing him with great tenderness at parting (I was there but three days), after cutting off a lock of his hair, and presenting him with one of her own, about three feet in length, which I send, and beg you will retain till my return. Her last words were, _Adios, tu hermoso! me gusto mucho_--"Adieu, you pretty fellow! you please me much." She offered me a share of her apartment, which my _virtue_ induced me to decline; she laughed, and said I had some English _amante_ (lover), and added that she was going to be married to an officer in the Spanish army. I left Seville, and rode on to Cadiz, through a beautiful country. At _Xeres_, where the sherry we drink is made, I met a great merchant--a Mr. Gordon of Scotland--who was extremely polite, and favoured me with the inspection of his vaults and cellars, so that I quaffed at the fountain head. Cadiz, sweet Cadiz, is the most delightful town I ever beheld, very different from our English cities in every respect except cleanliness (and it is as clean as London), but still beautiful, and full of the finest women in Spain, the Cadiz belles being the Lancashire witches of their land. Just as I was introduced and began to like the grandees, I was forced to leave it for this cursed place; but before I return to England I will visit it again. The night before I left it, I sat in the box at the opera with Admiral Cordova's family; [2] he is the commander whom Lord St. Vincent defeated in 1797, and has an aged wife and a fine daughter, Sennorita Cordova. The girl is very pretty, in the Spanish style; in my opinion, by no means inferior to the English in charms, and certainly superior in fascination. Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, _clear_ olive complexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be conceived by an Englishman used to the drowsy, listless air of his countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, and, at the same time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty irresistible. I beg leave to observe that intrigue here is the business of life; when a woman marries she throws off all restraint, but I believe their conduct is chaste enough before. If you make a proposal, which in England will bring a box on the ear from the meekest of virgins, to a Spanish girl, she thanks you for the honour you intend her, and replies, "Wait till I am married, and I shall be too happy." This is literally and strictly true. Miss Cordova and her little brother understood a little French, and, after regretting my ignorance of the Spanish, she proposed to become my preceptress in that language. I could only reply by a low bow, and express my regret that I quitted Cadiz too soon to permit me to make the progress which would doubtless attend my studies under so charming a directress. I was standing at the back of the box, which resembles our Opera boxes, (the theatre is large and finely decorated, the music admirable,) in the manner which Englishmen generally adopt, for fear of incommoding the ladies in front, when this fair Spaniard dispossessed an old woman (an aunt or a duenna) of her chair, and commanded me to be seated next herself, at a tolerable distance from her mamma. At the close of the performance I withdrew, and was lounging with a party of men in the passage, when, _en passant,_ the lady turned round and called me, and I had the honour of attending her to the admiral's mansion. I have an invitation on my return to Cadiz, which I shall accept if I repass through the country on my return from Asia. [3] I have met Sir John Carr, Knight Errant, at Seville and Cadiz. He is a pleasant man. I like the Spaniards much. You have heard of the battle near Madrid, [4] and in England they would call it a victory--a pretty victory! Two hundred officers and five thousand men killed, all English, and the French in as great force as ever. I should have joined the army, but we have no time to lose before we get up the Mediterranean and Archipelago. I am going over to Africa tomorrow; it is only six miles from this fortress. My next stage is Cagliari in Sardinia, where I shall be presented to His Majesty. I have a most superb uniform as a court dress, indispensable in travelling. _August 13._--I have not yet been to Africa--the wind is contrary--but I dined yesterday at Algesiras, with Lady Westmorland, [5] where I met General Castanos, the celebrated Spanish leader in the late and present war. To-day I dine with him. He has offered me letters to Tetuan in Barbary, for the principal Moors, and I am to have the house for a few days of one of the great men, which was intended for Lady W., whose health will not permit her to cross the Straits. _August 15_.--I could not dine with Castanos [6] yesterday, but this afternoon I had that honour. He is pleasant and, for aught I know to the contrary, clever. I cannot go to Barbary. The Malta packet sails to-morrow, and myself in it. Admiral Purvis, with whom I dined at Cadiz, gave me a passage in a frigate to Gibraltar, but we have no ship of war destined for Malta at present. The packets sail fast, and have good accommodation. You shall hear from me on our route. Joe Murray delivers this; I have sent him and the boy back. Pray show the lad kindness, as he is my great favourite; I would have taken him on. And say this to his father, who may otherwise think he has behaved ill. I hope this will find you well. Believe me, Yours ever sincerely, BYRON. P.S.--So Lord G----[7] is married to a rustic. Well done! If I wed, I will bring home a Sultana, with half a dozen cities for a dowry, and reconcile you to an Ottoman daughter-in-law, with a bushel of pearls not larger than ostrich eggs, or smaller than walnuts. [Footnote 1: Sir Hew Whitefoord Dalrymple (1750-1830) took command of the British forces in the Peninsular War, August 22, 1808, and signed the Convention of Cintra (August 31), by which Junot, whom Sir Arthur Wellesley had defeated at Vimeira, evacuated Portugal, and surrendered Elvas and Lisbon. The Convention was approved by a court of general officers ordered to sit at Chelsea Hospital; but Dalrymple never again obtained a command. The so-called Convention of Cintra was signed at the palace of the Marquis de Marialva, thirty miles distant.] [Footnote 2: Admiral Cordova commanded the Spanish Fleet, defeated, February 14, 1797, off Cape St. Vincent, by Sir John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent.] [Footnote 3: To these adventures in his hasty passage through Spain Byron briefly alludes in the early part of his _Memoranda._ "For some time," he said, "I went on prosperously both as a linguist and a lover, till at length the lady took a fancy to a ring which I wore, and set her heart on my giving it to her, as a pledge of my sincerity. This, however, could not be:--any thing but the ring, I declared, was at her service, and much more than its value,--but the ring itself I had made a vow never to give away." The young Spaniard grew angry as the contention went on, and it was not long before the lover became angry also; till, at length, the affair ended by their separating. "Soon after this," said he, "I sailed for Malta, and there parted with both my heart and ring." ('Life', p.93). He also alludes to the incident in 'Don Juan', Canto II, stanza clxiv.-- "'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been," etc.] [Footnote 4: The battle of Talavera, July 27 and 28, 1809, in which Sir Arthur Wellesley defeated Marshal Victor. In Cuesta's despatch to the Spanish Government, dated Seville, August 7, the British loss is mentioned as 260 officers and 5000 men.] [Footnote 5: Lady Westmorland, _nee_ Jane Saunders, daughter of Dr. R. H. Saunders, married, in 1800, as his second wife, John, tenth Earl of Westmorland (1759-1841). At her house Lady Caroline Lamb refused to be introduced to Byron (_Life of Lord Melbourne,_ vol. i. p.103). [Footnote 6: General Francisco de Castanos, Duke of Baylen (1758-1852) defeated General Dupont at Baylen in 1808, and distinguished himself at Vittoria in 1813. He was guardian to Queen Isabella in 1843.] [Footnote 7: Lord Grey de Ruthyn. (See page 23 [Letter 8], [Foot]note 1.)] 129.--To Mr. Rushton. Gibraltar, August 15, 1809. Mr. Rushton,--I have sent Robert home with Mr. Murray, because the country which I am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct five-and-twenty pounds a year for his education for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. Let every care be taken of him, and let him be sent to school. In case of my death I have provided enough in my will to render him independent. He has behaved extremely well, and has travelled a great deal for the time of his absence. Deduct the expense of his education from your rent. BYRON. 130.--To his Mother. Malta, September 15, 1809. Dear Mother,--Though I have a very short time to spare, being to sail immediately for Greece, I cannot avoid taking an opportunity of telling you that I am well. I have been in Malta [1] a short time, and have found the inhabitants hospitable and pleasant. This letter is committed to the charge of a very extraordinary woman, whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de Salvo published a narrative a few years ago. [2] She has since been shipwrecked, and her life has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable. She was born at Constantinople, where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian Ambassador; married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the vengeance of Buonaparte by a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life; and is not yet twenty-five. She is here on her way to England, to join her husband, being obliged to leave Trieste, where she was paying a visit to her mother, by the approach of the French, and embarks soon in a ship of war. Since my arrival here, I have had scarcely any other companion. I have found her very pretty, very accomplished, and extremely eccentric. Buonaparte is even now so incensed against her, that her life would be in some danger if she were taken prisoner a second time. You have seen Murray and Robert by this time, and received my letter. Little has happened since that date. I have touched at Cagliari in Sardinia, and at Girgenti in Sicily, and embark to-morrow for Patras, from whence I proceed to Yanina, where Ali Pacha holds his court. So I shall soon be among the Mussulmans. Adieu. Believe me, with sincerity, yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: At Gibraltar, John Galt, who was travelling for his health, met Byron, whom he did not know by sight, but by whose appearance he was attracted. "His dress indicated a Londoner of some fashion, partly by its neatness and simplicity, with just so much of a peculiarity of style as served to show that, although he belonged to the order of metropolitan beaux, he was not altogether a common one ... His physiognomy was prepossessing and intelligent, but ever and anon his brows lowered and gathered--a habit, as I then thought, with a degree of affectation in it, probably first assumed for picturesque effect and energetic expression, but which I afterwards discovered was undoubtedly the scowl of some unpleasant reminiscence; it was certainly disagreeable, forbidding, but still the general cast of his features was impressed with elegance and character." Afterwards Galt was a fellow-passenger on board the packet from Gibraltar to Malta. "In the little bustle and process of embarking their luggage, his Lordship affected, as it seemed to me, more aristocracy than befitted his years, or the occasion; and then I thought of his singular scowl, and suspected him of pride and irascibility. The impression that evening was not agreeable, but it was interesting; and that forehead mark, the frown, was calculated to awaken curiosity, and beget conjectures ... Byron held himself aloof, and sat on the rail, leaning on the mizzen shrouds, inhaling, as it were, poetical sympathy from the gloomy rock, then dark and stern in the twilight. There was, in all about him that evening, much waywardness. He spoke petulantly to Fletcher, his valet, and was evidently ill at ease with himself, and fretful towards others. I thought he would turn out an unsatisfactory shipmate; yet there was something redeeming in the tones of his voice, and when, some time after having indulged his sullen meditation he again addressed Fletcher; so that, instead of finding him ill-natured, I was soon convinced he was only capricious." On the voyage, "about the third day, Byron relented from his rapt mood, as if he felt it was out of place, and became playful, and disposed to contribute his fair proportion to the general endeavour to while away the tediousness of the dull voyage." But yet throughout the whole passage, "if," says Galt, "my remembrance is not treacherous, he only spent one evening in the cabin with us--the evening before we came to anchor at Cagliari; for, when the lights were placed, he made himself a man forbid, took his station on the railing, between the pegs on which the sheets are belayed and the shrouds, and there, for hours, sat in silence, enamoured, it may be, of the moon. All these peculiarities, with his caprices, and something inexplicable in the cast of his metaphysics, while they served to awaken interest, contributed little to conciliate esteem. He was often strangely rapt--it may have been from his genius; and, had its grandeur and darkness been then divulged, susceptible of explanation; but, at the time, it threw, as it were, around him the sackcloth of penitence. Sitting amid the shrouds and rattlings, in the tranquillity of the moonlight, churning an inarticulate melody, he seemed almost apparitional, suggesting dim reminiscences of him who shot the albatross" (Galt's 'Life of Byron', pp. 57-61).] [Footnote 2: Byron's "new Calypso." Mrs. Spencer Smith (born about 1785) was the daughter of Baron Herbert, Austrian Ambassador at Constantinople, wife of Spencer Smith, the British Minister at Stuttgart, and sister-in-law of Sir Sidney Smith, the hero of Acre. In 1805 she was staying, for her health, at the baths of Valdagno, near Vicenza, when the Napoleonic wars overspread Northern Italy, and she took refuge with her sister, the Countess Attems, at Venice. In 1806 General Lauriston took over the government of the city in the name of Napoleon, and M. de La Garde was appointed Prefect of the Police. A few days after their arrival, on April 18, Mrs. Smith was arrested, and, guarded by 'gendarmes', conveyed towards the Italian frontier, to be confined, as La Garde told a Sicilian nobleman, the Marquis de Salvo, at Valenciennes. Mrs. Smith's beauty and impending fate deeply impressed the marquis, who determined to rescue her. The prisoner and her guard had reached Brescia, and were lodged at the 'Albergo delle due Torre', The opportunity seemed favourable. Once across the Guarda Lake, and in the passes of Tyrol, it would be easy to reach Styria. The marquis made his arrangements--hired two boats, one for the fugitives, the other for their post-chaise and horses; procured for Mrs. Smith a boy's dress, as a disguise; made a ladder long enough to reach her window in the inn, and succeeded in making known his plan to the prisoner. The escape was effected; but all along the road the danger continued, for their way lay through a country which was practically French territory. It was not till they reached Gratz, and Mrs. Smith was under the roof of her sister, the Countess Strassoldo, that she was safe. The story is told in detail by the Marquis de Salvo, in his 'Travels in the Year 1806 from Italy to England' (1807), and by the Duchesse d'Abrantes ('Memoires,' vol. xv. pp. 1-74). To Mrs. Spencer Smith are addressed the "Lines to Florence," the "Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm" (near Zitza, in October, 1809), and stanzas xxx.-xxxii. of the second canto of 'Childe Harold.' The Duchesse d'Abrantés ('Mémoires', vol. xv. pp. 4, 5) thus describes her: "Une jeune femme, dont la délicate et elégante tournure, la peau blanche et diaphane, les cheveux blonds, les mouvemens onduleux, toute une tournure impossible à décrire autrement qu'en disant qu'elle était de toutes les créatures la plus gracieuse, lui donnaient l'aspect d'une de ces apparitions amenées par un rêve heureux... il y avail de la Sylphide en elle. Sa vue excessivement basse n'etait qu'un charme de plus." Moore ('Life,' p. 95) thinks that Byron was less in love with Mrs. Smith than with his recollection of her. According to Gait ('Life of Byron,' p. 66), "he affected a passion for her, but it was only Platonic. She, however, beguiled him of his valuable yellow diamond ring."] 131.--To his Mother. Prevesa, November 12, 1809. My Dear Mother,--I have now been some time in Turkey: this place is on the coast, but I have traversed the interior of the province of Albania on a visit to the Pacha. I left Malta in the _Spider,_ a brig of war, on the 21st of September, and arrived in eight days at Prevesa. I thence have been about 150 miles, as far as Tepaleen, his Highness's country palace, where I stayed three days. The name of the Pacha is _Ali_ [1] and he is considered a man of the first abilities: he governs the whole of Albania (the ancient Illyricum), Epirus, and part of Macedonia. His son, Vely Pacha, [2] to whom he has given me letters, governs the Morea, and has great influence in Egypt; in short, he is one of the most powerful men in the Ottoman empire. When I reached Yanina, the capital, after a journey of three days over the mountains, through a country of the most picturesque beauty, I found that Ali Pacha was with his army in Illyricum, besieging Ibrahim Pacha in the castle of Berat. He had heard that an Englishman of rank was in his dominions, and had left orders in Yanina with the commandant to provide a house, and supply me with every kind of necessary _gratis_; and, though I have been allowed to make presents to the slaves, etc., I have not been permitted to pay for a single article of household consumption. I rode out on the vizier's horses, and saw the palaces of himself and grandsons: they are splendid, but too much ornamented with silk and gold. I then went over the mountains through Zitza, [3] a village with a Greek monastery (where I slept on my return), in the most beautiful situation (always excepting Cintra, in Portugal) I ever beheld. In nine days I reached Tepaleen. Our journey was much prolonged by the torrents that had fallen from the mountains, and intersected the roads. I shall never forget the singular scene on entering Tepaleen at five in the afternoon, as the sun was going down. It brought to my mind (with some change of _dress_, however) Scott's description of Branksome Castle in his _Lay_, and the feudal system. [4] The Albanians, in their dresses, (the most magnificent in the world, consisting of a long _white kilt_, gold-worked cloak, crimson velvet gold-laced jacket and waistcoat, silver-mounted pistols and daggers,) the Tartars with their high caps, the Turks in their vast pelisses and turbans, the soldiers and black slaves with the horses, the former in groups in an immense large open gallery in front of the palace, the latter placed in a kind of cloister below it, two hundred steeds ready caparisoned to move in a moment, couriers entering or passing out with the despatches, the kettle-drums beating, boys calling the hour from the minaret of the mosque, altogether, with the singular appearance of the building itself, formed a new and delightful spectacle to a stranger. I was conducted to a very handsome apartment, and my health inquired after by the vizier's secretary, 'à-la-mode Turque'! The next day I was introduced to Ali Pacha. I was dressed in a full suit of staff uniform, with a very magnificent sabre, etc. The vizier received me in a large room paved with marble; a fountain was playing in the centre; the apartment was surrounded by scarlet ottomans. He received me standing, a wonderful compliment from a Mussulman, and made me sit down on his right hand. I have a Greek interpreter for general use, but a physician of Ali's named Femlario, who understands Latin, acted for me on this occasion. His first question was, why, at so early an age, I left my country?--(the Turks have no idea of travelling for amusement). He then said, the English minister, Captain Leake, [5] had told him I was of a great family, and desired his respects to my mother; which I now, in the name of Ali Pacha, present to you. He said he was certain I was a man of birth, because I had small ears, curling hair, and little white hands, and expressed himself pleased with my appearance and garb. He told me to consider him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me as his son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds and sugared sherbet, fruit and sweetmeats, twenty times a day. He begged me to visit him often, and at night, when he was at leisure. I then, after coffee and pipes, retired for the first time. I saw him thrice afterwards. It is singular that the Turks, who have no hereditary dignities, and few great families, except the Sultans, pay so much respect to birth; for I found my pedigree more regarded than my title. To-day I saw the remains of the town of Actium, [6] near which Antony lost the world, in a small bay, where two frigates could hardly manoeuvre: a broken wall is the sole remnant. On another part of the gulf stand the ruins of Nicopolis, built by Augustus in honour of his victory. Last night I was at a Greek marriage; but this and a thousand things more I have neither time nor _space_ to describe. His highness is sixty years old, very fat, and not tall, but with a fine face, light blue eyes, and a white beard; his manner is very kind, and at the same time he possesses that dignity which I find universal amongst the Turks. He has the appearance of anything but his real character, for he is a remorseless tyrant, guilty of the most horrible cruelties, very brave, and so good a general that they call him the Mahometan Buonaparte. Napoleon has twice offered to make him King of Epirus, but he prefers the English interest, and abhors the French, as he himself told me. He is of so much consequence, that he is much courted by both, the Albanians being the most warlike subjects of the Sultan, though Ali is only nominally dependent on the Porte; he has been a mighty warrior, but is as barbarous as he is successful, roasting rebels, etc., etc. Buonaparte sent him a snuff-box with his picture. He said the snuff-box was very well, but the picture he could excuse, as he neither liked it nor the original. His ideas of judging of a man's birth from ears, hands, etc., were curious enough. To me he was, indeed, a father, giving me letters, guards, and every possible accommodation. Our next conversations were of war and travelling, politics and England. He called my Albanian soldier, who attends me, and told him to protect me at all hazard; his name is Viseillie, and, like all the Albanians, he is brave, rigidly honest, and faithful; but they are cruel, though not treacherous, and have several vices but no meannesses. They are, perhaps, the most beautiful race, in point of countenance, in the world; their women are sometimes handsome also, but they are treated like slaves, _beaten_, and, in short, complete beasts of burden; they plough, dig, and sow. I found them carrying wood, and actually repairing the highways. The men are all soldiers, and war and the chase their sole occupations. The women are the labourers, which after all is no great hardship in so delightful a climate. Yesterday, the 11th of November, I bathed in the sea; to-day is so hot that I am writing in a shady room of the English consul's, with three doors wide open, no fire, or even _fireplace_, in the house, except for culinary purposes. I am going to-morrow, with a guard of fifty men, to Patras in the Morea, and thence to Athens, where I shall winter. [7] Two days ago I was nearly lost in a Turkish ship of war, owing to the ignorance of the captain and crew, though the storm was not violent. Fletcher yelled after his wife, the Greeks called on all the saints, the Mussulmans on Alla; the captain burst into tears and ran below deck, telling us to call on God; the sails were split, the main-yard shivered, the wind blowing fresh, the night setting in, and all our chance was to make Corfu, which is in possession of the French, or (as Fletcher pathetically termed it) "a watery grave." I did what I could to console Fletcher, but finding him incorrigible, wrapped myself up in my Albanian capote (an immense cloak), and lay down on deck to wait the worst. I have learnt to philosophise in my travels; and if I had not, complaint was useless. Luckily the wind abated, and only drove us on the coast of Suli, on the main land, where we landed, and proceeded, by the help of the natives, to Prevesa again; but I shall not trust Turkish sailors in future, though the Pacha had ordered one of his own galliots to take me to Patras. I am therefore going as far as Missolonghi by land, and there have only to cross a small gulf to get to Patras. Fletcher's next epistle will be full of marvels. We were one night lost for nine hours in the mountains in a thunder-storm, and since nearly wrecked. In both cases Fletcher was sorely bewildered, from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or crying (I don't know which), but are now recovered. When you write, address to me at Mr. Strané's, English consul, Patras, Morea. I could tell you I know not how many incidents that I think would amuse you, but they crowd on my mind as much as they would swell my paper, and I can neither arrange them in the one, nor put them down on the other, except in the greatest confusion. I like the Albanians much; they are not all Turks; some tribes are Christians. But their religion makes little difference in their manner or conduct. They are esteemed the best troops in the Turkish service. I lived on my route, two days at once, and three days again, in a barrack at Salora, and never found soldiers so tolerable, though I have been in the garrisons of Gibraltar and Malta, and seen Spanish, French, Sicilian, and British troops in abundance. I have had nothing stolen, and was always welcome to their provision and milk. Not a week ago an Albanian chief, (every village has its chief, who is called Primate,) after helping us out of the Turkish galley in her distress, feeding us, and lodging my suite, consisting of Fletcher, a Greek, two Athenians, a Greek priest, and my companion, Mr. Hobhouse, refused any compensation but a written paper stating that I was well received; and when I pressed him to accept a few sequins, "No," he replied; "I wish you to love me, not to pay me." These are his words. It is astonishing how far money goes in this country. While I was in the capital I had nothing to pay by the vizier's order; but since, though I have generally had sixteen horses, and generally six or seven men, the expense has not been _half_ as much as staying only three weeks in Malta, though Sir A. Ball, [8] the governor, gave me a house for nothing, and I had only _one servant_. By the by, I expect Hanson to remit regularly; for I am not about to stay in this province for ever. Let him write to me at Mr. Strané's, English consul, Patras. The fact is, the fertility of the plains is wonderful, and specie is scarce, which makes this remarkable cheapness. I am going to Athens, to study modern Greek, which differs much from the ancient, though radically similar. I have no desire to return to England, nor shall I, unless compelled by absolute want, and Hanson's neglect; but I shall not enter into Asia for a year or two, as I have much to see in Greece, and I may perhaps cross into Africa, at least the Egyptian part. Fletcher, like all Englishmen, is very much dissatisfied, though a little reconciled to the Turks by a present of eighty piastres from the vizier, which, if you consider every thing, and the value of specie here, is nearly worth ten guineas English. He has suffered nothing but from cold, heat, and vermin, which those who lie in cottages and cross mountains in a cold country must undergo, and of which I have equally partaken with himself; but he is not valiant, and is afraid of robbers and tempests. I have no one to be remembered to in England, and wish to hear nothing from it, but that you are well, and a letter or two on business from Hanson, whom you may tell to write. I will write when I can, and beg you to believe me, Your affectionate son, BYRON. P.S.--I have some very "magnifiques" Albanian dresses, the only expensive articles in this country. They cost fifty guineas each, and have so much gold, they would cost in England two hundred. I have been introduced to Hussein Bey, [9] and Mahmout Pacha, [9] both little boys, grandchildren of Ali, at Yanina; they are totally unlike our lads, have painted complexions like rouged dowagers, large black eyes, and features perfectly regular. They are the prettiest little animals I ever saw, and are broken into the court ceremonies already. The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head, with the hand on the heart; intimates always kiss. Mahmout is ten years old, and hopes to see me again; we are friends without understanding each other, like many other folks, though from a different cause. He has given me a letter to his father in the Morea, to whom I have also letters from Ali Pacha. [Footnote 1: Ali Pasha (1741-1822) was born in Albania, at Tepeleni, a town 75 miles north of Janina, of which his father was governor. This "Mahometan Buonaparte," or "Rob Roy of Albania," made himself the supreme ruler of Epirus and Albania, acquired a predominance over the Agas of Thessaly, and pushed his troops to the frontiers of ancient Attica (see Raumer's 'Historisches Taschenbuch,' pp. 87-175). A merciless and unscrupulous tyrant, he was also a fine soldier and a born administrator. Intriguing now with the Porte, now with Buonaparte, now with the English, using the rival despots of the country against each other, hand in glove with the brigands while commanding the police for their suppression, he extended his power by using conflicting interests to aggrandize himself. The Venetian possessions on the eastern shores of the Adriatic, which had passed in 1797 to France, by the treaty of Campo Formio, were wrested from the French by Ali, who defeated General La Salsette (1798) in the plains of Nicopolis, and, with the exception of Parga, seized and held the principal towns in the name of the Sultan. Byron speaks of his "aged venerable face" in 'Childe Harold' (Canto II. stanza lxii.; see also stanza xlvii.), and of the delicacy of his hand in 'Don Juan' (Canto IV. stanza xlv.), and finds in his treatment of "Giaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro or Scutari (I am not sure which)," the material for stanzas xiv., xv. of Canto II. of 'The Bride of Abydos'. Hobhouse ('Journey through Albania', edit. 1854, vol. i. pp. 96, 97) describes Ali as "a short man, about five feet five inches in height, and very fat, though not particularly corpulent. He had a very pleasing face, fair and round, with blue quick eyes, not at all settled into a Turkish gravity. His beard was long and white, and such a one as any other Turk would have been proud of; though he, who was more taken up with his guests than himself, did not continue looking at it, nor smelling and stroking it, as is usually the custom of his country-men, to fill up the pauses of conversation." Dr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Holland, in his 'Travels in the Ionian Isles, Albania, Thessaly, and Greece in 1812-13', pp. 125, 126 (1815), gives an account of his first interview with Ali: "Were I to attempt a description of Ali, I should speak of his face as large and full; the forehead remarkably broad and open, and traced by many deep furrows; the eye penetrating, yet not expressive of ferocity; the nose handsome and well formed; the mouth and lower part of the face concealed, except when speaking, by his mustachios and the long beard which flows over his breast. His complexion is somewhat lighter than that usual among the Turks, and his general appearance does not indicate more than his actual age ... The neck is short and thick, the figure corpulent and unwieldy; his stature I had afterwards the means of ascertaining to be about five feet nine inches. The general character and expression of the countenance are unquestionably fine, and the forehead especially is a striking and majestic feature. Much of the talent of the man may be inferred from his exterior; the moral qualities, however, may not equally be determined in this way; and to the casual observation of the stranger I can conceive from my own experience, that nothing may appear but what is open, placid, and alluring. Opportunities were afterwards afforded me of looking beneath this exterior of expression; it is the fire of a stove burning fiercely under a smooth and polished surface.... The inquiries he made respecting our journey to Joannina, gave us the opportunity of complimenting him on the excellent police of his dominions, and the attention he has paid to his roads. I mentioned to him generally Lord Byron's poetical description of Albania, the interest it had excited in England, and Mr. Hobhouse's intended publication of his travels in the same country. He seemed pleased with these circumstances, and stated his recollection of Lord Byron." Dr. Holland brought back to England a letter to Byron from Ali (see Letter to Moore, September 8, 1813). A further account of Ali, together with a portrait, will be found in Hughes's 'Travels in Sicily, etc.' (pp. 446-449). He again (1813) "asked with much apparent interest respecting Lord Byron." At the close of the Napoleonic struggle, the interest of this country was excited by the resistance of Parga to his arms, especially as, during the late war, the Pargiotes had received the protection of Great Britain. After the fall of Parga (1819), Ali's power roused the jealousy of the Sultan, and it was partly in consequence of his open defiance of the Porte, that insurrections broke out in Wallachia, and that Ypsilanti proclaimed himself the liberator of Greece. The Turkish troops, under Kurchid Pasha, gradually overpowered Ali, and, at the end of 1821, shut him up in his citadel of Janina. In the following January he surrendered, and was at first treated with respect. But on February 5, 1822, Ali was informed that the Sultan demanded his head. His answer was to fire his pistol at the messenger. In the fray that followed he was killed. Another and better account (Walsh's 'Narrative of a Journey from Constantinople to England', p. 62) says that he was stabbed in the back as he was bowing to the departing messenger, who had solemnly assured him of the Sultan's pardon and favour. His head was cut off, sent to Constantinople, and fixed on the grand gate of the Seraglio, with the sentence of death by its side. Recently fresh interest has been aroused in Ali by the publication of Mr. Bain's translation of Maurus Jókai's semi-historical novel 'Janicsárok végnapjai', under the title of 'The Lion of Janina' (1897).] [Footnote 2: Veli Pasha was the son of Ali by a daughter of Coul Pasha, the governor of Berat, in whose army Ali had served as a young man. He was married (1798) to a daughter of Ibrahim Pasha, who had succeeded Coul Pasha in the pashalik of Berat. The war with Ibrahim, to which Byron alludes, ended in his defeat, and the transference of his pashalik to Ali. Veli, at this time Vizier of the Morea, resided at Tripolizza, when he was visited by Galt, who describes him as sitting "on a crimson velvet cushion, wrapped in a superb pelisse; on his head was a vast turban, in his belt a dagger encrusted with jewels, and on the little finger of his right hand he wore a solitaire which was said to have cost two thousand five hundred pounds sterling. In his left hand he held a string of small coral beads, a comboloio which he twisted backwards and forwards during the greater part of the visit." "In his manners," says Galt, "I found him free and urbane, with a considerable tincture of humour and drollery" ('Life of Byron', p. 83). Hobhouse ('Journey through Albania, etc.', vol. i. p. 193) says, "The Vizier, for he is a Pasha of three tails, is a lively young man; and besides the Albanian, Greek, and Turkish languages, speaks Italian--an accomplishment not possessed, I should think, by any other man of his high rank in Turkey. It is reported that he, as well as his father, is preparing, in case of the overthrow of the Ottoman power, to establish an independent sovereignty." Veli, in his father's struggle with the Sultan, betrayed Prevesa to the Turks. He was executed in 1822, and is buried at the Silivria Gate of Constantinople. [Footnote 3: For "monastic Zitza," see 'Childe Harold', Canto II. stanza xlviii., and Byron's note.] [Footnote 4: See 'Lay of the Last Minstrel', canto i.] [Footnote 5: William Martin Leake (1777-1860) received his commission as second lieutenant in the artillery in 1794, became a captain in 1799, major in 1809, and lieutenant-colonel in 1813. His professional life, up to 1815, was spent abroad, chiefly at Constantinople, in Egypt, or in various parts of European Turkey. In 1808 he had been sent by the British Government with stores of artillery, ammunition, and Congreve rockets, to Ali, Pasha of Albania, and he remained at Preveza, or Janina, as the representative of Great Britain, till 1810. During his travels he collected the vases, gems, bronzes, marbles, and coins now placed in the British Museum, and in the Fitzwilliam Museum at Cambridge. At the same time, he accumulated the materials which, during his literary life (1815-59), he embodied in numerous books. Of these the more important are--'The Topography of Athens' (1821); 'Journal of a Tour in Asia Minor' (1824); 'An Historical Outline of the Greek Revolution' (1825); 'Travels in the Morea' (1830); 'Travels in Northern Greece' (1835); 'Numismata Hellenica' (1854-59). As a diplomatist he was remarkably successful; but his reputation mainly rests on his topographical works. With his antiquarian labours Byron would have had little sympathy; but Leake was also a warm-hearted advocate of the Christian population of Greece against their Turkish rulers.] [Footnote 6: The battle of Actium (B.C. 31) was fought at the entrance of the Gulf of Arta, and Nicopolis, the city of victory, the 'Palaio-Kastro' of the modern Greek, was founded by Augustus on an isthmus connecting Prevesa with the mainland to commemorate his triumph. Leake ('Travels in Northern Greece', vol. i. p. 175) identifies Actium with Punda ([Greek (transliterated: aktae], "the head of a promontory") on the headland opposite Prevesa (see 'Childe Harold', Canto II. stanza xlv.).] [Footnote 7: "Upon Parnassus going to the fountain of Delphi (Castri) in 1809," writes Byron, in his 'Diary' for 1821 ('Life', pp. 99, 100), "I saw a flight of twelve eagles (H. says they were vultures--at least in conversation), and I seized the omen. On the day before I composed the lines to Parnassus (in 'Childe Harold'), and, on beholding the birds, had a hope that Apollo had accepted my homage. I have at least had the name and fame of a poet during the poetical part of life (from twenty to thirty);--whether it will 'last' is another matter." (For the lines to Parnassus, see 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanzas lx.-lxii.) To this journey belongs another incident, recorded by Byron. "The last bird I ever fired at was an eaglet, on the shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, near Vostizza. It was only wounded, and I tried to save it,--the eye was so bright. But it pined, and died in a few days; and I never did since, and never will, attempt the death of another bird."] [Footnote 8: Rear-Admiral Sir Alexander John Ball (1757-1809), who belonged to a Gloucestershire family, entered the navy, inspired by 'Robinson Crusoe'. A lieutenant in 1778, he distinguished himself with Rodney in 1782 (post-captain, 1783; rear-admiral, 1805), and at the battle of the Nile, when he commanded the 'Alexander'. Nelson had no liking for Ball until the latter saved the dismasted 'Vanguard' from going on shore by taking her in tow. Henceforward they were friends, and Nelson spoke of him as one of his "three right arms." By his skill in blockading Valetta (1798-1800), Ball was the hero of the siege of Malta, and (June 6, 1801) was created a baronet for his services, and received the Order of Merit from Ferdinand IV of Naples. When Byron met him, Ball was "His Majesty's Civil Commissioner for the Island of Malta and its Dependencies, and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Order of St. John." S.T. Coleridge, who was with him as secretary from May, 1804, to October, 1805, wrote enthusiastically of him in his letters, and in 'The Friend' (3rd edit., vol. i. essay i., and vol. iii. pp. 226-301). But his picture of the admiral would have been more definite had he remembered the spirit of the remark (quoted in 'The Friend') which Ball once made to him: "The distinction is just, and, now I understand you, abundantly obvious; but hardly worth the trouble of your inventing a puzzle of words to make it appear otherwise."] [Footnote 9: Hussein Bey, then a boy of ten years old, son of Mouctar Pasha, the eldest son of Ali, in after years (1820-22) remained faithful to his grandfather, when his father, uncles, and cousin had gone over to the Sultan, and held Tepeleni for Ali in his last struggle against the Turks. Mahomet Pasha, son of Veli Pasha, second son of Ali, though only twelve years old, was already in possession of a pashalik. In Ali's contest with Turkey, he betrayed Parga to the Sultan, and persuaded his father to surrender Prevesa. He was, however, rewarded for his treachery by execution, and is among the five members of his family who lie buried at the Silivria Gate at Constantinople (Walsh's 'Narrative', p. 67).] 132.--To his Mother. Smyrna, March 19, 1810. DEAR MOTHER,--I cannot write you a long letter; but as I know you will not be sorry to receive any intelligence of my movements, pray accept what I can give. I have traversed the greatest part of Greece, besides Epirus, etc., etc., resided ten weeks at Athens, and am now on the Asiatic side on my way to Constantinople. I have just returned from viewing the ruins of Ephesus, a day's journey from Smyrna. [1] I presume you have received a long letter I wrote from Albania, with an account of my reception by the Pacha of the Province. When I arrive at Constantinople, I shall determine whether to proceed into Persia or return, which latter I do not wish, if I can avoid it. But I have no intelligence from Mr. Hanson, and but one letter from yourself. I shall stand in need of remittances whether I proceed or return. I have written to him repeatedly, that he may not plead ignorance of my situation for neglect. I can give you no account of any thing, for I have not time or opportunity, the frigate sailing immediately. Indeed the further I go the more my laziness increases, and my aversion to letter-writing becomes more confirmed. I have written to no one but to yourself and Mr. Hanson, and these are communications of business and duty rather than of inclination. Fletcher is very much disgusted with his fatigues, though he has undergone nothing that I have not shared. He is a poor creature; indeed English servants are detestable travellers. I have, besides him, two Albanian soldiers and a Greek interpreter; all excellent in their way. Greece, particularly in the vicinity of Athens, is delightful;--cloudless skies and lovely landscapes. But I must reserve all account of my adventures till we meet. I keep no journal, but my friend Hobhouse scribbles incessantly. Pray take care of Murray and Robert, and tell the boy it is the most fortunate thing for him that he did not accompany me to Turkey. Consider this as merely a notice of my safety, and believe me, Yours, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: It was at Smyrna that the two first cantos of 'Childe Harold' were completed. To his original MS. of the poem is prefixed the following memorandum:-- "Byron, Ioannina in Albania. Begun October 31st, 1809; Concluded Canto 2d, Smyrna, March 28th, 1810. --BYRON."] 133.--To his Mother. Smyrna, April 9, 1810. Dear Mother,--I know you will be glad to hear from me: I wish I could say I am equally delighted to write. However, there is no great loss in my scribbles, except to the portmanteau-makers, who, I suppose, will get all by and by. Nobody but yourself asks me about my creed,--what I am, am not, etc., etc. If I were to begin _explaining_, God knows where I should leave off; so we will say no more about that, if you please. I am no "good soul," and not an atheist, but an English gentleman, I hope, who loves his mother, mankind, and his country. I have not time to write more at present, and beg you to believe me, Ever yours, etc., BYRON. P.S.-Are the Miss----anxiously expecting my arrival and contributions to their gossip and _rhymes_, which are about as bad as they can be? B. 134.--To his Mother. Smyrna, April 10, 1810. Dear Mother,--To-morrow, or this evening, I sail for Constantinople in the 'Salsette' frigate, of thirty-six guns. She returns to England with our ambassador, [1] whom she is going up on purpose to receive. I have written to you short letters from Athens, Smyrna, and a long one from Albania. I have not yet mustered courage for a second large epistle, and you must not be angry, since I take all opportunities of apprizing you of my safety; but even that is an effort, writing is so irksome. I have been traversing Greece, and Epirus, Illyria, etc., etc., and you see by my date, have got into Asia. I have made but one excursion lately to the ruins of Ephesus. Malta is the rendez-vous of my letters, so address to that island. Mr. Hanson has not written, though I wished to hear of the Norfolk sale, [2] the Lancashire law-suit, etc., etc., I am anxiously expecting fresh remittances. I believe you will like Nottinghamshire, at least my share of it. [3] Pray accept my good wishes in lieu of a long letter, and believe me, Yours sincerely and affectionately, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Robert (afterwards the Right Hon. Sir Robert) Adair (1763-1855), son of Sergeant-Surgeon Adair and Lady Caroline Keppel, described by an Austrian aristocrat as "le fils du plus grand 'Seigneur' d'Angleterre," was educated at Westminster and the University of Gottingen." At the latter place Adair, always, as his kinsman Lord Albemarle said of him, "an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex" ('Recollections', vol. i. p. 229), fell in love with his tutor's daughter. He did not, however, marry "Sweet Matilda Pottingen," but Angélique Gabrielle, daughter of the Marquis d'Hazincourt. He is supposed to have contributed to the 'Rolliad'; and the "Dedication to Sir Lloyd Kenyon," "Margaret Nicholson" ('Political Eclogues', p. 207), and the "Song of Scrutina" ('Probationary Odes', p. 285), have been attributed to him. He, however, denied (Moore's 'Journal and Correspondence', vol. ii. p. 304) that he wrote any part of the 'Rolliad'. A Whig, and an intimate friend and follower of Fox, he was in 1791 at St. Petersburg, where the Tories believed that he had been sent by his chief on "half a mission" to intrigue with Russia against Pitt. The charge was published by Dr. Pretyman, Bishop of Winchester, in his 'Life of Pitt' (1821), who may have wished to pay off old scores, and to retaliate on one of the reputed authors of the 'Rolliad' for the "Pretymaniana," and was answered in 'Two Letters from Mr. Adair to the Bishop of Winchester'. It is to this accusation that Ellis and Frere, in the 'Anti-Jacobin', refer in "A Bit of an Ode to Mr. Fox" ('Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin', edit. 1854, pp. 71-73):-- "I mount, I mount into the sky, Sweet bird, to 'Petersburg' I'll fly, Or, if you bid, to 'Paris'. Fresh missions of the 'Fox' and 'Goose' Successful 'Treaties' may produce, Though Pitt in all miscarries." Sir James Mackintosh, speaking of the story, told Moore ('Journals and Correspondence', vol. iv. p. 267) that a private letter from Adair, reporting his conversations with a high official in St. Petersburg, fell into the hands of the British Government; that some members of the Council were desirous of taking proceedings upon it; but that Lord Grenville and Pitt threatened to resign, if any use was made of such a document so obtained. (See also the "Translation of a Letter from Bawba-Dara-Adul-Phoola," etc.--'i.e.' "Bob Adair, a dull fool"--in the 'Anti-Jacobin', p. 208.) Adair was in 1806 sent by Fox as Ambassador to Vienna, and in 1809 was appointed by Canning Ambassador Extraordinary at Constantinople, where, with Stratford Canning as his secretary, he negotiated the Treaty of the Dardanelles. For his services, on his return in 1810, he was made a K.C.B. He was subsequently (1831-35) employed on a mission to the Low Countries, when war appeared imminent between William, Prince of Orange and King Leopold. He was afterwards sworn a member of the Privy Council, and received a pension. George Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 269), who met him at Woburn in 1819, speaks of his great conversational charms, and Moore ('Journals and Correspondence', vol. vii. p. 216) describes him, in 1838, as a man "from whom one gets, now and then, an agreeable whiff of the days of Fox, Tickell, and Sheridan." Many years after Fox's death, Adair was at a fête at Chiswick House. "'In which room,' he asked of Samuel Rogers, 'did Fox expire?' 'In this very room,' I replied. Immediately, Adair burst into tears with a vehemence of grief such as I hardly ever saw exhibited by a man" ('Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 97).] [Footnote 2: The sale of Wymondham and other property in Norfolk, which had come to him through his great-uncle.] [Footnote 3: Probably an allusion to his mother leaving Burgage Manor and taking up her residence at Newstead.] 135.--To his Mother. _Salsette Frigate, off the Dardanelles_, April 17, 1810. Dear Madam,--I write at anchor (on our way to Constantinople) off the Troad, which I traversed ten days ago. All the remains of Troy are the tombs of her destroyers, amongst which I saw that of Antilochus from my cabin window. These are large mounds of earth, like the barrows of the Danes in your island. There are several monuments, about twelve miles distant, of the Alexandrian Troas, which I also examined, but by no means to be compared with the remnants of Athens and Ephesus. This will be sent in a ship of war, bound with despatches for Malta. In a few days we shall be at Constantinople, barring accidents. I have also written from Smyrna, and shall, from time to time, transmit short accounts of my movements, but I feel totally unequal to long letters. Believe me, yours very sincerely, BYRON. P.S.--No accounts from Hanson!!! Do not complain of short letters; I write to nobody but yourself and Mr. H. 136.--To Henry Drury. _Salsette_ frigate, May 3, 1810. My Dear Drury,--When I left England, nearly a year ago, you requested me to write to you--I will do so. I have crossed Portugal, traversed the south of Spain, visited Sardinia, Sicily, Malta, and thence passed into Turkey, where I am still wandering. I first landed in Albania, the ancient Epirus, where we penetrated as far as Mount Tomarit-- excellently treated by the chief Ali Pacha,--and, after journeying through Illyria, Chaonia, etc., crossed the Gulf of Actium, with a guard of fifty Albanians, and passed the Achelous in our route through Acarnania and Ætolia. We stopped a short time in the Morea, crossed the Gulf of Lepanto, and landed at the foot of Parnassus;--saw all that Delphi retains, and so on to Thebes and Athens, at which last we remained ten weeks. His Majesty's ship, _Pylades_, brought us to Smyrna; but not before we had topographised Attica, including, of course, Marathon and the Sunian promontory. From Smyrna to the Troad (which we visited when at anchor, for a fortnight, off the tomb of Antilochus) was our next stage; and now we are in the Dardanelles, waiting for a wind to proceed to Constantinople. This morning I _swam_ from _Sestos_ to _Abydos_. [1] The immediate distance is not above a mile, but the current renders it hazardous;--so much so that I doubt whether Leander's conjugal affection must not have been a little chilled in his passage to Paradise. I attempted it a week ago, and failed,--owing to the north wind, and the wonderful rapidity of the tide,--though I have been from my childhood a strong swimmer. But, this morning being calmer, I succeeded, and crossed the "broad Hellespont" in an hour and ten minutes. Well, my dear sir, I have left my home, and seen part of Africa and Asia, and a tolerable portion of Europe. I have been with generals and admirals, princes and pashas, governors and ungovernables,--but I have not time or paper to expatiate. I wish to let you know that I live with a friendly remembrance of you, and a hope to meet you again; and if I do this as shortly as possible, attribute it to any thing but forgetfulness. Greece, ancient and modern, you know too well to require description. Albania, indeed, I have seen more of than any Englishman (except a Mr. Leake), for it is a country rarely visited, from the savage character of the natives, though abounding in more natural beauties than the classical regions of Greece,--which, however, are still eminently beautiful, particularly Delphi and Cape Colonna in Attica. Yet these are nothing to parts of Illyria and Epirus, where places without a name, and rivers not laid down in maps, may, one day, when more known, be justly esteemed superior subjects, for the pencil and the pen, to the dry ditch of the Ilissus and the bogs of Boeotia. The Troad is a fine field for conjecture and snipe-shooting, and a good sportsman and an ingenious scholar may exercise their feet and faculties to great advantage upon the spot;--or, if they prefer riding, lose their way (as I did) in a cursed quagmire of the Scamander, who wriggles about as if the Dardan virgins still offered their wonted tribute. The only vestige of Troy, or her destroyers, are the barrows supposed to contain the carcasses of Achilles, Antilochus, Ajax, etc.;--but Mount Ida is still in high feather, though the shepherds are now-a-days not much like Ganymede. But why should I say more of these things? are they not written in the _Boke_ of _Gell_? [2] and has not Hobhouse got a journal? I keep none, as I have renounced scribbling. I see not much difference between ourselves and the Turks, save that we have----and they have none--that they have long dresses, and we short, and that we talk much, and they little. They are sensible people. Ali Pacha told me he was sure I was a man of rank, because I had _small ears_ and _hands_, and _curling hair_. By the by, I speak the Romaic, or modern Greek, tolerably. It does not differ from the ancient dialects so much as you would conceive; but the pronunciation is diametrically opposite. Of verse, except in rhyme, they have no idea. I like the Greeks, who are plausible rascals,--with all the Turkish vices, without their courage. However, some are brave, and all are beautiful, very much resembling the busts of Alcibiades;--the women not quite so handsome. I can swear in Turkish; but, except one horrible oath, and "pimp," and "bread," and "water," I have got no great vocabulary in that language. They are extremely polite to strangers of any rank, properly protected; and as I have two servants and two soldiers, we get on with great éclat. We have been occasionally in danger of thieves, and once of shipwreck,--but always escaped. Of Spain I sent some account to our Hodgson, but have subsequently written to no one, save notes to relations and lawyers, to keep them out of my premises. I mean to give up all connection, on my return, with many of my best friends--as I supposed them-and to snarl all my life. But I hope to have one good-humoured laugh with you, and to embrace Dwyer, and pledge Hodgson, before I commence cynicism. Tell Dr. Butler I am now writing with the gold pen he gave me before I left England, which is the reason my scrawl is more unintelligible than usual. I have been at Athens, and seen plenty of these reeds for scribbling, some of which he refused to bestow upon me, because topographic Gell had brought them from Attica. But I will not describe,--no--you must be satisfied with simple detail till my return, and then we will unfold the floodgates of colloquy. I am in a thirty-six gun frigate, going up to fetch Bob Adair from Constantinople, who will have the honour to carry this letter. And so Hobhouse's _boke_ is out, [3] with some sentimental sing-song of my own to fill up,--and how does it take, eh? and where the devil is the second edition of my Satire, with additions? and my name on the title page? and more lines tagged to the end, with a new exordium and what not, hot from my anvil before I cleared the Channel? The Mediterranean and the Atlantic roll between me and criticism; and the thunders of the Hyperborean Review are deafened by the roar of the Hellespont. Remember me to Claridge, [4] if not translated to college, and present to Hodgson assurances of my high consideration. Now, you will ask, what shall I do next? and I answer, I do not know. I may return in a few months, but I have intents and projects after visiting Constantinople. Hobhouse, however, will probably be back in September. On the 2d of July we have left Albion one year--_oblitus meorum obliviscendus et illis_. I was sick of my own country, and not much prepossessed in favour of any other; but I "drag on my chain" without "lengthening it at each remove." [5] I am like the Jolly Miller, caring for nobody, and not cared for. [6] All countries are much the same in my eyes. I smoke, and stare at mountains, and twirl my mustachios very independently. I miss no comforts, and the musquitoes that rack the morbid frame of H. have, luckily for me, little effect on mine, because I live more temperately. I omitted Ephesus in my catalogue, which I visited during my sojourn at Smyrna; but the Temple has almost perished, and St. Paul need not trouble himself to epistolise the present brood of Ephesians, who have converted a large church built entirely of marble into a mosque, and I don't know that the edifice looks the worse for it. My paper is full, and my ink ebbing--good afternoon! If you address to me at Malta, the letter will be forwarded wherever I may be. H. greets you; he pines for his poetry,--at least, some tidings of it. I almost forgot to tell you that I am dying for love of three Greek girls at Athens, sisters. I lived in the same house. Teresa, Mariana, and Katinka, [7] are the names of these divinities,--all of them under fifteen. Your [Greek (transliterated): tapeinotatos doulos], BYRON. [Footnote 1: Byron made two attempts to swim across the Hellespont from Abydos to Sestos. The first, April 16, failed; the second, May 3, in warmer weather, succeeded. "Byron was one hour and ten minutes in the water; his companion, Mr. Ekenhead, five minutes less ... My fellow-traveller had before made a more perilous, but less celebrated, passage; for I recollect that, when we were in Portugal, he swam from Old Lisbon to Belem Castle, and, having to contend with a tide and counter-current, the wind blowing freshly, was but little less than two hours in crossing the river" (Hobhouse, 'Travels in Albania', etc., vol. ii. p. 195). In Hobhouse's journal, Byron made the following note: "The whole distance E. and myself swam was more than four miles--the current very strong and cold--some large fish near us when half across--we were not fatigued, but a little chilled--did it with little difficulty.--May 26, 1810. BYRON." Of his feat Byron was always proud. See the "Lines Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos" ("by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct"), and 'Don Juan', Canto II. stanza cv.:-- "A better swimmer you could scarce see ever; He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont, As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided) Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did." In a note to the "Lines Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos," Byron writes, "Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for his mistress; and Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the 'Salsette''s crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability." Lieutenant Ekenhead, of the Marines, was afterwards killed by a fall from the fortifications of Malta.] [Footnote 2: Sir William Gell (1777-1836) published the 'Topography of Troy' (1804); 'Geography and Antiquities of Ithaca' (1807); the 'Itinerary of Greece' (1810); and many other subsequent works. (For Byron's review of 'Ithaca' and 'Greece', in the 'Monthly Review' for August, 1811, see Appendix III.) In the MS. of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' (line 1034) he called him "coxcomb Gell;" but, having made his personal acquaintance before the Satire was printed, he changed the epithet to "classic." After seeing the country himself, he again altered the epithet-- "Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell, I leave topography to rapid Gell." To these lines is appended the following note: "'Rapid,' indeed! He topographised and typographised King Priam's dominions in three days! I called him 'classic' before I saw the Troad, but since have learned better than to tack to his name what don't belong to it." To this passage Byron, in 1816, added the further expression of his opinion, that "Gell's survey was hasty and superficial." One of two suppressed stanzas in 'Childe Harold' (Canto II. stanza xiii.) refers to Gell and his works:-- "Or will the gentle Dilettanti crew Now delegate the task to digging Gell? That mighty limner of a bird's-eye view, How like to Nature let his volumes tell; Who can with him the folio's limits swell With all the Author saw, or said he saw? Who can topographise or delve so well? No boaster he, nor impudent and raw, His pencil, pen, and shade, alike without a flaw."] [Footnote 3: 'Imitations and Translations from the Ancient and Modern Classics, etc.' (London, 1809, 8vo). Of the sixty-five pieces, nine were by Byron (see 'Poems', vol. i., Bibliographical note; and vol. vi., Bibliographical note). The second and enlarged edition of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', with Byron's name attached, appeared in October, 1809.] [Footnote 4: Two boys of this name, sons of J. Claridge, of Sevenoaks, entered Harrow School in April, 1805. George became a. solicitor, and died at Sevenoaks in 1841; John (afterwards Sir John) went to Christ Church, Oxford, became a barrister, and died in 1868. John Claridge seems to have been one of Byron's "juniors and favourites," whom he "spoilt by indulgence."] [Footnote 5: "Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain." GOLDSMITH'S Traveller, lines 9, 10.] [Footnote 6: The allusion is to the familiar lines inserted by Isaac Bickerstaffe in 'Love in a Village' (1762), act i. sc. 3-- "There was a jolly miller once, Liv'd on the river Dee; He work'd and sung from morn till night; No lark more blithe than he. "And this the burden of his song, For ever us'd to be-- I care for nobody, not I, If no one cares for me."] [Footnote 7: "During our stay at Athens," writes Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.', vol. i. pp. 242, 243), "we occupied two houses separated from each other only by a single wall, through which we opened a doorway. One of them belongs to a Greek lady, whose name is Theodora Macri, the daughter of the late English Vice-Consul, and who has to show many letters of recommendation left in her hands by several English travellers. Her lodgings consisted of a sitting-room and two bedrooms, opening into a court-yard where there were five or six lemon-trees, from which, during our residence in the place, was plucked the fruit that seasoned the pilaf and other national dishes served up at our frugal table." The beauty of the Greek women is transient. Hughes ('Travels in Sicily, etc.', vol. i. p. 254, published in 1820) speaks of the three daughters of Madame Macri as "the 'belles' of Athens." Of Theresa, the eldest, he says that "her countenance was extremely interesting, and her eye retained much of its wonted brilliancy; but the roses had already deserted the cheek, and we observed the remains only of that loveliness which elicited such strains from an impassioned poet." Walsh, in his 'Narrative of a Resident in Constantinople' (vol. i. p. 122), speaks of Theresa Macri, the "Maid of Athens," whom he saw in 1821, as "still very elegant in her person, and gentle and ladylike in her manners," but adds that "she has lost all pretensions to beauty, and has a countenance singularly marked by hopeless sadness." On the other hand, Williams, in his 'Travels in Italy, etc.' (vol. ii. pp. 290, 291), speaks, in 1820, with an artist's enthusiasm, of the beauty of the three daughters of Theodora Macri. He quotes from the "Visitors' Book," to which Hobhouse alludes, four lines written by Byron in answer to an anonymous versifier-- "This modest bard, like many a bard unknown, Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse, His name would bring more credit than his verse." Theresa and Mariana Macri were dark; Katinka was fair. The latter name Byron uses as that of the fair Georgian in 'Don Juan' (Canto VI. stanza xli.). "It was," says Moore, "if I recollect right, in making love to one of these girls that he had recourse to an act of courtship often practised in that country;--namely, giving himself a wound across the breast with his dagger. The young Athenian, by his own account, looked on very coolly during the operation, considering it a fit tribute to her beauty, but in no degree moved to gratitude." Theresa, sometimes called Thyrza, Macri married an Englishman named Black, employed in H.M.'s Consular service at Missolonghi. She survived her husband, and fell into great poverty. Finlay, the historian of Greece, made an appeal on her behalf, which obtained the support of the leading members of Athenian society, including M. Charilaus Tricoupi, for some time Prime Minister at Athens, the son of Spiridion Tricoupi--Byron's intimate friend. In the 'New York Times' for October 22, 1875, Mr. Anthony Martelaus, United States Consular Agent at Athens, describes Mrs. Black, whom he visited in August, 1875, as "a tall old lady, with features inspiring reverence, and showing that at a time past she was a beautiful woman." Theresa Black died October 15, 1875, aged 80 years. (See letters to the 'Times', October 25 and October 27, 1875, by Richard Edgcumbe and Neocles Mussabini respectively.)] 137.--To Francis Hodgson. 'Salsette' frigate, in the Dardanelles, off Abydos, May 5, 1810. I am on my way to Constantinople, after a tour through Greece, Epirus, etc., and part of Asia Minor, some particulars of which I have just communicated to our friend and host, H. Drury. With these, then, I shall not trouble you; but as you will perhaps be pleased to hear that I am well, etc., I take the opportunity of our ambassador's return to forward the few lines I have time to despatch. We have undergone some inconveniences, and incurred partial perils, but no events worthy of communication, unless you will deem it one that two days ago I swam from Sestos to Abydos. This, with a few alarms from robbers, and some danger of shipwreck in a Turkish galliot six months ago, a visit to a Pacha, a passion for a married woman at Malta, [1] a challenge to an officer, an attachment to three Greek girls at Athens, with a great deal of buffoonery and fine prospects, form all that has distinguished my progress since my departure from Spain. Hobhouse rhymes and journalises; I stare and do nothing--unless smoking can be deemed an active amusement. The Turks take too much care of their women to permit them to be scrutinised; but I have lived a good deal with the Greeks, whose modern dialect I can converse in enough for my purposes. With the Turks I have also some male acquaintances--female society is out of the question. I have been very well treated by the Pachas and Governors, and have no complaint to make of any kind. Hobhouse will one day inform you of all our adventures--were I to attempt the recital, neither _my_ paper nor _your_ patience would hold out during the operation. Nobody, save yourself, has written to me since I left England; but indeed I did not request it. I except my relations, who write quite as often as I wish. Of Hobhouse's volume I know nothing, except that it is out; and of my second edition I do not even know _that_, and certainly do not, at this distance, interest myself in the matter. I hope you and Bland [2] roll down the stream of sale with rapidity. Of my return I cannot positively speak, but think it probable Hobhouse will precede me in that respect. We have been very nearly one year abroad. I should wish to gaze away another, at least, in these evergreen climates; but I fear business, law business, the worst of employments, will recall me previous to that period, if not very quickly. If so, you shall have due notice. I hope you will find me an altered personage,--I do not mean in body, but in manner, for I begin to find out that nothing but virtue will do in this damned world. I am tolerably sick of vice, which I have tried in its agreeable varieties, and mean, on my return, to cut all my dissolute acquaintance, leave off wine and carnal company, and betake myself to politics and decorum. I am very serious and cynical, and a good deal disposed to moralise; but fortunately for you the coming homily is cut off by default of pen and defection of paper. Good morrow! If you write, address to me at Malta, whence your letters will be forwarded. You need not remember me to any body, but believe me, Yours with all faith, BYRON. Constantinople, May 15, 1810. P.S.--My dear H.,--The date of my postscript "will prate to you of my whereabouts." We anchored between the Seven Towers and the Seraglio on the 13th, and yesterday settled ashore. [3] The ambassador [4] is laid up; but the secretary [5] does the honours of the palace, and we have a general invitation to his palace. In a short time he has his leave of audience, and we accompany him in our uniforms to the Sultan, etc., and in a few days I am to visit the Captain Pacha with the commander of our frigate. [6] I have seen enough of their Pashas already; but I wish to have a view of the Sultan, the last of the Ottoman race. Of Constantinople you have Gibbon's description, very correct as far as I have seen. The mosques I shall have a firman to visit. I shall most probably ('Deo volente'), after a full inspection of Stamboul, bend my course homewards; but this is uncertain. I have seen the most interesting parts, particularly Albania, where few Franks have ever been, and all the most celebrated ruins of Greece and Ionia. Of England I know nothing, hear nothing, and can find no person better informed on the subject than myself. I this moment drink your health in a bumper of hock; Hobhouse fills and empties to the same; do you and Drury pledge us in a pint of any liquid you please--vinegar will bear the nearest resemblance to that which I have just swallowed to your name; but when we meet again the draught shall be mended and the wine also. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Spencer Smith (see page 244 [Letter 130], [Foot]note 1 [2]). "In the mean time," writes Galt, who was at Malta with him, "besides his "Platonic dalliance with Mrs. Spencer Smith, Byron had involved himself in a quarrel with an officer; but it was satisfactorily settled" ('Life of Byron', p. 67).] [Footnote 2: The Rev. Robert Bland (1780-1825), the son of a well-known London doctor, educated at Harrow and Pembroke College, Cambridge, was an assistant-master at Harrow when Byron was a schoolboy. There he became one of a "social club or circle," to which belonged J. Herman Merivale, Hodgson, Henry Drury, Denman (afterwards Lord Chief Justice), Charles Pepys (afterwards Lord Chancellor), Launcelot Shadwell (afterwards Vice-Chancellor), Walford (afterwards Solicitor to the Customs), and Paley, a son of the archdeacon. A good singer, an amusing companion, and a clever, impulsive, eccentric creature, he was nicknamed by his friends "Don Hyperbolo" for his humorous extravagances. Some of his letters, together with a sketch of his life, are given in the 'Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 226-250. In the 'Monthly Magazine' for March, 1805, he and Merivale began to publish a series of translations from the Greek minor poets and epigrammatists, which were afterwards collected, with additions by Denman, Hodgson, Drury, and others, and published (1806) under the title of 'Translations, chiefly from the Greek Anthology, with Tales and Miscellaneous Poems'. Bland and Merivale (1779-1844) are addressed by Byron ('English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 881-890) as "associate bards," and adjured to "resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own." The two friends also collaborated in the 'Collections from the Greek Anthology' (1813), and 'A Collection of the most Beautiful Poems of the Minor Poets of Greece' (1813). Bland also published two volumes of original verse: 'Edwy and Elgiva' (1808), and 'The Four Slaves of Cythera, a Poetical Romance' (1809). Several generations of schoolboys have learned to write Latin verse from his 'Elements of Latin Hexameters and Pentameters'. A lover of France, and of the French nation and of French acting, he spoke the language like a native, travelled in disguise over the countries occupied by Napoleon's armies, and (1813) published, in collaboration with Miss Plumptre, a translation of the 'Memoirs' of Baron Grimm and Diderot. He was appointed Chaplain at Amsterdam, whence he returned in 1811. (For the circumstances of his quarrel with Hodgson, see page 195 [Letter 102], [Foot]note 1.) He was successively Curate of Prittlewell and Kenilworth. At the latter place, where he eked out a scanty income by taking pupils, he died in 1825 from breaking a blood-vessel.] [Footnote 3: Byron and Hobhouse landed on May 14, and rode to their inn. "This," says Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.', vol. ii pp. 216, 217), "was situated at the corner of the main street of Pera, here four ways meet, all of which were not less mean and dirty than the lanes of Wapping. The hotel, however (kept by a Mons. Marchand), was a very comfortable mansion, containing many chambers handsomely furnished, and a large billiard-room, which is the resort of all the idle young men of the place. Our dinners there were better served, and composed of meats more to the English taste, than we had seen at any tavern since our departure from Falmouth; and the butter of Belgrade (perfectly fresh, though not of a proper consistency) was a delicacy to which we had long been unaccustomed. The best London porter, and nearly every species of wine, except port, were also to be procured in any quantity. To this eulogy cannot be added the material recommendation of cheapness."] [Footnote 4: Robert Adair. (See page 260 [Letter 134], [Foot]note 1.)] [Footnote 5: Stratford Canning, afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe.] [Footnote 6: Captain Bathurst, and the officers of the 'Salsette', anxious to see the arsenal and the Turkish fleet, paid a visit with Byron to Ali, the Capudan-Pasha, or Lord High Admiral. "He was," writes Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.', vol. ii. p. 279), "in his kiosk of audience at Divan-Hane, a splendid chamber, surrounded by his attendants, and, contrary to custom, received us sitting. He is reported to be a ferocious character, and certainly had the appearance of being so."] 138.--To his Mother. Constantinople, May 18, 1810. Dear Madam,--I arrived here in an English frigate from Smyrna a few days ago, without any events worth mentioning, except landing to view the plains of Troy, and afterwards, when we were at anchor in the Dardanelles, _swimming_ from Sestos to Abydos, in imitation of Monsieur Leander, whose story you, no doubt, know too well for me to add anything on the subject except that I crossed the Hellespont without so good a motive for the undertaking. As I am just going to visit the Captain-Pacha, you will excuse the brevity of my letter. When Mr. Adair takes leave I am to see the Sultan and the mosques, etc. Believe me, yours ever, BYRON. 139.--To his Mother. Constantinople, May 24, 1810. Dear Mother,--I wrote to you very shortly the other day on my arrival here, and, as another opportunity avails, take up my pen again, that the frequency of my letters may atone for their brevity. Pray did you ever receive a picture of me in oil by _Sanders_ in _Vigo Lane_, London? (a noted limner); if not, write for it immediately; it was paid for, except the frame (if frame there be), before I left England. I believe I mentioned to you in my last that my only notable exploit lately has been swimming from Sestos to Abydos in humble imitation of _Leander_, of amorous memory; though I had no _Hero_ to receive me on the other shore of the Hellespont. Of Constantinople you have of course read fifty descriptions by sundry travellers, which are in general so correct that I have nothing to add on the subject. When our ambassador takes his leave I shall accompany him to see the Sultan, and afterwards probably return to Greece. I have heard nothing of Mr. H----, but one remittance without any letter from that legal gentleman. If you have occasion for any pecuniary supply, pray use my funds as far as they _go_, without reserve; and lest there should not be enough, in my next to Mr. H----I will direct him to advance any sum you want, leaving at your discretion how much, in the present state of my affairs, you may think proper to require. I have already seen the most interesting part of Turkey in Europe and Asia Minor, but shall not proceed further till I hear from England. In the mean time I shall expect occasional supplies, according to circumstances, and shall pass my summer amongst my friends the Greeks of the Morea. You will direct to Malta, where my letters are forwarded. And believe me, with great sincerity, yours ever, BYRON. P.S.--Fletcher is well. Pray take care of my boy Robert and the old man Murray. It is fortunate they returned; neither the youth of the one nor the age of the other would have suited the changes of climate and fatigue of travelling. 140.--To Henry Drury. Constantinople, June 17, 1810. Though I wrote to you so recently, I break in upon you again to congratulate you on a child being born, [1] as a letter from Hodgson apprizes me of that event, in which I rejoice. I am just come from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled with as great risk as ever the Argonauts escaped in their hoy. You remember the beginning of the nurse's dole in the 'Medea', of which I beg you to take the following translation, done on the summit:-- "Oh how I wish that an embargo Had kept in port the good ship Argo! Who, still unlaunched from Grecian docks, Had never passed the Azure rocks; But now I fear her trip will be a Damned business for my Miss Medea, etc., etc.," [2] as it very nearly was to me;--for, had not this sublime passage been in my head, I should never have dreamed of ascending the said rocks, and bruising my carcass in honour of the ancients. I have now sat on the Cyaneans, swam from Sestos to Abydos (as I trumpeted in my last), and, after passing through the Morea again, shall set sail for Santa Maura, and toss myself from the Leucadian promontory;--surviving which operation, I shall probably join you in England. Hobhouse, who will deliver this, is bound straight for these parts; and, as he is bursting with his travels, I shall not anticipate his narratives, but merely beg you not to believe one word he says, but reserve your ear for me, if you have any desire to be acquainted with the truth. I am bound for Athens once more, and thence to the Morea; but my stay depends so much on my caprice, that I can say nothing of its probable duration. I have been out a year already, and may stay another; but I am quicksilver, and say nothing positively. We are all very much occupied doing nothing, at present. We have seen every thing but the mosques, which we are to view with a firman on Tuesday next. But of these and other sundries let H. relate, with this proviso, that 'I' am to be referred to for authenticity; and I beg leave to contradict all those things whereon he lays particular stress. But, if he soars at any time into wit, I give you leave to applaud, because that is necessarily stolen from his fellow-pilgrim. Tell Davies [3] that Hobhouse has made excellent use of his best jokes in many of his Majesty's ships of war; but add, also, that I always took care to restore them to the right owner; in consequence of which he (Davies) is no less famous by water than by land, and reigns unrivalled in the cabin as in the "Cocoa Tree." [4] And Hodgson has been publishing more poesy--I wish he would send me his 'Sir Edgar', [5] and Bland's 'Anthology', to Malta, where they will be forwarded. In my last, which I hope you received, I gave an outline of the ground we have covered. If you have not been overtaken by this despatch, Hobhouse's tongue is at your service. Remember me to Dwyer, who owes me eleven guineas. Tell him to put them in my banker's hands at Gibraltar or Constantinople. I believe he paid them once, but that goes for nothing, as it was an annuity. I wish you would write. I have heard from Hodgson frequently. Malta is my post-office. I mean to be with you by next Montem. You remember the last,--I hope for such another; but after having swam across the "broad Hellespont," I disdain Datchett. [6] Good afternoon! I am yours, very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Henry Drury, afterwards Archdeacon of Wilts.] [Footnote 2: Euripides, 'Medea', lines 1-7-- [Greek (transliterated)]: Eith _ophel Argous mae diaptasthai skaphos Kolch_on es aian kuaneas Symplaegadas, maed en napaisi Paeliou pedein pote tmaetheisa peukae, maed eretm_osai cheras andr_on ariste_on, oi to pagchryson deros Pelia metaelthon ou gar an despoin emae Maedeia pyrgous gaes epleus I_olkias k.t.l.]] [Footnote 3: For Scrope Berdmore Davies, see page 165 [Letter 86], [Foot]note 2.] [Footnote 4: "The Cocoa Tree," now 64, St. James's Street, formerly in Pall Mall, was, in the reign of Queen Anne, the Tory Chocolate House. It became a club about 1745, and was then regarded as the headquarters of the Jacobites. Probably for this reason Gibbon, whose father professed Jacobite opinions, belonged to it on coming to live in London (see his journal for November, 1762, and his letter to his stepmother, January 18, 1766: "The Cocoa Tree serves now and then to take off an idle hour"). Byron was a member.] [Footnote 5: Hodgson's 'Sir Edgar' was published in 1810.] [Footnote 6: Alluding to his having swum across the Thames with Henry Drury, after the Montem, to see how many times they could make the passage backwards and forwards without touching land. In this trial Byron was the conqueror.] 141.--To his Mother. Constantinople, June 28, 1810. My dear Mother,--I regret to perceive by your last letter that several of mine have not arrived, particularly a very long one written in November last from Albania, where I was on a visit to the Pacha of that province. Fletcher has also written to his spouse perpetually. Mr. Hobhouse, who will forward or deliver this, and is on his return to England, can inform you of our different movements, but I am very uncertain as to my own return. He will probably be down in Notts, some time or other; but Fletcher, whom I send back as an incumbrance (English servants are sad travellers), will supply his place in the interim, and describe our travels, which have been tolerably extensive. I have written twice briefly from this capital, from Smyrna, from Athens and other parts of Greece; from Albania, the Pacha of which province desired his respects to my mother, and said he was sure I was a man of high birth because I had small ears, curling hair, and white hands!!! He was very kind to me, begged me to consider him as a father, and gave me a guard of forty soldiers through the forests of Acarnania. But of this and other circumstances I have written to you at large, and yet hope you will receive my letters. I remember Mahmout Pacha, the grandson of Ali Pacha, at Yanina, (a little fellow of ten years of age, with large black eyes, which our ladies would purchase at any price, and those regular features which distinguish the Turks,) asked me how I came to travel so young, without anybody to take care of me. This question was put by the little man with all the gravity of threescore. I cannot now write copiously; I have only time to tell you that I have passed many a fatiguing, but never a tedious moment; and all that I am afraid of is that I shall contract a gypsy like wandering disposition, which will make home tiresome to me: this, I am told, is very common with men in the habit of peregrination, and, indeed, I feel it so. On the 3rd of May I swam from _Sestos_ to _Abydos_. You know the story of Leander, but I had no _Hero_ to receive me at landing. I also passed a fortnight on the Troad. The tombs of Achilles and Æsyetes still exist in large barrows, similar to those you have doubtless seen in the North. The other day I was at Belgrade (a village in these environs), to see the house built on the same site as Lady Mary Wortley's.[1] By-the-by, her ladyship, as far as I can judge, has lied, but not half so much as any other woman would have done in the same situation. I have been in all the principal mosques by the virtue of a firman: this is a favor rarely permitted to Infidels, but the ambassador's departure obtained it for us. I have been up the Bosphorus into the Black Sea, round the walls of the city, and, indeed, I know more of it by sight than I do of London. I hope to amuse you some winter's evening with the details, but at present you must excuse me;--I am not able to write long letters in June. I return to spend my summer in Greece. I write often, but you must not be alarmed when you do not receive my letters; consider we have no regular post farther than Malta, where I beg you will in future send your letters, and not to this city. Fletcher is a poor creature, and requires comforts that I can dispense with. He is very sick of his travels, but you must not believe his account of the country. He sighs for ale, and idleness, and a wife, and the devil knows what besides. I have not been disappointed or disgusted. I have lived with the highest and the lowest. I have been for days in a Pacha's palace, and have passed many a night in a cowhouse, and I find the people inoffensive and kind. I have also passed some time with the principal Greeks in the Morea and Livadia, and, though inferior to the Turks, they are better than the Spaniards, who, in their turn, excel the Portuguese. Of Constantinople you will find many descriptions in different travels; but Lady Mary Wortley errs strangely when she says, "St. Paul's would cut a strange figure by St. Sophia's." [2] I have been in both, surveyed them inside and out attentively. St. Sophia's is undoubtedly the most interesting from its immense antiquity, and the circumstance of all the Greek emperors, from Justinian, having been crowned there, and several murdered at the altar, besides the Turkish Sultans who attend it regularly. But it is inferior in beauty and size to some of the mosques, particularly "Soleyman," etc., and not to be mentioned in the same page with St. Paul's (I speak like a _Cockney_). However, I prefer the Gothic cathedral of Seville to St. Paul's, St. Sophia's, and any religious building I have ever seen. The walls of the Seraglio are like the walls of Newstead gardens, only higher, and much in the same _order_; but the ride by the walls of the city, on the land side, is beautiful. Imagine four miles of immense triple battlements, covered with ivy, surmounted with 218 towers, and, on the other side of the road, Turkish burying-grounds (the loveliest spots on earth), full of enormous cypresses. I have seen the ruins of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delphi. I have traversed great part of Turkey, and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia; but I never beheld a work of nature or art which yielded an impression like the prospect on each side from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden Horn. [3] Now for England. I am glad to hear of the progress of 'English Bards', etc. Of course, you observed I have made great additions to the new edition. Have you received my picture from Sanders, Vigo Lane, London? It was finished and paid for long before I left England: pray, send for it. You seem to be a mighty reader of magazines: where do you pick up all this intelligence, quotations, etc., etc.? Though I was happy to obtain my seat without the assistance of Lord Carlisle, I had no measures to keep with a man who declined interfering as my relation on that occasion, and I have done with him, though I regret distressing Mrs. Leigh, [4] poor thing!--I hope she is happy. It is my opinion that Mr. B----ought to marry Miss R----. Our first duty is not to do evil; but, alas! that is impossible: our next is to repair it, if in our power. The girl is his equal: if she were his inferior, a sum of money and provision for the child would be some, though a poor, compensation: as it is, he should marry her. I will have no gay deceivers on my estate, and I shall not allow my tenants a privilege I do not permit myself--_that_ of debauching each other's daughters. God knows, I have been guilty of many excesses; but, as I have laid down a resolution to reform, and lately kept it, I expect this Lothario to follow the example, and begin by restoring this girl to society, or, by the beard of my father! he shall hear of it. Pray take some notice of Robert, who will miss his master; poor boy, he was very unwilling to return. I trust you are well and happy. It will be a pleasure to hear from you. Believe me, yours very sincerely, BYRON. P.S.--How is Joe Murray? P.S.--I open my letter again to tell you that Fletcher having petitioned to accompany me into the Morea, I have taken him with me, contrary to the intention expressed in my letter. [Footnote 1: Alluding to his having swum across the Thames with Henry Drury, after the Montem, to see how many times they could make the passage backwards and forwards without touching land. In this trial Byron was the conqueror.] [Footnote 2: Lady Mary describes the village of Belgrade in a letter to Pope, dated June 17, 1717 ('Letters', edit. 1893, vol. i. pp. 331-333). But Walsh ('Narrative of a Residence in Constantinople', vol. ii. 108, 109), who visited Belgrade in 1821, says that no trace of her description was then to be seen--no view of the Black Sea, no houses of the wealthy Christians, no fountains, and no fruit-trees. "The very tradition" of the house, which had disappeared before Dallaway visited Belgrade in 1794, had perished.] [Footnote 3: Lady Mary does not compare St. Paul's with St. Sophia's, but with the mosque of the Valide, "the largest of all, built entirely of marble, the most prodigious, and, I think, the most beautiful structure I ever saw, be it spoken to the honour of our sex, for it was founded by the mother of Mahomet IV. Between friends, "St. Paul's Church would make a pitiful figure near it" ('Letters', vol. i. p. 356). [Footnote 4: "The European with the Asian shore Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream Here and there studded with a seventy-four; Sophia's cupola with golden gleam; The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar; The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream, Far less describe, present the very view Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu." _Don Juan_, Canto V. stanza 3.] [Footnote 5: For Mrs. Leigh, 'née' Augusta Byron, see page 18 [Letter 7], [Foot]note 1.] 142.--To his Mother. Constantinople, July 1, 1810. My dear Mother,--I have no wish to forget those who have any claim upon me, and shall be glad of the good wishes of R----when he can express them in person, which it seems will be at some very indefinite date. I shall perhaps essay a speech or _two_ in the House when I return, but I am not ambitious of a parliamentary career, which is of all things the most degrading and unthankful. If I could by my own efforts inculcate the truth, that a man is not intended for a despot or a machine, but as an individual of a community, and fit for the society of kings, so long as he does not trespass on the laws or rebel against just governments, I might attempt to found a new Utopia; but as matters are at present, in course you will not expect me to sacrifice my health or self to your or anyone's ambition. To quit this new idea for something you will understand better, how are Miss R's, the W's, and Mr. R's blue bastards? for I suppose he will not deny their _authorship_, which was, to say the least, imprudent and immoral. Poor Miss----: if he does not marry, and marry her speedily, he shall be no tenant of mine from the day that I set foot on English shores. I am glad you have received my portrait from Sanders. It does not _flatter_ me, I think, but the subject is a bad one, and I must even do as Fletcher does over his Greek wines--make a face and hope for better. What you told me of----is not _true_, which I regret for your sake and your gossip-seeking neighbours, whom present with my good wishes, and believe me, Yours, etc., BYRON. 143.--To Francis Hodgson. Constantinople, July 4, 1810. My Dear Hodgson,--Twice have I written--once in answer to your last, and a former letter when I arrived here in May. That I may have nothing to reproach myself with, I will write once more--a very superfluous task, seeing that Hobhouse is bound for your parts full of talk and wonderment. My first letter went by an ambassadorial express; my second by the _Black John_ lugger; my third will be conveyed by Cam, the miscellanist. I shall begin by telling you, having only told it you twice before, that I swam from Sestos to Abydos. I do this that you may be impressed with proper respect for me, the performer; for I plume myself on this achievement more than I could possibly do on any kind of glory, political, poetical, or rhetorical. Having told you this, I will tell you nothing more, because it would be cruel to curtail Cam's narrative, which, by-the-by, you must not believe till confirmed by me, the eye-witness. I promise myself much pleasure from contradicting the greatest part of it. He has been plaguily pleased by the intelligence contained in your last to me respecting the reviews of his hymns. I refreshed him with that paragraph immediately, together with the tidings of my own third edition, which added to his recreation. But then he has had a letter from a Lincoln's Inn Bencher, full of praise of his harpings, and vituperation of the other contributions to his _Missellingany_, which that sagacious person is pleased to say must have been put in as FOILS (_horresco referens!_); furthermore he adds that Cam "is a genuine pupil of Dryden," concluding with a comparison rather to the disadvantage of Pope. I have written to Drury by Hobhouse; a letter is also from me on its way to England intended for that matrimonial man. Before it is very long, I hope we shall again be together; the moment I set out for England you shall have intelligence, that we may meet as soon as possible. Next week the frigate sails with Adair; I am for Greece, Hobhouse for England. A year together on the 2nd July since we sailed from Falmouth. I have known a hundred instances of men setting out in couples, but not one of a similar return. Aberdeen's [1] party split; several voyagers at present have done the same. I am confident that twelve months of any given individual is perfect ipecacuanha. The Russians and Turks are at it, [2] and the Sultan in person is soon to head the army. The Captain Pasha cuts off heads every day, and a Frenchman's ears; the last is a serious affair. By-the-by I like the Pashas in general. Ali Pasha called me his son, desired his compliments to my mother, and said he was sure I was a man of birth, because I had "small ears and curling hair." He is Pasha of Albania six hundred miles off, where I was in October--a fine portly person. His grandson Mahmout, a little fellow ten years old, with large black eyes as big as pigeon's eggs, and all the gravity of sixty, asked me what I did travelling so young without a _Lala_ (tutor)? Good night, dear H. I have crammed my paper, and crave your indulgence. Write to me at Malta. I am, with all sincerity, Yours affectionately, BYRON. [Footnote 1: George Hamilton Gordon, Earl of Aberdeen (1784-1860), afterwards Prime Minister (1852-55), succeeded his grandfather as fourth earl in 1801. Grandson of the purchaser of Mrs. Byron's old home of Gight, and writer of an article in the 'Edinburgh Review' (July, 1805) on Gell's 'Topography of Troy,' he has a place in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' (lines 508, 509). He also appears as "sullen Aberdeen," in a suppressed stanza of 'Childe Harold', Canto II., which in the MS. follows stanza xiii., among those who "----pilfer all the Pilgrim loves to see, All that yet consecrates the fading scene." After leaving Harrow, and before entering St. John's College, Cambridge, he spent two years (1801-3) in Greece. On his return he founded the Athenian Society, and became President of the Society of Antiquaries from 1812 to 1846. It may be added that he was Foreign Secretary when the Porte acknowledged the independence of Greece by the Treaty of Adrianople (1829).] [Footnote 2: In this war, the scene of which lay chiefly in Wallachia, Bosnia, Bulgaria, and Servia, the main episodes were the two battles of Rustchuk (July 4 and October 14, 1811), the recapture of Silistria by the Russians, and the Convention of Giurgevo between the contending forces (October 28, 1811).]g 144.--To his Mother. Athens, July 25, 1810. Dear Mother,--I have arrived here in four days from Constantinople, which is considered as singularly quick, particularly for the season of the year. I left Constantinople with Adair, at whose adieux of leave I saw Sultan Mahmout, [1] and obtained a firman to visit the mosques, of which I gave you a description in my last letter, now voyaging to England in the _Salsette_ frigate, in which I visited the plains of Troy and Constantinople. Your northern gentry can have no conception of a Greek summer; which, however, is a perfect frost compared with Malta and Gibraltar, where I reposed myself in the shade last year, after a gentle gallop of four hundred miles, without intermission, through Portugal and Spain. You see, by my date, that I am at Athens again, a place which I think I prefer, upon the whole, to any I have seen. My next movement is to-morrow into the Morea, where I shall probably remain a month or two, and then return to winter here, if I do not change my plans, which, however, are very variable, as you may suppose; but none of them verge to England. The Marquis of Sligo, [2] my old fellow-collegian, is here, and wishes to accompany me into the Morea. We shall go together for that purpose; but I am woefully sick of travelling companions, after a year's experience of Mr. Hobhouse, who is on his way to Great Britain. Lord S. will afterwards pursue his way to the capital; and Lord B., having seen all the wonders in that quarter, will let you know what he does next, of which at present he is not quite certain. Malta is my perpetual post-office, from which my letters are forwarded to all parts of the habitable globe:--by the bye, I have now been in Asia, Africa, and the east of Europe, and, indeed, made the most of my time, without hurrying over the most interesting scenes of the ancient world. Fletcher, after having been toasted and roasted, and baked, and grilled, and eaten by all sorts of creeping things, begins to philosophise, is grown a refined as well as a resigned character, and promises at his return to become an ornament to his own parish, and a very prominent person in the future family pedigree of the Fletchers, who I take to be Goths by their accomplishments, Greeks by their acuteness, and ancient Saxons by their appetite. He (Fletcher) begs leave to send half-a-dozen sighs to Sally his spouse, and wonders (though I do not) that his ill-written and worse spelt letters have never come to hand; as for that matter, there is no great loss in either of our letters, saving and except that I wish you to know we are well, and warm enough at this present writing, God knows. You must not expect long letters at present, for they are written with the sweat of my brow, I assure you. It is rather singular that Mr. Hanson has not written a syllable since my departure. Your letters I have mostly received as well as others; from which I conjecture that the man of law is either angry or busy. I trust you like Newstead, and agree with your neighbours; but you know _you_ are a _vixen_--is not that a dutiful appellation? Pray, take care of my books and several boxes of papers in the hands of Joseph; and pray leave me a few bottles of champagne to drink, for I am very thirsty;--but I do not insist on the last article, without you like it. I suppose you have your house full of silly women, prating scandalous things. Have you ever received my picture in oil from Sanders, London? It has been paid for these sixteen months: why do you not get it? My suite, consisting of two Turks, two Greeks, a Lutheran, and the nondescript, Fletcher, are making so much noise, that I am glad to sign myself Yours, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: On July 10, 1810, the British ambassador, Robert Adair, had his audience of Sultan Mahmoud II, and on the 14th the 'Salsette' set sail. She touched at the island of Zea to land Byron, who thence made his way to Athens. It was in making war against Mahmoud II, the conqueror of Ali Pasha and the destroyer of the Janissaries, that Byron lost his life. The following description of the Sultan is given by Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.,' vol. ii. pp. 364, 365):-- "The chamber was small and dark, or rather illumined with a gloomy artificial light, reflected from the ornaments of silver, pearls, and other white brilliants, with which it is thickly studded on every side and on the roof. The throne, which is supposed the richest in the world, is like a four-posted bed, but of a dazzling splendour; the lower part formed of burnished silver and pearls, and the canopy and supporters encrusted with jewels. It is in an awkward position, being in one corner of the room, and close to a fireplace. "Sultan Mahmoud was placed in the middle of the throne, with his feet upon the ground, which, notwithstanding the common form of squatting upon the hams, seems the seat of ceremony. He was dressed in a robe of yellow satin, with a broad border of the darkest sable; his dagger, and an ornament on his breast, were covered with diamonds; the front of his white and blue turban shone with a large treble sprig of diamonds, which served as a buckle to a high, straight plume of bird-of-paradise feathers. He, for the most part, kept a hand on each knee, and neither moved his body nor head, but rolled his eyes from side to side, without fixing them for an instant upon the ambassador or any other person present. Occasionally he stroked and turned up his beard, displaying a milk-white hand glittering with diamond rings. His eyebrows, eyes, and beard, being of a glossy jet black, did not appear natural, but added to that indescribable majesty which it would be difficult for any but an Oriental sovereign to assume; his face was pale, and regularly formed, except that his nose (contrary to the usual form of that feature in the Ottoman princes) was slightly turned up and pointed; his whole physiognomy was mild and benevolent, but expressive and full of dignity. He appeared of a short and small stature, and about thirty years old, which is somewhat more than his actual age." Byron, at the audience, claimed some precedence in the procession as a peer. On May 23, 1819, Moore sat at dinner next to Stratford Canning (afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe), who "gave a ludicrous account of Lord Byron's insisting upon taking precedence of the 'corps diplomatique' in a procession at Constantinople (when Canning was secretary), and upon Adair's refusing it, limping, with as much swagger as he could muster, up the hall, cocking a foreign military hat on his head. He found, however, he was wrong, and wrote a very frank letter acknowledging it, and offering to take his station anywhere" ('Journals, etc., of Thomas Moore', vol. ii. p. 313). An incident of the voyage from Constantinople to Zea is mentioned by Moore ('Life', p. 110). Picking up a Turkish dagger on the deck, Byron looked at the blade, and then, before replacing it in the sheath, was overheard to say to himself, "I should like to know how a person feels after committing a murder." In 'Firmilian; a Spasmodic Tragedy' (scene ix.) the sentiment is parodied. Firmilian determines to murder his friend, in order to shriek "delirious at the taste of sin!" He had already blown up a church full of people; but-- "I must have A more potential draught of guilt than this With more of wormwood in it! ... ... Courage, Firmilian! for the hour has come When thou canst know atrocity indeed, By smiting him that was thy dearest friend. And think not that he dies a vulgar death-- 'Tis poetry demands the sacrifice!" And he hurls Haverillo from the summit of the Pillar of St. Simeon Stylites. [Footnote 3: For Lord Sligo, see page 100 [Letter 51], [Foot]note 2 [4]. Lord Sligo was at Athens with a 12-gun brig and a crew of fifty men. At Athens, also, were Lady Hester Stanhope and Michael Bruce, on their way through European Turkey. As the party were passing the Piraeus, they saw a man jump from the mole-head into the sea. Lord Sligo, recognizing the bather as Byron, called to him to dress and join them. Thus began what Byron, in his Memoranda, speaks of as "the most delightful acquaintance which I formed in Greece." From Lord Sligo Moore heard the following stories:-- Weakened and thinned by his illness at Patras, Byron returned to Athens. There, standing one day before a looking-glass, he said to Lord Sligo, "How pale I look! I should like, I think, to die of a consumption." "Why of a consumption?" asked his friend. "Because then," he answered, "the women would all say, 'See that poor Byron--how interesting he looks in dying!'" He often spoke of his mother to Lord Sligo, who thought that his feeling towards her was little short of aversion. "Some time or other," he said, "I will tell you why I feel thus towards her." A few days after, when they were bathing together in the Gulf of Lepanto, pointing to his naked leg and foot, he exclaimed, "Look there! It is to her false delicacy at my birth I owe that deformity; and yet as long as I can remember, she has never ceased to taunt and reproach me with it. Even a few days before we parted, for the last time, on my leaving England, she, in one of her fits of passion, uttered an imprecation upon me, praying that I might prove as ill formed in mind as I am in body!" Relics of ancient art only appealed to Byron's imagination among their original and natural surroundings. For collections and collectors he had a contempt which, like everything he thought or felt, was unreservedly expressed. Lord Sligo wished to spend some money in digging for antiquities, and Byron offered to act as his agent, and to see the money honestly applied. "You may safely trust 'me'" he said; "I am no dilettante. Your connoisseurs are all thieves; but I care too little for these things ever to steal them." His system of thinning himself, which he had begun before he left England, was continued abroad. While at Athens, where he stayed at the Franciscan Convent, he took a Turkish bath three times a week, his usual drink being vinegar and water, and his food seldom more than a little rice. The result was that, when he returned to England, he weighed only 9 stone 11-1/2 lbs. (see page 127 [Letter 71], [Foot]note 1). Moore's account of the "cordial friendship" between Byron and Lady Hester Stanhope requires modification. Lady Hester (see page 302, note I) thus referred in after-life to her meeting with Byron, if her physician's recollection is to be trusted ('Memoirs', by Dr. Meryon, vol. iii. pp. 218, 219)-- "'I think he was a strange character: his generosity was for a motive, his avarice for a motive; one time he was mopish, and nobody was to speak to him; another, he was for being jocular with everybody. Then he was a sort of Don Quixote, fighting with the police for a woman of the town; and then he wanted to make himself something great ... At Athens I saw nothing in him but a well-bred man, like many others; for, as for poetry, it is easy enough to write verses; and as for the thoughts, who knows where he got them? ... He had a great deal of vice in his looks--his eyes set close together, and a contracted brow--so' (imitating it). 'Oh, Lord! I am sure he was not a liberal man, whatever else he might be. The only good thing about his looks was this part' (drawing her hand under the cheek down the front of her neck), 'and the curl on his forehead.'" Michael Bruce, with the help of Sir Robert Wilson and Capt. Hutchinson, assisted Count Lavallette to escape from Paris in January, 1816. For an account, see Wilson's intercepted letter to Lord Grey ('Memoires du Comte Lavallette', vol. ii. p. 132) and the story of their trial, conviction, and sentence before the Assize Court of the Department of the Seine (April 22-24, 1816), given in the 'Annual Register' for 1816, pp. 329-336.] 145.--To his Mother. Athens, July 27, 1810. Dear Mother,--I write again in case you have not received my letters. To-day I go into the Morea, which will, I trust, be colder than this place, where I have tarried in the expectation of obtaining rest. Sligo has very kindly proposed a union of our forces for the occasion, which will be perhaps as uncomfortable to him as to myself, judging from previous experience, which, however, may be explained by my own irritability and hurry. At Constantinople I visited the Mosques, plains, and grandees of that place, which, in my opinion, cannot be compared with Athens and its neighbourhood; indeed I know of no Turkish scenery to equal this, which would be civilised and Celtic enough with a little alteration in situation and inhabitants. An usual custom here, as at Cadiz, is to part with wives, daughters, etc., for a trifling present of gold or English arms (which the Greeks set a high value upon). The women are generally of the middle height, with Turkish eyes, straight hair, and clear olive complexion, but are not nearly so amorous as the Spanish belles, whom I have described to you in former letters. I have some feats to boast of when I return, which is undesired and undesirable--I always except you from my complaints, and hope you will expect me with the same delight that I anticipate meeting you. You can have no conception of Lord S.'s ecstasy when I informed him of my probable movements. The man is well enough and sensible enough by himself; but the swarm of attendants, Turks, Greeks, Englishmen that he carries with him, makes his society, or rather theirs, an intolerable annoyance. If you will read this letter to----, you may imagine in what capacity I believe you excel. Before I left England I promised to give my silver-mounted whip (in your chamber) to Charles. Present it to him, poor boy, for I should not like him to suppose me as unfaithful as his _amante_, who, by the way is no better than she should be, and no great loss to himself or his family. Hobhouse is silent, and has, I suppose, not yet returned; indeed, like myself, he appears to love the world better than England, and the Devil more than either, who I regret is not present to be informed of this. Do not fail, if you see him (Hobhouse, I mean), to repeat it, and the assurance that I am to him, with yourself, Ever affectionately, BYRON. 146.--To his Mother. Patras, July 30, 1810. DEAR MADAM,--In four days from Constantinople, with a favourable wind, I arrived in the frigate at the island of Teos, from whence I took a boat to Athens, where I met my friend the Marquis of Sligo, who expressed a wish to proceed with me as far as Corinth. At Corinth we separated, he for Tripolitza, I for Patras, where I had some business with the consul, Mr. Strané, in whose house I now write. He has rendered me every service in his power since I quitted Malta on my way to Constantinople, whence I have written to you twice or thrice. In a few days I visit the Pacha[1] at Tripolitza, make the tour of the Morea, and return again to Athens, which at present is my head-quarters. The heat is at present intense. In England, if it reaches 98° you are all on fire: the other day, in travelling between Athens and Megara, the thermometer was at 125°!!! Yet I feel no inconvenience; of course I am much bronzed, but I live temperately, and never enjoyed better health. Before I left Constantinople, I saw the Sultan (with Mr. Adair), and the interior of the mosques, things which rarely happen to travellers. Mr. Hobhouse is gone to England: I am in no hurry to return, but have no particular communications for your country, except my surprise at Mr. Hanson's silence, and my desire that he will remit regularly. I suppose some arrangement has been made with regard to Wymondham and Rochdale. Malta is my post-office, or to Mr. Strané, consul-general, Patras, Morea. You complain of my silence--I have written twenty or thirty times within the last year: never less than twice a month, and often more. If my letters do not arrive, you must not conclude that we are eaten, or that there is war, or a pestilence, or famine: neither must you credit silly reports, which I dare say you have in Notts., as usual. I am very well, and neither more nor less happy than I usually am; except that I am very glad to be once more alone, for I was sick of my companion,--not that he was a bad one, but because my nature leads me to solitude, and that every day adds to this disposition. If I chose, here are many men who would wish to join me--one wants me to go to Egypt, another to Asia, of which I have seen enough. The greater part of Greece is already my own, so that I shall only go over my old ground, and look upon my old seas and mountains, the only acquaintances I ever found improve upon me. I have a tolerable suite, a Tartar, two Albanians, an interpreter, besides Fletcher; but in this country these are easily maintained. Adair received me wonderfully well, and indeed I have no complaints against any one. Hospitality here is necessary, for inns are not. I have lived in the houses of Greeks, Turks, Italians, and English--to-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house; this day with a Pacha, the next with a shepherd. I shall continue to write briefly, but frequently, and am glad to hear from you; but you fill your letters with things from the papers, as if English papers were not found all over the world. I have at this moment a dozen before me. Pray take care of my books, and believe me, my dear mother, Yours very faithfully, BYRON. [Footnote 1: For Veli Pasha, see page 248 [Letter 131], [Foot]note 1 [2].] 147.--To his Mother. Patras, October 2, 1810. DEAR MADAM,--It is now several months since I have received any communication from you; but at this I am not surprised, nor indeed have I any complaint to make, since you have written frequently, for which I thank you; but I very much condemn Mr. Hanson, who has not taken the smallest notice of my many letters, nor of my request before I left England, which I sailed from on this very day _fifteen_ months ago. Thus one year and a quarter have passed away, without my receiving the least intelligence on the state of my affairs, and they were not in a posture to admit of neglect; and I do conceive and declare that Mr. Hanson has acted negligently and culpably in not apprising me of his proceedings; I will also add uncivilly. His letters, were there any, could not easily miscarry; the communications with the Levant are slow, but tolerably secure, at least as far as Malta, and there I left directions which I know would be observed. I have written to you several times from Constantinople and Smyrna. You will perceive by my date I am returned into the Morea,[1] of which I have been making the tour, and visiting the Pacha, who gave me a fine horse, and paid me all possible honours and attention. I have now seen a good portion of Turkey in Europe, and Asia Minor, and shall remain at Athens, and in the vicinity, till I hear from England. I have punctually obeyed your injunctions of writing frequently, but I shall not pretend to describe countries which have been already amply treated of. I believe before this time Mr. Hobhouse will have arrived in England, and he brings letters from me, written at Constantinople. In these I mention having seen the Sultan and the mosques, and that I swam from Sestos to Abydos, an exploit of which I take care to boast. I am here on business at present, but Athens is my head-quarters, where I am very pleasantly situated in a Franciscan convent. Believe me to be, with great sincerity, yours very affectionately, BYRON. P.S.--Fletcher is well, and discontented as usual; his wife don't write, at least her scrawls have not arrived. You will address to Malta. Pray have you never received my picture in oil from Sanders, Vigo Lane, London? [Footnote 1: In a note upon the Advertisement prefixed to his 'Siege of Corinth', Byron says, "I visited all three (Tripolitza, Napoli, and Argos) in 1810-11, and, in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto."] 148.--To Francis Hodgson. Patras, Morea, October 3, 1810. As I have just escaped from a physician and a fever, which confined me five days to bed, you won't expect much _allegrezza_ in the ensuing letter. In this place there is an indigenous distemper, which when the wind blows from the Gulf of Corinth (as it does five months out of six), attacks great and small, and makes woful work with visiters. Here be also two physicians, one of whom trusts to his genius (never having studied)--the other to a campaign of eighteen months against the sick of Otranto, which he made in his youth with great effect. When I was seized with my disorder, I protested against both these assassins;--but what can a helpless, feverish, toast-and-watered poor wretch do? In spite of my teeth and tongue, the English consul, my Tartar, Albanians, dragoman, forced a physician upon me, and in three days vomited and glystered me to the last gasp. In this state I made my epitaph--take it:-- Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove, To keep my lamp _in_ strongly strove: But Romanelli was so stout, He beat all three--and _blew_ it _out_. But Nature and Jove, being piqued at my doubts, did, in fact, at last, beat Romanelli, and here I am, well but weakly, at your service. Since I left Constantinople, I have made a tour of the Morea, and visited Veley Pacha, who paid me great honours, and gave me a pretty stallion. H. is doubtless in England before even the date of this letter:--he bears a despatch from me to your bardship. He writes to me from Malta, and requests my journal, if I keep one. I have none, or he should have it; but I have replied in a consolatory and exhortatory epistle, praying him to abate three and sixpence in the price of his next boke, seeing that half a guinea is a price not to be given for any thing save an opera ticket. As for England, it is long since I have heard from it. Every one at all connected with my concerns is asleep, and you are my only correspondent, agents excepted. I have really no friends in the world; though all my old school companions are gone forth into that world, and walk about there in monstrous disguises, in the garb of guardsmen, lawyers, parsons, fine gentlemen, and such other masquerade dresses. So, I here shake hands and cut with all these busy people, none of whom write to me. Indeed I ask it not;--and here I am, a poor traveller and heathenish philosopher, who hath perambulated the greatest part of the Levant, and seen a great quantity of very improvable land and sea, and, after all, am no better than when I set out--Lord help me! I have been out fifteen months this very day, and I believe my concerns will draw me to England soon; but of this I will apprise you regularly from Malta. On all points Hobhouse will inform you, if you are curious as to our adventures. [1] I have seen some old English papers up to the 15th of May. I see the _Lady of the Lake_[2] advertised. Of course it is in his old ballad style, and pretty. After all, Scott is the best of them. The end of all scribblement is to amuse, and he certainly succeeds there. I long to read his new romance. And how does _Sir Edgar_? and your friend Bland? I suppose you are involved in some literary squabble. The only way is to despise all brothers of the quill. I suppose you won't allow me to be an author, but I contemn you all, you dogs!--I do. You don't know Dallas, do you? He had a farce [3] ready for the stage before I left England, and asked me for a prologue, which I promised, but sailed in such a hurry I never penned a couplet. I am afraid to ask after his drama, for fear it should be damned--Lord forgive me for using such a word! but the pit, Sir, you know the pit--they will do those things in spite of merit. I remember this farce from a curious circumstance. When Drury Lane [4] was burnt to the ground, by which accident Sheridan and his son lost the few remaining shillings they were worth, what doth my friend Dallas do? Why, before the fire was out, he writes a note to Tom Sheridan, [5] the manager of this combustible concern, to inquire whether this farce was not converted into fuel with about two thousand other unactable manuscripts, which of course were in great peril, if not actually consumed. Now was not this characteristic?--the ruling passions of Pope are nothing to it. Whilst the poor distracted manager was bewailing the loss of a building only worth £300,000., together with some twenty thousand pounds of rags and tinsel in the tiring rooms, Bluebeard's elephants, [6] and all that--in comes a note from a scorching author, requiring at his hands two acts and odd scenes of a farce!! Dear H., remind Drury that I am his well-wisher, and let Scrope Davies be well affected towards me. I look forward to meeting you at Newstead, and renewing our old champagne evenings with all the glee of anticipation. I have written by every opportunity, and expect responses as regular as those of the liturgy, and somewhat longer. As it is impossible for a man in his senses to hope for happy days, let us at least look forward to merry ones, which come nearest to the other in appearance, if not in reality; and in such expectations I remain, etc. [Footnote 1: Hobhouse, writing to Byron from Malta, July 31, 1810, says, "Mrs. Bruce picked out a pretty picture of a woman in a fashionable dress in Ackerman's 'Repository', and observed it was vastly like Lord Byron. I give you warning of this, for fear you should make another conquest and return to England without a curl upon your head. Surely the ladies copy Delilah when they crop their lovers after this fashion. 'Successful youth! why mourn thy ravish'd hair, Since each lost lock bespeaks a conquer'd fair, And young and old conspire to make thee bare?' This makes me think of my poor 'Miscellany', which is quite dead, if indeed that can be said to be dead which was never alive; not a soul knows, or knowing will speak of it." Again, July 15, 1811, he writes: "The 'Miscellany' is so damned that my friends make it a point of politeness not to mention it ever to me."] [Footnote 2: 'The Lady of the Lake' was published in May, 1810.] [Footnote 3: For Dallas, see page 168 [Letter 87], [Foot]note 1. His farce, entitled, 'Not at Home', was acted at the Lyceum, by the Drury Lane Company, in November, 1809. It was afterwards printed, with a prologue (intended to have been spoken) written by Walter Rodwell Wright, author of 'Horae Ionicae'.] [Footnote 4: Drury Lane Theatre, burned down in 1791, and reopened in 1794, was again destroyed by fire on February 24, 1809.] [Footnote 5: Thomas Sheridan (1775-1817), originally in the army, was at this time assisting his father, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, as manager of Drury Lane Theatre. His 'Bonduca' was played at Covent Garden in May, 1808. He married, in 1805, Caroline Henrietta Callender, who was "more beautiful than anybody but her daughters," afterwards Mrs. Norton, the Duchess of Somerset, and Lady Dufferin. He died at the Cape of Good Hope in 1817. "Tom Sheridan and his beautiful wife" were at Gibraltar in 1809, when Byron and Hobhouse landed on the Rock, and, as Galt states ('Life of Byron', p. 58), brought the news to Lady Westmorland of their arrival. (See 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 572, 573, and note 1.)] [Footnote 6: 'Bluebeard, or Female Curiosity', by George Colman the Younger (1762-1836), was being acted at Drury Lane in January, 1809. "Bluebeard's elephants" were wicker-work constructions. It was at Covent Garden that the first live elephant was introduced two years later. Johnstone, the machinist employed at Drury Lane, famous for the construction of wooden children, wicker-work lions, and paste-board swans, was present with a friend. "Among the attractions of this Christmas foolery, a _real_ elephant was introduced.... The friend, who sat close to Johnstone, jogged his elbow, whispering, 'This is a bitter bad job for Drury! Why, the elephant's _alive_! He'll carry all before him, and beat you hollow. What do you think on't, eh?' 'Think on't?' said Johnstone, in a tone of utmost contempt, 'I should be very sorry if I couldn't make a much better elephant than that, at any time'" (George Colman the Younger, 'Random Records', vol. i. pp. 228, 229).] 149.--To John Cam Hobhouse. Patras, Morea, October 4th, 1810. MY Dear Hobhouse,--I wrote to you two days ago, but the weather and my friend Strané's conversation being much the same, and my ally Nicola [1] in bed with a fever, I think I may as well talk to you, the rather, as you can't answer me, and excite my wrath with impertinent observations, at least for three months to come. I will try not to say the same things I have set down in my other letter of the 2nd, but I can't promise, as my poor head is still giddy with my late fever. I saw the Lady Hesther Stanhope [2] at Athens, and do not admire "that dangerous thing a female wit." She told me (take her own words) that she had given you a good set-down at Malta, in some disputation about the Navy; from this, of course, I readily inferred the contrary, or in the words of an _acquaintance_ of ours, that "you had the best of it." She evinced a similar disposition to _argufy_ with me, which I avoided by either laughing or yielding. I despise the sex too much to squabble with them, and I rather wonder you should allow a woman to draw you into a contest, in which, however, I am sure you had the advantage, she abuses you so bitterly. I have seen too little of the Lady to form any decisive opinion, but I have discovered nothing different from other she-things, except a great disregard of received notions in her conversation as well as conduct. I don't know whether this will recommend her to our sex, but I am sure it won't to her own. She is going on to Constantinople. Ali Pacha is in a scrape. Ibrahim Pacha and the Pacha of Scutari have come down upon him with 20,000 Gegdes and Albanians, retaken Berat, and threaten Tepaleni. Adam Bey is dead, Vely Pacha was on his way to the Danube, but has gone off suddenly to Yanina, and all Albania is in an uproar. The mountains we crossed last year are the scene of warfare, and there is nothing but carnage and cutting of throats. In my other letter I mentioned that Vely had given me a fine horse. On my late visit he received me with great pomp, standing, conducted me to the door with his arm round my waist, and a variety of civilities, invited me to meet him at Larissa and see his army, which I should have accepted, had not this rupture with Ibrahim taken place. Sultan Mahmout is in a phrenzy because Vely has not joined the army. We have a report here, that the Russians have beaten the Turks and taken Muchtar Pacha prisoner, but it is a Greek Bazaar rumour and not to be believed. I have now treated you with a dish of Turkish politics. You have by this time gotten into England, and your ears and mouth are full of "Reform Burdett, Gale Jones, [3] minority, last night's division, dissolution of Parliament, battle in Portugal," and all the cream of forty newspapers. In my t'other letter, to which I am perpetually obliged to refer, I have offered some moving topics on the head of your _Miscellany_, the neglect of which I attribute to the half guinea annexed as the indispensable equivalent for the said volume. Now I do hope, notwithstanding that exorbitant demand, that on your return you will find it selling, or, what is better, sold, in consequence of which you will be able to face the public with your new volume, if that intention still subsists. My journal, did I keep one, should be yours. As it is I can only offer my sincere wishes for your success, if you will believe it possible for a brother scribbler to be sincere on such an occasion. Will you execute a commission for me? Lord Sligo tells me it was the intention of Miller [4] in Albemarle Street to send by him a letter to me, which he stated to be of consequence. Now I have no concern with Mr. M. except a bill which I hope is paid before this time; will you visit the said M. and if it be a pecuniary matter, refer him to Hanson, and if not, tell me what he means, or forward his letter. I have just received an epistle from Galt, [5] with a Candist poem, which it seems I am to forward to you. This I would willingly do, but it is too large for a letter, and too small for a parcel, and besides appears to be damned nonsense, from all which considerations I will deliver it in person. It is entitled the "Fair Shepherdess," or rather "Herdswoman;" if you don't like the translation take the original title "[Greek (transliterated): hae boskopoula]." Galt also writes something not very intelligible about a "Spartan State paper" which by his account is everything but Laconic. Now the said Sparta having some years ceased to be a state, what the devil does he mean by a paper? he also adds mysteriously that the _affair_ not being concluded, he cannot at present apply for it. Now, Hobhouse, are you mad? or is he? Are these documents for Longman & Co.? Spartan state papers! and Cretan rhymes! indeed these circumstances super-added to his house at Mycone (whither I am invited) and his Levant wines, make me suspect his sanity. Athens is at present infested with English people, but they are moving, _Dio bendetto!_ I am returning to pass a month or two; I think the spring will see me in England, but do not let this transpire, nor cease to urge the most dilatory of mortals, Hanson. I have some idea of purchasing the Island of Ithaca; I suppose you will add me to the Levant lunatics. I shall be glad to hear from your Signoria of your welfare, politics, and literature. Your last letter closes pathetically with a postscript about a nosegay; [6] I advise you to introduce that into your next sentimental novel. I am sure I did not suspect you of any fine feelings, and I believe you were laughing, but you are welcome. _Vale_; "I can no more," like Lord Grizzle. [7] Yours, [Greek (transliterated): Mpair_on] [Footnote 1: Nicolo Giraud, from whom Byron was learning Italian.] [Footnote 2: Hobhouse had written to Byron, speaking of Lady Hester Stanhope "as the most superior woman, as Bruce says, of all the world." The daughter of Pitt's favourite sister, Lady Hester (1776-1839) was her uncle's constant companion (1803-6). In character she resembled her grandfather far more than her uncle, who owed his cool judgment to the Grenville blood. Lady Hester inherited the overweening pride, generosity, courage, and fervent heat of the "Great Commoner," as well as his indomitable will. Like him, she despised difficulties, and ignored the word "impossibility." Her romantic ideas were also combined with keen insight into character, and much practical sagacity. These were the qualities which made her for many years a power among the wild tribes of Lebanon, with whom she was in 1810 proceeding to take up her abode (1813-39).] [Footnote 3: Sir Francis Burdett (1770-1844), a lifelong friend of Lady Hester Stanhope, was afterwards Hobhouse's colleague as M.P. for Westminster (1820-33). He was committed to the Tower in 1810 for publishing a speech which he delivered in the House of Commons in defence of John Gale Jones, whom the House (February, 1810) had sent to Newgate for a breach of privilege. Sir Francis refused to obey the warrant, and told the sergeant-at-arms that he would not go unless taken by force. His refusal led to riots near his house (77, Piccadilly), in which the Horse Guards, or "Oxford Blues" as they were called, gained the name of "Piccadilly Butchers" (Lord Albemarle's 'Recollections', vol. i. pp. 317, 318).] [Footnote 4: See page 319, 'note 2.'] [Footnote 5: John Galt (1779-1839), the novelist, was at this time endeavouring to establish a place of business at Mycone, in the Greek Archipelago. He published in 1812 his 'Voyages and Travels in the Years' 1809, 1810, 1811. (For his meeting with Byron at Gibraltar, see page 243 [Letter 130], [Foot]note 1.)] [Footnote 6: Hobhouse's letter to Byron of July 31, 1810, ends with the following postscript:-- "I kept the half of your little nosegay till it withered entirely, and even then I could not bear to throw it away. I can't account for this, nor can you either, I dare say."] [Footnote 7: Lord Grizzle, in Fielding's 'Tom Thumb', is the first peer in the Court of King Arthur, who, jealous of Tom Thumb and in love with the Princess Huncamunca, turns traitor, and is run through the body by Tom Thumb. It is the ghost, not Grizzle, who says, "I can no more." (See page 226 [Letter 124], [Foot]note 1.)] 150.--To Francis Hodgson. Athens, November 14, 1810. MY DEAR HODGSON,--This will arrive with an English servant whom I send homewards with some papers of consequence. I have been journeying in different parts of Greece for these last four months, and you may expect me in England somewhere about April, but this is very dubious. Hobhouse you have doubtless seen; he went home in August to arrange materials for a tour he talks of publishing. You will find him well and scribbling--that is, scribbling if well, and well if scribbling. I suppose you have a score of new works, all of which I hope to see flourishing, with a hecatomb of reviews. _My_ works are likely to have a powerful effect with a vengeance, as I hear of divers angry people, whom it is proper I should shoot at, by way of satisfaction. Be it so, the same impulse which made "Otho a warrior" will make me one also. My domestic affairs being moreover considerably deranged, my appetite for travelling pretty well satiated with my late peregrinations, my various hopes in this world almost extinct, and not very brilliant in the next, I trust I shall go through the process with a creditable _sang froid_ and not disgrace a line of cut-throat ancestors. I regret in one of your letters to hear you talk of domestic embarrassments, [1] indeed I am at present very well calculated to sympathise with you on that point. I suppose I must take to dram-drinking as a _succedaneum_ for philosophy, though as I am happily not married, I have very little occasion for either just yet. Talking of marriage puts me in mind of Drury, who I suppose has a dozen children by this time, all fine fretful brats; I will never forgive Matrimony for having spoiled such an excellent Bachelor. If anybody honours my name with an inquiry tell them of "my whereabouts" and write if you like it. I am living alone in the Franciscan monastery with one "fri_ar_" (a Capuchin of course) and one "fri_er_" (a bandy-legged Turkish cook), two Albanian savages, a Tartar, and a Dragoman. My only Englishman departs with this and other letters. The day before yesterday the Waywode (or Governor of Athens) with the Mufti of Thebes (a sort of Mussulman Bishop) supped here and made themselves beastly with raw rum, and the Padré of the convent being as drunk as _we_, my _Attic_ feast went off with great _éclat_. I have had a present of a stallion from the Pacha of the Morea. I caught a fever going to Olympia. I was blown ashore on the Island of Salamis, in my way to Corinth through the Gulf of Ægina. I have kicked an Athenian postmaster, I have a friendship with the French consul [2] and an Italian painter, and am on good terms with five Teutones and Cimbri, Danes and Germans, [2] who are travelling for an Academy. Vale! Yours, [Greek: Mpair_on] [3] [Footnote 1: Hodgson's father, Rector of Barwick-in-Elmet, Yorkshire, died in October, 1810, heavily in debt. Francis Hodgson undertook to satisfy the claims of his father's creditors ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 147, 148).] [Footnote 2: M. Fauriel, the French Consul: Lusieri, an Italian artist employed by Lord Elgin; Nicolo Giraud, from whom Byron learned Italian, and to whose sister Lusieri proposed; Baron Haller, a Bavarian 'savant'; and Dr. Bronstett, of Copenhagen, were among his friends at Athens.] [Footnote 3: The signature represents "Byron" in modern Greek, [Greek: Mp] being the correct transliteration of 'B'.] 151.--To his Mother. Athens, January 14, 1811. My Dear Madam,--I seize an occasion to write as usual, shortly, but frequently, as the arrival of letters, where there exists no regular communication, is, of course, very precarious. I have lately made several small tours of some hundred or two miles about the Morea, Attica, etc., as I have finished my grand giro by the Troad, Constantinople, etc., and am returned down again to Athens. I believe I have mentioned to you more than once that I swam (in imitation of Leander, though without his lady) across the Hellespont, from Sestos to Abydos. Of this, and all other particulars, Fletcher, whom I have sent home with papers, etc., will apprise you. I cannot find that he is any loss; being tolerably master of the Italian and modern Greek languages, which last I am also studying with a master, I can order and discourse more than enough for a reasonable man. Besides, the perpetual lamentations after beef and beer, the stupid, bigoted contempt for every thing foreign, and insurmountable incapacity of acquiring even a few words of any language, rendered him, like all other English servants, an incumbrance. I do assure you, the plague of speaking for him, the comforts he required (more than myself by far), the pilaws (a Turkish dish of rice and meat) which he could not eat, the wines which he could not drink, the beds where he could not sleep, and the long list of calamities, such as stumbling horses, want of _tea!!!_ etc., which assailed him, would have made a lasting source of laughter to a spectator, and inconvenience to a master. After all, the man is honest enough, and, in Christendom, capable enough; but in Turkey, Lord forgive me! my Albanian soldiers, my Tartars and Jannissary, worked for him and us too, as my friend Hobhouse can testify. It is probable I may steer homewards in spring; but to enable me to do that, I must have remittances. My own funds would have lasted me very well; but I was obliged to assist a friend, who, I know, will pay me; but, in the mean time, I am out of pocket. At present, I do not care to venture a winter's voyage, even if I were otherwise tired of travelling; but I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, and the bitter effects of staying at home with all the narrow prejudices of an islander, that I think there should be a law amongst us, to set our young men abroad, for a term, among the few allies our wars have left us. Here I see and have conversed with French, Italians, Germans, Danes, Greeks, Turks, Americans, etc., etc., etc.; and without losing sight of my own, I can judge of the countries and manners of others. Where I see the superiority of England (which, by the by, we are a good deal mistaken about in many things), I am pleased, and where I find her inferior, I am at least enlightened. Now, I might have stayed, smoked in your towns, or fogged in your country, a century, without being sure of this, and without acquiring any thing more useful or amusing at home. I keep no journal, nor have I any intention of scribbling my travels. I have done with authorship, and if, in my last production, I have convinced the critics or the world I was something more than they took me for, I am satisfied; nor will I hazard _that reputation_ by a future effort. It is true I have some others in manuscript, but I leave them for those who come after me; and, if deemed worth publishing, they may serve to prolong my memory when I myself shall cease to remember. I have a famous Bavarian artist taking some views of Athens, etc., etc., for me. This will be better than scribbling, a disease I hope myself cured of. I hope, on my return, to lead a quiet, recluse life, but God knows and does best for us all; at least, so they say, and I have nothing to object, as, on the whole, I have no reason to complain of my lot. I am convinced, however, that men do more harm to themselves than ever the devil could do to them. I trust this will find you well, and as happy as we can be; you will, at least, be pleased to hear I am so, and Yours ever. 152.--To his Mother. Athens, February 28, 1811. DEAR MADAM,--As I have received a firman for Egypt, etc., I shall proceed to that quarter in the spring, and I beg you will state to Mr. Hanson that it is necessary to [send] further remittances. On the subject of Newstead, I answer as before, _No_. If it is necessary to sell, sell Rochdale. Fletcher will have arrived by this time with my letters to that purport. I will tell you fairly, I have, in the first place, no opinion of funded property; if, by any particular circumstances, I shall be led to adopt such a determination, I will, at all events, pass my life abroad, as my only tie to England is Newstead, and, that once gone, neither interest nor inclination lead me northward. Competence in your country is ample wealth in the East, such is the difference in the value of money and the abundance of the necessaries of life; and I feel myself so much a citizen of the world, that the spot where I can enjoy a delicious climate, and every luxury, at a less expense than a common college life in England, will always be a country to me; and such are in fact the shores of the Archipelago. This then is the alternative--if I preserve Newstead, I return; if I sell it, I stay away. I have had no letters since yours of June, but I have written several times, and shall continue, as usual, on the same plan. Believe me, yours ever, BYRON. P.S.--I shall most likely see you in the course of the summer, but, of course, at such a distance, I cannot specify any particular month. 153.--To his Mother. 'Volage' frigate, at sea, June 25, 1811. DEAR MOTHER,--This letter, which will be forwarded on our arrival at Portsmouth, probably about the 4th of July, is begun about twenty-three days after our departure from Malta. I have just been two years (to a day, on the 2d of July) absent from England, and I return to it with much the same feelings which prevailed on my departure, viz. indifference; but within that apathy I certainly do not comprise yourself, as I will prove by every means in my power. You will be good enough to get my apartments ready at Newstead; but don't disturb yourself, on any account, particularly mine, nor consider me in any other light than as a visiter. I must only inform you that for a long time I have been restricted to an entire vegetable diet, neither fish nor flesh coming within my regimen; so I expect a powerful stock of potatoes, greens, and biscuit; I drink no wine. I have two servants, middle-aged men, and both Greeks. It is my intention to proceed first to town, to see Mr. Hanson, and thence to Newstead, on my way to Rochdale. I have only to beg you will not forget my diet, which it is very necessary for me to observe. I am well in health, as I have generally been, with the exception of two agues, both of which I quickly got over. My plans will so much depend on circumstances, that I shall not venture to lay down an opinion on the subject. My prospects are not very promising, but I suppose we shall wrestle through life like our neighbours; indeed, by Hanson's last advices, I have some apprehension of finding Newstead dismantled by Messrs. Brothers,[1] etc., and he seems determined to force me into selling it, but he will be baffled. I don't suppose I shall be much pestered with visiters; but if I am, you must receive them, for I am determined to have nobody breaking in upon my retirement: you know that I never was fond of society, and I am less so than before. I have brought you a shawl, and a quantity of attar of roses, but these I must smuggle, if possible. I trust to find my library in tolerable order. Fletcher is no doubt arrived. I shall separate the mill from Mr. B--'s farm, for his son is too gay a deceiver to inherit both, and place Fletcher in it, who has served me faithfully, and whose wife is a good woman; besides, it is necessary to sober young Mr. B--, or he will people the parish with bastards. In a word, if he had seduced a dairy-maid, he might have found something like an apology; but the girl is his equal, and in high life or low life reparation is made in such circumstances. But I shall not interfere further than (like Buonaparte) by dismembering Mr. B.'s _kingdom_, and erecting part of it into a principality for field-marshal Fletcher! I hope you govern my little _empire_ and its sad load of national debt with a wary hand. To drop my metaphor, I beg leave to subscribe myself Yours ever, BYRON. P.S. July 14.--This letter was written to be sent from Portsmouth, but, on arriving there, the squadron was ordered to the Nore, from whence I shall forward it. This I have not done before, supposing you might be alarmed by the interval mentioned in the letter being longer than expected between our arrival in port and my appearance at Newstead. [Footnote 1: Brothers, an upholsterer of Nottingham, had put in an execution at Newstead for £1600.] 154.--To R. C. Dallas. _Volage_ Frigate, at sea, June 28, 1811. After two years' absence (to a day, on the 2d of July, before which we shall not arrive at Portsmouth), I am retracing my way to England. I have, as you know, spent the greater part of that period in Turkey, except two months in Spain and Portugal, which were then accessible. I have seen every thing most remarkable in Turkey, particularly the Troad, Greece, Constantinople, and Albania, into which last region very few have penetrated so high as Hobhouse and myself. I don't know that I have done anything to distinguish me from other voyagers, unless you will reckon my swimming from Sestos to Abydos, on May 3d, 1810, a tolerable feat for a _modern_. I am coming back with little prospect of pleasure at home, and with a body a little shaken by one or two smart fevers, but a spirit I hope yet unbroken. My affairs, it seems, are considerably involved, and much business must be done with lawyers, colliers, farmers, and creditors. Now this, to a man who hates bustle as he hates a bishop, is a serious concern. But enough of my home department. I find I have been scolding Cawthorn without a cause, as I found two parcels with two letters from you on my return to Malta. By these it appears you have not received a letter from Constantinople, addressed to Longman's, but it was of no consequence. My Satire, it seems, is in a fourth edition, a success rather above the middling run, but not much for a production which, from its topics, must be temporary, and of course be successful at first, or not at all. At this period, when I can think and act more coolly, I regret that I have written it, though I shall probably find it forgotten by all except those whom it has offended. My friend Hobhouse's _Miscellany_ has not succeeded; but he himself writes so good-humouredly on the subject, I don't know whether to laugh or cry with him. He met with your son at Cadiz, of whom he speaks highly. Yours and Pratt's [1] _protégé_, Blacket, [2] the cobbler, is dead, in spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death has saved a man from damnation. You were the ruin of that poor fellow amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been in very good plight, shoe- (not verse-) making; but you have made him immortal with a vengeance. I write this, supposing poetry, patronage, and strong waters, to have been the death of him. If you are in town in or about the beginning of July, you will find me at Dorant's, in Albemarle Street, glad to see you.[1] I have an imitation of Horace's _Art of Poetry_ ready for Cawthorn, but don't let that deter you, for I sha'n't inflict it upon you. You know I never read my rhymes to visiters. I shall quit town in a few days for Notts., and thence to Rochdale. I shall send this the moment we arrive in harbour, that is a week hence. Yours ever sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: For Pratt, see page 186, note 1.] [Footnote 2: Joseph Blacket (1786-1810) has his place in 'English Bards' (lines 765, 798) and 'Hints from Horace' (line 734). The son of a labourer, and himself by trade a cobbler, he wrote verses in which Pratt saw signs of genius. A volume of his poetry was published in 1809, under the title of 'Specimens', edited by Pratt. Among those who befriended him were Elliston the actor, Dallas, and Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron (see 'English Bards', lines 770, and note 1). His 'Remains' were collected and published by Pratt in 1811 for the benefit of Blacket's orphan daughter, with a dedication to "the Duchess of Leeds, Lady Milbanke and family" (see page 337, and 'Hints from Horace', line 734, and Byron's note). In the suppressed edition of Dallas's 'Correspondence of Lord Byron' (pp. 127, 128) occurs the following passage, from which, if Dallas's grammar is to be trusted, it seems that the famous epitaph on Blacket was not Byron's composition. Dallas "was persuaded by Mr. Pratt's warmth to see some sparkling of genius in the effusions of this young man (Blacket). It was upon this that Lord Byron and a young friend of his were sometimes playful in conversation, and in writing to me. 'I see,' says the latter, 'that Blacket the Son of Crispin and Apollo is dead.' Looking into Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' the other day, I saw, 'We were talking about the famous Mr. Wordsworth, the poetical Shoemaker.' Now, I never before heard that there had been a Mr. Wordsworth a Poet, a Shoemaker, or a famous man; and I dare say you have never heard of him. Thus it will be with Bloomfield and Blackett--their names two years after their death will be found neither on the rolls of Curriers' Hall nor of Parnassus. Who would think that anybody would be such a blockhead as to sin against an express proverb, 'Ne sutor ultra crepidam'? 'But spare him, ye Critics, his follies are past, For the Cobler is come, as he ought, to his 'last'.' Which two lines, with a scratch under 'last', to show where the joke lies, I beg that you will prevail on Miss Milbanke to have inserted on the tomb of her departed Blacket." It should be added that the shoemaking poet was not Wordsworth, but Woodhouse.] [Footnote 3: Dallas called on Byron at Reddish's Hotel, St. James's Street, July 15, 1811, and received from him the MS. of 'Hints from Horace'. Byron finished the work March 12, 1811, at the Franciscan Convent at Athens, where he found a copy of the 'De Arte Poeticâ'. ('Hints from Horace' were not, however, published till 1831.) On July 16 Dallas called again, and expressed surprise that Byron had written nothing else. Byron then produced out of his trunk 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage', saying, "They are not worth troubling you with, but you shall have them all with you if you like." He was as reluctant to publish 'Childe Harold' as he was eager to publish 'Hints from Horace'.] 155.--To Francis Hodgson. 'Volage' Frigate, at sea, June 29, 1811. In a week, with a fair wind, we shall be at Portsmouth, and on the 2d of July I shall have completed (to a day) two years of peregrination, from which I am returning with as little emotion as I set out. I think, upon the whole, I was more grieved at leaving Greece than England, which I am impatient to see, simply because I am tired of a long voyage. Indeed, my prospects are not very pleasant. Embarrassed in my private affairs, indifferent to public, solitary without the wish to be social, with a body a little enfeebled by a succession of fevers, but a spirit I trust, yet unbroken, I am returning _home_ without a hope, and almost without a desire. The first thing I shall have to encounter will be a lawyer, the next a creditor, then colliers, farmers, surveyors, and all the agreeable attachments to estates out of repair, and contested coal-pits. In short, I am sick and sorry, and when I have a little repaired my irreparable affairs, away I shall march, either to campaign in Spain, or back again to the East, where I can at least have cloudless skies and a cessation from impertinence. I trust to meet, or see you, in town, or at Newstead, whenever you can make it convenient--I suppose you are in love and in poetry as usual. That husband, H. Drury, has never written to me, albeit I have sent him more than one letter;--but I dare say the poor man has a family, and of course all his cares are confined to his circle. "For children fresh expenses yet, And Dicky now for school is fit." WARTON. [1] If you see him, tell him I have a letter for him from Tucker, a regimental chirurgeon and friend of his, who prescribed for me,---- and is a very worthy man, but too fond of hard words. I should be too late for a speech-day, or I should probably go down to Harrow. I regretted very much in Greece having omitted to carry the _Anthology_ with me--I mean Bland and Merivale's.--What has _Sir Edgar_ done? And the _Imitations and Translations_--where are they? I suppose you don't mean to let the public off so easily, but charge them home with a quarto. For me, I am "sick of fops, and poesy, and prate," and shall leave the "whole Castalian state" to Bufo, or any body else. [2] But you are a sentimental and sensibilitous person, and will rhyme to the end of the chapter. Howbeit, I have written some 4000 lines, of one kind or another, on my travels. I need not repeat that I shall be happy to see you. I shall be in town about the 8th, at Dorant's Hotel, in Albemarle Street, and proceed in a few days to Notts., and thence to Rochdale on business. I am, here and there, yours, etc. [Footnote 1: Warton's 'Progress of Discontent', lines 109, 110.] [Footnote 2: "But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate, To Bufo left the whole Castalian state." Pope, 'Prologue to the Satires', lines 229, 230.] 156.--To Henry Drury. 'Volage' frigate, off Ushant, July 17, 1811. My Dear Drury,--After two years' absence (on the 2d) and some odd days, I am approaching your country. The day of our arrival you will see by the outside date of my letter. At present, we are becalmed comfortably, close to Brest Harbour;--I have never been so near it since I left Duck Puddle. [1] We left Malta thirty-four days ago, and have had a tedious passage of it. You will either see or hear from or of me, soon after the receipt of this, as I pass through town to repair my irreparable affairs; and thence I want to go to Notts. and raise rents, and to Lanes. and sell collieries, and back to London and pay debts,--for it seems I shall neither have coals nor comfort till I go down to Rochdale in person. I have brought home some marbles for Hobhouse;--for myself, four ancient Athenian skulls, [2] dug out of sarcophagi--a phial of Attic hemlock [3]--four live tortoises--a greyhound (died on the passage)--two live Greek servants, one an Athenian, t'other a _Yaniote_, who can speak nothing but Romaic and Italian--and _myself_, as Moses in the _Vicar of Wakefield_ says, _slily_ [4] and I may say it too, for I have as little cause to boast of my expedition as he had of his to the fair. I wrote to you from the Cyanean Rocks to tell you I had swam from Sestos to Abydos--have you received my letter? Hobhouse went to England to fish up his _Miscellany,_ which foundered (so he tells me) in the Gulph of Lethe. I daresay it capsized with the vile goods of his contributory friends, for his own share was very portable. However, I hope he will either weigh up or set sail with a fresh cargo, and a luckier vessel. Hodgson, I suppose, is four deep by this time. What would he have given to have seen, like me, the _real Parnassus,_ where I robbed the Bishop of Chrisso of a book of geography!--but this I only call plagiarism, as it was done within an hour's ride of Delphi. [Footnote 1: The swimming-bath at Harrow.] [Footnote 2: Given afterwards to Sir Walter Scott.] [Footnote 3: At present in the possession of Mr. Murray.] [Footnote 4: "'Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, what have you brought us from the fair?' 'I have brought you _myself_,' cried Moses, with a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser." 'Vicar of Wakefield', ch. xii.] 157.-To his Mother. Reddish's Hotel, St. James's Street, London, July 23, 1811. MY DEAR MADAM,--I am only detained by Mr. Hanson to sign some copyhold papers, and will give you timely notice of my approach. It is with great reluctance I remain in town. [1] I shall pay a short visit as we go on to Lancashire on Rochdale business. I shall attend to your directions, of course, and am, with great respect, yours ever, BYRON. P.S.--You will consider Newstead as your house, not mine; and me only as a visiter. [Footnote 1: On his way to London, Byron paid a visit, at Sittingbourne, to Hobhouse, who was with his Militia Regiment, and under orders for Ireland. He also stayed with H. Drury, at Harrow, for two or three days.] 158.--To William Miller. [1] Reddish's Hotel, July 30th, 1811. SIR,--I am perfectly aware of the justice of your remarks, and am convinced that, if ever the poem is published, the same objections will be made in much stronger terms. But as it was intended to be a poem on _Ariosto's plan,_ that _is_ to _say_ on _no plan_ at all, and, as is usual in similar cases, having a predilection for the worst passages, I shall retain those parts, though I cannot venture to defend them. Under these circumstances I regret that you decline the publication, on my own account, as I think the book would have done better in your hands; the pecuniary part, you know, I have nothing to do with. But I can perfectly conceive, and indeed _approve_ your reasons, and assure you my sensations are not _Archiepiscopal_ [2] enough as yet to regard the rejection of my Homilies. I am, Sir, your very obed't humble serv't, BYRON. [Footnote 1: William Miller (1769-1844), son of Thomas Miller, bookseller, of Bungay (see Beloe's 'Sexagenarian,' 2nd edit., vol. ii. pp. 253, 254), served his apprenticeship in Hookham's publishing house. In 1790 he set up for himself as a bookselling publisher in Bond Street. From 1804 onwards his place of business was at 50, Albemarle Street. But in September, 1812, he sold his stock, copyrights, good will, and lease to John Murray, and retired to a country farm in Hertfordshire. He declined to publish 'Childe Harold,' on the grounds that it contained "sceptical stanzas," and attacked Lord Elgin as a plunderer. But on the latter point, Byron, who was in serious earnest, was not likely to give way. In Beloe's 'Sexagenarian' (vol. ii. pp. 270, 271), Miller is described as "the splendid bookseller," who "was enabled to retire to tranquillity and independence long before the decline of life, or infirmities of age, rendered it necessary to do so. He was highly respectable, but could drive a hard bargain with a poor author, as well as any of his fraternity." [Footnote 2: Alluding to Gil Blas and the Archbishop of Grenada (see page 121 [Letter 67], [Foot]note 3 [4]).] 159.--To John M. B. Pigot. Newport Pagnell, August 2, 1811. MY DEAR DOCTOR,--My poor mother died yesterday! and I am on my way from town to attend her to the family vault. I heard _one_ day of her illness, the _next_ of her death. [1] Thank God her last moments were most tranquil. I am told she was in little pain, and not aware of her situation. I now feel the truth of Mr. Gray's observation, "That we can only have _one_ mother." [2] Peace be with her! I have to thank you for your expressions of regard; and as in six weeks I shall be in Lancashire on business, I may extend to Liverpool and Chester,--at least I shall endeavour. If it will be any satisfaction, I have to inform you that in November next the Editor of the _Scourge_ [3] will be tried for two different libels on the late Mrs. B. and myself (the decease of Mrs. B. makes no difference in the proceedings); and as he is guilty, by his very foolish and unfounded assertion of a breach of privilege, he will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour. I inform you of this, as you seem interested in the affair, which is now in the hands of the Attorney-general. I shall remain at Newstead the greater part of this month, where I shall be happy to hear from you, after my two years' absence in the East. I am, dear Pigot, yours very truly, BYRON. [Footnote 1: On the night after his arrival at Newstead, Mrs. Byron's maid, passing the room where the body lay, heard a heavy sigh from within. Entering the room, she found Byron sitting in the dark beside the bed. When she spoke to him, he burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Oh, Mrs. By, I had but one friend in the world, and she is gone!" On the day of the funeral he refused to follow the corpse to the grave, but watched the procession move away from the door of Newstead; then, turning to Rushton, bade him bring the gloves, and began his usual sparring exercise. Only his silence, abstraction, and unusual violence betrayed to his antagonist, says Moore ('Life', p. 128), the state of his feelings.] [Footnote 2: "I had discovered a thing very little known, which is, that in one's whole life one can never have more than a single mother. You may think this is obvious, and (what you call) a trite observation. You are a green gosling! I was at the same age (very near) as wise as you, and yet I never discovered this (with full evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too late. It is thirteen years ago, ... and every day I live it sinks deeper into my heart." Gray to Nicholls, 'Works', vol. i. p. 482.] [Footnote 3: One of Byron's first acts on returning to England was to buy a copy of the 'Scourge', In Ridgway's bill for books supplied from Piccadilly to Byron on July 24, 1811, is a copy of the 'Scourge' at 2's'. 6'd'. Hewson Clarke (1787-1832) was entered at Emanuel College, Cambridge, apparently as a sizar, in 1806. Obliged to leave the University before he had taken his degree, he supported himself in London by his pen. He wrote two historical works--a continuation of Hume's 'History of England' (1832), and an 'Impartial History of the Naval, etc., Events in Europe' from the French Revolution to the Peace of 1815. It was, however, as a journalist that he came into collision with Byron. In the 'Satirist', a monthly magazine, illustrated with coloured cartoons, three attacks were made on Byron, which he attributed to Clarke: (1) October, 1807 (vol. i pp. 77-81), a review of 'Hours of Idleness'; (2) June, 1808 (vol. ii p. 368), verses on "Lord B--n to his Bear. To the tune of 'Lo chin y gair;'" (3) August, 1808 (vol. iii pp. 78-86), a review of 'Poems Original and Translated'. Byron's reply was the passage in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' (lines 973-980; see also the notes), where Clarke is described as "A would-be satirist, a hired Buffoon, A monthly scribbler of some low Lampoon," etc.; and also the Postscript to the second edition (see 'Poems', vol. i. p. 382). In the 'Scourge' for March, 1811 (vol. i. pp. 191, 'et seqq'.), appeared an article headed "Lord Byron," in which the alleged libel occurred. "We are unacquainted," says the article, "with any act of cowardice that can be compared with that of keeping a libel 'ready cut and dried' till some favourable opportunity enable its author to disperse it without the hazard of personal responsibility, and under circumstances which deprive the injured party of every means of reparation ... He confined the knowledge of his lampoon, therefore, to the circle of his own immediate friends, and left it to be given to the public as soon as he should have bid adieu to the shores of Britain. Whether his voyage was in reality no further than to Paris, in search of the proofs of his own legitimacy, or, as he asserts, to 'Afric's coasts, and Calpe's adverse height', was of little consequence to Mr. Clarke, who felt that to recriminate during his absence would be unworthy of his character ... Considering the two parties not as writers, but as men, Mr. Clarke might confidently appeal to the knowledge and opinion of the whole university; but a character like his disdains comparison with that of his noble calumniator; a temper unruffled by malignant passions, a mind superior to vicissitude, are gifts for which the pride of doubtful birth, and the temporary possession of Newstead Abbey are contemptible equivalents ... "It may be reasonably asked whether to be a denizen of Berwick-upon-Tweed be more disgraceful than to be the illegitimate descendant of a murderer; whether to labour in an honourable profession for the peace and competence of maturer age be less worthy of praise than to waste the property of others in vulgar debauchery; whether to be the offspring of parents whose only crime is their want of title, be not as honourable as to be the son of a profligate father, and a mother whose days and nights are spent in the delirium of drunkenness; and, finally, whether to deserve the kindness of his own college, to obtain its prizes, and to prepare himself for any examination that might entitle him to share the highest honours which the university can bestow, be less indicative of talent and virtue than to be held up to the derision and contempt of his fellow-students, as a scribbler of doggerel and a bear-leader; to be hated for malignity of temper and repulsiveness of manners, and shunned by every man who did not want to be considered a profligate without wit, and trifling without elegance. ... We ... shall neither expose the infamy of his uncle, the indiscretions of his mother, nor his personal follies and embarrassments. But let him not again obtrude himself on our attention as a moralist, etc." The Attorney-General, Sir Vicary Gibbs, gave his opinion against legal proceedings, on the two grounds that a considerable time had elapsed since the publication, and Byron himself had provoked the attack.] 160.--To John Hanson. Newstead Abbey, August 4th, 1811. MY DEAR SIR,--The _Earl_ of Huntley and the Lady _Jean_ Stewart, daughter of James 1st, of Scotland were the progenitors of Mrs. Byron. I think it would be as well to be correct in the statement. Every thing is doing that can be done, plainly yet decently, for the interment. When you favour me with your company, be kind enough to bring down my carriage from Messrs. Baxter's & Co., Long Acre. I have written to them, and beg you will come down in it, as I cannot travel conveniently or properly without it. I trust that the decease of Mrs. B. will not interrupt the prosecution of the Editor of the Magazine, less for the mere punishment of the rascal, than to set the question at rest, which, with the ignorant & weak-minded, might leave a wrong impression. I will have no stain on the Memory of my Mother; with a very large portion of foibles and irritability, she was without a _vice_ (and in these days that is much). The laws of my country shall do her and me justice in the first instance; but, if they were deficient, the laws of modern Honour should decide. Cost what it may, Gold or blood, I will pursue to the last the cowardly calumniator of an absent man and a defenceless woman. The effects of the deceased are sealed and untouched. I have sent for her agent, Mr. Bolton, to ascertain the proper steps and nothing shall be done precipitately. I understand her jewels and clothes are of considerable value. I shall write to you again soon, and in the meantime, with my most particular remembrance to Mrs. Hanson, my regards to Charles, and my _respects_ to the young ladies, I am, Dear Sir, Your very sincere and obliged servant, BYRON. 161.--To Scrope Berdmore Davies. Newstead Abbey, August 7, 1811. MY DEAREST DAVIES,--Some curse hangs over me and mine. My mother lies a corpse in this house; one of my best friends is drowned in a ditch. [1] What can I say, or think, or do? I received a letter from him the day before yesterday. My dear Scrope, if you can spare a moment, do come down to me--I want a friend. Matthews's last letter was written on _Friday._--on Saturday he was not. In ability, who was like Matthews? How did we all shrink before him? You do me but justice in saying, I would have risked my paltry existence to have preserved his. This very evening did I mean to write, inviting him, as I invite you, my very dear friend, to visit me. God forgive----for his apathy! What will our poor Hobhouse feel? His letters breathe but of Matthews. Come to me, Scrope, I am almost desolate--left almost alone in the world [2]--I had but you, and H., and M., and let me enjoy the survivors whilst I can. Poor M., in his letter of Friday, speaks of his intended contest for Cambridge, and a speedy journey to London. Write or come, but come if you can, or one or both. Yours ever. [Footnote 1: Charles Skinner Matthews (see page 150 [Letter 84], [Foot]note 3 [2]).] [Footnote 2: In 1811 Byron had lost, besides his mother and Matthews (August), his Harrow friend Wingfield (see page 180, note 1), Hargreaves Hanson (see page 54 [Letter 18], [Foot]note 1), and Edleston (see page 130 [Letter 74], [Foot]note 3 [2]).] 162.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Notts., August 12, 1811. Peace be with the dead! Regret cannot wake them. With a sigh to the departed, let us resume the dull business of life, in the certainty that we also shall have our repose. Besides her who gave me being, I have lost more than one who made that being tolerable.--The best friend of my friend Hobhouse, Matthews, a man of the first talents, and also not the worst of my narrow circle, has perished miserably in the muddy waves of the Cam, always fatal to genius:--my poor school-fellow, Wingfield, at Coimbra--within a month; and whilst I had heard from _all three,_ but not seen _one._ Matthews wrote to me the very day before his death; and though I feel for his fate, I am still more anxious for Hobhouse, who, I very much fear, will hardly retain his senses: his letters to me since the event have been most incoherent. [1] But let this pass; we shall all one day pass along with the rest--the world is too full of such things, and our very sorrow is selfish. I received a letter from you, which my late occupations prevented me from duly noticing. [2]--I hope your friends and family will long hold together. I shall be glad to hear from you, on business, on commonplace, or any thing, or nothing--but death--I am already too familiar with the dead. It is strange that I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have always had _four_ in my study) without emotion, but I cannot strip the features of those I have known of their fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation; but the worms are less ceremonious.--Surely, the Romans did well when they burned the dead.--I shall be happy to hear from you, and am, Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: "Just," writes Hobhouse to Byron, in an undated letter from Dover, "as I was preparing to condole with you on your severe misfortune, an event has taken place, the details of which you will find in the enclosed letter from S. Davies. I am totally unable to say one word on the subject. He was my oldest friend, and, though quite unworthy of his attachment, I believe that I was an object of his regard. "I now fear that I have not been sufficiently at all times just and kind to him. Return me this fatal letter, and pray add, if it is but one line, a few words of your own." A second letter, dated August 8, 1811, is as follows:-- "MY DEAR BYRON,--To-morrow morning we sail for Cork. It is with difficulty I bring myself to talk of my paltry concerns, but I cannot refuse giving you such information as may enable me to hear from one of the friends that I have still left. Pray do give me a line; nothing is more selfish than sorrow. His great and unrivalled talents were observable by all, his kindness was known to his friends. You recollect how affectionately he shook my hand at parting. It was the last time you ever saw him--did you think it would be the last? But three days before his death he told me in a letter that he had heard from you. On Friday he wrote to me again, and on Saturday--alas, alas! we are not stocks or stones,--every word of our friend Davies' letter still pierces me to the soul--such a man and such a death! I would that he had not been so minute in his horrid details. Oh, my dear Byron, do write to me; I am very, very sick at heart indeed, and, after various efforts to write upon my own concerns, I still revert to the same melancholy subject. I wrote to Cawthorn to-day, but knew not what I said to him; half my incitement to finish that task is for ever gone. I can neither have his assistance during my labour, his comfort if I should fail, nor his congratulation if I should succeed. Forgive me, I do not forget you--but I cannot but remember him. Ever your obliged and faithful, JOHN C. HOBHOUSE." Byron had apparently suggested that Hobhouse should write some brief record of his friend. Hobhouse replies from Enniscorthy, September 13, 1811:-- "The melancholy subject of your last, in spite of every effort, perpetually recurs to me. It is indeed a hard science to forget, though I cannot but think that it is the wisest and indeed the only remedy for grief. I should be quite incapable every way of doing what you mention, and I could not even set about such a melancholy task with spirit or prospect of success. The thing may be better done by a person less interested than myself in so cruel a catastrophe. Whatever you say in your book will be well said, and do credit both to your heart and head; how much would it have gratified him who shall ne'er hear it!"] [Footnote 2: Dallas had written on July 29 to protest, on six grounds which he gives ('Correspondence of Lord Byron', pp. 151-153), "against the sceptical stanzas" of 'Childe Harold'.] 163.--To----Bolton. Newstead Abbey, August 12, 1811. Sir,--I enclose a rough draught of my intended will which I beg to have drawn up as soon as possible, in the firmest manner. The alterations are principally made in consequence of the death of Mrs. Byron. I have only to request that it may be got ready in a short time, and have the honour to be, Your most obedient, humble servant, BYRON. 163. To----Bolton. Newstead Abbey, August 12, 1811. DIRECTIONS FOR THE CONTENTS OF A WILL TO BE DRAWN UP IMMEDIATELY. The estate of Newstead to be entailed (subject to certain deductions) on George Anson Byron, heir-at-law, or whoever may be the heir-at-law on the death of Lord B. The Rochdale property to be sold in part or the whole, according to the debts and legacies of the present Lord B. To Nicolo Giraud of Athens, subject of France, but born in Greece, the sum of seven thousand pounds sterling, to be paid from the sale of such parts of Rochdale, Newstead, or elsewhere, as may enable the said Nicolo Giraud (resident at Athens and Malta in the year 1810) to receive the above sum on his attaining the age of twenty-one years. To William Fletcher, Joseph Murray, and Demetrius Zograffo [1] (native of Greece), servants, the sum of fifty pounds pr. ann. each, for their natural lives. To Wm. Fletcher, the Mill at Newstead, on condition that he payeth rent, but not subject to the caprice of the landlord. To Rt. Rushton the sum of fifty pounds per ann. for life, and a further sum of one thousand pounds on attaining the age of twenty-five years. To Jn. Hanson, Esq. the sum of two thousand pounds sterling. The claims of S. B. Davies, Esq. to be satisfied on proving the amount of the same. The body of Lord B. to be buried in the vault of the garden of Newstead, without any ceremony or burial-service whatever, or any inscription, save his name and age. His dog not to be removed from the said vault. My library and furniture of every description to my friends Jn. Cam Hobhouse, Esq., and S. B. Davies, Esq., my executors. In case of their decease, the Rev. J. Becher, of Southwell, Notts., and R. C. Dallas, Esq., of Mortlake, Surrey, to be executors. [2] The produce of the sale of Wymondham in Norfolk, and the late Mrs. B.'s Scotch property, [3] to be appropriated in aid of the payment of debts and legacies. This is the last will and testament of me, the Rt. Honble George Gordon, Lord Byron, Baron Byron of Rochdale, in the county of Lancaster.--I desire that my body may be buried in the vault of the garden of Newstead, without any ceremony or burial-service whatever, and that no inscription, save my name and age, be written on the tomb or tablet; and it is my will that my faithful dog may not be removed from the said vault. To the performance of this my particular desire, I rely on the attention of my executors hereinafter named. ==It is submitted to Lord Byron whether this clause relative to the funeral had not better be omitted. The substance of it can be given in a letter from his Lordship to the executors, and accompany the will; and the will may state that the funeral shall be performed in such manner as his Lordship may by letter direct, and, in default of any such letter, then at the discretion of his executors== [4]. It must stand. B. I do hereby specifically order and direct that all the claims of the said S. B. Davies upon me shall be fully paid and satisfied as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, on his proving {by vouchers, or otherwise, to the satisfaction of my executors hereinafter named} [5] the amount thereof, and the correctness of the same. ==If Mr, Davies has any unsettled claims upon Lord Byron, that circumstance is a reason for his not being appointed executor; each executor having an opportunity of paying himself his own debt without consulting his co-executors.== So much the better--if possible, let him be an executor. B. [Footnote 1: "If the papers lie not (which they generally do), Demetrius Zograffo of Athens is at the head of the Athenian part of the Greek insurrection. He was my servant in 1809, 1810, 1811, 1812, at different intervals of those years (for I left him in Greece when I went to Constantinople), and accompanied me to England in 1811: he returned to Greece, spring, 1812. He was a clever, but not _apparently_ an enterprising man; but circumstances make men. His two sons (_then_ infants) were named Miltiades and Alcibiades: may the omen be happy!" Byron's MS. Journal, quoted by Moore, 'Life', p. 131.] [Footnote 2: In the clause enumerating the names and places of abode of the executors, the solicitor had left blanks for the Christian names of these gentlemen, and Lord Byron, having filled up all but that of Dallas, writes in the margin, "I forget the Christian name of Dallas --cut him out."] [Footnote 3: On the death of Mrs. Byron, the sum of £4200, the remains of the price of the estate of Gight were paid over to Byron by her trustee.] [Footnote 4: The passages printed ==thus== are suggestions made by the solicitors.] [Footnote 5: Over the words placed {between brackets}, Byron drew his pen.] 164.--To----Bolton. Newstead Abbey, August 16, 1811. SIR,--I have answered the queries on the margin. I wish Mr. Davies's claims to be most fully allowed, and, further, that he be one of my executors. I wish the will to be made in a manner to prevent all discussion, if possible, after my decease; and this I leave to you as a professional gentleman. With regard to the few and simple directions for the disposal of my _carcass_, I must have them implicitly fulfilled, as they will, at least, prevent trouble and expense;--and (what would be of little consequence to me, but may quiet the conscience of the survivors) the garden is _consecrated_ ground. These directions are copied verbatim from my former will; the alterations in other parts have arisen from the death of Mrs. B. I have the honour to be, Your most obedient, humble servant, BYRON. 165.--To--Bolton. Newstead Abbey, August 20, 1811. Sir,--The witnesses shall be provided from amongst my tenants, and I shall be happy to see you on any day most convenient to yourself. I forgot to mention, that it must be specified by codicil, or otherwise, that my body is on no account to be removed from the vault where I have directed it to be placed; and in case any of my successors within the entail (from bigotry, or otherwise) might think proper to remove the carcass, such proceeding shall be attended by forfeiture of the estate, which in such case shall go to my sister, the Hon'ble Augusta Leigh and her heirs on similar conditions. I have the honour to be, sir, Your very obedient, humble servant, BYRON. 166.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. Newstead Abbey, August 21st, 1811. My Dear Sister,--I ought to have answered your letter before, but when did I ever do any-thing that I ought? I am losing my relatives & you are adding to the number of yours; but which is best, God knows;--besides poor Mrs. Byron, I have been deprived by death of two most particular friends within little more than a month; but as all observations on such subjects are superfluous and unavailing, I leave the dead to their rest, and return to the dull business of life, which however presents nothing very pleasant to me either in prospect or retrospection. I hear you have been increasing his Majesty's Subjects, which in these times of War and tribulation is really patriotic. Notwithstanding Malthus [1] tells us that, were it not for Battle, Murder, and Sudden death, we should be overstocked, I think we have latterly had a redundance of these national benefits, and therefore I give you all credit for your matronly behaviour. I believe you know that for upwards of two years I have been rambling round the Archipelago, and am returned just in time to know that I might as well have staid away for any good I ever have done, or am likely to do at home, and so, as soon as I have somewhat _repaired_ my _irreparable_ affairs I shall een go abroad again, for I am heartily sick of your climate and every thing it _rains_ upon, always save and except _yourself_ as in _duty bound_. I should be glad to see you here (as I think you have never seen the place) if you could make it convenient. Murray is still like a Rock, and will probably outlast some six Lords Byron, though in his 75th Autumn. I took him with me to Portugal & sent him round by sea to Gibraltar whilst I rode through the Interior of Spain, which was then (1809) accessible. You say you have much to communicate to me, let us have it by all means, as I am utterly at a loss to guess; whatever it may be it will meet with due attention. Your trusty and well beloved cousin F. Howard [2] is married to a Miss Somebody, I wish him joy on your account, and on his own, though speaking generally I do not affect that Brood. By the bye, I shall marry, if I can find any thing inclined to barter money for rank within six months; after which I shall return to my friends the Turks. In the interim I am, Dear Madam, [Signature cut out.] [Footnote 1: The Rev. T. R. Malthus (1766-1834) published, in 1798, his 'Essay on the Principle of Population'.] [Footnote 2: The Hon. Frederick Howard (see page 55 [Letter 19], [Foot]note 1) married, August 6, 1811, Frances Susan Lambton, only daughter of William Lambton, formerly M.P. for Durham.] 167.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead, August 21, 1811. Your letter gives me credit for more acute feelings than I possess; for though I feel tolerably miserable, yet I am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment, or rather laughter without merriment, which I can neither account for nor conquer, and yet I do not feel relieved by it; but an indifferent person would think me in excellent spirits. "We must forget these things," and have recourse to our old selfish comforts, or rather comfortable selfishness. I do not think I shall return to London immediately, and shall therefore accept freely what is offered courteously--your mediation between me and Murray. [1] I don't think my name will answer the purpose, and you must be aware that my plaguy Satire will bring the north and south Grub Streets down upon the _Pilgrimage_;--but, nevertheless, if Murray makes a point of it, and you coincide with him, I will do it daringly; so let it be entitled "_By the author of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." My remarks on the Romaic, etc., once intended to accompany the _Hints from Horace_, shall go along with the other, as being indeed more appropriate; also the smaller poems now in my possession, with a few selected from those published in Hobhouse's _Miscellany_. I have found amongst my poor mother's papers all my letters from the East, and one in particular of some length from Albania. From this, if necessary, I can work up a note or two on that subject. As I kept no journal, the letters written on the spot are the best. But of this anon, when we have definitively arranged. Has Murray shown the work to any one? He may--but I will have no traps for applause. Of course there are little things I would wish to alter, and perhaps the two stanzas of a buffooning cast on London's Sunday are as well left out. I much wish to avoid identifying Childe Harold's character with mine, and that, in sooth, is my second objection to my name appearing in the title-page. When you have made arrangements as to time, size, type, etc., favour me with a reply. I am giving you an universe of trouble, which thanks cannot atone for. I made a kind of prose apology for my scepticism at the head of the MS., which, on recollection, is so much more like an attack than a defence, that, haply, it might better be omitted--perpend, pronounce. After all, I fear Murray will be in a scrape with the orthodox; but I cannot help it, though I wish him well through it. As for me, "I have supped full of criticism," and I don't think that the "most dismal treatise" will stir and rouse my "fell of hair" till "Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane." I shall continue to write at intervals, and hope you will pay me in kind. How does Pratt get on, or rather get off, Joe Blackett's posthumous stock? You killed that poor man amongst you, in spite of your Ionian friend [2] and myself, who would have saved him from Pratt, poetry, present poverty, and posthumous oblivion. Cruel patronage! to ruin a man at his calling; but then he is a divine subject for subscription and biography; and Pratt, who makes the most of his dedications, has inscribed the volume to no less than five families of distinction. I am sorry you don't like Harry White: [3] with a great deal of cant, which in him was sincere (indeed it killed him as you killed Joe Blackett), certes there is poesy and genius. I don't say this on account of my simile and rhymes; but surely he was beyond all the Bloomfields [4] and Blacketts, and their collateral cobblers, whom Lofft [5] and Pratt have or may kidnap from their calling into the service of the trade. You must excuse my flippancy, for I am writing I know not what, to escape from myself. Hobhouse is gone to Ireland. Mr. Davies has been here on his way to Harrowgate. You did not know Matthews: he was a man of the most astonishing powers, as he sufficiently proved at Cambridge, by carrying off more prizes and fellowships, against the ablest candidates, than any other graduate on record; but a most decided atheist, indeed noxiously so, for he proclaimed his principles in all societies. I knew him well, and feel a loss not easily to be supplied to myself--to Hobhouse never. Let me hear from you, and Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: In 1793 John Murray the first (born 1745) died, leaving a widow, two daughters, and one son, John Murray the second (1778-1843), then a boy of fifteen. The bookselling and publishing business at 32, Fleet Street, which the first John Murray had purchased in 1768 from William Sandby, was for two years carried on by the chief assistant, Samuel Highley. From 1795, when John Murray the second joined it, it was conducted as a partnership, under the title of Murray and Highley. But in 1803 John Murray cancelled the partnership, and started for himself at 32, Fleet Street. Relieved from a timorous partner, he at once displayed his shrewdness, energy, and literary enthusiasm. He rapidly became, as Byron called him, "the [Greek (transliterated): Anax] of Publishers," or, as he was nicknamed, "The Emperor of the West." In February, 1809, he had launched the 'Quarterly Review'; in March, 1812, he published 'Childe Harold'; in the following September, he moved to 50, Albemarle Street, the lease of which, with the stock, good will, and copyrights, he purchased from William Miller (see page 319 [Letter 158], [Foot]note 2 [1]). The remarkable position which the second John Murray created for himself, has two aspects, one commercial, the other social. He was not only the publisher, but the friend, of the most distinguished men of the day; and he was both by reason, partly of his honourable character, partly of his personal attractiveness. Sir Walter Scott, writing, October 30, 1828, to Lockhart, speaks of Murray in words which sum up his character: "By all means do what the Emperor says. He is what Emperor Nap was not, 'much a gentleman.'" Murray was the first to divorce the business of publishing from that of selling books; the first to see, as he wrote to Sir Walter Scott, October 13, 1825 ('A Publisher and his Friends', vol. ii. p. 199), that "the business of a publishing bookseller is not in his shop, or even his connection, but in his brains." Quick-tempered and warm-hearted, he was endowed with a strong sense of humour, and a gift of felicitous expression, which made him at once an admirable talker and an excellent letter-writer, and enabled him to hold his own among the noted wits and brilliant men of letters whom he gathered under his roof. A man of ideas more than a man of business, of enterprise rather than of calculation, he was always on the watch for new writers and new openings. But his imagination and impulsive temperament were checked by his fine taste for sound literature, and controlled by high principles in matters of trade. Thus he was saved from those disastrous speculations which involved Scott in ruin, and might otherwise have appealed with fatal force to his own sanguine nature. His close relations with Byron, which began in 1811, and lasted till the poet's death, are set forth in the numerous letters which follow, and were never embittered even when he refused to continue the publication of 'Don Juan'. Their names are inseparably associated in the history of literature. A generous paymaster, he was also an hospitable host. Round him gathers much of the literary history of a half-century which includes such names as those of Scott, Byron, Southey, Coleridge, Hallam, Milman, Mahon, Carlyle, Grote, Benjamin Disraeli, Sir Robert Peel, Canning, and Mr. Gladstone. His literary dinners were famous, and his drawing-room was the rallying-place of all that was witty and agreeable in society. At the same time, he was the acknowledged head of the publishing trade, unswerving in the rectitude of his commercial dealings, and in the maintenance of the honourable traditions of his most distinguished predecessors, as well as sincere in his enthusiasm for English letters.] [Footnote 2: Walter Rodwell Wright, author of 'Horae Ionicae, a Poem descriptive of the Ionian Islands, and part of the adjacent coast of Greece,' (1809), had been Consul-General of the Seven Islands. On his return he became Recorder of Bury St. Edmund's. He was subsequently President of the Court of Appeals in Malta, where he died in 1826. (See Byron's address to him in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 877-880.)] [Footnote 3: Henry Kirke White (1785-1806) published 'Clifton Grove' and other poems in 1803. He died at Cambridge in 1806. His 'Remains' were published by Southey in 1807. (See 'English Bards', and Scotch Reviewers', lines 831-848, and note 2.)] [Footnote 4: The three brothers, George Bloomfield, a shoemaker, Nathaniel, a tailor, and Robert, also a shoemaker, were the sons of a tailor at Honington, in Suffolk, whose wife kept the village school. (For further details as to George and Nathaniel, see 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 765-798, and 'notes'.) Robert Bloomfield (1766-1823) achieved a success with his 'Farmer's Boy' (1800), of which thousands of copies were sold in England, and which was translated into French and Italian. But however creditable the lines may have been to the author, Byron's opinion of the merits of the poet was the true one. Bloomfield's subsequent volumes, of which there were seven, were inferior to 'The Farmer's Boy'. 'Good Tidings, or News from the Farm' (1804), is perhaps the best known. A collected edition of Bloomfield's 'Works' was published in 1824.] [Footnote 5: Capel Lofft (1751-1824), educated at Eton and Cambridge, was called to the Bar in 1775. Succeeding in 1781 to the family estates near Bury St. Edmund's, he lived for some years at Troston Hall. Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. i. p. 29) describes him, in 1795, as "a gentleman of good family and estate--an author on an infinity of subjects; his books were on Law, History, Poetry, Antiquities, Divinity, and Politics. He was then an acting magistrate, having abandoned the profession of the Bar. He was one of the numerous answerers of Burke; and, in spite of a feeble voice and other disadvantages, was an eloquent speaker." His boyish figure, slovenly dress, and involved sentences were well known on the platforms where he advocated parliamentary reform. On May 17, 1784, Johnson dined at Mr. Dilly's. Among the guests was "Mr. Capel Lofft, who, though a most zealous Whig, has a mind so full of learning and knowledge, and so much in exercise in various exertions, and withal so much liberality, that the stupendous powers of the literary Goliath, though they did not frighten this little David of popular spirit, could not but excite his admiration." Lofft held strong opinions in favour of the French Revolution, which he admired. He, "Godwin, and Thelwall are the only three persons I know (except Hazlitt) who grieve at the late events;" so writes Crabb Robinson, after the battle of Waterloo ('Diary', vol. i. p. 491). He published numerous works on law and politics, besides four volumes of poetry: 'The Praises of Poetry, a Poem' (1775); 'Eudosia, or a Poem on the Universe' (1781); 'The first and second Georgics of Virgil' (in blank verse, 1803); 'Laura, or an Anthology of Sonnets' (1814). He also edited Milton's 'Paradise Lost'. In November, 1798, Lofft read the manuscript of 'The Farmer's Boy', written by Robert Bloomfield in a London garret, where he worked as a shoemaker. Interested in the poem and the Suffolk poet, Lofft had it published in 1800, with cuts by Bewick, and a preface by himself.] 168.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, August 22, 1811. You may have heard of the sudden death of my mother, and poor Matthews, which, with that of Wingfield (of which I was not fully aware till just before I left town, and indeed hardly believed it,) has made a sad chasm in my connections. Indeed the blows followed each other so rapidly that I am yet stupid from the shock; and though I do eat, and drink, and talk, and even laugh, at times, yet I can hardly persuade myself that I am awake, did not every morning convince me mournfully to the contrary.--I shall now wave the subject,--the dead are at rest, and none but the dead can be so. You will feel for poor Hobhouse,--Matthews was the "god of his idolatry;" and if intellect could exalt a man above his fellows, no one could refuse him preeminence. I knew him most intimately, and valued him proportionably; but I am recurring--so let us talk of life and the living. If you should feel a disposition to come here, you will find "beef and a sea-coal fire," and not ungenerous wine. Whether Otway's two other requisites for an Englishman or not, I cannot tell, but probably one of them [1].--Let me know when I may expect you, that I may tell you when I go and when return. I have not yet been to Lancs. Davies has been here, and has invited me to Cambridge for a week in October, so that, peradventure, we may encounter glass to glass. His gaiety (death cannot mar it) has done me service; but, after all, ours was a hollow laughter. You will write to me? I am solitary, and I never felt solitude irksome before. Your anxiety about the critique on----'s book is amusing; as it was anonymous, certes it was of little consequence: I wish it had produced a little more confusion, being a lover of literary malice. Are you doing nothing? writing nothing? printing nothing? why not your Satire on Methodism? the subject (supposing the public to be blind to merit) would do wonders. Besides, it would be as well for a destined deacon to prove his orthodoxy.--It really would give me pleasure to see you properly appreciated. I say _really_, as, being an author, my humanity might be suspected. Believe me, dear H., yours always. [Footnote 1: "Give but an Englishman his whore and ease, Beef and a sea-coal fire, he's yours for ever." 'Venice Preserved', act ii. sc. 3] APPENDIX I. REVIEW OF WORDSWORTH'S POEMS, 2 VOLS. 1807. (From 'Monthly Literary Recreations' for July, 1807.) The volumes before us are by the author of Lyric Ballads, a collection which has not undeservedly met with a considerable share of public applause. The characteristics of Mr. Wordsworth's muse are simple and flowing, though occasionally inharmonious verse; strong, and sometimes irresistible appeals to the feelings, with unexceptionable sentiments. Though the present work may not equal his former efforts, many of the poems possess a native elegance, natural and unaffected, totally devoid of the tinsel embellishments and abstract hyperboles of several contemporary sonneteers. The last sonnet in the first volume, p. 152, is perhaps the best, without any novelty in the sentiments, which we hope are common to every Briton at the present crisis; the force and expression is that of a genuine poet, feeling as he writes-- Another year! another deadly blow! Another mighty empire overthrown! And we are left, or shall be left, alone-- The last that dares to struggle with the foe. 'Tis well!--from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought, That by our own right-hands it must be wrought; That we must stand unprop'd, or be laid low. O dastard! whom such foretaste doth not cheer! We shall exult, if they who rule the land Be men who hold its many blessings dear, Wise, upright, valiant, not a venal band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour which they do not understand. The song at the Feast of Brougham Castle, the Seven Sisters, the Affliction of Margaret----of----, possess all the beauties, and few of the defects, of the writer: the following lines from the last are in his first style:-- "Ah! little doth the young one dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power hath e'en his wildest scream, Heard by his mother unawares: He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to a mother bring distress, But do not make her love the less." The pieces least worthy of the author are those entitled "Moods of my own Mind." We certainly wish these "Moods" had been less frequent, or not permitted to occupy a place near works which only make their deformity more obvious; when Mr. W. ceases to please, it is by "abandoning" his mind to the most commonplace ideas, at the same time clothing them in language not simple, but puerile. What will any reader or auditor, out of the nursery, say to such namby-pamby as "Lines written at the Foot of Brother's Bridge"? "The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest, Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising, There are forty feeding like one. Like an army defeated, The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill, On the top of the bare hill." "The ploughboy is whooping anon, anon," etc., etc., is in the same exquisite measure. This appears to us neither more nor less than an imitation of such minstrelsy as soothed our cries in the cradle, with the shrill ditty of "Hey de diddle, The cat and the fiddle: The cow jump'd over the moon, The little dog laugh'd to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon." On the whole, however, with the exception of the above, and other INNOCENT odes of the same cast, we think these volumes display a genius worthy of higher pursuits, and regret that Mr. W. confines his muse to such trifling subjects. We trust his motto will be in future "Paulo majora canamus." Many, with inferior abilities, have acquired a loftier seat on Parnassus, merely by attempting strains in which Wordsworth is more qualified to excel. APPENDIX II. ARTICLE FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW, FOR JANUARY, 1808. 'Hours of Idleness; a Series of Poems, original and translated.' By George Gordon, Lord Byron, a Minor. 8vo, pp. 200. Newark, 1807. The poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor men are said to permit. Indeed, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level, than if they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble author is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have it in the title-page, and on the very back of the volume; it follows his name like a favourite part of his 'style'. Much stress is laid upon it in the preface; and the poems are connected with this general statement of his case, by particular dates, substantiating the age at which each was written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defendant; no plaintiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of compelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and if judgment were given against him, it is highly probable that an exception would be taken, were he to deliver 'for poetry' the contents of this volume. To this he might plead 'minority'; but, as he now makes voluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that ground, for the price in good current praise, should the goods be unmarketable. This is our view of the law on the point; and, we dare to say, so will it be ruled. Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say, "See how a minor can write! This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen!" But, alas! We all remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving college, inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occurrences; that it happens in the life of nine men in ten who are educated in England; and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron. His other plea of privilege our author rather brings forward in order to waive it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestry--sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; and, while giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remember us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be handsomely acknowledged. In truth, it is this consideration only that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our review, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account. With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure him, that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet,--nay, although (which does not always happen) those feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately upon the fingers,--is not the whole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe, that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, is necessary to constitute a poem, and that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at least one thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it to his candour, whether there is any thing so deserving the name of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806; and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should publish it;-- "Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu! Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. "Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation; The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. "That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown; Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own." Now, we positively do assert, that there is nothing better than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's) are odious. Gray's Ode on Eton College should really have kept out the ten hobbling stanzas "On a distant View of the Village and School of Harrow." "Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied, How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied." In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, "On a Tear," might have warned the noble author off those premises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as the following:-- "Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. "The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave, which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear." And so of instances in which former poets have failed. Thus we do not think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his nonage, "Adrian's Address to his Soul," when Pope succeeded so indifferently in the attempt. If our readers, however, are of another opinion, they may look at it. "Ah! gentle, fleeting, wavering sprite, Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn." However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and imitations are great favourites with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian; and, viewing them as school exercises, they may pass. Only, why print them after they have had their day and served their turn? And why call the thing in p. 79 (see p. 380) a translation, where 'two' words [Gr.]('thel_o legein') of the original are expanded into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81 (see 'ibid'.) where [Gr.] 'mesonuktiais poth h_orais' is rendered by means of six hobbling verses? As to his Ossianic poesy, we are not very good judges, being in truth, so moderately skilled in that species of composition, that we should, in all probability, be criticizing some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. If, then, the following beginning of a "Song of Bards" is by his lordship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it. "What form rises on the roar of clouds? whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream of tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder; 'tis Orla, the brown chief of Oithona. He "was," etc. After detaining this "brown chief" some time, the bards conclude by giving him their advice to "raise his fair locks;" then to "spread them on the arch of the rainbow;" and to "smile through the tears of the storm." Of this kind of thing there are no less than _nine_ pages; and we can so far venture an opinion in their favour, that they look very like Macpherson; and we are positive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but they should "use it as not abusing it;" and particularly one who piques himself (though indeed at the ripe age of nineteen) on being "an infant bard,"--("The artless Helicon I boast is youth")--should either not know, or should seem not to know, so much about his own ancestry. Besides a poem above cited, on the family seat of the Byrons, we have another of eleven pages, on the self-same subject, introduced with an apology, "he certainly had no intention of inserting it," but really "the particular request of some friends," etc., etc. It concludes with five stanzas on himself, "the last and youngest of a noble line." There is a good deal also about his maternal ancestors, in a poem on Lachin y Gair, a mountain where he spent part of his youth, and might have learnt that pibroch is not a bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle. As the author has dedicated so large a part of his volume to immortalise his employments at school and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without presenting the reader with a specimen of these ingenious effusions. In an ode with a Greek motto, called "Granta," we have the following magnificent stanzas:-- There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes, Sits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes late to bed, yet early rises. Who reads false quantities in Sele, Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, Deprived of many a wholesome meal, In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle: Renouncing every pleasing page, From authors of historic use; Preferring to the letter'd sage, The square of the hypothenuse. Still harmless are these occupations, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations, Which bring together the imprudent." We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the college psalmody as is contained in the following Attic stanzas:-- "Our choir would scarcely be excused Even as a band of raw beginners; All mercy now must be refused To such a set of croaking sinners. If David, when his toils were ended, Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended: In furious mood he would have tore 'em!" But, whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content; for they are the last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus: he never lived in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and "though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has not of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects no profit from his publication; and, whether it succeeds or not, "it is highly improbable, from his situation and pursuits hereafter," that he should again condescend to become an author. Therefore, let us take what we get, and be thankful. What right have we poor devils to be nice? We are well off to have got so much from a man of this lord's station, who does not live in a garret, but "has the sway" of Newstead Abbey. Again, we say, let us be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, nor look the gift horse in the mouth. APPENDIX III. REVIEW OF GELL'S GEOGRAPHY OF ITHACA', AND 'ITINERARY OF GREECE'. (From the Monthly Review for August, 1811.) That laudable curiosity concerning the remains of classical antiquity, which has of late years increased among our countrymen, is in no traveller or author more conspicuous than in Mr. Gell. Whatever difference of opinion may yet exist with regard to the success of the several disputants in the famous Trojan controversy [1], or, indeed, relating to the present author's merits as an inspector of the Troad, it must universally be acknowledged that any work, which more forcibly impresses on our imaginations the scenes of heroic action, and the subjects of immortal song, possesses claims on the attention of every scholar. Of the two works which now demand our report, we conceive the former to be by far the most interesting to the reader, as the latter is indisputably the most serviceable to the traveller. Excepting, indeed, the running commentary which it contains on a number of extracts from Pausanias and Strabo, it is, as the title imports, a mere itinerary of Greece, or rather of Argolis only, in its present circumstances. This being the case, surely it would have answered every purpose of utility much better by being printed as a pocket road-book of that part of the Morea; for a quarto is a very unmanageable travelling companion. The maps [2] and drawings, we shall be told, would not permit such an arrangement; but as to the drawings, they are not in general to be admired as specimens of the art; and several of them, as we have been assured by eye-witnesses of the scenes which they describe, do not compensate for their mediocrity in point of execution, by any extraordinary fidelity of representation. Others, indeed, are more faithful, according to our informants. The true reason, however, for this costly mode of publication is in course to be found in a desire of gratifying the public passion for large margins, and all the luxury of typography; and we have before expressed our dissatisfaction with Mr. Gell's aristocratical mode of communicating a species of knowledge, which ought to be accessible to a much greater portion of classical students than can at present acquire it by his means:--but, as such expostulations are generally useless, we shall be thankful for what we can obtain, and that in the manner in which Mr. Gell has chosen to present it. The former of these volumes, we have observed, is the most attractive in the closet. It comprehends a very full survey of the far-famed island which the hero of the 'Odyssey' has immortalized; for we really are inclined to think that the author has established the identity of the modern 'Theaki' with the 'Ithaca' of Homer. At all events, if it be an illusion, it is a very agreeable deception, and is effected by an ingenious interpretation of the passages in Homer that are supposed to be descriptive of the scenes which our traveller has visited. We shall extract some of these adaptations of the ancient picture to the modern scene, marking the points of resemblance which appear to be strained and forced, as well as those which are more easy and natural; but we must first insert some preliminary matter from the opening chapter. The following passage conveys a sort of general sketch of the book, which may give our readers a tolerably adequate notion of its contents:-- "The present work may adduce, by a simple and correct survey of the island, coincidences in its geography, in its natural productions, and moral state, before unnoticed. Some will be directly pointed out; the fancy or ingenuity of the reader may be employed in tracing others; the mind familiar with the imagery of the 'Odyssey' will recognise with satisfaction the scenes themselves; and this volume is offered to the public, not entirely without hopes of vindicating the poem of Homer from the scepticism of those critics who imagine that the 'Odyssey' is a mere poetical composition, unsupported by history, and unconnected with the localities of any particular situation. "Some have asserted that, in the comparison of places now existing with the descriptions of Homer, we ought not to expect coincidence in minute details; yet it seems only by these that the kingdom of Ulysses, or any other, can be identified, as, if such an idea be admitted, every small and rocky island in the Ionian Sea, containing a good port, might, with equal plausibility, assume the appellation of Ithaca. "The Venetian geographers have in a great degree contributed to raise those doubts which have existed on the identity of the modern with the ancient Ithaca, by giving, in their charts, the name of Val di Compare to the island. That name is, however, totally unknown in the country, where the isle is invariably called Ithaca by the upper ranks, and Theaki by the vulgar. The Venetians have equally corrupted the name of almost every place in Greece; yet, as the natives of Epactos or Naupactos never heard of Lepanto, those of Zacynthos of Zante, or the Athenians of Settines, it would be as unfair to rob Ithaca of its name, on such authority, as it would be to assert that no such island existed, because no tolerable representation of its form can be found in the Venetian surveys. "The rare medals of the Island, of which three are represented in the title-page, might be adduced as a proof that the name of Ithaca was not lost during the reigns of the Roman emperors. They have the head of Ulysses, recognised by the pileum, or pointed cap, while the reverse of one presents the figure of a cock, the emblem of his vigilance, with the legend [Greek:IThAK_ON]. A few of these medals are preserved in the cabinets of the curious, and one also, with the cock, found in the island, is in the possession of Signor Zavo, of Bathi. The uppermost coin is in the collection of Dr. Hunter; the second is copied from Newman; and the third is the property of R.P. Knight, Esq. "Several inscriptions, which will be hereafter produced, will tend to the confirmation of the idea that Ithaca was inhabited about the time when the Romans were masters of Greece; yet there is every reason to believe that few, if any, of the present proprietors of the soil are descended from ancestors who had long resided successively in the island. Even those who lived, at the time of Ulysses, in Ithaca, seem to have been on the point of emigrating to Argos, and no chief remained, after the second in descent from that hero, worthy of being recorded in history. It appears that the isle has been twice colonised from Cephalonia in modern times, and I was informed that a grant had been made by the Venetians, entitling each settler in Ithaca to as much land as his circumstances would enable him to cultivate." Mr. Gell then proceeds to invalidate the authority of previous writers on the subject of Ithaca. Sir George Wheeler and M. le Chevalier fall under his severe animadversion; and, indeed, according to his account, neither of these gentlemen had visited the island, and the description of the latter is "absolutely too absurd for refutation." In another place, he speaks of M. le C. "disgracing a work of such merit by the introduction of such fabrications;" again, of the inaccuracy of the author's maps; and, lastly, of his inserting an island at the southern entry of the channel between Cephalonia and Ithaca, which has no existence. This observation very nearly approaches to the use of that monosyllable which Gibbon [3], without expressing it, so adroitly applied to some assertion of his antagonist, Mr. Davies. In truth, our traveller's words are rather bitter towards his brother tourist; but we must conclude that their justice warrants their severity. In the second chapter, the author describes his landing in Ithaca, and arrival at the rock Korax and the fountain Arethusa, as he designates it with sufficient positiveness.--This rock, now known by the name of Korax, or Koraka Petra, he contends to be the same with that which Homer mentions as contiguous to the habitation of Eumæus, the faithful swineherd of Ulysses.--We shall take the liberty of adding to our extracts from Mr. Gell some of the passages in Homer to which he _refers_ only, conceiving this to be the fairest method of exhibiting the strength or the weakness of his argument. "Ulysses," he observes, "came to the extremity of the isle to visit Eumæus, and that extremity was the most southern; for Telemachus, coming from Pylos, touched at the first south-eastern part of Ithaca with the same intention." [Greek: Kai tote dae r Odysaea kakos pothen aegage daim_on Agrou ep eschatiaen, hothi d_omata naie sub_otaes Enth aelthen philos uhios Odyssaeos theioio, Ek Pylon aemathoentos i_on sun naei melainae. Odyssei _O. Autar epaen pr_otaen aktaen Ithakaes aphikaeai, Naea men es polin otrunai kai pantas etairous Autos de pr_otista sub_otaen eisaphikesthai, k.t.l. Odyssei O.] These citations, we think, appear to justify the author in his attempt to identify the situation of his rock and fountain with the place of those mentioned by Homer. But let us now follow him in the closer description of the scene.--After some account of the subjects in the plate affixed, Mr. Gell remarks: "It is impossible to visit this sequestered spot without being struck with the recollection of the Fount of Arethusa and the rock Korax, which the poet mentions in the same line, adding, that there the swine ate the _sweet_ [4] acorns, and drank the black water." [Greek: Daeeis ton ge suessi paraemenon ai de nemontai Par Korakos petrae, epi te kraenae Arethousae, Esthousai balanon menoeikea, kai melan hud_or Pinousai. Odyssei N.] "Having passed some time at the fountain, taken a drawing, and made the necessary observations on the situation of the place, we proceeded to an examination of the precipice, climbing over the terraces above the source among shady fig-trees, which, however, did not prevent us from feeling the powerful effects of the mid-day sun. After a short but fatiguing ascent, we arrived at the rock, which extends in a vast perpendicular semicircle, beautifully fringed with trees, facing to the south-east. Under the crag we found two caves of inconsiderable extent, the entrance of one of which, not difficult of access, is seen in the view of the fount. They are still the resort of sheep and goats, and in one of them are small natural receptacles for the water, covered by a stalagmatic incrustation. "These caves, being at the extremity of the curve formed by the precipice, open toward the south, and present us with another accompaniment of the fount of Arethusa, mentioned by the poet, who informs us that the swineherd Eumæus left his guests in the house, whilst he, putting on a thick garment, went to sleep near the herd, under the hollow of the rock, which sheltered him from the northern blast. Now we know that the herd fed near the fount; for Minerva tells Ulysses that he is to go first to Eumæus, whom he should find with the swine, near the rock Korax and the fount of Arethusa. As the swine then fed at the fountain, so it is necessary that a cavern should be found in its vicinity; and this seems to coincide, in distance and situation, with that of the poem. Near the fount also was the fold or stathmos of Eumæus; for the goddess informs Ulysses that he should find his faithful servant at or above the fount. "Now the hero meets the swineherd close to the fold, which was consequently very near that source. At the top of the rock, and just above the spot where the waterfall shoots down the precipice, is at this day a stagni, or pastoral dwelling, which the herdsmen of Ithaca still inhabit, on account of the water necessary for their cattle. One of these people walked on the verge of the precipice at the time of our visit to the place, and seemed so anxious to know how we had been conveyed to the spot, that his inquiries reminded us of a question probably not uncommon in the days of Homer, who more than once represents the Ithacences demanding of strangers what ship had brought them to the island, it being evident they could not come on foot. He told us that there was, on the summit where he stood, a small cistern of water, and a kalybea, or shepherd's hut. There are also vestiges of ancient habitations, and the place is now called Amarâthia. "Convenience, as well as safety, seems to have pointed out the lofty situation of Amarâthia as a fit place for the residence of the herdsmen of this part of the island from the earliest ages. A small source of water is a treasure in these climates; and if the inhabitants of Ithaca now select a rugged and elevated spot, to secure them from the robbers of the Echinades, it is to be recollected that the Taphian pirates were not less formidable, even in the days of Ulysses, and that a residence in a solitary part of the island, far from the fortress, and close to a celebrated fountain, must at all times have been dangerous, without some such security as the rocks of Korax. Indeed, there can be no doubt that the house of Eumæus was on the top of the precipice; for Ulysses, in order to evince the truth of his story to the swineherd, desires to be thrown from the summit if his narration does not prove correct. "Near the bottom of the precipice is a curious natural gallery, about seven feet high, which is expressed in the plate. It may be fairly presumed, from the very remarkable coincidence between this place and the Homeric account, that this was the scene designated by the poet as the fountain of Arethusa, and the residence of Eumæus; and, perhaps, it would be impossible to find another spot which bears, at this day, so strong a resemblance to a poetic description composed at a period so very remote. There is no other fountain in this part of the island, nor any rock which bears the slightest resemblance to the Korax of Homer. "The stathmos of the good Eumæus appears to have been little different, either in use or construction, from the stagni and kalybea of the present day. The poet expressly mentions that other herdsmen drove their flocks into the city at sunset,--a custom which still prevails throughout Greece during the winter, and that was the season in which Ulysses visited Eumæus. Yet Homer accounts for this deviation from the prevailing custom, by observing that he had retired from the city to avoid the suitors of Penelope. These trifling occurrences afford a strong presumption that the Ithaca of Homer was something more than the creature of his own fancy, as some have supposed it; for though the grand outline of a fable may be easily imagined, yet the consistent adaptation of minute incidents to a long and elaborate falsehood is a task of the most arduous and complicated nature." After this long extract, by which we have endeavoured to do justice to Mr. Gell's argument, we cannot allow room for any farther quotations of such extent; and we must offer a brief and imperfect analysis of the remainder of the work. In the third chapter the traveller arrives at the capital, and in the fourth he describes it in an agreeable manner. We select his account of the mode of celebrating a Christian festival in the Greek Church:-- "We were present at the celebration of the feast of the Ascension, when the citizens appeared in their gayest dresses, and saluted each other in the streets with demonstrations of pleasure. As we sate at breakfast in the house of Signer Zavo, we were suddenly roused by the discharge of a gun, succeeded by a tremendous crash of pottery, which fell on the tiles, steps, and pavements, in every direction. The bells of the numerous churches commenced a most discordant jingle; colours were hoisted on every mast in the port, and a general shout of joy announced some great event. Our host informed us that the feast of the Ascension was annually commemorated in this manner at Bathi, the populace exclaiming [Greek: anestae o Christos, alaethinos o Theos], Christ is risen, the true God." In another passage, he continues this account as follows:-- "In the evening of the festival, the inhabitants danced before their houses; and at one we saw the figure which is said to have been first used by the youths and virgins of Delos, at the happy return of Theseus from the expedition of the Cretan Labyrinth. It has now lost much of that intricacy which was supposed to allude to the windings of the habitation of the Minotaur," etc., etc. This is rather too much for even the inflexible gravity of our censorial muscles. When the author talks, with all the 'reality' (if we may use the expression) of a Lemprière, on the stories of the fabulous ages, we cannot refrain from indulging a momentary smile; nor can we seriously accompany him in the learned architectural detail by which he endeavours to give us, from the 'Odyssey', the ground-plot of the house of Ulysses,--of which he actually offers a plan in drawing! "showing how the description of the house of Ulysses in the 'Odyssey' may be supposed to correspond with the foundations yet visible on the hill of Aito!"--Oh, Foote! Foote! why are you lost to such inviting subjects for your ludicrous pencil!--In his account of this celebrated mansion, Mr. Gell says, one side of the court seems to have been occupied by the Thalamos, or sleeping apartments of the men, etc., etc.; and, in confirmation of this hypothesis, he refers to the 10th 'Odyssey', line 340. On examining his reference, we read-- [Greek: 'Es thalamon t' ienai, kai saes epibaemenai eunaes'] where Ulysses records an invitation which he received from Circe to take a part of her bed. How this illustrates the above conjecture, we are at a loss to divine: but we suppose that some numerical error has occurred in the reference, as we have detected a trifling mistake or two of the same nature. Mr. G. labours hard to identify the cave of Dexia near Bathi (the capital of the island), with the grotto of the Nymphs described in the 13th 'Odyssey'. We are disposed to grant that he has succeeded; but we cannot here enter into the proofs by which he supports his opinion; and we can only extract one of the concluding sentences of the chapter, which appears to us candid and judicious:-- "Whatever opinion may be formed as to the identity of the cave of Dexia with the grotto of the Nymphs, it is fair to state, that Strabo positively asserts that no such cave as that described by Homer existed in his time, and that geographer thought it better to assign a physical change, rather than ignorance in Homer, to account for a difference which he imagined to exist between the Ithaca of his time and that of the poet. But Strabo, who was an uncommonly accurate observer with respect to countries surveyed by himself, appears to have been wretchedly misled by his informers on many occasions. "That Strabo had never visited this country is evident, not only from his inaccurate account of it, but from his citation of Apollodorus and Scepsius, whose relations are in direct opposition to each other on the subject of Ithaca, as will be demonstrated on a future opportunity." We must, however, observe that "demonstration" is a strong term.--In his description of the Leucadian Promontory (of which we have a pleasing representation in the plate), the author remarks that it is "celebrated for the _leap_ of Sappho, and the _death_ of Artemisia." From this variety in the expression, a reader would hardly conceive that both the ladies perished in the same manner; in fact, the sentence is as proper as it would be to talk of the decapitation of Russell, and the death of Sidney. The view from this promontory includes the island of Corfu; and the name suggests to Mr. Gell the following note, which, though rather irrelevant, is of a curious nature, and we therefore conclude our citations by transcribing it:-- "It has been generally supposed that Corfu, or Corcyra, was the Phæacia of Homer; but Sir Henry Englefield thinks the position of that island inconsistent with the voyage of Ulysses as described in the 'Odyssey'. That gentleman has also observed a number of such remarkable coincidences between the courts of Alcinous and Solomon, that they may be thought curious and interesting. Homer was familiar with the names of Tyre, Sidon, and Egypt; and, as he lived about the time of Solomon, it would not have been extraordinary if he had introduced some account of the magnificence of that prince into his poem. As Solomon was famous for wisdom, so the name of Alcinous signifies strength of knowledge; as the gardens of Solomon were celebrated, so are those of Alcinous ('Od'. 7. 112); as the kingdom of Solomon was distinguished by twelve tribes under twelve princes (1 Kings ch. 4), so that of Alcinous ('Od'. 8. 390) was ruled by an equal number: as the throne of Solomon was supported by lions of gold (1 Kings ch. 10), so that of Alcinous was placed on dogs of silver and gold ('Od'. 7. 91); as the fleets of Solomon were famous, so were those of Alcinous. It is perhaps worthy of remark, that Neptune sate on the mountains of the SOLYMI, as he returned from Æthiopia to Ægæ, while he raised the tempest which threw Ulysses on the coast of Phæacia; and that the Solymi of Pamphylia are very considerably distant from the route.--The suspicious character, also, which Nausicaa attributes to her countryman agrees precisely with that which the Greeks and Romans gave of the Jews." The seventh chapter contains a description of the Monastery of Kathara, and several adjacent places. The eighth, among other curiosities, fixes on an imaginary site for the Farm of Laertes; but this is the agony of conjecture indeed!--and the ninth chapter mentions another Monastery, and a rock still called the School of Homer. Some sepulchral inscriptions of a very simple nature are included.--The tenth and last chapter brings us round to the Port of Schoenus, near Bathi; after we have completed, seemingly in a very minute and accurate manner, the tour of the island. We can certainly recommend a perusal of this volume to every lover of classical scene and story. If we may indulge the pleasing belief that Homer sang of a real kingdom, and that Ulysses governed it, though we discern many feeble links in Mr. Gell's chain of evidence, we are on the whole induced to fancy that this is the Ithaca of the bard and of the monarch. At all events, Mr. Gell has enabled every future traveller to form a clearer judgment on the question than he could have established without such a "Vade-mecum to Ithaca," or a "Have with you, to the House of Ulysses," as the present. With Homer in his pocket, and Gell on his sumpter-horse or mule, the Odyssean tourist may now make a very classical and delightful excursion; and we doubt not that the advantages accruing to the Ithacences, from the increased number of travellers who will visit them in consequence of Mr. Gell's account of their country, will induce them to confer on that gentleman any heraldic honours which they may have to bestow, should he ever look in upon them again.--'Baron Bathi' would be a pretty title:-- "'Hoc' Ithacus 'velit, et magno mercentur Atridae'." VIRGIL. For ourselves, we confess that all our old Grecian feelings would be alive on approaching the fountain of Melainudros, where, as the tradition runs, or as the priests relate, Homer was restored to sight. We now come to the "Grecian Patterson," or "Cary," which Mr. Gell has begun to publish; and really he has carried the epic rule of concealing the person of the author to as great a length as either of the above-mentioned heroes of itinerary writ. We hear nothing of his "hair-breadth 'scapes" by sea or land; and we do not even know, for the greater part of his journey through Argolis, whether he relates what he has seen or what he has heard. From other parts of the book, we find the former to be the case; but, though there have been tourists and "strangers" in other countries, who have kindly permitted their readers to learn rather too much of their sweet selves, yet it is possible to carry delicacy, or cautious silence, or whatever it may be called, to the contrary extreme. We think that Mr. Gell has fallen into this error, so opposite to that of his numerous brethren. It is offensive, indeed, to be told what a man has eaten for dinner, or how pathetic he was on certain occasions; but we like to know that there is a being yet living who describes the scenes to which he introduces us; and that it is not a mere translation from Strabo or Pausanias which we are reading, or a commentary on those authors. This reflection leads us to the concluding remark in Mr. Gell's preface (by much the most interesting part of his book) to his 'Itinerary of Greece', in which he thus expresses himself:-- "The confusion of the modern with the ancient names of places in this volume is absolutely unavoidable; they are, however, mentioned in such a manner, that the reader will soon be accustomed to the indiscriminate use of them. The necessity of applying the ancient appellations to the different routes, will be evident from the total ignorance of the public on the subject of the modern names, which, having never appeared in print, are only known to the few individuals who have visited the country. "What could appear less intelligible to the reader, or less useful to the traveller, than a route from Chione and Zaracca to Kutchukmadi, from thence by Krabata to Schoenochorio, and by the mills of Peali, while every one is in some degree acquainted with the names of Stymphalus, Nemea, Mycenæ, Lyrceia, Lerna, and Tegea?" Although this may be very true inasmuch as it relates to the reader, yet to the traveller we must observe, in opposition to Mr. Gell, that nothing can be less useful than the designation of his route according to the ancient names. We might as well, and with as much chance of arriving at the place of our destination, talk to a Hounslow post-boy about making haste to 'Augusta', as apply to our Turkish guide in modern Greece for a direction to Stymphalus, Nemea, Mycenæ, etc., etc. This is neither more nor less than classical affectation; and it renders Mr. Gell's book of much more confined use than it would otherwise have been:--but we have some other and more important remarks to make on his general directions to Grecian tourists; and we beg leave to assure our readers that they are derived from travellers who have lately visited Greece. In the first place, Mr. Cell is absolutely incautious enough to recommend an interference on the part of English travellers with the Minister at the Porte, in behalf of the Greeks. "The folly of such neglect (page 16, preface), in many instances, where the emancipation of a district might often be obtained by the present of a snuff-box or a watch, at Constantinople, _and without the smallest danger of exciting the jealousy of such a court as that of Turkey_, will be acknowledged when we are no longer able to rectify the error." We have every reason to believe, on the contrary, that the folly of half a dozen travellers, taking this advice, might bring us into a war. "Never interfere with any thing of the kind," is a much sounder and more political suggestion to all English travellers in Greece. Mr. Gell apologizes for the introduction of "his panoramic designs," as he calls them, on the score of the great difficulty of giving any tolerable idea of the face of a country in writing, and the ease with which a very accurate knowledge of it may be acquired by maps and panoramic designs. We are informed that this is not the case with many of these designs. The small scale of the single map we have already censured; and we have hinted that some of the drawings are not remarkable for correct resemblance of their originals. The two nearer views of the Gate of the Lions at Mycenæ are indeed good likenesses of their subject, and the first of them is unusually well executed; but the general view of Mycenæ is not more than tolerable in any respect; and the prospect of Larissa, etc., is barely equal to the former. The view _from_ this last place is also indifferent; and we are positively assured that there are no windows at Nauplia which look like a box of dominos,--the idea suggested by Mr. Gell's plate. We must not, however, be too severe on these picturesque bagatelles, which, probably, were very hasty sketches; and the circumstances of weather, etc., may have occasioned some difference in the appearance of the same objects to different spectators. We shall therefore return to Mr. Gell's preface; endeavouring to set him right in his directions to travellers, where we think that he is erroneous, and adding what appears to have been omitted. In his first sentence, he makes an assertion which is by no means correct. He says, "_We_ are at present as ignorant of Greece, as of the interior of Africa." Surely not quite so ignorant; or several of our Grecian _Mungo Parks_ have travelled in vain, and some very sumptuous works have been published to no purpose! As we proceed, we find the author observing that "Athens is 'now' the most polished city of "Greece," when we believe it to be the most barbarous, even to a proverb-- [Greek: _O Athaena, pr_otae ch_ora, Ti gaidarous trepheis t_ora;] [5] is a couplet of reproach _now_ applied to this once famous city; whose inhabitants seem little worthy of the inspiring call which was addressed to them within these twenty years, by the celebrated Riga:-- [Greek: Deute paides t_on Hellaen_on, k.t.l.] Iannina, the capital of Epirus, and the seat of Ali Pacha's government, 'is' in truth deserving of the honours which Mr. Gell has improperly bestowed on degraded Athens. As to the correctness of the remark concerning the fashion of wearing the hair cropped in 'Molossia', as Mr. Gell informs us, our authorities cannot depose; but why will he use the classical term of Eleuthero-Lacones, when that people are so much better known by their modern name of Mainotes? "The court of the Pacha of Tripolizza" is said "to realise the splendid visions of the Arabian Nights." This is true with regard to the 'court'; but surely the traveller ought to have added that the city and palace are most miserable, and form an extraordinary contrast to the splendour of the court.--Mr. Gell mentions 'gold' mines in Greece: he should have specified their situation, as it certainly is not universally known. When, also, he remarks that "the first article of necessity 'in Greece' is a firman, or order from the Sultan, permitting the traveller to pass unmolested," we are much misinformed if he be right. On the contrary, we believe this to be almost the only part of the Turkish dominions in which a firman is not necessary; since the passport of the Pacha is absolute within his territory (according to Mr. G.'s own admission), and much more effectual than a firman.-- "Money," he remarks, "is easily procured at Salonica, or Patrass, where the English have consuls." It is much better procured, we understand, from the Turkish governors, who never charge discount. The consuls for the English are not of the most magnanimous order of Greeks, and far from being so liberal, generally speaking; although there are, in course, some exceptions, and Strané of Patras has been more honourably mentioned.--After having observed that "horses seem the best mode of conveyance in Greece," Mr. Gell proceeds: "Some travellers would prefer an English saddle; but a saddle of this sort is always objected to by the owner of the horse, _and not without reason_," etc. This, we learn, is far from being the case; and, indeed, for a very simple reason, an English saddle must seem to be preferable to one of the country, because it is much lighter. When, too, Mr. Gell calls the _postillion_ "Menzilgi," he mistakes him for his betters; _Serrugees_ are postillions; _Menzilgis_ are postmasters.--Our traveller was fortunate in his Turks, who are hired to walk by the side of the baggage-horses. They "are certain," he says, "of performing their engagement without grumbling." We apprehend that this is by no means certain:--but Mr. Gell is perfectly right in preferring a Turk to a Greek for this purpose; and in his general recommendation to take a Janissary on the tour: who, we may add, should be suffered to act as he pleases, since nothing is to be done by gentle means, or even by offers of money, at the places of accommodation. A courier, to be sent on before to the place at which the traveller intends to sleep, is indispensable to comfort; but no tourist should be misled by the author's advice to suffer the Greeks to gratify their curiosity, in permitting them to remain for some time about him on his arrival at an inn. They should be removed as soon as possible; for, as to the remark that "no stranger would think of intruding when a room is pre-occupied," our informants were not so well convinced of that fact. Though we have made the above exceptions to the accuracy of Mr. Gell's information, we are most ready to do justice to the general utility of his directions, and can certainly concede the praise which he is desirous of obtaining,--namely, "of having facilitated the researches of future travellers, by affording that local information which it was before impossible to obtain." This book, indeed, is absolutely necessary to any person who wishes to explore the Morea advantageously; and we hope that Mr. Gell will continue his Itinerary over that and over every other part of Greece. He allows that his volume "is only calculated to become a book of reference, and not of general entertainment;" but we do not see any reason against the compatibility of both objects in a survey of the most celebrated country of the ancient world. To that country, we trust, the attention not only of our travellers, but of our legislators, will hereafter be directed. The greatest caution will, indeed, be required, as we have premised, in touching on so delicate a subject as the amelioration of the possessions of an ally: but the field for the exercise of political sagacity is wide and inviting in this portion of the globe; and Mr. Gell, and all other writers who interest us, however remotely, in its extraordinary _capabilities_, deserve well of the British empire. We shall conclude by an extract from the author's work: which, even if it fails of exciting that general interest which we hope most earnestly it may attract towards its important subject, cannot, as he justly observes, "be entirely uninteresting to the scholar;" since it is a work "which gives him a faithful description of the remains of cities, the very existence of which was doubtful, as they perished before the æra of authentic history." The subjoined quotation is a good specimen of the author's minuteness of research as a topographer; and we trust that the credit which must accrue to him from the present performance will ensure the completion of his _Itinerary_:-- "The inaccuracies of the maps of Anacharsis are in many respects very glaring. The situation of Phlius is marked by Strabo as surrounded by the territories of Sicyon, Argos, Cleonæ, and Stymphalus. Mr. Hawkins observed, that Phlius, the ruins of which still exist near Agios Giorgios, lies in a direct line between Cleonæ and Stymphalus, and another from Sicyon to Argos; so that Strabo was correct in saying that it lay between those four towns; yet we see Phlius, in the map of Argolis by M. Barbie du Bocage, placed ten miles to the north of Stymphalus, contradicting both history and fact. D'Anville is guilty of the same error. "M. du Bocage places a town named Phlius, and by him Phlionte, on the point of land which forms the port of Drepano; there are not at present any ruins there. The maps of D'Anville are generally more correct than any others where ancient geography is concerned. A mistake occurs on the subject of Tiryns, and a place named by him Vathia, but of which nothing can be understood. It is possible that Vathi, or the profound valley, may be a name sometimes used for the valley of Barbitsa, and that the place named by D'Anville Claustra may be the outlet of that valley called Kleisoura, which has a corresponding signification. "The city of Tiryns is also placed in two different positions, once by its Greek name, and again as Tirynthus. The mistake between the islands of Sphæria and Calaura has been noticed in page 135. The Pontinus, which D'Anville represents as a river, and the Erasinus, are equally ill placed in his map. There was a place called Creopolis, somewhere toward Cynouria; but its situation is not easily fixed. The ports called Bucephalium and Piræus seem to have been nothing more than little bays in the country between Corinth and Epidaurus. The town called Athenæ, in Cynouria, by Pausanias, is called Anthena by 'Thucydides', book 5. 41. "In general, the map of D'Anville will be found more accurate than those which have been published since his time; indeed, the mistakes of that geographer are in general such as could not be avoided without visiting the country. Two errors of D'Anville may be mentioned, lest the opportunity of publishing the itinerary of Arcadia should never occur. The first is, that the rivers Malætas and Mylaon, near Methydrium, are represented as running toward the south, whereas they flow northwards to the Ladon; and the second is, that the Aroanius, which falls into the Erymanthus at Psophis, is represented as flowing from the lake of Pheneos; a mistake which arises from the ignorance of the ancients themselves who have written on the subject. The fact is that the Ladon receives the waters of the lakes of Orchomenos and Pheneos; but the Aroanius rises at a spot not two hours distant from Psophis." In furtherance of our principal object in this critique, we have only to add a wish that some of our Grecian tourists, among the fresh articles of information concerning Greece which they have lately imported, would turn their minds to the language of the country. So strikingly similar to the ancient Greek is the modern Romaic as a written language, and so dissimilar in sound, that even a few general rules concerning pronunciation would be of most extensive use. END OF VOL. I. 
6042	----	This eBook was produced by Marjorie Fulton. THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY (FRANCES BURNEY.) WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD, AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. 2. (1787-1792.) WITH AN ENGRAVING OF GEORGE III., QUEEN CHARLOTTE, AND THEIR FAMILY. LONDON: VIZETELLY & CO., 16, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1891. PRINTED BY J. S. VIRTUE & COMPANY, LONDON, CITY ROAD. 10. (1787) COURT DUTIES AT ST. JAMES'S AND WINDSOR --9-48 The Queen's Birthday Drawing Room--A Serious Dilemma--Counsels of a Court Official--Mr. Turbulent's Anxiety to Introduce Mr. Wellbred--Colonel Wellbred is received at Tea--Eccentric Mr. Bryant--Mr. Turbulent in a New Character--Bantering a Princess- -Mr. Turbulent meets with a Rebuff--A Surprise at the Play--The King's Birthday--The Equerries: Colonel Manners--The Duchess de Polignac at Windsor--Colonel Manners' Musical Accomplishments- -Mrs. Schwellenberg's "Lump of Leather"--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Frogs--Mr. Turbulent's Antics. 11 (1787-8) COURT DUTIES: SOME VARIATIONS IN THEIR ROUTINE--49-85 Meeting of the two Princes--Bunbury, the Caricaturist--Mrs. Siddons proves disappointing on near acquaintance--Mr. Fairly's Bereavement--Troublesome Mr. Turbulent--A Conceited Parson--Mr. Turbulent becomes a Nuisance--Dr. Herschel and his Sister--Gay and Entertaining Mr. Bunbury--The Prince of Wales at Windsor again--False Rumours of Miss Burney's Resignation--Tyrannical Mrs. Schwellenberg--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Capriciousness--New Year's Day--Chatty Mr. Bryant again--Dr. Johnson's Letters to Mrs. Thrale discussed--A Pair of Paragons--Mr. Turbulent's Self Condemnation--Miss Burney among her Old Friends--Some Trivial Court Incidents. 12 (1788) THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS--86-153 Westminster Hall at the opening of the Hastings Trial--Warren Hastings appears at the Bar--The Lord Chancellor's Speech--The Reading of the Charges commenced--An Old Acquaintance--William Windham, Esq., M.P.--Windham inveighs against Warren Hastings- -Miss Burney Battles for the Accused--A Wearied M.P.--Mr. Crutchley reappears--Mr. Windham discusses the Impeachment- -Windham affects to commiserate Hastings--Miss Burney is again present at Hastings's Trial--Burke's Speech in support of the Charges--Further Conversation with Mr. Windham--Miss Fuzilier likely to become Mrs. Fairly--The Hastings Trial again: Mr. Fox in a Rage--Mrs. Crewe, Mr. Burke and Mr. Windham--Miss Burney's Unbiassed Sentiments--Burke and Sheridan meet with Cold Receptions--At Windsor again--Death of Mrs. Delany--The page vi Hastings Trial and Mr. Windham again--"The Queen is so kind"-- Personal Resemblance between Windham and Hastings--Death of Young Lady Mulgrave--Again at Windsor--Another Meeting with Mr. Crutchley--Mr. Turbulent's troublesome Pleasantries--Colonel Fairly and Second Attachments. 13. (1788) ROYAL VISIT TO CHELTENHAM--154--219 The Royal Party and their Suite--Loyalty not Damped by the Rain- -Arrival at Fauconberg Hall--The Tea-Table Difficulty--A t`ete-`a-t`ete wit" Colonel Fairly--The King's Gentlemen and the Queen's Ladies--Royalty Crowded at Fauconberg Hall--At the wells--Conversation and Flirtation with Colonel Fairly--Miss Burney meets an old Friend--Colonel Fairly again--A Visit to miss Palmer--"Original Love Letters"--The Founder of Sunday Schools criticised--On the Walks--An Unexpected Visitor-- Courts and Court Life--The Vindictive Baretti--speculations upon Colonel Fairly's Re-marrying--Colonel Fairly again presents Himself--The Colonel and the "Original Love Letters"--The Gout and the Love Letters again--A Dinner with Colonel Fairly and Miss Planta--Royal Concern for the Colonel's Gout--young Republicans Converted--The Princes' Animal Spirits--The Duke of York: Royal Visit to the Theatre--An uncourtly visitor--Mr. Fairly reads "Akenside" to Miss Burney--The Doctor's Embarrassment--From Grave to Gay--A Visit to Worcester--The Queen and Mr. Fairly--Mr. Fairly Moralizes--Major Price is tired of Retirement--The Return to Windsor--At Windsor again: The Canon and Mrs. Schwellenberg-- Compliments from a famous Foreign Astronomer--The Prince eyes miss Burney curiously--Colonel manners's Beating--mr. Fairly is Discussed by his Brother Equerries--Baron Trenck: Mr. Turbulent's Raillery--Amiable Mrs. Schwellenberg again--A Royal Joke--Colonel Goldsworthy's Breach of Etiquette--Illness of Mrs. Schwellenberg- -General Grenville's Regiment at Drill. 14. (1788-9) THE KING'S ILLNESS--220-299 Uncertain State of the King's Health--The King complains of Want of Sleep--Distress of the Queen--First Outburst of the King's Delirium--An Anxious Night--The King's Delirious Condition-The King refuses to see Dr. Warren--The Queen's anxiety to hear Dr. Warren's opinion--The Queen removes to more distant Apartments--A Visit from Mr. Fairly--The King's Night Watchers--A Change in Miss Burney's Duties--Mr. Fairly Succeeds in Soothing the King--New Arrangements--The Princess Augusta's Birthday-- Strange Behaviour of the First Gentleman in Europe--Stringent New Regulations--Mrs. Schwellenberg is back again--Public Prayers for the King decided upon--Sir Lucas Pepys On the King's Condition- Further Changes at the Lodge--Mr. Fairly and the Learned Ladies-- Reports on the King's Condition--Mr. Fairly thinks the King Page vii needs Stricter Management--Mr. Fairly wants a Change--Removal of the King to Kew determined upon--A Privy Council held--The Removal to Kew--A Mysterious Visitor--The King's Arrival--The Arrangements at Kew Palace--A Regency hinted at--Mr. Fairly's Kind Offices--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Parlour--A new Physician Summoned--Mrs. Schwellenberg's Opinion of Mr. Fairly--The King's varying Condition--Dr. Willis and his Son--Learning in Women--The Queen and Mr. Fairly's Visits-A Melancholy Birthday--Mr. Fairly on Fans--Mr. Fairly continues his Visits: the Queen again Remarks upon them--The Search for Mr. Fairly--Miss Burney's Alarm on being chased by the King--A Royal Salute and Royal Confidences-- Curiosity regarding Miss Burney's meeting with the King--The Regency Bill--Infinitely Licentious!--Miss Burney is taxed with Visiting Gentlemen--Improvement in the King's Health--Mr. Fairly and Mr. Windham--The King continues to improve--The King's Health is completely Restored. 15. (1789) THE KING'S RECOVERY: ROYAL VISIT TO WEYMOUTH--300-333 The King's Reappearance--An Airing and its Consequences-- Illuminations on the King's Recovery--Mr. Fairly on Miss Burney's Duties--A Visit from Miss Fuzilier--A Command from Her Majesty- -Colonel Manners mystifies Mrs. Schwellenberg--The Sailor Prince--Loyal Reception of the King in the New Forest--The Royal journey to Weymouth--Welcome to Weymouth--The Royal Plunge with Musical honours--"You must Kneel, Sir!"--Royal doings in and about Weymouth--A Patient Audience--A Fatiguing but Pleasant Day--Lulworth Castle--The Royal Party at the Assembly Rooms--A journey to Exeter and Saltram--May "One" come in?--An Excursion to Plymouth Dockyard--A Visit to a Seventy-four--A Day at Mount Edgecumbe--Mr. Fairly on a Court Life--A Brief Sojourn at Longleat--Tottenham Court: Return to Windsor. 16. (1789-90) MR. FAIRLY'S MARRIAGE: THE HASTINGS TRIAL--334-365 Rumours of Mr. Fairly's impending Marriage--A Royal Visit to the Theatre: jammed in the Crowd--In the Manager's Box--Mr. Fairly's Marriage imminent--Court Duties discussed--Mr. Fairly's Strange Wedding--Renewal of the Hastings Trial: A Political Impromptu--An Illbred Earl of Chesterfield--Miss Burney in a New Capacity--The long-forgotten Tragedy: Miss Burnei again as Reader--Colonel Manners in his Senatorial Capacity--A Conversation with Mr. Windham at the Hastings Trial--A Glimpse of Mrs. Piozzi--Captain Burney wants a Ship to go to Court--Captain Burney and Mr. Windham--Mr. Windham speaks on a Legal Point--An Emphatic Peroration-An Aptitude for Logic and for Greek--More Talk with Mr. Windham. Page viii 17. (1790-1) MISS BURNEY RESIGNS HER PLACE AT COURT--366-409 A Melancholy Confession--Captain Burney's Laconic Letter and Interview--Burke's Speech on the French Revolution--An Awkward Meeting--A New Visit from Mrs. Fairly--One Tragedy Finished and Another Commenced--Miss Burney's Resignation Memorial--Mr. Windham Intervenes--An Amusing Interview with Mr. Boswell--Ill, Unsettled, and Unhappy--A Medical Opinion on Miss Burney's Condition--Miss Burney breaks the Matter to the Queen--The Memorial and Explanatory Note--The Keeper of the Robes' Consternation--Leave of Absence is Suggested--A Royal Gift to the Master of the Horse--Conferences with the Queen--Miss Burney determines on Seclusion--The Hastings Trial Resumed: The Accused makes his Defence--Mr. Windham is Congratulated on his Silence-- Miss Burney makes her Report--Prince William insists on the King's Health being Drunk--The Queen's Health--The Procession to the Ball-room: Absence of the Princes--Boswell's Life of johnson--The Close of Miss Burney's Court Duties--Miss Burney's Successor: A Pension from the Queen--Leavetakings--Farewell to Kew--The Final Parting. 18. (1791-2) REGAINED LIBERTY--410-468 Released from Duty--A Western journey: Farnham Castle--A Party of French Fugitives--Winchester Cathedral--Stonehenge, Wilton, and Milton Abbey--Lyme and Sidmouth--Sidmouth Loyalty--Powderham Castle and Collumpton Church--Glastonbury Abbey--Wells Cathedral--Bath Revisited--A Visit from Lady Spencer--Bath Sunday Schools--Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire--Bishop Percy--The Duchess of Devonshire again--Dr. Burney's Conversation with Mr. Burke: Remarks by Miss Burney--Literary Recreation--Sir Joshua Reynoldsls Blindness--Among Old Friends--A Summons from the Queen--Mr. Hastings's Defence--Diverse Views--Mr. Law's Speech Discussed--Mr. Windham on the French National Assembly--"A Barbarous Business!"--Death of Sir Joshua Reynolds--Mr. Windham twitted on his Lack of Compassion--A Point of Ceremonial--Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mlle. Jacobi--A Long Talk with the King and Queen--Madame de Genlis: a Woeful Change--The Weeping Beauty Again--Madame de la Fite and Mrs. Hastings--The Impetuous Orator- -Mimicry of Dr. Johnson--The King's Birthday--Mr. Hastings's Speech--A Well-preserved Beauty--The Burkes--Burke's Conversational Powers--A Wild Irish Girl--Erskine's Egotism-- Caen-wood---An Adventure with Mrs. Crewe--An Invitation from Arthur Young. SECTION 10. (1787) COURT DUTIES AT ST. JAMES'S AND WINDSOR. THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY DRAWING ROOM. January. Go back to the 16th, when I went to town, accompanied only by Mr. de Luc. I saw my dear father the next morning, who gave me a poem on the queen's birthday, to present. It was very pretty; but I felt very awkward in offering it to her, as it was from so near a relation, and without any particular reason or motive. Mr. Smelt came and stayed with me almost all the morning, and soothed and solaced me by his charming converse. The rest of the day was devoted to milliners, mantua-makers, and such artificers, and you may easily conjecture how great must be my fatigue. Nevertheless, when, in the midst of these wasteful toils, the Princess Augusta entered my room, and asked me, from the queen, if I should wish to see the ball the next day, I preferred running the risk of that new fatigue, to declining an honour so offered: especially as the Princess Augusta was herself to open the ball. A chance question this night from the queen, whom I now again attended as usual, fortunately relieved me from my embarrassment about the poem. She inquired of me if my father was still writing? "A little," I answered, and the next morning, Thursday, the 18th, when the birth-day was kept, I found her all sweetness and serenity; mumbled out my own little compliment, which she received as graciously as if she had understood and heard it; and then, Page 10 when she was dressed, I followed her through the great rooms, to get rid of the wardrobe woman, and there taking the poem from my pocket, I said "I told your majesty that my father had written a little!--and here--the little is!" She took it from me with a smile and a curtsey, and I ran off. She never has named it since; but she has spoken of my father with much sweetness and complacency. The modest dignity of the queen, upon all subjects of panegyric, is truly royal and noble. I had now, a second time, the ceremony of being entirely new dressed. I then went to St. James's, where the queen gave a very gracious approbation of my gewgaws, and called upon the king to bestow the same; which his constant goodhumour makes a matter of great ease to him. The queen's dress, being for her own birthday, was extremely simple, the style of dress considered. The king was quite superb, and the Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth were ornamented with much brilliancy. Not only the princess royal was missed at this exhibition, but also the Prince of Wales. He wrote, however, his congratulations to the queen, though the coldness then subsisting between him and his majesty occasioned his absence from Court. I fear it was severely felt by his royal mother, though she appeared composed and content. The two princesses spoke very kind words, also, about my frippery on this festival; and Princess Augusta laid her positive commands upon me that I should change my gown before I went to the lord chamberlain's box, where only my head could be seen. The counsel proved as useful as the consideration was amiable. When the queen was attired, the Duchess of Ancaster was admitted to the dressing room, where she stayed, in conversation with their majesties and the princesses, till it was time to summon the bed-chamber women. During this, I had the office of holding the queen's train. I knew, for me, it was a great honour, yet it made me feel, once more, so like a mute upon the stage, that I could scarce believe myself only performing my own real character. Mrs. Stainforth and I had some time to stand upon the stairs before the opening of the doors. We joined Mrs. Fielding and her daughters, and all entered together, but the crowd parted us - they all ran on, and got in as they could, and I Page 11 remained alone by the door. They soon found me out, and made signs to me, which I saw not, and then they sent me messages that they had kept room for me just by them. I had received orders from the queen to go out at the end of the second country dance ; I thought, therefore, that as I now was seated by the door, I had better be content, and stay where I could make my exit in a moment, and without trouble or disturbance. A queer-looking old lady sat next me, and I spoke to her now and then, by way of seeming to belong to somebody. She did not appear to know whether it were advisable for her to answer me or not, seeing me alone, and with high head ornaments; but as I had no plan but to save appearances to the surrounders, I was perfectly satisfied that my very concise propositions should meet with yet more laconic replies. Before we parted, however, finding me quiet and inoffensive, she became voluntarily sociable, and I felt so much at home, by being still in a part of the palace, that I needed nothing further than just so much notice as not to seem an object to be avoided. The sight which called me to that spot perfectly answered all my expectations: the air, manner, and countenance of the queen, as she goes round the circle, are truly graceful and engaging: I thought I could understand, by the motion of her lips, and the expression of her face, even at the height and distance of the chamberlain's box, the gracious and pleasant speeches she made to all whom she approached. With my glass, you know, I can see just as other people see with the naked eye. The princesses looked extremely lovely, and the whole Court was in the utmost splendour. A SERIOUS DILEMMA. At the appointed moment I slipped through the door, leaving my old lady utterly astonished at my sudden departure, and I passed, alone and quietly, to Mr. Rhamus's apartment, which was appropriated for the company to wait in. Here I desired a servant I met with to call my man: he was not to be found. I went down the stairs, and made them call him aloud, by my name; all to no purpose. Then the chairmen were called, but called also in vain! What to do I knew not ; though I was still in a part of the Page 12 palace, it was separated by many courts, avenues, passages, and alleys, from the queen's or my own apartments- and though I had so lately passed them, I could not remember the way, nor at that late hour could I have walked, dressed as I then was, and the ground wet with recent rain, even if I had had a servant: I had therefore ordered the chair allotted me for these days; but chair and chairmen and footmen were alike out of the way. My fright lest the queen should wait for me was very serious. I believe there are state apartments through which she passes, and therefore I had no chance to know when she retired from the ball-room. Yet could I not stir, and was forced to return to the room whence I came, in order to wait for John, that I might be out of the way of the cold winds which infested the hall. I now found a young clergyman, standing by the fire. I suppose my anxiety was visible, for he instantly inquired if he could assist me. I declined his offer, but walked up and down, making frequent questions about my chair and John. He then very civilly said, "You seem distressed, ma'am; would you permit me the honour to see for your chair, or, if it is not come, as you seem hurried, would you trust me to see you home?" I thanked him, but could not accept his services. He was sorry, he said, that I refused him, but could not wonder, as he was a stranger. I made some apologising answer, and remained in that unpleasant situation till, at length, a hackneychair was procured me. My new acquaintance would take no denial to handing me to the chair. When I got in, I told the men to carry me to the palace. "We are there now!" cried they; "what part of the palace?" I was now in a distress the most extraordinary : I really knew not my own direction! I had always gone to my apartment in a chair, and had been carried by chairmen officially appointed; and, except that it was in St. James's palace, I knew nothing of my own situation. "Near the park," I told them, and saw my new esquire look utterly amazed at me. "Ma'am," said he, " half the palace is in the park." "I don't know how to direct," cried I, in the greatest embarrassment, "but it is somewhere between Pall Mall and the park." Page 13 "I know where the lady lives well enough," cried one of the chairmen, "'tis in St. James's street." "No, no," cried I, "'tis in St. James's palace." "Up with the chair!" cried the other man, "I know best--'tis in South Audley-street; I know the lady well enough." Think what a situation at the moment! I found they had both been drinking the queen's health till they knew not what they said and could with difficulty stand. Yet they lifted me up, and though I called in the most terrible fright to be let out, they carried me down the steps. I now actually screamed for help, believing they would carry me off to South Audley-street; and now my good genius, who had waited patiently in the crowd, forcibly stopped the chairmen, who abused him violently, and opened the door himself, and I ran back to the hall. You may imagine how earnestly I returned my thanks for this most seasonable assistance, without which I should almost have died with terror, for where they might have taken or dropped me, or how or where left me, who could say? He begged me to go again upstairs, but my apprehension about the queen prevented me. I knew she was to have nobody but me, and that her jewels, though few, were to be intrusted back to the queen's house to no other hands. I must, I said, go, be it in what manner it might. All I could devise was to summon Mr. Rhamus, the page. I had never seen him, but my attendance upon the queen would be an apology for the application, and I determined to put myself under his immediate protection. Mr. Rhamus was nowhere to be found ; he was already supposed to be gone to the queen's house, to wait the arrival of his majesty. This news redoubled my fear; and now my new acquaintance desired me to employ him in making inquiries for me as to the direction I wanted. It was almost ridiculous, in the midst of my distress, to be thus at a loss for an address to myself! I felt averse to speaking my name amongst so many listeners, and only told him he would much oblige me by finding out a direction to Mrs. Haggerdorn's rooms. He went upstairs ; and returning, said he could now direct the chairmen, if I did not fear trusting them. I did fear--I even shook with fear; yet my horror of disappointing the queen upon such a night prevailed over all my reluctance, and I ventured once more into the chair, thanking this excellent Samaritan, and begging him to give the direction very particularly. Page 14 Imagine, however, my gratitude and my relief, when, instead of hearing the direction, I heard only these words, " Follow me." And then did this truly benevolent young man himself play the footman, in walking by the side of the chair till we came to an alley, when he bid them turn; but they answered him with an oath, and ran on with me, till the poles ran against a wall, for they had entered a passage in which there was no outlet! I would fain have got out, but they would not hear me; they would only pull the chair back, and go on another way. But my guardian angel told them to follow him, or not, at their peril ; and then walked before the chair. We next came to a court where we were stopped by the sentinels. They said they had orders not to admit any hackney chairs. The chairmen vowed they would make way; I called out aloud to be set down; the sentinels said they would run their bayonets through the first man that attempted to dispute their orders. I then screamed out again to be set down, and my new and good friend peremptorily forced them to stop, and opening the door with violence, offered me his arm, saying, "You had better trust yourself with me, ma'am!" Most thankfully I now accepted what so fruitlessly I had declined, and I held by his arm, and we walked on together, but neither of us knew whither, nor the right way from the wrong 1 It was really a terrible situation. The chairmen followed us, clamorous for money, and full of abuse. They demanded half a crown - my companion refused to listen to such an imposition : my shaking hand could find no purse, and I begged him to pay them what they asked, that they might leave us. He did ; and when they were gone, I shook less, and was able to pay that one part of the debt I was now contracting. We wandered about, heaven knows where, in a way the most alarming and horrible to myself imaginable: for I never knew where I was.--It was midnight. I concluded the queen waiting for me.--It was wet. My head was full dressed. I was under the care of a total stranger; and I knew not which side to take, wherever we came. Inquiries were vain. The sentinels alone were in sight, and they are so continually changed that they knew no more of Mrs. Haggerdorn than if she had never resided here. At length I spied a door open, and I begged to enter it at a venture, for information. Fortunately a person stood in the passage who instantly spoke to me by my name; I never Page 15 heard that sound with more glee: to me he was a stranger, but I suppose he had seen me in some of the apartments. I begged him to direct me straight to the queen's rooms: he did ; and I then took leave of my most humane new friend, with a thousand acknowledgments for his benevolence and services. Was it not a strange business ? I can never say what an agony Of fright it cost me at the time, nor ever be sufficiently grateful for the kind assistance, so providentially afforded me.' COUNSELS OF A COURT OFFICIAL. The general directions and counsel of Mr. Smelt, which I have scrupulously observed ever since, were, in abridgment, these:- That I should see nobody at all but by appointment. This, as he well said, would obviate, not only numerous personal inconveniences to myself, but prevent alike surprises from those I had no leave to admit, and repetitions of visits from others who might inadvertently come too often. He advised me to tell this to my father, and beg it might be spread, as a settled part of my situation, among all who inquired for me. That I should see no fresh person whatsoever without an immediate permission from the queen, nor any party, even amongst those already authorised, without apprising her of such a plan. That I should never go out without an immediate application to her, so that no possible inquiry for me might occasion surprise or disappointment. These, and other similar ties, perhaps, had my spirits been better, I might less readily have acceded to : as it was, I would have bound myself to as many more. At length, however, even then, I was startled when Mr. Smelt, with some earnestness, said, "And, with respect to your parties, such as you may occasionally have here, you have but one rule for keeping all things smooth, and all partisans unoffended, at a distance--which is, to have no men--none! I stared a little, and made no answer. "Yes," cried he, "Mr. Locke may be admitted; but him only. Your father, you know, is of course." Still I was silent: after a pause of some length, he plumply Yet with an evidently affected unmeaningness, said, "Mr. Cambridge-- as to Mr. Cambridge--" I stopped him short at once; I dared not trust to what Page 16 might follow, and eagerly called Out, "Mr. Cambridge, Sir, I cannot exclude! So much friendship and kindness I owe, and have long owed him, that he would go about howling at my ingratitude, could I seem so suddenly to forget it!" My impetuosity in uttering this surprised, but silenced him; he said not a word more, nor did I. MR. TURBULENT's ANXIETY TO INTRODUCE MR. WELLBRED. Windsor, Sunday, Jan. 28.-I was too ill to go to church. I was now, indeed, rarely well enough for anything but absolute and unavoidable duties ; and those were still painfully and forcibly performed. I had only Miss Planta for my guest, and when she went to the princesses I retired for a quiet and solitary evening to my own room. But here, while reading, I was interrupted by a tat-tat at my door. I opened it and saw Mr. Turbulent. . . . He came forward, and began a gay and animated conversation, with a flow of spirits and good humour which I had never observed in him before. His darling colonel(230) was the subject that he still harped upon; but it was only with a civil and amusing raillery, not, as before, with an overpowering vehemence to conquer. Probably, however, the change in myself might be as observable as in him,-- since I now ceased to look upon him with that distance and coldness which hitherto he had uniformly found in me. I must give you a little specimen of him in this new dress. After some general talk, "When, ma'am," he said, "am I to have the honour of introducing Colonel Wellbred to you?" "Indeed, I have not settled that entirely!" "Reflect a little, then, ma'am, and tell me. I only wish to know when." "Indeed to tell you that is somewhat more than I am able to do; I must find it out myself, first." " Well, ma'am, make the inquiry as speedily as possible, I beg. What say you to now? shall I call him up? "No, no,--pray let him alone." "But will you not, at least, tell me your reasons for this conduct?" Page 17 "Why, frankly, then, if you will hear them and be quiet, I will confess them." I then told him, that I had so little time to myself, that to gain even a single evening was to gain a treasure; and that I had no chance but this. "Not," said I, "that I wish to avoid him, but to break the custom of constantly meeting with the equerries." "But it is impossible to break the custom, ma'am; it has been so always: the tea-table has been the time of uniting the company, ever since the king came to Windsor." " Well, but everything now is upon a new construction. I am not positively bound to do everything Mrs. Haggerdorn did, and his having drank tea with her will not make him conclude he must also drink tea with me." No, no, that is true, I allow. Nothing that belonged to her can bring conclusions round to you. But still, why begin with Colonel Wellbred? You did not treat Colonel Goldsworthy so?" "I had not the power of beginning with him. I did what I could, I assure you." "Major Price, ma'am?--I never heard you avoided him." "No; but I knew him before I came, and he knew much of my family, and indeed I am truly sorry that I shall now see no more of him. But Colonel Wellbred and I are mutually strangers." "All people are so at first, every acquaintance must have a beginning." "But this, if you are quiet, we are most willing should have none." "Not he, ma'am--he is not so willing; he wishes to come. He asked me, to-day, if I had spoke about it." I disclaimed believing this; but he persisted in asserting it, adding "For he said if I had spoke he would come." "He is very condescending," cried I, "but I am satisfied he would not think of it at all, if you did not put it in his head." "Upon my honour, You are mistaken; we talk just as much of it down there as up here." "you would much oblige me if you would not talk of it,- neither there nor here." "Let me end it, then, by bringing him at once!" "No, no, leave us both alone: he has his resources and his engagements as much as I have; we both are best as we now are." Page 18 "But what can he say, ma'am? Consider his confusion and disgrace! It is well known, in the world, the private life that the royal family live at Windsor, and who are the attendants that belong to them; and when Colonel Wellbred quits his waiting--three months' waiting and is asked how he likes Miss Burney, he must answer he has never seen her! And what, ma'am, has Colonel Wellbred done to merit such a mortification?" It was impossible not to laugh at such a statement of the case; and again he requested to bring him directly. "One quarter of an hour will content me ; I only wish to introduce him--for the sake of his credit in the world; and when once you have met, you need meet no more; no consequences whatever need be drawn to the detriment of your solitude." I begged him to desist, and let us both rest. "But have you, yourself, ma'am, no curiosity--no desire to see Colonel Wellbred?" "None in the world." "If, then, hereafter you admit any other equerry--" "No, no, I intend to carry the new construction throughout." "Or if you suffer anyone else to bring you Colonel Wellbred." "Depend upon it I have no such intention." "But if any other more eloquent man prevails--" " Be assured there is no danger." "Will you, at least, promise I shall be present at the meet--?" " There will be no meeting." "You are certainly, then, afraid of him?" I denied this, and, hearing the king's supper called, he took his leave ; though not before I very seriously told him that, however amusing all this might be as pure badinage, I Should be very earnestly vexed if he took any steps in the matter without my consent. COLONEL WELLBRED IS RECEIVED AT TEA. Feb. 2.-MISS Planta came to tea, and we went together to the eating-parlour, which we found quite empty. Mr. Turbulent's studious table was all deserted, and his books laid waste; but in a very few minutes he entered again, with his arms spread wide, his face all glee, and his voice all triumph, calling out, Page 19 "Mr. Smelt and Colonel Wellbred desire leave to wait upon miss Burney to tea!" A little provoked at this determined victory over my will and my wish, I remained silent,- but Miss Planta broke forth into open upbraidings: "Upon my word, Mr. Turbulent, this is really abominable it is all your own doing--and if I was Miss Burney I would not bear it!" and much more, till he fairly gave her to understand she had nothing to do with the matter. Then, turning to me, "What am I to say, ma'am? am I to tell Colonel Wellbred you hesitate?" He protested he came upon the embassy fairly employed. "Not fairly, I am sure, Mr. Turbulent The whole is a device and contrivance of your own! Colonel Wellbred would have been as quiet as myself, had you left him alone." "Don't throw it all upon me, ma'am; 'tis Mr. Smelt. But what are they to think of this delay? are they to suppose it requires deliberation whether or not you can admit a gentleman to your tea-table?" I begged him to tell me, at least, how it had passed, and in what manner he had brought his scheme about. But he would give me no satisfaction; he only said "You refuse to receive him, ma'am?-- shall I go and tell him you refuse to receive him?" "O No, This was enough -. he waited no fuller consent, but ran off. Miss Planta began a good-natured repining for me. I determined to fetch some work before they arrived; and in coming for it to my own room, I saw Mr. Turbulent, not yet gone downstairs. I really believe, by the strong marks of laughter on his countenance, that he had stopped to compose himself before he could venture to appear in the equerryroom! I looked at him reproachfully, and passed on; he shook his head at me in return, and hied downstairs. I had but just time to rejoin Miss Planta when he led the way to the two Other gentlemen: entering first, with the most earnest curiosity, to watch the scene. Mr. Smelt followed, introducing the colonel. I could almost have laughed, so ridiculous had the behaviour of Mr. Turbulent, joined to his presence and watchfulness, rendered this meeting; and I saw in Colonel Wellbred the most evident marks of similar sensations: for he coloured Page 20 violently on his entrance, and seemed in an embarrassment that, to any one who knew not the previous tricks of Mr. Turbulent, must have appeared really distressing. And, in truth, Mr. Smelt himself, little imagining what had preceded the interview, was so much struck with his manner and looks, that he conceived him to be afraid of poor little me, and observed, afterwards, with what "blushing diffidence" he had begun the acquaintance! I, who saw the true cause through the effect, felt more provoked than ever with Mr. Turbulent, since I was now quite satisfied he had been as busy with the colonel about me, as with me about the colonel. He is tall, his figure is very elegant, and his face very handsome: he is sensible, well-bred, modest, and intelligent. I had always been told he was very amiable and accomplished, and the whole of his appearance confirmed the report. The discourse was almost all Mr. Smelt's, the colonel was silent and reserved, and Mr. Turbulent had resolved to be a mere watchman. The king entered early and stayed late, and took away with him, on retiring, all the gentlemen. Feb. 3.-As the tea hour approached, to-day, Mr. Turbulent grew very restless. I saw what was passing in his mind, and therefore forbore ordering tea; but presently, and suddenly, as if from some instant impulse, he gravely came up to me, and said "Shall I go and call the colonel, ma'am?" "No, sir!" was my johnsonian reply. "What, ma'am!--won't you give him a little tea?" "No, no, no!--I beg you will be at rest!" He shrugged his shoulders, and walked away; and Mr. Smelt, smiling, said, "Will you give us any?" "O yes, surely cried I, and was going away to ring for the man. I believe I have already mentioned that I had no bell at all, except in my bedroom, and that only for my maid, whom I was obliged to summon first, like Smart's monkey-- "Here, Betty!--Nan!-- Go, call the maid, to call the man!" For Mrs. Haggerdorn had done without, twenty-six years, by always keeping her servant in waiting at the door. I could never endure inflicting such a hardship, and therefore had always to run to my bedroom, and wait the progress of the maid's arrival, and then of her search of the man, ere ever Page 21 I could give him an order. A mighty tiresome and inconvenient ceremony. Mr Turbulent insisted upon saving me this trouble, and went 'out himself to speak to John. But you will believe me a little amazed, when, in a very few minutes, he returned again, accompanied by his colonel! My surprise brought the colour both into my own cheeks and those of my guests. Mr. Smelt looked pleased; and Mr. Turbulent, though I saw he was half afraid of what he was doing, could by no means restrain a most exulting smile, which was constantly in play during the whole evening. Mr. Smelt instantly opened a conversation, with an ease and good breeding which drew every one into sharing it. The colonel was far less reserved and silent, and I found him very pleasing, very unassuming, extremely attentive, and sensible and obliging. The moment, however, that we mutually joined in the discourse, Mr. Turbulent came to my side, and seating himself there, whispered that he begged my pardon for the step he had taken. I made him no answer, but talked on with the colonel and Mr. Smelt. He. then whispered me again, "I am now certain of your forgiveness, since I see your approbation!" And when still I said nothing, he interrupted every speech to the colonel with another little whisper, saying that his end was obtained, and he was now quite happy, since he saw he had obliged me! At length he proceeded so far, with so positive a determination to be answered, that he absolutely compelled me to say I forgave him, lest he should go on till the colonel heard him. ECCENTRIC MR. BRYANT. Feb. 9-This morning, soon after my breakfast, the princess royal came to fetch me to the queen. She talked of Mrs. Delany all the way, and in terms of affection that can never fail to raise her in the minds of all who hear her. The queen was alone; and told me she had been so much struck with the Duke of Suffolk's letter to his son, in the Paston collection,(231) Page 22 that she wished to hear my opinion of it. She then condescended to read it to me. It is indeed both instructive and interesting. She was so gracious, when she dismissed me, as to lend me the book, desiring me to have it sent back to her apartment when I went to dinner. I had invited Mr. Bryant to dinner. He came an hour before, and I could not read "Paston," but rejoiced the more in his living intelligence. We talked upon the "Jew's Letters," which he had lent me. Have I mentioned them? They are a mighty well written defence of the Mosaic law and mission, and as orthodox for Christians as for Jews, with regard to their main tenor, which is to refute the infidel doctrine of Voltaire up to the time of our Saviour. Before our dinner we were joined by 'Mr. Smelt ; and the conversation was then very good. The same subject was continued, except where it was interrupted by Mr. Bryant's speaking of his own works, which was very frequently, and with a droll sort of simplicity that had a mixture of nature and of humour extremely amusing. He told us, very frankly his manner of writing; he confessed that what he first committed to paper seldom could be printed without variation or correction, even to a single line: he copied everything over, he said, himself, and three transcribings were the fewest he could ever make do; but, generally, nothing went from him to the press under seven. Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta came to dinner, and it was very cheerful. Ere it was over John told me somebody wanted me. I desired they might be shewn to my room till the things were removed; but, as these were some time taking away, I called John to let me know who it was. "The princess royal, ma'am," was his answer, with perfect ease. Up I started, ashamed and eager, and flew to her royal highness instantly : and I found her calmly and quietly waiting, shut up in my room, without any candles, and almost wholly in the dark, except from the light of the fire! I made all possible apologies, and doubled and trebled them upon her Smilingly saying "I would not let them tell you who it was, nor hurry you, for I know 'tis so disagreeable to be called Page 23 away in the middle of dinner." And then, to reconcile me to the little accident, she took hold of both my hands. She came to me from the queen, about the "Paston Letters," which John had not carried to the right page. Very soon after came the king, who entered into a gay disquisition with Mr. Bryant upon his school achievements to which he answered with a readiness and simplicity highly entertaining. "You are an Etonian, Mr. Bryant," said the king, "but pray, for what were you most famous at school?" We all expected, from the celebrity of his scholarship, to hear him answer his Latin Exercises but no such thing. "Cudgelling, Sir. I was most famous for that." While a general laugh followed this speech, he very gravely proceeded to particularize his feats though unless you could see the diminutive figure, the weak, thin, feeble, little frame, whence issued the proclamation of his prowess, you can but very Inadequately judge the comic effect of his big talk. "Your majesty, sir, knows General Conway? I broke his head for him, sir." The shout which ensued did not at all interfere with the steadiness of his further detail. "And there's another man, Sir, a great stout fellow, Sir, as ever you saw--Dr. Gibbon, of the Temple: I broke his head too, sir.--I don't know if he remembers it." The king, afterwards, inquired after his present family, meaning his dogs, which he is famed for breeding and preserving. "Why, sir," he answered, "I have now only twelve. Once, I recollect, when your majesty was so gracious as to ask me about them, I happened to have twenty-two; and so I told you, sir. Upon my word, Sir, it made me very uneasy afterwards when I came to reflect upon it: I was afraid your majesty might think I presumed to joke!" The king then asked him for some account of the Marlborough family, with which he is very particularly connected and desired to know which among the young Lady Spencers was his favourite. "Upon my word, sir, I like them all! Lady Elizabeth is a charming young lady--I believe, Sir, I am most in her favour; I don't know why, Sir. But I happened to write a letter to the duke, sir, that she took a fancy to; I don't know the reason, sir, but she begged it. I don't know what was in the letter, Page 24 sir-I could never find out; but she took a prodigious fancy to it, sir." The king laughed heartily, and supposed there might be some compliments to herself in it. "Upon my word' sir," cried he, "I am afraid your majesty will think I was in love with her! but indeed, sir, I don't know what was in the letter." The converse went on in the same style, and the king was so much entertained by Mr. Bryant, that he stayed almost the whole evening, MR TURBULENT IN A NEW CHARACTER. Friday, Feb. 16.-The instant I was left alone with Mr. Turbulent he demanded to know my "project for his happiness;" and he made his claim in a tone so determined, that I saw it would be fruitless to attempt evasion or delay. "Your captivity, then, sir," cried I-"for such I must call your regarding your attendance to be indispensable is at an end: the equerry-coach is now wholly in your power. I have spoken myself upon the subject to the queen, as you bid--at least, braved me to do; and I have now her consent to discharging you from all necessity of travelling in our coach."(232) He looked extremely provoked, and asked if I really meant to inform him I did not choose his company? I laughed the question off, and used a world of civil argument to persuade him I had only done him a good office: but I was fain to make the whole debate as sportive as possible, as I saw him disposed to be seriously affronted. A long debate ensued. I had been, he protested, excessively ill-natured to him. "What an impression," cried he, "must this make upon the queen! After travelling, with apparent content, six years With that oyster Mrs. Haggerdorn--now--now that travelling is become really agreeable--in that coach --I am to be turned out of it! How must it disgrace me in her opinion!" She was too partial, I said, to "that oyster," to look upon the matter in such a degrading light nor would she think of it Page 25 at all, but as an accidental matter. I then added, that the reason that he had hitherto been destined to the female coach was, that Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mrs. Haggerdorn were always afraid of travelling by themselves; but that as I had more courage, there was no need of such slavery. "Slavery!"--repeated he, with an emphasis that almost startled me,--"Slavery is pleasure--is happiness--when directed by our wishes!" And then, with a sudden motion that made me quite jump, he cast himself at my feet, on both his knees-- "Your slave," he cried, "I am content to be! your slave I am ready to live and die!" I begged him to rise, and be a little less rhapsodic. "I have emancipated you," I cried; "do not, therefore, throw away the freedom you have been six years sighing to obtain. You are now your own agent--a volunteer--" "If I am," cried he, impetuously, "I dedicate myself to you!--A volunteer, ma'am, remember that! I dedicate myself to you, therefore, of my own accord, for every journey! You shall not get rid of me these twenty years." I tried to get myself away-but he would not let me move and he began, with still increasing violence of manner, a most fervent protestation that he would not be set aside, and that he devoted himself to me entirely. And, to say the simple truth, ridiculous as all this was, I really began to grow a little frightened by his vehemence and his posture - till, at last, in the midst of an almost furious vow, in which he dedicated himself to me for ever, he relieved me, by suddenly calling upon Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and Hercules, and every god, and every goddess, to witness his oath. And then, content with his sublimity, he arose. Was it not a curious scene? and have I not a curious fellow traveller for my little journeys? Monday, Feb. 19.-This morning I Proposed to my fellow travellers that we should begin our journey on foot. The wonderment with which they heard a proposal so new was diverting : but they all agreed to it; and though they declared that my predecessor, Mrs. Haggerdorn, would have thought the person fit for Bedlam who should have suggested such plan, no one could find any real objection, and off we set, ordering the coach to proceed slowly after us. The weather was delightful, and the enterprise served to shorten and enliven the expedition, and pleased them all, Page 26 Mr. Turbulent began, almost immediately, an attack about his colonel : upon quite a new ground, yet as restless and earnest as upon the old one. He now reproached my attention to him, protesting I talked to him continually, and spun out into an hour's discourse what might have been said in three minutes. "And was it my spinning?" I could not forbear saying. "Yes, ma'am: for you might have dropped it." "How?--by not answering when spoken to?" "by not talking to him, ma'am, more than to any one else." "And pray, Mr. Turbulent, solve me, then, this difficulty; what choice has a poor female with whom she may converse? Must she not, in company as in dancing, take up with those Who choose to take up with her?" He was staggered by this question, and while he wavered how to answer it, I pursued my little advantage-- "No man, Mr. Turbulent, has any cause to be flattered that a woman talks with him, while it is only in reply; for though he may come, go, address or neglect, and do as he will,-- she, let her think and wish what she may, must only follow as he leads." He protested, with great warmth, he never heard any thing so proudly said in Ins life. But I would not retract. "And now, ma'am," he continued, "how wondrous intimate you are grown! After such averseness to a meeting--such struggles to avoid him; what am I to think of the sincerity of that pretended reluctance?" "You must think the truth," said I, "that it was not the colonel, but the equerry, I wished to avoid; that it was not the individual, but the official necessity of receiving company, that I wished to escape." BANTERING A PRINCESS. March 1.- With all the various humours in which I had already seen Mr. Turbulent, he gave me this evening a surprise, by his behaviour to one of the princesses, nearly the same that I had experienced from him myself. The Princess Augusta came, during coffee, for a knotting shuttle of the queen's. While she was speaking to me, he stood behind and exclaimed, `a demi voix, as if to himself, "Comme elle est jolie ce soir, son Altesse Royale!" And then, seeing her blush extremely, he clasped his hands, in high pretended confusion, Page 27 and hiding his head, called Out, "Que ferai-je? The princess has heard me!" "Pray, Mr. Turbulent," cried she, hastily, "what play are you to read to-night?" "You shall choose, ma'am; either 'La Coquette corrigée,' or--" [he named another I have forgotten.] "O no!" cried she, "that last is shocking! don't let me hear that!" "I understand you, ma'am. You fix, then, upon 'La Coquette?' 'La Coquette' is your royal highness's taste?" "No, indeed, I am sure I did not say that." "Yes, ma'am, by implication. And certainly, therefore, I will read it, to please your royal highness!" "No, pray don't; for I like none of them." "None of them, ma'am?" "No, none;--no French plays at all!" And away she was running, with a droll air, that acknowledged she had said something to provoke him. "This is a declaration, ma'am, I must beg you to explain!" cried he, gliding adroitly between the princess and the door, and shutting it With his back. "No, no, I can't explain it;--so pray, Mr. Turbulent, do open the door." "Not for the world, ma'am, with such a stain uncleared upon your royal highness's taste and feeling!" She told him she positively could not stay, and begged him to let her pass instantly. But he would hear her no more than he has heard me, protesting he was too much shocked for her, to suffer her to depart without clearing her own credit! He conquered at last, and thus forced to speak, she turned round to us and said, "Well--if I must, then--I will appeal to these ladies, who understand such things far better than I do, and ask them if it is not true about these French plays, that they are all so like to one another, that to hear them in this manner every night is enough to tire one?" "Pray, then, madam," cried he, "if French plays have the misfortune to displease you, what national plays have the honour Of your preference?" I saw he meant something that she understood better than me, for she blushed again, and called out "Pray open the door at once! I can stay no longer; do let me go, Mr. Turbulent!" Page 28 "Not till you have answered that question, ma'am' what country has plays to your royal highness's taste?" "Miss Burney," cried she impatiently, yet laughing, "pray do you take him away!--Pull him!" He bowed to me very invitingly for the office but I frankly answered her, "Indeed, ma'am, I dare not undertake him! I cannot manage him at all." "The country! the country! Princess Augusta! name the happy country!" was all she could gain. "Order him away, Miss Burney," cried she. "It is your room: order him away from the door." "Name it, ma'am, name it!" exclaimed he; "name but the chosen nation!" And then, fixing her with the most provoking eyes, "Est-ce la Danemarc?" he cried. She coloured violently, and quite angry with him, called out, "Mr. Turbulent, how can you be such a fool!" And now I found . . . the prince royal of Denmark was in his meaning, and in her understanding! He bowed to the ground, in gratitude for the term "fool," but added with pretended Submission to her will, "Very well, ma'am, s'il ne faut lire que les comédies Danoises." " Do let me go!" cried she, seriously; and then he made way, with a profound bow as she passed, saying, "Very well, ma'am, 'La Coquette,' then? your royal highness chooses 'La Coquette corrigée?'" "Corrigée? That never was done!" cried she, with all her sweet good-humour, the moment she got out - and off she ran, like lightning, to the queen's apartments. What say you to Mr. Turbulent now? For my part, I was greatly surprised. I had not imagined any man, but the king or Prince of Wales, had ever ventured at a badinage of this sort with any of the princesses; nor do I suppose any other man ever did. Mr. Turbulent is so great a favourite with all the royal family that he safely ventures upon whatever he pleases, and doubtless they find, in his courage and his rhodomontading, a novelty extremely amusing to them. MR. TURBULENT MEETS WITH A REBUFF. March--I must now, rather reluctantly I own, come to recite a quarrel, a very serious quarrel, in which I have been involved with my most extraordinary fellow-traveller. One evening at Windsor Miss Planta left the room, while I was Page 29 winding some silk. I was content to stay and finish the skein, though my remaining companion was in a humour too flighty to induce me to continue with him a moment longer. Indeed I had avoided pretty successfully all tête-à-têetes with him since the time when his eccentric genius led to such eccentric conduct in our long conference in the last month. This time, however, when I had done my work, he protested I should stay and chat with him. I pleaded business--letters-- hurry--all in vain: he would listen to nothing, and when I tried to move was so tumultuous in his opposition, that I was obliged to re-seat myself to appease him. A flow of compliments followed, every one of which I liked less and less; but his spirits seemed uncontrollable, and, I suppose, ran away with all that ought to check them. I laughed and rallied as long as I possibly could, and tried to keep him in order, by not seeming to suppose he wanted aid for that purpose: yet still, every time I tried to rise, he stopped me, and uttered at last Such expressions of homage--so like what Shakspeare says of the school-boy, who makes "a sonnet on his mistress' eyebrow," which is always his favourite theme--that I told him his real compliment was all to my temper, in imagining it could brook such mockery. This brought him once more on his knees, with such a volley of asseverations of his sincerity, uttered with such fervour and eloquence, that I really felt uneasy, and used every possible means to get away from him, rallying him however all the time, and disguising the consciousness I felt of my inability to quit him. More and more vehement, however, he grew, till I could be no longer passive, but forcibly rising, protested I would not stay another minute. But you may easily imagine my astonishment and provocation, when, hastily rising himself, he violently seized hold of me, and compelled me to return to my chair, with a force and a freedom that gave me as much surprise as offence. All now became serious. Raillery, good-humour, and even pretended ease and unconcern, were at an end. The positive displeasure I felt I made positively known; and the voice manner, and looks with which I insisted upon an immediate' release were so changed from what he had ever heard or observed in me before, that I saw him quite thunderstruck with the alteration; and all his own violence subsiding, he begged my pardon with the mildest humility. He had made me too angry to grant it, and I only desired Page 30 him to let me instantly go to my room. He ceased all personal opposition, but going to the door, planted himself before it, and said, "Not in wrath! I cannot let you go away in wrath!" "You must, sir," cried I, "for I am in wrath!" He began a thousand apologies, and as many promises of the most submissive behaviour in future; but I stopped them all, with a peremptory declaration that every minute he detained me made me but the more seriously angry. His vehemence now was all changed into strong alarm, and he opened the door, profoundly bowing, but not speaking, as I passed him. I am sure I need not dwell upon the uncomfortable sensations I felt, in a check so rude and violent to the gaiety and entertainment of an acquaintance which had promised me my best amusement during our winter campaigns. I was now to begin upon quite a new system, and instead of encouraging, as hitherto I had done, everything that could lead to vivacity and spirit, I was fain to determine upon the most distant and even forbidding demeanour with the only life of our parties, that he might not again forget himself. This disagreeable conduct I put into immediate practice. I stayed in my own room till I heard every one assembled in the next : I was then obliged to prepare for joining them, but before I opened the door a gentle rap at it made me call out "Who's there?" and Mr. Turbulent looked in. I hastily said I was coming instantly, but he advanced softly into the room, entreating forgiveness at every step. I made no other answer than desiring he would go, and saying I should follow. He went back to the door, and, dropping on one knee, said, "Miss Burney! surely you cannot be seriously angry?-'tis so impossible you should think I meant to offend you!" I said nothing, and did not look near him, but opened the door, from which he retreated to make way for me, rising a little mortified, and exclaiming, "Can you then have such real ill-nature? How little I suspected it in you!" "'Tis you," cried I, as I passed on, "that are ill-natured!" I meant for forcing me into anger; but I left him to make the meaning out, and walked into the next room. He did not immediately follow, and he then appeared so much disconcerted that I saw Miss Planta incessantly eyeing him, to find out what was the matter. I assumed an unconcern I did not Page 31 feel for I was really both provoked and sorry, foreseeing what a breach this folly must make in the comfort of my Windsor expeditions, He sat down a little aloof, and entered into no conversation all the evening; but just as tea was over, the hunt of the next being mentioned he suddenly, asked Miss Planta to request leave for him of the queen to ride out with the party. "I shall not see the queen," cried she; "you had much better ask Miss Burney." This was very awkward. I was in no humour to act for him at this time, nor could he muster courage to desire it; but upon Miss Planta's looking at each of us with some surprise, and repeating her amendment to his proposal, he faintly said, "Would Miss Burney be so good as to take that trouble?" An opportunity offering favourably, I spoke at night to the queen, and she gave leave for his attending the chase. I intended to send this permission to Miss Planta, but I had scarce returned to my own room from her majesty, before a rap at my door was followed by his appearance. He stood quite aloof, looking grave and contrite. I Immediately called out "I have spoken, sir, to the queen, and you have her leave to go." He bowed very profoundly, and thanked me, and was retreating, but came back again, and advancing, assumed an air of less humility, and exclaimed, "Allons donc, Mademoiselle, j'espère que vous n'êtes plus si méchante qu'hier au soir!" I said nothing; he came nearer, and, bowing upon his own hand, held it out for mine, with a look of most respectful Supplication. I had no intention of cutting the matter so short, yet from shame to sustain resentment, I was compelled to hold out a finger: he took it with a look of great gratitude, and very reverently touching the tip of my glove with his lip, instantly let it go, and very solemnly said, "Soyez sûr que je n'ai jamais eu la moindre idée de vous offenser." and then he thanked me again for his licence, and went his way. A SURPRISE AT THE PLAY. I had the pleasure of two or three visits from Mr. Bryant, whose loyal regard for the king and queen makes him eagerly accept every invitation, from the hope of seeing them in my room; and one of the days they both came in to speak to him, and were accompanied by the two eldest princesses, who stood Page 32 chatting with me by the door the whole time, and saying comical things upon royal personages in tragedies, particularly Princess Augusta, who has a great deal of sport in her disposition. She very gravely asserted she thought some of those princes on the stage looked really quite as well as some she knew off it. Once about this time I went to a play myself, which surely I may live long enough and never forget. It was "Seduction," a very clever piece, but containing a dreadful picture of vice and dissipation in high life, written by Mr. Miles Andrews, with an epilogue--O, such an epilogue! I was listening to it with uncommon attention, from a compliment paid in it to Mrs. Montagu, among other female writers; but imagine what became of my attention when I suddenly was struck with these lines, or something like them:-- Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause, Whose every passion yields to Reason's laws." To hear, wholly unprepared and unsuspicious, such lines in a theatre--seated in a royal box--and with the whole royal family and their suite immediately opposite me--was it not a singular circumstance? To describe my embarrassment would be impossible. My whole head was leaning forward, with my opera glass in my hand, examining Miss Farren, who spoke the epilogue. Instantly I shrank back, so astonished and so ashamed of my public situation, that I was almost ready to take to my heels and run, for it seemed as if I were there purposely in that conspicuous place-- "To list attentive to my own applause." The king immediately raised his opera-glass to look at me, laughing heartily--the queen's presently took the same direction--all the princesses looked up, and all the attendants, and all the maids of honour! I protest I was never more at a loss what to do with myself: nobody was in the front row with me but Miss Goldsworthy, who instantly seeing how I was disconcerted, prudently and good-naturedly forbore taking any notice of me. I sat as far back as I could, and kept my fan against the exposed profile for the rest of the night, never once leaning forward, nor using my glass. None of the royal family spoke to me on this matter till a few days after; but I heard from Mrs. Delany they had all declared Page 33 themselves sorry for the confusion it had caused me. And some time after the queen could not forbear saying, "I hope, Miss Burney, YOU minded the epilogue the other night?" And the king, very comically, said, "I took a peep at you!--I could not help that. I wanted to see how you looked when your father first discovered your writing--and now I think I know!" THE KING's BIRTHDAY. St. James's Palace, June 4-Take a little of the humours of this day, with respect to myself, as they have arisen. I quitted my downy pillow at half-past six o'clock, for bad habits in sickness have lost me half an hour of every morning; and then, according to an etiquette I discovered but on Friday night, I was quite new dressed: for I find that, on the king's birthday, and on the queen's, both real and nominal, two new attires, one half, the other full dressed, are expected from all attendants that come into the royal presence. This first labour was happily achieved in such good time, that I was just seated to my breakfast--a delicate bit of roll half-eaten, and a promising dish of tea well stirred--when I received my summons to attend the queen. She was only with her wardrobe-woman, and accepted most graciously a little murmuring congratulation upon the- day, which I ventured to whisper while she looked another way. Fortunately for me, she is always quick in conceiving what is meant, and never wastes time in demanding what is said. She told me she had bespoke Miss Planta to attend at the grand toilette at St. James's, as she saw my strength still diminished by my late illness. Indeed it still is, though in all other respects I am perfectly well. The queen wore a very beautiful dress, of a new manufacture, of worked muslin, thin, fine, and clear, as the chambery gauze. I attended her from the blue closet, in which she dresses, through the rooms that lead to the breakfast apartment. In One of these while she stopped for her hair-dresser to finish her head-dress, the king joined her. She spoke to him in German, and he kissed her hand. The three elder princesses came in soon after: they all went up, with congratulatory smiles and curtsies, to their royal father, who kissed them very affectionately; they then, as usual every Morning, kissed the queen's hand. The door was thrown open Page 34 to the breakfast-room, which is a noble apartment, fitted up with some of Vandyke's best works; and the instant the king, who led the way, entered, I was surprised by a sudden sound of music, and found that a band of musicians were stationed there to welcome him. The princesses followed, but Princess Elizabeth turned round to me to say she could hardly bear the sound: it was the first morning of her coming down to breakfast for many months, as she had had that repast in her own room ever since her dangerous illness. It overcame her, she said, more than the dressing, more than the early rising, more than the whole of the hurry and fatigue of all the rest of a public birthday. She loves the king most tenderly; and there is a something in receiving any person who is loved, by sudden music, that I can easily conceive to be very trying to the nerves. Princess Augusta came back to cheer and counsel her; she begged her to look out at the window, to divert her thoughts, and said she would place her where the sound might be less affecting to her. A lively "How d'ye do, Miss Burney? I hope you are quite well now?" from the sweet Princess Mary, who was entering the ante-room, made me turn from her two charming sisters; she passed on to the breakfast, soon followed by Princess Sophia, and then a train of their governesses, Miss Goldsworthy, Mademoiselle Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme, all in full dress, with fans. We reciprocated little civilities, and I had then the pleasure to see little Princess Amelia, with Mrs. Cheveley, who brought up the rear. Never, in tale or fable, were there six sister princesses more lovely. As I had been extremely distressed upon the queen's birthday, in January, where to go or how to act, and could obtain no information from my coadjutrix, I now resolved to ask for directions from the queen herself; and she readily gave them, in a manner to make this day far more comfortable to me than the last. She bade me dress as fast as I could, and go to St. James', by eleven o'clock; but first come into the room to her. Then followed my grand toilette. The hair-dresser was waiting for me, and he went to work first, and I second, with all our might and main. When my adorning tasks were accomplished, I went to the blue closet. No one was there, I then hesitated whether to go back or seek the queen. I have a dislike insuperable to entering a royal presence, except by an Page 35 immediate Summons: however, the directions I had had prevailed, and I- went into the adjoining apartment. There stood Madame de la Fite! she was talking in a low voice with M. de Luc. They told me the queen was in the next room, and on I went. She was seated at a glass, and the hair-dresser was putting on her jewels, while a clergyman in his canonicals was standing near and talking to her. I imagined him some bishop unknown to me, and stopped; the queen looked round, and called out "it's Miss Burney!--come in, Miss Burney." in I came, curtseying respectfully to a bow from the canonicals, but I found not out till he answered something said by the queen, that it was no other than Mr. Turbulent. Madame de la Fite then presented herself at the door (which was open for air) of the ante-room. The queen bowed to her, and said she would see her presently: she retired, and her majesty, in a significant low voice, said to me, "Do go to her, and keep her there a little!" I obeyed, and being now in no fright nor hurry, entered into conversation with her sociably and comfortably. I then went to St. James's. The queen was most brilliant in attire; and when she was arrayed, Mr. West(233) was allowed to enter the dressing-room, in order to give his opinion of the disposition -of her jewels, which indeed were arranged with great taste and effect. The three princesses, Princess Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth, were all very splendidly decorated, and looked beautiful. They are indeed uncommonly handsome, each in their different Way-the princess royal for figure, the Princess Augusta for countenance, and the Princess Elizabeth for face. THE EQUERRIES: COLONEL MANNERS. Friday, June 8-This day we came to Windsor for the Summer, during which we only go to town for a Drawing-room once a fortnight, and to Kew in the way. Mrs. Schwellenberg remained in town, not well enough to move. The house now was quite full, the king having ordered a party to it for the Whitsun holidays. This party was Colonel page 36 Manners, the equerry in waiting; Colonel Ramsden, a good-humoured and well-bred old officer of the king's household; Colonels Wellbred and Goldsworthy, and General Budé. Colonel Ramsden is gentle and pleasing, but very silent; General Budé is always cheerful, but rises not above a second; Colonel Hotham has a shyness that looks haughty, and therefore distances; Colonel Goldsworthy reserves his sport and humour for particular days and particular favourites; and Colonel Wellbred draws back into himself unless the conversation promises either instruction or quiet pleasure; nor would any one of these, during the whole time, speak at all, but to a next neighbour, nor even then, except when that neighbour suited his fancy. You must not, however, imagine we had no public speakers; M. del Campo harangued aloud to whoever was willing to listen, and Colonel Manners did the same, without even waiting for that proviso. Colonel Manners, however, I must introduce to you by a few specimens: he is so often, in common with all the equerries, to appear on the scene, that I wish you to make a particular acquaintance with him. One evening, when we were all, as usual, assembled, he began a discourse upon the conclusion of his waiting, which finishes with the end of June:--"Now I don't think," cried he, "that it's well managed: here we're all in waiting for three months at a time, and then for nine months there's nothing!" "Cry your mercy!" cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "if three months- -three whole months--are not enough for you, pray take a few more from mine to make up your market!" "No, no, I don't mean that;--but why can't we have our waitings month by month?--would not that be better?" "I think not!--we should then have no time unbroken." "Well, but would not that be better than what it is now? Why, we're here so long, that when one goes away nobody knows one!-- one has quite to make a new acquaintance! Why, when I first come out of waiting, I never know where to find anybody!" The Ascot races were held at this time; the royal family were to be at them one or two of the days. Colonel Manners earnestly pressed Miss Port to be there. Colonel Goldsworthy said it was quite immaterial to him who was there, for when he was attending royalty he never presumed to think of any private comfort. "Well, I don't see that!" cried Colonel Manners,--"for if Page 37 I was you, and not in my turn for waiting, I should go about just as I liked;--but now, as for me, as it happens to be my own turn, Why I think it right to be civil to the king." We all looked round;--but Colonel Goldsworthy broke forth aloud-- "Civil, quotha?" cried he; "Ha! ha! civil, forsooth!--You're mighty condescending!--the first equerry I ever heard talk of his civility to the king!--'Duty,' and 'respect,' and 'humble reverence,'--those are words we are used to,--but here come you with Your civility!----Commend me to such affability!" you see he is not spared; but Colonel Goldsworthy is the wag professed of their community, and privileged to say what he pleases. The other, with the most perfect good-humour, accepted the joke, without dreaming of taking offence at the sarcasm. Another evening the king sent for Colonel Ramsden to play at backgammon. "Happy, happy man!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, exultingly; but scarce had he uttered the words ere he was summoned to follow himself. "What! already!" cried he,--"without even my tea! Why this is worse and worse!--no peace in Israel!--only one half hour allowed for comfort, and now that's swallowed! Well, I must go;--make my complaints aside, and my bows and smiles in full face!" Off he went, but presently, in a great rage, came back, and, while he drank a hot dish of tea which I instantly presented him, kept railing at his stars for ever bringing him under a royal roof. "If it had not been for a puppy," cried he, "I had never got off even to scald my throat in this manner But they've just got a dear little new ugly dog: so one puppy gave Way to t'other, and I just left them to kiss and hug it, while I stole off to drink this tea! But this is too much!---no peace for a moment!-- no peace in Israel!" When this was passed, Colonel Wellbred renewed some of the conversation of the preceding day with me; and, just as he named Dr. Herschel Colonel Manners broke forth with his dissenting opinions. "I don't give up to Dr. Herschel at all," cried he; "he is all system; and so they are all: and if they can but make out their systems, they don't care a pin for anything else. As to Herschel, I liked him well enough till he came to his volcanoes in the moon, and then I gave him up, I saw he was just like the rest. How should he know anything Of the matter? There's no such thing as pretending to measure, at such a distance as that?" Page 38 Colonel Wellbred, to whom I looked for an answer, instead of making any, waited in quiet silence till he had exhausted all he had to say upon the subject, and then, turning to me, made some inquiry about the Terrace, and went on to other general matters. But, some time after, when all were engaged, and this topic seemed quite passed, he calmly began, in general terms, to lament that the wisest and best of people were always so little honoured or understood in their own time, and added that he had no doubt but Sir Isaac Newton had been as much scoffed and laughed at formerly as Herschel was now; but concluded, in return, Herschel, hereafter, would be as highly reverenced as Sir Isaac was at present. . . . We had then some discourse upon dress and fashions. Virtuosos being next named, Colonel Manners inveighed against them quite violently, protesting they all wanted common honour and honesty; and to complete the happy subject, he instanced, in particular, Sir William Hamilton, who, he declared, had absolutely robbed both the king and state of Naples! After this, somebody related that, upon the heat in the air being mentioned to Dr. Heberden, he had answered that he supposed it proceeded from the last eruption in the volcano in the moon: "Ay," cried Colonel Manners, "I suppose he knows as much of the matter as the rest of them: if you put a candle at the end of a telescope, and let him look at it, he'll say, what an eruption there is in the moon! I mean if Dr, Herschel would do it to him; I don't say he would think so from such a person as me." "But Mr. Bryant himself has seen this volcano from the telescope." "Why, I don't mind Mr. Bryant any more than Dr. Heberden: he's just as credulous as t'other." I wanted to ask by what criterion he settled these points in so superior a manner:--but I thought it best to imitate the silence of Colonel Wellbred, who constantly called a new subject, upon every pause, to avoid all argument and discussion while the good-humoured Colonel Manners was just as ready to start forward in the new subject, as he had been in that which had been set aside. One other evening I invited Madame de la Fite: but it did not prove the same thing; they have all a really most undue dislike of her, and shirk her conversation and fly to one another, to discourse on hunting and horses. Page 39 THE DUCHESS DE POLIGNAC AT WINDSOR. The following Sunday, June 17, I was tempted to go on the Terrace, in order to se the celebrated Madame de Polignac,(234) and her daughter, Madame de Guiche. They were to be presented, with the Duke de Polignac, to their majesties, upon the Terrace. Their rank entitled them to this distinction; and the Duchess of Ancaster, to whom they had been extremely courteous abroad, came to Windsor to introduce them. They were accompanied to the Terrace by Mrs. Harcourt and the general 'with whom they were also well acquainted. They went to the place of rendezvous at six o'clock; the royal party followed about seven, and was very brilliant upon the occasion. The king and queen led the way, and the Prince of Wales, who came purposely to honour the interview, appeared at it also, in the king's Windsor uniform. Lady Weymouth was in waiting upon the queen. The Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Charlotte Bertie, and Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, with some other ladies, I think, attended: but the two eldest princesses, to the very great detriment of the scenery, were ill, and remained at home. Princess Elizabeth and Mary were alone in the queen's suite. I went with Miss Port and Mrs. and Miss Heberden. The crowd was so great, it was difficult to move. Their majesties and their train occupied a large space, and their attendants Page 40 had no easy task in keeping them from being incommoded by the pressing of the people. They stopped to converse with these noble travellers for more than an hour. Madame la Duchesse de Polignac is a very well-looking woman, and Madame de Guiche is very pretty. There were other ladies and gentlemen in their party. But I was much amused by their dress, which they meant should be entirely `a l'Angloise--for which purpose they had put on plain undress gowns, with close ordinary black silk bonnets! I am sure they must have been quite confused when they saw the queen and princesses, with their ladies, who were all dressed with uncommon care, and very splendidly. But I was glad, at least, they should all witness, and report, the reconciliation of the king and the Prince of Wales, who frequently spoke together, and were both in good spirits. COLONEL MANNERS' MUSICAL ACCOMPLISHMENTS. Miss Port and myself had, afterwards, an extremely risible evening with Colonels Goldsworthy, Wellbred, and Manners the rest were summoned away to the king, or retired to their own apartments. Colonel Wellbred began the sport, undesignedly, by telling me something new relative to Dr. Herschel's volcanoes. This was enough for Colonel Manners, who declared aloud his utter contempt for such pretended discoveries. He was deaf to all that could be said in answer, and protested he wondered how any man of common sense could ever listen to such a pack of stuff. Mr. de Luc's opinion upon the subject being then mentioned--he exclaimed, very disdainfully, "O, as to Mr. de Luc, he's another man for a system himself, and I'd no more trust him than anybody: if you was only to make a little bonfire, and put it upon a hill a little way off, you might make him take it for a volcano directly!--And Herschel's not a bit better. Those sort of philosophers are the easiest taken in in the world." Our next topic was still more ludicrous. Colonel Manners asked me if I had not heard something, very harmonious at church in the morning? I answered I was too far off, if he meant from himself. "Yes," said he; "I was singing with Colonel Wellbred; and he said he was my second.--How did I do that song?" "Song?--Mercy!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, "a song at church!--why it was the 104th Psalm!" Page 41 "But how did I do it, Wellbred; for I never tried at it before?" "why--pretty well," answered Colonel Wellbred, very composedly; "Only now and then you run me a little into 'God save the king.'" This dryness discomposed every muscle but of Colonel Manners, who replied, with great simplicity, "Why, that's because that's the tune I know best!" "At least," cried I, "'twas a happy mistake to make so near their majesties." "But: pray, now, Colonel Wellbred, tell me sincerely)--could you really make out what I was singing?" "O yes," answered Colonel Wellbred; "with the words." "Well, but pray, now, what do you call my voice?" "Why--a--a--a counter-tenor." "Well, and is that a good voice?" There was no resisting,-even the quiet Colonel Wellbred could not resist laughing out here. But Colonel Manners, quite at his ease, continued his self-discussion. "I do think, now, if I was to have a person to play over a thing to me again and again, and then let me sing it, and stop me every time I was wrong, I do think I should be able to sing 'God save the king' as well as some ladies do, that have always people to show them." "You have a good chance then here," cried I, "of singing some pieces of Handel, for I am sure you hear them again and again!" "Yes, but that is not the thing for though I hear them do it' so often over, they don't stop for me to sing it after them, and then to set me right. Now I'll try if you'll know what this is." He then began humming aloud, "My soul praise," etc., so very horribly, that I really found all decorum at an end, and laughed, with Miss Port, `a qui mieux mieux. Too much engaged to mind this, he very innocently, when he had done, applied to us all round for our opinions. Miss Port begged him to sing another, and asked for that he had spouted the other day, "Care, thou bane of love and joy." He instantly complied; and went on, in such shocking, discordant and unmeaning sounds, that nothing in a farce could be more risible: in defiance however of all interruptions, he Continued till he had finished one stanza; when Colonel Goldsworthy loudly called out,--"There,--there's enough!--have mercy!" Page 42 "Well, then, now I'll try something else." "O, no!" cried Colonel Goldsworthy, hastily, "thank you, thank you for this,-but I won't trouble you for more--I'll not bear another word." Colonel Wellbred then, with an affected seriousness, begged to know, since he took to singing, what he should do for a shake, which was absolutely indispensable. "A shake?" he repeated, "what do you mean?" "Why--a shake with the voice, such as singers make." "Why, how must I do it?" "O, really, I cannot tell you." "Why, then, I'll try myself--is it so?" And he began such a harsh hoarse noise, that Colonel Goldsworthy exclaimed, between every other sound,--"No, no,--no more!" While Colonel Wellbred professed teaching him, and gave such ridiculous lessons and directions,-now to stop short, now to swell,-now to sink the voice, etc., etc., that, between the master and the scholar, we were almost demolished. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S "LUMP OF LEATHER." Tuesday, June 19.-We were scarcely all arranged at tea when Colonel Manners eagerly said, "Pray, Mrs. Schwellenberg, have you lost anything?" "Me?--no, not I "No?--what, nothing?" "Not I!" "Well, then, that's very odd! for I found something that had your name writ upon it." "My name? and where did you find that?" "Why--it was something I found in my bed." "In your bed?--O, very well! that is reelly comeecal?" "And pray what was it?" cried Miss Port. "Why--a great large, clumsy lump of leather." "Of leadder, sir?--of leadder? What was that for me?" "Why, ma'am, it was so big and so heavy, it was as much as I could do to lift it!" "Well, that was nothing from me! when it was so heavy, you might let it alone!" "But, ma'am, Colonel Wellbred said it was somewhat of yours." Page 43 "Of mine?--O, ver well! Colonel Wellbred might not say such thing! I know nothing, Sir, from your leadder, nor from your bed, sir,--not I!" "Well, ma'am, then your maid does. Colonel Wellbred says he supposes it was she." "Upon my vord! Colonel Wellbred might not say such things from my maid! I won't not have it so!" "O yes, ma'am; Colonel Wellbred says she often does SO. He says she's a very gay lady." She was quite too much amazed to speak: one of her maids, Mrs. Arline, is a poor humble thing, that would not venture to jest, I believe, with the kitchen maid, and the other has never before been at Windsor. "But what was it?" cried Miss Port. "Why, I tell you--a great, large lump of leather, with 'Madame Schwellenberg' wrote upon it. However, I've ordered it to be sold." "To be sold? How will you have it sold, Sir? You might tell me that, when you please." "Why, by auction, ma'am." "By auction, Sir? What, when it had my name upon it? Upon my vord!--how come you to do dat, sir? Will you tell me, once?" "Why, I did it for the benefit of my man, ma'am, that he might have the money." "But for what is your man to have it, when it is mine?" "Because, ma'am, it frightened him so." "O, ver well! Do you rob, sir? Do you take what is not your own, but others', sir, because your man is frightened?" "O yes, ma'am! We military men take all we can get!" "What! in the king's house, Sir!" "Why then, ma'am, what business had it in my bed? My room's my castle: nobody has a right there. My bed must be my treasury; and here they put me a thing into it big enough to be a bed itself."---- "O! vell! (much alarmed) it might be my bed-case, then!" (Whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg travels, she carries her bed in a large black leather case, behind her servants' carriage.) " Very likely, ma'am." "Then, sir," very angrily, "how Come you by it?" "Why, I'll tell you, ma'am. I was just going to bed; so MY servant took one candle, and I had the other. I had just had my hair done, and my curls were just rolled up, and he Page 44 was going away; but I turned about, by accident, and I saw a great lump in my bed; so I thought it was my clothes. 'What do you put them there for?' says I. 'Sir,' says he, 'it looks as if there was a drunken man in the bed.' 'A drunken man?' says I; 'Take the poker, then, and knock him on the head!'" "Knock him on the head?" interrupted Mrs. Schwellenberg, "What! when it might be some innocent person? Fie! Colonel Manners. I thought you had been too good-natured for such thing--to poker the people in the king's house!" "Then what business have they to get into my bed, ma'am? So then my man looked nearer, and he said, 'Sir, why, here's your night-cap and here's the pillow!--and here's a great, large lump of leather!' 'Shovel it all out!' says I. 'Sir,' says he, 'It's Madame Schwellenberg's! here's her name on it.' 'Well, then,' says I, 'sell it, to-morrow, to the saddler.'" "What! when you knew it was mine, sir? Upon my vord, you been ver good!" (bowing very low). "Well, ma'am, it's all Colonel Wellbred, I dare say; so, suppose you and I were to take the law of him?" "Not I, sir!" (Scornfully). "Well, but let's write him a letter, then, and frighten him: let's tell him it's sold, and he must make it good. You and I'll do it together." "No, sir; you might do it yourself. I am not so familiar to write to gentlemens." "Why then, you shall only sign it, and I'll frank it." Here the entrance of some new person stopped the discussion. Happy in his success, he began, the next day, a new device: he made an attack in politics, and said, he did not doubt but Mr. Hastings would come to be hanged; though, he assured us, afterwards, he was firmly his friend, and believed no such thing.(236) Even with this not satisfied, he next told her that he had just heard Mr. Burke was in Windsor. Mr. Burke is the name Page 45 in the world most obnoxious, both for his Reform bill,(237) which deeply affected all the household, and for his prosecution of Mr. Hastings; she therefore declaimed against him very warmly. "Should you like to know him, ma'am?" cried he. "Me?--No; not I." "Because, I dare say, ma'am, I have interest enough with him to procure you his acquaintance. Shall I bring him to the Lodge to see you?" "When you please, sir, you might keep him to yourself!" Well, then, he shall come and dine with me,'and after it drink tea with you." "No, no, not I! You might have him all to yourself." "but if he comes, you must make his tea." "There is no such 'must,' sir! I do it for my pleasure--only when I please, sir!" At night, when we were separating, he whispered Miss Port that he had something else in store for the next meeting, when he intended to introduce magnetising. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG's FROGS. July 2.-What a stare was drawn from our new equerry(238) by Major Price's gravely asking Mrs. Schwellenberg, after the health of her frogs? She answered they were very well, and the major said, " You must know, Colonel Gwynn, Mrs. Schwellenberg keeps a pair of frogs," "Of frogs?--pray what do they feed upon?" "Flies, sir," she answered. "And pray, ma'am, what food have they in winter?" "Nothing other." The stare was now still wider. "But I can make them croak when I will," she added, "when I only go so to my snuff-box, knock, knock, knock, they croak all what I please." Page 46 "Very pretty, indeed!" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy. "I thought to have some spawn," she continued; "but then Maria Carlton, what you call Lady Doncaster, came and frightened them; I was never so angry!" "I am sorry for that," cried the major, very seriously, "for else I should have begged a pair." "So you meant, ma'am, to have had a breed of them," cried Colonel Goldsworthy; "a breed of young frogs? Vastly clever, indeed!; Then followed a formal enumeration of their virtues and endearing little qualities, which made all laugh except the new equerry, who sat in perfect amaze. Then, suddenly, she stopped short, and called out, "There! now I have told you all this, you might tell something to me. I have talked enoff; now you might amuse me." July 19.-In the afternoon, while I was working in Mrs. Schwellenberg's room, Mr. Turbulent entered, to summon Miss Planta to the princesses; and, in the little while of executing that simple commission, he made such use of his very ungovernable and extraordinary eyes, that the moment he was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg demanded "for what he looked so at me?" I desired to know what she meant. "Why, like when he was so cordial with you? Been you acquainted?" "O, yes!" cried I, "I spent three hours twice a-week upon the road with him and Miss Planta, all the winter; and three or four dinners and afternoons besides." "O that's nothing! that's no acquaintance at all. I have had people to me, to travel and to dine, fourteen and fifteen years, and yet they been never so cordial!" This was too unanswerable for reply; but it determined me to try at some decided measure for restraining or changing looks and behaviour that excited such comments. And I thought my safest way would be fairly and frankly to tell him this very inquiry. It might put him upon his guard from such foolishness, without any more serious effort. July 20.-This evening Mrs. Schwellenberg was not well, and sent to desire I would receive the gentlemen to tea, and make her apologies. I immediately summoned my lively, and lovely young companion, Miss Port, who hastens at every call with good-humoured delight. Page 47 We had really a pleasant evening, though simply from the absence of spleen and jealousy, which seemed to renew and invigorate the spirits of all present: namely, General Budé, Signor del Campo, and Colonel Gwynn. They all stayed very late but when they made their exit, I dismissed my gay assistant and thought it incumbent on me to show myself upstairs; a reception was awaiting me!--so grim! But, what O heaven! how depressing, how cruel, to be fastened thus on an associate so exigeante, so tyrannical, and so ill-disposed! I feared to blame the equerries for having detained me, as they were already so much out of favour. I only, therefore, mentioned M. del Campo, who, as a foreign minister, might be allowed so much civility as not to be left to himself: for I was openly reproached- that I had not quitted them to hasten to her! Nothing, however, availed; and after vainly trying to appease her, I was obliged to go to my own room, to be in attendance for my royal summons. July 21.-I resolved to be very meek and patient, as I do, now and then, when I am good, and to bear this hard trial of causeless offence without resentment; and, therefore, I went this afternoon as soon as I had dined, and sat and worked, and forced conversation, and did my best, but with very indifferent success; when, most perversely, who should be again announced -but Mr. Turbulent. As I believe the visit was not, just after those "cordial" looks, supposed to be solely for the lady of the apartment, his reception was no better than mine had been the preceding days! He did not, however, regard it, but began a talk, in which he made it his business to involve me, by perpetual reference to my opinion. This did not much conciliate matters; and his rebuffs, from time to time, were so little ceremonious, that nothing but the most confirmed contempt could have kept off an angry resentment. I could sometimes scarcely help laughing at his utterly careless returns to an imperious haughtiness, vainly meant to abash and distance him. I took the earliest moment in my power to quit the room and the reproach with which he looked at my exit, for leaving him to such a tête-à-tête, was quite risible. He knew he could not, in decency, run away immediately, to and he seemed ready to commit some desperate act for having drawn himself into such a difficulty. I am always rejoiced when his flights and follies bring their own punishment. Page 48 MR. TURBULENT'S ANTICS. July 25-Mr. Turbulent amused himself this morning with giving me yet another panic. He was ordered to attend the queen during her hair-dressing, as was Mr. de Luc. I remained in the room the queen conversed with us all three, as occasions arose, with the utmost complacency; but this person, instead of fixing there his sole attention, contrived, by standing behind her chair, and facing me, to address a language of signs to me the whole time, casting up his eyes, clasping ],is hands, and placing himself in various fine attitudes, and all with a humour so burlesque, that it was impossible to take it either ill or seriously. Indeed, when I am on the very point of the most alarmed displeasure with him, he always falls upon some such ridiculous devices of affected homage, that I grow ashamed of my anger, and hurry it over, lest he should perceive it, and attribute it to a misunderstanding he might think ridiculous in his turn. How much should I have been discountenanced had her majesty turned about and perceived him! (230) Colonel Greville, called in the "Diary" "Colonel Wellbred," one of the king's equerries, whom M. de Guiffardiere ("Mr. Turbulent") was particularly anxious to introduce to Miss Burney.-ED. (231) I "The Paston Letters" were first published, from the original manuscripts, in 1787. They were chiefly written by or to members of the Paston family in Norfolk during the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., Richard III., and Henry VII. The letter above alluded to is No. 91 in the collection. It is a letter of good Counsel to his young son, written in a very tender and religious strain, by the Duke of Suffolk, on the 30th of April, 1450, the day on which he quitted England to undergo his five years' banishment. The duke had been impeached of high treason, and condemned to this term of banishment, through the king's interposition, to save him from a worse fate. But his fate was not to be eluded. He set sail on the 30th of April, was taken on the sea by his enemies, and beheaded on the 2nd of May following.-ED. (232) Miss Burney had obtained the tacit consent of the queen that M. de Guiffardiere should travel occasionally with the equerries, instead of taking his usual place in the coach assigned to the keepers of the robes. Her real motive in making the application had been a desire to see less of this boisterous gentleman, but she had put it upon his attachment to Colonel Greville-ED. (233) Benjamin -west, R.A., who succeeded Reynolds as President of the Royal Academy, on the death of the latter in 1792. This mediocre painter was a prodigious favourite with George III., for whom many of his works were executed.-ED. (234) The Duchess Jules de Polignac, the celebrated favourite of Marie Antoinette. She and her husband, who had been raised by the queen from a condition of positive poverty, were hated in France, both as Court favourites, and on account of the wealth which, it was believed, they had taken advantage of their position to amass. "Mille 6cus," cried Mirabeau, "A la famille d'Assas pour avoir sauv6 l'etat; un million a la famille Polignac pour l'avoir perdu!" The ostensible object of the duches,'s visit to England was to drink the Bath Waters, but there are good grounds for believing that her real purpose was to make an arrangement with M. de la Motte for the suppression of some scurrilous Memoirs which it was rumoured his wife had written, and in which, among other things, Marie Antoinette was accused of being the principal culprit in the notorious Diamond Necldace fraud. M. de la Motte states in his autobiography that he met the Duchess Jules and her Sister-in-law, the Countess Diane, at the Duchess of Devonshire's (the beautiful Georgiana), at the request of the latter, when certain overtures were made to him, and trustworthy authorities assert that a large sum of money was afterwards paid to the De la Mottes, to suppress the Memoirs which were however eventually published. When the French Revolution broke out the Polignacs were among the first to emigrate. The duchess died at Vienna in December, 1793, a few months after Marie Antoinette had perished on the scaffold.-ED. (235) Mrs. Schwellenberg had returned to Windsor the day before.-ED. (236) The storm had been gathering round Hastings ever since his return to England in June, 1785, within a week of which Burke had given notice in the House of Commons of a motion affecting the conduct of the late Governor-General in India. His impeachment was voted in May, 1787, and preparations for his trial were now going actively forward. We shall find hereafter, in the Diary, some sketches, from Fanny's point of view, of scenes in this famous trial, which commenced in February, 1788.-ED. (237) This was an old grievance. In 1780 Burke had introduced a hill "for the better regulation of his majesty's civil establishments, and of certain public offices; for the limitation of pensions, and the suppression of sundry useless, expensive and inconvenient places; and for applying the monies saved thereby to the public service." The bill was defeated at the time, but was re-introduced with certain alterations, and finally passed both houses by a large majority in 1782.-ED. (238) Colonel Gwynn who had just arrived at Windsor to succeed Colonel Manners in the office of equerry in waiting to the King. Colonel Gwynn was the husband of Mary Horneck, Goldsmith's "Jessamy Bride."-ED. Page 49 SECTION 11. (1787-8.) COURT DUTIES: SOME VARIATIONS IN THEIR ROUTINE. MEETING OF THE TWO PRINCES. To-day, after a seven years' absence, arrived the Duke of York. I saw him alight from his carriage, with an eagerness, a vivacity, that assured me of the affectionate joy with which he returned to his country and family. But the joy of his excellent father!-O, that there is no describing It was the glee of the first youth--nay, of ai ardent and innocent infancy,--so pure it seemed, so warm, so open, so unmixed! Softer joy was the queen's--mild, equal, and touching while all the princesses were in one universal rapture. To have the pleasure of seeing the royal family in this happy assemblage, I accompanied Miss Port on the Terrace. It was indeed an affecting sight to view the general content; but that of the king went to my very heart, so delighted he looked-so proud Of his son--so benevolently pleased that every one should witness his satisfaction. The Terrace was very full; all Windsor and its neighbourhood poured in upon it, to see the prince whose whole demeanour seemed promising to merit his flattering reception--gay yet grateful--modest, yet unembarrassed...... Early the next morning arrived the Prince of Wales, who had travelled all night from Brighthelmstone. The day was a day Of complete happiness to the whole of the royal family; the king was in one transport of delight, unceasing, invariable; Page 50 and though the newly-arrived duke was its source and Support the kindness of his heart extended and expanded to his eldest' born, whom he seemed ready again to take to his paternal breast; indeed, the whole world seemed endeared to him by the happiness he now felt in it. Sunday, Aug. 5.-General Grenville brought in the duke this evening to the tea-room. I was very much pleased with his behaviour, which was modest, dignified, and easy. Might he but escape the contagion of surrounding examples, he seems promising of all his fond father expects and merits. . . . Kew, Aug. 7-The next day the now happy family had the delight of again seeing the two princes in its circle. They dined here; and the Princess Augusta, who came to Mrs. Schwellenberg's room in the evening, on a message, said, "There never had been so happy a dinner since the world was created," The king, In the evening, again drove out the queen and princesses. The Prince of Wales, seeing Mr. Smelt in our room (which, at Kew, is in the front of the house, as well as at Windsor), said he would come in and ask him how he did. Accordingly, in he came, and talked to Mr. Smelt for about a quarter of an hour; his subjects almost wholly his horses and his rides. He gave some account of his expedition to town to meet his brother. He was just preparing, at Brighton, to give a supper entertainment to Madame La Princesse de Lamballe,--when he perceived his courier. "I dare say," he cried, "my brother's come!" set off instantly to excuse himself to the princess, and arrived at Windsor by the time of early prayers, at eight o'clock the next morning. "To-day, again," he said, "I resolved to be in town to meet my brother; we determined to dine somewhere together, but had not settled where; so hither we came. When I went last to Brighton, I rode one hundred and thirty miles, and then danced at the ball,. I am going back directly; but I shall ride to Windsor again for the birthday, and shall stay there till my brother's, and then back on Friday. We are going now over the way: my brother wants to see the old mansion." The Prince of Wales's house is exactly opposite to the Lodge The duke then came in, and bowed to every one present, very attentively; and presently after, they went over the way, arm in arm; and thence returned to town. I had a long and painful discourse afterwards with Mr. Smelt, deeply interested in these young princes , upon the many dangers awaiting the newly-arrived, who seemed alike Page 51 unfitted and unsuspicious for encountering them. Mr. Smelt's heart ached as if he had been their parent, and the regard springing from his early and long care of them seemed all revived in his hopes and fears of what might ensue from this reunion. I rejoiced at the public reconciliation with the Prince of Wales, which had taken place during my illness, and which gave the greater reason for hope that there might not now be a division! BUNBURY, THE CARICATURIST. Windsor, Aug. 14.-General Budé came in, with two strangers, whom he introduced to us by the names of Bunbury and Crawfurd. I was very curious to know if this was the Bunbury;(239) and I conjectured it could be no other. When Colonel Gwynn joined us, he proposed anew the introduction; but nothing passed to ascertain my surmise. The conversation was general And good-humoured, but without anything striking, or bespeaking character or genius. Almost the whole consisted of inquiries what to do, whither to go, and how to proceed; which, though natural and sensible for a new man, were undistinguished by any humour, or keenness of expression or manner. Mr. Crawfurd spoke not a word. He is a very handsome young man, just appointed equerry to the Duke of York. I whispered my inquiry to Colonel Gwynn as soon as I found an opportunity, and heard, "Yes,--'tis Harry Bunbury, sure enough!" So now we may all be caricatured at his leisure! He is made another of the equerries to the Duke. A man with such a turn, and with talents so inimitable in displaying it, was rather a dangerous character to be brought within a Court! Aug. 15.-My sole conversation this evening was with Mr. Bunbury, who drew a chair next mine, and chatted incessantly, with great good humour, and an avidity to discuss the subjects he started, which were all concerning plays and Players. Presently the voice of the Duke of York was heard, calling aloud for Colonel Goldsworthy. Off he ran. Mr. Bunbury laughed, but declared he would not take the hint: "What," cried he, "if I lose the beginning?(240)--I think I know it pretty Page 52 well by heart'-'Why did I marry' '"--And then he began to spout, and act, and rattle away, with all his might,-till the same voice called out "Bunbury !--you'll be too late!"--And off he flew, leaving his tea untasted--so eager had he been in discourse. MRS. SIDDONS PROVES DISAPPOINTING ON NEAR ACQUAINTANCE. Wednesday, Aug. 15.-Mrs. Schwellenberg's illness occasioned my attending the queen alone; and when my official business was ended, she graciously detained me, to read to me a new paper called "Olla Podrida," which is now Publishing periodically. Nothing very bright--nothing very deficient. In the afternoon, while I was drinking coffee with Mrs. Schwellenberg,--or, rather, looking at it, since I rarely, swallow any,--her majesty came Into the room, and soon after a little German discourse with Mrs. Schwellenberg told me Mrs. Siddons had been ordered to the Lodge, to read a play, and desired I would receive her in my room I felt a little queer in the office ; I had only seen her twice or thrice, in large assemblies, at Miss Monckton's, and at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and never had been introduced to her, nor spoken with her. However, in this dead and tame life I now lead, such an interview was by no means undesirable. I had just got to the bottom of the stairs, when she entered the passage gallery. I took her into the tea-room, and endeavoured to make amends for former distance and taciturnity, by an open and cheerful reception. I had heard from sundry people (in old days) that she wished to make the acquaintance; but I thought it then one of too conspicuous a sort for the quietness I had so much difficulty to preserve in my ever increasing connections. Here all was changed; I received her by the queen's commands, and was perfectly well inclined to reap some pleasure from the meeting. But, now that we came so near, I was much disappointed in my expectations. I know not if my dear Fredy has met with her in private, but I fancy approximation is not highly in her favour. I found her the heroine of a tragedy,--sublime, elevated, and solemn. In face and person truly noble and commanding; in manners quiet and stiff; in voice deep and dragging; and in conversation, formal, sententious, calm, and Page 53 dry. I expected her to have been all that is interesting; the delicacy and sweetness with which she seizes every opportunity to strike and to captivate upon the stage had persuaded me that her mind was formed with that peculiar susceptibility which, in different modes, must give equal powers to attract and to delight in common life. But I was very much mistaken. As a stranger I must have admired her noble appearance and beautiful countenance, and have regretted that nothing in her conversation kept pace with their promise and, as a celebrated actress I had still only to do the same. Whether fame and success have spoiled her, or whether she only possesses the skill of representing and embellishing materials with which she is furnished by others, I know not but still I remain disappointed. She was scarcely seated, and a little general discourse begun, before she told me--at once--that "There was no part she had ever so much wished to act as that of Cecilia." I made some little acknowledgment, and hurried to ask when she had seen Sir Joshua Reynolds, Miss Palmer, and others with whom I knew her acquainted. The play she was to read was "The Provoked Husband." She appeared neither alarmed nor elated by her summons, but calmly to look upon it as a thing of course, from her celebrity. I should very much have liked to have heard her read the play, but my dearest Mrs. Delany spent the whole evening with me, and I could therefore take no measures for finding out a convenient adjoining room. Mrs. Schwellenberg, I heard afterwards, was so accommodated, though not well enough for the tea-table. MR. FAIRLY'S BEREAVEMENT. Aug. 23.-At St. James's I read in the newspapers a paragraph that touched me much for the very amiable Mr. Fairly: it was the death of his wife, which happened on the Duke of York's birth-day, the 16th.(242) Mr. Fairly has devoted his whole time, strength, thoughts, and cares solely to nursing and attending her during a long and most painful illness which she sustained. They speak of her here as being amiable, but so Page 54 cold and reserved, that she was little known, and by no means in equal favour with her husband, who stands, upon the whole the highest in general esteem and regard of any individual of the household. I find every mouth open to praise and pity, love and honour him. TROUBLESOME MR. TURBULENT. Upon returning to Kew, I had a scene for which I was little enough, indeed, prepared, though willing, and indeed, earnest to satisfy Mr. Turbulent, I wished him to make an alteration of behaviour. After hastily changing my dress, I went, as usual, to the parlour, to be ready for dinner; but found there no Mrs. Schwellenberg; she was again unwell; Miss Planta was not ready, and Mr. Turbulent was reading by himself. Away he flung his book in a moment, and hastening to shut the door lest I should retreat, he rather charged than desired me to explain my late "chilling demeanour." Almost startled by his apparent entire ignorance of deserving it, I found an awkwardness I had not foreseen in making myself understood. I wished him rather to feel than be told the improprieties I meant to obviate - and I did what was possible by half evasive, half expressive answers, to call back his own recollection and consciousness. In vain, however, was the attempt; he protested himself wholly innocent, and that he would rather make an end of his existence than give me offence. He saw not these very protestations were again doing it, and he grew so vehement in his defence, and so reproachful in his accusation of unjust usage, that I was soon totally in a perplexity how to extricate myself from a difficulty I had regarded simply as his own. The moment he saw I grew embarrassed, he redoubled his challenges to know the cause of my "ill-treatment." I assured him, then, I could never reckon silence ill-treatment. "Yes," he cried, "yes, from you it is ill-treatment, and it has given me the most serious uneasiness." "I am sorry," I said, "for that, and did not mean it." "Not mean it?" cried be. "Could you imagine I should miss your conversation, your ease, your pleasantness, your gaiety, and take no notice of the loss?" Then followed a most violent flow of compliments, ending with a fresh demand for an explanation, made with an energy Page 55 that, to own the truth, once more quite frightened me. I endeavoured to appease him, by general promises of becoming more voluble - and I quite languished to say to him the truth at once; that his sport, his spirit, and his society would all be acceptable to me, would he but divest them of that redundance of -gallantry which rendered them offensive : but I could only think how to say this--I could not bring it out. This promised volubility, though it softened him, he seemed to receive as a sort of acknowledgment that I owed him some reparation for the disturbance I had caused him. I stared enough at such an interpretation, which I could by no means allow; but no sooner did I disclaim it than all his violence was resumed, and he urged me to give in my charge against him with an impetuosity that almost made me tremble. I made as little answer as possible, finding everything I said seemed but the more to inflame his violent spirit; but his emotion was such, and the cause so inadequate, and my uncertainty so unpleasant what to think of him altogether, that I was seized with sensations so nervous, I Could almost have cried. In the full torrent of his offended justification against my displeasure towards him, he perceived my increasing distress how to proceed, and, suddenly stopping, exclaimed in quite another tone, "Now, then, ma'am, I see your justice returning; you feel that you have used me very ill!" To my great relief entered Miss Planta. He contrived to say, "Remember, you promise to explain all this." I made him no sort of answer, and though he frequently, in the course of the evening, repeated, "I depend upon your promise! I build upon a conference," I sent his dependence and his building to Coventry, by not seeming to hear him. I determined, however, to avoid all tête-à-têtes with him whatsoever, as much as was in my power. How very few people are fit for them, nobody living in trios and quartettos can imagine! A CONCEITED PARSON. Windsor.-Who should find me out now but Dr. Shepherd.(243) He is here as canon, and was in residence. He told me he had long wished to come, but had never been able to find the Page 56 way of entrance before. He made me an immense length of visit, and related to me all the exploits of his life,-so far as they were prosperous. In no farce did a man ever more floridly open upon his own perfections. He assured me I should be delighted to know the whole of his life; it was equal to anything; and everything he had was got by his own address and ingenuity. "I could tell the king," cried he, "more than all the chapter. I want to talk to him, but he always gets out of my way; he does not know me; he takes me for a mere common person, like the rest of the canons here, and thinks of me no more than if I were only fit for the cassock;--a mere Scotch priest! Bless 'em!--they know nothing about me. You have no conception what things I have done! And I want to tell 'em all this;--It's fitter for them to hear than what comes to their ears. What I want is for somebody to tell them what I am." They know it already, thought I. Then, when he had exhausted this general panegyric, he descended to some few particulars; especially dilating upon his preaching, and applying to me for attesting its excellence. "I shall make one sermon every year, precisely for you!" he cried; "I think I know what will please you. That on the creation last Sunday was just to your taste. You shall have such another next residence. I think I preach in the right tone--not too slow, like that poor wretch Grape, nor too fast like Davis and the rest of 'em; but yet fast enough never to tire them. That's just my idea of good preaching." Then he told me what excellent apartments he had here and how much he should like my opinion in fitting them up. MR. TURBULENT BECOMES A NUISANCE. Aug.30.-Mrs. Schwellenberg invited Mr. Turbulent to dinner, for she said he had a large correspondence, and might amuse her. He came early; and finding nobody in the eating-parlour, begged to wait in mine till Mrs. Schwellenberg came downstairs. This was the last thing I wished; but he required no answer, and instantly resumed the Kew discussion, entreating me to tell him what he had done. I desired him to desist--in vain, he affirmed I had promised him an explanation, and he had therefore a right to it. "You fully mistook me, then," cried I, "for I meant no Page 57 such thing then; I mean no such thing now; and I never shall mean any such thing in future. Is this explicit? I think it best to tell you so at once, that you may expect nothing more, but give over the subject, and talk of something else. What is the news?" "I'll talk of nothing else!--it distracts me;--pray No, no, tell Me!--I call upon your good-nature!" "I have none--about this! " "Upon your goodness of heart!" "'Tis all hardness here!" "I will cast myself at your feet,--I will kneel to you!" And he was preparing his immense person for prostration, when Goter(244) opened the door. Such an interruption to his heroics made me laugh heartily; nor could he help joining himself; though the moment she was gone he renewed his importunity with unabated earnestness. "I remember," he cried, "it was upon the Terrace you first shewed me this disdain; and there, too, you have shown it me repeatedly since, with public superciliousness. . . . You well know you have treated me ill,--you know and have acknowledged it!" "And when?" cried I, amazed and provoked; "when did I do what could never be done?" "At Kew, ma'am, you were full of concern--full of remorse for the treatment you had given me!--and you owned it!" "Good heaven, Mr. Turbulent, what can induce you to say this?" "Is it not true?" "Not a word of it! You know it is not!" "Indeed," cried he, "I really and truly thought so--hoped so;--I believed you looked as if you felt your own ill-usage,- and it gave to me a delight inexpressible!" This was almost enough to bring back the very same supercilious Distance of which he complained; but, in dread of fresh explanations, I forbore to notice this flight, and only told him he might be perfectly satisfied, since I no longer Persevered in the taciturnity to which he objected. "But how," cried he, "do you give up, without deigning to assign one reason for It"? "The greater the compliment!" cried I, laughing; "I give up to your request." "Yes, ma'am, upon my speaking,-but why did you keep Me so long in that painful suspense?" Page 58 "Nay," cried I, "could I well be quicker? Till you spoke could I know if you heeded it?" "Ah, ma'am--is there no language but of words? Do you pretend to think there is no other?'--Must I teach it you,,--teach it to Miss Burney who speaks, who understands it so well?--who is never silent, and never can b silent?" And then came his heroic old homage to the poor eyebrows vehemently finishing with, "Do you, can you affect to know no language but speech?" " Not," cried I, coolly, " without the trouble of more investigation than I had taken here." He called this "contempt," and, exceedingly irritated, de sired me, once more, to explain, from beginning to end, how he had ever offended me. "Mr. Turbulent," cried I, "will you be satisfied if I tell you it shall all blow over?" "Make me a vow, then, you will never more, never while you live, resume that proud taciturnity." "No, no,--certainly not; I never make vows; it is a rule with me to avoid them." "Give me, then, your promise,--your solemn promise,--at least I may claim that?" "I have the same peculiarity about promises; I never make them." He was again beginning to storm, but again I assured him I would let the acquaintance take its old course, if he would but be appeased, and say no more; and, after difficulties innumerable, he at length gave up the point: but to this he was hastened, if not driven, by a summons to dinner. DR. HERSCHEL AND HIS SISTER. Sept.-Dr. Herschel is a delightful man; so unassuming with his great knowledge, so willing to dispense it to the ignorant, and so cheerful and easy in his general manners, that were he no genius it would be impossible not to remark him as a pleasing and sensible man. I was equally pleased with his sister, whom I had wished to see very much, for her great celebrity in her brother's science. She is very little, very gentle, very modest, and very ingenious; and her manners are those of a person unhackneyed and unawed by the world, yet desirous to meet Page 59 and to return its smiles. I love not the philosophy that braves it. This brother and sister seem gratified with its favour, at the same time that their own pursuit is all-sufficient to them without it. I inquired of Miss Herschel if she was still comet-hunting, or content now with the moon? The brother answered that he had the charge of the moon, but he left to his sister to sweep the heavens for comets. Their manner of working together is most ingenious and curious. While he makes his observations without-doors, he has a method of communicating them to his sister so immediately, that she can instantly commit them to paper, with the precise moment in which they are made. By this means he loses not a minute, when there is anything particularly worth observing, by writing it down, but can still proceed, yet still have his accounts and calculations exact. The methods he has contrived to facilitate this commerce I have not the terms to explain, though his simple manner of showing them made me, fully, at the time, comprehend them. The night, unfortunately, was dark, and I could not see the moon with the famous new telescope. I mean not the great telescope through which I had taken a walk, for that is still incomplete, but another of uncommon powers. I saw Saturn, however, and his satellites, very distinctly, and their appearance was very beautiful. GAY AND ENTERTAINING MR. BUNBURY. Sept.-I saw a great deal of Mr. Bunbury in the course of this month, as he was in waiting upon the Duke of York, who spent great part of it at Windsor, to the inexpressible delight of his almost idolising father. Mr. Bunbury did not open upon me with that mildness and urbanity that might lead me to forget the strokes of his pencil, and power of his caricature: he early avowed a general disposition to laugh at, censure, or despise all around him. He began talking of everybody and everything about us, with the decisive freedom of a confirmed old intimacy. "I am in disgrace here, already!" he cried almost exultingly. "In disgrace?" I repeated. "Yes,--for not riding out this morning!--I was asked--what Could I have better to do?--Ha! ha!" The next time that I saw him after your departure from Page 60 Windsor,(245) he talked a great deal of painting and painters, and then said, "The draftsman of whom I think the most highly of any in the world was in this room the other day, and I did not know it, and was not introduced to him!" I immediately assured him I never held the honours of the room when its right mistress was in it, but that I would certainly have named them to each other had I known he desired it. "O, yes,"' cried he, "of all things I wished to know him. He draws like the old masters. I have seen fragments in the style of many of the very best and first productions of the greatest artists of former times. He could deceive the most critical judge. I wish greatly for a sight of his works, and for the possession of one of them, to add to my collection, as I have something from almost everybody else and a small sketch of his I should esteem a greater curiosity than all the rest put together."(246) Moved by the justness of' this praise, I fetched him the sweet little cadeaux so lately left me by Mr. William's kindness. He was very much pleased, and perhaps thought I might bestow them. O, no--not one stroke of that pencil could I relinquish! Another evening he gave us the history, of his way of life at Brighthelmstone. He spoke highly of the duke, but with much satire of all else, and that incautiously, and evidently with an innate defiance of consequences, from a consciousness of secret powers to overawe their hurting him. Notwithstanding the general reverence I pay to extraordinary talents, which lead me to think it even a species of impertinence to dwell upon small failings in their rare possessors, Mr. Bunbury did not gain my good-will. His serious manner is supercilious and haughty, and his easy conversation wants rectitude in its principles. For the rest, he is entertaining and gay, full of talk, sociable, willing to enjoy what is going forward, and ready to speak his opinion with perfect unreserve. Plays and players seem his darling theme; he can rave about them from morning to night, and yet be ready to rave again when morning returns, He acts as he talks, spouts as Page 61 he recollects, and seems to give his whole soul to dramatic feeling and expression. This is not, however, his only subject Love and romance are equally clear to his discourse, though they cannot be introduced with equal frequency. Upon these topics he loses himself wholly--he runs into rhapsodies that discredit him at once as a father, a husband, and a moral man. He asserts that love Is the first principle of life, and should take place of every other; holds all bonds and obligations as nugatory that would claim a preference; and advances such doctrines of exalted sensations in the tender passion as made me tremble while I heard them. He adores Werter, and would scarce believe I had not read it- -still less that I had begun It and left it off, from distaste at its evident tendency. I saw myself sink instantly in his estimation, though till this little avowal I had appeared to Stand in it very honourably. THE PRINCE OF WALES AT WINDSOR AGAIN. One evening, while I was sitting with Mrs. Delany, and her fair niece, when tea was over, and the gentlemen all withdrawn, the door was Opened, and a star entered, that I perceived presently to be the Prince of Wales. He was here to hunt with his royal father and brother. With great politeness he made me his first bow, and then advancing to Mrs. Delany, insisted, very considerately, on her sitting still, though he stood himself for half an hour--all the time he stayed. He entered into discourse very good-humouredly, and with much vivacity; described to her his villa at Brighthelmstone, told several anecdotes of adventures there, and seemed desirous to entertain both her and myself . . . . . NOV. 8.-At near one o'clock in the morning, while the wardrobe woman was pinning up the queen's hair, there was a sudden rap-tap at the dressing-room door. Extremely surprised, I looked at the queen, to see what should be done; she did not speak. I had never heard such a sound before, for at the royal doors there Is always a peculiar kind of scratch used, instead of tapping. I heard it, however, again,--and the queen called out, "What is that?" I Was really startled, not conceiving who could take so strange a liberty as to come to the queen's apartment without the announcing of a page - and no page, I was very sure, would make such a noise. Page 62 Again the sound was repeated, and more smartly. I grew quite alarmed, imagining some serious evil at hand--either regarding the king or some of the princesses. The queen, however, bid me open the door. I did--but what was MY surprise to see there a large man, in an immense wrapping great coat, buttoned up round his chin, so that he was almost hid between cape and hat! I stood quite motionless for a moment--but he, as if also surprised, drew back; I felt quite sick with sudden terror--I really thought some ruffian had broke into the house, or a madman. "Who is it?" cried the queen. "I do not know, ma'am," I answered. "Who is it?" she called aloud; and then, taking off his hat, entered the Prince of Wales! The queen laughed very much, so did I too, happy in this unexpected explanation. He told her, eagerly, he merely came to inform her there were the most beautiful northern lights to be seen that could possibly be imagined, and begged her to come to the gallery windows. FALSE RUMOURS OF Miss BURNEY'S RESIGNATION. Wednesday, Sept. 14--We went to town for the drawing-room, and I caught a most severe cold, by being oblige to have the glass down on my side, to suit Mrs. Schwellenberg, though the sharpest wind blew in that ever attacked a poor phiz. However, these are the sort of desagremens I can always best bear; and for the rest, I have now pretty constant civility. My dear father drank tea with me - but told me of a paragraph in "The World," that gave me some uneasiness; to this effect:--"We hear that Miss Burney has resigned her place about the queen, and is now promoted to attend the princesses, an office far more suited to her character and abilities, which will now be called forth as they merit."--Or to that purpose. As "The World" is not taken in here, I flattered myself it would not be known; for I knew how little pleasure such a paragraph would give, and was very sorry for it. The next day, at St. James's, Miss Planta desired to speak to me, before the queen arrived. She acquainted me Of the same "news," and said, "Everybody spoke of it;" and the queen might receive twenty letters of recommend, to Page 63 my place before night. Still I could only be sorry. Another paragraph had now appeared, she told me, contradicting the first, and saying, "The resignation of Miss Burney is premature; it only arose from an idea of the service the education of the princesses might reap from her virtues and accomplishments." I was really concerned - conscious how little gratified my royal mistress would be by the whole :-and, presently, Miss Planta came to me again, and told me that the princesses had mentioned it! They never read any newspapers; but they had heard of it from the Duke of York. I observed the queen was most particularly gracious with me, softer, gentler, more complacent than ever; and, while dressing, she dismissed her wardrobe-woman, and, looking at me very steadfastly, said, "Miss Burney, do you ever read newspapers?" "Sometimes," I answered, "but not often: however. I believe I know what your majesty means!" I could say no less; I was so sure of her meaning. "Do you?" she cried. "Yes, ma'am, and I have been very much hurt by it: that is, if your majesty means anything relative to myself?" "I do!" she answered, still looking at me with earnestness. "My father, ma'am," cried I, "told me of it last night, with a good deal of indignation." "I," cried she, "did not see it myself: you know how little I read the newspapers." "Indeed," cried I, "as it was in a paper not taken in here, I hoped it would quite have escaped your majesty." ".So it did: I only heard of it." I looked a little curious, and she kindly explained herself. "When the Duke of York came yesterday to dinner, he said almost immediately, 'Pray, ma'am, what has Miss Burney left You for?' 'Left me?' 'Yes, they say she's gone; pray what's the reason?' 'Gone?' 'Yes, it's at full length in all the newspapers: is not she gone?' 'Not that I know of.'" "All the newspapers" was undoubtedly a little flourish of the duke; but we jointly censured and lamented the unbridled liberty of the press, in thus inventing, contradicting, and bringing on and putting off, whatever they pleased. I saw, however, she had really been staggered: she concluded, I fancy, that the paragraph arose from some latent Muse, which might end in matter of fact; for she talked to me of Mrs. Dickenson, and of all that related to her retreat, and Page 64 dwelt upon the subject with a sort of solicitude that seemed apprehensive--if I may here use such a word-of a similar action. It appeared to me that she rather expected some further assurance on my part that no such view or intention had given rise to this pretended report; and therefore, when I had again the honour of her conversation alone, I renewed the subject, and mentioned that my father had had some thoughts of contradicting the paragraph himself. "And has he done it ? " cried she quite eagerly. "No, ma'am; for, upon further consideration, he feared it might only excite fresh paragraphs, and that the whole would sooner die, if neglected." "So," said she, "I have been told; for, some years ago, there was a paragraph in the papers I wanted myself to have had contradicted, but they acquainted me it was best to be patient, and it would be forgot the sooner." "This, however, ma'am, has been contradicted this morning." "By your father?" cried she, again speaking eagerly. "No, ma'am; I know not by whom." She then asked how it was done. This was very distressing but I was forced to repeat It as well as I could, reddening enough, though omitting, you may believe, the worst. just then there happened an interruption; which was vexatious, as it prevented a concluding speech, disclaiming all thoughts of resignation, which I saw was really now become necessary for the queen's satisfaction; and since it was true--why not say it? And, accordingly, the next day, when she was most excessively kind to me, I seized an opportunity, by attending her through the apartments to the breakfast-room, to beg, permission to speak to her. It was smilingly granted me. "I have now, ma'am, read both the paragraphs." "Well?" with a look of much curiosity. "And indeed I thought them both very impertinent. They say that the idea arose from a notion of my being promoted to a place about the princesses!" "I have not seen either of the paragraphs," she answered, "but the Prince of Wales told me of the second yesterday." "They little know me, ma'am," I cried, "who think I should regard any other place as a promotion that removed me from your majesty." Page 65 "I did not take it ill, I assure you," cried she, gently. "Indeed, ma'am, I am far from having a wish for any such promotion--far from it! your majesty does not bestow a smile upon me that does not secure and confirm my attachment." one of her best smiles followed this, with a very condescending little bow, and the words, "You are very good," uttered in a most gentle Voice; and she went on to her breakfast. I am most glad this complete explanation passed. Indeed it is most true I would not willingly quit a place about the queen for any place; and I was glad to mark that her smiles were to me the whole estimate of its value. This little matter has proved, in the end, very gratifying to me for it has made clear beyond all doubt her desire of retaining me, and a considerably increased degree of attention and complacency have most flatteringly shown a wish I should be retained by attachment. TYRANNICAL MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Nov. 27-I had a terrible journey indeed to town, Mrs. Schwellenberg finding it expedient to have the glass down on my side, whence there blew in a sharp wind, which so painfully attacked my eyes that they were inflamed even before we -arrived in town. Mr. de Luc and Miss Planta both looked uneasy, but no one durst speak; and for me, it was among the evils that I can always best bear yet before the evening I grew so ill that I could not propose going to Chelsea, lest I should be utterly unfitted for Thursday's drawing-room. The next day, however, I received a consolation that has been some ease to my mind ever since. My dear father spent the evening with me, and was so incensed at the state of my eyes, which were now as piteous to behold as to feel, and at the relation of their usage, that he charged me, another time, to draw up my 'glass in defiance of all opposition, and to abide by all consequences, since my place was wholly immaterial when put in competition with my health. I was truly glad of this permission to rebel, and it has given Me an internal hardiness in all similar assaults, that has at least relieved my mind from the terror of giving mortal offence where most I owe implicit obedience, should provocation overpower my capacity of forbearance. When we assembled to return to Windsor, Mr. de Luc was Page 66 in real consternation at sight of my eyes; and I saw an indignant glance at my coadjutrix, that could scarce content itself without being understood. Miss Planta ventured not at such a glance, but a whisper broke out, as we were descending the stairs, expressive of horror against the same poor person--poor person indeed--to exercise a power productive only of abhorrence, to those who view as well as to those who feel it! Some business of Mrs. Schwellenberg's occasioned a delay of the journey, and we all retreated back; and when I returned to my room, Miller, the old head housemaid, came to me, with a little neat tin saucepan in her hand, saying, "Pray, ma'am, use this for your eyes; 'tis milk and butter, much as I used to make for Madame Haggerdorn when she travelled in the winter with Mrs. Schwellenberg." Good heaven! I really shuddered when she added, that all that poor woman's misfortunes with her eyes, which, from inflammation after inflammation, grew nearly blind, were attributed by herself to these journeys, in which she was forced to have the glass down at her side in all weathers, and frequently the glasses behind her also! Upo n my word this account of my predecessor was the least exhilarating intelligence I could receive! Goter told me, afterwards, that all the servants in the house had remarked I was going just the same way! Miss Planta presently ran into my room, to say she had hopes we should travel without this amiable being; and she had left me but a moment when Mrs. Stainforth succeeded her, exclaiming, "O, for heaven's sake, don't leave her behind; for heaven's sake, Miss Burney, take her with you!" 'Twas impossible not to laugh at these opposite' interests, both, from agony of fear, breaking through all restraint. Soon after, however, we all assembled again, and got into the coach. Mr.' de Luc, who was my vis-`a-vis, instantly pulled up the glass. "Put down that glass!" was the immediate order. He affected not to hear her, and began conversing. She enraged quite tremendously, calling aloud to be obeyed without delay. He looked compassionately at me, and shrugged his shoulders, and said, "But, ma'am-" "Do it, Mr. de Luc, when I tell you! I will have it! When you been too cold, you might bear it!" ""It is not for me, ma'am, but poor Miss Burney." "O, poor Miss Burney might bear it the same! put it down, Mr. de Luc! without, I will get out! put it down, when I tell Page 67 you! It is my coach! I will have it selfs! I might go alone in it, or with one, or with what you call nobody, when I please!" Frightened for good Mr. de Luc, and the more for being much obliged to him, I now interfered, and begged him to let down the glass. Very reluctantly he complied, and I leant back in the coach, and held up my muff to my eyes. What a journey ensued! To see that face when lighted up with fury is a sight for horror! I was glad to exclude it by my muff. Miss Planta alone attempted to speak. I did not think it incumbent on me to "make the agreeable," thus used; I was therefore wholly dumb : for not a word, not an apology, not one expression of being sorry for what I suffered, was uttered. The most horrible ill-humour, violence, and rudeness, were all that were shown. Mr. de Luc was too much provoked to take his usual method of passing all off by constant talk and as I had never seen him venture to appear provoked before, I felt a great obligation to his kindness. When we were about half way, we stopped to water the horses. He then again pulled up the glass, as if from absence. A voice of fury exclaimed, "Let it down! without I won't go!" "I am sure," cried he, "all Mrs. de Luc's plants will be killed by this frost For the frost was very severe indeed. Then he proposed my changing places with Miss Planta, who sat opposite Mrs. Schwellenberg, and consequently on the sheltered side. "Yes!" cried Mrs. Schwellenberg, "MISS Burney might sit there, and so she ought!" I told her, briefly, I was always sick in riding backwards. "O, ver well! when you don't like it, don't do it. You might bear it when you like it? what did the poor Haggerdorn bear it! when the blood was all running down from her eyes!" This was too much! "I must take, then," I cried, "the more warning!" After that I spoke not a word. I ruminated all the rest of the way upon my dear father's recent charge and permission. I was upon the point continually of availing myself of both, but alas! I felt the deep disappointment I should give him, and I felt the most cruel repugnance to owe a resignation to a quarrel. These reflections powerfully forbade the rebellion to which this unequalled arrogance and cruelty excited me; and after revolving them again and again, I----accepted a bit of cake which she suddenly offered me as we reached Windsor, and Page 68 determined, since I submitted to my monastic destiny from motives my serious thoughts deemed right, I would not be prompted to oppose it from mere feelings of resentment to one who, strictly, merited only contempt. . . . I gulped as well as I could at dinner; but all civil fits are again over. Not a word was said to me: yet I was really very ill all the afternoon; the cold had seized my elbows, from holding them up so long, and I was stiff and chilled all over. In the evening, however, came my soothing Mrs. Delany. Sweet soul ! she folded me in her arms, and wept over my shoulder! Too angry to stand upon ceremony she told Mrs. Schwellenberg, after our public tea, she must retire to my room, that she might speak with me alone. This was highly resented, and I was threatened, afterwards, that she would come to tea no more, and we might talk our secrets always. Mr. de Luc called upon me next morning, and openly avowed his indignation, protesting it was an oppression he could not bear to see used, and reproving me for checking him when he would have run all risks. I thanked him most cordially; but assured him the worst of all inflammations to me was that of a quarrel, and I entreated him, therefore, not to interfere. But we have been cordial friends from that time forward. Miss Planta also called, kindly bringing me some eye-water, and telling me she had "Never so longed to beat anybody in her life; and yet, I assure you," she added, "everybody remarks that she behaves, altogether, better to you than to any body!" O heavens! MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S CAPRICIOUSNESS. Saturday, Dec. 1.-'Tis strange that two feelings so very opposite as love and resentment should have nearly equal power in inspiring courage for or against the object that excites them yet so it is. In former times I have often, on various occasions, felt it raised to anything possible, by affection, and now I have found it mount to the boldest height, by disdain For, be it known, such gross and harsh usage I experienced at the end of last month, since the inflammation of the eyes which I bore much more composedly than sundry personal indignities that followed, that I resolved upon a new mode of Page 69 conduct--namely, to go out every evening, in Order to show that I by no means considered myself as bound to stay at home after dinner, if treated very ill; and this most courageous plan I flattered myself must needs either procure me a liberty of absence, always so much wished, or occasion a change of behaviour to more decency and endurability. I had received for to-day an invitation to meet Lady Bute and Lady Louisa Stuart at my dearest Mrs. Delany's, and I should have wished it at all times, so much I like them both. I had no opportunity to speak first to my royal mistress, but I went to her at noon, rather more dressed than usual, and when I saw her look a little surprised, I explained my reason. She seemed very well satisfied with it, but my coadjutrix appeared in an astonishment unequalled, and at dinner, when we necessarily met again, new testimonies of conduct quite without example were exhibited: for when Mrs. Thackeray and Miss Planta were helped, she helped herself, and appeared publicly to send me to Coventry--though the sole provocation was intending to forego her society this evening! I sat quiet and unhelped a few minutes, considering what to do: for so little was my appetite, I was almost tempted to go without dinner entirely. However, upon further reflection, I concluded it would but harden her heart still more to have this fresh affront so borne, and so related, as it must have been, through Windsor, and therefore I calmly begged some greens from Miss Planta. The weakness of my eyes, which still would not bear the light, prevented me from tasting animal food all this time. A little ashamed, she then anticipated Miss Planta's assistance, by offering me some French beans. To curb my own displeasure, I obliged myself to accept them. Unfortunately, however, this little softening was presently worn out, by some speeches which it encouraged from Mrs. Thackeray, who seemed to seize the moment of permission to acknowledge that I was in the room, by telling me she had lately met some of my friends in town, among whom Mrs. Chapone and the Burrows family had charged her with a thousand regrets for My Seclusion from their society, and as many kind compliments and good wishes. This again sent me to Coventry for the rest of the dinner. When it was over, and we were all going upstairs to coffee, I spoke to Columb,(247) in passing, to have a chair for me at seven o'clock. Page 70 "For what, then," cried a stern voice behind me, "for What go you upstairs at all, when you don't drink coffee? Did she imagine I should answer "For your society, ma'am"? No--I turned back quick as lightning, and only saying, "Very well, ma'am," moved towards my own room. Again a little ashamed of herself, she added, rather more civilly, "For what should you have that trouble?" I simply repeated my "Very well, ma'am," in a voice of, I believe, rather pique than calm acquiescence, and entered my own apartment, unable to enjoy this little release, however speedy to obtain it, from the various, the grievous emotions of my mind, that this was the person, use me how she might, with whom I must chiefly pass my time! So unpleasant were the sensations that filled me, that I could recover no gaiety, even at the house of my beloved friend, though received there by her dear self, her beautiful niece, and Lady Bute and Lady Louisa, in the most flattering manner. . . . The behaviour of my coadjutrix continued in the same strain-- -really shocking to endure. I always began, at our first meeting, some little small speech, and constantly received so harsh a rebuff at the second word, that I then regularly seated myself by a table, at work, and remained wholly silent the rest of the day. I tried the experiment of making my escape; but I was fairly conquered from pursuing it. The constant black reception depressed me out of powers to exert for flight; and therefore I relinquished this plan, and only got off, as I could, to my own room, or remained dumb in hers. To detail the circumstances of the tyranny and the grossieret`e I experienced at this time would be afflicting to my beloved friends, and oppressive to myself, I am fain, however, to confess they vanquished me. I found the restoration of some degree of decency quite necessary to my quiet, since such open and horrible ill-will from one daily in my sight even affrighted me: it pursued me in shocking visions even when I avoided her presence; and therefore I was content to put upon myself the great and cruel force of seeking to conciliate a person who had no complaint against me, but that she had given me an inflammation of the eyes, which had been witnessed and resented by her favourite Mr. de Luc. I rather believe that latter circumstance was what incensed her so inveterately. Page 71 The next extraordinary step she took was one that promised me amends for all: she told me that there was no occasion we should continue together after coffee, unless by her invitation. I eagerly exclaimed that this seemed a most feasible way of producing some variety in our intercourse, and that I would adopt it most readily. She wanted instantly to call back her words : she had expected I should be alarmed, and solicit her leave to be buried -with her every evening! When she saw me so eager in acceptance, she looked mortified and disappointed ; but I would not suffer her to retract, and I began, at once, to retire to my room the moment coffee was over. This flight of the sublime, which, being her own, she could not resent, brought all round: for as she saw me every evening prepare to depart with the coffee, she constantly began, at that period, some civil discourse to detain me. I always suffered it to succeed, while civil, and when there was a failure, or a pause, I retired. By this means I recovered such portion of quiet as is compatible with a situation like mine: for she soon returned entirely to such behaviour as preceded the offence of my eyes; and I obtained a little leisure at which she could not repine, as a caprice of her own bestowed it. . . . To finish, however, with respect to the présidente, I must now acquaint you that, as my eyes entirely grew -well, her incivility entirely wore off, and I became a far greater favourite than I had ever presumed to think myself till that time! I was obliged to give up my short-lived privilege of retirement, and live on as before, making only my two precious little visits to my beloved comforter and supporter, and to devote the rest of my wearisome time to her presence--better satisfied, however, since I now saw that open war made me wretched, even When a victor, beyond what any subjection could do that had peace for its terms. This was not an unuseful discovery, for it has abated all propensity to experiment in shaking off a yoke which, however hard to bear, is so annexed to my place, that I must take one with the other, and endure them as I can. My favour, now, was beyond the favour of all others; I was "good Miss Berner," at every other word, and no one else was listened to if I would speak, and no one else was Accepted for a partner if I would play! I found no cause to Which I could attribute this change. I believe the whole mere Matter of caprice. Page 72 New YEAR's DAY. Queen's Lodge, Windsor, Tuesday, Jan. 1, 1788-I began the new year, as I ended the old one, by seizing the first moment it presented to my own disposal, for flying to Mrs. Delany, and begging her annual benediction. She bestowed it with the sweetest affection, and I spent, as usual all the time with her I had to spare. . . . In the evening, by long appointment, I was to receive Mr. Fisher and his bride.(248) Mrs. Schwellenberg, of her own accord desired me to have them in my room, and said she would herself make tea for the equerries in the eating-parlour. Mrs. Delany and Miss Port came to meet them. Mrs. Fisher seems good-natured, cheerful, and obliging, neither well nor ill in appearance, and, I fancy, not strongly marked in any way. But she adores Mr. Fisher, and has brought him a large fortune. The Princess Amelia was brought by Mrs. Cheveley, to fetch Mrs. Delany to the queen. Mrs. Fisher was much delighted in seeing her royal highness, who, when in a grave humour, does 'the honours of her rank with a seriousness extremely entertaining. She commands the company to sit down, holds out her little fat hand to be kissed, and makes a distant courtesy, with an air of complacency and encouragement that might suit any princess of five times her age. I had much discourse, while the rest were engaged, with Mr. Fisher, about my ever-valued, ever-regretted Mrs. Thrale. Can I call her by another name, loving that name so long, so well, for her and her sake? He gave me concern by information that she is now publishing, not only the "Letters " of Dr. Johnson, but her own. How strange! Jan. 4.-In the morning, Mrs. Schwellenberg presented me, from the queen, with a new year's gift. It is plate, and very elegant. The queen, I find, makes presents to her whole household every year: more or less, according to some standard of their claims which she sets up, very properly, in her own mind. CHATTY MR. BRYANT AGAIN. Jan. 8.-I met Mr. Bryant, who came, by appointment to give me that pleasure. He was in very high spirits, full Of anecdote and amusement. He has as much good-humoured Page 73 chit-chat and entertaining gossiping as if he had given no time to the classics and his studies, instead of having nearly devoted his life to them. One or two of his little anecdotes I will try to recollect. in the year thirty-three of this century, and in his own memory, there was a cause brought before a judge, between two highwaymen, who had quarrelled about the division of their booty; and these men had the effrontery to bring their dispute to trial. "In the petition of the plaintiff," said Mr. Bryant, "he asserted that he had been extremely ill-used by the defendant: that they had carried on a very advantageous trade together, upon Black-heath, Hounslow-heath, Bagshot-heath, and other places; that their business chiefly consisted in watches, wearing apparel, and trinkets of all sorts, as well as large concerns between them in cash; that they had agreed to an equitable partition of all profits, and that this agreement had been violated. So impudent a thing, the judge said, was never before brought out in a court, and so he refused to pass sentence in favour of either of them, and dismissed them from the court." Then he told us a great number of comic slip-slops, of the first Lord Baltimore, who made a constant misuse of one word for another: for instance, "I have been," says he, "upon a little excoriation to see a ship lanced; and there is not a finer going vessel upon the face of God's earth: you've no idiom how well it sailed." Having given us this elegant specimen of the language of one lord, he proceeded to give us one equally forcible of the understanding of another. The late Lord Plymouth, meeting in a country town with a puppet-show, was induced to see it; and, from the high entertainment he received through Punch, he determined to buy him, and accordingly asked his price, and paid it, and carried the puppet to his country-house, that he might be diverted with him at any odd hour. Mr. Bryant protests he met the same troop Just as the purchase had been made, and went himself to the puppet-show, which was exhibited senza punch! Next he spoke upon the Mysteries, or origin of our theatrical entertainments, and repeated the plan and conduct Of several Of these strange compositions, in particular one he remembered which was called "Noah's Ark," and in which that patriarch and his sons, just previous to the Deluge, made it all their delight to speed themselves into the ark without Mrs. Noah, Page 74 whom they wished to escape; but she surprised them just as they had embarked, and made so prodigious a racket against the door that, after a long and violent contention, she forced them to open it, and gained admission, having first content, them by being kept out till she was thoroughly wet to the skin. These most eccentric and unaccountable dramas filled up the chief of our conversation. DR. JOHNSON's LETTERS To MRS. THRALE DISCUSSED. Wednesday, Jan. 9.-To-day Mrs. Schwellenberg did me a real favour, and with real good nature; for she sent me the "Letters" of my poor lost friends, Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale,(249) which she knew me to be almost pining to procure. The book belongs to the Bishop of Carlisle, who lent it to Mr. Turbulent, from whom it was again lent to the queen, and so passed on to Mrs. Schwellenberg. It is still unpublished.(249) With what a sadness have I been reading!--what scenes in it revived!--what regrets renewed! These letters have not been more improperly published in the whole, than they are injudiciously displayed in their several parts. She has all--every word--and thinks that, perhaps, a justice to Dr. Johnson, which, in fact, is the greatest injury to his memory. The few she has selected of her own do her, indeed, much credit; she has discarded all that were trivial and merely local, and given only such as contain something instructive, amusing, or ingenious. About four of the letters, however, of my ever-revered Dr. Johnson are truly worthy his exalted powers: one is upon death, in considering its approach as we are surrounded, or not by mourners; another, upon the sudden and premature loss of poor Mrs. Thrale's darling and only son.(250) Our name once occurs: how I started at its sight It is to mention the party that planned the first visit to our house: Miss Owen, Mr. Seward, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, and Dr. Johnson. How well shall we ever, my Susan, remember that morning! I have had so many attacks upon her subject, that at last I fairly begged quarter,--and frankly owned to Mrs. Schwellenberg that I could not endure to speak any more upon the matter, endeavouring, at the same time, to explain to her my Page 75 long and intimate connection with the family. Yet nothing I could say put a stop to "How can you defend her in this?--how can you justify her in that?"" etc. Alas! that I cannot defend her is precisely the reason I can so ill bear to speak of her. How differently and how sweetly has the queen conducted herself -upon this occasion! Eager to see the "Letters," she began reading them with the utmost avidity : a natural curiosity arose to be informed of several names and several particulars, which she knew I could satisfy; yet, when she perceived how tender a string she touched, she soon suppressed her inquiries, or only made them with so much gentleness towards the parties mentioned, that I could not be distressed in my answers; and even In a short time I found her questions made so favourable a disposition, that I began secretly to rejoice in them, as the means by which I reaped opportunity of clearing several points that had been darkened by calumny, and of softening others that had been viewed wholly through false lights. Jan. 10.-When we were summoned to the tea-room I met Miss de Luc coming out. I asked if she did not stay tea? "O How can I," cried she, in a voice of distress, "when already, as there is company here without me, Mrs. Schwellenberg has asked me what I came for?" I was quite shocked for her, and could only shrug in dismay and let her pass. When there is no one else she is courted to stay! Mr. and Mrs. Fisher came soon after; and the Princesses Augusta and Amelia fetched away Mrs. Delany. Soon after Colonel Wellbred came, ushering in Mr. Fairly and his young son, who is at Eton school. I had seen Mr. F. but once since his great and heavy loss, though now near half a year had elapsed. So great a personal alteration in a few months I have seldom seen: thin, haggard, worn with care, grief, and watching-- his hair turned grey--white, rather, and some of his front teeth vanished. He seemed to have suffered, through his feelings, the depredations suffered by Others through age and time. His demeanour, upon this trying occasion, filled me with as much admiration as his countenance did with compassion : calm, composed, and gentle, he seemed bent on appearing not only resigned, but cheerful. I might even have supposed him verging on being happy, had not the havoc of grief on his face, and the tone of deep melancholy in his voice, assured me his Solitude was all sacred to his sorrows. Page 76 Mr. Fisher was very sad himself, grieving at the death of Dr. Harley, Dean of Windsor and Bishop of Hereford. He began, however, talking to me of these "Letters," and, with him, I could speak of them, and of their publisher, without reserve: but the moment they were named Mrs. Schwellenberg uttered such hard and harsh things, that I could not keep my seat and the less, because, knowing my strong friendship there in former days, I was sure it was meant I should be hurt, I attempted not to speak, well aware all defence is irritation, where an attack is made from ill-nature, not justice. The gentle Mr. Fisher, sorry for the cause and the effect of this assault, tried vainly to turn it aside: what began with censure soon proceeded to invective; and at last, being really sick from crowding recollections of past scenes, where the person now thus vilified had been dear and precious to my very heart, I was forced, abruptly, to walk out of the room. It was indifferent to me whether or not my retreat was noticed. I have never sought to disguise the warm friendship that once subsisted between Mrs. Thrale and myself, for I always hoped that, where it was known, reproach might be spared to a name I can never hear without a secret pang, even when simply mentioned. Oh, then, how severe a one is added, when its sound is accompanied by the hardest aspersions! I returned when I could, and the subject was over. When all were gone Mrs. Schwellenberg said, "I have told it Mr. Fisher that he drove you out from the room, and he says he won't not do it no more." She told me next--that in the second volume I also was mentioned. Where she may have heard this I cannot gather, but it has given me a sickness at heart inexpressible. It is not that I expect severity: for at the time of that correspondence--at all times, indeed, previous to the marriage with Piozzi, if Mrs. Thrale loved not F. B., where shall we find faith in words, or give credit to actions? But her present resentment, however unjustly incurred, of my constant disapprobation of her conduct, may prompt some note, or other mark, to point out her change of sentiments--but let me try to avoid such painful expectations; at least, not to dwell upon them. O, little does she know how tenderly at this moment I could run again into her arms, so often opened to receive me with a cordiality I believed inalienable. And it was sincere then, I am satisfied: pride, resentment of disapprobation, and consciousness of unjustifiable proceedings --- these have now Page 77 changed her: but if we met, and she saw and believed my faithful regard, how would she again feel all her own return! Well, what a dream am I making! Jan. 11.-Upon this ever-interesting subject, I had to-day a very sweet scene with the queen. While Mrs. Schwellenberg and myself were both in our usual attendance at noon, her majesty inquired of Mrs. Schwellenberg if she had yet read any of the "Letters"? "No," she answered, "I have them not to read." I then said she had been so obliging as to lend them to me, to whom they were undoubtedly of far greater personal value. "That is true," said the queen; "for I think there is but little in them that can be of much consequence or value to the public at large." "Your majesty, you will hurt Miss Burney if you speak about that; poor Miss Burney will be quite hurt by that." The queen looked much surprised, and I hastily exclaimed, "O, no!--not with the gentleness her majesty names it." Mrs. Schwellenberg then spoke in German; and, I fancy, by the names she mentioned, recounted how Mr. Turbulent and Mr. Fisher had "driven me out of the room." The queen seemed extremely astonished, and I was truly vexed at this total misunderstanding; and that the goodness she has exerted upon this occasion should seem so little to have succeeded. But I could not explain, lest it should seem to reproach what was meant as kindness in Mrs. Schwellenberg, who had not yet discovered that it was not the subject, but her own manner of treating it, that was so painful to me. However, the instant Mrs. Schwellenberg left the room, and we remained alone, the queen, approaching me in the softest manner, and looking earnestly in my face, said, "You could not be offended, surely, at what I said." "O no, ma'am," cried I, deeply indeed penetrated by such unexpected condescension. "I have been longing to make a speech to your majesty upon this matter; and it was but yesterday that I entreated Mrs. Delany to make it for me, and to express to your majesty the very deep sense I feel of the lenity with which this Subject has been treated in my hearing." "Indeed," cried she, with eyes strongly expressive of the complacency with which she heard me, "I have always spoke as little as possible upon this affair. I remember but twice that I have named it: once I said to the Bishop of Carlisle, Page 78 that I thought most of these letters had better have been spared the printing; and once to Mr. Langton, at the Drawing-room, I said, 'Your friend Dr. Johnson, sir, has had many friends busy to publish his books, and his memoirs, and his meditations, and his thoughts; but I think he wanted one friend more.' 'What for? ma'am,' cried he; 'A friend to suppress them,' I answered. And, indeed, this is all I ever said about the business." A PAIR OF PARAGONS. .....I was amply recompensed in spending an evening the most to my natural taste of any I have spent officially under the royal roof. How high Colonel Wellbred stands with me you know; Mr. Fairly., with equal gentleness, good breeding, and delicacy, adds a far more general turn for conversation, and seemed not only ready, but pleased, to open upon subjects of such serious import as were suited to his state of mind, and could not but be edifying, from a man of such high moral character, to all who heard him. Life and death were the deep themes to which he .led; and the little space between them, and the little value of that space were the subject of his comments. The unhappiness of man at least after the ardour of his first youth, and the near worthlessness of the world, seemed so deeply impressed on his mind, that no reflection appeared to be consolatory to it, save the necessary shortness of our mortal career. . . . "Indeed," said he, "there is no time--I know of none--in which life is well worth having. The prospect before us is never such as to make it worth preserving, except from religious motives." I felt shocked and sorry. Has he never tasted happiness, who so deeply drinks of sorrow? He surprised me, and filled me, indeed, with equal wonder and pity. At a loss how to make an answer sufficiently general, I made none at all, but referred to Colonel Wellbred: perhaps he felt the same difficulty, for he said nothing; and Mr. Fairly then gathered an answer for himself, by saying, "Yes, it may, indeed, be attainable in the only actual as well as only right way to seek it,--that of doing good!" "If," cried Colonel Wellbred, afterwards, "I lived always in London, I should be as tired of life as you are: I always sicken of it there, if detained beyond a certain time." Page 79 They then joined in a general censure of dissipated life, and a general distaste of dissipated characters, which seemed, however, to comprise almost all their acquaintance; and this presently occasioned Mr. Fairly to say, "It is, however, but fair for you and me to own, Wellbred, that if people in general ,'are bad, we live chiefly amongst those who are the worst." Whether he meant any particular set to which they belong, or whether his reflection went against people in high life, such 'as constitute their own relations and connexions in general, I cannot say, as he did not explain himself. Mr. Fairly, besides the attention due to him from all, in consideration of his late loss, merited from me peculiar deference, in return for a mark I received of his disposition to think favourably of me from our first acquaintance: for not more was I surprised than pleased at his opening frankly upon the character of my coadjutrix, and telling me at once, that when first he saw me here, just before the Oxford expedition, he had sincerely felt for and pitied me. . . . Sunday, Jan. 13.-There is something in Colonel Wellbred so elegant, so equal, and so pleasing, it is impossible not to see him with approbation, and to speak of him with praise. But I found in Mr. Fairly a much greater depth of understanding, and all his sentiments seem formed upon the most perfect basis of religious morality. During the evening, in talking over plays and players, we all three united warmly in panegyric of Mrs. Siddons; but when Mrs. Jordan was named, Mr. Fairly and myself were left to make the best of her. Observing the silence of Colonel Wellbred, we called upon him to explain it. "I have seen her," he answered, quietly, "but in one part." "Whatever it was," cried Mr. Fairly, "it must have been well done." "Yes," answered the colonel, "and so well that it seemed to be her real character: and I disliked her for that very reason, for it was a character that, off the stage or on, is equally distasteful to me--a hoyden." I had had a little of this feeling myself when I saw her in "The Romp,"(251) where she gave me, in the early part, a real disgust; but afterwards she displayed such uncommon humour that it brought me to pardon her assumed vulgarity, in favour of a representation of nature, which, In its particular class, seemed to me quite perfect. Page 80 MR. TURBULENT'S SELF CONDEMNATION. At the usual tea-time I sent Columb, to see if anybody had come upstairs. He brought me word the eating-parlour was empty. I determined to go thither at once, with my work, that there might be no pretence to fetch me when the party assembled; but upon opening the door I saw Mr. Turbulent there, and alone! I entered with readiness into discourse with him, and showed a disposition to placid good-will, for with so irritable a spirit resentment has much less chance to do good than an appearance of not supposing it deserved. Our conversation was in the utmost gravity. He told me he was not happy, though owned he had everything to make him so; but he was firmly persuaded that happiness in this world was a real stranger. I combated this misanthropy in general terms; but he assured me that such was his unconquerable opinion of human life. How differently did I feel when I heard an almost similar sentiment from Mr. Fairly! In him I imputed it to unhappiness of circumstances, and was filled with compassion for his fate: in this person I impute it to something blameable within, and I tried by all the arguments I could devise to give him better notions. For him, however, I soon felt pity, though not of the same composition : for he frankly said he was good enough to be happy-that he thought human frailty incompatible with happiness, and happiness with human frailty, and that he had no wish so strong as to turn monk! I asked him if he thought a life of uselessness and of goodness the same thing? "I need not be useless," he said; "I might assist by my counsels. I might be good in a monastery--in the world I cannot! I am not master of my feelings: I am run away by passions too potent for control!" This was a most unwelcome species of confidence, but I affected to treat it as mere talk, and answered it only slightly, telling him he spoke from the gloom of the moment. "No," he answered, "I have tried in vain to conquer them. I have made vows--resolutions--all in vain! I cannot keep them!" "Is not weakness," cried I, "sometimes fancied, merely to save the pain and trouble of exerting fortitude." "No, it is with me inevitable. I am not formed for success in self-conquest. I resolve--I repent--but I fall! I blame-- Page 81 reproach--I even hate myself--I do everything, in short, yet cannot save myself! Yet do not," he continued, seeing me shrink, "think worse of me than I deserve: nothing of injustice, of ill-nature, of malignancy--I have nothing of these to reproach myself with." "I believe you," I cried, "and surely, therefore, a general circumspection, an immediate watchfulness---" "No, no, no--'twould be all to no purpose." "'Tis that hopelessness which is most your enemy. If you would but exert your better reason--" "No, madam, no!--'tis a fruitless struggle. I know myself too well--I can do nothing so right as to retire--to turn monk-- hermit." "I have no respect," cried I, "for these selfish seclusions. I can never suppose we were created in the midst of society, in order to run away to a useless solitude. I have not a doubt but you may do well, if you will do well." Some time after he suddenly exclaimed, "Have you--tell me--have you, ma'am, never done what you repent?" O "yes!--at times." "You have?" he cried, eagerly. "O yes, alas!--yet not, I think, very often--for it is not very often I have done anything!" "And what is it has saved you?" I really did not know well what to answer him; I could say nothing that would not sound like parade, or implied superiority. I suppose he was afraid himself of the latter ; for, finding me silent, he was pleased to answer for me. "Prejudice, education, accident!--those have saved you." "Perhaps so," cried I. "And one thing more, I acknowledge myself obliged to, on various occasions--fear. I run no risks that I see--I run--but it is always away from all danger that I perceive." "You do not, however, call that virtue, ma'am--you do not call that the rule of right?" "No--I dare not--I must be content that it is certainly not the rule of wrong." He began then an harangue upon the universality of depravity and frailty that I heard with much displeasure; for, it seems to me, those most encourage such general ideas of general worthlessness who most wish to found upon them partial excuses for their own. Page 82 MISS BURNEY AMONG HER OLD FRIENDS. Jan. 31.--And now I must finish my account of this month by my own assembly at my dear Mrs. Ord's. I passed through the friendly hands of Miss Ord to the most cordial ones of Mrs. Garrick,(252) who frankly embraced me, saying, "Do I see you, once more, before I die, my tear little spark? for your father is my flame, all my life, and you are a little spark of that flame!" She added how much she had wished to visit me at the queen's house, when she found I no longer came about the world; but that she was too discreet, and I did not dare say "Do come!" unauthorized. Then came Mr. Pepys, and he spoke to me instantly, of the 'Streatham Letters.' He is in agony as to his own fate, but said there could be no doubt of my faring well. Not, I assured him, to my own content, if named at all. We were interrupted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. I was quite glad to see him; and we began chatting with all our old spirit, and he quite raved against my present life of confinement, an the invisibility it had occasioned, etc., etc. The approach of Mrs. Porteus stopped this. She is always most obliging and courteous, and she came to inquire whether now she saw I really was not wholly immured, there was any chance of a more intimate cultivation of an acquaintance long begun, but stopped in its first progress. I could only make a general answer of acknowledgment to her kindness. Her bishop, whom I had not seen since his preferment from Chester to London, joined us, and most good-naturedly entered into discourse upon my health. I was next called to Mrs. Montagu, who was behind with no one in kind speeches, and who insisted upon making me a visit at the queen's house, and would take no denial to my fixing my own time, whenever I was at leisure, and sending her word; and she promised to put off any and every engagement for that Purpose. I could make no other return to such Page 83 civility, but to desire to postpone it till my dear Mr. and Mrs. Locke came to town, and could meet her. Mrs. Boscawen(253) was my next little t`ete-`a-t`ete, but I had only begun it when Mr. Cambridge came to my side. "I can't get a word!" cried he, with a most forlorn look, "and yet I came on purpose!" I thanked him, and felt such a real pleasure in his sight, from old and never-varying regard, that I began to listen to him with my usual satisfaction. He related to me a long history of Lavant, where the new-married Mrs. Charles Cambridge is now very unwell: and then he told me many good things of his dear and deserving daughter; and I showed him her muff, which she had worked for me, in embroidery, and we were proceeding a little in the old way, when I saw Mrs. Pepys leaning forward to hear us; and then Lady Rothes, who also seemed all attention to Mr. Cambridge and his conversation. The sweet Lady Mulgrave came for only a few words, not to take me, she said, from older claimants; the good and wise Mrs. Carter(254) expressed herself with equal kindness and goodness on our once more meeting; Miss Port, looking beautiful as a little angel, only once advanced to shake hands, and say, "I can see you another time, so I won't be unreasonable now." Mr. Smelt, who came from Kew for this party, made me the same speech, and no more, and I had time for nothing beyond a "how do do " with Mr. Langton, his Lady Rothes,(255) Mr. Batt, Mr. Cholmondoley, Lord Mulgrave, Sir Lucas Pepys, and Lady Herries. Then up came Mrs. Chapone, and, after most cordially shaking hands with me, "But I hope," she cried, "you are not always to appear only as a comet, to be stared at, and then vanish? If you are, let me beg at least to be brushed by your tail, and not hear you have disappeared before my telescope is ready for looking at you!" When at last I was able to sit down, after a short conference with every one, it was next to Mr. Walpole,(256) who had secured Page 84 me a place by his side ; and with him was my longest conversation, for he was in high spirits, polite, ingenious, entertaining, quaint, and original. But all was so short!--so short!--I was forced to return home so soon! 'Twas, however, a very great regale to me, and the sight of so much kindness, preserved so entire after so long an absence, warmed my whole heart with pleasure and satisfaction. My dearest father brought me home. SOME TRIVIAL COURT INCIDENTS. Friday, Feb. 1.-To-day I had a summons in the morning to Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was very ill; so ill as to fill me with compassion. She was extremely low-spirited, and spoke to me with quite unwonted kindness of manner, and desired me to accept a sedan-chair, which had been Mrs. Haggerdorn's, and now devolved to her, saying, I might as well have it while she lived as when she was dead, which would soon happen. I thanked her, and wished her, I am sure very sincerely, better. Nor do I doubt her again recovering, as I have frequently seen her much worse. True, she must die at last, but who must not? Feb. 2.-The king always makes himself much diversion with Colonel Goldsworthy, whose dryness of humour and pretended servility of submission, extremely entertain him. He now attacked him upon the enormous height of his collar, which through some mistake of his tailor, exceeded even the extremity of fashion. And while the king, who was examining and pulling it about, had his back to us, Colonel Wellbred had the malice to whisper me, "Miss Burney, I do assure you it is nothing to what it was; he has had two inches cut off since morning! Fortunately, as Colonel Wellbred stood next me, this was not heard for the king would not easily have forgotten. He soon after went away, but gave no summons to his gentlemen. And now Colonel Wellbred gave me another proof of his extraordinary powers of seeing. You now know, my dear friends, that in the king's presence everybody retreats back, as far as they can go, to leave him the room to himself. In all this, through the disposition of the chairs, I was placed so much behind Colonel Wellbred as to conclude myself out of his sight; but the moment the king retired, he said, as Page 85 we all dropped on Our seats, "Everybody is tired--Miss Burney the most--for she has stood the stillest. Miss Planta has leant on her chair, Colonel Goldsworthy against the wall, myself occasionally on the screen, but Miss Burney has stood perfectly still--I perceived that without looking." 'Tis, indeed, to us standers, an amazing addition to fatigue to keep still. We returned to town next day. In the morning I had had a very disagreeable, though merely foolish, embarrassment. Detained, by the calling in of a poor woman about a subscription, from dressing myself, I was forced to run to the queen, at her summons, without any cap. She smiled, but said nothing. Indeed, she is all indulgence in those points of externals, which rather augments than diminishes my desire of showing apparent as well as my feeling of internal respect but just as I had assisted her with her peignoir, Lady Effingham was admitted, and the moment she sat down, and the hair-dresser began his office, a page announced the Duke of York, who instantly followed his name. I would have given the world to have run away, but the common door of entrance and exit was locked, unfortunately, on account of the coldness of the day; and there was none to pass, but that by which his royal highness entered, and was standing. I was forced. therefore, to remain, and wait for dismission. Yet I was pleased, too, by the sight of his affectionate manner to his royal mother. He flew to take and kiss her hand, but she gave him her cheek; and then he began a conversation with her, so open and so gay, that he seemed talking to the most intimate associate. His subject was Lady Augusta Campbell's elopement from. the masquerade. The Duchess of Ancaster had received masks at her house on Monday, and sent tickets to all the queen's household. I, amongst the rest, had one; but it was impossible I could be spared at such an hour, though the queen told me that she had thought of my going, but could not manage it, as Mrs. Schwellenberg was so ill. Miss Planta went, and I had the entire equipment of her. I started the Project of dressing her at Mrs. Delany's, in all the most antique and old-fashioned things we could borrow; and this was Put very happily in execution, for she was, I have heard, one of the best and most grotesque figures in the room. (239) Henry William Bunbury, the well-known caricaturist. He was connected by marriage with Colonel Gwynn, having married, in 1771, Catherine, the "Little Comedy," sister of the "Jessamy Bride."-ED. (240) i.e., of the Play which was to be read by Mrs. Siddons. See P- 55.-ED. (241) This excellent comedy was completed by Colley Cibber, from an unfinished play of Sir John Vanbrugh's.-ED. (242) See note 210, ante, vol. 1, P. 370.-ED. (243) Mr. Anthony Shepherd, Plumian Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge. We meet with him occasionally in the "Early Diary:" "dullness itself" Fanny once calls him (in 1774).-ED. (244) Fanny's maid.-ED. (245) Susan Phillips and the Lockes had stayed at Windsor from the 10th to the 17th of September.-ED. (246) This magnificent panegyric relates to a young amateur, William Locke, the son of Fanny's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Locke. But there was more than a little of the amateur about Mr. Bunbury himself. His works bear no comparison with those of the great masters of caricatured Rowlandson and Gulray.-ED. (247) Fanny's man-servant, a Swiss.-ED. (248) Mr. Fisher was a canon at Windsor, and an amateur landscape-painter. He had recently married.-ED. (249) "Letters to and from Dr. Johnson," published by Mrs. Piozzi in 1788.-ED. (250) Thrale's only son died, a child, in March, 1776.--ED. (251) A farce, adapted from Bickerstaff's opera, "Love in the City."-ED. (252) Eva Maria Feigel, a Viennese dancer, whom Garrick married in 1749. Fanny writes of her in 1771: "Mrs. Garrick is the most attentively polite and perfectly well-bred woman in the world; her speech is all softness; her manners all elegance; her smiles all sweetness. There is something so peculiarly graceful in her motion, and pleasing in her address, that the most trifling words have weight and power, when spoken by her, to oblige and even delight." ("Early Diary," vol. i. p. 111.) She died in 1822; her husband in 1779.-ED. (253) The Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, widow of Admiral Boscawen.-ED. (254) Elizabeth Carter, the celebrated translator of Epictetus. She was now in her seventieth year, and had been for many years an esteemed friend of Dr. Johnson. She died in 1806.-ED. , ' (255) Mr. Langton's wife was the Countess dowager of Rothes, widow of the eighth earl. Lady Jane Leslie, who married Sir Lucas Pepys, the physician, also enjoyed, in her own right, the title of Countess of Rothes.-ED. (256) Horace Walpole. -E D. Page 86 SECTION 12. (1788.) THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS. [Probably few events in the history of England are more familiar to the general reader than the trial of Warren Hastings. If nowhere else, at least in the best known and, perhaps, most brilliant of Macaulay's essays every one has read of the career of that extraordinary man, and of the long contest in Westminster Hall, from which he came forth acquitted, after an ordeal of seven years' duration. We shall, accordingly, confine our remarks upon this subject within the narrowest limits consistent with intelligibility: Fanny's experiences of the trial, recorded in the following pages, rendering some review of the proceedings which caused it here indispensable. Warren Hastings was a lad of seventeen when, in 1750, he was first sent out to India as a writer in the East India Company's service. His abilities attracted the notice of Clive, and, after the downfall of the Nawab Suraj-u-Dowlah, Hastings was chosen to represent the Company at the Court of Mir Jafir, the new Nawab of Bengal. In 1761 he was appointed Member of Council at Calcutta, and he returned to England in 1765, unknown as yet to fame, but with an excellent reputation both for efficiency and integrity. He left Bengal in a state of anarchy. The actual power was in the possession of a trading company, whose objects were at once to fill their coffers, and to avoid unnecessary political complications. The show of authority was invested in a Nawab who was a mere puppet in the hands of the English company. Disorder was rampant throughout the provinces, and the unhappy Hindoos, unprotected by their native princes, were left a helpless prey to the rapacity of their foreign tyrants. At a time when to enrich himself with the plunder of the natives was the aim of every servant of the East India Company, it is much to the honour of Hastings that he returned home a comparatively poor man. In England he indulged his taste for literary society, busied himself with a scheme for introducing at Page 87 oxford the study of the Persian language and literature, and made the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson. But generosity and imprudence together soon reduced his small means. He applied to the Directors of the Company for employment, was appointed to a seat on the Council at Madras, and made his second voyage to India in 1769. Among his fellow-passengers on board the "Duke of Grafton" was Madame Imhoff, whom he afterwards married. At Madras Hastings managed the export business of the Company with conspicuous success, and so completely to the satisfaction of the Directors, that, two years later, he was promoted to the governorship of Bengal, and sent to exercise his administrative ability and genius for reform -%N here they were then 'greatly needed-at Calcutta. With this appointment his historic career may be said to commence. He found himself at the outset in a situation of extreme difficulty. He was required to establish something- resembling a stable government in place of the prevailing anarchy, and, above all things, with disordered finances, to satisfy the expectations of his' employers by constant remittances of money. Both these tasks he accomplished, but the difficulties in the way of the latter led him to the commission of those acts for which he was afterwards denounced by his enemies as a monster of injustice and barbarity. Hastings's conduct with respect to the Great Mogul has been sketched by Macaulay in words which imply a reprehension in reality undeserved. Little remained at this time of the magnificent empire of Aurungzebe beyond a title and a palace at Delhi. In 1765 Lord Clive had ceded to the titular master of the Mogul empire the districts of Corah and Allahabad, lying to the south of Oude, and westwards of Benares. The cession had been made in pursuance of the same policy which Hastings afterwards followed; that, namely, of sheltering the British possessions behind a barrier of friendly states, which should be sufficiently strong to withstand the incursions of their hostile neighbours, and particularly of the Mahrattas, the most warlike and dreaded of the native powers. But Clive's purpose had been completely frustrated; for the Mogul, far from shielding the English, had not been able to hold his own against the Mahrattas, to whom he had actually ceded the very territories made over to him by the Company. Under these circumstances the English authorities can hardly be blamed for causing their troops to re-occupy the districts in question, nor can it fairly be imputed as a crime to Hastings that in September, 1773, he concluded with the Vizier of Oude the treaty of Benares, by which he sold Allahabad and Corah to that friendly potentate for about half a million sterling. But the next act of foreign policy on the part of the Governor of Bengal--his share in the subjugation of the Rohillas--does not admit of so favourable an interpretation. The Rohillas occupied territory lying under the southern slopes of the Himalayas, to the north-west of Oude. The dominant race in Rohilcund was of Page 88 Afghan origin, although the majority of the population was Hindoo. Of the rulers of Rohilcund Hastings himself wrote, in terms which we may accept as accurate, "They are a tribe of Afghans or Pathans, freebooters who conquered the country about sixty years ago, and have ever since lived upon the fruits of it, without contributing either to its cultivation or manufactures, or even mixing with the native inhabitants."(257) In 1772, the Rohillas, hard pressed by their foes, the Mahrattas, sought the assistance of the Vizier of Oude, Shuja-u-Dowlah, to whom they agreed to pay, in return for his aid, a large sum of money. This agreement was signed in the presence of an English general, and an English brigade accompanied the vizier's army, which co-operated with the Rohilla forces, and obliged the Mahrattas to withdraw. But when Shula-u-Dowlah demanded his promised hire, he received from the Rohillas plenty of excuses but no money. Hereupon he resolved to annex Rohilcund to his own dominions, and, to ensure success, he concerted measures with Hastings, who, willing at once to strengthen a friendly power and to put money into his own exchequer, placed an English brigade at the vizier's disposal for a consideration Of 400,000 pounds. In the spring of 1774 the invasion took place. The desperate bravery of the Rohillas was of no avail against English discipline, and the country was so reduced to submission. Macaulay's stirring account of the barbarities practised by the invaders has been proved to be greatly exaggerated. Disorders, however, there were: the people were plundered, and some of the villages were burnt by the vizier's troops. Many of the Rohilla families were exiled, but the Hindoo inhabitants of Rohilcund were left to till their fields as before, and were probably not greatly affected by their change of master. Hastings's conduct in this affair is, from the most favourable point of view, rather to be excused than applauded. It may have been politic under the circumstances, but it was hardly in accordance with a high standard of morality to let out on hire an English force for the subjugation of a people who, whatever grounds of complaint the Vizier of Oude might have had against them, had certainly given no provocation whatsoever to the English Government. As to the plea which has been put forward in his favour, that the Rohillas were merely the conquerors, and not the original owners of Rohilcund, it is sufficiently answered, by Macaulay's query, "What were the English themselves?" In 1773 Lord North's "Regulating Act" introduced considerable changes in the constitution of the Indian government, and marked the first step in the direction of a transfer of the control over Indian affairs from the Company to the Crown. By this act "the governorship of Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa was vested in the Governor-General, with four Councillors, having authority over Page 89 Madras and Bombay ; and all correspondence relating to civil government or military affairs was to be laid by the Directors of the Company in London before his -Majesty's Ministers, who Could disapprove or cancel any rules or orders. A Supreme Court of judicature, appointed by the Crown, was established in Calcutta."(258) The Governor-General was appointed for a term of five years, and the first Governor-General was Hastings. Of the four councillors with whom he was associated, three were sent out from England to take their places at the board, and landed at Calcutta, together with the judges of the Supreme Court, in October, 1771. Indisputably the ablest, and, as it proved, historically the most noteworthy of these three, was Philip Francis, the supposed author of "Junius's Letters." Even before the council commenced its duties dissensions arose. The newcomers, Francis, Clavering, and Monson, were in constant opposition to the Governor-General. Indeed, the hostility between Hastings and Francis rose by degrees to such a height that, some years later, they met in a duel, in which Francis was severely wounded. For the present, however, the opponents of Hastings formed a majority on the council, and his authority was in eclipse. His ill-wishers in the country began to bestir themselves, and a scandalous and, there is no doubt, utterly untrue charge of accepting bribes was brought against him by an old enemy, the Maharajah Nuncomar. Hastings replied by prosecuting Nuncomar and his allies for conspiracy. The accused were admitted to bail, but a little later Nuncomar was arrested on a charge of having forged a bond some years previously, tried before an English jury, condemned to death, and hanged, August 5, 1775, his application for leave to appeal having been rejected by the Chief justice, Sir Elijah Impey. Hastings solemnly declared his innocence of any share in this transaction, nor is there any evidence directly implicating him. On the other hand, it must he remembered that Nuncomar had preferred a most serious charge against Hastings; that the majority on the council were only too ready to listen to any charge, well or ill founded, against the Governor-General; and that Nuncomar's triumph would, in all probability, have meant Hastings's ruin. Even Mr. Forrest admits that "it is extremely probable, as Francis stated, that if Nuncomar had never stood forth in politics, his other offences would not have hurt him."(259) Macaulay comments upon the scandal of this stringent enforcement Of the English law against forgery under circumstances so peculiar, and in a country where the English law was totally unknown.(260) That Nuncomar was fairly tried and convicted Page 90 in the ordinary course of law is now beyond doubt, but we still hold that it was Impey's clear duty to respite his prisoner. That he did not do so is a fact which, beyond all others, gave colour to the assertion of Hastings's enemies, that the execution of Nuncomar was the result of a secret understanding between the Governor-General of Bengal and the Chief justice of the Supreme Court. But, however brought about, the death of Nuncomar was to the opponents of Hastings a blow from which they never recovered. The death of Monson, in September, 1776, and that of Clavering, a year later, placed him in a majority on the council ; his authority was more undisputed than ever ; and at the expiration of his term he was re-appointed Governor-General. During the years 1780 and 1781 British rule in India passed through the most dangerous crisis that had befallen it since the days of Clive. A formidable confederacy had been formed between the Nizam, the Mahrattas, and the famous Hyder Ali, Sultan of Mysore, with the object of crushing their common enemy, the English. The hostility of these powerful states had been provoked by the blundering and bad faith of the governments of Bombay and Madras, which had made, and broken, treaties with each of them in turn. "As to the Mahrattas," to quote the words of Burke, "they had so many cross treaties with the states general of that nation, and with each of the chiefs, that it was notorious that no one of these agreements could be kept without grossly violating the rest."(261) The war in which the Bombay Government had engaged with the Mahrattas had been as unsuccessful in its prosecution as it was impolitic in its commencement, until, early in 1780, a force under General Goddard was dispatched from Bengal to co-operate with the Bombay troops. Goddard's arrival turned the tide of events. The province of Gujerat was reduced, the Mahratta chiefs, Sindia and Holkar, were defeated, and everything portended a favourable termination of the war, when the whole face of affairs was changed by news from the south. Hyder Ali, the most able and warlike of the native princes, swept down upon the Carnatic in July, 1780, at the head of a disciplined army of nearly 100,000 men. He was now an old man, but age had not broken his vigour. He rapidly overran the country; an English force, under Colonel Baillie, which opposed him, was cut to pieces, and Madras itself was threatened. The prompt measures adopted by Hastings on this occasion saved the colony. Reinforcements were hurried to Madras; the veteran, Sir Eyre Coote, was entrusted with the command of the army; and the triumphant Page 91 career of Hyder Ali was checked by the victory of Porto Novo, July 1st, 1781. The end of the war, however, was yet far off. Peace was concluded with the Mahrattas, on terms honourable to them, in 1782, but in the south the struggle was still maintained by Hyder Ali and his French allies, and after Hyder Ali's death, in December of that year, by his son Tippoo; nor was it brought to a termination until after the general peace Of 1783. To support the financial strain of these wars Hastings had recourse to measures which, with the colouring given to them by his enemies, gave subsequent rise to two of the heaviest charges brought forward by the managers of his impeachment. His first victim was Cheyt Sing, the Rajah of Benares, a tributary of the English Government. Cheyt Sing had been formerly a vassal of the Vizier of Oude, and when, in 1775, the vizier transferred his sovereign rights over Benares to the English, the Bengal Government confirmed the possession of the city and its dependencies to Cheyt Sing and his heirs for ever, stipulating only for the payment of an annual tribute, and undertaking that the regular payment of this tribute should acquit the Rajah of further obligations. It was afterwards contended on behalf of Hastings that this undertaking did not annul the right of the superior power to call upon its vassal for extraordinary aid on extraordinary occasions, and this view was upheld by Pitt. Hastings began operations in 1778 by demanding of the Rajah, in addition to his settled tribute, a large contribution towards the war expenses. The sum was paid, but similar requisitions in the following years were met with procrastination or evasion, and a demand that the Rajah should furnish a contingent of cavalry was not complied with. This conduct on the part of Cheyt Sing appeared to the Governor-General and his Council "to require early punishment, and, as his wealth was great and the Company's exigencies pressing," in 1781 a fine of fifty lakhs, of rupees (500,000 pounds) was laid upon the unlucky Rajah; Hastings himself proceeding to Benares, with a small escort, to enforce payment. Cheyt Sing received his unwelcome visitor with due respect, but with ambiguous answers, and Hastings, most imprudently, gave the order for the Rajah's arrest. The Rajah submitted, but his troops and the population of Benares rose to the rescue : a portion of Hastings's little force was massacred, the Rajah regained his liberty, and the Governor-General found safety only in flight. The insurrection rapidly spread to the country around, and assumed dangerous proportions, but the promptitude and vigour of-Hastings soon restored order. Cheyt Sing was deposed, compelled to flee his country, his estates were confiscated, and a new Rajah of Benares was appointed in his stead. The charge subsequently preferred against Hastings in connection with this affair turned upon the question whether Cheyt Sing Was, as the prosecutors affirmed, a sovereign prince who owed no duty to the Bengal government beyond the payment (which he Page 92 had regularly performed) of a fixed annual tribute; or as Hastings contended, a mere feudal vassal, bound to furnish aid when called upon by his over-lord. Pitt, as we have said, took the latter view, yet he gave his support to the charge on the ground that the fine imposed upon the Rajah of Benares was excessive., Upon the whole, it would appear that Hastings was acting within his rights in demanding an extraordinary subsidy from the Rajah but the enormous amount of the fine, and the harshness and in' dignity with which Cheyt Sing was treated, point to a determination on the part of the Governor-General to ruin a subject prince, with whom, moreover, it was known he had personal grounds of pique. The deposition of Cheyt Sing was followed by an act on which was afterwards founded the most sensational of all the charges brought against Warren Hastings. Shuja-u-Dowlah, the Nawab Vizier of Oude, to whom Hastings had sold the Rohillas, died in 1775, and was succeeded by his son Asaph-u-Dowlah. At the time of his death Shuja-u-Dowlah was deeply in debt, both to his own army and to the Bengal Government. The treasure which he left was estimated at two millions sterling, but this vast sum of money and certain rich estates were appropriated by his mother and widow, the begums, or princesses, of Oude, under the pretence of a will which may possibly have existed, but was certainly never Produced. With this wealth at their disposal the begums enjoyed a practical independence of the new vizier, who was no match in energy and resolution for his mother and grandmother. A small portion, however, of the money was paid over to the vizier, on the understanding, guaranteed by the Bengal Government, that the begums should be left in undisturbed enjoyment of the remainder of their possessions. Hastings believed, and, it would seem, on good grounds, that the younger begum had busied herself actively in fomenting the insurrection which broke out upon the arrest of Cheyt Sing at Benares. He conceived a plan by which he might at once punish the rebellious princesses, and secure for the exchequer at Calcutta the arrears of debt due from the Government of Oude. He withdrew the guarantee, and urged the Vizier to seize upon the estates possessed by the begums. Asaph-u-Dowlah came willingly into the arrangement, but, when it became necessary to act, his heart failed him. Hastings, however, was not to be trifled with. English troops were employed: the begums were closely confined in their palace at Fyzabad; and, to the lasting disgrace of Hastings, their personal attendants were starved and even tortured, until they consented to surrender their money and estates. Hastings's conduct in withdrawing the guarantee was not without justification ; the means which he suffered to be employed in carrying out his purpose, and for the employment of which he must be held primarily responsible, were utterly indefensible. Page 93 Long before his return to England, the Governor-General's proceedings had engaged no little share of public attention in this country. In Parliament the attack was led by Burke and Fox; Hastings's chief defender was one Major Scott, an Indian officer whom he had sent over to England as his agent in 1780, and who maintained his patron's cause by voice and pen, in Parliament and in the press, with far more energy than discretion. In 1784 Mrs. Hastings arrived in England, bringing home with her, says Wraxall, "about 40,000 pounds, acquired without her husband's privity or approval;" and a year later her husband followed her, having resigned his Governor-Generalship. The fortune which he now possessed was moderate, his opportunities considered, and had been honourably acquired; for his motives had never been mercenary, and the money which he had wrung from Indian princes had invariably been applied to the service of the Company or the necessities of his administration. He was received with honour by the Directors and with favour by the Court. There was talk of a peerage for him, and he believed himself not only beyond danger, but in the direct road to reward and distinction. But all this was the calm which preceded the storm. The enemies of Hastings were active and bitterly in earnest, and they were receiving invaluable assistance from his old opponent in council, Francis, who had returned to England in 1781. In April, 1786, the charges, drawn up by Burke, were laid on the table of the House of Commons. The first charge, respecting the Rohilla war, was thrown out by the House, ministers siding with the accused. But on the second charge, relating to the Rajah of Benares, the Prime Minister, Pitt, declared against Hastings on the ground that, although the Governor-General had the right to impose a fine upon his vassal, the amount of the fine was excessive, and the motion was affirmed by a majority of forty votes. Early the next session, in February, 1787, Sheridan moved the third charge, touching the begums of Oude, in a speech which was pronounced the most brilliant ever delivered in the House of Commons. The majority against Hastings was on this occasion increased to one hundred and seven, Pitt, as before, supporting the motion. Other charges of oppression and corruption were then gone into and affirmed, and in May, by order of the House, Burke formally impeached Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemeanours at the bar of the House of Lords. The accused was admitted to bail, himself in 20,000 pounds, and two sureties in 10,000 pounds each. The Committee of Management, elected by the Commons to conduct the impeachment, included Burke and Fox, Sheridan and Windham, and the trial was opened before the Lords, in Westminster Hall, on the 13th of February, 1788. After two days occupied in reading the charges and the defendant's replies, Burke arose and opened the case for the prosecution in a speech full of eloquent exaggeration and honourable Page 94 zeal in the cause of an oppressed people. He spoke during days, after which the Benares charge was brought forward by Fox and Grey (afterwards Earl Grey), the youngest of the managers, and that relating to the Begums by Adam and Sheridan. The court then adjourned to the next session. But it is unnecessary here to follow the details of this famous trial which "dragged its slow length along" for seven years. In the spring of 1795 Hastings was acquitted, by a large majority, on all counts; and, although his conduct had, in some particulars, been far from faultless, and the sincerity of his principal accusers was beyond question, his acquittal must be owned as just as it was honourable, especially when we remember that his action had been entirely uninfluenced by considerations of private advantage, that he had endured for so many anxious years the burden of an impeachment, that he was ruined in fortune by the expenses of the trial, and that his great services to his country had been left wholly without reward. His poverty, however, was relieved by the Directors of the East India Company, who bestowed upon him a pension of 4,000 a year, and he passed the remainder of his long life in honourable retirement. He died in 1818, his wife, to whom he was always devotedly attached, surviving him by a few Years. The following section contains little besides the account of Fanny's visits to Westminster Hall during the early days of the trial. One other event, however, it relates, of sorrowful significance to the diarist. By the death of Mrs. Delany, on the 11th of April, 17; she lost at once a dear and venerated friend, and her only occasional refuge from the odious tyranny of Court routine.-ED.] Page 95 WESTMINSTER HALL AT THE OPENING OF THE HASTINGS TRIAL. February 13th. O what an interesting transaction does this day open! a day, indeed, of strong emotion to me, though all upon matters foreign to any immediate concern of my own--if anything may be called foreign that deeply interests us, merely because it is not personal. The trial, so long impending, of Mr. Hastings, opened to-day. The queen yesterday asked me if I wished to be present at the beginning, or had rather take another day. I was greatly obliged by her condescension, and preferred the opening. I thought it would give me a general view of the court, and the manner of proceeding, and that I might read hereafter the speeches and evidence. She then told me she had six tickets from Sir Peter Burrell, the grand chamberlain, for every day; that three were for his box, and three for his gallery. She asked me who I would go with, and promised me a box-ticket not only for myself, but my companion. Nor was this consideration all she showed me for she added, that as I might naturally wish for my father, she would have me send him my other ticket. I thanked her very gratefully, and after dinner went to St. Martin's-street; but all there was embarrassing: my father could not go; he was averse to be present at the trial, and he was a little lame from a fall. In the end I sent an express to Hammersmith, to desire Charles(262) to come to me the next morning by eight o'clock. I was very sorry not to have my father, as he had been named by the queen; but I was glad to have Charles. I told her majesty at night the step I had ventured to take, and she was perfectly content with it. "But I must trouble you," she said, "with Miss Gomme, who has no other way to go." This morning the queen dispensed with all attendance from me after her first dressing, that I might haste away. Mrs. Schwellenberg was fortunately well enough to take the whole duty, and the sweet queen not only hurried me off, but sent me some cakes from her own breakfast-table, that I might Page 96 carry them, in my pocket, lest I should have no time for eating before I went. Charles was not in time, but we all did well in the end We got to Westminster Hall between nine and ten O'clock; and, as I know my dear Susan, like my-self, was never at a trial, I will give some account of the place and arrangements'; and whether the description be new to her or old, my partial Fredy will not blame it. The grand chamberlain's box Is in the centre of the upper end of the Hall: there we sat, Miss Gomme and myself, immediately behind the chair placed for Sir Peter Burrell. To the left, on the same level, were the green benches for the House of Commons, which occupied a third of the upper end of the Hall, and the whole of the left side: to the right of us, on the same level, was the grand chamberlain's gallery. The right side of the Hall, opposite to the green benches for the commons, was appropriated to the peeresses and peers' daughters. The bottom of the Hall contained the royal family's box and the lord high steward's, above which was a large gallery appointed for receiving company with peers' tickets. A gallery also was run along the left side of the Hall, above the green benches, which is called the Duke of Newcastle's box, the centre of which was railed off into a separate apartment for the reception of the queen and four eldest princesses, who were then incog., not choosing to appear in state, and in their own box. Along the right side of the Hall ran another gallery, over the seats of the peeresses, and this was divided into boxes for various people--the lord chamberlain, (not the great chamberlain,) the surveyor, architect, etc. So much for all the raised buildings ; now for the disposition of the Hall itself, or ground. In the middle was placed a large table, and at the head of it the seat for the chancellor, and round it seats for the judges, the masters in chancery, the clerks, and all who belonged to the law; the upper end, and the right side of the room, was allotted to the peers in their robes; the left side to the bishops and archbishops. Immediately below the great chamberlain's box was the place allotted for the prisoner. On his right side was a box for his own counsel, on his left the box for the managers, or committee, for the prosecution; and these three most important of all the divisions in the Hall were all directly adjoining to where I was seated. Almost the moment I entered I was spoken to by a lady I Page 97 did not recollect, but found afterwards to be Lady Claremont and this proved very agreeable, for she took Sir Peter's place: and said she would occupy it till he claimed it; and then, when just before me, she named to me all the order of the buildings, and all the company, pointing out every distinguished person, and most obligingly desiring me to ask her any questions I wanted to have solved, as she knew, she said, "all those creatures that filled the green benches, looking so little like gentlemen, and so much like hair-dressers," These were the Commons. In truth, she did the honours of the Hall to me with as much good nature and good breeding as if I had been a foreigner of distinction, to whom she had dedicated her time and attention. My acquaintance with her had been made formerly at Mrs. Vesey's. The business did not begin till near twelve o'clock. The opening to the whole then took place, by the entrance of the managers of the prosecution; all the company were already long in their boxes or galleries. I shuddered, and drew Involuntarily back, when, as the doors were flung open, I saw Mr. Burke, as head of the committee, make his solemn entry. He held a scroll in his hand, and walked alone, his brow knit with corroding care and deep labouring thought,---a brow how different to that which had proved so alluring to my warmest admiration when first I met him! so highly as he had been my favourite, so captivating as I had found his manners; and conversation in our first acquaintance, and so much as I had owed to his zeal and kindness to me and my affairs in its progress! How did I grieve to behold him now the cruel prosecutor (such to me he appeared) of an injured and innocent man! Mr. Fox followed next, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Windham, Messrs. Anstruther, Grey, Adam, Michael Angelo Taylor, Pelham, Colonel North, Mr. Frederick Montagu, Sir Gilbert Elliot, General Burgoyne, Dudley Long, etc. They were all named over to me by Lady Claremont, or I should not have recollected even those of my acquaintance, from the shortness of my sight, When the committee box was filled the House of Commons at large took their seats on their green benches, which stretched, as I have said, along the whole left side of the Hall, and, taking in a third of the upper end, joined to the great Chamberlain's box, from which nothing separated them but a Partition of about two feet in height. Then began the procession, the clerks entering first, then Page 98 the lawyers according to their rank, and the peers, bishops, and officers, all in their coronation robes; concluding with the princes of the blood,--Prince William, son to the Duke of Gloucester, coming first, then the Dukes of Cumberland, Gloucester, and York, then the Prince of Wales; and the whole ending by the chancellor, with his train borne. They then all took their seats. WARREN HASTINGS APPEARS AT THE BAR. A sergeant-at- arms arose, and commanded silence in court, on pain of imprisonment. Then some other officer, in a loud voice, called out, as well as I can recollect, words to this purpose:-- "Warren Hastings, esquire, come forth! Answer to the charges brought against you; save your bail, or forfeit your recognizance." Indeed I trembled at these words, and hardly Could keep my place when I found Mr. Hastings was being brought to the bar. He came forth from some place immediately under the great chamberlain's box, and was preceded by Sir Francis Molyneux, gentleman-usher of the black rod; and at each side of him walked his bail, Messrs. Sulivan and Sumner. The moment he came in sight, which was not for full ten minutes after his awful summons, he made a low bow to the chancellor and court facing him. I saw not his face, as he was directly under me. He moved on slowly, and, I think, supported between his two bails, to the opening of his own box; there, lower still, he bowed again; and then, advancing to the bar, he leant his hands upon it, and dropped on his knees; but a voice in the same minute proclaiming he had leave to rise, he stood up almost instantaneously, and a third time, profoundly bowed to the court. What an awful moment this for such a man!--a man fallen from such height of power to a situation so humiliating--from the almost unlimited command of so large a part of the eastern World to be cast at the feet of his enemies, of the great tribunal of his country, and of the nation at large, assembled thus in a body to try and to judge him! Could even his prosecutors at that moment look on--and not shudder at least, if they did not blush? The crier, I think it was, made, in a loud and hollow voice, a public proclamation, "That Warren Hastings, esquire, late governor-general of Bengal, was now on his trial for high Page 99 crimes and misdemeanours, with which he was charged by the commons of Great Britain; and that all persons whatsoever who had aught to allege against him were now to stand forth." A general silence followed, and the chancellor, Lord Thurlow, now made his speech. I will give it you to the best of my power from memory; the newspapers have printed it far less accurately than I have retained it, though I am by no means exact or secure. THE LORD CHANCELLOR'S SPEECH. Warren Hastings, you are now brought into this court to answer to the charge, brought against you by the knights, esquires, burgesses, and commons of Great Britain--charges now standing only as allegations, by them to be legally proved, or by you to be disproved. Bring forth your answer and defence, with that seriousness, respect, and truth, due to accusers so respectable. Time has been allowed you for preparation, proportioned to the intricacies in which the transactions are involved, and to the remote distances whence your documents may have been searched and required. You will be allowed bail, for the better forwarding your defence, and-whatever you can require will still be yours, of time, witnesses, and all things else you may hold necessary. This is not granted you as any indulgence: it is entirely your due: it is the privilege which every British subject has a right to claim, and which is due to every one who is brought before this high tribunal." This speech, uttered in a calm, equal, solemn manner, and in a voice mellow and penetrating, with eyes keen and black, yet softened into some degree of tenderness while fastened full upon the prisoner--this speech, its occasion, its portent, and its object, had an effect upon every hearer of producing the most respectful attention, and, out of the committee box at least, the strongest emotions in the cause of Mr. Hastings. Again Mr. Hastings made the lowest reverence to the court, and, leaning over the bar answered, with much agitation, through evident efforts to suppress it, "My lords --Impressed--deeply impressed-- I come before your lordships, equally confident in my own integrity, and in the justice of the court before which I am to clear it." "Impressed" and "deeply impressed," too, was my mind, by this short yet comprehensive speech, and all my best wishes Page 100 for his clearance and redress rose warmer than ever in my heart. THE READING OF THE CHARGES COMMENCED. A general silence again ensued, and then one of the lawyers opened the cause. He began by reading from an immense roll of parchment the general charges against Mr. Hastings, but he read in so monotonous a chant that nothing more could I hear or understand than now and then the name of Warren Hastings. During this reading, to which I vainly lent all my attention, Mr. Hastings, finding it, I presume, equally impossible to hear a word, began to cast his eyes around the house, and having taken a survey of all in front and at the sides, he turned about and looked up; pale looked his face--pale, ill, and altered. I was much affected by the sight of that dreadful harass which was written on his countenance. Had I looked at him without restraint, it could not have been without tears. I felt shocked, too, shocked and ashamed, to be seen by him in that place. I had wished to be present from an earnest interest in the business, joined to a firm confidence in his powers of defence; but his eyes were not those I wished to meet in Westminster Hall. I called upon Miss Gomme and Charles to assist me in looking another way, and in conversing with me as I turned aside, and I kept as much aloof as possible till he had taken his survey, and placed himself again in front. >From this time, however, he frequently looked round, and I was soon without a doubt that he must see me. . . . In a few minutes more, while this reading was still continued, I perceived Sir Joshua Reynolds in the midst of the committee. He, at the same moment, saw me also, and not only bowed, but smiled and nodded with his usual good-humour and intimacy, making at the same time a sign to his ear, by which I understood he had no trumpet; whether he had forgotten or lost it I know not. I would rather have answered all this dumb show anywhere else, as my last ambition was that of being noticed from such a box. I again entreated aid in turning away; but Miss Gomme, who is a friend of Sir Gilbert Elliot, one of the managers and an ill-wisher, for his sake, to the opposite cause, would only laugh, and ask why I should not be owned by them. I did not, however, like it, but had no choice from my near Page 101 situation; and in a few seconds I had again a bow, and a profound one, and again very ridiculously I was obliged to inquire of Lady Claremont who my own acquaintance might be. Mr. Richard Burke, senior, she answered. He is a brother of the great--great in defiance of all drawbacks--Edmund Burke. Another lawyer now arose, and read so exactly in the same manner, that it was utterly impossible to discover even whether it was a charge or an answer. Such reading as this, you may well suppose, set every body pretty much at their ease and but for the interest I took in looking from time to time at Mr. Hastings, and watching his countenance, I might as well have been away. He seemed composed after the first half-hour, and calm; but he looked with a species of indignant contempt towards his accusers, that could not, I think, have been worn had his defence been doubtful. Many there are who fear for him; for me, I own myself wholly confident in his acquittal. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. Soon after, a voice just by my side, from the green benches, said, "Will Miss Burney allow me to renew my acquaintance with her?" I turned about and saw Mr. Crutchley. All Streatham rose to my mind at sight of him. I have never beheld him since the Streatham society was abolished. We entered instantly upon the subject of that family, a Subject ever to me the most Interesting. He also had never seen poor Mrs. Thrale since her return to England; but he joined with me very earnestly in agreeing that, since so unhappy a step was now past recall, it became the duty, however painful a one, of the daughters, to support, not cast off and contemn, one who was now as much their mother as when she still bore their own name. "But how," cried he, "do you stand the fiery trial of this Streatham book that is coming upon us?" I acknowledged myself very uneasy about it, and he assured me all who had ever been at Streatham were in fright and consternation. We talked all these matters over more at length, till I was called away by an "How d'ye do, Miss Burney?" from the committee box! And then I saw young Mr. Burke, who had jumped up on the nearest form to speak to me. Pleasant enough! I checked my vexation as well as I was able, since the least shyness on my part to those with whom Page 102 formerly I had been social must instantly have been attributed to Court influence; and therefore, since I could not avoid the notice, I did what I could to talk with him as heretofore. He is besides so amiable a young man that I could not be sorry to see him again, though I regretted it should be Just In that place, and at this time. While we talked together, Mr. Crutchley went back to his more distant seat, and the moment I was able to withdraw from young Mr. Burke, Charles, who sat behind me, leant down and told me a gentleman had just desired to be presented to me. "Who?" quoth I. " Mr. Windham," he answered. I really thought he was laughing, and answered accordingly, but he assured me he was in earnest, and that Mr. Windham had begged him to make the proposition. What could I do? There was no refusing; yet a planned meeting with another of the committee, and one deep in the prosecution, and from whom one of the hardest charges has come(263)--could anything be less pleasant as I was then situated? The great chamberlain's box is the only part of the Hall that has any communication with either the committee box or the House of Commons, and it is also the very nearest to the prisoner. WILLIAM WINDHAM) ESQ., M.P. Mr. Windham I had seen twice before-both times at Miss Monckton's; and anywhere else I should have been much gratified by his desire of a third meeting, as he is one of the most agreeable, spirited, well-bred, and brilliant conversers I have ever spoken with. He is a neighbour, too, now, of Page 103 Charlotte's. He is member for Norwich, and a man of family and fortune, with a very pleasing though not handsome face, a very elegant figure, and an air of fashion and vivacity. The conversations I had had with him at Miss Monckton's had been, wholly- by his own means, extremely spirited and entertaining. I was sorry to see him make one of a set that appeared so inveterate against a man I believe so injuriously treated; and my concern was founded upon the good thoughts I had conceived of him, not merely from his social talents, which are yet very uncommon, but from a reason clearer to my remembrance. He loved Dr. Johnson,-and Dr. Johnson returned his affection. Their political principles and connexions were opposite, but Mr. Windham respected his venerable friend too highly to discuss any points that could offend him ; and showed for him so true a regard, that, during all his late illnesses, for the latter part of his life, his carriage and himself were alike at his service, to air, visit, or go out, whenever he was disposed to accept them. Nor was this all; one tender proof he gave of warm and generous regard, that I can never forget, and that rose instantly to my mind when I heard his name, and gave him a welcome in my eyes when they met his face : it is this: Dr. Johnson, in his last visit to Lichfield, was taken ill, and waited to recover strength for travelling back to town in his usual vehicle, a stage-coach-- as soon as this reached the ears of Mr. Windham, he set off for Lichfield in his own carriage, to offer to bring hint back to town in it, and at his own time. For a young man of fashion, such a trait towards an old, however dignified philosopher, must surely be a mark indisputable of an elevated mind and character; and still the more strongly it marked a noble way of thinking, as it was done in favour of a person in open opposition to his own party, and declared prejudices. Charles soon told me he was it my elbow. He had taken the place Mr. Crutchley had just left. The abord was, oil my , part, very awkward, from the distress I felt lest Mr. Hastings should look up, and from a conviction that I must not name Page 104 that gentleman, of whom alone I could then think, to a person in a committee against him. He, however, was easy, having no embarrassing thoughts, since the conference was of his own seeking. 'Twas so long since I had seen him, that I almost wonder he remembered me. After the first compliments he looked around him, and exclaimed "What an assembly is this! How striking a spectacle! I had not seen half its splendour down there. You have it here to great advantage; you lose some of the lords, but you gain all the ladies. You have a very good place here," "Yes and I may safely say I make a very impartial use of it for since here I have sat, I have never discovered to which side I have been listening!" He laughed, but told me they were then running through the charges. "And is it essential," cried I, "that they should so run them through that nobody can understand them? Is that a form of law?" He agreed to the absurdity - and then, looking still at the spectacle, which indeed is the most splendid I ever saw, arrested his eyes upon the chancellor. "He looks very well from hence," cried he; "and how well he acquits himself on these solemn occasions! With what dignity, what loftiness, what high propriety, he comports himself!" This praise to the chancellor, who is a known friend to Mr. Hastings, though I believe he would be the last to favour him unjustly now he is on trial, was a pleasant sound to my ear, and confirmed my original idea of the liberal disposition of my new associate. i joined heartily in the commendation, and warmly praised his speech. "Even a degree of pompousness," cried I, "in such a court as this, seems a propriety." "Yes," said he "but his speech had one word that might as well have been let alone: 'mere allegations' he called the charges; the word 'mere,' at least, might have been spared, especially as it is already strongly suspected on which side he leans!" I protested, and with truth, I had not heard the word in his speech; but he still affirmed it. "Surely," I said, "he was as fair and impartial as possible: he called the accusers 'so respectable!'" "Yes, but 'mere--mere' was no word for this occasion and it could not be unguarded, for he would never come to Page 105 speak in such a court as this, without some little thinking beforehand. However, he is a fine fellow,--a very fine fellow! and though, in his private life, guilty of so many inaccuracies, in his public capacity I really hold him to be unexceptionable." This fairness, from an oppositionist professed, brought me at once to easy terms with him. I begged him to inform me for what reason, at the end of the chancellor's speech, there had been a cry of "Hear! hear! hear him!" which had led me to expect another speech, when I found no other seemed intended. He laughed very much, and confessed that, as a parliament man, he was so used to that absurdity, that he had ceased to regard it; for that it was merely a mark of approbation to a speech already spoken; "And, in fact, they only," cried he, "say 'Hear!' when there is nothing more to be heard!" Then, still looking at the scene before him, he suddenly laughed, and said, "I must not, to Miss Burney, make this remark, but-it is observable that in the king's box sit the Hawkesbury family, while, next to the Speaker, who is here as a sort of representative of the king, sits Major Scott!" I knew his inference, of Court influence in favour of Mr. Hastings, but I thought it best to let it pass quietly. I knew, else, I should only be supposed under the same influence myself. Looking still on, he next noticed the two archbishops. "And see," cried he, "the Archbishop of York, Markham,--see how he affects to read the articles of impeachment, as if he was still open to either side! My good lord archbishop! your grace might, with perfect safety, spare your eyes, for your mind has been made up upon this subject before ever it was investigated. He holds Hastings to be the greatest man in the world--for Hastings promoted the interest of his son in the East Indies!" WINDHAM INVEIGHS AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS. Somewhat sarcastic, this - but I had as little time as power for answering, since now, and suddenly, his eye dropped down upon poor Mr. Hastings; the expression of his face instantly lost the gaiety and ease with which it had addressed me; he stopped short in his remarks; he fixed his eyes steadfastly on this new, and but too interesting object, and after viewing him 106 some time in a sort of earnest silence, he suddenly exclaimed as if speaking to himself, and from an impulse irresistible "What a sight is that! to see that man, that small portion of human clay, that poor feeble machine of earth, enclosed now in that little space, brought to that bar, a prisoner in a spot six foot square--and to reflect on his late power! Nations at his command! Princes prostrate at his feet!--What a change! how Must he feel it!--" He stopped, and I said not a word. I was glad to see him thus impressed; I hoped it might soften his enmity. I found, by his manner, that he had never, from the committee box, looked at him. He broke forth again, after a pause of Some length,--"Wonderful indeed! almost past credibility, is such a reverse! He that, so lately, had the Eastern world nearly at his beck; he, under whose tyrant power princes and potentates sunk and trembled; he, whose authority was without the reach of responsibility!--" Again he stopped, seeming struck, almost beyond the power of speech, with meditative commiseration ; but then, suddenly rousing himself, as if recollecting his "almost blunted purpose," he passionately exclaimed, "Oh could those--the thousands, the millions, who have groaned and languished under the iron rod of his oppressions- -could they but--whatever region they inhabit-- be permitted one dawn of light to look into this Hall, and see him there! There--where he now stands--It might prove, perhaps, some recompense for their sufferings!" I can hardly tell you, my dearest Susan, how shocked I felt at these words! words so hard, and following sensations so much more pitying and philosophic! I cannot believe Mr. Hastings guilty; I feel in myself a strong internal evidence of his innocence, drawn from all I have seen of him; I can only regard the prosecution as a party affair; but yet, since his adversaries now openly stake their names, fame, and character against him, I did not think it decent to intrude such an opinion. I could only be sorry, and silent. Still he looked at him, earnest in rumination, and as if unable to turn away his eyes; and presently he again exclaimed, "How wonderful an instance of the instability of mortal power is presented ]In that object! From possessions so extensive, from a despotism so uncontrolled. to see him, now there, in that small circumference! In the history Of human nature how memorable will be the records of this day! Page 107 a day that brings to the great tribunal of the nation a man whose power, so short a time since, was of equal magnitude with his crimes!" Good heaven! thought I, and do you really believe all this? Can Mr. Hastings appear to you such a monster? and are you not merely swayed by party? I could not hear him without shuddering, nor see him thus in earnest without alarm. I thought myself no longer bound to silence, since I saw, by the continuance as well as by the freedom of his exclamations, he conceived me of the same sentiments with himself; and therefore I hardily resolved to make known to him that mistake, which, indeed, was a liberty that seemed no longer impertinent, but a mere act of justice and honesty. His very expressive pause, his eyes still steadfastly fixed on Mr. Hastings, gave me ample opportunity for speaking - though I had some little difficulty how to get out what I wished to say. However, in the midst of his reverie, I broke forth, but not without great hesitation, and, very humbly, I said, "Could you pardon me, Mr. Windham, If I should forget, for a moment, that you are a committee man, and speak to you frankly?" He looked surprised, but laughed at the question, and very eagerly called out "Oh yes, yes, pray speak out, I beg it!" "Well, then, may I venture to say to you that I believe it utterly impossible for any one, not particularly engaged on the contrary side, ever to enter a court of justice, and not instantly, and involuntarily, wish well to the prisoner!" His surprise subsided by this general speech, which I had not courage to put in a more pointed way, and he very readily answered, "'Tis natural, certainly, and what must almost unavoidably be the first impulse; yet, where justice--" I stopped him; I saw I was not comprehended, and thought else he might say something to stop me. "May I," I said, " go yet a little farther ? "Yes," cried he, with a very civil smile, "and I feel an assent beforehand." " Supposing then, that even you, if that may be supposed, could be divested of all knowledge of the particulars of this affair, and in the same state of general Ignorance that I confess myself to be, and could then, like me, have seen Mr. Hastings make his entrance into this court, and looked at him when he was brought to that bar; not even you, Mr. Windham, could then have reflected on such a vicissitude for him, on all he has Page 108 left and all he has lost, and not have given him, like me, all your best wishes the moment you beheld him." The promised assent came not, though he was too civil to contradict me ; but still I saw he Understood me only in a general sense. I feared going farther : a weak advocate is apt to be a mischievous one and, as I knew nothing, it was not to a professed enemy I could talk of what I only believed. Recovering, now, from the strong emotion with which the sight of Mr. Hastings had filled him, he looked again around the court, and pointed out several of the principal characters present, with arch and striking remarks upon each of them, all uttered with high spirit, but none with ill-nature. ("Pitt," cried he, "is not here!--a noble stroke that for the annals of his administration! A trial is brought on by the whole House of Commons In a body, and he is absent at the very opening! However," added he, with a very meaning laugh, "I'm glad of it, for 'tis to his eternal disgrace!" Mercy! thought I, what a friend to kindness Is party! "Do you see Scott?" cried he. "No, I never saw him; pray show him to me," "There he is, in green; just now by the Speaker, now moved by the committee; in two minutes more he will be somewhere else, skipping backwards and forwards; what a grasshopper it is!" "I cannot look at him," cried I, "without recollecting a very extraordinary letter from him, that I read last summer in the newspaper, where he answers some attack that he says has been made upon him, because the term is used of 'a very insignificant fellow,' and he printed two or three letters in 'The Public Advertiser,' in following days, to prove, with great care and pains, that he knew it was all meant as an abuse of himself, from those words!" "And what," cried he, laughing, "do you say to that notion now you see him?" "That no one," cried I, examining him with my glass, "can possibly dispute his claim!" What pity that Mr. Hastings should have trusted his cause to so frivolous an agent! I believe, and indeed it is the general belief, both of foes and friends, that to his officious and injudicious zeal the present prosecution is wholly owing. Next, Mr. Windham pointed out Mr. Francis to me. 'TIS a singular circumstance, that the friend who most loves and the enemy Who most hates Mr. Hastings should bear the same Page 109 name!(264) Mr. Windham, with all the bias of party, gave me then the highest character of this Mr. Francis, whom he called one of the most ill-used of men. Want of documents how to answer forced me to be silent, oppositely as I thought. But it was a very unpleasant situation to me, as I saw that Mr. Windham still conceived me to have no other interest than a common, and probably to his mind, a weak compassion for the prisoner--that prisoner who, frequently looking around, saw me, I am certain, and saw with whom I was engaged. The subject of Mr. Francis again drew him back to Mr. Hastings, but with more severity of mind. "A prouder heart," cried he, "an ambition more profound, were never, I suppose, lodged in any mortal mould than in that man! With what a port he entered! did you observe him? his air! I saw not his face, but his air his port!" "Surely there," cried I, "he could not be to blame! He comes upon his defence; ought he to look as if he gave himself up?" "Why no; 'tis true he must look what vindication to himself he can; we must not blame him there." Encouraged by this little concession, I resolved to venture farther, and once more said "May I again, Mr. Windham, forget that you are a committee-man, and say something not fit for a committee man to hear?" "O yes!" cried he, laughing very much, and looking extremely curious. "I must fairly, then, own myself utterly ignorant upon this subject, and--and--may I go on?" "I beg you will!" "Well, then,--and originally prepossessed in favour of the object!" He quite started, and with a look of surprise from which all pleasure was separated, exclaimed--"Indeed!" "Yes!" cried I, "'tis really true, and really out, now!" "For Mr. Hastings, prepossessed!" he repeated, in a tone that seemed to say--do you not mean Mr. Burke? Page 110 "Yes," I said, "for Mr. Hastings! But I should not have presumed to own it just at this time,--so little as I am able to do honour to my prepossession by any materials to defend it,--but that you have given me courage, by appearing so free from all malignity in the business. Tis, therefore, Your own fault!" "But can you speak seriously," cried he, " "when You say you know nothing of this business?" "Very seriously: I never entered into it at all; it was always too intricate to tempt me." "But, surely you must have read the charges?" "No; they are so long, I had never the courage to begin." The conscious look with which he heard this, brought--all too late--to my remembrance, that one of them was drawn up, and delivered in the House, by himself! I was really very sorry to have been so unfortunate; but I had no way to call back the words, so was quiet, perforce. "Come then," cried he, emphatically, "to hear Burke! come and listen to him, and you will be mistress of the whole. Hear Burke, and read the charges of the Begums, and then you will form your judgment without difficulty." I would rather (thought I) hear him upon any other subject: but I made no answer; I only said, "Certainly, I can gain nothing by what is going forward to-day. I meant to come to the opening now, but it seems rather like the shutting up!" He was not to be put off. "You will come, however, to hear Burke? To hear truth, reason, justice, eloquence! You will then see, in other colours, 'That man!' There is more cruelty, more oppression, more tyranny, in that little machine, with an arrogance, a self-confidence, unexampled, unheard of!" MISS BURNEY BATTLES FOR THE ACCUSED. "Indeed, sir!" cried I; "that does not appear, to those who know him and--I--know him a little." "Do you?" cried he earnestly; "personally, do you know him?" "Yes; and from that knowledge arose this prepossession I have confessed." "Indeed, what you have seen of him have you then so much approved?" "Yes, very much! I must own the truth!" "But you have not seen much of him?" Page 111 "No, not lately. My first knowledge of him was almost immediately upon his coming from India; I had heard nothing of all these accusations; I had never been in the way of hearing them, and knew not even that there were any to be heard. I saw him, therefore, quite without prejudice, for or against him ; and indeed, I must own, he soon gave me a strong interest in his favour." The surprise with which he heard me must have silenced me on the subject, had it not been accompanied with an attention so earnest as to encourage me still to proceed. It is evident to me that this committee live so much shut Lip with one another, that they conclude all the world of the same opinions with themselves, and universally imagine that the tyrant they think themselves pursuing is a monster in every part of his life, and held in contempt and abhorrence by all mankind. Could I then be sorry, seeing this, to contribute my small mite towards clearing, at least, so very wide a mistake? On the contrary, when I saw he listened, I was most eager to give him all I could to hear, "I found him," I continued, "so mild, so gentle, so extremely pleasing in his manners--" "Gentle!" cried he, with quickness. "Yes, Indeed; gentle even to humility--" "Humility? Mr. Hastings and humility!" "Indeed it is true; he is perfectly diffident in the whole of his manner, when engaged in conversation; and so much struck was I, at that very time, by seeing him so simple, so unassuming, when just returned from a government that had accustomed him to a power superior to our monarchs here, that it produced an effect upon my mind in his favour which nothing can erase!" "Yes, Yes!" cried he, with great energy, "you will give it up! you must lose it, must give it up! it will be plucked away, rooted wholly out of your mind ." "Indeed, sir," cried I, steadily, "I believe not!" "You believe not?" repeated he, with added animation; "then there will be the more glory in making you a convert!" If "conversion" is the word, thought I, I would rather make than be made. "But --Mr. Windham," cried I, "all my amazement now is at your condescension in speaking to me upon this business at all, when I have confessed to you my total ignorance of the subject, and my original prepossession in favour of the object. Why Page 112 do you not ask me when I was at the play ? and how I liked the last opera?" He laughed; and we talked on a little while in that strain, till again, suddenly fixing his eyes on poor Mr. Hastings, his gaiety once more vanished, and he gravely and severely examined his countenance. "'Tis surely," cried he, "an unpleasant one. He does not know, I suppose, 'tis reckoned like his own!" "How should he," cried I, "look otherwise than unpleasant here?" "True," cried he; "yet still, I think, his features, his look, his whole expression, unfavourable to him. I never saw him but once before; that was at the bar of the House of Commons and there, as Burke admirably said, he looked, when first he glanced an eye against him, like a hungry tiger, ready to howl for his prey!" "Well," cried I, "I am sure he does not look fierce now! Contemptuous, a little, I think he does look!" I was sorry I used this word; yet its truth forced it to escape me. He did not like it; he repeated it; he could not but be sure the contempt could only be levelled at his prosecutors. I feared discussion, and flew off as fast as I could, to softer ground. "It was not," cried I, "with that countenance he gave me my prepossession! Very differently, indeed, he looked then!" "And can he ever look pleasant? can that face ever obtain an expression that is pleasing?" "Yes, indeed and in truth, very pleasant! It was in the country I first saw him, and without any restraint on his part; I saw him, therefore, perfectly natural and easy. And no one, let me say, could so have seen him without being pleased with him--his quietness and serenity, joined to his intelligence and information--" "His information?--in what way?" "In such a way as suited his hearer: not upon committee business--of all that I knew nothing. The only conversation in which I could mix was upon India, considered simply as, a country in which he had travelled; and his communications upon the people, the customs, habits, cities, and whatever I could name, were so instructive as well as entertaining, that I think I never recollect gaining more intelligence, or more pleasantly conveyed, from any conversation in which I ever have been engaged." Page 113 To this he listened with an attention that, but for the secret zeal which warmed me must have silenced and shamed me. I am satisfied this committee have concluded Mr. Hastings a mere man of blood, with slaughter and avarice for his sole ideas! The surprise with which he heard this just testimony to his social abilities was only silent from good-breeding, but his eyes expressed what his tongue withheld; something that satisfied me he concluded I had undesignedly been duped by him. I answered this silence by saying "There was no object for hypocrisy, for it was quite in retirement I met with him : it was not lately ; it is near two years since I have seen him; he had therefore no point to gain with me, nor was there any public character, nor any person whatever, that Could induce him to act a part; yet was he all I have said-informing, Communicative, instructive, and at the same time, gentle and highly pleasing." "Well," said he, very civilly, "I begin the less to wonder, now, that You have adhered to his side; but--" "To see him, then," cried I, stopping his 'but,'--"to see him brought to that bar! and kneeling at it!--indeed, Mr. Windham, I must own to you, I could hardly keep my seat--hardly forbear rising and running out of the Hall." "Why, there," cried he, "I agree with you! 'Tis certainly a humiliation not to be wished or defended: it is, indeed, a mere ceremony, a mere formality; but it is a mortifying one, and so obsolete, so unlike the practices of the times, so repugnant from a gentleman to a gentleman, that I myself looked another way: it hurt me, and I wished it dispensed with." "O, Mr. Windham," cried I, surprised and pleased, "and can you be so liberal?" "Yes," cried he, laughing, "but 'tis only to take you in!" Afterwards he asked what his coat was, whether blue Or purple; and said, "is it not customary for a prisoner to come black?" "Whether or not," quoth I, "I am heartily glad he has not done it; why should he seem so dismal, so shut out from hope?" "Why, I believe he is in the right. I think he has judged that not ill." "O, don't be so candid," cried I, "I beg you not." "Yes, yes, I must; and you know the reason," cried he, gaily; but presently exclaimed, "one unpleasant thing belong- Page 114 ing to being a manager is that I must now go and show myself in the committee." And then he very civilly bowed, and went down to his box, leaving me much persuaded that I had never yet been engaged in a conversation so curious, from its circumstances, in my life. The warm well-wisher myself of the prisoner, though formerly the warmest admirer of his accuser, engaged, even at his trial and in his presence, in so open a discussion with one of his principal prosecutors; and the queen herself in full view, unavoidably beholding me in close and eager conference with an avowed member of the opposition! These circumstances made me at first enter into discourse with Mr. Windham with the utmost reluctance ; but though I wished to shun him, I could not, when once attacked, decline to converse with him. It would but injure the cause of Mr. Hastings to seem to fear hearing the voice of his accusers; and it could but be attributed to undue court-influence had I avoided any intercourse with an acquaintance so long ago established as a member of the opposition. A WEARIED M.P.-MR. CRUTCHLEY REAPPEARS. In the midst of the opening of a trial such as this, so important to the country as well as to the individual who is tried, what will you say to a man--a member of the House of Commons who kept exclaiming almost perpetually, just at my side, "What a bore!- -when will it be over?--Must one come any more?--I had a great mind not to have come at all.--Who's that?--Lady Hawkesbury and the Copes?--Yes.--A pretty girl, Kitty.--Well, when will they have done?--I wish they'd call the question--I should vote it a bore at once! just such exclamations as these were repeated, without intermission, till the gentleman departed: and who should it be that spoke with so much legislative wisdom but Mr. W---! In about two or three hours--this reading still lasting--Mr. Crutchley came to me again. He, too, was so wearied, that he was departing; but he stayed some time to talk over our constant topic--my poor Mrs. Thrale. How little does he suspect the interest I unceasingly take in her--the avidity with which I seize every opportunity to gather the smallest intelligence concerning her! One little trait of Mr. Crutchley, so characteristic of that queerness which distinguishes him, I must mention. He said Page 115 he questioned whether he should comme any more: I told him I had imagined the attendance of every member to be indispensable. "No," cried he, "ten to one if another day they are able to make a house!" "The Lords, however, I suppose, must come?" "Not unless they like it." " But I hear if they do not attend they have no tickets." "Why, then, Miss Primrose and Miss Cowslip must stay away too!" I had the pleasure to find him entirely for Mr. Hastings, and to hear he had constantly voted on his side through every stage of the business. He is a very independent man, and a man of real good character, and, with all his oddity, of real understanding. We compared notes very amicably upon this subject, and both agreed that those who looked for every flaw in the conduct of a man in so high and hazardous a station, ought first to have weighed his merits and his difficulties. MR. WINDHAM DISCUSSES THE IMPEACHMENT. A far more interesting conference, however, was now awaiting me. Towards the close of the day Mr. Windham very unexpectedly came again from the committee-box, and seated himself by my side. I was glad to see by this second visit that my frankness had not offended him. He began, too, in so open and social a manner, that I was satisfied he forgave it. "I have been," cried he, "very busy since I left you.--writing-- reading--making documents." I saw he was much agitated ; the gaiety which seems natural to him was flown, and had left in its place the most evident and unquiet emotion. I looked a little surprised, and rallying himself, in a few moments he inquired if I wished for any refreshment, and proposed fetching me some. But, well as I liked him for a conspirator, I could not break bread with him! I thought now all was over of communication between us, but I was mistaken. He spoke for a minute or two upon the crowd--early hour of coming--hasty breakfasting and such general nothings; and then, as if involuntarily, he returned to the sole subject on his mind. "Our plan," cried he, "is all changing: we have all been busy--we are coming into a new method. I have been making preparations--I did not intend speaking for a considerable time--not till after the circuit, but now, I may be called upon, I know not how soon." Page 116 Then he stopped--ruminating--and I let him ruminate without interruption for some minutes, when he broke forth with these reflections: "How strange, how infatuated a frailty has man with respect to the future! Be our views, our designs, our anticipations what they may, we are never prepared for it!--It always takes us by surprise--always comes before we look for it!" He stopped; but I waited his explanation without speaking, and, after pausing thoughtfully for some time, he went on: "This day--for which we have all been waiting so anxiously, so earnestly--the day for which we have fought, for which we have struggled--a day, indeed, of national glory, in bringing to this great tribunal a delinquent from so high an office--this day, so much wished, has seemed to me, to the last moment, so distant, that now--now that it Is actually arrived, it takes me as if I had never thought of it before--it comes upon me all unexpected, and finds me unready!" Still I said nothing, for I did not fully comprehend him, till he added, "I will not be so affected as to say to you that I have made no preparation--that I have not thought a little upon what I have to do; yet now that the moment is actually come--" Again he broke off. but a generous sentiment was, bursting from him, and would not be withheld. "It has brought me," he resumed, "a feeling of which I am not yet quite the master! What I have said hitherto, when I have spoken in the house, has been urged and stimulated by the idea of pleading for the injured and the absent, and that gave me spirit. Nor do I tell you (with a half-conscious smile) that the ardour of the prosecution went for nothing--a prosecution in favour of oppressed millions! But now,. when I am to speak here, the thought of that man, close to my side--culprit as he is--that man on whom all the odium is to fall--gives me, I own, a sensation that almost disqualifies me beforehand!" . . . "That this day was ever brought about," continued he, "must ever remain a noble memorial of courage and perseverance in the Commons. Every possible obstacle has been thrown in our way-- every art of government has been at work to impede us--nothing has been left untried to obstruct us--every check and clog of power and influence." "Not by him," cried I, looking at poor Mr. Hastings; "he has raised no impediments--he has been wholly careless." Page 117 "Come," cried he, with energy, "come and hear Burke!--Come but and hear him!--'tis an eloquence irresistible!--a torrent that sweeps all before it with the force of a whirlwind! It will Cure You, indeed, of your prepossession, but it will give you truth and right in its place. What discoveries has he not made!--what gulfs has he not dived into! Come and hear him, and your conflict will end!" I could hardly stand this, and, to turn it off', asked him if Mr. Hastings was to make his own defence? "No," he answered, "he will only speak by counsel. But do not regret that, for his own sake, as he is not used to public speaking, and has some impediment in his speech besides. He writes wonderfully--there he shines--and with a facility quite astonishing. Have you ever happened to see any of his writings?" "No: only one short account, which he calls 'Memoirs relative to some India transactions,' and that struck me to be extremely unequal--in some places strong and finely expressed, In others obscure and scarce intelligible." "That is just the case--that ambiguity runs through him in everything. Burke has found an admirable word for it in the Persian tongue, for which we have no translation, but it means an intricacy involved so deep as to be nearly unfathomable--an artificial entanglement." I inquired how it was all to end--whether this reading was to continue incessantly, or any speaking was to follow it? "I have not inquired how that is," he answered, "but I believe you will now soon be released." "And will the chancellor speak to adjourn?" "I cannot tell what the form may be, or how we are to be dissolved. I think myself there is nothing more difficult than how to tell people they may go about their business. I remember, when I was in the militia, it was just what I thought the most awkward, when I had done with my men. Use gives one the habit; and I found, afterwards, there was a regular mode for it: but, at first, I found it very embarrassing how to get rid of them." Nothing excites frankness like frankness ; and I answered him in return with a case of my own. "When first I came to my present residence I was perpetually," I said, "upon the point of making a blunder with the queen; for when, after she had honoured me with any conversation, she used to say 'Now I won't keep you--now I will detain you no longer,' . Page 118 I was always ready to answer, 'Ma'am, I am in no haste,- ma'am, I don't wish to go!' for I was not, at first, aware that it was only her mode of dismissing people from her presence." WINDHAM AFFECTS TO COMMISERATE HASTINGS. Again he was going: but glancing his eyes once more down upon Mr. Hastings, he almost sighed--he fetched, at least, a deep breath, while he exclaimed with strong emotion, "What a place for a man to stand in to hear what he has to hear!--'tis almost too much!" It would not be easy to tell you how touching at such a time was the smallest concession from an avowed opponent, and I could not help exclaiming again, "O, Mr. Windham, you must not be so liberal!" "O!" cried he, smiling, and recovering himself, "'tis all the deeper malice, only to draw you in!" Still, however, he did not go : he kept gazing upon Mr. Hastings till he seemed almost fascinated to the spot; and presently after, growing more and more open in his discourse, he began to talk to me of Sir Elijah Impey. I presume my dearest friends, little as they hear of politics and state business, must yet know that the House of Commons is threatening Sir Elijah with an impeachment, to succeed that of Mr. Hastings, and all upon East India transactions of the same date.(265) When he had given me his sentiments upon this subject, which I had heard with that sort of quietness that results from total ignorance of the matter, joined to total ignorance of the person concerned, he drew a short comparison, which, nearly, from him, and at such a moment, drew the tears from my eyes--nearly do I say?--Indeed more than that! "Sir Elijah," cried he, "knows how to go to work, and by getting the lawyers to side with him professionally, has set Page 119 about his defence in the most artful manner. He is not only wicked, but a very pitiful fellow. Let him but escape fine or imprisonment, and he will pocket all indignity, and hold himself happy in getting off: but Hastings (again looking steadfastly at him)--Hastings has feeling--'tis a proud feeling, an ambitious feeling--but feeling he has! Hastings--come to him what may-- fine, imprisonment, whatsoever is inflicted--all will be nothing. The moment of his punishment--I think it, upon my honour!--was the moment that brought him to that bar!" When he said "I think it, upon my honour," he laid his hand on his breast, as if he implied, "I acquit him henceforward." Poor Mr. Hastings! One generous enemy he has at least, who pursues him with public hate, but without personal malignity! yet sure I feel he can deserve neither! I did not spare to express my sense of this liberality from a foe; for, indeed, the situation I was in, and the sight of Mr. Hastings, made it very affecting to me. He was affected too, himself; but presently, rising, he said with great quickness, "I must shake all. this off; I must have done with it--dismiss it-- forget that he is there." "O, no," cried I, earnestly, "do not forget it!" "Yes, yes; I must." " No, remember it rather," cried I; "I could almost (putting up my hands as if praying) do thus and then, like poor Mr. Hastings just now to the house, drop down on my knees to you, to call out 'Remember it.'" "Yes, Yes," cried he, precipitately, "how else shall I go on? I must forget that he is there, and that you are here." And then he hurried down to his committee. Was it not a most singular scene ? I had afterwards to relate great part of this to the queen herself. She saw me engaged in such close discourse, and with such apparent interest on both sides, with Mr. Windham, that I knew she must else form conjectures innumerable. So candid, so liberal is the mind of the queen, that she not only heard me with the most favourable attention towards Mr. Windham, but was herself touched even to tears by the relation. We stayed but a short time after this last conference ; for nothing more was attempted than reading on the charges and answers, in the same useless manner, 120 MISS BURNEY IS AGAIN PRESENT AT HASTINGS'S TRIAL.. The interest of this trial was so much upon my mind, that I have not kept even a memorandum of what passed from the 13th of February to the day when I went again to Westminster Hall; nor, except renewing the Friday Oratorios with Mrs. Ord, do I recollect one circumstance. The second time that the queen, who saw my wishes, indulged me with one of her tickets, and a permission of absence for the trial, was to hear Mr. Burke, for whom my curiosity and my interest stood the highest. One ticket, however, would not do; I could not go alone, and the queen had bestowed all her other' tickets before she discovered that this was a day in my particular wishes. She entered into my perplexity with a sweetness the most gracious, and when I knew not how to obviate it, commanded me to write to the Duchess of Ancaster, and beg permission to be put under the wing of her grace, or any of her friends that were going to the Hall. The duchess, unluckily, did not go, from indisposition, nor any of her family; but she sent me a very obliging letter, and another ticket from Sir Peter Burrell, to use for a companion. I fixed upon James, who, I knew, wished to hear Mr. Burke for once, and we went together very comfortably. When the managers, who, as before, made the first procession, by entering their box below us, were all arranged, one from among them, whom I knew not, came up into the seats of the House of Commons by our side, and said, "Captain Burney, I am very glad to see you." "How do you do, sir ?" answered James; "here I am, come to see the fine show." Upon this the attacker turned short upon his heel, and abruptly walked away, descending into the box, which he did not quit any more. I inquired who he was; General Burgoyne, James told me. "A manager!" cried I, "and one of the chargers! and you treat the business of the Hall with such contempt to his face!" James laughed heartily at his own uncourtly address, but I would not repent, though he acknowledged he saw the offence his slight and slighting speech had given. Fearful lest he should proceed in the same style with my friend Mr. Windham, I kept as aloof as possible, to avoid his notice, entreating James at the same time to have the complaisance to be silent upon this subject, should he discover me Page 121 and approach. My own sentiments were as opposite to those of the managers as his, and I had not scrupled to avow honestly my dissent; but I well knew Mr. Windham might bear, and even respect, from a female, the same openness of opposition that might be highly offensive to him from a man. But I could obtain no positive promise; he would only compromise with my request, and agree not to speak unless applied to first. This, however, contented me, as Mr. Windham was too far embarked in his undertaking to solicit any opinion upon it from accidentally meeting any common acquaintance. >From young Burke and his uncle Richard I had bows from the committee box. Mr. Windham either saw me not, or was too much engaged in business to ascend. BURKE'.S SPEECH IN SUPPORT OF THE CHARGES. At length the peers' procession closed, the prisoner was brought in, and Mr. Burke began his speech. It was the second day of his harangue;(266) the first I had not been able to attend. All I had heard of his eloquence, and all I had conceived of his great abilities, was more than answered by his performance. Nervous, clear, and striking was almost all that he uttered: the main business, indeed, of his coming forth was frequently neglected, and not seldom wholly lost , but his excursions were so fanciful, so entertaining, and so ingenious, that no miscellaneous hearer, like myself, could blame them. It is true he was unequal, but his inequality produced an effect which, in so long a speech, was perhaps preferable to greater consistency since, though it lost attention in its falling off, it recovered it with additional energy by some ascent unexpected and wonderful. When he narrated, he was easy, flowing, and natural; when he declaimed, energetic, warm, and brilliant. The sentiments he interspersed were as nobly conceived as they were highly coloured; his satire had a poignancy of wit that made it as entertaining as it was penetrating; his allusions and quotations, as far as they were English and within my reach, were apt and ingenious - and the wild and sudden flights of his fancy, bursting forth from his creative imagination in language fluent, forcible, and varied, had a charm for my ear and my attention wholly new and perfectly irresistible. Were talents such as these exercised in the service of truth, Page 122 unbiased by party and prejudice, how could we sufficiently applaud their exalted possessor? But though frequently he made me tremble by his strong and horrible representations, his own violence recovered me, by stigmatizing his assertions with personal ill-will and designing illiberality. Yet, at times I confess, with all that I felt, wished, and thought concerning Mr. Hastings, the whirlwind of his eloquence nearly drew me into its vortex. I give no particulars of the speech, because they will all be printed. The observations and whispers of our keen as well as honest James, during the whole, were highly characteristic and entertaining. "When will he come to the point?"-"These are mere words!"--"This is all sheer detraction!"--"All this is nothing to the purpose!" etc., etc. "Well, ma'am, what say you to all this? how have you been entertained?" cried a voice at my side; and I saw Mr. Crutchley, who came round to speak to me. "Entertained?" cried I, "indeed, not at all, it is quite too serious and too horrible for entertainment: you ask after my amusement as if I were at an opera or a comedy." "A comedy?" repeated he, contemptuously, "no, a farce! It is not high enough for a comedy. To hear a man rant such stuff. But you should have been here the first day he spoke; this is milk and honey to that. He said then, ' His heart was as black--as-- black!' and called him the captain-general of iniquity." "Hush! hush!" cried I, for he spoke very loud; "that young man you see down there, who is looking up, is his son." "I know it," cried he, "and what do I care?" How I knew Mr. Crutchley again, by his ready talent of defiance, and disposition to contempt ! I was called aside from him by James. Mr. Crutchley retired, and Mr. Windham quitted his den, and approached me, with a smile of good-humour and satisfaction that made me instantly exclaim, "No exultation, Mr. Windham, no questions; don't ask me what I think of the speech; I can bear no triumph just now." "No, indeed," cried he, very civilly, "I will not, I promise you, and you may depend upon me." He then spoke to James, regretting with much politeness that he had seen so little of him when he was his neighbour in Norfolk, and attributing it to the load of India business he had carried into the country to study. I believe I have mentioned Page 123 that Felbrig, Mr. Windham's seat, is within a few miles of my brother-in-law, Mr. Francis's house at Aylsham. After this, however, ere we knew where we were, we began commenting upon the speech. It was impossible to refuse applause to its able delivery and skilful eloquence; I, too, who so long had been amongst the warmest personal admirers of Mr. Burke, could least of all withhold from him the mite of common justice. In talking over the speech, therefore, while I kept clear of its purpose, I gave to its execution the amplest praise; and I secretly grieved that I held back more blame than I had commendation to bestow. He had the good breeding to accept it just as I offered it, without claiming more, or endeavouring to entangle me in my approbation. He even checked himself, voluntarily, when he was asking me some question of my conversion, by stopping short, and saying, "But, no, it is not fair to press you; I must not do that." "You cannot," cried I, "press me too much, with respect to my admiration of the ability of the speaker; I never more wished to have written short-hand. I must content myself, however, that I have at least a long memory." He regretted very much that I had missed the first opening of the speech, and gave me some account of it, adding, I might judge what I had lost then by what I had heard now. I frankly confessed that the two stories which Mr. Burke had narrated had nearly overpowered me; they were pictures of cruelty so terrible. "But General Caillot," cried he, smiling, "the hero of one of them, you would be tempted to like: he is as mild, as meek, as gentle in his manners--" I saw he was going to say "As your Mr. Hastings;" but I interrupted him hastily, calling out, "Hush! hush! Mr. Windham; would you wish me in future to take to nothing but lions? FURTHER CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM. We then went into various other particulars of the speech, till Mr. Windham observed that Mr. Hastings was looking up, and, after examining him some time, said he did not like his countenance. I could have told him that he is generally reckoned extremely like himself but after such an observation I would not venture, and only said, "Indeed, he is cruelly altered: it Page 124 was not so he looked when I conceived for him that prepossession I have owned to you." "Altered, is he?" cried he, biting his lips and looking somewhat shocked. "Yes, and who can wonder? Indeed, it is quite affecting to see him sit there to hear such things." "I did not see him," cried he, eagerly "I did not think it right to look at him during the speech, nor from the committeebox; and, therefore, I constantly kept my eyes another way." I -had a great inclination to beg he would recommend a little of the same decency to some of his colleagues, among whom are three or four that even stand on the benches to examine him, during the severest strictures, with opera-glasses. Looking at him again now, myself, I could not see his pale face and haggard eye without fresh concern, nor forbear to exclaim, "Indeed, Mr. Windham, this is a dreadful business!" He seemed a little struck with this exclamation; and, lest it should offend him, I hastened to add, in apology, "You look so little like a bloody-minded prosecutor, that I forget I ought not to say these things to you." "Oh!" cried he, laughing, "we are only prosecutors there--(pointing to the committee-box), we are at play up here." . . . I wished much to know when he was himself to speak, and made sundry inquiries relative to the progress of the several harangues, but all without being comprehended, till at length I cried, "In short, Mr. Windham, I want to know when everybody speaks." He started, and cried with precipitancy, "Do you mean me?" "Yes." "No, I hope not; I hope you have no wants about my miserable speaking?" I Only laughed, and we talked for some time of other things; and then, suddenly, he burst forth with, "But you have really made me a little uneasy by what you dropped just now." "And what was that?" "Something like an intention of hearing me." "Oh, if that depended wholly on myself, I should certainly do it." "No, I hope not! I would not have you here on any account. If you have formed any expectations, it will give me great concern." "Pray don't be uneasy about that; for whatever expectations Page 125 I may have formed, I had much rather have them disappointed." " Ho! ho!--you come, then," cried he, pointedly, "to hear me, by way of soft ground to rest upon, after the hard course you will have been run with these higher-spirited speakers?" . . . He desired me not to fail to come and hear Fox. My chances, I told him, were very uncertain, and Friday was the earliest of them. "He speaks on Thursday," cried he, "and indeed you should hear him." "Thursday is my worst chance of all," I answered, "for it is the Court-day." "And is there no dispensation ? " cried he ; and then, recollecting himself, and looking very archly at Mr. Fox, who was just below us, he added, "No,--true--not for him!" "Not for any body!" cried I; "on a Court-day my attendance is as necessary, and I am dressed out as fine, and almost as stiff, as those heralds are here." I then told him what were my Windsor days, and begged he would not seize one of them to speak himself. "By no means," cried he, quite seriously, "would I have you here!--stay away, and only let me hope for your good wishes." " I shall be quite sincere," cried I, laughing, "and own to you that stay away I shall not, if I can possibly come; but as to my good wishes, I have not, in this case, one to give you!" He heard this with a start that was almost a jump. "What!" he exclaimed, "would you lay me under your judgment without your mercy?--Why this is heavier than any penal statute." He spoke this with an energy that made Mr. Fox look up, to see to whom he addressed his speech: but before I could answer it, poor James, tired of keeping his promised circumspection, advanced his head to join the conversation; and so much was I alarmed lest he should burst forth into some unguarded expression of his vehement hatred to the cause, which could not but have irritated its prosecutors, that the moment I perceived his motion and intention, I abruptly took my leave of Mr. Windham, and surprised poor James into a necessity of following me. Indeed I was now most eager to depart, from a circumstance that made me feel infinitely awkward. Mr. Burke himself was just come forward, to speak to a lady a little below me; Mr. Windham had instantly turned towards me, with a look of congratulation that seemed rejoicing for me, that the orator Page 126 of the day, and of the cause, was approaching,; but I retreated involuntarily back, and shirked meeting his eyes. He perceived in an instant the mistake he was making, and went on with his discourse as if Mr. Burke was out of the Hall. In a minute, however, Mr. Burke himself saw me, and he bowed with the most marked civility of manner; my courtesy was the most ungrateful, distant, and cold ; I could not do otherwise ; so hurt I felt to see him the head of such a cause, so impossible I found it to titter one word of admiration for a performance whose nobleness was so disgraced by its tenour, and so conscious was I the whole time that at such a moment to say nothing must seem almost an affront, that I hardly knew which way to look, or what to do with myself.(267) ' In coming downstairs I met Lord Walsingham and Sir Lucas Pepys. "Well, Miss Burney," cried the first, "what say you to a governor-general of India now?" "Only this," cried I, "that I do not dwell much upon any question till I have heard its answer!" Sir Lucas then attacked me too. All the world against poor Mr. Hastings, though without yet knowing what his materials may be for clearing away these aspersions! Miss FUZILIER LIKELY TO PECONIE MRS, FAIRLY, February.-Her majesty at this time was a little indisposed, and we missed going to Windsor for a fortnight, during which I received visits of inquiry from divers of her ladies--Mrs. Brudenell, bed-chamber woman; Miss Brudenell, her daughter, and a maid of honour elect, would but one of that class please to marry or die; Miss Tryon and Miss Beauclerk, maids of honour, neither of them in a firm way to oblige Miss Brudenell, being nothing approaching to death, though far advanced from marriage; and various others. Miss Brudenell's only present hope is said to be in Miss Fuzilier,(268) who is reported, with what foundation I know not, Page 127 to be likely to become Mrs. Fairly. She is pretty, learned, and accomplished ; yet, from the very little I have seen of her, I should not think she had heart enough to satisfy Mr. Fairly, in whose character the leading trait is the most acute sensibility, However, I have heard he has disclaimed all such intention, with high indignation at the report, as equally injurious to the delicacy both of Miss Fuzilier and himself, so recently after his loss. THE HASTINGS TRIAL AGAIN: MR. FOX IN A RAGE. And now for my third Westminster Hall, which, by the queen's own indulgent order, was with dear Charlott and Sarah. It was also to hear Mr. Fox, and I was very glad to let Mr. Windham see a "dispensation" was attainable, though the cause was accidental, since the queen's cold prevented the Drawing-room.(269) We went early, yet did not get very good places. The managers at this time were all in great wrath at a decision made the night before by the Lords, upon a dispute between them and the counsel for Mr. Hastings, which turned entirely in favour of the latter.(270) When they entered their committee-box, led on as usual by Mr. Burke, they all appeared in the extremest and most angry emotion. When they had caballed together some time, Mr. Windham came up among the Commons, to bow to some ladies of his acquaintance, and then to speak to me ; but he was so agitated and so disconcerted, he could name nothing but their recent provocation from the Lords. He seemed quite enraged, and broke forth with a vehemence I should not much have liked to have excited. They had experienced, he said, in the late decision, the Most injurious treatment that could be offered them: the Lords had resolved upon saving Mr. Hastings, and the chancellor had taken him under the grossest protection. Page 128 "In short," said he, "the whole business is taken out of our hands, and they have all determined to save him." "Have they indeed?" cried I, with Involuntary eagerness. "Yes," answered he, perceiving how little I was shocked for him, "it is now all going your way." I could not pretend to be sorry, and only inquired if Mr. Fox was to speak. "I know not," cried he, hastily, "what is to be done, who will speak, or what will be resolved. Fox is in a rage! Oh, a rage!" "But yet I hope he will speak. I have never heard him." "No? not the other day?" "No; I was then at Windsor." "Oh yes, I remember you told me you were going. You have lost every thing by it! To-day will be nothing, he is all rage! On Tuesday he was great indeed. You should have heard him then. And Burke, You should have heard the conclusion of Burke's speech; 'twas the noblest ever uttered by man!" "So I have been told." "To-day you will hear nothing--know nothing,--there will be no opportunity,- Fox is all fury." I told him he almost frightened me; for he spoke in a tremor himself that was really unpleasant. "Oh!" cried he, looking at me half reproachfully, half goodhumouredly, "Fox's fury is with the Lords--not there!" pointing to Mr. Hastings. I saw by this he entered into my feelings in the midst of his irritability, and that gave me courage to cry out, "I am glad of that at least!: Mr. Fox spoke five hours, and with a violence that did not make me forget what I had heard of his being in such a fury but I shall never give any account of these speeches, as they will all be printed. I shall only say a word of the speakers as far as relates to my own feelings about them, and that briefly will be to say that I adhere to Mr. Burke, whose oratorical powers appear to me far more gentleman-like, scholar-like, and fraught with true genius than those of Mr. Fox. it may be I am prejudiced by old kindnesses of Mr. Burke, and it may be that the countenance of Mr. Fox may have turned me against him, for it struck me to have a boldness in it quite hard and callous. However, it is little matter how much my judgment in this point may err. With you, my dear friends, I have Page 129 nothing further to do than simply to give it ; and even should it be wrong, it will not very essentially injure you in your politics. MRS. CREWE, MR. BURKE, AND MR. WINDHAM. Again, on the fourth time of my attendance at Westminster Hall, honest James was my esquire. We were so late from divers accidents that we did not enter till the same moment with the prisoner. In descending the steps I heard my name exclaimed with surprise, and looking before me, I saw myself recognised by Mrs. Crewe. "Miss Burney," she cried, "who could have thought of seeing you here!" Very obligingly she made me join her immediately, which, as I was with no lady, was a very desirable circumstance; and though her political principles are well known, and, of course, lead her to side with the enemies of Mr. Hastings, she had the good sense to conclude me on the other side, and the delicacy never once to distress me by any discussion of the prosecution. I was much disappointed to find nothing intended for this day's trial but hearing evidence; no speaker was preparing; all the attention was devoted to the witnesses. Mr. Adam, Mr. Dudley Long, and others that I know not, Came from the committee to chat with Mrs. Crewe; but soon after one came not so unknown to me--Mr. Burke; and Mrs. Crewe, seeing him ascend, named him to me, but was herself a little surprised to see it was his purpose to name himself, for he immediately made up to me, and with an air of such frank kindness that, could I have forgot his errand in that Hall, would have made me receive him as formerly, when I was almost fascinated with him. But far other were my sensations. I trembled as he approached me, with conscious change of sentiments, and with a dread of his pressing from me a disapprobation he might resent, but which I knew not how to disguise. "Near-sighted as I am," cried he, "I knew you immediately. I knew you from our box the moment I looked up; yet how long it is, except for an instant here, since I have seen you!" "Yes," I hesitatingly answered, "I live in a monastery now." He said nothing to this. He felt, perhaps, it was meant to express my inaccessibility. Page 130 I inquired after Mrs. Burke. He recounted to me the particulars of his sudden seizure when he spoke last, from the cramp in his stomach, owing to a draught of cold water which he drank in the midst of the heat of his oration. I could not even wear a semblance of being sorry for him on this occasion; and my cold answers made him soon bend down to speak with Mrs. Crewe. I was seated in the next row to her, just above. Mr. Windham was now talking with her. My whole curiosity and desire being to hear him, which had induced me to make a point of coming this time, I was eager to know if my chance was wholly gone. "You are aware," I cried, when he spoke to me, "what brings me here this morning No;" he protested he knew not. Mrs. Crewe, again a little surprised, I believe, at this second opposition acquaintance, began questioning how often I had attended this trial. Mr. Windham, with much warmth of regret, told her very seldom, and that I had lost Mr. Burke on his best day. I then turned to speak to Mr. Burke, that I might not seem listening, for they interspersed various civilities upon my peculiar right to have heard all the great speeches, but Mr. Burke was in so profound a reverie he did not hear me. I wished Mr. Windham had not either, for he called upon him aloud, "Mr. Burke, Miss Burney speaks to you!" He gave me his immediate attention with an air so full of respect that it quite shamed me. "Indeed," I cried, " I had never meant to speak to Mr. Burke again after hearing him in Westminster Hall. I had meant to keep at least that " geographical timidity." I alluded to an expression in his great speech of "geographical morality" which had struck me very much. He laughed heartily, instantly comprehending me, and assured me it was an idea that had occurred to him on the moment he had uttered it, wholly without study. A little general talk followed; and then, one of the lords rising to question some of the evidence, he said he must return to his committee and business,-very flatteringly saying, in quitting his post, "This is the first time I have played truant from the manager's box." However I might be obliged to him, which sincerely I felt, I was yet glad to have him go. My total ill will to all he was about made his conversation merely a pain to me. Page 131 I did not feel the same With regard to Mr. Windham. He is not the prosecutor, and seems endowed with so much liberality and candour that it not Only encourages me to speak to him what I think, but leads me to believe he will one day or other reflect upon joining a party so violent as a stain to the independence of his character. Almost instantly he came forward, to the place Mr. Burke had vacated. "Are you approaching," I cried, "to hear my upbraidings?" "Why--I don't know," cried he, looking half alarmed. "Oh! I give you warning, if you come you must expect them; so my invitation is almost as pleasant as the man's in 'Measure for Measure,' who calls to Master Barnardine, 'Won't you come down to be hanged?'" "But how," cried he, "have I incurred your upbraidings?" " By bringing me here," I answered, "only to disappoint me." "Did I bring you here?" "Yes, by telling me you were to speak to-day." He protested he could never have made such an assertion. I explained myself, reminding him he had told me he was certainly to speak before the recess; and that, therefore, when I was informed this was to be the last day of trial till after the recess, I concluded I should be right, but found myself so utterly wrong as to hear nothing but such evidence as I Could not even understand, because it was so uninteresting I could not even listen to it. "How strangely," he exclaimed, "are we all moulded, that nothing ever in this mortal life, however pleasant in itself, and however desirable from its circumstances, can come to us without alloy-- not even flattery; for here, at this moment, all the high gratification I should feel, and I am well disposed to feel it thoroughly in supposing you could think it worth your while to come hither in order to hear me, is kept down and subdued by the consciousness how much I must disappoint you." "Not at all," cried I; "the worse you speak, the better for my side of the question." He laughed, but confessed the agitation of his spirits was so great in the thought of that speech, whenever he was to make it, that it haunted him in fiery dreams in his sleep. "Sleep!" cried I; "do you ever sleep?" He stared a little, but I added with pretended dryness, "Do any of you that live down there in that prosecutor's den ever sleep in your beds? I should have imagined that, had you Page 132 even attempted it, the anticipating ghost of Mr. Hastings would have appeared to you in the dead of the night, and have drawn your curtains, and glared ghastly in your eyes. I do heartily wish Mr. Tickell would send You that 'Anticipation' at once!" This idea furnished us with sundry images, till, looking down upon Mr. Hastings, with an air a little moved, he said, "I am afraid the most insulting thing we do by him is coming up hither to show ourselves so easy and disengaged, and to enter into conversation with the ladies." "But I hope," cried I, alarmed, "he does not see that." "Why your caps," cried he, "are much in your favour for concealment; they are excellent screens to all but the first row!" I saw him, however, again look at the poor, and, I sincerely believe, much-injured prisoner, and as I saw also he still bore With my open opposition, I could not but again seize a favourable moment for being more serious With him. "Ah, Mr. Windham," I cried, "I have not forgot what dropped from you on the first day of this trial." He looked a little surprised. "You," I continued, "probably have no remembrance of it, for you have been living ever since down there; but I was more touched with what you said then, than with all I have since heard from all the others, and probably than with all I shall hear even from you again when you mount the rostrum." "You conclude," cried he, looking very sharp, "I shall then be better steeled against that fatal candour?" "In fact," cried I, "Mr. Windham, I do really believe your steeling to he factitious; notwithstanding you took pains to assure me your candour was but the deeper malice; and yet I will own, when once I have heard your speech, I have little expectation of ever having the honour of conversing with you again." "And why?" cried- he, starting back "what am I to say that you denounce such a forfeit beforehand?" I could not explain; I left him to imagine; for, should he prove as violent and as personal as the rest, I had no objection to his previously understanding I could have no future pleasure in discoursing with him. "I think, however," I continued, with a laugh, "that since I have settled this future taciturnity, I have a fair right in the meanwhile to say whatever comes uppermost." Page 133 He agreed to this with great approvance. "Molière, you know, in order to obtain a natural opinion of his plays, applied to an old woman: you upon the same principle, to obtain a natural opinion of political matters, should apply to an ignorant one--for you will never, I am sure, gain it down there." He smiled, whether he would or not, but protested this was the severest stricture upon his committee that had ever yet been uttered. MISS BURNEY'S UNBIASED SENTIMENTS. I told him as it was the last time he was likely to hear unbiased sentiments upon this subject, it was right they should be spoken very intelligibly. " And permit me," I said, " to begin with what strikes me the most. Were Mr. Hastings really the culprit he is represented, he would never stand there." "Certainly," cried he, with a candour he could not suppress, "there seems something favourable in that; it has a Pod look; but assure yourself he never expected to see this day." "But would he, if guilty, have waited its chance? Was not all the world before him? Could he not have chosen any other place of residence ?" "Yes--but the shame, the disgrace of a flight?" "What is it all to the shame and disgrace of convicted guilt?" He made no answer. "And now," I continued, "shall I tell you, just in the same simple style, how I have been struck with the speakers and speeches I have yet heard?" He eagerly begged me to go on. "The whole of this public speaking is quite new to me. I was never in the House of Commons. It is all a new creation to me." "And what a creation it is he exclaimed. "how noble, how elevating! and what an inhabitant for it!" I received his compliment with great courtesy, as an encouragement. for me to proceed. I then began upon Mr. Burke; but I must give you a very brief summary of my speech, as it could only be intelligible at full length from your having heard his. I told him that his opening had struck me with the highest admiration of his powers, from the eloquence, the imagination, the fire, the diversity of expression, and the ready flow of language, with which he seemed gifted, in a most superior manner, for any and every purpose to which rhetoric Page 134 could lead. "And when he came to his two narratives," I continued, "whence he related the particulars of those dreadful murders, he interested, he engaged, he at last overpowered me; I felt my cause lost. I Could hardly keep on my seat. My eyes dreaded a single glance towards a man so accused as Mr. Hastings; I wanted to sink on the floor, that they might be saved so painful a sight. I had no hope he could clear himself; not another wish in his favour remained. But When from this narration Mr. Burke proceeded to his own comments and declamation--when the charges of rapacity, cruelty, tyranny were general, and made with all the violence of personal detestation, and continued and aggravated without any further fact or illustration; then there appeared more of study than of truth, more of invective than of justice; and, in short, so little of proof to so much of passion, that in a very short time I began to lift up my head, my seat was no longer uneasy, my eyes were indifferent which way they looked, or what object caught them; and before I was myself aware of the declension of Mr. Burke's powers over my feelings, I found myself a mere spectator in a public place, and looking all around it, with my opera-glass in my hand." His eyes sought the ground on hearing this, and with no other comment than a rather uncomfortable shrug of the shoulders, he expressively and concisely said--"I comprehend you perfectly!" This was a hearing too favourable to stop me; and Mr. Hastings constantly before me was an animation to my spirits which nothing less could have given me, to a manager of such a committee. I next, therefore, began upon Mr. Fox; and I ran through the general matter of his speech, with such observations as had occurred to me in hearing it. "His violence," I said, "had that sort of monotony that seemed to result from its being factitious, and I felt less pardon for that than for any extravagance in Mr. Burke, whose excesses seemed at least to be unaffected, and, if they spoke against his judgment, spared his probity. Mr. Fox appeared to have no such excuse; he looked all good humour and negligent ease the instant before he began a speech of uninterrupted passion and vehemence, and he wore the same careless and disengaged air the very instant he had finished. A display of talents in which the inward man took so little share could have no powers of persuasion to those who saw them in that light and therefore. Page 135 however their brilliancy might be admired, they were useless to their cause, for they left the mind of the hearer in the same state that they found it." After a short vindication of his friends, he said, "You have never heard Pitt? You would like him beyond any other competitor." And then he made his panegyric in very strong terms, allowing him to be equal, ready, splendid, wonderful!--he was in constant astonishment himself at his powers and success;--his youth and inexperience never seemed against him: though he mounted to his present height after and in opposition to such a vortex of splendid abilities, yet, alone and unsupported, he coped with them all! And then, with conscious generosity, he finished a most noble éloge with these words: "Take--you may take--the testimony of an enemy--a very confirmed enemy of Mr. Pitt's!" Not very confirmed, I hope! A man so liberal can harbour no enmity of that dreadful malignancy that sets mitigation at defiance for ever. He then asked me if I had heard Mr. Grey? " No," I answered ; " I can come but seldom, and therefore I reserved myself for to-day." "You really fill me with compunction," he cried. "But if, indeed, I have drawn you into so cruel a waste of your time, the only compensation I can make you will be carefully to keep from you the day when I shall really speak." "No," I answered, "I must hear you; for that is all I now wait for to make up my final opinion." "And does it all rest with me?--'Dreadful responsibility'--as Mr. Hastings powerfully enough expresses himself in his narrative." "And can you allow an expression of Mr. Hastings's to be powerful?--That is not like Mr. Fox, who, in acknowledging some one small thing to be right, in his speech, checked himself for the acknowledgment by hastily saying 'Though I am no great admirer of the genius and abilities of the gentleman at the bar;'--as if he had pronounced a sentence in a parenthesis, between hooks,--so rapidly he flew off to what he could positively censure." " And hooks they were indeed he cried. "Do not inform against me," I continued, "and I will give you a little more of Molière's old woman." He gave me his parole, and looked very curious, Page 136 "Well then,--amongst the things most striking to an unbiased spectator was that action of the orator that led him to look full at the prisoner upon every hard part of the charge. There was no courage in it, since the accused is so situated he must make no answer; and, not being courage, to Molière's old woman it could only seem cruelty!" He quite gave up this point without a defence, except telling me it was from the habit of the House of Commons, as Fox, who chiefly had done this, was a most good-humoured man, and by nothing but habit would have been betrayed into such an error. "And another thing," I cried, "which strikes those ignorant of senatorial licence, is this,--that those perpetual repetitions, from all the speakers, of inveighing against the power, the rapacity, the tyranny, the despotism of the gentleman at the bar, being uttered now, when we see him without any power, without even liberty-con fined to that spot, and the only person in this large assembly who may not leave it when he will--when we see such a contrast to all we hear we think the simplest relation would be sufficient for all purposes of justice, as all that goes beyond plain narrative, instead of sharpening indignation, only calls to mind the greatness of the fall, and raises involuntary commiseration!" "And you wish," he cried, "to hear me? How you add to my difficulties!--for now, instead of thinking of Lords, Commons, bishops, and judges before me, and of the delinquent and his counsel at my side, I shall have every thought and faculty swallowed up in thinking of who is behind me!" This civil speech put an end to Molière's old woman and her comments; and not to have him wonder at her unnecessarily, I said, "Now, then, Mr. Windham, shall I tell you fairly what it is that induced me to say all this to you?--Dr. Johnson!--what I have heard from him of Mr. Windham has been the cause of all this hazardous openness." "'Twas a noble cause," cried he, well pleased, "and noble has been its effect! I loved him, indeed, sincerely. He has left a chasm in my heart-a chasm in the world ! There was in him what I never saw before, what I never shall find again! I lament every moment as lost, that I might have spent in his society, and yet gave to any other." How it delighted me to hear this just praise, thus warmly uttered!--I could speak from this moment upon no other subject. I told him how much it gratified me; and we agreed Page 137 in comparing notes upon the very few opportunities his real remaining friends could now meet with of a similar indulgence, since so little was his intrinsic worth understood, while so deeply all his foibles had been felt, that in general it was merely a matter of pain to hear him even named. How did we then emulate each other in calling to mind all his excellences! "His abilities," cried Mr. Windham, "were gigantic, and always at hand no matter for the subject, he had information ready for everything. He was fertile,--he was universal." My praise of him was of a still more solid kind,--his principles, his piety, his kind heart under all its rough coating: but I need not repeat what I said,--my dear friends know every word. I reminded him of the airings, in which he gave his time with his carriage for the benefit of Dr. Johnson's health. "What an advantage!" he cried, "was all that to myself! I had not merely an admiration, but a tenderness for him,--the more I knew him, the stronger it became. We never disagreed ; even in politics, I found it rather words than things in which we differed." "And if you could so love him," cried I, "knowing him only in a general way, what would you have felt for him had you known him at Streatham?" I then gave him a little history of his manners and way of life, there,--his good humour, his sport, his kindness, his sociability, and all the many excellent qualities that, in the world at large, were by so many means obscured. He was extremely interested in all I told him, and regrettingly said he had only known him in his worst days, when his health was upon its decline, and infirmities were crowding- fast upon him. "Had he lived longer," he cried, "I am satisfied I should have taken to him almost wholly. I should have taken him to my heart! have looked up to him, applied to him, advised with him in all the most essential occurrences of my life! I am sure, too,-- though it is a proud assertion,--he would have liked me, also, better, had we mingled more. I felt a mixed fondness and reverence growing so strong upon me, that I am satisfied the closest union would have followed his longer life." I then mentioned how kindly he had taken his visit to him at Lichfield during a severe illness, "And he left you," I said, "a book ? " Page 138 "Yes," he answered, "and he gave me one, also, just before he died. 'You will look into this Sometimes,' he said, 'and not refuse to remember whence you had it.' "(271) And then he added he had heard him speak of me,--and with so much kindness, that I was forced not to press a recapitulation: yet now I wish I had heard it. just before we broke up, "There Is nothing," he cried, with energy, "for which I look back upon myself with severer discipline than the time I have thrown away in other pursuits, that might else have been devoted to that wonderful man!" He then said he must be gone,--he was one in a committee of the House, and could keep away no longer. BURKE AND SHERIDAN MEET WITH COLD RECEPTIONS. I then again joined in with Mrs. Crewe, who, meantime, had had managers without end to converse with her. But, very soon after, Mr. Burke mounted to the House of Commons(272) again, and took the place left by Mr. Windham. I inquired very much after Mrs. Burke, and we talked of the spectacle, and its fine effect; and I ventured to mention, allusively, some of the digressive parts of the great speech in which I had heard him: but I saw him anxious for speaking more to the point, and as I could not talk to him--the leading prosecutor--with that frankness of opposing sentiments which I used to Mr. Windham, I was anxious only to avoid talking at all; and so brief was my speech, and so long my silences, that, of course, he was soon wearied into a retreat. Had he not acted such a part, with what pleasure should I have exerted myself to lengthen his stay! Yet he went not in wrath: for, before the close, he came yet a third time, to say "I do not pity you for having to sit there so long, for, with you, sitting can now be no punishment." "No," cried I, "I may take rest for a twelvemonth back." His son also came to speak to me; but, not long after, Page 139 Mrs. Crewe called upon me to say, "Miss Burney, Mr. Sheridan begs me to introduce him to you, for he thinks you have forgot him." I did not feel very comfortable in this; the part he acts would take from me all desire for his notice, even were his talents as singular as they are celebrated. Cold, therefore, was my reception of his salutations, though as civil as I could make it. He talked a little over our former meeting at Mrs. Cholmondeley's, and he reminded me of what he had there urged and persuaded with all his might, namely, that I would write a comedy; and he now reproached me for my total disregard of his counsel and opinion. I made little or no answer, for I am always put out by such sort of discourse, especially when entered upon with such abruptness. Recollecting, then, that "Cecilia" had been published since that time, he began a very florid flourish, saying he was in my debt greatly, not only for reproaches about what I had neglected, but for fine speeches about what I had performed. I hastily interrupted him with a fair retort, exclaiming,--"O if fine speeches may now be made, I ought to begin first---but know not where I should end!" I then asked after Mrs. Sheridan, and he soon after left me. Mrs. Crewe was very obligingly solicitous our renewed acquaintance should not drop here; she asked me to name any day for dining with her, or to send to her at any time when I could arrange a visit: but I was obliged to decline it, on the general score of wanting time. In the conclusion of the day's business there was much speaking, and I heard Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, and several others; but the whole turned extremely in favour of the gentleman at the bar, to the great consternation of the accusers, whose own witnesses gave testimony, most unexpectedly, on the side of Mr. Hastings. We came away very late; my dear James quite delighted with this happy catastrophe. AT WINDSOR AGAIN. March.-In our first journey to Windsor this month Mrs. Schwellenberg was still unable to go, and the party was Miss Planta, Colonel Wellbred, Mr. Fairly, Sir Joseph Banks, and Mr. Turbulent. Page 140 Sir Joseph was so exceedingly shy that we made no sort of acquaintance. If instead of going round the world he had only fallen from the moon, he could not appear less versed in the usual modes of a tea-drinking party. But what, you will say, has a tea-drinking party to do with a botanist, a man of science, a president of the Royal Society? I left him , however, to the charge of Mr. Turbulent, the two colonels becoming, as usual, my joint supporters. And Mr. Turbulent, in revenge, ceased not one moment to watch Colonel Wellbred, nor permitted him to say a word, or to hear an answer, without some most provoking grimace. Fortunately, upon this subject he cannot confuse me; I have not a sentiment about Colonel Wellbred, for or against, that shrinks from examination. To-night, however, my conversation was almost wholly with him. I would not talk with Mr. Turbulent; I could not talk with Sir Joseph Banks - and Mr. Fairly did not talk with me : he had his little son with him; he was grave and thoughtful, and seemed awake to no other pleasure than discoursing with that sweet boy. I believe I have forgotten to mention that Mrs. Gwynn had called upon me one morning, in London, and left me a remarkably fine impression of Mr. Bunbury's "Propagation of a Lie," which I had mentioned when she was at Windsor, with regret at having never seen it. This I had produced here a month ago, to show to our tea-party, and just as it was in the hands of Colonel Wellbred, his majesty entered the room; and, after looking at it a little while, with much entertainment, he took it away to show it to the queen and princesses. I thought it lost; for Colonel Wellbred said he concluded it would be thrown amidst the general hoard of curiosities, which, when once seen, are commonly ever after forgotten, yet which no one has courage to name and to claim. This evening, however, the colonel was successful, and recovered me my print. It is so extremely humorous that I was very glad to receive it, and in return I fetched my last sketches, which Mr. William Locke had most kindly done for me when here last autumn, and indulged Colonel Wellbred with looking at them, charging him at the same time to guard them from a similar accident. I meant to show them myself to my royal mistress, who is all care, caution, and delicacy, to restore to the right owner whatever she receives with a perfect knowledge who the right owner is, Page 141 The second volume of the "Letters" of my reverenced Dr. Johnson was now lent me by her majesty; I found in them very frequent mention of our name, but nothing to alarm in the reading it. DEATH OF MRS. DELANY. April.-I have scarce a memorandum of this fatal month, in which I was bereft of the most revered of friends, and, perhaps, the most perfect of women.(273) I am yet scarce able to settle whether to glide silently and resignedly--as far as I can--past all this melancholy deprivation, or whether to go back once more to the ever-remembered, ever-sacred scene that closed the earthly pilgrimage of my venerable, my sainted friend. I believe I heard the last words she uttered : I cannot learn that she spoke after my reluctant departure. She finished with that cheerful resignation, that lively hope, which always broke forth when this last--awful--but, to her, most happy change seemed approaching. Poor Miss Port and myself were kneeling by her bedside. She had just given me her soft hand; without power to see either of us, she felt and knew us. O, never can I cease to cherish the remembrance of the sweet, benign, holy voice with which she pronounced a blessing upon us both! We kissed her--and, with a smile all beaming--I thought it so--of heaven, she seemed then to have taken leave of all earthly solicitudes. Yet then, even then, short as was her time on earth, the same soft human sensibility filled her for poor human objects. She would not bid us farewell--would not tell us she should speak with us no more-- she only said, as she turned gently away from us, "And now--I'll go to sleep!"--But, O, in what a voice she said it! I felt what the sleep would be; so did poor Miss Port. Poor, sweet, unfortunate girl! what deluges of tears did she shed over me! I promised her in that solemn moment my eternal regard, and she accepted this, my first protestation of any kind made to her, as some solace to her sufferings. Sacred shall I hold it!--sacred to my last hour. I believe, indeed, that angelic being had no other wish equally fervent. How full of days and full of honours was her exit! I should blush at the affliction of my heart in losing her, could I ever Page 142 believe excellence was given us here to love and to revere, yet gladly to relinquish. No, I cannot think it: the deprivation may be a chastisement, but not a joy. We may submit to it with patience; but we cannot have felt it with warmth where we lose it without pain, Outrageously to murmur, or sullenly to refuse consolation--there, indeed, we are rebels against the dispensations of providence--and rebels yet more weak than wicked; for what and whom is it we resist? what and who are we for such resistance ? She bid me--how often did she bid me not grieve to lose her! Yet she said, in my absence, she knew I must, and sweetly regretted how much I must miss her. I teach myself to think of her felicity; and I never dwell upon that without faithfully feeling I would not desire her return. But, in every other channel in which my thoughts and feelings turn, I miss her with so sad a void! She was all that I dearly loved that remained within my reach; she was become the bosom repository of all the livelong day's transactions, reflections, feelings, and wishes. Her own exalted mind was all expanded when we met. I do not think she concealed from me the most secret thought of her heart; and while every word that fell from her spoke wisdom, piety, and instruction, her manner had an endearment, her spirits a native gaiety, and her smile, to those she loved, a tenderness so animated. Blessed spirit! sweet, fair, and beneficent on earth!--O, gently mayest thou now be at rest in that last home to which fearfully I look forward, yet not hopeless; never that--and sometimes with fullest, fairest, sublimest expectations! If to her it be given to plead for those she left, I shall not be forgotten in her prayer. Rest to her sweet soul! rest and everlasting peace to her gentle spirit! I saw my poor lovely Miss Port twice in every day, when in town, till after the last holy rites had been performed. I had no peace away from her; I thought myself fulfilling a wish of that sweet departed saint, in consigning all the time I had at my own disposal to solacing and advising with her beloved niece, who received this little offering with a sweetness that once again twined her round my heart. . . . Poor Mrs. Astley, the worthy humble friend, rather than servant, of the most excellent departed, was the person whom, next to the niece, I most pitied. She was every way to be lamented: unfit for any other service, but unprovided for in this, by the utter and most regretted inability of her much Page 143 attached mistress, who frequently told me that leaving poor Astley unsettled hung heavy on her mind. My dearest friends know, the success I had in venturing to represent her worth and situation to my royal mistress. In the moment when she came to my room to announce his majesty's gracious intention to pension Mrs. Astley here as housekeeper to the same house, I really could scarce withhold myself from falling prostrate at her feet : I never felt such a burst of gratitude but where I had no ceremonials to repress it. Joseph, too, the faithful footman, I was most anxious to secure in some good service-- and I related my wishes for him to General Cary, who procured for him a place with his daughter, Lady Amherst. I forget if I have ever read you the sweet words that accompanied to me the kind legacies left me by my honoured friend. I believe not. They were ordered to be sent me with the portrait of Sacharissa, and two medallions of their majesties: they were originally written to accompany the legacy to the Bishop of Worcester, Dr. Hurd, as you may perceive by the style, but it was desired they might also be copied:-- "I take this liberty, that my much esteemed and respected friend may sometimes recollect a person who was so sensible of the honour of her friendship and who delighted so much in her conversation and works." Need I--O, I am sure I need not say with what tender, grateful, sorrowing joy I received these sweet pledges of her invaluable regard! To these, by another codicil, was added the choice of one of her mosaic flowers. And verbally, on the night but one before she died, she desired I might have her fine quarto edition of Shakespeare, sweetly saying she had never received so much pleasure from him in any other way as through my reading. THE HASTINGS TRIAL AND MR. WINDHAM AGAIN. The part of this month in which my Susanna was in town I kept no journal at all. And I have now nothing to add but to copy those memorandums I made of the trial on the day I went to Westminster Hall with my two friends,(274) previously to Page 144 the deep calamity on which I have dwelt. They told me they could not hear what Mr. Windham said; and there is a spirit in his discourse more worth their hearing than any other thing I have now to write. You may remember his coming straight from the managers, in their first procession to their box, and beginning at once a most animated attack--scarcely waiting first to say "How do!"--before he exclaimed "I have a great quarrel with you--I am come now purposely to quarrel with you--you have done me mischief irreparable--you have ruined me!" "Have I?" "Yes: and not only with what passed here, even setting that aside, though there was mischief enough here; but you have quite undone me since!" I begged him to let me understand how. "I will," he cried. "When the trial broke up for the recess I went into the country, purposing to give my whole time to study and business; but, most unfortunately, I had just sent for a new set of 'Evelina;' and intending only to look at it, I was so cruelly caught that I could not let it out of my hands, and have been living with nothing but the Branghtons ever since." I could not but laugh, though on this subject 'tis always awkwardly. "There was no parting with it," he continued. "I could not shake it off from me a moment!--see, then, every way, what mischief you have done me!" He ran on to this purpose much longer, with great rapidity, and then, suddenly, stopping, again said, "But I have yet another quarrel with you, and one you must answer. How comes it that the moment you have attached us to the hero and the heroine--the instant you have made us cling to them so that there is no getting disengaged--twined, twisted, twirled them round our very heart-strings--how is it that then you make them undergo such persecutions? There is really no enduring their distresses, their Suspenses, their perplexities. Why are you so cruel to all around--to them and their readers?" I longed to say--Do you object to a persecution?--but I know he spells it prosecution. I could make no answer: I never can. Talking over one's own writings seems to me always ludicrous, because it cannot be impartially, either by author or commentator; one feeling, Page 145 the other fearing, too much for strict truth and unaffected candour. When we found the subject quite hopeless as to discussion, he changed it, and said "I have lately seen some friends of yours, and I assure you I gave you an excellent character to them: I told them you were firm, fixed, and impenetrable to all conviction." An excellent character, indeed! He meant to Mr. Francis and Charlotte. Then he talked a little of the business of the day and he told me that Mr. Anstruther was to speak. "I was sure of it," I cried,, "by his manner when he entered the managers' box. I shall know when you are to speak, Mr. Windham, before I hear you.," He shrugged his shoulders a little uncomfortably. I asked him to name to me the various managers. He did ; adding, "Do you not like to sit here, where you can look down upon the several combatants before the battle?" When he named Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor, I particularly desired he might be pointed out to me, telling him I had long wished to see him, from the companion given to him in one of the "Probationary Odes," where they have coupled him with my dear father, most impertinently and unwarrantably. "That, indeed," he cried, "is a licentiousness in the press quite intolerable--to attack and involve private characters in their public lampoons! To Dr. Burney they could have no right; but Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor is fair game enough, and likes that or any other way whatever of obtaining notice. You know what Johnson said to Boswell of preserving fame?" "No." "There were but two ways," he told him, "of preserving; one was by sugar, the other by salt. 'Now,' says he, 'as the sweet way, Bozzy, you are but little likely to attain, I would have you plunge into vinegar, and get fairly pickled at once.' And such has been the plan of Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor. With the sweet he had, indeed, little chance, so he soused into the other, head over ears." We then united forces in repeating passages from various of the "Probationary Odes," and talking over various of the managers, till Mr. Anstruther was preparing to speak, and Mr. Windham went to his cell. I am sure you will remember that Mr. Burke came also, Page 146 and the panic with which I saw him, doubled by my fear lest he should see that panic. When the speech was over, and evidence was filling up the day's business, Mr. Windham returned. Some time after, but I have forgotten how, we were agreeing in thinking suspense, and all obscurity, in expectation or in opinion, almost the thing's most trying to bear in this mortal life, especially where they lead to some evil construction. "But then," cried he, "on the other hand, there is nothing so pleasant as clearing away a disagreeable prejudice; nothing SO exhilarating as the dispersion of a black mist, and seeing all that had been black and gloomy turn out bright and fair." "That, Sir," cried I, "is precisely what I expect from thence," pointing to the prisoner. What a look he gave me, yet he laughed irresistibly. "However," I continued, "I have been putting my expectations from your speech to a kind of test." "And how, for heaven's sake?" "Why, I have been reading--running over, rather--a set of speeches, in which almost the whole House made a part, upon the India bill ; and in looking over those I saw not one that had not in it something positively and pointedly personal, except Mr. Windham's." "O, that was a mere accident." "But it was just the accident I expected from Mr. Windham. I do not mean that there was invective in all the others, for in some there was panegyric--plenty! but that panegyric was always so directed as to convey more of severe censure to one party than of real praise to the other. Yours was all to the business, and hence I infer you will deal just so by Mr. Hastings." "I believe," cried he, looking at me very sharp, "you only want to praise me down. You know what it is to skate a man down?" "No, indeed." "Why, to skate a man down is a very favourite diversion among a certain race Of wags. It is only to praise, and extol, and stimulate him to double and treble exertion and effort, till, in order to show his desert of such panegyric, the poor dupe makes so many turnings and windings, and describes circle after circle with such hazardous dexterity, that, at last, down he drops in the midst of his flourishes, to his own eternal disgrace, and their entire content." page 147 I gave myself no vindication from this charge but a laugh; and we returned to discuss speeches and speakers, and I expressed again my extreme repugnance against all personality in these public harangues, except in simply stating facts. " What say you, then," cried he, " to Pitt?" He then repeated a warm and animated praise of his powers and his eloquence, but finished with this censure: "He takes not," cried he, "the grand path suited to his post as prime minister, for he is personal beyond all men ; pointed, sarcastic, cutting ; and it is in him peculiarly unbecoming. The minister should be always conciliating; the attack, the probe, the invective, belong to the assailant." Then he instanced Lord North, and said much more on these political matters and maxims than I can possibly write, or could at the time do more than hear; for, as I told him, I not only am no politician, but have no ambition to become one, thinking it by no means a female business. "THE QUEEN IS so KIND." When he went to the managers' box, Mr. Burke again took his place, but he held it a very short time, though he was in high good humour and civility. The involuntary coldness that results from internal disapprobation must, I am sure, have been seen, so thoroughly was it felt. I can only talk on this matter with Mr. Windham, who, knowing my opposite principles, expects to hear them, and gives them the fairest play by his good humour, candour, and politeness. But there is not one other manager with whom I could venture such openness. That Mr. Windham takes it all in good part is certainly amongst the things he makes plainest, for again, after Mr. Burke's return to the den, he came back. "I am happy," cried I, "to find you have not betrayed me." "Oh, no; I would not for the world." "I am quite satisfied you have kept my counsel; for Mr. Burke has been with me twice, and speaking with a good humour I could not else have expected from him. He comes to tell me that he never pities me for sitting here, whatever is going forward, as the sitting must be rest; and, indeed, it seems as if my coming hither was as much to rest my frame as to exercise my mind." Page 148 "That's a very good idea, but I do not like to realize it ; I do not like to think of you and fatigue together. Is it so? Do you really want rest?" "O, no." "O, I am well aware yours is not a mind to turn complainer but yet I fear, and not for your rest only, but your time. How is that; have you it, as you Ought, at your own disposal?" "Why not quite," cried I, laughing. Good heaven! what a question, in a situation like mine! "Well, that is a thing I cannot bear to think of--that you should want time." "But the queen," cried I, is so kind." "That may be," interrupted he, "and I am very glad of it but still, time--and to you!" "Yet, after all, in the whole, I have a good deal, though always Uncertain. for, if sometimes I have not two minutes when I expect two hours, at other times I have two hours where I expected only two minutes." "All that is nothing, if you have them not with certainty. Two hours are of no more value than two minutes, if you have them not at undoubted command." Again I answered, "The queen is so kind;" determined to sound that sentence well and audibly into republican ears. "Well, well," cried he, "that may be some compensation to you, but to us, to all others, what compensation is there for depriving you of time?" "Mrs. Locke, here," cried I, "always wishes time could be bought, because there are so many who have more than they know what to do with, that those who have less might be supplied very reasonably." "'Tis an exceeding good idea," cried he, "and I am sure, if it could be purchased, it ought to be given to YOU by act of parliament, as a public donation and tribute." There was a fine flourish! PERSONAL RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN WINDHAM AND HASTINGS. A little after, while we were observing Mr. Hastings, Mr. Windham exclaimed, "He's looking up; I believe he is looking for you." I turned hastily away, fairly saying, "I hope not." Page 149 "Yes, he is; he seems as if he wanted to bow to you." I shrank back. "No, he looks off; he thinks you in too bad company!" "Ah, Mr. Windham," cried I, "you should not be so hardhearted towards him, whoever else may; and I could tell you, and I will tell you if you please, a very forcible reason." He assented. "You must know, then, that people there are in this world who scruple not to assert that there is a very strong personal resemblance between Mr. Windham and Mr. Hastings; nay, in the profile, I see it myself at this moment and therefore ought not you to be a little softer than the rest, if merely in sympathy?" He laughed very heartily; and owned he had heard of the resemblance before. "I could take him extremely well," I cried, "for your uncle." "No, no; if he looks like my elder brother, I aspire at no more." "No, no; he is more like your uncle; he has just that air; he seems just of that time of life. Can You then be so unnatural as to prosecute him with this eagerness?" And then, once again, I ventured to give him a little touch of Molière's old woman, lest he should forget that good and honest dame; and I told him there was one thing she particularly objected to in all the speeches that had yet been made, and hoped his speech would be exempt from. He inquired what that was. "Why, she says she does not like to hear every orator compliment another; every fresh speaker say, he leaves to the superior ability of his successor the prosecution of the business." "O, no," cried he, very readily, "I detest all that sort of adulation. I hold it in the utmost contempt." "And, indeed, it will be time to avoid it when your turn comes, for I have heard it in no less than four speeches already." And then he offered his assistance about servants and carriages, and we all came away, our different routes; but my Fredy and Susan must remember my meeting with Mr. Hastings in coming out, and his calling after me, and saying, with a very comic sort of politeness, "I must come here to have the pleasure of seeing Miss Burney, for I see her nowhere else." What a strange incident would have been formed had this rencontre happened thus if I had accepted Mr. Windham's offered services ! I am most glad I had not ; I should have felt myself a conspirator, to have been so met by Mr. Hastings. Page 150 DEATH OF YOUNG LADY MULGRAVE. May.-On the 17th of this month Miss Port bade her sad reluctant adieu to London. I gave what time I could command from Miss Port's departure to my excellent and maternal Mrs. Ord, who supported herself with unabating fortitude and resignation. But a new calamity affected her much, and affected me greatly also, though neither she nor I were more than distant spectators in comparison with the nearer mourners; the amiable and lovely Lady Mulgrave gave a child to her lord, and died, in the first dawn of youthful beauty and sweetness, exactly a year after she became his wife. 'Twas, indeed, a tremendous blow. It was all our wonder that Lord Mulgrave kept his senses, as he had not been famed for patience or piety; but I believe he was benignly inspired with both, from his deep admiration of their excellence in his lovely wife. AGAIN AT WINDSOR. I must mention a laughable enough circumstance. Her majesty inquired of me if I had ever met with- Lady Hawke? "Oh yes," I cried, "and Lady Say and Sele too." " She has just desired permission to send me a novel of her own Writing," answered her majesty. "I hope," cried I, "'tis not the 'Mausoleum of Julia!'" But yes, it proved no less ! and this she has now published and sends about. You must remember Lady Say and Sele's quotation from it.(275) Her majesty was so gracious as to lend it me, for I had some curiosity to read it. It is all of a piece: all love, love, love, unmixed and unadulterated with any more worldly materials. I read also the second volume of the "Paston Letters," and found their character the same as in the first, and therefore read them with curiosity and entertainment. The greater part of the month was spent, alas! at Windsor, with what a dreary vacuity of heart and of pleasure I need not say. The only period of it in which my spirits could be commanded to revive was during two of the excursions in which Mr. Fairly was of the party; and the sight of him, calm, mild, nay cheerful, under such superior sorrows-- --struck me with that sort of edifying admiration that led me, perforce, to the best Page 151 exertion in my power for the conquest of my deep depression. If I did this from conscience in private, from a sense of obligation to him in public I reiterated my efforts, as I received from him all the condoling softness and attention he could possibly have bestowed upon me had my affliction been equal or even greater than his own. ANOTHER MEETING WITH MR. CRUTCHLEY. On one of the Egham race days the queen sent Miss Planta and me on the course, in one of the royal coaches, with Lord Templeton and Mr. Charles Fairly,(276) for our beaux. Lady Templeton was then at the Lodge, and I had the honour of two or three conferences with er during her stay. On the course, we were espied by Mr. Crutchley, who instantly devoted himself to my service for the morning--taking care of our places, naming jockeys, horses, bets, plates, etc., and talking between times of Streatham and all the Streathamites. We were both, I believe, very glad of this discourse. He pointed out to me where his house stood, in a fine park, within sight of the race-ground, and proposed introducing me to his sister, who was his housekeeper, and asking me if, through her invitation, I would come to Sunning Hill park. I assured him I lived so completely in a monastery that I could make no new acquaintance. He then said he expected soon Susan and Sophy Thrale on a visit to his sister, and he presumed I would not refuse coming to see them. I truly answered I should rejoice to do it if in my power, but that most probably I must content myself with meeting them on the Terrace. He promised to bring them there with his sister, though he had given up that walk these five years. It will give me indeed great pleasure to see them again. MR. TURBULENT'S TROUBLESOME PLEASANTRIES. My two young beaux Stayed dinner with us, and I afterwards strolled upon the lawn with them till tea-time. I could not go on the Terrace, nor persuade them to go on by themselves. We backed as the royal party returned home; and when they had all entered the house, Colonel Wellbred, who had stood aloof, quitted the train to join our little society. "Miss Page 152 Burney," he cried, "I think I know which horse you betted upon! Cordelia!" "For the name's sake you think it," I cried; and he began some questions and comments upon the races, when suddenly the window of the tea-room opened, and the voice of Mr. Turbulent, with a most sarcastic tone, called out, "I hope Miss Burney and Colonel Wellbred are well!" We could neither Of us keep a profound gravity, though really he deserved it from us both. I turned from the Colonel, and said I was coming directly to the tea-room. Colonel Wellbred would have detained me to finish Our race discourse, for he had shut the window when he had made his speech, but I said it was time to go in. "Oh no," cried he, laughing a little, "Mr. Turbulent only wants his own tea, and he does not deserve it for this!" In, however, I went, and Colonel Manners took the famous chair the instant I was seated. We all began race talk, but Mr. Turbulent, approaching very significantly, said, "Do you want a chair On the other side, ma'am? Shall I tell the colonel-to bring one?" "No, indeed cried I, half seriously, lest he should do it. . . . Colonel Wellbred, not knowing what had passed, came to that same other side, and renewed his conversation. In the midst of all this Mr. Turbulent hastily advanced with a chair, saying, "Colonel Wellbred, I cannot bear to see you standing so long." I found it impossible not to laugh under My hat, though I really wished to bid him stand in a corner for a naughty boy. The colonel, I suppose, laughed too, whether he would or not, for I heard no answer. However, he took the chair, and finding me wholly unembarrassed by this polissonnerie, though not wholly unprovoked by it, he renewed his discourse, and kept his seat till the party, very late, broke up; but Colonel Manners, who knew not what to make of all this, exclaimed, "Why, ma'am, you cannot keep Mr. Turbulent in much order." June.-Mrs. Schwellenberg came to Windsor with us after the birthday, for the rest of the summer. Mr. Turbulent took a formal leave of me at the same time, as his wife now came to settle at Windsor, and he ceased to belong to our party. He only comes to the princesses at stated hours, and then returns to his own home. He gave me many serious thanks for the time passed with me, spoke in flourishing Page 153 terms of its contrast to former times, and vowed no compensation could ever be made him for the hours he had thrown away by compulsion on "The Oyster."(277) His behaviour altogether was very well--here and there a little eccentric, but, in the main, merely good-humoured and high-spirited. COLONEL FAIRLY AND SECOND ATTACHMENTS. I am persuaded there is no manner of truth in the report relative to Mr. Fairly and Miss Fuzilier, for he led me into a long conversation with him one evening when the party was large, and all were otherwise engaged, upon subjects of this nature, in the course of which he asked me if I thought any second attachment could either be as strong or as happy as a first. I was extremely surprised by the question, and quite unprepared how to answer it, as I knew not with what feelings or intentions I might war by any unwary opinions. I did little, therefore, but evade and listen, though he kept up the discourse in a very animated manner, till the party all broke up. Had I spoken without any consideration but what was general and genuine, I should have told him that my idea was simply this, that where a first blessing was withdrawn by providence, not lost by misconduct, it seemed to me most consonant to reason, nature, and mortal life, to accept what could come second, in this as in all other deprivations. Is it not a species of submission to the divine will to make ourselves as happy as we can in what is left us to obtain, where bereft of what we had sought? My own conflict for content in a life totally adverse to my own inclinations, is all built on this principle, and when it succeeds, to this owes its success. I presumed not, however, to talk in this way to Mr. Fairly, for I am wholly ignorant in what manner or to what degree his first attachment may have rivetted his affections; but by the whole of what passed it seemed to me very evident that he was not merely entirely without any engagement, but entirely at this time without any plan or scheme of forming any; and probably he never may. (257) "Selections from the State Papers preserved in the Foreign Department of the Government of India, 1772-1785," Edited by G. W. Forrest, VOL i. P, 178. (258) "Warren Hastings," by Sir Alfred Lyall, p. 54. (259) Selections from State Papers," vol. i. p. xlviii. (260) In his defence at the bar of the House of Commons, (Feb. 4th, 1788) Sir Elijah Impey attempted to justify his conduct by precedent, but the single precedent on which he relied does not prove much in his favour. A Hindoo, named Radachund Metre, was condemned to death for forgery in 1765, but was pardoned on this very ground, that capital punishment for such a crime was unheard of in India. (261) Speech on Mr. Fox's East India Bill, Dec. 1st, 1783, (262) Fanny's brother, the scholar. He was, at this time, master of a school at Hammersmith-ED. (263) Windham had introduced and carried through the House of Commons the charge respecting Fyzoolla Khan, the Nawab of Rampore; but this charge, with many others of the original articles of impeachment, was not proceeded upon at the trial. Fyzoolla Khan was one of the Rohilla chiefs, who, more fortunate than the rest, had been permitted by treaty, after the conquest of Rohilcund in 17 74, to retain possession of Rampore as a vassal of the Vizier of Oude. By this treaty the Nawab of Rampore was empowered to maintain an army of 5,000 horse and foot in all and in return he bound himself to place from 2,000 to 3,000 troops at the disposal of the Vizier whenever that assistance might be required. In November, 1780, the Vizier, or rather, Hastings, speaking by the mouth of the Vizier, called upon Fyzoolla Khan to furnish forthwith a contingent of 5,000 horse. The unhappy Nawab offered all the assistance in his power, but not only Was the demand unwarranted by the terms of the treaty, but the number of horse required was far greater than he had the means to furnish. Thereupon Mr. Hastings gave permission to the Vizier to dispossess his vassal of his dominions. This iniquitous scheme, however, was never carried out, and in 1782, Fyzoolla Khan made his peace with the Governor-General, and procured his own future exemption from military service, by payment of a large sum of money.-ED. (264) Mr. Hastings's enemy was Mr. afterwards Sir Philip Francis, by some people supposed to have been the author of "Junius's Letters." The best friend of Mr. Hastings here alluded to was Clement Francis, Esq. of Aylsham, in Norfolk, who married Charlotte, fourth daughter of Dr. Burney. [Francis, though an active supporter of the impeachment, was not one of the "managers." He had been nominated to the committee by Burke, but rejected by the House, on the ground of his well-known animosity to Hastings.-ED.) (265) After all, Impey escaped impeachment. In December, 1787, Sir Gilbert Elliot, one of the managers of Hastings' impeachment, brought before the House of Commons six charges against Impey, of which the first, and most serious, related to the death of Nuncomar. The charges were referred to a committee, before which Impey made his defence, February 4, 1788. On May 9, a division was taken on the first charge, and showed a majority of eighteen in favour of Impey. The subject was resumed, May 27, and finally disposed of by the rejection of sir Gilbert Elliot's motion without a division-ED. (266) Saturday, February 16, 1788.-ED. (267) Macaulay attributes perhaps too exclusively to Court influence Fanny's prepossession in favour of Hastings. It should be remembered that her family and many of her friends were, equally with herself, partisans of Hastings, to whom, moreover, she had been first introduced by a much valued friend, Mr. Cambridge (see ante, vol. i., P. 326).-ED. (268) "Miss Fuzilier" is the name given in the "Diary" to Miss Charlotte Margaret Gunning, daughter of Sir Robert Gunning. She married Colonel Digby ("Mr. Fairly") in 1790.-ED. (269) This would seem to fix the date as Thursday, February 21, Thursday being mentioned by Fanny as the Court-day (see ante, p. 125). According, however, to Debrett's "History of the Trial," Fox spoke on the charge relating to Cheyt Sing on Friday, February 22, the first day of the Court's sitting since the preceding Tuesday.-ED. ' (270) The managers had desired that each charge should be taken separately, and replied to, before proceeding to the next. Hastings's counsel, on the other hand, demanded that all the charges should be presented before the defence was opened. The Lords, by a large majority, decided against the managers.-ED. (271) Windham relates that when he called upon Dr. Johnson, six days before his death, Johnson put into his hands a copy of the New Testament, saying "Extremum hoc mumus morientis habeto." See the extracts from Windham's journal in Croker's "Boswell," v., 326. In a codicil to Johnson's will, dated Dec. 9, 1784, we find, among other bequests of books, "to Mr. Windham, Poete Greci Henrici per Henriculum Stephanum."-ED. (272) i.e. to the benches assigned to the Commons in Westminster Hall. These immediately adjoined the chamberlain's box in which Miss Burney was seated.-ED. (273) Mrs. Delany died on the 15th of April, 1788.-ED. (274) Her sister Susan and Mrs. Locke. The day referred to must have been Friday, April 11th, on which day Mr. Anstruther spoke on the charge relating to Cheyt Sing.-ED. (275) See ante, vol. 1, p. 220.-ED. (276) The young son of Colonel Digby.-ED. (277) Mrs. Haggerdorn, Fanny's predecessor in office. See ante, p. 26.-ED. Page 154 SECTION 13 (1788.) ROYAL VISIT TO CHELTENHAM. (Since her establishment at Court we have not yet found Fanny so content with her surroundings as she shows herself in the following section of the " Diary." The comparative quiet of country life at Cheltenham was far more to her taste than the tiresome splendours of Windsor and St. James's. She had still, it is true, her official duties to perform : it was Court life still, but Court life en déshabille. But her time was otherwise more at her own disposal, and, above all things, the absence of "Cerbera," as she nicknamed the amiable Mrs. Schwellenberg and the presence of Colonel Digby, contributed to restore to her harassed mind that tranquillity which is so pleasantly apparent in the following pages. In the frequent society of Colonel Digby Fanny seems to have found an enjoyment peculiarly adapted to her reserved and sensitive disposition. The colonel was almost equally retiring and sensitive with herself, and his natural seriousness was deepened by sorrow for the recent loss of his wife. A similarity of tastes, as well as (in some respects) of disposition, drew him continually to Fanny's tea-table, and the gentleness of his manners, the refined and intellectual character of his conversation, so unlike the Court gossip to which she was usually condemned to remain a patient listener, caused her more and more to welcome his visits and to regret his departure. "How unexpected an indulgence," she writes, "a luxury, I may say, to me, are these evenings now becoming!" The colonel reads to her- -poetry, love-letters, even sermons, and while she listens to such reading, and such a reader, her work goes on with an alacrity that renders it all pleasure. The friendship which grew up between them was evidently, at least on the part of Fanny, of a more than ordinarily tender description. Whether, had circumstances permitted, it might have ripened into a feeling yet more tender, must remain a matter of speculation. Circumstances did not permit, and in after years both married elsewhere.-ED.] Page 155 THE ROYAL PARTY AND THEIR SUITE. July.-Early in this month the king's indisposition occasioned the plan of his going to Cheltenham, to try the effect of the waters drank upon the spot. It was settled that the party should be the smallest that was possible, as his majesty was to inhabit the house of Lord Fauconberg, vacated for that purpose, which was very small. He resolved upon only taking his equerry in waiting and pages, etc. Lord Courtown, his treasurer of the household, was already at Cheltenham, and therefore at hand to attend. The queen agreed to carry her lady of the bedchamber in waiting, with Miss Planta and F. B., and none others but wardrobe-women for herself and the princesses. Mr. Fairly was here almost all the month previously to our departure. At first it was concluded he and Colonel Gwynn, the equerry in waiting, were to belong wholly to the same table with Miss Planta and me, and Mr. Fairly threatened repeatedly how well we should all know one another, and how well he would study and know us all au fond. But before we set out the plan was all changed, for the king determined to throw aside all state, and make the two gentlemen dine at his own table. "We shall have, therefore," said Mr. Fairly, with a very civil regret, "no tea-meetings at Cheltenham." This, however, was an opening- to me of time and leisure such as I had never yet enjoyed. Now, my dearest friends, I open an account which promises at least all the charms of novelty, and which, if it fulfils its promise, will make this month rather an episode than a continuation of my prosaic performance. So now for yesterday, Saturday, July 12. We were all up at five o'clock; and the noise and confusion reigning through the house, and resounding all around it, from the quantities of people stirring, boxes nailing, horses neighing, and dogs barking, was tremendous. I must now tell you the party:--Their majesties; the princesses Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth; Lady Weymouth, Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, Miss Planta, and a person you have sometimes met; pages for king, queen, and princesses, ward- Page 156 robe-women for ditto, and footmen for all. A smaller party for a royal excursion cannot well be imagined. How we shall all manage heaven knows. Miss Planta and myself are allowed no maid; the house would not hold one. The royal party set off first, to stop and breakfast at Lord Harcourt's at Nuneham. You will easily believe Miss Planta and myself were not much discomfited in having orders to proceed straight forward. You know we have been at Nuneham! Mrs. Sandys, the queen's wardrobe-woman, and Miss Macentomb, the princesses', accompanied us. At Henley-on-Thames, at an inn beautifully situated, we stopped to breakfast, and at Oxford to take a sort of half dinner. LOYALTY NOT DAMPED BY THE RAIN. The crowd gathered together upon the road, waiting for the king and queen to pass, was immense, and almost unbroken from Oxford to Cheltenham. Every town and village within twenty miles seemed to have been deserted, to supply all the pathways with groups of anxious spectators. Yet, though so numerus, so quiet were they, and so new to the practices of a hackneyed mob, that their curiosity never induced them to venture within some yards of the royal carriage, and their satisfaction never broke forth into tumult and acclamation. In truth, I believe they never were aware of the moment in which their eagerness met its gratification. Their majesties travelled wholly without guards or state; and I am convinced, from the time we advanced beyond Oxford, they were taken only for their own attendants. All the towns through which we passed were filled with people, as closely fastened one to another as they appear in the pit of the playhouse. Every town seemed all face; and all the way upon the road we rarely proceeded five miles without encountering a band of most horrid fiddlers, scraping "God save the king" with all their might, out of tune, out of time, and all in the rain; for, most unfortunately, there were continual showers falling all the day. This was really a subject for serious regret, such numbers of men, women, and children being severely sufferers; yet standing it all through with such patient loyalty, that I am persuaded not even a hail or thunder storm would have dispersed them. The country, for the most part, that we traversed, was ex- Page 157 tremely pretty; and, as we advanced nearer to our place Of destination, it became quite beautiful. ARRIVAL AT FAUCONBERG HALL. When we arrived at Cheltenham, which is almost all one street, extremely long, clean and well paved, we had to turn out of the public way about a quarter of a mile, to proceed to Fauconberg Hall, which my Lord Fauconberg has lent for the king's use during his stay at this place. it is, indeed, situated on a most sweet spot, surrounded with lofty hills beautifully variegated, and bounded, for the principal object, with the hills of Malvern, Which, here barren, and there cultivated, here all chalk, and there all verdure, reminded me of How hill, and gave Me an immediate sensation of reflected as well as of visual pleasure, from giving to my new habitation some resemblance of NorbUry park. When we had mounted the gradual ascent on which the house stands, the crowd all around it was as one head! We stopped within twenty yards of the door, uncertain how to proceed. All the royals were at the windows; and to pass this multitude--to wade through it, rather,--was a most disagreeable operation. However, we had no choice: we therefore got out, and, leaving the wardrobe-women to find the way to the back-door, Miss Planta and I glided on to the front one, where we saw the two gentlemen and where, as soon as we got up the steps, we encountered the king. He inquired most graciously concerning our journey; and Lady Weymouth came down-stairs to summon me to the queen, who was in excellent spirits, and said she would show me her room. "This, ma'am!" cried I, as I entered it--"is this little room for your majesty?" "O stay," cried she, laughing, "till you see your own before you call it 'little'." Soon after, she sent me upstairs for that purpose ; and then, to be sure, I began to think less diminutively of that I had just quitted. Mine, with one window, has just space to crowd in a bed, a chest of drawers, and three small chairs. The prospect from the window, is extremely pretty, and all IS new and clean. So I doubt not being very comfortable, as I am senza Cerbera,(278)--though having no maid is a real evil to Page 158 one so little her own mistress as myself. I little wanted the fagging of my own clothes and dressing, to add to my daily fatigues. I began a little unpacking and was called to dinner. Columb, happily, is allowed me, and he will be very useful, I am sure. Miss alone dined with me, and we are to be companions constant at all meals, and t`ete-`a-t`ete, during this sejour. She is friendly and well disposed, and I am perfectly content; and the more, as I know she will not take up my leisure Unnecessarily, for she finds sauntering in the open air very serviceable to her health, and she has determined to make that her chief occupation. Here, therefore, whenever I am not in attendance, or at meals, I expect the singular comfort of having my time wholly unmolested, and at my own disposal. THE TEA-TABLE DIFFICULTY. A little parlour, which formerly had belonged to Lord Fauconberg's housekeeper, is now called mine, and here Miss Planta and myself are to breakfast and dine. But for tea we formed a new plan: as Mr. Fairly had himself told me he understood there would be no tea-table at Cheltenham, I determined to stand upon no ceremony with Colonel Gwynn, but fairly and at once take and appropriate my afternoons to my own inclinations. To prevent, therefore, any surprise or alteration, we settled to have our tea upstairs. But then a difficulty arose as to where ? We had each equally small bed-rooms, and no dressing-room; but, at length, we fixed on the passage, near a window looking over Malvern hills and much beautiful country. This being arranged, we went mutually on with our unpackings, till we were both too thirsty to work longer. Having no maid to send, and no bell to ring for my man, I then made out my way downstairs, to give Columb directions for our teaequipage. After two or three mistakes, of peering into royal rooms, I at length got safe to my little parlour, but still was at a loss where to find Columb; and while parading in and out, in hopes of meeting with some assistant, I heard my name inquired for from the front door. I looked out, and saw Mrs. Tracy, senior bedchamber-woman to the queen. She is at Cheltenham for her health, and came to pay her duty in inquiries, and so forth. Page 159 I conducted her to my little store-room, for such it looks, from its cupboards and short checked window curtains; and we chatted upon the place and the expedition, till Columb came to tell me that Mr. Fairly desired to speak with me. I waited upon him immediately, in the passage leading to the kitchen stairs, for that was my salle d'audience. He was with Lord Courtown; they apologised for disturbing me, but Mr. Fairly said he came to solicit leave that they might join my tea-table for this night only, as they would give orders to be supplied in their own apartments the next day, and not intrude upon me any more, nor break into my time and retirement. This is literally the first instance I have met, for now two whole years, of being understood as to my own retiring inclinations; and it is singular I should first meet with it from the only person who makes them waver. I begged them to come in, and ordered tea. They are well acquainted with Mrs. Tracy, and I was very glad she happened to stay. Poor Miss Planta, meanwhile, I was forced to leave in the lurch; for I could not propose the bed-room passage to my present company, and she was undressed and unpacking. Very soon the king, searching for his gentlemen, found out my room, and entered. He admired It prodigiously, and inquired concerning all our accommodations. He then gave Mr. Fairly a commission to answer an address, or petition, or some such thing to the master of the ceremonies, and, after half an hour's chat, retired. Colonel Gwynn found us out also, but was eager to find out more company, and soon left us to go and look over the books at the rooms, for the list of the company here. A TETE-A-TETE WITH COLONEL FAIRLY. After tea Mrs. Tracy went, and the king sent for Lord Courtown. Mr. Fairly was going too, and I was preparing to return upstairs to my toils; but he presently changed his design, and asked leave to stay a little longer, if I was at leisure. At leisure I certainly was not but I was most content to work double tides for the pleasure of his company, especially where given thus voluntarily, and not accepted officially. Page 160 What creatures are we all for liberty and freedom! Rebels partout! "Soon as the life-blood warms the heart, The love of liberty awakes!" Ah, my dear friends! I wrote that with a sigh that might have pierced through royal walls! >From this circumstance we entered into discourse with no little spirit. I felt flattered, and he knew he had given me de quoi: so we were both in mighty good humour. Our sociability, however, had very soon an interruption. The king re-entered ; he started back at sight of our diminished party, and exclaimed, with a sort of arch surprise, "What! only You two?" Mr. Fairly laughed a little, and Ismiled ditto! But I had rather his majesty had made such a comment on any other of his establishment, if make it he must; since I am sure Mr. Fairly's aversion to that species of raillery is equal to my Own. The king gave some fresh orders about the letter, and instantly went away. As soon as he was gone, Mr. Fairly,--perhaps to show himself superior to that little sally,--asked me whether he might write his letter in my room? "O yes," cried I, with all the alacrity of the same superiority. He then went in search of a page, for pen and ink, and told me, on returning, that the king had just given orders for writing implements for himself and Colonel Gwynn to be placed in the dining-parlour, of which they were, henceforth, to have the use as soon as the dinner-party had separated; and after to-night, therefore, he should intrude himself upon me no more. I had half a mind to say I was very sorry for it! I assure you I felt so. He pretended to require my assistance in his letter, and consulted and read over all that he writ. So I gave my opinion as he went on, though I think it really possible he might have done without me! Away then he went with it, to dispatch it by a royal footman; and I thought him gone, and was again going myself, when he returned,--surprising me not a little by saying. as he held the door in his hand, "Will there be any--impropriety--in my staying here a little logger?" I must have said no, if I had thought yes; but it would not have been so plump and ready a no! and I should not, with Page 161 quite so courteous a grace, have added that his stay could do me nothing but honour. On, therefore, we sat, discoursing on various subjects, till the twilight made him rise to take leave. He was in much better spirits than I have yet seen him, and I know not when I have spent an hour more socially to my taste. Highly cultivated by books, and uncommonly fertile in stores of internal resource, he left me nothing to wish, for the time I spent with him, but that "the Fates, the Sisters Three, and suchlike branches of learning," would interfere against the mode of future separation planned for the remainder of our expedition. Need I more strongly than this mark the very rare pleasure I received from his conversation? Not a little did poor Miss Planta marvel what had become of me; and scarce less was her marvel when she had heard my adventures. She had told me how gladly the gentlemen would seize the opportunity of a new situation, to disengage themselves from the joint tea-table, and we had mutually agreed to use all means possible for seconding this partition; but I had been too well satisfied this night, to make any further efforts about the matter, and I therefore inwardly resolved to let the future take care of itself--certain it could not be inimical to me, since either it must give me Mr. Fairly in a party, or time for my own disposal in solitude. This pleasant beginning has given a spirit to all my expectations and my fatigues in this place; and though it cost me near two hours from my downy pillow to recover lost time, I stole them without repining, and arose--dead asleep--this morning, without a murmur. THE KING's GENTLEMEN AND THE QUEEN's LADIES. Sunday, July 13--I was obliged to rise before six o'clock, that I might play the part of dresser to myself, before I played it to the queen; so that did not much recruit the fatigues of yesterday's rising and journey! Not a little was I surprised to be told, this morning, by her majesty, that the gentlemen were to breakfast with Miss Planta and me, every morning, by the king's orders. When I left the queen, I found them already in my little parlour. Mr. Fairly came to the door to meet me, and hand me into the room, telling me of the new arrangement of the king, with an air of very civil satisfaction. Colonel Gwynn Page 162 appeared precisely as I believe he felt,-perfectly indifferent to the matter. Miss Planta joined us, and Columb was hurried to get ready, lest the king should summon his esquires before they had broken their fast. Mr. Fairly undertook to settle our seats, and all the etiquette of the tea-table; and I was very well content, for when he had placed me where he conceived I should be most commodiously situated, he fixed upon the place next me for himself, and desired we might all keep to our posts. It was next agreed, that whoever came first to the room should order and make the tea; for I must often be detained by my waiting, and the king is so rapid in his meals, that whoever attends him must be rapid also, or follow fasting. Mr. Fairly said he should already have hastened Columb, had he not apprehended it might be too great a liberty ; for they had waited near half an hour, and expected a call every half minute. I set him perfectly at his ease upon this subject, assuring him I should be very little at mine if he had ever the same scruple again. He had been in waiting, he said, himself, ever since a quarter after five o'clock in the morning, at which time he showed himself under the king's window, and walked before the house till six! I was beginning to express my compassion for this harass, but he interrupted me with shrewdly saying, " "O, this will save future fatigue, for it will establish me such a character for early rising and punctuality, that I may now do as I will: 'tis amazing what privileges a man obtains for taking liberties, when once his character is established for taking none." Neither Miss Planta nor myself could attempt going to church, we had both so much actual business to do for ourselves, in unpacking, and fitting up our rooms, etc. The rest of the day was all fasting, till the evening, and then--who should enter my little parlour, after all the speechifying Of only one night," made yesterday, but Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, and Lord Courtown! Whether this, again, is by the king's command, or in consequence of the morning arrangement, I know not: but not a word more has dropped of "no evening tea-table;" so, whether we are to unite, or to separate, in future, I know not, and, which is far more extraordinary, I care not! Nobody but you could imagine what a compliment that is, from me! I had made Miss Planta promise, in case such a thing should happen, to come down; and she was very ready, and Page 163 we had a very cheerful evening. Great difficulties, however, arose about our tea-equipage, So few things are brought, or at least are yet arrived, that Columb is forced to be summoned every other moment, and I have no bell, and dare not, for this short time, beg for one, as my man herds with the King's men; besides, I have no disposition to make a fuss here, where every body takes up with every thing that they get. In lamenting, however, the incessant trouble I was obliged to give the gentlemen, of running after Columb, I told Mr. Fairly my obligation, at Windsor, to Colonel Wellbred, for my bell there. "O yes," cried he, laughing, "I am not surprised; Colonel Wellbred is quite the man for a 'belle!'" "Yes," cried I, "that he is indeed, and for a 'beau' too." "O ho! you think him so, do you?" quoth he: to which my prompt assent followed. ROYALTY CROWDED AT FAUCONBERG HALL. The royal family had all been upon the walks. I have agreed with myself not to go thither till they have gone through the news- mongers' drawing up of them and their troop. I had rather avoid all mention and after a few days, I may walk there as if not belonging to them, as I am not of place or rank to follow in their train. But let me give you, now, an account of the house and accommodation. On the ground-floor there is one large and very pleasant room, which is made the dining-parlour. The king and royal family also breakfast in it, by themselves, except the lady-in-waiting, Lady Weymouth. They sup there also, in the same manner. The gentlemen only dine with them, I find. They are to breakfast with us, to drink tea where they will, and to sup--where they can; and I rather fancy, from what I have yet seen, it will be commonly with good Duke Humphrey. A small, but very neat dressing-room for his majesty is on the other side of the hall, and my little parlour is the third and only other room on the ground-floor: so you will not think our monarch, his consort and offspring, take up too much of the land called their own ! Over this eating- parlour, on the first floor, is the queen's drawing-room, in which she is also obliged to dress and to un- Page 164 dress for she has no toilette apartment! Who, after that, can repine at any inconvenience here for the household? Here, after breakfast, she sits, with her daughters and her lady and Lady Courtown, who, with her lord, is lodged in the town of Cheltenham. And here they drink tea, and live till suppertime. Over the king's dressing-room is his bed-room, and over my store-room is the bed-room of the princess-royal. And here ends the first floor. The second is divided and sub-divided into bed-rooms, which are thus occupied:--Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth sleep in two beds, in the largest room. Lady Weymouth occupies that next in size. Miss Planta and myself have two little rooms, built over the king's bed-room and Mrs. Sandys and Miss Macentomb, and Lady Weymouth's maid, have the rest. This is the whole house! Not a man but the king sleeps In it. A house is taken in the town for Mr. Fairly and Colonel Gwynn, and there lodge several of the servants, and among them Columb. The pages sleep in outhouses. Even the house-maids lodge in the town, a quarter of a mile or more from the house! Lord Courtown, as comptroller of the household, acts here for the king, in distributing his royal bounty to the Wells, rooms, library, and elsewhere. He has sent around very magnificently. We are surrounded by pleasant meadows, in which I mean to walk a great deal. They are so quiet and so safe, I can go quite alone; and when I have not a first-rate companion, my second best is- -none at all! But I expect, very soon, my poor Miss Port, and I shall have her with me almost constantly. AT THE WELLS. Monday, July 14-This morning I was again up at five o'clock, Miss Planta having asked me to accompany her to the wells. The queen herself went this morning, at six o'clock, with his majesty. It is distant about a quarter of a mile from Lord Fauconberg's. I tasted the water, for once; I shall spare myself any such future regale, for it is not prescribed to me, and I think it very unpleasant. This place and air seem very healthy; but the very early Page 165 hours, and no maid! I almost doubt how this will do. The fatigue is very great indeed. We were too soon for the company, except the royals. We met them all, and were spoken to most graciously by every one. We all came back to breakfast much at the same time, and it was very cheerful. I spent all the rest of the day in hard fagging, at work and business, and attendance; but the evening amply recompensed it all. Lord Courtown, Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, and Miss Planta, came to tea. My Lord and Colonel Gwynn retired after it, to go to the rooms; Mr. Fairly said he Would wait to make his bow to his majesty, and see if there were any commands for him. CONVERSATION AND FLIRTATION WITH COLONEL FAIRLY. And then we had another very long conversation, and if I did not write in so much haste, my dear friends would like to read it. Our subject to-night--his subject, rather--was, the necessity of participation, to every species of happiness. "His" subject, you may easily believe; for to him should I never have dared touch on one so near and so tender to him. Fredy, however, could join With him more feelingly--though he kept perfectly clear of all that was personal, to which I Would not have led for a thousand worlds. He seems born with the tenderest social affections; and, though religiously resigned to his loss--which, I have been told, the hopeless sufferings of Lady - rendered, at last, even a release to be desired--he thinks life itself, single and unshared, a mere melancholy burthen, and the wish to have done with it appears the only wish he indulges. I could not perceive this without the deepest commiseration, but I did what was possible to conceal it; as it is much more easy, both to the hearer and the speaker, to lead the discourse to matters more lively, under an appearance of being ignorant of the state of a sad heart, than with a betrayed consciousness. We talked of books, and not a little I astonished him by the discovery I was fain to make, of the number of authors I have never yet read. Particularly he instanced Akenside, and quoted from him some passages I have heard selected by Mr, Locke. Page 166 Then we talked of the country, of landscapes, of walking, and then, again, came back the favourite proposition,--participation! That, he said, could make an interest in anything,--everything; and O, how did I agree with him! There is sympathy enough, heaven knows, in our opinions on this subject But not in what followed. I am neither good nor yet miserable enough to join with him in what he added, -that life, taken all in all, was of so little worth and value, it could afford its thinking possessor but one steady wish,--that its duration might be short! Alas! thought I, that a man so good should be so unhappy! We then came back again to books, and he asked us if we had read a little poem called the "Shipwreck"?(279) Neither of us had even heard of it. He said it was somewhat too long, and somewhat too technical, but that it contained many beautiful passages. He had it with him, he said, and proposed sending Columb for it, to his house, if we should like to read it. We thanked him, and off marched Columb. It is in a very small duodecimo volume, and he said he would leave it with me. Soon after, Miss Planta said she would stroll round the house for a little exercise. When she was gone, he took up the book, and said, "Shall I read some passages to you? I most gladly assented, and got my work,--of which I have no small store, believe me!-- morning caps, robins, etc., all to prepare from day to day; which, with my three constant and long attendances, and other official company ceremonies, is no small matter. The passages he selected were really beautiful: they were chiefly from an episode, of Palemon and Anna, excessively delicate, yet tender in the extreme, and most touchingly melancholy. One line he came to, that he read with an emotion extremely affecting-- 'tis a sweet line-- "He felt the chastity of silent woe." He stopped upon it, and sighed so deeply that his sadness quite infected me. Then he read various characters of the ship's company, Page 167 which are given with much energy and discrimination. I could not but admire every passage he chose, and I was sensible each of them owed much obligation to his reading, which was full of feeling and effect. How unwillingly did I interrupt him, to go upstairs and wait my night's summons! But the queen has no bell for me, except to my bed-room. He hastily took the hint, and rose to go. "Shall I leave the poem," he cried, "or take it with me, in case there should be any leisure to go on with it to-morrow?" "Which you please," cried I, a little stupidly, for I did not, at the moment, comprehend his meaning which, however, he immediately explained by answering, "Let me take it, then;--let me make a little interest in it to myself, by reading it with you." And then he put it in his pocket, and went to his home in the town, and up stairs went I to my little cell, not a little internally simpering to see a trait so like what so often I have done myself,--carrying off a favourite book, when I have begun it with my Susanna, that we might finish it together, without leaving her the temptation to peep beforehand, MISS BURNEY MEETS AN OLD FRIEND. Tuesday, July 15--While the royals were upon the walks, Miss Planta and I strolled in the meadows, and who should I meet there--but Mr. Seward! This was a great pleasure to me. I had never seen him since the first day of my coming to St. jades's, when he handed me into my father's coach, in my sacque and long ruffles. You may think how much we had to talk over. He had a gentleman with him, fortunately, who was acquainted with Miss Planta's brother, so that we formed two parties, without difficulty. All my aim was to inquire about Mrs. Piozzi,--I must, at last, call her by her now real name!--and of her we conversed incessantly. He told me Mr. Baretti's late attack upon her, which I heard with great concern.(280) It seems he has broken off all intercourse with her, and Page 168 not from his own desire, but by her evident wish to drop him. This is very surprising ; but many others of her former friends, once highest in her favour, make the same complaint. We strolled so long, talking over this ever- interesting subject, that the royals were returned before us, and we found Mr. Fairly waiting in my parlour. The rest soon joined. Mr. Seward had expected to be invited; but it is impossible for me to invite any body while at Cheltenham, as there is neither exit nor entrance but by passing the king's rooms, and as I have no place but this little common parlour in which I can sit, except my own room. Neither could I see Mr. Seward anywhere else, as my dear friends will easily imagine, when they recollect all that has passed, on the subject of my visitors, with her majesty and with Mr. Smelt. He told me he had strolled in those meadows every day, to watch if I were of the party. COLONEL FAIRLY AGAIN. Mr. Fairly again out-stayed them all. Lord Courtown generally is summoned to the royal party after tea, and Colonel Gwynn goes to the town in quest of acquaintance and amusement. Mr. Fairly has not spirit for such researches ; I question, indeed, if he ever had taste for them. When Miss Planta, went off for her exercise, he again proposed a little reading, which again I thankfully accepted. He took out the little poem, and read on the mournful tale of Anna, with a sensibility that gave pathos to every word. How unexpected an indulgence--a luxury, I may say, to me, are these evenings now becoming! While I listen to such reading and such a reader, all my work goes on with an alacrity that renders it all pleasure to me. I have had no regale like this for many and many a grievous long evening ! never since I left Norbury park,-never since my dear Fredy there read Madame de S6vign6. And how little could I expect, in a royal residence, a relief of this sort! Indeed, I much question if there is one other person, in the whole establishment, that, in an equal degree, could afford it. Miss Planta, though extremely friendly, is almost wholly absorbed in the cares of her royal duties, and the solicitude Page 169 of her ill-health : she takes little interest in anything else, whether for conversation or action. We do together perfectly well, for she is good, and sensible, and prudent, and ready for any kind office: but the powers of giving pleasure are not widely bestowed: we have no right to repine that they are wanting where the character that misses them has intrinsic worth but, also, we have no remedy against weariness, where that worth is united with nothing attractive. I was forced again, before ten o'clock, to interrupt his interesting narrative, that I might go to my room. He now said he would leave me the book to look over and finish at my leisure, upon one condition, which he begged me to observe: this was, that I would read with a pen or pencil In my hand, and mark the passages that pleased me most as I went on. I readily promised this. He then gave it me, but desired I would keep it to myself, frankly acknowledging that he did not wish to have it seen by any other, at least not as belonging to him. There was nothing, he said of which he had less ambition than a character for bookism and pedantry, and he knew if it was spread that he was guilty of carrying a book from one house to another, it would be a circumstance sufficient for branding him with these epithets. I could not possibly help laughing a little at this caution, but again gave him my ready promise. A VISIT TO MISS PALMER. Wednesday, July 16.-This morning we had the usual breakfast, and just as it was over I received a note from Miss Palmer, saying she was uncertain whether or not I was at Cheltenham, by not meeting me on the walks or at the play, but wrote to mention that she was with Lady D'Oyley, and hoped, if I was one of the royal suite, my friends might have some chance to see me here, though wholly denied it in town. I sent for answer that I would call upon her; and as no objection was made by her majesty, I went to Sir John D'Oyley's as soon as the royal party rode out. I found Miss Palmer quite thoroughly enraged. We had never met since I left the paternal home, though I am always much indebted to her warm zeal. Sir John and Lady D'Oyley are a mighty gentle pair. Miss Palmer could make them no better present than a little of her vivacity. Miss Elizabeth Page 170 Johnson, her cousin, is of their party : She is pretty, soft, and pleasing; but, unhappily, as deaf as her uncle, Sir Joshua which, in a young female, is a real misfortune. To quiet Miss Palmer as much as I was able, I agreed tonight that I would join her on the walks. Accordingly, at the usual time I set out with Miss Planta, whom I was to introduce to the D'Oyleys. Just as we set out we perceived the king and his three gentlemen, for Lord Courtown is a constant attendant every evening. We were backing on as well as we Could, but his majesty perceived us, and called to ask whither we were going. We met Mr. Seward, who joined us. There is nothing to describe in the walks : they are straight, clay, and sided by common trees, without any rich foliage, or one beautiful opening. The meadows, and all the country around, are far preferable: yet here everybody meets. All the D'Oyley party came, and Miss Planta slipped away. The king and queen walked in the same state as on the Terrace at Windsor, followed by the three princesses and their attendants. Everybody stopped and stood up as they passed, or as they stopped themselves to speak to any of the company. In one of these stoppings, Lord Courtown backed a little from the suite to talk with us, and he said he saw what benefit I reaped from the waters! I told him I Supposed I might be the better for the excursion, according to the definition of a water-drinking person by Mr. Walpole, who says people go to those places well, and then return cured! Mr. Fairly afterwards also joined us a little while, and Miss Palmer said she longed to know him more, there was something so fine in his countenance. They invited me much to go home with them to tea, but I was engaged. We left the walks soon after the royal family, and they carried me near the house in Sir John D'Oyley's coach. I walked, however, quietly in by myself; and in my little parlour I found Mr. Fairly. The others were gone off to the play without tea, and the moment it was over Miss Planta hurried to her own stroll. "ORIGINAL LOVE LETTERS." This whole evening I spent t`ete-`a-t`ete with Mr. Fairly. There is something singular in the perfect trust he seems to have in my discretion, for he speaks to me when we are alone with a frankness unequalled and something very flattering in the Page 171 apparent relief he seems to find in dedicating what time he has to dispose of to my little parlour. In the long conference of this evening I found him gifted with the justest way of thinking and the most classical taste. I speak that word only as I may presume 'to judge it by English literature. "I have another little book," he said, "here, which I am sure you would like, but it has a title so very silly that nobody reads or names it: 'Original Love-Letters;(281)--from which you might expect mere nonsense and romance, though, on the contrary, you would find in them nothing but good sense, moral reflections, and refined ideas, clothed in the most expressive and elegant language." How I longed to read a book that had such a character!--yet, laughable and prudish as it may seem to you, I could not bring myself to accept the half-offer, or make any other reply than to exclaim against the injudiciousness of the title-page. Yet, whatever were our subjects, books, life, or persons, all concluded with the same melancholy burthen--speed to his existence here, and welcome to that he is awaiting! I fear he has been unfortunate from his first setting out.' THE FOUNDER OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS CRITICIZED. July 19.--The breakfast missed its best regale Mr. Fairly was ill, and confined to his room all day. The royal party went to Lord Bathurst's, at Cirencester, and the queen commanded Miss Planta and me to take an airing to Gloucester, and amuse ourselves as well as we could. Miss Planta had a previous slight acquaintance with Mr. Raikes and to his house, therefore, we drove. Mr. Raikes(282) was the original founder of the Sunday-school, an institution so admirable, so fraught, I hope, with future good and mercy to generations yet unborn, that I saw almost with reverence the man who had first suggested it. He lives at Page 172 Gloucester with his wife and a large family. They all received us with open arms. I was quite amazed, but soon found some of the pages had been with them already, and announced our design; and as we followed the pages, perhaps they concluded we also were messengers, or avant-courieres, of what else might be expected. Mr. Raikes is not a man that, without a previous disposition towards approbation, I should greatly have admired. He is somewhat too flourishing, somewhat too forward, somewhat too voluble ; but he is worthy, benevolent, good-natured, and good-hearted, and therefore the overflowing of successful spirits and delighted vanity must meet with some allowance. His wife is a quiet and unpretending woman: his daughters common sort of country misses. They seem to live with great hospitality, plenty, and good cheer. They gave us a grand breakfast, and then did the honours of their city to us with great patriotism. They carried us to their fine old cathedral, where we saw the tomb of poor Edward II., and many more ancient. Several of the Saxon princes were buried in the original cathedral, and their monuments are preserved. Various of the ancient nobility, whose names and families were extinct from the Wars of the Roses, have here left their worldly honours and deposited their last remains. It was all interesting to see, though I will not detail it, for any "Gloucester guide" would beat me hollow at that work. Next they carried us to the jail, to show in how small a space, I suppose, human beings can live, as well as die or be dead. This jail is admirably constructed for its proper purposes-- confinement and punishment. Every culprit is to have a separate cell; every cell is clean, neat, and small, looking towards a wide expanse of country, and, far more fitted to his speculation, a wide expanse of the heavens. Air, cleanliness, and health seem all considered, but no other indulgence. A total seclusion of all commerce from accident, and an absolute impossibility of all intercourse between themselves, must needs render the captivity secure from all temptation to further guilt, and all Stimulus to hardihood in past crimes, and makes the solitude become so desperate that it not only seems to leave no opening, for any comfort save in repentance, but to make that almost unavoidable. After this they carried us to the Infirmary, where I was yet more pleased, for the sick and the destitute awaken an interest far less painful than the wicked and contemned. We went Page 173 entirely over the house, and then over the city, which has little else to catch notice. The pin manufactory we did not see, as they discouraged us by an account of its dirt. Mr. Raikes is a very principal man in all these benevolent institutions; and while I poured forth my satisfaction in them very copiously and warmly, he hinted a question whether I could name them to the queen. "Beyond doubt," I answered; "for these were precisely the things which most interested her majesty's humanity." The joy with which he heard this was nothing short of rapture. ON THE WALKS. Sunday, July 20-Colonel Gwynn again brought but a bad account of his companion, who was now under the care of the Cheltenham apothecary, Mr. Clerke. I had appointed in the evening to go on the walks with Miss Palmer. I scarce ever passed so prodigious a crowd as was assembled before the house when I went out. The people of the whole county seemed gathered together to see their majesties; and so quiet, so decent, so silent, that it was only by the eye they could be discovered, though so immense a multitude. How unlike a London mob! The king, kindly to gratify their zealous and respectful curiosity, came to his window, and seeing me go out, he called me to speak to him, and give an account of my intentions. The people, observing this graciousness, made way for me on every side, so that I passed through them with as much facility as if the meadows had been empty. The D'Oyleys and Miss Johnson and Miss Palmer made the walking party, and Mr. Seward joined us. Mr. Raikes and all his family were come from Gloucester to see the royal family on the walks, which were very much crowded, but with the same respectful multitude, who never came forward, but gazed and admired at the most humble distance, Mr. Raikes introduced me to the Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, and afterwards, much more to my satisfaction, to the Dean of Gloucester, Dr. Tucker, the famous author of "Cui bono."(283) I was very glad to see him: he is past eighty, and has a most shrewd and keen old face. Page 174 I went afterwards to tea with the D'Oyleys and Miss Palmer, and Mr. Seward again accompanied us. Miss Palmer brought me home in Sir John's carriage, making it drive as near as possible to the house. But just before we quitted the walks I was run after by a quick female step :--"Miss Burney, don't you know me? have you forgot Spotty?"--and I saw Miss Ogle. She told me she had longed to come and see me, but did not know if she might. She is here with her mother and two younger sisters. I promised to wait on them. Mrs. Oake was daughter to the late Bishop of Winchester, who was a preceptor of the king's: I knew, therefore, I might promise with approbation. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. Monday, July 21.-I was very much disappointed this morning to see Colonel Gwynn come again alone to breakfast, and to hear from him that his poor colleague was still confined. The royal party all went at ten o'clock to Tewkesbury. About noon, while I was writing a folio letter to my dear father, of our proceedings, Mr. Alberts, the queen's page, came into my little parlour, and said "If you are at leisure, ma'am, Mr. Fairly begs leave to ask you how you do." I was all amazement, for I had concluded his confinement irremediable for the present. I was quite happy to receive him; he looked very ill, and his face is still violently swelled. He had a handkerchief held to it, and was muffled up in a great coat; and indeed he seemed unfit enough for coming out. He apologised for interrupting me. I assured him I should have ample time for my letter. "What a letter!" cried he, looking at its size, "it is just such a one as I should like to receive, and not--" "Read," cried I. "No, no !--and not answer!" He then sat down, and I saw by his manner he came with design to make a sociable visit to me. He was serious almost to sadness, but with a gentleness that could not but raise in whomsoever he had addressed an implicit sympathy. He led almost immediately to those subjects on which he loves to Page 175 dwell--Death and Immortality, and the assured misery of all stations and all seasons in this vain and restless world. I ventured not to contradict him with my happier sentiments, lest I should awaken some fresh pain. I heard him, therefore, in quiet and meditative silence, or made but such general answers as could hazard no allusions. Yet, should I ever see him in better spirits, I shall not scruple to discuss, in such a way as I can, this point, and to vindicate as well as I am able my opposite opinion. He told me he had heard a fifth week was to be now added to this excursion, and he confessed a most anxious solicitude to be gone before that time. He dropped something, unexplained, yet very striking, of a peculiar wish to be away ere some approaching period. I felt his meaning, though I had no key to it; I felt that he coveted to spend in quiet the anniversary of the day on which he lost his lady. You may believe I could say nothing to it; the idea was too tender for discussion; nor can I divine whether or not he wishes to open more on this subject, or is better pleased by my constant silence to his own allusions. I know not, indeed, whether he thinks I even understand them. COURTS AND COURT LIFE. We then talked over Cheltenham and our way of life, and then ran into discourse upon Courts and Court life in general. I frankly said I liked them not, and that, if I had the direction of any young person's destination, I would never risk them into such a mode of living; for, though Vices may be as well avoided there as anywhere 'and in this Court particularly, there were mischiefs of a smaller kind, extremely pernicious to all nobleness of character, to which this Court, with all its really bright examples, was as liable as any other,--the mischiefs of jealousy, narrowness, and selfishness. He did not see, he said, when there was a place of settled income and appropriated business why it might not be filled both with integrity and content in a Court as well as elsewhere. Ambition, the desire of rising, those, he said, were the motives that envy which set such little passions in motion. One situation, however, there was, he said, which he looked upon as truly dangerous, and as almost certain to pervert the fairest disposition- it was one in which he would not place any person for whom he had the smallest regard, as he looked upon it to Page 176 be the greatest hazard a character could run. This was, being maid of honour. THE VINDICTIVE BARETTI. Tuesday, July 22-To-day, at noon, I had a surprise with which I was very well pleased. His majesty opened the door of my little parlour, called out, "Come, Come in -," and was followed by Major Price. He was just arrived from his little farm in Herefordshire, and will stay here some days. It is particularly fortunate just now, when another gentleman was really required to assist in attendance upon the royal party. Mr. Seward, with a good-humoured note, sent me the magazine with Baretti's strictures on Mrs. Thrale. Good heaven, how abusive! It can hardly hurt her--it is so palpably meant to do it. I could not have suspected him, with all his violence, of a bitterness of invective so cruel, so ferocious! I well remember his saying to me, when first I saw him after the discovery of "Evelina"...... I see what it is you can do, you little witch--it is, that you can hang us all up for laughing- stocks; but hear me this one thing--don't meddle with me. I see what they are, your powers; but remember, when you provoke an Italian you run a dagger into your own breast!" I half shuddered at the fearful caution from him, because the dagger was a word of unfortunate recollection:(284) but, good heaven! it could only be a half Shudder when the caution was against an offence I could sooner die than commit, and which, I may truly say, if personal attack was what he meant, never even in sport entered my mind, and was ever, in earnest, a thing I have held in the deepest abhorrence. I must do, however, the justice to his candour to add, that upon a newer acquaintance with me, which immediately followed, he never repeated his admonition; and when "Cecilia" came out, and he hastened to me with every species of extravagant encomium, he never hinted at any similar idea, and it seemed evident he concluded me, by that time, incapable Page 177 meriting such a suspicion; though, to judge by his own conduct, a proceeding of this sort may to him appear in a very different light. He thinks, at least, a spirit of revenge may authorize any attack, any insult. How unhappy and how strange! to join to so much real good nature as this man possesses when pleased, a disposition so savagely vindictive when offended. SPECULATIONS UPON COLONEL FAIRLY'S RE-MARRYING. Thursday, July 24--"Pray, Miss Burney," cried Colonel Gwynn, "do you think Mr. Fairly will ever marry again?" "I think it very doubtful," I answered, "but I hope he will, for, whether he is happy or not in marrying, I am sure he will be wretched in singleness; the whole turn of his mind is so social and domestic. He is by no means formed for going always abroad for the relief of society; he requires it more at hand." "And what do you think of Miss Fuzilier?" "That he is wholly disengaged with her and with everybody." "Well, I think it will be, for I know they correspond ; and what should he correspond with her for else?" "Because, I suppose, he has done it long before this could be suggested as the motive. And, indeed, the very quickness of the report makes me discredit it; 'tis so utterly impossible for a man whose feelings are so delicate to have taken any steps towards a second connexion at so early a period." "Why, I know he's very romantic,--but I should like to know your opinion." "I have given it you," cried I, "very exactly." COLONEL FAIRLY AGAIN PRESENTS HIMSELF. Not long after, when all the party was broke up from my little parlour, though not yet set out for Gloucester, who should again surprise me by entering but Mr. Fairly! I was quite rejoiced by his sight. He was better, though not well. His face is almost reduced to its natural size. He had a letter for her majesty from Lord Aylesbury, and had determined to venture bringing it himself. He said he would carry it in to the queen, and then return to my parlour, if I would give him some breakfast. You may suppose I answered "No!" But, afterwards, fearing he might Page 178 be detained and fatigued, he asked me to present it for him, and only say he was waiting in my room for commands. I was forced to say "Yes," though I had rather not. Her majesty was much surprised to hear he was again out so unexpectedly, and asked if he thought of going to Gloucester? "No," I said, "I believed he was not equal to that." She bid me tell him she would see him before she went. I returned with this message, and would then have ordered him fresh breakfast; but he declared if I was fidgety he should have no comfort, and insisted on my sitting quietly down, while he drew a chair by my side, and made his own cold tea, and drank it weak and vapid, and eat up all the miserable scraps, without suffering me to call for plate, knife, bread, butter, or anything for replenishment. And when he had done, and I would have made some apology, he affected me for him a good deal by gravely saying, "Believe me, this is the pleasantest breakfast I have made these six days." He then went on speaking of his late confinement, and its comfortless circumstances, in very strong terms, dwelling on its solitude and its uselessness, as if those only formed its disagreeability, and the pain went for nothing. Social and kind is his heart, and finely touched to the most exquisite sensations of sympathy; and, as I told Colonel Gwynn, I must needs wish he may yet find some second gentle partner fitted to alleviate his sorrows, by giving to him an object whose happiness would become his first study. He brought me back the few books I had procured him but I had no fresh supply. He spoke again of the favourite "Letters," and said he felt so sure I should be pleased with them, that he was desirous I should look at them, adding There is no person into whose hands I would not put them not even my daughter's." It was now impossible to avoid saying I should be glad to see them: it would seem else to doubt either his taste or his delicacy, while I have the highest opinion of both. In talking them over he told me he believed them to be genuine; "But the woman," he said, "throughout the whole correspondence, is too much the superior. She leaves the man far behind. She is so collected, so composed, so constantly mistress of herself, so unbiased by her passions, so rational, and so dignified, that I would even recommend her as an example to any young woman in similar circumstances to follow." Page 179 He was summoned to her majesty, in the dining-parlour. But when they were all set out on the Gloucester expedition, he returned to my little parlour, and stayed with me a considerable time. Grave he came back--grave quite to solemnity, and almost wholly immersed in deep and sad reflections, He spoke little, and that little with a voice so melancholy, yet so gentle, that it filled me with commiseration. At length, after much silence and many pauses, which I never attempted to interrupt or to dissipate, continuing my work as if not heeding him, he led himself distantly, yet intelligibly--to open upon the immediate state of his mind. I now found that the king's staying on at Cheltenham a fifth week was scarcely supportable to him; that the 16th of next month was the mournful anniversary of his loss, and that he had planned to dedicate it in some peculiar manner to her memory, with his four children. Nothing of this was positively said; for "He feels the chastity of silent woe." But all of it was indubitably comprised in the various short but pointed sentences which fell from him. THE COLONEL AND THE "ORIGINAL LOVE LETTERS." Friday, July 25.-Again, to a very late breakfast came Mr. Fairly, which again he made for himself, when the rest were dispersed, of all the odd remnants, eatable and drinkable. He was much better, and less melancholy. He said he should be well enough to join the royal party to-morrow, who were to dine and spend the whole day at Lord Coventry's at Coombe. . . . In the afternoon, while Miss Planta and myself were Sitting over our dessert, a gentle rap at the parlour-door preceded Mr. Fairly. How we both started! He was muffled up in a great coat, and said he came quite incog., as he was not well enough to dine anywhere but in his private apartment, nor to attend the royals to the walks, whither they go every evening. He had only strolled out for a walk by himself. I could not persuade him to sit down; he said he must be gone immediately, lest he should be seen, and the king, not aware of his unfitness, should order his attendance. Miss Planta, presently, was obliged to go to the princesses, Page 180 and wait with them till the promenade took place. Quietly, then, he drew a chair to the table, and I saw he had something to say; but, after a little general talk he rose and was going : when, hearing by the dogs the royal family were just in motion, he pulled off his great coat and seated himself again. And then, he took from his pocket a small volume, which he said he had taken this opportunity to bring me. You Will be sure it was the "Original Letters.;" I took them, and thanked him: he charged me with a very grave air to keep them safe, and I put them into my work-box--my dear Fredy's work-box--which here is my universal repository of small goods and chattels, and useful past all thanks. By the time they Were set off, however, we were entered into conversation, and he said he would venture to stay tea; "though, as I tell you," he added, "what I do not tell everybody, I must confess I have upon me some certain symptoms that make me a little suspect these Cheltenham waters are going to bring me to a fit of the gout." And then he told me that that dreadful disorder had been frequently and dangerously in his family, though he had himself never had it but once, which was after a very bad fall from his horse when hunting with the king. Miss Planta now joined us, looking not a little surprised to find Mr. Fairly still here, and I ordered tea. After it was over, she went to take her usual evening exercise; and then Mr. Fairly, pointing to my work-box, said, "Shall I read a little to you?" Certainly, I said, if it would not too much fatigue him; and then, with the greatest pleasure in renewing again a mode in which I had taken so much delight, I got my work and gave him his book. Unluckily, however, it was the second volume; the first, having read, he had left in town. "It is quite, however," he said, "immaterial whether You begin with the first volume or the second; the story is nothing; the language and the sentiments are all you can care for." I did not quite agree in this, but would not say so, lest he should think of me as Colonel Gwynn does of him, "that I am very romantic which, however, I am not, though I never like to anticipate an end ere I know a beginning. Indeed, he had not praised them too highly, nor raised my expectations beyond what could answer them, They are full Page 181 of beauties-moral, elegant, feeling, and rational. He seemed most unusually gratified by seeing me so much pleased with them. I am so glad," he cried, "You like them, for I thought you would!" But we began so late that he could only, get through two letters, when the time of my retiring arrived. I was sorry also to have him out so late after his long confinement; but he wrapped himself up in his great coat, and did not seem to think he should suffer from it. Miss Planta came to my room upstairs, to Inquire how long Mr. Fairly had stayed, and I was quite happy to appease her astonishment that he should come without sending in to the king, by assuring her he was only nursing for the next day, when he meant to attend the Coombe party. I thought it so absolutely right to mention his visit to the queen, lest, hearing of it from the princesses through Miss Planta, she Should wonder yet more, that I put aside the disagreeable feel of exciting that wonder myself, and told her he had drank tea here, when I attended her at night. She seemed much more surprised than pleased, till I added that he was preparing and hardening himself for the Coombe expedition the next day, and then she was quite satisfied.(285) THE GOUT AND THE LOVE LETTERS, AGAIN. Saturday, July 26.-The royal party were to be Out the whole day, and I had her majesty's permission to go to the play at night with Miss Port and her friends, and to introduce MISS Planta to them for the same purpose. The breakfast was at seven o'clock ; we were all up at half after five. How sorry was I to see Colonel Gwynn enter alone, and to hear that Mr. Fairly was again ill Soon after the king came into the room and said, "So, no Mr. Fairly again?" "No, sir; he's very bad this morning." "What's the matter? His face?" "No, sir; he has got the gout. These waters., he thinks, have brought it on." "What, in his foot?" "Yes, sir; he is quite lame, his foot is swelled prodigiously." Page 182 "So he's quite knocked up! Can't he come out?" "No, sir; he's obliged to order a gouty shoe and stay at home and nurse." The king declared the Cheltenham waters were admirable friends to the constitution, by bringing disorders out of the habit. Mr. Fairly, he said, had not been well some time, and a smart fit of the gout might set him all to rights again. Alas, thought I, a smart fit of the gout in a lonely lodging at a water-drinking place! They all presently set off; and so fatigued was my poor little frame, I was glad to go and lie down; but I never can sleep when I try for it in the daytime; the moment I cease all employment, my thoughts take such an ascendance over my morphetic faculty, that the attempt always ends in a deep and most Wakeful meditation. About twelve o'clock I was reading In my private loan book, when, hearing the step of Miss Planta on the stairs, I put it back in my work-box, and Was just taking thence some other employment, when her voice struck my ear almost in a scream "Is it possible? Mr. Fairly!" My own with difficulty refrained echoing it when I heard his voice answer her, and in a few minutes they parted, and he rapped at the door and entered my little parlour. He came in hobbling, leaning on a stick, and with a large cloth shoe over one of his feet, which was double the size of the other. We sat down together, and he soon inquired what I had done with his little book. I had only, I answered, read two more letters. "Have you read two?" he cried, in a voice rather disappointed; and I found he was actually come to devote the morning, which he knew to be unappropriated on my part, to reading it on to me himself. Then he took up the book and read on from the fifth letter. But he read at first with evident uneasiness, throwing down the book at every noise, and stopping to listen at every sound. At last he asked me if anybody was likely to come? Not a soul, I said, that I knew or expected. He laughed a little at his question and apparent anxiety but with an openness that singularly marks his character, he frankly added, I must put the book away, pure as it is, if any one comes or, without knowing a word of the contents, they will run away with the title alone, exclaiming, 'Mr. Fairly Page 183 reading love letters to Miss Burney!' A fine story that would make!" 'Pon honour, thought I, I would not hear such a tale for the world. However, he now pursued his reading more at his ease. I will not tell you what we said of them in talking them over. Our praise I have chiefly given--our criticism must wait till you have read them yourselves. They are well worth your seeking. I am greatly mistaken if you do not read them with delight. in the course of the discussion he glided, I know not how, upon the writings of another person, saying he never yet had talked them over with me. "It is much kinder not," cried I hastily. . . . "Well, but," cried he laughing, "may I find a fault? Will you hear a criticism, if nothing of another sort?" I was forced to accede to this. He told me, then, there was one thing he wholly disallowed and wished to dispute, which was, Cecilia's refusing to be married on account of the anonymous prohibition to the ceremony. He could not, he said, think such an implied distrust of Delvile, after consenting to be his, was fair or generous. "To that," cried I, "I cannot judge what a man may think, but I will own it is what most precisely and indubitably I could not have resisted doing myself. An interruption so mysterious and so shocking I could never have had the courage to pass over." This answer rather silenced him from politeness than convinced him from reason, for I found he thought the woman who had given her promise was already married, and ought to run every risk rather than show the smallest want of confidence in the man of her choice. Columb now soon came in to inquire what time I should dine, but a ghost could not have made him stare more than Mr. Fairly, whose confinement with the gout had been spread all over the house by Colonel Gwynn. I ordered an early dinner on account of the play." "Will you invite me," cried Mr. Fairly, laughing, "to dine with you?" "Oh yes!" I cried, "with the greatest pleasure." and he said he would go to his home and dress, and return to my hour. Page 184 A DINNER WITH COLONEL FAIRLY AND MISS PLANTA, As he was at leisure, I had bespoke the queen's hairdresser, on account of the play; but Miss Planta came to inform me that she could not be of that party, as she had received a letter from Lady Charlotte Finch, concerning Princess Mary, that she must stay to deliver herself. I told her she would have a beau at dinner. "Well," she exclaimed, "'tis the oddest thing in the world He should come so when the king and queen are away! I am sure, if I was you, I would not mention it." "Oh yes, I shall," cried I; "I receive no visitors in private; and I am sure if I did, Mr. Fairly is the last who would condescend to make one of them." Such was my proud, but true speech, for him and for myself. At dinner we all three met; Mr. Fairly in much better spirits than I have yet seen him at Cheltenham. He attacks Miss Planta upon all her little prejudices, and rallies her into a defence of them, in a manner so sportive 'tis impossible to hurt her, yet so nearly sarcastic that she is frequently perplexed whether to take it in good or ill part. But his intentions are so decidedly averse to giving pain, that even when she is most alarmed at finding the laugh raised against her, some suddenly good-humoured or obliging turn sets all to rights, and secures any sting from remaining, even where the bee has been most menacing to fix itself. I believe Mr. Fairly to possess from nature high animal spirits, though now curbed by misfortune - and a fine vein of satire, though constantly kept in order by genuine benevolence. He is still, in mixed company, gay, shrewd, and arch ; foremost in badinage, and readiest for whatever may promote general entertainment. But in chosen society his spirits do not rise above cheerfulness; he delights in moral discourse, on grave and instructive subjects, and though always ready to be led to the politics or business of the day, in which he is constantly well versed and informing I never observe him to lead but to themes of religion, literature, or moral life. When dinner and a very sociable dessert were over, we proposed going to the king's dining-parlour, while the servants removed the things, etc., against tea. But the weather was so very fine we were tempted by the open door to go out into the air. Miss Planta said she would take a walk; Mr. Fairly could not, but all without was so beautiful he would not go into the Page 185 parlour, and rather risked the fatigue of standing, as he leant against the porch, to losing the lovely prospect of sweet air. And here, for near two hours, on the steps of Fauconberg Hall, we remained; and they were two hours of such pure serenity, without and within, as I think, except in Norbury park, with its loved inhabitants and my Susan, I scarce ever remember to have spent. Higher gaiety and greater happiness many and many periods of my life have at different times afforded me; but a tranquillity more perfect has only, I think, been lent to me in Norbury park, where, added to all else that could soothe and attract, every affection of my heart could be expanded and indulged. But what have I to do with a comparison no longer cherished but by memory The time I have mentioned being past, Miss Planta returned from her walk, and we adjourned to the little parlour, where I made tea, and then I equipped myself for the play. The sweet Miss Port received me with her usual kind joy, and introduced me to her friends, who are Mr. Delabere, the master of the house, and chief magistrate of Cheltenham, and his family. We all proceeded to the play-house, which is a very pretty little theatre. Mrs. Jordan played the "Country Girl," most admirably; but the play is so disagreeable in Its whole plot and tendency, that all the merit of her performance was insufficient to ward off disgust.(286) My principal end, however, was wholly answered, in spending the evening with my poor M-----. . . . Lady Harcourt is come to take the place of Lady Weymouth, whose waiting is over; and Lord Harcourt will lodge in the town of Cheltenham. We have no room here for double accommodations. ROYAL CONCERN FOR THE COLONEL's GOUT. Sunday, July 27.-This morning in my first attendance I seized a moment to tell her majesty of yesterday's dinner. Page 186 "So I hear!" she cried; and I was sorry any one had anticipated my information, nor can I imagine who it might be. "But pray, ma'am," very gravely, how did it happen ? I understood Mr. Fairly was confined by the gout." "He grew better, ma'am, and hoped by exercise to prevent a serious fit." She said no more, but did not seem pleased. The fatigues of a Court attendance are so little comprehended, that persons known to be able to quit their room and their bed are Instantly concluded to be qualified for all the duties of their office. We were again very early, as their majesties meant to go to the cathedral at Gloucester, where the Bishop of Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, was to Preach to them. But I -was particularly glad, before our breakfast, was over, to see Mr. Fairly enter my little parlour. He was Still In his gouty Shoe, and assisted by a stick, but he had not suffered from his yesterday's exertion. Before the things were removed, a page opened the door, and all the royal family--king, queen, and three princesses--came into the room to see Mr. Fairly and Inquire how he did. I hardly know with which of the five he is most in favour, or by which most respected, and they all expressed their concern for this second attack, in the kindest terms. The king, however, who has a flow of spirits at this time quite unequalled, would fain have turned the whole into ridicule, and have persuaded him he was only fanciful. "Fanciful, Sir?" he repeated, a little displeased; and the good king perceiving it, graciously and good-humouredly drew back his words, by saying "Why I should wonder indeed if you were to be that!" When they all decamped I prepared for church. I had appointed to go with Miss Port, and to meet her on the road. Mr. Fairly said, if I would give him leave, he would stay and write letters in my little parlour. I supplied him with materials, and emptied my queen's writing-box for a desk, as we possess nothing here but a low dining-table. So away went journals, letters, memorandums, etc., into the red portfolio given me by my dear father. page 187 As soon as I presented him with this, not at all aware of the goods and chattels removed for the occasion, he said it was so very comfortable he should now write all his letters here, for at his lodgings he had such a miserable low table he had been forced to prop it up by brick-bats! Mr. Fairly sealed and made up his dispatches, and then said he would stroll a little out to put his foot in motion. "And what," he asked, "shall you do?" I had a great mind to say, Why, stroll with you; for that, I think, was the meaning OF his question; but I feared it might prevent my being dressed against the return Of the queen, and I do not think she would have thought it an adequate excuse. YOUNG REPUBLICANS CONVERTED. Monday, July 28.--Miss Ogle acquainted me that this was the last day of her remaining at Cheltenham, and I promised to drink tea with her in the afternoon; and the queen honoured me with a commission to bring Mrs. Ogle on the walks, as his majesty wished again to see her. . . . I found Mrs. Ogle and her daughters all civility and good humour. Poor Mrs. Ogle has lately (by what means I do not know) wholly lost her eye-sight; but she is perfectly resigned to this calamity, and from motives just such as suit a bishop's daughter. When I told her who desired her to be on the walks, she was extremely gratified. Spotty is a complete rebel, according to the principles of her republican father, and protested it would only be a folly and fuss to go, for their notice. The younger sisters are bred rebels too; but the thought of guiding their mother, when such royal distinction was intended her, flattered and fluctuated them. There was another lady with them, who told me that Dr. Warton, of Winchester, had desired her to make acquaintance with me; but I have forgotten her name, and have no time to refresh my memory with it. To the walks we went, the good and pious Mrs. Ogle between her two young daughters, and Spotty and I together. Spotty begged me to go to the ball with her, but I had neither licence nor inclination. The queen immediately espied Mrs. Ogle, by seeing me, as I heard her say to the king; and they approached the spot where we stood, in the most gracious manner. The king spoke with such kindness to Mrs. Ogle, and with such great regard Page 188 of her late father, that the good lady was most deeply affected with pleasure. I believe they stayed half an hour with her, talking over old scenes and circumstances. Spotty kept pulling me all the time, to decamp; but I kept "invincible,"--not quite like Mr. Pitt, yet "invincible." At last the king spoke to her: this confused her so much, between the pleasure of the notice, and the shame of feeling that pleasure, that she knew not what she either did or said, answered everything wrong, and got out of the line, and stood with her back to the queen, and turned about she knew not why, and behaved like one who had lost her wits. When they left us, Mrs. Ogle expressed her grateful sense of the honour done her, almost with tears ; the two young ones said, they had never conceived the king and queen could be such sweet people and poor Spotty was so affected and so constrained in denying them praise, and persisting that she thought it "all a bore," that I saw the republican heart was gone, though the tongue held its ground. A second time, after a few more turns, the same gracious party approached, with fresh recollections and fresh questions concerning interesting family matters. This was more than could be withstood; Mrs. Ogle was almost overpowered by their condescension; the young ones protested they should never bear to hear anything but praise of them all their lives to come and poor Spotty was quite dumb! She could not, for shame, join the chorus of praise, and to resist it she had no longer any power. We did not, however, stop here; for still a third time they advanced, and another conference ensued, in which Mrs. Ogle's sons were inquired for, and their way of life, and designs and characters. This ended and completed the whole; Mrs. Ogle no longer restrained the tears of pleasure from flowing; her little daughters declared, aloud, the king and queen were the two most sweet persons in the whole world, and they would say so as long as they lived; and poor Spotty, colouring and conscious, said-- "But I hope I did not behave so bad this time as the first?" Nay, so wholly was she conquered, that, losing her stubbornness more and more by reflection, she would not let me take leave till she obliged me to promise I would either call the next morning, before their departure, or write her a little note, to say if they found out or mentioned her ungraciousness. I was too well pleased in the convert to refuse her this satis- page 189 action; and so full was her mind of her new loyalty, that when she found me steady in declining to go with her to the ball, she gave it up herself, and said she would go home with her mother and sisters, to talk matters over. THE PRINCES' ANIMAL SPIRITS. July 31.---Miss Planta said the Duke of York was expected the next day. This led to much discourse on the princes, in which Mr. Fairly, with his usual but Most uncommon openness, protested there was something in the violence of their animal spirits that Would make him accept no post and no pay to live with them. Their very voices, he said, had a loudness and force that wore him. Immediately after he made a little attack--a gentle one, Indeed-- upon me, for the contrary extreme, of hardly speaking, among strangers at least, so as to be heard. "And why," cried he, "do you speak so low? I used formerly not to catch above a word in a sentence from you." In talking about the princes, he asked me how I managed with them. Not at all, I said, for since I had resided under the royal roof they were rarely there, and I had merely seen them two or three times. He congratulated me that I had not been in the family in earlier days, when they all lived together; and Miss Planta enumerated various of their riots, and the distresses and difficulties they caused in the household. I was very glad, I said, to be out of the way, though I did not doubt but I might have kept clear of them had I been even then a resident. "O no, no," cried Mr. Fairly; "they would have come to you, I promise you; and what could you have done--what would have become of you?--with Prince William in particular? Do you not think, Miss Planta, the Prince of Wales and Prince William would have been quite enough for Miss Burney? Why she would have been quite subdued." I assured him I had not a fear but I might always have avoided them. "Impossible! They would have come to your tea-room." "I would have given up tea." "Then they would have followed you--called for you--sent for you--the Prince of Wales would have called about him, 'Here ! where's Miss Burney?"' Page 190 "O, no, no, no!" cried I; "I would have kept wholly out of the way, and then they would never have thought about me." "O, ho!" cried he, laughing, "never think of seeing Miss Burney Prince William, too! what say you to that, Miss Planta? She agreed there was no probability of such escape. I was only the more glad to have arrived in later times. Here a page came to call Mr. Fairly to backgammon with his majesty. THE DUKE OF YORK: ROYAL VISIT TO THE THEATRE. Friday, Aug. 1.-This was a very busy day; the Duke of York was expected, and his fond father had caused a portable wooden house to be moved from the further end of Cheltenham town up to join to Fauconber, Hall. The task had employed twenty or thirty men almost ever since our arrival, and so laborious, slow, difficult, and all but impracticable had it proved, that it was barely accomplished before it was wanted. There was no room, however, in the king's actual dwelling, and he could not endure not to accommodate his son immediately next himself. His joy upon his arrival was such joy as I have only seen here when he arrived first from Germany; I do not mean it was equally violent, or, alas! equally unmixed, but yet it was next and nearest to that which had been most perfect. Mr. Bunbury attended his royal highness. We had all dispersed from breakfast, but the king came in, and desired me to make him some. Mr. Fairly had brought him to my little parlour, and, having called Columb, and assisted in arranging a new breakfast, he left us, glad, I suppose, of a morning to himself, for his majesty was wholly engrossed by the duke. We talked over his usual theme--plays and players--and he languished to go to the theatre and see Mrs. Jordan. Nor did he languish in vain: his royal master, the duke, imbibed his wishes, and conveyed them to the king; and no sooner were they known than an order was hastily sent to the play-house, to prepare a royal box. The queen was so gracious as to order Miss Planta and myself to have the same entertainment. The delight of the people that their king and queen should visit this country theatre was the most disinterested I ever witnessed; for though they had not even a glance of their royal countenances, they shouted, huzzaed, and clapped, for Page 191 many minutes. The managers had prepared the front boxes for their reception, and therefore the galleries were over them. They made a very full and respectable appearance in this village theatre. The king, queen, Duke of York, and three princesses, were all accommodated with front seats ; Lord Harcourt stood behind the king, Lady Harcourt and Mr. Fairly behind the queen; Lord and Lady Courtown and Lady Pembroke behind the princesses; and at the back, Colonel Gwynn and Mr. Bunbury; Mr. Boulby and Lady Mary were also in the back group. I was somewhat taken up in observing a lady who sat opposite to me, Miss W---. My Susanna will remember that extraordinary young lady at Bath, whose conduct and conversation I have either written or repeated to her.(287) I could not see her again without being much struck by another recollection, of more recent and vexatious date. Mrs. Thrale, in one of the letters she has published, and which was written just after I had communicated to her my singular rencontre with this lady, says to Dr. Johnson, "Burney has picked up an infidel, and recommended to her to read 'Rasselas.' This has a strange sound, but when its circumstances are known, its strangeness ceases; it meant Miss W--- and I greatly fear, from the date and the book, she cannot but know the "infidel" and herself are one. I was truly Concerned in reading it, and I now felt almost ashamed as well as concerned in facing her, though her infidelity at that time, was of her own public avowal. Mr. Bunbury is particularly intimate with her, and admires her beyond all women. AN UN-COURTLY VISITOR. Miss Planta and myself, by the queen's direction, went in a chaise to see Tewkesbury. We were carried to several very beautiful points of view, all terminating with the noble hills of Malvern; and we visited the cathedral. . . . The pews seem the most unsafe, strange, and irregular that were ever constructed; they are mounted up, story after story, without any order, now large, now small, now projecting out wide, now almost indented in back, nearly to the very roof of the building. They look as if, ready-made, they had been thrown up, and stuck wherever they could, entirely by chance. We returned home just in time to be hastily dressed before Page 192 the royals came back. I was a little, however, distressed on being told, as I descended to dinner, that Mr. Richard Burney(288) was in my parlour. The strict discipline observed here, in receiving no visits, made this a very awkward circumstance, for I as much feared hurting him by such a hint, as concurring in an impropriety by detaining him. Miss Planta suffers not a soul to approach her to this house ; and Lady Harcourt has herself told me she thinks it would be wrong to receive even her sisters, Miss Vernons, so much all-together is now the house and household! My difficulty was still increased, when, upon entering the parlour, I found him in boots, a riding dress, and hair wholly without curl or dressing. Innocently, and very naturally, he had called upon me in his travelling garb, never suspecting that in visiting me he was at all in danger of seeing or being seen by any one else. Had that indeed been the case, I should have been very glad to see him; but I knew, now, his appearance must prove every way to his disadvantage, and I felt an added anxiety to acquaint him with my situation. Miss Planta looked all amazement; but he was himself all ease and sprightly unconsciousness. We were obliged to sit down to dinner; he had dined. I was quite in a panic the whole time, lest any of the royals should come in before I could speak - but, after he had partaken of our dessert, as much en badinage as I could, I asked him if he felt stout enough to meet the king? and then explained to him, as concisely as I had power, that I had here no room whatsoever at my own disposal, in such a manner as to enable my having the happiness to receive any of my private friends even Miss Port, though known to all the royal family,, I could never venture to invite, except when they were abroad: such being, at present, the universal practice and forbearance of all the attendants in this tour. He heard me with much surprise, and much laughter at his own elegant equipment for such encounters as those to which he now found himself liable; but he immediately proposed decamping, and I could not object, Yet, to soften this disagreeable explanation, I kept him a few minutes longer, settling concerning our further meeting at the concerts- at Worcester, and, in this little interval, we were startled by a rap at my door. He laughed, and started back; and I, alarmed, Page 193 also retreated. Miss Planta opened the door, and called out "'Tis Mr. Fairly." I saw him in amaze at sight of a gentleman; and he was himself immediately retiring, concluding, I suppose, that nothing less than business very urgent could have induced me to break through rules so rigidly observed by himself and all others. I would not, however, let him go . but as I continued talking with Richard about the music meeting and my cousins, he walked up to the window with Miss Planta. I now kept Richard as long as I well could, to help off his own embarrassment at this interruption; at length he went. MR. FAIRLY READS "AKENSIDE" TO MISS BURNEY. Hearing now the barking of the dogs, I knew the royals must be going forth to their promenade; but I found Mr. Fairly either did not hear or did not heed them. While I expected him every moment to recollect himself, and hasten to the walks, he quietly said, "They are all gone but me. I shall venture, to-night, to shirk;--though the king will soon miss me. But what will follow? He will say--'Fairly is tired! How shabby!' Well! let him say so; I am tired!" Miss Planta went off, soon after, to her walk. He then said, "Have you done with my little book?" "O yes!" I cried, "and this morning I have sent home the map of Gloucester you were so good as to send us. Though, I believe, I have kept both so long, You will not again be in any haste to lend me either a map of the land, or a poem of the sea." I then gave him back "The Shipwreck." "Shall I tell you," cried I, "a design I have been forming upon you?" "A design upon me?" "Yes; and I may as well own it, for I shall be quite as near success as if I disguise it." I then went to my little drawer and took out Akenside." "Here," I cried, "I intended to have had this fall in your way, by pure accident, on the evening you were called to the conjurer, and I have planned the same ingenious project every evening since, but it has never taken, and so now I produce it fairly!" "That," cried he, taking it, with a very pleased smile, "is the only way in all things!" Page 194 He then began reading "The Pleasures of the Imagination," and I took some work, for which I was much in haste, and my imagination was amply gratified. He only looked out for favourite passages, as he has the poem almost by heart, and he read them with a feeling and energy that showed his whole soul penetrated with their force and merit. After the first hour, however, he grew uneasy'; he asked me when I expected the king and queen from their walk, and whether they were likely to come into my room? "All," I said, "was uncertain." "Can nobody," he cried, "let you know when they are coming?" "Nobody," I answered, "would know till they were actually arrived." "But," cried he, "can you not bid somebody watch?" 'Twas rather an awkward commission, but I felt it would be an awkwardness still less pleasant to me to decline it, and therefore I called Columb, and desired he would let me know when the queen returned. He was then easier, and laughed a little, while he explained himself, "Should they come in and find me reading here before I could put away my book, they would say we were two blue stockings!" At tea Miss Planta again joined us, and instantly behind him went the book. He was very right; for nobody would have thought it more odd--or more blue. During this repast they returned home, but all went straight upstairs, the duke wholly occupying the king - and Mr. Bunbury went to the play. When Miss Planta, therefore, took her evening stroll, "Akenside" again came forth, and with more security. "There is one ode here," he cried, "that I wish to read to you, and now I think I can." I told him I did not in general like Akenside's odes, at least what I had chanced to read, for I thought they were too inflated, and filled with "liberty cant." "But this, however," cried he, "I must read to you, it is so pretty, though it is upon love!" 'Tis addressed to Olympia: I dare say my dearest Fredy recollects it.(289) It is, indeed, most feelingly written; but we Page 195 had only got through the first stanza when the door Suddenly opened, and enter Mr. Bunbury. After all the precautions taken, to have him thus appear at the very worst moment! Vexed as I was, I could really have laughed; but Mr. Fairly was ill disposed to take it so merrily. He started, threw the book forcibly behind him, and instantly took up his hat, as if decamping. I really believe he was afraid Mr. Bunbury would caricature us "The sentimental readers!" or what would he have called us? Luckily this confusion passed unnoticed. Mr. Bunbury had run away from the play to see after the horses, etc., for his duke, and was fearful of coming too late. plays and players now took up all the discourse, with Miss W--, till the duke was ready to go. They then left me together, Mr. Fairly smiling drolly enough in departing, and looking at "Akenside" with a very arch shrug, as who should say "What a scrape you had nearly drawn me into, Mr. Akenside!" THE DOCTOR's EMBARRASSMENT. Sunday, Aug. 3.-This morning I was so violently oppressed by a cold, which turns out to be the influenza, it was with the utmost difficulty I could dress myself. I did indeed now want some assistant most wofully. The princess royal has already been some days disturbed with this influenza. When the queen perceived it in me she told his majesty, who came into the room just as she was going to breakfast. Without making any answer, he himself went immediately to call Mr. Clerk, the apothecary, who was then with the princess royal. "Now, Mr. Clerk," cried he, "here's another patient for you." Mr. Clerk, a modest, sensible man, concluded, by the king himself having called him, that it was the queen he had Page 196 now to attend, and he stood bowing profoundly before her but soon observing she did not notice him, he turned in some confusion to the Princess Augusta, who was now in the group. "No, no! it's not me, Mr. Clerk, thank God!" cried the gay Princess Augusta. Still more confused, the poor man advanced to Princess Elizabeth. "No, no; it's not her!" cried the king. I had held back, having scarce power to open my eyes, from a vehement head-ache, and not, indeed, wishing to go through my examination till there were fewer witnesses. But his majesty now drew me out. "Here, Mr. Clerk," he cried, "this is your new patient!" He then came bowing up to me, the king standing close by, and the rest pretty near. "You--you are not well, ma'am?" he cried in the greatest embarrassment, "No, sir, not quite," I answered in ditto. "O, Mr. Clerk will cure you!" cried the king. "Are-are you feverish, ma'am?" "Yes, sir, a little." "I--I will send you a saline draught, ma'am." "If you please." And then he bowed and decamped. Did you ever hear a more perfectly satisfactory examination? The poor modest man was overpowered by such royal listeners and spectators, and I could not possibly relieve him, for I was little better myself. I went down to breakfast, but was so exceedingly oppressed I could not hold up my head, and as soon as I could escape I went to my own room, and laid down till my noon attendance, which I performed with so much difficulty I was obliged to return to the same indulgence the moment I was at liberty. FROM GRAVE TO GAY. Down at last I went, slow and wrapped up. I found Mr. Fairly alone in the parlour, reading letters with such intentness that he did not raise his head, and with an air of the deepest dejection. I remained wholly unnoticed a considerable time; but at last he looked up, and with some surprise, but a voice OF Page 197 of extreme sadness, he said, "Is that Miss Burney? I thought it had been Miss Planta." I begged him to read on, and not mind me; and I called for tea. When we had done tea, "See, ma'am," he cried, "I have brought You 'Carr,' and here is a sermon upon the text I mean, when I preach, to choose 'Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right; for that will bring a man peace at the last.'" Sincerely I commended his choice ; and we had a most solemn discussion of happiness, not such as coincides with gaiety here, but hope of salvation hereafter. His mind has so religious a propensity, that it seems to me, whenever he leaves it to its natural bent, to incline immediately and instinctively to subjects of that holy nature. Humility, he said, in conclusion, humility was all in all for tranquillity of mind; with that, little was expected and much was borne, and the smallest good was a call for gratitude and content. How could this man be a soldier? Might one not think he was bred in the cloisters? "Well," cried he, again taking up the volume of "Carr," "I will just sit and read this sermon, and then quietly go home." He did so, feelingly, forcibly, solemnly; it is an excellent sermon; yet so read--he so sad, and myself so ill--it was almost too much for me, and I had some difficulty to behave with proper propriety. To him subjects of this sort, ill or well, bring nothing, I believe, but strength as well as comfort. The voice of dejection with which he began changed to one of firmness ere he had read three pages. Something he saw of unusual sinking, notwithstanding what I hid; and, with a very kind concern, when he had finished the sermon, he said, "Is there anything upon your spirits?" "No," I assured him, "but I was not well; and mind and body seemed to go together sometimes, when they did not." "But they do go together," cried he, "and will." However, he took no further- notice: he is like me, for myself, in that--that whatever he thinks only bodily is little worth attention; and I did not care to risk explaining to his strong and virtuous mind the many fears and mixed sensations of mine, when brought to a close disquisition of awaiting eternity. I never, but with Mrs. Delany and Dr. Johnson, have entered so fully and so frequently upon this awful subject as Page 198 with Mr. Fairly. My dear and most revered Mrs. Delany dwelt upon it continually, with joy, and pure, yet humble hope. My ever-honoured Dr. Johnson recurred to it perpetually, with a veneration compounded of diffidence and terror, and an incessant, yet unavailing plan, of amending all errors, and rising into perfection. Mr. Fairly leans upon it as the staff of his strength--the trust, the hope, the rest of his soul--too big for satisfaction in aught this world has given, or can reserve for him. ' He did not, however, "go quietly home," when he had finished the sermon; on the contrary, he revived in his spirits, and animated in his discourse, and stayed on. In speaking of the king he suddenly recollected some very fine lines of Churchill, made on his accession to the throne. I wish I could transcribe them, they are so applicable to that good king, from that moment of promise to the present of performance. But I know not in what part of Churchill's works they may be found. Finding me unacquainted with his poems he then repeated several passages, all admirably chosen ; but among them his memory called forth some that were written upon Lord H--, which were of the bitterest severity I ever heard:--whether deserved or not, Heaven knows; but Mr. Fairly said he would repeat them, for the merit of the composition. There was no examining his opinion of their veracity, and he made no comments; but this: Lord H-- was the famous man so often in the House of Commons accused of expending, or retaining, unaccounted millions Having run through all he could immediately recollect, he said, with a very droll smile, "Come, now I'll finish our ode," and went to my drawer for "Akenside." His fears of surprise, however, again came upon him so strongly while reading it, that he flung away the book in the utmost commotion at every sound, lest any one was entering, always saying in excuse, "We must not be called two blue stockings;" and, "They are so glad to laugh; the world is so always on the watch for ridicule." . . . I know not by what means, but after this we talked over Mr. Hastings's trial. I find he is very much acquainted with Mr. Windham, and I surprised him not a little, I saw, by what I told him of part Of My conferences with that gentleman. This matter having led us from our serious subjects, he took Page 199) up "Akenside" once more, and read to me the first book throughout, What a very, very charming poem is the "Pleasures of the Imagination!" He stayed to the last moment, and left me all the better for the time he thus rescued from feverish lassitude and suffering. A VISIT TO WORCESTER. Tuesday, Aug. 5-The journey to Worcester was very pleasant, and the country through which we passed extremely luxuriant and pretty. We did not go in by the Barborne road ; but all the road, and all avenues leading to it, were lined with people, and when we arrived at the city we could see nothing but faces ; they lined the windows from top to bottom, and the pavement from end to end. We drove all through the city to come to the palace of Bishop Hurd, at which we were to reside. Upon stopping there, the king had an huzza that seemed to vibrate through the whole town ; the princess royal's carriage had a second, and the equerries a third; the mob then, as ours drew on in succession, seemed to deliberate whether or not we also should have a cheer: but one of them soon decided the matter by calling out, "These are the maids of honour!" and immediately they gave us an huzza that made us quite ashamed, considering its vicinity. Mr. Fairly and Colonel Goldsworthy having performed the royal attendance, waited to hand us out of the carriage ; and then the former said he believed he should not be wanted, and would go and make a visit in the town. I should have much liked walking off also, and going to my cousins at Barborne Lodge; but I was no free agent, and obliged to wait for commands. The house is old and large; part of it looks to the Severn but the celebrated "Fair Sabrina" was so thick and muddy, that at this time her vicinity added but little to the beauty of the situation. My bed-room is pleasant, with a view of the distant country and the Severn beneath it; but it is through that of the princess royal; which is an inconvenience her royal highness submits to with a grace that would make me ashamed to call it one to myself. The parlour for our eating is large and dark, and old-fashioned. I made tea in it to-night for Lord Courtown and the two colonels, and Miss Planta, and was so much the Page 200 better for my journey, that I felt the influenza nearly conquered. Wednesday, Aug. 6.-I had the pleasure to arrange going to the music meeting with my own family. Notes were immediately interchanged from and to Barborne Lodge, and the queen was very well pleased that I should have this opportunity of joining my friends. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and Betsy called for me at the bishop's. I was heartily glad to see Betsy and Mrs. Hawkins I introduced Miss Planta to them, who was of our party. We sat in what are called the steward's places, immediately under their majesties. The performance was very long, and tolerably tedious, consisting of Handel's gravest pieces and fullest choruses, and concluding with a sermon concerning the institution of the charity, preached by Dr. Langhorne. I was, however, so glad to be with my cousins, that the morning was very comfortable and pleasant to me. Richard and James joined us occasionally.; the rest of the family are at Shrewsbury. It was over very late, and we then went about the church, to see King John's tomb, etc, They were very earnest with me to go to Barborne but it was impossible. I promised, however, to accompany them to the concert at night, and be of their party to all the morning meetings at the cathedral. ' My parlour at the bishop's afforded me a good deal of entertainment, from observing the prodigious concourse of people from all the tops of houses, and looking over the walls to watch his majesty's entrance into the court-yard. Poor Lord Courtown, on account of his star, was continually taken for the king, and received so many huzzas and shouts, that he hardly dared show himself except when in attendance. THE QUEEN AND MR. FAIRLY. Saturday, Aug. 9.-Her majesty this morning a little surprised me by gravely asking me what were Mr. Fairly's designs with regard to his going away ? I could not tell her I did not know what I was really acquainted with; yet I feared it might seem odd to her that I should be better informed than herself, and it was truly unpleasant to me to relate anything he had told me without his leave. Her question, therefore, gave me a painful sensation; but it was spoken with an air so strongly denoting a belief that I had power to answer it, that I felt no choice in making a plain reply. Simply, then, "I understand, Page 201 ma'am," I said, "that he means to go to-morrow morning early." "Will he stay on to-night, then, at Worcester?" "N-o, ma'am, I believe not." "I thought he meant to leave us to-day? He said so." "He intended it, ma'am,--he would else not have said it." "I know I understood so, though he has not spoke to me of his designs this great while." I saw an air bordering upon displeasure as this was said and how sorry I felt!--and how ashamed of being concluded the person better informed! Yet, as he had really related to me his plan, and I knew it to be what he had thought most respectful to herself, I concluded it best, thus catechised, to speak it all, and therefore, after some hesitation uninterrupted by her, I said, "I believe, ma'am, Mr. Fairly had intended fully to begin his journey to-day, but, as Your majesty is to go to the play to-night, he thinks it his duty to defer setting out till to-morrow, that he may have the honour to attend your majesty as usual." This, which was the exact truth, evidently pleased her. Here the inquiry dropped; but I was very uneasy to relate it to Mr. Fairly, that the sacrifice I knew he meant to make of another day might not lose all its grace by wanting to be properly revealed. MR. FAIRLY MORALIZES. Our journey back to Cheltenham was much more quiet than it had been to Worcester, for the royal party too], another route to see Malvern hills, and we went straight forward. Miss Planta having now caught the influenza, suffered very much all the way, and I persuaded her immediately to lie down when we got to Fauconberg Hall. She could not come down to dinner, which I had alone. The Princess Elizabeth came to me after it, with her majesty's permission that I might go to the play with my usual party ; but I declined it, that I might make some tea for poor Miss Planta, as she had no maid, nor any creature to help her. The princess told me they were all going first upon the walks, to promener till the play time. I sat down to make my solitary tea, and had just sent up a basin to Miss Planta, when, to my equal surprise and pleasure, Mr. Fairly entered the room. "I come now," he said, "to take my leave." They were all, he added, gone to the walks, whither he must Page 202 in a few minutes follow them, and thence attend to the play, and the next morning, by five o'clock, be ready for his post-chaise. Seeing me, however, already making tea, with his Usual and invariable sociability he said he would venture to stay and partake, though he was only come, he gravely repeated, to take his leave. "And I must not say," cried I, "that I am sorry you are going, because I know so well you wish to be gone that it makes me wish it for you myself." "No," answered he, "you must not be sorry; when our friends are going to any joy. We must think of them, and be glad to part with them." Readily entering the same tone, with similar plainness of truth I answered, No, I will not be sorry you go, though miss you at Cheltenham I certainly must." "Yes," was his unreserved assent, "you will miss me here, because I have spent my evenings with you; but You Will not long remain at Cheltenham." Oim`e!" thought I, you little think how much Worse will be the quitting it. He owned that the bustle and fatigue of this life was too much both for his health and his spirits. I told him I Wished it might be a gratification to him, in his toils, to hear how the queen always spoke of him; With what evident and constant complacency and distinction. "And you may credit her sincerity," I added, "Since it is to so little a person as me she does this, and when no one else is present." He was not insensible to this, though he passed it over without much answer. He showed me a letter from his second son, very affectionate and natural. I congratulated him, most sincerely, on his approaching happiness in collecting them all together. "Yes he answered, "my group will increase, like a snow-ball, as I roll along, and they will soon all four be as happy as four little things know how to be." This drew him on into some reflections upon affection and upon happiness. "There is no happiness," he said, "without participation; no participation without affection. There is, indeed, in affection a charm that leaves all things behind it, and renders even every calamity that does not interfere with it inconsequential and there is no difficulty, no toil, no labour, no exertion, that will not be endured where there is a view of reaping it." He ruminated some time, and then told me of a sermon he had heard preached some months ago, sensibly demonstrating Page 203 the total vanity and insufficiency, even for this world, of all our best affections, and proving their fallibility from our most infirm humanity. My concurrence did not here continue: I cannot hold this doctrine to be right, and I am most sure it is not desirable. our best affections, I must and do believe, were given us for the best purposes, for every stimulation to good, and every solace in evil. But this was not a time for argument. I said nothing, while he, melancholy and moralizing, continued in this style as long as he could venture to stay. He then rose and took his hat, saying, " Well, so much for the day; what may come to-morrow I know not; but, be it what it may, I stand prepared." I hoped, I told him, that his little snowball would be all he could wish it, and I was heartily glad he would so soon collect it. "We will say," cried he, "nothing of any regrets," and bowed, and was hastening off. The "we," however, had an openness and simplicity that drew from me an equally open and simple reply. "No," I cried, "but I will say-for that you will have pleasure in hearing that you have lightened my time here in a manner that no one else could have done, of this party." To be sure this was rather a circumscribed compliment, those he left considered - but it was strict and exact truth, and therefore like his own dealing. He said not a word of answer, but bowed, and went away, leaving me firmly impressed with a belief that I shall find in him a true, an honourable, and even an affectionate friend, for life. MAJOR PRICE IS TIRED OF RETIREMENT. Sunday, Aug. 10.-Major Price was of the breakfast party this morning, to my great contentment. I heartily wish he was again in the king's household, he is so truly attached to his majesty, and he so earnestly himself wishes for a restoration, not to the equerryship, which is too laborious an office, but to any attendance upon the king's person of less fatigue. He opened to me very much upon his situation and wishes. he has settled himself in a small farm near the house of his eldest brother, but I could see too plainly he has not found there the contentment that satisfies him. He sighs for society ; he owns books are insufficient for everything, and his evenings Page 204 begin already to grow wearisome. He does not wish it to be talked of publicly, but he is solicitous to return to the king, in any place attached to his person, of but mild duty. Not only the king, he said, he loved, but all his society, and the way of life in general; and he had no tie whatsoever to Herefordshire that would make him hesitate a moment in quitting it, if another place could be made adequate to his fortune. His income was quite too small for any absence from his home of more than a few weeks, in its present plight; and therefore it could alone be by some post under government that he must flatter himself with ever returning to the scenes he had left. How rarely does a plan of retirement answer the expectations upon which it is raised! He fears having this suspected, and therefore keeps the matter to himself; but I believe he so much opened it to me, in the hope I might have an opportunity to make it known where it might be efficacious; for he told me, at the same time, he apprehended his majesty had a notion his fondness for Herefordshire, not his inability to continue equerry, had occasioned his resignation. I shall certainly make it my business to hint this to the queen. So faithful and attached a servant ought not to be thrown aside, and, after nine years' service, left unrewarded, and seem considered as if superannuated. MR. FAIRLY'S LITTLE NOTE. When I came from her majesty, just before she went down to dinner, I was met by a servant who delivered me a letter, which he told me was just come by express. I took it in some alarm, fearing that ill news alone could bring it by such haste, but, before I could open it, he said, "'Tis from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." I hastened to read, and will now copy it:- "Northleach, Aug. 10, 1788. "Her majesty may possibly not have heard that Mr. Edmund Waller died on Thursday night. He was master of St. Catherine's, which is in her majesty's gift. It may be useful to her to have this early intelligence of this circumstance, and you will have the goodness to mention it to her. Mr. W. was at a house upon his own estate within a mile and a half of this place, Very truly and sincerely yours, "S. Fairly." "Miss Burney, Fauconberg Hall." Page 205 How to communicate this news, however, was a real distress to me. I know her majesty is rather scrupulous that all messages immediately to herself should be conveyed by the highest channels, and I feared she would think this ought to have been sent through her lady then in waiting, Lady Harcourt. Mr. Fairly, too, however superior to such small matters for himself, is most punctiliously attentive to them for her. I could attribute this only to haste. But my difficulty was not alone to have received the intelligence-the conclusion of the note I was sure would surprise her. The rest, as a message to herself, being without any beginning, would not strike her; but the words "very truly and sincerely yours," come out with such an abrupt plainness, and to her, who knows not with what intimacy of intercourse we have lived together so much during this last month, I felt quite ashamed to show them. While wavering how to manage, a fortunate circumstance seemed to come to my relief; the Princess Elizabeth ran up hastily to her room, which is just opposite to mine, before she followed the queen down to dinner; I flew after her, and told her I had just heard of the death of Mr. Waller, the Master of St. Catherine's, and I begged her to communicate it to her majesty. She undertook it, with her usual readiness to oblige, and I was quite delighted to have been so speedy without producing my note, which I determined now not even to mention unless called upon, and even then not to produce; for now, as I should not have the first telling, it might easily be evaded by not having it in my pocket. The moment, however, that the dinner was over, Princess Elizabeth came to summon me to the queen. This was very unexpected, as I thought I should not see her till night; but I locked up my note and followed. She was only with the princesses. I found the place was of importance, by the interest she took about it. She asked me several questions relative to Mr. Waller. I answered her all I could collect from my note, for further never did I hear; but the moment I was obliged to stop she said, "Pray have you known him long?" "I never knew him at all, ma'am." "No? Why, then, how came you to receive the news about his death?" Was not this agreeable? I was forced to say, "I heard of it only from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." Page 206 Nothing Could exceed the surprise with which she now lifted up her eyes to look at me. "From Mr. Fairly?--Why did he not tell it me?" O, worse and worse! I was now compelled to answer, "He did not know It when he was here, ma'am; he heard it at Northleach, and, thinking it might be of use to your majesty to have the account immediately, he sent it over express." A dead silence so uncomfortable ensued, that I thought it best presently to go on further, though unasked. "Mr. Fairly, ma'am, wrote the news to me, on such small paper, and in such haste, that it is hardly fit to he shown to your majesty; but I have the note upstairs." No answer; again all silent; and then Princess Augusta said, "Mamma, Miss Burney says she has the note upstairs." "If your majesty pleases to see it"-- She looked up again, much more pleasantly, and said, "I shall be glad to see it," with a little bow. Out I went for it, half regretting I had not burned it, to make the producing it impossible. When I brought it to her, she received it with the most gracious smile, and immediately read it aloud, with great complacency, till she came to the end and then, with a lowered and somewhat altered tone, the "very truly and sincerely yours," which she seemed to look at for a moment with some doubt if it were not a mistake, but in returning it she bowed again, and simply said, "I am very much obliged to Mr. Fairly." You will be sure how much I was pleased during this last week to hear that the place of the Master of St. Catherine's was given by her majesty to Mr. Fairly. It is reckoned the best in her gift, as a sinecure. What is the income I know not: reports differ from 400 to 500 per annum. THE RETURN TO WINDSOR. Saturday, Aug. 16.-We left Cheltenham early this morning. Major Price breakfasted with us, and was so melancholy at the king's departure he could hardly speak a word. All Cheltenham was drawn out into the High-street, the gentles on one side and the commons on the other, and a band, and "God save the king," playing and singing. My dear Port, with all her friends, was there for a last look, and a sorrowful one we interchanged; Mr. Seward also, whom again I am not likely to meet for another two years at least. Page 207 The journey was quite without accident or adventure. And thus ends the Cheltenham episode. May I not justly call it so, different as it is to all the mode of life I have hitherto lived here, or alas I am in a way to live henceforward? melancholy--most melancholy-was the return to Windsor destitute of all that could solace, compose, or delight ; replete with whatever could fatigue, harass, and depress! Ease, leisure, elegant society, and interesting communication, were now to give place to arrogant manners, contentious disputation, and arbitrary ignorance! Oh, heaven! my dearest friends, what scales could have held and have weighed the heart of your F.B. as she drove past the door of her revered, lost comforter, to enter the apartment inhabited by such qualities! But before I quit this journey let me tell one very pleasant anecdote. When we stopped to change horses at Burford I alighted and went into the inn, to meet Mrs. Gast, to whom I had sent by Mrs. Frodsham a request to be there as we passed through the town. I rejoiced indeed to see again the sister of our first and wisest friend. My Susanna, who knows her too enthusiastic character, will easily suppose my reception. I was folded in her arms, and bathed in her tears all my little stay, and my own, from reflected tenderness for her ever-honoured, loved, and lamented brother, would not be kept quite back; 'twas a species of sorrowful joy--painful, yet pleasing--that seemed like a fresh tribute to his memory and my affection, and made the meeting excite an emotion that occupied my mind and reflections almost all the rest of my journey. She inquired most kindly after my dear father and my Susanna, and separately and with interest of all the rest of the family; but her surprise to see me now, by this most un expected journey, when she had concluded me inevitably shut up from her sight for the remainder of her life, joined to the natural warmth of her disposition, seemed almost to suffocate her. I was very sorry to leave her, but my time was unavoidably short and hurried. I inquired after Chesington, and heard very good accounts. AT WINDSOR AGAIN THE CANON AND MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Windsor, Sunday, Aug. 17.-This day, after our arrival, began precisely the same as every day preceding our journey. The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood could not awake more completely to the same scene; yet I neither have been asleep, nor Page 208 am quite a beauty! O! I wish I were as near to the latter as the former at this minute! We had all the set assembled to congratulate his majesty on his return--generals and colonels without end. I was very glad while the large party lasted, its diminution into a solitary pair ending in worse than piquet--a tête-à-tête!--and such a one, too! after being so spoiled! Monday, Aug. 18.-Well, now I have a new personage to introduce to you, and no small one; ask else the stars, moon and planets! While I was surrounded with bandboxes, and unpacking, Dr. Shepherd was announced. Eager to make his compliments on the safe return, he forced a passage through the back avenues and stairs, for he told me he did not like being seen coming to me at the front door, as it might create some jealousies amongst the other canons! A very commendable circumspection! but whether for my sake or his own he did not particularize. M. de Lalande, he said, the famous astronomer,(290) was just arrived in England, and now at Windsor, and he had expressed a desire to be introduced to me. Well, while he was talking this over, and I was wondering and evading, entered Mr. Turbulent. What a surprise at sight of the reverend canon! The reverend canon, also, was interrupted and confused, fearing, possibly, the high honour he did me might now transpire amongst his brethren, notwithstanding his generous efforts to spare them its knowledge. Mr. Turbulent, who looked big with heroics, was quite provoked to see he had no chance of giving them vent. They each outstayed the patience of the other, and at last both went off together. Some hours after, however, while I was dressing, the canon returned. I could not admit him, and bid Goter tell him at the door I was not visible. He desired he might wait till I was ready, as he had business of importance. I would not let him into the next room, but said he might stay in the eating-parlour. When I was dressed I sent Goter to bring him in. She came back, grinning and colouring,; she had not found him, she said, but only Mrs. Schwellenberg, who was there alone, and had Page 209 called her in to know what she wanted. She answered she came to seek for a gentleman. "There's no gentleman," she cried, "to come into my parlour. it is not permit. When he comes I will have it locked up." O, ho, my poor careful canon! thought I. However, soon after a tap again at my door introduced him. He said he had been waiting below in the passage, as he saw Madame Schwellenberg in the parlour, and did not care to have her know him; but his business was to settle bringing M. de Lalande to see me in the evening. I told him I was much honoured, and so forth, but that I received no evening company, as I was officially engaged. He had made the appointment, he said, and could not break it without affronting him; besides, he gave me to understand it would be an honour to me for ever to be visited by so great an astronomer. I agreed as to that, and was forced, moreover, to agree to all the rest, no resource remaining I mentioned to her majesty the state of the case. She thought the canon very officious, and disapproved the arrangement, but saw it was unavoidable. But when the dinner came I was asked by the présidente, "What for send you gentlemen to my parlour?" " I was dressing, ma'am, and could not possibly receive company in mine, and thought the other empty." "Empty or full is the same! I won't have it. I will lock up the room when it is done so. No, no, I won't have no gentlemen here; it is not permit, perticklere when they Nvon't not speak to me!" I then heard that "a large man, what you call," had entered that sacred domain, and seeing there a lady, had quitted it "bob short!" I immediately explained all that had passed, for I had no other way to save myself from an imputation of favouring the visits and indiscretion of this most gallant canon. "Vell, when he comes so often he might like you. For what won't you not marry him?" This was coming to the point, and so seriously, I found myself obliged to be serious in answer, to avoid misconstruction, and to assure her, that were he Archbishop of Canterbury, and actually at my feet, I would not become archbishopess. "Vell, you been right when you don't not like him; I don't not like the men neither: not one from them!" Page 210 So this settled us very amicably till tea-time, and in the midst of that, with a room full of people, I was called out by Westerhaults to Dr. Shepherd! Mrs. Schwellenberg herself actually te-he'd at this, and I could not possibly help laughing myself, but I hurried into the next room, where I found him with his friend, M. de Lalande. What a reception awaited me! how unexpected a one from a famed and great astronomer. COMPLIMENTS FROM A FAMOUS FOREIGN ASTRONOMER. M. de Lalande advanced to meet me---I will not be quite positive it was on tiptoe, but certainly with a mixture of jerk and strut that could not be quite flat-footed. He kissed my hand with the air of a petit-maître, and then broke forth into such an harangue of éloges, so solemn with regard to its own weight and importance, and so fade(291) with respect to the little personage addressed, that I could not help thinking it lucky for the planets, stars, and sun, they were not bound to hear his comments, though obliged to undergo his calculations. On my part sundry profound reverences, with now and then an "O, monsieur!" or "c'est trop d'honneur," acquitted me so well, that the first harangue being finished, on the score of general and grand reputation, éloge the second began, on the excellency with which "cette célèbre demoiselle" spoke French! This may surprise you, my dear friends; but You must consider M. de Lalande is a great discoverer. Well, but had you seen Dr. Shepherd! he looked lost in sleek delight and wonder, that a person to whom he had introduced M. de Lalande should be an object for such fine speeches. This gentleman's figure, meanwhile, corresponds no better with his discourse than his scientific profession, for he is an ugly little wrinkled old man, with a fine showy waistcoat, rich lace ruffles, and the grimaces of a dentist. I believe he chose to display that a Frenchman of science could be also a man of gallantry. I was seated between them, but the good doctor made no greater interruption to the florid professor than I did myself; he only grinned applause, with placid, but ineffable satisfaction. Nothing therefore intervening, éloge the third followed, after a pause no longer than might be necessary for due admiration Page 211 of éloge the second. This had for sujet the fair female sex; how the ladies were now all improved; how they could write, and read, and spell; how a man now-a-days might talk with them and be understood, and how delightful it was to see such pretty creatures turned rational! And all this, of course, interspersed with particular observations and most pointed applications; nor was there in the whole string of compliments which made up the three bouquets, one single one amongst them that might have disgraced any petit maître to utter, or any petite maîtresse to hear. The third being ended, a rather longer pause ensued. I believe he was dry, but I offered him no tea. I would not voluntarily be accessory to detaining such great personages from higher avocations. I wished him next to go and study the stars: from the moon he seemed so lately arrived there was little occasion for another journey. I flatter myself he was of the same opinion, for the fourth éloge was all upon his unhappiness in tearing himself away from so much merit, and ended in as many bows as had accompanied his entrance. I suppose, in going, he said, with a shrug, to the canon, "M. le docteur, c'est bien gênant, mais il faut dire des jolies choses aux dames!"(293) He was going the next day to see Dr. Maskelyne's observatory. Well! I have had him first in mine! I was obliged on my return to the tea-room to undergo much dull raillery from my fair companion, and Much of wonder that "since the canon had such good preferment" I did not "marry him at once," for he "would not come so often if he did not want it." THE PRINCE EYES MISS BURNEY CURIOUSLY. Tuesday, Aug. 18.--The Duke of York's birthday was kept this day, instead of Saturday, that Sunday morning might not interfere with the ball. The Prince of Wales arrived early, while I was yet with the queen. He kissed her hand, and she sent for the princesses. Only Princess Elizabeth and Princess Sophia were dressed. Her majesty went into the next room with Mrs. Sandys, to have her shoes put on, with which she always finishes. The prince and princesses then chatted away most fluently. Page 212 Princess Elizabeth frequently addressed me with great sweetness but the prince only with curious eyes. Do not, however, understand that his looks were either haughty or impertinent far from it ; they were curious, however, in the extreme. COLONEL MANNERS'S BEATING. Colonel Manners made me laugh as If I had been at a farce, by his history of the late Westminster election, in which Lord John Townshend conquered Lord Hood. Colonel Manners is a most eager and active partisan on the side of the government, but so indiscreet, that he almost regularly gets his head broke at every contested election; and he relates it as a thing of course. I inquired if he pursued his musical studies, so happily begun with Colonel Wellbred? "Why," answered he, "not much, because of the election; but the thing is, to get an ear: however, I think I have got one, because I know a tune when I hear it, if it's one that I've heard before a good many times so I think that's a proof. but I can never get asked to a concert, and that keeps me a little behind." "Perhaps," cried I, "your friends conclude you have music enough in your three months' waiting to satisfy you for all the year?" "O, ma'am, as to that, I'd just as lief hear so many pots and pans rattled together; one noise is just as well as another to me." I asked him whether his electioneering with so much activity did not make his mother, Lady Robert, a little uneasy?--N.B. She is a methodist. "O, it does her a great deal of good," cried he;"for I could never get her to meddle before ; but when I'd had my head broke, it provoked her so, she went about herself canvassing among the good people,--and she got us twenty votes." "So then," cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "there are twenty good people in the world? That's your calculation, is it?" Mr. Fisher, who just then came in, and knew nothing of what had passed, starting the election, said to Colonel Manners, "So, sir, you have been beat, I hear!" He meant only his party ; but his person having shared the same fate, occasioned a violent shout among the rest at this innocent speech, and its innocent answer - for Colonel Man- Page 213 ners, looking only a little surprised, simply said, "Yes, I was beat, a little." "A little, sir?" exclaimed Mr. Fisher, "no, a great deal you were shamefully beat--thrashed thoroughly." In the midst of a violent second shout, Colonel Manners only said, "Well, I always hated all that party, and now I hate them worse than ever." "Ay, that I'll be bound for you," cried Colonel Goldsworthy. "Yes for having been so drubbed by them," cried Mr. Fisher. As I now, through all his good humour, saw Colonel Manners colour a little, I said in a low voice to Mr. Fisher, "Pray is it in innocence, or in malice, that you use these terms." I saw his innocence by his surprise, and I whispered him the literal state of all he said; he was quite shocked, and coloured in his turn, apologising instantly to Colonel Manners, and protesting he had never heard of his personal ill usage, but only meant the defeat of his party. MR. FAIRLY IS DISCUSSED BY HIS BROTHER EQUERRIES. Everybody was full of Mr. Fairly's appointment, and spoke of it with pleasure. General Budé had seen him in town, where he had remained some days, to take the oaths, I believe, necessary for his place. General Budé has long been intimate with him, and spoke of his character exactly as it has appeared to me; and Colonel Goldsworthy, who was at Westminster with him, declared he believed a better man did not exist. "This, in particular," cried General Budé, "I must say of Fairly: whatever he thinks right he pursues straightforward and I believe there is not a sacrifice upon earth that he would not make, rather than turn a moment out of the path that he had an opinion it was his duty to keep in." They talked a good deal of his late lady; none of them knew her but very slightly, as she was remarkably reserved. "More than reserved," cried General Budé, "she was quite cold. Yet she loved London and public life, and Fairly never had any taste for them; in that they were very mal assortis, but in all other things very happy." "Yes," cried Colonel Goldsworthy, "and how shall we give praise enough to a man that would be happy himself, and make Page 214 his wife so too, for all that difference of opinion ? for it was all his management, and good address, and good temper. I hardly know such another man." General Budé then related many circumstances of his most exemplary conduct during the illness of his poor suffering wife, and after her loss; everybody, indeed, upon the occasion of this new appointment, has broke forth to do justice to his deserving it. Mrs. Ariana Egerton, who came twice to drink tea with me on my being sensa Cerbera, told me that her brother-in-law, Colonel Masters, who had served with him at Gibraltar, protested there was not an officer in the army of a nobler and higher character, both professional and personal. She asked me a thousand questions of what I thought about Miss Fuzilier? She dislikes her so very much, she cannot bear to think of her becoming Mrs. Fairly. She has met with some marks of contempt from her in their official meetings at St. James's, that cannot be pardoned. Miss Fuziller, indeed, seemed to me formerly, when I used to meet her in company, to have an uncertainty of disposition that made her like two persons; now haughty, silent, and supercilious--and then gentle, composed, and interesting. She Is, however, very little liked, the worst being always what most spreads abroad. BARON TRENCK: MR. TURBULENT"S RAILLERY. Sept. 1.-Peace to the manes of the poor slaughtered partridges! I finished this morning the "Memoirs of Baron Trenck," which have given me a great deal of entertainment; I mean in the first volume, the second containing not more matter than might fill four pages. But the singular hardiness, gallantry, ferocity, and ingenuity of this copy of the knights of ancient times, who has happened to be born since his proper epoch, have wonderfully drawn me on, and I could not rest without finishing his adventures. They are reported to be chiefly of his own invention; but I really find an air of self-belief in his relations, that inclines me to think he has but narrated what he had persuaded himself was true. His ill-usage is such as to raise the utmost indignation in every reader and if it really affected his memory and imagination, and became thence the parent of some few embellishments and episodes, I can neither wonder nor feel the interest of his narrative diminished. Sept. 2.-Mr. Turbulent was in high rage that I was utterly Page 215 invisible since my return from Cheltenham; he protested he had called seven times at my door without gaining admission, and never was able to get in but when " Dr. Shepherd had led the way. He next began a mysterious attack upon the proceedings of Cheltenham. He had heard, he said, strange stories of flirtations there. I could not doubt what he meant, but I would not seem to understand him: first, because I know not from whom he has been picking up this food for his busy spirit, since no one there appeared collecting it for him ; and secondly, because I would not degrade an acquaintance which I must hope will prove as permanent as it is honourable, by conceiving the word flirtation to be possibly connected with it. By every opportunity, in the course of the day, he renewed this obscure raillery; but I never would second it, either by question or retort, and therefore it cannot but die away unmeaningly as it was born. Some effect, however, it seems to have had upon him, who has withdrawn all his own heroics, while endeavouring to develop what I have received elsewhere. AMIABLE MRS. SCHWELLENBERG AGAIN. Sept. 4.-To-day there was a Drawing-room, and I had the blessing of my dearest father while it lasted; but not solus; he was accompanied by my mother; and my dear Esther and her little innocent Sophy spent part of the time with us. I am to be god-mother to the two little ones, Esther's and James's. Heaven bless them! We returned to Kew to a late dinner; and, indeed, I had one of the severest evenings I ever passed, where my heart took no share in unkindness and injustice. I was wearied in the extreme, as I always am on these drawing-room days, which begin with full hair-dressing at six o'clock in the morning, and hardly ever allow any breakfast time, and certainly only standing, except while frizzing, till the drawing-room commences; and then two journeys in that decked condition--and then another dressing, with three dressing attendances--and a dinner at near seven o'clock. Yet, not having power to be very amusing after all this, I was sternly asked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, "For what I did not talk?" I answered simply, "Because I was tired." "You tired!--what have you done? when I used to do so much more- -you tired! what have you to do but to be happy: Page 216 --have you the laces to buy? have you the wardrobe to part? have you--you tired? Vell, what will become next, when you have every happiness!--you might not be tired. No, I can't bear It." This, and so much more than it would be possible to write, all uttered with a haughtiness and contempt that the lowest servant could not have brooked receiving, awoke me pretty completely, though before I was scarce able to keep my eyelids a moment open; but so sick I turned, that indeed it was neither patience nor effort that enabled me to hear her; I had literally hardly strength, mental or bodily, to have answered her. Every happiness mine!--O gracious heaven! thought I, and is this the companion of my leisure--the associate of my life! Ah, my dear friends, I will not now go on--I turn sick again. A ROYAL JOKE. Sept. 29.-The birth-day of our lovely eldest princess. It happens to be also the birth-day of Miss Goldsworthy; and her majesty, in a sportive humour, bid me, as soon as she was dressed, go and bring down the two "Michaelmas geese." I told the message to the Princess Augusta, who repeated It in its proper words. I attended them to the queen's dressing- room, and there had the pleasure to see the cadeaux presentations. The birth-days in this house are made extremely interesting at the moment, by the reciprocations of presents and congratulations in this affectionate family. Were they but attended with less of toil (I hate to add ette, for I am sure it is not little toil), I should like them amazingly. COLONEL GOLDSWORTHY'S BREACH OF ETIQUETTE. Mrs. Schwellenberg has become both colder and fiercer. I cannot now even meet her eyes-they are almost terrifying. Nothing upon earth having passed between us, nor the most remote subject of offence having occurred, I have only one thing on which to rest my conjectures, for the cause of this newly-awakened evil spirit, and this is from the gentlemen. They had all of late been so wearied that they could not submit even for a quarter of an hour to her society : they had swallowed a dish of tea and quitted the room all in five minutes, and Colonel Goldsworthy in particular, when without any companion in his waiting, had actually always fallen asleep, Page 217 even during that short interval, or at least shut his eyes, to save himself the toil of speaking. This she brooked very ill, but I was esteemed innocent, and therefore made, occasionally, the confidant of her complaints. But lately, that she has been ill, and kept upstairs every night, she has always desired me to come to her as soon as tea was over, which, she observed, "need not keep me five minutes." On the contrary, however, the tea is now at least an hour, and often more. I have been constantly received with reproaches for not coming sooner, and compelled to declare I had not been sooner at liberty. This has occasioned a deep and visible resentment, all against them, yet vented upon me, not in acknowledged displeasure--pride there interfered--but in constant ill-humour, ill-breeding, and ill-will. At length, however, she has broken out into one inquiry, which, if favourably answered, might have appeased all; but truth was too strongly in the way. A few evenings after her confinement she very gravely said, "Colonel Goldsworthy always sleeps with me! sleeps he with you the same?" In the midst of all my irksome discomfort, it was with difficulty I could keep my countenance at this question, which I was forced to negative. The next evening she repeated it. "Vell, sleeps he yet with you- -Colonel Goldsworthy?" "Not yet, ma'am," I hesitatingly answered. "O! ver vell! he will sleep with nobody but me! O, i von't come down." And a little after she added, "I believe he vill marry you." "I believe not, ma'am," I answered. And then, very gravely,, she proposed him to me, saying he only wanted a little encouragement, for he was always declaring he wished for a wife, and yet wanted no fortune-" so for what won't you not have him?" I assured her we were both perfectly well satisfied apart, and equally free from any thoughts of each other. "Then for what," she cried, "won't you have Dr. Shepherd?" She Is now in the utmost haste to dispose of me! And then she added she had been told that Dr. Shepherd would marry me! She is an amazing woman ! Alas, I might have told her I knew too well what it was to be tied to a companion ill-assorted and unbeloved, where I could not help myself, to Page 218 make any such experiment as a volunteer! If she asks me any more about Colonel Goldsworthy and his sleeping, I think I will answer I am too near-sighted to be sure if he is awake or not! However, I cannot but take this stroke concerning the table extremely ill; for though amongst things of the very least consequence in itself, it is more openly designed as an affront than any step that has been taken with me yet. I have given the colonel a hint, however,-that he may keep awake in future. . . . ILLNESS OF MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Oct. 2.-Mrs. Schwellenberg, very ill indeed, took leave of the queen at St. James's, to set off for Weymouth, in company with Mrs. Hastings. I was really very sorry for her; she was truly in a situation Of suffering, from bodily pain, the most pitiable. I thought, as I looked at her, that if the ill-humours I so often experience could relieve her, I would consent to bear them unrepining, in preference to seeing or knowing her so ill. But it is just the contrary; spleen and ill-temper only aggravate disease, and while they involve others in temporary participation of their misery, twine it around themselves in bandages almost stationary. She was civil, too, poor woman. I suppose when absent she could not well tell why she had ever been otherwise. GENERAL GRENVILLE'S REGIMENT AT DRILL. Oct. 9.-I go on now pretty well; and I am so much acquainted with my party, that when no strangers are added, I begin to mind nothing but the first entree of my male visitants. My royal mistress is all sweetness to me; Miss Planta is most kind and friendly; General Budé is ever the same, and ever what I do not wish to alter; Colonel Goldsworthy seems coming round to good-humour; and even General Grenville begins to grow sociable. He has quitted the corner into which he used to cast his long figure, merely to yawn and lounge ; and though yawn and lounge he does still, and must, I believe, to the end of the chapter, he yet does it in society, and mixes between it loud sudden laughter at what is occasionally said, and even here and there a question relative to what is going forward. Nay-yesterday he even seated himself at the tea Page 219 table, and amused himself by playing with my work-box, and making sundry inquiries about its contents. Oct. 10.-This evening, most unwittingly, I put my new neighbour's good-humour somewhat to the test. He asked me whether I had walked out in the morning? Yes, I answered, I always walked. "And in the Little park?" cried he. Yes, I said, and to Old Windsor, and round the park wall, and along the banks of the Thames, and almost to Beaumont Lodge, and in the avenue of the Great park, and in short, in all the vicinage of Windsor. "But in the Little park?" he cried. Still I did not understand him, but plainly answered, "Yes, this morning,; and indeed many mornings." "But did you see nothing--remark nothing there? No, not that I recollect, except some soldiers drilling." You never heard such a laugh as now broke forth from all for, alas for my poor eyes, there had been in the Little park General Grenville's whole regiment, with all his officers, and himself at their head! Fortunately it is reckoned one of the finest in the king's service : this I mentioned, adding that else I could never again appear before him. He affected to be vehemently affronted, but hardly knew how, even in joke, to appear so ; and all the rest helped the matter on, by saying that they should know now how to distinguish his regiment, which henceforth must always be called " the drill." The truth is, as soon as I perceived a few red-coats I had turned another way, to avoid being marched at, and therefore their number and splendour had all been thrown away upon me. (278) "Cerbera" was Fanny's not inappropriate name for Mrs. Schwellenberg.-ED. (279) By William Falconer, born at Edinburgh in 1730. His poem, "The Shipwreck," was suggested by his own experience at sea, and was first published in 1762. Falconer sailed for Bengal in 1769, the vessel touched at the Cape in December, and was never heard of more.-ED. (280) In the "European Magazine" for May 1788, appeared an article from the pen of Baretti, headed "On Signora Piozzi's publication of Dr. Johnson's Letters, Stricture the First." It is filled with coarse, personal abuse of the lady, whom the author terms "the frontless female, who goes now by the mean appellation of Piozzi." "Stricture the Second," in the same tone, appeared the following month, and the "Third," which closed the series, in August of the same year. In the last number Baretti comments, with excessive bitterness, on Mrs. Piozzi's second marriage.-ED. (281) "Original Love-letters between a Lady of Quality and a Person of Inferior Station." Dublin, 1784. Though by no means devoid of "nonsense and romance," the little book is not altogether undeserving of Colonel Digby's encomium. The story is very slight, and concludes, quite unnecessarily and rather unexpectedly, with the death of the gentleman, just as his good fortune seems assured.-ED. (282) Robert Raikes, who was born at Gloucester in 1735, was a printer and the son of a printer. His father was proprietor of the "Gloucester journal." In conjunction with the Rev. Mr. Stocks, Raikes founded the institution of Sunday Schools in 1781. He died at Gloucester in 1811.-ED. (283) "Cui Bono? or, an Inquiry what Benefits can arise either to the English or the Americans, the French, Spaniards, or Dutch, from the greatest victories, or successes, in the present War, being a Series of Letters, addressed to Monsieur Necker, late Controller- General of the Finances of France," By Josiah Tucker, D.D., published at Gloucester, 1781. The pamphlet was written in the advocacy of a general peace, and attracted much attention. The third edition appeared in 1782.-ED, (284) Fanny alludes to an old adventure of Baretti's. He was accosted in the Haymarket by a prostitute, October 6, 1769. The woman was importunate, and the irritable Italian struck her on the hand; upon which three men came up and attacked him. He then drew a dagger in self defence, and mortally wounded one of his assailants. Baretti was tried at the Old Bailey for murder, October 20, and acquitted; Johnson, Burke, and Garrick appearing as witnesses to his character.-ED. (285) With all Fanny's partiality for the "sweet queen," the evidences of that sweet creature's selfishness keep turning up in a very disagreeable manner-ED. (286)) "The Country Girl," Which is still occasionally performed, is an adaptation by Garrick of one of the most brilliant, and most indecent, of Restoration comedies--Wycherley's "Country Wife." Mrs. Jordan played the part of "Peggy," the "Margery Punchwife" of Wycherley's play. It was in this part that she made her first appearance in London, at Drury Lane, October 18, 1785. She was one of the most admired actresses of her time. Genest, who saw her, writes of her, "As an actress she never had a superior in her proper line Mrs. Jordan's Country Girl, Romp, Miss Hoyden, and all characters of that description were exquisite--in breeches parts no actress can be put in competition with her but Mrs. Woffington, and to Mrs. Woffington she was as superior in point of voice as Mrs. Woffington was superior to her in beauty" (viii. p. 430). Mrs. Jordan died at St. Cloud, July 5, 1816, aged fifty. There is an admirable portrait of her by Romney in the character of the "Country Girl."-ED. (287) See ante, vol. i., p. 151.-ED. (288) Fanny's cousin, the son of Dr. Burney's brother, Richard Burney of Worcester.-ED. (289) The poem in question is the "Ode to the Evening Star," the fifteenth of the first hook of Odes. Mr. Akenside, having paid his tear on fair Olympia's virgin tomb, roams in quest of Philomela's bower, and desires the evening star to send its golden ray to guide him. it is pretty, however. The first stanza runs as follows:-- "To night retired, the queen of heaven With young Endymion strays; And now to Hesper it is given Awhile to rule the vacant sky, Till she shall to her lamp supply A stream of lighter rays."-ED. (290) Joseph jérome le Français de Lalande, one of the most distinguished of French astronomers. He was born in 1732, and died in 1807.-ED. (291) Silly: insipid. (292) 'Tis too much honour." (293) "'Tis very troublesome, but one must say pretty things to ladies." Page 220 SECTION 14 (1788-9.) THE KING'S ILLNESS. [Fanny's vivid account of the king's illness, from the autumn of 1788 to the spring of 1789, needs no recommendation to the reader. It requires only to be supplemented by a very brief sketch of the consequent proceedings in Parliament, which excited so much foolish indignation in the royal household, and in Fanny herself. That she should display more feeling than judgment under circumstances so affecting, was, perhaps, only to be expected, but it is none the less evident, from certain passages in the " Diary, that the tainted Court atmosphere had already clouded, to some extent, her naturally clear understanding. The insanity of a sovereign is, to her, a purely private and personal matter, with respect to which the only business of the public is to offer up prayers for his majesty's speedy recovery. That ministers should take steps to provide for the performance of the royal functions in government, during the period of the king's incapacity, is an act of effrontery at which she wants words to express her indignation. Mrs. Schwellenberg, who thought it treason to say that the King was ever at all indisposed, was scarcely more unreasonable in this particular than Miss Fanny Burney, who shuddered, with sentimental horror, at the mention of a Regency Bill. About the commencement of November, 1788, there was no longer any doubt as to the serious nature of the king's malady. At the meeting of Parliament the prime minister, Mr. Pitt, Moved that a committee be appointed to examine the physicians attendant upon his majesty. This motion was agreed to, and on the 10th of December the report of the committee was laid upon the table of the House. The physicians agreed that his Majesty was then totally incapable of attending to public business. They agreed also in holding Out strong hopes of his ultimate recovery, but none of them would venture to give any opinion as to the probable duration of his derangement. Upon this, Mr. Pitt Page 221 moved for a committee to examine and report upon such precedents as might be found of proceedings in cases of the interruption, from any cause, of the personal exercise of the royal authority. The motion was strenuously resisted by the opposition, headed by Mr. Fox, who argued that whenever the sovereign was incapacitated from performing the functions of his office, the heir-apparent, if of full age and capacity, had an inalienable right to act as his substitute. This doctrine seems certainly inconsistent with the liberal principles professed by the opposition, but it will be remembered that at this time the Prince of Wales was politically in alliance with that party, and that he was on terms of friendship with Mr. Fox himself. On the other hand, Pitt protested that in such circumstances the heir-apparent had no more claim to exercise, as a matter of right, the royal functions, than any other Subject of the crown ; and that it belonged only to the two Houses of Parliament to make such provision for supplying the deficiency in the government as they should think proper. As to the person of the Regent there was no dispute ; the question was, simply, whether the Prince of Wales should assume the Regency in his own right, or by the authority of Parliament. Pitt's motion being carried, the committee was accordingly appointed, and proceeded at once to make their examination and report. The prime minister then (December 16) moved two resolutions, declaring, firstly, that the king was incapable of performing the functions of his office, and, secondly, that it was the duty of Parliament to provide for the exercise of those functions. In spite of Fox's opposition both resolutions were carried, and a third resolution was moved by Pitt, and passed (December 23), empowering the lord chancellor to affix the great seal to the intended Regency Bill. Early in January, 1789, a fresh examination of the physicians Was voted, but gave no more definite hopes of an early recovery. Pitt now wrote to the Prince of Wales, informing him of the plan intended to be pursued : that the prince should be invested with the authority of Regent, under certain restrictions, regarding especially the granting of peerages, offices, or pensions ; and that the care of the king's person and the control of the royal household should remain with the queen. The prince, in reply, expressed his readiness to accept the Regency, while protesting strongly against the proposed limitations of his authority ; and on the 16th of January, a bill, in which the prime ministers scheme was embodied, was introduced into the House. The question was actively debated in both Houses, until, in the latter part of February, the king's recovery put a stop to further proceedings.-ED.] Page 222 UNCERTAIN STATE OF THE KING's HEALTH. Kew, Friday, Oct. 17.-Our return to Windsor is postponed till to- morrow. The king is not well; he has not been quite well some time, yet nothing I hope alarming, though there is an uncertainty as to his complaint not very satisfactory; so precious, too, is his health. Oct. 18.-The king was this morning better. My royal mistress told me Sir George Baker(294) was to settle whether we returned to Windsor to-day or to-morrow. Sunday, Oct. 19.-The Windsor journey is again postponed, and the king is but very indifferent. Heaven preserve him! there is something unspeakably alarming in his smallest indisposition. I am very much with the queen, who, I see, is very uneasy, but she talks not of it. We are to stay here some time longer, and so unprepared were we for more than a day or two, that our distresses are prodigious, even for clothes to wear; and as to books, there are not three amongst us; and for company only Mr. de Luc and Miss Planta; and so, in mere desperation for employment, I have just begun a tragedy.(295) We are now in so spiritless a situation that my mind would bend to nothing less sad, even in fiction. But I am very glad something of this kind has occurred to me; it may while away the tediousness of this unsettled, unoccupied, unpleasant period. Oct. 20.-The king was taken very ill in the night, and we have all been cruelly frightened - but it went off, and, thank heaven! he is now better. I had all my morning devoted to receiving inquiring visits. Lady Effingham, Sir George Howard, Lady Frances Howard, all came from Stoke to obtain news of the king; his least illness spreads in a moment. Lady Frances Douglas came also. She is wife of the Archibald Douglas who caused the famous Hamilton trial in the House of Peers, for his claim to the Douglas name.(296) She is fat, and dunch, and heavy, and ugly; otherwise, they say, agreeable enough. Page 223 Mr. Turbulent has been sent for, and he enlivens the scene somewhat. He is now all he should be, and so altered ! scarce a flight left. Oct. 21.-The good and excellent king is again better, and we expect to remove to Windsor in a day or two. Oct. 23.-The king continues to mend, thank God! Saturday we hope to return to Windsor. Had not this composition fit seized me, societyless, and bookless, and viewless as I am, I know not how I could have whiled away my being; but my tragedy goes on, and fills up all vacancies. Oct. 25.-Yesterday was so much the same, I have not marked it; not so to-day. The king was so much better that our Windsor journey at length took place, with permission of Sir George Baker, the only physician his majesty will admit. Miss Cambridge was with me to the last moment. I have been hanging up a darling remembrance of my revered, incomparable Mrs. Delany. Her "Sacharissa" is now over my chimney. I could not at first bear it, but now I look at it, and call her back to my eye's mind perpetually. This, like the tragedy I have set about, suits the turn of things in this habitation. I had a sort of conference with his Majesty, or rather I was the object to whom he spoke, with a manner so uncommon, that a high fever alone could account for it, a rapidity, a hoarseness of voice, a volubility, an earnestness--a vehemence, rather--it startled me inexpressibly; yet with a graciousness exceeding even all I ever met with before--it was almost kindness! Heaven--Heaven preserve him! The queen grows more Page 224 and more uneasy. She alarms me sometimes for herself, at other times she has a sedateness that wonders me still more. Sunday, Oct. 26-The king was prevailed upon not to go to chapel this morning. I met him in the passage from the queen's room; he stopped me, and conversed upon his health near half-an-hour, still with that extreme quickness of Speech and manner that belongs to fever; and he hardly sleeps, he tells me, one minute all night; indeed, if he recovers not his rest, a most delirious fever seems to threaten him. He is all agitation, all emotion, yet all benevolence and goodness, even to a degree that makes it touching to hear him speak. He assures everybody of his health; he seems only fearful to give uneasiness to others, yet certainly he is better than last night. Nobody speaks of his illness, nor what they think of it. Oct. 29.-The dear and good king again gains ground, and the queen becomes easier. To-day Miss Planta told me she heard Mr. Fairly was confined at Sir R- F--'s, and therefore she would now lay any wager he was to marry Miss F--.(297) In the evening I inquired what news of him of General Bude: he told me he was still confined at a friend's house, but avoided naming where--probably from suggesting that, however little truth there may yet have been in the report, more may belong to it from this particular intercourse. THE KING COMPLAINS OF WANT OF SLEEP. Nov. 1.-Our king does not advance in amendment; he grows so weak that he walks like a gouty man, yet has such spirits that he has talked away his voice, and is so hoarse it is painful to hear him. The queen is evidently in great uneasiness. God send him better! She read to me to-day a lecture of Hunter's. During the reading, twice, at pathetic passages, my poor queen shed tears. "How nervous I am?" she cried; "I am quite a fool! Don't you think so?" No, ma'am," was all I dared answer. She revived, however, finished the lecture, and went upstairs and played upon the Princess Augusta's harpsichord. The king was hunting. Her anxiety for his return was Page 225 greater than ever. The moment he arrived he sent a page to desire to have coffee and take his bark in the queen's dressing- room. She said she would pour it out herself, and sent to inquire how he drank it. The king is very sensible of the great change there is in himself, and of her disturbance at it. It seems, but heaven avert it! a threat of a total breaking up of the constitution. This, too, seems his own idea. I was present at his first seeing Lady Effingham on his return to Windsor this last time. "My dear Effy," he cried, "you see me, all at once, an old man." I was so much affected by this exclamation, that I wished to run out of the room. Yet I could not but recover when Lady Effingham, in her well-meaning but literal way, composedly answered, "We must all grow old, sir,- -I am sure I do." He then produced a walking-stick which he had just ordered. "He could not," he said, "get on without it; his strength seemed diminishing hourly." He took the bark, he said But the queen," he cried, "is my physician, and no man need have a better; she is my friend, and no Man can have a better." How the queen commanded herself I cannot conceive; but there was something so touching in this speech, from his hoarse voice and altered countenance, that it overset me very much. Nor can I ever forget him in what passed this night. When I came to the queen's dressing-room he was still with her. He constantly conducts her to it before he retires to his own. He was begging her not to speak to him when he got to his room, that he might fall asleep, as he felt great want of that refreshment. He repeated this desire, I believe, at least a hundred times, though, far enough from need Ing it, the poor queen never uttered one syllable! He then applied to me, saying he was really very well, except in that one particular, that he could not sleep. The kindness and benevolence of his manner all this time was most penetrating: he seemed to have no anxiety but to set the queen at rest, and no wish but to quiet and give pleasure to all around him, To me, he never yet spoke with such excess of benignity: he appeared even solicitous to satisfy me that he should do well, and to spare all alarm; but there was a hurry in his manner and voice that indicated sleep to be page 226 indeed wanted. Nor could I, all night, forbear foreseeing "He sleeps now, or to-morrow he will be surely delirious!" Sunday, Nov. 2.-The king was better, and prevailed upon to give up going to the early prayers. The queen and princesses went. After they were gone, and I was following towards my room, the king called after me, and he kept me in discourse a full half hour nearly all the time they were away. It was all to the same purport; that he was well, but wanted more rest ; yet he said he had slept the last night like a child. But his manner, still, was so touchingly kind, so softly gracious, that it doubled my concern to see him so far from well. DISTRESS OF THE QUEEN. Nov. 3.--We are all here in a most uneasy state. The king is better and worse so frequently, and changes so, daily, backwards and forwards, that everything is to be apprehended, if his nerves are not some way quieted. I dreadfully fear he is on the eve of some severe fever. The queen is almost overpowered with some secret terror. I am affected beyond all expression in her presence, to see what struggles she makes to support serenity. To-day she gave up the conflict when I was alone with her, and burst into a violent fit of tears. It was very, very terrible to see! How did I wish her a Susan or a Fredy! To unburthen her loaded mind would be to relieve it from all but inevitable affliction. O, may heaven in its mercy never, never drive me to that solitary anguish more!- I have tried what it would do; I speak from bitter recollection of past melancholy experience. Sometimes she walks up and down the room without uttering a word, but shaking her head frequently, and in evident distress and irresolution. She is often closeted with Miss Goldsworthy, of whom, I believe, she makes inquiry how her brother has found the king, from time to time. The princes both came to Kew, in several visits to the king. The Duke of York has also been here, and his fond father could hardly bear the pleasure of thinking him anxious for his health. "So good," he says "is Frederick!" To-night, indeed, at tea-time, I felt a great shock, in hearing, from General Budé, that Dr, Heberden had been called in. It is true more assistance seemed much wanting, yet the king's rooted aversion to physicians makes any new-comer tremen- Page 227 dous. They said, too, it was merely for counsel, not that his majesty was worse. Nov. 4.-Passed much the same as the days preceding it, the queen in deep distress, the king in a state almost incomprehensible, and all the house uneasy and alarmed. The Drawing-room was again put off, and a steady residence seemed fixed at Windsor. Nov. 5.-I found my poor royal mistress, in the morning, sad and sadder still; something horrible seemed impending, and I saw her whole resource was in religion. We had talked lately much upon solemn Subjects, and she appeared already preparing herself to be resigned for whatever might happen. I was still wholly unsuspicious of the greatness of the cause she had for dread. Illness, a breaking up of the constitution, the payment of sudden infirmity and premature old age for the waste of unguarded health and strength,--these seemed to me the threats awaiting her; and great and grievous enough, yet how short of the fact! I had given up my walks some days; I was too uneasy to quit the house while the queen remained at home, and she now never left it. Even Lady Effingham, the last two days, could not obtain admission; She Could only hear from a page how the royal family went on. At noon the king went out in his chaise, with the princess royal, for an airing. I looked from my window to see him; he was all smiling benignity, but gave so many orders to the postilions, and got in and out of the carriage twice, with such agitation, that again my fear of a great fever hanging over him grew more and more powerful. Alas! how little did I imagine I should see him no more for so long--so black a period! When I went to my poor queen, still worse and worse I found her spirits. She had been greatly offended by some anecdote in a newspaper--the "Morning Herald"--relative to the king's indisposition. She declared the printer should be called to account. She bid me burn the paper, and ruminated upon who could be employed to represent to the editor that he must answer at his peril any further such treasonable paragraphs. I named to her Mr. Fairly, her own servant, and one so peculiarly fitted for any office requiring honour and discretion. "Is he here, then?" she cried. "No," I answered, but he was expected in a few days. I saw her concurrence with this proposal. The princess royal soon returned. She came in cheerfully, and gave, in Page 228 German, a history of the airing, and one that seemed Comforting. Soon after, suddenly arrived the Prince of Wales. He came into the room.- He had just quitted Brighthelmstone. Something passing within seemed to render this meeting awfully distant on both sides. She asked if he should not return to Brighthelmstone? He answered yes, the next day, He desired to speak with her they retired together. FIRST OUTBURST OF THE KING's DELIRIUM. I had but just reached my own room, deeply musing on the state of' things, when a chaise stopped at the rails; and I saw Mr. Fairly and his son Charles alight, and enter the house. He walked lamely, and seemed not yet recovered from his late attack. Though most happy to see him at this alarming time, when I knew he could be most useful, as there is no one to whom the queen opens so confidentially upon her affairs, I had yet a fresh stair to see, by his anticipated arrival, though still lame, that he must have been sent for, and hurried hither. Only Miss Planta dined with me. We were both nearly silent: I was shocked at I scarcely knew what, and she seemed to know too much for speech. She stayed with me till six o'clock, but nothing passed, beyond general solicitude that the king might get better. Meanwhile, a stillness the most uncommon reigned over the whole house. Nobody stirred ; not a voice was heard - not a step, not a motion. I could do nothing but watch, without knowing for what : there seemed a strangeness in the house most extraordinary. At seven o'clock Columb came to tell me that the music was all forbid, and the musicians ordered away ! This was the last step to be expected, so fond as his majesty is -of his concert, and I thought it might have rather soothed him: I could not understand the prohibition; all seemed stranger and stranger. Very late came General Budé. He looked extremely uncomfortable. Later still came Colonel Goldsworthy: his countenance all gloom, and his voice scarce articulating no or yes. General Grenville was gone to town. General Bud asked me if I had seen Mr. Fairly; and last Of all, at length, he also entered. How grave he looked, how shut up in himself! A silent bow was his only salutation Page 229 how changed I thought it,--and how fearful a meeting, SO long expected as a solace! Colonel Goldsworthy was called away: I heard his voice whispering some time in the passage, but he did not return. Various small speeches now dropped, by which I found the house was all in disturbance, and the king in some strange way worse, and the queen taken ill! At length, General Budé said he would go and see if any one was in the music-room. Mr. Fairly said he thought he had better not accompany him, for as he had not yet been seen, his appearance might excite fresh emotion. The general agreed, and went. We were now alone. But I could not speak: neither did Mr. Fairly. I worked---I had begun a hassock for my Fredy. A long and serious pause made me almost turn sick with anxious wonder and fear, and an inward trembling totally disabled me from asking the actual situation of things; if I had not had my work, to employ my eyes and hands, I must have left the room to quiet myself. I fancy he penetrated into all this, though, at first, he had concluded me informed of everything; but he now, finding me silent, began an inquiry whether I was yet acquainted how bad all was become, and how ill the king? I really had no utterance for very alarm, but my look was probably sufficient; he kindly saved me any questions, and related to me the whole of the mysterious horror! O my dear friends, what a history! The king, at dinner, had broken forth into positive delirium, which long had been menacing all who saw him most closely; and the queen was so overpowered as to fall into violent hysterics. All the princesses were in misery, and the Prince of Wales had burst into tears. No one knew what was to follow-- no one could conjecture the event. He spoke of the poor queen, in terms of the most tender compassion; he pitied her, he said, from the bottom of his soul; and all her sweet daughters, the lovely princesses--there was no knowing to what we might look forward for them all! I was an almost silent listener ; but, having expressed himself very warmly for all the principal sufferers, he kindly, and with interest, examined me. "How," he cried, "are You? Are you strong? are you stout? can you go through such scenes as these? you do not look much fitted for them." Page 230 "I shall do very well," I cried, "for, at a time such as this, I shall surely forget myself utterly. The queen will be all to me. I shall hardly, I think, feel myself at liberty to be unhappy!" . . . AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. Mr. Fairly stayed with me all the evening, during which we heard no voice, no sound! all was deadly still! At ten o'clock I said, " I must go to my own room, to be in waiting." He determined upon remaining downstairs, in the equerries' apartment, there to wait some intelligence. We parted in mutual expectation of dreadful tidings. In separating, he took my hand, and earnestly recommended me to keep myself stout and firm. If this beginning of the night was affecting, what did it not grow afterwards Two long hours I waited-alone, in silence, in ignorance, in dread! I thought they would never be over; at twelve o'clock I seemed to have spent two whole days in waiting. I then opened my door, to listen, in the passage, if anything seemed stirring. Not a sound could I hear. My apartment seemed wholly separated from life and motion. Whoever was in the house kept at the other end, and not even a servant crossed the stairs or passage by my rooms. I would fain have crept on myself, anywhere in the world, for some inquiry, or to see but a face, and hear a voice, but I did not dare risk losing a sudden summons. I re-entered my room and there passed another endless hour, in conjectures too horrible to relate. A little after one, I heard a step--my door opened--and a page said I must come to the queen. I could hardly get along--hardly force myself into the room. dizzy I felt, almost to falling. But, the first shock passed, I became more collected. Useful, indeed, proved the previous lesson of the evening : it had stilled, If not fortified my mind, which had else, in a scene Such is this, been all tumult and emotion. My poor royal mistress! never can I forget her countenance--pale, ghastly pale she looked; she was seated to be undressed, and attended by Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy ; her whole frame was disordered, yet she was still and quiet. These two ladies assisted me to undress her, or rather I assisted them, for they were firmer, from being Page 231 longer present; my shaking hands and blinded eyes could scarce be of any use. I gave her some camphor julep, which had been ordered her by Sir George Baker. "How cold I am!" she cried, and put her hand on mine; marble it felt! and went to my heart's core! The king, at the instance of Sir George Baker, had consented to sleep in the next apartment, as the queen was ill. For himself, he would listen to nothing. Accordingly, a bed was put up for him, by his own order, in the queen's second dressing-room, immediately adjoining to the bed-room. He would not be further removed. Miss Goldsworthy was to sit up with her, by the king's direction. I would fain have remained in the little dressing-room, on the other side the bed-room, but she would not permit it. She ordered Sandys, her wardrobe-woman, in the place of Mrs. Thielky, to sit up there. Lady Elizabeth also pressed to stay; but we were desired to go to our own rooms. How reluctantly did I come away ! how hardly to myself leave her! Yet I went to bed, determined to preserve my strength to the utmost of my ability, for the service of my unhappy mistress. I could not, however, sleep. I do not suppose an eye was closed in the house all night. Nov. 6.-I rose at six, dressed in haste by candle-light, and unable to wait for my summons in a suspense so awful, I stole along the passage in the dark, a thick fog intercepting all faint light, to see if I could meet with Sandys, or any one, to tell me how the night had passed. When I came to the little dressing-room, I stopped, irresolute what to do. I heard men's voices; I was seized with the most cruel alarm at such a sound in her majesty's dressing-room. I waited some time, and then the door opened, and I saw Colonel Goldsworthy and Mr. Batterscomb.(298) I was relieved from my first apprehension, yet shocked enough to see them there at this early hour. They had both sat up there all night, as well as Sandys. Every page, both of the king and queen, had also sat up, dispersed in the passages and ante-rooms! and O what horror in every face I met! I waited here, amongst them, till Sandys was ordered by the queen to carry her a pair of gloves. I could not resist Page 232 the opportunity to venture myself before her. I glided into the room, but stopped at the door: she was in bed, sitting up; Miss Goldsworthy was on a stool by her side! I feared approaching without permission, yet could not prevail with myself to retreat. She was looking down, and did not see me. Miss Goldsworthy, turning round, said, "'Tis Miss Burney, ma'am." She leaned her head forward, and in a most soft manner, said, "Miss Burney, how are you?" Deeply affected, I hastened up to her, but, in trying to speak, burst into an irresistible torrent of tears. My dearest friends, I do it at this moment again, and can hardly write for them; yet I wish you to know all this piercing history right. She looked like death--colourless and wan; but nature is infectious; the tears gushed from her own eyes, and a perfect agony of weeping ensued, which, once begun, she could not stop; she did not, indeed, try; for when it subsided, and she wiped her eyes, she said, "I thank you, Miss Burney--you have made me cry-- it is a great relief to me--I had not been able to cry before, all this night long." O, what a scene followed! what a scene was related! The king, in the middle of the night, had insisted upon seeing if his queen was not removed from the house and he had come into her room, with a candle in his hand, opened the bed- curtains, and satisfied himself she was there, and Miss Goldsworthy by her side. This observance of his directions had much soothed him; but he stayed a full half hour, and the depth of terror during that time no words can paint. The fear of such another entrance was now so strongly upon the nerves of the poor queen, that she could hardly support herself. THE KING'S DELIRIOUS CONDITION. The king-the royal sufferer-was still in the next room, attended by Sir George Baker and Dr. Heberden, and his pages, with Colonel Goldsworthy occasionally, and as he called for him. He kept talking unceasingly; his voice was so lost in hoarseness and weakness, it was rendered almost inarticulate; but its tone was still all benevolence--all kindness--all touching graciousness. It was thought advisable the queen should not rise, lest the king should be offended that she did not go to him; at present Page 233 he was content, because he conceived her to be nursing for her illness. But what a situation for her! She would not let me leave her now; she made me remain In the room, and ordered me to sit down. I was too trembling to refuse. Lady Elizabeth soon joined us. We all three stayed with her; she frequently bid me listen, to hear what the king was saying or doing. I did, and carried the best accounts I could manage, without deviating from truth, except by some omissions. Nothing could be so afflicting as this task; even now, it brings fresh to my ear his poor exhausted voice. "I am nervous," he cried; "I am not ill, but I am nervous: if you would know what is the matter with me, I am nervous. But I love you both very well; if you would tell me truth: I love Dr. Heberden best, for he has not told me a lie: Sir George has told me a lie--a white lie, he says, but I hate a white lie. If you will tell me a lie, let it be a black lie!" This was what he kept saying almost constantly, mixed in with other matter, but always returning, and in a voice that truly will never cease vibrating in my recollection. The queen permitted me to make her breakfast and attend her, and was so affectingly kind and gentle in her distress, that I felt a tenderness of sorrow for her that almost devoted my whole mind to her alone! Miss Goldsworthy was a fixture at her side; I, therefore, provided her breakfast also. Lady Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries of Colonel Goldsworthy, and Mr. Batterscomb, and the pages, every ten minutes; while I, at the same intervals, was ordered to listen to what passed in the room, and give warning if anything seemed to threaten another entrance. . . . The queen bid me bring the prayer book and read the morning service to her. I could hardly do it, the poor voice from the next room was so perpetually in my ears. When I came to my room, about twelve o'clock, for some breakfast, I found a letter from Lady Carmarthen. It was an answer to my congratulation upon her marriage, and written with honest happiness and delight. She frankly calls herself the luckiest of all God's creatures ; and this, if not elegant, is sincere, and I hope will be permanently her opinion. While swallowing my breakfast, standing and in haste, and the door ajar, I heard Mr. Fairly's voice, saying, "Is Miss Burney there? is she alone?" and then he sent in Columb, to inquire if he might come and ask me how I did. Page 234 I received him with as much gladness as I could then feel, but it was a melancholy reception. I consulted with him upon many points in which I wanted counsel : he is quick and deep at once in expedients where anything, is to be done, and simple and clear in explaining himself where he thinks it is best to do nothing. Miss Goldsworthy herself had once stolen out to Consult with him. He became, indeed, for all who belonged to the queen, from this moment the oracle. THE KING REFUSES TO SEE DR. WARREN. Dr. Warren(299) had been sent for express, in the middle of the night, at the desire of Sir George Baker, because he had been taken ill himself, and felt unequal to the whole toll. I returned speedily to the room of woe. The arrival of the physicians was there grievously awaited, for Dr. Heberden and Sir George would now decide upon nothing till Dr. Warren came. The poor queen wanted something very positive to pass, relative to her keeping away, which seemed thought essential at this time, though the courage to assert it was wanting In everybody. The princesses sent to ask leave to come to their mother. She burst into tears, and declared she could neither see them, nor pray, while in this dreadful situation, expecting every moment to be broken in upon, and quite uncertain in what manner, yet determined not to desert her apartment, except by express direction from the physicians. Who could tell to what height the delirium might rise? There was no constraint, no power: all feared the worst, yet none dared take any measures for security. The princes also sent word they were at her majesty's command, but she shrunk still more from this Interview: it filled her with a thousand dreadful sensations, too obvious to be wholly hid. At length news was brought that Dr. Warren was arrived. I never felt so rejoiced: I could have run out to welcome him with rapture. With what cruel impatience did we then wait to hear his sentence! An impatience how fruitless! It ended in information that he had not seen the king, who refused him admittance. Page 235 This was terrible. But the king was never so despotic; no one dared oppose him. He would not listen to a word, though, when unopposed, he was still all gentleness and benignity to every one around him. Dr. Warren was then planted where he could hear his voice, and all that passed, and receive Intelligence concerning his pulse, etc., from Sir George Baker. THE QUEEN'S ANXIETY TO HEAR DR. WARREN'S OPINION. We now expected every moment Dr. Warren would bring her majesty his opinion ; but he neither came nor sent. She waited in dread incessant. She sent for Sir George--he would not speak alone: she sent for Mr. Hawkins, the household surgeon; but all referred to Dr. Warren. Lady Elizabeth and Miss Goldsworthy earnestly pressed her to remove to a more distant apartment, where he might not hear the unceasing voice of the unhappy king ; but she would only rise and go to the 'little dressing-room, there to wait in her night-clothes Dr. Warren's determination what step she should take. At length Lady Elizabeth learnt among the pages that Dr. Warren had quitted his post of watching. The poor queen now, in a torrent of tears, prepared herself for seeing him. He came not. All astonished and impatient, Lady Elizabeth was sent out on inquiries. She returned, and said Dr. Warren was gone. "Run! stop him!" was the queen's next order. "Let him but let me know what I am to do." Poor, poor queen! how I wept to hear those words! Abashed and distressed, poor Lady Elizabeth returned. She had seen Colonel Goldsworthy, and heard Dr. Warren, -with the other two physicians, had left the house too far to be recalled they were gone over to the Castle, to the Prince of Wales. I think a deeper blow I have never witnessed. Already to become but second, even for the king! The tears were now wiped; indignation arose, with pain, the severest pain, of every species. THE QUEEN REMOVES TO MORE DISTANT APARTMENTS. In about a quarter of an hour Colonel Goldsworthy sent in to beg an audience. It was granted, a long cloak only being thrown over the queen. He now brought the opinion of all the physicians in consultation, " That her majesty would re- Page 236 move to a more distant apartment, since the king would undoubtedly be worse from the agitation of seeing her, and there Could be no possibility to prevent it while she remained so near." She instantly agreed, but with what bitter anguish! Lady Elizabeth, Miss Goldsworthy, and myself attended her; she went to an apartment in the same row, but to which there Was no entrance except by its own door. It consisted of only two rooms, a bed-chamber and a dressing-room. They are appropriated to the lady-in-waiting, when she is here. At the entrance into this new habitation the poor wretched queen once more gave way to a perfect agony of grief and affliction; while the words "What will become of me! What will become of me ! " uttered with the most piercing lamentation, struck deep and hard into all our hearts. Never can I forget their desponding sound ; they implied such complicated apprehensions. Instantly now the princesses were sent for. The three elder hastened down. O, what a meeting! They all, from a habit that has become a second nature, struggling to repress all outward grief, though the queen herself, wholly overcome, wept even aloud. They all went into the bedroom, and the queen made a slight dressing, but only wore a close gauze cap, and her long dressing gown, which is a dimity chemise. I was then sent back to the little dressing-room, for something that was left; as I opened the door, I almost ran against a gentleman close to it in the passage. "Is the queen here?" he cried, and I then saw the Prince of Wales. "Yes," I answered, shuddering at this new scene for her "should I tell her majesty your royal highness is here?" This I said lest he should surprise her. But he did not intend that: he was profoundly respectful, and consented to wait at the door while I went in, but called me back, as I turned away, to add, "You will be so good to say I am come by her orders." She wept a deluge of tears when I delivered my commission, but instantly admitted him. I then retreated. The other two ladies went to Lady Elizabeth's room, which is next the queen's new apartments. In the passage I was again stopped; it was by Mr. Fairly. I would have hurried on, scarce able to speak, but he desired to know how the queen did. "Very bad," was all I could say, Page 237 and on I hastened to my own room, which, the next minute, I would as eagerly have hastened to quit, from its distance from all that was going forward ; but now once the prince had entered the queen's rooms, I could go thither no more unsummoned. Miserable, lonely, and filled with dreadful conjectures, I remained here till a very late dinner brought Miss Planta to the dining-parlour, where I joined her. After a short and dismal meal we immediately parted : she to wait in the apartments of the princesses above-stairs, in case of being wanted; I to my own solitary parlour. The Prince of Wales and Duke of York stayed here all the day, and were so often in and out of the queen's rooms that no one could enter them but by order. The same etiquette is observed when the princes are with the queen as when the king is there-no interruption whatever is made. I now, therefore, lost my only consolation at this calamitous time, that of attending my poor royal mistress. A VISIT FROM MR. FAIRLY. Alone wholly, without seeing a human being, or gathering any, the smallest intelligence of what was going forwards, I remained till tea-time. Impatient then for information, I planted myself in the eating-parlour; but no one came. Every minute seemed an hour. I grew as anxious for the tea society as heretofore I had been anxious to escape it; but so late it grew, and so hopeless, that Columb came to propose bringing in the water. No; for I could swallow nothing voluntarily. In a few minutes he came again, and with the compliments of Mr. Fairly, who desired him to tell me he would wait Upon me to tea whenever I pleased. A little surprised at this single message, but most truly rejoiced, I returned my compliments, with an assurance that all time was the same to me. He came directly, and indeed his very sight, at this season of still horror and silent suspense, was a repose to my poor aching eyes. "You will see," he said, "nobody else. The physicians being now here, Colonel Goldsworthy thought it right to order tea for the whole party in the music-room, which we have now agreed to make the general waiting-room for us all. It is near the king, and we ought always to be at hand." Page 238 Our tea was very sad. He gave me no hope Of a short seizure ; he saw it, in perspective, as long as it was dreadful : perhaps even worse than long, he thought it--but that he said not. He related to me the whole of the day's transactions, but my most dear and most honourable friends will be the first to forgive me when I promise that I shall commit nothing to paper on this terrible event that is told me in confidence. He did not stay long--he did not think it right to leave his waiting friends for any time, nor could I wish it, valued as I know he is by them all, and much as they need his able counsel. He left me plunged in a deep gloom, yet he was not gloomy himself; he sees evils as things of course, and bears them, therefore, as things expected. But he was tenderly touched for the poor queen and the princesses. THE KING'S NIGHT WATCHERS. Not till one in the morning did I see another face, and then I attended my poor unhappy queen. She was now fixed in her new apartments, bed-room and dressing-room, and stirred not a step but from one to the other. Fortunately all are upon the ground-floor, both for king and queen; so are the two Lady Waldegraves' and mine; the princesses and Miss Planta, as usual, are upstairs, and the gentlemen lodge above them. Miss Goldsworthy had now a bed put up in the queen's new bed-room. She had by no means health to go on sitting up, and it had been the poor king's own direction that she should remain with the queen. It was settled that Mrs. Sandys and Mrs. Macenton should alternately sit up in the dressing-room. The queen would not permit me to take that office, though most gladly I would have taken any that would have kept me about her. But she does; not think my strength sufficient. She allowed me however to stay with her till she was in bed, which I had never done till now; I never, indeed, had even seen her in her bed-room till the day before. She has always had the kindness and delicacy, to dismiss me from her dressing-room as soon as I have assisted her with her night-clothes; the wardrobe-woman then was summoned, and I regularly made my courtesy. it was a satisfaction to me, however, now to leave her the last, and to come to her the first. Her present dressing-room is also her dining-room, her Page 239 drawing-room, her sitting-room; she has nothing else but her bed-room! I left her with my fervent prayers for better times, and saw her nearer to composure than I had believed possible in such a calamity. She called to her aid her religion, and without it what, indeed, must have become of her? It was near two in the morning when I quitted her. In passing through the dressing-room to come away, I found Miss Goldsworthy in some distress how to execute a commission of the queen's: it was to her brother, who was to sit up in a room adjoining to the king's ; and she was undressed, and knew not how to go to him, as the princes were to and fro everywhere. I offered to call him to her she thankfully accepted the proposal. I cared not, just then, whom I encountered, so I could make myself of any use. When I gently opened the door of the apartment to which I was directed, I found it was quite filled with gentlemen and attendants, arranged round it on chairs and sofas in dead silence. It was a dreadful start, with which I retreated; for anything more alarming and shocking could not be conceived! the poor king within another door, unconscious any one was near him, and thus watched, by dread necessity, at such an hour of the night! I pronounced the words "Colonel Goldsworthy," however, before I drew back, though I could not distinguish one gentleman from another, except the two princes, by their stars. I waited in the next room; but instead of Colonel Goldsworthy, my call was answered by Mr. Fairly. I acquainted him with my errand. He told me he had himself insisted that Colonel Goldsworthy should go to bed, as he had sat up all the preceding night and he had undertaken to supply his place. I went back to Miss Goldsworthy with this account. She begged me to entreat Mr. Fairly would come to her, as she must now make the commission devolve on him, and could less than ever appear, herself, as they were all assembled in such a party. Mr. Fairly, most considerately, had remained in this quiet room to see if anything more might be wanted, which spared me the distress of again intruding into the public room. I begged him to follow, and we were proceeding to the dressing-room, when I was stopped by a gentleman, who said, "Does the queen want anybody?" Page 240 It was the Prince of Wales. "Not the queen, sir," I answered, " but Miss Goldsworthy, has desired to see Mr. Fairly." He let me pass, but stopped Mr. Fairly; and, as he seemed inclined to detain him some time, I only told Miss Goldsworthy what had retarded him, and made off to my own room, and soon after two o'clock, I believe, I was in bed. A CHANGE IN MISS BURNEYs DUTIES. Friday, Nov. 7.-I was now arrived at a sort of settled regularity of life more melancholy than can possibly be described. I rose at six, dressed, and hastened to the queen's apartments, uncalled, and there waited in silence and in the dark till I heard her move or speak with Miss Goldsworthy, and then presented myself to the sad bedside of the unhappy queen. She sent Miss Goldsworthy early every morning, to make inquiry what sort of night his majesty had passed; and in the middle of the night she commonly Also sent for news by the wardrobe-woman, or Miss Macenton, whichever sat up. She dismissed Miss Goldsworthy, on my arrival, to dress herself. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave accommodated her with her own room for that purpose. I had then a long conference with this most patient sufferer - and equal forbearance and quietness during a period of suspensive unhappiness never have I seen, never could I have imagined. At noon now I never saw her, which I greatly regretted but she kept on her dressing-gown all day, and the princes were continually about the passages, so that no one unsummoned dared approach the queen's apartments. It was only therefore at night and morning I could see her - but my heart was with her the livelong day. And how long, good heaven! how long that day became! Endless I used to think it, for nothing could I do--to wait and to watch--starting at every sound, yet revived by every noise. MR. FAIRLY SUCCEEDS IN SOOTHING THE KING. While I was yet with my poor royal sufferer this morning the Prince of Wales came hastily into the room. He apologized for his intrusion, and then gave a very energetic history of the preceding night. It had been indeed most affectingly dreadful ! The king had risen in the middle of the night, and Page 241 would take no denial to walking into the next room. There he saw the large congress I have mentioned : amazed and in consternation, he demanded what they did there--Much followed that I have heard since, particularly the warmest éloge on his dear son Frederick--his favourite, his friend. "Yes," he cried, "Frederick is my friend!" and this son was then present amongst the rest, but not seen! Sir George Baker was there, and was privately exhorted by the gentlemen to lead the king back to his room; but he had not courage: he attempted only to speak, and the king penned him in a corner, told him he was a mere old woman--that he wondered he had ever followed his advice, for he knew nothing of his complaint, which was only nervous! The Prince of Wales, by signs and whispers, would have urged others to have drawn him away, but no one dared approach him, and he remained there a considerable time. "Nor do I know when he would have been got back," continued the prince, "if at last Mr. Fairly had not undertaken him. I am extremely obliged to Mr. Fairly indeed. He came boldly up to him, and took him by the arm, and begged him to go to bed, and then drew him along, and said he must go. Then he said he would not, and cried 'Who are you?' 'I am Mr. Fairly, sir,' he answered, 'and your majesty has been very good to me often, and now I am going to be very good to you, for you must come to bed, sir: it is necessary to your life.' And then he was so surprised, that he let himself be drawn along just like a child; and so they got him to bed. I believe else he would have stayed all night. Mr. Fairly has had some melancholy experience in a case of this sort, with a very near connexion of his own. How fortunate he was present! NEW ARRANGEMENTS. At noon I had the most sad pleasure of receiving Mr. and Mrs. Smelt. They had heard in York of the illness of the king, and had travelled -post to Windsor. Poor worthy, excellent couple!--Ill and infirm, what did they not suffer from an attack like this--so wonderfully unexpected upon a patron so adored! They wished the queen to be acquainted with their arrival, yet would not let me risk meeting the princes in carrying the news. Mr. Smelt I saw languished to see his king: he was Page 242 persuaded he might now repay a part of former benefits, and he wished to be made his page during his illness, that he might watch and attend him hourly. I had had a message in the morning by Mr. Gorton, the clerk of the kitchen, to tell me the Prince of Wales wished our dining-parlour to be appropriated to the physicians, both for their dinner and their consultations. I was therefore obliged to order dinner for Miss Planta, and myself in my own Sitting-parlour, which was now unmaterial, as the equerries did not come to tea, but continued +altogether in the music-room. In the evening, of course, came Mr. Fairly, but then it was only to let me know it would be of course no longer. He then rang the bell for my tea-urn, finding I had waited, though he 0 declined drinking tea with me; but he sat down, and staved half an hour, telling me the long story he had promised which Was a full detail of the terrible preceding night. The transactions of the day also he related to me, and the designs for the future. How alarming were they all! yet many particulars, he said, he omitted, merely because they were yet more affecting, and could be dwelt upon to no purpose. THE PRINCESS AUGUSTA'S BIRTHDAY. Saturday, Nov. 8-This was, if possible, the saddest day yet passed: it was the birthday of Princess Augusta, and Mrs. Siddons had been invited to read a play, and a large party of company to form the audience. What a contrast from such an intention was the event! When I went, before seven o'clock in the morning, to my most unhappy royal mistress, the princes were both in the room. I retreated to the next apartment till they had finished their conference. The Prince of Wales upon these occasions has always been extremely well-bred and condescending in his manner, which, in a situation such as mine, is no immaterial circumstance. The poor queen then spoke to me of the birthday present she had designed for her most amiable daughter. She hesitated a little whether or not to produce it, but at length meekly said, "Yes, go to Miss Planta and bring it. Do you think there can be any harm in giving it now?" "O, no!" I said, happy to encourage whatever was a little less gloomy, and upstairs I flew. I was met by all the poor princesses and the Duke of York, who inquired if he might go Page 243 again to the queen. I begged leave first to execute my commission. I did; but so engrossed was my mind with the whole of this living tragedy, that I so little noticed what it was I carried as to be now unable to recollect it. I gave it, however, to the queen, who then sent for the princesses, and carried her gift to her daughter, weeping, who received it with a silent courtesy, kissing and wetting with her gentle tears the hand of her afflicted mother. STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF THE FIRST GENTLEMAN IN EUROPE. During my mournful breakfast poor Mr. Smelt arrived from Kew, where he had now settled himself. Mr. de Luc also joined us, and they could neither prevail upon themselves to go away all the morning. Mr. Smelt had some thoughts of taking up his abode in Windsor till the state of things should be more decisive. The accounts of the preceding night had been most cruel, and to quit the spot was scarce supportable to him. Yet he feared the princes might disapprove his stay, and he well knew his influence and welcome at Court was all confined to the sick-room: thence, there could now issue no mandate. Yet I encouraged him to stay; so did Mr. de Luc; and while he was still wavering he saw Dr. Warren in the courtyard, and again hastened to speak with him. Before he returned the Prince of Wales went out and met him; and you may imagine how much I was pleased to observe from the window that he took him by the arm, and walked up and down with him. When he came to us he said the prince had told him he had better stay, that he might see the queen. He determined, therefore, to send off an express to Mrs. Smelt, and go and secure an apartment at the inn. This was very soothing to me, who so much needed just such consolation as he could bestow - and I begged he would come back to dinner, and spend the whole day in my room, during his stay. What, however, was my concern and amaze, when, soon after, hastily returning, he desired to speak to me alone, and, as Mr. de Luc moved off, told me he was going back immediately to Kew! He spoke with a tremor that alarmed me. I entreated to know why such a change? He then informed me that the porter, Mr. Humphreys, had refused him re-entrance, and sent him his great coat ! He had resented this Page 244 impertinence, and was told it was by the express order of the prince! In utter astonishment he then only desired admittance for one moment to my room, and having acquainted me with this circumstance, he hurried off, in a state of distress, and indignation that left me penetrated with both. >From this time, as the poor king grew worse, general hope seemed universally to abate; and the Prince of Wales now took the government of the house into his own hands. Nothing was done but by his orders, and he was applied to in every difficulty. The queen interfered not in anything - she lived entirely in her two new rooms, and spent the whole day in patient sorrow and retirement with her daughters. STRINGENT NEW REGULATIONS. The next news that reached me, through Mr. de Luc, was, that the prince had sent his commands to the porter, to admit only four persons into the house on any pretence whatever these were Mr. Majendie, Mr. Turbulent, General Harcourt, and Mr. de Luc himself; and these were ordered to repair immediately to the equerry-room below stairs, while no one whatsoever was to be allowed to go to any other apartment. >From this time commenced a total banishment from all intercourse out of the house, and an unremitting confinement within its walls. Poor Mr. de Luc, however, could not forego coming to my room. He determined to risk that, since he was upon the list of those who might enter the house. I was glad, because he is a truly good man, and our sentiments upon this whole melancholy business were the same. But otherwise, the weariness of a great length of visit daily from a person so slow and methodical in discourse, so explanatory of everything and of nothing, at this agitating period, was truly painful to endure. He has often talked to me till my poor burthened head has seemed lost to all understanding. I had now, all tea-meetings being over, no means of gaining any particulars of what was passing, which added so much to the horror of the situation, that by the evening I was almost petrified. Imagine, then, alike my surprise and satisfaction at a visit from Mr. Fairly. He had never come to me so unexpectedly. I eagerly begged an account of what was going on, and, with his usual readiness and accuracy, he gave it me in full detail. And nothing could be more tragic than all the Page 245 particulars every species of evil seemed now hanging over this unhappy family. He had had his son with him in his room upstairs; "And I had a good mind," he said, "to have brought him to visit YOU." I assured him he would have been a very welcome guest; and when he added that he could no longer have him at the Equerry table to dinner, as the Prince of Wales now presided there, I invited him for the next day to mine. He not only instantly accepted the proposal, but cried, with great vivacity, "I wish you would invite me too." I thought he was laughing, but said, "Certainly, if such a thing might be allowed;" and then, to my almost speechless surprise, he declared, If I would give him permission, he would dine with me next day. He then proceeded to say that the hurry, and fatigue, and violent animal spirits of the other table quite overpowered him, and a respite of such a quiet sort would be of essential service to him. Yet he paused a little afterwards, upon the propriety of leaving the Prince of Wales's table, and said "He would first consult with General Budé, and hear his opinion." Sunday, Nov. 9.-No one went to church - not a creature now quits the house: but I believe devotion never less required the aid and influence of public worship. For me, I know, I spent almost my whole time between prayer and watching. Even my melancholy resource, my tragedy, was now thrown aside ; misery so actual, living, and present, was knit too closely around me to allow my depressed imagination to fancy any woe beyond what my heart felt. In coming early from the queen's apartment this morning I was addressed by a gentleman who inquired how I did, by my name; but my bewilderment made him obliged to tell his own before I could recollect him. It was Dr. Warren. I eagerly expressed my hopes and satisfaction in his attendance upon the poor king, but he would not enter upon that subject. I suppose he feared, from my zeal, some indiscreet questions concerning his opinion of the case; for he passed by all I could start, to answer only with speeches relative to myself-of his disappointment in never meeting me, though residing under the same roof, his surprise in not dining with me when told he was to dine in my room, and the strangeness of never seeing me when so frequently he heard my name. I could not bring myself to ask him to my apartment, when Page 246 I saw, by his whole manner, e held it imprudent to speak with me about the only subject on which I wished to talk--the king; and just then seeing the Duke of York advancing, I hastily retreated. While I was dressing, Mr. Fairly rapped at my door. I sent out Goter, who brought me his compliments, and, if it would not be inconvenient to me, he and his son would have the pleasure of dining with me. I answered, I should be very glad of their company, as would Miss Planta. Miss Goldsworthy had now arranged herself with the Lady Waldegraves. Our dinner was as pleasant as a dinner at such a season could be. Mr. Fairly holds cheerfulness as a duty in the midst of every affliction that can admit it; and, therefore,, whenever his animal spirits have a tendency to rise, he encourages and sustains them, So fond, too, is he of his son, that his very sight is a cordial to him - and that mild, feeling, amiable boy quite idolizes his father, looking up to him, hanging on his arm, and watching his eye to smile and be smiled upon, with a fondness like that of an infant to its maternal nurse. Repeatedly Mr. Fairly exclaimed, "What a relief is this, to dine thus quietly!" What a relief should I, too, have found it, but for a little circumstance, which I will soon relate, MRS. SCHWELLENBERG IS BACK AGAIN. We were still at table, with the dessert, when Columb entered and announced the sudden return from Weymouth of Mrs. Schwellenberg. Up we all started; Miss Planta flew out to receive her, and state the situation of the house; Mr. Fairly, expecting, I believe, she was coming into my room, hastily made his exit without a word; his son eagerly scampered after him, and I followed Miss Planta upstairs. My reception, however, was such as to make me deem it most proper to again return to my room. What an addition this to the gloom of all ! and to begin at once with harshness and rudeness! I could hardly tell how to bear it. Nov. 10.-This was a most dismal day. The dear and most suffering king was extremely ill, the queen very wretched, poor Mrs. Schwellenberg all spasm and horror, Miss Planta all restlessness, the house all mystery, and my only informant and Page 247 comforter distanced. Not a word, the whole day through, did I hear of what was passing or intending. Our dinner was worse than an almost famished fasting; we parted after it, and met no more. Mrs. Schwellenberg, who never drinks tea herself, hearing the general party was given up, and never surmising there had ever been any particular one, neither desired me to come to her, nor proposed returning to me. She took possession of the poor queen's former dressing-room, and between that and the adjoining apartments she spent all the day, except during dinner. Nov. 11.-This day passed like the preceding; I only saw her majesty in the morning, and not another human being from that hour till Mrs. Schwellenberg and Miss Planta came to dinner. Nor could I then gather any information of the present state of things, as Mrs. Schwellenberg announced that nothing must be talked of. To give any idea of the dismal horror of passing so many hours in utter ignorance, where every interest of the mind was sighing for intelligence, would not be easy: the experiment alone could give it its full force; and from that, Heaven ever guard my loved readers! Nov. 12.-To-day a little brightened upon us some change appeared in the loved royal sufferer, and though it was not actually for the better in itself, yet any change was pronounced to be salutary, as, for some days pas'' there had been a monotonous continuation of the same bad symptoms, that had doubly depressed us all. My spirits rose immediately ; indeed, I thank God, I never desponded, though many times I stood nearly alone in my hopes. In the passage, in the morning, I encountered Colonel Gwynn. I had but just time to inform him I yet thought all would do well, ere the princes appeared. All the equerries are now here except Major Garth, who is ill; and they have all ample employment in watching and waiting. From time to time they have all interviews; but it is only because the poor king will not be denied seeing them: it is not thought light. But I must enter into nothing of this sort-it is all too closely connected with private domestic concerns for paper. After dinner, my chief guest, la Présidente, told me, " If my room was not so warm, she would stay a little with me." I felt this would be rather too superlative an obligation; and therefore I simply answered that "I was too chilly to sit in a Page 248 cold room;" and I confess I took no pains to temper it according to this hint. PUBLIC PRAYERS FOR THE KING DECIDED UPON. Finding there was now no danger Of disagreeable interviews, Mr. Fairly renewed his visits as usual. He came early this evening, and narrated the state of things; and then, with a laugh, he Inquired What I had done With my head companion, and how I got rid of her? I fairly told him my malice about the temperature. He could not help laughing, though he instantly remonstrated against an expedient that might prove prejudicial to my health. "You had better not," he cried, "try any experiments of this sort: if you hurt Your nerves, it may prove a permanent evil; this other can only be temporary." He took up the "Task" again; but he opened, by ill luck, upon nothing striking or good; and soon, with distaste, flung the book down, and committed himself wholly to conversation. He told me he wished much he had been able to consult with me on the preceding morning, when he had the queen's orders to write, in her majesty's name, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, to issue out public prayers for the poor king, for all the churches. I assured him I fancied it might do very well without my aid. There was to be a privy council summoned, in consequence of the letter, to settle the mode of compliance. How right a step in my ever-right royal mistress is this! If you hear less of her now, my dearest friends, and of the internal transactions, it is only because I now rarely saw her but alone, and all that passed, therefore, was in promised confidence. And, for the rest, the whole of my information concerning the princes, and the plans and the proceedings of the house, was told me in perfect reliance on my secrecy and honour. I know this is saying enough to the most honourable of all confidants and friends to whom I am writing. All that passes with regard to myself is laid completely before them. Nov. 13- This was the fairest day we have passed since the first seizure of the most beloved of monarchs. He was considerably better. O what a ray of joy lightened us, and how mildly did my poor queen receive it Page 249 Nov. 14--Still all was greatly amended, and better spirits reigned throughout the house. Mr. Fairly--I can write of no one else, for no one else did I see--called early, to tell me he had received an answer relative to the prayer for his majesty's recovery, in consequence of which he had the queen's commands for going to town the next day, to see the archbishop. This was an employment so suited to the religious cast of his character, that I rejoiced to see it fall into his hands. He came again in the evening, and said he had now got the prayer. He did not entirely approve it, nor think it sufficiently warm and animated. I petitioned to hear it, and he readily complied, and read it with great reverence, but very unaffectedly and quietly. I was very, very much touched by It ; yet not, I own, quite so much as once before by another, which was read to me by Mr. Cambridge, and composed by his son, for the sufferings of his excellent daughter Catherine. It was at once so devout, yet so concise--so fervent, yet so simple, and the many tender relations concerned in it--father, brother, sister,--so powerfully affected me, that I had no command over the feelings then excited, even though Mr. Cambridge almost reproved me for want of fortitude; but there was something so tender in a prayer of a brother for a sister. Here, however, I was under better control - for though my whole heart was filled with the calamitous state of this unhappy monarch, and with deepest affliction for all his family, I yet knew so well my reader was one to severely censure all failure in calmness and firmness, that I struggled, and not ineffectually, to hear him with a steadiness like his own. But, fortunately for the relief of this force, he left the room for a few minutes to see if he was wanted, and I made use of his absence to give a little vent to those tears which I had painfully restrained in his presence. When he returned we had one of the best (on his part) conversations in which I have ever been engaged, upon the highest and most solemn of all subjects, prayers and supplications to heaven. He asked my opinion with earnestness, and gave his own with unbounded openness. Nov. 15-This morning my poor royal mistress herself presented me with one of the prayers for the king. I shall always keep it -- how--how fervently did I use it! Whilst I was at breakfast Mr. Fairly once more called before he set off for town and he brought me also a copy of the Page 250 prayer. He had received a large packet of them from the archbishop, Dr. Moore, to distribute in the house. The whole day the king continued amended. Sunday, Nov. 16.-This morning I ventured out to church. I did not like to appear abroad, but yet I had a most irresistible earnestness to join the public congregation in the prayer for the king. Indeed nothing could be more deeply moving: the very sound of the cathedral service, performed in his own chapel, overset me at once; and every prayer in the service in which he was mentioned brought torrents of tears from all the suppliants that joined in them. I could scarcely keep my place, scarce command my voice from audible sobs. To come to the House of prayer from such a house of woe! I ran away when the service was over, to avoid inquiries. Mrs. Kennedy ran after me, with swollen eyes; I could not refuse her a hasty answer, but I ran the faster after it, to avoid any more. The king was worse. His night had been very bad ; all the fair promise of amendment was shaken; he had now some symptoms even dangerous to his life. O good heaven, what a day did this prove! I saw not a human face, save at dinner and then, what faces! gloom and despair in all, and silence to every species of intelligence. . . . It was melancholy to see the crowds of former welcome visitors who were now denied access. The prince reiterated his former orders; and I perceived from my window those who had ventured to the door returning back in deluges of tears. Amongst them to-day I perceived poor Lady Effingham, the Duchess of Ancaster, and Mr. Bryant ; the last sent me In, afterwards, a mournful little letter, to which he desired no answer. Indeed I was not at liberty to write a word. SIR LuCAS PEPYS ON THE KING's CONDITION. Nov. 19.-The account of the dear king this morning was rather better. Sir Lucas Pepys was now called in, and added to Dr. Warren, Dr. Heberden, and Sir George Baker. I earnestly wished to see him, and I found my poor royal mistress was secretly anxious to know his opinion. I sent to beg to speak with him, as soon as the consultation was over; determined, however, to make that request no more if he was as shy of giving information as Dr. Warren, Page 251 poor Mr. de Luc was with me wen he came ; but it was necessary I should see Sir Lucas alone, that I might have a better claim upon his discretion : nevertheless I feared he would have left me, without the smallest intelligence, before I was able to make my worthy, but most slow companion comprehend the necessity of his absence. The moment we were alone, Sir Lucas opened upon the subject in the most comfortable manner. He assured me there was nothing desponding in the case, and that his royal patient would certainly recover, though not immediately. Whilst I was in the midst of the almost speechless joy with which I heard this said, and ready to kiss the very feet of Sir Lucas for words of such delight, a rap at my door made me open it to Mr. Fairly, who entered, saying, "I must come to ask you how you do, though I have no good news to bring you; but--" He then, with the utmost amaze, perceived Sir Lucas. In so very many visits he had constantly found me alone, that I really believe he had hardly thought it possible he should see me in any other way. They then talked over the poor king's situation, and Sir Lucas was very open and comforting. How many sad meetings have I had with him heretofore ; first in the alarming attacks of poor Mr. Thrale, and next in the agonizing fluctuations of his unhappy widow! Sir Lucas wished to speak with me alone, as he had something he wanted, through me, to communicate to the queen; but as he saw Mr. Fairly not disposed to retire first, by his manner of saying "Sir Lucas, you will find all the breakfast ready below stairs," he made his bow, and said he would see me again. Mr. Fairly then informed me he was quite uneasy at the recluse life led by the queen and the princesses, and that he was anxious to prevail with them to take a little air, which must be absolutely necessary to their health. He was projecting a scheme for this purpose, which required the assistance of the Duke of York, and he left me, to confer upon it with his royal highness, promising to return and tell its success. Sir Lucas soon came back, and then gave me such unequivocal assurances of the king's recovery, that the moment he left me I flew to demand a private audience of the queen, that I might relate such delightful prognostics. The Duke of York was with her, I waited in the passage, Page 252 where I met Lady Charlotte Finch, and tried what I could to instil into her mind the hopes I entertained: this, however, was not possible; a general despondency prevailed throughout the house, and Lady Charlotte was infected by it very deeply. At length I gained admission and gave my account, which was most meekly received by the most patient of sorrowers. At night came Mr. Fairly again; but, before he entered into any narrations he asked "DO you expect Sir Lucas?" "No," I said, "he had been already." "I saw him rise early from table," he added, "and I thought he was coming to YOU." He has taken no fancy to poor Sir Lucas, and would rather, apparently, avoid meeting him. However, it is to me so essential a comfort to hear his opinions, that I have earnestly entreated to see him by every opportunity. FURTHER CHANGES AT THE LODGE. The equerries now had their own table as usual, to which the physicians were regularly invited, downstairs, and our eating-party was restored. The princes established a table of their own at the Castle, to which they gave daily invitations to such as they chose, from time to time, to select from the Lodge. The noise of so large a party just under the apartment of the queen occasioned this new regulation, which took place by her majesty's own direction. Nov. 20.-Poor Miss Goldsworthy was now quite ill, and forced to retire and nurse. No wonder, for she had suffered the worst sort of fatigue, that of fearing to sleep, from the apprehension the queen might speak, and want her. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave now took her place Of sleeping in the queen's room, but the office of going for early intelligence how his majesty had passed the night devolved upon me. Exactly at seven o'clock I now went to the queen's apartment - Lady Elizabeth then rose and went to her own room to dress, and I received the queen's commands for my inquiries. I could not, however, go myself into the room where they assembled, which Miss Goldsworthy, who always applied to her brother, had very properly done : I sent in a message to beg to speak with General Bud, or whoever could bring an account. Mr. Charles Hawkins came; he had sat up. O, how terrible a narrative did he drily give of the night!--short, abrupt, Page 253 peremptorily bad, and indubitably hopeless! I did not dare alter, but I greatly softened this relation, in giving it to my poor queen. I had been, indeed, too much shocked by the hard way in which I had been told it, to deliver it in the same manner; neither did I, in my own heart, despair. I saw Sir Lucas afterwards, who encouraged all my more sanguine opinions. He told me many new regulations had been made. His majesty was to be kept as quiet as possible, and see only physicians, except for a short and stated period in every day, during which he might summon such among his gentlemen as he pleased. Mr. Fairly came also early, and wrote and read letters of great consequence relative to the situation of affairs ; and he told me he was then to go to the king, who had refused his assent to the new plan, and insisted upon seeing him when he came in from his ride, which, to keep him a little longer quiet, they had made him believe he was then taking. The gentlemen had agreed to be within call alternately, and he meant to have his own turn always in the forenoon, that his evenings might have some chance for quiet, The rest of the day was comfortless; my coadjutrix was now grown so fretful and affronting that, though we only met at dinner, it was hard to support her most unprovoked harshness. MR. FAIRLY AND THE LEARNED LADIES. At night, while I was just sealing a short note to my dear Miss Cambridge, who had an anxiety like that of my own Susan and Fredy lest I should suffer from my present fatigues, I heard the softest tap at my door, which, before I could either put down my letter or speak, was suddenly but most gently opened. I turned about and saw a figure wrapped up in a great, coat, with boots and a hat on, who cautiously entered, and instantly closed the door. I stared, and looked very hard, but the face was much hid by the muffling of the high collar to the great coat. I wondered, and could not conceive who it could be. The figure then took off his hat and bowed, but he did not advance, and the light was away from him. I courtsied, and wondered more, and then a surprised voice exclaimed, "Don't you know me?" and I found it was Mr. Fairly. "I cannot," he said, "stop now, but I will come again; however, you know it, perhaps, already? Page 254 "Know what?" "Why--the--news." "What news?" "Why--that the king is much better, and--" "Yes, Sir Lucas said so, but I have seen nobody since." "No? And have you heard nothing more?" "Nothing at all; I cannot guess what you mean." "What, then, have not you heard--how Much the king has talked? And--and have not you heard the charge." "No; I have heard not a word of any charge." "Why, then, I'll tell you." A long preamble, uttered very rapidly, of "how much the king had been talking," seemed less necessary to introduce his intelligence than to give him time to arrange it; and I was so much struck with this, that I could not even listen to him, from impatience to have him proceed. Suddenly, however, breaking off, evidently from not knowing how to go on, he exclaimed, "Well, I shall tell it you all by and by; you come in for your share!" Almost breathless now with amaze, I could hardly cry, "Do I?" "Yes, I'll tell you," cried he; but again he stopped, and, hesitatingly, said, "You--you won't be angry?" "No," I answered, still more amazed, and even almost terrified, at what I had now to expect. "Well, then," cried he, instantly resuming his first gay and rapid manner, "the king has been calling them all to order for staying so long away from him. 'All the equerries and gentlemen here,' he said, 'lost their whole time at the table, by drinking so much wine and sitting so long over their bottle, which constantly made them all so slow in returning to their waiting, that when he wanted them in the afternoon they were never ready; and-and-and Mr. Fairly,' says he, 'is as bad as any of them; not that he stays so long at table, or is so fond of wine, but he's just as late as the rest; for he's so fond of the company of learned ladies, that he gets to the tea-table with Miss Burney, and there he stays and spends his whole time.'" He spoke all this like the velocity of lightning- but, had it been with the most prosing slowness, I had surely never interrupted him, so vexed I was, so surprised, so completely disconcerted. Finding me silent, he began again, and as rapidly as ever; "I know exactly," he cried, "what it all means--what Page 255 the king has in his head--exactly what has given rise to the idea--'tis Miss Fuzilier." Now, indeed, I stared afresh, little expecting to hear her named by him. He went on in too much hurry for me to recollect his precise words, but he spoke of her very highly, and mentioned her learning, her education, and her acquirements, with great praise, yet with that sort of general commendation that disclaims all peculiar interest; and then, with some degree of displeasure mixed in his voice, mentioned the report that had been spread concerning- them, and its having reached the ears of the king before his Illness. He then lightly added something I could not completely hear, of its utter falsehood, in a way that seemed to hold even a disavowal too important for it, and then concluded with saying, "And this in the present confused state of his mind is altogether, I know, what he means by the learned ladies." When he had done he looked earnestly for my answer, but finding I made none, he said, with some concern, "You won't think any more of it?" "No," I answered, rather faintly. In a lighter manner then, as if to treat the whole as too light for a thought, he said, as he was leaving the room to change his dress, "Well, since I have now got the character of being so fond of such company, I shall certainly"--he stopped short, evidently at a loss how to go on; but quickly after, with a laugh, he hastily added, "come and drink tea with you very often;" and then, with another laugh, which he had all to himself, he hurried away. He left me, however, enough to think upon and the predominant thought was an immediate doubt whether or not, since his visits had reached the king, his majesty's observation upon them ought to stop their continuance? Upon the whole, however, when I summed up all, I found not cause sufficient for any change of system. No raillery had passed upon me; and, for him, he had stoutly evinced a determined contempt of it. Nothing of flirtation had been mentioned for either; I had merely been called a learned lady, and he had merely been accused Of liking such company. I had no other social comfort left me but Mr. Fairly, and I had discomforts past all description or suggestion. Should I drive him from me, what would pay me, and how had he deserved it? and which way could it be worth while? His friendship offered me a solace without hazard; it was held out to me Page 256 when all else was denied me; banished from every friend, confined almost to a state of captivity, harrowed to the very soul with surrounding afflictions, and without a glimpse of light as to when or how all might terminate, it seemed to me, in this situation, that providence had benignly sent in my way a character of so much worth and excellence, to soften the rigour of my condition, by kind sympathy and most honourable confidence. This idea was sufficient; and I thence determined to follow as he led, in disdaining any further notice, or even remembrance, if possible, of this learned accusation. Nov. 21.-All went better and better to-day, and I received from the king's room a more cheering account to carry to my poor queen. We had now hopes of a speedy restoration : the king held long conferences with all his gentlemen, and, though far from composed, was so frequently rational as to- make any resistance to his will nearly impossible. Innumerable difficulties attended this state, but the general promise it gave of a complete recovery recompensed them all. Sir Lucas Pepys came to me in the morning and acquainted me with the rising hopes of amendment. But he disapproved the admission of so many gentlemen, and would have limited the license to only the equerry in waiting, Colonel Goldsworthy, and Mr. Fairly, who was now principal throughout the house, in universal trust for his superior judgment. The king, Sir Lucas said, now talked of everybody and everything he could recollect or suggest. So I have heard, thought I. And, presently after, he added, "No one escapes; you will have your turn." Frightened lest he knew I had had it, I eagerly exclaimed, "O, no; I hope not." "And why?" cried he, good-humouredly; "what need you care? He can say no harm of you." I ventured then to ask if yet I had been named? He believed not yet. This doubled my curiosity to know to whom the "learned ladies" had been mentioned, and whether to Mr. Fairly himself, or to someone who related it; I think the latter, but there is no way to inquire. Very early in the evening I heard a rap at my door. I was in my inner room, and called out, "Who's there?" The door opened and Mr, Fairly appeared. Page 257 He had been so long in attendance this morning with our poor sick monarch, that he was too much fatigued to join the dinner-party. He had stood five hours running, besides the concomitant circumstances of attention. He had instantly laid down when he procured his dismission, and had only risen to eat some cold chicken before he came to my room. During that repast he had again been demanded, but he charged the gentleman to make his excuse, as he could go through nothing further. I hope the king did not conclude him again with the learned; This was the most serene, and even cheerful evening,, I had passed since the poor king's first seizure. REPORTS ON THE KING'S CONDITION. Nov. 22.-When I went for my morning inquiries, Colonel Manners came out to me. He could give me no precise account, as the sitters-up had not yet left the king, but he feared the night had been bad. We mutually bewailed the mournful state of the house. He is a very good creature at heart, though as unformed as if he had just left Eton or Westminster. But he loves his master with a true and faithful heart, and is almost as ready to die as to live for him, if any service of that risk was proposed to him. While the queen's hair was dressing, though only for a close cap, I was sent again. Colonel Manners came out to me, and begged I would enter the music-room, as Mr. Keate, the surgeon, had now just left the king, and was waiting to give me an account before he laid down. I found him in his night-cap: he took me up to a window, and gave me but a dismal history : the night had been very unfavourable, and the late amendment very transient. I heard nothing further till the evening, when my constant companion came to me. All, he said, was bad: he had been summoned and detained nearly all the morning, and had then rode to St. Leonard's to get a little rest, as he would not return till after dinner. He had but just begun his tea when his name was called aloud in the passage: up he started, seized his hat, and with a hasty bow, decamped. I fancy it was one of the princes; and the more, as he did not come back. Sunday, Nov. 23.-A sad day this! I was sent as usual for Page 258 the night account, which I had given to me by Mr. Fairly, and a very dismal one indeed. Yet I never, upon this point, yield implicitly to his opinion, as I see him frequently of the despairing side, and as for myself, I thank God, my hopes never wholly fall. A certain faith in his final recovery has uniformly supported my spirits from the beginning. . . In the evening, a small tap at my door, with, "Here I am again," ushered in Mr. Fairly. He seemcd much hurried and disturbed, and innately uncomfortable; and very soon he entered into a detail of the situation of affairs that saddened me in the extreme. The poor king was very ill indeed, and so little aware of his own condition, that he would submit to no rule, and chose to have company with him from morning till night, sending out for the gentlemen one after another without intermission, and chiefly for Mr. Fairly, who, conscious it was hurtful to his majesty, and nearly worn out himself, had now no chance of respite or escape but by leaving the house and riding out. . . . I have never seen him so wearied, or so vexed, I know not which. "How shall I rejoice," he cried, "when all this is over, and I can turn my back to this scene!" I should rejoice, I said, for him when he could make his escape; but his use here, in the whole round, is infinite; almost nothing is done without consulting him. "I wish," he cried, while he was making some memorandums, "I could live without sleep; I know not now how to spare my night." He then explained to me various miscellaneous matters of occupation, and confessed himself forced to break from the confused scene of action as much as possible, where the tumult and bustle were as overpowering, as the affliction, in the more quiet apartments, was dejecting. Then, by implication, what credit did he not give to my Poor still room, which he made me understand was his only refuge and consolation in this miserable house! MR. FAIRLY THINKS THE KING NEEDS STRICTER MANAGEMENT. Nov. 24.-Very bad again was the night's account, which I received at seven o'clock this morning from Mr. DUndas. I returned with it to my Poor royal mistress, who heard it with her usual patience. Page 259 While I was still with her, Lady Elizabeth came with a request from Mr. Fairly, for an audience before her majesty's breakfast. As soon as she was ready she ordered me to tell Lady Elizabeth to bring him. . . . Soon after,--with a hasty rap, came Mr. Fairly. He brought his writing to my table, where I was trying to take off impressions of plants. I Saw he meant to read me his letter; but before he had finished it Lady Charlotte Finch came in search of him. It was not for the queen, but herself; she wished to speak and consult with him upon the king's seeing his children, which was now his vehement demand. He was writing for one of the king's messengers, and could not stop till he had done. Poor Lady Charlotte, overcome with tenderness and compassion, wept the whole time he was at his pen; and when he had put it down, earnestly remonstrated on the cruelty of the present regulations, which debarred his majesty the sight of the princesses. I joined with her, though more firmly, believe me; my tears I suppress for my solitude. I have enough of that to give them vent, and, with all my suppression, my poor aching eyes can frequently scarce see one object from another. When Mr. Fairly left off writing he entered very deeply into argument with Lady Charlotte. He was averse to her request; he explained the absolute necessity of strong measures, and of the denial of dangerous indulgences, while the poor king was in this wretched state. The disease, he said, was augmented by every agitation, and the discipline of forced quiet was necessary till he was capable of some reflection. At present he spoke everything that occurred to him, and in a manner so wild, unreasonable, and dangerous, with regard to future constructions, that there could be no kindness so great to him as to suffer him only to see those who were his requisite attendants. He then enumerated many instances very forcibly, in which he showed how much more properly his majesty might have been treated, by greater strength of steadiness in his management. He told various facts which neither of us had heard, and, at last, in speaking of the most recent occurrences, he fell into a narrative relating to himself. The king, he said, had almost continually demanded him of late, and with the most extreme agitation; he had been as much with him as it was possible for his health to bear. "Five hours,,, continued he, "I spent with him on Friday, and four Page 260 on Saturday, and three and a half yesterday; yet the moment I went to him last night, he accused me of never coming near him. He said I gave him up entirely; that I was always going out, always dining out, always going to Mrs. Harcourt's--riding to St. Leonard's; but he knew why--'twas to meet Miss Fuzilier." . . . Poor Lady Charlotte was answered, and, looking extremely sorry, went away. He then read me his messenger's letter. 'Twas upon a very delicate affair, relative to the Prince of Wales, in whose service, he told me, he first began his Court preferment. When he had made up his packet he returned to the subject of the king's rage, with still greater openness. He had attacked him, he said, more violently than ever about Miss Fuzilier which, certainly, as there had been such a report, was very unpleasant. "And when I seriously assured him," he added, "that there was nothing in it, he said 'I had made him the happiest of men."' Nov. 25.---My morning account was from General Bud, and a very despairing one. He has not a ray of hope for better days. My poor queen was so much pleased with a sort of hymn for the king, which she had been reading In the newspapers, that I scrupled not to tell her of one in manuscript, which, of course, she desired to read; but I stipulated for its return, though I could not possibly stay in the room while she looked at it. MR. FAIRLY WANTS A CHANGE. In the evening Mr. Fairly came, entering with a most gently civil exclamation of "How long it is since I have seen you!" I could not answer, it was only one evening missed; for, in truth, a day at this time seems liberally a week, and a very slow one too. He had been to town, suddenly sent by the queen last night, and had returned only at noon. he gave me a full account of all that was passing and projecting; and awfully critical everything seemed. "He should now soon," he said, "quit the tragic scene, and go to relax and recruit, with his children, in the country. He regarded his service here as nearly over, since an entirely new regulation was planning, in which the poor king was no longer to be allowed the sight of any of his gentlemen. His continual long conversations with them were judged utterly improper, and Page 261 he was only to be attended by the medical people and his pages." He then gave into my hands the office of hinting to the queen his intention, if he could be dispensed with by her majesty, to go into the Country on the 12th of next month (December), with his boy Charles, who then left Eton for the Christmas holidays. I knew this would be unwelcome intelligence, but I wished to forward his departure, and would not refuse the commission. When this was settled he said he would go and take a circuit, and see how matters stood; and then, if he could get away after showing himself, return--if I would give him leave to drink his tea with me. He had not been gone ten minutes before Lady Charlotte came in search of him. She had been told, she said, that he was with me. I laughed, but could not forbear asking if I passed for his keeper, since whenever he was missing I was always called to account for him. Again, however, he came and drank his tea, and stayed an hour, in most confidential discourse. When the new regulation is established, only one gentleman is to remain--which will be the equerry in waiting. This is now Colonel Goldsworthy. The rest will disperse. REMOVAL OF THE KING To KEW DETERMINED UPON. Nov. 26.-I found we were all speedily to remove to Kew. This was to be kept profoundly secret till almost the moment of departure. The king will never consent to quit Windsor and to allure him away by some stratagem occupies all the physicians, who have proposed and enforced this measure. Mr. Fairly is averse to it: the king's repugnance he thinks insurmountable, and that it ought not to be opposed. But the princes take part with the physicians. He left me to ride out, but more cordial and with greater simplicity of kindness than ever, he smilingly said in going, "Well, good bye, and God bless you." "Amen," quoth I, after he had shut the door. Nov. 27.-This morning and whole day were dreadful My early account was given me by Mr. Charles Hawkins, and with such determined decision of incurability, that I left him quite in horror. All that I dared, I softened to my poor queen, who was now harassed to death with state affairs, and impending storms of state dissensions, I would have given Page 262 the world to have spent the whole day by her side, and poured in what balm of hope I could, since it appeared but too Visibly she scarce received a ray from any other. Universal despondence now pervaded the whole house. Sir Lucas, indeed, sustained his original good opinion, but he was nearly overpowered by standing alone, and was forced to let the stream take its course with but little opposition. Even poor Mr. de Luc was silenced ; Miss Planta easily yields to fear; and Mrs. Schwellenberg--who thinks it treason to say the king is ever at all indisposed--not being able to say all was quite well, forbade a single word being uttered upon the subject The dinners, therefore, became a time of extremest pain; all was ignorance, mystery, and trembling expectation of evil. In the evening, thank heaven! came again my sole relief, Mr. Fairly. He brought his son. and they entered with such serene aspects, that I soon shook off a little of my gloom; and I heard there was no new cause, for though all was bad, nothing was worse. We talked over everything; and that always opens the mind, and softens the bitterness of sorrow. The prospect before us, with respect to Kew, is indeed terrible. There is to be a total seclusion from all but those within the walls, and those are to be contracted to merely necessary attendants. Mr. Fairly disapproved the scheme, though a gainer by it of leisure and liberty. Only the equerry in waiting Is to have a room in the house; the rest of the gentlemen are to take their leave. He meant, therefore, himself, to go into the country with all speed. Nov. 28.-How woful-how bitter a day, in every part, was this! My early account was from the king's page, Mr. Stillingfleet, and the night had been extremely bad. I dared not sink the truth to my poor queen, though I mixed in it whatever I Could devise of cheer and hope; and she bore it with the most wonderful calmness. Dr. Addington was now called in: a very old physician, but peculiarly experienced in disorders such as afflicted our poor king, though not professedly a practitioner in them. Sir Lucas made me a visit, and informed me of all the medical proceedings; and told me, in confidence, we were to go to Kew to-morrow, though the queen herself had not yet concurred in the measure; but the physicians joined to desire Page 263 it, and they were supported by the princes. The difficulty how to get the king away from his favourite abode was all that rested. If they even attempted force, they had not a doubt but his smallest resistance would call up the whole country to his fancied rescue! Yet how, at such a time, prevail by persuasion? He moved me even to tears, by telling me that none of their own lives would be safe if the king did not recover so Prodigiously high ran the tide of affection and loyalty. All the physicians received threatening letters daily to answer for the safety of their monarch with their lives! Sir George Baker had already been Stopped in his carriage by the mob to give an account of the king; and when he said it Was a bad one, they had furiously exclaimed, "The more shame for you!" A PRIVY COUNCIL HELD. After he left me, a privy council was held at the Castle, with the Prince of Wales; the chancellor,(300) Mr. Pitt, and all the officers of state were summoned, to sign a Permission for the king's removal. The poor queen gave an audience to the chancellor--it was necessary to sanctify their proceedings. The princess royal and Lady Courtown attended her. It was a tragedy the most dismal! The queen's knowledge of the king's aversion to Kew made her consent to this measure with the extremest reluctance yet it was not to be opposed: It Was stated as much the best for him, on account of the garden: as here there is none but what Is Public to spectators from the terrace or tops of houses. I believe they were perfectly right though the removal was so tremendous. The physicians were summoned to the privy Council, to give their Opinions, upon oath, that this step was necessary. Inexpressible was the alarm of everyone, lest the king, if he recovered, should bear a lasting resentment against the authors and promoters of this Journey. To give it, therefore, every possible sanction it was decreed that he should be seen, both by the chancellor and Mr. Pitt. The chancellor went in to his presence with a tremor such as, before, he had been only accustomed to inspire; and when he came out, he was so extremely affected by the state in which he Page 264 saw his royal master and patron that the tears ran down his cheeks, and his feet had difficulty to support him. Mr. Pitt was more composed, but expressed his grief with so much respect and attachment, that it added new weight to the universal admiration with which he is here beheld. All these circumstances, with various others, of equal sadness which I must not relate, came to my knowledge from Sir Lucas, Mr. de Luc, and my noon attendance upon her majesty, who was compelled to dress for her audience of the chancellor. And, altogether, with the horror of the next day's removal, an([ the gloom of the ensuing Kew residence, I was so powerfully depressed, that when Mr. Fairly came in the evening, not all my earnestness to support my firmness could re-animate me, and I gave him a most solemn reception, and made the tea directly, and almost in silence. He endeavoured, at first, to revive me by enlivening discourse, but finding that fail, he had recourse to more serious means. He began his former favourite topic-the miseries of life-the inherent miseries, he thinks them, to which we are so universally born and bred, that it was as much consonant with our reason to expect as with our duty to support them. I heard him with that respect his subject and his character alike merited; but I could not answer--my heart was sunk--my spirits were all exhausted: I knew not what to expect next, nor how I might be enabled to wade through the dreadful winter. . . . He had not, I saw, one ray of hope to offer me of better times, yet he recommended me to cheer myself; but not by more sanguine expectations--simply and solely by religion. To submit, he said, to pray and to submit, were all we had to do. . . . The voice of the Prince of Wales, in the passage, carried him away. They remained together, in deep conference, all the rest of the evening, consulting upon measures for facilitating the king's removal, and obtaining his consent. I went very late to the queen, and found her in deep sorrow but nothing confidential passed: I found her not alone, nor alone did I leave her. But I knew what was passing in her mind--the removing the king!-Its difficulty and danger at present, and the dread of his permanent indignation hereafter. Page 265 THE REMOVAL To KEW. Nov. 29.-Shall I ever forget the varied emotions of this dreadful day! I rose with the heaviest of hearts, and found my poor royal mistress in the deepest dejection: she told me now of our intended expedition to Kew. Lady Elizabeth hastened away to dress, and I was alone with her for some time. Her mind, she said, quite misgave her about Kew: the king's dislike was terrible to think of, and she could not foresee in what it might end. She would have resisted the measure herself, hut that she had determined not to have upon her own mind any opposition to the opinion of the physicians. The account of the night was still more and more discouraging: it was related to me by one of the pages, Mr. Brawan; and though a little I softened or omitted particulars, I yet most sorrowfully conveyed it to the queen. Terrible was the morning!--uninterruptedly terrible! all spent in hasty packing up, preparing for we knew not what, nor for how long, nor with what circumstances, nor scarcely with what view! We seemed preparing for captivity, without having committed any offence; and for banishment, without the least conjecture when we might be recalled from it. The poor queen was to get off in private: the plan settled, between the princes and the physicians, was, that her majesty and the princesses should go away quietly, and then that the king should be told that they were gone, which was the sole method they could devise to prevail with him to follow. He was then to be allured by a promise of seeing them at Kew again, as they knew he would doubt their assertion, he was to go through the rooms and examine the house himself. I believe it was about ten o'clock when her majesty departed drowned in tears, she glided along the passage, and got softly into her carriage, with two weeping princesses, and Lady Courtown, who was to be her lady-in-waiting during this dreadful residence. Then followed the third princess, With Lady Charlotte Finch. They went off without any state or parade, and a more melancholy Scene cannot be imagined. There was not a dry eye in the house. The footmen, the house-maids, the porter, the sentinels--all cried even bitterly as they looked on. The three younger princesses were to wait till the event was known. Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave and Miss Goldsworthy had their royal highnesses in charge, Page 266 It was settled the king was to be attended by three of his gentlemen, in the carriage, and to be followed by the physicians, and preceded by his pages. But all were to depart on his arrival at Kew, except his own equerry-in-waiting. It Was not very pleasant to these gentlemen to attend his majesty at such a time, and upon such a plan, so adverse to his inclination, without any power of assistance : however, they would rather have died than refused, and it was certain the king would no other way travel but by compulsion, which no human being dared even mention. Miss Planta and I were to go as soon as the packages could be ready, with some of the queen's things. Mrs. Schwellenberg was to remain behind, for one day, in order to make arrangements about the jewels. In what a confusion was the house! Princes, equerries, physicians, pages--all conferring, whispering, plotting, and caballing, how to induce the king to set off! At length we found an opportunity to glide through the passage to the coach; Miss Planta and myself, with her maid and Goter. But the heaviness of heart with which we began this journey, and the dreadful prognostics of the duration of misery to which it led us--who can tell? We were almost wholly silent all the way. When we arrived at Kew, we found the suspense with which the king was awaited truly terrible. Her majesty had determined to return to Windsor at night, if he came not. We were all to forbear unpacking in the mean while. The house was all now regulated by express order of the Prince of Wales, who rode over first, and arranged all the apartments, and writ, with chalk, the names of the destined inhabitants on each door. My own room he had given to Lady Courtown ; and for me, he had fixed on one immediately adjoining to Mrs. Schwellenberg's; a very pleasant room, looking into the garden, but by everybody avoided, because the partition is so thin of the next apartment, that not a word can be spoken in either that is not heard in both. A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. While I was surveying this new habitation, the princess royal came into it, and, with a cheered countenance, told me that the queen had just received intelligence that the king was rather better, and would come directly, and therefore I was Page 267, commissioned to issue orders to Columb to keep out of sight, and to see that none of the servants were in the way when the king passed. Eagerly, and enlivened, downstairs I hastened, to speak to Columb. I flew to the parlour to ring the bell for him, as In my new room I had no bell for either man or maid; but judge my surprise, when, upon opening the door, and almost rushing in, I perceived a Windsor uniform! I was retreating with equal haste, when the figure before me started, in so theatric an attitude of astonishment, that it forced me to look again. The arms were then wide opened, while the figure fell back, in tragic paces. Much at a loss, and unable to distinguish the face, I was again retiring, when the figure advanced, but in such measured steps as might have suited a march upon a stage. I now suspected it was Mr. Fairly; yet so unlikely I thought it, I could not believe it without speech. "Surely," I cried, " it is not--it is not--" I stopped, afraid to make a mistake. With arms yet more sublimed, he only advanced, in silence and dumb heroics. I now ventured to look more steadily at the face, and then to exclaim-" "Is it Mr. Fairly?" The laugh now betrayed him: he could hardly believe I had really not known him. I explained that my very little expectation of seeing him at Kew had assisted my near-sightedness to perplex me. But I was glad to see him so sportive, which I found was Owing to the good spirits of bringing good news; he had mounted his horse as soon as he had heard the king had consented to the journey, and he had galloped to Kew, to acquaint her majesty with the welcome tidings. I rang and gave my orders to Columb and he then begged me not to hurry away, and to give him leave to wait, in this parlour, the king's arrival. He then explained to me the whole of the intended proceedings and arrangements, with details innumerable and most interesting. He meant to go almost immediately into the country--all was settled with the queen. I told him I was most cordially glad his recruit was so near at hand. "I shall, however," he said, "be in town a few days longer, and come hither constantly to pay you all a little visit." Miss Planta then appeared. A more general conversation now took place, though in its course Mr. Fairly had the malice to give me a start I little expected from him. We were talk- Page 268 ing of our poor king, and wondering at the delay of his arrival, when Mr. Fairly said, "The king now, Miss Planta, mentions everybody and everything that he knows or has heard mentioned in his whole life. Pray does he know any Of your secrets? he'll surely tell them if he does!" "So I hear," cried she, "but I'm sure he can't tell anything of Me! But I wonder what he says of everybody?" "Why, everything," cried he. "Have you not heard of yourself?" "Dear, no! Dear me, Mr. Fairly!" "And, dear Miss Planta! why should not you have your share? Have you not heard he spares nobody?" "Yes, I have; but I can't think what he says of them!" Fearful of anything more, I arose and looked at the Window to see if any sign of approach appeared, but he dropped the subject without coming any nearer, and Miss Planta dropped it too. I believe he wished to discover if she had heard of his learned ladies! THE KING's ARRIVAL. Dinner went on, and still no king. We now began to grow very anxious, when Miss Planta exclaimed that she thought she heard a carriage. We all listened. "I hope!" I cried. "I see you do!" cried he, "you have a very face of hope at this moment!"--and it was not disappointed. The sound came nearer, and presently a carriage drove into the front court. I could see nothing, it was so dark; but I presently heard the much-respected voice of the dear unhappy king, speaking rapidly to the porter, as he alighted from the coach. Mr. Fairly flew instantly upstairs, to acquaint the queen with the welcome tidings. The poor king had been prevailed upon to quit Windsor with the utmost difficulty: he was accompanied by General Harcourt, his aide-de-camp, and Colonels Goldsworthy and Wellbred--no one else! He had passed all the rest with apparent composure, to come to his carriage, for they lined the passage, eager to see him once more! and almost all Windsor was collected round the rails, etc. to witness the mournful spectacle of his departure, which left them in the deepest despondence, with scarce a ray of hope ever to see him again. Page 269 The bribery, however, which brought, was denied him!--he was by no means to see the queen When I went to her at night, she was all graciousness, and kept me till very late. I had not seen her alone so long, except for a few minutes in the morning, that I had a thousand things I wished to say to her. You may be sure they were all, as far as they went, consolatory. Princess Augusta had a small tent-bed put up in the queen's bed-chamber: I called her royal highness when the queen dismissed me. She undressed in an adjoining apartment. THE ARRANGEMENTS AT KEW PALACE. I must now tell you how the house is disposed. The whole of the ground-floor that looks towards the 'garden is appropriated to the king, though he is not indulged with its range. In the side wing is a room for the physicians, destined to their consultations; adjoining to that is the equerry's dining-room. Mrs. Schwellenberg's parlours, which are in the front of the house, one for dining, the other for coffee and tea, are still allowed us. The other front rooms below are for the pages to dine, and the rest of the more detached buildings are for the servants of various sorts. All the rooms immediately over those which are actually occupied by the king are locked up; her majesty relinquishes them, that he may never be tantalized by footsteps overhead. She has retained only the bed-room, the drawing-room, which joins to it, and the gallery, in which she eats. Beyond this gallery are the apartments of the three elder princesses, in one .of which rooms Miss Planta sleeps. There is nothing more on the first floor. On the second a very large room for Mrs. Schwellenberg, and a very pleasant one for myself, are over the queen's rooms. Farther on are three bed-rooms, one for the surgeon or apothecary in waiting, the next for the equerry, and the third, lately mine, for the queen's lady--all written thus with chalk by the prince. Then follows a very long dark passage, with little bed-rooms on each side, for the maids, and one of the pages. These look like so many little cells of a convent. Mrs. Sandys has a room nearer the queen's, and Goter has one nearer to mine. At the end of this passage there is a larger room, formerly appropriated to Mr. de Luc, but now Page 270 chalked "The physicians'." One physician, one equerry, and one surgeon or apothecary, are regularly to sleep in the house. This is the general arrangement. The prince very properly has also ordered that one of his majesty's grooms of' the bedchamber should be in constant waiting; he is to reside in the prince's house, over the way, which is also fitting up for some others. This gentleman is to receive all inquiries about the king's health. The same regulation had taken place at Windsor, in the Castle, where the gentlemen waited in turn. Though, as the physicians send their account to St. James's, this is now become an almost useless ceremony, for everybody goes thither to read the bulletin. The three young princesses are to be in a house belonging to the king on Kew green, commonly called Princess Elizabeth's, as her royal highness has long inhabited it in her illness. There will lodge Miss Goldsworthy, Mlle. Montmoulin, and Miss Gomme. Lady Charlotte Finch is to be at the Prince of Wales's. I could not sleep all night----I thought I heard the poor king. He was under the same range of apartments, though far distant, but his indignant disappointment haunted me. The queen, too, was very angry at having promises made in her name which could not be kept. What a day altogether was this! A REGENCY HINTED AT. Sunday, Nov. 30.-Here, in all its dread colours, dark as its darkest prognostics, began the Kew campaign. I went to my poor queen at seven o'clock: the Princess Augusta arose and went away to dress, and I received her majesty's commands to go down for inquiries. She had herself passed a wretched night, and already lamented leaving Windsor. I waited very long in the cold dark passages below, before I could find any one of whom to ask intelligence. The parlours were without fires, and washing. I gave directions afterwards, to have a fire in one of them by seven o'clock every morning. At length I procured the speech of one of the pages, and heard that the night had been the most violently bad of any yet passed!--and no wonder! I hardly knew how to creep upstairs, frozen both within and without, to tell such news; but it was not received as if unexpected, and I omitted whatever was not essential to be known. Page 271 Afterwards arrived Mrs: Schwellenberg, so oppressed between her spasms and the house's horrors, that the oppression she inflicted ought perhaps to be pardoned. It was, however, difficult enough to bear! Harshness, tyranny, dissension, and even insult, seemed personified. I cut short details upon this subject-they would but make you sick. . . . My dear Miss Cambridge sent to me immediately. I saw she had a secret hope she might come and sit with me now and then in this confinement. It would have been my greatest possible solace in this dreary abode: but I hastened to acquaint her of the absolute seclusion, and even to beg she would not send her servant to the house - for I found it was much desired to keep off all who might carry away any intelligence. She is ever most reasonable, and never thenceforward hinted upon the subject. But she wrote continually long letters, and filled with news and anecdotes of much interest, relating to anything she could gather of "out-house proceedings," which now became very important--the length of the malady threatening a regency!-- a Word which I have not yet been able to articulate. MR. FAIRLY'S KIND OFFICES. Kew, Monday, Dec. 1.-Mournful was the opening of the month! My account of the night from Gezewell, the page, was very alarming, and my poor royal mistress began to sink more than I had ever yet seen. No wonder; the length of the malady so uncertain, the steps which seemed now requisite so shocking: for new advice, and such as suited only disorders that physicians in general relinquish, was now proposed, and compliance or refusal were almost equally tremendous. In sadness I returned from her, and, moping and unoccupied, I was walking up and down my room, when Columb came to say Mr. Fairly desired to know if I could see him. Certainly, I said, I would come to him in the parlour. He was not at all well, nor did he seem at all comfortable. He had undertaken, by his own desire, to purchase small carpets for the princesses, for the house is in a state of cold and discomfort past all imagination. It has never been a winter residence, and there was nothing prepared for its becoming one. He could not, he told me, look at the rooms of their royal highnesses without shuddering for them; and he longed, he said, to cover all the naked, cold boards, to render them Page 272 more habitable. He had obtained permission to execute this as a commission: for so miserable is the house at present that no general orders to the proper people are either given Or thought about; and every one is so absorbed in the general calamity, that they would individually sooner perish than offer up complaint or petition. I Should never end were I to explain the reasons there are for both. What he must next, he said, effect, was supplying them with sand-bags for windows and doors, which he intended to fill and to place himself. The wind which blew in upon those lovely princesses, he declared, was enough to destroy them. When he had informed me of these kind offices, he began an inquiry into how I was lodged. Well enough, I said; but he would not accept so general an answer. He insisted upon knowing what was my furniture, and in particular if I had any carpet; and when I owned I had none, he smiled, and said he would bring six, though his commission only extended to three. He did not at all like the parlour, which, indeed, is wretchedly cold and miserable: he wished to bring it a carpet, and new fit it up with warm winter accommodations. He reminded me of my dearest Fredy, when she brought me a decanter of barley-water and a bright tin saucepan, under her hoop. I Could not tell him that history in detail, but I rewarded his good-nature by hinting at the resemblance it bore, in its active zeal, to my sweet Mrs. Locke. . . . The queen afterwards presented me with a very pretty little new carpet; only a bed-side slip, but very warm. She knew not how much I was acquainted with its history, but I found she had settled for them all six. She gave another to Mrs. Schwellenberg. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S PARLOUR. Dec. 3.-Worse again to-day was the poor king: the little fair gleam, how soon did it pass away! I was beginning to grow ill myself, from the added fatigue of disturbance in the night, unavoidably occasioned by the neighbourhood to an invalid who summoned her maids at all hours; and my royal mistress issued orders for a removal to take place. My new apartment is at the end of the long dark passage mentioned, with bed-room cells on each side it. It is a Page 273 very comfortable room, carpeted all over, with one window looking- to the front of the house and two into a court-yard. It is the most distant from the queen, but in all other respects is very desirable. I must now relate briefly a new piece of cruelty. I happened to mention to la première présidente my waiting for a page to bring the morning accounts. "And where do you wait?" "In the parlour, ma'am." "In my parlour? Oh, ver well! I will see to that!" "There is no other place, ma'am, but the cold passages, which, at that time in the morning, are commonly wet as well as dark." "O, ver well! When everybody goes to my room I might keep an inn--what you call hotel." All good humour now again vanished; and this morning, when I made my seven o'clock inquiry, I found the parlour doors both locked! I returned so shivering to my queen, that she demanded the cause, which I simply related; foreseeing inevitable destruction from continuing to run such a hazard. She instantly protested there should be a new arrangement. Dec. 4.-No opportunity offered yesterday for my better security, and therefore I was again exposed this morning to the cold dark damp of the miserable passage. The account was tolerable, but a threat of sore-throat accelerated the reform. It was now settled that the dining-parlour should be made over for the officers of state who came upon business to the house, and who hitherto had waited in the hall; and the room which was next to Mrs. Schwellenberg's, and which had first been mine, was now made our salle à manger. By this means, the parlour being taken away for other people, and by command relinquished, I obtained once again the freedom of entering it, to 'gather my account for her majesty. But the excess of ill-will awakened by my obtaining this little privilege, which was actually necessary to my very life, was so great, that more of personal offence and harshness could not have been shown to the most guilty of culprits. One of the pages acquainted me his majesty was not worse, and the night had been as usual. As usual, too, was my day sad and solitary all the morning--not solitary but worse during dinner and coffee. just after it, however, came the good and sweet Mr. Smelt. Page 274 The Prince of Wales sent for him, and condescended to apologise for the Windsor transaction, and to order he might regain admission. How this was brought about I am not clear: I only know it is agreed by all parties that the prince has the faculty of making his peace, where he wishes it, with the most captivating grace In the world. A NEW PHYSICIAN SUMMONED. Mr. Fairly told me this evening that Dr. Willis, a physician of Lincoln, of peculiar skill and practice in intellectual maladies, had been sent for by express. The poor queen had most painfully concurred in a measure which seemed to fix the nature of the king's attack in the face of the world; but the necessity and strong advice had prevailed over her repugnance. Dec. 6.-Mr. Fairly came to me, to borrow pen and ink for a few memorandums. Notwithstanding much haste. he could not, he said, go till he had acquainted me with the opening of Dr. Willis with his royal patient. I told him there was nothing I more anxiously wished to hear. He then gave me the full narration, interesting, curious, extraordinary; full of promise and hope. He is extremely pleased both with the doctor and his son, Dr. John, he says they are fine, lively, natural, independent characters. Sunday, Dec. 7.-Very bad Was this morning's account. Lady Charlotte Finch read prayers to the queen and princess, and Lady Courtown, and the rest for themselves. M r. Fairly wishes her majesty would summon a chaplain, and let the house join in congregation. I think he is right, as far as the house extends to those who are still admitted into her majesty's presence. Dec. 8.-The accounts began mending considerably, and hope broke in upon all. Dec. 9.---All gets now into a better channel, and the dear royal invalid gives every symptom of amendment. God be praised! Dec. 11.-To-day We have had the fairest hopes: the king took his first walk in Kew garden! There have been impediments to this trial hitherto, that have been thought insurmountable, though, in fact, they were most frivolous. The walk seemed to do him good, and we are all in better Page 275 spirits about him than for this many and many a long day past. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG'S OPINION OF MR. FAIRLY. Dec. 12.-This day passed in much the same manner. Late in the evening, after Mr. Smelt was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg began talking about Mr. Fairly, and giving free vent to all her strong innate aversion to him. She went back to the old history of the "newseepaper," and gave to his naming it every unheard motive of spite, disloyalty, and calumny! three qualities which I believe equally and utterly unknown to him. He was also, she said, "very onfeeling, for she had heard him laugh prodigious with the Lady Waldegraves, Perticleer with lady Carlisle, what you call Lady Elizabeth her sister, and this in the king's illness." And, in fine, she could not bear him. Such gross injustice I could not hear quietly. I began a warm defence, protesting I knew no one whose heart was more feelingly devoted to the royal family, except, perhaps, Mr. Smelt; and that as to his laughing, it must have been at something of passing and accidental amusement, since he was grave even to melancholy, except when he exerted his spirits for the relief or entertainment of others. Equally amazed and provoked, she disdainfully asked me what I knew of him? I made no answer. I was not quite prepared for the interrogatory, and feared she might next inquire when and where I had seen him? My silence was regarded as self-conviction of error, and she added, "I know you can't not know him; I know he had never seen you two year and half ago; when you came here he had not heard your name." "Two years and a half," I answered coolly, "I did not regard as a short time for forming a judgment of any one's character." "When you don't not see them ? You have never seen him, I am sure, but once, or what you call twice." I did not dare let this pass, it was so very wide from the truth; but calmly said I had seen him much oftener than once or twice. "And where? when have you seen him?" "Many times; and at Cheltenham constantly; but never to observe in him anything but honour and goodness." "O ver well! you don't not know him like me, you can't Page 276 not know him; he is not from your acquaintance--I know that ver well!" She presently went on by herself. "You could not know such a person--he told me the same himself: he told me he had not never seen you when you first came. You might see him at Cheltenham, that is true; but nothing others, I am sure. At Windsor there was no tea, not wonce, so you can't not have seen him, only at Cheltenham." I hardly knew whether to laugh or be frightened at this width of error; nor, indeed, whether it was not all some artifice to draw me out, from pique, into some recital: at all events I thought it best to say nothing, for she was too affronting to deserve to be set right. She went on to the same purpose some time, more than insinuating that a person such as Mr. Fairly could never let him self down to be acquainted with me; till finding me too much offended to think her assertions worth answering, she started, at last, another subject. I then forced myself to talk much as usual. But how did I rejoice when the clock struck ten--how wish it had been twelve! THE KING'S VARYING CONDITION. Dec. 15.-This whole day was passed in great internal agitation throughout the house, as the great and important business of the Regency was to be discussed to-morrow in Parliament. All is now too painful and intricate for writing a word. I begin to confine my memorandums almost wholly to my own personal proceedings. Dec. 16.-Whatsoever might pass in the House on this momentous subject, it sat so late that no news could arrive. Sweeter and better news, however, was immediately at hand than any the whole senate could transmit; the account from the pages was truly cheering. With what joy did I hasten with it to the queen, who immediately ordered me to be its welcome messenger to the three princesses. And when Mr. Smelt came to my breakfast, with what rapture did he receive it! seizing and kissing my hand, while his eyes ran over, and joy seemed quite to bewitch him. He flew away in a very few minutes, to share his happiness with his faithful partner. After breakfast I had a long conference in the parlour with Sir Lucas Pepys, who justly gloried in the advancement of his original prediction; but there had been much dissension Page 277 amongst the physicians, concerning the bulletin to go to St. James's, no two agreeing in the degree of better to be announced to the world. Dr. Willis came in while we were conversing, but instantly retreated, to leave us undisturbed. He looks a very fine old man. I wish to be introduced to him. Mr. Smelt and Mr. Fairly are both quite enchanted with all the family; for another son now, a clergyman, Mr. Thomas Willis, has joined their forces. Dec. 17.-MY account this morning was most afflictive once more: it was given by Mr. Hawkins, and was cruelly subversive of all our rising hopes. I carried it to the queen in trembling but she bore it most mildly. What resignation is hers! Dec. 22.-With what joy did I carry, this morning, an exceeding good account of the king to my royal mistress! It was trebly welcome., as much might depend upon it in the resolutions of the House concerning the Regency, which was of to-day's discussion. Mr. Fairly took leave, for a week, he said, wishing me my health, while I expressed my own wishes for his good journey But, in looking forward to a friendship the most permanent, saw the eligibility of rendering it the most open. I therefore went back to Mrs. Schwellenberg; and the moment I received a reproach for staying so long, I calmly answered, "Mr. Fairly had made me a visit, to take leave before he went into the country." Amazement was perhaps never more indignant. Mr. Fairly to take leave of me! while not once he even called upon her! This offence swallowed up all other comments upon the communication. I seemed not to understand it; but we had a terrible two hours and a-half. Yet to such, now, I may look forward without any mixture, any alleviation, for evening after evening in this sad abode. N.B. My own separate adventures for this month, and year, concluded upon this day. The king went on now better, now worse, in a most fearful manner; but Sir Lucas Pepys never lost sight of hope, and the management of Dr. Willis and his two sons was most wonderfully acute and successful. Yet so much were they perplexed and tormented by the interruptions given to their plans and methods, that they were frequently almost tempted to resign the undertaking from anger and confusion. Page 278 DR. WILLIS AND His SON. Kew Palace, Thursday, Jan. 1, 1789.-The year opened with an account the most promising of our beloved king. I saw Dr, Willis, and he told me the night had been very tranquil and he sent for his son, Dr. John Willis, to give me a history of the morning. Dr. John's narration was in many parts very affecting: the dear and excellent king had been praying for his own restoration! Both the doctors told me that such strong symptoms of true piety had scarce ever been discernible through so dreadful a malady. How I hastened to my queen!--and with what alacrity I besought permission to run next to the princesses! It was so sweet, so soothing, to open a new year with the solace of anticipated good! Jan. 3.-I have the great pleasure, now, of a change in my morning's historiographers; I have made acquaintance with Dr. Willis and his son, and they have desired me to summon one of them constantly for my information. I am extremely struck with both these physicians. Dr. Willis is a man of ten thousand; open, holiest, dauntless, lighthearted, innocent, and high minded: I see him impressed with the most animated reverence and affection for his royal patient; but it is wholly for his character,--not a whit for his rank. Dr. John, his eldest son, is extremely handsome, and inherits, in a milder degree, all the qualities of his father; but living more in the general world, and having his fame and fortune still to settle, he has not yet acquired the same courage, nor is he, by nature, quite so sanguine in his opinions. The manners of both are extremely pleasing, and they both proceed completely their own way, not merely unacquainted with court etiquette, but wholly, and most artlessly, unambitious to form any such acquaintance. Jan. 11.-This morning Dr. John gave me but a bad account of the poor king. His amendment is not progressive; it fails, and goes back, and disappoints most grievously; yet it would be nothing were the case and its circumstances less discussed, and were expectation more reasonable. Jan. 12.-A melancholy day: news bad both at home and abroad. At home the dear unhappy king still worse--abroad new examinations voted of the physicians! Good heaven! what an insult does this seem from parliamentary power, to investigate and bring forth to the world every circumstance Of Page 279 such a malady as is ever held sacred to secrecy in the most private families! How indignant we all feel here no words can say. LEARNING IN WOMEN. Jan. 13.-The two younger Willises, Dr. John and Mr. Thomas, came upstairs in the afternoon, to make a visit to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I took the opportunity to decamp to my own room, where I found Mr. Fairly in waiting. In the course of conversation that followed, Mrs. Carter was named: Mr. Smelt is seriously of opinion her ode is the best in our language.(301) I spoke of her very highly, for indeed I reverence her. Learning in women was then Our theme. I rather wished to hear than to declaim upon this subject, yet I never seek to disguise that I think it has no recommendation of sufficient value to compensate its evil excitement of envy and satire. He spoke with very uncommon liberality on the female powers and intellects, and protested he had never, in his commerce with the world, been able to discern any other inferiority in their parts than what resulted from their Pursuits -and yet, with all this, he doubted much whether he had ever seen any woman who might not have been rather better without than with the learned languages, one only excepted. He was some time silent, and I could not but suppose he meant his correspondent, Miss Fuzilier; but, with a very tender sigh, he said, "And she was my mother,--who neglected nothing else, while she cultivated Latin, and who knew it very well, and would have known it very superiorly, but that her brother disliked her studying, and one day burnt all her books!" This anecdote led to one in return, from myself. I told him, briefly the history of Dr. Johnson's most kind condescension, in desiring to make me his pupil, and beginning to give me regular lessons of the Latin language, and i proceeded to the speedy conclusion--my great apprehension,-- conviction rather,--that what I learnt of so great a man could never be private, and that he himself would contemn concealment, if any Page 280 progress should be made; which to Me was sufficient motive for relinquishing the scheme, and declining the honour, highly as I valued it, of obtaining Such a master--"and this," I added, "though difficult to be done without offending, was yet the better effected, as my father himself likes and approves all accomplishments for women better than the dead languages." THE QUEEN AND MR. FAIRLY'S VISITS. Jan. 14.-I must now mention a rather singular conversation. I had no opportunity last night to name, as usual, my visitor; but I have done it so often, so constantly indeed, that I was not uneasy In the omission. But this morning, while her hair was dressing, my royal Mistress suddenly said, "Did you see any body yesterday?" I could not but be sure of her meaning, and though vexed to be anticipated in my avowal, which had but waited the departure of the wardrobe-woman, Sandys, I instantly answered, "Yes, ma'am; Mr, Smelt in the morning and Mr. Fairly in the evening." "O! Mr. Fairly was here, then?" I was now doubly sorry she should know this only from me! He had Mentioned being just come from town, but I had concluded Lady Charlotte Finch, as usual, knew of his arrival, and had made it known to her Majesty. A little while after,--"Did he go away from you early?" she said. "No, ma'am," I Immediately answered, "not early: he drank tea with Me, as he generally does, I believe, when he is here for the night." "Perhaps," cried she after a pause, "the gentlemen below do not drink tea." "I cannot tell, ma'am, I never heard him say; I only know he asked me if I would give him some, and I told him yes, with great pleasure." Never did I feel so happy in unblushing consciousness of internal liberty as in this little catechism! However, I soon found I had Mistaken the Motive of the catechism: it was not on account of Mr. Fairly and his visit; it was all for Mrs. Schwellenberg and her no visits; for she soon dropped something of "poor Mrs. Schwellenberg" and her Miserable state, that opened her whole meaning. Page 281 A MELANCHOLY BIRTHDAY. Sunday, Jan. 18.-The public birthday of my poor royal mistress. How sadly did she pass it; and how was I filled With sorrow for her reflections upon this its first anniversary for these last twenty-eight years in which the king and the nation have not united in its celebration! All now was passed over in silence and obscurity; all observance of the day was prohibited, both abroad and at home. The poor king whose attention to times and dates is unremittingly exact, knew the day, and insisted upon seeing the queen and three of the princesses; but--it was not a good day. MR. FAIRLY ON FANS. Jan. 21.-I came to my room; and there, in my own corner, sat poor Mr. Fairly, looking a little forlorn, and telling me he had been there near an hour. I made every apology that could mark in the strongest manner how little I thought his patience worth such exertion. . . . He was going to spend the next day at St. Leonard's, where he was to meet his son; and he portrayed to me the character of Mrs. Harcourt so fairly and favourably, that her flightiness sunk away on the rise of her good qualities. He spoke of his chapel of St. Catherine's, its emoluments, chaplain, brothers, sisters, and full establishment. Finding I entered into nothing, he took up a fan which lay on my table, and began playing off various imitative airs with it, exclaiming, "How thoroughly useless a toy!" "No," I said; "on the contrary, taken as an ornament, it was the most useful ornament of any belonging to full dress, occupying the hands, giving the eyes something to look at, and taking away stiffness and formality from the figure and deportment." "Men have no fans," cried he, "and how do they do?" "Worse," quoth I, plumply. He laughed quite out, saying, "That's ingenuous, however; and, indeed, I must confess they are reduced, from time to time, to shift their hands from one pocket to another." "Not, to speak of lounging about in their chairs from one side to another." "But the real use of a fan," cried he, "if there is any, is it not--to hide a particular blush that ought not to appear?" Page 282 "O, no; it Would rather make it the sooner noticed." "Not at all; it may be done under pretence of absence--rubbing the cheek, or nose--putting it up accidentally to the eye--in a thousand ways." He went through all these evolutions comically enough, and then, putting aside his toy, came back to graver matters. MR. FAIRLY CONTINUES HIS VISITS: THE QUEEN AGAIN REMARKS UPON THEM. Jan. 26.-In the evening Mr. Fairly came to tea. He was grave, and my reception did not make him gayer. General discourse took place till Mrs. Dickenson happened to be named. He knew her very well as Miss Hamilton. Her conjugal conduct, in displaying her Superior power over her husband, was our particular theme, till in the midst of it he exclaimed, "How well you will be trained in by Mrs. Schwellenberg--if you come to trial!" Ah! thought I, the more I suffer through her, the less and less do I feel disposed to run any new and more lasting risk, But I said not this. I only protested I was much less her humble servant than might be supposed. "How can that be," cried he, "when you never contest any one point with her?" Not, I said, in positive wrangling, which could never answer its horrible pain; but still I refused undue obedience when exacted with indignity, and always hastened to retire when offended and affronted. He took up Mrs. Smith's "Emmeline,"(302) which is just lent me by the queen; but he found it not piquant and putting it down, begged me to choose him a Rambler." I had a good deal of difficulty In my decision, as he had already seen almost all I could particularly wish to recommend; and, when he saw me turn over leaf after leaf with some hesitation, he began a serious reproach to me of inflexible reserve. And then away he went. I hastened immediately to Mrs. Schwellenberg; and found all in a tumult. She had been, she said, alone all the evening, and was going to have sent for me, but found I had my company. She sent for Mlle. Montmoulin but she had a cold; for Miss Gomme, but she could not come because of the snow; Page 283 for Miss Planta but she was ill with a fever, "what you call head-ache:" she had then "sent to princess royal, who had been to her, and pitied her ver moch, for princess royal was really sensible." And all this was communicated with a look of accusation, and a tone of menace, that might have suited an attack upon some hardened felon. . . . I made no sort of apology nor any other answer than that I had had the honour of Mr. Fairly's company to tea, which was always a pleasure to me. I believe something like consciousness whispered her here, that it might really be possible his society was as pleasant as I had found hers, for she then dropped her lamentation, and said she thanked God she wanted nobody, not one; she could always amuse herself, and was glad enough to be alone. Were it but true! I offered cards: she refused, because it was too late, though we yet remained together near two hours. If this a little disordered me, You will not think what followed was matter of composure. While the queen's hair was rolling up, by the wardrobe woman, at night, Mrs. Schwellenberg happened to leave the room, and almost instantly her majesty, in a rather abrupt manner, said "Is Mr. Fairly here to-night?" "Yes, ma'am." "When did he come back?" I could not recollect. "I did not know he was here." This thunderstruck me; that he should come again, or stay, at least, without apprising his royal mistress, startled me inwardly, and distressed me outwardly. "I knew, indeed," she then added, "he was here in the morning, but I understood he went away afterwards." The idea of connivance now struck me with a real disdain, that brought back my courage and recollection in full force, and I answered, "I remember, ma'am, he told me he had rode over to Richmond park at noon, and returned here to dinner with Colonel Wellbred, and in the evening he drank tea with me, and said he should sup with General Harcourt." All this, spoken with an openness that rather invited than shunned further investigation, seemed to give an immediate satisfaction ; the tone of voice_ changed to its usual com- Page 284 placency, and she inquired various things concerning the Stuart family, and then spoke upon more common topics. I concluded it now all over; but soon after Mrs. Sandys went away, and then, very unexpectedly, the queen renewed the subject. "The reason," she said, "that I asked about Mr. Fairly was that the Schwellenberg sent to ask Miss Planta to come to her, because Mr. Fairly was--no, not with her--he never goes to her." She stopped; but I was wholly silent. I felt instantly with how little propriety I could undertake either to defend or to excuse Mr. Fairly, whom I determined to consider as a visitor,, over whom, having no particular influence, I could be charged with no particular responsibility. After waiting a few minutes,-"With you," she said, "Mr. Fairly was and the Schwellenberg was alone." My spirits quite panted at this moment to make a full Confession of the usage I had endured from the person thus compassionated; but I had so frequently resolved, in moments Of cool deliberation, not even to risk doing mischief to a favourite old servant, that I withstood the impulse ; but the inward conflict silenced me from saying anything else. I believe she was surprised but she added, after a long pause, "I believe--he comes to you every evening when here." "I do not know, ma'am, always, when he is here or away; but I am always very glad to see him, for indeed his visits make all the little variety that--" I hastily stopped, lest she should think me discontented with this strict confinement during this dreadful season ; and that I can never be, when it is not accompanied by tyranny and injustice. She immediately took up the word, but without the slightest displeasure. "Why here there might be more variety than anywhere, from the nearness to town, except for--" " The present situation of things." I eagerly interrupted her to say, and went on: "Indeed, ma'am, I have scarce a wish to break into the present arrangement, by seeing anybody while the house is in this state; nor have I, from last October, seen one human being that does not live here, except Mr. Smelt, Mr. Fairly, and Sir Lucas Pepys; and they all come upon their own calls, and not for me." "The only objection," she gently answered, "to seeing anybody, is that every one who comes carries some sort of information away with them." Page 285 I assured her I was perfectly content to wait for better times, Here the matter dropped ; she appeared satisfied with what I said, and became soft and serene as before the little attack. Jan. 27.-The intelligence this morning was not very pleasant. I had a conference afterwards with Sir Lucas Pepys, who keeps up undiminished hope. We held our council in the physicians' room, which chanced to be empty; but before it broke up Colonel Wellbred entered. It was a pleasure to me to see him, though somewhat an embarrassment to hear him immediately lament that we never met, and add that he knew not in what manner to procure himself that pleasure. I joined in the lamentation, and its cause, which confined us all to our cells. Sir Lucas declared my confinement menaced my health, and charged me to walk out, and take air and exercise very sedulously, if I would avoid an illness. Colonel Wellbred instantly offered me a key of Richmond gardens, which opened into them by a nearer door than what was used in common. I accepted his kindness, and took an hour's walk,-for the first time since last October; ten minutes in Kew gardens are all I have spent without doors since the middle of that month. THE SEARCH FOR MR. FAIRLY. Jan. 30.-To-day my poor royal mistress received the address of the Lords and Commons, of condolence, etc., upon his majesty's illness. What a painful, but necessary ceremony! It was most properly presented by but few members, and those almost all chosen from the household: a great propriety. Not long after came Mr. Fairly, looking harassed. "May I," he cried, "come in?--and-for an hour? Can you allow me entrance and room for that time?" Much Surprised, for already it was three o'clock, I assented: he then told me he had something to copy for her majesty, which was of the highest importance, and said he could find no quiet room in the house but mine for such a business. I gave him every accommodation in my power. When he had written a few lines, he asked if I was very busy, or could help him ? Most readily I offered my services, and then I read to him the original, sentence by sentence, to facilitate his copying; receiving his assurances of my "great assistance" every two lines. In the midst of this occupation, Page 286 a tap at my door made me precipitately put down the paper to receive-lady Charlotte Finch! "Can you," she cried, "have the goodness to tell me any thing of Mr. Fairly?" The screen had hidden him; but, gently,--though, I believe ill enough pleased,--he called out himself, "Here is Mr. Fairly." She flew up to him, crying, "O, Mr. Fairly, what a search has there been for you, by the queen's orders ! She has wanted you extremely, and no one knew where to find you. They have been to the waiting-room, to the equerries', all over the garden, to the prince's house, in your own room, and could find you nowhere, and at last they thought you were gone back to town." He calmly answered, while he still wrote on, he was sorry they had had so much trouble, for he had only been executing her majesty's commands. She then hesitated a little, almost to stammering, in adding "So--at last--I said--that perhaps--you might be here!" He now raised his head from the paper, and bowing it towards me, "Yes," he cried, "Miss Burney is so good as to give me leave, and there is no other room in the house in Which I can be at rest." "So I told her majesty," answered Lady Charlotte, "though she said she was sure you could not be here ; but I said there was really no room of quiet here for any business, and so then I came to see." "Miss Burney," he rejoined, "has the goodness also to help me-- she has taken the trouble to read as I go on, which forwards me very much." Lady Charlotte stared, and I felt sorry at this confession of a confidence she could not but think too much, and I believe he half repented it, for he added, "This, however, you need not perhaps mention, though I know where I trust!" He proceeded again with his writing, and she then recollected her errand. She told him that what he was copying was to be carried to town by Lord Aylesbury, but the queen desired to see it first. She then returned to her majesty. She soon, however, returned again. She brought the queen's seal, and leave that he might make up the packet, and give it to Lord Aylesbury, without showing it first to her majesty, who was just gone to dinner. With her customary good-humour Page 287 and good-breeding, she then chatted with me some time, and again departed. We then went to work with all our might, reading and copying. The original was extremely curious--I am sorry I must make it equally secret. Miss BURNEY's ALARM ON BEING CHASED BY THE KING. Kew Palace, Monday, Feb. 2.-What an adventure had I this morning! one that has occasioned me the severest personal terror I ever experienced in my life. Sir Lucas Pepys still persisting that exercise and air were absolutely necessary to save me from illness, I have continued my walks, varying my gardens from Richmond to Kew, according to the accounts I received of the movements of the king. For this I had her majesty's permission, on the representation of Sir Lucas. This morning, when I received my intelligence of the king from Dr. John Willis, I begged to know where I might walk in safety? "In Kew gardens," he said, "as the king would be in Richmond." "Should any unfortunate circumstance," I cried, "at any time, occasion my being seen by his majesty, do not mention my name, but let me run off without call or notice." This he promised. Everybody, indeed, is ordered to keep out of sight. Taking, therefore, the time I had most at command, I strolled into the gardens. I had proceeded, in my quick way, nearly half the round, when I suddenly perceived, through some trees, two or three figures. Relying on the instructions of Dr. John, I concluded them to be workmen and gardeners; yet tried to look sharp, and in so doing, as they were less shaded, I thought I saw the person of his majesty! Alarmed past all possible expression, I waited not to know more, but turning back, ran off with all my might. But what was my terror to hear myself pursued!--to hear the voice of the king himself loudly and hoarsely calling after me, "MISS Burney! Miss Burney! I protest I was ready to die. I knew not in what state he might be at the time; I only knew the orders to keep out of his way were universal; that the queen would highly disapprove any unauthorized meeting, and that the very action of my running away might deeply, in his present irritable state, offend him. Nevertheless, on I ran, too terrified to stop, and Page 288 In search Of some short passage, for the g)arden is full of labyrinths, by which I might escape. The steps still pursued me, and Still the poor hoarse and altered voice rang in my ears:--more and more footsteps sounded frightfully behind me,--the attendants all running to catch their eager master, and the voices of the two Doctor Willises loudly exhorting him not to heat himself so unmercifully. Heavens, how I ran! I do not think I should have felt the hot lava from Vesuvius--at least not the hot cinders--hadd I so run during its eruption. My feet were not sensible that they even touched the ground. Soon after, I heard other voices, shriller, though less nervous, call out "Stop! stop! stop!" I could by no means consent: I knew not what was purposed, but I recollected fully my agreement with Dr. John that very morning, that I should decamp if Surprised, and not b named. My own fears and repugnance, also, after a flight and disobedience like this, were doubled in the thought of not escaping; I knew not to what I might be exposed, should the malady be then high, and take the turn of resentment. Still, therefore, on I flew; and such was my speed, so almost incredible to relate or recollect, that I fairly believe no one of the whole party could have overtaken me, if these words, from one of the attendants, had not reached me, "Doctor Willis begs you to stop!" "I cannot! I cannot!" I answered, still flying on, when he called out, "You must, ma'am; it hurts the king to run." Then, indeed, I stopped--in a state of fear really amounting to agony. I turned round, I saw the two doctors had got the king between them, and three attendants of Dr. Willis's were hovering about. They all slackened their pace, as they saw me stand still; but such was the excess of my alarm, that I was wholly insensible to the effects of a race which, at any other time, would have required an hour's recruit. As they approached, some little presence of mind happily came to my command it occurred to me that, to appease the wrath of my flight, I must now show some confidence: I therefore faced them as undauntedly as I was able, only charging the nearest of the attendants to stand by my side. When they were within a few yards of me, the king called out, "Why did you run away?" Shocked at a question impossible to answer, yet a little Page 289 assured by the mild tone of his voice, I instantly forced myself forward, to meet him, though the internal sensation which satisfied me this was a step the most proper, to appease his suspicions and displeasure, was so violently combated by the tremor of my nerves, that I fairly think I may reckon it the greatest effort of personal courage-I have ever made. A ROYAL SALUTE AND ROYAL CONFIDENCES. The effort answered : I looked up, and met all his wonted benignity of countenance, though something still of wildness in his eyes. Think, however, of my surprise, to feel him put both his hands round my two shoulders, and then kiss my cheek ! * I wonder I did not really sink, so exquisite was my affright when I saw him spread out his arms! Involuntarily, I concluded he meant to crush me: but the Willises, who have never seen him till this fatal illness, not knowing how very extraordinary an action this was from him, simply smiled and looked pleased, supposing, perhaps, it was his customary salutation! I believe, however, it was but the joy of a heart unbridled, now, by the forms and proprieties of established custom and sober reason. To see any of his household thus by accident, seemed such a near approach to liberty and recovery, that who can wonder it should serve rather to elate than lessen what yet remains of his disorder! He now spoke in such terms of his pleasure in seeing me, that I soon lost the whole of my terror; astonishment to find him so nearly well, and gratification to see him so pleased, removed every uneasy feeling, and the joy that succeeded, in my conviction of his recovery, made me ready to throw myself at his feet to express it. What conversation followed! When he saw me fearless, he grew more and more alive, and made me walk close by his side, away from the attendants, and even the Willises themselves, who, to indulge him, retreated. I own myself not completely composed, but alarm I could entertain no more. Everything that came uppermost in his mind he mentioned; he seemed to have just such remains of his flightiness as heated his imagination without deranging his reason, and robbed him of all control over his speech, though nearly in his perfect state Of mind as to his opinions. What did he not say !--He opened Page 290 his whole heart to me,--expounded all his sentiments, and acquainted me with all his intentions. The heads of his discourse I must give you briefly, as I am sure you will be highly curious to hear them, and as no accident can render of much consequence what a man says in such a state of physical intoxication. He assured me he was quite well--as well as he had ever been in his life ; and then inquired how I did, and how I went on? and whether I was more comfortable? If these questions, in their implications, surprised me, imagine how that surprise must increase when he proceeded to explain them! He asked after the coadjutrix, laughing, and saying "Never mind her!--don't be oppressed--I am your friend! don't let her cast you down!--I know you have a hard time of it--but don't mind her!" Almost thunderstruck with astonishment, I merely curtsied to his kind "I am your friend," and said nothing. Then presently he added, "Stick to your father--stick to your own family--let them be your objects." How readily I assented! Again he repeated all I have just written, nearly in the same words, but ended it more seriously: He suddenly stopped, and held me to stop too, and putting his hand on his breast. in the most solemn manner, he gravely and slowly said, "I will protect you!-- I promise you that--and therefore depend upon me!" I thanked him ; and the Willises, thinking him rather too elevated, came to propose my walking on. "No, no, no!" he cried, a hundred times in a breath and their good humour prevailed, and they let him again walk on with his new Companion. He then gave me a history of his pages, animating almost into a rage, as he related his subjects of displeasure with them, particularly with Mr. Ernst, who he told me had been brought up by himself. I hope his ideas upon these men are the result of the mistakes of his malady. Then he asked me some questions that very greatly &stressed me, relating to information given him in his illness, from various motives, but which he suspected to be false, and which I knew he had reason to suspect: yet was It most dangerous to set anything right, as I was not aware what might be the views of their having been stated wrong. I was as discreet as I knew how to be, and I hope I did no mischief; but this was the worst part of the dialogue. Page 291 He next talked to me a great deal of my dear father, and made a thousand inquiries concerning his "History of Music." This brought him to his favourite theme, Handel; and he told me innumerable anecdotes of him, and particularly that celebrated tale of Handel's saying of himself, when a boy, "While that boy lives, my music will never want a protector." And this, he said, I might relate to my father. Then he ran over most of his oratorios, attempting to sing the subjects of several airs and choruses, but so dreadfully hoarse that the sound was terrible. Dr. Willis, quite alarmed at this exertion, feared he would do himself harm, and again proposed a separation. " "No! no! no!" he exclaimed, "not yet; I have something I must just mention first." Dr. Willis, delighted to comply, even when uneasy at compliance, again gave way. The good king then greatly affected me. He began upon my revered old friend, Mrs. Delany and he spoke of her with such warmth--such kindness! "She was my friend!" he cried, "and I loved her as a friend! I have made a memorandum when I lost her--I will show it YOU." He pulled out a pocket-book, and rummaged some time, but to no purpose. The tears stood in his eyes--he wiped them, and Dr. Willis again became very anxious. "Come, sir," he cried, "now do you come in and let the lady go on her walk,-come, now you have talked a long while,-so we'll go in,--if your majesty pleases." "No, no!" he cried, "I want to ask her a few questions ; --I have lived so long out of the world, I know nothing!" This touched me to the heart. We walked on together, and he inquired after various persons, particularly Mrs. Boscawen, because she was Mrs. Delany's friend! Then, for the same reason, after Mr. Frederick Montagu,(303) of whom he kindly said, "I know he has a great regard for me, for all he joined the opposition." Lord Grey de Wilton, Sir Watkin Wynn, the Duke of Beaufort, and various others, followed. He then told me he was very much dissatisfied with several of his state officers, and meant to form an entire new establishment. He took a paper out of his pocket-book, and showed me his new list. Page 292 This was the wildest thing that passed ; and Dr. John Willis now seriously urged our separating; but he would not consent he had only three more words to say, he declared, and again he conquered. He now spoke of my father, with still more kindness, and told me he ought to have had the post of master of the band, and not that little poor musician Parsons, who was not fit for it: "But Lord Salisbury," he cried, "used your father vary ill in that business, and so he did me! However, I have dashed out his name, and I shall put your father's in,--as soon as I get loose again!" This again--how affecting was this! "And what," cried he,"has your father got, at last? nothing but that poor thing at Chelsea?(304) O fie! fie! fie! But never mind! I will take care of him. I will do it myself!" Then presently he added, "As to Lord Salisbury, he is out already, as this memorandum will Show you, and so are many more. I shall be much better served and when once I get away, I shall rule with a rod of iron!" This was very unlike himself, and startled the two good doctors, who could not bear to cross him, and were exulting at seeing his great amendment, but yet grew quite uneasy at his earnestness and volubility. Finding we now must part, he stopped to take leave, and renewed again his charges about the coadjutrix. "Never mind her!" he cried, "depend upon me! I will be your friend as long as I live--I here pledge myself to be your friend!" And then he saluted me again just as at the meeting, and suffered me to go on. What a scene! how variously was I affected by it! but, upon the whole, how inexpressibly thankful to see him so nearly himself-- so little removed from recovery! CURIOSITY REGARDING Miss BURNEY'S MEETING WITH THE KING. I went very soon after to the queen to whom I was most eager to avow the meeting, and how little I could help it. Her astonishment, and her earnestness to hear every particular, were very great. I told her almost all. Some few things relating to the distressing questions I could not repeat nor Page 293 many things said of Mrs. Schwellenberg, which would much, very needlessly, have hurt her. This interview, and the circumstances belonging to it, excited general curiosity, and all the house watched for opportunities to beg a relation of it. How delighted was I to tell them all my happy prognostics! But the first to hasten to hear of it was Mr. Smelt; eager and enchanted was the countenance and attention of that truly loyal and most affectionate adherent to his old master. He wished me to see Lady Harcourt and the general, and to make them a brief relation of this extraordinary rencounter but for that I had not effort enough left. I did what I Could, however, to gratify the curiosity of Colonel Wellbred, which I never saw equally excited. I was passing him on the stairs, and he followed me, to say he had heard what had happened--I imagine from the Willises. I told him, with the highest satisfaction, the general effect produced upon my mind by the accident, that the king seemed so nearly, himself, that patience itself could have but little longer trial. He wanted to hear more particulars: I fancy the Willises had vaguely related some: "Did he not," he cried, "promise to do something for you?" I only laughed, and answered, "O yes! if you want any thing, apply to me;--now is my time!" Feb. 3.--I had the great happiness to be assured this morning, by both the Dr. Willises, that his majesty was by no means the worse for our long conference. Those good men are inexpressibly happy themselves in the delightful conviction given me, and by me spread about, of the near recovery of their royal patient. While I was dressing came Mr. Fairly: I could not admit him, but he said he would try again in the evening. I heard by the tone of his voice a peculiar eagerness, and doubted not he was apprized of my adventure. He came early, before I could leave my fair companion, and sent on Goter. I found him reading a new pamphlet of Horne Tooke: "How long," he cried, "it is since I have been here!" I was not flippantly disposed, or I would have said I had thought the time he spent away always short, by his avowed eagerness to decamp. He made so many inquiries of how I had gone on and what I had done since I saw him, that I was soon satisfied he was Page 294 not uninformed of yesterday's transaction. I told him so; he could not deny it, but wished to hear the whole from myself. I most readily complied. He listened with the most eager, nay, anxious attention, scarce breathing: he repeatedly ex_ claimed, when I had finished, "How I wish I had been there! how I should have liked to have seen you!" I assured him he would not wish that, if he knew the terror I had suffered. He was quite elated with the charges against Cerberic tyranny, and expressed himself gratified by the promises of favour and protection. THE REGENCY BILL. Feb. 6.-These last three days have been spent very unpleasantly indeed: all goes hardly and difficultly with my poor royal mistress. Yet his majesty is now, thank heaven, so much better, that he generally sees his gentlemen in some part of the evening; and Mr. Fairly, having no particular taste for being kept in waiting whole hours for this satisfaction of a few minutes, yet finding himself, if in the house, indispensably required to attend with the rest, has changed his Kew visits from nights to mornings. He brought me the "Regency Bill!"--I shuddered to hear it named. It was just printed, and he read it to me, with comments and explanations, which took up all our time, and in a manner, at present, the most deeply interesting in which it could be occupied. 'Tis indeed a dread event!--and how it may terminate who can say? My poor royal mistress is much disturbed. Her daughters behave like angels - they seem content to reside in this gloomy solitude for ever, if it prove of comfort to their mother, or mark their duteous affection for their father. INFINITELY LICENTIOUS! Feb. 9.-I now walk on the road-side, along the park-wall, every fair morning, as I shall venture no more into either of the gardens. In returning this morning, I was overtaken by Mr. Fairly, who rode up to me, and, dismounting, gave his horse to his groom, to walk on with me. About two hours after I was, however, surprised by a visit from him in my own room, He came, he said, only to ask Page 295 me a second time how I did, as he should be here now less and less, the king's amendment rendering his services of smaller and smaller importance. He brought me a new political parody of Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard," from Mr. Eden to Lord Hawkesbury. It is a most daring, though very clever imitation. It introduces many of the present household. Mrs. Schwellenberg is now in eternal abuse from all these scribblers; Lady Harcourt, and many others, less notorious to their attacks, are here brought forward. How infinitely licentious! MISS BURNEY IS TAXED WITH VISITING GENTLEMEN. Feb. 10.-The amendment of the king is progressive, and without any reasonable fear, though not without some few drawbacks. The Willis family were surely sent by heaven to restore peace, and health, and prosperity to this miserable house Lady Charlotte Finch called upon me two days ago, almost purposely, to inquire concerning the report of my young friend's marriage; and she made me promise to acquaint her when I received any further news: at noon, therefore, I went to her apartment at the Prince of Wales's, with this information. Mr. Fairly, I knew, was with the equerries in our lodge. Lady Charlotte had the Duchess of Beaufort and all the Fieldings with her, and therefore I only left a message, by no means, feeling spirits for encountering any stranger. At noon, when I attended her majesty, she inquired if I had walked?--Yes.--Where?--In Richmond gardens.--And nowhere else?-- No. She looked thoughtful,--and presently I recollected my intended visit to Lady Charlotte, and mentioned it. She cleared up, and said, "O!--you. went to Lady Charlotte?" "Yes, ma'am," I answered, thinking her very absent,--which I thought with sorrow, as that is so small a part of her character, that I know not I ever saw any symptom of it before. Nor, in fact, as I found afterwards, did I see it now. It was soon explained. Miss Gomme, Mlle. Montmoulin, and Miss Planta, all dined with Mrs. Schwellenberg to-day. The moment I joined them, Mrs. Schwellenberg called out,--"Pray, Miss Berner, for what visit you the gentlemen?" "Me?" "Yes, you,--and for what, I say?" Page 296 Amazed, I declared I did not know what she meant. "O," cried she, scoffingly, "that won't not do!--we all saw you,--princess royal the same,--so don't not say that." I stared,-and Miss Gomme burst out in laughter, and then Mrs. Schwellenberg added,--"For what go you over to the Prince of Wales his house?--nobody lives there but the gentlemen,--nobody others." I laughed too, now, and told her the fact. "O," cried she, "Lady Charlotte!--ver true. I had forgot Lady Charlotte!" "O, very well, imagine," cried I,--"so only the gentlemen were remembered!" I then found this had been related to the queen; and Mlle. Montmoulin said she supposed the visit had been to General Gordon!--He is the groom now in waiting. Then followed an open raillery from Mlle. Montmoulin of Mr. Fairly's visits; but I stood it very well, assuring her I should never seek to get rid of my two prison-visitors, Mr. Smelt and Mr. Fairly, till I Could replace them by better, or go abroad for others IMPROVEMENT IN THE KING'S, HEALTH. Feb. 14.-The king is infinitely better. O that there were patience in the land ! and this Regency Bill postponed Two of the princesses regularly, and in turn, attend their royal mother in her evening visits to the king. Some of those who stay behind now and then spend the time in Mrs. Schwellenberg's room. They all long for their turn of going to the king, and count the hours till it returns. Their dutiful affection is truly beautiful to behold. This evening the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary came into Mrs. Schwellenberg's room while I was yet there. They sang songs in two parts all the evening, and vary prettily in point of voice. Their good humour, however, and inherent condescension and sweetness of manners, would make a much worse performance pleasing. Feb. 16-All well, and the king is preparing for an interview with the chancellor Dr. Willis now confides in me all his schemes and notions; we are growing the best of friends and his son Dr. John is nearly as trusty. Excellent people! how I love and honour them all! I had a visit at noon from Mr. Fairly. He hastened to tell Page 297 me the joyful news that the king and queen were just gone out, to walk in Richmond gardens, arm in arm.--what a delight to all the house! When I came to tea, I found Mr. Fairly waiting in my room. He had left Kew for Richmond park, but only dined there. We had much discussion of state business. The king is SO much himself, that he is soon to be informed of the general situation of the kingdom. O what an information!--how we all tremble in looking forward to it., Mr. Fairly thinks Mr. Smelt the fittest man for this office; Mr. Smelt thinks the same of Mr. Fairly: both have told me this. MR. FAIRLY AND MR. WINDHAM. Mr. Fairly began soon to look at his watch, complaining very much of the new ceremony imposed, of this attendance of handing the Queen, which, he said, broke into his whole evening. Yet he does as little as possible. "The rest of them," he said, " think it necessary to wait in an adjoining apartment during the whole interview, to be ready to show themselves when it is over! He now sat with his watch in his hand, dreading to pass his time, but determined not to anticipate its occupation, till half past nine o'clock, when he drew on his white gloves, ready for action. But then, stopping short, he desired me to guess whom, amongst my acquaintance, he had met in London this last time of his going thither. I could not guess whom he meant--but I saw it was no common person, by his manner. He then continued--"A tall, thin, meagre, sallow, black-eyed, penetrating, keen-looking figure." I could still not guess,-and he named Mr. Windham. "Mr. Windham!" I exclaimed, "no, indeed,--you do not describe him fairly,-he merits better colouring." He accuses me of being very partial to him: however, I am angry enough with him just now, though firmly persuaded still, that whatever has fallen from him, that is wrong and unfeeling on the subject of the Regency, has been the effect of his enthusiastic friendship for Mr. Burke: for he has never risen, on this cruel business, but in Support of that most misguided of Vehement and wild orators. This I have observed in the debates, and felt that Mr. Burke was not more run away with by violence of temper, and passion, than Mr. Windham by excess of friendship and admiration. Page 298 Mr. Fairly has, I fancy, been very intimate with him, for he told me he observed he was passing him, in Queen Anne Street, and stopped his horse, to call out, "O ho, Windham! so I see you will not know me with this servant!" He was on business of the queen's, and had one of the royal grooms with him. Mr. Windham laughed, and said he was very glad to see who it was, for, on looking at the royal servant, he had just been going to make his lowest bow. "O, I thank you!" returned Mr. Fairly, "you took me, then, for the Duke of Cumberland," THE KING CONTINUES TO IMPROVE. Feb. 17.-The times are now most interesting and critical. Dr. Willis confided to me this morning that to-day the king is to see the chancellor. How important will be the result of his appearance!--the whole national fate depends upon it! Feb. 18.-I had this morning the highest gratification, the purest feelings of delight, I have been regaled with for many months: I saw, from the road, the king and queen, accompanied by Dr. Willis, walking in Richmond gardens, near the farm, arm in arm!-- It was a pleasure that quite melted me, after a separation so bitter, scenes so distressful-to witness such harmony and security! Heaven bless and preserve them was all I could incessantly say while I kept in their sight. I was in the carriage with Mrs. Schwellenberg at the time. They saw us also, as I heard afterwards from the queen. In the evening Mrs. Arline, Mrs. Schwellenberg's maid, came into Mrs. Schwellenberg's room, after coffee, and said to me, "If you please, ma'am, somebody wants you." I concluded this somebody my shoemaker, or the like; but in my room I saw Mr. Fairly. He was in high spirits. He had seen his majesty; Dr. Willis had carried him in. He was received with open arms, and embraced; he found nothing now remaining of the disorder, but too in much hurry of spirits. When he had related the particulars of the interview, he suddenly exclaimed, "How amazingly well you have borne all this!" I made some short answers, and would have taken-refuge in some other topic: but he seemed bent upon pursuing his own, and started various questions and surmises, to draw me on, In vain, however; I gave but general, or evasive answers, Page 299 THE KING'S HEALTH IS COMPLETELY RESTORED. This was a sweet, and will prove a most memorable day: Regency was put off, in the House of Lords, by a motion from the chancellor!--huzza! huzza! And this evening, for the first time, the king came upstairs, to drink tea with the queen and princesses in the drawing-room! My heart was so full of joy and thankfulness, I could hardly breathe! Heaven--heaven be praised! What a different house is this house become!--sadness and terror, that wholly occupied it so lately, are now flown away, or rather are now driven out ; and though anxiety still forcibly prevails, 'tis in so small a proportion to joy and thankfulness, that it is borne as if scarce an ill! Feb. 23.-This morning opened wofully to me, though gaily to the house; for as my news of his majesty was perfectly comfortable, I ventured, in direct words, to ask leave to receive my dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Locke, who were now in town:--in understood sentences, and open looks, I had already failed again and again. My answer was-" I have no particular objection, only you'll keep them to your room." Heavens!--did they ever, unsummoned, quit it? or have they any wish to enlarge their range of visit? I was silent, and then heard a history of some imprudence in Lady Effingham, who had received some of her friends. My resolution, upon this, I need not mention: I preferred the most lengthened absence to such a permission. But I felt it acutely! and I hoped, at least, that by taking no steps, something more favourable might soon pass. . . . The king I have seen again in the queen's dressing-room. On opening the door, there he stood! He smiled at my start, and saying he had waited on purpose to see me, added, "I am quite well now,--I was nearly so when I saw you before, but I could overtake you better now." And then he left the room. I was quite melted with joy and thankfulness at this so entire restoration. End of February, 1789. Dieu merci! (294) Physician-in-ordinary to the king-ED. (295) Her tragedy of "Edwy and Elgiva," which was produced at Drury Lane in 1795. See note ante, vol. i., p. xlv.--ED. (296) The "Douglas cause" was one of the causes celebres of its tine. Its history is briefly as follows. In 1746 Lady Jane Douglas married Sir John Stewart. At Paris, in July, 1748, she gave birth to twins, Archibald and Sholto, of whom the latter died an infant. Lady Jane herself died in 1753. The surviving child, Archibald, was always recognized as their son by Lady Jane and Sir John. In 1760 the Duke of Douglas, the brother of Lady Jane, being childless, recognised his sister's son as his heir, and bequeathed to him by will the whole of the Douglas estates, revoking, for that purpose, a previous testament which he had made in favour of the Hamilton family. The Duke died in 1761, and Archibald, who had assumed his mother's, name of Douglas, duly succeeded to the estates. His right, however, Was disputed at law by the Duke of Hamilton, on the pretence, which he sought to establish, that Archibald Douglas was not in fact the son of his reputed mother. The Lords of Session in Scotland decided in favour of the Duke of Hamilton, whereupon Mr. Douglas appealed to the House of Lords, which reversed the decision of the Scottish court (February 2-, 1769), 1, "thereby confirming to Mr. Douglas his Filiation and his Fortune."-ED. (297) "Miss Fuzilier," the Diary-name for Miss Gunning, whom Colonel Digby did subsequently marry. "Sir R- F-" is her father, Sir Robert Gunning.-ED, (298) One of the apothecaries to the royal household.-ED. (299) Dr. Richard Warren, one of the physicians in ordinary to the king and the Prince of Wales.-ED. (300) The Lord chancellor Thurlow.-ED. (301) Mrs. Elizabeth Carter's "Ode to Wisdom," printed in "Clarissa Harlowe" (vol. ii., letter x.), with a musical setting, given as the composition of Clarisa herself. The Ode is by no means without merit of a modest kind, but can scarcely be ranked the production of a genuine poet.-ED. (302) "Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle," a novel in four volumes, by Charlotte Smith. Published 1788.-ED. (303) Mr. Frederick Montagu was not only a member of the opposition but One of the managers of the impeachment of Warren Hastings.-ED. (304) Burke's last act before quitting office at the close of 1783, had been to procure for Dr. Burney the post of organist to Chelsea hospital, to which was attached a salary of fifty pounds a year.-ED. Page 300 SECTION 15. (1789-) THE KING'S RECOVERY: ROYAL VISIT To WEYMOUTH. THE KING'S REAPPEARANCE. Kew Palace, Sunday, March 1.-What a pleasure was mine this morning! how solemn, but how grateful! The queen gave me the "Prayer of Thanksgiving" upon the king's recovery. It was this morning read in all the churches throughout the metropolis, and by this day week it will reach every church in the kingdom. It kept me in tears all the morning,--that such a moment should actually arrive! after fears so dreadful, scenes so terrible. The queen gave me a dozen to distribute among the female servants: but I reserved one of them for dear Mr. Smelt, who took it from me in speechless extacy--his fine and feeling eyes swimming in tears of joy. There is no describing--and I will not attempt it--the fullness, the almost overwhelming fullness of this morning's thankful feelings! I had the great gratification to see the honoured object of this joy, for a few minutes, in the queen's dressing-room. He was all calmness and benevolent graciousness. I fancied my strong emotion had disfigured me; or perhaps the whole of this long confinement and most affecting winter may have somewhat marked my countenance; for the king presently said to me, "Pray, are you quite well to-day?" " I think not quite, sir," I answered, Page 301 "She does not look well," said he to the queen; "she looks a little yellow, I think." How kind, to think of anybody and their looks, at this first moment of reappearance! AN AIRING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. Wednesday, March 4.-A message from Mrs. Schwellenberg this morning, to ask me to air with her, received my most reluctant acquiescence; for the frost is so severe that any air, without exercise, is terrible to me; though, were her atmosphere milder, the rigour of the season I might not regard. When we came to the passage the carriage was not ready. She murmured most vehemently; and so bitterly cold was I, I could heartily have joined, had it answered any purpose. In this cold passage we waited in this miserable manner a full quarter of an hour; Mrs. Schwellenberg all the time scolding the servants, threatening them With exile, sending message after message, repining, thwarting, and contentious. Now we were to go, and wait in the king's rooms--now in the gentlemen's--now in Dr. Willis's--her own--and this, in the end, took place. In our way we encountered Mr. Fairly. He asked where we were going. "To my own parlour!" she answered. He accompanied us in; and, to cheer the gloom, seized some of the stores of Dr. Willis,--sandwiches, wine and water, and other refreshments,--and brought them to us, one after another in a sportive manner, recommending to us to break through common rules, on such an occasion, and eat and drink to warm ourselves. Mrs. Schwellenberg stood in stately silence, and bolt upright, scarce deigning to speak even a refusal; till, upon his saying, while he held a glass of wine in his hand, "Come, ma'am, do something eccentric for once--it will warm you," she angrily answered, "You been reely--what you call--too much hospital!" Neither of us could help laughing. "Yes," cried he, "with the goods of others;--that makes a wide difference in hospitality!" Then he rattled away upon the honours the room had lately received, of having had Mr. Pitt, the Chancellor, Archbishop of Canterbury, etc., to wait in it. This she resented highly, as seeming to think it more honoured in her absence than presence. Page 302 At length we took our miserable airing, in which I was treated with as much fierce harshness as if I was being conveyed to some place of confinement for the punishment Of some dreadful offence! She would have the glass down on my side; the piercing wind cut my face; I put my muff up to it: this incensed her so much, that she vehemently declared "she never, no never would trobble any won to air with her again but go always selfs."--And who will repine at that? thought I. Yet by night I had caught a violent cold, which flew to my face, and occasioned me dreadful pain. March 10.-I have been in too much pain to write these last five days; and I became very feverish, and universally ill, affected with the fury of the cold. My royal mistress, who could not but observe me very unwell, though I have never omitted my daily three attendances, which I have performed with a difficulty all but insurmountable, concluded I had been guilty of some imprudence: I told the simple fact of the glass,--but quite simply, and without one circumstance. She instantly said she was surprised I could catch cold in an airing, as it never appeared that it disagreed with me when I took it with Mrs. Delany. "No, ma'am," I immediately answered, "nor with Mrs, Locke; nor formerly with Mrs. Thrale:--but they left me the regulation of the glass on my own side to myself; or, if they interfered, it was to draw it up for me." This I could not resist. I can be silent; but when challenged to speak at all, it must be plain truth. I had no answer. Illness here--till of late--has been so unknown, that it is commonly supposed it must be wilful, and therefore meets little notice, till accompanied by danger, or incapacity of duty. This is by no means from hardness of heart-far otherwise ; there is no hardness of heart in any one of them ; but it is prejudice and want of personal experience. ILLUMINATIONS ON THE KING's RECOVERY. March 10.-This was a day of happiness indeed!---a day of such heartfelt public delight as Could not but suppress all private disturbance. The general illumination of all London proved the universal joy of a thankful and most affectionate people, who have shown so largely, on this trying occasion, how well they merited the monarch thus benignantly preserved. Page 303 The queen, from the privy purse, gave private orders for a Splendid illumination at this palace.(305) The King-- Providence--Health--and Britannia, were displayed with elegant devices; the queen and princesses, all but the youngest, went to town to see the illumination there; and Mr. Smelt was to conduct the surprise.--It was magnificently beautiful. When it was lighted and prepared, the Princess Amelia went to lead her papa to the front window: but first she dropped on -her knees, and presented him a paper with these lines-which, at the queen's desire, I had scribbled in her name, for the happy occasion:-- TO THE KING. Amid a rapt'rous nation's praise That sees Thee to their prayers restor'd, Turn gently from the gen'ral blaze,-- Thy Charlotte woos her bosom's lord. Turn and behold where, bright and clear, Depictur'd with transparent art, The emblems of her thoughts appear, The tribute of a grateful heart. O! small the tribute, were it weigh'd With all she feels--or half she owes! But noble minds are best repaid >From the pure spring whence bounty flows. PS. The little bearer begs a kiss >From dear papa for bringing this. I need not, I think, tell you, the little bearer begged not in vain. The king was extremely pleased. He came into a room belonging to the princesses, in which we had a party to look at the illuminations, and there he stayed above an hour; cheerful, composed, and gracious! all that could merit the great national testimony to his worth this day paid him. MR FAIRLY ON MISS BURNEY's DUTIES. Windsor, March 18.-A little rap announced Mr. Fairly, who came in, saying, "I am escaped for a little while, to have some quiet conversation with you, before the general assemblage and storm of company." He then gravely said, "Tomorrow I shall take leave of you--for a long time Page 304 He intended setting off to-morrow morning for town, by the opportunity of the equerries' coach, which would convey him to Kew, where his majesty was to receive an address. He told me, with a good deal of humour, that he suspected me of being rather absent in my official occupation, from little natural care about toilettes and such things. I could not possibly deny this,--on the contrary, I owned I had, at first, found my attention unattainable, partly from flutter and embarrassment, and partly from the reasons he so discerningly assigned. "I have even," I added, "and not seldom, handed her fan before her gown, and her gloves before her cap but I am better in all that now!" "I should think all that very likely," cried he, smiling; "yet it is not very trifling with her majesty, who is so exact and precise, such things seem to her of moment." This is truth itself. I said, "No,--she is more gracious, more kind, indeed, to me than ever: she scarce speaks, scarce turns to me without a smile." " Well," cried he, extremely pleased, "this must much soften your employment and confinement. And, indeed, it was most natural to expect this time of distress should prove a cement." A VISIT FROM MISS FUZILIER. I think I need not mention meeting my beloved Fredy in town, on our delightful excursion thither for the grand restoration Drawing-room, in which the queen received the compliments and congratulations of almost all the Court part of the nation. Miss Cambridge worked me, upon this occasion, a suit, in silks upon tiffany, most excessively delicate and pretty, and much admired by her majesty. All I shall mention of this town visit is, that, the day after the great Drawing-room, Miss Fuzilier, for the first time since I have been in office, called upon me to inquire after the queen. Miss Tryon, and Mrs. Tracey, and Mrs. Fielding were with her. She looked serious, sensible, interesting. I thought instantly of the report concerning Mr. Fairly, and of his disavowal : but it was singular that the only time she opened her mouth to speak was to name him! Miss Tryon, who chatted incessantly, had spoken of the great confusion at the Drawing-room, from the crowd: "It was intended to be better regulated," said Miss Page 305 F., "Mr. Fairly told me." She dropped her eye the moment she had spoken his name. After this, as before it, she said nothing. . . . Mr. George Villiers, a younger brother of Lord Clarendon, was now here as groom of the bedchamber. He is very clever, somewhat caustigue, but so loyal and vehement in the king's cause, that he has the appellation, from his party, of "The Tiger." He would not obtain it for his person, which is remarkably slim, slight, and delicate. A COMMAND FROM HER MAJESTY. Kew, April, 1789. My dearest friends, - I have her majesty's commands to inquire--whether you have any of a certain breed of poultry? N.B. What breed I do not remember. And to say she has just received a small group of the same herself. N.B. The quantity I have forgotten. And to add, she is assured they are something very rare and scarce, and extraordinary and curious. N.B. By whom she was assured I have not heard. And to subjoin, that you must send word if you have any of the same sort. N.B. How you are to find that out, I cannot tell. And to mention, as a corollary, that, if you have none of them, and should like to have some, she has a cock and a hen she can spare, and will appropriate them to Mr. Locke and my dearest Fredy. This conclusive stroke so pleased and exhilarated me, that forthwith I said you would both be enchanted, and so forgot all the preceding particulars. And I said, moreover, that I knew you would rear them, and cheer them, and fondle them like your children. So now-pray write a very fair answer fairly, in fair hand, and to her fair purpose. COLONEL MANNERS MYSTIFIES MRS. SCHWELLENBERG. Queen's Lodge, Windsor, April.-Mrs. Schwellenberg is softened into nothing but civility and courtesy to me. To what the change is owing I cannot conjecture; but I do all that in me lies Page 306 to support it, preferring the entire sacrifice of every moment, from our dinner to twelve at night, to her harshness and horrors. Nevertheless, a lassitude of existence creeps sensibly upon me. Colonel Manners, however, for the short half-hour of tea-time, is irresistibly diverting. He continues my constant friend and neighbour, and, while he affects to play off the coadjutrix to advantage, he nods at me, to draw forth my laughter or approbation, with the most alarming undisguise. I often fear her being affronted ; but naturally she admires him very much for his uncommon share of beauty, and makes much allowance for his levity. However, the never-quite-comprehended affair of the leather bed-cover,(306) has in some degree intimidated her ever since, as she constantly apprehends that, if he were provoked, he would play her some trick. He had been at White's ball, given in town upon his majesty's recovery. We begged some account of it: he ranted away with great fluency, uttering little queer sarcasms at Mrs, Schwellenberg by every opportunity, and colouring when he had done, with private fear of enraging her. This, however, she suspected not, or all his aim had been lost; for to alarm her is his delight. "I liked it all," he said, in summing up his relation, "very well, except the music, and I like any caw-caw-caw, better than that sort of noise,--only you must not tell the king I say that, ma'am, because the king likes it." She objected to the words " must not," and protested she would not be directed by no one, and would tell it, if she pleased. Upon this, he began a most boisterous threatening of the evil consequences which would accrue to herself, though in so ludicrous a manner, that how she could suppose him serious was my wonder. "Take care of yourself, ma'am," he cried, holding up his finger as if menacing a child; "take care of yourself! I am not to be provoked twice!" This, after a proud resistance, conquered her - and, really frightened at she knew not what, she fretfully exclaimed, "Ver well, sir!--I wish I had not come down! I won't no more! you might have your tea when you can get It." Returning to his account, he owned he had been rather a little musical himself for once, which was when they all sang "God save the king," after the supper; for then he joined in Page 307 the chorus, as well and as loud as any of them, "though some of the company," he added, "took the liberty to ask me not to be so loud, because they pretended I was out of tune; but it was In such a good cause that I did not mind that." She was no sooner recovered than the attack became personal again; and so it has continued ever since: he seems bent upon "playing her off" in all manners; he braves her, then compliments her, assents to her opinion, and the next moment contradicts her; pretends uncommon friendship for her, and then laughs in her face. But his worst manoeuvre is a perpetual application to me, by looks and sly glances, which fill me with terror of passing for an accomplice; and the more, as I find it utterly impossible to keep grave during these absurdities. And yet, the most extraordinary part of the story is that she really likes him! though at times she is so angry, she makes vows to keep to her own room. Mr. George Villiers, with far deeper aim, sneers out his own more artful satire, but is never understood ; while Colonel Manners domineers with so high a hand, he carries all before him; and whenever Mrs. Schwellenberg, to lessen her mortification, draws me into the question, he instantly turns off whatever she begins into some high-flown compliment, so worded also as to convey some comparative reproach. This offends more than all. When she complains to me of him, in his absence, I answer he is a mere schoolboy, for mischief, without serious design of displeasing: but she tells me she sees he means to do her some harm, and she will let the king know, if he goes on at that rate, for she does not choose such sort of familiarness. Once she apologised suddenly for her English, and Colonel Manners said, "O, don't mind that, ma'am, for I take no particular notice as to your language." "But," says she, "Miss Berner might tell me, when I speak it sometimes not quite right, what you call." "O dear no, ma'am!" exclaimed he; "Miss Burney is of too mild a disposition for that: she could not correct you strong enough to do you good." "Oh!-ver well, sir!" she cried, confounded by his effrontery. One day she lamented she had been absent when there was so much agreeable company in the house; "And now," she Page 308 added, "now that I am comm back, here is nobody.--not one!--no society!" . He protested this was not to be endured, and told her that to reckon all us nobody was so bad, he should resent it. "What will you do, my good colonel?" she cried. "O ma'am, do?--I will tell Dr. Davis." "And who bin he?" "Why, he's the master of Eton school, ma'am," with a thundering bawl in her ears, that made her stop them. "No, sir!" she cried, indignantly, "I thank you for that, I won't have no Dr. schoolmaster, what you call! I bin too old for that." "But, ma'am, he shall bring you a Latin oration upon this subject, and you must hear it!" "O, 'tis all the same! I shan't not understand it, so I won't not hear it." "But you must, ma'am. If I write it, I shan't let you off so:-- you must hear it!" "No, I won't!--Miss Berner might,--give it her." "Does Miss Burney know Latin?" cried Mr. G. Villiers. "Not one word," quoth I. "I believe that cried she "but she might hear it the sam!" THE SAILOR PRINCE. On the 2nd of May I met Colonel Manners, waiting at the corner of a passage leading towards the queen's apartments. "Is the king, ma'am," he cried, "there? because Prince William(307) is come." I had heard he was arrived in town,-and with much concern, since it was without leave of the king. It was in the illness, indeed, of the king he sailed to England, and when he had probably all the excuse of believing his royal father incapable of further governance. How did I grieve for the feelings of that royal father, in this idea! yet it certainly offers for Prince William his best apology. In the evening, while Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mrs. Zachary and myself were sitting in the eating parlour, the door was suddenly opened by Mr. Alberts, the queen's page, and "prince William" was announced. He came to see Mrs. Schwellenberg. He is handsome, as Page 309 are all the royal family, though he is not of a height to be called a good figure. He looked very hard at the two strangers, but made us all sit, very civilly, and drew a chair for himself, and began to discourse with the most unbounded openness and careless ease, of everything that Occurred to him. Mrs. Schwellenberg said she had pitied him for the grief he must have felt at the news of the king's illness : "Yes," cried he, "I was very sorry, for his majesty, very sorry indeed, -no man loves the king better ; of that be assured. but all sailors love their king. And I felt for the queen, too,--I did, faith. I was horridly agitated when I saw the king first. I could hardly stand." Then Mrs. Schwellenberg suddenly said, "Miss Berner, now you might see his royal highness; you wanted it so moch, and now you might do it. Your royal highness, that is Miss Berner." He rose very civilly, and bowed, to this strange freak of an introduction; and, of course, I rose and Curtsied low, and waited his commands to sit again; which were given instantly, with great courtesy. "Ma'am," cried he, "you have a brother in the service?" "Yes, sir," I answered, much pleased with this professional attention. He had not, he civilly said, the pleasure to know him, but he had heard of him. Then, turning suddenly to Mrs. Schwellenberg, "Pray," cried he, " what is become of Mrs.--Mrs.--Mrs. Hogentot?" "O, your royal highness!" cried she, stifling much offence, "do you mean the poor Haggerdorn?--O your royal highness! have you forgot her?" "i have, upon my word!" cried he, plumply "upon my soul, I have!" Then turning again to me, "I am very happy, ma'am," he cried, "to see you here; it gives me great pleasure the queen should appoint the sister of a sea-officer to so eligible a situation. As long as she has a brother in the service, ma'am,, cried he to Mrs. Schwellenberg, "I look upon her as one of us. O, faith I do! I do indeed! she is one of the corps." Then he said he had been making acquaintance with a new princess, one he did not know nor remember-Princess Amelia. "Mary, too,"-- he said, "I had quite forgot; and they did not tell me who she was; so I went up to her, and, without in the least recollecting her, she's so monstrously grown, I said, 'Pray, ma'am, are you one of the attendants?'" Princess Sophia is his professed favourite. "I have had the Page 310 honour," he cried, "of about an hour's conversation with that young lady, in the old style; though I have given up my mad frolics now. To be sure, I had a few in that style formerly; upon my word I am almost ashamed;--Ha! ha! ha!" Then, recollecting particulars, he laughed vehemently; but Mrs. Schwellenberg eagerly interrupted his communications. I fancy some of them might have related to our own sacred person! "Augusta," he said "looks very well,--a good face and countenance,--she looks interesting,--she looks as if she knew more than she Would say; and I like that character." He stayed a full hour, chatting in this good-humoured and familiar manner. LOYAL RECEPTION OF THE KING IN THE NEW FOREST. Thursday, June 25.-This morning I was called before five o'clock, though various packages and business had kept me up till near three. The day was rainy, but the road was beautiful; Windsor great park, in particular, is charming. The crowds increased as we advanced, and at Winchester the town was one head. I saw Dr. Warton, but could not stop the carriage. The king was everywhere received with acclamation. His popularity is greater than ever. Compassion for his late sufferings seems to have endeared him now to all conditions of men. At Romsey, on the steps of the town-hall, an orchestra was formed, and a band of musicians, in common brown coarse cloth and red neckcloths, and even in carters' loose gowns, made a chorus of "God save the king," In which the countless multitude joined, in such loud acclamation, that their loyalty and heartiness, and natural joy, almost surprised me into a sob before I knew myself at all affected by them. The New Forest Is all beauty, and when we approached Lyndhurst the crowds wore as picturesque an appearance as the landscapes ; They were all in decent attire, and, the great space giving them full room, the cool beauty of the verdure between the groups took away all idea of inconvenience, and made their live gaiety a scene to joy beholders. Carriages of all sorts lined the road-side :-chariots, chaises, landaus, carts, waggons, whiskies, gigs, phatons--mixed and intermixed, filled Within and surrounded without by faces all glee and delight. Page 311 Such was the scenery for miles before we reached Lyndhurst. The old law of the forest, that his majesty must be presented with two milk-white greyhounds, peculiarly decorated, upon his entrance into the New Forest, gathered together multitudes to see the show. A party, also, of foresters, habited in green, and each with a bugle-horn, met his majesty at the same time. Arrived at Lyndhurst, we drove to the Duke of Gloucester's. The royal family were just before us, but the two colonels came and handed us through the crowd. The house, intended for a mere hunting-seat, was built by Charles II., and seems quite unimproved and unrepaired from its first foundation. It is the king's, but lent to the Duke of Gloucester. It is a straggling, inconvenient, old house, but delightfully situated, in a village,--looking, indeed, at present, like a populous town, from the amazing concourse of people that have crowded into it. The bow-men and archers and bugle-horns are to attend the king while he stays here, in all his rides. The Duke of Gloucester was ready to receive the royal family, who are all in the highest spirits and delight. I have a small old bed-chamber, but a large and commodious parlour, in which the gentlemen join Miss Planta and me to breakfast and to drink tea. They dine at the royal table. We are to remain here some days. During the king's dinner, which was in a parlour looking into the garden, he permitted the people to come to the window; and their delight and rapture in seeing their monarch at table, with the evident hungry feeling it occasioned, made a contrast of admiration and deprivation, truly comic. They crowded, however, so excessively, that this can be permitted them no more. They broke down all the paling, and much of the hedges, and some of the windows, and all by eagerness and multitude, for they were perfectly civil and well-behaved. In the afternoon the royal party came into my parlour; and the moment the people saw the star, they set up such a shout as made a ring all around the village; for my parlour has the same view with the royal rooms into the garden, where this crowd was assembled, and the new rapture was simply at seeing the king in a new apartment! They all walked out, about and around the village, in the evening, and the delighted mob accompanied them. The Page 312 moment they stepped out of the house, the people, With voice, struck up "God save the king!" I assure you I cried like a child twenty times in the day, at the honest and rapturous effusions of such artless and disinterested loyalty. The king's illness and recovery make me tender, as Count Mannuccia said, upon every recollection. These good villagers continued singing this loyal song during the whole walk, without any intermission, except to shout "huzza!" at the end of every stanza. They returned so hoarse, that I longed to give them all some lemonade. Probably they longed for something they would have called better! 'Twas well the king could walk no longer; I think, if he had, they would have died singing around him. June 30.-We continued at Lyndhurst five days and the tranquillity of the life, and the beauty of the country, would have made it very regaling to me indeed, but for the fatigue of having no maid, yet being always in readiness to play the part of an attendant myself. I went twice to see the house of Sir Phillip Jennings Clerke, my old acquaintance at Streatham. I regretted he was no more; he would so much have prided and rejoiced in shewing his place. His opposition principles would not have interfered with that private act of duty from a subject to a sovereign. How did I call to mind Mrs. Thrale, upon this spot! not that I had seen it with her, or ever before; but that its late owner was one of her sincerest admirers. Miss Planta and myself drove also to Southampton, by the queen's direction. It is a pretty clean town, and the views from the Southampton water are highly picturesque : but all this I had seen to far greater advantage, with Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Thrale. Ah, Mrs. Thrale!--In thinking her over, as I saw again the same spot, how much did I wish to see with it the same--once so dear-- companion! On the Sunday we all went to the parish church ; and after the service, instead of a psalm, imagine our surprise to hear the whole congregation join in "God save the king!" Misplaced as this was in a church, its intent was so kind, loyal, and affectionate, that I believe there was not a dry eye amongst either singers or hearers. The king's late dreadful illness has rendered this song quite melting to me. This day we quitted Lyndhurst; not without regret, for so private is its situation, I could stroll about in its beautiful neighbourhood quite alone. Page 313 THE ROYAL JOURNEY TO WEYMOUTH. The journey to Weymouth was one scene of festivity and rejoicing. The people were everywhere collected, and everywhere delighted. We passed through Salisbury, where a magnificent arch was erected, of festoons of flowers, for the king's carriage to pass under, and mottoed with "The king restored," and "Long live the king," in three divisions. The green bowmen accompanied the train thus far; and the clothiers and manufacturers here met it, dressed out in white loose frocks, flowers, and ribbons, with sticks or caps emblematically decorated from their several manufactories. And the acclamations with which the king was received amongst them--it was a rapture past description. At Blandford there was nearly the same ceremony. At every gentleman's seat which we passed, the owners and their families stood at the gate, and their guests Or neighbours were in carriages all round. At Dorchester the crowd seemed still increased. The city had so antique an air, I longed to investigate its old buildings. The houses have the most ancient appearance of any that are inhabited that I have happened to see: and inhabited they were indeed! every window-sash was removed, for face above face to peep Out, and every old balcony and all the leads of the houses seemed turned into booths for fairs. It seems, also, the most populous town I have seen; I judge by the concourse of the young and middle-aged--those we saw everywhere alike, as they may gather together from all quarters-but from the amazing quantity of indigenous residers; old women and young children. There seemed families of ten or twelve of the latter in every house; and the old women were so numerous, that they gave the whole scene the air of a rural masquerade. Girls, with chaplets, beautiful young creatures, strewed the entrance of various villages with flowers. WELCOME TO WEYMOUTH. Gloucester House, which we now inhabit, at Weymouth, is Situated in front of the sea, and the sands of the bay before it are perfectly smooth and soft. The whole town, and Melcomb Regis, and half the county of Dorset, seemed assembled to welcome their majesties. I have here a very good parlour, but dull, from its aspect. Page 314 Nothing but the sea at Weymouth affords any life Or Spirit. My bed-room is in the attics. Nothing like living at a Court for exaltation. Yet even with this gratification, which extends to Miss Planta, the house will only hold the females of the party. The two adjoining houses are added, for the gentlemen, an(] the pages, and some other of the suite, cooks, etc.--but the footmen are obliged to lodge still farther off. The bay is very beautiful, after its kind; a peninsula shuts out Portland island and the broad ocean. The king, and queen, and princesses, and their suite, walked out in the evening; an immense crowd attended them--sailors bargemen, mechanics, countrymen; and all united with so vociferous a volley of "God save the king," that the noise was stunning. At near ten o'clock Lord Courtown came into my parlour, as it is called, and said the town was all illuminated, and invited Miss Planta and me to a walk upon the sands. Their majesties were come in to supper. We took a stroll under his escort, and found it singularly beautiful, the night being very fine, and several boats and small vessels lighted up, and in motion upon the sea. The illumination extended through Melcomb Regis and Weymouth. Gloucester-row, in which we live, is properly in Melcomb Regis; but the two towns join each other, and are often confounded. The preparations of festive loyalty were universal. Not a child could we meet that had not a bandeau round its head, cap, or hat, of "God save the king;" all the bargemen wore it in cockades and even the bathing-women had it in large coarse girdles round their waists. It is printed in golden letters upon most of the bathing-machines, and in various scrolls and devices it adorns every shop and almost every house in the two towns. THE ROYAL PLUNGE WITH MUSICAL HONOURS. "YOU MUST KNEEL, SIR!" Gloucester House, Weymouth, Wednesday, July 9.-We are settled here comfortably enough. Miss Planta and I breakfast as well as dine together alone; the gentlemen have a breakfast parlour in the adjoining house, and we meet only at tea, and seldom then. They have all acquaintance here, in this Gloucester-row, and stroll from the terrace or the sands, to visit them during the tea vacation time. Page 315.' I like this much: I see them just enough to keep up sociability, without any necessary constraint; for I attend the tea-table only at my own hour, and they come, or not, according to chance or their convenience. The king bathes, and with great success; a machine follows the royal one into the sea, filled with fiddlers, who play "God save the king," as his majesty takes his plunge! I am delighted with the soft air and soft footing upon the sands, and stroll up and down them morning, noon, and night. As they are close before the house, I can get to and from them in a moment. Her majesty has graciously hired a little maid between Miss Planta and me, who comes for the day. We have no accommodation for her sleeping here; but it is an unspeakable relief to our personal fatigues. Dr. Gisburne is here, to attend his majesty; and the queen has ordered me to invite him to dine at my table. He comes regularly. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Gloucester Rowe, Weymouth, July 13, 1789. My dearest padre's kind letter was most truly welcome to me. When I am so distant, the term of absence or of silence seems always doubly long to me. The bay here is most beautiful; the sea never rough, generally calm and gentle, and the sands perfectly smooth and pleasant. I have not bathed, for I have had a cold in my head, which I caught at Lyndhurst, and which makes me fear beginning; but I have hopes to be well enough to-morrow, and thenceforward to ail nothing more. It is my intention to cast away all superfluous complaints into the main ocean, which I think quite sufficiently capacious to hold them ; and really my little frame will find enough to carry and manage without them. . . . His majesty is in delightful health, and much-improved spirits. All agree he never looked better. The loyalty of all this place is excessive; they have dressed out every street with labels of "God save the king:" all the shops have it over the doors: all the children wear it in their caps, all the labourers in their hats, and all the sailors in their voices, for they never approach the house without shouting it aloud, nor see the king, or his shadow, without beginning to huzza, and going on to three cheers. Page 316 The bathing-machines make it their motto over the windows; and those bathers that belong to the royal dippers wear it in bandeaus on their bonnets, to go into the sea; and have it again, in large letters, round their waists, to encounter the waves. Flannel dresses, tucked up, and no shoes nor stockings, with bandeaus and girdles, have a most singular appearance, and when first I surveyed these loyal nymphs it was with some difficulty I kept my features in order. Nor is this all. Think but Of the Surprise of his majesty when, the first time of his bathing, he had no sooner popped his royal head under water than a band of music, concealed in a neighbouring machine, struck up "God save great George our king." One thing, however, was a little unlucky ,--when the mayor and burgesses came with the address, they requested leave to kiss hands: this was graciously accorded; but, the mayor advancing, in a common way, to take the queen's hand, as he might that of any lady mayoress, Colonel Gwynn, who stood by, whispered, "You must kneel, sir!" He found, however, that he took no notice of this hint, but kissed the queen's hand erect. As he passed him, in his way back, the colonel Said, "You should have knelt, Sir!" "Sir," answered the poor mayor, "I cannot." "Everybody does, sir." "Sir,--I have a wooden leg!" Poor man! 'twas such a surprise! and such an excuse as no one could dispute. But the absurdity of the matter followed--all the rest did the same; taking the same privilege, by the example, without the same or any cause! ROYAL DOINGS IN AND ABOUT WEYMOUTH. July 15.-The Magnificent, a man-of-war Of 74 guns, commanded by an old captain of James's (Onslow), is now stationed at the entrance of the bay, for the security at once and pleasure of the king; and a fine frigate, the Southampton, Captain Douglas, is nearer in, and brought for the king to cruise about. Captain Douglas is nephew to Sir Andrew Snape Hammond, who married a cousin of our Mr. Crisp. The king and royal party have been to visit the frigate. Miss Planta and myself went to see the ceremony from a place called the Look-out,--a beautiful spot. But I have not much taste for sea receptions and honours: the firing a salute is SO strange a mode of hospitality and politeness. . . . Page 317 Mrs. Gwynn(308) is arrived, and means to spend the royal season here. She lodges at the hotel just by, and we have met several times. She is very soft and pleasing, and still as beautiful as an angel. We have had two or three long tête-Š- têtes and talked over, with great pleasure, anecdotes Of Our former mutual acquaintances--Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mrs. Thrale, Baretti, Miss Reynolds, Miss Palmer, and her old admirer, Dr. Goldsmith, of whom she relates--as who does not?--a thousand ridiculous traits. The queen is reading Mrs. Piozzi's tour(309) to me, instead of my reading it to her. She loves reading aloud, and in this work finds me an able commentator. How like herself, how characteristic is every line--Wild, entertaining, flighty, inconsistent, and clever! July 16.-Yesterday we all wen to the theatre. The king has taken the centre front box for himself, family, and attendants. The side boxes are too small. The queen ordered places for Miss Planta and me, which are in the front row of a box next but one to the royals. Thus, in this case, Our want of rank to be in their public suite gives us better seats than those high enough to stand behind them, Lady Sydney, Lady Courtown's sister, and Miss Townshend, her daughter, are in the intermediate box, and were very sociable. I have met them here occasionally, and like them very well. 'Tis a pretty little theatre: but its entertainment was quite in the barn style a mere medley,--songs, dances, imitations,- and all very bad. But Lord Chesterfield, who is here, and who seems chief director, promises all will be better. This morning the royal party went to Dorchester, and I strolled upon the sands with Mrs. Gwynn. We overtook a lady, of a very majestic port and demeanour, who solemnly returned Mrs. Gwynn's salutation, and then addressed herself to me with similar gravity. I saw a face I knew, and of very uncommon beauty; but did not immediately recollect it was Mrs. Siddons. She is come here, she says, solely for her health : she has spent some days with Mrs. Gwynn, at General Harcourt's. Her husband was with her, and a sweet child. I wished to have tried if her solemnity would have worn away Page 318 by length of conversation ; but I was obliged to hasten home. But my dearest Fredy's opinion, joined to that of my Sister Esther, satisfies me I was a loser by this necessary forbearance. Sunday, July 26.-Yesterday we wen again to the play, and saw "The Midnight Hour" and "The Commissary." The latter from the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," is comic to convulsion and the burlesque of Quick and Mrs. Wells united made ne laugh quite immoderately.(310) July 29.-We went to the play, and saw Mrs. Siddons in Rosalind. She looked beautifully, but too large for that shepherd's dress; and her gaiety sits not naturally upon her,--it seems more like disguised gravity. I must own my admiration for her confined to her tragic powers; and there it is raised so high that I feel mortified, in a degree, to see her so much fainter attempts and success in comedy. A PATIENT AUDIENCE. Monday, Aug. 3.-The whole royal party went to see Lulworth Castle, intending to be back to dinner, and go to the play at night, which their majesties had ordered, with Mrs. Siddons to play Lady Townly.(311) Dinner-time, however, came and passed, and they arrived not. They went by sea, and the wind proved contrary; and about seven o'clock a hobby groom was despatched thither by land, with intelligence that they had only reached Lulworth Castle at five o'clock. They meant to be certainly back by eight ; but sent their commands that the farce might be performed first, and the play wait them. The manager repeated this to the audience,--already waiting and wearied but a loud applause testified their agreeability to whatever could be proposed. The farce, however, was much sooner over than the passage from Lulworth Castle. It was ten o'clock when they landed! And all this time the audience--spectators rather--quietly waited! They landed, just by the theatre, and went to the house of Lady Pembroke, who is now here in attendance upon the queen : and there they Sent home for the king's page, with Page 319 a wig, etc.; and the queen's wardrobe woman, with similar decorations; and a message to Miss Planta and me, that we might go at once to the theatre. We obeyed; and soon after they appeared, and were received with the most violent gusts of joy and huzzas, even from the galleries over their heads, whose patience had not the reward of seeing them at last. Is not this a charming trait of provincial popularity? Mrs. Siddons, in her looks, and the tragic part, was exquisite. A FATIGUING BUT PLEASANT DAY. Aug. 4.-To-day all the royals went to Sherborne Castle. My day being perfectly at liberty, Mrs. Gwynn stayed and spent it with me. The weather was beautiful; the sea-breezes here keep off intense heat in the warmest season. We walked first to see the shrubbery and plantation of a lady, Mrs. B--, who has a very pretty house about a mile and a half out of the town. Here we rested, and regaled ourselves with sweet flowers, and then proceeded to the old castle,-its ruins rather,- which we most completely examined, not leaving one stone' untrod, except such as must have precipitated us into the sea. This castle is built almost in the sea, upon a perpendicular rock, and its situation, therefore, is nobly bold and striking. It is little more now than walls, and a few little winding staircases at its four corners. I had not imagined my beautiful companion could have taken so much pleasure from an excursion so romantic and ,lonely ; but she enjoyed it very much, clambered about as unaffectedly as if she had lived in rural scenes all her life, and left nothing unexamined. We then prowled along the sands at the foot of the adjoining rocks, and picked up sea-weeds and shells - but I do not think they were such as to drive Sir Ashton Lever,(312) or the Museum keepers, to despair! We had the queen's two little dogs, Badine and Phillis, for our guards and associates. We returned home to a very late tea, thoroughly tired, but very much pleased. To me it was the only rural excursion I had taken for more than three years. Page 320 The royal party came not home till past eleven o'clock. The queen was much delighted with Sherborne Castle, which abounds with regal curiosities, honourably acquired by the family. LULWORTH CASTLE. Aug. 8.--To-day we went to Lulworth Castle; but not with Mrs. Gwynn. Her majesty ordered our royal coach and four, and directed me to take the two De Lucs. Lulworth Castle is beautifully situated, with a near and noble view of the sea, It has a spacious and very fine park, and commands a great extent of prospect. It is the property of Mr. Weld, a Roman Catholic, whose eldest brother was first husband of Mrs. Fitzherbert.(313) A singular circumstance, that their majesties should visit a house in which, so few years ago, she might have received them. There is in it a Roman Catholic chapel that is truly elegant,--a Pantheon in miniature,--and ornamented with immense expense and richness. The altar is all of finest variegated marbles, and precious stones are glittering from every angle. The priests' vestments, which are very superb, and all the sacerdotal array, were shown us as particular favours: and Colonel Goldsworthy comically said he doubted not they had incense and oblations for a week to come, by way of purification for our heretical curiosity. The castle is built with four turrets. It is not very ancient, and the inside is completely modern, and fitted up with great elegance. It abounds in pictures of priests, saints, monks, and nuns, and is decorated with crosses and Roman Catholic devices without end. They show one room in which two of our kings have slept; Charles II. and poor James II. We returned home to dinner, and in the evening went to the Page 321 play. Mrs. Siddons performed Mrs. Oakley.(313) What pity thus to throw away her talents ! but the queen dislikes tragedy, and the honour to play before the royal family blinds her to the little credit acquired by playing comedy. THE ROYAL PARTY AT THE ASSEMBLY Rooms. Sunday, Aug 9.-The king had a council yesterday, which brought most of the great officers of state to Weymouth. In the evening, her majesty desired Miss Planta and me to go to the rooms, whither they commonly go themselves on Sunday evenings, and, after looking round them, and speaking where they choose, they retire to tea in an inner apartment with their own party, but leave the door wide open, both to see and be seen. The rooms are convenient and spacious : we found them very full. As soon as the royal party came, a circle was formed, and they moved round it, just as before the ball at St. James's, the king one way with his chamberlain, the new-made Marquis of Salisbury, and the queen the other with the princesses, Lady Courtown, etc. The rest of the attendants planted themselves round in the circle. I had now the pleasure, for the first time, to see Mr. Pitt but his appearance is his least recommendation ; it is neither noble nor expressive. Lord Chatham, the Duke of Richmond, Mr. Villiers, Lord Delawarr, etc., were in the circle, and spoken to a long time each. A JOURNEY To EXETER AND SALTRAM. Thursday, Aug. 13.-We began our Western tour. We all went in the same order as we set out from Windsor. We arrived at Exeter to a very late dinner. We were lodged at the Deanery; and Dr. Buller, the dean, desired a conference with me, for we came first, leaving the royals at Sir George Young's. He was very civil, and in highest glee: I had never seen him before; but he told me he introduced himself, by this opportunity, at the express desire of Mrs. Chapone and Mrs. Castle, who were both his relations, as well as of Dr. Warton. I was glad to hear myself yet remembered by them. The crowds, the rejoicings, the hallooing, and singing, and garlanding, and decorating of all the inhabitants of this old Page 322 city, and of all the country through which we passed, made the journey quite charming : such happy loyalty as beamed from all ranks and descriptions of men carried close to the heart in sympathetic joy. We passed all the next day at the Deanery, which was insufficient to our party, that not only the gentlemen, one an(l all, lodged at the hotel, but even Lady Courtown and the two Lady Waldegraves. I saw nothing of any of them while we stayed at Exeter. I strolled with Miss Planta about the town, which is populous and busy enough, but close and ugly. The principal parade for company, however, takes in a fine view of the country; and the cathedral is old and curious. The next morning, Saturday the 15th, we quitted Exeter, in which there had been one constant mob surrounding the Deanery from the moment of our entrance. We proceeded through a country the most fertile, varied, rural, and delightful, in England, till we came to the end of our aim, Saltram. We passed through such beautiful villages, and so animated a concourse of people, that the whole journey proved truly delectable. Arches of flowers were-erected for the royal family to pass under at almost every town, with various loyal devices, expressive of their satisfaction in this circuit. How happy must have been the king!-how deservedly ! The greatest conqueror could never pass through his dominions with fuller acclamations of joy from his devoted subjects than George III. experienced, simply from having won their love by the even tenor of an unspotted life, which, at length, has vanquished all the hearts of all his subjects. Our entrance at Saltram was, personally to Miss Planta and me, very disagreeable: we followed immediately after the royals and equerries and so many of the neighbouring gentry, the officers, etc., were assembled to receive them, that we had to make our way through a crowd of starers the most tremendous, while the royals all stood at the windows, and the other attendants in the hall. The house is one of the most magnificent in the kingdom. It accommodated us all, even to every footman, without by any means filling the whole. The state apartments on the ground floor are superb, hung with crimson damask, and ornamented with pictures, some few of the Spanish school, the rest by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Angelica, and some few by other artists. Its view is noble; it extends to Plymouth, Mount-Edge- Page 323 cumbe, and the neighbouring fine country. The sea at times fills up a part of the domain almost close to the house, and then its prospect is Complete. MAY "ONE" COME IN? Sunday, Aug. 16.-Lord Courtown brought me a very obliging message from Lady Mount-Edgecumbe, who had been here at noon to kiss hands, on becoming a countess from a baroness. She sent to invite me to see her place, and contrive to dine and spend the day there. Her majesty approves the Mount-Edgecumbe invitation. Aug. 18.-This morning the royals were all at a grand naval review. I spent the time very serenely in my favourite wood, which abounds in seats of all sorts - and then I took a fountain Pen, and wrote my rough journal for copying to my dear Sorelle.(314) In the evening, Lord Courtown, opening my parlour door, called out, "May one come in?" "May one?" exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy; "may two, may three,--may four?--I like your one, indeed!" And in they all entered, and remained in sociable conversation till they were all called, late, to cards. AN EXCURSION To PLYMOUTH DOCKYARD. Aug. 19.-Again this morning was spent by the royals at Plymouth dock--by me in strolls round the house. The wood here is truly enchanting--the paths on the slant down to the water resemble those of sweet Norbury park. The tea, also, was too much the same to be worth detailing. I will only mention a speech which could not but divert me, of Mr. Alberts, the queen's page. He said nobody dared represent to the king the danger of his present continual exertion in this hot weather,--"unless it is Mr. Fairly," he added, "who can say anything, in his genteel roundabout way." Aug. 21.-To-day the royals went to Mount-Edgecumbe, and her majesty had commissioned Lady Courtown to arrange a plan for Miss Planta and me to see Plymouth Dock. According, therefore, to her ladyship's directions, we set off for that place, and, after a dull drive of about five miles, arrived at the house of the commissioner, Admiral La Forey. Here Page 324 Mrs. La Forey and her daughters were prepared to expect us, and take the trouble of entertaining us for the day. Three large and populous towns, Plymouth, Stockton, and Dock,(315) nearly join each other. Plymouth is long, dirty, ill built, and wholly unornamented with any edifice worth notice. Stockton is rather neater,-nothing more. Dock runs higher and Is newer, and looks far cleaner and more habitable. The commissioner's is the best-situated house in Dock: it is opposite a handsome quay, on an arm of the sea, with a pretty paved walk, or terrace, before the house, which seems used as a mall by the inhabitants, and is stored with naval offices innumerable. The two ladies received us very pleasantly. Mrs. La Forey Is well bred, in the formal way ; but her eldest daughter, Mrs. Molloy, is quite free from stiffness, yet perfectly obliging, very easy, very modest, and very engaging, and, when dressed for a ball in the evening, very handsome. She does not become a déshabille, but cannot look otherwise than pleasing and agreeable, from her manners and countenance. Captain Molloy, her husband, was gone to attend in the naval procession that conducted the royals to Mount-Edgecumbe, where he expected to dine ; but he had left a younger officer, Lieutenant Gregory, to do the honours of the naval show to us. The commissioner himself is yet more formal than his lady, but equally civil. An unmarried daughter appeared next, who seems sensible and good humoured, but very plain. We sallied forth to the dockyard, with these two daughters, and Lieutenant Gregory, a very pleasing and well-bred young officer. How often I wished my dear James had happened to be here, in any employment, at this time! The dockyard you will dispense with my describing. It is a noble and tremendous sight, and we were shown it with every advantage of explanation. It was a sort of sighing satisfaction to see such numerous stores of war's alarms !-ropes, sails, masts, anchors,--and all in the finest symmetry, divided and subdivided, as if placed only for show, The neatness and exactness of all the arrangement of those stores for tempest, filled me with admiration; so did the whole scene--though not with pleasure. All assurances, however well to be depended upon, of safety, are but so many indications of danger. Page 325 While we were seeing the anchor business,--which seemed performed by Vulcanic demons, so black they looked, so savage was their howl in striking the red-hot iron, and so coarse and slight their attire,--we were saluted with three cheers, from the accidental entrance of Lord Stopford, Lord Courtown's son, and Mr. Townshend, his nephew, a son of Lord Sydney, just made a lord of the Admiralty. And the sound, in those black regions, where all the light was red-hot fire, had a Very fine demoniac effect. In beating the anchor they all strike at the same instant, giving about three quick strokes to one slow stroke; and were they not to time them with the most perfect conformity, they must inevitably knock out one another's brains. The sight of this apparently continual danger gave to the whole the appearance of some wild rite performed from motives of superstition in some uncivilised country. While we were yet ]it the dockyard we were joined by two sea-captains, Captain Molloy and Captain Duckworth. Captain Molloy is a sensible and agreeable man, but somewhat haughty, and of conscious consequence. Captain Duckworth is both sensible and amiable in his style of conversation, and has a most perfect and kind openness of manner and countenance; but he greatly amused me by letting me see how much I amused him. I never surprised him looking near me, without seeing on his face so irresistible a simper, that I expected him every moment to break forth; never even trying to keep a grave face, except when I looked at him in full front. I found he knew "Burney, of the Bristol," as he called our James, and I named and conversed about him by every opportunity. . A VISIT TO A SEVENTY-FOUR. Captain Molloy invited us, when we had exhausted the show on land, to see his ship. I dislike going anywhere beyond the reach of the Humane society, but could not be left without breaking up the party: this was my first water-excursion, though two had been proposed to me at Weymouth, which I had begged leave to decline. All, however, was smooth and calm, and we had the best possible navigators. We went to the ship in Captain Molloy's large boat, which was very trim and neat, and had all its rowers new dressed and smart for royal attendance, as it followed the king in all his water-excursions. Page 326 The Ship is the Bombay Castle, of seventy-four guns. It had the Admiralty flag hoisted, as Lord Chatham had held a board there in the morning. It is a very fine ship, and I was truly edified by the sight of all its accommodations, ingenuity, utility, cleanliness, and contrivances. A man-of-war, fitted out and manned,- is a glorious and a fearful sight! In going over the ship we came to the midshipmen's mess, and those young officers were at dinner, but we were taken in: they were lighted by a few candles fastened to the wall in sockets. Involuntarily I exclaimed, "Dining by candle-light at noon-day!" A midshipman, starting forward, said, "Yes', ma'am, and Admiral Lord Hood did the same for seven years following!" I liked his spirit so much that I turned to him, and said I was very glad they looked forward to such an example, for I had a brother in the service, which gave me a warm interest in its prosperity. This made the midshipman so much my friend, that we entered into a detailed discourse upon the accommodations of their cabin, mess, etc., and various other matters. I liked him much, though I know not his name; but my constant Captain Duckworth kept me again wholly to his own cicerone-ing, when I turned out of the cabin. A little, however, he was mortified to find me a coward upon the water. I assured him he should cure me if he could convince me there was no reason for fear. He would not allow of any, but could not disprove it. "Tell me," I said, "and honestly,--should we be overturned in the boat while out at sea, what would prevent our being drowned?" He would not suppose such an accident possible. I pressed him, however, upon the possibility it might happen once in a century, and he could not help laughing, and answered, "O, we should pick you all up!" --I desired to know by what means. "Instruments," he said. I forced him, after a long and comic resistance, to show me them. Good heaven! they were three-pronged iron forks,--very tridents of Neptune! I exclaimed with great horror, "These!---why, they would tear the body to pieces!" "O," answered he calmly, "one must not think of legs and arms when life is in danger." I would not, however, under such protection, refuse sailing round Mount-Edgecumbe, which we did in Captain Molloy's boat, and just at the time when the royals, in sundry garden- Page 327 chairs, were driving about the place. It was a beautiful view the situation is delightful. But Captain Molloy was not in the best harmony with its owners, as they had disappointed his expectations of an Invitation to dinner. A DAY AT MOUNT-EDGECUMBE. Aug. 24.-To-day the royals went to Marystow, Colonel Heywood's, and Miss Planta and myself to Mount-Edgecumbe. The queen had desired me to take Miss Planta, and I had written to prepare Lady Mount-Edgecumbe for a companion. We went in a chaise to the ferry, and thence in a boat. I did not like this part of the business, for we had no pilot we knew, nor any one to direct us. They would hardly believe, at Mount-Edgecumbe, we had adventured in so unguarded a manner: but our superior is too high to discover difficulties, or know common precautions ; and we fare, therefore, considerably worse in all these excursions, from belonging to crowned heads, than we should do in our own private stations, if visiting at any part of the kingdom. Safe, however, though not pleasantly, we arrived on the opposite shore ; when we found a gardener and a very commodious garden-chair waiting for us. We drove through a sweet park to the house, at the gate of which stood Lord and Lady Mount-Edgecumbe, who told us that they had just heard an intention of their majesties to sail the next day up the River Tamer, and therefore they thought it their duty to hasten off to a seat they have near its banks, Coteil, with refreshments and accommodations, in case they should be honoured with a visit to see the place, which was very ancient and curious. They should leave Lord Valletort to do the honours, and expressed much civil regret in the circumstance: but the distance was too great to admit of the journey, over bad roads, if they deferred it till after dinner. We then proceeded, in the chair, to see the place: it is truly noble; but I shall enter into no description from want of time: take a list simply of its particular points. The sea, in some places, shows itself in its whole vast and unlimited expanse; at others, the jutting land renders it merely a beautiful basin or canal: the borders down to the sea are in some parts flourishing with the finest evergreens and most vivid verdure, and in others are barren, rocky, and perilous. In one moment you might suppose yourself cast on a desert island, Page 328 and the next find yourself in the most fertile and luxurious country. In different views we were shown Cawsand bay, the Hamoaze, the rocks called "the Maker," etc.,--Dartmoor hills, Plymouth, the dockyard, Saltram, and St. George's channel. Several noble ships, manned and commissioned -were in the Hamoaze amongst them our Weymouth friends' the Magnificent and Southampton. A very beautiful flower-garden is enclosed in one part of the grounds ; and huts, seats, and ornaments in general, were well adapted to the scenery of the place. A seat is consecrated to Mrs. Damer,(316) with an acrostic on her name by Lord Valletort. It is surprising to see the state of vegetation at this place, so close to the main. Myrtles, pomegranates, everg.reens, and flowering shrubs, all thrive, and stand the cold blast, when planted in a southern aspect, as safely as in an inland country. As it is a peninsula, it has all aspects, and the plantations and dispositions of the ground are admirably and skilfully assorted to them. The great open view, however, disappointed me : the towns it shows have no prominent features, the country is as flat as it is extensive, and the various branches of the sea which run into it give, upon their retreat, a marshy, muddy, unpleasant appearance. There is, besides, a want of some one striking object to arrest the eye, and fix the attention, which wearies from the general glare. Points, however, there are, both of the sublime and beautiful, that merit all the fame which this noble place has acquired. In our tour around it we met Lord Stopford, Mr. Townshend, and Captain Douglas ; and heard a tremendous account of the rage of the sea-captains, on being disappointed of a dinner at the royal visit to Mount-Edgecumbe. We did not quit these fine grounds till near dinner-time. The housekeeper then showed us the house, and a set of apartments newly fitted up for the royals, had they chosen to sleep at Mount-Edgecumbe. The house is old, and seems pleasant and convenient. Page 329 In a very pretty circular parlour, which had the appearance of being the chief living room, I saw amongst a small collection of books, "Cecilia." I immediately laid a wager with myself the first volume would open upon Pacchierotti; and I won it very honestly, though I never expect to be paid it. The chapter, "An Opera Rehearsal," was so well read, the leaves always flew apart to display it. The library is an exceeding good room, and seems charmingly furnished. Here Lord Valletort received us. His lady was confined to her room by indisposition. He is a most neat little beau, and his face has the roses and lilies as finely blended as that of his pretty young wife. He was extremely civil and attentive, and appears to be really amiable in his disposition. Mr. Brett, a plain, sensible, conversible man, who has an estate in the neighbourhood, dined with us; and a young Frenchman. The dinner was very cheerful: my lord, at the head of the table, looked only like his lady in a riding-dress. However, he received one mortifying trial of his temper - he had sent to request sailing up the Tamer next day with Sir Richard Bickerton; and he had a blunt refusal, in a note, during our repast. Not an officer in the fleet would accommodate him; their resentment of the dinner slight is quite vehement. We returned home the same way we came; the good-natured little lord, and Mr. Brett also, quite shocked we had no better guard or care taken of us. MR. FAIRLY ON A COURT LIFE. Weymouth, Sunday, Sept. 6.-This evening, the royals and their train all went again to the rooms to drink their tea. Miss Planta and myself were taking ours quietly together, and I was finishing a charming sermon of Blair while she was running over some old newspapers, when, suddenly, but very gently, the room-door was opened, and then I heard, "Will Miss Burney permit me to come in, and give me a dish of tea?" 'Twas Mr. Fairly. He said we were to go on Monday se'nnight to Lord Bath's, on Wednesday to Lord Aylesbury's, and on Friday to return to Windsor. He was himself to be discharged some days sooner, as he should not be wanted on the road. He said many things relative - to Court lives and situations: with respect, deference, and regard invariable, mentioned the leading individuals ; but said nothing could be so weak as to Page 330 look there, in such stations, for such impossibilities as sympathy, friendship, or cordiality ! And he finished with saying, "People forget themselves who look for them!" Such, however, is not my feeling ; and I am satisfied he has met with some unexpected coldness. Miss Planta being present, he explained only in generals. A BRIEF SOJOURN AT LONGLEAT. Monday, Sept. 14.-We all left Weymouth. All possible honours were paid the king on his departure; lords, ladies, and sea- officers, lined the way that he passed, the guns of the Magnificent and Southampton fired the parting salute, and the ships were under sail. We all set out as before, but parted on the road. The royals went to breakfast at Redlinch, the seat of Lord Ilchester, where Mr, Fairly(317) was in waiting for them, and thence proceeded to a collation at Sherborne Castle, whither he was to accompany them, and then resign his present attendance, which has been long and troublesome and irksome, I am sure. Miss Planta and myself proceeded to Longleat, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, late Lord Weymouth; where we were all to dine, sleep, and spend the following day and night. Longleat was formerly the dwelling of the Earl of Lansdowne, uncle to Mrs. Delany; and here, at this seat, that heartless uncle, to promote some political views, sacrificed his incomparable niece, at the age of seventeen, marrying her to an unwieldly, uncultivated, country esquire, near sixty years of age, and scarce ever sober-- his name Pendarves. With how sad an awe, in recollecting her submissive unhappiness, did I enter these doors!--and with what indignant hatred did I look at the portrait of the unfeeling earl, to whom her gentle repugnance, shown by almost incessant tears, was thrown away, as if she, her person, and her existence were nothing in the scale, where the disposition of a few boroughs opposed them! Yet was this the famous Granville--the poet, the fine gentleman, the statesman, the friend and patron of Pope, of whom he wrote-- "What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?" Mine, I am sure, for one. Page 331 Lady Bath showed us our rooms, to which we repaired immediately, to dress before the arrival of the royals. We dined with the gentlemen, all but the marquis, who was admitted, in his own house, to dine with the king and queen, as were all the ladies of his family. Lord Weymouth, the eldest son, was our president; and two of his brothers, Lords George and John, with Lord Courtown and the two colonels, made the party. The Weymouths, Thynnes rather, are silent, and we had but little talk or entertainment. The house is very magnificent, and of in immense magnitude. It seems much out of repair, and by no means cheerful or comfortable. Gloomy grandeur seems the proper epithet for the building and its fitting-up. It had been designed for a monastery, and as such was nearly completed when Henry VIII. dissolved those seminaries. It was finished as a- dwelling-house in the reign of his son, by one of the Thynnes, who was knighted in a field of battle by the protector Somerset.(318) Many things in the house, and many queer old portraits, afforded me matter of Speculation, and would have filled up more time than I had to bestow. There are portraits of Jane Shore and Fair Rosamond, which have some marks of originality, being miserable daubs, yet from evidently beautiful subjects. Arabella Stuart is also at full length, and King Charleses and Jameses in abundance, with their queens, brethren, and cousins. There are galleries in this house of the dimensions of college halls. The state rooms on the ground floor are very handsome but the queer antique little old corners, cells, recesses, "passages that lead to nothing," unexpected openings, and abrupt stoppages, with the quaint devices of various old-fashioned ornaments, amused me the most. Page 332 My bed-room was furnished with crimson velvet, bed included, yet so high, though only the second story, that it made me giddy to look into the park, and tired to wind up the flight of stairs. It was formerly the favourite room, the housekeeper told me, of Bishop Ken, who put on his shroud in it before he died. Had I fancied I had seen his ghost, I might have screamed my voice away, unheard by any assistant to lay it; for so far was I from the rest of the habitable part of the mansion, that not the lungs of Mr. Bruce could have availed me.(319) The park is noble and spacious. It was filled with country folks, permitted to enter that they might see their sovereigns, and it looked as gay without as it seemed gloomy within. The people were dressed in their best, as if they came to a fair ; and such shouts and hallooings ensued, whenever the king appeared at a window, that the whole building rang again with the vibration. Nothing upon earth can be more gratifying than the sight of this dear and excellent king thus loved and received by all descriptions of his subjects. TOTTENHAM COURT: RETURN TO WINDSOR. Sept. 16.-We set out, amidst the acclamations of a multitude, from Longleat for Tottenham park, the seat of Lord Aylesbury. The park is of great extent and moderate beauty. The house is very well. We had only our own party, the three gentlemen, at dinner and breakfast. These gentlemen only dine with the king when he keeps house, and keeps it incog. himself. At Tottenham park, only my Lord Aylesbury, as master of the house, was admitted. He and his lady were both extremely desirous to make all their guests comfortable ; and Lady Aylesbury very politely offered me the use of her own collection of books. But I found, at the top of the house, a very large old library, in which there were sundry uncommon and curious old English tracts, that afforded me much entertainment. 'Tis a library of long standing. Here are many original portraits also, that offer enough for speculation. A "Bloody Mary," by Sir Anthony More, which I saw with much curiosity, and liked better than I expected. The beautiful Duchesses of Cleveland and Portsmouth, I fancy Page 333 by Kneller; but we had no cicerone. A very fine picture of a lady in black, that I can credit to be Vandyke, but who else can I know not. Several portraits by Sir Peter Lely, extremely soft and pleasing, and of subjects uncommonly beautiful; many by Sir Godfrey Kneller, well enough; and many more by Sir Something Thornhill,(320) very thick and heavy. The good lord of the mansion put up a new bed for the king and queen that cost him nine hundred pounds. Two things I heard here with concern-that my godmother, Mrs. Greville, was dead; and that poor Sir Joshua Reynolds had lost the sight of one of his eyes.(321) Sept. 18.-We left Tottenham Court, and returned to Windsor. The royals hastened to the younger princesses, and I to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I was civilly received, however. But deadly dead sunk my heart as I entered her apartment. The next day I had a visit from my dear brother Charles full of business, letters, etc. I rejoiced to see him, and to confab over all his affairs, plans, and visions, more at full length than for a long time past. I was forced to introduce him to Mrs. Schwellenberg, and he flourished away successfully enough; but it was very vexatious, as he had matters innumerable for discussion. (305) The palace of Kew.-ED. (306) See ante, p. 44.-ED. (307) The Duke of Clarence, third son of George III.; afterwards William IV.-ED. (308) The Jessamy Bride." See ante, vol. i, p. 111.-ED. (309) "Observations and Reflections made in the course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany," by published in 1789. (310) "The Midnight Hour," a comedy by Mrs. Inchbald, well known as the authoress of "A Simple Story," and "Nature and Art," was originally produced at Covent Garden, May 22, 1787. "The Commissary," a comedy by Samuel Foote, partly taken from "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," was first performed at the Haymarket in June, 1765. Mr. Quick and Mrs. Wells were popular comedians of the time.-ED. (311) In "The Provoked Husband," by Vanbrugh and Cibber.-ED. (312) Sir Ashton Lever was noted for his extensive and valuable collection of objects of natural history. In 1775 he opened a museum in Leicester Square, in which his collection was shown to the public; but ten years later he was compelled to dispose of it. The new proprietor exhibited the collection for some years, but it was finally sold and dispersed.-ED. (312) Maria Anne Smythe was born in 1756, and married, in 1775, Edward Weld of Lulworth Castle. He died within a year, and she married, in 1778, Thomas Fitzherbert of Swinnerton, Staffordshire, who died in 1781. In December, 1785, Mrs. Fitzherbert was privately married to the Prince of Wales. The marriage was never publicly recognised, and its legality was perhaps disputable: for by the Act of 1772 the marriage of any member of the Royal family under the age of twenty-five without the king's consent, was declared invalid, and at the date of his marriage with the beautiful Mrs Fitzherbert, the Prince was but twenty-three years of age. he always treated her as his wife, however, and she was received in society. She continued to live with him even after his marriage with the Princess Caroline, and finally parted from him in 1803, retiring with an allowance of 6,000 pounds a year to Brighton, where she died in 1837.-ED. (313) A character in Colman's comedy of "The Jealous Wife."-ED. (314) Sisters--the Italian word.-ED. (315) Dock is now called Devonport.-ED. (316) The lady-sculptor, the Hon. Mrs. Damer, daughter of General Conway and kinswoman of Horace Walpole, who bequeathed to her, for the term of her life, his villa at Strawberry Hill. Her performances in sculpture were of no great merit, but were prodigiously admired by Horace Walpole, who had a notorious weakness for the works of persons of quality. Mrs. Damer was a staunch whig, and canvassed Westminster on behalf of Charles Fox at the election of 1784, in company with the Duchess of Devonshire and Mrs. Crewe.-ED. (317) His late wife, it will be remembered, was a daughter of Lord Ilchester.-ED. (318) Longleat, in Wiltshire, was never intended for a monastery, but Was built from a design, it is said, by John of Padua, for Sir John Thynne, who was knighted by Somerset on the field, after the battle of Pinkie. Sir John's descendant, Thomas Thynne, Esq., of Longleat, the wealthy friend of Monmouth, and the "wise Issachar" of Dryden's "Absalom and Achitophel," was murdered in his coach in Pall-Mall (February 12, 1682), by the contrivance of Count Koenigsmark, who was tried for the murder and acquitted, although his confederates, the actual perpetrators of the crime, were hanged for it. Thomas Thynne was succeeded in his estates by his cousin, Sir Thomas Thynne, who was the same year created Baron Thynne and Viscount Weymouth, titles which have descended in the family, and to which that of Marquis of Bath has since been added." (See "Count Koenigsmark and Tom of Ten Thousand," by H. Vizetelly, London, 1890.)-ED. (319) James Bruce, the famous African traveller, made the acquaintance of the Burney family in 1775. He was about seven feet in height. In her early letters to Mr. Crisp, Fanny calls him the "man-mountain."-ED. (320) Sir James Thornhill, the father-in-law of Hogarth.-ED. (321) "One day, in the month of July, 1789, while finishing the portrait of the Marchioness of Hereford, he felt a sudden decay of sight in his left eye. He laid down the pencil, sat a little while in mute consideration, and never lifted it more. His sight gradually darkened, and within ten weeks of the first attack his left eye was wholly blind." (Allan Cunningham.) For some time after this he attended to his duties as President of the Royal Academy, and he delivered his last address to the students in 1790. Sir Joshua died in his sixty-ninth year, February 23, 1792-ED. Page 334 SECTION 16. (1789-90.) MR. FAIRLY'S'MARRIAGE: THE HASTINGS TRIAL, RUMOURS OF MR. FAIRLY'S IMPENDING MARRIAGE. Colonel Gwynn told us, at tea-time, of the wonderful recovery of Colonel Goldsworthy, who has had an almost desperate illness; and then added that he had dined the preceding day with him, and met Mr. Fairly, who was coming to Windsor, and all prepared, when he was suddenly stopped, on the very preceding evening, by a fresh attack of the gout. I heard this with much concern, and made many inquiries, which were presently interrupted by an exclamation of Major Garth, who was now in waiting: "The gout?" he cried: "nay, then, it is time he should get a nurse; and, indeed, I hear he has one in view." Colonel Gwynn instantly turned short, with a very significant smile of triumph, towards me, that seemed to confirm this assertion, while it exulted in his own prediction at Cheltenham. The following morning, while I was alone with my royal mistress, she mentioned Mr. Fairly for the first time since we left Weymouth. It was to express much displeasure against him: e had misled Lord Aylesbury about the ensuing Drawing-room, by affirming there would be none this month. After saying how wrong this was, and hearing me venture to answer I could not doubt but he must have had some reason, which, if known, might account for his mistake, she suddenly, and with some severity of accent, said, "He will not come Page 335 here! For some reason or other he does not choose it! He cannot bear to come!" How was I amazed! and silenced pretty effectually She then added, "He has set his head against coming. I know he has been in town some considerable time, but he has desired it may not be told here. I know, too, that when he has been met in the streets, he has called out, 'For heaven's sake, if you are going to Windsor, do not say you have seen me.'" Nov. 18.-We were to go to town: but while I was taking my hasty breakfast Miss Planta flew into the room, eagerly exclaiming, "Have you heard the news?" I saw, instantly, by her eyes and manner, what she meant and therefore answered, "I believe so." "Mr. Fairly is going to be married! I resolved I would tell you." I heard the rumour," I replied, "the other day, from Colonel Gwynn." "O, it's true!" she cried; "he has written to ask leave; but for heaven's sake don't say so!" I gave her my ready promise, for I believed not a syllable of the matter; but I would not tell her that. A ROYAL VISIT TO THE THEATRE: JAMMED IN THE CROWD. We went to town not only for the Drawing-room on the next day, but also for the play on this Wednesday night,(322) and the party appointed to sit in the queen's private box, as, on these occasions, the balcony-box opposite to the royals is called, dined with Mrs. Schwellenberg,--namely, Mrs. Stainforth, Miss Planta, Mr. de Luc, and Mr. Thomas Willis, When we arrived at the playhouse(323) we found the lobby and all the avenues so crowded, that it was with the utmost difficulty we forced our way up the stairs. It was the first appearance of the good king at the theatre since his illness. When we got up stairs, we were stopped effectually: there was not room for a fly ; and though our box was not only taken and kept, but partitioned off, to get to it was wholly impracticable. Mr. Willis and Miss Planta protested they would go down Page 336 again, and remonstrate with Mr. Harris, the manager; and I must own the scene that followed was not unentertaining. Mrs. Stainforth and myself were fast fixed in an angle at the corner of the stairs, and Mr. de Luc stood in the midst of the crowd, where he began offering so many grave arguments, with such deliberation and precision, every now and then going back in his reasoning to correct his own English, representing our right to proceed, and the wrong of not making way for us, that it was irresistibly comic to see the people stare, as they pushed On, and to see his unconscious content in their passing him, so long as he completed his expostulations on their indecorum. Meanwhile, poor Mrs. Stainforth lost her cloak, and in her loud lamentations, and calls upon all present to witness her distress (to which, for enhancing its importance, she continually added, "Whoever has found it should bring it to the Queen's house"), she occupied the attention of all upon the stairs as completely as it was occupied by Mr. de Luc for all in 'the passages : but, alas! neither the philosophic harangue of the one, nor the royal dignity of the other, prevailed; and while there we stood, expecting an avenue to be formed, either for our eloquence or our consequence, not an inch of ground did we gain, and those who had neither made their way, and got on in multitudes. Offended, at length, as well as tired, Mrs. Stainforth proposed our going down, and waiting in the lobby, till Mr. Harris arrived. Here we were joined by a gentleman, whose manner of fixing me showed a half-recollection of my face, which I precisely returned him, without being able to recollect where I had seen him before. He spoke to Mrs. Stainforth, who answered as if she knew him, and then he came to me and offered to assist in getting me to my box. I told him the manager had already been sent to. He did not, however, go off, but entered into conversation upon the crowd, play, etc., with the ease of an old acquaintance. I took the first opportunity to inquire of Mrs. Stainforth who he was, and heard--Lord Mountmorres, whom you may remember I met with at the theatre at Cheltenham. What, however, was ridiculous though was, that, after a considerable length of time, he asked me who Mrs. Stainforth was, and I afterwards heard he had made the same inquiry of herself about me! The difference of a dressed and undressed head had occasioned, I suppose, the doubt. The moment, Page 337 however, he had completely satisfied himself in this, he fairly joined me, as if he had naturally belonged to our party. And it turned out very acceptable, for we were involved in all such sort of difficulties as our philosopher was the least adapted to remove. We now went about, in and out, up and down, but without any power to make way, the crowd every instant thickening. We then were fain to return to our quiet post, behind the side-boxes in the lobby, where we remained till the arrival of the king, and then were somewhat recompensed for missing the sight of his entrance, by hearing the sound of his reception: for so violent an huzzaing commenced, such thundering clapping, knocking with sticks, and shouting, and so universal a chorus of "God save the king," that not all the inconveniences of my situation could keep my heart from beating with joy, nor my eyes from running over with gratitude for its occasion. Lord Mountmorres, who joined in the stick part of the general plaudit, exclaimed frequently, "What popularity is this! how fine to a man's feelings! yet he Must find it embarrassing." Indeed I should suppose he could with difficulty bear it, 'Twas almost adoration! How much I lament that I lost the sight of his benign countenance, during such glorious moments as the most favoured monarchs can scarce enjoy twice in the longest life! Miss Planta and Mr. Willis now returned: they had had no success; Mr. Harris said they might as well stem the tide of the ocean as oppose or rule such a crowd. The play now began ; and Lord Mountmorres went away to reconnoitre, but, presently returning, said, "If you will trust yourselves with me I will show you your chance." And then he conducted me to the foot of the stairs leading to our box, which exhibited such a mass of living creatures, that the insects of an ant-hill could scarce be more compact. We were passed by Lord Stopford, Captain Douglas, and some other of our acquaintance, who told us of similar distresses; and in this manner passed the first act! The boxkeeper came and told Lord Mountmorres he could now give his lordship one seat: but the humours of the lobby he now preferred, and refused the place: though I repeatedly begged that we might not detain him. But he was determined to see us safe landed before he left us. Page 338 Mr. Harris now came again, and proposed taking us another way, to try to get up some back-stairs. We then went behind the scenes for this purpose : but here Mr. Harris was called away, and we were left upon the stage. Lord Mountmorres led me to various peep-holes, where I could at least have the satisfaction of seeing the king and royal family, as well as the people, and the whole was a sight most grateful to my eyes. So civil, however, and so attentive he was, that a new perplexity now occurred to me : he had given up his place, and had taken so much trouble, that I thought, if we at last got to our box, he would certainly expect to be accommodated. in it. And to take any one, without previous permission, into the queen's private box, and immediately facing their majesties, was a liberty I knew not how to risk ; and, in truth, I knew not enough of his present politics to be at all sure if they might not be even peculiarly obnoxious. This consideration, therefore, began now so much to reconcile me to this emigrant evening, that I ceased even to wish for recovering our box. IN THE MANAGER's Box. When Mr. Harris came back, he said he had nothing to propose but his own box, which was readily accepted. To this our access was easy, as it was over the king and queen, and consequently not desirable to those who came to see them. I too now preferred it, as it was out of their sight, and enabled me to tell Lord Mountmorres, who led me to it through the crowd with unceasing trouble and attention, that till he could get better accommodated a place was at his service. He closed instantly with the offer, placing himself behind me ; but said he saw some of his relations in the opposite stage-box, Lady Mornington and her beautiful daughter Lady Ann Wellesley, and, as soon as the act was over, he would go down and persuade them to make room for him. I was shocked, however, after all this, to hear him own himself glad to sit down, as he was still rather lame, from a dreadful overturn in a carriage, in which his leg had been nearly crushed by being caught within the coach-door, which beat down upon it, and almost demolished it. This anecdote, however, led to another more pleasant; for it brought on a conversation which showed me his present principles, at least, were all on the government side. The accident had happened during a Journey to Chester, in his way to Page 339 Ireland, whither he was hastening upon the Regency business, last winter: and he went to the Irish House of Peers the first time he quitted his room, after a confinement of three weeks from this terrible bruise. "But how," cried I, "could you stand?" "I did not stand," he answered; "they indulged me with leave to speak sitting." "What a useful opening, then, my lord," cried I, "did you lose for every new paragraph!" I meant, the cant of "Now I am upon my legs." He understood it instantly, and laughed heartily, protesting it was no small detriment to his oratory. The play was the "Dramatist,"(324) written with that species of humour in caricature that resembles O'Keefe's performances; full of absurdities, yet laughable in the extreme. We heard very ill, and, missing the beginning, we understood still worse: so that, in fact, I was indebted to my new associate for all the entertainment I received the whole evening. When the act was over, the place on which he had cast his eye, near Lady Mornington, was seized; he laughed, put down his hat, and composed himself quietly for remaining where he was. He must be a man of a singular character, though of what sort I know not: but in his conversation he showed much information, and a spirited desire of interchanging ideas with those who came in his way. We talked a great deal of France, and he related to me a variety of anecdotes just fresh imported thence. He was there at the first assembling of the Notables, and he saw, he said impending great events from that assemblage. The two most remarkable things that had struck him, he told me, in this wonderful revolution, were--first, that the French guards should ever give up their king; and secondly, that the chief spirit and capacity hither-to shown amongst individuals had come from the ecclesiastics. He is very much of the opinion the spirit of the times will come round to this island. In what, I asked, could be its pretence?-- The game-laws, he answered, and the tithes. He told me, also, a great deal of Ireland, and enlarged my political knowledge abundantly,--but I shall not be so generous, my dear friends, as to let you into all these state matters. But I must tell you a good sort of quirk of Mr. Wilkes, who, when the power of the mob and their cruelty were first reciting, Page 340 quarrelled with a gentleman for saying the French government was become a democracy and asserted it was rather a mobocracy. The pit, he said, reminded him of a sight he once saw in Westminster Hall,--a floor of faces. He was a candidate for Westminster at that time, with Charles Fox!--thus do we veer about. At the end of the farce, "God save the king" was most vociferously called for from all parts of the theatre, and all the singers of the theatre came on the stage to sing it, joined by the whole audience, who kept it up till the sovereign of his people's hearts left the house. It was noble and heart-melting at once to hear and see such loyal rapture, and to feel and know it so deserved. MR. FAIRLY'S MARRIAGE IMMINENT. NOV. 20.-Some business sent me to speak with Miss Planta before our journey back to Windsor. When it was executed and I was coming away, she called out, "O! Špropos--it's all declared, and the princesses wished Miss Fuzilier joy yesterday in the Drawing-room. She looked remarkably well ; but said Mr. Fairly had still a little gout, and could not appear." Now first my belief followed assertion;--but it was only because it was inevitable, since the princesses could not have proceeded so far without certainty. . . . . . We returned to Windsor as usual, and there I was, just as usual, obliged to finish every evening with picquet !--and to pass all and every afternoon, from dinner to midnight, in picquet company. Nov. 28.-The queen, after a very long airing, came * in to dress, and summoned me immediately; and in two minutes the princess royal entered, and said something in German, and then added, "And Mr. Fairly, ma'am, begs he may see you a moment, now, if possible." This is his first coming to the house since her royal highness's birthday, just two months ago. "I am very sorry," was answered coolly, "but I am going to dress." "He won't keep you a moment, mamma, only he wants to get on to St. Leonards to dinner," Miss Fuzilier is now there." "Well, then," she answered, "I'll slip on my powdering-gown, and see him." Page 341 I found, however, they had already met, probably in the passage, for the queen added, "How melancholy he looks, does not he, princess royal?" "Yes, indeed, mamma!"--They then again talked ' German. The princess then went to call him ; and I hastened into the next room, with some caps just then inspecting. Mr. Turbulent again dined with us, and said, "I find Mr. Fairly is here to-day? when is he to be married?" Mrs. Schwellenberg reproved him for talking of "soch things:" she holds it petty treason to speak of it, as they are both in office about the Court; though she confessed it would be in a fortnight. At tea, when the gentlemen--General Budé, Majors Price and Garth, and Mr. Willis--appeared, she said, "Where be Mr. Fairly?" They all exclaimed, "Is he here?" "O, certain, if he ben't gone!" I then said he had gone on to St. Leonards. They all expressed the utmost surprise that he should come, and go, and see none of them. When they retired, Mrs. Schwellenberg exclaimed, "For what not stay one night? For what not go to the gentlemen? It looks like when he been ashamed.--O fie! I don't not like soch ting. And for what always say contrarie?--always say to everybody he won't not have her!--There might be something wrong in all that--it looks not well." I saw a strong desire to have me enter into the merits of the case; but I constantly answer to these exclamations, that these sort of situations are regarded in the world as licensing denials first, and truancy from all others afterwards. COURT DUTIES DISCUSSED. December.-Let me now, to enliven you a little, introduce to you a new acquaintance, self-made, that I meet at the chapel, and who always sits next me when there is room,-- Mrs. J--, wife to the Bishop of K--: and before the service begins, she enters into small talk, with a pretty tolerable degree of frankness, not much repressed by scruples of delicacy. Take a specimen. She opened, the other morning, upon my situation and occupation, and made the most plump inquiries into its particulars, with a sort of hearty good humour Page 342 that removed all impertinence, whatever it left of inelegance and then began her comments. "Well; the queen, to be sure, is a great deal better dressed than she used to be; but for all that, I really think it is but an odd thing for you!--Dear! I think it's something so out of the way for you!--I can't think how you set about it. It must have been very droll to you at first. A great deal of honour, to be sure, to serve a queen, and all that: but I dare say a lady's-maid could do it better,--though to be called about a queen, as I say, is a great deal of honour: but, for my part, I should not like it; because to be always obliged to go to a person, whether one was in the humour or not, and to get up in a morning, if one was never so sleepy!--dear! it must be a mighty hurry-skurry life! you don't look at all fit for it, to judge by appearances, for all its great honour, and all that." Is not this a fit bishop's wife? is not here primitive candour and veracity? I laughed most heartily,--and we have now commenced acquaintance for these occasional meetings. If this honest dame does not think me fit for this part of my business, there is another person, Mlle. Montmoulin, who, with equal simplicity, expresses her idea of my unfitness for another part.-- How you bear it," she cries, "living with Mrs. Schwellenberg!--I like it better living in prison!--'pon m'honneur, I prefer it bread and water; I think her so cross never was. If I you, I won't bear it--poor Miss Burney!--I so sorry!--'pon m'honneur, I think to you oftens!--you so confined, you won't have no pleasures!--" Miss Gomme, less plaintive, but more solemn, declared the other day, "I am sure you must go to heaven for living this life!"---So, at least, you see, though in a court, I am not an object of envy. MR. FAIRLY'S STRANGE WEDDING. January, 1790.-Mr. Fairly was married the 6th--I must wish happiness to smile on that day, and all its anniversaries, it gave a happiness to me unequalled, for it was the birthday of my Susanna! One evening, about this time, Mr. Fisher, now Doctor, drank tea with us at Windsor, and gave me an account of Mr. Fairly's marriage that much amazed me. He had been called upon to perform the ceremony. It was by special licence, and at the house of Sir R- G-.(325) @ Page 343 So religious, so strict in all ceremonies, even, of religion, as he always appeared, his marrying out of a church was to me very unexpected. Dr. Fisher was himself surprised, when called upon, and said he supposed it must be to please the lady. Nothing, he owned, could be less formal or solemn than the whole. Lady C., Mrs. and Miss S., and her father and brother and sister, were present. They all dined together at the usual hour,'and then the ladies, as usual, retired. Some time after, the clerk was sent for, and then, with the gentlemen, joined the ladies, who were in the drawing-room, seated on sofas, just as at any other time, Dr. Fisher says he is not sure they were working, but the air of common employment was such, that he rather thinks it, and everything of that sort was spread about as on any common day--workboxes, netting-cases, etc. Mr. Fairly then asked Dr. Fisher what they were to do? He answered, he could not tell; for he had never married anybody in a room before. Upon this, they agreed to move a table to the upper end of the room, the ladies still sitting quietly, and then Put on it candles and a prayer-book. Dr. Fisher says he hopes it was not a card-table, and rather believes it was only a Pembroke work-table. The lady and Sir R. then came forward, and Dr. Fisher read the service. So this, methinks, seems the way to make all things easy! Yet--with so little solemnity-without even a room prepared and empty--to go through a business of such portentous seriousness!-- 'Tis truly amazing from a man who seemed to delight so much in religious regulations and observances. Dr. Fisher himself was dissatisfied, and wondered at his compliance, though he attributed the plan to the lady. The bride behaved extremely well, he said, and was all smile and complacency. He had never seen her to such advantage, or in such soft looks, before; and perfectly serene, though her sister was so much moved as to go into hysterics. Afterwards, at seven o'clock, the bride and bride-groom set off for a friend's house in Hertfordshire by themselves, attended by servants with white favours. The rest of the party, father, sister, and priest included, went to the play, which happened to be Benedict. Page 344 A VISIT FROM THE BRIDE. I shall say nothing of the queen's birthday, but that I had a most beautiful trimming worked me for it by Miss Cambridge, who half fatigued herself to death, for the kind pleasure that I should have my decorations from her hands. If in some points my lot has been unenviable, what a constant solace, what sweet and soft amends, do I find and feel in the almost unexampled union of kindness and excellence in my chosen friends! The day after the birthday produced a curious scene. To soften off, by the air, a violent headache, I determined upon walking to Chelsea to see my dear father. I knew I should thus avoid numerous visitors of the household, who might pay their devoirs to Mrs. Schwellenberg. I missed my errand, and speedily returned, and found many cards from bed-chamber women and maids of honour; and, while still reading them, I was honoured with a call from the Bishop of Salisbury; and in two minutes my dear father came himself. A pleasant conversation was commencing, when Columb opened the door, and said, "Colonel Fairly begs leave to ask you how you do." He had been married but a week before he came into the midst of all the Court bustle, which he had regularly attended ever since! It was a good while before the door opened again - and I heard a buzz of voices in the passage: but when it was thrown open, there appeared--the bride herself--and alone! She looked quite brilliant in smiles and spirits. I never saw a countenance so enlivened. I really believe she has long cherished a passionate regard for Mr. Fairly, and brightens now from its prosperity. I received her with all' the attention in my power, immediately wishing her joy: she accepted it with a thousand dimples, and I seated her on the sofa, and myself by her side. Nobody followed; and I left the bishop to my father, while we entered into conversation, upon the birthday, her new situation in being exempt from its fatigues, and other matters of the time being. I apologised to Mrs. Fairly for my inability to return the honour of her visit, but readily undertook to inform her majesty of her inquiries, which she earnestly begged from me, Page 345 RENEWAL OF THE HASTINGS TRIAL: A POETICAL IMPROMPTU. Feb. 16-Mr. Hastings's trial re-commenced; and her majesty graciously presented me with tickets for Mr. Francis, Charlotte, and myself. She acknowledged a very great curiosity to know whether my old friends amongst the managers would renew their intercourse with a Court friend, or include me in the distaste conceived against herself, and drop their visits. I had not once been to the trial the preceding year, nor seen any of the set since the king's illness. We were there hours before they entered, all spent in a harmony of converse and communication I never for three hours following can have elsewhere: no summons impending--no fear of accidental delay drawing off attention to official solicitude. At the stated time they entered in the usual form, Mr. Burke first. I felt so grieved a resentment of his late conduct,(326) that I was glad to turn away from his countenance. I looked elsewhere during the whole procession, and their subsequent arrangement, that I might leave totally to themselves and their consciences whether to notice a friend from Court or not. Their consciences said not. No one came; I only heard through Charlotte that Mr. Windham was of the set. Mr. Anstruther spoke, and all others took gentle naps! I don't believe he found it out. When all was concluded, I saw one of them ascending towards our seats : and presently heard the voice of Mr. Burke. I wished myself many miles off! 'tis so painful to see with utter disapprobation those faces we have met, with joy and pleasure! He came to speak to some relations of Mr. Anstruther. I was next them, and, when recovered from my first repugnance, I thought it better to turn round, not to seem leading the way myself to any breach. I met his eyes immediately, and curtsied. He only said, "O! is it you?" then asked how I did, said something in praise of Mr. Anstruther, partly to his friends and partly to me--heard from me no reply--and hurried away, coldly, and with a look dissatisfied and uncordial. I was much concerned; and we came away soon after. Here is an impromptu, said to have been written by Mr. Page 346 Hastings during Mr. Grey's speech, which was a panegyric on Mr, Philip Francis:-- "It hurts me not, that Grey,, as Burke's assessor, Proclaims me Tyrant, Robber, and Oppressor, Tho' for abuse alone meant: For when he call'd himself the bosom friend, The Friend of Philip Francis,--I con'end He made me full atonement." I was called upon, on my return, to relate the day's business. Heavy and lame was the relation - but their majesties were curious, and nothing better suited truth. AN ILLBRED EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. Our tea-party was suddenly enlarged by the entrance of the Lords Chesterfield, Bulkley, and Fortescue. Lord Chesterfield brought in the two latter without any ceremony, and never introduced nor named them, but chatted off with them apart, as if they were in a room to themselves: and Colonel Wellbred, to whom all gentlemen here belong, was out of the room ]if search of a curious snuff-box that he had promised to show to us. Major Price, who by great chance was seated next me, jumped up as if so many wild beasts had entered, and escaped to the other side of the room, and Mr. Willis was only a sharp looker-on. This was awkward enough for a thing so immaterial, as I could not even ask them to have any tea, from uncertainty how to address them; and I believe they were entirely ignorant whither Lord Chesterfield was bringing them, as they came In only to wait for a royal summons. How would that quintessence of high ton, the late Lord Chesterfield, blush to behold his successor! who, with much share of humour, and of good humour also, has as little good breeding as any mail I ever met with. Take an instance.-Lord Bulkley, who is a handsome man, is immensely tall; the major, who is middle-sized, was standing by his chair, in close conference with him--"Why, Bulkley," cried Lord Chesterfield, "you are just the height sitting that Price is standing." Disconcerted a little, they slightly laughed; but Lord Bulkley rose, and they walked off to a greater distance. Lord Chesterfield, looking after them, exclaimed, "What a Page 347 walking steeple he is!--why, Bulkley, you ought to cut off your legs to be on a level with society!" When they were all summoned away, except Mr. Willis, who has never that honour but in private, he lifted up his hands and eyes, and called out, "I shall pity those men when the book comes out!--I would not be in their skins!" I understood him perfectly,--and answered, truly, that I was never affronted more than a minute with those by whom I could never longer be pleased. Miss BURNEY IN A NEW CAPACITY. March 2.- In one of our Windsor excursions at this time, while I was in her majesty's dressing-room, with only Mr. de Luc present, she suddenly said, "Prepare yourself, Miss Burney, with all your spirits, for to-night you must be reader." She then added that she recollected what she had been told by my honoured Mrs. Delany, of my reading- Shakspeare to her, and was desirous that I should read a play to herself and the princesses; and she had lately heard, from Mrs. Schwellenberg, "nobody could do it better, when I would." I assured her majesty it was rather when I could, as any reading Mrs. Schwellenberg had heard must wholly have been better or worse according to my spirits, as she had justly seemed to suggest. The moment coffee was over the Princess Elizabeth came for me. I found her majesty knotting, the princess royal drawing, Princess Augusta spinning, and Lady Courtown I believe in the same employment, but I saw none of them perfectly well. "Come, Miss Burney," cried the queen, " how are your spirits?-- How is your voice?" ' "She says, ma'am," cried the kind Princess Elizabeth, "she shall do her best!" This had been said in attending her royal highness back. I could only confirm it, and that cheerfully-to hide fearfully. I had not the advantage of choosing my play, nor do I know what would have been my decision had it fallen to my lot. Her majesty, had just begun Colman's works, and "Polly Honeycomb" was to open my campaign. "I think," cried the queen most graciously, "Miss Burney will read the better for drawing a chair and sitting down,". Page 348 " yes, mamma! I dare say so!" cried Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth, both in a moment. The queen then told me to draw my chair close to her side. I made no scruples. Heaven knows I needed not the addition of standing! but most glad I felt in being placed thus near, as it saved a constant painful effort of loud reading. "Lady Courtown," cried the queen, "you had better draw nearer, for Miss Burney has the misfortune of reading rather low at first." Nothing could be more amiable than this opening. Accordingly, I did, as I had promised, my best; and, indifferent as that was, it would rather have surprised you, all things considered, that it was not yet worse. But I exerted all the courage I possess, and, having often read to the queen, I felt how much it behoved me not to let her surmise I had any greater awe to surmount. It is but a vulgar performance; and I was obliged to omit, as well as I could at sight, several circumstances very unpleasant for reading, and ill enough fitted for such hearers. it went off pretty flat. Nobody is to comment, nobody is to interrupt; and even between one act and another not a moment's pause is expected to be made. I had been already informed of this etiquette by Mr. Turbulent and Miss Planta; nevertheless, it is not only oppressive to the reader, but loses to the hearers so much spirit and satisfaction, that I determined to endeavour, should I again be called upon, to introduce a little break into this tiresome and unnatural profundity of respectful solemnity. My own embarrassment, however, made it agree with me for the present uncommonly well. Lady Courtown never uttered one single word the whole time; yet is she one of the most loquacious of our establishment. But such is the settled etiquette. The queen has a taste for conversation, and the princesses a good-humoured love for it, that doubles the regret of such an annihilation of all nature and all pleasantry. But what will not prejudice and education inculcate? They have been brought up to annex silence to respect and decorum: to talk, therefore, unbid, or to differ from any given opinion even when called upon, are regarded as high improprieties, if not presumptions. They none of them do justice to their own minds, while they enforce this subjection upon the minds of others. I had not Page 349 experienced it before ; for when reading alone with the queen, or listening to her reading to me, I have always frankly spoken almost whatever has occurred to me. But there I had no other examples before me, and therefore I might inoffensively be guided by myself; and her majesty's continuance of the same honour has shown no disapprobation of my proceeding. But here it was not easy to make any decision for myself: to have done what Lady Courtown forbore doing would have been undoubtedly a liberty. So we all behaved alike - and easily can I now conceive the disappointment and mortification of poor Mr. Garrick when he read "Lethe" to a royal audience. Its tameness must have tamed even him, and I doubt not he never acquitted himself so ill. THE LONG-FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY: MISS BURNEY AGAIN AS READER. On Easter Sunday, the 4th of April, when I left my beloved Susan at St. James's, I left with her all spirit for any voluntary employment, and it occurred to me I could best while away the leisure allowed me by returning to my long-forgotten tragedy. This I have done, in those moments as yet given to my journal, and it is well I had so sad a resource, since any merrier I must have aimed at in vain. It was a year and four months since I had looked at or thought of it. I found nothing but unconnected speeches, and hints, and ideas, though enough in quantity, perhaps, for a whole play. I have now begun planning and methodising, and have written three or four regular scenes. I mention all these particulars of my progress, in answer to certain queries in the comments of my Susan and Fredy, both of old date. Well (for that is my hack, as "however" is my dear Susanna's), we set off rather late for Windsor,-Mr. de Luc, Miss Planta, and myself; Mrs. Schwellenberg stayed in town. . . . I invited my old beau, as her majesty calls Mr. Bryant, to dinner, and he made me my best day out of the ten days of our Windsor sojourn. He has insisted upon lending me some more books, all concerning the most distant parts of the earth, or on subjects the most abstruse. His singular simplicity in constantly conceiving that, because to him such books alone are new, they must have the same recommendation to me, is Page 350 extremely amusing; and though I do all that is possible to clear up the distinction, he never remembers it. The king, for which I was very sorry, did not come Into the room. He made it but one visit, indeed, during this week. He then conversed almost wholly with General Grenville upon the affairs of France; and in a manner so unaffected, open and manly, so highly superior to all despotic principles, even while most condemning the unlicensed fury of the Parisian mob, that I wished all the nations of the world to have heard him, that they might have known the real existence of a patriot king. Another reading took place, and much more comfortably; it was to the queen and princesses, without any lady-in-waiting. The queen, as before, condescended to order me to sit close to her side; and as I had no model before me, I scrupled much less to follow the bent of my own ideas by small occasional comments. And these were of use both to body and mind; they rested the lungs from one invariable exertion, as much as they saved the mind from one strain of attention. Our play was "The Man of Business," a very good comedy, but too local for long life. And another of Colman's which I read afterwards has the same defect. Half the follies and peculiarities it satirises are wholly at an end and forgotten. Humour springing from mere dress, or habits, or phraseology, is quickly obsolete; when it sinks deeper, and dives into character, it may live for ever. I dedicated my Wednesday evening to a very comfortable visit to our dear James, whose very good and deserving wife, and fine little fat children, with our Esther and her fair Marianne and Fanny, all cordially conspired to make me happy. We read a good deal of Captain Bligh's interesting narrative,(327) Page 351 every word Of which James has taken as much to heart as if it were his own production. I go on, occasionally, with my tragedy. It does not much enliven, but it soothes me. COLONEL MANNERS IN HIS SENATORIAL CAPACITY. April 23.--I shall add nothing at present to my Journal but the summary of a conversation I have had with Colonel Manners, who, at our last excursion, was here without any other gentleman. Knowing he likes to be considered as a senator, I thought the best subject for our discussion would be the House of Commons; I therefore made sundry political inquiries, so foreign to My Usual mode, that you would not a little have smiled to have heard them. I had been informed he had once made an attempt to speak, during the Regency business, last winter ; I begged to know how the matter stood, and he made a most frank display of its whole circumstances. "Why, they were speaking away," he cried, "upon the Regency, and so,---and they were saying if the king could not reign, and recover; and Burke was making some of his eloquence, and talking; and, says he, 'hurled from his throne,'---and so I put out my finger in this manner, as if I was in a great passion, for I felt myself very red, and I was in a monstrous passion I suppose, but I was only going to say 'Hear! Hear!' but I happened to lean one hand down upon my knee, in this way, just as Mr. Pitt does when he wants to speak.- and I stooped forward, just as if I was going to rise up and begin but just then I caught Mr. Pitt's eye, looking at me so pitifully; he thought I was going to speak, and he was frightened to death, for he thought--for the thing was, he got up himself, and he said over all I wanted to say; and the thing is, he almost always does; for just as I have something particular to say, Mr. Pitt begins, and goes through it all, so that he don't leave anything more to be said about it; and so, I suppose, as he looked at me so pitifully, he thought I should say it first, or else that I Page 352 should get into some scrape, because I was so warm and looking so red." Any comment would disgrace this; I will therefore only tell you his opinion, in his own words, of one of our late taxes. "There's only one tax, ma'am, that ever I voted for against my conscience, for I've always been very particular about that; but that is the bacheldor's tax, and that I hold to be very unconstitutional, and I am very sorry I voted for it, because it's very unfair; for how can a man help being a bacheldor, if nobody will have him? and besides, it's not any fault to be taxed for, because We did not make ourselves bacheldors, for we were made so by God, for nobody was born married, and so I think it's a very unconstitutional tax." A CONVERSATION WITH MR. WINDHAM AT THE HASTINGS TRIAL. April 27.-I had the happiness of my dearest Fredy's society in Westminster Hall--if happiness and that place may be named together. The day was mixed: Evidence and Mr. Anstruther weighing it down, and Mr. Burke speaking from time to time, and lighting it up. O, were his purpose worthy his talents, what an effect would his oratory produce! I always hear him with so much concern, I can scarce rejoice even in being kept awake by him. The day was nearly passed, and I was eating a biscuit to prevent an absolute doze while Mr. Anstruther was talking, when, raising myself from a listening bend, I turned to the left, and perceived Mr. Windham, who had quietly placed himself by my side without speaking. My surprise was so great, and so totally had I given up all idea of renewing our conferences, that I could scarce refrain expressing it. Probably it was visible enough, for he said, as if apologising for coming up, that so to do was the only regale their toils allowed them. He then regretted that it was a stupid day, and, with all his old civility about me and my time, declared he was always sorry to see me there when nothing worth attention was going forward. This soon brought us round to our former intimacy of converse ; and, the moment I was able, I ventured at my usual inquiry about his own speaking, and if it would soon take place. Page 353 "No," he answered, with a look of great pleasure, "I shall now not speak at all.--I have cleared myself from that task, and never with such satisfaction did I get rid of any!" Amazed, yet internally glad, I hazarded some further inquiry into the reason of this change of plan. They were drawing, he said, to a conclusion, and the particular charge which he had engaged himself to open was relinquished.(328) "I have therefore," he cried, "washed my hands of making a speech, yet satisfied my conscience, my honour, my promises, and my intentions; for I have declined undertaking anything new, and no claim therefore remains upon me." "Well," quoth I, "I am at a loss whether to be glad or sorry." He comprehended instantly,--glad for Mr. Hastings, or sorry for not hearing him. He laughed, but said something a little reproachful, upon my continued interest for that gentleman. I would not pretend it was diminished; I determined he should find me as frank as heretofore, and abscond, or abide, as his nerves stood the firmness. "You are never, then" (I said afterwards), "to speak here?" "Once," he answered, "I said a few words--" "O when?" I cried; "I am very sorry I did not know it, and hear you,--as you did speak!" "O," cried he, laughing, "I do not fear this flattery now, as I shall speak no more." "But what," cried I, "was the occasion that drew you forth?" "Nothing very material but I saw Burke run hard, and I wished to help him." "That was just," cried I, "what I should have expected from you-- and just what I have not been able not to honour, on some other occasions, even where I have most blamed the matter that has drawn forth the assistance." This was going pretty far:--he could not but instantly feel I meant the Regency discussions. He neither made me any answer, nor turned his head, even obliquely, my way. I was not sorry, however. 'Tis always best to be sincere. Finding him quite silent, to soften matters as well as I could with honesty, I began an éloge of Mr. Burke, both warm and true, as far as regards his wonderful abilities. But he soon Page 354 distinguished the rigorous precision with which, Involuntarily, I praised the powers without adverting to their Use. Suddenly then, and with a look of extreme keenness, he turned his eyes upon me, and exclaimed, "Yes,--and he has very highly, also the faculty of being right!" I would the friendship that dictated this assertion were as unwarped as it is animated. I could not help saying rather faintly, "Has he?" Not faintly he answered, "He has!--but not the world alone, even his friends, are apt to misjudge him. What he enters upon, however with earnestness, YOU will commonly find turn out as he represents it." His genius, his mental faculties, and the natural goodness of his heart, I then praised as warmly as Mr. Windham could have praised them himself; but the subject ran me aground a second time, as, quite undesignedly, I concluded my panegyric with declaring that I found it impossible not to admire,--nay, love him, through all his wrong. Ending another total silence and averted head, I started something more general upon the trial. His openness then returned, with all its customary vivacity, and he expressed himself extremely irritated upon various matters which had been carried against the managers by the judges. "But, Mr. Windham!" exclaimed I, "the judges!--is it possible you can enter into such a notion as to suppose Mr. Hastings capable of bribing them?" "O, for capable," cried he, "I don't know--" "Well, leave that word out, and suppose him even willing--can you imagine all the judges and all the lords--for they must concur-- disposed to be bribed?" "No; but I see them all determined to acquit Mr. Hastings." "Determined?--nay, that indeed is doing him very little honour." "O, for honour!--if he is acquitted--" He stopped,--as if that were sufficient. I ventured to ask why the judges and the lords-should make such a determination. "From the general knavery and villainy of mankind." was his hard answer, "which always wishes to abet successful guilt." "Well!" cried I, shaking my head, "you have not, Page 355 relinquished your speech from having nothing to say. But I am glad you have relinquished it, for I have always been most afraid of you ; and the reason is, those who know how to hold back will not for nothing come forward. There is one down there, who, if he knew how ever to hold back, would be great indeed!" He could not deny this, but would not affirm it. Poor Mr. Burke!--so near to being wholly right, while yet wholly wrong! When Mr. Burke mounted the rostrum, Mr. Windham stopped short, saying, "I won't interrupt you-" and, in a moment, glided back to the managers' box; where he stood behind Mr. Burke, evidently at hand to assist in any difficulty. His affection for him seems to amount to fondness. This is not for me to wonder at. Who was so captivated as myself by that extraordinary man, till he would no longer suffer me to reverence the talents I must still ever admire? A GLIMPSE OF MRS. PIOZZI. Sunday, May 2.-This morning, in my way to church, just as I arrived at the iron gate of our courtyard, a well-known voice called out, "Ah, there's Miss Burney!" I started, and looked round--and saw--Mrs. Piozzi! I hastened up to her; she met my held-out hand with both hers: Mr. Piozzi an Cecilia(329) were with her--all smiling and good-humoured. "You are going," she cried, "to church?--so, am I. I must run first to the inn: I suppose one--may sit--anywhere one pleases?" "Yes," I cried, "but you must be quick, or you will sit nowhere, there will be such a throng." This was all;--she hurried on,--so did I. I received exceeding great satisfaction in this little and unexpected meeting. She had been upon the Terrace, and was going to change her hat, and haste on both sides prevented awkwardness on either. Yet I saw she had taken in good part my concluding hand- presentation at my dear Mr. Locke's:(330) she met me no more 356 with that fiert`e of defiance: it was not-nor can it ever be with her old cordiality, but it was with some degree of pleasure, and that species of readiness which evinces a consciousness of meeting with a good reception. CAPTAIN BURNEY WANTS A SHIP AND TO GO TO COURT. May 6.-This being the last Pantheon, I put in my long intended claim; and it was greatly facilitated by the circumstance of a new singer, Madame Benda, making her first appearance. My dearest father fetched me from the Queen's house. Esther and Marianne kept me places between them. Marianne never looked so pretty; I saw not a face there I thought equally lovely. And, oh, how Pacchierotti sung!--How -with what exquisite feeling, what penetrating pathos! I could almost have cried the whole time, that this one short song was all I should be able to hear ! At the beginning of the second act I was obliged to decamp. James, who had just found me out, was my esquire. "Well," he cried, in our way to the chair, "will there be war with Spain?" I assured him I thought not. "So I am afraid!" answered the true English tar. " "However, if there is, I should be glad of a frigate of thirty-two guns. Now, if you ask for it, don't say a frigate, and get me one of twenty-eight!" Good heaven!--poor innocent James!-- And just as I reached the chair--"But how shall you feel," he cried, "when I ask you to desire a guard-ship for me, in about two years' time?" I could make no precise answer to that! He then added that he intended coming to Court! Very much frightened, I besought him first to come and drink tea with me--which he promised. In my way home, as I went ruminating upon this apparently but just, though really impracticable demand, I weighed well certain thoughts long revolving, and of late nearly bursting forth and the result was this--to try all, while yet there is time. Reproach else may aver, when too late, greater courage Would have had greater success. This idea settled my resolutions, and they all bent to one point, risking all risks. Page 357 May 10.-This evening, by appointment came our good James and his wife, and soon afterwards, to my great pleasure, Captain Phillips joined us. I take it, therefore, for granted, he will have told all that passed in the business way. I was very anxious to gather more intelligibly the wishes and requests of poor James, and to put a stop to his coming to Court without taking such previous steps as are customary. I prevailed, and promised, in return, to make known his pretensions. You may believe, my dear friends, this promise was the result of the same wish of experiment, and sense of claim upon me of my family to make it while I may, that I have mentioned. I did-- this very evening. I did it gaily, and in relating such anecdotes as were amusingly characteristic of a sailor's honest but singular notions of things: yet I have done it completely; his wishes and his claims are now laid open--Heaven knows to what effect! The Court scheme I have also told; and my royal mistress very graciously informed me, that if presented by some superior officer there could be no objection; but otherwise, unless he had some promotion, it was not quite usual. CAPTAIN BURNEY AND MR. WINDHAM. May 11.-This morning my royal mistress had previously arranged for me that I should go to the trial, and had given me a ticket for my little Sarah(331) to accompany me; and late last night, I believe after twelve o'clock, she most graciously gave me another for James. just at this time she could not more have gratified me than by a condescension to my dear brother. Poor Columb was sent with the intelligence, and directions for our meeting at seven o'clock this morning, to Norton-street. Sarah came early; but James was so late we were obliged to leave word for him to follow us. He did,--two hours afterwards! by way of being our esquire; and then told me he knew it would be in good time, and so he had stopped to breakfast at Sir Joseph Banks's. I suppose the truth is, it saved him a fresh puff of powder for some other day. We talked over all affairs, naval and national, very comfortably. The trial is my only place for long dialogues! I gave him a new and earnest charge that he would not speak home concerning the prosecution to Mr. Winndham, should he join 358 us. He made me a less reluctant promise than heretofore, for when last with Charlotte at Aylsham he had frequently visited Mr. Windham, and had several battles at draughts or backgammon with him; and there is no Such good security against giving offence as seeing ourselves that our opponents are worth pleasing. Here, too, as I told James, however we might think all the managers in the wrong, they were at least open enemies, and acting a public part, and therefore they must fight it Out, as he would do with the Spaniards, if, after all negotiation, they came to battle. He allowed this; and promised to leave him to the attacks of the little privateer, without falling foul of him with a broadside. Soon after the trial began Mr. Windham came up to us, and after a few minutes' chat with me addressed himself to James about the approaching war. "Are you preparing," he cried, "for a campaign?" "Not such one," cried James, "as we had last summer at Aylsham!" "But what officers you are!" he cried, "you men of Captain Cook; you rise upon us in every trial! This Captain Bligh,--what feats, what wonders he has performed! What difficulties got through! What dangers defied! And with such cool, manly skill!" They talked the narrative over as far as Mr. Windham had in Manuscript seen its sketch; but as I had not read it, I could not enter into its detail. MR. WINDHAM SPEAKS ON A LEGAL POINT. Mr. Windham took his seat by my elbow, and renewed one of his old style of conversations about the trial ; each of us firmly maintaining our original ground. I believe he has now relinquished his expectation of making me a convert. He surprised me soon by saying, "I begin to fear, after all, that what you have been talking about to me will come to pass." I found he meant his own speaking upon a new charge, which, when I last saw him, he exultingly told me was given up. He explained the apparent inconsistency by telling me that some new change of plan had taken place, and that Mr. Burke was extremely urgent with him to open the next charge: "And I cannot," he cried emphatically, "leave Burke in the lurch!" I both believed and applauded him so far; but why )Page 59 are either of them engaged in a prosecution so uncoloured by necessity? One chance he had still of escaping this tremendous task, he told me, which was that it might devolve upon Grey but Burke, he did not disavow, wished it to be himself. "However," he laughingly added, "I think we may toss up In that case, how I wish he may lose! not only from believing him the abler enemy, but to reserve his name from amongst the active list in such a cause. He bewailed,---with an arch look that showed his consciousness I should like the lamentation,--that he was now all unprepared,-- all fresh to begin in documents and materials, the charge being wholly new and unexpected, and that which he had considered relinquished. "I am glad, however," cried I, "your original charge is given up; for I well remember what you said of it." "I might be flattered," cried he, "and enough, that you should remember anything I say--did I not know it was only for the sake of its subject,"--looking down upon Mr. Hastings. I could not possibly deny this but added that I recollected he had acknowledged his charge was to prove Mr. Hastings mean, pitiful, little, and fraudulent." The trial this day consisted almost wholly in dispute upon evidence - the managers offered such as the counsel held improper, and the judges and lords at last adjourned to debate the matter in their own chamber. Mr. Burke made a very fine speech upon the rights of the prosecutor to bring forward his accusation, for the benefit of justice, in such mode as appeared most consonant to his own reason and the nature of things, according to their varying appearances as fresh and fresh matter Occurred. The counsel justly alleged the hardship to the client, if thus liable to new allegations and suggestions, for which he came unprepared, from a reliance that those publicly given were all against which he need arm himself, and that, if those were disproved, he was cleared; while the desultory and shifting charges of the managers put him out in every method of defence, by making it impossible to him to discern where he might be attacked. In the course of this debate I observed Mr. Windham so agitated and so deeply attentive, that it prepared me for what soon followed : he mounted the rostrum-for the third time only since this trial commenced. Page 360 His speech was only to a point Of law respecting evidence he kept close to his subject, with a clearness and perspicuity very uncommon indeed amongst these orators. His voice, however, is greatly in his disfavour ; for he forces it so violently, either from earnestness or a fear of not being heard, that, though it answered the purpose of giving the most perfect distinctness to what he uttered, its sound had an unpleasing and crude quality that amazed and disappointed me. The command of his language and fluency of his delivery, joined to the compact style of his reasoning and conciseness of his arguments, were all that could answer my expectations: but his manner--whether from energy or secret terror--lost all its grace, and by no means seemed to belong to the elegant and high-bred character that had just quitted me. In brief,--how it may happen I know not,--but he certainly does not do justice to his own powers and talents in public. He was excessively agitated: when he had done and dismounted, I saw his pale face of the most fiery red. Yet he had uttered nothing in a passion. It must have been simply from internal effort. The counsel answered him, and he mounted to reply. Here, indeed, he did himself honour; his readiness of answer, the vivacity of his objections, and the instantaneous command of all his reasoning faculties, were truly striking. Had what he said not fallen in reply to a speech but that moment made, I must have concluded it the result Of Study, and all harangue learnt by heart. He was heard with the most marked attention. The second speech, like the first, was wholly upon the laws of evidence, and Mr. Hastings was not named in either. He is certainly practising against his great day. And, in truth, I hold still to my fear of it; for, however little his manner in public speaking may keep pace with its promise in private conversation, his matter was tremendously pointed and severe. The trial of the day concluded by an adjournment to consult upon the evidence in debate, with the judges, in the House of Lords. Mr. Windham came up to the seats of the Commons in my neighbourhood, but not to me; he spoke to the Misses Francis,--daughters of Mr. Hastings's worst foe,--and hurried down. On my return I was called upon to give an account of the Page 361 trial to their majesties and the princesses, and a formidable business, I assure you, to perform. AN EMPHATIC PERORATION. May 18.-This morning I again went to the trial of poor Mr. Hastings. Heavens! who can see him sit there unmoved? not even those who think him guilty,--if they are human. I took with me Mrs. Bogle. She had long since begged a ticket for her husband, which I could never before Procure. We now went all three. And, indeed, her original speeches and remarks made a great part of my entertainment. Mr. Hastings and his counsel were this day most victorious. I never saw the prosecutors so dismayed. Yet both Mr. Burke and Mr. Fox spoke, and before the conclusion so did Mr. Windham. They were all in evident embarrassment. Mr. Hastings's counsel finished the day, with a most noble appeal to justice and innocence, protesting that, if his client did not fairly claim the one, by proving the other, he wished himself that the prosecutors-that the lords--that the nation at large--that the hand of God--might fall heavy upon him! This had a great and sudden effect,-- not a word was uttered. The prosecutors looked dismayed and astonished ; and the day closed. Mr. Windham came up to speak to Misses Francis about a dinner: but he only, bowed to me, and with a look so conscious---so much saying, "'TiS your turn to triumph now!: that I had not the spite to attack him. But when the counsel had uttered this animated speech, Mrs. Bogle was so much struck, she hastily arose, and, clapping her hands, called out audibly, in a broad Scotch accent, "O, charming!" I could hardly, quiet her till I assured her we should make a paragraph for the newspapers. I had the pleasure to deliver this myself to their majesties, and the princesses--and as I was called upon while it was fresh in my memory, I believe but little of the general energy was forgotten. It gave me great pleasure to repeat so striking an affirmation of the innocence of so high, so injured I believe, a character. The queen eagerly declared I should go again the next sitting. Wednesday, May 19.--The real birthday of my royal mistress, to whom may Heaven grant many, many and prosperous! Dressing, and so forth, filled up all the morning Page 362 and at night I had a t`ete-`a-t`ete with Charles, till twelve. I got to bed about five in the morning. The sweet princesses had a ball, and I could not lament my fatigue. AN APTITUDE FOR LOGIC AND FOR GREEK. May 20.-To-day again to the trial, to which I took MISS Young, her majesty having given me two tickets very late overnight. Miss Young is singularly, as far as I can see, the reverse of her eccentric parents she is moderation personified. Mr. Windham again spoke in the course of this morning's business, which was chiefly occupied in debating on the admissibility of the evidence brought forward by the prosecutors. The quickness and aptness of his arguments, with the admirable facility and address with which he seized upon those of his opponents, the counsel, were strong marks of that high and penetrating capacity so strikingly his characteristic. The only defect in his speaking is the tone of his voice, which, from exertion, loses all its powers of modulation, and has a crude accent and expression very disagreeable. During the examination of Mr. Anderson, one of Mr. Hastings's best friends,--a sensible, well-bred, and gentlemanlike man,--Mr. Windham came up to my elbow. "And can this man," cried he, presently, "this man--so gentle---be guilty?" I accused him of making a point to destroy all admiration of gentleness in my opinion. "But you are grown very good now!" I added, "No, very bad I mean!" He knew I meant for speaking ; and I then gave him burlesqued, various definitions of good, which had fallen from Mr. Fox in my hearing, the most contradictory, and, taken out of their place, the most ridiculous imaginable. He laughed very much, but seriously confessed that technical terms and explanations had better have been wholly avoided by them all, as the counsel were sure to out-technicalise them, and they were then exposed to greater embarrassments than by steering clear of the attempt, and resting only upon their common forces. "There is one praise," I cried, "which I am always sure to meet in the newspapers whenever I meet with your name; and I begin to quite tire of seeing it for you,-your skill in logic!" Page 363 "O, I thank you," he cried, earnestly "I am indeed quite ashamed of the incessant misappropriation of that word." "No, no," cried I; "I only tire of it because they seem to think, when once the word logic and your name are combined, they have completely stated all. However, in what little I have heard, I could have suspected you to have been prepared with a speech ready written, had I not myself heard just before all the arguments which it answered." I then added that I was the less surprise(! at this facility of language, from having heard my brother declare he knew no man who read Greek with that extraordinary rapidity--no, not Dr. Parr, nor any of the professed Grecians, whose peculiar study it had been through life. This could be nothing, he said, but partiality. "Not mine, at least," cried I, laughing, "for Greek excellence is rather Out Of my sphere of panegyric!" " Well," cried he, laughing too at my disclaiming, "'Tis' your brother's partiality. However, 'tis one I must try not to lose. I must take to my Greek exercises again." They will do you a world of good, thought I, if they take you but from your prosecution-exercises. MORE TALK WITH MR. WINDHAM. We then talked of Mr. Burke. "How finely," I cried, "he has spoken! with what fullness of intelligence, and what fervour!" He agreed, with delighted concurrence. "Yet,--so much so long!" I added. "True!" cried he, ingenuously, yet concerned. "What pity he can never stop!" And then I enumerated some of the diffuse and unnecessary paragraphs which had weakened his cause, as well as his speech. He was perfectly candid, though always with some reluctance. "But a man who speaks in public," he said, "should never forget what will do for his auditors: for himself alone, it is not enough to think ; but for what is fitted, and likely to be interesting to them." "He wants nothing," cried I, "but a flapper." "Yes, and he takes flapping inimitably." "You, then," I cried, "should be his flapper." "And sometimes," said he, smiling, "I am." "O, I often see," said I, "of what use you are to him. I Page 364 see you watching him,--reminding, checking him in turn,--at least, I fancy all this as I look into the managers' box, which is no small amusement to me,--when there is any commotion there!" He bowed; but I never diminished from the frank unfriendliness to the cause with which I began. But I assured him I saw but too well how important and useful he was to them, even without speaking. "Perhaps," cried he, laughing, "more than with speaking." "I am not meaning to talk Of that now," said I, "but yet, one thing I will tell you: I hear you more distinctly than any one; the rest I as often miss as catch, except when they turn this way,--a favour Which you never did me!" "No, no, indeed!" cried he; "to abstract myself from all, is all that enables me to get on." And then, with his native candour, he cast aside prejudice, and very liberally praised several points in this poor persecuted great man. I had seen, I said, an initiation from Horace, which had manifested, I presumed, his scholarship." "O, ay," cried he, "an Ode to Mr. Shore, who is one of the next witnesses. Burke was going to allude to it, but I begged him not. I do not like to make their lordships smile in this grave business." "That is so right!: cried I: "Ah, you know it IS you and your attack I have feared most all along!" "This flattery"--cried he. "Do not use that word any more, Mr. Windham," interrupted I; "if you do, I shall be tempted to make a very shocking speech to you--the very reverse of flattery, I assure you." He stared,-- and I went on. "I shall say,--that those who think themselves flattered--flatter themselves.!" "What?--hey?--How?" cried he. "Nay, they cannot conclude themselves flattered, without concluding they have de quoi to make it worth while!" "Why, there--there may be something In that but not here!--no, here it must flow simply front general benevolence,--from a wish to give comfort or pleasure." I disclaimed all and turned his attention again to Mr. Hastings. "See!" I cried, "see but how thin--how ill--looks that poor little uncle of yours!"(332) Again I upbraided him with being unnatural; and lamented Mr. Hastings's Page 365 change since I had known him in former days. "And shall I tell you," I added, "something in which you had nearly been involved with him?" "Me?--with Mr. Hastings?" "Yes ! and I regret it did not happen ! You may recollect my mentioning my original acquaintance with him, before I lived where I now do." ' "Yes, but where you now....I understand you,--expect ere long you may see him!" He meant from his acquittal, and reception at the Queen's house. And I would not contradict him. But, however," I continued, "my acquaintance and regard began very fairly while I lived at home at my father's and indeed I regret you could not then and so have known him, as I am satisfied you would have been pleased with him, which now you cannot judge. He is so gentle-mannered, so intelligent, so unassuming, yet so full-minded." I have Understood that," he answered; "yet 'tis amazing how little unison there may be between mariners and characters, and how softly gentle a man may appear without, whose nature within is all ferocity and cruelty. This is a part of mankind of which you cannot judge--of which, indeed, you can scarce form an idea." After a few comments I continued what I had to say, which, in fact, was nothing but another malice of my own against him. I reminded him of one day in a former year of this trial, when I had the happiness of sitting at it with my dearest Mrs. Locke, in which he had been so obliging, with reiterated offers, as to propose seeing for my servant, etc.-" "Well," I continued, "I was afterwards extremely sorry I had not accepted your kindness; for just as we were going away, who should be passing, and turn back to speak to me, but Mr. Hastings!" 'O!' he cried, 'I must come here to see you, I find!' Now, had you but been with me at that moment! I own it would have been the greatest pleasure to me to have brought you together though I am quite at a loss to know whether I ought, in that case, to have presented you to each other." He laughed most heartily,-half, probably, with joy at his escape; but he had all his wits about him in his answer. "If you," he cried, "had been between US, we might, for once, have coalesced-- in both bowing to the same shrine!" (322) Wednesday, November 18.-ED. (323) Covent Garden.-ED. (324) A comedy by Reynolds, originally produced at Covent Garden, May 15, 1789.-ED. (325) Sir Robert Gunning, the bride's father.-ED. (326) Fanny refers to Burke's attitude during the Regency debates, in which, as a member of the opposition, he had supported Mr. Fox.-ED, (327) "A Narrative of the mutiny on board his majesty's ship Bounty; and the subsequent Voyage of part of the Crew, in the ship's boat, from Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, to Timor, a Dutch settlement in the East Indies. Written by Lieutenant William Bligh." London, 1790. Lieutenant (afterwards Admiral) Bligh was appointed to the command of the Bounty in August, 1787. He sailed from England in December, and arrived at Otaheite, October 26, 1788, the object of his voyage being to transplant the bread fruit tree from the South Sea Islands to the British colonies in the West Indies, with a view to its acclimatisation there. A delay of more than five months at Otaheite demoralized the crew, to whom the dolce far mente of life in a Pacific island, and the Charms of the Otaheitan women, offered greater attractions than the toils of sea-faring under a somewhat tyrannical captain. The Bounty left Otaheite April 4, 1789, and on the 28th of the same month a mutiny broke out under the leadership of the mater's mate, Fletcher Christian. Captain Bligh and eighteen of his men were set adrift in the ship's boat, in which they sailed for nearly three months, undergoing terrible privations, and reaching the Dutch settlement at Timor, an island off the east coast of Java, June 14. Bligh arrived in England, March 14, 1790. The mutineers finally settled in Pitcairn's island, where their descendants are still living.-ED. (328) See note ante 263, p. 102.-ED. (329) Mrs. Piozzi's youngest daughter, who had accompanied her mother and step-father abroad.-ED. 2 It appears from a note in (330) It appears from a note in the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" (vol. iii. p. 199), that Fanny had once before met Mrs Piozzi since her marriage, at an assembly at Mrs. Locke's. This meeting must have taken place Soon after the marriage, as Mrs. Piozzi went abroad with her husband shortly afterwards.-ED. (331) Fanny's half-sister.-ED. (332) An allusion to the personal resemblance between Windham and Hastings. See ante, p. 149.-ED. Page 366 SECTION 17. (1790-1) MISS BURNEY RESIGNS HER PLACE AT COURT. [The following section concludes the story of Fanny's life at Court. Her entire unfitness for the position which she there occupied had been, from the commencement, no secret to herself; but her tenderness for her father had determined her to endure to the utmost before resigning a place to which her appointment had been to him, in his short-sighted folly, a source of such extreme gratification. But now she could endure no longer. The occasional relief which she had found in the society of Mrs. Delany and Colonel Digby had been brought to an end by the death of the one and the marriage of the other ; her spirits were broken, her state of health was becoming daily more alarming and she at last summoned up courage to consult her father on the subject, and to make known to him her desire of resigning. Blind as he had shown himself to the true interests of his daughter, Dr. Burney was still the most affectionate of parents. He heard Fanny's complaint with grief and disappointment, but with instant acquiescence in her wishes. His consent to her plan being obtained, Fanny for some months took no further steps in the matter. She was willing to remain at her post so long as she was capable, with whatever difficulty, of supporting its fatigues. But her health failed more and more, and the memorial was at last (December, 1790) presented to the queen. Even yet the day of release was far distant. The "sweet queen" was in no hurry to part with so faithful a servant, and although she had accepted the resignation, she did not conceal her displeasure at being reminded of it. Meanwhile the unfortunate victim of royal selfishness was growing daily weaker. Her friends were seriously alarmed: even her fellow-slaves at Court commiserated her, and urged her retirement. A successor was at length appointed, and on the 7th of July, 1791, Fanny found herself once more free. Page 367 During the interval which elapsed between the consultation with Dr. Burney and the presentation of the memorial, an incident occurred which occasioned to Fanny much distress and not a little annoyance. Her own narrative of the affair we have not thought it necessary to include in our selection from the "Diary," but here a few words on the subject may be not unacceptable. Fanny's man-servant, a Swiss named Jacob Columb, had fallen dangerously ill in the summer of 1790, and was sent, in August, to St. George's Hospital. He was much attached to his mistress, who, he said, had treated him with greater kindness than father, mother, or any of his relatives, and on leaving Windsor he begged her to hold in trust for him the little money in his possession, amounting to ten guineas. She offered him a receipt for the money, but he refused it, and when she insisted, exclaimed, "No, ma'am, I won't take it! You know what it is, and I know what it is; and if I live I'm sure you won't wrong me: and if I don't, nobody else sha'n't have it!" Moved to tears by the poor fellow's earnestness, Fanny complied with his request. In the following month he died at the hospital, desiring, in his last moments, to leave everything to his sisters in Switzerland. "He certainly meant," writes Fanny, "everything of his wearing apparel, watches, etc., for what money he had left in my hands he would never tell anybody." She was preparing, accordingly, to transmit Columb's effects, including, of course, the ten guineas, to Switzerland, when a claimant appeared in the person of Peter Bayond, a countryman of the deceased. This man produced a will, purporting to be Columb's, by which the property was left to be divided between Bayond himself and James Columb, a cousin of the pretended testator, then in service with Horace Walpole. Fanny's instant conviction was that the will was a forgery, and the appearance and behaviour of Bayond confirmed her in this belief. James Columb, moreover, concurred in her opinion, and she had decided to ignore this new claim, when she received an attorney's letter, desiring her to pay to Bayond the sum in her hands of the late Jacob Columb. She then wrote to Walpole, who offered her his assistance, with many expressions of warm regard. But finally, after much trouble, and threats of a lawsuit, she was advised that her best plan would be to let the will take its course, and to pay over to the claimant the sum in question ; and thus the matter was settled, "in a manner," she writes, "the most mortifying to Mr. Walpole and myself."-ED.) Page 368 A MELANCHOLY CONFESSION. May 25.-The Princess Augusta condescended to bring me a most gracious message from the king, desiring to know if I wished to go to Handel's Commemoration, and if I should like the "Messiah," or prefer any other day? With my humble acknowledgments for his goodness, I fixed instantly on the "Messiah" and the very amiable princess came smiling back to me, bringing me my ticket from the king. This would not, indeed, much have availed me, but that I fortunately knew my dear father meant to go to the Abbey. I despatched Columb to Chelsea, and he promised to call for me the next morning. My "Visions" I had meant to produce in a few days; and to know their chance before I left town for the summer.(333) But I thought the present opportunity not to be slighted, for some little opening, that might lighten the task of the exordium upon the day of attempt. He was all himself--all his native self- -kind, gay, open, and full fraught with converse. Chance favoured me: we found so little room, that we were fain to accept two vacant places at once, though they separated us from my uncle, Mr. Burney, and his brother James, who were all there, and all meant to be of the same party. I might not, at another time, have rejoiced in this disunion, but it was now most opportune: it gave me three hours' conference with my dearest father--the only conference of that length I have had in four years. Fortune again was kind ; for my father began relating various anecdotes of attacks made upon him for procuring to sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter,(334) particularly with the Duchesse de Biron, and the Mesdames de Boufflers(335) to whom he answered, he had no power; but was somewhat Page 369 struck by the question of Madame de B. in return, who exclaimed, "Mais, monsieur, est-ce possible! Mademoiselle votre fille n'a-t- elle point de vacance?"(336) This led to much interesting discussion, and to many confessions and explanations on my part, never made before; which induced him to enter more fully into the whole of the situation, and its circumstances, than he had ever yet had the leisure or the spirits to do; and he repeated sundry speeches of discontent at my seclusion from the world. All this encouraged me to much detail: I spoke my high and constant veneration for my royal mistress, her merits, her virtues, her condescension, and her even peculiar kindness towards me. But I owned the species of life distasteful to me; I was lost to all private comfort, dead to all domestic endearment; I was worn with want of rest, and fatigued with laborious watchfulness and attendance. My time was devoted to official duties; and all that in life was dearest to me--my friends, my chosen society, my best affections--lived now in my mind only by recollection, and rested upon that with nothing but bitter regret. With relations the most deservedly dear, with friends of almost unequalled goodness, I lived like an orphan-like one who had no natural ties, and must make her way as she could by those that were factitious. Melancholy was the existence where happiness was excluded, though not a complaint could be made! where the illustrious personages who were served possessed almost all human excellence, yet where those who were their servants, though treated with the most benevolent condescension, could never, in any part of the live-long day, command liberty, or social intercourse, or repose. The silence of my dearest father now silencing myself, I turned to look at him; but how was I struck to see his honoured head bowed down almost into his bosom with dejection and discomfort!-- we were both perfectly still a few moments; but when he raised his head I could hardly keep my seat, to see his eyes filled with tears!--"I have long," he cried, "been uneasy, though I have not spoken; but if you wish to resign, my house, my purse, my arms, shall be open to receive you, back;" Page 370 The emotion of my whole heart at this speech-this sweet, this generous speech--O my dear friends, I need not say it We were mutually forced to break up Our conference. I could only instantly accept his paternal offer, and tell him it was my guardian angel, it was Providence in its own benignity, that inspired him with such goodness. I begged him to love the day in which he had given me such comfort, and assured him it would rest upon my heart with grateful pleasure till it ceased to beat. He promised to drink tea with me before I left town, and settle all our proceedings. I acknowledged my intention to have ventured to solicit this very permission of resigning.- "But I," cried he, smiling with the sweetest kindness, "have spoken first myself." What a joy to me, what a relief, this very circumstance! it will always lighten any evil that may, unhappily, follow this proposed step. CAPTAIN BURNEY's LACONIC LETTER AND INTERVIEW. June.-I went again to the trial of poor Mr. Hastings : Mrs. Ord received from me my companion ticket, kindly giving up the Duke of Newcastle's box to indulge me with her company. But I must mention an extraordinary circumstance that happened in the last week. I received in a parcel--No, I will recite it you as I told it to Mr. Windham, who, fortunately, saw and came up to me--fortunately, I say, as the business of the day was very unedifying, and as Mrs. Ord much wished to hear some of his conversation. He inquired kindly about James and his affairs, and if he had yet a ship; and, to let him see a person might reside in a Court, and yet have no undue influence, I related his proceedings with Lord Chatham, and his laconic letter and interview. The first running thus:-- "My Lord,--I should be glad of an audience; if your Lordship will be so good to appoint a time, I will wait upon you. I am, my Lord, your humble servant, "James Burney." "And pray," quoth I to James, when he told me this, "did you not say the honour of an audience?" Page 371 "No," answered he, "I was civil enough without that; I said, If you will be so good--that was very civil--and honour is quite left off now." How comic! to run away proudly from forms and etiquettes, and then pretend it was only to be more in the last mode. Mr. Windham enjoyed this characteristic trait very much; and he likes James so well that he deserved it, as well as the interview which ensued. "How do you do, Captain Burney?" "My lord, I should be glad to be employed." " You must be sensible, Captain Burney, we have many claimants just now, and more than it is possible to satisfy immediately." "I am very sensible of that, my lord; but, at the same time, I wish to let your lordship know what I should like to have--a frigate of thirty-two guns." "I am very glad to know what you wish, sir." He took out his pocket-book, made a memorandum, and wished James a good morning. Whether or not it occurred to Mr. Windham, while I told this, that there seemed a shorter way to Lord Chatham, and one more in his own style, I know not: he was too delicate to let such a hint escape, and I would not for the world intrust him with my applications and disappointments. BURKE'S SPEECH ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. But I have found," cried I afterwards, "another newspaper praise for you now, 'Mr. Windham, with his usual vein of irony."' "O, yes," cried he, "I saw that! But what can it mean?--I use no 'vein of irony;'--I dislike it, except for peculiar purposes, keenly handled, and soon passed over." " Yet this is the favourite panegyric you receive continually,-- this, or logic, always attends your name in the newspapers." "But do I use it?" "Nay, not to me, I own. As a manner, I never found it out, at least. However, I am less averse now than formerly to the other panegyric--close logic,--for I own the more frequently I come hither the more convinced I find myself that that is no character of commendation to be given universally." He could say nothing to this; and really the dilatory, Page 372 desultory style of these prosecutors in general deserved a much deeper censure. "If a little closeness of logic and reasoning were observed by one I look at now, what a man would he be, and who could compare with him!" Mr. Burke you are sure was here my object; and his entire, though silent and unwilling, assent was obvious. "What a speech," I continued, "has he lately made!(337) how noble, how energetic, how enlarged throughout!" "O," cried he, very unaffectedly, "upon the French Revolution?" "Yes; and any party might have been proud of it, for liberality, for feeling, for all in one--genius. I, who am only a reader of detached speeches, have read none I have thought its equal." "Yet, such as you have seen it, it does not do him justice. I was not in the House that day ; but I am assured the actual speech, as he spoke it at the moment, was highly superior to what has since been printed. There was in it a force--there were shades of reflection so fine--allusions so quick and so happy-- and strokes of satire and observation so pointed and so apt,-- that it had ten times more brilliancy when absolutely extempore than when transmitted to paper." "Wonderful, wonderful! He is a truly wonderful creature!" And, alas, thought I, as wonderful in inconsistency as in greatness! In the course of a discussion more detailed upon faculties, I ventured to tell him what impression they had made upon James, who was with me during one of the early long speeches. "I was listening," I said, " with the most fer- Page 373 vent attention to such strokes of eloquence as, while I heard them, carried all before them, when my brother pulled me by the sleeve to exclaim, 'When will he come to the point?"' The justness, notwithstanding his characteristic conciseness, of this criticism, I was glad thus to convey. Mr. Windham however, would not subscribe to it; but, with a significant smile, coolly said, "Yes, 'tis curious to hear a man of war's ideas of rhetoric." "Well," quoth I, to make a little amends, "shall I tell you a compliment he paid you?" "Me?" "Yes. 'He speaks to the purpose,' he cried." AN AWKWARD MEETING. Some time after, with a sudden recollection, he eagerly exclaimed, "O, I knew I had something I wished to tell you! I was the other day at a place to see Stuart's Athenian architecture, and whom do you think I met in the room?" I could not guess. "Nay, 'tis precisely what you will like--Mr. Hastings!" "Indeed!" cried I, laughing; "I must own I am extremely glad to hear it. I only wish you could both meet without either knowing the other." "Well, we behaved extremely well, I assure you ; and looked each as if we had never seen one another before. I determined to let you know it." . . . A NEW VISIT FROM MRS. FAIRLY. The day after the birthday I had again a visit from Mrs. Fairly. I was in the midst of packing, and breakfasting, and confusion - for we left town immediately, to return no more till next year, except to St. James's for the Drawing-room. However, I made her as welcome as I was able, and she was more soft and ingratiating in her manners than I ever before observed her. I apologised two or three times for not waiting upon her, representing my confined abilities for visiting. ONE TRAGEDY FINISHED AND ANOTHER COMMENCED. August.-As I have only my almanac memorandums for this month, I shall hasten immediately to what I think my dear partial lecturers will find most to their taste in the course of it. Page 374 Know then, fair ladies, about the middle of this August, 17 90, the author finished the rough first draft and copy of her first tragedy. What species of a composition it may prove she is very unable to tell; she only knows it was an almost spontaneous work, and soothed the melancholy of imagination for a while, though afterwards it impressed it with a secret sensation of horror, so like real woe, that she believes it contributed to the injury her sleep received about this period. Nevertheless, whether well or ill, she is pleased to have done something at last, she had so long lived in all ways as nothing. You will smile, however, at my next trust; but scarce was this completed,-as to design and scenery I mean, for the whole is in its first rough state, and legible only to herself,- scarce, however, had this done with imagination, to be consigned over to correction, when imagination seized upon another subject for another tragedy. The first therefore I have deposited in my strong-box, in all its imperfections, to attend to the other; I well know correction may always be summoned, Imagination never will come but by choice. I received her, therefore, a welcome guest,--the best adapted for softening weary solitude, where only coveted to avoid irksome exertion. MISS BURNEY's RESIGNATION MEMORIAL. October.-I now drew up my memorial, or rather, showed it to my dearest father. He so much approved it, that he told me he would not have a comma of it altered. I will copy it for you. It is as respectful and as grateful as I had words at command to make it, and expressive of strong devotion and attachment; but it fairly and firmly states that my strength is inadequate to the duties of my charge, and, therefore, that I humbly crave permission to resign it and retire into domestic life. It was written in my father's name and my own. I had now that dear father's desire to present it upon the first auspicious moment: and O! with what a mixture of impatience and dread unspeakable did I look forward to such an opportunity! The war was still undecided : still I inclined to wait its issue, as I perpetually brought in my wishes for poor James, though without avail. Major Garth, our last equerry, was raised to a high post in the West Indies, and the rank of colonel, I recommended James to his notice and regard if Page 375 they met; and a promise most readily and pleasantly made to seek him out and present him to his brother, the general, if they ever served in the same district, was all, I think, that my Court residence obtained for my marine department of interest! Meanwhile, one morning at Kew, Miss Cambridge was so much alarmed at my declining state of health that she would take no denial to my seeing and consulting Mr. Dundas. He ordered me the bark, and it strengthened me so much for awhile, that I was too much recruited for presenting my sick memorial, which I therefore cast aside. Mrs. Ord spent near a week at Windsor in the beginning of this month. I was ill, however, the whole time, and suffered so much from my official duties, that my good Mrs. Ord, day after day, evidently lost something more and more of her partiality to my station, from witnessing fatigues of which she had formed no idea, and difficulties and disagreeabilities in carrying on a week's intercourse, even with so respectable a friend, which I believe she had thought impossible. Two or three times she burst forth into ejaculations strongly expressive of fears for my health and sorrow at its exhausting calls. I could not but be relieved in my own mind that this much-valued, most maternal friend should thus receive a conviction beyond all powers of representation, that my place was of a sort to require a strength foreign to my make. She left me in great and visible uneasiness, and wrote to me continually for bills of health, I never yet so much loved her, for, kind as I have always found her, I never yet saw in her so much true tenderness. MR. WINDHAM INTERVENES. In this month, also, I first heard of the zealous exertions and chivalrous intentions of Mr. Windham. Charles told me they never met without his demounting the whole thunders of his oratory against the confinement by which he thought my health injured; with his opinion that it must be counteracted speedily by elopement, no other way seeming effectual. But with Charlotte he came more home to the point. Their vicinity in Norfolk occasions their meeting, though very seldom at the house of Mr. Francis, who resents his prosecution of Mr. Hastings, and never returns his visits; but at assemblies at Aylsham and at Lord Buckingham's dinners they are certain of now and then encountering. Page 376 This summer, when Mr. Windham went to Felbrig, his Norfolk seat, they soon met at an assembly, and he immediately opened upon his disapprobation of her sister's monastic life, adding, "I do not venture to speak thus freely upon this subject to everybody, but to you I think I may; at least, I hope it." Poor dear Charlotte was too full-hearted for disguise, and they presently entered into a confidential cabal, that made her quite disturbed and provoked when hurried away. From this time, whenever they met, they were pretty much of a mind. "I cannot see you," he always cried, "without recurring to that painful subject--your sister's situation." He then broke forth in an animated offer of his own services to induce Dr. Burney to finish such a captivity, if he could flatter himself he might have any influence. Charlotte eagerly promised him the greatest, and he gave her his promise to go to work. O What a noble Quixote! How much I feel obliged to him! How happy, when I may thank him! He then pondered upon ways and means. He had already sounded my father: "but it is resolution," he added, "not inclination, Dr. Burney wants." After some further reflection, he then fixed upon a plan : "I will set the Literary Club(338) upon him!" he cried: "Miss Burney has some very true admirers there, and I am sure they will all eagerly assist. We will present him a petition--an address." Much more passed: Mr. Windham expressed a degree of interest and kindness so cordial, that Charlotte says she quite longed to shake hands with him; and if any success ever accrues, she certainly must do it. Frightened, however, after she returned home, she feared our dearest father might unfairly be overpowered, and frankly wrote him a recital of the whole, counselling him to see Mr. Windham in private before a meeting at the club should take place. AN AMUSING INTERVIEW WITH MR. BOSWELL. And now for a scene a little surprising. The beautiful chapel of St. George, repaired and finished by the best artists at an immense expense, which was now opened after a very long shutting up for its preparations, brought in- Page 377 numerable strangers to Windsor, and, among others, Mr. Boswell. This I heard, in my way to the chapel, from Mr. Turbulent, who overtook me, and mentioned having met Mr. Boswell at the Bishop of Carlisle's the evening, before. He proposed bringing him to call upon me; but this I declined, certain how little satisfaction would be given here by the entrance of a man so famous for compiling anecdotes. But yet I really wished to see him again, for old acquaintance sake, and unavoidable amusement from his oddity and good humour, as well as respect for the object of his constant admiration, my revered Dr. Johnson. I therefore told Mr. Turbulent I should be extremely glad to speak with him after the service was over. Accordingly, at the gate of the choir, Mr. Turbulent brought him to me. We saluted With mutual glee: his comic-serious face and manner have lost nothing of their wonted singularity nor yet have his mind and language, as you will soon confess. "I am extremely glad to see you indeed," he cried, "but very sorry to see you here. My dear ma'am, why do you stay ?--it won't do, ma'am! You must resign!--we can put up with it no longer. I told my good host the bishop so last night; we are all grown quite outrageous!" Whether I laughed the most, or stared the most, I am at a loss to say, but i hurried away from the cathedral, not to have such treasonable declarations overheard, for We Were surrounded by a multitude. He accompanied me, however, not losing one moment in continuing his exhortations: "If you do not quit, ma'am, very soon, some violent measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall address Dr. Burney in a body; I am ready to make the harangue myself. We shall fall upon him all at once." I stopped him to inquire about Sir Joshua; he said he saw him very often, and that his spirits were very good. I asked about Mr. Burke's book.(339) "O," cried he "it Will come Out next week: 'tis the first book in the World, except my own, and that's coming out also very soon; only I want your help." "My help?" "Yes, madam,--you must give me some of your choice little notes of the doctor's; we have seen him long enough upon Page 378 stilts; I want to show him in a new light. Grave Sam, and great Sam, and solemn Sam, and learned Sam,--all these he has appeared over and over. Now I want to entwine a wreath of the graces across his brow; I want to show him as gay Sam, agreeable Sam, pleasant Sam; so you must help me with some of his beautiful billets to yourself." I evaded this by declaring I had not any stores at hand. He proposed a thousand curious expedients to get at them, but I was invincible. Then I was hurrying on, lest I should be too late. He followed eagerly, and again exclaimed, "But, ma'am, as I tell you, this won't do; you must resign off hand! Why, I would farm you out myself for double, treble the money! I wish I had the regulation of such a farm,--yet I am no farmer-general. But I should like to farm you, and so I will tell Dr. Burney. I mean to address him; I have a speech ready for the first opportunity." He then told me his " Life of Dr. Johnson " was nearly printed, and took a proof-sheet out of his pocket to show me; with crowds passing and repassing, knowing me well, and staring well at him: for we were now at the iron rails of the Queen's lodge. I stopped; I could not ask him in : I saw he expected it, and was reduced to apologise, and tell him I must attend the queen immediately. He uttered again stronger and stronger exhortations for my retreat, accompanied by expressions which I was obliged to check in their bud. But finding he had no chance for entering, he stopped me again at the gate, and said he would read me a part of his work. There was no refusing this: and he began with a letter of Dr. Johnson's to himself. He read it in strong imitation of the doctor's manner, very well, and not caricature. But Mrs. Schwellenberg was at her window, a crowd was gathering to stand round the rails, and the king and queen and royal family now approached from the Terrace. I made a rather quick apology, and, with a step as quick as my now weakened limbs have left in my power, I hurried to my apartment. You may suppose I had inquiries enough, from all around, of "Who was the gentleman I was talking to at the rails? And an injunction rather frank not to admit him beyond those limits. However, I saw him again the next morning, in coming Page 379 from early prayers, and he again renewed his remonstrances, and his petition for my letters of Dr. Johnson. I cannot consent to print private letters, even of a man so justly celebrated, when addressed to myself: no, I shall hold sacred those revered and but too scarce testimonies of the high honour his kindness conferred upon me. One letter I have from him that is a masterpiece of elegance and kindness united. 'Twas his last, ILL, UNSETTLED, AND UNHAPPY. November.-This month will be very brief of annals; I was so ill, so unsettled, so unhappy during every day, that I kept not a memorandum. All the short benefit I had received from the bark was now at an end : languor, feverish nights, and restless days were incessant. My memorial was always in my mind ; my courage never rose to bringing it from my letter-case. Yet the war was over, the hope of a ship for my brother demolished, and my health required a change of life equally with my spirits and my happiness. The queen was all graciousness; and her favour and confidence and smiles redoubled my difficulties. I saw she had no suspicion but that I was hers for life ; and, unimportant as I felt myself to her, in any comparison with those for whom I quitted her, I yet knew not how to give her the unpleasant surprise of a resignation for which I saw her wholly unprepared. . It is true, my depression of spirits and extreme alteration of person might have operated as a preface; for I saw no one, except my royal mistress and Mrs. Schwellenberg, who noticed not the change, or who failed to pity and question me upon my health and my fatigues; but as they alone saw it not, or mentioned it not, that afforded me no resource. And thus, with daily intention to present my petition and conclude this struggle, night always returned with the effort unmade, and the watchful morning arose fresh to new purposes that seemed only formed for demolition. And the month expired as it began, with a desire the most strenuous of liberty and peace, combated by reluctance unconquerable to give pain, displeasure, or distress to my very gracious royal mistress. December.-My loss of health was now so notorious, that no part of the house could wholly avoid acknowledging it; yet was the terrible picquet the catastrophe of every evening, Page 380 though frequent pains in my side forced me, three or four times in a game, to creep to my own room for hartshorn and for rest. And so weak and faint I was become, that I was compelled to put my head out into the air, at all hours, and in all weathers, from time to time, to recover the power of breathing, which seemed not seldom almost withdrawn. Her majesty was very kind during this time, and the princesses interested themselves about me with a sweetness very grateful to me; indeed, the whole household showed compassion and regard, and a general opinion that I was falling into a decline ran through the establishment. . . . Thus there seemed about my little person a universal commotion ; and it spread much farther, amongst those I have never or slightly mentioned. There seemed, indeed, but one opinion, that resignation of place or of life was the only remaining alternative. There seemed now no time to be lost - when I saw my dear father he recommended to me to be speedy,, and my mother was very kind in urgency for immediate measures. I could not, however, summon courage to present my memorial; my heart always failed me, from seeing the queen's entire freedom from such an expectation: for though I was frequently so ill in her presence that I could hardly stand, I saw she concluded me, while life remained, inevitably hers. A MEDICAL OPINION ON MISS BURNEY'S CONDITION. Finding my inability unconquerable, I at length determined upon consulting Mr. Francis. I wrote to Charlotte a faithful and Minute account of myself', with all my attacks--cough, pain In the side, weakness, sleeplessness, etc.,--at full length, and begged Mr. Francis's opinion how I must proceed. Very kindly he wrote directly to my father, exhorting instantaneous resignation, as all that stood before me to avert some dangerous malady. The dear Charlotte at the same time wrote to me conjuring my prompt retreat with the most affecting earnestness. The uneasiness that preyed upon my spirits in a task so difficult to perform for myself, joined to my daily declension in health, was now so apparent, that, though I could go no farther, I paved the way for an opening, by owning to the queen that Mr. Francis had been consulted upon my health. The queen now frequently inquired concerning his answer; Page 381 but as I knew he had written to my father, I deferred giving the result till I had had a final conference with that dear parent. I told her majesty my father Would show me the letter when I saw him. This I saw raised for the first time a surmise that something was in agitation, though I am certain the suspicion did not exceed an expectation that leave would be requested for a short absence to recruit. My dearest father, all kindness and goodness, yet all alarm, thought time could never be more favourable; and when next I saw him at Chelsea, I wrote a second memorial to enclose the original one. With a beating heart, and every pulse throbbing, I returned thus armed to the Queen's house. Mrs. Schwellenberg sent for me to her room. I could hardly articulate a word to her. My agitation was so great that I was compelled to acknowledge something very awful was impending in my affairs, and to beg she would make no present inquiries. I had not meant to employ her in the business, nor to name it to her, but I was too much disturbed for concealment or evasion. She seemed really sorry, and behaved with a humanity I had not had much reason to expect. I spent a terrible time till I went to the queen at night, spiriting myself up for my task, and yet finding apprehension gain ground every moment. Mrs. Schwellenberg had already been some time with her majesty when I was summoned. I am sure she had already mentioned the little she had gathered. I could hardly perform my customary offices from excess of trepidation. The queen looked at me with the most inquisitive solicitude. When left with her a moment I tried vainly to make an opening: I could not. She was too much impressed herself by my manner to wait long. She soon inquired what answer had arrived from Mr. Francis? That he could not, I said, prescribe at a distance. I hoped this would be understood, and said no more. The queen looked much perplexed, but made no answer. MISS BURNEY BREAKS THE MATTER TO THE QUEEN. The next morning I was half dead with real illness, excessive nervousness, and the struggle of what I had to force myself to perform. The queen again was struck with my appearance, which I believe indeed to have been shocking. When I was alone with her, she began upon Mr. Francis with more inquiry. I then tried to articulate that I had something of Page 382 deep consequence to myself to lay before her majesty; but that I was so unequal in my weakened state to speak it, that I had ventured to commit it to Writing, and entreated Permission to produce it. She could hardly hear me, yet understood enough to give immediate consent. I then begged to know if I might present it -myself, or whether I should give it to Mrs. Schwellenberg. "O, to me! to me!" she cried, with kind eagerness. She added, however, not then; as she was going to breakfast. This done was already some relief, terrible as was all that remained; but I now knew I must go on, and that all my fears and horrors were powerless to stop me. This was a Drawing-room day. I saw the king at St. James's, and he made the most gracious inquiries about my health: so did each of the princesses. I found they were now all aware of its failure. The queen proposed to me to see Dr. Gisburne: the king seconded the proposition. There was no refusing; yet, just now, it was distressing to comply. The next morning, Friday, when again I was alone with the queen, she named the subject, and told me she would rather I should give the paper to the Schwellenberg, who had been lamenting to her my want of confidence in her, and saying I confided and told everything to the queen. "I answered," continued her majesty, "that you were always very good; but that, with regard to confiding, you seemed so happy with all your family, and to live so well together, that there was nothing to say." I now perceived Mrs. Schwellenberg suspected some dissension at home was the cause of my depression. I was sorry not to deliver my memorial to the Principal person, and yet glad to have it to do where I felt so much less compunction in giving pain. THE MEMORIAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTE. I now desired an audience of Mrs. Schwellenberg. With what trembling agitation did I deliver her my paper, requesting her to have the goodness to lay it at the feet of the queen before her majesty left town ! We were then to set out for Windsor before twelve o'clock. Mrs. Schwellenberg herself remained in town. Here let me copy the memorial. Page 383 Most humbly presented to Her Majesty. "Madam, "With the deepest sense of your Majesty's goodness and condescension, amounting even to sweetness--to kindness who can wonder I should never have been able to say what I know not how to write--that I find my strength and health unequal to my duty? "Satisfied that I have regularly been spared and favoured by your Majesty's humane consideration to the utmost, I could never bring myself to the painful confession of my secret disquietude ; but I have long felt creeping upon me a languor, a feebleness, that makes, at times, the most common attendance a degree of capital pain to me, and an exertion that I could scarce have made, but for the revived alacrity with which your Majesty's constant graciousness has inspired me, and would still, I believe, inspire me, even to my latest hour, while in your Majesty's immediate presence. I kept this to myself while I thought it might wear away,-or, at least, I only communicated it to obtain some medical advice: but the weakness, though it comes only in fits, has of late so much Increased, that I have hardly known how, many days, to keep myself about--or to rise up in the morning, or to stay up at night. "At length, however, as my constitution itself seems slowly, yet surely, giving way, my father became alarmed. "I must not enter, here, upon his mortification and disappointment: the health and preservation of his daughter could alone be more precious to him than your Majesty's protection. "With my own feelings upon the subject it would ill become me to detain your Majesty, and the less, as I am fully sensible my place, in point of its real business, may easily he far better supplied;--In point of sincere devotion to your majesty, I do not so readily yield. I can only, therefore, most humbly entreat that your Majesty will deign to accept from my father and myself the most dutiful acknowledgments for the uniform benignity so graciously shown to me during the whole of my attendance. My father had originally been apprehensive of my inability, with regard to strength, for sustaining any but the indulgence of a domestic life : but your Majesty's justice and liberality will make every allowance for the flattered feelings of a parent's heart, which could not endure, untried, to relinquish for his daughter so high an honour as a personal office about your Majesty. Page 384 I dare not, Madam, presume to hope that Your Majesty's condescension will reach to the smallest degree of concern at parting with me; but permit me, Madam, humbly, earnestly, and fervently, to solicit that I may not be deprived of the mental benevolence of your Majesty, which so thankfully I have experienced, and so gratefully must for ever remember. That every blessing, every good, may light upon your Majesties here, and await a future and happier period hereafter, will be always amongst the first prayers of, "Madam, your Majesty's ever devoted, ever grateful, most attached, and most dutiful subject and servant, "Frances Burney." With this, though written so long ago, I only wrote an explanatory note to accompany it, which I will also copy:-- "Madam, "May I yet humbly presume to entreat your Majesty's patience for a few added lines, to say that the address which I now most respectfully lay at your Majesty's feet was drawn up two months ago, when first I felt so extreme a weakness as to render the smallest exertion a fatigue? While I waited, however, for firmness to present it, I took the bark, and found myself, for some time, so much amended, that I put it aside, and my father, perceiving me better, lost his anxious uneasiness for my trying a new mode of life. But the good effect has, of late, so wholly failed, that an entire change of air and manner of living are strongly recommended as the best chance for restoring my shattered health. We hold it, therefore, a point of that grateful duty we owe to your Majesty's goodness and graciousness, to make this melancholy statement at once, rather than to stay till absolute incapacity might disable me from offering one small but sincere tribute of profound respect to your Majesty,--the only one in my power--that of continuing the high honour of attending your Majesty, till your Majesty's own choice, time, and convenience nominate a successor." THE KEEPER OF THE ROBES' CONSTERNATION. Mrs. Schwellenberg took the memorial, and promised me her services, but desired to know its contents. I begged vainly to be excused speaking them. She persisted, and I then was compelled to own they contained my resignation. How aghast she looked!--how inflamed with wrath!--how Page 385 Petrified with astonishment! It was truly a dreadful moment to me. She expostulated on such a step, as if it led to destruction : she offered to save me from it, as if the peace of my life depended on averting it and she menaced me with its bad consequences, as it life itself, removed from these walls, would become an evil. I plainly recapitulated the suffering state in which I had lived for the last three months; the difficulty with which I had waded through even the most common fatigues of the day; the constraint of attendance, however honourable, to an invalid; and the impracticability of pursuing such a life, when thus enfeebled, with the smallest chance of ever recovering the health and strength which it had demolished. To all this she began a vehement eulogium on the superior happiness and blessing of my lot, while under such a protection ; and angrily exhorted me not to forfeit what I could never regain. I then frankly begged her to forbear SO painful a discussion, and told her that the memorial was from my father as well as myself--that I had no right or authority to hesitate in delivering it--that the queen herself was prepared to expect it -and that I had promised my father not to go again to Windsor till it was presented. I entreated her, therefore, to have the goodness to show it at once. This was unanswerable, and she left me with the paper in her hand, slowly conveying it to its place of destination. just as she was gone, I was called to Dr. Gisburne or, rather, without being called, I found him in my room, as I returned to it. Think If my mind, now, wanted not medicine the most I told him, however, my corporeal complaints and he ordered me opium and three glasses of wine in the day, and recommended rest to me, and an application to retire to my friends for some weeks, as freedom from anxiety was as necessary to my restoration as freedom from attendance. LEAVE OF ABSENCE IS SUGGESTED. During this consultation I was called to Mrs. Schwellenberg. Do you think I breathed as I went along?--No! She received me, nevertheless, with complacency and smiles; she began a laboured panegyric of her own friendly zeal and goodness, and then said she had a proposal to make to me, which she con- Page 386 sidered as the most fortunate turn my affairs could take, and a,, a proof that I should find her the best friend I had in the world. She then premised that she had shown the paper,--that the queen had read it, and said it was very modest, and nothing improper. Her proposal was, that I should have leave of absence for six weeks, to go about and change the air, to Chelsea, and Norbury Park, and Capitan Phillips, and Mr. Francis, and Mr. Cambrick, which would get me quite well; and, during that time, she would engage Mlle. Montmoulin to perform my office. I was much disturbed at this; and though rejoiced and relieved to understand that the queen had read my memorial without displeasure, I was grieved to see it was not regarded as final. I only replied I would communicate her plan to my father. Soon after this we set out for Windsor. Here the first presenting myself before the queen was a task the heaviest, if possible, of any. Yet I was ill enough, heaven knows, to carry the apology of my retreat in my countenance. However, it was a terrible effort. I could hardly enter her room. She spoke at once, and with infinite softness, asking me how I did after my journey ? "Not well, indeed," I simply answered. "But better?" she cried; "are you not a little better?" I only shook my head; I believe the rest of my frame shook without my aid. "What! not a little?--not a little bit better?" she cried, in the most soothing voice. "To-day, ma'am," I said, "I did indeed not expect to be better." I then muttered something indistinctly enough, of the pain I had suffered in what I had done: she opened, however, upon another subject immediately, and no more was said upon this. But she was kind, and sweet, and gentle, and all consideration with respect to my attendance. I wrote the proposal to my poor father, I received by return of post, the most truly tender letter he ever wrote me. He returns thanks for the clemency With which my melancholy memorial has been received, and is truly sensible of the high honour shown me In the new proposition; but he sees my health so impaired, my strength so decayed, my whole frame so nearly demolished, that he apprehends anything short of a permanent resignation, that would ensure lasting rest and recruit, might prove fatal. He quotes a letter from Mr. Francis, Page 387 containing his opinion that I must even be speedy in my retiring or risk the utmost danger - and he finishes a letter filled with gratitude towards the queen and affection to his daughter, with his decisive opinion that I cannot go on, and his prayers and blessings on my retreat. The term "speedy," in Mr. Francis's opinion, deterred me from producing this letter, as it seemed indelicate and unfair to hurry the queen, after offering her the fullest time. I therefore waited till Mrs. Schwellenberg came to Windsor before I made any report of my answer. A scene almost horrible ensued, when I told Cerbera the offer was declined. She was too much enraged for disguise, and uttered the most furious expressions of indignant contempt at our proceedings. I am sure she would gladly have confined us both in the Bastille, had England such a misery, as a fit place to bring us to ourselves, from a daring so outrageous against imperial wishes. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney) January, 1791-......I thank heaven, there was much softness in the manner of naming you this morning. I see no ill-will mixed with the reluctance, which much consoles me. I do what is possible to avoid all discussion; I see its danger still so glaring. How could I resist, should the queen condescend to desire, to ask, that I would yet try another year?--and another year would but be uselessly demolishing me; for never could I explain to her that a situation which unavoidably casts all my leisure into the presence of Mrs. Schwellenberg must necessarily be subversive of my health, because incompatible with my peace, my ease, my freedom, my spirits, and my affections. The queen is probably kept from any suspicion Of the true nature of the case, by the praises of Mrs. Schwellenberg, who, with all her asperity and persecution, is uncommonly partial to my society; because, in order to relieve myself from sullen gloom, or apparent dependency, I generally make my best exertions to appear gay and chatty; for when I can do this, she forbears both rudeness and imperiousness. She then, I have reason to believe, says to the queen, as I know She does to some others, "The Bernan bin reely agribble"; and the queen, not knowing the incitement that forces my elaborate and painful efforts, may suppose I am lively at heart, when she hears I am so in discourse. And there is no developing this without giving the queen the severest embarrassment as well as chagrin. Page 388 I would not turn Informer for the world. Mrs. Schwellenberg too, with all her faults, is heart and soul devoted to her roil mistress, with the truest faith and loyalty. I hold, therefore, silence on this subject to be a sacred duty. To return to you, my dearest padre, is the only road that has open for my return to strength and comfort, bodily and mental. I m inexpressibly grateful to the queen, but I burn to be delivered from Mrs. Schwellenberg, and I pine to be again in the arms of my padre. A ROYAL GIFT TO THE MASTER OF THE HORSE. What will you give me, fair ladies, for a copy of verse, written between the Queen of Great Britain and your most small little journalist? The morning of the ball the queen sent for me, and said she had a fine pair of old-fashioned gloves, white, with stiff tops and a deep gold fringe, which she meant to send to her new master of the horse, Lord Harcourt, who was to be at the dance, She wished to convey them in a copy of verses, of which she had composed three lines, but could not get on. She told me her ideas, and I had the honour to help her in the metre and now I have the honour to copy them from her own royal hand:-- "TO THE EARL OF HARCOURT. "Go, happy gloves, bedeck Earl Harcourt's hand, And let him know they come from fairy-land, Where ancient customs still retain their reign; To modernize them all attempts were vain. Go, cries Queen Mab, some noble owner seek, Who has a proper taste for the antique." Now, no criticising, fair ladies !-the assistant was neither allowed a pen nor a moment, but called upon to help finish, as she might have been to hand a fan. The earl, you may suppose, was sufficiently enchanted. CONFERENCES WITH THE QUEEN. April.-In the course of this month I had two conferences with my royal mistress upon my resignation, in which I spoke with all possible openness upon its necessity. She condescended to speak very honourably of my dear father to me,--and, in a long discourse upon my altered health with Mrs. de Page 389 Luc, she still further condescended to speak most graciously of his daughter, saying in particular, these strong words, in answer to something kind uttered by that good friend in my favour. "O, as to character, she is what we call in German 'true as gold' and, in point of heart, there is not, all the world over, one better"--and added something further upon sincerity very forcibly. This makes me very happy. She deigned, also, in one of these conferences, to consult with me openly upon my successor, stating her difficulties, and making me enumerate various requisites. It would be dangerous, she said, to build upon meeting in England with one who would be discreet in point of keeping off friends and acquaintances from frequenting the palace; and she graciously implied much commendation of my discretion, in her statement of what she feared from a new person. May.-As no notice whatever was taken, all this time, of my successor, or my retirement, after very great harass of suspense, and sundry attempts to conquer it, I had at length again a conference with my royal mistress. She was evidently displeased at again being called upon, but I took the courage to openly remind her that the birthday was her majesty's own time, and that my father conceived it to be the period of my attendance by her especial appointment. And this was a truth which flashed its own conviction on her recollection. She paused, and then, assentingly, said, "Certainly." I then added, that as, after the birthday, their majesties went to Windsor, and the early prayers began immediately, I must needs confess I felt myself wholly unequal to encountering the fatigue of rising for them in my present weakened state. She was now very gracious again, conscious all this was fair and true. She told me her own embarrassments concerning the successor, spoke confidentially of her reasons for not engaging an Englishwoman, and acknowledged a person was fixed upon, though something yet remained unarranged. She gave me, however, to understand that all would be expedited: and foreign letters were despatched, I know, immediately. MISS BURNEY DETERMINES ON SECLUSION. >From Sunday, May 15 to May 22.-The trial of the poor persecuted Mr. Hastings being now again debating and arranging for continuance, all our house, I found, expected me now to come forth, and my royal mistress and Mrs. Schwellenberg Page 390 thought I should find it irresistible. indeed it nearly was so, from my anxious interest in the approaching defence; but when I considered the rumours likely to be raised after my retreat, by those terrifying watchers of Court transactions who inform the public of their conjectures, I dreaded the probable assertion that I must needs be disgusted or discontented, for health could not be the true motive of my resignation, since I was in public just before it took place. I feared, too, that even those who promoted the enterprise might reproach me with my ability to do what I wished. These considerations determined me to run no voluntary risks - especially as I should so ill know how to parry Mr. Windham, should he now attack me upon a subject concerning which he merits thanks so nobly, that I am satisfied my next interview with him must draw them forth from me. Justice, satisfaction in his exertions, and gratitude for their spirited willingness, all call upon me to give him that poor return. The danger of it, however, now, is too great to be tried, if avoidable : and I had far rather avoid seeing him, than either gratify myself by expressing my sense of his kindness, or unjustly withhold from him what I think of it. These considerations determined me upon relinquishing all public places, and all private visits, for the present. The trial, however, was delayed, and the Handelian Commemoration came on. My beloved Mr. and Mrs. Locke will have told my Susan my difficulties in this business, and I will now tell all three how they ended. The queen, unexpectedly, having given me a ticket, and enjoined me to go the first day, that I might have longer time to recruit against the king's birthday, I became, as you will have heard, much distressed what course to pursue. I took the first moment I was alone with her majesty to express my father's obligation to her for not suffering me to sit up on her own birthday, in this week, and I besought her permission to lay before her my father's motives for hitherto wishing me to keep quiet this spring, as well as my own, adding I was sure her majesty would benignly wish this business to be done as peaceably and unobserved as possible. She looked extremely earnest, and bid me proceed. I then briefly stated that whoever had the high honour of belonging to their majesties were liable to comments upon all their actions, that, if the comment was only founded in truth, we had nothing to fear, but that, as the world was much less Page 391 addicted to veracity, than to mischief, my father and myself had an equal apprehension that, if I should now be seen in public so quickly before the impending change, reports might be spread, as soon as I went home, that it could not be for health I resigned. She listened very attentively and graciously, and instantly, acquiesced. When the trial actually recommenced, the queen grew anxious for my going to it : she condescended to intimate that my accounts of it were the most faithful and satisfactory she received, and to express much Ill-will to giving them up. The motives I had mentioned, however, were not merely personal she could not but see any comments must involve more than myself, and therefore I abided steadily by her first agreement to my absenting myself from all public places, and only gently joined in her regret, which I forcibly enough felt in this instance, Without venturing any offer of relinquishing the prudential plan previously arranged. She gave me tickets for Charles for every day that the hall was opened, and I collected what I could of information from him for her satisfaction. THE HASTINGS TRIAL RESUMED: 'THE ACCUSED MAKES HIS DEFENCE. Queen's House, London, June.-the opening of this month her majesty told me that the next day Mr. Hastings was to make his defence, and warmly added, "I would give the world you could go to it!" This was an expression so unusual in animation, that I instantly told her I would write to my father, who could not possibly, in that case, hesitate. "Surely," she cried, "you may wrap up, so as not to catch cold that once?" I told her majesty that, as my father had never thought going out would be really prejudicial to my health, he had only wished to have his motive laid fairly before her majesty, and then to leave it to her own command. Her majesty accepted this mode of consent, and gave me tickets for Charles and Sarah to accompany me, and gave leave and another ticket for Mr. de Luc to be of the party. Thursday, June 2.-I went once more to Westminster Hall. Charles and Sarah came not to their time, and I left directions and tickets, and set off with only Mr. de Luc, to secure our Page 392 own, and keep places for them. The Hall was more crowded than on any day since the trial commenced, except the first. Peers, commoners, and counsel, peeresses, commoneresses, and the numerous indefinites crowded every part, with a just and fair curiosity to hear one day's defence, after seventy-three of accusation. Unfortunately I sat too high up to hear the opening, and when, afterwards, the departure of some of my obstacles removed me lower, I was just behind some of those unfeeling enemies who have not even the decorum due to themselves, of appearing to listen to what is offered against their own side. I could only make out that this great and persecuted man upon a plan all his own, and at a risk impossible to ascertain) was formally making his own defence, not with retaliating declamation, but by a simple, concise, and most interesting statement of facts, and of the necessities accompanying them in the situation to which the House then impeaching had five times called him. He spoke with most gentlemanly temper of his accusers, his provocation considered, yet with a firmness of disdain of the injustice with which he had been treated in return for his services, that was striking and affecting, though unadorned and manly. His spirit, however, and the injuries which raised it, rested not quietly upon his particular accusers: he arraigned the late minister, Lord North, of ingratitude and double-dealing, and the present minister, Mr. Pitt, of unjustifiably and unworthily forbearing to Sustain him. Here Mr. Fox, artfully enough, interrupted to say the king's ministers were not to be arraigned for what passed in the House of Parliament. Mr. Burke arose also' to enter his protest. But Mr. Hastings then lost his patience and his temper: he would not suffer the interruption; he had never, he said, interrupted their long speeches; and when Mr. Burke again attempted to speak, Mr. Hastings, in an impassioned but affecting manner, extended his arms, and called out loudly, "I throw myself Upon the protection of your lordships:--I am not used to public speaking, and cannot answer them. what I wish to submit to your lordships I have committed to paper; but, if I am punished for what I say, I must insist upon being heard--I call upon you, my lords, to protect me from this violence!" This animated appeal prevailed; the managers were silenced by an almost universal cry of "Hear, hear, hear!" from the Page 393 lords; and by Lord Kenyon, who represented the chancellor, and said, "Mr. Hastings, proceed." The angry orators, though with a very ill grace, were then silenced. They were little aware what a compliment this intemperate eagerness was paying to Mr. Hastings, who for so many long days manifested that fortitude against attack, and that patience against abuse, which they could not muster, Without any parallel in provocation, even for three short hours. I rejoiced with all my heart to find Mr. Windham was not in their box. He did not enter with them in procession, nor appear as a manager or party concerned, further than as a member of the House of Commons. I could not distinguish him in so large a group, and he either saw not, or knew not, me. The conclusion of the defence I heard better, as Mr. Hastings spoke considerably louder from this time; the spirit of indignation animated his manner and gave strength to his voice. You will have seen the chief parts of his discourse In the newspapers and you cannot, I think, but grow more and more his friend as you peruse it. He called pathetically and solemnly for instant judgment; but the Lords, after an adjournment decided to hear his defence by evidence, and order, the next sessions. How grievous such continual delay to a man past sixty, and sighing for such a length of time for redress from a prosecution as yet unparalleled in our annals. When it was over, Colonel Manners came round to speak to -me and talk over the defence. He is warmly for Mr. Hastings. He inquired about Windsor; I should have made him stare a little had I told him I never expected to see him there again. MR. WINDHAM IS CONGRATULATED ON HIS SILENCE. When he came down-stairs into the large waiting-hall, Mr. de Luc went in search of William and chairs. Sally then immediately discerned Mr. Windham with some ladies. He looked at me without at first knowing me. . . . Sarah whispered me Mr. Windham was looking harder and harder; and presently he came up to me, and in a tone of very deep concern, and with a look that fully concurred with 'it, he said, "Do I see Miss Burney?" I could not but feel the extent of the interrogation, and my assent acknowledged my comprehension. "Indeed," he cried, "I was going to make a speech--not Very gallant!" Page 394 , "But it is what I should like better," I cried, " for it is kind if you were going to say I look miserably ill, as that is but a necessary consequence of feeling so,--and miserably ill enough I have felt this long time past." He would not allow quite that, he said; but I flew from the subject, to tell him I had been made very happy by him. HE gave me one of his starts,--but immediately concluded it was by no good, and therefore would not speak in inquiry. "Why, I did not see you in the box," I cried, "and I had been very much afraid I should have seen you there. But now my fears are completely over, and you have made me completely happy!" He protested, with a comic but reproachful smile, he knew not how to be glad, if it was still only in the support of a bad cause, and if still I really supported it. And then he added he had gone amongst the House of Commons instead of joining the managers, because that enabled him to give his place to a friend, who was not a member. "You must be sure," said I, "you would see me here to-day." I had always threatened him with giving fairest play to the defence, and always owned I had been most afraid Of his harangue; therefore to find the charges end without his making it saved me certainly a shake,--either for Mr. Hastings or himself,--for one of them must thenceforth have fallen in my estimation. I believe, however, this was a rather delicate point, as he made me no answer, but a grave smile; but I am sure he instantly understood his relinquishing his intended charge was my subject of exultation. And, to make it plainer, I then added, "I am really very generous to be thus made happy, considering how great has been my curiosity." "But, to have gratified that curiosity," cried he, "would have been no very particular inducement with me; though I have no right to take it for a compliment, as there are two species of curiosity,--yours, therefore, you leave wholly ambiguous." "O, I am content with that," cried I so long as I am gratified, I give you leave to take it which way you please." He murmured something I could not distinctly hear, of concern at my continued opinion upon this subject; but I do not think, by his manner, it much surprised him. "You know," cried I, "why, as well as what, I feared--that fatal candour, of which so long ago you warned me to beware. Page 395 to the very last moment And, indeed, I was kept n alarm for at every figure I saw start up, just now,--Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, Mr. Grey,--I concluded yours would be the next." "You were prepared, then," cried he, with no little malice, "for a voice issuing from a distant pew."(340) Miss BURNEY MAKES HER REPORT. When we came home I was immediately summoned to her majesty, to whom I gave a full and fair account of all I had heard of the defence; and it drew tears from her expressive eyes as I repeated Mr. Hastings's own words, upon the hardship and injustice of the treatment he had sustained. Afterwards, at night, the king called upon me to repeat my account and I was equally faithful, sparing nothing of what had dropped from the persecuted defendant relative to his majesty's ministers. I thought official accounts might be less detailed there than against the managers, who, as open enemies, excite not so much my "high displeasure" as the friends of government, who so insidiously elected and panegyrised him while they wanted his assistance, and betrayed and deserted him when he was no longer in a capacity to serve them. Such, at least, is the light in which the defence places them. The king listened with much earnestness and a marked compassion. He had already read the account sent him officially, but he was as eager to hear all I could recollect, as if still uninformed of what had passed. The words may be given to the eye, but the impression they make can only be conveyed by the ear; and I came back so eagerly interested, that my memory was not more stored with the very words than my voice with the intonations of all that had passed. With regard to My bearing this sole unofficial exertion since my illness, I can only say the fatigue I felt bore not any parallel with that of every Drawing--room day, because I was seated. PRINCE WILLIAM INSISTS ON THE KING'S HEALTH BEING DRUNK. June 4.-Let me now come to the 4th, the last birthday of the good, gracious, benevolent king I shall ever, in all human probability, pass under his royal roof. Page 396 The thought was affecting to me, in defiance of MY volunteer conduct, and I could scarce speak to the queen when I first went to her, and wished to say something upon a day So interesting. The king was most gracious and kind when he came into the state dressing-room at St. James's, and particularly inquired about my health and strength, and if they would befriend me for the day. I longed again to tell him how hard I would work them, rather than let them, on such a day, drive me from my office; but I found it better suited me to be quiet; It was safer not to trust to any expression of loyalty, with a mind so full, and on a day so critical. At dinner Mrs. Schwellenberg presided, attired magnificently. Miss Goldsworthy, Mrs. Stainforth, Messrs. de Luc and Stanhope dined with us; and, while we were still eating fruit, the Duke of Clarence entered. He was just risen from the king's table, and waiting for his equipage to go home and prepare for the ball. To give you an idea of the energy of his royal highness's language, I ought to set apart a "general objection to writing, or rather intimating, certain forcible words, and beg leave to show you, in genuine colours, a royal sailor. We all rose, of course, upon his entrance, and the two gentlemen placed themselves behind their chairs while the footmen left the room ; but he ordered us all to sit down, and called the men back to hand about some wine. He was in exceeding high spirits and in the utmost good humour. He placed himself at the head of the table, next Mrs. Schwellenberg, and looked remarkably well, gay, and full of sport and mischief, yet clever withal as well as comical. "Well, this is the first day I have ever dined with the king at St. James's on his birthday. Pray, have you all drunk his majesty's health?" "No, your roy'l highness: your roy'l highness might make dem do dat," said Mrs. Schwellenberg. "O, by --- will I! Here, you (to the footman), bring champagne! I'll drink the king's health again, if I die for it Yet, I have done pretty well already: so has the king, I promise you! I believe his majesty was never taken such good care of before. We have kept his spirits up, I promise you: we have enabled him to go through his fatigues; and I should have done more still, but for the ball and Mary--I have promised to dance with Mary!" Princess Mary made her first appearance at Court to-day She looked most interesting and unaffectedly lovely - she is a Page 397, Sweet creature, and perhaps, in point of beauty, the first of this truly beautiful race, of which Princess Mary may be called pendant to the Prince of Wales. Champagne being now brought for the duke, he ordered it all round. When it came to me I whispered to Westerhaults to carry it on: the duke slapped his hand violently on the table, and called out, "O, by ----, you shall drink it!" There was no resisting this. We all stood up, and the duke sonorously gave the royal toast. "And now," cried he, making us all sit down again, "where are my rascals of servants? I sha'n't be in time for the ball; besides, I've got a deuced tailor waiting to fix on my epaulette! Here, you, go and see for my servants! d'ye hear? Scamper off!" Off ran William. "Come, let's have the king's health again. De Luc, drink it. Here, champagne to De Luc!" I wish you could have seen Mr. de Luc's mixed simper half pleased, half alarmed. However, the wine came and he drank it, the duke taking a bumper for himself at the same time." Poor Stanhope!" cried he; "Stanhope shall have a glass too. Here, champagne! what are you all about? Why don't YOU give champagne to poor Stanhope?" Mr. Stanhope, with great pleasure, complied, and the duke again accompanied him. "Come hither, do you hear?" cried the duke to the servants; and on the approach, slow and submissive, of Mrs. Stainforth's man, he hit him a violent slap on the back, calling out, "Hang you! why don't you see for my rascals?" Away flew the man, and then he called out to Westerhaults, "Hark'ee! bring another glass of champagne to Mr. de Luc!" Mr. de Luc knows these royal youths too well to venture at so vain an experiment as disputing with them, so he only shrugged his shoulders and drank the wine. The duke did the same. "And now, poor Stanhope," cried the duke, "give another glass to poor Stanhope, d'ye hear?" "Is not your royal highness afraid," cried Mr. Stanhope, displaying the full circle of his borrowed teeth, "I shall be apt to be rather up in the world, as the folks say, if I tope on at this rate?" "Not at all! you can't get drunk in a better cause, I'd get Page 398 drunk myself' if it was not for the ball. Here, champagne! another glass for the philosopher! I keep sober for Mary." "O, your royal highness cried Mr. de Luc, gaining courage as he drank, "you will make me quite droll Of it if you make me go on,--quite droll!" "So much the better! so much the better! it will do you a monstrous deal of good. Here, another glass of- champagne for the queen's philosopher!" Mr. de Luc obeyed, and the duke then addressed Mrs. Schwellenberg's George. "Here! you! you! why, where is my carriage? run and see, do you hear?" Off hurried George, grinning irrepressibly. "If it was not for that deuced tailor, I would not stir. I shall dine at the Queen's house on Monday, Miss Goldsworthy; I shall come to dine with the princess royal. I find she does not go to Windsor with the queen." The queen meant to spend one day at Windsor, on account of a review which carried the king that way. Some talk then ensued upon the duke's new carriage, which they all agreed to be the most beautiful that day, at court. I had not seen it, which, to me, was some impediment against praising it. THE QUEEN's HEALTH. He then said it was necessary to drink the queens health. The gentlemen here made no demur, though Mr. de Luc arched his eyebrows in expressive fear of consequences. "A bumper," cried the duke, "to the queen's gentleman-usher." They all stood up and drank the queen's health. "Here are three of us," cried the duke, "all belonging to the queen: the queen's philosopher, the queen's gentlemanusher, and the queen's son; but, thank heaven, I'm the nearest!" "Sir," cried Mr. Stanhope, a little affronted, "I am not now the queen's gentleman-usher; I am the queen's equerry, sir." "A glass more of champagne here! What are you all so slow for? Where are all my rascals gone? They've put me in one passion already this morning. Come, a glass of champagne for the queen's gentleman-usher!" laughing heartily. "No, sir," repeated Mr. Stanhope; "I am equerry, sir." "And another glass to the queen's philosopher!" Neither gentleman objected; but Mrs. Schwellenberg, who Page 399 had sat laughing and happy all this time, now grew alarmed, and said, "Your royal highness, I am afraid for the ball!" "Hold your potato-jaw, my dear," cried the duke, patting her - but, recollecting himself, he took her hand and pretty abruptly kissed it, and then, flinging it away hastily, laughed aloud, and called out, "There, that will make amends for anything, so now I may say what I will. So here! a glass of champagne for the queen's philosopher and the queen's gentleman-usher! Hang me if it will not do them a monstrous deal of good!" Here news was brought that the equipage was in order. He started up, calling out, "Now, then, for my deuced tailor." "O, your royal highness," cried Mr. de Luc, in a tone of expostulation, "now you have made us droll, you go!" Off! however, he went. And is it not a curious scene? All my amaze is, how any of their heads bore such libations. THE PROCESSION TO THE BALL-ROOM: ABSENCE OF THE PRINCES. In the evening I had by no means strength to encounter the ball-room. I gave my tickets to Mrs. and Miss Douglas. Mrs. Stainforth was dying to see the Princess Mary in her Court dress. Mr. Stanhope offered to conduct her to a place of prospect. She went with him. I thought this preferable to an unbroken evening with my fair companion, and Mr. de Luc, thinking the same, we both left Mrs. Schwellenberg to unattire, and followed. But we were rather in a scrape by trusting to Mr. Stanhope after all this champagne: he had carried Mrs. Stainforth to the very door of the ball-room, and there fixed her--in a place which the king, queen, and suite must brush past in order to enter the ball-room. I had followed, however, and the crowds of beef-eaters, officers, and guards that lined all the state-rooms through which we exhibited ourselves, prevented my retreating alone. I stood, therefore, next to Mrs. Stainforth, and saw the ceremony. The passage was made so narrow by attendants, that they were all forced to go one by one. First, all the king's great state-officers, amongst whom I recognised Lord Courtown, a treasurer of the household; Lord Salisbury carried a candle!-- 'tis an odd etiquette.--These being passed, came the king--he saw us and laughed; then the queen's master of the horse, Lord Harcourt, who did ditto; then some more. Page 400 The vice-chamberlain carries the queen's candle, that she may have the arm of the lord chamberlain to lean on; accordingly, Lord Aylesbury, receiving that honour, now preceded the queen: she looked amazed at sight of us. The kind princesses one by one acknowledged us. I spoke to sweet Princess Mary, wishing her royal highness joy: she looked in a delight and an alarm nearly equal. She was to dance her first minuet. Then followed the ladies of the bedchamber, and Lady Harcourt was particularly civil. Then the maids of honour, every one of whom knew and spoke to us. I peered vainly for the Duke of Clarence, but none of the princes passed us.(341) What a crowd brought up the rear! I was vexed not to see the Prince of Wales. Well, God bless the king! and many and many such days may he know! I was now so tired as to be eager to go back; but the queen's philosopher, the good and most sober and temperate of men, was really a little giddy with all his bumpers, and his eyes, which were quite lustrous, could not fix any object steadily; while the poor gentleman-usher--equerry, I mean--kept his Mouth so wide open with one continued grin,-I suppose from the sparkling beverage,--that I was every minute afraid its pearly ornaments, which never fit their case, would have fallen at our feet. Mrs. Stainforth gave me a significant look of making the same observation, and, catching me fast by the arm, said, "Come, Miss Burney, let's you and I take care of one another"; and then she safely toddled me back to Mrs. Schwellenberg, who greeted us with saying, "Vell! bin you Much amused? Dat Prince Villiam--oders de Duke de Clarrence--bin raelly ver merry--oders vat you call tipsy!" BOSWELL's LIFE OF JOHNSON. Mr, Turbulent had been reading, like all the rest of the world, Boswell's "Life of Dr. Johnson," and the preference there expressed of Mrs. Lenox to all other females had filled Page 401 him with astonishment, as he had never even heard her name.(342) These occasional sallies of Dr. Johnson, uttered from local causes and circumstances, but all retailed verbatim by Mr. Boswell, are filling all sort of readers with amaze, except the small part to whom Dr. Johnson was known, and who, by acquaintance with the power of the moment over his unguarded conversation, know how little of his solid opinion was- to be gathered from his accidental assertions. The king, who was now also reading this work, applied to me for explanations without end. Every night at his period he entered the queen's dressing-room, and detained her majesty's proceedings by a length of discourse with me upon this subject. All that flowed from himself was constantly full of the goodness and benevolence of his character - and I was never so happy as in the opportunity thus graciously given me of vindicating, in instances almost innumerable, the serious principles and various excellences of my revered Dr. Johnson from the clouds so frequently involving and darkening them, in narrations so little calculated for any readers who were strangers to his intrinsic worth, and therefore worked upon and struck by what was faulty in his temper and manners. I regretted not having strength to read this work to her majesty myself. It was an honour I should else have certainly received _; for so much wanted clearing! so little was understood! However, the queen frequently condescended to read over passages and anecdotes which perplexed or offended her; and there were none I had not a fair power to soften or to justify. THE CLOSE OF MISS BURNEY'S COURT DUTIES. Her majesty, the day before we left Windsor, gave me to understand my attendance Would be yet one more fortnight Page 402 requisite, though no longer. I heard this with a fearful presentiment I should surely never go through another fortnight in so weak and languishing and painful a state of health. However, I could but accede, though I fear with no very Courtly grace. So melancholy indeed was the state of my mind, from the weakness of my frame, that I was never alone but to form scenes of "foreign woe," where my own disturbance did not occupy me wholly. I began--almost whether I would or not--another tragedy! The other three all unfinished! not one read! and one of them, indeed, only generally sketched as to plan and character. But I could go on With nothing; I could only suggest and invent. The power of composition has to me indeed proved a blessing! When incapable of all else, that, unsolicited, unthought of, has presented itself to my solitary leisure, and beguiled me of myself, though it has not of late regaled me with gayer associates. July.-I come now to write the last week of my royal residence. The queen honoured me with the most uniform graciousness, and though, as the time of separation approached, her cordiality rather diminished, and traces of internal displeasure appeared sometimes, arising from an opinion I ought rather to have struggled on, live or die, than to quit her, yet I am sure she saw how poor was my own chance, except by a change in the mode of life, and at least ceased to wonder, though she could not approve. The king was more Courteous, more communicative, more amiable, at very meeting: and he condescended to hold me in conversation with him by every opportunity, and with an air of such benevolence and goodness, that I never felt such ease and pleasure in his notice before. He talked over all Mr. Boswell's book, and I related to him sundry anecdotes of Dr. Johnson, all highly to his honour, and such as I was eager to make known, He always heard me with the utmost complacency and encouraged me to proceed in my accounts by every mark of attention and interest. He told me once, laughing heartily, that, having seen my name in the index, he was eager to come to what was said of me, but which he found so little, he was surprised and disappointed. I ventured to assure him how much I had myself been rejoiced at this very circumstance, and with what satisfaction had reflected upon having very seldom met Mr. Boswell, as I Page 403 new there was no other security against all manner of risks in his relations. About this time Mr. Turbulent made me a visit at tea-time when the gentlemen were at the Castle and the moment William left the room he eagerly said, "Is this true, Miss Burney, that I hear? Are we going to lose you?" I was much surprised, but Could not deny the charge. He, very good-naturedly, declared himself much pleased at a release which he protested he thought necessary to my life's preservation. I made him tell me the channel through which a business I had guarded SO scrupulously Myself had reached him; but it Is too full of windings for writing. With Mr. de Luc I was already in confidence upon my resignation, and with the knowledge of the queen, as he had received the intelligence from Germany, whence my successor was now arriving. I then also begged the indulgence of writing to Mr. Smelt upon the subject, which was accorded me. My next attack was from Miss Planta. She expressed herself in the deepest concern at my retiring, though she not only acknowledged its necessity, but confessed she had not thought I could have performed my official duty even one year! She broke from me while we talked, leaving me abruptly in a violent passion of tears. MISS BURNEY'S SUCCESSOR. A PENSION FROM THE QUEEN. I had soon the pleasure to receive Mlle. jacobi.(343) She brought with her a young German, as her maid, who proved to be her niece, but so poor she could not live when her aunt left Germany! Mr. Best, a messenger of the king's, brought her to Windsor, and Mrs. Best, his wife, accompanied him. I was extremely pleased with Mlle. Jacobi, who is tall, well made, and nearly handsome, and of a humour so gay, an understanding so lively, and manners so frank and ingenuous, that I felt an immediate regard for her, and we grew mutual good friends. She is the daughter of a dignified clergyman of Hanover, high in theological fame. They all dined with me, - and, indeed, Mlle. Jacobi, wanting a thousand informations in her new situation, which I was most happy to give her, seldom quitted me an instant. Tuesday morning I had a conversation, very long and very affecting to me, with her majesty. I cannot pretend to detail Page 404 it. I will only tell you she began by speaking of Mlle. Jacobi, whom I had the satisfaction to praise, as far as had appeared, very warmly and then she led me to talk at large upon the nature and requisites and circumstances of the situation I was leaving. I said whatever I could suggest that would tend to render my Successor more comfortable, and had the great happiness to represent with success the consolation and very innocent pleasure she might reap from the society of the young relation she had brought over, if she might be permitted to treat her at once as a companion, and not as a servant. This was heard with the most humane complacency, and I had leave given me to forward the plan in various ways. She then conversed upon sundry Subjects, all of them confidential in their nature, for near an hour; and then, after a pause, said, "Do I owe you anything, my dear Miss Burney?" I acquainted her with a debt or two amounting to near seventy pounds. She said she would settle it in the afternoon, and then paused again, after which, with a look full of benignity, she very expressively said, "As I don't know your plan, or what you propose, I cannot tell what Would make you comfortable, but you know the size of my family." I comprehended her, and was immediately interrupting her with assurances of my freedom from all expectation or claim; but she stopped me, saying, "You know what you now have from me:--the half of that I mean to continue." Amazed and almost overpowered by a munificence I had so little expected or thought of, I poured forth the most earnest disclaimings of such a mark of her graciousness, declaring I knew too well her innumerable calls to be easy in receiving it and much more I uttered to this purpose, with the unaffected warmth that animated me at the moment. She heard me almost silently; but, in conclusion, Simply, yet strongly, said, "I shall certainly do that" with a stress on the that that seemed to kindly mean she would rather have done more. The conference was in this stage when the Princess Elizabeth came into the room. The queen then retired to the antechamber. My eyes being full, and my heart not very empty, I could not then forbear saying to her royal highness how much the goodness of the queen had penetrated me. The sweet princess spoke feelings I could not expect, by the immediate glistening of her soft eyes. She condescended to express her concern At my retiring; but most kindly added, "However, Page 405 Miss Burney, go when you will, that you have this to comfort you, your behaviour has been most perfectly honourable." LEAVE-TAKINGS. This, my last day at Windsor, was filled with nothing but packing, leave-taking, bills-paying, and lessoning to Mlle. Jacobi, who adhered to my side through everything, and always with an interest that made its own way for her. All the people I had to Settle With poured forth for my better health good wishes without end; but amongst the most unwilling for my retreat stood poor Mrs. Astley.(344) Indeed she quite saddened me by her sadness, and by the recollections of that sweet and angelic being her mistress, who had so solaced my early days at that place. Mr. Bryant, too, came this same morning; he had an audience of the queen: he knew nothing previously of my design. He seemed thunderstruck. "Bless me!" he cried, in his short and simple but expressive manner, "so I shall never see you again, never have the honour to dine in that apartment with you more!" etc. I would have kept him to dinner this last day, but he was not well, and would not be persuaded. He would not, however, bid me adieu, but promised to endeavour to see me some time at Chelsea. I had then a little note from Miss Gomme, desiring to see me in the garden. She had just gathered the news. I do not believe any one Was more disposed to be sorry, if the Sight and sense of my illness had not checked her concern. She highly approved the step I was taking, and was most cordial and kind. Miss Planta came to tell me she must decline dining with me, as she felt she should cry all dinner-time, in reflecting upon its being our last meal together at Windsor, and this might affront Mlle. Jacobi. The queen deigned to come once more to my apartment this afternoon. She brought me the debt. It was a most mixed feeling with which I now saw her. In the evening came Madame de la Fite, I need not tell you, I imagine, that her expressions were of "la plus vife douleur,"; yet she owned she could not wonder my father should try what another life would do for me. My dear Mrs. de Luc came next; She, alone, knew of this while impending. She rejoiced the time of deliverance was arrived, for she had Page 406 often feared I should outstay my strength, and sink while the matter was arranging. She rejoiced, however, with tears in her kind eyes; and, indeed, I took leave of her With true regret. It was nine o'clock before I could manage to go down the garden to the lower Lodge, to pay my duty to the younger princesses, whom I Could not else see at all, as they never go to town for the Court-days. I went first up-stairs to Gomme, and had the mortification to learn that the sweet Princess Amelia was already gone to bed. This extremely grieved me. When or how I may see her lovely little highness more, Heaven only knows! Miss Gomme kindly accompanied me to Miss Goldsworthy's apartment, and promised me a few more words before I set out the next morning. I found Mrs. Cheveley, at whose door, and at Miss Neven, her sister's, I had tapped and left my name, with Miss Goldsworthy and Dr. Fisher: that pleasing and worthy man has just taken a doctor's degree. I waited with Miss Goldsworthy till the princesses Mary and Sophia came from the upper Lodge, which is when the king and queen go to supper. Their royal highnesses, were gracious even to kindness; they shook my hand again and again, and wished me better health, and all happiness, with the sweetest earnestness. Princess Mary repeatedly desired to see me whenever I came to the Queen's house, and condescended to make me as repeatedly promise that I would not fail. I was deeply touched by their goodness, and by leaving them. Wednesday.-In the morning Mrs. Evans, the housekeeper, came to take leave of me; and the housemaid of my apartment, who, poor girl, cried bitterly that I was going to give place to a foreigner, for Mrs. Schwellenberg's severity with servants has made all Germans feared in the house. O, but let me first mention that, when I came from the lower Lodge, late as it was, I determined to see my old friends the equerries, and not quit the place without bidding them adieu. I had never seen them since I had dared mention my designed retreat. I told William, therefore, to watch their return from the castle, and to give my compliments to either Colonel Gwynn or Colonel Goldsworthy, and an invitation to my apartment. Colonel Goldsworthy came instantly. I told him I could not think of leaving Windsor without offering first my good Page 407 wishes to all the household. He said that, when my intended departure had been published, he and all the gentlemen then with him had declared it ought to have taken place six months ago. He was extremely courteous, and I begged him to bring to me, the rest of his companions that were known to me. He immediately fetched Colonel Gwynn, General Grenville, Colonel Ramsden, and Colonel Manners. This was the then party. I told him I sent to beg their blessing upon my departure. They were all much pleased, apparently, that I had not made my exit without seeing them: they all agreed on the Urgency of the measure, and we exchanged good wishes most cordially. My Wednesday morning's attendance upon the queen was a melancholy office. Miss Goldsworthy as well as Miss Gomme came early to take another farewell. I had not time to make any visits in the town, but left commissions with Mrs. de Luc and Madame de la Fite. Even Lady Charlotte Finch I could not Call upon, though she had made me many kind visits since my illness. I wrote to her, however, by Miss Gomme, to thank her, and bid her adieu. FAREWELL TO KEW. Thursday, July 7.-This, my last day of office, was big and busy,- -joyful, yet affecting to me in a high degree. In the morning, before I left Kew, I had my last interview with Mrs. Schwellenberg. She was very kind in it, desiring to see me whenever I could in town, during her residence at the Queen's house, and to hear from me by letter meanwhile. She then much Surprised me by an offer of succeeding to her own place,--when it was vacated either by her retiring or her death. This was, indeed, a mark of favour and confidence I had not expected. I declined, however, to enter upon the subject, as the manner in which she opened it made it very solemn, and, to her, very affecting. She would take no leave of me, but wished me better hastily, and saying we should soon meet, she hurried suddenly out of the room. Poor woman! If her temper were not so irascible, I really believe her heart would be by no means wanting in kindness. I then took leave of Mrs. Sandys, giving her a token of remembrance in return for her constant good behaviour, and Page 408 she showed marks of regard, and of even grief, I was sorry to receive, as I could so little return. But the tragedy of tragedies was parting with Goter;(345) that poor girl did nothing but cry incessantly from the time she knew of our separation. I was very sorry to have no place to recommend her to, though I believe she may rather benefit by a vacation that carries her to her excellent father and Mother, who teach her nothing but good. I did what I could to soften the blow, by every exertion in my power in all ways; for it was impossible to be unmoved at her violence of sorrow. I then took leave of Kew Palace--the same party again accompanying me, for the last time, in a royal vehicle going by the name of Miss Burney's coach. THE FINAL PARTING. I come now near the close of my Court career. At St. James's all was graciousness; and my royal mistress gave me to understand she would have me stay to assist at her toilet after the Drawing-room; and much delighted me by desiring my attendance on the Thursday fortnight, when she came again to town. This lightened the parting in the pleasantest manner possible. When the queen commanded me to follow her to her closet I was, indeed, in much emotion; but I told her that, as what had passed from Mrs. Schwellenberg in the morning had given me to understand her majesty was fixed in her munificent intention, notwithstanding- what I had most unaffectedly urged against it-- "Certainly," she interrupted, "I shall certainly do it." "Yet so little," I continued, "had I thought it right to dwell upon such an expectation, that, in the belief your majesty would yet take it into further consideration, I had not even written It to my father." "Your father," she again interrupted me, "has nothing to do with it; it is solely from me to you." "Let me then humbly entreat," I cried, "still in some measure to be considered as a servant of your majesty, either as reader, or to assist occasionally if Mlle. Jacobi should be ill." She looked most graciously pleased, and Immediately closed in with the proposal, saying, "When your health is restored,-- perhaps sometimes." Page 409 I then fervently poured forth my thanks for all her goodness, and my prayers for her felicity. She had her handkerchief in her hand or at her eyes the whole time. I was so much moved by her condescending kindness, that as soon as I got out of the closet I nearly sobbed. I went to help Mlle. Jacobi to put up the jewels, that my emotion might the less be observed. The king then came into the room. He immediately advanced to the window, where I stood, to speak to me. I was not then able to comport myself steadily. I was forced to turn my head away from him. He stood still and silent for some minutes, waiting to see if I should turn about; but I could not recover myself sufficiently to face him, strange as it was to do otherwise; and Perceiving me quite overcome he walked away, and I saw him no more. His kindness, his goodness, his benignity, never shall I forget--never think of but with fresh gratitude and reverential affection. They were now all going--I took, for the last time, the cloak of the queen, and, putting It over her shoulders, slightly ventured to press them, earnestly, though in a low voice, saying, "God Almighty bless your majesty!" She turned round, and, putting her hand upon my ungloved arm, pressed it with the greatest kindness, and said, "May you be happy!" She left me overwhelmed with tender gratitude. The three eldest princesses were in the next room: they ran in to me the moment the queen went onward. Princess Augusta and Princess Elizabeth each took a hand, and the princess royal put hers over them. I could speak to none of them; but they repeated, "I wish you happy!--I wish you health!" again and again, with the Sweetest eagerness. They then set off for Kew. Here, therefore, end my Court annals; after having lived in the service of her majesty five years within ten days--from July 17, 1786, to July 7, 1791. (333) By her "Visions" Fanny apparently means her desire of resigning her place at Court, and her hope of her father's concurrence.-ED. (334) i.e., Attempts to induce him to procure for sundry strangers some acquaintance with his daughter.-ED. (335) The Comtesse de Bouflers-Rouvrel and, probably, her daughter-in-law, the Comtesse Amélie de Bouflers. Madame de Bouflers-Rouvrel was distinguished in Parisian society as a bel-esbrit, and corresponded for many years with Rousseau. Left a widow in 1764, she became the mistress of the Prince de Conti. Her first visit to England was in 1763, when she was taken by Topham Beauclerk to see Dr. Johnson. She revisited this country at the time of the emigration, but returning to France, was imprisoned by the Revolutionists. The fall of Robespierre (July, 1794) restored her to liberty. Am6lie de Bouflers, less fortunate than her mother-in-law, perished by the guillotine, June 27, 1794.-ED. (336) But is it possible, sir, that your daughter has no holidays? (337) Burke's speech, delivered February 9, in a debate on the army estimates, in which he took occasion to denounce, with great vehemence, the principles and conduct of the French Revolution, which he contrasted, much to its disadvantage, with the English Revolution of 1688. "The French," he said, "had shown themselves the ablest architects of ruin that had hitherto appeared in the world." The sentiments uttered by Burke on this occasion delighted the ministerialists and friends of the Court as much as they dismayed his own party. As the debate proceeded he found himself in the strange position of a chief of opposition enduring the compliments of the prime minister and the attacks of Fox and Sheridan, who took a broader and juster view of the great events in France, though condemning equally with Burke the Excesses of the Revolutionists. Fox declared His grief at hearing, "from the lips of a man whom he loved and revered," Sentiments "so hostile to the general principles of liberty." This speech of Burke's may be said to mark the commencement of that disagreement between himself and Fox, which culminated in the total breach of their friendship.-ED. (338) Dr. Burney was a member of this famous club, having been elected in 1784. Mr. Windham had been a member since 1778.-ED. (339) "Reflections on the Revolution in France," published November 1, 1790. it was received by the public with avidity, and went through eleven editions within a year-ED. (340) An allusion to the imperious interruption of the marriage of Cecilia, and young Delvile. See "Cecilia," book vii., ch. 7.-ED. (341) Some weeks later Fanny has the following allusion to the ball: "The Princess Mary chatted with me over her own adventures on the queen's birthday, when she first appeared at Court. The history of her dancing at the ball, and the situation of her partner and brother, the Duke of Clarence, she spoke of with a sweet ingenuousness and artless openness which makes her very amiable character. And not a little did I divert her when I related the duke's visit to our party! 'O,' cried she, 'he told me of it himself the next morning, and said, "You may think how far I was gone, for I kissed the Schwellenberg's hand!"'"-ED. (342) "On the evening of Saturday May 15 [1784), he [Dr. Johnson] was in fine spirits at our Essex Head Club. He told us, 'I dined yesterday at Patrick's with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Fanny Burney. Three such women are not to be found: I know not where I could find a fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superior to them all.' " (Boswell.) This "occasional sally" cannot, of course, be taken as expressing Johnson's deliberate opinion of the relative merits of Fanny Burney and Mrs. Lenox. He was an old friend of Charlotte Lenox, and had written in 1752 the dedication for her "Female Quixote," a novel of singular charm and humour, though scarcely to be placed on a par with "Evelina" or "Cecilia."-ED. (343) Fanny's successor in office.-ED. 344) The old servant of Mrs. Delany.-ED. (345) Fanny's maid.-ED. Page 410 ' SECTION 18. (1791-2.) REGAINED LIBERTY. [Fanny's rambling journey to the west with Mrs. Ord was a pleasant restorative, to mind and body, and bore good fruit hereafter in the pages, of " The Wanderer." At Bath, in the course of this journey, she formed an acquaintance equally interesting and unlooked-for. It was certainly singular, to use her own words, "that the first visit I should make after leaving the queen should be to meet the head of the opposition public, the Duchess of Devonshire!" The famous Whig duchess was then in her thirty-fifth year. Fanny's description of her personal charms tallies exactly with the impression which we derive from her portraits by Reynolds and Gainsborough: that their celebrity was due rather to expressiveness and animation than to a countenance regularly beautiful. But the charming duchess, like most other people, had a skeleton in her closet. Notwithstanding her high spirits, and "native. cheerfulness," "she appeared to me not happy," writes our penetrating Diarist. What was the skeleton? Not gambling debts, although the duchess followed the fashion of the day, and Sheridan declared that he had handed her into her carriage when she was literally sobbing at her losses. Fanny gives us a hint, slight but unmistakeable. At their first meeting the duchess was accompanied by another lady--a beautiful, alluring woman, with keen dark eyes, who smiled, some one said, "like Circe." Lady Spencer introduced her daughter to Miss Burney with warm pleasure, and then, "slightly and as if unavoidably," named the beautiful enchantress--Lady Elizabeth Foster. It is only necessary to add that in 1809, some three years after the death of his first wife, the Duchess Georgiana, the Duke of Devonshire married again, and his second wife was Lady Elizabeth Foster.-ED.] Page 411 RELEASED FROM DUTY. Chelsea College, July.-My dear father was waiting for me in my apartment at St. James's when their majesties and their fair royal daughters were gone. He brought me home, and welcomed me most sweetly. My heart was a little sad, in spite of its contentment. My joy in quitting my place extended not to quitting the king and queen; and the final marks of their benign favour had deeply impressed me. My mother received me according to my wishes, and Sarah Most cordially. My dear James and Charles speedily came to see me; and one precious half-day I was indulged with my kind Mr. Locke and his Fredy. If i had been stouter and stronger in health, I should then have been almost flightily happy; but the Weakness of the frame still kept the rest in order. My ever-kind Miss Cambridge was also amongst the foremost to hasten with congratulations on my return to my old ways and to make me promise to visit Twickenham after my projected tour with Mrs. Ord. I could myself undertake no visiting at this time; rest and quiet being quite essential to my recovery. But my father did the honours for me amongst those who had been most interested in my resignation. He called instantly upon Sir Joshua Reynolds and Miss Palmer, and Mr. Burke; and he wrote to Mr. Walpole, Mr. Seward, Mrs. Crewe, Mr. Windham, and my Worcester uncle. Mr. Walpole wrote the most charming of answers, In the gallantry of the old Court, and with all its wit, concluding with a warm invitation to Strawberry Hill. Sir Joshua and Miss Palmer Sent me every species of kind exultation. Mr. Burke was not in town. Mr. Seward wrote very heartily and cordially, and came also when my Susanna was here. Mrs. Crewe immediately pressed me to come and recruit at Crewe Hall in Cheshire, where she promised me repose, and good air, and good society. A WESTERN JOURNEY: FARNHAM CASTLE. Sidmouth, Devonshire, Monday, Aug. 1.-I have now been a week out upon my travels, but have not had the means or the time, till this moment, to attempt their brief recital. Page 412 Mrs. Ord called for me about ten in the morning. I left my dearest father with the less regret, as his own journey to Mrs. crewe was very soon to take place. It was a terribly rainy morning, but I was eager not to postpone the excursion. As we travelled on towards Staines, I could scarcely divest myself of the idea that I was but making again my usual journey to Windsor; and I could with difficulty forbear calling Mrs. Ord Miss Planta during the whole of that well-known road. I did not, indeed, take her maid, who was our third in the coach, for Mr. de Luc, or Mr. Turbulent; but the place she occupied made me think much more of those I so long had had for my vis-`a-vis than of herself. We went on no farther than to Bagshot: thirty miles was the extremity of our powers; but I bore them very tolerably, though variably. We put up at the best inn, very early, and then inquired what we could see In the town and neighbourhood. "Nothing!" was the concise answer of a staring maid. We determined, therefore, to prowl to the churchyard, and read the tombstone inscriptions: but when we asked the way, the same woman, staring still more wonderingly, exclaimed, "Church! There's no church nigh here!--There's the Prince Of Wales'S, just past the turning. You may go and see that, if you will." So on we walked towards this hunting Villa: but after toiling up a long unweeded avenue, we had no sooner opened the gate to the parks than a few score of dogs, which were lying in ambush, Set Up so prodigious a variety of magnificent barkings, springing forward at the same time, that, content with having caught a brief view of the seat, we left them to lord it over the domain they regarded as their own, and, with all due Submission, pretty hastily shut the gate, without troubling them to give us another salute. We returned to the inn, and read B---'s "Lives of the Family of the Boyles." Aug. 2.-We proceeded to Farnham to breakfast, and thence walked to the castle. The Bishop of Winchester, Mrs. North. and the whole family are gone abroad. The castle is a good old building, with as much of modern elegance and fashion intermixed in its alterations and fitting up as Mrs. North could possibly contrive to weave into its ancient grandeur. . . . I wished I could have climbed to the top of an old tower, much out of repair, but so high, that I fancied I could thence have espied the hills of Norrbury. However, I was ready to fall already, from only ascending the slope to reach the castle. Page 413 A PARTY OF FRENCH FUGITIVES. We arrived early at Winchester; but the town was so full, as the judges were expected next morning, that we could only get one bed-chamber, in which Mrs. Ord, her maid, and myself reposed. just after we had been obliged to content ourselves with this scanty accommodation, we saw a very handsome coach and four horses, followed by a chaise and outriders, stop at the gate, and heard the mistress of the house declare she- could not receive the company; and the postilions, at the same time, protested the horses could go no farther. They inquired for fresh horses; there were none to be had in the whole city; and the party were all forced to remain in their carriages, without horses, at the inn-gate, for the chance of what might pass on the road. We asked who they were, and our pity was doubled in finding them foreigners. We strolled about the upper part of the city, leaving the cathedral for the next morning. We saw a large, uniform, handsome palace, which is called by the inhabitants "The king's house," and which was begun by Charles II. We did not, therefore, expect the elegant architecture of his father's days. One part, they particularly told us, was designed for Nell Gwynn. It was never finished, and neglect has taken place of time in rendering it a most ruined structure, though, as it bears no marks of antiquity, it has rather the appearance of owing its destruction to a fire than to the natural decay of age. It is so spacious, however, and stands so magnificently to overlook the city, that I wish it to be completed for an hospital or infirmary. I have written Mrs. Schwellenberg an account of its appearance and state, which I am sure will be read by her majesty. When we returned to the Inn, still the poor travellers were in the same situation: they looked so desolate, and could so indifferently make themselves understood, that Mrs. Ord good- naturedly invited them to drink tea with us. They most thankfully accepted the offer, and two ladies and two gentlemen ascended the stairs with us to our dining-room. The chaise had the female servants. The elder lady was so truly French--so vive and so triste in turn--that she seemed formed from the written character of a Frenchwoman, such, at least, as we English write them. She was very forlorn in her air, and very sorrowful in her counte- Page 414 nance; yet all action and gesture, and of an animation when speaking nearly fiery in its vivacity: neither pretty nor young, but neither ugly nor old; and her smile, which was rare, had a finesse very engaging; while her whole demeanour announced a person Of consequence, and all her discourse told that she was well-informed, well-educated, and well-bred. The other lady, whom they called mademoiselle, as the first madame, was young, dark but clear and bright in her eyes and complexion, though without good features, or a manner of equal interest with the lady she accompanied. She proved, however, sensible, and seemed happy in the general novelty around her. She spoke English pretty well, and was admired without mercy by the rest of the party, as a perfect mistress of the language. The madame spoke it very ill indeed, but pleasantly. Of the two gentlemen, one they called only monsieur, and the other the madame addressed as her brother. The monsieur was handsome, rather tonnish, and of the high haughty ton, and seemed the devoted attendant or protector of the madame, who sometimes spoke to him almost with asperity, from eagerness, and a tinge of wretchedness and impatience, which coloured all she said; and, at other times, softened off her vehemence with a smile the most expressive, and which made its way to the mind immediately, by coming with sense and meaning, and not merely from good humour and good spirits as the more frequent smiles of happier persons. The brother seemed lively and obliging, and entirely at the devotion of his sister, who gave him her commands with an authority that would not have brooked dispute. They told us they were just come from Southampton, which they had visited in their way from viewing the fleet at the Isle of Wight and Portsmouth, and they meant to go on now to Bath. We soon found they were aristocrats, which did better for them with Mrs. Ord and me than it would have done with you republicans of Norbury and Mickleham; yet I wish you had all met the madame, and heard her Indignant unhappiness. They had been in England but two months. They all evidently belonged to madame, who appeared to me a fugitive just before the flight of the French king,(346) or in consequence of his having been taken. Page 415 She entered upon her wretched situation very soon, lamenting that he was, in fact, no king, and bewailing his want of courage for his trials. the queen she never mentioned. She spoke once or twice of son mari, but did not say who or what he was, nor where. "They say," she cried, "In France they have now liberty! Who has liberty, le peuple, or the mob? Not les honn`etes gens; for those whose principles are known to be aristocratic must fly, or endure every danger and indignity. Ah! est-ce l`a la libert`e?" The monsieur said he had always been the friend of liberty, such as it was in England; but in France it was general tyranny. "In England," he cried, "he was a true democrat, though bien aristocrate in France." "At least," said the poor madame, "formerly, in all the sorrows of life, we had nos terres to which we could retire, and there forget them, and dance, and sing, and laugh, and fling them all aside, till forced back to Paris. But now our villas are no protection: we may be safe, but the first offence conceived by le peuple is certain destruction; and, without a moment's warning, we may be forced to fly our own roofs, and see them and all we are worth burnt before our eyes in horrible triumph." This was all said in French. But the anguish of her Countenance filled me with compassion, though it was scarcely possible to restrain a smile when, the moment after, she" said she Might be very wrong, but she hoped I would forgive her if she owned she preferred Paris incomparably to London and pitied me very unreservedly for never having seen that first of cities. Her sole hope, she said, for the overthrow of that anarchy in which the Unguarded laxity of the king had plunged the first Country in the world,--vous me pardonnec, Mademoiselle,--was now from the German princes, who, she flattered herself, Would rise In their own defence. She told me, the next moment, of les spectacles I should find at Southampton, and asked me what she might expect at Bath of public amusement and buildings. I was travelling I said, for my health, and Should visit no theatres, ball-rooms, etc., and could recommend none. She did not seem to comprehend me; yet, in the midst of Page 416 naming these places, she sighed as deeply from the bottom of her heart as if she had been forswearing the world for ever in despair. But it was necessary, , she said, when unhappy, to go abroad the more, pour se distraire. In parting, they desired much to renew acquaintance with us when we returned to London. Mrs. Ord gave her direction to the monsieur, who in return, wrote theirs--"The French ladies, NO. 30, Gerrard-street, Soho." They stayed till our early hour Of retiring made Mrs. Ord suffer them to go. I was uneasy to know what would become of them. I inquired of a waiter: he unfeelingly laughed, and said, "O! they do well enough; they've got a room." I asked if he could yet let them have beds to stay, or horses to proceed? "No," answered he, sneeringly: "but it don't matter for, now they've got a room, they are as merry and capering as if they were going to dance." just after this, Mrs. Stephenson, Mrs. Ord's maid, came running in. "La! ma'am," she cried, "I've been so frightened, you can't think: the French folks sent for me on purpose, to ask t'other lady's name, they said, and they had asked William before, so they knew it; but they said I must write it down, and where she lived; so I was forced to write, 'Miss Burney, Chelsea,' and they fell a smiling so at one another." 'Twas impossible to help laughing; but we desired her, in return, to send for one of their maids and ask their names also. She came back, and said she could not understand the maids, and so they had called one of the gentlemen, and he had written down "Madame la Comtesse de Menage, et Mlle. de Beaufort." We found, afterwards, they had sat up till two in the morning, and then procured horses and journeyed towards Oxford. WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL. Aug. 3.-We walked to the cathedral, and saw it completely. Part of it remains from the original Saxon building, though neglected, except by travellers, as the rest of the church is ample for all uses, and alone kept in repair. The bones of eleven Saxon kings are lodged in seven curious old chests, in which they were deposited after being dug up and disturbed in the civil wars and ensuing confusions. The small number of chests is owing to the small proportion remaining of some of the skeletons, which occasioned their being united with others. Page 417 The Saxon characters are in many inscriptions preserved, though in none entire. They were washing a plaster from the walls, to discern some curious old painting, very miserable, but very entertaining, of old legends, which some antiquaries are now endeavouring to discover. William of Wykham, by whom the cathedral was built in its present form, lies buried, with his effigy and whole monument in very fine alabaster, and probably very like, as it was done, they aver, before he died. Its companion, equally superb, is Cardinal Beaufort, uncle of Harry VI. William Rufus, slain in the neighbouring forest, is buried in the old choir: his monument is of plain stone, without any inscription or ornament, and only shaped like a coffin. Hardyknute had a much more splendid monument preserved for him; but Harry I. had other business to attend, I presume, than to decorate the tomb of one brother while despoiling of his kingdom another. An extremely curious old chapel and monument remain of Archbishop Langton, of valuable gothic workmanship. The altar, which is highly adorned with gold, was protected in Cromwell's time by the address and skill of the Winton inhabitants, who ran up a slight wall before it, and deceived the reformists, soi-disants. I could hardly quit this poor dear old building, so much I was interested with its Saxon chiefs, its little queer niches, quaint images, damp cells, mouldering walls, and mildewed pillars. One chest contains the bones entire of Egbert, our first king. Edred, also. I distinguished. The screen was given to this church by King Charles, and is the work of Inigo Jones. It is very simple in point of ornament, very complete in taste and elegance; nevertheless, a screen of Grecian architecture in a cathedral of gothic workmanship was ill, I think, imagined. STONEHENGE, WILTON, AND MILTON ABBEY. Aug. 5.-We went to Stonehenge. Here I was prodigiously disappointed, at first, by the huge masses of stone so unaccountably piled at the summit of Salisbury Plain. However, we alighted, and the longer I surveyed and considered them, the more augmented my wonder and diminished my disappointment. We then went on to Wilton, where I renewed my delight over the exquisite Vandykes, and with the statues, busts, and pictures, which again I sighingly quitted, with a longing wish Page 418 I might ever pass under that roof time enough to see them more deliberately. We stopped in the Hans Holbein Porch, and upon the Inigo Jones bridge, as long as we Could stand, after standing and staring and straining our eyes till our guide was quite fatigued. 'Tis a noble collection; and how might it be enjoyed if, as an arch rustic Old labouring man told u, fine folks lived as they ought to do! Sunday, Aug. 7.-After an early dinner we set off for Milton Abbey, the seat of Lord Milton, partly constructed from the old abbey and partly new. There is a magnificent gothic hall in excellent preservation, of evident Saxon workmanship, and extremely handsome, though not of the airy beauty of the chapel. The situation of this abbey is truly delicious: it is in a vale of extreme fertility and richness, surrounded by hills of the most exquisite form, and mostly covered with hanging woods, but so varied in their growth and groups, that the eye is perpetually fresh caught with objects of admiration. 'Tis truly a lovely place. LYME AND SIDMOUTH. Aug. 8.-We proceeded to Bridport, a remarkably clean town, with the air so clear and pure, it seemed a new climate. Hence we set out, after dinner, for Lyme, and the road through which we travelled is the most beautiful to which my wandering destinies have yet sent me. It is diversified with all that can compose luxuriant scenery, and with just as much of the approach to sublime as is in the province of unterrific beauty. The hills are the highest, I fancy, in the south of this county--the boldest and noblest; the vales of the finest verdure, wooded and watered as if only to give ideas of finished landscapes; while the whole, from time to time, rises into still superior grandeur, by openings between the heights that terminate the View With the Splendour of the British channel. There was no going on in the carriage through such enchanting scenes; we got out upon the hills, and walked till we could walk no longer. The descent down to Lyme is uncommonly steep; and indeed is very striking, from the magnificence of the ocean that washes its borders. Chidiock and Charmouth, two villages between Bridport and Lyme, are the very prettiest I have ever seen. During the whole of this post I was fairly taken away, not only from the world but from myself, and completely wrapped up and engrossed by the Page 419 pleasures, wonders, and charms of animated nature, thus seen in fair perfection. Lyme. however, brought me to myself; for the part by the sea, where we fixed our abode, was so dirty and fishy that I rejoiced when we left it. Aug. 9.- We travelled to Sidmouth. And here we have taken up our abode for a week. It was all devoted to rest and sea-air. Sidmouth is built in a vale by the sea-coast, and the terrace for company is nearer to the ocean than any I have elsewhere seen, and therefore both more pleasant and more commodious. The little bay is of a most peaceful kind, and the sea was as calm and gentle as the Thames. I longed to bathe, but I am in no state now to take liberties with myself, and, having no advice at hand, I ran no risk. SIDMOUTH LOYALTY. Nothing has given me so much pleasure since I came to this place as our landlady's account of her own and her town's loyalty. She is a baker, a poor widow woman, she told us, who lost her husband by his fright in thinking he saw a ghost, just after her mother was drowned. She carries on the business, with the help of her daughter, a girl about fifteen. I inquired of her if she had seen the royal family when they visited Devonshire? "Yes, sure, ma'am!" she cried; there was ne'er a soul left in all this place for going Out to See 'em. My daughter and I rode a double horse, and we went to Sir George Young's, and got into the park, for we knew the housekeeper, and she gave my daughter a bit to taste of the king's dinner when they had all done, and she said she might talk on it when she was a old woman." I asked another good woman, who came in for some flour, if she had been of the party? "No," she said, "she was ill, but she had had holiday enough upon the king's recovery, for there was such a holiday then as the like was not in all England." "Yes, sure, ma'am," cried the poor baker-woman, "we all did our best then for there was ne'er a town in all England like Sidmouth for rejoicing. Why, I baked a hundred and ten penny loaves for the poor, and so did every baker in town, and there's three, and the gentry subscribed for it. And the gentry roasted a bullock and cut it all up, and we all eat it, in the midst of the rejoicing. And then we had such a fine page 420 sermon, it made us all cry; there was a more tears shed than ever was known, all for over-joy. And they had the king drawed, and dressed up all in gold and laurels, and they put un in a coach and eight horses, and carried un about; and all the grand gentlemen in the town, and all abouts, come in their own carriages to join. And they had the finest band of music in all England singing 'God save the king,' and every Soul joined in the chorus, and all not so much because he was a king, but because they said a was such a worthy gentleman, and that the like of him was never known in this nation before: so we all subscribed for the illuminations for that reason, some a shilling, some a guinea, and some a penny,--for no one begrudged it, as a was such a worthy person." This good Mrs. Dare has purchased images of all the royal family, in her great zeal, and I had them in my apartment--King, Queen, Prince of Wales, Dukes of York, Clarence, Kent, Sussex, Cumberland, and Cambridge; Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta, Eliza, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia, God bless them all! POWDERHAM CASTLE AND COLLUMPTON CHURCH. Aug. 16.-We quitted Sidmouth, and proceeded through the finest country possible to Exmouth, to see that celebrated spot of beauty. The next morning we crossed the Ex and visited Powderham Castle. Its appearance, noble and antique without, loses all that character from French finery and minute elegance and gay trappings within. The present owner, Lord Courtney, has fitted it up in the true Gallic taste, and every room has the air of being ornamented for a gala. The housekeeper did not let us see half the castle; she only took us to those rooms which the present lord has modernized and fitted up in the sumptuous French taste ; the old part of the castle she doubtless thought would disgrace him; forgetting or rather never knowing--that the old part alone was worth a traveller's curiosity, since the rest might be anticipated by a visit to any celebrated cabinet-maker. Thence we proceeded to Star Cross to dine; and saw on the opposite coast the house Of Sir Francis Drake, which was built by his famous ancestor. Here we saw a sight that reminded me of the drawings of Webber from the South Sea Isles; women scarce clothed at all, with feet and legs entirely naked, straw bonnets of uncouth Shapes tied on their heads, a Page 421 sort of man's jacket on their bodies, and their short coats pinned up in the form of concise trousers, very succinct! and a basket on each arm, strolling along with wide mannish strides to the borders of the river, gathering cockles. They looked, indeed, miserable and savage. Hence we went, through very beautiful roads, to Exeter. That great old city is too narrow, too populous, too dirty, and too ill-paved, to meet with my applause. Next morning we breakfasted at Collumpton, and visited its church. Here we saw the remains of a once extremely rich gothic structure, though never large. There is all the appearance of its having been the church of an abbey before the Reformation. It is situated in a deep but most fertile vale; its ornaments still retain so much of gilding, painting, and antique splendour, as could never have belonged to a mere country church. The wood carving, too, though in ruins, is most laboriously well done; the roof worked in blue and gold, lighter, but in the style of the royal chapel at St. James's.We were quite surprised to find such a structure in a town so little known or named. One aisle was added by a clothier of the town in the reign of Edward VI.; probably upon its first being used as a protestant and public place of worship. This is still perfect, but very clumsy and inelegant compared with the ancient part. The man, to show he gloried in the honest profession whence he derived wealth for this good purpose, has his arms at one corner, with his name, J. Lane, in gothic characters, and on the opposite corner his image, terribly worked in the wall, with a pair of shears in one hand, so large as to cut across the figure downwards almost obscuring all but his feet. Till the cicerone explained this, I took the idea for a design of Death, placed where most conspicuously he might show himself, ready to cut in two the poor objects that entered the church. GLASTONBURY ABBEY. Aug. 19.-To vary the scenery we breakfasted at Bridgewater, in as much dirt and noise, from the judges filling the town, as at Taunton we had enjoyed neatness and quiet. We walked beside the river, which is navigable from the Bristol channel ; and a stream more muddy, and a quay more dirty and tarry and pitchy, I would not covet to visit again. It is here called the Perrot. Thence, however, we proceeded to what made amends Page 422 all--the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. These are the most elegant remains of monkish grandeur I have ever chanced to see,--the forms, designs, ornaments,---all that is left is in the highest perfection of gothic beauty. Five hundred souls, the people told us, were supported in this abbey and its cloisters. A chapel of Joseph of Arimathea has the outworks nearly entire, and I was quite bewitched with their antique beauty. But the entrance into the main front of the abbey is stupendous; its height is such that the eye aches to look up at it, though it is now curtailed, by no part of its arch remaining except the first inclination towards that form, which shows it to have been the entrance. Not a bit of roof remains in any part. All the monuments that Were not utterly decayed or destroyed have been removed to Wells. Mere walls alone are left here, except the monks' kitchen. This is truly curious: it is a circular building, with a dome as high--higher I fancy--than the Pantheon's; four immense fireplaces divide it Into four parts at the bottom, and an oven still is visible. One statue is left in one niche, which the people about said was of the abbot's chief cook! If this monastery was built by the famous old cruel hypocrite abbot, Dunstan, I shall grieve so much taste was bestowed on such a wretch.(347) We had only labourers for our informants. But one boy was worth hearing: he told me there was a well of prodigious depth, which he showed me, and this well had long been dried up, and so covered over as to be forgotten, till his grandfather dreamed a dream that the water of this well would restore him from a bad state of health to good; so he dug, and the well was found, and he drank the water and was cured! And since then the poor came from all parts who were afflicted with diseases, and drank the water and were cured. One woman was now at Glastonbury to try it, and already almost well! What strange inventions and superstitions even the ruins of what had belonged to St. Dunstan can yet engender! The Glastonbury thorn we forgot to ask for. WELLS CATHEDRAL. Hence we proceeded to Wells. Here we waited, as usual, upon the cathedral, which received our compliments with but Page 423 small return of civility. There was little to be seen without, except old monuments of old abbots removed from Glastonbury, so inferior in workmanship and design to the abbey once containing them, that I was rather displeased than gratified by the sight. They have also a famous clock, brought from the abbey at Its general demolition. This exhibits a set of horses with riders, who curvet a dance round a bell by the pulling a string, with an agility comic enough, and fitted to serve for a puppet-show; which, in all probability, was its design, in order to recreate the poor monks at their hours of play. There is also a figure of St. Dunstan, who regularly strikes the quarters of every hour by clock-work, and who holds in his hand a pair of tongs--the same I suppose as those with which he was wont to pull the devil by the nose, in their nocturnal interviews. The old castle of Wells is now the palace for the bishop. It is moated still, and looks dreary, Secluded, and in the bad old style. At night, upon a deeply deliberate investigation in the medical way, it was suddenly resolved that we should proceed to Bath instead of Bristol, and that I should try there first the stream of King BladUd. So now, at this moment, here we are. BATH REVISITED. Queen Square, Bath, Aug. 20.--Bath is extremely altered since I last visited it. Its circumference is perhaps trebled but its buildings are so unfinished, so spread, so everywhere beginning and nowhere ending, that it looks rather like a space of ground lately fixed upon for erecting a town, than a town itself, of so many years' duration. It is beautiful and wonderful throughout. The hills are built up and down, and the vales so stocked with streets and houses, that, in some places, from the ground-floor on one side a street, you cross over to the attic of your opposite neighbour. The white stone, where clean, has a beautiful effect, and, even where worn, a grand one. But I must not write a literal Bath guide, and a figurative one Anstey (348) has all to himself. I will only tell you in brief, yet in truth, it looks a city of palaces, a town of hills, and a hill of towns. Page 424 O how have I thought, in patrolling it, Of my poor Mrs, Thrale! I went to look (and sigh at the sight) at the house on the North parade where we dwelt, and almost every Old place brings to my mind some scene in which we were engaged. Besides the constant sadness of all recollections that bring fresh to my thoughts a breach with a friend once so loved, how are most of the families altered and dispersed in these absent ten Years! From Mrs. Montagu's, Miss Gregory by a marriage disapproved, is removed for ever; from Mrs. Cholmley's, by the severer blow of death, Lady Mulgrave is separated; Mrs. Lambart, by the same blow, has lost the brother, Sir Philip Clerke, who brought us to her acquaintance; Mr. Bowdler and his excellent eldest daughter have yielded to the same stroke; Mrs. Byron has followed. Miss Leigh has been married and widowed; Lord Mulgrave has had the same hard lot; and, besides these, Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. Thrale's aunt, Lady Miller, and Mr. Thrale himself, are no more. A VISIT FROM LADY SPENCER. Aug. 31.-I found I had no acquaintance here, except Mr. Harrington, who is ill, Mrs. Hartley, who is too lame for visiting, and the Vanbrughs; and though Mrs. Ord, from her frequent residence here, knows many of the settled inhabitants, she has kindly complied with my request of being dispensed from making new visits. Soon after we came, while I was finishing some letters, and quite alone, Mrs. Ord's servant brought me word Lady Spencer would ask me how I did, if I was well enough to receive her. Of course I begged she might come up-stairs. I have met her two or three times at my dearest Mrs. Delany's, where I met, also, with marked civilities from her. I knew she was here, with her unhappy daughter,--Lady Duncannon,(349) whom she assiduously nurses, aided by her more celebrated other daughter, the Duchess of Devonshire. She made a very flattering apology for coming, and then began to converse upon my beloved Mrs. Delany, and thence to subjects more general. She is a sensible and sagacious character, intelligent, polite, and agreeable, and she spends her life in such exercises of active charity and zeal, that she Page 425 would be one of the most exemplary women of rank of the age, had she less of show in her exertions, and more of forbearance in publishing them. My dear oracle, however, once said, vainglory must not be despised or discouraged, when it operated but as a human engine for great or good deeds. She spoke of Lady Duncannon's situation with much sorrow, and expatiated upon her resignation to her fate, her prepared state for death, and the excellence of her principles, with an eagerness and feeling that quite overwhelmed me with surprise and embarrassment. Her other daughter she did not mention; but her grand-daughter, Lady Georgiana Cavendish, she spoke of with rapture. Miss Trimmer, also, the eldest daughter of the exceeding worthy Mrs. Trimmer, she named with a regard that seemed quite affectionate. She told me she had the care of the young Lady Cavendishes, but was in every respect treated as if one of themselves. BATH SUNDAY SCHOOLS. The name of Mrs. Trimmer led us to talk of the Sunday schools and Schools of Industry. They are both in a very flourishing state at Bath, and Lady Spencer has taken one school under her own immediate patronage. The next day, of course, I waited on her - she was out. But the following day, which was Sunday,, she sent me a message up-stairs to say she would take me to see the Sunday-school, if I felt well enough to desire it. She waited below for my answer, which, of course, I carried down in my proper person, ready hatted and cloaked. It was a most interesting sight. Such a number of poor innocent children, all put into a way of right, most taken immediately from every way of wrong, lifting Up their little hands, and joining in those prayers and supplications for mercy and grace, which, even if they understand not, must at least impress them with a general idea of religion, a dread of evil, and a love of good ; it was, indeed, a sight to expand the best hopes of the heart. I felt very much obliged to my noble conductress, with whom I had much talk upon the subject in our walk back. Her own little school, of course, engaged us the most. She told me that the next day six of her little girls were to be new clothed, by herself, in honour of the birthday of the Duke of Devonshire's second daughter, Lady Harriot Cavendish, who Page 426 was to come to her grandmamma's house to see the ceremony. To this sight she also Invited me, and I accepted her kindness with pleasure. The following day, therefore, Monday, I obeyed Lady Spencer's time, and at six o'clock was at her house in Gay-street. Lady Spencer had Mrs. Mary Pointz and Miss Trimmer with her; and the six children, just prepared for Lady Harriot, in their new gowns, were dismissed from their examination, upon my arrival, and sent down-stairs to Wait the coming of her little ladyship, who, having dined with her mamma, was later than her appointment. Lady Georgiana is just eight Years old. She has a fine, animated, sweet, and handsome countenance, and the form and figure of a girl of ten or twelve years of age. Lady Harriot, who this day was six Years old, is by no means so handsome, but has an open and pleasing countenance, and a look of the most happy disposition. Lady Spencer brought her to me immediately. I inquired after the young Marquis of Hartington. Lady Spencer told me they never trusted him from the Upper walks, near his house, in Marlborough-buildings. He has a house of his own near the duke's, and a carriage entirely to himself; but YOU will see the necessity of these appropriations, when I remind You he is now fourteen months old. Lady Spencer had now a lottery--without blanks, you Will suppose- -of playthings and toys for the children. She distributed the prizes, and Lady Duncannon held the tickets. During this entered Lord Spencer, the son of Lady Spencer, who was here only for three days, to see his sister Duncannon. They had all dined with the little Lady Harriot. The duke is now at Chatsworth, in Derbyshire. I thought of Lord Spencer's kindness to Charles, and I recollected he was a favourite of Mr. Windham. I saw him, therefore, with very different ideas to those raised by the sight of his poor sister Duncannon, to whom he made up with every mark of pitying affection; she, meanwhile, receiving him with the most expressive pleasure, though nearly silent. I could not help feeling touched, in defiance of all obstacles. Presently followed two ladies. Lady Spencer, with a look and manner warmly announcing pleasure in what she was doing, then introduced me to the first of them, saying, "Duchess of Devonshire, Miss Burney." She made me a very civil compliment upon hoping my Page 427- health was recovering, and Lady Spencer then, shortly, and as if unavoidably, said, "Lady Elizabeth Foster." I have neglected to mention, in its place, that the six poor little girls had a repast in the garden, and Lady Georgiana earnestly begged leave to go down and see and speak with them. She applied to Lady Spencer. "O grandmamma," she cried, "pray let me go! Mamma says it all depends upon you." The duchess expressed some fear lest there might be any illness or disorder among the poor things: Lady Spencer answered for them; and Lady Georgiana, with a sweet delight, flew down into the garden, all the rest accompanying, and Lady Spencer and the duchess soon following. It was a beautiful sight, taken in all its dependencies, from the windows. Lord Spencer presently joined them, GEORGIANA, DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE To return to the duchess. I did not find so much beauty in her as I expected, notwithstanding the variations of accounts; but I found far more of manner, politeness, and gentle quiet. She seems by nature to possess the highest animal spirits, but she appeared to me not happy. I thought she looked oppressed within, though there is a native cheerfulness about her which I fancy scarce ever deserts her. There is in her face, especially when she speaks, a sweetness of good-humour and obligingness, that seem to be the natural and instinctive qualities of her disposition; joined to an openness of countenance that announces her endowed, by nature, with a character intended wholly for honesty, fairness, and good purposes. She now conversed with me wholly, and in so soberly sensible and quiet a manner, as I had imagined incompatible with her powers. Too much and too little credit have variously been given her. About me and my health she was more civil than I can well tell you; not from prudery--I have none, in these records, methinks!- -but from its being mixed into all that passed. We talked over my late tour, Bath waters, and the king's illness. This, which was led to by accident, was here a tender Subject, considering her heading the Regency squadron; however, I have only one line to pursue, and from that I can never vary. I spoke of my own deep distress from his sufferings without reserve, and of the distress of the queen with the most avowed compassion and respect. She was extremely well-bred in all she said herself, and seemed willing Page 428 to keep up the subject. I fancy no one has just in the same way treated it with her grace before; however, she took all in good part, though to have found me retired in discontent had perhaps been more congenial to her. But I have been sedulous to make them all know the contrary. Nevertheless, as I am eager to be considered apart from all party, I was much pleased, after all this, to have her express herself very desirous to keep up Our acquaintance, ask many questions as to the chance of my remaining in Bath, most politely hope to profit from it, and, finally, inquire my direction. Lady Elizabeth (Foster] has the character of being so alluring that Mrs. Holroyd told me it was the opinion Of Mr. Gibbon no man could withstand her, and that, if she chose to beckon the lord chancellor from his woolsack, in full sight of the world, he could not resist obedience!(350) BISHOP PERCY. Not long after our settling at Bath, I found, upon returning from the Pump-room, cards left for me of the Bishop of Dromore (Dr. Percy), Mrs. and the Miss Percys. I had met them formerly once at Miss Reynolds's, and once Visited them when Dr. Percy was Dean of Carlisle. The collector and editor of the beautiful reliques of ancient English poetry, I could not but be happy to again see. I returned the visit: they were out; but the bishop soon after came when I was at home. I had a pleasant little chat with him. The bishop is perfectly easy and unassuming, very communicative, and, though not very entertaining because too prolix, he is otherwise intelligent and of good commerce. Mrs. Percy is ill, and cannot make visits, though she sends her name and receives company at home. She is very uncultivated and ordinary in manners and conversation, but a good creature and much delighted to talk over the royal family, to one of whom she was formerly a nurse. THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE AGAIN. Three days before we left Bath, as I was coming with Mrs. Ord from the Pump-room, we encountered a chair from Page 429 which a lady repeatedly kissed her hand and bowed to me. I was too nearsighted to distinguish who she was, till, coming close, and a little stopped by more people, she put her face to the glass, and said "How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" and I recollected the Duchess of Devonshire. About an hour after I had again the honour of a visit from her, and with Lady dowager Spencer. I was luckily at home alone, Mrs Ord having dedicated the rest of the morning to her own visits. I received them, therefore, with great pleasure. I now saw the duchess far more easy and lively in her spirits, and, consequently, far more lovely in her person. Vivacity is so much her characteristic, that her style of beauty requires it indispensably; the beauty, indeed, dies away without it. I now saw how her fame for personal charms had been obtained; the expression of her smiles is so very sweet, and has an ingenuousness and openness so singular, that, taken in those moments, not the most rigid critic could deny the justice of her personal celebrity. She was quite gay, easy, and charming: indeed, that last epithet might have been coined for her. This has certainly been a singular acquaintance for me that the first visit I should make after leaving the queen should be to meet the head of the opposition public, the Duchess of Devonshire! DR. BURNEY'S CONVERSATION WITH MR. BURKE: REMARKS BY Miss BURNEY. "I [Dr. Burney] dined with Sir Joshua last week, and met Mr. Burke, his brother, Mr. Malone, the venerable Bishop of St. Pol de L`eonn, and a French abb`e or chevalier. I found Mr. Burke in the room on my arrival, and after the first very cordial civilities were over, he asked me, with great eagerness, whether I thought he might go in his present dress to pay his respects to Miss Burney, and was taking up his hat, till I told him you were out of town. He imagined, I Suppose, you were in St. Martin's-street, where he used to call upon you. In talking over your health, the recovery of your liberty and of society, he said, if Johnson had been alive, your history would Page 430 have furnished him with an additional and interesting article to his 'Vanity of Human Wishes.' He said he had never been more mistaken in his life. He thought the queen had never behaved more amiably, or shown more good sense, than in appropriating you to her service; but what a service had it turned out!--a confinement to such a companion as Mrs. Schwellenberg!--Here exclamations of severity and kindness in turn lasted a considerable time." If ever I see Mr. Burke where he speaks to me upon the subject, I will openly confide to him how impossible it was that the queen should conceive the subserviency expected, unjustly and unwarrantably, by Mrs. Schwellenberg: to whom I ought only to have belonged officially, and at official hours, unless the desire of further intercourse had been reciprocal. The queen had imagined that a younger and more lively colleague would have made her faithful old servant happier and that idea was merely amiable in her majesty, who could not Suspect the misery inflicted on that poor new colleague, LITERARY RECREATION. Chelsea College, October-.-I have never been so pleasantly situated at home since I lost the sister of my heart and my most affectionate Charlotte. My father is almost constantly Within. Indeed, I now live with him wholly ; he has himself appropriated me a place, a seat, a desk, a table, and every convenience and comfort, and he never seemed yet so earnest to keep me about him. We read together, write together,- chat, compare notes, communicate projects, and diversify each other's employments. He is all goodness, gaiety, and affection; and his society and kindness are more precious to Me than ever. Fortunately, in this season of leisure and comfort, the spirit of composition proves active. The day is never long enough, and I Could employ two pens almost incessantly, in my scribbling what will not be repressed. This is a delight to my dear father inexpressibly great and though I have gone no further than to let him know, from time to time, the species of matter that occupies me, he is perfectly contented, and patiently waits till something is quite finished, before he insists upon reading a word. This "suits my humour well," as my own industry is all gone when once its intent is produced. For the rest I have been going on with my third tragedy. Page 431 I have two written, but never yet have had opportunity to read them; which, of course, prevents their being corrected to the best of my power, and fitted for the perusal of less indulgent eyes; or rather of eyes less prejudiced. Believe me, my dear friends, in the present composed and happy state of my mind, I Could never have suggested these tales; but, having only to correct, combine, contract, and finish, I will not leave them undone. Not, however, to sadden myself to the same point in which I began them, I read more than I write, and call for happier themes from others, to enliven my mind from the dolorous sketches I now draw of my Own. The library or study, in which we constantly sit, supplies such delightful variety of food, that I have nothing to wish. Thus, my beloved sisters and friends, you see me, at length, enjoying all that peace, ease, and chosen recreation and employment, for which so long I sighed in vain, and which, till very lately, I had reason to believe, even since attained, had been allowed me too late. I am more and more thankful every night, every morning, for the change in my destiny, and present blessings of my lot ; and you, my beloved Susan and Fredy, for whose prayers I have so often applied in my sadness, suffering, and despondence, afford me now the same community of thanks and acknowledgments. SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDs's BLINDNESS. November.-Another evening my father took me to Sir Joshua Reynolds. I had long languished to see that kindly zealous friend, but his ill health had intimidated me rom making the attempt; and now my dear father went up stairs alone, and inquired of Miss Palmer if her uncle was well enough to admit me. He returned for me immediately. I felt the utmost pleasure in again mounting his staircase. Miss Palmer hastened forward and embraced me most cordially. I then shook hands with Sir Joshua. He had a bandage over one eye, and the other shaded with a green halfbonnet. He seemed serious even to sadness, though extremely kind. "I am very glad," he said, in a meek voice and dejected accent, "to see you again, and I wish I could see you better! but I have only one eye now,--and hardly that." I was really quite touched. The expectation of total blind- Page 432 ness depresses him inexpressibly; not, however, inconceivably I hardly knew how to express either my concern for his altered situation since our meeting, or my joy in again being with him: but my difficulty was short; Miss Palmer eagerly drew me to herself, and recommended to Sir Joshua to go on with his cards. He had no spirit to oppose; probably, indeed, no inclination. One other time we called again, in a morning. Sir Joshua and his niece were alone, and that invaluable man was even more dejected than before. How grievous to me It is to see him thus changed!(352) AMONG OLD FRIENDS. December.-I most gladly accepted an invitation to my good Mrs. Ord, to meet a circle of old friends. The day proved extremely pleasant. We went to dinner, my father and I, and met Mrs. Montagu, in good spirits, and very unaffectedly agreeable. No one was there to awaken ostentation, no new acquaintance to require any surprise from her powers; she was therefore natural and easy, as well as informing and entertaining. Mrs. Garrick embraced me again and again, to express a satisfaction in meeting me once more in this social way, that she would have thought it indecorous to express by words. I thanked her exactly in the same language ; and, without a syllable being uttered, she said, "I rejoice you are no longer a courtier!" and I answered, "I love you dearly for preferring me in my old state!" In the evening we were joined by Lady Rothes,(353) with whom I had my peace to make for a long-neglected letter upon my Page 433 "restoration to society," as she termed it, and who was very lively and pleasant. . . . Mr. Pepys, who came just at that instant from Twickenham, which he advanced eagerly to tell me, talked of Mr. Cambridge, and his admirable wit and spirits, and Miss Cambridge, and her fervent friendship for me, and the charm and agreeability of the whole house, with an ardour so rapid, there scarce needed any reply. Mr. Batt gave me a most kindly congratulatory bow upon his entrance. I knew his opinion of my retreat, and understood it: but I was encircled till the concluding part of the evening by the Pepys and Lady Rothes, etc.; and then Mr. Batt seated himself by my elbow, and began. "How I rejoice," he cried, "to see you at length out of thraldom!" "Thraldom?" quoth I, "that's rather a strong word! I assure you 'tis the first time I have heard it pronounced full and plumply." "O, but," cried he, laughing, "I may be allowed to say so, because you know my principles. You know me to be loyal; you could not stand it from an opposition-man--but saints may do much!" He is a professed personal friend of Mr. Pitt. I then began some exculpation of my late fatigues, assuring him they were the effect of a situation not understood, and not of any hardness of heart. "Very probably," cried he; "but I am glad you have ended them: I applaud--I honour the step you have taken. Those who suffer, yet still continue in fetters, I never pity;--there is a want of integrity, as well as spirit, in such submission." "Those they serve," cried I, "are not the persons to blame; they are commonly uninformed there is anything to endure, and believe all is repaid by the smiles so universally solicited." "I know it," cried he; "and it is that general base subservience that makes me struck with your opposite conduct." "My conduct," quoth I, "was very simple; though I believe it did not the less surprise; but it all consisted in not pretending, when I found myself sinking, to be swimming." He said many other equally good-natured things, and finished them with "But what a pleasure it is to me to see you here in this manner, dressed no more than other people! I have not seen you these five years past but looking dressed out for the Drawing-room, or something as bad!" Page 434 A SUMMONS FROM THE QUEEN. January.-I had a very civil note from Mrs. Schwellenberg telling me that Miss Goldsworthy was ill, which made Miss Gomme necessary to the princesses, and therefore, as Mlle. Jacobi was still lame, her majesty wished for my attendance On Wednesday noon. I received this little summons with very sincere pleasure, and sent a warm acknowledgment for its honour. I was engaged for the evening to Mr. Walpole, now Lord Orford, by my father, who promised to call for me at the Queen's house. At noon I went thither, and saw, by the carriages, their majesties were just arrived from Windsor. In my way upstairs I encountered the Princess Sophia. I really felt a pleasure at her sight, so great that I believe I saluted her ; I hardly know ; but she came forward, with her hands held out, so good humoured and so sweetly, I was not much on my guard. How do I wish I had gone that moment to my royal mistress, while my mind was fully and honestly occupied with the most warm satisfaction in being called again into her presence! The Princess Sophia desired me to send her Miss Gomme, whom she said I should find in my own room. Thither I went, and we embraced very cordially; but she a little made me stare by saying, "Do you sleep in your old bed?" "No," I answered, "I go home after dinner," and she said no more, but told me she must have two hours conference alone with me, from the multiplicity of things she had to discuss with me. We parted then, and I proceeded to Mrs. Schwellenberg. There I was most courteously received, and told I was to go at night to the play. I replied I was extremely sorry, but I was engaged. She looked deeply displeased, and I was forced to offer to send an excuse. Nothing, however, was settled; she went to the queen, whither I was most eager to follow, but I depended upon her arrangement, and could not go uncalled. I returned to my own room, as they still call it, and Miss Gomme and Miss Planta both came to me. We had a long discourse upon matters and things. By and by Miss Gomme was called out to Princesses Mary and Amelia; she told them who was in the old apartment, and they instantly entered it. Princess Mary took my hand, and said repeatedly, "My dear Miss Burney, how glad I am to see you again!" and the lovely little Princess Amelia kissed me twice, with the sweetest air of Page 435 affection. This was a very charming meeting to me, and I expressed my real delight in being thus allowed to come amongst them again, in the strongest and truest terms. I had been but a short time alone, when Westerhaults came to ask me if I had ordered my father's carriage to bring me from the play. I told him I was engaged but would give up that engagement, and endeavour to secure being fetched home after the play. Mrs. Schwellenberg then desired to see me. "What you mean by going home?" cried she, somewhat deridingly: "know you not you might sleep here?" I was really thunderstruck; so weak still, and so unequal as I feel to undertake night and morning attendance, which I now saw expected. I was obliged, however, to comply; and I wrote a note to Sarah, and another note to be given to my father, when he called to take me to Lord Orford. But I desired we might go in chairs, and not trouble him for the carriage. This arrangement, and my dread of an old attendance I was so little fitted for renewing, had so much disturbed me before I was summoned to the queen, that I appeared before her without any of the glee and spirits with which I had originally obeyed her commands. I am still grieved at this circumstance, as it must have made me seem cold and insensible to herself, when I was merely chagrined at the peremptory mismanagement of her agent. Mr. de Luc was with her. She was gracious, but by no means lively or cordial. She was offended, probably,--and there was no reason to wonder, and yet no means to clear away the cause. This gave me much vexation, and the more I felt it the less I must have appeared to merit her condescension. Nevertheless, after she was dressed she honoured me with a summons to the White closet, where I presently felt as much at home as if I had never quitted the royal residence. She inquired into my proceedings, and I began a little history of my south-west tour,- which she listened to till word was brought the king was come from the levee: dinner was then ordered, and I was dismissed. At our dinner, the party, in the old style, was -Mr. de Luc, Miss Planta, Mrs. Stainforth, and Miss Gomme; Mrs. Schwellenberg was not well enough to leave her own apartment, except to attend the queen. We were gay enough, I own my spirits were not very low in finding myself a guest at that table, where Page 436 I was so totally unfit to be at home, and whence, nevertheless,; I should have been very much and deeply concerned to have found myself excluded, since the displeasure of the queen could alone have procured such a banishment. Besides, to visit, I like the whole establishment, however inadequate I found them for supplying the place of all I quitted to live among them. O, who could succeed there? During the dessert the Princess Elizabeth came into the T room. I was very glad, by this means, to see all this lovely female tribe. As soon as she was gone I made off to prepare for the play, with fan, cloak-, and gloves. At the door of my new old room who should I encounter but Mr. Stanhope? He was all rapture, in his old way, at the meeting, and concluded me, I believe, reinstated. I got off as fast as Possible, and had just shut myself in, and him out, when I heard the voice of the king, who passed my door to go to the dining-room. I was quite chagrined to have left it so unseasonably, as my whole heart yearned to see him. He stayed but a minute, and I heard him stop close to my door, and speak with Mr. de Luc. The loudness of his voice assuring me he was saying nothing he meant to be unheard, I could not resist softly opening my door. I fancy he expected this, for he came up to me immediately, and with a look of goodness almost amounting to pleasure--I believe I may say quite--he inquired after my health, and its restoration, and said he was very glad to see me again. Then turning gaily to Mr. de Luc, "And you, Mr. de Luc," he cried, "are not you, too, very glad to see Miss Beurni again?" I told him, very truly, the pleasure with which I had reentered his roof.--He made me stand near a lamp, to examine me, and pronounced upon my amended looks with great benevolence: and, when he was walking away, said aloud to Mr. de Luc, who attended him, "I dare say she was very willing to come!" Our party in the box for the queen's attendants consisted of Lady Catherine Stanhope, Miss Planta, Major Price, Greville Upton, and Mr. Frank Upton. The king and queen and six princesses sat opposite. It was to me a lovely and most charming sight. The Prince of Wales, and the Duke of York and his bride, with the Duke of Clarence, sat immediately under us. I saw the duchess now and then, and saw that she has a very sensible and marked countenance, but no beauty. Page 437 She was extremely well received by the people, and smiled at in the most pleasing manner by her opposite new relations. At night I once more attended the queen, and it seemed as strange to me as if I had never done it before. The next day, Thursday, the queen gave up the Drawing-room, on account of a hurt on her foot. I had the honour of another very long conference in the White closet, in which I finished the account of my late travels, and during which, though she was very gracious, she was far less communicative than heretofore, saying little herself, and making me talk almost all. When I attended the queen again to-night, the strangeness was so entirely worn away, that it seemed to me as if I had never left my office! And so again on Friday morning At noon the royal family set off for Windsor. The queen graciously sent for me before she went, to bid me good- bye, and condescended to thank me for my little services. I would have offered repetition with all my heart, but I felt my frame unequal to such business. Indeed I was half dead with only two days' and nights' exertion. 'Tis amazing how I ever went through all that is passed. MR. HASTINGS'S DEFENCE. Feb. 13.-I found a note from Mrs. Schwellenberg, with an offer of a ticket for Mr. Hastings's trial, the next day, if I wished to go to it. I did wish it exceedingly, no public subject having ever so deeply interested me; but I could not recollect any party I could join, and therefore I proposed to Captain Phillips to call on his Court friend, and lay before her my difficulty. He readily declared he would do more, for he would frankly ask her for a ticket for himself, and stay another day, merely to accompany me. You know well the kind pleasure and zeal with which he is always ready to discover and propose expedients in distress. His visit prospered, and we went to Westminster Hall together. All the managers attended at the opening, but the attendance of all others was cruelly slack. To hear the attack, the people came in crowds; to hear the defence, they scarcely came in t`ete- `a-t`etes! 'Tis barbarous there should be so much more pleasure given by the recital of guilt than by the vindication of innocence! Mr. Law(354) spoke the whole time; he made a general harangue Page 438 in answer to the opening general harangue of Mr. Burke, and he spoke many things that brought forward conviction in favour of Mr. Hastings; but he was terrified exceedingly, and this timidity Induced him to so frequently beg quarter from his antagonists, both for any blunders and any deficiencies, that I felt angry with even modest egotism, when I considered that it was rather his place to come forward with the shield and armour of truth, undaunted, and to have defied, rather than deprecated, the force of talents when without such support. None of the managers quitted their box, and I am uncertain whether or not any of them saw me. Mr. Windham, in particular, I feel satisfied either saw me not, or was so circumstanced, as manager, that he could not come to speak with me; for else, this my first appearance from the parental roof under which he has so largely contributed to replace me would have been the last time for his dropping my acquaintance. Mr. Sheridan I have no longer any ambition to be noticed by; and Mr. Burke, at this place, I am afraid I have already displeased, so unavoidably cold and frigid did I feel myself when he came here to me formerly. Anywhere else, I should bound forward to meet him, with respect, and affection, and gratitude. In the evening I went to the queen's house. I found Mrs, Schwellenberg, who instantly admitted me, at cards with Mr. de Luc. Her reception was perfectly kind; and when I would have given up the tickets, she told me they were the queen's, who desired, if I wished it, I would keep them for the season. This was a pleasant hearing upon every account, and I came away in high satisfaction. A few days after, I went again to the trial, and took another captain for my esquire--my good and ever-affectionate James. The Hall was still more empty, both of Lords and Commons, and of ladies too, than the first day of this session. I am quite shocked at the little desire there appears to hear Mr. Hastings's defence. DIVERSE VIEWS. When the managers entered, James presently said, "Here's Mr. Windham coming to speak to you." And he broke from the procession, as it was descending to its cell, to give me that pleasure. His inquiries about my health were not, as he said, merely common inquiries, but, without any other answer to them than a bow, I interrupted their course by quickly saying, "You Page 439 have been excursioning and travelling all the world o'er since I saw you last." He paid me in my own coin with only a bow, hastily going back to myself: "But your tour," he cried, "to the west, after all that-" I saw what was following, and, again abruptly stopping him, "But here you are returned," I cried, "to all your old labours and toils again." "No, no," cried he, half laughing, "not labours and toils always; they are growing into pleasures now." "That's being very good, very liberal, indeed," quoth I, supposing him to mean hearing the defence made the pleasure but he stared at me with so little concurrence, that, soon understanding he only meant bringing their charges home to the confusion of the culprit, I stared again a little while, and then said, "You sometimes accuse me of being ambiguous; I think you seem so yourself, now!" "To nobody but you," cried he, with a rather reproachful accent. "O, now," cried I, "you are not ambiguous, and I am all the less pleased." "People," cried James, bonnement, "don't like to be convinced." "Mr. Hastings," said Mr. Windham, "does not convince, he does not bring conviction home." "Not to you," quoth I, returning his accent pretty fully, "Why, true," answered he very candidly; "there may be something in that." "How is it all to be?" cried James. "Is the defence to go on long, and are they to have any evidence; or how?" "We don't know this part of the business," said Mr. Windham, smiling a little at such an upright downright question "it is Mr. Hastings's affair now to settle it: however, I understand he means to answer charge after charge as they were brought against him, first by speeches, then by evidence: however, this is all conjecture." MR. LAW'S SPEECH DISCUSSED. We then spoke of Mr. Law, Mr. Hastings's first counsel, and I expressed some dissatisfaction that such attackers should not have had abler and more equal opponents. Page 440 "But do you not think Mr. Law spoke well?" cried he, "clear, forcible? " "Not forcible," cried I. I would not say not clear. "He was frightened," said Mr. Windham, "he might not do himself justice. I have heard him elsewhere, and been very well satisfied with him; but he looked pale and alarmed, and his voice trembled." "I was very well content with his materials," quoth I, "which I thought much better than the use he made of them; and once or twice, he made an opening that, with a very little skill, might most adroitly and admirably have raised a laugh against you all." He looked a little askew, I must own, but he could not help smiling. . . I gave him an instance in point, which -was the reverse given by Mr. Law to the picture drawn by Mr. Burke of Tamerlane, in which he said those virtues and noble qualities bestowed upon him by the honourable manager were nowhere to be found but on the British stage. Now this, seriously, with a very little ingenuity, might have placed Mr. Burke at the head of a company of comedians. This last notion I did not speak, however; but enough was understood, and Mr. Windham looked straight away from me, without answering; nevertheless, his profile, which he left me, showed much more disposition to laugh than to be incensed. Therefore I proceeded ; pointing out another lost opportunity that, well saved, might have proved happily ridiculous against them; and this was Mr. Law's description of the real state of India, even from its first discovery by Alexander, opposed to Mr. Burke's flourishing representation, of its golden age, its lambs and tigers associating, etc. Still he looked askew ; but I believe he is truth itself, for he offered no defence, though, of course, he would not enter into the attack. And surely at this critical period I must not spare pointing out all he will submit to hear, on the side of a man of whose innocence I am so fully persuaded. "I must own, however," continued I, finding him still attentive, though silent, "Mr. Law provoked me in one point--his apologies for his own demerits. Why should he contribute his humble mite to your triumphs? and how little was it his place to extol your superior talents, as if you were not self-sufficient enough already, without his aid." 'Unless you had heard the speech of Mr. Law, you can hardly Page 441 imagine with what timid flattery he mixed every exertion he ventured to make in behalf of his client ; and I could not forbear this little observation, because I had taken notice with what haughty derision the managers had perceived the fears of their importance, which were felt even by the very counsel of their prisoner. Mr. Windham, too, who himself never looks either insolent or deriding, must be sure what I meant for his associates could not include himself. He did not, however, perfectly welcome the remark; he still only gave me his profile, and said not a word,-so I went on. Mr. Hastings little thinks what a pleader I am become in his cause, against one of his most powerful adversaries. "There was still another thing," quoth I, "in which I felt vexed with Mr. Law: how could he be so weak as to beg quarter from you, and to humbly hope that, if any mistake, any blunder, any improvident word escaped him, you would have the indulgence to spare your ridicule? O yes, to be sure! when I took notice at the moment of his supplication, and before any error committed, that every muscle of every face, amongst you was at work from the bare suggestion." He could not even pretend to look grave now, but, turning frankly towards me, said, "Why, Mr. Fox most justly observed upon that petition, that, if any man makes a blunder, a mistake, 'tis very well to apologize: but it was singular to hear a man gravely preparing for his blunders and mistakes, and wanting to make terms for them beforehand." "I like him for this," cried James again bonnement, "that he seems so much interested for his client." "Will you give me leave to inquire," quoth I, "one thing? You know my old knack of asking strange questions." He only bowed--archly enough, I assure you. " Did I fancy, or was it fact, that you were a flapper to Mr. Burke, when Mr. Law charged him with disingenuity, in not having recanted the accusation concerning Devy Sing? He appeared to me in much perturbation, and I thought by his see-saw he was going to interrupt the speech: did you prevent him?" "No, no," he answered, "I did not: I did not think him in any danger." He rubbed his cheek, though, as he spoke, as if he did not much like that circumstance. O that Mr. Burke--so great, so noble a creature--can in this point thus have been warped. Page 442 MR. WINDHAM ON THE FRENCH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. I ran off to another scene, and inquired how he had been amused abroad, and, in particular, at the National Assembly? "Indeed," he answered, "it was extremely curious for a short time; but there is little variety in it, and therefore it will not do long." I was in a humour to be just as sincere here, as about the trial; so you democrats must expect no better. "I understand," quoth I, "there is a great dearth of abilities in this new Assembly; how then should there be any variety?" "No, I cannot say that: they do not want abilities; but they have no opportunity to make their way." "O!" quoth I, shaking my wise head, "abilities, real abilities, make their own way." "Why, that's true; but, in that Assembly, the noise, the tumult-- " "Abilities," again quoth I, " "have power to quell noise and tumult." "Certainly, in general; but not in France. These new legislative members are so solicitous to speak, so anxious to be heard, that they prefer uttering any tautology to listening to others; and when once they have begun, they go on with what speed they may, and without selection, rather than stop. They see so many ready to seize their first pause, they know they have so little chance of a second hearing, that I never entered the Assembly without being reminded of the famous old story of the man who patiently bore hearing a tedious harangue, by saying the whole time to himself, 'Well, well, 'tis his turn now; but let him beware how he sneezes."' "A BARBAROUS BUSINESS!" James now again asked some question of their intentions with regard to the progress of the trial. He answered, "We have nothing to do with its present state. We leave Mr. Hastings now to himself, and his own set. Let him keep to his cause, and he may say what he will. We do not mean to interfere, nor avail ourselves of our privileges." Mr. Hastings was just entered; I looked down at him, and saw his half-motion to kneel; I could not bear it, and, turning suddenly to my neighbour, "O, Mr. Windham," I cried, "after Page 443 all, 'tis, indeed, a barbarous business!" This was rather further than I meant to go, for I said it with serious earnestness; but it was surprised from me by the emotion always excited at sight of that unmerited humiliation. He looked full at me upon this solemn attack, and with a look of chagrin amounting to displeasure, saying, "It is a barbarous business we have had to go through." I did not attempt to answer this, for, except through the medium of sport and raillery, I have certainly no claim upon his patience. But, in another moment, in a tone very flattering, he said, "I do not understand, nor can any way imagine, how you can have been thus perverted!" "No, no!" quoth I, "it is you who are perverted!" Here Mr. Law began his second oration, and Mr. Windham ran down to his cell. I fancy this was not exactly the conversation he expected upon my first enlargement. However, though it would very seriously grieve me to hurt or offend him, I cannot refuse my own veracity, nor Mr. Hastings's injuries, the utterance of what I think truth. Mr. Law was far more animated and less frightened, and acquitted himself so as to merit almost as much `eloge as, in my opinion, he had merited censure at the opening. It was all in answer to Mr. Burke's general exordium and attack. DEATH OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Upon the day of Sir Joshua Reynolds's death(355) I was in my bed, with two blisters, and I did not hear of it till two days after. I shall enter nothing upon this Subject here; our current letters mentioned the particulars, and I am not desirous to retrace them. His loss is as universally felt as his merit is universally acknowledged, and, joined to all public motives, I had myself private ones of regret that cannot subside. He was always peculiarly kind to me, and he had worked at my deliverance from a life he conceived too laborious for me as if I had been his own daughter; yet, from the time of my coming forth, I only twice saw him. I had not recovered strength for visiting before he was past receiving me. I grieve inexpressibly never to have been able to make him the small tribute of thanks for his most kind exertions in my cause. I little thought the second time I saw him would be my last opportunity, and my intention was to wait some favourable opening. Page 444 Miss Palmer is left heiress,(356) and her unabating attendance upon her inestimable uncle in his sickroom makes everybody content with her great acquisition. I am sure she loved and admired him with all the warmth of her warm heart. I wrote her a few lines of condolence, and she has sent me a very kind answer. She went immediately to the Burkes, with whom she will chiefly, I fancy, associate. March.-Sad for the loss of Sir Joshua, and all of us ill ourselves, we began this month. Upon its 3rd day was his funeral.(357) My dear father could not attend; but Charles was invited and went. All the Royal Academy, professors and students, and all the Literary club, attended as family, mourners. Mr. Burke, Mr. Malone, and Mr. Metcalf, are executors. Miss Palmer has spared nothing, either in thought or expense, that could render the last honours splendid and grateful. It was a very melancholy day to us; though it had the alleviation and softening of a letter from our dear Charlotte, promising to arrive the next day. MR. WINDHAM TWITTED ON His LACK OF COMPASSION. April 23.--I thought myself equal to again going to the trial, which recommenced, after six or seven weeks' cessation, on account of the judges going the circuit. Sarah went with me: I am now so known in the chamberlain's box that the door-keepers and attendants make way for me without looking at my ticket. And to be sure, the managers on one side, and Mr. Hastings's friends and counsel on the other, must pretty well have my face by heart. I have the faces of all them, most certainly, in full mental possession; and the figures of many whose names I know not are so familiar to my eyes, that should I chance hereafter to meet them, I shall be apt to take them for old acquaintances. There was again a full appearance of managers to accompany Page 445 Mr. Burke in his entry; and again Mr. Windham quitted the procession, as it descended to the box, and filed off to speak with me. He made the most earnest inquiries after the health of my dearest father, as well as after my own. He has all the semblance of real regard and friendship for us, and I am given to believe he wears no semblance that has not a real and sympathetic substance couched beneath. His manner instantly revived in my mind my intent not to risk, with him, the loss of making those poor acknowledgments for his kindness, that I so much regret omitting to Sir Joshua Reynolds. In return to his inquiries about my renovating health, I answered that I had again been very ill since I saw him last, and added, "Indeed, I believe I did not come away too soon." " And now," cried I, "I cannot resist giving myself the pleasure of making my acknowledgments for what I owe to you upon this subject. I have been, indeed, very much obliged, by various things that have come round to me, both to you and Sir Joshua.--O what a loss is that!" "What a wretched loss!" cried he: and we then united our warmest suffrages in his favour, with our deepest regret for our deprivation. Here I observed poor Mr. Hastings was brought in. I saw he was fixing him. "And can you," I cried, fixing him, "can you have so much compassion for one captive, and still have none for another?" "Have you, then, still," cried he, "the same sentiments?" "Have you," cried I, "heard all thus far of the defence, and are you still unmoved?" "Unmoved?" cried he, emphatically; "shall I be moved by a lion? You see him there in a cage, and pity him; look back to when you might have seen him with a lamb in his claws!" I could only look dismayed for a moment. "But, at least," I said, "I hope what I hear is not true, though I now grow afraid to ask?" "If it is anything about me," he answered, "it is certainly not true." "I am extremely glad, indeed," cried I, "for it has been buzzed about in the world that you were to draw up the final charge. This I thought most cruel of all; You, who have held back all this time--" "Yes! pretty completely," interrupted he, laughing. Page 446 "No, not completely," I continued; "but Yet YOU have made no direct formal speech, nor have come forward in any positive and formidable manner; therefore, as we have now heard all the others, and--almost enough--" I was obliged to stop a moment, to see how this adventurous plainness was taken; and he really, though my manner showed me only rallying, looked I don't know how, at such unexampled disrespect towards his brother orators. But I soon went quietly on: "To come forth now, after all that has passed, with the eclat of novelty, and,-for the most cruel part of all,--that which cannot be answered." "You think," cried he, "'tis bringing a fresh courser into the field of battle, just as every other is completely jaded?" "I think," cried I, "that I am very generous to wish against what I should so much wish for, but for other considerations." "O, what a flattering way," cried he, "of stating it! however, I can bear to allow you a little waste of compliments, which you know so well how to make; but I cannot bear to have you waste your compassion." A POINT OF CEREMONIAL. May.-The 1st of this month I went again to Westminster Hall, with our cousin Elizabeth. Evidence was brought forward by the counsel for Mr. Hastings, and Lord Stormont was called upon as a witness. This produced some curious debating among the Lords, and with the chancellor. They spoke only for the ears of one another, as it was merely to settle some ceremonial, whether he was to be summoned to the common place where the witnesses stood, or had the claim of a peer to speak in his place, robed. This latter prevailed: and then we expected his speech; but no, a new debate ensued, which, as we gathered from the rumour about us, was that his lordship should have the prayer book, for his oath, belonging to the House of Peers. Here, also, his dignity was triumphant, though it cost the whole assembly a full quarter of an hour; while another prayer book was officially at hand, in the general post for plebeian witnesses. Well! aristocrat as I am, compared with you, I laughed heartily at all this mummery, and yet it was possibly wise, at this period of pulling down all law and order, all privilege and subordination, however frivolous was its appearance. Page 447 His testimony was highly favourable to Mr. Hastings, with regard to authenticating the intelligence he had received of an opening war with France, upon which hung much justification of the measures Mr. Hastings had pursued for raising supplies. MRS. SCHWELLENBERG AND MLLE. JACOBI. Thence I went to the Queen's house, where -I have a most cordial general invitation from Mrs. Schwellenberg to go by all opportunities; and there is none so good as after the trial, that late hour exactly according With her dinner-time. She is just as she Was with respect to health; but in all other respects, how amended! all civility, all obligingness, all courtesy! and so desirous to have me visit her, that she presses me to come incessantly. During coffee, the princess royal came into the room. She condescended to profess herself quite glad to see me; and she had not left the room five minutes before, again returning, she said, "Mrs. Schwellenberg, I am come to plague you, for I am come to take away Miss Burney." I give you leave to guess whether this plagued me. May 2.-The following week I again went to Westminster Hall. Mlle. Jacobi had made a point of accompanying me, that she might see the show, as James called it to General Burgoyne, and I had great pleasure in taking her, for she is a most ingenuous and good creature, though--alas!--by no means the same undaunted, gay, open character as she appeared at first. Sickness, confinement, absence from her friends, submission to her coadjutrix, and laborious watching have much altered her. The trial of this day was all written evidence in favour of Mr. Hastings, and violent quarrelling as to its admissibility on the part of Mr. Burke. Mr. Windham took his place, during some part of the controversy, and spoke ably and clearly as to the given point in dispute, but with the most palpable tremor and internal struggle. A LONG TALK WITH THE KING AND QUEEN. I attended Mlle. Jacobi to the Queen's house, where I dined ; and great indeed was my pleasure, during coffee, to see the Princess Elizabeth, who, In the most Pleasing manner Page 448 and the highest spirits, came to summon me to the queen. I found her majesty again with all her sweet daughters but the youngest. She was gracious and disposed to converse. We had a great deal of talk upon public concerns, and she told me a friend Of mine had spoken very well the day before, and so had Mr. Burke. She meant Mr. Windham. It was against the new associates, and in favour of the proclamation.(358) Mr. Burke, of course, would here come forth in defence of his own predictions and opinions; but Mr. Windham, who had rather abided hitherto with Charles Fox, in thinking Mr. Burke too extreme, well as he loves him personally, was a new convert highly acceptable. He does not, however, go all lengths with Mr. Burke; he is only averse to an unconstitutional mode of reform, and to sanctioning club powers, so as to enable them, as in France, to overawe the state and senate.(359) Soon after, to my infinite joy, the king entered. O, he spoke to me so kindly!--he congratulated me on the better looks which his own presence and goodness gave me, repeatedly declaring he had never seen me in such health. He asked me after my father, and listened with interest when I mentioned his depression, and told him that all he had done of late to soothe his retirement and pain had been making canons to solemn words, and with such difficulties of composition as, in better health and spirits, would have rather proved oppressive and perplexing than a relief to his feelings. "I, too," said the king, after a very serious pause, "have myself sometimes found, when ill or disturbed, that some grave and even difficult employment for my thoughts has tended more to compose me than any of the supposed usual relaxations." He also condescended to ask after little Norbury, taking off the eager little fellow while he spoke, and his earnest manner of delivery. He then Inquired about my friends Mr. and Mrs. Locke, and their expectations of the return of Page 449 William. He inquired how I live, whom I saw, what sort of neighbours I had in the college, and many other particulars, that seemed to desire to know how I went on, and whether I was comfortable. His looks, I am sure, said so, and most sweetly and kindly. They kept me till they went to the Japan room, where they meet the officers and ladies who attend them in public. They were going to the Ancient Music. This dear king, nobly unsuspicious where left to himself, and where he has met no doubleness, spoke also very freely of some political matters before me--of the new association in particular. It gratified me highly. MADAME DE GENLIS: A WOEFUL CHANGE. I got home to dinner to meet Mrs. and Miss Mary Young,(360) who are in town for a few weeks. Miss Mary is sensible, and quick, and agreeable. They give a very unpleasant account of Madame de Genlis, or de Sillery, or Brulard, as she is now called.(361) They say she has established herself at Bury, in their neighbourhood, with Mlle. la Princesse d'Orleans and Pamela, and a Circe, and another Page 450 young girl under her care. They have taken a house, the master of which always dines with them, though Mrs. Young says he is such a low man he should not dine with her daughter. They form twenty with themselves and household. They keep a botanist, a chemist, and a natural historian always with them. These are supposed to have been common servants of the Duke of Orleans in former days, as they always walk behind the ladies when abroad; but, to make amends in the new equalising style, they all dine together at home. They visit at no house but Sir Thomas Gage's, where they carry their harps, and frequently have music. They have been to Bury ball, and danced all night Mlle. d'Orl`eans with anybody, known or unknown to Madame Brulard. What a woeful change from that elegant, amiable, high-bred Madame de Genlis I knew six years ago! the apparent pattern of female perfection in manners, conversation, and delicacy. There are innumerable democrats assembled in Suffolk; among them the famous Tom Paine, who herds with all the farmers that will receive him, and there propagates his pernicious doctrines. THE WEEPING BEAUTY AGAIN. May 25.-This morning I went to a very fine public breakfast, given by Mrs. Montagu. . . . The crowd of company was such that we could only slowly make way, in any part. There could not be fewer than four or five hundred people. It was like a full Ranelagh by daylight. We now met Mrs. Porteus, and who should be with her but the poor pretty S.S., whom so long I had not seen, and who has now lately been finally given up by her long-sought and very injurious lover, Dr. Vyse? She is sadly faded, and looked disturbed and unhappy; but still beautiful, though no longer blooming; and still affectionate, though absent and evidently absorbed. We had a little chat together about the Thrales. In mentioning our former intimacy with them, "Ah, those," she cried, "were happy times!" and her eyes glistened. poor thing! hers has been a lamentable story!---Imprudence and vanity have rarely been mixed with so much sweetness, and good-humour, and candour, and followed with more reproach and ill success. We agreed to renew acquaintance next winter; at present she will be little more in town. Page 451 MADAME DE LA FITE AND MRS. HASTINGS. We went then round the rooms, which were well worth examination and admiration ; and we met friends and acquaintance every other step. . . . While we were examining the noble pillars in the new room, I heard an exclamation of "Est-ce possible? suis-je si heureuse?--Est-ce ma ch`ere Mlle. Beurni que je vois?"(362) Need I say this was Madame de la, Fite ? or Mrs. Fitt, as, since the French Revolution, of which she is a favourer, she is called by some of the household to which I belonged. I spoke so as to moderate this rapture into something less calling for attention, which her voice and manner were engaging, not unwillingly. I had not seen her since my retreat, and, if she had been less pompous, I should have been glad of the meeting. She kept my hand close grasped between both her own, (though her fan nipped one of my fingers till I was ready to make faces,) with a most resolute empressement, to the great inconvenience of those who wanted to pass, for we were at one of the entrances into the great new room; and how long she might have continued this fond detention I know not, if a lady, whose appearance vied for show and parade with Madame de la Fite's manner and words, had not called out aloud, "I am extremely happy indeed to see Miss Burney!" This was Mrs. Hastings; and to answer her I was let loose. I have always been very sorry that Mrs. Hastings, who is a pleasing, lively, and well-bred woman, with attractive manners and attentions to those she wishes to oblige, should have an indiscretion so peculiarly unsuited to her situation, as to aim always at being the most conspicuous figure wherever she appears. Her dress now was like that of an Indian princess, according to our ideas of such ladies, and so much the most splendid, from its ornaments, and style, and fashion, though chiefly of muslin, that everybody else looked under-dressed in her presence. It is for Mr. Hastings I am sorry when I see this inconsiderate vanity, in a woman who would so much better manifest her sensibility of his present hard disgrace, by a modest and quiet appearance and demeanour. Page 452 THE IMPETUOUS ORATOR. Wednesday, May 30.-To-day I went to Westminster Hall again, to hear the evidence of Mr. Markham, which is so pleasantly in favour of Mr. Hastings, that all the friends of that persecuted man are gratified by all he deposes. Miss Ord accompanied me. When the impetuous and ungovernable Mr. Burke was Interrupting the chancellor, in order to browbeat Mr. Hastings's evidence, Mr. Windham involuntarily exclaimed, "Hist!" just as if he had been at his elbow, and playing the kind part of a flapper. I could not help laughing, and half joining him: he echoed back my laugh, and with a good humour that took in all its meaning and acknowledged its sympathy with regard to Mr. Burke, nevertheless, he spoke not a word. Afterwards, however, he spoke when I had far rather he had been silent, for he went to the assistance of Mr. Burke. Michael Angelo Taylor spoke also; but I observed with pleasure a distinction the chancellor made to Mr. Windham; for, when he answered their arguments, he singled him out as the person who had said what alone he meant upon that question to notice, by saying, "The honourable manager who spoke second." But I am sure--I think so, at least--Mr. Windham as little approves the violence of Mr. Burke in this trial as I do myself. I see him evidently and frequently suffer great pain and mortification when he is so obstreperous. BOSWELL'S MIMICRY OF DR. JOHNSON. June 1.-This day had been long engaged for breakfasting with Mrs. Dickenson and dining with Mrs. Ord. The breakfast guests were Mr. Langton, Mr. Foote, Mr. Dickenson, jun., a cousin, and a very agreeable and pleasing man; Lady Herries, Miss Dickenson, another cousin, and Mr. Boswell. This last was the object of the morning. I felt a strong sensation of that displeasure which his loquacious communications of every weakness and infirmity of the first and greatest good man of these times has awakened in me, at his first sight; and, though his address to me was courteous in the extreme, and he made a point of sitting next me, I felt an indignant disposition to a nearly forbidding reserve and silence. How Page 453 many starts of passion and prejudice has he blackened into record, that else might have sunk, for ever forgotten, under the preponderance of weightier virtues and excellences! Angry, however, as I have long been with him, he soon insensibly conquered, though he did not soften me: there is so little of ill-design or ill-nature in him, he is so open and forgiving for all that is said in return, that he soon forced me to consider him in a less serious light, and change my resentment against his treachery into something like commiseration of his levity ; and before we parted we became good friends. There is no resisting great good humour, be what will in the opposite scale. He entertained us all as if hired for that purpose, telling stories of Dr. Johnson, and acting them with incessant buffoonery. I told him frankly that, if he turned him into ridicule by caricature, I should fly the premises: he assured me he would not, and indeed his imitations, though comic to excess, were so far from caricature that he omitted a thousand gesticulations which I distinctly remember. Mr. Langton told some stories himself in imitation of Dr. johnson; but they became him less than Mr. Boswell, and only reminded me of what Dr. Johnson himself once said to me--"Every man has, some time in his life, an ambition to be a wag." If Mr. Langton had repeated anything from his truly great friend quietly, it would far better have accorded with his own serious and respectable character. THE KING'S BIRTHDAY. June 4.-The birthday of our truly good king. As his majesty had himself given me, when I saw him after the queen's birthday, an implied reproach for not presenting myself at the palace that day, I determined not to incur a similar censure on this, especially as I hold my admission on such a national festival as a real happiness, as well as honour, when it is to see themselves. How different was my attire from every other such occasion the five preceding years! It was a mere simple dressed undress, without feathers, flowers, hoop, or furbelows. When I alighted at the porter's lodge I was stopped from crossing the court-yard by seeing the king with his three sons, the Prince of Wales, Duke of York, and Duke of Clarence, who were standing there after alighting from their horses, to Page 454 gratify the people who encircled the iron rails. It was a pleasant and goodly sight, and I rejoiced in such a detention. I had a terrible difficulty to find a friend who would make known to her majesty that I was come to pay my devoirs. At length, while watching in the passages to and fro, I heard a step upon the princesses' stairs, and, venturing forward, I encountered the Princess Elizabeth. I paid my respectful congratulations on the day, which she most pleasantly received, and I intimated my great desire to see her majesty. I am Sure the amiable princess communicated my petition, for Mr, de Luc came out in a few minutes and ushered me into the royal presence. The queen was in her state dressing-room, her head attired for the Drawing-room superbly; but her Court-dress, as usual, remaining to be put on at St. James's. She had already received all her early complimenters, and was prepared to go to St. James's: the princess royal was seated by her side, and all the other princesses, except the Princess Amelia, were in the room, with the Duchess of York. Mr. de Luc, Mrs. Schwellenberg, Madame de la Fite, and Miss Goldsworthy were in the background. The queen smiled upon me most graciously, and every princess came up separately to speak with me. I thanked her majesty warmly for admitting me upon such an occasion, "O!" cried she, "I resolved to see you the moment I knew you were here." She then inquired when I went into Norfolk, and conversed upon my summer plans, etc., with more of her original sweetness of manner than I have seen since my resignation. What pleasure this gave me ! and what pleasure did I feel in being kept by her till the further door opened, and the king entered, accompanied by the Dukes of York and Clarence. I motioned to retreat, but calling out, "What, Miss Burney," the king came up to me and inquired how I did,- and began talking to me so pleasantly, so gaily, so kindly even, that I had the satisfaction of remaining and of gathering courage to utter my good wishes and warm fervent prayers for this day. He deigned to hear me very benignly; or make believe he did, for I did not make my harangue very audibly; but he must be sure of its purport. He said I was grown "quite fat" since he had seen me, and appealed to the Duke of York: he protested my arm was half as big again as heretofore, and then he measured it with his Page 455 spread thumbs and forefingers; and the whole of his manner showed his perfect approbation of the step I had taken, of presenting myself in the royal presence on this auspicious day. The queen soon after walked up to me, and asked if I should like to see the ball at night. I certainly should much like to have seen them "in all their glory," after seeing them thus in all their kindness, as well as to have been present at the first public appearance at Court of the Princess Sophia : but I had no means to get from and to Chelsea so late at night, and was, therefore, forced to excuse myself, and decline her gracious proposition of giving me tickets. MR. HASTINGS'S SPEECH. Two days after, I went again to Westminster Hall with Miss Ord. Her good mother has a ticket for the Duke of Newcastle's box, in which she was seated. This -day's business consisted of examining witnesses: it was meant for the last meeting. during this session - but when it was over, Mr. Hastings arose and addressed the Lords in a most noble and pathetic speech, praying them to continue their attendance till his defence was heard throughout, or, at least, not to deny him the finishing his answer to the first charge. He spoke, I believe, to the hearts of everybody, except his prosecutors : the whole assembly seemed evidently affected by what he urged, upon the unexampled delay of justice In his trial: silence was never more profound than that which his voice instantly commanded. Poor unhappy, injured gentleman! How, how can such men practise cruelty so glaring as is manifested in the whole conduct of this trial! >From hence, as usual, I went to dine at the Queen's house. Mrs. Schwellenberg took me to the queen after coffee. She was writing to Lady Cremorne: she talked with me while she finished her letter, and then read it to me, exactly as in old times. She writes with admirable facility, and peculiar elegance of expression, as well as of handwriting. She asked me, somewhat curiously, if I had seen any of my old friends? I found she meant oppositionists. I told her only at the trial. She kept me in converse till the dear king came into the room: he had a grandson of Lord Howe's with him, a little boy in petticoats, with whom he was playing, and whom he thought remembered me, I had seen him frequently Page 456 at Weymouth, and the innocent little fellow insisted upon Making me his bows and reverences, when told to Make them to the queen. The king asked me what had been doing at Westminster Hall? I repeated poor Mr. Hastings's remonstrance, particularly a part of it in which he had mentioned that he had already "appealed to his majesty, whose justice he could not doubt." The king looked a little queer, but I was glad of the opportunity of putting in a word for poor Mr. Hastings. I went on regularly to the trial till it finished for this year. Mr. Dallas closed his answer to the first charge, with great spirit and effect, and seemed to make numerous Proselytes for Mr. Hastings. A WELL-PRESERVED BEAUTY. Thursday, June 18.-After many invitations and regulations, it was settled I was to accompany my father on a visit of three days to Mrs. Crewe at Hampstead. The villa at Hampstead is small, but commodious. We were received by Mrs. Crewe with much kindness. The room was rather dark, and she had a veil to her bonnet, half down, and with this aid she looked still in a full blaze of beauty. I was wholly astonished. Her bloom, perfectly natural, is as high as that of Augusta Locke when in her best looks, and the form of her face is so exquisitely perfect that my eye never Met it without fresh admiration. She is certainly, in my eyes, the most completely a beauty of any woman I ever saw. I know not, even now, any female in her first youth who could bear the comparison. She uglifies everything near her. Her son was with her. He is just of age, and looks like her elder brother! He is a heavy old-looking young Man. He is going to China with Lord Macartney.(363) THE BURKES. My former friend, young Burke, was also there. I was glad to renew acquaintance with him though I could see some little strangeness in him: this, however, completely wore off. Page 457 before the day was over. Soon after entered Mrs. Burke, Miss F.,(364) a niece, and Mr. Richard Burke, the comic, humorous, bold, queer brother of the Mr. Burke, who, they said, was soon coming, with Mr. Elliot. The Burke family were invited by Mrs. Crewe to meet us. Mrs. Burke was just what I have always seen her, soft, gentle, reasonable, and obliging; and we met, I think, upon as good terms as if so many years had not parted us. At length Mr. Burke appeared, accompanied by Mr. Elliot. He shook hands with my father as soon as he had paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, but he returned my curtsey with so distant a bow, that I Concluded myself quite lost with him, from my evident solicitude in poor Mr. Hastings's cause. I could not wish that less obvious, thinking as I think of it; but I felt infinitely grieved to lose the favour of a man whom in all other articles, I so much venerate, and whom, Indeed, I esteem and admire as the very first man of true genius now living in this Country. Mrs. Crewe introduced me to Mr. Elliot: I am Sure we were already personally known to each other, for I have seen him perpetually in the managers' box, whence, as often, he must have seen me in the great chamberlain's. He is a tall, thin young man, plain in face, dress, and manner, but sensible, and possibly much besides; he was reserved, however, and little else appeared. The moment I was named, to my great joy I found Mr. Burke had not recollected me. He is more near-sighted, considerably,- than myself. "Miss Burney!" he now exclaimed, coming forward, and quite kindly taking my hand, "I did not see you;" and then he spoke very sweet words of the meeting, and of my looking far better than "while I was a courtier," and of how he rejoiced to see that I so little suited that station. "You look," cried he, "quite renewed, revived, disengaged; you seemed, when I conversed with you last, at the trial, quite altered; I never saw such a change for the better as quitting a Court has brought about!" Ah! thought I, this is simply a mistake, from reasoning according to your own feelings. I only seemed altered for the worse at the trial, because I there looked coldly and distantly, from distaste and disaffection to your proceedings; and I here Page 458 . look changed for the better, only because I here meet You without the chill of disapprobation, and with the glow of my first admiration of you and your talents! BURKE'S CONVERSATIONAL POWERS. Mrs. Crewe gave him her place, and he sat by me, and entered into a most animated conversation upon Lord Macartney and his Chinese expedition, and the two Chinese youths who were to accompany it. These last he described minutely and spoke of the extent of the undertaking in high, and perhaps fanciful, terms, but with allusions and anecdotes intermixed, so full of general information and brilliant ideas, that I soon felt the whole of my first enthusiasm return, and with it a sensation of pleasure that made the day delicious to me. After this my father joined us, and politics took- the lead. He spoke then with an eagerness and a vehemence that instantly banished the graces, though it redoubled the energies, of his discourse. "The French Revolution," he said, "which began by authorising and legalising Injustice, and which by rapid steps had proceeded to every species of despotism except owning a despot, was now menacing all the universe and all mankind with the most violent concussion of principle and order." My father heartily joined, and I tacitly assented to his doctrines, though I feared not with his fears. One Speech I Must repeat, for it is explanatory of his conduct, and nobly explanatory. When lie had expatiated upon the present dangers, even to English liberty and property, from the contagion of havoc and novelty, he earnestly exclaimed, "This it is that has made ME an abettor and supporter of kings! Kings are necessary, and if we would preserve peace and prosperity, we must preserve THEM we must all put our shoulders to the work! Ay, and stoutly, too!" This subject lasted till dinner. At dinner Mr. Burke sat next Mrs. Crewe, and I had the happiness to be seated next Mr. Burke, and my other neighbour was his amiable son. The dinner, and the dessert when the servants were removed, were delightful. How I wish my dear Susanna and Fredy could meet this wonderful man when he is easy, happy, and with people he cordially likes! But politics, even on his own Page 459 side, must always be excluded; his irritability Is so terrible on that theme that it gives immediately to his face the expression of a man who is going to defend himself from murderers. I can give you only a few little detached traits of what passed, as detail would be endless. Charles Fox being mentioned, Mrs. Crewe told us that he had lately said, upon being shown some passage in Mr. Burke's book which he had warmly opposed, but which had, in the event, made its own justification, very candidly, "Well! Burke is right--but Burke is often right, only he is right too soon." "Had Fox seen some things in that book," answered Mr. Burke, "as soon, he would at this moment, in all probability, be first minister of this country." "What!" cried Mrs. Crewe, "with Pitt?--No!--no!--Pitt won't go out, and Charles Fox will never make a coalition with Pitt." "And why not?" said Mr. Burke, dryly; "why not this coalition as well as other coalitions?" Nobody tried to answer this. "Charles Fox, however," said Mr. Burke afterwards, "can never internally like the French Revolution. He is entangled; but, in himself, if he should find no other objection to it, he has at least too much taste for such a revolution." Mr. Elliot related that he had lately been in a company of some of the first and most distinguished men of the French nation, now fugitives here, and had asked them some questions about the new French ministry; they had answered that they knew them not even by name till now! "Think," cried he, "what a ministry that must be! Suppose a new administration formed here of Englishmen of whom we had never before heard the names! what statesmen they must be! how prepared and fitted for government! To begin by being at the helm!" Mr. Richard Burke related, very comically, various censures cast upon his brother, accusing him of being the friend of despots, and the abettor of slavery, because he had been shocked at the imprisonment of the king of France, and was anxious to preserve our own limited monarchy in the same state in which it so long had flourished. Mr. Burke looked half alarmed at his brother's opening, but, Page 460 when he had finished, he very good-humouredly poured out a glass of wine, and, turning to me, said, "Come then--here's slavery for ever!" This was well understood, and echoed round the table with hearty laughter. "This would do for you completely, Mr. Burke," said Mrs. Crewe, "if it could get into a newspaper! Mr. Burke, they would say, has now spoken out; the truth has come to light unguardedly, and his real defection from the cause Of true liberty is acknowledged. I should like to draw up the paragraph!" "And add," said Mr. Burke, "the toast was addressed to Miss Burney, in order to pay court to the queen!" This sport went on till, upon Mr. Elliot's again mentioning France and the rising jacobins, Mr. Richard Burke loudly gave a new toast--"Come!" cried he, "here's confusion to Confusion!" Mr. Windham, who Was gone into Norfolk for the summer, was frequently mentioned, and always with praise. Mr. Burke, upon Mr. Elliot's saying something of his being very thin, warmly exclaimed, "He is just as he should be! If I were Windham this minute, I Should not wish to be thinner, nor fatter, nor taller, nor shorter, nor any way, nor in anything, altered." Some time after, speaking of former days, you may believe I was struck enough to hear Mr. Burke say to Mrs. Crewe, "I wish you had known Mrs. Delany! She was a pattern of a perfect fine lady, a real fine lady, of other days! Her manners were faultless; her deportment was all elegance, her speech was all sweetness, and her air and address all dignity. I always looked up to her as the model of an accomplished woman of former times." Do you think I heard such a testimony to my most revered and beloved departed friend unmoved? Afterwards, still to Mrs. Crewe, he proceeded to say, she had been married to Mr. Wycherley, the author.(365) There I ventured to interrupt him, and tell him I fancied that must he some Page 461 great mistake, as I had been well acquainted with her history from her own mouth. He seemed to have heard it from some good authority; but I could by no means accede my belief, as her real life and memoirs had been so long in my hands, written by herself to a certain period, and, for some way, continued by me. This, however, I did not mention. A WILD IRISH GIRL. When we left the dining-parlour to the gentlemen, Miss F- seized my arm, without the smallest previous speech, and, with a prodigious Irish brogue, said "Miss Burney, I am so glad you can't think to have this favourable opportunity of making an intimacy with you! I have longed to know you ever since I became rational!" I was glad, too, that nobody heard her! She made me walk off with her in the garden, whither we had adjourned for a stroll, at a full gallop, leaning upon my arm, and putting her face close to mine, and sputtering at every word from excessive eagerness. "I have the honour to know some of your relations in Ireland," she continued; "that is, if they an't yours, which they are very sorry for, they are your sister's, which is almost the same thing. Mr. Shirley first lent me 'Cecilia,' and he was so delighted to hear my remarks! Mrs. Shirley's a most beautiful creature; she's grown so large and so big! and all her daughters are beautiful; so is all the family. I never saw Captain Phillips, but I dare say he's beautiful." She is quite a wild Irish girl. Presently she talked of Miss Palmer. "O, she loves you!" she cried; "she says she saw you last Sunday, and she never was so happy in her life. She said you looked sadly." This Miss F- is a handsome girl, and seems very good humoured. I imagine her but just imported, and I doubt not but the soft-mannercd, and well-bred, and quiet Mrs. Burke will soon subdue this exuberance of loquacity. I gathered afterwards from Mrs. Crewe, that my curious new acquaintance made innumerable inquiries concerning my employment and office under the queen. I find many people much disturbed to know whether I had the place of the Duchess of Ancastor, on one side, or of a chamber-maid, on the other. Truth is apt to lie between conjectures. Page 462 ERSKINE's EGOTISM. The party returned with two very singular additions to its number--Lord Loughborough,(366) and Mr. and Mrs. Erskine.(367) They have villas at Hampstead, and were met in the walk; Mr. Erskine else would not, probably, have desired to meet Mr. Burke, who openly in the House of Commons asked him if he knew what friendship meant, when he pretended to call him, Mr. Burke, his friend? There was an evident disunion of the cordiality of the party from this time. My father, Mr. Richard Burke, his nephew, and Mr. Elliot entered into some general discourse; Mr. Page 463 Burke took up a volume Of Boileau, and read aloud, though to himself, and with a pleasure that soon made him seem to forget all intruders; Lord Loughborough joined Mrs. Burke and Mr. Erskine, seating himself next to Mrs. Crewe, engrossed her entirely, yet talked loud enough for all to hear who were not engaged themselves. For me, I sat next Mrs. Erskine, who seems much a woman of the world, for she spoke with me just as freely, and readily, and easily as if we had been old friends. Mr. Erskine enumerated all his avocations to Mrs. Crewe, and, amongst others, mentioned, very calmly, having to plead against Mr. Crewe upon a manor business in Cheshire. Mrs. Crewe hastily and alarmed interrupted him, to inquire what he meant, and what might ensue to Mr. Crewe? O, nothing but the loss of the lordship upon that spot," he coolly answered; "but I don't know that it will be given against him: I only know I shall have three hundred Pounds for it." Mrs. Crewe looked thoughtful; and Mr. Erskine then began to speak of the new Association for Reform, by the friends of the people, headed by Messrs. Grey and Sheridan, and sustained by Mr. Fox, and openly opposed by Mr. Windham, as well as Mr. Burke. He said much of the use they had made of his name, though he had never yet been to the society; and I began to understand that he meant to disavow it; but presently he added, "I don't know whether I shall ever attend--I have so much to do--so little time: however, the people must be supported."(368) "PRAY, will you tell me," said Mrs. Crewe, drily, "what you mean by the people? I never knew." He looked surprised, but evaded any answer and soon after took his leave, with his wife, who seems by no means to admire him as much as he admires himself, if I may judge by short odd speeches which dropped from her. The eminence of Mr. Erskine seems all for public life; in private, his excessive egotisms undo him. Lord Loughborough instantly took his seat next to Mrs. Crewe; and presently related a speech which Mr. Erskine has lately made at some public meeting, and which he opened to this effect:--"As to me, gentlemen, I have some title to give my opinions freely. Would you know what my title is derived from? I challenge any man to inquire! If he ask my Page 464 birth,--its genealogy may dispute with kings! If my wealth, it is all for which I have time to hold out my hand! If my talents,--No! of those, gentlemen, I leave you to judge for yourselves."(369) CAEN-WOOD. June 22.-Mrs. Crewe took my father and myself to see the Hampstead lions. We went to Caen-wood, to see the house and pictures. Poor Lord Mansfield(370) has not been downstairs, the housekeeper told us, for the last four years; yet she asserts he is by no means superannuated, and frequently sees his very intimate friends, and seldom refuses to be consulted by any lawyers. He was particularly connected with my revered Mrs. Delany, and I felt melancholy upon entering his house to recollect how often that beloved lady had planned carrying thither Miss Port and myself, and how often we had been invited by Miss Murrays, my lord's nieces. I asked after those ladies, and left them my respects. I heard they were up-stairs with Lord Mansfield, whom they never left. Many things in this house were interesting, because historical but I fancy the pictures, at least, not to have much other recommendation. A portrait Of Pope, by himself, I thought extremely curious. It is very much in the style of most of jervas's own paintings. They told us that, after the burning of Lord Mansfield's house in town, at the time of Lord G. Gordon's riots, thousands came to inquire, if this original portrait was preserved. Luckily it was at Caen-wood. We spent a good deal of time in the library,--and saw first editions of almost all Queen Anne's classics; and lists of subscribers to Pope's "Iliad," and many such matters, all enlivening to some corner or other of the memory. AN ADVENTURE WITH MRS. CREWE. We next proceeded to the Shakspeare gallery,(371) which I had Page 465 never seen. And here we met with an adventure that finished our morning's excursions. There was a lady in the first room, dressed rather singularly, quite alone, and extremely handsome, who was parading about with a nosegay in her hand, which she frequently held to her nose, in a manner that was evidently calculated to attract notice. We therefore passed on to the inner room, to avoid her. Here we had but just all taken our stand opposite different pictures, when she also entered, and, coming pretty close to my father, sniffed at her flowers with a sort of extatic eagerness, and then let them fall. My father picked them up, and gravely presented them to her. She curtsied to the ground in receiving them, and presently crossed over the room, and,, brushing past Mrs. Crewe, seated herself immediately by her elbow. Mrs. Crewe, not admiring this familiarity, moved away, giving her at the same time a look of dignified distance that was almost petrifying. It did not prove so to this lady, who presently followed her to the next picture, and, sitting as close as she could to where Mrs. Crewe stood, began singing various quick passages, without words or connexion. I saw Mrs. Crewe much alarmed, and advanced to stand by her, meaning to whisper her that we had better leave the room; and this idea was not checked by seeing that the flowers were artificial. By the looks we interchanged we soon mutually said, "This is a mad woman." We feared irritating her by a sudden flight, but gently retreated, and soon got quietly into the large room when she bounced up with a great noise, and, throwing the veil of her bonnet violently back, as if fighting it, she looked after us, pointing at Mrs. Crewe. Seriously frightened, Mrs. Crewe seized my father's arm, and hurried up two or three steps into a small apartment. Here Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to an elderly gentleman, asked if he could inform the people below that a mad woman was terrifying the company ; and while he was receiving her commission with the most profound respect, and with an evident air of admiring astonishment at her beauty, we heard a rustling, and, looking round, saw the same figure hastily striding after us, and in an instant at our elbows. Mrs. Crewe turned quite pale ; it was palpable she was the object pursued, and she most civilly and meekly articulated, "I beg your pardon, ma'am," as she hastily passed her, and hurried down the steps. We were going to run for our lives, Page 466 when Miss Townshend whispered Mrs. Crewe it was Only Mrs. Wells the actress, and said she was certainly Only performing vagaries to try effect, which she was quite famous for doing. It would have been food for a painter to have seen Mrs. Crewe during this explanation. All her terror instantly gave way to indignation; and scarcely any pencil could equal the high vivid glow of her cheeks. To find herself made the object of game to the burlesque humour of a bold player, was an indignity she could not brook, and her mind was immediately at work how to assist herself against such unprovoked and unauthorized effrontery. The elderly gentleman who, with great eagerness, had followed Mrs. Crewe, accompanied by a young man who was of his party, requested more particularly her commands ; but before Mrs. Crewe's astonishment and resentment found words, Mrs. Wells, singing, and throwing herself into extravagant attitudes, again rushed down the steps, and fixed her eyes on Mrs. Crewe. This, however, no longer served her purpose. Mrs. Crewe fixed her in return, and with a firm, composed, commanding air and look that, though it did not make this strange creature retreat, somewhat disconcerted her for a few minutes. She then presently affected a violent coughing such a one as almost shook the room; though such a forced and unnatural noise as rather resembled howling than a cold. This over, and perceiving Mrs, Crewe still steadily keeping her ground, she had the courage to come up to us, and, with a flippant air, said to the elderly gentleman, "Pray, sir, will you tell me what it is o'clock?" He looked vexed to be called a moment from looking at Mrs. Crewe, and, with a forbidding gravity, answered her, "About two." "No offence, I hope, sir?" cried she, seeing him turn eagerly from her. He bowed without looking at her, and she strutted away, still, however, keeping in sight, and playing various tricks, her eyes perpetually turned towards Mrs. Crewe, who as regularly, met them, with an expression such as might have turned a softer culprit to stone. Our cabal was again renewed, and Mrs. Crewe again told this gentleman to make known to the proprietors of the gallery that this person was a nuisance to the company, when, suddenly re-approaching as, she called out, "Sir! sir!" to the younger of our new protectors. He coloured, and looked much alarmed, but only bowed. Page 467 "Pray, sir," cried she, "what's o'clock?" He looked at his watch, and answered. "You don't take it ill, I hope, sir?" she cried. He only bowed. "I do no harm, sir," said she; "I never bite." The poor young man looked aghast, and bowed lower; but Mrs. Crewe, addressing herself to the elder, said aloud, "I beg you, sir, to go to Mr. Boydell; you may name me to him--Mrs. Crewe." Mrs. Wells at this walked away, yet still in sight. "You may tell him what has happened, sir, in all our names. You may tell him Miss Burney--" "O no!" cried I, in a horrid fright, "I beseech I may not be named! And, indeed, ma'am, it may be better to let it all alone. It will do no good; and it may all get into the newspapers." "And if it does," cried Mrs. Crewe, "what is it to us? We have done nothing; we have given no offence, and made no disturbance. This person has frightened us all wilfully, and Utterly without provocation; and now she can frighten us no longer, she would brave us. Let her tell her own story, and how will it harm us?" "Still," cried I, "I must always fear being brought into any newspaper cabals. Let the fact be ever so much against her, she will think the circumstances all to her honour if a paragraph comes out beginning 'Mrs. Crewe and Mrs. Wells.'" Mrs. Crewe liked this sound as little as I should have liked it in placing my own name where I put hers. She hesitated a little what to do, and we all walked down-stairs, where instantly this bold woman followed us, paraded Up and down the long shop with a dramatic air while our group was in conference, and then, sitting down at the clerk's desk, and calling in a footman, she desired him to wait while she wrote a note. She scribbled a few lines, and read aloud her direction, "To Mr. Topham;" and giving the note to the man, said, "Tell your master that is something to make him laugh. Bid him not send to the press till I see him." Now as Mr. Topham is the editor of "The World," and notoriously her protector, as her having his footman acknowledged, this looked rather serious, and Mrs. Crewe began to partake of my alarm. She therefore, to my infinite satisfaction, told her new friend that she desired he would name no names, but merely mention that some ladies had been frightened. . . . Page 468 We then got into Mrs. Crewe's carriage, and not till then would this facetious Mrs. Wells quit the shop. And she walked in sight, dodging us, and playing antics of a tragic sort of gesture, till we drove out of her power to keep up with us. What a strange creature! AN INVITATION FROM ARTHUR YOUNG. (Mr. Arthur Young to Fanny Burney.) Bradfield Farm, June 18, 1792. WHAT a plaguy business 'tis to take up one's pen to write to a person who is constantly moving in a vortex of pleasure, brilliancy, and wit,--whose movements and connections are, as it were, in another world! One knows not how to manage the matter with such folks, till you find by a little approximation and friction of tempers and things that they are mortal, and no more than good sort of people in the main, only garnished with something we do not possess ourselves. Now then, the consequence. Only three pages to write, and one lost in introduction! To the matter at last. It seemeth that you make a journey to Norfolk. Now do ye see, if you do not give a call on the farmer, and examine his ram (an old acquaintance), his bull, his lambs, calves, and crops, he will say but one thing of you--that you are fit for a court, but not for a farm; and there is more happiness to be found among my rooks than in the midst of all the princes and princesses of Golconda. I would give an hundred pound to see you married to a farmer that never saw London, with plenty of poultry ranging in a few green fields, and flowers and shrubs disposed where they should be, around a cottage, and not around a breakfast-room in Portman-square, fading in eyes that know not to admire them. In honest truth now, let me request your company here. It will give us all infinite pleasure. You are habituated to admiration, but you shall have here what is much better--the friendship of those who loved you long before the world admired you. Come, and make old friends happy! (346) The flight of the king and his family from Paris, on the night of June 20-21. They reached Varennes in safety the following night, but were there recognised and stopped, and the next day escorted back to Paris.-ED. (347) The reader will find in Green's "History of the English People," a widely different view of' the character of Dunstan. But Fanny knew only the old stories, and had, moreover, written a tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," in which Dunstan, in accordance with those old stories, appears as the villain.-ED. (348) Author of the "New Bath Guide."-ED. (349) Henrietta Frances, second daughter of John, first Earl Spencer, and younger sister of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, married Viscount Duncannon in 1780. She died in 1821.-ED. (350) Gibbon had good reason for his opinion of the power of Lady Elizabeth's charms. In 1787, he met her at Lausanne, a young widow of twenty-eight, and found her allurements so irresistible that he proposed marriage to her, and was rejected.-ED. (351) Mrs. Ord was a yet more violent Tory than Fanny herself, and would believe no good of the Duchess of Devonshire, the queen of the Whigs.-ED. (352) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," Fanny writes in more detail of this her last visit to Sir Joshua. "He was still more deeply depressed; though Miss Palmer good-humouredly drew a smile from him, by gaily exclaiming, 'Do, pray, now, uncle, ask Miss Burney to write another book directly! for we have almost finished Cecilia again--and this is our sixth reading of it!'" "The little occupation, Miss Palmer said, of which Sir joshua was then capable, was carefully dusting the paintings in his picture gallery, and placing them in different points of view. "This passed at the conclusion Of 1791; on the February of the following year, this friend, equally amiable and eminent, was no more! (Memoirs, vol. iii. P. 144).-ED. (353) The wife of Sir Lucas Pepys.-ED. (354) Afterwards Lord Ellenborough: the leading counsel for Hastings.-ED. (355) February 23, 1792.-ED. (356) The greater part of Sir joshua's large fortune was left to his unmarried niece, Mary Palmer. Considerable legacies were left to his niece, Mrs. Gwatkin (Offy Palmer), and to his friend Edmund Burke. In addition to these legacies, his will provided for a number of small bequests, including one of a thousand pounds to his old servant, Ralph Kirkley. In the following summer Mary Palmer married the Earl of Inchiquin, afterwards Marquis of Thomond. "He is sixty-nine," Fanny writes about that time of Lord Inchiquin; "but they say he is remarkably pleasing in his manners, and soft and amiable in his disposition."-ED. (357) He was buried in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, near the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren.-ED. (358) The recent proclamation by the Government against the publication and sale of seditious writings. The "new associates" were members of the societies of sympathisers with the principles of the French Revolution, which, under such titles as "Friends of the People." "Corresponding Society," etc., were now spreading all over England.-ED. (359) The revolutionary clubs of Paris, the Jacobins' Club in particular, gradually acquired such power as enabled them to overawe the Legislative Assembly, and even, at a later date, the Convention itself. Their influence only ceased with the overthrow and death of their leader, Robespièrre, in 1794.-ED. (360) The wife and eldest daughter of Arthur Young, the well-known writer on agriculture. Mrs. Young was the sister of Dr. Burney's second Wife.-ED. (361) "Madame de Genlis's husband, the Count de Genlis, had become Marquis of Sillery by the death of his elder brother. He was a Revolutionist and member of the Girondin party: one of the twenty-two Girondins who perished by the guillotine, October 31, 1793. Madame de Genlis (or Brulard) had come to England in October, 1791, with her young pupil, Mlle. d'Orléans (Egalité), the daughter of Philippe Egalité, Duke of Orleans, whose physicians had ordered her to take the waters at Bath. They remained in England until November, 1792, when they were recalled to Paris by Egalité. Arriving there, they found themselves proscribed as emigrants, and obliged to quit Paris within eight-and-forty hours. They then took refuge in Flanders, and settled at Tournay where Pamela was married to Lord Edward Fitzgerald, subsequently one of the leaders in the Irish Rebellion of 1798. In Flanders Madame de Genlis enjoyed the protection of General Dumontiez, but when he became suspected, with too good reason, by the Convention, she was obliged again to take flight, and found safety at last with Mlle. d'Orléans, in Switzerland. Pamela was the adopted daughter of Madame de Genlis; some said her actual daughter by the Duke of Orleans; but this is at least doubtful. "Circe," or "Henrietta Circe," as Fanny afterwards calls her, was Madame de Genlis's niece, Henriette de Sercey (!), who subsequently married a rich merchant of Hamburg.-ED. VOL. 11. (362) "Is it possible? Am I so happy? Do I see my dear Miss Burney?" (363) Earl Macartney was sent as ambassador to China in 1793, for the purpose of concluding a commercial treaty with that power. He was unsuccessful, however, and, after spending some months in China, the embassy returned to England.-ED. (364) "Miss French, a lively niece of Mr. Burke's." (.Memoirs of Dr. Burney, vol. iii, p. 157.)-ED. (365) Burke was, of course, mistaken. When Wycherley died, at seventy-five (December, 1715), Mary Granville (afterwards Mrs. Delany) was in her sixteenth year. Wycherley, it is true, married a young wife on his deathbed, but it is certain that this was not Mary Granville; indeed, if Pope's account, given in Spence's "Anecdotes," may be trusted, it was a woman of very different character.-ED. (366) Alexander Wedderburn, afterwards Lord Loughborough, was born in or near Edinburgh in 1733. He attained distinction at the bar, and entered Parliament early in the reign of George III. As a politician he was equally notorious for his skill in debate and his want of public principle. Previously a member of the opposition, he ratted to the Government in 1771, and was rewarded by Lord North with the Solicitor-Generalship. He defended Lord Clive in 1773. When Thurlow became Lord Chancellor (in 1778), Wedderburn succeeded him in the office of Attorney-General. In 1786 he was made Chief justice of the Court of Common Pleas, and called to the House of Peers by the title of Baron Loughborough. After this we find him acting as a follower of Charles Fox, and leader of the Whig party in the House of Lords. He supported Fox's views on the Regency question in 1788-9, but when the split in the Whig party on the subject of the French Revolution took place, Loughborough, like Burke, gave his support to the government. In January, 1793, he obtained the long coveted post of Lord Chancellor. He died January 1, 1805. A story goes that when the news of Loughborough's death was brought to George III., "his majesty was graciously pleased to exclaim, 'Then he has not left a greater knave behind him in my dominions.'" (Campbell's "Lives of the Chancellors," vol. vi., p. 334.)-ED. (367) Thomas Erskine (born 1750, died 1823), "If less eminent in the law, was a far more respectable politician than Loughborough, although his parliamentary career was by no means so brilliant. He was a consistent Whig, with the courage of his convictions. He lost his post of Attorney-General to the Prince of Wales through his defence of Thomas Paine, author of the famous "Rights of Man," in December, 1792. Fired by the example of the French Revolutionists, the friends of liberty in England were, about this time, everywhere forming themselves into political associations, for the purpose of promoting Parliamentary reform, and generally "spreading the principles of freedom." By the government these societies were regarded as seditious. Erskine was a member of one or more of these associations, and one of his most brilliant triumphs at the bar was connected with the prosecution by government (October, 1794), of Hardy Thelwall and Horne Tooke for high treason, as members of one of these supposed seditious societies. The prisoners were defended by Erskine and acquitted. Erskine became Lord Chancellor in 1806 after the death of Pitt.-ED. (368) On his own admission Erskine was a member of the Society of Friends of the People about the end of 1792-ED. (369) With all his talents Erskine was always noted for his inordinate vanity.-ED. (370) The famous Lord Chief justice. He died in 1793, aged eighty-eight years.-ED. (371) Alderman Boydell's celebrated "Shakspeare Gallery" in Pall Mall, contained paintings illustrative of Shakspeare by Reynolds, Romney, Fuseli, and many others of the most distinguished painters of the day. The entire collection, comprising one hundred and seventy works, was sold by auction by Christie, in May, 1805.-ED. (372) For Arthur Young, see postea, vol. iii., p. 17. Bradfield Farm, his home was in Suffolk, in the neighbourhood of Bury St. Edmunds.-ED. 
7881	----	PASSAGES FROM THE FRENCH AND ITALIAN NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. I. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS IN FRANCE AND ITALY. FRANCE. Hotel de Louvre, January 6th, 1858.--On Tuesday morning, our dozen trunks and half-dozen carpet-bags being already packed and labelled, we began to prepare for our journey two or three hours before light. Two cabs were at the door by half past six, and at seven we set out for the London Bridge station, while it was still dark and bitterly cold. There were already many people in the streets, growing more numerous as we drove city-ward; and, in Newgate Street, there was such a number of market-carts, that we almost came to a dead lock with some of them. At the station we found several persons who were apparently going in the same train with us, sitting round the fire of the waiting-room. Since I came to England there has hardly been a morning when I should have less willingly bestirred myself before daylight; so sharp and inclement was the atmosphere. We started at half past eight, having taken through tickets to Paris by way of Folkestone and Boulogne. A foot-warmer (a long, flat tin utensil, full of hot water) was put into the carriage just before we started; but it did not make us more than half comfortable, and the frost soon began to cloud the windows, and shut out the prospect, so that we could only glance at the green fields--immortally green, whatever winter can do against them--and at, here and there, a stream or pool with the ice forming on its borders. It was the first cold weather of a very mild season. The snow began to fall in scattered and almost invisible flakes; and it seemed as if we had stayed our English welcome out, and were to find nothing genial and hospitable there any more. At Folkestone, we were deposited at a railway station close upon a shingly beach, on which the sea broke in foam, and which J----- reported as strewn with shells and star-fish; behind was the town, with an old church in the midst; and, close, at hand, the pier, where lay the steamer in which we were to embark. But the air was so wintry, that I had no heart to explore the town, or pick up shells with J----- on the beach; so we kept within doors during the two hours of our stay, now and then looking out of the windows at a fishing-boat or two, as they pitched and rolled with an ugly and irregular motion, such as the British Channel generally communicates to the craft that navigate it. At about one o'clock we went on board, and were soon under steam, at a rate that quickly showed a long line of the white cliffs of Albion behind us. It is a very dusky white, by the by, and the cliffs themselves do not seem, at a distance, to be of imposing height, and have too even an outline to be picturesque. As we increased our distance from England, the French coast came more and more distinctly in sight, with a low, wavy outline, not very well worth looking at, except because it was the coast of France. Indeed, I looked at it but little; for the wind was bleak and boisterous, and I went down into the cabin, where I found the fire very comfortable, and several people were stretched on sofas in a state of placid wretchedness. . . . . I have never suffered from sea-sickness, but had been somewhat apprehensive of this rough strait between England and France, which seems to have more potency over people's stomachs than ten times the extent of sea in other quarters. Our passage was of two hours, at the end of which we landed on French soil, and found ourselves immediately in the clutches of the custom-house officers, who, however, merely made a momentary examination of my passport, and allowed us to pass without opening even one of our carpet-bags. The great bulk of our luggage had been registered through to Paris, for examination after our arrival there. We left Boulogne in about an hour after our arrival, when it was already a darkening twilight. The weather had grown colder than ever, since our arrival in sunny France, and the night was now setting in, wickedly black and dreary. The frost hardened upon the carriage windows in such thickness that I could scarcely scratch a peep-hole through it; but, from such glimpses as I could catch, the aspect of the country seemed pretty much to resemble the December aspect of my dear native land,--broad, bare, brown fields, with streaks of snow at the foot of ridges, and along fences, or in the furrows of ploughed soil. There was ice wherever there happened to be water to form it. We had feet-warmers in the carriage, but the cold crept in nevertheless; and I do not remember hardly in my life a more disagreeable short journey than this, my first advance into French territory. My impression of France will always be that it is an Arctic region. At any season of the year, the tract over which we passed yesterday must be an uninteresting one as regards its natural features; and the only adornment, as far as I could observe, which art has given it, consists in straight rows of very stiff-looking and slender-stemmed trees. In the dusk they resembled poplar-trees. Weary and frost-bitten,--morally, if not physically,--we reached Amiens in three or four hours, and here I underwent much annoyance from the French railway officials and attendants, who, I believe, did not mean to incommode me, but rather to forward my purposes as far as they well could. If they would speak slowly and distinctly I might understand them well enough, being perfectly familiar with the written language, and knowing the principles of its pronunciation; but, in their customary rapid utterance, it sounds like a string of mere gabble. When left to myself, therefore, I got into great difficulties. . . . . It gives a taciturn personage like myself a new conception as to the value of speech, even to him, when he finds himself unable either to speak or understand. Finally, being advised on all hands to go to the Hotel du Rhin, we were carried thither in an omnibus, rattling over a rough pavement, through an invisible and frozen town; and, on our arrival, were ushered into a handsome salon, as chill as a tomb. They made a little bit of a wood-fire for us in a low and deep chimney-hole, which let a hundred times more heat escape up the flue than it sent into the room. In the morning we sallied forth to see the cathedral. The aspect of the old French town was very different from anything English; whiter, infinitely cleaner; higher and narrower houses, the entrance to most of which seeming to be through a great gateway, affording admission into a central court-yard; a public square, with a statue in the middle, and another statue in a neighboring street. We met priests in three-cornered hats, long frock-coats, and knee-breeches; also soldiers and gendarmes, and peasants and children, clattering over the pavements in wooden shoes. It makes a great impression of outlandishness to see the signs over the shop doors in a foreign tongue. If the cold had not been such as to dull my sense of novelty, and make all my perceptions torpid, I should have taken in a set of new impressions, and enjoyed them very much. As it was, I cared little for what I saw, but yet had life enough left to enjoy the cathedral of Amiens, which has many features unlike those of English cathedrals. It stands in the midst of the cold, white town, and has a high-shouldered look to a spectator accustomed to the minsters of England, which cover a great space of ground in proportion to their height. The impression the latter gives is of magnitude and mass; this French cathedral strikes one as lofty. The exterior is venerable, though but little time-worn by the action of the atmosphere; and statues still keep their places in numerous niches, almost as perfect as when first placed there in the thirteenth century. The principal doors are deep, elaborately wrought, pointed arches; and the interior seemed to us, at the moment, as grand as any that we had seen, and to afford as vast an idea of included space; it being of such an airy height, and with no screen between the chancel and nave, as in all the English cathedrals. We saw the differences, too, betwixt a church in which the same form of worship for which it was originally built is still kept up, and those of England, where it has been superseded for centuries; for here, in the recess of every arch of the side aisles, beneath each lofty window, there was a chapel dedicated to some Saint, and adorned with great marble sculptures of the crucifixion, and with pictures, execrably bad, in all cases, and various kinds of gilding and ornamentation. Immensely tall wax candles stand upon the altars of these chapels, and before one sat a woman, with a great supply of tapers, one of which was burning. I suppose these were to be lighted as offerings to the saints, by the true believers. Artificial flowers were hung at some of the shrines, or placed under glass. In every chapel, moreover, there was a confessional,--a little oaken structure, about as big as a sentry-box, with a closed part for the priest to sit in, and an open one for the penitent to kneel at, and speak, through the open-work of the priest's closet. Monuments, mural and others, to long-departed worthies, and images of the Saviour, the Virgin, and saints, were numerous everywhere about the church; and in the chancel there was a great deal of quaint and curious sculpture, fencing in the Holy of Holies, where the High Altar stands. There is not much painted glass; one or two very rich and beautiful rose-windows, however, that looked antique; and the great eastern window which, I think, is modern. The pavement has, probably, never been renewed, as one piece of work, since the structure was erected, and is foot-worn by the successive generations, though still in excellent repair. I saw one of the small, square stones in it, bearing the date of 1597, and no doubt there are a thousand older ones. It was gratifying to find the cathedral in such good condition, without any traces of recent repair; and it is perhaps a mark of difference between French and English character, that the Revolution in the former country, though all religious worship disappears before it, does not seem to have caused such violence to ecclesiastical monuments, as the Reformation and the reign of Puritanism in the latter. I did not see a mutilated shrine, or even a broken-nosed image, in the whole cathedral. But, probably, the very rage of the English fanatics against idolatrous tokens, and their smashing blows at them, were symptoms of sincerer religious faith than the French were capable of. These last did not care enough about their Saviour to beat down his crucified image; and they preserved the works of sacred art, for the sake only of what beauty there was in them. While we were in the cathedral, we saw several persons kneeling at their devotions on the steps of the chancel and elsewhere. One dipped his fingers in the holy water at the entrance: by the by, I looked into the stone basin that held it, and saw it full of ice. Could not all that sanctity at least keep it thawed? Priests--jolly, fat, mean-looking fellows, in white robes--went hither and thither, but did not interrupt or accost us. There were other peculiarities, which I suppose I shall see more of in my visits to other churches, but now we were all glad to make our stay as brief as possible, the atmosphere of the cathedral being so bleak, and its stone pavement so icy cold beneath our feet. We returned to the hotel, and the chambermaid brought me a book, in which she asked me to inscribe my name, age, profession, country, destination, and the authorization under which I travelled. After the freedom of an English hotel, so much greater than even that of an American one, where they make you disclose your name, this is not so pleasant. We left Amiens at half past one; and I can tell as little of the country between that place and Paris, as between Boulogne and Amiens. The windows of our railway carriage were already frosted with French breath when we got into it, and the ice grew thicker and thicker continually. I tried, at various times, to rub a peep-hole through, as before; but the ice immediately shot its crystallized tracery over it again; and, indeed, there was little or nothing to make it worth while to look out, so bleak was the scene. Now and then a chateau, too far off for its characteristics to be discerned; now and then a church, with a tall gray tower, and a little peak atop; here and there a village or a town, which we could not well see. At sunset there was just that clear, cold, wintry sky which I remember so well in America, but have never seen in England. At five we reached Paris, and were suffered to take a carriage to the hotel de Louvre, without any examination of the little luggage we had with us. Arriving, we took a suite of apartments, and the waiter immediately lighted a wax candle in each separate room. We might have dined at the table d'hote, but preferred the restaurant connected with and within the hotel. All the dishes were very delicate, and a vast change from the simple English system, with its joints, shoulders, beefsteaks, and chops; but I doubt whether English cookery, for the very reason that it is so simple, is not better for men's moral and spiritual nature than French. In the former case, you know that you are gratifying your animal needs and propensities, and are duly ashamed of it; but, in dealing with these French delicacies, you delude yourself into the idea that you are cultivating your taste while satisfying your appetite. This last, however, it requires a good deal of perseverance to accomplish. In the cathedral at Amiens there were printed lists of acts of devotion posted on the columns, such as prayers at the shrines of certain saints, whereby plenary indulgences might be gained. It is to be observed, however, that all these external forms were necessarily accompanied with true penitence and religious devotion. Hotel de Louvre, January 8th.--It was so fearfully cold this morning that I really felt little or no curiosity to see the city. . . . . Until after one o'clock, therefore, I knew nothing of Paris except the lights which I had seen beneath our window the evening before, far, far downward, in the narrow Rue St. Honore, and the rumble of the wheels, which continued later than I was awake to hear it, and began again before dawn. I could see, too, tall houses, that seemed to be occupied in every story, and that had windows on the steep roofs. One of these houses is six stories high. This Rue St. Honore is one of the old streets in Paris, and is that in which Henry IV. was assassinated; but it has not, in this part of it, the aspect of antiquity. After one o'clock we all went out and walked along the Rue de Rivoli. . . . . We are here, right in the midst of Paris, and close to whatever is best known to those who hear or read about it,--the Louvre being across the street, the Palais Royal but a little way off, the Tuileries joining to the Louvre, the Place de la Concorde just beyond, verging on which is the Champs Elysees. We looked about us for a suitable place to dine, and soon found the Restaurant des Echelles, where we entered at a venture, and were courteously received. It has a handsomely furnished saloon, much set off with gilding and mirrors; and appears to be frequented by English and Americans; its carte, a bound volume, being printed in English as well as French. . . . . It was now nearly four o'clock, and too late to visit the galleries of the Louvre, or to do anything else but walk a little way along the street. The splendor of Paris, so far as I have seen, takes me altogether by surprise: such stately edifices, prolonging themselves in unwearying magnificence and beauty, and, ever and anon, a long vista of a street, with a column rising at the end of it, or a triumphal arch, wrought in memory of some grand event. The light stone or stucco, wholly untarnished by smoke and soot, puts London to the blush, if a blush could be seen on its dingy face; but, indeed, London is not to be mentioned, nor compared even, with Paris. I never knew what a palace was till I had a glimpse of the Louvre and the Tuileries; never had my idea of a city been gratified till I trod these stately streets. The life of the scene, too, is infinitely more picturesque than that of London, with its monstrous throng of grave faces and black coats; whereas, here, you see soldiers and priests, policemen in cocked hats, Zonaves with turbans, long mantles, and bronzed, half-Moorish faces; and a great many people whom you perceive to be outside of your experience, and know them ugly to look at, and fancy them villanous. Truly, I have no sympathies towards the French people; their eyes do not win me, nor do their glances melt and mingle with mine. But they do grand and beautiful things in the architectural way; and I am grateful for it. The Place de la Concorde is a most splendid square, large enough for a nation to erect trophies in of all its triumphs; and on one side of it is the Tuileries, on the opposite side the Champs Elysees, and, on a third, the Seine, adown which we saw large cakes of ice floating, beneath the arches of a bridge. The Champs Elysees, so far as I saw it, had not a grassy soil beneath its trees, but the bare earth, white and dusty. The very dust, if I saw nothing else, would assure me that I was out of England. We had time only to take this little walk, when it began to grow dusk; and, being so pitilessly cold, we hurried back to our hotel. Thus far, I think, what I have seen of Paris is wholly unlike what I expected; but very like an imaginary picture which I had conceived of St. Petersburg,-- new, bright, magnificent, and desperately cold. A great part of this architectural splendor is due to the present Emperor, who has wrought a great change in the aspect of the city within a very few years. A traveller, if he looks at the thing selfishly, ought to wish him a long reign and arbitrary power, since he makes it his policy to illustrate his capital with palatial edifices, which are, however, better for a stranger to look at, than for his own people to pay for. We have spent to-day chiefly in seeing some of the galleries of the Louvre. I must confess that the vast and beautiful edifice struck me far more than the pictures, sculpture, and curiosities which it contains,-- the shell more than the kernel inside; such noble suites of rooms and halls were those through which we first passed, containing Egyptian, and, farther onward, Greek and Roman antiquities; the walls cased in variegated marbles; the ceilings glowing with beautiful frescos; the whole extended into infinite vistas by mirrors that seemed like vacancy, and multiplied everything forever. The picture-rooms are not so brilliant, and the pictures themselves did not greatly win upon me in this one day. Many artists were employed in copying them, especially in the rooms hung with the productions of French painters. Not a few of these copyists were females; most of them were young men, picturesquely mustached and bearded; but some were elderly, who, it was pitiful to think, had passed through life without so much success as now to paint pictures of their own. From the pictures we went into a suite of rooms where are preserved many relics of the ancient and later kings of France; more relics of the elder ones, indeed, than I supposed had remained extant through the Revolution. The French seem to like to keep memorials of whatever they do, and of whatever their forefathers have done, even if it be ever so little to their credit; and perhaps they do not take matters sufficiently to heart to detest anything that has ever happened. What surprised me most were the golden sceptre and the magnificent sword and other gorgeous relics of Charlemagne,--a person whom I had always associated with a sheepskin cloak. There were suits of armor and weapons that had been worn and handled by a great many of the French kings; and a religious book that had belonged to St. Louis; a dressing-glass, most richly set with precious stones, which formerly stood on the toilet-table of Catherine de' Medici, and in which I saw my own face where hers had been. And there were a thousand other treasures, just as well worth mentioning as these. If each monarch could have been summoned from Hades to claim his own relics, we should have had the halls full of the old Childerics, Charleses, Bourbons and Capets, Henrys and Louises, snatching with ghostly hands at sceptres, swords, armor, and mantles; and Napoleon would have seen, apparently, almost everything that personally belonged to him,--his coat, his cocked hats, his camp-desk, his field-bed, his knives, forks, and plates, and even a lock of his hair. I must let it all go. These things cannot be reproduced by pen and ink. Hotel de Louvre, January 9th.--. . . . Last evening Mr. Fezaudie called. He spoke very freely respecting the Emperor and the hatred entertained against him in France; but said that he is more powerful, that is, more firmly fixed as a ruler, than ever the first Napoleon was. We, who look back upon the first Napoleon as one of the eternal facts of the past, a great bowlder in history, cannot well estimate how momentary and insubstantial the great Captain may have appeared to those who beheld his rise out of obscurity. They never, perhaps, took the reality of his career fairly into their minds, before it was over. The present Emperor, I believe, has already been as long in possession of the supreme power as his uncle was. I should like to see him, and may, perhaps, do--so, as he is our neighbor, across the way. This morning Miss ------, the celebrated astronomical lady, called. She had brought a letter of introduction to me, while consul; and her purpose now was to see if we could take her as one of our party to Rome, whither she likewise is bound. We readily consented, for she seems to be a simple, strong, healthy-humored woman, who will not fling herself as a burden on our shoulders; and my only wonder is that a person evidently so able to take care of herself should wish to have an escort. We issued forth at about eleven, and went down the Rue St. Honore, which is narrow, and has houses of five or six stories on either side, between which run the streets like a gully in a rock. One face of our hotel borders and looks on this street. After going a good way, we came to an intersection with another street, the name of which I forget; but, at this point, Ravaillac sprang at the carriage of Henry IV. and plunged his dagger into him. As we went down the Rue St. Honore, it grew more and more thronged, and with a meaner class of people. The houses still were high, and without the shabbiness of exterior that distinguishes the old part of London, being of light-colored stone; but I never saw anything that so much came up to my idea of a swarming city as this narrow, crowded, and rambling street. Thence we turned into the Rue St. Denis, which is one of the oldest streets in Paris, and is said to have been first marked out by the track of the saint's footsteps, where, after his martyrdom, he walked along it, with his head under his arm, in quest of a burial-place. This legend may account for any crookedness of the street; for it could not reasonably be asked of a headless man that he should walk straight. Through some other indirections we at last found the Rue Bergere, down which I went with J----- in quest of Hottinguer et Co., the bankers, while the rest of us went along the Boulevards, towards the Church of the Madeleine. . . . . This business accomplished, J----- and I threaded our way back, and overtook the rest of the party, still a good distance from the Madeleine. I know not why the Boulevards are called so. They are a succession of broad walks through broad streets, and were much thronged with people, most of whom appeared to be bent more on pleasure than business. The sun, long before this, had come out brightly, and gave us the first genial and comfortable sensations which we have had in Paris. Approaching the Madeleine, we found it a most beautiful church, that might have been adapted from Heathenism to Catholicism; for on each side there is a range of magnificent pillars, unequalled, except by those of the Parthenon. A mourning-coach, arrayed in black and silver, was drawn up at the steps, and the front of the church was hung with black cloth, which covered the whole entrance. However, seeing the people going in, we entered along with them. Glorious and gorgeous is the Madeleine. The entrance to the nave is beneath a most stately arch; and three arches of equal height open from the nave to the side aisles; and at the end of the nave is another great arch, rising, with a vaulted half-dome, over the high altar. The pillars supporting these arches are Corinthian, with richly sculptured capitals; and wherever gilding might adorn the church, it is lavished like sunshine; and within the sweeps of the arches there are fresco paintings of sacred subjects, and a beautiful picture covers the hollow of the vault over the altar; all this, besides much sculpture; and especially a group above and around the high altar, representing the Magdalen smiling down upon angels and archangels, some of whom are kneeling, and shadowing themselves with their heavy marble wings. There is no such thing as making my page glow with the most distant idea of the magnificence of this church, in its details and in its whole. It was founded a hundred or two hundred years ago; then Bonaparte contemplated transforming it into a Temple of Victory, or building it anew as one. The restored Bourbons remade it into a church; but it still has a heathenish look, and will never lose it. When we entered we saw a crowd of people, all pressing forward towards the high altar, before which burned a hundred wax lights, some of which were six or seven feet high; and, altogether, they shone like a galaxy of stars. In the middle of the nave, moreover, there was another galaxy of wax candles burning around an immense pall of black velvet, embroidered with silver, which seemed to cover, not only a coffin, but a sarcophagus, or something still more huge. The organ was rumbling forth a deep, lugubrious bass, accompanied with heavy chanting of priests, out of which sometimes rose the clear, young voices of choristers, like light flashing out of the gloom. The church, between the arches, along the nave, and round the altar, was hung with broad expanses of black cloth; and all the priests had their sacred vestments covered with black. They looked exceedingly well; I never saw anything half so well got up on the stage. Some of these ecclesiastical figures were very stately and noble, and knelt and bowed, and bore aloft the cross, and swung the censers in a way that I liked to see. The ceremonies of the Catholic Church were a superb work of art, or perhaps a true growth of man's religious nature; and so long as men felt their original meaning, they must have been full of awe and glory. Being of another parish, I looked on coldly, but not irreverently, and was glad to see the funeral service so well performed, and very glad when it was over. What struck me as singular, the person who performed the part usually performed by a verger, keeping order among the audience, wore a gold-embroidered scarf, a cocked hat, and, I believe, a sword, and had the air of a military man. Before the close of the service a contribution-box--or, rather, a black velvet bag--was handed about by this military verger; and I gave J----- a franc to put in, though I did not in the least know for what. Issuing from the church, we inquired of two or three persons who was the distinguished defunct at whose obsequies we had been assisting, for we had some hope that it might be Rachel, who died last week, and is still above ground. But it proved to be only a Madame Mentel, or some such name, whom nobody had ever before heard of. I forgot to say that her coffin was taken from beneath the illuminated pall, and carried out of the church before us. When we left the Madeleine we took our way to the Place de la Concorde, and thence through the Elysian Fields (which, I suppose, are the French idea of heaven) to Bonaparte's triumphal arch. The Champs Elysees may look pretty in summer; though I suspect they must be somewhat dry and artificial at whatever season,--the trees being slender and scraggy, and requiring to be renewed every few years. The soil is not genial to them. The strangest peculiarity of this place, however, to eyes fresh from moist and verdant England, is, that there is not one blade of grass in all the Elysian Fields, nothing but hard clay, now covered with white dust. It gives the whole scene the air of being a contrivance of man, in which Nature has either not been invited to take any part, or has declined to do so. There were merry-go-rounds, wooden horses, and other provision for children's amusements among the trees; and booths, and tables of cakes, and candy-women; and restaurants on the borders of the wood; but very few people there; and doubtless we can form no idea of what the scene might become when alive with French gayety and vivacity. As we walked onward the Triumphal Arch began to loom up in the distance, looking huge and massive, though still a long way off. It was not, however, till we stood almost beneath it that we really felt the grandeur of this great arch, including so large a space of the blue sky in its airy sweep. At a distance it impresses the spectator with its solidity; nearer, with the lofty vacancy beneath it. There is a spiral staircase within one of its immense limbs; and, climbing steadily upward, lighted by a lantern which the doorkeeper's wife gave us, we had a bird's-eye view of Paris, much obscured by smoke or mist. Several interminable avenues shoot with painful directness right towards it. On our way homeward we visited the Place Vendome, in the centre of which is a tall column, sculptured from top to bottom, all over the pedestal, and all over the shaft, and with Napoleon himself on the summit. The shaft is wreathed round and roundabout with representations of what, as far as I could distinguish, seemed to be the Emperor's victories. It has a very rich effect. At the foot of the column we saw wreaths of artificial flowers, suspended there, no doubt, by some admirer of Napoleon, still ardent enough to expend a franc or two in this way. Hotel de Louvre, January 10th.--We had purposed going to the Cathedral of Notre Dame to-day, but the weather and walking were too unfavorable for a distant expedition; so we merely went across the street to the Louvre. . . . . . Our principal object this morning was to see the pencil drawings by eminent artists. Of these the Louvre has a very rich collection, occupying many apartments, and comprising sketches by Annibale Caracci, Claude, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michel Angelo, Rubens, Rembrandt, and almost all the other great masters, whether French, Italian, Dutch, or whatever else; the earliest drawings of their great pictures, when they had the glory of their pristine idea directly before their minds' eye,-- that idea which inevitably became overlaid with their own handling of it in the finished painting. No doubt the painters themselves had often a happiness in these rude, off-hand sketches, which they never felt again in the same work, and which resulted in disappointment, after they had done their best. To an artist, the collection must be most deeply interesting: to myself, it was merely curious, and soon grew wearisome. In the same suite of apartments, there is a collection of miniatures, some of them very exquisite, and absolutely lifelike, on their small scale. I observed two of Franklin, both good and picturesque, one of them especially so, with its cloud-like white hair. I do not think we have produced a man so interesting to contemplate, in many points of view, as he. Most of our great men are of a character that I find it impossible to warm into life by thought, or by lavishing any amount of sympathy upon them. Not so Franklin, who had a great deal of common and uncommon human nature in him. Much of the time, while my wife was looking at the drawings, I sat observing the crowd of Sunday visitors. They were generally of a lower class than those of week-days; private soldiers in a variety of uniforms, and, for the most part, ugly little men, but decorous and well behaved. I saw medals on many of their breasts, denoting Crimean service; some wore the English medal, with Queen Victoria's head upon it. A blue coat, with red baggy trousers, was the most usual uniform. Some had short-breasted coats, made in the same style as those of the first Napoleon, which we had seen in the preceding rooms. The policemen, distributed pretty abundantly about the rooms, themselves looked military, wearing cocked hats and swords. There were many women of the middling classes; some, evidently, of the lowest, but clean and decent, in colored gowns and caps; and laboring men, citizens, Sunday gentlemen, young artists, too, no doubt looking with educated eyes at these art-treasures, and I think, as a general thing, each man was mated with a woman. The soldiers, however, came in pairs or little squads, accompanied by women. I did not much like any of the French faces, and yet I am not sure that there is not more resemblance between them and the American physiognomy, than between the latter and the English. The women are not pretty, but in all ranks above the lowest they have a trained expression that supplies the place of beauty. I was wearied to death with the drawings, and began to have that dreary and desperate feeling which has often come upon me when the sights last longer than my capacity for receiving them. As our time in Paris, however, is brief and precious, we next inquired our way to the galleries of sculpture, and these alone are of astounding extent, reaching, I should think, all round one quadrangle of the Louvre, on the basement floor. Hall after hall opened interminably before us, and on either side of us, paved and incrusted with variegated and beautifully polished marble, relieved against which stand the antique statues and groups, interspersed with great urns and vases, sarcophagi, altars, tablets, busts of historic personages, and all manner of shapes of marble which consummate art has transmuted into precious stones. Not that I really did feel much impressed by any of this sculpture then, nor saw more than two or three things which I thought very beautiful; but whether it be good or no, I suppose the world has nothing better, unless it be a few world-renowned statues in Italy. I was even more struck by the skill and ingenuity of the French in arranging these sculptural remains, than by the value of the sculptures themselves. The galleries, I should judge, have been recently prepared, and on a magnificent system,--the adornments being yet by no means completed,--for besides the floor and wall-casings of rich, polished marble, the vaulted ceilings of some of the apartments are painted in fresco, causing them to glow as if the sky were opened. It must be owned, however, that the statuary, often time-worn and darkened from its original brilliancy by weather-stains, does not suit well as furniture for such splendid rooms. When we see a perfection of modern finish around them, we recognize that most of these statues have been thrown down from their pedestals, hundreds of years ago, and have been battered and externally degraded; and though whatever spiritual beauty they ever had may still remain, yet this is not made more apparent by the contrast betwixt the new gloss of modern upholstery, and their tarnished, even if immortal grace. I rather think the English have given really the more hospitable reception to the maimed Theseus, and his broken-nosed, broken-legged, headless companions, because flouting them with no gorgeous fittings up. By this time poor J----- (who, with his taste for art yet undeveloped, is the companion of all our visits to sculpture and picture galleries) was wofully hungry, and for bread we had given him a stone,--not one stone, but a thousand. We returned to the hotel, and it being too damp and raw to go to our Restaurant des Echelles, we dined at the hotel. In my opinion it would require less time to cultivate our gastronomic taste than taste of any other kind; and, on the whole, I am not sure that a man would not be wise to afford himself a little discipline in this line. It is certainly throwing away the bounties of Providence, to treat them as the English do, producing from better materials than the French have to work upon nothing but sirloins, joints, joints, steaks, steaks, steaks, chops, chops, chops, chops! We had a soup to-day, in which twenty kinds of vegetables were represented, and manifested each its own aroma; a fillet of stewed beef, and a fowl, in some sort of delicate fricassee. We had a bottle of Chablis, and renewed ourselves, at the close of the banquet, with a plate of Chateaubriand ice. It was all very good, and we respected ourselves far more than if we had eaten a quantity of red roast beef; but I am not quite sure that we were right. . . . . Among the relics of kings and princes, I do not know that there was anything more interesting than a little brass cannon, two or three inches long, which had been a toy of the unfortunate Dauphin, son of Louis XVI. There was a map,--a hemisphere of the world,--which his father had drawn for this poor boy; very neatly done, too. The sword of Louis XVI., a magnificent rapier, with a beautifully damasked blade, and a jewelled scabbard, but without a hilt, is likewise preserved, as is the hilt of Henry IV.'s sword. But it is useless to begin a catalogue of these things. What a collection it is, including Charlemagne's sword and sceptre, and the last Dauphin's little toy cannon, and so much between the two! Hotel de Louvre, January 11th.--This was another chill, raw day, characterized by a spitefulness of atmosphere which I do not remember ever to have experienced in my own dear country. We meant to have visited the Hotel des Invalides, but J----- and I walked to the Tivoli, the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees, and to the Place de Beaujou, and to the residence of the American minister, where I wished to arrange about my passport. After speaking with the Secretary of Legation, we were ushered into the minister's private room, where he received me with great kindness. Mr. ------ is an old gentleman with a white head, and a large, florid face, which has an expression of amiability, not unmingled with a certain dignity. He did not rise from his arm-chair to greet me,--a lack of ceremony which I imputed to the gout, feeling it impossible that he should have willingly failed in courtesy to one of his twenty-five million sovereigns. In response to some remark of mine about the shabby way in which our government treats its officials pecuniarily, he gave a detailed account of his own troubles on that score; then expressed a hope that I had made a good thing out of my consulate, and inquired whether I had received a hint to resign; to which I replied that, for various reasons, I had resigned of my own accord, and before Mr. Buchanan's inauguration. We agreed, however, in disapproving the system of periodical change in our foreign officials; and I remarked that a consul or an ambassador ought to be a citizen both of his native country and of the one in which he resided; and that his possibility of beneficent influence depended largely on his being so. Apropos to which Mr. ------ said that he had once asked a diplomatic friend of long experience, what was the first duty of a minister. "To love his own country, and to watch over its interests," answered the diplomatist. "And his second duty?" asked Mr. ------. "To love and to promote the interests of the country to which he is accredited," said his friend. This is a very Christian and sensible view of the matter; but it can scarcely have happened once in our whole diplomatic history, that a minister can have had time to overcome his first rude and ignorant prejudice against the country of his mission; and if there were any suspicion of his having done so, it would be held abundantly sufficient ground for his recall. I like Mr. ------, a good-hearted, sensible old man. J----- and I returned along the Champs Elysees, and, crossing the Seine, kept on our way by the river's brink, looking at the titles of books on the long lines of stalls that extend between the bridges. Novels, fairy-tales, dream books, treatises of behavior and etiquette, collections of bon-mots and of songs, were interspersed with volumes in the old style of calf and gilt binding, the works of the classics of French literature. A good many persons, of the poor classes, and of those apparently well to do, stopped transitorily to look at these books. On the other side of the street was a range of tall edifices with shops beneath, and the quick stir of French life hurrying, and babbling, and swarming along the sidewalk. We passed two or three bridges, occurring at short intervals, and at last we recrossed the Seine by a bridge which oversteps the river, from a point near the National Institute, and reaches the other side, not far from the Louvre. . . . . Though the day was so disagreeable, we thought it best not to lose the remainder of it, and therefore set out to visit the Cathedral of Notre Dame. We took a fiacre in the Place de Carousel, and drove to the door. On entering, we found the interior miserably shut off from view by the stagings erected for the purpose of repairs. Penetrating from the nave towards the chancel, an official personage signified to us that we must first purchase a ticket for each grown person, at the price of half a franc each. This expenditure admitted us into the sacristy, where we were taken in charge by a guide, who came down upon us with an avalanche or cataract of French, descriptive of a great many treasures reposited in this chapel. I understood hardly more than one word in ten, but gathered doubtfully that a bullet which was shown us was the one that killed the late Archbishop of Paris, on the floor of the cathedral. [But this was a mistake. It was the archbishop who was killed in the insurrection of 1848. Two joints of his backbone were also shown.] Also, that some gorgeously embroidered vestments, which he drew forth, had been used at the coronation of Napoleon I. There were two large, full-length portraits hanging aloft in the sacristy, and a gold or silver gilt, or, at all events, gilt image of the Virgin, as large as life, standing on a pedestal. The guide had much to say about these, but, understanding him so imperfectly, I have nothing to record. The guide's supervision of us seemed not to extend beyond this sacristy, on quitting which he gave us permission to go where we pleased, only intimating a hope that we would not forget him; so I gave him half a franc, though thereby violating an inhibition on the printed ticket of entrance. We had been much disappointed at first by the apparently narrow limits of the interior of this famous church; but now, as we made our way round the choir, gazing into chapel after chapel, each with its painted window, its crucifix, its pictures, its confessional, and afterwards came back into the nave, where arch rises above arch to the lofty roof, we came to the conclusion that it was very sumptuous. It is the greatest of pities that its grandeur and solemnity should just now be so infinitely marred by the workmen's boards, timber, and ladders occupying the whole centre of the edifice, and screening all its best effects. It seems to have been already most richly ornamented, its roof being painted, and the capitals of the pillars gilded, and their shafts illuminated in fresco; and no doubt it will shine out gorgeously when all the repairs and adornments shall be completed. Even now it gave to my actual sight what I have often tried to imagine in my visits to the English cathedrals,-- the pristine glory of those edifices, when they stood glowing with gold and picture, fresh from the architects' and adorners' hands. The interior loftiness of Notre Dame, moreover, gives it a sublimity which would swallow up anything that might look gewgawy in its ornamentation, were we to consider it window by window, or pillar by pillar. It is an advantage of these vast edifices, rising over us and spreading about us in such a firmamental way, that we cannot spoil them by any pettiness of our own, but that they receive (or absorb) our pettiness into their own immensity. Every little fantasy finds its place and propriety in them, like a flower on the earth's broad bosom. When we emerged from the cathedral, we found it beginning to rain or snow, or both; and, as we had dismissed our fiacre at the door, and could find no other, we were at a loss what to do. We stood a few moments on the steps of the Hotel Dieu, looking up at the front of Notre Dame, with its twin towers, and its three deep-pointed arches, piercing through a great thickness of stone, and throwing a cavern-like gloom around these entrances. The front is very rich. Though so huge, and all of gray stone, it is carved and fretted with statues and innumerable devices, as cunningly as any ivory casket in which relics are kept; but its size did not so much impress me. . . . . Hotel de Louvre, January 12th.--This has been a bright day as regards weather; but I have done little or nothing worth recording. After breakfast, I set out in quest of the consul, and found him up a court, at 51 Rue Caumartin, in an office rather smaller, I think, than mine at Liverpool; but, to say the truth, a little better furnished. I was received in the outer apartment by an elderly, brisk-looking man, in whose air, respectful and subservient, and yet with a kind of authority in it, I recognized the vice-consul. He introduced me to Mr. ------, who sat writing in an inner room; a very gentlemanly, courteous, cool man of the world, whom I should take to be an excellent person for consul at Paris. He tells me that he has resided here some years, although his occupancy of the consulate dates only from November last. Consulting him respecting my passport, he gave me what appear good reasons why I should get all the necessary vises here; for example, that the vise of a minister carries more weight than that of a consul; and especially that an Austrian consul will never vise a passport unless he sees his minister's name upon it. Mr. ------ has travelled much in Italy, and ought to be able to give me sound advice. His opinion was, that at this season of the year I had better go by steamer to Civita Veechia, instead of landing at Leghorn, and thence journeying to Rome. On this point I shall decide when the time comes. As I left the office the vice-consul informed me that there was a charge of five francs and some sous for the consul's vise, a tax which surprised me,--the whole business of passports having been taken from consuls before I quitted office, and the consular fee having been annulled even earlier. However, no doubt Mr. ------ had a fair claim to my five francs; but, really, it is not half so pleasant to pay a consular fee as it used to be to receive it. Afterwards I walked to Notre Dame, the rich front of which I viewed with more attention than yesterday. There are whole histories, carved in stone figures, within the vaulted arches of the three entrances in this west front, and twelve apostles in a row above, and as much other sculpture as would take a month to see. We then walked quite round it, but I had no sense of immensity from it, not even that of great height, as from many of the cathedrals in England. It stands very near the Seine; indeed, if I mistake not, it is on an island formed by two branches of the river. Behind it, is what seems to be a small public ground (or garden, if a space entirely denuded of grass or other green thing, except a few trees, can be called so), with benches, and a monument in the midst. This quarter of the city looks old, and appears to be inhabited by poor people, and to be busied about small and petty affairs; the most picturesque business that I saw being that of the old woman who sells crucifixes of pearl and of wood at the cathedral door. We bought two of these yesterday. I must again speak of the horrible muddiness, not only of this part of the city, but of all Paris, so far as I have traversed it to-day. My ways, since I came to Europe, have often lain through nastiness, but I never before saw a pavement so universally overspread with mud-padding as that of Paris. It is difficult to imagine where so much filth can come from. After dinner I walked through the gardens of the Tuileries; but as dusk was coming on, and as I was afraid of being shut up within the iron railing, I did not have time to examine them particularly. There are wide, intersecting walks, fountains, broad basins, and many statues; but almost the whole surface of the gardens is barren earth, instead of the verdure that would beautify an English pleasure-ground of this sort. In the summer it has doubtless an agreeable shade; but at this season the naked branches look meagre, and sprout from slender trunks. Like the trees in the Champs Elysees, those, I presume, in the gardens of the Tuileries need renewing every few years. The same is true of the human race,--families becoming extinct after a generation or two of residence in Paris. Nothing really thrives here; man and vegetables have but an artificial life, like flowers stuck in a little mould, but never taking root. I am quite tired of Paris, and long for a home more than ever. MARSEILLES. Hotel d'Angleterre, January 15th.--On Tuesday morning, (12th) we took our departure from the Hotel de Louvre. It is a most excellent and perfectly ordered hotel, and I have not seen a more magnificent hall, in any palace, than the dining-saloon, with its profuse gilding, and its ceiling, painted in compartments; so that when the chandeliers are all alight, it looks a fit place for princes to banquet in, and not very fit for the few Americans whom I saw scattered at its long tables. By the by, as we drove to the railway, we passed through the public square, where the Bastille formerly stood; and in the centre of it now stands a column, surmounted by a golden figure of Mercury (I think), which seems to be just on the point of casting itself from a gilt ball into the air. This statue is so buoyant, that the spectator feels quite willing to trust it to the viewless element, being as sure that it would be borne up as that a bird would fly. Our first day's journey was wholly without interest, through a country entirely flat, and looking wretchedly brown and barren. There were rows of trees, very slender, very prim and formal; there was ice wherever there happened to be any water to form it; there were occasional villages, compact little streets, or masses of stone or plastered cottages, very dirty and with gable ends and earthen roofs; and a succession of this same landscape was all that we saw, whenever we rubbed away the congelation of our breath from the carriage windows. Thus we rode on, all day long, from eleven o'clock, with hardly a five minutes' stop, till long after dark, when we came to Dijon, where there was a halt of twenty-five minutes for dinner. Then we set forth again, and rumbled forward, through cold and darkness without, until we reached Lyons at about ten o'clock. We left our luggage at the railway station, and took an omnibus for the Hotel de Provence, which we chose at a venture, among a score of other hotels. As this hotel was a little off the direct route of the omnibus, the driver set us down at the corner of a street, and pointed to some lights, which he said designated the Hotel do Provence; and thither we proceeded, all seven of us, taking along a few carpet-bags and shawls, our equipage for the night. The porter of the hotel met us near its doorway, and ushered us through an arch, into the inner quadrangle, and then up some old and worn steps,--very broad, and appearing to be the principal staircase. At the first landing-place, an old woman and a waiter or two received us; and we went up two or three more flights of the same broad and worn stone staircases. What we could see of the house looked very old, and had the musty odor with which I first became acquainted at Chester. After ascending to the proper level, we were conducted along a corridor, paved with octagonal earthen tiles; on one side were windows, looking into the courtyard, on the other doors opening into the sleeping-chambers. The corridor was of immense length, and seemed still to lengthen itself before us, as the glimmer of our conductor's candle went farther and farther into the obscurity. Our own chamber was at a vast distance along this passage; those of the rest of the party were on the hither side; but all this immense suite of rooms appeared to communicate by doors from one to another, like the chambers through which the reader wanders at midnight, in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. And they were really splendid rooms, though of an old fashion, lofty, spacious, with floors of oak or other wood, inlaid in squares and crosses, and waxed till they were slippery, but without carpets. Our own sleeping-room had a deep fireplace, in which we ordered a fire, and asked if there were not some saloon already warmed, where we could get a cup of tea. Hereupon the waiter led us back along the endless corridor, and down the old stone staircases, and out into the quadrangle, and journeyed with us along an exterior arcade, and finally threw open the door of the salle a manger, which proved to be a room of lofty height, with a vaulted roof, a stone floor, and interior spaciousness sufficient for a baronial hall, the whole bearing the same aspect of times gone by, that characterized the rest of the house. There were two or three tables covered with white cloth, and we sat down at one of them and had our tea. Finally we wended back to our sleeping-rooms,--a considerable journey, so endless seemed the ancient hotel. I should like to know its history. The fire made our great chamber look comfortable, and the fireplace threw out the heat better than the little square hole over which we cowered in our saloon at the Hotel de Louvre. . . . . In the morning we began our preparations for starting at ten. Issuing into the corridor, I found a soldier of the line, pacing to and fro there as sentinel. Another was posted in another corridor, into which I wandered by mistake; another stood in the inner court-yard, and another at the porte-cochere. They were not there the night before, and I know not whence nor why they came, unless that some officer of rank may have taken up his quarters at the hotel. Miss M------ says she heard at Paris, that a considerable number of troops had recently been drawn together at Lyons, in consequence of symptoms of disaffection that have recently shown themselves here. Before breakfast I went out to catch a momentary glimpse of the city. The street in which our hotel stands is near a large public square; in the centre is a bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIV.; and the square itself is called the Place de Louis le Grand. I wonder where this statue hid itself while the Revolution was raging in Lyons, and when the guillotine, perhaps, stood on that very spot. The square was surrounded by stately buildings, but had what seemed to be barracks for soldiers,--at any rate, mean little huts, deforming its ample space; and a soldier was on guard before the statue of Louis le Grand. It was a cold, misty morning, and a fog lay throughout the area, so that I could scarcely see from one side of it to the other. Returning towards our hotel, I saw that it had an immense front, along which ran, in gigantic letters, its title,-- HOTEL DE PROVENCE ET DES AMBASSADEURS. The excellence of the hotel lay rather in the faded pomp of its sleeping-rooms, and the vastness of its salle a manger, than in anything very good to eat or drink. We left it, after a poor breakfast, and went to the railway station. Looking at the mountainous heap of our luggage the night before, we had missed a great carpet-bag; and we now found that Miss M------'s trunk had been substituted for it, and, there being the proper number of packages as registered, it was impossible to convince the officials that anything was wrong. We, of course, began to generalize forthwith, and pronounce the incident to be characteristic of French morality. They love a certain system and external correctness, but do not trouble themselves to be deeply in the right; and Miss M------ suggested that there used to be parallel cases in the French Revolution, when, so long as the assigned number were sent out of prison to be guillotined, the jailer did not much care whether they were the persons designated by the tribunal or not. At all events, we could get no satisfaction about the carpet-bag, and shall very probably be compelled to leave Marseilles without it. This day's ride was through a far more picturesque country than that we saw yesterday. Heights began to rise imminent above our way, with sometimes a ruined castle wall upon them; on our left, the rail-track kept close to the hills; on the other side there was the level bottom of a valley, with heights descending upon it a mile or a few miles away. Farther off we could see blue hills, shouldering high above the intermediate ones, and themselves worthy to be called mountains. These hills arranged themselves in beautiful groups, affording openings between them, and vistas of what lay beyond, and gorges which I suppose held a great deal of romantic scenery. By and by a river made its appearance, flowing swiftly in the same direction that we were travelling,--a beautiful and cleanly river, with white pebbly shores, and itself of a peculiar blue. It rushed along very fast, sometimes whitening over shallow descents, and even in its calmer intervals its surface was all covered with whirls and eddies, indicating that it dashed onward in haste. I do not now know the name of this river, but have set it down as the "arrowy Rhone." It kept us company a long while, and I think we did not part with it as long as daylight remained. I have seldom seen hill-scenery that struck me more than some that we saw to-day, and the old feudal towers and old villages at their feet; and the old churches, with spires shaped just like extinguishers, gave it an interest accumulating from many centuries past. Still going southward, the vineyards began to border our track, together with what I at first took to be orchards, but soon found were plantations of olive-trees, which grow to a much larger size than I supposed, and look almost exactly like very crabbed and eccentric apple-trees. Neither they nor the vineyards add anything to the picturesqueness of the landscape. On the whole, I should have been delighted with all this scenery if it had not looked so bleak, barren, brown, and bare; so like the wintry New England before the snow has fallen. It was very cold, too; ice along the borders of streams, even among the vineyards and olives. The houses are of rather a different shape here than, farther northward, their roofs being not nearly so sloping. They are almost invariably covered with white plaster; the farm-houses have their outbuildings in connection with the dwelling,--the whole surrounding three sides of a quadrangle. We travelled far into the night, swallowed a cold and hasty dinner at Avignon, and reached Marseilles sorely wearied, at about eleven o'clock. We took a cab to the Hotel d'Angleterre (two cabs, to be quite accurate), and find it a very poor place. To go back a little, as the sun went down, we looked out of the window of our railway carriage, and saw a sky that reminded us of what we used to see day after day in America, and what we have not seen since; and, after sunset, the horizon burned and glowed with rich crimson and orange lustre, looking at once warm and cold. After it grew dark, the stars brightened, and Miss M------ from her window pointed out some of the planets to the children, she being as familiar with them as a gardener with his flowers. They were as bright as diamonds. We had a wretched breakfast, and J----- and I then went to the railway station to see about our luggage. On our walk back we went astray, passing by a triumphal arch, erected by the Marseillais, in honor of Louis Napoleon; but we inquired our way of old women and soldiers, who were very kind and courteous,--especially the latter,--and were directed aright. We came to a large, oblong, public place, set with trees, but devoid of grass, like all public places in France. In the middle of it was a bronze statue of an ecclesiastical personage, stretching forth his hands in the attitude of addressing the people or of throwing a benediction over them. It was some archbishop, who had distinguished himself by his humanity and devotedness during the plague of 1720. At the moment of our arrival the piazza was quite thronged with people, who seemed to be talking amongst themselves with considerable earnestness, although without any actual excitement. They were smoking cigars; and we judged that they were only loitering here for the sake of the sunshine, having no fires at home, and nothing to do. Some looked like gentlemen, others like peasants; most of them I should have taken for the lazzaroni of this Southern city,--men with cloth caps, like the classic liberty-cap, or with wide-awake hats. There were one or two women of the lower classes, without bonnets, the elder ones with white caps, the younger bareheaded. I have hardly seen a lady in Marseilles; and I suspect, it being a commercial city, and dirty to the last degree, ill-built, narrow-streeted, and sometimes pestilential, there are few or no families of gentility resident here. Returning to the hotel, we found the rest of the party ready to go out; so we all issued forth in a body, and inquired our way to the telegraph-office, in order to send my message about the carpet-bag. In a street through which we had to pass (and which seemed to be the Exchange, or its precincts), there was a crowd even denser, yes, much denser, than that which we saw in the square of the archbishop's statue; and each man was talking to his neighbor in a vivid, animated way, as if business were very brisk to-day. At the telegraph-office, we discovered the cause that had brought out these many people. There had been attempts on the Emperor's life,-- unsuccessful, as they seem fated to be, though some mischief was done to those near him. I rather think the good people of Marseilles were glad of the attempt, as an item of news and gossip, and did not very greatly care whether it were successful or no. It seemed to have roused their vivacity rather than their interest. The only account I have seen of it was in the brief public despatch from the Syndic (or whatever he be) of Paris to the chief authority of Marseilles, which was printed and posted in various conspicuous places. The only chance of knowing the truth with any fulness of detail would be to come across an English paper. We have had a banner hoisted half-mast in front of our hotel to-day as a token, the head-waiter tells me, of sympathy and sorrow for the General and other persons who were slain by this treasonable attempt. J----- and I now wandered by ourselves along a circular line of quays, having, on one side of us, a thick forest of masts, while, on the other, was a sweep of shops, bookstalls, sailors' restaurants and drinking-houses, fruit-sellers, candy-women, and all manner of open-air dealers and pedlers; little children playing, and jumping the rope, and such a babble and bustle as I never saw or heard before; the sun lying along the whole sweep, very hot, and evidently very grateful to those who basked in it. Whenever I passed into the shade, immediately from too warm I became too cold. The sunshine was like hot air; the shade, like the touch of cold steel,--sharp, hard, yet exhilarating. From the broad street of the quays, narrow, thread-like lanes pierced up between the edifices, calling themselves streets, yet so narrow, that a person in the middle could almost touch the houses on either hand. They ascended steeply, bordered on each side by long, contiguous walls of high houses, and from the time of their first being built, could never have had a gleam of sunshine in them,--always in shadow, always unutterably nasty, and often pestiferous. The nastiness which I saw in Marseilles exceeds my heretofore experience. There is dirt in the hotel, and everywhere else; and it evidently troubles nobody,--no more than if all the people were pigs in a pigsty. . . . . Passing by all this sweep of quays, J----- and I ascended to an elevated walk, overlooking the harbor, and far beyond it; for here we had our first view of the Mediterranean, blue as heaven, and bright with sunshine. It was a bay, widening forth into the open deep, and bordered with heights, and bold, picturesque headlands, some of which had either fortresses or convents on them. Several boats and one brig were under sail, making their way towards the port. I have never seen a finer sea-view. Behind the town, there seemed to be a mountainous landscape, imperfectly visible, in consequence of the intervening edifices. THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA. Steamer Calabrese, January 17th.--If I had remained at Marseilles, I might have found many peculiarities and characteristics of that Southern city to notice; but I fear that these will not be recorded if I leave them till I touch the soil of Italy. Indeed, I doubt whether there be anything really worth recording in the little distinctions between one nation and another; at any rate, after the first novelty is over, new things seem equally commonplace with the old. There is but one little interval when the mind is in such a state that it can catch the fleeting aroma of a new scene. And it is always so much pleasanter to enjoy this delicious newness than to attempt arresting it, that it requires great force of will to insist with one's self upon sitting down to write. I can do nothing with Marseilles, especially here on the Mediterranean, long after nightfall, and when the steamer is pitching in a pretty lively way. (Later.)--I walked out with J----- yesterday morning, and reached the outskirts of the city, whence we could see the bold and picturesque heights that surround Marseilles as with a semicircular wall. They rise into peaks, and the town, being on their lower slope, descends from them towards the sea with a gradual sweep. Adown the streets that descend these declivities come little rivulets, running along over the pavement, close to the sidewalks, as over a pebbly bed; and though they look vastly like kennels, I saw women washing linen in these streams, and others dipping up the water for household purposes. The women appear very much in public at Marseilles. In the squares and places you see half a dozen of them together, sitting in a social circle on the bottoms of upturned baskets, knitting, talking, and enjoying the public sunshine, as if it were their own household fire. Not one in a thousand of them, probably, ever has a household fire for the purpose of keeping themselves warm, but only to do their little cookery; and when there is sunshine they take advantage of it, and in the short season of rain and frost they shrug their shoulders, put on what warm garments they have, and get through the winter somewhat as grasshoppers and butterflies do,--being summer insects like then. This certainly is a very keen and cutting air, sharp as a razor, and I saw ice along the borders of the little rivulets almost at noonday. To be sure, it is midwinter, and yet in the sunshine I found myself uncomfortably warm, but in the shade the air was like the touch of death itself. I do not like the climate. There are a great number of public places in Marseilles, several of which are adorned with statues or fountains, or triumphal arches or columns, and set out with trees, and otherwise furnished as a kind of drawing-rooms, where the populace may meet together and gossip. I never before heard from human lips anything like this bustle and babble, this thousand-fold talk which you hear all round about you in the crowd of a public square; so entirely different is it from the dulness of a crowd in England, where, as a rule, everybody is silent, and hardly half a dozen monosyllables will come from the lips of a thousand people. In Marseilles, on the contrary, a stream of unbroken talk seems to bubble from the lips of every individual. A great many interesting scenes take place in these squares. From the window of our hotel (which looked into the Place Royale) I saw a juggler displaying his art to a crowd, who stood in a regular square about him, none pretending to press nearer than the prescribed limit. While the juggler wrought his miracles his wife supplied him with his magic materials out of a box; and when the exhibition was over she packed up the white cloth with which his table was covered, together with cups, cards, balls, and whatever else, and they took their departure. I have been struck with the idle curiosity, and, at the same time, the courtesy and kindness of the populace of Marseilles, and I meant to exemplify it by recording how Miss S------ and I attracted their notice, and became the centre of a crowd of at least fifty of them while doing no more remarkable thing than settling with a cab-driver. But really this pitch and swell is getting too bad, and I shall go to bed, as the best chance of keeping myself in an equable state. ROME. 37 Palazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, January 24th.--We left Marseilles in the Neapolitan steamer Calabrese, as noticed above, a week ago this morning. There was no fault to be found with the steamer, which was very clean and comfortable, contrary to what we had understood beforehand; except for the coolness of the air (and I know not that this was greater than that of the Atlantic in July), our voyage would have been very pleasant; but for myself, I enjoyed nothing, having a cold upon me, or a low fever, or something else that took the light and warmth out of everything. I went to bed immediately after my last record, and was rocked to sleep pleasantly enough by the billows of the Mediterranean; and, coming on deck about sunrise next morning, found the steamer approaching Genoa. We saw the city, lying at the foot of a range of hills, and stretching a little way up their slopes, the hills sweeping round it in the segment of a circle, and looking like an island rising abruptly out of the sea; for no connection with the mainland was visible on either side. There was snow scattered on their summits and streaking their sides a good way down. They looked bold, and barren, and brown, except where the snow whitened them. The city did not impress me with much expectation of size or splendor. Shortly after coming into the port our whole party landed, and we found ourselves at once in the midst of a crowd of cab-drivers, hotel-runnets, and coin missionaires, who assaulted us with a volley of French, Italian, and broken English, which beat pitilessly about our ears; for really it seemed as if all the dictionaries in the world had been torn to pieces, and blown around us by a hurricane. Such a pother! We took a commissionaire, a respectable-looking man, in a cloak, who said his name was Salvator Rosa; and he engaged to show us whatever was interesting in Genoa. In the first place, he took us through narrow streets to an old church, the name of which I have forgotten, and, indeed, its peculiar features; but I know that I found it pre-eminently magnificent,--its whole interior being incased in polished marble, of various kinds and colors, its ceiling painted, and its chapels adorned with pictures. However, this church was dazzled out of sight by the Cathedral of San Lorenzo, to which we were afterwards conducted, whose exterior front is covered with alternate slabs of black and white marble, which were brought, either in whole or in part, from Jerusalem. Within, there was a prodigious richness of precious marbles, and a pillar, if I mistake not, from Solomon's Temple; and a picture of the Virgin by St. Luke; and others (rather more intrinsically valuable, I imagine), by old masters, set in superb marble frames, within the arches of the chapels. I used to try to imagine how the English cathedrals must have looked in their primeval glory, before the Reformation, and before the whitewash of Cromwell's time had overlaid their marble pillars; but I never imagined anything at all approaching what my eyes now beheld: this sheen of polished and variegated marble covering every inch of its walls; this glow of brilliant frescos all over the roof, and up within the domes; these beautiful pictures by great masters, painted for the places which they now occupied, and making an actual portion of the edifice; this wealth of silver, gold, and gems, that adorned the shrines of the saints, before which wax candles burned, and were kept burning, I suppose, from year's end to year's end; in short, there is no imagining nor remembering a hundredth part of the rich details. And even the cathedral (though I give it up as indescribable) was nothing at all in comparison with a church to which the commissionaire afterwards led us; a church that had been built four or five hundred years ago, by a pirate, in expiation of his sins, and out of the profit of his rapine. This last edifice, in its interior, absolutely shone with burnished gold, and glowed with pictures; its walls were a quarry of precious stones, so valuable were the marbles out of which they were wrought; its columns and pillars were of inconceivable costliness; its pavement was a mosaic of wonderful beauty, and there were four twisted pillars made out of stalactites. Perhaps the best way to form some dim conception of it is to fancy a little casket, inlaid inside with precious stones, so that there shall not a hair's-breadth be left unprecious-stoned, and then to conceive this little bit of a casket iucreased to the magnitude of a great church, without losing anything of the excessive glory that was compressed into its original small compass, but all its pretty lustre made sublime by the consequent immensity. At any rate, nobody who has not seen a church like this can imagine what a gorgeous religion it was that reared it. In the cathedral, and in all the churches, we saw priests and many persons kneeling at their devotions; and our Salvator Rosa, whenever we passed a chapel or shrine, failed not to touch the pavement with one knee, crossing himself the while; and once, when a priest was going through some form of devotion, he stopped a few moments to share in it. He conducted us, too, to the Balbi Palace, the stateliest and most sumptuous residence, but not more so than another which he afterwards showed us, nor perhaps than many others which exist in Genoa, THE SUPERB. The painted ceilings in these palaces are a glorious adornment; the walls of the saloons, incrusted with various-colored marbles, give an idea of splendor which I never gained from anything else. The floors, laid in mosaic, seem too precious to tread upon. In the royal palace, many of the floors were of various woods, inlaid by an English artist, and they looked like a magnification of some exquisite piece of Tunbridge ware; but, in all respects, this palace was inferior to others which we saw. I say nothing of the immense pictorial treasures which hung upon the walls of all the rooms through which we passed; for I soon grew so weary of admirable things, that I could neither enjoy nor understand them. My receptive faculty is very limited, and when the utmost of its small capacity is full, I become perfectly miserable, and the more so the better worth seeing are the things I am forced to reject. I do not know a greater misery; to see sights, after such repletion, is to the mind what it would be to the body to have dainties forced down the throat long after the appetite was satiated. All this while, whenever we emerged into the vaultlike streets, we were wretchedly cold. The commissionaire took us to a sort of pleasure-garden, occupying the ascent of a hill, and presenting seven different views of the city, from as many stations. One of the objects pointed out to us was a large yellow house, on a hillside, in the outskirts of Genoa, which was formerly inhabited for six months by Charles Dickens. Looking down from the elevated part of the pleasure-gardens, we saw orange-trees beneath us, with the golden fruit hanging upon them, though their trunks were muffled in straw; and, still lower down, there was ice and snow. Gladly (so far as I myself was concerned) we dismissed the commissionaire, after he had brought us to the hotel of the Cross of Malta, where we dined; needlessly, as it proved, for another dinner awaited us, after our return on board the boat. We set sail for Leghorn before dark, and I retired early, feeling still more ill from my cold than the night before. The next morning we were in the crowded port of Leghorn. We all went ashore, with some idea of taking the rail for Pisa, which is within an hour's distance, and might have been seen in time for our departure with the steamer. But a necessary visit to a banker's, and afterwards some unnecessary formalities about our passports, kept us wandering through the streets nearly all day; and we saw nothing in the slightest degree interesting, except the tomb of Smollett, in the burial-place attached to the English Chapel. It is surrounded by an iron railing, and marked by a slender obelisk of white marble, the pattern of which is many times repeated over surrounding graves. We went into a Jewish synagogue,--the interior cased in marbles, and surrounded with galleries, resting upon arches above arches. There were lights burning at the altar, and it looked very like a Christian church; but it was dirty, and had an odor not of sanctity. In Leghorn, as everywhere else, we were chilled to the heart, except when the sunshine fell directly upon us; and we returned to the steamer with a feeling as if we were getting back to our home; for this life of wandering makes a three days' residence in one place seem like home. We found several new passengers on board, and among others a monk, in a long brown frock of woollen cloth, with an immense cape, and a little black covering over his tonsure. He was a tall figure, with a gray beard, and might have walked, just as he stood, out of a picture by one of the old masters. This holy person addressed me very affably in Italian; but we found it impossible to hold much conversation. The evening was beautiful, with a bright young moonlight, not yet sufficiently powerful to overwhelm the stars, and as we walked the deck, Miss M------ showed the children the constellations, and told their names. J----- made a slight mistake as to one of them, pointing it out to me as "O'Brien's belt!" Elba was presently in view, and we might have seen many other interesting points, had it not been for our steamer's practice of resting by day, and only pursuing its voyage by night. The next morning we found ourselves in the harbor of Civita Vecchia, and, going ashore with our luggage, went through a blind turmoil with custom-house officers, inspectors of passports, soldiers, and vetturino people. My wife and I strayed a little through Civita Vecchia, and found its streets narrow, like clefts in a rock (which seems to be the fashion of Italian towns), and smelling nastily. I had made a bargain with a vetturino to send us to Rome in a carriage, with four horses, in eight hours; and as soon as the custom-house and passport people would let us, we started, lumbering slowly along with our mountain of luggage. We had heard rumors of robberies lately committed on this route; especially of a Nova Scotia bishop, who was detained on the road an hour and a half, and utterly pillaged; and certainly there was not a single mile of the dreary and desolate country over which we passed, where we might not have been robbed and murdered with impunity. Now and then, at long distances, we came to a structure that was either a prison, a tavern, or a barn, but did not look very much like either, being strongly built of stone, with iron-grated windows, and of ancient and rusty aspect. We kept along by the seashore a great part of the way, and stopped to feed our horses at a village, the wretched street of which stands close along the shore of the Mediterranean, its loose, dark sand being made nasty by the vicinity. The vetturino cheated us, one of the horses giving out, as he must have known it would do, half-way on our journey; and we staggered on through cold and darkness, and peril, too, if the banditti were not a myth,-- reaching Rome not much before midnight. I perpetrated unheard-of briberies on the custom-house officers at the gates, and was permitted to pass through and establish myself at Spillman's Hotel, the only one where we could gain admittance, and where we have been half frozen ever since. And this is sunny Italy, and genial Rome! Palazzo Larazani, Via Porta Pinciana, February 3d.--We have been in Rome a fortnight to-day, or rather at eleven o'clock to-night; and I have seldom or never spent so wretched a time anywhere. Our impressions were very unfortunate, arriving at midnight, half frozen in the wintry rain, and being received into a cold and cheerless hotel, where we shivered during two or three days; meanwhile seeking lodgings among the sunless, dreary alleys which are called streets in Rome. One cold, bright day after another has pierced me to the heart, and cut me in twain as with a sword, keen and sharp, and poisoned at point and edge. I did not think that cold weather could have made me so very miserable. Having caught a feverish influenza, I was really glad of being muffled up comfortably in the fever heat. The atmosphere certainly has a peculiar quality of malignity. After a day or two we settled ourselves in a suite of ten rooms, comprehending one flat, or what is called the second piano of this house. The rooms, thus far, have been very uncomfortable, it being impossible to warm them by means of the deep, old-fashioned, inartificial fireplaces, unless we had the great logs of a New England forest to burn in them; so I have sat in my corner by the fireside with more clothes on than I ever wore before, and my thickest great-coat over all. In the middle of the day I generally venture out for an hour or two, but have only once been warm enough even in the sunshine, and out of the sun never at any time. I understand now the force of that story of Diogenes when he asked the Conqueror, as the only favor he could do him, to stand out of his sunshine, there being such a difference in these Southern climes of Europe between sun and shade. If my wits had not been too much congealed, and my fingers too numb, I should like to have kept a minute journal of my feelings and impressions during the past fortnight. It would have shown modern Rome in an aspect in which it has never yet been depicted. But I have now grown somewhat acclimated, and the first freshness of my discomfort has worn off, so that I shall never be able to express how I dislike the place, and how wretched I have been in it; and soon, I suppose, warmer weather will come, and perhaps reconcile me to Rome against my will. Cold, narrow lanes, between tall, ugly, mean-looking whitewashed houses, sour bread, pavements most uncomfortable to the feet, enormous prices for poor living; beggars, pickpockets, ancient temples and broken monuments, and clothes hanging to dry about them; French soldiers, monks, and priests of every degree; a shabby population, smoking bad cigars,--these would have been some of the points of my description. Of course there are better and truer things to be said. . . . . It would be idle for me to attempt any sketches of these famous sites and edifices,--St. Peter's, for example,--which have been described by a thousand people, though none of them have ever given me an idea of what sort of place Rome is. . . . . The Coliseum was very much what I had preconceived it, though I was not prepared to find it turned into a sort of Christian church, with a pulpit on the verge of the open space. . . . . The French soldiers, who keep guard within it, as in other public places in Rome, have an excellent opportunity to secure the welfare of their souls. February 7th.--I cannot get fairly into the current of my journal since we arrived, and already I perceive that the nice peculiarities of Roman life are passing from my notice before I have recorded them. It is a very great pity. During the past week I have plodded daily, for an hour or two, through the narrow, stony streets, that look worse than the worst backside lanes of any other city; indescribably ugly and disagreeable they are, . . . . without sidewalks, but provided with a line of larger square stones, set crosswise to each other, along which there is somewhat less uneasy walking. . . . . Ever and anon, even in the meanest streets, --though, generally speaking, one can hardly be called meaner than another,--we pass a palace, extending far along the narrow way on a line with the other houses, but distinguished by its architectural windows, iron-barred on the basement story, and by its portal arch, through which we have glimpses, sometimes of a dirty court-yard, or perhaps of a clean, ornamented one, with trees, a colonnade, a fountain, and a statue in the vista; though, more likely, it resembles the entrance to a stable, and may, perhaps, really be one. The lower regions of palaces come to strange uses in Rome. . . . . In the basement story of the Barberini Palace a regiment of French soldiers (or soldiers of some kind [we find them to be retainers of the Barberini family, not French]) seems to be quartered, while no doubt princes have magnificent domiciles above. Be it palace or whatever other dwelling, the inmates climb through rubbish often to the comforts, such as they may be, that await them above. I vainly try to get down upon paper the dreariness, the ugliness, shabbiness, un-home-likeness of a Roman street. It is also to be said that you cannot go far in any direction without coming to a piazza, which is sometimes little more than a widening and enlarging of the dingy street, with the lofty facade of a church or basilica on one side, and a fountain in the centre, where the water squirts out of some fantastic piece of sculpture into a great stone basin. These fountains are often of immense size and most elaborate design. . . . . There are a great many of these fountain-shapes, constructed under the orders of one pope or another, in all parts of the city; and only the very simplest, such as a jet springing from a broad marble or porphyry vase, and falling back into it again, are really ornamental. If an antiquary were to accompany me through the streets, no doubt he would point out ten thousand interesting objects that I now pass over unnoticed, so general is the surface of plaster and whitewash; but often I can see fragments of antiquity built into the walls, or perhaps a church that was a Roman temple, or a basement of ponderous stones that were laid above twenty centuries ago. It is strange how our ideas of what antiquity is become altered here in Rome; the sixteenth century, in which many of the churches and fountains seem to have been built or re-edified, seems close at hand, even like our own days; a thousand years, or the days of the latter empire, is but a modern date, and scarcely interests us; and nothing is really venerable of a more recent epoch than the reign of Constantine. And the Egyptian obelisks that stand in several of the piazzas put even the Augustan or Republican antiquities to shame. I remember reading in a New York newspaper an account of one of the public buildings of that city,--a relic of "the olden time," the writer called it; for it was erected in 1825! I am glad I saw the castles and Gothic churches and cathedrals of England before visiting Rome, or I never could have felt that delightful reverence for their gray and ivy-hung antiquity after seeing these so much older remains. But, indeed, old things are not so beautiful in this dry climate and clear atmosphere as in moist England. . . . . Whatever beauty there may be in a Roman ruin is the remnant of what was beautiful originally; whereas an English ruin is more beautiful often in its decay than even it was in its primal strength. If we ever build such noble structures as these Roman ones, we can have just as good ruins, after two thousand years, in the United States; but we never can have a Furness Abbey or a Kenilworth. The Corso, and perhaps some other streets, does not deserve all the vituperation which I have bestowed on the generality of Roman vias, though the Corso is narrow, not averaging more than nine paces, if so much, from sidewalk to sidewalk. But palace after palace stands along almost its whole extent,--not, however, that they make such architectural show on the street as palaces should. The enclosed courts were perhaps the only parts of these edifices which the founders cared to enrich architecturally. I think Linlithgow Palace, of which I saw the ruins during my last tour in Scotland, was built, by an architect who had studied these Roman palaces. There was never any idea of domestic comfort, or of what we include in the name of home, at all implicated in such structures, they being generally built by wifeless and childless churchmen for the display of pictures and statuary in galleries and long suites of rooms. I have not yet fairly begun the sight-seeing of Rome. I have been four or five times to St. Peter's, and always with pleasure, because there is such a delightful, summerlike warmth the moment we pass beneath the heavy, padded leather curtains that protect the entrances. It is almost impossible not to believe that this genial temperature is the result of furnace-heat, but, really, it is the warmth of last summer, which will be included within those massive walls, and in that vast immensity of space, till, six months hence, this winter's chill will just have made its way thither. It would be an excellent plan for a valetudinarian to lodge during the winter in St. Peter's, perhaps establishing his household in one of the papal tombs. I become, I think, more sensible of the size of St. Peter's, but am as yet far from being overwhelmed by it. It is not, as one expects, so big as all out of doors, nor is its dome so immense as that of the firmament. It looked queer, however, the other day, to see a little ragged boy, the very least of human things, going round and kneeling at shrine after shrine, and a group of children standing on tiptoe to reach the vase of holy water. . . . . On coming out of St. Peter's at my last visit, I saw a great sheet of ice around the fountain on the right hand, and some little Romans awkwardly sliding on it. I, too, took a slide, just for the sake of doing what I never thought to do in Rome. This inclement weather, I should suppose, must make the whole city very miserable; for the native Romans, I am told, never keep any fire, except for culinary purposes, even in the severest winter. They flee from their cheerless houses into the open air, and bring their firesides along with them in the shape of small earthen vases, or pipkins, with a handle by which they carry them up and down the streets, and so warm at least their hands with the lighted charcoal. I have had glimpses through open doorways into interiors, and saw them as dismal as tombs. Wherever I pass my summers, let me spend my winters in a cold country. We went yesterday to the Pantheon. . . . . When I first came to Rome, I felt embarrassed and unwilling to pass, with my heresy, between a devotee and his saint; for they often shoot their prayers at a shrine almost quite across the church. But there seems to be no violation of etiquette in so doing. A woman begged of us in the Pantheon, and accused my wife of impiety for not giving her an alms. . . . . People of very decent appearance are often unexpectedly converted into beggars as you approach them; but in general they take a "No" at once. February 9th.--For three or four days it has been cloudy and rainy, which is the greater pity, as this should be the gayest and merriest part of the Carnival. I go out but little,--yesterday only as far as Pakenham's and Hooker's bank in the Piazza de' Spagna, where I read Galignani and the American papers. At last, after seeing in England more of my fellow-compatriots than ever before, I really am disjoined from my country. To-day I walked out along the Pincian Hill. . . . . As the clouds still threatened rain, I deemed it my safest course to go to St. Peter's for refuge. Heavy and dull as the day was, the effect of this great world of a church was still brilliant in the interior, as if it had a sunshine of its own, as well as its own temperature; and, by and by, the sunshine of the outward world came through the windows, hundreds of feet aloft, and fell upon the beautiful inlaid pavement. . . . . Against a pillar, on one side of the nave, is a mosaic copy of Raphael's Transfiguration, fitly framed within a great arch of gorgeous marble; and, no doubt, the indestructible mosaic has preserved it far more completely than the fading and darkening tints in which the artist painted it. At any rate, it seemed to me the one glorious picture that I have ever seen. The pillar nearest the great entrance, on the left of the nave, supports the monument to the Stuart family, where two winged figures, with inverted torches, stand on either side of a marble door, which is closed forever. It is an impressive monument, for you feel as if the last of the race had passed through that door. Emerging from the church, I saw a French sergeant drilling his men in the piazza. These French soldiers are prominent objects everywhere about the city, and make up more of its sight and sound than anything else that lives. They stroll about individually; they pace as sentinels in all the public places; and they march up and down in squads, companies, and battalions, always with a very great din of drum, fife, and trumpet; ten times the proportion of music that the same number of men would require elsewhere; and it reverberates with ten times the noise, between the high edifices of these lanes, that it could make in broader streets. Nevertheless, I have no quarrel with the French soldiers; they are fresh, healthy, smart, honest-looking young fellows enough, in blue coats and red trousers; . . . . and, at all events, they serve as an efficient police, making Rome as safe as London; whereas, without them, it would very likely be a den of banditti. On my way home I saw a few tokens of the Carnival, which is now in full progress; though, as it was only about one o'clock, its frolics had not commenced for the day. . . . . I question whether the Romans themselves take any great interest in the Carnival. The balconies along the Corso were almost entirely taken by English and Americans, or other foreigners. As I approached the bridge of St. Angelo, I saw several persons engaged, as I thought, in fishing in the Tiber, with very strong lines; but on drawing nearer I found that they were trying to hook up the branches, and twigs, and other drift-wood, which the recent rains might have swept into the river. There was a little heap of what looked chiefly like willow twigs, the poor result of their labor. The hook was a knot of wood, with the lopped-off branches projecting in three or four prongs. The Tiber has always the hue of a mud-puddle; but now, after a heavy rain which has washed the clay into it, it looks like pease-soup. It is a broad and rapid stream, eddying along as if it were in haste to disgorge its impurities into the sea. On the left side, where the city mostly is situated, the buildings hang directly over the stream; on the other, where stand the Castle of St. Angelo and the Church of St. Peter, the town does not press so imminent upon the shore. The banks are clayey, and look as if the river had been digging them away for ages; but I believe its bed is higher than of yore. February 10th.--I went out to-day, and, going along the Via Felice and the Via delle Quattro Fontane, came unawares to the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, on the summit of the Esquiline Hill. I entered it, without in the least knowing what church it was, and found myself in a broad and noble nave, both very simple and very grand. There was a long row of Ionic columns of marble, twenty or thereabouts on each side, supporting a flat roof. There were vaulted side aisles, and, at the farther end, a bronze canopy over the high altar; and all along the length of the side aisles were shrines with pictures, sculpture, and burning lamps; the whole church, too, was lined with marble: the roof was gilded; and yet the general effect of severe and noble simplicity triumphed over all the ornament. I should have taken it for a Roman temple, retaining nearly its pristine aspect; but Murray tells us that it was founded A. D. 342 by Pope Liberius, on the spot precisely marked out by a miraculous fall of snow, in the month of August, and it has undergone many alterations since his time. But it is very fine, and gives the beholder the idea of vastness, which seems harder to attain than anything else. On the right hand, approaching the high altar, there is a chapel, separated from the rest of the church by an iron paling; and, being admitted into it with another party, I found it most elaborately magnificent. But one magnificence outshone another, and made itself the brightest conceivable for the moment. However, this chapel was as rich as the most precious marble could make it, in pillars and pilasters, and broad, polished slabs, covering the whole walls (except where there were splendid and glowing frescos; or where some monumental statuary or bas-relief, or mosaic picture filled up an arched niche). Its architecture was a dome, resting on four great arches; and in size it would alone have been a church. In the centre of the mosaic pavement there was a flight of steps, down which we went, and saw a group in marble, representing the nativity of Christ, which, judging by the unction with which our guide talked about it, must have been of peculiar sanctity. I hate to leave this chapel and church, without being able to say any one thing that may reflect a portion of their beauty, or of the feeling which they excite. Kneeling against many of the pillars there were persons in prayer, and I stepped softly, fearing lest my tread on the marble pavement should disturb them,--a needless precaution, however, for nobody seems to expect it, nor to be disturbed by the lack of it. The situation of the church, I should suppose, is the loftiest in Rome: it has a fountain at one end, and a column at the other; but I did not pay particular attention to either, nor to the exterior of the church itself. On my return, I turned aside from the Via delle Quattro Fontane into the Via Quirinalis, and was led by it into the Piazza di Monte Cavallo. The street through which I passed was broader, cleanlier, and statelier than most streets in Rome, and bordered by palaces; and the piazza had noble edifices around it, and a fountain, an obelisk, and two nude statues in the centre. The obelisk was, as the inscription indicated, a relic of Egypt; the basin of the fountain was an immense bowl of Oriental granite, into which poured a copious flood of water, discolored by the rain; the statues were colossal,--two beautiful young men, each holding a fiery steed. On the pedestal of one was the inscription, OPUS PHIDIAE; on the other, OPUS PRAXITELIS. What a city is this, when one may stumble, by mere chance,--at a street corner, as it were,--on the works of two such sculptors! I do not know the authority on which these statues (Castor and Pollux, I presume) are attributed to Phidias and Praxiteles; but they impressed me as noble and godlike, and I feel inclined to take them for what they purport to be. On one side of the piazza is the Pontifical Palace; but, not being aware of this at the time, I did not look particularly at the edifice. I came home by way of the Corso, which seemed a little enlivened by Carnival time; though, as it was not yet two o'clock, the fun had not begun for the day. The rain throws a dreary damper on the festivities. February 13th.--Day before yesterday we took J----- and R----- in a carriage, and went to see the Carnival, by driving up and down the Corso. It was as ugly a day, as respects weather, as has befallen us since we came to Rome,--cloudy, with an indecisive wet, which finally settled into a rain; and people say that such is generally the weather in Carnival time. There is very little to be said about the spectacle. Sunshine would have improved it, no doubt; but a person must have very broad sunshine within himself to be joyous on such shallow provocation. The street, at all events, would have looked rather brilliant under a sunny sky, the balconies being hung with bright-colored draperies, which were also flung out of some of the windows. . . . . Soon I had my first experience of the Carnival in a handful of confetti, right slap in my face. . . . . Many of the ladies wore loose white dominos, and some of the gentlemen had on defensive armor of blouses; and wire masks over the face were a protection for both sexes,--not a needless one, for I received a shot in my right eye which cost me many tears. It seems to be a point of courtesy (though often disregarded by Americans and English) not to fling confetti at ladies, or at non-combatants, or quiet bystanders; and the engagements with these missiles were generally between open carriages, manned with youths, who were provided with confetti for such encounters, and with bouquets for the ladies. We had one real enemy on the Corso; for our former friend Mrs. T------ was there, and as often as we passed and repassed her, she favored us with a handful of lime. Two or three times somebody ran by the carriage and puffed forth a shower of winged seeds through a tube into our faces and over our clothes; and, in the course of the afternoon, we were hit with perhaps half a dozen sugar-plums. Possibly we may not have received our fair share of these last salutes, for J----- had on a black mask, which made him look like an imp of Satan, and drew many volleys of confetti that we might otherwise have escaped. A good many bouquets were flung at our little R-----, and at us generally. . . . . This was what is called masking-day, when it is the rule to wear masks in the Corso, but the great majority of people appeared without them. . . . . Two fantastic figures, with enormous heads, set round with frizzly hair, came and grinned into our carriage, and J----- tore out a handful of hair (which proved to be sea-weed) from one of their heads, rather to the discomposure of the owner, who muttered his indignation in Italian. . . . . On comparing notes with J----- and R-----, indeed with U---- too, I find that they all enjoyed the Carnival much more than I did. Only the young ought to write descriptions of such scenes. My cold criticism chills the life out of it. February 14th.--Friday, 12th, was a sunny day, the first that we had had for some time; and my wife and I went forth to see sights as well as to make some calls that had long been due. We went first to the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, which I have already mentioned, and, on our return, we went to the Piazza di Monte Cavallo, and saw those admirable ancient statues of Castor and Pollux, which seem to me sons of the morning, and full of life and strength. The atmosphere, in such a length of time, has covered the marble surface of these statues with a gray rust, that envelops both the men and horses as with a garment; besides which, there are strange discolorations, such as patches of white moss on the elbows, and reddish streaks down the sides; but the glory of form overcomes all these defects of color. It is pleasant to observe how familiar some little birds are with these colossal statues,--hopping about on their heads and over their huge fists, and very likely they have nests in their ears or among their hair. We called at the Barberini Palace, where William Story has established himself and family for the next seven years, or more, on the third piano, in apartments that afford a very fine outlook over Rome, and have the sun in them through most of the day. Mrs. S---- invited us to her fancy ball, but we declined. On the staircase ascending to their piano we saw the ancient Greek bas-relief of a lion, whence Canova is supposed to have taken the idea of his lions on the monument in St. Peter's. Afterwards we made two or three calls in the neighborhood of the Piazza de' Spagna, finding only Mr. Hamilton Fish and family, at the Hotel d'Europe, at home, and next visited the studio of Mr. C. G. Thompson, whom I knew in Boston. He has very greatly improved since those days, and, being always a man of delicate mind, and earnestly desiring excellence for its own sake, he has won himself the power of doing beautiful and elevated works. He is now meditating a series of pictures from Shakespeare's "Tempest," the sketches of one or two of which he showed us, likewise a copy of a small Madonna, by Raphael, wrought with a minute faithfulness which it makes one a better man to observe. . . . . Mr. Thompson is a true artist, and whatever his pictures have of beauty comes from very far beneath the surface; and this, I suppose, is one weighty reason why he has but moderate success. I should like his pictures for the mere color, even if they represented nothing. His studio is in the Via Sistina; and at a little distance on the other side of the same street is William Story's, where we likewise went, and found him at work on a sitting statue of Cleopatra. William Story looks quite as vivid, in a graver way, as when I saw him last, a very young man. His perplexing variety of talents and accomplishments--he being a poet, a prose writer, a lawyer, a painter, a musician, and a sculptor--seems now to be concentrating itself into this latter vocation, and I cannot see why he should not achieve something very good. He has a beautiful statue, already finished, of Goethe's Margaret, pulling a flower to pieces to discover whether Faust loves her; a very type of virginity and simplicity. The statue of Cleopatra, now only fourteen days advanced in the clay, is as wide a step from the little maidenly Margaret as any artist could take; it is a grand subject, and he is conceiving it with depth and power, and working it out with adequate skill. He certainly is sensible of something deeper in his art than merely to make beautiful nudities and baptize them by classic names. By the by, he told me several queer stories of American visitors to his studio: one of them, after long inspecting Cleopatra, into which he has put all possible characteristics of her time and nation and of her own individuality, asked, "Have you baptized your statue yet?" as if the sculptor were waiting till his statue were finished before he chose the subject of it,--as, indeed, I should think many sculptors do. Another remarked of a statue of Hero, who is seeking Leander by torchlight, and in momentary expectation of finding his drowned body, "Is not the face a little sad?" Another time a whole party of Americans filed into his studio, and ranged themselves round his father's statue, and, after much silent examination, the spokesman of the party inquired, "Well, sir, what is this intended to represent?" William Story, in telling these little anecdotes, gave the Yankee twang to perfection. . . . . The statue of his father, his first work, is very noble, as noble and fine a portrait-statue as I ever saw. In the outer room of his studio a stone-cutter, or whatever this kind of artisan is called, was at work, transferring the statue of Hero from the plaster-cast into marble; and already, though still in some respects a block of stone, there was a wonderful degree of expression in the face. It is not quite pleasant to think that the sculptor does not really do the whole labor on his statues, but that they are all but finished to his hand by merely mechanical people. It is generally only the finishing touches that are given by his own chisel. Yesterday, being another bright day, we went to the basilica of St. John Lateran, which is the basilica next in rank to St. Peter's, and has the precedence of it as regards certain sacred privileges. It stands on a most noble site, on the outskirts of the city, commanding a view of the Sabine and Alban hills, blue in the distance, and some of them hoary with sunny snow. The ruins of the Claudian aqueduct are close at hand. The church is connected with the Lateran palace and museum, so that the whole is one edifice; but the facade of the church distinguishes it, and is very lofty and grand,--more so, it seems to me, than that of St. Peter's. Under the portico is an old statue of Constantine, representing him as a very stout and sturdy personage. The inside of the church disappointed me, though no doubt I should have been wonderstruck had I seen it a month ago. We went into one of the chapels, which was very rich in colored marbles; and, going down a winding staircase, found ourselves among the tombs and sarcophagi of the Corsini family, and in presence of a marble Pieta very beautifully sculptured. On the other side of the church we looked into the Torlonia Chapel, very rich and rather profusely gilded, but, as it seemed to me, not tawdry, though the white newness of the marble is not perfectly agreeable after being accustomed to the milder tint which time bestows on sculpture. The tombs and statues appeared like shapes and images of new-fallen snow. The most interesting thing which we saw in this church (and, admitting its authenticity, there can scarcely be a more interesting one anywhere) was the table at which the Last Supper was eaten. It is preserved in a corridor, on one side of the tribune or chancel, and is shown by torchlight suspended upon the wall beneath a covering of glass. Only the top of the table is shown, presenting a broad, flat surface of wood, evidently very old, and showing traces of dry-rot in one or two places. There are nails in it, and the attendant said that it had formerly been covered with bronze. As well as I can remember, it may be five or six feet square, and I suppose would accommodate twelve persons, though not if they reclined in the Roman fashion, nor if they sat as they do in Leonardo da Vinci's picture. It would be very delightful to believe in this table. There are several other sacred relics preserved in the church; for instance, the staircase of Pilate's house up which Jesus went, and the porphyry slab on which the soldiers cast lots for his garments. These, however, we did not see. There are very glowing frescos on portions of the walls; but, there being much whitewash instead of incrusted marble, it has not the pleasant aspect which one's eye learns to demand in Roman churches. There is a good deal of statuary along the columns of the nave, and in the monuments of the side aisles. In reference to the interior splendor of Roman churches, I must say that I think it a pity that painted windows are exclusively a Gothic ornament; for the elaborate ornamentation of these interiors puts the ordinary daylight out of countenance, so that a window with only the white sunshine coming through it, or even with a glimpse of the blue Italian sky, looks like a portion left unfinished, and therefore a blotch in the rich wall. It is like the one spot in Aladdin's palace which he left for the king, his father-in-law, to finish, after his fairy architects had exhausted their magnificence on the rest; and the sun, like the king, fails in the effort. It has what is called a porta santa, which we saw walled up, in front of the church, one side of the main entrance. I know not what gives it its sanctity, but it appears to be opened by the pope on a year of jubilee, once every quarter of a century. After our return . . . . . I took R----- along the Pincian Hill, and finally, after witnessing what of the Carnival could be seen in the Piazza del Popolo from that safe height, we went down into the Corso, and some little distance along it. Except for the sunshine, the scene was much the same as I have already described; perhaps fewer confetti and more bouquets. Some Americans and English are said to have been brought before the police authorities, and fined for throwing lime. It is remarkable that the jollity, such as it is, of the Carnival, does not extend an inch beyond the line of the Corso; there it flows along in a narrow stream, while in the nearest street we see nothing but the ordinary Roman gravity. February 15th.--Yesterday was a bright day, but I did not go out till the afternoon, when I took an hour's walk along the Pincian, stopping a good while to look at the old beggar who, for many years past, has occupied one of the platforms of the flight of steps leading from the Piazza de' Spagna to the Triniti de' Monti. Hillard commemorates him in his book. He is an unlovely object, moving about on his hands and knees, principally by aid of his hands, which are fortified with a sort of wooden shoes; while his poor, wasted lower shanks stick up in the air behind him, loosely vibrating as he progresses. He is gray, old, ragged, a pitiable sight, but seems very active in his own fashion, and bestirs himself on the approach of his visitors with the alacrity of a spider when a fly touches the remote circumference of his web. While I looked down at him he received alms from three persons, one of whom was a young woman of the lower orders; the other two were gentlemen, probably either English or American. I could not quite make out the principle on which he let some people pass without molestation, while he shuffled from one end of the platform to the other to intercept an occasional individual. He is not persistent in his demands, nor, indeed, is this a usual fault among Italian beggars. A shake of the head will stop him when wriggling towards you from a distance. I fancy he reaps a pretty fair harvest, and no doubt leads as contented and as interesting a life as most people, sitting there all day on those sunny steps, looking at the world, and making his profit out of it. It must be pretty much such an occupation as fishing, in its effect upon the hopes and apprehensions; and probably he suffers no more from the many refusals he meets with than the angler does, when he sees a fish smell at his bait and swim away. One success pays for a hundred disappointments, and the game is all the better for not being entirely in his own favor. Walking onward, I found the Pincian thronged with promenaders, as also with carriages, which drove round the verge of the gardens in an unbroken ring. To-day has been very rainy. I went out in the forenoon, and took a sitting for my bust in one of a suite of rooms formerly occupied by Canova. It was large, high, and dreary from the want of a carpet, furniture, or anything but clay and plaster. A sculptor's studio has not the picturesque charm of that of a painter, where there is color, warmth, and cheerfulness, and where the artist continually turns towards you the glow of some picture, which is resting against the wall. . . . . I was asked not to look at the bust at the close of the sitting, and, of course, I obeyed; though I have a vague idea of a heavy-browed physiognomy, something like what I have seen in the glass, but looking strangely in that guise of clay. . . . . It is a singular fascination that Rome exercises upon artists. There is clay elsewhere, and marble enough, and heads to model, and ideas may be made sensible objects at home as well as here. I think it is the peculiar mode of life that attracts, and its freedom from the inthralments of society, more than the artistic advantages which Rome offers; and, no doubt, though the artists care little about one another's works, yet they keep each other warm by the presence of so many of them. The Carnival still continues, though I hardly see how it can have withstood such a damper as this rainy day. There were several people-- three, I think--killed in the Corso on Saturday; some accounts say that they were run over by the horses in the race; others, that they were ridden down by the dragoons in clearing the course. After leaving Canova's studio, I stepped into the church of San Luigi de' Francesi, in the Via di Ripetta. It was built, I believe, by Catherine de' Medici, and is under the protection of the French government, and a most shamefully dirty place of worship, the beautiful marble columns looking dingy, for the want of loving and pious care. There are many tombs and monuments of French people, both of the past and present,-- artists, soldiers, priests, and others, who have died in Rome. It was so dusky within the church that I could hardly distinguish the pictures in the chapels and over the altar, nor did I know that there were any worth looking for. Nevertheless, there were frescos by Domenichino, and oil-paintings by Guido and others. I found it peculiarly touching to read the records, in Latin or French, of persons who had died in this foreign laud, though they were not my own country-people, and though I was even less akin to them than they to Italy. Still, there was a sort of relationship in the fact that neither they nor I belonged here. February 17th.--Yesterday morning was perfectly sunny, and we went out betimes to see churches; going first to the Capuchins', close by the Piazza Barberini. ["The Marble Faun" takes up this description of the church and of the dead monk, which we really saw, just as recounted, even to the sudden stream of blood which flowed from the nostrils, as we looked at him.-- ED.] We next went to the Trinita de' Monti, which stands at the head of the steps, leading, in several flights, from the Piazza de' Spagna. It is now connected with a convent of French nuns, and when we rang at a side door, one of the sisterhood answered the summons, and admitted us into the church. This, like that of the Capuchins', had a vaulted roof over the nave, and no side aisles, but rows of chapels instead. Unlike the Capuchins', which was filthy, and really disgraceful to behold, this church was most exquisitely neat, as women alone would have thought it worth while to keep it. It is not a very splendid church, not rich in gorgeous marbles, but pleasant to be in, if it were only for the sake of its godly purity. There was only one person in the nave; a young girl, who sat perfectly still, with her face towards the altar, as long as we stayed. Between the nave and the rest of the church there is a high iron railing, and on the other side of it were two kneeling figures in black, so motionless that I at first thought them statues; but they proved to be two nuns at their devotions; and others of the sisterhood came by and by and joined them. Nuns, at least these nuns, who are French, and probably ladies of refinement, having the education of young girls in charge, are far pleasanter objects to see and think about than monks; the odor of sanctity, in the latter, not being an agreeable fragrance. But these holy sisters, with their black crape and white muslin, looked really pure and unspotted from the world. On the iron railing above mentioned was the representation of a golden heart, pierced with arrows; for these are nuns of the Sacred Heart. In the various chapels there are several paintings in fresco, some by Daniele da Volterra; and one of them, the "Descent from the Cross," has been pronounced the third greatest picture in the world. I never should have had the slightest suspicion that it was a great picture at all, so worn and faded it looks, and so hard, so difficult to be seen, and so undelightful when one does see it. From the Trinita we went to the Santa Maria del Popolo, a church built on a spot where Nero is said to have been buried, and which was afterwards made horrible by devilish phantoms. It now being past twelve, and all the churches closing from twelve till two, we had not time to pay much attention to the frescos, oil-pictures, and statues, by Raphael and other famous men, which are to be seen here. I remember dimly the magnificent chapel of the Chigi family, and little else, for we stayed but a short time; and went next to the sculptor's studio, where I had another sitting for my bust. After I had been moulded for about an hour, we turned homeward; but my wife concluded to hire a balcony for this last afternoon and evening of the Carnival, and she took possession of it, while I went home to send to her Miss S------ and the two elder children. For my part, I took R-----, and walked, by way of the Pincian, to the Piazza del Popolo, and thence along the Corso, where, by this time, the warfare of bouquets and confetti raged pretty fiercely. The sky being blue and the sun bright, the scene looked much gayer and brisker than I had before found it; and I can conceive of its being rather agreeable than otherwise, up to the age of twenty. We got several volleys of confetti. R----- received a bouquet and a sugar-plum, and I a resounding hit from something that looked more like a cabbage than a flower. Little as I have enjoyed the Carnival, I think I could make quite a brilliant sketch of it, without very widely departing from truth. February 19th.--Day before yesterday, pretty early, we went to St. Peter's, expecting to see the pope cast ashes on the heads of the cardinals, it being Ash-Wednesday. On arriving, however, we found no more than the usual number of visitants and devotional people scattered through the broad interior of St. Peter's; and thence concluded that the ceremonies were to be performed in the Sistine Chapel. Accordingly, we went out of the cathedral, through the door in the left transept, and passed round the exterior, and through the vast courts of the Vatican, seeking for the chapel. We had blundered into the carriage-entrance of the palace; there is an entrance from some point near the front of the church, but this we did not find. The papal guards, in the strangest antique and antic costume that was ever seen,--a party-colored dress, striped with blue, red, and yellow, white and black, with a doublet and ruff, and trunk-breeches, and armed with halberds,--were on duty at the gateways, but suffered us to pass without question. Finally, we reached a large court, where some cardinals' red equipages and other carriages were drawn up, but were still at a loss as to the whereabouts of the chapel. At last an attendant kindly showed us the proper door, and led us up flights of stairs, along passages and galleries, and through halls, till at last we came to a spacious and lofty apartment adorned with frescos; this was the Sala Regia, and the antechamber to the Sistine Chapel. The attendant, meanwhile, had informed us that my wife could not be admitted to the chapel in her bonnet, and that I myself could not enter at all, for lack of a dress-coat; so my wife took off her bonnet, and, covering her head with her black lace veil, was readily let in, while I remained in the Sala Regia, with several other gentlemen, who found themselves in the same predicament as I was. There was a wonderful variety of costume to be seen and studied among the persons around me, comprising garbs that have been elsewhere laid aside for at least three centuries,--the broad, plaited, double ruff, and black velvet cloak, doublet, trunk-breeches, and sword of Queen Elizabeth's time,--the papal guard, in their striped and party-colored dress as before described, looking not a little like harlequins; other soldiers in helmets and jackboots; French officers of various uniform; monks and priests; attendants in old-fashioned and gorgeous livery; gentlemen, some in black dress-coats and pantaloons, others in wide-awake hats and tweed overcoats; and a few ladies in the prescribed costume of black; so that, in any other country, the scene might have been taken for a fancy ball. By and by, the cardinals began to arrive, and added their splendid purple robes and red hats to make the picture still more brilliant. They were old men, one or two very aged and infirm, and generally men of bulk and substance, with heavy faces, fleshy about the chin. Their red hats, trimmed with gold-lace, are a beautiful piece of finery, and are identical in shape with the black, loosely cocked beavers worn by the Catholic ecclesiastics generally. Wolsey's hat, which I saw at the Manchester Exhibition, might have been made on the same block, but apparently was never cocked, as the fashion now is. The attendants changed the upper portions of their master's attire, and put a little cap of scarlet cloth on each of their heads, after which the cardinals, one by one, or two by two, as they happened to arrive, went into the chapel, with a page behind each holding up his purple train. In the mean while, within the chapel, we heard singing and chanting; and whenever the voluminous curtains that hung before the entrance were slightly drawn apart, we outsiders glanced through, but could see only a mass of people, and beyond them still another chapel, divided from the hither one by a screen. When almost everybody had gone in, there was a stir among the guards and attendants, and a door opened, apparently communicating with the inner apartments of the Vatican. Through this door came, not the pope, as I had partly expected, but a bulky old lady in black, with a red face, who bowed towards the spectators with an aspect of dignified complaisance as she passed towards the entrance of the chapel. I took off my hat, unlike certain English gentlemen who stood nearer, and found that I had not done amiss, for it was the Queen of Spain. There was nothing else to be seen; so I went back through the antechambers (which are noble halls, richly frescoed on the walls and ceilings), endeavoring to get out through the same passages that had let me in. I had already tried to descend what I now supposed to be the Scala Santa, but had been turned back by a sentinel. After wandering to and fro a good while, I at last found myself in a long, long gallery, on each side of which were innumerable inscriptions, in Greek and Latin, on slabs of marble, built into the walls; and classic altars and tablets were ranged along, from end to end. At the extremity was a closed iron grating, from which I was retreating; but a French gentleman accosted me, with the information that the custode would admit me, if I chose, and would accompany me through the sculpture department of the Vatican. I acceded, and thus took my first view of those innumerable art-treasures, passing from one object to another, at an easy pace, pausing hardly a moment anywhere, and dismissing even the Apollo, and the Laocoon, and the Torso of Hercules, in the space of half a dozen breaths. I was well enough content to do so, in order to get a general idea of the contents of the galleries, before settling down upon individual objects. Most of the world-famous sculptures presented themselves to my eye with a kind of familiarity, through the copies and casts which I had seen; but I found the originals more different than I anticipated. The Apollo, for instance, has a face which I have never seen in any cast or copy. I must confess, however, taking such transient glimpses as I did, I was more impressed with the extent of the Vatican, and the beautiful order in which it is kept, and its great sunny, open courts, with fountains, grass, and shrubs, and the views of Rome and the Campagna from its windows,--more impressed with these, and with certain vastly capacious vases, and two seat sarcophagi,--than with the statuary. Thus I went round the whole, and was dismissed through the grated barrier into the gallery of inscriptions again; and after a little more wandering, I made my way out of the palace. . . . . Yesterday I went out betimes, and strayed through some portion of ancient Rome, to the Column of Trajan, to the Forum, thence along the Appian Way; after which I lost myself among the intricacies of the streets, and finally came out at the bridge of St. Angelo. The first observation which a stranger is led to make, in the neighborhood of Roman ruins, is that the inhabitants seem to be strangely addicted to the washing of clothes; for all the precincts of Trajan's Forum, and of the Roman Forum, and wherever else an iron railing affords opportunity to hang them, were whitened with sheets, and other linen and cotton, drying in the sun. It must be that washerwomen burrow among the old temples. The second observation is not quite so favorable to the cleanly character of the modern Romans; indeed, it is so very unfavorable, that I hardly know how to express it. But the fact is, that, through the Forum, . . . . and anywhere out of the commonest foot-track and roadway, you must look well to your steps. . . . . If you tread beneath the triumphal arch of Titus or Constantine, you had better look downward than upward, whatever be the merit of the sculptures aloft. . . . . After a while the visitant finds himself getting accustomed to this horrible state of things; and the associations of moral sublimity and beauty seem to throw a veil over the physical meannesses to which I allude. Perhaps there is something in the mind of the people of these countries that enables them quite to dissever small ugliness from great sublimity and beauty. They spit upon the glorious pavement of St. Peter's, and wherever else they like; they place paltry-looking wooden confessionals beneath its sublime arches, and ornament them with cheap little colored prints of the crucifixion; they hang tin hearts and other tinsel and trumpery at the gorgeous shrines of the saints, in chapels that are incrusted with gems, or marbles almost as precious; they put pasteboard statues of saints beneath the dome of the Pantheon; in short, they let the sublime and the ridiculous come close together, and are not in the least troubled by the proximity. It must be that their sense of the beautiful is stronger than in the Anglo-Saxon mind, and that it observes only what is fit to gratify it. To-day, which was bright and cool, my wife and I set forth immediately after breakfast, in search of the Baths of Diocletian, and the church of Santa Maria degl' Angeli. We went too far along the Via di Porta Pia, and after passing by two or three convents, and their high garden walls, and the villa Bonaparte on one side, and the villa Torlonia on the other, at last issued through the city gate. Before us, far away, were the Alban hills, the loftiest of which was absolutely silvered with snow and sunshine, and set in the bluest and brightest of skies. We now retraced our steps to the Fountain of the Termini, where is a ponderous heap of stone, representing Moses striking the rock; a colossal figure, not without a certain enormous might and dignity, though rather too evidently looking his awfullest. This statue was the death of its sculptor, whose heart was broken on account of the ridicule it excited. There are many more absurd aquatic devices in Rome, however, and few better. We turned into the Piazza de' Termini, the entrance of which is at this fountain; and after some inquiry of the French soldiers, a numerous detachment of whom appear to be quartered in the vicinity, we found our way to the portal of Santa Maria degl' Angeli. The exterior of this church has no pretensions to beauty or majesty, or, indeed, to architectural merit of any kind, or to any architecture whatever; for it looks like a confused pile of ruined brickwork, with a facade resembling half the inner curve of a large oven. No one would imagine that there was a church under that enormous heap of ancient rubbish. But the door admits you into a circular vestibule, once an apartment of Diocletian's Baths, but now a portion of the nave of the church, and surrounded with monumental busts; and thence you pass into what was the central hall; now, with little change, except of detail and ornament, transformed into the body of the church. This space is so lofty, broad, and airy, that the soul forthwith swells out and magnifies itself, for the sake of filling it. It was Michael Angelo who contrived this miracle; and I feel even more grateful to him for rescuing such a noble interior from destruction, than if he had originally built it himself. In the ceiling above, you see the metal fixtures whereon the old Romans hung their lamps; and there are eight gigantic pillars of Egyptian granite, standing as they stood of yore. There is a grand simplicity about the church, more satisfactory than elaborate ornament; but the present pope has paved and adorned one of the large chapels of the transept in very beautiful style, and the pavement of the central part is likewise laid in rich marbles. In the choir there are several pictures, one of which was veiled, as celebrated pictures frequently are in churches. A person, who seemed to be at his devotions, withdrew the veil for us, and we saw a Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Domenichino, originally, I believe, painted in fresco in St. Peter's, but since transferred to canvas, and removed hither. Its place at St. Peter's is supplied by a mosaic copy. I was a good deal impressed by this picture,--the dying saint, amid the sorrow of those who loved him, and the fury of his enemies, looking upward, where a company of angels, and Jesus with them, are waiting to welcome him and crown him; and I felt what an influence pictures might have upon the devotional part of our nature. The nailmarks in the hands and feet of Jesus, ineffaceable, even after he had passed into bliss and glory, touched my heart with a sense of his love for us. I think this really a great picture. We walked round the church, looking at other paintings and frescos, but saw no others that greatly interested us. In the vestibule there are monuments to Carlo Maratti and Salvator Rosa, and there is a statue of St. Bruno, by Houdon, which is pronounced to be very fine. I thought it good, but scarcely worthy of vast admiration. Houdon was the sculptor of the first statue of Washington, and of the bust, whence, I suppose, all subsequent statues have been, and will be, mainly modelled. After emerging from the church, I looked back with wonder at the stack of shapeless old brickwork that hid the splendid interior. I must go there again, and breathe freely in that noble space. February 20th.--This morning, after breakfast, I walked across the city, making a pretty straight course to the Pantheon, and thence to the bridge of St. Angelo, and to St. Peter's. It had been my purpose to go to the Fontana Paolina; but, finding that the distance was too great, and being weighed down with a Roman lassitude, I concluded to go into St. Peter's. Here I looked at Michael Angelo's Pieta, a representation of the dead Christ, in his mother's lap. Then I strolled round the great church, and find that it continues to grow upon me both in magnitude and beauty, by comparison with the many interiors of sacred edifices which I have lately seen. At times, a single, casual, momentary glimpse of its magnificence gleams upon my soul, as it were, when I happen to glance at arch opening beyond arch, and I am surprised into admiration. I have experienced that a landscape and the sky unfold the deepest beauty in a similar way; not when they are gazed at of set purpose, but when the spectator looks suddenly through a vista, among a crowd of other thoughts. Passing near the confessional for foreigners to-day, I saw a Spaniard, who had just come out of the one devoted to his native tongue, taking leave of his confessor, with an affectionate reverence, which--as well as the benign dignity of the good father--it was good to behold. . . . . I returned home early, in order to go with my wife to the Barberini Palace at two o'clock. We entered through the gateway, through the Via delle Quattro Fontane, passing one or two sentinels; for there is apparently a regiment of dragoons quartered on the ground-floor of the palace; and I stumbled upon a room containing their saddles, the other day, when seeking for Mr. Story's staircase. The entrance to the picture-gallery is by a door on the right hand, affording us a sight of a beautiful spiral staircase, which goes circling upward from the very basement to the very summit of the palace, with a perfectly easy ascent, yet confining its sweep within a moderate compass. We looked up through the interior of the spiral, as through a tube, from the bottom to the top. The pictures are contained in three contiguous rooms of the lower piano, and are few in number, comprising barely half a dozen which I should care to see again, though doubtless all have value in their way. One that attracted our attention was a picture of "Christ disputing with the Doctors," by Albert Duerer, in which was represented the ugliest, most evil-minded, stubborn, pragmatical, and contentious old Jew that ever lived under the law of Moses; and he and the child Jesus were arguing, not only with their tongues, but making hieroglyphics, as it were, by the motion of their hands and fingers. It is a very queer, as well as a very remarkable picture. But we passed hastily by this, and almost all others, being eager to see the two which chiefly make the collection famous,--Raphael's Fornarina, and Guido's portrait of Beatrice Cenci. These were found in the last of the three rooms, and as regards Beatrice Cenci, I might as well not try to say anything; for its spell is indefinable, and the painter has wrought it in a way more like magic than anything else. . . . . It is the most profoundly wrought picture in the world; no artist did it, nor could do it, again. Guido may have held the brush, but he painted "better than he knew." I wish, however, it were possible for some spectator, of deep sensibility, to see the picture without knowing anything of its subject or history; for, no doubt, we bring all our knowledge of the Cenci tragedy to the interpretation of it. Close beside Beatrice Cenci hangs the Fornarina. . . . . While we were looking at these works Miss M------ unexpectedly joined us, and we went, all three together, to the Rospigliosi Palace, in the Piazza di Monte Cavallo. A porter, in cocked hat, and with a staff of office, admitted us into a spacious court before the palace, and directed us to a garden on one side, raised as much as twenty feet above the level on which we stood. The gardener opened the gate for us, and we ascended a beautiful stone staircase, with a carved balustrade, bearing many marks of time and weather. Reaching the garden-level, we found it laid out in walks, bordered with box and ornamental shrubbery, amid which were lemon-trees, and one large old exotic from some distant clime. In the centre of the garden, surrounded by a stone balustrade, like that of the staircase, was a fish-pond, into which several jets of water were continually spouting; and on pedestals, that made part of the balusters, stood eight marble statues of Apollo, Cupid, nymphs, and other such sunny and beautiful people of classic mythology. There had been many more of these statues, but the rest had disappeared, and those which remained had suffered grievous damage, here to a nose, there to a hand or foot, and often a fracture of the body, very imperfectly mended. There was a pleasant sunshine in the garden, and a springlike, or rather a genial, autumnal atmosphere, though elsewhere it was a day of poisonous Roman chill. At the end of the garden, which was of no great extent, was an edifice, bordering on the piazza, called the Casino, which, I presume, means a garden-house. The front is richly ornamented with bas-reliefs, and statues in niches; as if it were a place for pleasure and enjoyment, and therefore ought to be beautiful. As we approached it, the door swung open, and we went into a large room on the ground-floor, and, looking up to the ceiling, beheld Guido's Aurora. The picture is as fresh and brilliant as if he had painted it with the morning sunshine which it represents. It could not be more lustrous in its lines, if he had given it the last touch an hour ago. Three or four artists were copying it at that instant, and positively their colors did not look brighter, though a great deal newer than his. The alacrity and movement, briskness and morning stir and glow, of the picture are wonderful. It seems impossible to catch its glory in a copy. Several artists, as I said, were making the attempt, and we saw two other attempted copies leaning against the wall, but it was easy to detect failure in just essential points. My memory, I believe, will be somewhat enlivened by this picture hereafter: not that I remember it very distinctly even now; but bright things leave a sheen and glimmer in the mind, like Christian's tremulous glimpse of the Celestial City. In two other rooms of the Casino we saw pictures by Domenichino, Rubens, and other famous painters, which I do not mean to speak of, because I cared really little or nothing about them. Returning into the garden, the sunny warmth of which was most grateful after the chill air and cold pavement of the Casino, we walked round the laguna, examining the statues, and looking down at some little fishes that swarmed at the stone margin of the pool. There were two infants of the Rospigliosi family: one, a young child playing with a maid and head-servant; another, the very chubbiest and rosiest boy in the world, sleeping on its nurse's bosom. The nurse was a comely woman enough, dressed in bright colors, which fitly set off the deep lines of her Italian face. An old painter very likely would have beautified and refined the pair into a Madonna, with the child Jesus; for an artist need not go far in Italy to find a picture ready composed and tinted, needing little more than to be literally copied. Miss M------ had gone away before us; but my wife and I, after leaving the Palazzo Rospigliosi, and on our way hone, went into the Church of St. Andrea, which belongs to a convent of Jesuits. I have long ago exhausted all my capacity of admiration for splendid interiors of churches, but methinks this little, little temple (it is not more than fifty or sixty feet across) has a more perfect and gem-like beauty than any other. Its shape is oval, with an oval dome, and, above that, another little dome, both of which are magnificently frescoed. Around the base of the larger dome is wreathed a flight of angels, and the smaller and upper one is encircled by a garland of cherubs,--cherub and angel all of pure white marble. The oval centre of the church is walled round with precious and lustrous marble of a red-veined variety interspersed with columns and pilasters of white; and there are arches opening through this rich wall, forming chapels, which the architect seems to have striven hard to make even more gorgeous than the main body of the church. They contain beautiful pictures, not dark and faded, but glowing, as if just from the painter's hands; and the shrines are adorned with whatever is most rare, and in one of them was the great carbuncle; at any rate, a bright, fiery gem as big as a turkey's egg. The pavement of the church was one star of various-colored marble, and in the centre was a mosaic, covering, I believe, the tomb of the founder. I have not seen, nor expect to see, anything else so entirely and satisfactorily finished as this small oval church; and I only wish I could pack it in a large box, and send it home. I must not forget that, on our way from the Barberini Palace, we stopped an instant to look at the house, at the corner of the street of the four fountains, where Milton was a guest while in Rome. He seems quite a man of our own day, seen so nearly at the hither extremity of the vista through which we look back, from the epoch of railways to that of the oldest Egyptian obelisk. The house (it was then occupied by the Cardinal Barberini) looks as if it might have been built within the present century; for mediaeval houses in Rome do not assume the aspect of antiquity; perhaps because the Italian style of architecture, or something similar, is the one more generally in vogue in most cities. February 21st.--This morning I took my way through the Porta del Popolo, intending to spend the forenoon in the Campagna; but, getting weary of the straight, uninteresting street that runs out of the gate, I turned aside from it, and soon found myself on the shores of the Tiber. It looked, as usual, like a saturated solution of yellow mud, and eddied hastily along between deep banks of clay, and over a clay bed, in which doubtless are hidden many a richer treasure than we now possess. The French once proposed to draw off the river, for the purpose of recovering all the sunken statues and relics; but the Romans made strenuous objection, on account of the increased virulence of malaria which would probably result. I saw a man on the immediate shore of the river, fifty feet or so beneath the bank on which I stood, sitting patiently, with an angling rod; and I waited to see what he might catch. Two other persons likewise sat down to watch him; but he caught nothing so long as I stayed, and at last seemed to give it up. The banks and vicinity of the river are very bare and uninviting, as I then saw them; no shade, no verdure,--a rough, neglected aspect, and a peculiar shabbiness about the few houses that were visible. Farther down the stream the dome of St. Peter's showed itself on the other side, seeming to stand on the outskirts of the city. I walked along the banks, with some expectation of finding a ferry, by which I might cross the river; but my course was soon interrupted by the wall, and I turned up a lane that led me straight back again to the Porta del Popolo. I stopped a moment, however, to see some young men pitching quoits, which they appeared to do with a good deal of skill. I went along the Via di Ripetta, and through other streets, stepping into two or three churches, one of which was the Pantheon. . . . . There are, I think, seven deep, pillared recesses around the circumference of it, each of which becomes a sufficiently capacious chapel; and alternately with these chapels there is a marble structure, like the architecture of a doorway, beneath which is the shrine of a saint; so that the whole circle of the Pantheon is filled up with the seven chapels and seven shrines. A number of persons were sitting or kneeling around; others came in while I was there, dipping their fingers in the holy water, and bending the knee, as they passed the shrines and chapels, until they reached the one which, apparently, they had selected as the particular altar for their devotions. Everybody seemed so devout, and in a frame of mind so suited to the day and place, that it really made me feel a little awkward not to be able to kneel down along with them. Unlike the worshippers in our own churches, each individual here seems to do his own individual acts of devotion, and I cannot but think it better so than to make an effort for united prayer as we do. It is my opinion that a great deal of devout and reverential feeling is kept alive in people's hearts by the Catholic mode of worship. Soon leaving the Pantheon, a few minutes' walk towards the Corso brought me to the Church of St. Ignazio, which belongs to the College of the Jesuits. It is spacious and of beautiful architecture, but not strikingly distinguished, in the latter particular, from many others; a wide and lofty nave, supported upon marble columns, between which arches open into the side aisles, and at the junction of the nave and transept a dome, resting on four great arches. The church seemed to be purposely somewhat darkened, so that I could not well see the details of the ornamentation, except the frescos on the ceiling of the nave, which were very brilliant, and done in so effectual a style, that I really could not satisfy myself that some of the figures did not actually protrude from the ceiling,--in short, that they were not colored bas-reliefs, instead of frescos. No words can express the beautiful effect, in an upholstery point of view, of this kind of decoration. Here, as at the Pantheon, there were many persons sitting silent, kneeling, or passing from shrine to shrine. I reached home at about twelve, and, at one, set out again, with my wife, towards St. Peter's, where we meant to stay till after vespers. We walked across the city, and through the Piazza de Navona, where we stopped to look at one of Bernini's absurd fountains, of which the water makes but the smallest part,--a little squirt or two amid a prodigious fuss of gods and monsters. Thence we passed by the poor, battered-down torso of Pasquin, and came, by devious ways, to the bridge of St. Angelo; the streets bearing pretty much their weekday aspect, many of the shops open, the market-stalls doing their usual business, and the people brisk and gay, though not indecorously so. I suppose there was hardly a man or woman who had not heard mass, confessed, and said their prayers; a thing which--the prayers, I mean--it would be absurd to predicate of London, New York, or any Protestant city. In however adulterated a guise, the Catholics do get a draught of devotion to slake the thirst of their souls, and methinks it must needs do them good, even if not quite so pure as if it came from better cisterns, or from the original fountain-head. Arriving at St. Peter's shortly after two, we walked round the whole church, looking at all the pictures and most of the monuments, . . . . and paused longest before Guido's "Archangel Michael overcoming Lucifer." This is surely one of the most beautiful things in the world, one of the human conceptions that are imbued most deeply with the celestial. . . . . We then sat down in one of the aisles and awaited the beginning of vespers, which we supposed would take place at half past three. Four o'clock came, however, and no vespers; and as our dinner-hour is five, . . . . we at last cane away without hearing the vesper hymn. February 23d.--Yesterday, at noon, we set out for the Capitol, and after going up the acclivity (not from the Forum, but from the opposite direction), stopped to look at the statues of Castor and Pollux, which, with other sculptures, look down the ascent. Castor and his brother seem to me to have heads disproportionately large, and are not so striking, in any respect, as such great images ought to be. But we heartily admired the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, . . . . and looked at a fountain, principally composed, I think, of figures representing the Nile and the Tiber, who loll upon their elbows and preside over the gushing water; and between them, against the facade of the Senator's Palace, there is a statue of Minerva, with a petticoat of red porphyry. Having taken note of these objects, we went to the museum, in an edifice on our left, entering the piazza, and here, in the vestibule, we found various old statues and relics. Ascending the stairs, we passed through a long gallery, and, turning to our left, examined somewhat more carefully a suite of rooms running parallel with it. The first of these contained busts of the Caesars and their kindred, from the epoch of the mightiest Julius downward; eighty-three, I believe, in all. I had seen a bust of Julius Caesar in the British Museum, and was surprised at its thin and withered aspect; but this head is of a very ugly old man indeed,--wrinkled, puckered, shrunken, lacking breadth and substance; careworn, grim, as if he had fought hard with life, and had suffered in the conflict; a man of schemes, and of eager effort to bring his schemes to pass. His profile is by no means good, advancing from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose, and retreating, at about the same angle, from the latter point to the bottom of his chin, which seems to be thrust forcibly down into his meagre neck,--not that he pokes his head forward, however, for it is particularly erect. The head of Augustus is very beautiful, and appears to be that of a meditative, philosophic man, saddened with the sense that it is not very much worth while to be at the summit of human greatness after all. It is a sorrowful thing to trace the decay of civilization through this series of busts, and to observe how the artistic skill, so requisite at first, went on declining through the dreary dynasty of the Caesars, till at length the master of the world could not get his head carved in better style than the figure-head of a ship. In the next room there were better statues than we had yet seen; but in the last room of the range we found the "Dying Gladiator," of which I had already caught a glimpse in passing by the open door. It had made all the other treasures of the gallery tedious in my eagerness to come to that. I do not believe that so much pathos is wrought into any other block of stone. Like all works of the highest excellence, however, it makes great demands upon the spectator. He must make a generous gift of his sympathies to the sculptor, and help out his skill with all his heart, or else he will see little more than a skilfully wrought surface. It suggests far more than it shows. I looked long at this statue, and little at anything else, though, among other famous works, a statue of Antinous was in the same room. I was glad when we left the museum, which, by the by, was piercingly chill, as if the multitude of statues radiated cold out of their marble substance. We might have gone to see the pictures in the Palace of the Conservatori, and S-----, whose receptivity is unlimited and forever fresh, would willingly have done so; but I objected, and we went towards the Forum. I had noticed, two or three times, an inscription over a mean-looking door in this neighborhood, stating that here was the entrance to the prison of the holy apostles Peter and Paul; and we soon found the spot, not far from the Forum, with two wretched frescos of the apostles above the inscription. We knocked at the door without effect; but a lame beggar, who sat at another door of the same house (which looked exceedingly like a liquor-shop), desired us to follow him, and began to ascend to the Capitol, by the causeway leading from the Forum. A little way upward we met a woman, to whom the beggar delivered us over, and she led us into a church or chapel door, and pointed to a long flight of steps, which descended through twilight into utter darkness. She called to somebody in the lower regions, and then went away, leaving us to get down this mysterious staircase by ourselves. Down we went, farther and farther from the daylight, and found ourselves, anon, in a dark chamber or cell, the shape or boundaries of which we could not make out, though it seemed to be of stone, and black and dungeon-like. Indistinctly, and from a still farther depth in the earth, we heard voices,--one voice, at least,--apparently not addressing ourselves, but some other persons; and soon, directly beneath our feet, we saw a glimmering of light through a round, iron-grated hole in the bottom of the dungeon. In a few moments the glimmer and the voice came up through this hole, and the light disappeared, and it and the voice came glimmering and babbling up a flight of stone stairs, of which we had not hitherto been aware. It was the custode, with a party of visitors, to whom he had been showing St. Peter's dungeon. Each visitor was provided with a wax taper, and the custode gave one to each of us, bidding us wait a moment while he conducted the other party to the upper air. During his absence we examined the cell, as well as our dim lights would permit, and soon found an indentation in the wall, with an iron grate put over it for protection, and an inscription above informing us that the Apostle Peter had here left the imprint of his visage; and, in truth, there is a profile there,--forehead, nose, mouth, and chin,--plainly to be seen, an intaglio in the solid rock. We touched it with the tips of our fingers, as well as saw it with our eyes. The custode soon returned, and led us down the darksome steps, chattering in Italian all the time. It is not a very long descent to the lower cell, the roof of which is so low that I believe I could have reached it with my hand. We were now in the deepest and ugliest part of the old Mamertine Prison, one of the few remains of the kingly period of Rome, and which served the Romans as a state-prison for hundreds of years before the Christian era. A multitude of criminals or innocent persons, no doubt, have languished here in misery, and perished in darkness. Here Jugurtha starved; here Catiline's adherents were strangled; and, methinks, there cannot be in the world another such an evil den, so haunted with black memories and indistinct surmises of guilt and suffering. In old Rome, I suppose, the citizens never spoke of this dungeon above their breath. It looks just as bad as it is; round, only seven paces across, yet so obscure that our tapers could not illuminate it from side to side,-- the stones of which it is constructed being as black as midnight. The custode showed us a stone post, at the side of the cell, with the hole in the top of it, into which, he said, St. Peter's chain had been fastened; and he uncovered a spring of water, in the middle of the stone floor, which he told us had miraculously gushed up to enable the saint to baptize his jailer. The miracle was perhaps the more easily wrought, inasmuch as Jugurtha had found the floor of the dungeon oozy with wet. However, it is best to be as simple and childlike as we can in these matters; and whether St. Peter stamped his visage into the stone, and wrought this other miracle or no, and whether or no he ever was in the prison at all, still the belief of a thousand years and more gives a sort of reality and substance to such traditions. The custode dipped an iron ladle into the miraculous water, and we each of us drank a sip; and, what is very remarkable, to me it seemed hard water and almost brackish, while many persons think it the sweetest in Rome. I suspect that St. Peter still dabbles in this water, and tempers its qualities according to the faith of those who drink it. The staircase descending into the lower dungeon is comparatively modern, there having been no entrance of old, except through the small circular opening in the roof. In the upper cell the custode showed us an ancient flight of stairs, now built into the wall, which used to lead from the Capitol. The whole precincts are now consecrated, and I believe the upper portion, perhaps both upper and lower, are a shrine or a chapel. I now left S------ in the Forum, and went to call on Mr. J. P. K------ at the Hotel d'Europe. I found him just returned from a drive,--a gentleman of about sixty, or more, with gray hair, a pleasant, intellectual face, and penetrating, but not unkindly eyes. He moved infirmly, being on the recovery from an illness. We went up to his saloon together, and had a talk,--or, rather, he had it nearly all to himself,--and particularly sensible talk, too, and full of the results of learning and experience. In the first place, he settled the whole Kansas difficulty; then he made havoc of St. Peter, who came very shabbily out of his hands, as regarded his early character in the Church, and his claims to the position he now holds in it. Mr. K------ also gave a curious illustration, from something that happened to himself, of the little dependence that can be placed on tradition purporting to be ancient, and I capped his story by telling him how the site of my town-pump, so plainly indicated in the sketch itself, has already been mistaken in the city council and in the public prints. February 24th.--Yesterday I crossed the Ponte Sisto, and took a short ramble on the other side of the river; and it rather surprised me to discover, pretty nearly opposite the Capitoline Hill, a quay, at which several schooners and barks, of two or three hundred tons' burden, were moored. There was also a steamer, armed with a large gun and two brass swivels on her forecastle, and I know not what artillery besides. Probably she may have been a revenue-cutter. Returning I crossed the river by way of the island of St. Bartholomew over two bridges. The island is densely covered with buildings, and is a separate small fragment of the city. It was a tradition of the ancient Romans that it was formed by the aggregation of soil and rubbish brought down by the river, and accumulating round the nucleus of some sunken baskets. On reaching the hither side of the river, I soon struck upon the ruins of the theatre of Marcellus, which are very picturesque, and the more so from being closely linked in, indeed, identified with the shops, habitations, and swarming life of modern Rome. The most striking portion was a circular edifice, which seemed to have been composed of a row of Ionic columns standing upon a lower row of Doric, many of the antique pillars being yet perfect; but the intervening arches built up with brickwork, and the whole once magnificent structure now tenanted by poor and squalid people, as thick as mites within the round of an old cheese. From this point I cannot very clearly trace out my course; but I passed, I think, between the Circus Maximus and the Palace of the Caesars, and near the Baths of Caracalla, and went into the cloisters of the Church of San Gregorio. All along I saw massive ruins, not particularly picturesque or beautiful, but huge, mountainous piles, chiefly of brickwork, somewhat tweed-grown here and there, but oftener bare and dreary. . . . . All the successive ages since Rome began to decay have done their best to ruin the very ruins by taking away the marble and the hewn stone for their own structures, and leaving only the inner filling up of brickwork, which the ancient architects never designed to be seen. The consequence of all this is, that, except for the lofty and poetical associations connected with it, and except, too, for the immense difference in magnitude, a Roman ruin may be in itself not more picturesque than I have seen an old cellar, with a shattered brick chimney half crumbling down into it, in New England. By this time I knew not whither I was going, and turned aside from a broad, paved road (it was the Appian Way) into the Via Latina, which I supposed would lead to one of the city gates. It was a lonely path: on my right hand extensive piles of ruin, in strange shapes or shapelessness, built of the broad and thin old Roman bricks, such as may be traced everywhere, when the stucco has fallen away from a modern Roman house; for I imagine there has not been a new brick made here for a thousand years. On my left, I think, was a high wall, and before me, grazing in the road . . . . [the buffalo calf of the Marble Faun.--ED.]. The road went boldly on, with a well-worn track up to the very walls of the city; but there it abruptly terminated at an ancient, closed-up gateway. From a notice posted against a door, which appeared to be the entrance to the ruins on my left, I found that these were the remains of Columbaria, where the dead used to be put away in pigeon-holes. Reaching the paved road again, I kept on my course, passing the tomb of the Scipios, and soon came to the gate of San Sebastiano, through which I entered the Campagna. Indeed, the scene around was so rural, that I had fancied myself already beyond the walls. As the afternoon was getting advanced, I did not proceed any farther towards the blue hills which I saw in the distance, but turned to my left, following a road that runs round the exterior of the city wall. It was very dreary and solitary,-- not a house on the whole track, with the broad and shaggy Campagna on one side, and the high, bare wall, looking down over my head, on the other. It is not, any more than the other objects of the scene, a very picturesque wall, but is little more than a brick garden-fence seen through a magnifying-glass, with now and then a tower, however, and frequent buttresses, to keep its height of fifty feet from toppling over. The top was ragged, and fringed with a few weeds; there had been embrasures for guns and eyelet-holes for musketry, but these were plastered up with brick or stone. I passed one or two walled-up gateways (by the by, the Parts, Latina was the gate through which Belisarius first entered Rome), and one of these had two high, round towers, and looked more Gothic and venerable with antique strength than any other portion of the wall. Immediately after this I came to the gate of San Giovanni, just within which is the Basilica of St. John Lateran, and there I was glad to rest myself upon a bench before proceeding homeward. There was a French sentinel at this gateway, as at all the others; for the Gauls have always been a pest to Rome, and now gall her worse than ever. I observed, too, that an official, in citizen's dress, stood there also, and appeared to exercise a supervision over some carts with country produce, that were entering just then. February 25th.--We went this forenoon to the Palazzo Borghese, which is situated on a street that runs at right angles with the Corso, and very near the latter. Most of the palaces in Rome, and the Borghese among them, were built somewhere about the sixteenth century; this in 1590, I believe. It is an immense edifice, standing round the four sides of a quadrangle; and though the suite of rooms comprising the picture-gallery forms an almost interminable vista, they occupy only a part of the ground-floor of one side. We enter from the street into a large court, surrounded with a corridor, the arches of which support a second series of arches above. The picture-rooms open from one into another, and have many points of magnificence, being large and lofty, with vaulted ceilings and beautiful frescos, generally of mythological subjects, in the flat central part of the vault. The cornices are gilded; the deep embrasures of the windows are panelled with wood-work; the doorways are of polished and variegated marble, or covered with a composition as hard, and seemingly as durable. The whole has a kind of splendid shabbiness thrown over it, like a slight coating of rust; the furniture, at least the damask chairs, being a good deal worn, though there are marble and mosaic tables, which may serve to adorn another palace when this one crumbles away with age. One beautiful hall, with a ceiling more richly gilded than the rest, is panelled all round with large looking-glasses, on which are painted pictures, both landscapes and human figures, in oils; so that the effect is somewhat as if you saw these objects represented in the mirrors. These glasses must be of old date, perhaps coeval with the first building of the palace; for they are so much dimmed, that one's own figure appears indistinct in them, and more difficult to be traced than the pictures which cover them half over. It was very comfortless,-- indeed, I suppose nobody ever thought of being comfortable there, since the house was built,--but especially uncomfortable on a chill, damp day like this. My fingers were quite numb before I got half-way through the suite of apartments, in spite of a brazier of charcoal which was smouldering into ashes in two or three of the rooms. There was not, so far as I remember, a single fireplace in the suite. A considerable number of visitors--not many, however--were there; and a good many artists; and three or four ladies among them were making copies of the more celebrated pictures, and in all or in most cases missing the especial points that made their celebrity and value. The Prince Borghese certainly demeans himself like a kind and liberal gentleman, in throwing open this invaluable collection to the public to see, and for artists to carry away with them, and diffuse all over the world, so far as their own power and skill will permit. It is open every day of the week, except Saturday and Sunday, without any irksome restriction or supervision; and the fee, which custom requires the visitor to pay to the custode, has the good effect of making us feel that we are not intruders, nor received in an exactly eleemosynary way. The thing could not be better managed. The collection is one of the most celebrated in the world, and contains between eight and nine hundred pictures, many of which are esteemed masterpieces. I think I was not in a frame for admiration to-day, nor could achieve that free and generous surrender of myself which I have already said is essential to the proper estimate of anything excellent. Besides, how is it possible to give one's soul, or any considerable part of it, to a single picture, seen for the first time, among a thousand others, all of which set forth their own claims in an equally good light? Furthermore, there is an external weariness, and sense of a thousand-fold sameness to be overcome, before we can begin to enjoy a gallery of the old Italian masters. . . . . I remember but one painter, Francia, who seems really to have approached this awful class of subjects (Christs and Madonnas) in a fitting spirit; his pictures are very singular and awkward, if you look at them with merely an external eye, but they are full of the beauty of holiness, and evidently wrought out as acts of devotion, with the deepest sincerity; and are veritable prayers upon canvas. . . . . I was glad, in the very last of the twelve rooms, to come upon some Dutch and Flemish pictures, very few, but very welcome; Rubens, Rembrandt, Vandyke, Paul Potter, Teniers, and others,--men of flesh and blood, and warm fists, and human hearts. As compared with them, these mighty Italian masters seem men of polished steel; not human, nor addressing themselves so much to human sympathies, as to a formed, intellectual taste. March 1st.--To-day began very unfavorably; but we ventured out at about eleven o'clock, intending to visit the gallery of the Colonna Palace. Finding it closed, however, on account of the illness of the custode, we determined to go to the picture-gallery of the Capitol; and, on our way thither, we stepped into Il Gesu, the grand and rich church of the Jesuits, where we found a priest in white, preaching a sermon, with vast earnestness of action and variety of tones, insomuch that I fancied sometimes that two priests were in the agony of sermonizing at once. He had a pretty large and seemingly attentive audience clustered round him from the entrance of the church, half-way down the nave; while in the chapels of the transepts and in the remoter distances were persons occupied with their own individual devotion. We sat down near the chapel of St. Ignazio, which is adorned with a picture over the altar, and with marble sculptures of the Trinity aloft, and of angels fluttering at the sides. What I particularly noted (for the angels were not very real personages, being neither earthly nor celestial) was the great ball of lapis lazuli, the biggest in the world, at the feet of the First Person in the Trinity. The church is a splendid one, lined with a great variety of precious marbles, . . . . but partly, perhaps, owing to the dusky light, as well as to the want of cleanliness, there was a dingy effect upon the whole. We made but a very short stay, our New England breeding causing us to feel shy of moving about the church in sermon time. It rained when we reached the Capitol, and, as the museum was not yet open, we went into the Palace of the Conservators, on the opposite side of the piazza. Around the inner court of the ground-floor, partly under two opposite arcades, and partly under the sky, are several statues and other ancient sculptures; among them a statue of Julius Caesar, said to be the only authentic one, and certainly giving an impression of him more in accordance with his character than the withered old face in the museum; also, a statue of Augustus in middle age, still retaining a resemblance to the bust of him in youth; some gigantic heads and hands and feet in marble and bronze; a stone lion and horse, which lay long at the bottom of a river, broken and corroded, and were repaired by Michel Angelo; and other things which it were wearisome to set down. We inquired of two or three French soldiers the way into the picture-gallery; but it is our experience that French soldiers in Rome never know anything of what is around them, not even the name of the palace or public place over which they stand guard; and though invariably civil, you might as well put a question to a statue of an old Roman as to one of them. While we stood under the loggia, however, looking at the rain plashing into the court, a soldier of the Papal Guard kindly directed us up the staircase, and even took pains to go with us to the very entrance of the picture-rooms. Thank Heaven, there are but two of them, and not many pictures which one cares to look at very long. Italian galleries are at a disadvantage as compared with English ones, inasmuch as the pictures are not nearly such splendid articles of upholstery; though, very likely, having undergone less cleaning and varnishing, they may retain more perfectly the finer touches of the masters. Nevertheless, I miss the mellow glow, the rich and mild external lustre, and even the brilliant frames of the pictures I have seen in England. You feel that they have had loving care taken of them; even if spoiled, it is because they have been valued so much. But these pictures in Italian galleries look rusty and lustreless, as far as the exterior is concerned; and, really, the splendor of the painting, as a production of intellect and feeling, has a good deal of difficulty in shining through such clouds. There is a picture at the Capitol, the "Rape of Europa," by Paul Veronese, that would glow with wonderful brilliancy if it were set in a magnificent frame, and covered with a sunshine of varnish; and it is a kind of picture that would not be desecrated, as some deeper and holier ones might be, by any splendor of external adornment that could be bestowed on it. It is deplorable and disheartening to see it in faded and shabby plight,--this joyous, exuberant, warm, voluptuous work. There is the head of a cow, thrust into the picture, and staring with wild, ludicrous wonder at the godlike bull, so as to introduce quite a new sentiment. Here, and at the Borghese Palace, there were some pictures by Garofalo, an artist of whom I never heard before, but who seemed to have been a man of power. A picture by Marie Subleyras--a miniature copy from one by her husband, of the woman anointing the feet of Christ--is most delicately and beautifully finished, and would be an ornament to a drawing-room; a thing that could not truly be said of one in a hundred of these grim masterpieces. When they were painted life was not what it is now, and the artists had not the same ends in view. . . . . It depresses the spirits to go from picture to picture, leaving a portion of your vital sympathy at every one, so that you come, with a kind of half-torpid desperation, to the end. On our way down the staircase we saw several noteworthy bas-reliefs, and among them a very ancient one of Curtius plunging on horseback into the chasm in the Forum. It seems to me, however, that old sculpture affects the spirits even more dolefully than old painting; it strikes colder to the heart, and lies heavier upon it, being marble, than if it were merely canvas. My wife went to revisit the museum, which we had already seen, on the other side of the piazza; but, being cold, I left her there, and went out to ramble in the sun; for it was now brightly, though fitfully, shining again. I walked through the Forum (where a thorn thrust itself out and tore the sleeve of my talma) and under the Arch of Titus, towards the Coliseum. About a score of French drummers were beating a long, loud roll-call, at the base of the Coliseum, and under its arches; and a score of trumpeters responded to these, from the rising ground opposite the Arch of Constantine; and the echoes of the old Roman ruins, especially those of the Palace of the Caesars, responded to this martial uproar of the barbarians. There seemed to be no cause for it; but the drummers beat, and the trumpeters blew, as long as I was within hearing. I walked along the Appian Way as far as the Baths of Caracalla. The Palace of the Caesars, which I have never yet explored, appears to be crowned by the walls of a convent, built, no doubt, out of some of the fragments that would suffice to build a city; and I think there is another convent among the baths. The Catholics have taken a peculiar pleasure in planting themselves in the very citadels of paganism, whether temples or palaces. There has been a good deal of enjoyment in the destruction of old Rome. I often think so when I see the elaborate pains that have been taken to smash and demolish some beautiful column, for no purpose whatever, except the mere delight of annihilating a noble piece of work. There is something in the impulse with which one sympathizes; though I am afraid the destroyers were not sufficiently aware of the mischief they did to enjoy it fully. Probably, too, the early Christians were impelled by religious zeal to destroy the pagan temples, before the happy thought occurred of converting them into churches. March 3d.--This morning was U----'s birthday, and we celebrated it by taking a barouche, and driving (the whole family) out on the Appian Way as far as the tomb of Cecilia Metella. For the first time since we came to Rome, the weather was really warm,--a kind of heat producing languor and disinclination to active movement, though still a little breeze which was stirring threw an occasional coolness over us, and made us distrust the almost sultry atmosphere. I cannot think the Roman climate healthy in any of its moods that I have experienced. Close on the other side of the road are the ruins of a Gothic chapel, little more than a few bare walls and painted windows, and some other fragmentary structures which we did not particularly examine. U---- and I clambered through a gap in the wall, extending from the basement of the tomb, and thus, getting into the field beyond, went quite round the mausoleum and the remains of the castle connected with it. The latter, though still high and stalwart, showed few or no architectural features of interest, being built, I think, principally of large bricks, and not to be compared to English ruins as a beautiful or venerable object. A little way beyond Cecilia Metella's tomb, the road still shows a specimen of the ancient Roman pavement, composed of broad, flat flagstones, a good deal cracked and worn, but sound enough, probably, to outlast the little cubes which make the other portions of the road so uncomfortable. We turned back from this point and soon re-entered the gate of St. Sebastian, which is flanked by two small towers, and just within which is the old triumphal arch of Drusus,--a sturdy construction, much dilapidated as regards its architectural beauty, but rendered far more picturesque than it could have been in its best days by a crown of verdure on its head. Probably so much of the dust of the highway has risen in clouds and settled there, that sufficient soil for shrubbery to root itself has thus been collected, by small annual contributions, in the course of two thousand years. A little farther towards the city we turned aside from the Appian Way, and came to the site of some ancient Columbaria, close by what seemed to partake of the character of a villa and a farm-house. A man came out of the house and unlocked a door in a low building, apparently quite modern; but on entering we found ourselves looking into a large, square chamber, sunk entirely beneath the surface of the ground. A very narrow and steep staircase of stone, and evidently ancient, descended into this chamber; and, going down, we found the walls hollowed on all sides into little semicircular niches, of which, I believe, there were nine rows, one above another, and nine niches in each row. Thus they looked somewhat like the little entrances to a pigeon-house, and hence the name of Columbarium. Each semicircular niche was about a foot in its semidiameter. In the centre of this subterranean chamber was a solid square column, or pier, rising to the roof, and containing other niches of the same pattern, besides one that was high and deep, rising to the height of a man from the floor on each of the four sides. In every one of the semicircular niches were two round holes covered with an earthen plate, and in each hole were ashes and little fragments of bones,--the ashes and bones of the dead, whose names were inscribed in Roman capitals on marble slabs inlaid into the wall over each individual niche. Very likely the great ones in the central pier had contained statues, or busts, or large urns; indeed, I remember that some such things were there, as well as bas-reliefs in the walls; but hardly more than the general aspect of this strange place remains in my mind. It was the Columbarium of the connections or dependants of the Caesars; and the impression left on me was, that this mode of disposing of the dead was infinitely preferable to any which has been adopted since that day. The handful or two of dry dust and bits of dry bones in each of the small round holes had nothing disgusting in them, and they are no drier now than they were when first deposited there. I would rather have my ashes scattered over the soil to help the growth of the grass and daisies; but still I should not murmur much at having them decently pigeon-holed in a Roman tomb. After ascending out of this chamber of the dead, we looked down into another similar one, containing the ashes of Pompey's household, which was discovered only a very few years ago. Its arrangement was the same as that first described, except that it had no central pier with a passage round it, as the former had. While we were down in the first chamber the proprietor of the spot--a half-gentlemanly and very affable kind of person--came to us, and explained the arrangements of the Columbarium, though, indeed, we understood them better by their own aspect than by his explanation. The whole soil around his dwelling is elevated much above the level of the road, and it is probable that, if he chose to excavate, he might bring to light many more sepulchral chambers, and find his profit in them too, by disposing of the urns and busts. What struck me as much as anything was the neatness of these subterranean apartments, which were quite as fit to sleep in as most of those occupied by living Romans; and, having undergone no wear and tear, they were in as good condition as on the day they were built. In this Columbarium, measuring about twenty feet square, I roughly estimate that there have been deposited together the remains of at least seven or eight hundred persons, reckoning two little heaps of bones and ashes in each pigeon-hole, nine pigeon-holes in each row, and nine rows on each side, besides those on the middle pier. All difficulty in finding space for the dead would be obviated by returning to the ancient fashion of reducing them to ashes,--the only objection, though a very serious one, being the quantity of fuel that it would require. But perhaps future chemists may discover some better means of consuming or dissolving this troublesome mortality of ours. We got into the carriage again, and, driving farther towards the city, came to the tomb of the Scipios, of the exterior of which I retain no very definite idea. It was close upon the Appian Way, however, though separated from it by a high fence, and accessible through a gateway, leading into a court. I think the tomb is wholly subterranean, and that the ground above it is covered with the buildings of a farm-house; but of this I cannot be certain, as we were led immediately into a dark, underground passage, by an elderly peasant, of a cheerful and affable demeanor. As soon as he had brought us into the twilight of the tomb, he lighted a long wax taper for each of us, and led us groping into blacker and blacker darkness. Even little R----- followed courageously in the procession, which looked very picturesque as we glanced backward or forward, and beheld a twinkling line of seven lights, glimmering faintly on our faces, and showing nothing beyond. The passages and niches of the tomb seem to have been hewn and hollowed out of the rock, not built by any art of masonry; but the walls were very dark, almost black, and our tapers so dim that I could not gain a sufficient breadth of view to ascertain what kind of place it was. It was very dark, indeed; the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky could not be darker. The rough-hewn roof was within touch, and sometimes we had to stoop to avoid hitting our heads; it was covered with damps, which collected and fell upon us in occasional drops. The passages, besides being narrow, were so irregular and crooked, that, after going a little way, it would have been impossible to return upon our steps without the help of the guide; and we appeared to be taking quite an extensive ramble underground, though in reality I suppose the tomb includes no great space. At several turns of our dismal way, the guide pointed to inscriptions in Roman capitals, commemorating various members of the Scipio family who were buried here; among them, a son of Scipio Africanus, who himself had his death and burial in a foreign land. All these inscriptions, however, are copies,--the originals, which were really found here, having been removed to the Vatican. Whether any bones and ashes have been left, or whether any were found, I do not know. It is not, at all events, a particularly interesting spot, being such shapeless blackness, and a mere dark hole, requiring a stronger illumination than that of our tapers to distinguish it from any other cellar. I did, at one place, see a sort of frieze, rather roughly sculptured; and, as we returned towards the twilight of the entrance-passage, I discerned a large spider, who fled hastily away from our tapers,--the solitary living inhabitant of the tomb of the Scipios. One visit that we made, and I think it was before entering the city gates, I forgot to mention. It was to an old edifice, formerly called the Temple of Bacchus, but now supposed to have been the Temple of Virtue and Honor. The interior consists of a vaulted hall, which was converted from its pagan consecration into a church or chapel, by the early Christians; and the ancient marble pillars of the temple may still be seen built in with the brick and stucco of the later occupants. There is an altar, and other tokens of a Catholic church, and high towards the ceiling, there are some frescos of saints or angels, very curious specimens of mediaeval, and earlier than mediaeval art. Nevertheless, the place impressed me as still rather pagan than Christian. What is most remarkable about this spot or this vicinity lies in the fact that the Fountain of Egeria was formerly supposed to be close at hand; indeed, the custode of the chapel still claims the spot as the identical one consecrated by the legend. There is a dark grove of trees, not far from the door of the temple; but Murray, a highly essential nuisance on such excursions as this, throws such overwhelming doubt, or rather incredulity, upon the site, that I seized upon it as a pretext for not going thither. In fact, my small capacity for sight-seeing was already more than satisfied. On account of ------ I am sorry that we did not see the grotto, for her enthusiasm is as fresh as the waters of Egeria's well can be, and she has poetical faith enough to light her cheerfully through all these mists of incredulity. Our visits to sepulchral places ended with Scipio's tomb, whence we returned to our dwelling, and Miss M------ came to dine with us. March 10th.--On Saturday last, a very rainy day, we went to the Sciarra Palace, and took U---- with us. It is on the Corso, nearly opposite to the Piazza Colonna. It has (Heaven be praised!) but four rooms of pictures, among which, however, are several very celebrated ones. Only a few of these remain in my memory,--Raphael's "Violin Player," which I am willing to accept as a good picture; and Leonardo da Vinci's "Vanity and Modesty," which also I can bring up before my mind's eye, and find it very beautiful, although one of the faces has an affected smile, which I have since seen on another picture by the same artist, Joanna of Aragon. The most striking picture in the collection, I think, is Titian's "Bella Donna,"--the only one of Titian's works that I have yet seen which makes an impression on me corresponding with his fame. It is a very splendid and very scornful lady, as beautiful and as scornful as Gainsborough's Lady Lyndoch, though of an entirely different type. There were two Madonnas by Guido, of which I liked the least celebrated one best; and several pictures by Garofalo, who always produces something noteworthy. All the pictures lacked the charm (no doubt I am a barbarian to think it one) of being in brilliant frames, and looked as if it were a long, long while since they were cleaned or varnished. The light was so scanty, too, on that heavily clouded day, and in those gloomy old rooms of the palace, that scarcely anything could be fairly made out. [I cannot refrain from observing here, that Mr. Hawthorne's inexorable demand for perfection in all things leads him to complain of grimy pictures and tarnished frames and faded frescos, distressing beyond measure to eyes that never failed to see everything before him with the keenest apprehension. The usual careless observation of people both of the good and the imperfect is much more comfortable in this imperfect world. But the insight which Mr. Hawthorne possessed was only equalled by his outsight, and he suffered in a way not to be readily conceived, from any failure in beauty, physical, moral, or intellectual. It is not, therefore, mere love of upholstery that impels him to ask for perfect settings to priceless gems of art; but a native idiosyncrasy, which always made me feel that "the New Jerusalem," "even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal," "where shall in no wise enter anything that defileth, neither what worketh abomination nor maketh a lie," would alone satisfy him, or rather alone not give him actual pain. It may give an idea of this exquisite nicety of feeling to mention, that one day he took in his fingers a half-bloomed rose, without blemish, and, smiling with an infinite joy, remarked, "This is perfect. On earth a flower only can be perfect."--ED.] The palace is about two hundred and fifty years old, and looks as if it had never been a very cheerful place; most shabbily and scantily furnished, moreover, and as chill as any cellar. There is a small balcony, looking down on the Corso, which probably has often been filled with a merry little family party, in the carnivals of days long past. It has faded frescos, and tarnished gilding, and green blinds, and a few damask chairs still remain in it. On Monday we all went to the sculpture-gallery of the Vatican, and saw as much of the sculpture as we could in the three hours during which the public are admissible. There were a few things which I really enjoyed, and a few moments during which I really seemed to see them; but it is in vain to attempt giving the impression produced by masterpieces of art, and most in vain when we see them best. They are a language in themselves, and if they could be expressed as well any way except by themselves, there would have been no need of expressing those particular ideas and sentiments by sculpture. I saw the Apollo Belvedere as something ethereal and godlike; only for a flitting moment, however, and as if he had alighted from heaven, or shone suddenly out of the sunlight, and then had withdrawn himself again. I felt the Laocoon very powerfully, though very quietly; an immortal agony, with a strange calmness diffused through it, so that it resembles the vast rage of the sea, calm on account of its immensity; or the tumult of Niagara, which does not seem to be tumult, because it keeps pouring on for ever and ever. I have not had so good a day as this (among works of art) since we came to Rome; and I impute it partly to the magnificence of the arrangements of the Vatican,--its long vistas and beautiful courts, and the aspect of immortality which marble statues acquire by being kept free from dust. A very hungry boy, seeing in one of the cabinets a vast porphyry vase, forty-four feet in circumference, wished that he had it full of soup. Yesterday, we went to the Pamfili Doria Palace, which, I believe, is the most splendid in Rome. The entrance is from the Corso into a court, surrounded by a colonnade, and having a space of luxuriant verdure and ornamental shrubbery in the centre. The apartments containing pictures and sculptures are fifteen in number, and run quite round the court in the first piano,--all the rooms, halls, and galleries of beautiful proportion, with vaulted roofs, some of which glow with frescos; and all are colder and more comfortless than can possibly be imagined without having been in them. The pictures, most of them, interested me very little. I am of opinion that good pictures are quite as rare as good poets; and I do not see why we should pique ourselves on admiring any but the very best. One in a thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the applause of men, from generation to generation, till its colors fade or blacken out of sight, and its canvas rots away; the rest should be put in garrets, or painted over by newer artists, just as tolerable poets are shelved when their little day is over. Nevertheless, there was one long gallery containing many pictures that I should be glad to see again under more favorable circumstances, that is, separately, and where I might contemplate them quite undisturbed, reclining in an easy-chair. At one end of the long vista of this gallery is a bust of the present Prince Doria, a smooth, sharp-nosed, rather handsome young man, and at the other end his princess, an English lady of the Talbot family, apparently a blonde, with a simple and sweet expression. There is a noble and striking portrait of the old Venetian admiral, Andrea Doria, by Sebastian del Piombo, and some other portraits and busts of the family. In the whole immense range of rooms I saw but a single fireplace, and that so deep in the wall that no amount of blaze would raise the atmosphere of the room ten degrees. If the builder of the palace, or any of his successors, have committed crimes worthy of Tophet, it would be a still worse punishment for him to wander perpetually through this suite of rooms on the cold floors of polished brick tiles or marble or mosaic, growing a little chiller and chiller through every moment of eternity,-- or, at least, till the palace crumbles down upon him. Neither would it assuage his torment in the least to be compelled to gaze up at the dark old pictures,--the ugly ghosts of what may once have been beautiful. I am not going to try any more to receive pleasure from a faded, tarnished, lustreless picture, especially if it be a landscape. There were two or three landscapes of Claude in this palace, which I doubt not would have been exquisite if they had been in the condition of those in the British National Gallery; but here they looked most forlorn, and even their sunshine was sunless. The merits of historical painting may be quite independent of the attributes that give pleasure, and a superficial ugliness may even heighten the effect; but not so of landscapes. Via Porta, Palazzo Larazani, March 11th.--To-day we called at Mr. Thompson's studio, and . . . . he had on the easel a little picture of St. Peter released from prison by the angel, which I saw once before. It is very beautiful indeed, and deeply and spiritually conceived, and I wish I could afford to have it finished for myself. I looked again, too, at his Georgian slave, and admired it as much as at first view; so very warm and rich it is, so sensuously beautiful, and with an expression of higher life and feeling within. I do not think there is a better painter than Mr. Thompson living,--among Americans at least; not one so earnest, faithful, and religious in his worship of art. I had rather look at his pictures than at any except the very finest of the old masters, and, taking into consideration only the comparative pleasure to be derived, I would not except more than one or two of those. In painting, as in literature, I suspect there is something in the productions of the day that takes the fancy more than the works of any past age,--not greater merit, nor nearly so great, but better suited to this very present time. After leaving him, we went to the Piazza de' Termini, near the Baths of Diocletian, and found our way with some difficulty to Crawford's studio. It occupies several great rooms, connected with the offices of the Villa Negroni; and all these rooms were full of plaster casts and a few works in marble,--principally portions of his huge Washington monument, which he left unfinished at his death. Close by the door at which we entered stood a gigantic figure of Mason, in bag-wig, and the coat, waistcoat, breeches, and knee and shoe buckles of the last century, the enlargement of these unheroic matters to far more than heroic size having a very odd effect. There was a figure of Jefferson on the same scale; another of Patrick Henry, besides a horse's head, and other portions of the equestrian group which is to cover the summit of the monument. In one of the rooms was a model of the monument itself, on a scale, I should think, of about an inch to afoot. It did not impress me as having grown out of any great and genuine idea in the artist's mind, but as being merely an ingenious contrivance enough. There were also casts of statues that seemed to be intended for some other monument referring to Revolutionary times and personages; and with these were intermixed some ideal statues or groups,--a naked boy playing marbles, very beautiful; a girl with flowers; the cast of his Orpheus, of which I long ago saw the marble statue; Adam and Eve; Flora,--all with a good deal of merit, no doubt, but not a single one that justifies Crawford's reputation, or that satisfies me of his genius. They are but commonplaces in marble and plaster, such as we should not tolerate on a printed page. He seems to have been a respectable man, highly respectable, but no more, although those who knew him seem to have rated him much higher. It is said that he exclaimed, not very long before his death, that he had fifteen years of good work still in him; and he appears to have considered all his life and labor, heretofore, as only preparatory to the great things that he was to achieve hereafter. I should say, on the contrary, that he was a man who had done his best, and had done it early; for his Orpheus is quite as good as anything else we saw in his studio. People were at work chiselling several statues in marble from the plaster models,--a very interesting process, and which I should think a doubtful and hazardous one; but the artists say that there is no risk of mischief, and that the model is sure to be accurately repeated in the marble. These persons, who do what is considered the mechanical part of the business, are often themselves sculptors, and of higher reputation than those who employ them. It is rather sad to think that Crawford died before he could see his ideas in the marble, where they gleam with so pure and celestial a light as compared with the plaster. There is almost as much difference as between flesh and spirit. The floor of one of the rooms was burdened with immense packages, containing parts of the Washington monument, ready to be forwarded to its destination. When finished, and set up, it will probably make a very splendid appearance, by its height, its mass, its skilful execution; and will produce a moral effect through its images of illustrious men, and the associations that connect it with our Revolutionary history; but I do not think it will owe much to artistic force of thought or depth of feeling. It is certainly, in one sense, a very foolish and illogical piece of work,--Washington, mounted on an uneasy steed, on a very narrow space, aloft in the air, whence a single step of the horse backward, forward, or on either side, must precipitate him; and several of his contemporaries standing beneath him, not looking up to wonder at his predicament, but each intent on manifesting his own personality to the world around. They have nothing to do with one another, nor with Washington, nor with any great purpose which all are to work out together. March 14th.--On Friday evening I dined at Mr. T. B. Read's, the poet and artist, with a party composed of painters and sculptors,--the only exceptions being the American banker and an American tourist who has given Mr. Read a commission. Next to me at table sat Mr. Gibson, the English sculptor, who, I suppose, stands foremost in his profession at this day. He must be quite an old man now, for it was whispered about the table that he is known to have been in Rome forty-two years ago, and he himself spoke to me of spending thirty-seven years here, before he once returned home. I should hardly take him to be sixty, however, his hair being more dark than gray, his forehead unwrinkled, his features unwithered, his eye undimmed, though his beard is somewhat venerable. . . . . He has a quiet, self-contained aspect, and, being a bachelor, has doubtless spent a calm life among his clay and marble, meddling little with the world, and entangling himself with no cares beyond his studio. He did not talk a great deal; but enough to show that he is still an Englishman in many sturdy traits, though his accent has something foreign about it. His conversation was chiefly about India, and other topics of the day, together with a few reminiscences of people in Liverpool, where he once resided. There was a kind of simplicity both in his manner and matter, and nothing very remarkable in the latter. . . . . The gist of what he said (upon art) was condemnatory of the Pre-Raphaelite modern school of painters, of whom he seemed to spare none, and of their works nothing; though he allowed that the old Pre-Raphaelites had some exquisite merits, which the moderns entirely omit in their imitations. In his own art, he said the aim should be to find out the principles on which the Greek sculptors wrought, and to do the work of this day on those principles and in their spirit; a fair doctrine enough, I should think, but which Mr. Gibson can scarcely be said to practise. . . . . The difference between the Pre-Raphaelites and himself is deep and genuine, they being literalists and realists, in a certain sense, and he a pagan idealist. Methinks they have hold of the best end of the matter. March 18th.--To-day, it being very bright and mild, we set out, at noon, for an expedition to the Temple of Vesta, though I did not feel much inclined for walking, having been ill and feverish for two or three days past with a cold, which keeps renewing itself faster than I can get rid of it. We kept along on this side of the Corso, and crossed the Forum, skirting along the Capitoline Hill, and thence towards the Circus Maximus. On our way, looking down a cross street, we saw a heavy arch, and, on examination, made it out to be the Arch of Janus Quadrifrons, standing in the Forum Boarium. Its base is now considerably below the level of the surrounding soil, and there is a church or basilica close by, and some mean edifices looking down upon it. There is something satisfactory in this arch, from the immense solidity of its structure. It gives the idea, in the first place, of a solid mass constructed of huge blocks of marble, which time can never wear away, nor earthquakes shake down; and then this solid mass is penetrated by two arched passages, meeting in the centre. There are empty niches, three in a row, and, I think, two rows on each face; but there seems to have been very little effort to make it a beautiful object. On the top is some brickwork, the remains of a mediaeval fortress built by the Frangipanis, looking very frail and temporary being brought thus in contact with the antique strength of the arch. A few yards off, across the street, and close beside the basilica, is what appears to be an ancient portal, with carved bas-reliefs, and an inscription which I could not make out. Some Romans were lying dormant in the sun, on the steps of the basilica; indeed, now that the sun is getting warmer, they seem to take advantage of every quiet nook to bask in, and perhaps to go to sleep. We had gone but a little way from the arch, and across the Circus Maximus, when we saw the Temple of Vesta before us, on the hank of the Tiber, which, however, we could not see behind it. It is a most perfectly preserved Roman ruin, and very beautiful, though so small that, in a suitable locality, one would take it rather for a garden-house than an ancient temple. A circle of white marble pillars, much time-worn and a little battered, though but one of them broken, surround the solid structure of the temple, leaving a circular walk between it and the pillars, the whole covered by a modern roof which looks like wood, and disgraces and deforms the elegant little building. This roof resembles, as much as anything else, the round wicker cover of a basket, and gives a very squat aspect to the temple. The pillars are of the Corinthian order, and when they were new and the marble snow-white and sharply carved and cut, there could not have been a prettier object in all Rome; but so small an edifice does not appear well as a ruin. Within view of it, and, indeed, a very little way off, is the Temple of Fortuna Virilis, which likewise retains its antique form in better preservation than we generally find a Roman ruin, although the Ionic pillars are now built up with blocks of stone and patches of brickwork, the whole constituting a church which is fixed against the side of a tall edifice, the nature of which I do not know. I forgot to say that we gained admittance into the Temple of Vesta, and found the interior a plain cylinder of marble, about ten paces across, and fitted up as a chapel, where the Virgin takes the place of Vesta. In very close vicinity we came upon the Ponto Rotto, the old Pons Emilius which was broken down long ago, and has recently been pieced out by connecting a suspension bridge with the old piers. We crossed by this bridge, paying a toll of a baioccho each, and stopped in the midst of the river to look at the Temple of Vesta, which shows well, right on the brink of the Tiber. We fancied, too, that we could discern, a little farther down the river, the ruined and almost submerged piers of the Sublician bridge, which Horatius Cocles defended. The Tiber here whirls rapidly along, and Horatius must have had a perilous swim for his life, and the enemy a fair mark at his head with their arrows. I think this is the most picturesque part of the Tiber in its passage through Rome. After crossing the bridge, we kept along the right bank of the river, through the dirty and hard-hearted streets of Trastevere (which have in no respect the advantage over those of hither Rome), till we reached St. Peter's. We saw a family sitting before their door on the pavement in the narrow and sunny street, engaged in their domestic avocations,--the old woman spinning with a wheel. I suppose the people now begin to live out of doors. We entered beneath the colonnade of St. Peter's and immediately became sensible of an evil odor,--the bad odor of our fallen nature, which there is no escaping in any nook of Rome. . . . . Between the pillars of the colonnade, however, we had the pleasant spectacle of the two fountains, sending up their lily-shaped gush, with rainbows shining in their falling spray. Parties of French soldiers, as usual, were undergoing their drill in the piazza. When we entered the church, the long, dusty sunbeams were falling aslantwise through the dome and through the chancel behind it. . . . . March 23d.--On the 21st we all went to the Coliseum, and enjoyed ourselves there in the bright, warm sun,--so bright and warm that we were glad to get into the shadow of the walls and under the arches, though, after all, there was the freshness of March in the breeze that stirred now and then. J----- and baby found some beautiful flowers growing round about the Coliseum; and far up towards the top of the walls we saw tufts of yellow wall-flowers and a great deal of green grass growing along the ridges between the arches. The general aspect of the place, however, is somewhat bare, and does not compare favorably with an English ruin both on account of the lack of ivy and because the material is chiefly brick, the stone and marble having been stolen away by popes and cardinals to build their palaces. While we sat within the circle, many people, of both sexes, passed through, kissing the iron cross which stands in the centre, thereby gaining an indulgence of seven years, I believe. In front of several churches I have seen an inscription in Latin, "INDULGENTIA PLENARIA ET PERPETUA PRO CUNCTIS MORTUIS ET VIVIS"; than which, it seems to me, nothing more could be asked or desired. The terms of this great boon are not mentioned. Leaving the Coliseum, we went and sat down in the vicinity of the Arch of Constantine, and J----- and R----- went in quest of lizards. J----- soon caught a large one with two tails; one, a sort of afterthought, or appendix, or corollary to the original tail, and growing out from it instead of from the body of the lizard. These reptiles are very abundant, and J----- has already brought home several, which make their escape and appear occasionally darting to and fro on the carpet. Since we have been here, J----- has taken up various pursuits in turn. First he voted himself to gathering snail-shells, of which there are many sorts; afterwards he had a fever for marbles, pieces of which he found on the banks of the Tiber, just on the edge of its muddy waters, and in the Palace of the Caesars, the Baths of Caracalla, and indeed wherever else his fancy led him; verde antique, rosso antico, porphyry, giallo antico, serpentine, sometimes fragments of bas-reliefs and mouldings, bits of mosaic, still firmly stuck together, on which the foot of a Caesar had perhaps once trodden; pieces of Roman glass, with the iridescence glowing on them; and all such things, of which the soil of Rome is full. It would not be difficult, from the spoil of his boyish rambles, to furnish what would be looked upon as a curious and valuable museum in America. Yesterday we went to the sculpture-galleries of the Vatican. I think I enjoy these noble galleries and their contents and beautiful arrangement better than anything else in the way of art, and often I seem to have a deep feeling of something wonderful in what I look at. The Laocoon on this visit impressed me not less than before; it is such a type of human beings, struggling with an inextricable trouble, and entangled in a complication which they cannot free themselves from by their own efforts, and out of which Heaven alone can help them. It was a most powerful mind, and one capable of reducing a complex idea to unity, that imagined this group. I looked at Canova's Perseus, and thought it exceedingly beautiful, but, found myself less and less contented after a moment or two, though I could not tell why. Afterwards, looking at the Apollo, the recollection of the Perseus disgusted me, and yet really I cannot explain how one is better than the other. I was interested in looking at the busts of the Triumvirs, Antony, Augustus, and Lepidus. The first two are men of intellect, evidently, though they do not recommend themselves to one's affections by their physiognomy; but Lepidus has the strangest, most commonplace countenance that can be imagined,--small-featured, weak, such a face as you meet anywhere in a man of no mark, but are amazed to find in one of the three foremost men of the world. I suppose that it is these weak and shallow men, when chance raises them above their proper sphere, who commit enormous crimes without any such restraint as stronger men would feel, and without any retribution in the depth of their conscience. These old Roman busts, of which there are so many in the Vatican, have often a most lifelike aspect, a striking individuality. One recognizes them as faithful portraits, just as certainly as if the living originals were standing beside them. The arrangement of the hair and beard too, in many cases, is just what we see now, the fashions of two thousand years ago having come round again. March 25th.--On Tuesday we went to breakfast at William Story's in the Palazzo Barberini. We had a very pleasant time. He is one of the most agreeable men I know in society. He showed us a note from Thackeray, an invitation to dinner, written in hieroglyphics, with great fun and pictorial merit. He spoke of an expansion of the story of Blue Beard, which he himself had either written or thought of writing, in which the contents of the several chambers which Fatima opened, before arriving at the fatal one, were to be described. This idea has haunted my mind ever since, and if it had but been my own I am pretty sure that it would develop itself into something very rich. I mean to press William Story to work it out. The chamber of Blue Beard, too (and this was a part of his suggestion), might be so handled as to become powerfully interesting. Were I to take up the story I would create an interest by suggesting a secret in the first chamber, which would develop itself more and more in every successive hall of the great palace, and lead the wife irresistibly to the chamber of horrors. After breakfast, we went to the Barberini Library, passing through the vast hall, which occupies the central part of the palace. It is the most splendid domestic hall I have seen, eighty feet in length at least, and of proportionate breadth and height; and the vaulted ceiling is entirely covered, to its utmost edge and remotest corners, with a brilliant painting in fresco, looking like a whole heaven of angelic people descending towards the floor. The effect is indescribably gorgeous. On one side stands a Baldacchino, or canopy of state, draped with scarlet cloth, and fringed with gold embroidery; the scarlet indicating that the palace is inhabited by a cardinal. Green would be appropriate to a prince. In point of fact, the Palazzo Barberini is inhabited by a cardinal, a prince, and a duke, all belonging to the Barberini family, and each having his separate portion of the palace, while their servants have a common territory and meeting-ground in this noble hall. After admiring it for a few minutes, we made our exit by a door on the opposite side, and went up the spiral staircase of marble to the library, where we were received by an ecclesiastic, who belongs to the Barberini household, and, I believe, was born in it. He is a gentle, refined, quiet-looking man, as well he may be, having spent all his life among these books, where few people intrude, and few cares can come. He showed us a very old Bible in parchment, a specimen of the earliest printing, beautifully ornamented with pictures, and some monkish illuminations of indescribable delicacy and elaboration. No artist could afford to produce such work, if the life that he thus lavished on one sheet of parchment had any value to him, either for what could be done or enjoyed in it. There are about eight thousand volumes in this library, and, judging by their outward aspect, the collection must be curious and valuable; but having another engagement, we could spend only a little time here. We had a hasty glance, however, of some poems of Tasso, in his own autograph. We then went to the Palazzo Galitzin, where dwell the Misses Weston, with whom we lunched, and where we met a French abbe, an agreeable man, and an antiquarian, under whose auspices two of the ladies and ourselves took carriage for the Castle of St. Angelo. Being admitted within the external gateway, we found ourselves in the court of guard, as I presume it is called, where the French soldiers were playing with very dirty cards, or lounging about, in military idleness. They were well behaved and courteous, and when we had intimated our wish to see the interior of the castle, a soldier soon appeared, with a large unlighted torch in his hand, ready to guide us. There is an outer wall, surrounding the solid structure of Hadrian's tomb; to which there is access by one or two drawbridges; the entrance to the tomb, or castle, not being at the base, but near its central height. The ancient entrance, by which Hadrian's ashes, and those of other imperial personages, were probably brought into this tomb, has been walled up,--perhaps ever since the last emperor was buried here. We were now in a vaulted passage, both lofty and broad, which circles round the whole interior of the tomb, from the base to the summit. During many hundred years, the passage was filled with earth and rubbish, and forgotten, and it is but partly excavated, even now; although we found it a long, long and gloomy descent by torchlight to the base of the vast mausoleum. The passage was once lined and vaulted with precious marbles (which are now entirely gone), and paved with fine mosaics, portions of which still remain; and our guide lowered his flaming torch to show them to us, here and there, amid the earthy dampness over which we trod. It is strange to think what splendor and costly adornment were here wasted on the dead. After we had descended to the bottom of this passage, and again retraced our steps to the highest part, the guide took a large cannon-ball, and sent it, with his whole force, rolling down the hollow, arched way, rumbling, and reverberating, and bellowing forth long thunderous echoes, and winding up with a loud, distant crash, that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. We saw the place, near the centre of the mausoleum, and lighted from above, through an immense thickness of stone and brick, where the ashes of the emperor and his fellow-slumberers were found. It is as much as twelve centuries, very likely, since they were scattered to the winds, for the tomb has been nearly or quite that space of time a fortress; The tomb itself is merely the base and foundation of the castle, and, being so massively built, it serves just as well for the purpose as if it were a solid granite rock. The mediaeval fortress, with its antiquity of more than a thousand years, and having dark and deep dungeons of its own, is but a modern excrescence on the top of Hadrian's tomb. We now ascended towards the upper region, and were led into the vaults which used to serve as a prison, but which, if I mistake not, are situated above the ancient structure, although they seem as damp and subterranean as if they were fifty feet under the earth. We crept down to them through narrow and ugly passages, which the torchlight would not illuminate, and, stooping under a low, square entrance, we followed the guide into a small, vaulted room,--not a room, but an artificial cavern, remote from light or air, where Beatrice Cenci was confined before her execution. According to the abbe, she spent a whole year in this dreadful pit, her trial having dragged on through that length of time. How ghostlike she must have looked when she came forth! Guido never painted that beautiful picture from her blanched face, as it appeared after this confinement. And how rejoiced she must have been to die at last, having already been in a sepulchre so long! Adjacent to Beatrice's prison, but not communicating with it, was that of her step-mother; and next to the latter was one that interested me almost as much as Beatrice's,--that of Benvenuto Cellini, who was confined here, I believe, for an assassination. All these prison vaults are more horrible than can be imagined without seeing them; but there are worse places here, for the guide lifted a trap-door in one of the passages, and held his torch down into an inscrutable pit beneath our feet. It was an oubliette, a dungeon where the prisoner might be buried alive, and never come forth again, alive or dead. Groping about among these sad precincts, we saw various other things that looked very dismal; but at last emerged into the sunshine, and ascended from one platform and battlement to another, till we found ourselves right at the feet of the Archangel Michael. He has stood there in bronze for I know not how many hundred years, in the act of sheathing a (now) rusty sword, such being the attitude in which he appeared to one of the popes in a vision, in token that a pestilence which was then desolating Rome was to be stayed. There is a fine view from the lofty station over Rome and the whole adjacent country, and the abbe pointed out the site of Ardea, of Corioli, of Veii, and other places renowned in story. We were ushered, too, into the French commandant's quarters in the castle. There is a large hall, ornamented with frescos, and accessible from this a drawing-room, comfortably fitted up, and where we saw modern furniture, and a chess-board, and a fire burning clear, and other symptoms that the place had perhaps just been vacated by civilized and kindly people. But in one corner of the ceiling the abbe pointed out a ring, by which, in the times of mediaeval anarchy, when popes, cardinals, and barons were all by the ears together, a cardinal was hanged. It was not an assassination, but a legal punishment, and he was executed in the best apartment of the castle as an act of grace. The fortress is a straight-lined structure on the summit of the immense round tower of Hadrian's tomb; and to make out the idea of it we must throw in drawbridges, esplanades, piles of ancient marble balls for cannon; battlements and embrasures, lying high in the breeze and sunshine, and opening views round the whole horizon; accommodation for the soldiers; and many small beds in a large room. How much mistaken was the emperor in his expectation of a stately, solemn repose for his ashes through all the coming centuries, as long as the world should endure! Perhaps his ghost glides up and down disconsolate, in that spiral passage which goes from top to bottom of the tomb, while the barbarous Gauls plant themselves in his very mausoleum to keep the imperial city in awe. Leaving the Castle of St. Angelo, we drove, still on the same side of the Tiber, to the Villa Pamfili, which lies a short distance beyond the walls. As we passed through one of the gates (I think it was that of San Pancrazio) the abbe pointed out the spot where the Constable de Bourbon was killed while attempting to scale the walls. If we are to believe Benvenuto Cellini, it was he who shot the constable. The road to the villa is not very interesting, lying (as the roads in the vicinity of Rome often do) between very high walls, admitting not a glimpse of the surrounding country; the road itself white and dusty, with no verdant margin of grass or border of shrubbery. At the portal of the villa we found many carriages in waiting, for the Prince Doria throws open the grounds to all comers, and on a pleasant day like this they are probably sure to be thronged. We left our carriage just within the entrance, and rambled among these beautiful groves, admiring the live-oak trees, and the stone-pines, which latter are truly a majestic tree, with tall columnar stems, supporting a cloud-like density of boughs far aloft, and not a straggling branch between there and the ground. They stand in straight rows, but are now so ancient and venerable as to have lost the formal look of a plantation, and seem like a wood that might have arranged itself almost of its own will. Beneath them is a flower-strewn turf, quite free of underbrush. We found open fields and lawns, moreover, all abloom with anemones, white and rose-colored and purple and golden, and far larger than could be found out of Italy, except in hot-houses. Violets, too, were abundant and exceedingly fragrant. When we consider that all this floral exuberance occurs in the midst of March, there does not appear much ground for complaining of the Roman climate; and so long ago as the first week of February I found daisies among the grass, on the sunny side of the Basilica of St. John Lateran. At this very moment I suppose the country within twenty miles of Boston may be two feet deep with snow, and the streams solid with ice. We wandered about the grounds, and found them very beautiful indeed; nature having done much for them by an undulating variety of surface, and art having added a good many charms, which have all the better effect now that decay and neglect have thrown a natural grace over them likewise. There is an artificial ruin, so picturesque that it betrays itself; weather-beaten statues, and pieces of sculpture, scattered here and there; an artificial lake, with upgushing fountains; cascades, and broad-bosomed coves, and long, canal-like reaches, with swans taking their delight upon them. I never saw such a glorious and resplendent lustre of white as shone between the wings of two of these swans. It was really a sight to see, and not to be imagined beforehand. Angels, no doubt, have just such lustrous wings as those. English swans partake of the dinginess of the atmosphere, and their plumage has nothing at all to be compared to this; in fact, there is nothing like it in the world, unless it be the illuminated portion of a fleecy, summer cloud. While we were sauntering along beside this piece of water, we were surprised to see U---- on the other side. She had come hither with E---- S------ and her two little brothers, and with our R-----, the whole under the charge of Mrs. Story's nursery-maids. U---- and E---- crossed, not over, but beneath the water, through a grotto, and exchanged greetings with us. Then, as it was getting towards sunset and cool, we took our departure; the abbe, as we left the grounds, taking me aside to give me a glimpse of a Columbarium, which descends into the earth to about the depth to which an ordinary house might rise above it. These grounds, it is said, formed the country residence of the Emperor Galba, and he was buried here after his assassination. It is a sad thought that so much natural beauty and long refinement of picturesque culture is thrown away, the villa being uninhabitable during all the most delightful season of the year on account of malaria. There is truly a curse on Rome and all its neighborhood. On our way home we passed by the great Paolina fountain, and were assailed by many beggars during the short time we stopped to look at it. It is a very copious fountain, but not so beautiful as the Trevi, taking into view merely the water-gush of the latter. March 26th.--Yesterday, between twelve and one, our whole family went to the Villa Ludovisi, the entrance to which is at the termination of a street which passes out of the Piazza Barberini, and it is no very great distance from our own street, Via Porta Pinciana. The grounds, though very extensive, are wholly within the walls of the city, which skirt them, and comprise a part of what were formerly the gardens of Sallust. The villa is now the property of Prince Piombini, a ticket from whom procured us admission. A little within the gateway, to the right, is a casino, containing two large rooms filled with sculpture, much of which is very valuable. A colossal head of Juno, I believe, is considered the greatest treasure of the collection, but I did not myself feel it to be so, nor indeed did I receive any strong impression of its excellence. I admired nothing so much, I think, as the face of Penelope (if it be her face) in the group supposed also to represent Electra and Orestes. The sitting statue of Mars is very fine; so is the Arria and Paetus; so are many other busts and figures. By and by we left the casino and wandered among the grounds, threading interminable alleys of cypress, through the long vistas of which we could see here and there a statue, an urn, a pillar, a temple, or garden-house, or a bas-relief against the wall. It seems as if there must have been a time, and not so very long ago,--when it was worth while to spend money and thought upon the ornamentation of grounds in the neighborhood of Rome. That time is past, however, and the result is very melancholy; for great beauty has been produced, but it can be enjoyed in its perfection only at the peril of one's life. . . . . For my part, and judging from my own experience, I suspect that the Roman atmosphere, never wholesome, is always more or less poisonous. We came to another and larger casino remote from the gateway, in which the Prince resides during two months of the year. It was now under repair, but we gained admission, as did several other visitors, and saw in the entrance-hall the Aurora of Guercino, painted in fresco on the ceiling. There is beauty in the design; but the painter certainly was most unhappy in his black shadows, and in the work before us they give the impression of a cloudy and lowering morning which is likely enough to turn to rain by and by. After viewing the fresco we mounted by a spiral staircase to a lofty terrace, and found Rome at our feet, and, far off, the Sabine and Alban mountains, some of them still capped with snow. In another direction there was a vast plain, on the horizon of which, could our eyes have reached to its verge, we might perhaps have seen the Mediterranean Sea. After enjoying the view and the warm sunshine we descended, and went in quest of the gardens of Sallust, but found no satisfactory remains of them. One of the most striking objects in the first casino was a group by Bernini,--Pluto, an outrageously masculine and strenuous figure, heavily bearded, ravishing away a little, tender Proserpine, whom he holds aloft, while his forcible gripe impresses itself into her soft virgin flesh. It is very disagreeable, but it makes one feel that Bernini was a man of great ability. There are some works in literature that bear an analogy to his works in sculpture, when great power is lavished a little outside of nature, and therefore proves to be only a fashion,--and not permanently adapted to the tastes of mankind. March 27th.--Yesterday forenoon my wife and I went to St. Peter's to see the pope pray at the chapel of the Holy Sacrament. We found a good many people in the church, but not an inconvenient number; indeed, not so many as to make any remarkable show in the great nave, nor even in front of the chapel. A detachment of the Swiss Guard, in their strange, picturesque, harlequin-like costume, were on duty before the chapel, in which the wax tapers were all lighted, and a prie-dieu was arranged near the shrine, and covered with scarlet velvet. On each side, along the breadth of the side aisle, were placed seats, covered with rich tapestry or carpeting; and some gentlemen and ladies--English, probably, or American--had comfortably deposited themselves here, but were compelled to move by the guards before the pope's entrance. His Holiness should have appeared precisely at twelve, but we waited nearly half an hour beyond that time; and it seemed to me particularly ill-mannered in the pope, who owes the courtesy of being punctual to the people, if not to St. Peter. By and by, however, there was a stir; the guard motioned to us to stand away from the benches, against the backs of which we had been leaning; the spectators in the nave looked towards the door, as if they beheld something approaching; and first, there appeared some cardinals, in scarlet skull-caps and purple robes, intermixed with some of the Noble Guard and other attendants. It was not a very formal and stately procession, but rather straggled onward, with ragged edges, the spectators standing aside to let it pass, and merely bowing, or perhaps slightly bending the knee, as good Catholics are accustomed to do when passing before the shrines of saints. Then, in the midst of the purple cardinals, all of whom were gray-haired men, appeared a stout old man, with a white skull-cap, a scarlet, gold-embroidered cape falling over his shoulders, and a white silk robe, the train of which was borne up by an attendant. He walked slowly, with a sort of dignified movement, stepping out broadly, and planting his feet (on which were red shoes) flat upon the pavement, as if he were not much accustomed to locomotion, and perhaps had known a twinge of the gout. His face was kindly and venerable, but not particularly impressive. Arriving at the scarlet-covered prie-dieu, he kneeled down and took off his white skull-cap; the cardinals also kneeled behind and on either side of him, taking off their scarlet skull-caps; while the Noble Guard remained standing, six on one side of his Holiness and six on the other. The pope bent his head upon the prie-dieu, and seemed to spend three or four minutes in prayer; then rose, and all the purple cardinals, and bishops, and priests, of whatever degree, rose behind and beside him. Next, he went to kiss St. Peter's toe; at least I believe he kissed it, but I was not near enough to be certain; and lastly, he knelt down, and directed his devotions towards the high altar. This completed the ceremonies, and his Holiness left the church by a side door, making a short passage into the Vatican. I am very glad I have seen the pope, because now he may be crossed out of the list of sights to be seen. His proximity impressed me kindly and favorably towards him, and I did not see one face among all his cardinals (in whose number, doubtless, is his successor) which I would so soon trust as that of Pio Nono. This morning I walked as far as the gate of San Paolo, and, on approaching it, I saw the gray sharp pyramid of Caius Cestius pointing upward close to the two dark-brown, battlemented Gothic towers of the gateway, each of these very different pieces of architecture looking the more picturesque for the contrast of the other. Before approaching the gateway and pyramid, I walked onward, and soon came in sight of Monte Testaccio, the artificial hill made of potsherds. There is a gate admitting into the grounds around the hill, and a road encircling its base. At a distance, the hill looks greener than any other part of the landscape, and has all the curved outlines of a natural hill, resembling in shape a headless sphinx, or Saddleback Mountain, as I used to see it from Lenox. It is of very considerable height,--two or three hundred feet at least, I should say,--and well entitled, both by its elevation and the space it covers, to be reckoned among the hills of Rome. Its base is almost entirely surrounded with small structures, which seem to be used as farm-buildings. On the summit is a large iron cross, the Church having thought it expedient to redeem these shattered pipkins from the power of paganism, as it has so many other Roman ruins. There was a pathway up the hill, but I did not choose to ascend it under the hot sun, so steeply did it clamber up. There appears to be a good depth of soil on most parts of Monte Testaccio, but on some of the sides you observe precipices, bristling with fragments of red or brown earthenware, or pieces of vases of white unglazed clay; and it is evident that this immense pile is entirely composed of broken crockery, which I should hardly have thought would have aggregated to such a heap had it all been thrown here,--urns, teacups, porcelain, or earthen,--since the beginning of the world. I walked quite round the hill, and saw, at no great distance from it, the enclosure of the Protestant burial-ground, which lies so close to the pyramid of Caius Cestius that the latter may serve as a general monument to the dead. Deferring, for the present, a visit to the cemetery, or to the interior of the pyramid, I returned to the gateway of San Paolo, and, passing through it, took a view of it from the outside of the city wall. It is itself a portion of the wall, having been built into it by the Emperor Aurelian, so that about half of it lies within and half without. The brick or red stone material of the wall being so unlike the marble of the pyramid, the latter is as distinct, and seems as insulated, as if it stood alone in the centre of a plain; and really I do not think there is a more striking architectural object in Rome. It is in perfect condition, just as little ruined or decayed as on the day when the builder put the last peak on the summit; and it ascends steeply from its base, with a point so sharp that it looks as if it would hardly afford foothold to a bird. The marble was once white, but is now covered with a gray coating like that which has gathered upon the statues of Castor and Pollux on Monte Cavallo. Not one of the great blocks is displaced, nor seems likely to be through all time to come. They rest one upon another, in straight and even lines, and present a vast smooth triangle, ascending from a base of a hundred feet, and narrowing to an apex at the height of a hundred and twenty-five, the junctures of the marble slabs being so close that, in all these twenty centuries, only a few little tufts of grass, and a trailing plant or two, have succeeded in rooting themselves into the interstices. It is good and satisfactory to see anything which, being built for an enduring monument, has endured so faithfully, and has a prospect of such an interminable futurity before it. Once, indeed, it seemed likely to be buried; for three hundred years ago it had become covered to the depth of sixteen feet, but the soil has since been dug away from its base, which is now lower than that of the road which passes through the neighboring gate of San Paolo. Midway up the pyramid, cut in the marble, is an inscription in large Roman letters, still almost as legible as when first wrought. I did not return through the Paolo gateway, but kept onward, round the exterior of the wall, till I came to the gate of San Sebastiano. It was a hot and not a very interesting walk, with only a high bare wall of brick, broken by frequent square towers, on one side of the road, and a bank and hedge or a garden wall on the other. Roman roads are most inhospitable, offering no shade, and no seat, and no pleasant views of rustic domiciles; nothing but the wheel-track of white dust, without a foot path running by its side, and seldom any grassy margin to refresh the wayfarer's feet. April 3d.--A few days ago we visited the studio of Mr. ------, an American, who seems to have a good deal of vogue as a sculptor. We found a figure of Pocahontas, which he has repeated several times; another, which he calls "The Wept of the Wish-ton-Wish," a figure of a smiling girl playing with a cat and dog, and a schoolboy mending a pen. These two last were the only ones that gave me any pleasure, or that really had any merit; for his cleverness and ingenuity appear in homely subjects, but are quite lost in attempts at a higher ideality. Nevertheless, he has a group of the Prodigal Son, possessing more merit than I should have expected from Mr. ------, the son reclining his head on his father's breast, with an expression of utter weariness, at length finding perfect rest, while the father bends his benign countenance over him, and seems to receive him calmly into himself. This group (the plaster-cast standing beside it) is now taking shape out of an immense block of marble, and will be as indestructible as the Laocoon; an idea at once awful and ludicrous, when we consider that it is at best but a respectable production. I have since been told that Mr. ------ had stolen, adopted, we will rather say, the attitude and idea of the group from one executed by a student of the French Academy, and to be seen there in plaster. (We afterwards saw it in the Medici Casino.) Mr. ------ has now been ten years in Italy, and, after all this time, he is still entirely American in everything but the most external surface of his manners; scarcely Europeanized, or much modified even in that. He is a native of ------, but had his early breeding in New York, and might, for any polish or refinement that I can discern in him, still be a country shopkeeper in the interior of New York State or New England. How strange! For one expects to find the polish, the close grain and white purity of marble, in the artist who works in that noble material; but, after all, he handles club, and, judging by the specimens I have seen here, is apt to be clay, not of the finest, himself. Mr. ------ is sensible, shrewd, keen, clever; an ingenious workman, no doubt; with tact enough, and not destitute of taste; very agreeable and lively in his conversation, talking as fast and as naturally as a brook runs, without the slightest affectation. His naturalness is, in fact, a rather striking characteristic, in view of his lack of culture, while yet his life has been concerned with idealities and a beautiful art. What degree of taste he pretends to, he seems really to possess, nor did I hear a single idea from him that struck me as otherwise than sensible. He called to see us last evening, and talked for about two hours in a very amusing and interesting style, his topics being taken from his own personal experience, and shrewdly treated. He spoke much of Greenough, whom he described as an excellent critic of art, but possessed of not the slightest inventive genius. His statue of Washington, at the Capitol, is taken precisely from the Plodian Jupiter; his Chanting Cherubs are copied in marble from two figures in a picture by Raphael. He did nothing that was original with himself To-day we took R-----, and went to see Miss ------, and as her studio seems to be mixed up with Gibson's, we had an opportunity of glancing at some of his beautiful works. We saw a Venus and a Cupid, both of them tinted; and, side by side with them, other statues identical with these, except that the marble was left in its pure whiteness. We found Miss ------ in a little upper room. She has a small, brisk, wide-awake figure, not ungraceful; frank, simple, straightforward, and downright. She had on a robe, I think, but I did not look so low, my attention being chiefly drawn to a sort of man's sack of purple or plum-colored broadcloth, into the side-pockets of which her hands were thrust as she came forward to greet us. She withdrew one hand, however, and presented it cordially to my wife (whom she already knew) and to myself, without waiting for an introduction. She had on a shirt-front, collar, and cravat like a man's, with a brooch of Etruscan gold, and on her curly head was a picturesque little cap of black velvet, and her face was as bright and merry, and as small of feature as a child's. It looked in one aspect youthful, and yet there was something worn in it too. There never was anything so jaunty as her movement and action; she was very peculiar, but she seemed to be her actual self, and nothing affected or made up; so that, for my part, I gave her full leave to wear what may suit her best, and to behave as her inner woman prompts. I don't quite see, however, what she is to do when she grows older, for the decorum of age will not be consistent with a costume that looks pretty and excusable enough in a young woman. Miss ------ led us into a part of the extensive studio, or collection of studios, where some of her own works were to be seen: Beatrice Cenci, which did not very greatly impress me; and a monumental design, a female figure,--wholly draped even to the stockings and shoes,--in a quiet sleep. I liked this last. There was also a Puck, doubtless full of fun; but I had hardly time to glance at it. Miss ------ evidently has good gifts in her profession, and doubtless she derives great advantage from her close association with a consummate artist like Gibson; nor yet does his influence seem to interfere with the originality of her own conceptions. In one way, at least, she can hardly fail to profit,--that is, by the opportunity of showing her works to the throngs of people who go to see Gibson's own; and these are just such people as an artist would most desire to meet, and might never see in a lifetime, if left to himself. I shook hands with this frank and pleasant little person, and took leave, not without purpose of seeing her again. Within a few days, there have been many pilgrims in Rome, who come hither to attend the ceremonies of holy week, and to perform their vows, and undergo their penances. I saw two of them near the Forum yesterday, with their pilgrim staves, in the fashion of a thousand years ago. . . . . I sat down on a bench near one of the chapels, and a woman immediately came up to me to beg. I at first refused; but she knelt down by my side, and instead of praying to the saint prayed to me; and, being thus treated as a canonized personage, I thought it incumbent on me to be gracious to the extent of half a paul. My wife, some time ago, came in contact with a pickpocket at the entrance of a church; and, failing in his enterprise upon her purse, he passed in, dipped his thieving fingers in the holy water, and paid his devotions at a shrine. Missing the purse, he said his prayers, in the hope, perhaps, that the saint would send him better luck another time. April 10th.--I have made no entries in my journal recently, being exceedingly lazy, partly from indisposition, as well as from an atmosphere that takes the vivacity out of everybody. Not much has happened or been effected. Last Sunday, which was Easter Sunday, I went with J----- to St. Peter's, where we arrived at about nine o'clock, and found a multitude of people already assembled in the church. The interior was arrayed in festal guise, there being a covering of scarlet damask over the pilasters of the nave, from base to capital, giving an effect of splendor, yet with a loss as to the apparent dimensions of the interior. A guard of soldiers occupied the nave, keeping open a wide space for the passage of a procession that was momently expected, and soon arrived. The crowd was too great to allow of my seeing it in detail; but I could perceive that there were priests, cardinals, Swiss guards, some of them with corselets on, and by and by the pope himself was borne up the nave, high over the heads of all, sitting under a canopy, crowned with his tiara. He floated slowly along, and was set down in the neighborhood of the high altar; and the procession being broken up, some of its scattered members might be seen here and there, about the church,--officials in antique Spanish dresses; Swiss guards, in polished steel breastplates; serving-men, in richly embroidered liveries; officers, in scarlet coats and military boots; priests, and divers other shapes of men; for the papal ceremonies seem to forego little or nothing that belongs to times past, while it includes everything appertaining to the present. I ought to have waited to witness the papal benediction from the balcony in front of the church; or, at least, to hear the famous silver trumpets, sounding from the dome; but J----- grew weary (to say the truth, so did I), and we went on a long walk, out of the nearest city gate, and back through the Janiculum, and, finally, homeward over the Ponto Rotto. Standing on the bridge, I saw the arch of the Cloaca Maxima, close by the Temple of Vesta, with the water rising within two or three feet of its keystone. The same evening we went to Monte Cavallo, where, from the gateway of the Pontifical Palace, we saw the illumination of St. Peter's. Mr. Akers, the sculptor, had recommended this position to us, and accompanied us thither, as the best point from which the illumination could be witnessed at a distance, without the incommodity of such a crowd as would be assembled at the Pincian. The first illumination, the silver one, as it is called, was very grand and delicate, describing the outline of the great edifice and crowning dome in light; while the day was not yet wholly departed. As ------ finally remarked, it seemed like the glorified spirit of the Church, made visible, or, as I will add, it looked as this famous and never-to-be-forgotten structure will look to the imaginations of men, through the waste and gloom of future ages, after it shall have gone quite to decay and ruin: the brilliant, though scarcely distinct gleam of a statelier dome than ever was seen, shining on the background of the night of Time. This simile looked prettier in my fancy than I have made it look on paper. After we had enjoyed the silver illumination a good while, and when all the daylight had given place to the constellated night, the distant outline of St. Peter's burst forth, in the twinkling of an eye, into a starry blaze, being quite the finest effect that I ever witnessed. I stayed to see it, however, only a few minutes; for I was quite ill and feverish with a cold,--which, indeed, I have seldom been free from, since my first breathing of the genial atmosphere of Rome. This pestilence kept me within doors all the next day, and prevented me from seeing the beautiful fireworks that were exhibited in the evening from the platform on the Pincian, above the Piazza del Popolo. On Thursday, I paid another visit to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol, where I was particularly struck with a bust of Cato the Censor, who must have been the most disagreeable, stubborn, ugly-tempered, pig-headed, narrow-minded, strong-willed old Roman that ever lived. The collection of busts here and at the Vatican are most interesting, many of the individual heads being full of character, and commending themselves by intrinsic evidence as faithful portraits of the originals. These stone people have stood face to face with Caesar, and all the other emperors, and with statesmen, soldiers, philosophers, and poets of the antique world, and have been to them like their reflections in a mirror. It is the next thing to seeing the men themselves. We went afterwards into the Palace of the Conservatori, and saw, among various other interesting things, the bronze wolf suckling Romulus and Remus, who sit beneath her dugs, with open mouths to receive the milk. On Friday, we all went to see the Pope's Palace on the Quirinal. There was a vast hall, and an interminable suite of rooms, cased with marble, floored with marble or mosaics or inlaid wood, adorned with frescos on the vaulted ceilings, and many of them lined with Gobelin tapestry; not wofully faded, like almost all that I have hitherto seen, but brilliant as pictures. Indeed, some of them so closely resembled paintings, that I could hardly believe they were not so; and the effect was even richer than that of oil-paintings. In every room there was a crucifix; but I did not see a single nook or corner where anybody could have dreamed of being comfortable. Nevertheless, as a stately and solemn residence for his Holiness, it is quite a satisfactory affair. Afterwards, we went into the Pontifical Gardens, connected with the palace. They are very extensive, and laid out in straight avenues, bordered with walls of box, as impervious as if of stone,--not less than twenty feet high, and pierced with lofty archways, cut in the living wall. Some of the avenues were overshadowed with trees, the tops of which bent over and joined one another from either side, so as to resemble a side aisle of a Gothic cathedral. Marble sculptures, much weather-stained, and generally broken-nosed, stood along these stately walks; there were many fountains gushing up into the sunshine; we likewise found a rich flower-garden, containing rare specimens of exotic flowers, and gigantic cactuses, and also an aviary, with vultures, doves, and singing birds. We did not see half the garden, but, stiff and formal as its general arrangement is, it is a beautiful place,--a delightful, sunny, and serene seclusion. Whatever it may be to the pope, two young lovers might find the Garden of Eden here, and never desire to stray out of its precincts. They might fancy angels standing in the long, glimmering vistas of the avenues. It would suit me well enough to have my daily walk along such straight paths, for I think them favorable to thought, which is apt to be disturbed by variety and unexpectedness. April 12th.--We all, except R-----, went to-day to the Vatican, where we found our way to the Stanze of Raphael, these being four rooms, or halls, painted with frescos. No doubt they were once very brilliant and beautiful; but they have encountered hard treatment since Raphael's time, especially when the soldiers of the Constable de Bourbon occupied these apartments, and made fires on the mosaic floors. The entire walls and ceilings are covered with pictures; but the handiwork or designs of Raphael consist of paintings on the four sides of each room, and include several works of art. The School of Athens is perhaps the most celebrated; and the longest side of the largest hall is occupied by a battle-piece, of which the Emperor Constantine is the hero, and which covers almost space enough for a real battle-field. There was a wonderful light in one of the pictures,--that of St. Peter awakened in his prison, by the angel; it really seemed to throw a radiance into the hall below. I shall not pretend, however, to have been sensible of any particular rapture at the sight of these frescos; so faded as they are, so battered by the mischances of years, insomuch that, through all the power and glory of Raphael's designs, the spectator cannot but be continually sensible that the groundwork of them is an old plaster wall. They have been scrubbed, I suppose,--brushed, at least,--a thousand times over, till the surface, brilliant or soft, as Raphael left it, must have been quite rubbed off, and with it, all the consummate finish, and everything that made them originally delightful. The sterner features remain, the skeleton of thought, but not the beauty that once clothed it. In truth, the frescos, excepting a few figures, never had the real touch of Raphael's own hand upon them, having been merely designed by him, and finished by his scholars, or by other artists. The halls themselves are specimens of antique magnificence, paved with elaborate mosaics; and wherever there is any wood-work, it is richly carved with foliage and figures. In their newness, and probably for a hundred years afterwards, there could not have been so brilliant a suite of rooms in the world. Connected with them--at any rate, not far distant--is the little Chapel of San Lorenzo, the very site of which, among the thousands of apartments of the Vatican, was long forgotten, and its existence only known by tradition. After it had been walled up, however, beyond the memory of man, there was still a rumor of some beautiful frescos by Fra Angelico, in an old chapel of Pope Nicholas V., that had strangely disappeared out of the palace, and, search at length being made, it was discovered, and entered through a window. It is a small, lofty room, quite covered over with frescos of sacred subjects, both on the walls and ceiling, a good deal faded, yet pretty distinctly preserved. It would have been no misfortune to me, if the little old chapel had remained still hidden. We next issued into the Loggie, which consist of a long gallery, or arcade or colonnade, the whole extent of which was once beautifully adorned by Raphael. These pictures are almost worn away, and so defaced as to be untraceable and unintelligible, along the side wall of the gallery; although traceries of Arabesque, and compartments where there seem to have been rich paintings, but now only an indistinguishable waste of dull color, are still to be seen. In the coved ceiling, however, there are still some bright frescos, in better preservation than any others; not particularly beautiful, nevertheless. I remember to have seen (indeed, we ourselves possess them) a series of very spirited and energetic engravings, old and coarse, of these frescos, the subject being the Creation, and the early Scripture history; and I really think that their translation of the pictures is better than the original. On reference to Murray, I find that little more than the designs is attributed to Raphael, the execution being by Giulio Romano and other artists. Escaping from these forlorn splendors, we went into the sculpture-gallery, where I was able to enjoy, in some small degree, two or three wonderful works of art; and had a perception that there were a thousand other wonders around me. It is as if the statues kept, for the most part, a veil about them, which they sometimes withdraw, and let their beauty gleam upon my sight; only a glimpse, or two or three glimpses, or a little space of calm enjoyment, and then I see nothing but a discolored marble image again. The Minerva Medica revealed herself to-day. I wonder whether other people are more fortunate than myself, and can invariably find their way to the inner soul of a work of art. I doubt it; they look at these things for just a minute, and pass on, without any pang of remorse, such as I feel, for quitting them so soon and so willingly. I am partly sensible that some unwritten rules of taste are making their way into my mind; that all this Greek beauty has done something towards refining me, though I am still, however, a very sturdy Goth. . . . . April 15th.--Yesterday I went with J----- to the Forum, and descended into the excavations at the base of the Capitol, and on the site of the Basilica of Julia. The essential elements of old Rome are there: columns, single, or in groups of two or three, still erect, but battered and bruised at some forgotten time with infinite pains and labor; fragments of other columns lying prostrate, together with rich capitals and friezes; the bust of a colossal female statue, showing the bosom and upper part of the arms, but headless; a long, winding space of pavement, forming part of the ancient ascent to the Capitol, still as firm and solid as ever; the foundation of the Capitol itself, wonderfully massive, built of immense square blocks of stone, doubtless three thousand years old, and durable for whatever may be the lifetime of the world; the Arch of Septimius, Severus, with bas-reliefs of Eastern wars; the Column of Phocas, with the rude series of steps ascending on four sides to its pedestal; the floor of beautiful and precious marbles in the Basilica of Julia, the slabs cracked across,--the greater part of them torn up and removed, the grass and weeds growing up through the chinks of what remain; heaps of bricks, shapeless bits of granite, and other ancient rubbish, among which old men are lazily rummaging for specimens that a stranger may be induced to buy,--this being an employment that suits the indolence of a modern Roman. The level of these excavations is about fifteen feet, I should judge, below the present street, which passes through the Forum, and only a very small part of this alien surface has been removed, though there can be no doubt that it hides numerous treasures of art and monuments of history. Yet these remains do not make that impression of antiquity upon me which Gothic ruins do. Perhaps it is so because they belong to quite another system of society and epoch of time, and, in view of them, we forget all that has intervened betwixt them and us; being morally unlike and disconnected with them, and not belonging to the same train of thought; so that we look across a gulf to the Roman ages, and do not realize how wide the gulf is. Yet in that intervening valley lie Christianity, the Dark Ages, the feudal system, chivalry and romance, and a deeper life of the human race than Rome brought to the verge of the gulf. To-day we went to the Colonna Palace, where we saw some fine pictures, but, I think, no masterpieces. They did not depress and dishearten me so much as the pictures in Roman palaces usually do; for they were in remarkably good order as regards frames and varnish; indeed, I rather suspect some of them had been injured by the means adopted to preserve their beauty. The palace is now occupied by the French Ambassador, who probably looks upon the pictures as articles of furniture and household adornment, and does not choose to have squares of black and forlorn canvas upon his walls. There were a few noble portraits by Vandyke; a very striking one by Holbein, one or two by Titian, also by Guercino, and some pictures by Rubens, and other forestieri painters, which refreshed my weary eyes. But--what chiefly interested me was the magnificent and stately hall of the palace; fifty-five of my paces in length, besides a large apartment at either end, opening into it through a pillared space, as wide as the gateway of a city. The pillars are of giallo antico, and there are pilasters of the same all the way up and down the walls, forming a perspective of the richest aspect, especially as the broad cornice flames with gilding, and the spaces between the pilasters are emblazoned with heraldic achievements and emblems in gold, and there are Venetian looking-glasses, richly decorated over the surface with beautiful pictures of flowers and Cupids, through which you catch the gleam of the mirror; and two rows of splendid chandeliers extend from end to end of the hall, which, when lighted up, if ever it be lighted up, now-a-nights, must be the most brilliant interior that ever mortal eye beheld. The ceiling glows with pictures in fresco, representing scenes connected with the history of the Colonna family; and the floor is paved with beautiful marbles, polished and arranged in square and circular compartments; and each of the many windows is set in a great architectural frame of precious marble, as large as the portal of a door. The apartment at the farther end of the hall is elevated above it, and is attained by several marble steps, whence it must have been glorious in former days to have looked down upon a gorgeous throng of princes, cardinals, warriors, and ladies, in such rich attire as might be worn when the palace was built. It is singular how much freshness and brightness it still retains; and the only objects to mar the effect were some ancient statues and busts, not very good in themselves, and now made dreary of aspect by their corroded surfaces,--the result of long burial under ground. In the room at the entrance of the hall are two cabinets, each a wonder in its way,--one being adorned with precious stones; the other with ivory carvings of Michael Angelo's Last Judgment, and of the frescos of Raphael's Loggie. The world has ceased to be so magnificent as it once was. Men make no such marvels nowadays. The only defect that I remember in this hall was in the marble steps that ascend to the elevated apartment at the end of it; a large piece had been broken out of one of them, leaving a rough irregular gap in the polished marble stair. It is not easy to conceive what violence can have done this, without also doing mischief to all the other splendor around it. April 16th.--We went this morning to the Academy of St. Luke (the Fine Arts Academy at Rome) in the Via Bonella, close by the Forum. We rang the bell at the house door; and after a few moments it was unlocked or unbolted by some unseen agency from above, no one making his appearance to admit us. We ascended two or three flights of stairs, and entered a hall, where was a young man, the custode, and two or three artists engaged in copying some of the pictures. The collection not being vastly large, and the pictures being in more presentable condition than usual, I enjoyed them more than I generally do; particularly a Virgin and Child by Vandyke, where two angels are singing and playing, one on a lute and the other on a violin, to remind the holy infant of the strains he used to hear in heaven. It is one of the few pictures that there is really any pleasure in looking at. There were several paintings by Titian, mostly of a voluptuous character, but not very charming; also two or more by Guido, one of which, representing Fortune, is celebrated. They did not impress me much, nor do I find myself strongly drawn towards Guido, though there is no other painter who seems to achieve things so magically and inscrutably as he sometimes does. Perhaps it requires a finer taste than mine to appreciate him; and yet I do appreciate him so far as to see that his Michael, for instance, is perfectly beautiful. . . . . In the gallery, there are whole rows of portraits of members of the Academy of St. Luke, most of whom, judging by their physiognomies, were very commonplace people; a fact which makes itself visible in a portrait, however much the painter may try to flatter his sitter. Several of the pictures by Titian, Paul Veronese, and other artists, now exhibited in the gallery, were formerly kept in a secret cabinet in the Capitol, being considered of a too voluptuous character for the public eye. I did not think them noticeably indecorous, as compared with a hundred other pictures that are shown and looked at without scruple;--Calypso and her nymphs, a knot of nude women by Titian, is perhaps as objectionable as any. But even Titian's flesh-tints cannot keep, and have not kept their warmth through all these centuries. The illusion and lifelikeness effervesces and exhales out of a picture as it grows old; and we go on talking of a charm that has forever vanished. From St. Luke's we went to San Pietro in Vincoli, occupying a fine position on or near the summit of the Esquiline mount. A little abortion of a man (and, by the by, there are more diminutive and ill-shapen men and women in Rome than I ever saw elsewhere, a phenomenon to be accounted for, perhaps, by their custom of wrapping the new-born infant in swaddling-clothes), this two-foot abortion hastened before us, as we drew nigh, to summon the sacristan to open the church door. It was a needless service, for which we rewarded him with two baiocchi. San Pietro is a simple and noble church, consisting of a nave divided from the side aisles by rows of columns, that once adorned some ancient temple; and its wide, unencumbered interior affords better breathing-space than most churches in Rome. The statue of Moses occupies a niche in one of the side aisles on the right, not far from the high altar. I found it grand and sublime, with a beard flowing down like a cataract; a truly majestic figure, but not so benign as it were desirable that such strength should be. The horns, about which so much has been said, are not a very prominent feature of the statue, being merely two diminutive tips rising straight up over his forehead, neither adding to the grandeur of the head, nor detracting sensibly from it. The whole force of this statue is not to be felt in one brief visit, but I agree with an English gentleman, who, with a large party, entered the church while we were there, in thinking that Moses has "very fine features,"--a compliment for which the colossal Hebrew ought to have made the Englishman a bow. Besides the Moses, the church contains some attractions of a pictorial kind, which are reposited in the sacristy, into which we passed through a side door. The most remarkable of these pictures is a face and bust of Hope, by Guido, with beautiful eyes lifted upwards; it has a grace which artists are continually trying to get into their innumerable copies, but always without success; for, indeed, though nothing is more true than the existence of this charm in the picture, yet if you try to analyze it, or even look too intently at it, it vanishes, till you look again with more trusting simplicity. Leaving the church, we wandered to the Coliseum, and to the public grounds contiguous to them, where a score and more of French drummers were beating each man his drum, without reference to any rub-a-dub but his own. This seems to be a daily or periodical practice and point of duty with them. After resting ourselves on one of the marble benches, we came slowly home, through the Basilica of Constantine, and along the shady sides of the streets and piazzas, sometimes, perforce, striking boldly through the white sunshine, which, however, was not so hot as to shrivel us up bodily. It has been a most beautiful and perfect day as regards weather, clear and bright, very warm in the sunshine, yet freshened throughout by a quiet stir in the air. Still there is something in this air malevolent, or, at least, not friendly. The Romans lie down and fall asleep in it, in any vacant part of the streets, and wherever they can find any spot sufficiently clean, and among the ruins of temples. I would not sleep in the open air for whatever my life may be worth. On our way home, sitting in one of the narrow streets, we saw an old woman spinning with a distaff; a far more ancient implement than the spinning-wheel, which the housewives of other nations have long since laid aside. April 18th.--Yesterday, at noon, the whole family of us set out on a visit to the Villa Borghese and its grounds, the entrance to which is just outside of the Porta del Popolo. After getting within the grounds, however, there is a long walk before reaching the casino, and we found the sun rather uncomfortably hot, and the road dusty and white in the sunshine; nevertheless, a footpath ran alongside of it most of the way through the grass and among the young trees. It seems to me that the trees do not put forth their leaves with nearly the same magical rapidity in this southern land at the approach of summer, as they do in more northerly countries. In these latter, having a much shorter time to develop themselves, they feel the necessity of making the most of it. But the grass, in the lawns and enclosures along which we passed, looked already fit to be mowed, and it was interspersed with many flowers. Saturday being, I believe, the only day of the week on which visitors are admitted to the casino, there were many parties in carriages, artists on foot, gentlemen on horseback, and miscellaneous people, to whom the door was opened by a custode on ringing a bell. The whole of the basement floor of the casino, comprising a suite of beautiful rooms, is filled with statuary. The entrance hall is a very splendid apartment, brightly frescoed, and paved with ancient mosaics, representing the combats with beasts and gladiators in the Coliseum, curious, though very rudely and awkwardly designed, apparently after the arts had begun to decline. Many of the specimens of sculpture displayed in these rooms are fine, but none of them, I think, possess the highest merit. An Apollo is beautiful; a group of a fighting Amazon, and her enemies trampled under her horse's feet, is very impressive; a Faun, copied from that of Praxiteles, and another, who seems to be dancing, were exceedingly pleasant to look at. I like these strange, sweet, playful, rustic creatures, . . . . linked so prettily, without monstrosity, to the lower tribes. . . . . Their character has never, that I know of, been wrought out in literature; and something quite good, funny, and philosophical, as well as poetic, might very likely be educed from them. . . . . The faun is a natural and delightful link betwixt human and brute life, with something of a divine character intermingled. The gallery, as it is called, on the basement floor of the casino, is sixty feet in length, by perhaps a third as much in breadth, and is (after all I have seen at the Colonna Palace and elsewhere) a more magnificent hall than I imagined to be in existence. It is floored with rich marble in beautifully arranged compartments, and the walls are almost entirely eased with marble of various sorts, the prevailing kind being giallo antico, intermixed with verd antique, and I know not what else; but the splendor of the giallo antico gives the character to the room, and the large and deep niches along the walls appear to be lined with the same material. Without coming to Italy, one can have no idea of what beauty and magnificence are produced by these fittings up of polished marble. Marble to an American means nothing but white limestone. This hall, moreover, is adorned with pillars of Oriental alabaster, and wherever is a space vacant of precious and richly colored marble it is frescoed with arabesque ornaments; and over the whole is a coved and vaulted ceiling, glowing with picture. There never can be anything richer than the whole effect. As to the sculpture here it was not very fine, so far as I can remember, consisting chiefly of busts of the emperors in porphyry; but they served a good purpose in the upholstery way. There were also magnificent tables, each composed of one great slab of porphyry; and also vases of nero antico, and other rarest substance. It remains to be mentioned that, on this almost summer day, I was quite chilled in passing through these glorious halls; no fireplace anywhere; no possibility of comfort; and in the hot season, when their coolness might be agreeable, it would be death to inhabit them. Ascending a long winding staircase, we arrived at another suite of rooms, containing a good many not very remarkable pictures, and a few more pieces of statuary. Among the latter, is Canova's statue of Pauline, the sister of Bonaparte, who is represented with but little drapery, and in the character of Venus holding the apple in her hand. It is admirably done, and, I have no doubt, a perfect likeness; very beautiful too; but it is wonderful to see how the artificial elegance of the woman of this world makes itself perceptible in spite of whatever simplicity she could find in almost utter nakedness. The statue does not afford pleasure in the contemplation. In one of these upper rooms are some works of Bernini; two of them, Aeneas and Anchises, and David on the point of slinging a stone at Goliath, have great merit, and do not tear and rend themselves quite out of the laws and limits of marble, like his later sculpture. Here is also his Apollo overtaking Daphne, whose feet take root, whose, finger-tips sprout into twigs, and whose tender body roughens round about with bark, as he embraces her. It did not seem very wonderful to me; not so good as Hillard's description of it made me expect; and one does not enjoy these freaks in marble. We were glad to emerge from the casino into the warm sunshine; and, for my part, I made the best of my way to a large fountain, surrounded by a circular stone seat of wide sweep, and sat down in a sunny segment of the circle. Around grew a solemn company of old trees,--ilexes, I believe,-- with huge, contorted trunks and evergreen branches, . . . . deep groves, sunny openings, the airy gush of fountains, marble statues, dimly visible in recesses of foliage, great urns and vases, terminal figures, temples, --all these works of art looking as if they had stood there long enough to feel at home, and to be on friendly and familiar terms with the grass and trees. It is a most beautiful place, . . . . and the Malaria is its true master and inhabitant! April 22d.--We have been recently to the studio of Mr. Brown [now dead], the American landscape-painter, and were altogether surprised and delighted with his pictures. He is a plain, homely Yankee, quite unpolished by his many years' residence in Italy; he talks ungrammatically, and in Yankee idioms; walks with a strange, awkward gait and stooping shoulders; is altogether unpicturesque; but wins one's confidence by his very lack of grace. It is not often that we see an artist so entirely free from affectation in his aspect and deportment. His pictures were views of Swiss and Italian scenery, and were most beautiful and true. One of them, a moonlight picture, was really magical,-- the moon shining so brightly that it seemed to throw a light even beyond the limits of the picture,--and yet his sunrises and sunsets, and noontides too, were nowise inferior to this, although their excellence required somewhat longer study, to be fully appreciated. I seemed to receive more pleasure front Mr. Brown's pictures than from any of the landscapes by the old masters; and the fact serves to strengthen me in the belief that the most delicate if not the highest charm of a picture is evanescent, and that we continue to admire pictures prescriptively and by tradition, after the qualities that first won them their fame have vanished. I suppose Claude was a greater landscape-painter than Brown; but for my own pleasure I would prefer one of the latter artist's pictures,--those of the former being quite changed from what he intended them to be by the effect of time on his pigments. Mr. Brown showed us some drawings from nature, done with incredible care and minuteness of detail, as studies for his paintings. We complimented him on his patience; but he said, "O, it's not patience,--it's love!" In fact, it was a patient and most successful wooing of a beloved object, which at last rewarded him by yielding itself wholly. We have likewise been to Mr. B------'s [now dead] studio, where we saw several pretty statues and busts, and among them an Eve, with her wreath of fig-leaves lying across her poor nudity; comely in some points, but with a frightful volume of thighs and calves. I do not altogether see the necessity of ever sculpturing another nakedness. Man is no longer a naked animal; his clothes are as natural to him as his skin, and sculptors have no more right to undress him than to flay him. Also, we have seen again William Story's Cleopatra,--a work of genuine thought and energy, representing a terribly dangerous woman; quiet enough for the moment, but very likely to spring upon you like a tigress. It is delightful to escape to his creations from this universal prettiness, which seems to be the highest conception of the crowd of modern sculptors, and which they almost invariably attain. Miss Bremer called on us the other day. We find her very little changed from what she was when she came to take tea and spend an evening at our little red cottage, among the Berkshire hills, and went away so dissatisfied with my conversational performances, and so laudatory of my brow and eyes, while so severely criticising my poor mouth and chin. She is the funniest little old fairy in person whom one can imagine, with a huge nose, to which all the rest of her is but an insufficient appendage; but you feel at once that she is most gentle, kind, womanly, sympathetic, and true. She talks English fluently, in a low quiet voice, but with such an accent that it is impossible to understand her without the closest attention. This was the real cause of the failure of our Berkshire interview; for I could not guess, half the time, what she was saying, and, of course, had to take an uncertain aim with my responses. A more intrepid talker than myself would have shouted his ideas across the gulf; but, for me, there must first be a close and unembarrassed contiguity with my companion, or I cannot say one real word. I doubt whether I have ever really talked with half a dozen persons in my life, either men or women. To-day my wife and I have been at the picture and sculpture galleries of the Capitol. I rather enjoyed looking at several of the pictures, though at this moment I particularly remember only a very beautiful face of a man, one of two heads on the same canvas by Vandyke. Yes; I did look with new admiration at Paul Veronese's "Rape of Europa." It must have been, in its day, the most brilliant and rejoicing picture, the most voluptuous, the most exuberant, that ever put the sunshine to shame. The bull has all Jupiter in him, so tender and gentle, yet so passionate, that you feel it indecorous to look at him; and Europa, under her thick rich stuffs and embroideries, is all a woman. What a pity that such a picture should fade, and perplex the beholder with such splendor shining through such forlornness! We afterwards went into the sculpture-gallery, where I looked at the Faun of Praxiteles, and was sensible of a peculiar charm in it; a sylvan beauty and homeliness, friendly and wild at once. The lengthened, but not preposterous ears, and the little tail, which we infer, have an exquisite effect, and make the spectator smile in his very heart. This race of fauns was the most delightful of all that antiquity imagined. It seems to me that a story, with all sorts of fun and pathos in it, might be contrived on the idea of their species having become intermingled with the human race; a family with the faun blood in them, having prolonged itself from the classic era till our own days. The tail might have disappeared, by dint of constant intermarriages with ordinary mortals; but the pretty hairy ears should occasionally reappear in members of the family; and the moral instincts and intellectual characteristics of the faun might be most picturesquely brought out, without detriment to the human interest of the story. Fancy this combination in the person of a young lady! I have spoken of Mr. Gibson's colored statues. It seems (at least Mr. Nichols tells me) that he stains them with tobacco juice. . . . . Were he to send a Cupid to America, he need not trouble himself to stain it beforehand. April 25th.--Night before last, my wife and I took a moonlight ramble through Rome, it being a very beautiful night, warm enough for comfort, and with no perceptible dew or dampness. We set out at about nine o'clock, and, our general direction being towards the Coliseum, we soon came to the Fountain of Trevi, full on the front of which the moonlight fell, making Bernini's sculptures look stately and beautiful, though the semicircular gush and fall of the cascade, and the many jets of the water, pouring and bubbling into the great marble basin, are of far more account than Neptune and his steeds, and the rest of the figures. . . . . We ascended the Capitoline Hill, and I felt a satisfaction in placing my hand on those immense blocks of stone, the remains of the ancient Capitol, which form the foundation of the present edifice, and will make a sure basis for as many edifices as posterity may choose to rear upon it, till the end of the world. It is wonderful, the solidity with which those old Romans built; one would suppose they contemplated the whole course of Time as the only limit of their individual life. This is not so strange in the days of the Republic, when, probably, they believed in the permanence of their institutions; but they still seemed to build for eternity, in the reigns of the emperors, when neither rulers nor people had any faith or moral substance, or laid any earnest grasp on life. Reaching the top of the Capitoline Hill, we ascended the steps of the portal of the Palace of the Senator, and looked down into the piazza, with the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the centre of it. The architecture that surrounds the piazza is very ineffective; and so, in my opinion, are all the other architectural works of Michael Angelo, including St. Peter's itself, of which he has made as little as could possibly be made of such a vast pile of material. He balances everything in such a way that it seems but half of itself. We soon descended into the piazza, and walked round and round the statue of Marcus Aurelius, contemplating it from every point and admiring it in all. . . . . On these beautiful moonlight nights, Rome appears to keep awake and stirring, though in a quiet and decorous way. It is, in fact, the pleasantest time for promenades, and we both felt less wearied than by any promenade in the daytime, of similar extent, since our residence in Rome. In future, I mean to walk often after nightfall. Yesterday, we set out betimes, and ascended the dome of St. Peter's. The best view of the interior of the church, I think, is from the first gallery beneath the dome. The whole inside of the dome is set with mosaic-work, the separate pieces being, so far as I could see, about half an inch square. Emerging on the roof, we had a fine view of all the surrounding Rome, including the Mediterranean Sea in the remote distance. Above us still rose the whole mountain of the great dome, and it made an impression on me of greater height and size than I had yet been able to receive. The copper ball at the summit looked hardly bigger than a man could lift; and yet, a little while afterwards, U----, J-----, and I stood all together in that ball, which could have contained a dozen more along with us. The esplanade of the roof is, of course, very extensive; and along the front of it are ranged the statues which we see from below, and which, on nearer examination, prove to be roughly hewn giants. There is a small house on the roof, where, probably, the custodes of this part of the edifice reside; and there is a fountain gushing abundantly into a stone trough, that looked like an old sarcophagus. It is strange where the water comes from at such a height. The children tasted it, and pronounced it very warm and disagreeable. After taking in the prospect on all sides we rang a bell, which summoned a man, who directed us towards a door in the side of the dome, where a custode was waiting to admit us. Hitherto the ascent had been easy, along a slope without stairs, up which, I believe, people sometimes ride on donkeys. The rest of the way we mounted steep and narrow staircases, winding round within the wall, or between the two walls of the dome, and growing narrower and steeper, till, finally, there is but a perpendicular iron ladder, by means of which to climb into the copper ball. Except through small windows and peep-holes, there is no external prospect of a higher point than the roof of the church. Just beneath the ball there is a circular room capable of containing a large company, and a door which ought to give access to a gallery on the outside; but the custode informed us that this door is never opened. As I have said, U----, J-----, and I clambered into the copper ball, which we found as hot as an oven; and, after putting our hands on its top, and on the summit of St. Peter's, were glad to clamber down again. I have made some mistake, after all, in my narration. There certainly is a circular balcony at the top of the dome, for I remember walking round it, and looking, not only across the country, but downwards along the ribs of the dome; to which are attached the iron contrivances for illuminating it on Easter Sunday. . . . . Before leaving the church we went to look at the mosaic copy of the "Transfiguration," because we were going to see the original in the Vatican, and wished to compare the two. Going round to the entrance of the Vatican, we went first to the manufactory of mosaics, to which we had a ticket of admission. We found it a long series of rooms, in which the mosaic artists were at work, chiefly in making some medallions of the heads of saints for the new church of St. Paul's. It was rather coarse work, and it seemed to me that the mosaic copy was somewhat stiffer and more wooden than the original, the bits of stone not flowing into color quite so freely as paint from a brush. There was no large picture now in process of being copied; but two or three artists were employed on small and delicate subjects. One had a Holy Family of Raphael in hand; and the Sibyls of Guercino and Domenichino were hanging on the wall, apparently ready to be put into mosaic. Wherever great skill and delicacy, on the artists' part were necessary, they seemed quite adequate to the occasion; but, after all, a mosaic of any celebrated picture is but a copy of a copy. The substance employed is a stone-paste, of innumerable different views, and in bits of various sizes, quantities of which were seen in cases along the whole series of rooms. We next ascended an amazing height of staircases, and walked along I know not what extent of passages, . . . . till we reached the picture-gallery of the Vatican, into which I had never been before. There are but three rooms, all lined with red velvet, on which hung about fifty pictures, each one of them, no doubt, worthy to be considered a masterpiece. In the first room were three Murillos, all so beautiful that I could have spent the day happily in looking at either of them; for, methinks, of all painters he is the tenderest and truest. I could not enjoy these pictures now, however, because in the next room, and visible through the open door, hung the "Transfiguration." Approaching it, I felt that the picture was worthy of its fame, and was far better than I could at once appreciate; admirably preserved, too, though I fully believe it must have possessed a charm when it left Raphael's hand that has now vanished forever. As church furniture and an external adornment, the mosaic copy is preferable to the original, but no copy could ever reproduce all the life and expression which we see here. Opposite to it hangs the "Communion of St. Jerome," the aged, dying saint, half torpid with death already, partaking of the sacrament, and a sunny garland of cherubs in the upper part of the picture, looking down upon him, and quite comforting the spectator with the idea that the old man needs only to be quite dead in order to flit away with them. As for the other pictures I did but glance at, and have forgotten them. The "Transfiguration" is finished with great minuteness and detail, the weeds and blades of grass in the foreground being as distinct as if they were growing in a natural soil. A partly decayed stick of wood with the bark is likewise given in close imitation of nature. The reflection of a foot of one of the apostles is seen in a pool of water at the verge of the picture. One or two heads and arms seem almost to project from the canvas. There is great lifelikeness and reality, as well as higher qualities. The face of Jesus, being so high aloft and so small in the distance, I could not well see; but I am impressed with the idea that it looks too much like human flesh and blood to be in keeping with the celestial aspect of the figure, or with the probabilities of the scene, when the divinity and immortality of the Saviour beamed from within him through the earthly features that ordinarily shaded him. As regards the composition of the picture, I am not convinced of the propriety of its being in two so distinctly separate parts,--the upper portion not thinking of the lower, and the lower portion not being aware of the higher. It symbolizes, however, the spiritual short-sightedness of mankind that, amid the trouble and grief of the lower picture, not a single individual, either of those who seek help or those who would willingly afford it, lifts his eyes to that region, one glimpse of which would set everything right. One or two of the disciples point upward, but without really knowing what abundance of help is to be had there. April 27th.--To-day we have all been with Mr. Akers to some studios of painters; first to that of Mr. Wilde, an artist originally from Boston. His pictures are principally of scenes from Venice, and are miracles of color, being as bright as if the light were transmitted through rubies and sapphires. And yet, after contemplating them awhile, we became convinced that the painter had not gone in the least beyond nature, but, on the contrary, had fallen short of brilliancies which no palette, or skill, or boldness in using color, could attain. I do not quite know whether it is best to attempt these things. They may be found in nature, no doubt, but always so tempered by what surrounds them, so put out of sight even while they seem full before our eyes, that we question the accuracy of a faithful reproduction of them on canvas. There was a picture of sunset, the whole sky of which would have outshone any gilded frame that could have been put around it. There was a most gorgeous sketch of a handful of weeds and leaves, such as may be seen strewing acres of forest-ground in an American autumn. I doubt whether any other man has ever ventured to paint a picture like either of these two, the Italian sunset or the American autumnal foliage. Mr. Wilde, who is still young, talked with genuine feeling and enthusiasm of his art, and is certainly a man of genius. We next went to the studio of an elderly Swiss artist, named Mueller, I believe, where we looked at a great many water-color and crayon drawings of scenes in Italy, Greece, and Switzerland. The artist was a quiet, respectable, somewhat heavy-looking old gentleman, from whose aspect one would expect a plodding pertinacity of character rather than quickness of sensibility. He must have united both these qualities, however, to produce such pictures as these, such faithful transcripts of whatever Nature has most beautiful to show, and which she shows only to those who love her deeply and patiently. They are wonderful pictures, compressing plains, seas, and mountains, with miles and miles of distance, into the space of a foot or two, without crowding anything or leaving out a feature, and diffusing the free, blue atmosphere throughout. The works of the English watercolor artists which I saw at the Manchester Exhibition seemed to me nowise equal to these. Now, here are three artists, Mr. Brown, Mr. Wilde, and Mr. Mueller, who have smitten me with vast admiration within these few days past, while I am continually turning away disappointed from the landscapes of the most famous among the old masters, unable to find any charm or illusion in them. Yet I suppose Claude, Poussin, and Salvator Rosa must have won their renown by real achievements. But the glory of a picture fades like that of a flower. Contiguous to Mr. Mueller's studio was that of a young German artist, not long resident in Rome, and Mr. Akers proposed that we should go in there, as a matter of kindness to the young man, who is scarcely known at all, and seldom has a visitor to look at his pictures. His studio comprised his whole establishment; for there was his little bed, with its white drapery, in a corner of the small room, and his dressing-table, with its brushes and combs, while the easel and the few sketches of Italian scenes and figures occupied the foreground. I did not like his pictures very well, but would gladly have bought them all if I could have afforded it, the artist looked so cheerful, patient, and quiet, doubtless amidst huge discouragement. He is probably stubborn of purpose, and is the sort of man who will improve with every year of his life. We could not speak his language, and were therefore spared the difficulty of paying him any compliments; but Miss Shepard said a few kind words to him in German. and seemed quite to win his heart, insomuch that he followed her with bows and smiles a long way down the staircase. It is a terrible business, this looking at pictures, whether good or bad, in the presence of the artists who paint them; it is as great a bore as to hear a poet read his own verses. It takes away all my pleasure in seeing the pictures, and even remakes me question the genuineness of the impressions which I receive from them. After this latter visit Mr. Akers conducted us to the shop of the jeweller Castellani, who is a great reproducer of ornaments in the old Roman and Etruscan fashion. These antique styles are very fashionable just now, and some of the specimens he showed us were certainly very beautiful, though I doubt whether their quaintness and old-time curiousness, as patterns of gewgaws dug out of immemorial tombs, be not their greatest charm. We saw the toilet-case of an Etruscan lady,--that is to say, a modern imitation of it,--with her rings for summer and winter, and for every day of the week, and for thumb and fingers; her ivory comb; her bracelets; and more knick-knacks than I can half remember. Splendid things of our own time were likewise shown us; a necklace of diamonds worth eighteen thousand scudi, together with emeralds and opals and great pearls. Finally we came away, and my wife and Miss Shepard were taken up by the Misses Weston, who drove with them to visit the Villa Albani. During their drive my wife happened to raise her arm, and Miss Shepard espied a little Greek cross of gold which had attached itself to the lace of her sleeve. . . . . Pray heaven the jeweller may not discover his loss before we have time to restore the spoil! He is apparently so free and careless in displaying his precious wares,--putting inestimable genes and brooches great and small into the hands of strangers like ourselves, and leaving scores of them strewn on the top of his counter,--that it would seem easy enough to take a diamond or two; but I suspect there must needs be a sharp eye somewhere. Before we left the shop he requested me to honor him with my autograph in a large book that was full of the names of his visitors. This is probably a measure of precaution. April 30th.--I went yesterday to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol, and looked pretty thoroughly through the busts of the illustrious men, and less particularly at those of the emperors and their relatives. I likewise took particular note of the Faun of Praxiteles, because the idea keeps recurring to me of writing a little romance about it, and for that reason I shall endeavor to set down a somewhat minutely itemized detail of the statue and its surroundings. . . . . We have had beautiful weather for two or three days, very warm in the sun, yet always freshened by the gentle life of a breeze, and quite cool enough the moment you pass within the limit of the shade. . . . . In the morning there are few people there (on the Pincian) except the gardeners, lazily trimming the borders, or filling their watering-pots out of the marble-brimmed basin of the fountain; French soldiers, in their long mixed-blue surtouts, and wide scarlet pantaloons, chatting with here and there a nursery-maid and playing with the child in her care; and perhaps a few smokers, . . . . choosing each a marble seat or wooden bench in sunshine or shade as best suits him. In the afternoon, especially within an hour or two of sunset, the gardens are much more populous, and the seats, except when the sun falls full upon them, are hard to come by. Ladies arrive in carriages, splendidly dressed; children are abundant, much impeded in their frolics, and rendered stiff and stately by the finery which they wear; English gentlemen and Americans with their wives and families; the flower of the Roman population, too, both male and female, mostly dressed with great nicety; but a large intermixture of artists, shabbily picturesque; and other persons, not of the first stamp. A French band, comprising a great many brass instruments, by and by begins to play; and what with music, sunshine, a delightful atmosphere, flowers, grass, well-kept pathways, bordered with box-hedges, pines, cypresses, horse-chestnuts, flowering shrubs, and all manner of cultivated beauty, the scene is a very lively and agreeable one. The fine equipages that drive round and round through the carriage-paths are another noticeable item. The Roman aristocracy are magnificent in their aspect, driving abroad with beautiful horses, and footmen in rich liveries, sometimes as many as three behind and one sitting by the coachman. May 1st.--This morning, I wandered for the thousandth time through some of the narrow intricacies of Rome, stepping here and there into a church. I do not know the name of the first one, nor had it anything that in Rome could be called remarkable, though, till I came here, I was not aware that any such churches existed,--a marble pavement in variegated compartments, a series of shrines and chapels round the whole floor, each with its own adornment of sculpture and pictures, its own altar with tall wax tapers before it, some of which were burning; a great picture over the high altar, the whole interior of the church ranged round with pillars and pilasters, and lined, every inch of it, with rich yellow marble. Finally, a frescoed ceiling over the nave and transepts, and a dome rising high above the central part, and filled with frescos brought to such perspective illusion, that the edges seem to project into the air. Two or three persons are kneeling at separate shrines; there are several wooden confessionals placed against the walls, at one of which kneels a lady, confessing to a priest who sits within; the tapers are lighted at the high altar and at one of the shrines; an attendant is scrubbing the marble pavement with a broom and water, a process, I should think, seldom practised in Roman churches. By and by the lady finishes her confession, kisses the priest's hand, and sits down in one of the chairs which are placed about the floor, while the priest, in a black robe, with a short, white, loose jacket over his shoulders, disappears by a side door out of the church. I, likewise, finding nothing attractive in the pictures, take my departure. Protestantism needs a new apostle to convert it into something positive. . . . . I now found my way to the Piazza Navona. It is to me the most interesting piazza in Rome; a large oblong space, surrounded with tall, shabby houses, among which there are none that seem to be palaces. The sun falls broadly over the area of the piazza, and shows the fountains in it;--one a large basin with great sea-monsters, probably of Bernini's inventions, squirting very small streams of water into it; another of the fountains I do not at all remember; but the central one is an immense basin, over which is reared an old Egyptian obelisk, elevated on a rock, which is cleft into four arches. Monstrous devices in marble, I know not of what purport, are clambering about the cloven rock or burrowing beneath it; one and all of them are superfluous and impertinent, the only essential thing being the abundant supply of water in the fountain. This whole Piazza Navona is usually the scene of more business than seems to be transacted anywhere else in Rome; in some parts of it rusty iron is offered for sale, locks and keys, old tools, and all such rubbish; in other parts vegetables, comprising, at this season, green peas, onions, cauliflowers, radishes, artichokes, and others with which I have never made acquaintance; also, stalls or wheelbarrows containing apples, chestnuts (the meats dried and taken out of the shells), green almonds in their husks, and squash-seeds,--salted and dried in an oven,--apparently a favorite delicacy of the Romans. There are also lemons and oranges; stalls of fish, mostly about the size of smelts, taken from the Tiber; cigars of various qualities, the best at a baioccho and a half apiece; bread in loaves or in small rings, a great many of which are strung together on a long stick, and thus carried round for sale. Women and men sit with these things for sale, or carry them about in trays or on boards on their heads, crying them with shrill and hard voices. There is a shabby crowd and much babble; very little picturesqueness of costume or figure, however, the chief exceptions being, here and there, an old white-bearded beggar. A few of the men have the peasant costume,--a short jacket and breeches of light blue cloth and white stockings,--the ugliest dress I ever saw. The women go bareheaded, and seem fond of scarlet and other bright colors, but are homely and clumsy in form. The piazza is dingy in its general aspect, and very dirty, being strewn with straw, vegetable-tops, and the rubbish of a week's marketing; but there is more life in it than one sees elsewhere in Rome. On one side of the piazza is the Church of St. Agnes, traditionally said to stand on the site of the house where that holy maiden was exposed to infamy by the Roman soldiers, and where her modesty and innocence were saved by miracle. I went into the church, and found it very splendid, with rich marble columns, all as brilliant as if just built; a frescoed dome above; beneath, a range of chapels all round the church, ornamented not with pictures but bas-reliefs, the figures of which almost step and struggle out of the marble. They did not seem very admirable as works of art, none of them explaining themselves or attracting me long enough to study out their meaning; but, as part of the architecture of the church, they had a good effect. Out of the busy square two or three persons had stepped into this bright and calm seclusion to pray and be devout, for a little while; and, between sunrise and sunset of the bustling market-day, many doubtless snatch a moment to refresh their souls. In the Pantheon (to-day) it was pleasant looking up to the circular opening, to see the clouds flitting across it, sometimes covering it quite over, then permitting a glimpse of sky, then showing all the circle of sunny blue. Then would come the ragged edge of a cloud, brightened throughout with sunshine, passing and changing quickly,--not that the divine smile was not always the same, but continually variable through the medium of earthly influences. The great slanting beam of sunshine was visible all the way down to the pavement, falling upon motes of dust, or a thin smoke of incense imperceptible in the shadow. Insects were playing to and fro in the beam, high up toward the opening. There is a wonderful charm in the naturalness of all this, and one might fancy a swarm of cherubs coming down through the opening and sporting in the broad ray, to gladden the faith of worshippers on the pavement beneath; or angels bearing prayers upward, or bringing down responses to them, visible with dim brightness as they pass through the pathway of heaven's radiance, even the many hues of their wings discernible by a trusting eye; though, as they pass into the shadow, they vanish like the motes. So the sunbeam would represent those rays of divine intelligence which enable us to see wonders and to know that they are natural things. Consider the effect of light and shade in a church where the windows are open and darkened with curtains that are occasionally lifted by a breeze, letting in the sunshine, which whitens a carved tombstone on the pavement of the church, disclosing, perhaps, the letters of the name and inscription, a death's-head, a crosier, or other emblem; then the curtain falls and the bright spot vanishes. May 8th.--This morning my wife and I went to breakfast with Mrs. William Story at the Barberini Palace, expecting to meet Mrs. Jameson, who has been in Rome for a month or two. We had a very pleasant breakfast, but Mrs. Jameson was not present on account of indisposition, and the only other guests were Mrs. A------ and Mrs. H------, two sensible American ladies. Mrs. Story, however, received a note from Mrs. Jameson, asking her to bring us to see her at her lodgings; so in the course of the afternoon she called on us, and took us thither in her carriage. Mrs. Jameson lives on the first piano of an old palazzo on the Via di Ripetta, nearly opposite the ferry-way across the Tiber, and affording a pleasant view of the yellow river and the green bank and fields on the other side. I had expected to see an elderly lady, but not quite so venerable a one as Mrs. Jameson proved to be; a rather short, round, and massive personage, of benign and agreeable aspect, with a sort of black skullcap on her head, beneath which appeared her hair, which seemed once to have been fair, and was now almost white. I should take her to be about seventy years old. She began to talk to us with affectionate familiarity, and was particularly kind in her manifestations towards myself, who, on my part, was equally gracious towards her. In truth, I have found great pleasure and profit in her works, and was glad to hear her say that she liked mine. We talked about art, and she showed us a picture leaning up against the wall of the room; a quaint old Byzantine painting, with a gilded background, and two stiff figures (our Saviour and St. Catherine) standing shyly at a sacred distance from one another, and going through the marriage ceremony. There was a great deal of expression in their faces and figures; and the spectator feels, moreover, that the artist must have been a devout man,--an impression which we seldom receive from modern pictures, however awfully holy the subject, or however consecrated the place they hang in. Mrs. Jameson seems to be familiar with Italy, its people and life, as well as with its picture-galleries. She is said to be rather irascible in her temper; but nothing could be sweeter than her voice, her look, and all her manifestations to-day. When we were coming away she clasped my hand in both of hers, and again expressed the pleasure of having seen me, and her gratitude to me for calling on her; nor did I refrain from responding Amen to these effusions. . . . . Taking leave of Mrs. Jameson, we drove through the city, and out of the Lateran Gate; first, however, waiting a long while at Monaldini's bookstore in the Piazza de' Spagna for Mr. Story, whom we finally took up in the street, after losing nearly an hour. Just two miles beyond the gate is a space on the green campagna where, for some time past, excavations have been in progress, which thus far have resulted in the discovery of several tombs, and the old, buried, and almost forgotten church or basilica of San Stefano. It is a beautiful spot, that of the excavations, with the Alban hills in the distance, and some heavy, sunlighted clouds hanging above, or recumbent at length upon them, and behind the city and its mighty dome. The excavations are an object of great interest both to the Romans and to strangers, and there were many carriages and a great many visitors viewing the progress of the works, which are carried forward with greater energy than anything else I have seen attempted at Rome. A short time ago the ground in the vicinity was a green surface, level, except here and there a little hillock, or scarcely perceptible swell; the tomb of Cecilia Metella showing itself a mile or two distant, and other rugged ruins of great tombs rising on the plain. Now the whole site of the basilica is uncovered, and they have dug into the depths of several tombs, bringing to light precious marbles, pillars, a statue, and elaborately wrought sarcophagi; and if they were to dig into almost every other inequality that frets the surface of the campagna, I suppose the result might be the same. You cannot dig six feet downward anywhere into the soil, deep enough to hollow out a grave, without finding some precious relic of the past; only they lose somewhat of their value when you think that you can almost spurn them out of the ground with your foot. It is a very wonderful arrangement of Providence that these things should have been preserved for a long series of coming generations by that accumulation of dust and soil and grass and trees and houses over them, which will keep them safe, and cause their reappearance above ground to be gradual, so that the rest of the world's lifetime may have for one of its enjoyments the uncovering of old Rome. The tombs were accessible by long flights of steps going steeply downward, and they were thronged with so many visitors that we had to wait some little time for our own turn. In the first into which we descended we found two tombs side by side, with only a partition wall between; the outer tomb being, as is supposed, a burial-place constructed by the early Christians, while the adjoined and minor one was a work of pagan Rome about the second century after Christ. The former was much less interesting than the latter. It contained some large sarcophagi, with sculpture upon them of rather heathenish aspect; and in the centre of the front of each sarcophagus was a bust in bas-relief, the features of which had never been wrought, but were left almost blank, with only the faintest indications of a nose, for instance. It is supposed that sarcophagi were kept on hand by the sculptors, and were bought ready made, and that it was customary to work out the portrait of the deceased upon the blank face in the centre; but when there was a necessity for sudden burial, as may have been the case in the present instance, this was dispensed with. The inner tomb was found without any earth in it, just as it had been left when the last old Roman was buried there; and it being only a week or two since it was opened, there was very little intervention of persons, though much of time, between the departure of the friends of the dead and our own visit. It is a square room, with a mosaic pavement, and is six or seven paces in length and breadth, and as much in height to the vaulted roof. The roof and upper walls are beautifully ornamented with frescos, which were very bright when first discovered, but have rapidly faded since the admission of the air, though the graceful and joyous designs, flowers and fruits and trees, are still perfectly discernible. The room must have been anything but sad and funereal; on the contrary, as cheerful a saloon, and as brilliant, if lighted up, as one could desire to feast in. It contained several marble sarcophagi, covering indeed almost the whole floor, and each of them as much as three or four feet in length, and two much longer. The longer ones I did not particularly examine, and they seemed comparatively plainer; but the smaller sarcophagi were covered with the most delicately wrought and beautiful bas-reliefs that I ever beheld; a throng of glad and lovely shapes in marble clustering thickly and chasing one another round the sides of these old stone coffins. The work was as perfect as when the sculptor gave it his last touch; and if he had wrought it to be placed in a frequented hall, to be seen and admired by continual crowds as long as the marble should endure, he could not have chiselled with better skill and care, though his work was to be shut up in the depths of a tomb forever. This seems to me the strangest thing in the world, the most alien from modern sympathies. If they had built their tombs above ground, one could understand the arrangement better; but no sooner had they adorned them so richly, and furnished them with such exquisite productions of art, than they annihilated them with darkness. It was an attempt, no doubt, to render the physical aspect of death cheerful, but there was no good sense in it. We went down also into another tomb close by, the walls of which were ornamented with medallions in stucco. These works presented a numerous series of graceful designs, wrought by the hand in the short space of (Mr. Story said it could not have been more than) five or ten minutes, while the wet plaster remained capable of being moulded; and it was marvellous to think of the fertility of the artist's fancy, and the rapidity and accuracy with which he must have given substantial existence to his ideas. These too--all of them such adornments as would have suited a festal hall--were made to be buried forthwith in eternal darkness. I saw and handled in this tomb a great thigh-bone, and measured it with my own; it was one of many such relics of the guests who were laid to sleep in these rich chambers. The sarcophagi that served them for coffins could not now be put to a more appropriate use than as wine-coolers in a modern dining-room; and it would heighten the enjoyment of a festival to look at them. We would gladly have stayed much longer; but it was drawing towards sunset, and the evening, though bright, was unusually cool, so we drove home; and on the way, Mr. Story told us of the horrible practices of the modern Romans with their dead,--how they place them in the church, where, at midnight, they are stripped of their last rag of funeral attire, put into the rudest wooden coffins, and thrown into a trench,--a half-mile, for instance, of promiscuous corpses. This is the fate of all, except those whose friends choose to pay an exorbitant sum to have them buried under the pavement of a church. The Italians have an excessive dread of corpses, and never meddle with those of their nearest and dearest relatives. They have a horror of death, too, especially of sudden death, and most particularly of apoplexy; and no wonder, as it gives no time for the last rites of the Church, and so exposes them to a fearful risk of perdition forever. On the whole, the ancient practice was, perhaps, the preferable one; but Nature has made it very difficult for us to do anything pleasant and satisfactory with a dead body. God knows best; but I wish he had so ordered it that our mortal bodies, when we have done with them, might vanish out of sight and sense, like bubbles. A person of delicacy hates to think of leaving such a burden as his decaying mortality to the disposal of his friends; but, I say again, how delightful it would be, and how helpful towards our faith in a blessed futurity, if the dying could disappear like vanishing bubbles, leaving, perhaps, a sweet fragrance diffused for a minute or two throughout the death-chamber. This would be the odor of sanctity! And if sometimes the evaporation of a sinful soul should leave an odor not so delightful, a breeze through the open windows would soon waft it quite away. Apropos of the various methods of disposing of dead bodies, William Story recalled a newspaper paragraph respecting a ring, with a stone of a new species in it, which a widower was observed to wear upon his finger. Being questioned as to what the gem was, he answered, "It is my wife." He had procured her body to be chemically resolved into this stone. I think I could make a story on this idea: the ring should be one of the widower's bridal gifts to a second wife; and, of course, it should have wondrous and terrible qualities, symbolizing all that disturbs the quiet of a second marriage,--on the husband's part, remorse for his inconstancy, and the constant comparison between the dead wife of his youth, now idealized, and the grosser reality which he had now adopted into her place; while on the new wife's finger it should give pressures, shooting pangs into her heart, jealousies of the past, and all such miserable emotions. By the by, the tombs which we looked at and entered may have been originally above ground, like that of Cecilia Metella, and a hundred others along the Appian Way; though, even in this case, the beautiful chambers must have been shut up in darkness. Had there been windows, letting in the light upon the rich frescos and exquisite sculptures, there would have been a satisfaction in thinking of the existence of so much visual beauty, though no eye had the privilege to see it. But darkness, to objects of sight, is annihilation, as long as the darkness lasts. May 9th.--Mrs. Jameson called this forenoon to ask us to go and see her this evening; . . . . so that I had to receive her alone, devolving part of the burden on Miss Shepard and the three children, all of whom I introduced to her notice. Finding that I had not been farther beyond the walls of Rome than the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she invited me to take a drive of a few miles with her this afternoon. . . . . The poor lady seems to be very lame; and I am sure I was grateful to her for having taken the trouble to climb up the seventy steps of our staircase, and felt pain at seeing her go down them again. It looks fearfully like the gout, the affection being apparently in one foot. The hands, by the way, are white, and must once have been, perhaps now are, beautiful. She must have been a perfectly pretty woman in her day,--a blue or gray eyed, fair-haired beauty. I think that her hair is not white, but only flaxen in the extreme. At half past four, according to appointment, I arrived at her lodgings, and had not long to wait before her little one-horse carriage drove up to the door, and we set out, rumbling along the Via Scrofa, and through the densest part of the city, past the theatre of Marcellus, and thence along beneath the Palatine Hill, and by the Baths of Caracalla, through the gate of San Sebastiano. After emerging from the gate, we soon came to the little Church of "Domine, quo vadis?" Standing on the spot where St. Peter is said to have seen a vision of our Saviour bearing his cross, Mrs. Jameson proposed to alight; and, going in, we saw a cast from Michael Angelo's statue of the Saviour; and not far from the threshold of the church, yet perhaps in the centre of the edifice, which is extremely small, a circular stone is placed, a little raised above the pavement, and surrounded by a low wooden railing. Pointing to this stone, Mrs. Jameson showed me the prints of two feet side by side, impressed into its surface, as if a person had stopped short while pursuing his way to Rome. These, she informed me, were supposed to be the miraculous prints of the Saviour's feet; but on looking into Murray, I am mortified to find that they are merely facsimiles of the original impressions, which are treasured up among the relics of the neighboring Basilica of San Sebastiano. The marks of sculpture seemed to me, indeed, very evident in these prints, nor did they indicate such beautiful feet as should have belonged to the hearer of the best of glad tidings. Hence we drove on a little way farther, and came to the Basilica of San Sebastiano, where also we alighted, and, leaning on my arm, Mrs. Jameson went in. It is a stately and noble interior, with a spacious unencumbered nave, and a flat ceiling frescoed and gilded. In a chapel at the left of the entrance is the tomb of St. Sebastian,--a sarcophagus containing his remains, raised on high before the altar, and beneath it a recumbent statue of the saint pierced with gilded arrows. The sculpture is of the school of Bernini,--done after the design of Bernini himself, Mrs. Jameson said, and is more agreeable and in better taste than most of his works. We walked round the basilica, glancing at the pictures in the various chapels, none of which seemed to be of remarkable merit, although Mrs. Jameson pronounced rather a favorable verdict on one of St. Francis. She says that she can read a picture like the page of a book; in fact, without perhaps assuming more taste and judgment than really belong to her, it was impossible not to perceive that she gave her companion no credit for knowing one single simplest thing about art. Nor, on the whole, do I think she underrated me; the only mystery is, how she came to be so well aware of my ignorance on artistical points. In the basilica the Franciscan monks were arranging benches on the floor of the nave, and some peasant children and grown people besides were assembling, probably to undergo an examination in the catechism, and we hastened to depart, lest our presence should interfere with their arrangements. At the door a monk met us, and asked for a contribution in aid of his church, or some other religious purpose. Boys, as we drove on, ran stoutly along by the side of the chaise, begging as often as they could find breath, but were constrained finally to give up the pursuit. The great ragged bulks of the tombs along the Appian Way now hove in sight, one with a farm-house on its summit, and all of them preposterously huge and massive. At a distance, across the green campagna on our left, the Claudian aqueduct strode away over miles of space, and doubtless reached even to that circumference of blue hills which stand afar off, girdling Rome about. The tomb of Cecilia Metella came in sight a long while before we reached it, with the warm buff hue of its travertine, and the gray battlemented wall which the Caetanis erected on the top of its circular summit six hundred years ago. After passing it, we saw an interminable line of tombs on both sides of the way, each of which might, for aught I know, have been as massive as that of Cecilia Metella, and some perhaps still more monstrously gigantic, though now dilapidated and much reduced in size. Mrs. Jameson had an engagement to dinner at half past six, so that we could go but a little farther along this most interesting road, the borders of which are strewn with broken marbles; fragments of capitals, and nameless rubbish that once was beautiful. Methinks the Appian Way should be the only entrance to Rome,--through an avenue of tombs. The day had been cloudy, chill, and windy, but was now grown calmer and more genial, and brightened by a very pleasant sunshine, though great dark clouds were still lumbering up the sky. We drove homeward, looking at the distant dome of St. Peter's and talking of many things,--painting, sculpture, America, England, spiritualism, and whatever else came up. She is a very sensible old lady, and sees a great deal of truth; a good woman, too, taking elevated views of matters; but I doubt whether she has the highest and finest perceptions in the world. At any rate, she pronounced a good judgment on the American sculptors now in Rome, condemning them in the mass as men with no high aims, no worthy conception of the purposes of their art, and desecrating marble by the things they wrought in it. William Story, I presume, is not to be included in this censure, as she had spoken highly of his sculpturesque faculty in our previous conversation. On my part, I suggested that the English sculptors were little or nothing better than our own, to which she acceded generally, but said that Gibson had produced works equal to the antique,--which I did not dispute, but still questioned whether the world needed Gibson, or was any the better for him. We had a great dispute about the propriety of adopting the costume of the day in modern sculpture, and I contended that either the art ought to be given up (which possibly would be the best course), or else should be used for idealizing the man of the day to himself; and that, as Nature makes us sensible of the fact when men and women are graceful, beautiful, and noble, through whatever costume they wear, so it ought to be the test of the sculptor's genius that he should do the same. Mrs. Jameson decidedly objected to buttons, breeches, and all other items of modern costume; and, indeed, they do degrade the marble, and make high sculpture utterly impossible. Then let the art perish as one that the world has done with, as it has done with many other beautiful things that belonged to an earlier time. It was long past the hour of Mrs. Jameson's dinner engagement when we drove up to her door in the Via Ripetta. I bade her farewell with much good-feeling on my own side, and, I hope, on hers, excusing myself, however, from keeping the previous engagement to spend the evening with her, for, in point of fact, we had mutually had enough of one another for the time being. I am glad to record that she expressed a very favorable opinion of our friend Mr. Thompson's pictures. May 12th.--To-day we have been to the Villa Albani, to which we had a ticket of admission through the agency of Mr. Cass (the American Minister). We set out between ten and eleven o'clock, and walked through the Via Felice, the Piazza Barberini, and a long, heavy, dusty range of streets beyond, to the Porta Salara, whence the road extends, white and sunny, between two high blank walls to the gate of the villa, which is at no great distance. We were admitted by a girl, and went first to the casino, along an aisle of overshadowing trees, the branches of which met above our heads. In the portico of the casino, which extends along its whole front, there are many busts and statues, and, among them, one of Julius Caesar, representing him at an earlier period of life than others which I have seen. His aspect is not particularly impressive; there is a lack of chin, though not so much as in the older statues and busts. Within the edifice there is a large hall, not so brilliant, perhaps, with frescos and gilding as those at the Villa Borghese, but lined with the most beautiful variety of marbles. But, in fact, each new splendor of this sort outshines the last, and unless we could pass from one to another all in the same suite, we cannot remember them well enough to compare the Borghese with the Albani, the effect being more on the fancy than on the intellect. I do not recall any of the sculpture, except a colossal bas-relief of Antinous, crowned with flowers, and holding flowers in his hand, which was found in the ruins of Hadrian's Villa. This is said to be the finest relic of antiquity next to the Apollo and the Laocoon; but I could not feel it to be so, partly, I suppose, because the features of Autinous do not seem to me beautiful in themselves; and that heavy, downward look is repeated till I am more weary of it than of anything else in sculpture. We went up stairs and down stairs, and saw a good many beautiful things, but none, perhaps, of the very best and beautifullest; and second-rate statues, with the corroded surface of old marble that has been dozens of centuries under the ground, depress the spirits of the beholder. The bas-relief of Antinous has at least the merit of being almost as white and fresh, and quite as smooth, as if it had never been buried and dug up again. The real treasures of this villa, to the number of nearly three hundred, were removed to Paris by Napoleon, and, except the Antinous, not one of them ever came back. There are some pictures in one or two of the rooms, and among them I recollect one by Perugino, in which is a St. Michael, very devout and very beautiful; indeed, the whole picture (which is in compartments, representing the three principal points of the Saviour's history) impresses the beholder as being painted devoutly and earnestly by a religious man. In one of the rooms there is a small bronze Apollo, supposed by Winckelmann to be an original of Praxiteles; but I could not make myself in the least sensible of its merit. The rest of the things in the casino I shall pass over, as also those in the coffee-house,--an edifice which stands a hundred yards or more from the casino, with an ornamental garden, laid out in walks and flower-plats between. The coffee-house has a semicircular sweep of porch with a good many statues and busts beneath it, chiefly of distinguished Romans. In this building, as in the casino, there are curious mosaics, large vases of rare marble, and many other things worth long pauses of admiration; but I think that we were all happier when we had done with the works of art, and were at leisure to ramble about the grounds. The Villa Albani itself is an edifice separate from both the coffee-house and casino, and is not opened to strangers. It rises, palace-like, in the midst of the garden, and, it is to be hoped, has some possibility of comfort amidst its splendors.--Comfort, however, would be thrown away upon it; for besides that the site shares the curse that has fallen upon every pleasant place in the vicinity of Rome, . . . . it really has no occupant except the servants who take care of it. The Count of Castelbarco, its present proprietor, resides at Milan. The grounds are laid out in the old fashion of straight paths, with borders of box, which form hedges of great height and density, and as even as a brick wall at the top and sides. There are also alleys forming long vistas between the trunks and beneath the boughs of oaks, ilexes, and olives; and there are shrubberies and tangled wildernesses of palm, cactus, rhododendron, and I know not what; and a profusion of roses that bloom and wither with nobody to pluck and few to look at them. They climb about the sculpture of fountains, rear themselves against pillars and porticos, run brimming over the walls, and strew the path with their falling leaves. We stole a few, and feel that we have wronged our consciences in not stealing more. In one part of the grounds we saw a field actually ablaze with scarlet poppies. There are great lagunas; fountains presided over by naiads, who squirt their little jets into basins; sunny lawns; a temple, so artificially ruined that we half believed it a veritable antique; and at its base a reservoir of water, in which stone swans seemed positively to float; groves of cypress; balustrades and broad flights of stone stairs, descending to lower levels of the garden; beauty, peace, sunshine, and antique repose on every side; and far in the distance the blue hills that encircle the campagna of Rome. The day was very fine for our purpose; cheerful, but not too bright, and tempered by a breeze that seemed even a little too cool when we sat long in the shade. We enjoyed it till three o'clock. . . . . At the Capitol there is a sarcophagus with a most beautiful bas-relief of the discovery of Achilles by Ulysses, in which there is even an expression of mirth on the faces of many of the spectators. And to-day at the Albani a sarcophagus was ornamented with the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis. Death strides behind every man, to be sure, at more or less distance, and, sooner or later, enters upon any event of his life; so that, in this point of view, they might each and all serve for bas-reliefs on a sarcophagus; but the Romans seem to have treated Death as lightly and playfully as they could, and tried to cover his dart with flowers, because they hated it so much. May 15th.--My wife and I went yesterday to the Sistine Chapel, it being my first visit. It is a room of noble proportions, lofty and long, though divided in the midst by a screen or partition of white marble, which rises high enough to break the effect of spacious unity. There are six arched windows on each side of the chapel, throwing down their light from the height of the walls, with as much as twenty feet of space (more I should think) between them and the floor. The entire walls and ceiling of this stately chapel are covered with paintings in fresco, except the space about ten feet in height from the floor, and that portion was intended to be adorned by tapestries from pictures by Raphael, but, the design being prevented by his premature death, the projected tapestries have no better substitute than paper-hangings. The roof, which is flat at top, and coved or vaulted at the sides, is painted in compartments by Michael Angelo, with frescos representing the whole progress of the world and of mankind from its first formation by the Almighty . . . . till after the flood. On one of the sides of the chapel are pictures by Perugino, and other old masters, of subsequent events in sacred history; and the entire wall behind the altar, a vast expanse from the ceiling to the floor, is taken up with Michael Angelo's summing up of the world's history and destinies in his "Last Judgment." There can be no doubt that while these frescos continued in their perfection, there was nothing else to be compared with the magnificent and solemn beauty of this chapel. Enough of ruined splendor still remains to convince the spectator of all that has departed; but methinks I have seen hardly anything else so forlorn and depressing as it is now, all dusky and dim, even the very lights having passed into shadows, and the shadows into utter blackness; so that it needs a sunshiny day, under the bright Italian heavens, to make the designs perceptible at all. As we sat in the chapel there were clouds flitting across the sky; when the clouds came the pictures vanished; when the sunshine broke forth the figures sadly glimmered into something like visibility,--the Almighty moving in chaos,--the noble shape of Adam, the beautiful Eve; and, beneath where the roof curves, the mighty figures of sibyls and prophets, looking as if they were necessarily so gigantic because the thought within them was so massive. In the "Last Judgment" the scene of the greater part of the picture lies in the upper sky, the blue of which glows through betwixt the groups of naked figures; and above sits Jesus, not looking in the least like the Saviour of the world, but, with uplifted arm, denouncing eternal misery on those whom he came to save. I fear I am myself among the wicked, for I found myself inevitably taking their part, and asking for at least a little pity, some few regrets, and not such a stern denunciatory spirit on the part of Him who had thought us worth dying for. Around him stand grim saints, and, far beneath, people are getting up sleepily out of their graves, not well knowing what is about to happen; many of them, however, finding themselves clutched by demons before they are half awake. It would be a very terrible picture to one who should really see Jesus, the Saviour, in that inexorable judge; but it seems to me very undesirable that he should ever be represented in that aspect, when it is so essential to our religion to believe him infinitely kinder and better towards us than we deserve. At the last day--I presume, that is, in all future days, when we see ourselves as we are--man's only inexorable judge will be himself, and the punishment of his sins will be the perception of them. In the lower corner of this great picture, at the right hand of the spectator, is a hideous figure of a damned person, girdled about with a serpent, the folds of which are carefully knotted between his thighs, so as, at all events, to give no offence to decency. This figure represents a man who suggested to Pope Paul III. that the nudities of the "Last Judgment" ought to be draped, for which offence Michael Angelo at once consigned him to hell. It shows what a debtor's prison and dungeon of private torment men would make of hell if they had the control of it. As to the nudities, if they were ever more nude than now, I should suppose, in their fresh brilliancy, they might well have startled a not very squeamish eye. The effect, such as it is, of this picture, is much injured by the high altar and its canopy, which stands close against the wall, and intercepts a considerable portion of the sprawl of nakedness with which Michael Angelo has filled his sky. However, I am not unwilling to believe, with faith beyond what I can actually see, that the greatest pictorial miracles ever yet achieved have been wrought upon the walls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. In the afternoon I went with Mr. Thompson to see what bargain could be made with vetturinos for taking myself and family to Florence. We talked with three or four, and found them asking prices of various enormity, from a hundred and fifty scudi down to little more than ninety; but Mr. Thompson says that they always begin in this way, and will probably come down to somewhere about seventy-five. Mr. Thompson took me into the Via Portoghese, and showed me an old palace, above which rose--not a very customary feature of the architecture of Rome--a tall, battlemented tower. At one angle of the tower we saw a shrine of the Virgin, with a lamp, and all the appendages of those numerous shrines which we see at the street-corners, and in hundreds of places about the city. Three or four centuries ago, this palace was inhabited by a nobleman who had an only son and a large pet monkey, and one day the monkey caught the infant up and clambered to this lofty turret, and sat there with him in his arms grinning and chattering like the Devil himself. The father was in despair, but was afraid to pursue the monkey lest he should fling down the child from the height of the tower and make his escape. At last he vowed that if the boy were safely restored to him he would build a shrine at the summit of the tower, and cause it to be kept as a sacred place forever. By and by the monkey came down and deposited the child on the ground; the father fulfilled his vow, built the shrine, and made it obligatory, on all future possessors of the palace to keep the lamp burning before it. Centuries have passed, the property has changed hands; but still there is the shrine on the giddy top of the tower, far aloft over the street, on the very spot where the monkey sat, and there burns the lamp, in memory of the father's vow. This being the tenure by which the estate is held, the extinguishment of that flame might yet turn the present owner out of the palace. May 21st.--Mamma and I went, yesterday forenoon, to the Spada Palace, which we found among the intricacies of Central Rome; a dark and massive old edifice, built around a court, the fronts giving on which are adorned with statues in niches, and sculptured ornaments. A woman led us up a staircase, and ushered us into a great gloomy hall, square and lofty, and wearing a very gray and ancient aspect, its walls being painted in chiaroscuro, apparently a great many years ago. The hall was lighted by small windows, high upward from the floors, and admitting only a dusky light. The only furniture or ornament, so far as I recollect, was the colossal statue of Pompey, which stands on its pedestal at one side, certainly the sternest and severest of figures, and producing the most awful impression on the spectator. Much of the effect, no doubt, is due to the sombre obscurity of the hall, and to the loneliness in which the great naked statue stands. It is entirely nude, except for a cloak that hangs down from the left shoulder; in the left hand, it holds a globe; the right arm is extended. The whole expression is such as the statue might have assumed, if, during the tumult of Caesar's murder, it had stretched forth its marble hand, and motioned the conspirators to give over the attack, or to be quiet, now that their victim had fallen at its feet. On the left leg, about midway above the ankle, there is a dull, red stain, said to be Caesar's blood; but, of course, it is just such a red stain in the marble as may be seen on the statue of Antinous at the Capitol. I could not see any resemblance in the face of the statue to that of the bust of Pompey, shown as such at the Capitol, in which there is not the slightest moral dignity, or sign of intellectual eminence. I am glad to have seen this statue, and glad to remember it in that gray, dim, lofty hall; glad that there were no bright frescos on the walls, and that the ceiling was wrought with massive beams, and the floor paved with ancient brick. From this anteroom we passed through several saloons containing pictures, some of which were by eminent artists; the Judith of Guido, a copy of which used to weary me to death, year after year, in the Boston Athenaeum; and many portraits of Cardinals in the Spada family, and other pictures, by Guido. There were some portraits, also of the family, by Titian; some good pictures by Guercino; and many which I should have been glad to examine more at leisure; but, by and by, the custode made his appearance, and began to close the shutters, under pretence that the sunshine would injure the paintings,--an effect, I presume, not very likely to follow after two or three centuries' exposure to light, air, and whatever else might hurt them. However, the pictures seemed to be in much better condition, and more enjoyable, so far as they had merit, than those in most Roman picture-galleries; although the Spada Palace itself has a decayed and impoverished aspect, as if the family had dwindled from its former state and grandeur, and now, perhaps, smuggled itself into some out-of-the-way corner of the old edifice. If such be the case, there is something touching in their still keeping possession of Pompey's statue, which makes their house famous, and the sale of which might give them the means of building it up anew; for surely it is worth the whole sculpture-gallery of the Vatican. In the afternoon Mr. Thompson and I went, for the third or fourth time, to negotiate with vetturinos. . . . . So far as I know them they are a very tricky set of people, bent on getting as much as they can, by hook or by crook, out of the unfortunate individual who falls into their hands. They begin, as I have said, by asking about twice as much as they ought to receive; and anything between this exorbitant amount and the just price is what they thank heaven for, as so much clear gain. Nevertheless, I am not quite sure that the Italians are worse than other people even in this matter. In other countries it is the custom of persons in trade to take as much as they can get from the public, fleecing one man to exactly the same extent as another; here they take what they can obtain from the individual customer. In fact, Roman tradesmen do not pretend to deny that they ask and receive different prices from different people, taxing them according to their supposed means of payment; the article supplied being the same in one case as in another. A shopkeeper looked into his books to see if we were of the class who paid two pauls, or only a paul and a half for candles; a charcoal-dealer said that seventy baiocchi was a very reasonable sum for us to pay for charcoal, and that some persons paid eighty; and Mr. Thompson, recognizing the rule, told the old vetturino that "a hundred and fifty scudi was a very proper charge for carrying a prince to Florence, but not for carrying me, who was merely a very good artist." The result is well enough; the rich man lives expensively, and pays a larger share of the profits which people of a different system of trade-morality would take equally from the poor man. The effect on the conscience of the vetturino, however, and of tradesmen of all kinds, cannot be good; their only intent being, not to do justice between man and man, but to go as deep as they can into all pockets, and to the very bottom of some. We had nearly concluded a bargain, a day or two ago, with a vetturino to take or send us to Florence, via Perugia, in eight days, for a hundred scudi; but he now drew back, under pretence of having misunderstood the terms, though, in reality, no doubt, he was in hopes of getting a better bargain from somebody else. We made an agreement with another man, whom Mr. Thompson knows and highly recommends, and immediately made it sure and legally binding by exchanging a formal written contract, in which everything is set down, even to milk, butter, bread, eggs, and coffee, which we are to have for breakfast; the vetturino being to pay every expense for himself, his horses, and his passengers, and include it within ninety-five scudi, and five crowns in addition for buon-mano. . . . . . May 22d.--Yesterday, while we were at dinner, Mr. ------ called. I never saw him but once before, and that was at the door of our little red cottage in Lenox; he sitting in a wagon with one or two of the Sedgewicks, merely exchanging a greeting with me from under the brim of his straw hat, and driving on. He presented himself now with a long white beard, such as a palmer might have worn as the growth of his long pilgrimages, a brow almost entirely bald, and what hair he has quite hoary; a forehead impending, yet not massive; dark, bushy eyebrows and keen eyes, without much softness in them; a dark and sallow complexion; a slender figure, bent a little with age; but at once alert and infirm. It surprised me to see him so venerable; for, as poets are Apollo's kinsmen, we are inclined to attribute to them his enviable quality of never growing old. There was a weary look in his face, as if he were tired of seeing things and doing things, though with certainly enough still to see and do, if need were. My family gathered about him, and he conversed with great readiness and simplicity about his travels, and whatever other subject came up; telling us that he had been abroad five times, and was now getting a little home-sick, and had no more eagerness for sights, though his "gals" (as he called his daughter and another young lady) dragged him out to see the wonders of Rome again. His manners and whole aspect are very particularly plain, though not affectedly so; but it seems as if in the decline of life, and the security of his position, he had put off whatever artificial polish he may have heretofore had, and resumed the simpler habits and deportment of his early New England breeding. Not but what you discover, nevertheless, that he is a man of refinement, who has seen the world, and is well aware of his own place in it. He spoke with great pleasure of his recent visit to Spain. I introduced the subject of Kansas, and methought his face forthwith assumed something of the bitter keenness of the editor of a political newspaper, while speaking of the triumph of the administration over the Free-Soil opposition. I inquired whether he had seen S------, and he gave a very sad account of him as he appeared at their last meeting, which was in Paris. S------, he thought, had suffered terribly, and would never again be the man he was; he was getting fat; he talked continually of himself, and of trifles concerning himself, and seemed to have no interest for other matters; and Mr. ------ feared that the shock upon his nerves had extended to his intellect, and was irremediable. He said that S------ ought to retire from public life, but had no friend true enough to tell him so. This is about as sad as anything can be. I hate to have S------ undergo the fate of a martyr, because he was not naturally of the stuff that martyrs are made of, and it is altogether by mistake that he has thrust himself into the position of one. He was merely, though with excellent abilities, one of the best of fellows, and ought to have lived and died in good fellowship with all the world. S------ was not in the least degree excited about this or any other subject. He uttered neither passion nor poetry, but excellent good sense, and accurate information on whatever subject transpired; a very pleasant man to associate with, but rather cold, I should imagine, if one should seek to touch his heart with one's own. He shook hands kindly all round, but not with any warmth of gripe; although the ease of his deportment had put us all on sociable terms with him. At seven o'clock we went by invitation to take tea with Miss Bremer. After much search, and lumbering painfully up two or three staircases in vain, and at last going about in a strange circuity, we found her in a small chamber of a large old building, situated a little way from the brow of the Tarpeian Rock. It was the tiniest and humblest domicile that I have seen in Rome, just large enough to hold her narrow bed, her tea-table, and a table covered with books,--photographs of Roman ruins, and some pages written by herself. I wonder whether she be poor. Probably so; for she told us that her expense of living here is only five pauls a day. She welcomed us, however, with the greatest cordiality and lady-like simplicity, making no allusion to the humbleness of her environment (and making us also lose sight of it, by the absence of all apology) any more than if she were receiving us in a palace. There is not a better bred woman; and yet one does not think whether she has any breeding or no. Her little bit of a round table was already spread for us with her blue earthenware teacups; and after she had got through an interview with the Swedish Minister, and dismissed him with a hearty pressure of his hand between both her own, she gave us our tea, and some bread, and a mouthful of cake. Meanwhile, as the day declined, there had been the most beautiful view over the campagna, out of one of her windows; and, from the other, looking towards St. Peter's, the broad gleam of a mildly glorious sunset; not so pompous and magnificent as many that I have seen in America, but softer and sweeter in all its changes. As its lovely hues died slowly away, the half-moon shone out brighter and brighter; for there was not a cloud in the sky, and it seemed like the moonlight of my younger days. In the garden, beneath her window, verging upon the Tarpeian Rock, there was shrubbery and one large tree, softening the brow of the famous precipice, adown which the old Romans used to fling their traitors, or sometimes, indeed, their patriots. Miss Bremer talked plentifully in her strange manner,--good English enough for a foreigner, but so oddly intonated and accented, that it is impossible to be sure of more than one word in ten. Being so little comprehensible, it is very singular how she contrives to make her auditors so perfectly certain, as they are, that she is talking the best sense, and in the kindliest spirit. There is no better heart than hers, and not many sounder heads; and a little touch of sentiment comes delightfully in, mixed up with a quick and delicate humor and the most perfect simplicity. There is also a very pleasant atmosphere of maidenhood about her; we are sensible of a freshness and odor of the morning still in this little withered rose,--its recompense for never having been gathered and worn, but only diffusing fragrance on its stem. I forget mainly what we talked about,--a good deal about art, of course, although that is a subject of which Miss Bremer evidently knows nothing. Once we spoke of fleas,--insects that, in Rome, come home to everybody's business and bosom, and are so common and inevitable, that no delicacy is felt about alluding to the sufferings they inflict. Poor little Miss Bremer was tormented with one while turning out our tea. . . . . She talked, among other things, of the winters in Sweden, and said that she liked them, long and severe as they are; and this made me feel ashamed of dreading the winters of New England, as I did before coming from home, and do now still more, after five or six mild English Decembers. By and by, two young ladies came in,--Miss Bremen's neighbors, it seemed,--fresh from a long walk on the campagna, fresh and weary at the same time. One apparently was German, and the other French, and they brought her an offering of flowers, and chattered to her with affectionate vivacity; and, as we were about taking leave, Miss Bremer asked them to accompany her and us on a visit to the edge of the Tarpeian Rock. Before we left the room, she took a bunch of roses that were in a vase, and gave them to Miss Shepard, who told her that she should make her six sisters happy by giving one to each. Then we went down the intricate stairs, and, emerging into the garden, walked round the brow of the hill, which plunges headlong with exceeding abruptness; but, so far as I could see in the moonlight, is no longer quite a precipice. Then we re-entered the house, and went up stairs and down again, through intricate passages, till we got into the street, which was still peopled with the ragamuffins who infest and burrow in that part of Rome. We returned through an archway, and descended the broad flight of steps into the piazza of the Capitol; and from the extremity of it, just at the head of the long graded way, where Castor and Pollux and the old milestones stand, we turned to the left, and followed a somewhat winding path, till we came into the court of a palace. This court is bordered by a parapet, leaning over which we saw the sheer precipice of the Tarpeian Rock, about the height of a four-story house. . . . . On the edge of this, before we left the court, Miss Bremer bade us farewell, kissing my wife most affectionately on each cheek, . . . . and then turning towards myself, . . . . she pressed my hand, and we parted, probably never to meet again. God bless her good heart! . . . . She is a most amiable little woman, worthy to be the maiden aunt of the whole human race. I suspect, by the by, that she does not like me half so well as I do her; it is my impression that she thinks me unamiable, or that there is something or other not quite right about me. I am sorry if it be so, because such a good, kindly, clear-sighted, and delicate person is very apt to have reason at the bottom of her harsh thoughts, when, in rare cases, she allows them to harbor with her. To-day, and for some days past, we have been in quest of lodgings for next winter; a weary search, up interminable staircases, which seduce us upward to no successful result. It is very disheartening not to be able to place the slightest reliance on the integrity of the people we are to deal with; not to believe in any connection between their words and their purposes; to know that they are certainly telling you falsehoods, while you are not in a position to catch hold of the lie, and hold it up in their faces. This afternoon we called on Mr. and Mrs. ------ at the Hotel de l'Europe, but found only the former at home. We had a pleasant visit, but I made no observations of his character save such as I have already sufficiently recorded; and when we had been with him a little while, Mrs. Chapman, the artist's wife, Mr. Terry, and my friend, Mr. Thompson, came in. ------ received them all with the same good degree of cordiality that he did ourselves, not cold, not very warm, not annoyed, not ecstatically delighted; a man, I should suppose, not likely to have ardent individual preferences, though perhaps capable of stern individual dislikes. But I take him, at all events, to be a very upright man, and pursuing a narrow track of integrity; he is a man whom I would never forgive (as I would a thousand other men) for the slightest moral delinquency. I would not be bound to say, however, that he has not the little sin of a fretful and peevish habit; and yet perhaps I am a sinner myself for thinking so. May 23d.--This morning I breakfasted at William Story's, and met there Mr. Bryant, Mr. T------ (an English gentleman), Mr. and Mrs. Apthorp, Miss Hosmer, and one or two other ladies. Bryant was very quiet, and made no conversation audible to the general table. Mr. T------ talked of English politics and public men; the "Times" and other newspapers, English clubs and social habits generally; topics in which I could well enough bear my part of the discussion. After breakfast, and aside from the ladies, he mentioned an illustration of Lord Ellenborough's lack of administrative ability,--a proposal seriously made by his lordship in reference to the refractory Sepoys. . . . . We had a very pleasant breakfast, and certainly a breakfast is much preferable to a dinner, not merely in the enjoyment, while it is passing, but afterwards. I made a good suggestion to Miss Hosmer for the design of a fountain,--a lady bursting into tears, water gushing from a thousand pores, in literal translation of the phrase; and to call the statue "Niobe, all Tears." I doubt whether she adopts the idea; but Bernini would have been delighted with it. I should think the gush of water might be so arranged as to form a beautiful drapery about the figure, swaying and fluttering with every breath of wind, and rearranging itself in the calm; in which case, the lady might be said to have "a habit of weeping." . . . . Apart, with William Story, he and I talked of the unluckiness of Friday, etc. I like him particularly well. . . . . We have been plagued to-day with our preparations for leaving Rome to-morrow, and especially with verifying the inventory of furniture, before giving up the house to our landlord. He and his daughter have been examining every separate article, down even to the kitchen skewers, I believe, and charging us to the amount of several scudi for cracks and breakages, which very probably existed when we came into possession. It is very uncomfortable to have dealings with such a mean people (though our landlord is German),--mean in their business transactions; mean even in their beggary; for the beggars seldom ask for more than a mezzo baioccho, though they sometimes grumble when you suit your gratuity exactly to their petition. It is pleasant to record that the Italians have great faith in the honor of the English and Americans, and never hesitate to trust entire strangers, to any reasonable extent, on the strength of their being of the honest Anglo-Saxon race. This evening, U---- and I took a farewell walk in the Pincian Gardens to see the sunset; and found them crowded with people, promenading and listening to the music of the French baud. It was the feast of Whitsunday, which probably brought a greater throng than usual abroad. When the sun went down, we descended into the Piazza del Popolo, and thence into the Via Ripetta, and emerged through a gate to the shore of the Tiber, along which there is a pleasant walk beneath a grove of trees. We traversed it once and back again, looking at the rapid river, which still kept its mud-puddly aspect even in the clear twilight, and beneath the brightening moon. The great bell of St. Peter's tolled with a deep boom, a grand and solemn sound; the moon gleamed through the branches of the trees above us; and U---- spoke with somewhat alarming fervor of her love for Rome, and regret at leaving it. We shall have done the child no good office in bringing her here, if the rest of her life is to be a dream of this "city of the soul," and an unsatisfied yearning to come back to it. On the other hand, nothing elevating and refining can be really injurious, and so I hope she will always be the better for Rome, even if her life should be spent where there are no pictures, no statues, nothing but the dryness and meagreness of a New England village. JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. Civita Castellana, May 24th.--We left Rome this morning, after troubles of various kinds, and a dispute in the first place with Lalla, our female servant, and her mother. . . . . Mother and daughter exploded into a livid rage, and cursed us plentifully,--wishing that we might never come to our journey's end, and that we might all break our necks or die of apoplexy,--the most awful curse that an Italian knows how to invoke upon his enemies, because it precludes the possibility of extreme unction. However, as we are heretics, and certain of damnation therefore, anyhow, it does not much matter to us; and also the anathemas may have been blown back upon those who invoked them, like the curses that were flung out from the balcony of St Peter's during Holy Week and wafted by heaven's breezes right into the faces of some priests who stood near the pope. Next we had a disagreement, with two men who brought down our luggage, and put it on the vettura; . . . . and, lastly, we were infested with beggars, who hung round the carriages with doleful petitions, till we began to move away; but the previous warfare had put me into too stern a mood for almsgiving, so that they also were doubtless inclined to curse more than to bless, and I am persuaded that we drove off under a perfect shower of anathemas. We passed through the Porta del Popolo at about eight o'clock; and after a moment's delay, while the passport was examined, began our journey along the Flaminian Way, between two such high and inhospitable walls of brick or stone as seem to shut in all the avenues to Rome. We had not gone far before we heard military music in advance of us, and saw the road blocked up with people, and then the glitter of muskets, and soon appeared the drummers, fifers, and trumpeters, and then the first battalion of a French regiment, marching into the city, with two mounted officers at their head; then appeared a second and then a third battalion, the whole seeming to make almost an army, though the number on their caps showed them all to belong to one regiment,--the 1st; then came a battery of artillery, then a detachment of horse,--these last, by the crossed keys on their helmets, being apparently papal troops. All were young, fresh, good-looking men, in excellent trim as to uniform and equipments, and marched rather as if they were setting out on a campaign than returning from it; the fact being, I believe, that they have been encamped or in barracks within a few miles of the city. Nevertheless, it reminded me of the military processions of various kinds which so often, two thousand years ago and more, entered Rome over the Flaminian Way, and over all the roads that led to the famous city,--triumphs oftenest, but sometimes the downcast train of a defeated army, like those who retreated before Hannibal. On the whole, I was not sorry to see the Gauls still pouring into Rome; but yet I begin to find that I have a strange affection for it, and so did we all,--the rest of the family in a greater degree than myself even. It is very singular, the sad embrace with which Rome takes possession of the soul. Though we intend to return in a few months, and for a longer residence than this has been, yet we felt the city pulling at our heartstrings far more than London did, where we shall probably never spend much time again. It may be because the intellect finds a home there more than in any other spot in the world, and wins the heart to stay with it, in spite of a good many things strewn all about to disgust us. The road in the earlier part of the way was not particularly picturesque,--the country undulated, but scarcely rose into hills, and was destitute of trees; there were a few shapeless ruins, too indistinct for us to make out whether they were Roman or mediaeval. Nothing struck one so much, in the forenoon, as the spectacle of a peasant-woman riding on horseback as if she were a man. The houses were few, and those of a dreary aspect, built of gray stone, and looking bare and desolate, with not the slightest promise of comfort within doors. We passed two or three locandas or inns, and finally came to the village (if village it were, for I remember no houses except our osteria) of Castel Nuovo di Porta, where we were to take a dejeuner a la fourchette, which was put upon the table between twelve and one. On this journey, according to the custom of travellers in Italy, we pay the vetturino a certain sum, and live at his expense; and this meal was the first specimen of his catering on our behalf. It consisted of a beefsteak, rather dry and hard, but not unpalatable, and a large omelette; and for beverage, two quart bottles of red wine, which, being tasted, had an agreeable acid flavor. . . . . The locanda was built of stone, and had what looked like an old Roman altar in the basement-hall, and a shrine, with a lamp before it, on the staircase; and the large public saloon in which we ate had a brick floor, a ceiling with cross-beams, meagrely painted in fresco, and a scanty supply of chairs and settees. After lunch, we wandered out into a valley or ravine near the house, where we gathered some flowers, and J----- found a nest with the young birds in it, which, however, he put back into the bush whence he took it. Our afternoon drive was more picturesque and noteworthy. Soracte rose before us, bulging up quite abruptly out of the plain, and keeping itself entirely distinct from a whole horizon of hills. Byron well compares it to a wave just on the bend, and about to break over towards the spectator. As we approached it nearer and nearer, it looked like the barrenest great rock that ever protruded out of the substance of the earth, with scarcely a strip or a spot of verdure upon its steep and gray declivities. The road kept trending towards the mountain, following the line of the old Flaminian Way, which we could see, at frequent intervals, close beside the modern track. It is paved with large flag-stones, laid so accurately together, that it is still, in some places, as smooth and even as the floor of a church; and everywhere the tufts of grass find it difficult to root themselves into the interstices. Its course is straighter than that of the road of to-day, which often turns aside to avoid obstacles which the ancient one surmounted. Much of it, probably, is covered with the soil and overgrowth deposited in later years; and, now and then, we could see its flag-stones partly protruding from the bank through which our road has been cut, and thus showing that the thickness of this massive pavement was more than a foot of solid stone. We lost it over and over again; but still it reappeared, now on one side of us, now on the other; perhaps from beneath the roots of old trees, or the pasture-land of a thousand years old, and leading on towards the base of Soracte. I forget where we finally lost it. Passing through a town called Rignano, we found it dressed out in festivity, with festoons of foliage along both sides of the street, which ran beneath a triumphal arch, bearing an inscription in honor of a ducal personage of the Massimi family. I know no occasion for the feast, except that it is Whitsuntide. The town was thronged with peasants, in their best attire, and we met others on their way thither, particularly women and girls, with heads bare in the sunshine; but there was no tiptoe jollity, nor, indeed, any more show of festivity than I have seen in my own country at a cattle-show or muster. Really, I think, not half so much. The road still grew more and more picturesque, and now lay along ridges, at the bases of which were deep ravines and hollow valleys. Woods were not wanting; wilder forests than I have seen since leaving America, of oak-trees chiefly; and, among the green foliage, grew golden tufts of broom, making a gay and lovely combination of hues. I must not forget to mention the poppies, which burned like live coals along the wayside, and lit up the landscape, even a single one of them, with wonderful effect. At other points, we saw olive-trees, hiding their eccentricity of boughs under thick masses of foliage of a livid tint, which is caused, I believe, by their turning their reverse sides to the light and to the spectator. Vines were abundant, but were of little account in the scene. By and by we came in sight, of the high, flat table-land, on which stands Civita Castellana, and beheld, straight downward, between us and the town, a deep level valley with a river winding through it; it was the valley of the Treja. A precipice, hundreds of feet in height, falls perpendicularly upon the valley, from the site of Civita Castellana; there is an equally abrupt one, probably, on the side from which we saw it; and a modern road, skilfully constructed, goes winding down to the stream, crosses it by a narrow stone bridge, and winds upward into the town. After passing over the bridge, I alighted, with J----- and R-----, . . . . and made the ascent on foot, along walls of natural rock, in which old Etruscan tombs were hollowed out. There are likewise antique remains of masonry, whether Roman or of what earlier period, I cannot tell. At the summit of the acclivity, which brought us close to the town, our vetturino took us into the carriage again and quickly brought us to what appears to be really a good hotel, where all of us are accommodated with sleeping-chambers in a range, beneath an arcade, entirely secluded from the rest of the population of the hotel. After a splendid dinner (that is, splendid, considering that it was ordered by our hospitable vetturino), U----, Miss Shepard, J-----, and I walked out of the little town, in the opposite direction from our entrance, and crossed a bridge at the height of the table-land, instead of at its base. On either side, we had a view down into a profound gulf, with sides of precipitous rock, and heaps of foliage in its lap, through which ran the snowy track of a stream; here snowy, there dark; here hidden among the foliage, there quite revealed in the broad depths of the gulf. This was wonderfully fine. Walking on a little farther, Soracte came fully into view, starting with bold abruptness out of the middle of the country; and before we got back, the bright Italian moon was throwing a shower of silver over the scene, and making it so beautiful that it seemed miserable not to know how to put it into words; a foolish thought, however, for such scenes are an expression in themselves, and need not be translated into any feebler language. On our walk we met parties of laborers, both men and women, returning from the fields, with rakes and wooden forks over their shoulders, singing in chorus. It is very customary for women to be laboring in the fields. TO TERNI.--BORGHETTO. May 25th.--We were aroused at four o'clock this morning; had some eggs and coffee, and were ready to start between five and six; being thus matutinary, in order to get to Terni in time to see the falls. The road was very striking and picturesque; but I remember nothing particularly, till we came to Borghetto, which stands on a bluff, with a broad valley sweeping round it, through the midst of which flows the Tiber. There is an old castle on a projecting point; and we saw other battlemented fortresses, of mediaeval date, along our way, forming more beautiful ruins than any of the Roman remains to which we have become accustomed. This is partly, I suppose, owing to the fact that they have been neglected, and allowed to mantle their decay with ivy, instead of being cleaned, propped up, and restored. The antiquarian is apt to spoil the objects that interest him. Sometimes we passed through wildernesses of various trees, each contributing a different hue of verdure to the scene; the vine, also, marrying itself to the fig-tree, so that a man might sit in the shadow of both at once, and temper the luscious sweetness of the one fruit with the fresh flavor of the other. The wayside incidents were such as meeting a man and woman borne along as prisoners, handcuffed and in a cart; two men reclining across one another, asleep, and lazily lifting their heads to gaze at us as we passed by; a woman spinning with a distaff as she walked along the road. An old tomb or tower stood in a lonely field, and several caves were hollowed in the rocks, which might have been either sepulchres or habitations. Soracte kept us company, sometimes a little on one side, sometimes behind, looming up again and again, when we thought that we had done with it, and so becoming rather tedious at last, like a person who presents himself for another and another leave-taking after the one which ought to have been final. Honeysuckles sweetened the hedges along the road. After leaving Borghetto, we crossed the broad valley of the Tiber, and skirted along one of the ridges that border it, looking back upon the road that we had passed, lying white behind us. We saw a field covered with buttercups, or some other yellow flower, and poppies burned along the roadside, as they did yesterday, and there were flowers of a delicious blue, as if the blue Italian sky had been broken into little bits, and scattered down upon the green earth. Otricoli by and by appeared, situated on a bold promontory above the valley, a village of a few gray houses and huts, with one edifice gaudily painted in white and pink. It looked more important at a distance than we found it on our nearer approach. As the road kept ascending, and as the hills grew to be mountains, we had taken two additional horses, making six in all, with a man and boy running beside them, to keep them in motion. The boy had two club feet, so inconveniently disposed that it seemed almost inevitable for him to stumble over them at every step; besides which, he seemed to tread upon his ankles, and moved with a disjointed gait, as if each of his legs and thighs had been twisted round together with his feet. Nevertheless, he had a bright, cheerful, intelligent face, and was exceedingly active, keeping up with the horses at their trot, and inciting them to better speed when they lagged. I conceived a great respect for this poor boy, who had what most Italian peasants would consider an enviable birthright in those two club feet, as giving him a sufficient excuse to live on charity, but yet took no advantage of them; on the contrary, putting his poor misshapen hoofs to such good use as might have shamed many a better provided biped. When he quitted us, he asked no alms of the travellers, but merely applied to Gaetano for some slight recompense for his well-performed service. This behavior contrasted most favorably with that of some other boys and girls, who ran begging beside the carriage door, keeping up a low, miserable murmur, like that of a kennel-stream, for a long, long way. Beggars, indeed, started up at every point, when we stopped for a moment, and whenever a hill imposed a slower pace upon us; each village had its deformity or its infirmity, offering his wretched petition at the step of the carriage; and even a venerable, white-haired patriarch, the grandfather of all the beggars, seemed to grow up by the roadside, but was left behind from inability to join in the race with his light-footed juniors. No shame is attached to begging in Italy. In fact, I rather imagine it to be held an honorable profession, inheriting some of the odor of sanctity that used to be attached to a mendicant and idle life in the days of early Christianity, when every saint lived upon Providence, and deemed it meritorious to do nothing for his support. Murray's guide-book is exceedingly vague and unsatisfactory along this route; and whenever we asked Gaetano the name of a village or a castle, he gave some one which we had never heard before, and could find nothing of in the book. We made out the river Nar, however, or what I supposed to be such, though he called it Nera. It flows through a most stupendous mountain-gorge; winding its narrow passage between high hills, the broad sides of which descend steeply upon it, covered with trees and shrubbery, that mantle a host of rocky roughnesses, and make all look smooth. Here and there a precipice juts sternly forth. We saw an old castle on a hillside, frowning down into the gorge; and farther on, the gray tower of Narni stands upon a height, imminent over the depths below, and with its battlemented castle above now converted into a prison, and therefore kept in excellent repair. A long winding street passes through Narni, broadening at one point into a market-place, where an old cathedral showed its venerable front, and the great dial of its clock, the figures on which were numbered in two semicircles of twelve points each; one, I suppose, for noon, and the other for midnight. The town has, so far as its principal street is concerned, a city-like aspect, with large, fair edifices, and shops as good as most of those at Rome, the smartness of which contrasts strikingly with the rude and lonely scenery of mountain and stream, through which we had come to reach it. We drove through Narni without stopping, and came out from it on the other side, where a broad, level valley opened before us, most unlike the wild, precipitous gorge which had brought us to the town. The road went winding down into the peaceful vale, through the midst of which flowed the same stream that cuts its way between the impending hills, as already described. We passed a monk and a soldier,--the two curses of Italy, each in his way,-- walking sociably side by side; and from Narni to Terni I remember nothing that need be recorded. Terni, like so many other towns in the neighborhood, stands in a high and commanding position, chosen doubtless for its facilities of defence, in days long before the mediaeval warfares of Italy made such sites desirable. I suppose that, like Narni and Otricoli, it was a city of the Umbrians. We reached it between eleven and twelve o'clock, intending to employ the afternoon on a visit to the famous falls of Terni; but, after lowering all day, it has begun to rain, and we shall probably have to give them up. Half past eight o'clock.--It has rained in torrents during the afternoon, and we have not seen the cascade of Terni; considerably to my regret, for I think I felt the more interest in seeing it, on account of its being artificial. Methinks nothing was more characteristic of the energy and determination of the old Romans, than thus to take a river, which they wished to be rid of, and fling it over a giddy precipice, breaking it into ten million pieces by the fall. . . . . We are in the Hotel delle tre Colonne, and find it reasonably good, though not, so far as we are concerned, justifying the rapturous commendations of previous tourists, who probably travelled at their own charges. However, there is nothing really to be complained of, either in our accommodations or table, and the only wonder is how Gaetano contrives to get any profit out of our contract, since the hotel bills would alone cost us more than we pay him for the journey and all. It is worth while to record as history of vetturino commissary customs, that for breakfast this morning we had coffee, eggs, and bread and butter; for lunch an omelette, some stewed veal, and a dessert of figs and grapes, besides two decanters of a light-colored acid wine, tasting very like indifferent cider; for dinner, an excellent vermicelli soup, two young fowls, fricasseed, and a hind quarter of roast lamb, with fritters, oranges, and figs, and two more decanters of the wine aforesaid. This hotel is an edifice with a gloomy front upon a narrow street, and enterable through an arch, which admits you into an enclosed court; around the court, on each story, run the galleries, with which the parlors and sleeping-apartments communicate. The whole house is dingy, probably old, and seems not very clean; but yet bears traces of former magnificence; for instance, in our bedroom, the door of which is ornamented with gilding, and the cornices with frescos, some of which appear to represent the cascade of Terni, the roof is crossed with carved beams, and is painted in the interstices; the floor has a carpet, but rough tiles underneath it, which show themselves at the margin. The windows admit the wind; the door shuts so loosely as to leave great cracks; and, during the rain to-day, there was a heavy shower through our ceiling, which made a flood upon the carpet. We see no chambermaids; nothing of the comfort and neatness of an English hotel, nor of the smart splendors of an American one; but still this dilapidated palace affords us a better shelter than I expected to find in the decayed country towns of Italy. In the album of the hotel I find the names of more English travellers than of any other nation except the Americans, who, I think, even exceed the former; and, the route being the favorite one for tourists between Rome and Florence, whatever merit the inns have is probably owing to the demands of the Anglo-Saxons. I doubt not, if we chose to pay for it, this hotel would supply us with any luxury we might ask for; and perhaps even a gorgeous saloon and state bedchamber. After dinner, J----- and I walked out in the dusk to see what we could of Terni. We found it compact and gloomy (but the latter characteristic might well enough be attributed to the dismal sky), with narrow streets, paved from wall to wall of the houses, like those of all the towns in Italy; the blocks of paving-stone larger than the little square torments of Rome. The houses are covered with dingy stucco, and mostly low, compared with those of Rome, and inhospitable as regards their dismal aspects and uninviting doorways. The streets are intricate, as well as narrow; insomuch that we quickly lost our way, and could not find it again, though the town is of so small dimensions, that we passed through it in two directions, in the course of our brief wanderings. There are no lamp-posts in Terni; and as it was growing dark, and beginning to rain again, we at last inquired of a person in the principal piazza, and found our hotel, as I expected, within two minutes' walk of where we stood. FOLIGNO. May 26th.--At six o'clock this morning, we packed ourselves into our vettura, my wife and I occupying the coupe, and drove out of the city gate of Terni. There are some old towers near it, ruins of I know not what, and care as little, in the plethora of antiquities and other interesting objects. Through the arched gateway, as we approached, we had a view of one of the great hills that surround the town, looking partly bright in the early sunshine, and partly catching the shadows of the clouds that floated about the sky. Our way was now through the Vale of Terni, as I believe it is called, where we saw somewhat of the fertility of Italy: vines trained on poles, or twining round mulberry and other trees, ranged regularly like orchards; groves of olives and fields of grain. There are interminable shrines in all sorts of situations; some under arched niches, or little penthouses, with a brick-tiled roof, just large enough to cover them; or perhaps in some bit of old Roman masonry, on the wall of a wayside inn, or in a shallow cavity of the natural rock, or high upward in the deep cuts of the road; everywhere, in short, so that nobody need be at a loss when he feels the religious sentiment stir within him. Our way soon began to wind among the hills, which rose steep and lofty from the scanty, level space that lay between; they continually thrust themselves across the passage, and appeared as if determined to shut us completely in. A great hill would put its foot right before us; but, at the last moment, would grudgingly withdraw it, and allow us just room enough to creep by. Adown their sides we discerned the dry beds of mountain torrents, which had lived too fierce a life to let it be a long one. On here and there a hillside or promontory we saw a ruined castle or a convent, looking from its commanding height upon the road, which very likely some robber-knight had formerly infested with his banditti, retreating with his booty to the security of such strongholds. We came, once in a while, to wretched villages, where there was no token of prosperity or comfort; but perhaps there may have been more than we could appreciate, for the Italians do not seem to have any of that sort of pride which we find in New England villages, where every man, according to his taste and means, endeavors to make his homestead an ornament to the place. We miss nothing in Italy more than the neat doorsteps and pleasant porches and thresholds and delightful lawns or grass-plots, which hospitably invite the imagination into a sweet domestic interior. Everything, however sunny and luxuriant may be the scene around, is especially dreary and disheartening in the immediate vicinity of an Italian home. At Strettura (which, as the name indicates, is a very narrow part of the valley) we added two oxen to our horses, and began to ascend the Monte Somma, which, according to Murray, is nearly four thousand feet high where we crossed it. When we came to the steepest part of the ascent, Gaetano, who exercises a pretty decided control over his passengers, allowed us to walk; and we all, with one exception, alighted, and began to climb the mountain on foot. I walked on briskly, and soon left the rest of the party behind, reaching the top of the pass in such a short time that I could not believe it, and kept onward, expecting still another height to climb. But the road began to descend, winding among the depths of the hills as heretofore; now beside the dry, gravelly bed of a departed stream, now crossing it by a bridge, and perhaps passing through some other gorge, that yet gave no decided promise of an outlet into the world beyond. A glimpse might occasionally be caught, through a gap between the hill-tops, of a company of distant mountain-peaks, pyramidal, as these hills are apt to be, and resembling the camp of an army of giants. The landscape was not altogether savage; sometimes a hillside was covered with a rich field of grain, or an orchard of olive-trees, looking not unlike puffs of smoke, from the peculiar line of their foliage; but oftener there was a vast mantle of trees and shrubbery from top to bottom, the golden tufts of the broom shining out amid the verdure, and gladdening the whole. Nothing was dismal except the houses; those were always so, whether the compact, gray lines of village hovels, with a narrow street between, or the lonely farm-house, standing far apart from the road, built of stone, with window-gaps high in the wall, empty of glass; or the half-castle, half-dwelling, of which I saw a specimen or two, with what looked like a defensive rampart, drawn around its court. I saw no look of comfort anywhere; and continually, in this wild and solitary region, I met beggars, just as if I were still in the streets of Rome. Boys and girls kept beside me, till they delivered me into the hands of others like themselves; hoary grandsires and grandmothers caught a glimpse of my approach, and tottered as fast as they could to intercept me; women came out of the cottages, with rotten cherries on a plate, entreating me to buy them for a mezzo baioccho; a man, at work on the road, left his toil to beg, and was grateful for the value of a cent; in short, I was never safe from importunity, as long as there was a house or a human being in sight. We arrived at Spoleto before noon, and while our dejeuner was being prepared, looked down from the window of the inn into the narrow street beneath, which, from the throng of people in it, I judged to be the principal one: priests, papal soldiers, women with no bonnets on their heads; peasants in breeches and mushroom hats; maids and matrons, drawing water at a fountain; idlers, smoking on a bench under the window; a talk, a bustle, but no genuine activity. After lunch we walked out to see the lions of Spoleto, and found our way up a steep and narrow street that led us to the city gate, at which, it is traditionally said, Hannibal sought to force an entrance, after the battle of Thrasymene, and was repulsed. The gateway has a double arch, on the inner one of which is a tablet, recording the above tradition as an unquestioned historical fact. From the gateway we went in search of the Duomo, or cathedral, and were kindly directed thither by an officer, who was descending into the town from the citadel, which is an old castle, now converted into a prison. The cathedral seemed small, and did not much interest us, either by the Gothic front or its modernized interior. We saw nothing else in Spoleto, but went back to the inn and resumed our journey, emerging from the city into the classic valley of the Clitumnus, which we did not view under the best of auspices, because it was overcast, and the wind as chill as if it had the cast in it. The valley, though fertile, and smilingly picturesque, perhaps, is not such as I should wish to celebrate, either in prose or poetry. It is of such breadth and extent, that its frame of mountains and ridgy hills hardly serve to shut it in sufficiently, and the spectator thinks of a boundless plain, rather than of a secluded vale. After passing Le Vene, we came to the little temple which Byron describes, and which has been supposed to be the one immortalized by Pliny. It is very small, and stands on a declivity that falls immediately from the road, right upon which rises the pediment of the temple, while the columns of the other front find sufficient height to develop themselves in the lower ground. A little farther down than the base of the edifice we saw the Clitumnus, so recently from its source in the marble rock, that it was still as pure as a child's heart, and as transparent as truth itself. It looked airier than nothing, because it had not substance enough to brighten, and it was clearer than the atmosphere. I remember nothing else of the valley of Clitumnus, except that the beggars in this region of proverbial fertility are wellnigh profane in the urgency of their petitions; they absolutely fall down on their knees as you approach, in the same attitude as if they were praying to their Maker, and beseech you for alms with a fervency which I am afraid they seldom use before an altar or shrine. Being denied, they ran hastily beside the carriage, but got nothing, and finally gave over. I am so very tired and sleepy that I mean to mention nothing else to-night, except the city of Trevi, which, on the approach from Spoleto, seems completely to cover a high, peaked hill, from its pyramidal tip to its base. It was the strangest situation in which to build a town, where, I should suppose, no horse can climb, and whence no inhabitant would think of descending into the world, after the approach of age should begin to stiffen his joints. On looking back on this most picturesque of towns (which the road, of course, did not enter, as evidently no road could), I saw that the highest part of the hill was quite covered with a crown of edifices, terminating in a church-tower; while a part of the northern side was apparently too steep for building; and a cataract of houses flowed down the western and southern slopes. There seemed to be palaces, churches, everything that a city should have; but my eyes are heavy, and I can write no more about them, only that I suppose the summit of the hill was artificially tenured, so as to prevent its crumbling down, and enable it to support the platform of edifices which crowns it. May 27th.--We reached Foligno in good season yesterday afternoon. Our inn seemed ancient; and, under the same roof, on one side of the entrance, was the stable, and on the other the coach-house. The house is built round a narrow court, with a well of water at bottom, and an opening in the roof at top, whence the staircases are lighted that wind round the sides of the court, up to the highest story. Our dining-room and bedrooms were in the latter region, and were all paved with brick, and without carpets; and the characteristic of the whole was all exceeding plainness and antique clumsiness of fitting up. We found ourselves sufficiently comfortable, however; and, as has been the case throughout our journey, had a very fair and well-cooked dinner. It shows, as perhaps I have already remarked, that it is still possible to live well in Italy, at no great expense, and that the high prices charged to the forestieri at Rome and elsewhere are artificial, and ought to be abated. . . . . The day had darkened since morning, and was now ominous of rain; but as soon as we were established, we sallied out to see whatever was worth looking at. A beggar-boy, with one leg, followed us, without asking for anything, apparently only for the pleasure of our company, though he kept at too great a distance for conversation, and indeed did not attempt to speak. We went first to the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, and a modernized interior, stuccoed and whitewashed, looking as neat as a New England meeting-house, and very mean, after our familiarity with the gorgeous churches in other cities. There were some pictures in the chapels, but, I believe, all modern, and I do not remember a single one of them. Next we went, without any guide, to a church attached to a convent of Dominican monks, with a Gothic exterior, and two hideous pictures of Death,--the skeleton leaning on his scythe, one on each side of the door. This church, likewise, was whitewashed, but we understood that it had been originally frescoed all over, and by famous hands; but these pictures, having become much injured, they were all obliterated, as we saw,--all, that is to say, except a few specimens of the best preserved, which were spared to show the world what the whole had been. I thanked my stars that the obliteration of the rest had taken place before our visit; for if anything is dreary and calculated to make the beholder utterly miserable, it is a faded fresco, with spots of the white plaster dotted over it. Our one-legged boy had followed us into the church and stood near the door till he saw us ready to come out, when he hurried on before us, and waited a little way off to see whither we should go. We still went on at random, taking the first turn that offered itself, and soon came to another old church,--that of St. Mary within the Walls,--into which we entered, and found it whitewashed, like the other two. This was especially fortunate, for the doorkeeper informed us that, two years ago, the whole church (except, I suppose, the roof, which is of timber) had been covered with frescos by Pinturicchio, all of which had been ruthlessly obliterated, except a very few fragments. These he proceeded to show us; poor, dim ghosts of what may once have been beautiful,--now so far gone towards nothingness that I was hardly sure whether I saw a glimmering of the design or not. By the by, it was not Pinturicchio, as I have written above, but Giotto, assisted, I believe, by Cimabue, who painted these frescos. Our one-legged attendant had followed us also into this church, and again hastened out of it before us; and still we heard the dot of his crutch upon the pavement, as we passed from street to street. By and by a sickly looking man met us, and begged for "qualche cosa"; but the boy shouted to him, "Niente!" whether intimating that we would give him nothing, or that he himself had a prior claim to all our charity, I cannot tell. However, the beggar-man turned round, and likewise followed our devious course. Once or twice we missed him; but it was only because he could not walk so fast as we; for he appeared again as we emerged from the door of another church. Our one-legged friend we never missed for a moment; he kept pretty near us,--near enough to be amused by our indecision whither to go; and he seemed much delighted when it began to rain, and he saw us at a loss how to find our way back to the hotel. Nevertheless, he did not offer to guide us; but stumped on behind with a faster or slower dot of his crutch, according to our pace. I began to think that he must have been engaged as a spy upon our movements by the police who had taken away my passport at the city gate. In this way he attended us to the door of the hotel, where the beggar had already arrived. The latter again put in his doleful petition; the one-legged boy said not a word, nor seemed to expect anything, and both had to go away without so much as a mezzo baioccho out of our pockets. The multitude of beggars in Italy makes the heart as obdurate as a paving-stone. We left Foligno this morning, and, all ready for us at the door of the hotel, as we got into the carriage, were our friends, the beggar-man and the one-legged boy; the latter holding out his ragged hat, and smiling with as confident an air as if he had done us some very particular service, and were certain of being paid for it, as from contract. It was so very funny, so impudent, so utterly absurd, that I could not help giving him a trifle; but the man got nothing,--a fact that gives me a twinge or two, for he looked sickly and miserable. But where everybody begs, everybody, as a general rule, must be denied; and, besides, they act their misery so well that you are never sure of the genuine article. PERUGIA. May 25th.--As I said last night, we left Foligno betimes in the morning, which was bleak, chill, and very threatening, there being very little blue sky anywhere, and the clouds lying heavily on some of the mountain-ridges. The wind blew sharply right in U----'s face and mine, as we occupied the coupe, so that there must have been a great deal of the north in it. We drove through a wide plain--the Umbrian valley, I suppose--and soon passed the old town of Spello, just touching its skirts, and wondering how people, who had this rich and convenient plain from which to choose a site, could think of covering a huge island of rock with their dwellings,--for Spello tumbled its crooked and narrow streets down a steep descent, and cannot well have a yard of even space within its walls. It is said to contain some rare treasures of ancient pictorial art. I do not remember much that we saw on our route. The plains and the lower hillsides seemed fruitful of everything that belongs to Italy, especially the olive and the vine. As usual, there were a great many shrines, and frequently a cross by the wayside. Hitherto it had been merely a plain wooden cross; but now almost every cross was hung with various instruments, represented in wood, apparently symbols of the crucifixion of our Saviour,--the spear, the sponge, the crown of thorns, the hammer, a pair of pincers, and always St. Peter's cock, made a prominent figure, generally perched on the summit of the cross. From our first start this morning we had seen mists in various quarters, betokening that there was rain in those spots, and now it began to spatter in our own faces, although within the wide extent of our prospect we could see the sunshine falling on portions of the valley. A rainbow, too, shone out, and remained so long visible that it appeared to have made a permanent stain in the sky. By and by we reached Assisi, which is magnificently situated for pictorial purposes, with a gray castle above it, and a gray wall around it, itself on a mountain, and looking over the great plain which we had been traversing, and through which lay our onward way. We drove through the Piazza Grande to an ancient house a little beyond, where a hospitable old lady receives travellers for a consideration, without exactly keeping an inn. In the piazza we saw the beautiful front of a temple of Minerva, consisting of several marble pillars, fluted, and with rich capitals supporting a pediment. It was as fine as anything I had seen at Rome, and is now, of course, converted into a Catholic church. I ought to have said that, instead of driving straight to the old lady's, we alighted at the door of a church near the city gate, and went in to inspect some melancholy frescos, and thence clambered up a narrow street to the cathedral, which has a Gothic front, old enough, but not very impressive. I really remember not a single object that we saw within, but am pretty certain that the interior had been stuccoed and whitewashed. The ecclesiastics of old time did an excellent thing in covering the interiors of their churches with brilliant frescos, thus filling the holy places with saints and angels, and almost with the presence of the Divinity. The modern ecclesiastics do the next best thing in obliterating the wretched remnants of what has had its day and done its office. These frescos might be looked upon as the symbol of the living spirit that made Catholicism a true religion, and glorified it as long as it did live; now the glory and beauty have departed from one and the other. My wife, U----, and Miss Shepard now set out with a cicerone to visit the great Franciscan convent, in the church of which are preserved some miraculous specimens, in fresco and in oils, of early Italian art; but as I had no mind to suffer any further in this way, I stayed behind with J----- and R-----, who we're equally weary of these things. After they were gone we took a ramble through the city, but were almost swept away by the violence of the wind, which struggled with me for my hat, and whirled R----- before it like a feather. The people in the public square seemed much diverted at our predicament, being, I suppose, accustomed to these rude blasts in their mountain-home. However, the wind blew in momentary gusts, and then became more placable till another fit of fury came, and passed as suddenly as before. We walked out of the same gate through which we had entered,--an ancient gate, but recently stuccoed and whitewashed, in wretched contrast to the gray, venerable wall through which it affords ingress,--and I stood gazing at the magnificent prospect of the wide valley beneath. It was so vast that there appeared to be all varieties of weather in it at the same instant; fields of sunshine, tracts of storm,--here the coming tempest, there the departing one. It was a picture of the world on a vast canvas, for there was rural life and city life within the great expanse, and the whole set in a frame of mountains,--the nearest bold and dust-net, with the rocky ledges showing through their sides, the distant ones blue and dim,--so far stretched this broad valley. When I had looked long enough,--no, not long enough, for it would take a great while to read that page,--we returned within the gate, and we clambered up, past the cathedral and into the narrow streets above it. The aspect of everything was immeasurably old; a thousand years would be but a middle age for one of those houses, built so massively with huge stones and solid arches, that I do not see how they are ever to tumble down, or to be less fit for human habitation than they are now. The streets crept between them, and beneath arched passages, and up and down steps of stone or ancient brick, for it would be altogether impossible for a carriage to ascend above the Grand Piazza, though possibly a donkey or a chairman's mule might find foothold. The city seems like a stony growth out of the hillside, or a fossilized city,--so old and singular it is, without enough life and juiciness in it to be susceptible of decay. An earthquake is the only chance of its ever being ruined, beyond its present ruin. Nothing is more strange than to think that this now dead city--dead, as regards the purposes for which men live nowadays--was, centuries ago, the seat and birthplace almost of art, the only art in which the beautiful part of the human mind then developed itself. How came that flower to grow among these wild mountains? I do not conceive, however, that the people of Assisi were ever much more enlightened or cultivated on the side of art than they are at present. The ecclesiastics were then the only patrons; and the flower grew here because there was a great ecclesiastical garden in which it was sheltered and fostered. But it is very curious to think of Assisi, a school of art within, and mountain and wilderness without. My wife and the rest of the party returned from the convent before noon, delighted with what they had seen, as I was delighted not to have seen it. We ate our dejeuner, and resumed our journey, passing beneath the great convent, after emerging from the gate opposite to that of our entrance. The edifice made a very good spectacle, being of great extent, and standing on a double row of high and narrow arches, on which it is built up from the declivity of the hill. We soon reached the Church of St. Mary of the Angels, which is a modern structure, and very spacious, built in place of one destroyed by an earthquake. It is a fine church, opening out a magnificent space in its nave and aisles; and beneath the great dome stands the small old chapel, with its rude stone walls, in which St. Francis founded his order. This chapel and the dome appear to have been the only portions of the ancient church that were not destroyed by the earthquake. The dwelling of St. Francis is said to be also preserved within the church; but we did not see it, unless it were a little dark closet into which we squeezed to see some frescos by La Spagna. It had an old wooden door, of which U---- picked off a little bit of a chip, to serve as a relic. There is a fresco in the church, on the pediment of the chapel, by Overbeck, representing the Assumption of the Virgin. It did not strike me as wonderfully fine. The other pictures, of which there were many, were modern, and of no great merit. We pursued our way, and came, by and by, to the foot of the high hill on which stands Perugia, and which is so long and steep that Gaetano took a yoke of oxen to aid his horses in the ascent. We all, except my wife, walked a part of the way up, and I myself, with J----- for my companion, kept on even to the city gate,--a distance, I should think, of two or three miles, at least. The lower part of the road was on the edge of the hill, with a narrow valley on our left; and as the sun had now broken out, its verdure and fertility, its foliage and cultivation, shone forth in miraculous beauty, as green as England, as bright as only Italy. Perugia appeared above us, crowning a mighty hill, the most picturesque of cities; and the higher we ascended, the more the view opened before us, as we looked back on the course that we had traversed, and saw the wide valley, sweeping down and spreading out, bounded afar by mountains, and sleeping in sun and shadow. No language nor any art of the pencil can give an idea of the scene. When God expressed himself in the landscape to mankind, he did not intend that it should be translated into any tongue save his own immediate one. J----- meanwhile, whose heart is now wholly in snail-shells, was rummaging for them among the stones and hedges by the roadside; yet, doubtless, enjoyed the prospect more than he knew. The coach lagged far behind us, and when it came up, we entered the gate, where a soldier appeared, and demanded my passport. We drove to the Grand Hotel de France, which is near the gate, and two fine little boys ran beside the carriage, well dressed and well looking enough to have been a gentleman's sons, but claiming Gaetano for their father. He is an inhabitant of Perugia, and has therefore reached his own home, though we are still little more than midway to our journey's end. Our hotel proves, thus far, to be the best that we have yet met with. We are only in the outskirts of Perugia; the bulk of the city, where the most interesting churches and the public edifices are situated, being far above us on the hill. My wife, U----, Miss Shepard, and R----- streamed forth immediately, and saw a church; but J-----, who hates them, and I remained behind; and, for my part, I added several pages to this volume of scribble. This morning was as bright as morning could be, even in Italy, and in this transparent mountain atmosphere. We at first declined the services of a cicerone, and went out in the hopes of finding our way to whatever we wished to see, by our own instincts. This proved to be a mistaken hope, however; and we wandered about the upper city, much persecuted by a shabby old man who wished to guide us; so, at last, Miss Shepard went back in quest of the cicerone at the hotel, and, meanwhile, we climbed to the summit of the hill of Perugia, and, leaning over a wall, looked forth upon a most magnificent view of mountain and valley, terminating in some peaks, lofty and dim, which surely must be the Apennines. There again a young man accosted us, offering to guide us to the Cambio or Exchange; and as this was one of the places which we especially wished to see, we accepted his services. By the by, I ought to have mentioned that we had already entered a church (San Luigi, I believe), the interior of which we found very impressive, dim with the light of stained and painted windows, insomuch that it at first seemed almost dark, and we could only see the bright twinkling of the tapers at the shrines; but, after a few minutes, we discerned the tall octagonal pillars of the nave, marble, and supporting a beautiful roof of crossed arches. The church was neither Gothic nor classic, but a mixture of both, and most likely barbarous; yet it had a grand effect in its tinted twilight, and convinced me more than ever how desirable it is that religious edifices should have painted windows. The door of the Cambio proved to be one that we had passed several times, while seeking for it, and was very near the church just mentioned, which fronts on one side of the same piazza. We were received by an old gentleman, who appeared to be a public officer, and found ourselves in a small room, wainscoted with beautifully carved oak, roofed with a coved ceiling, painted with symbols of the planets, and arabesqued in rich designs by Raphael, and lined with splendid frescos of subjects, scriptural and historical, by Perugino. When the room was in its first glory, I can conceive that the world had not elsewhere to show, within so small a space, such magnificence and beauty as were then displayed here. Even now, I enjoyed (to the best of my belief, for we can never feel sure that we are not bamboozling ourselves in such matters) some real pleasure in what I saw; and especially seemed to feel, after all these ages, the old painter's devout sentiment still breathing forth from the religious pictures, the work of a hand that had so long been dust. When we had looked long at these, the old gentleman led us into a chapel, of the same size as the former room, and built in the same fashion, wainscoted likewise with old oak. The walls were also frescoed, entirely frescoed, and retained more of their original brightness than those we had already seen, although the pictures were the production of a somewhat inferior hand, a pupil of Perugino. They seemed to be very striking, however, not the less so, that one of them provoked an unseasonable smile. It was the decapitation of John the Baptist; and this holy personage was represented as still on his knees, with his hands clasped in prayer, although the executioner was already depositing the head in a charger, and the blood was spouting from the headless trunk, directly, as it were, into the face of the spectator. While we were in the outer room, the cicerone who first offered his services at the hotel had come in; so we paid our chance guide, and expected him to take his leave. It is characteristic of this idle country, however, that if you once speak to a person, or connect yourself with him by the slightest possible tie, you will hardly get rid of him by anything short of main force. He still lingered in the room, and was still there when I came away; for, having had as many pictures as I could digest, I left my wife and U---- with the cicerone, and set out on a ramble with J-----. We plunged from the upper city down through some of the strangest passages that ever were called streets; some of them, indeed, being arched all over, and, going down into the unknown darkness, looked like caverns; and we followed one of them doubtfully, till it opened out upon the light. The houses on each side were divided only by a pace or two, and communicated with one another, here and there, by arched passages. They looked very ancient, and may have been inhabited by Etruscan princes, judging from the massiveness of some of the foundation stones. The present inhabitants, nevertheless, are by no means princely,--shabby men, and the careworn wives and mothers of the people,--one of whom was guiding a child in leading-strings through these antique alleys, where hundreds of generations have trod before those little feet. Finally we came out through a gateway, the same gateway at which we entered last night. I ought to have mentioned, in the narrative of yesterday, that we crossed the Tiber shortly before reaching Perugia, already a broad and rapid stream, and already distinguished by the same turbid and mud-puddly quality of water that we see in it at Rome. I think it will never be so disagreeable to me hereafter, now that I find this turbidness to be its native color, and not (like that of the Thames) accruing from city sewers or any impurities of the lowlands. As I now remember, the small Chapel of Santa Maria degl' Angeli seems to have been originally the house of St. Francis. May 29th.--This morning we visited the Church of the Dominicans, where we saw some quaint pictures by Fra Angelico, with a good deal of religious sincerity in them; also a picture of St. Columba by Perugino, which unquestionably is very good. To confess the truth, I took more interest in a fair Gothic monument, in white marble, of Pope Benedict XII., representing him reclining under a canopy, while two angels draw aside the curtain, the canopy being supported by twisted columns, richly ornamented. I like this overflow and gratuity of device with which Gothic sculpture works out its designs, after seeing so much of the simplicity of classic art in marble. We then tried to find the Church of San Pietro in Martire, but without success, although every person of whom we inquired immediately attached himself or herself to us, and could hardly be got rid of by any efforts on our part. Nobody seemed to know the church we wished for, but all directed us to another Church of San Pietro, which contains nothing of interest; whereas the right church is supposed to contain a celebrated picture by Perugino. Finally, we ascended the hill and the city proper of Perugia (for our hotel is in one of the suburbs), and J----- and I set out on a ramble about the city. It was market-day, and the principal piazza, with the neighboring streets, was crowded with people. . . . . The best part of Perugia, that in which the grand piazzas and the principal public edifices stand, seems to be a nearly level plateau on the summit of the hill; but it is of no very great extent, and the streets rapidly run downward on either side. J----- and I followed one of these descending streets, and were led a long way by it, till we at last emerged from one of the gates of the city, and had another view of the mountains and valleys, the fertile and sunny wilderness in which this ancient civilization stands. On the right of the gate there was a rude country-path, partly overgrown with grass, bordered by a hedge on one side, and on the other by the gray city wall, at the base of which the track kept onward. We followed it, hoping that it would lead us to some other gate by which we might re-enter the city; but it soon grew so indistinct and broken, that it was evidently on the point of melting into somebody's olive-orchard or wheat-fields or vineyards, all of which lay on the other side of the hedge; and a kindly old woman of whom I inquired told me (if I rightly understood her Italian) that I should find no further passage in that direction. So we turned back, much broiled in the hot sun, and only now and then relieved by the shadow of an angle or a tower. A lame beggar-man sat by the gate, and as we passed him J----- gave him two baiocchi (which he himself had begged of me to buy an orange with), and was loaded with the pauper's prayers and benedictions as we entered the city. A great many blessings can be bought for very little money anywhere in Italy; and whether they avail anything or no, it is pleasant to see that the beggars have gratitude enough to bestow them in such abundance. Of all beggars I think a little fellow, who rode beside our carriage on a stick, his bare feet scampering merrily, while he managed his steed with one hand, and held out the other for charity, howling piteously the while, amused me most. PASSIGNANO. May 29th.--We left Perugia at about three o'clock to-day, and went down a pretty steep descent; but I have no particular recollection of the road till it again began to descend, before reaching the village of Magione. We all, except my wife, walked up the long hill, while the vettura was dragged after us with the aid of a yoke of oxen. Arriving first at the village, I leaned over the wall to admire the beautiful paese ("le bel piano," as a peasant called it, who made acquaintance with me) that lay at the foot of the hill, so level, so bounded within moderate limits by a frame of hills and ridges, that it looked like a green lake. In fact, I think it was once a real lake, which made its escape from its bed, as I have known some lakes to have done in America. Passing through and beyond the village, I saw, on a height above the road, a half-ruinous tower, with great cracks running down its walls, half-way from top to bottom. Some little children had mounted the hill with us, begging all the way; they were recruited with additional members in the village; and here, beneath the ruinous tower, a madman, as it seemed, assaulted us, and ran almost under the carriage-wheels, in his earnestness to get a baioccho. Ridding ourselves of these annoyances, we drove on, and, between five and six o'clock, came in sight of the Lake of Thrasymene, obtaining our first view of it, I think, in its longest extent. There were high hills, and one mountain with its head in the clouds, visible on the farther shore, and on the horizon beyond it; but the nearer banks were long ridges, and hills of only moderate height. The declining sun threw a broad sheen of brightness over the surface of the lake, so that we could not well see it for excess of light; but had a vision of headlands and islands floating about in a flood of gold, and blue, airy heights bounding it afar. When we first drew near the lake, there was but a narrow tract, covered with vines and olives, between it and the hill that rose on the other side. As we advanced, the tract grew wider, and was very fertile, as was the hillside, with wheat-fields, and vines, and olives, especially the latter, which, symbol of peace as it is, seemed to find something congenial to it in the soil stained long ago with blood. Farther onward, the space between the lake and hill grew still narrower, the road skirting along almost close to the water-side; and when we reached the town of Passignano there was but room enough for its dirty and ugly street to stretch along the shore. I have seldom beheld a lovelier scene than that of the lake and the landscape around it; never an uglier one than that of this idle and decaying village, where we were immediately surrounded by beggars of all ages, and by men vociferously proposing to row us out upon the lake. We declined their offers of a boat, for the evening was very fresh and cool, insomuch that I should have liked an outside garment,--a temperature that I had not anticipated, so near the beginning of June, in sunny Italy. Instead of a row, we took a walk through the village, hoping to come upon the shore of the lake, in some secluded spot; but an incredible number of beggar-children, both boys and girls, but more of the latter, rushed out of every door, and went along with us, all howling their miserable petitions at the same moment. The village street is long, and our escort waxed more numerous at every step, till Miss Shepard actually counted forty of these little reprobates, and more were doubtless added afterwards. At first, no doubt, they begged in earnest hope of getting some baiocchi; but, by and by, perceiving that we had determined not to give them anything, they made a joke of the matter, and began to laugh and to babble, and turn heels over head, still keeping about us, like a swarm of flies, and now and then begging again with all their might. There were as few pretty faces as I ever saw among the same number of children; and they were as ragged and dirty little imps as any in the world, and, moreover, tainted the air with a very disagreeable odor from their rags and dirt; rugged and healthy enough, nevertheless, and sufficiently intelligent; certainly bold and persevering too; so that it is hard to say what they needed to fit them for success in life. Yet they begin as beggars, and no doubt will end so, as all their parents and grandparents do; for in our walk through the village, every old woman and many younger ones held out their hands for alms, as if they had all been famished. Yet these people kept their houses over their heads; had firesides in winter, I suppose, and food out of their little gardens every day; pigs to kill, chickens, olives, wine, and a great many things to make life comfortable. The children, desperately as they begged, looked in good bodily ease, and happy enough; but, certainly, there was a look of earnest misery in the faces of some of the old women, either genuine or exceedingly well acted. I could not bear the persecution, and went into our hotel, determining not to venture out again till our departure; at least not in the daylight. My wife and the rest of the family, however, continued their walk, and at length were relieved from their little pests by three policemen (the very images of those in Rome, in their blue, long-skirted coats, cocked chapeaux-bras, white shoulder-belts, and swords), who boxed their ears, and dispersed them. Meanwhile, they had quite driven away all sentimental effusion (of which I felt more, really, than I expected) about the Lake of Thrasymene. The inn of Passignano promised little from its outward appearance; a tall, dark old house, with a stone staircase leading us up from one sombre story to another, into a brick-paved dining-room, with our sleeping-chambers on each side. There was a fireplace of tremendous depth and height, fit to receive big forest-logs, and with a queer, double pair of ancient andirons, capable of sustaining them; and in a handful of ashes lay a small stick of olive-wood,--a specimen, I suppose, of the sort of fuel which had made the chimney black, in the course of a good many years. There must have been much shivering and misery of cold around this fireplace. However, we needed no fire now, and there was promise of good cheer in the spectacle of a man cleaning some lake-fish for our dinner, while the poor things flounced and wriggled under the knife. The dinner made its appearance, after a long while, and was most plentiful, . . . . so that, having measured our appetite in anticipation of a paucity of food, we had to make more room for such overflowing abundance. When dinner was over, it was already dusk, and before retiring I opened the window, and looked out on Lake Thrasymene, the margin of which lies just on the other side of the narrow village street. The moon was a day or two past the full, just a little clipped on the edge, but gave light enough to show the lake and its nearer shores almost as distinctly as by day; and there being a ripple on the surface of the water, it made a sheen of silver over a wide space. AREZZO. May 30th.--We started at six o'clock, and left the one ugly street of Passignano, before many of the beggars were awake. Immediately in the vicinity of the village there is very little space between the lake in front and the ridge of hills in the rear; but the plain widened as we drove onward, so that the lake was scarcely to be seen, or often quite hidden among the intervening trees, although we could still discern the summits of the mountains that rise far beyond its shores. The country was fertile, presenting, on each side of the road, vines trained on fig-trees; wheat-fields and olives, in greater abundance than any other product. On our right, with a considerable width of plain between, was the bending ridge of hills that shut in the Roman army, by its close approach to the lake at Passignano. In perhaps half all hour's drive, we reached the little bridge that throws its arch over the Sanguinetto, and alighted there. The stream has but about a yard's width of water; and its whole course, between the hills and the lake, might well have been reddened and swollen with the blood of the multitude of slain Romans. Its name put me in mind of the Bloody Brook at Deerfield, where a company of Massachusetts men were massacred by the Indians. The Sanguinetto flows over a bed of pebbles; and J----- crept under the bridge, and got one of them for a memorial, while U----, Miss Shepard, and R----- plucked some olive twigs and oak leaves, and made them into wreaths together,--symbols of victory and peace. The tower, which is traditionally named after Hannibal, is seen on a height that makes part of the line of enclosing hills. It is a large, old castle, apparently of the Middle Ages, with a square front, and a battlemented sweep of wall. The town of Torres (its name, I think), where Hannibal's main army is supposed to have lain while the Romans came through the pass, was in full view; and I could understand the plan of the battle better than any system of military operations which I have hitherto tried to fathom. Both last night and to-day, I found myself stirred more sensibly than I expected by the influences of this scene. The old battle-field is still fertile in thoughts and emotions, though it is so many ages since the blood spilt there has ceased to make the grass and flowers grow more luxuriantly. I doubt whether I should feel so much on the field of Saratoga or Monmouth; but these old classic battle-fields belong to the whole world, and each man feels as if his own forefathers fought them. Mine, by the by, if they fought them at all, must have been on the side of Hannibal; for, certainly, I sympathized with him, and exulted in the defeat of the Romans on their own soil. They excite much the same emotion of general hostility that the English do. Byron has written some very fine stanzas on the battle-field,--not so good as others that he has written on classical scenes and subjects, yet wonderfully impressing his own perception of the subject on the reader. Whenever he has to deal with a statue, a ruin, a battle-field, he pounces upon the topic like a vulture, and tears out its heart in a twinkling, so that there is nothing more to be said. If I mistake not, our passport was examined by the papal officers at the last custom-house in the pontifical territory, before we traversed the path through which the Roman army marched to its destruction. Lake Thrasymene, of which we took our last view, is not deep set among the hills, but is bordered by long ridges, with loftier mountains receding into the distance. It is not to be compared to Windermere or Loch Lomond for beauty, nor with Lake Champlain and many a smaller lake in my own country, none of which, I hope, will ever become so historically interesting as this famous spot. A few miles onward our passport was countersigned at the Tuscan custom-house, and our luggage permitted to pass without examination on payment of a fee of nine or ten pauls, besides two pauls to the porters. There appears to be no concealment on the part of the officials in thus waiving the exercise of their duty, and I rather imagine that the thing is recognized and permitted by their superiors. At all events, it is very convenient for the traveller. We saw Cortona, sitting, like so many other cities in this region, on its hill, and arrived about noon at Arezzo, which also stretches up a high hillside, and is surrounded, as they all are, by its walls or the remains of one, with a fortified gate across every entrance. I remember one little village, somewhere in the neighborhood of the Clitumnus, which we entered by one gateway, and, in the course of two minutes at the utmost, left by the opposite one, so diminutive was this walled town. Everything hereabouts bears traces of times when war was the prevalent condition, and peace only a rare gleam of sunshine. At Arezzo we have put up at the Hotel Royal, which has the appearance of a grand old house, and proves to be a tolerable inn enough. After lunch, we wandered forth to see the town, which did not greatly interest me after Perugia, being much more modern and less picturesque in its aspect. We went to the cathedral,--a Gothic edifice, but not of striking exterior. As the doors were closed, and not to be opened till three o'clock, we seated ourselves under the trees, on a high, grassy space surrounded and intersected with gravel-walks,--a public promenade, in short, near the cathedral; and after resting ourselves here we went in search of Petrarch's house, which Murray mentions as being in this neighborhood. We inquired of several people, who knew nothing about the matter; one woman misdirected us, out of mere fun, I believe, for she afterwards met us and asked how we had succeeded. But finally, through ------'s enterprise and perseverance, we found the spot, not a stone's-throw from where we had been sitting. Petrarch's house stands below the promenade which I have just mentioned, and within hearing of the reverberations between the strokes of the cathedral bell. It is two stories high, covered with a light-colored stucco, and has not the slightest appearance of antiquity, no more than many a modern and modest dwelling-house in an American city. Its only remarkable feature is a pointed arch of stone, let into the plastered wall, and forming a framework for the doorway. I set my foot on the doorsteps, ascended them, and Miss Shepard and J----- gathered some weeds or blades of grass that grew in the chinks between the steps. There is a long inscription on a slab of marble set in the front of the house, as is the fashion in Arezzo when a house has been the birthplace or residence of a distinguished man. Right opposite Petrarch's birth-house--and it must have been the well whence the water was drawn that first bathed him--is a well which Boccaccio has introduced into one of his stories. It is surrounded with a stone curb, octagonal in shape, and evidently as ancient as Boccaccio's time. It has a wooden cover, through which is a square opening, and looking down I saw my own face in the water far beneath. There is no familiar object connected with daily life so interesting as a well; and this well or old Arezzo, whence Petrarch had drunk, around which he had played in his boyhood, and which Boccaccio has made famous, really interested me more than the cathedral. It lies right under the pavement of the street, under the sunshine, without any shade of trees about it, or any grass, except a little that grows in the crevices of its stones; but the shape of its stone-work would make it a pretty object in an engraving. As I lingered round it I thought of my own town-pump in old Salem, and wondered whether my townspeople would ever point it out to strangers, and whether the stranger would gaze at it with any degree of such interest as I felt in Boccaccio's well. O, certainly not; but yet I made that humble town-pump the most celebrated structure in the good town. A thousand and a thousand people had pumped there, merely to water oxen or fill their teakettles; but when once I grasped the handle, a rill gushed forth that meandered as far as England, as far as India, besides tasting pleasantly in every town and village of our own country. I like to think of this, so long after I did it, and so far from home, and am not without hopes of some kindly local remembrance on this score. Petrarch's house is not a separate and insulated building, but stands in contiguity and connection with other houses on each side; and all, when I saw them, as well as the whole street, extending down the slope of the hill, had the bright and sunny aspect of a modern town. As the cathedral was not yet open, and as J----- and I had not so much patience as my wife, we left her and Miss Shepard, and set out to return to the hotel. We lost our way, however, and finally had to return to the cathedral, to take a fresh start; and as the door was now open we went in. We found the cathedral very stately with its great arches, and darkly magnificent with the dim rich light coming through its painted windows, some of which are reckoned the most beautiful that the whole world has to show. The hues are far more brilliant than those of any painted glass I saw in England, and a great wheel window looks like a constellation of many-colored gems. The old English glass gets so smoky and dull with dust, that its pristine beauty cannot any longer be even imagined; nor did I imagine it till I saw these Italian windows. We saw nothing of my wife and Miss Shepard; but found afterwards that they had been much annoyed by the attentions of a priest who wished to show them the cathedral, till they finally told him that they had no money with them, when he left them without another word. The attendants in churches seem to be quite as venal as most other Italians, and, for the sake of their little profit, they do not hesitate to interfere with the great purposes for which their churches were built and decorated; hanging curtains, for instance, before all the celebrated pictures, or hiding them away in the sacristy, so that they cannot be seen without a fee. Returning to the hotel, we looked out of the window, and, in the street beneath, there was a very busy scene, it being Sunday, and the whole population, apparently, being astir, promenading up and down the smooth flag-stones, which made the breadth of the street one sidewalk, or at their windows, or sitting before their doors. The vivacity of the population in these parts is very striking, after the gravity and lassitude of Rome; and the air was made cheerful with the talk and laughter of hundreds of voices. I think the women are prettier than the Roman maids and matrons, who, as I think I have said before, have chosen to be very uncomely since the rape of their ancestresses, by way of wreaking a terrible spite and revenge. I have nothing more to say of Arezzo, except that, finding the ordinary wine very bad, as black as ink, and tasting as if it had tar and vinegar in it, we called for a bottle of Monte Pulciano, and were exceedingly gladdened and mollified thereby. INCISA. We left Arezzo early on Monday morning, the sun throwing the long shadows of the trees across the road, which at first, after we had descended the hill, lay over a plain. As the morning advanced, or as we advanced, the country grew more hilly. We saw many bits of rustic life,--such as old women tending pigs or sheep by the roadside, and spinning with a distaff; women sewing under trees, or at their own doors; children leading goats, tied by the horns, while they browse; sturdy, sunburnt creatures, in petticoats, but otherwise manlike, at work side by side with male laborers in the fields. The broad-brimmed, high-crowned hat of Tuscan straw is the customary female head-dress, and is as unbecoming as can possibly be imagined, and of little use, one would suppose, as a shelter from the sun, the brim continually blowing upward from the face. Some of the elder women wore black felt hats, likewise broad-brimmed; and the men wore felt hats also, shaped a good deal like a mushroom, with hardly any brim at all. The scenes in the villages through which we passed were very lively and characteristic, all the population seeming to be out of doors: some at the butcher's shop, others at the well; a tailor sewing in the open air, with a young priest sitting sociably beside him; children at play; women mending clothes, embroidering, spinning with the distaff at their own doorsteps; many idlers, letting the pleasant morning pass in the sweet-do-nothing; all assembling in the street, as in the common room of one large household, and thus brought close together, and made familiar with one another, as they can never be in a different system of society. As usual along the road we passed multitudes of shrines, where the Virgin was painted in fresco, or sometimes represented in bas-reliefs, within niches, or under more spacious arches. It would be a good idea to place a comfortable and shady seat beneath all these wayside shrines, where the wayfarer might rest himself, and thank the Virgin for her hospitality; nor can I believe that it would offend her, any more than other incense, if he were to regale himself, even in such consecrated spots, with the fragrance of a pipe or cigar. In the wire-work screen, before many of the shrines, hung offerings of roses and other flowers, some wilted and withered, some fresh with that morning's dew, some that never bloomed and never faded,--being artificial. I wonder that they do not plant rose-trees and all kinds of fragrant and flowering shrubs under the shrines, and twine and wreathe them all around, so that the Virgin may dwell within a bower of perpetual freshness; at least put flower-pots, with living plants, into the niche. There are many things in the customs of these people that might be made very beautiful, if the sense of beauty were as much alive now as it must have been when these customs were first imagined and adopted. I must not forget, among these little descriptive items, the spectacle of women and girls bearing huge bundles of twigs and shrubs, or grass, with scarlet poppies and blue flowers intermixed; the bundles sometimes so huge as almost to hide the woman's figure from head to heel, so that she looked like a locomotive mass of verdure and flowers; sometimes reaching only half-way down her back, so as to show the crooked knife slung behind, with which she had been reaping this strange harvest-sheaf. A Pre-Raphaelite painter--the one, for instance, who painted the heap of autumnal leaves, which we saw at the Manchester Exhibition--would find an admirable subject in one of these girls, stepping with a free, erect, and graceful carriage, her burden on her head; and the miscellaneous herbage and flowers would give him all the scope he could desire for minute and various delineation of nature. The country houses which we passed had sometimes open galleries or arcades on the second story and above, where the inhabitants might perform their domestic labor in the shade and in the air. The houses were often ancient, and most picturesquely time-stained, the plaster dropping in spots from the old brickwork; others were tinted of pleasant and cheerful lines; some were frescoed with designs in arabesques, or with imaginary windows; some had escutcheons of arms painted on the front. Wherever there was a pigeon-house, a flight of doves were represented as flying into the holes, doubtless for the invitation and encouragement of the real birds. Once or twice I saw a bush stuck up before the door of what seemed to be a wine-shop. If so, it is the ancient custom, so long disused in England, and alluded to in the proverb, "Good wine needs no bush." Several times we saw grass spread to dry on the road, covering half the track, and concluded it to have been cut by the roadside for the winter forage of his ass by some poor peasant, or peasant's wife, who had no grass land, except the margin of the public way. A beautiful feature of the scene to-day, as the preceding day, were the vines growing on fig-trees (?) [This interrogation-mark must mean that Mr. Hawthorne was not sure they were fig-trees.--ED.], and often wreathed in rich festoons from one tree to another, by and by to be hung with clusters of purple grapes. I suspect the vine is a pleasanter object of sight under this mode of culture than it can be in countries where it produces a more precious wine, and therefore is trained more artificially. Nothing can be more picturesque than the spectacle of an old grapevine, with almost a trunk of its own, clinging round its tree, imprisoning within its strong embrace the friend that supported its tender infancy, converting the tree wholly to its own selfish ends, as seemingly flexible natures are apt to do, stretching out its innumerable arms on every bough, and allowing hardly a leaf to sprout except its own. I must not yet quit this hasty sketch, without throwing in, both in the early morning, and later in the forenoon, the mist that dreamed among the hills, and which, now that I have called it mist, I feel almost more inclined to call light, being so quietly cheerful with the sunshine through it. Put in, now and then, a castle on a hilltop; a rough ravine, a smiling valley; a mountain stream, with a far wider bed than it at present needs, and a stone bridge across it, with ancient and massive arches;--and I shall say no more, except that all these particulars, and many better ones which escape me, made up a very pleasant whole. At about noon we drove into the village of Incisa, and alighted at the albergo where we were to lunch. It was a gloomy old house, as much like my idea of an Etruscan tomb as anything else that I can compare it to. We passed into a wide and lofty entrance-hall, paved with stone, and vaulted with a roof of intersecting arches, supported by heavy columns of stuccoed-brick, the whole as sombre and dingy as can well be. This entrance-hall is not merely the passageway into the inn, but is likewise the carriage-house, into which our vettura is wheeled; and it has, on one side, the stable, odorous with the litter of horses and cattle, and on the other the kitchen, and a common sitting-room. A narrow stone staircase leads from it to the dining-room, and chambers above, which are paved with brick, and adorned with rude frescos instead of paper-hangings. We look out of the windows, and step into a little iron-railed balcony, before the principal window, and observe the scene in the village street. The street is narrow, and nothing can exceed the tall, grim ugliness of the village houses, many of them four stories high, contiguous all along, and paved quite across; so that nature is as completely shut out from the precincts of this little town as from the heart of the widest city. The walls of the houses are plastered, gray, dilapidated; the windows small, some of them drearily closed with wooden shutters, others flung wide open, and with women's heads protruding, others merely frescoed, for a show of light and air. It would be a hideous street to look at in a rainy day, or when no human life pervaded it. Now it has vivacity enough to keep it cheerful. People lounge round the door of the albergo, and watch the horses as they drink from a stone trough, which is built against the wall of the house, and filled with the unseen gush of a spring. At first there is a shade entirely across the street, and all the within-doors of the village empties itself there, and keeps up a babblement that seems quite disproportioned even to the multitude of tongues that make it. So many words are not spoken in a New England village in a whole year as here in this single day. People talk about nothing as if they were terribly in earnest, and laugh at nothing as if it were all excellent joke. As the hot noon sunshine encroaches on our side of the street, it grows a little more quiet. The loungers now confine themselves to the shady margin (growing narrower and narrower) of the other side, where, directly opposite the albergo, there are two cafes and a wine-shop, "vendita di pane, vino, ed altri generi," all in a row with benches before them. The benchers joke with the women passing by, and are joked with back again. The sun still eats away the shadow inch by inch, beating down with such intensity that finally everybody disappears except a few passers-by. Doubtless the village snatches this half-hour for its siesta. There is a song, however, inside one of the cafes, with a burden in which several voices join. A girl goes through the street, sheltered under her great bundle of freshly cut grass. By and by the song ceases, and two young peasants come out of the cafe, a little affected by liquor, in their shirt-sleeves and bare feet, with their trousers tucked up. They resume their song in the street, and dance along, one's arm around his fellow's neck, his own waist grasped by the other's arm. They whirl one another quite round about, and come down upon their feet. Meeting a village maid coming quietly along, they dance up and intercept her for a moment, but give way to her sobriety of aspect. They pass on, and the shadow soon begins to spread from one side of the street, which presently fills again, and becomes once more, for its size, the noisiest place I ever knew. We had quite a tolerable dinner at this ugly inn, where many preceding travellers had written their condemnatory judgments, as well as a few their favorable ones, in pencil on the walls of the dining-room. TO FLORENCE. At setting off [from Incisa], we were surrounded by beggars as usual, the most interesting of whom were a little blind boy and his mother, who had besieged us with gentle pertinacity during our whole stay there. There was likewise a man with a maimed hand, and other hurts or deformities; also, an old woman who, I suspect, only pretended to be blind, keeping her eyes tightly squeezed together, but directing her hand very accurately where the copper shower was expected to fall. Besides these, there were a good many sturdy little rascals, vociferating in proportion as they needed nothing. It was touching, however, to see several persons--themselves beggars for aught I know--assisting to hold up the little blind boy's tremulous hand, so that he, at all events, might not lack the pittance which we had to give. Our dole was but a poor one, after all, consisting of what Roman coppers we had brought into Tuscany with us; and as we drove off, some of the boys ran shouting and whining after us in the hot sunshine, nor stopped till we reached the summit of the hill, which rises immediately from the village street. We heard Gaetano once say a good thing to a swarm of beggar-children, who were infesting us, "Are your fathers all dead?"--a proverbial expression, I suppose. The pertinacity of beggars does not, I think, excite the indignation of an Italian, as it is apt to do that of Englishmen or Americans. The Italians probably sympathize more, though they give less. Gaetano is very gentle in his modes of repelling them, and, indeed, never interferes at all, as long as there is a prospect of their getting anything. Immediately after leaving Incisa, we saw the Arno, already a considerable river, rushing between deep banks, with the greenish line of a duck-pond diffused through its water. Nevertheless, though the first impression was not altogether agreeable, we soon became reconciled to this line, and ceased to think it an indication of impurity; for, in spite of it, the river is still to a certain degree transparent, and is, at any rate, a mountain stream, and comes uncontaminated from its source. The pure, transparent brown of the New England rivers is the most beautiful color; but I am content that it should be peculiar to them. Our afternoon's drive was through scenery less striking than some which we had traversed, but still picturesque and beautiful. We saw deep valleys and ravines, with streams at the bottom; long, wooded hillsides, rising far and high, and dotted with white dwellings, well towards the summits. By and by, we had a distant glimpse of Florence, showing its great dome and some of its towers out of a sidelong valley, as if we were between two great waves of the tumultuous sea of hills; while, far beyond, rose in the distance the blue peaks of three or four of the Apennines, just on the remote horizon. There being a haziness in the atmosphere, however, Florence was little more distinct to us than the Celestial City was to Christian and Hopeful, when they spied at it from the Delectable Mountains. Keeping steadfastly onward, we ascended a winding road, and passed a grand villa, standing very high, and surrounded with extensive grounds. It must be the residence of some great noble; and it has an avenue of poplars or aspens, very light and gay, and fit for the passage of the bridal procession, when the proprietor or his heir brings home his bride; while, in another direction from the same front of the palace, stretches an avenue or grove of cypresses, very long, and exceedingly black and dismal, like a train of gigantic mourners. I have seen few things more striking, in the way of trees, than this grove of cypresses. From this point we descended, and drove along an ugly, dusty avenue, with a high brick wall on one side or both, till we reached the gate of Florence, into which we were admitted with as little trouble as custom-house officers, soldiers, and policemen can possibly give. They did not examine our luggage, and even declined a fee, as we had already paid one at the frontier custom-house. Thank heaven, and the Grand Duke! As we hoped that the Casa del Bello had been taken for us, we drove thither in the first place, but found that the bargain had not been concluded. As the house and studio of Mr. Powers were just on the opposite side of the street, I went to it, but found him too much engrossed to see me at the moment; so I returned to the vettura, and we told Gaetano to carry us to a hotel. He established us at the Albergo della Fontana, a good and comfortable house. . . . . Mr. Powers called in the evening,--a plain personage, characterized by strong simplicity and warm kindliness, with an impending brow, and large eyes, which kindle as he speaks. He is gray, and slightly bald, but does not seem elderly, nor past his prime. I accept him at once as an honest and trustworthy man, and shall not vary from this judgment. Through his good offices, the next day, we engaged the Casa del Bello, at a rent of fifty dollars a month, and I shall take another opportunity (my fingers and head being tired now) to write about the house, and Mr. Powers, and what appertains to him, and about the beautiful city of Florence. At present, I shall only say further, that this journey from Rome has been one of the brightest and most uncareful interludes of my life; we have all enjoyed it exceedingly, and I am happy that our children have it to look back upon. June 4th.--At our visit to Powers's studio on Tuesday, we saw a marble copy of the fisher-boy holding a shell to his ear, and the bust of Proserpine, and two or three other ideal busts; various casts of most of the ideal statues and portrait busts which he has executed. He talks very freely about his works, and is no exception to the rule that an artist is not apt to speak in a very laudatory style of a brother artist. He showed us a bust of Mr. Sparks by Persico,--a lifeless and thoughtless thing enough, to be sure,--and compared it with a very good one of the same gentleman by himself; but his chiefest scorn was bestowed on a wretched and ridiculous image of Mr. King, of Alabama, by Clark Mills, of which he said he had been employed to make several copies for Southern gentlemen. The consciousness of power is plainly to be seen, and the assertion of it by no means withheld, in his simple and natural character; nor does it give me an idea of vanity on his part to see and hear it. He appears to consider himself neglected by his country,--by the government of it, at least,--and talks with indignation of the byways and political intrigue which, he thinks, win the rewards that ought to be bestowed exclusively on merit. An appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars was made, some years ago, for a work of sculpture by him, to be placed in the Capitol; but the intermediate measures necessary to render it effective have been delayed; while the above-mentioned Clark Mills-- certainly the greatest bungler that ever botched a block of marble--has received an order for an equestrian statue of Washington. Not that Mr. Powers is made bitter or sour by these wrongs, as he considers them; he talks of them with the frankness of his disposition when the topic comes in his way, and is pleasant, kindly, and sunny when he has done with it. His long absence from our country has made him think worse of us than we deserve; and it is an effect of what I myself am sensible, in my shorter exile: the most piercing shriek, the wildest yell, and all the ugly sounds of popular turmoil, inseparable from the life of a republic, being a million times more audible than the peaceful hum of prosperity and content which is going on all the while. He talks of going home, but says that he has been talking of it every year since he first came to Italy; and between his pleasant life of congenial labor, and his idea of moral deterioration in America, I think it doubtful whether he ever crosses the sea again. Like most exiles of twenty years, he has lost his native country without finding another; but then it is as well to recognize the truth,--that an individual country is by no means essential to one's comfort. Powers took us into the farthest room, I believe, of his very extensive studio, and showed us a statue of Washington that has much dignity and stateliness. He expressed, however, great contempt for the coat and breeches, and masonic emblems, in which he had been required to drape the figure. What would he do with Washington, the most decorous and respectable personage that ever went ceremoniously through the realities of life? Did anybody ever see Washington nude? It is inconceivable. He had no nakedness, but I imagine he was born with his clothes on, and his hair powdered, and made a stately bow on his first appearance in the world. His costume, at all events, was a part of his character, and must be dealt with by whatever sculptor undertakes to represent him. I wonder that so very sensible a man as Powers should not see the necessity of accepting drapery, and the very drapery of the day, if he will keep his art alive. It is his business to idealize the tailor's actual work. But he seems to be especially fond of nudity, none of his ideal statues, so far as I know them, having so much as a rag of clothes. His statue of California, lately finished, and as naked as Venus, seemed to me a very good work; not an actual woman, capable of exciting passion, but evidently a little out of the category of human nature. In one hand she holds a divining-rod. "She says to the emigrants," observed Powers, "'Here is the gold, if you choose to take it.'" But in her face, and in her eyes, very finely expressed, there is a look of latent mischief, rather grave than playful, yet somewhat impish or sprite-like; and, in the other hand, behind her back, she holds a bunch of thorns. Powers calls her eyes Indian. The statue is true to the present fact and history of California, and includes the age-long truth as respects the "auri sacra fames." . . . . When we had looked sufficiently at the sculpture, Powers proposed that we should now go across the street and see the Casa del Bello. We did so in a body, Powers in his dressing-gown and slippers, and his wife and daughters without assuming any street costume. The Casa del Bello is a palace of three pianos, the topmost of which is occupied by the Countess of St. George, an English lady, and two lower pianos are to be let, and we looked at both. The upper one would have suited me well enough; but the lower has a terrace, with a rustic summer-house over it, and is connected with a garden, where there are arbors and a willow-tree, and a little wilderness of shrubbery and roses, with a fountain in the midst. It has likewise an immense suite of rooms, round the four sides of a small court, spacious, lofty, with frescoed ceilings and rich hangings, and abundantly furnished with arm-chairs, sofas, marble tables, and great looking-glasses. Not that these last are a great temptation, but in our wandering life I wished to be perfectly comfortable myself, and to make my family so, for just this summer, and so I have taken the lower piano, the price being only fifty dollars per month (entirely furnished, even to silver and linen). Certainly this is something like the paradise of cheapness we were told of, and which we vainly sought in Rome. . . . . To me has been assigned the pleasantest room for my study; and when I like I can overflow into the summer-house or an arbor, and sit there dreaming of a story. The weather is delightful, too warm to walk, but perfectly fit to do nothing in, in the coolness of these great rooms. Every day I shall write a little, perhaps,--and probably take a brief nap somewhere between breakfast and tea,--but go to see pictures and statues occasionally, and so assuage and mollify myself a little after that uncongenial life of the consulate, and before going back to my own hard and dusty New England. After concluding the arrangement for the Casa del Bello, we stood talking a little while with Powers and his wife and daughter before the door of the house, for they seem so far to have adopted the habits of the Florentines as to feel themselves at home on the shady side of the street. The out-of-door life and free communication with the pavement, habitual apparently among the middle classes, reminds me of the plays of Moliere and other old dramatists, in which the street or the square becomes a sort of common parlor, where most of the talk and scenic business of the people is carried on. June 5th.--For two or three mornings after breakfast I have rambled a little about the city till the shade grew narrow beneath the walls of the houses, and the heat made it uncomfortable to be in motion. To-day I went over the Ponte Carraja, and thence into and through the heart of the city, looking into several churches, in all of which I found people taking advantage of the cool breadth of these sacred interiors to refresh themselves and say their prayers. Florence at first struck me as having the aspect of a very new city in comparison with Rome; but, on closer acquaintance, I find that many of the buildings are antique and massive, though still the clear atmosphere, the bright sunshine, the light, cheerful hues of the stucco, and--as much as anything else, perhaps--the vivacious character of the human life in the streets, take away the sense of its being an ancient city. The streets are delightful to walk in after so many penitential pilgrimages as I have made over those little square, uneven blocks of the Roman pavement, which wear out the boots and torment the soul. I absolutely walk on the smooth flags of Florence for the mere pleasure of walking, and live in its atmosphere for the mere pleasure of living; and, warm as the weather is getting to be, I never feel that inclination to sink down in a heap and never stir again, which was my dull torment and misery as long as I stayed in Rome. I hardly think there can be a place in the world where life is more delicious for its own simple sake than here. I went to-day into the Baptistery, which stands near the Duomo, and, like that, is covered externally with slabs of black and white marble, now grown brown and yellow with age. The edifice is octagonal, and on entering, one immediately thinks of the Pantheon,--the whole space within being free from side to side, with a dome above; but it differs from the severe simplicity of the former edifice, being elaborately ornamented with marble and frescos, and lacking that great eye in the roof that looks so nobly and reverently heavenward from the Pantheon. I did little more than pass through the Baptistery, glancing at the famous bronze doors, some perfect and admirable casts of which I had already seen at the Crystal Palace. The entrance of the Duomo being just across the piazza, I went in there after leaving the Baptistery, and was struck anew--for this is the third or fourth visit--with the dim grandeur of the interior, lighted as it is almost exclusively by painted windows, which seem to me worth all the variegated marbles and rich cabinet-work of St. Peter's. The Florentine Cathedral has a spacious and lofty nave, and side aisles divided from it by pillars; but there are no chapels along the aisles, so that there is far more breadth and freedom of interior, in proportion to the actual space, than is usual in churches. It is woful to think how the vast capaciousness within St. Peter's is thrown away, and made to seem smaller than it is by every possible device, as if on purpose. The pillars and walls of this Duomo are of a uniform brownish, neutral tint; the pavement, a mosaic work of marble; the ceiling of the dome itself is covered with frescos, which, being very imperfectly lighted, it is impossible to trace out. Indeed, it is but a twilight region that is enclosed within the firmament of this great dome, which is actually larger than that of St. Peter's, though not lifted so high from the pavement. But looking at the painted windows, I little cared what dimness there might be elsewhere; for certainly the art of man has never contrived any other beauty and glory at all to be compared to this. The dome sits, as it were, upon three smaller domes,--smaller, but still great,--beneath which are three vast niches, forming the transepts of the cathedral and the tribune behind the high altar. All round these hollow, dome-covered arches or niches are high and narrow windows crowded with saints, angels, and all manner of blessed shapes, that turn the common daylight into a miracle of richness and splendor as it passes through their heavenly substance. And just beneath the swell of the great central dome is a wreath of circular windows quite round it, as brilliant as the tall and narrow ones below. It is a pity anybody should die without seeing an antique painted window, with the bright Italian sunshine glowing through it. This is "the dim, religious light" that Milton speaks of; but I doubt whether he saw these windows when he was in Italy, or any but those faded or dusty and dingy ones of the English cathedrals, else he would have illuminated that word "dim" with some epithet that should not chase away the dimness, yet should make it shine like a million of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topazes,--bright in themselves, but dim with tenderness and reverence because God himself was shining through them. I hate what I have said. All the time that I was in the cathedral the space around the high altar, which stands exactly under the dome, was occupied by priests or acolytes in white garments, chanting a religious service. After coming out, I took a view of the edifice from a corner of the street nearest to the dome, where it and the smaller domes can be seen at once. It is greatly more satisfactory than St. Peter's in any view I ever had of it,--striking in its outline, with a mystery, yet not a bewilderment, in its masses and curves and angles, and wrought out with a richness of detail that gives the eyes new arches, new galleries, new niches, new pinnacles, new beauties, great and small, to play with when wearied with the vast whole. The hue, black and white marbles, like the Baptistery, turned also yellow and brown, is greatly preferable to the buff travertine of St. Peter's. From the Duomo it is but a moderate street's length to the Piazza del Gran Duca, the principal square of Florence. It is a very interesting place, and has on one side the old Governmental Palace,--the Palazzo Vecchio,--where many scenes of historic interest have been enacted; for example, conspirators have been hanged from its windows, or precipitated from them upon the pavement of the square below. It is a pity that we cannot take as much interest in the history of these Italian Republics as in that of England, for the former is much the more picturesque and fuller of curious incident. The sobriety of the Anglo-Saxon race--in connection, too, with their moral sense--keeps them from doing a great many things that would enliven the page of history; and their events seem to come in great masses, shoved along by the agency of many persons, rather than to result from individual will and character. A hundred plots for a tragedy might be found in Florentine history for one in English. At one corner of the Palazzo Vecchio is a bronze equestrian statue of Cosmo de' Medici, the first Grand Duke, very stately and majestic; there are other marble statues--one of David, by Michael Angelo--at each side of the palace door; and entering the court I found a rich antique arcade within, surrounded by marble pillars, most elaborately carved, supporting arches that were covered with faded frescos. I went no farther, but stepped across a little space of the square to the Loggia di Lanzi, which is broad and noble, of three vast arches, at the end of which, I take it, is a part of the Palazzo Uffizi fronting on the piazza. I should call it a portico if it stood before the palace door; but it seems to have been constructed merely for itself, and as a shelter for the people from sun and rain, and to contain some fine specimens of sculpture, as well antique as of more modern times. Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus stands here; but it did not strike me so much as the cast of it in the Crystal Palace. A good many people were under these great arches; some of whom were reclining, half or quite asleep, on the marble seats that are built against the back of the loggia. A group was reading an edict of the Grand Duke, which appeared to have been just posted on a board, at the farther end of it; and I was surprised at the interest which they ventured to manifest, and the freedom with which they seemed to discuss it. A soldier was on guard, and doubtless there were spies enough to carry every word that was said to the ear of absolute authority. Glancing myself at the edict, however, I found it referred only to the furtherance of a project, got up among the citizens themselves, for bringing water into the city; and on such topics, I suppose there is freedom of discussion. June 7th.--Saturday evening we walked with U---- and J----- into the city, and looked at the exterior of the Duomo with new admiration. Since my former view of it, I have noticed--which, strangely enough, did not strike me before--that the facade is but a great, bare, ugly space, roughly plastered over, with the brickwork peeping through it in spots, and a faint, almost invisible fresco of colors upon it. This front was once nearly finished with an incrustation of black and white marble, like the rest of the edifice; but one of the city magistrates, Benedetto Uguccione, demolished it, three hundred years ago, with the idea of building it again in better style. He failed to do so, and, ever since, the magnificence of the great church has been marred by this unsightly roughness of what should have been its richest part; nor is there, I suppose, any hope that it will ever be finished now. The campanile, or bell-tower, stands within a few paces of the cathedral, but entirely disconnected from it, rising to a height of nearly three hundred feet, a square tower of light marbles, now discolored by time. It is impossible to give an idea of the richness of effect produced by its elaborate finish; the whole surface of the four sides, from top to bottom, being decorated with all manner of statuesque and architectural sculpture. It is like a toy of ivory, which some ingenious and pious monk might have spent his lifetime in adorning with scriptural designs and figures of saints; and when it was finished, seeing it so beautiful, he prayed that it might be miraculously magnified from the size of one foot to that of three hundred. This idea somewhat satisfies me, as conveying an impression how gigantesque the campanile is in its mass and height, and how minute and varied in its detail. Surely these mediaeval works have an advantage over the classic. They combine the telescope and the microscope. The city was all alive in the summer evening, and the streets humming with voices. Before the doors of the cafes were tables, at which people were taking refreshment, and it went to my heart to see a bottle of English ale, some of which was poured foaming into a glass; at least, it had exactly the amber hue and the foam of English bitter ale; but perhaps it may have been merely a Florentine imitation. As we returned home over the Arno, crossing the Ponte di Santa Trinita, we were struck by the beautiful scene of the broad, calm river, with the palaces along its shores repeated in it, on either side, and the neighboring bridges, too, just as perfect in the tide beneath as in the air above,--a city of dream and shadow so close to the actual one. God has a meaning, no doubt, in putting this spiritual symbol continually beside us. Along the river, on both sides, as far as we could see, there was a row of brilliant lamps, which, in the far distance, looked like a cornice of golden light; and this also shone as brightly in the river's depths. The lilies of the evening, in the quarter where the sun had gone down, were very soft and beautiful, though not so gorgeous as thousands that I have seen in America. But I believe I must fairly confess that the Italian sky, in the daytime, is bluer and brighter than our own, and that the atmosphere has a quality of showing objects to better advantage. It is more than mere daylight; the magic of moonlight is somehow mixed up with it, although it is so transparent a medium of light. Last evening, Mr. Powers called to see us, and sat down to talk in a friendly and familiar way. I do not know a man of more facile intercourse, nor with whom one so easily gets rid of ceremony. His conversation, too, is interesting. He talked, to begin with, about Italian food, as poultry, mutton, beef, and their lack of savoriness as compared with our own; and mentioned an exquisite dish of vegetables which they prepare from squash or pumpkin blossoms; likewise another dish, which it will be well for us to remember when we get back to the Wayside, where we are overrun with acacias. It consists of the acacia-blossoms in a certain stage of their development fried in olive-oil. I shall get the receipt from Mrs. Powers, and mean to deserve well of my country by first trying it, and then making it known; only I doubt whether American lard, or even butter, will produce the dish quite so delicately as fresh Florence oil. Meanwhile, I like Powers all the better, because he does not put his life wholly into marble. We had much talk, nevertheless, on matters of sculpture, for he drank a cup of tea with us, and stayed a good while. He passed a condemnatory sentence on classic busts in general, saying that they were conventional, and not to be depended upon as trite representations of the persons. He particularly excepted none but the bust of Caracalla; and, indeed, everybody that has seen this bust must feel the justice of the exception, and so be the more inclined to accept his opinion about the rest. There are not more than half a dozen--that of Cato the Censor among the others--in regard to which I should like to ask his judgment individually. He seems to think the faculty of making a bust an extremely rare one. Canova put his own likeness into all the busts he made. Greenough could not make a good one; nor Crawford, nor Gibson. Mr. Harte, he observed,--an American sculptor, now a resident in Florence,--is the best man of the day for making busts. Of course, it is to be presumed that he excepts himself; but I would not do Powers the great injustice to imply that there is the slightest professional jealousy in his estimate of what others have done, or are now doing, in his own art. If he saw a better man than himself, he would recognize him at once, and tell the world of him; but he knows well enough that, in this line, there is no better, and probably none so good. It would not accord with the simplicity of his character to blink a fact that stands so broadly before him. We asked him what he thought, of Mr. Gibson's practice of coloring his statues, and he quietly and slyly said that he himself had made wax figures in his earlier days, but had left off making them now. In short, he objected to the practice wholly, and said that a letter of his on the subject had been published in the London "Athenaeum," and had given great offence to some of Mr. Gibson's friends. It appeared to me, however, that his arguments did not apply quite fairly to the case, for he seems to think Gibson aims at producing an illusion of life in the statue, whereas I think his object is merely to give warmth and softness to the snowy marble, and so bring it a little nearer to our hearts and sympathies. Even so far, nevertheless, I doubt whether the practice is defensible, and I was glad to see that Powers scorned, at all events, the argument drawn from the use of color by the antique sculptors, on which Gibson relies so much. It might almost be implied, from the contemptuous way in which Powers spoke of color, that he considers it an impertinence on the face of visible nature, and would rather the world had been made without it; for he said that everything in intellect or feeling can be expressed as perfectly, or more so, by the sculptor in colorless marble, as by the painter with all the resources of his palette. I asked him whether he could model the face of Beatrice Cenci from Guido's picture so as to retain the subtle expression, and he said he could, for that the expression depended entirely on the drawing, "the picture being a badly colored thing." I inquired whether he could model a blush, and he said "Yes"; and that he had once proposed to an artist to express a blush in marble, if he would express it in picture. On consideration, I believe one to be as impossible as the other; the life and reality of the blush being in its tremulousness, coming and going. It is lost in a settled red just as much as in a settled paleness, and neither the sculptor nor painter can do more than represent the circumstances of attitude and expression that accompany the blush. There was a great deal of truth in what Powers said about this matter of color, and in one of our interminable New England winters it ought to comfort us to think how little necessity there is for any hue but that of the snow. Mr. Powers, nevertheless, had brought us a bunch of beautiful roses, and seemed as capable of appreciating their delicate blush as we were. The best thing he said against the use of color in marble was to the effect that the whiteness removed the object represented into a sort of spiritual region, and so gave chaste permission to those nudities which would otherwise suggest immodesty. I have myself felt the truth of this in a certain sense of shame as I looked at Gibson's tinted Venus. He took his leave at about eight o'clock, being to make a call on the Bryants, who are at the Hotel de New York, and also on Mrs. Browning, at Casa Guidi. END OF VOL. I. PASSAGES FROM THE FRENCH AND ITALIAN NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. II. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S NOTE-BOOKS IN FRANCE AND ITALY. FLORENCE (Continued). June 8th.--I went this morning to the Uffizi gallery. The entrance is from the great court of the palace, which communicates with Lung' Arno at one end, and with the Grand Ducal Piazza at the other. The gallery is in the upper story of the palace, and in the vestibule are some busts of the princes and cardinals of the Medici family,--none of them beautiful, one or two so ugly as to be ludicrous, especially one who is all but buried in his own wig. I at first travelled slowly through the whole extent of this long, long gallery, which occupies the entire length of the palace on both sides of the court, and is full of sculpture and pictures. The latter, being opposite to the light, are not seen to the best advantage; but it is the most perfect collection, in a chronological series, that I have seen, comprehending specimens of all the masters since painting began to be an art. Here are Giotto, and Cimabue, and Botticelli, and Fra Angelico, and Filippo Lippi, and a hundred others, who have haunted me in churches and galleries ever since I have been in Italy, and who ought to interest me a great deal more than they do. Occasionally to-day I was sensible of a certain degree of emotion in looking at an old picture; as, for example, by a large, dark, ugly picture of Christ hearing the cross and sinking beneath it, when, somehow or other, a sense of his agony, and the fearful wrong that mankind did (and does) its Redeemer, and the scorn of his enemies, and the sorrow of those who loved him, came knocking at any heart and got entrance there. Once more I deem it a pity that Protestantism should have entirely laid aside this mode of appealing to the religious sentiment. I chiefly paid attention to the sculpture, and was interested in a long series of busts of the emperors and the members of their families, and some of the great men of Rome. There is a bust of Pompey the Great, bearing not the slightest resemblance to that vulgar and unintellectual one in the gallery of the Capitol, altogether a different cast of countenance. I could not judge whether it resembled the face of the statue, having seen the latter so imperfectly in the duskiness of the hall of the Spada Palace. These, I presume, are the busts which Mr. Powers condemns, from internal evidence, as unreliable and conventional. He may be right,--and is far more likely, of course, to be right than I am,--yet there certainly seems to be character in these marble faces, and they differ as much among themselves as the same number of living faces might. The bust of Caracalla, however, which Powers excepted from his censure, certainly does give stronger assurance of its being an individual and faithful portrait than any other in the series. All the busts of Caracalla--of which I have seen many--give the same evidence of their truth; and I should like to know what it was in this abominable emperor that made him insist upon having his actual likeness perpetuated, with all the ugliness of its animal and moral character. I rather respect him for it, and still more the sculptor, whose hand, methinks, must have trembled as he wrought the bust. Generally these wicked old fellows, and their wicked wives and daughters, are not so hideous as we might expect. Messalina, for instance, has small and pretty features, though with rather a sensual development of the lower part of the face. The busts, it seemed to me, are usually superior as works of art to those in the Capitol, and either better preserved or more thoroughly restored. The bust of Nero might almost be called handsome here, though bearing his likeness unmistakably. I wish some competent person would undertake to analyze and develop his character, and how and by what necessity--with all his elegant tastes, his love of the beautiful, his artist nature--he grew to be such a monster. Nero has never yet had justice done him, nor have any of the wicked emperors; not that I suppose them to have been any less monstrous than history represents them; but there must surely have been something in their position and circumstances to render the terrible moral disease which seized upon them so generally almost inevitable. A wise and profound man, tender and reverent of the human soul, and capable of appreciating it in its height and depth, has a great field here for the exercise of his powers. It has struck me, in reading the history of the Italian republics, that many of the tyrants, who sprung up after the destruction of their liberties, resembled the worst of the Roman emperors. The subject of Nero and his brethren has often perplexed me with vain desires to come at the truth. There were many beautiful specimens of antique, ideal sculpture all along the gallery,--Apollos, Bacchuses, Venuses, Mercurys, Fauns,--with the general character of all of which I was familiar enough to recognize them at a glance. The mystery and wonder of the gallery, however, the Venus de' Medici, I could nowhere see, and indeed was almost afraid to see it; for I somewhat apprehended the extinction of another of those lights that shine along a man's pathway, and go out in a snuff the instant he comes within eyeshot of the fulfilment of his hopes. My European experience has extinguished many such. I was pretty well contented, therefore, not to find the famous statue in the whole of my long journey from end to end of the gallery, which terminates on the opposite side of the court from that where it commences. The ceiling, by the by, through the entire length, is covered with frescos, and the floor paved with a composition of stone smooth and polished like marble. The final piece of sculpture, at the end of the gallery, is a copy of the Laocoon, considered very fine. I know not why, but it did not impress me with the sense of mighty and terrible repose--a repose growing out of the infinitude of trouble-- that I had felt in the original. Parallel with the gallery, on both sides of the palace-court, there runs a series of rooms devoted chiefly to pictures, although statues and bas-reliefs are likewise contained in some of them. I remember an unfinished bas-relief by Michael Angelo of a Holy Family, which I touched with my finger, because it seemed as if he might have been at work upon it only an hour ago. The pictures I did little more than glance at, till I had almost completed again the circuit of the gallery, through this series of parallel rooms, and then I came upon a collection of French and Dutch and Flemish masters, all of which interested me more than the Italian generally. There was a beautiful picture by Claude, almost as good as those in the British National Gallery, and very like in subject; the sun near the horizon, of course, and throwing its line of light over the ripple of water, with ships at the strand, and one or two palaces of stately architecture on the shore. Landscapes by Rembrandt; fat Graces and other plump nudities by Rubens; brass pans and earthen pots and herrings by Terriers and other Dutchmen; none by Gerard Douw, I think, but several by Mieris; all of which were like bread and beef and ale, after having been fed too long on made dishes. This is really a wonderful collection of pictures; and from first, to last--from Giotto to the men of yesterday--they are in admirable condition, and may be appreciated for all the merit that they ever possessed. I could not quite believe that I was not to find the Venus de' Medici; and still, as I passed from one room to another, my breath rose and fell a little, with the half-hope, half-fear, that she might stand before me. Really, I did not know that I cared so much about Venus, or any possible woman of marble. At last, when I had come from among the Dutchmen, I believe, and was looking at some works of Italian artists, chiefly Florentines, I caught a glimpse of her through the door of the next room. It is the best room of the series, octagonal in shape, and hung with red damask, and the light comes down from a row of windows, passing quite round, beneath an octagonal dome. The Venus stands somewhat aside from the centre of the room, and is surrounded by an iron railing, a pace or two from her pedestal in front, and less behind. I think she might safely be left to the reverence her womanhood would win, without any other protection. She is very beautiful, very satisfactory; and has a fresh and new charm about her unreached by any cast or copy. The line of the marble is just so much mellowed by time, as to do for her all that Gibson tries, or ought to try to do for his statues by color, softening her, warming her almost imperceptibly, making her an inmate of the heart, as well as a spiritual existence. I felt a kind of tenderness for her; an affection, not as if she were one woman, but all womanhood in one. Her modest attitude, which, before I saw her I had not liked, deeming that it might be an artificial shame, is partly what unmakes her as the heathen goddess, and softens her into woman. There is a slight degree of alarm, too, in her face; not that she really thinks anybody is looking at her, yet the idea has flitted through her mind, and startled her a little. Her face is so beautiful and intellectual, that it is not dazzled out of sight by her form. Methinks this was a triumph for the sculptor to achieve. I may as well stop here. It is of no use to throw heaps of words upon her; for they all fall away, and leave her standing in chaste and naked grace, as untouched as when I began. She has suffered terribly by the mishaps of her long existence in the marble. Each of her legs has been broken into two or three fragments, her arms have been severed, her body has been broken quite across at the waist, her head has been snapped off at the neck. Furthermore, there have been grievous wounds and losses of substance in various tender parts of her person. But on account of the skill with which the statue has been restored, and also because the idea is perfect and indestructible, all these injuries do not in the least impair the effect, even when you see where the dissevered fragments have been reunited. She is just as whole as when she left the hands of the sculptor. I am glad to have seen this Venus, and to have found her so tender and so chaste. On the wall of the room, and to be taken in at the same glance, is a painted Venus by Titian, reclining on a couch, naked and lustful. The room of the Venus seems to be the treasure-place of the whole Uffizi Palace, containing more pictures by famous masters than are to be found in all the rest of the gallery. There were several by Raphael, and the room was crowded with the easels of artists. I did not look half enough at anything, but merely took a preliminary taste, as a prophecy of enjoyment to come. As we were at dinner to-day, at half past three, there was a ring at the door, and a minute after our servant brought a card. It was Mr. Robert Browning's, and on it was written in pencil an invitation for us to go to see them this evening. He had left the card and gone away; but very soon the bell rang again, and he had come back, having forgotten to give his address. This time he came in; and he shook hands with all of us, children and grown people, and was very vivacious and agreeable. He looked younger and even handsomer than when I saw him in London, two years ago, and his gray hairs seemed fewer than those that had then strayed into his youthful head. He talked a wonderful quantity in a little time, and told us--among other things that we should never have dreamed of--that Italian people will not cheat you, if you construe them generously, and put them upon their honor. Mr. Browning was very kind and warm in his expressions of pleasure at seeing us; and, on our part, we were all very glad to meet him. He must be an exceedingly likable man. . . . . They are to leave Florence very soon, and are going to Normandy, I think he said, for the rest of the summer. The Venus de' Medici has a dimple in her chin. June 9th.--We went last evening, at eight o'clock, to see the Brownings; and, after some search and inquiry, we found the Casa Guidi, which is a palace in a street not very far from our own. It being dusk, I could not see the exterior, which, if I remember, Browning has celebrated in song; at all events, Mrs. Browning has called one of her poems "Casa Guidi Windows." The street is a narrow one; but on entering the palace, we found a spacious staircase and ample accommodations of vestibule and hall, the latter opening on a balcony, where we could hear the chanting of priests in a church close by. Browning told us that this was the first church where an oratorio had ever been performed. He came into the anteroom to greet us, as did his little boy, Robert, whom they call Pennini for fondness. The latter cognomen is a diminutive of Apennino, which was bestowed upon him at his first advent into the world because he was so very small, there being a statue in Florence of colossal size called Apennino. I never saw such a boy as this before; so slender, fragile, and spirit-like,--not as if he were actually in ill health, but as if he had little or nothing to do with human flesh and blood. His face is very pretty and most intelligent, and exceedingly like his mother's. He is nine years old, and seems at once less childlike and less manly than would befit that age. I should not quite like to be the father of such a boy, and should fear to stake so much interest and affection on him as he cannot fail to inspire. I wonder what is to become of him,--whether he will ever grow to be a man,--whether it is desirable that he should. His parents ought to turn their whole attention to making him robust and earthly, and to giving him a thicker scabbard to sheathe his spirit in. He was born in Florence, and prides himself on being a Florentine, and is indeed as un-English a production as if he were native of another planet. Mrs. Browning met us at the door of the drawing-room, and greeted us most kindly,--a pale, small person, scarcely embodied at all; at any rate, only substantial enough to put forth her slender fingers to be grasped, and to speak with a shrill, yet sweet, tenuity of voice. Really, I do not see how Mr. Browning can suppose that he has an earthly wife any more than an earthly child; both are of the elfin race, and will flit away from him some day when he least thinks of it. She is a good and kind fairy, however, and sweetly disposed towards the human race, although only remotely akin to it. It is wonderful to see how small she is, how pale her cheek, how bright and dark her eyes. There is not such another figure in the world; and her black ringlets cluster down into her neck, and make her face look the whiter by their sable profusion. I could not form any judgment about her age; it may range anywhere within the limits of human life or elfin life. When I met her in London at Lord Houghton's breakfast-table, she did not impress me so singularly; for the morning light is more prosaic than the dim illumination of their great tapestried drawing-room; and besides, sitting next to her, she did not have occasion to raise her voice in speaking, and I was not sensible what a slender voice she has. It is marvellous to me how so extraordinary, so acute, so sensitive a creature can impress us, as she does, with the certainty of her benevolence. It seems to me there were a million chances to one that she would have been a miracle of acidity and bitterness. We were not the only guests. Mr. and Mrs. E------, Americans, recently from the East, and on intimate terms with the Brownings, arrived after us; also Miss F. H------, an English literary lady, whom I have met several times in Liverpool; and lastly came the white head and palmer-like beard of Mr. ------ with his daughter. Mr. Browning was very efficient in keeping up conversation with everybody, and seemed to be in all parts of the room and in every group at the same moment; a most vivid and quick-thoughted person, logical and common-sensible, as, I presume, poets generally are in their daily talk. Mr. ------, as usual, was homely and plain of manner, with an old-fashioned dignity, nevertheless, and a remarkable deference and gentleness of tone in addressing Mrs. Browning. I doubt, however, whether he has any high appreciation either of her poetry or her husband's, and it is my impression that they care as little about his. We had some tea and some strawberries, and passed a pleasant evening. There was no very noteworthy conversation; the most interesting topic being that disagreeable and now wearisome one of spiritual communications, as regards which Mrs. Browning is a believer, and her husband an infidel. Mr. ------ appeared not to have made up his mind on the matter, but told a story of a successful communication between Cooper the novelist and his sister, who had been dead fifty years. Browning and his wife had both been present at a spiritual session held by Mr. Hume, and had seen and felt the unearthly hands, one of which had placed a laurel wreath on Mrs. Browning's head. Browning, however, avowed his belief that these hands were affixed to the feet of Mr. Hume, who lay extended in his chair, with his legs stretched far under the table. The marvellousness of the fact, as I have read of it, and heard it from other eye-witnesses, melted strangely away in his hearty gripe, and at the sharp touch of his logic; while his wife, ever and anon, put in a little gentle word of expostulation. I am rather surprised that Browning's conversation should be so clear, and so much to the purpose at the moment, since his poetry can seldom proceed far without running into the high grass of latent meanings and obscure allusions. Mrs. Browning's health does not permit late hours, so we began to take heave at about ten o'clock. I heard her ask Mr. ------ if he did not mean to revisit Europe, and heard him answer, not uncheerfully, taking hold of his white hair, "It is getting rather too late in the evening now." If any old age can be cheerful, I should think his might be; so good a man, so cool, so calm, so bright, too, we may say. His life has been like the days that end in pleasant sunsets. He has a great loss, however, or what ought to be a great loss,--soon to be encountered in the death of his wife, who, I think, can hardly live to reach America. He is not eminently an affectionate man. I take him to be one who cannot get closely home to his sorrow, nor feel it so sensibly as he gladly would; and, in consequence of that deficiency, the world lacks substance to him. It is partly the result, perhaps, of his not having sufficiently cultivated his emotional nature. His poetry shows it, and his personal intercourse, though kindly, does not stir one's blood in the least. Little Pennini, during the evening, sometimes helped the guests to cake and strawberries; joined in the conversation, when he had anything to say, or sat down upon a couch to enjoy his own meditations. He has long curling hair, and has not yet emerged from his frock and short hose. It is funny to think of putting him into trousers. His likeness to his mother is strange to behold. June 10th.--My wife and I went to the Pitti Palace to-day; and first entered a court where, yesterday, she had seen a carpet of flowers, arranged for some great ceremony. It must have been a most beautiful sight, the pavement of the court being entirely covered by them, in a regular pattern of brilliant lines, so as really to be a living mosaic. This morning, however, the court had nothing but its usual stones, and the show of yesterday seemed so much the more inestimable as having been so evanescent. Around the walls of the court there were still some pieces of splendid tapestry which had made part of yesterday's magnificence. We went up the staircase, of regally broad and easy ascent, and made application to be admitted to see the grand-ducal apartments. An attendant accordingly took the keys, and ushered us first into a great hall with a vaulted ceiling, and then through a series of noble rooms, with rich frescos above and mosaic floors, hung with damask, adorned with gilded chandeliers, and glowing, in short, with more gorgeousness than I could have imagined beforehand, or can now remember. In many of the rooms were those superb antique cabinets which I admire more than any other furniture ever invented; only these were of unexampled art and glory, inlaid with precious stones, and with beautiful Florentine mosaics, both of flowers and landscapes,--each cabinet worth a lifetime's toil to make it, and the cost a whole palace to pay for it. Many of the rooms were covered with arras, of landscapes, hunting-scenes, mythological subjects, or historical scenes, equal to pictures in truth of representation, and possessing an indescribable richness that makes them preferable as a mere adornment of princely halls and chambers. Some of the rooms, as I have said, were laid in mosaic of stone and marble, otherwise in lovely patterns of various woods; others were covered with carpets, delightful to tread upon, and glowing like the living floor of flowers which my wife saw yesterday. There were tables, too, of Florentine mosaic, the mere materials of which--lapis lazuli, malachite, pearl, and a hundred other precious things--were worth a fortune, and made a thousand times more valuable by the artistic skill of the manufacturer. I toss together brilliant words by the handful, and make a rude sort of patchwork, but can record no adequate idea of what I saw in this suite of rooms; and the taste, the subdued splendor, so that it did not shine too high, but was all tempered into an effect at once grand and soft,--this was quite as remarkable as the gorgeous material. I have seen a very dazzling effect produced in the principal cabin of an American clipper-ship quite opposed to this in taste. After making the circuit of the grand-ducal apartments, we went into a door in the left wing of the palace, and ascended a narrow flight of stairs,--several tortuous flights indeed,--to the picture-gallery. It fills a great many stately halls, which themselves are well worth a visit for the architecture and frescos; only these matters become commonplace after travelling through a mile or two of them. The collection of pictures--as well for their number as for the celebrity and excellence of many of them--is the most interesting that I have seen, and I do not yet feel in a condition, nor perhaps ever shall, to speak of a single one. It gladdened my very heart to find that they were not darkened out of sight, nor apparently at all injured by time, but were well kept and varnished, brilliantly framed, and, no doubt, restored by skilful touches if any of them needed it. The artists and amateurs may say what they like; for my part, I know no drearier feeling than that inspired by a ruined picture,--ruined, that is, by time, damp, or rough treatment,--and I would a thousand times rather an artist should do his best towards reviving it, than have it left in such a condition. I do not believe, however, that these pictures have been sacrilegiously interfered with; at all events, I saw in the masterpieces no touch but what seemed worthy of the master-hand. The most beautiful picture in the world, I am convinced, is Raphael's "Madonna della Seggiola." I was familiar with it in a hundred engravings and copies, and therefore it shone upon one as with a familiar beauty, though infinitely more divine than I had ever seen it before. An artist was copying it, and producing certainly something very like a fac-simile, yet leaving out, as a matter of course, that mysterious something that renders the picture a miracle. It is my present opinion that the pictorial art is capable of something more like magic, more wonderful and inscrutable in its methods, than poetry or any other mode of developing the beautiful. But how does this accord with what I have been saying only a minute ago? How then can the decayed picture of a great master ever be restored by the touches of an inferior hand? Doubtless it never can be restored; but let some devoted worshipper do his utmost, and the whole inherent spirit of the divine picture may pervade his restorations likewise. I saw the "Three Fates" of Michael Angelo, which were also being copied, as were many other of the best pictures. Miss Fanny Howorth, whom I met in the gallery, told me that to copy the "Madonna della Seggiola," application must be made five years beforehand, so many are the artists who aspire to copy it. Michael Angelo's Fates are three very grim and pitiless old women, who respectively spin, hold, and cut the thread of human destiny, all in a mood of sombre gloom, but with no more sympathy than if they had nothing to do with us. I remember seeing an etching of this when I was a child, and being struck, even then, with the terrible, stern, passionless severity, neither loving us nor hating us, that characterizes these ugly old women. If they were angry, or had the least spite against human kind, it would render them the more tolerable. They are a great work, containing and representing the very idea that makes a belief in fate such a cold torture to the human soul. God give me the sure belief in his Providence! In a year's time, with the advantage of access to this magnificent gallery, I think I might come to have some little knowledge of pictures. At present I still know nothing; but am glad to find myself capable, at least, of loving one picture better than another. I cannot always "keep the heights I gain," however, and after admiring and being moved by a picture one day, it is within my experience to look at it the next as little moved as if it were a tavern-sign. It is pretty much the same with statuary; the same, too, with those pictured windows of the Duomo, which I described so rapturously a few days ago. I looked at them again the next morning, and thought they would have been hardly worthy of my eulogium, even had all the separate windows of the cathedral combined their narrow lights into one grand, resplendent, many-colored arch at the eastern end. It is a pity they are so narrow. England has many a great chancel-window that, though dimmer in its hues, dusty, and perhaps made up of heterogeneous fragments, eclipses these by its spacious breadth. From the gallery, I went into the Boboli Gardens, which are contiguous to the palace; but found them too sunny for enjoyment. They seem to consist partly of a wilderness; but the portion into which I strayed was laid out with straight walks, lined with high box-hedges, along which there was only a narrow margin of shade. I saw an amphitheatre, with a wide sweep of marble seat around it, enclosing a grassy space, where, doubtless, the Medici may have witnessed splendid spectacles. June 11th.--I paid another visit to the Uffizi gallery this morning, and found that the Venus is one of the things the charm of which does not diminish on better acquaintance. The world has not grown weary of her in all these ages; and mortal man may look on her with new delight from infancy to old age, and keep the memory of her, I should imagine, as one of the treasures of spiritual existence hereafter. Surely, it makes me more ready to believe in the high destinies of the human race, to think that this beautiful form is but nature's plan for all womankind, and that the nearer the actual woman approaches it, the more natural she is. I do not, and cannot think of her as a senseless image, but as a being that lives to gladden the world, incapable of decay and death; as young and fair to-day as she was three thousand years ago, and still to be young and fair as long as a beautiful thought shall require physical embodiment. I wonder how any sculptor has had the impertinence to aim at any other presentation of female beauty. I mean no disrespect to Gibson or Powers, or a hundred other men who people the world with nudities, all of which are abortions as compared with her; but I think the world would be all the richer if their Venuses, their Greek Slaves, their Eves, were burnt into quicklime, leaving us only this statue as our image of the beautiful. I observed to-day that the eyes of the statue are slightly hollowed out, in a peculiar way, so as to give them a look of depth and intelligence. She is a miracle. The sculptor must have wrought religiously, and have felt that something far beyond his own skill was working through his hands. I mean to leave off speaking of the Venus hereafter, in utter despair of saying what I wish; especially as the contemplation of the statue will refine and elevate my taste, and make it continually more difficult to express my sense of its excellence, as the perception of it grows upon one. If at any time I become less sensible of it, it will be my deterioration, not any defect in the statue. I looked at many of the pictures, and found myself in a favorable mood for enjoying them. It seems to me that a work of art is entitled to credit for all that it makes us feel in our best moments; and we must judge of its merits by the impression it then makes, and not by the coldness and insensibility of our less genial moods. After leaving the Uffizi Palace, . . . . I went into the Museum of Natural History, near the Pitti Palace. It is a very good collection of almost everything that Nature has made,--or exquisite copies of what she has made,--stones, shells, vegetables, insects, fishes, animals, man; the greatest wonders of the museum being some models in wax of all parts of the human frame. It is good to have the wholeness and summed-up beauty of woman in the memory, when looking at the details of her system as here displayed; for these last, to the natural eye, are by no means beautiful. But they are what belong only to our mortality. The beauty that makes them invisible is our immortal type, which we shall take away with us. Under glass cases, there were some singular and horribly truthful representations, in small wax figures, of a time of pestilence; the hasty burial, or tossing into one common sepulchre, of discolored corpses,--a very ugly piece of work, indeed. I think Murray says that these things were made for the Grand Duke Cosmo; and if so, they do him no credit, indicating something dark and morbid in his character. June 13th.--We called at the Powers's yesterday morning to leave R----- there for an hour or two to play with the children; and it being not yet quite time for the Pitti Palace, we stopped into the studio. Soon Mr. Powers made his appearance, in his dressing-gown and slippers and sculptor's cap, smoking a cigar. . . . . He was very cordial and pleasant, as I have always found him, and began immediately to be communicative about his own works, or any other subject that came up. There were two casts of the Venus de' Medici in the rooms, which he said were valuable in a commercial point of view, being genuine casts from the mould taken from the statue. He then gave us a quite unexpected but most interesting lecture on the Venus, demonstrating it, as he proceeded, by reference to the points which he criticised. The figure, he seemed to allow, was admirable, though I think he hardly classes it so high as his own Greek Slave or Eva; but the face, he began with saying, was that of an idiot. Then, leaning on the pedestal of the cast, he continued, "It is rather a bold thing to say, isn't it, that the sculptor of the Venus de' Medici did not know what he was about?" Truly, it appeared to me so; but Powers went on remorselessly, and showed, in the first place, that the eye was not like any eye that Nature ever made; and, indeed, being examined closely, and abstracted from the rest of the face, it has a very queer look,--less like a human eye than a half-worn buttonhole! Then he attacked the ear, which, he affirmed and demonstrated, was placed a good deal too low on the head, thereby giving an artificial and monstrous height to the portion of the head above it. The forehead met with no better treatment in his hands, and as to the mouth, it was altogether wrong, as well in its general make as in such niceties as the junction of the skin of the lips to the common skin around them. In a word, the poor face was battered all to pieces and utterly demolished; nor was it possible to doubt or question that it fell by its own demerits. All that could be urged in its defence--and even that I did not urge--being that this very face had affected me, only the day before, with a sense of higher beauty and intelligence than I had ever then received from sculpture, and that its expression seemed to accord with that of the whole figure, as if it were the sweetest note of the same music. There must be something in this; the sculptor disregarded technicalities, and the imitation of actual nature, the better to produce the effect which he really does produce, in somewhat the same way as a painter works his magical illusions by touches that have no relation to the truth if looked at from the wrong point of view. But Powers considers it certain that the antique sculptor had bestowed all his care on the study of the human figure, and really did not know how to make a face. I myself used to think that the face was a much less important thing with the Greeks, among whom the entire beauty of the form was familiarly seen, than with ourselves, who allow no other nudity. After annihilating the poor visage, Powers showed us his two busts of Proserpine and Psyche, and continued his lecture by showing the truth to nature with which these are modelled. I freely acknowledge the fact; there is no sort of comparison to be made between the beauty, intelligence, feeling, and accuracy of representation in these two faces and in that of the Venus de' Medici. A light--the light of a soul proper to each individual character--seems to shine from the interior of the marble, and beam forth from the features, chiefly from the eyes. Still insisting upon the eye, and hitting the poor Venus another and another and still another blow on that unhappy feature, Mr. Powers turned up and turned inward and turned outward his own Titanic orb,--the biggest, by far, that ever I saw in mortal head,--and made us see and confess that there was nothing right in the Venus and everything right in Psyche and Proserpine. To say the truth, their marble eyes have life, and, placing yourself in the proper position towards them, you can meet their glances, and feel them mingle with your own. Powers is a great man, and also a tender and delicate one, massive and rude of surface as he looks; and it is rather absurd to feel how he impressed his auditor, for the time being, with his own evident idea that nobody else is worthy to touch marble. Mr. B------ told me that Powers has had many difficulties on professional grounds, as I understood him, and with his brother artists. No wonder! He has said enough in my hearing to put him at swords' points with sculptors of every epoch and every degree between the two inclusive extremes of Phidias and Clark Mills. He has a bust of the reigning Grand Duchess of Tuscany, who sat to him for it. The bust is that of a noble-looking lady; and Powers remarked that royal personages have a certain look that distinguishes them from other people, and is seen in individuals of no lower rank. They all have it; the Queen of England and Prince Albert have it; and so likewise has every other Royalty, although the possession of this kingly look implies nothing whatever as respects kingly and commanding qualities. He said that none of our public men, whatever authority they may have held, or for whatever length of time, possess this look, but he added afterwards that Washington had it. Commanders of armies sometimes have it, but not in the degree that royal personages do. It is, as well as I could make out Powers's idea, a certain coldness of demeanor, and especially of eye, that surrounds them with an atmosphere through which the electricity of human brotherhood cannot pass. From their youth upward they are taught to feel themselves apart from the rest of mankind, and this manner becomes a second nature to them in consequence, and as a safeguard to their conventional dignity. They put themselves under glass, as it were (the illustration is my own), so that, though you see them, and see them looking no more noble and dignified than other mortals, nor so much so as many, still they keep themselves within a sort of sanctity, and repel you by an invisible barrier. Even if they invite you with a show of warmth and hospitality, you cannot get through. I, too, recognize this look in the portraits of Washington; in him, a mild, benevolent coldness and apartness, but indicating that formality which seems to have been deeper in him than in any other mortal, and which built up an actual fortification between himself and human sympathy. I wish, for once, Washington could come out of his envelopment and show us what his real dimensions were. Among other models of statues heretofore made, Powers showed us one of Melancholy, or rather of Contemplation, from Milton's "Penseroso"; a female figure with uplifted face and rapt look, "communing with the skies." It is very fine, and goes deeply into Milton's thought; but, as far as the outward form and action are concerned, I remember seeing a rude engraving in my childhood that probably suggested the idea. It was prefixed to a cheap American edition of Milton's poems, and was probably as familiar to Powers as to myself. It is very remarkable how difficult it seems to be to strike out a new attitude in sculpture; a new group, or a new single figure. One piece of sculpture Powers exhibited, however, which was very exquisite, and such as I never saw before. Opening a desk, he took out something carefully enclosed between two layers of cotton-wool, on removing which there appeared a little baby's hand most delicately represented in the whitest marble; all the dimples where the knuckles were to be, all the creases in the plump flesh, every infantine wrinkle of the soft skin being lovingly recorded. "The critics condemn minute representation," said Powers; "but you may look at this through a microscope and see if it injures the general effect." Nature herself never made a prettier or truer little hand. It was the hand of his daughter,--"Luly's hand," Powers called it,--the same that gave my own such a frank and friendly grasp when I first met "Luly." The sculptor made it only for himself and his wife, but so many people, he said, had insisted on having a copy, that there are now forty scattered about the world. At sixty years, Luly ought to have her hand sculptured again, and give it to her grandchildren with the baby's hand of five months old. The baby-hand that had done nothing, and felt only its mother's kiss; the old lady's hand that had exchanged the love-pressure, worn the marriage-ring, closed dead eyes,--done a lifetime's work, in short. The sentiment is rather obvious, but true nevertheless. Before we went away, Powers took us into a room apart--apparently the secretest room he had--and showed us some tools and machinery, all of his own contrivance and invention. "You see I am a bit of a Yankee," he observed. This machinery is chiefly to facilitate the process of modelling his works, for--except in portrait-busts--he makes no clay model as other sculptors do, but models directly in the plaster; so that instead of being crumbled, like clay, the original model remains a permanent possession. He has also invented a certain open file, which is of great use in finishing the surface of the marble; and likewise a machine for making these files and for punching holes through iron, and he demonstrated its efficiency by punching a hole through an iron bar, with a force equivalent to ten thousand pounds, by the mere application of a part of his own weight. These inventions, he says, are his amusement, and the bent of his nature towards sculpture must indeed have been strong, to counteract, in an American, such a capacity for the contrivance of steam-engines. . . . . I had no idea of filling so many pages of this journal with the sayings and characteristics of Mr. Powers, but the man and his talk are fresh, original, and full of bone and muscle, and I enjoy him much. We now proceeded to the Pitti Palace, and spent several hours pleasantly in its saloons of pictures. I never enjoyed pictures anywhere else as I do in Florence. There is an admirable Judith in this gallery by Allori; a face of great beauty and depth, and her hand clutches the head of Holofernes by the hair in a way that startles the spectator. There are two peasant Madonnas by Murillo; simple women, yet with a thoughtful sense of some high mystery connected with the baby in their arms. Raphael grows upon me; several other famous painters--Guido, for instance--are fading out of my mind. Salvator Rosa has two really wonderful landscapes, looking from the shore seaward; and Rubens too, likewise on a large scale, of mountain and plain. It is very idle and foolish to talk of pictures; yet, after poring over them and into them, it seems a pity to let all the thought excited by them pass into nothingness. The copyists of pictures are very numerous, both in the Pitti and Uffizi galleries; and, unlike sculptors, they appear to be on the best of terms with one another, chatting sociably, exchanging friendly criticism, and giving their opinions as to the best mode of attaining the desired effects. Perhaps, as mere copyists, they escape the jealousy that might spring up between rival painters attempting to develop original ideas. Miss Howorth says that the business of copying pictures, especially those of Raphael, is a regular profession, and she thinks it exceedingly obstructive to the progress or existence of a modern school of painting, there being a regular demand and sure sale for all copies of the old masters, at prices proportioned to their merit; whereas the effort to be original insures nothing, except long neglect, at the beginning of a career, and probably ultimate failure, and the necessity of becoming a copyist at last. Some artists employ themselves from youth to age in nothing else but the copying of one single and selfsame picture by Raphael, and grow at last to be perfectly mechanical, making, I suppose, the same identical stroke of the brush in fifty successive pictures. The weather is very hot now,--hotter in the sunshine, I think, than a midsummer day usually is in America, but with rather a greater possibility of being comfortable in the shade. The nights, too, are warm, and the bats fly forth at dusk, and the fireflies quite light up the green depths of our little garden. The atmosphere, or something else, causes a sort of alacrity in my mind and an affluence of ideas, such as they are; but it does not thereby make me the happier. I feel an impulse to be at work, but am kept idle by the sense of being unsettled with removals to be gone through, over and over again, before I can shut myself into a quiet room of my own, and turn the key. I need monotony too, an eventless exterior life, before I can live in the world within. June 15th.--Yesterday we went to the Uffizi gallery, and, of course, I took the opportunity to look again at the Venus de' Medici after Powers's attack upon her face. Some of the defects he attributed to her I could not see in the statue; for instance, the ear appeared to be in accordance with his own rule, the lowest part of it being about in a straight line with the upper lip. The eyes must be given up, as not, when closely viewed, having the shape, the curve outwards, the formation of the lids, that eyes ought to have; but still, at a proper distance, they seemed to have intelligence in them beneath the shadow cast by the brow. I cannot help thinking that the sculptor intentionally made every feature what it is, and calculated them all with a view to the desired effect. Whatever rules may be transgressed, it is a noble and beautiful face,--more so, perhaps, than if all rules had been obeyed. I wish Powers would do his best to fit the Venus's figure (which he does not deny to be admirable) with a face which he would deem equally admirable and in accordance with the sentiment of the form. We looked pretty thoroughly through the gallery, and I saw many pictures that impressed me; but among such a multitude, with only one poor mind to take note of them, the stamp of each new impression helps to obliterate a former one. I am sensible, however, that a process is going on, and has been ever since I came to Italy, that puts me in a state to see pictures with less toil, and more pleasure, and makes me more fastidious, yet more sensible of beauty where I saw none before. It is the sign, I presume, of a taste still very defective, that I take singular pleasure in the elaborate imitations of Van Mieris, Gerard Douw, and other old Dutch wizards, who painted such brass pots that you can see your face in them, and such earthen pots that they will surely hold water; and who spent weeks and months in turning a foot or two of canvas into a perfect microscopic illusion of some homely scene. For my part, I wish Raphael had painted the "Transfiguration" in this style, at the same time preserving his breadth and grandeur of design; nor do I believe that there is any real impediment to the combination of the two styles, except that no possible space of human life could suffice to cover a quarter part of the canvas of the "Transfiguration" with such touches as Gerard Douw's. But one feels the vast scope of this wonderful art, when we think of two excellences so far apart as that of this last painter and Raphael. I pause a good while, too, before the Dutch paintings of fruit and flowers, where tulips and roses acquire an immortal bloom, and grapes have kept the freshest juice in them for two or three hundred years. Often, in these pictures, there is a bird's-nest, every straw perfectly represented, and the stray feather, or the down that the mother-bird plucked from her bosom, with the three or four small speckled eggs, that seem as if they might be yet warm. These pretty miracles have their use in assuring us that painters really can do something that takes hold of us in our most matter-of-fact moods; whereas, the merits of the grander style of art may be beyond our ordinary appreciation, and leave us in doubt whether we have not befooled ourselves with a false admiration. Until we learn to appreciate the cherubs and angels that Raphael scatters through the blessed air, in a picture of the "Nativity," it is not amiss to look at, a Dutch fly settling on a peach, or a bumblebee burying himself in a flower. It is another token of imperfect taste, no doubt, that queer pictures and absurd pictures remain in my memory, when better ones pass away by the score. There is a picture of Venus, combing her son Cupid's head with a small-tooth comb, and looking with maternal care among his curls; this I shall not forget. Likewise, a picture of a broad, rubicund Judith by Bardone,--a widow of fifty, of an easy, lymphatic, cheerful temperament, who has just killed Holofernes, and is as self-complacent as if she had been carving a goose. What could possibly have stirred up this pudding of a woman (unless it were a pudding-stick) to do such a deed! I looked with much pleasure at an ugly, old, fat, jolly Bacchus, astride on a barrel, by Rubens; the most natural and lifelike representation of a tipsy rotundity of flesh that it is possible to imagine. And sometimes, amid these sensual images, I caught the divine pensiveness of a Madonna's face, by Raphael, or the glory and majesty of the babe Jesus in her arm, with his Father shining through him. This is a sort of revelation, whenever it comes. This morning, immediately after breakfast, I walked into the city, meaning to make myself better acquainted with its appearance, and to go into its various churches; but it soon grew so hot, that I turned homeward again. The interior of the Duomo was deliciously cool, to be sure,--cool and dim, after the white-hot sunshine; but an old woman began to persecute me, so that I came away. A male beggar drove me out of another church; and I took refuge in the street, where the beggar and I would have been two cinders together, if we had stood long enough on the sunny sidewalk. After my five summers' experience of England, I may have forgotten what hot weather is; but it does appear to me that an American summer is not so fervent as this. Besides the direct rays, the white pavement throws a furnace-heat up into one's face; the shady margin of the street is barely tolerable; but it is like going through the ordeal of fire to cross the broad bright glare of an open piazza. The narrow streets prove themselves a blessing at this season, except when the sun looks directly into them; the broad eaves of the houses, too, make a selvage of shade, almost always. I do not know what becomes of the street-merchants at the noontide of these hot days. They form a numerous class in Florence, displaying their wares--linen or cotton cloth, threads, combs, and all manner of haberdashery--on movable counters that are borne about on wheels. In the shady morning, you see a whole side of a street in a piazza occupied by them, all offering their merchandise at full cry. They dodge as they can from shade to shade; but at last the sunshine floods the whole space, and they seem to have melted away, leaving not a rag of themselves or what they dealt in. Cherries are very abundant now, and have been so ever since we came here, in the markets and all about the streets. They are of various kinds, some exceedingly large, insomuch that it is almost necessary to disregard the old proverb about making two bites of a cherry. Fresh figs are already spoken of, though I have seen none; but I saw some peaches this morning, looking as if they might be ripe. June 16th.--Mr. and Mrs. Powers called to see us last evening. Mr. Powers, as usual, was full of talk, and gave utterance to a good many instructive and entertaining ideas. As one instance of the little influence the religion of the Italians has upon their morals, he told a story of one of his servants, who desired leave to set up a small shrine of the Virgin in their room--a cheap print, or bas-relief, or image, such as are sold everywhere at the shops --and to burn a lamp before it; she engaging, of course, to supply the oil at her own expense. By and by, her oil-flask appeared to possess a miraculous property of replenishing itself, and Mr. Powers took measures to ascertain where the oil came from. It turned out that the servant had all the time been stealing the oil from them, and keeping up her daily sacrifice and worship to the Virgin by this constant theft. His talk soon turned upon sculpture, and he spoke once more of the difficulty imposed upon an artist by the necessity of clothing portrait statues in the modern costume. I find that he does not approve either of nudity or of the Roman toga for a modern statue; neither does he think it right to shirk the difficulty--as Chantrey did in the case of Washington --by enveloping him in a cloak; but acknowledges the propriety of taking the actual costume of the age and doing his best with it. He himself did so with his own Washington, and also with a statue that he made of Daniel Webster. I suggested that though this costume might not appear ridiculous to us now, yet, two or three centuries hence, it would create, to the people of that day, an impossibility of seeing the real man through the absurdity of his envelopment, after it shall have entirely grown out of fashion and remembrance; and Webster would seem as absurd to them then as he would to us now in the masquerade of some bygone day. It might be well, therefore, to adopt some conventional costume, never actual, but always graceful and noble. Besides, Webster, for example, had other costumes than that which he wore in public, and perhaps it was in those that he lived his most real life; his dressing-gown, his drapery of the night, the dress that he wore on his fishing-excursions; in these other costumes he spent three fourths of his time, and most probably was thus arrayed when he conceived the great thoughts that afterwards, in some formal and outside mood, he gave forth to the public. I scarcely think I was right, but am not sure of the contrary. At any rate, I know that I should have felt much more sure that I knew the real Webster, if I had seen him in any of the above-mentioned dresses, than either in his swallow-tailed coat or frock. Talking of a taste for painting and sculpture, Powers observed that it was something very different and quite apart from the moral sense, and that it was often, perhaps generally, possessed by unprincipled men of ability and cultivation. I have had this perception myself. A genuine love of painting and sculpture, and perhaps of music, seems often to have distinguished men capable of every social crime, and to have formed a fine and hard enamel over their characters. Perhaps it is because such tastes are artificial, the product of cultivation, and, when highly developed, imply a great remove from natural simplicity. This morning I went with U---- to the Uffizi gallery, and again looked with more or less attention at almost every picture and statue. I saw a little picture of the golden age, by Zucchero, in which the charms of youths and virgins are depicted with a freedom that this iron age can hardly bear to look at. The cabinet of gems happened to be open for the admission of a privileged party, and we likewise went in and saw a brilliant collection of goldsmiths' work, among which, no doubt, were specimens from such hands as Benvenuto Cellini. Little busts with diamond eyes; boxes of gems; cups carved out of precious material; crystal vases, beautifully chased and engraved, and sparkling with jewels; great pearls, in the midst of rubies; opals, rich with all manner of lovely lights. I remember Benvenuto Cellini, in his memoirs, speaks of manufacturing such playthings as these. I observed another characteristic of the summer streets of Florence to-day; tables, movable to and fro, on wheels, and set out with cool iced drinks and cordials. June 17th.--My wife and I went, this morning, to the Academy of Fine Arts, and, on our way thither, went into the Duomo, where we found a deliciously cool twilight, through which shone the mild gleam of the painted windows. I cannot but think it a pity that St. Peter's is not lighted by such windows as these, although I by no means saw the glory in them now that I have spoken of in a record of my former visit. We found out the monument of Giotto, a tablet, and portrait in bas-relief, on the wall, near the entrance of the cathedral, on the right hand; also a representation, in fresco, of a knight on horseback, the memorial of one John Rawkwood, close by the door, to the left. The priests were chanting a service of some kind or other in the choir, terribly inharmonious, and out of tune. . . . . On reaching the Academy, the soldier or policeman at the entrance directed us into the large hall, the walls of which were covered on both sides with pictures, arranged as nearly as possible in a progressive series, with reference to the date of the painters; so that here the origin and procession of the art may be traced through the course of, at least, two hundred years. Giotto, Cimabue, and others of unfamiliar names to me, are among the earliest; and, except as curiosities, I should never desire to look once at them, nor think of looking twice. They seem to have been executed with great care and conscientiousness, and the heads are often wrought out with minuteness and fidelity, and have so much expression that they tell their own story clearly enough; but it seems not to have been the painter's aim to effect a lifelike illusion, the background and accessories being conventional. The trees are no more like real trees than the feather of a pen, and there is no perspective, the figure of the picture being shadowed forth on a surface of burnished gold. The effect, when these pictures, some of them very large, were new and freshly gilded, must have been exceedingly brilliant, and much resembling, on an immensely larger scale, the rich illuminations in an old monkish missal. In fact, we have not now, in pictorial ornament, anything at all comparable to what their splendor must have been. I was most struck with a picture, by Fabriana Gentile, of the Adoration of the Magi, where the faces and figures have a great deal of life and action, and even grace, and where the jewelled crowns, the rich embroidered robes, and cloth of gold, and all the magnificence of the three kings, are represented with the vividness of the real thing: a gold sword-hilt, for instance, or a pair of gold spurs, being actually embossed on the picture. The effect is very powerful, and though produced in what modern painters would pronounce an unjustifiable way, there is yet pictorial art enough to reconcile it to the spectator's mind. Certainly, the people of the Middle Ages knew better than ourselves what is magnificence, and how to produce it; and what a glorious work must that have been, both in its mere sheen of burnished gold, and in its illuminating art, which shines thus through the gloom of perhaps four centuries. Fra Angelico is a man much admired by those who have a taste for Pre-Raphaelite painters; and, though I take little or no pleasure in his works, I can see that there is great delicacy of execution in his heads, and that generally he produces such a Christ, and such a Virgin, and such saints, as he could not have foreseen, except in a pure and holy imagination, nor have wrought out without saying a prayer between every two touches of his brush. I might come to like him, in time, if I thought it worth while; but it is enough to have an outside perception of his kind and degree of merit, and so to let him pass into the garret of oblivion, where many things as good, or better, are piled away, that our own age may not stumble over them. Perugino is the first painter whose works seem really worth preserving for the genuine merit that is in them, apart from any quaintness and curiosity of an ancient and new-born art. Probably his religion was more genuine than Raphael's, and therefore the Virgin often revealed herself to him in a loftier and sweeter face of divine womanhood than all the genius of Raphael could produce. There is a Crucifixion by him in this gallery, which made me partly feel as if I were a far-off spectator,--no, I did not mean a Crucifixion, but a picture of Christ dead, lying, with a calm, sweet face, on his mother's knees ["a Pieta"]. The most inadequate and utterly absurd picture here, or in any other gallery, is a head of the Eternal Father, by Carlo Dolce; it looks like a feeble saint, on the eve of martyrdom, and very doubtful how he shall be able to bear it; very finely and prettily painted, nevertheless. After getting through the principal gallery we went into a smaller room, in which are contained a great many small specimens of the old Tuscan artists, among whom Fra Angelico makes the principal figure. These pictures are all on wood, and seem to have been taken from the shrines and altars of ancient churches; they are predellas and triptychs, or pictures on three folding tablets, shaped quaintly, in Gothic peaks or arches, and still gleaming with backgrounds of antique gold. The wood is much worm-eaten, and the colors have often faded or changed from what the old artists meant then to be; a bright angel darkening into what looks quite as much like the Devil. In one of Fra Angelico's pictures,--a representation of the Last Judgment,--he has tried his saintly hand at making devils indeed, and showing them busily at work, tormenting the poor, damned souls in fifty ghastly ways. Above sits Jesus, with the throng of blessed saints around him, and a flow of tender and powerful love in his own face, that ought to suffice to redeem all the damned, and convert the very fiends, and quench the fires of hell. At any rate, Fra Angelico had a higher conception of his Saviour than Michael Angelo. June 19th.--This forenoon we have been to the Church of St. Lorenzo, which stands on the site of an ancient basilica, and was itself built more than four centuries ago. The facade is still an ugly height of rough brickwork, as is the case with the Duomo, and, I think, some other churches in Florence; the design of giving them an elaborate and beautiful finish having been delayed from cycle to cycle, till at length the day for spending mines of wealth on churches is gone by. The interior had a nave with a flat roof, divided from the side aisles by Corinthian pillars, and, at the farther end, a raised space around the high altar. The pavement is a mosaic of squares of black and white marble, the squares meeting one another cornerwise; the pillars, pilasters, and other architectural material is dark brown or grayish stone; and the general effect is very sombre, especially as the church is somewhat dimly lighted, and as the shrines along the aisles, and the statues, and the monuments of whatever kind, look dingy with time and neglect. The nave is thickly set with wooden seats, brown and worn. What pictures there are, in the shrines and chapels, are dark and faded. On the whole, the edifice has a shabby aspect. On each side of the high altar, elevated on four pillars of beautiful marble, is what looks like a great sarcophagus of bronze. They are, in fact, pulpits, and are ornamented with mediaeval bas-reliefs, representing scenes in the life of our Saviour. Murray says that the resting-place of the first Cosmo de' Medici, the old banker, who so managed his wealth as to get the posthumous title of "father of his country," and to make his posterity its reigning princes,--is in front of the high altar, marked by red and green porphyry and marble, inlaid into the pavement. We looked, but could not see it there. There were worshippers at some of the shrines, and persons sitting here and there along the nave, and in the aisles, rapt in devotional thought, doubtless, and sheltering themselves here from the white sunshine of the piazzas. In the vicinity of the choir and the high altar, workmen were busy repairing the church, or perhaps only making arrangements for celebrating the great festival of St. John. On the left hand of the choir is what is called the old sacristy, with the peculiarities or notabilities of which I am not acquainted. On the right hand is the new sacristy, otherwise called the Capella dei Depositi, or Chapel of the Buried, built by Michael Angelo, to contain two monuments of the Medici family. The interior is of somewhat severe and classic architecture, the walls and pilasters being of dark stone, and surmounted by a dome, beneath which is a row of windows, quite round the building, throwing their light down far beneath, upon niches of white marble. These niches are ranged entirely around the chapel, and might have sufficed to contain more than all the Medici monuments that the world would ever care to have. Only two of these niches are filled, however. In one of them sits Giuliano de' Medici, sculptured by Michael Angelo,--a figure of dignity, which would perhaps be very striking in any other presence than that of the statue which occupies the corresponding niche. At the feet of Giuliano recline two allegorical statues, Day and Night, whose meaning there I do not know, and perhaps Michael Angelo knew as little. As the great sculptor's statues are apt to do, they fling their limbs abroad with adventurous freedom. Below the corresponding niche, on the opposite side of the chapel, recline two similar statues, representing Morning and Evening, sufficiently like Day and Night to be their brother and sister; all, in truth, having sprung from the same father. . . . . But the statue that sits above these two latter allegories, Morning and Evening, is like no other that ever came from a sculptor's hand. It is the one work worthy of Michael Angelo's reputation, and grand enough to vindicate for him all the genius that the world gave him credit for. And yet it seems a simple thing enough to think of or to execute; merely a sitting figure, the face partly overshadowed by a helmet, one hand supporting the chin, the other resting on the thigh. But after looking at it a little while the spectator ceases to think of it as a marble statue; it comes to life, and you see that the princely figure is brooding over some great design, which, when he has arranged in his own mind, the world will be fain to execute for him. No such grandeur and majesty has elsewhere been put into human shape. It is all a miracle; the deep repose, and the deep life within it. It is as much a miracle to have achieved this as to make a statue that would rise up and walk. The face, when one gazes earnestly into it, beneath the shadow of its helmet, is seen to be calmly sombre; a mood which, I think, is generally that of the rulers of mankind, except in moments of vivid action. This statue is one of the things which I look at with highest enjoyment, but also with grief and impatience, because I feel that I do not come at all which it involves, and that by and by I must go away and leave it forever. How wonderful! To take a block of marble, and convert it wholly into thought, and to do it through all the obstructions and impediments of drapery; for there is nothing nude in this statue but the face and hands. The vest is the costume of Michael Angelo's century. This is what I always thought a sculptor of true genius should be able to do,--to show the man of whatever epoch, nobly and heroically, through the costume which he might actually have worn. The statue sits within a square niche of white marble, and completely fills it. It seems to me a pity that it should be thus confined. At the Crystal Palace, if I remember, the effect is improved by a free surrounding space. Its naturalness is as if it came out of the marble of its own accord, with all its grandeur hanging heavily about it, and sat down there beneath its weight. I cannot describe it. It is like trying to stop the ghost of Hamlet's father, by crossing spears before it. Communicating with the sacristy is the Medicean Chapel, which was built more than two centuries ago, for the reception of the Holy Sepulchre; arrangements having been made about that time to steal this most sacred relic from the Turks. The design failing, the chapel was converted by Cosmo II. into a place of sepulture for the princes of his family. It is a very grand and solemn edifice, octagonal in shape, with a lofty dome, within which is a series of brilliant frescos, painted not more than thirty years ago. These pictures are the only portion of the adornment of the chapel which interferes with the sombre beauty of the general effect; for though the walls are incrusted, from pavement to dome, with marbles of inestimable cost, and it is a Florentine mosaic on a grander scale than was ever executed elsewhere, the result is not gaudy, as in many of the Roman chapels, but a dark and melancholy richness. The architecture strikes me as extremely fine; each alternate side of the octagon being an arch, rising as high as the cornice of the lofty dome, and forming the frame of a vast niche. All the dead princes, no doubt, according to the general design, were to have been honored with statues within this stately mausoleum; but only two--those of Ferdinand I. and Cosmo II.--seem to have been placed here. They were a bad breed, and few of them deserved any better monument than a dunghill; and yet they have this grand chapel for the family at large, and yonder grand statue for one of its most worthless members. I am glad of it; and as for the statue, Michael Angelo wrought it through the efficacy of a kingly idea, which had no reference to the individual whose name it bears. In the piazza adjoining the church is a statue of the first Cosmo, the old banker, in Roman costume, seated, and looking like a man fit to hold authority. No, I mistake; the statue is of John de' Medici, the father of Cosmo, and himself no banker, but a soldier. June 21st.--Yesterday, after dinner, we went, with the two eldest children, to the Boboli Gardens. . . . . We entered by a gate, nearer to our house than that by the Pitti Palace, and found ourselves almost immediately among embowered walks of box and shrubbery, and little wildernesses of trees, with here and there a seat under an arbor, and a marble statue, gray with ancient weather-stains. The site of the garden is a very uneven surface, and the paths go upward and downward, and ascend, at their ultimate point, to a base of what appears to be a fortress, commanding the city. A good many of the Florentines were rambling about the gardens, like ourselves: little parties of school-boys; fathers and mothers, with their youthful progeny; young men in couples, looking closely into every female face; lovers, with a maid or two attendant on the young lady. All appeared to enjoy themselves, especially the children, dancing on the esplanades, or rolling down the slopes of the hills; and the loving pairs, whom it was rather embarrassing to come upon unexpectedly, sitting together on the stone seat of an arbor, with clasped hands, a passionate solemnity in the young man's face, and a downcast pleasure in the lady's. Policemen, in cocked hats and epaulets, cross-belts, and swords, were scattered about the grounds, but interfered with nobody, though they seemed to keep an eye on all. A sentinel stood in the hot sunshine, looking down over the garden from the ramparts of the fortress. For my part, in this foreign country, I have no objection to policemen or any other minister of authority; though I remember, in America, I had an innate antipathy to constables, and always sided with the mob against law. This was very wrong and foolish, considering that I was one of the sovereigns; but a sovereign, or any number of sovereigns, or the twenty-millionth part of a sovereign, does not love to find himself, as an American must, included within the delegated authority of his own servants. There is a sheet of water somewhere in the Boboli Gardens, inhabited by swans; but this we did not see. We found a smaller pond, however, set in marble, and surrounded by a parapet, and alive with a multitude of fish. There were minnows by the thousand, and a good many gold-fish; and J-----, who had brought some bread to feed the swans, threw in handfuls of crumbs for the benefit of these finny people. They seemed to be accustomed to such courtesies on the part of visitors; and immediately the surface of the water was blackened, at the spot where each crumb fell, with shoals of minnows, thrusting one another even above the surface in their eagerness to snatch it. Within the depths of the pond, the yellowish-green water--its hue being precisely that of the Arno-- would be reddened duskily with the larger bulk of two or three gold-fishes, who finally poked their great snouts up among the minnows, but generally missed the crumb. Beneath the circular margin of the pond, there are little arches, into the shelter of which the fish retire, when the noonday sun burns straight down into their dark waters. We went on through the garden-paths, shadowed quite across by the high walls of box, and reached an esplanade, whence we had a good view of Florence, with the bare brown ridges on the northern side of the Arno, and glimpses of the river itself, flowing like a street, between two rows of palaces. A great way off, too, we saw some of the cloud-like peaks of the Apennines, and, above them, the clouds into which the sun was descending, looking quite as substantial as the distant mountains. The city did not present a particularly splendid aspect, though its great Duomo was seen in the middle distance, sitting in its circle of little domes, with the tall campanile close by, and within one or two hundred yards of it, the high, cumbrous bulk of the Palazzo Vecchio, with its lofty, machicolated, and battlemented tower, very picturesque, yet looking exceedingly like a martin-box, on a pole. There were other domes and towers and spires, and here and there the distinct shape of an edifice; but the general picture was of a contiguity of red earthen roofs, filling a not very broad or extensive valley, among dry and ridgy hills, with a river-gleam lightening up the landscape a little. U---- took out her pencil and tablets, and began to sketch the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio; in doing which, she immediately became an object of curiosity to some little boys and larger people, who failed not, under such pretences as taking a grasshopper off her dress, or no pretence at all, to come and look over her shoulder. There is a kind of familiarity among these Florentines, which is not meant to be discourteous, and ought to be taken in good part. We continued to ramble through the gardens, in quest of a good spot from which to see the sunset, and at length found a stone bench, on the slope of a hill, whence the entire cloud and sun scenery was fully presented to us. At the foot of the hill were statues, and among them a Pegasus, with wings outspread; and, a little beyond, the garden-front of the Pitti Palace, which looks a little less like a state-prison here, than as it fronts the street. Girls and children, and young men and old, were taking their pleasure in our neighborhood; and, just before us, a lady stood talking with her maid. By and by, we discovered her to be Miss Howorth. There was a misty light, streaming down on the hither side of the ridge of hills, that was rather peculiar; but the most remarkable thing was the shape into which the clouds gathered themselves, after the disappearance of the sun. It was like a tree, with a broad and heavy mass of foliage, spreading high upward on the sky, and a dark and well-defined trunk, which rooted itself on the verge of the horizon. This morning we went to the Pitti Palace. The air was very sultry, and the pavements, already heated with the sun, made the space between the buildings seem like a close room. The earth, I think, is too much stoned out of the streets of an Italian city,--paved, like those of Florence, quite across, with broad flagstones, to the line where the stones of the houses on each side are piled up. Thunder rumbled over our heads, however, and the clouds were so dark that we scarcely hoped to reach the palace without feeling the first drops of the shower. The air still darkened and darkened, so that by the time we arrived at the suite of picture-rooms the pictures seemed all to be changed to Rembrandts; the shadows as black as midnight, with only some highly illuminated portions gleaming out. The obscurity of the atmosphere made us sensible how splendid is the adornment of these saloons. For the gilded cornices shone out, as did the gilding of the arches and wreathed circles that divide the ceiling into compartments, within which the frescos are painted, and whence the figures looked dimly down, like gods out of a mysterious sky. The white marble sculptures also gleamed from their height, where winged cupids or cherubs gambolled aloft in bas-reliefs; or allegoric shapes reclined along the cornices, hardly noticed, when the daylight comes brightly into the window. On the walls, all the rich picture-frames glimmered in gold, as did the framework of the chairs, and the heavy gilded pedestals of the marble, alabaster, and mosaic tables. These are very magnificent saloons; and since I have begun to speak of their splendor, I may as well add that the doors are framed in polished, richly veined marble, and the walls hung with scarlet damask. It was useless to try to see the pictures. All the artists engaged in copying laid aside their brushes; and we looked out into the square before the palace, where a mighty wind sprang up, and quickly raised a prodigious cloud of dust. It hid the opposite side of the street, and was carried, in a great dusky whirl, higher than the roofs of the houses, higher than the top of the Pitti Palace itself. The thunder muttered and grumbled, the lightning now and then flashed, and a few rain-drops pattered against the windows; but, for a long time, the shower held off. At last it came down in a stream, and lightened the air to such a degree that we could see some of the pictures, especially those of Rubens, and the illuminated parts of Salvator Rosa's, and, best of all, Titian's "Magdalen," the one with golden hair clustering round her naked body. The golden hair, indeed, seemed to throw out a glory of its own. This Magdalen is very coarse and sensual, with only an impudent assumption of penitence and religious sentiment, scarcely so deep as the eyelids; but it is a splendid picture, nevertheless, with those naked, lifelike arms, and the hands that press the rich locks about her, and so carefully permit those voluptuous breasts to be seen. She a penitent! She would shake off all pretence to it as easily as she would shake aside that clustering hair. . . . . Titian must have been a very good-for-nothing old man. I looked again at Michael Angelo's Fates to-day; but cannot satisfactorily make out what he meant by them. One of them--she who holds the distaff--has her mouth open, as if uttering a cry, and might be fancied to look somewhat irate. The second, who holds the thread, has a pensive air, but is still, I think, pitiless at heart. The third sister looks closely and coldly into the eyes of the second, meanwhile cutting the thread with a pair of shears. Michael Angelo, if I may presume to say so, wished to vary the expression of these three sisters, and give each a different one, but did not see precisely how, inasmuch as all the fatal Three are united, heart and soul, in one purpose. It is a very impressive group. But, as regards the interpretation of this, or of any other profound picture, there are likely to be as many interpretations as there are spectators. It is very curious to read criticisms upon pictures, and upon the same face in a picture, and by men of taste and feeling, and to find what different conclusions they arrive at. Each man interprets the hieroglyphic in his own way; and the painter, perhaps, had a meaning which none of them have reached; or possibly he put forth a riddle, without himself knowing the solution. There is such a necessity, at all events, of helping the painter out with the spectator's own resources of feeling and imagination, that you can never be sure how much of the picture you have yourself made. There is no doubt that the public is, to a certain extent, right and sure of its ground, when it declares, through a series of ages, that a certain picture is a great work. It is so; a great symbol, proceeding out of a great mind; but if it means one thing, it seems to mean a thousand, and, often, opposite things. June 27th.--I have had a heavy cold and fever almost throughout the past week, and have thereby lost the great Florentine festivity, the Feast of St. John, which took place on Thursday last, with the fireworks and illuminations the evening before, and the races and court ceremonies on the day itself. However, unless it were more characteristic and peculiar than the Carnival, I have not missed anything very valuable. Mr. Powers called to see me one evening, and poured out, as usual, a stream of talk, both racy and oracular in its character. Speaking of human eyes, he observed that they did not depend for their expression upon color, nor upon any light of the soul beaming through them, nor any glow of the eyeball, nor upon anything but the form and action of the surrounding muscles. He illustrates it by saying, that if the eye of a wolf, or of whatever fiercest animal, could be placed in another setting, it would be found capable of the utmost gentleness of expression. "You yourself," said he, "have a very bright and sharp look sometimes; but it is not in the eye itself." His own eyes, as I could have sworn, were glowing all the time he spoke; and, remembering how many times I have seemed to see eyes glow, and blaze, and flash, and sparkle, and melt, and soften; and how all poetry is illuminated with the light of ladies' eyes; and how many people have been smitten by the lightning of an eye, whether in love or anger, it was difficult to allow that all this subtlest and keenest fire is illusive, not even phosphorescent, and that any other jelly in the same socket would serve as well as the brightest eye. Nevertheless, he must be right; of course he must, and I am rather ashamed ever to have thought otherwise. Where should the light come from? Has a man a flame inside of his head? Does his spirit manifest itself in the semblance of flame? The moment we think of it, the absurdity becomes evident. I am not quite sure, however, that the outer surface of the eye may not reflect more light in some states of feeling than in others; the state of the health, certainly, has an influence of this kind. I asked Powers what he thought of Michael Angelo's statue of Lorenzo de' Medici. He allowed that its effect was very grand and mysterious; but added that it owed this to a trick,--the effect being produced by the arrangement of the hood, as he called it, or helmet, which throws the upper part of the face into shadow. The niche in which it sits has, I suppose, its part to perform in throwing a still deeper shadow. It is very possible that Michael Angelo may have calculated upon this effect of sombre shadow, and legitimately, I think; but it really is not worthy of Mr. Powers to say that the whole effect of this mighty statue depends, not on the positive efforts of Michael Angelo's chisel, but on the absence of light in a space of a few inches. He wrought the whole statue in harmony with that small part of it which he leaves to the spectator's imagination, and if he had erred at any point, the miracle would have been a failure; so that, working in marble, he has positively reached a degree of excellence above the capability of marble, sculpturing his highest touches upon air and duskiness. Mr. Powers gave some amusing anecdotes of his early life, when he was a clerk in a store in Cincinnati. There was a museum opposite, the proprietor of which had a peculiar physiognomy that struck Powers, insomuch that he felt impelled to make continual caricatures of it. He used to draw them upon the door of the museum, and became so familiar with the face, that he could draw them in the dark; so that, every morning, here was this absurd profile of himself, greeting the museum-man when he came to open his establishment. Often, too, it would reappear within an hour after it was rubbed out. The man was infinitely annoyed, and made all possible efforts to discover the unknown artist, but in vain; and finally concluded, I suppose, that the likeness broke out upon the door of its own accord, like the nettle-rash. Some years afterwards, the proprietor of the museum engaged Powers himself as an assistant; and one day Powers asked him if he remembered this mysterious profile. "Yes," said he, "did you know who drew them?" Powers took a piece of chalk, and touched off the very profile again, before the man's eyes. "Ah," said he, "if I had known it at the time, I would have broken every bone in your body!" Before he began to work in marble, Powers had greater practice and success in making wax figures, and he produced a work of this kind called "The Infernal Regions," which he seemed to imply had been very famous. He said he once wrought a face in wax which was life itself, having made the eyes on purpose for it, and put in every hair in the eyebrows individually, and finished the whole with similar minuteness; so that, within the distance of a foot or two, it was impossible to tell that the face did not live. I have hardly ever before felt an impulse to write down a man's conversation as I do that of Mr. Powers. The chief reason is, probably, that it is so possible to do it, his ideas being square, solid, and tangible, and therefore readily grasped and retained. He is a very instructive man, and sweeps one's empty and dead notions out of the way with exceeding vigor; but when you have his ultimate thought and perception, you feel inclined to think and see a little further for yourself. He sees too clearly what is within his range to be aware of any region of mystery beyond. Probably, however, this latter remark does him injustice. I like the man, and am always glad to encounter the mill-stream of his talk. . . . . Yesterday he met me in the street (dressed in his linen blouse and slippers, with a little bit of a sculptor's cap on the side of his head), and gave utterance to a theory of colds, and a dissertation on the bad effects of draughts, whether of cold air or hot, and the dangers of transfusing blood from the veins of one living subject to those of another. On the last topic, he remarked that, if a single particle of air found its way into the veins, along with the transfused blood, it caused convulsions and inevitable death; otherwise the process might be of excellent effect. Last evening, we went to pass the evening with Miss Blagden, who inhabits a villa at Bellosguardo, about a mile outside of the walls. The situation is very lofty, and there are good views from every window of the house, and an especially fine one of Florence and the hills beyond, from the balcony of the drawing-room. By and by came Mr. Browning, Mr. Trollope, Mr. Boott and his young daughter, and two or three other gentlemen. . . . . Browning was very genial and full of life, as usual, but his conversation has the effervescent aroma which you cannot catch, even if you get the very words that seem to be imbued with it. He spoke most rapturously of a portrait of Mrs. Browning, which an Italian artist is painting for the wife of an American gentleman, as a present from her husband. The success was already perfect, although there had been only two sittings as yet, and both on the same day; and in this relation, Mr. Browning remarked that P------, the American artist, had had no less than seventy-three sittings of him for a portrait. In the result, every hair and speck of him was represented; yet, as I inferred from what he did not say, this accumulation of minute truths did not, after all, amount to the true whole. I do not remember much else that Browning said, except a playful abuse of a little King Charles spaniel, named Frolic, Miss Blagden's lap-dog, whose venerable age (he is eleven years old) ought to have pleaded in his behalf. Browning's nonsense is of very genuine and excellent quality, the true babble and effervescence of a bright and powerful mind; and he lets it play among his friends with the faith and simplicity of a child. He must be an amiable man. I should like him much, and should make him like me, if opportunities were favorable. I conversed principally with Mr. Trollope, the son, I believe, of the Mrs. Trollope to whom America owes more for her shrewd criticisms than we are ever likely to repay. Mr. Trollope is a very sensible and cultivated man, and, I suspect, an author: at least, there is a literary man of repute of this name, though I have never read his works. He has resided in Italy eighteen years. It seems a pity to do this. It needs the native air to give life a reality; a truth which I do not fail to take home regretfully to myself, though without feeling much inclination to go back to the realities of my own. We had a pleasant cup of tea, and took a moonlight view of Florence from the balcony. . . . . June 28th.--Yesterday afternoon, J----- and I went to a horse-race, which took place in the Corso and contiguous line of streets, in further celebration of the Feast of St. John. A crowd of people was already collected, all along the line of the proposed race, as early as six o'clock; and there were a great many carriages driving amid the throng, open barouches mostly, in which the beauty and gentility of Florence were freely displayed. It was a repetition of the scene in the Corso at Rome, at Carnival time, without the masks, the fun, and the confetti. The Grand Duke and Duchess and the Court likewise made their appearance in as many as seven or eight coaches-and-six, each with a coachman, three footmen, and a postilion in the royal livery, and attended by a troop of horsemen in scarlet coats and cocked hats. I did not particularly notice the Grand Duke himself; but, in the carriage behind him, there sat only a lady, who favored the people along the street with a constant succession of bows, repeated at such short intervals, and so quickly, as to be little more than nods; therefore not particularly graceful or majestic. Having the good fortune, to be favored with one of these nods, I lifted my hat in response, and may therefore claim a bowing acquaintance with the Grand Duchess. She is a Bourbon of the Naples family, and was a pale, handsome woman, of princely aspect enough. The crowd evinced no enthusiasm, nor the slightest feeling of any kind, in acknowledgment of the presence of their rulers; and, indeed, I think I never saw a crowd so well behaved; that is, with so few salient points, so little ebullition, so absolutely tame, as the Florentine one. After all, and much contrary to my expectations, an American crowd has incomparably more life than any other; and, meeting on any casual occasion, it will talk, laugh, roar, and be diversified with a thousand characteristic incidents and gleams and shadows, that you see nothing of here. The people seems to have no part even in its own gatherings. It comes together merely as a mass of spectators, and must not so much as amuse itself by any activity of mind. The race, which was the attraction that drew us all together, turned out a very pitiful affair. When we had waited till nearly dusk, the street being thronged quite across, insomuch that it seemed impossible that it should be cleared as a race-course, there came suddenly from every throat a quick, sharp exclamation, combining into a general shout. Immediately the crowd pressed back on each side of the street; a moment afterwards, there was a rapid pattering of hoofs over the earth with which the pavement was strewn, and I saw the head and back of a horse rushing past. A few seconds more, and another horse followed; and at another little interval, a third. This was all that we had waited for; all that I saw, or anybody else, except those who stood on the utmost verge of the course, at the risk of being trampled down and killed. Two men were killed in this way on Thursday, and certainly human life was never spent for a poorer object. The spectators at the windows, to be sure, having the horses in sight for a longer time, might get a little more enjoyment out of the affair. By the by, the most picturesque aspect of the scene was the life given to it by the many faces, some of them fair ones, that looked out from window and balcony, all along the curving line of lofty palaces and edifices, between which the race-course lay; and from nearly every window, and over every balcony, was flung a silken texture, or cloth of brilliant line, or piece of tapestry or carpet, or whatever adornment of the kind could be had, so as to dress up the street in gala attire. But, the Feast of St. John, like the Carnival, is but a meagre semblance of festivity, kept alive factitiously, and dying a lingering death of centuries. It takes the exuberant mind and heart of a people to keep its holidays alive. I do not know whether there be any populace in Florence, but I saw none that I recognized as such, on this occasion. All the people were respectably dressed and perfectly well behaved; and soldiers and priests were scattered abundantly among the throng. On my way home, I saw the Teatro Goldoni, which is in our own street, lighted up for a representation this Sunday evening. It shocked my New England prejudices a little. Thus forenoon, my wife and I went to the Church of Santa Croce, the great monumental deposit of Florentine worthies. The piazza before it is a wide, gravelled square, where the liberty of Florence, if it really ever had any genuine liberty, came into existence some hundreds of years ago, by the people's taking its own rights into its hands, and putting its own immediate will in execution. The piazza has not much appearance of antiquity, except that the facade of one of the houses is quite covered with ancient frescos, a good deal faded and obliterated, yet with traces enough of old glory to show that the colors must have been well laid on. The front of the church, the foundation of which was laid six centuries ago, is still waiting for its casing of marbles, and I suppose will wait forever, though a carpenter's staging is now erected before it, as if with the purpose of doing something. The interior is spacious, the length of the church being between four and five hundred feet. There is a nave, roofed with wooden cross-beams, lighted by a clere-story and supported on each side by seven great pointed arches, which rest upon octagonal pillars. The octagon seems to be a favorite shape in Florence. These pillars were clad in yellow and scarlet damask, in honor of the Feast of St. John. The aisles, on each side of the nave, are lighted with high and somewhat narrow windows of painted glass, the effect of which, however, is much diminished by the flood of common daylight that comes in through the windows of the clere-story. It is like admitting too much of the light of reason and worldly intelligence into the mind, instead of illuminating it wholly through a religious medium. The many-hued saints and angels lose their mysterious effulgence, when we get white light enough, and find we see all the better without their help. The main pavement of the church is brickwork; but it is inlaid with many sepulchral slabs of marble, on some of which knightly or priestly figures are sculptured in bas-relief. In both of the side aisles there are saintly shrines, alternating with mural monuments, some of which record names as illustrious as any in the world. As you enter, the first monument, on your right is that of Michael Angelo, occupying the ancient burial-site of his family. The general design is a heavy sarcophagus of colored marble, with the figures of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture as mourners, and Michael Angelo's bust above, the whole assuming a pyramidal form. You pass a shrine, within its framework of marble pillars and a pediment, and come next to Dante's monument, a modern work, with likewise its sarcophagus, and some huge, cold images weeping and sprawling over it, and an unimpressive statue of Dante sitting above. Another shrine intervenes, and next you see the tomb of Alfieri, erected to his memory by the Countess of Albany, who pays, out of a woman's love, the honor which his country owed him. Her own monument is in one of the chapels of the transept. Passing the next shrine you see the tomb of Macchiavelli, which, I think, was constructed not many years after his death. The rest of the monuments, on this side of the church, commemorate people of less than world-wide fame; and though the opposite side has likewise a monument alternating with each shrine, I remember only the names of Raphael Morghen and of Galileo. The tomb of the latter is over against that of Michael Angelo, being the first large tomb on the left-hand wall as you enter the church. It has the usual heavy sarcophagus, surmounted by a bust of Galileo, in the habit of his time, and is, of course, duly provided with mourners in the shape of Science or Astronomy, or some such cold-hearted people. I wish every sculptor might be at once imprisoned for life who shall hereafter chisel an allegoric figure; and as for those who have sculptured them heretofore, let them be kept in purgatory till the marble shall have crumbled away. It is especially absurd to assign to this frozen sisterhood of the allegoric family the office of weeping for the dead, inasmuch as they have incomparably less feeling than a lump of ice, which might contrive to shed a tear if the sun shone on it. But they seem to let themselves out, like the hired mourners of an English funeral, for the very reason that, having no interest in the dead person, nor any affections or emotions whatever, it costs them no wear and tear of heart. All round both transepts of the church there is a series of chapels, into most of which we went, and generally found an inscrutably dark picture over the altar, and often a marble bust or two, or perhaps a mediaeval statue of a saint or a modern monumental bas-relief in marble, as white as new-fallen snow. A chapel of the Bonapartes is here, containing memorials of two female members of the family. In several chapels, moreover, there were some of those distressing frescos, by Giotto, Cimabue, or their compeers, which, whenever I see them,--poor, faded relics, looking as if the Devil had been rubbing and scrubbing them for centuries, in spite against the saints,--my heart sinks and my stomach sickens. There is no other despondency like this; it is a new shade of human misery, akin to the physical disease that comes from dryrot in a wall. These frescos are to a church what dreary, old remembrances are to a mind; the drearier because they were once bright: Hope fading into Disappointment, Joy into Grief, and festal splendor passing into funereal duskiness, and saddening you all the more by the grim identity that you find to exist between gay things and sorrowful ones. Only wait long enough, and they turn out to be the very same. All the time we were in the church some great religious ceremony had been going forward; the organ playing and the white-robed priests bowing, gesticulating, and making Latin prayers at the high altar, where at least a hundred wax tapers were burning in constellations. Everybody knelt, except ourselves, yet seemed not to be troubled by the echoes of our passing footsteps, nor to require that we should pray along with them. They consider us already lost irrevocably, no doubt, and therefore right enough in taking no heed of their devotions; not but what we took so much heed, however, as to give the smallest possible disturbance. By and by we sat down in the nave of the church till the ceremony should be concluded; and then my wife left me to go in quest of yet another chapel, where either Cimabue or Giotto, or both, have left some of their now ghastly decorations. While she was gone I threw my eyes about the church, and came to the conclusion that, in spite of its antiquity, its size, its architecture, its painted windows, its tombs of great men, and all the reverence and interest that broods over them, it is not an impressive edifice. Any little Norman church in England would impress me as much, and more. There is something, I do not know what, but it is in the region of the heart, rather than in the intellect, that Italian architecture, of whatever age or style, never seems to reach. Leaving the Santa Croce, we went next in quest of the Riccardi Palace. On our way, in the rear of the Grand Ducal Piazza, we passed by the Bargello, formerly the palace of the Podesta of Florence, and now converted into a prison. It is an immense square edifice of dark stone, with a tall, lank tower rising high above it at one corner. Two stone lions, symbols of the city, lash their tails and glare at the passers-by; and all over the front of the building windows are scattered irregularly, and grated with rusty iron bars; also there are many square holes, which probably admit a little light and a breath or two of air into prisoners' cells. It is a very ugly edifice, but looks antique, and as if a vast deal of history might have been transacted within it, or have beaten, like fierce blasts, against its dark, massive walls, since the thirteenth century. When I first saw the city it struck me that there were few marks of antiquity in Florence; but I am now inclined to think otherwise, although the bright Italian atmosphere, and the general squareness and monotony of the Italian architecture, have their effect in apparently modernizing everything. But everywhere we see the ponderous Tuscan basements that never can decay, and which will look, five hundred years hence, as they look now; and one often passes beneath an abbreviated remnant of what was once a lofty tower, perhaps three hundred feet high, such as used to be numerous in Florence when each noble of the city had his own warfare to wage; and there are patches of sculpture that look old on houses, the modern stucco of which causes them to look almost new. Here and there an unmistakable antiquity stands in its own impressive shadow; the Church of Or San Michele, for instance, once a market, but which grew to be a church by some inherent fitness and inevitable consecration. It has not the least the aspect of a church, being high and square, like a mediaeval palace; but deep and high niches are let into its walls, within which stand great statues of saints, masterpieces of Donatello, and other sculptors of that age, before sculpture began to be congealed by the influence of Greek art. The Riccardi Palace is at the corner of the Via Larga. It was built by the first Cosmo de' Medici, the old banker, more than four centuries ago, and was long the home of the ignoble race of princes which he left behind him. It looks fit to be still the home of a princely race, being nowise dilapidated nor decayed externally, nor likely to be so, its high Tuscan basement being as solid as a ledge of rock, and its upper portion not much less so, though smoothed into another order of stately architecture. Entering its court from the Via Larga, we found ourselves beneath a pillared arcade, passing round the court like a cloister; and on the walls of the palace, under this succession of arches, were statues, bas-reliefs, and sarcophagi, in which, first, dead Pagans had slept, and then dead Christians, before the sculptured coffins were brought hither to adorn the palace of the Medici. In the most prominent place was a Latin inscription of great length and breadth, chiefly in praise of old Cosino and his deeds and wisdom. This mansion gives the visitor a stately notion of the life of a commercial man in the days when merchants were princes; not that it seems to be so wonderfully extensive, nor so very grand, for I suppose there are a dozen Roman palaces that excel it in both these particulars. Still, we cannot but be conscious that it must have been, in some sense, a great man who thought of founding a homestead like this, and was capable of filling it with his personality, as the hand fills a glove. It has been found spacious enough, since Cosmo's time, for an emperor and a pope and a king, all of whom have been guests in this house. After being the family mansion of the Medici for nearly two centuries, it was sold to the Riccardis, but was subsequently bought of then by the government, and it is now occupied by public offices and societies. After sufficiently examining the court and its antiquities, we ascended a noble staircase that passes, by broad flights and square turns, to the region above the basement. Here the palace is cut up and portioned off into little rooms and passages, and everywhere there were desks, inkstands, and men, with pens in their fingers or behind their ears. We were shown into a little antique chapel, quite covered with frescos in the Giotto style, but painted by a certain Gozzoli. They were in pretty good preservation, and, in fact, I am wrong in comparing them to Giotto's works, inasmuch as there must have been nearly two hundred years between the two artists. The chapel was furnished with curiously carved old chairs, and looked surprisingly venerable within its little precinct. We were next guided into the grand gallery, a hall of respectable size, with a frescoed ceiling, on which is represented the blue sky, and various members of the Medici family ascending through it by the help of angelic personages, who seem only to have waited for their society to be perfectly happy. At least, this was the meaning, so far as I could make it out. Along one side of the gallery were oil-pictures on looking-glasses, rather good than otherwise; but Rome, with her palaces and villas, takes the splendor out of all this sort of thing elsewhere. On our way home, and on our own side of the Ponte Vecchio, we passed the Palazzo Guicciardini, the ancient residence of the historian of Italy, who was a politic statesman of his day, and probably as cruel and unprincipled as any of those whose deeds he has recorded. Opposite, across the narrow way, stands the house of Macchiavelli, who was his friend, and, I should judge, an honester man than he. The house is distinguished by a marble tablet, let into the wall, commemorative of Macchiavelli, but has nothing antique or picturesque about it, being in a continuous line with other smooth-faced and stuccoed edifices. June 30th.--Yesterday, at three o'clock P. M., I went to see the final horse-race of the Feast of St. John, or rather to see the concourse of people and grandees whom it brought together. I took my stand in the vicinity of the spot whence the Grand Duke and his courtiers view the race, and from this point the scene was rather better worth looking at than from the street-corners whence I saw it before. The vista of the street, stretching far adown between two rows of lofty edifices, was really gay and gorgeous with the silks, damasks, and tapestries of all bright hues, that flaunted from windows and balconies, whence ladies looked forth and looked down, themselves making the liveliest part of the show. The whole capacity of the street swarmed with moving heads, leaving scarce room enough for the carriages, which, as on Sunday, passed up and down, until the signal for the race was given. Equipages, too, were constantly arriving at the door of the building which communicates with the open loggia, where the Grand Ducal party sit to see and to be seen. Two sentinels were standing at the door, and presented arms as each courtier or ambassador, or whatever dignity it might be, alighted. Most of them had on gold-embroidered court-dresses; some of them had military uniforms, and medals in abundance at the breast; and ladies also came, looking like heaps of lace and gauze in the carriages, but lightly shaking themselves into shape as they went up the steps. By and by a trumpet sounded, a drum beat, and again appeared a succession of half a dozen royal equipages, each with its six horses, its postilion, coachman, and three footmen, grand with cocked hats and embroidery; and the gray-headed, bowing Grand Duke and his nodding Grand Duchess as before. The Noble Guard ranged themselves on horseback opposite the loggia; but there was no irksome and impertinent show of ceremony and restraint upon the people. The play-guard of volunteer soldiers, who escort the President of the United States in his Northern progresses, keep back their fellow-citizens much more sternly and immitigably than the Florentine guard kept back the populace from its despotic sovereign. This morning J----- and I have been to the Uffizi gallery. It was his first visit there, and he passed a sweeping condemnation upon everything he saw, except a fly, a snail-shell, a caterpillar, a lemon, a piece of bread, and a wineglass, in some of the Dutch pictures. The Venus de' Medici met with no sort of favor. His feeling of utter distaste reacted upon me, and I was sensible of the same weary lack of appreciation that used to chill me through, in my earlier visits to picture-galleries; the same doubt, moreover, whether we do not bamboozle ourselves in the greater part of the admiration which we learn to bestow. I looked with some pleasure at one of Correggio's Madonnas in the Tribune,--no divine and deep-thoughted mother of the Saviour, but a young woman playing with her first child, as gay and thoughtless as itself. I looked at Michael Angelo's Madonna, in which William Ware saw such prophetic depth of feeling; but I suspect it was one of the many instances in which the spectator sees more than the painter ever dreamed of. Straying through the city, after leaving the gallery, we went into the Church of Or San Michele, and saw in its architecture the traces of its transformation from a market into a church. In its pristine state it consisted of a double row of three great open arches, with the wind blowing through them, and the sunshine falling aslantwise into them, while the bustle of the market, the sale of fish, flesh, or fruit went on within, or brimmed over into the streets that enclosed them on every side. But, four or five hundred years ago, the broad arches were built up with stone-work; windows were pierced through and filled with painted glass; a high altar, in a rich style of pointed Gothic, was raised; shrines and confessionals were set up; and here it is, a solemn and antique church, where a man may buy his salvation instead of his dinner. At any rate, the Catholic priests will insure it to him, and take the price. The sculpture within the beautifully decorated niches, on the outside of the church, is very curious and interesting. The statues of those old saints seem to have that charm of earnestness which so attracts the admirers of the Pre-Raphaelite painters. It appears that a picture of the Virgin used to hang against one of the pillars of the market-place while it was still a market, and in the year 1291 several miracles were wrought by it, insomuch that a chapel was consecrated for it. So many worshippers came to the shrine that the business of the market was impeded, and ultimately the Virgin and St. Michael won the whole space for themselves. The upper part of the edifice was at that time a granary, and is still used for other than religious purposes. This church was one spot to which the inhabitants betook themselves much for refuge and divine assistance during the great plague described by Boccaccio. July 2d.--We set out yesterday morning to visit the Palazzo Buonarotti, Michael Angelo's ancestral home. . . . . It is in the Via Ghibellina, an ordinary-looking, three-story house, with broad-brimmed eaves, a stuccoed front, and two or three windows painted in fresco, besides the real ones. Adown the street, there is a glimpse of the hills outside of Florence. The sun shining heavily directly upon the front, we rang the door-bell, and then drew back into the shadow that fell from the opposite side of the street. After we had waited some time a man looked out from an upper window, and a woman from a lower one, and informed us that we could not be admitted now, nor for two or three months to come, the house being under repairs. It is a pity, for I wished to see Michael Angelo's sword and walking-stick and old slippers, and whatever other of his closest personalities are to be shown. . . . . We passed into the Piazza of the Grand Duke, and looked into the court of the Palazzo Vecchio, with its beautifully embossed pillars; and, seeing just beyond the court a staircase of broad and easy steps, we ascended it at a venture. Upward and upward we went, flight after flight of stairs, and through passages, till at last we found an official who ushered us into a large saloon. It was the Hall of Audience. Its heavily embossed ceiling, rich with tarnished gold, was a feature of antique magnificence, and the only one that it retained, the floor being paved with tiles and the furniture scanty or none. There were, however, three cabinets standing against the walls, two of which contained very curious and exquisite carvings and cuttings in ivory; some of them in the Chinese style of hollow, concentric balls; others, really beautiful works of art: little crucifixes, statues, saintly and knightly, and cups enriched with delicate bas-reliefs. The custode pointed to a small figure of St. Sebastian, and also to a vase around which the reliefs seemed to assume life. Both these specimens, he said, were by Benvenuto Cellini, and there were many others that might well have been wrought by his famous hand. The third cabinet contained a great number and variety of crucifixes, chalices, and whatever other vessels are needed in altar service, exquisitely carved out of amber. They belong to the chapel of the palace, and into this holy closet we were now conducted. It is large enough to accommodate comfortably perhaps thirty worshippers, and is quite covered with frescos by Ghirlandaio in good preservation, and with remnants enough of gilding and bright color to show how splendid the chapel must have been when the Medicean Grand Dukes used to pray here. The altar is still ready for service, and I am not sure that some of the wax tapers were not burning; but Lorenzo the Magnificent was nowhere to be seen. The custode now led us back through the Hall of Audience into a smaller room, hung with pictures chiefly of the Medici and their connections, among whom was one Carolina, an intelligent and pretty child, and Bianca Capella. There was nothing else to show us, except a very noble and most spacious saloon, lighted by two large windows at each end, coming down level with the floor, and by a row of windows on one side just beneath the cornice. A gilded framework divides the ceiling into squares, circles, and octagons, the compartments of which are filled with pictures in oil; and the walls are covered with immense frescos, representing various battles and triumphs of the Florentines. Statues by Michael Angelo, John of Bologna, and Bandinello, as well historic as ideal, stand round the hall, and it is really a fit theatre for the historic scenes of a country to be acted in. It was built, moreover, with the idea of its being the council-hall of a free people; but our own little Faneuil, which was meant, in all simplicity, to be merely a spot where the townspeople should meet to choose their selectmen, has served the world better in that respect. I wish I had more room to speak of this vast, dusky, historic hall. [This volume of journal closes here.] July 4th 1858.--Yesterday forenoon we went to see the Church of Santa Maria Novella. We found the piazza, on one side of which the church stands, encumbered with the amphitheatrical ranges of wooden seats that had been erected to accommodate the spectators of the chariot-races, at the recent Feast of St. John. The front of the church is composed of black and white marble, which, in the course of the five centuries that it has been built, has turned brown and yellow. On the right hand, as you approach, is a long colonnade of arches, extending on a line with the facade, and having a tomb beneath every arch. This colonnade forms one of the enclosing walls of a cloister. We found none of the front entrances open, but on our left, in a wall at right angles with the church, there was an open gateway, approaching which, we saw, within the four-sided colonnade, an enclosed green space of a cloister. This is what is called the Chiostro Verde, so named from the prevailing color of the frescos with which the walls beneath the arches are adorned. This cloister is the reality of what I used to imagine when I saw the half-ruinous colonnades connected with English cathedrals, or endeavored to trace out the lines along the broken wall of some old abbey. Not that this extant cloister, still perfect and in daily use for its original purposes, is nearly so beautiful as the crumbling ruin which has ceased to be trodden by monkish feet for more than three centuries. The cloister of Santa Maria has not the seclusion that is desirable, being open, by its gateway, to the public square; and several of the neighbors, women as well as men, were loitering within its precincts. The convent, however, has another and larger cloister, which I suppose is kept free from interlopers. The Chiostro Verde is a walk round the four sides of a square, beneath an arched and groined roof. One side of the walk looks upon an enclosed green space with a fountain or a tomb (I forget which) in the centre; the other side is ornamented all along with a succession of ancient frescos, representing subjects of Scripture history. In the days when the designs were more distinct than now, it must have been a very effective way for a monk to read Bible history, to see its personages and events thus passing visibly beside him in his morning and evening walks. Beneath the frescos on one side of the cloistered walk, and along the low stone parapet that separates it from the grass-plat on the other, are inscriptions to the memory of the dead who are buried underneath the pavement. The most of these were modern, and recorded the names of persons of no particular note. Other monumental slabs were inlaid with the pavement itself. Two or three Dominican monks, belonging to the convent, passed in and out, while we were there, in their white habits. After going round three sides, we came to the fourth, formed by the wall of the church, and heard the voice of a priest behind a curtain that fell down before a door. Lifting it aside, we went in, and found ourselves in the ancient chapter-house, a large interior formed by two great pointed arches crossing one another in a groined roof. The broad spaces of the walls were entirely covered with frescos that are rich even now, and must have glowed with an inexpressible splendor, when fresh from the artists' hands, five hundred years ago. There is a long period, during which frescos illuminate a church or a hall in a way that no other adornment can; when this epoch of brightness is past, they become the dreariest ghosts of perished magnificence. . . . . This chapter-house is the only part of the church that is now used for the purposes of public worship. There are several confessionals, and two chapels or shrines, each with its lighted tapers. A priest performed mass while we were there, and several persons, as usual, stepped in to do a little devotion, either praying on their own account, or uniting with the ceremony that was going forward. One man was followed by two little dogs, and in the midst of his prayers, as one of the dogs was inclined to stray about the church, he kept snapping his fingers to call him back. The cool, dusky refreshment of these holy places, affording such a refuge from the hot noon of the streets and piazzas, probably suggests devotional ideas to the people, and it may be, when they are praying, they feel a breath of Paradise fanning them. If we could only see any good effects in their daily life, we might deem it an excellent thing to be able to find incense and a prayer always ascending, to which every individual may join his own. I really wonder that the Catholics are not better men and women. When we had looked at the old frescos, . . . . we emerged into the cloister again, and thence ventured into a passage which would have led us to the Chiostro Grande, where strangers, and especially ladies, have no right to go. It was a secluded corridor, very neatly kept, bordered with sepulchral monuments, and at the end appeared a vista of cypress-trees, which indeed were but an illusory perspective, being painted in fresco. While we loitered along the sacristan appeared and offered to show us the church, and led us into the transept on the right of the high altar, and ushered us into the sacristy, where we found two artists copying some of Fra Angelico's pictures. These were painted on the three wooden leaves of a triptych, and, as usual, were glorified with a great deal of gilding, so that they seemed to float in the brightness of a heavenly element. Solomon speaks of "apples of gold in pictures of silver." The pictures of Fra Angelico, and other artists of that age, are really pictures of gold; and it is wonderful to see how rich the effect, and how much delicate beauty is attained (by Fra Angelico at least) along with it. His miniature-heads appear to me much more successful than his larger ones. In a monkish point of view, however, the chief value of the triptych of which I am speaking does not lie in the pictures, for they merely serve as the framework of some relics, which are set all round the edges of the three leaves. They consist of little bits and fragments of bones, and of packages carefully tied up in silk, the contents of which are signified in Gothic letters appended to each parcel. The sacred vessels of the church are likewise kept in the sacristy. . . . . Re-entering the transept, our guide showed us the chapel of the Strozzi family, which is accessible by a flight of steps from the floor of the church. The walls of this chapel are covered with frescos by Orcagna, representing around the altar the Last Judgment, and on one of the walls heaven and the assembly of the blessed, and on the other, of course, hell. I cannot speak as to the truth of the representation; but, at all events, it was purgatory to look at it. . . . . We next passed into the choir, which occupies the extreme end of the church behind the great square mass of the high altar, and is surrounded with a double row of ancient oaken seats of venerable shape and carving. The choir is illuminated by a threefold Gothic window, full of richly painted glass, worth all the frescos that ever stained a wall or ceiling; but these walls, nevertheless, are adorned with frescos by Ghirlandaio, and it is easy to see must once have made a magnificent appearance. I really was sensible of a sad and ghostly beauty in many of the figures; but all the bloom, the magic of the painter's touch, his topmost art, have long ago been rubbed off, the white plaster showing through the colors in spots, and even in large spaces. Any other sort of ruin acquires a beauty proper to its decay, and often superior to that of its pristine state; but the ruin of a picture, especially of a fresco, is wholly unredeemed; and, moreover, it dies so slowly that many generations are likely to be saddened by it. We next saw the famous picture of the Virgin by Cimabue, which was deemed a miracle in its day, . . . . and still brightens the sombre walls with the lustre of its gold ground. As to its artistic merits, it seems to me that the babe Jesus has a certain air of state and dignity; but I could see no charm whatever in the broad-faced Virgin, and it would relieve my mind and rejoice my spirit if the picture were borne out of the church in another triumphal procession (like the one which brought it there), and reverently burnt. This should be the final honor paid to all human works that have served a good office in their day, for when their day is over, if still galvanized into false life, they do harm instead of good. . . . . The interior of Santa Maria Novella is spacious and in the Gothic style, though differing from English churches of that order of architecture. It is not now kept open to the public, nor were any of the shrines and chapels, nor even the high altar itself, adorned and lighted for worship. The pictures that decorated the shrines along the side aisles have been removed, leaving bare, blank spaces of brickwork, very dreary and desolate to behold. This is almost worse than a black oil-painting or a faded fresco. The church was much injured by the French, and afterwards by the Austrians, both powers having quartered their troops within the holy precincts. Its old walls, however, are yet stalwart enough to outlast another set of frescos, and to see the beginning and the end of a new school of painting as long-lived as Cimabue's. I should be sorry to have the church go to decay, because it was here that Boccaccio's dames and cavaliers encountered one another, and formed their plan of retreating into the country during the plague. . . . . At the door we bought a string of beads, with a small crucifix appended, in memory of the place. The beads seem to be of a grayish, pear-shaped seed, and the seller assured us that they were the tears of St. Job. They were cheap, probably because Job shed so many tears in his lifetime. It being still early in the day, we went to the Uffizi gallery, and after loitering a good while among the pictures, were so fortunate as to find the room of the bronzes open. The first object that attracted us was John of Bologna's Mercury, poising himself on tiptoe, and looking not merely buoyant enough to float, but as if he possessed more than the eagle's power of lofty flight. It seems a wonder that he did not absolutely fling himself into the air when the artist gave him the last touch. No bolder work was ever achieved; nothing so full of life has been done since. I was much interested, too, in the original little wax model, two feet high, of Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus. The wax seems to be laid over a wooden framework, and is but roughly finished off. . . . . In an adjoining room are innumerable specimens of Roman and Etruscan bronzes, great and small. A bronze Chimera did not strike me as very ingeniously conceived, the goat's head being merely an adjunct, growing out of the back of the monster, without possessing any original and substantive share in its nature. The snake's head is at the end of the tail. The object most really interesting was a Roman eagle, the standard of the Twenty-fourth Legion, about the size of a blackbird. July 8th.--On the 6th we went to the Church of the Annunziata, which stands in the piazza of the same name. On the corner of the Via dei Servi is the palace which I suppose to be the one that Browning makes the scene of his poem, "The Statue and the Bust," and the statue of Duke Ferdinand sits stately on horseback, with his face turned towards the window, where the lady ought to appear. Neither she nor the bust, however, was visible, at least not to my eyes. The church occupies one side of the piazza, and in front of it, as likewise on the two adjoining sides of the square, there are pillared arcades, constructed by Brunelleschi or his scholars. After passing through these arches, and still before entering the church itself, you come to an ancient cloister, which is now quite enclosed in glass as a means of preserving some frescos of Andrea del Sarto and others, which are considered valuable. Passing the threshold of the church, we were quite dazzled by the splendor that shone upon us from the ceiling of the nave, the great parallelograms of which, viewed from one end, look as if richly embossed all over with gold. The whole interior, indeed, has an effect of brightness and magnificence, the walls being covered mostly with light-colored marble, into which are inlaid compartments of rarer and richer marbles. The pillars and pilasters, too, are of variegated marbles, with Corinthian capitals, that shine just as brightly as if they were of solid gold, so faithfully have they been gilded and burnished. The pavement is formed of squares of black and white marble. There are no side aisles, but ranges of chapels, with communication from one to another, stand round the whole extent of the nave and choir; all of marble, all decorated with pictures, statues, busts, and mural monuments; all worth, separately, a day's inspection. The high altar is of great beauty and richness, . . . . and also the tomb of John of Bologna in a chapel at the remotest extremity of the church. In this chapel there are some bas-reliefs by him, and also a large crucifix, with a marble Christ upon it. I think there has been no better sculptor since the days of Phidias. . . . . The church was founded by seven gentlemen of Florence, who formed themselves into a religious order called "Servants of Mary." Many miraculous cures were wrought here; and the church, in consequence, was so thickly hung with votive offerings of legs, arms, and other things in wax, that they used to tumble upon people's heads, so that finally they were all cleared out as rubbish. The church is still, I should imagine, looked upon as a place of peculiar sanctity; for while we were there it had an unusual number of kneeling worshippers, and persons were passing from shrine to shrine all round the nave and choir, praying awhile at each, and thus performing a pilgrimage at little cost of time and labor. One old gentleman, I observed, carried a cushion or pad, just big enough for one knee, on which he carefully adjusted his genuflexions before each altar. An old woman in the choir prayed alternately to us and to the saints, with most success, I hope, in her petitions to the latter, though certainly her prayers to ourselves seemed the more fervent of the two. When we had gone entirely round the church, we came at last to the chapel of the Annunziata, which stands on the floor of the nave, on the left hand as we enter. It is a very beautiful piece of architecture,--a sort of canopy of marble, supported upon pillars; and its magnificence within, in marble and silver, and all manner of holy decoration, is quite indescribable. It was built four hundred years ago, by Pietro de' Medici, and has probably been growing richer ever since. The altar is entirely of silver, richly embossed. As many people were kneeling on the steps before it as could find room, and most of them, when they finished their prayers, ascended the steps, kissed over and over again the margin of the silver altar, laid their foreheads upon it, and then deposited an offering in a box placed upon the altar's top. From the dulness of the chink in the only case when I heard it, I judged it to be a small copper coin. In the inner part of this chapel is preserved a miraculous picture of the "Santissima Annunziata," painted by angels, and held in such holy repute that forty thousand dollars have lately been expended in providing a new crown for the sacred personage represented. The picture is now veiled behind a curtain; and as it is a fresco, and is not considered to do much credit to the angelic artists, I was well contented not to see it. We found a side door of the church admitting us into the great cloister, which has a walk of intersecting arches round its four sides, paved with flat tombstones, and broad enough for six people to walk abreast. On the walls, in the semicircles of each successive arch, are frescos representing incidents in the lives of the seven founders of the church, and all the lower part of the wall is incrusted with marble inscriptions to the memory of the dead, and mostly of persons who have died not very long ago. The space enclosed by the cloistered walk, usually made cheerful by green grass, has a pavement of tombstones laid in regular ranges. In the centre is a stone octagonal structure, which at first I supposed to be the tomb of some deceased mediaeval personage; but, on approaching, I found it a well, with its bucket hanging within the curb, and looking as if it were in constant use. The surface of the water lay deep beneath the deepest dust of the dead people, and thence threw up its picture of the sky; but I think it would not be a moderate thirst that would induce me to drink of that well. On leaving the church we bought a little gilt crucifix. . . . . On Sunday evening I paid a short visit to Mr. Powers, and, as usual, was entertained and instructed with his conversation. It did not, indeed, turn upon artistical subjects; but the artistic is only one side of his character, and, I think, not the principal side. He might have achieved valuable success as an engineer and mechanician. He gave a dissertation on flying-machines, evidently from his own experience, and came to the conclusion that it is impossible to fly by means of steam or any other motive-power now known to man. No force hitherto attained would suffice to lift the engine which generated it. He appeared to anticipate that flying will be a future mode of locomotion, but not till the moral condition of mankind is so improved as to obviate the bad uses to which the power might be applied. Another topic discussed was a cure for complaints of the chest by the inhalation of nitric acid; and he produced his own apparatus for that purpose, being merely a tube inserted into a bottle containing a small quantity of the acid, just enough to produce the gas for inhalation. He told me, too, a remedy for burns accidentally discovered by himself; viz., to wear wash-leather, or something equivalent, over the burn, and keep it constantly wet. It prevents all pain, and cures by the exclusion of the air. He evidently has a great tendency to empirical remedies, and would have made a natural doctor of mighty potency, possessing the shrewd sense, inventive faculty, and self-reliance that such persons require. It is very singular that there should be an ideal vein in a man of this character. This morning he called to see me, with intelligence of the failure of the new attempt to lay the electric cable between England and America; and here, too, it appears the misfortune might have been avoided if a plan of his own for laying the cable had been adopted. He explained his process, and made it seem as practicable as to put up a bell-wire. I do not remember how or why (but appositely) he repeated some verses, from a pretty little ballad about fairies, that had struck his fancy, and he wound up his talk with some acute observations on the characters of General Jackson and other public men. He told an anecdote, illustrating the old general's small acquaintance with astronomical science, and his force of will in compelling a whole dinner-party of better instructed people than himself to succumb to him in an argument about eclipses and the planetary system generally. Powers witnessed the scene himself. He thinks that General Jackson was a man of the keenest and surest intuitions, in respect to men and measures, but with no power of reasoning out his own conclusions, or of imparting them intellectually to other persons. Men who have known Jackson intimately, and in great affairs, would not agree as to this intellectual and argumentative deficiency, though they would fully allow the intuitive faculty. I have heard General Pierce tell a striking instance of Jackson's power of presenting his own view of a subject with irresistible force to the mind of the auditor. President Buchanan has likewise expressed to me as high admiration of Jackson as I ever heard one man award to another. Surely he was a great man, and his native strength, as well of intellect as character, compelled every man to be his tool that came within his reach; and the more cunning the individual might be, it served only to make him the sharper tool. Speaking of Jackson, and remembering Raphael's picture of Pope Julius II., the best portrait in the whole world, and excellent in all its repetitions, I wish it had been possible for Raphael to paint General Jackson! Referring again to General Jackson's intuitions, and to Powers's idea that he was unable to render a reason to himself or others for what he chose to do, I should have thought that this very probably might have been the case, were there not such strong evidence to the contrary. The highest, or perhaps any high administrative ability is intuitive, and precedes argument, and rises above it. It is a revelation of the very thing to be done, and its propriety and necessity are felt so strongly that very likely it cannot be talked about; if the doer can likewise talk, it is an additional and gratuitous faculty, as little to be expected as that a poet should be able to write an explanatory criticism on his own poem. The English overlook this in their scheme of government, which requires that the members of the national executive should be orators, and the readiest and most fluent orators that can be found. The very fact (on which they are selected) that they are men of words makes it improbable that they are likewise men of deeds. And it is only tradition and old custom, founded on an obsolete state of things, that assigns any value to parliamentary oratory. The world has done with it, except as an intellectual pastime. The speeches have no effect till they are converted into newspaper paragraphs; and they had better be composed as such, in the first place, and oratory reserved for churches, courts of law, and public dinner-tables. July 10th.--My wife and I went yesterday forenoon to see the Church of San Marco, with which is connected a convent of Dominicans. . . . . The interior is not less than three or four hundred years old, and is in the classic style, with a flat ceiling, gilded, and a lofty arch, supported by pillars, between the nave and choir. There are no side aisles, but ranges of shrines on both sides of the nave, each beneath its own pair of pillars and pediments. The pavement is of brick, with here and there a marble tombstone inlaid. It is not a magnificent church; but looks dingy with time and apparent neglect, though rendered sufficiently interesting by statues of mediaeval date by John of Bologna and other old sculptors, and by monumental busts and bas-reliefs: also, there is a wooden crucifix by Giotto, with ancient gilding on it; and a painting of Christ, which was considered a wonderful work in its day. Each shrine, or most of them, at any rate, had its dark old picture, and there is a very old and hideous mosaic of the Virgin and two saints, which I looked at very slightly, with the purpose of immediately forgetting it. Savonarola, the reforming monk, was a brother of this convent, and was torn from its shelter, to be subsequently hanged and burnt in the Grand Ducal Piazza. A large chapel in the left transept is of the Salviati family, dedicated to St. Anthony, and decorated with several statues of saints, and with some old frescos. When we had more than sufficiently examined these, the custode proposed to show us some frescos of Fra Angelico, and conducted us into a large cloister, under the arches of which, and beneath a covering of glass, he pointed to a picture of St. Dominic kneeling at the Cross. There are two or three others by the angelic friar in different parts of the cloister, and a regular series, filling up all the arches, by various artists. Its four-sided, cloistered walk surrounds a square, open to the sky as usual, and paved with gray stones that have no inscriptions, but probably are laid over graves. Its walls, however, are incrusted, and the walk itself is paved with monumental inscriptions on marble, none of which, so far as I observed, were of ancient date. Either the fashion of thus commemorating the dead is not ancient in Florence, or the old tombstones have been removed to make room for new ones. I do not know where the monks themselves have their burial-place; perhaps in an inner cloister, which we did not see. All the inscriptions here, I believe, were in memory of persons not connected with the convent. A door in the wall of the cloister admitted us into the chapter-house, its interior moderately spacious, with a roof formed by intersecting arches. Three sides of the walls were covered with blessed whitewash; but on the fourth side, opposite to the entrance, was a great fresco of the Crucifixion, by Fra Angelico, surrounded with a border or pictured framework, in which are represented the heads of saints, prophets, and sibyls, as large as life. The cross of the Saviour and those of the thieves were painted against a dark red sky; the figures upon them were lean and attenuated, evidently the vague conceptions of a man who had never seen a naked figure. Beneath, was a multitude of people, most of whom were saints who had lived and been martyred long after the Crucifixion; and some of these had wounds from which gilded rays shone forth, as if the inner glory and blessedness of the holy men blazed through them. It is a very ugly picture, and its ugliness is not that of strength and vigor, but of weakness and incompetency. Fra Angelico should have confined himself to miniature heads, in which his delicacy of touch and minute labor often produce an excellent effect. The custode informed us that there were more frescos of this pious artist in the interior of the convent, into which I might be allowed admittance, but not my wife. I declined seeing them, and heartily thanked heaven for my escape. Returning through the church, we stopped to look at a shrine on the right of the entrance, where several wax candles were lighted, and the steps of which were crowded with worshippers. It was evidently a spot of special sanctity, and, approaching the steps, we saw, behind a gilded framework of stars and protected by glass, a wooden image of the Saviour, naked, covered with spots of blood, crowned with thorns, and expressing all the human wretchedness that the carver's skill could represent. The whole shrine, within the glass, was hung with offerings, as well of silver and gold as of tinsel and trumpery, and the body of Christ glistened with gold chains and ornaments, and with watches of silver and gold, some of which appeared to be of very old manufacture, and others might be new. Amid all this glitter the face of pain and grief looked forth, not a whit comforted. While we stood there, a woman, who had been praying, arose from her knees and laid an offering of a single flower upon the shrine. The corresponding arch, on the opposite side of the entrance, contained a wax-work within a large glass case, representing the Nativity. I do not remember how the Blessed Infant looked, but the Virgin was gorgeously dressed in silks, satins, and gauzes, with spangles and ornaments of all kinds, and, I believe, brooches of real diamonds on her bosom. Her attire, judging from its freshness and newness of glitter, might have been put on that very morning. July 13th.--We went for the second time, this morning, to the Academy of Fine Arts, and I looked pretty thoroughly at the Pre-Raphaelite pictures, few of which are really worth looking at nowadays. Cimabue and Giotto might certainly be dismissed, henceforth and forever, without any detriment to the cause of good art. There is what seems to me a better picture than either of these has produced, by Bonamico Buffalmacco, an artist of about their date or not long after. The first real picture in the series is the "Adoration of the Magi," by Gentile da Fabriano, a really splendid work in all senses, with noble and beautiful figures in it, and a crowd of personages, managed with great skill. Three pictures by Perugino are the only other ones I cared to look at. In one of these, the face of the Virgin who holds the dead Christ on her knees has a deeper expression of woe than can ever have been painted since. After Perugino the pictures cease to be interesting; the art came forward with rapid strides, but the painters and their productions do not take nearly so much hold of the spectator as before. They all paint better than Giotto and Cimabue,--in some respects better than Perugino; but they paint in vain, probably because they were not nearly so much in earnest, and meant far less, though possessing the dexterity to express far more. Andrea del Sarto appears to have been a good painter, yet I always turn away readily from his pictures. I looked again, and for a good while, at Carlo Dolce's portrait of the Eternal Father, for it is a miracle and masterpiece of absurdity, and almost equally a miracle of pictorial art. It is the All-powerless, a fair-haired, soft, consumptive deity, with a mouth that has fallen open through very weakness. He holds one hand on his stomach, as if the wickedness and wretchedness of mankind made him qualmish; and he is looking down out of Heaven with an expression of pitiable appeal, or as if seeking somewhere for assistance in his heavy task of ruling the universe. You might fancy such a being falling on his knees before a strong-willed man, and beseeching him to take the reins of omnipotence out of his hands. No wonder that wrong gets the better of right, and that good and ill are confounded, if the Supreme Head were as here depicted; for I never saw, and nobody else ever saw, so perfect a representation of a person burdened with a task infinitely above his strength. If Carlo Dolce had been wicked enough to know what he was doing, the picture would have been most blasphemous,--a satire, in the very person of the Almighty, against all incompetent rulers, and against the rickety machine and crazy action of the universe. Heaven forgive me for such thoughts as this picture has suggested! It must be added that the great original defect in the character as here represented is an easy good-nature. I wonder what Michael Angelo would have said to this painting. In the large, enclosed court connected with the Academy there are a number of statues, bas-reliefs, and casts, and what was especially interesting, the vague and rude commencement of a statue of St. Matthew by Michael Angelo. The conceptions of this great sculptor were so godlike that he seems to have been discontented at not likewise possessing the godlike attribute of creating and embodying them with an instantaneous thought, and therefore we often find sculptures from his hand left at the critical point of their struggle to get out of the marble. The statue of St. Matthew looks like the antediluvian fossil of a human being of an epoch when humanity was mightier and more majestic than now, long ago imprisoned in stone, and half uncovered again. July 16th.--We went yesterday forenoon to see the Bargello. I do not know anything more picturesque in Florence than the great interior court of this ancient Palace of the Podesta, with the lofty height of the edifice looking down into the enclosed space, dark and stern, and the armorial bearings of a long succession of magistrates carved in stone upon the walls, a garland, as it were, of these Gothic devices extending quite round the court. The best feature of the whole is the broad stone staircase, with its heavy balustrade, ascending externally from the court to the iron-grated door in the second story. We passed the sentinels under the lofty archway that communicates with the street, and went up the stairs without being questioned or impeded. At the iron-grated door, however, we were met by two officials in uniform, who courteously informed us that there was nothing to be exhibited in the Bargello except an old chapel containing some frescos by Giotto, and that these could only be seen by making a previous appointment with the custode, he not being constantly on hand. I was not sorry to escape the frescos, though one of them is a portrait of Dante. We next went to the Church of the Badia, which is built in the form of a Greek cross, with a flat roof embossed and once splendid with now tarnished gold. The pavement is of brick, and the walls of dark stone, similar to that of the interior of the cathedral (pietra serena), and there being, according to Florentine custom, but little light, the effect was sombre, though the cool gloomy dusk was refreshing after the hot turmoil and dazzle of the adjacent street. Here we found three or four Gothic tombs, with figures of the deceased persons stretched in marble slumber upon them. There were likewise a picture or two, which it was impossible to see; indeed, I have hardly ever met with a picture in a church that was not utterly wasted and thrown away in the deep shadows of the chapel it was meant to adorn. If there is the remotest chance of its being seen, the sacristan hangs a curtain before it for the sake of his fee for withdrawing it. In the chapel of the Bianco family we saw (if it could be called seeing) what is considered the finest oil-painting of Fra Filippo Lippi. It was evidently hung with reference to a lofty window on the other side of the church, whence sufficient light might fall upon it to show a picture so vividly painted as this is, and as most of Fra Filippo Lippi's are. The window was curtained, however, and the chapel so dusky that I could make out nothing. Several persons came in to say their prayers during the little time that we remained in the church, and as we came out we passed a good woman who sat knitting in the coolness of the vestibule, which was lined with mural tombstones. Probably she spends the day thus, keeping up the little industry of her fingers, slipping into the church to pray whenever a devotional impulse swells into her heart, and asking an alms as often as she sees a person of charitable aspect. From the church we went to the Uffizi gallery, and reinspected the greater part of it pretty faithfully. We had the good fortune, too, again to get admittance into the cabinet of bronzes, where we admired anew the wonderful airiness of John of Bologna's Mercury, which, as I now observed, rests on nothing substantial, but on the breath of a zephyr beneath him. We also saw a bronze bust of one of the Medici by Benvenuto Cellini, and a thousand other things the curiosity of which is overlaid by their multitude. The Roman eagle, which I have recorded to be about the size of a blackbird, I now saw to be as large as a pigeon. On our way towards the door of the gallery, at our departure, we saw the cabinet of gems open, and again feasted our eyes with its concentrated brilliancies and magnificences. Among them were two crystal cups, with engraved devices, and covers of enamelled gold, wrought by Benvenuto Cellini, and wonderfully beautiful. But it is idle to mention one or two things, when all are so beautiful and curious; idle, too, because language is not burnished gold, with here and there a brighter word flashing like a diamond; and therefore no amount of talk will give the slightest idea of one of these elaborate handiworks. July 27th.--I seldom go out nowadays, having already seen Florence tolerably well, and the streets being very hot, and myself having been engaged in sketching out a romance [The Marble Faun.--ED.], which whether it will ever come to anything is a point yet to be decided. At any rate, it leaves me little heart for journalizing and describing new things; and six months of uninterrupted monotony would be more valuable to me just now, than the most brilliant succession of novelties. Yesterday I spent a good deal of time in watching the setting out of a wedding party from our door; the bride being the daughter of an English lady, the Countess of ------. After all, there was nothing very characteristic. The bridegroom is a young man of English birth, son of the Countess of St. G------, who inhabits the third piano of this Casa del Bello. The very curious part of the spectacle was the swarm of beggars who haunted the street all day; the most wretched mob conceivable, chiefly women, with a few blind people, and some old men and boys. Among these the bridal party distributed their beneficence in the shape of some handfuls of copper, with here and there a half-paul intermixed; whereupon the whole wretched mob flung themselves in a heap upon the pavement, struggling, lighting, tumbling one over another, and then looking up to the windows with petitionary gestures for more and more, and still for more. Doubtless, they had need enough, for they looked thin, sickly, ill-fed, and the women ugly to the last degree. The wedding party had a breakfast above stairs, which lasted till four o'clock, and then the bridegroom took his bride in a barouche and pair, which was already crammed with his own luggage and hers. . . . . He was a well-looking young man enough, in a uniform of French gray with silver epaulets; more agreeable in aspect than his bride, who, I think, will have the upper hand in their domestic life. I observed that, on getting into the barouche, he sat down on her dress, as he could not well help doing, and received a slight reprimand in consequence. After their departure, the wedding guests took their leave; the most noteworthy person being the Pope's Nuncio (the young man being son of the Pope's Chamberlain, and one of the Grand Duke's Noble Guard), an ecclesiastical personage in purple stockings, attended by two priests, all of whom got into a coach, the driver and footmen of which wore gold-laced cocked hats and other splendors. To-day I paid a short visit to the gallery of the Pitti Palace. I looked long at a Madonna of Raphael's, the one which is usually kept in the Grand Duke's private apartments, only brought into the public gallery for the purpose of being copied. It is the holiest of all Raphael's Madonnas, with a great reserve in the expression, a sense of being apart, and yet with the utmost tenderness and sweetness; although she drops her eyelids before her like a veil, as it were, and has a primness of eternal virginity about the mouth. It is one of Raphael's earlier works, when he mixed more religious sentiment with his paint than afterwards. Perugino's pictures give the impression of greater sincerity and earnestness than Raphael's, though the genius of Raphael often gave him miraculous vision. July 28th.--Last evening we went to the Powers's, and sat with them on the terrace, at the top of the house, till nearly ten o'clock. It was a delightful, calm, summer evening, and we were elevated far above all the adjacent roofs, and had a prospect of the greater part of Florence and its towers, and the surrounding hills, while directly beneath us rose the trees of a garden, and they hardly sent their summits higher than we sat. At a little distance, with only a house or two between, was a theatre in full action, the Teatro Goldoni, which is an open amphitheatre, in the ancient fashion, without any roof. We could see the upper part of the proscenium, and, had we been a little nearer, might have seen the whole performance, as did several boys who crept along the tops of the surrounding houses. As it was, we heard the music and the applause, and now and then an actor's stentorian tones, when we chose to listen. Mrs. P------ and my wife, U---- and Master Bob, sat in a group together, and chatted in one corner of our aerial drawing-room, while Mr. Powers and myself leaned against the parapet, and talked of innumerable things. When the clocks struck the hour, or the bells rang from the steeples, as they are continually doing, I spoke of the sweetness of the Florence bells, the tones of some of them being as if the bell were full of liquid melody, and shed it through the air on being upturned. I had supposed, in my lack of musical ear, that the bells of the Campanile were the sweetest; but Mr. Powers says that there is a defect in their tone, and that the bell of the Palazzo Vecchio is the most melodious he ever heard. Then he spoke of his having been a manufacturer of organs, or, at least, of reeds for organs, at one period of his life. I wonder what he has not been! He told me of an invention of his in the musical line, a jewsharp with two tongues; and by and by he produced it for my inspection. It was carefully kept in a little wooden case, and was very neatly and elaborately constructed, with screws to tighten it, and a silver centre-piece between the two tongues. Evidently a great deal of thought had been bestowed on this little harp; but Mr. Powers told me that it was an utter failure, because the tongues were apt to interfere and jar with one another, although the strain of music was very sweet and melodious-- as he proved, by playing on it a little--when everything went right. It was a youthful production, and he said that its failure had been a great disappointment to him at the time; whereupon I congratulated him that his failures had been in small matters, and his successes in great ones. We talked, furthermore, about instinct and reason, and whether the brute creation have souls, and, if they have none, how justice is to be done them for their sufferings here; and Mr. Powers came finally to the conclusion that brutes suffer only in appearance, and that God enjoys for them all that they seem to enjoy, and that man is the only intelligent and sentient being. We reasoned high about other states of being; and I suggested the possibility that there might be beings inhabiting this earth, contemporaneously with us, and close beside us, but of whose existence and whereabout we could have no perception, nor they of ours, because we are endowed with different sets of senses; for certainly it was in God's power to create beings who should communicate with nature by innumerable other senses than those few which we possess. Mr. Powers gave hospitable reception to this idea, and said that it had occurred to himself; and he has evidently thought much and earnestly about such matters; but is apt to let his idea crystallize into a theory, before he can have sufficient data for it. He is a Swedenborgian in faith. The moon had risen behind the trees, while we were talking, and Powers intimated his idea that beings analogous to men--men in everything except the modifications necessary to adapt them to their physical circumstances--inhabited the planets, and peopled them with beautiful shapes. Each planet, however, must have its own standard of the beautiful, I suppose; and probably his sculptor's eye would not see much to admire in the proportions of an inhabitant of Saturn. The atmosphere of Florence, at least when we ascend a little way into it, suggests planetary speculations. Galileo found it so, and Mr. Powers and I pervaded the whole universe; but finally crept down his garret-stairs, and parted, with a friendly pressure of the hand. VILLA MONTANTO. MONTE BENI. August 2d.--We had grown weary of the heat of Florence within the walls, . . . . there being little opportunity for air and exercise except within the precincts of our little garden, which, also, we feared might breed malaria, or something akin to it. We have therefore taken this suburban villa for the two next months, and, yesterday morning, we all came out hither. J----- had preceded us with B. P------. The villa is on a hill called Bellosguardo, about a mile beyond the Porta Romana. Less than half an hour's walk brought us, who were on foot, to the iron gate of our villa, which we found shut and locked. We shouted to be let in, and while waiting for somebody to appear, there was a good opportunity to contemplate the external aspect of the villa. After we had waited a few minutes, J----- came racing down to the gate, laughing heartily, and said that Bob and he had been in the house, but had come out, shutting the door behind them; and as the door closed with a springlock, they could not get in again. Now as the key of the outer gate as well as that of the house itself was in the pocket of J-----'s coat, left inside, we were shut out of our own castle, and compelled to carry on a siege against it, without much likelihood of taking it, although the garrison was willing to surrender. But B. P------ called in the assistance of the contadini who cultivate the ground, and live in the farm-house close by; and one of them got into a window by means of a ladder, so that the keys were got, the gates opened, and we finally admitted. Before examining any other part of the house, we climbed to the top of the tower, which, indeed, is not very high, in proportion to its massive square. Very probably, its original height was abbreviated, in compliance with the law that lowered so many of the fortified towers of noblemen within the walls of Florence. . . . . The stairs were not of stone, built in with the original mass of the tower, as in English castles, but of now decayed wood, which shook beneath us, and grew more and more crazy as we ascended. It will not be many years before the height of the tower becomes unattainable. . . . . Near at hand, in the vicinity of the city, we saw the convent of Monte Olivetto, and other structures that looked like convents, being built round an enclosed square; also numerous white villas, many of which had towers, like that we were standing upon, square and massive, some of them battlemented on the summit, and others apparently modernized for domestic purposes. Among them U---- pointed out Galileo's tower, whither she made an excursion the other day. It looked lower than our own, but seemed to stand on a higher elevation. We also saw the duke's villa, the Poggio, with a long avenue of cypresses leading from it, as if a funeral were going forth. And having wasted thus much of description on the landscape, I will finish with saying that it lacked only water to be a very fine one. It is strange what a difference the gleam of water makes, and how a scene awakens and comes to life wherever it is visible. The landscape, moreover, gives the beholder (at least, this beholder) a sense of oppressive sunshine and scanty shade, and does not incite a longing to wander through it on foot, as a really delightful landscape should. The vine, too, being cultivated in so trim a manner, does not suggest that idea of luxuriant fertility, which is the poetical notion of a vineyard. The olive-orchards have a pale and unlovely hue. An English view would have been incomparably richer in its never-fading green; and in my own country, the wooded hills would have been more delightful than these peaks and ridges of dreary and barren sunshine; and there would have been the bright eyes of half a dozen little lakes, looking heavenward, within an extent like that of the Val d' Arno. By and by mamma's carriage came along the dusty road, and passed through the iron gateway, which we had left open for her reception. We shouted down to her and R-----, and they waved their handkerchiefs upward to us; and, on my way down, I met R----- and the servant coming up through the ghostly rooms. The rest of the day we spent mostly in exploring the premises. The house itself is of almost bewildering extent, insomuch that we might each of us have a suite of rooms individually. I have established myself on the ground-floor, where I have a dressing-room, a large vaulted saloon, hung with yellow damask, and a square writing-study, the walls and ceilings of the two latter apartments being ornamented with angels and cherubs aloft in fresco, and with temples, statues, vases, broken columns, peacocks, parrots, vines, and sunflowers below. I know not how many more saloons, anterooms, and sleeping-chambers there are on this same basement story, besides an equal number over them, and a great subterranean establishment. I saw some immense jars there, which I suppose were intended to hold oil; and iron kettles, for what purpose I cannot tell. There is also a chapel in the house, but it is locked up, and we cannot yet with certainty find the door of it, nor even, in this great wilderness of a house, decide absolutely what space the holy precincts occupy. Adjoining U----'s chamber, which is in the tower, there is a little oratory, hung round with sacred prints of very ancient date, and with crucifixes, holy-water vases, and other consecrated things; and here, within a glass case, there is the representation of an undraped little boy in wax, very prettily modelled, and holding up a heart that looks like a bit of red sealing-wax. If I had found him anywhere else I should have taken him for Cupid; but, being in an oratory, I presume him to have some religious signification. In the servants' room a crucifix hung on one side of the bed, and a little vase for holy water, now overgrown with a cobweb, on the other; and, no doubt, all the other sleeping-apartments would have been equally well provided, only that their occupants were to be heretics. The lower floor of the house is tolerably furnished, and looks cheerful with its frescos, although the bare pavements in every room give an impression of discomfort. But carpets are universally taken up in Italy during summer-time. It must have been an immense family that could have ever filled such a house with life. We go on voyages of discovery, and when in quest of any particular point, are likely enough to fetch up at some other. This morning I had difficulty in finding my way again to the top of the tower. One of the most peculiar rooms is constructed close to the tower, under the roof of the main building, but with no external walls on two sides! It is thus left open to the air, I presume for the sake of coolness. A parapet runs round the exposed sides for the sake of security. Some of the palaces in Florence have such open loggias in their upper stories, and I saw others on our journey hither, after arriving in Tuscany. The grounds immediately around the house are laid out in gravel-walks, and ornamented with shrubbery, and with what ought to be a grassy lawn; but the Italian sun is quite as little favorable to beauty of that kind as our own. I have enjoyed the luxury, however, almost for the first time since I left my hill-top at the Wayside, of flinging myself at full length on the ground without any fear of catching cold. Moist England would punish a man soundly for taking such liberties with her greensward. A podere, or cultivated tract, comprising several acres, belongs to the villa, and seems to be fertile, like all the surrounding country. The possessions of different proprietors are not separated by fences, but only marked out by ditches; and it seems possible to walk miles and miles, along the intersecting paths, without obstruction. The rural laborers, so far as I have observed, go about in their shirt-sleeves, and look very much like tanned and sunburnt Yankees. Last night it was really a work of time and toil to go about making our defensive preparations for the night; first closing the iron gate, then the ponderous and complicated fastenings of the house door, then the separate barricadoes of each iron-barred window on the lower floor, with a somewhat slighter arrangement above. There are bolts and shutters, however, for every window in the house, and I suppose it would not be amiss to put them all in use. Our garrison is so small that we must depend more upon the strength of our fortifications than upon our own active efforts in case of an attack. In England, in an insulated country house, we should need all these bolts and bars, and Italy is not thought to be the safer country of the two. It deserves to be recorded that the Count Montanto, a nobleman, and seemingly a man of property, should deem it worth while to let his country seat, and reside during the hot months in his palace in the city, for the consideration of a comparatively small sum a month. He seems to contemplate returning hither for the autumn and winter, when the situation must be very windy and bleak, and the cold death-like in these great halls; and then, it is to be supposed, he will let his palace in town. The Count, through the agency of his son, bargained very stiffly for, and finally obtained, three dollars in addition to the sum which we at first offered him. This indicates that even a little money is still a matter of great moment in Italy. Signor del Bello, who, I believe, is also a nobleman, haggled with us about some cracked crockery at our late residence, and finally demanded and received fifty cents in compensation. But this poor gentleman has been a spendthrift, and now acts as the agent of another. August 3d.--Yesterday afternoon William Story called on me, he being on a day or two's excursion from Siena, where he is spending the summer with his family. He was very entertaining and conversative, as usual, and said, in reply to my question whether he were not anxious to return to Cleopatra, that he had already sketched out another subject for sculpture, which would employ him during next winter. He told me, what I was glad to hear, that his sketches of Italian life, intended for the "Atlantic Monthly," and supposed to be lost, have been recovered. Speaking of the superstitiousness of the Italians, he said that they universally believe in the influence of the evil eye. The evil influence is supposed not to be dependent on the will of the possessor of the evil eye; on the contrary, the persons to whom he wishes well are the very ones to suffer by it. It is oftener found in monks than in any other class of people; and on meeting a monk, and encountering his eye, an Italian usually makes a defensive sign by putting both hands behind him, with the forefingers and little fingers extended, although it is a controverted point whether it be not more efficacious to extend the hand with its outspread fingers towards the suspected person. It is considered an evil omen to meet a monk on first going out for the day. The evil eye may be classified with the phenomena of mesmerism. The Italians, especially the Neapolitans, very generally wear amulets. Pio Nono, perhaps as being the chief of all monks and other religious people, is supposed to have an evil eye of tenfold malignancy; and its effect has been seen in the ruin of all schemes for the public good so soon as they are favored by him. When the pillar in the Piazza de' Spagna, commemorative of his dogma of the Immaculate Conception, was to be erected, the people of Rome refused to be present, or to have anything to do with it, unless the pope promised to abstain from interference. His Holiness did promise, but so far broke his word as to be present one day while it was being erected, and on that day a man was killed. A little while ago there was a Lord Clifford, an English Catholic nobleman, residing in Italy, and, happening to come to Rome, he sent his compliments to Pio Nono, and requested the favor of an interview. The pope, as it happened, was indisposed, or for some reason could not see his lordship, but very kindly sent him his blessing. Those who knew of it shook their heads, and intimated that it would go ill with his lordship now that he had been blessed by Pio Nono, and the very next day poor Lord Clifford was dead! His Holiness had better construe the scriptural injunction literally, and take to blessing his enemies. I walked into town with J------ this morning, and, meeting a monk in the Via Furnace, I thought it no more than reasonable, as the good father fixed his eyes on me, to provide against the worst by putting both hands behind me, with the forefingers and little fingers stuck out. In speaking of the little oratory connected with U----'s chamber, I forgot to mention the most remarkable object in it. It is a skull, the size of life (or death). . . . . This part of the house must be very old, probably coeval with the tower. The ceiling of U----'s apartment is vaulted with intersecting arches; and adjoining it is a very large saloon, likewise with a vaulted and groined ceiling, and having a cushioned divan running all round the walls. The windows of these rooms look out on the Val d' Arno. The apartment above this saloon is of the same size, and hung with engraved portraits, printed on large sheets by the score and hundred together, and enclosed in wooden frames. They comprise the whole series of Roman emperors, the succession of popes, the kings of Europe, the doges of Venice, and the sultans of Turkey. The engravings bear different dates between 1685 and thirty years later, and were executed at Rome. August 4th.--We ascended our tower yesterday afternoon to see the sunset. In my first sketch of the Val d' Arno I said that the Arno seemed to hold its course near the bases of the hills. I now observe that the line of trees which marks its current divides the valley into two pretty equal parts, and the river runs nearly east and west. . . . . At last, when it was growing dark, we went down, groping our way over the shaky staircases, and peeping into each dark chamber as we passed. I gratified J----- exceedingly by hitting my nose against the wall. Reaching the bottom, I went into the great saloon, and stood at a window watching the lights twinkle forth, near and far, in the valley, and listening to the convent bells that sounded from Monte Olivetto, and more remotely still. The stars came out, and the constellation of the Dipper hung exactly over the Val d' Arno, pointing to the North Star above the hills on my right. August 12th.--We drove into town yesterday afternoon, with Miss Blagden, to call on Mr. Kirkup, an old Englishman who has resided a great many years in Florence. He is noted as an antiquarian, and has the reputation of being a necromancer, not undeservedly, as he is deeply interested in spirit-rappings, and holds converse, through a medium, with dead poets and emperors. He lives in an old house, formerly a residence of the Knights Templars, hanging over the Arno, just as you come upon the Ponte Vecchio; and, going up a dark staircase and knocking at a door on one side of the landing-place, we were received by Mr. Kirkup. He had had notice of our visit, and was prepared for it, being dressed in a blue frock-coat of rather an old fashion, with a velvet collar, and in a thin waistcoat and pantaloons fresh from the drawer; looking very sprucely, in short, and unlike his customary guise, for Miss Blagden hinted to us that the poor gentleman is generally so untidy that it is not quite pleasant to take him by the hand. He is rather low of stature, with a pale, shrivelled face, and hair and beard perfectly white, and the hair of a particularly soft and silken texture. He has a high, thin nose, of the English aristocratic type; his eyes have a queer, rather wild look, and the eyebrows are arched above them, so that he seems all the time to be seeing something that strikes him with surprise. I judged him to be a little crack-brained, chiefly on the strength of this expression. His whole make is delicate, his hands white and small, and his appearance and manners those of a gentleman, with rather more embroidery of courtesy than belongs to an Englishman. He appeared to be very nervous, tremulous, indeed, to his fingers' ends, without being in any degree disturbed or embarrassed by our presence. Finally, he is very deaf; an infirmity that quite took away my pleasure in the interview, because it is impossible to say anything worth while when one is compelled to raise one's voice above its ordinary level. He ushered us through two or three large rooms, dark, dusty, hung with antique-looking pictures, and lined with bookcases containing, I doubt not, a very curious library. Indeed, he directed my attention to one case, and said that he had collected those works, in former days, merely for the sake of laughing at them. They were books of magic and occult sciences. What he seemed really to value, however, were some manuscript copies of Dante, of which he showed us two: one, a folio on parchment, beautifully written in German text, the letters as clear and accurately cut as printed type; the other a small volume, fit, as Mr. Kirkup said, to be carried in a capacious mediaeval sleeve. This also was on vellum, and as elegantly executed as the larger one; but the larger had beautiful illuminations, the vermilion and gold of which looked as brilliant now as they did five centuries ago. Both of these books were written early in the fourteenth century. Mr. Kirkup has also a plaster cast of Dante's face, which he believes to be the original one taken from his face after death; and he has likewise his own accurate tracing from Giotto's fresco of Dante in the chapel of the Bargello. This fresco was discovered through Mr. Kirkup's means, and the tracing is particularly valuable, because the original has been almost destroyed by rough usage in drawing out a nail that had been driven into the eye. It represents the profile of a youthful but melancholy face, and has the general outline of Dante's features in other portraits. Dante has held frequent communications with Mr. Kirkup through a medium, the poet being described by the medium as wearing the same dress seen in the youthful portrait, but as hearing more resemblance to the cast taken from his dead face than to the picture from his youthful one. There was a very good picture of Savonarola in one of the rooms, and many other portraits, paintings, and drawings, some of them ancient, and others the work of Mr. Kirkup himself. He has the torn fragment of an exquisite drawing of a nude figure by Rubens, and a portfolio of other curious drawings. And besides books and works of art, he has no end of antique knick-knackeries, none of which we had any time to look at; among others some instruments with which nuns used to torture themselves in their convents by way of penance. But the greatest curiosity of all, and no antiquity, was a pale, large-eyed little girl, about four years old, who followed the conjurer's footsteps wherever he went. She was the brightest and merriest little thing in the world, and frisked through those shadowy old chambers, among the dead people's trumpery, as gayly as a butterfly flits among flowers and sunshine. The child's mother was a beautiful girl named Regina, whose portrait Mr. Kirkup showed us on the wall. I never saw a more beautiful and striking face claiming to be a real one. She was a Florentine, of low birth, and she lived with the old necromancer as his spiritual medium. He showed us a journal, kept during her lifetime, and read from it his notes of an interview with the Czar Alexander, when that potentate communicated to Mr. Kirkup that he had been poisoned. The necromancer set a great value upon Regina, . . . . and when she died he received her poor baby into his heart, and now considers it absolutely his own. At any rate, it is a happy belief for him, since he has nothing else in the world to love, and loves the child entirely, and enjoys all the bliss of fatherhood, though he must have lived as much as seventy years before he began to taste it. The child inherits her mother's gift of communication with the spiritual world, so that the conjurer can still talk with Regina through the baby which she left, and not only with her, but with Dante, and any other great spirit that may choose to visit him. It is a very strange story, and this child might be put at once into a romance, with all her history and environment; the ancient Knight Templar palace, with the Arno flowing under the iron-barred windows, and the Ponte Vecchio, covered with its jewellers' shops, close at hand; the dark, lofty chambers with faded frescos on the ceilings, black pictures hanging on the walls, old books on the shelves, and hundreds of musty antiquities, emitting an odor of past centuries; the shrivelled, white-bearded old man, thinking all the time of ghosts, and looking into the child's eyes to seek them; and the child herself, springing so freshly out of the soil, so pretty, so intelligent, so playful, with never a playmate save the conjurer and a kitten. It is a Persian kitten, and lay asleep in a window; but when I touched it, it started up at once in as gamesome a mood as the child herself. The child looks pale, and no wonder, seldom or never stirring out of that old palace, or away from the river atmosphere. Miss Blagden advised Mr. Kirkup to go with her to the seaside or into the country, and he did not deny that it might do her good, but seemed to be hampered by an old man's sluggishness and dislike of change. I think he will not live a great while, for he seems very frail. When he dies the little girl will inherit what property he may leave. A lady, Catharine Fleeting, an Englishwoman, and a friend of Mr. Kirkup, has engaged to take her in charge. She followed us merrily to the door, and so did the Persian kitten, and Mr. Kirkup shook hands with us, over and over again, with vivacious courtesy, his manner having been characterized by a great deal of briskness throughout the interview. He expressed himself delighted to have met one (whose books he had read), and said that the day would be a memorable one to him,--which I did not in the least believe. Mr. Kirkup is an intimate friend of Trelawny, author of "Adventures of a Younger Son," and, long ago, the latter promised him that, if he ever came into possession of the family estate, he would divide it with him. Trelawny did really succeed to the estate, and lost no time in forwarding to his friend the legal documents, entitling him to half of the property. But Mr. Kirkup declined the gift, as he himself was not destitute, and Trelawny had a brother. There were two pictures of Trelawny in the saloons, one a slight sketch on the wall, the other a half-length portrait in a Turkish dress; both handsome, but indicating no very amiable character. It is not easy to forgive Trelawny for uncovering dead Byron's limbs, and telling that terrible story about them,--equally disgraceful to himself, be it truth or a lie. It seems that Regina had a lover, and a sister who was very disreputable It rather adds than otherwise to the romance of the affair,--the idea that this pretty little elf has no right whatever to the asylum which she has found. Her name is Imogen. The small manuscript copy of Dante which he showed me was written by a Florentine gentleman of the fourteenth century, one of whose ancestors the poet had met and talked with in Paradise. August 19th.--Here is a good Italian incident, which I find in Valery. Andrea del Castagno was a painter in Florence in the fifteenth century; and he had a friend, likewise a painter, Domenico of Venice. The latter had the secret of painting in oils, and yielded to Castagno's entreaties to impart it to him. Desirous of being the sole possessor of this great secret, Castagno waited only the night to assassinate Domenico, who so little suspected his treachery, that he besought those who found him bleeding and dying to take him to his friend Castagno, that he might die in his arms. The murderer lived to be seventy-four years old, and his crime was never suspected till he himself revealed it on his death-bed. Domenico did actually die in Castagno's arms. The death scene would have been a good one for the latter to paint in oils. September 1st.--Few things journalizable have happened during the last month, because Florence and the neighborhood have lost their novelty; and furthermore, I usually spend the whole day at home, having been engaged in planning and sketching out a romance. I have now done with this for the present, and mean to employ the rest of the time we stay here chiefly in revisiting the galleries, and seeing what remains to be seen in Florence. Last Saturday, August 28th, we went to take tea at Miss Blagden's, who has a weekly reception on that evening. We found Mr. Powers there, and by and by Mr. Boott and Mr. Trollope came in. Miss ------ has lately been exercising her faculties as a spiritual writing-medium; and, the conversation turning on that subject, Mr. Powers related some things that he had witnessed through the agency of Mr. Home, who had held a session or two at his house. He described the apparition of two mysterious hands from beneath a table round which the party were seated. These hands purported to belong to the aunt of the Countess Cotterel, who was present, and were a pair of thin, delicate, aged, lady-like hands and arms, appearing at the edge of the table, and terminating at the elbow in a sort of white mist. One of the hands took up a fan and began to use it. The countess then said, "Fan yourself as you used to do, dear aunt"; and forthwith the hands waved the fan back and forth in a peculiar manner, which the countess recognized as the manner of her dead aunt. The spirit was then requested to fan each member of the party; and accordingly, each separate individual round the table was fanned in turn, and felt the breeze sensibly upon his face. Finally, the hands sank beneath the table, I believe Mr. Powers said; but I am not quite sure that they did not melt into the air. During this apparition, Mr. Home sat at the table, but not in such a position or within such distance that he could have put out or managed the spectral hands; and of this Mr. Powers satisfied himself by taking precisely the same position after the party had retired. Mr. Powers did not feel the hands at this time, but he afterwards felt the touch of infant hands, which were at the time invisible. He told of many of the wonders, which seem to have as much right to be set down as facts as anything else that depends on human testimony. For example, Mr. K------, one of the party, gave a sudden start and exclamation. He had felt on his knee a certain token, which could have been given him only by a friend, long ago in his grave. Mr. Powers inquired what was the last thing that had been given as a present to a deceased child; and suddenly both he and his wife felt a prick as of some sharp instrument, on their knees. The present had been a penknife. I have forgotten other incidents quite as striking as these; but, with the exception of the spirit-hands, they seemed to be akin to those that have been produced by mesmerism, returning the inquirer's thoughts and veiled recollections to himself, as answers to his queries. The hands are certainly an inexplicable phenomenon. Of course, they are not portions of a dead body, nor any other kind of substance; they are impressions on the two senses, sight and touch, but how produced I cannot tell. Even admitting their appearance,--and certainly I do admit it as freely and fully as if I had seen them myself,--there is no need of supposing them to come from the world of departed spirits. Powers seems to put entire faith in the verity of spiritual communications, while acknowledging the difficulty of identifying spirits as being what they pretend to be. He is a Swedenborgian, and so far prepared to put faith in many of these phenomena. As for Home, Powers gives a decided opinion that he is a knave, but thinks him so organized, nevertheless, as to be a particularly good medium for spiritual communications. Spirits, I suppose, like earthly people, are obliged to use such instruments as will answer their purposes; but rather than receive a message from a dead friend through the organism of a rogue or charlatan, methinks I would choose to wait till we meet. But what most astonishes me is the indifference with which I listen to these marvels. They throw old ghost stories quite into the shade; they bring the whole world of spirits down amongst us, visibly and audibly; they are absolutely proved to be sober facts by evidence that would satisfy us of any other alleged realities; and yet I cannot force my mind to interest myself in them. They are facts to my understanding, which, it might have been anticipated, would have been the last to acknowledge them; but they seem not to be facts to my intuitions and deeper perceptions. My inner soul does not in the least admit them; there is a mistake somewhere. So idle and empty do I feel these stories to be, that I hesitated long whether or no to give up a few pages of this not very important journal to the record of them. We have had written communications through Miss ------ with several spirits; my wife's father, mother, two brothers, and a sister, who died long ago, in infancy; a certain Mary Hall, who announces herself as the guardian spirit of Miss ------; and, queerest of all, a Mary Runnel, who seems to be a wandering spirit, having relations with nobody, but thrusts her finger into everybody's affairs. My wife's mother is the principal communicant; she expresses strong affection, and rejoices at the opportunity of conversing with her daughter. She often says very pretty things; for instance, in a dissertation upon heavenly music; but there is a lack of substance in her talk, a want of gripe, a delusive show, a sentimental surface, with no bottom beneath it. The same sort of thing has struck me in all the poetry and prose that I have read from spiritual sources. I should judge that these effusions emanated from earthly minds, but had undergone some process that had deprived them of solidity and warmth. In the communications between my wife and her mother, I cannot help thinking that (Miss ------ being unconsciously in a mesmeric state) all the responses are conveyed to her fingers from my wife's mind. . . . . We have tried the spirits by various test questions, on every one of which they have failed egregiously. Here, however, the aforesaid Mary Runnel comes into play. The other spirits have told us that the veracity of this spirit is not to be depended upon; and so, whenever it is possible, poor Mary Runnel is thrust forward to bear the odium of every mistake or falsehood. They have avowed themselves responsible for all statements signed by themselves, and have thereby brought themselves into more than one inextricable dilemma; but it is very funny, where a response or a matter of fact has not been thus certified, how invariably Mary Runnel is made to assume the discredit of it, on its turning out to be false. It is the most ingenious arrangement that could possibly have been contrived; and somehow or other, the pranks of this lying spirit give a reality to the conversations which the more respectable ghosts quite fail in imparting. The whole matter seems to me a sort of dreaming awake. It resembles a dream, in that the whole material is, from the first, in the dreamer's mind, though concealed at various depths below the surface; the dead appear alive, as they always do in dreams; unexpected combinations occur, as continually in dreams; the mind speaks through the various persons of the drama, and sometimes astonishes itself with its own wit, wisdom, and eloquence, as often in dreams; but, in both cases, the intellectual manifestations are really of a very flimsy texture. Mary Runnel is the only personage who does not come evidently from dream-land; and she, I think, represents that lurking scepticism, that sense of unreality, of which we are often conscious, amid the most vivid phantasmagoria of a dream. I should be glad to believe in the genuineness of these spirits, if I could; but the above is the conclusion to which my soberest thoughts tend. There remains, of course, a great deal for which I cannot account, and I cannot sufficiently wonder at the pigheadedness both of metaphysicians and physiologists, in not accepting the phenomena, so far as to make them the subject of investigation. In writing the communications, Miss ------ holds the pencil rather loosely between her fingers; it moves rapidly, and with equal facility whether she fixes her eyes on the paper or not. The handwriting has far more freedom than her own. At the conclusion of a sentence, the pencil lays itself down. She sometimes has a perception of each word before it is written; at other times, she is quite unconscious what is to come next. Her integrity is absolutely indubitable, and she herself totally disbelieves in the spiritual authenticity of what is communicated through her medium. September 3d.--We walked into Florence yesterday, betimes after breakfast, it being comfortably cool, and a gray, English sky; though, indeed, the clouds had a tendency to mass themselves more than they do on an overcast English day. We found it warmer in Florence, but, not inconveniently so, even in the sunniest streets and squares. We went to the Uffizi gallery, the whole of which with its contents is now familiar to us, except the room containing drawings; and our to-day's visit was especially to them. The door giving admittance to them is the very last in the gallery; and the rooms, three in number, are, I should judge, over the Loggia de' Lanzi, looking on the Grand Ducal Piazza. The drawings hang on the walls, framed and glazed; and number, perhaps, from one to two hundred in each room; but this is only a small portion of the collection, which amounts, it is said, to twenty thousand, and is reposited in portfolios. The sketches on the walls are changed, from time to time, so as to exhibit all the most interesting ones in turn. Their whole charm is artistic, imaginative, and intellectual, and in no degree of the upholstery kind; their outward presentment being, in general, a design hastily shadowed out, by means of colored crayons, on tinted paper, or perhaps scratched rudely in pen and ink; or drawn in pencil or charcoal, and half rubbed out; very rough things, indeed, in many instances, and the more interesting on that account, because it seems as if the artist had bestirred himself to catch the first glimpse of an image that did but reveal itself and vanish. The sheets, or sometimes scraps of paper, on which they are drawn, are discolored with age, creased, soiled; but yet you are magnetized by the hand of Raphael, Michael Angelo, Leonardo, or whoever may have jotted down those rough-looking master-touches. They certainly possess a charm that is lost in the finished picture; and I was more sensible of forecasting thought, skill, and prophetic design, in these sketches than in the most consummate works that have been elaborated from them. There is something more divine in these; for I suppose the first idea of a picture is real inspiration, and all the subsequent elaboration of the master serves but to cover up the celestial germ with something that belongs to himself. At any rate, the first sketch is the more suggestive, and sets the spectator's imagination at work; whereas the picture, if a good one, leaves him nothing to do; if bad, it confuses, stupefies, disenchants, and disheartens him. First thoughts have an aroma and fragrance in them, that they do not lose in three hundred years; for so old, and a good deal more, are some of these sketches. None interested me more than some drawings, on separate pieces of paper, by Perugino, for his picture of the mother and friends of Jesus round his dead body, now at the Pitti Palace. The attendant figures are distinctly made out, as if the Virgin, and John, and Mary Magdalen had each favored the painter with a sitting; but the body of Jesus lies in the midst, dimly hinted with a few pencil-marks. There were several designs by Michael Angelo, none of which made much impression on me; the most striking was a very ugly demon, afterwards painted in the Sistine Chapel. Raphael shows several sketches of Madonnas,--one of which has flowered into the Grand Duke's especial Madonna at the Pitti Palace, but with a different face. His sketches were mostly very rough in execution; but there were two or three designs for frescos, I think, in the Vatican, very carefully executed; perhaps because these works were mainly to be done by other hands than his own. It seems to one that the Pre-Raphaelite artists made more careful drawings than the later ones; and it rather surprised me to see how much science they possessed. We looked at few other things in the gallery; and, indeed, it was not one of the days when works of art find me impressible. We stopped a little while in the Tribune, but the Venus de' Medici seemed to me to-day little more than any other piece of yellowish white marble. How strange that a goddess should stand before us absolutely unrecognized, even when we know by previous revelations that she is nothing short of divine! It is also strange that, unless when one feels the ideal charm of a statue, it becomes one of the most tedious and irksome things in the world. Either it must be a celestial thing or an old lump of stone, dusty and time-soiled, and tiring out your patience with eternally looking just the same. Once in a while you penetrate through the crust of the old sameness, and see the statue forever new and immortally young. Leaving the gallery we walked towards the Duomo, and on our way stopped to look at the beautiful Gothic niches hollowed into the exterior walls of the Church of San Michele. They are now in the process of being cleaned, and each niche is elaborately inlaid with precious marbles, and some of them magnificently gilded; and they are all surmounted with marble canopies as light and graceful as frost-work. Within stand statues, St. George, and many other saints, by Donatello and others, and all taking a hold upon one's sympathies, even if they be not beautiful. Classic statues escape you with their slippery beauty, as if they were made of ice. Rough and ugly things can be clutched. This is nonsense, and yet it means something. . . . . The streets were thronged and vociferative with more life and outcry than usual. It must have been market-day in Florence, for the commerce of the streets was in great vigor, narrow tables being set out in them, and in the squares, burdened with all kinds of small merchandise, such as cheap jewelry, glistening as brightly as what we had just seen in the gem-room of the Uffizi; crockery ware; toys, books, Italian and French; silks; slippers; old iron; all advertised by the dealers with terribly loud and high voices, that reverberated harshly from side to side of the narrow streets. Italian street-cries go through the head; not that they are so very sharp, but exceedingly hard, like a blunt iron bar. We stood at the base of the Campanile, and looked at the bas-reliefs which wreathe it round; and, above them, a row of statues; and from bottom to top a marvellous minuteness of inlaid marbles, filling up the vast and beautiful design of this heaven-aspiring tower. Looking upward to its lofty summit,--where angels might alight, lapsing downward from heaven, and gaze curiously at the bustle of men below,--I could not but feel that there is a moral charm in this faithful minuteness of Gothic architecture, filling up its outline with a million of beauties that perhaps may never be studied out by a single spectator. It is the very process of nature, and no doubt produces an effect that we know not of. Classic architecture is nothing but an outline, and affords no little points, no interstices where human feelings may cling and overgrow it like ivy. The charm, as I said, seems to be moral rather than intellectual; for in the gem-room of the Uffizi you may see fifty designs, elaborated on a small scale, that have just as much merit as the design of the Campanile. If it were only five inches long, it might be a case for some article of toilet; being two hundred feet high, its prettiness develops into grandeur as well as beauty, and it becomes really one of the wonders of the world. The design of the Pantheon, on the contrary, would retain its sublimity on whatever scale it might be represented. Returning homewards, we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, and went to the Museum of Natural History, where we gained admittance into the rooms dedicated to Galileo. They consist of a vestibule, a saloon, and a semicircular tribune, covered with a frescoed dome, beneath which stands a colossal statue of Galileo, long-bearded, and clad in a student's gown, or some voluminous garb of that kind. Around the tribune, beside and behind the statue, are six niches,--in one of which is preserved a forefinger of Galileo, fixed on a little gilt pedestal, and pointing upward, under a glass cover. It is very much shrivelled and mummy-like, of the color of parchment, and is little more than a finger-bone, with the dry skin or flesh flaking away from it; on the whole, not a very delightful relic; but Galileo used to point heavenward with this finger, and I hope has gone whither he pointed. Another niche contains two telescopes, wherewith he made some of his discoveries; they are perhaps a yard long, and of very small calibre. Other astronomical instruments are displayed in the glass cases that line the rooms; but I did not understand their use any better than the monks, who wished to burn Galileo for his heterodoxy about the planetary system. . . . . After dinner I climbed the tower. . . . . Florence lay in the sunshine, level, compact, and small of compass. Above the tiled roofs rose the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, the loftiest and the most picturesque, though built, I suppose, with no idea of making it so. But it attains, in a singular degree, the end of causing the imagination to fly upward and alight on its airy battlements. Near it I beheld the square mass of Or San Michele, and farther to the left the bulky Duomo and the Campanile close beside it, like a slender bride or daughter; the dome of San Lorenzo too. The Arno is nowhere visible. Beyond, and on all sides of the city, the hills pile themselves lazily upward in ridges, here and there developing into a peak; towards their bases white villas were strewn numerously, but the upper region was lonely and bare. As we passed under the arch of the Porta Romana this morning, on our way into the city, we saw a queer object. It was what we at first took for a living man, in a garb of light reddish or yellowish red color, of antique or priestly fashion, and with a cowl falling behind. His face was of the same hue, and seemed to have been powdered, as the faces of maskers sometimes are. He sat in a cart, which he seemed to be driving into the Deity with a load of earthen jars and pipkins, the color of which was precisely like his own. On closer inspection, this priestly figure proved to be likewise an image of earthenware, but his lifelikeness had a very strange and rather ghastly effect. Adam, perhaps, was made of just such red earth, and had the complexion of this figure. September 7th.--I walked into town yesterday morning, by way of the Porta San Frediano. The gate of a city might be a good locality for a chapter in a novel, or for a little sketch by itself, whether by painter or writer. The great arch of the gateway, piercing through the depth and height of the massive masonry beneath the battlemented summit; the shadow brooding below, in the immense thickness of the wall and beyond it, the vista of the street, sunny and swarming with life; outside of the gate, a throng of carts, laden with fruits, vegetables, small flat barrels of wine, waiting to be examined by the custom-house officers; carriages too, and foot-passengers entering, and others swarming outward. Under the shadowy arch are the offices of the police and customs, and probably the guard-room of the soldiers, all hollowed out in the mass of the gateway. Civil officers loll on chairs in the shade, perhaps with an awning over their heads. Where the sun falls aslantwise under the arch a sentinel, with musket and bayonet, paces to and fro in the entrance, and other soldiers lounge close by. The life of the city seems to be compressed and made more intense by this barrier; and on passing within it you do not breathe quite so freely, yet are sensible of an enjoyment in the close elbowing throng, the clamor of high voices from side to side of the street, and the million of petty sights, actions, traffics, and personalities, all so squeezed together as to become a great whole. The street by which I entered led me to the Carraja Bridge; crossing which, I kept straight onward till I came to the Church of Santa Maria Novella. Doubtless, it looks just the same as when Boccaccio's party stood in a cluster on its broad steps arranging their excursion to the villa. Thence I went to the Church of St. Lorenzo, which I entered by the side door, and found the organ sounding and a religious ceremony going forward. It is a church of sombre aspect, with its gray walls and pillars, but was decked out for some festivity with hangings of scarlet damask and gold. I sat awhile to rest myself, and then pursued my way to the Duomo. I entered, and looked at Sir John Hawkwood's painted effigy, and at several busts and statues, and at the windows of the chapel surrounding the dome, through which the sunshine glowed, white in the outer air, but a hundred-hued splendor within. I tried to bring up the scene of Lorenzo de' Medici's attempted assassination, but with no great success; and after listening a little while to the chanting of the priests and acolytes, I went to the Bank. It is in a palace of which Raphael was the architect, in the Piazza Gran Duca. I next went, as a matter of course, to the Uffizi gallery, and, in the first place, to the Tribune, where the Venus de' Medici deigned to reveal herself rather more satisfactorily than at my last visit. . . . . I looked into all the rooms, bronzes, drawings, and gem-room; a volume might easily be written upon either subject. The contents of the gem-room especially require to be looked at separately in order to convince one's self of their minute magnificences; for, among so many, the eye slips from one to another with only a vague outward sense that here are whole shelves full of little miracles, both of nature's material and man's workmanship. Greater [larger] things can be reasonably well appreciated with a less scrupulous though broader attention; but in order to estimate the brilliancy of the diamond eyes of a little agate bust, for instance, you have to screw your mind down to them and nothing else. You must sharpen your faculties of observation to a point, and touch the object exactly on the right spot, or you do not appreciate it at all. It is a troublesome process when there are a thousand such objects to be seen. I stood at an open window in the transverse corridor, and looked down upon the Arno, and across at the range of edifices that impend over it on the opposite side. The river, I should judge, may be a hundred or a hundred and fifty yards wide in its course between the Ponte alle Grazie and the Ponte Vecchio; that is, the width between strand and strand is at least so much. The river, however, leaves a broad margin of mud and gravel on its right bank, on which water-weeds grow pretty abundantly, and creep even into the stream. On my first arrival in Florence I thought the goose-pond green of the water rather agreeable than otherwise; but its hue is now that of unadulterated mud, as yellow as the Tiber itself, yet not impressing me as being enriched with city sewerage like that other famous river. From the Ponte alle Grazie downward, half-way towards the Ponte Vecchio, there is an island of gravel, and the channel on each side is so shallow as to allow the passage of men and horses wading not overleg. I have seen fishermen wading the main channel from side to side, their feet sinking into the dark mud, and thus discoloring the yellow water with a black track visible, step by step, through its shallowness. But still the Arno is a mountain stream, and liable to be tetchy and turbulent like all its kindred, and no doubt it often finds its borders of hewn stone not too far apart for its convenience. Along the right shore, beneath the Uffizi and the adjacent buildings, there is a broad paved way, with a parapet; on the opposite shore the edifices are built directly upon the river's edge, and impend over the water, supported upon arches and machicolations, as I think that peculiar arrangement of buttressing arcades is called. The houses are picturesquely various in height, from two or three stories to seven; picturesque in hue likewise,--pea-green, yellow, white, and of aged discoloration,--but all with green blinds; picturesque also in the courts and galleries that look upon the river, and in the wide arches that open beneath, intended perhaps to afford a haven for the household boat. Nets were suspended before one or two of the houses, as if the inhabitants were in the habit of fishing out of window. As a general effect, the houses, though often palatial in size and height, have a shabby, neglected aspect, and are jumbled too closely together. Behind their range the city swells upward in a hillside, which rises to a great height above, forming, I believe, a part of the Boboli Gardens. I returned homewards over the Ponte Vecchio, which is a continuous street of ancient houses, except over the central arch, so that a stranger might easily cross the river without knowing it. In these small, old houses there is a community of goldsmiths, who set out their glass cases, and hang their windows with rings, bracelets, necklaces, strings of pearl, ornaments of malachite and coral, and especially with Florentine mosaics; watches, too, and snuff-boxes of old fashion or new; offerings for shrines also, such as silver hearts pierced with swords; an infinity of pretty things, the manufacture of which is continually going on in the little back-room of each little shop. This gewgaw business has been established on the Ponte Vecchio for centuries, although, long since, it was an art of far higher pretensions than now. Benvenuto Cellini had his workshop here, probably in one of these selfsame little nooks. It would have been a ticklish affair to be Benvenuto's fellow-workman within such narrow limits. Going out of the Porta Romana, I walked for some distance along the city wall, and then, turning to the left, toiled up the hill of Bellosguardo, through narrow zigzag lanes between high walls of stone or plastered brick, where the sun had the fairest chance to frizzle me. There were scattered villas and houses, here and there concentrating into a little bit of a street, paved with flag-stones from side to side, as in the city, and shadowed quite across its narrowness by the height of the houses. Mostly, however, the way was inhospitably sunny, and shut out by the high wall from every glimpse of a view, except in one spot, where Florence spread itself before my eyes, with every tower, dome, and spire which it contains. A little way farther on my own gray tower rose before me, the most welcome object that I had seen in the course of the day. September 10th.--I went into town again yesterday, by way of the Porta San Frediano, and observed that this gate (like the other gates of Florence, as far as I have observed) is a tall, square structure of stone or brick, or both, rising high above the adjacent wall, and having a range of open loggie in the upper story. The arch externally is about half the height of the structure. Inside, towards the town, it rises nearly to the roof. On each side of the arch there is much room for offices, apartments, storehouses, or whatever else. On the outside of the gate, along the base, are those iron rings and sockets for torches, which are said to be the distinguishing symbol of illustrious houses. As contrasted with the vista of the narrow, swarming street through the arch from without, the view from the inside might be presented with a glimpse of the free blue sky. I strolled a little about Florence, and went into two or three churches; into that of the Annunziata for one. I have already described this church, with its general magnificence, and it was more magnificent than ever to-day, being hung with scarlet silk and gold-embroidery. A great many people were at their devotions, thronging principally around the Virgin's shrine. I was struck now with the many bas-reliefs and busts in the costume of their respective ages, and seemingly with great accuracy of portraiture, in the passage leading from the front of the church into the cloisters. The marble was not at all abashed nor degraded by being made to assume the guise of the mediaeval furred robe, or the close-fitting tunic with elaborate ruff, or the breastplate and gorget, or the flowing wig, or whatever the actual costume might be; and one is sensible of a rectitude and reality in the affair, and respects the dead people for not putting themselves into an eternal masquerade. The dress of the present day will look equally respectable in one or two hundred years. The Fair is still going on, and one of its principal centres is before this church, in the Piazza of the Annunziata. Cloth is the chief commodity offered for sale, and none of the finest; coarse, unbleached linen and cotton prints for country-people's wear, together with yarn, stockings, and here and there an assortment of bright-colored ribbons. Playthings, of a very rude fashion, were also displayed; likewise books in Italian and French; and a great deal of iron-work. Both here and in Rome they have this odd custom of offering rusty iron implements for sale, spread out on the pavements. There was a good deal of tinware, too, glittering in the sunshine, especially around the pedestal of the bronze statue of Duke Ferdinand, who curbs his horse and looks down upon the bustling piazza in a very stately way. . . . . The people attending the fair had mostly a rustic appearance; sunburnt faces, thin frames; no beauty, no bloom, no joyousness of young or old; an anxious aspect, as if life were no easy or holiday matter with them; but I should take them to be of a kindly nature, and reasonably honest. Except the broad-brimmed Tuscan hats of the women, there was no peculiarity of costume. At a careless glance I could very well have mistaken most of the men for Yankees; as for the women, there is very little resemblance between them and ours,--the old being absolutely hideous, and the young ones very seldom pretty. It was a very dull crowd. They do not generate any warmth among themselves by contiguity; they have no pervading sentiment, such as is continually breaking out in rough merriment from an American crowd; they have nothing to do with one another; they are not a crowd, considered as one mass, but a collection of individuals. A despotic government has perhaps destroyed their principle of cohesion, and crumbled them to atoms. Italian crowds are noted for their civility; possibly they deserve credit for native courtesy and gentleness; possibly, on the other hand, the crowd has not spirit and self-consciousness enough to be rampant. I wonder whether they will ever hold another parliament in the Piazza of Santa Croce! I paid a visit to the gallery of the Pitti Palace. There is too large an intermixture of Andrea del Sarto's pictures in this gallery; everywhere you see them, cold, proper, and uncriticisable, looking so much like first-rate excellence, that you inevitably quarrel with your own taste for not admiring them. . . . . It was one of the days when my mind misgives me whether the pictorial art be not a humbug, and when the minute accuracy of a fly in a Dutch picture of fruit and flowers seems to me something more reliable than the master-touches of Raphael. The gallery was considerably thronged, and many of the visitors appeared to be from the country, and of a class intermediate between gentility and labor. Is there such a rural class in Italy? I saw a respectable-looking man feeling awkward and uncomfortable in a new and glossy pair of pantaloons not yet bent and creased to his natural movement. Nothing pleased me better to-day than some amber cups, in one of the cabinets of curiosities. They are richly wrought, and the material is as if the artist had compressed a great deal of sunshine together, and when sufficiently solidified had moulded these cups out of it and let them harden. This simile was suggested by ------. Leaving the palace, I entered the Boboli Gardens, and wandered up and down a good deal of its uneven surface, through broad, well-kept edges of box, sprouting loftily, trimmed smoothly, and strewn between with cleanly gravel; skirting along plantations of aged trees, throwing a deep shadow within their precincts; passing many statues, not of the finest art, yet approaching so near it, as to serve just as good a purpose for garden ornament; coming now and then to the borders of a fishpool, or a pond, where stately swans circumnavigated an island of flowers;--all very fine and very wearisome. I have never enjoyed this garden; perhaps because it suggests dress-coats, and such elegant formalities. September 11th.--We have heard a good deal of spirit matters of late, especially of wonderful incidents that attended Mr. Home's visit to Florence, two or three years ago. Mrs. Powers told a very marvellous thing; how that when Mr. Home was holding a seance in her house, and several persons present, a great scratching was heard in a neighboring closet. She addressed the spirit, and requested it not to disturb the company then, as they were busy with other affairs, promising to converse with it on a future occasion. On a subsequent night, accordingly, the scratching was renewed, with the utmost violence; and in reply to Mrs. Powers's questions, the spirit assured her that it was not one, but legion, being the ghosts of twenty-seven monks, who were miserable and without hope! The house now occupied by Powers was formerly a convent, and I suppose these were the spirits of all the wicked monks that had ever inhabited it; at least, I hope that there were not such a number of damnable sinners extant at any one time. These ghostly fathers must have been very improper persons in their lifetime, judging by the indecorousness of their behavior even after death, and in such dreadful circumstances; for they pulled Mrs. Powers's skirts so hard as to break the gathers. . . . . It was not ascertained that they desired to have anything done for their eternal welfare, or that their situation was capable of amendment anyhow; but, being exhorted to refrain from further disturbance, they took their departure, after making the sign of the cross on the breast of each person present. This was very singular in such reprobates, who, by their own confession, had forfeited all claim to be benefited by that holy symbol: it curiously suggests that the forms of religion may still be kept up in purgatory and hell itself. The sign was made in a way that conveyed the sense of something devilish and spiteful; the perpendicular line of the cross being drawn gently enough, but the transverse one sharply and violently, so as to leave a painful impression. Perhaps the monks meant this to express their contempt and hatred for heretics; and how queer, that this antipathy should survive their own damnation! But I cannot help hoping that the case of these poor devils may not be so desperate as they think. They cannot be wholly lost, because their desire for communication with mortals shows that they need sympathy, therefore are not altogether hardened, therefore, with loving treatment, may be restored. A great many other wonders took place within the knowledge and experience of Mrs. P------. She saw, not one pair of hands only, but many. The head of one of her dead children, a little boy, was laid in her lap, not in ghastly fashion, as a head out of the coffin and the grave, but just as the living child might have laid it on his mother's knees. It was invisible, by the by, and she recognized it by the features and the character of the hair, through the sense of touch. Little hands grasped hers. In short, these soberly attested incredibilities are so numerous that I forget nine tenths of them, and judge the others too cheap to be written down. Christ spoke the truth surely, in saying that men would not believe, "though one rose from the dead." In my own case, the fact makes absolutely no impression. I regret such confirmation of truth as this. Within a mile of our villa stands the Villa Columbaria, a large house, built round a square court. Like Mr. Powers's residence, it was formerly a convent. It is inhabited by Major Gregorie, an old soldier of Waterloo and various other fights, and his family consists of Mrs. ------, the widow of one of the Major's friends, and her two daughters. We have become acquainted with the family, and Mrs. ------, the married daughter, has lent us a written statement of her experiences with a ghost, who has haunted the Villa Columbaria for many years back. He had made Mrs. ------ aware of his presence in her room by a sensation of extreme cold, as if a wintry breeze were blowing over her; also by a rustling of the bed-curtains; and, at such times, she had a certain consciousness, as she says, that she was not ALONE. Through Mr. Home's agency, the ghost was enabled to explain himself, and declared that he was a monk, named Giannane, who died a very long time ago in Mrs. ------'s present bedchamber. He was a murderer, and had been in a restless and miserable state ever since his death, wandering up and down the house, but especially haunting his own death-chamber and a staircase that communicated with the chapel of the villa. All the interviews with this lost spirit were attended with a sensation of severe cold, which was felt by every one present. He made his communications by means of table-rapping, and by the movements of chairs and other articles, which often assumed an angry character. The poor old fellow does not seem to have known exactly what he wanted with Mrs. ------, but promised to refrain from disturbing her any more, on condition that she would pray that he might find some repose. He had previously declined having any masses said for his soul. Rest, rest, rest, appears to be the continual craving of unhappy spirits; they do not venture to ask for positive bliss: perhaps, in their utter weariness, would rather forego the trouble of active enjoyment, but pray only for rest. The cold atmosphere around this monk suggests new ideas as to the climate of Hades. If all the afore-mentioned twenty-seven monks had a similar one, the combined temperature must have been that of a polar winter. Mrs. ------ saw, at one time, the fingers of her monk, long, yellow, and skinny; these fingers grasped the hands of individuals of the party, with a cold, clammy, and horrible touch. After the departure of this ghost other seances were held in her bedchamber, at which good and holy spirits manifested themselves, and behaved in a very comfortable and encouraging way. It was their benevolent purpose, apparently, to purify her apartments from all traces of the evil spirit, and to reconcile her to what had been so long the haunt of this miserable monk, by filling it with happy and sacred associations, in which, as Mrs. ------ intimates, they entirely succeeded. These stories remind me of an incident that took place at the old manse, in the first summer of our marriage. . . . . September 17th.--We walked yesterday to Florence, and visited the church of St. Lorenzo, where we saw, for the second time, the famous Medici statues of Michael Angelo. I found myself not in a very appreciative state, and, being a stone myself, the statue of Lorenzo was at first little more to me than another stone; but it was beginning to assume life, and would have impressed me as it did before if I had gazed long enough. There was a better light upon the face, under the helmet, than at my former visit, although still the features were enough overshadowed to produce that mystery on which, according to Mr. Powers, the effect of the statue depends. I observe that the costume of the figure, instead of being mediaeval, as I believe I have stated, is Roman; but, be it what it may, the grand and simple character of the figure imbues the robes with its individual propriety. I still think it the greatest miracle ever wrought in marble. We crossed the church and entered a cloister on the opposite side, in quest of the Laurentian Library. Ascending a staircase we found an old man blowing the bellows of the organ, which was in full blast in the church; nevertheless he found time to direct us to the library door. We entered a lofty vestibule, of ancient aspect and stately architecture, and thence were admitted into the library itself; a long and wide gallery or hall, lighted by a row of windows on which were painted the arms of the Medici. The ceiling was inlaid with dark wood, in an elaborate pattern, which was exactly repeated in terra-cotta on the pavement beneath our feet. Long desks, much like the old-fashioned ones in schools, were ranged on each side of the mid aisle, in a series from end to end, with seats for the convenience of students; and on these desks were rare manuscripts, carefully preserved under glass; and books, fastened to the desks by iron chains, as the custom of studious antiquity used to be. Along the centre of the hall, between the two ranges of desks, were tables and chairs, at which two or three scholarly persons were seated, diligently consulting volumes in manuscript or old type. It was a very quiet place, imbued with a cloistered sanctity, and remote from all street-cries and rumble of the city,--odorous of old literature,--a spot where the commonest ideas ought not to be expressed in less than Latin. The librarian--or custode he ought rather to be termed, for he was a man not above the fee of a paul--now presented himself, and showed us some of the literary curiosities; a vellum manuscript of the Bible, with a splendid illumination by Ghirlandaio, covering two folio pages, and just as brilliant in its color as if finished yesterday. Other illuminated manuscripts--or at least separate pages of them, for the volumes were kept under glass, and not to be turned over--were shown us, very magnificent, but not to be compared with this of Ghirlandaio. Looking at such treasures I could almost say that we have left behind us more splendor than we have kept alive to our own age. We publish beautiful editions of books, to be sure, and thousands of people enjoy them; but in ancient times the expense that we spread thinly over a thousand volumes was all compressed into one, and it became a great jewel of a book, a heavy folio, worth its weight in gold. Then, what a spiritual charm it gives to a book to feel that every letter has been individually wrought, and the pictures glow for that individual page alone! Certainly the ancient reader had a luxury which the modern one lacks. I was surprised, moreover, to see the clearness and accuracy of the chirography. Print does not surpass it in these respects. The custode showed us an ancient manuscript of the Decameron; likewise, a volume containing the portraits of Petrarch and of Laura, each covering the whole of a vellum page, and very finely done. They are authentic portraits, no doubt, and Laura is depicted as a fair-haired beauty, with a very satisfactory amount of loveliness. We saw some choice old editions of books in a small separate room; but as these were all ranged in shut bookcases, and as each volume, moreover, was in a separate cover or modern binding, this exhibition did us very little good. By the by, there is a conceit struggling blindly in my mind about Petrarch and Laura, suggested by those two lifelike portraits, which have been sleeping cheek to cheek through all these centuries. But I cannot lay hold of it. September 21st.--Yesterday morning the Val d' Arno was entirely filled with a thick fog, which extended even up to our windows, and concealed objects within a very short distance. It began to dissipate itself betimes, however, and was the forerunner of an unusually bright and warm day. We set out after breakfast and walked into town, where we looked at mosaic brooches. These are very pretty little bits of manufacture; but there seems to have been no infusion of fresh fancy into the work, and the specimens present little variety. It is the characteristic commodity of the place; the central mart and manufacturing locality being on the Ponte Vecchio, from end to end of which they are displayed in cases; but there are other mosaic shops scattered about the town. The principal devices are roses,--pink, yellow, or white,--jasmines, lilies of the valley, forget-me-nots, orange blossoms, and others, single or in sprigs, or twined into wreaths; parrots, too, and other birds of gay plumage,-- often exquisitely done, and sometimes with precious materials, such as lapis lazuli, malachite, and still rarer gems. Bracelets, with several different, yet relative designs, are often very beautiful. We find, at different shops, a great inequality of prices for mosaics that seemed to be of much the same quality. We went to the Uffizi gallery, and found it much thronged with the middle and lower classes of Italians; and the English, too, seemed more numerous than I have lately seen them. Perhaps the tourists have just arrived here, starting at the close of the London season. We were amused with a pair of Englishmen who went through the gallery; one of them criticising the pictures and statues audibly, for the benefit of his companion. The critic I should take to be a country squire, and wholly untravelled; a tall, well-built, rather rough, but gentlemanly man enough; his friend, a small personage, exquisitely neat in dress, and of artificial deportment, every attitude and gesture appearing to have been practised before a glass. Being but a small pattern of a man, physically and intellectually, he had thought it worth while to finish himself off with the elaborateness of a Florentine mosaic; and the result was something like a dancing-master, though without the exuberant embroidery of such persons. Indeed, he was a very quiet little man, and, though so thoroughly made up, there was something particularly green, fresh, and simple in him. Both these Englishmen were elderly, and the smaller one had perfectly white hair, glossy and silken. It did not make him in the least venerable, however, but took his own character of neatness and prettiness. He carried his well-brushed and glossy hat in his hand in such a way as not to ruffle its surface; and I wish I could put into one word or one sentence the pettiness, the minikinfinical effect of this little man; his self-consciousness so lifelong, that, in some sort, he forgot himself even in the midst of it; his propriety, his cleanliness and unruffledness; his prettiness and nicety of manifestation, like a bird hopping daintily about. His companion, as I said, was of a completely different type; a tall, gray-haired man, with the rough English face, a little tinted with port wine; careless, natural manner, betokening a man of position in his own neighborhood; a loud voice, not vulgar, nor outraging the rules of society, but betraying a character incapable of much refinement. He talked continually in his progress through the gallery, and audibly enough for us to catch almost everything he said, at many yards' distance. His remarks and criticisms, addressed to his small friend, were so entertaining, that we strolled behind him for the sake of being benefited by them; and I think he soon became aware of this, and addressed himself to us as well as to his more immediate friend. Nobody but an Englishman, it seems to me, has just this kind of vanity,--a feeling mixed up with scorn and good-nature; self-complacency on his own merits, and as an Englishman; pride at being in foreign parts; contempt for everybody around him; a rough kindliness towards people in general. I liked the man, and should be glad to know him better. As for his criticism, I am sorry to remember only one. It was upon the picture of the Nativity, by Correggio, in the Tribune, where the mother is kneeling before the Child, and adoring it in an awful rapture, because she sees the eternal God in its baby face and figure. The Englishman was highly delighted with this picture, and began to gesticulate, as if dandling a baby, and to make a chirruping sound. It was to him merely a representation of a mother fondling her infant. He then said, "If I could have my choice of the pictures and statues in the Tribune, I would take this picture, and that one yonder" (it was a good enough Enthronement of the Virgin by Andrea del Sarto) "and the Dancing Faun, and let the rest go." A delightful man; I love that wholesome coarseness of mind and heart, which no education nor opportunity can polish out of the genuine Englishman; a coarseness without vulgarity. When a Yankee is coarse, he is pretty sure to be vulgar too. The two critics seemed to be considering whether it were practicable to go from the Uffizi to the Pitti gallery; but "it confuses one," remarked the little man, "to see more than one gallery in a day." (I should think so,--the Pitti Palace tumbling into his small receptacle on the top of the Uffizi.) "It does so," responded the big man, with heavy emphasis. September 23d.--The vintage has been going on in our podere for about a week, and I saw a part of the process of making wine, under one of our back windows. It was on a very small scale, the grapes being thrown into a barrel, and crushed with a sort of pestle; and as each estate seems to make its own wine, there are probably no very extensive and elaborate appliances in general use for the manufacture. The cider-making of New England is far more picturesque; the great heap of golden or rosy apples under the trees, and the cider-mill worked by a circumgyratory horse, and all agush with sweet juice. Indeed, nothing connected with the grape-culture and the vintage here has been picturesque, except the large inverted pyramids in which the clusters hang; those great bunches, white or purple, really satisfy my idea both as to aspect and taste. We can buy a large basketful for less than a paul; and they are the only things that one can never devour too much of--and there is no enough short of a little too much without subsequent repentance. It is a shame to turn such delicious juice into such sour wine as they make in Tuscany. I tasted a sip or two of a flask which the contadini sent us for trial,-- the rich result of the process I had witnessed in the barrel. It took me altogether by surprise; for I remembered the nectareousness of the new cider which I used to sip through a straw in my boyhood, and I never doubted that this would be as dulcet, but finer and more ethereal; as much more delectable, in short, as these grapes are better than puckery cider apples. Positively, I never tasted anything so detestable, such a sour and bitter juice, still lukewarm with fermentation; it was a wail of woe, squeezed out of the wine-press of tribulation, and the more a man drinks of such, the sorrier he will be. Besides grapes, we have had figs, and I have now learned to be very fond of them. When they first began to appear, two months ago, they had scarcely any sweetness, and tasted very like a decaying squash: this was an early variety, with purple skins. There are many kinds of figs, the best being green-skinned, growing yellower as they ripen; and the riper they are, the more the sweetness within them intensifies, till they resemble dried figs in everything, except that they retain the fresh fruit-flavor; rich, luscious, yet not palling. We have had pears, too, some of them very tolerable; and peaches, which look magnificently, as regards size and downy blush, but, have seldom much more taste than a cucumber. A succession of fruits has followed us, ever since our arrival in Florence:--first, and for a long time, abundance of cherries; then apricots, which lasted many weeks, till we were weary of them; then plums, pears, and finally figs, peaches, and grapes. Except the figs and grapes, a New England summer and autumn would give us better fruit than any we have found in Italy. Italy beats us I think in mosquitoes; they are horribly pungent little satanic particles. They possess strange intelligence, and exquisite acuteness of sight and smell,--prodigious audacity and courage to match it, insomuch that they venture on the most hazardous attacks, and get safe off. One of them flew into my mouth, the other night, and sting me far down in my throat; but luckily I coughed him up in halves. They are bigger than American mosquitoes; and if you crush them, after one of their feasts, it makes a terrific bloodspot. It is a sort of suicide--at least, a shedding of one's own blood--to kill them; but it gratifies the old Adam to do it. It shocks me to feel how revengeful I am; but it is impossible not to impute a certain malice and intellectual venom to these diabolical insects. I wonder whether our health, at this season of the year, requires that we should be kept in a state of irritation, and so the mosquitoes are Nature's prophetic remedy for some disease; or whether we are made for the mosquitoes, not they for us. It is possible, just possible, that the infinitesimal doses of poison which they infuse into us are a homoeopathic safeguard against pestilence; but medicine never was administered in a more disagreeable way. The moist atmosphere about the Arno, I suppose, produces these insects, and fills the broad, ten-mile valley with them; and as we are just on the brim of the basin, they overflow into our windows. September 25th.--U---- and I walked to town yesterday morning, and went to the Uffizi gallery. It is not a pleasant thought that we are so soon to give up this gallery, with little prospect (none, or hardly any, on my part) of ever seeing it again. It interests me and all of us far more than the gallery of the Pitti Palace, wherefore I know not, for the latter is the richer of the two in admirable pictures. Perhaps it is the picturesque variety of the Uffizi--the combination of painting, sculpture, gems, and bronzes--that makes the charm. The Tribune, too, is the richest room in all the world; a heart that draws all hearts to it. The Dutch pictures, moreover, give a homely, human interest to the Uffizi; and I really think that the frequency of Andrea del Santo's productions at the Pitti Palace--looking so very like masterpieces, yet lacking the soul of art and nature--have much to do with the weariness that comes from better acquaintance with the latter gallery. The splendor of the gilded and frescoed saloons is perhaps another bore; but, after all, my memory will often tread there as long as I live. What shall we do in America? Speaking of Dutch pictures, I was much struck yesterday, as frequently before, with a small picture by Teniers the elder. It seems to be a pawnbroker in the midst of his pledges; old earthen jugs, flasks, a brass kettle, old books, and a huge pile of worn-out and broken rubbish, which he is examining. These things are represented with vast fidelity, yet with bold and free touches, unlike the minute, microscopic work of other Dutch masters; and a wonderful picturesqueness is wrought out of these humble materials, and even the figure and head of the pawnbroker have a strange grandeur. We spent no very long time at the Uffizi, and afterwards crossed the Ponte alle Grazie, and went to the convent of San Miniato, which stands on a hill outside of the Porta San Gallo. A paved pathway, along which stand crosses marking stations at which pilgrims are to kneel and pray, goes steeply to the hill-top, where, in the first place, is a smaller church and convent than those of San Miniato. The latter are seen at a short distance to the right, the convent being a large, square battlemented mass, adjoining which is the church, showing a front of aged white marble, streaked with black, and having an old stone tower behind. I have seen no other convent or monastery that so well corresponds with my idea of what such structures were. The sacred precincts are enclosed by a high wall, gray, ancient, and luxuriously ivy-grown, and lofty and strong enough for the rampart of a fortress. We went through the gateway and entered the church, which we found in much disarray, and masons at work upon the pavement. The tribune is elevated considerably above the nave, and accessible by marble staircases; there are great arches and a chapel, with curious monuments in the Gothic style, and ancient carvings and mosaic works, and, in short, a dim, dusty, and venerable interior, well worth studying in detail. . . . . The view of Florence from the church door is very fine, and seems to include every tower, dome, or whatever object emerges out of the general mass. September 28th.--I went to the Pitti Palace yesterday, and to the Uffizi to-day, paying them probably my last visit, yet cherishing an unreasonable doubt whether I may not see them again. At all events, I have seen them enough for the present, even what is best of them; and, at the same time, with a sad reluctance to bid them farewell forever, I experience an utter weariness of Raphael's old canvas, and of the time-yellowed marble of the Venus de' Medici. When the material embodiment presents itself outermost, and we perceive them only by the grosser sense, missing their ethereal spirit, there is nothing so heavily burdensome as masterpieces of painting and sculpture. I threw my farewell glance at the Venus de' Medici to-day with strange insensibility. The nights are wonderfully beautiful now. When the moon was at the full, a few nights ago, its light was an absolute glory, such as I seem only to have dreamed of heretofore, and that only in my younger days. At its rising I have fancied that the orb of the moon has a kind of purple brightness, and that this tinge is communicated to its radiance until it has climbed high aloft and sheds a flood of white over hill and valley. Now that the moon is on the wane, there is a gentler lustre, but still bright; and it makes the Val d' Arno with its surrounding hills, and its soft mist in the distance, as beautiful a scene as exists anywhere out of heaven. And the morning is quite as beautiful in its own way. This mist, of which I have so often spoken, sets it beyond the limits of actual sense and makes it ideal; it is as if you were dreaming about the valley,--as if the valley itself were dreaming, and met you half-way in your own dream. If the mist were to be withdrawn, I believe the whole beauty of the valley would go with it. Until pretty late in the morning, we have the comet streaming through the sky, and dragging its interminable tail among the stars. It keeps brightening from night to night, and I should think must blaze fiercely enough to cast a shadow by and by. I know not whether it be in the vicinity of Galileo's tower, and in the influence of his spirit, but I have hardly ever watched the stars with such interest as now. September 29th.--Last evening I met Mr. Powers at Miss Blagden's, and he talked about his treatment, by our government in reference, to an appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars made by Congress for a statue by him. Its payment and the purchase of the statue were left at the option of the President, and he conceived himself wronged because the affair was never concluded. . . . . As for the President, he knows nothing of art, and probably acted in the matter by the advice of the director of public works. No doubt a sculptor gets commissions as everybody gets public employment and emolument of whatever kind from our government, not by merit or fitness, but by political influence skilfully applied. As Powers himself observed, the ruins of our Capitol are not likely to afford sculptures equal to those which Lord Elgin took from the Parthenon, if this be the system under which they are produced. . . . . I wish our great Republic had the spirit to do as much, according to its vast means, as Florence did for sculpture and architecture when it was a republic; but we have the meanest government and the shabbiest, and--if truly represented by it--we are the meanest and shabbiest people known in history. And yet the less we attempt to do for art the better, if our future attempts are to have no better result than such brazen troopers as the equestrian statue of General Jackson, or even such naked respectabilities as Greenough's Washington. There is something false and affected in our highest taste for art; and I suppose, furthermore, we are the only people who seek to decorate their public institutions, not by the highest taste among them, but by the average at best. There was also at Miss Blagden's, among other company, Mr. ------, an artist in Florence, and a sensible man. I talked with him about Home, the medium, whom he had many opportunities of observing when the latter was in these parts. Mr. ------ says that Home is unquestionably a knave, but that he himself is as much perplexed at his own preternatural performances as any other person; he is startled and affrighted at the phenomena which he produces. Nevertheless, when his spiritual powers fall short, he does his best to eke them out with imposture. This moral infirmity is a part of his nature, and I suggested that perhaps if he were of a firmer and healthier moral make, if his character were sufficiently sound and dense to be capable of steadfast principle, he would not have possessed the impressibility that fits him for the so-called spiritual influences. Mr. ------ says that Louis Napoleon is literally one of the most skilful jugglers in the world, and that probably the interest he has taken in Mr. Home was caused partly by a wish to acquire his art. This morning Mr. Powers invited me to go with him to the Grand Duke's new foundry, to see the bronze statue of Webster which has just been cast from his model. It is the second cast of the statue, the first having been shipped some months ago on board of a vessel which was lost; and, as Powers observed, the statue now lies at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean somewhere in the vicinity of the telegraphic cable. We were received with much courtesy and emphasis by the director of the foundry, and conducted into a large room walled with bare, new brick, where the statue was standing in front of the extinct furnace: a majestic Webster indeed, eight feet high, and looking even more colossal than that. The likeness seemed to me perfect, and, like a sensible man, Powers' has dressed him in his natural costume, such as I have seen Webster have on while making a speech in the open air at a mass meeting in Concord,--dress-coat buttoned pretty closely across the breast, pantaloons and boots,--everything finished even to a seam and a stitch. Not an inch of the statue but is Webster; even his coat-tails are imbued with the man, and this true artist has succeeded in showing him through the broadcloth as nature showed him. He has felt that a man's actual clothes are as much a part of him as his flesh, and I respect him for disdaining to shirk the difficulty by throwing the meanness of a cloak over it, and for recognizing the folly of masquerading our Yankee statesman in a Roman toga, and the indecorousness of presenting him as a brassy nudity. It would have been quite as unjustifiable to strip him to his skeleton as to his flesh. Webster is represented as holding in his right hand the written roll of the Constitution, with which he points to a bundle of fasces, which he keeps from falling by the grasp of his left, thus symbolizing him as the preserver of the Union. There is an expression of quiet, solid, massive strength in the whole figure; a deep, pervading energy, in which any exaggeration of gesture would lessen and lower the effect. He looks really like a pillar of the state. The face is very grand, very Webster stern and awful, because he is in the act of meeting a great crisis, and yet with the warmth of a great heart glowing through it. Happy is Webster to have been so truly and adequately sculptured; happy the sculptor in such a subject, which no idealization of a demigod could have supplied him with. Perhaps the statue at the bottom of the sea will be cast up in some future age, when the present race of man is forgotten, and if so, that far posterity will look up to us as a grander race than we find ourselves to be. Neither was Webster altogether the man he looked. His physique helped him out, even when he fell somewhat short of its promise; and if his eyes had not been in such deep caverns their fire would not have looked so bright. Powers made me observe how the surface of the statue was wrought to a sort of roughness instead of being smoothed, as is the practice of other artists. He said that this had cost him great pains, and certainly it has an excellent effect. The statue is to go to Boston, and I hope will be placed in the open air, for it is too mighty to be kept under any roof that now exists in America. . . . . After seeing this, the director showed us some very curious and exquisite specimens of castings, such as baskets of flowers, in which the most delicate and fragile blossoms, the curl of a petal, the finest veins in a leaf, the lightest flower-spray that ever quivered in a breeze, were perfectly preserved; and the basket contained an abundant heap of such sprays. There were likewise a pair of hands, taken actually from life, clasped together as they were, and they looked like parts of a man who had been changed suddenly from flesh to brass. They were worn and rough and unhandsome hands, and so very real, with all their veins and the pores of the skin, that it was shocking to look at them. A bronze leaf, cast also from the life, was as curious and more beautiful. Taking leave of Powers, I went hither and thither about Florence, seeing for the last time things that I have seen many times before: the market, for instance, blocking up a line of narrow streets with fruit-stalls, and obstreperous dealers crying their peaches, their green lemons, their figs, their delicious grapes, their mushrooms, their pomegranates, their radishes, their lettuces. They use one vegetable here which I have not known so used elsewhere; that is, very young pumpkins or squashes, of the size of apples, and to be cooked by boiling. They are not to my taste, but the people here like unripe things,--unripe fruit, unripe chickens, unripe lamb. This market is the noisiest and swarmiest centre of noisy and swarming Florence, and I always like to pass through it on that account. I went also to Santa Croce, and it seemed to me to present a longer vista and broader space than almost any other church, perhaps because the pillars between the nave and aisles are not so massive as to obstruct the view. I looked into the Duomo, too, and was pretty well content to leave it. Then I came homeward, and lost my way, and wandered far off through the white sunshine, and the scanty shade of the vineyard walls, and the olive-trees that here and there branched over them. At last I saw our own gray battlements at a distance, on one side, quite out of the direction in which I was travelling, so was compelled to the grievous mortification of retracing a great many of my weary footsteps. It was a very hot day. This evening I have been on the towertop star-gazing, and looking at the comet, which waves along the sky like an immense feather of flame. Over Florence there was an illuminated atmosphere, caused by the lights of the city gleaming upward into the mists which sleep and dream above that portion of the valley, as well as the rest of it. I saw dimly, or fancied I saw, the hill of Fiesole on the other side of Florence, and remembered how ghostly lights were seen passing thence to the Duomo on the night when Lorenzo the Magnificent died. From time to time the sweet bells of Florence rang out, and I was loath to come down into the lower world, knowing that I shall never again look heavenward from an old tower-top in such a soft calm evening as this. Yet I am not loath to go away; impatient rather; for, taking no root, I soon weary of any soil in which I may be temporarily deposited. The same impatience I sometimes feel or conceive of as regards this earthly life. . . . . I forgot to mention that Powers showed me, in his studio, the model of the statue of America, which he wished the government to buy. It has great merit, and embodies the ideal of youth, freedom, progress, and whatever we consider as distinctive of our country's character and destiny. It is a female figure, vigorous, beautiful, planting its foot lightly on a broken chain, and pointing upward. The face has a high look of intelligence and lofty feeling; the form, nude to the middle, has all the charms of womanhood, and is thus warmed and redeemed out of the cold allegoric sisterhood who have generally no merit in chastity, being really without sex. I somewhat question whether it is quite the thing, however, to make a genuine woman out of an allegory we ask, Who is to wed this lovely virgin? and we are not satisfied to banish her into the realm of chilly thought. But I liked the statue, and all the better for what I criticise, and was sorry to see the huge package in which the finished marble lies bundled up, ready to be sent to our country,--which does not call for it. Mr. Powers and his two daughters called to take leave of us, and at parting I expressed a hope of seeing him in America. He said that it would make him very unhappy to believe that he should never return thither; but it seems to me that he has no such definite purpose of return as would be certain to bring itself to pass. It makes a very unsatisfactory life, thus to spend the greater part of it in exile. In such a case we are always deferring the reality of life till a future moment, and, by and by, we have deferred it till there are no future moments; or, if we do go back, we find that life has shifted whatever of reality it had to the country where we deemed ourselves only living temporarily; and so between two stools we come to the ground, and make ourselves a part of one or the other country only by laying our bones in its soil. It is particularly a pity in Powers's case, because he is so very American in character, and the only convenience for him of his Italian residence is, that here he can supply himself with marble, and with workmen to chisel it according to his designs. SIENA. October 2d.--Yesterday morning, at six o'clock, we left our ancient tower, and threw a parting glance--and a rather sad one--over the misty Val d' Arno. This summer will look like a happy one in our children's retrospect, and also, no doubt, in the years that remain to ourselves; and, in truth, I have found it a peaceful and not uncheerful one. It was not a pleasant morning, and Monte Morello, looking down on Florence, had on its cap, betokening foul weather, according to the proverb. Crossing the suspension-bridge, we reached the Leopoldo railway without entering the city. By some mistake,--or perhaps because nobody ever travels by first-class carriages in Tuscany,--we found we had received second-class tickets, and were put into a long, crowded carriage, full of priests, military men, commercial travellers, and other respectable people, facing one another lengthwise along the carriage, and many of them smoking cigars. They were all perfectly civil, and I think I must own that the manners of this second-class would compare favorably with those of an American first-class one. At Empoli, about an hour after we started, we had to change carriages, the main train proceeding to Leghorn. . . . . My observations along the road were very scanty: a hilly country, with several old towns seated on the most elevated hill-tops, as is common throughout Tuscany, or sometimes a fortress with a town on the plain at its base; or, once or twice, the towers and battlements of a mediaeval castle, commanding the pass below it. Near Florence the country was fertile in the vine and olive, and looked as unpicturesque as that sort of fertility usually makes it; not but what I have come to think better of the tint of the olive-leaf than when I first saw it. In the latter part of our journey I remember a wild stream, of a greenish hue, but transparent, rushing along over a rough bed, and before reaching Siena we rumbled into a long tunnel, and emerged from it near the city. . . . . We drove up hill and down (for the surface of Siena seems to be nothing but an irregularity) through narrow old streets, and were set down at the Aquila Nera, a grim-looking albergo near the centre of the town. Mrs. S------ had already taken rooms for us there, and to these we were now ushered up the highway of a dingy stone staircase, and into a small, brick-paved parlor. The house seemed endlessly old, and all the glimpses that we caught of Siena out of window seemed more ancient still. Almost within arm's reach, across a narrow street, a tall palace of gray, time-worn stone clambered skyward, with arched windows, and square windows, and large windows and small, scattered up and down its side. It is the Palazzo Tolomei, and looks immensely venerable. From the windows of our bedrooms we looked into a broader street, though still not very wide, and into a small piazza, the most conspicuous object in which was a column, hearing on its top a bronze wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. This symbol is repeated in other parts of the city, and scours to indicate that the Sienese people pride themselves in a Roman origin. In another direction, over the tops of the houses, we saw a very high tower, with battlements projecting around its summit, so that it was a fortress in the air; and this I have since found to be the Palazzo Publico. It was pleasant, looking downward into the little old piazza and narrow streets, to see the swarm of life on the pavement, the life of to-day just as new as if it had never been lived before; the citizens, the priests, the soldiers, the mules and asses with their panniers, the diligence lumbering along, with a postilion in a faded crimson coat bobbing up and down on the off-horse. Such a bustling scene, vociferous, too, with various street-cries, is wonderfully set off by the gray antiquity of the town, and makes the town look older than if it were a solitude. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Story came, and accompanied us to look for lodgings. They also drove us about the city in their carriage, and showed us the outside of the Palazzo Publico, and of the cathedral and other remarkable edifices. The aspect of Siena is far more picturesque than that of any other town in Italy, so far as I know Italian towns; and yet, now that I have written it, I remember Perugia, and feel that the observation is a mistake. But at any rate Siena is remarkably picturesque, standing on such a site, on the verge and within the crater of an extinct volcano, and therefore being as uneven as the sea in a tempest; the streets so narrow, ascending between tall, ancient palaces, while the side streets rush headlong down, only to be threaded by sure-footed mules, such as climb Alpine heights; old stone balconies on the palace fronts; old arched doorways, and windows set in frames of Gothic architecture; arcades, resembling canopies of stone, with quaintly sculptured statues in the richly wrought Gothic niches of each pillar;--everything massive and lofty, yet minutely interesting when you look at it stone by stone. The Florentines, and the Romans too, have obliterated, as far as they could, all the interest of their mediaeval structures by covering them with stucco, so that they have quite lost their character, and affect the spectator with no reverential idea of age. Here the city is all overwritten with black-letter, and the glad Italian sun makes the effect so much the stronger. We took a lodging, and afterwards J----- and I rambled about, and went into the cathedral for a moment, and strayed also into the Piazza del Campo, the great public square of Siena. I am not in the mood for further description of public places now, so shall say a word or two about the old palace in which we have established ourselves. We have the second piano, and dwell amid faded grandeur, having for our saloon what seems to have been a ball-room. It is ornamented with a great fresco in the centre of the vaulted ceiling, and others covering the sides of the apartment, and surrounded with arabesque frameworks, where Cupids gambol and chase one another. The subjects of the frescos I cannot make out, not that they are faded like Giotto's, for they are as fresh as roses, and are done in an exceedingly workmanlike style; but they are allegories of Fame and Plenty and other matters, such as I could never understand. Our whole accommodation is in similar style,--spacious, magnificent, and mouldy. In the evening Miss S------ and I drove to the railway, and on the arrival of the train from Florence we watched with much eagerness the unlading of the luggage-van. At last the whole of our ten trunks and tin bandbox were produced, and finally my leather bag, in which was my journal and a manuscript book containing my sketch of a romance. It gladdened my very heart to see it, and I shall think the better of Tuscan promptitude and accuracy for so quickly bringing it back to me. (It was left behind, under one of the rail-carriage seats.) We find all the public officials, whether of railway, police, or custom-house, extremely courteous and pleasant to encounter; they seem willing to take trouble and reluctant to give it, and it is really a gratification to find that such civil people will sometimes oblige you by taking a paul or two aside. October 3d.--I took several strolls about the city yesterday, and find it scarcely extensive enough to get lost in; and if we go far from the centre we soon come to silent streets, with only here and there an individual; and the inhabitants stare from their doors and windows at the stranger, and turn round to look at him after he has passed. The interest of the old town would soon be exhausted for the traveller, but I can conceive that a thoughtful and shy man might settle down here with the view of making the place a home, and spend many years in a sombre kind of happiness. I should prefer it to Florence as a residence, but it would be terrible without an independent life in one's own mind. U---- and I walked out in the afternoon, and went into the Piazza del Campo, the principal place of the city, and a very noble and peculiar one. It is much in the form of an amphitheatre, and the surface of the ground seems to be slightly scooped out, so that it resembles the shallow basin of a shell. It is thus a much better site for an assemblage of the populace than if it were a perfect level. A semicircle or truncated ellipse of stately and ancient edifices surround the piazza, with arches opening beneath them, through which streets converge hitherward. One side of the piazza is a straight line, and is occupied by the Palazzo Publico, which is a most noble and impressive Gothic structure. It has not the mass of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, but is more striking. It has a long battlemented front, the central part of which rises eminent above the rest, in a great square bulk, which is likewise crowned with battlements. This is much more picturesque than the one great block of stone into which the Palazzo Vecchio is consolidated. At one extremity of this long front of the Palazzo Publico rises a tower, shooting up its shaft high, high into the air, and bulging out there into a battlemented fortress, within which the tower, slenderer than before, climbs to a still higher region. I do not know whether the summit of the tower is higher or so high as that of the Palazzo Vecchio; but the length of the shaft, free of the edifice, is much greater, and so produces the more elevating effect. The whole front of the Palazzo Publico is exceedingly venerable, with arched windows, Gothic carvings, and all the old-time ornaments that betoken it to have stood a great while, and the gray strength that will hold it up at least as much longer. At one end of the facade, beneath the shadow of the tower, is a grand and beautiful porch, supported on square pillars, within each of which is a niche containing a statue of mediaeval sculpture. The great Piazza del Campo is the market-place of Siena. In the morning it was thronged with booths and stalls, especially of fruit and vegetable dealers; but as in Florence, they melted away in the sunshine, gradually withdrawing themselves into the shadow thrown from the Palazzo Publico. On the side opposite the palace is an antique fountain of marble, ornamented with two statues and a series of bas-reliefs; and it was so much admired in its day that its sculptor received the name "Del Fonte." I am loath to leave the piazza and palace without finding some word or two to suggest their antique majesty, in the sunshine and the shadow; and how fit it seemed, notwithstanding their venerableness, that there should be a busy crowd filling up the great, hollow amphitheatre, and crying their fruit and little merchandises, so that all the curved line of stately old edifices helped to reverberate the noise. The life of to-day, within the shell of a time past, is wonderfully fascinating. Another point to which a stranger's footsteps are drawn by a kind of magnetism, so that he will be apt to find himself there as often as he strolls out of his hotel, is the cathedral. It stands in the highest part of the city, and almost every street runs into some other street which meanders hitherward. On our way thither, U---- and I came to a beautiful front of black and white marble, in somewhat the same style as the cathedral; in fact, it was the baptistery, and should have made a part of it, according to the original design, which contemplated a structure of vastly greater extent than this actual one. We entered the baptistery, and found the interior small, but very rich in its clustered columns and intersecting arches, and its frescos, pictures, statues, and ornaments. Moreover, a father and mother had brought their baby to be baptized, and the poor little thing, in its gay swaddling-clothes, looked just like what I have seen in old pictures, and a good deal like an Indian pappoose. It gave one little slender squeak when the priest put the water on its forehead, and then was quiet again. We now went round to the facade of the cathedral. . . . . It is of black and white marble, with, I believe, an intermixture of red and other colors; but time has toned them down, so that white, black, and red do not contrast so strongly with one another as they may have done five hundred years ago. The architecture is generally of the pointed Gothic style, but there are likewise carved arches over the doors and windows, and a variety which does not produce the effect of confusion,--a magnificent eccentricity, an exuberant imagination flowering out in stone. On high, in the great peak of the front, and throwing its colored radiance into the nave within, there is a round window of immense circumference, the painted figures in which we can see dimly from the outside. But what I wish to express, and never can, is the multitudinous richness of the ornamentation of the front: the arches within arches, sculptured inch by inch, of the deep doorways; the statues of saints, some making a hermitage of a niche, others standing forth; the scores of busts, that look like faces of ancient people gazing down out of the cathedral; the projecting shapes of stone lions,--the thousand forms of Gothic fancy, which seemed to soften the marble and express whatever it liked, and allow it to harden again to last forever. But my description seems like knocking off the noses of some of the busts, the fingers and toes of the statues, the projecting points of the architecture, jumbling them all up together, and flinging them down upon the page. This gives no idea of the truth, nor, least of all, can it shadow forth that solemn whole, mightily combined out of all these minute particulars, and sanctifying the entire space of ground over which this cathedral-front flings its shadow, or on which it reflects the sun. A majesty and a minuteness, neither interfering with the other, each assisting the other; this is what I love in Gothic architecture. We went in and walked about; but I mean to go again before sketching the interior in my poor water-colors. October 4th.--On looking again at the Palazzo Publico, I see that the pillared portal which I have spoken of does not cover an entrance to the palace, but is a chapel, with an altar, and frescos above it. Bouquets of fresh flowers are on the altar, and a lamp burns, in all the daylight, before the crucifix. The chapel is quite unenclosed, except by an openwork balustrade of marble, on which the carving looks very ancient. Nothing could be more convenient for the devotions of the crowd in the piazza, and no doubt the daily prayers offered at the shrine might be numbered by the thousand,--brief, but I hope earnest,--like those glimpses I used to catch at the blue sky, revealing so much in an instant, while I was toiling at Brook Farm. Another picturesque thing about the Palazzo Publico is a great stone balcony quaintly wrought, about midway in the front and high aloft, with two arched windows opening into it. After another glimpse at the cathedral, too, I realize how utterly I have failed in conveying the idea of its elaborate ornament, its twisted and clustered pillars, and numberless devices of sculpture; nor did I mention the venerable statues that stand all round the summit of the edifice, relieved against the sky,--the highest of all being one of the Saviour, on the topmost peak of the front; nor the tall tower that ascends from one side of the building, and is built of layers of black and white marble piled one upon another in regular succession; nor the dome that swells upward close beside this tower. Had the cathedral been constructed on the plan and dimensions at first contemplated, it would have been incomparably majestic; the finished portion, grand as it is, being only what was intended for a transept. One of the walls of what was to have been the nave is still standing, and looks like a ruin, though, I believe, it has been turned to account as the wall of a palace, the space of the never-completed nave being now a court or street. The whole family of us were kindly taken out yesterday, to dine and spend the day at the Villa Belvedere with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Story. The vicinity of Siena is much more agreeable than that of Florence, being cooler, breezier, with more foliage and shrubbery both near at hand and in the distance; and the prospect, Mr. Story told us, embraces a diameter of about a hundred miles between hills north and south. The Villa Belvedere was built and owned by an Englishman now deceased, who has left it to his butler, and its lawns and shrubbery have something English in their character, and there was almost a dampness in the grass, which really pleased me in this parched Italy. Within the house the walls are hung with fine old-fashioned engravings from the pictures of Gainsborough, West, and other English painters. The Englishman, though he had chosen to live and die in Italy, had evidently brought his native tastes and peculiarities along with him. Mr. Story thinks of buying this villa: I do not know but I might be tempted to buy it myself if Siena were a practicable residence for the entire year; but the winter here, with the bleak mountain-winds of a hundred miles round about blustering against it, must be terribly disagreeable. We spent a very pleasant day, turning over books or talking on the lawn, whence we could behold scenes picturesque afar, and rich vineyard glimpses near at hand. Mr. Story is the most variously accomplished and brilliant person, the fullest of social life and fire, whom I ever met; and without seeming to make an effort, he kept us amused and entertained the whole day long; not wearisomely entertained neither, as we should have been if he had not let his fountain play naturally. Still, though he bubbled and brimmed over with fun, he left the impression on me that . . . . there is a pain and care, bred, it may be, out of the very richness of his gifts and abundance of his outward prosperity. Rich, in the prime of life, . . . . and children budding and blossoming around him as fairly as his heart could wish, with sparkling talents,--so many, that if he choose to neglect or fling away one, or two, or three, he would still have enough left to shine with,--who should be happy if not he? . . . . Towards sunset we all walked out into the podere, pausing a little while to look down into a well that stands on the verge of the lawn. Within the spacious circle of its stone curb was an abundant growth of maidenhair, forming a perfect wreath of thickly clustering leaves quite round, and trailing its tendrils downward to the water which gleamed beneath. It was a very pretty sight. Mr. Story bent over the well and uttered deep, musical tones, which were reverberated from the hollow depths with wonderful effect, as if a spirit dwelt within there, and (unlike the spirits that speak through mediums) sent him back responses even profounder and more melodious than the tones that awakened them. Such a responsive well as this might have been taken for an oracle in old days. We went along paths that led from one vineyard to another, and which might have led us for miles across the country. The grapes had been partly gathered, but still there were many purple or white clusters hanging heavily on the vines. We passed cottage doors, and saw groups of contadini and contadine in their festal attire, and they saluted us graciously; but it was observable that one of the men generally lingered on our track to see that no grapes were stolen, for there were a good many young people and children in our train, not only our own, but some from a neighboring villa. These Italian peasants are a kindly race, but, I doubt, not very hospitable of grape or fig. There was a beautiful sunset, and by the time we reached the house again the comet was already visible amid the unextinguished glow of daylight. A Mr. and Mrs. B------, Scotch people from the next villa, had come to see the Storys, and we sat till tea-time reading, talking, William Story drawing caricatures for his children's amusement and ours, and all of us sometimes getting up to look at the comet, which blazed brighter and brighter till it went down into the mists of the horizon. Among the caricatures was one of a Presidential candidate, evidently a man of very malleable principles, and likely to succeed. Late in the evening (too late for little Rosebud) we drove homeward. The streets of old Siena looked very grim at night, and it seemed like gazing into caverns to glimpse down some of the side streets as we passed, with a light burning dimly at the end of them. It was after ten when we reached home, and climbed up our gloomy staircase, lighted by the glimmer of some wax moccoli which I had in my pocket. October 5th.--I have been two or three times into the cathedral; . . . . the whole interior is of marble, in alternate lines of black and white, each layer being about eight inches in width and extending horizontally. It looks very curiously, and might remind the spectator of a stuff with horizontal stripes. Nevertheless, the effect is exceedingly rich, these alternate lines stretching away along the walls and round the clustered pillars, seen aloft, and through the arches; everywhere, this inlay of black and white. Every sort of ornament that could be thought of seems to have been crammed into the cathedral in one place or another: gilding, frescos, pictures; a roof of blue, spangled with golden stars; a magnificent wheel-window of old painted glass over the entrance, and another at the opposite end of the cathedral; statues, some of marble, others of gilded bronze; pulpits of carved marble; a gilded organ; a cornice of marble busts of the popes, extending round the entire church; a pavement, covered all over with a strange kind of mosaic work in various marbles, wrought into marble pictures of sacred subjects; immense clustered pillars supporting the round arches that divide the nave from the side aisles; a clere-story of windows within pointed arches;--it seemed as if the spectator were reading an antique volume written in black-letter of a small character, but conveying a high and solemn meaning. I can find no way of expressing its effect on me, so quaint and venerable as I feel this cathedral to be in its immensity of striped waistcoat, now dingy with five centuries of wear. I ought not to say anything that might detract from the grandeur and sanctity of the blessed edifice, for these attributes are really uninjured by any of the Gothic oddities which I have hinted at. We went this morning to the Institute of the Fine Arts, which is interesting as containing a series of the works of the Sienese painters from a date earlier than that of Cimabue. There is a dispute, I believe, between Florence and Siena as to which city may claim the credit of having originated the modern art of painting. The Florentines put forward Cimabue as the first artist, but as the Sienese produce a picture, by Guido da Siena, dated before the birth of Cimabue, the victory is decidedly with them. As to pictorial merit, to my taste there is none in either of these old painters, nor in any of their successors for a long time afterwards. At the Institute there are several rooms hung with early productions of the Sienese school, painted before the invention of oil-colors, on wood shaped into Gothic altar-pieces. The backgrounds still retain a bedimmed splendor of gilding. There is a plentiful use of red, and I can conceive that the pictures must have shed an illumination through the churches where they were displayed. There is often, too, a minute care bestowed on the faces in the pictures, and sometimes a very strong expression, stronger than modern artists get, and it is very strange how they attained this merit while they were so inconceivably rude in other respects. It is remarkable that all the early faces of the Madonna are especially stupid, and all of the same type, a sort of face such as one might carve on a pumpkin, representing a heavy, sulky, phlegmatic woman, with a long and low arch of the nose. This same dull face continues to be assigned to the Madonna, even when the countenances of the surrounding saints and angels are characterized with power and beauty, so that I think there must have been some portrait of this sacred personage reckoned authentic, which the early painters followed and religiously repeated. At last we came to a picture by Sodoma, the most illustrious representative of the Sienese school. It was a fresco; Christ bound to the pillar, after having been scourged. I do believe that painting has never done anything better, so far as expression is concerned, than this figure. In all these generations since it was painted it must have softened thousands of hearts, drawn down rivers of tears, been more effectual than a million of sermons. Really, it is a thing to stand and weep at. No other painter has done anything that can deserve to be compared to this. There are some other pictures by Sodoma, among them a Judith, very noble and admirable, and full of a profound sorrow for the deed which she has felt it her mission to do. Aquila Nera, October 7th.--Our lodgings in Siena had been taken only for five days, as they were already engaged after that period; so yesterday we returned to our old quarters at the Black Eagle. In the forenoon J----- and I went out of one of the gates (the road from it leads to Florence) and had a pleasant country walk. Our way wound downward, round the hill on which Siena stands, and gave us views of the Duomo and its campanile, seemingly pretty near, after we had walked long enough to be quite remote from them. Sitting awhile on the parapet of a bridge, I saw a laborer chopping the branches off a poplar-tree which he had felled; and, when it was trimmed, he took up the large trunk on one of his shoulders and carried it off, seemingly with ease. He did not look like a particularly robust man; but I have never seen such an herculean feat attempted by an Englishman or American. It has frequently struck me that the Italians are able to put forth a great deal of strength in such insulated efforts as this; but I have been told that they are less capable of continued endurance and hardship than our own race. I do not know why it should be so, except that I presume their food is less strong than ours. There was no other remarkable incident in our walk, which lay chiefly through gorges of the hills, winding beneath high cliffs of the brown Siena earth, with many pretty scenes of rural landscape; vineyards everywhere, and olive-trees; a mill on its little stream, over which there was an old stone bridge, with a graceful arch; farm-houses; a villa or two; subterranean passages, passing from the roadside through the high banks into the vineyards. At last we turned aside into a road which led us pretty directly to another gate of the city, and climbed steeply upward among tanneries, where the young men went about with their well-shaped legs bare, their trousers being tucked up till they were strictly breeches and nothing else. The campanile stood high above us; and by and by, and very soon, indeed, the steep ascent of the street brought us into the neighborhood of the Piazza del Campo, and of our own hotel. . . . . From about twelve o'clock till one, I sat at my chamber window watching the specimens of human life as displayed in the Piazza Tolomei. [Here follow several pages of moving objects.] . . . . Of course, a multitude of other people passed by, but the curiousness of the catalogue is the prevalence of the martial and religious elements. The general costume of the inhabitants is frocks or sacks, loosely made, and rather shabby; often, shirt-sleeves; or the coat hung over one shoulder. They wear felt hats and straw. People of respectability seem to prefer cylinder hats, either black or drab, and broadcloth frock-coats in the French fashion; but, like the rest, they look a little shabby. Almost all the women wear shawls. Ladies in swelling petticoats, and with fans, some of which are highly gilded, appear. The people generally are not tall, but have a sufficient breadth of shoulder; in complexion, similar to Americans; bearded, universally. The vehicle used for driving is a little gig without a top; but these are seldom seen, and still less frequently a cab or other carriages. The gait of the people has not the energy of business or decided purpose. Everybody appears to lounge, and to have time for a moment's chat, and a disposition to rest, reason or none. After dinner I walked out of another gate of the city, and wandered among some pleasant country lanes, bordered with hedges, and wearing an English aspect; at least, I could fancy so. The vicinity of Siena is delightful to walk about in; there being a verdant outlook, a wide prospect of purple mountains, though no such level valley as the Val d' Arno; and the city stands so high that its towers and domes are seen more picturesquely from many points than those of Florence can be. Neither is the pedestrian so cruelly shut into narrow lanes, between high stone-walls, over which he cannot get a glimpse of landscape. As I walked by the hedges yesterday I could have fancied that the olive-trunks were those of apple-trees, and that I was in one or other of the two lands that I love better than Italy. But the great white villas and the farm-houses were unlike anything I have seen elsewhere, or that I should wish to see again, though proper enough to Italy. October 9th.--Thursday forenoon, 8th, we went to see the Palazzo Publico. There are some fine old halls and chapels, adorned with ancient frescos and pictures, of which I remember a picture of the Virgin by Sodoma, very beautiful, and other fine pictures by the same master. The architecture of these old rooms is grand, the roofs being supported by ponderous arches, which are covered with frescos, still magnificent, though faded, darkened, and defaced. We likewise saw an antique casket of wood, enriched with gilding, which had once contained an arm of John the Baptist,--so the custode told us. One of the halls was hung with the portraits of eight popes and nearly forty cardinals, who were natives of Siena. I have done hardly any other sight-seeing except a daily visit to the cathedral, which I admire and love the more the oftener I go thither. Its striped peculiarity ceases entirely to interfere with the grandeur and venerable beauty of its impression; and I am never weary of gazing through the vista of its arches, and noting continually something that I had not seen before in its exuberant adornment. The pavement alone is inexhaustible, being covered all over with figures of life-size or larger, which look like immense engravings of Gothic or Scriptural scenes. There is Absalom hanging by his hair, and Joab slaying him with a spear. There is Samson belaboring the Philistines with the jawbone of an ass. There are armed knights in the tumult of battle, all wrought with wonderful expression. The figures are in white marble, inlaid with darker stone, and the shading is effected by means of engraved lines in the marble, filled in with black. It would be possible, perhaps, to print impressions from some of these vast plates, for the process of cutting the lines was an exact anticipation of the modern art of engraving. However, the same thing was done--and I suppose at about the same period--on monumental brasses, and I have seen impressions or rubbings from those for sale in the old English churches. Yesterday morning, in the cathedral, I watched a woman at confession, being curious to see how long it would take her to tell her sins, the growth of a week perhaps. I know not how long she had been confessing when I first observed her, but nearly an hour passed before the priest came suddenly from the confessional, looking weary and moist with perspiration, and took his way out of the cathedral. The woman was left on her knees. This morning I watched another woman, and she too was very long about it, and I could see the face of the priest behind the curtain of the confessional, scarcely inclining his ear to the perforated tin through which the penitent communicated her outpourings. It must be very tedious to listen, day after day, to the minute and commonplace iniquities of the multitude of penitents, and it cannot be often that these are redeemed by the treasure-trove of a great sin. When her confession was over the woman came and sat down on the same bench with me, where her broad-brimmed straw hat was lying. She seemed to be a country woman, with a simple, matronly face, which was solemnized and softened with the comfort that she had obtained by disburdening herself of the soil of worldly frailties and receiving absolution. An old woman, who haunts the cathedral, whispered to her, and she went and knelt down where a procession of priests were to pass, and then the old lady begged a cruzia of me, and got a half-paul. It almost invariably happens, in church or cathedral, that beggars address their prayers to the heretic visitor, and probably with more unction than to the Virgin or saints. However, I have nothing to say against the sincerity of this people's devotion. They give all the proof of it that a mere spectator can estimate. Last evening we all went out to see the comet, which then reached its climax of lustre. It was like a lofty plume of fire, and grew very brilliant as the night darkened. October 10th.--This morning, too, we went to the cathedral, and sat long listening to the music of the organ and voices, and witnessing rites and ceremonies which are far older than even the ancient edifice where they were exhibited. A good many people were present, sitting, kneeling, or walking about,--a freedom that contrasts very agreeably with the grim formalities of English churches and our own meeting-houses. Many persons were in their best attire; but others came in, with unabashed simplicity, in their old garments of labor, sunburnt women from their toil among the vines and olives. One old peasant I noticed with his withered shanks in breeches and blue yarn stockings. The people of whatever class are wonderfully tolerant of heretics, never manifesting any displeasure or annoyance, though they must see that we are drawn thither by curiosity alone, and merely pry while they pray. I heartily wish the priests were better men, and that human nature, divinely influenced, could be depended upon for a constant supply and succession of good and pure ministers, their religion has so many admirable points. And then it is a sad pity that this noble and beautiful cathedral should be a mere fossil shell, out of which the life has died long ago. But for many a year yet to come the tapers will burn before the high altar, the Host will be elevated, the incense diffuse its fragrance, the confessionals be open to receive the penitents. I saw a father entering with two little bits of boys, just big enough to toddle along, holding his hand on either side. The father dipped his fingers into the marble font of holy water,--which, on its pedestals, was two or three times as high as those small Christians, --and wetted a hand of each, and taught them how to cross themselves. When they come to be men it will be impossible to convince those children that there is no efficacy in holy water, without plucking up all religious faith and sentiment by the roots. Generally, I suspect, when people throw off the faith they were born in, the best soil of their hearts is apt to cling to its roots. Raised several feet above the pavement, against every clustered pillar along the nave of the cathedral, is placed a statue of Gothic sculpture. In various places are sitting statues of popes of Sienese nativity, all of whom, I believe, have a hand raised in the act of blessing. Shrines and chapels, set in grand, heavy frames of pillared architecture, stand all along the aisles and transepts, and these seem in many instances to have been built and enriched by noble families, whose arms are sculptured on the pedestals of the pillars, sometimes with a cardinal's hat above to denote the rank of one of its members. How much pride, love, and reverence in the lapse of ages must have clung to the sharp points of all this sculpture and architecture! The cathedral is a religion in itself, --something worth dying for to those who have an hereditary interest in it. In the pavement, yesterday, I noticed the gravestone of a person who fell six centuries ago in the battle of Monte Aperto, and was buried here by public decree as a meed of valor. This afternoon I took a walk out of one of the city gates, and found the country about Siena as beautiful in this direction as in all others. I came to a little stream flowing over into a pebbly bed, and collecting itself into pools, with a scanty rivulet between. Its glen was deep, and was crossed by a bridge of several lofty and narrow arches like those of a Roman aqueduct. It is a modern structure, however. Farther on, as I wound round along the base of a hill which fell down upon the road by precipitous cliffs of brown earth, I saw a gray, ruined wall on the summit, surrounded with cypress-trees. This tree is very frequent about Siena, and the scenery is made soft and beautiful by a variety of other trees and shrubbery, without which these hills and gorges would have scarcely a charm. The road was thronged with country people, mostly women and children, who had been spending the feast-day in Siena; and parties of boys were chasing one another through the fields, pretty much as boys do in New England of a Sunday, but the Sienese lads had not the sense of Sabbath-breaking like our boys. Sunday with these people is like any other feast-day, and consecrated cheerful enjoyment. So much religious observance, as regards outward forms, is diffused through the whole week that they have no need to intensify the Sabbath except by making it gladden the other days. Returning through the same gate by which I had come out, I ascended into the city by a long and steep street, which was paved with bricks set edgewise. This pavement is common in many of the streets, which, being too steep for horses and carriages, are meant only to sustain the lighter tread of mules and asses. The more level streets are paved with broad, smooth flag-stones, like those of Florence,--a fashion which I heartily regret to change for the little penitential blocks of Rome. The walls of Siena in their present state, and so far as I have seen them, are chiefly brick; but there are intermingled fragments of ancient stone-work, and I wonder why the latter does not prevail more largely. The Romans, however,--and Siena had Roman characteristics,--always liked to build of brick, a taste that has made their ruins (now that the marble slabs are torn off) much less grand than they ought to have been. I am grateful to the old Sienese for having used stone so largely in their domestic architecture, and thereby rendered their city so grimly picturesque, with its black palaces frowning upon one another from arched windows, across narrow streets, to the height of six stories, like opposite ranks of tall men looking sternly into one another's eyes. October 11th.--Again I went to the cathedral this morning, and spent an hour listening to the music and looking through the orderly intricacies of the arches, where many vistas open away among the columns of the choir. There are five clustered columns on each side of the nave; then under the dome there are two more arches, not in a straight line, but forming the segment of a circle; and beyond the circle of the dome there are four more arches, extending to the extremity of the chancel. I should have said, instead of "clustered columns" as above, that there are five arches along the nave supported by columns. This cathedral has certainly bewitched me, to write about it so much, effecting nothing with my pains. I should judge the width of each arch to be about twenty feet, and the thickness of each clustered pillar is eight; or ten more, and the length of the entire building may be between two and three hundred feet; not very large, certainly, but it makes an impression of grandeur independent of size. . . . . I never shall succeed even in reminding myself of the venerable magnificence of this minster, with its arches, its columns, its cornice of popes' heads, its great wheel windows, its manifold ornament, all combining in one vast effect, though many men have labored individually, and through a long course of time, to produce this multifarious handiwork and headwork. I now took a walk out of the city. A road turned immediately to the left as I emerged from the city, and soon proved to be a rustic lane leading past several villas and farm-houses. It was a very pleasant walk, with vineyards and olive-orchards on each side, and now and then glimpses of the towers and sombre heaped-up palaces of Siena, and now a rural seclusion again; for the hills rise and the valleys fall like the swell and subsidence of the sea after a gale, so that Siena may be quite hidden within a quarter of a mile of its wall, or may be visible, I doubt not, twenty miles away. It is a fine old town, with every promise of health and vigor in its atmosphere, and really, if I could take root anywhere, I know not but it could as well be here as in another place. It would only be a kind of despair, however, that would ever make me dream of finding a home in Italy; a sense that I had lost my country through absence or incongruity, and that earth is not an abiding-place. I wonder that we Americans love our country at all, it having no limits and no oneness; and when you try to make it a matter of the heart, everything falls away except one's native State; neither can you seize hold of that unless you tear it out of the Union, bleeding and quivering. Yet unquestionably, we do stand by our national flag as stoutly as any people in the world, and I myself have felt the heart throb at sight of it as sensibly as other men. I think the singularity of our form of government contributes to give us a kind of patriotism, by separating us from other nations more entirely. If other nations had similar institutions,--if England, especially, were a democracy,--we should as readily make ourselves at home in another country as now in a new State. October 12th.--And again we went to the cathedral this forenoon, and the whole family, except myself, sketched portions of it. Even Rosebud stood gravely sketching some of the inlaid figures of the pavement. As for me, I can but try to preserve some memorial of this beautiful edifice in ill-fitting words that never hit the mark. This morning visit was not my final one, for I went again after dinner and walked quite round the whole interior. I think I have not yet mentioned the rich carvings of the old oaken seats round the choir, and the curious mosaic of lighter and darker woods, by which figures and landscapes are skilfully represented on the backs of some of the stalls. The process seems to be the same as the inlaying and engraving of the pavement, the material in one case being marble, in the other wood. The only other thing that I particularly noticed was, that in the fonts of holy water at the front entrance, marble fish are sculptured in the depths of the basin, and eels and shellfish crawling round the brim. Have I spoken of the sumptuous carving of the capitals of the columns? At any rate I have left a thousand beauties without a word. Here I drop the subject. As I took my parting glance the cathedral had a gleam of golden sunshine in its far depths, and it seemed to widen and deepen itself, as if to convince me of my error in saying, yesterday, that it is not very large. I wonder how I could say it. After taking leave of the cathedral, I found my way out of another of the city gates, and soon turned aside into a green lane. . . . . Soon the lane passed through a hamlet consisting of a few farm-houses, the shabbiest and dreariest that can be conceived, ancient, and ugly, and dilapidated, with iron-grated windows below, and heavy wooden shutters on the windows above,--high, ruinous walls shutting in the courts, and ponderous gates, one of which was off its hinges. The farm-yards were perfect pictures of disarray and slovenly administration of home affairs. Only one of these houses had a door opening on the road, and that was the meanest in the hamlet. A flight of narrow stone stairs ascended from the threshold to the second story. All these houses were specimens of a rude antiquity, built of brick and stone, with the marks of arched doors and windows where a subsequent generation had shut up the lights, or the accesses which the original builders had opened. Humble as these dwellings are,--though large and high compared with rural residences in other countries,--they may very probably date back to the times when Siena was a warlike republic, and when every house in its neighborhood had need to be a fortress. I suppose, however, prowling banditti were the only enemies against whom a defence would be attempted. What lives must now be lived there,--in beastly ignorance, mental sluggishness, hard toil for little profit, filth, and a horrible discomfort of fleas; for if the palaces of Italy are overrun with these pests, what must the country hovels be! . . . . We are now all ready for a start to-morrow. RADICOFANI. October 13th.--We arranged to begin our journey at six. . . . . It was a chill, lowering morning, and the rain blew a little in our faces before we had gone far, but did not continue long. The country soon lost the pleasant aspect which it wears immediately about Siena, and grew very barren and dreary. Then it changed again for the better, the road leading us through a fertility of vines and olives, after which the dreary and barren hills came back again, and formed our prospect throughout most of the day. We stopped for our dejeuner a la fourchette at a little old town called San Quirico, which we entered through a ruined gateway, the town being entirely surrounded by its ancient wall. This wall is far more picturesque than that of Siena, being lofty and built of stone, with a machicolation of arches running quite round its top, like a cornice. It has little more than a single street, perhaps a quarter of a mile long, narrow, paved with flag-stones in the Florentine fashion, and lined with two rows of tall, rusty stone houses, without a gap between them from end to end. The cafes were numerous in relation to the size of the town, and there were two taverns,--our own, the Eagle, being doubtless the best, and having three arched entrances in its front. Of these, the middle one led to the guests' apartments, the one on the right to the barn, and that on the left to the stable, so that, as is usual in Italian inns, the whole establishment was under one roof. We were shown into a brick-paved room on the first floor, adorned with a funny fresco of Aurora on the ceiling, and with some colored prints, both religious and profane. . . . . As we drove into the town we noticed a Gothic church with two doors of peculiar architecture, and while our dejeuner was being prepared we went to see it. The interior had little that was remarkable, for it had been repaired early in the last century, and spoilt of course; but an old triptych is still hanging in a chapel beside the high altar. It is painted on wood, and dates back beyond the invention of oil-painting, and represents the Virgin and some saints and angels. Neither is the exterior of the church particularly interesting, with the exception of the carving and ornaments of two of the doors. Both of them have round arches, deep and curiously wrought, and the pillars of one of the two are formed of a peculiar knot or twine in stone-work, such as I cannot well describe, but it is both ingenious and simple. These pillars rest on two nondescript animals, which look as much like walruses as anything else. The pillars of the other door consist of two figures supporting the capitals, and themselves standing on two handsomely carved lions. The work is curious, and evidently very ancient, and the material a red freestone. After lunch, J----- and I took a walk out of the gate of the town opposite to that of our entrance. There were no soldiers on guard, as at city gates of more importance; nor do I think that there is really any gate to shut, but the massive stone gateway still stands entire over the empty arch. Looking back after we had passed through, I observed that the lofty upper story is converted into a dove-cot, and that pumpkins were put to ripen in some open chambers at one side. We passed near the base of a tall, square tower, which is said to be of Roman origin. The little town is in the midst of a barren region, but its immediate neighborhood is fertile, and an olive-orchard, venerable of aspect, lay on the other side of the pleasant lane with its English hedges, and olive-trees grew likewise along the base of the city wall. The arched machicolations, which I have before mentioned, were here and there interrupted by a house which was built upon the old wall or incorporated into it; and from the windows of one of then I saw ears of Indian corn hung out to ripen in the sun, and somebody was winnowing grain at a little door that opened through the wall. It was very pleasant to see the ancient warlike rampart thus overcome with rustic peace. The ruined gateway is partly overgrown with ivy. Returning to our inn, along the street, we saw ------ sketching one of the doors of the Gothic church, in the midst of a crowd of the good people of San Quirico, who made no scruple to look over her shoulder, pressing so closely as hardly to allow her elbow-room. I must own that I was too cowardly to come forward and take my share of this public notice, so I turned away to the inn and there awaited her coming. Indeed, she has seldom attempted to sketch without finding herself the nucleus of a throng. VITERBO. The Black Eagle, October 14th.--Perhaps I had something more to say of San Quirico, but I shall merely add that there is a stately old palace of the Piccolomini close to the church above described. It is built in the style of the Roman palaces, and looked almost large enough to be one of them. Nevertheless, the basement story, or part of it, seems to be used as a barn and stable, for I saw a yoke of oxen in the entrance. I cannot but mention a most wretched team of vettura-horses which stopped at the door of our albergo: poor, lean, downcast creatures, with deep furrows between their ribs; nothing but skin and bone, in short, and not even so much skin as they should have had, for it was partially worn off from their backs. The harness was fastened with ropes, the traces and reins were ropes; the carriage was old and shabby, and out of this miserable equipage there alighted an ancient gentleman and lady, whom our waiter affirmed to be the Prefect of Florence and his wife. We left San Quirico at two o'clock, and followed an ascending road till we got into the region above the clouds; the landscape was very wide, but very dreary and barren, and grew more and more so till we began to climb the mountain of Radicofani, the peak of which had been blackening itself on the horizon almost the whole day. When we had come into a pretty high region we were assailed by a real mountain tempest of wind, rain, and hail, which pelted down upon us in good earnest, and cooled the air a little below comfort. As we toiled up the mountain its upper region presented a very striking aspect, looking as if a precipice had been smoothed and squared for the purpose of rendering the old castle on its summit more inaccessible than it was by nature. This is the castle of the robber-knight, Ghino di Tacco, whom Boccaccio introduces into the Decameron. A freebooter of those days must have set a higher value on such a rock as this than if it had been one mass of diamond, for no art of mediaeval warfare could endanger him in such a fortress. Drawing yet nearer, we found the hillside immediately above us strewn with thousands upon thousands of great fragments of stone. It looked as if some great ruin had taken place there, only it was too vast a ruin to have been the dismemberment and dissolution of anything made by man. We could now see the castle on the height pretty distinctly. It seemed to impend over the precipice; and close to the base of the latter we saw the street of a town on as strange and inconvenient a foundation as ever one was built upon. I suppose the inhabitants of the village were dependants of the old knight of the castle; his brotherhood of robbers, as they married and had families, settled there under the shelter of the eagle's nest. But the singularity is, how a community of people have contrived to live and perpetuate themselves so far out of the reach of the world's help, and seemingly with no means of assisting in the world's labor. I cannot imagine how they employ themselves except in begging, and even that branch of industry appears to be left to the old women and the children. No house was ever built in this immediate neighborhood for any such natural purpose as induces people to build them on other sites. Even our hotel, at which we now arrived, could not be said to be a natural growth of the soil; it had originally been a whim of one of the Grand Dukes of Tuscany,--a hunting-palace,--intended for habitation only during a few weeks of the year. Of all dreary hotels I ever alighted at, methinks this is the most so; but on first arriving I merely followed the waiter to look at our rooms, across stone-paved basement-halls dismal as Etruscan tombs; up dim staircases, and along shivering corridors, all of stone, stone, stone, nothing but cold stone. After glancing at these pleasant accommodations, my wife and I, with J-----, set out to ascend the hill and visit the town of Radicofani. It is not more than a quarter of a mile above our hotel, and is accessible by a good piece of road, though very steep. As we approached the town, we were assailed by some little beggars; but this is the case all through Italy, in city or solitude, and I think the mendicants of Radicofani are fewer than its proportion. We had not got far towards the village, when, looking back over the scene of many miles that lay stretched beneath us, we saw a heavy shower apparently travelling straight towards us over hill and dale. It seemed inevitable that it should soon be upon us, so I persuaded my wife to return to the hotel; but J----- and I kept onward, being determined to see Radicofani with or without a drenching. We soon entered the street; the blackest, ugliest, rudest old street, I do believe, that ever human life incrusted itself with. The first portion of it is the overbrimming of the town in generations subsequent to that in which it was surrounded by a wall; but after going a little way we came to a high, square tower planted right across the way, with an arched gateway in its basement story, so that it looked like a great short-legged giant striding over the street of Radicofani. Within the gateway is the proper and original town, though indeed the portion outside of the gate is as densely populated, as ugly, and as ancient, as that within. The street was very narrow, and paved with flag-stones not quite so smooth as those of Florence; the houses are tall enough to be stately, if they were not so inconceivably dingy and shabby; but, with their half-dozen stories, they make only the impression of hovel piled upon hovel,--squalor immortalized in undecaying stone. It was now getting far into the twilight, and I could not distinguish the particularities of the little town, except that there were shops, a cafe or two, and as many churches, all dusky with age, crowded closely together, inconvenient stifled too in spite of the breadth and freedom of the mountain atmosphere outside the scanty precincts of the street. It was a death-in-life little place, a fossilized place, and yet the street was thronged, and had all the bustle of a city; even more noise than a city's street, because everybody in Radicofani knows everybody, and probably gossips with everybody, being everybody's blood relation, as they cannot fail to have become after they and their forefathers have been shut up together within the narrow walls for many hundred years. They looked round briskly at J----- and me, but were courteous, as Italians always are, and made way for us to pass through the throng, as we kept on still ascending the steep street. It took us but a few minutes to reach the still steeper and winding pathway which climbs towards the old castle. After ascending above the village, the path, though still paved, becomes very rough, as if the hoofs of Ghino di Tacco's robber cavalry had displaced the stones and they had never been readjusted. On every side, too, except where the path just finds space enough, there is an enormous rubbish of huge stones, which seems to have fallen from the precipice above, or else to have rained down out of the sky. We kept on, and by and by reached what seemed to have been a lower outwork of the castle on the top; there was the massive old arch of a gateway, and a great deal of ruin of man's work, beside the large stones that here, as elsewhere, were scattered so abundantly. Within the wall and gateway just mentioned, however, there was a kind of farm-house, adapted, I suppose, out of the old ruin, and I noticed some ears of Indian corn hanging out of a window. There were also a few stacks of hay, but no signs of human or animal life; and it is utterly inexplicable to me, where these products of the soil could have come from, for certainly they never grew amid that barrenness. We had not yet reached Ghino's castle, and, being now beneath it, we had to bend our heads far backward to see it rising up against the clear sky while we were now in twilight. The path upward looked terribly steep and rough, and if we had climbed it we should probably have broken our necks in descending again into the lower obscurity. We therefore stopped here, much against J-----'s will, and went back as we came, still wondering at the strange situation of Radicofani; for its aspect is as if it had stepped off the top of the cliff and lodged at its base, though still in danger of sliding farther down the hillside. Emerging from the compact, grimy life of its street, we saw that the shower had swept by, or probably had expended itself in a region beneath us, for we were above the scope of many of the showery clouds that haunt a hill-country. There was a very bright star visible, I remember, and we saw the new moon, now a third towards the full, for the first time this evening. The air was cold and bracing. But I am excessively sleepy, so will not describe our great dreary hotel, where a blast howled in an interminable corridor all night. It did not seem to have anything to do with the wind out of doors, but to be a blast that had been casually shut in when the doors were closed behind the last Grand Duke who came hither and departed, and ever since it has been kept prisoner, and makes a melancholy wail along the corridor. The dreamy stupidity of this conceit proves how sleepy I am. SETTE VENE. October 15th.--We left Radicofani long before sunrise, and I saw that ceremony take place from the coupe of the vettura for the first time in a long while. A sunset is the better sight of the two. I have always suspected it, and have been strengthened in the idea whenever I have had an opportunity of comparison. Our departure from Radicofani was most dreary, except that we were very glad to get away; but, the cold discomfort of dressing in a chill bedroom by candlelight, and our uncertain wandering through the immense hotel with a dim taper in search of the breakfast-room, and our poor breakfast of eggs, Italian bread, and coffee,--all these things made me wish that people were created with roots like trees, so they could not befool themselves with wandering about. However, we had not long been on our way before the morning air blew away all our troubles, and we rumbled cheerfully onward, ready to encounter even the papal custom-house officers at Ponte Centino. Our road thither was a pretty steep descent. I remember the barren landscape of hills, with here and there a lonely farm-house, which there seemed to be no occasion for, where nothing grew. At Ponte Centino my passport was examined, and I was invited into an office where sat the papal custom-house officer, a thin, subtle-looking, keen-eyed, sallow personage, of aspect very suitable to be the agent of a government of priests. I communicated to him my wish to pass the custom-house without giving the officers the trouble of examining my luggage. He inquired whether I had any dutiable articles, and wrote for my signature a declaration in the negative; and then he lifted a sand-box, beneath which was a little heap of silver coins. On this delicate hint I asked what was the usual fee, and was told that fifteen pauls was the proper sum. I presume it was entirely an illegal charge, and that he had no right to pass any luggage without examination; but the thing is winked at by the authorities, and no money is better spent for the traveller's convenience than these fifteen pauls. There was a papal military officer in the room, and he, I believe, cheated me in the change of a Napoleon, as his share of the spoil. At the door a soldier met me with my passport, and looked as if he expected a fee for handing it to me; but in this he was disappointed. After I had resumed my seat in the coupe, the porter of the custom-house--a poor, sickly-looking creature, half dead with the malaria of the place--appeared, and demanded a fee for doing nothing to my luggage. He got three pauls, and looked but half contented. This whole set of men seem to be as corrupt as official people can possibly be; and yet I hardly know whether to stigmatize them as corrupt, because it is not their individual delinquency, but the operation of a regular system. Their superiors know what men they are, and calculate upon their getting a living by just these means. And, indeed, the custom-house and passport regulations, as they exist in Italy, would be intolerable if there were not this facility of evading them at little cost. Such laws are good for nothing but to be broken. We now began to ascend again, and the country grew fertile and picturesque. We passed many mules and donkeys, laden with a sort of deep firkin on each side of the saddle, and these were heaped up with grapes, both purple and white. We bought some, and got what we should have thought an abundance at small price, only we used to get twice as many at Montanto for the same money. However, a Roman paul bought us three or four pounds even here. We still ascended, and came soon to the gateway of the town of Acquapendente, which stands on a height that seems to descend by natural terraces to the valley below. . . . . French soldiers, in their bluish-gray coats and scarlet trousers, were on duty at the gate, and one of them took my passport and the vetturino's, and we then drove into the town to wait till they should be vised. We saw but one street, narrow, with tall, rusty, aged houses, built of stone, evil smelling; in short, a kind of place that would be intolerably dismal in cloudy England, and cannot be called cheerful even under the sun of Italy. . . . . Priests passed, and burly friars, one of whom was carrying a wine-barrel on his head. Little carts, laden with firkins of grapes, and donkeys with the same genial burden, brushed passed our vettura, finding scarce room enough in the narrow street. All the idlers of Acquapendente--and they were many--assembled to gaze at us, but not discourteously. Indeed, I never saw an idle curiosity exercised in such a pleasant way as by the country-people of Italy. It almost deserves to be called a kindly interest and sympathy, instead of a hard and cold curiosity, like that of our own people, and it is displayed with such simplicity that it is evident no offence is intended. By and by the vetturino brought his passport and my own, with the official vise, and we kept on our way, still ascending, passing through vineyards and olives, and meeting grape-laden donkeys, till we came to the town of San Lorenzo Nuovo, a place built by Pius VI. as the refuge for the people of a lower town which had been made uninhabitable by malaria. The new town, which I suppose is hundreds of years old, with all its novelty shows strikingly the difference between places that grow up and shape out their streets of their own accord, as it were, and one that is built on a settled plan of malice aforethought. This little rural village has gates of classic architecture, a spacious piazza, and a great breadth of straight and rectangular streets, with houses of uniform style, airy and wholesome looking to a degree seldom seen on the Continent. Nevertheless, I must say that the town looked hatefully dull and ridiculously prim, and, of the two, I had rather spend my life in Radicofani. We drove through it, from gate to gate, without stopping, and soon came to the brow of a hill, whence we beheld, right beneath us, the beautiful lake of Bolsena; not exactly at our feet, however, for a portion of level ground lay between, haunted by the pestilence which has depopulated all these shores, and made the lake and its neighborhood a solitude. It looked very beautiful, nevertheless, with a sheen of a silver mid a gray like that of steel as the wind blew and the sun shone over it; and, judging by my own feelings, I should really have thought that the breeze from its surface was bracing and healthy. Descending the hill, we passed the ruins of the old town of San Lorenzo, of which the prim village on the hill-top may be considered the daughter. There is certainly no resemblance between parent and child, the former being situated on a sort of precipitous bluff, where there could have been no room for piazzas and spacious streets, nor accessibility except by mules, donkeys, goats, and people of Alpine habits. There was an ivy-covered tower on the top of the bluff, and some arched cavern mouths that looked as if they opened into the great darkness. These were the entrances to Etruscan tombs, for the town on top had been originally Etruscan, and the inhabitants had buried themselves in the heart of the precipitous bluffs after spending their lives on its summit. Reaching the plain, we drove several miles along the shore of the lake, and found the soil fertile and generally well cultivated, especially with the vine, though there were tracks apparently too marshy to be put to any agricultural purpose. We met now and then a flock of sheep, watched by sallow-looking and spiritless men and boys, who, we took it for granted, would soon perish of malaria, though, I presume, they never spend their nights in the immediate vicinity of the lake. I should like to inquire whether animals suffer from the bad qualities of the air. The lake is not nearly so beautiful on a nearer view as it is from the hill above, there being no rocky margin, nor bright, sandy beach, but everywhere this interval of level ground, and often swampy marsh, betwixt the water and the hill. At a considerable distance from the shore we saw two islands, one of which is memorable as having been the scene of an empress's murder, but I cannot stop to fill my journal with historical reminiscences. We kept onward to the town of Bolsena, which stands nearly a mile from the lake, and on a site higher than the level margin, yet not so much so, I should apprehend, as to free it from danger of malaria. We stopped at an albergo outside of the wall of the town, and before dinner had time to see a good deal of the neighborhood. The first aspect of the town was very striking, with a vista into its street through the open gateway, and high above it an old, gray, square-built castle, with three towers visible at the angles, one of them battlemented, one taller than the rest, and one partially ruined. Outside of the town-gate there were some fragments of Etruscan ruin, capitals of pillars and altars with inscriptions; these we glanced at, and then made our entrance through the gate. There it was again,--the same narrow, dirty, time-darkened street of piled-up houses which we have so often seen; the same swarm of ill-to-do people, grape-laden donkeys, little stands or shops of roasted chestnuts, peaches, tomatoes, white and purple figs; the same evidence of a fertile land, and grimy poverty in the midst of abundance which nature tries to heap into their hands. It seems strange that they can never grasp it. We had gone but a little way along this street, when we saw a narrow lane that turned aside from it and went steeply upward. Its name was on the corner,--the Via di Castello,--and as the castle promised to be more interesting than anything else, we immediately began to ascend. The street--a strange name for such an avenue--clambered upward in the oddest fashion, passing under arches, scrambling up steps, so that it was more like a long irregular pair of stairs than anything that Christians call a street; and so large a part of it was under arches that we scarcely seemed to be out of doors. At last U----, who was in advance, emerged into the upper air, and cried out that we had ascended to an upper town, and a larger one than that beneath. It really seemed like coming up out of the earth into the midst of the town, when we found ourselves so unexpectedly in upper Bolsena. We were in a little nook, surrounded by old edifices, and called the Piazza del Orologio, on account of a clock that was apparent somewhere. The castle was close by, and from its platform there was a splendid view of the lake and all the near hill-country. The castle itself is still in good condition, and apparently as strong as ever it was as respects the exterior walls; but within there seemed to be neither floor nor chamber, nothing but the empty shell of the dateless old fortress. The stones at the base and lower part of the building were so massive that I should think the Etrurians must have laid them; and then perhaps the Romans built a little higher, and the mediaeval people raised the battlements and towers. But we did not look long at the castle, our attention being drawn to the singular aspect of the town itself, which--to speak first of its most prominent characteristic--is the very filthiest place, I do believe, that was ever inhabited by man. Defilement was everywhere; in the piazza, in nooks and corners, strewing the miserable lanes from side to side, the refuse of every day, and of accumulated ages. I wonder whether the ancient Romans were as dirty a people as we everywhere find those who have succeeded them; for there seems to have been something in the places that have been inhabited by Romans, or made famous in their history, and in the monuments of every kind that they have raised, that puts people in mind of their very earthliness, and incites them to defile therewith whatever temple, column, ruined palace, or triumphal arch may fall in their way. I think it must be an hereditary trait, probably weakened and robbed of a little of its horror by the influence of milder ages; and I am much afraid that Caesar trod narrower and fouler ways in his path to power than those of modern Rome, or even of this disgusting town of Bolsena. I cannot imagine anything worse than these, however. Rotten vegetables thrown everywhere about, musty straw, standing puddles, running rivulets of dissolved nastiness,--these matters were a relief amid viler objects. The town was full of great black hogs wallowing before every door, and they grunted at us with a kind of courtesy and affability as if the town were theirs, and it was their part to be hospitable to strangers. Many donkeys likewise accosted us with braying; children, growing more uncleanly every day they lived, pestered us with begging; men stared askance at us as they lounged in corners, and women endangered us with slops which they were flinging from doorways into the street. No decent words can describe, no admissible image can give an idea of this noisome place. And yet, I remember, the donkeys came up the height loaded with fruit, and with little flat-sided barrels of wine; the people had a good atmosphere--except as they polluted it themselves--on their high site, and there seemed to be no reason why they should not live a beautiful and jolly life. I did not mean to write such an ugly description as the above, but it is well, once for all, to have attempted conveying an idea of what disgusts the traveller, more or less, in all these Italian towns. Setting aside this grand characteristic, the upper town of Bolsena is a most curious and interesting place. It was originally an Etruscan city, the ancient Volsinii, and when taken and destroyed by the Romans was said to contain two thousand statues. Afterwards the Romans built a town upon the site, including, I suppose, the space occupied by the lower city, which looks as if it had brimmed over like Radicofani, and fallen from the precipitous height occupied by the upper. The latter is a strange confusion of black and ugly houses, piled massively out of the ruins of former ages, built rudely and without plan, as a pauper would build his hovel, and yet with here and there an arched gateway, a cornice, a pillar, that might have adorned a palace. . . . . The streets are the narrowest I have seen anywhere,--of no more width, indeed, than may suffice for the passage of a donkey with his panniers. They wind in and out in strange confusion, and hardly look like streets at all, but, nevertheless, have names printed on the corners, just as if they were stately avenues. After looking about us awhile and drawing half-breaths so as to take in the less quantity of gaseous pollution, we went back to the castle, and descended by a path winding downward from it into the plain outside of the town-gate. It was now dinner-time, . . . . and we had, in the first place, some fish from the pestiferous lake; not, I am sorry to say, the famous stewed eels which, Dante says, killed Pope Martin, but some trout. . . . . By the by, the meal was not dinner, but our midday colazione. After despatching it, we again wandered forth and strolled round the outside of the lower town, which, with the upper one, made as picturesque a combination as could be desired. The old wall that surrounds the lower town has been appropriated, long since, as the back wall of a range of houses; windows have been pierced through it; upper chambers and loggie have been built upon it; so that it looks something like a long row of rural dwellings with one continuous front or back, constructed in a strange style of massive strength, contrasting with the vines that here and there are trained over it, and with the wreaths of yellow corn that hang from the windows. But portions of the old battlements are interspersed with the line of homely chambers and tiled house-tops. Within the wall the town is very compact, and above its roofs rises a rock, the sheer, precipitous bluff on which stands the upper town, whose foundations impend over the highest roof in the lower. At one end is the old castle, with its towers rising above the square battlemented mass of the main fortress; and if we had not seen the dirt and squalor that dwells within this venerable outside, we should have carried away a picture of gray, grim dignity, presented by a long past age to the present one, to put its mean ways and modes to shame. ------ sat diligently sketching, and children came about her, exceedingly unfragrant, but very courteous and gentle, looking over her shoulders, and expressing delight as they saw each familiar edifice take its place in the sketch. They are a lovable people, these Italians, as I find from almost all with whom we come in contact; they have great and little faults, and no great virtues that I know of; but still are sweet, amiable, pleasant to encounter, save when they beg, or when you have to bargain with them. We left Bolsena and drove to Viterbo, passing the gate of the picturesque town of Montefiascone, over the wall of which I saw spires and towers, and the dome of a cathedral. I was sorry not to taste, in its own town, the celebrated est, which was the death-draught of the jolly prelate. At Viterbo, however, I called for some wine of Montefiascone, and had a little straw-covered flask, which the waiter assured us was the genuine est-wine. It was of golden color, and very delicate, somewhat resembling still champagne, but finer, and requiring a calmer pause to appreciate its subtle delight. Its good qualities, however, are so evanescent, that the finer flavor became almost imperceptible before we finished the flask. Viterbo is a large, disagreeable town, built at the foot of a mountain, the peak of which is seen through the vista of some of the narrow streets. There are more fountains in Viterbo than I have seen in any other city of its size, and many of them of very good design. Around most of them there were wine-hogsheads, waiting their turn to be cleansed and rinsed, before receiving the wine of the present vintage. Passing a doorway, J----- saw some men treading out the grapes in a great vat with their naked feet. Among the beggars here, the loudest and most vociferous was a crippled postilion, wearing his uniform jacket, green, faced with red; and he seemed to consider himself entitled still to get his living from travellers, as having been disabled in the way of his profession. I recognized his claim, and was rewarded with a courteous and grateful bow at our departure. . . . . To beggars--after my much experience both in England and Italy--I give very little, though I am not certain that it would not often be real beneficence in the latter country. There being little or no provision for poverty and age, the poor must often suffer. Nothing can be more earnest than their entreaties for aid; nothing seemingly more genuine than their gratitude when they receive it. They return you the value of their alms in prayers, and say, "God will accompany you." Many of them have a professional whine, and a certain doleful twist of the neck and turn of the head, which hardens my heart against them at once. A painter might find numerous models among them, if canvas had not already been more than sufficiently covered with their style of the picturesque. There is a certain brick-dust colored cloak worn in Viterbo, not exclusively by beggars, which, when ragged enough, is exceedingly artistic. ROME. 68 Piazza Poli, October 17th.--We left Viterbo on the 15th, and proceeded, through Monterosi, to Sette Verse. There was nothing interesting at Sette Verse, except an old Roman bridge, of a single arch, which had kept its sweep, composed of one row of stones, unbroken for two or more thousand years, and looked just as strong as ever, though gray with age, and fringed with plants that found it hard to fix themselves in its close crevices. The next day we drove along the Cassian Way towards Rome. It was a most delightful morning, a genial atmosphere; the more so, I suppose, because this was the Campagna, the region of pestilence and death. I had a quiet, gentle, comfortable pleasure, as if, after many wanderings, I was drawing near Rome, for, now that I have known it once, Rome certainly does draw into itself my heart, as I think even London, or even little Concord itself, or old sleepy Salem, never did and never will. Besides, we are to stay here six months, and we had now a house all prepared to receive us; so that this present approach, in the noontide of a genial day, was most unlike our first one, when we crept towards Rome through the wintry midnight, benumbed with cold, ill, weary, and not knowing whither to betake ourselves. Ah! that was a dismal tine! One thing, however, that disturbed even my present equanimity a little was the necessity of meeting the custom-house at the Porta del Popolo; but my past experience warranted me in believing that even these ogres might be mollified by the magic touch of a scudo; and so it proved. We should have escaped any examination at all, the officer whispered me, if his superior had not happened to be present; but, as the case stood, they took down only one trunk from the top of the vettura, just lifted the lid, closed it again, and gave us permission to proceed. So we came to 68 Piazza Poli, and found ourselves at once at home, in such a comfortable, cosey little house, as I did not think existed in Rome. I ought to say a word about our vetturino, Constantino Bacci, an excellent and most favorable specimen of his class; for his magnificent conduct, his liberality, and all the good qualities that ought to be imperial, S----- called him the Emperor. He took us to good hotels, and feasted us with the best; he was kind to us all, and especially to little Rosebud, who used to run by his side, with her small white hand in his great brown one; he was cheerful in his deportment, and expressed his good spirits by the smack of his whip, which is the barometer of a vetturino's inward weather; he drove admirably, and would rumble up to the door of an albergo, and stop to a hair's-breadth just where it was most convenient for us to alight; he would hire postilions and horses, where other vetturini would take nothing better than sluggish oxen, to help us up the hilly roads, so that sometimes we had a team of seven; he did all that we could possibly require of him, and was content and more, with a buon mono of five scudi, in addition to the stipulated price. Finally, I think the tears had risen almost to his eyelids when we parted with him. Our friends, the Thompsons, through whose kindness we procured this house, called to see us soon after our arrival. In the afternoon, I walked with Rosebud to the Medici Gardens, and on our way thither, we espied our former servant, Lalla, who flung so many and such bitter curses after us, on our departure from Rome, sitting at her father's fruit-stall. Thank God, they have not taken effect. After going to the Medici, we went to the Pincian Gardens, and looked over into the Borghese grounds, which, methought, were more beautiful than ever. The same was true of the sky, and of every object beneath it; and as we came homeward along the Corso, I wondered at the stateliness and palatial magnificence of that noble street. Once, I remember, I thought it narrow, and far unworthy of its fame. In the way of costume, the men in goat-skin breeches, whom we met on the Campagna, were very striking, and looked like Satyrs. October 21st.--. . . . I have been twice to St. Peter's, and was impressed more than at any former visit by a sense of breadth and loftiness, and, as it were, a visionary splendor and magnificence. I also went to the Museum of the Capitol; and the statues seemed to me more beautiful than formerly, and I was not sensible of the cold despondency with which I have so often viewed them. Yesterday we went to the Corsini Palace, which we had not visited before. It stands in the Trastevere, in the Longara, and is a stately palace, with a grand staircase, leading to the first floor, where is situated the range of picture-rooms. There were a good many fine pictures, but none of them have made a memorable impression on my mind, except a portrait by Vandyke, of a man in point-lace, very grand and very real. The room in which this picture hung had many other portraits by Holbein, Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens, and other famous painters, and was wonderfully rich in this department. In another, there was a portrait of Pope Julius II., by Raphael, somewhat differing from those at the Pitti and the Uffizi galleries in Florence, and those I have seen in England and Paris; thinner, paler, perhaps older, more severely intellectual, but at least, as high a work of art as those. The palace has some handsome old furniture, and gilded chairs, covered with leather cases, possibly relics of Queen Christina's time, who died here. I know not but the most curious object was a curule chair of marble, sculptured all out of one piece, and adorned with bas-reliefs. It is supposed to be Etruscan. It has a circular back, sweeping round, so as to afford sufficient rests for the elbows; and, sitting down in it, I discovered that modern ingenuity has not made much real improvement on this chair of three or four thousand years ago. But some chairs are easier for the moment, yet soon betray you, and grow the more irksome. We strolled along Longara, and found the piazza of St. Peter's full of French soldiers at their drill. . . . . We went quite round the interior of the church, and perceiving the pavement loose and broken near the altar where Guido's Archangel is placed, we picked up some bits of rosso antico and gray marble, to be set in brooches, as relics. We have the snuggest little set of apartments in Rome, seven rooms, including an antechamber; and though the stairs are exceedingly narrow, there is really a carpet on them,--a civilized comfort, of which the proudest palaces in the Eternal City cannot boast. The stairs are very steep, however, and I should not wonder if some of us broke our noses down them. Narrowness of space within doors strikes us all rather ludicrously, yet not unpleasantly, after being accustomed to the wastes and deserts of the Montanto Villa. It is well thus to be put in training for the over-snugness of our cottage in Concord. Our windows here look out on a small and rather quiet piazza, with an immense palace on the left hand, and a smaller yet statelier one on the right, and just round the corner of the street, leading out of our piazza, is the Fountain of Trevi, of which I can hear the plash in the evening, when other sounds are hushed. Looking over what I have said of Sodoma's "Christ Bound," at Sierra, I see that I have omitted to notice what seems to me one of its most striking characteristics,--its loneliness. You feel as if the Saviour were deserted, both in heaven and earth; the despair is in him which made him say, "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Even in this extremity, however, he is still Divine, and Sodoma almost seems to have reconciled the impossibilities of combining an omnipresent divinity with a suffering and outraged humanity. But this is one of the cases in which the spectator's imagination completes what the artist merely hints at. Mr. ------, the sculptor, called to see us, the other evening, and quite paid Powers off for all his trenchant criticisms on his brother artists. He will not allow Powers to be an artist at all, or to know anything of the laws of art, although acknowledging him to be a great bust-maker, and to have put together the Greek Slave and the Fisher-Boy very ingeniously. The latter, however (he says), is copied from the Apollino in the Tribune of the Uzi; and the former is made up of beauties that had no reference to one another; and he affirms that Powers is ready to sell, and has actually sold, the Greek Slave, limb by limb, dismembering it by reversing the process of putting it together,--a head to one purchaser, an arm or a foot to another, a hand to a third. Powers knows nothing scientifically of the human frame, and only succeeds in representing it as a natural bone-doctor succeeds in setting a dislocated limb by a happy accident or special providence. (The illustration was my own, and adopted by Mr. ------.) Yet Mr. ------ seems to acknowledge that he did succeed. I repeat these things only as another instance how invariably every sculptor uses his chisel and mallet to smash and deface the marble-work of every other. I never heard Powers speak of Mr. ------, but can partly imagine what he would have said. Mr. ------ spoke of Powers's disappointment about the twenty-five-thousand-dollar appropriation from Congress, and said that he was altogether to blame, inasmuch as he attempted to sell to the nation for that sum a statue which, to Mr. ------'s certain knowledge, he had already offered to private persons for a fifth part of it. I have not implicit faith in Mr. ------'s veracity, and doubt not Powers acted fairly in his own eyes. October 23d.--I am afraid I have caught one of the colds which the Roman air continually affected me with last winter; at any rate, a sirocco has taken the life out of me, and I have no spirit to do anything. This morning I took a walk, however, out of the Porta Maggiore, and looked at the tomb of the baker Eurysaces, just outside of the gate,--a very singular ruin covered with symbols of the man's trade in stone-work, and with bas-reliefs along the cornice, representing people at work, making bread. An inscription states that the ashes of his wife are likewise reposited there, in a bread-basket. The mausoleum is perhaps twenty feet long, in its largest extent, and of equal height; and if good bakers were as scarce in ancient Rome as in the modern city, I do not wonder that they were thought worthy of stately monuments. None of the modern ones deserve any better tomb than a pile of their own sour loaves. I walked onward a good distance beyond the gate alongside of the arches of the Claudian aqueduct, which, in this portion of it, seems to have had little repair, and to have needed little, since it was built. It looks like a long procession, striding across the Campagna towards the city, and entering the gate, over one of its arches, within the gate, I saw two or three slender jets of water spurting from the crevices; this aqueduct being still in use to bring the Acqua Felice into Rome. Returning within the walls, I walked along their inner base, to the Church of St. John Lateran, into which I went, and sat down to rest myself, being languid and weary, and hot with the sun, though afraid to trust the coolness of the shade. I hate the Roman atmosphere; indeed, all my pleasure in getting back--all my home-feeling--has already evaporated, and what now impresses me, as before, is the languor of Rome,--its weary pavements, its little life, pressed down by a weight of death. Quitting St. John Lateran, I went astray, as I do nine times out of ten in these Roman intricacies, and at last, seeing the Coliseum in the vista of a street, I betook myself thither to get a fresh start. Its round of stones looked vast and dreary, but not particularly impressive. The interior was quite deserted; except that a Roman, of respectable appearance, was making a pilgrimage at the altars, kneeling and saying a prayer at each one. Outside of the Coliseum, a neat-looking little boy came and begged of me; and I gave him a baiocco, rather because he seemed to need it so little than for any other reason. I observed that he immediately afterwards went and spoke to a well-dressed man, and supposed that the child was likewise begging of him. I watched the little boy, however, and saw that, in two or three other instances, after begging of other individuals, he still returned to this well-dressed man; the fact being, no doubt, that the latter was fishing for baiocci through the medium of his child,--throwing the poor little fellow out as a bait, while he himself retained his independent respectability. He had probably come out for a whole day's sport; for, by and by, he went between the arches of the Coliseum, followed by the child, and taking with him what looked like a bottle of wine, wrapped in a handkerchief. November 2d.--The weather lately would have suited one's ideal of an English November, except that there have been no fogs; but of ugly, hopeless clouds, chill, shivering winds, drizzle, and now and then pouring rain, much more than enough. An English coal-fire, if we could see its honest face within doors, would compensate for all the unamiableness of the outside atmosphere; but we might ask for the sunshine of the New Jerusalem, with as much hope of getting it. It is extremely spirit-crushing, this remorseless gray, with its icy heart; and the more to depress the whole family, U---- has taken what seems to be the Roman fever, by sitting down in the Palace of the Caesars, while Mrs. S----- sketched the ruins. . . . . [During four months of the illness of his daughter, Mr. Hawthorne wrote no word of Journal.--ED.] February 27th, 1859.--For many days past, there have been tokens of the coming Carnival in the Corso and the adjacent streets; for example, in the shops, by the display of masks of wire, pasteboard, silk, or cloth, some of beautiful features, others hideous, fantastic, currish, asinine, huge-nosed, or otherwise monstrous; some intended to cover the whole face, others concealing only the upper part, also white dominos, or robes bedizened with gold-lace and theatric splendors, displayed at the windows of mercers or flaunting before the doors. Yesterday, U---- and I came along the Corso, between one and two o'clock, after a walk, and found all these symptoms of impending merriment multiplied and intensified; . . . . rows of chairs, set out along the sidewalks, elevated a foot or two by means of planks; great baskets, full of confetti, for sale in the nooks and recesses of the streets; bouquets of all qualities and prices. The Corso was becoming pretty well thronged with people; but, until two o'clock, nobody dared to fling as much as a rosebud or a handful of sugar-plums. There was a sort of holiday expression, however, on almost everybody's face, such as I have not hitherto seen in Rome, or in any part of Italy; a smile gleaming out, an aurora of mirth, which probably will not be very exuberant in its noontide. The day was so sunny and bright that it made this opening scene far more cheerful than any day of the last year's carnival. As we threaded our way through the Corso, U---- kept wishing she could plunge into the fun and uproar as J----- would, and for my own part, though I pretended to take no interest in the matter, I could have bandied confetti and nosegays as readily and as riotously as any urchin there. But my black hat and grave talma would have been too good a mark for the combatants, . . . . so we went home before a shot was fired. . . . . March 7th.--I, as well as the rest of the family, have followed up the Carnival pretty faithfully, and enjoyed it as well, or rather better than could have been expected; principally in the street, as a more looker-on,--which does not let one into the mystery of the fun,--and twice from a balcony, where I threw confetti, and partly understood why the young people like it so much. Certainly, there cannot well be a more picturesque spectacle in human life, than that stately, palatial avenue of the Corso, the more picturesque because so narrow, all hung with carpets and Gobelin tapestry, and the whole palace-heights alive with faces; and all the capacity of the street thronged with the most fantastic figures that either the fancies of folks alive at this day are able to contrive, or that live traditionally from year to year. . . . . The Prince of Wales has fought manfully through the Carnival with confetti and bouquets, and U---- received several bouquets from him, on Saturday, as her carriage moved along. March 8th.--I went with U---- to Mr. Motley's balcony, in the Corso, and saw the Carnival from it yesterday afternoon; but the spectacle is strangely like a dream, in respect to the difficulty of retaining it in the mind and solidifying it into a description. I enjoyed it a good deal, and assisted in so far as to pelt all the people in cylinder hats with handfuls of confetti. The scene opens with a long array of cavalry, who ride through the Corso, preceded by a large band, playing loudly on their brazen instruments. . . . . There were some splendid dresses, particularly contadina costumes of scarlet and gold, which seem to be actually the festal attire of that class of people, and must needs be so expensive that one must serve for a lifetime, if indeed it be not an inheritance. . . . . March 9th.--I was, yesterday, an hour or so among the people on the sidewalks of the Corso, just on the edges of the fun. They appeared to be in a decorous, good-natured mood, neither entering into the merriment, nor harshly repelling; and when groups of maskers overflowed among them, they received their jokes in good part. Many women of the lower class were in the crowd of bystanders; generally broad and sturdy figures, clad evidently in their best attire, and wearing a good many ornaments; such as gold or coral beads and necklaces, combs of silver or gold, heavy ear-rings, curiously wrought brooches, perhaps cameos or mosaics, though I think they prefer purely metallic work to these. One ornament very common among them is a large bodkin, which they stick through their hair. It is usually of silver, but sometimes it looks like steel, and is made in the shape of a sword,--a long Spanish thrusting sword, for example. Dr. Franco told us a story of a woman of Trastevere, who was addressed rudely at the Carnival by a gentleman; she warned him to desist, but as he still persisted, she drew the bodkin from her hair, and stabbed him to the heart. By and by I went to Mr. Motley's balcony, and looked down on the closing scenes of the Carnival. Methought the merry-makers labored harder to be mirthful, and yet were somewhat tired of their eight play-days; and their dresses looked a little shabby, rumpled, and draggled; but the lack of sunshine--which we have had on all the preceding days--may have produced this effect. The wheels of some of the carriages were wreathed round and spoked with green foliage, making a very pretty and fanciful appearance, as did likewise the harnesses of the horses, which were trimmed with roses. The pervading noise and uproar of human voices is one of the most effective points of the matter; but the scene is quite indescribable, and its effect not to be conceived without both witnessing and taking part in it. If you merely look at it, it depresses you; if you take even the slightest share in it, you become aware that it has a fascination, and you no longer wonder that the young people, at least, take such delight in plunging into this mad river of fun that goes roaring between the narrow limits of the Corso. As twilight came on, the moccoli commenced, and as it grew darker the whole street twinkled with lights, which would have been innumerable if every torch-bearer had not been surrounded by a host of enemies, who tried to extinguish his poor little twinkle. It was a pity to lose so much splendor as there might have been; but yet there was a kind of symbolism in the thought that every one of those thousands of twinkling lights was in charge of somebody, who was striving with all his might to keep it alive. Not merely the street-way, but all the balconies and hundreds of windows were lit up with these little torches; so that it seemed as if the stars had crumbled into glittering fragments, and rained down upon the Corso, some of them lodging upon the palace-fronts, some falling on the ground. Besides this, there were gas-lights burning with a white flame; but this illumination was not half so interesting as that of the torches, which indicated human struggle. All this time there were myriad voices shouting, "SENZA MOCCOLO!" and mingling into one long roar. We, in our balcony, carried on a civil war against one another's torches, as is the custom of human beings, within even the narrowest precincts; but after a while we grew tired, and so did the crowd, apparently; for the lights vanished, one after another, till the gas-lights--which at first were an unimportant part of the illumination--shone quietly out, overpowering the scattered twinkles of the moccoli. They were what the fixed stars are to the transitory splendors of human life. Mr. Motley tells me, that it was formerly the custom to have a mock funeral of harlequin, who was supposed to die at the close of the Carnival, during which he had reigned supreme, and all the people, or as many as chose, bore torches at his burial. But this being considered an indecorous mockery of Popish funereal customs, the present frolic of the moccoli was instituted,--in some sort, growing out of it. All last night, or as much of it as I was awake, there was a noise of song and of late revellers in the streets; but to-day we have waked up in the sad and sober season of Lent. It is worthy of remark, that all the jollity of the Carnival is a genuine ebullition of spirit, without the aid of wine or strong drink. March 11th.--Yesterday we went to the Catacomb of St. Calixtus, the entrance to which is alongside of the Appian Way, within sight of the tomb of Cecilia Metella. We descended not a very great way under ground, by a broad flight of stone steps, and, lighting some wax tapers, with which we had provided ourselves, we followed the guide through a great many intricate passages, which mostly were just wide enough for me to touch the wall on each side, while keeping my elbows close to my body; and as to height, they were from seven to ten feet, and sometimes a good deal higher It was rather picturesque, when we saw the long line of our tapers, for another large party had joined us, twinkling along the dark passage, and it was interesting to think of the former inhabitants of these caverns. . . . . In one or two places there was the round mark in the stone or plaster, where a bottle had been deposited. This was said to have been the token of a martyr's burial-place, and to have contained his blood. After leaving the Catacomb, we drove onward to Cecilia Metella's tomb, which we entered and inspected. Within the immensely massive circular substance of the tomb was a round, vacant space, and this interior vacancy was open at the top, and had nothing but some fallen stones and a heap of earth at the bottom. On our way home we entered the Church of "Domine, quo vadis," and looked at the old fragment of the Appian Way, where our Saviour met St. Peter, and left the impression of his feet in one of the Roman paving-stones. The stone has been removed, and there is now only a fac-simile engraved in a block of marble, occupying the place where Jesus stood. It is a great pity they had not left the original stone; for then all its brother-stones in the pavement would have seemed to confirm the truth of the legend. While we were at dinner, a gentleman called and was shown into the parlor. We supposed it to be Mr. May; but soon his voice grew familiar, and my wife was sure it was General Pierce, so I left the table, and found it to be really he. I was rejoiced to see him, though a little saddened to see the marks of care and coming age, in many a whitening hair, and many a furrow, and, still more, in something that seemed to have passed away out of him, without leaving any trace. His voice, sometimes, sounded strange and old, though generally it was what it used to be. He was evidently glad to see me, glad to see my wife, glad to see the children, though there was something melancholy in his tone, when he remarked what a stout boy J----- had grown. Poor fellow! he has neither son nor daughter to keep his heart warm. This morning I have been with him to St. Peter's, and elsewhere about the city, and find him less changed than he seemed to be last night; not at all changed in heart and affections. We talked freely about all matters that came up; among the rest, about the project--recognizable by many tokens--for bringing him again forward as a candidate for the Presidency next year. He appears to be firmly resolved not again to present himself to the country, and is content to let his one administration stand, and to be judged by the public and posterity on the merits of that. No doubt he is perfectly sincere; no doubt, too, he would again be a candidate, if a pretty unanimous voice of the party should demand it. I retain all my faith in his administrative faculty, and should be glad, for his sake, to have it fully rccognized; but the probabilities, as far as I can see, do not indicate for him another Presidential term. March 15th.--This morning I went with my wife and Miss Hoar to Miss Hosmer's studio, to see her statue of Zenobia. We found her in her premises, springing about with a bird-like action. She has a lofty room, with a skylight window; it was pretty well warmed with a stove, and there was a small orange-tree in a pot, with the oranges growing on it, and two or three flower-shrubs in bloom. She herself looked prettily, with her jaunty little velvet cap on the side of her head, whence came clustering out, her short brown curls; her face full of pleasant life and quick expression; and though somewhat worn with thought and struggle, handsome and spirited. She told us that "her wig was growing as gray as a rat." There were but very few things in the room; two or three plaster busts, a headless cast of a plaster statue, and a cast of the Minerva Medica, which perhaps she had been studying as a help towards the design of her Zenobia; for, at any rate, I seemed to discern a resemblance or analogy between the two. Zenobia stood in the centre of the room, as yet unfinished in the clay, but a very noble and remarkable statue indeed, full of dignity and beauty. It is wonderful that so brisk a woman could have achieved a work so quietly impressive; and there is something in Zenobia's air that conveys the idea of music, uproar, and a great throng all about her; whilst she walks in the midst of it, self-sustained, and kept in a sort of sanctity by her native pride. The idea of motion is attained with great success; you not only perceive that she is walking, but know at just what tranquil pace she steps, amid the music of the triumph. The drapery is very fine and full; she is decked with ornaments; but the chains of her captivity hang from wrist to wrist; and her deportment--indicating a soul so much above her misfortune, yet not insensible to the weight of it--makes these chains a richer decoration than all her other jewels. I know not whether there be some magic in the present imperfect finish of the statue, or in the material of clay, as being a better medium of expression than even marble; but certainly I have seldom been more impressed by a piece of modern sculpture. Miss Hosmer showed us photographs of her Puck--which I have seen in the marble--and likewise of the Will-o'-the-Wisp, both very pretty and fanciful. It indicates much variety of power, that Zenobia should be the sister of these, which would seem the more natural offspring of her quick and vivid character. But Zenobia is a high, heroic ode. . . . . On my way up the Via Babuino, I met General Pierce. We have taken two or three walks together, and stray among the Roman ruins, and old scenes of history, talking of matters in which he is personally concerned, yet which are as historic as anything around us. He is singularly little changed; the more I see him, the more I get him back, just such as he was in our youth. This morning, his face, air, and smile were so wonderfully like himself of old, that at least thirty years are annihilated. Zenobia's manacles serve as bracelets; a very ingenious and suggestive idea. March 18th.--I went to the sculpture-gallery of the Capitol yesterday, and saw, among other things, the Venus in her secret cabinet. This was my second view of her: the first time, I greatly admired her; now, she made no very favorable impression. There are twenty Venuses whom I like as well, or better. On the whole, she is a heavy, clumsy, unintellectual, and commonplace figure; at all events, not in good looks to-day. Marble beauties seem to suffer the same occasional eclipses as those of flesh and blood. We looked at the Faun, the Dying Gladiator, and other famous sculptures; but nothing had a glory round it, perhaps because the sirocco was blowing. These halls of the Capitol have always had a dreary and depressing effect upon me, very different from those of the Vatican. I know not why, except that the rooms of the Capitol have a dingy, shabby, and neglected look, and that the statues are dusty, and all the arrangements less magnificent than at the Vatican. The corroded and discolored surfaces of the statues take away from the impression of immortal youth, and turn Apollo [The Lycian Apollo] himself into an old stone; unless at rare intervals, when he appears transfigured by a light gleaming from within. March 23d.--I am wearing away listlessly these last precious days of my abode in Rome. U----'s illness is disheartening, and by confining ------, it takes away the energy and enterprise that were the spring of all our movements. I am weary of Rome, without having seen and known it as I ought, and I shall be glad to get away from it, though no doubt there will be many yearnings to return hereafter, and many regrets that I did not make better use of the opportunities within my grasp. Still, I have been in Rome long enough to be imbued with its atmosphere, and this is the essential condition of knowing a place; for such knowledge does not consist in having seen every particular object it contains. In the state of mind in which I now stand towards Rome, there is very little advantage to be gained by staying here longer. And yet I had a pleasant stroll enough yesterday afternoon, all by myself, from the Corso down past the Church of St. Andrea della Valle,-- the site where Caesar was murdered,--and thence to the Farnese Palace, the noble court of which I entered; thence to the Piazza Cenci, where I looked at one or two ugly old palaces, and fixed on one of them as the residence of Beatrice's father; then past the Temple of Vesta, and skirting along the Tiler, and beneath the Aventine, till I somewhat unexpectedly came in sight of the gray pyramid of Caius Cestius. I went out of the city gate, and leaned on the parapet that encloses the pyramid, advancing its high, unbroken slope and peak, where the great blocks of marble still fit almost as closely to one another as when they were first laid; though, indeed, there are crevices just large enough for plants to root themselves, and flaunt and trail over the face of this great tomb; only a little verdure, however, over a vast space of marble, still white in spots, but pervadingly turned gray by two thousand years' action of the atmosphere. Thence I came home by the Caelian, and sat down on an ancient flight of steps under one of the arches of the Coliseum, into which the sunshine fell sidelong. It was a delightful afternoon, not precisely like any weather that I have known elsewhere; certainly never in America, where it is always too cold or too hot. It, resembles summer more than anything which we New-Englanders recognize in our idea of spring, but there was an indescribable something, sweet, fresh, gentle, that does not belong to summer, and that thrilled and tickled my heart with a feeling partly sensuous, partly spiritual. I go to the Bank and read Galignani and the American newspapers; thence I stroll to the Pincian or to the Medici Gardens; I see a good deal of General Pierce, and we talk over his Presidential life, which, I now really think, he has no latent desire nor purpose to renew. Yet he seems to have enjoyed it while it lasted, and certainly he was in his element as an administrative man; not far-seeing, not possessed of vast stores of political wisdom in advance of his occasions, but endowed with a miraculous intuition of what ought to be done just at the time for action. His judgment of things about him is wonderful, and his Cabinet recognized it as such; for though they were men of great ability, he was evidently the master-mind among them. None of them were particularly his personal friends when he selected them; they all loved him when they parted; and he showed me a letter, signed by all, in which they expressed their feelings of respect and attachment at the close of his administration. There was a noble frankness on his part, that kept the atmosphere always clear among them, and in reference to this characteristic Governor Marcy told him that the years during which he had been connected with his Cabinet had been the happiest of his life. Speaking of Caleb Cushing, he told me that the unreliability, the fickleness, which is usually attributed to him, is an actual characteristic, but that it is intellectual, not moral. He has such comprehensiveness, such mental variety and activity, that, if left to himself, he cannot keep fast hold of one view of things, and so cannot, without external help, be a consistent man. He needs the influence of a more single and stable judgment to keep him from divergency, and, on this condition, he is a most inestimable coadjutor. As regards learning and ability, he has no superior. Pierce spoke the other day of the idea among some of his friends that his life had been planned, from a very early period, with a view to the station which he ultimately reached. He smiled at the notion, said that it was inconsistent with his natural character, and that it implied foresight and dexterity beyond what any mortal is endowed with. I think so too; but nevertheless, I was long and long ago aware that he cherished a very high ambition, and that, though he might not anticipate the highest things, he cared very little about inferior objects. Then as to plans, I do not think that he had any definite ones; but there was in him a subtle faculty, a real instinct, that taught him what was good for him,--that is to say, promotive of his political success,--and made him inevitably do it. He had a magic touch, that arranged matters with a delicate potency, which he himself hardly recognized; and he wrought through other minds so that neither he nor they always knew when and how far they were under his influence. Before his nomination for the Presidency I had a sense that it was coming, and it never seemed to me an accident. He is a most singular character; so frank, so true, so immediate, so subtle, so simple, so complicated. I passed by the tower in the Via Portoghese to-day, and observed that the nearest shop appears to be for the sale of cotton or linen cloth. . . . . The upper window of the tower was half open; of course, like all or almost all other Roman windows, it is divided vertically, and each half swings back on hinges. . . . . Last week a fritter-establishment was opened in our piazza. It was a wooden booth erected in the open square, and covered with canvas painted red, which looked as if it had withstood much rain and sunshine. In front were three great boughs of laurel, not so much for shade, I think, as ornament. There were two men, and their apparatus for business was a sort of stove, or charcoal furnace, and a frying-pan to place over it; they had an armful or two of dry sticks, some flour, and I suppose oil, and this seemed to be all. It was Friday, and Lent besides, and possibly there was some other peculiar propriety in the consumption of fritters just then. At all events, their fire burned merrily from morning till night, and pretty late into the evening, and they had a fine run of custom; the commodity being simply dough, cut into squares or rhomboids, and thrown into the boiling oil, which quickly turned them to a light brown color. I sent J----- to buy some, and, tasting one, it resembled an unspeakably bad doughnut, without any sweetening. In fact, it was sour, for the Romans like their bread, and all their preparations of flour, in a state of acetous fermentation, which serves them instead of salt or other condiment. This fritter-shop had grown up in a night, like Aladdin's palace, and vanished as suddenly; for after standing through Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, it was gone on Monday morning, and a charcoal-strewn place on the pavement where the furnace had been was the only memorial of it. It was curious to observe how immediately it became a lounging-place for idle people, who stood and talked all day with the fritter-friers, just as they might at any old shop in the basement, of a palace, or between the half-buried pillars of the Temple of Minerva, which had been familiar to them and their remote grandfathers. April 14th.--Yesterday afternoon I drove with Mr. and Mrs. Story and Mr. Wilde to see a statue of Venus, which has just been discovered, outside of the Porta Portese, on the other side of the Tiber. A little distance beyond the gate we came to the entrance of a vineyard, with a wheel-track through the midst of it; and, following this, we soon came to a hillside, in which an excavation had been made with the purpose of building a grotto for keeping and storing wine. They had dug down into what seemed to be an ancient bathroom, or some structure of that kind, the excavation being square and cellar-like, and built round with old subterranean walls of brick and stone. Within this hollow space the statue had been found, and it was now standing against one of the walls, covered with a coarse cloth, or a canvas bag. This being removed, there appeared a headless marble figure, earth-stained, of course, and with a slightly corroded surface, but wonderfully delicate and beautiful, the shape, size, and attitude, apparently, of the Venus de' Medici, but, as we all thought, more beautiful than that. It is supposed to be the original, from which the Venus de' Medici was copied. Both arms were broken off, but the greater part of both, and nearly the whole of one hand, had been found, and these being adjusted to the figure, they took the well-known position before the bosom and the middle, as if the fragmentary woman retained her instinct of modesty to the last. There were the marks on the bosom and thigh where the fingers had touched; whereas in the Venus de' Medici, if I remember rightly, the fingers are sculptured quite free of the person. The man who showed the statue now lifted from a corner a round block of marble, which had been lying there among other fragments, and this he placed upon the shattered neck of the Venus; and behold, it was her head and face, perfect, all but the nose! Even in spite of this mutilation, it seemed immediately to light up and vivify the entire figure; and, whatever I may heretofore have written about the countenance of the Venus de' Medici, I here record my belief that that head has been wrongfully foisted upon the statue; at all events, it is unspeakably inferior to this newly discovered one. This face has a breadth and front which are strangely deficient in the other. The eyes are well opened, most unlike the buttonhole lids of the Venus de' Medici; the whole head is so much larger as to entirely obviate the criticism that has always been made on the diminutive head of the De' Medici statue. If it had but a nose! They ought to sift every handful of earth that has been thrown out of the excavation, for the nose and the missing hand and fingers must needs be there; and, if they were found, the effect would be like the reappearance of a divinity upon earth. Mutilated as we saw her, it was strangely interesting to be present at the moment, as it were, when she had just risen from her long burial, and was shedding the unquenchable lustre around her which no eye had seen for twenty or more centuries. The earth still clung about her; her beautiful lips were full of it, till Mr. Story took a thin chip of wood and cleared it away from between them. The proprietor of the vineyard stood by; a man with the most purple face and hugest and reddest nose that I ever beheld in my life. It must have taken innumerable hogsheads of his thin vintage to empurple his face in this manner. He chuckled much over the statue, and, I suppose, counts upon making his fortune by it. He is now awaiting a bid from the Papal government, which, I believe, has the right of pre-emption whenever any relics of ancient art are discovered. If the statue could but be smuggled out of Italy, it might command almost any price. There is not, I think, any name of a sculptor on the pedestal, as on that of the Venus de' Medici. A dolphin is sculptured on the pillar against which she leans. The statue is of Greek marble. It was first found about eight days ago, but has been offered for inspection only a day or two, and already the visitors come in throngs, and the beggars gather about the entrance of the vineyard. A wine shop, too, seems to have been opened on the premises for the accommodation of this great concourse, and we saw a row of German artists sitting at a long table in the open air, each with a glass of thin wine and something to eat before him; for the Germans refresh nature ten times to other persons once. How the whole world might be peopled with antique beauty if the Romans would only dig! April 19th.--General Pierce leaves Rome this morning for Venice, by way of Ancona, and taking the steamer thence to Trieste. I had hoped to make the journey along with him; but U----'s terrible illness has made it necessary for us to continue here another mouth, and we are thankful that this seems now to be the extent of our misfortune. Never having had any trouble before that pierced into my very vitals, I did not know what comfort there might be in the manly sympathy of a friend; but Pierce has undergone so great a sorrow of his own, and has so large and kindly a heart, and is so tender and so strong, that he really did the good, and I shall always love him the better for the recollection of his ministrations in these dark days. Thank God, the thing we dreaded did not come to pass. Pierce is wonderfully little changed. Indeed, now that he has won and enjoyed--if there were any enjoyment in it--the highest success that public life could give him, he seems more like what he was in his early youth than at any subsequent period. He is evidently happier than I have ever known him since our college days; satisfied with what he has been, and with the position in the country that remains to him, after filling such an office. Amid all his former successes,--early as they came, and great as they were,--I always perceived that something gnawed within him, and kept him forever restless and miserable. Nothing he won was worth the winning, except as a step gained toward the summit. I cannot tell how early he began to look towards the Presidency; but I believe he would have died an unhappy man without it. And yet what infinite chances there seemed to be against his attaining it! When I look at it in one way, it strikes me as absolutely miraculous; in another, it came like an event that I had all along expected. It was due to his wonderful tact, which is of so subtle a character that he himself is but partially sensible of it. I have found in him, here in Rome, the whole of my early friend, and even better than I used to know him; a heart as true and affectionate, a mind much widened and deepened by his experience of life. We hold just the same relation to each other as of yore, and we have passed all the turning-off places, and may hope to go on together still the same dear friends as long as we live. I do not love him one whit the less for having been President, nor for having done me the greatest good in his power; a fact that speaks eloquently in his favor, and perhaps says a little for myself. If he had been merely a benefactor, perhaps I might not have borne it so well; but each did his best for the other as friend for friend. May 15th.--Yesterday afternoon we went to the Barberini picture-gallery to take a farewell look at the Beatrice Cenci, which I have twice visited before since our return from Florence. I attempted a description of it at my first visit, more than a year ago, but the picture is quite indescribable and unaccountable in its effect, for if you attempt to analyze it you can never succeed in getting at the secret of its fascination. Its peculiar expression eludes a straightforward glance, and can only be caught by side glimpses, or when the eye falls upon it casually, as it were, and without thinking to discover anything, as if the picture had a life and consciousness of its own, and were resolved not to betray its secret of grief or guilt, though it wears the full expression of it when it imagines itself unseen. I think no other such magical effect can ever have been wrought by pencil. I looked close into its eyes, with a determination to see all that there was in them, and could see nothing that might not have been in any young girl's eyes; and yet, a moment afterwards, there was the expression--seen aside, and vanishing in a moment--of a being unhumanized by some terrible fate, and gazing at me out of a remote and inaccessible region, where she was frightened to be alone, but where no sympathy could reach her. The mouth is beyond measure touching; the lips apart, looking as innocent as a baby's after it has been crying. The picture never can be copied. Guido himself could not have done it over again. The copyists get all sorts of expression, gay, as well as grievous; some copies have a coquettish air, a half-backward glance, thrown alluring at the spectator, but nobody ever did catch, or ever will, the vanishing charm of that sorrow. I hated to leave the picture, and yet was glad when I had taken my last glimpse, because it so perplexed and troubled me not to be able to get hold of its secret. Thence we went to the Church of the Capuchins, and saw Guido's Archangel. I have been several times to this church, but never saw the picture before, though I am familiar with the mosaic copy at St. Peter's, and had supposed the latter to be an equivalent representation of the original. It is nearly or quite so as respects the general effect; but there is a beauty in the archangel's face that immeasurably surpasses the copy,--the expression of heavenly severity, and a degree of pain, trouble, or disgust, at being brought in contact with sin, even for the purpose of quelling and punishing it. There is something finical in the copy, which I do not find in the original. The sandalled feet are here those of an angel; in the mosaic they are those of a celestial coxcomb, treading daintily, as if he were afraid they would be soiled by the touch of Lucifer. After looking at the Archangel we went down under the church, guided by a fleshy monk, and saw the famous cemetery, where the dead monks of many centuries back have been laid to sleep in sacred earth from Jerusalem. . . . . FRANCE. Hotel des Colonies, Marseilles, May 29th, Saturday.--Wednesday was the day fixed for our departure from Rome, and after breakfast I walked to the Pincian, and saw the garden and the city, and the Borghese grounds, and St. Peter's in an earlier sunlight than ever before. Methought they never looked so beautiful, nor the sky so bright and blue. I saw Soracte on the horizon, and I looked at everything as if for the last time; nor do I wish ever to see any of these objects again, though no place ever took so strong a hold of my being as Rome, nor ever seemed so close to me and so strangely familiar. I seem to know it better than my birthplace, and to have known it longer; and though I have been very miserable there, and languid with the effects of the atmosphere, and disgusted with a thousand things in its daily life, still I cannot say I hate it, perhaps might fairly own a love for it. But life being too short for such questionable and troublesome enjoyments, I desire never to set eyes on it again. . . . . . . . . We traversed again that same weary and dreary tract of country which we passed over in a winter afternoon and night on our first arrival in Rome. It is as desolate a country as can well be imagined, but about midway of our journey we came to the sea-shore, and kept very near it during the rest of the way. The sight and fragrance of it were exceedingly refreshing after so long an interval, and U---- revived visibly as we rushed along, while J----- chuckled and contorted himself with ineffable delight. We reached Civita Vecchia in three or four hours, and were there subjected to various troubles. . . . . All the while Miss S------ and I were bothering about the passport, the rest of the family sat in the sun on the quay, with all kinds of bustle and confusion around them; a very trying experience to U---- after the long seclusion and quiet of her sick-chamber. But she did not seem to suffer from it, and we finally reached the steamer in good condition and spirits. . . . . I slept wretchedly in my short and narrow berth, more especially as there was an old gentleman who snored as if he were sounding a charge; it was terribly hot too, and I rose before four o'clock, and was on deck amply in time to watch the distant approach of sunrise. We arrived at Leghorn pretty early, and might have gone ashore and spent the day. Indeed, we had been recommended by Dr. Franco, and had fully purposed to spend a week or ten days there, in expectation of benefit to U----'s health from the sea air and sea bathing, because he thought her still too feeble to make the whole voyage to Marseilles at a stretch. But she showed herself so strong that we thought she would get as much good from our three days' voyage as from the days by the sea-shore. Moreover, . . . . we all of us still felt the languor of the Roman atmosphere, and dreaded the hubbub and crazy confusion of landing at an Italian port. . . . . So we lay in the harbor all day without stirring from the steamer. . . . . It would have been pleasant, however, to have gone to Pisa, fifteen miles off, and seen the leaning tower; but, for my part, I have arrived at that point where it is somewhat pleasanter to sit quietly in any spot whatever than to see whatever grandest or most beautiful thing. At least this was my mood in the harbor of Leghorn. From the deck of the steamer there were many things visible that might have been interesting to describe: the boats of peculiar rig, and covered with awning; the crowded shipping; the disembarkation of horses from the French cavalry, which were lowered from steamers into gondolas or lighters, and hung motionless, like the sign of the Golden Fleece, during the transit, only kicking a little when their feet happened to graze the vessel's side. One horse plunged overboard, and narrowly escaped drowning. There was likewise a disembarkation of French soldiers in a train of boats, which rowed shoreward with sound of trumpet. The French are concentrating a considerable number of troops at this point. Our steamer was detained by order of the French government to take on board despatches; so that, instead of sailing at dusk, as is customary, we lay in the harbor till seven of the next morning. A number of young Sardinian officers, in green uniform, came on board, and a pale and picturesque-looking Italian, and other worthies of less note,--English, American, and of all races,--among them a Turk with a little boy in Christian dress; also a Greek gentleman with his young bride. At the appointed time we weighed anchor for Genoa, and had a beautiful day on the Mediterranean, and for the first time in my life I saw the real dark blue of the sea. I do not remember noticing it on my outward voyage to Italy. It is the most beautiful hue that can be imagined, like a liquid sky; and it retains its lustrous blue directly under the side of the ship, where the water of the mid-Atlantic looks greenish. . . . . We reached Genoa at seven in the afternoon. . . . . Genoa looks most picturesquely from the sea, at the foot of a sheltering semicircle of lofty hills; and as we lay in the harbor we saw, among other interesting objects, the great Doria Palace, with its gardens, and the cathedral, and a heap and sweep of stately edifices, with the mountains looking down upon he city, and crowned with fortresses. The variety of hue in the houses, white, green, pink, and orange, was very remarkable. It would have been well to go ashore here for an hour or two and see the streets, --having already seen the palaces, churches, and public buildings at our former visit,--and buy a few specimens of Genoa goldsmiths' work; but I preferred the steamer's deck, so the evening passed pleasantly away; the two lighthouses at the entrance of the port kindled up their fires, and at nine o'clock the evening gun thundered from the fortress, and was reverberated from the heights. We sailed away at eleven, and I was roused from my first sleep by the snortings and hissings of the vessel as she got under way. At Genoa we took on board some more passengers, an English nobleman with his lady being of the number. These were Lord and Lady J------, and before the end of our voyage his lordship talked to me of a translation of Tasso in which he is engaged, and a stanza or two of which he repeated to me. I really liked the lines, and liked too the simplicity and frankness with which he spoke of it to me a stranger, and the way be seemed to separate his egotism from the idea which he evidently had that he is going to make an excellent translation. I sincerely hope it may be so. He began it without any idea of publishing it, or of ever bringing it to a conclusion, but merely as a solace and occupation while in great trouble during an illness of his wife, but he has gradually come to find it the most absorbing occupation he ever undertook; and as Mr. Gladstone and other high authorities give him warm encouragement, he now means to translate the entire poem, and to publish it with beautiful illustrations, and two years hence the world may expect to see it. I do not quite perceive how such a man as this--a man of frank, warm, simple, kindly nature, but surely not of a poetical temperament, or very refined, or highly cultivated--should make a good version of Tasso's poems; but perhaps the dead poet's soul may take possession of this healthy organization, and wholly turn him to its own purposes. The latter part of our voyage to-day lay close along the coast of France, which was hilly and picturesque, and as we approached Marseilles was very bold and striking. We steered among rocky islands, rising abruptly out of the sea, mere naked crags, without a trace of verdure upon them, and with the surf breaking at their feet. They were unusual specimens of what hills would look like without the soil, that is to them what flesh is to a skeleton. Their shapes were often wonderfully fine, and the great headlands thrust themselves out, and took such lines of light and shade that it seemed like sailing through a picture. In the course of the afternoon a squall came up and blackened the sky all over in a twinkling; our vessel pitched and tossed, and a brig a little way from us had her sails blown about in wild fashion. The blue of the sea turned as black as night, and soon the rain began to spatter down upon us, and continued to sprinkle and drizzle a considerable time after the wind had subsided. It was quite calm and pleasant when we entered the harbor of Marseilles, which lies at the foot of very fair hills, and is set among great cliffs of stone. I did not attend much to this, however, being in dread of the difficulty of landing and passing through the custom-house with our twelve or fourteen trunks and numberless carpet-bags. The trouble vanished into thin air, nevertheless, as we approached it, for not a single trunk or bag was opened, and, moreover, our luggage and ourselves were not only landed, but the greater part of it conveyed to the railway without any expense. Long live Louis Napoleon, say I. We established ourselves at the Hotel des Colonies, and then Mss S------, J-----, and I drove hither and thither about Marseilles, making arrangements for our journey to Avignon, where we mean to go to-day. We might have avoided a good deal of this annoyance; but travellers, like other people, are continually getting their experience just a little too late. It was after nine before we got back to the hotel and took our tea in peace. AVIGNON. Hotel de l'Europe, June 1st.--I remember nothing very special to record about Marseilles; though it was really like passing from death into life, to find ourselves in busy, cheerful, effervescing France, after living so long between asleep and awake in sluggish Italy. Marseilles is a very interesting and entertaining town, with its bold surrounding heights, its wide streets,--so they seemed to us after the Roman alleys,--its squares, shady with trees, its diversified population of sailors, citizens, Orientals, and what not; but I have no spirit for description any longer; being tired of seeing things, and still more of telling myself about them. Only a young traveller can have patience to write his travels. The newest things, nowadays, have a familiarity to my eyes; whereas in their lost sense of novelty lies the charm and power of description. On Monday (30th May), though it began with heavy rain, we set early about our preparations for departure, . . . . and, at about three, we left the Hotel des Colonies. It is a very comfortable hotel, though expensive. The Restaurant connected with it occupies the enclosed court-yard and the arcades around it; and it was a good amusement to look down from the surrounding gallery, communicating with our apartments, and see the fashion and manner of French eating, all the time going forward. In sunny weather a great awning is spread over the whole court, across from the upper stories of the house. There is a grass-plat in the middle, and a very spacious and airy dining-saloon is thus formed. Our railroad carriage was comfortable, and we found in it, besides two other Frenchwomen, two nuns. They were very devout, and sedulously read their little books of devotion, repeated prayers under their breath, kissed the crucifixes which hung at their girdles, and told a string of beads, which they passed from one to the other. So much were they occupied with these duties, that they scarcely looked at the scenery along the road, though, probably, it is very rare for them to see anything outside of their convent walls. They never failed to mutter a prayer and kiss the crucifix whenever we plunged into a tunnel. If they glanced at their fellow-passengers, it was shyly and askance, with their lips in motion all the time, like children afraid to let their eyes wander from their lesson-book. One of them, however, took occasion to pull down R-----'s dress, which, in her frisky movements about the carriage, had got out of place, too high for the nun's sense of decorum. Neither of them was at all pretty, nor was the black stuff dress and white muslin cap in the least becoming, neither were their features of an intelligent or high-bred stamp. Their manners, however, or such little glimpses as I could get of them, were unexceptionable; and when I drew a curtain to protect one of them from the sun, she made me a very courteous gesture of thanks. We had some very good views both of sea and hills; and a part of our way lay along the banks of the Rhone. . . . . By the by, at the station at Marseilles I bought the two volumes of the "Livre des Merveilles," by a certain author of my acquaintance, translated into French, and printed and illustrated in very pretty style. Miss S------ also bought them, and, in answer to her inquiry for other works by the same author, the bookseller observed that "she did not think Monsieur Nathaniel had published anything else." The Christian name deems to be the most important one in France, and still more especially in Italy. We arrived at Avignon, Hotel de l'Europe, in the dusk of the evening. . . . . The lassitude of Rome still clings to us, and I, at least, feel no spring of life or activity, whether at morn or eve. In the morning we found ourselves very pleasantly situated as regards lodgings. The gallery of our suite of rooms looks down as usual into an enclosed court, three sides of which are formed by the stone house and its two wings, and the third by a high wall, with a gateway of iron between two lofty stone pillars, which, for their capitals, have great stone vases, with grass growing in them, and hanging over the brim. There is a large plane-tree in one corner of the court, and creeping plants clamber up trellises; and there are pots of flowers and bird-cages, all of which give a very fresh and cheerful aspect to the enclosure. The court is paved with small round stones; the omnibus belonging to the hotel, and all the carriages of guests drive into it; and the wide arch of the stable-door opens under the central part of the house. Nevertheless, the scene is not in all respects that of a stable-yard; for gentlemen and ladies come from the salle a manger and other rooms, and stand talking in the court, or occupy chairs and seats there; children play about; the hostess or her daughter often appears and talks with her guests or servants; dogs lounge, and, in short, the court might well enough be taken for the one scene of a classic play. The hotel seems to be of the first class, though such would not be indicated, either in England or America, by thus mixing up the stable with the lodgings. I have taken two or three rambles about the town, and have climbed a high rock which dominates over it, and gives a most extensive view from the broad table-land of its summit. The old church of Avignon --as old as the times of its popes, and older--stands close beside this mighty and massive crag. We went into it, and found it a dark old place, with broad, interior arches, and a singularly shaped dome; a venerable Gothic and Grecian porch, with ancient frescos in its arched spaces; some dusky pictures within; an ancient chair of stone, formerly occupied by the popes, and much else that would have been exceedingly interesting before I went to Rome. But Rome takes the charm out of an inferior antiquity, as well as the life out of human beings. This forenoon J----- and I have crossed the Rhone by a bridge, just the other side of one of the city gates, which is near our hotel. We walked along the riverside, and saw the ruins of an ancient bridge, which ends abruptly in the midst of the stream; two or three arches still making tremendous strides across, while the others have long ago been crumbled away by the rush of the rapid river. The bridge was originally founded by St. Benezet, who received a Divine order to undertake the work, while yet a shepherd-boy, with only three sous in his pocket; and he proved the authenticity of the mission by taking an immense stone on his shoulder, and laying it for the foundation. There is still an ancient chapel midway on the bridge, and I believe St. Benezet lies buried there, in the midst of his dilapidated work. The bridge now used is considerably lower down the stream. It is a wooden suspension-bridge, broader than the ancient one, and doubtless more than supplies its place; else, unquestionably, St. Benezet would think it necessary to repair his own. The view from the inner side of this ruined structure, grass-grown and weedy, and leading to such a precipitous plunge into the swift river, is very picturesque, in connection with the gray town and above it, the great, massive bulk of the cliff, the towers of the church, and of a vast old edifice, shapeless, ugly, and venerable, which the popes built and occupied as their palace, many centuries ago. . . . . After dinner we all set out on a walk, in the course of which we called at a bookseller's shop to show U---- an enormous cat, which I had already seen. It is of the Angora breed, of a mottled yellow color, and is really a wonder; as big and broad as a tolerably sized dog, very soft and silken, and apparently of the gentlest disposition. I never imagined the like, nor felt anything so deeply soft as this great beast. Its master seems very fond and proud of it; and, great favorite as the cat is, she does not take airs upon herself, but is gently shy and timid in her demonstrations. We ascended the great Rocher above the palace of the popes, and on our way looked into the old church, which was so dim in the decline of day that we could not see within the dusky arches, through which the chapels communicated with the nave. Thence we pursued our way up the farther ascent, and, standing on the edge of the precipice,--protected by a parapet of stone, and in other places by an iron railing,--we could look down upon the road that winds its dusky track far below, and at the river Rhone, which eddies close beside it. This is indeed a massive and lofty cliff, and it tumbles down so precipitously that I could readily have flung myself from the bank, and alighted on my head in the middle of the river. The Rhone passes so near its base that I threw stones a good way into its current. We talked with a man of Avignon, who leaned over the parapet near by, and he was very kind in explaining the points of view, and told us that the river, which winds and doubles upon itself so as to look like at least two rivers, is really the Rhone alone. The Durance joins with it within a few miles below Avignon, but is here invisible. Hotel de l'Europe, June 2d.--This morning we went again to the Duomo of the popes; and this time we allowed the custode, or sacristan, to show us the curiosities of it. He led us into a chapel apart, and showed us the old Gothic tomb of Pope John XXII., where the recumbent statue of the pope lies beneath one of those beautiful and venerable canopies of stone which look at once so light and so solemn. I know not how many hundred years old it is, but everything of Gothic origin has a faculty of conveying the idea of age; whereas classic forms seem to have nothing to do with time, and so lose the kind of impressiveness that arises from suggestions of decay and the past. In the sacristy the guide opened a cupboard that contained the jewels and sacred treasures of the church, and showed a most exquisite figure of Christ in ivory, represented as on a cross of ebony; and it was executed with wonderful truth and force of expression, and with great beauty likewise. I do not see what a full-length marble statue could have had that was lacking in this little ivory figure of hardly more than a foot high. It is about two centuries old, by an unknown artist. There is another famous ivory statuette in Avignon which seems to be more celebrated than this, but can hardly be superior. I shall gladly look at it if it comes in my way. Next to this, the prettiest thing the man showed us was a circle of emeralds, in one of the holy implements; and then he exhibited a little bit or a pope's skull; also a great old crozier, that looked as if made chiefly of silver, and partly gilt; but I saw where the plating of silver was worn away, and betrayed the copper of its actual substance. There were two or three pictures in the sacristy, by ancient and modern French artists, very unlike the productions of the Italian masters, but not without a beauty of their own. Leaving the sacristy, we returned into the church, where U---- and J----- began to draw the pope's old stone chair. There is a beast, or perhaps more than one, grotesquely sculptured upon it; the seat is high and square, the back low and pointed, and it offers no enticing promise to a weary man. The interior of the church is massively picturesque, with its vaulted roof, and a stone gallery, heavily ornamented, running along each side of the nave. Each arch of the nave gives admittance to a chapel, in all of which there are pictures, and sculptures in most of them. One of these chapels is of the time of Charlemagne, and has a vaulted roof of admirable architecture, covered with frescos of modern date and little merit. In an adjacent chapel is the stone monument of Pope Benedict, whose statue reposes on it, like many which I have seen in the cathedral of York and other old English churches. In another part we saw a monument, consisting of a plain slab supported on pillars; it is said to be of a Roman or very early Christian epoch. In another chapel was a figure of Christ in wax, I believe, and clothed in real drapery; a very ugly object. Also, a figure reposing under a slab, which strikes the spectator with the idea that it is really a dead person enveloped in a shroud. There are windows of painted glass in some of the chapels; and the gloom of the dimly lighted interior, especially beneath the broad, low arches, is very impressive. While we were there some women assembled at one of the altars, and went through their acts of devotion without the help of a priest; one and another of them alternately repeating prayers, to which the rest responded. The murmur of their voices took a musical tone, which was reverberated by the vaulted arches. U---- and I now came out; and, under the porch, we found an old woman selling rosaries, little religious books, and other holy things. We bought two little medals of the Immaculate Virgin, one purporting to be of silver, the other of gold; but as both together cost only two or three sous, the genuineness of the material may well be doubted. We sat down on the steps, of a crucifix which is placed in front of the church, and the children began to draw the porch, of which I hardly know whether to call the architecture classic or Gothic (as I said before); at all events it has a venerable aspect, and there are frescos within its arches by Simone Memmi. . . . . The popes' palace is contiguous to the church, and just below it, on the hillside. It is now occupied as barracks by some regiments of soldiers, a number of whom were lounging before the entrance; but we passed the sentinel without being challenged, and addressed ourselves to the concierge, who readily assented to our request to be shown through the edifice. A French gentleman and lady, likewise, came with similar purpose, and went the rounds along with us. The palace is such a confused heap and conglomeration of buildings, that it is impossible to get within any sort of a regular description. It is a huge, shapeless mass of architecture; and if it ever had any pretence to a plan, it has lost it in the modern alterations. For instance, an immense and lofty chapel, or rather church, has had two floors, one above the other, laid at different stages of its height; and the upper one of these floors, which extends just where the arches of the vaulted root begin to spring from the pillars, is ranged round with the beds of one of the regiments of soldiers. They are small iron bedsteads, each with its narrow mattress, and covered with a dark blanket. On some of them lay or lounged a soldier; other soldiers were cleaning their accoutrements; elsewhere we saw parties of them playing cards. So it was wherever we went among those large, dingy, gloomy halls and chambers, which, no doubt, were once stately and sumptuous, with pictures, with tapestry, and all sorts of adornment that the Middle Ages knew how to use. The windows threw a sombre light through embrasures at least two feet thick. There were staircases of magnificent breadth. We were shown into two small chapels, in different parts of the building, both containing the remains of old frescos wofully defaced. In one of them was a light, spiral staircase of iron, built in the centre of the room as a means of contemplating the frescos, which were said to be the work of our old friend Giotto. . . . . Finally, we climbed a long, long, narrow stair, built in the thickness of the wall, and thus gained access to the top of one of the towers, whence we saw the noblest landscapes, mountains, plains, and the Rhone, broad and bright, winding hither and thither, as if it had lost its way. Beneath our feet was the gray, ugly old palace, and its many courts, just as void of system and as inconceivable as when we were burrowing through its bewildering passages. No end of historical romances might be made out of this castle of the popes; and there ought to be a ghost in every room, and droves of them in some of the rooms; for there have been murders here in the gross and in detail, as well hundreds of years ago, as no longer back than the French Revolution, when there was a great massacre in one of the courts. Traces of this bloody business were visible in actual stains on the wall only a few years ago. Returning to the room of the concierge, who, being a little stiff with age, had sent an attendant round with us, instead of accompanying us in person, he showed us a picture of Rienzi, the last of the Roman tribunes, who was once a prisoner here. On a table, beneath the picture, stood a little vase of earthenware containing some silver coin. We took it as a hint, in the customary style of French elegance, that a fee should be deposited here, instead of being put into the hand of the concierge; so the French gentleman deposited half a franc, and I, in my magnificence, twice as much. Hotel de l'Europe, June 6th.--We are still here. . . . . I have been daily to the Rocher des Dons, and have grown familiar with the old church on its declivity. I think I might become attached to it by seeing it often. A sombre old interior, with its heavy arches, and its roof vaulted like the top of a trunk; its stone gallery, with ponderous adornments, running round three sides. I observe that it is a daily custom of the old women to say their prayers in concert, sometimes making a pilgrimage, as it were, from chapel to chapel. The voice of one of them is heard running through the series of petitions, and at intervals the voices of the others join and swell into a chorus, so that it is like a river connecting a series of lakes; or, not to use so gigantic a simile, the one voice is like a thread, on which the beads of a rosary are strung. One day two priests came and sat down beside these prayerful women, and joined in their petitions. I am inclined to hope that there is something genuine in the devotion of these old women. The view from the top of the Rocker des Dons (a contraction of Dominis) grows upon me, and is truly magnificent; a vast mountain-girdled plain, illuminated by the far windings and reaches of the Rhone. The river is here almost as turbid as the Tiber itself; but, I remember, in the upper part of its course the waters are beautifully transparent. A powerful rush is indicated by the swirls and eddies of its broad surface. Yesterday was a race day at Avignon, and apparently almost the whole population and a great many strangers streamed out of the city gate nearest our hotel, on their way to the race-course. There were many noticeable figures that might come well into a French picture or description; but only one remains in my memory,--a young man with a wooden leg, setting off for the course--a walk of several miles, I believe--with prodigious courage and alacrity, flourishing his wooden leg with an air and grace that seemed to render it positively flexible. The crowd returned towards sunset, and almost all night long, the streets and the whole air of the old town were full of song and merriment. There was a ball in a temporary structure, covered with an awning, in the Place d'Horloge, and a showman has erected his tent and spread forth his great painted canvases, announcing an anaconda and a sea-tiger to be seen. J----- paid four sous for admittance, and found that the sea-tiger was nothing but a large seal, and the anaconda altogether a myth. I have rambled a good deal about the town. Its streets are crooked and perplexing, and paved with round pebbles for the most part, which afford more uncomfortable pedestrianism than the pavement of Rome itself. It is an ancient-looking place, with some large old mansions, but few that are individually impressive; though here and there one sees an antique entrance, a corner tower, or other bit of antiquity, that throws a venerable effect over the gray commonplace of past centuries. The town is not overclean, and often there is a kennel of unhappy odor. There appear to have been many more churches and devotional establishments under the ancient dominion of the popes than have been kept intact in subsequent ages; the tower and facade of a church, for instance, form the front of a carpenter's shop, or some such plebeian place. The church where Laura lay has quite disappeared, and her tomb along with it. The town reminds me of Chester, though it does not in the least resemble it, and is not nearly so picturesque. Like Chester, it is entirely surrounded by a wall; and that of Avignon--though it has no delightful promenade on its top, as the wall of Chester has--is the more perfectly preserved in its mediaeval form, and the more picturesque of the two. J----- and I have once or twice walked nearly round it, commencing from the gate of Ouelle, which is very near our hotel. From this point it stretches for a considerable distance along by the river, and here there is a broad promenade, with trees, and blocks of stone for seats; on one side "the arrowy Rhone," generally carrying a cooling breeze along with it; on the other, the gray wall, with its battlements and machicolations, impending over what was once the moat, but which is now full of careless and untrained shrubbery. At intervals there are round towers swelling out from the wall, and rising a little above it. After about half a mile along the river-side the wall turns at nearly right angles, and still there is a wide road, a shaded walk, a boulevard; and at short distances are cafes, with their little round tables before the door, or small shady nooks of shrubbery. So numerous are these retreats and pleasaunces that I do not see how the little old town can support them all, especially as there are a great many cafes within the walls. I do not remember seeing any soldiers on guard at the numerous city gates, but there is an office in the side of each gate for levying the octroi, and old women are sometimes on guard there. This morning, after breakfast, J----- and I crossed the suspension-bridge close by the gate nearest our hotel, and walked to the ancient town of Villeneuve, on the other side of the Rhone. The first bridge leads to an island, from the farther side of which another very long one, with a timber foundation, accomplishes the passage of the other branch of the Rhone. There was a good breeze on the river, but after crossing it we found the rest of the walk excessively hot. This town of Villeneuve is of very ancient origin, and owes its existence, it is said, to the famous holiness of a female saint, which gathered round her abode and burial-place a great many habitations of people who reverenced her. She was the daughter of the King of Saragossa, and I presume she chose this site because it was so rocky and desolate. Afterwards it had a long mediaeval history; and in the time of the Avignon popes, the cardinals, regretful of their abandoned Roman villas, built pleasure-houses here, so that the town was called Villa Nueva. After they had done their best, it must have seemed to these poor cardinals but a rude and sad exchange for the Borghese, the Albani, the Pamfili Doria, and those other perfectest results of man's luxurious art. And probably the tradition of the Roman villas had really been kept alive, and extant examples of them all the way downward from the times of the empire. But this Villeneuve is the stoniest, roughest town that can be imagined. There are a few large old houses, to be sure, but built on a line with shabby village dwellings and barns, and so presenting little but samples of magnificent shabbiness. Perhaps I might have found traces of old splendor if I had sought for them; but, not having the history of the place in my mind, I passed through its scrambling streets without imagining that Princes of the Church had once made their abode here. The inhabitants now are peasants, or chiefly such; though, for aught I know, some of the French noblesse may burrow in these palaces that look so like hovels. A large church, with a massive tower, stands near the centre of the town; and, of course, I did not fail to enter its arched door,--a pointed arch, with many frames and mouldings, one within another. An old woman was at her devotions, and several others came in and knelt during my stay there. It was quite an interesting interior; a long nave, with six pointed arches on each side, beneath which were as many chapels. The walls were rich with pictures, not only in the chapels, but up and down the nave, above the arches. There were gilded virgins, too, and much other quaint device that produced an effect that I rather liked than otherwise. At the end of the church, farthest from the high altar, there were four columns of exceedingly rich marble, and a good deal more of such precious material was wrought into the chapels and altars. There was an old stone seat, also, of some former pope or prelate. The church was dim enough to cause the lamps in the shrines to become points of vivid light, and, looking from end to end, it was a long, venerable, tarnished, Old World vista, not at all tampered with by modern taste. We now went on our way through the village, and, emerging from a gate, went clambering towards the castle of St. Andre, which stands, perhaps, a quarter of a mile beyond it. This castle was built by Philip le Bel, as a restraint to the people of Avignon in extending their power on this side of the Rhone. We happened not to take the most direct way, and so approached the castle on the farther side and were obliged to go nearly round the hill on which it stands, before striking into the path which leads to its gate. It crowns a very bold and difficult hill, directly above the Rhone, opposite to Avignon,--which is so far off that objects are not minutely distinguishable,--and looking down upon the long, straggling town of Villeneuve. It must have been a place of mighty strength, in its day. Its ramparts seem still almost entire, as looked upon from without, and when, at length, we climbed the rough, rocky pathway to the entrance, we found the two vast round towers, with their battlemented summits and arched gateway between them, just as perfect as they could have been five hundred or more years ago. Some external defences are now, however, in a state of ruin; and there are only the remains of a tower, that once arose between the two round towers, and was apparently much more elevated than they. A little in front of the gate was a monumental cross of stone; and in the arch, between the two round towers, were two little boys at play; and an old woman soon showed herself, but took no notice of us. Casting our eyes within the gateway, we saw what looked a rough village street, betwixt old houses built ponderously of stone, but having far more the aspect of huts than of castle-hails. They were evidently the dwellings of peasantry, and people engaged in rustic labor; and no doubt they have burrowed into the primitive structures of the castle, and, as they found convenient, have taken their crumbling materials to build barns and farm-houses. There was space and accommodation for a very considerable population; but the men were probably at work in the fields, and the only persons visible were the children aforesaid, and one or two old women bearing bundles of twigs on their backs. They showed no curiosity respecting us, and though the wide space included within the castle-rampart seemed almost full of habitations ruinous or otherwise, I never found such a solitude in any ruin before. It contrasts very favorably in this particular with English castles, where, though you do not find rustic villages within the warlike enclosure, there is always a padlocked gate, always a guide, and generally half a dozen idle tourists. But here was only antiquity, with merely the natural growth of fungous human life upon it. We went to the end of the castle court and sat down, for lack of other shade, among some inhospitable nettles that grew close to the wall. Close by us was a great gap in the ramparts,--it may have been a breach which was once stormed through; and it now afforded us an airy and sunny glimpse of distant hills. . . . . J----- sketched part of the broken wall, which, by the by, did not seem to me nearly so thick as the walls of English castles. Then we returned through the gate, and I stopped, rather impatiently, under the hot sun, while J----- drew the outline of the two round towers. This done, we resumed our way homeward, after drinking from a very deep well close by the square tower of Philip le Bel. Thence we went melting through the sunshine, which beat upward as pitilessly from the white road as it blazed downwards from the sky. . . . . GENEVA. Hotel d'Angleterre, June 11th.--We left Avignon on Tuesday, 7th, and took the rail to Valence, where we arrived between four and five, and put up at the Hotel de la Poste, an ancient house, with dirty floors and dirt generally, but otherwise comfortable enough. . . . . Valence is a stately old town, full of tall houses and irregular streets. We found a cathedral there, not very large, but with a high and venerable interior, a nave supported by tall pillars, from the height of which spring arches. This loftiness is characteristic of French churches, as distinguished from those of Italy. . . . . We likewise saw, close by the cathedral, a large monument with four arched entrances meeting beneath a vaulted roof; but, on inquiry of an old priest and other persons, we could get no account of it, except that it was a tomb, and of unknown antiquity. The architecture seemed classic, and yet it had some Gothic peculiarities, and it was a reverend and beautiful object. Had I written up my journal while the town was fresh in my remembrance, I might have found much to describe; but a succession of other objects have obliterated most of the impressions I have received here. Our railway ride to Valence was intolerably hot. I have felt nothing like it since leaving America, and that is so long ago that the terrible discomfort was just as good as new. . . . . We left Valence at four, and came that afternoon to Lyons, still along the Rhone. Either the waters of this river assume a transparency in winter which they lose in summer, or I was mistaken in thinking them transparent on our former journey. They are now turbid; but the hue does not suggest the idea of a running mud-puddle, as the water of the Tiber does. No streams, however, are so beautiful in the quality of their waters as the clear, brown rivers of New England. The scenery along this part of the Rhone, as we have found all the way from Marseilles, is very fine and impressive; old villages, rocky cliffs, castellated steeps, quaint chateaux, and a thousand other interesting objects. We arrived at Lyons at five o'clock, and went to the Hotel de l'Univers, to which we had been recommended by our good hostess at Avignon. The day had become showery, but J----- and I strolled about a little before nightfall, and saw the general characteristics of the place. Lyons is a city of very stately aspect, hardly inferior to Paris; for it has regular streets of lofty houses, and immense squares planted with trees, and adorned with statues and fountains. New edifices of great splendor are in process of erection; and on the opposite side of the Rhone, where the site rises steep and high, there are structures of older date, that have an exceedingly picturesque effect, looking down upon the narrow town. The next morning I went out with J----- in quest of my bankers, and of the American Consul; and as I had forgotten the directions of the waiter of the hotel, I of course went astray, and saw a good deal more of Lyons than I intended. In my wanderings I crossed the Rhone, and found myself in a portion of the city evidently much older than that with which I had previously made acquaintance; narrow, crooked, irregular, and rudely paved streets, full of dingy business and bustle,--the city, in short, as it existed a century ago, and how much earlier I know not. Above rises that lofty elevation of ground which I before noticed; and the glimpses of its stately old buildings through the openings of the street were very picturesque. Unless it be Edinburgh, I have not seen any other city that has such striking features. Altogether unawares, immediately after crossing the bridge, we came upon the cathedral; and the grand, time-blackened Gothic front, with its deeply arched entrances, seemed to me as good as anything I ever saw,--unexpectedly more impressive than all the ruins of Rome. I could but merely glance at its interior; so that its noble height and venerable space, filled with the dim, consecrated light of pictured windows, recur to me as a vision. And it did me good to enjoy the awfulness and sanctity of Gothic architecture again, after so long shivering in classic porticos. . . . . We now recrossed the river. . . . . The Frank methods and arrangements in matters of business seem to be excellent, so far as effecting the proposed object is concerned; but there is such an inexorable succession of steel-wrought forms, that life is not long enough for so much accuracy. The stranger, too, goes blindfold through all these processes, not knowing what is to turn up next, till, when quite in despair, he suddenly finds his business mysteriously accomplished. . . . . We left Lyons at four o'clock, taking the railway for Geneva. The scenery was very striking throughout the journey; but I allowed the hills, deep valleys, high impending cliffs, and whatever else I saw along the road, to pass from me without an ink-blot. We reached Geneva at nearly ten o'clock. . . . . It is situated partly on low, flat ground, bordering the lake, and behind this level space it rises by steep, painfully paved streets, some of which can hardly be accessible by wheeled carriages. The prosperity of the town is indicated by a good many new and splendid edifices, for commercial and other purposes, in the vicinity of the lake; but intermixed with these there are many quaint buildings of a stern gray color, and in a style of architecture that I prefer a thousand times to the monotony of Italian streets. Immensely high, red roofs, with windows in them, produce an effect that delights me. They are as ugly, perhaps, as can well be conceived, but very striking and individual. At each corner of these ancient houses frequently is a tower, the roof of which rises in a square pyramidal form, or, if the tower be round, in a round pyramidal form. Arched passages, gloomy and grimy, pass from one street to another. The lower town creeps with busy life, and swarms like an ant-hill; but if you climb the half-precipitous streets, you find yourself among ancient and stately mansions, high roofed, with a strange aspect of grandeur about them, looking as if they might still be tenanted by such old magnates as dwelt in them centuries ago. There is also a cathedral, the older portion exceedingly fine; but it has been adorned at some modern epoch with a Grecian portico,--good in itself, but absurdly out of keeping with the edifice which it prefaces. This being a Protestant country, the doors were all shut,--an inhospitality that made me half a Catholic. It is funny enough that a stranger generally profits by all that is worst for the inhabitants of the country where he himself is merely a visitor. Despotism makes things all the pleasanter for the stranger. Catholicism lends itself admirably to his purposes. There are public gardens (one, at least) in Geneva. . . . . Nothing struck me so much, I think, as the color of the Rhone, as it flows under the bridges in the lower town. It is absolutely miraculous, and, beautiful as it is, suggests the idea that the tubs of a thousand dyers have emptied their liquid indigo into the stream. When once you have conquered and thrust out this idea, it is an inexpressible delight to look down into this intense, brightly transparent blue, that hurries beneath you with the speed of a race-horse. The shops of Geneva are very tempting to a traveller, being full of such little knick-knacks as he would be glad to carry away in memory of the place: wonderful carvings in wood and ivory, done with exquisite taste and skill; jewelry that seems very cheap, but is doubtless dear enough, if you estimate it by the solid gold that goes into its manufacture; watches, above all things else, for a third or a quarter of the price that one pays in England, looking just as well, too, and probably performing the whole of a watch's duty as uncriticisably. The Swiss people are frugal and inexpensive in their own habits, I believe, plain and simple, and careless of ornament; but they seem to reckon on other people's spending a great deal of money for gewgaws. We bought some of their wooden trumpery, and likewise a watch for U----. . . . . Next to watches, jewelry, and wood-carving, I should say that cigars were one of the principal articles of commerce in Geneva. Cigar-shops present themselves at every step or two, and at a reasonable rate, there being no duties, I believe, on imported goods. There was no examination of our trunks on arrival, nor any questions asked on that score. VILLENEUVE. Hotel de Byron, June 12th.--Yesterday afternoon we left Geneva by a steamer, starting from the quay at only a short distance from our hotel. The forenoon had been showery; but the suit now came out very pleasantly, although there were still clouds and mist enough to give infinite variety to the mountain scenery. At the commencement of our voyage the scenery of the lake was not incomparably superior to that of other lakes on which I have sailed, as Lake Windermere, for instance, or Loch Lomond, or our own Lake Champlain. It certainly grew more grand and beautiful, however, till at length I felt that I had never seen anything worthy to be put beside it. The southern shore has the grandest scenery; the great hills on that side appearing close to the water's edge, and after descending, with headlong slope, directly from their rocky and snow-streaked summits down into the blue water. Our course lay nearer to the northern shore, and all our stopping-places were on that side. The first was Coppet, where Madame de Stael or her father, or both, were either born or resided or died, I know not which, and care very little. It is a picturesque village, with an old church, and old, high-roofed, red-tiled houses, the whole looking as if nothing in it had been changed for many, many years. All these villages, at several of which we stopped momentarily, look delightfully unmodified by recent fashions. There is the church, with its tower crowned by a pyramidal roof, like an extinguisher; then the chateau of the former lord, half castle and half dwelling-house, with a round tower at each corner, pyramid topped; then, perhaps, the ancient town-house or Hotel de Ville, in an open paved square; and perhaps the largest mansion in the whole village will have been turned into a modern inn, but retaining all its venerable characteristics of high, steep sloping roof, and antiquated windows. Scatter a delightful shade of trees among the houses, throw in a time-worn monument of one kind or another, swell out the delicious blue of the lake in front, and the delicious green of the sunny hillside sloping up and around this closely congregated neighborhood of old, comfortable houses, and I do not know what more I can add to this sketch. Often there was an insulated house or cottage, embowered in shade, and each seeming like the one only spot in the wide world where two people that had good consciences and loved each other could spend a happy life. Half-ruined towers, old historic castles, these, too, we saw. And all the while, on the other side of the lake, were the high hills, sometimes dim, sometimes black, sometimes green, with gray precipices of stone, and often snow-patches, right above the warm sunny lake whereon we were sailing. We passed Lausanne, which stands upward, on the slope of the hill, the tower of its cathedral forming a conspicuous object. We mean to visit this to-morrow; so I may pretermit further mention of it here. We passed Vevay and Clarens, which, methought, was particularly picturesque; for now the hills had approached close to the water on the northern side also, and steep heights rose directly above the little gray church and village; and especially I remember a rocky cliff which ascends into a rounded pyramid, insulated from all other peaks and ridges. But if I could perform the absolute impossibility of getting one single outline of the scene into words, there would be all the color wanting, the light, the haze, which spiritualizes it, and moreover makes a thousand and a thousand scenes out of that single one. Clarens, however, has still another interest for me; for I found myself more affected by it, as the scene of the love of St. Preux and Julie, than I have often been by scenes of poetry and romance. I read Rousseau's romance with great sympathy, when I was hardly more than a boy; ten years ago, or thereabouts, I tried to read it again without success; but I think, from my feeling of yesterday, that it still retains its hold upon my imagination. Farther onward, we saw a white, ancient-looking group of towers, beneath a mountain, which was so high, and rushed so precipitately down upon this pile of building as quite to dwarf it; besides which, its dingy whiteness had not a very picturesque effect. Nevertheless, this was the Castle of Chillon. It appears to sit right upon the water, and does not rise very loftily above it. I was disappointed in its aspect, having imagined this famous castle as situated upon a rock, a hundred, or, for aught I know, a thousand feet above the surface of the lake; but it is quite as impressive a fact--supposing it to be true--that the water is eight hundred feet deep at its base. By this time, the mountains had taken the beautiful lake into their deepest heart; they girdled it quite round with their grandeur and beauty, and, being able to do no more for it, they here withheld it from extending any farther; and here our voyage came to an end. I have never beheld any scene so exquisite; nor do I ask of heaven to show me any lovelier or nobler one, but only to give me such depth and breadth of sympathy with nature, that I may worthily enjoy this. It is beauty more than enough for poor, perishable mortals. If this be earth, what must heaven be! It was nearly eight o'clock when we arrived; and then we had a walk of at least a mile to the Hotel Byron. . . . . I forgot to mention that in the latter part of our voyage there was a shower in some part of the sky, and though none of it fell upon us, we had the benefit of those gentle tears in a rainbow, which arched itself across the lake from mountain to mountain, so that our track lay directly under this triumphal arch. We took it as a good omen, nor were we discouraged, though, after the rainbow had vanished, a few sprinkles of the shower came down. We found the Hotel Byron very grand indeed, and a good one too. There was a beautiful moonlight on the lake and hills, but we contented ourselves with looking out of our lofty window, whence, likewise, we had a sidelong glance at the white battlements of Chillon, not more than a mile off, on the water's edge. The castle is wofully in need of a pedestal. If its site were elevated to a height equal to its own, it would make a far better appearance. As it now is, it looks, to speak profanely of what poetry has consecrated, when seen from the water, or along the shore of the lake, very like an old whitewashed factory or mill. This morning I walked to the Castle of Chillon with J-----, who sketches everything he sees, from a wildflower or a carved chair to a castle or a range of mountains. The morning had sunshine thinly scattered through it; but, nevertheless, there was a continual sprinkle, sometimes scarcely perceptible, and then again amounting to a decided drizzle. The road, which is built along on a little elevation above the lake shore, led us past the Castle of Chillon; and we took a side-path, which passes still nearer the castle gate. The castle stands on an isthmus of gravel, permanently connecting it with the mainland. A wooden bridge, covered with a roof, passes from the shore to the arched entrance; and beneath this shelter, which has wooden walls as well as roof and floor, we saw a soldier or gendarme who seemed to act as warder. As it sprinkled rather more freely than at first, I thought of appealing to his hospitality for shelter from the rain, but concluded to pass on. The castle makes a far better appearance on a nearer view, and from the land, than when seen at a distance, and from the water. It is built of stone, and seems to have been anciently covered with plaster, which imparts the whiteness to which Byron does much more than justice, when he speaks of "Chillon's snow-white battlements." There is a lofty external wall, with a cluster of round towers about it, each crowned with its pyramidal roof of tiles, and from the central portion of the castle rises a square tower, also crowned with its own pyramid to a considerably greater height than the circumjacent ones. The whole are in a close cluster, and make a fine picture of ancient strength when seen at a proper proximity; for I do not think that distance adds anything to the effect. There are hardly any windows, or few, and very small ones, except the loopholes for arrows and for the garrison of the castle to peep from on the sides towards the water; indeed, there are larger windows at least in the upper apartments; but in that direction, no doubt, the castle was considered impregnable. Trees here and there on the land side grow up against the castle wall, on one part of which, moreover, there was a green curtain of ivy spreading from base to battlement. The walls retain their machicolations, and I should judge that nothing had been [altered], nor any more work been done upon the old fortress than to keep it in singularly good repair. It was formerly a castle of the Duke of Savoy, and since his sway over the country ceased (three hundred years at least), it has been in the hands of the Swiss government, who still keep some arms and ammunition there. We passed on, and found the view of it better, as we thought, from a farther point along the road. The raindrops began to spatter down faster, and we took shelter under an impending precipice, where the ledge of rock had been blasted and hewn away to form the road. Our refuge was not a very convenient and comfortable one, so we took advantage of the partial cessation of the shower to turn homeward, but had not gone far when we met mamma and all her train. As we were close by the castle entrance, we thought it advisable to seek admission, though rather doubtful whether the Swiss gendarme might not deem it a sin to let us into the castle on Sunday. But he very readily admitted us under his covered drawbridge, and called an old man from within the fortress to show us whatever was to be seen. This latter personage was a staid, rather grim, and Calvinistic-looking old worthy; but he received us without scruple, and forthwith proceeded to usher us into a range of most dismal dungeons, extending along the basement of the castle, on a level with the surface of the lake. First, if I remember aright, we came to what he said had been a chapel, and which, at all events, looked like an aisle of one, or rather such a crypt as I have seen beneath a cathedral, being a succession of massive pillars supporting groined arches,--a very admirable piece of gloomy Gothic architecture. Next, we came to a very dark compartment of the same dungeon range, where he pointed to a sort of bed, or what might serve for a bed, hewn in the solid rock, and this, our guide said, had been the last sleeping-place of condemned prisoners on the night before their execution. The next compartment was still duskier and dismaller than the last, and he bade us cast our eyes up into the obscurity and see a beam, where the condemned ones used to be hanged. I looked and looked, and closed my eyes so as to see the clearer in this horrible duskiness on opening them again. Finally, I thought I discerned the accursed beam, and the rest of the party were certain that they saw it. Next beyond this, I think, was a stone staircase, steep, rudely cut, and narrow, down which the condemned were brought to death; and beyond this, still on the same basement range of the castle, a low and narrow [corridor] through which we passed and saw a row of seven massive pillars, supporting two parallel series of groined arches, like those in the chapel which we first entered. This was Bonnivard's prison, and the scene of Byron's poem. The arches are dimly lighted by narrow loopholes, pierced through the immensely thick wall, but at such a height above the floor that we could catch no glimpse of land or water, or scarcely of the sky. The prisoner of Chillon could not possibly have seen the island to which Byron alludes, and which is a little way from the shore, exactly opposite the town of Villeneuve. There was light enough in this long, gray, vaulted room, to show us that all the pillars were inscribed with the names of visitors, among which I saw no interesting one, except that of Byron himself, which is cut, in letters an inch long or more, into one of the pillars next to that to which Bonnivard was chained. The letters are deep enough to remain in the pillar as long as the castle stands. Byron seems to have had a fancy for recording his name in this and similar ways; as witness the record which I saw on a tree of Newstead Abbey. In Bonnivard's pillar there still remains an iron ring, at the height of perhaps three feet from the ground. His chain was fastened to this ring, and his only freedom was to walk round this pillar, about which he is said to have worn a path in the stone pavement of the dungeon; but as the floor is now covered with earth or gravel, I could not satisfy myself whether this be true. Certainly six years, with nothing else to do in them save to walk round the pillar, might well suffice to wear away the rock, even with naked feet. This column, and all the columns, were cut and hewn in a good style of architecture, and the dungeon arches are not without a certain gloomy beauty. On Bonnivard's pillar, as well as on all the rest, were many names inscribed; but I thought better of Byron's delicacy and sensitiveness for not cutting his name into that very pillar. Perhaps, knowing nothing of Bonnivard's story, he did not know to which column he was chained. Emerging from the dungeon-vaults, our guide led us through other parts of the castle, showing us the Duke of Savoy's kitchen, with a fireplace at least twelve feet long; also the judgment-hall, or some such place, hung round with the coats of arms of some officers or other, and having at one end a wooden post, reaching from floor to ceiling, and having upon it the marks of fire. By means of this post, contumacious prisoners were put to a dreadful torture, being drawn up by cords and pulleys, while their limbs were scorched by a fire underneath. We also saw a chapel or two, one of which is still in good and sanctified condition, and was to be used this very day, our guide told us, for religious purposes. We saw, moreover, the Duke's private chamber, with a part of the bedstead on which he used to sleep, and be haunted with horrible dreams, no doubt, and the ghosts of wretches whom he had tortured and hanged; likewise the bedchamber of his duchess, that had in its window two stone seats, where, directly over the head of Bonnivard, the ducal pair might look out on the beautiful scene of lake and mountains, and feel the warmth of the blessed sun. Under this window, the guide said, the water of the lake is eight hundred feet in depth; an immense profundity, indeed, for an inland lake, but it is not very difficult to believe that the mountain at the foot of which Chillon stands may descend so far beneath the water. In other parts of the lake and not distant, more than nine hundred feet have been sounded. I looked out of the duchess's window, and could certainly see no appearance of a bottom in the light blue water. The last thing that the guide showed us was a trapdoor, or opening, beneath a crazy old floor. Looking down into this aperture we saw three stone steps, which we should have taken to be the beginning of a flight of stairs that descended into a dungeon, or series of dungeons, such as we had already seen. But inspecting them more closely, we saw that the third step terminated the flight, and beyond was a dark vacancy. Three steps a person would grope down, planting his uncertain foot on a dimly seen stone; the fourth step would be in the empty air. The guide told us that it used to be the practice to bring prisoners hither, under pretence of committing them to a dungeon, and make them go down the three steps and that fourth fatal one, and they would never more be heard of; but at the bottom of the pit there would be a dead body, and in due time a mouldy skeleton, which would rattle beneath the body of the next prisoner that fell. I do not believe that it was anything more than a secret dungeon for state prisoners whom it was out of the question either to set at liberty or bring to public trial. The depth of the pit was about forty-five feet. Gazing intently down, I saw a faint gleam of light at the bottom, apparently coming from some other aperture than the trap-door over which we were bending, so that it must have been contemplated to supply it with light and air in such degree as to support human life. U---- declared she saw a skeleton at the bottom; Miss S------ thought she saw a hand, but I saw only the dim gleam of light. There are two or three courts in the castle, but of no great size. We were now led across one of them, and dismissed out of the arched entrance by which we had come in. We found the gendarme still keeping watch on his roofed drawbridge, and as there was the same gentle shower that had been effusing itself all the morning, we availed ourselves of the shelter, more especially as there were some curiosities to examine. These consisted chiefly of wood-carvings,--such as little figures in the national costume, boxes with wreaths of foliage upon them, paper knives, the chamois goat, admirably well represented. We at first hesitated to make any advances towards trade with the gendarme because it was Sunday, and we fancied there might be a Calvinistic scruple on his part about turning a penny on the Sabbath; but from the little I know of the Swiss character, I suppose they would be as ready as any other men to sell, not only such matters, but even their own souls, or any smaller--or shall we say greater--thing on Sunday or at any other time. So we began to ask the prices of the articles, and met with no difficulty in purchasing a salad spoon and fork, with pretty bas-reliefs carved on the handles, and a napkin-ring. For Rosebud's and our amusement, the gendarme now set a musical-box a-going; and as it played a pasteboard figure of a dentist began to pull the tooth of a pasteboard patient, lifting the wretched simulacrum entirely from the ground, and keeping him in this horrible torture for half an hour. Meanwhile, mamma, Miss Shepard, U----, and J----- sat down all in a row on a bench and sketched the mountains; and as the shower did not cease, though the sun most of the time shone brightly, they were kept actual prisoners of Chillon much longer than we wished to stay. We took advantage of the first cessation,--though still the drops came dimpling into the water that rippled against the pebbles beneath the bridge,--of the first partial cessation of the shower, to escape, and returned towards the hotel, with this kindliest of summer rains falling upon us most of the way In the afternoon the rain entirely ceased, and the weather grew delightfully radiant, and warmer than could well be borne in the sunshine. U---- and I walked to the village of Villeneuve, --a mile from the hotel,--and found a very commonplace little old town of one or two streets, standing on a level, and as uninteresting as if there were not a hill within a hundred miles. It is strange what prosaic lines men thrust in amid the poetry of nature. . . . . Hotel de l'Angleterre, Geneva, June 14th.--Yesterday morning was very fine, and we had a pretty early breakfast at Hotel Byron, preparatory to leaving it. This hotel is on a magnificent scale of height and breadth, its staircases and corridors being the most spacious I have seen; but there is a kind of meagreness in the life there, and a certain lack of heartiness, that prevented us from feeling at home. We were glad to get away, and took the steamer on our return voyage, in excellent spirits. Apparently it had been a cold night in the upper regions, for a great deal more snow was visible on some of the mountains than we had before observed; especially a mountain called "Diableries" presented a silver summit, and broad sheets and fields of snow. Nothing ever can have been more beautiful than those groups of mighty hills as we saw them then, with the gray rocks, the green slopes, the white snow-patches and crests, all to be seen at one glance, and the mists and fleecy clouds tumbling, rolling, hovering about their summits, filling their lofty valleys, and coming down far towards the lower world, making the skyey aspects so intimate with the earthly ones, that we hardly knew whether we were sojourning in the material or spiritual world. It was like sailing through the sky, moreover, to be borne along on such water as that of Lake Leman,--the bluest, brightest, and profoundest element, the most radiant eye that the dull earth ever opened to see heaven withal. I am writing nonsense, but it is because no sense within my mind will answer the purpose. Some of these mountains, that looked at no such mighty distance, were at least forty or fifty miles off, and appeared as if they were near neighbors and friends of other mountains, from which they were really still farther removed. The relations into which distant points are brought, in a view of mountain scenery, symbolize the truth which we can never judge within our partial scope of vision, of the relations which we bear to our fellow-creatures and human circumstances. These mighty mountains think that they have nothing to do with one another, each seems itself its own centre, and existing for itself alone; and yet to an eye that can take them all in, they are evidently portions of one grand and beautiful idea, which could not be consummated without the lowest and the loftiest of them. I do not express this satisfactorily, but have a genuine meaning in it nevertheless. We passed again by Chillon, and gazed at it as long as it was distinctly visible, though the water view does no justice to its real picturesqueness, there being no towers nor projections on the side towards the lake, nothing but a wall of dingy white, with an indentation that looks something like a gateway. About an hour and a half brought us to Ouchy, the point where passengers land to take the omnibus to Lausanne. The ascent from Ouchy to Lausanne is a mile and a half, which it took the omnibus nearly half an hour to accomplish. We left our shawls and carpet-bags in the salle a manger of the Hotel Faucon, and set forth to find the cathedral, the pinnacled tower of which is visible for a long distance up and down the lake. Prominent as it is, however, it is by no means very easy to find it while rambling through the intricate streets and declivities of the town itself, for Lausanne is the town, I should fancy, in all the world the most difficult to go directly from one point to another. It is built on the declivity of a hill, adown which run several valleys or ravines, and over these the contiguity of houses extends, so that the communication is kept up by means of steep streets and sometimes long weary stairs, which must be surmounted and descended again in accomplishing a very moderate distance. In some inscrutable way we at last arrived at the cathedral, which stands on a higher site than any other in Lausanne. It has a very venerable exterior, with all the Gothic grandeur which arched mullioned windows, deep portals, buttresses, towers, and pinnacles, gray with a thousand years, can give to architecture. After waiting awhile we obtained entrance by means of an old woman, who acted the part of sacristan, and was then showing the church to some other visitors. The interior disappointed us; not but what it was very beautiful, but I think the excellent repair that it was in, and the Puritanic neatness with which it is kept, does much towards effacing the majesty and mystery that belong to an old church. Every inch of every wall and column, and all the mouldings and tracery, and every scrap of grotesque carving, had been washed with a drab mixture. There were likewise seats all up and down the nave, made of pine wood, and looking very new and neat, just such seats as I shall see in a hundred meeting-houses (if ever I go into so many) in America. Whatever might be the reason, the stately nave, with its high-groined roof, the clustered columns and lofty pillars, the intersecting arches of the side-aisles, the choir, the armorial and knightly tombs that surround what was once the high altar, all produced far less effect than I could have thought beforehand. As it happened, we had more ample time and freedom to inspect this cathedral than any other that we have visited, for the old woman consented to go away and leave us there, locking the door behind her. The others, except Rosebud, sat down to sketch such portions as struck their fancy; and for myself, I looked at the monuments, of which some, being those of old knights, ladies, bishops, and a king, were curious from their antiquity; and others are interesting as bearing memorials of English people, who have died at Lausanne in comparatively recent years. Then I went up into the pulpit, and tried, without success, to get into the stone gallery that runs all round the nave; and I explored my way into various side apartments of the cathedral, which I found fitted up with seats for Sabbath schools, perhaps, or possibly for meetings of elders of the Church. I opened the great Bible of the church, and found it to be a French version, printed at Lille some fifty years ago. There was also a liturgy, adapted, probably, to the Lutheran form of worship. In one of the side apartments I found a strong box, heavily clamped with iron, and having a contrivance, like the hopper of a mill, by which money could be turned into the top, while a double lock prevented its being abstracted again. This was to receive the avails of contributions made in the church; and there were likewise boxes, stuck on the ends of long poles, wherewith the deacons could go round among the worshippers, conveniently extending the begging-box to the remotest curmudgeon among them all. From the arrangement of the seats in the nave, and the labels pasted or painted on them, I judged that the women sat on one side and the men on the other, and the seats for various orders of magistrates, and for ecclesiastical and collegiate people, were likewise marked out. I soon grew weary of these investigations, and so did Rosebud and J-----, who essayed to amuse themselves with running races together over the horizontal tombstones in the pavement of the choir, treading remorselessly over the noseless effigies of old dignitaries, who never expected to be so irreverently treated. I put a stop to their sport, and banished them to different parts of the cathedral; and by and by, the old woman appeared again, and released us from durance. . . . . While waiting for our dejeuner, we saw the people dining at the regular table d'hote of the hotel, and the idea was strongly borne in upon me, that the professional mystery of a male waiter is a very unmanly one. It is so absurd to see the solemn attentiveness with which they stand behind the chairs, the earnestness of their watch for any crisis that may demand their interposition, the gravity of their manner in performing some little office that the guest might better do for himself, their decorous and soft steps; in short, as I sat and gazed at them, they seemed to me not real men, but creatures with a clerical aspect, engendered out of a very artificial state of society. When they are waiting on myself, they do not appear so absurd; it is necessary to stand apart in order to see them properly. We left Lausanne--which was to us a tedious and weary place--before four o'clock. I should have liked well enough to see the house of Gibbon, and the garden in which he walked, after finishing "The Decline and Fall"; but it could not be done without some trouble and inquiry, and as the house did not come to see me, I determined not to go and see the house. There was, indeed, a mansion of somewhat antique respectability, near our hotel, having a garden and a shaded terrace behind it, which would have answered accurately enough to the idea of Gibbon's residence. Perhaps it was so; far more probably not. Our former voyages had been taken in the Hirondelle; we now, after broiling for some time in the sunshine by the lakeside, got on board of the Aigle, No. 2. There were a good many passengers, the larger proportion of whom seemed to be English and American, and among the latter a large party of talkative ladies, old and young. The voyage was pleasant while we were protected from the sun by the awning overhead, but became scarcely agreeable when the sun had descended so low as to shine in our faces or on our backs. We looked earnestly for Mont Blanc, which ought to have been visible during a large part of our course; but the clouds gathered themselves hopelessly over the portion of the sky where the great mountain lifted his white peak; and we did not see it, and probably never shall. As to the meaner mountains, there were enough of them, and beautiful enough; but we were a little weary, and feverish with the heat. . . . . I think I had a head-ache, though it is so unusual a complaint with me, that I hardly know it when it comes. We were none of us sorry, therefore, when the Eagle brought us to the quay of Geneva, only a short distance from our hotel. . . . . To-day I wrote to Mr. Wilding, requesting him to secure passages for us from Liverpool on the 15th of next month, or 1st of August. It makes my heart thrill, half pleasantly, half otherwise; so much nearer does this step seem to bring that home whence I have now been absent six years, and which, when I see it again, may turn out to be not my home any longer. I likewise wrote to Bennoch, though I know not his present address; but I should deeply grieve to leave England without seeing him. He and Henry Bright are the only two men in England to whom I shall be much grieved to bid farewell; but to the island itself I cannot bear to say that word as a finality. I shall dreamily hope to come back again at some indefinite time; rather foolishly perhaps, for it will tend to take the substance out of my life in my own land. But this, I suspect, is apt to be the penalty of those who stay abroad and stay too long. HAVRE. Hotel Wheeler, June 22d.--We arrived at this hotel last evening from Paris, and find ourselves on the borders of the Petit Quay Notre Dame, with steamers and boats right under our windows, and all sorts of dock-business going on briskly. There are barrels, bales, and crates of goods; there are old iron cannon for posts; in short, all that belongs to the Wapping of a great seaport. . . . . The American partialities of the guests [of this hotel] are consulted by the decorations of the parlor, in which hang two lithographs and colored views of New York, from Brooklyn and from Weehawken. The fashion of the house is a sort of nondescript mixture of Frank, English, and American, and is not disagreeable to us after our weary experience of Continental life. The abundance of the food is very acceptable in comparison with the meagreness of French and Italian meals; and last evening we supped nobly on cold roast beef and ham, set generously before us, in the mass, instead of being doled out in slices few and thin. The waiter has a kindly sort of manner, and resembles the steward of a vessel rather than a landsman; and, in short, everything here has undergone a change, which might admit of very effective description. I may now as well give up all attempts at journalizing. So I shall say nothing of our journey across France from Geneva. . . . . To-night, we shall take our departure in a steamer for Southampton, whence we shall go to London; thence, in a week or two, to Liverpool; thence to Boston and Concord, there to enjoy--if enjoyment it prove--a little rest and a sense that we are at home. [More than four months were now taken up in writing "The Marble Faun," in great part at the seaside town of Redcar, Yorkshire, Mr. Hawthorne having concluded to remain another year in England, chiefly to accomplish that romance. In Redcar, where he remained till September or October, he wrote no journal, but only the book. He then went to Leamington, where he finished "The Marble Faun" in March, and there is a little journalizing soon after leaving Redcar.--ED.] ENGLAND. Leamington, November 14th, 1859.--J---- and I walked to Lillington the other day. Its little church was undergoing renovation when we were here two years ago, and now seems to be quite renewed, with the exception of its square, gray, battlemented tower, which has still the aspect of unadulterated antiquity. On Saturday J----- and I walked to Warwick by the old road, passing over the bridge of the Avon, within view of the castle. It is as fine a piece of English scenery as exists anywhere,-- the quiet little river, shadowed with drooping trees, and, in its vista, the gray towers and long line of windows of the lordly castle, with a picturesquely varied outline; ancient strength, a little softened by decay. . . . . The town of Warwick, I think, has been considerably modernized since I first saw it. The whole of the central portion of the principal street now looks modern, with its stuccoed or brick fronts of houses, and, in many cases, handsome shop windows. Leicester Hospital and its adjoining chapel still look venerably antique; and so does a gateway that half bestrides the street. Beyond these two points on either side it has a much older aspect. The modern signs heighten the antique impression. February 5th, 1860.--Mr. and Mrs. Bennoch are staying for a little while at Mr. B------'s at Coventry, and Mr. B------ called upon us the other day, with Mr. Bennoch, and invited us to go and see the lions of Coventry; so yesterday U---- and I went. It was not my first visit, therefore I have little or nothing to record, unless it were to describe a ribbon-factory into which Mr. B------ took us. But I have no comprehension of machinery, and have only a confused recollection of an edifice of four or five stories, on each floor of which were rows of huge machines, all busy with their iron hands and joints in turning out delicate ribbons. It was very curious and unintelligible to me to observe how they caused different colored patterns to appear, and even flowers to blossom, on the plain surface of a ribbon. Some of the designs were pretty, and I was told that one manufacturer pays 500 pounds annually to French artists (or artisans, for I do not know whether they have a connection with higher art) merely for new patterns of ribbons. The English find it impossible to supply themselves with tasteful productions of this sort merely from the resources of English fancy. If an Englishman possessed the artistic faculty to the degree requisite to produce such things, he would doubtless think himself a great artist, and scorn to devote himself to these humble purposes. Every Frenchman is probably more of an artist than one Englishman in a thousand. We ascended to the very roof of the factory, and gazed thence over smoky Coventry, which is now a town of very considerable size, and rapidly on the increase. The three famous spires rise out of the midst, that of St. Michael being the tallest and very beautiful. Had the day been clear, we should have had a wide view on all sides; for Warwickshire is well laid out for distant prospects, if you can only gain a little elevation from which to see them. Descending from the roof, we next went to see Trinity Church, which has just come through an entire process of renovation, whereby much of its pristine beauty has doubtless been restored; but its venerable awfulness is greatly impaired. We went into three churches, and found that they had all been subjected to the same process. It would be nonsense to regret it, because the very existence of these old edifices is involved in their being renewed; but it certainly does deprive them of a great part of their charm, and puts one in mind of wigs, padding, and all such devices for giving decrepitude the aspect of youth. In the pavement of the nave and aisles there are worn tombstones, with defaced inscriptions, and discolored marbles affixed against the wall; monuments, too, where a mediaeval man and wife sleep side by side on a marble slab; and other tombs so old that the inscriptions are quite gone. Over an arch, in one of the churches, there was a fresco, so old, dark, faded, and blackened, that I found it impossible to make out a single figure or the slightest hint of the design. On the whole, after seeing the churches of Italy, I was not greatly impressed with these attempts to renew the ancient beauty of old English minsters; it would be better to preserve as sedulously as possible their aspect of decay, in which consists the principal charm. . . . . On our way to Mr. B------'s house, we looked into the quadrangle of a charity-school and old men's hospital, and afterwards stepped into a large Roman Catholic church, erected within these few years past, and closely imitating the mediaeval architecture and arrangements. It is strange what a plaything, a trifle, an unserious affair, this imitative spirit makes of a huge, ponderous edifice, which if it had really been built five hundred years ago would have been worthy of all respect. I think the time must soon come when this sort of thing will be held in utmost scorn, until the lapse of time shall give it a claim to respect. But, methinks, we had better strike out any kind of architecture, so it be our own, however wretched, than thus tread back upon the past. Mr. B------ now conducted us to his residence, which stands a little beyond the outskirts of the city, on the declivity of a hill, and in so windy a spot that, as he assured me, the very plants are blown out of the ground. He pointed to two maimed trees whose tops were blown off by a gale two or three years since; but the foliage still covers their shortened summits in summer, so that he does not think it desirable to cut them down. In America, a man of Mr. B------'s property would take upon himself the state and dignity of a millionaire. It is a blessed thing in England, that money gives a man no pretensions to rank, and does not bring the responsibilities of a great position. We found three or four gentlemen to meet us at dinner,--a Mr. D------ and a Mr. B------, an author, having written a book called "The Philosophy of Necessity," and is acquainted with Emerson, who spent two or three days at his house when last in England. He was very kindly appreciative of my own productions, as was also his wife, next to whom I sat at dinner. She talked to me about the author of "Adam Bede," whom she has known intimately all her life. . . . . Miss Evans (who wrote "Adam Bede") was the daughter of a steward, and gained her exact knowledge of English rural life by the connection with which this origin brought her with the farmers. She was entirely self-educated, and has made herself an admirable scholar in classical as well as in modern languages. Those who knew her had always recognized her wonderful endowments, and only watched to see in what way they would develop themselves. She is a person of the simplest manners and character, amiable and unpretending, and Mrs. B------ spoke of her with great affection and respect. . . . . Mr. B------, our host, is an extremely sensible man; and it is remarkable how many sensible men there are in England,--men who have read and thought, and can develop very good ideas, not exactly original, yet so much the product of their own minds that they can fairly call them their own. February 18th.--. . . . This present month has been somewhat less dismal than the preceding ones; there have been some sunny and breezy days when there was life in the air, affording something like enjoyment in a walk, especially when the ground was frozen. It is agreeable to see the fields still green through a partial covering of snow; the trunks and branches of the leafless trees, moreover, have a verdant aspect, very unlike that of American trees in winter, for they are covered with a delicate green moss, which is not so observable in summer. Often, too, there is a twine of green ivy up and down the trunk. The other day, as J----- and I were walking to Whitnash, an elm was felled right across our path, and I was much struck by this verdant coating of moss over all its surface,--the moss plants too minute to be seen individually, but making the whole tree green. It has a pleasant effect here, where it is the natural aspect of trees in general; but in America a mossy tree-trunk is not a pleasant object, because it is associated with damp, low, unwholesome situations. The lack of foliage gives many new peeps and vistas, hereabouts, which I never saw in summer. March 17th.--J----- and I walked to Warwick yesterday forenoon, and went into St. Mary's Church, to see the Beauchamp chapel. . . . . On one side of it were some worn steps ascending to a confessional, where the priest used to sit, while the penitent, in the body of the church, poured his sins through a perforated auricle into this unseen receptacle. The sexton showed us, too, a very old chest which had been found in the burial vault, with some ancient armor stored away in it. Three or four helmets of rusty iron, one of them barred, the last with visors, and all intolerably weighty, were ranged in a row. What heads those must have been that could bear such massiveness! On one of the helmets was a wooden crest--some bird or other--that of itself weighed several pounds. . . . . April 23d.--We have been here several weeks. . . . . Had I seen Bath earlier in my English life, I might have written many pages about it, for it is really a picturesque and interesting city. It is completely sheltered in the lap of hills, the sides of the valley rising steep and high from the level spot on which it stands, and through which runs the muddy little stream of the Avon. The older part of the town is on the level, and the more modern growth--the growth of more than a hundred years--climbs higher and higher up the hillside, till the upper streets are very airy and lofty. The houses are built almost entirely of Bath stone, which in time loses its original buff color, and is darkened by age and coal-smoke into a dusky gray; but still the city looks clean and pure as compared with most other English towns. In its architecture, it has somewhat of a Parisian aspect, the houses having roofs rising steep from their high fronts, which are often adorned with pillars, pilasters, and other good devices, so that you see it to be a town built with some general idea of beauty, and not for business. There are Circuses, Crescents, Terraces, Parades, and all such fine names as we have become familiar with at Leamington, and other watering-places. The declivity of most of the streets keeps them remarkably clean, and they are paved in a very comfortable way, with large blocks of stone, so that the middle of the street is generally practicable to walk upon, although the sidewalks leave no temptation so to do, being of generous width. In many alleys, and round about the abbey and other edifices, the pavement is of square flags, like those of Florence, and as smooth as a palace floor. On the whole, I suppose there is no place in England where a retired man, with a moderate income, could live so tolerably as at Bath; it being almost a city in size and social advantages; quite so, indeed, if eighty thousand people make a city,--and yet having no annoyance of business nor spirit of worldly struggle. All modes of enjoyment that English people like may be had here; and even the climate is said to be milder than elsewhere in England. How this may be, I know not; but we have rain or passing showers almost every day since we arrived, and I suspect the surrounding hills are just about of that inconvenient height, that keeps catching clouds, and compelling them to squeeze out their moisture upon the included valley. The air, however, certainly is preferable to that of Leamington. . . . . There are no antiquities except the abbey, which has not the interest of many other English churches and cathedrals. In the midst of the old part of the town stands the house which was formerly Beau Nash's residence, but which is now part of the establishment of an ale-merchant. The edifice is a tall, but rather mean-looking, stone building, with the entrance from a little side court, which is so cumbered with empty beer-barrels as hardly to afford a passage. The doorway has some architectural pretensions, being pillared and with some sculptured devices--whether lions or winged heraldic monstrosities I forget--on the pediment. Within, there is a small entry, not large enough to be termed a hall, and a staircase, with carved balustrade, ascending by angular turns and square landing-places. For a long course of years, ending a little more than a century ago, princes, nobles, and all the great and beautiful people of old times, used to go up that staircase, to pay their respects to the King of Bath. On the side of the house there is a marble slab inserted, recording that here he resided, and that here he died in 1767, between eighty and ninety years of age. My first acquaintance with him was in Smollett's "Roderick Random," and I have met him in a hundred other novels. His marble statue is in a niche at one end of the great pump-room, in wig, square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, and all the queer costume of the period, still looking ghost-like upon the scene where he used to be an autocrat. Marble is not a good material for Beau Nash, however; or, if so, it requires color to set him off adequately. . . . . It is usual in Bath to see the old sign of the checker-board on the doorposts of taverns. It was originally a token that the game might be played there, and is now merely a tavern-sign. LONDON. 31 Hertford Street, Mayfair, May 16th, 1860.--I came hither from Bath on the 14th, and am staying with my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Motley. I would gladly journalize some of my proceedings, and describe things and people; but I find the same coldness and stiffness in my pen as always since our return to England. I dined with the Motleys at Lord Dufferin's, on Monday evening, and there met, among a few other notable people, the Honorable Mrs. Norton, a dark, comely woman, who doubtless was once most charming, and still has charms, at above fifty years of age. In fact, I should not have taken her to be greatly above thirty, though she seems to use no art to make herself look younger, and talks about her time of life, without any squeamishness. Her voice is very agreeable, having a sort of muffled quality, which is excellent in woman. She is of a very cheerful temperament, and so has borne a great many troubles without being destroyed by them. But I can get no color into my sketch, so shall leave it here. London, May 17th. [From a letter.]--Affairs succeed each other so fast, that I have really forgotten what I did yesterday. I remember seeing my dear friend, Henry Bright, and listening to him, as we strolled in the Park, and along the Strand. To-day I met at breakfast Mr. Field Talfourd, who promises to send you the photograph of his portrait of Mr. Browning. He was very agreeable, and seemed delighted to see me again. At lunch, we had Lord Dufferin, the Honorable Mrs. Norton, and Mr. Sterling (author of the "Cloister Life of Charles V."), with whom we are to dine on Sunday. You would be stricken dumb, to see how quietly I accept a whole string of invitations, and what is more, perform my engagements without a murmur. A German artist has come to me with a letter of introduction, and a request that I will sit to him for a portrait in bas-relief. To this, likewise, I have assented! subject to the condition that I shall have my leisure. The stir of this London life, somehow or other, has done me a wonderful deal of good, and I feel better than for months past. This is strange, for if I had my choice, I should leave undone almost all the things I do. I have had time to see Bennoch only once. [This closes the European Journal. After Mr. Hawthorne's return to America, he published "Our Old Home," and began a new romance, of which two chapters appeared in the Atlantic Monthly. But the breaking out of the war stopped all imaginative work with him, and all journalizing, until 1862, when he went to Maine for a little excursion, and began another journal, from which I take one paragraph, giving a slight note of his state of mind at an interesting period of his country's history. --ED.] West Gouldsborough, August 15th, 1862.--It is a week ago, Saturday, since J----- and I reached this place, . . . . Mr. Barney S. Hill's. At Hallowell, and subsequently all along the route, the country was astir with volunteers, and the war is all that seems to be alive, and even that doubtfully so. Nevertheless, the country certainly shows a good spirit, the towns offering everywhere most liberal bounties, and every able-bodied man feels an immense pull and pressure upon him to go to the war. I doubt whether any people was ever actuated by a more genuine and disinterested public spirit; though, of course, it is not unalloyed with baser motives and tendencies. We met a train of cars with a regiment or two just starting for the South, and apparently in high spirits. Everywhere some insignia of soldiership were to be seen,-- bright buttons, a red stripe down the trousers, a military cap, and sometimes a round-shouldered bumpkin in the entire uniform. They require a great deal to give them the aspect of soldiers; indeed, it seems as if they needed to have a good deal taken away and added, like the rough clay of a sculptor as it grows to be a model. The whole talk of the bar-rooms and every other place of intercourse was about enlisting and the war, this being the very crisis of trial, when the voluntary system is drawing to an end, and the draft almost immediately to commence. END OF VOL. II. 
6457	----	This eBook was produced by Marjorie Fulton. THE DIARY AND LETTERS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY (FRANCES BURNEY.) WITH NOTES BY W. C. WARD, AND PREFACED BY LORD MACAULAY'S ESSAY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. (1792-1840.) WITH A PORTRAIT OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. LONDON AND NEW YORK: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 1892. 19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY--11-70 Arrival of French Emigrants at juniper Hall--The Doctor's five Daughters--A Visit to Arthur Young--The Duke de Liancourt's abortive Efforts at Rouen--The Duke's Escape to England: "Pot Portere"--Madame de Genlis's hasty Retreat--A Nobleman of the Ancien Regime--Ducal Vivacity and Sadness--Graceful offers of Hospitality--The Emigrants at juniper Hall described--Monsieur d'Arblay--M. de Jaucourt: Madame de Stael--Severe Decrees against the Emigrants--Monsieur Girardin--The Phillipses at juniper Hall--Mystery attending M. de Narbonne's Birth--Revolutionary Societies in Norfolk: Death of Mr. Francis--Departure of Madame de la Chatre--Arrival of M. de la Chatre--English Feeling at the Revolutionary Excesses--Louis XVI's Execution--A Gloomy Club Meeting--Madame de Stael at juniper Hall--Miss Burney's Admiration of Madame de Stael--Failing Resources--The Beginning of the End--"This Enchanting Monsieur d'Arblay"--Talleyrand is found charming--A Proposed Visit to Madame de Stael disapproved of--M. de Lally Tolendal and his Tragedy--Contemplated Dispersion of the French Colony--Madame de Stael's Words of Farewell: M. d'Arblay--Regrets respecting Madame do Stael--M. d'Arblay's Visit to Chesington--The Matrimonial Project is Discussed--Dr. Burney's Objections to the Match--The Marriage takes place--Announcement of the Marriage to a Friend. 20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR-- 71-121 The French Clergy Fund: The Toulon Expedition--Madame d'Arblay on her Marriage--Mr. Canning--Talleyrand's Letters of Adieu--M. d'Arblay's Horticultural Pursuits--Mrs. Piozzi--M. d'Arblay as a Gardener--A Novel and a Tragedy-- page vi Hastings's Acquittal: Dr. Burney's Metastasio--Baby d'Arblay--The withdrawn Tragedy--"Camilla"--An Invitation to the Hermitage-- Presentation of "Camilla" at Windsor--A Conversation with the Queen--With the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta--A Present from the King and Queen--Curiosity regarding M. d'Arblay--The King approves the Dedication of "Camilla"--A delicious Chat with the Princesses--The King notices M. d'Arblay--The King and Queen on "Camilla"--Anecdote of the Duchess of York--A Visit to Mrs. Boscawen--The Relative Success of Madame d'Arblay's Novels--A Contemplated Cottage--The Princess Royal's first Interview with her Fianc`e--Opinions of the Reviews on "Camilla"--Death of Madame d'Arblay's Stepmother--The French Emigr`es at Norbury--Dr. Burney's depressed state--Covetous of Personal Distinction--Baby d'Arblay again and other Matters. 21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE: SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY--122-169 A Disagreeable journey Home--Burke's Funeral at Beaconsfield-- Death of M. d'Arblay's Brother--From Crewe Hall to Chelsea--At Dr. Herschel's--Hospitality under Difficulties--War Taxes: "Camilla" Cottage--Visitors arrive inopportunely-Another Visit to the Royal Family--Interview with the Queen--The King and his Infant Grand-daughter--Admiral Duncan's Victory--The Prince and Princess of Orange--Some Notable Actresses--The Duke of Clarence--Princess Sophia of Gloucester--Indignation against Talleyrand--The d'Arblay Maisonnette--Interview with the Queen and the Princesses--Royal Contributions towards the War-- Invitation to the Play--Mrs Schwellenberg's Successor--Madame d'Arblay's Little Boy at Court--His Presentation to the Queen-- Mlle. Bachmeister produces a Favourable Impression. 22. (1798-1802) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WEST HANIBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE--170-247 A Visit to Mrs. Chapone--Mrs. Boscawen, Lady Strange, and Mr. Seward--A Mysterious Bank-Note--The new Brother-in-law: a Cordial Professor--Precocious Master Alex--The Page vii Barbaulds--Princess Amelia at juniper Hall--Death of Mr. Seward-- Dr. Burney again visits Dr. Herschel--Dr. Burney and the King-- Overwhelmed with the Royal Graciousness--War Rumours--Illness and Death of Mrs. Phillips--A Princess's Condescension--Horticultural Misfortunes--A Withdrawn Comedy--M. d'Arblay's French Property-- Home Matters--Contemplated journey to France--M. d'Arblay's Rough Sea Passage--Suggested Abandonment of Camilla Cottage--M. d'Arblay's Proposed Retirement from Military Service--M. d'Arblay's Disappointment--On the eve of Madame d'Arblay's journey to France--In France during the Peace and subsequently-- Arrival at Calais--"God save the King!" on French Soil--A Ramble through the Town--Sunday on the Road to Paris--Engagements, Occupations, and Fatigues--Aristocratic Visitors--Anxiety to see the first Consul--At the Opera-bouffe--Difficulties respecting Madame de Stael--Madame de Lafayette--Sight-seeing at the Tuileries--A Good Place is Secured--M. d'Arblay's Military Comrades--Arrival of the Troops--An Important New Acquaintance-- Madame c'est mon Mari--Advent of the first Consul--The Parade of Troops--A Scene--With M. d'Arblay's Relatives at joigny--Some joigny Acquaintances--The Influenza in Paris--Rumours of War-- "Our little Cell at Passy"--The Prince of Wales eulogized--Dr. Burney at Bath--Affectionate Greetings to Dr. Burney--Dr. Burney's Diploma. 23. (1812-14) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND--248-291 Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's journey to London--Anxiety to see Father and Friends--A Mild Minister of Police--Embarkation Interdicted--A Change of Plan--A New Passport obtained-- Commissions for London--Delay at Dunkirk--The MS. of "The Wanderer"--Spanish Prisoners at Dunkirk--Surprised by an Officer of Police--Interrogated at the Police Office--The "Mary Ann" captured off Deal--joy on arriving in England--Young d'Arblay secures a Scholarship--The Queen alarmed by a Mad Woman--Weather Complaints: Proposed Meeting with Lord Lansdowne--A Young Girl's entry to London Society: Madame de Sta`el--Rogers the Poet-- Interview with Mr. Wilberforce--Intended Publication of "The Wanderer"--General d'Arblay's wounded Comrades Page viii --Death of Dr. Burney--Favourable News of M. d'Arblay--"The Wanderer"--Madame d'Arblay's Presentation to Louis XVIII.--At Grillon's Hotel--Grattan the Orator--A Demonstrative Irish Lady- -Inquiries after the Duchess d'Angouleme--Preparations for the Presentations--Arrival of Louis XVIII.--The Presentations to the King--A Flattering Royal Reception--An important Letter Delayed-- M. d'Arblay arrives in England--A Brilliant Assemblage--M. d'Arblay enters Louis XVIII.'s Bodyguard. 24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA--292-333 An Interview with the Duchess of Angouleme--Arrival at the Tuileries--A Mis-apprehension--A Discovery and a Rectification-- Conversation on Madame d'Arblay's Escape and M. d'Arblay's Loyalty--The Prince Regent the Duchess's Favourite--Narrative of Madame d'Arblay's Flight from Paris to Brussels--Prevailing Inertia on Bonaparte's return from Elba--Bonaparte's Advance: Contemplated Migration from Paris--General d'Arblay's Military Preparations--Preparations for Flight: Leave-takings--Aristocratic Irritability--The Countess d'Auch's Composure--Rumours of Bonaparte's near approach--Departure from Paris at Night Time--A Halt at Le Bourget--The journey Resumed--A Supper at Amiens with the Prefect--Reception at the Prefecture at Arras--A Cheerful D6jeuner somewhat ruffled--A Loyal Prefect-- Emblems of Loyalty at Douay--State of Uncertainty at Orchies--A Mishap on the Road--A kindly offer of Shelter--Alarmed by Polish Lancers--Arrival at Tournay--Futile Efforts to Communicate with M. d'Arblay--Interviews with M. de Chateaubriand. 25. (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY--334--383 Sojourn at Brussels--Letters from General d'Arblay--Arrival of General d'Arblay--A Mission entrusted to General d'Arblay--"Rule Britannia!" in the All`ee Verte--General d'Arblay leaves for Luxembourg--An Exchange of visits--The Fete Dieu--The Eccentric Lady Caroline Lamb--A Proposed Royal Corps--Painful Suspense-- Inquietude at Brussels--The Black Page ix Brunswickers--The Opening of the Campaign--News from the Field of Battle--Project for quitting Brussels--Calmly awaiting the Result--Flight to Antwerp determined on--A Check met with--A Captured French General--The Dearth of News--Rumours of the French coming--French Prisoners brought in--News of Waterloo--The Victory declared to be complete--The Wounded and the Prisoners-- Hostilities at an end: Te Deum for the Victory--Maternal Advice-- About the Great Battle--An Accident befalls General d'Arblay-- Madame d'Arblay's Difficulties in rejoining her Husband--A Friendly Reception at Cologne--From Cologne to Coblenz and Treves--Meeting with General d'Arblay--Waiting for Leave to return to France--Departure for Paris--A Chance View of the Emperor of Russia--English Troops in Occupation--Leavetaking: M. de Talleyrand. 26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS AND DEATH--384--431 Arrival in England--Alexander d'Arblay: Some old Bath Friends-- French Affairs: General d'Arblay's Health--The Escape of Lavalette: The Streatham Portraits--Regarding Husband and Son-- Maternal Anxieties--Advantages of Bath: Young d'Arblay's Degree-- Playful Reproaches and Sober Counsel--Preparations for leaving Bath--Installed at Ilfracombe--A Captured Spanish Ship--The Spanish Captain's Cook--Ships in Distress--Young d'Arblay's Tutor--General d'Arblay's Ill-health--Particulars of Ilfracombe-- Young d'Arblay's Aversion to Study--A Visit from the first Chess Player in England--A Coast Ramble in search of Curiosities-- Caught, by the Rising Tide--Efforts to reach a place of safety--A Signal of Distress--Little Diane--Increasing Danger--The Last Wave of the Rising Tide--Arrival of Succour--Meeting between Mother and Son--General d'Arblay's return to England--The Princess Charlotte's Death--The Queen and Princesses at Bath-- News arrives of the Princess Charlotte's Death--An old Acquaintance: Serious Illness of General d'Arblay--The General's First Attack: Delusive Hopes--General d'Arblay presented to the Queen--Gloomy Forebodings--Presents from the Queen and Princess Elizabeth--The General receives the Visit of a Priest--The Last Sacrament Administered--Farewell Words of Counsel--The End Arrives. Page x 27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD: DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON: HER OWN DEATH--435--458 Mournful Reflections--Visits received and Letters penned--Removal from Bath to London--Death of the Queen: Sketch of her Character- -Madame d'Arblay's Son is Ordained--With some Royal Highnesses-- Queen Caroline--Gossip from an Old Friend, and the Reply--More Gossip--Ill-health of the Rev. A. d'Arblay: Dr. Burney's MSS.--A last Gossiping Letter--Death of Mrs. Piozzi--Mrs. Piozzi compared with Madame de Stael--Sister Hetty--Official Duties Temporarily Resumed--The Rev. A. d'Arblay named Lent Preacher--Madame d'Arblay's Health and Occupation--Destroyed Correspondence--The Princess and the Rev. A. d'Arblay--A Visit from Sir Walter Scott--Memoirs of Dr. Burney--Deaths of Hester Burney and Mrs. Locke--Death of the Rev. A. d'Arblay--Death of Madame d'Arblay's sister Charlotte--Illness and Death of Madame d'Arblay. INDEX--459-480Page 11 SECTION 19. (1792-3) THE FRENCH POLITICAL EMIGRANTS: MISS BURNEY MARRIES M. D'ARBLAY. [The following section must be pronounced, from the historical point of view, one of the most valuable in the " Diary." It gives us authentic glimpses of some of the actors in that great Revolution, "the Death-Birth of a new order," which was getting itself transacted, with such terrible accompaniments, across the channel. The refugees with whom Fanny grew acquainted, and who formed the little colony at juniper Hall, near Dorking, were not the men of the first emigration--princes and nobles who fled their country, like cowards, as soon as they found themselves in danger, and reentered it like traitors, in the van of a foreign invasion. Not such were the inmates of Juniper Hall. These were constitutional monarchists, men who had taken part with the people in the early stage of the Revolution, who had been instrumental in making the Constitution, and who had sought safety in flight only when the Constitution was crushed and the monarchy abolished by the triumph of the extreme party. To the grands seigneurs of the first emigration, these constitutional royalists, were scarcely less detestable than the jacobins themselves. A few leading facts and dates will perhaps assist the reader to a clearer understanding of the situation. September 1791, the French Assembly, having finished its work of Constitution-making, and the said [Constitution being accepted by the king, retires gracefully, and the new Assembly, constitutionally elected, meets, October 1. But the Constitution, ushered in with such rejoicings, proves a failure. The king has the right to veto the acts of the Assembly, and he exerts that right with a vengeance :--vetoes their most urgent decrees: decree against the emigrant noblesse, plotting, there at Coblenz, the downfall of their country; decree against nonjuring priests, intriguing endlessly against the Constitution. Patriot-Minister Roland remonstrates with his majesty, and the patriotic ministry is forthwith dismissed. Meanwhile distress and Page 12 disorder are everywhere, and emigration is on the increase Abroad, Austria and Prussia are threatening invasion, and the emigrants at Coblenz are clamorous for war. War with Austria is declared, April 20, 1792; war with Prussia follows three months later; England remaining still neutral. One of our friends of juniper Hall, Madame de Staél's friend, Count Louis de Narbonne, has been constitutional minister of war, but had to retire in March, when the popular ministry--Roland's--came into office. It is evident that the king and the Assembly cannot act together; nay, the king himself feels the impossibility of it, and is already setting his hopes on foreign interference, secretly corresponding with Austria and Prussia. The people of Paris, too, feel the impossibility, and are setting their hopes on something very different. The monarchy must go; jacobins' club(1) and men of the Gironde, afterwards at death- grapple with one another, are now united on this point; they, and not a constitutional government, are the true representatives of Paris and of France. A year ago, July 1791, the people of Paris, demanding the deposition of the king, were dispersed by General Lafayette with volleys of musketry. But Lafayette's popularity and power are now gone. "The hero of two worlds," as he was called, was little more than a boy when he fought under Washington, in the cause of American independence. Animated by the same love of liberty which had carried him to America, Lafayette took part in the early movements of the French Revolution. In 1789, after the fall of the Bastille, he was commander of the national guard, and one of the most popular men in France. A high-minded man, full of sincerity, of enthusiasm: "Cromwell Grandison," Mirabeau nicknamed him. Devoted to the Constitution, Lafayette was no friend to the extreme party, to the jacobins, with their Danton, their Robespierre. He had striven for liberty, but for liberty and monarchy combined; and the two things were fast becoming irreconcilable. And now, in July 1792, distrusted alike by the Court and the people, Lafayette sits sad at Sedan, in the midst of his army. War has already commenced, with a desultory and unsuccessful attack by the French upon the Austrian Netherlands. But the real struggle is now approaching. Heralded by an insolent proclamation, the Duke of Brunswick is marching from Coblenz with more than a hundred thousand Prussians, Austrians, and emigrants ; and General Lafayette, alas ! appears more bent upon denouncing jacobinism than upon defending the frontier. The country is indeed in danger. With open hostility advancing from without, doubt and suspicion fermenting within, Paris at last rises in good earnest, August 10, 1792. This is the answer to Brunswick's insolent proclamation. Paris attacks the Tuileries, King Louis and his family taking refuge in the Assembly; captures the Tuileries, not without terrible loss, the brave Swiss guard Page 13 standing steadfast to their posts, and getting, the greater part of them, massacred. Yielding to the demands of the people, the Assembly passes decrees suspending the king, dismissing the ministers, and convoking a National Convention. This was the work of the famous 10th of August, the birthday of the French Republic. on the 13th August the royal family is sent to the prison of the Temple from whence the king and the queen, unhappy Marie Antoinette, will come forth only to trial and execution. A new patriotic ministry is formed--Rolan again minister of the interior, Danton, the soul of the insurrection, minister of justice; a tribunal is appointed) and the prisons of Paris are filled with persons suspect. Executions follow; but the tribunal makes not quick enough work. Austrians and Prussians are advancing towards Paris; in Paris itself thousands of aristocrats, enemies to their country, are lying hid, ready to join the foreign foes. In these desperate straits, Paris, at least sansculotte Paris, frenzied and wild for vengeance, falls upon the mad expedient of massacring the prisoners: more than a thousand suspected royalists are slaughtered, after brief improvised Trial or pretence of trial; or even without trial at all. This butchery is known as the "September massacres" (Sept. 2-6, 1792), infamous in history, heartily approved by few, perhaps, even of the more violent Republicans; indignantly denounced by Rowland and the less violent, powerless, nevertheless, to interfere, Paris being "in death-panic, the enemy and gibbets at its door."(2) Sept. 22, the Legislative Assembly having Dissolved, the National Convention holds its first meeting and proclaims the Republic: royalty for ever abolished in France. Among the feelings, with which the news of these events are received in England, horror predominates. Still the Government takes no decisive step. The English ambassador in Paris, Lord Gower, is indeed recalled, in consequence of the events of August 10, but the French ambassador, Chauvelin, yet remains in London, although unrecognised in an official capacity after the deposition of Louis. War is in the wind, and, although Fox and many members of the opposition earnestly deprecate any hostile interference in the affairs of the Republic, a strong contingent of the Whig party, headed by Burke, is not less earnest in their efforts to make peace with France impossible. Pitt, indeed, is in favour of neutrality, but Pitt is forced to give way at last. Meanwhile, the popular feeling in favour of the royalists is being heightened and extended by the constant influx of French refugees. Thousands of the recalcitrant clergy, especially, with no king's veto now to protect them, are seeking safety, in England. Many adherents of the Constitution, too, ex-members of the Assembly and others, are fleeing hither from a country intolerant of monarchists, even constitutional; establishing themselves at juniper Hall and elsewhere. Among them we note the Duke de Liancourt, whose escape the reader will find related in the following pages; Count de Lally- Page 14 Tollendal and M. de jaucourt, saved, both, by - good fortune, from the September massacres ; Vicomte de Montmorency, or call him citoyen, who voted for the abolition of titles; ex-minister of war Narbonne, concealed after August 10 by Madame de Stael, and escaping disguised as a servant; and presently, too, Madame de Stael herself; and last, but not least interesting to readers of the Diary, General Alexandre dArblay, whom Fanny will before long fall in love with and marry. One person, too, there is, more noteworthy, or at least more prominent in history, than any of these, whom Fanny meets at Mickleham, whom she dislikes instinctively at first sight, but whose plausible speech and ingratiating manners soon make a convert of her. This is citizen Talleyrand--Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-P�rigord, Bishop of Autun. He, too, is now an emigrant, although he came to England in a far different character, as secret ambassador from the Constitutional Government of France ; citizen Chauvelin being the nominal ambassador. On the whole, Talleyrand's diplomacy has not been productive of much good, to himself or others. Back in Paris before the 10th of August, he returned to London in September with a passport from Danton. A questionable man; some think him a jacobin, others a royalist in disguise. And now, while he is in London, there is talk of him in the Convention : citizen Talleyrand, it seems, has professed himself " disposed to serve the king ;" whereupon (December 5, 1792) citizen Talleyrand is decreed accused, and his name is inscribed on the list of emigrants. We must turn once again to France. At Sedan, in a white heat of indignation on the news of that 10th of August, constitutional (sic) Lafayette emits a proclamation : the Constitution is destroyed, the king a prisoner: let us march for Paris and restore them! There is hope at first, that the army will follow Lafayette, but hope tells a flattering tale : the soldiers, it seems, care more for their country than for the Constitution. Lafayette sees that all is lost ; rides (August 18) for Holland with a few friends, of whom General d'Arblay is one; intends to take passage thence for America, but falls, instead, into the hands of the Austrians, and spends the next few years imprisoned in an Austrian fortress. General d'Arblay, after a few days, is allowed to proceed to England. Lafayette gone, the command of the army falls to General Dumouriez. Brunswick with his Prussians and emigrants, Clairfait with his Austrians, are now in France; advancing upon Paris. They take Longwy and Verdun; try to take Thonville and Lille, but cannot; and find Dumouriez and his sansculottes, there in the passes of Argonne, the "Thermopylae of France," an unexpectedly hard nut to crack. In fact, the nut is not to be cracked at all: Dumouriez, " more successful than Leonidas," flings back the invasion; compels the invaders to evacuate France; and in November, assuming the offensive, conquers the whole Austrian Netherlands. Meantime, in the south-east, the war in Page 15 which the Republic is engaged with the King of Sardinia progresses also favourably, and Savoy and Nice are added to the French territory. Europe may arm, but a people fighting for an ideal is not to be crushed. France has faith in her ideal of liberty and fraternity, questionable or worse though some of the methods are by which she endeavours to realise it. But Danton is right: "il nous faut de l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace;" and with superb audacity the Republic defies the armed powers of Europe, decrees (November 19) assistance to every nation that will strike a blow for freedom, and cast off its tyrants. A yet more daring act of defiance follows--tragic to all men, unspeakably horrible to Fanny Burney and all friends of monarchy, constitutional or other. In December 1792, poor King Louis is tried before the National Convention, found guilty of "conspiring against liberty;" condemned to death by a majority of votes; in January, executed January 21. It is even as Danton said in one of his all-too gigantic figures 'the coalesced kings threaten us; we hurl at their feet, as gage of battle, the Head of a King."' (3) Louis's kinsman, profligate Philippe Egalit�, ci-devant Duc d'Orl�ans, votes for death; before another year has passed he himself will have perished by the guillotine. In England, war is resolved upon; even Pitt sees not how it can be avoided. January 24, ambassador Chauvelin is ordered to quit England within eight days; Talleyrand remaining yet another year. Spain, too, is arming, and Holland is England's ally. War being inevitable, the Republic determines to be first in the field; declares war on England and Holland, February 1, 1793, and on Spain, March 7.-ED.] ARRIVAL OF FRENCH EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL. August 1792. Our ambassador is recalled from France Russia has declared war against that wretched kingdom. But it may defy all outward enemies to prove in any degree destructive in comparison with its lawless and barbarous inmates. We shall soon have no authentic accounts from Paris, as no English are expected to remain after the ambassador, and no French will dare to write, in such times of pillage, what may carry them à la lanterne.(4) Page 16 (Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney.) Mickleham, September 1792. We shall shortly, I believe, have a little colony of unfortunate (or rather) fortunate, since here they are safe) French noblesse in our neighbourhood. Sunday evening Ravely informed Mr. Locke that two or three families had joined to take Jenkinson's house, juniper Hall, and that another family had taken a small house at Westhamble, which the people very reluctantly let, upon the Christian-like supposition that, being nothing but French papishes, they would never pay. Our dear Mr. Locke, while this was agitating, sent word to the landlord that he would be answerable for the rent ; however, before this message arrived, the family were admitted. The man said they had pleaded very hard indeed, and said, if he did but know the distress they had been in, he would not hesitate. This house is taken by Madame de Broglie, daughter of the mareschal, who is in the army with the French princes;(5) or, rather, wife to his son, Victor Broglie, till very lately general of one of the French armies, and at present disgraced, and fled nobody knows where. This poor lady came over in an open boat, with a son younger than my Norbury, and was fourteen hours at sea. She has other ladies with her, and gentlemen, and two little girls, who had been sent to England some weeks ago; they are all to lodge in a sort of cottage, containing only a kitchen and parlour on the ground floor. I long to offer them my house, 'and have been much gratified by finding Mr. Locke immediately determined to visit them; his taking this step will secure them the civilities, at least, of the other neighbours. At Jenkinson's are-la Marquise de la Ch�tre, whose husband is with the emigrants; her son; M. de Narbonne, lately ministre de la guerre;(6) M. de Montmorency; Charles or Theodore Lameth; Jaucourt; and one or two more, whose names I have forgotten, are either arrived to-day, or expected. I feel infinitely interested for all these persecuted persons. Pray tell me whatever you hear of M. de Liancourt, etc. Heaven bless you! Page 17 THE DOCTOR'S FIVE DAUGHTERS. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Halstead, October 2, '92. My dearest padre,-I have just got your direction, in a letter from my mother, and an account that you seem to be in health and spirits; so now I think it high time to let you know a little about some of your daughters, lest you should forget you have any such incumbrances. In the first place, two of them, Esther and F. B., had a safe and commodious journey hither, in the midst of pattering showers and cloudy skies, making up as well as they could for the deficiencies of the elements by the dulcet recreation of the concord of sweet sounds ; not from tabrets and harps, but from the harmony of hearts with tongues. In the second place, a third of them, Charlotte F., writes word her caro sposo has continued very tolerably well this last fortnight, and that she still desires to receive my visit according to the first appointment. In the third place, a fourth of them, Sarah, is living upon French politics and with French fugitives, at Bradfield,(7) where she seems perfectly satisfied with foreign forage. In the fourth place, Susanna, another of them, sends cheering histories of herself and her tribe, though she concludes them with a sighing ejaculation of "I wish I did not know there was such a country as France !" A VISIT To ARTHUR YOUNG.(8) Oct. 5.-I left Halstead, and set off, alone, for Bradfield Hall, which was but one stage of nineteen miles distant. Sarah,(9) who was staying with her aunt, Mrs. Young, expected Page 18 me, and came running out before the chaise stopped at the door, and Mr. Young following, with both hands full of French newspapers. He welcomed me with all his old spirit and impetuosity, exclaiming his house never had been so honoured since its foundation, nor ever could be again, unless I re-visited it in my way back, even though all England came in the meantime! Do you not know him well, my Susan, by this opening rodomontade? "But where," cried he, "is Hetty? O that Hetty! Why did you not bring her with you? That wonderful creature! I have half a mind to mount horse, and gallop to Halstead to claim her! What is there there to merit her? What kind of animals have you left her with? Anything capable of understanding her?" During this we mounted up-stairs, into the dining-room. Here all looked cold and comfortless, and no Mrs. Young appeared. I inquired for her, and heard that her youngest daughter, Miss Patty, had just had a fall from her horse, which had bruised her face, and occasioned much alarm. The rest of the day we spoke only of French politics. Mr. Young is a severe penitent of his democratic principles, and has lost even all pity for the constituants r�volutionnaires, who had "taken him in" by their doctrines, but cured him by their practice, and who "ought better to have known what they were about before they presumed to enter into action." Even the Duc de Liancourt,(11) who was then in a small house at Bury, merited, he said, all the personal misfortunes that had befallen him. "I have real obligations to him," he added, "and therefore I am anxious to show him respect, and do him any service, in his present reverse of fortune; but he has brought it all on himself, and, what is worse; on his country." He wrote him, however, a note to invite him to dinner the next day. The duke wrote an answer, that lamented excessively being engaged to meet Lord Euston, And dine with the Bury aldermen. Page 19 THE DUKE DE LIANCOURT'S ABORTIVE EFFORTS AT ROUEN. I must now tell you the history of this poor duke's arriving in England, for it involves a revival of loyalty-an effort to make some amends to his unhappy sovereign for the misery into which he had largely contributed to plunge him; which, with me, has made his peace for ever. But first I should tell, he was the man who almost compelled the every-way- deluded Louis to sanction the National Assembly by his presence when first it resisted his orders. The queen and all her party were strongly against the measure, and prophesied it would be the ruin of his authority; but the duke, highly ambitious of fame, as Mr. Young describes him, and willing to sacrifice everything to the new systems then pervading all France, suddenly rushed into his closet, upon the privilege of being one of the five or seven pairs de France(12) who have that licence, and, with a strong and forcible eloquence, declared nothing but his concession would save the nation from a civil war; while his entering, unarmed, into the National Assembly, would make him regarded for ever as the father and saviour of his people, and secure him the powerful sovereignty of the grateful hearts of all his subjects. He succeeded, and the rest is public. This incident has set all the Coblenz(13) party utterly and for ever against the duke. He had been some time in extreme anguish for the unhappy king, whose ill-treatment on the 20th of June 1792,(14) reached him while commandant at Rouen. He then first began to see, that the monarch or the jacobins must inevitably fall, and he could scarce support the prospect of ultimate danger threatening the former. When the news reached him of the bloody 10th of August, a plan which for some time he had been forming, of gaining over his regiment to the service of the king, was rendered abortive. Yet all his officers except One had promised to join in any enterprise for their insulted master. He had hoped to get the king to Page 20 Rouen under this protection, as I gather, though this matter has never wholly transpired, But the king could not be persuaded to trust any one. How should he?--especially a revolutionnaire? No time now was to be lost, and, in his first impetuosity of rage and despair, he instantly summoned his officers and his troops ; and, in the midst of them all, upon the parade or place of assembling, he took off his hat, and called out aloud, "Vive le roi!" His officers echoed the sound, all but one!--yet not a soldier joined. Again be waved his hat, and louder and louder called out, "Vive le roi!" And then every soldier repeated it after him. Enchanted with hope, he felt one exulting moment, when this single dissentient officer called out aloud, as soon as the loyal cry was over, "As an officer of the nation I forbid this!--Vive la nation!" The duke instantly had the man arrested, and retired to his apartment to compose his excess agitation, and consider how to turn this promise of loyalty to the service of his now imprisoned king; but, in a short time, an officer strongly attached to him entered the room hastily, and cried, "Sauvez vous, M. de Liancourt!(15)--be speedy! the jacobin party of Rouen have heard of your indiscretion and a price is this moment set upon your head!" The duke knew too well with whom he had to act for a moment's hesitation. To serve the king was now impossible, as he had but to appear in order to be massacred. He could only save his own life by flight. THE DUKE'S ESCAPE To ENGLAND: "POT PORTERE." In what manner he effected his escape out of Rouen he has never mentioned. I believe he was assisted by those who, remaining behind, could only be named to be torn in pieces for their humanity. M. Jamard, a French priest, tells me no human being knows when or how he got away, and none suspected him to be gone for two days. He went first to Abbeville there, for two days, he appeared everywhere, walking about in his regimentals, and assuming an air of having nothing to apprehend. This succeeded, as his indiscretion had not yet spread at Abbeville; but, meanwhile, a Page 21 youth whom he had brought up from a child, and on whose fond regard and respect he could rely, was employed in seeking him the means of passing over to England. This was infinitely difficult, as he was to leave France without any passport. How he quitted Abbeville I know not; but he was in another town, near the coast, three days, still waiting for a safe conveyance; and here, finding his danger increased greatly by delay, he went to some common house, without dress or equipage or servants that could betray him, and spent his whole time in bed, under pretence of indisposition, to avoid being seen. At length his faithful young groom succeeded; and he got, at midnight, into a small boat, with only two men. He had been taken for the King of France by one, who had refused to convey him ; and some friend, who assisted his escape, was forced to get him off, at last, by holding a pistol to the head of his conductor, and protesting he would shoot him through and through, if he made further demur, or spoke aloud. It was dark, and midnight. Both he and his groom planted themselves in the bottom of the boat, and were covered with fagots, lest any pursuit should ensue : and thus wretchedly they were suffocated till they thought themselves at a safe distance from France. The poor youth then, first looking up, exclaimed, "Ah! nous sommes perdus!(16) they are carrying us back to our own country!" The duke started up; he had the same opinion, but thought opposition vain; he charged him to keep silent and quiet; and after about another league, they found this, at least, a false alarm, owing merely to a thick fog or mist. At length they landed--at Hastings, I think. The boatman had his money, and they walked on to the nearest public-house. The duke, to seem English, called for "pot portere." It was brought him, and he drank it off in two draughts, his drought being extreme ; and he called for another instantly. That also, without any suspicion or recollection of consequences, was as hastily swallowed; and what ensued he knows not. He was intoxicated, and fell into a profound sleep. His groom helped the people of the house to carry him upstairs and put him to bed. How long he slept he knows not, but he woke in the middle of the night without the smallest consciousness of where he was, or what had happened. ' Page 22 France alone was in his head-France and its horrors, which nothing-not even English porter and intoxication and sleep - could drive away. He looked round the room with amaze at first, and soon after with consternation. It was so unfurnished, so miserable, so lighted with only one small bit of a candle, that it occurred to him he was in a maison de force(17) '- thither conveyed in his sleep. The stillness of everything confirmed this dreadful idea. He arose, slipped on his clothes, and listened at the door. He heard no sound. He was scarce, yet, I suppose, quite awake, for he took the candle, and determined to make an attempt to escape. Down-stairs he crept, neither hearing nor making any noise and he found himself in a kitchen ' he looked round, and the brightness of a shelf of pewter plates struck his eye under them were pots and kettles shining and polished. "Ah! "? cried he to himself, "je suis en Angleterre."(18) The recollection came all at once at sight of a cleanliness which, in these articles, he says, is never met with in France. He did not escape too soon, for his first cousin, the good Duc de la Rochefoucault, another of the first r�volutionnaires, was massacred the next month.(19) The character he has given of this murdered relation is the most affecting, in praise and virtues, that can possibly be heard. k Sarah has heard him till she could not keep the tears from her eyes. They had been �l�ves(20) together, and loved each other as the tenderest brothers. MADAME DE GENLIS'S HASTY RETREAT. You will all be as sorry as I was myself to hear that every ill story of la Comtesse de Genlis was confirmed by the duke. Page 23 She was resident at Bury, when he arrived, with Mlle. Egalit�, Pamela, Henrietta Circe, and several others, who appeared in various ways, as artists, gentlemen, domestics, and equals, on various occasions. The history of their way of life is extraordinary, and not very comprehensible, probably owing to the many necessary difficulties which the new 'system of equality produces.(21) A lady of Bury, a sister of Sir Thomas Gage, had been very much caught by Madame Brulard,(22) who had almost lived at the house of Sir Thomas. Upon the arrival of the duke he was invited to Sir Thomas Gage's immediately; and Miss G, calling upon Madame Brulard, mentioned him, and asked if she knew him?--No, she answered; but she had seen him. This was innocently repeated to the duke, who then, in a transport of rage, broke out with "Elle M'a vu!(23) and is that all?--Does she forget that she has spoke to me? that she has heard me too? " And then he related, that when all was wearing the menacing aspect of anarchy, before it broke out, and before he was ordered to his regiment at Rouen, he had desired an audience of Madame Brulard, for the first time, having been always a friend of Madame d'Orl�ans, and consequently her enemy. She was unwilling to see him, but he would not be refused. He then told her that France was upon the point of ruin, and that the Duc d'Orl�ans, who had been its destruction, and "the disgrace of the Revolution," could alone now prevent the impending havoc. He charged her therefore, forcibly and peremptorily, to take in charge a change of measures, and left her with an exhortation which he then flattered himself would have some chance of averting the coming dangers. But quickly -after she quitted France voluntarily, and settled in England. "And can she have forgot all this ?" cried he. I know not if this was repeated to Madame de Brulard but certain it is she quitted Bury with the utmost expedition, She did not even wait to pay her debts, and left the poor Henrietta Circe behind, as a sort of hostage, to prevent alarm. The creditors, however, finding her actually gone, entered the house, and poor Henrietta was terrified into hysterics. Probably she knew not but they were jacobins, or would act upon jacobin principles. Madame Brulard then Page 24 sent for her, and remitted money, and proclaimed her intention of returning to Suffolk no more. A NOBLEMAN OF THE ANCIEN R�GIEM. The duke accepted the invitation for to-day, and came early, on horseback. He had just been able to get over some two or three of his horses from France. He has since, I hear, been forced to sell them. Mrs. Young was not able to appear; Mr. Young came to my room door to beg I would waste no time; Sarah and I, therefore, proceeded to the drawing-room. The duke was playing with a favourite dog-the thing probably the most dear to him in England; for it was just brought him over by his faithful groom, whom he had sent back upon business to his son. He is very tall, and, were his figure less, would be too fat, but all is in proportion. His face, which is very handsome, though not critically so, has rather a haughty expression when left to itself, but becomes soft and spirited in turn, according to whom he speaks, and has great play and variety. His deportment is quite noble, and in a style to announce conscious rank even to the most sedulous equaliser. His carriage is peculiarly upright, and his person uncommonly well made. His manners are such as only admit of comparison with what We have read, not what we have seen; for he has all the air of a man who would wish to lord over men, but to cast himself at the feet of women. He was in mourning for his barbarously murdered cousin the Duc de la Rochefoucault. His first address was of the highest style. I shall not attempt to recollect his words, but they were most elegantly expressive of his satisfaction in a meeting he had long, he said, desired. With Sarah he then shook hands. She had been his interpretess here on his arrival, and he seems to have conceived a real kindness for her; an honour of which she is extremely sensible, and with reason. A little general talk ensued, and he made a point of curing Sarah of being afraid of his dog. He made no secret of thinking it affectation, and never rested till he had conquered it completely. I saw here, in the midst of all that at first so powerfully struck me of dignity, importance, and high-breeding, a true French Polisson; for he called the dog round her, made it jump on her shoulder, and amused himself as, Page 25 in England, only a schoolboy or a professed fox-hunter would have dreamt of doing. This, however, recovered me to a little ease, which his compliment had rather overset. Mr. Young hung back, nearly quite silent. Sarah was quiet when reconciled to the dog, or, rather, subdued by the duke; and then, when I thought it completely out of his head, he tranquilly drew a chair next mine, and began a sort of separate conversation, which he suffered nothing to interrupt till we were summoned to dinner. His subject was 'Cecilia;' and he seemed not to have the smallest idea I could object to discussing it, any more than if it had been the work of another person. I answered all his demands and interrogatories with a degree of openness I have never answered any other upon this topic; but the least hope of beguiling the misery of an �migr� tames me. Mr. Young listened with amaze, and all his ears, to the many particulars and elucidations which the duke drew from me; he repeatedly called out he had heard nothing of them before, and rejoiced he was at least present when they were communicated. This proved, at length, an explanation to the duke himself, that, the moment he understood, made him draw back, saying, "Peut-�tre que je suis indiscret?"(24) However, he soon returned to the charge - and when Mr. Young made any more exclamations, he heeded them not: he smiled, indeed, when Sarah also affirmed he had procured accounts she had never heard before; but he has all the air of a man not new to any mark of more than common favour. At length we were called to dinner, during which he spoke of general things. DUCAL VIVACITY AND SADNESS. The French of Mr. Young, at table, was very comic ; he never hesitates for a word, but puts English wherever he is at a loss, with a mock French pronunciation. "Monsieur Duc," as he calls him, laughed once or twice, but clapped him on the back, called him "un brave homme," and gave him instruction as well as encouragement in all his blunders. When the servants were gone, the duke asked me if anybody might write a letter to the king? I fancy he had some per- Page 26 sonal idea of this kind. I told him yes, but through the hands of a lord of the bedchamber, or some state officer, or a minister. He seemed pensive, but said no more. He inquired, however, if I had not read to the queen and seemed to wish to understand my office; but here he was far more circumspect than about 'Cecilia.' He has lived so much in a Court, that he knew exactly how far he might inquire with the most scrupulous punctilio. I found, however, he had imbibed the jacobin notion that our beloved king was still disordered; for, after some talk upon his illness, and very grave and proper expressions concerning the affliction and terror it produced in the kingdom, he looked at me very fixedly,, and, with an arching brow, said, "Mais, mademoiselle--apr�s tout--le roi--est il bien gu�ri?"(25) I gave him such assurances as he could not doubt, from their simplicity, which resulted from their truth. Mr. Young would hardly let Sarah and me retreat; however, we promised to meet soon to coffee. I went away full of concern for his injuries, and fuller of amazement at the vivacity with which he bore them. When at last we met in the drawing-room, I found the duc all altered. Mr. Young had been forced away by business, and was but just returned, and he had therefore been left a few minutes by himself; the effect was visible, and extremely touching. Recollections and sorrow had retaken possession of his mind; and his spirit, his vivacity, his power of rallying were all at an end. He was strolling about the room with an air the most gloomy, and a face that looked enveloped in clouds of sadness and moroseness. There was a fiert� almost even fierce in his air and look, as, wrapped in himself, he continued his walk. I felt now an increasing compassion:--what must he not suffer when he ceases to fight with his calamities! Not to disturb him we talked with one another; but he soon shook himself and joined us; though he could not bear to sit down, or stand a moment in a place. "CETTE COQUINE DE BRULARD." Sarah spoke of Madame Brulard, and, in a little malice, to draw him out, said her sister knew her very well. The duc " Page 27 with eyes of fire at the sound, came up to me: "Comment, mademoiselle! vous avez connu cette coquine de Brulard?"(26) And then he asked me what I had thought of her. I frankly answered that I had thought her charming; gay, intelligent, well-bred, well-informed, and amiable. He instantly drew back, as if sorry he had named her so roughly, and looked at Sally for thus surprising him; but I immediately continued that I could now no longer think the same of her, as I could no longer esteem her; but I confessed my surprise had been inexpressible at her duplicity. 'He allowed that, some years ago, she might have a better chance than now of captivation - for the deeper she had immersed in politics, the more she had forfeited of feminine attraction. "Ah!" he cried, " with her talents-her knowledge-her parts-had she been modest, reserved, gentle, what a blessing might she have proved to her country! but she is devoted to intrigue and cabal, and proves its curse." He then spoke with great asperity against all the femmes de lettres now known; he said they were commonly the most disgusting of their sex, in France, by their arrogance, boldness, and mauvais moeurs. GRACEFUL OFFERS OF HOSPITALITY. I inquired if Mr. Young had shown him a letter from the Duke of Grafton, which he had let me read in the morning. It was to desire Mr. Young would acquaint him if the Duc de Liancourt was still in Bury, and, if so, to wait upon him, in the Duke of Grafton's name, to solicit him to make Euston his abode while in England, and to tell him that he should have his apartments wholly unmolested, and his time wholly unbroken; that he was sensible, in such a situation of mind, he must covet much quiet and freedom from interruption and impertinence; and he therefore promised that, if he would honour his house with his residence, it should be upon the same terms as if he were in an hotel-that he would never know if he were at home or abroad, or even in town or in the country - and he hoped the Duc de Liancourt would make no more scruple of accepting such an asylum and retreat at his house than he would himself have done of accepting a similar Page 28 one from the duke in France, if the misfortunes of his own country had driven him to exile. I was quite in love with the Duke of Grafton for this kindness. The Duc de Liancourt bowed to my question, and seemed much gratified with the invitation; but I see he cannot brook obligation; he would rather live in a garret, and call it his own. He told me, however, with an air of some little pleasure, that he had received just such another letter from Lord Sheffield. I believe both these noblemen had been entertained at Liancourt some years ago. I inquired after Madame la duchesse, and I had the satisfaction to hear she was safe in Switzerland. The duke told me she had purchased an estate there. He inquired very particularly after your juniper colony, and M. de Narbonne, but said he most wished to meet with M. d'Arblay, who was a friend and favourite of his eldest son. THE EMIGRANTS AT JUNIPER HALL DESCRIBED. [It is hoped that some pages from Mrs. Phillips's journalizing letters to her sister, written at this period, may not be unacceptable , since they give particulars concerning several distinguished actors and sufferers in the French Revolution, and also contain the earliest description of M. d'Arblay.(27)) (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) Mickleham, November, 1792. It gratifies me very much that I have been able to interest you for our amiable and charming neighbours. Mrs. Locke had been so kind as to pave the way for my introduction to Madame de la Ch�tre, and carried me on Friday to juniper Hall, where we found M. de Montmorency, a ci-devant duc,(28) and one who gave some of the first great examples of sacrificing personal interest to what was then considered the public good. I know not whether you will like him the better when I tell you that from him proceeded the motion for the abolition of titles in France; but if you do Page 29 not, let me, in his excuse, tell you he was scarcely one-and- twenty when an enthusiastic spirit impelled him to this, I believe, ill-judged and mischievous act. My curiosity was greatest to see M. de Jaucourt, because I remembered many lively and spirited speeches made by him during the time of the Assembl�e L�gislalive, and that he was a warm defender of my favourite hero, M. Lafayette. Of M. de Narbonne's abilities we could have no doubt from his speeches and letters whilst ministre de la guerre, which post he did not quit till last May.(29) By his own desire, he then joined Lafayette's army, and acted under him; but on the 10th of August, he was involved, with perhaps nearly all the most honourable and worthy of the French nobility, accused as a traitor by the jacobins, and obliged to fly from his country M. d'Argenson was already returned to France, and Madame de Broglie had set out the same day, November 2nd, hoping to escape the decree against the emigrants.(30) Madame de la Ch�tre received us with great politeness. She is about thirty-three; an elegant figure, not pretty, but with an animated and expressive countenance; very well read, pleine d'esprit, and, I think, very lively and charming. A gentleman was with her whom Mrs. Locke had not yet seen, M. d'Arblay. She introduced him, and when he had quitted the room, told us he was adjutant-general to M. Lafayette, mar�chal de camp, and in short the first in military rank of those who had accompanied that general when he so unfortunately fell into the hands of the Prussians; but, not having been one of the Assembl�e Constituante, he was allowed, with four others, to proceed into Holland, and there M. de Narbonne wrote to him. "Et comme il l'aime infiniment," said Madame de la Chàtre, "il l'a pri� de venir vivre avec lui."(31 He had arrived only two days before. He is tall, and a good figure, with an open and manly countenance; about forty, I imagine. It was past twelve. However, Madame de la Chàtre owned Page 30 she had not breakfasted--ces messieurs were not yet ready. A little man, who looked very triste indeed, in an old- fashioned suit of clothes, with long flaps to a waistcoat embroidered in silks no longer very brilliant, sat in a corner of the room. I could not imagine who he was, but when he spoke was immediately convinced he was no Frenchman. I afterwards heard he had been engaged by M. de Narbonne for a year, to teach him and all the party English. He had had a place in some college in France at the beginning of the Revolution, but was now driven out and destitute. His name is Clarke. He speaks English with an accent tant soit Peu Scotch. Madame de la Chàtre, with great franchise entered into details of her situation and embarrassment, whether she might venture, like Madame de Broglie, to go over to France, in which case she was dans le cas oû elle pouvoit toucher sa fortune(32) immediately. She said she could then settle in England, and settle comfortably. M. de la Chàtre, it seems, previous to his joining the king's brothers, had settled upon her her whole fortune. She and all her family were great favourers of the original Revolution and even at this moment she declares herself unable to wish the restoration of the old r�gime, with its tyranny and corruptions--persecuted and ruined as she and thousands more have been by the unhappy consequences of the Revolution, M. de Narbonne now came in. He seems forty, rather fat, but would be handsome were it not for a slight cast of one eye. He was this morning in great spirits. Poor man! It was the only time I have ever seen him so. He came up very courteously to me, and begged leave de me faire Sa Cour(33) at Mickleham, to which I graciously assented. Then came M. de jaucourt, whom I instantly knew by Mr. Locke's description. He is far from handsome, but has a very intelligent countenance, fine teeth, and expressive eyes. I scarce heard a word from him, but liked his appearance exceedingly, and not the less for perceiving his respectful and affectionate manner of attending to Mr. Locke but when Mr. Locke reminded us that Madame de la Chàtre had not breakfasted, we took leave, after spending an hour in a manners so pleasant and so interesting that it scarcely appeared ten minutes. Page 31 MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY. NOV. 7.- --Phillips was at work in the parlour, and I had just stepped into the next room for some papers I wanted, when I heard a man's voice, and presently distinguished these words: "Je ne parle pas trop bien l'Anglois, monsieur."(34) I came forth immediately to relieve Phillips, and then found it was M. d'Arblay. I received him de bien bon coeur, as courteously as I could. The adjutant of M. Lafayette, and one of those who proved faithful to that excellent general, could not but be interesting to me. I was extremely pleased at ]its coming, and more and more pleased with himself every moment that passed. He seems to me a true militaire, franc et loyal--open as the day; warmly affectionate to his friends; intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversation, with a great share of gai�t� de coeur, and, at the same time, of na�vet� and bonne foi. He was no less flattering to little Fanny than M. de Narbonne had been. We went up into the drawing-room with him, and met Willy on the stairs, and Norbury capered before us. "Ah, madame," cried M. d'Arblay, "la jolie petite maison que vous avez, et les jolis petits hôtes!"(35) looking at the children, the drawings, etc. He took Norbury on his lap and played with -him. I asked him if he was not proud of being so kindly noticed by the adjutant-general of M. Lafayette? "Est-ce qu'il sait le nom de M. Lafayette?"(36) said he, smiling. I said he was our hero, and that I was thankful to see at least one of his faithful friends here. I asked if M. Lafayette was allowed to write and receive letters. He said yes, but they were always given to him open. - Norbury now (still seated on his lap) took courage to whisper him, "Were you, sir, put in prison with M. Lafayette?" "Oui, mon ami," "And--was it quite dark?" I was obliged, laughing, to translate this curious question. M. d'Arblay laughed too: "Non, mon ami," said he, "on nous amis abord dans une assez jolie chambre."(37) i lamented the hard fate of M. Lafayette, and the rapid and wonderful reverse he had met with, after having been, as he Page 32 well merited to be, the most popular man in France. This led M. d'Arblay to speak of M. de Narbonne, to whom I found him passionately attached. Upon my mentioning the sacrifices made by the French nobility, and by a great number of them voluntarily, he said no one had made more than M. de Narbonne; that, previous to the Revolution, he had more wealth and more power than almost any except the princes of the blood. For himself, he mentioned his fortune and his income from his appointments as something immense, but 1 never remember the number of hundred thousand livres, nor can tell what their amount is without some consideration. . . . The next day Madame de la Ch�tre was so kind as to send me the French papers, by her son, who made a silent visit of about five minutes. M. DE JAUCOURT. MADAME DE STAEL. Friday morning.-I sent Norbury with the French papers, desiring him to give them to M. d'Arblay. He stayed a prodigious while, and at last came back attended by M. de Narbonne, M. de Jaucourt, and M. d'Arblay. M. de Jaucourt is a delightful man--as comic, entertaining, unaffected, unpretending, and good-humoured as dear Mr Twining, only younger, and not quite so black. He is a man likewise of first-rate abilities--M. de Narbonne says, perhaps superior to Vaublanc(38) and of very uncommon firmness and integrity of character. The account Mr. Batt gave of the National Assembly last summer agrees perfectly with that of M. de Jaucourt, who had the misfortune to be one of the deputies, and who, upon some great occasion in support of the king and constitution, found only twenty-four members who had courage to support him, though a far more considerable number gave him secretly their good wishes and prayers. It was on this that he regarded all hope of justice and order as lost, and that he gave in sa d�mission(39) from the Assembly. In a few days he was seized, and sans forme de proces(40) having lost his inviolability as a Page 33 member, thrown into the prison of the Abbaye, where, had it not been for the very extraordinary and admirable exertions of Madame de Stael (M. Necker's daughter, and the Swedish ambassador's wife), he would infallibly have been massacred. I must here tell you that this lady, who was at that time seven months gone with child, was indefatigable in her efforts to save every one she knew from this dreadful massacre. She walked daily (for carriages were not allowed to pass in the streets) to the H6tel de Ville, and was frequently shut up for five hours together with the horrible wretches that composed the Comit� de Surveillance, by whom these murders were directed; and by her eloquence, and the consideration demanded by her rank and her talents, she obtained the deliverance of above twenty unfortunate prisoners, some of whom she knew but slightly. . . . Madame de la Ch�tre and M. de Jaucourt have since told me that M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay had been treated with singular ingratitude by the king, whom they nevertheless still loved as well as forgave. They likewise say he wished to get rid of M. de Narbonne from the ministry, because he could not trust him with his projects of contre revolution. M. d'Arblay was the officer on guard at the Tuileries the night on which the king, etc., escaped to Varennes,(41) and ran great risk of being denounced, and perhaps massacred, though he had been kept in the most perfect ignorance of the king's intention. SEVERE DECREES AGAINST THE EMIGRANTS. The next Sunday, November 18th, Augusta and Amelia came to me after church, very much grieved at the inhuman decrees just passed in the Convention, including as emigrants, with those who have taken arms against their country, all who have quitted it since last July; and adjudging their estates to confiscation, and their persons to death should they return to France. " Ma'am," said Mr. Clarke, " it reduces this family to nothing : all they can hope is, by the help of their parents and friends, to get together wherewithal to purchase a cottage in America, and live as they can." Page 34 I was more shocked and affected by this account than I could very easily tell you. To complete the tragedy, M. de Narbonne had determined to write an offer--a request rather--to be allowed to appear as a witness in behalf of the king, upon his trial ; and M. d'Arblay had declared he would do the same, and share the fate of his friend, whatever it might be. MONSIEUR GIRARDIN. On Tuesday, the 20th, I called to condole with our friends on these new misfortunes. Madame de la Ch�tre received me with politeness, and even cordiality: she told me she was a little recovered from the first shock--that she should hope to gather together a small d�bris of her fortune, but never enough to settle in England--that, in short, her parti �tait pris(42)--that she must go to America. It went to my heart to hear her say so. Presently came in M. Girardin. He is son to the Marquis de Girardin d'Ermenonville, the friend of Rousseau, whose last days were passed, and whose remains are deposited, in his domain. This M. Girardin was a pupil of Rousseau; he was a member of the Legislative Assembly, and an able opponent of the jacobins. It was to him that M. Merlin, apr�s bien de gestes mena�ans,(43) had held a pistol, in the midst of the Assembly. His father was a mad republican, and never satisfied with the rational spirit of patriotism that animated M. Girardin; who, witnessing the distress of all the friends he most esteemed and honoured, and being himself in personal danger from the enmity of the jacobins, had, as soon as the Assembl�e L�gislative broke up, quitted Paris, I believe, firmly determined never to re-enter it under the present r�gime. I was prepossessed very much in favour of this gentleman, from his conduct in the late Assembly and all we had heard of him. I confess I had not represented him to myself as a great, fat, heavy-looking man, with the manners of a somewhat hard and morose Englishman: he is between thirty and forty, I imagine; he had been riding as far as to the cottage Mr. Malthouse had mentioned to him--l'asile de jean Jacques(44)--and said it was very near this place (it is at the foot of Leith Hill, Mr. Locke has since told me). They then talked over the newspapers which were come Page 35 that morning. M. de St. just,(45) who made a most fierce speech for the trial and condemnation of the king, they said had before only been known by little madrigals, romances, and heures tendres, published in the 'Almanac des Muses.' "A cette heure," said M. de jaucourt, laughing, "c'est un fier republicain."(46) THE PHILLIPSES AT JUNIPER HALL. Nov. 27.-Phillips and I determined at about half-past one to walk to "junipre" together. M. d'Arblay received us at the door, and showed the most flattering degree of pleasure at our arrival. We found with Madame de la Ch�tre another French gentleman, M. Sicard, who was also an officer of M. de Lafayette's. M. de Narbonne said he hoped we would be sociable, and dine with them now and then. Madame de la Ch�tre made a speech to the same effect, "Et quel jour, par exemple," said M. de Narbonne, "feroit wieux qu'aujourd'hui?"(47) Madame de la Ch�tre took my hand instantly, to press in the most pleasing and gratifying manner imaginable this proposal; and before I had time to answer, M. d'Arblay, snatching up his hat, declared he would run and fetch the children. I was obliged to entreat Phillips to bring him back, and entreated him to entendre raison.(48) . . . I pleaded their late hour of dinner, our having no carriage, and my disuse to the night air at this time of the year; but M. de Narbonne said their cabriolet (they have no other carriage) should take us home, and that there was a top to it, and Madame de la Ch�tre declared she would cover me well with shawls, etc. . . . M. d'Arblay scampered off for the little ones, whom all insisted upon having, and Phillips accompanied him, as it wanted I believe almost four hours to their dinner time. . . . Page 36 Then my dress: Oh, it was parfaite, and would give them all the courage to remain as they were, sans toilette: in short, nothing was omitted to render us comfortable and at our ease, and I have seldom passed a more pleasant day--never, I may fairly say, with such new acquaintance. I was only sorry M. de jaucourt did not make one of the party. MYSTERY ATTENDING M. DE NARBONNE'S BIRTH. Whilst M. d'Arblay and Phillips were gone, Madame de la Ch�tre told me they had that morning received M. Necker's "D�fense du Roi," and if I liked it that M. de Narbonne would read it out to us.(49) You may conceive my answer. It is a most eloquent production, and was read by M. de Narbonne with beaucoup d'�me. Towards the end it is excessively touching, and his emotion was very evident, and would have struck and interested me had I felt no respect for his character before. I must now tell you the secret of his birth, which, however, is, I conceive, no great secret even in London, as Phillips heard it at Sir Joseph Banks's. Madame Victoire, daughter of Louis XV., was in her youth known to be attached to the Comte de Narbonne, father of our M. de Narbonne. The consequence of this attachment was such as to oblige her to a temporary retirement, under the pretence of indisposition during which time la Comtesse de Narbonne, who was one of her attendants, not only concealed her own chagrin, but was the means of preserving her husband from a dangerous situation, and the princess from disgrace. She declared herself with child, and, in short, arranged all so well as to seem the mother of her husband's son ; though the truth was immediately suspected, and rumoured about the Court, and Madame de la Ch�tre told me, was known and familiarly spoken of by all her friends, except in the presence of Page 37 Narbonne, to whom no one would certainly venture to hint it. His father is dead, but la Comtesse de Narbonne, his reputed mother, lives, and is still an attendant on Madame Victoire, at Rome. M. de Narbonne's wife is likewise with her, and he himself was the person fixed on by Mesdames to accompany them when they quitted France for Italy. An infant daughter was left by him at Paris, who is still there with some of his family, and whom he expressed an earnest wish to. bring over, though the late decree may perhaps render his doing so impossible. He has another daughter, of six years old, who is with her mother at Rome, and whom he told me the pope had condescended to embrace. He mentioned his mother once (meaning la Comtesse de Narbonne) with great respect and affection. REVOLUTIONARY SOCIETIES IN NORFOLK. DEATH OF MR. FRANCIS. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Philips.) Aylsham, Norfolk, November 27, '92. My dearest Susanna's details of the French colony at juniper are truly interesting. I hope I may gather from them that M. de Narbonne, at least, has been able to realise some property here. I wish much to hear that poor Madame de Broglie has been permitted to join her husband. Who is this M. Malouet(50) who has the singular courage and feeling to offer to plead the cause of a fallen monarch in the midst of his ferocious accusers? And how ventures M. de Chauvelin to transmit such a proposal? I wish your French neighbours could give some account of this. I hear that the son for whom the Duc de Liancourt has been trembling, has been reduced to subscribe to all jacobin lengths, to save his life, and retain a little property. What seasons are these for dissolving all delicacy of internal honour! I am truly amazed, and half alarmed, to find this county with little revolution societies, which transmit their notions of Page 38 things to the larger committee at Norwich, which communicates the whole to the reformists of London. I am told there is scarce a village in Norfolk free from these meetings. . . . My good and brilliant champion in days of old, Mr. Windham, has never been in Norfolk since I have entered it. He had a call to Bulstrode, to the installation of the Duke of Portland, just as I arrived, and he has been engaged there and at Oxford ever since. I regret missing him at Holkham: I bad no chance of him anywhere else, as I have been so situated, from the melancholy circumstances of poor Mr. Francis's illness, that I have been unable to make acquaintance where he visits. (Miss Burney's second visit at Aylsham proved a very mournful one. Soon after her arrival, Mr. Francis, her brother-in-law, was seized with an apoplectic fit, which terminated in his death; and Miss Burney remained with her widowed sister, soothing and assisting her, till the close of the year, when she accompanied the bereaved family to London.] DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE LA CHATRE. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) December 16, '92. . . .. Everything that is most shocking may, I fear, be expected for the unfortunate King of France, his queen, and perhaps all that belong to him. M. d'Arblay said it would indeed scarce have been possible to hope that M. de Narbonne could have escaped with life, had the sauf-conduit requested been granted him, for attending as a witness at the king's trial. . . . M. de Narbonne had heard nothing new from France, but mentioned, with great concern, the indiscretion of the king, in having kept all his letters since the Revolution; that the papers lately discovered in the Tuileries would bring ruin and death on hundreds of his friends ; and that almost every one in that number "s'y trouvoient compliqu�s"(51) some way or other. A decree of accusation had been lanc� against M. Talleyrand, not for anything found from himself, but because M. de Laporte, long since executed, and from whom, of course, no renseignemens or explanations of any kind could Page 39 be gained, had written to the king that l'Eveque d'Autun(52) was well disposed to serve him. Can there be injustice more flagrant? M. Talleyrand, it seems, had proposed returning, and hoped to settle his affairs in France in person, but now he must be content with life ; and as for his property (save what he may chance to have in other countries), he must certainly lose all. Monday, December 17, In the morning, Mr. and Mrs. Locke called, and with them came Madame de la Ch�tre, to take leave. She now told us, perfectly in confidence, that Madame de Broglie had found a friend in the Mayor of Boulogne, that she was lodged at his house, and that she could answer for her (Madame de la Ch�tre) being received by him as well as she could desire (all this must be secret, as this good mayor, if accused of harbouring or befriending des �migr�s, would no doubt pay for it with his life). Madame de la Ch�tre said, all her friends who had ventured upon writing to her entreated her not to lose the present moment to return, as, the three months allowed for the return of those excepted in the decree once past, all hope would be lost for ever. Madame de Broglie, who is her cousin, was most excessively urgent to her to lose not an instant in returning, and had declared there would be no danger. Madame de la Ch�tre was put in spirits by this account, and the hope of becoming not destitute of everything; and I tried to hope without fearing for her, and, indeed, most sincerely offer up my petitions for her safety. Heaven prosper her! Her courage and spirits are wonderful. M. de Narbonne seemed, however, full of apprehensions for her. M. de Jaucourt seemed to have better hopes ; he, even he, has now thoughts of returning, or rather his generosity compels him to think of it. His father has represented to him that his sister's fortune must suffer unless he appears in France again - and although he had resisted every other consideration, on this he has given way. ARRIVAL OF M. DE LA CHATRE. Friday, December 21st, we dined at Norbury Park, and met our French friends: M. d'Arblay came in to coffee before the other gentlemen. We had been talking of Madame de la Page 40 Chattre, and conjecturing conjectures about her sposo: we were all curious, and all inclined to imagine him old, ugly, proud, aristocratic, -a kind of ancient and formal courtier ; so we questioned M. d'Arblay, acknowledging our curiosity, and that we wished to know, enfin, if M. de la Ch�tre was "digne d'etre �poux d'une personne si aimable et si charmante que Madame de la Ch�tre."(53) He looked very drolly, scarce able to meet our eyes; but at last, as he is la franchise m�me, he answered, "M. de la Ch�tre est un bon homme--parfaitement bon homme: au reste, il est brusque comme un cheval de carrosse."(54) We were in the midst of our coffee when St. jean came forward to M. de Narbonne, and said somebody wanted to speak to him. He went out of the room; in two minutes he returned, followed by a gentleman in a great-coat, whom we had never seen, and whom he introduced immediately to Mrs. Locke by the name of M. de la Ch�tre. The appearance of M. de la Ch�tre was something like a coup de th�atre; for, despite our curiosity, I had no idea we should ever see him, thinking that nothing could detach him from the service of the French princes. His abord and behaviour answered extremely well the idea M. d'Arblay had given us of him, who in the word brusque rather meant unpolished in manners than harsh in character. He is quite old enough to be father to Madame de la Ch�tre, and, had he been presented to us as such, all our wonder would have been to see so little elegance in the parent of such a woman. After the first introduction was over, he turned his back to the fire, and began sans fa�on, a most confidential discourse with M. de Narbonne. They had not met since the beginning of the Revolution, and, having been of very different parties, it was curious and pleasant to see them now, in their mutual misfortunes, meet en bons amis. They rallied each other sur leurs disgraces very good-humouredly and comically; and though poor M. de la Ch�tre had missed his wife by only one day, and his son by a few hours, nothing seemed to give him de phumeur.(55) He gave the account of his disastrous journey since he had quitted. the princes, who are themselves reduced Page 41 to great distress, and were unable to pay him his arrears: he said he could not get a sou from France, nor had done for two years. All the money he had, with his papers and clothes, were contained in a little box, with which he had embarked in a small boat--I could not hear whence : but the weather was tempestuous, and he, with nearly all the passengers, landed, and walked to the nearest town, leaving his box and two faithful servants (who had never, he said, quitted him since he had left France) in the boat: he had scarce been an hour at the auberge (56) when news was brought that the boat had sunk, At this, M. de Narbonne threw himself back on his seat, exclaiming against the hard fate which pursued all ses malheureux amis!(57) "Mais attendez donc," cried the good humoured M. de la Ch�tre, "Je n'ai pas encore fini: on nous a assur� que personne n'a p�ri et que m�me tout ce qu'il y avait sur le b�teau a �t� sauv�!'(58) He said, however, that being now in danger of falling into the hands of the French, he dared not stop for his box or servants; but, leaving a note of directions behind him, he proceeded incognito, and at length got on board a packet-boat for England, in which though he found several of his countrymen and old acquaintance, he dared not discover himself till they were en pleine mer.(59) He went on gaily enough, laughing at ses amis les constitutionnaires,(60) and M. de Narbonne, with much more wit, and not less good humour, retorting back his raillery on the parti de Brunswick.. . . M. de la Ch�tre mentioned the quinzaine(61) in which the princes' army had been paid up, as the most wretched he had ever known. Of 22,000 men who formed the army of the emigrants, 16,000 were gentlemen,-men of family and fortune: all of whom were now, with their families, destitute. He mentioned two of these who had engaged themselves lately in some orchestra, where they played first and second flute. The princes, he said, had been twice arrested for debt in different places--that they were now so reduced that they dined, themselves, the Comte d'Artois, children, tutors, etc.--eight or nine persons in all--upon one single dish. Page 42 ENGLISH FEELING AT THE REVOLUTIONARY EXCESSES. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Chelsea, December 20, '92. ..... God keep us all safe and quiet! All now wears a fair aspect; but I am told Mr. Windham says we are not yet out of the wood though we see the path through it. There must be no relaxation. The Pretended friends of the people, pretended or misguided, wait but the stilling of the present ferment of loyalty to come forth. Mr. Grey has said so in the House. Mr. Fox attended the St. George's meeting, after keeping back to the last, and was nobody there! The accounts from France are thrilling. Poor M. d'Arblay's speech should be translated, and read to all English imitators of French reformers. What a picture of the now reformed! Mr. Burke's description of the martyred Duc de la Rochefoucault should be read also by all the few really pure promoters of new systems. New systems, I fear, in states, are always dangerous, if not wicked. Grievance by grievance, wrong by wrong, must only be assailed, and breathing time allowed to old prejudices, and old habits, between all that is done. . . . I had fancied the letters brought for the King of France's trial were forgeries. One of them, certainly, to M. Bouill�, had its answer dated before it was written. If any have been found, others will be added, to serve any evil purposes. Still, however, I hope the king and his family will be saved. I cannot but believe it, from all I can put together. If the worst of the jacobins hear that Fox has called him an "unfortunate monarch,"- -that Sheridan has said "his execution would be an act of injustice,"--and Grey, "that we ought to have spared that one blast to their glories by earlier negotiation and an ambassador,"--surely the worst of these wretches will not risk losing their only abettors and palliators in this kingdom? I mean publicly; they have privately and individually their abettors and palliators in abundance still, wonderful as that is. I am glad M. d'Arblay has joined the set at "Junipre." What miserable work is this duelling, which I hear of among the emigrants, after such hair-breadth 'scapes for life and existence!--to attack one another on the very spot they seek for refuge from attacks! It seems a sort of profanation of safety. Page 43 LOUIS XVI.'S EXECUTION. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Norbury Park, January 28, '93. My dearest padre,-I have been wholly without spirit for writing, reading, working, or even walking or conversing, ever since the first day of my arrival. The dreadful tragedy(62) acted in France has entirely absorbed me. Except the period of the illness of our own inestimable king, 1 have never been so overcome with grief and dismay, for any but personal and family calamities. O what a tragedy! how implacable its villainy, and how severe its sorrows! You know, my dearest father, how little I had believed such a catastrophe possible: with all the guilt and all the daring already shown, I had still thought this a height of enormity impracticable. And, indeed, without military law throughout the wretched city, it had still not been perpetrated. Good heaven!- -what must have been the sufferings of the few unhardened in crimes who inhabit that city of horrors!--if I, an English person, have been so deeply afflicted, that even this sweet house and society--even my Susan and her lovely children--have been incapable to give me any species of pleasure, or keep me from a desponding low-spiritedness, what must be the feelings of all but the culprits in France? M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay have been almost annihilated : they are for ever repining that they are French, and, though two of the most accomplished and elegant men I ever saw, they break our hearts with the humiliation they feel for their guiltless birth in that guilty country! We are all here expecting war every day. This dear family has deferred its town journey till next Wednesday. I have not been at all at Mickleham, nor yet settled whether to return to town with the Lockes, or to pay my promised visit there first, All has been so dismal, so wretched, that I have scarce ceased to regret our living at such times, and not either Sooner or later. These immediate French sufferers here interest us, and these alone have been able to interest me at all. We hear of a very bad tumult in Ireland, and near Captain Phillips's property: Mr. Brabazon writes word it is very serious. Page 44 Heaven guard us from insurrections! What must be the feelings at the queen's house? how acute, and how indignant! A GLOOMY CLUB MEETING. (-Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney and Mrs. Phillips.) Chelsea College, January 31, 1793. . . . At the Club,(63) on Tuesday, the fullest I ever knew, consisting of fifteen members, fourteen seemed all of one mind, and full of reflections on the late transaction in France ; but, when about half the company was assembled, who should come in but Charles Fox! There were already three or four bishops arrived, hardly one of whom could look at him, I believe, without horror, After the first bow and cold salutation, the conversation stood still for several minutes. During dinner Mr Windham, and Burke, jun., came in, who were obliged to sit at a side table. All were boutonn�s,(64) and not a word of the martyred king or politics of any kind was mentioned; and though the company was chiefly composed of the most eloquent and loquacious men in the kingdom, the conversation was the dullest and most uninteresting I ever remember at this or any such large meeting. Mr Windham and Fox, civil-young Burke and he never spoke. The Bishop of Peterborough as sulky as the d--l; the Bishop of Salisbury, more a man of the world, very cheerful; the Bishop of Dromore(65) frightened as much as a barn-door fowl at the sight of a fox; Bishop Marlow preserved his usual pleasant countenance. Steevens in the chair; the Duke of Leeds on his right, and Fox on his left, said not a word. Lords Ossory and Lucan, formerly much attached, seemed silent and sulky. MADAME DE STAEL AT JUNIPER HALL. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Norbury Park, Monday, February 4, '93. . . . Madame de Stael, daughter of M. Necker, is now at the head of the colony of French noblesse, established near Page 45 Mickleham. She is one of the first women I have ever met with for abilities and extraordinary intellect. She has just received, by a private letter, many particulars not yet made public, and which the Commune and Commissaries of the Temple had ordered should be suppressed. It has been exacted by those cautious men of blood that nothing should be printed that could attendrir le peuple.(66) Among other circumstances, this letter relates that the poor little dauphin supplicated the monsters who came with the decree of death to his unhappy father, that they would carry him to the Convention, and the forty-eight Sections of Paris, and suffer him to beg his father's life. This touching request was probably suggested to him by his miserable mother or aunt.... M. de Narbonne has been quite ill with the grief of this last enormity: and M. d'Arblay is now indisposed. This latter is one of the most delightful characters I have ever met, for openness, probity, intellectual knowledge, and unhackneyed manners. (Madame de Stael to Fanny BUrney.(67)) Written from juniper Hall, Dorking, Surrey, 1793. When I learned to read English I begun by milton, to know all or renounce at all in once. I follow the same system in writing my first English letter to Miss burney; after such an enterprize nothing can affright me. I feel for her so tender a friendship that it melts my admiration, inspires my heart with hope of her indulgence, and impresses me with the idea that in a tongue even unknown I could express sentiments so deeply felt. my servant will return for a french answer. I intreat miss burney to correct the words but to preserve the sense of that card. best compliments to my dear protectress, Madame Phillipe. (Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.) Your card in french, my dear, has already something of Your grace in writing English : it is cecilia translated. my !. ' Page 46 only correction is to fill the interruptions of some sentences, and I put in them kindnesses for me. I do not consult my master to write to you; a fault more or less is nothing in such an occasion. What may be the perfect grammar of Mr. Clarke, it cannot establish any sort of equality between you and I. then I will trust with my heart alone to supply the deficiency. let us speak upon a grave subject: do I see you that morning? What news from Captain phillip? when do you come spend a large week in that house? every question requires an exact answer; a good, also. my happiness depends on it, and I have for pledge your honour. good morrow and farewell. pray madame phillips, recollecting all her knowledge in french, to explain that card to you. (Madame de Stael to Fanny Burney.) January, 1793. tell me, my dear, if this day is a charming one, if it must be a sweet epoch in my life?--do you come to dine here with your lovely sister, and do you stay night and day till our sad separation? I rejoice me with that hope during this week do not deceive my heart. I hope that card very clear, mais, pour plus de certitude, je vous dis en françois que votre chambre, la maison, les habitants de juniper, tout est prêt á recevoir la première femme d'angleterre.(68) Janvier. MISS BURNEY'S ADMIRATION OF MADAME DE STAEL. (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Mickleham, February 29, 1793 Have you not begun, dearest sir, to give me up as a lost sheep? Susanna's temporary widowhood, however, has tempted me on, and spelled me with a spell I know not how to break. It is long, long since we have passed any time so completely together; her three lovely children only knit us the closer. The widowhood, however, we expect now quickly to expire, and I had projected my return to my dearest father Page 47 for Wednesday next, which would complete my fortnight here but some circumstances are intervening that incline me to postpone it another week. Madame de Stal, daughter of M. Necker, and wife of the Swedish ambassador to France, is now head of the little French colony in this neighbourhood. M. de Stael, her husband, is at present suspended in his embassy, but not recalled and it is yet uncertain whether the regent Duke of Sudermania will send him to Paris, during the present horrible Convention, or order him home. He is now in Holland, waiting for commands. Madame de Stal, however, was unsafe in Paris, though an ambassadress, from the resentment owed her by the commune, for having received and protected in her house various destined victims of the 10th August and of the 2nd September. She was even once stopped in her carriage, which they called aristocratic, because of its arms and ornaments, and threatened to be murdered, and only saved by one of the worst wretches of the Convention, Tallien, who feared provoking a war with Sweden, from such an offence to the wife of its ambassador. She was obliged to have this same Tallien to accompany her, to save her from massacre, for some miles from Paris, when compelled to quit it. She is a woman of the first abilities, I think, I have ever seen; she is more in the style of Mrs. Thrale than of any other celebrated character, but she has infinitely more depth, and seems an even profound politician and metaphysician. She has suffered us to hear some of her works in MS., which are truly wonderful, for powers both of thinking and expression. She adores her father, but is much alarmed at having had no news from him since he has heard of the massacre of the martyred Louis; and who can wonder it should have overpowered him? Ever since her arrival she has been pressing me to spend some time with her before I return to town. She wanted Susan and me to pass a month with her, but, finding that impossible, she bestowed all her entreaties upon me alone, and they are grown so urgent, upon my preparation for departing, and acquainting her my furlough of absence was over, that she not only insisted upon my writing to you, and telling why I deferred my return, but declares she will also write herself, to ask your permission for the visit. She exactly resembles Mrs. Thrale in the ardour and warmth of her temper and partialities. I find her impossible to resist, and therefore, if your answer to Page 48 her is such as I conclude it must be, I shall wait upon her for a week. She is only a short walk from hence, at juniper Hall. FAILING RESOURCES. There can be nothing imagined more charming, more fascinating, than this colony ; between their sufferings and their argr�mens they occupy us almost wholly. M. de Narbonne, alas, has no thousand pounds a year! he got over only four thousand pounds at the beginning, from a most splendid fortune; and, little foreseeing how all has turned out, he has lived, we fear, upon the principal ; for he says, if all remittance is withdrawn, on account of the war, he shall soon be as ruined as those companions of his misfortunes with whom as yet he has shared his little all. He bears the highest character for goodness, parts, sweetness of manners, and ready wit. You could not keep your heart from him if you saw him only for . half an hour. He has not yet recovered from the black blow of the king's death, but he is better, and less jaundiced ; and he has had a letter which, I hear, has comforted him, though at first it was almost heart-breaking, informing him of the unabated regard for him of the truly saint-like Louis. This is communicated in a letter from M. de Malesherbes.(69) THE BEGINNING OF THE END. M. d'Arblay is one of the most singularly interesting characters that can ever have been formed. He has a sincerity, a frankness, an ingenuous openness of nature, that I had been unjust enough to think could not belong to a Frenchman. With all this, which is his military portion, he is passionately fond of literature, a most delicate critic in his own language, welt versed in both Italian and German, and a very elegant Page 49 poet. He has just undertaken to become my French master for pronunciation, and he gives me long daily lessons in reading. Pray expect wonderful improvements! In return, I hear him in English; and for his theme, this evening he has been writing an English address " Mr. Burney," (ie. M. le Docteur), joining in Madame de Stael's request. I hope your last club was more congenial? M. de Talleyrand insists on conveying this letter for you. He has been on a visit here, and returns again on Wednesday. He is a man of admirable conversation, quick, terse, fin, and yet deep, to the extreme of those four words. They are a marvellous set for excess of agreeability. "THIS ENCHANTING MONSIEUR D'ARBLAY." (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Mickleham. Your kind letter, my beloved Fredy, was most thankfully received, and we rejoice the house and situation promise so much local comfort; but I quite fear with you that even the bas bleu will not recompense the loss of the "Junipre" society. It is, indeed, of incontestable superiority. But you must burn this confession, or my poor effigy will blaze for it. I must tell you a little of our proceedings, as they all relate to these people of a thousand. M. d'Arblay came from the melancholy sight of departing Norbury to Mickleham, and with an air the most triste, and a sound of voice quite dejected, as I learn from Susanna for I was in my heroics, and could not appear till the last half hour. A headache prevented my waiting upon Madame de Stal that day, and obliged me to retreat soon after nine o'clock in the evening, and my douce compagne would not let me retreat alone. We had only robed ourselves in looser drapery, when a violent ringing at the door startled us; we listened, and heard the voice of M. d'Arblay, and Jerry answering, "They're gone to bed." "Comment? What?" cried he: "C'est impossible! what you say?" Jerry then, to show his new education in this new colony, said "All�e couch�e!" It rained furiously, and we were quite grieved, but there was no help. He left a book for "Mlle. Burnet," and word that Madame de Stael could not come on account of the bad weather. M. Ferdinand was with him and has bewailed the disaster Page 50 and M. Sicard says he accompanied them till he was quite wet through his redingote; but this enchanting M. d'Arblay will murmur at nothing. The next day they all came, just as we had dined, for a morning visit,--Madame de Stael, M. Talleyrand, M. Sicard, and M. d'Arblay; the latter then made "insistance" upon commencing my "master of the language," and I think he will be almost as good a one as the little don.(70) M. de Talleyrand opened, at last, with infinite wit and capacity. Madame de Stael whispered me, "How do you like him?" "Not very much," I answered, "but I do not know him." "Oh, I assure you," cried she, "he is the best of the men." I was happy not to agree ; but I have no time for such minute detail till we meet. She read the noble tragedy of "Tancr�de,"(71) till she blinded us all round. She is the most charming person, to use her own phrase, "that never I saw." . . We called yesterday upon Madame de Stael, and sat with her until three o'clock, only the little don being present. She was delightful; yet I see much uneasiness hanging over the whole party, from the terror that the war may stop all remittances. Heaven forbid! TALLEYRAND IS FOUND CHARMING. (Fanny Burney to Mrs locke.) Thursday, Mickleham. I have no heart not to write, and no time to write. I have been scholaring all day, and mastering too : for our lessons are mutual, and more entertaining than can easily be conceived. My master of the language says he dreams of how much more solemnly he shall write to charming Mrs. Locke after a little more practice. Madame de Stael has written me two English notes, quite beautiful in ideas, and not very reprehensible in idiom. But English has nothing to do with elegance such as theirs--at least, little and rarely. I am always exposing myself to the wrath of John Bull, when this c�terie come in competition; It is inconceivable what a convert M. de Talleyrand has made of me; I think him now one of the first members, and one of the most charming, of this exquisite set: Susanna is as completely a proselyte, Page 51 His powers of entertainment are astonishing, both in information and in raillery. We know nothing of how the rest of the world goes on. They are all coming to-night. I have yet avoided, but with extreme difficulty, the change of abode. Madame de Stael, however, will not easily be parried, and how I may finally arrange I know not. Certainly I will not offend or hurt her, but otherwise I had rather be a visitor than a guest Pray tell Mr. Locke that " the best of the men " grows upon us at every meeting. We dined and stayed till midnight at "junipre" on Tuesday, and I would I could recollect but the twentieth part of the excellent things that were said. Madame de Stael read us the opening of her work "Sur le Bonheur:" it seems to me admirable. M. de Talleyrand avowed he had met with nothing better thought or more ably expressed; it contains the most touching allusions to their country's calamities. A PROPOSED VISIT TO MADAME DE STAEL DISAPPROVED OF. (Doctor Burney to Fanny Burney.) Chelsea College, February 19, 1793. Why, Fanny, what are you about, and where are you? I shall write at you, not knowing how to write to you, as Swift did to the flying and romantic Lord Peterborough. I had written the above, after a yesterday's glimmering and a feverish night as usual, when behold! a letter of requisition for a further furlough! I had long histories ready for narration de vive voix, but my time is too short and my eyes and head too -weak for much writing this morning. I am not at all surprised at your account of the captivating powers of Madame de Stael. It corresponds with all I had heard about her, and with the opinion I formed of her intellectual and literary powers, in reading her charming little "Apologie de Rousseau." But as nothing human is allowed to be perfect, she has not escaped censure. Her house was the centre of revolutionists Previous to the 10th of August, after her father's departure, and she has been accused of partiality to M. de N.(72) But Perhaps all may be jacobinical malignity. However, unfavourable stories of her have been brought hither, and the Page 52 Burkes and Mrs. Ord have repeated them to me. But you know that M. Necker's administration, and the conduct of the nobles who first joined in the violent measures that subverted the ancient establishments by the abolition of nobility and the ruin of the church, during the first National Assembly, are held in greater horror by aristocrats than even the members of the present Convention. I know this will make you feel uncomfortable, but it seemed to me right to hint it to You. If you are not absolutely in the house of Madame do Stael when this arrives, it would perhaps be possible for you to waive the visit to her, by a compromise, of having something to do for Susy, and so make the addendum to your stay under her roof. . . (Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.) Mickleham, February 22, '03, What a kind letter is my dearest father's, and how kindly speedy ! yet it is too true it has given me very uncomfortable feelings. I am both hurt and astonished at the acrimony of malice; indeed, I believe all this Party to merit nothing but honour, compassion, and praise. Madame de Stael, the daughter of M. Necker--the idolising daughter--of course, and even from the best principles, those of filial reverence, entered into the opening of the Revolution just as her father entered into it; but as to her house having become the centre of revolutionists before the 10th of August, it was so only for the constitutionalists, who, at that period, were not only members of the then established government, but the decided friends of the king. The aristocrats were then already banished, or wanderers from fear, or concealed and silent from cowardice; and the jacobins --I need not, after what I have already related, mention how utterly abhorrent to her must be that fiend-like set. The aristocrats, however, as you well observe, and as she has herself told me, hold the constitutionalists in greater horror than the Convention itself. This, however, is a violence against justice which cannot, I hope, be lasting ; and the malignant assertions which persecute her, all of which she has lamented to us, she imputes equally to the bad and virulent of both these parties. The intimation concerning M. de N. was, however, wholly Page 53 new to us, and I do firmly believe it a gross calumny. M. de N. was of her society, which contained ten or twelve of the first people in Paris, and, occasionally, almost all Paris ! she loves him even tenderly, but so openly, so simply, so unaffectedly, and with such utter freedom from all coquetry, that, if they were two men, or two women, the affection could not, I think, be more obviously undesi,gning. She is very plain, he is very handsome ; her intellectual endowments must be with him her sole attraction. M. de Talleyrand was another of her society, and she seems equally attached to him. M. le Viscomte de Montmorenci she loves, she says, as her brother: he is another of this bright constellation, and esteemed of excellent capacity. She says, if she continues in England he will certainly come, for he loves her too well to stay away. In short, her whole coterie live together as brethren. Madame la Marquise de la Ch�tre, who has lately returned to France, to endeavour to obtain de quoi vivre en Angleterre,(73) and who had been of this colony for two or three months since the 10th of August, Is a bosom friend of Madame de Stael and of all this circle : she is reckoned a very estimable as well as fashionable woman ; and a daughter of the unhappy Montmorin, who was killed on the 1st of September(74) is another of this set. Indeed, I think you could not spend a day with them and not see that their commerce is that of pure, but exalted and most elegant, friendship. I would, nevertheless, give the world to avoid being a guest under their roof, now I have heard even the shadow of such a rumour; and I will, if it be possible without hurting or of-fending them. I have waived and waived acceptance almost from the moment of Madame de Stael's arrival. I prevailed with her to let my letter go alone to you, and I have told her, with regard to your answer, that you were sensible of the honour her kindness did me, and could not refuse to her request the week's furlough ; and then followed reasons for the Compromise you pointed out, too diffuse for writing. As Yet they have succeeded, though she is surprised and disappointed. She wants us to study French and English together, and nothing could to me be more desirable, but for this invidious report. M. d'Arblay as well as M. de Narbonne, sent over a declaration in favour of the poor king. M. d'A. had been the Page 54 commandant at Longwy, and had been named to that post by the king himself In the accusation of the infernals, as Mr. Young justly calls them, the king is accused of leaving Longwy undefended, and a prey to the Prussians. M. d'Arblay, who before that period had been promoted into the regiment of M. de Narbonne, and thence summoned to be adjutant-general of Lafayette, wrote therefore, on this charge, to M. de Malesherbes, and told him that the charge was utterly false . that the king had taken every precaution for the proper preservation of Longwy, and that M. d'Arblay, the king's commandant, had himself received a letter of thanks and approbation from Duniouriez, who said, nothing would have been lost had every commandant taken equal pains, and exerted equal bravery. This original letter M. d'Arblay sent to M. Malesherbes, not as a vindication of himself, for he had been summoned from Longwy before the Prussians assailed it, but as a vindication of the officer appointed by the king, while he had yet the command. M. de Malesherbes wrote an answer of thanks, and said he should certainly make use of this information in the defence, However, the fear of Dumouriez, I suppose, prevented his being named. M. d'Arblay, in quitting France with Lafayette, upon the deposition of the king, had only a little ready money in his pocket, and he has been d�cr�(75) I since, and all he was worth in the world is sold and seized by the Convention. M. de Narbonne loves him as the tenderest of brothers, and, while one has a guinea in the world, the other will have half. "Ah!" cried M. d'Arblay, upon the murder of the king, which almost annihilated him, "I know not how those can exist who have any feelings of remorse, when I scarce can endure my life, from the simple feeling of regret that ever I pronounced the word liberty in France!" M. DE LALLY TOLENDAL AND HIS TRAGEDY. (Mrs. Phillips to Mrs. Locke.) Mickleham, April 2, 1793. ....I must, however, say something of juniper, whence I had an irresistible invitation to dine, etc., yesterday, and Page 55 M. de Lally Tolendal(76) read his "Mort de Strafford," which he had already recited once, and which Madame do Stael requested him to repeat for my sake. I had a great curiosity to see M. de Lally. I cannot say that feeling was gratified by the sight of him, though it was satisfied, insomuch that it has left me without any great anxiety to see him again. He is the very reverse of all that my imagination had led me to expect in him: large, fat, with a great head, small nose, immense cheeks, nothing distingu� in his manner and en fait d'esprit, and of talents in conversation, so far, so very far, distant from our juniperians, and from M. de Talleyrand, who was there, as I could not have conceived, his abilities as a writer and his general reputation considered. He seems un bon gar�on, un tr�s honn�te gar�on, as M. Talleyrand says of him, et non de plus.(77) He is extremely absorbed by his tragedy, which he recites by heart, acting as well as declaiming with great energy, though seated, as Le Texier is. He seemed, previous to the performance, occupied completely by It, except while the dinner lasted, which he did not neglect; but he was continually reciting to himself till we sat down to table, and afterwards between the courses. M. Talleyrand seemed much struck with his piece, which appears to me to have very fine lines and passages in it, but which, altogether, interested me but little. I confess, indeed, the violence of ses gestes, and the alternate howling and thundering of his voice in declaiming, fatigued me excessively. If our Fanny had been present, I am afraid I should many times have been affected as one does not expect to be at a tragedy. We sat down at seven to dinner, and had half finished before M. d'Arblay appeared, though repeatedly sent for; he was profoundly grave and silent, and disappeared after the dinner, which was very gay. He was sent for, after coffee and Norbury were gone, several times, that the tragedy might be begun; and . at last Madame de S. impatiently proposed beginning without him. "Mais cela lui fera de la peine,"(78) said M. d'Autun (Talleyrand), good-naturedly; and, as she Page 56 persisted, he rose up and limped out of the room to fetch him he succeeded in bringing him. M Malouet has left them. La Princesse d'Henin is a very pleasing, well-bred woman: she left juniper the next morning with M. de Lally. CONTEMPLATED DisPERSION OF THE FRENCH COLONY. (Mrs. Phillips to Fanny Burney) Mickleham, April 3. After I had sent off my letter to you on Monday I walked on to juniper, and entered at the same moment with Mr. jenkinson(79) and his attorney--a man whose figure strongly resembles some of Hogarth's most ill-looking, personages, and who appeared to me to be brought as a kind of spy, or witness of all that was passing. I would have retreated, fearing to interrupt business, but I was surrounded, and pressed to stay, by Madame de Stael with great empressement, and with much kindness by M. d'Arblay and all the rest. Mr. Clarke was the spokesman, and acquitted himself with great dignity and moderation; Madame de S. now and then came forth with a little coquetterie pour adoucir ce sauvage jenkinson.(80) "What will you, Mr. jenkinson? tell to me, what will you?" M. de Narbonne, somewhat indign� de la mauvaise foi, and exc�d� des longueurs de son adversaire, (81) was not quite so gentle with him, and I was glad to perceive that he meant to resist, in some degree at least, the exorbitant demands of his landlord. Madame de Stael was very gay, and M. de Talleyrand very comique, this evening ; he criticised, amongst other things, her reading of prose, with great sang froid. . . . They talked over a number of their friends and acquaintances with the utmost unreserve, and sometimes with the most comic humour imaginable,--M. de Lally, M. de Lafayette, la Princesse d'Henin, la Princesse de Poix, a M. Guibert, an author. and one who was, Madame de Stael told me, passionately in love with her before she married; and innumerable others. M. d'Arblay had been employed almost night and day since Page 57 he came from London in Writing a m�moire, which Mr Villiers had wished to have, upon the 'Artillerie Cheval,' and he had not concluded it till this morning. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney.) Tuesday, May 14. Trusting to the kindness of chance, I begin in at the top of my paper. Our Juniperians went to see Paine's hill yesterday, and had the good-nature to take my little happy Norbury. In the evening came Miss F- to show me a circular letter, sent by the Archbishop of Canterbury to all the parishes in England, authorising the ministers of those parishes to raise a subscription for the unfortunate French clergy. She talked of our neighbours, and very shortly and abruptly said, "So, Mrs. Phillips, we hear you are to have Mr. Norbone and the other French company to live with you--Pray is it so?" I was, I confess, a little startled at this plain inquiry, but answered as composedly as I could, setting out with informing this b�te personnage that Madame de Stael was going to Switzerland to join her husband and family in a few days, and that of all the French company none would remain but M. de Narbonne and M. d'Arblay, for whom the captain and myself entertained a real friendship and esteem, and whom he had begged to make our house their own for a short time, as the impositions they had had to support from their servants, etc., and the failure of their remittances from abroad, had obliged them to resolve on breaking up housekeeping. I had scarcely said thus much when our party arrived from Paine's hill; the young lady, though she had drunk tea, was so obliging as to give us her company for near two hours, and made a curious attack on M. de N., upon the first pause, in wretched French, though we had before, all of us, talked no other language than English:--"Je vous prie, M. Gnawbone, comment se porte la reine?"(82) Her pronunciation was such that I thought his understanding her miraculous : however, he did guess her meaning, and answered, with all his accustomed douceur and politeness, that he hoped well, but had no means but general ones of information. "I believe," said she afterwards, "nobody was so hurt at Page 58 the king's death as my papa! he couldn't ride on horseback next day!" She then told M. de Narbonne some anecdotes (very new to him, no doubt), which she had read in the newspapers, of the Convention; and then spoke of M. Egalit�. "I hope," said she, flinging her arms out with great violence, "he'll come to be gullytined. He showed the king how he liked to be gullytined, so now I hope he'll be gullytined himself!--So shocking! to give his vote against his own nephew!" If the subject of her vehemence and blunders had been less just or less melancholy, I know not how I should have kept my face in order. Our evening was very pleasant when she was gone, Madame de Stael is, with all her wildness and blemishes, a delightful companion, and M. de N. rises upon me in esteem and affection every time I see him: their minds in some points ought to be exchanged, for he is as delicate as a really feminine woman, and evidently suffers when he sees her setting les biens�ances(83) aside, as it often enough befalls her to do. Poor Madame de Stael has been greatly disappointed and hurt by the failure of the friendship and intercourse she had wished to maintain with you,--of that I am sure; I fear, too, she is on the point of being offended. I am not likely to be her confidant if she is so, and only judge from the nature of things, and from her character, and a kind of d�pit(84) in her manner once or twice in speaking of you. She asked me If you would accompany Mrs. Locke back into the country? I answered that my father would not wish to lose you for so long a time at once, as you had been absent from him as a nurse so many days. After a little pause, "Mais est-ce qu'une femme est en tutelle pour la vie dans ce pays?" she said. "Il me paroit que votre soeur est comme une demoiselle de quatorze ans."(85) I did not oppose this idea, but enlarged rather on the constraints laid upon females, some very unnecessarily, in England,--hoping to lessen her d�pit; it continued, however, visible in her countenance, though she did not express it in words. Page 59 [The frequency and intimacy with which Miss Burney and M. d'Arblay now met, ripened into attachment the high esteem which each felt for the other; and, after many struggles and scruples, occasioned by his reduced circumstances and clouded prospects, M. d'Arblay wrote her an offer of his hand ; candidly acknowledging, however, the slight hope he entertained of ever recovering the fortune he had lost by the Revolution. At this time Miss Burney went to Chesington for a short period; probably hoping that the extreme quiet of that place would assist her deliberations, and tranquillise her mind during her present perplexities.] MADAME DE STAEL'S WORDS OF FAREWELL. M. D'ARBLAY. (Mrs. Philips to Fanny Burney at Chesington.) Sunday, after church, I walked up to Norbury; there unexpectedly I met all our juniperians, and listened to one of the best conversations I ever heard : it was on literary topics, and the chief speakers Madame de Stael, M. de Talleyrand, Mr. Locke, and M. Dumont, a gentleman on a visit of two days at juniper, a Genevois, homme d'esprit et de lettres. I had not a word beyond the first " how d'yes " with any one, being obliged to run home to my abominable dinner in the midst of the discourse. On Monday I went, by invitation, to juniper to dine, and before I came away at night a letter arrived express to Madame de Stael. On reading it, the change in her countenance made me guess the contents, It was from the Swedish gentleman who had been appointed by her husband to meet her at Ostend; he wrote from that place that he was awaiting her arrival. She had designed walking home with us by moonlight, but her spirits were too much oppressed to enable her to keep this intention. M. d'Arblay walked home with Phillips and me. Every moment of his time has been given of late to transcribing a MS. work of Madame de Stael, on 'L'Influence des Passions.' It is a work of considerable length, and written in a hand the most difficult possible to decipher. On Tuesday we all met again at Norbury, where we spent the day. Madame de Stael could not rally her spirits at all, Page 60 and seemed like one torn from all that was dear to her. I was truly concerned. After giving me a variety of charges, or rather entreaties, to watch and attend to the health, spirits, and affairs of the friends she was leaving, she said to me, "Et d�tes Mlle. Burney que je ne lui en veux pas du tout--que je quitte le pays l'aimant bien sinc�rement et sans rancune."(86) I assured her earnestly, and with more words than I have room to insert, not only of your admiration, but affection, and sensibility of her worth and chagrin at seeing no more of her. I hope I exceeded not your wishes; mais il n'y avoit pas moyen de resister.(87) She seemed pleased, and said, "Vous �tes bien bonne de me dire cela,"(88) but in a low and faint voice, and dropped the subject. Before we took leave, M. d'Arblay was already gone, meaning to finish transcribing her MS. I came home with Madame de Stael and M. de Narbonne. The former actually sobbed in saying farewell to Mrs. Locke, and half way down the hill; her parting from me was likewise very tender and flattering. I determined, however, to see her again, and met her near the school, on Wednesday morning with a short note and a little offering which I was irresistibly tempted to make her. She could not speak to me, but kissed her hand with a very speaking and touching expression of countenance. it was this morning, and just as I was setting out to meet her, that Skilton arrived from Chesington. I wrote a little, walked out, and returned to finish as I could. At dinner came our Tio--(89) very bad indeed. After it we walked together with the children to Norbury; but little Fanny was so well pleased with his society that it was impossible to get a word on any particular subject. I, however, upon his venturing to question me whereabouts was the Page 61 campagne o� se trouvoit Mlle. Burney,(90) ventured de mon c�t�(91) to speak the name of Chesington, and give a little account of its inhabitants, the early love we had for the spot, our excellent Mr. Crisp, and your good and kind hostesses. He listened with much interest and pleasure, and said, "Mais, ne pourroit-on pas faire ce petit voyage-l ?"(92) I ventured to say nothing encouraging, at least, decisively, in a great measure upon the children's account, lest they should repeat; and, moreover, your little namesake seemed to me surprisingly attentive and �veill�e, as if elle se doutoit de quelque chose.(93) When we came home I gave our Tio so paper to write to you; it was not possible for me to add more than the address, much as I wished it. REGRETS RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. -Locke.) Chesington, 1793. I have been quite enchanted to-day by my dear Susan's intelligence that my three convalescents walked to the wood. Would I had been there to meet and receive them. I have regretted excessively the finishing so miserably an acquaintance begun with so much spirit and pleasure, and the d�pit I fear Madame de Stael must have experienced. I wish the world would take more care of itself, and less of its neighbours. I should have heen very safe, I trust, without such flights, and distances, and breaches. But there seemed an absolute resolution formed to crush this acquaintance, and compel me to appear its wilful renouncer. All I did also to clear the matter, and soften to Madame de Stael any pique or displeasure, unfortunately served only to increase them. Had I understood her disposition better, I should certainly have attempted no palliation, for I rather offended her pride than mollified her wrath. Yet I followed the golden rule, for how much should I prefer any acknowledgment of regret at such an apparent change, from any one I esteemed, to a seeming Page 62 unconscious complacency in an unexplained caprice! I am vexed, however, very much vexed, at the whole business. I hope she left Norbury Park with full satisfaction in its steady and more comfortable connection. I fear mine will pass for only a fashionable one. Miss Kitty Cooke still amuses me very much by her incomparable dialect; and by her kindness and friendliness. I am taken the best care of imaginable. My poor brother, who will carry this to Mickleham, is grievously altered by the loss of his little girl. It has affected his spirits and his health, and he is grown so thin and meagre, that he looks ten years older than when I saw him last. I hope he will now revive, since the blow is over; but it has been a very, very hard one, after such earnest pains to escape it. .. Did the wood look very beautiful? I have figured it to myself with the three dear convalescents wandering in its winding paths, and inhaling its freshness and salubrity, ever since I heard of this walk. I wanted prodigiously to have issued forth from some little green recess, to have hailed your return. I hope Mr. Locke had the pleasure of this sight. Is jenny capable of such a mounting journey? Do you know anything of a certain young lady, who eludes all my inquiries, famous for having eight sisters, all of uncommon talents? I had formerly some intercourse with her, and she used to promise she would renew it whenever I pleased but whether she is offended that I have slighted her offers so long, or whether she is fickle, or only whimsical, I know not all that is quite undoubted is that she has concealed herself so effectually from my researches, that I might as well look for justice and clemency in the French Convention, as for this former friend in the plains and lanes of Chesington where, erst, she met me whether I would or no. M. D'ARBLAY'S VISIT TO CHESINGTON. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Locke.) Chesington, 1793. How sweet to me was my dearest Fredy's assurance that my gratification and prudence went at last hand in hand! I had longed for the sight of her writing, and not dared wish it. Page 63 I shall now long Impatiently till I can have the pleasure of saying "Ma'am, I desire no more of your letters." I have heard to-day all I can most covet of all my dear late malades. I take it for granted this little visit was made known to my dearest sister confidant. I had prepared for it from the time of my own expectation, and I have had much amusement in what the preparation produced. Mrs Hamilton ordered half a ham to be boiled ready; and Miss Kitty trimmed up her best cap, and tried it on, on Saturday, to get it in shape to her face. She made chocolate also, which we drank up on Monday and Tuesday, because it was spoiling. "I have never seen none of the French quality," she says, "and I have a purdigious curosity; though as to dukes and dukes' sons, and these high top captains, I know they'll think me a mere country bumpkin. Howsever, they can't call me worse than 'Fat Kit Square,' and that's the worst name I ever got from any of our English petite bears, which I suppose these petite French quality never heard the like of." Unfortunately, however, when all was prepared above, the French top captain entered while poor Miss Kitty was in dishabill, and Mrs. Hamilton finishing washing up her china from breakfast. A maid who was out at the pump, and first saw the arrival, ran in to give Miss Kitty time to escape, for she was in her round dress night-cap, and without her roll and curls. However, he followed too quick, and Mrs. Hamilton was seen in her linen gown and mob, though she had put on a silk one in expectation for every noon these four or five days past; and Miss Kitty was in such confusion, she hurried out of the room. She soon, however, returned with the roll and curls, and the forehead and throat fashionably lost, in a silk gown. And though she had not intended to speak a word, the gentle quietness of her guest so surprised and pleased her, that she never quitted his side while he stayed, and has sung his praises ever since. Mrs. Hamilton, good soul ! in talking and inquiring since of his history and conduct, shed tears at the recital. She says now she, has really seen one of the French gentry that has been drove out of their country by the villains she has heard Of, she shall begin to believe there really has been a Revolution! and Miss Kitty says, "I purtest I did not know before but it was all a sham." Page 64 THE MATRIMONIAL PROJECT IS DISCUSSED. (Fanny Burney to Mrs. Phillips.) Friday, May 31, Chesington. My heart so smites me this morning with making no answer to all I have been requested to weigh and decide, that I feel I cannot with any ease return to town without at least complying with one demand, which first, at parting yesterday, brought me to write fully to you, my Susan, if I could not elsewhere to my satisfaction. in the course of last night and this morning Much indeed has occurred to me, that now renders my longer silence as to prospects and proceedings unjustifiable to myself. I will therefore now address myself to both my beloved confidants, and open to them all my thoughts, and entreat their own with equal plainness in return. M. d'Arblay's last three letters convince me he is desperately dejected when alone, and when perfectly natural. It is not that he wants patience, but he wants rational expectation of better times, expectation founded on something more than mere aerial hope, that builds one day upon what the next blasts; and then has to build again, and again to be blasted. What affects me the most in this situation is, that his time may as completely be lost as another's peace, by waiting for the effects of distant events, vague, bewildering, and remote, and quite as likely to lead to ill as to good. The very waiting, indeed, with the mind in such a state, is in itself an evil scarce to be recompensed. . . . My dearest Fredy, in the beginning of her knowledge of this transaction, told me that Mr. Locke was of opinion that one hundred pounds per annum(94) might do, as it does for many a curate. M. d'A. also most solemnly and affectingly declares that le simple n�cessaire is all he requires and here, In your vicinity, would unhesitatingly be preferred by him to the most brilliant fortune in another s�jour. If he can say that, what must I be not to echo it? I, who in the bosom of my own most chosen, most darling friends--- I need not enter more upon this; you all must know to me a crust of bread, with a little roof for shelter, and a fire Page 65 for warmth, near you, would bring me to peace, to happiness, to all that My heart holds dear, or even in any situation could prize. I cannot picture such a fate with dry eyes ; all else but kindness and society has to me so always been nothing. With regard to my dear father, he has always left me to myself; I will not therefore speak to him while thus uncertain what to decide. it is certain, however, that, with peace of mind and retirement, I have resources that I could bring forward to amend the little situation ; as well as that, once thus undoubtedly established and naturalised, M. d'A. would have claims for employment. These reflections, with a mutual freedom from ambition might lead to a quiet road, unbroken by the tortures of applications, expectations, attendance, disappointment, and time-wasting hopes and fears; if there were not apprehensions the one hundred pounds might be withdrawn. I do not think it likely, but it is a risk too serious in its consequences to be run. M. d'A. protests he could not answer to himself the hazard. How to ascertain this, to clear the doubt, or to know the fatal certainty before it should be too late, exceeds my powers of suggestion. His own idea, to write to the queen, much as it has startled me, and wild as it seemed to me, is certainly less wild than to take the chance of such a blow in the dark. Yet such a letter could not even reach her. His very name is probably only known to her through myself. In short, my dearest friends, you will think for me, and let me know what occurs to you, and I will defer any answer till I hear your opinions. Heaven ever bless you! And pray for me at this moment. DR. BURNEY'S OBJECTIONS TO THE MATCH. (Dr. Burney to Fanny Burney.) May, 1793, Dear Fanny,-I have for some time seen very plainly that you are �prise, and have been extremely uneasy at the discovery. YOU must have observed my silent gravity, surpassing that of mere illness and its consequent low spirits. I had some thoughts of writing to Susan about it, and intended begging her to do what I must now do for myself--that is, beg and admonish you not to entangle yourself in a wild and Page 66 romantic attachment, which offers nothing in prospect but poverty and distress, with future inconvenience and unhappiness. M. d'Arblay is certainly a very amiable and accomplished man, and of great military abilities I take for granted ; but what employment has he for them of which the success is not extremely hazardous? His property, whatever it was, has been confiscated--d�cr�--by the Convention - and if a counter-revolution takes place, unless it be exactly such a one as suits the particular political sect in which he enlisted, it does not seem likely to secure to him an establishment in France. And as to an establishment in England, I know the difficulty which very deserving natives find in procuring one, with every appearance of interest, friends, and probability; and, to a foreigner, I fear the difficulty will be more than doubled. As M. d'Arblay is at present circumstanced, an alliance with anything but a fortune sufficient for the support of himself and partner would be very imprudent. He is a mere soldier of fortune, under great disadvantages. Your income, if it was as certain as a freehold estate, is insufficient for the purpose ; and if the queen should be displeased and withdraw her allowance, what could you do? I own that, if M. d'Arblay had an establishment in France sufficient for him to marry a wife with little or no fortune, much as I am inclined to honour and esteem him, I should wish to prevent you from fixing your residence there; not merely from selfishness, but for your own sake, I know your love for your family, and know that it is reciprocal; I therefore cannot help thinking that you would mutually be lost to each other. The friends, too, which you have here, are of the highest and most desirable class. To quit them, in order to make new friendships in a strange land, in which the generality of its inhabitants at present seem incapable of such virtues as friendship is built upon, seems wild and visionary. If M. d'Arblay had a sufficient establishment here for the purposes of credit and comfort, and determined to settle here for life, I should certainly think ourselves honoured by his alliance ; but his situation is at present so very remote from all that can satisfy prudence, or reconcile to an affectionate father the idea of a serious attachment, that I tremble for your heart and future happiness. M. d'Arblay must have lived too long in the great world to accommodate himself Page 67 contentedly to the little. his fate seems so intimately connected with that of his miserable country, and that country seems at a greater distance from peace, order, and tranquillity now than it has done at any time since the Revolution. These considerations, and the uncertainty Of what party will finally prevail, make me tremble for you both. You see, by what I have said, that my objections are not personal, but wholly prudential. For heaven's sake, my dear Fanny, do not part with your heart too rapidly, or involve yourself in deep engagements which it will be difficult to dissolve; and to the last degree imprudent, as things are at present circumstanced, to fulfil. As far as character, merit, and misfortune demand esteem and regard, you may be sure that M. d'Arblay will be always received by me with the utmost attention and respect - but, in the present situation of things, I can by no means think I ought to encourage (blind and ignorant as I am of all but his misfortunes) a serious and solemn union with one whose unhappiness would be a reproach to the facility and inconsiderateness of a most affectionate father. THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE. Memorandum, this 7th May, 1825. In answer to these apparently most just, and, undoubtedly, most parental and tender apprehensions, Susanna, the darling child of Dr. Burney, as well as first chosen friend of M, d'Arblay, wrote a statement of the plans, and means, and purposes of M. d'A. and F. B.--so clearly demonstrating their power of happiness, with willing economy, congenial tastes, and mutual love of the country, that Dr. B. gave way, and sent, though reluctantly, a consent - by which the union took place the 31st Of July, 1793, in Mickleham church, In presence of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, Captain and Mrs. Phillips, M. de Narbonne, and Captain Burney, who was father to his sister, as Mr. Locke was to M. d'A. ; and on the 1st of August the ceremony was re-performed in the Sardinian chapel, according to the rites of the Romish Church; and never, never was union more blessed and felicitous; though after the first eight years of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many calamities, chiefly of separation or illness, yet still mentally unbroken. F. D'ARBLAY. Page 68 ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE MARRIAGE TO A FRIEND. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.) August 2, 1793. How in the world shall I begin this letter to my dearest M--! how save her from a surprise almost too strong for her weak nerves and tender heart! After such an opening, perhaps any communication may be a relief but it is surprise only I would guard against; my present communication has nothing else to fear; it has nothing in it sad, melancholy, unhappy, but it has everything that is marvellous and unexpected. Do you recollect at all, when you were last in town, my warm interest for the loyal part of the French exiles?-=do you remember my �loge of a French officer, in particular, a certain M. d'Arblay? Ah, my dear M--, you are quick as lightning; your sensitive apprehension will tell my tale for me now, without more aid than some details of circumstance. The �loge I then made, was with design to prepare you for an event I had reason to expect: such, however, was the uncertainty of my situation, from prudential obstacles, that I dared venture at no confidence, though my heart prompted it strongly, to a friend so sweetly sympathising in all my feelings and all my affairs--so constantly affectionate- so tenderly alive to all that interests and concerns me. My dearest M-, you will give me, I am sure, your heart-felt wishes--your most fervent prayers. The choice I have made appears to me all you could yourself wish to fall to my lot--all you could yourself have formed to have accorded best with your kind partiality. I had some hope you would have seen him that evening when we went together from Mrs. M. Montagu to Mrs. Locke's, for he was then a guest in Portland Place; but some miserable circumstances, of which I knew nothing till after had just fallen out, and he had shut himself up in his room. He did not know we were there. Many, indeed, have been the miserable circumstances that have, from time to time, alarmed and afflicted in turn, and seemed to render a renunciation indispensable. The difficulties, however, have been conquered; and last Sunday Page 69 Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister and Captain Phillips, and my brother Captain Burney, accompanied us to the altar, in Mickleham church ; since which the ceremony has been repeated in the chapel of the Sardinian ambassador, that if, by a counter-revolution in France, M. d'Arblay recovers any f his rights, his wife may not be excluded from their participation. You may be amazed not to see the name of my dear father upon this solemn occasion - but his apprehensions from the smallness of our income have made him cold and averse and though he granted his consent, I could not even solicit his presence. I feel satisfied, however, that time will convince him I have not been so imprudent as he now thinks me. Happiness is the great end of all our worldly views and proceedings, and no one can judge for another in what will produce it, To me, wealth and ambition would always be unavailing ; I have lived in their most centrical possessions, and I have always seen that the happiness of the richest and the greatest has been the moment of retiring from riches and from power. Domestic comfort and social affection have invariably been the sole as well as ultimate objects of my choice, and I have always been a stranger to any other species of felicity. M. d'Arblay has a taste for literature, and a passion for reading and writing, as marked as my own ; this is a sympathy to rob retirement of all superfluous leisure, and insure to us both occupation constantly edifying or entertaining. He has seen so much of life, and has suffered so severely from its disappointments, that retreat, with a chosen companion, is become his final desire. Mr. Locke has given M. d'Arblay a piece of ground in his beautiful park-, upon which we shall build a little neat and plain habitation. We shall continue, meanwhile, in his neighbourhood, to superintend the little edifice, and enjoy the Society of his exquisite house, and that of my beloved sister Phillips. We are now within two miles of both, at a farm-house, where we have what apartments we require, and no more, in a most beautiful and healthy situation, a mile and a half from any town. The nearest is Bookham; but I beg that MY letters may be directed to me at Captain Phillips's, Mickleham, as the post does not come this way, and I may else miss them for a week. AS I do not correspond with Mrs Montagu, and it would Page 70 be awkward to begin upon such a theme, I beg that when you write you will say something for me. One of my first pleasures, in our little intended home, will be, finding a place of honour for the legacy of Mrs. Delany. Whatever may be the general wonder, and perhaps blame, of general people, at this connexion, equally indiscreet in pecuniary points for us both, I feel sure that the truly liberal and truly intellectual judgment of that most venerated character would have accorded its sanction, when acquainted with the worthiness of the object who would wish it. Adieu, my sweet friend. Give my best compliments to Mr. ---, and give me your kind wishes, your kind prayers, my ever dear M--. (1) So called from the convent where their meetings were held. (2) Carlyle. (3) Carlyle. (4 "To the lamp;" the street lamp-irons being found, by the - French sansculottes, a handy substitute for the gallows.-ED. (5) The old Marshal Duke de Broglie was one of the early emigrants. He quitted France in July 1789, after the fall of the Bastille.-ED. (6) "Minister of War." (7) Bradfield Hall, near Bury St. Edmund's, Suffolk, the house of Arthur Young, See infra.-ED. (8) " Arthur Young, the well-known writer of works on agriculture, still in high repute. He was a very old friend of the Burneys ; connected with them also, by marriage, Mrs. Young being a sister of Dr. Burney's second wife. His " Travels in France " (from 1769 to 1790), published in 1794, gives a most valuable and interesting account of the state of that country just before the Revolution. Arthur Young was appointed Secretary to the Board of Agriculture, established by Act of Parliament in 1793. He died in 1820, in his seventy-ninth year, having been blind for some years previous to his death.-ED. (9) Fanny's half-sister, Sarah Harriet Burney, -ED. (10) " Minister of war." (11) One memorable saying is recorded of the Duke de Liancourt. He brought the news to the king of the capture of the Bastille by the people of Paris, July 14, 1789. "Late at night, the Duke de Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the royal apartments unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his constitutional way, the Job's- news. 'Mais,' said poor Louis, 'c'est une r�volte, Why, that is a revolt!'�'Sire,' answered Liancourt, 'it is not a revolt,--it is a revolution.'"-(Carlyle.)-ED. (12) "Peers of France." (13) Coblenz was the rallying-place of the emigrant noblesse.-ED. (14) On the 20th of June 1792, sansculotte Paris, assembling in its thousands, broke into the Tuileries, and called upon the king to remove his veto upon the decree against the priests, and to recall the ministry--Roland's--which he had just dismissed. For three hours the king stood face to face with the angry crowd, refusing to comply. In the evening, the Mayor of Paris, P�tion, arrived, with other popular leaders from the Assembly, and persuaded the people to disperse.-ED. (15) "Save Yourself, M. de Liancourt!" (16) "Ah! we are lost!" (17) "prison." (18) " I am in England. (19) The Duke de la Rochefoucault, "journeying, by quick stages, with his mother and wife, towards the Waters of Forges, or some quieter country, was arrested at Gisors; conducted along the streets, amid effervescing multitudes, and killed dead ' by the stroke of a paving-stone hurled through the coach-window.' Killed as a once Liberal, now Aristocrat; Protector of Priests, Suspender of virtuous P�tions, and most unfortunate Hot-grown-cold, detestable to Patriotism. He dies lamented of Europe; his blood spattering the cheeks of his old mother, ninety-three years old." -(Carlyle, Erench Aevolulion, Part III., Book I., ch. vi.)- ED. (20) School-boys. (21) See note 361 ante, vol. ii. p. 449.-ED. (22) The name under which Madame de Genlis was now passing. (23) " She has seen me!" (24) "Perhaps I am indiscreet?" (25) "But, mademoiselle--after all--the king--is he quite cured? " (26) "What, mademoiselle! you knew that infamous woman?" (27) These "journalizing letters " of Mrs. Phillips continue without interruption from the present page to page 37.-ED. (28) Not yet duke, but viscount. He was created duke by Louis XVIII., in 1822.-ED. (29) It should be March. "The portfolio of war was withdrawn from him, by a very laconic letter from the king, March 10, 1792; he had held it three months and three days." (Nouvelle Biographie G�n�rale: art. Narbonne.)-ED. (30) Severe decrees against the emigrants were passed in the Convention shortly afterwards. See infra, P. 33.-ED. (31) "And as he is extremely attached to him, he has begged him to come and live with him." (32) In a position to realise her fortune." (33) "To pay his respects to me." (34) "I do not speak English very well." (35) "*What a pretty little house you have, and what pretty little hosts. " (36) "Does he know the name of M. Lafayette ?" (37) "They put us at first into a pretty enough room." (38) A constitutionalist and member of the Legislative Assembly, who narrowly escaped with his life on the 10th of August. He lived thenceforward in retirement until after the fall of Robespierre and the jacobins, and came again to the fore under Napoleon.-ED. (39) "His resignation." (40) "Without form of law." (41) The night of June 20-21, 1791, King Louis fled disguised from Paris, with his family; got safely as far as Varennes, but was there discovered, and obliged to return.-ED. (42) "Resolution was taken." (43) "After many threatening gestures." (44) The asylum of Jean jacques (Rousseau). (45) St. just was one of the most notable members of the National Convention. "Young Saint-just is coming, deputed by Aisne in the North; more like a Student than a Senator; not four-and-twenty yet (Sept. 1792); who has written Books; a youth of slight stature, with mild mellow voice, enthusiast olive-complexion and long black hair." (Carlyle.) He held with Robespierre, and was guillotined with him, July 28, 1794.-ED. (46) ' "And now he is a proud republican." (47) "What day better than the present?" (48) "Listen to reason." (49) M. de Necker was father of Madame de Stael, and at one time the most popular minister of France. Controller-general of finances from 1776 to 1781, and again in 1788. In July 1789, he was dismissed, to the anger of indignant Paris; had to he recalled before many days, and returned in triumph, to be, it was hoped, "Saviour of France." But his popularity gradually declined, and at last "'Adored Minister' Necker sees good on the 3rd of September, 1790, to withdraw softly, almost privily--with an eye to the 'recovery of his health.' Home to native Switzerland; not as he last came; lucky to reach it alive!" (Carlyle)-ED. (50) Malouet was a member of the Assembly, and one of the constitutional royalists who took refuge in England in September, 1792. Hearing of the intended trial of the king, 'Malouet wrote to the Convention, requesting a passport, that he might go to Paris to defend him. He got no passport, however ; only his name put on the list of emigrants for an answer. ED. (51) "Were mixed up in it." (52) The Bishop of Autun:--Talleyrand.-ED. (53) "Worthy to be the husband of so amiable and charming a person as Madame de la Ch�tre." (54) "M. de la Ch�tre is a capital fellow; but as rough as a cart-horse." (55) The spleen. (56) Inn. (57) "His unfortunate friends." (58) "But wait a bit ; I have not yet finished : we were assured that no one was lost, and even that everything on the vessel was saved." (59) "Out at sea." (60) "His friends the constitutionalists." (61) Fortnight. (62) The execution of Louis XVI. (63) The Literary Club. (64) Guarded: circumspect. (65) Dr. Percy, editor of the "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry."-ED. (66) "Move the people to compassion." (67) As literary curiosities, the subjoined notes from Madame de Stael , have been printed verbatim et literatim: they are probably her earliest attempts at English writing. (68) "But, to make more sure, I tell you in French that your room, the house, the inmates of Juniper, everything is ready to receive the first woman in England." (69) Malesherbes was one of the counsel who defended Louis at his trial. The Convention, after debate, has granted him Legal Counsel, of his own choosing. Advocate Target feels himself 'too old,' being turned of fifty-four - and declines. . . . Advocate Tronchet, some ten years older, does not decline. Nay behold, good old Malesherbes steps forward voluntarily; to the last of his fields , the good old hero! He is gray with seventy years; he says, 'I was twice called to the Council of him who was my Master, When all the world coveted that honour; and I owe him the same service now, when it has become one which many reckon dangerous!"--(Carlyle). Malesherbes was guillotined in 1794, during "the Reign of Terror."-ED. (70) Mr. Clarke. (71) Voltaire's.--ED. (72) Narbonne.-ED. (73) "Something to live on in England." (74) September 2, it should be.-ED. (75) i.e., D�cr�t� d'accusation, accused.-ED. (76) Lally Tolendal was the son of the brave Lally, Governor of Pondicherry, whose great services in India were rewarded by the French government with four years' imprisonment, repeated torture, and finally ignominious death, in 1760. The infliction of torture on criminals was not put a stop to in France until the Revolution.-ED. (77) "A very good fellow, and nothing more." (78) "But he will be hurt at that." (79) The owner of Juniper Hall.-ED. (80) "Coquetry to soften that barbarous jenkinson." (81) "Indignant at the bad faith, and tired with the tediousness of his opponent." (82) "Pray, Mr. Gnawbone, how is the queen?" (83) Punctiliousness: propriety. (84) Pet: Vexation. (85) "Is a woman in leading strings all her life in this country? It seems to me that your sister is like a child of fourteen." (86) "And tell Miss Burney that I don't desire it of her-that I leave the Country loving her sincerely, and bearing her no grudge." (87) "There was no way out of it." (88) "You are very good to say SO." (89) M. d'Arblay. "When Lieutenant [James] Burney accompanied captain Cook to otaheite, each of the English sailors was adopted as a brother by some one of the natives. The ceremony consisted in rubbing noses together, and exchanging the appellation Tyo or Toio, which signified 'chosen friend.' This title was sometimes playfully given to Miss Burney by Mrs. Thrale." note to the original edition of the "Diary", vol. ii. page 38.-ED. (90) "Country place where Miss Burney was." (91) "On my part." (92) "Could not one make that little journey?" (93) "Wide awake, as if she suspected something." (94) The amount of Fanny's pension from the queen.-ED. SECTION 20. (1793-6) LOVE IN A COTTAGE: THE D'ARBLAYS VISIT WINDSOR. [Never, probably, did Fanny enjoy greater happiness than during the first few years of her married life, "Love in a cottage" on an income Of One hundred pounds a year, was exactly suited to her retiring and affectionate nature. The cottage, too, was within easy walking distance of Mickleham, where resided her favourite sister, Susanna, and of Norbury Park, the home of her dearest friends, the Lockes. Here, then, in this beautiful part of Surrey, with a devoted husband by her side, and, in due time, a little son (her only child) to share with him her tenderness and care ' did Fanny lead, for some.time, a tranquil and, in the main, a happy life. Her chief excursions were occasional visits to the queen and princesses-delightful visits now that she was out of harness. Towards the end, however, of the period of which the following 'Section contains the history, two melancholy events, happening in quick succession, brought sorrow to the little household at Book'ham. The departure for Ireland of Susan Phillips left a grievous gap in the circle of Fanny's best-loved friends. We gather from the "Diary" that Captain (now Major) Phillips had gone to Ireland, with his little son, Norbury, to superintend the management of his estate at Belcotton, some months before his wife left Mickleham. In the autumn of 1796 he returned to fetch his wife and the rest of his family. An absence of three years was intended, The parting was rendered doubly distressing by the evidently declining state of Susan's health. Shortly afterwards, in October 1796, died Fanny's step-mother, who had been, for many years, more Or less an invalid. Fanny hastened to Chelsea on receiving the news, and spent some time there with her father and his Youngest daughter. The following extract from a memorandum of Dr. Burney's will be read, we think, not without Interest. "On the 26th of October, she [his second wife) was interred in the burying-ground of Chelsea College. On the 27th, I returned to my melancholy home, disconsolate and stupified, Though long Page 72 expected, this calamity was very severely felt; I missed her counsel, converse, and family regulations; and a companion of thirty years, whose mind was cultivated, whose intellects were above the general level of her sex, and whose curiosity after knowledge was insatiable to the last. These were losses that caused a vacuum in my habitation and in my mind, that has never been filled up. "My four eldest daughters, all dutiful, intelligent, and affectionate, were married, and had families of their own to superintend, or they might have administered comfort. My youngest daughter ' Sarah Harriet, by my second marriage, had quick intellects, and distinguished talents ; but she had no experience in household affairs. However, though she had native spirits of the highest gaiety, she became a steady and prudent character, and a kind and good girl. There is, I think, considerable merit in her novel, 'Geraldine,' particularly in the conversations; and I think the scene at the emigrant cottage really touching. At least it drew tears from me, when I was not so prone to shed them as I am at present."(95) During these years Fanny did not suffer her pen to lie idle. Her tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," was produced, though without success, at Drury Lane. On the other hand, the success of her third novel, "Camilla, or a Picture of Youth, " published by subscription in 1796, was, at least from a financial point of view, conspicuous and immediate. Out of an edition of four thousand, three thousand five hundred copies were sold within three months. Were we to attempt to rank Madame d'Arblay's novels in order of merit, we should perhaps feel compelled to place "Camilla" at the bottom of the list, yet without intending to imply any considerable inferiority. But it is full of charm and animation the characters--the female characters especially-are drawn with a sure hand, the humour is as diverting, the satire as spirited as ever. Fanny"s fops and men of the ton are always excellent in their kind, and "Camilla" contains, perhaps, her greatest triumph in this direction, in the character of Sir Sedley Clarendal. Lovel. in "Evelina," and Meadows, in "Cecilia," are mere blockheads, whose distinction is wholly due to the ludicrousness of their affectations; but in Sir Sedley she has attempted, and succeeded in the much more difficult task of portraying a man of naturally good parts and feelings, who, through idleness and vanity, has allowed himself to sink into the position of a mere leader of the ton, whose better nature rises at times, in spite of himself, above the flood of affectation and folly beneath which he endeavours to drown it. Camilla herself, the light-hearted, unsuspicious Camilla, however she may differ, in some points of character, from Fanny's other heroines, possesses one quality which is common to them all, the power of fascinating the reader. Perhaps the least satisfactory character in the book is that of the hero, Edgar Mandlebert, whose extreme caution in the choice of a wife betrays him into ungenerous suspicions, as irritating to the impatient reader as they are dis- Page 73 tressing to pool- Camilla. In fine, whatever faults, as occasionally of style, the book may have the interest never for One moment flags from the first page to the last of the entire five volumes. The subscriPtion-price of " Camilla " was fixed at one guinea. Fanny's friends, Mrs. Crewe, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Locke, exerted themselves with the utmost zeal and success in procuring subscribers, and the printed lists prefixed to the first volume contains nearly eleven hundred names. Among wthem we notice the name of Edmund Burke, whose great career was closing in a cloud of domestic trouble'. Early in 1794 he lost his brother, Richard, and in August of the same year a far heavier blow fell upon him in the death, at the age of thirty-six, of his only and promising son, "the pride and ornament of my existence," as he called him in a touching letter to Mrs. Crewe. The desolate father, already worn with the thankless toils of statesmanship, in which his very errors had been the outcome of a noble and enthusiastic temperament, never recovered from this blow. But when Mrs. Crewe sent him, in 1795, the proposals for publishing "Camilla," Burke roused himself to do a new kindness to an old friend. He forwarded to Mrs. Crewe a note for twenty pounds, desiring in return one copy of the book, and justified his generous donation in a letter of the most delicate Courtesy. "As to Miss Burney," he wrote, "the subscription ought to be, for certain persons, five guineas; and to take but a single copy each. The rest as it is. I am sure that it is a disgrace to the age and nation, if this be not a great thing for her. if every person in England who has received pleasure'and instruction from 'Cecilia,' were to rate its value at the hundredth part of their satisfaction, Madame d'Arblay would be one of the richest women in the kingdom. "Her scheme was known before she lost two of her most respectful admirers from this house; and this, with Mrs. BUrke's' subscription and mine, make the paper I send you. One book is as good as a thousand: one of hers is certainly as good as a thousand others." The book, on its Publication 'was sent to Bath, where Burke was lying ill-too ill to read it. To Mrs. Crewe, who visited him at the time, he said : "How ill I am you will easily believe, when a new work of Madame d'Arblay's lies on my table, unread!"(96) Meanwhile the retirement of the "hermits" at Bookham was now and again disturbed by echoes of the tumult without. The war was progressing, and the Republic was holding its own against the combined powers of Europe. Dr. Burney refers to the "sad news" from Dunkirk. In August, 1793, an English army, commanded by the Duke of York, had invested that important stronghold: on the night of September 8, thanks to the exertions of the garrison and the advance of General Houchard to its relief, the siege was urriedly abandoned and his royal highness had to beat a retreat, leaving behind him' his siege-artillery and a large quantity of aggage and ammunition. Another siege--that of Page 74 Toulon-seemed likely to prove a matter of nearer concern to Fanny. The inhabitants of Toulon, having royalist, or at least anti-jacobin, sympathies, and stirred by the fate of Marseilles, had determined, in an unhappy hour, to defy the Convention and to proclaim the dauphin by the title of Louis XVII. They invoked the protection of the English fleet under Admiral Hood, who accordingly took possession of the harbour and of the French ships of war stationed therein, while a force of English and Spanish soldiers was sent on shore to garrison the forts. In the course of these proceedings the admiral issued to the townspeople two proclamations, by the second of which, dated August 28, 1793, after noticing the declaration of the inhabitants in favour of monarchy, and Their desire to re-establish the constitution as it was accepted by the late king, he explicitly declared that he took possession of Toulon and should keep it solely as a deposit for Louis XXIII., and that only until the restoration of peace. This hopeful intelligence did not escape General d'Arblay, busied among his cabbages at Bookham. A blow to be struck for Louis XVII. and the constitution! The general straightway flung aside the "Gardener's Dictionary," and wrote an offer to Mr. Pitt of his services as volunteer at Toulon, in the sacred cause of the Bourbons. Happily for Fanny, his offer was not accepted, for some reason unexplained.(97) In the meantime, General Dugommier and the republicans, a young artillery-officer named Napoleon Buonaparte among them, were using their best endeavours to reduce Toulon, with what result we shall presently see.-ED.] THE FRENCH CLERGY FUND. THE TOULON ExPEDITION. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) September 12, 1793. Dear Fanny--In this season of leisure I am as fully occupied as ever your friend Mr. DelVile(98) was. So many people to attend, so many complaints to hear, and so many grievances to redress, that it has been impossible for me to write to you sooner. I have been out of town but one Single day, I believe, since you were here: that was spent at Richmond with my sisters. But every day Page 75 produces business for other people, which occupies me as much as ever I found myself in days of hurry about my own affairs. I have had a negotiation and correspondence to carry on for and with Charlotte Smith,(99) of which I believe I told you the beginning, and I do not see the end myself. Her second son had his foot shot off before Dunkirk, and has undergone a very dangerous amputation, which, it is much feared, will be fatal. Mrs. Crewe, having seen at Eastbourne a great number of venerable and amiable French clergy suffering all the evils of banishment and beggary with silent resignation, has for some time had in meditation a plan for procuring some addition to the small allowance the committee at Freemasons' hall is able to allow, from the residue of the subscriptions and briefs in their favour. Susan will show you the plan. . . . You say that M. d'Arblay is not only his own architect, but intends being his own gardener. I suppose the ground allotted to the garden of your maisonnette is marked out, and probably will be enclosed and broken up before the foundation of your mansion is laid ; therefore, to encourage M. d'Arblay in the study of horticulture, I have the honour to send him Miller's 'Gardeners' Dictionary,'--an excellent book, at least for the rudiments of the art. I send you, my dear Fanny, an edition of Milton, which I can well spare, and which you ought not to live without ; and I send you both our dear friend Dr. Johnson's 'Rasselas.' This is sad news from Dunkirk, at which our own jacobins will insolently triumph. Everything in France seems to move in a regular progression from bad to worse. After near five years' struggle and anarchy, no man alive, with a grain of modesty, would venture to predict how or when the evils of that country will be terminated. In the meantime the peace and comfort of every civilised part of the globe is threatened with similar calamities. (Madame dArblay to Dr. Burney) Bookham, September 29, 1793. When I received the last letter of my dearest father, and for some hours after, I was the happiest of all human beings. I make no exception, for I think none possible : not a wish remained to me; not a thought of forming one. Page 76 This was just the period--is it not always so?--for a blow of sorrow to reverse the whole scene : accordingly, that evening M. d'Arblay communicated to me his desire of going to Toulon. He had intended retiring from public life; his services and his sufferings in his severe and long career, repaid by exile and confiscation, and for ever embittered to his memory by the murder of his sovereign, had justly satisfied the claims of his conscience and honour; and led him, without a single self-reproach, to seek a quiet retreat in domestic society : but the second declaration of Lord Hood no sooner reached this little obscure dwelling,-no sooner had he read the words Louis XVII. and the constitution to which he had sworn united, than his military ardour rekindled, his loyalty was all up in arms, and every sense of duty carried him back to wars and dangers. I dare not speak of myself, except to say that I have forborne to oppose him with a single solicitation; all the felicity of this our chosen and loved retirement would effectually be annulled by the smallest suspicion that it was enjoyed at the expense of any duty - and therefore, since he is persuaded it is right to go, I acquiesce. He is now writing an offer of his services, which I am to convey to Windsor, and which he means to convey himself to Mr. Pitt. As I am sure it will interest my dear father, I will copy it for him. . . . My dearest father, before this tremendous project broke into our domestic economy, M, d'Arblay had been employed in a little composition, which, being all in his power, he destined to lay at your feet, as a mark of his pleasure in your attention to his horticultural pursuit. He has just finished copying it for you, and to-morrow it goes by the stage. Your hint of a book from time to time enchanted him: it seems to me the only present he accepts entirely without pain. He has just requested me to return to Mrs. Locke herself a cadeau she had brought us. If it had been an old Courtcalendar, or an almanac, or anything in the shape of a brochure, he would have received it with his best bow and smile. This Toulon business finally determines our deferring the maisonnette till the spring. Heaven grant it may be deferred no longer!(100) Mr Locke says it will be nearly as soon ready as if begun in the autumn, for it will be better to have it Page 77 aired and inhabited before the winter seizes it, If the memoire which M. d'Arblay is now writing is finished in time, it shall accompany the little packet; if not, we will send it by the first opportunity. Meanwhile, M. d'Arblay makes a point of our indulging ourselves with the gratification of subscribing one guinea to your fund,(101) and Mrs. Locke begs you will trust her and insert her subscription in your list, and Miss Locke and Miss Amelia Locke. Mr. Locke is charmed with your plan. M. d'Arblay means to obtain you Lady Burrel and Mrs. Berm. If you think I can write to any purpose, tell me a little hint how and of what, dearest sir; for I am in the dark as to what may remain yet unsaid. Otherwise, heavy as is my heart just now, I could work for them and Your plan.(102) (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) October 4, 1793. Dear Fanny,--This is a terrible coup, so soon after your union; but I honour M, d'Arblay for offering his service on so great an occasion, and you for giving way to what seems an indispensable duty. Common-place reflections on the vicissitudes of human affairs would afford you little consolation. The stroke is new to your situation, and so will be the fortitude necessary on the occasion. However, to military men, who, like M. d'Arblay, have been but just united to the object of their choice, and begun to domesticate, it is no uncommon tbing for their tranquillity to be disturbed by " the trumpet's loud clangor." Whether the offer is accepted or not, the having made it will endear him to those embarked in the same cause among his countrymen, and elevate him in the general opinion of the English public. This consideration I am sure will afford you a satisfaction the most likely to enable you to support the anxiety and pain of absence. I have no doubt of the offer being taken well at Windsor, and of its conciliating effects. If his majesty and the ministry Page 78 have any settled plan for accepting or rejecting similar offers I know not; but it seems very likely that Toulon will be regarded as the rallying point for French royalists of all sects and denominations. . . . I shall be very anxious to know how the proposition of M. d'Arblay has been received; and, if accepted, on what conditions, and when and how the voyage is to be performed , I should hope in a stout man of war ; and that M. de Narbonne will be of the party, being so united in friendship and political principles. Has M. d'Arblay ever been at Toulon ? It is supposed to be so well fortified, both by art and nature, on the land side, that; if not impregnable, the taking it by the regicides will require so much time that it is hoped an army of counterrevolutionists will be assembled from the side of Savoy, sufficient to raise the siege, if unity of measures and action prevail between the Toulonnais and their external friends. But even if the assailants should make such approaches as to render it necessary to retreat, with such a powerful fleet as that of England and Spain united, it will not only be easy to carry off the garrison and inhabitants in time, but to destroy such ships as cannot be brought away, and ruin the harbour and arsenal for many years to come.' I have written to Mrs. Crewe all you have said on the subject of writing something to stimulate benevolence and commiseration in favour of the poor French ecclesiastics, amounting to six thousand now in England, besides four hundred laity here and eight hundred at Jersey, in utter want. The fund for the laity was totally exhausted the 27th of last month, and the beginning of the next that raised by former subscriptions and briefs will be wholly expended! The expense, in only allowing the clergy 8 shillings a-week, amounts Page 79 to about 7500 pounds a-month, which cannot be supported long by private subscriptions, and must at last be taken up by Parliament; but to save the national disgrace of suffering these excellent people to die of hunger, before the Parliament meets and agrees to do something for them, the ladies must work hard. You and M. d'Arblay are very good in wishing to contribute your mite ; but I did not intend leading you into this scrape. If you subscribe your pen, and he his sword, it will best answer Mr. Burke's idea, who says, "There are two ways by which people may be charitable-the one by their money, the other by their exertions." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Sunday noon, October 21, 1793. My dearest father will think I have been very long in doing the little I have done; but my mind is so anxiously discom-fited by the continued suspense with regard to M. d'Arblay's proposition and wish, that it has not been easy to me to weigh completely all I could say, and the fear of repeating what had already been offered upon the subject has much restrained me, for I have seen none of the tracts that may have appeared. However, it is a matter truly near my heart ; and though I have not done it rapidly, I have done it with my whole mind, and, to own the truth, with a species of emotion that has greatly affected me, for I could not deeply consider the situation of these venerable men without feeling for them to the quick. If what I have written should have power to procure them one more guinea, I shall be paid. If you think what I have drawn up worth printing, I should suppose it might make a little sixpenny paper, and be sold for the same purpose it is written. Or will it only do to be printed at the expense of the acting ladies, and given gratis? You must judge of this. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, October 27, 1793. My most dear father,--The terrible confirmation of this last act of savage hardness of heart(104) has wholly overset us again. M. d'Arblay had entirely discredited its probability, Page 80 and, to the last moment, disbelieved the report not from milder thoughts of the barbarous rulers of his unhappy country, but from seeing that the death of the queen could answer no purpose, helpless as she was to injure them, while her life might answer some as a hostage with the emperor. Cruelty, however, such as theirs, seems to require no incitement whatever; its own horrible exercise appears sufficient both to prompt and to repay it. Good heaven! that that wretched princess should so finish sufferings so unexampled! With difficulties almost incredible, Madame de Stael has contrived, a second time, to save the lives of M. de Jaucourt and M, de Montmorenci, who are just arrived in Switzerland. We know as yet none of the particulars; simply that they are saved is all: but they write in a style the most melancholy to M. de Narbonne, of the dreadful fanaticism of licence, which they dare call liberty, that still reigns unsubdued in France, And they have preserved nothing but their persons ! of their vast properties they could secure no more than pocket-money, for travelling in the most penurious manner. They are therefore in a state the most deplorable. Switzerland is filled with gentlemen and ladies of the very first families and rank, who are all starving, but those who have had the good fortune to procure, by disguising their quality, some menial office! No answer comes from Mr. Pitt ; and we now expect none till Sir Gilbert Elliot makes his report of the state of Toulon and of the Toulonnese till which, probably, no decision will be formed whether the constitutionals in England will be employed or not. [M. d'Arblay's offer of serving in the expedition to Toulon was not accepted, and the reasons for which it was declined do not appear.] MADAME D'ARBLAY ON HER MARRIAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to mrs.----.) The account of your surprise, my sweet friend, was the last thing to create mine: I was well aware of the general astonishment, and of yours in particular. My own, however, at my very extraordinary fate, is singly greater than that of all my friends united. I had never made any vow against marriage, but I had long, long been firmly persuaded it was for me a state of too much hazard and too little promise to draw me from my Page 81 individual plans and purposes. I remember, in playing -at questions and commands, when I was thirteen, being asked when I intended to marry? and surprising my playmates by solemnly replying) "When I think I shall be happier than I am in being single." It is true, I imagined that time would never arrive - and I have pertinaciously adhered to trying no experiment upon any other hope - for, many and mixed as are the ingredients which form what is generally considered as happiness, I was always fully convinced [hat social sympathy of character and taste could alone have any chance with me; all else I always thought, and now know, to be immaterial. I have only this peculiar,--that what many contentedly assert or adopt in theory, I have had the courage to be guided by in practice. We are now removed to a very small house in the suburbs of a very small village called Bookham. We found it rather inconvenient to reside in another person's dwelling, though our own apartments were to ourselves. Our views are not so beautiful as from Phenice farm, but our situation is totally free from neighbours and intrusion. We are about a mile and a half from Norbury Park, and two miles from Mickleham. I am become already so stout a walker, by use, and with the help of a very able supporter, that I go to those places and return home on foot without fatigue, when the weather is kind. At other times I condescend to accept a carriage from Mr. Locke ; but it is always reluctantly, I so much prefer walking where, as here, the country and prospects are inviting. I thank you for your caution about building: we shall certainly undertake nothing but by contract - however, it would be truly mortifying to give up a house in Norbury Park we defer the structure till the spring, as it is to be so very slight, that Mr. Locke says it will be best to have it hardened in its first stage by the summer's sun. It will be very small, merely an habitation for three people, but in a situation truly beautiful, and within five minutes of either Mr. Locke or my sister Phillips: it is to be placed just between those two loved houses. My dearest father, whose fears and drawbacks have been my Sole subject of regret, begins now to see I have not judged rashly, or with romance, in seeing my own road to my own felicity. And his restored cheerful concurrence in my constant principles, though new station, leaves me, for myself, Page 82 without a wish. L'ennui, which could alone infest our retreat, I have ever been a stranger to, except in tiresome company, and my companion has every possible resource against either feeling or inspiring it. As my partner is a Frenchman, I conclude the wonder raised by the connexion may spread beyond my own private circle; but no wonder upon earth can ever arrive near my own in having found such a character from that nation. This is a prejudice certainly, impertinent and very John Bullish, and very arrogant but I only share it with all my countrymen, and therefore must needs forgive both them and myself. I am convinced, however, from your tender solicitude for me in all ways, that you will be glad to hear that the queen and all the royal family have deigned to send me wishes for my happiness through Mrs. Schwellenberg, who has written me what you call a very kind congratulation. [In the year 1794, the happiness of the "Hermitage" was increased by the birth of a son,(105) who was christened Alexander Charles Louis Piochard d'Arblay; receiving the names of his father, with those of his two godfathers, the Comte de Narbonne and Dr. Charles Burney.] MR. CANNING. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney) Bookham, February 8, 1794. The times are indeed, as my dearest father says, tremendous, and reconcile this retirement daily more and more to my chevalier- -chevalier every way, by birth, by his order, and by his character; for to-day he has been making his first use of a restoration to his garden in gathering snowdrops for his fair Dulcinea--you know I must say fair to finish the phrase with any effect. I am very sorry for the sorrow I am sure Mr. Burke will feel for the loss of his brother, announced in Mr. Coolie's paper yesterday. Besides, he was a comic, good-humoured, entertaining man, though not bashful.(106) Page 83 What an excellent opening Mr. Canning has made at last! Entre nous soit dit, I remember, when at Windsor, that I Was told Mr. Fox came to Eton purposely to engage to himself that young man, from the already great promise of his rising abilities - and he made dinners for him and his nephew, Lord Holland, to teach them political lessons. It must have had an odd effect upon him, I think, to hear such a speech from his disciple.(107) Mr. Locke now sends us the papers for the debates every two or three days ; he cannot quicker, as his own household readers are so numerous. I see almost nothing of Mr. Windham in them ; which vexes me: but I see Mr. Windham in Mr. Canning. TALLEYRAND's LETTERS OF ADIEU.(108) (M. de Talleyrand to Mrs. Philips.) Londres, 1794. Madame,--Il faut qu'il y ait eu de l'impossibilit� pour que ce matin je n'aie pas eu l'honneur de vous voir; mais l'im- Page 84 possibilit� la plus forte m'a priv� du dernier plaisir que je pouvois avoir en Europe. Permettez moi, madame, de vous remercier encore une fois do toutes vos bont�s, de vous demander un peu de part dans votre souvenir, et laissez moi vous dire que mes voeux se porteront dans tous les terns de ma vie vers vous, vers le capitaine, vers vos enfans. Vous allez avoir en Am�rique un serviteur bien z�l�; je ne reviendrai pas en Europe sans arriver dans le Surrey: tout ce qui, pour mon esprit et pour mon coeur, a quelque valeur, est l . Voulez-vous bien pr�senter tous mes complimens au capitaine?(109) (M. de Talleyrand to M. and Madame d'Arblay.) Londres, 2 Mars, 1794. Adieu, mon cher D'Arblay: je quitte votre pays jusqu'au moment o� il n'appartiendra plus aux petites passions des hommes. Alors j'y reviendrai; non, en v�rit�, pour m'occuper d'affaires, car il y a long tems que je les ai abandonn�es pour jamais; mais pour voir les excellens habitans du Surrey, J'esp�re savoir assez d'Anglais pour entendre Madame d'Arblay; d'ici quatre mois je ne vais faire autre chose que l'�tudier: et pour apprendre le beau et bon langage, c'est "Evelina" et "Cecilia" qui sont mes livres d'�tude et de plaisir. Je vous souhaite, mon cher ami, toute esp�ce de bonheur, et vous �tes on position de remplir tous mes souhaits. je ne sais combien de tems je resterai en Am�rique: s'il se r�f�roit quelque chose de raisonnable et de stable pour notre malheureux pays, je reviendrois; si l'Europe s'ab�me dans la campagne prochaine, je pr�parerai en Am�rique des asyles tous nos amis. Page 85 Adieu: mes hommages Madame d'Arblay et Madame phillips, je vous en prie: je vous demande et vous promets amiti� pour la vie.(110) M. D'ARBLAY's HORTICULTURAL PURSUITS. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Bookham, March 22, 1794. My dear father.--I am this Moment returned from reading your most welcome and kind letter at our Susanna's. The account of your better health gives me a pleasure beyond all words; and it is the more essential to my perfect contentment on account of your opinion of our retreat. I doubt not, my dearest father, but you judge completely right, and I may nearly say we are both equally disposed to pay the most implicit respect to your counsel. We give up, therefore, all thoughts of our London excursion for the present, and I shall write to that effect to our good intended hostess very speedily. I can easily conceive far more than you enlarge upon in this counsel: and, indeed, I have not myself been wholly free from apprehension of possible embarras, should we, at this period, visit London; for though M. d'Arblay not only could stand, but would court, all personal scrutiny, whether retrospective or actual, I see daily the extreme susceptibility which attends his very nice notions of honour, and how quickly and deeply his spirit is wounded by whatever he regards as injustice. Incapable, too, of the least trimming or Page 86 disguise, he could not, at a time such as this, be in London without suffering or risking perhaps hourly, something unpleasant. Here we are tranquil, undisturbed and undisturbing. Can life, he often says, he more innocent than ours, or happiness more inoffensive? He works in his garden, or studies English and mathematics, while I write. When I work at my needle, he reads to me; and we enjoy the beautiful country around us in long and romantic strolls, during which he carries under his arm a portable garden chair, lent us by Mrs. Locke, that I may rest as I proceed. He is extremely fond, too, of writing, and makes, from time to time, memorandums of such memoirs, poems, and anecdotes as he recollects, and I wish to have preserved. These resources for sedentary life are certainly the first blessings that can be given to man, for they enable him to be happy in the extremest obscurity, even after tasting the dangerous draughts of glory and ambition. The business of M. de Lafayette(111) has been indeed extremely bitter to him. It required the utmost force he could put upon himself not to take some public part in it. He drew up a short but most energetic defence of that unfortunate general, in a letter, which he meant to print and send to the editors of a newspaper which had traduced him, with his name at full length. But after two nights' sleepless deliberation, the hopelessness of serving his friend, with a horror and disdain of being mistaken as one who would lend any arms to weaken government at this crisis, made him consent to repress it. I was dreadfully uneasy during the conflict, knowing, far better than I can make him conceive, the mischiefs that might follow any interference at this moment, in matters brought before the nation, from a foreigner. But, conscious of his own integrity, I plainly see he must either wholly retire, or come forward to encounter whatever he thinks wrong. Ah--better let him accept your motto, and cultiver son jardin! He is now in it, notwithstanding our long walk to Mickleham, and working hard and fast to finish some selfset task that to-morrow, Sunday, must else impede. page 87 M. d'Arblay, to my infinite satisfaction, gives up all thoughts of building, in the present awful state of public affairs. To show you, however, how much he is " of your advice " as to son jardin, he has been drawing a plan for it, which I intend to beg, borrow, or steal (all one), to give you some idea how seriously he studies to make his manual labours of some real utility. This sort of work, however, is so totally new to him, that he receives every now and then some of poor Merlin's "disagreeable compliments;" for, when Mr. Locke's or the captain's gardeners favour our grounds with a visit, they commonly make known that all has been done wrong. Seeds are sowing in some parts when plants ought to be reaping, and plants are running to seed while they are thought not yet at maturity. Our garden, therefore, is not yet quite the most profitable thing in the world; but M. d'A. assures me it is to be the staff of our table and existence. A little, too, he has been unfortunate ; for, after immense toil in planting and transplanting strawberries round our hedge, here at Bookham, he has just been informed they will bear no fruit the first year, and the second we may be "over the hills and far away!" Another time, too, with great labour, he cleared a considerable compartment of weeds, and, when it looked clean and well, and he showed his work to the gardener, the man said he had demolished an asparagus-bed! M. d'A. protested, however, nothing could look more like des mauvaises herbes. His greatest passion is for transplanting. Everything we possess he moves from one end of the garden to another, to produce better effects. Roses take place of jessamines, jessamines of honeysuckles, and honeysuckles of lilacs, till they have all danced round as far as the space allows; but whether the effect may not be a general mortality, summer only can determine. Such is our horticultural history. But I must not omit that we have had for one week cabbages from our own cultivation every day! O, you have no idea how sweet they tasted! We agreed they had a freshness and a go�t we had never met with before. We had them for too short a time to grow tired of them, because, as I have already hinted, they were beginning to run to seed before we knew they were eatable. . . April. Think of our horticultural shock last week, when Mrs. Bailey, our landlady, "entreated M. d'Arblay not to Spoil Page 88 her fruit-trees!"--trees he had been pruning with his utmost skill and strength. However, he has consulted your "Millar" thereupon, and finds out she is very ignorant, which he has gently intimated to her. MRS. PIOZZI. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, April, 1794. What a charming letter was your last, my dearest father How full of interesting anecdote and enlivening detail! The meeting with Mrs. Thrale, so surrounded by her family, made me breathless; and while you were conversing with the Signor, and left me in doubt whether you advanced to her or not, I almost gasped with impatience and revived old feelings, which, presently, you reanimated to almost all their original energy How like my dearest father to find all his kindness rekindled when her ready hand once more invited it! I heard her voice in, "Why here's Dr. Burney, as young as ever!" and my dear father in his parrying answers.(112) No scene could have been related to me more interesting or more welcome. My heart and hand, I am sure, would have met her in the same manner. The friendship was too pleasant in its first stage, and too strong in its texture, to be ever obliterated, though it has been tarnished and clouded. I wish few things more earnestly than again to meet her. M. D'ARDLAY AS A GARDENER. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.)(113) Bookham, August, '94. It is just a week since I had the greatest gratification of its kind I ever, I think, experienced :---so kind a thought, so Page 89 sweet a surprise as was my dearest father's visit! How softly and soothingly it has rested upon my mind ever since! "Abdolomine"(114) has no regret but that his garden was not in better order; he was a little piqu�, he confesses, that you said it was not very neat--and, to be shor!-0-but his passion is to do great works: he undertakes with pleasure, pursues with energy, and finishes with spirit; but, then, all is over! He thinks the business once done always done; and to repair, and amend, and weed, and cleanse--O, these are drudgeries insupportable to him! However, you should have seen the place before he began his operations, to do him justice ; there was then nothing else but mauvaises herbes; now, you must at least allow there is a mixture of flowers and grain! I wish you had seen him yesterday, mowing down our hedge--with his sabre, and with an air and attitudes so military, that, if he had been hewing down other legions than those he encountered--ie., of spiders--he could scarcely have had a mien more tremendous, or have demanded an arm more mighty. Heaven knows, I am "the most contente personne in the world" to see his sabre so employed! A NOVEL AND A TRAGEDY. You spirited me on in all ways; for this week past I have taken tightly to the grand ouvrage.(115) If I go on so a little longer, I doubt not but M. d'Arblay will begin settling where to have a new shelf for arranging it! which is already in his rumination for Metastasio;(116) I imagine you now .,Seriously resuming that work; I hope to see further sample ere long. We think with very great pleasure of accepting my mother's and your kind invitation for a few days. I hope and mean, if possible, to bring with me also a little sample of something less in the dolorous style than what always causes your poor shoulders a little Shrug.(117) . . . How truly grieved was I to hear from Mr. Locke of the death of young Mr. Burke!(118) What a dreadful blow upon his Page 90 father and mother ! to come at the instant of the son's highest and most honourable advancement, and of the father's retreat to the bosom of his family from public life ! His brother, too, gone so lately! I am most sincerely sorry, indeed, and quite shocked, as there seemed so little suspicion of such an event's approach, by your account of the joy caused by Lord Fitzwilliam's kindness. Pray tell me if you hear how poor Mr. Burke and his most amiable wife endure this calamity, and how they are. . . . (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.----.) Bookham, April 15, 1795. So dry a reproof from so dear a friend! And do you, then, measure my regard of heart by my remissness of hand? Let me give you the short history of my tragedy,(119) fairly and frankly. I wrote it not, as your acquaintance imagined, for the stage, nor yet for the press. I began it at Kew palace, and, at odd moments, I finished it at Windsor; without the least idea of any species of publication. Since I left the royal household, I ventured to let it be read by my father, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, my sister Phillips, and, of course, M. d'Arblay, and not another human being. Their opinions led to what followed, and my brother, Dr. Charles, showed it to Mr. Kemble while I was on my visit to my father last October. He instantly and warmly pronounced for its acceptance, but I knew not when Mr. Sheridan would see it, and had not the smallest expectation of its appearing this year. However, just three days before my beloved little infant came into the world, an express arrived from my brother, that Mr. Kemble wanted the tragedy immediately, in order to show it to Mr. Sheridan, who had just heard of it, and had spoken in the most flattering terms of his good will for its reception. Still, however, I was in doubt of its actual acceptance till three weeks after my confinement, when I had a visit from my brother, who told me he was, the next morning, to read the piece in the green-room. This was a precipitance for which I was every way unprepared, as I had never made but one copy of the play, and had intended divers corrections and alterations. Absorbed, however, by my new charge and then Page 91 growing ill, I had a sort of indifference about the matter, which, in fact, has lasted ever since. The moment I was then able to hold a pen I wrote two short letters, to acknowledge the state of the affair to my sisters - and to one of these epistles I had an immediate laughing answer, informing me my confidence was somewhat of the latest, as the subject of it was already in all the newspapers! I was extremely chagrined at this intelligence; but, from that time, thought it all too late to be the herald of my own designs. And this, added to my natural and incurable dislike to enter upon these egotistical details unasked, has caused my silence to my dear M- -, and to every friend I possess. Indeed, speedily after, I had an illness so severe and so dangerous, that for full seven weeks the tragedy was neither named nor thought of by M. d'Arblay or myself. The piece was represented to the utmost disadvantage, save only Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble - for it was not written with any idea of the stage, and my illness and weakness, and constant absorbment, at the time of its preparation, occasioned it to appear with so many undramatic effects, from my inexperience of theatrical requisites and demands, that, when I saw it, I myself perceived a thousand things I wished to change. The performers, too, were cruelly imperfect, and made blunders I blush to have pass for mine,-added to what belong to me. The most important character after the hero and heroine had but two lines of his part by heart ! He made all the rest at random, and such nonsense as put all the other actors out as much as himself; so that a more wretched Performance, except Mrs. Siddons, Mr. Kemble, and Mr. Bensley, could not be exhibited in a barn. All this concurred to make it very desirable to withdraw the piece for alterations, which I have done. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) May 7, 1795. One of my dinners, since my going out, was at Charlotte's, with the good Hooles. After dinner Mr. Cumberland came in, and was extremely courteous, and seemingly friendly, about you and your piece. He took me aside from Mrs. Paradise, who had fastened on me and held me tight by an account of her own and Mr. paradise's complaints, so Page 92 circumstantially narrated, that not a stop so short as a comma occurred in more than an hour, while I was civilly waiting for a full period. Mr. Cumberland expressed his sorrow at what had happened at Drury-lane, and said that, if he had had the honour of knowing you sufficiently, he would have told you d'avance what would happen, by what he had heard behind the scenes. The players seem to have given the play an ill name. But, he says, if you would go to work again, by reforming this, or work with your best powers at a new plan, and would submit it to his inspection, he would, from the experience he has had, risk his life on its success. This conversation I thought too curious not to be mentioned. . . . HASTINGs' ACQUITTAL. DR. BURNEY'S METASTASIO. Well, but how does your Petit and pretty monsieur do? 'Tis pity you and M. d'Arblay don't like him, poor thing! And how does horticulture thrive ? This is a delightful time of the year for your Floras and your Linnaei: I envy the life of a gardener in spring, particularly in fine weather. And so dear Mr. Hastings is honourably acquitted!(120) and I visited him the next morning, and we cordially shook hands. I had luckily left my name at his door as soon as I was able to go out, and before it was generally expected that he would be acquitted. . . . The young Lady Spencer and I are become very thick , I have dined with her at Lady Lucan's, and met her at the blue parties there. She has invited me to her box at the opera, to her house in St James's Place, and at the Admiralty, whither the family removed last Saturday, and she says I must come to her the 15th, 22nd, and 29th of this month, when I shall see a huge assembly. Mrs. Crewe says all London will be there. She is a pleasant, lively, and comical creature, with more talents and discernment than are expected from a character si fol�tre. My lord is not only the handsomest and the best intentioned man in the kingdom, but at present the most useful and truly patriotic. And then, he has written to Vienna for Metastasio's three inedited volumes, which I so much want ere I advance too far in the press for them to be of any use. I am halooed on prodigiously in my Metastasio mania. All the critics--Warton, Twining, Nares, and Dr. Charles--say that his "Estratto dell' Arte Poetica d'Aristotile," which I am Page 93 now translating, is the best piece of dramatic criticism that has ever been written. "Bless my heart!" says Warton, "I, that have been all my life defending the three unities, am overset." "Ay," quoth I, "has not he made you all ashamed of 'em? You learned folks are only theorists in theatrical matters, but Metastasio had sixty years' successful practice. There!--Go to." My dear Fanny, before you write another play, you must read Aristotle and Horace, as expounded by my dear Metastasio. But, basta. You know when I take up a favourite author, as a Johnson, a Haydn, or a Metastasio, I do not soon lay him down or let him be run down. . . . Here it strikes three o'clock: the post knell, not bell, tolls here, and I must send off my scrib: but I will tell you, though I need not, that, now I have taken up Metastasio again, I work at him in every uninterrupted moment. I have this morning attempted his charming pastoral, in "il Re Pastore." I'll give you the translation, because the last stanza is a portrait:-- To meadows, woods, and fountains Our tender flocks I'll lead; In meads beneath the mountains My love shall see them feed. Our simple narrow mansion Will suit our station well; There's room for heart expansion And peace and joy to dwell. BABY D'ARBLAY. THE WITHDRAWN TRAGEDY. (From Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney) Hermitage, Bookham, May 13, 1795. As you say, 'tis pity M. d'A. and his rib should have conceived such an antipathy to the petit monsieur! O if you could see him now! My mother would be satisfied, for his little cheeks are beginning to favour of the trumpeter's, and Esther would be satisfied, for he eats like an embryo alderman. He enters into all we think, say, mean, and wish ! His eyes are sure to sympathise in all our affairs and all our feelings. We find some kind reason for every smile he bestows upon us, and some generous and disinterested Motive for every grave look. Page 94 If he wants to be danced, we see he has discovered that his gaiety is exhilarating to us ; if he refuses to be moved, we take notice that he fears to fatigue us. If he will not be quieted without singing, we delight in his early go�t for les beaux arts. If he is immovable to all we can devise to divert him, we are edified by the grand sirieux of his dignity and philosophy: if he makes the house ring with loud acclaim because his food, at first call, does not come ready warm into his mouth, we hold up our hands with admiration at his vivacity. Your conversation with Mr. Cumberland astonished me. I certainly think his experience of stage effect, and his interest with players, so important, as almost instantly to wish putting his sincerity to the proof. How has he got these two characters- -one, of Sir Fretful Plagiary, detesting all works but those he owns, and all authors but himself--the other, of a man too perfect even to know or conceive the vices of the world, such as he is painted by Goldsmith in "Retaliation?" And which of these characters is true?(121) I am not at all without thoughts of a future revise of "Edwy and Elgiva," for which I formed a plan on the first night, from what occurred by the representation. And let me own to you, when you commend my "bearing so well a theatrical drubbing," I am by no means enabled to boast I bear it with conviction of my utter failure. The piece was certainly not Page 95 heard, and therefore not really judged. The audience finished with an unmixed applause on hearing it was withdrawn for alterations, and I have considered myself in the publicly accepted situation of having at my own option to let the piece die, or attempt its resuscitation,-its reform, as Mr. Cumberland calls it. However, I have not given one moment to the matter since my return to the Hermitage. F. D'A. PS-I should he very glad to hear good news of the revival of Mr. Burke. Have you ever seen him since this fatality in his family? I am glad, nevertheless with all my heart, of Mr. Hastings's honourable acquittal. "CAMILLA." (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs.--.) Bookham, June 15, '95, Let me hasten to tell you something of myself that I shall be very sorry you should hear from any other, as your too susceptible mind would be hurt again, and that would grieve me quite to the heart. I have a long work, which a long time has been in hand, that I mean to publish soon--in about a year. Should it succeed, like 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' it may be a little portion to our Bambino. We wish, therefore, to print it for ourselves in this hope; but the expenses of the press are so enormous, so raised by these late Acts, that it is out of all question for us to afford it. We have, therefore, been led by degrees to listen to counsel of some friends, and to print it by subscription. This is in many--many ways unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the real chance of real use and benefit to Our little darling overcomes all scruples, and therefore, to work we go! You will feel, I dare believe, all I could write on this Subject; I once rejected such a plan, formed for me by Mr. Burke, where books were to be kept by ladies, not booksellers,--the Duchess of Devonshire, Mrs. Boscawen, and Mrs. Crewe; but I was an individual then, and had no cares of times to come: now, thank heaven! this is not the case;--and when I look at my little boy's dear, innocent, yet intelligent face, I defy any pursuit to be painful that may lead to his good. Page 96 (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, June 18, '95. All our deliberations made, even after your discouraging calculations, we still mean to hazard the publishing by subscription. And, indeed, I had previously determined, when I. changed my state, to set aside all my innate and original abhorrences, and to regard and use as resources, myself, what had always been considered as such by others. Without this idea, and this resolution, our hermitage must have been madness. . . . I like well the idea of giving no name at all,-why should not I have my mystery as well as "Udolpho?"(122)--but, " now, don't fly, Dr. Burney! I own I do not like calling it a novel; it gives so simply the notion of a mere love-story, that I recoil a little from it. I mean this work to be sketches of characters and morals put in action,-not a romance. I remember the word " novel " was long in the way of 'Cecilia,' as I was told at the queen's house; and it was not permitted to be read by the princesses till sanctioned by a bishop's recommendation,--the late Dr. Ross of Exeter. Will you then suffer mon amour Propre to be saved by the proposals running thus?--Proposals for printing by subscription, in six volumes duodecimo, a new work by the author of "Evelina" and "Cecilia." How grieved I am you do not like my heroine's name!(123) the prettiest in nature! I remember how many people did not like that of "Evelina," and called it "affected" and "missish," till they read the book, and then they got accustomed in a few pages, and afterwards it was much approved. I must leave this for the present untouched ; for the force of the name attached by the idea of the character, in the author's mind, is such, that I should not know how to sustain it by any other for a long while. In "Cecilia" and "Evelina" 'twas the same: the names of all the personages annexed, with me, all the ideas I put in motion with them. The work is so far advanced, that the personages are all, to me, as so many actual acquaintances, whose memoirs and Page 97 opinions I am committing to paper. I will make it the best I can, my dearest father. I will neither be indolent, nor negligent, nor avaricious. I can never half answer the expectations that seem excited. I must try to forget them, or I shall be in a continual quivering. Mrs. Cooke, my excellent neighbour, came in Just now to read me a paragraph of a letter from Mrs. Leigh, of Oxfordshire, her sister. . . . After much of civility about the new work and its author, it finishes thus:--"Mr. Hastings I saw just now: I told him what was going forward; he gave a great jump, and exclaimed, 'Well, then, now I can serve her, thank Heaven, and I will! I will write to Anderson to engage Scotland, and I will attack the East Indies myself!'" F. D'A. P.S.-The Bambino is half a year old this day. N.B.-I have not heard the Park or Tower guns. I imagine the wind did not set right. AN INVITATION TO THE HERMITAGE. (Madame d"Arblay to the Comte de Narbonne.(124)] Bookham, 26th December, 1795. What a letter, to terminate so long and painful a silence! It has penetrated us with sorrowing and indignant feelings. Unknown to M. d'Arblay whose grief and horror are upon point of making him quite ill, I venture this address to his most beloved friend; and before I seal it I will give him the option to burn or underwrite it. I shall be brief in what I have to propose: sincerity need not be loquacious, and M. de Narbonne is too kind to demand phrases for ceremony. Should your present laudable but melancholy plan fail, and should nothing better offer, or till something can be arranged, will you dear Sir, condescend to share the poverty of our hermitage? Will you take a little cell under our rustic roof, and fare as we fare? What to us two hermits is cheerful and happy, will to you, indeed, be miserable but it will be some solace to the goodness of your heart to witness our contentment;--to dig with M. d'A. in the garden will be of service to Page 98 your health; to muse sometimes with me in the parlour will be a relaxation to your mind. You will not blush to own your little godson. Come, then, and give him your blessing; relieve the wounded feelings of his father--oblige his mother--and turn hermit at Bookham, till brighter suns invite you elsewhere. F. D'ARPLAY. You will have terrible dinners, alas !--but your godson comes in for the dessert.(125) PRESENTATION OF "CAMILLA" AT WINDSOR. [During the years 1794 and 1795, Madame d'Arblay finished and prepared for the press her third novel, "Camilla," which was published partly by subscription in 1796 the dowager Duchess of Leinster, the Hon. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe, and Mrs. Locke, kindly keeping lists, and receiving the names of subscribers. This work having been dedicated by permission to the queen, the authoress was desirous of presenting the first copy to her majesty, and made a journey to Windsor for that honour.) (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, July 10, 1796. If I had as much of time as of matter, my dear father, what an immense letter should I write you ! But I have still so many book oddments of accounts, examinations, directions, and little household affairs to arrange, that, with baby-kissing, included, I expect I can give you to-day only part the first of an excursion which I mean to comprise in four parts: so here begins. The books were ready at eleven or twelve, but not so the tailor! The three Miss Thrales came to a short but cordial hand-shaking at the last minute, by appointment; and at about half-past three we set forward. I had written the day before to my worthy old friend Mrs. Agnew, the housekeeper, erst, of my revered Mrs. Delany, to secure us rooms for one page 99, day and night, and to Miss Planta to make known I could not set out till late. When we came into Windsor at seven o'clock, the way to Mrs. Agnew's was so intricate that we could not find it, till one of the king's footmen recollecting me, I imagined, came forward, a volunteer, and walked by the side of the chaise to show the postilion the house.--N.B. No bad omen to worldly augurers. Arrived, Mrs. Agnew came forth with faithful attachment, to conduct us to our destined lodgings. I wrote hastily to Miss Planta, to announce to the queen that I was waiting the honour of her majesty's commands ; and then began preparing for my appearance the next morning, when I expected a summons - but Miss Planta came instantly herself from the queen, with orders of immediate attendance, as her majesty would see me directly! The king was just gone upon the Terrace, but her majesty did not walk that evening. Mrs. Agnew was my maid, Miss Planta my arranger; my landlord, who was a hairdresser, came to my head, and M. d'Arblay was general superintendent. The haste and the joy went hand in hand, and I was soon equipped, though shocked at my own precipitance in sending before I was already visible. Who, however, could have expected such prompt admission? and in an evening? M. d'Arblay helped to carry the books as far as to the gates. My lodgings were as near to them as possible. At our first entry towards the Queen's lodge we encountered Dr. Fisher and his lady: the sight of me there, in a dress announcing indisputably whither I was hieing, was such an Astonishment, that they looked at me rather as a recollected spectre than a renewed acquaintance. When we came to the iron rails poor Miss Planta, in much fidget, begged to take the books from M. d'Arblay, terrified, I imagine, lest French feet should contaminate the gravel within!--while he, innocent of her fears, was insisting upon carrying them as far as to the house, till he saw I took part with Miss Planta, and he was then compelled to let us lug in ten volumes as we could. The king was already returned from the Terrace, the page told us." O, then," said Miss Planta, "you are too late!" However, I went into my old dining-parlour; while she said she would see if any one could obtain the queen's commands for another time. I did not stay five minutes Page 100 ruminating upon the dinners, "gone where the chickens," etc., when Miss Planta return and told me the queen would see me instantly. The queen was In her dressing-room, and with only the Princess Elizabeth. Her reception was the Most gracious. yet, when she saw my emotion in thus meeting her again; she herself was by no means quite unmoved. I presented my little--yet not small-- offering, upon one knee placing them, as she directed, upon a table by her side, and expressing, as well as I could, my devoted gratitude for her invariable goodness to me. She then began a conversation, in her old style, upon various things and people, with all her former graciousness of manner, which soon, as she perceived my strong sense of her indulgence, grew into even all its former kindness. Particulars I have now no room for ; but when in about half an hour, she said, "How long do you intend to stay here, Madame d'Arblay?" and I answered, "We have no intentions, ma'am," she repeated, laughing, "You have no intentions!--Well, then, if you can come again to-morrow Morning, you shall see the princesses." She then said she would not detain me at present; encouraged by all that had passed, I asked if I might presume to put at the door of the king's apartment a copy of MY little work. She hesitated, but with smiles the most propitious;. then told me to fetch the books - and whispered something to the Princess Elizabeth, who left the room by another door at the same moment that I retired for the other set. Almost immediately upon my return to the queen and the Princess Elizabeth, the king entered the apartment, and entered it to receive himself my little offering. "Madame d'Arblay," said her majesty, "tells me that Mrs. Boscawen is to have the third set; but the first--Your majesty will excuse me--is mine." This was not, you will believe, thrown away upon me. The king, smiling, said, "Mrs Boscawen, I hear, has been very zealous." I confirmed this. and the Princess Elizabeth eagerly called out, "Yes, sir! and while Mrs. Boscawen kept a copy for Madame d'Arblay, the Duchess of Beaufort kept one for Mrs. Boscawen." This led to a little discourse upon the business, in which the king's countenance seemed to speak a benign interest; and the queen then said, Page 101 "This book was begun here, sir." Which already I had mentioned. "And what did you write Of it here?" cried he. "How far did You go?--Did You finish any part? or only form the skeleton?" "Just that, sir," I answered; "the skeleton was formed here, but nothing was completed. I worked it up in my little cottage." "And about what time did You give to it?" "All my time, sir; from the Period I planned publishing it, I devoted myself to it wholly. I had no episode but a little baby. My subject grew Upon me, and increased my materials to a bulk that I am afraid will be more laborious to wade through for the reader than for the writer." "Are you much frightened cried he, smiling, "as much frightened as you were before?" "I have hardly had time to know yet, sir. I received the fair sheets Of the last volume only last night. I have, therefore, had no leisure for fear. And sure I am, happen what May to the book from the critics, it can never cause me pain in any proportion with the pleasure and happiness I owe to it." I /am sure I spoke most sincerely and he looked kindly to believe me. He asked if Mr. Locke had seen it; and when I said no, he seemed comically pleased, as if desirous to have it in its first state. He asked next if Dr. Burney had overlooked it; and, upon the same answer, looked with the same satisfaction. He did not imagine how it would have passed Current with my dearest father: he appeared Only to be glad it would be a genuine work: but, laughingly, said, "So you kept it quite snug?" "Not intentionally, sir, but from my situation and my haste; I should else have been very happy to have consulted my father and Mr. Locke; but I had so much, to the last moment, to write, that I literally had not a moment to hear what could be said. The work is longer by the whole fifth Volume than I had first planned; and I am almost ashamed to look at its size, and afraid my readers would have been more obliged to me if I had left so much out than for putting So much in." He laughed and inquired who corrected my proofs? 'Only myself," I answered. "Why, some authors have told me," cried he, "that they Page 102 are the last to do that work for themselves. They know so well by heart what ought to be, that they run on without seeing what is. They have told me, besides, that a mere plodding head is best and surest for that work ; and that the livelier the imagination, the less it should be trusted to." I must not go on thus minutely, or my four parts will be forty. But a full half-hour of graciousness, I could almost call kindness, was accorded me, though the king came from the concert to grant it ; and it broke up by the queen saying, "I have told Madame d'Arblay that, if she can come again to-morrow, she shall see the princesses." The king bowed gently to my grateful obeisance for this offer, and told me I should not know the Princess Amelia, she was so much grown, adding, "She is taller than you!" I expressed warmly my delight in the permission of Seeing their royal highnesses, and their majesties returned to the concert-room. The Princess Elizabeth stayed, -and flew up to me, crying, "How glad I am to see you here again, my dear Miss Burney!--I beg your pardon,--Madame d'Arblay I mean -but I always call all my friends by their maiden names when I first see them after they are married." I warmly now opened upon my happiness in this return to all their sights, and the condescension and sweetness with which it was granted me - and confessed I could hardly behave prettily and properly at my first entrance after so long an absence. "O, I assure you I felt for you!" cried she; "I thought you must be agitated ; it was so natural to you to come here-to mamma!" You will believe, my dearest father, how light-hearted and full of glee I went back to my expecting companion: Miss Planta accompanied me, and stayed the greatest part of the little remaining evening, promising to let me know at what hour I should wait upon their royal highnesses. A CONVERSATION WITH THE QUEEN. The next morning, at eight or nine o'clock, my old footman, Moss, came with Mlle, Jacobi's compliments to M. and Madame d'Arblay, and an invitation to dine at the Queen's lodge. Miss Planta arrived at ten, with her majesty's commands that I should be at the Queen's lodge at twelve. I stayed meanwhile, with good Mrs. Agnew, and M. d'Arblay made Page 103 acquaintance with her worthy husband, who is a skilful and famous botanist, and lately made gardener to the queen for Frogmore - so M. d'Arblay consulted him about our cabbages! and so, if they have not now a high flavour, we are hopeless. At eleven M. d'Arblay again ventured to esquire me to the rails round the lodge, whence I showed him my ci-devant apartment, which he languished to view nearer. I made a visit to Mlle. Jacobi, who is a very good creature, and with whom I remained very comfortably till her majesty and the princesses returned from Frogmore, where they had passed two or three hours. Almost immediately I was summoned to the queen by one of the pages. She was just seated to her hair-dresser. She conversed upon various public and general topics till the friseur was dismissed, and then I was honoured with an audience, quite alone, for a full hour and a half. During this, nothing could be more gracious than her whole manner, and The particulars, as there was no pause, would fill a duodecimo volume at least. Among them was Mr. Windham, whom she named with great favour; and gave me the opportunity of expressing my delight upon his belonging to the government. We had so often conversed about him during the accounts I had related of Mr. Hastings's trial, that there was much to say upon the acquisition to the administration, and my former round assertions of his goodness of heart and honour. She inquired how you did, my dearest father, with an air of great kindness and, when I said well, looked pleased, as she answered, "I was afraid he was ill, for I saw him but twice last year at our music." She then gave me an account of the removal of the concert to the Haymarket since the time I was admitted to it. She then talked of some books and authors, but found me wholly in the Clouds as to all that is new. She then said, "What a very pretty book Dr. Burney has brought out upon Metastasio! I am very much pleased with it. Pray (smiling) what will he bring out next?" "As yet, madam, I don't know of any new plan." "But he will bring out something else?" "Most probably, but he will rest a little first, I fancy." "Has he nothing in hand?" "Not that I now know of, madam." "O but he soon will!" cried she, again smiling. Page 104 "He has so active a mind, ma'am, that I believe it quite impossible to him to be utterly idle , but, indeed, I know of no present design being positively formed." We had then some discourse upon the new connexion at Norbury park--the Fitzgeralds, etc.; and from this she led to various topics of our former conferences, both in persons and things, and gave me a full description of her new house at Frogmore, its fitting up, and the share of each princess in its decoration. She spoke with delight of its quiet and ease, and her enjoyment of its complete retirement. "I spend," she cried, "there almost constantly all my mornings. I rarely come home but just before dinner, merely to dress, but to-day I came sooner." This was said in a manner so flattering, I could scarce forbear the air of thanking her , however, I checked the expression, though I could not the inference which urged it. WITH THE PRINCESs ROYAL AND PRINCESS AUGUSTA. At two o'clock the Princess Elizabeth appeared. "Is the princess royal ready?" said the queen. She answered, "Yes:" and her majesty then told me I might go to her, adding, "You know the way, Madame d'Arblay." And, thus licensed, I went to the apartment of her royal highness up stairs. She was just quitting it, She received me most graciously, and told me she was going to sit for her picture, if I would come and stay with her while she sat. Miss Bab Planta was in attendance, to read during this period. The princess royal ordered me a chair facing her; and another for Miss Bab and her book, which, however, was never opened. The painter was Mr. Dupont.(1266) She was very gay and very charming, full of lively discourse and amiable condescension. In about an hour the Princess Augusta came in : she addressed me with her usual sweetness, and, when she had looked at her sister's portrait, said, "Madame d'Arblay, when the princess royal can spare you, I hope you will come to me," as she left the room. I did not flout her; and when I had been an hour with the princess royal, she told me she would Page 105 keep me no longer from Augusta, and Miss Planta came to conduct me to the latter. This lovely princess received me quite alone ; Miss Planta only shut me in - and she then made me sit by her, and kept me in most bewitching discourse more than an hour. She has a gaiety, a charm about her, that is quite resistless: and much of true, genuine, and very original humour. She related to me the history of all the feats, and exploits, and dangers, and escapes of her brothers during last year; rejoicing in their safety, yet softly adding, "Though these trials and difficulties did them a great deal of good." We talked a little of France, and she inquired of me what I knew of the late unhappy queen, through M. d'Arblay ; and spoke of her with the most virtuous discrimination between her foibles and her really great qualities, with her most barbarous end. .She then dwelt upon Madame Royale, saying, in her unaffected manner, " It's very odd one never hears what sort of girl she is." I told her all I had gathered from M. d'Arblay. She next spoke of my Bambino, indulging me in recounting his faits et gestes; and never moved till the princess royal came to summon her. They were all to return to Frogmore to dinner. "We have detained Madame d'Arblay between us the whole morning," said the princess royal, with a gracious smile. "Yes," cried Princess Augusta, "and I am afraid I have bored her to death; but when once I begin upon my poor brothers, I can never stop without telling all my little bits of glory." She then outstayed the princess royal to tell me that, when she was at Plymouth, at church, she saw so many officers' wives, and sisters, and mothers, helping their maimed husbands, or brothers, or sons, that she could not forbear whispering to the queen, "Mamma, how lucky it is Ernest is just come so seasonably with that wound in his face! I should have been quite shocked, else, not to have had one little bit of glory among ourselves!" When forced away from this sweet creature, I went to Mlle. Jacobi, who said, "But where is M. d'Arblay?" Finding it too late for me to go to my lodging to dress before dinner I wrote him a word, which immediately brought him to the Queen's lodge : and there I shall leave my dear father the pleasure of seeing us, mentally, at dinner, at my ancient table,-both invited by the queen's commands. Miss Gomme was asked to meet me, and the repast was extremely pleasant. page 106 A PRESENT FROM THE KING AND QUEEN. just before we assembled to dinner Mlle. Jacobi desired to speak with me alone, and, taking me to another room, presented me with a folded little packet, saying, "The queen ordered me to put this into your hands, and said, 'Tell Madame d'Arblay it is from us both."' It was a hundred guineas. I was confounded, and nearly sorry, so little was such a mark of their goodness in my thoughts. She added that the king, as soon as he came from the chapel in the morning, went to the queen's dressing-room just before he set out for the levee, and put into her hands fifty guineas, saying, "This is for my set!" The queen answered, "I shall do exactly the same for mine," and made up the packet herself. "'Tis only,' she said, 'for the paper, tell Madame d'Arblay, nothing for the trouble!'" meaning she accepted that. The manner of this was so more than gracious, so kind, in the words us both, that indeed the money at the time was quite nothing in the scale of my gratification ; it was even less, for it almost pained me. However, a delightful thought that in a few minutes occurred made all light and blithesome. "We will come, then," I cried, "once a year to Windsor, to walk the Terrace, and see the king, queen, and sweet princesses. This will enable us, and I shall never again look forward to so long a deprivation of their sight." This, with my gratitude for their great goodness, was what I could not refrain commissioning her to report. CURIOSITY REGARDING M. D'ARBLAY. Our dinner was extremely cheerful; all my old friends were highly curious to see M. d'Arblay, who was in spirits, and, as he could address them in French, and at his ease, did not seem much disapproved of by them. I went to my lodging afterwards to dress, where I told my monsieur this last and unexpected stroke, which gave him exactly my sensations, and we returned to tea. We had hopes of the Terrace, as my monsieur was quite eager to see all this beloved royal House. The weather, however, was very unpromising. The king came from the lodge during our absence; but soon after we were in the levee three royal coaches arrived from Frogmore: in the first was the queen, the Princesses Royal and Augusta, and some lady in waiting. M. d'Arblay stood beside me Page 107 at a window to see them; her majesty looked up and bowed to me, and, upon her alighting, she looked up again. This, I am sure, was to see M. d'Arblay, who could not be doubted, as he wore his croix the whole time he was at Windsor. The princesses bowed also, and the four younger, who followed, all severally kissed their hands to me, and fixed their eyes on my companion with an equal expression of kindness and curiosity ; he therefore saw them perfectly. THE KING APPROVES THE DEDICATION OF "CAMILLA." In a few minutes a page came to say, "The princesses desire to see Madame d'Arblay," and he conducted me to the apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, which is the most elegantly and fancifully ornamented of any in the lodge, as she has most delight and most taste in producing good effects. Here the fair owner of the chamber received me, encircled with the Princesses Mary and Amelia, and no attendant. They were exactly as I had left them--kind, condescending, open, and delightful; and the goodness of the queen, in sparing them all to me thus, without any allay of ceremony, or g�ne of listening Mutes, I felt most deeply. They were all very gay, and I not very sad, so we enjoyed A perfectly easy and even merry half-hour in divers discourses, in which they recounted to me who had been most anxious about "the book," and doubted not its great success, as everybody was so eager about it. "And I must tell you one thing," Cried the Princess Elizabeth; "the king is very much pleased with the dedication." This was, you will be sure, a very touching hearing to me; And Princess Mary exclaimed, "And he is very difficult!" "O, yes, he's hardly ever pleased with a dedication," cried one of the princesses. "He almost always thinks them so fulsome." "I was resolved I would tell it you," cried Princess Elizabeth. Can you imagine anything more amiable than this pleasure in giving pleasure? A DELICIOUS CHAT WITH THE PRINCESSES. Soon after the Princess Augusta came in, smiling and lovely. Princess royal next appeared Princess Augusta sat down, and charged me to take a chair next her. Princess Page 108 royal did not stay long, and soon returned to summon her sister Augusta downstairs, as the concert was begun : but she replied she could not come yet : and the princess royal went alone. We had really a most delicious chat then. They made a thousand inquiries about my book, and when and where it was written, etc., and how I stood as to fright and fidget. I answered all with openness, and frankly related my motives for the publication. Everything of housekeeping, I told them, was nearly doubled in price at the end of the first year and half of our marriage, and we found it impossible to continue so near our friends and the capital with our limited income, though M. d'A. had accommodated himself completely, and even happily, to every species of economy, and though my dearest father had capitally assisted us ; I then, therefore, determined upon adopting a plan I had formerly rejected, of publishing by subscription. I told them the former history of that plan, as Mr. Burke's, and many particulars that seemed extremely to interest them. My garden, our way of life, our house, our Bambino,-all were inquired after and related. I repeatedly told them the strong desire M. d'Arblay had to be regaled with a sight of all their House -a House to which I stood so every way indebted,-,and they looked kindly concerned that the weather admitted no prospect of the Terrace. I mentioned to the Princess Augusta my recent new obligation to their majesties, and my amaze and even shame at their goodness. "O, I am sure," cried she, "they were very happy to have it in their power." "Yes, and we were so glad!" "So glad!" echoed each of the others. "How enchanted should I have been," cried I, "to have presented my little book to each of your royal highnesses if I had dared! or if, after her majesty has looked it over, I might hope for such a permission, how proud and how happy it would make me!" "O, I daresay you may," cried the Princess Augusta, eagerly. I then intimated how deeply I should feel such an honour, if it might be asked, after her majesty had read it - and the Princess Elizabeth gracefully undertook the office. She related to me, in a most pleasant manner, the whole of her own recent transaction, its rise and cause and progress, in "The Page 109 Birth of Love:"(127) but I must here abridge, or never have done. I told them all my scheme for coming again next July, which they sweetly seconded. Princess Amelia assured me she had not forgotten me ; and when another summons came for the concert, Princess Augusta, comically sitting still and holding me by her side, called out, "Do you little ones go!" But they loitered also, and we went on, on, on, with our chat,- -they as unwilling as myself to break it up,-till staying longer was impossible ; and then, in parting, they all expressed the kindest pleasure in our newly-adopted plan of a yearly visit. "And pray," cried Princess Elizabeth, "write again immediately!" "O, no," cried Princess Augusta, "wait half a year--to rest; and then--increase your family--all ways!" "The queen," said Princess Elizabeth, "consulted me which way she should read 'Camilla-' whether quick, at once, or comfortably at Weymouth: so I answered, 'Why, mamma, I think, as you will be so much interested in the book, Madame d'Arblay would be most pleased you should read it now at once, quick, that nobody may be mentioning the events before You come to them - and then again at Weymouth, slow and comfortably.'" In going, the sweet Princess Augusta loitered last but her youngest sister, Amelia, who came to take my hand when the rest were departed, and assure me she should never forget Me. We spent the remnant of Wednesday evening with my old friends, determining to quit Windsor the next day, if the weather did not promise a view of the royal family upon the Terrace for M. d'Arblay. THE KING NOTICES M. D'ARBLAY. Thursday morning was lowering, and we determined upon departing, after only visiting some of my former acquaintances. 'We met Miss Planta in our way to the lodge, and took leave; but when we arrived at Mlle. Jacobi's we found that the queen expected we should stay for the chance of the Terrace, and had told Mlle. Jacobi to again invite us to dinner. . . . We left the friendly Miss Goldsworthy for other visits;--first to good old Mrs. Planta; next to the very respectable Page 110 Dr. Fisher and his wife. The former insisted upon doing the honours himself of St. George's cathedral to M. d'Arblay which occasioned his seeing that beautiful antique building to the utmost advantage. Dr. Fisher then accompanied us to a spot to show M. d'Arblay Eton in the best view. Dinner passed as before, but the evening lowered, and hopes of the Terrace were weak, when the Duke and Duchess of York arrived. This seemed to determine against us, as they told us the duchess never went upon the Terrace but in the finest weather, and the royal family did not choose to leave her. We were hesitating therefore whether to set off for Rose Dale, when Mlle. Jacobi gave an intimation to me that the king, herself, and the Princess Amelia, would walk on the Terrace. Thither instantly we hastened, and were joined by Dr. and Mrs. Fisher. The evening was so raw and cold that there was very little company, and scarce any expectation of the royal family - and when we had been there about half an hour the musicians retreated, and everybody was preparing to follow, when a messenger suddenly came forward, helter skelter, running after the horns and clarionets, and hallooing to them to return. This brought back the straggling parties, and the king, Duke of York, and six princesses soon appeared. I have never yet seen M. d'Arblay agitated as at this moment ; he could scarce keep his steadiness, or even his ground. The recollections, he has since told me, that rushed upon his mind of his own king and royal House were so violent and so painful as almost to disorder him. His majesty was accompanied by the duke, and Lord Beaulieu, Lord Walsingham, and General Manners; the princesses were attended by Lady Charlotte Bruce, some other lady, and Miss Goldsworthy: The king stopped to speak to the Bishop of Norwich and some others at the entrance, and then walked on towards us, who were at the further end. As he approached, the princess royal said, loud enough to be heard by Mrs. Fisher, "Madame d'Arblay, sir;" and instantly he came on a step, and then stopped and addressed me, and, after a word or two of the weather, he said, "Is that M. d'Arblay?" and most graciously bowed to him and entered into a little conversation; demanding how long he had been in England, how long in the country, etc., and with a sweetness, an air of wishing us well, that will never, never be erased from our hearts. Page 111 M. d'Arblay recovered himself immediately Upon this address, and answered with as much firmness as respect. Upon the king's bowing and leaving US, the commander-in- chief(128) most courteously bowed also to M. d'Arblay, and the princesses all came up to speak to me, and to curtsy to him ; and the Princess Elizabeth cried, "I've got leave! and mamma says she won't wait to read it first!" After this the king and duke never passed without taking off their hats, and the princesses gave me a smile and a curtsy at every turn: Lord Walsingbam came to speak to me, and Mr. Fairly, and General Manners, who regretted that more of our old tea-party were not there to meet me once more. THE KING AND QUEEN ON "CAMILLA." As soon as they all re-entered the lodge we followed to take leave of Mlle. Jacobi; but, Upon moving towards the passage, the princess royal appeared, saying, "Madame d'Arblay, I come to waylay you!" and made me follow her to the dressing-room, whence the voice of the queen, as the door opened, called out, in mild accents, "Come in, Madame d'Arblay!" Her majesty was seated at the upper end of the room, with the Duchess of York (129) on her right, and the Princesses Sophia and Amelia on her left. She made me advance, and said, "I have just been telling the Duchess of York that I find her royal highness's name the first Upon this list,"--producing "Camilla." "Indeed," said the duchess, bowing to me, "I was so very impatient to read it, I could not but try to get it as early as possible. I am very eager for it, indeed!" "I have read," said the queen, "but fifty pages yet; but I am in great uneasiness for that Poor little girl that I am afraid will get the small-pox! and I am sadly afraid that sweet little other girl will not keep her fortune! but I won't Peep! I read quite fair. But I must tell Madame d'Arblay I know a country gentleman, in Mecklenburg, exactly the very character of that good old man the Uncle!" She seemed to speak as if delighted to meet him upon paper. The king now came in, and I could not forbear making up Page 112 to him, to pour forth some part of my full heart for his goodness! He tried to turn away, but it was smilingly; and I had courage to pursue him, for I could not help it. He then slightly bowed it off, and asked the queen to repeat what she had said upon the book. "O, your majesty," she cried, "I must not anticipate!" yet told him of her pleasure in finding an old acquaintance. "Well!" cried the king archly, " and what other characters have you seized?" "None," I protested, "from life." "O!" cried he, shaking his head, "you must have some!" "Indeed your majesty will find none!" I cried. "But they may be a little better, or a little worse," he answered, "but still, if they are not like somebody, how can they play their parts?" "O, yes, sir," I cried, "as far as general nature goes, or as characters belong to classes, I have certainly tried to take them. But no individuals!" My account must be endless if I do not now curtail. The Duke of York, the other princesses, General Manners, and all the rest of the group, made way to the room soon after, upon hearing the cheerfulness of the voice of the king, whose .graciousness raised me into spirits that set me quite at my ease. He talked much upon the book, and then of Mrs. Delany, and then of various others that my sight brought to his recollection, and all with a freedom and goodness that enabled me to answer without difficulty or embarrassment, and that produced two or three hearty laughs from the Duke of York. ANECDOTE OF THE DUCHESS OF YORK. After various other topics, the queen said, "Duchess, Madame d'Arblay is aunt of the pretty little boy (130) you were so good to." The duchess understood her so immediately that I fancy this was not new to her. She bowed to me again, very smilingly, upon the acknowledgments this encouraged me to offer; and the king asked an explanation. "Sir," said the duchess, "I was upon the road near Dorking, and I saw a little gig overturned, and a little boy was taken out, and sat down upon the road. I told them to Page 113 stop and ask if the little boy was hurt, and they said yes .- and I asked where he was to go, and they said to a village just a few miles off; so I took him into my coach, Sir, and carried him home." "And the benedictions, madam," cried I, "of all his family have followed you ever since!" "And he said your royal highness called him a very pretty boy," cried the queen, laughing, to whom I had related it. "Indeed, what he said is very true," answered she, nodding. "Yes; he said," quoth I, again to the queen, "that he saw the duchess liked him." This again the queen repeated and the duchess again nodded, and pointedly repeated, "It is very true." "He was a very fine boy-a very fine boy indeed!" cried the king; "what is become of him?" I was a little distressed in answering, "He is in Ireland, sir." "In Ireland ! What does he do in Ireland? what does he go there for?" "His father took him, Sir," I was forced to answer. "And what does his father take him to Ireland for?" "Because-he is an Irishman, Sir!" I answered, half laughing. When at length, every one deigning me a bow of leavetaking, their majesties, and sons and daughters, retired to the adjoining room, the Princess Amelia loitered to shake hands, and the Princess Augusta returned for the same condescension, reminding me of my purpose for next year. While this was passing, the princess royal had repaired to the apartment of Mlle. Jacobi, where she had held a little Conversation with M. d'Arblay. A VISIT TO MRS. BOSCAWEN. We finished the evening very cheerfully with Mlle. Jacobi and Mlle. Montmoulin, whom she invited to meet us, and the next morning left Windsor and visited Rose Dale.(131) Mrs. Boscawen received us very sweetly, and the little offering as if not at all her due, Mrs. Levison Gower was with her, and showed us Thomson's temple. Mrs. Boscawen spoke of my Page 114 dearest father with her Usual true sense Of how to Speak of him. She invited us to dinner, but we were anxious to return to our Bambino, and M. d'Arblay had, all this time, only fought off being ill with his remnant of cold. Nevertheless, when we came to Twickenham, my good old friend Mr. Cambridge was so cordial and so earnest that we could not resist him, and were pressed in to staying dinner. . . . At a little before eleven we arrived at our dear cottage, and to our sleeping Bambino. THE RELATIVE SUCCESS OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S NOVELS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, Friday, October, 1796. I meant to have begun with our thanks for my dear kind father's indulgence of our extreme curiosity and interest in the sight of the reviews. I am quite happy in what I have escaped of greater severity, though my mate cannot bear that the palm should be contested by "Evelina" and "Cecilia;" his partiality rates the last as so much the highest; so does the newspaper I have mentioned, of which I long to send you a copy. But those immense men, whose single praise was fame and security--who established, by a word, the two elder sisters-are now silent, Johnson and Sir Joshua are no more, and Mr. Burke is ill, or otherwise engrossed; yet, even without their powerful influence, to which I owe such unspeakable obligation, the essential success of "Camilla" exceeds that of the elders. The sale is truly astonishing. Charles has just sent to me that five hundred only remain of four thousand, and it has appeared scarcely three months. The first edition of "Evelina" was of eight hundred, the second of five hundred, and the third of a thousand. What the following have been I have never heard, The sale from that period became more flourishing than the publisher cared to announce. Of "Cecilia" the first edition was reckoned enormous at two thousand and as a part of payment Was reserved for it, I remember our dear Daddy Crisp thought it very unfair. It was printed, like this, in July, and sold in October, to every one's wonder. Here, however, the sale's increased in rapidity more than a third. Charles says,-- "Now heed no more what critics thought 'em, Since this you know, all people bought 'em." Page 115 A CONTEMPLATED COTTAGE. We have resumed our original plan, and are going immediately to build a little cottage for ourselves. We shall make it as small and as cheap as will accord with its being warm and comfortable. We have relinquished, however, the very kind offer of Mr. Locke, which he has renewed, for his park. We mean to make this a property saleable or letable for our Alex, and in Mr. Locke's park we could not encroach any tenant, if the Youth's circumstances, profession, or inclination .should make him not choose the spot for his own residence. M. dArblay, therefore, has fixed upon a field of Mr. Locke's, which he will rent, and of which Mr. Locke will grant him a lease of ninety years. By this means, we shall leave the little Alex a little property, besides what will be in the funds, and a property likely to rise in value, as the situation of the field is remarkably beautiful. It is in the valley, between Mr. Locke's park and Dorking, and where land is so scarce, that there is not another possessor within many miles who would part, upon any terms, with half-an-acre. My kindest father will come and give it, I trust, his benediction. I am now almost jealous of Bookham for having received it. Imagine but the ecstasy of M. d'Arblay in training, all his own way, an entire new garden. He dreams now of cabbage-walks, potato-beds, bean-perfumes, and peas-blossoms. My mother should send him a little sketch to help his flower-garden, which will be his second favourite object. THE PRINCESS ROYAL'S FIRST INTERVIEW WITH HER FIANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) 1796. A private letter from Windsor tells me the Prince of Wurtemberg has much pleased in the royal House, by his manner and address upon his interview, but that the poor Princess royal was almost dead with terror, and agitation, and affright, at the first meeting.(132) She could not utter a word, The queen was obliged to speak her answers. The prince said he hoped this first would be the last disturbance his page 116 presence would ever occasion her. She then tried to recover, and so far conquered her tumult as to attempt joining In a general discourse from time to time. He paid his court successfully, I am told, to the sisters, who all determine to like him; and the princess royal is quite revived in her spirits again, now this tremendous opening sight is over. You will be pleased, and my dearest Mr. Locke, at the style of my summons: 'tis so openly from the queen herself, Indeed, she has behaved like an angel to me, from the trying time to her of my marriage with a Frenchman. "So odd, you know," as Lady Inchiquin said. OPINIONS OF THE REVIEWS ON "CAMILLA." (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) November, 1796. . . .The "Monthly Review" has come in to-day, and it does not satisfy me, or raise my spirits, or anything but my indignation. James has read the remarks in it on "Camilla," and we are all dissatisfied. Perhaps a few of the verbal criticisms may be worth your attention in the second edition; but these have been picked out and displayed with no friendly view, and without necessity, in a work of such length and intrinsic sterling worth. J'enrage! Morbleu! (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, November, 1796. I had intended writing to my dearest father by a return of goods, but I find it impossible to defer the overflowings of my heart at his most kind and generous indignation with the reviewer. What censure can ever so much hurt as such compensation can heal? And, in fact, the praise is so strong that, were it neatly put together, the writer might challenge my best enthusiasts to find it insufficient. The truth, however, is, that the criticisms come forward, and the panegyric is entangled, and so blended with blame as to lose almost all effect, The reviews, however, as they have not made, will not, I trust, mar me. "Evelina" made its way all by itself; it was well spoken of, indeed, in all the reviews, compared with general novels, but it was undistinguished by any quotation, and only put in the Monthly Catalogue, and only allowed Page 117 short single paragraph. It was circulated only by the general public till it reached, through that unbiassed medium, Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, and thence it wanted no patron. Nov. 14.-Upon a second reading of the Monthly Review upon "Camilla," I am in far better humour with it, and willing to confess to the criticisms, if I may claim by that concession any right to the eulogies. They are stronger and more important, upon re-perusal, than I had imagined, in the panic of a first survey and an unprepared-for disappointment in anything like severity from so friendly an editor. The recommendation, at the conclusion, of the book as a warning guide to youth, would recompense me, upon the least reflection, for whatever strictures Might precede it. I hope my kind father has not suffered his generous--and to me most cordial--indignation against the reviewer to interfere with his intended answer to the affectionate letter of Dr. Griffiths.(133 DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S STEPMOTHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Bookham, November 7, 1796. Yes, -my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed all-sufficient for some time; nor, indeed, could I even read any more for many minutes. That, and the single sentence at the end, "My Norbury is with me"--completely overset ne, though only with joy. After your actual safety, nothing could so much touch me as the picture I Instantly viewed of Norbury in Your arms. Yet I shall hope for more detail hereafter. The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows me your own sentiment of the fatal event(134) which so speedily followed your departure, and which my dear father has himself announced to you, though probably the newspapers will anticipate his letter. I am very sorry, now, I did not write sooner; but while you were still in England, and travelling so slowly, I had always lurking ideas that disqualified me from writing to Ireland. The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest father's desire the last tidings I set out for Chelsea. I was much Shocked by the news, long as it has been but natural to look Page 118 forward to it. My better part spoke even before myself upon the propriety of my instant journey, and promised me a faithful nursing attendance during my absence. I went in a chaise, to lose no time - but the uncertainty how I might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous seizure upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. Rishton's. While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Charlotte, and Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had been there the preceding day ; they were sent to as soon as the event had happened. My dearest father received me with extreme kindness, but though far, far more calm and quiet than I could expect, he was much shaken, and often very faint. However, in the course of the evening, he suffered me to read to him various passages from various books, such as conversation introduced; and as his nature is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged in himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead to cheerfulness. Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly generous in my poor mother's last voluntary exertions. She charged Sally and her maid both not to call my father when she appeared to be dying; and not disturb him if her death should happen in the night, nor to let him hear it till he arose at his usual time. I feel sensibly the kindness of this sparing consideration. Yet not so would I be used! O never should I forgive the misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little instant of remaining life in one who was truly dear to me'; Nevertheless, I shall not be surprised to have his first shock succeeded by a sorrow it did not excite, and I fear he will require much watching and vigilance to be kept as well as I have quitted him. THE FRENCH EMIGRES AT NORBURY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Bookham, December 25, 1796. You will have heard that the Princesse d'Henin and M. de Lally have spent a few days at Norbury Park. We went every evening regularly to meet them, and they yet contrive to grow higher and higher in our best opinions and affections; they force that last word; none other is adequate to such regard as they excite. Page 119 M. de Lally read us a pleading for �migr�s of all descriptions, to the people and government of France, for their re-instalment in their native land, that exceeds in eloquence, argument, taste, feeling, and every power of oratory and truth united, anything I ever remember to have read. It is so affecting in many places, that I was almost ill from restraining My nearly convulsive emotions. My dear and honoured partner gives me, perhaps, an interest in such a subject beyond what is mere natural due and effect, therefore I cannot be sure such will be its universal success; yet I shall be nothing less than Surprised to live to see his statue erected in his own country, at the expense of his own restored exiles. 'Tis, indeed, a wonderful performance. And he was so easy, So gay, so unassuming, yet free from condescension, that I almost worshipped him. M. d'Arblay cut me off a bit of the coat in which he read his pleading, and I shall preserve it, labelled! The princess was all that was amiable and attractive, and she loves my Susanna so tenderly, that her voice was always caressing when she named her. She would go to Ireland, she repeatedly said, on purpose to see you, were her fortune less miserably cramped. The journey, voyage, time, difficulties, and ,sea-sickness, would be nothing for obstacles. You have made, there, that rare and exquisite acquisition-an ardent friend for life. DR. BURNEY'S DEPRESSED STATE. I have not heard very lately of my dearest father; all accounts speak of his being very much lower in spirits than When I left him. I sometimes am ready to return to him, for my whole heart yearns to devote itself to him - but the babe, and the babe's father--and there is no going en famille uninvited--and my dear father does not feel equal to making the invitation. One of the Tichfield dear girls seems to be constantly with Sally, to aid the passing hours, but Our poor father wants something more than cheerfulness and affection, though nothing without them could do; he wants some one to find out pursuits--to entice him into reading, by bringing books, or starting subjects; some one to lead him to talk of what he thinks, or to forget what he thinks of, by adroitly talking of what may catch other attention. Even where deep sorrow is impossible, a gloomy void must rest in the total breaking up such a long and such a fast connexion. Page 120 I must always grieve at your absence at such a period. our Esther has SO much to do in her own family, and fears so much the cold of Chelsea, that she can be only of day and occasional use, and it is nights and mornings that call for the confidential companion that might best revive him, He is more amiable, more himself, if possible, than ever. God long preserve him to bless us all! COVETOUS OF PERSONAL DISTINCTION. Your old acquaintance, Miss --, has been passing ten days in this neighbourhood. She is become very pleasingly formed in manners, wherever she wishes to oblige, and all her roughnesses and ruggednesses are worn off. I believe the mischief done by her education, and its wants, not cured, if curable au fond; but much amended to all, and apparently done away completely to many. What really rests is a habit of exclusively consulting just what she likes best, not what would be or prove best for others. She thinks, indeed, but little of anything except with reference to herself, and what gives her an air, and will give her a character, for inconstancy, that is in fact the mere result of seeking her own gratification alike in meeting or avoiding her connexions. If she saw this, she has understanding sufficient to work it out of her; but she weighs nothing sufficiently to dive into her own self. She knows she is a very clever girl, and she is neither well contented with others, nor happy in herself, but where this is evidently acknowledged. We spent an evening together at Norbury Park ; she was shown all Mr. William's pictures and drawings. I knew her expectations of an attention she had no chance of exciting and therefore devoted myself to looking them over with her yet, though Mr. Locke himself led the way to see them, and explained several, and though Amelia addressed her with the utmost sweetness, and Mrs. Locke with perfect good breeding, I could not draw from her one word relative to the evening, or the family, except that she did not think she had heard Mr. William's voice once. A person so young, and with such good parts, that can take no pleasure but in personal distinction, which is all her visit can have wanted, will soon cut all real improvement short, by confining herself to such society alone as elevates herself. There she will always make a capital figure, for her conversation is sprightly and enter- Page 121 taining, and her heart and principles are both good : she has many excellent qualities, and various resources in herself; but she is good enough to make me lament that she is not modest enough to be yet better. BABY D'ARBLAY AGAIN ; AND OTHER MATTERS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, NOV. 29, 1796. My little man waits for your lessons to get on in elocution: he has made no further advance but that of calling out, as he saw our two watches hung on two opposite hooks over the chamber chimney-piece, "Watch, papa,--watch, mamma;" so, though his first speech is English, the idiom is French. We agree this is to avoid any heartburning in his parents. He is at this moment so exquisitely enchanted with a little penny trumpet, and finding he can produce such harmony his own self, that he is blowing and laughing till he can hardly stand. If you could see his little swelling cheeks you would not accuse yourself of a misnomer in calling him cherub. I try to impress him with an idea of pleasure in going to see grandpapa, but the short visit to Bookham is forgotten, and the permanent engraving remains, and all his concurrence consists in pointing up to the print over the chimney-piece, and giving it one of his concise little bows. Are not people a little revived in the political world by this unexampled honour paid to Mr. Pitt?(135) Mr. Locke has subscribed 3000 pounds. How you rejoiced me by what you say of poor Mr. Burke for I had seen the paragraph of his death with most exceeding great concern. The Irish reports, are, I trust, exaggerated; few things come quite plainly from Hibernia: yet what a time, in all respects, to transport thither, as you too well term it, our beloved Susan! She writes serenely, and Norbury seems to Page 122 repay a world of sufferings : it is delightful to see her SO satisfied there, at least; but they have all, she says, got the brogue. Our building is to be resumed the 1st of March; it will then soon be done, as it is only of lath and plaster, and the roof and wood-work are already prepared.' My indefatigable superintendent goes every morning for two, three, or four hours to his field, to work at a sunk fence that 'IS to protect his garden from our cow. I have sent Mrs. Boscawen, through Miss Cambridge, a history of our plan. The dwelling is destined by M. d'Arblay to be called the Camilla cottage. (95) "Memoires of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. pp. 224-5. (96) "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii., pp. 210-11. (97) In the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney" Madame d'Arblay writes that "Before the answer of Mr. Pitt to the memorial could be returned, the attempt upon Toulon proved abortive." Mr, Pitt must certainly have been in no hurry to reply; for the memorial was sent to him about the commencement of October, and Toulon was not evacuated by the English until the 18th of December.-ED. (98) A character in "Cecilia."-ED. (99) The well-known novelist.-ED. (100) The cottage which Fanny and her husband contemplated building, was not actually commenced until after the publication of "Camilla," in 1796.-ED. (101) The fund which Mrs. Crewe was exerting herself to raise for the benefit of the French emigrant clergy.-ED. (102) Mrs. Crewe had been urging Dr. Burney to engage his daughter to contribute, by her pen, to the relief of the emigrant clergy. Fanny accordingly wrote an "Address to the Ladies of Great Britain," in the form of a short pamphlet, which was published by Cadell, and which appears to have had the desired effect.-ED. (103) Alas for Dr. Burney's hopes! Toulon was successfully defended until the middle of December, when the vigorous measures of the besiegers, inspired by the genius Of Young Buonaparte, resulted in the complete triumph of the Republicans. On the 17th of December they carried by storm Fort Eguillette and the heights of Faron. From these positions their artillery commanded the harbour, and, further defence of the town being thereby rendered impracticable, its instant evacuation was resolved upon by the allies. An attempt to burn the French war-ships in the harbour, before abandoning the place, was only partially successful. On the 18th and 19th the troops embarked. Vast numbers of fugitives were taken on board the retreating fleet, but a large proportion of the unfortunate Toulonnais remained, to experience the cruel vengeance of the Republicans-ED. (104) The execution of Marie Antoinette, October 16, 1793.-ED. (105) He was born on the 18th of December 1794.-ED. (106) Goldsmith has drawn the character of Richard Burke in "Retaliation," as follows:-- "Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Sigh at; Alaq, that such frolic should now be so quiet! What spirits were his! what wit and what whim! Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb; Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball; Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all. In short, so provoking a devil was Dick, That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick, But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein, As often we wish'd to have Dick back again."-ED. (107) George Canning, who was not yet twenty-four years of age, had just entered Parliament as member for Newport. He had formerly been a Whig and an associate of Fox and Sheridan, but the excesses of the French ,Revolution appear to have driven him, as they had driven Burke and Windham, over to the opposite camp. He took his seat as a Tory and a supporter of Mr. Pitt, and a Tory he remained to the end of his days. Canning's maiden speech, to which Fanny refers, was delivered January 31, in a debate on the treaty between Great Britain and the King of Sardinia. By this treaty, which was signed April 25, 1793, it was agreed that the two contracting parties should make common cause in the war against the French Republic; that England should pay to the King of Sardinia an annual subsidy of 200,000 pounds, to enable him to maintain the war; and that England should not conclude peace without providing for the restoration to Sardinia of the territories which had been torn from it by the Republic. In the debate of January 31, 1794, Fox vigorously attacked the treaty, while Canning, who spoke later, defended it in an able and well-received maiden speech.-ED. (108) Talleyrand's intrigues had made him an object of suspicion to both parties. He was detested by the royalists of the first emigration, had been d�cr�t� d'accusation by the Convention, and was regarded by the English government as a dangerous person. In January 1794, he received an order from the government to quit England within five days, and he embarked in consequence, for the United States, February 3.-ED. (109) "London, 1794.-Madame,--Had it been possible I would have had the honour of seeing you this morning , but the utter impossibility of doing so has deprived me of the last pleasure that I might have had in Europe. Permit me, madame, to thank you again for all your kindness, and to ask a little place in your memory, and let me tell you, I shall never cease, while I live, to offer my vows for your welfare, and for that of the captain and your children. You will have a very zealous servant in America; I shall not return to Europe without coming to Surrey: everything of value to my intellect or my heart is there. "Kindly present my compliments to the captain." (110) "London, March 2, 1794. Farewell, my dear d'Arblay: I leave your country till the time when it will no longer be governed by the petty passions of men. Then I will return; not, indeed, to busy myself with public affairs, for I have long since abandoned them for ever; but to see the excellent inhabitants of Surrey. I hope to know enough English to understand Madame d'Arblay; for the next four months, I shall do nothing but study it: and, to acquaint myself with the beauties of the language, I take 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' both for study and pleasure. I wish You, my dear friend, all kinds of happiness, and you are in the way to fulfil all my wishes. "I do not know how long I shall remain in America. If there were a prospect of the re-establishment of reason and stability in our unhappy country, I should return; if Europe goes to pieces in the coming campaign, I will prepare a refuge in America for all our friends. "Farewell. My respects to Madame d'Arblay and Mrs. Phillips. I ask of you and I promise you a lifelong friendship." (The date at the head Of this letter Is evidently incorrect-- probably a slip of the writer's. Talleyrand embarked February 3.-ED. (111) Lafayette's brilliant services in the cause of liberty had not secured him from the usual fate of moderate revolutionists at this period. In the early days of the Revolution, he was the hero of the French people; in 1792, denounced by Robespi�rre and the jacobins, he was compelled to seek safety in flying from France. He escaped the guillotine, indeed, but fell into the hands of the Austrians, was cast into prison, and did not gain his liberty till September, 1797.-ED. (112) This was Dr. Burney's first meeting with Mrs. Piozzi since her marriage. It occurred at one of Salomon's celebrated concerts, where the doctor, with surprise, perceived Piozzi among the audience, not knowing that he had returned from Italy. He entered into a cordial conversation with the Signor, and inquired after his wife. "Piozzi, turning round, pointed to a sofa, on which, to his infinite joy, Dr. Burney beheld Mrs. Thrale Piozzi, seated in the midst of her daughters, the four Miss Thrales," those young ladies (at least, the three elder, for Cecilia had been abroad with Mr. and Mrs. Piozzi) having made up their minds by this time to accept the inevitable, and to be reconciled to their mother." See "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," vol. iii. p. 198.-ED. (113) Written after the Doctor's first visit to Bookham. (114) Name of a gardener in a drama of Fontenelle's. (115) The novel of "Camilla," then lately begun. (116) "Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Metastasio," a work which Dr. Burney was then engaged upon, and which was published in three Volumes, 8vo in 1796.-ED. (117) "Edwy and Elgiva," a tragedy by Madame d'Arblay. (118) Edmund Burke's only son, Richard, died August 2, 1794.-ED (119) "Edwy and Elgiva," produced by Sheridan at Drury-lane, March 21, 1795; it was acted but once, and never printed.-ED. (120) Warren Hastings was acquitted of all the charges, April 23, 1795. (121) Both characters, to some extent, were true. Goldsmith's portrait of Cumberland, though flattering, is not, we fancy, without a slight undercurrent of irony. Here are the lines from "Retaliation." "Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And Comedy wonders at being so fine: Like a tragedy-queen he has dizen'd her out, Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout. His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud And coxcombs, alike in their failings atone: Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own, Say, where has our poet this malady caught? Or wherefore his characters thus without fault? Say, was it that, mainly directing his view To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?"-ED. (122) The novels of Mrs. Radcliffe were now at the height of their popularity. "The Mysteries of Udolpho," perhaps the most powerful of her works, had recently been published, to the intense delight of all lovers of the thrilling and romantic.-ED. (123) The name was then "Ariella," changed afterwards to "Camilla." (124) Written during his embarrassments from the French Revolution, and answer to a letter expressing bitter disappointment from repeated losses. (125) M. de Narbonne, in reply, expressed, in lively terms, his gratitude for Madame d'Arblay's invitation, and his pleasure in receiving it. But he declined the proposal. He was not, he said, wholly without resources, or without hopes for the future, and circumstances made it desirable that he should reside at present near the French frontier.-ED. (126) Gainsborough Dupont, a nephew of the great Gainsborough. He was a portrait-painter of some merit, and an excellent mezzo- tint engraver. some of his best plates were engraved after paintings by Gainsborough. Mr Dupont died in 1797.-ED. (127) " The Birth of Love;" a poem: with engravings, from designs by her royal highness the Princess Elizabeth. (128) i.e., the Duke of York, second son of the king. He had been appointed field-marshal and commander-in-chief early in 1795.-ED. (129) The Duchess of York was daughter to the King of Prussia.- ED. (130) Susan's little son, Norbury Phillips.-ED. (131) Rose Dale, Richmond, Surrey. This place was formerly the residence of the poet Thomson, and afterwards became the property of the Honourable Mrs. Boscawen. (132) The princess royal was married, May 18, 1797, to Frederick William, hereditary prince of Wurtemberg.-ED. (133) Editor and proprietor of the "Monthly Review." (134) The death of Dr. Burney's second wife. (135) Fanny alludes to the so-called "loyalty loan," proposed and carried by Mr Pitt, to meet the expenses of the war. "Pitt evinced his own Public spirit, when he relied on and appealed to the public spirit of the People. He announced a loan of 18,000,000 pounds, at five per cent., to be taken at 112 pounds , 10 shillings, for every 100 pounds stock, and with an option to the proprietors to he paid off at par within two years after a treaty of peace."-(Stanhope's "Life of Pitt," vol. ii., P. 389.) The loan was taken up by the Public with extraordinary eagerness, 5,000,000 pounds being subscribed on the first day of issue (December 1, 1796).-ED. .' (136) They had commenced building the cottage in October. Fanny writes, November 29: "Our cottage building stops now, from the shortness of the days, till the beginning of March. The foundation is laid, and it will then be run up with great speed. The well, at length, is finished, and it is a hundred and odd feet deep. The water is said to be excellent, but M. d'Arblay has had it now stopped to prevent accidents from hazardous boys, who, when the field is empty of owners, will be amusing themselves there. He has just completed his grand plantations; part of which are in evergreens, part in firewood for future time, and part in an orchard."-ED. Page 123 SECTION 21. (1797-8) "CAMILLA" COTTAGE. SUNDRY VISITS TO THE ROYAL FAMILY. [Fanny's pen portraits of the princesses are as fascinating as Gainsborough's paintings of them. Their truly amiable characters and sweet dispositions are nowhere more pleasantly illustrated than in the following section of the "Diary." A list of their names, with the dates of their births and deaths, may be useful to the reader. 1. Charlotte, princess royal. born 1767: Queen of Wirtemburg: died 1828. 2. Augusta, Fanny's favourite, as she well deserved to be. Born 1768 : never married : died 1840. 3. Elizabeth, the artist of the family. Born 1770 : married the hereditary prince (afterwards, in 1820, Landgrave) of Hesse- Homburg in 18 18, and settled in Germany: died 1840. 4. Mary. Born 1776 : married her cousin, William Frederick, Duke of Gloucester, in 1816: died 1857. 5. Sophia, born 1777: died 1848. 6. Amelia, born 1783. Her health first gave way in 1798 (see p. 180): she died, unmarried, at Windsor, in 1810. A few days before her death she gave her poor blind, old father, a ring containing a scrap of her hair ; saying only, as she pressed it into his hand, "Remember me!" The poor king's anguish brought on a fresh attack of insanity, from which he never recovered.-ED.] A DISAGREEABLE JOURNEY HoME. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, January 3, '97. WAS extremely vexed at missing our uncertain post yesterday, and losing, unavoidably, another to-day, before I return my dearest father our united thanks for the kind and sweet fortnight passed under his roof. Our adventures in coming back were better adapted to our departure than our Page 124 arrival, for they were rather rueful. One of the horses did not like his business, and wanted to be off, and we were stopped by his gambols continually , and, if I had not been a soldier's wife, I should have been terribly alarmed; but my soldier does not like to see himself disgraced in his other half, and so I was fain to keep up my courage, till, at length, after we had passed Fetcham, the frisky animal plunged till he fastened the shaft against a hedge, and then, little Betty beginning to scream, I inquired of the postilion if we had not better alight. If it were not, he said, for the dirt, yes. The dirt then was defied, and I prevailed, though with difficulty, upon my chieftain to consent to a general dismounting. And he then found it was not too soon, for the horse became inexorable to all menace, caress, chastisement, or harangue, and was obliged to be loosened. Meanwhile, Betty, Bab, and I trudged on, vainly looking back for our vehicle, till we reached our little home--a mile and a half. Here we found good fires, though not a morsel of food; this however, was soon procured, and our walking apparel changed for drier raiment; and I sent forth our nearest cottager, and a young butcher, and a boy, towards Fetcham, to aid the vehicle, or its contents, for my chevalier had stayed on account of our chattels: and about two hours after the chaise arrived, with one horse, and pushed by its hirer, while it was half dragged by its driver. But all came safe; and we drank a dish of tea, and ate a mutton chop, and kissed our little darling, and forgot all else of our journey hut the pleasure we had had at Chelsea with my dearest father and dear Sally. And just now I received a letter from our Susanna, which tells me the invasion(137) has been made in a part of Ireland Page 125 . where all is so loyal there can be no apprehension from any such attempt ; but she adds, that if it had happened in the north everything might have been feared. Heaven send the invaders far from all the points of the Irish compass! and that's an Irish wish for expression, though not for meaning. All the intelligence she gathers is encouraging, with regard to the spirit and loyalty of all that surround her. But Mr. Brabazon is in much uneasiness for his wife, whose situation is critical, and he hesitates whether or not to convey her to Dublin, as a place of more security than her own habitation. What a period this for the usual journey of our invaluable Susan! BURKE's FUNERAL AT BEACONSFIELD. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Saturday Night, July 22, 1797. I was invited to poor Mr. Burke's funeral,(138) by Mrs. Crewe and two notes from Beaconsfield. Malone and I went to Bulstrode together in my car, this day sevennight, with two horses added to mine. Mrs. Crewe had invited me thither when she went down first. We found the Duke of Portland there; and the Duke of Devonshire and Windham came to dinner. The chancellor and speaker of the House of Commons could not leave London till four o'clock, but arrived a little after seven. We all set off together for Beaconsfield, where we found the rest of the pall-bearers--Lord Fitzwilliam, Lord Inchiquin, and Sir Gilbert Eliot, with Drs. King and Lawrence, Lord North, Dudley North, and many of the deceased's private friends, though by his repeated injunction the funeral was to be very private. We had all hatbands, scarfs, and gloves; and he left a list to whom rings of remembrance are to be sent, among whom my name occurred, and a jeweller has been here for my measure. I went back to Bulstrode, by invitation, with the two dukes, the chancellor, and speaker, Windham, Malone, and Secretary King. I ,stayed there till Sunday evening, and got home just before the dreadful storm. The duke was extremely civil and hospitable,-- Page 126 pressed me much to stay longer and go with them, the chancellor, speaker, Windham, and Mrs. Crewe, to Pinn, to see the school, founded by Mr. Burke, for the male children of French emigrant nobles; but I could not with prudence stay, having a couple of ladies waiting for me in London, and two extra horses with me. So much for poor Mr. Burke, certainly one of the greatest men of the present century; and I think I might say the best orator and statesman of modern times. He had his passions and prejudices to which I did not subscribe - but I always admired his great abilities, friendship, and urbanity - and it would be ungrateful in you and me, to whom he was certainly partial, not to feel and lament his loss. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, July 27, '97. I was surprised, and almost frightened, though at the same time gratified, to find you assisted in paying the last honours to Mr. Burke. How sincerely I sympathise in all you say of that truly great man! That his enemies say he was not perfect is nothing compared with his immense superiority over almost all those who are merely exempted from his peculiar defects. That he was upright in heart, even where he acted wrong, I do truly believe; and that he asserted nothing he had not persuaded himself to be true, from Mr. Hastings's being the most rapacious of villains, to the king's being incurably insane. He was as generous as kind, and as liberal in his sentiments as he was luminous in intellect and extraordinary in abilities and eloquence. Though free from all little vanity, high above envy, and glowing with zeal to exalt talents and merit in others, he had, I believe a consciousness of his own greatness, that shut out those occasional and useful self-doubts which keep our judgment in order, by calling our motives and our passions to account. DEATH OF M. D'ARBLAY'S BROTHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Bookham, August 10, '97. You know, I believe, with what cruel impatience and uncertainty my dear companion has waited for some news Of his family ; no tidings, however, could be procure, nor has Page 127 ever heard from any part of it till last Saturday morning, when two letters arrived by the same post, with information of the death of his only brother. impossible as it has long been to look back to France without fears amounting even to expectation of horrors, he had never ceased cherishing hopes some favourable turn would, in the end, unite him with this last branch of his house; the shock, therefore, has been terribly severe, and has cast a gloom upon his mind and spirits which nothing but his kind anxiety to avoid involving mine can at present suppress. He is now the last of a family of seventeen, and not one relation of his own name now remains but his own little English son. His father was the only son of an only son, which drives all affinity on the paternal side into fourth and fifth kinsmen. On the maternal side, however, he has the happiness to hear that an uncle, who is inexpressibly dear to him, who was his guardian and best friend through life, still lives, and has been permitted to remain unmolested in his own house, at Joigny, where he is now in perfect health, save from rheumatic .attacks, which though painful are not dangerous. A son, too, of this gentleman, who was placed as a commissaire-de-guerre by M. d'Arblay during the period of his belonging to the war committee, still holds the same situation, which is very lucrative, and which M. d'A. had concluded would have been withdrawn as soon as his own flight from France was known. The little property of which the late Chevalier d'Arblay died possessed, this same letter says, has been "vendu pour la nation,"(139) because his next heir was an �migr�; though there is a little niece, Mlle. Girardin, daughter of an only sister, who is in France, and upon whom the succession was settled, if her uncles died without immediate heirs. Some little matter, however, what we know not, has been reserved by being bought in by this respectable uncle, who sends M. d'Arblay word he has saved him what he may yet live upon, if he can find means to return without personal risk, and who solicits to again see him with urgent fondness, in which he is joined by his aunt with as much warmth as if she, also, was his relation by blood, not alliance. The late chevalier, my M. d'A. says, was a man of the softest manners and most exalted honour ; and he was so tall and so thin, he was often nicknamed Don Quixote, but he was so completely aristocratic with regard to the Revolution, Page 128 at its very commencement, that M. d'A. has heard nothing yet with such unspeakable astonishment as the news that he died, near Spain, of his wounds from a battle in which he had fought for the Republic. "How strange," says M. d'A., "is our destiny! that that Republic which I quitted, determined to be rather an hewer of wood and drawer of water all my life than serve, he should die for." The secret history of this may some day come out, but it is now inexplicable, for the mere fact, without the smallest comment, is all that has reached us, In the period, indeed, in which M. d'A. left France, there were but three steps possible for those who had been bred to arms-flight, the guillotine, or fighting for the Republic, "The former this brother," M. d'A. says, "had not energy of character to undertake in the desperate manner in which he risked it himself, friendless and fortuneless, to live in exile as he could. The guillotine no one could elect; and the continuing in the service, though in a cause he detested, was, probably, his hard compulsion." . . . Our new habitation will very considerably indeed exceed our first intentions and expectations. I suppose it has ever been so, and so ever must be ; for we sought as well as determined to keep within bounds, and M. d'A. still thinks he has done it - however, I am more aware of our tricks upon travellers than to enter into the same delusion. The pleasure, however, he has taken in this edifice is my first joy, for it has constantly shown me his heart has invariably held to those first feelings which, before our union, determined him upon settling in England. O! if you knew how he has been assailed, by temptations of every sort that either ambition, or interest, or friendship could dictate, to change his plan,-and how his heart sometimes yearns towards those he yet can love in his native soil, while his firmness still remains unshaken,-- you would not wonder I make light of even extravagance in a point that shows him thus fixed to make this object a part of the whole system of his future life. FROM CREWE HALL TO CHELSEA. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Friday Night, September 13, 1797. My dear Fanny,-Where did I leave off?--hang me if I know!--I believe I told you, or all when with YOU, Of the Chester and Liverpool journey and voyage. On Saturday Page 129 26th August, the day month from leaving London, M. le pr�sident de Frondeville and I left Crewe Hall on our way back. The dear Mrs. Crewe kindly set us in our way as far as Etruria. We visited Trentham Hall, in Staffordshire, the famous seat of the Marquis of Stafford,--a very fine place--fine piece of water--fine hanging woods,--the valley of Tempe--and the river Trent running through the garden. Mrs C. introduced us to the marchioness, who did us the honour of showing us the house herself; it has lately been improved and enlarged by Wyatt:--fine pictures, library, etc. After a luncheon here, we went to Etruria, which I had never seen. Old Mr. Wedgwood is dead, and his son and successor not at home ; but we went to the pottery manufacture, and saw the whole process of forming the beautiful things which are dispersed all over the universe from this place. Mrs. C. offered to send you a little hand churn for your breakfast butter ; but I should have broke it to pieces, and durst not accept of it. But if it would be of any use, when you have a cow, I will get you one at the Wedgwood ware-house in London. Here we parted. The president and I got to Lichfield by about ten o'clock that night. In the morning, before my companion was up, I strolled about the city with one of the waiters, in search of Frank Barber,' who I had been told lived there; but on ,inquiry I was told his residence was in a village three or four miles off. I however soon found the house where dear Dr. Johnson was born, and his father's shop. The house is stuccoed, has five sash-windows in front, and pillars before it. It is the best house thereabouts, near St. Mary's Church, in a broad street, and is now a grocer's shop. I went next to the Garrick house, which has been lately repaired, stuccoed, enlarged, and sashed. Peter Garrick, David's eldest brother, died about two years ago, leaving all his Possessions to the apothecary that had attended him. But the will was disputed and set aside not long since, it having appeared at a trial that the testator was insane at the time the will was made; so that Mrs. Doxie, Garrick's sister, a widow with a numerous family, recovered the house and -_30,000, She now lives in it with her family, and has been able to set up a carriage. The inhabitants of Lichfield were so pleased Page 130 with the decision of the court on the trial, that they illuminated the streets, and had public rejoicings on the occasion. After examining this house well, I tried to find the residence of Dr. James, inventor of the admirable fever powders, which have so often saved the life of our dear Susey, and others without number. But the ungrateful inhabitants knew nothing about him. . . . The cathedral, which has been lately thoroughly repaired internally, is the most complete and beautiful Gothic building I ever saw. The outside was tr�s mal trait� by the fanatics of the last century; but there are three beautiful spires still standing, and more than fifty whole-length figures of saints in their original niches. The choir is exquisitely beautiful. A fine new organ is erected, and was well played, and I never heard the cathedral service so well performed to that instrument only before. The services and anthems were middle-aged music, neither too old and dry, nor too modern and light ; the voices subdued, and exquisitely softened and sweetened by the building, While the lessons were reading, which I could not hear, I looked for monuments, and found a beautiful one to Garrick, and another just by it to Johnson; the former erected by Mrs. Garrick, who has been daily abused for not erecting one to her husband in Westminster Abbey ; but sure that was a debt due to him from the public, and that due from his widow best paid here.(141) Johnson's has been erected by his friends:--both are beautiful, and alike in every particular. There is a monument here to Johnson's first patron, Mr. Walmsley, whose amplitude of learning and copiousness of communication were such, that our revered friend said, "it might be doubted whether a day passed in which he had not some advantage from his friendship." There is a monument likewise to Lady M. W. Montagu, and to the father of Mr. Addison, etc. We left Lichfield about two o'clock, and reached Daventry that night, stopping a little at Coventry to look at the great church and Peeping Tom. Next day got to St. Albans time enough to look 'It the church and neighbouring ruins. Next morning breakfasted at Barnet, where my car met me, and got to Chelsea by three o'clock, leaving my agreeable compagnon de voyage, M. le pr�sident, at his apartments in town. . . . Page 131 AT DR. HERSCHEL'S. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Chelsea College, Thursday, September 28. My dear Fanny,--I read your letter pen in hand, and shall try to answer it by to-day's post. But first let me tell you that it was very unlikely to find me at home, for on Tuesday I went to Lord Chesterfield's at Bailie's, and arrived there in very good time for a four o'clock dinner - when, behold ! I was informed by the porter that " both my lord and lady were in town, and did not return till Saturday ! " Lord Chesterfield had unexpectedly been obliged to go to town by indisposition. Though I was asked to alight and take refreshment, I departed immediately, intending to dine and lie at Windsor, to be near Dr. Herschel, with whom a visit had been arranged by letter. But as I was now at liberty to make that visit at any time of the day I pleased, I drove through Slough in my way to Windsor, in order to ask at Dr. Herschel's door when my visit would be least inconvenient to him--that night or next morning. The good soul was at dinner, but came to the door himself, to press me to alight immediately and partake of his family repast - and this he did so heartily that I could not resist. I was introduced to the family at table, four ladies, and a little boy about the age and size of Martin.(142) I was quite shocked at seeing so many females: I expected (not knowing Herschel was married) only to have found Miss Herschel. . . . I expressed my concern and shame at disturbing them at this time of the day ; told my story, at which they were so cruel as to rejoice, and went so far as to say they rejoiced at the accident which had brought me there, and hoped I would send my carriage away, and take a bed with them. They were sorry they had no stables for my horses. I thought it necessary, You may, be sure, to faire la petite bouche, ,but in spite of my blushes I was obliged to submit to my trunk being taken in and the car sent to the inn just by. . . . Your health was drunk after dinner (put that int.) your pocket); and after much social conversation and a few hearty laughs, the ladies proposed to take a walk, in order, I believe, to leave Herschel and me together. We walked and talked Page 132 round his great telescopes till it grew damp and dusk, then retreated into his study to philosophise. I had a string of questions ready to ask, and astronomical difficulties to solve, which, with looking at curious books and instruments, filled up the time charmingly till tea, which being drank with the ladies, we two retired again to the starry. Now having paved the way, we began to talk of my poetical plan, and he pressed me to read what I had done.(143) Heaven help his head! my eight books, of from four hundred to eight hundred and twenty lines, would require two or three days to read. He made me unpack my trunk for my MS., from which I read him the titles of the chapters, and begged he would choose any book or character of a great astronomer he pleased. "Oh, let us have the beginning." I read him the first eighteen or twenty lines of the exordium, and then said I rather wished to come to modern times - I was more certain of my ground in high antiquity than after the time of Copernicus, and began my eighth chapter, entirely on Newton and his system. He gave me the greatest encouragement said repeatedly that I perfectly understood what I was writing' about - and only stopped me at two places: one was at a word too strong for what I had to describe, and the other at one too weak. The doctrine he allowed to be quite orthodox, concerning gravitation, refraction, reflection, optics, comets, magnitudes, distances, revolutions, etc., but made a discovery to me which, had I known sooner, would have overset me, and prevented my reading any part of my work: he said he had almost always had an aversion to poetry, which he regarded as the arrangement of fine words, without any useful meaning or adherence to truth; but that, when truth and science were united to these fine words, he liked poetry very well; and next morning, after breakfast, he made me read as much of another chapter on Descartes, etc., as the time would allow, as I had ordered my carriage at twelve. I read, talked, asked questions, and looked at books and instruments, till near one, when I set off for Chelsea. Page 133 HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Francis.) Westhamble, November 16, 1797. Your letter was most welcome to me, my dearest Charlotte, and I am delighted Mr. Broome(144) and my dear father will so speedily meet. If they steer clear of politics, there can be no doubt of their immediate exchange of regard and esteem. At all events, I depend upon Mr. B.'s forbearance of such subjects, if their opinions clash. Pray let me hear how the interview went off. I need not say how I shall rejoice to see you again, nor how charmed we shall both be to make a nearer acquaintance with Mr. Broome; but, for heaven's sake, my dear girl, how are we to give him a dinner?--unless he will bring with him his poultry, for ours are not yet arrived from Bookham; and his fish, for ours are still at the bottom of some pond we know not where, and his spit, for our jack is yet without clue; and his kitchen grate, for ours waits for Count Rumford's(145) next pamphlet;--not to mention his table-linen;--and not to speak Page 134 of his knives and forks, some ten of our poor original twelve having been massacred in M. d'Arblay's first essays in the art of carpentering ;-and to say nothing of his large spoons, the silver of our plated ones having feloniously made off under cover of the whitening-brush--and not to talk of his cook, ours being not yet hired ;-and not to start the subject of wine, ours, by some odd accident, still remaining at the wine-merchant's! With all these impediments, however, to convivial hilarity, if he will eat a quarter of a joint of meat (his share, I mean), tied up by a packthread, and roasted by a log of wood on the bricks,--and declare no potatoes so good as those dug by M. d'Arblay out of our garden,--and protest our small beer gives the spirits of champagne,--and make no inquiries where we have deposited the hops he will conclude we have emptied out of our table-cloth,-- and pronounce that bare walls are superior to tapestry,--and promise us the first sight of his epistle upon visiting a new-built cottage,--we shall be sincerely happy to receive him in our hermitage; where I hope to learn, for my dearest Charlotte's sake, to love him as much as, for his own I have very long admired him. WAR TAXES. "CAMILLA" COTTAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, December, '97. The new threefold assessment of taxes has terrified us rather seriously ; though the necessity, and therefore justice, of them, we mutually feel. My father thinks his own share will amount to eighty pounds a year ! We have, this very morning, decided upon parting with four of our new windows, --a great abatement of agr�mens to ourselves, and of ornament to our appearance; and a still greater sacrifice to the amour Propre of my architect, who, indeed,--his fondness for his edifice considered,--does not ill deserve praise that the scheme had not his mere consent, but his own free proposition. . . . We quitted Bookham with one single regret--that of leaving our excellent neighbours the Cookes. . . . we languished for the moment of removal with almost infantine fretfulness at every delay that distanced it; and when at last the grand day came, our final packings, with all their toil Page 135 and difficulties and labour and expense, were mere acts of pleasantry; so bewitched were we with the impending change, that, though from six o'clock to three we were hard at work, without a kettle to boil the breakfast, or a knife to cut bread for a luncheon, we missed nothing, wanted nothing, and were as insensible to fatigue as to hunger. M. d'Arblay set out on foot, loaded with remaining relics of things, to us precious, and Betty afterwards with a remnant of glass or two; the other maid had been sent two days before. I was forced to have a chaise for my Alex and me, and a few looking-glasses, a few folios, and not a few other oddments and then, with dearest Mr. Locke, our founder's portrait, and my little boy, off I set, and I would my dearest Susan could relate to me as delicious a journey. My mate, striding over hedge and ditch, arrived first, though he set out after' to welcome me to our new dwelling; and we entered our new best room, in which I found a glorious fire of wood, and a little bench, borrowed of one of the departing carpenters : nothing else. We contrived to make room for each other, and Alex disdained all rest. His spirits were so high upon finding two or three rooms totally free for his horse (alias any stick he can pick up) and himself, unencumbered by chairs and tables and such-like lumber, that he was as merry as a little Andrew and as wild as twenty colts. Here we unpacked a small basket containing three or four loaves, and, with a garden-knife, fell to work; some eggs had been procured from a neighbouring farm, and one saucepan had been brought. We dined, therefore, exquisitely, and drank to our new possession from a glass of clear water out of our new well. At about eight o'clock our goods arrived. We had our bed put up in the middle of our room, to avoid risk of damp walls, and our Alex had his dear Willy's crib at our feet. We none of us caught cold. We had fire night and day in the maids' room, as well as Our own -or rather in my Susan's room; for we lent them that, their own having a little inconvenience against a fire, because it is built without a chimney. We Continued making fires all around us the first fortnight, and then found wood would be as bad as an apothecary's bill, so desisted; but we did not stop short so soon as to want the latter to succeed the former, or put our calculation to the proof. Our first week was devoted to unpacking, and exulting in Our completed plan. To have no one thing at hand, nothing Page 136 to eat, nowhere to sit--all were trifles, rather, I think, amusing than incommodious. The house looked so clean, the distribution of the rooms and closets is so convenient, the prospect everywhere around is so gay and so lovely, and the park of dear Norbury is so close at hand, that we hardly knew how to require anything else for existence than the enjoyment of our own situation. At this period I received my summons. I believe I have already explained that I had applied to Miss Planta for advice whether my best chance of admission would be at Windsor, Kew, or London. I had a most kind letter of answer, importing my letter had been seen, and that her majesty would herself fix the time when she could admit me. This was a great happiness to me, and the fixture was for the Queen's house in town. VISITORS ARRIVE INOPPORTUNELY. The only drawback to the extreme satisfaction of such graciousness as allowing an appointment to secure me from a fruitless journey, as well as from impropriety and all fear of intrusion, was, that exactly at this period the Princess d'Henin and M. de Lally were expected at Norbury. I hardly could have regretted anything else, I was so delighted by my summons; but this I indeed lamented. They arrived to dinner on Thursday: I was involved in preparations, and unable to meet them, and my mate would not be persuaded to relinquish aiding me. The next morning, through mud, through mire, they came to our cottage. The poor princess was forced to change shoes and stockings. M. de Lally is more accustomed to such expeditions. Nothing could be more sweet than they both were, nor indeed, more grateful than I felt for my share in their kind exertion. The house was re-viewed all over, even the little pot au feu was opened by the princess, excessively curious to see our manner of living in its minute detail. I have not heard if your letter has been received by M. de Lally; but I knew not then you had written, and therefore did not inquire. The princess talked of nothing so much as you, and with a softness of regard that quite melted me. I always tell her warmly how you feel about her. M. de Lally was most melancholy about France; the last new and most alas! barbarous revolution(146) has disheartened all his hopes--alas! Page 137 whose can withstand it? They made a long and kind visit, and in the afternoon we went to Norbury Park, where we remained till near eleven o'clock, and thought the time very short. Madame d'Henin related some of her adventures in this second flight from her terrible country, and told them with a spirit and a power of observation that would have made them interesting if a tale of old times ; but now, all that gives account of those events awakens the whole mind to attention. M. de Lally after tea read us a beginning of a new tragedy, composed upon an Irish story, but bearing allusion so palpable to the virtues and misfortunes of Louis XVI. that it had almost as strong an effect upon our passions and faculties as if it had borne the name of that good and unhappy prince. It is written with great pathos, noble sentiment, and most eloquent language. I parted from them with extreme reluctance-nay, vexation. ANOTHER VISIT TO THE ROYAL FAMILY. I set off for town early the next day, Saturday. My time was not yet fixed for my royal interview, but I had various preparations impossible to make in this dear, quiet, obscure cottage. Mon ami could not accompany me, as we had still two men constantly at work, the house without being quite unfinished but I could not bear to leave his little representative, who, with Betty, was my companion to Chelsea. There I was expected, and Our dearest father came forth with open arms to welcome us. He was in delightful spirits, the sweetest humour, and perfectly good looks and good health. My little rogue soon engaged him in a romp, which conquered his rustic shyness, and they became the best friends in the world. Thursday morning I had a letter from Miss Planta, written with extreme warmth of kindness, and fixing the next day at eleven o'clock for my royal admission. Page 138 I went up-stairs to Miss Planta's room, where, while I waited for her to be called, the charming Princess Mary passed by, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. She recollected me and turned back, and came up to me with a fair hand graciously held out to me. "How do you do, Madame d'Arblay?" she cried: "I am vastly glad to see you again and how does your little boy do?" I gave her a little account of the rogue, and she proceeded to inquire about my new cottage, and its actual state. I entered into a long detail of its bare walls, and unfurnished sides, and the gambols of the little man unencumbered by cares of fractures from useless ornaments, that amused her good-humoured interest in my affairs very much , and she did not leave me till Miss Planta came to usher me to Princess Augusta. That kind princess received me with a smile so gay, and a look so pleased at my pleasure in again seeing her, that I quite regretted the etiquette which prevented a chaste embrace. She was sitting at her toilette having her hair dressed. The royal family were all going at night to the play. She turned instantly from the glass to face me, and insisted upon my being seated immediately. She then wholly forgot her attire and ornaments and appearance, and consigned herself wholly to conversation, with that intelligent animation which marks her character. She inquired immediately how my little boy did, and then with great sweetness after his father, and after my father. My first subject was the princess royal, and I accounted for not having left my hermitage in the hope of once more seeing her royal highness before her departure. It would have been, I told her, so melancholy a pleasure to have come merely for a last view, that I could not bear to take my annual indulgence at a period which would make it leave a mournful impression upon my mind for a twelvemonth to come. The princess said she could enter into that, but said it as if she had been surprised I had not appeared. She then gave ne some account of the ceremony ;(147) and when I told her I had heard that her royal highness the bride had never looked so lovely, she confirmed the praise warmly, but laughingly added, "'Twas the queen dressed her! You know what a figure she used to make of herself, with her odd manner Of Page 139 dressing herself; but mamma said, 'Now really, princess royal, this one time is the last, and I cannot suffer you to make such a quiz of yourself; so I will really have you dressed such a quiz of yourself, properly.' And indeed the queen was quite in the right, for everybody said she had never looked so well in her life." The word "quiz," you may depend, was never the queen's. I had great comfort, however, in gathering, from all that passed on that subject, that the royal family is persuaded this estimable princess is happy. From what I know of her disposition I am led to believe the situation may make her so. She is born to preside, and that with equal softness and dignity; but she was here in utter subjection, for which she had neither spirits nor inclination. She adored the king, honoured the queen, and loved her sisters, and had much kindness for her brothers ; but her style of life was not adapted to the royalty of her nature, any more than of her birth; and though she only wished for power to do good and to confer favours, she thought herself out of her place in not possessing it. I was particularly happy to learn from the Princess Augusta that she has already a favourite friend in her new Court, in one of the princesses of Wurtemberg, wife of a younger brother of the hereditary prince, and who is almost as a widow, from the prince, her husband, being constantly with the army. This is a delightful circumstance, as her turn of mind, and taste, and ,employments, accord singularly with those of our princess. I have no recollection of the order of our conversation, but will give you what morsels occur to me as they arise in my memory. The terrible mutiny occupied us some time.(148) She told me Page 140 many anecdotes that she had learnt in favour Of various sailors, declaring, with great animation, her security In their good hearts, however drawn aside by harder and more cunning heads, The sweetness with which she delights to get out of all that is forbidding in her rank is truly adorable. In speaking of a sailor on board the St. Fiorenzo, when the royal family made their excursion by sea from Weymouth, she said, "You must know this man was a great favourite of mine, for he had the most honest countenance you can conceive, and I have often talked with him, every time we have been at Weymouth, so that we were good friends; but I wanted now in particular to ask him concerning the mutiny, but I knew I should not get him to speak out while the king and queen and my sisters were by ; so I told Lady Charlotte Bellasyse to watch an opportunity when he was upon deck, and the rest were in the cabin, and then we went up to him and questioned him; and he quite answered my expectations, for, instead of taking any merit to himself from belonging to the St. Fiorenso, which was never in the mutiny, the good creature said he was sure there was not a sailor in the navy that was not sorry to have belonged to it, and would not have got out of it as readily as himself, if he had known but how." The Princess Elizabeth now entered, but she did not stay. She came to ask something of her sister relative to a little f�te she was preparing, by way of a collation, in honour of the Princess Sophia, who was twenty this day. She made kind inquiries after my health, etc., and, being mistress of the birthday f�te, hurried off, and I had not the pleasure to see her any more. I must be less minute, or I shall never have done. My charming Princess Augusta renewed the conversation. Admiral Duncan's noble victory(149) became the theme, but it was interrupted by the appearance of the lovely Princess Amelia, now become a model of grace, beauty and sweetness, Page 141 in their bud. She gave me her hand with the softest expression of kindness, and almost immediately began questioning me concerning my little boy and with an air of interest the most captivating. But again Princess Augusta declined any interruptors: "You shall have Madame d'Arblay all to yourself, my dear, soon," she cried, laughingly; and, with a smile a little serious, the sweet Princess Amelia retreated. It would have been truly edifying to young ladies living in the great and public world to have assisted in my place at the toilette of this exquisite Princess Augusta. Her ease, amounting even to indifference, as to her ornaments and decoration, showed a mind so disengaged from vanity, so superior to personal appearance, that I could with difficulty forbear manifesting my admiration. She let the hair-dresser proceed upon her head without comment and without examination, just as if it was solely his affair ; and when the man, Robinson, humbly begged to know what ornaments he was to prepare the hair for, she said, "O, there are my feathers, and my gown is blue, so take what you think right." And when he begged she would say whether she would have any ribbons or other things mixed with the feathers and jewels, she said, "You understand all that best, Mr. Robinson, I'm sure; there are the things, so take just what you please." And after this she left him wholly to himself, never a moment interrupting her discourse or her attention with a single direction. INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN. Princess Augusta had just begun a very interesting account of an officer that had conducted himself singularly well in the mutiny, when Miss Planta came to summon me to the queen. I begged permission to return afterwards for my unfinished narrative, and then proceeded to the white closet. The queen was alone, seated at a table, and working. Miss Planta opened the door and retired without entering. I felt a good deal affected by the sight of her Majesty again, so graciously accorded to my request ; but my first and instinctive feeling was nothing to what I experienced when, after my profoundly respectful reverence, I raised my eyes, and saw in hers a look of sensibility so expressive of regard, and so examining, so penetrating into mine, as to seem to convey, involuntarily, a regret I had quitted her. This, at least, was the idea that struck me, from the species of look which met Page 142 me; and it touched me to the heart, and brought instantly, in defiance of all struggle, a flood of tears into my eyes. I was some minutes recovering; and when I then entreated her forgiveness, and cleared up, the voice with which she Spoke, in hoping I was well, told me she had caught a little of my sensation, for it was by no means steady. Indeed, at that moment, I longed to kneel and beseech her pardon for the displeasure I had felt in her long resistance of my resignation, for I think, now, it was from a real and truly honourable wish to attach me to her for ever. But I then suffered too much from a situation so ill adapted to my choice and disposition, to do justice to her opposition, or to enjoy its honour to myself. Now that I am so singularly, alas! nearly singularly happy, though wholly from my perseverance in that resignation, I feel all I owe her, and I feel more and more grateful for every mark of her condescension, either recollected or renewed. She looked ill, pale, and harassed. The king was but just returned from his abortive visit to the Nore, and the inquietude she had sustained during that short separation, circumstanced many ways alarmingly, had evidently shaken her: I saw with much, with deep concern, her sunk eyes and spirits. I believe the sight of me raised not the latter. Mrs. Schwellenberg had not long been dead, and I have some reason to think she would not have been sorry to have had me supply the vacancy; for I had immediate notice sent me of her death by Miss Planta, so written as to persuade me it was a letter by command. But not all my duty, all my gratitude, could urge me, even one short fleeting moment, to weigh any interest against the soothing serenity, the unfading felicity, of a hermitage such as mine. We spoke of poor Mrs. Schwelly,--and of her successor, Mlle. Backmeister,--and of mine, Mrs. Bremyere; and I could not but express my concern that her majesty had again been so unfortunate, for Mlle. Jacobi had just retired to Germany, ill and dissatisfied with everything in England. The Princess Augusta had recounted to me the whole narrative of her retirement, and its circumstances. The queen told me that the king had very handsomely taken care of her. But such frequent retirements are heavy weights upon the royal bounty. I felt almost guilty when the subject was started; but not from any reproach, any allusion,-not a word was dropped that had not kindness and goodness for its basis and its superstructure at once. Page 143 "How is your little boy?" was one of the earliest questions. "is he here?" she added. "O yes," I answered, misunderstanding her, "he is my shadow; I go nowhere without him." "But here, I mean?" "O no! ma'am, I did not dare presume--" I stopped, for her look said it would be no presumption. And Miss Planta had already desired me to bring him to her next time; which I suspect was by higher order than her own suggestion. She then inquired after my dear father, and so graciously, that I told her not only of his good health, but his occupations, his new work, a "Poetical History of Astronomy," and his consultations with Herschel. She permitted me to speak a good deal of the Princess of Wurtemberg, whom they still all call princess royal. She told me she had worked her wedding garment, and entirely, and the real labour it had proved, from her steadiness to have no help, well knowing that three stitches done by any other would make it immediately said it was none of it by herself. "As the bride of a widower," she continued, "I know she ought to be in white and gold ; but as the king's eldest daughter she had a right to white and silver, which she preferred." A little then we talked of the late great naval victory, and she said it was singularly encouraging to us that the three great victories at sea had been "against our three great enemies, successively : Lord Howe against the French, Lord St. Vincent against the Spaniards, and Lord Duncan against the Dutch."(150) She spoke very feelingly of the difficult situation of the Orange family, now in England, upon this battle; and she repeated me the contents of' a letter from the Princess of Orange, whose character she much extolled, upon the occasion, page 144 to the Princess Elizabeth, saying she could not bear to be the only person in England to withhold her congratulations to the king upon such an occasion, when no one owed him such obligations; but all she had to regret was that the Dutch had not fought with, not against, the English, and that the defeat had not fallen upon those who ought to be their joint enemies. She admired and pitied, inexpressibly, this poor fugitive princess. I told her of a note my father had received from Lady Mary Duncan, in answer to his wishing her joy of her relation's prowess and success, in which he says, "Lady Mary has been, for some days past, like the rest of the nation drunk for joy." This led to more talk of this singular lady: and reciprocal stories of her oddities. She then deigned to inquire very particularly about our new cottage,-its size, its number of rooms, and its grounds. I told her, honestly, it was excessively comfortable, though unfinished and unfitted up, for that it had innumerable little contrivances and conveniences, just adapted to our particular use and taste, as M. d'Arblay had been its sole architect and surveyor. "Then I dare say," she answered, "it is very commodious, for there are no people understand enjoyable accommodations more than French gentleman, when they have the arranging them themselves." This was very kind, and encouraged me to talk a good deal of my partner, in his various works and employments ; and her manner of attention was even touchingly condescending, all circumstances considered. And she then related to me the works of two French priests, to whom she has herself been so good as to commit the fitting up of one of her apartments at Frogmore. And afterwards she gave me a description of what another French gentleman-- elegantly and feelingly avoiding to say emigrant--had done in a room belonging to Mrs. Harcourt, at Sophia farm, where he had the sole superintendence of it, and has made it beautiful. When she asked about our field, I told her we hoped in time to buy it, as Mr. Locke had the extreme kindness to consent to part with it to us, when it should suit our convenience to purchase instead of renting it. I thought I saw a look of peculiar satisfaction at this, that seemed to convey pleasure in the implication thence to be drawn, that England was our decided, not forced or eventual residence. And she led me on to many minute particulars of our situation and way of living, with a sweetness of interest I can never forget. Page 145 Nor even here stopped the sensations of gratitude and pleasure she thus awoke. She spoke then of my beloved Susan ; asked if she were still in Ireland, and how the " pretty Norbury " did. She then a little embarrassed me by an inquiry "why Major Phillips went to Ireland?" for my answer, that he was persuaded he should improve his estate by superintending the agriculture of it himself, seemed dissatisfactory; however, she pressed it no further. But I cannot judge by what passed whether she concludes he is employed in a military way there, or whether she has heard that he has retired. She seemed kindly pleased at all I had to relate of my dear Norbury, and I delighted to call him back to her remembrance. She talked a good deal of the Duchess of York, who continues the first favourite of the whole royal family. She told me of her beautiful works, lamented her indifferent health, and expatiated upon her admirable distribution of her time and plan of life, and charming qualities and character. But what chiefly dwells upon me with pleasure is, that she spoke to me upon some subjects and persons that I know she would not for the world should be repeated, with just the same confidence, the same reliance upon my grateful discretion for her openness, that she honoured me with while she thought me established in her service for life. I need not tell my Susan how this binds me more than ever to her. Very short to me seemed the time, though the whole conversation was serious, and her air thoughtful almost to sadness, when a page touched the door, and said something in German. The queen, who was then standing by the window, turned round to answer him, and then, with a sort of Congratulatory smile to me, said, "Now you will see what you don't expect--the king!" I could indeed not expect it, for he was at Blackheath at a review, and he was returned only to dress for the levee. . . THE KING AND HIS INFANT GRAND-DAUGHTER. The king related very pleasantly- a little anecdote of Lady --. "She brought the little Princess Charlotte,"(151) he said "to me just before the review. 'She hoped,' she said, 'I should not take it ill, for, having mentioned it to the child, Page 146 she built so upon it that she had thought of nothing else.' Now this," cried he, laughing heartily, "was pretty strong! How can she know what a child is thinking of before it can speak?" I was very happy at the fondness they both expressed for the little princess, "A sweet little creature," the king called her; "A most lovely child," the queen turned to me to add and the king said he had taken her upon his horse, and given her a little ride, before the regiment rode up to him. "'TIS very odd," he added, "but she always knows me on horseback, and never else." "Yes," said the queen, "when his majesty comes to her on horseback, she claps her little bands, and endeavours to say 'Gampa!' immediately." I was much pleased that she is brought up to such simple and affectionate acknowledgment of relationship. The king then inquired about my father, and with a look of interest and kindness that regularly accompanies his mention of that most dear person. He asked after his health, his spirits, and his occupations, waiting for long answers to each inquiry, The queen anticipated my relation of his astronomic work, and he seemed much pleased with the design, as well as at hearing that his prot�g� Dr. Herschel, had been consulted. I was then a little surprised by finding he had heard of "Clarentine."(152) He asked me, smilingly, some questions about it, and if it were true, what he suspected, that my young sister had a mind to do as I had done, and bring out a work in secret? I was very much pleased then when the queen said, "I have seen it, sir, and it is very pretty." . . . ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY. THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF ORANGE. I then, by her majesty's kind appointment, returned to my lovely and loved Princess Augusta. Her hairdresser was just gone, and she was proceeding in equipping herself "If you can bear to see all this work," cried she, "pray come and sit with me, my dear Madame d'Arblay." Nothing could be more expeditious than her attiring herself, nothing more careless than her examination how it succeeded. But judge my confusion and embarrassment, when, upon my saying I came to petition for the rest of the Story, Page 147 she had just begun, and her answering by inquiring what it was about, I could not tell! It had entirely escaped my memory; and though I sought every way I could suggest to recall it, I so entirely failed, that after her repeated demands, I was compelled honestly to own that the commotion I had been put in by my interview with their majesties had really driven it from my mind. She bore this with the true good humour of good sense but I was most excessively ashamed. She then resumed the reigning subject of the day, Admiral Duncan's victory and this led to speak again of the Orange family; but she checked what seemed occurring to her about them, till her wardrobe-woman had done and was -dismissed ; then, hurrying her away, while she sat down by me, putting on her long and superb diamond earrings herself, and without even turning towards a glass, she said, "I don't like much to talk of that family before the servants, for I am told they already think the king too good to them." The Princess of Orange is, I find, a great favourite with them all ; the Prince Frederick also, I believe, they like very much; but the prince himself, she said, " has never, in fact, had his education finished. He was married quite a ',-,'boy - but, being married, concluded himself a man, and not only turned off all his instructors, but thought it unnecessary to ask, or hear, counsel or advice of any one. He is like a fallow field,-that is, not of a soil that can't be improved ;:but one that has been left quite to itself, and therefore has no materials put in it for improvement." She then told me that she had hindered him, with great faculty, from going to a great dinner, given at the Mansion House. upon the victory of Admiral Duncan. It was not, she said, that he did not feel for his country in that defeat, but that he never weighed the impropriety of his public appearance upon an occasion of rejoicing at it, nor the Ill effect the history of his so doing would produce in Holland. She had the kindness of heart to take upon herself preventing him "for no one," says she, "that is about him dares ever speak to him, to give him any hint of advice; which is a great "Misfortune: to him, poor man, for it makes him never know what is said or thought of him." She related with a great deal of humour her arguments to dissuade him, and his na�ve manner of combating them. But though she conquered at last, she did not convince, Page 148 The Princess of Orange, she told me, had a most superior understanding and might guide him sensibly and honourably, but he was so jealous of being thought led by her counsel' that he never listened to it at all. She gave me to understand that this unhappy princess had had a life of uninterrupted indulgence and prosperity till the late revolution - and that the suddenness of such adversity had rather soured her mind, which, had it met sorrow and evil by any gradations, would have been equal to bearing them even nobly - but so quick a transition from affluence, and power, and wealth, and grandeur, to a fugitive and dependent state, had almost overpowered her. A door was now opened from an inner apartment, where, I believe, was the grand collation for the Princess Sophia's birthday, and a tall thin young man appeared at it, peeping and staring, but not entering. "O! How do you do, Ernest?" cried the princess; "I hope you are well; only pray do shut the door." He did not obey, nor move, either forwards or backwards, but kept peering and peeping. She called to him again, beseeching him to shut the door- but he was determined to first gratify his curiosity, and, when he had looked as long as he thought pleasant, he entered the apartment; but Princess Augusta, instead of receiving and welcoming him, only said, "Good-bye, my dear Ernest; I shall see you again at the play." He then marched on, finding himself so little desired, and only saying, "No, you won't; I hate the play." I had risen when I found it one of the princes, and with a motion of readiness to depart - but my dear princess would not let me. When we were alone again, "Ernest," she said, "has a very good heart; only he speaks without taking time to think." She then gave me an instance. The Orange family by some chance were all assembled with our royal family when the news of the great victory at sea arrived; or at least upon the same day. "We were all," said she, " distressed for them upon SO trying an occasion and at supper we talked, of' course, Of every other subject; but Ernest, quite uneasy at the forbearance, said to me, 'You don't think I won't drink Duncan's health to-night?' 'Hush!' cried I. 'That's very hard indeed!' said he, quite loud. I saw the princess of Page 149 orange looking at him, and was sure she had heard him; I trod upon his foot, and made him turn to her. She looked so disturbed, that he saw she had understood him, and he coloured very high. The Princess of Orange then said, 'I hope my being here will be no restraint upon anybody: I know what must be the subject of everybody's thoughts, and I beg I may not prevent its being so of their discourse.' Poor Ernest now was so sorry, he was ready to die, and the tears started into his eyes; and he would not have given his toast after this for all the world." SOME NOTABLE ACTRESSES. The play they were going to was "The Merchant of Venice," to see a new actress, just now much talked of--Miss Betterton; and the king, hearing she was extremely frightened at the thoughts of appearing before him, desired she might choose her own part for the first exhibition in his presence. She fixed upon Portia. In speaking of Miss Farren's marriage with the Earl of Derby, she displayed that sweet mind which her state and station has so wholly escaped sullying; for, far from expressing either horror, or resentment, or derision at an actress being elevated to the rank of second countess of England, she told me, with an air of satisfaction, that she was informed she had behaved extremely well since her marriage, and done many generous and charitable actions. She spoke with pleasure, too, of the high marriage made by another actress, Miss Wallis, who has preserved a spotless character, and is now the wife of a man of fortune and family Mr Campbell. In mentioning Mrs. Siddons, and her great and affecting powers, she much surprised me by intelligence that she had bought the proprietorship of Sadler's-wells. I could not hear it without some amusement it seemed, I said, so extraordinary a combination--so degrading a one, indeed,-that of the first tragic actress, the living Melpomene, and something so burlesque as Sadler's-wells. She laughed, and said it offered her a very ludicrous image, for Mrs. Siddons and Sadler's-wells," said she, " seems to me as ill-fitted as the dish they call a toad in a hole which I never saw, but always think of with anger, - -putting a noble sirloin of beef into .1 ,'poor, Paltry batter-pudding! Page 150 THE DUKE OF CLARENCE. The door now again opened, and another royal personage put in his head - and upon the princess saying, "How d'ye do, William?" I recollected the Duke of Clarence. I rose, of course, and he made a civil bow to my curtsey The princess asked him about the House of Lords the preceding evening, where I found he had spoken very handsomely and generously in eulogium of Admiral Duncan. Finding he was inclined to stay, the princess said to me, "Madame d'Arblay, I beg you will sit down." "Pray, madam," said the duke, with a formal motion of his hand, "let me beg you to be seated." "You know--you recollect Madame d'Arblay, don't you, William ?" said the princess. He bowed civilly an affirmative, and then began talking to me of Chesington. How I grieved poor dear Kitty was gone! How great would have been her gratification to have heard that he mentioned her, and with an air of kindness, as if he had really entered into the solid goodness of her character. I was much Surprised and much pleased, yet not without some perplexity and some embarrassment, as his knowledge of the excellent Kitty was from her being the dupe of the mistress of his aide-de-camp. The princess, however, saved me any confusion beyond apprehension, for she asked not one question. He moved on towards the next apartment, and we were again alone. She then talked to me a great deal of him, and gave me, admirably, his character. She is very partial to him, but by no means blindly. He had very good parts, she said, but seldom did them justice. "If he has something of high importance to do," she continued, "he will exert himself to the utmost, and do it really well; but otherwise, he is so fond of his ease, he lets everything take its course. He can just do a great deal or nothing. However, I really think, if he takes pains, he may make something of a speaker by and by in the House." She related a visit he had made at Lady Mary Duncan's, at Hampton Court, upon hearing Admiral Duncan was there and told me the whole and most minute particulars of the battle, as they were repeated by his royal highness from the admiral's own account. But You will dispense with the martial detail from me. "Lady Mary," cried she, "is much Page 151 enchanted with her gallant nephew. 'I used to look,' says she, 'for honour and glory from my other side, the T--s ; but I receive it only from the Duncans ! As to the T-s, what good do they do their country?--why, they play all day at tennis, and learn with vast skill to notch and scotch and go one! And that's what their country gets from them!"' I thought now I should certainly be dismissed, for a page came to the door to announce that the Duke of York was arrived : but she only said, "Very well; pray shut the door," which seemed her gentle manner of having it understood she would not be disturbed, as she used the same words when messages were brought her from the Princesses Elizabeth and Mary. She spoke again of the Duchess of York with the same fondness as at Windsor. "I told you before," she said, "I loved her like one of my own sisters, and I can tell you no more: and she knows it; for one day she was taken ill, and fainted, and we put her upon one of our beds, and got her everything we could think of ourselves, and let nobody else wait upon her ; and when she revived she said to my brother, 'These are my sisters--I am sure they are! they must be my own!" PRINCESS SOPHIA OF GLOUCESTER. Our next and last interruption, I think, was from a very gentle tap at the door, and a "May I come in?" from a soft voice, while the lock was turned, and a youthful and very lovely female put in her head. The princess immediately rose, and said, " "O yes," and held out her two hands to her; turning at the same time to me, and saying, "Princess Sophia." I found it was the Duke of Gloucester's(154) daughter. She is very fat, with very fine eyes, a bright, even dazzling bloom, fine teeth, a beautiful skin, and a look of extreme modesty and sweetness. She curtseyed to me so distinguishingly, that I was almost confused by her condescension, fearing she 'Might imagine, from finding me seated with the Princess 'Augusta, and in such close conference, I was somebody. "You look so fine and so grand," cried she, examining the princess's attire, which was very superb in silver and diamonds, "that I am almost afraid to come near you!" Her own dress was perfectly simple, though remarkably elegant. Page 152 O!--I hate myself when so fine cried Princess Augusta; "I cannot bear it but there is no help--the people at the play always expect it." They then conversed a little while, both standing ; and then Princess Augusta said, "Give my love to the duke (meaning of Gloucester), "and I hope I shall see him bye and bye; and to William."(155) (meaning the duke's son). And this, which was not a positive request that she would prolong her visit, was understood; and the lovely cousin made her curtsey and retired. To me, again, she made another, so gravely low and civil, that I really blushed to receive it, from added fear of being mistaken. I accompanied her to the door, and shut it for her; and the moment she was out of the room, and out of sight of the Princess Augusta, she turned round to me, and with a smile of extreme Civility, and a voice very soft, said, "I am so happy to see you!--I have longed for it a great, great while--for I have read you with such delight and instruction, so often." I was very much surprised indeed; I expressed my sense of her goodness as well as I could; and she curtseyed again, and glided away. "How infinitely gracious is all your royal highness's House to me!" cried I, as I returned to my charming princess; who again made me take my seat next her own, and again renewed her discourse. I stayed on with this delightful princess till near four o'clock, when she descended to dinner. I then accompanied her to the head of the stairs, saying, "I feel quite low that this is over! How I wish it might be repeated in half a year instead of a year!" "I'm sure, and so do I!" were the last kind words she condescendingly uttered. I then made a little visit to Miss Planta, who was extremely friendly, and asked me why I should wait another year before I came. I told her I had leave for an annual visit, and could not presume to encroach beyond such a permission. However, as she proposed my calling upon her when I happened to be in town, I begged her to take some opportunity to hint my wish of admission, if possible, more frequently. Very soon afterwards I had a letter from Miss Planta, saying she had mentioned to her majesty my regret of the Page 153 long intervals of annual admissions; and that her majesty had most graciously answered, "She should be very glad to see me whenever I came to town." DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Mrs. Phillips.) INDIGNATION AGAINST TALLEYRAND. Westhamble, Jan. 18, 1798-I am very impatient to know if the invasion threat affects your part of Ireland. Our 'Oracle' is of opinion the French soldiers will not go to Ireland, though there flattered with much help, because they can expect but little advantage, after all the accounts spread by the Opposition of its starving condition ; but that they will come to England, though sure of contest, at least, because there they expect the very road to be paved with gold. Nevertheless, how I wish my heart's beloved here! to share with us at least the same fears, instead of the division of apprehension we must now mutually be tormented with. I own I am sometimes affrighted enough. These sanguine and sanguinary wretches will risk all for the smallest hope of plunder ; and Barras assures them they have only to enter England to be lords of wealth unbounded. But Talleyrand!--how like myself must you have felt at his conduct! indignant--amazed--ashamed! Our first prepossession against him was instinct--he conquered it by pains indefatigable to win us, and he succeeded astonishingly, for we became partial to him almost to fondness. The part he now acts against England may be justified, perhaps, by the spirit of revenge ; but the part he submits to perform of coadjutor with the worst of villains--with Barras--Rewbel--Merlin--marks some internal atrocity of character that disgusts as much as disappoints me. And now, a last stroke, which appears in yesterday's paper, gives the finishing hand to his portrait in my eyes. He has sent (and written) the letter which exhorts the King of Prussia to order the Duke of Brunswick to banish and drive from his dominions all the emigrants there in asylum --and among these are the Archbishop of Rennes (his uncle) and--his own mother! Poor M. de Narbonne! how will he be shocked and let down! where he now is we cannot conjecture: all emigrants are exiled from the Canton of Berne, where he resided; I feel extremely disturbed about him. If that wretch Talleyrand has Page 154 not given him some private Intimation to escape, and where to be safe, he must be a monster. THE D'ARBLAY MAISONNETTE. This very day, I thank God ! we paid the last of our work men. Our house now is our own fairly --that it is our own madly too you will all think, when I tell you the small remnant of our income that has outlived this payment. However, if the Carmagnols do not seize our walls, we despair not of enjoying, in defiance of all straitness and strictness, our dear dwelling to our hearts' content. But we are reducing our expenses and way of life, in order to go on, in a manner you would laugh to see, though almost cry to hear. But I never forget Dr. Johnson's words. When somebody said that a certain person "had no turn for economy," he answered, "Sir, you might as well say that he has no turn for honesty." We know nothing yet of our taxes-nothing- of our assessments; but we are of good courage, and so pleased with our maisonnette, we think nothing too dear for it, provided we can but exist in it. I should like much to know how you stand affected about the assessment, and about the invasion. O that all these public troubles would accelerate Your return! private blessings they would then, at least, prove. Ah, my Susan, how do I yearn for some little ray upon this subject! Charles and his family are at Bath, and Charlotte is gone to them for a fortnight. All accounts that reach me of all the house and race are well. Mr. Locke gives us very-frequent peeps indeed, and looks with such benevolent pleasure at our dear cottage and its environs! and seems to say, "I brought all this to bear," and to feel happy in the noble trust he placed in our self-belief that he might venture to show that kind courage without which we could never have been united. All this retrospection is expressed by his penetrating eyes it every visit. He rarely alights ; but I frequently enter the phaeton, and take a conversation in an airing. And when he comes without his precious Amelia, he indulges my Alex in being our third. INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN AND THE PRINCESSES. And now I have to prepare another Court relation for MY dearest Susanna. I received on Wednesday morn a letter from our dearest Page 155 father, telling me he feared he should be forced to quit his Chelsea apartments, from a new arrangement among the officers, and wishing me to represent his difficulties, his books, health, time of life, and other circumstances, through Miss Planta, to the queen. M. d'Arblay and I both thought that, if I had any chance of being of the smallest use, it would be by endeavouring to obtain an audience-not by letter; and as the most remote hope of success was sufficient to urge -every exertion, we settled that I should set out instantly for Chelsea ; and a chaise, therefore, we sent for from Dorking, and I set off at noon. M. d'A. would not go, as we knew not what accommodation I might find ; and I could not, uninvited and unexpected, take my little darling boy; so I went not merrily, though never more willingly. My dear father was at home, and, I could see, by no means surprised by my appearance, though he had not hinted at desiring it. Of course he was not very angry nor sorry, and we communed together upon his apprehensions, and settled our plan. I was to endeavour to represent his case to the queen, in hopes it might reach his majesty, and procure some order in his favour. I wrote to Miss Planta, merely to say I was come to pass three days at Chelsea, and, presuming upon the gracious permission of her majesty, I ventured to make known my arrival, ,in the hope it might possibly procure me the honour of admittance. The next morning, Thursday, I had a note from Miss Planta, to say that she had the pleasure to acquaint ',.",me her majesty desired I would be at the Queen's house next day at ten o'clock. Miss Planta conducted me immediately, by order, to the Princess Elizabeth, who received me alone, and kept me t�te- -t�te till I was summoned to the queen, which was near ,.an hour. She was all condescension and openness, and inquired into my way of life and plans, with a sort of kindness that I am sure belonged to a real wish to find them happy and prosperous. When I mentioned how much of our time was mutually given to books and writing, M. d'Arblay being as great a scribbler as myself, she good-naturedly exclaimed, "How fortunate he should have so much the same taste!" "It was that, in fact," I answered, "which united us for our acquaintance began, in intimacy, by reading French together, and writing themes, both French and English, for each other's correction." Page 156 "Pray," cried she, " if it is not impertinent, may I ask to what religion you shall bring up your son?" "The Protestant," I replied; telling her it was M. d'Arblay's own wish, since he was an Englishman born, he should be an Englishman bred,--with much more upon the subject that my Susan knows untold. She then inquired why M. d'Arblay was not naturalised. This was truly kind, for it looked like wishing our permanently fixing in this his adopted country. I answered that he found he could not be naturalised as a catholic, which had made him relinquish the plan; for though he was firmly persuaded the real difference between the two religions was trifling, and such as even appeared to him, in the little he had had opportunity to examine, to be in favour of Protestantism, he could not bring himself to study the matter with a view of changing that seemed actuated by interest ; nor could I wish it, earnest as I was for his naturalisation. But he hoped, ere long, to be able to be naturalised as an Irishman, that clause of religion not being there insisted upon , or else to become a denizen, which was next best, and which did not meddle with religion at all. She made me talk to her a great deal of my little boy, and my father, and M. d'Arblay; and when Miss Planta came to fetch me to her majesty, she desired to see me again before my departure. The queen was in her White closet, working at a round table, with the four remaining princesses, Augusta, Mary, Sophia, and Amelia. She received me most sweetly, and with a look of far better spirits than upon my last admission. She permitted me, in the most gracious manner, to inquire about the princess royal, now Duchess of WUrtemberg, and gave me an account of her that I hope is not flattered ; for it seemed happy, and such as reconciled them all to the separation. When she deigned to inquire,- herself, after my dear father, you may be sure of the eagerness With which I seized the moment for relating his embarrassment and difficulties. She heard me with a benevolence that assured me, though she made no speech, my history would not be forgotten, nor remembered vainly. I was highly satisfied with her look and manner. The Princesses Mary and Amelia had a little opening between them , and when the queen was conversing with some lady who was teaching the Princess Sophia some work, they began a whispering conversation with me about my little Page 157 boy. How tall is he?--how old is he?--Is he fat or thin?--is he like you or M. d'Arblay? etc.--with sweet vivacity of interest,- -the lovely Princess Amelia finishing her listening to my every answer with a "dear little thing!" that made me long to embrace her as I have done in her childhood. She is now full as tall as princess royal, and as much formed ; she looks seventeen, though only fourteen, but has an innocence, an Hebe blush, an air of modest candour, and a gentleness so caressingly inviting, of voice and eye, that I have seldom seen a more captivating young creature. Then they talked of my new house, and inquired about every room it contained; and then of our grounds, and they were mightily diverted with the mixtures of roses and cabbages, sweet briars, and potatoes, etc. The queen, catching the domestic theme, presently made inquiries herself, both as to the building and the child, asking, with respect to the latter, "Is he here?" as if she meant in the palace. I told her I had come so unexpectedly myself upon my father's difficulties, that I had not this time brought my little shadow. I believed, however, I should fetch him, as, if I lengthened my stay, M. d'Arblay would come also. "To be sure!" she said, as if feeling the trio's full objections to separating. She asked if I had seen a play just come out, called "He's much to Blame;" and, on my negative, began to relate to me its plot and characters, and the representation and its effect ; and, warming herself by her own account and my attention, she presently entered into a very minute history of each act, and a criticism upon some incidents, with a spirit and judiciousness that were charming. She is delightful in discourse when animated by her subject, and speaking to auditors with whom, neither from circumstance nor suspicion, she has restraint. But when, as occasionally she deigned to ask my opinion of the several actors she brought in review, I answered I had never seen them,--neither Mrs. Pope, Miss Betterton, Mr. Murray, etc.,--she really looked almost concerned. She knows my fondness for the theatre, and I did not fear to say my inability to indulge it was almost my only regret in my hermit life. "I, too," she graciously said, "prefer plays to all other amusements." By degrees all the princesses retired, except the Princess Augusta. She then spoke more openly upon less public matters,-in particular upon the affair, then just recent, of the Page 158 Duke of Norfolk, who, you may have heard, had drunk, at the Whig Club, "To the majesty of the people," in consequence of which the king had erased his name from the privy council. His grace had been caricatured drinking from a silver tankard with the burnt bread still in flames touching his mouth, and exclaiming, "Pshaw! my toast has burnt my mouth." This led me to speak of his great brick house, which is our immediate vis- -vis. And much then ensued upon Lady ---- concerning whom she opened to me very completely, allowing all I said of her uncommon excellence as a mother, but adding, "Though she is certainly very clever, she thinks herself so a little too much, and instructs others at every word. I was so tired with her beginning everything with 'I think,' that, at last, just as she said so, I stopped her, and cried., 'O, I know what you think, Lady ----!' Really, one is obliged to be quite sharp with her to keep her In her place." . . . Lady C--, she had been informed, had a considerable sum in the French funds, which she endeavoured from time to time to recover, but upon her last effort, she had the following query put to her agent by order of the Directory: how much she would have deducted from the principal, as a contribution towards the loan raising for the army of England? If Lady C-- were not mother-in-law to a minister who sees the king almost daily, I should think this a made story. When, after about an hour and a half's audience, *she dismissed me, she most graciously asked my stay at Chelsea, and desired I would inform Miss Planta before I returned home. This gave me the most gratifying feeling, and much hope for my dearest father. ROYAL CONTRIBUTIONS TOWARDS THE WAR. Returning then, according to my permission, to Princess Elizabeth, she again took up her netting, and made me sit by her. We talked a good deal of the new-married daughter of Lady Templetown, and she was happy, she said, to hear from me that the ceremony was performed by her own favourite Bishop of Durham, for she was sure a blessing would attend his joining their hands. She asked me much of my little man, and told me several things of the Princess Charlotte, her niece, and our future queen; she seems very fond of her, and says 'tis a lovely child, and extremely like the Prince Of Page 159 Wales. "She is just two years old," said she, "and speaks very prettily, though not plainly. I flatter myself Aunt Liby, as she calls me, is a great favourite with her." My dearest Princess Augusta soon after came in, and, after staying a few minutes, and giving some message to her sister, said, "And when you leave Elizabeth, my dear Madame d'Arblay, I hope you'll come to me." This happened almost immediately, and I found her hurrying over the duty of her toilette, which she presently despatched, though she was going to a public concert of Ancient Music, and without scarcely once looking in the glass, from haste to have done, and from a freedom from vanity I never saw quite equalled in any young woman of any class. She then dismissed her hairdresser and wardrobe-woman, and made me sit by her. Almost immediately we began upon the voluntary contributions to the support of the war; and when I mentioned the queen's munificent donation of five thousand pounds a-year for its support, and my admiration of it, from my peculiar knowledge, through my long residence under the royal roof, of the many claims which her majesty's benevolence, as well as state, had raised upon her powers, she seemed much gratified by the justice I did her royal mother, and exclaimed eagerly "I do assure you, my dear Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good the queen is, for they don't know it half." And then she told me that she only by accident had learnt almost all that she knew of the queen's bounties. "And the most I gathered," she continued, laughing, "was, to tell you the real truth, by my own impertinence - for when we were at Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the queen's lady-in-waiting for the country) put her pocket-book down on the table, when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a page where mamma's name was written : so, not guessing at any secret commission, I took it up, and read-Given by her majesty's commands--so much, and so much, and so much. And I was quite surprised. However, Lady Courtown made me promise never to mention it to the queen ; so I never have. But I long it should be known, for all that; though I would not take such a liberty as to spread it of my own judgment." I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when her Majesty, upon my ill state of health's urging my resigning the honour of belonging to the royal household, so graciously Page 160 settled upon me a pension, that I had been forbidden to name it. I had been quite distressed in not avowing what I so gratefully felt, and hearing questions and surmises and remarks I had no power to answer. She seemed instantly to comprehend that my silence might do wrong, on such an occasion, to the queen, for she smiled, and with great quickness cried, "O, I dare say you felt quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be explicit. When I spoke of her own and her royal sisters' contributions, one hundred pounds per annum, she blushed, bat seemed ready to enter upon the subject, even confidentially, and related its whole history. No one ever advised or named it to them, as they have none of them any separate establishment, but all hang upon the queen, from whose pin-money they are provided for till they marry, or have an household of their own granted by Parliament. "Yet we all longed to subscribe," cried she, "and thought it quite right, if other young ladies did, not to be left out. But the difficulty was, how to do what would not be improper for us, and yet not to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would only have been unjust. So we consulted some of our friends, and then fixed upon one hundred pounds a-piece; and when we asked the queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it. So then we spoke to the king, and he said it was but little, but he wished particularly nobody should subscribe what would really distress them ; and that, if that was all we could conveniently do, and regularly continue, he approved it more than to have us make a greater exertion, and either bring ourselves into difficulties or not go on. But he was not at all angry." She then gave me the history of the contribution of her brothers. The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave of his creditors. "But Ernest," cried she, "gives three hundred pounds a-year, and that's a tenth of his income, for the king allows him three thousand pounds." All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length a lecture of Therwall's, which had been repeated to her by M. de Guiffardi�re. It was very curious from her mouth. But she is candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display it, in discriminating between good and bad, and abstracting rays of light even from the darkest shades. So she did even from Therwall. Page 161 She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was much amused by hearing that, imitating what he heard from me, he called his father "mon ami," and tutoyed him, drinking his health at dinner, as his father does to me--"� la sant�." When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of cong� she spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should therefore lengthen my stay in town, and induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy. "We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling, "and do pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little boy with you. And don't say anything to him," cried she, as I was departing; "let us see him quite natural." I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, that the child should not be impressed with any awe of the royal presence. I assured her I must obey, for he was so young, so wild, and so unused to present himself, except as a plaything, that it would not be even in my power to make him orderly. . . . My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had to tell him, and hurried me back to Westhamble, to provide myself with baggage for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe, were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all returned thither together, accompanied by Betty Nurse. INVITATION TO THE PLAY. MRS SCHWELLENBERG'S SUCCESSOR. I shall Complete my next Court visit before I enter upon aught else. I received, very soon, a note from Madame Bremyere, who is my successor. [I have told you poor Mlle. Jacobi is returned to Germany, I think; and that her niece, La Bettina, is to marry a rich English merchant and settle in London.] This note says Mrs Bremyere has received the queen's commands to invite Madame d'Arblay to the play tomorrow night "-with her own desire I would drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre. Could anything More sweetly mark the real kindness of the queen than this remembrance of my fondness for plays ? My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now introduced to the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mlle. Bachmeister, a German, brought over by M. de Luc, who travelled to Germany to accompany her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the queen and princesses, Page 162 ing some work. Not having been to the so-long-known apartments since the death of Mrs. Schwellenberg, I knew not how they were arranged, and had concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of Mrs. Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was received, to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally surprised by my entrance, though without any doubt who I might be, from having seen me with the queen, and from knowing I was to join the play-party to my ci-devant box. I inquired if I had made any mistake, but though she could not say no, she would not suffer Me to rectify it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her room. Mlle. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, though extremely plain in her face; her voice is gentle and penetrating; her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she appears to be both a feeling and a cultivated character. I could not but lament such had not been the former possessor of an apartment I had so often entered with the most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly; she is a marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment, though whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am ignorant. Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favour, you will be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. We talked much of the situation she filled; and I thought it my duty to cast the whole of my resignation of one so similar upon ill health. Mrs. Bremyere soon joined us, and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in our way to the theatre. When the king entered, followed by the queen and his lovely daughters, and the orchestra struck up " God save the king," and the people all called for the singers, who filled the stage to sing it, the emotion I was suddenly filled with so powerfully possessed me, that I wished I could, for a minute or two, have flown from the box, to have sobbed; I was so gratefully delighted at the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued enthusiasm of the no longer volatile people for their worthy, revered sovereign, that I really suffered from the restraint I felt of being forced to behave decorously. The play was the "Heir at Law," by Colman the younger. I liked it extremely. It has a good deal of character, a happy plot, much interest in the under parts, and is combined, I think, by real genius, though open to innumerable partial criticisms. I heard a gentleman's voice from the next box call softly to Miss Barbara Planta, "Who is that lady?" and Page 163 heard her answer my name, and him rejoin, "I thought so." I found it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and was at the play only for the pleasure of sitting opposite his late royal mistress. . . . MADAME D'ARBLAY's LITTLE BOY AT COURT. About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the Queen's house, to make known I had only a few more days to remain at Chelsea. I arrived just as the royal family had set out for Windsor; but Miss Bacbmeister, fortunately, had only ascended her coach to follow. I alighted, and went to tell my errand. Mrs. Bremyere, Mrs. Cheveley, and Miss Planta were her party. The latter promised to speak for me to the queen; but, gathering I had my little boy, in my father's carriage, she made me send for him. They took him in, and loaded him with bonbons and admiration, and would have loaded him with caresses to boot, but the little wretch resisted that part of the entertainment. Upon their return from Windsor, you will not suppose me made very unhappy to receive the following billet:-- March 8th, 1798. My dear friend,-The queen has commanded me to acquaint you that she desires you will be at the Queen's house on Thursday morning at ten o'clock, with your lovely boy. You are desired to come upstairs in Princess Elizabeth's apartments, and her majesty will send for you as soon as she can see you. Adieu! Yours most affectionately, M. Planta. A little before ten, you will easily believe, we were at the ,Queen's house, and were immediately ushered into the apartment of the Princess Elizabeth, who, to show she expected my little man, had some playthings upon one of her many tables; for her royal highness has at least twenty in her principal room. The child, in a new muslin frock, sash, etc.' did not look to much disadvantage, and she examined him with the most good-humoured pleasure, and, finding him too shy to be seized, had the graciousness, as well as sense, to play round and court him by sportive wiles, instead of being offended at his insensibility to her royal notice. She ran about the room, peeped at him through chairs, clapped her hands, half caught without touching him, and showed a skill Page 164 and a sweetness that made one almost sigh she should have no call for her maternal propensities. There came in presently Miss D-, a young lady about thirteen, who seems in some measure under the protection of her royal highness, who had rescued her poor injured and amiable mother, Lady D-, from extreme distress, into which she had been involved by her unworthy husband's connexion with the infamous Lady W-, who, more hardhearted than even bailiffs, had forced certain of those gentry, in an execution she had ordered in Sir H. D-'s house, to seize even all the children's playthings ! as well as their clothes, and that when Lady D-- had but just lain in, and was nearly dying! This charming princess, who had been particularly acquainted with Lady D- during her own illness at Kew Palace, where the queen permitted the intercourse, came forward upon this distress, and gave her a small independent house in the neighbourhood of Kew, with every advantage she could annex to it. But she is now lately no more, and, by the sort of reception given to her daughter, I fancy the princess transfers to her that kind benevolence the mother no longer wants. just then, Miss Planta came to summon us to the Princess Augusta. She received me with her customary sweetness, and called the little boy to her. He went fearfully and cautiously, yet with a look of curiosity at the state of her head, and the operations of her friseur, that seemed to draw him on more powerfully than her commands. He would not, however, be touched, always flying to my side at the least attempt to take his hand. This would much have vexed me, if I had not seen the ready allowance she made for his retired life, and total want of use to the sight of anybody out of our family, except the Lockes, amongst whom I told her his peculiar preference for Amelia. "Come then," cried she, "come hither, my dear, and tell me all about her,--is she very good to you?--do you like her very much?" He was now examining her fine carpet, and no answer was to be procured. I would have apologised, but she would not let me. "'Tis so natural," she cried, '"that he should be more amused with those shapes and colours than with my stupid questions." Princess Mary now came in, and, earnestly looking at him, exclaimed, "He's beautiful!--what eyes!--do look at his eyes!" Page 165 "Come hither, my dear," again cried Princess Augusta, "come hither;" and, catching him to her for a Moment, and, holding up his hair. to lift up his face and made him look at her, she smiled very archly, and cried, "O ! horrid eyes! shocking eyes!--take them away!" Princess Elizabeth then entered, attended by a page, who was loaded With playthings which she had been sending for. You may suppose him caught now! He seized upon dogs, horses, chaise, a cobbler, a watchman, and all he could grasp but would not give his little person or cheeks, to my great confusion, for any of them. I was fain to call him a little savage, a wild deer, a creature just caught from the woods, and whatever could indicate his rustic life, and apprehension of new faces,--to prevent their being hurt ; and their excessive good nature helped all my excuses, nay, made them needless, except to myself. . Princess Elizabeth now began playing upon an organ she had brought him, which he flew to seize. "Ay, do! that's right, my dear," cried Princess Augusta, stopping her ears at some discordant sounds; "take it to mon ami, to frighten the cats out of his garden." And now, last of all, came in Princess Amelia, and, strange to relate ! the child was instantly delighted with her! She came first up to me, and, to my inexpressible surprise and enchantment, she gave me her sweet beautiful face to kiss!--an honour I had thought now for ever over, though she had so frequently gratified me with it formerly. Still more touched, however, than astonished, I would have kissed her hand, but, withdrawing it, saying, "No, no,--you know I hate that!" she again presented me her ruby lips, and with an expression of -such ingenuous sweetness and innocence as was truly captivating. She is and will be another Princess Augusta. She then turned to the child, and his eyes met hers with a look of the same pleasure that they were sought. She stooped down to take his unresisting hands, and, exclaiming "Dear little thing!" took him in her arms, to his own as obvious content as hers. "He likes her!" cried Princess Augusta, "a little rogue! see how he likes her!" "Dear little thing!" with double the emphasis, repeated the young princess, now sitting down and taking him upon her knee; "and how does M. d'Arblay do?" The child now left all his new playthings, his admired Page 166 carpet, and his privilege of jumping from room to room, for the gentle pleasure of sitting in her lap and receiving her caresses. I could not be very angry, you will believe, yet I would have given the world I could have made him equally grateful to the Princess Augusta. This last charming personage, I now found, was going to Sit for her picture--I fancy to send to the Duchess of Wurtemberg. She gave me leave to attend her with my bantling. The other princesses retired to dress for Court. It was with great difficulty I could part my little love from his grand collection of new playthings, all of which he had dragged into the painting-room, and wanted now to pull them down-stairs to the queen's apartment. I persuaded him, however, to relinquish the design without a quarrel, by promising we would return for them. HIS PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. I was not a little anxious, you will believe, in this presentation of my unconsciously honoured rogue, who entered the White closet totally unimpressed with any awe, and only with a sensation of disappointment in not meeting again the gay young party, and variety of playthings, he had left above. The queen, nevertheless, was all condescending indulgence, and had a Noah's ark ready displayed upon the table for him. But her look was serious and full of care, and, though perfectly gracious, none of her winning smiles brightened her countenance, and her voice was never cheerful. I have since known that the Irish conspiracy with France was just then discovered, and O'Connor that very morning taken.(156) No wonder she should have felt a shock that pervaded her whole mind and manners! If we all are struck with horror at such developments of treason, danger, and guilt, what must they prove to the royal family, at whom they are Page 167 regularly aimed ? How my heart has ached for them in that horrible business! "And how does your papa do?" said the queen. "He's at Telsea," answered the child. "And how does grandDapa do?" "He's in the toach," he replied. "And what a pretty frock you've got on! who made it you, mamma, or little aunty?" The little boy now grew restless, and pulled me about, with a desire to change his situation. I was a good deal embarrassed, as I saw the queen meant to enter into conversation as usual; which I knew to be impossible, unless he had some entertainment to occupy him. She perceived this soon, and had the goodness immediately to open Noah's ark herself, which she had meant he should take away with him to examine and possess at once. But he was now soon in raptures : and, as the various animals were produced, looked with a delight that danced in all his features; and when any appeared of which he knew the name, he capered with joy; such as, "O! a tow [cow]!" But at the dog, he clapped his little hands, and running close to her Majesty; leant upon her lap, exclaiming, "O, it's bow wow!" "And do you know this, little man?" said the queen, showing him a cat. "Yes," cried he, again jumping as he leant upon her, "its name is talled pussey!" And at the appearance of Noah, in a green mantle, and leaning on a stick, he said, "At's (that's] the shepherd's boy!" The queen now inquired about my dear father, and heard all I had to say relative to his apartments, with an air of interest, yet not as if it was new to her. I have great reason to believe the accommodation then arranging, and since settled, as to his continuance in the College, has been deeply influenced by some royal hint. . . . I imagined she had just heard of the marriage of Charlotte, for she inquired after my sister Frances, whom she never had mentioned before since I quitted my post. I was obliged briefly to relate the transaction, seeking to adorn it by stating Mr. Broome's being the author of "Simkin's Letters." She agreed in their uncommon wit and humour. My little rebel, meanwhile, finding his animals were not given into his own hands, but removed from their mischief, was struggling all this time to get at the Tunbridge-ware of Page 168 the queen's work-box, and, in defiance of all my efforts to prevent him, he seized one piece, which he called a hammer, and began violently knocking the table with it. I would fain have taken it away silently - but he resisted such grave authority, and so continually took it back, that the queen, to my great confusion, now gave it him. Soon, however, tired also of this, he ran away from me into the next room, which was their majesties' bedroom, and in which were all the jewels ready to take to St. James's, for the Court attire. I was excessively ashamed, and obliged to fetch him back in my arms, and there to keep him. " "Get down, little man," said the queen; "you are too heavy for your mamma." He took not the smallest notice of this admonition. The queen, accustomed to more implicit obedience, repeated it but he only nestled his little head in my neck, and worked' about his whole person, so that I with difficulty held him. The queen now imagined he did not know whom she meant, and said, " What does he call you? Has he any particular name for you?" He now lifted up his head, and, before I could answer, called out, in a fondling manner, "Mamma, mamma!" "O!" said she, smiling, "he knows who I mean!" His restlessness still interrupting all attention, in defiance of my earnest whispers for quietness, she now said, "Perhaps he is hungry?" and rang her bell, and ordered a page to bring some cakes. He took one with great pleasure, and was content to stand down to eat it. I asked him if he had nothing to say for it; he nodded his little head, and composedly answered, "Sanky, queen!" This could not help amusing her, nor me, neither, for I had no expectation of quite so succinct an answer. The carriages were now come for St. James's, and the Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth came into the apartment. The little monkey, in a fit of renewed lassitude after his cake, had flung himself on the floor, to repose at his ease. He rose, however, upon their appearance, and the sweet Princess Augusta said to the queen, "He has been so good, up-stairs, mamma, that nothing could be better behaved." I could have kissed her for this instinctive kindness, excited by a momentary view of my embarrassment at his little airs and liberties. The queen heard her with an air of approving, as well as understanding, her motive, and spoke to me with the utmost Page 169 condescension of him, though I cannot recollect how, for I was a good deal fidgeted lest he should come to some disgrace, by any actual mischief or positive rebellion. I escaped pretty well, however, and they all left us with smiles and graciousness. . . . You will not be much surprised to hear that papa came to help us out of the coach, at* our return to Chelsea, eager to know how our little rebel had conducted himself, and how he had been received. The sight of his playthings, you will believe, was not very disagreeable. The ark, watchman, and cobbler, I shall keep for him till he may himself judge their worth beyond their price. MLLE. BACHMEISTER PRODUCES A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION. I returned to the Queen's house in the afternoon to drink coffee with Mlle. Bachmeister, whom I found alone, and spent a half-hour with very pleasantly, though very seriously, for her character is grave and feeling, and I fear she is not happy. Afterwards we were joined by Madame Bremyere, who is far more cheerful. The play was called "Secrets Worth Knowing;" a new piece. In the next box to ours sat Mrs. Ariana Egerton, the bed-chamber-woman to her majesty, who used so frequently to visit me at Windsor. She soon recollected me, though she protested I looked so considerably in better health, she took me for my own Younger sister - and we had a great deal of chat together, very amicable and cordial. I so much respect her warm exertions for the emigrant ladies, that I addressed her with real pleasure, in pouring forth my praises for her kindness and benevolence. When we returned to the Queen's house my father's carriage was not arrived, and I was obliged to detain Mlle. Bachmeister in conversation for full half an hour, while I waited ; but it served to increase my good disposition to her. She is really an interesting woman. Had she been in that place while I belonged to the queen, heaven knows if I had so struggled for deliverance , for poor Mrs. Schwellenberg so wore, wasted, and tortured all my little leisure, that my time for repose was, in fact, my time of greatest labour. So all is for the best! I have escaped offending lastingly the royal mistress I love and honour, and-I live at Westhamble with my two precious Alexanders. (137) The most interesting account of the unfortunate expedition to Bantry Bay is to be found in Wolfe Tone's " Memoirs." Wolfe Tone, one of the leading members of the Irish Revolutionary party, had been for some time resident in Paris, engaged in negotiations with the Directory, with the view of obtaining French support for the Irish in their intended attempt to throw off the yoke of England. About the middle of December, 1796, a large French fleet, under the Admiral Villaret-Joyeuse, sailed from Brest, having on board an army of f twenty-five thousand men, commanded by General Hoche, one of the ablest officers of the Republic. Wolfe Tone accompanied the troops in the capacity of adjutant to the general, But the fleet was dispersed by storms. The vessel which had General Hoche on board was obliged to put into the harbour of Rochelle, and comparatively few of the ships, with about six thousand troops on board, actually cast anchor in Bantry Bay. Even there, the wind was so 'Violent as to render landing impossible, and after a few days' delay the expedition returned to France.-ED. (138) Edmund Burke died, at his house at Beaconsfield, half an hour after midnight on the morning Of Sunday, July 9, 1797. He was buried, July 15, in the parish church of Beaconsfield.-ED. (139) Sold for the benefit of the nation. (140) Dr. Johnson's negro servant. Johnson left him a comfortable annuity, on which he retired to Lichfield. He died in the infirmary at Stafford, February 13, 1801.-ED. (141) The Garrick family resided in Lichfield. David Garrick was born in Hereford, but educated at Lichfield.-ED. (142) Dr. Burney's little grandson, and the son of Captain James BAR Burney. after years, as readers of "Elia" will remember, Martin Burney was the friend of Charles Lamb.-ED. (143) Since the death of his second wife, Dr. Burney had been engaged upon a "historical and didactic poem on astronomy." He had been urged to the undertaking by Fanny, who hoped that the interest of this new occupation might prove a relief to his sorrow. Astronomy Was a favourite subject with Dr. Burney, and he made great progress with the poem, which was for years his favourite recreation. At a later period, however, for some reason which his daughter never discovered, he relinquished the task and destroyed the manuscript.-ED. (144) Ralph Broome, who married Charlotte Francis in 1798, wasthe author of "The Letters of Simpkin the Second, poetic recorder of all the proceedings upon the trial of Warren Hastings, Esq., in Westminster Hall," published by Stockdale, 1789. These letters, which had already appeared separately in "The World," form, as the title implies, a burlesque report of the trial, in rhymed verse. The author is very severe upon the managers, and proportionately favourable to Mr. Hastings. The letters are amusing and not without Wit, although in these respects "Simpkin the Second" falls decidedly short of "Simpkin the First," who is, of course, the Simple Simkin of Anstey's "New Bath Guide." upon which clever satire Broome had modelled his performance.-ED. (145) Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford, was a very singular character--- a compound of experimental philosopher, practical philanthropist, soldier and statesman. He was born at Woburn, Massachusetts, in 1753. A Tory during the struggle for American independence, he embarked for England before the close of the war. There he was well received by the government, but shortly afterwards he went to Bavaria, where he entered into the service of the Elector. He soon attained a high reputation by the reforms which he introduced in various departments, and was created a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, by the title of Count Rumford. Among his principal achievements in Bavaria were the reforms which he brought about in the army, and the measures which he instituted for the relief of the poor and the suppression of beggary. To Fanny, at present, Count Rumford was more interesting as the inventor of an improved Cooking range, by which the consumption of fuel was greatly reduced. See his "Life" by James Renwick, in Sparks'.s "Library of American Biography," Boston, 1845.-ED. (146) The insurrection of the 18th of Fructidor (September 4, 1797). In 1795, on the dissolution of the Convention, the government of France was entrusted to a Directory of five persons, assisted by two councils--the Council of Ancients, and the Council of Five hundred. In course of time, the reactionary, or anti-revolutionary, party obtained a large majority in the councils, which were thus involved in continual disputes with the Directory. The army supported the Directory, and on the 4th Of September a large body of troops surrounded the Tuileries, and arrested a number of the most obnoxious members of the councils; many of these Were afterwards--not guillotined, but transported to South America.-ED. (147) The marriage of the princess royal and the hereditary prince of Wurtemberg, May 18, 1797.-ED. (148) In April, 797, a serious mutiny broke out in the fleet at Spithead. The sailors demanded increased pay and better food. Their demands were finally conceded, and they returned to their duty, May 14. A few days later, a still more alarming mutiny broke out in the fleet at the Nore. The mutineers hoisted the red flag, May 23, and, being joined by vessels from other squadrons, found themselves presently masters of eleven ships of the line, and thirteen frigates. With this powerful fleet they blocked the Thames, and put a stop to the river trade of London. Their demands were more extensive than those of the Spithead Mutineers, but government firmly refused further concessions, and in June the want of union and resolution among the men brought about the collapse of the mutiny. Ship after ship deserted the red flag, until the last vessel was steered into Sheerness harbour, and given up to the authorities. Several of the leaders were tried by court-martial and hanged ; the rest of the mutineers were pardoned.-ED. (149) The decisive victory gained by Admiral Duncan over the Dutch fleet, off Camperdown, October 11, 1797. in January, 1795, the French army under General Pichegru had conquered Holland with little difficulty, meeting, indeed, with much sympathy from the inhabitants. The Prince of Orange and his family were forced to take refuge in England and the representatives of the Dutch people immediately assembling, proclaimed Holland a republic, under the protection of France. From that time Holland had been in alliance with France, and at war with England. Duncan was rewarded for his victory with a pension and a peerage--Viscount Duncan of Camperdown henceforward.-ED. (150) Duncan's victory we have already noted. Lord Howe's was the great victory of June 1, 1794, over the French fleet commanded by Admiral Villaret-joyeuse. It was in this battle that the Vengeur went down, out Of which incident Barrere manufactured, for the benefit of the French people, that rousing story of the disabled ship refusing to strike its colours, and sinking while every man of the crew, With his last breath, shouted "Vive la Republique!" Magnificent, had it not been pure fiction! Lord St. Vincent (then Admiral Jervis) gained a complete victory over the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent, February 14, 1797. Spain, as well as Holland, was now in alliance with France: had made peace with France in 1795, and declared war against England in the following year. ,K Admiral Jervis received the title of Earl St. Vincent and a pension in consequence of his victory.-ED. (151) Only child of the Prince and Princess of Wales, born January 7, 1796.-ED. (152) A novel by Sarah Harriet Burney.-ED. (153) The Duke of Cumberland, afterward, King of Hanover; fifth son of George III.; born 1771, died 1851.-ED. (154) William Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and brother of George III.-ED. (155) William Frederick, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, and husband of the Princess Mary. He was born in 1776, and died in 1836.-ED. (156) Arthur O'Connor, nephew and heir of Lord Longueville, was one of the Irish leaders, who took part in the negotiations between the Revolutionary party in Ireland and the French Directory. He and two or three of his associates were arrested at Margate (February 28, 1798), where they were attempting to hire a boat to take them to France. They were tried at Maidstone (May 21), and one of the party, on whom were found some compromising papers, including an address to the Directory, was convicted and hanged. O'Connor was acquitted, but immediately rearrested and detained in custody during the rising in Ireland.- ED. Page 170 SECTION 22. (1798-1802.) VISITS TO OLD FRIENDS: WESTHAMBLE: DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS: SOJOURN IN FRANCE. [From the " Memoirs of Dr. Burney " we extract the following details respecting the death of Fanny's favourite sister, Susan Phillips. "Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the supplicating desire of this Editor [Madame d'Arblay] to join and to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage ; and persevered through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental home. . . . Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished, the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made;-- when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid to her bed. There she remained some weeks - after which, with the utmost difficulty, and by two long days' travelling, though for a distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin where, exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed ; there again to remain for nearly as long a new delay! " Every hour of separation became now to the Doctor Dr. Burney] an hour of grief, from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength. "It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that, scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate. There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles, who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends. But he found her in no state to travel: further feeble, Page 171 drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known, shrunk, nearly withered!--yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching sensibility for every species of attention; and all her unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings! "During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother Dr. Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move on. But on--save as a corpse,---she moved no more! * Gentle was her end! gentle as the whole tenor of her life but as sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its approach." * She died at Park Gate, January 6, 1800, and was buried in Neston Churchyard, near Park Gate.-ED. The latter portion of the following section introduces the reader to new scenes and new acquaintances. During the summer of 1801 negotiations for peace between France and England were carried on in London, between lord Hawkesbury, on the part of the English government, and M. Otto, the French plenipotentiary. The preliminary treaty was signed in London, October 1, 1801, and ratified a few days later on the part of Napoleon Bonaparte, then First Consul, and de facto ruler of France, by a special envoy from Paris--General Lauriston. The definitive treaty, by which the details of mutual concessions, etc., were finally arranged, was signed at Amiens, March 25, 1802. In England the peace was received with rapture: General Lauriston was drawn in triumph in his carriage through the streets of London by the people. The "mutual concessions," however, showed a large balance in favour of France. As Sheridan observed, it was a peace of which every one was glad, but no one proud. The establishment of peace determined M. d'Arblay to revisit France, and to endeavour to obtain from the First Consul the half-pay pension to which his former services in the army had entitled him. In this project he was warmly encouraged by his old friend and comrade, General Lauriston, whom he had called upon in London, and who had received him with open arms. The result of his journey may be read in the following pages. His wife and son joined him in France, in April, 1802, with the intention of returning to England after a year's absence. But their return was prevented by the renewal of the war between the two countries in the following year, and ten years elapsed before Fanny saw again her father and her native country. Her first impressions of France are recorded in the " Diary" with very pleasant minuteness, but of her life during the greater part of these years of exile a few letters, Written at long intervals, give us all the information which we possess. -ED.) Page 172 A VISIT TO MRS. CHAFONE. March 1798.I have not told you of my renewed intercourse with Mrs. Chapone, who had repeatedly sent me kind wishes and messages, of her desire to see me again. She was unfortunately ill, and I was sent from her door without being named; but she sent me a kind note to Chelsea, which gave me very great pleasure. Indeed, she had always behaved towards me with affection as well as kindness, and I owe to her the blessing of my first acquaintance with my dear Mrs., Delany. It was Mrs. Chapone who took me to her first, whose kind account had made her desire to know me, and who always expressed the most generous pleasure in the intimacy she had brought about, though it soon took place of all that had preceded it with herself. I wrote a very long answer, with a little history of our way of life, and traits of-M. d'Arblay, by which her quick discernment might judge both of that and my state of mind. When we came again to Chelsea at this period, our Esther desired, or was desired by Mrs. Chapone, to arrange a meeting. I was really sorry I could not call upon her with my urchin; but I could only get conveyed to her one evening, when I went with our Esther, but was disappointed of M. d'Arblay, who had been obliged to go to Westhamble. This really mortified me, and vexed Mrs. Chapone. We found her alone, and she received me with the most open affection. Mrs. Chapone knew the day I could be with her too late to make any party, and would have been profuse in apologies if I had not truly declared I rejoiced in seeing her alone, Indeed, it would have been better If we had been so completely, for our dearest Esther knew but few of the old connexions concerning whom I wished to inquire and to talk, and she knew too much of all about myself and my situation of which Mrs. Chapone wished to ask and to hear. I fear, therefore, she was tired, though she would not: say so, and though she looked and conducted herself with great sweetness.. Mrs. Chapone spoke warmly of "Camilla," especially of Sir Hugh, but told me she had detected me in some Gallicisms, Page 173 and pointed some out. She pressed me in a very flattering manner to write again ; and dear Hetty, forgetting our relationship's decency, seconded her so heartily you must have laughed to hear her hoping we could never furnish our house till I went again to the press. When Mrs. Chapone heard of my father's difficulties about Chelsea, and fears of removal, on account of his twenty thousand volumes,--"Twenty thousand volumes!" she repeated; "bless me! why, how can he so encumber himself? Why does he not burn half? for how much must be to spare that never can be worth his looking at from such a store! And can he want to keep them all? I should not have suspected Dr. Burney, of all men, of being such a Dr. Orkborne!"(157)...... MRS. BOSCAWEN, LADY STRANGE, AND MR. SEWARD. The few other visits which opportunity and inclination united for my making during our short and full fortnight were-- To Mrs. Boscawen, whither we went all three, for I knew she wished to see our little one, whom I had in the coach with Betty, ready for a summons. Mrs. Boscawen was all herself,---that is, all elegance and good-breeding. Do you remember the verses on the blues which we attributed to Mr. Pepys?-- Each art of conversation knowing, High-bred, elegant boscawen. To Miss Thrale's, where I also carried my little Alex. To Lady Strange(158) whom I had not seen for more years than I know how to count. She was at home, and alone, except for her young grandchild, another Bell Strange, daughter of James, who is lately returned from India, with a large fortune, is become member of Parliament, and has married, for his second wife, a niece of Secretary Dundas's. Lady Strange received me with great kindness, and, to my great surprise, knew me instantly. I found her more serious and grave than formerly; I had not seen her since Sir Page 174 Robert's death, and many events of no enlivening nature; but I found, with great pleasure, that all her native fire and wit and intelligence were still within, though less voluntary and quick in flashing out, for every instant I stayed she grew brighter and nearer her true self. Her little grandchild is a delightful little creature, the very reverse of the other Bell(159) in appearance and disposition, for she is handsome and open and gay; but I hope, at the same time, her resemblance in character, as Bell is strictly principled and upright. Lady Strange inquired if I had any family, and, when she gathered I had a little one down-stairs in the carriage, desired to see it, for little Bell was wild in the request. "But have nae mair!" cried she; "the times are bad and hard;--ha' nae mair! if you take my advice, you'll ha' nae mair! you've been vary discreet, and, faith, I commend you!" Little Bell had run down-stairs to hasten Betty and the child, and now, having seized him in her arms, she sprang into the room with him. His surprise, her courage, her fondling, her little form, and her prettiness, had astonished him into consenting to her seizure ; but he sprang from her to me the moment they entered the drawing-room. I begged Lady Strange to give him her blessing. She looked at him with a strong and earnest expression of examining interest and pleasure, and then, with an arch smile, turning suddenly about to me, exclaimed, "Ah! faith and troth, you mun ha' some mair! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, you mun ha' some mair! sweet bairn! I gi' you my benediction! be a comfort to your papa and mamma! Ah, madam!" (with one of her deep sighs) "I must gi' my consent to your having some mair ! if you can make 'em so pratty as this, faith and troth, I mun let you have a girl!" I write all this without scruple to my dearest Susan, for prattiness like this little urchin's is not likely to spoil either him or ourselves by lasting. 'Tis a juvenile flower, yet one my Susan will again, I hope, view while still in its first bloom. . . . I was extremely pleased in having an interview again with my old, and I believe very faithful, friend Mr. Seward, whom I had not seen since my marriage, but Whom I had heard, through the Lockes, was indefatigable in inquiries and Page 175 expressions of good-will upon every occasion. He had sent me his compilation of anecdotes of distinguished characters, and two little letters have passed between us upon them. I was unluckily engaged the morning he was at Chelsea, and obliged to quit him before we had quite overcome a little awkwardness which our long absence and my changed name had involuntarily produced at our first meeting; and I was really sorry, as I have always retained a true esteem for him, though his singularities and affectation of affectation always struck me. But both those and his spirit of satire are mere quizziness 3 his mind is all solid benevolence and worth. A MYSTERIOUS BANK-NOTE. And now I must finish this Chelsea narrative, with its most singular, though brief, adventure. One morning at breakfast, my father received a letter, which he opened, and found to be only a blank cover with a letter enclosed, directed "A Madame, Madame d'Arblay." This, upon opening, produced a little bank-note of five pounds, and these words:-- "Madame d'Arblay need not have any scruple in accepting the enclosed trifle, as it is considered only as a small tribute of gratitude and kindness, so small, indeed, that every precaution has been taken to prevent the least chance of discovery ; and the person who sends it even will never know whether it was received or not. Dr. Burney is quite ignorant of it." This is written evidently in a feigned hand, and I have not the most remote idea whence it can come. But for the word gratitude I might have suggested many ; but, upon the whole, I am utterly unable to suggest any one creature upon earth likely to do such a thing. I might have thought of my adorable princess, but that it is so little a sum. Be it as it may, it is certainly done in great kindness, by some one who knows five pounds is not so small a matter to us as to most others ; and after vainly striving to find out or conjecture whence it came, we determined to devote it to our country. There's patriotism! we gave it in voluntary subscription for the war and it was very seasonable to us for this purpose. This magnificent patriotic donation was presented to the Bank of England by Mr. Angerstein, through Mr. Locke, and we have had thanks from the committee which made us blush. Many reasons have prevented my naming this anecdote, the principal of which were fears that, if it should Page 176 be known such a thing was made use of, and, as it chanced when we should otherwise have really been distressed how to come forward or hold back, any other friend might adopt the same method, which, gratefully as I feel the kindness that alone could have instigated it, has yet a depressing effect, and I would not have it become current. Could I, or should I ever trace it, I must, in some mode or other, attempt retaliation. THE NEW BROTHER-IN-LAW: A CORDIAL PROFESSOR. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) After sundry abortive proposals of our new brother-in-law, Mr. Broome, for our meeting, he and Charlotte finally came, with little Charlotte, to breakfast and spend a day with us. He has by no means the wit and humour and hilarity his "Simkin's Letters" prepare for; but the pen and the tongue are often unequally gifted. He is said to be very learned, deeply skilled in languages, and general erudition and he is full of information upon most subjects that can be mentioned. We talked of India, and he permitted me to ask what questions I pleased upon points and things of which I was glad to gather accounts from so able a traveller. Another family visit which took place this Summer gave us pleasure of a far more easy nature, because unmixed with watchful anxiety; this was from Charles and his son, who, by an appointment for which he begged our consent, brought with him also Mr. Professor Young, of Glasgow, a man whose learning sits upon him far lighter than Mr. Broome's ! Mr. Young has the bonhonlie of M. de Lally, with as much native humour as he has acquired erudition: he has a face that looks all honesty and kindness, and manners gentle and humble ; an enthusiasm for whatever he thinks excellent, whether in talents or character, in art or in nature; and is altogether a man it seems impossible to know, even for a day, and not to love and wish well. This latter is probably the effect of his own cordial disposition to amity. He took to us, all three, so evidently and so warmly, and was so smitten with our little dwelling, its situation and simplicity, and so much struck with what he learned and saw of M. d'Arblay's cultivating literally his own grounds, and literally being his own gardener, after finding by conversation, what a use he had made of his earlier days In literary Page 177 attainments, that he seemed as if he thought himself brought to a vision of the golden age,---such was the appearance of his own sincere and upright mind in rejoicing to see happiness where there was palpably no luxury, no wealth. It was a most agreeable surprise to me to find such a man in Mr. Professor Young, as I had expected a sharp though amusing satirist, from his very comic but sarcastic imitation of Dr. Johnson's "Lives," in a criticism upon Gray's "Elegy." Charles was all kind affection, and delighted at our approbation of his friend, for the professor has been such many years, and very essentially formerly,-a circumstance Charles is now gratefully and warmly returning. It is an excellent part of Charles's character that he never forgets any kind office he has received. I learned from them that Mr. Rogers, author of the "Pleasures of Memory," that most sweet poem, had ridden round the lanes about our domain to view it, and stood--or made his horse stand,--at our gate a considerable time, to examine our Camilla cottage,--a name I am sorry to find Charles, or some one, had spread to him; and he honoured all with his good word. I should like to meet with him. PRECOCIOUS MASTER ALEX. Lady Rothes(160) constant in every manifestation of regard, came hither the first week of our establishment, and came three times to denials, when my gratitude forced open my doors. Her daughter, Lady Harriet, was with her: she is a pretty and pleasing young woman. Sir Lucas came another morning, bringing my old friend Mr. Pepys. Alex was in high spirits and amused them singularly. He had just taken to spelling; and every word he heard, of which he either knew or could guess the orthography, he instantly, in a little concise and steady manner, pronounced all the letters of, with a look of great but very grave satisfaction at his own performances, and a familiar nod at every word so conquered, as thus :-- Mr. Pepys. You are a fine boy, indeed! Alex. B, o, y; boy. (Every letter articulated with strong, almost heroic emphasis.) Mr. P. And do you run about here in this pleasant place all day long? Page 178 Alex. D, a, y; day. Mr. P. And can you read your book, You Sweet little fellow? Alex. R, e, a, d; read. Etc. He was in such good looks that all this nonsense won nothing but admiration, and Mr. Pepys could attend to nothing else, but only charged me to let him alone. "For mercy's sake, don't make him study," cried Sir Lucas also; "he is so well disposed that you must rather repress than advance him, or his health may pay the forfeit of his application." "O, leave him alone! cried Mr. Pepys: "take care only of his health and strength; never fear such a boy as that wanting learning." THE BARBAULDS. I was extremely surprised to be told by the maid a gentleman and lady had called at the door, who sent in a card and begged to know if I could admit them; and to see the names on the card were Mr. and Mrs. Barbauld.(161) I had never seen them more than twice; the first time, by their own desire, Mrs. Chapone carried me to meet them at Mr. Burrows's: the other time, I think, was at Mrs. Chapone's. You must be sure I could not hesitate to receive, and receive with thankfulness, this civility from the authoress of the most useful books, next to Mrs. Trimmer's, that have been yet written for dear little children; though this with the world is probably her very secondary merit, her many pretty Poems, and particularly songs, being generally esteemed. But many more have written those as well, and not a few better; for children's books she began the new walk, which has since been so well cultivated, to the great information as well as utility of parents. Mr. Barbauld is a dissenting minister--an author also, but I am unacquainted with his works. They were in our little dining-parlour-the only one that has any chairs in it--and began apologies for their visit; but I interrupted and finished them with my thanks. She is much altered, but not for the worse to me, though she is for herself, since the flight of her youth, which is evident, has taken also with it a great portion of an almost set smile, which had an air of determined complacence and prepared acquiescence that seemed to result Page 179 from a sweetness which never risked being off guard. I remember Mrs. Chapone's saying to me, after our interview, "She is a very good young woman, as well as replete with talents; but why must one always smile so? It makes my poor jaws ache to look at her." We talked, of course, of that excellent lady ; and you will believe I did not quote her notions of smiling. The Burrows family, she told me,. was quite broken up; old Mrs. Amy alone remaining alive. Her brother, Dr. Aiken,(162) with his family, were passing the summer at Dorking, on account of his ill-health, the air of that town having been recommended for his complaints. The Barbaulds were come to spend some time with him, and would not be so near without renewing their acquaintance. They had been walking in Norbury Park, which they admired very much; and Mrs. Barbauld very elegantly said, "If there was such a public officer as a legislator of taste, Mr. Locke ought to be chosen for it." They inquired much about M. d'Arblay, who was working in his garden, and would not be at the trouble of dressing to appear. They desired to see Alex, and I produced him ; and his orthographical feats were very well-timed here, for as soon as Mrs. Barbauld said, "What is your name, you pretty creature?" he sturdily answered "B, o, y; boy." Almost all our discourse was upon the Irish rebellion. Mr. Barbauld is a very little, diminutive figure, but well-bred and sensible. I borrowed her poems, afterwards, of Mr. Daniel, who chanced to have them, and have read them with much esteem of the piety and worth they exhibit, and real admiration of the last amongst them, which is an epistle to Mr. Wilberforce in favour of the demolition of the slave-trade, 1 'n which her energy seems to spring from the real spirit of virtue, suffering at the luxurious depravity which can tolerate, in a free land, so unjust, cruel, and abominable a traffic. We returned their visit together in a few days, at Dr. Aiken's lodgings, at Dorking, where, as she permitted M. d'Arblay to speak French, they had a very animated discourse upon buildings, French and English, each supporting those of their own country with great spirit, but my monsieur, Page 180 to own the truth, having greatly the advantage both in manner and argument. He was in spirits, and came forth with his best exertions. Dr. Aiken looks very sickly, but is said to be better: he has a good countenance. PRINCESS AMELIA AT JUNIPER HALL. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, 1798. And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of this year. The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since My last royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused spasms the most dreadfully painful, was now returning from her sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the neighbourhood that her royal highness was to rest and stop one night at juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr. Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician at Worthing. I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an application she would not know how either to refuse or grant, from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the presence of their royal highnesses but by the queen's permission. So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a princess always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to her majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post. .. "My dear friend,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that the queen has ordered me to say that you have her leave to see dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Dr. Keate permit it, etc." With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her My authority, to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my devoirs to the young princess on Saturday morning,--the Friday I imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless demanded, but to be Put into some closet where he might be at hand in case of that Page 181 honour. The sweet princess's excessive graciousness to him gave me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note which made me perfectly comfortable. It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day. I borrowed Mr. Locke's carriage. Sir Lucas came to us immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the princess. Here I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of the ladies of the princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour. This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf, there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house to hear every word ! With this infirmity, however, she is still in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother, who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered, that I with difficulty could venture to speak to him by the name of General Goldsworthy. He has had three or four more strokes of apoplexy since I saw him. I fancy he had a strong consciousness of his alteration, for he seemed embarrassed and shy, and only bowed to me, at first, without speaking. but I wore that off afterwards, by chatting over old stories with him. The princess breakfasted alone, attended by Mrs. Cheveley. When this general breakfast was over, Lady Albinia retired. But in a very few minutes she returned, and said, "Her royal highness desires to see Madame d'Arblay and her little boy." The princess was seated on a sofa, in a French gray riding-dress, with pink lapels, her beautiful and richly flowing and shining fair locks unornamented. Her breakfast was still before her, and Mrs. Cheveley in waiting. Lady Albinia announced me, and she received me with the brightest smile, calling me up to her, and stopping my profound reverence, by pouting out her sweet ruby lips for me to kiss. She desired me to come and sit by her; but, ashamed of so much indulgence, I seemed not to hear her, and drew a chair at a little distance. "No, no," she cried, nodding, "come here; come and sit by me here, my dear Madame d'Arblay." I had then only to say 'twas my duty to obey her, and I seated myself on her sofa. Lady Albinia, whom she motioned Page 182 to sit, took an opposite chair, and Mrs. Cheveley, after we had spoken a few words together, retired. Her attention now was bestowed upon my Alex, who required not quite so much solicitation to take his part of the sofa. He came jumping and skipping up to her royal highness, with such gay and merry antics, that it was impossible not to be diverted with so sudden a change from his composed and quiet behaviour in the other room. He seemed enchanted to see her again, and I was only alarmed lest he should skip upon her poor knee in his caressing agility. I bid him, in vain, however, repeat Ariel's "Come unto these yellow sands," which he can say very prettily; he began, and the princess, who knew it, prompted him to go on --but a fit of shame came suddenly across him-or of capriciousness-and he would not continue. Lady Albinia soon after left the room - and the princess, then, turning hastily and eagerly to me, said, "Now we are alone, do let me ask you one question, Madame d'Arblay. Are you--are you--[looking with strong expression to discover her answer] writing anything?" I could not help laughing, but replied in the negative. "Upon your honour?" she cried earnestly, and looking disappointed. This was too hard an interrogatory for evasion; and I was forced to say--the truth--that I was about nothing I had yet fixed if or not I should ever finish, but that I was rarely without some project. This seemed to satisfy and please her. I told her of my having seen the Duke of Clarence at Leatherhead fair. "What, William?" she cried, surprised. This unaffected, natural way of naming her brothers and sisters is infinitely pleasing. She took a miniature from her pocket, and said, "I must show you Meney's picture," meaning Princess Mary, whom she still calls Meney, because it was the name she gave her when unable to pronounce Mary--a time she knew I well remembered. It was a very sweet miniature, and extremely like. "Ah! what happiness," I cried, "your royal highness will feel, and give, upon returning to their majesties and their royal highnesses, after such an absence, and such sufferings!" "O! yes!--I shall be SO glad!" she cried, and then Lady Albinia came in and whispered her it was time to admit Lady Rothes, who then entered with Lady Harriet and the Miss Leslies. When she was removing, painfully lifted from her seat Page 183 between Sir Lucas and Mr. Keate, she stopped to pay her compliments and thanks to Lady Rothes with a dignity and self- command extremely striking. . DEATH OF MR. SEWARD. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Westhamble, May 2, 1799. Poor Mr. Seward! I am indeed exceedingly concerned--nay, grieved--for his loss to us: to us I trust I may say; for I believe he was so substantially good a creature, that he has left no fear or regret merely for himself. He fully expected his end was quickly approaching. I saw him at my father's at Chelsea, and he spent almost a whole morning with me in chatting of other times, as he called it ; for we travelled back to Streatham, Dr. Johnson, and the Thrales. But he told me he knew his disease incurable. Indeed he had passed a quarter of an hour in recovering breath, in a room with the servants, before he let me know he had mounted the college stairs. My father was not at home. He had thought himself immediately dying, he said, four days before, by certain sensations that he believed to be fatal, but he mentioned it with cheerfulness ; and though active in trying all means to lengthen life, declared himself perfectly calm in suspecting they would fail. TO give me a proof, he said he had been anxious to serve Mr. Wesley, the methodist musician, and he had recommended him to the patronage of the Hammersleys, and begged my father to meet him there to dinner; but as this was arranged, he was seized himself with a dangerous attack, which he believed to be mortal. And during this belief, "willing to have the business go on," said he, laughing, "and not miss me, I wrote a letter to a young lady, to tell her all I wished to be done upon the occasion, to serve Wesley, and to show him to advantage. I gave every direction I should have given in person, in a complete persuasion at the moment I should never hold a pen in my hand again." This letter, I found, was to Miss Hammersley. I had afterwards the pleasure of introducing M. d'Arblay to him, and it seemed a gratification to him to make the acquaintance. I knew he had been curious to see him, and he wrote my father word afterwards he had been much pleased. My father says he sat with him an hour the Saturday before he died - and though he thought him very ill, he was so little Page 184 aware his end was so rapidly approaching, that, like my dearest friend, he laments his loss as if by sudden death. I was sorry, too, to see in the newspapers, the expulsion of Mr. Barry from the Royal Academy. I suppose it is from some furious harangue.(163) His passions have no restraint though I think extremely well of his heart, as well as of his understanding. DR. BURNEY AGAIN VISITS DR. HERSCHEL. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) Slough, Monday morning, July 22, 1799, in bed at Dr. Herschel's, half-past five, where I can neither sleep nor lie idle. My dear Fanny,-I believe I told you on Friday that I was going to finish the perusal of my astronomical verses to the great astronomer on Saturday. Here I arrived at three o'clock,- -neither Dr. nor Mrs. H. at home. This was rather discouraging, but all was set to rights by the appearance of Miss Baldwin, a sweet, timid, amiable girl, Mrs. Herschel's niece. ....When we had conversed about ten minutes, in came two other sweet girls, the daughters of Dr. Parry of Bath, on a visit here. More natural, obliging, charming girls I have seldom seen; and, moreover, very pretty. We soon got acquainted. I found they were musical, and in other respects very well educated. It being a quarter past four, and the lord and lady of the mansion not returned, Miss Baldwin would have dinner served, according to order, and an excellent dinner it was, and our chattation no disagreeable sauce. After an admirable dessert, I made the Misses Parry sing and play, and sang and played with them so delightfully, "you can't think!" Mr. and Mrs. H. did not return till between seven and eight ; but when they came, apologies for being out on pressing business, cordiality and kindness, could not be more liberally bestowed. After tea Dr. H. proposed that we two should retire into a quiet room, in order to resume the perusal of my work, in Page 185 which no progress had been made since last December. The evening was finished very cheerfully; and we went to our bowers not much out of humour with each other, or with the world. DR. BURNEY AND THE KING. We had settled a plan to go to the chapel at Windsor in' the morning, the king and royal family being there, and the town very full. Dr. H. and Mrs. H. stayed at home, and I was accompanied by the three Graces. Dr. Goodenough, the successor of Dr. Shepherd, as canon, preached. I had dined with him at Dr. Duval's. He is a very agreeable man, and passionately fond of music, with whom, as a professor, a critic, and an historian of the art; I seem to stand very high; but I could not hear a single sentence of his sermon, on account of the distance. After the service I got a glimpse of the good king, in his light-grey farmer-like morning Windsor uniform, in a great crowd, but could not even obtain that glance of the queen and princesses. The day was charming. The chapel is admirably repaired, beautified, and a new west window painted on glass. All was cheerfulness, gaiety, and good humour, such as the subjects of no other monarch, I believe, i on earth enjoy at present; and except return of creepings now and then, and a cough, I was as happy as the best. At dinner we all agreed to go to the Terrace,--Mr., Mrs., and Miss H., with their nice little boy, and the three young ladies. This plan we put in execution, and arrived on the Terrace a little after seven. I never saw it more crowded or gay. The park was almost full of happy people--farmers, servants, and tradespeople,--alt In Elysium. Deer in the distance, and dears unnumbered near. Here I met with everybody I wished and expected to see previous to the king's arrival in the part of the Terrace where I and my party were planted. ..... Chelsea, Tuesday, three o'clock. Not a moment could I get to write till now; and I am afraid of forgetting some part of my history, but I ought not, for the events of this visit are very memorable. When the king and queen, arm in arm, were approaching the place where the Herschel family and I had planted ourselves, one of the Misses Parry heard the queen say to his majesty, "There's Dr. Burney," when they instantly came to me, so smiling and gracious that I longed to throw myself at Page 186 their feet. "How do you, Dr. Burney?" said the king, "Why, you are grown fat and young." "Yes, indeed," said the queen; "I was very glad to hear from Madame d'Arblay how well you looked." "Why, you used to be as thin as Dr. Lind," says the king. Lind was then in sight--a mere lath; but these few words were accompanied with such Very gracious smiles, and seemingly affectionate good-humour--the whole royal family, except the Prince of Wales, standing by in the midst of a crowd of the first people in the kingdom for rank and office--that I was afterwards looked at as a sight. After this the king and queen hardly ever passed by me without a smile and a nod. The weather was charming; the park as full as the Terrace, the king having given permission to the farmers, tradesmen, and even livery servants, to be there during the time of his walking. Now I must tell you that Herschel proposed to me to go with him to the king's concert at night, he having permission to go when he chooses, his five nephews (Griesbachs) making a principal part of the band. "And," says he, "I know you will be welcome." But I should not have presumed to believe this if his majesty had not formerly taken me into his concert-room himself from your apartments. This circumstance, and the gracious notice with which I had been just honoured, emboldened me. A fine music-room in the Castle, next the Terrace, is now fitted up for his majesty's evening concerts, and an organ erected. Part of the first act had been performed previous to our arrival. There were none but the performers in the room, except the Duchesses of Kent and cumberland, with two or three general officers backwards. The king seldom goes into the music-room after the first act; and the second and part of the third were over before we saw anything of him, though we heard his majesty, the queen, and princesses talking in the next room. At length he came directly up to me and Herschel, and the first question his majesty asked me was,--"How does Astronomy go on?" I, pretending to suppose he knew nothing of my poem, said, "Dr. Herschel will better inform your majesty than I can." "Ay, ay," says the king, "but you are going to tell us something with your pen;" and moved his hand in a writing manner. "What--what--progress have you made?" "Sir, it is all finished, and all but the last of twelve books have been read to my friend Dr. Herschel." The king, then, looking at Herschel, as who would say, "How is it?" "It Page 187 is a very capital work, sir," says H. "I wonder how you find time?" said the king. "I make time, Sir." "How, how?" "I take it out of my sleep, sir." When the considerate good king, "But you'll hurt your health. How long," he adds, "have you been at it?" "Two or three years, at odd and stolen moments, Sir." "Well," said the king (as he had said to you before), "whatever you write, I am sure will be entertaining." I bowed most humbly, as ashamed of not deserving so flattering a speech. "I don't say it to flatter you," says the king; "if I did not think it, I would not say it." OVERWHELMED WITH THE ROYAL GRACIOUSNESS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) "Fore George, a more excellent song than t'other!" Westhamble, July 25, '99. Why, my dearest padre, your subjects rise and rise,-till subjects, in fact, are no longer in question. I do not wonder you felt melted by the king's goodness. I am sure I did in its perusal. And the queen!-her naming me so immediately went to my heart. Her speeches about me to Mrs. Locke in the drawing-room, her interest in my welfare, her deigning to say she had "never been amongst those who had blamed my marriage," though she lost by it my occasional attendances, and her remarking "I looked the picture of happiness," had warmed me to the most fervent gratitude, and the more because her saying she had never been amongst those who had blamed me shows there were people who had not failed to do me ill offices in her hearing; though probably, and I firmly believe, without any personal enmity, as I am unconscious of my having any owed me; but merely from a cruel malice with which many seize every opportunity, almost involuntarily, to do mischief and most especially to undermine at Court any one presumed to be in any favour. And, still further, I thought her words conveyed a confirmation of what her conduct towards me in my new capacity always led me to conjecture, namely, that my guardian star had ordained it so that the real character and principles of my honoured and honourable mate had, by some happy chance, reached the royal ear "before the news of our union. The dear king's graciousness :to M. d'Arblay upon the Terrace, when the commander-in-chief, just then returned from the Continent, was by his side, made it impossible not to suggest this : and now, the queen's Page 188 again naming me so in, public puts it, in my conception, beyond doubt. My kindest father will be glad, I am sure, to have added to the great delight of his recital a strength to a notion I so much love to cherish. WAR RUMOURS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Aug. 14, '99. People here are very sanguine that Ireland is quiet, and will remain so; and that the combined fleets can never reach it. How are your own politics upon that point? Mine will take their colour, be it what it may. Our dear father is Visiting about, from Mr. Cox's to Mrs. Crewe, with whom be is now at Dover, where Mr. Crewe has some command. We are all in extreme disturbance here about the secret expedition. Nothing authentic is arrived from the first armament; and the second is all prepared for sailing. . . . Both officers and men are gathered from all quarters. - Heaven grant them speedy safety, and ultimate peace ! God bless my own dearest Susan, and strengthen and restore her. Amen! Amen. ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MRS. PHILLIPS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, October 1, '99. Whether gaily or sadly to usher what I have to say I know not, but your sensations, like mine, will I am sure be mixed. The major has now written to Mrs. Locke that he is anxious to have Susan return to England. She is "in an ill state of health," he says, and he wishes her to try her native air; but the revival of coming to you and among us all, and the tender care that will be taken of her, is likely to do much for her; therefore, if we get her but to this side the channel, the blessing is comparatively so great, that I shall feel truly thankful to heaven. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.) Westhamble, December 10, '99. O my Susan, my heart's dear sister! with what bitter sorrow have I read this last account! With us, with yourself, your children,-all,-you have trifled in respect to health, though in all things else you are honour and veracity personified; Page 189 but nothing had prepared me to think you in such a grave state as I now find you. Would to God I could get to you! If Mr. Keirnan thinks you had best pass the winter in Dublin, stay, and let me come to you. Venture nothing against his opinion, for mercy's sake! Fears for your health take place of all impatience to expedite your return; only go not back to Belcotton, where you cannot be under his direction, and are away from the physician he thinks of so highly. I shall write immediately to Charles about the carriage. I am sure of his answer beforehand,--so must you be. Act, therefore, with regard to the carriage, as if already it were arranged. But I am well aware it must not set out till you Are well enough to nearly fix your day of sailing. I say nearly, for we must always allow for accidents. I shall write to our dear father, and Etty, and James, and send to Norbury Park - but I shall wait till to-morrow, not to infect them with what I am infected.. . . O my Susan! that I could come to you! But all must depend on Mr. Keirnan's decision. If you can come to us with perfect safety, however slowly, I shall not dare add to your embarrassment of persons and package. Else Charles's carriage--O, what a temptation to air it for you all the way! Take no more large paper, that you may write with less fatigue, and, if possible, oftener;--to any one will suffice for all. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) 9th January, 1800. My most dear padre,-My mate will say all,-so I can only offer up my earnest prayers I may soon be allowed the blessing--the only one I sigh for--of embracing my dearest Susan in your arms and under your roof. Amen. F. D'A. These were the last written lines of the last period--unsuspected as such--of my perfect happiness on earth; for they were stopped on the road by news that my heart's beloved sister, Susanna Elizabeth Phillips, had ceased to breathe. The tenderest of husbands--the most feeling of human beings--had only reached Norbury Park, on his way to a believed meeting with that angel, when the fatal blow was struck; and he came back to West Hamble-- to the dreadful task of revealing the irreparable loss which his own goodness, sweetness, patience, and sympathy could alone have made supported. Page 190 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) 9th January, 1800. "As a guardian angel!"--Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in every interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see her, but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and I can only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her soft hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes so greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smile of heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful soul that God at length should grant our re-union. From our earliest moments, my Fredy, when no misfortune happened to our dear family, we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others were received by us--loved by us--all that was necessary to our happiness was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember with my first remembrance; nor do I recollect a single instance of being affected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment, if its result was leaving us together. She was the soul of my soul !-and 'tis wonderful to me, my dearest Fredy, that the first shock did not join them immediately by the flight of mine-but that over-that dreadful, harrowing, never-to be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be mad--the ties that after that first endearing period have shared with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous; and still sometimes I think it is not--and that she will come-- and I paint her by my side--by my father's--in every room of these apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life with rays of comfort, joy, and affection. O, my Fredy ! not selfish is the affliction that repines her earthly course of sorrow was allowed no shade!--that at the instant soft peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe her last! You would understand all the hardship of resignation for me were you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her landing, to my poor father, and her prayer at the end to be restored to him. O, my Fredy! could you indeed think of me--be alarmed for me on that dreadful day?---I can hardly make that enter my comprehension; but I thank you from my soul; for that is beyond any love I had thought possible, even from Your tender heart. Tell me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I write so fast I fear you can hardly read; but you will See Page 191 I am conversing with you, and that will show you how I turn to you for the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss, indeed! A PRINCESS'S CONDESCENSION. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke). Greenwich, Friday, February, 1800. Here we are, my beloved friend. We came yesterday. All places to me are now less awful than my own so dear habitation. My royal interview took place on Wednesday. I was five hours with the royal family, three of them alone with the queen, whose graciousness and kind goodness I cannot express. And each of the princesses saw me with a sort of concern and interest I can never forget. I did tolerably well, though not quite as steadily as I expected but with my own Princess Augusta I lost all command. She is still wrapt up, and just recovering from a fever herself- and she spoke to me in a tone--a voice so commiserating--I could not stand it--I was forced to stop short in my approach, and hide my face with my muff. She came up to me immediately, put her arm upon my shoulder, and kissed me--I shall never forget it.--How much more than thousands of words did a condescension so tender tell me her kind feelings!--She is one of the few beings in this world that can be, in the words of M. de Narbonne, "all that is douce and all that is sbirituelle,"--his words upon my lost darling! It is impossible more of comfort or gratification could be given than I received from them all. HORTICULTURAL MISFORTUNES. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney). Westhamble, March 22, 1800. Day after day I have meant to write to my dearest father 'but I have been unwell ever since our return, and that has not added to my being sprightly. I have not once crossed 'the threshold since I re-entered the house till to-day, when Mr. and Mrs. Locke almost insisted upon taking me an airing. I am glad of it, for it has done me good, and broken a kind of spell that made me unwilling to stir. Page 192 M. d'Arblay has worked most laboriously in his garden but his misfortunes there, during our absence, might melt a heart of stone. The horses of our next neighbouring farmer broke through our hedges, and have made a kind of bog of our mead ow, by scampering in it during the wet; the sheep followed, who have eaten up all our greens, every sprout and cabbage and lettuce, destined for the winter ; while the horses dug up our turnips and carrots; and the swine, pursuing such examples, have trod down all the young plants besides devouring whatever the others left of vegetables. Our potatoes, left, from our abrupt departure, in the ground, are all rotten or frostbitten, and utterly spoilt; and not a single thing has our whole ground produced us since we came home. A few dried carrots, which remain from the in-doors collection, are all we have to temper our viands.. What think you of this for people who make it a rule to owe a third of their sustenance to the garden? Poor M, d'A.'s renewal of toil, to supply future times, is exemplary to behold, after such discouragement. But he works as if nothing had failed; such is his patience as well as industry. My Alex, I am sure you will be kindly glad to hear, is entirely well; and looks so blooming--no rose can be fresher. I am encouraging back his spouting propensity, to fit him for his royal interview with the sweet and gay young princess who has demanded him, who will, I know, be diverted with his speeches and gestures. We must present ourselves before Easter, as the Court then adjourns to Windsor for ten days. My gardener will not again leave his grounds to the fourfooted marauders; and our stay, therefore, will be the very shortest we can possibly make it ; for though we love retirement, we do not like solitude. I long for some further account of you, dearest: sir, and how you bear the mixture of business and company, of "fag and frolic," as Charlotte used to phrase it. Westhamble, April 27, 1800. My Alex improves in all that I can teach, and my gardener is laboriously recovering from his winter misfortunes. He is now raising a hillock by the gate, for a view of NorbUry Park from our grounds, and he has planted potatoes upon almost every spot where they can grow. The dreadful price of provisions makes this our first attention. The poor people about us complain they are nearly starved, and the children of the Page 193 journeymen of the tradesmen at Dorking come to our door to beg halfpence for a little bread. What the occasion of such universal dearth can be we can form no notion, and have no information. The price of bread we can conceive from the bad harvest; but meat, butter, and shoes!---nay, all sorts of nourriture or clothing seem to rise in the same proportion, and without any adequate cause. The imputed one of the war does not appear to me sufficient, though the drawback from all by the income-tax is severely an underminer of comfort. What is become of the campaign? are both parties incapacitated from beginning? or is each waiting a happy moment to strike some definitive stroke? We are strangely in the dark about all that is going on, and unless you will have the compassion to write us some news, we may be kept so till Mr. Locke returns. A WITHDRAWN COMEDY. [Towards the close of the preceding year Dr. Charles Burney had placed in the hands of Mr. Harris, the manager of Covent Garden-theatre, a comedy by Madame d'Arblay, called "Love and Fashion." Mr. Harris highly approved the piece, and early in the spring put it into rehearsal ; but Dr. Burney was seized with a panic concerning its success, and, to oblige him, his daughter and her husband withdrew it. The following letter announced their generous compliance with his wishes.] (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Monday. I hasten to tell you, dearest sir, Mr. H. has at length listened to our petitions, and has returned me my poor ill-fated ---, wholly relinquishing all claim to it for this season. He has promised also to do his utmost, as far as his influence extends, to keep the newspapers totally silent in future. We demand, therefore, no contradictory paragraph, as the report must needs die when the reality no more exists. Nobody has believed it from the beginning, on account of the premature moment when it was advertised. This release gives me present repose, which, indeed, I much wanted; for to combat your, to me, unaccountable but most afflicting displeasure, in the midst of my own panics and disturbance, would have been ample punishment to me had I been guilty of a crime, in doing what I have all my life been Page 194 urged to, and all my life intended, --writing a comedy. Your goodness, your kindness, your regard for my fame, I know have caused both your trepidation, which doomed me to certain failure, and your displeasure that I ran, what you thought, a wanton risk. But it is not wanton, my dearest father. My imagination is not at my own control, or I would always have continued in the walk YOU approved. The combinations for another long work did not occur to me; incidents and effects for a drama did. I 'thought the field more than open--inviting to me. The chance held out golden dreams.--The risk could be only our own; for, permit me to say, appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the moral, or the language that will make you blush for me. A failure upon those points only, can bring disgrace; Upon mere cabal or want of dramatic powers, it can only cause disappointment. I hope, therefore, my dearest father, in thinking this over you will cease to nourish such terrors and disgust at an essay so natural, and rather say to yourself, with an internal smile, "After all, 'tis but like father like child; for to what walk do I confine myself? She took my example in writing--she takes it in ranging. Why then, after all, should I lock her up in one paddock, well as she has fed there, if she says she finds nothing more to nibble; while I find all the earth unequal to my ambition, and mount the skies to content it? Come on, then, poor Fan! the world has acknowledged you my offspring, and I will disencourage you no more. Leap the pales of your paddock--let us pursue our career; and, while you frisk from novel to comedy, I, quitting music and prose, will try a race with poetry and the stars." I am sure my dear father will not infer, from this appeal, I mean to parallel our works. No one more truly measures her own inferiority, which, with respect to yours, has always been my pride. I only mean to show, that if my muse loves a little variety, she has an hereditary claim to try it. M. D'ARBLAY's FRENCH PROPERTY. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) Westhamble, November 7, 1800. I think it very long not to hear at least of YOU, my dearest padre. My tranquil and happy security, alas! has been Page 195 broken in upon by severe conflicts since I wrote to My dearest father last, which I would not communicate while yet pending, but must now briefly narrate. My partner, the truest of partners, has been erased from the list of emigrants nearly a year; and in that period has been much pressed and much blamed by his remaining friends in France, by every opportunity through which they could send to him, for not immediately returning, and seeing if anything could be yet saved from the wreck of his own and family's fortune ; but he held steady to his original purpose never to revisit his own country till it was at peace with this ; till a letter came from his beloved uncle himself, conveyed to him through Hambro', which shook all the firmness of his resolution, and has kept him, since its receipt, in a state of fermentation, from doubts and difficulties, and crossing wishes and interests, that has much affected his health as well as tranquillity. All, however, now, is at least decided; for a few days since he received a letter from M. Lajard, who is returned to Paris, with information from his uncle's eldest son, that some of his small property is yet unsold, to about the amount of 1000 pounds, and can still be saved from sequestration if he will immediately go over and claim it; or, if that is impossible, if he will send his procuration to his uncle, from some country not at war with France. This ended all his internal contest; and he is gone this very morning to town to procure a passport and a passage in some vessel bound to Holland. So unused are we to part, never yet for a week having been separated during the eight years of our union, that our first idea was going together, and taking our Alex; and certain I am nothing would do me such material and mental good as so complete a change of scene; but the great expense of the voyage and journey, and the inclement season for our little boy, at length finally settled us to pray only for a speedy meeting. But I did not give it up till late last night, and am far from quite reconciled to relinquishing it even now. He has no intention to go to France, or he would make an effort to pass by Calais, which would delightfully shorten the passage; but he merely means to remain at the Hague while he sends over his procuration, and learns how soon he may hope to reap its fruits. page 196 Westhamble, 16th December, 1800. He is returned, my dearest father, already! MY joy and surprise are so great I seem in a dream. I have just this moment a letter from him, written at Gravesend. What he has been able to arrange as to his affairs, I know not ; and just now cannot care, so great is my thankfulness for his safety and return. He waits in the river for his passport, and will, when he obtains it, hasten, I need not say, to Westhamble. HOME MATTERS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, September i, 1801. A carpet we have-though not yet spread, as the chimney is unfinished, and room incomplete. Charles brought us the tapis-so that, in fact, we have yet bought nothing for our best room--and meant,--for our own share--to buy a table . . . and if my dearest father will be so good--and so naughty at once, as to crown our salle d'audience with a gift we shall prize beyond all others, we can think only of a table. Not a dining one, but a sort of table for a little work and a few books,--en ala--without which, a room looks always forlorn. I need not say how we shall love it ; and I must not say how we shall blush at it; and I cannot say how we feel obliged at it--for the room will then be complete in love-offerings. Mr. Locke finished glazing or polishing his impression border for the chimney on Saturday. It will be, I fear, his last work of that sort, his eyes, which are very longsighted, now beginning to fail and weaken at near objects. My Alex intends very soon, he says, to marry-and, not long since, with the gravest simplicity, he went up to Mr William Locke, who was here with his fair bride, and said, "How did you get that wife, William? because I want to get such a one--and I don't know which is the way." And he is now actually employed in fixing sticks and stones at convenient distances, upon a spot very near our own, where he means to raise a suitable structure for his residence, after his nuptials. You will not think he has suffered much time to be wasted before he has begun deliberating upon his conjugal establishment. We spent the greatest part of last week in visits at Norbury Park, to meet M. de Lally, whom I am very sorry you missed. Page 197 He is delightful in the country full of resources, of gaiety, of intelligence, of good humour and mingling powers of instruction. with entertainment. He has read us several fragments of works of his own, admirable in eloquence, sense, and feeling - chiefly parts of tragedies, and all referring to subjects next his heart, and clearest in his head ; namely, the French Revolution and its calamities, and filial reverence and enthusiasm for injured parents. CONTEMPLATED JOURNEY To FRANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, October 3, 1801. God avert mischief from this peace, my dearest father! For in our hermitage you may imagine, more readily than I can express, the hopes and happiness it excites. M. d'Arblay now feels paid for his long forbearance, his kind patience, and compliance with my earnest wishes not to revisit his native land while we were at war with it. He can now go with honour as well as propriety - for every body, even the highest personages, will rather expect he should make the journey as a thing of course, than hear of it as a proposition for deliberation. He will now have his heart's desire granted, in again seeing his loved and respectable uncle,-and many relations, and more friends, and his own native town, as well as soil ; and he will have the delight of presenting to that uncle, and those friends, his little pet Alex. With all this gratification to one whose endurance of such a length of suspense, and repetition of disappointment, I have observed with gratitude, and felt with sympathy-must not I, too, find pleasure ? Though, on my side, many are the drawbacks - but I ought not, and must not, listen to them. We shall arrange our affairs with all the speed in our power, after the ratification is arrived, for saving the cold and windy weather; but the approach of winter is unlucky, as it will lengthen our stay, to avoid travelling and voyaging during its severity - unless, indeed, any internal movement, or the menace of any, should make frost and snow secondary fears, and induce us to scamper off. But the present is a season less liable in all appearance to storms, than the seasons that may follow. Fates, joy, and pleasure, will probably for some months occupy the public in France - and it will not be till Page 198 those rejoicings are past, that they will set about weighing causes of new commotion, the rights of their governors, or the means, or desirability of changing them. I would far rather go immediately, than six months hence. [The projected journey of Madame d'Arblay with her husband did not take place this year; the season being already advanced, and their little boy not strong enough to bear the fatigue of such an expedition. Monsieur d'Arblay went alone to France.] M. D'ARBLAY's ROUGH SEA PASSAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Westhamble, November 11, 1801. I did not purpose writing to my dearest father till my suspense and inquietude were happily removed by a letter from France; but as I find he is already anxious himself, I will now relate all I yet know of my dearest traveller's history. On Wednesday the 28th of October, he set off for Gravesend. A vessel, he was told, was ready for sailing,- and would set off the following day. He secured his passage, and took up his abode at an inn, whence he wrote me a very long letter, in full hope his next would be from his own country. But Thursday came, and no sailing--though the wind was fair, and the weather then calm: he amused his disappointment as well as he could by visiting divers gardeners, and taking sundry lessons for rearing and managing asparagus. Friday, also, came-and still no sailing ! He was more and more vexed ; but had recourse then to a chemist, with whom he revised much of his early knowledge. Saturday followed--no sailing! and he found the people waited on and on, in hopes of more passengers, though never avowing their purpose, His patience was now nearly exhausted, and he went and made such vifs remonstrances that he almost startled the managers. They pretended the ballast was all they stayed for : he offered to aid that himself; and actually went to work, and never rested till the vessel was absolutely ready: orders, enfin, were given for sailing next morning, though he fears, with all his skill, and all his eloquence, and all his aiding, they were more owing to the arrival of four passengers than to his exertions. That night, October the 31st, he went on board; and November the 1st he set sail at five o'clock in the morning. Page 199 You know how high a wind arose on Sunday the 1st, and how dreadful a storm succeeded, lasting all night, all Monday, and all night again. How thankful, how grateful am I to have heard of his safety since so terrifying a period. They got on, with infinite difficulty and danger, as far as Margate; they there took anchor, and my kind voyager got a letter for me sent on shore, "moyennant un schelling ."(164) To tell you my gratitude in knowing him safe after that tempest--no I cannot! Your warm affections, my dearest father, will easily paint to you my thankfulness. Next, they got on to Deal, and here anchored again, for the winds, though they abated on shore, kept violent and dangerous near the coast. Some of the passengers went on shore, and put two letters for me in the post, assuring me all was safe. These two passengers, who merely meant to dine on shore, and see the town, were left behind. The sea rose so high, no boat could put off to bring them back; and, though the captain hoisted a flag to announce he was sailing, there was no redress. They had not proceeded a league before the sea grew yet more rough and perilous, and the captain was forced to hoist a flag of distress. Everything in the vessel was overset; my poor M. d'Arblay's provision-basket flung down, and its contents demolished; his bottle of wine broken by another toss, and violent fall, and he was nearly famished. The water now began to get into the ship, all hands were at work that could work, and he, my poor voyager, gave his whole noble strength to the pump, till he was so exhausted, so fatigued, so weakened, that with difficulty he could hold a pen to repeat that still--I might be tranquille, for all danger was again over. A pilot came out to them from Dover, for seven guineas, which the higher of the passengers subscribed for (and here poor M. d'A. was reckoned of that class], and the vessel was got into the port at Dover, and the pilot, moyennant un autre schelling, put me again a letter, with all these particulars, into the post. This was Thursday the 5th. The sea still so boisterous, the vessel was unable to cross the water. The magistrates at Dover permitted the poor passengers all to land ; and M. d'Arblay wrote to me again, from the inn, after being regaled with an excellent dinner, of which he had been much in want. Here they met again the two passengers lost at Deal, who, in hopes of this circumstance, had travelled post Page 200 from thence to Dover. Here, too, M. d'A. met the Duke de Duras, an hereditary officer of the crown, but who told him, since peace was made, and all hope seemed chased of a proper return to his country, he was going, incognito, to visit a beloved old mother, whom he had not seen for eleven years. "I have no passport," he said, "for France , but I mean to avow myself to the commissary at Calais, and tell him I know I am not erased, nor do I demand to be so. I only solicit an interview with a venerable parent. Send to Paris, to beg leave for it. You may put me in Prison till the answer arrives; but, for mercy, for humanity's sake, suffer me to wait in France till then! guarded as you please!" This is his Purposed address--which my M. d'A. says he heard, avec les larmes aux yeux.(165) I shall long to hear the event. On Friday, November 6th, M. d'A. wrote me two lines:"Nov. 6, 1801.--,Je pars! the wind is excellent--au revoir." This is dated ten o'clock in the morning. I have not had a word since. [in the original edition here follow three letters, in French, from M. d'Arblay to his wife. From these letters we translate the following extracts.-ED. "Paris. "I do not yet know positively when it will be possible for me to go to see my uncle. The settlement of my claim of half-pay is anything but advanced. . . . To-morrow morning I have an appointment with Du Taillis, aide-de-camp to Berthler (the French minister of war). When I leave him, I hope to see Talleyrand; but what I most particularly desire is, not to depart without having at least a glimpse of the first Consul (Napoleon), that man so justly celebrated. . . . In reference to the obligation which we, formerly on the list of emigrants, have to him, Narbonne said to me to-day, 'He has set all our heads on our shoulders.' I like this expression." " Paris, November 16, 1801. "La Tour Maubourg, one of the companions of General Lafayette, wished to marry his daughter to an emigrant whose name was not yet struck off the list. He obtained an interview with the first Consul, at which he entered into details on the matter, without attempting to conceal the objections which might be taken to the requested erasement of the young man's Page 201 name from the list of emigrants. Bonaparte interrupted him and said, 'Is the young man agreeable to your daughter?' 'Yes, General.'-' 'Is he agreeable to you, M. de Maubourg?' 'Very much so, General.'--'Well then, the man whom you judge worthy to enter into such a family as yours, is surely worthy also to be a French citizen.'" "15th Frimaire (December 6), 1801. "According to all appearance, my dearest, I shall not obtain the settlement I ask for. Everybody says that nothing could be more just than my demand, but so many persons who have served all through the war are at present on half-pay, that I am desperately afraid it will be the same with my past services as with my property, and for the same reason-the impossibility of satisfying all demands, however well founded. Meanwhile, my dearest, it is impossible to conceal from ourselves that we have been living, for some years, with all our economy, on resources which are now either exhausted, or very nearly so. The greater part of our income [Fanny's pension] is anything but certain, yet what should we do if that were to fail us ? The moral of this discourse is, that while I am fit for something, it is my duty, as a husband and a father, to try what can be done to secure for us, if possible, an old age of absolute independence ; and for our little one a position which may prevent his being a burden to us. . . . ". . . The consuls in England have not yet been nominated. The consulship in London will be well worth having, and perhaps, although there will be plenty of candidates, it might not be impossible for me to obtain it. It is at least probable that I could get appointed to one of the sea-ports. . . . ". . . Answer me at once, I beg of you. Think if this plan is opposed to any of your tastes; for you know there is only one possible happiness for me. Need I say more?") SUGGESTED ABANDONMENT' OF CAMILLA COTTAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.) Westhamble, December 15, 1801. The relief, the consolation of your frequent letters I can never express, nor my grateful sense of your finding time for them, situated as you now are-, and yet that I have this moment read, of the 15 Frimaire, has made my heart ache Page 202 heavily. Our hermitage is so dear to me-our book-room, 'so precious, and in its retirement, its beauty of prospect, form, convenience, and comforts, so impossible to replace, that I sigh, and deeply, in thinking of relinquishing it. Your happiness, however, is now all mine ; if deliberately therefore, you wish to try a new system, I will surely try it, with you, be it what it may. I will try any thing but what I try now--absence ! Think, however, well, mon tr s cher ami, before you decide upon any occupation that robs you of being master of your own time, leisure, hours, gardening, scribbling, and reading. In the happiness you are now enjoying, while it Is SO new to you, you are perhaps unable to appreciate your own value of those six articles, which, except in moments of your bitter regret at the privation of your first friends and beloved country, have made your life so desirable. Weigh, weigh it well in the detail. I cannot write. Should you find the sum total preponderate in favour of your new scheme, I will say no more. All schemes will to me be preferable to seeing you again here, without the same fondness for the place, and way of life, that has made it to me what it has been. With regard to the necessity or urgency of the measure, I could say much that I cannot write. You know now I can live with you, and you know I am not without views, as well as hopes, of ameliorating our condition. I will fully discuss the subject with our oracle.(166) His kindness, his affection for you! Yesterday, when I produced your letter, and the extracts from M. Necker, and was going to read some, he said, in that voice that is so penetratingly sweet, when he speaks from his heart--"I had rather hear one line of d'Arblay's than a volume of M. Necker's,"--yet at the same time begging to peruse the MS. when I could spare it. I wish you could have heard the tone in which he pronounced those words: it vibrated on my ears all day. I have spent near two hours upon this theme with our dearest oracle and his other half He is much affected by the idea of any change that may remove us from his daily sight; but, with his unvarying disinterestedness, says he thinks such a place would be fully acquitted by you. If it is of consul here, in London, he is sure you would fill up all its functions even Page 203 admirably. I put the whole consideration into your own hands , what, upon mature deliberation, you judge to be best, I will abide by. Heaven guide and speed your determination! M. D'ARBLAY'S PROPOSED RETIREMENT FROM MILITARY SERVICE. 1802. [The beginning of this year was attended with much anxiety to Madame d'Arblay. Her husband, disappointed in the hopes suggested by his friends, of his receiving employment as French commercial consul in London, directed his efforts to obtaining his half-pay on the retired list of French officers. This was promised, on condition that he should previously serve at St. Domingo, where General Leclerc was then endeavouring to put down Toussaint's insurrection. He accepted the appointment conditionally on his being allowed to retire as soon as that expedition should be ended. This, he was told, was impossible, and he therefore hastened back to his family towards the end of January. In February, a despatch followed him from General Berthier, then minister at war, announcing that his appointment was made out, and on his own terms. 'To this M. d'Arblay wrote his acceptance, but repeated a stipulation he had before made, that while he was ready to fight against the enemies of the Republic, yet, should future events disturb the peace lately established between France and England, it was his unalterable determination never to take up arms against the British government. As this determination had already been signified by M. d'Arblay, he waited not to hear the result of its repetition, but set off again for Paris to receive orders, and proceed thence to St. Domingo. After a short time he was informed that his stipulation of never taking up arms against England could not be accepted, and that his military appointment was in consequence annulled. Having been required at the Alien office, on quitting England, to engage that he would not return for the space of one year, he now proposed that Madame d'Arblay, with her little boy, should join him in France:-and among the following letters will be found several in which she describes her first impressions on reaching that country, and the society to which she was introduced.] Page 204 (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.) Camilla Cottage, Westhamble, February 11, 1802. A most unexpected, and, to me, severe event, draws from me now an account I had hoped to have reserved for a far happier communication, but which I must beg you to endeavour to seek some leisure moment for making known, with the utmost humility, to my royal mistress. . . . Upon the total failure of every effort M. d'Arblay could make to recover any part of his natural inheritance, he was advised by his friends to apply to the French government for half pay, upon the claims of his former military services. He drew up a memoir, openly stating his attachment and loyalty to his late king, and appealing for this justice after undeserved proscription. His right was admitted, but he was informed it could only be made good by his re-entering the army; and a proposal to that effect was sent him by Berthier, the minister of war. The disturbance of his mind at an offer which so many existing circumstances forbade his foreseeing, was indescribable. He had purposed faithfully retiring to his hermitage, with his fellow-hermit, for the remainder of his life: and nothing upon earth could ever induce him to bear arms against the country which had given him asylum, as well as birth to his wife and child;--and yet a military spirit of honour, born and bred in him, made it repugnant to all his feelings to demand even retribution from the government of his own country, yet refuse to serve it. Finally, therefore, he resolved to accept the offer conditionally--to accompany the expedition to St. Domingo, for the restoration of order in the French colonies, and then, restored thus to his rank in the army, to claim his retraite. This he declared to the minister of war, annexing a further clause of receiving his instructions immediately from the government. The minister's answer to this was, that these conditions were impossible. Relieved rather than resigned-though dejected to find himself thus thrown out of every promise of prosperity, M. d'Arblay hastened back to his cottage, to the inexpressible satisfaction of the- recluse he had left there. short, however, has been its duration ! A packet has just followed him, containing a letter from Berthier, to tell him that his appointment was made out according to his own demands ! and Page 205 enclosing another letter to the commander-in-chief, Leclerc, with the orders of government for employing him, delivered in terms, the most distinguished, of his professional character. All hesitation, therefore, now necessarily ends, and nothing remains for M. d'Arblay but acquiescence and despatch,-- while his best consolation is in the assurance he has universally received, that this expedition has the good wishes and sanction of England. And, to avert any misconception or misrepresentation, he has this day delivered to M. Otto(167) a letter, addressed immediately to the first Consul, acknowledging the flattering manner in which he has been called forth, but decidedly and clearly repeating what he had already declared to the war minister, that though he would faithfully fulfil the engagement into which he was entering, it was his unalterable resolution never to take up arms against the British government. I presume to hope this little detail may, at some convenient moment, meet her majesty's eyes-with every expression of my profoundest devotion. M. D'ARBLAY's DISAPPOINTMENT. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay.) Westhamble, March 14, 1802. O my dearest friend,- Can the intelligence I have most desired come to me in a form that forbids my joy at it? What tumultuous sensations your letter of the 8th has raised!(168) Alas! that to relinquish this purpose should to you be as great unhappiness as to me was its suggestion! I know not how to enter upon the subject--how to express a single feeling. I fear to seem ungrateful to providence, or to you ungenerous. I will only, therefore, say, that as all your motives have been the most strictly honourable, it is not possible they should not, ultimately, have justice done them by all. That I feel for your disappointment I need not tell you, when you find it has power to shake to its foundation what would else be the purest satisfaction of my soul. Let us--let us hope fairer days will ensue and do not let the courage Page 206 which was so prompt to support you to St. Domingo fail you in remaining at Paris. What you say of the year's probation I knew not before. Would you have me make any inquiry if it be irreversible?' I should think not ; and am most ready and eager to try by every means in my power, if you will authorize me. If not, to follow you, whithersoever you will, is much less my duty than my delight ! You have only to dictate whither, and how, and every doubt, every fear, every difficulty, will give way to my eager desire to bring your little boy to you. Would I not have left even Kin to have followed you and your fate even to St. Domingo? 'Tis well, however, you did not listen to me, for that poor little susceptible soul could not, as yet lose us both at once, and be preserved himself He has lived' so singularly alone with us, and for us, that he does not dream of any possible existence in which we should be both separated from him. But of him--our retreat--our books--our scribbling--our garden--our unique mode of life--I must not talk to you now, now that your mind, thoughts, views, and wishes are all distorted from themes of peace, domestic life, and literary pursuits; yet time, I hope, reflection, your natural philosophy of accommodating yourself to your fate, and your kindness for those who are wholly devoted to you, will bring you back to the love of those scenes, modes, and sentiments, which for upwards of eight years have sufficed for our mutual happiness. I had been negotiating for apartments at Twickenham, opposite Richmond, ever since you went, and on Friday I wrote to close with the engagement. This very morning I have two letters, full of delight at our approaching neighbourhood. Miss C.(169) herself writes in tears, she says, of joy, that I should be so near her, and that you should have wished it, and blesses you for your confidence in her warm friendship. It is quite impossible to read of such affection and zeal and goodness with dry eyes. I am confounded how to disenchant her--- yet so generous and disinterested she is, that, however disappointed, she will be sure to rejoice for me in our re-union; for you, my dearest friend! ah! who can rejoice? Your mind was all made up to the return of its professional pursuits, and I am frightened out of all my own satisfaction by MY dread of the weight of this chagrin upon your spirits. What Page 207 you can do to avert depression,, that cruel underminer of every faculty that makes life worth sustaining, I beseech you to call forth. Think how I have worked for fortitude since Feb. 11th. Alas! vainly I have tried what most I wished--my poor pen!--but now "occupe-toi pour r�aliser l'esp�rance." Those words will operate like magic, I trust; and I will not close my eyes this night till I have committed to paper some opening to a new essay. Be good, then, and don't let me be as unhappy this way as I have been the other. Direct always to me, Norbury Park, Dorking. Heaven bless--bless you [Here follows, in the original edition, another letter in French, from M. d'Arblay to his wife. We translate the following passage.-ED. "At Ventose, year 10, (March 12, 1802). "You have doubtless communicated to our friends at Norbury Park, the letters which I have sent you. Did I tell you that I sent a copy of those letters to M. de Lafayette?(170) M. de Lafayette came at once to Paris, and requested an interview with Bonaparte, who granted it immediately. Addressing him, M. de Lafayette said, ' I have come to speak to you of one of my friends and companions--d'Arblay.' 'I know that business,' said the first Consul, in a tone which expressed more good-will than I ventured to hope for, at least, more than I had been given reason to expect. 'I assure you,' said M. de Lafayette to me, the next day, 'you have some good friends with the first Consul, who had already spoken to him on your business. He seemed to me, from the first instant, rather disposed in your favour than angry with you. . . . When I told him of your fear lest this business should have excited his displeasure, he replied positively, that it should do you no injury whatever, and that he would regard, in the step you had taken, only the husband of Cecilia.' "I hope you will not be very displeased at the way this business, which has caused me much vexation, has terminated. I think I may even add, in confidence, that I am, perhaps, not without a near prospect of getting my retiring pension. Come to me, then, my dearest. Page 208 ON THE EVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY To FRANCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Doctor Burney.) March 30, 1802. Now, indeed, my dearest father, I am in an excess of hurry not to be exceeded by even any of yours. I have a letter from M. d'Arblay, to tell me he has already taken us an apartment, and he dates from the 5th of April, in Paris, where he has reasons for remaining some time, before we go to his good uncle, at Joigny. I am to take the little sweet child with me you saw here one day, Mlle. de Chavagnac, whose father, le Comte de Chavagnac, has desired her restoration. My kind Mrs: Locke is almost in affliction at parting with her though glad of an opportunity of sending her with friends the poor thing knows and loves. I fear, I have so very much to do here, that I shall have a very, very short enjoyment of my beloved father at Chelsea but I shall get there as soon as possible, and stay there to my last moment. I have a thousand things, and very curious ones, to tell you; but I must defer them for vive voix. I am really bewildered and almost trembling with hurry, and with what I am going to undertake! Yet through all, i bless God every moment of my life that M. d'Arblay went not to that pestilential climate I do all-- all I can to keep up my courage--or rather to make up; and when I feel faltering, I think of St Domingo! Every body that knows St Domingo now owns that he had hardly a chance for safety, independent of tempests in the voyage, and massacres in the mountains. May I but be able to console him for all he has sacrificed to my peace and happiness ! and no privation will be severe, so that at our stated period, Michaelmas twelvemonth, we return to my country, and to my dearest father, whom heaven bless and preserve, prays his dutiful, affectionate and grateful, and devoted daughter, F. d'A. DIARY: (Addressed to Dr. Burney). IN FRANCE DURING THE PEACE AND SUBSEQUENTLY. April, 1802-I seize, at length, upon the largest paper I can procure, to begin to my beloved father some account of our journey, and if I am able, I mean to keep him a brief Page 209 journal of my proceedings during this destined year or eighteen months' separation,-secure of his kindest interest in all that I may have to relate, and certain he will be anxious to know how I go on in a strange land : 'tis my only way now of communicating with him, and I must draw from it one of my dearest worldly comforts, the hopes of seeing his loved hand with some return. April 15.-William and John conducted my little boy and me in excellent time to the inn in Piccadilly, where we met my kind Mrs. Locke and dear little Adrienne de Chavagnac. The parting there was brief and hurried; and I set off on my grand expedition, with my two dear young charges, exactly at five o'clock. . . . Paris, April 15, 1802.-The book-keeper came to me eagerly, crying "vite, vite, madame, prenez votre place dans la diligence, car voici un Monsieur Anglais, qui surement va prendre la meileure!" En effet, ce Monsieur Anglais did not disappoint his expectations, or much raise mine - for he not only took the best place, but contrived to ameliorate it by the little scruple with which he made every other worse, from the unbridled expansion in which he indulged his dear person, by putting out his elbows against his next, and his knees and feet against his opposite neighbour. He seemed prepared to look upon all around-him with a sort of sulky haughtiness, pompously announcing himself as a commander of distinction who had long served at Gibraltar and various places, who had travelled thence through France, and from France to Italy, who was a native of Scotland, and -of proud, though unnamed genealogy '; and was now going to Paris purposely to behold the first Consul, to whom he meant to claim an introduction through Mr. Jackson. His burnt complexion, Scotch accent, large bony face and figure, and high and distant demeanour, made me easily conceive and believe him a highland chief. I never heard his name, but I think him a gentleman born, though not gently bred. Page 210 The next to mention is a Madame Raymond or Grammont, for I heard not distinctly which, who seemed very much a gentlewoman, and who was returning to France, too uncertain of the state of her affairs to know whether she might rest there or not. She had only one defect to prevent my taking much interest in her ; this was, not merely an avoidance, but a horror of being touched by either of my children ; who, poor little souls, restless and fatigued by the confinement they endured, both tried to fling themselves upon every passenger in turn ; and though by every one they were sent back to their sole prop, they were by no one repulsed with such hasty displeasure as by this old lady, who seemed as fearful of having the petticoat of her gown, which was stiff, round, and bulging, as if lined with parchment, deranged, as if she had been attired in a hoop for Court. The third person was a Madame Blaizeau, who seemed an exceeding good sort of a woman, gay, voluble, good humoured, and merry. All we had of amusement sprung from her sallies, which were uttered less from a desire of pleasing others, her very natural character having none of the high polish bestowed by the Graces, than from a jovial spirit of enjoyment which made them produce pleasure to herself. She soon and frankly acquainted us she had left France to be a governess to some young ladies before the Revolution, and under the patronage, as I think, of the Duke of Dorset - she had been courted, she told us, by an English gentleman farmer, but he would not change his religion for her, nor she for him, and so, when every thing was bought for her wedding, they broke off the connexion ; and she afterwards married a Frenchman. She had seen a portrait, set richly in diamonds, of the king, prepared for a present to the first Consul ; and described its superb ornaments and magnificence, in a way to leave no doubt of the fact. She meant to stop at St. Denis, to inquire if her mother yet lived, having received no intelligence from or of her, these last ten eventful years ! At Canterbury, while the horses were changed, my little ones and I went to the cathedral; but dared merely seize sufficient time to view the outside and enter the principal aisle. I was glad even of that much, as its antique grandeur gave me a pleasure which I always love to cherish in the view of fine old cathedrals, those most permanent monuments Of what our ancestors thought reverence to God, as manifested in munificence to the place dedicated to his worship. Page 211 At Dover we had a kind of dinner-supper in one, and my little boy and girl and I retired immediately after it, took some tea in our chamber, and went to rest. April 16.-As we were not to sail till twelve, I had hoped to have seen the castle and Shakspeare's cliff, but most unfortunately it rained all the morning, and we were confined to the inn, except for the interlude of the custom-house, where, however, the examination was so slight, and made with such civility, that we had no other trouble with it than a wet walk and a few shillings. Our passports were examined; and we then ' went to the port, and, the sea being perfectly smooth, were lifted from the quay to the deck of our vessel with as little difficulty as we could have descended from a common chair to the ground. ARRIVAL AT CALAIS. The calm which caused our slow passage and our sickness, was now favourable, for it took us into the port of Calais so close and even with the quay, that we scarcely accepted even a hand to aid us from the vessel to the shore. The quay was lined with crowds of people, men, women, and children, and certain amphibious females, who might have passed for either sex, or anything else in the world, except what they really were, European women! Their men's hats, men's jackets, and men's shoes - their burnt skins, and most savage-looking petticoats, hardly reaching, nay, not reaching their knees, would have made me instantly believe any account I could have heard of their being just imported from the wilds of America. The vessel was presently filled with men, who, though dirty and mean, were so civil and gentle, that they could not displease, and who entered it so softly and quietly, that, neither hearing nor seeing their approach, it seemed as if they had availed themselves of some secret trap-doors through which they had mounted to fill the ship, without sound or bustle, in a single moment. When we were quitting it, however, this tranquillity as abruptly finished, for in an instant a part of them rushed round me, one demanding to carry Alex, another Adrienne, another seizing my �critoire, another my arm, and some one, I fear, my parasol, as I have never been able to find it since. We were informed we must not leave the ship till Monsieur Page 212 le commissaire arrived to carry us, I think, to the Municipality of Calais to show our passports. Monsieur le commisSaire in white with some red trappings, soon arrived, civilly hastening himself quite out of breath to save us from waiting' We then mounted the quay, and I followed the rest of the passengers, who all followed the commissary, accompanied by two men carrying the two children, and two more carrying one my �critoire, and the other insisting on conducting its owner. The quantity of people that surrounded and walked with us, surprised me ; and their decency, their silence their quietness astonished me. To fear them was impossible: even in entering France with all the formed fears hanging upon its recent though past horrors. But on coming to the municipality, I was, I own, extremely ill at ease, when upon our gouvernante's desiring me to give the commissary my passport, as the rest of the passengers had done, and my answering it was in my �critoire, she exclaimed, "Vite! Vite! cherchez-le, ou vous serez arr�t�e!"(172) You may be sure I was quick enough, or at least tried to be so, for my fingers presently trembled, and I could hardly put in the key. In the hall to which we now repaired, our passports were taken and deposited, and we had new ones drawn up and given us in their stead. On quitting this place we were accosted by a new crowd, all however as gentle, though not as silent, as our first friends, who recommended various hotels to us, one begging we would go to Grandsire, another to Duroc, another to Meurice--and this last prevailed with the gouvernante, whom I regularly followed, not from preference, but from the singular horror my otherwise worthy and wellbred old lady manifested, when, by being approached by the children, her full round coats risked the danger of being modernised into the flimsy, falling drapery of the present day. At Meurice's our goods were entered, and we heard that they would be examined at the custom-house in the afternoon. We breakfasted, and the crowd of fees which were claimed by the captain, steward, sailors, carriers, and heaven knows who, besides, are inconceivable. I gave whatever they asked, from ignorance of what was due, and from fear of offending those of whose extent, still less of whose use, of power I could form no judgment. I was the only one in this predicament; the rest refusing or disputing every demand. They all, but us Page 213 Went out to walk - but I stayed to write to my dearest father, to Mrs. Locke, and my expecting mate. "GOD SAVE THE KING!" ON FRENCH SOIL. We were all three too much awake by the new scene to try for any repose, and the hotel windows sufficed for our amusement till dinner; and imagine, my dearest sir, how my repast was seasoned, when I tell you that, as soon as it began, a band "of music came to the window and struck up "God save the king." I can never tell you what a pleased emotion was excited in my breast by this sound on a shore so lately hostile, and on which I have so many, so heartfelt motives for wishing peace and amity perpetual! A RAMBLE THROUGH THE TOWN. This over, we ventured out of the hotel to look at the street. The day was fine, the street was clean, two or three people who passed us, made way for the children as they skipped out of' my hands, and I saw such an unexpected appearance of quiet, order and civility, that, almost without knowing it, we strolled from the gate, and presently found ourselves in the market-place, which was completely full of sellers, and buyers, ,and booths, looking like a large English fair. The queer, gaudy jackets, always of a different colour from the petticoats of the women, and their immense wing-caps, which seemed made to double over their noses, but which all flew back so as to discover their ears, in which 1 regularly saw -large and generally drop gold ear-rings, were quite as diverting ...to myself as to Alex and Adrienne. Many of them, also, had gold necklaces chains, and crosses; but ear-rings all: even maids who were scrubbing or sweeping, ragged wretches bearing burdens on their heads or shoulders, old women selling fruit or other eatables, gipsy-looking creatures with children tied to their backs--all wore these long, broad, large, shining ear-rings. Beggars we saw not--no, not one, all the time we stayed or sauntered; and for civility and gentleness, the poorest and most ordinary persons we met or passed might be compared with the best dressed and best looking walkers in the streets of our metropolis, and still to the disadvantage of the latter. I cannot say how much this surprised me, as I had conceived a horrific idea of the populace of this country, imagining em all transformed into bloody monsters. Page 214 Another astonishment I experienced equally pleasing, though not equally important to my ease; I saw innumerable pretty women and lovely children, almost all of them extremely fair. I had been taught to expect nothing but mahogany complexions and hideous features instantly on crossing the strait of Dover. When this, however, was mentioned in our party afterwards, the Highlander exclaimed, "But Calais was in the hands of the English so many years, that the English -race there is not yet extinct." The perfect security in which I now saw we might wander about, induced us to walk over the whole town, and even extend our excursions to the ramparts surrounding it. It is now a very clean and pretty town, and so orderly that there was no more tumult or even noise in the market-place, where the people were so close together as to form a continual crowd, than in the by-streets leading to the country, where scarcely a passenger was to be seen. This is certainly a remark which, I believe, could never be made in England. When we returned to the hotel, I found all my fellow travellers had been to the custom house! I had quite forgotten, or rather neglected to inquire the hour for this formality, and was beginning to alarm myself lest I was out of rule, when a young man, a commissary, I heard, of the hotel, came to me and asked if I had anything contraband to the laws of the Republic. I answered as I had done before, and he readily undertook to go through the ceremony for me without my appearing. I was so much frightened, and so happy not to be called upon personally, that I thought myself very cheaply off in his after-demand of a guinea and a half. I had two and a half to pay afterwards for additional luggage.. We found reigning through Calais a general joy and satisfaction at the restoration of Dimanche and abolition of d�cade.(173) I had a good deal of conversation with the maid of the inn, a tall, fair, extremely pretty woman, and she talked much upon this subject, and the delight it occasioned, and the obligation all France was under to the premier Consul for restoring religion and worship. Page 215 SUNDAY ON THE ROAD TO PARIS. Sunday, April 18. --We set off for Paris at five o'clock in the morning. The country broad, flat, or' barrenly steep --Without trees, without buildings, and scarcely inhabited-- exhibited a change from the fertile fields, and beautiful woods ,band gardens, and civilisation of Kent, so sudden and unpleasant that I only lamented the fatigue of my position, which regularly impeded my making use of this chasm of 'pleasure and observation for repose. This part of France must certainly be the least frequented, for we rarely met a single carriage, and the villages, few and distant, seemed to have no intercourse with each other. Dimanche, indeed, might occasion this stiffness, for we saw, at almost all the villages, neat and clean peasants going to or coming from mass, and seeming indescribably elated and happy by the public permission of divine worship on its originally appointed day. I was struck with the change in Madame Raymond, who joined us in the morning from another hotel. Her hoop was no more visible; her petticoats were as lank, or more so, than her neighbours'; and her distancing the children was not only at an end, but she prevented me from renewing any of my cautions to them, of not incommoding her - and when we were together a few moments, before we were joined by the rest, she told me, with a significant smile, not to tutor the children about her any more, as she only avoided them from having something of consequence to take care of, which was removed. I then saw she meant some English lace or muslin, which she had carried in a petticoat, and, since the customhouse examination was over, had now packed in her trunk. Poor lady! I fear this little merchandise was all her hope of succour on her arrival! She is amongst the emigrants who have twice or thrice returned, but not yet been able to rest in their own country. What most in the course of this journey struck me, was the satisfaction of all the country people, with whom I could converse at the restoration of the Dimanche; and the boasts they now ventured to make of having never kept the d�cade, except during the dreadful reign of Robespierre, when not to oppose any of his severest decrees was insufficient for safety, ,"it was essential even to existence to observe them with every parade of the warmest approval. Page 216 The horrible stories from every one of that period of wanton as well as political cruelty, I must have judged exaggerated, either through the mist of fear or the heats of resentment but that, though the details had innumerable modifications' there was but one voice for the excess of barbarity. At a little hamlet near Clermont, where we rested some time, two good old women told us that this was the happiest day (twas Sunday) of their lives; that they had lost le bon Dieu for these last ten years, but that Bonaparte had now found him! In another cottage we were told the villagers had kept their own cur� all this time concealed, and though privately and with fright, they had thereby saved their souls through the whole of the bad times! And in another, some poor creatures said they were now content with their destiny, be it what it might, since they should be happy, at least, in the world to come - but that while denied going to mass, they had all their sufferings aggravated by knowing that they must lose their souls hereafter, besides all that they had to endure here! O my dearest father! that there can have existed wretches of such diabolical wickedness as to have snatched, torn, from the toiling indigent every ray even of future hope! Various of these little conversations extremely touched me nor was I unmoved, though not with such painful emotion, on the sight of the Sunday night dance, in a little village through which we passed, where there seemed two or three hundred peasants engaged in that pastime all clean and very gaily dressed, yet all so decent and well behaved, that, but for the poor old fiddlers, we might have driven on, and not have perceived the rustic ball. Here ends the account of my journey, and if it has amused my dearest father, it will be a true delight to me to have scribbled it. My next letter brings me to the capital, and to the only person who can console me for my always lamented absence from himself. ENGAGEMENTS, OCCUPATIONS, AND FATIGUE (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta.) Paris, April 27, 1802. A week have I been here, my dear Miss Planta, so astonishingly engaged, so indispensably occupied, or so suffering from fatigue, that I have not been able till now to take up Page 217 pen, except to satisfy my dear father of our safe arrival. To give you some idea of these engagements, occupations, and fatigues, I must begin with the last. We were a whole long, languid day, a whole restless, painful night, upon the sea; my little Alex sick as death, suffering if possible yet more than myself, though I had not a moment of ease and comfort. My little Adrienne de Chavagnac was perfectly well all the time, singing and skipping about the cabin, and amusing every one by her innocent enjoyment of the novelty of the scene. . . . As to my occupations;-my little apartment to arrange, my trunks and baggage to unpack and place, my poor Adrienne to consign to her friends, my Alex to nurse from a threatening malady; letters to deliver, necessaries to buy; a femme de chambre to engage; and, most important of all! my own sumptuous wardrobe to refit, and my own poor exterior to reorganise! I see you smile, methinks, at this hint; but what smiles would brighten the countenance of a certain young lady called Miss Rose, who amused herself by anticipation, when I had last the honour of seeing her, with the changes I might have to undergo, could she have heard the exclamations which followed the examination of my attire: "This won't do! That YOU can never wear! This you can never be seen in! That would make you stared at as a curiosity!-- Three petticoats! no one wears more than one!-- Stays? everybody has left off even corsets!--Shift sleeves? not a soul now wears even a chemise!" etc. In short, I found all I possessed seemed so hideously old fashioned, or so comically rustic, that as soon as it was decreed I must make appearance in the grand monde, hopeless of success in exhibiting myself in the' costume Fran�ais, I gave over the attempt, and ventured to come forth as a gothic Anglaise, who never heard of, or never heeded the reigning metamorphosis. As to my engagements;--when should I finish, should I tell all that have been made or proposed, even in the short space of a single week? The civilities I have met with, contrary to all my expectations, have not more amazed me for myself, than gratified me for M. d'Arblay, who is keenly alive to the kind, I might say distinguished, reception I have been favoured with by those to whom my arrival is known. Your favourite hero is excessively popular at this moment from three successive grand events, all occurring within the Page 218 short time of my arrival,--the ratification of the treaty of peace--the restoration of Sunday, and Catholic worship--and the amnesty of the emigrants. At the Opera buffa, the loge in which I sat was exactly opposite to that of the first Consul but he and his family are all at Malmaison. DIARY RESUMED: (Addressed to Dr. Burney.) ARISTOCRATIC VISITORS. Paris, April 1, 1802.(174)-Almost immediately after my arrival in Paris, I was much surprised by a visit from the ci-devant Prince de Beauvau, madame his wife, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar her sister, all brought by Madame d'Henin. if gratified in the first instance by a politeness of attention so little my due and so completely beyond my expectations, how was my pleasure enhanced when I found they all three spoke English with the utmost ease and fluency, and how pleased also at the pleasure I was able to give them in reward of their civility, by a letter I had brought from Mrs. Harcourt, which was received with the warmest delight by Mademoiselle de Mortemar and a message from a young lady named Elizabeth, with the profoundest gratitude. April 24-This morning Madame d'Henin was so kind as to accompany us, in making our visit to Madame de Beauvau her niece, and Mademoiselle de Mortemar. We found them at home with M. de Beauvau, and they indulged me with the sight of their children, who are the most flourishing and healthy possible, and dressed and brought up with English plainness and simplicity. The visit was very pleasant, and Madame d'Henin made a party for us all to meet again the next day, and go to the Opera buffa. ANXIETY TO SEE THE FIRST CONSUL. I have heard much of the visit of Mrs. Damer and the Miss Berrys to Paris, and their difficulty to get introduced to the first Consul.(175) A lady here told us she had been called upon Page 219 by Miss Berry, who had complained with much energy upon this subject, saying, "We have been everywhere--seen everything--heard every body--beheld such sights! listened to such discourse! joined such society! and all to obtain his notice! Don't you think it very extraordinary that he should not himself desire to see Mrs. Damer? "Madame," replied the lady, "perhaps if you had done but half this, the first Consul might have desired to see you both." "But you don't imagine," answered she, laughing, "we came over from England to see you ci-devants ? We can see such as you at home!" She was gone before our arrival ; and, as I understand, succeeded at last in obtaining an introduction. They were both, Mrs. Damer and Miss Berry, as I am told, very gay and agreeable, as well as enterprising, and extremely well r�pandues. AT THE OPERA-BOUFFE. April 25.-I was not much better in the evening, but the party for the Opera buffa being formed by Madame d'Henin on my account, my going was indispensable. She had borrowed the loge of M. de Choiseul, which, being entailed upon the family perp�tuit�, has in a most extraordinary manner continued unalienated through the whole course of massacres and proscriptions to the present day, when the right owner possesses it. It is the largest and best box, except that which is opposite to it, in the theatre. . . . The opera was "Le Nozze di Dorina," by Sarti, and extremely pretty; though I wished it had been as new to M. C-- de P-- as to myself, for then he would not have divided my attention by obligingly singing every note with every performer. In truth, I was still so far from recovered from the fatigue of my journey, that I was lulled to a drowsiness the most distressing before the end of the second act, ' page 220 which being but too obvious, Madame d'Henin and M. d'Arblay took me away before I risked a downright nap by waiting for the third. DIFFICULTIES RESPECTING MADAME DE STAEL. April 26-The assembly at Madame d'Henin's was one of the most select and agreeable at which I was ever present. Assembly, however, I ought not to call a meeting within the number of twenty. But I was uneasy for my poor Alex, and therefore stole away as soon as possible; not, however, till Madame de Tess� made a party for us for the following Thursday at her house, nor till I had held a private discourse with Mademoiselle de -- upon my embarrassment as to Madame de Stael, from the character she held in England; which embarrassment was not much lightened by her telling me it was not held more fair in France ! Yet, that everywhere the real evil is highly exaggerated by report, envy, and party-spirit, all allow. She gives, however, great assemblies at which all Paris assist, and though not solicited or esteemed by her early friends and acquaintance, she is admired, and pitied, and received by them. I would she were gone to Copet!(176) What most perplexed me at this period was the following note from Madame de Stael. "je voudrois vous t�moigner mon empressement, madame, et je crains d'�tre indiscrette. j'esp�re que vous aurez la bont� de me faire dire quand vous serez assez remise des fatigues de votre voyage pour que je puisse avoir l'honneur de vous voir sans vous importuner. "Ce 4 florial. (177) "Necker Stael de H."(178) How is it possible, when even the common civility of a card for her card is yet unreturned, that she can have brought herself thus to descend from her proud heights to solicit the Page 221 renewal of an acquaintance broken so abruptly in England, and so palpably shunned in France ? Is it that the regard she appeared to conceive for me in England was not only sincere but constant? If so, I must very much indeed regret a waste of kindness her character and conduct make it impossible for me to repay, even though, on this spot, I am assured all her misfortunes are aggravated, nay caricatured, by report, and that she exerts her utmost influence, and calls forth her best talents, upon every occasion which presents itself for serving those who have been her friends ; and that, notwithstanding circumstances and disunion, either in politics or morals, may have made them become her enemies. Her generosity is cited as truly singular upon this head, and I have heard histories of her returning, personally, good for evil that would do honour to any character living. After much deliberation and discussion, my French master composed the following answer:-- \"Madame d'Arblay ne peut qu'�tre infiniment flatt�e de l'extr�me bont� de Madame la Comtesse de Stael. Elle aura tr�s certainement l'honneur de se pr�senter chez Madame de Stael aussit�t que possible."(179) Cooler than this it was not easy to write, and the ne peut qu'�tre is a tournure that is far enough from flattering. I hope, however, it will prepare her for the frozen kind of intercourse which alone can have place between us. MADAME DE LAFAYETTE. As I wished much to see the parade, or review, which was to take place on the 5th, and is only once a month, we were forced to devote the preceding day to visits, as it was decreed in our council of etiquette that I could not appear in a place where I might be seen by those who had shown me the civility of beginning an acquaintance, till I had acknowledged my debt to them. . . . I was so thoroughly tired when I returned from all these visits, that I was forced to rest upon a bed for the remainder of the day, to my no small discomposure before the evening was closed; for, in a close cap, my feet in their native, undraperied state, hidden by a large, long, wrapping morning Page 222 gown, your daughter, my dearest sir, lay reclined on a bed when, rather late in the evening, I was told Madame d'Henin was in the salon. I was going to send in my excuses, while I rose to get ready for waiting upon her - but Alex flung open the door, and seeing where I was, and how fatigued, she insisted on my keeping still, and came to my bedside, and sat in friendly converse, listening to the history of my morning excursion, till a ring at the bell of our ante-room made me desire to have nobody admitted. Alex again, however, frisking about, prevented Pauline, my little femme de chambre, from hearing me, and she announced Madame de Lafayette! You may easily believe this name, and my present situation, put me into no small commotion. I was beseeching Madame d'Henin to go to the saloon with my apologies, when Alex, whose illness, though it has diminished his strength and his flesh, has left his spirits as wild as ever, called out to proclaim where I was, and while Madame Lafayette was gently moving on, flung the bedroom door wide open, saying, "Mamma is here! " Madame Lafayette, concluding, I suppose, that I received du monde in the French manner, immediately presented herself at the door, where I had no resource but to entreat Madame d'Henin, who is her intimate friend, to receive her, for I was wholly powerless, with my unsandaled feet, from rising. Madame d'Henin now brought her to my bedside, where nothing could have been more awkward than my situation : but that the real reverence I had conceived for her character and her virtues made the sight of so singular a person, her condescension in the visit, and her goodness, though lame, in mounting three pair of stairs, give me a sensation of pleasure, that by animating my spirits, endowed me with a courage that overcame all difficulties both of language and position, and enabled me to express my gratitude for her kindness and my respect for her person, with something far nearer to fluency and clearness than anything in speech I have yet attempted. My mind instantly presented her to me, torn from her beloved family, and thrown into the death-impending prison of Robespierre ; and then saved by his timely destruction from the scaffold, and then using her hardly-recovered liberty only by voluntarily sacrificing it to be immured with her husband in the dungeon of Olm�tz.(180) Various as may be the opinions of Page 223 the politics of M. de Lafayette, all Europe, I believe,'concur in admiration of the character and conduct of his virtuous and heroic wife. Indeed, nothing since my arrival has so sensibly gratified me, from without, as this visit. Madame Lafayette is the daughter of the ci-devant Duc d'Ayen, and consequently niece of Madame de Tess�, the duke's sister. She was married to M. de Lafayette when she was only seventeen years of age. By some cold or mismanagement, and total want of exercise in the prison of Olm�tz, some humour has fallen into one of her ankles, that, though it does not make her absolutely lame, causes walking to be so painful and difficult to her that she moves as little as possible, and is always obliged to have a stool for her foot. She now resides with M. de Lafayette and their three children entirely in the country, at a chateau which has descended to her since the revolutionary horrors and therefore has not been confiscated, called "La Grange." They never come to Paris but upon business of positive necessity. She had arrived only this morning on a visit to her aunt, Madame de Tess�, to make some preparations for the approaching marriage of her only son. Her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle de Lafayette, accompanied her. She is a blooming young creature of English fairness-as we English choose to say-with a bright native colour, and beautiful light hair ; otherwise with but indifferent features, and not handsome : yet her air, though modest even to the extreme that borders upon bashfulness, is distinguished, and speaks her to be both sensible and well brought up. Madame de Lafayette, also, is by no means handsome; but has eyes so expressive, so large, and so speaking, that it is not easy to criticise her other features, for it is almost impossible to look at them. Her manner is calm and mild, yet noble. She is respected even by surrounding infidels for her genuine piety, which, in the true character of true religion, is severe only for herself, lenient and cheerful for all others. I do not say this from what I could see in the hour she was so good as to pass with me, but from all I have heard. She warmly invited me to La Grange, and requested me to name an early day for passing some time there. I proposed Page 224 that it might be after the marriage had taken place,"as till then all foreign people or subjects might be obtrusive. She paused a moment, and then said, "Apr�s?--c'est vrai we could then more completely enjoy Madame d'Arblay' society; for we must now have continual interruptions, surrounded as we are by workmen, goods, chattels, and preparations; so that there would be a nail to hammer between almost every word; and yet, as we are going to Auvergne, after the ceremony, it will be so long before a meeting may be arranged, that I believe the less time lost the better." I know M. d'Arblay desired this acquaintance for me too earnestly to offer any opposition; and I was too much charmed with its opening to make any myself: it was therefore determined we should go the following week to La Grange. SIGHT-SEEING AT THE TuILERIES. May 5-Again a full day. M. d'Arblay had procured us three tickets for entering the apartments at the Tuileries to see the parade of General Hulin, now high in actual rank and service, but who had been a sous-officier under M. d'Arblay's command; our third ticket was for Madame d'Henin, who had never been to this sight-- nor, indeed, more than twice to any spectacle since her return to France--till my arrival; but she is so obliging and good as to accept, nay to seek, every thing that can amuse, of which I can profit. We breakfasted with her early, and were appointed to join the party of M. le Prince de Beauvau, who had a general in his carriage, through whose aid and instructions we hoped to escape all difficulties. Accordingly the coach in which they went was desired to stop at Madame d'Henin's door, so as to let us get into our fiacre, and follow it straight. This was done, and our precursor stopped at the gate leading to the garden of the Tuileries. The De Beauvaus, Mademoiselle de Mortemar, and their attending general, alighted, and we followed their example and joined them, which was no sooner done than their general, at the sight of M. d'Arblay, suddenly drew back from conducting Madame de Beauvau, and flew up to him. They had been ancient camarades, but had not met since M. d'A.'s emigration. The crowd was great, but civil and well -dressed ; and we met with no impediment till we came to the great entrance. Alas, I had sad recollections of sad readings in mounting the Page 225 steps! We had great difficulty, notwithstanding our tickets, in making our way--I mean Madame d'Henin and ourselves, for Madame de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar having an officer in the existing military to aid them, were admitted and helped by all the attendants; and so forwarded that we wholly lost sight of them, till we arrived, long after, in the apartment destined for the exhibition. This, however, was so crowded that every place at the windows for seeing the parade was taken, and the row formed opposite to see the first Consul as he passes through the room to take horse, was so thick and threefold filled, that not a possibility existed of even a passing peep. Madame d'Henin would have retired, but as the whole scene was new and curious to me, I prevailed with her to stay, that I might view a little of the costume of the company; though I was sorry I detained her, when I saw her perturbed spirits from the recollections which, I am sure, pressed upon her on re-entering this palace : and that her sorrows were only subdued by her personal indignation, which was unconscious, but yet very prominent, to find herself included in the mass of the crowd in being refused all place and distinction, where, heretofore, she was amongst the first for every sort of courtesy. Nothing of this, however, was said and you may believe my pity for her was equally unuttered. We seated ourselves now, hopeless of any other amusement than seeing the uniforms of the passing officers, and the light drapery of the stationary ladies, which, by the way, is not by any means so notorious nor so common as has been represented ; on the contrary, there are far more who are decent enough to attract no attention, than who are fashionable enough to call for it. During this interval M. d'Arblay found means, by a ticket lent him by M. de Narbonne, to enter the next apartment, and there to state our distress, not in vain, to General Hulin; and presently he returned, accompanied by this officer, who is, I fancy, at least seven feet high, and was dressed in one of the most showy uniforms I ever saw. M. d'Arblay introduced me to him. He expressed his pleasure in seeing the wife of his old comrade, and taking my hand, caused all the crowd to make way, and conducted me into the apartment adjoining to that where the first Consul receives the ambassadors, with a flourish of manners so fully displaying power as well as courtesy, that I felt as if in the hands of one of the seven champions who meant to mow down all before him, should Page 226 any impious elf dare dispute his right to give me liberty, or to show me honour. A GOOD PLACE IS SECURED, He put me into the first place in the apartment which was sacred to general officers, and as many ladies as could be accommodated in two rows only at the windows. M. d'Arblay, under the sanction of his big friend, followed with Madame d'Henin , and we had the pleasure of rejoining Madame de Beauvau and Mademoiselle de Mortemar, who were at the same windows, through the exertions of General Songis. The scene now, with regard to all that was present, was splendidly gay and highly animating. The room was full, but not crowded, with officers of rank in sumptuous rather than rich uniforms, and exhibiting a martial air that became their attire, which, however, generally speaking, was too gorgeous to be noble. Our window was that next to the consular apartment, in which Bonaparte was holding a levee, and it was close to the steps ascending to it; by which means we saw all the forms of the various exits and entrances, and had opportunity to examine every dress and every countenance that passed and repassed. This was highly amusing, I might say historic, where the past history and the present office were known. Sundry footmen of the first Consul, in very fine liveries, were attending to bring or arrange chairs for whoever required them ; various peace-officers, superbly begilt, paraded occasionally up and down the chamber, to keep the ladies to their windows and the gentlemen to their ranks, so as to preserve the passage or lane through which the first Consul was to walk upon his entrance, clear and open; and several gentlemanlike looking persons, whom in former times I should have supposed pages of the back stairs, dressed in black, with gold chains hanging round their necks, and medallions pending from them, seemed to have the charge of the door itself, leading immediately to the audience chamber of the first Consul. M. D'ARPLAY'S MILITARY COMRADES. But what was most prominent in commanding notice, was the array of the aides-de-camp of Bonaparte, which was so Page 227 almost furiously striking, that all other vestments, even the most gaudy, appeared suddenly under a gloomy cloud when contrasted with its brightness. We were long viewing them before we could discover what they were to represent, my three lady companions being as new to this scene as myself; but afterwards M. d'Arblay starting forward to speak to one of them, brought him across the lane to me, and said "General Lauriston," His kind and faithful friendship to M. d'Arblay, so amiably manifested upon his late splendid embassy to England, made me see him with great pleasure. It was of course but for a moment, as he was amongst those who had most business upon their hands. General d'Hennezel also came to me for a few minutes, and three or four others, whom M. d'Arblay named, but whom I have forgotten. Indeed, I was amazed at the number of old friends by whom he was recognised, and touched far more than I can express, to see him in his old coat and complete undress, accosted by his fine (former) brethren, in all their new and beautiful costume, with an eagerness of regard that, resulting from first impulse, proved their judgment, or rather knowledge of his merits, more forcibly than any professions, however warm, could have done. He was indeed, after the aides-de-camp, the most striking figure in the apartment, from contrasting as much with the general herd by being the plainest and worst dressed, as they did by being the gayest and most showy. General Lauriston is a very handsome man, and of a very pleasing and amiable countenance; and his manly air carried off the frippery of his trappings, so as to make them appear almost to advantage. ARRIVAL OF THE TROOPS. While this variety of attire, of carriage, and of physiognomy amused us in facing the passage prepared for the first Consul, we were occupied, whenever we turned round, by seeing from the window the garden of the Tuileries filling 'with troops. In the first row of females at the window where we stood, were three ladies who, by my speaking English with Mademoiselle de Mortemar and Madame de Beauvau, discovered .my country, and, as I have since heard, gathered my name; and here I blush to own how unlike was the result to what "One of this nation might have experienced from a similar Page 228 discovery in England; for the moment it was buzzed "C'est Une �trang�re, c'est une Anglaise," (181) every one tried to Place, to oblige, and to assist me, and yet no one looked curious, or stared at me. Ah, my dear padre, do you not a little fear, in a contrasted situation, no one would have tried to place oblige, or assist, yet every one would have looked curious, and stared? Well, there are virtues as well as defects of all classes, and John Bull can fight so good a battle for his share of the former, that he need not be utterly cast down in acknowledging now and then a few of the latter. AN IMPORTANT NEW ACQUAINTANCE. The best view from the window to see the marching forwards of the troops was now bestowed upon me, and I vainly offered it to the ladies of my own party, to whom the whole of the sight was as new as to myself. The three unknown ladies began conversing with me, and, after a little general-talk, one of them with sudden importance of manner, in a tone slow but energetic, said, "Avez-vous vu, madame, le premier Consul?" "Pas encore, madame." "C'est sans doute ce que vous souhaitez le plus, madame?" "Oui, madame." "Voulez-vous le voir parfaitement bien, et tout fait votre aise?" "je le d�sire beaucoup, madame."(182) She then told me to keep my eyes constantly upon her, and not an instant lose sight of her movements; and to suffer no head, in the press that would ensue when the first Consul appeared, to intervene between us. "Faites comme cela, madame," continued she; "et vous le verrez bien, bien; car," added she, solemnly, and putting her hand on her breast,--"moi--je vais lui parler!"(183) I thanked her very much, but it was difficult to express as Page 229 much satisfaction as she displayed herself. You may suppose, however, how curious I felt for such a conversation, and how scrupulously I followed her injunctions of watching her motions. A little squat good-humoured lady, with yellow flowers over a mob cap upon her hair - who had little sunken eyes, concise nose, and a mouth so extended by perpetual smiling, that, hardly leaving an inch for the cheek, it ran nearly into the ear, on my other side now demanded my attention also, and told me she came regularly every month to the great review, that she might always bring some friend who wanted to see it. I found by this she was a person of some power, some influence, at least, and not entirely averse to having it known. She was extremely civil to me - but as my other friend had promised me so singular a regale, I had not much voluntary time to spare for her , this, however, appeared to be no impediment to that she was so obliging as to determine to bestow upon me, and she talked satisfied with my acquiescence to her civility, till a sort of bustle just before us making me look a little sharp, she cried-- "Vous le voyez, madame!" "Qui?" exclaimed I, "le premier Consul?" "Mais non!--pas encore--mais--ce--ce monsieur l !"(184) MADAME, C'EST MON MArI. I looked at her to see whom I was to remark, and her eyes led me to a tall, large figure, with a broad gold-laced hat, who was clearing the lane which some of the company had infringed, with a stentorian voice, and an air and manner of such authority as a chief constable might exert in an English riot. "Oui, madame," I answered, not conceiving why I was to look at him; "je le vois, ce monsieur; il est bien grand."(185) "Oui, madame," replied she, with a yet widened smile, and a look of lively satisfaction; "il est bien grand! Vous le voyez bien?" "O, fort bien!" cried I, quite at a loss what she meant me to understand, till at last, fixing first him, and then me, she expressively said-- page 230 "Madame, c'est mon mari!"(186) The grin now was distended to the very utmost limits of the stretched lips, and the complacency of her countenance forcibly said,. "What do you think of me now?" My countenance, however, was far more clever than my head, if it made her any answer. But, in the plenitude of her own admiration of a gentleman who seemed privileged to speak roughly, and push violently whoever, by a single inch, passed a given barrier, she imagined, I believe, that to belong to him entitled her to be considered as sharing his prowess ; she seemed even to be participating in the merits of his height and breadth, though be could easily have put her into his pocket. Not perceiving, as I imagine, all the delight of felicitation in my countenance that she had expected, her own fell, in a disappointed pause, into as much of length as its circular form would admit of; it recovered, however, in another minute its full merry rotundity, by conjecturing, as I have reason to think, that the niggardliness of my admiration was occasioned by my doubt of her assertions; for, looking at me with an expression that demanded my attention, she poked her head under the arm of a tall grenadier, stationed to guard our window, and trying to catch the eye of the object of her devotion, called out in an accent of tenderness, "M'ami! M'ami!" The surprise she required was now gratified in full, though what she concluded to be excited by her happiness, was simply the effect of so caressing a public address from so diminutive a little creature to so gigantic a big one. Three or four times the soft sound was repeated ere it reached the destined ear, through the hubbub created by his own loud and rough manner of calling to order; but, when at last he caught the gentle appellation, and looked down upon her, it was with an eyebrow so scowling, a mouth so pouting, and an air that so rudely said, "What the d-- do you want?" that I was almost afraid he would have taken her between his thumb and finger, and given her a shake. However, be only grumbled out, "Qu'est-ce que c'est, donc?"(187) A little at a loss what to say, she gently stammered, "M'ami,--le--le premier Consul, ne vient-il pas?"(188) "Oui! oui!" was blustered in reply, with a look that completed the phrase by "you fool you!" though the voice left it unfinished. Page 231 Not disconcerted even yet, though rather abashed,, she turned to me with a pleased grin that showed her proud of his noble ferociousness, and said, "C'est mon mari, madame!" as if still fearful I was not fully convinced of the grandeur of her connexion. "M'ami" having now cleared the passage by ranging all the company in two direct lines, the officers of highest rank were assembled, and went in a sort of procession into the inner apartment to the audience of the first Consul. During the time this lasted, some relaxation of discipline ensued, and the gentlemen from the opposite row ventured to approach and peep at the windows with the ladies; but as soon as the generals descended from the steps they had mounted, their short conference being over, "M'ami" again appeared,. to the inexpressible gratification of his loving little mate, again furiously hustled every one to his post; and the flags, next, as I think, were carried in procession to the inner apartment, but soon after brought back. ADVENT OF THE FIRST CONSUL. The Prince of Orange then passed us to enter the audience chamber, with a look so serious, an air so depressed, that I have not been at all surprised to hear he was that very night taken very ill. The last object for whom the way was cleared was the second Consul, Cambac�r�s, who advanced with a stately and solemn pace, slow, regular, and consequential; dressed richly in scarlet and gold, and never looking to the right or left, but wearing a mien of fixed gravity and importance. He had several persons in his suite, who, I think, but am not sure, were ministers of state. At length the two human hedges were finally formed, the door of the audience chamber was thrown wide open with a commanding crash, and a vivacious officer-sentinel-or I know not what, nimbly descended the three steps into our apartment, and placing himself at the side of the door, with one hand spread as high as possible above his head, and the other extended horizontally, called out in a loud and authoritative voice, "Le premier Consul!" You will easily believe nothing more was necessary to obtain attention; not a soul either spoke or stirred as he and his suite passed along, which was so quickly that, had I not been placed so near the door, and had not all about Page 232 me facilitated my standing foremost, and being least crowd obstructed, I could hardly have seen him. As it was, I had a view so near, though so brief, of his face, as to be very much struck by it. It is of a deeply impressive cast, pale even to sallowness, while not only in the eye but in every feature--care, thought, melancholy, and meditation are strongly marked, with so much of character, nay, genius, and so penetrating a seriousness, or rather sadness, as powerfully to sink into an observer's mind. Yet, though the busts and medallions I have seen are, in general, such good resemblances that I think I should have known him untold, he has by no means the look to be expected from Bonaparte, but rather that of a profoundly studious and contemplative man, who "o'er books consumes" not only the "midnight oil" but his own daily strength, "and wastes the puny body to decay" by abstruse speculation and theoretic plans or rather visions, ingenious but not practicable. But the look of the commander who heads his own army, who fights his own battles, who conquers every difficulty by personal exertion, who executes all he plans, who performs even all he suggests; whose ambition is of the most enterprising, and whose bravery is of the most daring cast:--this, which is the look to be expected from his situation, and the exploits which have led to it, the spectator watches for in vain. The plainness, also, of his dress, so conspicuously contrasted by the finery of all around him, conspires forcibly with his countenance, so "sicklied o'er with the pale hue of thought," to give him far more the air of a student than a warrior. The intense attention with which I fixed him in this short but complete view made me entirely forget the lady who had promised me to hold him in conference. When he had passed, however, she told me it was upon his return she should address him, as he was too much hurried to be talked with at the moment of going to the parade. I was glad to find my chance not over, and infinitely curious to know what was to follow. THE PARADE OF TROOPS. The review I shall attempt no description of. I have no knowledge of the subject, and no fondness for its object. It was far more superb than anything I had ever beheld: but while all the pomp and circumstance of war animated others, Page 233 it only saddened me ; and all of past reflection, all of future dread, made the whole grandeur of the martial scene, and all the delusive seduction of martial music, fill my eyes frequently with tears, but not regale my poor muscles with one single smile. Bonaparte, mounting a beautiful and spirited white horse, closely encircled by his glittering aides-de-camp, and accompanied by his generals, rode round the ranks, holding his bridle indifferently in- either hand, and seeming utterly careless of the prancing, rearing, or other freaks of his horse, insomuch as to strike some who were near me with a notion of his being a bad horseman. I am the last to be a judge upon this subject, but as a remarker, he only appeared to me a man who knew so well he could manage the animal when he pleased, that he did not deem it worth his while to keep constantly in order what he knew, if urged or provoked, he could subdue in a moment. Precisely opposite to the window at which I was placed, the chief Consul stationed himself after making his round and thence he presented some swords of honour, spreading out one arm with an air and mien which changed his look from that of scholastic severity to one that was highly military and commanding. . . . A SCENE. The review over, the chief Consul returned to the palace. The lines were again formed, and he re-entered our apartment with his suite. As soon as he approached our window, I observed my first acquaintance start a little forward. I was now all attention to her performance of her promise; and just as he reached us she stretched out her hand to present him a petition! The enigma of the conference was now solved, and I laughed at my own wasted expectation. Lui parler, however, the lady certainly did; so far she kept her word; for when he had taken the scroll, and was passing on, she rushed out of the line, and planting herself immediately before him so as to prevent his walking on, screamed, rather than spoke, for her voice was shrill with impetuosity to be heard and terror of failure, "C'est pour mon fils! vous me l'avez promis!"(189) The first Consul stopped and spoke; but not loud enough for me to hear his voice: while his aides-de-camp and the attending generals surrounding him more closely, all in a Page 234 breath rapidly said to the lady, "Votre nom, madame, votre nom!"(190) trying to disengage the Consul from her importunity, in which they succeeded, but not with much ease, as she seemed purposing to cling to him till she got his personal answer. He faintly smiled as he passed on, but looked harassed and worn; while she, turning to me, with an exulting face and voice, exclaimed, "Je l'aurai! je l'aurai!" meaning what she had petitioned for--"car . . . tous ces g�n�raux m'ont demand�s mon nom!" (191) Could any inference be clearer? The moment the chief Consul had ascended the steps leading to the inner apartment, the gentlemen in black with ,gold chains gave a general hint that all the company must depart, as the ambassadors and the ministers were now summoned to their monthly public audience with the chief Consul. The crowd, however, was so great, and Madame d'Henin was so much incommoded, and half ill, I fear, by internal suffering, that M. d'Arblay procured a pass for us by a private door down to a terrace leading to a quiet exit from the palace into the Tuileries garden. WITH M. D'ARBLAY'S RELATIVES AT JOIGNY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.)(192) Paris, 1802. .....With the nearest relatives now existing of M. d'Arblay I am myself more pleased than I can tell you. We have spent a fortnight at joigny,(193) and found them all awaiting us with the most enthusiastic determination to receive with open arms and open heart the choice and the offspring of their returned exile. Their kindness has truly penetrated me; and the heads of the family, the uncle and the aunt, are so charming as well as so worthy, that I could have remained with them for months had not the way of life which their residence in a country town has forced them to adopt, been utterly at war with all that, to me, makes peace, and happiness, and cheerfulness, namely, the real domestic life of living with my own small but all-sufficient family. I have never loved a dissipated Page 235 life, which it is no virtue in me, therefore, to relinquish; but I now far less than ever can relish it, and know not how to enjoy anything away from home, except by distant intervals; and then with that real moderation, I am so far from being a misanthrope or sick of the world, that I have real pleasure in mixed society. It is difficult, however, in the extreme, to be able to keep to such terms. M. d'Arblay has so many friends, and an acquaintance so extensive, that the mere common decencies of established etiquettes demand, as yet, nearly all my time; and this has been a true fatigue both to my body and my spirits. M. d'Arblay is related, though very distantly, to a quarter of the town, and the other three-quarters are his friends or acquaintance; and all of them came, first, to see me; next, to know how I did after the journey; next, were all to be waited upon in return ; next, came to thank me for my visit; next, to know how the air of Joigny agreed with me - next, to make a little further acquaintance ; and, finally, to make a visit of cong�. And yet all were so civil, so pleasant, and so pleased with my monsieur's return, that could I have lived three lives, so as to have had some respite, I could not have found fault for it was scarcely ever with the individual intruder, but with the continuance or repetition of interruption. SOME JOIGNY ACQUAINTANCES. (Madame d'Arblay to Miss Planta, for the queen and princesses.) Passy, December 19, 1802. .....Rarely, indeed, my dear Miss Planta, I have received more pleasure than from your last most truly welcome letter, with assurances so unspeakably seasonable. I had it here at Passy the 5th day after its date. I thank you again and again, but oh! how I thank God! Permit me now to go back to Joigny, for the purpose of giving some account of two very interesting acquaintances we made there. The first was Colonel Louis Bonaparte,(194) youngest brother but one, (Jerome) of the first Consul. His Page 236 regiment was quartered at joigny, where he happened to be upon our last arrival at that town, and where the first visit he made was to M. MBazille, the worthy maternal uncle of M. d'Arblay. He is a young man of the most serious demeanour, a grave yet pleasing countenance, and the most reserved yet gentlest manners. His conduct in the small town (for France) of joigny was not merely respectable, but exemplary; he would accept no distinction in consequence of his powerful connexions, but presented himself everywhere with the unassuming modesty of a young man who had no claims beyond what he might make by his own efforts and merits. He discouraged all gaming, to which the inhabitants are extremely prone, by always playing low himself; and he discountenanced parade, by never suffering his own servant to wait behind his chair where he dined. He broke up early both from table and from play - was rigid in his attentions to his military duties, strict in the discipline of is officers as well as men, -and the first to lead the way in every decency and regularity. When to this I add that his conversation is sensible, and well bred, yet uncommonly diffident, and that but twenty-three summers have yet rolled over his head, so much good sense, forbearance, and propriety, in a situation so open to flattery, ambition, or vanity, obtained, as they merited, high consideration and perfect good will. I had a good deal of conversation with him, for he came to sit by me both before and after his card-party wherever I had the pleasure to meet him ; and his quiet and amiable manners, and rational style of discourse, made him a great loss to our society, when he was summoned to Paris, upon the near approach of the event which gave him a son and heir. He was very kind to my little Alex, whom he never saw without embracing, and he treated M. d'Arblay with a marked distinction extremely gratifying to me. The second acquaintance to which I have alluded is a lady, Madame de Souza.(195) She soon found the road to my good will and regard, for she told me that she, with another lady, had been fixed upon by M. del Campo, my old sea-visitor, for the high honour of aiding him in his reception of the first lady of our land and her lovely daughters, upon the grand f�te which he gave upon the dearest and most memorable of occasions(196) and she spoke with such pleasure and gratitude of Page 237 the sweet condescension she then experienced, that she charmed and delighted me, and we struck up an intimacy without further delay. Our theme was always ready, and I only regretted that I could see her but seldom, as she lived two or three miles out of Joigny, at Cesy, in the small ch�teau of la ci-devant Princesse de Beaufremont, a lady with whom I had had the honour of making acquaintance in Paris, and who is one of those who suffered most during the horrors of the Revolution. At the dreadful period when all the rage was to burn the property and title-deeds of the rich and high-born, her noble ch�teau, one of the most considerable in France, was. utterly consumed, and all her papers; that no record of her genealogy might remain, were committed, with barbarous triumph, to the flames : yet was this, such is her unhappy fate, the least of her misfortunes ; her eldest daughter, a beautiful young creature, upon whom she doted, was in the ch�teau at this horrible period, and forced to make her escape with such alarm and precipitance, that she never recovered from the excess of her terror, which robbed her of her life before she was quite seventeen years of age ! Around the small and modest ch�teau de Cesy, in which Madame de Beaufremont and her youngest and now only daughter, Madame de Listenois, at present reside, the grounds have been cultivated in the English style; and the walks, now shady, now open, now rising, now descending, with water, bridges, cascades, and groves, and occasional fine picturesque views from the banks of the Yonne, are all laid out with taste and pretty effects. We strolled over them with a large party, till we came to a little recess. Madame de Beaufremont then took me by the arm, and we separated from the company to enter it together, and she showed me an urn surrounded with cypress trees and weeping willows, watered by a clear, small, running rivulet, and dedicated to the memory of her first-born and early-lost lamented daughter. Poor lady! she seems entirely resigned to all the rest of her deprivations, but here the wound is incurable ! yet, this subject apart, she is cheerful, loves society, or rather social discourse, with a chosen few, and not only accepts with Pleasure whatever may enliven her, but exerts herself to contribute all that is in her power to the entertainment of others. She has still preserved enough from the wreck of her Possessions to live elegantly, though not splendidly; and her table is remarkably well served. She has a son-in-law, M. Page 238 de Listenois, whom I did not see; but her remaining daughter Madame de Listenois, is a very fine young woman. Madame de Souza has spent the whole summer with these ladies. She told me she liked England so very much, and was so happy during the six weeks she passed there, that she wept bitterly on quitting it. She was received, she says, at Court in the most bewitching manner, and she delights in retracing her honours, and her sense of them. She is still so very handsome, though sickly and suffering, that I imagine she must then have been exquisitely beautiful. I am told, by a French officer who has served in Spain, M. de Meulan, that when she left that country she was reckoned the most celebrated beauty of Madrid. I had another new acquaintance at Joigny, also, in a lady who came from Auxerre, as she was pleased to say, to see me, Madame La Villheurnois, widow of M. La Villheurnois, who was amongst the unhappy objects d�port�s, by the order of the Directory, la Guiane.(197) As soon as the first civilities were over, she said, "Permettez, madame! connaisseZ-vous Sidney?"(198) I could not doubt who she meant, though there is no avoiding a smile at this drolly concise way of naming a man by his nom de bapt�me.(199) She was extremely surprised when I answered no; telling me she had concluded "que tout le monde en Angleterre"(200) must know Sidney! Yes, I said, by character certainly ; but personally I had never the gratification of meeting with him. She told me she was intimately acquainted with him herself, from seeing him continually when he was confined in the Temple, as she attended there her "malheureux �poux,"(201) and she saw also, she said, "son valet et son jockey,"(202) whom she never suspected to be disguised emigrants, watching to aid his escape. "Surtout," she added, "comme le jockey avait des trous aux bas terribles,")203) which Page 239 induced her daughter to buy him a new pair of stockings for charity. A gentleman who accompanied her to Joigny, her secretary, told me he had played at ball with Sidney every day for six months, while he also attended upon poor M. La Vilheurnois...... THE INFLUENZA IN PARIS. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, March 23, 1803. I have been anxious to write since I received your last kind inquiries, my dearest padre; but so tedious has been my seizure, that I have not yet got from its wraps or confinements. I feel, however, as if this were their last day, and that to-morrow would have the honour to see me abroad. I have had no fever, and no physician, and no important malady; but cold has fastened upon cold, so as utterly to imprison me. La gripe,(204) however, I escaped, so has Alex, and our maid and helpers--and M. d'Arblay, who caught it latterly in his excursions to Paris, had it so slightly that but for the fright attached to the seizure (which I thought would almost have demolished me at first, from the terror hanging on its very name at that fatal period) I should have deemed it a mere common cold. It is now universally over, but the mischief it has done is grievously irreparable. . . . It was a disastrous and frightful time. The streets of Paris were said to be as full of funerals as of cabriolets. For my own part, I have not once been able to enter that capital since I left it at the end of October. But I cannot help attributing much of the mortality which prevailed in consequence of this slight disease, to the unwholesome air occasioned by the dreadful want of cleanliness in that city, which, but for the healthiness of the beautiful and delicious walks around it, i.e., the Boulevards, must surely have proved pestilential. The air of our house at Passy is perfectly pure and sweet. M. d'Arblay is now making a last effort with respect to his retraite,(205) which has languished in adjournment above a year. He has put it into the hands of a faithful and most amiable friend, now in high esteem with the premier Consul, General Lauriston, who so kindly renewed an ancient friendship with his former camarade when he was on his splendid short embassy in England. If through him it should fail, I shall never think of it more. Page 240 RUMOURS OF WAR. (Madame dArblay to Mrs. Locke) NO- 54, Rue Basse, Passy, near Paris, April 30, 1803. How to write I know not, at a period so tremendous-nor yet how to be silent. My dearest, dearest friends ! if the war indeed prove inevitable, what a heart-breaking position is ours!-to explain it fully would demand folios, and yet be never so well done as you, with a little consideration, can do it for us. Who better than Mr. Locke and his Fredy-who so well can comprehend, that, where one must be sacrificed, the other will be yet more to be pitied ?-I will not go on-I will talk only of you, till our fate must be determined. And M. d'Arblay, who only in the wide world loves his paternal uncle as well (we always except ourselves at Westminster! how tenderly does he join in my every feeling! and how faithfully keep unimpaired all our best and happiest sympathies! May 2.--Better appearances in the political horizon now somewhat recruit my spirits, which have been quite indescribably tortured, rather than sunk, by the impossibility of any private arrangement for our mutual happiness in the dread event of war. God Almighty yet avert it! And should it fall to the lot of Lauriston to confirm the peace, what a guardian angel upon earth I shall deem him! How I wish he could meet with you! he is so elegant in his manners he would immediately give you pleasure; and his countenance is so true in announcing him amiable, that you might look at him with trust as well as satisfaction. . . . May 13--Ah, my dearest friends--what a melancholy end to my hopes and my letter. I have just heard that Lord Whitworth(206) set off for Chantilly last night; war therefore seems inevitable; and my grief, I, who feel myself now of two countries, is far greater than I can wish to express. While posts are yet open, write to me, my beloved friend, and by Hamburg. I trust we may still and regularly correspond, long as the letters may be in travelling. As our letters never Page 241 treat but of our private concerns, health and welfare neither country can object to our intercourse. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney). Passy, May 6, 1803. if my dearest father has the smallest idea of the suspense and terror in which I have spent this last fortnight, from the daily menace of war, he will be glad, I am sure, of the respite allowed me-if no more--from a visit I have just received from Mrs. Huber, who assures me the Ambassador has postponed his setting off, and consented to send another courier.(207) To say how I pray for his success would indeed be needless. I have hardly closed my eyes many nights past. My dearest father will easily conceive the varying conflicts of our minds, and how mutual are our sufferings. . . . We were buoyed up here for some days with the hope that General Lauriston was gone to England as plenipo, to end the dread contest without new effusion of blood: but Paris, like London, teems with hourly false reports, and this intelligence, unhappily, was of the number. The continued kindness and friendship of that gentleman for M. d'Arblay make me take a warm interest in whatever belongs to him. About ten days ago, when M. d'Arblay called upon him, relative to the affair so long impending of his retraite, he took his hand, and said "Fais-moi ton compliment!"(208) You are sure how heartily M. d'Arblay would be ready to comply-"but "what," he demanded, "can be new to you of honours?" "I have succeeded," he answered, "for you!--the first Consul has signed your m�moire." When such delicacy is joined to warm attachment, my dearest father will not wonder I should be touched by it. . . . M. d'Arblay has now something in his native country, where all other claims are vain, and all other expectations completely destroyed. He had been flattered with recovering some portion, at least, of his landed property near Joigny; but those who have purchased it during his exile add such enormous and unaccountable charges to what they paid for it at that period, that it is become, to us, wholly unattainable. Page 242 " OUR LITTLE CELL AT PASSY." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, April 11, 1804. We live in the most quiet, and, I think, enviable retired merit. Our house is larger than we require, but not a quarter furnished. Our view is extremely pretty from it, and always cheerful; we rarely go out, yet always are pleased to return. We have our books, our prate, and our boy--how, with all this, can we, or ought we to suffer ourselves to complain of our narrowed and narrowing income? If we are still able to continue at Passy, endeared to me now beyond any other residence away from you all, by a friendship I have formed here with one of the sweetest women I have ever known, Madame de Maisonneuve, and to M. d'Arblay by similar sentiments for all her family, our philosophy will not be put to severer trials than it can sustain. And this engages us to bear a thousand small privations which we might, perhaps, escape, by shutting ourselves up in some spot more remote from the capital. But as my deprivation of the society of my friends is what I most lament, so something that approaches nearest to what I have lost affords me the best reparation. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Passy, May 29, 1808. Before I expected it, my promised opportunity for again writing to my most dear father is arrived. I entirely forget whether, before the breaking out of the war stopt our correspondence, M. d'Arblay had already obtained his retraite: and, consequently, whether that is an event I have mentioned or not. Be that as it may, he now has it--it is 1500 livres, or 62 pounds, 10 shillings. per annum. But all our resources from England ceasing with the peace, we had so little left from what we had brought over, and M. d'Arblay has found so nearly nothing remaining of his natural and hereditary claims in his own province, that he determined upon applying for some employment that might enable him to live with independence, how ever parsimoniously. This he has, with infinite difficulty, etc., at length obtained, and he is now a r�dacteur in the civil department of les B�timens, etc.(209) This is no sinecure. He Page 243 attends at his bureau from half-past nine to half-past four o'clock every day; and as we live so far off as Passy he is obliged to set off for his office between eight and nine, and does not return to his hermitage till past five. However, what necessity has urged us to desire, and made him solicit, we must not, now acquired, name or think of with murmuring or regret. He has the happiness to be placed amongst extremely worthy people; and those who are his chefs in office treat him with every possible mark of consideration and feeling. We continue steady to our little cell at Passy, which is retired, quiet, and quite to ourselves, with a magnificent view of Paris from one side, and a beautiful one of the country on the other. It is unfurnished-indeed, unpapered, and every way unfinished; for our workmen, in the indispensable repairs which preceded our entering it, ran us up bills that compelled us to turn them adrift, and leave every thing at a stand, when three rooms only were made just habitable. THE PRINCE OF WALES EULOGIZED. (Dr. Burney to Madame d'Arblay.) July 12, 1805. . . . Your brother, Dr. Charles, and I have had the honour last Tuesday of dining with the Prince of Wales at Lord Melbourne's at the particular desire of H.R.H. He is so good-humoured and gracious to those against whom he has no party prejudice, that it is impossible not to be flattered by this politeness and condescension. I was astonished to find him, amidst such constant dissipation, possessed of so much learning, wit, knowledge of books in general, discrimination of Character, as well as original humour. He quoted Homer to my son as readily as if the beauties of Dryden or Pope were under consideration. And as to music, he is an excellent critic; has an enlarged taste-- admiring whatever is excellent in its kind, of whatever age or country the composers or performers may be; without, however, being insensible to the superior genius and learning necessary to some kinds of music more than others. The conversation was general and lively, in which several of the company, consisting of eighteen or twenty, took a share, till towards the heel of the evening, or rather the toe of the morning; for we did not rise from table till one Page 244 o'clock, when Lady Melbourne being returned from the opera with her daughters, coffee was ordered; during which H.R.H. took me outside and talked exclusively about music near half an hour, and as long with your brother concerning Greek literature. He is a most excellent mimic of well-known characters: had we been in the dark any one would have sworn that Dr. Parr and Kemble were in the room. Besides being possessed of a great fund of original humour, and good humour, he may with truth be said to have as much wit as Charles II., with much more learning--for his merry majesty could spell no better than the bourgeois gentilhomme. DR. BURNEY AT BATH. (Dr. Burney to Madame dArblay.) June 12, 1808. . . . Last autumn I had an alarming seizure In my left hand and, mine being pronounced a Bath case, on Christmas Eve I set out for that city, extremely weak and dispirited-put myself under the care of Dr. Parry, and after remaining there three months, I found my hand much more alive, and my general health considerably amended. During my invalidity at Bath I had an unexpected visit from your Streatham friend,(210) of whom I had lost sight for more than ten years. I saw very few people, but none of an evening nor of a morning, on the days my hand was pumped on. When her name was sent in I was much surprised, but desired she might be admitted; and I received her as an old friend with whom I had spent much time very happily, and never wished to quarrel. She still looks well, but is grave, and candour itself; though still she says good things, and writes admirable notes and letters, I am told, to my granddaughters C. and M., of whom she is very fond. We shook hands very cordially, and avoided any allusion to our long separation and its cause; the Caro Sposo still lives, but is such an object from the gout that the account of his sufferings made me pity him sincerely; he wished, she told me, "to see his old and worthy friend," and, un beau matin, I could not refuse compliance with his wish. She nurses him with great affection and tenderness, never goes out or has company when he is in pain. Page 245 AFFECTIONATE GREETINGS To DR. BURNEY. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) September, 1808. After being so long robbed of all means of writing to my beloved father, I seize, with nearly as much surprise as gratitude, a second opportunity of addressing him almost before the first can have brought my hand to his sight. When will some occasion offer to bring me back-not my revenge, but my first and most coveted satisfaction ? With how much more spirit, also, should I write, if I knew what were received of what already I have scrawled ! Volumes, however, must have been told you, of what in other times I should have written, by Maria. For myself, when once a reunion takes place, I can scarcely conceive which will be hardest worked, my talking faculties or my listening ones. O what millions of things I want to inquire and to know! The rising generation, me thinks, at least, might keep me some letters and packets ready for occasional conveyances. I should be grateful beyond measure. M. d'Arblay writes--"how desired is, how happy shall be, the day, in which we shall receive your dearest blessing and embrace! Pray be so kind not to forget the mate always remembering your kindness for him and his. A thousand thousand loves to all." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, May 2, 1810. A happy May-day to my dearest father! Sweet-scented be the cowslips which approach his nostrils! lovely and rosy the milkmaids that greet his eyes, and animating as they are noisy the marrow-bones and cleavers that salute his ears! Dear, and even touching, are these anniversary recollections where distance and absence give them existence only in the memory! and, at this moment, to hear and see them I Would exchange all the Raphaels in our Museum, and the new and beautiful composition of Paesiello in the chapel. Could you but send me a little food for the hope now in private circulation that the new alliance of the Emperor(211) may perhaps extend to a general alliance of all Europe, Oh, Page 246 heaven! how would that brighten my faculties of enjoyment! I should run about to see all I have hitherto omitted to seek, with the ardent curiosity of a traveller newly arrived ; and I should hasten to review and consider all I have already beheld, with an alertness of vivacity that would draw information from every object I have as yet looked at with undiscerning tameness. Oh, such a gleam of light would new-model or re-model me, and I should make you present to all my sights, and partake of all the wonders that surround me ! Were not this cruel obscurity so darkening to my views, and so depressing to my spirits, I could tell my dearest father many things that might amuse him, and detail to him, in particular, my great and rare happiness in a point the most essential, after domestic comforts, to peace of mind and cheerfulness, namely, my good fortune in my adopted friends in this my adopted country. The society in which I mix, when I can prevail with myself to quit my yet dearer fireside, is all that can be wished, whether for wit, wisdom, intelligence, gaiety, or politeness. The individuals with whom I chiefly mix, from being admired at first for their talents or amiability, are now sincerely loved for their kindness and goodness. Could I write more frequently, or with more security that I write not to the winds and the waves, I would characterize the whole set to you, and try to make us yet shake hands in the same Party. . . . (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, Paris, ce 16 Sept. 1810. Can I tell you, my dearest father!-oh, no! I can never tell you-the pleasure, the rapture with which I received your letter by Madame Solvyns. It had been so cruelly long since I had heard from you, so anxious and suffering a space since I had seen your handwriting, that, when at last it came, I might have seemed, to one who did not know me, rather penetrated by sudden affliction than by joy. But how different was all within to what appeared without! My partner-in-all received it at his bureau, and felt an impatience so unconquerable to communicate so extreme a pleasure that he quitted everything to hasten home; for he was incapable of going on with his business. How satisfactory, also, is all the intelligence ! how gaily, with what spirit written ! . . . I do nothing of late but dream of seeing you, my most dear Page 247 father. I think I dream it wide awake, too; the desire is so strong that it pursues me night and day, and almost persuades me it has something in it of reality : and I do not choose to discourage even ideal happiness. DR. BURNEY's DIPLOMA. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) No. 13, Rue d'Anjou, 14th April, 1811. .....Have you received the letter in which I related that your diploma has been brought to me by the perpetual secretary of the class of the Fine Arts of the Institute of France?(212) I shall not have it conveyed but by some very certain hand, and that, now, is most difficult to find. M. Le Breton has given me, also, a book of the list of your camarades, in which he has written your name. He says it will be printed in next year's register. He has delivered to me, moreover, a medal, which is a mark of distinction reserved for peculiar honour to peculiar select personages. Do you suppose I do not often--often--often think who would like, and be fittest to be the bearer to you of these honours? . . . How kind was the collection of letters you made more precious by endorsing! I beseech you to thank all my dear correspondents, and to bespeak their patience for answers, which shall arrive by every wind that I can make blow their way; but yet more, beseech their generous attention to my impatience for more, should the wind blow fair for me before it will let me hail them in return. Difficultly can they figure to themselves my joy--my emotion at receiving letters from such dates as they can give me! [During this year Madame d'Arblay's correspondence with her English connexions was interrupted not only by the difficulty of conveying letters, but also by a dangerous illness and the menace of a cancer, from which she could only be relieved by submitting to a painful and hazardous operation. The fortitude with which she bore this suffering, and her generous solicitude for Monsieur d'Arblay and those around her, excited the warmest sympathy in all who heard of her trial, and her French friends universally gave her the name of l'ange,(213) so touched were they by her tenderness and Magnanimity.] (157) " Dr. Orkborne" is the name of one of the characters in "Camilla," a pedantic scholar, who lives only in his books.-ED. (158) Widow of Sir Robert Strange, the celebrated engraver, and a very old friend of the Burney family. She was a Scotchwoman (her maiden name, Isabel Lumisden), and in her younger days an enthusiastic Jacobite. She obliged her lover, Strange, to join the young Pretender in 1745, and afterwards married him against her father's wish.-ED. (159) "The other Bell" was the daughter of Sir Robert and Lady Strange.-ED. (160) Wife of Sir Lucas Pepys, the physician.-ED. (161) Anna Letitia Barbauld, the well-known author, and editor of Richardson's Correspondence, etc.-ED. (162) John Aiken, M.D., brother to Mrs. Barbauld, and, like his sister, an author and editor. His "Evenings at Home" is still a well-known book: many of our readers will probably have pleasant reminiscences of it, connected with their childhood.-ED. (163) Barry had published a furious attack upon his fellow-Academicians in a "Letter to the Dilettanti Society." He was already, owing chiefly to his own violent temper, on ill terms with nearly all of them, and the "Letter" prove(I to be the last straw. Various charges were drawn up against the Professor of Painting, and he was expelled forthwith from the Academy, without being permitted to speak in his own defence. (164) "By the help of a shilling." (165) "With tears in his eyes." (166) i.e., Mr. Locke.-ED. (167) The French minister in England.-ED. (168) A letter in which M. d'Arblay had acquainted his wife with the withdrawal of his commission in the French army, in consequence of his refusal, under any circumstances, to bear arms against England.-ED. (169) Miss Cambridge.-ED. (170) Lafayette was then living in retirement, with his wife and family, at is chateau of La Grange. -ED. (171) "Quick, quick, madam, take your seat in the diligence, for here is an English gentleman who is sure to take the best place!"--There is evidently some mistake here, in making the book-keeper in Piccadilly speak French and talk about the diligence. That the paragraph relates to Fanny's departure from London is evident from several passages in the text: the mention, later, of changing horses at Canterbury, the references to her fellow-travellers at Calais. The date to the above paragraph is also clearly wrong, as it will be seen that on the 18th of April they were still on the road to Paris.-ED. (172) "Quick! quick! look for it, or you will be arrested!" (173) in the new calendar adopted by the Republic in 1793, a division of the month into decades, or periods of ten days, was substituted for the old division into weeks. Every tenth day (d�cadi) was a day of rest, instead of every seventh day, (Sunday, Dimanche). The months were of thirty days each, with five odd festival days (Sansculottades) in the year, and a sixth (Festival of the Revolution) in Leap Year. Napoleon restored the Sunday in place of d�cadi. The new calendar was discontinued altogether, January 1, 1806.-ED. (174) The date is again wrong--probably a misprint for April 21.-ED. (175) Mrs. Damer, the sculptor, as an ardent Whig and supporter of Charles Fox, professed herself at this time an enthusiastic admirer of the first Consul. She had known jos�phine de Beauharnais before her marriage with Napoleon, and, after the peace of Amiens, visited Paris on Jos�phine's invitation. She was there introduced to Napoleon, to whom she afterwards presented a bust of Charles Fox, executed by herself. Mrs. Damer's companions on this excursion were Mary Berry, the author (born 1763-died 1852), and her younger sister, Agnes Berry. These two ladies were prodigious favourites with Horace Walpole, who called them his "twin wives," and was, it is said, even desirous, in his old age, Of marrying the elder Miss Berry. One of his valued possessions was a marble bust of Mary Berry, the work of his kinswoman, Mrs. Damer. At his death in 1797 he bequeathed to the Miss Berrys a house for their joint lives, besides a legacy Of 4000 pounds to each sister. Mary Berry published an edition of her old admirer's works the year after his death.-ED. (176) The Swiss home of her father, 'M. Necker, on the shore of the lake, and some ten miles north of the town of Geneva. Necker retired thither after his fall in 1790, and spent there, in retirement, the remaining years of his life. He died at Geneva, in April, 1804.-ED. (177) Madame de Stael's orthography is here preserved. " I should like to prove to you my zeal, madam, and I am afraid of being indiscreet. I hope you will have the goodness to let me know when you are sufficiently recovered from the fatigue of your journey, that I might have the honour of seeing you without being tiresome to you." (178) The 4th Floria (April 23). (179) "Madame d'Arblay can only be infinitely flattered by the extreme goodness of Madame the Countess de Stael. She will very certainly have the honour of calling upon Madame de Stael as soon as possible." (180) Madame de Lafayette was thrown into prison after the flight of her husband; released in February, 1795, more than six months after the death of Robespierre. She then journeyed to Austria, and obtained leave to share, with her two daughters, her husband's captivity at Olm�tz. Lafayette was released in September, 1797; returned to France in 1800, Napoleon not forbidding, though not quite approving. Madame de Lafayette's constitution was permanently impaired by the confinement which she suffered at Olm�tz. She died December 24, 1807.-ED. (181) "It's a foreigner, it's an Englishwoman." (182) "Have you seen the first Consul, madam?" "Not yet, madam." "It is doubtless what you most wish for, madam?" "Yes, madam." "Do you wish to have an excellent view of him, and to see him quite at your ease?" "I am particularly desirous of it, madam." (183) "Do thus, madam, and you will see him well, well; for I-am going to speak to him ! " (184) "You see him, madam!" "Whom?" exclaimed I, "the first Consul?" "Oh no!--not yet;--but--that--that gentleman!" (185) "yes, madam, I see that gentleman; he is very tall!" (186) "Madam, it is my husband!" (187) "What is the matter?" (188) "M'ami, the--the first Consul, is he not coming?" (189) "'Tis for my son ! you promised it me!" (190) "Your name, madam, your name!" (191) "I shall have it! I shall have it! for all those generals asked my name!" (192) Fanny's eldest sister, Esther, who married (1770) her cousin, Charles Rousseau Burney.-ED. (193) joigny was the birth-place of M. d'Arblay.-ED. (194) Louis Bonaparte was born in 1778, and, young as he was, had already served with distinction in the campaign in Italy. He was subsequently king of Holland from 1806 to 1810, when that country was annexed by Napoleon to the French Empire. He married Hortense de Beauharnais, daughter, by her first marriage, of Napoleon's wife, Josephine, and was the father of the Emperor Napoleon III.-ED. (195) Authoress of "Ad�le de Senange," etc. (196) On the king's recovery, in the spring of 1789.-ED. (197) Many of the leading members of the Councils of "Ancients" and of "Five Hundred " had been transported to Guiana after the coup d'�tat of September 4, 1797. See note (146) ante, p. 136.-ED. (198) "Excuse me, madam ! do you know Sidney? Sidney " is Sir Sidney Smith, whose gallant and successful defence of Acre against the French,, in the spring of 1799, obliged Napoleon to relinquish the invasion of Syria.-ED. (199) Christian name. (200) "Every one in England." (201) "Unfortunate husband." (202) "His valet and his jockey, (groom)." (203) "Especially as the jockey had terrible holes in his stockings." (204) The influenza. (205) Retiring pension. (206) The English ambassador in Paris. All hopes of a satisfactory termination to the dispute between the English and French governments being now at an end, Lord Whitworth was ordered to return to England, and left Paris May 12, 1803. His return was followed by the recall of the French minister in London, and the declaration of war between the two countries.-ED. (207) The reader will have noticed that the date of this letter is earlier than that of the paragraph in the preceding letter, in which Fanny alludes to the departure of the Ambassador from Paris.-ED. (208) "Make me your compliments." (209) "Or, as we might say, a clerk in the department of works."- ED. (210) Mrs. Piozzi.-ED. (211) Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French, November 19, 1804. His "new alliance" was his marriage, in the spring Of 1810, with the archduchess Maria Louisa, daughter of the Emperor of Austria. With this alliance in view he had been divorced from Jos�phine at the close of the preceding year.-ED (212) Dr. Burney had been elected a corresponding member of this section of the Institute.-ED. (213) The angel. Page 248 SECTION 23. (1812-14.) MADAME D'ARBLAY AND HER SON IN ENGLAND, [At the commencement of the year 1814 was published "The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," the fourth and last novel by the author of "Evelina," "Cecilia," and "Camilla." The five volumes were sold for two guineas-double the price of "Camilla,"--and we gather from Madame d'Arblay's own statement that she received at least fifteen hundred pounds for the work. She informs us also that three thousand six hundred copies were sold during the first six months. This pecuniary profit, however, was the only advantage which she derived from the book. It was severely treated by the critics ; its popularity,-- if it ever had any, for its large sale was probably due to the author's high reputation,--speedily declined; and the almost total oblivion into which it passed has remained unbroken to the present day. Yet "The Wanderer" was deserving of a better fate. In many respects it is not inferior to any of Madame d'Arblay's earlier works. Its principal defect is one of literary style, and its style, though faulty and unequal, is by no means devoid of charm and impressiveness. The artless simplicity and freshness of "Evelina" render that work, her first novel, the most successful of all in point of style. In "Cecilia" the style shows more of conscious art, and is more laboured. In "Camilla" and "The Wanderer" it is at once more careless and more affected than in the earlier novels ; her English is at times slipshod, at times disfigured by attempts at fine writing. But, admitting all this, we must admit also that Fanny, even in "The Wanderer," proves herself mistress of what we may surely regard as the most essential part of style-its power of affecting the reader agreeably with the intentions of the author. She plays upon her reader's emotions with a sure touch; she excites or soothes him at her will; she arouses by turns his compassion, his mirth, his resentment, according as she strikes the keys of pathos, of humour, or of irony. A style which is capable of producing such effects is not rashly to be condemned on the score of occasional affectations and irregularities. Page 249 The question of style apart, we do not feel that "The Wanderer" shows the slightest decline in its author's powers. The plot is as ingeniously complicated as ever, the suspense as skilfully maintained; the characters seem to us as real as those in "Evelina," or "Cecilia," or in the "Diary" itself; the alternate pathos and satire of the book keep our attention ever on the alert. That it failed to win the suffrages of the public was certainly due to no demerit in the work. Many causes may have conspired against it. The public taste had long been debauched by novels of that nightmare school in which Mrs Radcliffe and "Monk" Lewis were the leaders. Moreover, in the very year in which "The Wanderer" was published, appeared the first of a series of works of fiction which, by their power and novelty, were to monopolise, for a time, the public attention and applause, and which were thereafter to secure for their author a high rank among the immortals of English literature. At the end of the fifth volume of "The Wanderer" were inserted a few leaves, containing a list of books recently published or "in the press;" and last on the list of the latter stands "Waverley, or 'Tis Sixty Years since." Like " Evelina," "The Wanderer" is inscribed in a touching dedication (this time, however, in prose, and with his name prefixed) to Fanny's beloved father. The dedication is dated March 14, 1814 : on the 12th of the following month Dr. Burney died at Chelsea College, in his eighty-seventh year.-ED.] NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S JOURNEY TO LONDON. ANXIETY TO SEE FATHER AND FRIENDS. Dunkirk, 1812. There are few events of my life that I more regret not having committed to paper while they were fresher in my memory, than my police adventure at Dunkirk, the most fearful that I have ever experienced, though not, alas, the most afflicting, for terror, and even horror, are short of deep affliction; while they last they are, nevertheless, absorbers; but once past, whether ill or well, they are over, and from them, as from bodily pain, the animal spirits can rise uninjured: not so from that grief which has its source in irreInediable calamity; from that there is no rising, no relief, save in hopes of eternity: for here on earth all buoyancy of mind that Might produce the return of peace, is sunk for ever. I will Page 250 now, however, put down all that recurs to me of my first return home. In the year 1810, when I had been separated from my dear father, and country, and native friends, for eight years, my desire to again see them became so anxiously impatient that my tender companion proposed my passing over to England alone, to spend a month or two at Chelsea. Many females at that period, and amongst them the young Duchesse de Duras, had contrived to procure passports for a short similar excursion ; though no male was permitted, under any pretence, to quit France, save with the army. Reluctantly--with all my wishes in favour of the scheme,--yet most reluctantly, I accepted the generous offer; for never did I know happiness away from that companion, no, not even out of his sight! but still, I was consuming with solicitude to see my revered father--to be again in his kind arms, and receive his kind benediction. A MILD MINISTER OF POLICE. For this all was settled, and I had obtained my passport, which was brought to me without my even going to the police office, by the especial favour of M. Le Breton, the Secretaire Perp�tuel l'Institut. The ever active services of M. de Narbonne aided this peculiar grant ; though, had not Bonaparte been abroad with his army at the time, neither the one nor the other would have ventured at so hardy a measure of assistance. But whenever Bonaparte left Paris, there was always an immediate abatement of severity in the police; and Fouch�, though he had borne a character dreadful beyond description in the earlier and most horrible times of the Revolution, was,'at this period, when minister of police, a man of the mildest manners, the most conciliatory conduct, and of the easiest access in Paris. He had least the glare of the new imperial court of any one of its administration; he affected, indeed, all the simplicity of a plain Republican. I have often seen him strolling in the most shady and unfrequented parts of the "Elysian Fields," muffled up in a plain brown rocolo, and giving le bras to his wife, without suite or servant, merely taking the air, with the evident design of enjoying also an unmolested t�te- -t�te. On these occasions, though he was universally known, nobody approached him; and he seemed, himself, not to observe that any other person Page 251 was in the walks. He was said to be remarkably agreeable in conversation, and his person was the best fashioned and most gentlemanly of any man I have happened to see, belonging to the government. Yet, such was the impression made upon me by the dreadful reports that were spread of his cruelty and ferocity at Lyons,(214) that I never saw him but I thrilled with horror. How great, therefore, was my obligation to M. de Narbonne and to M. Le Breton, for procuring me a passport, without my personal application to a man from whom I shrunk as from a monster. EMBARKATION INTERDICTED. I forget now for what spot the passport was nominated, perhaps for Canada, but certainly not for England and M. Le Breton, who brought it to me himself, assured me that no difficulty would be made for me either to go or to return, as I was known to have lived a life the most inoffensive to government, and perfectly free from all species of political intrigue, and as I should leave behind me such sacred hostages as my husband and my son. Thus armed, and thus authorized, I prepared, quietly and secretly, for my expedition, while my generous mate employed all his little leisure in discovering where and how I might embark - when, one morning, when I was bending over my trunk to press in its contents, I was abruptly broken in upon by M. de Boinville, who was in my secret, and who called upon me to stop! He had received certain, he said, though as yet unpublished information, that a universal embargo was laid upon every vessel, and that not a fishing-boat was permitted to quit the coast. Confounded, affrighted, disappointed, and yet relieved, I submitted to the blow, and obeyed the injunction. M. de Boinville then revealed to me the new political changes that occasioned this measure, which he had learned from some confiding friends in office; but which I do not touch upon, as they are now in every history of those times. Page 252 I pass on to my second attempt, in the year 1812. Disastrous was that interval ! All correspondence with England was prohibited under pain of death ! One letter only reached me, most unhappily, written with unreflecting abruptness, announcing, without preface, the death of the Princess Amelia, the new and total derangement of the king, and the death of Mr. Locke. Three such calamities overwhelmed me, overwhelmed us both, for Mr. Locke, my revered Mr. Locke, was as dear to my beloved partner as to myself. Poor Mrs. C concluded these tidings must have already arrived, but her fatal letter gave the first intelligence, and no other letter, at that period, found its way to me. She sent hers, I think, by some trusty returned prisoner. She little knew my then terrible situation ; hovering over my head was the stiletto of a surgeon for a menace of cancer yet, till that moment, hope of escape had always been held out to me by the Baron de Larrey-- hope which, from the reading of that fatal letter, became extinct. A CHANGE OF PLAN. When I was sufficiently recovered for travelling, after a dreadful operation, my plan was resumed, but with an alteration which added infinitely to its interest, as well as to its importance. Bonaparte was now engaging in a new war, of which the aim and intention was no less than-the conquest of the world. This menaced a severity of conscription to which Alexander, who had now spent ten years in France, and was seventeen years of age, would soon become liable. His noble father had relinquished all his own hopes and emoluments in the military career, from the epoch that his king was separated from his country; though that career had been his peculiar choice, and was suited peculiarly to the energy of his character, the vigour of his constitution, his activity, his address, his bravery, his spirit of resource, never overset by difficulty nor wearied by fatigue---all which combination of military requisites-- "The eye could in a moment reach, And read depicted in his martial air," But his high honour, superior to his interest, superior to his inclination, and ruling his whole conduct with unremitting, unalienable constancy, impelled him to prefer the hard labour and obscure drudgery of working at a bureau of the minister Page 253 of the interior, to any and every advantage or promotion that could be offered him in his own immediate and favourite line of life, when no longer compatible with his allegiance and loyalty. To see, therefore, his son bear arms in the very cause that had been his ruin--bear arms against the country which had given himself as well as his mother, birth, would indeed have been heart-breaking. We agreed, therefore, that Alexander should accompany me to England, where, I flattered myself, I might safely deposit him, while I returned to await, by the side of my husband, the issue of the war, in the fervent hope that it would prove our restoration to liberty and reunion. A NEW PASSPORT OBTAINED. My second passport was procured with much less facility than the first. Fouch� was no longer minister of police, and, strange to tell, Fouch�, who, till he became that minister, had been held in horror by all France-all Europe, conducted himself with such conciliatory mildness to all ranks of people .while in that office, evinced such an appearance of humanity, and exhibited such an undaunted spirit of justice in its execution, that at his dismission all Paris was in affliction and dismay ! Was this from the real merit he had shown in his police capacity? Or was it from a yet greater fear of malignant cruelty awakened by the very name of his successor, Savary, Duke of Rovigo?(215) Now, as before, the critical moment was seized by my friends to act for me when Bonaparte had left Paris to proceed towards the scene of his next destined enterprise;(216) and he was, I believe, already at Dresden when my application was ,made. My kind friend Madame de T-- here took the agency which M. de Narbonne could no longer sustain, as he was now attending the emperor, to whom he had been made aide-de-camp, and through her means, after many difficulties and delays, I obtained a licence of departure for myself and Page 254 for Alexander. For what place, nominally, my passport was assigned, I do not recollect; I think, for Newfoundland, but certainly for some part of the coast of America. Yet everybody at the police office saw and knew that England was my object. They connived, nevertheless, at the accomplishment of my wishes, with significant though taciturn consciousness. COMMISSIONS FOR LONDON. >From all the friends whom I dared trust with my secret expedition, I had commissions for London; though merely verbal, as I was cautioned to take no letters. No one at that time could send any to England by the post. I was charged by sundry persons to write for them, and in their names, upon my arrival. Madame de Tracy begged me to discover the address of her sister-in-law, Madame de Civrac, who had emigrated into the wilds of Scotland, and of whom she anxiously wished for some intelligence. This occasioned my having a little correspondence with her, which I now remark because she is named as one of the principal dames de la soci�t� by Madame de Genlis. Madame d'Astorre desired me to find out her father, M. le Comte de Cely, and to give him news of her and her children. This I did, and received from the old gentleman some visits, and many letters. Madame la Princesse de Chimay entrusted me with a petition--a verbal one, to the Prince of Wales, in favour of the Duc de Fitzjames, who, in losing his wife, had lost an English pension. This I was to transmit to his royal highness by means of the Duchess dowager of Buccleugh - who was also entreated to make known the duke's situation to M. d'Escars, who was in the immediate service of Louis XVIII.; for M. d'Escars I had a sort of cipher from Madame de Chimay, to authenticate my account. DELAY AT DUNKIRK. Our journey--Alexander's and mine--from Paris to Dunkirk was sad, from the cruel separation which it exacted, and the fearful uncertainty of impending events ; though I was animated at times into the liveliest sensations, in the prospect of again beholding my father, my friends, and my country. General d'Arblay, through his assiduous researches, aided by those of M. de Boinville and some others, found that a vessel was preparing to sail from Dunkirk to Dover, under Page 255 American colours, and with American passports and licence and, after privately landing such of its passengers as meant but to cross the channel, to proceed to the western continents. M. d'Arblay found, at the same time, six or seven persons of his acquaintance who were to embark in this vessel. We all met, and severally visited at Dunkirk, where I was compelled, through the mismanagement and misconduct of the captain of the vessel, to spend the most painfully wearisome six weeks of my life, for they kept me alike from all that was dearest to me, either in France or in England, save my Alexander. I was twenty times on the point of returning to Paris; but whenever I made known that design, the captain promised to sail the next morning. The truth is, he postponed the voyage from day to day and from week to week, in the hope of obtaining more passengers ; and, as the clandestine visit he meant to make. to Dover, in his way to America, was whispered about, reinforcements very frequently encouraged his cupidity. The ennui of having no positive occupation was now, for the first time, known to me; for though the first object of my active cares was with me, it was not as if that object had been a daughter, and always at my side ; it was a youth of seventeen, who, with my free consent, sought whatever entertainment the place could afford, to while away fatigue. He ran, therefore, wildly about at his pleasure, to the quay, the dockyard, the sea, the suburbs, the surrounding country - but chiefly, his time was spent in skipping to the " Mary Ann," our destined vessel, and seeing its preparations for departure. To stroll about the town, to call upon my fellow-sufferers, to visit the principal shops, and to talk with the good Dutch people while I made slight purchases, was all I could devise to do that required action. THE MS. OF "THE WANDERER." When I found our stay indefinitely protracted, it occurred to me that if I had the papers of a work which I had then in hand, they might afford me an occupation to while away my truly vapid and uninteresting leisure. I wrote this idea to my partner in all-- as M. de Talleyrand had called M. d'Arblay; and, with a spirit that was always in its first youth where any service was to be performed, he waited on M. de Saulnier at the police office, and made a request that my manuscripts Page 256 might be sent after me, with a permission that I might also be allowed to carry them with me on board the ship. He durst not say to England, whither no vessel was supposed to sail; but he would not, to M. de Saulnier, who palpably connived at my plan and purpose, say America. M. de Saulnier made many inquiries relative to these papers; but on being assured, upon honour, that the work had nothing in it political, nor even national, nor possibly offensive to the government, he took the single word of M. d'Arblay, whose noble countenance and dauntless openness of manner were guarantees of sincerity that wanted neither seals nor bonds, and invested him with the power to send me what papers be pleased, without demanding to examine, or even to see them -a trust so confiding and so generous, that I have regretted a thousand times the want of means to acknowledge it according to its merit. This work was "The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties," of which nearly three volumes were finished. They arrived, nevertheless, vainly for any purpose at Dunkirk; the disturbance of my suspensive -state incapacitating me for any composition, save of letters to my best friend, to whom I wrote, or dictated by Alexander, every day; and every day was only supported by the same kind diurnal return. But when, at length, we were summoned to the vessel, and our goods and chattels were conveyed to the custom-house, and when the little portmanteau was produced, and found to be filled with manuscripts, the police officer who opened it began a rant of indignation and amazement at a sight so unexpected and prohibited, that made him incapable to inquire or to hear the meaning of such a freight. He sputtered at the mouth, and stamped with his feet, so forcibly and vociferously, that no endeavours of mine could induce him to stop his accusations of traitorous designs, till, tired of the attempt, I ceased both explanation and entreaty, and stood before him with calm taciturnity. Wanting, then, the fresh fuel of interruption or opposition, his fire and fury evaporated into curiosity to know what I could offer. Yet even then, though my account staggered his violence into some degree of civility, he evidently deemed it, from its very nature, incredible ; and this fourth child of my brain had undoubtedly been destroyed ere it was born, had I not had recourse to an English merchant, Mr. Gregory, long settled at Dunkirk, to whom, Page 257 happily, I had been recommended, as to a person capable, in any emergence, to afford me assistance; he undertook the responsibility ; and the letter of M. d'Arblay, containing the licence of M. de Saulnier, was then all-sufficient for my manuscripts and their embarkation. SPANISH PRISONERS AT DUNKIRK. The second event I have to relate I never even yet recollect without an inward shuddering. In our walks out of the town, on the borders of the ocean, after passing beyond the dockyard or wharf, we frequently met a large party of Spanish prisoners, well escorted by gendarmes, and either going to their hard destined labour, or returning from it for repast or repose. I felt deeply interested by them, knowing they were men with and for whom our own English and the immortal Wellington were then fighting : and this interest induced me to walk on the bank by which they were paraded to and fro, as often as I could engage Alexander, from his other pursuits, to accompany me. Their appearance was highly in their favour, as well as their situation ; they had a look calmly intrepid, of concentrated resentment, yet unalterable patience, They were mostly strong-built and vigorous; of solemn, almost stately deportment, and with fine dark eyes, full of meaning, rolling around them as if in watchful expectation of insult; and in a short time they certainly caught from my countenance an air of sympathy, for they gave me, in return, as we passed one another, a glance that spoke grateful consciousness. I followed them to the place of their labour ; though my short-sightedness would not let me distinguish what they were about, whether mending fortifications, dykes, banks, parapets, or what not: and I durst not use my glass, lest I should be suspected as a spy. We only strolled about in their vicinity, as if merely visiting and viewing the sea. The weather -it was now August-was so intensely hot, the place was so completely without shade, and their work was so violent, that they changed hands every two hours, and those who were sent off to recruit were allowed to cast themselves upon the burnt and straw-like grass, to await their alternate summons. This they did in small groups, but without venturing to solace their rest by any species of social intercourse. They were as taciturn with one another as with their keepers and taskmasters. Page 258 One among them there was who wore an air of superiority, ,grave and composed, yet decided, to which they all appeared to bow down with willing subserviency, though the distinction was only demonstrated by an air of profound respect whenever they approached or passed him, for discourse held they none. One morning, when I observed him seated at a greater distance than usual from his overseers, during his hour of release, I turned suddenly from my walk as if with a view to bend my way homewards, but contrived, while talking with Alexander and looking another way, to slant my steps close to where he sat surrounded by his mute adherents, and to drop a handful of small coin nearly under the elbow upon which, wearily, lie was reclining. We proceeded with alertness, and talking together aloud; but Alexander perceived this apparent chief evidently moved by what I had done, though forbearing to touch the little offering, which, however, his companions immediately secured. After this I never met him that he did not make me a slight but expressive bow. This encouraged me to repeat the poor little tribute of compassion, which I soon found he distributed, as far as it would go, to the whole set, by the kindly looks with which every one thenceforward greeted me upon every meeting. Yet he whom we supposed to be some chief, and who palpably discovered it was himself I meant to distinguish, never touched the money, nor examined what was taken up by the others, who, on their part, nevertheless seemed but to take charge of it in trust. We were now such good friends, that this became more than ever my favourite walk and these poor unhappy captives never saw me without brightening up into a vivacity of pleasure that was to me a real exhilaration. We had been at Dunkirk above five weeks, when one evening, having a letter of consequence to send to Paris, I begged Alexander to carry it to the post himself, and to deposit me upon the quay, and there to join me. As the weather was very fine I stood near the sea, wistfully regarding the element on which depended all my present hopes and views. But presently my meditations were interrupted, and my thoughts diverted from mere self by the sudden entrance, in a large body, of my friends the Spanish prisoners, who all bore down to the very place where I was stationed, evidently recognising me, and eagerly showing that it was not without extreme satisfaction. I saw their approach, in return, with lively Page 259 pleasure, for, the quay being, I suppose, a place of certain security, they were unencumbered by their usual turnkeys, the gendarmes, and this freedom, joined to their surprise at my sight, put them also off their guard, and they flocked round though not near me, and hailed me with smiles, bows, and hands put upon their breasts. I now took courage to speak to them, partly in French, partly in English, for I found they understood a little of both those languages. I inquired whence they came, and whether they knew General Wellington. They smiled and nodded at his name, and expressed infinite delight in finding I was English ; but though they all, by their head movements, entered into discourse, my friend the chief was the only one who attempted to answer me. When I first went to France, being continually embarrassed for terms, I used constantly to apply to M. d'Arblay for aid, till Madame de Tess� charged him to be quiet, saying that my looks filled up what my words left short, "de sorte que," she added, "nous la devinons;"(217) this was the case between my Spaniards and myself, and we -devin-d one another so much to our mutual satisfaction, that while this was the converse the most to my taste of any I had had at Dunkirk, it was also, probably, most to theirs of any that had fallen to their lot since they had been torn from their native country. SURPRISED BY AN OFFICER OF POLICE. While this was going on I was privately drawing from my purse all that it contained of small money to distribute to my new friends - but at this same moment a sudden change in the countenance of the chief from looks of grateful feeling, to an expression of austerity, checked my purpose, and, sorry and alarmed lest he had taken offence, I hastily drew my empty hand from my reticule. I then saw that the change of expression was not simply to austerity from pleasure, but to consternation from serenity - and I perceived that it was not to me the altered visage was directed; the eye pointed beyond me, and over my head startled, I turned round, and what, then, was my own consternation when I beheld an officer of the police, in full gold trappings, furiously darting forward from a small house at the entrance upon the quay, which I afterwards learnt was his official dwelling. When he came within two yards of us he stood still, mute and erect ; but with an air of menace, his eyes scowling first upon the chief, Page 260 then upon me, then upon the whole group, and then upon me again, with looks that seemed diving into some conspiracy. My alarm was extreme - my imprudence in conversing with these unhappy captives struck me at once with foreboding terror of ill consequences. I had, however, sufficient presence of mind to meet the eyes of my antagonist with a look that showed surprise, rather than apprehension at his wrath. This was not without some effect. Accustomed, probably, to scrutinize and to penetrate into secret plots, he might be an adept in distinguishing the fear of ill-treatment from the fear of detection. The latter I could certainly not manifest, as my compassion had shown no outward mark beyond a little charity - but the former I tried, vainly, perhaps, to subdue : for I well knew that pity towards a Spaniard would be deemed suspicious, at least, if not culpable. We were all silent, and all motionless ; but when the man, having fixed upon me his eyes with intention to petrify me, saw that I fixed him in return with an open though probably not very composed face, he-spoke, and with a voice of thunder, vociferating reproach, accusation, and condemnation all in one. His words I could not distinguish; they were so confused and rapid from rage. This violence, though it secretly affrighted me, I tried to meet with simple astonishment, making no sort of answer or interruption to his invectives. When he observed my steadiness, and that he excited none of the humiliation of discovered guilt, he stopped short and, after a pause, gruffly said,-- "Qui �tes-vous?" "Je me nomme d'Arblay." "Etes-vous mari�e?" "Oui." "O� est votre mari?" "A Paris." "Qui est-il?" "Il travaille aux Bureaux de l'Int�rieur." "Pourquoi le quittez-vous?"(218) Page 261 I was here sensibly embarrassed. I durst not avow I was going to England ; I could not assert I was really going to America. I hesitated, and the sight of his eyes brightening up with the hope of mischief, abated my firmness ; and, while he seemed to be staring me through, I gave an account, very imperfect, indeed, and far from clear, though true, that I came to Dunkirk to embark on board the "Mary Ann" vessel. "Ah ha!" exclaimed he, "vous �tes Anglaise?"(219) Then, tossing back his head with an air of triumphant victory, "suivez-moi!"(220) he added, and walked away, fast and fierce, but looking back every minute to see that I followed. INTERROGATED AT THE POLICE OFFICE. Never can I forget the terror with which I was seized at this command; it could only be equalled by the evident consternation and sorrow that struck me, as I turned my head around to see where I was, in my poor chief and his group. Follow I did, though not less per force than if I had been dragged by chains. When I saw him arrive at the gate of the little dwelling I have mentioned, which I now perceived to belong to him officially, I impulsively, involuntarily stopped. To enter a police office, to be probably charged with planning some conspiracy with the enemies of the state, my poor Alexander away, and not knowing what must have become of me; my breath was gone; my power of movement ceased; my head, or understanding, seemed a chaos, bereft of every distinct or discriminating idea; and my feet, as if those of a statue, felt riveted to the ground, from a vague but overwhelming belief I was destined to incarceration in some dungeon, where I might sink ere I could make known my situation to my friends, while Alex, thus unaccountably abandoned, might be driven to despair, or become the prey to nameless mischiefs. Again the tiger vociferated a "suivez-moi!" but finding it no longer obeyed, he turned full round as he stood upon ]its threshold, and perceiving my motionless and speechless dismay, looked at me for two or three seconds in scornful, but investigating taciturnity. Then, putting his arms a-kimbo, he said, in lower, but more, taunting accents, "Vous ne le jugez donc pas propos de me suivre?" (221) Page 262 This was followed by a sneering, sardonic grin that seemed anticipating the enjoyment of using compulsion. On, therefore, I again forced myself, and with tolerable composure I said, "Je n'ai rien, monsieur, je crois, faire ici?"(222) "Nous verrons!"(223) he answered, bluffly, and led the way into a small hovel rather than parlour - and then haughtily seated himself at a table, on which were pen, ink, and paper, and, while I stood before him, began an interrogation, with the decided asperity of examining a detected criminal, of whom he was to draw up the proces verbal. When I perceived this, my every fear, feeling, nay, thought, concentrated in Alexander, to whom I had determined not to allude, while I had any hope of self-escape, to avoid for us both the greatest of all perils, that of an accusation of intending to evade the ensuing conscription, for which, though Alex was yet too young, he was fast advancing to be amenable. But now that I was enclosed from his sight, and there was danger every moment of his suddenly missing me, I felt that our only chance of safety must lie in my naming him before he should return. With all the composure, therefore, that I could assume, I said that I was come to Dunkirk with my son to embark in the "Mary Ann," an American vessel, with a passport from M. de Saulnier, secretary to the Duke de Rovigo, minister of police. And what had I done with this son? I had sent him to the post-office with a letter for his father. At that instant I perceived Alexander wildly running past the window. This moment was critical. I instantly cried, "Sir, there is my son!" The man rose, and went to the door, calling Out, "Jeune homme!"(224) Alex approached, and was questioned, and though much amazed, gave answers perfectly agreeing with mine. I now recovered my poor affrighted faculties, and calmly said that if he had any doubt of our veracity, I begged he would send for Mr. Gregory, who knew us well. This, a second time, was a most happy reference. Mr. Gregory was of the highest respectability, and he was near at hand. There could be no doubt of the authenticity f such an appeal. Page 263 The brow of my ferocious assailant was presently unbent. I seized the favourable omen to assure him, with apparent indifference, that I had no objection to being accompanied or preceded to the Hotel Sauvage, where I resided, nor to giving him the key of my portmanteau and portfolio, if it were possible I had excited any suspicion by merely speaking, from curiosity, to the Spanish prisoners. No, he answered, he would not disturb me; and then, having entered the name of Alexander by the side of mine, he let us depart. Speechless was my joy, and speechless was the surprise of Alexander, and we walked home in utter silence. Happily, this incident occurred but just before we set sail, for with it terminated my greatest solace at Dunkirk, the seeing and consoling those unhappy prisoners, and the regale of wandering by the sea-coast. THE "MARY ANN" CAPTURED OFF DEAL. Six weeks completely we consumed in wasteful weariness at Dunkirk; and our passage, when at last we set sail, was equally, in its proportion, toilsome and tedious. Involved in a sickening calm, we could make no way, but lingered two days and two nights in this long-short passage. The second night, indeed, might have been spared me, as it was spared to all my fellow voyagers. But when we cast anchor, I was so exhausted by the unremitting sufferings I had endured, that I was literally unable to rise from my hammock. Yet was there a circumstance capable to have aroused me from any torpidity, save the demolishing ravage of sea-sickness for scarcely were we at anchor, when Alex, capering up to the deck, descended with yet more velocity than he had mounted to exclaim, "Oh, maman! there are two British officers now upon deck." But, finding that even this could not make me recover speech or motion, he ran back again to this new and delighting sight, and again returning 'cried out in a tone of rapture, "Maman, we are taken by the British! We are all captured by British officers!" Even in my immovable, and nearly insensible state, this juvenile ardour, excited by so new and strange an adventure, afforded me some amusement. It did not, however, afford me strength, for I could not rise, though I heard that every other passenger was removed. With difficulty, even next morning, I crawled upon the deck, and there I had been but a short time, Page 264 when Lieutenant Harford came on board to take possession of the vessel, not as French, but American booty, war having been declared against America the preceding week. Mr. Harford, hearing my name, most courteously addressed me, with congratulations upon my safe arrival in England. These were words to rewaken all the happiest purposes of my expedition, and they recovered me from the nerveless, sinking state into which my exhaustion had cast me, as if by a miracle. My father, my brothers, my sisters, and all my heart-dear friends, seemed rising to my view and springing to my embraces, with all the joy of renovating reunion. I thankfully accepted his obliging offer to carry me on shore in his own boat; but when I turned round, and called upon Alexander to follow us, Mr. Harford, assuming a commanding air, said, "No, madam, I cannot take that young man. No French person can come into my boat without a passport and permission from government." My air now a little corresponded with his own, as I answered, "He was born, Sir, in England!" "Oh!" cried he, " "that's quite another matter; come along, Sir! we'll all go together." I now found we were rowing to Deal, not Dover, to which town we had been destined by our engagement: but we had been captured, it seems, chemin fuisant, though so gently, and with such utter helplessness of opposition, that I had become a prisoner without any suspicion of my captivity. JOY ON ARRIVING IN ENGLAND. We had anchored about half a mile, I imagine, from the shore ; which I no sooner touched than, drawing away my arm from Mr. Harford, I took up on one knee, with irrepressible transport, the nearest bright pebble, to press to my lips in grateful joy at touching again the land of my nativity, after an absence, nearly hopeless, of more than twelve years. Of the happiness that ensued--my being again in the arms of my dearly loved father-in those of my dear surviving sisters--my brothers--my friends, some faint details yet remain in a few letters to my heart's confidant that he preserved: but they are truly faint, for my satisfaction was always damped in recording it to him who SO fondly wished to partake of it, and whose absence from that participation always rendered it incomplete. And, on one great source of renovated felicity, I did not Page 265 dare touch even by inference, even by allusion--that of finding my gracious royal mistress and her august daughters as cordial in their welcome, as trustingly confidential, and as amiably condescending, I had almost said affectionate, as if I had never departed from the royal roof under which, for five years, I had enjoyed their favour. To have spoken of the royal family in letters sent to France under the reign of Bonaparte, might have brought destruction on him for whom I would a thousand times sooner have suffered it myself. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.)(225) Aug. 15, 1812. In a flutter of joy such as my tender Charlotte will feel in reading this, I write to her from England! I can hardly believe it; I look around me in constant inquiry and doubt I speak French to every soul, and I whisper still if I utter a word that breathes private opinion. . . . We set off for Canterbury, where we slept, and on the 20th(226) proceeded towards Chelsea. While, upon some common, we stopped to water the horses, a gentleman on horseback passed us twice, and then, looking in, pronounced my name - and I saw it was Charles, dear Charles! who had been watching for us several hours and three nights following, through a mistake. Thence we proceeded to Chelsea, where we arrived at nine o'clock at night. I was in a state almost breathless. I could only demand to see my dear father alone: fortunately, he had had the same feeling, and had charged all the family to stay away, and all the world to be denied. I found him, therefore, in his library, by himself-but oh! my dearest, very much altered indeed--weak, weak and changed- -his head almost always hanging down, and his hearing most cruelly impaired. I was terribly affected, but most grateful to God for my arrival. Our meeting, you may be sure, was very tender, though I roused myself as quickly as possible to be gay and cheering. He was extremely kind to Alex, and said, in a tone the most impressive, "I should have been very glad to have seen M. d'Arblay!" In discourse, however, he reanimated, and was, at times, all himself. But he now admits scarcely a creature but of his family, and will only see for a short time even his children. He likes quietly reading, and lies Page 266 almost constantly upon the sofa, and will never eat but alone. What a change! YOUNG D'ARBLAY SECURES A SCHOLARSHIP. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) March 16, 1813. How will my kindest father rejoice for me! for my dear partner-- for my boy! The election is gained, and Alexander has obtained the Tancred scholarship. He had all the votes: the opponent retired. Sir D-- behaved handsomely, came forward, and speechified for us. Sir Francis Milman, who was chairman, led the way in the harangue. Dr. Davy, our supporter, leader, inspirer, director, heart and head, patron and guide, spoke also. Mr H-- spoke, too; but nothing, they tell me, to our purpose, nor yet against it. He gave a very long and elaborate history of a cause which he is to plead in the House of Lords, and which has not the smallest reference whatsoever to the case in point. Dr. Davy told me, in recounting it, that he is convinced the good and wary lawyer thought this an opportunity not to be lost for rehearsing his cause, which would prevent loss of time to himself, or hindrance of business, except to his hearers : however, he gave us his vote. 'Tis a most glorious affair. THE QUEEN ALARMED BY A MAD WOMAN. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) May 11, 1813. My own inclination and intention kept in mind your charge, , my dearest sir, that as soon as I was able I would wait upon Lady Crewe;(227) fortunately, I found her at home, and in her best style, cordial as well as good-humoured, and abounding in acute and odd remarks. I had also the good fortune to see my lord, who seems always pleasing, unaffected, and sensible, and to possess a share of innate modesty that no intercourse with the world, nor addition of years, can rob him of. I was much satisfied with my visit - but what I shall do for time, now once I have been launched from my couch, or sick chamber, I wot not. Page 267 What a terrible alarm is this which the poor tormented queen has again received!(228) I wrote my concern as soon as I heard of it, though I have not yet seen the printed account, my packet of papers reaching only to the very day before that event. My answer has been a most gracious summons to the Queen's house for to-morrow. Her majesty and two of the princesses come to town for four days. This robs me of my Chelsea visit for this week, as I keep always within call during the town residences, when I have royal notice of them, and, indeed, there is nothing I desire more than to see her majesty at this moment, and to be allowed to express what I have felt for her. My letter from Madame Beckersdorff says that such an alarm would have been frightful for anybody, but how much more peculiarly so for the queen, who has experienced such poignant horror from the effects of disordered intellects! who is always suffering from them, and so nearly a victim to the unremitting exercise of her duties upon that subject and these calls. I have had a visit this morning from Mrs. Piozzi, who is in town only for a few days upon business. She came while I was out - but I must undoubtedly make a second tour, after my royal four days are passed, in order to wait upon and thank her. I have been received more graciously than ever, if that be possible, by my dear and honoured queen and sweet Princesses Eliza and Mary. The queen has borne this alarm astonishingly, considering how great was the shock at the moment; but she has so high a character, that she will not suffer anything personal to sink her spirits, which she saves wholly for the calls upon them of others, and great and terrible have been those calls. The beloved king is in the best state possible for his present melancholy situation; that is, wholly free from real bodily suffering, or imaginary mental misery, for he is persuaded that he is always conversing with angels. WEATHER COMPLAINTS. PROPOSED MEETING WITH LORD LANSDOWNE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Chenies-street, Alfred-place, May 23, 1813. Oh, how teased I am, my dearest padre, by this eternal unwalkable weather! Every morning rises so fairly, that at every noon I am preparing to quit my conjuring, and repair, Page 268 by your kind invitation, to prelude my promised chat by a repast with Sarah - when mizzling falls the rain, or hard raps the hail, and the day, for me, is involved in damps and dangers that fix me again to my dry, but solitary conjurations. I am so tired now of disappointments, that I must talk a little with my padre in their defiance, and in a manner now, thank God! out of their reach. Ah, how long will letters be any safer than meetings! The little world I see all give me hope and comfort from the posture of affairs but I am too deeply interested to dare be sanguine while in such suspense. Lady Crewe invited me to her party that she calls Noah's ark; but I cannot yet risk an evening, and a dressed one too. She then said she would make me a small party with the Miss Berrys, and for a morning; and now she has written to Charles to make interest with me to admit Lord Lansdowne, at his own earnest request! I am quite non compos to know how I shall make my way through these honours, to my strength and re-establishment, for they clash with my private plan and adopted system of quiet. However, she says the meeting shall be in the country, at Brompton, and without fuss or ceremony. Her kindness is inexpressible, therefore I have not courage to refuse her. She has offered me her little residence at Brompton for my dwelling for a week or so, to restore me from all my influenzas : she may truly be called a faithful family friend. I hope dear Sarah and Fanny Raper will be of the party. If they are, charge them, dear sir, to let me hear their voices, for I shall never find out their faces. What weather! what weather! when shall I get to Chelsea, and embrace again my beloved father? This free-born weather of our sea-girt isle of liberty is very incommodious to those who have neither carriages for wet feet, nor health for damp shoulders. If the farmers, however, are contented, I must be patient. We may quarrel with all our wishes better than with our corn. Adieu, my most dear father, till the sun shines drier. A YOUNG GIRL'S ENTRY TO LONDON SOCIETY. MADAME DE STAEL. (Madame d'Arblay to a friend.) London, August 20, 1813- . . .Your charming girl, by what I can gather, has seen, upon the whole, a great deal of this vast town and its Page 269 splendours,--a little more might, perhaps, have been better, in making her, with a mind such as hers, regret it a little less. Merit of her sort can here be known with difficulty. Dissipation is so hurried, so always in a bustle, that even amusement must be prominent, to be enjoyed. There is no time for development; nothing, therefore, is seen but what is conspicuous; and not much is heard but what is obstreperous. They who, in a short time, can make themselves known and admired now in London, must have their cupids, in Earl Dorset's phrase-- Like blackguard boys, Who thrust their links full in your face. I had very much matter that I meant and wished to say to you upon this subject; but in brief--I do not myself think it a misfortune that your dear girl cannot move in a London round, away from your own wing: you have brought her up so well, and she seems so good, gentle, and contented, as well as accomplished, that I cannot wish her drawn into a vortex where she may be imbued with other ideas, views, and wishes than those that now constitute her happiness--and happiness! what ought to be held more sacred where it is innocent--what ought so little to risk any unnecessary or premature concussion? With all the deficiencies and imperfections of her present situation, which you bewail but which she does not find out, it is, alas! a million to one whether, even in attaining the advantages and society you wish for her, she will ever again, after any change, be as happy as she is at this moment. A mother whom she looks up to and doats upon--a sister whom she so fondly loves--how shall they be replaced? The chances are all against her (though the world has, I know, such replacers), from their rarity. I am truly glad you had a gratification you so earnestly coveted, that of seeing Madame de Stael: your account of her was extremely interesting to me. As to myself, I have not seen her at all. Various causes have kept me in utter retirement; and, in truth, with respect to Madame de Stael, my situation is really embarrassing. It is too long and difficult to write upon, nor do I recollect whether I ever communicated to you our original acquaintance, which, at first, was intimate. I shall always, internally, be grateful for the partiality with which she sought me out upon her arrival in this country before my- marriage: and still, and far more, if she can forgive my dropping her, which I could not help Page 270 for none of my friends, at that time, would suffer me to keep up the intercourse! I had messages, remonstrances, entreaties, representations, letters, and conferences, till I could resist no longer; though I had found her so charming, that I fought the hardest battle I dared fight against almost all my best connections. She is now received by all mankind;--but that, indeed, she always was--all womankind, I should say--with distinction and pleasure. I wish much to see her "Essay on Suicide;" but it has not yet fallen in my way. When will the work come out for which she was, she says, chass�e de la France?(229) Where did --- hear her a whole evening? She is, indeed, most uncommonly entertaining, and animating as well as animated, almost beyond anybody, "Les M�moires de Madame de Stael" I have read long ago, and with singular interest and eagerness. They are so attaching, so evidently original and natural, that they stand very high, indeed, in reading that has given me most pleasure. My boy has just left me for Greenwich.(230) He goes in October to Cambridge; I wish to install him there myself. My last letter from Paris gives me to the end of October to stay in England. ROGERS THE POET. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) August 24, 1813. .....I was delighted by meeting Lady Wellington, not long since, at Lady Templetown's. Her very name electrified me with emotion. I dined at Mr. Rogers's, at his beautiful mansion in the Green Park, to meet Lady Crewe; and Mrs. Barbauld was also there, whom I had not seen many, many years, and alas, should not have known! Mr. Rogers was so considerate to my sauvagerie as to have no party, though Mr. Sheridan, he said, had expressed his great desire to meet again his old friend Madame d'Arblay! Lady Crewe told me she certainly would not leave town without seeking Page 271 another chattery with her old friend, Dr. Burney, whom she always saw with fresh pleasure. INTERVIEW WITH MR. WILBERFORCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Sandgate, Sept., 1813. Let me steal a moment to relate a singular gratification, and, in truth, a real and great honour I have had to rejoice in. You know, my padre, probably, that Marianne Francis was commissioned by Mr. Wilberforce(231) to bring about an acquaintance with your F. d'A., and that, though highly susceptible to such a desire, my usual shyness, or rather consciousness of inability to meet the expectations that must have made him seek me, induced my declining an interview. Eh bien--at church at Sandgate, the day after my arrival, I saw this justly celebrated man, and was introduced to him in the churchyard, after the service, by Charles. The ramparts and martellos around us became naturally our theme, and Mr. Wilberforce proposed showing them to me. I readily accepted the offer, and Charles and Sarah, and Mrs. Wilberforce and Mrs. Barrett, went away in their several carriages, while Mr. Barrett alone remained, and Mr. Wilberforce gave me his arm, and, in short, we walked the round from one to five o'clock! Four hours' of the best conversation I have, nearly, ever enjoyed. He was anxious for a full and true account of Paris, and particularly of religion and infidelity, and of Bonaparte and the wars, and of all and everything that had occurred during my ten years' seclusion in France; and I had so much to communicate, and his drawing out and comments and episodes were all so judicious, so spirited, so full of information yet so unassuming, that my shyness all flew away and I felt to be his confidential friend, opening to him upon every occurrence and every sentiment, with the frankness that is usually won by years of intercourse. I was really and truly delighted and enlightened by him; I desire nothing more Page 272 than to renew the acquaintance, and cultivate it to intimacy. But, alas! he was going away next morning. INTENDED PUBLICATION OF "THE WANDERER." (Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.) Richmond Hill, Oct. 12, 1813. My most dear padre will, I am sure, congratulate me that I have just had the heartfelt delight of a few lines from M. d'Arblay, dated September 5th. I had not had any news since the 17th of August, and I had the melancholy apprehension upon my spirits that no more letters would be allowed to pass till the campaign was over. It has been therefore one of the most welcome surprises I ever experienced. He tells me, also, that he is perfectly well, and quite acabl� with business. This, for the instant, gives me nothing but joy; for, were he not essentially necessary in some department of civil labour and use, he would surely be included in some lev�e en masse. Every way, therefore, this letter gives me relief and pleasure. I have had, also, this morning, the great comfort to hear that my Alexander is " stout and well at Cambridge, where his kind uncle Charles still remains. I am indescribably occupied, and have been so ever since my return from Ramsgate, in giving more and more last touches to my work, about which I begin to grow very, anxious. I am to receive merely 500 pounds upon delivery of the MS. the two following 500 by instalments from nine months to nine months, that is, in a year and a half from the day of publication. If all goes well, the whole will be 3000, but only at the end of the sale of eight thousand copies. Oh, my padre, if you approve the work, I shall have good hope. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S WOUNDED COMRADES. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Dec. 16, 1813. Ah, my dearest friend, how is my poor cottage-how are my proofs-- how is everything forced from my mind, except what necessity drives there, by this cruel stroke to my suffering partner! The world had power only in two instances to have given him quite so deadly a blow, dear to his heart of love as Page 273 are some, nay, many others; but here--for M. de Narbonne, it was a passion of admiration, joined to a fondness of friendship, that were a part of himself.(232) How he will bear it, and in our absence, perpetually occupies my thoughts. And I have no means to hear from, or to write to him!--none, absolutely none! just before this wound was inflicted, I was already overwhelmed with grief for my poor Madame de Maisonneuve, A for M. d'Arblay himself, and for my own personal loss, in the death--premature and dreadful, nay, inhuman--of the noble, perfect brother of that Madame de Maisonneuve; General Latour Maubourg, a man who, like my own best friend was--is signalized among his comrades by the term of a vrai Chevalier Fran�ais. He was without a blot; and his life has been thrown away merely to prevent his being made a prisoner! He had received a horrible wound on the first of the tremendous battles of Leipzic, and on the second he suffered amputation; and immediately after was carried away to follow the retreating army! In such a condition, who can wonder to hear that, a very few miles from Leipzic, he expired?(233) DEATH OF DR. BURNEY. [In the beginning of the year 1814, Madame d'Arblay published her fourth work, "The Wanderer," and nearly at the same time peace was declared between France and England. Her satisfaction at an event so long wished for, was deeply saddened by the death of her father, Dr. Burney; whom she nursed and attended to the last moment with dutiful tenderness. Soon after the Restoration of the French royal family, Monsieur d'Arblay was placed by the Duke de Luxembourg in the French " gardes du corps." He obtained leave of absence towards the close of the year, and came to England Page 274 for a few weeks ; after which Madame d'Arblay returned with him to Paris, leaving their son to pursue his studies at Cambridge.] (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. ----) March(234) 19, 1814. Be not uneasy for me, nay tender friend: my affliction is heavy, but not acute - my beloved father had been spared to us something beyond the verge of the prayer for his preservation, which you must have read, for already his sufferings had far surpassed his enjoyments. I could not have wished him so to linger, though I indulged almost to the last hour a hope he might yet recover, and be restored to comfort. I last of all gave him up, but never wished his duration such as I saw him on the last few days. Dear blessed parent! how blest am I that I came over to him while he was yet susceptible of pleasure--of happiness! My best comfort in my grief, in his loss, is that I watched by his side the last night, and hovered over him two hours after he breathed no more; for though much suffering had preceded the last hours, they were so quiet, and the final exit was so soft, that I had not perceived it though I was sitting by his bedside, and would not believe when all around announced it. I forced them to let me stay by him, and his revered form became stiff before I could persuade myself that he was gone hence for ever. Yet neither then nor now has there been any violence, anything to fear from my grief; his loss was too indubitably to be expected, he had been granted too long to our indulgence to allow any species of repining to mingle with my sorrow; and it is repining that makes sorrow too hard to bear with resignation. Oh, I have known it! FAVOURABLE NEWS OF M. D'ARBLAY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) April 3, 1814. I hasten to impart to my kind and sympathising friend that I received-last night good tidings of my best friend of friends; they have been communicated to me, oddly enough, through the Alien office! Mr. Reeves wrote them to my Page 275 reverend brother,(235) by the desire of an English lady now resident in Paris-Madame Solvyns (wife of a Frenchman), at the request of M. d'Arblay; they assure me of his perfect health... Nothing could be so well timed as this intelligence, for my inquietude was beginning to be doubly restless from the accession of time that has fallen to me by having got rid of all my proofs, etc. it is only real and indispensable business that can force away attention from suspensive uneasiness. Another comfort of the very first magnitude, my sweet friend will truly, I know, participate in--my Alexander begins to listen to reason. He assures me he is now going on with very tolerable regularity; and I have given him, for this term, to soberize and methodize him a little, a private tutor ; and this tutor has won his heart by indulging him in his problem passion. They work together, he says, with a rapidity and eagerness that makes the hour of his lesson by far the most delightful portion of his day. And this tutor, he tells me, most generously gives him problems to work at in his absence: a favour for which every pupil, perchance, would not be equally grateful, but which Alexander, who loves problems algebraic as another boy loves a play or an opera, regards as the height of indulgence. "THE WANDERER." [Soon after the publication of " The Wanderer," Madame d'Arblay wrote as follows to a friend:--] I beseech you not to let your too ardent friendship disturb you about the reviews and critiques, and I quite supplicate you to leave their authors to their own severities or indulgence. I have ever steadily refused all interference with public opinion or private criticism. I am told I have been very harshly treated ; but I attribute it not to what alone would affect me, but which I trust I have not excited, personal enmity. I attribute it to the false expectation, universally spread, that the book would be a picture of France, as well as to the astonishing �clat of a work in five volumes being all bespoken before it was published. The booksellers, erroneously and injudiciously concluding the sale would so go on, fixed the rapacious price of two guineas, which again damped the sale. But why say damped, when it is only their unreasonable expectations that are disappointed ? for they acknowledge that 3600 copies are positively sold and paid for in the first half year. What must I be, if not far more than Page 276 contented? I have not read or heard one of the criticisms; my mind has been wholly occupied by grief for the loss of my dearest father, or the inspection of his MSS., and my harassing situation relative to my own proceedings. Why, then, make myself black bile to disturb me further? No; I will not look at a word till my spirits and time are calmed and quiet, and I can set about preparing a corrected edition. I will then carefully read all - and then, the blow to immediate feelings being over, I can examine as well as read, impartially and with profit, both to my future surveyors and myself. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S PRESENTATION TO LOUIS XVIII AT GRILLON's HOTEL. 1814.-While I was still under the almost first impression of grief for the loss of my dear and honoured father I received a letter from Windsor Castle, written by Madame Beckersdorff, at the command of her majesty, to desire I would take the necessary measures for being presented to son altesse royale Madame Duchesse d'Angoul�me,l who was to have a Drawing-room in London, both for French and English, on the day preceding her departure for France. The letter added, that I must waive all objections relative to my recent loss, as it would be improper, in the present state of things, that the wife of a general officer should not be presented; and, moreover, that I should be personally expected and well received, as I had been named to son altesse royale by the queen herself. In conclusion, I was charged not to mention this circumstance, from the applications or jealousies it might excite. To hesitate was out of the question - and to do honour to my noble absent partner, and in his name to receive honour, were precisely the two distinctions my kind father would most have enjoyed for me. Page 277 I had but two or three days for preparation. Lady Crewe most amiably came to me herself, and missing me in person, wrote me word she would lend me her carriage, to convey me from Chelsea to her house in Lower Grosvenor-street, and thence accompany me herself to the audience. When the morning arrived I set off with tolerable courage. Arrived, however, at Lady Crewe's, when I entered the room in which this dear and attached friend of my father received me, the heaviness of his loss proved quite overpowering to my spirits ; and in meeting the two hands of my hostess, I burst into tears and could not, for some time, listen to the remonstrances against unavailing grief with which she rather chid than soothed me. But I could not contest the justice of what she uttered, though my grief was too fresh for its observance. Sorrow, as my dearest father was wont to say, requires time, as well as wisdom and religion, to digest itself , and till that time is both accorded and well employed, the sense of its uselessness serves but to augment, not mitigate, its severity. Lady Crewe purposed taking this opportunity of paying her own respects, with her congratulations, to Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me. She had sent me a note from Madame de Gouvello, relative to the time, for presentation, which was to take place it Grillon's hotel in Albemarle-street. We went very early, to avoid a crowd. But Albemarle-street was already quite full, though quiet. We entered the hotel without difficulty, Lady Crewe having previously demanded a private room of Grillon, who had once been cook to her lord. This private room was at the back of the house, with a mere yard or common garden for its prospect. , Lady Crewe declared this was quite too stupid, and rang the bell for waiter after waiter, till she made M. Grillon come himself. She then, in her singularly open and easy manner, told him to be so good as to order us a front room, where we might watch for the arrival of the royals, and be amused ourselves at the same time by seeing the entrances of the mayor, aldermen, and common councilmen, and other odd characters, who would be coming to pay their court to these French princes and princesses. M. Grillon gave a nod of acquiescence, and we were instantly shown to a front apartment just over the street door, which was fortunately supplied with a balcony. I should have been much entertained by all this, and Page 278 particularly with the originality, good humour, and intrepid yet intelligent odd fearlessness of all remark, or even consequence, which led Lady Crewe to both say and do exactly what she pleased, had my heart been lighter - but it was too heavy for pleasure; and the depth of my mourning, and the little, but sad time that was yet passed since it had become my gloomy garb, made me hold it a matter even of decency, as well as of feeling, to keep out of sight. I left Lady Crewe, therefore, to the full enjoyment of her odd figures, while I seated myself, solitarily, at the further end of the room. GRATTAN THE ORATOR. In an instant, however, she saw from the window some acquaintance, and beckoned them up. A gentleman, middle-aged, of a most pleasing appearance and address, immediately obeyed her summons, accompanied by a young man with a sensible look; and a young lady, pretty, gentle, and engaging, with languishing, soft eyes; though with a smile and an expression of countenance that showed an innate disposition to archness and sport. This uncommon trio I soon found to consist of the celebrated Irish orator, Mr. Grattan,(237) and his son and daughter. Lady Crewe welcomed them with all the alertness belonging to her thirst for amusement, and her delight in sharing it with those she thought capable of its participation. This she had sought, but wholly missed in me; and could neither be angry nor disappointed, though she was a little vexed. She suffered me not, however, to remain long in my seclusion, but called me to the balcony, to witness the jolting out of their carriages of the aldermen and common councilmen, exhibiting, as she said, "Their fair round bodies with fat capon lined;" and wearing an air of proudly hospitable satisfaction, in visiting a king of France who had found an asylum in a street of the city of Westminster. The crowd, however, for they deserve a better name than Page 279 mob, interested my observation still more. John Bull has seldom appeared to me to greater advantage. I never saw him en masse behave with such impulsive propriety. Enchanted to behold a king of France in his capital; conscious that le grand monarque was fully in his power; yet honestly enraptured to see that "The king would enjoy his own again," and enjoy it through the generous efforts of his rival, brave, noble old England; he yet seemed aware that it was fitting to subdue all exuberance of pleasure, which, else, might annoy, if not alarm, his regal guest. He took care, therefore, that his delight should not amount to exultation; it was quiet and placid, though pleased and curious : I had almost said it was gentlemanlike. And nearly of the same colour, though from so inferior an incitement, were the looks and attention of the Grattans, particularly of the father, to the black mourner whom Lady Crewe called amongst them. My garb, or the newspapers, or both, explained the dejection I attempted not to repress, though I carefully forbade it any vent - and the finely speaking face of Mr. Grattan seemed investigating the physiognomy, while it commiserated the situation of the person brought thus before him. His air had something foreign in it, from the vivacity that accompanied his politeness ; I should have taken him for a well-bred man of fashion of France. Good breeding, in England, amongst the men, is ordinarily stiff, reserved, or cold. Among the exceptions to this stricture, how high stood Mr. Windham! and how high in gaiety with vivacity stood my own honoured father! Mr. Locke, who was elegance personified in his manners, was lively only in his own domestic or chosen circle. A DEMONSTRATIVE IRISH LADY, A new scene now both astonished and discomposed me. A lady, accompanied humbly by a gentleman, burst into the room with a noise, a self-sufficiency, and an assuming confidence of superiority, that would have proved highly offensive, had it not been egregiously ridiculous. Her attire was as flaunting as her air and her manner; she was rouged and beribboned. But English she was not - she was Irish, in its most flaunting and untamed nature, and possessed of so boisterous a spirit, that she appeared to be just caught from the woods---the bogs, I might rather say. Page 280 When she had poured forth a volley of words, with a fluency and loudness that stunned me, Lady Crewe, with a. smile that seemed to denote she intended to give her pleasure, presented me by name to Madame la Baronne de M-- She made me a very haughty curtsey, and then, turning rudely away, looked reproachfully at Lady Crewe, and screamed out, " Oh, fie! fie, fie, fie!" Lady Crewe, astonished and shocked, seemed struck speechless, and I stood still with my eyes wide open, and my mouth probably so also, from a sort of stupor, for I could annex no meaning nor even any idea to such behaviour. She made not, however, any scruple to develop her motives, for she vehemently inveighed against being introduced to such an acquaintance, squalling out, "She has writ against the �migr�s!- -she has writ against the Great Cause! O fie! fie! fie!" When she had made these exclamations, and uttered these accusations, till the indulged vent to her rage began to cool it, she stopped of her own accord, and, finding no one spoke, looked as if she felt rather silly; while M. le Baron de M--, her very humble sposo, shrugged his shoulders. The pause was succeeded by an opening harangue from Lady Crewe, begun in a low and gentle voice, that seemed desirous to spare me what might appear an undue condescension, in taking any pains to clear me from so gross an attack. She gave, therefore, nearly in a whisper, a short character of me and of my conduct, of which I heard just enough to know that such was her theme; and then, more audibly, she proceeded to state, that far from writing against the emigrants, I had addressed an exhortation to all the ladies of Great Britain in their favour. "Oh, then," cried Madame de M--, "it was somebody else--it was somebody else!" And then she screamed out delightedly, "I'm so glad I spoke out, because of this explanation!--I'm so glad! never was so glad!" She now jumped about the room, quite crazily, protesting she never rejoiced so much at anything she had ever done in her life. But when she found her joy, like her assault, was all her own, she stopped short, astonished, I suppose, at my insensibility; and said to me, "How lucky I spoke out! the luckiest thing in the world! I'm so glad! A'n't you? Because of this �claircissement." "If I had required any �claircissement," I drily began. "O, if it was not you, then," cried she, "'twas Charlotte Smith." Page 281 Lady Crewe seemed quite ashamed that such a scene should pass where she presided, and Mr. Grattan quietly stole away. Not quietly, nor yet by stealth, but with evident disappointment that her energies were not more admired, Madame la Baronne now called upon her attendant sposo, and strode off herself. I found she was a great heiress of Irish extraction and education, and that she had bestowed all her wealth upon this emigrant baron, who might easily merit it, when, besides his title, he gave her his patience and obsequiousness. INQUIRIES AFTER THE DUCHESS D'ANGOULEME. Some other friends of Lady Crewe now found her out, and she made eager inquiries amongst them relative to Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me, but could gather no tidings. She heard, however, that there were great expectations of some arrivals down stairs, where two or three rooms were filled with company. She desired Mr. Grattan, junior, to descend into this crowd, and to find out where the duchess was to be seen, and when, and how. He obeyed. But, when he returned, what was the provocation of Lady Crewe, what my own disappointment, to hear that the duchess was not arrived, and was not expected ! She was at the house of Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, her father-in-law. "Then what are we come hither for?" exclaimed her ladyship: "expressly to be tired to death for no purpose! Do pray, at least, Mr. Grattan, be so good as to see for my carriage, that we may go to the right house." Mr. Grattan was all compliance, and with a readiness so obliging and so well bred that I am sure he is his father's true son in manners, though there was no opportunity to discover whether the resemblance extended also to genius. He was not, however, cheered when he brought word that neither carriage nor footman were to be found. Lady Crewe then said he must positively go down, and make the Duc de Duras tell us what to do. In a few minutes he was with us again, shrugging his shoulders at his ill success. The king, Louis XVIII.,(238) he said, Page 282 was expected, and M. le Duc was preparing to receive him, and not able to speak or listen to any one. Lady Crewe declared herself delighted by this information, because there would be an opportunity for having me presented to his majesty. "Go to M. de Duras," she cried, "and tell him Madame d'Arblay wishes it." "For heaven's sake!" exclaimed I, "do no such thing! I have not the most distant thought of the kind! It is Madame la Duchesse d'Angoul�me alone that I--" "O, pho, pho!--it is still more essential to be done to the king--it is really important: so go, and tell the duke, Mr. Grattan, that Madame d'Arblay is here, and desires to be presented. Tell him 'tis a thing quite indispensable." I stopped him again, and quite entreated that no such step might be taken, as I had no authority for presentation but to the duchess. However, Lady Crewe was only provoked at my backwardness, and charged Mr. Grattan not to heed me. "Tell the duke," she cried, "that Madame d'Arblay is our Madame de Stael! tell him we are as proud of our Madame d'Arblay as he can be of his Madame de Stael." Off she sent him, and off I flew again to follow him and whether he was most amused or most teased by our opposing petitions, I know not - but he took the discreet side of not venturing again to return among us. PREPARATIONS FOR THE PRESENTATIONS. Poor Lady Crewe seemed to think I lost a place at Court, or perhaps a peerage, by my untamable shyness, and was quite vexed. Others came to her now, who said several rooms below were filled with expectant courtiers. Miss Grattan then earnestly requested me to descend with her, as a chaperon, that she might see something of what was going forwards. I could not refuse so natural a request, and down we went, seeking one of the common] crowded rooms, that we might not intrude where there was preparation or expectation relative to the king. And here, sauntering or grouping, meditating in silence or congratulating each other in coteries, or waiting with curiosity, or self-preparing for presentation with timidity, we found a multitude of folks in an almost unfurnished and quite unadorned apartment. The personages seemed fairly divided between the nation at home and the nation from abroad ; Page 283 the English and the French; each equally, though variously, occupied in expecting the extraordinary sight of a monarch thus wonderfully restored to his rank and his throne, after misfortunes that had seemed irremediable, and an exile that had appeared hopeless. Miss Grattan was saluted, en passant, by several acquaintances, and amongst them by the son-in-law of her dear country's viceroy Lord Whitworth, the young Duke of Dorset; and Lady Crewe herself, too tired to abide any longer in her appropriated apartment, now descended. We patrolled about, zig-zag, as we could; the crowd, though of very good company, having no chief or regulator, and therefore making no sort of avenue or arrangement for avoiding inconvenience. There was neither going up nor coming down; we were all hustled together, without direction and without object, for nothing whatsoever was present to look at or to create any interest, and our expectations were merely kept awake by a belief that we should know in time when and where something or somebody was to be seen. For myself, however, I was much tormented during this interval from being named incessantly by Lady Crewe. My deep mourning, my recent heavy loss, and the absence and distance of my dear husband made me peculiarly wish to be unobserved. Peculiarly, I say; for never yet had the moment arrived in which to be marked had not been embarrassing and disconcerting to me, even when most flattering. A little hubbub soon after announced something new, and presently a whisper was buzzed around the room of the "Prince de Cond�." His serene highness looked very much pleased--as no wonder--at the arrival of such a day; but he was so surrounded by all his countrymen who were of rank to claim his attention, that I could merely see that he was little and old, but very unassuming and polite. Amongst his courtiers were sundry of the French noblesse that were known to Lady Crewe and I heard her uniformly say to them, one after another, Here is Madame d'Arblay, who must be presented to the king. Quite frightened by an assertion so wide from my intentions, so unauthorised by any preparatory ceremonies, unknown to my husband, and not, like a presentation to the Duchesse d'Angoul�me, encouraged by my queen, I felt as if guilty of taking liberty the most presumptuous, and with a forwardness and assurance the most foreign to my character. Yet to Page 284 control the zeal of Lady Crewe was painful from her earnestness, and appeared to be ungrateful to her kindness ; I therefore shrunk back, and presently suffered the crowd to press between us so as to find myself wholly separated from my party. This would have been ridiculous had I been more happy - but in my then state of affliction, it was necessary to my peace. ARRIVAL OF Louis XVIII. Quite to myself, how I smiled inwardly at my adroit cowardice, and was contemplating the surrounding masses of people, when a new and more mighty hubbub startled me, and presently I heard a buzzing whisper spread throughout the apartment of "The king!--le roi!" Alarmed at my strange situation, I now sought to decamp, meaning to wait for Lady Crewe up stairs : but to even approach the door was impossible. I turned back, therefore, to take a place by the window, that I might see his majesty alight from his carriage, but how great was my surprise when, just as I reached the top of the room, the king himself entered it at the bottom! I had not the smallest idea that this was the chamber of audience ; it was so utterly unornamented. But I now saw that a large fauteuil was being conveyed to the upper part, exactly where I stood, ready for his reception and repose. Placed thus singularly, by mere accident, and freed from my fears of being brought forward by Lady Crewe, I felt rejoiced in so fair an opportunity of beholding the king of my honoured husband, and planted myself immediately behind, though not near to his prepared seat ; and, as I was utterly unknown and must be utterly unsuspected, I indulged myself with a full examination. An avenue had instantly been cleared from the door to the chair, and the king moved along It slowly, slowly, slowly, rather dragging his large and weak limbs than walking; but his face was truly engaging; benignity was in every feature, and a smile beamed over them that showed thankfulness to providence in the happiness to which he was so suddenly arrived; with a courtesy, at the same time, to the spectators, who came to see and congratulate it, the most pleasing and cheering. The scene was replete with motives to grand reflections and to me, the devoted subject of another monarch, whose melancholy alienation of mind was a constant source to me of Page 285 sorrow, it was a scene for conflicting feelings and profound meditation. THE PRESENTATIONS TO THE KING. His majesty took his seat, with an air of mingled sweetness and dignity. I then, being immediately behind him, lost sight of his countenance, but saw that of every individual who approached to be presented. The Duc de Duras stood at his left hand, and was le grand maitre des c�r�monies; Madame de Gouvello stood at his right side; though whether in any capacity, or simply as a French lady known to him, I cannot tell. In a whisper, from that lady, I learned more fully the mistake of the hotel, the Duchesse d'Angoul�me never having meant to quit that of her beaup�re, Monsieur le Comte d'Artois, in South Audley-street. The presentations were short, and without much mark or likelihood. The men bowed low, and passed on; the ladies curtsied, and did the same. Those who were not known gave a card, I think, to the Duc de Duras, who named them; those of former acquaintance with his majesty simply made their obeisance. M. de Duras, who knew how much fatigue the king had to go through, hurried every one on, not only with speed but almost with ill-breeding, to my extreme astonishment. Yet the English, by express command of his majesty, had always the preference and always took place of the French ; which was an attention of the king in return for the asylum he had here found, that he seemed delighted to display, Early in this ceremony came forward Lady Crewe, who being known to the king from sundry previous meetings, was not named ; and only, after curtseying, reciprocated smiles with his majesty, and passed on. But instead of then moving off, though the duke, who did not know her, waved his hand to hasten her away, she whispered, but loud enough for me to hear, "Voici Madame d'Arblay; il faut qu'elle soit pr�sent�e."(239) She then went gaily off, without heeding me. The duke only bowed, but by a quick glance recognised me, and by another showed a pleased acquiescence in the demand. Retreat' now, was out of the question; but I so feared my position was wrong, that I was terribly disturbed, and felt hot and cold, and cold and hot, alternately, with excess of Page 286 embarrassment. I was roused, however, after hearing for so long a time nothing but French, by the sudden sound of English. An address, in that language, was read to his majesty, which was presented by the noblemen and gentlemen of the county of Buckingham, congratulatory upon his happy restoration, and filled with cordial thanks for the graciousness of his manners, and the benignity of his conduct, during his long residence amongst them; warmly proclaiming their participation in his joy, and their admiration of his virtues. The reader was colonel Nugent, a near relation of the present Duke of Buckingham. But, if the unexpected sound of these felicitations delivered in English, roused and struck me, how much greater arose my astonishment and delight when the French monarch, in an accent of the most condescending familiarity and pleasure, uttered his acknowledgments in English also-expressing his gratitude for all their attentions, his sense of their kind interest in his favour, and his eternal remembrance of the obligations he owed to the whole county of Buckinghamshire, for the asylum and consolations he had found in it during his trials and calamities! I wonder not that Colonel Nugent was so touched by this reply, as to be led to bend the knee, as to his own sovereign, when the king held out his hand - for I myself, though a mere outside auditress, was so moved, and so transported with surprise by the dear English language from his mouth, that I forgot at once all my fears, and dubitations, and, indeed, all myself, my poor little self, in my pride and exultation at such a moment for my noble country.(240) A FLATTERING ROYAL RECEPTION. Fortunately for me, the Duc de Duras made this the moment for my presentation, and, seizing my hand and drawing me suddenly from behind the chair to the royal presence, he said, " Sire, Madame d'Arblay." How singular a change, that what, but the instant before, would have overwhelmed me with diffidence and embarrassment, Page 287 now found me all courage and animation ! and when his majesty took my hand--or, rather, took hold of my fist--and said, in very pretty English, "I am very happy to see you," I felt such a glow of satisfaction, that involuntarily, I burst forth with its expression, incoherently, but delightedly and irresistibly, though I cannot remember how. He certainly was not displeased, for his smile was brightened and his manner was most flattering, as he repeated that he was very glad to see me, and added that he had known me, "though without sight, very long: for I have read you--and been charmed with your books--charmed and entertained. I have read them often, I know them very well indeed; and I have long wanted to know you!" I was extremely surprised,-and not only at these unexpected compliments, but equally that my presentation, far from seeming, as I had apprehended, strange, was met by a reception of the utmost encouragement. When he stopped, and let go my hand, I curtsied respectfully, and was moving on ; but he again caught my fist, and, fixing me, with looks of strong though smiling investigation, he appeared archly desirous to read the lines of my face, as if to deduce from them the qualities of my mind. His manner, however, was so polite and so gentle that he did not at all discountenance me : and though he resumed the praise of my little works, he uttered the panegyric with a benignity so gay as well as flattering, that I felt enlivened, nay, elevated, with a joy that overcame mauvaise honte. The Duc de Duras, who had hurried on all others, seeing he had no chance to dismiss me with the same sans c�r�monie speed, now joined his voice to exalt my satisfaction, by saying, at the next pause, "et M. d'Arblay, sire, bon et brave, est un des plus devou�s et fid�les serviteurs de votre majest�."(241) The king with a gracious little motion of his head, and with eyes of the most pleased benevolence, expressively said, "Je le Crois."(242) And a third time he stopped my retiring curtsey, to take my hand. This last stroke gave me such delight, for my absent best ami, that I could not again attempt to speak. The king pressed my hand--wrist I should say, for it was that he grasped, and then saying, "Bon jour, madame la comtesse," let me go. Page 288 My eyes were suffused with tears, from mingled emotions I glided nimbly through the crowd to a corner at the other end of the room, where Lady Crewe joined me almost instantly, and with felicitations the most amiably cordial and lively. We then repaired to a side-board on which we contrived to seat ourselves, and Lady Crewe named to me the numerous personages of rank who passed on before us for presentation. But every time any one espied her and approached,, she named me also; an honour to which I was very averse. This I intimated, but to no purpose; she went on her own way. The curious stares this produced, in my embarrassed state of spirits, from recent grief, were really painful to sustain ; but when the seriousness of my representation forced her to see that I was truly in earnest in my desire to remain unnoticed, she was so much vexed, and even provoked, that she very gravely begged that, if such were the case, I would move a little farther from her; saying, "If one must be so ill-natured to people as not to name you, I had rather not seem to know who you are myself." AN IMPORTANT LETTER DELAYED. When, at length, her ladyship's chariot was announced, we drove to Great Cumberland-place, Lady Crewe being so kind as to convey me to Mrs. Angerstein. As Lady Crewe was too much in haste to alight, the sweet Amelia Angerstein came to the carriage to speak to her, and to make known that a letter had arrived from M. de la Ch�tre relative to my presentation, which, by a mistake of address, had not come in time for my reception.(244) This note dispelled all of astonishment that had enveloped with something like incredulity my own feelings and perceptions in my unexpected presentation and reception. The king himself had personally desired to bestow upon me this mark of royal favour. What difficulty, what embarrassment, what confusion should I have escaped, had not that provoking mistake which kept back my letter occurred Page 289 M. D'ARBLAY ARRIVES IN ENGLAND. Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. locke.) April 30, 1814. My own dearest friend must be the first, as she will be among the warmest, to participate in my happiness--M. d'Arblay is arrived. He came yesterday, quite unexpectedly as to the day, but not very much quicker than my secret hopes. He is extremely fatigued with all that has passed, yet well ; and all himself, i.e., all that is calculated to fill my heart with gratitude for my lot in life. How would my beloved father have rejoiced in his sight, and in these glorious new events!(245) A BRILLIANT ASSEMBLAGE. (Madame d'Arblay to M. d'Arblay) June 18, 1814. Ah, mon ami! you are really, then, well?--really in Paris?-- really without hurt or injury? What I have suffered from a suspense that has no name from its misery shall now be buried in restored peace, and hope, and happiness. With the most fervent thanks to providence that my terrors are removed, and that I have been tortured by only false apprehensions, I will try to banish from my mind all but the joy, and gratitude to heaven, that your safety and health inspire. Yet still, it is difficult to me to feel assured that all is well ! I have so long been the victim to fear and anguish, that my spirits cannot at once get back their equilibrium. . . . Hier j'ai quitt� ma retraite, tr�s volontiers, pour(246) indulge myself with the sight of the Emperor of Russia. How was I charmed with his pleasing, gentle, and so perfectly unassuming air, manner, and demeanour! I was extremely gratified, also, by seeing the King of Prussia, who interests us all here, by a look that still indicates his tender regret for the partner of his hopes, toils, and sufferings, but not of his victories and enjoyments. It was at the queen's palace I saw them by especial and most gracious permission. The Prussian princes, six in number, and the young prince of Mecklenburg, and the Duchess of Oldenbourg, were of the party. All our royal Page 290 dukes assisted, and the Princesses Augusta and Mary. The Princess Charlotte looked quite beautiful. She is wonderfully improved. It was impossible not to be struck with her personal attractions, her youth, and splendour. The Duchess of York looked amongst the happiest; the King of Prussia is her brother. M. D'ARBLAY ENTERS Louis XVIII.'S BODY-GUARD. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. locke.) London, July, 1814. After a most painful suspense I have been at length relieved by a letter from Paris. It is dated the 18th of June, and has been a fortnight on the road. It is, he says, his fourth letter, and he had not then received one of the uneasy tribe of my own. The consul-generalship is, alas, entirely relinquished, and that by M. d'Arblay himself, who has been invited into the garde du corps by the Duc de Luxembourg, for his own company an invitation he deemed it wrong to resist at such a moment ; and he has since been named one of the officers of the garde du corps by the king, Louis XVIII., to whom he had taken the customary oath that very day--the 18th. The season, however, of danger over, and the throne and order steadily re-established, he will still, I trust and believe, retire to civil domestic life. May it be speedily! After twenty years' lying by, I cannot wish to see him re-enter a military career at sixty years of age, though still young in all his faculties and feelings, and in his capacity of being as useful to others as to himself. There is a time, however, when the poor machine, though still perfect in a calm, is unequal to a storm. Private life, then, should be sought while it yet may be enjoyed; and M. d'Arblay has resources for retirement the most delightful, both for himself and his friends. He is dreadfully worn and fatigued by the last year; and he began his active services at thirteen years of age. He is now past sixty. Every propriety, therefore, will abet my wishes, when the king no longer requires around him his tried and faithful adherents. And, indeed, I am by no means myself insensible to what is so highly gratifying to his feelings as this mark of distinction bien plus honorable, cependant,(247) as he adds, than lucrative. . . . . . Page 291 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) August 9, 1814. The friends of M. d'A. in Paris are now preparing to claim for him his rank in the army, as he held it under Louis XVI., of mar�chal de Camp; and as the Duc de Luxembourg will present, in person, the demand au roi, there is much reason to expect it will be granted. M. de Thuisy, who brought your letter from Adrienne, has given a flourishing account of M. d'A. in his new uniform, though the uniform itself, he says, is very ugly. But so sought is the company of the garde du corps du roi that the very privates, M. de T. says, are gentlemen. M. d'A. himself has only the place of sous-lieutenant; but it is of consequence sufficient, in that company, to be signed by the king, who had rejected two officers that had been named to him just before he gave his signature for M. d'A. August 24, 1814. M. d'Arblay has obtained his rank, and the kind king has dated it from the aera when the original brevet was signed by poor Louis XVI. in 1792. [Here follows, in the original edition, a long letter in French from M. d'Arblay to his wife, dated " Paris, August 3 0, 1814. " He records the enthusiasm manifested by the people of Paris on the arrival of the king and the Duchess of Angoul�me, and the flattering reception given by the king to the Duke of Wellington. "After having testified his satisfaction at the sentiments which the duke had just expressed to him on the part of the prince regent, and told him that he infinitely desired to see the peace which had been so happily concluded, established on solid foundations, his majesty added, 'For that I shall have need of the powerful co-operation of his royal highness. The choice which he has made of you, sir, gives me hope of it. He honours me. . . . I am proud to see that the first ambassador sent to me by England is the justly celebrated Duke of Wellington."' M. d'Arblay counts with certainty upon his wife's joining him in November, and ventures upon the unlucky assertion that " the least doubt of the stability of the paternal government, which has been so miraculously restored to us, is no longer admissible."-ED.] (214) Lyons rebelled against the Republic in the summer of 1793: against Jacobinism, in the first instance, and guillotined its jacobin leader, Chalier; later it declared for the king. After a long siege and a heroic defence, Lyons surrendered to the Republicans, October 9, 1793, and Fouch� was one of the commissioners sent down by the Convention to execute vengeance on the unfortunate town. A terrible vengeance was taken. "The Republic must march to liberty over corpses," said Fouch�; and thousands of the inhabitants were shot or guillotined. -ED. (215) The reputed assassin of the Duc d'Enghien. ["Assassin" is surely an unnecessarily strong term. The seizure of the Duke d'Enghien on neutral soil was illegal and indefensible: but he was certainly guilty of conspiring against the government of his country. He was arrested, by Napoleon's orders, in the electorate of Baden, in March, 1804; carried across the frontier, conveyed to Vincennes, tried by court-martial, condemned, and shot forthwith.-ED.] (216) The disastrous campaign in Russia. Napoleon left Paris on the 9th Of May, 1812.-ED. (217) "So that we divine her meaning." (218) "Who are you? "My name is d'Arblay." "Are you married?" "Yes." "Where is your husband?" "At Paris." "Who is he?" "He works in the Home Office." "Why are you leaving him?" (219) "You are English?" (220) "Follow me!" (221) "You do not think proper to follow me, then?" (222) "I have nothing to do here, sir, I believe." (223) "We shall see!" " (224) "Young Man!" (225) Her sister Charlotte, formerly Mrs. Francis.-ED. (226) The 20th of August.-ED. (227) Mrs Crewe's husband, John Crewe of Crewe Hall, cheshire, had been created a peer by the title of Baron Crewe of Crewe, in 1806.-ED. (228) An attempt to enter her apartment by a crazy woman. (229) " Hunted out of France." The work in question was Madame de Stael's book on Germany (De l'Allemagne), which had been printed at Paris, and of which the entire edition had been seized by the police before its publication, on the plea that it contained passages offensive to the government. The authoress, moreover, was ordered to quit France, and joined her father at Coppet in Switzerland-ED. (230) No doubt, for his uncle's school. Dr Charles Burney had left Hammersmith and established his school at Greenwich in 1793.-ED. (231) William Wilberforce, the celebrated philanthropist, was born at Htill in 1759. He devoted his life to the cause of the negro slaves; and to his exertions in Parliament were chiefly due the abolition of the slave trade in 1807, and the total abolition of slavery in the English colonies in 1833. He died in the latter year, thanking God that he "had seen the day in which England was willing to give twenty millions sterling for the abolition of slavery."-ED. (232) Narbonne was appointed by Napoleon, during the campaign of 1813, governor of the fortress of Torgau, on the Elbe. He defended the place with great resolution, even after the emperor had been obliged to retreat beyond the Rhine, but unhappily took the fever, and died there, November 17, 1813.-ED. (233) This proved to be a false report. General Victor de Latour Maubourg suffered the amputation of a leg at Leipzic, where he fought bravely in the service of the Emperor Napoleon. But he did not die of his wound, and we find him, in 1815, engaged in raising volunteers for the service of Louis XVIII.-ED. (234) Here is evidently a mistake as to the month: the date, no doubt, should be April 19. Dr. Burney died on the 12th of April, 1814.-ED. (235) Dr. Charles Burney.-ED. (236) Marie Th�r�se Charlotte, Duchess of Angoul�me, was the daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. She was born in 1778, and, after the execution of her father and mother she was detained in captivity in Paris until December, 1795, when she was delivered up to the Austrians in exchange for certain French prisoners of war. in 1799 she married her cousin, the Duke of Angoul�me, son of Louis XVI's brother, the Count d'Artois, (afterwards Charles X. of France). On the return of Napoleon from Elba, the Duchess of Angoul�me so distinguished herself by her exertions and the spirit which she displayed in the king's cause, that Napoleon said of her " she was the only man in her family."-ED. (237) Henry Grattan, the Irish statesman, orator, and patriot. Already one of the most distinguished members of the Irish Parliament, he vigorously opposed the legislative union of Great Britain and Ireland in 1800. He sat in the Imperial Parliament as member for Dublin from 1806 until his death in 1820, in his seventy-fourth year. As an orator, Mr. Lecky writes of him, "He was almost unrivalled in crushing invective, in delineations of character, and in brief, keen arguments; carrying on a train of sustained reason he was not so happy."-ED. (238) Louis XVIII., formerly known as the Count of Provence, was the brother of the unfortunate Louis XVI. "Louis XVII" was the title given by the royalists to the young son of Louis XVI., who died, a prisoner, in June, 1795, some two years after the execution of his father.-ED. (239) "There is Madame d'Arblay; she must be presented." (240) What a moment for her noble country, and what a subject for pride and exultation! Were we not very sure of Fanny's sincerity, it were scarcely possible to read with patience such passages as this and others similarly extravagant. Her common sense seems to take flight in the presence of royalty.-ED. (242) "And M. d'Arblay, Sire, good and brave, is one of your majesty's most devoted and faithful servants." (243) "I believe it." (244) This letter, addressed to Mrs. Angerstein, was to the effect that the Duchess of Angoul�me would be very pleased to receive Madame d'Arblay, at 72 South Audley-street, between three and half-past three ; and that the king (Louis XVIII.) also desired to see her, and would receive between four and five.-ED. (245) M. d'Arblay returned to France in the following June. -ED. (246) Yesterday I left my retreat, very willingly, to-" (247) "Far more honorable, nevertheless---" Page 292 SECTION 24. (1815) MADAME D'ARBLAY AGAIN IN FRANCE: BONAPARTE'S ESCAPE FROM ELBA. (The two following sections contain Fanny's account of her adventures during the " Hundred Days " which elapsed between the return of Napoleon from Elba and his final downfall and abdication. This narrative may be recommended to the reader as an interesting supplement to the history of that period. The great events of the time, the triumphal progress of the emperor, the battles which decided his destiny and the fate of Europe, we hear of only at a distance, by rumour or chance intelligence ; but our author brings vividly before us, and with the authenticity of personal observation, the disturbed state of the country, the suspense, the alarms, the distress occasioned by the war. To refresh our readers' memories, we give an epitome, as brief as possible, of the events to which Madame d'Arblay's narrative forms, as it were, a background. When Napoleon abdicated the imperial throne, in April, 1814, the allied powers consented by treaty to confer upon him the sovereignty of the island of Elba, with a revenue of two million francs. To Elba he was accordingly banished, but the revenue was never paid. This disgraceful infringement of the treaty of Fontainebleau, joined to the accounts which he received of the state of public feeling in France, determined him to make the attempt to regain his lost empire. March 1, 1815, he landed at Cannes, with a few hundred men. He was everywhere received with the utmost enthusiasm. The troops sent to oppose him joined his standard with shouts of "Vive l'empereur!" March 20, he entered Paris in triumph, Louis XVIII having taken his departure the preceding evening, "amidst the tears and lamentations of several courtiers."(248) The congress of the allied powers at Vienna proclaimed the emperor an outlaw, not choosing to remember that the treaty which they accused him of breaking, had been first violated by themselves. To his offers of negotiation they replied not. The Page 293 English army under the Duke of Wellington, the Prussian under Prince Bl�cher occupied Belgium; the Austrians and Russians were advancing in immense force towards the Rhine. Anxious to strike a blow before the arrival of the latter Napoleon left Paris for Belgium, June 12. His army amounted to about one hundred and twenty thousand men. On the 15th the fighting commenced, h and the advanced guard of the Prussians was driven back. On the 16th, Bl�cher was attacked at Ligny, and defeated with terrible loss; but Marshal Ney was unsuccessful in an attack upon the combined English and Belgian army at Quatre Bras. Sunday, June 18, was the day of the decisive battle of Waterloo. After the destruction of his army, Napoleon hastened to Paris, but all hope was at an end. He abdicated the throne for the second time, proceeded to Rochefort, and voluntarily surrendered himself to Captain Maitland, of the English seventy-four, Bellerophon. He was conveyed to England, but was not permitted to land, and passed the few remaining years of his life a prisoner in the island of St. Helena.-ED.] AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME. I come now to my audience with Madame, Duchesse d'Angoul�me.(249) As I had missed, through a vexatious mistake, the honour she had herself intended me, of presentation in England, my own condescending royal mistress, Queen Charlotte, recommended my claiming its performance on my return to Paris. M. d'Arblay then consulted with the Vicomte d'Agoult, his intimate early friend, how to repair in France my English deprivation. M. d'Agoult was �cuyer to her royal highness, and high in her confidence and favour. He advised me simply to faire ma cour as the wife of a superior officer in the garde du corps du roi, at a public drawing-room; but the great exertion and publicity, joined to the expense Of such a presentation, made me averse, in all ways, to this proposal; and when M. d'Arblay protested I had not anything in view but to pay my respectful devoirs to her royal highness, M. d'Agoult undertook to make known my wish. It soon proved that this alone was necessary for its success, for madame la duchesse Page 294 instantly recollected what had passed in England, and said she would name, with pleasure, the first moment in her power - expressing an impatience on her own part that an interview should not be delayed which had been desired by her majesty Queen Charlotte of England. . . . I have omitted to mention that on the Sunday preceding, the Duchess d'Angoul�me, at Court, had deigned to tell my best friend that she was reading, and with great pleasure, Madame d'Arblay's last work. He expressed his gratification, and added that he hoped it was in English, as her altesse royale so well knew that language. No, she answered, it was the translation she read; the original she had not been able to procure. On this M. d'Arblay advised me to send a copy. I had none bound, but the set which had come back to me from my dear father. This, however, M. d'A. carried to the Vicomte d'Agoult, with a note from me in which, through the medium of M. d'Agoult, I supplicated leave from her royal highness to lay at her feet this only English set I possessed. In the most gracious manner possible, as the Vicomte told M. d'Arblay, her royal highness accepted the work, and deigned also to keep the billet. She had already, unfortunately, finished the translation, but she declared her intention to read the original. Previously to my presentation, M. d'Arblay took me to the salon of the exhibition of pictures, to view a portrait of Madame d'Angoul�me, that I might make some acquaintance with her face before the audience. This portrait was deeply interesting, but deeply melancholy. ARRIVAL AT THE TUILERIES. All these precautions taken, I went, at the appointed hour and morning, about the end of February, 1815, to the palace of the Tuileries, escorted by the most indulgent of husbands we repaired instantly to the apartment of the Duchesse de Serrent, who received us with the utmost politeness; she gave us our lesson how to proceed, and then delivered us over to some page of her royal highness. We were next shown into a very large apartment. I communicated to the page a request that he would endeavour to make known to M. de Montmorency that I was arrived, and how much I wished to see him. In a minute or two came forth a tall, sturdy dame, who Page 295 immediately addressed me by my name, and spoke with an air, that demanded my returning her compliment. I could not, however, recollect her till she said she had formerly met me at the Princess d'Henin's. I then recognised the dowager Duchesse de Duras, whom, in fact, I had seen last at the Princesse de Chimay's, in the year 1812, just before my first return to England; and had received from her a commission to acquaint the royal family of France that her son, the duke, had kept aloof from all service under Bonaparte, though he had been named in the gazettes as having accepted the place of chamberlain to the then emperor. Yet such was the subjection, at that time, of all the old nobility to the despotic power of that mighty ruler, that M. de Duras had not dared to contradict the paragraph. She then said that her altesse royale was expecting me; and made a motion that I should pursue my way into the next room, M. d'Arblay no longer accompanying me. But before I disappeared she assured me that I should meet with a most gracious reception, for her altesse royale had declared she would see me with marked favour, if she saw no other English whatsoever; because Madame d'Arblay, she said, was the only English person who had been peculiarly recommended to her notice by the Queen of England. In the next, which was another very large apartment, I was received by a lady much younger and more agreeable than Madame de Duras, gaily and becomingly dressed, and wearing a smiling air with a sensible face. I afterwards heard it was Madame de Choisy, who, a few years later, married the Vicomte d'Agoult. Madame de Choisy instantly began some compliments, but finding she only disconcerted me, she soon said she must not keep me back, and curtsied me on to another room, into which she shut me. A MISAPPREHENSION. I here imagined I was to find M. de Montmorency, but I saw only a lady, who stood at the upper end of the apartment, and slightly curtsied, but without moving or speaking. Concluding this to be another dame de la cour, from my internal persuasion that ultimately I was to be presented by M. de Montmorency, I approached her composedly, with a mere common inclination of the head, and looked wistfully forward to the further door. She inquired politely after my Page 296 health, expressing good-natured concern to hear it had been deranged, and adding that she was bien aise de me voir.](250) I thanked her, with some expression of obligation to her civility, but almost without looking at her, from perturbation lest some mistake had intervened to prevent my introduction, as I still saw nothing of M. de Montmorency. She then asked me if I would not sit down, taking a seat at the same time herself. I readily complied; but was too much occupied with the ceremony I was awaiting to discourse, though she immediately began what was meant for a conversation. I hardly heard, or answered, so exclusively was my attention engaged in watching the door through which I was expecting a summons; till, at length, the following words rather surprised me (I must write them in English, for my greater ease, though they were spoken in French)--"I am quite sorry to have read your last charming work in French." My eyes now changed their direction from the door to her face, to which I hastily turned my head, as she added,--"Puis-je le garder le livre que vous m'avez envoy�?"(251) A DISCOVERY AND A RECTIFICATION. Startled, as if awakened from a dream, I fixed her and perceived the same figure that I had seen at the salon. I now felt sure I was already in the royal presence of the Duchesse d'Angoul�me, with whom I had seated myself almost cheek by jowl, without the smallest suspicion of my situation. I really seemed thunderstruck. I had approached her with so little formality, I had received all her graciousness with so little apparent sense of her condescension, I had taken my seat, nearly unasked, so completely at my ease, and I had pronounced so unceremoniously the plain "vous," without softening it off with one single "altesse royale," that I had given her reason to think me either the most forward person in my nature, or the worst bred ]In my education, existing. I was in a consternation and a confusion that robbed me of breath; and my first impulse was to abruptly arise, confess my error, and offer every respectful apology I could devise; but as my silence and strangeness produced silence, a pause ensued that gave me a moment for reflection, which represented Page 297 to me that son altesse royale might be seriously hurt, that nothing in her demeanour had announced her, rank; and such a discovery might lead to increased distance and reserve in her future conduct upon other extra audiences, that could not but be prejudicial to her popularity, which already was injured by an opinion extremely unjust, but very generally spread, of her haughtiness. It was better, therefore, to be quiet, and to let her suppose that embarrassment, and English awkwardness and mauvaise honte, had occasioned my unaccountable manners. I preserved, therefore, my taciturnity, till, tired of her own, she gently repeated, "Puis-je le garder, cette copie que vous m'avez envoy�?" civilly adding that she should be happy to read it again when she had a little forgotten it, and had a little more time. I seized this fortunate moment to express my grateful acknowledgments for her goodness, with the most unaffected sincerity, yet scrupulously accompanied with all the due forms of profound respect. What she thought of so sudden a change of dialect I have no means of knowing ; hut I could not, for a long time afterwards, think of it myself with a grave countenance. From that time, however, I failed not to address her with appropriate reverence, though, as it was too late now to assume the distant homage pertaining, of course, to her very high rank, I insensibly suffered one irregularity to lead to, nay to excuse another; for I passed over all the etiquette d'usage, of never speaking but en r�ponse; and animated myself to attempt to catch her attention, by conversing with fullness and spirit upon every subject she began, or led to ; and even by starting subjects myself, when she was silent. This gave me an opportunity of mentioning many things that had happened in Paris during my long ten years' uninterrupted residence, which were evidently very interesting to her. Had she become grave, or inattentive, I should have drawn back _; but, on the contrary, she grew more and more �veill�e, and her countenance was lighted up with the most encouraging approval. CONVERSATION ON MADAME D'ARBLAY's ESCAPE AND M. D'ARBLAY'S LOYALTY. She was curious, she said, to know how I got over to England in the year 1812, having been told that I had effected my escape by an extraordinary disguise. I assured her that Page 298 I had not escaped at all; as so to have done must have endangered the generous husband and father, who permitted mine and his son's departure. I had procured a passport for us both, which was registered in the ordinary manner, chez le ministre de police for foreign affairs; ches- one, I added, whose name I could not pronounce in her royal highness's hearing; but to whom I had not myself applied. She well knew I meant Savary, Duc de Rovigo, whose history with respect to the murdered Due d'Enghien has, since that period, been so variously related. I was then embarrassed, for I had owed my passport to the request of Madame d'A., who was distantly connected with Savary, and who had obtained it to oblige a mutual friend ; I found, however, to my great relief, that the duchess possessed the same noble delicacy that renders all private intercourse with my own exemplary princesses as safe for others as it is honourable to myself; for she suffered me to pass by the names of my assistants, when I said they were friends who exerted themselves for me in consideration of my heavy grief, in an absence of ten years from a father whom I had left at the advanced age of seventy-five; joined to my terror lest my son should remain till he attained the period of the conscription, and be necessarily drawn into the military service of Bonaparte. And, indeed, these two points could alone, with all my eagerness to revisit my native land, have induced me to make the journey by a separation from my best friend. This led me to assume courage to recount some of the prominent parts of the conduct of M. d'Arblay during our ten years' confinement, rather than residence, in France ; I thought this necessary, lest our sojourn during the usurpation should be misunderstood. I told her, in particular, of three high military appointments which he had declined. The first was to be head of l'�tat major of a regiment under a general whose name I cannot spell--in the army of Poland, a post of which the offer was procured for him by M. de Narbonne, then aide-de-camp to Bonaparte. The second was an offer, through General Gassendi, of being Commander of Palma Nuova, whither M. d'A. might carry his wife and son, as he was to have the castle for his residence, and there was no war with Italy at that time. The third offer was a very high one: it was no less than the command of Cherbourg, as successor to M. le Comte de la Tour Maubourg, who was sent elsewhere, by still higher promotion. Steady, however, Page 299 invariably steady was M. d'Arblay never to serve against his liege sovereign, General Gassendi, one of the most zealous of his friends, contrived to cover up this dangerous rejection and M. d'Arblay continued In his humbler but far more' meritorious Office Of sous Chef to one of the bureaux de l,int�rieur. I had now the pleasure to hear the princess say, "Il a aqi bien noblement."(252) "For though he would take no part," I added, la guerre, nor yet in the diplomatie, he could have no objection to making plans, arrangements, buildings, and so forth, of monuments, hospitals, and palaces; for at that period, palaces, like princes, were �lev�s tous les jours."(253) She could not forbear smiling; and her smile, which is rare, is so peculiarly becoming, that it brightens her countenance into a look of youth and beauty. "But why," I cried, recollecting myself, "should I speak French, when your royal highness knows English so well?" "O, no!" cried she, shaking her head, "very bad!" >From that time, however, I spoke in my own tongue, and saw myself perfectly understood, though those two little words were the only English ones she uttered herself, replying always in French. "Le roi," she said, "se rapelle tr s bien de vous avoir vu Londres."(254) "O, je n'en doute nullement,"(255) I replied, rather na�vely, "for there passed a scene that cannot be forgotten, and that surprised me into courage to come forward, after I had spent the whole morning in endeavouring to shrink backward. And I could not be sorry--for I felt that his majesty could not he offended at a vivacity which his own courtesy to England excited." The princess smiled, with a graciousness that assured me I had not mistaken the king's benevolence, of which she evidently partook. THE PRINCE REGENT THE DUCHEss's FAVOURITE. The conversation then turned upon the royal family of England, and it was inexpressibly gratifying to me to hear her just appreciation of the virtues, the intellectual endowments, the ' Page 300 sweetness of manner, and the striking grace of every one, according to their different character, that was mentioned. The prince regent, however, was evidently her favourite. The noble style in which he had treated her and all her family at his Carlton House f�te, in the midst of their misfortunes, and while so much doubt hung against every chance of those misfortunes being ever reversed, did so much honour to his heart and proved so solacing to their woes and humiliation, that she could never revert to that public testimony of his esteem and goodwill without the most glowing gratitude. "O!" she cried, "il a �t� parfait!"(256) The Princesse Elise,(257) with whom she was in correspondence, seemed to stand next. "C'est elle," she said, "qui fait les honneurs de la famille royale,(258) and with a charm the most enlivening and delightful." The conference was only broken up by a summons to the king's dinner. My audience, however, instead of a few minutes, for which the Duchesse de Duras had prepared me, was extended to three-quarters of an hour, by the watch of my kind husband, who waited, with some of his old friends whom he had joined in the palace, to take me home. The princess, as she left me to go down a long corridor to the dining apartment, took leave of me in a manner the most gracious, honouring me with a message to her majesty the queen of England, of her most respectful homage, and with her kind and affectionate remembrance to all the princesses, with warm assurances of her eternal attachment. She then moved on, but again stopped when going, to utter some sentences most grateful to my ears, of her high devotion to the queen and deep sense of all her virtues. I little thought that this, my first, would prove also my last, meeting with this exemplary princess, whose worth, courage, fortitude, and piety are universally acknowledged, but whose powers of pleasing seem little known. After an opening such as this, how little could I foresee that this interview was to be a final one! . . . Alas! in a day or two after it had taken place, son altesse royale set out for Bordeaux. . . . And then followed the return of Bonaparte from Elba, and then the Hundred Days. Page 301 NARRATIVE OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S FLIGHT FROM PARIS TO BRUSSELS [The following Narrative was written some time after the events described took place. It is judged better to print it in a connected form : a few of the letters written on the spot being subsequently given.] PREVAILING INERTIA ON BONAPARTE'S RETURN FROM ELBA. I have no remembrance how I first heard of the return of Bonaparte from Elba. Wonder at his temerity was the impression made by the news, but wonder unmixed with apprehension. This inactivity of foresight was universal. A torpor indescribable, a species of stupor utterly indefinable, seemed to have enveloped the capital with a mist that was impervious. Everybody went about their affairs, made or received visits, met, and parted, without speaking, or, I suppose , thinking of this event as of a matter of any importance. My own participation in this improvident blindness is to myself incomprehensible. Ten years I had lived under the dominion of Bonaparte; I had been in habits of intimacy with many friends of those who most closely surrounded him; I was generously trusted, as one with whom information, while interesting and precious, would be inviolably safe-as one, in fact, whose honour was the honour of her spotless husband, and therefore invulnerable : well, therefore, by narrations the most authentic, and by documents the most indisputable, I knew the character of Bonaparte ; and marvellous beyond the reach of my comprehension is my participation in this inertia. . . . Thus familiar to his practices, thus initiated in his resources, thus aware of his gigantic ideas of his own destiny, how could I for a moment suppose he would re-visit France without a consciousness of success, founded upon some secret conviction that it was infallible, through measures previously arranged ? I can only conclude that my understanding, such as it is, was utterly tired out by a long harass of perpetual alarm and sleepless apprehension. Unmoved, therefore, I remained in the general apparent repose which, if it were as real in those with whom I mixed as in myself, I now deem a species of infatuation. Whether or not M. d'Arblay was involved in the general failure of foresight I have mentioned, I never now can ascertain. To spare me any evil tidings, and save me from Page 302 even the shadow of any unnecessary alarm, was the first and constant solicitude of his indulgent goodness. At this period he returned to Paris to settle various matters for our Senlis residence. We both now knew the event that so soon was to monopolize all thought and all interest throughout Europe: but we knew it without any change in our way of life; on the contrary, we even resumed our delightful airings in the Bois de Boulogne, whither the general drove me every morning in a light cal�che, of which he had possessed himself upon his entrance into the king's body-guard the preceding year. Brief, however, was this illusion, and fearful was the light by which its darkness was dispersed. In a few days we hear that Bonaparte, whom we had concluded to be, of course, either stopped at landing and taken prisoner, or forced to save himself by flight, was, on the contrary, pursuing unimpeded his route to Lyons. >From this moment disguise, if any there had been, was over with the most open and frank of human beings, who never even transitorily practised it but to keep off evil, or its apprehension, from others. He communicated to me now his strong view of danger ; not alone that measures might be taken to secure my safety, but to spare me any sudden agitation. Alas! none was spared to himself! More clearly than any one he anticipated the impending tempest, and foreboded its devastating effects. He spoke aloud and strenuously, with prophetic energy, to all with whom he was then officially associated but the greater part either despaired of resisting the torrent, or disbelieved its approach. What deeply interesting scenes crowd upon my remembrance, of his noble, his daring, but successless exertions! The king's body-guard immediately de service,(259) at that time, was the compagnie of the Prince de Poix, a man of the most heartfelt loyalty, but who had never served, and who was incapable of so great a command at so critical a juncture, from utter inexperience. BONAPARTE'S ADVANCE: CONTEMPLATED MIGRATION FROM PARIS. At this opening of the famous Hundred Days it seemed to occur to no one that Bonaparte would make any attempt upon Paris. It was calmly taken for granted he would Page 303 speedily escape back to Elba, or remain in the south a prisoner - and it was only amongst deep or restless politicians that any inquietude was manifested with respect to either of these results. Madame la Princesse d'Henin, indeed, whom I was in the habit of frequently meeting, had an air and Manner that announced perturbation ; but her impetuous spirit in politics kept her mind always in a state of energy upon public affairs. But when Bonaparte actually arrived at Lyons the face of affairs changed. Expectation was then awakened--consternation began to spread; and report went rapidly to her usual work, of now exciting nameless terror, and now allaying even reasonable apprehension. To me, every moment became more anxious. I saw General d'Arblay imposing upon himself a severity of service for which he had no longer health or strength, and imposing it only the more rigidly from the fear that his then beginning weakness and infirmities should seem to plead for indulgence. it was thus that he insisted upon going through the double duty of artillery officer at the barracks, and of officier sup�rieur in the king's body-guards at the Tuileries, The smallest representation to M. le Duc de Luxembourg, who had a true value for him, would have procured a substitute: but he would not hear me upon such a proposition; he would sooner, far, have died at his post, He now almost lived either at the Tuileries or at the barracks. I only saw him when business or military arrangements brought him home; but he kindly sent me billets to appease my suspense every two or three hours. The project upon Paris became at length obvious, yet its success was little feared, though the horrors of a civil war seemed inevitable. M. d'Arblay began to wish me away; he made various propositions for ensuring my safety; he even pressed me to depart for England to rejoin Alexander and my family: but I knew them to be in security, whilst my first earthly tie was exposed to every species of danger, and I besought him not to force me away. He was greatly distressed, but could not oppose my urgency. He procured me, however, a passport from M. le Comte de Jaucourt, his long attached friend, who was minister aux affaires �trang�res(260) ad interim, while Talleyrand Perigord was with the Congress at Vienna. Page 304 I received it most unwillingly: I could not endure to absent myself from the seat of government,-for I little divined how soon that government was to change its master. Nevertheless, the prudence of this preparatory measure soon became conspicuous, for the very following day I heard of nothing but purposed emigrations from Paris-retirement, concealment, embarrassments, and difficulties. My sole personal joy was that my younger Alexander was far away, and safely lodged in the only country of safety. But, on the 17th, hope again revived. I received these words from my best friend, written on a scrap of paper torn from a parcel, and brought to me by his groom from the palace of the Tuileries, where their writer had passed the night mounting guard:-- "Nous avons de meilleures nouvelles. Je ne puis entrer dans aucun d�tail; mais sois tranquille, et aime bien qui t'aime uniquement.(261) God bless you." This news hung upon the departure of Marshal Ney to meet Bonaparte and stop his progress, with the memorable words uttered publicly to the king, that he would bring him to Paris in an iron cage. The king at this time positively announced and protested that he would never abandon his throne nor quit his capital, Paris. Various of my friends called upon me this day, all believing the storm was blowing over. Madame Chastel and her two daughters were calm, but, nevertheless, resolved to visit a small terre(262) which they possessed, till the metropolis was free from all contradictory rumours. Madame de Cadignan preserved her imperturbable gaiety and carelessness, and said she should stay, happen what might ; for what mischief could befall a poor widow ? Her sportive smiles and laughing eyes displayed her security in the power of her charms. Madame de Maisonneuve was filled with apprehensions for her brothers, who were all in highly responsible situations, and determined to remain in Paris to be in the midst of them. The Princesse d'Henin came to me daily to communicate all the intelligence she gathered from the numerous friends and connections through whom she was furnished with supplies. Her own plans were incessantly changing, but her friendship knew no Page 305 alteration; and in every various modification of her intentions she always offered to include me in their execution, should my affairs reduce me, finally, to flight. Flight, however, was intolerable to my thoughts. I weighed it not as saving me from Bonaparte - I could consider it only as separating me from all to which my heart most dearly clung. Madame d'Henin was undecided whether to go to the north or to the south-to Bordeaux or to Brussels ; I could not, therefore, even give a direction to M. d'Arblay where I could receive any intelligence, and the body-guard of the king was held in utter suspense as to its destination. This, also, was unavoidable, since the king himself could only be guided by events. The next day, the 18th of March, all hope disappeared. From north, from south, from east, from west, alarm took the field, danger flashed its lightnings, and contention growled its thunders: yet in Paris there was no rising, no disturbance, no confusion--all was taciturn suspense, dark dismay, or sullen passiveness. The dread necessity which had reduced the king, Louis XVIII., to be placed on his throne by foreigners, would have annihilated all enthusiasm of loyalty, if any had been left by the long underminings of revolutionary principles. What a day was *this of gloomy solitude! Not a soul approached me, save, for a few moments, my active Madame d'Henin, who came to tell me she was preparing to depart, unless a successful battle should secure the capital from the conqueror. I now promised that if I should ultimately be compelled to fly my home, I would thankfully be of her party; and she grasped at this engagement with an eagerness that gave proof of her sincere and animated friendship. This intimation was balm to the heart of my dearest partner, and he wished the measure to be executed and expedited; but I besought him, as he valued my existence, not to force me away till every other resource was hopeless. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S MILITARY PREPARATIONS. He passed the day almost wholly at the barracks. When he entered his dwelling, in the Rue de Miromenil, it was only upon military business, and from that he could spare me scarcely a second. He was shut up in his library with continual comers and goers; and though I durst not follow Page 306 him, I could not avoid gathering, from various circumstances, that he was now preparing to take the field, in full expectation of being sent out with his comrades of the guard, to check the rapid progress of the invader. I knew this to be his earnest wish, as the only chance of saving the king and the throne; but he well knew it was my greatest dread, though I was always silent upon the subject, well aware that while his honour was dearer to him than his life, my own sense of duty was dearer to me also than mine. While he sought, therefore, to spare me the view of his arms and warlike equipage and habiliments, I felt his wisdom as well as his kindness, and tried to appear as if I had no suspicion of his proceedings, remaining almost wholly in my own room, to avoid any accidental surprise, and to avoid paining him with the sight of my anguish. I masked it as well as I could for the little instant he had from time to time to spare me; but before dinner he left me entirely, having to pass the night cheval at the barracks, as he had done the preceding night at the Tuileries. The length of this afternoon, evening, and night was scarcely supportable : his broken health, his altered looks, his frequent sufferings, and diminished strength, all haunted me with terror, in the now advancing prospect of his taking the field. And where? And how? No one knew! Yet he was uncertain whether he could even see me once more the next day! . . . I come now to the detail of one of the most dreadful days of my existence, the 19th of March, 1815, the last which preceded the triumphant return of Bonaparte to the capital of France. Little, on its opening, did I imagine that return so near, or believe it would be brought about without even any attempted resistance. General d'Arblay, more in the way of immediate intelligence, and more able to judge of its result, was deeply affected by the most gloomy prognostics. He came home at about six in the morning, harassed, worn, almost wasted with fatigue, and yet more with a baleful view of all around him, and with a sense of wounded military honour in the inertia which seemed to paralyze all effort to save the king and his cause. He had spent two nights following armed on guard, one at the Tuileries, in his duty of garde du corps to the king; the other on duty as artillery captain at the barracks. He went to bed for a few hours ; and then, after a wretched breakfast in which he Page 307 briefly narrated the state of things he had witnessed and his apprehensions, be conjured me, in the most solemn and earnest manner, to yield to the necessity of the times, and consent to quit Paris with Madame d'Henin, should she ultimately decide to depart. I could not, when I saw his sufferings, endure to augment them by any further opposition; but never was acquiescence so painful! To lose even the knowledge whither he went, or the means of acquainting him whither I might go myself--to be deprived of the power to join him, should he be made prisoner--or to attend him, should he be wounded. . . . I could not pronounce my consent; but he accepted it so decidedly in my silence, that he treated it as arranged, and hastened its confirmation by assuring me I had relieved his mind from a weight of care and distress nearly intolerable. As the wife of an officer in the king's body-guard, in actual service, I might be seized, he thought, as a kind of hostage, and might probably fare all the worse for being also an Englishwoman. He then wrote a most touching note to the Princesse d'Henin, supplicating her generous friendship to take the charge not only of my safety, but of supporting and consoling me. After this, he hurried back to the Tuileries for orders, apparently more composed; and that alone enabled me to sustain my so nearly compulsory and so repugnant agreement. His return was speedy: he came, as he had departed, tolerably composed, for he had secured me a refuge, and he had received orders to prepare to march--to Melun, he concluded, to encounter Bonaparte, and to battle; for certain news had arrived of the invader's rapid approach. . . . at half-past two; at noon it was expected that the body-guard would be put in motion. Having told me this history, he could not spare me another moment till that which preceded his leaving home to join the Due de Luxembourg's company. He then came to me, with an air of assumed serenity, and again, in the most kindly, soothing terms, called upon me to give him an example of courage. I obeyed his injunction with my best ability-yet how dreadful was our parting! We knelt together in short but fervent prayer to heaven for each other's preservation, and then separated. At the door he turned back, and with a smile which, though forced, had inexpressible sweetness, he half gaily exclaimed, "Vive le roi!" I instantly caught his wise Page 308 wish that we should part with apparent cheerfulness, and reechoed his words-and then he darted from my sight. This had passed in an ante-room ; but I then retired to my bedchamber, where, all effort over, I remained for some minutes abandoned to an affliction nearly allied to despair, though rescued from it by fervent devotion. But an idea then started into my mind that yet again I might behold him. I ran to a window which looked upon the inward court-yard. There, indeed, behold him I did, but oh, with what anguish ! just mounting his war-horse, a noble animal, of which he was singularly fond, but which at this moment I viewed with acutest terror, for it seemed loaded with pistols, and equipped completely for immediate service on the field of battle; while Deprez, the groom, prepared to mount another, and our cabriolet was filled with baggage and implements of war. I could not be surprised, since I knew the destination of the general ; but so carefully had he spared me the progress of his preparations, which he thought would be killing me by inches, that I had not the most distant idea he was thus armed and encircled with instruments of death-bayonets, lances, pistols, guns, sabres, daggers !-what horror assailed me at the sight! I had only so much sense and self-control left as to crawl softly and silently away, that I might not inflict upon him the suffering of beholding my distress - but when he had passed the windows, I opened them to look after him. The street was empty - the gay constant gala of a Parisian Sunday was changed into fearful solitude : no sound was heard, but that of here and there some hurried footstep, on one hand hastening for a passport to secure safety by flight ; on the other, rushing abruptly from or to some concealment, to devise means of accelerating and hailing the entrance of the conqueror. Well in tune with this air of an impending crisis, was my miserable mind, which from grief little short of torture sunk, at its view, into a state of morbid quiet, that seemed the produce of feelings totally exhausted. PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT: LEAVE-TAKINGS. Thus I continued, inert, helpless, motionless, till the Princesse d'Henin came into my apartment. Her first news was, that Bonaparte had already reached Compi�gne, and that to-morrow, the 20th of March, he might arrive in Paris, if the Page 309 army of the king stopped not his progress. It was now necessary to make a prompt decision; my word was given, and I agreed to accompany her whithersoever she fixed to go. She was STILL hesitating; but it was settled I should join her in the evening, bag and baggage, and partake of her destination. . . . I was now sufficiently roused for action, and my first return to conscious understanding was a desire to call in and pay every bill that might be owing, as well as the rent of our apartments up to the present moment, that no pretence might be assumed from our absence for disposing of our goods, books, or property of any description. As we never had any avoidable debts, this was soon settled ; but the proprietor of the house was thunderstruck by the measure, saying, the king had reiterated his proclamation that he would not desert his capital. I could only reply that the general was at his majesty's orders, and that my absence Would be short. I then began collecting our small portion of plate, etc.; but while thus occupied, I received a message from Madame d'Henin, to tell me I must bring nothing but a small change of linen, and one band-box, as by the news she had just heard, she was convinced we should be back again in two or three days, and she charged me to be with her in an hour from that time. I did what she directed, and put what I most valued, that was not too large, into a hand-basket, made by some French prisoners in England, that had been given me by my beloved friend Mrs. Locke. I then swallowed, standing, my neglected dinner, and, with Madame Deprez, and my small allowance of baggage, I got into a fiacre, and drove to General Victor de la Tour Maubourg, to bid adieu to my dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, and her family. It was about nine o'clock at night, and very dark. I sent on Madame Deprez to the princess, and charged her not to return to summon me till the last moment. The distance was small. I found the -house of the Marquis Victor de la Tour Maubourg in a state of the most gloomy dismay. No portier was in the way, but the door of the porte CocH�re was ajar, and I entered on foot, no fiacre being ever admitted into les cours des h�Tels. Officers and strangers were passing to and fro, some to receive, others to resign commissions, but all with quick steps, though in dead silence. Not a servant was in the way, and hardly any light; all seemed in disorder. Page 310 groped along till I came to the drawing-room, in which were several people, waiting for orders, or for an audience ; but in no communication with each other, for here, also, a dismal taciturnity prevailed, From my own disturbance, joined to my short-sightedness, I was some time ere I distinguished Madame Victor de la Tour Maubourg, and when at last I saw her, I ventured not to address or to approach her. She was at a table, endeavouring to make some arrangement, or package, or examination, with papers and boxes before her, but deluged in tears, which flowed so fast that she appeared to have relinquished all effort to restrain them, And this was the more affecting to witness, as she is eminently equal and cheerful in her disposition. I kept aloof, and am not certain that she even perceived me. The general was in his own apartment, transacting military business of moment. But no sooner was I espied by my dearest Madame de Maisonneuve, than I was in her kind arms. She took me apart to reveal to me that the advance of the late emperor was still more rapid than its report. All were quitting Paris, or resigning themselves to passive submission. For herself, she meant to abide by whatever should be the destination of her darling brother Victor, who was now finishing a commission that no longer could be continued, of raising volunteers-for there was no longer any royal army for them to join ! Whether the king would make a stand at the Tuileries, as he had unhappily promised, or whether he would fly, was yet unknown ; but General Victor de Maubourg was now going to equip himself in full uniform, that he might wait upon his majesty in person, decidedly fixed to take his orders, be they what they might. With danger thus before him, in his mutilated state, having undergone an amputation of the leg and thigh on the field of battle, who can wonder at the desolation of Madame Victor when he resolved to sustain the risk of such an offer? Presently, what was my emotion at the sudden and abrupt entrance into the room of an officer of the king's garde du corps! in the self-same uniform as that from which I had parted with such anguish in the morning! A transitory hope glanced like lightning upon my brain, with an idea that the body-guard was all at hand; but as evanescent as bright was the flash! The concentrated and mournful look of the officer assured me nothing genial was awaiting me - and when the next minute we recognized each other, I saw it was the Count Charles de la Tour Maubourg, the youngest brother of Madame de Page 311 Maisonneuve; and he then told me he had a note for me from M. d'Arblay. Did I breathe then? i think not! I grasped the paper in my hand, but a mist was before my eyes, and I could not read a word. Madame de Maisonneuve held a hurried conference with her brother, and then informed me that the body-guard was all. called out) the whole four companies, with their servants, equipage, arms and horses, to accompany and protect the king in his flight from Paris! But whither he would go, or with what intent, whether of battle or of escape, had not been announced. The Count Charles had obtained leave of absence for one hour to see his wife (Mademoiselle de Lafayette) and his children; but M. d'Arblay, who belonged to the artillery company, could not be spared even a moment. He had therefore seized a cover of a letter of M. de Bethizy, the commandant, to write me a few words. I now read them, and found-- "Ma ch�re amie--Tout est perdu! je ne puis entrer dans aucun d�tail--de gr�ce, partez! le plut�t sera le mieux. A la vie et la mort, A. D'A."(263) Scarcely had I read these lines, when I was told that Madame d'Henin had sent me a summons. I now could but embrace my Madame de Maisonneuve in silence, and depart. . . . ARISTOCRATIC IRRITABILITY. Arrived at Madame la Princesse d'Henin's, all was in a perturbation yet greater than what I had left, though not equally afflicting. Madame d'Henin was so little herself, that every moment presented a new view of things, and urged her impatiently, nay imperiously, to differ from whatever was offered. Now she saw instantly impending danger, and was for precipitate flight; now she saw fearless security, and determined not to move a step ; the next moment all was alarm again, and she wanted wings for speed - and the next, the smallest apprehension awakened derision and contempt. I, who had never yet seen her but all that was elegant, rational, and kind, was thunderstruck by this effect of threatening Page 312 evil upon her high and susceptible spirit. From manners of dignified serenity, she so lost all self-possession as to answer nearly with fury whatever was not acquiescent concurrence in her opinion: from sentiments of the most elevated nobleness she was urged, by every report that opposed her expectations, to the utterance of wishes and of assertions that owed their impulse to passion, and their foundation to prejudice ; and from having sought, with the most flattering partiality, to attach me to her party, she gave me the severe shock of intimating that my joining her confused all er measures. To change my plan now was impossible ; my husband and my best friends knew me to be with her, and could seek me, or bestow information upon me, in no other direction; I had given up my own home, and to return thither, or to stay any where in Paris, was to constitute myself a prisoner: nevertheless, it was equally a sorrow and a violence to my feelings to remain with her another moment after so astonishing a reproach. Displeasure at it, however, subsided, when I found that it proceeded neither from weakened regard, nor a wanton abuse of power, but from a mind absolutely disorganized. M. le Comte de Lally Tolendal, the Cicero of France, and most eloquent man of his day, and one of the most honourable, as well as most highly gifted, was, I now found, to be of our fugitive party. He was her admiring and truly devoted friend, and by many believed to be privately married to her. I am myself of that opinion, and that the union, on account of prior and unhappy circumstances, was forborne to be avowed. Certainly their mutual conduct warranted this conclusion. Nevertheless, his whole demeanour towards her announced the most profound respect as well as attachment ; and hers to him the deepest consideration, with a delight in his talents amounting to an adoration that met his for her noble mind and winning qualities. She wanted, however, despotically to sway him ; and little as he might like the submission she required, he commonly yielded, to avoid, as I conceive, the dangerous conjectures to which dissension might make them liable. But at this moment, revolutionary terrors and conflicting sensations robbed each of them of that self-command which till now had regulated their public intercourse. She, off all guard, let loose alike the anxious sensibility and the arbitrary impetuosity of her nature: he, occupied with too mighty a trouble to have time or care for his wonted watchful Page 313 attentions, heard alike her admonitions or lamentations with an air of angry, but silent displeasure ; or, when urged too pointedly for maintaining his taciturnity, retorted her reproaches or remarks with a vehemence that seemed the echo of her own. Yet in the midst of this unguarded contention, which had its secret incitement, I doubt not, from some cruelly opposing difference of feelings--of ideas upon the present momentous crisis, nothing could be more clear than that their attachment to each other, though it could not subdue their violent tempers, was, nevertheless, the predominant passion of their souls. THE COUNTESS D'AUCH'S COMPOSURE. The turbulence of these two animated characters upon this trying occasion was strongly contrasted by the placid suffering and feminine endurance of Madame la Comtesse d'Auch, the daughter and sole heiress and descendant of M. de Lally. Her husband, like mine, was in the body-guard of Louis XVIII., and going, or gone, no one knew whither, nor with what intent; her estate and property were all near Bordeaux, and her little children were with her at Paris. The difficult task, in the great uncertainty of events, was now hers to decide, whether to seek the same refuge that her father and Madame Henin should resolve upon seeking, or whether to run every personal risk in trying to save her lands and fortune from confiscation, by traversing, with only her babies and servants, two or three hundred miles, to reach her chateau at Auch ere it might be seized by the conquering party. Quietly, and in total silence, she communed with herself, not mixing in the discourse, nor seeming to heed the disturbance around her; but, when at length applied to, her resolution, from her Own concentrated meditations, was fixedly taken, to preserve, if possible, by her exertions and courage, the property of her absent and beloved husband, for his hoped return and for her children. This steadiness and composure called not forth any imitation. M. de Lally breathed hard with absolute agony of internal debate; and Madame d'Henin now declared she was sure all would blow over in a false alarm, and that she would not hesitate any longer between Brussels and Bordeaux, but remain quietly in Paris, and merely sit up all night to be on the watch. Page 314 RUMOURS OF BONAPARTE'S NEAR APPROACH. M. de Lally determined to go now in person to the Tuileries, to procure such information as might decide his shattered and irresolute friend. When he was gone, a total silence ensued. Madame d'Auch was absorbed in her fearful enterprise, and Madame d'Henin, finding no one opposed her (for my thoughts were with no one present), walked up and down the room, with hasty movement, as if performing some task. Various persons came and went, messengers, friends, or people upon business. She seized upon them all, impatiently demanding their news, and their opinions, but so volubly, at the same time, uttering her own, as to give them no time to reply, though as they left her, too much hurried themselves to wait her leisure for listening, she indignantly exclaimed against their stupidity and insensibility. But what a new and terrible commotion was raised in her mind, in that of Madame d'Auch, and in mine, upon receiving a pencil billet from M. de Lally, brought by a confidential servant, to announce that Bonaparte was within a few hours' march of Paris! He begged her to hasten off, and said he would follow in his cabriolet when he had made certain arrangements, and could gain some information as to the motions of the king. She now instantly ordered horses to her berlin,(264) which had long been loaded, and calling up all her people and dependants, was giving her orders with the utmost vivacity, when intelligence was brought her that no horses could now be had, the government having put them all in requisition. I was struck with horror. To be detained in Paris, the seat of impending conquest, and the destined capital of the conqueror--detained a helpless prisoner, where all would be darkly unknown to me, where Truth could find no entrance, Falsehood no detection--where no news could reach me, except news that was fatal--oh! what dire feelings were mine at this period! Madame d'Auch, who had taken her precautions, instantly though sadly, went away, to secure her own carriage, and preserve her little babies. DEPARTURE FROM PARIS AT NIGHT TIME. Madame d'Henin was now almost distracted, but this dreadful prospect of indefinite detention, with all the horrors Page 315 of captivity, lasted not long: Le Roy, her faithful domestic from his childhood, prevailed upon some stable friend to grant the use of his horses for one stage from Paris, and the berlin and four was at the porte coch�re in another moment, The servants and dependants of Madame d'Henin accompanied her to the carriage in tears ; and all her fine qualities were now unmixed, as she took an affectionate leave of them, with a sweetness the most engaging, suffering the women to kiss her cheek, and smiling kindly on the men, who kissed her robe. Vivacity like hers creates alarm, but, in France, breeds no resentment ; and where, like hers, the character is eminently noble and generous, it is but considered as a mark of conscious rank, and augments rather than diminishes personal devotion. We now rushed into the carriage, averse, yet eager, between ten and eleven o'clock at night, 19th March, 1815. As Madame d'Henin had a passport for herself, et sa famille, we resolved to keep mine in reserve, in case of accidents or separation, and only to produce hers, while I should be included in its privileges. The decision for our route was for Brussels ; the femme de chambre of Madame d'Henin-within, and the valet, Le Roy, outside the carriage, alone accompanied us, with two postilions for the four horses. Madame d'Henin, greatly agitated, spoke from time to time, though rather in ejaculations upon our flight, its uncertainties and alarms, than with any view to conversation; but if she had any answer, it was of simple acquiescence from her good and gentle femme de chambre; as to me . . . I could not utter a word--my husband on his war-horse--his shattered state of health--his long disuse to military service, yet high-wrought sense of military honour--all these were before me. I saw, heard, and was conscious of nothing else, till we arrived at Le Bourget,(265) a long, straggling, small town. And here, Madame d'Henin meant to stop, or at least change horses. A HALT AT LE BOURGET. But all was still, and dark, and shut up. It was the dead of night, and no sort of alarm seemed to disturb the inhabitants Page 316 of the place. We knocked at the first inn: but after waiting a quarter of an hour, some stable-man came Out to say there was not a room vacant. The same reply was with the same delay given us at two other inns; but, finally, we were more successful, though even then we could obtain only a single apartment, with three beds. These we appropriated for Madame d'Henin, myself, and her maid; and the men-servants were obliged to content themselves with mattresses in the kitchen. The town, probably, was filled with fugitives from Paris. A supper was directly provided, but Madame d'Henin, who now again repented having hurried off, resolved upon sending her faithful Le Roy back to the metropolis, to discover whether it were positively true that the king had quitted it, He hired a horse, and we then endeavoured to repose . . . but oh, how far from me was all possibility of obtaining it! About three in the morning M. de Lally overtook us. His information was immediately conveyed to the Princesse d'Henin. It was gloomily affrighting. The approach of Bonaparte was wholly unresisted; all bowed before, that did not spring forward to meet him. Le Roy returned about six in the morning. The king, and his guards, and his family, had all suddenly left Paris, but whither had not transpired. He was preceded, encircled, and followed by his four companies of body-guards. Horror and distress at such a flight and such uncertainty were not mine only, though circumstances rendered mine the most poignant; but M. de Lally had a thousand fears for the excellent and loved husband of his daughter, M. le Comte d'Auch; and Madame d'Henin trembled, for herself and all her family, at the danger of the young Hombert La Tour du Pin. THE JOURNEY RESUMED. No longer easy to be so near Paris, we hastily prepared to get on for Brussels, our destined harbour. M. de Lally now accompanied us, followed by his valet in a cabriolet. Our journey commenced in almost total silence on all parts: the greatness of the change of government thus marvellously effecting, the impenetrable uncertainty of coming events, and our dreadful ignorance of the fate of those most precious to us, who were involved in the deeds and the consequences Page 317 of immediate action, filled every mind too awfully for speech and our sole apparent attention was to the passengers we overtook, or by whom we were overtaken. These were so few, that I think we could not count half a dozen on our way to Senlis, and those seemed absorbed in deadly thought and silence, neither looking at us, nor caring to encounter our looks. The road, the fields, the hamlets, all appeared deserted. Desolate and lone was the universal air. I have since concluded that the people of these parts had separated into two divisions; one of which had hastily escaped, to save their lives and loyalty, while the other had hurried to the capital to greet the conqueror - for this was Sunday,(266) the 20th of March. Oh, what were my sensations on passing through Senlis Senlis, so lately fixed for my three months' abode with my general, during his being de service. When we stopped at a nearly empty inn, during the change of horses, I inquired after Madame Le Quint, and some other ladies who had been prepared to kindly receive me--but they were all gone! hastily they had quitted the town, which, like its environs, had an air of being generally abandoned. The desire of obtaining intelligence made Madame d'Henin most unwilling to continue a straightforward journey, that must separate her more and more from the scene of action. M. de Lally wished to see his friend the young Duc d'Orl�ans,(267) who was at Peronne, with his sister and part of his family; and he was preparing to gratify this desire, when a discussion relative to the danger of some political misconstruction, the duke being at that time upon ill terms with Monsieur, Comte d'Artois,(268) made him relinquish his purpose. We wandered about, however, I hardly know where, save that we stopped from time to time at small hovels in which resided tenants of the Prince or of the Princess de Poix, who received Madame d'Henin with as much devotion of attachment as they could have done in the fullest splendour of her power to reward their kindness ; though with an entire familiarity of discourse that, had I been new to French Customs, would have seemed to me marks of total loss of respect. But after a ten years' unbroken residence in France, Page 318 I was too well initiated in the ways of the dependants Upon the great belonging to their own tenantry, to make a mistake so unjust to their characters. We touched, as I think, at Noailles, at St. just, at Mouchy, and at Poix--but I am only sure we finished the day by arriving at Roy, where still the news of that day was unknown. What made it travel so slowly I cannot tell; but from utter dearth of all the intelligence by which we meant to be guided, we remained, languidly and helplessly, at Roy till the middle of the following Monday,(269) the 21st March. About that time some military entered the town and our inn. We durst not ask a single question, in our uncertainty to which side they belonged ; but the four horses were hastily ordered, since to decamp seemed what was most necessary. But Brussels was no longer the indisputable spot, as the servants Overheard some words that implied a belief that Louis XVIII. was quitting France to return to his old asylum, England. It was determined, therefore, though not till after a tumultuous debate between the princess and M. de Lally, to go straight to Amiens, where the prefect, M. Lameth, was a former friend, if not connection, of the princess. We had now to travel by a cross-road, and a very bad one, and it was not till night that we arrived at the suburbs. It was here first we met with those difficulties that announced, by vigilance with disturbance, a kind of suspended government; for the officers of the police who demanded our passports were evidently at a loss whether to regard them as valid or not. Their interrogatories, meanwhile, were endless; and, finally, they desired us, as it was so late and dark, to find ourselves a lodging in the suburbs, and not enter the city of Amiens till the next morning. Clouded as were alike our perceptions and our information, we could not but be aware of the danger of to-morrow, when our entrance might be of a sort to make our exit prohibited. Again followed a tumultuous debate, which ended in the hazardous resolve of appealing to the prefect and casting ourselves upon his protection. This appeal ended all inquisition : we were treated with deference, and accommodated in a decent room, while the passports of Madame d'Henin and of M. de Lally were forwarded to the prefecture. We remained here some time in the utmost stillness, no one pronouncing a word. We knew not who might listen, nor Page 319 with what ears ! But far from still was all within, because far from confident how the prefect might judge necessary to arrest, or to suffer our proceeding further. The answer was, at length, an order to the police officers to let us enter the city and be conducted to an hotel named by M. Lameth. A SUPPER AT AmIENS WITH THE PREFECT. We had an immensely long drive through the city of Amiens ere we came to the indicated hotel. But here Madame d'Henin found a note that was delivered to her by the secretary of the prefecture, announcing the intention of the prefect to have the honour of waiting upon her; and when M. Lameth was announced, M. de Lally and I retired to our several chambers. Her t�te- -t�te with him was very long, and ended in a summons to M. de Lally to make it a trio. This interview was longer still, and my anxiety for the news with which it might terminate relative to the king, the body-guard, and our detention or progression, was acute. At length I also was summoned. Madame d'Henin came out to me upon the landing-place, hastily and confusedly, to say that the prefect did not judge proper to receive her at the prefecture, but that he would stay and sup with her, and that I was to pass for her premi�re femme de chambre, as it would not be prudent to give in my name, though it had been made known to M. Lameth; but the wife of an officer so immediately in the service of the king must not be specified as the host of a prefect, if that prefect meant , to yield to the tide of a new government. Tide? Nay, torrent it was at this moment ; and any resistance that had not been previously organized, and with military force, must have been vain. I made, however, no inquiry. I was simply acquiescent; and, distantly following Madame d'Henin, remained at the end of the room while the servants and the waiters adjusted matters for supper. In a situation of such embarrassment I never before was placed. I knew not which way to look, nor what to do. Discovery at such a crisis might have been fatal, as far as might hang upon detention; and detention, which would rob me of all means of hearing of M. d'Arblay, should I gather what was his route, and be able to write to him, was death to my peace. I regretted I had not demanded to stay in Page 320 another room; but, in such heart-piercing moments, to be in the way of intelligence is the involuntary first movement. When all was arranged, and Madame d'Henin was seated M. de Lally set a chair for me, slightly bowing to me to take it. I complied, and supper began. I was helped, of course the last, and not once spoken to by any body. The repast' was not very gay, yet by no means dejected. The conversation was upon general topics, and M. de Lameth was entirely master of himself, seeming wholly without emotion. I was afterwards informed that news had just reached him, but not officially, that Bonaparte had returned to Paris. Having heard, therefore, nothing from the new government he was able to act as if there were none such, and he kindly obliged Madame d'Henin by giving her new passports, which should the conquest be confirmed, would be safer than passports from the ministers of Louis XVIII. at Paris. . . . M. Lameth could not, however, answer for retaining his powers, nor for what might be their modification even from hour to hour: he advised us, therefore, by no means to risk his being either replaced or restrained, but to get on as fast as possible with his passports while certain they were efficient. He thought it safer, also, to make a circuit than to go back again to the high-road we had quitted. Our design of following the king, whom we imagined gaining the sea-coast to embark for England, was rendered abortive from the number of contradictory accounts which had reached M. Lameth as to the route he had taken. Brussels, therefore, became again our point of desire; but M. Lameth counselled us to proceed for the moment to Arras, where M. --- (I forget his name) would aid us either to proceed, or to change, according to circumstances, our destination. Not an instant, however, was to be lost, lest M. Lameth should be forced himself to detain us. Horses, therefore, he ordered for us, and a guide across the country for Arras. I learnt nothing of this till we re-entered our carriage. The servants and waiters never quitted the room, and the prefect had as much his own safety to guard from ill construction or report as ours. Madame d'Henin, though rouged the whole time with confusion, never ventured to address a word to me. It was, indeed, more easy to be silent than to speak to me either with a tone of condescension or of command, and any other must have been suspicious. M. de Page 321 Lally was equally dumb, but active in holding out every plat to me, though always looking another way. M. Lameth eyed me with curiosity, but had no resource against surmise save that adopted by Madame d'Henin. However, he had the skill and the politeness to name, in the course of the repast, M. d'Arblay, as if accidentally, yet with an expression of respect and distinction, carefully, as he spoke, turning his eyes from mine, though it was the only time that, voluntarily, he would have met them. The horses being ready, M. Lameth took leave. RECEPTION AT THE PREFECTURE AT ARRAS. It was now about eleven at night. The road was of the roughest sort, and we were jerked up and down the ruts so as with difficulty to keep our seats : it was also very dark, and the drivers could not help frequently going out of their way, though the guide, groping on upon such occasions on foot, soon set them right. It was every way a frightful night. Misery, both public and private, oppressed us all, and the fear of pursuit and captivity had the gloomy effect of causing general taciturnity ; so that no kind voice, nor social suggestion, diverted the sense of danger, or excited one of hope. At what hour we arrived at Arras on Wednesday, the 22nd March, I cannot tell; but we drove straight to the prefecture, a very considerable mansion, surrounded with spacious grounds and gardens, which to me, nevertheless, had a bleak, flat, and desolate air, though the sun was brightly shining. We stopped at the furthest of many gates on the high road, while madame sent in to M. -- (I forget his name) the note with which we had been favoured by M. Lameth. The answer was a most courteous invitation of entrance, and the moment the carriage stopped at the great door of the portico, the prefect, M. -, hastened out to give Madame d'Henin le bras. He was an old soldier and in full uniform, and he came to us from a battalion drawn out in array on one side the park. Tall, and with still a goodly port, though with a face worn and weather-beaten, he had the air of a gentleman as well as of a general officer - and the open and hospitable smile with which he received the princess, while bareheaded and baldheaded he led her into his palace, diffused a welcome around that gave an involuntary cheeriness even to poor dejected me. How indescribably gifted is the human face Y Page 322 divine," in those who are invested with power, to transmit Or to blight comfort even by a glance! As Madame d'Henin demanded a private audience, I know not what passed; but I have reason to believe we were the first who brought news to Arras that approached to the truth of the actual position of Paris. M. Lameth, for Political reasons, had as studiously avoided naming M. de Lally as myself in his note .- but M. de Lally was treated by the mistress of the house with the distinction due to a gentleman travelling with the princess ; and as to me, some of the younger branches of the family took me under their protection, and very kind they were, showing me the garden, library, and views of the surrounding country. A CHEERFUL DEJEUNER SOMEWHAT RUFFLED. Meanwhile, an elegant breakfast was prepared for a large company, a review having been ordered for that morning, and several general officers being invited by the prefect. This repast had a cheerfulness that to me, an Englishwoman, was unaccountable and is indefinable. The king had been compelled to fly his capital , no one knew where he was seeking shelter; no one knew whether he meant to resign his crown in hopeless inaction, or whether to contest it in sanguinary civil war. Every family, therefore, with its every connection in the whole empire of the French, was involved in scenes upon which hung prosperity or adversity, reputation or disgrace, honour or captivity ; yet at such a crisis the large assembled family met with cheerfulness, the many guests were attended to with politeness, and the goodly fare of that medley of refreshments called a d�jeuner in France was met with appetites as goodly as its incitements. This could not be from insensibility; the French are anything rather than insensible : it could not be from attachment to Bonaparte, the prefect loudly declaring his devotion to Louis XVIII. I can only, therefore, attribute it to the long revolutionary state of the French mind, as well as nation, which had made it so familiar to insurrection, change, and incertitude, that they met it as a man meets some unpleasant business which he must unavoidably transact, and which, since he has no choice to get rid of, he resolves to get through to the best of his ability. We were still, however, smelling sweet flowers and regaled Page 323 with fine fruits, when this serenity was somewhat ruffled by the arrival of the commander of the forces which had been reviewed, or destined for review, I know not which. He took the prefect aside, and they were some time together. He then, only bowing to the ladies of the house, hastened off. The prefect told us the news that imperfectly arrived was very bad, but he hoped a stand would be made against any obstinate revolt ; and he resolved to assemble every officer and soldier belonging to his government, and to call upon each separately to take again, and solemnly, his oath of allegiance. . While preparing for this ceremony the commander again returned, and told him he had positive information that the. defection was spreading, and that whole troops and' companies were either sturdily waiting in inaction, or boldly marching on to meet the conqueror. A LOYAL PREFECT. Our table was now broken up, and we were wishing to depart ere official intimation from the capital might arrest our further progress - but our horses were still too tired, and no others were to be procured. We became again very uneasy, and uneasiness began to steal upon all around us. The prefect was engaged in perpetual little groups of consultation, chiefly with general officers, who came and went with incessant bustle, and occasionally and anxiously were joined by persons of consequence of the vicinity. The greater the danger appeared, the more intrepidly the brave old prefect declared his loyalty ; yet he was advised by all parties to give up his scheme till he knew whether the king himself 'made a stand in his own cause. $ He yielded reluctantly; and when Madame d'Henin found his steady adhesion to his king, she came up to him and said, that, finding the firmness of his devotion to Louis XVIII., she was sure it would give him pleasure to know he had at that moment under his roof the wife of a general officer in the actual escort of his majesty. He instantly came to me with a benevolent smile, and we had a conversation of deep Interest upon the present state of things. I had the heartfelt satisfaction to find that my honoured husband was known to him, not alone by reputation, but personally; and to find that, and to hear his praise, has always been one and the same thing. Alas! those sounds on these sad ears vibrate no Page 324 more!.....At length, however, about noon, we set off, accompanied by the prefect and all his family to our carriage. EMBLEMS OF LOYALTY AT DOUAY. At Douay, we had the satisfaction to see still stronger outward marks of attachment to the king and his cause, for in every street through which we passed, the windows were decked with emblems of faithfulness to the Bourbon dynasty, white flags, or ribands, or, handkerchiefs. All, however, without commotion, all was a simple manifestation of respect, No insurrection was checked, for none had been excited - no mob was dispersed, for scarcely any one seemed to venture from his house. Our intention was to quit the French territory that night, and sleep in more security at Tournay ; but the roads became so bad, and our horses grew so tired, that it was already dark before we reached Orchies. M. de Lally went on from Douay in his cabriolet, to lighten our weight, as Madame d'Henin had a good deal of baggage. We were less at our ease, while thus perforce travelling slower, to find the roads, as we proceeded from Douay, become more peopled. Hitherto they had seemed nearly a blank. We now began, also, to be met, or to be overtaken, by small parties of troops. We naturally looked out with earnestness on each side, to discover to whom or to what they belonged : but the compliment of a similar curiosity on their part was all we gained. Sometimes they called out a "Vive--" but without finishing their wish; and we repeated--that is, we bowed to--the same hailing exclamation, without knowing or daring to inquire its purport. STATE OF UNCERTAINTY AT ORCHIES. At Orchies, where we arrived rather late in the evening, we first found decided marks of a revolutionary state of things. No orders were sent by either party. The king and his government were too imminently in personal danger to assert their rights, or retain their authority for directing the provinces; Bonaparte and his followers and supporters were too much engrossed by taking possession of the capital, and too uncertain of their success, to try a power which had as yet no basis, or risk a disobedience which they had no means to resent. The people, as far as we could see or learn Page 325 seemed passively waiting the event ; and the constituted authorities appeared to be self-suspended from their functions till the droit des plus fort(270) should ascertain who were their masters. Nevertheless, while we waited at Orchies for horses, news arrived by straggling parties which, though only whispered, created evidently some disturbance - a sort of wondering expectation soon stared from face to face, asking by the eye what no one durst pronounce by the voice; what does all this portend? and for what ought we to prepare? A MISHAP ON THE ROAD. it was past eleven o'clock, and the night was dark and damp, ere we could get again into our carriages - but the increasing bustle warned us off, and a nocturnal journey had nothing to appal us equally with the danger of remaining. We eagerly, therefore, set off, but we were still in the suburbs of Orchies, when a call for help struck our ears, and the berlin stopped. It was so dark, we could not at first discern what was the matter, but we soon found that the carriage of M. de Lally had broken down. Madame d'Henin darted out of the berlin with the activity of fifteen. Her maid accompanied her, and I eagerly followed. Neither M. de Lally nor his man had received any injury, but the cabriolet could no longer proceed without being repaired. The groom was sent to discover the nearest blacksmith, who came soon to examine the mischief, and declared that it could not be remedied before daylight. We were forced to submit the vehicle to his decree - but our distress what to do with ourselves was now very serious. We knew there was no accommodation for us at the inn we had 'just quitted, but that of passing the night by the kitchen fire, exposed to all the hazards of suspicious observation upon our evident flight. To remain upon the high road stationary in our berlin might, at such a period, encompass us with dangers yet more serious. A KINDLY OFFER OF SHELTER. We were yet unresolved, when a light from the windows of a small house attracted our attention, and a door was opened, at which a gentlewoman somewhat more than elderly stood, with a candle in her hand, that lighted up a face full of Page 326 benevolence, in which was painted strong compassion on the view of our palpable distress. Her countenance encouraged us to approach her, and the smile with which she saw us come forward soon accelerated our advance; and when We reached her threshold, she waited neither for solicitation nor representation, but let us into her small dwelling without a single question, silently, as if fearful herself we might be observed, shutting the street door before she spoke. She then lamented, as we must needs, she said, be cold and comfortless, that she had no fire, but added that she and her little maid were in bed and asleep, when the disturbance on the road had awakened her, and made her hasten up, to inquire if any one were hurt. We told as much of our Story as belonged to our immediate situation, and she then instantly, assured us we should be welcome to stay in her house till the cabriolet was repaired. Without waiting for our thanks, she then gave to each a chair, and fetched great plenty of fuel, with which she made an ample and most reviving fire, in a large stove that was placed in the middle of the room. She had bedding, she said, for two, and begged that, when we were warmed and comforted, we would decide which of us most wanted rest. We durst not, however, risk, at such a moment, either being separated or surprised; we entreated her, therefore, to let us remain together, and to retire herself to the repose her humanity had thus broken. But she would not leave us. She brought forth bread, butter, and cheese, with wine and some other beverage, and then made us each a large bowl of tea. And when we could no longer partake of her hospitable fare, she fetched us each a pillow, and a double chair, to rest our heads and our feet. ALARMED BY POLISH LANCERS. Thus cheered and refreshed, we blessed our kind hostess, and fell into something like a slumber, when we were suddenly roused by the sound of trumpets, and warlike instruments, and the trampling of many horses, coming from afar, but approaching with rapidity. We all started up alarmed, and presently the group, perceiving, I imagine, through the ill-closed shutters, some light, stopped before the house, and battered the door and the window, demanding admission. We hesitated whether to remain or endeavour to conceal ourselves Page 327 but our admirable hostess bid us be still, while, calm herself, she opened the street door, where she parleyed with the party, cheerfully and without any appearance of fear, and told them she had no room for their accommodation, because she had given up even her own bed to some relations who were travelling, she gained from them an applauding huzza and their departure. She then informed us they were Polish lancers, and that she believed they were advancing to scour the country in favour of Bonaparte. She expressed herself an open 'and ardent loyalist for the Bourbons, but said she had no safety except in submitting, like all around her, to the stronger powers. Again, by her persuasion, we sought to compose ourselves; but a second party soon startled us from our purpose, and from that time we made no similar attempt. I felt horrified at every blast of the trumpet, and the fear of being made prisoner, or pillaged, assailed me unremittingly. At about five o'clock in the morning our carriages were at the door. We blessed our benevolent hostess, took her name and address, that we might seek some means of manifesting our gratitude, and then quitted Orchies. For the rest of our journey till we reached the frontiers, we were annoyed with incessant small military groups or horsemen; but though suspiciously regarded, we were not stopped. The fact is, the new government was not yet, in those parts, sufficiently organised to have been able to keep if they had been strong enough to detain us. But we had much difficulty to have our passports honoured for passing the frontiers ; and if they had not been so recently renewed at Amiens, I think it most probable our progress would have been impeded till new orders and officers were entitled to make us halt. ARRIVAL AT TOURNAY. Great, therefore, was our satisfaction when, through all these difficulties, we entered Tournay-where, being no longer in the lately restored kingdom of France, we considered ourselves to be escaped from the dominion of Bonaparte, and where we determined therefore to remain till we could guide our further proceedings by tidings of the plan and the position of Louis XVIII. We went to the most considerable inn, and all retired to rest which, after so much fatigue, mental and bodily, we required, and happily obtained. Page 328 The next day we had the melancholy satisfaction of hearing that Louis XVIII. also had safely passed the frontiers of his lost kingdom. As we were less fearful, now, of making inquiries, M. de Lally soon learnt that his majesty had halted at Lille, where he was then waiting permission and directions for a place of retreat from the King of Holland, or the Netherlands. But no intelligence whatsoever could we gain relative to the body-guards, and my disturbance increased, every moment. There was far more commotion at Tournay than at any other town through which we passed; for as the people here were not under the French government, either old or new, they were not awed into waiting to know to which they should belong, in fearful passiveness : yet they had all the perplexity upon their minds of disquieting ignorance whether they were to be treated as friends or foes, since if Bonaparte prevailed they could not but expect to be joined again to his dominions. All the commotion, therefore, of divided interests and jarring opinions was awake, and in full operation upon the faculties and feelings of every Belgian at this critical moment. FUTILE EFFORTS TO COMMUNICATE WITH M. D'ARBLAY. The horror of my suspense relative to the safety and the fate of Monsieur d'Arblay reduced my mind to a sort of chaos, that makes it impossible to recollect what was our abode at Tournay. I can but relate my distress and my researches. My first thought was to send a letter to my general at Lille, which if he was there would inform him of my vicinity, and if not, might perhaps find its way to his destination. At all events, I resolved only to write what would be harmless should it fall even into the hands of the enemy. I directed those few lines to M. le Chevalier d'Arblay, officier sup�rieur du garde du corps de sa majest� Louis XVIII. But when I would have sent them to the post, I was informed there was no post then to Lille. I then sought for a messenger, but was told that Lille was inaccessible. The few letters that were permitted to enter it were placed in a basket, the handle of which was tied to a long cord, that was hooked up to the top of the walls, and thence descended to appointed magistrates. Vainly I made every effort in my power to avail myself Of this method, no one of my party, nor at the inn,,knew or Page 329 could indicate any means that promised success, or even a trial. Worn at length by an anxiety I found insupportable, I took a resolution to go forth myself, stranger as I was to the place, and try to get my letter conveyed to the basket, however difficult or costly might be its carriage. Quite alone, therefore, I sallied forth, purposing to find, if possible, some sturdy boy who would be glad of such remuneration as I could offer, to pass over to Lille. Again, however, vain was every attempt. I entered all decent poor houses; sauntered to the suburbs, and entered sundry cottages; but no inquiry could procure either a man or a boy that would execute my commission. French was so generally known that I commonly made myself understood, though I only received a shake of the head, or a silent walking off, in return to my propositions. But in the end, a lad told me he thought he had heard that Madame la Duchesse de St. Agnes had had some intercourse with Lille. Delighted, I desired him to show me the house she inhabited. We walked to it together, and I then said I would saunter near the spot while he entered, with my earnest petition to know whether madame could give me any tidings of the king's body-guard. He returned with an answer that madame would reply to a written note, but to nothing verbal. I bid the boy hie with me to the inn; but as I had no writing tackle, I sent him forward to procure me proper implements at the stationer's. How it happened I know not, but I missed the boy, whom I could never regain and I soon after lost my way myself. In much perplexity I was seeking information which way to steer, when a distant sound of a party of horse caught my attention. I stopped. The sound approached nearer; the boys and idle people in the street ran forward to meet it, and presently were joined or followed by the more decent inhabitants. I had not the temerity to make one among them, yet my anxiety for news of any sort was too acute to permit me to retire. I stood therefore still, waiting for what might arrive, till I perceived some outriders galloping forward in the royal livery of France. Immediately after, a chariot and four with the arms of France followed, encircled by horsemen, and nearly enveloped by a continually increasing crowd, whence, from time to time, issued a feeble cry of "Vive le roi!" while two or three other carriages brought up the rear. With difficulty now could I forbear plunging into the midst of them, for my big expectations painted to me Louis XVIII. arrived Page 330 at Tournay, and my bigger hopes pictured with him his loyal guard. They had soon however passed by, but their straggling followers showed me their route, which I pursued till I lost both sight and sound belonging to them. I then loitered for my errand boy, till I found myself, by some indications that helped my remembrance, near the spot whence I had started. . Glad, for safety's sake, to be so near my then home, though mourning my fruitless wandering, I hastened my footsteps; but what was my emotion on arriving within a few yards of the inn, to observe the royal carriage which had galloped past me, the horsemen, the royal livery and all the appearance that had awakened my dearest hopes' The crowd was dispersed, but the porter's lodge, or perhaps bookkeeper's, was filled with gentlemen, or officers in full uniform. I hurried on, and hastily inquired who it was that had just arrived. My answer was, the Prince de Cond�. A thousand projects now occurred to me for gaining intelligence from such high authority, but in the large courtyard I espied Madame d'Henin sauntering up and down, while holding by the arm of a gentleman I had never before seen. Anxious to avoid delay, and almost equally desirous to escape remonstrances on my enterprise, since I could listen only to my restless anxiety, I would have glided by unnoticed; but she called after me aloud, and I was compelled to approach her. She was all astonishment at my courage in thus issuing forth alone, I knew not where nor whither, and declared that I was m�connoissable; but I only answered by entreating her to inquire the names of some of the gentlemen just arrived, that I might judge whether any among them could give me the information for which I sighed. No sooner did I hear that M. le Comte de Viomenil was of the number, than, recollecting his recent appointment at Paris, in conjunction with Victor de Maubourg, to raise volunteers for the king, I decided upon seeking him. Madame d'Henin would have given me some counsel, but I could not hear her; as I hurried off, however, the gentleman whose arm she held offered me his assistance in a tone and with a look of so much benevolence, that I frankly accepted it, and we sallied in search of a person known to me only by name. My stranger friend now saved me every exertion, by making every inquiry and led me from corridor to corridor, above, below, and to almost every apartment, asking incessantly if M. le Comte de Viomenil was not in the inn. Page 331 At length we learned that M. de Viomenil was dining quite alone in an upper chamber. My kind-hearted conductor led me to the door of the room assigned, and then tapped at it; and on an answer of "entrez!" he let go my arm, and with a bow silently left me. I found M. de Viomenil at table : he said he could give no possible account of his majesty, save that he was at Gand, but that of the body-guard he knew positively nothing. INTERVIEWS WITH M. DE CHATEAUBRIAND. I afterwards learnt that my benevolent strange chevalier was no other than the celebrated M. de Ch�teaubriand.(271) I saw nothing more of him, save for a moment, when, in passing by a small staircase that led to my chamber, a door was suddenly opened, whence Madame d'Henin put out her head to invite me to enter, when she presented me to him and to Madame de Ch�teaubriand, a very elegant woman, but of a cold, reserved demeanour. I expressed eagerly the pleasure I had experienced in seeing the author of " The Itinerary to Jerusalem," a work I had read in Paris with extraordinary interest and satisfaction ; but I believe the "G�nie du Christianisme," and perhaps the "Atala," were works so much more prized by that author as to make my compliment misplaced. However, I so much more enjoy the natural, pleasing, instructive, and simple, though ingenious style and matter of the " Itinerary " than I do the overpowering sort of heroic eloquence of those more popular performances, that the zest of dear hallowed truth would have been wanting had I not expressed my choice. The "Itinerary" is, indeed, one of the most agreeable books I know. M. de Ch�teaubriand hung back, whether pleased or not, Page 332 with an air of gentlemanly serenity. I had opportunity for further effort : we left Tournay to proceed to Brussels, and heavy was my heart and my will to quit, thus in ignorance, the vicinity of Lille. At the town at which we stopped to dine which, I think, was Atot, we again met M. et Madame de Ch�teaubriand. This was a mutual satisfaction, and we agreed to have our meal in common. I now had more leisure, not of time alone, but of faculty, for doing justice to M. de Chateaubriand, whom I found amiable, unassuming, and, though somewhat spoilt by the egregious flattery to which he had been accustomed, wholly free from airs or impertinent selfconceit. Excessive praise seemed only to cause him excessive pleasure in himself, without leading to contempt or scorn of others. He is by no means tall, and is rather thickset - but his features are good, his countenance is very fine, and his eyes are beautiful, alike from colour, shape, and expression ; while there is a striking benevolence in his look, tone of voice, and manner. Madame de Ch�teaubriand also gained ground by farther acquaintance. She was faded, but not pass�e, and was still handsome, and of a most graceful carriage, though distant and uninviting. Her loftiness had in it something so pensive mixed with its haughtiness, that though it could not inspire confidence, it did not create displeasure. She possessed also a claim to sympathy and respect in being the niece of M. de Malesherbes, that wise, tender, generous, noble defender of Louis XVI. The conversation during and after dinner was highly interesting. M. de Ch�teaubriand opened upon his situation with a trusting unreserve that impressed me with an opinion of the nobleness of his mind. Bonaparte had conceived against him, he said, a peculiar antipathy, for which various motives might be assigned: he enumerated them not, however, probably from the presence of his wife ; as his marriage with a niece of that martyr to the service of the murdered king, Louis XVI., I conclude to be at their head. The astonishing and almost boundless success of his works, since he was dissatisfied with his principles, and more than suspicious of his disaffection to the imperial government, must have augmented aversion by mixing with it some species of apprehension. I know not what were the first publications of M. de Ch�teaubriand, but they were in such high estimation Page 333 when first I heard him mentioned, that no author was more celebrated in France; when his "Martyres" came out, no other book was mentioned; and the famous critic Geoffroyq who guided the taste of Paris, kept it alive by criticisms of alternate praise and censure without end. "Atala," the pastoral heroic romance, bewitched all the reading ladies into a sort of idolatry of its writer, and scarcely a page of it remained unadorned by some representation in painting. The enthusiasm, indeed, of the draughtsmen and of the fair sex seemed equally emulous to place the author and the work at the head of celebrity and the fashion. Of all this, of course, he spoke not - but he related the story of his persecution by Napoleon concerning his being elected a member of the French Institute. I was in too much disturbance to be able to clearly listen to the narrative, but I perfectly recollect that the censor, to soften Napoleon, had sent back the manuscript to M. de Ch�teaubriand, with an intimation that no public discourse could be delivered that did not contain an �loge of the Emperor. M. de Ch�teaubriand complied with the ordinance; but whether the forced praise was too feeble, or whether the aversion was too insuperable, I know not : all that is certain is, that Napoleon, after repeated efforts from the Institute of reelection, positively refused to ratify that of M. de Ch�teaubriand.(272) Another time a cousin of this gentleman was reputed to be engaged In a conspiracy against the emperor. M. de Ch�teaubriand solemnly declared he disbelieved the charge; and, as his weight in public opinion was so great, he ventured to address a supplique to Napoleon in favour of his kinsman; but the answer which reached him the following day was an account of his execution ! (248) Horne's"History of Napoleon." (249) This portion of the Diary is not dated, but the meeting with the Duchess of Angoul�me must have taken place in January or February, 1815. Madame d'Arblay had joined her husband in France, her son remaining at Cambridge.-ED. (250) "Very glad to see me." (251) "May I keep the book you sent me?" (252) "He has acted very nobly." (253) Raised every day." (254) "The king recollects very well having seen you in London." (255) "O, I don't doubt it at all." (256) "He was perfect!" (257) Princess Elizabeth. (258) "'Tis she who does the honours of the royal family." (259) On duty. (260) Minister for foreign affairs. (261) "We have better news. I can enter into no detail; but be calm, and love him who loves you alone. (262) Country estate. (263) "My dearest--All is lost! I cannot enter into details--pray, set out the sooner the better. Yours in life and death, A. d'A." (264) A large travelling-coach.-ED. (265) Le Bourget was the scene of some desperate fighting during the siege of Paris in 1870. It was surprised and captured from the Prussians before daybreak of October 28, by a French force commanded by General de Bellemare, but, after a gallant defence of two days, it was retaken by the Prussians. December 21, an attempt was made by the French to recapture Le Bourget, but without success.-ED. (266) Monday, the 20th, it should be-ED. (267) The son of Philippe Egalit�, afterwards King Louis Philippe.-ED. (268) Brother of Louis XVIII., whom he succeeded under the title of Charles X.-ED. (269) Should be Tuesday-ED. (270) "Right of the strongest." (271) Fran�ois Ren� de Ch�teaubriand was born at Saint Malo in 1768 He visited the United States in 1789, and found, in the pathless forests of the new world, the scenery which he describes, with poetic fervour, in the pages of "Atala." The news of the king's flight to Varennes brought him back to Europe. He married (1792) 'Mlle. de la Vigne-Buisson, joined the emigrant army which marched with Brunswick to conquer France, got wounded at Thionville, and retired to England. After the appointment of Bonaparte to the office of first Consul, Ch�teaubriand returned to France, and published his heroic- sentimental romance of "Atala." Its success with the public was great, and it was followed by "The Genius of Christianity," and other works. Under the restored Bourbons, Ch�teaubriand filled high diplomatic posts. This most sentimental of men of genius died in July, 1848.-ED. (272) This occurred in the year 1811.-ED. Page 334 SECTION 25 (1815) AT BRUSSELS: WATERLOO: REJOINS M. D'ARBLAY. SOJOURN AT BRUSSELS. Arrived at Brussels, we drove immediately to the house in which dwelt Madame la Comtesse de Maurville. That excellent person had lived many years in England an emigrant, and there earned a scanty maintenance by keeping a French school. She had now retired upon a very moderate pension, but was surrounded by intimate friends, who only suffered her to lodge at her own home. She received us in great dismay, fearing to lose her little all by these changes of government. I was quite ill on my arrival: excessive fatigue, affright, and watchfulness overwhelmed me. At Brussels all was quiet and tame. The Belgians had lost their original antipathy to Bonaparte, without having yet had time to acquire any warmth of interest for the Bourbons. Natively phlegmatic, they demand great causes or strong incitement to rouse them from that sort of passiveness that is the offspring of philosophy and timidity- philosophy, that teaches them to prize 'the blessings of safety ; and timidity, that points out the dangers of enterprise. In all I had to do with them I found them universally worthy, rational, and kind-hearted ; but Slow, sleepy, and uninteresting, in the sickroom to which I was immediately consigned, I met with every sort of kindness from Madame de Maurville, whom I had known intimately at Paris, and who had known and Page 335 appreciated my beloved, exemplary sister Phillips in London. Madame de Maurville was a woman that the Scotch would call long-headed; she was sagacious, penetrating, and gifted with strong humour. She saw readily the vices and follies of mankind, and laughed at them heartily, without troubling herself to grieve at them. She was good herself, alike in heart and in conduct, and zealous to serve and oblige ; but with a turn to satire that made the defects of her neighbours rather afford her amusement than concern. ' I was visited here by the highly accomplished Madame de la: Tour du Pin, wife to the favourite nephew of Madame d'Henin; a woman of as much courage as elegance, and who had met danger, toil, and difficulty in the Revolution with as much spirit, and nearly as much grace, as she had displayed in meeting universal admiration and homage at the court of Marie-Antoinette, of which she was one of the most brilliant latter ornaments. Her husband was at this time one of the French ministers at the Congress at Vienna; whence, as she learned a few days after my arrival at Brussels, he had been sent on an embassy of the deepest importance and risk, to La Vend�e or Bordeaux. She bore the term of that suspense with an heroism that I greatly admired, for I well knew she adored her husband. M. la Tour du Pin had been a prefect of Brussels under Bonaparte, though never in favour, his internal loyalty to the Bourbons being well known. But Bonaparte loved to attach great names and great characters to his government, conscious of their weight both at home and abroad, and he trusted in the address of that mental diving-machine, his secret police, for warding off any hazard he might run, from employing the adherents of his enemies. His greatly capacious, yet only half-formed mind, could have parried, as well as braved, every danger and all opposition, had not his inordinate ambition held him as arbitrarily under control as he himself held under control every other passion. Madame de Maurville soon found us a house, of which we took all but the ground floor: the entresol was mine, the first floor was Madame d'Henin's, and that above it was for M. de Lally. It was near the cathedral, and still in a prolongation of Madame de Maurville's street, la Rue de la Montagne. Nothing was known at Brussels, nothing at all, of the fate Of the body-guard, or of the final destination of Louis XVIII. How circumstances of such moment, nay, notoriety, could be kept from public knowledge, I can form no idea; but neither Page 336 in the private houses of persons of the first rank, in which, through Madame d'Henin, I visited, nor in any of the shops nor by any other sort of intercourse, either usual or accidental, could I gather any intelligence. Madame la Duchesse de Duras, ci-devant Mademoiselle Kersaint, who had visited me in Paris, and who was now in hasty emigration at Brussels, with her youngest daughter, Mademoiselle Clara de Duras, seemed sincerely moved by my distress, and wrote to various of her friends, who were emigrating within her reach, to make inquiry for me. I visited her in a shabby hotel, where I found her without suite or equipage, but in perfect tranquillity at their loss, and not alone unmurmuring, but nearly indifferent to her privations; while Mademoiselle Clara ran up and down stairs on her mother's messages, and even brought in wood for the stove, with an alacrity and cheerfulness that seemed almost to enjoy the change to hardships from grandeur. Indeed, to very young people, such reverses, for a certain time, appear as a frolic. Novelty, mere novelty, during the first youth, can scarcely be bought too dear. >From M. de la Feronaye, Madame de Duras procured me intelligence that the body-guard had been dispersed and disbanded by the Duc de Berry, on the frontiers of La Belgique they were left at liberty to remain in France, or to seek other asylums, as his majesty Louis XVIII. could not enter the kingdom of Holland with a military guard of his own. This news left me utterly in the dark which way to look for hope or information. Madame de Duras, however, said she expected soon to see the Duc de Richelieu, whose tidings might be more precise. LETTERS FROM GENERAL D'ARBLAY. Ten wretched days passed on in this ignorance, from the 19th to the 29th of March, 1815, when Madame de Maurville flew into my apartment, with all the celerity of fifteen, and all the ardour of twenty years of age, to put into my hands a letter from General d'Arblay, addressed to herself, to inquire whether she had any tidings to give him of my existence, and whether I had been heard of at Brussels, or was known to have travelled to Bordeaux, as Madame d'Henin, cousin to Madame de Maurville, had been uncertain, when M. d'Arblay left me in Paris, to which of those cities she should go. Page 337 The joy of that moment, Oh! the joy of that Moment that showed me again the handwriting that demonstrated the life and safety of all to which my earthly happiness clung, can never be expressed, and only by our meeting, when at last it took place, could be equalled. It was dated "Ypres, 27 Mars." I wrote directly thither, proposing to join him, if ", there were any impediment to his coming on to Brussels. I had already written, at hazard, to almost every town in the Netherlands. The very next day, another letter from the same kind hand arrived to Madame la Duchesse d'Hurste. This was succeeded by news that the king, Louis XVIII., had been followed to Gand by his body-guard. Thither, also, I expedited a letter, under cover to the Duc de Luxembourg, capitaine of the company to which M. d'Arblay belonged. I lived now in a hurry of delight that scarcely allowed me breathing-time, a delight that made me forget all my losses, my misfortunes-my papers, keepsakes, valuables of various sorts, with our goods, clothes, money-bonds, and endless et ceteras, left, as I had reason to fear, to seizure and confiscation upon the entry of the emperor into Paris-all, all was light, was nothing in the scale ; and I wrote to my Alexander, and my dearest friends, to rejoice in my joy, and that they had escaped my alarm. Next day, and again the next, came a letter from M. d'Arblay himself. The first was from Ypres, the second was from Bruges, and brought by the post, as my beloved correspondent had been assured of my arrival at Brussels by the Duc de Luxembourg, at Ghistelle, near Ostend, which M. d'Arblay was slowly approaching on horseback, when he met the carriage of Louis XVIII., as it stopped for a relay of horses, and the duke, espying him, descended from the second carriage of the king's suite, to fly to and embrace him, with that lively friendship he has ever manifested towards him. Thence they agreed that the plan of embarkation should be renounced, and, instead of Ostend M. d'Arblay turned his horse's head towards Gand, where he had a rendezvous with the duke. There he remained, to renew the offer of his services to his king, and there he was most peculiarly distinguished by M. le Duc de Feltre (General Clarke), who was still occupying the Post assigned him on the restoration of Louis XVIII. of ministre de la guerre.(273) Page 338 Relieved now--or rather blest--I was no longer deaf to the kindness of those who sought to enliven my exile ; I not only visited Madame la Duchesse de Duras, but also cultivated an intercourse with the charming Madame de la Tour du Pin whom I was the more glad to find delightful from her being of English origin; a Mademoiselle Dillon, Whose family was transplanted into France under James II., and who was descended from a nobleman whose eminent accomplishments she inherited with his blood; the famous Lord Falkland, on whose tomb in Westminster Abbey is carved "Here lies the friend of Sir Philip Sidney." Her sister, Miss Fanny Dillon, had been married by Bonaparte to General Bertrand; and thus, while one of them' was an emigrant following the fortunes of the Bourbons, the other was soon after destined to accompany Bonaparte himself into exile. Le Colonel de Beaufort, also, a warm, early friend of General d'Arblay, belonging to the garrison of Metz or of Toul, I forget which, had married a lady of great wealth in La Belgique; a woman rather unhappy in her person, but possessed of a generous and feeling heart : and this she instantly demonstrated by seeking and cultivating an acquaintance with the wandering wife of her husband's early camarade. I found her so amiable, and so soothing in her commiseration during my distress, that I warmly returned the partiality she showed me. ARRIVAL OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. Four days passed thus serenely, when, on that which completed a fortnight's absence from my best friend, the Duc de Duras came to convoy his wife to Gand, where he was himself in waiting upon Louis XVIII., and shortly afterwards M. de Ch�teaubriand was made a privy counsellor and settled there also. And within a day or two after this my door was opened by General d'Arblay! Oh, how sweet was this meeting ! this blessed reunion!-- how perfect, how exquisite! Here I must be silent. General d'Arblay was only with me by the permission of the Duc de Luxembourg, and liable to receive orders daily to return to Gand ; for I found to my speechless dismay, yet resistless approbation, that General d'Arblay had made a Page 339 decision as noble as it was dangerous, to refuse no call, to abstain from no effort, that might bring into movement his loyalty to his king and his cause, at this moment of calamity to both. Yet such was the harassed, or rather broken state of his health, that his mental strength and unconquerable courage alone preserved the poor shattered frame from sinking into languor and inertion. About this time I saw the entry of the new king, William Frederick, of the new kingdom of the Netherlands.(274) Tapestry, or branches of trees, were hung out at all the windows, or, in their failure, dirty carpets, old coats and cloaks, and even mats-a motley display of proud parade or vulgar poverty, that always, to me, made processions on the continent appear burlesque. A MISSION ENTRUSTED To GENERAL D'ARBLAY. On the 22nd of April opened a new source, though not an unexpected one, of inquietude, that preyed the more deeply upon my spirits from the necessity of concealing its torments. . . . The military call for M. d'Arblay arrived from Gand. The summons was from M. le Comte de Roch. The immediate hope in which we indulged at this call was, that the mission to which it alluded need not necessarily separate us, but that I might accompany my honoured husband and remain at his quarters. But, alas! he set out instantly for Gand . . . . . April 23rd brought me a letter: the mission was to Luxembourg. His adjoint was the Colonel Comte de Mazancourt, his aide-de-camp M. de Premorel, and also that gentleman's son. The plan was to collect and examine all the soldiers who were willing to return from the army of Bonaparte to that of Louis XVIII. Eleven other general officers were named to similar posts, all on frontier towns, for the better convenience of receiving the volunteers. On the 24th April M. d'Arblay again joined me revived by his natively martial spirit, and pleased to be employed! April 26, we left the Rue de La Montague, after, on my part, exactly a month's residence. Our new apartments in Page 340 the March� aux Bois were au premier,(275) and commodious and pleasant. One drawing-room was appropriated solely by M. d'Arblay for his military friends or military business ; the other was mine. Here we spent together seventeen days; and not to harass my recollections, I will simply copy what I find in MY old memorandum-book, as it was written soon after those days were no more:--"Seventeen days I have passed with my best friend; and, alas ! passed them chiefly in suspense and gnawing inquietude, covered over with assumed composure . but they have terminated, Heaven be praised! with better views, with softer calm, and fairer hopes. Heaven realize them! I am much pleased with his companions. M. le Comte de Mazancourt, his adjoint, is a gay, spirited and spirituel young man, remarkably well bred, and gallantly fond of his profession. M. de Premorel, the aide-de-camp, is a man of solid worth and of delicate honour, and he is a descendant of Godefroy de Bouillon. To this must be added, that he is as poor as he is noble, and bears his penury with the gentlemanly sentiment of feeling it distinct from disgrace. He is married, and has ten or eleven children: he resides with a most deserving wife, a woman also of family, on a small farm, which he works at himself, and which repays him by its produce. For many days in the year, potatoes, he told me, were the only food they could afford for themselves or their offspring! But they eat them with the proud pleasure of independence and of honour and loyalty, such as befits their high origins, always to serve, or be served, in the line of their legal princes. As soon as Louis XVIII. was established on his throne, M. de Premorel made himself known to the Duc de Luxembourg, who placed him in his own company in the garde du corps, and put his son upon the supernumerary list. . . .." This young man is really charming. He has a native noblesse of air and manner, with a suavity as well as steadiness of serene politeness, that announce the Godefroy blood flowing With conscious dignity and inborn courage through his youthful veins. He is very young, but tall and handsome, and speaks of all his brothers and sisters as if already he were chef de famille, and bound to sustain and protect them.. I delighted to lead him to talk of them, and the conversation on that subject always brightened him into joy and loquacity. He named every one of them to me in particular repeatedly, Page 341 with a desire I should know them individually, and a warm hope I might one day verify his representations. This youth, Alphonse, and his father dined with us daily at this period. All the mornings were devoted to preparations for the ensuing expected campaign. When, however, all was prepared, and the word of command alone was waited for from the Mar�chal Duc de Feltre, my dearest friend indulged in one morning's recreation, which proved as 'agreeable as anything at such a period could be to a mind oppressed like mine. He determined that we should visit the Palais de Lachen, which had been the dwelling assigned as the palace for the Empress Josephine by Bonaparte at the time of his divorce. My dearest husband drove me in his cabriolet, and the three gentlemen whom he invited to be of the party accompanied us on horseback. The drive, the day, the road, the views, our new horses-all were delightful, and procured me a short relaxation from the foresight of evil. The Palace of Lachen was at this moment wholly uninhabited, and shown to us by some common servant. It is situated in a delicious park d'Anglaise, and with a taste, a polish, and an elegance that clears it from the charge of frippery or gaudiness, though its ornaments and embellishments are all of the liveliest gaiety. There is in some of the apartments some Gobelin tapestry, of which there are here and there parts and details so exquisitely worked that I could have " hung over them enamoured." "RULE BRITANNIA!" IN THE ALLEE VERTE. Previously to this reviving excursion my dearest friend had driven me occasionally in the famous All�e Verte, which the inhabitants of Brussels consider as the first promenade in the world; but it by no means answered to such praise in my eyes: it is certainly very pretty, but too regular, too monotonous, and too flat to be eminently beautiful, though from some parts the most distant from the city there are views of cottages and hamlets that afford great pleasure. Our last entertainment here was a concert in the public and fine room appropriated for music or dancing. The celebrated Madame Catalani had a benefit, at which the Queen of the Netherlands was present, not, however, in state, though not incognita; and the king of warriors, Marshal Lord Wellington, surrounded by his staff and all the officers Page 342 and first persons here, whether Belgians, Prussians, Hanoverians, or English. I looked at Lord Wellington watchfully, and was charmed with every turn of his countenance, with his noble and singular physiognomy and his eagle eye. He was gay even to sportiveness all the evening, conversing with the officers around him. He never was seated, not even a moment, though I saw seats vacated to offer to him frequently. He seemed enthusiastically charmed with Catalani, ardently applauding whatsoever she sung, except the "Rule Britannia;: and there, with sagacious reserve, he listened in utter Silence. Who ordered it I know not, but he felt it was injudicious in every country but -our own to give out a chorus of "Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!" And when an encore began to be vociferated from his officers, he instantly crushed it by a commanding air of disapprobation, and thus offered me an opportunity of seeing how magnificently he could quit his convivial familiarity for imperious' dominion when occasion might call for the transformation. GENERAL D'ARBLAY LEAVES FOR LUXEMBOURG. When the full order arrived from Gand, establishing the mission of M. d'Arblay at Luxembourg, he decided upon demanding an audience of the Duke of Wellington, with whom he thought it necessary to concert his measures. The duke received him without difficulty, and they had a conference of some length, the result of which was that his grace promised to prepare Blucher, the great Prussian general, then actually at Luxembourg, for aiding the scheme. M. d'Arblay himself also wrote to Bl�cher; but before any answer could be returned, a new ordonnance from the Duc de Feltre directed M. d'Arblay to hasten to his post without delay. May 13, 1815.-My best friend left me to begin his campaign; left me, by melancholy chance, upon his birthday. I could not that day see a human being - I could but consecrate it to thoughts of him who had just quitted me yet who from me never was, never can be, mentally absent , and to our poor Alexander, thus inevitably, yet severely cast upon himself. AN EXCHANGE OF VISITS. The next day the gentle and feeling Madame de Beaufort spent the morning with me, using the most engaging efforts to Page 343 prevail with me to dine constantly at her table, and to accompany her in a short time to her villa. Without any charms, personal or even intellectual, to catch or fascinate, she seemed to have so much goodness of character, that I could not but try to attach myself to her, and accept her kindness as the "cordial drop" to make the cup of woe of my sad solitude go down; for Madame d'Henin, who, to equal sensibility, joined the finest understanding, was now so absorbed in politics that she had no time for any expansion of sympathy. She came, nevertheless, to see me in the evening, and to endeavour to draw me again into human life ! And her kind effort so far conquered me, that I called upon her the next day, and met Madame de Vaudreuil, for whom I had a still unexecuted commission from the Duchess dowager of Buccleuch, upon whom I had waited at the request of the princesse de Chimay, to entreat the interest of her grace with the prince regent, that the English pension accorded to the Duchess of Fitzjames might be continued to the duke, her husband, who remained a ruined widower with several children. I failed in my attempt, the natural answer being, that there was no possibility of granting a pension to a foreigner who resided in his own country while that country was at open war with the land whence he aspired at its obtention, a word I make for my passing convenience. I exchanged visits also with Madame de la Tour du Pin, the truly elegant, accomplished, and high-bred niece, by marriage, of Madame la Princesse d'Henin. Her husband, M. de la Tour du Pin, was at that time at Vienna, forming a part of the renowned Congress, by which he was sent to La Vend�e; to announce there the resolution of the assembled sovereigns to declare Bonaparte an outlaw, in consequence of his having broken the conditions of his accepted abdication, And I was discovered and visited by M. le Comte de Boursac, one of the first officers of the establishment of the Prince de Cond�, with whom he was then at Brussels; a man of worth and cultivation. At Paris he visited us so often, that he took up the name at the door of "Le Voisin," thinking it more safe to be so designated than to pronounce too frequently the name of a known adherent to the Bourbons. The good Madame de Maurville I saw often, and the family of the Boyds, with which my general had engaged me to quit Brussels, should Brussels become the seat of War, Page 344 THE FETE DIEU. Brussels in general was then inhabited by catholics, and catholic ceremonies were not unfrequent. In particular, la F�te Dieu was kept with much pomp, and a procession of priests paraded the streets, accompanied by images, pictures paintings, tapestry, and other insignia of outward and visible worship; and the windows were hung with carpets, and rugs, and mats, and almost with rags, to prove good will, at least, to what they deem a pious show. Ludicrous circumstances without end interrupted, or marred the procession, from frequent hard showers, during which the priests, decorated with splendid robes and petticoats, and ornaments the most gaudy, took sudden refuge at the doors of the houses by which they were passing, and great cloths, towels, or coarse canvas, were flung over the consecrated finery, and the relics were swaddled up in flannels, while dirt, splashes, running, scampering, and ludicrous wrappings up, broke at once and disfigured the procession. THE ECCENTRIC LADY CAROLINE LAMB. At Madame de la Tour du Pin's I kept the f�te of Madame de Maurville, with a large and pleasant party; and I just missed meeting the famous Lady Caroline Lamb,(276) who had been there at dinner, and whom I saw, however, crossing the Place Royale, from Madame de la Tour du Pin's to the Grand Hotel ; dressed, Or rather not dressed, so as to excite universal attention, and authorise every boldness of staring, from the general to the lowest soldier, among the military groups then constantly parading the Place,-for she had one shoulder, half her back, and all her throat and neck, displayed as if at the call of some statuary for modelling a heathen goddess. A slight scarf hung over the other shoulder, and the rest Of the attire was of accordant lightness. As her ladyship had Page 345 not then written, and was not, therefore, considered as one apart, from being known as an eccentric authoress, this conduct and demeanour excited something beyond surprise, and in an English lady provoked censure, if not derision, upon the whole English nation. A PROPOSED ROYAL CORPS. Monsieur le Duc de Luxembourg came to inform me that he was on the point of negotiating with the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher, upon raising a royal corps to accompany their army into France, should the expected battle lead to that result ; and he desired me to prepare M. d'Arblay, should such be the case, for a recall from Tr�ves, that he might resume his post in the body-guards belonging to the Compagnie de Luxembourg. He spoke of my beloved in terms of such high consideration, and with expressions so amiable of regard and esteem, that he won my heart. He could by no means, he said, be again under active military orders, and consent to lose so distinguished an officer from his corps. I had formerly met the duke in Paris, at Madame de Laval's - and he bad honoured me with a visit chez moi immediately after my return from England: and in consequence of those meetings, and of his real friendship for M. d'Arblay, he now spoke to me with the unreserved trust due to a tried confidant in case of peril and urgency. He stayed with me nearly two hours-for when once the heart ventured to open itself upon the circumstances, expectations, or apprehensions of. that eventful period, subjects, opinions, and feelings pressed forward with such eagerness for discussion, that those who upon such conditions met, found nothing so difficult as to separate. I wrote instantly to M. d'Arblay ; but the duke's plan proved abortive, as the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher refused all sanction to the junction of a French army With that of the allies. The thought, -perhaps-and perhaps Justly, that by entering France with natives against natives, they might excite a civil war, more difficult to conduct than that of only foreigners against foreigners. PAINFUL SUSPENSE. Suspense, during all this period, was frightfully mistress of '-,,the mind; nothing was known, everything was imagined. Page 346 The two great interests that were at war, the Bourbonists and Bonapartists, were divided and sub-divided into factions, or rather fractions, without end, and all that was kept invariably and on both sides alive was expectation. Wanderers, deserters or captives from France, arrived daily at Brussels, all with varying news of the state of that empire, and of the designs of Bonaparte amongst them. The Chevalier d'Argy made me a visit, to deliver me a letter from M. de Premorel, for M. d'Arblay. This gentleman was just escaped from Sedan in the disguise of a paysan, and assisted by a paysanne, belonging to his family. She conducted him through by-paths and thick forests, that she knew to be least frequented by the troops, police, or custom-house officers of *Bonaparte. He was going to offer his services to the king, Louis XVIII. I had much interesting public news from M. d'Argy : but I pass by all now except personal detail, as I write but for my nearest friends; and all that was then known of public occurrence has long been stale. . . . During this melancholy period when leisure, till now a delight, became a burthen to me, I could not call my faculties into any species of intellectual service; all was sunk, was annihilated in the overpowering predominance of anxiety for the coming event. I endured my suspense only by writing to or hearing from him who was its object. All my next dear connections were well. I heard from them satisfactorily, and I was also engaged in frequent correspondence with the Princess Elizabeth, whose letters are charming, not only from their vivacity, their frankness, and condescension, but from a peculiarity of manner, the result of having mixed little with the world, that, joined to great fertility of fancy, gives a something so singular and so genuine to her style of writing, as to render her letters desirable and interesting, independent of the sincere and most merited attachment which their gracious kindness inspires. INQUIETUDE AT BRUSSELS. I come now to busier scenes, and to my sojourn at Brussels during the opening of one of the most famous campaigns upon record ; and the battle of Waterloo, upon which, in great measure, hung the fate of Europe. Yet upon reflection, I will write no account of these great events, which have been detailed so many hundred times, and Page 347 so many hundred ways, as I have nothing new to offer upon them ; I will simply write the narrative of my own history at that awful period. I was awakened in the middle of the night by confused noises in the house, and running up and down stairs. I listened attentively, but heard no sound of voices, and soon all was quiet. I then concluded the persons who resided in the apartments on the second floor, over my head, had returned home later and I tried to fall asleep again. I succeeded; but I was again awakened at about five o'clock in the morning Friday, 16th June, by the sound of a bugle in the March� aux Bois: I started up and opened the window. But I only perceived some straggling soldiers, hurrying in different directions, and saw lights gleaming from some of the chambers in the neighbourhood : all again was soon still, and my own dwelling in profound silence, and therefore I concluded there had been some disturbance in exchanging sentinels at the various posts, which was already appeased: and I retired once more to my pillow, and remained till my usual hour. I was finishing, however, a letter for my best friend, when my breakfast was brought in, at my then customary time of eight o'clock; and, as mistakes and delays and miscarriages of letters had caused me much unnecessary misery, I determined to put what I was then writing in the post myself, and set off with it the moment it was sealed. THE BLACK BRUNSWICKERS. In my way back from the post-office, my ears were alarmed by the sound of military music, and my eyes equally struck with the sight of a body of troops marching to its measured time. But I soon found that what I had supposed to be an occasionally passing troop, was a complete corps; infantry, cavalry artillery, bag and baggage, with all its officers in full uniform, and that uniform was black. This gloomy hue gave an air so mournful to the procession, that, knowing its destination for battle, I contemplated with an aching heart. On inquiry, I learned it was the army of Brunswick. How much deeper yet had been my heartache had I foreknown that nearly all those brave men, thus marching on in gallant though dark array, with their valiant royal chief(277) at their head, Page 348 the nephew of my own king, George III., were amongst the first destined victims to this dreadful contest, and that neither the chief, nor the greater part of his warlike associates, would within a few short hours, breathe again the vital air ! My interrogations were answered with brevity, yet curiosity was all awake and all abroad; for the procession lasted some hours. Not a door but was open; not a threshold but was crowded, and not a window of the many-windowed gothic modern, frightful, handsome, quaint, disfigured, fantastic, or lofty mansions that diversify the large' market-place of Brussels, but was occupied by lookers on. Placidly, indeed, they saw the warriors pass : no kind greeting welcomed their arrival; no warm wishes followed them to combat. Neither, on the other hand, was there the slightest symptom of dissatisfaction ; yet even while standing thus in the midst of them, an unheeded, yet observant stranger, it was not possible for me to discern, with any solidity of conviction, whether the Belgians were, at heart, Bourbonists or Bonapartists. The Bonapartists, however, were in general the most open, for the opinion on both sides, alike with good will and with ill, was nearly universal that Bonaparte was invincible. THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN. Still, I knew not, dreamt not, that the campaign was already opened - that Bonaparte had broken into La Belgique on the 15th, and had taken Charleroi; though it was news undoubtedly spread all over Brussels except to my lonely self. My own disposition, at this period, to silence and retirement, was too congenial with the taciturn habits of my hosts to be by them counteracted, and they suffered me, therefore, to return to my home as I had quitted it, with a mere usual and civil salutation ; while themselves and their house were evidently continuing their common avocations with their common composure. Surely our colloquial use of the word phlegm must be derived from the character of the Flemings. The important tidings now, however, burst upon me in sundry directions. The Princesse d'Henin, Colonel de Beaufort, Madame de Maurville, the Boyd family, all, with intelligence of the event, joined offers of service, and invitations to reside with them during this momentous contest, should I prefer such protection to remaining alone at such a crisis. Page 349 What a day of confusion and alarm did we all spend on the 17th! In my heart the whole time was Tr�ves! Tr�ves! Tr�ves! That day, and June 18th, I passed in hearing the cannon! Good heaven! what indescribable horror to be so near the field of slaughter! such I call it, for the preparation to the ear by the tremendous sound was soon followed by its fullest effect, in the view of the wounded, the bleeding martyrs to the formidable contention that was soon to terminate the history of the war. And hardly more afflicting was this disabled return from the battle, than the sight of the continually pouring forth ready-armed and vigorous victims that marched past my windows to meet similar destruction. NEWS FROM THE FIELD OF BATTLE. Accounts from the field of battle arrived hourly; sometimes directly from the Duke of Wellington to Lady Charlotte Greville, and to some other ladies who had near relations in the combat, and which, by their means, were circulated in Brussels ; and at other times from such as conveyed those amongst the wounded Belgians, whose misfortunes were -inflicted near enough to the skirts of the spots of action, to allow of their being dragged away by their hovering countrymen to the city : the spots, I say, of action, for the far-famed battle of Waterloo was preceded by three days of partial engagements. During this period, I spent my whole time in seeking and passing from house to house of the associates of my distress, or receiving them in mine. Ten times, at least, I crossed over to Madame d'Henin, discussing plans and probabilities, and interchanging hopes and fears. I spent a considerable part of the morning with Madame de la Tour -du Pin, who was now returned from Gand, where Louis XVIII. supported his suspense and his danger with a coolness and equanimity which, when the �clat surrounding the glory of his daring and great opponent shall no longer by its overpowering resplendence keep all around it in the shade, will carry him down to posterity as the monarch precisely formed, by the patient good sense, the enlightened liberality, and the Immovable composure of his character, to meet the perilous perplexities of his situation, and, if he could not combat them with the vigour and genius of a hero, to sustain them at least with the dignity of a prince. Page 350 PROJECTS FOR QUITTING BRUSSELS, Madame d'Henin and Madame de la Tour du Pin projected retreating to Gand, should the approach of the enemy be unchecked ; to avail themselves of such protection as might be obtained from seeking it under the wing of Louis XVIII. M. de la Tour du Pin had, I believe, remained there with his majesty. M. de Lally and the Boyds inclined to Antwerp, where they might safely await the fate of Brussels, near enough for returning, should it weather the storm, yet within reach of vessels to waft them to the British shores should it be lost. Should this last be the fatal termination, I, Of course, had agreed to join the party of the voyage, and resolved to secure my passport, that, while I waited to the last moment, I might yet be prepared for a hasty retreat. I applied for a passport to Colonel Jones, to whom the Duke of Wellington had deputed the military command of Brussels in his absence but he was unwilling to sanction an evacuation of Brussels, which he deemed premature. It was not, he said, for us, the English, to spread alarm, or prepare for an overthrow: he had not sent away his own wife or children, and he had no doubt but victory would repay his confidence. I was silenced, but not convinced ; the event was yet uncertain, and my stake was, with respect to earthly happiness, my existence. A compromise occurred to me, which suggested my dispensing with a new passport, and contenting myself with obtaining his signature to my old one, accorded by M. le Chevalier de Jaucourt. He could not refuse to sign it; and we then separated. I promised him, nevertheless, that I would remain to the last extremity; and I meant no other. I was now better satisfied, though by no means at ease. Yet the motive of Colonel Jones was, that all should yield to the glory of the British arms and the Duke of Wellington. And I had the less right to be surprised, from the dreadful soldier's speech I had heard him utter when I first saw him, to the Princesse d'Henin: complaining of the length of time that was wasted in inaction, and of the inactivity and tameness of the Bourbons, he exclaimed, "We want blood, madam! what we want is blood!" CALMLY AWAITING THE RESULT, I found upon again going my rounds for information, that 'though news was arriving incessantly from the scene of action, Page 351 and with details always varying,, Bonaparte was always advancing. All the people of Brussels lived in the streets. Doors seemed of no use, for they were never shut. The individuals, when they re-entered their houses, only resided at the windows : so that the whole population of the city seemed constantly in public view. Not only business as well as society was annihilated, but even every species of occupation. All of which we seemed capable was, to inquire or to relate, to speak or to hear. Yet no clamour, no wrangling, nor even debate was intermixed with either question or answer ; curiosity, though incessant, was serene ; the faces were all monotony, though the tidings were all variety. I could attribute this only to the length of time during which the inhabitants had been habituated to change both of masters and measures, and to their finding that, upon an average, they neither lost nor gained by such successive revolutions. And to this must be joined their necessity of submitting, be it what it might, to the result. This mental consciousness probably kept their passions in order, and crushed all the impulses by which hope or fear is excited. No love of liberty buoyed up resistance; no views of independence brightened their imagination; and they bore even suspense with the calm of apparent philosophy, and an exterior of placid indifference. The first intelligence Madame d'Henin now gave me was, that the Austrian minister extraordinary, M. le Comte de Vincent, had been wounded close by the side of the Duke of Wellington ; and that he was just brought back in a litter to her hotel. As she was much acquainted with him, she desired me to accompany her in making her personal inquiries. No one now sent servants, cards, or messages, where there was any serious interest in a research. There was too much eagerness to bear delay, and ceremony and etiquette always fly from distress and from business. Le Comte de Vincent, we had the pleasure to hear, had been hurt only in the hand ; but this wound afterwards proved more serious than at first was apprehended, threatening for ,many weeks either gangrene or amputation. News, however, far more fatal struck our ears soon after : the gallant Duke of Brunswick was killed! and by a shot close also to the Duke of Wellington! The report now throughout Brussels was that the two Mighty chiefs, Bonaparte and Wellington, were almost constantly in view of each other. Page 352 FLIGHT To ANTWERP DETERMINED ON. But what a day was the next--June 18th--the greatest, perhaps, in its result, in the annals of Great Britain! My slumbers having been tranquillized by the close Of the 17th, I was calmly reposing, when I was awakened by the sound of feet abruptly entering my drawing-room. I started, and had but just time to see by my watch that it was only six o'clock, when a rapping at my bedroom door so quick as to announce as much trepidation as it excited, made me slip on a long kind of domino always, in those times, at hand, to keep me ready for encountering surprise, and demanded what was the matter? "Open your door! there is not a moment to lose! " was the answer, in the voice of Miss Ann Boyd. I obeyed, in great alarm, and saw that pretty and pleasing young woman, with her mother, Mrs. Boyd, who remembered having known and played with me when we were both children, and whom I had met with at Passy, after a lapse of more than forty years. They both eagerly told me that all their new hopes had been overthrown by better authenticated news, and that I must be with them by eight o'clock, to proceed to the wharf, and set sail for Antwerp, whence we sail on for England, should the taking of Brussels by Bonaparte endanger Antwerp also. To send off a few lines to the post, with my direction at Antwerp, to pack and to pay, was all that I could attempt, or even desire ; for I had not less time than appetite for thinking of breakfast. My host and my maid carried my small package, and I arrived before eight in the Rue d'Assault. We set off for the wharf on foot, not a fiacre or chaise being procurable. Mr. and Mrs. Boyd, five or six of their family, a governess, and I believe some servants, with bearers of our baggage, made our party. Though the distance was short, the walk was long, because rugged, dirty, and melancholy. Now and then we heard a growling noise, like distant thunder, but far more dreadful. When we had got about a third part of the way, a heavy rumbling sound made us stop to listen. It was approaching nearer and nearer, and we soon found that we were followed by innumerable carriages, and a multitude of persons. All was evidently military, but of so gloomy, taciturn, and forbidding a description, that when we were overtaken we had not courage to offer a question to any passer by. Had Page 353 we been as certain that they belonged to the enemy as we felt convinced that, thus circumstanced, they must belong to our own interests, we could not have been awed more effectually into silent passiveness, so decisively repelling to inquiry was every aspect, In truth, at that period, when every other hour changed the current of expectation, no one could be inquisitive without the risk of passing for a spy, nor communicative without the hazard of being suspected as a traitor. Arrived at the wharf, Mr. Boyd pointed out to us our barge, which seemed fully ready for departure ; but the crowd already come and still coming so incommoded us, that Mr. Boyd desired we would enter a large inn, and wait till he could speak with the master, and arrange our luggage and places, We went, therefore, into a spacious room and ordered breakfast, when the room was entered by a body of military men of all sorts ; but we were suffered to keep our ground till Mr, Boyd came to inform us that we must all decamp! A CHECK MET WITH. Confounded, but without any interrogatory, we vacated the apartment, and Mr. Boyd conducted us not to the barge, not to the wharf, but to the road back to Brussels ; telling us, in an accent of depression, that he feared all was lost-that Bonaparte was advancing-that his point was decidedly Brussels-and that the Duke of Wellington had sent orders that all the magazines, the artillery, and the warlike stores of every description, and all the wounded, the maimed, and the sick, should be immediately removed to Antwerp. For this purpose he had issued directions that every barge, every boat should be seized for the use of the army, and that everything of value should be conveyed away, the hospitals emptied, and Brussels evacuated. If this intelligence filled us with the most fearful alarm, how much more affrighting still was the sound of cannon which next assailed our ears ! The dread reverberation became louder and louder as we proceeded. Every shot tolled to our imaginations the death of myriads; and the conviction that the destruction and devastation were so near us, with the probability that if all attempt at escape should prove abortive, we might be personally involved in the carnage, gave us sensations too awful for verbal expression; we could only gaze and tremble, listen and shudder. Page 354 Yet, strange to relate! on re-entering the city, all seemed quiet and tranquil as usual! and though it was in this imminent and immediate danger of being invested, and perhaps pillaged, I saw no outward mark of distress or disturbance, or even of hurry or curiosity. Having re-lodged us in the Rue d'Assault, Mr. Boyd tried to find some land carriage for our removal. But not only every chaise had been taken, and every diligence secured, the cabriolets, the cal�ches, nay, the waggons and the carts; and every species of caravan, had been seized for Military service. And, after the utmost efforts he could make, in every kind of way, he told us we must wait the chances of the day, for that there was no possibility of escape from Brussels either by land or water. Remedy there was none; nor had we any other resource; we were fain, therefore, quietly to submit. Mr. Boyd, however, assured me that, though no land carriage was likely to find horses during this furious contest, he had been promised the return of a barge for the next morning, if he and his party would be at the wharf by six o'clock. We all therefore agreed that, if we were spared any previous calamity, we would set out for the wharf at five o'clock, and I accepted their invitation to be with them in the evening, and spend the night at their house. We then separated; I was anxious to get home, to watch the post, and to write to Tr�ves. A CAPTURED FRENCH GENERAL. My reappearance produced no effect upon my hosts : they saw my return with the same placid civility that they had seen my departure. But even apathy, or equanimity,--which shall I call it?--like theirs was now to be broken; I was seated at my bureau and writing, when a loud "hurrah!" reached my ears from some distance, while the daughter of my host, a girl of about eighteen, gently opening my door, said the fortune of the day had suddenly turned, and that Bonaparte was taken prisoner. At the same time the "hurrah!" came nearer. I flew to the window; my host and hostess came also, crying, "Bonaparte est pris! le voil ! le Voil !"(278) I then saw, on a noble war-horse in full equipinent, a general in the splendid uniform of France but visibly disarmed, and, Page 355 to all appearance, tied to his horse, or, at least, held on, so as to disable him from making any effort to gallop it off, and surrounded, preceded, and followed by a. crew of roaring wretches, who seemed eager for the moment when he should be lodged where they had orders to conduct him, that they might unhorse, strip, pillage him, and divide the spoil. His high, feathered, glittering helmet he had pressed down as low as he could on his forehead, and I could not discern his face ; but I was instantly certain he was not Bonaparte, on finding the whole commotion produced by the rifling crew above mentioned, which, though it might be guided, probably, by some subaltern officer, who might have the captive in charge, had left the field of battle at a moment when none other could be spared, as all the attendant throng were evidently amongst the refuse of the army followers. I was afterwards informed that this unfortunate general was the Count Lobau. He met with singular consideration during his captivity in the Low Countries, having thence taken to himself a wife. That wife I had met when last in Paris, at a ball given by Madame la Princesse de Beauvau. She was quite young and extremely pretty, and the gayest of the gay, laughing, chatting the whole evening, chiefly with the fat and merry, good-humoured Duchesse de Feltre (Madame la Mar�chale Clarke) - and her husband, high in office, in fame, and in favour, was then absent on some official duty. THE DEARTH OF NEWS. The dearth of any positive news from the field of battle, even in the heart of Brussels, at this crisis, when everything that was dear and valuable to either party was at stake, was at one instant nearly distracting in its torturing suspense to the wrung nerves, and at another insensibly blunted them into a kind of amalgamation with the Belgic philosophy. At certain houses, as well as at public offices, news, I doubt not, arrived; but no means were taken to - promulgate it - no gazettes, as in London, no bulletins, as in Paris, were cried about the streets ; we were all left at once to our conjectures and our destinies. The delusion of victory vanished into a merely passing advantage, as I gathered from the earnest researches into which it led me; and evil only met all ensuing investigation; retreat and defeat were the words in every mouth around me! Page 356 The Prussians, it was asserted, were completely vanquished on the 15th, and the English on the 16th, while on the day just passed, the 17th, a day of continual fighting and bloodshed, drawn battles on both sides left each party Proclaiming what neither party could prove--success. It was Sunday ; but church service was out of the question though never were prayers more frequent, more fervent, Form, indeed, they could not have, nor union, while constantly expecting the enemy with fire and sword at the gates, Who could enter a place of worship, at the risk of making it a scene of slaughter? But who, also, in circumstances so awful, could require the exhortation of a priest or the example of a congregation, to stimulate devotion? No! in those fearful exigencies, where, in the full vigour of health, strength, and life's freshest resources, we seem destined to abruptly quit this mortal coil, we need no spur--all is spontaneous; and the soul is unshackled. RUMOURS OF THE FRENCH COMING. Not above a quarter of an hour had I been restored to my sole occupation of solace, before I was again interrupted and startled ; but not as on the preceding occasion by riotous shouts ; the sound was a howl, violent, loud, affrighting, and issuing from many voices. I ran to the window, and saw the March� aux Bois suddenly filling with a populace, pouring in from all its avenues, and hurrying on rapidly, and yet as if unconscious in what direction; while women with children in their arms, or clinging to their clothes, ran screaming out of doors - and cries, though not a word was ejaculated, filled the air, and from every house, I saw windows closing, and shutters fastening ; all this, though long in writing, was presented to my eyes in a single moment, and was followed in another by a burst into my apartment, to announce that the French were come! I know not even who made this declaration; my head was out of the window, and the person who made it scarcely entered the room and was gone. How terrific was this moment ! My perilous situation urged me to instant flight; and, without waiting to speak to the people of the house, I crammed my papers and money into a basket, and throwing on a shawl and bonnet, I flew down stairs and out of doors. My intention was to go to the Boyds, to partake, as I had engaged, their fate , but the crowd were all issuing from the Page 357 way I must have turned to have gained the Rue d'Assault, and I thought, therefore, I might be safer with Madame de Maurville, who, also, not being English, might be less obnoxious to the Bonapartists. To the Rue de la Montagne I hurried, in consequence, my steps crossing and crossed by an affrighted multitude ; but I reached it in safety, and she received me with an hospitable welcome. I found her calm, and her good humour undisturbed. Inured to revolutions, under which she had smarted so as she could smart no more, from the loss of all those who had been the first objects of her solicitude, a husband and three sons! she was now hardened in her feelings upon public events, though her excellent heart was still affectionate and zealous for the private misfortunes of the individuals whom she loved. What a dreadful day did I pass! dreadful in the midst of its glory! for it was not during those operations that sent details partially to our ears that we could judge of the positive state of affairs, or build upon any permanency of success. Yet here I soon recovered from all alarm for personal safety, and lost the horrible apprehension of being in the midst of a city that was taken, sword in hand, by an enemy-an apprehension that, while it lasted, robbed me of breath, chilled my blood, and gave me a shuddering ague that even now in fancy returns as I seek to commit it to paper. FRENCH PRISONERS BROUGHT IN. The alerte(279) which had produced this effect, I afterwards learnt, though not till the next day, was utterly false ; but whether it had been produced by mistake or by deceit I never knew. The French, indeed, were coming; but not triumphantly ., they were prisoners, surprised and taken suddenly, ,and brought in, being disarmed, by an escort ; and, as they were numerous, and their French uniform was discernible from afar, the almost universal belief at Brussels that Bonaparte was invincible, might perhaps, without any intended deception, have raised the report that they were advancing as conquerors. NEWS OF WATERLOO. I attempt no description of this day, the grandeur of which was unknown, or unbelieved, in Brussels till it had taken its Page 358 flight, and could only be named as time past. The Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher were too mightily engaged in meriting fame to spare an instant for either claiming or proclaiming it. I was fain, therefore, to content myself with the intelligence that reached Madame de Maurville fortuitously. The crowds in the streets, the turbulence, the inquietude, the bustle the noise, the cries, the almost yells, kept up a perpetual expectation of annoyance. The door was never opened, but I felt myself pale and chill with fear of some sanguinary attack or military surprise. It is true that as Brussels was not fortified and could, in itself, offer no resistance, it could neither b' besieged nor taken by storm ; but I felt certain that the Duke of Wellington would combat for it inch by inch, and that in a conflict between life and death, every means would be resorted to that could be suggested by desperation. Madame de Maurville now told me that an English commissary was just arrived from the army, who had assured her that the tide of success was completely turned to the side of the Allies. She offered to conduct me to his apartment, which was in the same hotel as her own, and in which he was writing and transacting business gravely assuring me, and I really believe, herself, that he could not but be rejoiced to give me, in person, every particular I could wish to hear. I deemed it, however, but prudent not to put his politeness to a test so severe. Urgent, nevertheless, to give me pleasure, and not easily set aside from following her own conceptions, she declared she would go down stairs, and inform Mr. Saumarez that she had a countrywoman of his in her room, whom he would be charmed to oblige. I tried vainly to stop her; good humour, vivacity, curiosity, and zeal were all against my efforts; she went, and to my great surprise returned escorted by Mr. Saumarez himself. His narration was all triumphant and his account of the Duke of Wellington might almost have seemed an exaggerated panegyric if it had painted some warrior in a chivalresque romance. . . . I could not but be proud of this account: independent from its glory; my revived imagination hung the blessed laurels of peace. But though Hope was all alive, Ease and Serenity were not her companions: Mr. Saumarez could not disguise that there was still much to do, and consequently to apprehend; and he had never, he said, amongst the many he had viewed, seen a field Page 359 of battle in such excessive disorder. Military carriages of all sorts, and' multitudes of groups unemployed, occupied spaces that ought to have been left for manoeuvring or observation. I attribute this to the various nations who bore arms on that great day in their own manner; though the towering generalissimo of all cleared the ground, and dispersed what was unnecessary at every moment that was not absorbed by the fight. When the night of this memorable day arrived, I took leave of Madame de Maurville to join the Boyds, according to my engagement: for though all accounts confirmed the victory of the Duke of Wellington, we had so little idea of its result, that we still imagined the four days already spent in the work of carnage must be followed by as many more, before the dreadful conflict could terminate. Madame de Maurville lent me her servant, with whom I now made my way tolerably well, for though the crowd remained, it was no longer turbulent. A general knowledge of general success to the Allies was everywhere spread ; curiosity therefore began to be satisfied, and inquietude to be removed. The concourse were composedly--for no composure is like that of the Flemings- -listening to details of the day in tranquil groups, and I had no interruption to my walk but from my own anxiety to catch, as I could, some part of the relations. As all these have since been published, I omit them, though the interest with which I heard them was, at the moment, intense. Three or four shocking sights intervened during my passage, of officers of high rank, either English or Belge, and either dying or dead, extended upon biers, carried by soldiers. The view of their gay and costly attire, with the conviction of their suffering, or fatal state, joined to the profound silence of their bearers and attendants, was truly saddening ; and if my reflections were morally dejecting, what, oh what were my personal feelings and fears, in the utter uncertainty whether this victory were more than a passing triumph! In one place we were entirely stopped by a group that had gathered round a horse, of which a British soldier was examining one of the knees. The animal was a tall war-horse, and one of the noblest of his species. The soldier was enumerating to his hearers its high qualities, and exultingly acquainting them it was his own property, as he had taken it, if I understood right, from the fields He produced also a very fine ring, which was all he had taken Page 360 of spoil, Yet this man gravely added that pillage had been forbidden by the commander-in-chief! I found the Boyds still firm for departure. The news of the victory of the day, gained by the Duke of Wellington and Prince Bl�cher, had raised the highest delight; but further intelligence had just reached them that the enemy, since the great battle, was working to turn the right wing of the Duke of Wellington, who was in the most imminent danger; and that the capture of Brussels was expected to take place the next morning, as everything indicated that Brussels was the point at which Bonaparte aimed, to retrieve his recent defeat. Mr. Boyd used every possible exertion to procure chaises or diligence, or any sort of land conveyance, for Antwerp, but every horse was under military requisition - even the horses of the farmers, of the nobility and gentry, and of travellers, The hope of water-carriage was all that remained. We were to set off so early, that we agreed not to retire to rest. THE VICTORY DECLARED TO BE COMPLETE. A gentleman, however, of their acquaintance, presently burst into the room with assurances that the enemy was flying in all directions, his better news reanimated my courage for Brussels and my trust in the Duke of Wellington; and when the Boyd family summoned me the next morning at four or five o'clock to set off with them for Antwerp, I permitted my repugnance to quitting the only spot where I could receive letters from Tr�ves to conquer every obstacle, and begged them to excuse my changed purpose. They wondered at my temerity, and probably blamed it ; but there was no time for discussion, and we separated. It was not till Tuesday, the 20th, I had certain and satisfactory assurances how complete was the victory. At the house of Madame de Maurville I heard confirmed and detailed the matchless triumph of the matchless Wellington, interspersed with descriptions of scenes of slaughter on the field of battle to freeze the blood, and tales of woe amongst mourning survivors in Brussels to rend the heart. While listening with speechless avidity to these relations, we were joined by M. de la Tour du Pin, who is a cousin of Madame de Maurville, and who said the Duke of Wellington had galloped to Brussels from Wavre to see the Prince of Orange and inquire in person after his wounds. Prince Page 361 Bl�cher was in close pursuit of Bonaparte, who was totally defeated, his baggage all taken, even his private equipage and personals, and who was a fugitive himself, and in disguise! The duke considered the battle to be so decisive, that while prince Bl�cher was posting after the remnant of the Bonapartian army, he determined to follow himself as convoy to Louis XVIII.; and he told M. de la Tour du Pin and the Duke de Fitzjames, whom he met at the palace of the King of Holland, to acquaint their king with this his proposal, and to beg his majesty to set forward without delay to join him for its execution. The Duke de Fitzjames was gone already to Gand with his commission. How daring a plan was this, while the internal state of France was so little known, while les places fortes(280) were all occupied, and while the corps of Grouchy was still intact, and the hidden and possible resources of Bonaparte were unfathomed! The event, however, demonstrated that the Duke of Wellington had judged with as much quickness of perception as intrepidity of valour. 'Twas to Tournay he had desired that the King of France would repair. THE WOUNDED AND THE PRISONERS. The duke now ordered that the hospitals, invalids, magazines, etc., should all be stationed at Brussels, which he regarded as saved from invasion and completely secure. It is not near the scene of battle that war, even with victory, wears an aspect of felicity-no, not even in the midst of its highest resplendence of glory. A more terrific or afflicting sojourn than that of Brussels at this period can hardly be imagined. The universal voice declared that so sanguinary a battle as that which was fought almost in its neighbourhood, and quite within its hearing, never yet had spread the plains with slaughter; and though exultation cannot ever have been prouder, nor satisfaction more complete, in the brilliancy of success, all my senses were shocked in viewing the effects of its attainment. For more than a week from this time I never approached my window but to witness sights of wretchedness. Maimed, wounded, bleeding, mutilated, tortured victims of this exterminating contest passed by every minute: the fainting, the sick, the dying and the dead, on brancards,(281) In carts, in waggons, succeeded one another without intermission. There Page 362 seemed to be a whole and a large army of disabled or lifeless soldiers! All that was intermingled with them bore an aspect of still more poignant horror ; for the Bonapartian Prisoners who were now poured into the city by hundreds, had a mien of such ferocious desperation, where they were marched on, uninjured, from having been taken by surprise or overpowered by numbers - or faces of such anguish, where they were drawn on in open vehicles, the helpless victims of gushing wounds or horrible dislocations, that to see them without commiseration for their sufferings, or admiration for the heroic, however misled enthusiasm, to which they Were martyrs, must have demanded an apathy dead to all feeling but what is personal, or a rancour too ungenerous to yield even to the view of defeat. Both the one set and the other of these unhappy warriors endured their calamities with haughty forbearance of complaint, The maimed and lacerated, while their ghastly visages spoke torture and death, bit their own clothes, perhaps their flesh ! to save the loud utterance of their groans; while those of their comrades who had escaped these corporeal inflictions seemed to be smitten with something between remorse and madness that they had not forced themselves on to destruction ere thus they were exhibited in dreadful parade through the streets of that city they had been sent forth to conquer. Others of these wretched prisoners had, to me, as I first saw them, the air of the lowest and most disgusting of jacobins, in dirty tattered vestments of all sorts and colours, or soiled carters' frocks; but disgust was soon turned to pity, when I afterwards learnt that these shabby accoutrements had been cast over them by their conquerors after despoiling them of their own. Everybody was wandering from home; all Brussels seemed living in the streets. The danger to the city, which had imprisoned all its inhabitants except the rabble or the military, once completely passed, the pride of feeling and showing their freedom seemed to stimulate their curiosity in seeking details on what had passed and was passing. But neither the pride nor the joy of victory was anywhere of an exulting nature. London and Paris render all other places that I, at least, have dwelt in, tame and insipid. Bulletins in a few shop-windows alone announced to the general public that the Allies had vanquished and that Bonaparte was a fugitive. I met at the embassy an old English officer who gave me Page 363 most interesting and curious information, assuring me that in the carriage of Bonaparte, which had been seized, there were proclamations ready printed, and even dated from the palace of Lachen, announcing the downfall of the Allies and the triumph of Bonaparte ! But no satisfaction could make me hear without deadly dismay and shuddering his description of the field of battle. Piles of dead!--Heaps, masses, hills of dead bestrewed the plains! I met also Colonel Jones; so exulting in success! so eager to remind me of his assurances that all was safe! And I was much interested in a narration made to me by a wounded soldier, who was seated in the courtyard of the embassy. He had been taken prisoner after he was severely wounded, on the morning of the 18th, and forced into a wood with many others, where he had been very roughly used, and stripped of his coat, waistcoat, and even his shoes ; but as the fortune of the day began to turn, there was no one left to watch him, and he crawled on all-fours till he got out of the wood, and was found by some of his roving comrades. Thousands, I believe I may say without exaggeration, were employed voluntarily at this time in Brussels in dressing wounds and attending the sick beds of the wounded. Humanity could be carried no further ; for not alone the Belgians and English were thus nursed and assisted, nor yet the Allies, but the prisoners also ; and this, notwithstanding the greatest apprehensions being prevalent that the sufferers, from their multitude, would bring pestilence into the heart of the city. The immense quantity of English, Belgians, and Allies, who were first, of course, conveyed to the hospitals and prepared houses of Brussels, required so much time for carriage and placing, that although the carts, waggons, and every attainable or seizable vehicle were unremittingly in motion-now coming, now returning to the field of battle for more,- it was nearly a week, or at least five or six days, ere the unhappy wounded prisoners, who were necessarily last served, could be accommodated. And though I was assured that medical and surgical aid was administered to them wherever it was possible, the blood that dried upon their skins and their garments, joined to the dreadful sores occasioned by this neglect, produced an effect so pestiferous, that, at every new entry, eau de Cologne, or vinegar, was resorted to by every inhabitant, even amongst the shopkeepers, even amongst the commonest persons, for averting the menaced contagion. Page 364 Even the churches were turned into hospitals, and every house in Brussels was ordered to receive or find an asylum for some of the sick. The Boyds were eminently good in nursing, dressing wounds, making slops, and administering comfort amongst the maimed, whether friend or foe. Madame d'Henin sent her servants, and money, and cordials to all the French that came within her reach ; Madame de la Tour du Pin was munificent in the same attentions; and Madame de Maurville never passed by an opportunity of doing good. M. de Beaufort, being far the richest of my friends at this place, was not spared; he had officers and others quartered upon him without mercy. We were all at work more or less in making lint. For me, I was about amongst the wounded half the day, the British, s'entend! The rising in France for the honour of the nation now, and for its safety in independence hereafter, was brilliant and delightful, spreading in some directions from La Manche to La M�diterran�e: the focus of loyalty was Bordeaux. The king left Gand the 22nd. All Alost, etc., surrounded followed, or preceded him. The noble Bl�cher entered France at Mortes le Ch�teau. HOSTILITIES AT AN END: TE DEUM FOR THE VICTORY, It was not till June 26th that the blessed news reached me of the cessation of hostilities. Colonel Beaufort was the first who brought me this intelligence, smiling kindly himself at the smiles he excited. Next came la Princesse d'Henin, escorted by my and her highly valued M, de Lally Tolendal. With open arms that dear princess reciprocated congratulations. Madame de Maurville next followed, always cordial where she could either give or behold happiness. The Boyds hurried to me in a body to wish and be wished joy. And last, but only in time, not in kindness, came Madame la Vicomtesse de Laval, mother to the justly honoured philanthropist, or, as others--but not I--call him, bigot, M. Mathieu de Montmorency, who, at this moment, is M. le Duc de Montmorency. Brussels now, which had seemed for so many days, from the unremitting passage of maimed, dying, or dead, a mere out-door hospital, revived, or, rather, was invigorated to something above its native state ; for from uninteresting tameness it became elevated to spirit, consequence, and vivacity. Page 365 On the following Sunday I had the gratification of hearing, at the Protestant chapel, the Te Deum for the grand victory, in presence of the King and Queen of the Low Countries--or Holland, and of the Dowager Princess of Orange, and the young warrior her grandson. This prince looked so ill, so meagre, so weak, from his half-cured wounds, that to appear on this occasion seemed another, and perhaps not less dangerous effort of heroism, added to those which had so recently distinguished him in the field. What enthusiasm would such an exertion, with his pallid appearance, have excited in London or Paris ! even here, a little gentle huzza greeted him from his carriage to the chapel - and for the same short passage, back again. After which, he drove off as tranquilly as any common gentleman might have driven away, to return to his home and his family dinner. About the middle of July-but I am not clear of the date -the news was assured and confirmed of the brilliant reenthronement of Louis XVIII., and that Bonaparte had ,surrendered to the English. Brussels now became an assemblage of all nations, from the rapturous enthusiasm that pervaded all to view the field of battle, the famous Waterloo, and gather upon the spot ,,details of the immortal victory of Wellington. MATERNAL ADVICE. (Madame d'Arblay to her son.) April 26, 1815. At length, my long expecting eyes meet again your hand-writing, after a breach of correspondence that I can never 'recollect without pain. Revive it not in my mind by any repetition, and I will dismiss it from all future power of tormenting me, by considering it only as a dream of other times. Cry "Done!" my Alex, and I will skip over the subject, not perhaps as lightly, but as swiftly as you skip over the hills of Norbury Park. I delight to think of the good and pleasure that sojourn may do you; though easily, too easily, I conceive the melancholy reflections that were awakened by the sight of our dear, dear cottage; yet your expressions upon its view lose much of their effect by being Overstrained, recherch�s, and designing to be pathetic. We never touch others, my dear Alex, where we study to show we -,are touched ourselves. I beg you, when you write to me, Page 366 to let your pen paint your thoughts as they rise, not as you seek or labour to embellish them. I remember you once wrote me a letter so very fine from Cambridge, that, if it had not made me laugh, it would certainly have made me sick. Be natural, my dear boy, and you will be sure to please Your mother without wasting your time. Let us know what you have received, what you have spent, what you may have still unpaid, and what you yet want. But for this last article, we both desire you will not wait our permission to draw upon your aunt, whom we shall empower to draw upon Mr. Hoare in our names. We know you to have no wanton extravagances, and no idle vanity, we give you, therefore, dear Alex, carte blanche to apply to your aunt, only consulting with her, and begging her kind, maternal advice to help your inexperience in regulating your expenses. She knows the difference that must be made between our fortune and that of Clement - but she knows our affection for our boy, and our confidence in his honour and probity, and will treat him with as much kindness, though not with equal luxury. Your father charges you never to be without your purse, and never to let it be empty. Your aunt will counsel you about your clothes. About your books we trust to yourself. And pray don't forget, when you make sleeping visits, to recompense the trouble you must unavoidably give to servants. And if you join any party to any public place, make a point to pay for yourself. It will be far better to go seldom, and with that gentlemanly spirit, than often, with the air of a hanger-on. How infinitely hospitable has been your uncle James! But hospitality is his characteristic. We had only insisted upon your regularity at chapel and at lectures, and we hear of your attention to them comparatively, and we are fixed to be contented en attendant. Don't lose courage, dear, dear Alex , the second place is the nearest to the first. I love you with all my heart and soul! . . . ABOUT THE GREAT BATTLE. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Monday, June 19, 1815- The sitting up all night, however little merrily, made me, I know not how, seem to have lived a day longer than real time, for I thought to-day the 20th when I finished my letter of this morning. I have now, therefore, to rectify that Mistake, Page 367 and tell you that there is, therefore, no chasm in the known history of the Duke of Wellington. But, to my infinite regret, with all the great, nay marvellous feats he has performed, he is less, not more, in public favour, from not being approved, or rather, I think, comprehended, in the opening of this tremendous business. As I am sure the subject must be of deeper interest to you than any other, at such an instant, I will tell you all I know-all I have heard and gathered, for I know nothing, and add my own consequent conjectures, as soon as I have first acquainted you that I separated from the Boyds at about half past seven in the morning, too much satisfied with the news of Lord Wellington's victory to endure to distance myself still further from all I love most upon earth. They, therefore, still alarmed, went to Antwerp, and I am again at the little bureau, upon which my dearest ami has sometimes written in the March� aux Bois. The first news the Duke of Wellington was known to receive of the invasion of les Pays Bas was at a ball at the Duchess of Richmond's. He would not break up the party, more than half of which was formed of his officers, nor suffer any interruption. Some time after, however, he went out, and when he returned distributed cards of orders to the several commanding officers. But he stayed to supper - after which fifty red-coats retired abruptly. Not so the duke--and he is now much-- Ah, mon ami, two letters arrive at the same instant, that curtail all subjects but what belong to themselves. Nous allons commencer!--Heaven preserve and prosper the beloved partner of my soul. I dare enter upon nothing; I can only say the first of the two letters, written before the order of commencer was issued, is one of the fullest and dearest I have in my possession; and I shall read and re-read its interesting contents with heart-felt pleasure. Tell, tell me, my beloved ami, where, when you would have me remove? I will not ask how--I will find that out. To be nearer to you--to hear more frequently--oh, what a solace! The maimed, wounded, bleeding, fainting, arrive still every minute. There seems a whole, and a large army of mutilated Soldiers. Jerome is said to be killed, and Vandamme to have lost both legs.(282) Our loss is yet incalculable. Page 368 Every creature that was movable is gone to Antwerp, or England, but myself - but my intense desire not to lose ground or time in my letters made me linger to the last, and now, thank heaven, all danger here is at an end, and all fugitives are returning. The imperial guard is almost annihilated. They fought like demons. Napoleon cried out continually to them, the prisoners say, "A Bruxelles, mes enfans! Bruxelles! Bruxelles!" They were reported one day to be actually arrived here. I never saw, never, indeed, felt such consternation. Not only money, jewels, and valuables of pecuniary sorts were shut up, but babies from the arms of their terrified mothers and nurses. I flew out myself, to take refuge in the apartments of Madame de Maurville, and I never witnessed such horror and desolation. I have left this for a word at the last minute, This is Wednesday, June 21st.... Mr Kirkpatrick tells me Murat is dead of his wounds;(283) Vandamme lost his two thighs, and is dead also; Jerome died of a cannon-ball at once. Poor M, de Vincent, the Austrian, has a ball still in his arm, which they cannot extract, Lord Fitzroy Somerset has an arm shot off; Lord Uxbridge a leg. Col. Hamilton is killed. Lobau is here a prisoner. I shall continue to write all the Page 369 particulars I can gather. It has been the most bloody battle that ever was fought, and the victory the most entire. AN ACCIDENT BEFALLS GENERAL D'ARBLAY. on the 19th of July, 1815, during the ever memorable Hundred Days, I was writing to my best friend, when I received a visit from la Princesse d'Henin and Colonel de Beaufort, who entered the room with a sort of precipitancy and confusion that immediately struck me as the effect of evil tidings which they came to communicate. My ideas instantly flew to the expectation of new public disaster, when Madame d'Henin faintly pronounced the name of M. d'Arblay. Alarmed, I turned from one to the other in speechless trepidation, dreading to ask, while dying to know what awaited me. Madame d'Henin then said, that M. de Beaufort had received a letter from M. d'Arblay: and I listened with subdued, yet increasing terror, while they acquainted me that M. d'Arblay had received on the calf of his leg a furious kick from a wild horse, which had occasioned so bad a wound as to confine him to his bed - and that he wished M. de Beaufort to procure me some travelling guide, that I might join 'him as soon as it would be possible with safety and convenience. But what was my agony when I saw that the letter was not in his own band! I conjured them to leave me, and let me read it alone. They offered, the one to find me a clever femme de chambre, the other to inquire for a guide to aid me to set out, if able, the next day; but I rather know this from recollection than from having understood them at the time: I only entreated their absence; and having consented to their return in a few hours, I forced them away. No sooner were they gone, than, calming my spirits by earnest and devout prayer, which alone supports my mind, and even preserves my senses, in deep calamity, I ran over the letter, which was dated the fourth day after the wound, and acknowledged that three incisions had been made in the leg unnecessarily by an ignorant surgeon, which had so aggravated the danger, as well as the suffering, that he was now in bed, not only from the pain of the lacerated limb, but also from a nervous fever! and that no hope was held Out to him of quitting it in less than a fortnight or three weeks. Page 370 MADAME D'ARBLAY'S DIFFICULTIES IN REJOINING HER HUSBAND. I determined not to wait, though the poor sufferer himself had charged that I should, either for the femme de chambe of Madame d'Henin or the guide of M. de Beaufort, which they could not quite promise even for the next day; and to me the next hour seemed the delay of an age. I went, therefore to order a chaise at six on the road to Luxembourg. The' answer was, that no horses were to be had! Almost distracted, I flew myself to the inn; but the answer was repeated! The route to Luxembourg, they told me, was infested with straggling parties, first, from the wandering army of Grouchy, now rendered pillagers from want of food ; and next, from the pursuing army of the Prussians, who made themselves pillagers also through the rights of conquest. To travel in a chaise would be impracticable, they assured me, without a guard. I now resolved upon travelling in the diligence, and desired to secure a place in that for Tr�ves. There was none to that city ! "And what is the nearest town to Tr�ves, whence I might go on in a chaise?" "Luxembourg." I bespoke a place, but was told that the diligence had set off the very day before, and that none other would go for six days, as it only quitted Brussels once a week. My friend the Baroness de Spagen next told me that, if travel I would, I had but to go by Li�ge, which, though not a direct, was the only safe road; that then she would put me under the protection of her brother-in-law, the Comte de Spagen, who was himself proceeding to that city by the ensuing night- coach. I accepted this kindness with rapture. I flew myself to the book-keeper I had so abruptly quitted, and instantly secured a place in the Li�ge diligence for night; and I was taking leave of my hosts, a Brussels fiacre being at the door, laden with my little luggage, when I was told that Le Roi, the confidential servant of Madame d'Henin, besought to speak a word to me from his mistress. He told me that the Princesse 'was quite miserable at my hazardous plan, which she had gathered from Madame de la Tour du Pin, and that she Page 371 supplicated me to postpone my purpose only till the next day, when I should have some one of trust to accompany me. I assured him that nothing now could make me risk procrastination, but begged him to still the fears of the excellent Princesse by acquainting her I should be under the protection of the Comte de Spagen. arrived at the inn after this last unprepared-for impediment, three or four minutes too late ! What was the fermentation of my mind at this news! A whole week I must wait for the next diligence, and even then lose the aid and countenance of le Comte de Spagen. Le Roi, who, through some short cut of footpaths and alleys, had got to the inn before me, earnestly pressed me, in the style of the confidential old servants of the French nobility, to go and compose myself chez la princesse. Even my host and hostess had pursued to wish me again good-bye, and now expressed their warm hopes I should return to them. But the book-keeper alone spoke a language to snatch me from despair, by saying my fiacre might perhaps catch the diligence two miles off, in the All�e Verte, where it commonly stopped for fresh passengers or parcels. Eagerly I promised the coachman a reward if he could succeed, and off he drove. The diligence was at the appointed place, and that instant ready to proceed ! I rushed into it with trepidation of hurry, and when more composed, I was eager to find out which of my fellow- travellers might be the Comte de Spagen; but I dared risk no question. I sat wholly silent. We arrived at Li�ge about nine in the morning I now advanced to the book-keeper, and made inquiries about the Comte de Spagen. He had arrived in the earlier coach, and was gone on in some other to his estates. As calmly as was in my power, I then declared my purpose to go to Tr�ves, and begged to be put on my way. I was come wrong, the book-keeper answered; the road was by Luxembourg. And how was I to get thither? By Brussels, he said, and a week hence, the diligence having set off the day before. Alas, I well knew that! and entreated some other means to forward me to Tr�ves, Page 372 He replied that he knew of none from Li ge; but that if I would go to Aix, I might there, perhaps, though it was out of the road, hear of some conveyance; but he asserted it was utterly impossible I could leave Li ge without a passport from the Prussian police-office, where I should only and surely be detained if I had not one to show from whence I came. This happily, reminded me of the one I had from M. de jaucourt' in Paris, and which was fortunately, though accidentally, in my hand-basket. Arrived at Aix, I earnestly inquired for a conveyance to Tr�ves; none existed! nor could I hear of any at all, save a diligence to juliers, which was to set out at four o'clock the next morning. To lose thus a whole day, and even then to go only more north instead of south, almost cast me into despair. But redress there was none, and I was forced to secure myself a place to juliers, whence, I was told, I might get on. At any more tranquil period I should have seized this interval for visiting the famous old cathedral and the tomb of Charlemagne; but now I thought not of them; I did not even recollect that Aix-la-Chapelle had been the capital of that emperor. I merely saw the town through a misty, mizzling rain, and that the road all around it was sandy and heavy, or that all was discoloured by my own disturbed view. I laid down, in a scarcely furnished apartment, without undressing. I suffered no shutter or curtain to be closed, lest i should lose my vehicle ; and such was my anxiety, that at three o'clock, by my own watch, I descended to inquire if we were not to set off. I wandered about by the twilight of a season that is never quite dark, but met no one. I returned to my chamber, but, always in terror of being forgotten, descended again in a quarter of an hour, though still without success. An hour, says Dr. Johnson, may be tedious, but it cannot be long : four o'clock at last struck, and I ran into a vehicle then ready in the courtyard of the auberge.(284) I found myself alone, which, at first, was a great relief to my mind, that was overburthened with care and apprehension, and glad of utter silence. Ere long, however, I found it fed my melancholy, which it was my business rather to combat and I was not, therefore, sorry when a poor woman with a child was admitted from the outside through the charity of the coachman, as the rain grew heavier. Page 373 At juliers we stopped at a rather large inn, at the head of an immensely long market-place. It was nearly empty, except where occupied by straggling soldiers, poor, lame, or infirm labourers, women, and children. The universal war of the Continent left scarcely a man unmaimed to be seen in civil life. The women who met my eyes were all fat, with very round and very brown faces. Most of them were barefooted, nay, barelegged, and had on odd small caps, very close round their visages. The better sort, I fancy, at that critical time, had hidden themselves or fled the town. We entered Cologne through an avenue, said to be seven miles in length, of lime-trees. It was evening, but very light, and Cologne had a striking appearance, from its magnitude and from its profusion of steeples. The better sort of houses were white and looked neat, though in an old-fashioned style, and elaborately ornamented. But, between the ravages of time and of war, the greater part of them seemed crumbling away, if not tumbling down. A FRIENDLY RECEPTION AT COLOGNE. But while I expected to be driven on to some auberge, a police officer, in a Prussian uniform, came to the coach-door, and demanded our passports. My companion made herself known as a native, and was let out directly. The officer, having cast his eye over my passport, put his head through the window of the carriage, and, in a low whisper, asked me whether I were French? French by marriage, though English by birth, I hardly knew which to call myself; I said, however, "Oui." He then, in a voice yet more subdued, gave me to understand that he could serve me. I caught at his offer, and told him I earnestly desired to go straight to Tr�ves, to a wounded friend. He would do for me what he could, he answered, for he was French himself, though employed by the Prussians. He would carry my passport for me to the magistrate of the place and get it signed without my having any further trouble though only, he feared, to Bonn, or, at farthest, to Coblenz, whence I might probably proceed unmolested. He knew also, and could recommend me to a most respectable lady and gentleman, both French, and under the Prussian hard gripe, where I might spend the evening en famille, and be spared entering any auberge. Page 374 He conducted me, in silence, passing through the cloisters to a house not far distant, and very retired in its appearance'. Arrived at a door at which he knocked or rang, he still spoke not a word, but when an old man came to open it, in a shabby dress, but with a good and lively face, be gave him some directions in German and in a whisper, and then entrusted with my passport, he bowed to me and hurried away. The old man led me to a very large room, scarcely at all furnished. He pulled out of a niche a sort of ebony armchair, very tottering and worn, and said he would call madame, for whom he also placed a fauteuil, at the head of an immense and clumsy table. I was then joined by an elderly gentlewoman, who was led in ceremoniously by a gentleman still more elderly. The latter made me three profound obeisances, which I returned with due imitation, while the lady approached me with good breeding, and begged me to take my seat. The old man then, who I found was their domestic, served the tea. I know not whether this was their general custom, or a compliment to a stranger. But when we had all taken some, they opened into a little conversation. It was I, indeed, who began by apologising for my intrusion, and expressing at the same time my great relief in being spared going to an auberge, alone as I was; but I assured them that the gentleman who had brought me to their dwelling had acted entirely by his own uninfluenced authority. They smiled or rather tried to smile, for melancholy was seated on their countenances in its most fixed colours and they told me that person was their best friend, and lost no opportunity to offer them succour or comfort. He had let them know my situation, and had desired they would welcome and cheer me. Welcome me, the lady added in French, they did gladly, since I was in distress; but they had little power to cheer me, involved as they were themselves in the depths of sorrow. Sympathy of compassion soon led to sympathy of confidence; and when they heard to whom I belonged, and the nature of my terrible haste, they related their own sad history. Death, misfortune, and oppression had all laid on them their iron hands ; they had lost their sons while forcibly fighting for a usurpation which they abhorred; they had lost their property by emigration; and they had been treated with Page 375 equal harshness by the revolutionists because they were suspected of loyalty, and by the royalists because their children had served in the armies of the revolutionists. They were now living nearly in penury, and owed their safety and peace solely to the protection of the officer who had brought me to them. With communications such as these, time passed so little heavily, however sadly, that we were ill-disposed to separate; and eleven o'clock struck, as we sat over their economical but well served and well cooked little supper, ere the idea of retiring was mentioned. They then begged me to go to rest, as I must be at the diligence for Coblenz by four o'clock the next morning. To another large room, nearly empty except the old, high, and narrow bed, the domestic now conducted me, promising to call me at half-past three o'clock in the morning, and to attend me to the diligence. I did not dare undress; I tied my watch, which was a small repeater, round my wrist, and laid down in my clothes-but to strike my watch, and to pray for my beloved invalid, and my safe restoration to him, filled up, without, I believe, three minutes of repose, the interval to my conductor's return. At half-past three we set out, after I had safely deposited all I durst spare, where my disinterested, but most poor host would inevitably find my little offering, which, if presented to him, he would probably have refused. I never heard his name, which he seemed studious to hold back; but I have reason to think he was of the ancient provincial noblesse. His manners, and those of his wife, had an antique etiquette in them that can only accord with that idea. The walk was immensely long; it was through the scraggy and hilly streets I have mentioned, and I really thought it endless. The good domestic carried my luggage. The height of the houses made the light merely not darkness ; we met not a creature; and the painful pavement and barred windows, and fear of being too late, made the walk still more dreary. I was but just in time; the diligence was already drawn out of the inn-yard, and some friends of the passengers were taking leave. I eagerly secured my place - and never so much regretted the paucity of my purse as in my inability to recompense as I wished the excellent domestic whom I now quitted. Page 376 FROM COLOGNE TO COBLENZ AND TREVES. I found myself now in much better society than I had yet been, consisting of two gentlemen, evidently of good education, and a lady. They were all, German, and spoke only that language one to another, though they addressed me in French as often as my absorption in my own ruminations gave any opening for their civility. And this was soon the case, by my hearing them speak of the Rhine ; my thoughts were so little geographical that it had not occurred to me that Cologne was upon that river - I had not, therefore, looked for or perceived it the preceding evening: but upon my now starting at the sound of its name and expressing my Strong -curiosity to behold it, they all began to watch for the first point upon which it became clearly visible, and all five with one voice called out presently after, "Ah, le voil !"(285) But imagination had raised expectations that the Rhine, at this part of its stream, would by no means answer. It seemed neither so wide, so deep, so rapid, nor so grand as my mind had depicted it nor yet were its waters so white or bright as to suit my ideas of its fame. At last my heart became better tuned. I was now on my right road; no longer travelling zig-zag, and as I could procure any means to get on, but in the straight road, by Coblenz, to the city which contained the object of all my solicitude. And then it was that my eyes opened to the beauties of nature; then it was that the far-famed Rhine found justice in those poor little eyes, which hitherto, from mental preoccupation, or from expectations too high raised, had refused a cordial tribute to its eminent beauty, unless indeed its banks, till after Bonn, are of inferior loveliness. Certain it is, that from this time till my arrival at Coblenz, I thought myself in regions of enchantment. >From Coblenz to Tr�ves I was two days travelling, though it might with ease have been accomplished in less than half that time. We no longer journeyed in any diligence that may be compared with one of France or of England, but in a queer German carriage, resembling something mixed of a coach, a chaise, and a cart. Page 377 MEETING WITH GENERAL D'ARBLAY. At Tr�ves, at length, on Monday evening, the 24th of July, 1815, I arrived in a tremor of joy and terror indescribable. But my first care was to avoid hazarding any mischief from surprise; and my first measure was to obtain some intelligence previously to risking an interview. It was now six days since any tidings had reached me. My own last act in leaving Brussels had been to write a few lines to M. de Premorel, my General's aide-de-camp, to announce my journey, and prepare him for my arrival. I now wrote a few lines to the valet of Monsieur d'Arblay, and desired he would come instantly to the inn for the baggage of Madame d'Arblay, who was then on the road. Hardly five minutes elapsed ere Fran�ois, running like a race-horse, though in himself a staid and composed German, appeared before me. How I shook at his sight with terrific suspense ! The good-natured creature relieved me instantly though with a relief that struck at my heart with a pang of agony--for he said that the danger was over, and that both the surgeons said so. He was safe, I thanked God ! but danger, positive danger had existed! Faint I felt, though in a tumult of grateful sensations: I took his arm, for my tottering feet would hardly support me; and M. de Premorel, hastening to meet me at the street-door, told me that the general was certain I was already at Tr�ves; I therefore permitted myself to enter his apartment at once. Dreadfully suffering, but still mentally occupied by the duties of his profession, I found him. Three wounds had been inflicted on his leg by the kick of a wild horse, which he had bought at Tr�ves, with intent to train to military service. He was felled by them to the ground. Yet, had he been skilfully attended, he might have been completely cured! But all the best surgeons, throughout every district, had been seized upon for the armies : and the ignorant hands into which he fell aggravated the evil, by incisions hazardous, unnecessary, and torturing. WAITING FOR LEAVE TO RETURN To FRANCE. The adjoint of M. d'Arblay, M. le Comte de Mazancourt, had been sent to Paris by M. d'Arblay, to demand leave and Page 378 passports for returning to France, the battle and peace of Waterloo having ended the purpose for which he had been appointed by Louis XVIII., through the orders of the Mar�chal Duc de Feltre, minister at war, to raise recruits from the faithful who wished to quit the usurper. My poor sufferer had been quartered upon M. Nell, a gentleman of Tr�ves; but there was no room for me at M. Nell's, and I was obliged-most reluctantly-to be conducted to an hotel at some distance. But the next day M. d'Arblay entered into an agreement with Madame de la Grange, a lady of condition who resided at Tr�ves, to admit me to eat and lodge at her house, upon the picnic plan, of paying the overplus of that expense I should cause her, with a proper consideration, not mentioned, but added by my dear general, for my apartment and incidental matters. This sort of plan, since their ruin by the Revolution, had become so common as to be called fashionable amongst the aristocratic noblesse, who were too much impoverished to receive their friends under their roofs but by community of fortune during their junction. Every morning after breakfast one of the family conducted me back to M. Nell's, where I remained till the hour of dinner, when M. Godefroy de Premorel commonly gave me le bras for returning, and Fran�ois watched for me at the end of the repast. This was to me a cruel arrangement, forcing my so frequent absences; but I had no choice. It was not till after reiterated applications by letter, and by MM. de Mazancourt and Premorel in person, that my poor general could obtain his letters of recall; though the re-establishment of Louis XVIII. on his throne made the mission on the frontiers null, and though the hapless and helpless state of health of M. d'Arblay would have rendered him incapable of continuing to fulfil its duties if any yet were left to perform. The mighty change of affairs so completely occupied men's minds, as well as their hands, that they could work only for themselves and the present : the absent were utterly forgotten. The Duc de Luxembourg, however, at length interfered, and procured passports, with the ceremonies of recall. DEPARTURE FOR PARIS. On the morning of our departure from Tr�ves, all the families of Nell and La Grange filled the courtyard, and surrounded the little carriage in which we set out, with others, Page 379 unknown to me, but acquainted with the general, and lamenting to lose sight of him-as who that ever knew him failed doing? M. de Mazancourt and the De Premorels had preceded us. The difficulty of placing the poor wounded leg was great and grievous, and our journey was anything but gay; the cure, alas, was so much worse than incomplete! The spirits of the poor worn invalid were sunk, and, like his bodily strength, exhausted; it was so new to him to be helpless, and so melancholy ! After being always the most active, the most enterprising, the most ingenious in difficulty and mischance, and the most vivacious in conquering evils, and combating accidents;-to find himself thus suddenly bereft not only of his powers to serve and oblige all around him, but even of all means of aiding and sufficing to himself, was profoundly dejecting ; nor, to his patriot-heart, was this all: far otherwise. We re-entered France by the permission of foreigners, and could only re-enter at all by passports of all the Allies! It seemed as if all Europe had freer egress to that country than its natives! Yet no one more rejoiced in the victory of Waterloo--no one was more elated by the prospect of its glorious results: for the restoration of the monarchy he was most willing to shed the last drop of his blood. But not such was the manner in which he had hoped to see it take place ; he had hoped it would have been more spontaneous, and the work of the French themselves to overthrow the usurpation. He felt, therefore, severely shocked, when, at the gates of Thionville, upon demanding admittance by giving his name, his military rank, and his personal passport, he was disregarded and unheard by a Prussian sub-officer--a Prussian to repulse a French general, in the immediate service of his king, from entering France! His choler rose, in defiance of sickness and infirmity; but neither indignation nor representation were of any avail, till he condescended to search his portefeuille for a passport of All the Allies, which the Duc de Luxembourg had wisely forwarded to Tr�ves, joined to that of the minister at war. Yet the Prussian was not to blame,. save for his uncourteous manners : the King of France was only such, at that moment, through Bl�cher and Wellington. Three or four days, I think, we passed at Metz, where the general put himself Into the hands of a surgeon of eminence, who did what was now to be done to rectify the gross mismanagement at Tr�ves. In this time I saw all that was most Page 380 worth remark in the old and famous city of Metz. But it looked drear and abandoned- as everywhere during my journey. Nothing was yet restored, for confidence was wanting in the state of things. Wellington and Bl�cher, the lords of the ascendant, seemed alone gifted with the Power of foreseeing, as they had been instrumentally of regulating, events. A CHANCE VIEW OF THE EMPEROR OF RUSSIA. Not long after, I forget exactly where, we came under new yet still foreign masters--the Russians ; who kept Posts, like sentinels, along the high road, at stated distances. They were gentle and well-behaved, in a manner and to a degree that was really almost edifying. On the plains of Chalons there was a grand Russian encampment. We stopped half a day for rest at some small place in its neighbourhood and I walked about, guarded by the good Fran�ois, to view it. But, on surveying a large old house, which attracted my notice by a group of Russian officers that I observed near its entrance, how was I struck on being told by Fran�ois, that the Emperor of all the Russias was at that moment its inhabitant! At the entrance of the little gate that opened the palisade stood a lady with two or three gentlemen. There was no crowd, and no party of guards, nor any sign of caution or parade of grandeur, around this royally honoured dwelling. And, in a few minutes, the door was quietly opened and the emperor came out, in an undress uniform, wearing no stars nor orders, and with an air of gay good humour, and unassuming ease. There was something in his whole appearance of hilarity, freedom, youthfulness, and total absence of all thought of state and power, that would have led me much sooner to suppose him a jocund young Lubin, or country esquire, than an emperor, warrior, or a statesman. The lady curtsied low, and her gentlemen bowed profoundly as he reached the group. He instantly recognised them, and seemed enchanted at their sight. A sprightly conversation ensued, in which he addressed himself chiefly to the lady, who seemed accustomed to his notice, yet to receive it with a species of rapture. The gentlemen also had the easy address of conscious welcome to inspirit them, and I never followed up a conversation I could not hear, with more certainty of its being agreeable to all parties. They all spoke French, and I was restrained only by my own sense of propriety from advancing Page 381 within hearing 'of every word; for no sentinel, nor guard of any kind, interfered to keep the few lookers on at a distance; This discourse over, be gallantly touched his bat and leaped into his open carriage, attended by a Russian officer, and was out of sight in a moment. How far more happy, disengaged, and to his advantage, was this view of his imperial majesty, than that which I had had the year before in England, where the crowds that surrounded, and the pressure of unrestrained curiosity and forwardness, certainly embarrassed, if they did not actually displease him! ENGLISH TROOPS IN OCCUPATION. At Meaux I left again my captive companion for a quarter of an hour to visit the cathedral of the sublimely eloquent Bossuet. In happier moments I should not have rested Without discovering and tracing the house, the chamber, the library, the study, the garden which had been as it were sanctified by his virtues, his piety, his learning, and his genius and oh, how eagerly, if not a captive, would my noble-minded companion have been my conductor! A new change again of military control soon followed, at which I grieved for my beloved companion. I almost felt ashamed to look at him, though my heart involuntarily, irresistibly palpitated with emotions which had little, indeed, in unison with either grief or shame; for the sentinels, the guards, the camps, became English. All converse between us now stopped involuntarily, and as if by tacit agreement. M. d'Arblay was too sincere a loyalist to be sorry, yet too high-spirited a freeman to be satisfied. I could devise nothing; to say that might not cause some painful discussion or afflicting retrospection, and we travelled many miles in pensive silence-each nevertheless intensely observant of the astonishing new scene presented to our view, on re-entering the capital of France, to see the vision of Henry V. revived, and Paris in the hands of the English! I must not omit to mention that notwithstanding this complete victory over Bonaparte, the whole of the peasantry and common people, converse with them when or where or how I might during our route, with one accord avowed themselves utterly incredulous of his defeat. They all believed he Page 382 had only given way in order that he might come forward with new forces to extirpate all opposers, and exalt himself on their ashes to permanent dominion. LEAVETAKING: M. DE TALLEYRAND. On the eve of setting out for England, I went round to all I could reach of my intimate acquaintance, to make--as it has proved--a last farewell! M. de Talleyrand came in to Madame de Laval's drawing-room during my visit of leavetaking. He was named upon entering; but there is no chance he could recollect me, as I had not seen him since the first month or two after my marriage, when he accompanied M. de Narbonne and M. de Beaumetz to our cottage at Bookham. I could not forbear whispering to Madame de Laval, how many souvenirs his sight awakened! M. de Narbonne was gone, who made so much of our social felicity during the period of our former acquaintance; and Mr. Locke was gone, who made its highest intellectual delight; and Madame de Stael,(286) who gave it a zest of wit, deep thinking, and light speaking, of almost unexampled entertainment; and my beloved sister Phillips, whose sweetness, intelligence, grace, and sensibility won every heart: these were gone, who all, during the sprightly period in which I was known to M. Talleyrand, had almost always made our society. Ah! what parties were those! how select, how refined though sportive, how investigatingly sagacious though invariably well-bred! Madame de Laval sighed deeply, without answering me, but I left M. de Talleyrand to Madame la Duchesse de Luynes, and a sister of A le Duc de Luxembourg, and another lady or two, while I engaged my truly amiable hostess, till I rose to depart: and then, in passing the chair of M. de Talleyrand, who gravely and silently, but politely, rose and bowed, I said, "M. de Talleyrand m'a oubli: mais on n'oublie pas M. de Talleyrand."(287) I left the room with quickness, but saw a movement of surprise by no means unpleasant break over the habitual placidity, the nearly imperturbable composure of his made-up countenance. Page 383 our journey was eventless, yet sad; sad, not solely, though chiefly, from the continued sufferings of my wounded companion, but sad also, that I quitted so many dear friends, who had wrought themselves, by innumerable kindnesses, into my affections, and who knew not, for we could not bring ourselves to utter words that must have reciprocated so much pain, that our intended future residence was England. The most tender and generous of fathers had taken this difficult resolution for the sake of his son, whose earnest wish had been repeatedly expressed for permission to establish himself in the land of his birth. That my wishes led to the same point, there could be no doubt, and powerfully did they weigh with the most disinterested and most indulgent of husbands. All that could be suggested to compromise what was jarring in our feelings, so as to save all parties from murmuring or regret, was the plan of a yearly journey to France. (273) Minister of war. (274) About the close of the year 1813, when Napoleon's star was setting, and his enemies were pressing hard upon him, the Dutch threw off the yoke of France, recalled the Prince of Orange, and proclaimed him at Amsterdam King of the United Netherlands, by the title of William I.-ED. (275) On the first floor. (276) Lady Caroline Lamb (born in 1785) was the wife of the Hon. William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne and prime minister of England. A year or two before Fanny saw her, she was violently in love with Lord Byron: "absolutely besieged him," Rogers said. Byron was not unwilling to be besieged, though he presently grew tired of the lady, and broke off their correspondence, to her great distress, with an insulting and rather heartless letter. But it was more than a mere flirtation on Lady Caroline's part. She fainted away on meeting Byron's funeral (1824); "her mind became more affected; she was separated from her husband and died 26 January, 1828, generously cared for by him to the last."(Dict. of National Biography.) She was the author of two or three novel.-ED. (277) Son of the Duke of Brunswick who invaded France in 1792, and who died in 1806 of the wounds which he received in the battle of Jena. His son was killed at Quatre Bras, June 16, 1815.-ED. (278) "Bonaparte is taken! there he is!" (279) Alarm. (280) Fortresses. (281) Litters. (282) Both reports were false. Jerome Bonaparte, Napoleon's youngest brother, formerly King of Westphalia, was wounded in the groin at Quatre Bras, two days before the battle of Waterloo. His wound, however, was not so severe as to prevent him from serving at Waterloo, and, after the flight of the Emperor to Paris, Jerome remained to conduct the retreat and rally the fugitives. General Vandamme was not at Waterloo at all, nor was he wounded. He was attached to the army commanded by Marshal Grouchy, and was engaged in a useless conflict with the Prussian rear-guard at Wavres on the day of the decisive battle.-ED. (283) Another false rumour. Murat was in France during the whole of the Waterloo campaign. This distinguished soldier had married Caroline Bonaparte, the youngest sister of Napoleon, by whom he was made King of Naples. In December, 1813, Murat was ungrateful enough to join the allied powers against the Emperor, but, after Napoleon's return from Elba, he threw himself into the war with characteristic precipitation. Marching from Naples with an army of 50,000 men, he occupied Rome and Florence, but was soon after totally defeated by the Austrians, and escaped with difficulty to France. The Emperor refused to see him. After the final abdication of Napoleon, Murat made a desperate attempt, with a handful of men, to regain his kingdom of Naples. He was taken prisoner, tried by a military commission, condemned to death, and immediately shot. At St. Helena Napoleon said of him, "It was his fate to ruin us every way; once by declaring against us, and again by unadvisedly taking our part."-ED. (284) Inn. (285) "Ah! there it is!" (286) This was a misapprehension. Madame de Stael died at Paris, July 14, 1817. The above narrative was written at a period some years later than that of the events to which it relates, and hence, in all probability, the mistake arose.-ED. (287) "M. de Talleyrand has forgotten me; but one does not forget M. de Talleyrand." Page 384 SECTION 26. (1815-8) AT BATH AND ILFRACOMBE: GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILLNESS AND DEATH. ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein.) Dover, Oct. 18, 1815. Last night, my ever dear friends, we arrived once more in old England. I write this to send the moment I land in London. I cannot boast of our health, our looks, our strength, but I hope we may recover a part of all when our direful fatigues, mental and corporeal, cease to utterly weigh upon and wear us. We shall winter in Bath. The waters of Plombi�res have been recommended to my poor boiteux,(288) but he has obtained a cong� that allows this change. Besides his present utter incapacity for military service, he is now unavoidably on the retraite(289 list, and the King of France permits his coming over, not alone without difficulty, but with wishing him a good journey, through the Duc de Luxembourg, his captain in the gardes du corps. Adieu, dearest both--Almost I embrace you in dating from Dover. Had you my letter from Tr�ves? I suspect not, for my melancholy new history would have brought your kind condolence: or, otherwise, that missed me. Our letters were almost all intercepted by the Prussians while we were Page 385 there. Not one answer arrived to us from Paris, save by private hands. . . . December 24, 1815. My heart has been almost torn asunder, of late, by the dreadful losses which the newspapers have communicated to me, of the two dearest friends(290) of my absent partner ; both sacrificed in the late sanguinary conflicts. It has been with difficulty I have forborne attempting to return to him ; but a winter voyage might risk giving him another loss. The death of one of these so untimely departed favourites, how will Madame de Stael support? Pray tell me if you hear any thing of her, and what. . . . [With the year 1816 a new section of Madame d'Arblay's correspondence may be said to commence in her letters to her son, the late Rev. A. d'Arblay, who was then pursuing his studies at Caius college, Cambridge. It has been thought advisable to be more sparing in publication from this, than from the earlier portions of Madame d'Arblay's correspondence. Without, however, a few of these letters to her son, "the child of many hopes," this picture of her mind, with all its tenderness, playfulness, and sound sense, would scarcely be complete.] ALEXANDER D'ARBLAY: SOME OLD BATH FRIENDS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke) Bath, February 15, 1816. Incredible is the time I have lost without giving in that claim which has never been given in vain for news of my own ,dear friend - but I have been-though not ill, so continually unwell, and though not, as so recently, in disordered and disorganizing difficulties, yet so incessantly occupied with small, but indispensable occupations, that the post hour has always gone by to-day to be waited for to-morrow. Yet my heart has never been satisfied-I don't mean with itself, for with that it can never quarrel on this subject,-but with my pen-my slack, worn, irregular, fugitive, fatigued, yet ever faithful, though never punctual pen. My dearest friend forgives, I know, even that; but her known and unvarying lenity is the very cause I cannot forgive it myself. We have had our Alexander for six weeks; he left us three \ Page 386 days ago, and I won't tell my dear friend whether or not we miss him. He is precisely such as he was--as inartificial in his character, as irregular in his studies. He cannot bring himself to conquer his disgust of the routine of labour at Cambridge; and while he energetically argues upon the innocence of a preference to his own early practice,(291) which he vindicates, I believe unanswerably, with regard to its real superiority, he is insensible, at least forgetful, of all that can be urged of the mischiefs to his prospects in life that must result from his not conquering his inclinations,"- I have nearly lost all hope of his taking the high degree A judged to him by general expectation at the University, from the promise of his opening. Of old friends here, I have found stationary, Mrs. Holroyd, and Mrs. Frances. and Harriet Bowdler. Mrs. Holroyd still gives parties, and tempted me to hear a little medley music, as she called it. Mrs. F. Bowdler lives on Lansdowne-crescent, and scarcely ever comes down the hill. Mrs. Harriet I have missed, though we have repeatedly sought a meeting on both sides ; but she left Bath for some excursion soon after my arrival. Another new resident here will excite, I am sure, a more animated interest ' Mrs. Piozzi. The Bishop of Salisbury, my old friend, found me out, and came to make me a long and most amiable visit, which was preceded by Mrs. I-, and we all spent an evening with them very sociably and pleasantly. FRENCH AFFAIRS. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, Friday, April 2, 1816. ......The Oppositionists, and all their friends, have now a dread of France, and bend their way to Italy. But the example now given at Paris, in the affair of Messrs. Wilson and Co.(292) that Englishmen are as amenable to the laws and customs of the countries which they inhabit, as foreigners while in England are to ours, will make them more careful, both in spirit and conduct, than heretofore they have deemed it necessary to be, all over the globe. It is a general opinion Page 387 that there will be a great emigration this summer, because John Bull longs to see something beyond the limited circumference of his birthright - but that foreign nations will be now so watchful of his proceedings, so jealous of his correspondence, and so easily offended by his declamation or epigrams, that he will be glad to return here, where liberty, when not abused, allows a real and free exercise of true independence of mind, speech, and conduct, such as no other part of the world affords. I am truly happy not to be at Paris at such a juncture ; for opinions must be cruelly divided, and society almost out of the question. Our letters all confess that scarcely one family is d'acord even with itself. The overstraining royalists make moderate men appear jacobins. The good king must be torn to pieces between his own disposition to clemency, and the vehemence of his partisans against risking any more a general amnesty. All that consoles me for the length of time required for the cure of your padre's leg is the consequence, in its keeping off his purposed visit. A cold has forced him to relinquish the pump till to-day, when he is gone to make another essay. He is so popular in Bath, that he is visited here by everybody that can make any pretext for calling. I have this moment been interrupted by a letter to invite me with my " bewitching husband " to a villa near Prior Park. He is not insensible to the kindness he meets with - au contraire, it adds greatly to his contentment in the steadiness of a certain young sprig that is inducing him here to plant his final choux; and the more, as we find that, as far as that sprig has been seen here, he, also, has left so favourable an impression, that we are continually desired to introduce him, on his next arrival, wherever we go. Your kind father, upon your last opening of "All here is well," instantly ran down stairs, with a hop, skip, and a jump, and agreed to secure our pretty lodgings for a year. THE ESCAPE OF LAVALETTE. THE STREATHAM PORTRAITS. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, April 30, 1816. The three chevaliers have all been condemned as culpable of aiding a state-criminal to escape, but not accused of any conspiracy against the French government. They Page 388 are therefore, sentenced merely to three months' imprisonment.(293) Certainly, if their logic were irrefutable, and if the treaty of Paris included the royal pardon with the amnesty accorded by the allied generals, then, to save those who ought not to have been tried would have been meritorious rather than illegal; but the king had no share in that treaty, which could only hold good in a military sense, of security from military prosecution or punishment from the Allies. These Allies, however, did not call themselves conquerors, nor take Paris, nor judge the Parisians ; but so far as belonged to a capitulation, meant, on both sides, to save the capital and its inhabitants from pillage and the sword. Once restored to its rightful monarch, all foreign interference was at an end. Having been seated on the throne by the nation, and having never abdicated, though he had been chased by rebellion from his kingdom, he had never forfeited his privilege to judge which of his subjects were still included in his original amnesty, and which had incurred the penalty or chances of being tried by the laws of the land - and by them, not by royal decree, condemned or acquitted. A false idea seems encouraged by all the king's enemies, that his amnesty ought to have secured pardon to the condemned: the amnesty could only act up to the period when it was granted and accepted; it could have nothing to do with after-offences. I am grieved to lose my respect and esteem for a character I had considered so heroical as that of Sir R. Wilson: but to find, through his intercepted correspondence, that the persecution Page 389 of the Protestants was to be asserted, true or false, to blacken the reigning dynasty. . . to find this truly diabolic idea presented to him by a brother of whom he speaks as the partner of all his thoughts, etc., has consumed every spark of favour in which he was held throughout the whole nation, except, perhaps, in those whom party will make deaf and blind for ever to what opposes their own views and schemes. I do not envy Lord Grey for being a third in such an intercourse, an intercourse teeming with inventive plots and wishes for new revolutions ! Your uncle has bought the picture of my dearest father at Streatham.(294) I am truly rejoiced it will come into our family, since the collection for which it was painted is broken up. Your uncle has also bought the Garrick, which was one of the most agreeable and delightful of the set. To what recollections, at once painful and pleasing, does this sale give birth! In the library, in which those pictures were hung, we always breakfasted; and there I have had as many precious conversations with the great and good Dr. Johnson as there are days in the year. Dr. Johnson sold the highest of all! 'tis an honour to our age, that!--360 pounds! My dear father would have been mounted higher, but that his son Charles was there to bid for himself, and, everybody must have seen, was resolved to have it. There was besides, I doubt not, a feeling for his lineal claim and pious desire. REGARDING HUSBAND AND SON. (Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.) Bath, August 17, 1816. I have been in a state of much uncertainty and disturbance since I wrote last with respect to one of the dearest possible interests of life, the maternal: the uncertainty, however, for this epoch is over, and I will hasten to communicate to you its result, that I may demand further and frequent accounts of your own plans, and of their execution or change, success Page 390 or failure. All that concerns you, must to me always be near and dear. General d'Arblay is gone to France, and here at Bath rest sa femme et son fils.(295) There was no adjusting the excursion but by separation. Alexander would have been wilder than ever for his French mathematics in re-visiting Paris ; and, till his degree is taken, we must not contribute to lowering it by feasting his opposing pursuits with fresh nourishment, M. d'Arblay nevertheless could by no means forego his intention which a thousand circumstances led him to consider as right' He could not, indeed, feel himself perfectly sa place without paying his devoirs to his king, notwithstanding he has been put by his majesty himself, not by his own desire, en retraite. The exigencies of the treasury demand this, for all who are not young enough for vigorous active service; but his wounded leg prevented his returning thanks sooner for the promotion with which the king finished and recompensed his services;(296) and therefore he deems it indispensable to present himself at the foot of the throne for that purpose now that he is able to "bear his body more seemly" (like Audrey) in the royal presence. He hopes also to arrange for receiving here his half-pay, when sickness or affairs or accident may prevent his crossing the Channel. Choice and happiness will, to his last breath, carry him annually to France ; for, not to separate us from his son, or in the bud of life, to force that son's inclination in fixing his place or mode of residence, alone decides his not fixing there his own last staff. But Alexander, young as he left that country, has seen enough of it to be aware that no line is open there to ambition or importance, but the military, most especially for the son of an officer so known and marked for his military character: and I need not tell you that, with my feelings and sentiments, to see him wield a sword that could only lead him to renown by being drawn against the country of his birth and of mine, would demolish my heart, and probably my head; and, to believe in any war in which England and France will not be rivals, is to entertain Arcadian hopes, fit only for shepherds and shepherdesses of the drama. Page 391 MATERNAL ANXIETIES. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Bath, October 28th, 1816. Certainement, et tr�s certainement, mon bien cher ami, your beautiful strictures upon la connoissance et l'usage du monde would have given "un autre cours mes id�es"(297) were the object of our joint solicitude less singular; but our Alexander, mon ami, dear as he is to us, and big as are my hopes pour l'avenir,(298) our Alexander is far different from what you were at his age. More innocent, I grant, and therefore highly estimable, and worthy of our utmost care, and worthy of the whole heart of her to whom he shall permanently attach himself. But O, how far less aimable! He even piques himself upon the difference, as if that difference were to his advantage. He is a medley of good qualities and of faults the most extraordinary and the most indescribable. Enfin, except in years, in poetry, and in mathematics, il n'est encore qu'un enfant.(299) Were he so only as to la connoissance, et m�me l'usage du monde, I should immediately subscribe to the whole of your really admirable dissertation upon the subject in the letter now before me, for I should then sympathise in your idea that a lovely young companion might mould him to her own excellence, and polish him to our wishes; but O, nous n'en sommes pas l !(300) When he is wholly at his ease, as he is at present, with his mother, and as he would soon inevitably be with his wife, he is so uncouth, so negligent, and absent, that his frightened partner would either leave him in despair to himself, or, by reiterated attempts to reason with him, lose her bridal power, and raise the most dangerous dissensions. He exults rather than blushes in considering himself ignorant of all that belongs to common life, and of everything that is deemed useful. Even in mathematics he disdains whatever is not abstract and simply theoretical. "Trouble I hate" he calls his motto. You will easily conceive that there are moments, nay, days, in which he is more reasonable; I should else be Page 392 hopeless : nor will he ever dare hold such language to you. but it is not less the expression of his general mind. Sometimes, too, he wishes for wealth, but it is only that he might be supine. Poor youth ! he little sees 'how soon he would then become poor ! Yet, while thus open to every dupery and professedly without any sense of order, he is so fearful of ridicule, that a smile from his wife at any absurdity would fill him with the most gloomy indignation. It does so now from his mother. A wife, I foresee you will reply, young and beautiful, sera bien autre chose; mais je crois que vous Vous trompez:(301) a mistress, a bride,--oui! a mistress and a bride would see him her devoted slave ; but in the year following year, when ardent novelty is passed away, a mother loved as I am may form much judgment what will be the lot of the wife, always allowing for the attractions of reconciliation which belong exclusively to the marriage state, where it is happy. Nevertheless, I am completely of your opinion, that a good and lovely wife will ultimately soften his asperity, and give him a new taste for existence, by opening to him new sources of felicity, and exciting, as you justly suggest, new emulation to improvement, when he is wise enough to know how to appreciate, to treat, and to preserve such a treasure. But will four months fit him for beginning such a trial? Think of her, mon ami, as well as of him. The "responsibility" in this case would be yours for both, and exquisite would be your agony should either of them be unhappy. A darling daughter-an only child, nursed in the lap of soft prosperity, sole object of tenderness and of happiness to both her parents. rich, well-born, stranger to all care, and unused to any control; beautiful as a little angel, and (be very sure) not unconscious she is born to be adored ; endowed with talents to create admiration, independently of the �clat of her personal charms, and indulged from her cradle in every wish, every fantaisie.--Will such a young creature as this be happy with our Alexander after her bridal supremacy, when the ecstasy of his first transports are on the wane? That a beauty such as you describe might bring him, even from a first interview, to her feet, notwithstanding all his present prejudices against a French wife, I think probable enough, though he now thinks his taste in beauty different from yours; for he has never, he says, been struck but by a commanding air. All beauty, "Page 393 however, soon finds its own way to the heart. But could any permanent amendment ensue, from working upon his errors only through his passions? Is it not to be feared that as they, the passions, subside, the errors would all peep up again ? And she, who so prudently has already rejected a nearly accepted pr�tendant for his want of order!!!(302) (poor Alexander!) how will she be content to be a monitress, where she will find everything in useful life to teach, and nothing in return to learn? And even if he endure the perpetual tutoring, will not she sicken of her victories ere he wearies of his defeats? And will Alexander be fit or willing to live under the eye, which he will regard as living under the subjection, of his wife's relations? In this country there is no notion of that mode of married life -, and our proud Alexander, the more he may want counsel and guidance, will the more haughtily, from fearing to pass for a baby, resent them. Let me add, that nothing can be less surprising than that he should have fixed his own expectation of welfare in England. Recollect, mon ami, it is now nearly three years ago since you gave him, in a solemn and beautiful letter, his choice between Cambridge and la compagnie de -Luxembourg, into which you had entered him saying that your position exacted that you should take your son back to serve, or not at all. You have certainly kept his definite answer, from which he has never wavered. And again, only at your last departure, this August, you told us positively that you could not take your son to France at twenty-one years of age with any honour or propriety but to enter him in the army. I would else, you know, have shut myself up with him in some cottage au lys, merely for the great pleasure of accompanying you. Alexander, therefore, now annexes an idea of degradation to a residence non-military in France. He would deem himself humbled by the civil place at which you hint, even if you could bring him, which I doubt above all, to submit to its duties. He regards himself, from peculiar circumstances, as an established Englishman (though born of a French father), with your own full consent, nay, by your own conditions. I by no means believe he will ever settle out of England, though he delights to think of travelling. And such, mon ami, appeared to be your own sentiments Page 394 when we parted, though they are changed now, or overpowered by the new view that is presented to you of domestic felicity, for Alexander. I have written thus fully, and after the best meditation in my power, according to your desire ; an(] every reflection and observation upon the subject, and upon Alexander, unites in making me wish, with the whole Of my judgment and feeling at once, to keep back, not to forward, any matrimonial connection, for years, not months, unless month,,; first produce the change to his advantage that I dare only expect from years. ADVANTAGES OF BATH: YOUNG D'ARBLAY's DECREE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Bath, November 10, 1816. I wish to live at Bath, wish it devoutly ; for at Bath we shall live, or no longer in England. London will only do for those who have two houses, and of the real country I may say the same; for a cottage, now Monsieur d'Arblay cannot, as heretofore, brave all the seasons, to work, and embellish his wintry hours, by embellishing anticipatingly his garden, would be too lonely, in so small a family, for the long evenings of cold and severe weather; and would lose us Alexander half the year, as we could neither expect nor wish to see him begin life as a recluse from the world. Bath, therefore, as it eminently agrees with us all, is, in England, the only place for us, since here, all the year round, there is always town at command, and always the country for prospect, exercise, and delight. Therefore, my dear friend, not a word but in favour of Bath, if you love me. Our own finishing finale will soon take root here, or yonder; for Alex will take his degree in January, and then, his mind at liberty, and his faculties in their full capacity for meditating upon his lot in life, he will come to a decision what mountain he shall climb, upon which to fix his staff; for all that relates to worldly prosperity will to him be up-hill toil, and labour. Never did I see in youth a mind so quiet, so philosophic, in mundane matters, with a temper so eager, so impetuous, so burningly alive to subjects of science and literature. The Tancred scholarship is still in suspense. The vice-chancellor is our earnest friend, as well as our faithful Dr. Davy, but the trustees have come to no determination - and Alex is my companion-or rather, I am Alex's Page 395 flapper-till the learned doctors can agree. At all events, he will not come out in Physic; we shall rather enter him at another college, with all the concomitant expenses, than let him, from any economy, begin his public career under false colours. When he entered this institution, I had not any notion of this difficulty; I was ignorant there would be any objection against his turning which way he pleased when the time for taking the degree should arrive. I am now in almost daily hope of the return of my voyager. His last letter tells me to direct no more to Paris. [After this time General d'Arblay made frequent journeys to Paris.] PLAYFUL REPROACHES AND SOBER COUNSEL. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, Friday, April 25, 1817. Why, what a rogue you are! four days in town! As there can be no scholarship--h�las! it matters not; but who knew that circumstance when they played truant? Can you tell me that, hey! Mr Cantab? Why, you dish me as if I were no more worth than Paley or Newton, or such like worthies! Your dear padre is very considerably better, surtout in looks, but by no means re-established ; for cold air--too much exertion- -too little--and all sorts of nourishment or beverage that are not precisely adapted to the present state of the poor shattered frame, produce instant pain, uneasiness, restlessness, and suffering. Such, however, is the common condition of convalescence, and therefore I observe it with much more concern than surprise - and Mr. Hay assures me all is as well as can possibly be expected after so long and irksome an illness. "The scholarship is at an end-- So much for that!" pretty cool, my friend! Will it make you double your diligence for what is not at an end? hey, mon petit monsieur? But I am sorry for your disappointment in the affair you mention, my dear Alex : though your affections were not so far engaged, methinks, but that your amour propre(303) is still more bless�(304) than your heart! hey? However, 'tis a real loss, Page 396 though little more than of an ideal friend, at present. But no idea is so flattering and so sweet, as that which opens to expectation a treasure of such a sort. I am really, therefore, sorry for you, my dear Alex. Your determination to give way to no sudden impulse in future is quite right. Nothing is so pleasant as giving way to impulse; nothing so hazardous. But this history must double your value for Messrs. Jones Musgrave, Jacobs, Ebden, Theobald, and Whewell. "Cling to those who cling to you!" said the immortal Johnson to your mother, when she uttered something that seemed fastidious relative to a person whose partiality she did not prize. Your padre was prevailed upon to go to the play. We were both very well pleased with H. Payne in certain parts; in some instances I even thought him excellent, especially in the natural, gentlemanly, and pensive tones in which he went through the gravedigger's and other scenes of the last act. But, for the soliloquies, and the grand conference with the mother! oh, there, Garrick rose up to my remembrance with an �clat of perfection that mocks all approach of approbation for a successor. But you, M. Keanite, permit a little hint against those looks that convey your resentment. They may lead to results that may be unpleasant. It is best to avoid displaying a susceptibility that shows the regret all on your own side ! Let the matter die away as though it had never been. Assume your cool air; your "so much for that!" but do not mark a d�pit that will rather flatter than vex. At first, it was well ; you gave way to Nature and to truth, and made apparent you had been sincere : but there, for your dignity's sake, let all drop ; and be civil as well as cool, if you would keep the upper hand. PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING BATH. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) 1817. .....June 18.-I made a morning visit to Mrs. Piozzi, whom I found with +Dr. Minchin, an informed, sensible physician. She was strange, as usual, at first; but animated, as usual, afterwards. The sisters, Mrs. Frances and Mrs Harriet Bowdler, called upon me, and were admitted, for I heard their names in time; and we had much good old talk), Page 397 that is, Frances and I; for Harriet is ever prim and demure and nearly mute before her elder sister. June 25.-Fixing the last day of the month for my journey, I set seriously to work to hasten my preparations. What a business it was! You have no conception how difficult, nor how laborious, it is to place so many books, such a quantity of linen, such a wardrobe, and such a mass of curiosities, in so small a compass. How fagged and fatigued I retired to rest every night, you may imagine. Alex vigorously carried heavy loads at a time from the study to the garret, but only where he might combine and arrange and order all for himself. However, he was tolerably useful for great luggages. June 26.-We spent the afternoon at Larkhall place, to meet there Maria and Sophy. My dear sister(305) was all spirit and vivacity. Mr. Burney, all tranquil enjoyment--peace, rest, leisure, books, music, drawing, and walking fill up his serene days, and repay the long toils of his meritorious life. And my sister, who happily foresees neither sickness nor ennui, is the spirit and spring of the party. June 28.-I devoted all day to leave-taking visits, for so many houses were opened, and claimed long confabulations, from their rarity, that I had not finished my little round till past ten o'clock at night. Yet of these hosts, Mrs. Frances Bowdler, Mrs. Piozzi, Mrs. Morgan, and Mrs. Andr� were out. Two of the three latter ladies are now in France, and they have written word, that the distress in their province exceeds all they have left in this country! Madame do Sourches has written a similar melancholy account; and Mrs. Holroyd, who received my longest call this morning, read me a letter from Lady B. with words yet stronger of the sufferings in the Low Countries! O baleful effects of "Bella, horrida bella!" I sat an hour also with Mrs. Harriet Bowdler, in sober chat and old histories. She has not--il s'en faut--the exhilaration and entertainment of her clever sister; but there is all the soft repose of good sense, good humour, urbanity, and kindness. One cannot do better than to cultivate with both; for if, after the spirited Frances, the gentle Harriet seems dull, one may at least say that after the kind Harriet, the satirical Frances seems alarming. But my longest visit was to the excellent Mrs. Ogle, who is the oldest acquaintance with whom I have any present connection in the world. It was at her house I first saw Mrs, Page 398 Chapone, who was her relation; I visited her, with my dear father, my mother-in-law, and my sisters ; though from circumstances we lost sight of each other, and met no more till I had that happy encounter with her at Cheltenham, when I brought her to the good and dear king. My respect for her age, her virtues, and this old connection, induced me to stay with her till it was too late to present myself elsewhere. I merely therefore called at the door of Madame de Sommery to inquire whether they Could receive me sans c�remonie for half an hour in the evening. This was agreed to , and Alex accompanied or rather preceded me to Madame de Sommery, who had her two jolies daughters, Stephanie and Pulch�rie, at work by her side, the tea-table spread l'Anglaise, and four of your th��tre(306)I upon the table, with Alex just beginning "Lido" as I entered. I was never so pleased with them before, though they have always charmed me; but in this private, comfortable style they were all ten times more easy, engaging, and lively than I had ever yet seen them. INSTALLED AT ILFRACOMBE. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Ilfracombe, Devonshire, June 31,(sic) 1817. . . .This very day of our arrival, before Alex had had time to search out Mr. Jacob, somebody called out to him in the street, "Ah, d'Arblay!" who proved to be his man. They strolled about the town, and then Jacob desired to be brought to me. Unluckily, I was unpacking, and denied. He has appointed Alex for a lesson to-morrow. May he put him a little en train! July 5.--I must now give you some account of this place. We are lodged on the harbour. The mistress of our apartments is widow to some master of a vessel that traded at Ilfracombe, with Ireland chiefly. She has three or four children: the eldest, but twelve years old, is the servant of the lodgers, and as adroit as if she were thirty. Our situation is a very amusing one; for the quay is narrow, and there are vessels just on its level, so close that even children walk into them all day long. When the sea is up, the scene is gay, busy, and interesting; but on its ebb the sands here are not Page 399 clean and inviting, but dark and muddy, and the contrary of odoriferous. But the entrance and departure of vessels, the lading, unlading, and the management of ships and boats, offer constantly something new to an eye accustomed only to land views and occupations. A CAPTURED SPANISH SHIP. But chiefly I wish for you for the amusement you would find from a Spanish vessel, which is close to the quay, immediately opposite to our apartments, and on a level with the parlour of the house. It has been brought in under suspicion of piracy, or smuggling, or aiding the slave trade. What the circumstances of the accusation are I know not - but the captain is to be tried at Exeter on the ensuing western circuit. Meantime, his goods are all sequestered, and he has himself dismissed all his sailors and crew to rejoin him when the trial is over. He is upon his parole, and has liberty to go whithersoever he will; but he makes no use of the permission, as he chooses not to leave his cargo solely under the inspection of the excisemen and custom officers here, who have everything under lock and key and seal. He is a good-looking man, and, while not condemned, all are willing to take his word for his innocence. Should that be proved, what compensation will be sufficient for repairing his confinement? He has retained with him only his physician, his own servant his cook, and a boy, with another lad, who is an American. I see him all day long, walking his quarter-deck, and ruminating upon his situation, with an air of philosophy that shows strong character. His physician, who is called here the " doctor," and is very popular, is his interpreter; he speaks English and French, has a spirited, handsome face, and manners the most courteous, though with a look darkly shrewd and Spanish. THE SPANISH CAPTAIN'S COOK. But the person who would most entertain you is the cook, who appears the man of most weight in the little coterie ; for he lets no one interfere with his manoeuvres. All is performed for the table in full sight, a pa�le(307) being lighted with a burning fierce fire upon the deck, where he officiates. He wears a complete white dress, and has a pail of water by his side, in Page 400 which he washes everything he dresses, and his Own hand, to boot, with great attention. He begins his pot au feu soon after seven every morning, and I watch the operation from my window; it is entirely French, except that he puts in more meat, and has it cut, apparently, into pounds; for I see it all carved into square morsels, seemingly of that weight, which he inserts bit by bit, with whole bowls, delicately cleaned, washed and prepared, of cabbages, chicory, turnips, carrots celery, and small herbs. Then some thick slices of ship ham and another bowl of onions and garlic; salt by a handful, and pepper by a wooden spoon full. This is left for many hours; and in the interval he prepares a porridge of potatoes well mashed, and barley well boiled, with some other ingredient that, when it is poured into a pan, bubbles up like a syllabub. But before he begins, he employs the two lads to wash all the ship. To see all this is the poor captain's only diversion ; but the cook never heeds him while at his professional operations; he even motions to him to get out of the way if he approaches too near, and is so intent upon his grand business that he shakes his head without answering, when the captain speaks to him, with an air that says, "Are you crazy to try to take off my attention?" And when the doctor, who often advances to make some observation, and to look on, tries to be heard, he waves his hand in disdain, to silence him. Yet, when all is done, and he has taken off his white dress, he becomes all obsequiousness, respectfully standing out of the way, or diligently flying forward to execute any command. SHIPS IN DISTRESS. July 6.-Alex and I went to church this morning, and heard a tolerable sermon. In the evening there was a storm, that towards night grew tremendous. The woman of the house called us to see two ships in distress. We went to the top of the house for a view of the sea, which was indeed frightful. One ship was endeavouring to gain the harbour; the other, to steer further into the main ocean ; but both appeared to be nearly swamped by the violence of the winds and waves. People mounted to the lighthouse with lights ; for at this season the lantern is not illuminated ; and a boat was sent out to endeavour to assist, and take any spare hands or passengers, if such there were, from the vessel ; but the sea was so boisterous Page 401 that they could not reach the ship, and were nearly lost in the attempt. Alex ran up to the lighthouse, to see what was doing ; but was glad to return, as he could with difficulty keep his feet, and was on the point of being lifted off them down the precipice into the sea. I never was so horrified as when, from the top of the house, I perceived his danger. Thank God, he felt it in time, and came back in safety. It requires use to sustain the feet in such a hurricane, upon a rock perpendicularly standing in the ocean. YOUNG D'ARBLAY's TUTOR. July 7.-We have heard that one of the vessels got off; but no tidings whatsoever have been received of the other. It is suspected to be a passage vessel from Bristol to Ireland. I have had Mr. Jacob to tea; I could not yet arrange a dinner, and he was impatient for an introduction. I like him extremely: he has everything in his favour that can be imagined ; sound judgment without positiveness, brilliant talents without conceit, authority with gentleness, and consummate knowledge of science with modesty. What a blessing that such a character should preside over these inexperienced youths ! Mr. Jacob has aided us to remove. Time is a plaything to the diligent and obliging, though a thief to the idle and capricious ; the first find it, in the midst of every obstacle, for what they wish, while the latter lose it, though surrounded by every resource, for all that they want. I had such success that I now write from my new dwelling, which I will describe to-morrow. July 9.-Quelle joie! this morning I receive a welcome to my new habitation, to make it cheer me from the beginning. 'Tis begun June 28th, and finished July 2nd. How propos is what I had just written of time in the hands of the diligent and obliging! yet how it is you can bestow so much upon me is my admiration. I have not mentioned a letter I have received from Mrs. Frances Bowdler. She tells me of the marriage of Miss---- to a Prussian gentleman, and expresses some vexation at it, but adds, "Perhaps I ought not to say this to you," meaning on account of the objection to a foreigner; and then elegantly adds, "but one person's having gained the great prize in the lottery does not warrant another to throw his whole wealth into the wheel." Not very bad English that? Page 402 GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S ILL-HEALTH. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.) Ilfracombe, Post Office, July 23, 1817. .....I have letters very frequently from Paris, all assuring me M. d'A. is re-establishing upon the whole; yet all letting me see, by collateral accounts, anecdotes, or expressions, that he is constantly in the hands of his physician, and that a difficulty of breathing attacks him from time to time, as it did before his journey: with a lassitude, a weakness, and a restlessness which make him there, as here they made him since his illness, unfit for company, and incapable, but by starts and for moments to have any enjoyment of mixed society! I do not therefore, feel comfortable about him, though, thank heaven, not alarmed. And at all events I am glad he tries the change of air. Change of scene also was advised for him by all * but he is too kind to find that beneficial when we are separated; and he writes me frequent avowals of seizures of dejection and sadness that reduce him to a state of great suffering. The parting, while he was in a situation so discouraging, was very cruel but Alexander had, and has, no chance of taking a tolerable degree without a friend constantly at hand to remind him of the passage of time. He never thinks of it: every day seems a day by itself, which he may fill up at pleasure, but which opens to him no prospect of the day that will succeed! So little reflection on the future, with so good capacity for judging the present, were never before united. PARTICULARS OF ILFRACOMBE. We are very well lodged for pleasantness, and for excellent people. We have a constant view of the sea from our drawing room, which is large and handsome - our bedrooms also are good; but our minor accommodations, our attendance, dinner equipage, cooking, etc., would very ill have contented my general had he been here. The best men, the most moderate and temperate, are difficult, nay, dainty, compared with women. When he comes, if I am so happy as to see him return while we are here, I must endeavour to ameliorate these matters. Ilfracombe is a long, narrow town, consisting of only one regular street, though here and there small groups of houses hang upon its skirts, and it is not destitute of lanes and alleys. Page 403 The town part or side Is ugly, ill paved and ill looking: but the backs of the habitations offer, on one side the street, prospects of fine hills, and on the other, noble openings to the sea. The town is built upon a declivity, of which the church is at the summit, and the harbour makes the termination. It was in the harbour, that is upon the quay, that we were at first lodged ; and our apartments were by no means without interest or amusement; but just as we were comfortably settled in them, we were told the ebbs and flows, etc., of the tides left occasionally, or brought, odours not the most salubrious. To this representation I thought it right to yield so implicitly, that I sought a new abode, and changed my quarters instantly. YOUNG D'ARBLAY's AVERSION TO STUDY. (Madame d'Arblay to General d'Arblay.) Friday, September 12, 1817. I have so much to say to my dearest friend, that I open my new sheet at the moment of finishing the old one, though I shall not send it for a week - and let me begin by quieting your poor nerves relative to La Chapelle, in assuring you I neglect no possible means to follow, substantially and effectually, your injunctions, though I dare not tell him that you would never pardon the smallest infraction of our new treaty. He is not capable, mon ami, of an exactitude of that undeviating character. To force further solemn promises from so forgetful, so unreflecting, yet so undesigning and well-meaning a young creature, is to plunge him and ourselves into the culpability of which we accuse him. To attempt in that manner to couper court,(308) etc., instead of frightening him into right, would harden him into desperation. His disgust to his forced study is still so vehement, that it requires all I can devise of exhortation, persuasion, menace, and soothing, tour tour, to deter him from relinquishing all effort! The times, mon ami, are "out of joint:" we must not by exigeance precipitate him to his ruin, but try patiently and prudently, every possible means, to rescue him from the effects of his own wilful blindness and unthinking, idle eccentricity. If we succeed, how will he bless us when his maturer judgment opens his eyes to the evils he will have escaped! but if we fail why should we lie down and die because he Page 404 might have obtained fame and riches, yet obstinately preferred obscurity with a mere competence? Put not Your recovery and your happiness upon such a cast! My own struggles to support the disappointment for which I am forced to prepare myself, in the midst of all my persevering, unremitting efforts to avert it, are sufficiently severe ; but the manner in which I see your agitation threaten your health, makes his failure but secondary to my apprehensions! Oh, mon ami, ought we not rather to unite in comforting each other by sustaining ourselves? Should we not have done so mutually, if the contagious fever at Cambridge had carried him off? And what is the mortification of a bad degree and a lessened ambition, with all the mundane humiliation belonging to it, compared with the total earthly loss of so dear an object, who may be good and happy in a small circle, if he misses, by his own fault, mounting into a larger? Take courage, my dearest ami, and relieve me from the double crush that else may wholly destroy mine. Let us both, while we yet venture to hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Nothing on my part shall be wanting to save this blow; but should his perversity make it inevitable, we must unite our utmost strength, not alone to console each other, but to snatch from that "sombre d�couragement"(309) you so well foresee, the wilful, but ever fondly-loved dupe of his own insouciance. . . .(310) A VISIT FROM THE FIRST CHESS PLAYER IN ENGLAND. And now to lighter matters. I hope I have gained a smile from you by my disclosure that I lost my journal time for my usual post-day by successive dissipation ? What will you have conjectured ? That I have consented at last to listen to Mr. Jacob's recommendation for going to the Ilfracombe ball, and danced a fandango with him! or waltzed, au moins! or that I have complied with his desire of going to the cricket-ground, just arranged by the Cantabs and some officers who are here, in subscribing three guineas for the use of a field? Vous n'�tes pas;(311) for though I should like, in itself, to see a cricket-match, in a field which Mr. Jacob says is beautifully situated, and where the Bishop of Ossory and his lady, Mrs. Fowler, go frequently, as two of their sons are amongst the Page 405 players; yet, as Jacob evidently thinks our poor Alexander ought not to spare time for being of the party, I cannot bear to quit my watchful place by his side, and go thither without him. Mais--Vous vous rendez, n'est-ce-pas?(312) Eh bien--to go back to Sept. 2nd. Alexander and I were nearly finishing our evening, tea being over, and nine o'clock having struck, while he was reading the "Spiritual Quixote"(313) for a little relaxation; when Miss Elizabeth Ramsay came to tell me that a gentleman was just arrived at Ilfracombe who begged leave to wait upon me, if I would admit him; and she gave me a card with the name of Mr. Bowdler. Of course I complied, and Alexander was wild with joy at the thought of such an interview, as Mr. Bowdler is acknowledged the first chess-player in England, and was the only man, when Philidor was here, who had the honour of a drawn battle with him: a thing that Philidor has recorded by printing the whole of the game in his treatise on chess. I was not glad to bring back his ideas to that fascination, yet could not be sorry he should have so great a pleasure. Mr. Bowdler presented himself very quickly, though not till he had made a toilette of great dress, such as would have suited the finest evening assembly at Bath. He was always a man of much cultivation, and a searcher of the bas bleus(314) all his life. He is brother to our two Mrs. Bowdlers, and was now come to escort Mrs. Frances from his house in Wales, where she has spent the summer, to Ilfracombe. I had formerly met this gentleman very often, at bleu parties, and once at a breakfast at his own house, given in honour of Mrs. Frances, where I met Sophy Streatfield, then a great beauty and a famous Greek scholar, of whom the " Literary Herald says:-- "Lovely Streatfield's ivory neck, Nose and notions la Grecque." He was extremely civil to Alex, whom he had longed, he said, to see, and Alex listened to every word that dropped from him, as if it would teach some high move at chess. We had much talk of old times. We had not met since we parted in St. James's-place, in the last illness of my dear Mrs. Page 406 Delany, whom he then attended as a physician. He stayed till past ten, having left his sister at the hotel, too tired with a sea passage to come out, or to receive chez elle. But he entreated me to dine with them next day, the only day he should spend at Ilfracombe, with such excess of earnestness and Alex seconded the request with so many "Oh, mamma's!" that he overpowered all refusal, assuring me it could not interfere with my Bath measures, as it was a dinner, pour ainsi dire,(315) on the road, for he and his sister were forced to dine at the hotel. He also declared, in a melancholy tone that he might probably never see me more, unless I made a tour of Wales, as -he began to feel himself too old for the exertion of a sea voyage. The next morning, immediately after breakfast, I waited upon my old friend and namesake, Fanny Bowdler, and sat with her two hours t�te- -t�te, for her brother was unwell, and she is admirable in close dialogue. I had hardly got home ere she followed me, and stayed till it was time to dress for dinner; when again we met, and only parted for our downy pillows. Her strong sense, keen observation, and travelled intelligence and anecdotes, made the day, thus devoted to her, from ten in the morning to ten at night, pass off with great spirit and liveliness: but Alex, oh! he was in Elysium. Mr. Bowdler took a great fancy to him, and indulged his ardent wish of a chess talk to the full; satisfying him in many difficult points, and going over with him his own famous game with Philidore - and, in short, delivering himself over to that favourite subject with him entirely. It will not, however, be mischievous, for Mr. Bowdler's own enthusiasm is over, and he has now left the game quite off, not having played it once these seven years. THE DIARY CONTINUED. A COAST RAMBLE IN SEARCH OF CURIOSITIES. The term for Alexander's studies with Mr. Jacob was just finishing, and a few days only remained ere the party was. to be dispersed, when I determined upon devoting a morning to the search of such curiosities as the coast produced. . I marched forth, attended only by M. d'Arblay's favourite little dog, Diane, with a large silk bag to see what I could Page 407 find that I might deem indigenous, as a local offering to the collection of my general, who was daily increasing his mineralogical stores, under the skilful direction of his friend, -the celebrated naturalist, M. de Bournon. I began my perambulation by visiting the promontory called "the Capstan"--or rather attempting that visit; for after mounting to nearly its height, by a circuitous path from the town, by which alone the ascent is possible, the side of the promontory being a mere precipice overlooking the ocean, a sudden gust of wind dashed so violently against us, that in the danger of being blown into the sea, I dropped on the turf at full length, and saw Diane do the same, with her four paws spread as widely as possible, to flatten her body more completely to the ground. This opening to my expedition thus briefly set aside, I repaired to the coast, where there are pebbles, at least, in great beauty as well as abundance. The coast of Ilfracombe is broken by rocks, which bear evident marks of being fragments of some one immense rock, which, undermined by the billows in successive storms, has been cast in all directions in its fall. We went down to the edge of the sea, which was clear, smooth, and immovable as a lake, the wind having subsided into a calm so quiet, that I could not tell whether the tide were in or out. Not a creature was in sight; but presently a lady descended, with a book in her hand, and passed on before us to the right, evidently to read alone. Satisfied by this circumstance that the tide was going out, and all was safe, I began my search, and soon accumulated a collection of beautiful pebbles, each of which seemed to merit being set in a ring. The pleasure they afforded me insensibly drew me on to the entrance of the Wildersmouth, which is the name given to a series of recesses formed by the rocks, and semicircular, open at the bottom to the sea, and only to be entered from the sands at low tide. I coasted two or three of them, augmenting my spoil as I proceeded; and perceiving the lady I have- already mentioned composedly engaged with her book, I hurried past to visit the last recess, whither I had never yet ventured. I found it a sort of chamber, though with no roof but a clear blue sky. The top was a portly mountain, rough, steep and barren - the left side was equally mountainous, but consisting of layers of a sort of slate, intermixed with moss ; the right side was the elevated Capstan, Page 408 which here was perpendicular; and at the bottom were ,the sands, by which I entered it, terminated by the ocean. The whole was altogether strikingly picturesque, wild and original. There was not one trace of art, or even of any previous entrance into it of man. I could almost imagine myself its first human inmate. My eye was presently caught by the appearance, near the top, of a cavern, at the foot of which I perceived something of so brilliant a whiteness that, in hopes of a treasure for my bag, I hastened to the spot. What had attracted me proved to be the jawbone and teeth of some animal. Various rudely curious things at the mouth of the cavern invited investigation; Diane, however, brushed forward, and was soon out of sight, but while I was busily culling, hoarding, or rejecting whatever struck my fancy, she returned with an air so piteous, and a whine so unusual, that, concluding she pined to return to a little puppy of a week old that she was then rearing, I determined to hasten; but still went on with my search, till the excess of her distress leading her to pull me by the gown, moved me to take her home; but when I descended, for this recess was on a slant, how was I confounded to find the sands at the bottom, opening to the recess, whence I had entered this marine chamber, were covered by the waves; though so gentle had been their motion, and so calm was the sea, that their approach had not caught my ear. I hastily remounted, hoping to find some outlet at the top by which I might escape, but there was none. This was not pleasant but still I was not frightened, not conceiving or believing that I could be completely enclosed: the less, as I recollected, in my passage to the cavern, having had a glimpse of the lady who was reading in the neighbouring recess. I hastily scrambled to the spot to look for her, and entreat her assistance ; but how was I then startled to find that she was gone, and that her recess, which was on less elevated ground than mine, was fast filling with water! CAUGHT BY THE RISING TIDE. I now rushed down to the sea, determined to risk a wet jerkin, by wading through a wave or two, to secure myself from being shut up in this unfrequented place : but the time was past! The weather suddenly changed, the lake was gone, and billows mounted one after the other, as if with enraged Page 409 pursuit of what they could seize and swallow. I eagerly ran up and down, from side to side, and examined every nook and corner, every projection and hollow, to find any sort of opening through which I could pass-but there was none. Diane looked scared; she whined, she prowled about - her dismay was evident, and filled me with compassion-but I could not interrupt my affrighted search to console her. Soon after, however, she discovered a hole in the rock at the upper part, which seemed to lead to the higher sands. She got through it, and then turned round to bark, as triumphing in her success, and calling upon me to share its fruits. But in vain !-the hollow was too small for my passage save of my head, and I could only have remained in it as if standing in the pillory. I still, therefore, continued my own perambulation, but I made a motion to my poor Diane to go, deeming it cruel to detain her from her little one. Yet I heard her howl as if reduced to despair, that I would not join her. Anon, however, she was silent--I looked after her, but she had disappeared. This was an alarming moment. Alone, without the smallest aid, or any knowledge how high the sea might mount, or what was the extent of my danger, I looked up wistfully at Capstan, and perceived the iron salmon; but this angle of that promontory was so steep as to be utterly impracticable for climbing by human feet; and its height was such as nearly to make me giddy in considering it from so close a point of view. I went from it, therefore, to the much less elevated and less perpendicular rock opposite; but there all that was not slate, which crumbled in my hands, was moss, from which they glided. There was no hold whatsoever for the feet. "I ran therefore to the top, where a large rock, by reaching from the upper part of this slated one to Capstan, formed the chamber in which I was thus unexpectedly immured. But this was so rough, pointed, sharp, and steep that I could scarcely touch it. The hole through which Diane had crept was at an accidentally thin part, and too small to afford a passage to anything bigger than her little self. The rising storm, however, brought forward the billows with augmented noise and violence; and my wild asylum lessened every moment. Now, indeed, I comprehended the fulness of my danger. If a wave once reached my feet, while coming upon me with the tumultuous vehemence of this storm, I had Page 410 nothing I could hold by to sustain me from becoming its prey and must inevitably be carried away into the ocean. EFFORTS TO REACH A PLACE OF SAFETY. I darted about in search of some place of safety, rapidly, and all eye; till at length I espied a small tuft of grass on the pinnacle of the highest of the small rocks that were scattered about my prison; for such now appeared my fearful dwelling-place. This happily pointed out to me a spot that the waves had never yet attained; for all around bore marks of the visits. To reach that tuft would be safety, and I made the attempt with eagerness ; but the obstacles I encountered were terrible. The roughness of the rock tore my clothes - its sharp points cut, now my feet, and now my fingers - and the distances from each other of the holes by which I could gain any footing for my ascent, increased the difficulty. I gained, however, nearly a quarter of the height, but I could climb no further and then found myself on a ledge where it was possible to sit down - and I have rarely found a little repose more seasonable. But it was not more sweet than short : for in a few minutes a sudden gust of wind raised the waves to a frightful height, whence their foam reached the base of my place of refuge, and threatened to attain soon the spot to which I had ascended. I now saw a positive necessity to mount yet higher, co�te qui co�te, and, little as I had thought it possible, the pressing danger gave me both means and fortitude to accomplish it: but with so much hardship that I have ever since marvelled at my success. My hands were wounded, my knees were bruised, and my feet were cut for I could only scramble up by clinging to the rock on all fours. When I had reached to about two-thirds of the height of my rock, I could climb no further. All above was so sharp and so perpendicular that neither hand nor foot could touch it without being wounded. My head, however, was nearly on a level with the tuft of grass, and my elevation from the sands was very considerable. I hoped, therefore, I was safe from being washed away by the waves; but I could only hope; I had no means to ascertain my situation; and hope as I might, it was as painful as it was hazardous. The tuft to which I had aimed to rise, and which, had I succeeded, would have been security, was a mere point, as unattainable as it was unique, Page 411 not another blade of grass being anywhere discernible. I was rejoiced, however, to have reached a spot where there was sufficient breadth to place one foot at least without cutting it, though the other was poised on such unfriendly ground that it could bear no part in sustaining me. Before me was an immense slab, chiefly of slate, but it was too slanting to serve for a seat-and seat I had none. My only prop, therefore, was holding by the slab, where it was of a convenient height for my hands. This support, besides affording me a little rest, saved me from becoming giddy, and enabled me from time to time to alternate the toil of my feet. A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS. Glad was I, at least, that my perilous clambering had finished by bringing me to a place where I might remain still ; for with affright, fatigue, and exertion I was almost exhausted. The wind was now abated, and the sea so calm, that I could not be sure whether the tide was still coming in. To ascertain this was deeply necessary for my tranquillity, that I might form some idea what would be the length of my torment. I fixed my eyes, therefore, upon two rocks that stood near the sea entrance into my recess, almost close to the promontory, from which they had probably been severed by successive storms. As they were always in the sea I could easily make my calculation by observing whether they seemed to lengthen or shorten. With my near-sighted glass I watched them ; and great was my consternation when, little by little, I lost sight of them. I now looked wistfully onward to the main ocean, in the hope of espying some vessel, or fishing-boat, with intention of spreading and waving my parasol, in signal of distress, should any one come in sight. But nothing appeared. All was vacant and vast ! I was wholly alone-wholly isolated. I feared to turn my head lest I should become giddy, and lose my balance. LITTLE DIANE. In this terrible state, painful, dangerous, and, more than all, solitary, who could paint my joy, when suddenly, reentering by the aperture in the rock through which she had quitted me, I perceived my dear little Diane ! For the instant I felt as if restored to safety-I no longer seemed Page 412 abandoned. She soon leaped across the flat stones and the sands which separated us, but how great was the difficulty to make her climb as I had climbed! Twenty times she advanced only to retreat from the sharp points of the rock, till ultimately she picked herself out a passage by help of the slate, and got upon the enormous table, of which the upper part was my support ; but the slant was such, that as fast as she ascended she slipped down, and we were both, I believe almost hopeless of the desired junction, when, catching at a favourable moment that had advanced her paws within my reach, I contrived to hook her collar by the curved end of my parasol and help her forward. This I did with one hand, and as quick as lightning, dragging her over the slab and dropping her at my feet, whence she soon nestled herself in a sort of niche of slate, in a situation much softer than mine, but in a hollow that for me was impracticable. I hastily recovered my hold, which I marvel now that I had the temerity to let go; but to have at my side my dear little faithful Diane was a comfort which no one not planted, and for a term that seemed indefinite, in so unknown-a solitude, can conceive. What cries of joy the poor little thing uttered when thus safely lodged! and with what tenderness I sought to make her sensible of my gratitude for her return ! I was now, compared with all that had preceded, in Paradise : so enchanted did I -feel at no longer considering myself as if alone in the world. O, well I can conceive the interest excited in the French prisoner by a spider, even a spider! Total absence of all. of animation in a place of confinement, of which the term is unknown, where volition is set aside, and where captivity is the work of the elements, casts the fancy into a state of solemn awe, of fearful expectation, which I have not words to describe; while the higher mind, mastering at times that fancy, seeks resignation from the very sublimity of that terrific vacuity whence all seems exiled, but self: seeks, and finds it in the almost Visible security of the omnipresence of God. To see after my kind little companion was an occupation that for awhile kept me from seeing after myself, but when I had done what I could towards giving her comfort and assistance, I again looked before me, and saw the waters at the base of my rock of refuge, still gradually rising on, while both my rocks of mark were completely swallowed up! Page 413 the INCREASING DANGER, My next alarm was one that explained that of Diane when she came back so scared from the cavern ; for the waves, probably from some subterraneous passage, now forced their way through that cavern, threatening inundation to even the highest part of my chamber. This was horrific. I could no longer even speak to Diane; my eyes were riveted upon this unexpected gulf, and in a few moments an immense breaker attacked my rock, and, impeded by its height from going straight forward, was dashed in two directions, and foamed onward against each side. I did not breathe--I felt faint--I felt even sea-sick. On, then, with added violence came two wide-spreading waves, and, being parted by my rock, completely encompassed it, meeting each other on the further and upper ground. I now gave up my whole soul to prayer for myself and for my Alexander, and that I might mercifully be spared this watery grave, or be endowed with courage and faith for meeting it with firmness. The next waves reached to the uppermost end of my chamber, which was now all sea, save the small rock upon which I was mounted! How I might have been subdued by a situation so awful at once, and so helpless, if left to unmixed contemplation, I know not -- had I not been still called into active service in sustaining my poor Diane. No sooner were we thus encompassed than she was seized with a dismay that filled me with pity. She trembled violently, and rising and looking down at the dreadful sight of sea, sea, sea all around, and sea still to the utmost extent of the view beyond, she turned up her face to me, as if appealing for protection and when I spoke to her with kindness, she crept forward to my feet, and was instantly taken with a shivering fit. I could neither sit nor kneel to offer her any comfort, but I dropped down as children do when they play at hunt the slipper, for so only could I loose my hold of the slab without falling, and I then stroked and caressed her in as fondling a way as if she had been a child; and I recovered her from her ague-fit by rubbing her head and back with my shawl. She then looked up at me somewhat composed, though still piteous and forlorn, and licked my hands with gratitude. Page 414 THE LAST WAVE OF THE RISING TIDE. While this passed the sea had gained considerably in height, and, a few minutes afterwards all the horrors of a tempest seemed impending. The wind roared around me, pushing on the waves with a frothy velocity that, to a bystander, not to an inmate amidst them, would have been beautiful. It whistled with shrill and varying tones from the numberless crevices in the three immense rocky mountains by whose semicircular adhesion I was thus immured - and it burst forth at times in squalls, reverberating from height to height or chasm to chasm, as if "the big-mouthed thunder" "Were bellowing through the vast and boundless deep." A wave, at length, more stupendous than any which had preceded it, dashed against my rock as if enraged at an interception of its progress, and rushed on to the extremity of this savage chamber, with foaming impetuosity. This moment I believed to be my last of mortality ! but a moment only it was ; for scarcely had I time, with all the rapidity of concentrated thought, to recommend myself, my husband, and my poor Alexander, humbly but fervently to the mercy of the Almighty, when the celestial joy broke in upon me of perceiving that this wave, which had bounded forward with such fury, was the last of the rising tide ! In its rebound, it forced back with it, for an instant, the whole body of water that was lodged nearest to the upper extremity of my recess, and the transporting sight was granted me of an opening to the sands but they were covered again the next instant, and as no other breaker made a similar opening, I was still, for a considerable length of time, in the same situation: but I lost hope no more. The tide was turned: it could rise therefore no higher; the danger was over of so unheard-of an end; of vanishing no one knew how or where--of leaving to my kind, deploring friends an unremitting uncertainty of my fate--of my re-appearance or dissolution. I now wanted nothing but time, and caution, to effect my deliverance. The threat of the tempest, also, was over ; the air grew as serene as my mind, the sea far more calm, the sun beautifully tinged the west, and its setting upon the ocean was resplendent. By remembrance, however, alone, I speak of its glory, not from any pleasure I then experienced in its sight: it told Page 415 me of the waning day; and the anxiety I had now dismissed for myself redoubled for my poor Alexander. . . . With my bag of curiosities I made a cushion for Diane, which, however little luxurious, was softness itself compared with her then resting-place. She, also, could take no repose, but from this period I made her tolerably happy, by caresses and continual attentions. But no sooner had the beams of the sun vanished from the broad horizon, than a small, gentle rain began to fall, and the light as well as brightness of the day became obscured by darkling clouds. This greatly alarmed me, in defiance of my joy and my philosophy; for I dreaded being surprised by the night in this isolated situation. I was supported, however, by perceiving that the sea was clearly retrograding, and beholding, little by little, the dry ground across the higher extremity of my apartment. How did I bless the sight ! the sands and clods of sea-mire were more beautiful to my eyes than the rarest mosaic pavement of antiquity. Nevertheless, the return was so gradual, that I foresaw I had still many hours to remain a prisoner. ARRIVAL OF SUCCOUR. The night came on--there was no moon - but the sea, by its extreme whiteness, afforded some degree of pale light, when suddenly I thought I perceived something in the air. Affrighted, I looked around me but nothing was visible; yet in another moment something like a shadow flitted before my eyes. I tried to fix it, but could not develop any form : something black was all I could make out; it seemed in quick motion, for I caught and lost it alternately, as if it was a shadow reflected by the waters. I looked up at Capstan: nothing was there, but the now hardly discernible Iron salmon. I then looked at the opposite side. . . . ah, gracious heaven, what were my sensations to perceive two human figures! Small they looked, as in a picture, from their distance, the height of the rock, and the obscurity of the night; but not less certainly from their outline, human figures. I trembled--I could not breathe--in another minute I was espied, for a voice loud, but unknown to my ears, called out "Holloa!" I unhesitatingly answered, "I am safe!" "Thank God!" was the eager reply, in a voice hardly Page 416 articulate, "Oh, thank God!" but not in a Voice unknown though convulsed with agitation--it was the voice of my dear son! Oh what a quick transition from every direful apprehension to' joy and delight! yet knowing his precipitancy, and fearing a rash descent to join me, in ignorance of the steepness and dangers of the precipice which parted us, I called out with all the energy in my power to conjure him to await patiently, as I would myself, the entire going down of the tide. He readily gave me this promise, though still in sounds almost inarticulate. I was then indeed in heaven while upon earth. Another form then appeared, while Alex and the first companion retired. This form, from a gleam of light on her dress, I soon saw to be female. She called out to me that Mr. Alexander and his friend were gone to call for a boat to come round for me by sea. The very thought made me shudder, acquainted as I now was with the nature of my recess, where, though the remaining sea looked as smooth as the waters of a lake, I well knew it was but a surface covering pointed fragments of rock, against which a boat must have been overset or stranded. Loudly, therefore, as I could raise my voice, I called upon my informant to fly after them, and say I was decided to wait till the tide was down. She replied that she would not leave me alone for the world. The youths, however, soon returned to the top of the mountain, accompanied by a mariner, who had dissuaded them from their dangerous enterprise. I cheerfully repeated that I was safe, and begged reciprocated patience. They now wandered about on the heights, one of them always keeping in view. Meanwhile, I had now the pleasure to descend to the sort of halfway-house which I had first hoped would serve for my refuge. The difficulty was by no means so arduous to come down as to mount, especially as, the waters being no longer so high as my rock, there was no apprehension of destruction should my footing fail me. Some time after I descried a fourth figure on the summit, bearing a lantern. This greatly rejoiced me, for the twilight now was grown so obscure that I had felt much troubled how I might at last grope my way in the dark out of this terrible Wildersmouth. Page 417 They all now, from the distance and the dimness, looked like spectres : we spoke no more, the effort being extremely fatiguing. I observed, however, with great satisfaction, an increase of figures, so that the border of the precipice seemed covered with people. This assurance that if any accident happened, there would be succour at hand, relieved many a fresh starting anxiety. Not long after, the sea wholly disappeared, and the man with the lantern, who was an old sailor, descended the precipice on the further part, by a way known to him ; and placing the lantern where it might give him light, yet allow him the help of both his hands, he was coming to me almost on all fours - when Diane leaped to the bottom of the rock, and began a barking so loud and violent that the seaman stopped short, and I had the utmost difficulty to appease my little dog, and prevail with her, between threats and cajolements, to suffer his approach. . . . MEETING BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON. My son no sooner perceived that the seaman had found footing, though all was still too watery and unstable for me to quit my rock, than he darted forward by the way thus pointed out, and clambering, or rather leaping up to me, he was presently in my arms. Neither of us could think or care about the surrounding spectators-we seemed restored to each other, almost miraculously, from destruction and death. Neither of us could utter a word, but both, I doubt not, were equally occupied in returning the most ardent thanks to heaven. Alexander had run wildly about in every direction; visited hill, dale, cliff, by-paths, and public roads, to make and instigate inquiry-but of the Wildersmouth he thought not, and never, I believe, had heard; and as it was then a mere part of the sea, from the height of the tide, the notion or remembrance of it occurred to no one. Mr. Jacob, his coolheaded and excellent hearted friend, was most unfortunately at Barnstaple, but he at length thought of Mr. John Le Fevre, a young man who was eminently at the head of the Ilfracombe students, and had resisted going to the ball at Barnstaple, not to lose an hour of his time. Recollecting this, Alex went to his dwelling, and bursting into his apartment, called out, "My mother is missing!" Page 418 The generous youth, seeing the tumult of soul in which he was addressed, shut up his bureau without a word, and hurried off with his distressed comrade, giving up for that benevolent purpose the precious time he had refused himself to spare for a moment's recreation. Fortunately, providentially, Mr. Le Fevre recollected Wildersmouth, and that one of his friends had narrowly escaped destruction by a surprise there of the sea. He no sooner named this than he and Alexander contrived to climb up the rock opposite to Capstan, whence they looked down upon my recess. At first they could discern nothing, save one small rock uncovered by the sea : but at length, as my head moved, Le Fevre saw something like a shadow--he then called out, "Holloa!" etc. To Mr. Le Fevre, therefore, I probably owe my life. Two days after, I visited the spot of my captivity, but it had entirely changed its appearance. A storm of equinoctial violence had broken off its pyramidal height, and the drift of sand and gravel, and fragments of rocks, had given a new face to the whole recess. I sent for the seaman to ascertain the very spot: this he did; but told me that a similar change took place commonly twice a year - and added, very calmly, that two days later I could not have been saved from the waves. GENERAL D'ARBLAY'S RETURN TO ENGLAND. (Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.) Bath, November 9, 1817. Can I still hope, my dear friend, for that patient partiality which will await my tardy answer ere it judges my irksome silence? Your letter Of Sept. 27th I found upon my table when I returned, the 5th of October, from Ilfracombe. I returned, with Alexander, to meet General d'A. from Paris. You will be sorry, I am very sure, and probably greatly surprised, to hear that he came in a state to occupy every faculty of my mind and thoughts-- altered--thin--weak--depressed--full of pain--and disappointed in every expectation of every sort that had urged his excursion! I thank God the fever that confined him to his bed for three days is over, and he yesterday went down stairs and his repose now is the most serene and reviving. The fever, Mr. Hay assured me, was merely symptomatic ; not of inflammation Page 419 or any species of danger, but the effect of his sufferings. Alas! that is heavy and severe enough, but still, where fever comes, 'tis of the sort the least cruel, because no ways alarming. Nov. 15-I never go out, nor admit any one within - nor shall I, till a more favourable turn will let me listen to his earnest exhortations that I should do both. Mr. Hay gives me strong hopes that that will soon arrive, and then I shall not vex him by persevering in this seclusion: you know and can judge how little this part of my course costs me, for to quit the side of those we prize when they are in pain, would be a thousand times greater sacrifice than any other privation. THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH. You are very right as to Lady Murray, not only, of course, I am honoured by her desire of intercourse, but it can never be as a new acquaintance I can see the daughter of Lord and Lady Mulgrave. I have been frequently in the company of the former, who was a man of the gayest wit in society I almost ever knew. He spread mirth around him by his sprightly ideas and sallies, and his own laugh was as hearty and frank as that he excited in others ; and his accomplished and attaching wife was one of the sweetest creatures in the world. Alas ! how often this late tragedy in the unfortunate royal family has called her to my remembrance!(316) She, however, left the living consolation of a lovely babe to her disconsolate survivor ;-the poor Prince Leopold loses in one blow mother and child. The royal visit here has been a scene of emotion:--first of joy and pleasure, next of grief and disappointment. The queen I thought looked well till this sudden and unexpected blow; after which, for the mournful day she remained, she admitted no one to her presence, but most graciously sent me a message to console me. She wrote instantly, with her own hand, to Prince Leopold-that prince who must seem to have had a vision of celestial happiness, so perfect it was, so exalted, and so transitory. The poor Princess Charlotte's passion for him had absorbed her, yet was so well placed as only to form her to excellence, and it had so completely won his return, that like herself he coveted Page 420 her alone...... Princess Elizabeth is much altered personally, to my great concern; but her manners, and amiability, and talents, I think more pleasing and more attaching than ever, How delighted I was at their arrival ! THE QUEEN AND PRINCESSES AT BATH. (Madame d'Arblay to her Son.) Bath, November 9, 1817. We have here spent nearly a week in a manner the most extraordinary, beginning with hope and pleasure, proceeding to fear and pain, and ending in disappointment and grief. The joy exhibited on Monday, when her majesty and her royal highness arrived, was really ecstatic ; the illumination was universal. The public offices were splendid; so were the tradespeople's who had promises or hopes of employment; the nobles and gentles were modestly gay, and the poor eagerly put forth their mite. But all was flattering, because voluntary. Nothing was induced by power, or forced by mobs. All was left to individual choice. Your padre and I patrolled the principal streets, and were quite touched by the universality of the homage paid to the virtues and merit of our venerable queen, upon this her first progress through any part of her domains by herself. Hitherto she has only accompanied the poor king, as at Weymouth and Cheltenham, Worcester and Exeter, Plymouth and Portsmouth, etc. ; or the prince regent, as at Brighthelmstone. But here, called by her health, she came as principal, and in her own character of rank and consequence. And, as Mr. Hay told me, the inhabitants of Bath were all even vehement to let her see the light in which they held her individual self, after so many years witnessing her exemplary conduct and distinguished merit. ::She was very sensible to this tribute; but much affected, nay, dejected, in receiving it, at the beginning; from coming without the king where the poor king had always meant himself to bring her - but just as he had arranged for the excursion, and even had three houses taken for him in the Royal-crescent, he was afflicted by blindness. He would not then come; for what, he said, was a beautiful city to him who could not look at it? This was continually in the remembrance of the queen during the honours of her reception ; but she had recovered from the melancholy recollection, and was Page 421 cheering herself by the cheers of all the inhabitants, when the first news arrived of the illness of the Princess Charlotte. At that moment she was having her diamonds placed on her head for the reception of the mayor and corporation of Bath, with an address upon the honour done to their city, and upon their hopes from the salutary spring she came to quaff. Her first thought was to issue orders for deferring this ceremony but when she considered that all the members of the municipality must be assembled, and that the great dinner they had prepared to give to the Duke of Clarence could only be postponed at an enormous and useless expense, she composed her spirits, finished her regal decorations, and admitted the citizens of Bath, who were highly gratified by her condescension, and struck by her splendour, which was the same as she appeared in on the greatest occasions in the capital. The Princess Elizabeth was also a blaze of jewels. And our good little Mayor (not four feet high) and aldermen and common councilmen were all transported. NEWS ARRIVES OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE'S DEATH. The Duke of Clarence accepted their invitation, and was joined by the Marquis of Bath and all the queen's suite. But the dinner was broken up. The duke received an express with the terrible tidings: he rose from table, and struck his forehead as he read them, and then hurried out of the assembly with inexpressible trepidation and dismay. The queen also was at table when the same express arrived, though only with the princess and her own party: all were dispersed in a moment, and she shut herself up, admitting no one but her royal highness. She would have left Bath the next morning; but her physician, Sir Henry Halford, said it would be extremely dangerous that she should travel so far, in her state of health, just in the first perturbation of affliction. She would see no one but her suite all day, and set out the next for Windsor Castle, to spend the time previous to the last melancholy rites, in the bosom of her family. All Bath wore a face of mourning. The transition from gaiety and exultation was really awful. What an extinction of youth and happiness ! The poor Princess Charlotte had never known a moment's suffering since her marriage. Her lot seemed perfect. Prince Leopold is, indeed, to be pitied. Page 422 (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Broome.) Bath, November 25, 1817. .....We are all here impressed with the misfortunes of the royal house, and chiefly with the deadly blow inflicted on the perfect conjugal happiness of the first young couple in the kingdom. The first couple not young bad already received a blow yet, perhaps, more frightful : for to have, yet lose-to keep, yet never to enjoy the being we most prize, is surely yet more torturing than to yield at once to the stroke which we know awaits us, and by which, at last, we must necessarily and indispensably fall. The queen supports herself with the calm and serenity belonging to one inured to misfortune, and submissive to Providence. The Princess Elizabeth has native spirits that resist all woe after the first shock, though she is full of kindness, goodness, and zeal for right action. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. SERIOUS ILLNESS OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. (Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Bath, Thursday, February 26, 1818. I had company in the room when Lady K-'s note arrived, desiring I would send you some papers of hers by the person who should bring it. I had offered a conveyance to London by some friends of my own, but she preferred their passing through your hands. Accept my truest wishes for the restoration of complete peace to a mind which has been SO long and so justly admired, loved, and praised by, Dear madam,--Your ever faithful, H. L. P. Who attends the general? and why do you think him SO very bad? (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.) Bath, February 26, 1818. There is no situation in which a kind remembrance from you, my dear madam, would not awaken me to some pleasure; but my poor sufferer was so very ill when your note came, that it was not possible for me to answer it. That I think him so very bad, is that I see him perpetually in pain Page 423 nearly insupportable ; yet I am assured it is local and unattended with danger while followed up with constant care and caution. This supports my spirits, which bear me and enable me to help him through a malady of anguish and difficulty. It is a year this very month since he has been in the hands of Mr. Hay as a regular patient. Mr. Hay was recommended to us by Mrs. Locke and Mrs. Angerstein, whom he attends as physician, from their high opinion of his skill and discernment. But, alas ! all has failed here ; and we have called in Mr. Tudor, as the case terminates in being one that demands a surgeon. Mr. Tudor gives me every comfort in prospect, but prepares me for long suffering, and slow, slow recovery. Shall I apologise for this wordy explanation? No - you will see by it with what readiness I am happy, to believe that our interest in each other must ever be reciprocal. Lady K- by no means intended to give me the charge of the papers; she only thought they might procure some passing amusement to my invalid. I must, on the contrary, hope you will permit me to return them you, in a few days, for such conveyance as you may deem safe; I am now out of the way of seeking any. I hope you were a little glad that my son has been among the high Wranglers. NARRATIVE OF THE ILLNESS AND DEATH OF GENERAL D'ARBLAY. THE GENERAL'S FIRST ATTACK: DELUSIVE HOPES. Bolton Street, Berkeley Square. It is now the 17th of November, 1819. A year and a half have passed since I was blessed with the sight of my beloved husband. I can devise no means to soothe my lonely woe, so likely of success as devoting my evening solitude to recollections of his excellences, and of every occurrence of his latter days, till I bring myself up to the radiant serenity of their end. I think it will be like passing with him, with him himself, a few poor fleeting but dearly-cherished moments. I will call back the history of my beloved husband's last illness. Ever present as it is to me, it will be a relief to set it down. In Paris, in the autumn Of 1817, he was first attacked with Page 424 the deadly evil by which he was finally consumed. I suspected not his danger. He had left me in June, in the happy but most delusive persuasion that the journey and his native air would complete his recovery from the jaundice, which had attacked him in February, 1817. Far from ameliorating, his health went on daily declining. His letters, which at first were the delight and support of my existence, became disappointing, dejecting, afflicting. I sighed for his return ! I believed. he was trying experiments that hindered his recovery; and, indeed, I am persuaded he precipitated the evil by continual changes of system. At length his letters became so comfortless, that I almost expired with desire to join him - but he positively forbade my quitting our Alexander, who was preparing for his grand examination at Cambridge. On the opening of October, 1817, Alex and I returned from Ilfracombe to Bath to meet our best friend. He arrived soon after, attended by his favourite medical man, Mr. Hay, whom he had met in Paris. We found him extremely altered-not in mind, temper, faculties--oh, no!--but in looks and strength: thin and weakened so as to be fatigued by the smallest exertion. He tried, however, to revive; we sought to renew our walks, but his strength was insufficient. He purchased a garden in the Crescent fields, and worked in it, but came home always the worse for the effort. His spirits were no longer in their state of native genial cheerfulness : he could still be awakened to gaiety, but gaiety was no longer innate, instinctive with him. GENERAL D'ARBLAY PRESENTED TO THE QUEEN. In this month, October, 1817, I had a letter from the Princess Elizabeth, to inform me that her majesty and herself were coming to pass four weeks in Bath. The queen's stay was short, abruptly and sadly broken up by the death of the Princess Charlotte. In twenty-four hours after the evil tidings, they hastened to Windsor to meet the prince regent and almost immediately after the funeral, the queen and princess returned, accompanied by the Duke of Clarence. I saw them continually, and never passed a day without calling at the royal abode by the queen's express permission ; and during the whole period of their stay, my invalid appeared to be stationary in his health. I never quitted him save for this royal visit, and that only of a morning. Page 425 He had always purposed being presented to her majesty in the pump-room, and the queen herself deigned to say "she should be very glad to see the general." Ill he was! suffering, emaciated, enfeebled! But he had always spirit awake to every call; and just before Christmas, 1817, we went together, between seven and eight o'clock in the morning, in chairs, to the pump-room. I thought I had never seen him look to such advantage. His fine brow so open, his noble countenance so expressive, his features so formed for a painter's pencil! This, too, was the last time he ever wore his military honours--his three orders of "St. Louis," "the Legion of Honour," and "Du Lys," or "De la Fid�lit�;" decorations which singularly became him, from his strikingly martial port and character. The queen was brought to the circle in her sedan-chair, and led to the seat prepared for her by her vice-chamberlain, making a gracious general bow to the assembly as she passed. Dr. Gibbs and Mr. Tudor waited upon her with the Bath water, and she conversed with them, and the mayor and aldermen, and her own people, for some time. After this she rose to make her round with a grace indescribable, and, to those who never witnessed it, inconceivable ; for it was such as to carry off age, infirmity, sickness, diminutive stature and to give her, in defiance of such disadvantages, a power of charming that rarely has been equalled. Her face had a variety of expression that made her features soon seem agreeable; the intonations of her voice so accorded with her words, her language was so impressive, and her manner so engaging and encouraging, that it was not possible to be the object of her attention without being both struck with her uncommon abilities and fascinated by their exertion. Such was the effect which she produced upon General d'Arblay, to whom she soon turned. Highly sensible to the honour of her distinction, he forgot his pains in his desire to manifest his gratitude;--and his own smiles--how winning they became! Her majesty spoke of Bath, of Windsor, of the Continent; and while addressing him, her eyes turned to meet mine with a look that said, "Now I know I am making you happy!" She asked me, archly, whether I was not fatigued by coming to the pump-room so early? and said, "Madame d'Arblay thinks I have never seen you before ! but she is mistaken, for I peeped at you through the window as you passed to the Terrace at Windsor." Alas! the queen no Page 426 sooner ceased to address him than the pains he had suppressed became intolerable, and he retreated from the circle and sank upon a bench near the wall - he could stand no longer, and we returned home to spend the rest of the day in bodily misery. GLOOMY FOREBODINGS. Very soon after the opening of this fatal year 1818, expressions dropped from my beloved of his belief of his approaching end : they would have broken my heart, had not an incredulity --now my eternal wonder,--kept me in a constant persuasion that he was hypochondriac, and tormented with false apprehensions. Fortunate, merciful as wonderful, was that incredulity, which, blinding me to my coming woe, enabled me to support my courage by my hopes, and helped me to sustain his own. In his occasional mournful prophecies, which I always rallied off and refused to listen to, he uttered frequently the kind words, "Et jamais je n'ai tant aim� la vie! Jamais, jamais, la vie ne m'a �t� plus ch�re!"(317) How sweet to me were those words, which I thought- -alas, how delusively--would soothe and invigorate recovery! The vivacity with which I exerted all the means in my power to fly from every evil prognostic, he was often struck with, and never angrily; on the contrary, he would exclaim, "Comme j'admire ton courage!"(318) while his own, on the observation, always revived. "My courage?" I always answered, "What courage? Am I not doing what I most desire upon earth--remaining by your side? When you are not well, the whole universe is to me, there!" Soon after, nevertheless, recurring to the mournful idea ever uppermost, he said, with a serenity the most beautiful, "Je voudrois que nous causassions sur tout cela avec calme,---doucement,--cheerfully m�me(319) as of a future voyage-- as of a subject of discussion--simply to exchange our ideas and talk them over." Alas, alas ! how do I now regret that I seconded not this project, so fitted for all pious Christian minds, whether their pilgrimage be of shorter or longer duration. But I saw him Page 427 I, oh, how ill! I felt myself well ; it was, therefore, apparent who must be the survivor in case of sunderment; and, therefore, all power of generalizing the subject was over. And much and ardently as I should have rejoiced in treating such a theme when he was well, or on his recovery, I had no power to sustain it thus situated. I could only attend his sick couch; I could only 'live by fostering hopes of his revival, and seeking to make them reciprocal. During this interval a letter from my affectionate sister Charlotte suggested our taking further advice to aid Mr. Hay, since the malady was so unyielding. /On January the 24th Mr. Tudor came, but after an interview and examination, his looks were even forbidding. Mr. Hay had lost his air of satisfaction and complacency, Mr. Tudor merely inquired whether he should come again? "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" I cried, and they retired together. And rapidly I flew, not alone from hearing, but from forming any opinion, and took refuge by the side of my beloved, whom I sought to console and revive. And this very day, as I have since found, he began his Diary for the year. It contains these words:-- "Jamais je n'ai tant aim� la vie que je suis en si grand danger de perdre; malgr� que je n'aye point de fi�vre, ni le moindre mal la t�te; et que j'aye non seulement l'esprit libre, mais le coeur d'un contentement Parfait. La volont� de Dieu soit faite! J'attends pour ce soir ou demain le resultat d'une consultation."(320) PRESENTS FROM THE QUEEN AND PRINCEss ELIZABETH. On this same day Madame de Soyres brought me a packet from her majesty, and another from the Princess Elizabeth. The kind and gracious princess sent me a pair of silver camp candlesticks, with peculiar contrivances which she wrote me word might amuse the general as a military man, while they might be employed by myself to light my evening researches among the MSS. of my dear father, which she wished me to collect and to preface by a memoir. Her mother's offering was in the same spirit of benevolence - it was a collection of all the volumes of "L'Hermite de Page 428 la Chauss�e d'Antin," with Chalmers's Astronomical Sermons, and Drake's two quartos on Shakespeare; joined to a small work of deeper personal interest to me than them all, which was a book of prayers suited to various circumstances, and printed at her majesty's own press at Frogmore. In this she had condescended to write my name, accompanied by words of peculiar kindness. My poor ami looked over every title-page with delight, feeling as I did myself that the gift was still more meant for him than for me--or rather, doubly, trebly for me in being calculated to be pleasing to him!--he was to me the soul of all pleasure on earth. What words of kindness do I find, and now for the first time read, in his Diary dated 2nd February! After speaking--h�las, h�las!--"de ses douleurs inouies," (321) he adds, "Quelle �trange maladie! et quelle position que la mienne! il en est une, peut�tre plus ficheuse encore, c'est celle de ma malheureuse compagne; avec quelle tendresse elle me soigne! et avec quel courage elle supporte ce qu'elle a souffrir! Je ne puis que r�p�ter, La volont� de Dieu soit faite!"(322) Alas! the last words he wrote in February were most melancholy:-- "20 F�vrier, Je sens que je m'afaiblis horriblement--je ne crois pas que ceci puisse �tre encore bien long.(323) Ch�re Fanny, cher Alex! God bless you! and unite us for ever, Amen!" Oh my beloved! Delight, pride, and happiness of my heart! May heaven in its mercy hear this prayer! . . . THE GENERAL RECEIVES THE VISIT OF A PRIEST. In March he revived a little, and Mr. Tudor no longer denied me hope; on the 18th Alex came to our arms and gratulations on his fellowship; which gave to his dearest father a delight the most touching. I have no Diary in his honoured hand to guide my narrative in April; a few words only he ever wrote more, and these, after speaking of his sufferings, end with "Pazienza! " Page 429 Pazienza!"--such was his last written expression! 'Tis on the 5th of April. . . . On the 3rd of May he reaped, I humbly trust, the fair fruit of that faith and patience he so pathetically implored and so beautifully practised. At this critical period in April I was called down one day to Madame la Marquise de S-, who urged me to summon a priest of the Roman catholic persuasion to my precious sufferer. I was greatly disturbed every way; I felt in shuddering the danger she apprehended, and resisted its belief; yet I trembled lest I should be doing wrong. I was a protestant, and had no faith in confession to man. I had long had reason to believe that my beloved partner was a protestant, also, in his heart ; but he had a horror of apostasy, and therefore, as he told me, would not investigate the differences of the two religions; he had besides a tie which to his honour and character was potent and persuasive; he had taken an oath to keep the catholic faith when he received his Croix de St. Louis, which was at a period when the preference of the simplicity of protestantism was not apparent to him. All this made me personally easy for him, yet, as this was not known, and as nothing definite had ever passed between us upon this delicate subject, I felt that he apparently belonged still to the Roman catholic church; and after many painful struggles I thought it my absolute duty to let him judge for himself, even at the risk of inspiring the alarm I so much sought to save him! . . . I compelled myself therefore to tell him the wish of Madame de S-, that he should see a priest. "Eh bien," he cried, gently yet readily, "je ne m'y oppose pas. Qu'en penses tu?" I begged to leave such a decision wholly to himself. Never shall I forget the heavenly composure with which my beloved partner heard me announce that the priest, Dr. Elloi, was come. Cheerfully as I urged myself to name him, still he could but regard the visit as an invitation to make his last preparations for quitting mortal life. With a calm the most gentle and genuine, he said he had better be left alone with him, and they remained together, I believe, three hours. I was deeply disturbed that my poor patient should be so long without sustenance or medicine - but I durst not intrude, though anxiously I kept at hand in case of any sudden summons. When, at length, the priest re-appeared, I found Page 430 my dearest invalid as placid as before this ceremony, though fully convinced it was meant as the annunciation of his expected and approaching departure. THE LAST SACRAMENT ADMINISTERED. Dr. Elloi now came not only every day, but almost every hour of the day, to obtain another interview; but my beloved, though pleased that the meeting had taken place, expressed no desire for its repetition. I was cruelly distressed ; the fear of doing wrong has been always the leading principle of my internal guidance, and here I felt incompetent to judge what was right. Overpowered, therefore, by my own inability to settle that point, and my terror lest I should mistake it, I ceased to resist ; and Dr. Elloi, while my patient was sleeping from opium, glided into his chamber, and knelt down by the bedside with his prayer book in his hand. Two hours this lasted; but when the doctor informed me he had obtained the general's promise that he should administer to him the last sacrament, the preparations were made accordingly, and I only entreated leave to be present. This solemn communion, at which I have never in our own church attended with unmoistened eyes, was administered the same evening. The dear invalid was in bed: his head raised with difficulty, he went through this ceremony with spirits calm, and a countenance and voice of holy composure. FAREWELL WORDS OF COUNSEL. Thenceforth he talked openly, and almost solely, of his approaching dissolution, and prepared for it by much silent mental prayer. He also poured forth his soul in counsel for Alexander and myself. I now dared no longer oppose to him my hopes of his recovery - the season was too awful. I heard him only with deluges of long-restrained tears, and his generous spirit seemed better satisfied in thinking me now --awakened to a sense of his danger, as preparatory for supporting its consequence. "Parle de moi." He said, afterwards, "Parle--et souvent. Surtout Ò Alexandre; qu'il ne m'oublie pas!"(325) "Je ne parlerai pas d'autre chose!"(326) I answered . . . and Page 431 I felt his tender purpose. He knew how I forbore ever to speak of my lost darling sister, and he thought the constraint injurious both to my health and spirits : he wished to change my mode with regard to himself by an injunction of his own. "Nous ne parlerons pas d'autre chose!" I added, "mon ami!--mon ami!--je ne survivrai que pour cela!"(327) He looked pleased, and with a calm that taught me to repress my too great emotion. He then asked for Alexander, embraced him warmly, and half raising himself with a strength that had seemed extinct but the day before, he took a hand of Alexander and one of mine, and putting them together between both his own, he tenderly pressed them, exclaiming, "How happy I am! I fear I am too happy!" Kindest of human hearts! His happiness was in seeing us together ere he left us his fear was lest he should too keenly regret the quitting us! At this time he saw for a few minutes my dear sister Esther and her Maria, who had always been a great favourite with him. When they retired, he called upon me to bow my knees as he dropped upon his own, that he might receive, he said, my benediction, and that we might fervently and solemnly join in prayer to Almighty God for each other. He then consigned himself to uninterrupted meditation : he told me not to utter one word to him, even of reply, beyond the most laconic necessity. He desired that when I brought him his medicine or nutriment, I would give it without speech and instantly retire; and take care that no human being addressed or approached him. This awful command lasted unbroken during the rest of the evening, the whole of the night, and nearly the following day. So concentrated in himself he desired to be!--yet always as free from irritation as from despondence-- always gentle and kind even when taciturn, and even when in torture. When the term of his meditative seclusion seemed to be over, I found him speaking with Alexander, and pouring into the bosom of his weeping son the balm of parental counsel and comfort. I received at this time a letter from my affectionate sister Charlotte, pressing for leave to come and aid me to nurse my dearest invalid. He took the letter and pressed it to his lips, saying, "Je l'aime bien; dis le lui. Et Page 432 elle M'aime."(328) But I felt that she could do me no good. We had a nurse whose skill made her services a real blessing ; and for myself, woe, such as he believed approaching, surpassed all aid but from prayer and from heaven--lonely meditation. When the morning dawned, he ordered Payne to open the shutters and to undraw the curtains. The prospect from the windows facing his bed was picturesque, lively, lovely: he looked at it with a bright smile of admiration, and cast his arm over his noble brow, as if hailing one more return of day' and light, and life with those he loved. But when, in the course of the day, something broke from me of my reverence at his heavenly resignation, "R�sign�?" he repeated, with a melancholy half smile; "mais comme �ah!" and then in a voice of tenderness the most touching, he added, "Te quitter!" I dare not, even yet, hang upon my emotion at those words! That night passed in tolerable tranquillity, and without alarm, his pulse still always equal and good, though smaller. On Sunday, the fatal 3rd of May, my patient was still cheerful, and slept often, but not long. This circumstance was delightful to my observation, and kept off the least suspicion that my misery could be so near. THE END ARRIVES. My pen lingers now!-reluctant to finish the little that remains. About noon, gently awaking from a slumber, he called to me for some beverage, but was weaker than usual, and could not hold the cup. I moistened his lips with a spoon several times. He looked at me with sweetness inexpressible, and pathetically said, "Qui?" He stopped, but I saw he meant "Who shall return this for you?" I instantly answered to his obvious and most touching meaning, by a cheerful exclamation of "You! my dearest ami! You yourself! You shall recover, and take your revenge." He smiled, but shut his eyes in silence. After this, he bent forward, as he was supported nearly upright by pillows in his bed, and taking my hand, and holding it between both his own, he impressively said, "Je ne sais si Page 433 ce sera le dernier mot--mais ce sera la derni�re pens�e--notre r�union!"(329) Oh, words the most precious that ever the tenderest of husbands left for balm to the lacerated heart of a surviving wife! I fastened my lips on his loved hands, but spoke not. It was not then that those words were my blessing! They awed--they thrilled--more than they solaced me. How little knew I then that he should speak to me no more ! Towards evening I sat watching in my arm-chair, and Alex remained constantly with me. His sleep was so calm, that an hour passed in which I indulged the hope that a favourable crisis was arriving; that a turn would take place by which his vital powers would be restored; but when the hour was succeeded by another hour, when I saw a universal stillness in the whole frame, such as seemed to stagnate all around, I began to be strangely moved. "Alex!" I whispered, "this sleep is critical! a crisis arrives! Pray God-- Almighty God!--that it be fav--." I could not proceed. Alex looked aghast, but firm. I sent him to call Payne. I intimated to her my opinion that this sleep was important, but kept a composure astonishing, for when no one would give me encouragement, I compelled myself to appear not to want it, to deter them from giving me despair. Another hour passed of concentrated feelings, of breathless dread. His face had still its unruffled serenity, but methought the hands were turning cold; I covered them - -I watched over the head of my beloved; I took new flannel to roll over his feet; the stillness grew more awful; the skin became colder. Alex, my dear Alex, proposed calling in Mr. Tudor, and ran off for him. I leant over him now with sal volatile to his temple, his forehead, the palms of his hands, but I had no courage to feel his pulse, to touch his lips. Mr. Tudor came - he put his hand upon the heart, the noblest of hearts, and pronounced that all was over! How I bore this is still marvellous to me! I had always believed such a sentence would at once have killed me. But his sight--the sight of his stillness, kept me from distraction! Sacred he appeared, and his stillness I thought should be mine, and be inviolable. I suffered certainly a partial derangement, for I cannot to this moment recollect anything that now succeeded, with truth Page 434 or consistency; my memory paints things that were necessarily real, joined to others that could not possibly have happened, yet so amalgamates the whole together as to render it impossible for me to separate truth from indefinable, unaccountable fiction. Even to this instant I always see the room itself charged with a medley of silent and strange figures grouped against the wall just opposite to me, Mr. Tudor, methought, was come to drag me by force away; and in this persuasion, which was false, I remember supplicating him to grant me but one hour, telling him I had solemnly engaged myself to pass it in watching. . . . But why go back to my grief? Even yet, at times, it seems as fresh as ever, and at all times weighs on me with a feeling that seems stagnating the springs of life. But for Alexander ,our Alexander!--I think I could hardly have survived. His tender sympathy, with his claims to my love, and the solemn injunctions given me to preserve for him, and devote to him, my remnant of life--these, through the Divine mercy, sustained me. May that mercy, with its best blessings, daily increase his resemblance to his noble father. March 20, 1820. (288) M. d'Arblay, who was, it appears, still lame (boiteux) from the kick which he had received from a horse.-ED, (289) Half-pay. (290) The Comte de Narbonne and Comte F. de la Tour Maubourg. (291) He had studied mathematics in Paris according to the analytical method, instead of the geometrical, which was at that time exclusively taught at Cambridge. (292) See infra, p. 387-8.-ED. (293) It is not without pain that we find Fanny, in this letter defending the harsh treatment accorded by the Bourbon king to Lavalette and others of the partisans of the emperor. Lavalette had served Napoleon both as soldier and diplomatist. At the restoration of the Bourbons in 1814 he retired from public life, but on the return of Napoleon he again entered the service of his old master. He was arrested after the downfall of the emperor, tried for treason, and condemned to death. His wife implored the king's mercy in vain, Lavalette was confined in the Conciergerie, and December 21, 1815, was the day fixed for his execution. The evening before that day his wife visited him in the prison. He exchanged clothes with her, and thus disguised, succeeded in making his escape. His safety was secured by three English gentlemen, one of whom, Sir Robert Wilson, conveyed Lavalette, in the disguise of an English officer, across the Belgian frontier. For this generous act the three Englishmen were tried in Paris, and sentenced, each, to three months' imprisonment.-ED. (294) At the sale of the collection, formed by Mr. Thrale, of portraits of his distinguished friends, painted by one of the most distinguished of them-Sir Joshua Reynolds. The collection comprised portraits of Johnson, Burke, Dr. Burney, Reynolds, etc. Reynolds painted two portraits of Johnson for Mr. Thrale. That referred to by Fanny is probably the magnificent portrait painted about 1773, and now in the National Gallery, for which Thrale paid thirty-five guineas.-ED. (295) "His wife and son." (296) M. d'Arblay had been promoted by Louis XVIII. to the rank of Lieutenant-General.-ED. (297) "Certainly, and very certainly, my dearest, your beautiful strictures upon the knowledge and the customs of the world would have given another current to my ideas." (298) "For the future." (299) "He is still but a child." (300) "That is not our case." (301) "Will be quite another thing; but I think you are mistaken." (302) This paragon of perfection, then, was an actual person, whom General d'Arblay was thinking of as a wife for his son!-ED. (303) Self-love. (304) Wounded. (305) Esther Burney.-ED. (306) Volumes of plays.-ED. (307) Stove. (308) "Make short work." (309) "Gloomy discouragement." (310) "Apathy." (311) "You are quite mistaken." (312) "You give it up, don't you?" (313) An interesting and humorous novel by the Rev. Richard Graves, the friend of Shenstone.-ED. (314) Blue stockings. (315) "So to speak." (316) The Princess Charlotte, only child of the prince and princess of Wales, was married at the age of twenty (May 2, 1816) to Prince Leopold of SaxeCoburg. On the 5th of November, 1817, she was delivered of a still-born child, and died a few hours later.-ED. (317) "I have never loved life so much! Never, never has life been dearer to me!" (318) "How I admire your courage!" (319) "I should like us to talk of all that with calmness,-- mildly,--even cheerfully." (320) "Never have I so much loved life as now that I am in so great danger of losing it ; notwithstanding that I have no fever, nor is my head in the least affected ; and not only is my mine] clear, but my heart perfectly at ease. God's will be done! I await the result of a consultation this evening or to-morrow." (321) "Of his unheard-of sufferings." (322) "What a strange malady! and what a position is mine! there is one perhaps more grievous yet, that of my unhappy companion-- with what tenderness she cares for me! and with what courage she bears what she has to suffer! I can only repeat, God's will be done!" (323) "February 20. I feel that I am getting horribly weak--I do not think this can last much longer." (324) "Well, I have no objection. What do you think of it?" (325) "Speak of me! Speak--and often. Especially to Alexander; that he may not forget me!" (326) "I shall speak of nothing else!" (327) "We shall speak of nothing else! my dear!--my dear!--I shall survive only for that!" (328) "I love her well; tell her so. And she loves me." (329) "I do not know if this will be my last word--but it will be my last thought--our reunion." Page 435 SECTION 27. (1818-40) YEARS OF WIDOWHOOD. DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON. HER OWN DEATH. (Extracts from Pocket-book Diary.) MOURNFUL REFLECTIONS. May 17, 1818. This melancholy second Sunday since My irreparable loss I ventured to church. I hoped it might calm my mind and subject it to its new state--its lost--lost happiness. But I suffered inexpressibly; I sunk on my knees, and could scarcely contain my sorrows--scarcely rise any more! but I prayed--fervently--and I am glad I made the trial, however severe. Oh mon ami! mon tendre ami! if you looked down! if that be permitted, how benignly will you wish my participation in your blessed relief! Sunday, May 31.-This was the fourth Sunday passed since I have seen and heard and been blessed with the presence of my angel husband. Oh loved and honoured daily more and more! Yet how can that be? No! even now, in this cruel hour of regret and mourning it cannot be! for love and honour could rise no higher than mine have risen long, long since, in my happiest days. June 3.-This day, this 3rd of June, completes a calendar month since I lost the beloved object of all my tenderest affections, and all my views and hopes and even ideas of happiness on earth. . . . June 7.-The fifth sad Sunday this of earthly separation! oh heavy, heavy parting! I went again to church. I think Page 436 it right, and I find it rather consolatory-rather only, for the effort against sudden risings of violent grief at peculiar passages almost destroys me; and no prayers do me the service I receive from those I continually offer up in our apartment by the side of the bed on which he breathed forth his last blessing. Oh words for ever dear! for ever balsamic! "Je ne sais si ce sera le dernier mot--mais ce sera bien la derni�re pens�e--notre r�union." VISITS RECEIVED AND LETTERS PENNED. June 18.-My oldest friend to my knowledge living, Mrs. Frances Bowdler, made a point of admission this morning, and stayed with me two hours. She was friendly and good, and is ever sensible and deeply clever. Could I enjoy any society, she would enliven and enlighten it, but I now can only enjoy sympathy!--sympathy and pity! Alex and I had both letters from M. de Lafayette. June 23.-To-day I have written my first letter since my annihilated happiness-to my tenderly sympathising Charlotte. I covet a junction with that dear and partial sister for ending together our latter days. I hope we shall bring it to bear. With Alex read part of St. Luke. June 29.-To-day I sent a letter, long in writing and painfully finished, to my own dear Madame de Maisonneuve. She will be glad to see my hand, grieved as she will be at what it has written. With Alex read part of St. Luke. June 30-I wrote--with many sad struggles--to Madame Beckersdorff, my respectful devoirs to her majesty, with the melancholy apology for my silence during the royal nuptials of the Dukes of Clarence, Kent, and Cambridge; and upon the departure of dear Princess Eliza,' and upon her majesty's so frequent and alarming attacks of ill health. With Alex read the Acts of the Apostles. . . . July 8.-I have given to Alex the decision of where we shall dwell. Unhappy myself everywhere, why not leave unshackled his dawning life? To quit Bath--unhappy Bath!--he had long desired: and, finally, he has fixed his choice in the very capital itself. I cannot hesitate to oblige him. August 28.-My admirable old friend, Mrs. Frances Page 437 Bowdler, spent the afternoon with me. Probably we shall meet no more but judiciously, as suits her enlightened understanding, and kindly, as accords with her long partiality,- she forbore any hint on that point. Yet her eyes swam in tears, not ordinary to her, when she bade me adieu. August 30.-The seventeenth week's sun rises on my deplorable change! A very kind, cordial, brotherly letter arrives from my dear James. An idea of comfort begins to steal its way to my mind, in renewing my intercourse with this worthy brother, who feels for me, I see, with sincerity and affection. Sept. 5.-A letter from dowager Lady Harcourt, on the visibly approaching dissolution of my dear honoured royal mistress ! written by desire of my beloved Princess Mary, Duchess of Gloucester, to save me the shock of surprise, added to that of grief. Sunday, Sept. 6.-A fresh renewal to me of woe is every returning week ! The eighteenth this of the dread solitude of my heart ; and miserably, has it passed, augmenting sorrow weighing it in the approaching loss of my dear queen! Again I took the Sacrament at the Octagon, probably for the last time. Oh, how earnest were my prayers for re-union in a purer world! Prayers were offered for a person lying dangerously ill. I thought of the queen, and prayed for her fervently. Sunday, Sept. 27-This day, the twenty-first Sunday of my bereavement, Alexander, I trust, is ordained a deacon of the Church of England. Heaven propitiate his entrance! I wrote to the good Bishop of Salisbury to beseech his pious wishes on this opening of clerical life. REMOVAL FROM BATH TO LONDON. Sept. 28.-Still my preparations to depart from Bath take up all of time that grief does not seize irresistibly; for, oh! what anguish overwhelms my soul in quitting the place where last he saw and blessed me!--the room, the spot on which so softly, so holily, yet so tenderly, he embraced me and breathed his last! Sept. 30.-This morning I left Bath with feelings of profound affliction - yet, reflecting that hope was ever open-- that future union may repay this laceration--oh, that my torn soul could more look forward with sacred aspiration! Then better would it support its weight of woe. Page 438 My dear James received me with tender pity; so did his good wife, son, and daughter. Oct. 6.-My dear Alexander left me this morning for Cambridge. How shall I do, thus parted from both! My kind brother, and his worthy house, have softened off the day much; yet I sigh for seclusion--my mind labours under the weight of assumed sociability. Oct. 8. I came this evening to my new and probably last dwelling, No. 11, Bolton-street, Piccadilly. My kind James conducted me. Oh, how heavy is my forlorn heart ! I have made myself very busy all day ; so only could I have supported this first opening to my baleful desolation ! No adored husband! No beloved son ! But the latter is only at Cambridge. Ah! let me struggle to think more of the other, the first, the chief, as also only removed from my sight by a transitory journey! Oct. 14.-Wrote to my--erst--dearest friend, Mrs. Piozzi. I can never forget my long love for her, and many obligations to her friendship, strangely as she had been estranged since her marriage. Oct. 30.-A letter from my loved Madame de Maisonneuve, full of feeling, sense, sweetness, information to beguile me back to life, and of sympathy to open my sad heart to friendship. Nov. 7.-A visit from the excellent Harriet Bowdler, who gave me an hour of precious society, mingling her commiserating sympathy with hints sage and right of the duty of revival from every stroke of heaven. Oh, my God, Saviour! To thee may I turn more and more. DEATH OF THE QUEEN: SKETCH OF HER CHARACTER.(331) Nov. 17-This day, at one o'clock, breathed her last the inestimable Queen of England.(332) Heaven rest and bless her soul! Her understanding was of the best sort ; for while it endued her with powers to form a judgment of all around her, it pointed out to her the fallibility of appearances, and thence kept her always open to conviction where she had been led by circumstances into mistake. >From the time of my first entrance into her household her manner to me was most kind and encouraging, for she had Page 439 formed her previous opinion from the partial accounts of my beloved Mrs. Delany. She saw that, impressed with real respect for her character, and never-failing remembrance of her rank, she might honour me with confidence without an apprehension of imprudence, invite openness without incurring freedom, and manifest kindness without danger of encroachment. . . . When I was alone with her she discarded all royal constraint, all stiffness, all formality, all pedantry of grandeur, to lead me to speak to her with openness and ease; but any inquiries which she made in our t�te- -t�tes never awakened an idea of prying into affairs, diving into secrets, discovering views, intentions, or latent wishes, or amuses. No,. she was above all such minor resources for attaining intelligence; what she desired to know she asked openly, though cautiously if of grave matters, and playfully if of mere news or chit-chat, but always beginning with, "If there is any reason I should not be told, or any that you should not tell, don't answer me." Nor were these words of course, they were spoken with such visible sincerity, that I have availed myself of them fearlessly, though never without regret, as it was a delight to me to be explicit and confidential in return for her condescension. But whenever she saw a question painful, or that it occasioned even hesitation, she promptly and generously started some other subject. Dec. 2.-The queen, the excellent exemplary queen, was this day interred in the vault of her royal husband's ancestors,(133) to moulder like his subjects, bodily into dust; but mentally, not so! She will live in the memory of those who knew her best, and be set up as an example even by those who only after her death know, or at least acknowledge her virtues. I heard an admirable sermon on her departure and her character from Mr. Repton in St. James's church. I wept the whole time, as much from gratitude and tenderness to hear her thus appreciated as from grief at her loss--to me a most heavy one! for she was faithfully, truly, and solidly attached to me, as I to her. Dec. 12.-A letter from the Duchess of Gloucester,(134) to My equal gratification and surprise. She has deigned to answer my poor condolence the very moment, as she says, that she Page 440 received it. Touched to the heart, but no longer with pleasure in any emotion, I wept abundantly. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SON IS ORDAINED. Sunday, April 11, 1818.-This morning my dearest Alexander was ordained a priest by the Bishop of Chester in St. James's church. I went thither with my good Eliz. Ramsay, and from the gallery witnessed the ceremony. Fifty-two were ordained at the same time. I fervently pray to God that my son may meet this his decided calling with a disposition and conduct to sanction its choice ! and with virtues to merit his noble father's name and exemplary character! Amen Amen! WITH some ROYAL HIGHNESSES. July 15-A message from H. R. H. Princess Augusta, with whom I passed a morning as nearly delightful as any, now, can be! She played and sang to me airs of her own composing-unconscious, medley reminiscences, but very pretty, and prettily executed. I met the Duke of York, who greeted me most graciously- saying, as if with regret, how long it was since he had seen me. In coming away, I met, in the corridor, my sweet Duchess of Gloucester, who engaged me for next Sunday to herself. July 26.-Her royal highness presented me to the duke, whom I found well-bred, Polite, easy, unassuming, and amiable; kind, not condescending. QUEEN CAROLINE. (Madame d"Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Wednesday, June 7, 1820. . . . All London now is wild about the newly arrived royal traveller.(135) As she is in this neighbourhood, our part of the Page 441 town is surprised and startled every other hour by the arrival of some new group of the curious rushing on to see her and her 'squire the alderman, at their balcony. Her 'squire, also, now never comes forth unattended by a vociferous shouting multitude. I suppose Augusta, who resides still nearer to the dame and the 'squire of dames, is recreated in this lively way yet more forcibly. The 15th of this month is to be kept as king's birthday at Court. Orders have been issued to the princesses to that effect, and to tell them they must appear entirely out of mourning. They had already made up dresses for half mourning, of white and black. I should not marvel if the royal traveller should choose to enter the apartments, and offer her congratulations upon the festival. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Locke.) Elliot Vale, London, August 15, 1820. How long it seems--"Seems, madam! nay, it is! since I have heard from my most loved friend!--I have had, Page 442 however, I thank heaven, news of her, and cheering news, though I have lost sight of both her dear daughters. . . . We are all, and of all classes, all opinions, all ages, and all parties, absolutely absorbed by the expectation of Thursday. The queen has passed the bottom of our street twice this afternoon in an open carriage, with Lady Ann(336) and Alderman Wood!-How very inconceivable that among so many adherents, she can find that only esquire!-And why she should have any, in her own carriage and in London, it is not easy to say. There is a universal alarm for Thursday.(337) the letter to the king breathes battle direct to both Houses of Parliament as much as to his majesty. Mr. Wilberforce is called upon, and looked up to, as the only man in the dominions to whom an arbitration should belong. Lord John Russell positively asserts that it is not with Lord Castlereagh and the ministers that conciliation or non-conciliation hangs, but with Mr. Wilberforce and his circle. If I dared hope such was the case, how much less should I be troubled by the expectance awakened for to-morrow--it is now Wednesday that I finish my poor shabby billet. Tremendous is the general alarm at this moment for the accused turns accuser, public and avowed, of King, Lords, and Commons, declaring she will submit to no award of any of them. What would she say should evidence be imperfect or wanting, and they should acquit her? It is, however, open war, and very dreadful, She really invokes a revolution in every paragraph of her letter to her sovereign and lord and husband. I know not what sort of conjugal rule will be looked for by the hitherto lords and masters of the world, if this conduct is abetted by them. . . . The heroine passed by the bottom of our street yesterday, in full pomp and surrounded with shouters and vociferous admirers. She now dresses superbly every day, and has always six horses and an open carriage. She seems to think now she has no chance but from insurrection, and therefore all her harangues invite it. Oh Dr. Parr!--how my poor brother would have blushed for him! he makes those orations Page 443 with the aid of Cobbett!--and the council, I suppose. Of course, like Croaker in "The Good-natured Man" I must finish with "I wish we may all be well this day three months!" GOSSIP FROM AN OLD FRIEND, AND THE REPLY. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Bath, October 20. It was very gratifying, dear madam, to find myself so kindly remembered, and with all my heart I thank you for your letter. My family are gone to Sandgate for the purpose of bathing in the sea, this wonderfully beautiful October ; and were you not detained in London by such a son as I hear you are happy in, I should wish you there too, Apropos to October, I have not your father's admirable verses upon that month ; those upon June, I saw when last in Wales could you get me the others ? it would be such a favour and you used to like them best. How changed is the taste of verse, prose, and painting since le bon vieux temps, dear madam! Nothing attracts us but what terrifies, and is within--if within--a hair's breadth of positive disgust. The picture of Death on his Pale Horse, however, is very grand certainly-and some of the strange things they write remind me of Squoire Richard's visit to the Tower Menagerie, when he says "Odd, they are pure grim devils,"--particularly a wild and hideous tale called Frankenstein. Do you ever see any of the friends we used to live among? Mrs. Lambert is yet alive, and in prosperous circumstances ; and Fell, the bookseller in Bond-street, told me a fortnight or three weeks ago, that Miss Streatfield lives where she did in his neighbourhood,-- Clifford-street, S. S. still. Old Jacob and his red night-cap are the only live creatures, as an Irishman would say, that come about me of those you remember, and death alone will part us,-he and I both lived longer with Mr. Piozzi than we had done with Mr. Thrale. Archdeacon Thomas is, I think, the only friend you and I have now quite in common : he gets well ; and if there was hope of his getting clear from entanglement, he would be young again,-he is a valuable mortal. Adieu! Leisure for men of business, you know, and business for men of leisure, would cure many complaints. Page 444 Once more, farewell ! and accept my thanks for your good-natured recollection of poor H. L. P. (Madame d'Arblay. to Mrs. Piozzi-) Bolton-street, December 15, 1820. Now at last, dear madam, with a real pen I venture to answer your kind acceptance of my Bath leave-taking address, of a date I would wish you to forget-but the letter is before me, and has no other word I should like to relinquish. But more of grief at the consequence of my silence, namely your own, hangs upon the circumstance than shame, for i have been so every way unwell,-unhinged, shattered, and unfitted for any correspondence that could have a chance of reciprocating pleasure, that perhaps I ought rather to demand your thanks than your pardon for this delay. I will demand, however, which you please, so you will but tell me which you will grant, for then I shall hear from you again. I must, nevertheless, mention, that my first intention, upon reading the letter with which you favoured me, was to forward to you the verses on October, of my dear father, which you honoured with so much approbation .- but I have never been able to find them, unless you mean the ode, written in that month, on the anniversary of his marriage with my mother-in-law, beginning:-- Hail, eldest offspring of the circling year, October! bountiful, benign, and clear, Whose gentle reign, from all excesses free, Gave birth to Stella--happiness to me." If it be this, I will copy it out with the greatest alacrity, for the first opportunity of conveyance. So here, again, like the dun of a dinner card, I entitle myself to subjoin "An answer is required." . . . You inquire if I ever see any of the friends we used to live amongst :-almost none; but I may resume some of those old ties this winter, from the ardent desire of my son. I have, till very lately, been so utterly incapable to enjoy society, that I have held it as much kindness to others as to myself, to keep wholly out of its way. I am now, in. health, much better, and consequently more able to control the murmuring propensities that were alienating me from the purposes of life while yet living,-this letter, indeed, will show that I am Page 445 * restored to the wish, at least, of solace, and that the native cheerfulness of my temperament is opening from the weight of sadness by which I had long believed it utterly demolished. But Time, " uncalled, unheeded, unawares, "-works as secretly upon our spirits as upon our years, and gives us as little foresight into what we can endure, as into how long we shall exist. . . . MORE Gossip. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Penzance, Thursday, January 18, 1821. Dear Madame d'Arblay was very considerate in giving me something to answer, for something original to say would be difficult to find at Penzance; but your letter has no date, and I am not sure that Bolton-street is sufficient. Poor Mrs. Byron, who used to inhabit it, would have enjoyed her grandson's(338) reputation, would not she? had it pleased God to lengthen her life like that of Mrs. Lambart, who died only last week, but a few days short of her expected centenary-as did Fontenelle. You are truly fortunate, dear madam, so was your father, in leaving those behind who knew and could appreciate your merits--every scrap will properly be valued--but those verses belong not to the October I meant. . . . Mrs. Bourdois and her sisters--all true Burneys--will be angry I don't live wholly at Bath, and their society would prove a strong temptation; but Bath is too much for me, who am now unwilling to encounter either crowds or solitude: I feared neither for three-score years of my life, and earnestly now join my too disinterested solicitations to those of your son, that you will no longer bury your charming talents in seclusion. Sorrow, as Dr. Johnson said, is the mere rust of the soul. Activity will cleanse and brighten it. You recollect the --'s; Fanny married Sir Something --, and is a widowed mother. The young man, of whom high expectations were formed, took to the gaming table, forged for 5000 pounds, and was saved out of prison by the dexterity of his servant:--a complete coup de th��tre. That I call sorrow scarce possible to be borne. You saw the story in the newspapers, but possibly were not aware who was the sufferer. Will it amuse you to hear that "fine Mr. Daniel," as you Page 446 used to call my showy butler, died an object of disgust and horror, whilst old Jacob, with whose red nightcap you comically threatened the gay dandy--lived till the other day, and dying, left 800 pounds behind him! Such stuff is this world made of! The literary world is to me terra incognita, far more deserving of the name (now Parry and Ross are returned) than any part of the polar region; but the first voyage amused me most and when I had seen red snow, and heard of men who wanted our sailors to fly, because they perceived they could swim, I really thought it time to lie down and die; but one cannot die when one will, so I have hung half on, half off, society this last half year; and begin 1821 by thanking dear Madame d'Arblay for her good-natured recollection of poor H. L. Piozzi. ILL-HEALTH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. DR. BURNEY'S MSS. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Piozzi.) Bolton-street, Berkeley-square, Feb. 6, 1821. You would be repaid, dear madam, if I still, as I believe, know you, for the great kindness of your prompt answer, had you witnessed the satisfaction with which it was received ; even at a time of new and dreadful solicitude; for my son returned from Cambridge unwell, and in a few days after his arrival at home was seized with a feverish cold which threatened to fasten upon the whole system of his existence, not with immediate danger, but with a perspective to leave but small openings to any future view of health, strength, or longevity. I will not dwell upon this period, but briefly say, it seems passed over. He is now, I thank heaven, daily reviving, and from looking like-not a walking, but a creeping spectre, he is gaining force, spirit, and flesh visibly, and almost hour by hour; still, however, he requires the utmost attention, and the more from the extreme insouciance, from being always absorbed in some mental combinations, with which he utterly neglects himself. I am therefore wholly devoted to watching him. I am quite vexed not to find the right October. However, I do not yet despair, for in the multitude of MSS. that have fallen to my mournfully surviving lot to select, or destroy, etc., chaos seems come again; and though I have worked at them during the last year so as to obtain a little light, it is scarcely Page 447 more than darkness visible. To all the vast mass left to my direction by my dear father, who burnt nothing, not even an invitation to dinner, are added not merely those that devolved to me by fatal necessity in 1818, but also all the papers possessed from her childhood to her decease of that sister you so well, dear madam, know to have been my heart's earliest darling. When on this pile are heaped the countless hoards which my own now long life has gathered together, of my personal property, such as it is, and the correspondence of my family and my friends, and innumerable incidental windfalls, the whole forms a body that might make a bonfire to illuminate me nearly from hence to Penzance. And such a bonfire might perhaps be not only the shortest, but the wisest way to dispose of such materials. This enormous accumulation has been chiefly owing to a long unsettled home, joined to a mind too deeply occupied by immediate affairs and feelings to have the intellect at liberty for retrospective investigations. . . . A LAST GOSSIPING LETTER. (From Mrs. Piozzi to Madame d'Arblay.) Sion Row, Clifton, near Bristol, March 15, 1821. I feel quite happy in being able to reply to dear Madame d'Arblay's good-natured inquiries, from this, the living world. Such we cannot term Penzance--not with propriety--much like Omai, who said to you, "No mutton there, missee, no fine coach, no clock upon the stairs," etc.; but en revanche here is no Land's End, no submarine mine of Botallock! What a wonderful thing is that extensive cavern ! stretching out half a mile forward under the roaring ocean, from whence 'tis protected only by a slight covering, a crust of rock, which, if by any accident exploded, "Would let in light on Pluto's dire abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to Gods." Plutus, however, not Pluto, is professed proprietor - 'tis an immense vacuity filled with the vapours of tin and copper, belonging to Lord Falmouth and a company of miners, where sixty human beings work night and day, and hear the waves over their heads , sometimes regularly beating the Cornish cliffs, sometimes tossing the terrified mariner upon the inhospitable shore; where shipwreck is, even in these civilized days, considered as a Godsend. Page 448 I am glad I saw it, and that I shall see it no more. You would not know poor Streatham Park. I have been forced to dismantle and forsake it; the expenses of the present time treble those of the moments you remember; and since giving up my Welsh estate, my income is greatly diminished. I fancy this will be my last residence in this world, meaning Clifton, not Sion Row, where I only live till my house in the Crescent is ready for me. A high situation is become necessary to my breath, and this air will agree with me better than Bath did. You ask how the Pitches family went on. Jane married a rough man, quarter-master to a marching regiment, and brought him three sons: the first a prodigy of science, wit, and manners; he died early: the second I know nothing of: the third, a model of grace and beauty, married the Duke of Marlborough's sister. Peggy is Countess Coventry, you know, and has a numerous progeny. Emily is wife to Mr. Jolliffe, M.P. for some place, I forget what. Penelope married Sir John Sheffield, but died before he came to the title. I dined with them all last time I was in London, at Coventry House. Poor old Davies's departure grieved me, so did that of good Mr. Embry; au reste, the village of Streatham is full of rich inhabitants, the common much the worse for being so spotted about with houses, and the possibility of avoiding constant intercourse with their inhabitants (as in Mr. Thrale's time) wholly lost!..... DEATH OF MRS. PIOZZI. May, 1821.--I have lost now, just lost, my once most dear, intimate, and admired friend, Mrs. Thrale Piozzi,(339) who preserved her fine faculties, her imagination, her intelligence, her powers of allusion and citation, her extraordinary memory, and her almost unexampled vivacity, to the last of her existence. She was in her eighty-second year, and yet owed not her death to age nor to natural decay, but to the effects of a fall in a journey from Penzance to Clifton. On her eightieth birthday she gave a great ball, concert, and supper, in the public rooms at Bath, to upwards of two hundred persons, and the ball she opened herself. She was, in truth, a most wonderful character for talents and eccentricity, for wit, genius, generosity, spirit, and powers of entertainment. Page 449 MRS. PIOZZI COMPARED WITH MADAME DE STAEL. She had a great deal both of good and not good, in common with Madame de Stael Holstein. They had the same sort of highly superior intellect, the same depth of learning, the same general acquaintance with science, the same ardent love of literature, the same thirst for universal knowledge, and the same buoyant animal spirits, such as neither sickness, sorrow, nor even terror, could subdue. Their conversation was equally luminous, from the sources of their own fertile minds, and from their splendid acquisitions from the works and acquirements of others. Both were zealous to serve, liberal to bestow, and graceful to oblige; and both were truly highminded in prizing and praising whatever was admirable that came in their way. Neither of them was delicate nor polished, though each was flattering and caressing; but both had a fund inexhaustible of good humour, and of sportive gaiety, that made their intercourse with those they wished to please attractive, instructive, and delightful and though not either of them had the smallest real malevolence in their compositions, neither of them could ever withstand the pleasure of uttering a repartee, let it wound whom it might, even though each would serve the very person they goaded with all the means in their power. Both were kind, charitable, and munificent, and therefore beloved; both were sarcastic, careless, and daring, and therefore feared. The morality of Madame de Stael was by far the most faulty, but so was the society to which she belonged so were the general manners of those by whom she was encircled. SISTER HETTY. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) October 21, 1821. "Your mind," my dearest Esther, was always equal to literary pursuits, though your time seems only now to let you enjoy them. I have often thought that had our excellent and extraordinary own mother been allowed longer life, she would have contrived to make you sensible of this sooner. I do not mean in a common way, for that has never failed, but in one striking and distinguished ; for she very early indeed began to form your taste for reading, and delighted Page 450 to find time, amidst all her cares, to guide you to the best authors, and to read them with you, commenting and pointing out passages worthy to be learned by heart. I perfectly recollect, child as I was, and never of the party, this part of your education. At that very juvenile period, the difference even of months makes a marked distinction in bestowing and receiving instruction. I, also, was so peculiarly backward, that even our Susan stood before me; she could read when I knew not my letters. But though so sluggish to learn, I was always observant: do you remember Mr. Seaton's denominating me, at fifteen, "the silent, observant Miss Fanny"? Well I recollect your reading with our dear mother all Pope's works and Pitt's "AEneid." I recollect, also, your spouting passages from Pope, that I learned from hearing you recite them before--many years before I read them myself. But after you lost, so young, that incomparable guide, you had none left. Our dear -father was always abroad, usefully or ornamentally; and, after giving you a year in Paris with the best masters that could be procured, you came home at fifteen or sixteen to be exclusively occupied by musical studies, save for the interludes that were "Sacred to dress and beauty's pleasing cares:" for so well you played, and so lovely you looked, that admiration followed alike your fingers and your smiles : and the pianoforte and the world divided your first youth, which, had that exemplary guide been spared us, I am fully persuaded would have left some further testimony of its passage than barely my old journals, written to myself, which celebrate your wit and talents as highly as your beauty. And I judge I was not mistaken, by all in which you have had opportunity to show your mental faculties, i.e. your letters, which have always been strikingly good and agreeable, and evidently unstudied. When Alex comes home I will try to get "Crabbe," and try to hear it with pleasure. The two lines you have quoted are very touching. Thus much, my dear Etty, i wrote on the day I received your last; but . . . . November.-I write now from Eliot Vale, under the kind and elegant roof of sweet Mrs. Locke, who charges me with her most affectionate remembrances. Perhaps I may meet here with your favourite Crabbe: as I subscribe to no library, I know not how else I shall get at him. I thank you a Page 451 thousand times for the good bulletin of your health, my dearest Esther; and I know how kindly you will reciprocate my satisfaction when I tell you mine is inconceivably ameliorated, moyennant great and watchful care: and Alex keeps me to that with the high hand of peremptory insistence, according to the taste of the times for the "rising generation" expects just as much obedience to orders as they withhold. If you were to hear the young gentleman delivering to me his lectures on health, and dilating upon air, exercise, social intercourse, and gay spirits, you would be forced to seek a magnifying glass to believe that your eyes did not deceive you, but that it was really your nephew haranguing his mother. However, we must pass by the exhorting impetuosity, in favour of the zealous anxiety that fires it up in his animated breast. OFFICIAL DUTIES TEMPORARILY RESUMED. I was kept in town by a particular circumstance--I might say, like the play-bills, by particular desire; for it was a fair royal personage who condescended to ask me to remit my visit to Eliot Vale, that I might attend her sittings for her picture, her two ladies being at that time absent on cong�. You may believe how much I was gratified, because you know my sincere and truly warm attachment for all those gracious personages; but you may be surprised Your poor sister could now be pitched upon, where so much choice must always be at hand, for whiling away the tediousness of what she, the princess, calls the odious occupation of sitting still for this exhibition - but the fact is, I was able to fulfil her views better than most people could, in defiance of my altered spirits and depressed faculties, by having recourse simply to my memory in relating things I saw, or heard, or did, during the long ten years, and the eventful--added one year more, that I spent abroad. Only to name Bonaparte in any positive trait that I had witnessed or known, was sufficient to make her open her fine eyes in a manner extremely advantageous to the painter. THE Rev. A. D'ARBLAY NAMED LENT PREACHER. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) February 29, 1823. .....Thanks for that kind jump of joy for the success of Alex at Lee, and for my hopes from St. Paul's. You ask who Page 452 named him preacher for the 5th Sunday in Lent: How could I omit telling you 'twas the Bishop of London himself? -This has been brought about by a detail too long for paper, but it is chiefly to my faithful old friends Bishop Fisher of Salisbury and the Archdeacon of Middlesex that we owe this mark of attention; for Alex has never been presented to the Bishop of London. MADAME D'ARBLAY'S HEALTH AND OCCUPATION. You still ask about my health, etc. I thought the good result would have sufficed ; but thus stands the detail : I was packing up a board of papers to carry with me to Richmond, many months now ago, and employed above an hour, bending my head over the trunk, and on my knees -when, upon meaning to rise, I was seized with a giddiness, a glare of sparks before my eyes, and a torturing pain on one side of my head, that nearly disabled me from quitting my posture, and that was followed, when at last I rose, by an inability to stand or walk. My second threat of seizure was at Eliot Vale, while Alex was at Tunbridge. I have been suddenly taken a third time, in the middle of the night, with a seizure as if a hundred windmills were turning round in my head: in short,-I had now recourse to serious medical help, and, to come to the sum total, I am now so much better that I believe myself to be merely in the common road of such gentle, gradual decay as, I humbly trust, I have been prepared to meet with highest hope, though with deepest awe--for now many years back. The chief changes, or reforms, from which I reap benefit are, 1st. Totally renouncing for the evenings all revision or indulgence in poring over those letters and papers whose contents come nearest to my heart, and work upon its bleeding regrets. Next, transferring-to the evening, as far as is in my power, all of sociality, with Alex, or my few remaining friends, or the few he will present to me of new ones. 3rd. Constantly going out every day-either in brisk walks in the morning, or in brisk jumbles in the carriage of one of my three friends who send for me, to a t�te- -t�te tea converse. 4th. Strict attention to diet. . . . I ought to have told you the medical sentence upon which I act. These were the words--"You have a head over-worked, and a heart over-loaded." This produces a disposition to Page 453 fulness in both that causes stagnation, etc., with a consequent want of circulation at the extremities, that keeps them cold and aching. Knowing this, I now act upon it as warily as I am able. The worst of all is, that I have lost, totally lost, my pleasure in reading! except when Alex is my lecturer, for whose sake my faculties are still alive to what--erst! gave them their greatest delight. But alone; I have no longer that resource; I have scarcely looked over a single sentence, but some word of it brings to my mind some mournful recollection, or acute regret, and takes from one all attention--my eyes thence glance vainly over pages that awaken no ideas.--This is melancholy in the extreme; yet I have tried every species of writing and writer-- but all pass by me mechanically, instead Of instructing or entertaining me intellectually. But for this sad deprivation of my original taste, my evenings might always be pleasing and reviving--but alas! DESTROYED CORRESPONDENCE. (Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Burney.) August, 1823. What an interesting letter is this last, my truly dear Hetty 'tis a real sister's letter, and such a one as I am at this time frequently looking over of old times! For the rest of my life I shall take charge' and save my own executor the discretionary labours that with myself are almost endless ; for I now regularly destroy all letters that either may eventually do mischief, however clever, or that contain nothing of instruction or entertainment, however innocent. This, which I announce to all my correspondents who write confidentially, occasions my receiving letters that are real conversations. Were I younger I should consent to this condition with great reluctance-or perhaps resist it : but such innumerable papers, letters, documents, and memorandums have now passed through my hands, and, for reasons prudent, or kind, or conscientious, have been committed to the flames, that I should hold it wrong to make over to any other judgment than My Own, the danger or the innoxiousness of any and every manuscript that has been cast into my power. To you, therefore, I may now safely copy a charge delivered to me by UP our dear vehement Mr. Crisp, at the opening of my juvenile Page 454 correspondence with him,--"Harkee, you little monkey!--dash away whatever comes uppermost; if you stop to consider either what you say, or what may be said of you, I would not ,give one fig for your letters."--How little, in those days, did either he or I fear, or even dream of the press! What became of letters, jadis, I know not; but they were certainly both written and received with as little fear as wit. Now every body seems -obliged to take as much care of their writing desks as of their trinkets or purses,-for thieves be abroad of more descriptions than belong to the penniless pilferers. THE PRINCESS AND THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. (Madame dArblay to Mrs. locke.) 11 Bolton-street, Nov. 1824. Now then for a more cheerful winding-up. I came from Camden Town very unwillingly,--but Alex was called to Cambridge to an audit, and so I took that opportunity to make a break-up. But the day before I quitted it I received the highest resident honour that can be bestowed upon me--namely, a visit from one of my dear and condescending princesses. She came by appointment,-yet her entrance was so quick that Alex had not time to save himself.-However, she took the incident not only without displeasure but with apparent satisfaction, saying she was very glad to renew her acquaintance with him. She had not seen him since the time of his spouting, "The spacious firmament on high"--"Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay," etc.,--all of which she remembers hearing. Ah--I have never recollected till this instant that I ought to have gone to her the next day !-how shocking!--and now that I have the consciousness, I can do nothing, for I am lame from a little accident.--Well!--she is all goodness-and far more prone to forgive than I, I trust, am to offend. A VISIT FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. Although Madame d'Arblay's intercourse with society was now usually confined to that of her relations and of old and established friends, she yet greeted with admiration and pleasure Sir Walter Scott, who was brought to her by Mr. Rogers. Sir Walter, in his Diary for Nov. 18th, 1826, thus Page 455 describes the visit:--"I have been introduced to Madame d'Arblay, the celebrated authoress of 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia,' an elderly lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, and pleasing expression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two persons-myself, of course, being one, the other, George Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with--a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid, instead of the grease fit only for cartwheels which one is dosed with by the pound. "I trust I shall see this lady again." MEMOIRS OF DR. BURNEY. >From the year 1828 to 1832 Madame d'Arblay was chiefly occupied in preparing for the press the Memoirs of her father; and on their publication, she had the pleasure to receive letters from Dr. Jebb, Bishop of Limerick, and from Mr. Southey, the poet. Among the less favourable criticisms of her work, the Only one which gave Madame d'Arblay serious pain was an attack (in a periodical publication) upon her veracity--a quality which, in her, Dr. Johnson repeatedly said "he had never found failing," and for which she had been through life trusted, honoured, and emulated. DEATHS OF HESTER BURNEY AND MRS. LOCKE. (1835 to 1838.) Madame d'Arblay's letters were now very few. - A complaint in one of her eyes, which was expected to terminate in a cataract, made both reading and writing difficult to her. The number of her correspondents had also been painfully lessened by the death of her eldest sister, Mrs. Burney, and that of her beloved friend, Mrs. Locke ; and she had sympathised with other branches of her family in many similar afflictions, for she retained in a peculiar degree not only her intellectual powers, but the warn) and generous affections of her youth. "Though now her eightieth year was past," she took her wonted and vivid interest in the concerns, the joys, and sorrows of those she loved. Page 456 DEATH OF THE REV. A. D'ARBLAY. At this time her son formed an attachment which promised to secure his happiness, and to gild his mother's remaining days with affection and peace : and at the close of the year 1836 he was nominated minister of Ely chapel, which afforded her considerable satisfaction. But her joy was mournfully short-lived. That building, having been shut for some years, was damp and ill-aired. The Rev. Mr. d'Arblay began officiating there in winter, and during the first days of his ministry he caught the influenza, which became so serious an illness as to require the attendance of two physicians. Dr. Holland and Dr. Kingston exerted their united skill with the kindest interest; but their patient, never robust, was unable to cope with the malady, and on the 19th of January, 1837, in three weeks from his first seizure, the death of this beloved son threw Madame d'Arblay again into the depths of affliction. Yet she bore this desolating stroke with religious submission, receiving kindly every effort made to console her, and confining chiefly to her own private memoranda the most poignant expressions of her anguish and regret, as also of the deeply religious trust by which she was supported. The following paragraph is taken from her private notebook:-- "1837.-On the opening of this most mournful--most earthly hopeless, of any and of all the years yet commenced of my long career! Yet, humbly I bless my God and Saviour, not hopeless; but full of gently-beaming hopes, countless and fraught with aspirations of the time that may succeed to the dread infliction of this last irreparable privation, and bereavement of my darling loved, and most touchingly loving, dear, soul--dear Alex." DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY'S SISTER CHARLOTTE. Much as Madame d'Arblay had been tried by the severest penalty of lengthened days, the loss of those who were dearest to her, *one more such sorrow remained in her cup of life. Her gentle and tender sister Charlotte, many years younger than herself, was to precede her in that eternal world for which they were both preparing; and in the autumn of the year 1838, a short illness terminated in the removal of that beloved sister. Page 457 ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. (1839-40.) Madame d'Arblay's long and exemplary life was now drawing to a close; her debility increased, her sight and hearing nearly failed her; but in these afflictions she was enabled to look upwards with increasing faith and resignation. In a letter on the 5th of March, 1839, she wrote the following paragraph,(340) which was perhaps the last ever traced by her pen :-- "March 5, 1839. "Ah, my dearest! how changed, changed I am, since the irreparable loss of your beloved mother! that last original tie to native original affections! . . . "Wednesday.-I broke off, and an incapable unwillingness seized my pen; but I hear you are not well, and I hasten--if that be a word I can ever use again--to make personal Inquiry how you are. "I have been very ill, very little apparently, but with nights of consuming restlessness and tears. I have now called in Dr. Holland, who understands me marvellously, and I am now much as usual; no, not that--still tormented by nights without repose-- but better. "My spirits have been dreadfully saddened of late by whole days- -nay weeks--of helplessness for any employment. They have but just revived. How merciful a reprieve! How merciful IS ALL we know! The ways of Heaven are not dark and intricate, but unknown and unimagined till the great teacher, Death, develops them." In November, 1839, Madame d'Arblay was attacked by an illness which showed itself at first in sleepless nights and nervous imaginations. Spectral illusions, such as Dr. Abercrombie has described, formed part of her disorder; and though after a time Dr. Holland's skill removed these nervous impressions, yet her debility and cough increased, accompanied by constant fever. For several weeks hopes of her recovery were entertained; her patience assisted the remedies of her kind physician , and the amiable young friend, " who was to her as a daughter," watched over her with unremitting care and attention but she became more and more feeble, Page 458 and her mind wandered ; though at times every day she was composed and collected, and then given up to silent prayer, with her hands clasped and eyes uplifted. During the earlier part of her illness she had listened with comfort to some portions of St. John's Gospel, but she now said to her niece, "I would ask you to read to me, but I could not understand one word--not a syllable! but I thank God my mind has not waited till this time." At another moment she charged the same person with affectionate farewells and blessings to several friends, and with thanks for all their kindness to her. Soon after she said, "I have had some sleep." "That is well," was the reply; "you wanted rest." "I shall have it soon, my dear," she answered emphatically: and thus, aware that death was approaching, in peace with all the world, and in holy trust and reliance on her Redeemer, she breathed her last on the 6th of January, 1840 ; the anniversary of that day she had long consecrated to prayer, and to the memory of her beloved sister Susanna. (330) Her departure for Germany with her husband, the Prince of Hesse-Homburg, to whom she had been recently married.-ED. ' (331) From a Memorandum book of Madame d'Arblays. (332) Queen Charlotte died at the palace at Kew, in the seventy-fifth year of her age, after an illness of six months.-ED. (133) At Windsor.-ED. (134) The Princess Mary, who had married her cousin, the Duke of Gloucester.-ED. (135) Queen Caroline. George IV. was now king, George III. having died January 29, 1820. A brief account of the life of Queen Caroline may be of assistance to the reader. Her father was the Duke of Brunswick: her mother a sister of George II. She was born in 1768, and married her cousin, the Prince of Wales, in April, 1795, A speedy estrangement followed, brought about by the prince's intrigues, especially with Lady Jersey; and, after the birth of their daughter, the Princess Charlotte, a total separation took place. In 1806 a charge of adultery was brought against the Princess of Wales. The charge was declared disproved, but colour had been given to it by the undoubted levity and imprudence of her conduct. In 1813 she went abroad, and spent several years in travelling on the continent. Her behaviour during this period gave rise to fresh charges, from which she has never been entirely cleared. She returned to England, June 6, 1820, came to London, and took up her residence in South Audley-street, at the house of her friend, Alderman Wood, one of the members of Parliament for the city of London. Shortly before her return, the king's ministers had proposed to settle upon her an annuity of -/'50,000 for life, subject to the conditions of her continuing to reside abroad, and refraining from assuming the title of queen. This proposal she instantly rejected. She was received in England by the people with unbounded enthusiasm, to which the general discontent then prevailing questionless contributed. A secret committee of the House of Lords, appointed to examine the charges against the queen, having made their report, the government brought in a bill to deprive her of the title of queen, and to dissolve the marriage. She was defended by counsel before the House of Lords, her leading advocate being Mr. (afterwards Lord) Brougham, The Motion for the third reading of the bill passed (November 10) by a small majority, but the bill was immediately afterwards abandoned by the government. This proceeding was generally considered as tantamount to an acquittal, and was celebrated by illuminations and the voting of congratulatory addresses in all parts of the country. Queen Caroline did not long enjoy her triumph. She presented herself at Westminster Abbey on the occasion of the king's coronation, July 19, 1821, but was refused admission. Less than three weeks later she was dead.-ED. (336) Lady Ann Hamilton, who had formerly belonged to Queen Caroline's household, and had joined her in France, shortly before her return to England.-ED. (337) Thursday, August 17, was the day on which the queen's trial commenced before the House of Lords.-ED. (338) Lord Byron, the poet.-ED. (339) Mrs. Piozzi died at Clifton, May 2, 1821, having survived her second husband about twelve years.-ED. (340) To her niece Mrs. Barrett. INDEX Addington, Dr., attends the king, ii. 262. Agujari, Lucrezia, vocalist, i. 162. Aiken, John, M.D., iii. 179. Akenside, his "Pleasures of Imagination" discussed, ii. 193. Alexander I. of Russia, iii. 289, 380. Allen, Mrs. S., marries Dr. Burney, i, xviii. Althorpe, Lord, i. 176, Amelia, Princess, her childish ways and sports, 1. 349, 420, 437; her birthday, 364; 439, 442; ii. 34, 72, 75, 303, 309, 4o6; her AFFECtion for Fanny, 434; iii. 108, 138, 140, 156, 165; at Juniper Hall, 180. Amiens, Fanny's supper at, iii. 319. Ancaster, Duchess of, i. 350 355, 361, 365, 379, 385, 387, 391, 393-4, 396; ii. 10, 39, 85. Andrews, Miles, ii. 32. Angouleme, Duchess d', in London, iii. 276, 281, 291-3; conversation with Fanny, 295. Anstey, Christopher, "Evelina" attributed to, i. xxv, 63. Anstruther, Mr. M.P., ii. 97, 145, 345, 352. Antwerp, projected flight to, iii. 352. Arblay, general Alex. d', acount of, i. xliv; at Juniper Hall, iii. 14, 28-9, 31, 33, 35, 40, 42, 43, 45; he and Fanny in love, 48, 50, 53, 55, 59, 62; named to Fanny, 67; 68, 74; his pursuits, 75, 85; at Windsor, 99, 102, 105-6; noticed by George III., 109; plans Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3, 154; his brother's death, 126; 135, 155-6, 171, 192; his French property, 194; goes to France, 198; his military appointment, 203-7; in Paris, 224-5; his old comrades, 227; his relatives, 234; his pension and property, 241-2; 255, 272, 287; returns to France, 289; enters Louis XVIII's bodyguard, 290; reinstated as maréchal de Camp, 291; his loyalty, 298; on the eve of the Hundred Days, 304-8, 311; reaches Belgium, 337; his mission to Luxemburg, 339, 342; his audience with Wellington, 342; his accident, 369; joined by Fanny at Treves, 370-7; returns to England, 383-5; his affairs and plans, 390; his failing health, 07, 400, 418, 422-3; presented to the queen, 424-6; gradually sinking, 426, 428-32; his death, 433. Arblay, Rev. Alexander d', iii. 82, 97, 121, 138, 143, 156-7; at Court, 163; presented to the queen, 167; his precocity, 177, 182, 192, 196; goes to France, 209; at Dunkirk, 252; returns to England, 263; secures a scholarship, 266, 270; at Cambridge, 272, 275, 293; maternal advice to, 365; his waywardness and prospects, 386, 390-6; his tutor, 401; his aversion to study, 403; his alarm for his mother, 415-8; at his father's death-bed, 430-3; at Cambridge, 436; ordained, 437, 440; in ill-health, 446; named Lent preacher, 451; with one Of the princesses, 454; his death, 456. Arblay, Madame d' (Frances Burney), announces her marriage, iii. 67-70; loses her stepmother, 71; her tragedy, "Edwy and Elgiva," 72, 90-4; her novel, "Camilla," 72, 89, 95-6, 98-112; birth of her son, 85; meets Mrs. Piozzi, 88; presents "Camilla" to royalty, 99-112; relative success of her novels, 114; her Camilla Cottage, 115, 122-3; her opinion of Burke, 126; visits the queen, 141; chats with the princesses, 138-40, 140, 153-4; indignant with Talleyrand, 153; her little boy at Court, 163; visits old friends, 172; with Princess Amelia, 180-3; her withdrawn comedy, "Love and Fashion," 193; her anxiety for her husband, 205-7; goes to France, 208; to Paris, 215; her life there, 216; snubs Mdme. deStael, 220; at the Tuileries, 224; sees Napoleon, 232; at Joigny, 234; at Passy and Paris, 240-7; her dangerous illness, 247, 252; her adventure at Dunkirk, 249; her return to England, 263; regrets Mdme. de Stael, 269; meets S. Rogers, 270; Wilberforce, 271; publishes "The Wanderer," 272-3-5; loses her father, 273-4; is presented to Louis XVIII., 276; joined by her husband, 289; returns to France, 292; meets Duchess d'Angouleme, 293; her flight from Paris, 301, 308-27; her efforts to communicate with her husband, 328; converses with Chateaubriand, 330-3; arrives at Brussels, 334; receives news of d'Arblay, 336-7, 338; her projected flight to Antwerp, 352; joins her husband at Treves, 370-7; returns to France, 378; her bon mot to Talleyrand, 382; return to England, 383; at Bath, 385; Ilfracombe, 398, 402; is caught by the rising tide, 4o6-18; at Bath, 418, 422-37; her husband's illness, 423; his death, 432; her years of widowhood, 434; her son ordained, 440; her correspondence with Madame PiOzzi, 443-8; her health and occupations, 452; is visited by Sir Walter Scott, 454; issues the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," 455; her son's death, 456; her illness and death, 458. Argand, Aimé, i. 405. Argy, Chevalier d', iii. 346. Arras, Fanny at, iii. 321. Arundel, Lord, i. 198. Auch, Countess d', iii. 313. Augusta, Princess, i. 339, 342, 360, 362; her birthday, 365, 375, 385, 387, 409, 439-40; ii. 9, 10; teased by Turbulent, 26; 32, 34-5, 50, 75, 155, 164, 2o6, 242, 270, 310, 347, 490; iii. 104, 107-8, 138, 146, 156-9, 164, 440. Aylesbury, Lord, ii. 332, 400; iii. 163. Aylsham, Fanny at, iii. 37. Bachmeister, Mlle., successor to Mrs. Schwellenberg, iii. 142, 162, 163. Baker, Sir George, M.D., attends the king, ii. 222-3, 231-2, 234-5, 250, 263. Banks, Sir Joseph, ii. 140-1. Bantry Bay Expedition, iii. 124. Barbauld, Mr. and Mrs. (the authoress), iii. 178. Barber, Frank, Johnson's negro, i. 287; iii. 129. Barclay & Perkins, origin of, i. 203. Baretti, Joseph, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; admires "Evelina," xxvii, 83; teases Charlotte Burney, 302; his wager, 302, 305; attacks Mrs. Piozzi, ii. 167, 176; tried for murder, 176. Barrett, Mrs., i. xi; iii. 457. Barrington, Lord, at Dr. Burney's, i. Xvii. Barry, Mr., R. A., at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; expelled the Academy, iii. 184. Bate, Henry, Rev., of the Morning Post and Herald, i. 164. Bath, Fanny at, i. 165-197 423-9; iii. 385-98, 418, 422-37 Queen Charlotte at, iii. 420. Bath, Marquis an(l Marchioness of, ii. 330 ; their family, 331. Bath Easton, i. 174, 189. Batt, Mr., ii. 83, 433. Battiscombe (royal apothecary), i. 293, 446 ; ii. 231, 233. Beauclerk, Topham and Lady Di., i. 154, 231-2. Beauffiremont, Princess de, iii. 237. Beaufort, Duke of, ii. 291. Beauvau, Prince and Princess de, iii. 218, 224-5. Berry, Agnes and Mary, iii. 219. Bertie, Lady Charlotte, lady of the bedchamber, i. 365, 385, 390-3; ii. 39. Betterton, Miss, actress, iii. 149, 157. Bewley, Mr., and Johnson's hearthbroom, i. xvi. Birch, Selina, a prodigy, i. 150-3. Black Brunswickers, the, iii. 347. Blakeney, General, his disposition and conversation, i. 158-164. Blandford, Marquis of, i. 387. Blenheim, royal visit to, i. 397. Bligh, Captain (afterwards Admiral), ii, 350, 358. Blucher, Marshal, iii. 342, 345, 358, 364. Bolt Court, Johnson's home at, i. 95-7, 258, 283-8. Bonaparte, Jerome, iii. 367. Bonaparte, Louis, iii. 235. Bonaparte, Napoleon, and M. d'Arblay, i., x1v; bon mot of, iii. 200; and d'Arblay, 207; at the Tuileries, 231; returns from Elba, 301, 314; persecutes Chateaubriand, 333; his last campaign, 293, 351, 353, 363, 365. Bookham, Fanny at, iii, 75, et seq. Boscawen, Hon. Mrs., ii. 83, 291 iii. 98, 100, 133, 173. Boswell, James, i. 234-5, 319; his "Life of Dr. Johnson," ii. 377, 400-2; his mimicry of Johnson, 432. Bouchier, Captain, i. 179-80, 185-9. Bouffiers-Rouvrel, Countess de, ii. 368. Bourget, Le, Fanny's halt at, iii. 315. Bowdler, Harriet, i. 190-1; iii. 386. Bowdlers, the, i. 194; ii. 424; iii. 386, 396, 401; the first chess-player in England, 405, 406. Boyd, Mr. and Mrs., at Brussels, iii. 343, 352-3, 360. Boydell, Alderman, ii. 464. Bremyere, Mrs., iii. 142, 161. Brighthelmstone (Brighton), Fanny at, i. 112, 133-7, 153-64, 197, 236-9-48. Brisvane, Captain, i. 185-8. Broglie, Marshal de, iii. 16; Madame de, iii. 16, 29, 39. Broome, Ralph, author of "Simkins' Letters," iii. 133, 167, 176. Broome, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte. Brown, Fanny, an untidy flirt, i. 85-6, 138-9. Bruce, James, the traveller, i. xvii; ii. 330. Brudenell, Miss, ii. 126. Brunswick, army of, iii. 347; Duke of, his death, 347, 351. Brussels, Fanny at, iii. 334; "Rule Britannia" at, 341-2; Fete-Dieu at, 344; the inquietude at, 346; plans for quitting, 350; aspect of, before and after Waterloo, 351-65. Bryant, Jacob, i. 402; his eccentric talk, ii. 22-3, 31, 72, 349, 405. Budé, General, i. 353, 355, 358, 365-6, 416-7, 421, 427, 440-1, 444; ii. 36, 47, 51, 213, 218, 224, 226, 228-9, 245, 341. Bulkley, Lord, ii. 347. Buller, Dean, ii. 321. Bunbury, Henry W., ii. 51, 59, 140, 190-1, 195; Mrs. (Goldsmith's "Little Comedy"), i. 111. Burgoyne, General, ii. 120. Burke, Edmund, praises "Evelina", i. xxvi, 94; slighted by Fanny, xxxvii; introduced to Fanny, 230; on "Cecilia," 232, 252-4; on Fanny's Court appointment, 290; / at the Hastings trial, ii. 92-3, 110, 112, 117; his speech against Hastings, 121, 128, 134; at the trial, 125-7, 129-30, 138, 145, 147, 345, 352, 355, 359-61, 363-4, 392, 438, 440, 445, 452; on the Regency Bill, 351; on the French Revolution, 371, 377; on Fanny's treatment at Court, 429; Reynolds's legacy to, 444; at Mrs. Crewe's with Fanny, 457-63; on Fox, 459; on Windham, 460; subscribes for "Camilla," iii. 73; his death and funeral, 125. Burke, Mrs. Edmund, i. 252, ii. 457, 461. Burke, Richard, son of Edmund, i. 254, 259; ii. 101, 121, 456; iii. 44, 89. Burke, Richard, brother of Edmund, i. 229; ii. 101, 121, 457; iii. 82. Burke, William, i. 115-9. Burney, Charles, Mus. Doc., his early life, marriage, position, and friends, i. xiii-xvii; his second marriage, xviii; authorises the publication of "Evelina," xxiv; peruses it, xxv, 65-8; appointed organist at Chelsea, xxxvii; takes Fanny to Streatham, 75; visits Reynolds, 115; meets Murpby, 129; visits Mrs. Paradise, 224; dines with Reynolds, 228; Visits Chesington, 233; chides Mrs. Thrale, 237; distressed at Crisp's death, 271; at Johnson's deathbed and funeral, 285-8; is commended by the queen, 295; misses a Court appointment, 323-6; is delighted at Fanny's appointment, xxxiii, 329; takes her to Windsor, 333; alluded to, 370, 415; his verses on the queen's birthday, ii. 9; is incensed at Fanny's condition, 65; is lampooned in the Probationary Odes, 145; George III's opinion of him, 291-2; mentioned, 356; his views respecting Fanny's resignation, 366, 368-70, 374, 376-7, 380, 386-7 [See also i. xli-ii]; takes her home, 411; chats with Burke, 429; with Fanny, 430-32; meets the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456-62; Fox at the Literary Club, iii, 44; objects to Mdme. de Stael, 51; to Fanny's marriage, 65; loses his second wife, 71, 117-9; meets the Piozzis, 88; his "Life of Metastasio," 89, 92, 103; attends Burke's funeral, 125; visits Etruria and Lichfield, 128; visits Herschel, 131, 184; his poetical history of astronomy, 143; his Chelsea apartments, 155, 165; his books, 173; converses with George III, 185, 193; dines with the Prince of Wales, 243; visits Bath, 244; elected a member of the French Institute, 247; is greatly aged, 265; his death, 249, 273; his portrait by Reynolds, 389; his papers, 447; his memoirs, 455. Burney, Mrs., née Allen, wife of above, I. 60; visits Lowndes with Fanny, 79; dresses badly, 86; visits Reynolds, 113; her death, iii. 71, 117. Burney, Rev. Charles, D.D., his birth and library, i. 60; attends Johnson's funeral, 288; at the Hastings trial, ii. 95, 100, 103, 391; mentioned, 375, 411; ii. 171; dines with the Prince of Wales, 243; meets Fanny on her return from France, 265; his school, 270, 272; buys his father's portrait, 389. Burney, Charles Rousseau ("Mr. Burney"), his parentage and mariiage, i. 59; toasts the author of "Evelina," 72; referred to, iii. 397. Burney, Charlotte Anne (Mrs. Francis, afterwards Broome), account of, i. 60; describes her father's perusal of "Evelina," 65-7, 198, 224; fragments of her journal, 254; teased by Baretti, 302; 415; ii. 102, 108, 145; at the Hastings trial, 345, 375; iii. 17; marries Ralph Broome, 133, 167; her death, 456. Burney, Edward, Fanny's cousin, artist, i. 60, 61, 233. Burney, Esther ("Hetty"), birth and marriage, i. 59; and "Evelina," 64; ii. 350, 356; iii. 17, 397, 449, 455. Burney, Frances (Madame d'Arblay), Macaulay's acount of:-- her birth and education, i. xiv-v; surroundings, xvii; appearance and opportunities, xviii; her Writings, first attempts, xviii; her Diary and Letters, xix, xxiii; "Evelina," xxiii-vii; "The Witlings," xxviii; "Cecilia," xxix; "Camilla," "Edwy and Elgiva," x1v; "The Wanderers," and the "Memoirs of Dr. Burney," xlvi; qualities and blemishes of her writings, xlvii-lvii; her detractors and admirers, xxvi-vii; her presentation to George III. and Queen Charlotte, xxx; her appointment and life at Court, xxxi-v; her account of the royal visit to Oxford, xxxv; of the trial of Warren Hastings, xxxvi; of George III's illness, xxxviii; her last years at Court, illness and resignation, xxxix; her trip through the south-west of England, visit to juniper Hall, and marriage with General d'Ar.blay, xliv; her departure for France, x1v; return to England and death, xlvi. Diary and Letters:-- Her account of "Evelina," i. 61-74; visits the Thrales and meets Dr. Johnson and Seward, 75-8; interviews Lowndes, 79; is confused by the praise of Johnson and others, 83-91; meets Sir Joshua Reynolds, 92-5; Mrs. Montagu, 100; husbands suggested for her, 106; is kissed by Johnson, 109; visited by Dr. Francklin, 112; visits Reynolds, 113; meets R. B. Sheridan and his Wife, 123; meets Arthur Murphy, 129; purposes writing a play ("The Witlings"), 129, 133; at Brighton, 133; at Streatham, 137; sends "The Witlings" to Crisp, 145; her views of its fate, 146; visits Tunbridge Wells, 149; Brighton, 153, 236, 239, 248; is badly treated by the Cumberlands, 155; visits Bath, 165; her letters on the Gordon riots, 193; leaves Bath, 197; at Streatham, 203; attends Mrs. Paradise's rout, 224; meets Edmund Burke and Gibbon, 228; sits for her portrait, 233 her account of General Paoli, 234-5; of Miss Monckton's assembly, 248; at Mrs. Walsingham's, 256; meets Mrs. Siddons, 257; visits Johnson, 258; is Praised by Soames Jenyns, 261-2; loses her friend Crisp, 270-1; visits the Cambridges, 273-5; her friendship for Mrs. Locke, 277; her views on Mrs. Thrale's second marriage, 278-9; at Norbury with the Lockes, 280; her stormy interview with Lady F., 282; her last chat with Johnson, 283; her account of his death, 285; her visits to Mrs. Delany, 265-70, 292; hides from the queen, 297; her first interview with the king and queen, 298; discusses literary matters with the king and queen, 316-21; is presented at Court, 322; is appointed a keeper of the robes, 327-32; her arrival and reception at Windsor, 333-8; looks on at the queen's toilet, 339; is visited by Court officials, 340; her daily routine, 345; prepares the queen's snuff, 348, 361; accompanies the Court to Kew, 349; is visited by Mrs. Warren Hastings, 352; on familiar terms with the princesses, 353; her account of an attempt against the king, 355; her bitter experience of Mrs. Schwellenberg begins, 359; is kissed by Princess Amelia, 365; is promised a gown from the queen, 368; defends Mrs. Hastings, 371; visits Nuneham and Oxford with the Court, 373; worries and difficulties of the excursion, 374, 382, 390, 393-4; her duties at Windsor and Kew, 399; reads to the queen, 403; repines at her Position, 403; discusses Mdme. de Genlis, 4o5; meets W. Herschel, 408, 444; cannot ask: a guest to dinner, 413; invites a wrong guest, 417 receives a lilac tabby from the queen, 421; is entrusted with the queen's jewels, 422; her tea-table worries, 425; obtains a holiday, 433 ; her verses on "The Greatcoat," 424, 434; romps with Princess Amelia, 437; is too late to attend on the queen, 438; her present to Princess Augusta, 440; is taken ill, 445; in a predicament at St. James's, ii. 10-15; is worried by Turbulent, 16, 24-31, 47, 54, 57, 82, 214-5; is complimented in an epilogue, 32; is disappointed With Mrs. Siddons, 52; her resignation rumoured, 62; is persecuted by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 65; receives a gift from the queen, 72; discusses Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 74; among her old friends, 82, 85; attends the Warren Hastings trial, 95-136, 143-9, 345-6, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 389-95, 437-47, 452, 455; at Egham races, 151; at Cheltenham with the Court, 154-9; her flirtation with Fairly, 159-61, 165, 168-9, 174, 177-87, 193-5, 197-9, 200-3, 204-6; meets Seward, 167, 170; meets Robert Raikes at Gloucester, 171; visits Tewkesbury, 191; is visited by Richard Burney, 192; is attacked with influenza, 195; visits Worcester, 199; is at Windsor again, 207; is twitted about Canon Shepherd, 209, 217; her introduction to Lalande, 210; is eyed curiously by the Prince of Wales, 211; is plagued by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 215-8; begins to write "Edwy and Elgiva," 222; converses with George III. at the outset of his illness, 225-6; her anxiety for him and the queen, 230-2; attends the public prayers for his recovery, 250; is comforted by Pepys's prognostics, 251; leaves for Kew, 265-6; reports to the queen on the king's health, 270; is chased by the king in Kew Gardens; is kissed by him, 289; his strange talk to her, 290-2; her meetings with Fairly during the king's illness, 237, 239, 242, 244, 246, 248, 251, 253-64, 271, 275, 277, 279, 281, 297-8; Fairly's visits remarked on by the queen, 280, 282; Mrs. Schwellenberg's treatment of her during the king's illness, 246, 272-5, 295; sees the king recovered, 298-9, 300; her verses on his recovery, 303; her parting from Fairly, 303-4; meets Miss Fuzilier, 304; at Lyndhurst, 310; Southampton, 312; Weymouth, 313; Exeter and Saltram, 321; Plymouth, 323; Mount Edgecumbe, 327; meets Fairly again, 329; at Longleat, 330; Tottenham Court, 332; Windsor, 333; hears rumours of Fairly's marriage, 334, 340; in the crush at Covent Garden, 335; visited by Mrs. Fairly, 344, 373; reads Colman's plays to the queen, 347, 350; meets Madame PiOzzi, 355; her servant Columb, 367; meets James Boswell, 377; is mentioned in his "Johnson," 401; helps the queen to write verses, 388; her desire to resign, 366, 368-70, 374-6, 379, 389; close of her Court duties, 401; her successor and pension, 403; her leave-takings, 4o5-8; travels through the south-west of England, 410; meets Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, 426-9; and Bishop Percy, 428; her literary recreation, 430; on Reynolds's blindness, 431; attends the queen, 434-7; chats with her and the king, 448; compliments the king on his birthday, 453; with the Burkes at Mrs. Crewe's, 456; visits Caen Wood, 464; her adventure at the Shakespeare gallery, 465; is invited to Arthur Young's, 468; stays there, iii. 17; at Aylsham, 37; Norbury Park, 43; meets Madame de Stael and other émigrés of juniper Hall, 44-61; falls in love with d'Arblay, 48, 59, 64; marries him, 67 (see Arblay, Madame d'). Burney, James (afterwards Admiral), his birth, voyages, marriage, and death, i. 59, 168, 173, 200; at Chesington, 436; at the Hastings trial, ii. 120, 122, 125, 129-39, 357-8, 438; his interview with the Earl of Chatham, 370; wants a ship, 356; mentioned, 350, 411; iii. 60. Burney, Mrs. James, i. 436. Burney, Richard, Fanny's uncle, i. 60. Burney, Richard, Fanny's cousin, i. 60; "Evelina" read to, 62; visits Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 192. Burney, Richard Thomas, i. 60. Burney, Sarah Harriet ("Sally"), i. 60, 65, 333; ii. 357, 391, 411; iii. 17, 24, 72, 146. Burney, Susanna Elizabeth (Mrs. Phillips), her birth, marriage, and death, i. 60; 62-6, 65, 224, 270, 278, 280, 344, 403, 411, 415; her acquaintance with the emigres of juniper Hall, iii. 17, 28-38, 54, 56-61, 64; leaves for Ireland, 71, 121, 124; her death, 170, 188-91. Bute, Lady, ii. 69-70. Byron, Augusta, i. 169, 179, 181, 185-8; Captain George, 169, 173; Mrs., i. 169; ii. 424; iii. 445. Caen-Wood, ii. 464-' Cagliostro, Count, i. 411. Calais, description of, iii. 211. Calvert, Dr., i. 92-3. Cambaceres, iii. 231. Cambridge, Rev. George Owen, i. 258-9, 261-4, 273, 275. Cambridge, Miss, i. 327-30, 347; ii. 223, 271, 304, 344, 375, 411. Cambridge, Richard Owen, i. 258-9, 261-2, 273-5, 326; ii. 16, 83. "Camilla," Madame d'Arblay's novel, i. x1v; Macaulay on, li-lv; iii. 72, 89, 95-6, 98-102, 107-12, 114; reviewed, 116. Camilla Cottage, iii. 115, 122-3, 135, 154, 157. Campbell, Lady Augusta, ii. 85. Camperdown, Duncan's victory off, iii. 140-3, 147-50. Campo, Signor del, ii. 36, 47. Canning, George, iii. 82-3. Carmichael, Miss, Johnson's Poll, i. 96-7. Caroline of Brunswick (Queen), iii. 440-3; Carter, Elizabeth, ii. 83, 279. Cator, Mr., i. 210-13, 221. Cavendish, Ladies Georgiana and Harriet, ii. 425-6. "Cecilia," Fanny's novel; price paid for, i. Xxiv, 254; its production, xxviii-ix, 202, 228; Macaulay's estimate of, xxxii, l-lv; praised by Burke, 232-3; extolled by the "old wits," 251-4; eulogised by Soames jenyns, 261-3; discussed at Mrs. Delany's, 268-76; ii. 32, 176; iii. 114. Chamier, Anthony, M.P., i. 148 Chapman, Dr., Vice- Chancellor at Oxford, ii. 386-7. Chapone, Mrs. (Hester Mulso), account Of, i. 265-70, 288; ii. 83, 321; iii. 172, 398. Charlotte, Princess, anecdotes of, iii. 145, 159, 290; her death, 419, 421. Charlotte, Queen, Macaulay's account of, i. xxx-xxxii; in favour of Warren Hastings, xxxviii; her treatment of Fanny, xl, xli, xliii; generosity to Mrs. Delany, 291; inquisitive about Fanny, 294-5; meets her, 304-13; her disposition and manners, 314; chats about Mdme. de Genlis, Goethe, Klopstock, Milton, Wickliffe, and Roman Catholic superstitions, 319-21; on the Terrace at Windsor, 325; aPpoints Fanny a keeper of her robes, 327-32; receives her at Windsor, 335; ceremonial in her dressing-room, 339; Fanny's routine with, 345-8; er snuff, 348-9, 361; at a Drawing-room, 350, 369; at Kew, 351; her pet dog, 353; distressed by the attempt against the king, 355, 357-61, 367; promises Fanny a gown, 368; visits Nuneham, 374; Oxford, 385-95; Blenheim, 397; Fanny as her reader, 403; advises her concerning Mdme. de Genlis, 407; 416, 419, 420, 422; praised by Fanny, 424; cautions Fanny, 432; tired of her gewgaws, grants Fanny a holiday, 433; receives some verses from her, 424, 434; rebukes her, 439; 440, 442, 446 Dr. Burney's verses for, ii. 10; 22; at the play, 31; on the king's birthday, 33; with the Polignacs, 39; with the Duke of York, 49; 52, 85; with the Prince of Wales, 61, 63; her New Year gift to Fanny, 72; remarks on Dr. Johnson, 77-8; interested in the Hastings trial, 95, 119, 345, 361, 390-1, 395, 448; chats about Lady Hawke's novel, 150; visits Cheltenham, 155-7; her rooms there, 163; her selfishness, 181; remarks on Fairly, 185-7; visits Worcester, 199; on Fairly, 200, 205-6; returns to Windsor, 206; her Wit, 216; during the king's illness, 224-31, 234-6, 238-40, 242, 244, 246, 248-50, 252, 257-8, 262-3; at Kew with the king, 265, 269, 272, 276; remarks on Fairly's visits to Fanny, 280, 282, 285; her birthday, 281, 361; 292, 295 walks out with the king, 297-8; 300, 302; orders illuminations for the king's recovery, 303; holds a Drawing-room, 304; her poultry, 305; visits Lyndhurst, 310; Weymouth, 313, 315, 320-1, 323; Longleat, 330-3; on Fairly, 335; at the play, 335, 342; employs Fanny as reader, 347, 350; her treatment of Fanny, 366, 379- 89, 390, 401-2; her gift to Lord Harcourt, 388; grants Fanny a pension, 403-4, 405; takes leave of her, 408-9; attended by Fanny, 434-7; chats with Fanny, 447, 454-5; Fanny presents "Camilla: to, iii. 99, 103; gives Fanny fifty guineas, 106; has interviews with her, 141, 154; her bounties, 159; alarmed by a mad woman, 266, 278; visits Bath, 420; receives General d'Arblay, 425; her presents to Fanny, 427; her approaching dissolution, 437; her death, 438-9. Chateaubriand, F. R. de, iii. 330-3, 338; his wife, 331-2. Chatham, Pitt, Earl of, i. xx; ii. 321; receives James Burney, 370. Chatre, Marchioness de la, iii. 10, 28, 35, 39, 53; Marquis de la, iii. 39. Chavagnac, Adrienne de, iii. 208. Cheltenham, royal visit to, ii. 154; the wells at, 164; the walks at, 173. Chesington, residence of S. Crisp, i. xxii, 60; Fanny at, 64-75, 200, 233, 266, 270-1, 433 ; iii. 61-5. Chester, Porteus, Bishop of, his sermons, i. 313; his preferment, ii. 82. Chesterfield, Earl of, ii. 317, 346. Cheveley, Mrs., i. 416, 439; ii. 36, 72. Chimay, Princess de, iii. 254. Cholmondeley, Mrs., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii, 68, 94; meets Fanny, 114-20; her entertainment, 120-6; Cholmondeley, Mr., i. 114; Fanny, i. 114- Claremont, Lady, ii. 97. Clarence, Duke of, see William, Prince. Clarges, Sir Thomas, i. 344. Clayton, Lady Louisa, i. 325, 342. Clerk, Mr., apothecary, ii. 195. Clerke, Sir Philip Jennings, i. 127-8, 137-9, 194, 204-5; ii. 312. Clive, Kitty, i- 317. Collumpton Church, ii. 421. Colman, George, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; his comedies, ii. 347-50. Cologne, iii. 373. Columb, Jacob, ii. 367. Condé, prince de, iii. 283, 329-30. Conway, General, ii. 23. Cooke, Kitty, i. 60, 108, 200, 233, 435; iii. 63. Cork, Lord, i. 228-9. Cotton, Captain, i. 173. Court (the), life of an attendant at, i. xxxi, xxxiv; monotony of, Xxxv; Fanny's treatment at, xl-xliii ; 289-90; presentations at, 322-3; at Windsor, 333-49, 352-66, 400-47; at Kew, 349, 366, 422 at St. james's, 308, 350, 360. royal birthdays at, 364 visits Nuneham, 374-85, 396; Oxford, 385-95; Blenheim, 397; equerries at, 429; routine at, 443; at St james's, ii. 9-15, 33-5, 62, 65, 85; at Windsor, 16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81 ; at Kew, 50; at the play, 32; New Year's day at, 72; visits Cheltenham, 155; Worcester, 199; during the king's illness, at Windsor, 222-264; at Kew, 265-303; at Windsor, 303; in the New Forest, 311; at Weymouth, 313-21, 329; at Exeter and Saltram, 322-3; Longleat, 330; Tottenham Court, 332; Windsor, 333, 340, 373, 401; Kew, 407; St. james's, 304, 335, 345-73, 382, 396, 408. at Windsor, iii. 99-112, 185-7. Courtenay, Lord, ii, 420. Courtown, Lord, i. 366 ; ii. 155, 159, 162, 164, 165, 191, 199, 314, 323, 399; Lady, ii. 191, 263, 265, 274, 322; iii. 159, Coussmaker, Miss, i. 67. Coventry, Lady, and Crisp's "Virginia," i. xx-i. Crawford, Mr., ii. 51. Crewe, John, first Lord, iii. 266; Mrs., later Lady, i. 121; ii. 129-30, 138-9, 411, 456-68; iii. 73, 75, 77, 125-6, 129, 266-8, 277-88. Crisp, Anne, i. 26. Crisp, Samuel, his appearance and acquirements, i. xix; his "Virginia," xx, xxi; his misanthropy, xxii; his regard for Fanny; he condemns "The Witlings," xxviii, 145-7; "Evelina" read to him, 64; he guesses the author, 70-1; learns the truth, 74-5; alluded to, 200, 233; his death, xxix, 238, 270-1; his remarks on letter writing, iii. 452. Critics, Macaulay on the, i. xix. Croker, J. W., twits Fanny, i. xxvi. Crutchley, Mr., M.P., chats with Fanny, 1. 106-8, 201-23; at the Hastings trial, ii. 101-2, 114, 122; at Egham races, 151. Cumberland, Richard, i. xxvi, 121, 156-8, 315-6; iii. 91-4; Mrs., i. 154-6; Richard, the younger, i. 155-7. Cumberland, Ernest, Duke of, ii. 98; iii. 160. Cumberland, Lady Albinia, iii. 181. Cure, Mr., i. 154-5. Damer, Hon. Mrs., ii. 328; iii. 218. D'Arblay, see Arblay. Davenant, Mr. and Mrs., i. 208-9. Delany, Dr., i. xxx, 264. Delany, Mrs., account of, i. xxx, 64; reads "Cecilia," 252-3; Fanny's first Visit to, 265-70; royal generosity to, 290; visited by George III. and Queen Charlotte, 293; her intercourse with Fanny and the royal family, 324, 329-30, 334-44, 351-2, 355, 358-9, 363-6, 374, 401, 4o6, 416, 420, 422, 426-7, 439, 441-2; ii. 21, 32, 53, 61, 69, 72, 94; her death, 141-3; her marriage at Longleat, 330; judged by Burke, 460. Delap, Rev. John, D.D., i. 139, 141, 150, 157, 160-1. Delawarr, Earl, ii. 321. Desmoulins, Mrs., Johnson's "De Mullin," i. 95-6, 258. Devonshire, Duke of, i. 248; ii. 410, 426-8; iii. 125; Georgiana, Duchess of, i. 2 15 ; ii. 410, 426-8. Dewes, Bernard, i. 295, 298-9, 440. "Diary and Letters of Madame d'Arblay," original edition, i. xi, xii, Xlv; origin of the, xiv, xxxiv. Dickens, Mrs., i. 154. Digby, Colonel, Hon. Stephen, see Fairly. Dillon, Mdlle. iii. 338. Dobson, Mrs., authoress, i. 170. Dorset, Duke of, i. 121, 309. Douai, royalists at, iii. 324. Douglas, Archibald, ii. 222-3. Douglas, Captain, R.N., ii. 316, 337. Douglas, Dr., i. 445. Douglas, Lady Frances, ii, 222. D'Oyley, Sir John and Lady, ii. 169, 173-4. Drake, Sir Francis (royal steward), i. 363; ii. 420. Dudley, Sir H. Bate, see Bate. Dumouriez, General, iii. 54. Duncan, Admiral, his victory off Camperdown, iii. 140-3, 147-50. Duncannon, Lady, ii. 424. Dundas, Mr. (Sir David), ii. 375. Dunkirk, Fanny's adventure at, iii, 249; Spanish prisoners at, 257. Duras, Dowager Duchess de, iii. 295. Duras, Duchess de, iii- 336; Duke de, iii. 281-7, "Early Diary of Frances Burney," i. xv. "Edwy and Elgiva," Fanny's tragedy, i. xiv; ii, 222, 349; iii. 72, 90. Effingham, Lady, lady of the bed-chamber, i. 343, 351-2, 361, 439; ii. 8, 222, 225, 227. Egerton, Mrs Ariana, iii. 69. Egham races, Fanny at, ii. 151. Elizabeth, Princess ; her illness, i. 296-315; her intercourse with Fanny, 339, 355, 362, 365 374, 377-8, 385, 387, 423; ii. 10, 34-5, 39, 155, 164, 201, 205, 211, 296, 347, 404, 409, 436, 447, 454; iii. 100, 108; her marriage, 122 ; 140, 155, 158, 165, 266, 300, 346, 420-2, 427, 436. Ellenborough, Lord (Mr. Law), at the Hastings trial, ii. 437, 439-41, 443- Elliot, Sir Gilbert, ii. 97, 100, 118; iii. 80, 125. Embry, Mr., i. 109-10. Emigrés, French, at juniper Hall, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15, 28-61. Erskine, Hon. Thomas, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257; his egotism, his wife, ii. 462-4. "Evelina," Fanny's novel ; its publication, i. xxiv, 59, 61-2; its success, xxv, 115; its admirers, Nxvi; its style, liii, liv; Macaulay's estimate of, lvi; attributed to Anstey, 63; read to Crisp, 64-5; by Dr. Burney, 66-7; by Reynolds, 78; by Burke, 101; praised by Dr. Burney, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and Mrs. Thrale, 68-72; by Dr. Johnson, 71, 73, 76, 103; by Crisp, 74-5; by Seward, 77; by Sheridan, 124; Fanny's copy of, 69; price paid for the NIS., 69; Reynolds sits up reading, 78; praised to Dr. Lort, 90-1; curiosity respecting its author, 92-5, 224-8; Cumberland's jealousy of, 158; quoted, 165; a child's enquiries about, 191-2; Paoli's View Of, 234; Windham's remarks on, ii. 144; Baretti on, 176; its sale, iii. 114. Exeter, royal visit to, ii. 321. Fairly, Colonel (Hon. Stephen Digby), i. xxxix; ii. attacks Mrs. Warren Hastings, 371; at Nuneham, with Fanny, 380, 383; at Oxford, 385, 390, 395-7; embroiled with Mrs. Schwellenberg, 400; looks melancholy, 445; loses his first wife, ii. 53; at Windsor, 75; his conversation, 78; likely to marry Miss Fuzilier, 126, 153, 177; 139; with Fanny, 154; at Cheltenham, 155, 158-9; his téte-a-téte with Fanny, 159-61 ; 162 ; talks, reads, and flirts with her, 165-8, 170, 174, 177-87, 193, 197, 199; ill with the gout, 171, 173; criticises the princes, 189; takes leave of Fanny, 200-3; his note to her, 204; discussed by his brother equerries, 213; with the Gunnings, 224; at Windsor during George III.'s illness, 228, 233, 236-7, 239-40; soothes the king, 241; on familiar terms with Fanny, 242-4-6-8; his remarks on the prayers for the king, 249; is anxious about the queen, 251; his intercourse with Fanny, 253-62, 264; arrives at Kew, 267; is concerned for the princesses, 271-2; disliked by Mrs. Schwellenberg, 275-7; with Fanny, 277, 279, 281; the queen remarks on his visits, 280-2; search for him, 285; 293-4; meets Windham, 297-8; takes leave of Fanny, 303-4 at Weymouth, 329; his marriage is rumoured, 334, 340; his strange wedding to Miss Fuzilier, 342-4; meets Fanny again, iii. 111. Fairly, Mrs., ii. 344, 373; see also Fuzilier. Farnham, ii. 411. Farren, Miss, actresw, ii. 32; iii. 149. Fauconberg Hall, ii. 155, 157; Lord, ii. 155. "Female Quixote, The," by Charlotte Lenox, i. lvi. Ferrars, Lady De, i. 243-4; Lord De, i. 243. Ferry, Mr., i. 178-9. Fielding, Henry, Dr. Johnson on, i. 91. Fielding, Sir John, i. 192-3. Fielding, Mrs. (woman of the bedchamber), i. 341-2, 351, 366; ii. 10, 304. Finch, Lady Charlotte (governess to the princesses), i. 341-2, 355-6; ii. 184, 252, 259, 265, 270, 274, 286. Finch, Miss, i- 06. Fisher, Canon, i. 338, 366, 427, 436-7; ii. 72, 75-6, 212-3, 342, 406; iii. 99, 120. Fisher, Kitty, and Dr. Johnson, i. 89. Fisher, Mrs., ii. 72, 75; iii. 110. Fite, Madame de la, at Norbury Park, i. 280-1, 311-2; her intercourse with Fanny at Windsor, 337, 342, 355, 405-6, 409-16, 440 ; ii. 35, 405, 451. Fitzherbert, Mrs., ii. 320. Flint, Bet, and Johnson, i. 87,8. Foster, Lady Elizabeth, ii- 410, 427-8. Fouche, iii. 250. Fox, Charles James, at the Hastings trial, ii. 92, 93, 97, 125, 127-8, 134-5, 361, 392, 441; and the regency bill, 221; Burke on, 459, 463; and the execution of Louis xvi, iii. 44. France, revolution in, iii. 11, 42-4; Fanny goes to, 203; leaves, 263; returns to, 292-327, 378,83; foreign occupation Of, 379-81. Francis, Clement, marries Charlotte Burney, i. 332 ; ii. 109, 123, 145, 345, 375, 380-1; iii. 38. Francis, Mrs., see Burney, Charlotte. Francis, Mr. (Sir Philip), ii. 89, 109, 346. Francklin, Rev. Th., D. D., admires "Evelina," i. xxvii; interviews Fanny, 112. French Clergy Fund, the, iii. 77, 78. French, Miss, Burke's niece, ii. 457, 461; Fuller, Captain, and his soldiers, i. 135, 136, 137. Fuller, Mr. Rose, at Streatham, i. 92, 109, 139; his conversation, 148, 153. Fuzilier, Miss (Charlotte Gunning), ii. 126, 153, 177, 224, 255, 304, 340, 342-4, see Fairly, Mrs. Gabrielli, Signora, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Gage, Sir Thomas, ii. 450; iii. 23. Galway, Dowager Lady, i. 248, 254. Gaud (Ghent), Louis xviii. at, iii. 337, 349. Garrick, David, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; his connection with Crisp's "Virginia," xx, xxi; his love of flattery, 122; 317; reads "Lethe" to a royal audience, 349; his relatives, his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129. Garrick, Mrs., ii. 82, 432. Garth, Major, ii- 374. Gast, Mrs. Sophia, Crisp's sister, i. 60, 71, 169, 233, 266; ii. 207. Genlis, Madame de, Fanny's acquaintance with, i. 316; her strictures on the English stage, 318 ; Queen Charlotte on her writings, 319; her position discussed, 405-8; in England as Mdme. Brulard, 449; iii. 22-4, 26-7. George III, his generosity to Mrs. Delany, i. 265, 291 ; visits her incog, 293; is inquisitive about Fanny, 294; his first interview with her, XXX, 298; his health, constitution, and diet, 299 ; questions Fanny about her writings, 301-4; is anxious she should continue writing, 310; his views on sermons, 313; his demeanour and character, 314, 318-9; takes tea at Mrs. Delany's, etiquette, 314-5; his opinions of Lord George Sackville, Voltaire, and Rousseau, 316; of plays and players, 317; on the Terrace at Windsor, 325-6; in the queen's dressing-room, 339; at Kew, 349-51; an attempt on his life, 355-61; is cheered at Little Kew, 367; visits Nuneham, Oxford, and Blenheim, 373-98; protects Herschel, 408, 420; his equerries and his barley-water, 431 ; with his favourite daughter, Amelia, 437; visits Fanny during her illness, 446; converses with jacob Bryant, ii. 23; at the play, 31; his birthday, 33; plays backgammon, 37; with the Polignacs, 39; is joyful at the Duke of York's return, 49; criticises Goldsworthy's collar, 84; is amused by a caricature, 140; goes to Cheltenham, 155; his rooms there, 163; visits Cirencester, 171; Tewkesbury, 174; is solicitous about Fairly, 181-2, 186, 187-8; lodges the Duke of York in a portable wooden house, 190; has Fanny prescribed for, 196; visits Worcester, 199; returns to Windsor, 206; his illness, 220; is in an uncertain state, 222-4; his want of sleep, 294-6; progress of his illness, 226-8; first outburst of delirium, 228; delirious, 232; refuses to see Dr. Warren, 234; his night watchers, 238; is soothed by Mr. Fairly, 240; public prayers for, 248; is much worse, 250; certainty of his recovery, 251; his charter, 254, 256; reports upon his Condition, 257; requires stricter management, 259; is removed to Kew, 261, 265-6; state of his health, 268, 272, 273; takes his first walk, 274; his varying condition, 276-7; is treated by Dr. Willis, 274, 278; on the queen's birthday, 281; chases Fanny in Kew Gardens, 287-92; his gradual amendment, 294-8; is completely restored, 299; inquires after Fanny, 300; illuminations on his recovery, 303; his reception in the New Forest, 310; at LyDdhurst, 311; at Salisbury, Dorchester, Weymouth, 313; his sea baths, 314-6; his amusements at and excursions from Weymouth, 316-21; at Exeter and Saltram, 322-3; again at Weymouth, 329; at Longleat, 330; at Tottenham Court, 332; returns to Windsor, 333; at Covent Garden Theatre, 335-40; is interested in the Hastings trial, 395. 456 ; his birthday, 395, 399; reads Boswell's "Johnson," 401-2; takes leave of Fanny, 409; meets her again; 436; chats with her, 448-9, 453-6; "Camilla" presented to him, iii. 100, 106-7; notices M. d'Arblay, 110; remarks on "Camilla," 111; chats with Fanny, 145; with Dr. Burney, 185-7; is again mad; 252, 267; his death, 440. Ghent, see Gand. Gibbon eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi; meets her, 228-32; reads "Cecilia," 254; falls into the Thames, 275; admires Lady Elizabeth Foster, ii. 428. Girardin, Alexandre de, iii. 34. Glastonbury Abbey, ii. 421. Gloucester, Fanny at, ii. 171. Gloucester, Dr. Halifax, bishop of, ii. 173. Gloucester, Princess Sophia of, iii. 151. Gloucester, William Frederick, Duke of, iii. 151. Gloucester, William Henry, Duke of, ii. 98, 311 ; iii. 151. Goethe, his "Sorrows of Werther," i. xxxi, 320. Goldsmith, Dr., his "Good-Natured man" and "The Rambler," i. 83-4; his love for Mary Horneck, 111; his blundering ways, 232. Goldsworthy, Colonel (equerry), his character and humour, i. 421; is offended with Fanny, 427; his duties and discomforts, 429-31; 440; his remarks on the Court concerts, 444; ii- 17; character and humour, 36-7; derides Col. Manners, 40-2; his huge coat collar, 84; at Worcester, 199 213 his breach of etiquette, 216, 218; during George III.s illness, 228-9, 231, 233, 235, 239, 261, 268; at Weymouth, 320, 323, 407. Goldsworthy, Miss (governess to the princesses), i. 2o2, 342, 365, 421; ii. 32, 231-5, 238-9, 240, 246, 252, 266; 270, 396, 406-7, 434. Gomme, Miss, Court attendant, ii. 34, 95, too, 270, 283, 295, 342, 405, 434 ; iii. 105. Gordon, Lord George, i. 192-5-7, 411; riots, i. 165, 192-9. Grafton, Duke of, iii. 27. Grattan, Henry, iii. 278, 281. Gregory, Miss, i. 100-3; ii. 424. Grenville, General, ii. 50, 218, 407. Greville, Colonel, equerry, see Wellbred. Greville, Fulk, patron ofDr. Burney, i. xiii. Grey, Mr., afterwards Earl, at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 97; and Reform, 463; alluded to, iii. 389. Grub Street, Fanny's proposed visit to, i. 199. Guibert, M., iii. 56. Guiche, Countess de, ii. 39. Guiffardiere, Rev. C. de, see "Turbulent." Gunning, Charlotte, see Fuzilier. Gunning, Sir Robt., ii. 126, 224, 342. Gwatkin, Mr., i. 92, 119; ii. 444. Gwynn, Colonel (king's equerry), ii- 45, 47, 51, 155, 158-9, 162, 165, 173, 191, 247, 317, 407 ; Mrs., see Horneck, Mary. Haggerdorn, Mrs., keeper of the queen's robes, succeeded by Fanny, i. 329-31; ii. 24, 153. Hagget, Rev. Mr., i. 379, 383, 385, 390, 396-8. Hales, Lady, on "Evelina," i. 67. Halifax, Dr., ii. 173. Hamilton , "Single speech," i. 164. Hamilton, Sir William, ii. 38. Hamilton, Lady Ann, iii. 442. Hamilton, Mrs., of Chesington, i. 60, 200, 233 ; iii. 63. Hampden, Mrs., i. 250. Harcourt, Earl of, i. 122-3, 373-4, 379, 385, 387-8, 390, 400; ii. 185, 191, 388, 399; Countess of, i. 373, 377, 382, 385, 390, 393-4 ii. 185, 191. Harcourt, General, i. 380, 383, 385, 390; ii. 39, 244, 268; Mrs., i. 396; ii. 39, 281. Harrington, Dr., i. 171-8, 195. Harrington, Rev. Henry, i. 171-2, 177. Harris, James, i. 198; ii. 355-8. Hartington, Marquis of, ii. 426. Hastings, Warren, Fanny's opinions of, i. xxxvii; Queen Charlotte and, xxxviii; meets Fanny, 326; his marriage, 327; the storm gathering round, ii. 44; résumé of his career, impeachment, trial, 86-94; Fanny's account of his trial, 95-139, 143-9, 345-6, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 389-95, 437-47, 452,455-6; meets Windham, 373; is acquitted, iii. 92. Hastings, Mrs. Warren, account of, i. 327; visits Fanny, 352; is defended by her, 371, 372; mischief making about, 400; her money, ii. 92; her eccentricities, 451. Hawke, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 150. Hawkesworth, i. xvi. Hawkins, Mr., surgeon of the royal household, ii. 235, 252, 260, 276. Hawkins the, ii. 200. Hayes, Mrs., i. 443. Heberden, Dr., king's physician, ii. 38, 226, 232, 234, 250; Mrs. and Miss, i. 360; ii. 39. Henderson, John, actor, i. 317. Henin, Princess d', iii, 56, 119, 136, 218-9, 222, 304-5, 307; her flight from Paris with Fanny, 311, 313-25, 330; at Brussels, 335, 343, 349, 304, 369, 370. Herschel, Miss, her comet, i. 409; ii. 58; iii. 131. Herschel, Dr. (afterwards Sir W.), his telescope, i. 408-9, 445; discussed, ii. 37, 38, 40, 58; visited by Dr. Burney, iii. 131, 184-7. Hoole, John, i. 259, 285. Horneck, Catherine (Mrs Bunbury), "Little Comedy," i. 111; ii. 51. Horneck, Mary (Mrs. Gwynn), the Jessamy Bride, i. 111, 114; ii. 45, 140, 317, 319; Mrs., i. 111, 114. Howard, Lady Frances, i- 343-4, 352, 439 ; ii. 222. Howard, Sir George, i. 344, 352 ii. 222. Howe, Lord, and the I"Vengeur," iii. 143. Huddisford, Mr., his libel on Fanny, i. 113, 119. Hulin, General, iii. 224-5. Humphries, Miss, i. 62-3. Hundred Days, the, iii. 292-3. Huntingdon, i. 176, 180. Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, ii. 143, 199. Ilfracombe, Fanny at, iii. 398; her adventure at, 405-18. Illness of George III., ii. 221-99. Imhoff, Madame, marries Warren Hastings, i. 327. Impey, Sir Elijah, ii. 89, 118. Inchiquin, Lord, iii. 125. Jacobi, Mdlle., Fanny's successor, ii. 403-9, 434, 447; iii. 102, 106, 109, 142. jaucourt, M. de, iii. 14, 29-32, 80. jenyns, Soame, praises "Cecilia," i. 261-3. jerningham, his verses, i. xxvii. Jervis, Admiral, iii. 143. Johnson, Commodore, i. 168. Johnson, Samuel, LL. D., his friend- ship for Dr. Burney, i. xvi; his opinion of "Evelina," xxvi; his last message to Fanny, xxix; assists her with "Cecilia," lii-lv; "Evelina" read to him, 71, 73; meets Fanny, 77; tails at Langton, 81; praises "Evelina," 83, 90, 103; abuses the Scotch, 84-5; criticises Mrs. Burney's dress, 86; his stories of Bet Flint and Mrs. Pinkethman, 87-8; his household, 95; his opinion of Mrs. Montagu, 97-9; his compliments and bitter sayings, 104-6; kisses Fanny, 109; disputes with Sir P. J. Clerke, 128-9; advises Fanny respecting her play, 130-2; his account of the Gordon riots, 192; offers to take Fanny to Grub Street, 199; is appointed Thrale's executor, 202; intercedes for Mauritius Lowe, 209; his "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 211-3; his sportive moods, 215; at Brighton, 238; on Gray and Pope, 240-1; his bluster at Lord de Ferrars, 243; is held in general dread, 247 attends Miss Monckton's assembly, 250-5; his inmates at Bolt Court, 258; is attacked by paralysis, 272; his failing health, 283; his death, 285-8; his letters to Mrs. Thrale, ii. 74; his intercourse with Windham, 103, 136-8; his life by Boswell, 377, 400; his monument at Lichfield, iii. 129; his portrait by Reynolds, 389; his view of sorrow, 445. Joigny, Fanny at, iii. 234. Jones, Colonel, commander at Brussels, iii. 350, 363. Jordan, Mrs., ii. 79; in "The Country Girl," 185, 190. juniper Hall, French émigré's at, i. xliv; iii. 11, 13, 15, 28, 61. Kaye, Captain, a beau, i. 245-6. Kenyon, Lord, ii. 393. Kew Palace, the Court at, i. 349-51, 367, 422; ii. 50-4; during the king's illness, 265-303; gardens of, Fanny chased by George III., 287; Fanny's farewell to, 407. Klopstock, his "Messiah," i. x1xi, 320. L'AEKEN, palace of, iii. 341. Ladd, Sir John, i. 107; Lady, i. 92, 109. Lafayette. Marquis de, iii, 12, 14, 29, 31, 86, 207, 426; Marchioness de, iii. 221; Mdlle. de, iii. 223. Lalande, J. J. de, ii. 208-11. Lally-Tolendol, Count de, iii. 13; his tragedy, 54; at Norbury, 118, 136; his qualities, 196-7; his flight from France, 312-4, 316-25, 328, 364, 369. Lamb, Lady Caroline, iii, 344. Lamballe, Princess de, ii. 50. Lameth, iii. 16, 319-20. Langton, Bennet, admires "Evelina," i. xxvii; his children and affairs, 81-2; at Johnson's deathbed, 286-8; his wife, ii. 83; mimics Johnson, 453. Lansdowne, Lord, his connection with Waller and Pope, i. xxx; iii. 260. Latour-Maubourg, Victor de, iii. 273, 309. Lauriston, General, iii. 171, 227, 241. Lavalette, Marquis de, his escape, iii. 386-8. Law, Mr., ii. 437, 439-41, 443. Lawrence, Sir Thomas, his precocity, i. 167. Lenox, Charlotte, her novel, "The Female Quixote," i. lvi; Johnson on, ii. 401. Lever, Sir Ashton, ii. 319. Levett, Robert, at Dr. johnson's, i. 96. Liancourt, Duke de, iii. 13, 18-22, 24-8, 37. Lindsay, Lady Anne, i. 144. Linley, Eliza Anne, married to Sheridan, i. 111-12, 344 [see Sheridan, Mrs.]. Linley, Miss, sister to Mrs. Sheridan, i. 121. Literary Club, The, meeting at, iii. 44. Lobau, Count, iii- 355. Locke, Mr. and Mrs., of Norbury Park, i. 277, 280-2, 312, 344, 411; ii. 299, 305; iii. 16, 39, 59, 76, 81, 115, 120, 144, 154, 202, 252, 279, 384-5, 394, 441, 450, 455; William, son of, his artistic talent, i. 312-3 ; ii. 60, 141. London, Porteus, Bishop of, ii. 82. Long, Dudley, ii. 97. Longleat, the Court at, ii. 330; paintings at, 331. Lort, Michael, D.D., and "Evelina," i. 89, 90. Loughborough, Lord, ii. 462. Louis xvi, his trial and execution, iii. 42-4, 48, 53-4. Louis xviii., his levee at Grillon's, 276; Fanny presented to, 284-8; his reception in Paris, 291, 310, 318; reaches Ghent, 337, 349; leaves for France, 364-5. "Love and Fashion," Fanny's comedy, iii. 193. Lowe, Mauritius, painter, i. 209. Lowndes, J., publishes "Evelina," i. xxiv, xxv, 59, 61, 69, 75; is interviewed by Fanny, 79. Luc, M. de, i. 443; ii. 9, 40, 48, 65-8, 70, 243-4, 262, 320, 391, 393, 396, 403, 435-6; Mrs de, i- 353, 363 ; ii. 405. Lucan, Lady, and Mrs. Siddons, i. 257-8. Lulworth Castle, The Court at, ii. 318; Fanny at, 320. Luxembourg, Duke de, iii. 345. Luxemburg, M. d'Arblay's mission to, iii. 339. Lyndhurst, the king at, ii. 311. Lyme, Fanny at, ii. 418. MacBean, Johnson's amanuensis, i. 96. Macartney, Earl, ii. 456. Macburneys, The, i., xiii. Malesherbes, M. de, iii. 48, 54, Malouet, iii. 37. Manners, colonel, afterwards General (equerry), his eccentric sayings, ii. 36-8; his singing, 40-2; plagues Mrs. Schwellenberg, 42; his election beating, 213; alluded to, 152, 257; mystifies Mrs. Scbwellenberg, 305; as an M.P., 351; mentioned, 393, 407; iii. 110-2. Mansfield, Lord, i. 192-3; ii. 464. Markham, Archbishop, ii. 105. Marlborough, Duke of, is colour-blind, i. 307; at Oxford, 386-7-9; Duchess of, 386-9. Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of, anecdote of, i. 169. Mary, Princess, i. 353-4, 365; ii. 34, 39, 296, 396, 4o6, 434; iii. 138, 164, 266, 437-9, 440. Maurville, Mdme. de, iii. 334, 338, 348, 358, 364. Mazancourt, Count de, iii. 339-40, 377. Melbourne, Lord, iii. 243, 344. Menage, Countess de, ii. 413. "Memoirs of Dr. Burney,"'i. xxiii, lv, 234; iii. 455. "Metastasio, Life of," Dr. Burney's, iii. 89, 92, 103. Metcalf, Philip, M.P., i. 244-5, 250. Mhaughendorf, Miss, i- 375-7, 381. Mickleham, Fanny at, iii. 46, 49, 50, 52; her marriage at, 67, 71. Miller, Sir John, i. 174, 180, 190, 221. Miller, Lady, "The Lady of the Vase," i. xxvii, 74-5, 180, 189, 221; ii. 424. Milton Abbey, ii. 417. Mithoff, Rev. Mr., i. 418-20. Molloy, Capt., R.N., ii. 324-7. Molyneux, Sir F., ii. 98. Monckton, Hon. Miss (afterwards Countess of Cork), meets Fanny, i. 248; her assembly, 249-56, 257; ii. 102-3. Monmoulin, Mdlle., i. 365; ii. 34, 270, 282, 295-6, 342. Montagu, Duke of, i. 365, 440. Montagu, Elizabeth, née Robinson, her writings, conversation, and disposition, i. 97-8; Johnson's opinion of, 99; meets Fanny, 100-3; her opinion of Johnson's "Life of Lord Lyttelton," 210; praises "Cecilia," 251-2; Frances Reynolds's letter to, 260; mentioned, ii. 82, 424, 432, 450. Montagu, Frederick, M.P., ii. 97, 291. Montmorency, Viscount de, iii. 14, 28, 39, 53, 80. Mordaunt, Lord, i. 134. More, Hannah, her flattery, i. 122, 185. Mornington, Lady, ii. 338. Mortemart, Mdlle. de, iii. 218, 224. Mount Edgecumbe, Lordand Lady, i. xvii ; ii. 323, 327. Mount Edgecumbe, Fanny at, ii. 327. Mountmorres, Lord, ii. 336-9. Mulgrave, Lord, i. xvii, 168, 172-4-6; ii. 83, 150; Lady, ii. 83, 150. Mulso, Hester, see Chapone. Murat, iii. 368. Murphy, Arthur, offers to assist Fanny Burney in writing a play, i. xxviii, 130-1, 133, 134. Murray, Lady, iii. 419. Musgrave, Mr., i. 221. Musters, Mrs., a beauty, i. 154. Napoleon, see Bonaparte, Narbonne, Count de, in England, i. xliv; iii. 29-30, 35-7, 40, 43, 45, 52, 54, 57, 82, 97; in France, 253; his death, 273. Necker, M., iii. 36, 47, 52, 220, Netherlands, King and Queen of the, iii. 339, 365. Newcastle, Duke of, ii. 96. New Forest, the king's reception in the, ii. 310. Ney, Marshal, and his iron cage for Napoleon, iii. 304. Nicholson, Margaret, her attempt against the king, i. 355-61, 367. Nore, the, mutiny at, iii. 139. Norfolk, Duke of, iii. 158. North, Colonel, ii. 97. North, Lord, ii, 392. Nugent, Colonel, reads an address to Louis XVIII., iii. 286. Nuneham, royal visits to, i. 374-85, 396 ; ii- 156. O'Connor, Arthur, iii. 166. Ogle, Mrs., ii. 187-8; iii. 397. Omai, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Orange, Prince (William 1. of Holland) and Princess of, iii. 147, 231, 339, 365. Orange, Prince of (William II. of Holland), iii, 365. Ord, Mrs., a "blue stocking," i. 259, 261-3, 333-4; ii. 82, 150, 370, 378, 410-29. Orford, Lord, ii. 434-5. "Original Love Letters," ii. 170, 182. O'Riley, Miss, a flirt, i. 205. Orleans, Mdlle d', ii. 449-50; iii. 23. Orloff, Count, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvii. Otaheite, rubbing noses at, iii. 60. Owen, Miss, i. 13-5. Oxford, royal visits to, i. xxxv-vi, 385-95; ii. 156. Pacchierotti, Gasparo, vocalist, i. XVii, 121, 224, 263-4; ii. 356. Paine, Thomas, in Suffolk, ii. 450. Palmer, Miss, and "Evelina," i. 92-5; at Reynolds's, 113-20, 228-9, 256; at Cheltenham, ii. 169, 173-4, 411, 431; inherits from Reynolds, marries Lord Inchiquin, 444. Palmerston, Lord, i. 115-20. Pamela, Mdme. de Genlis's, ii. 449; iii. 23. Paoli, General Pasquale, pays homage to Fanny, i. xxvii; her account OF, 23-5. Paradise, Mr. and Mrs., i. 224-8. Paris, Fanny in, iii. 215; a parade in presence of the first Consul, 224 ; the influenza in, 239; on Napoleon's return from Elba, 305; Fanny's flight from, 308 et seq.; her return to, 378. Paston Letters," the, ii. 21-2, 150. Payne and Cadell, publish "Cecilia," i. 254. Pembroke, Elizabeth, Countess of, i- 135-6, 178. Pepys, Lucas, Dr., afterwards Sir, i. 239; ii. 83, 126; attends the king, 250-3, 262-4, 276, 284, 287; 432 ; iii. 177, 180. Pepys, W. W., afterwards Sir, i. 148, 210-3, 239-41 ii. 82; iii. 177. Percy, Bishop, ii. 428; iii. 44. Perkins, Mr., i. 197. Philidor, iii. 405. Phillips, Captain Molesworth, i. 60, 224, 231 ; ii. 357, 437; iii. 31, 35, 59, 71, 113; Mrs., see Burney, Susanna. Pinkethman, Mrs. and Dr. Johnson, i. 88. Piozzi, Signor, marries Mrs. Thrale, i. 236-8, 278-9 ; iii. 88. Piozzi, Mrs. (Thrale), leaves England, i. 237; is gay and happy, 288 ; publishes her correspondence with Johnson, ii. 74-8, 101; is attacked by Baretti, ii. 167, 176; meets Fanny, 355; Dr. Burney, iii. 88; at Bath, 386, 396-7, 422; letters from, 443-5-7; her death, 448; compared with Mdme. de Stael, 449. Pitt, William, and the Regency bill, i, XXXi., ii. 220-1; and the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 108, 135; at Windsor, 263; D'Arblay's application to, iii. 74; his "loyalty loan," 121. Planta, Miss, English teacher and attendant to the princesses; her intercourse with Fanny, i. 291, 349-51, 361, 365, 374-87, 390-8, 415, 437, 443, 446 ; ii. 18, 30-3, 46, 65-9, 85, 139, 155-9, 161-8, 170, 180-5, 189-94, 200-1, 218, 224, 228, 242, 246, 262, 266-9, 283, 312-4-6, 322-3, 327-9, 335-8, 405, 434; iii. 99, 142, 155, 163. Plymouth dockyard, ii. 323. Polier, Colonel, a gourmand, i. 336, 340, 345. Polignac, Duke and Duchess de, at Windsor, ii. 39; the duchess and the Diamond Necklace scandal, ibid. Port, Miss, account of, i. 293; at Mrs. Delany'S, 293, 298, 300; serves tea to George III., 315, 318; her intercourse with Fanny, 337-8, 342, 401, 418, 427, 440; ii. 36, 39, 40, 46, 49, 141-2, 150, 184-6, 192. Porteus, Dr., Bishop of Chester, i. 313 ; ii. 82. Portland, Duchess of, née Harley, inquires after "Cecilia," i. 251, 253; meets Fanny, 267-70; her death, 290; Duke of, iii. 125. Powderham Castle, ii. 420. Prémorel, M. de, iii. 340, 346, 377-8. Price, Major, equerry to George III, i. 338, 344, 352, 355, 358, 363-6, 371, 380, 383-7, 390, 396-7, 400, 416, 421; ii, 17, 45, 176, 203, 206, 341, 346, 436. Princes, the, see Cumberland, Gloucester, Dukes of, Wales, Prince of, William, Prince (Duke of Clarence), and York, Duke of. Princess Royal, Charlotte (Queen of Wiirtemburg), i. 339, 348, 354, 358, 365, 375, 377-8, 385, 387, 416, 420, 422-3; ii. 10, 35, 199, 216, 266, 340, 347, 409, 447; iii. 104, 107; is presented to her fiancé, 115; 122; her marriage, 138-9. Princesses, the, i- 353, 357, 365, 377, 389, 394; ii. 33, 224, 236, 265, 269-70, 271-2, 409, 455; their births, marriages, deaths, iii. 123; 451, 454; see also Amelia; Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary, Princess Royal, and Sophia. "Probationary Odes," the, ii. 145. Prussia, King of, iii. 289. Quatre Bras, battle of, iii. 347, 351. Queen, the, see Charlotte, Queen. Raikes, Robert, founder of Sunday schools, ii. 171-3. Ramsden, Colonel, equerry, ii. 36-7, 407. Regency bill, the, i. xxxix; ii. 220-1, 271, 276, 296-9. Regent, Prince, see Wales. Revolution, the French, résumé of the principal events of, from September 1791 to March 1793, iii. 11-5; the capture of the Bastille, 18; the invasion of the Tuileries, 19; the Duke de Liancourt's efforts at Rouen, 19-22; decrees against the emigres, 33; trial and execution of Louis XVI., 42-4, 48; sieges of Dunk-irk and Toulon, 73-4, 78; the insurrection of the 18th Fructidor, 136; the "Vengeur" legend, 143; the peace of Amiens, 171; the revolutionary calendar, 214. Reynolds, Mrs. Frances, i. 78, 199, 260. Reynolds, Sir Joshua, at Dr. Burney's, i. xvi; reads "Evelina," 78; his meeting and intercourse with Fanny, 92-5, 106, 113, 123, 125-6; is derided by Blakeney, 160; his opinion of Lawrence, 167; his picture of Beattie, 184; introduces Fanny to Burke and Gibbon, 228-32; with Fanny at Miss Monckton's, 29-6, 259-60, 272; ii. 82; at the Hastings trial, 100; his failing eyesight, 333, 377, 411, 431-2; his death, his disposition of his fortune, 444 ; his paintings at Streatham, iii. 389. Rhamus, Mr., ii. 11, 13. Rhine, scenery of the, iii, 377. Richmond, Reynolds's dinner party at, i. 228. Richmond, Duke of, ii. 321; Duchess of, her ball at Brussels, iii. 367. Riggs, Mrs., i. 174, 189. Roberts, Dr., provost of Eton, i. 401, 440. Roche, Mdme. de la, authoress, i. 409-16. Rochefoucault, Duke de la, iii. 22. Rogers, Samuel, iii. 177, 270, 454. Rothes, Lady, ii. 432; iii. 177, 180. Rousseau, J. J., George III. on, i. xxx, 316. Rovigo, Duke de, iii. 253. Royal, Princess, see Princess. Rumford, Count, iii. 133. Russia, Alexander 1. of, iii. 289. Rutland, Mary Isabella, Duchess of, i. 215. Sackville, Lord George, R. Cumberland and George III. on, i. 315-6. St. Asaph's, Bishop of, 1, 229. St. James's Palace, Court drawingrooms at, i. 308, 350, 369 ; ii. 9-15, 33-5, 65-6, 85, 304, 335; the Court at, 345-73, 382, 396, 408 ; attempt against George III. outside, i. 356. St. just, de, iii. 35. St. Vincent, Lord, iii. 143. Salisbury, i. 197; Bishop of, i. 338; iii. 386, 437; Marquis of, ii. 292, 399. Saltram, the Court at, ii. 323. Sandwich, Earl of, i. xvii. Savile, Sir George, i. 193. Saxe-Gotha, Duke of, i. 344. Saye and Sele, Lady, i. 225-8; ii. 151; Lord, i. 227-8. Schwellenberg, -,Mrs., keeper of the queen's robes, Fanny's life with, i. xxxiv, X1, x1ii, 290; knows Mrs. Hastings, 327-8; Fanny is introduced to her, 331-2, 335-40, 344-53, 355, 358; Fanny's bitter experience of her begins, 359 ; 360; invites herself to supper, 363 falls ill, 366; offers Fanny a gown from the queen, 367; in a Pet, 371; 373-4; makes mischief about Mrs. Hastings, 400; her tyranny, 404; 4113-5, 418-20 again ill, 421-2, 425; ii. 35; teased by the equerries, 42-6; suspicious of Turbulent, 46, 52, 56; her tyrannical ways, 62, 65-8; her capriciousness, 68-71 72; does Fanny a favour, 74-7; extremely ill, 84, 139; returns to Windsor, 152; Fanny's nickname for, 157; twits Fanny about marriage, 209, 217; rails at her, 215-6; angry with Goldsworthy, 217; again ill, 218; during the king's illness, 246-7, 253, 269, 271; her cruelty to Fanny, 272-4; her aversion for Fairly' 275; 282-3; George III. on her conduct, 290; accuses Fanny of visiting gentlemen, 295; in a temper, 301-2; is mystified, 304; rails at Fairly, 341; with Fanny, 347, 378-9, 381, 384-7; at Prince William's drinking bout, 396-8; is kissed by him, 400; her severity, 4o6; takes leave of Fanny, 407; with her again, 434-7; is all civility, 447; her death, iii. 142. Scott, Major, ii. 92, 105, 108. Scott, Sir Walter, iii- 454-5. "Seduction," a play, ii. 32. Selwyn, Mr., banker, i. 161-7. Sercey, Henriette de, ii. 449-50; iii. 23. Seward, William, i. xxvii; his meetings with Fanny, 77-8, 89, 90, 109-10; and Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137, 142, 144-5; his ennui and suggested play, 142-4, 212-5, 218-22, 272; meets Fanny at Cheltenham, ii. 167, 170, 173; 411 ; iii. 174; his death, 183. Shakespeare, George III.'s opinions of, i. xxx, 318; gallery, the, ii. 464. Shelley, Lady, i. 242. Shenstone, William, i. 212. Shepherd, Dr. A., ii. 55, 208-11, 217. Sherborne Castle, ii. 319, 330. Sheridan, R. B., eulogises Fanny, i. xxvi; marries Miss Linley, 111-2, 344; meets Fanny, 123, 145; Mrs. Thrale's bon mot on, 223; at the Hastings trial, ii. 93, 139, 438. Sheridan, Mrs., née Linley, her beauty, talents, marriage, i. 111-2; meets Fanny, 121, 344. Shipley, Georgiana, i. 229. Siddons, Mrs., meets Fanny, i. 257 ; praised by George III., 321; disappointing on near acquaintance, ii. 52; 317-9; buys Sadler-,' Wells, iii. 149. Sidmouth, ii. 419. Sleepe, Esther, mother of Fanny Burney, her marriage and death, i. xiv; Mr., i. 199. Smelt, Mr., Court official, i. 166, 324, 327-31, 437-9, 443-5; ii. 9, 15, 19, 20-2, 50, 83, 241, 243-4, 273, 276-7, 293, 297, 300, 303; Mrs., i. 437-8, 440; ii. 241. Smith, Mr. Thrale's Cousin, i. 106-7. Smith, Charlotte, iii. 75. Sophia, Princess, and Mr. Webb's nose, 1. 311; 353, 365; ii. 34, 211, 309, 406, 434, 455; iii. 140, 156. Sophia of Gloucester, Princess, see Gloucester. Southwell, Lord, i. 209. Souza, Mdme. de, iii. 236-8. Spanish prisoners at Dunkirk, iii. 259; ship captured, 399. Spencer, Countess, i. 359; ii. 424-9; iii. 92; Earl, 424-7; the Ladies, i. 386-7-9; ii. 23. Stael, Madame de, in England, i. xliv, iii. 14, 32; her first letters in English, 45; Fanny's admiration for, 46-8, 50; Dr. Burney's disapproval of, 51; defended by Fanny, 52, 55-61 80; snubbed by Fanny, 220; regretted by her, 269, 382; compared with Mrs. Thrale, 449; M. de, iii. 47. Stainsforth, Mrs., ii. 399. Stanhope, Mr., ii. 396. Stonehenge, ii. 417. Stormont, Lord, ii. 446. Strange, Sir Robert and Lady, iii. 173; Mary Bruce, i. 288. Streatfield, Mrs., i. 149-50; Sophia, the weeping beauty, i. 132-3, 137-42, 144-5, 149-53, 219-21, 283; ii. 450; Iii. 405. Streatham, the Thrales' residence at, i. xxvi; Fanny at, 75-8, 80, 110, 127-33, 137-49, 203-23; the paintings at, iii. 389; dismantled and forsaken, 448. Stuart, Lady, Louisa, ii. 69-70. Sunday schools established, ii. 171. Sydney, Lady, ii. 317. Talleyrand-PérigGord, Charles Maurice de, at juniper Hall, i. xliv; iii. 14, 39; is found charming, 50; 53, 55; his letters of adieu, 83; Fanny indignant with, 153; her bon mot to, 382. Tallien, iii. 47. Taylor, Michael Angelo, ii. 97, 145, 452. Templetown, Lord and Lady, ii. 151. Tewkesbury, Fanny at, ii. 191. Thackeray, Mrs., ii. 69. Thielky, Mrs., i. 340, 345-6, 353, 374, 381-2. Thrale, Mr., "Evelina" read to, i. 71; his character and acquirements, 75; 82, 86, 89, 90, 92, 96, 127-8, 132-4, 149, 153, 166, 168, 194-7; his death, 200-3. Thrale, Mrs., hears about "Evelina," i. xxv, her character and disposition, xxvi; her second marriage, xxix admires "Evelina," 68, 71-2; advises Fanny to write for the stage, 74, 129-31; her kindness to Fanny, 76, 80; praises "Evelina" to Dr. Lort, 90-1; to Mrs. Montagu, 102-5; makes sport with Reynolds, 92-5; converses with Johnson, 95-7; her opinions of him, 104-6; suggests some husbands for Fanny, 106-8; mentioned, 109-10; at Brighton with Fanny, 133, 136, 149, 339-48; with Sophy Streatfield, 132, 137-42; meets the Cumberlands, 156-8; converses with Blakeney, 159-63; at Bath with Fanny, 165-97; loses her husband, 200-3; banters Crutchley, 216-9; her opinion of Mrs. Siddons, 257; alluded to, 258, 262, 265; her fascination and Wit, 277; marries PiOzzi, 236-8. See Piozzi, Mrs. Thrale, Hester[" Queenie "], i. 75, 76, 92, 93, 101, 102, 133, 149, 157, 203, 206-8, 224, 240, 243, 284; Susan, i. 133, 240. Thurlow, Lord Chancellor, ii. 99, 104, 263. Tottenham Court, royal visit to, ii. 332; paintings at, 332-3. Toulon, siege of, iii. 73-4, 76, 78, 90. Tour du Pin, M. and Mdme. de la, iii. 335, 343, 349-50, 364. Tournai, Fanny arrives at, iii. 327. Travell, Beau, i. 76. Treves, Fanny's journey to, iii. 370-8. Tryon, Miss, ii. 304. Tucker, Dean, ii. 173. Tuileries, the, invaded, iii. 19; Bonaparte at, 224; Duchess d'Angouleme at, 294. Tunbridge, Fanny at, i. 112, 149. Turbulent, Mr. (Rev. C. de Guiffardi6re), account Of, i. 436; on Court routine, 443-4; introduces Wellbred to Fanny, ii. 16-21, 22; Worries Fanny, 24; teases Princess Augusta, 26-8; meets with a rebuff, 28-31; with the queen, 35; Mrs, Schwellenberg suspicious of, 46; annoys Fanny, 47-8; troublesome again, 54, 56-8; condemns himself, 80, 140-1; his troublesome pleasantries, 151-2, 208; rails at Fanny, 214-5; greatly altered, 222; during the king's illness, 244, 341, 400, 403. Turner, Sir G. P., i. 227. Twining, Rev. T., i. xvi. Valletort, Lord, ii. 327-9. Vandamme, General, iii. 368. "Vengeur," legend of the, iii. 143, Vernon, the Misses, i. 379, 383-7, 393, 396-8. Vesey, Mrs., a bluestocking, i. 98, 122, 277. 373 ; ii. 97. Victoire, Madame, daughter of Louis XV., iii. 36-7. Villiers, Hon. George, ii. 305, 307, 321. Vincent, Count de, iii. 351. Voltaire, George III. on, i. xxx, 316. Waldegrave, Lady Caroline, i. 340; ii, 238, 322; Lady Elizabeth, i. 340, 365; ii. 39, 230-1, 233, 235, 238, 240, 246, 252, 259, 265-6, 275, 322. Wales, Prince of (George IV.), i. 360; his good heart but suspicious conduct, 373; his mother's anxiety regarding him, 432; on bad terms with the king, ii. 10; with the Polignacs, 39; reconciled with his father, 40; With the Duke of York at Windsor, 49-51; with the queen, 61, 64; at the Hastings trial, 98; his animal spirits, 189; eyes Fanny curiously, 211; and the Regency bill, 221; at Windsor during the king's illness, 228, 235, 237, 239-41, 242-5, 263-4; goes to Kew, 266; at the play, 436; iii. 160; eulogised by Dr. Burney, 243; by the Duchess d'Angouleme, 299; his matrimonial troubles, 440-1. Wallace, Mr., attorney-general, i. 205. Waller, Edmund, ii. 204. Wallis, Miss, iii. i49. Walpole, Horace, "Evelina" attributed to, i. 79; chats with Fanny, ii. 85, 411; iii. 219. See Orford. Walsingham, Mrs., entertains Fanny, i. 256-7, 307; Lord, ii. 126. "Wanderer, The," Mme. d'Arblay's novel, i. Xlvi, lv; iii. 248-9, 255, 272-3-5. Warren, Dr., ii. 224-5, 245, 280; Lady, her tale of a dowry hunter, i. 242. Warton, Dr. Joseph, i. 123, 401-2, 422 ; ii. 32 1. Waterloo, battle of, iii, 357-68. Webb, Mr., his huge nose, i. 311. Wedderburn, Alex., see Loughborough. Wellbred (Greville), Colonel, king's equerry, introduced to Fanny, ii. 16-21; disposition, 36-8; derides Manners, 40-2, 43-4; Fanny's opinion of, 78-9; his powers of sight, 84, 139, 151-2; accompanies George III. to Kew, 268, 285, 291. Wellesley, Lady Anne, ii. 338. Wellington, Duke of, iii. 291; at Brussels, 341-2, 345, 355 at Waterloo, 360-7. Wells Cathedral, ii. 422. Wells, Mrs., actress, ii. 318, 464-8. West, Benjamin, R.A., ii. 35. Wesley, Charles, i. 344; iii. 183. Weston, Miss, i. 179-80. Weymouth, the Court at, ii. 313 Lady, i. 291 ; ii- 39, 155, 157, 162, 164, 185. See Bath, Marchioness of. Whalley, Mr. and Mrs., i. 171-5, 180. Whitworth, Lord, iii. 240. Wieland, i. 409-10, 412. Wilberforce, W., iii. 271, 442. Wilkes, John, ii. 339. William, Prince, Duke of Clarence, ii. 98, 189, 308; his partiality for champagne, 395-400; 436, 454; iii- 150, 421, 436. Williams, Anna, and " Evelina," i. 75; Johnson's account of, 95; befriended by Mrs. Montagu, 98, 258. Willis, Dr., senior, attends the king, ii. 274, 276-9, 290-1, 293, 296, 298; Dr. John, ii. 274, 278-9, 287, 291; Rev. Thos., ii. 277, 278-9, 335, 346. Wilton, ii. 417; Lord Grey de, ii. 291.'' Winchester, ii. 413-7. Windham, William, M.P., eulogises Fanny xxvi ; at the Hastings trial, ii. 102-119, 120-1, 123, 130-8, 144-9, 352-5, 357-65, 370-3, 390, 393, 438-43, 444-6, 447, 452; portrayed by Fairly, 297-8; urges that Fanny should resign, 376; judged by Burke, 460; 463; iii. 38; at the Literary Club, 44; at Burke's funeral, 125; his good breeding, 279. Windsor, Fanny at, i. )2-326, 331, 333; the Court at, 19-49, 352-66, 400-447; ii. 16-31, 35-53, 55-61, 72-81, 139, 207; ' during the king's illness, 222-64; 333, 340, 347, 373, 401; iii. 99-112, 185-7. "Witlings, The," Fanny's comedy, Macaulay's account of, xviii; praised by Arthur Murphy, 133; its fate, 145-9. Worcester, royal Visit to, ii. 109. Wurtembvirg, Prince of, iii. 115, 156. Wycherley, W, ii. 460. Wynn, Sir Watkin, ii. 291. W---, Miss, a young infidel, i. 180-4, 190-1; ii. 191. York, Archbishop Markham of, ii. 105. York, Duchess of, ii. 436, 454; Iii. 111-2, 145. York, Frederick, Duke of, mentioned, i. 401, 417; returns to England, 49-51, 59, 63; with the queen, 85; at the Hastings trial, 98; his animal spirits, 189; at Cheltenham, 190; at Windsor during the king's illness, 226, 237; his father's favourite, 241, 242, 246, 251; his wife, 436; at the siege of Dunkirk, iii. 73; commander-in-chief, 11-2. Young, Arthur, ii. 449; invites Fanny to Bradfield, 468; with the Duke de Liancourt, iii. 17-28; Mrs., ii, 449; Mary, ii. 449. Young, Profesor , iii. 176. TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH, 
9921	----	THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON. A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. Letters and Journals. Vol. II. EDITED BY ROWLAND E. PROTHERO, M.A., FORMERLY FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE, OXFORD. PREFACE The second volume of Mr. Murray's edition of Byron's 'Letters and Journals' carries the autobiographical record of the poet's life from August, 1811, to April, 1814. Between these dates were published 'Childe Harold' (Cantos I., II.), 'The Waltz', 'The Giaour', 'The Bride of Abydos', the 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte'. At the beginning of this period Byron had suddenly become the idol of society; towards its close his personal popularity almost as rapidly declined before a storm of political vituperation. Three great collections of Byron's letters, as was noted in the Preface [1] to the previous volume, are in existence. The first is contained in Moore's 'Life' (1830); the second was published in America, in FitzGreene Halleck's edition of Byron's 'Works' (1847); of the third, edited by Mr. W.E. Henley, only the first volume has yet appeared. A comparison between the letters contained in these three collections and in that of Mr. Murray, down to December, 1813, shows the following results: Moore prints 152 letters; Halleck, 192; Mr. Henley, 231. Mr. Murray's edition adds 236 letters to Moore, 196 to Halleck, and to Mr. Henley 157. It should also be noticed that the material added to Moore's 'Life' in the second and third collections consists almost entirely of letters which were already in print, and had been, for the most part, seen and rejected by the biographer. The material added in Mr. Murray's edition, on the contrary, consists mainly of letters which have never before been published, and were inaccessible to Moore when he wrote his 'Life' of Byron. These necessary comparisons suggest some further remarks. It would have been easy, not only to indicate what letters or portions of letters are new, but also to state the sources whence they are derived. But, in the circumstances, such a course, at all events for the present, is so impolitic as to be impossible. On the other hand, anxiety has been expressed as to the authority for the text which is adopted in these volumes. To satisfy this anxiety, so far as circumstances allow, the following details are given. The material contained in these two volumes consists partly of letters now for the first time printed; partly of letters already published by Moore, Dallas, and Leigh Hunt, or in such books as Galt's 'Life of Lord Byron', and the 'Memoirs of Francis Hodgson'. Speaking generally, it may be said that the text of the new matter, with the few exceptions noted below, has been prepared from the original letters, and that it has proved impossible to authenticate the text of most of the old material by any such process. The point may be treated in greater detail. Out of the 388 letters contained in these two volumes, 220 have been printed from the original letters. In these 220 are included practically the whole of the new material. Among the letters thus collated with the originals are those to Mrs. Byron (with four exceptions), all those to the Hon. Augusta Byron, to the Hanson family, to James Wedderburn Webster, and to John Murray, twelve of those to Francis Hodgson, those to the younger Rushton, William Gifford, John Cam Hobhouse, Lady Caroline Lamb, Mrs. Parker, Bernard Barton, and others. The two letters to Charles Gordon (30, 33), the three to Captain Leacroft (62, 63, 64), and the one to Ensign Long (vol. ii. p. 19, 'note'), are printed from copies only. The old material stands in a different position. Efforts have been made to discover the original letters, and sometimes with success. But it still remains true that, speaking generally, the printed text of the letters published by Moore, Dallas, Leigh Hunt, and others, has not been collated with the originals. The fact is important. Moore, who, it is believed, destroyed not only his own letters from Byron, but also many of those entrusted to him for the preparation of the 'Life', allowed himself unusual liberties as an editor. The examples of this licence given in Mr. Clayden's 'Rogers and his Contemporaries' throw suspicion on his text, even where no apparent motive exists for his suppressions. But, as Byron's letters became more bitter in tone, and his criticisms of his contemporaries more outspoken, Moore felt himself more justified in omitting passages which referred to persons who were still living in 1830. From 1816 onwards, it will be found that he has transferred passages from one letter to another, or printed two letters as one, and 'vice versâ', or made such large omissions as to shorten letters, in some instances, by a third or even a half. No collation with the originals has ever been attempted, and the garbled text which Moore printed is the only text at present available for an edition of the most important of Byron's letters. But the originals of the majority of the letters published in the 'Life', from 1816 to 1824, are in the possession or control of Mr. Murray, and in his edition they will be for the first time printed as they were written. If any passages are omitted, the omissions will be indicated. Besides the new letters contained in this volume, passages have been restored from Byron's manuscript notes ('Detached Thoughts', 1821). To these have been added Sir Walter Scott's comments, collated with the originals, and, in several instances, now for the first time published. Appendix VII. contains a collection of the attacks made upon him in the Tory press for February and March, 1814, which led him, for the moment, to resolve on abandoning his literary work. In conclusion, I wish to repeat my acknowledgment of the invaluable aid of the 'National Dictionary of Biography', both in the facts which it supplies and the sources of information which it suggests. R.E. PROTHERO. September, 1898. [Footnote 1: Also available from Project Gutenberg in text and html form.] * * * * * LIST OF LETTERS. 1811. 169. Aug. 23. To John Murray 170. Aug. 24. To James Wedderburn Webster 171. Aug. 25. To R.C. Dallas 172. Aug. 27. " " 173. Aug. 30. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 174. Aug. 30. " " " 175. Aug. 31. To James Wedderburn Webster 176. Sept. 2. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 177. Sept. 3. To Francis Hodgson 178. Sept. 4. To R.C. Dallas 179. Sept. 5. To John Murray 180. Sept. 7. To R.C. Dallas 181. Sept. 9. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 182. Sept. 9. To Francis Hodgson 183. Sept. 10. To R.C. Dallas 184. Sept. 13. To Francis Hodgson 185. Sept. 14. To John Murray 186. Sept. 15. To R.C. Dallas 187. Sept. 16. To John Murray 188. Sept. 16. To R.C. Dallas 189. Sept. 17. " " 190. Sept. 17. " " 191. Sept. 21. " " 192. Sept. 23. " " 193. Sept. 25. To Francis Hodgson 194. Sept. 26. To R.C. Dallas 195. Oct. 10. To James Wedderburn Webster 196. Oct. 10. To R.C. Dallas 197. Oct. 11. " " 198. Oct. 13. To Francis Hodgson 199. Oct. 14. To R.C. Dallas 200. Oct. 16. " " 201. Oct. 25. " " 202. Oct. 27. To Thomas Moore 203. Oct. 29. To R.C. Dallas 204. Oct. 29. To Thomas Moore 205. Oct. 30. " " 206. Oct. 31. To R.C. Dallas 207. Nov. 1. To Thomas Moore 208. Nov. 17. To Francis Hodgson 209. Dec. 4. " " 210. Dec. 6. To William Harness 211. Dec. 7. To James Wedderburn Webster 212. Dec. 8. To William Harness 213. Dec. 8. To Francis Hodgson 214. Dec. 11. To Thomas Moore 215. Dec. 12. To Francis Hodgson 216. Undated. R.C. Dallas 217. Dec. 15. To William Harness 1812. 218. Jan. 21. To Robert Rushton 219. Jan. 25. " " 220. Jan. 29. To Thomas Moore 221. Feb. 1. To Francis Hodgson 222. Feb. 4. To Samuel Rogers 223. Feb. 12. To Master John Cowell 224. Feb. 16. To Francis Hodgson 225. Feb. 21. " " 226. Feb. 25. To Lord Holland 227. March 5. To Francis Hodgson 228. March 5. To Lord Holland 229. Undated. To Thomas Moore 230. Undated. To William Bankes 231. March 25. To Thomas Moore 232. Undated. To Lady Caroline Lamb 233. April 20. To William Bankes 234. Undated. To Thomas Moore 235. May 1. To Lady Caroline Lamb 236. May 8. To Thomas Moore 237. May 20. " " 238. June 1. To Bernard Barton 239. June 25. To Lord Holland 240. June 26. To Professor Clarke 241. July 6. To Walter Scott 242. Undated. To Lady Caroline Lamb 243. Sept. 5. To John Murray 244. Sept. 10. To Lord Holland 245. Sept. 14. To John Murray 246. Sept. 22. To Lord Holland 247. Sept. 23. " " 248. Sept. 24. " " 249. Sept. 25. " " 250. Sept. 26. " " 251. Sept. 27. " " 252. Sept. 27. " " 253. Sept. 27. To John Murray 254. Sept. 28. To Lord Holland 255. Sept. 28. " " 256. Sept. 28. To William Bankes 257. Sept. 29. To Lord Holland 258. Sept. 30. " " 259. Sept. 30. " " 260. Oct. 2. " " 261. Oct. 12. To John Murray 262. Oct. 14. To Lord Holland 263. Oct. 18. To John Hanson 264. Oct. 18. To John Murray 265. Oct. 18. To Robert Rushton 266. Oct. 19. To John Murray 267. Oct. 22. To John Hanson 268. Oct. 23. To John Murray 269. Oct. 31. To John Hanson 270. Nov. 8. " " 271. Nov. 16. " " 272. Nov. 22. To John Murray 273. Dec. 26. To William Bankes 1813. 274. Jan. 8. To John Murray 275. Feb. 3. To Francis Hodgson 276. Feb. 3. To John Hanson 277. Feb. 20. To John Murray 278. Feb. 24. To Robert Rushton 279. Feb. 27. To John Hanson 280. March 1. " " 281. March 5. To ____ Corbet 282. March 6. To John Hanson 283. March 24. To Charles Hanson 284. March 25. To Samuel Rogers 285. March 26. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 286. March 29. To John Murray 287. April 15. To John Hanson 288. April 17. " " 289. April 21. To John Murray 290. May 13. " " 291. May 19. To Thomas Moore 292. May 22. To John Murray 293. May 23. " " 294. June 2. " " 295. Undated. To Thomas Moore 296. June 3. To John Hanson 297. June 6. To Francis Hodgson 298. June 8. " " 299. June 9. To John Murray 300. June 12. " " 301. June 13. " " 302. June 18. " " 303. June 18. To W. Gifford 304. June 22. To John Murray 305. June 22. To Thomas Moore 306. June 26. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 307. Undated. " " " 308. June 27. " " " 309. July 1. To John Murray 310. July 8. To Thomas Moore 311. July 13. " " 312. July 18. To John Hanson 313. July 22. To John Murray 314. July 25. To Thomas Moore 315. July 27. " " 316. July 28. " " 317. July 31 To John Murray 318. Aug. 2. To John Wilson Croker 319. Undated. To John Murray 320. Aug. 10. " " 321. Aug. 12. To James Wedderburn Webster 322. Aug. 22. To Thomas Moore 323. Aug. 26. To John Murray 324. Aug. 28. To Thomas Moore 325. Sept. 1. " " 326. Sept. 2. To James Wedderburn Webster 327. Sept. 5. To Thomas Moore 328. Sept. 8. " " 329. Sept. 9. " " 330. Sept. 15. To James Wedderburn Webster 331. Sept. 15. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 332. Sept. 15. To John Murray 333. Sept. 25. To James Wedderburn Webster 334. Sept. 27. To Sir James Mackintosh 335. Sept. 27. To Thomas Moore 336. Sept. 29. To John Murray 337. Sept. 30. To James Wedderburn Webster 338. Oct. 1. To Francis Hodgson 339. Oct. 2. To Thomas Moore 340. Oct. 3. To John Murray 341. Oct. 10. To John Hanson 342. Oct. 10. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 343. Oct. 12. To John Murray 344. Nov. 8. To the Hon. Augusta Leigh 345. Nov. 12. To John Murray 346. Nov. 12. To William Gifford 347. Nov. 12. To John Murray 348. Nov. 13. " " 349. Undated. " " 350. Nov. 13. " " 351. Nov. 14. " " 352. Nov. 15. " " 353. Nov. 17. " " 354. Nov. 20. " " 355. Nov. 22. " " 356. Nov. 23. " " 357. Nov. 24. " " 358. Nov. 27. " " 359. Nov. 28. " " 360. Nov. 29. To John Murray 361. Nov. 29. " " 362. Nov. 29 " " 363. Nov. 30. " " 364. Dec. 1. To Thomas Moore 365. Dec. 1. To Francis Hodgson 366. Dec. 2. To John Murray 367. Dec. 2. To Leigh Hunt 368. Dec. 3. To John Murray 369. Dec. 3. " " 370. Undated. " " 371. Dec. 4. " " 372. Dec. 6. " " 373. Dec. 8. To Thomas Moore 374. Dec. 11. To John Galt 375. Dec. 14. To John Murray 376. Dec. 14. To Thomas Ashe 377. Dec. 15. To Professor Clarke 378. Dec. 22. To Leigh Hunt 379. Dec. 27. To John Murray * * * * * CONTENTS V. CHILDE HAROLD, CANTOS I., II. VI. THE IDOL OF SOCIETY--THE DRURY LANE ADDRESS--SECOND SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT VII. THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS' VIII. JOURNAL: NOVEMBER, 14, 1813--APRIL 19, 1814 APPENDIX I. ARTICLES FROM 'THE MONTHLY REVIEW' " II. PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES " III. LADY CAROLINE LAMB AND BYRON " IV. LETTERS OF BERNARD BARTON " V. CORRESPONDENCE WITH WALTER SCOTT " VI. "THE GIANT AND THE DWARF" " VII. ATTACKS UPON BYRON IN THE NEWSPAPERS FOR FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1814 * * * * * CHAPTER V. AUGUST, 1811-MARCH, 1812. 'CHILDE HAROLD', CANTOS I., II. 169.--To John Murray. [1] Newstead Abbey, Notts., August 23, 1811. Sir,--A domestic calamity in the death of a near relation [2] has hitherto prevented my addressing you on the subject of this letter. My friend, Mr. Dallas, [3] has placed in your hands a manuscript poem written by me in Greece, which he tells me you do not object to publishing. But he also informed me in London that you wished to send the MS. to Mr. Gifford. [4] Now, though no one would feel more gratified by the chance of obtaining his observations on a work than myself, there is in such a proceeding a kind of petition for praise, that neither my pride--or whatever you please to call it--will admit. Mr. G. is not only the first satirist of the day, but editor of one of the principal reviews. As such, he is the last man whose censure (however eager to avoid it) I would deprecate by clandestine means. You will therefore retain the manuscript in your own care, or, if it must needs be shown, send it to another. Though not very patient of censure, I would fain obtain fairly any little praise my rhymes might deserve, at all events not by extortion, and the humble solicitations of a bandied-about MS. I am sure a little consideration will convince you it would be wrong. If you determine on publication, I have some smaller poems (never published), a few notes, and a short dissertation on the literature of the modern Greeks (written at Athens), which will come in at the end of the volume.--And, if the present poem should succeed, it is my intention, at some subsequent period, to publish some selections from my first work,--my Satire,--another nearly the same length, and a few other things, with the MS. now in your hands, in two volumes.--But of these hereafter. You will apprize me of your determination. I am, Sir, your very obedient, humble servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: For John Murray, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 334, note 1 [Footnote 1 to Letter 167].] [Footnote 2: Mrs. Byron died August I, 1811.] [Footnote 3: For R. C. Dallas, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 168, note 1. [Footnote 1 to Letter 87]] [Footnote 4: For Gifford, the editor of the 'Quarterly Review', see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 198, note 2. [Footnote 4 of Letter 102]] * * * * * 170.--To James Wedderburn Webster. [1] Newstead Abbey, August 24th, 1811. MY DEAR W.,--Conceiving your wrath to be somewhat evaporated, and your Dignity recovered from the _Hysterics_ into which my innocent note from London had thrown it, I should feel happy to be informed how you have determined on the disposal of this accursed Coach, [2] which has driven us out of our Good humour and Good manners to a complete Standstill, from which I begin to apprehend that I am to lose altogether your valuable correspondence. Your angry letter arrived at a moment, to which I shall not allude further, as my happiness is best consulted in forgetting it. [3] You have perhaps heard also of the death of poor Matthews, whom you recollect to have met at Newstead. He was one whom his friends will find it difficult to replace, nor will Cambridge ever see his equal. I trust you are on the point of adding to your relatives instead of losing them, and of _friends_ a man of fortune will always have a plentiful stock--at his Table. I dare say now you are gay, and connubial, and popular, so that in the next parliament we shall be having you a County Member. But beware your Tutor, for I am sure he Germanized that sanguinary letter; you must not write such another to your Constituents; for myself (as the mildest of men) I shall say no more about it. Seriously, _mio Caro W._, if you can spare a moment from Matrimony, I shall be glad to hear that you have recovered from the pucker into which this _Vis_ (one would think it had been a _Sulky_) has thrown you; you know I wish you well, and if I have not inflicted my society upon you according to your own Invitation, it is only because I am not a social animal, and should feel sadly at a loss amongst Countesses and Maids of Honour, particularly being just come from a far Country, where Ladies are neither carved for, or fought for, or danced after, or mixed at all (publicly) with the Men-folks, so that you must make allowances for my natural _diffidence_ and two years travel. But (God and yourself willing) I shall certes pay my promised visit, as I shall be in town, if Parliament meets, in October. In the mean time let me hear from you (without a privy Council), and believe me in sober sadness, Yours very sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: James Wedderburn Webster (1789-1840), grandson of Sir A. Wedderburn, Bart., whose third son, David, assumed the additional name of Webster, was the author of 'Waterloo, and other Poems' (1816), and 'A Genealogical Account of the Wedderburn Family' (privately printed, 1819). He was with Byron, possibly at Cambridge, certainly at Athens in 1810. He married, in 1810, Lady Frances Caroline Annesley, daughter of Arthur, first Earl of Mountnorris and eighth Viscount Valencia. He was knighted in 1822. Byron, in 1813, lent him £1000. Lady Frances died in 1837, and her husband in 1840. Moore ('Memoirs, Journals, etc.', vol. iii. p. 112) mentions dining with Webster at Paris in 1820. "He told me," writes Moore, "that, one day, travelling from Newstead to town with Lord Byron in his vis-a-vis, the latter kept his pistols beside him, and continued silent for hours, with the most ferocious expression possible on his countenance. 'For God's sake, my dear B.,' said W----at last, 'what are you thinking of? Are you about to commit murder? or what other dreadful thing are you meditating?' To which Byron answered that he always had a sort of presentiment that his own life would be attacked some time or other; and that this was the reason of his always going armed, as it was also the subject of his thoughts at that moment." Moore also adds ('ibid'., p. 292), "W. W. owes Lord Byron, he says, £1000, and does not seem to have the slightest intention of paying him." Lady Frances was the lady to whom Byron seriously devoted himself in 1813-4. Subsequently she was practically separated from her husband, and Byron, in 1823, endeavoured to reconcile them. Moore ('Memoirs, Journals, etc'., vol. ii. p. 249) writes, "To the Devizes ball in the evening; Lady Frances W. there; introduced to her, and had much conversation, chiefly about our friend Lord B. Several of those beautiful things, published (if I remember right) with the 'Bride', were addressed to her. She must have been very pretty when she had more of the freshness of youth, though she is still but five or six and twenty; but she looks faded already" (1819). In the Court of Common Pleas, February 16, 1816, the libel action of 'Webster v. Baldwin' was heard. The plaintiff obtained £2000 in damages for a libel charging Lady Frances and the Duke of Wellington with adultery.] [Footnote 2: On his return to London in July, 1811, Byron ordered a 'vis-a-vis' to be built by Goodall. This he exchanged for a carriage belonging to Webster, who, within a few weeks, resold the 'vis-a-vis' to Byron. The two following letters from Byron to Webster explain the transaction:-- "Reddish's Hotel, 29th July, 1811. "MY DEAR WEBSTER,--As this eternal 'vis-a-vis' seems to sit heavy on your soul, I beg leave to apprize you that I have arranged with Goodall: you are to give me the promised Wheels, and the lining, with 'the Box at Brighton,' and I am to pay the stipulated sum. I am obliged to you for your favourable opinion, and trust that the happiness you talk so much of will be stationary, and not take those freaks to which the felicity of common mortals is subject. I do very sincerely wish you well, and am so convinced of the justice of your matrimonial arguments, that I shall follow your example as soon as I can get a sufficient price for my coronet. In the mean time I should be happy to drill for my new situation under your auspices; but business, inexorable business, keeps me here. Your letters are forwarded. If I can serve you in any way, command me. I will endeavour to fulfil your requests as awkwardly as another. I shall pay you a visit, perhaps, in the autumn. Believe me, dear W., Yours unintelligibly, B." "Reddish's Hotel, July 31st, 1811. MY DEAR W. W.,--I always understood that the 'lining' was to accompany the 'carriage'; if not, the 'carriage' may accompany the 'lining', for I will have neither the one nor the other. In short, to prevent squabbling, this is my determination, so decide;--if you leave it to my 'feelings' (as you say) they are very strongly in favour of the said lining. Two hundred guineas for a carriage with ancient lining!!! Rags and rubbish! You must write another pamphlet, my dear W., before; but pray do not waste your time and eloquence in expostulation, because it will do neither of us any good, but decide--content or 'not' content. The best thing you can do for the Tutor you speak of will be to send him in your Vis (with the lining) to 'the U--Niversity of Göttingen.' How can you suppose (now that my own Bear is dead) that I have any situation for a German genius of this kind, till I get another, or some children? I am infinitely obliged by your invitations, but I can't pay so high for a second-hand chaise to make my friends a visit. The coronet will not 'grace' the 'pretty Vis,' till your tattered lining ceases to 'dis'grace it. Pray favour me with an answer, as we must finish the affair one way or another immediately,--before next week. Believe me, yours truly, BYRON." "Byron," says Webster, in a note, "was more than strict about trifles."] [Footnote 3: The death of Mrs. Byron, August 1, 1811.] * * * * * 171.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, August 25, 1811. Being fortunately enabled to frank, I do not spare scribbling, having sent you packets within the last ten days. I am passing solitary, and do not expect my agent to accompany me to Rochdale [1] before the second week in September; a delay which perplexes me, as I wish the business over, and should at present welcome employment. I sent you exordiums, annotations, etc., for the forthcoming quarto, if quarto it is to be: and I also have written to Mr. Murray my objection to sending the MS. to Juvenal, [2] but allowing him to show it to any others of the calling. Hobhouse [3] is amongst the types already: so, between his prose and my verse, the world will be decently drawn upon for its paper-money and patience. Besides all this, my 'Imitation of Horace' [4] is gasping for the press at Cawthorn's, but I am hesitating as to the how and the when, the single or the double, the present or the future. You must excuse all this, for I have nothing to say in this lone mansion but of myself, and yet I would willingly talk or think of aught else. What are you about to do? Do you think of perching in Cumberland, as you opined when I was in the metropolis? If you mean to retire, why not occupy Miss Milbanke's "Cottage of Friendship," late the seat of Cobbler Joe, [5] for whose death you and others are answerable? His "Orphan Daughter" (pathetic Pratt!) will, certes, turn out a shoemaking Sappho. Have you no remorse? I think that elegant address to Miss Dallas should be inscribed on the cenotaph which Miss Milbanke means to stitch to his memory. The newspapers seem much disappointed at his Majesty's not dying, or doing something better. [6] I presume it is almost over. If parliament meets in October, I shall be in town to attend. I am also invited to Cambridge for the beginning of that month, but am first to jaunt to Rochdale. Now Matthews [7] is gone, and Hobhouse in Ireland, I have hardly one left there to bid me welcome, except my inviter. At three-and-twenty I am left alone, and what more can we be at seventy? It is true I am young enough to begin again, but with whom can I retrace the laughing part of life? It is odd how few of my friends have died a quiet death,--I mean, in their beds. But a quiet life is of more consequence. Yet one loves squabbling and jostling better than yawning. This 'last word' admonishes me to relieve you from Yours very truly, etc. [Footnote 1: For Byron's Rochdale property, which was supposed to contain a quantity of coal, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 78, 'note' 2. [Footnote 2 of Letter 34]] [Footnote 2: Gifford.] [Footnote 3: For John Cam Hobhouse, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 163, 'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 86]] [Footnote 4: The poem remained unpublished till after Byron's death. (See 'note', p. 23, and 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. pp. 385-450.) ] [Footnote 5: "In Seaham churchyard, without any memorial," says Mr. Surtees, "rest the remains of Joseph Blacket, an unfortunate child of genius, whose last days were soothed by the generous attention of the family of Milbanke." 'Hist. of Durham', vol. i. p. 272. (See also 'Letters', vol. i. p. 314, 'note' 2 [Footnote 2 of Letter 154]. For Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron, see p. 118, 'note' 4.) [Footnote 1 of Letter 7]] [Footnote 6: On July 28, 1811, Lord Grenville wrote to Lord Auckland, "It is, I believe, certainly true that the King has taken for the last three days scarcely any food at all, and that, unless a change takes place very shortly in that respect, he cannot survive many days" ('Auckland Correspondence', vol. iv. p. 366). It was, however, the mind, and not the physical strength that failed. "The King, I should suppose," wrote Lord Buckinghamshire, on August 13, "is not likely to die soon, but I fear his mental recovery is hardly to be expected." ('ibid'., vol. iv. p. 367). George III. never, except for brief intervals, recovered his reason.] [Footnote 7: For C. S. Matthews, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 150, 'note' 3. [Footnote 2 of Letter 84]] * * * * * 172.--To R. C. Dallas. [1] Newstead Abbey, Aug. 27, 1811. I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I loved Wingfield [2] better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability--ah! you did not know Matthews! 'Childe Harold' may wait and welcome--books are never the worse for delay in the publication. So you have got our heir, George Anson Byron, [3] and his sister, with you. You may say what you please, but you are one of the 'murderers' of Blackett, and yet you won't allow Harry White's genius. [4] Setting aside his bigotry, he surely ranks next Chatterton. It is astonishing how little he was known; and at Cambridge no one thought or heard of such a man till his death rendered all notice useless. For my own part, I should have been most proud of such an acquaintance: his very prejudices were respectable. There is a sucking epic poet at Granta, a Mr. Townsend, [5] 'protégé' of the late Cumberland. Did you ever hear of him and his 'Armageddon'? I think his plan (the man I don't know) borders on the sublime: though, perhaps, the anticipation of the "Last Day" (according to you Nazarenes) is a little too daring: at least, it looks like telling the Lord what he is to do, and might remind an ill-natured person of the line, "And fools rush in where angels fear to tread." But I don't mean to cavil, only other folks will, and he may bring all the lambs of Jacob Behmen about his ears. However, I hope he will bring it to a conclusion, though Milton is in his way. Write to me--I dote on gossip--and make a bow to Ju--, and shake George by the hand for me; but, take care, for he has a sad sea paw. P.S.--I would ask George here, but I don't know how to amuse him--all my horses were sold when I left England, and I have not had time to replace them. Nevertheless, if he will come down and shoot in September, he will be very welcome: but he must bring a gun, for I gave away all mine to Ali Pacha, and other Turks. Dogs, a keeper, and plenty of game, with a very large manor, I have--a lake, a boat, houseroom, and _neat wines_. [Footnote 1: Dallas, writing to Byron, August 18, 1811, had said, "I have been reading the 'Remains' of Kirke White, and find that you have to answer for misleading me. He does not, in my opinion, merit the high praise you have bestowed upon him." Writing again, August 26, he objected to the 'note' on Matthews in 'Childe Harold': "In your note, as it stands, it strikes me that the eulogy on Matthews is a 'little' at the expense of Wingfield and others whom you 'have' commemorated. I should think it quite enough to say that his Powers and Attainments were above all praise, without expressly admitting them to be above that of a Muse who soars high in the praise of others."] [Footnote 2: For Wingfield, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 180, 'note' 1. [Footnote 2 of Letter 92]] [Footnote: For George Anson Byron, afterwards Lord Byron, and his sister Julia, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 188, 'note' 1.[Footnote 1 of Letter 96]] [Footnote 4: For H. K. White, see 'Letters', vol. i, p. 336, 'note' 2. [Footnote 3 of Letter 167]] [Footnote 5: The Rev. George Townsend (1788-1857) of Trinity College, Cambridge, published 'Poems' in 1810, and eight books of his 'Armageddon' in 1815. The remaining four books were never published. Townsend became a Canon of Durham in 1825, and held the stall till his death in 1857. Richard Cumberland, dramatist, novelist, and essayist (1732-1811), the "Sir Fretful Plagiary" of 'The Critic', announced the forthcoming poem in the 'London Review'; but, as Townsend says, in the Preface to 'Armageddon', praised him "too abundantly and prematurely." "My talents," he adds, "were neither equal to my own ambition, nor his zeal to serve me." (See 'Hints from Horace', lines 191-212, and Byron's 'note' to line 191, 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 403.)] * * * * * 173.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [1] Newstead Abbey, August 30th, 1811. My Dear Augusta,--The embarrassments you mention in your last letter I never heard of before, but that disease is epidemic in our family. Neither have I been apprised of any of the changes at which you hint, indeed how should I? On the borders of the Black Sea, we heard only of the Russians. So you have much to tell, and all will be novelty. I don't know what Scrope Davies [2] meant by telling you I liked Children, I abominate the sight of them so much that I have always had the greatest respect for the character of Herod. But, as my house here is large enough for us all, we should go on very well, and I need not tell you that I long to see _you_. I really do not perceive any thing so formidable in a Journey hither of two days, but all this comes of Matrimony, you have a Nurse and all the etceteras of a family. Well, I must marry to repair the ravages of myself and prodigal ancestry, but if I am ever so unfortunate as to be presented with an Heir, instead of a _Rattle_ he shall be provided with a _Gag_. I shall perhaps be able to accept D's invitation to Cambridge, but I fear my stay in Lancashire will be prolonged, I proceed there in the 2d week in Septr to arrange my coal concerns, & then if I can't persuade some wealthy dowdy to ennoble the dirty puddle of her mercantile Blood,--why--I shall leave England and all it's clouds for the East again; I am very sick of it already. Joe [3] has been getting well of a disease that would have killed a troop of horse; he promises to bear away the palm of longevity from old Parr. As you won't come, you will write; I long to hear all those unutterable things, being utterly unable to guess at any of them, unless they concern _your_ relative the Thane of Carlisle, [4] though I had great hopes we had done with him. I have little to add that you do not already know, and being quite alone, have no great variety of incident to gossip with; I am but rarely pestered with visiters, and the few I have I get rid of as soon as possible. I will now take leave of you in the Jargon of 1794. "Health & _Fraternity!"_ Yours always, B. [Footnote 1: For the Hon. Augusta Leigh, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 18, 'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 7] Byron's letter is in answer to the following from his half-sister: "6 Mile Bottom, Aug. 27th. "My Dearest Brother,--Your letter was stupidly sent to Town to me on Sunday, from whence I arrived at home yesterday; consequently I have not received it so soon as I ought to have done. I feel so very happy to have the pleasure of hearing from you that I will not delay a moment answering it, altho' I am in all the delights of 'unpacking', and afraid of being too late for the Post. "I have been a fortnight in Town, and went up on my 'eldest' little girl's account. She had been very unwell for some time, and I could not feel happy till I had better advice than this neighbourhood affords. She is, thank Heaven! much better, and I hope in a fair way to be quite 'herself' again. Mr. Davies flattered me by saying she was exactly the sort of child 'you' would delight in. I am determined not to say another word in her praise for fear you should accuse me of partiality and expect too much. The youngest ('little' Augusta) is just 6 months old, and has no particular merit at present but a very sweet placid temper. "Oh! that I could immediately set out to Newstead and shew them to you. I can't tell you 'half' the happiness it would give me to see it and 'you'; but, my dearest B., it is a long journey and serious undertaking all things considered. Mr. Davies writes me word you promise to make him a visit bye and bye; 'pray do', you can then so easily come here. I have set my heart upon it. Consider how very long it is since I've seen you. "I have indeed 'much' to tell you; but it is more easily 'said' than 'written'. Probably you have heard of many changes in our situation since you left England; in a 'pecuniary' point of view it is materially altered for the worse; perhaps in other respects better. Col. Leigh has been in Dorsetshire and Sussex during my stay in Town. I expect him at home towards the end of this week, and hope to make him acquainted with you ere long. "I have not time to write half I have to say, for my letter must go; but I prefer writing in a hurry to not writing at all. You can't think how much I feel for your griefs and losses, or how much and constantly I have thought of you lately. I began a letter to you in Town, but destroyed it, from the fear of appearing troublesome. There are times, I know, when one cannot write with any degree of comfort or satisfaction. I intend to do so again shortly, so I hope yon won't think me a bore. "Remember me most kindly to Old Joe. I rejoice to hear of his health and prosperity. Your letter (some parts of it at least) made me laugh. I am so very glad to hear you have sufficiently overcome your prejudices against the 'fair sex' to have determined upon marrying; but I shall be most anxious that my future 'Belle Soeur' should have more attractions than merely money, though to be sure 'that' is somewhat necessary. I have not another moment, dearest B., so forgive me if I write again very soon, and believe me, "Your most affec'tn Sister, A. L. "Do write if you can."] [Footnote 2: For Scrope Berdmore Davies, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 165, 'note' 2. [Footnote 2 of Letter 86] The following story is told of him by Byron, in a passage of his 'Detached Thoughts' (Ravenna, 1821): "One night Scrope Davies at a Gaming house (before I was of age), being tipsy as he usually was at the Midnight hour, and having lost monies, was in vain intreated by his friends, one degree less intoxicated than himself, to come or go home. In despair, he was left to himself and to the demons of the dice-box. "Next day, being visited about two of the Clock, by some friends just risen with a severe headache and empty pockets (who had left him losing at four or five in the morning), he was found in a sound sleep, without a night-cap, and not particularly encumbered with bed-cloathes: a Chamber-pot stood by his bed-side, brim-full of---'Bank Notes!', all won, God knows how, and crammed, Scrope knew not where; but THERE they were, all good legitimate notes, and to the amount of some thousand pounds."] [Footnote 3: For Joe Murray, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 21, 'note' 3. [Footnote 4 of Letter 7]] [Footnote 4: For the Earl of Carlisle, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 36, 'note' 2. [Footnote 3 of Letter 13]] * * * * * 174.-To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. Newstead Abbey, Aug'st 30th, 1811. MY DEAR AUGUSTA,--I wrote to you yesterday, and as you will not be very sorry to hear from me again, considering our long separation, I shall fill up this sheet before I go to bed. I have heard something of a quarrel between your spouse and the Prince, I don't wish to pry into family secrets or to hear anything more of the matter, but I can't help regretting on your account that so long an intimacy should be dissolved at the very moment when your husband might have derived some advantage from his R. H.'s friendship. However, at all events, and in all Situations, you have a brother in me, and a home here. I am led into this train of thinking by a part of your letter which hints at pecuniary losses. I know how delicate one ought to be on such subjects, but you are probably the only being on Earth _now_ interested in my welfare, certainly the only relative, and I should be very ungrateful if I did not feel the obligation. You must excuse my being a little cynical, knowing how my _temper_ was tried in my Non-age; the manner in which I was brought up must necessarily have broken a meek Spirit, or rendered a fiery one ungovernable; the effect it has had on mine I need not state. However, buffeting with the World has brought me a little to reason, and two years travel in distant and barbarous countries has accustomed me to bear privations, and consequently to laugh at many things which would have made me angry before. But I am wandering--in short I only want to assure you that I love you, and that you must not think I am indifferent, because I don't shew my affection in the usual way. Pray can't you contrive to pay me a visit between this and Xmas? or shall I carry you down with me from Cambridge, supposing it practicable for me to come? You will do what you please, without our interfering with each other; the premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting,--but I can't feel the comfort of this till I marry. In short it would be the most amiable matrimonial mansion, and that is another great inducement to my plan,--my wife and I shall be so happy,--one in each Wing. If this description won't make you come, I can't tell what will, you must please yourself. Good night, I have to walk half a mile to my Bed chamber. Yours ever, BYRON. * * * * * 175.--To James Wedderburn Webster. Newstead Abbey, Notts., Aug'st 31st, 1811. MY DEAR W.,--I send you back your friend's letter, and, though I don't agree with his Canons of Criticism, they are not the worse for that. My friend Hodgson [1] is not much honoured by the comparison to the 'Pursuits of L.', which is notoriously, as far as the 'poetry' goes, the worst written of its kind; the World has been long but of one opinion, viz. that it's sole merit lies in the Notes, which are indisputably excellent. Had Hodgson's "Alterative" been placed with the 'Baviad' the compliment had been higher to both; for, surely, the 'Baviad' is as much superior to H.'s poem, as I do firmly believe H.'s poem to be to the 'Pursuits of Literature'. Your correspondent talks for talking's sake when he says "Lady J. Grey" is neither "Epic, dramatic, or legendary." Who ever said it was "epic" or "dramatic"? he might as well say his letter was neither "epic or dramatic;" the poem makes no pretensions to either character. "Legendary" it certainly is, but what has that to do with its merits? All stories of that kind founded on facts are in a certain degree legendary, but they may be well or ill written without the smallest alteration in that respect. When Mr. Hare prattles about the "Economy," etc., he sinks sadly;--all such expressions are the mere cant of a schoolboy hovering round the Skirts of Criticism. Hodgson's tale is one of the best efforts of his Muse, and Mr. H.'s approbation must be of more consequence, before any body will reduce it to a "Scale," or be much affected by "the place" he "assigns" to the productions of a man like Hodgson. But I have said more than I intended and only beg you never to allow yourself to be imposed upon by such "common place" as the 6th form letter you sent me. Judge for yourself. I know the Mr. Bankes [2] you mention though not to that "extreme" you seem to think, but I am flattered by his "boasting" on such a subject (as you say), for I never thought him likely to "boast" of any thing which was not his own. I am not "'melancholish'"--pray what "'folk'" dare to say any such thing? I must contradict them by being 'merry' at their expence. I shall invade you in the course of the winter, out of envy, as Lucifer looked at Adam and Eve. Pray be as happy as you can, and write to me that I may catch the infection. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Webster had sent Byron a letter from Naylor Hare, in which the latter criticized Hodgson's poems, 'Lady Jane Grey, a Tale; and other Poems (1809)' (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 195, 'note 1' [Footnote 1 of Letter 102]). In the volume (pp. 56-77) was printed his "Gentle Alterative prepared for the Reviewers," which Hare apparently compared to 'The Pursuits of Literature (1794-97)', by T. J. Mathias. To this criticism Byron objected, saying that the "Alterative" might be more fairly compared to Gifford's 'Baviad' (1794).] [Footnote 2: For William John Bankes, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 120, 'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 67]] * * * * * 176.---To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [1] Newstead Abbey, Sept. 2d, 1811. My dear Augusta,--I wrote you a vastly dutiful letter since my answer to your second epistle, and I now write you a third, for which you have to thank Silence and Solitude. Mr. Hanson [2] comes hither on the 14th, and I am going to Rochdale on business, but that need not prevent you from coming here, you will find Joe, and the house and the cellar and all therein very much at your Service. As to Lady B., when I discover one rich enough to suit me and foolish enough to have me, I will give her leave to make me miserable if she can. Money is the magnet; as to Women, one is as well as another, the older the better, we have then a chance of getting her to Heaven. So, your Spouse does not like brats better than myself; now those who beget them have no right to find fault, but _I_ may rail with great propriety. My "Satire!"--I am glad it made you laugh for Somebody told me in Greece that you was angry, and I was sorry, as you were perhaps the only person whom I did _not_ want to _make angry_. But how you will make _me laugh_ I don't know, for it is a vastly _serious_ subject to me I assure you; therefore take care, or I shall hitch _you_ into the next Edition to make up our family party. Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what _I_ am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way;--all this comes of Authorship, but now I am in for it, and shall be at war with Grubstreet, till I find some better amusement. You will write to me your Intentions and may almost depend on my being at Cambridge in October. You say you mean to be etc. in the _Autumn_; I should be glad to know what you call this present Season, it would be Winter in every other Country which I have seen. If we meet in October we will travel in my _Vis_. and can have a cage for the children and a cart for the Nurse. Or perhaps we can forward them by the Canal. Do let us know all about it, your "_bright thought_" is a little clouded, like the Moon in this preposterous climate. Good even, Child. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: The following is Mrs. Leigh's letter, to which the above is an answer: "6 Mile Bottom, Saturday, 31 Aug. "My dearest brother,--I hope you don't dislike receiving letters so much as writing them, for you would in that case pronounce me a great torment. But as I prepared you in my last for its being followed very soon by another, I hope you will have reconciled your mind to the impending toil. I really wrote in such a hurry that I did not say half I wished; but I did not like to delay telling you how happy you made me by writing. I have been dwelling constantly upon the idea of going to Newstead ever since I had your wish to see me there. At last a _bright thought_ struck me. "We intend, I believe, to go to Yorkshire in the autumn. Now, if I could contrive to pay you a visit _en passant_, it would be delightful, and give me the greatest pleasure. But I fear you would be obliged to make up your mind to receive my _Brats_ too. As for my husband, he prefers the _outside of the Mail_ to _the inside of a Post-Chaise_, particularly when partly occupied by Nurse and Children, so that we always travel _independent_ of each other. "So much for this, my dear B. I can only say I should _much_ like to see you at Newstead. The former I hope I shall at all events, as you must not be shabby, but come to Cambridge as you promised. Are you staying at Newstead now for any time? I saw George Byron in Town for one day, and he promised to call or write again, but has not done either, so I begin to think he has gone back to Lisbon. I think it is impossible not to like him; he is so good-natured and natural. We talked much of you; he told me you were grown very thin; as you don't complain, I hope you are not the worse for being so, and I remember you used to wish it. Don't you think _it a great shame_ that George B. is not promoted? I wish there was any possibility of assisting him about it; but all I know who _could_ do any good with you _present_ Ministers, I don't for many reasons like to ask. Perhaps there may be a change bye and bye. "Fred Howard is married to Miss _Lambton_. I saw them in town in their way to Castle Howard. I hope he will be happy with all my heart; his kindness and friendship to us last year, when Col. _Leigh_ was placed in one of the most perplexing situations that I think anybody could be in, is never to be forgotten. I think he used to be a greater favourite with you than some others of his family. _Mrs. F.H._ is very pretty, _very_ young (not quite 17), and appears gentle and pleasing, which is all one can expect [to discover from] a very slight acquaintance. "Now, my dearest Byron, pray let me hear from you. I shall be daily expecting to hear of a _Lady Byron_, since you have confided to me your determination of marrying, in which I really hope you are serious, being convinced such an event would contribute greatly to your happiness, PROVIDED _her Ladyship_ was the sort of person that would suit you; and you won't be angry with me for saying that it is not EVERY _one_ who would; therefore don't be too _precipitate_. You will _wish me hanged_, I fear, for boring you so unmercifully, so God bless you, my dearest Bro.; and, when you have time, do write. Are you going to amuse us with any more _Satires_? Oh, _English Bards!_ I shall make you laugh (when we meet) about it. "Ever your most affectionate Sis. and Friend, "A. L."] [Footnote 2: For John Hanson, see Letters, vol. i. p. 8, note 2. [Footnote 1 of Letter 3]] * * * * * 177.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 3, 1811. MY DEAR HODGSON,--I will have nothing to do with your immortality; [1] we are miserable enough in this life, without the absurdity of speculating upon another. If men are to live, why die at all? and if they die, why disturb the sweet and sound sleep that "knows no waking"? "Post Mortem nihil est, ipsaque Mors nihil ... quæris quo jaceas post obitum loco? Quo _non_ Nata jacent." [2] As to revealed religion, Christ came to save men; but a good Pagan will go to heaven, and a bad Nazarene to hell; "Argal" (I argue like the gravedigger) why are not all men Christians? or why are any? If mankind may be saved who never heard or dreamt, at Timbuctoo, Otaheite, Terra Incognita, etc., of Galilee and its Prophet, Christianity is of no avail: if they cannot be saved without, why are not all orthodox? It is a little hard to send a man preaching to Judaea, and leave the rest of the world--Negers and what not--_dark_ as their complexions, without a ray of light for so many years to lead them on high; and who will believe that God will damn men for not knowing what they were never taught? I hope I am sincere; I was so at least on a bed of sickness in a far-distant country, when I had neither friend, nor comforter, nor hope, to sustain me. I looked to death as a relief from pain, without a wish for an after-life, but a confidence that the God who punishes in this existence had left that last asylum for the weary. [Greek: Hon ho theòs agapáei apothnáeskei néos.] [3] I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other. Talk of Galileeism? Show me the effects--are you better, wiser, kinder by your precepts? I will bring you ten Mussulmans shall shame you in all goodwill towards men, prayer to God, and duty to their neighbours. And is there a Talapoin, [4] or a Bonze, who is not superior to a fox-hunting curate? But I will say no more on this endless theme; let me live, well if possible, and die without pain. The rest is with God, who assuredly, had He _come_ or _sent_, would have made Himself manifest to nations, and intelligible to all. I shall rejoice to see you. My present intention is to accept Scrope Davies's invitation; and then, if you accept mine, we shall meet _here_ and _there_. Did you know poor Matthews? I shall miss him much at Cambridge. [Footnote 1: The religious discussion arose out of the opening stanzas of 'Childe Harold', Canto II., which Hodgson was helping to correct for the press. Byron's opinions were not newly formed, as is shown by the following letter to Ensign Long (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 73, 'note 2' [Footnote 2 of Letter 31]), which reached the Editor too late for insertion in its proper place: Southwell, Ap: 16th, 1807. "Your Epistle, my dear Standard Bearer, augurs not much in favour of your new life, particularly the latter part, where you say your happiest Days are over. I most sincerely hope not. The past has certainly in some parts been pleasant, but I trust will be equalled, if not exceeded by the future. You hope it is not so with me. "To be plain with Regard to myself. Nature stampt me in the Die of Indifference. I consider myself as destined never to be happy, although in some instances fortunate. I am an isolated Being on the Earth, without a Tie to attach me to life, except a few School-fellows, and a 'score of females.' Let me but 'hear my fame on the winds' and the song of the Bards in my Norman house, I ask no more and don't expect so much. Of Religion I know nothing, at least in its 'favour'. We have 'fools' in all sects and Impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one understands, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for Inspiration, and style themselves 'Evangelicals?' However enough on this subject. Your 'piety' will be 'aghast,' and I wish for no proselytes. This much I will venture to affirm, that all the virtues and pious 'Deeds' performed on Earth can never entitle a man to Everlasting happiness in a future State; nor on the other hand can such a Scene as a Seat of eternal punishment exist, it is incompatible with the benign attributes of a Deity to suppose so. "I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but, as you will see, not infected with the mania. I have lived a 'Deist', what I shall die I know not; however, come what may, 'ridens moriar'. "Nothing detains me here but the publication, which will not be complete till June. About 20 of the present pieces will be cut out, and a number of new things added. Amongst them a complete Episode of Nisus and Euryalus from Virgil, some Odes from Anacreon, and several original Odes, the whole will cover 170 pages. My last production has been a poem in imitation of Ossian, which I shall not publish, having enough without it. Many of the present poems are enlarged and altered, in short you will behold an 'Old friend with a new face.' Were I to publish all I have written in Rhyme, I should fill a decent Quarto; however, half is quite enough at present. You shall have 'all' when we meet. "I grow thin daily; since the commencement of my System I have lost 23 lbs. in my weight '(i.e.)' 1 st. and 9 lbs. When I began I weighed 14 st. 6 lbs., and on Tuesday I found myself reduced to 12 st. 11 lb. What sayest thou, Ned? do you not envy? I shall still proceed till I arrive at 12 st. and then stop, at least if I am not too fat, but shall always live temperately and take much exercise. "If there is a possibility we shall meet in June. I shall be in Town, before I proceed to Granta, and if the 'mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the mountain.' I don't mean, by comparing you to the mountain, to insinuate anything on the Subject of your Size. Xerxes, it is said, formed Mount Athos into the Shape of a Woman; had he lived now, and taken a peep at Chatham, he would have spared himself the trouble and made it unnecessary by finding a 'Hill' ready cut to his wishes. "Adieu, dear Mont Blanc, or rather 'Mont Rouge'; don't, for Heaven's sake, turn Volcanic, at least roll the Lava of your indignation in any other Channel, and not consume Your's ever, "BYRON. "_Write Immediately_." Byron lived to modify these opinions, as is shown by the following passages from his 'Detached Thoughts': "If I were to live over again, I do not know what I would change in my life, unless it were 'for--not to have lived at all'. All history and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years? and those have little of good but their ending. "Of the immortality of the soul it appears to me that there can be little doubt, if we attend for a moment to the action of mind; it is in perpetual activity. I used to doubt of it, but reflection has taught me better. It acts also so very independent of body--in dreams, for instance;--incoherently and 'madly', I grant you, but still it is mind, and much more mind than when we are awake. Now that this should not act 'separately', as well as jointly, who can pronounce? The stoics, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, call the present state 'a soul which drags a carcass,'--a heavy chain, to be sure; but all chains being material may be shaken off. How far our future life will be 'individual', or, rather, how far it will at all resemble our 'present' existence, is another question; but that the mind is eternal seems as probable as that the body is not so. Of course I here venture upon the question without recurring to Revelation, which, however, is at least as rational a solution of it as any other. A 'material' resurrection seems strange, and even absurd, except for purposes of punishment; and all punishment which is to 'revenge' rather than 'correct' must be 'morally wrong'; and 'when the world is at an end', what moral or warning purpose 'can' eternal tortures answer? Human passions have probably disfigured the divine doctrines here;--but the whole thing is inscrutable." "It is useless to tell me 'not' to 'reason', but to 'believe'. You might as well tell a man not to wake, but 'sleep'. And then to 'bully' with torments, and all that! I cannot help thinking that the 'menace' of hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains." "Man is born 'passionate' of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of good in his main-spring of mind. But, God help us all! it is at present a sad jar of atoms."] [Footnote 2: The lines are quoted from Seneca's 'Troades' (act ii. et seqq.): "Post mortem nihil est, ipsaque mors nihil. ........ ........ Quæris, quo jaceas post obitum loco? Quo non nata jacent."] [Footnote 3: The sentiment is found in one of the [Greek: monóstichoi] of Menander ('Menandri et Philemonis reliquiæ,' edidit Augustus Meineke, p. 48). It is thus quoted by Stobæus ('Florilegium', cxx. 8) as an iambic: [Greek: Hon oi theoì philoûsin apothnáeskei néos.] In the 'Comicorum Græcorum Sententiæ, id est' [Greek: gnômai](p. 219, ed, Henricus Stephanus, MDLXIX.) it is quoted as a leonine verse: [Greek: Hon gàr philei theòs apothnáeskei néos.] Plautus gives it thus ('Bacchides', iv. 7): "Quem di diligunt adolescens moritur."] [Footnote 4: The word is said to be illegible, and the conclusion of the letter to be lost ('Memoir of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. p. 196). Only the latter statement is correct. The word is perfectly legible. Talapoin (Yule's 'Glossary of Anglo-Indian Words, sub voce') is the name used by the Portuguese, and after them by the French writers, and by English travellers of the seventeenth century (Hakluyt, ed. 1807, vol. ii. p. 93; and Purchas, ed. 1645, vol. ii. p. 1747), to designate the Buddhist monks of Ceylon and the Indo-Chinese countries. Pallegoix ('Description du Royaume Thai ou Siam', vol. ii. p. 23) says, "Les Européens les ont appelés 'talapoins', probablement du nom de l'éventail qu'ils tiennent à la main, lequel s'appelle 'talapat', qui signifie 'feuille de palmier'." Possibly Byron knew the word through Voltaire ('Dial.' xxii., 'André des Couches à Siam'); "'A. des C.': Combien avez-vous de soldats? 'Croutef.': Quatre-vingt mille, fort médiocrement payés. 'A. des C.': Et de talapoins? 'Cr.': Cent vingt-mille, tous fainéans et trés riches," etc.] * * * * * 178.--To R.C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, September 4th, 1811. My dear Sir,--I am at present anxious, as Cawthorn seems to wish it, to have a small edition of the 'Hints from Horace' [1] published immediately, but the Latin (the most difficult poem in the language) renders it necessary to be very particular not only in correcting the proofs with Horace open, but in adapting the parallel passages of the imitation in such places to the original as may enable the reader not to lose sight of the allusion. I don't know whether I ought to ask you to do this, but I am too far off to do it for myself; and if you condescend to my school-boy erudition, you will oblige me by setting this thing going, though you will smile at the importance I attach to it. Believe me, ever yours, BYRON. [Footnote 1: 'Hints from Horace', written during Byron's second stay at Athens, March 11-14, 1811, and subsequently added to, had been placed in the hands of Cawthorn, the publisher of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', for publication. Byron afterwards changed his mind, and the poem remained unpublished till after his death. The following letter from Cawthorn shows that considerable progress had been made with the printing of the poem, and that Byron also contemplated another edition of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. The advice of his friends led him to abandon both plans; but his letter to Cawthorn, printed below, is evidence that in September he was still at work on 'Hints from Horace': "24, Cockspur Street, Aug. 22'd, 1811. "My Lord,--Mr. Green the Amanuensis has finished the Latin of the Horace, and I shall be happy to do with it as your Lordship may direct, either to forward it to Newstead, or keep it in Town. Would it not be better to print a small edition seperate ('sic'), and afterwards print the two satires together? This I leave to your Lordship's consideration. Four Sheets of the 'Travels' are already printed, and one of the plates (Albanian Solain) is executed. I sent it Capt. H[obhouse] yesterday to Cork, to see if it meets his approbation. The work is printed in quarto, for which I may be in some measure indebted to your Lordship, as I urged it so strongly. I shall be extremely sorry if Capt. H. is not pleased with it, but I think he will. Your Lordship's goodness will excuse me for saying how much the very sudden and melancholy events that have lately transpired--I regret--Capt. Hobhouse has written me since the decease of Mr. Mathews. I am told Capt. H. is very much affected at it. I have received some drawings of costumes from him, which I am to deliver to your Lordship. Is it likely we shall see your Lordship in Town soon? "I have the honour to be your Lordship's "Most respectful and greatly obliged Servt., "JAMES CAWTHORN. "If a small edition is printed of 'Horace' for the first" [words erased] "that, and I think in all probability the 'E. Bards' will want reprinting about March next, when both could be done together. Do not think me too sanguine." A few days later, Byron writes to Cawthom as follows: "Newstead Abbey, September 4th, 1811. "More notes for the 'Hints'! You mistake me much by thinking me inattentive to this publication. If I had a friend willing and able to correct the press, it should be out with my good will immediately. Pray attend to annexing additional notes in their proper places, and let them be added immediately. "Yours, etc., "BYRON."] * * * * * 179.--To John Murray. [1] Newstead Abbey, Notts., Sept. 5, 1811. SIR,--The time seems to be past when (as Dr. Johnson said) a man was certain to "hear the truth from his bookseller," for you have paid me so many compliments, that, if I was not the veriest scribbler on earth, I should feel affronted. As I accept your compliments, it is but fair I should give equal or greater credit to your objections, the more so as I believe them to be well founded. With regard to the political and metaphysical parts, I am afraid I can alter nothing; but I have high authority for my Errors in that point, for even the 'Æneid' was a _political_ poem, and written for a _political_ purpose; and as to my unlucky opinions on Subjects of more importance, I am too sincere in them for recantation. On Spanish affairs I have said what I saw, and every day confirms me in that notion of the result formed on the Spot; and I rather think honest John Bull is beginning to come round again to that Sobriety which Massena's retreat [2] had begun to reel from its centre--the usual consequence of _un_usual success. So you perceive I cannot alter the Sentiments; but if there are any alterations in the structure of the versification you would wish to be made, I will tag rhymes and turn stanzas as much as you please. As for the "_Orthodox_," let us hope they will buy, on purpose to abuse--you will forgive the one, if they will do the other. You are aware that any thing from my pen must expect no quarter, on many accounts; and as the present publication is of a nature very different from the former, we must not be sanguine. You have given me no answer to my question--tell me fairly, did you show the MS. to some of your corps? [3] I sent an introductory stanza to Mr. Dallas, that it might be forwarded to you; the poem else will open too abruptly. The Stanzas had better be numbered in Roman characters, there is a disquisition on the literature of the modern Greeks, and some smaller poems to come in at the close. These are now at Newstead, but will be sent in time. If Mr. D. has lost the Stanza and note annexed to it, write, and I will send it myself.--You tell me to add two cantos, but I am about to visit my _Collieries_ in Lancashire on the 15th instant, which is so _unpoetical_ an employment that I need say no more. I am, sir, your most obedient, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: The following is Murray's letter, to which Byron replies: "London, Sept. 4, 1811, Wednesday. "MY LORD,--An absence of some days, passed in the country, has prevented me from writing earlier in answer to your obliging letter. I have now, however, the pleasure of sending under a separate cover, the first proof sheet of your Lordship's 'Poem', which is so good as to be entitled to all your care to render perfect. Besides its general merit, there are parts, which, I am tempted to believe, far excel anything that your Lordship has hitherto published, and it were therefore grievous indeed, if you do not condescend to bestow upon it all the improvement of which your Lordship's mind is so capable; every correction already made is valuable, and this circumstance renders me more confident in soliciting for it your further attention. "There are some expressions, too, concerning Spain and Portugal, which, however just, and particularly so at the time they were conceived, yet as they do not harmonize with the general feeling, would so greatly interfere with the popularity which the poem is, in other respects, so certainly calculated to excite, that, in compassion to your publisher, who does not presume to reason upon the subject, otherwise than as a mere matter of business, I hope your Lordship's goodness will induce you to obviate them, and, with them, perhaps, some religious feelings which may deprive me of some customers amongst the 'Orthodox'. "Could I flatter myself that these suggestions were not obtrusive, I would hazard another, in an earnest solicitation that your Lordship would add the two promised Cantos, and complete the 'Poem'. It were cruel indeed not to perfect a work which contains so much that is excellent; your Fame, my Lord, demands it; you are raising a Monument that will outlive your present feelings, and it should therefore be so constructed as to excite no other associations than those of respect and admiration for your Lordship's Character and Genius. "I trust that you will pardon the warmth of this address when I assure your Lordship that it arises, in the greatest degree, in a sincere regard for your lasting reputation, with, however, some view to that portion of it, which must attend the Publisher of so beautiful a Poem, as your Lordship is capable of rendering "'The Romaunt of Childe Harold'. "I have the honour to be, My Lord, "Your Lordship's "Obedient and faithful servant, "JOHN MURRAY."] [Footnote 2: On the night of March 5, 1811, Massena retreated from his camp at Santarem, whence he had watched Wellington at Torres Vedras, and on April 4 he crossed the Coa into Spain.] [Footnote 3: Murray had shown the MS. to Gifford for advice as to its publication. Byron seems to have resented this on the ground that it might look like an attempt to propitiate the 'Quarterly Review'.] * * * * * 180.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, September 7, 1811. As Gifford has been ever my "Magnus Apollo," any approbation, such as you mention, would, of course, be more welcome than "all Bocara's vaunted gold", than all "the gems of Samarcand." [1] But I am sorry the MS. was shown to him in such a manner, and had written to Murray to say as much, before I was aware that it was too late. Your objection to the expression "central line" I can only meet by saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial. The other errors you mention, I must correct in the progress through the press. I feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be continued, but to do that I must return to Greece and Asia; I must have a warm sun, a blue sky; I cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a sea-coal fire. I had projected an additional canto when I was in the Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again, it would go on; but under existing circumstances and 'sensations', I have neither harp, "heart, nor voice" to proceed, I feel that 'you are all right' as to the metaphysical part; but I also feel that I am sincere, and that if I am only to write "ad captandum vulgus," I might as well edit a magazine at once, or spin canzonettas for Vauxhall. [2] My work must make its way as well as it can; I know I have every thing against me, angry poets and prejudices; but if the poem is a 'poem', it will surmount these obstacles, and if 'not', it deserves its fate. Your friend's Ode [3] I have read--it is no great compliment to pronounce it far superior to Smythe's on the same subject, or to the merits of the new Chancellor. It is evidently the production of a man of taste, and a poet, though I should not be willing to say it was fully equal to what might be expected from the author of "'Horae Ionicae'." [4] I thank you for it, and that is more than I would do for any other Ode of the present day. I am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed, I have need of them. My whole life has been at variance with propriety, not to say decency; my circumstances are become involved; my friends are dead or estranged, and my existence a dreary void. In Matthews I have lost my "guide, philosopher, and friend;" in Wingfield a friend only, but one whom I could have wished to have preceded in his long journey. Matthews was indeed an extraordinary man; it has not entered into the heart of a stranger to conceive such a man: there was the stamp of immortality in all he said or did;--and now what is he? When we see such men pass away and be no more--men, who seem created to display what the Creator 'could make' his creatures, gathered into corruption, before the maturity of minds that might have been the pride of posterity, what are we to conclude? For my own part, I am bewildered. To me he was much, to Hobhouse every thing. My poor Hobhouse doted on Matthews. For me, I did not love quite so much as I honoured him; I was indeed so sensible of his infinite superiority, that though I did not envy, I stood in awe of it. He, Hobhouse, Davies, and myself, formed a coterie of our own at Cambridge and elsewhere. Davies is a wit and man of the world, and feels as much as such a character can do; but not as Hobhouse has been affected. Davies, who is not a scribbler, has always beaten us all in the war of words, and by his colloquial powers at once delighted and kept us in order. Hobhouse and myself always had the worst of it with the other two; and even Matthews yielded to the dashing vivacity of Scrope Davies. But I am talking to you of men, or boys, as if you cared about such beings. I expect mine agent down on the 14th to proceed to Lancashire, where I hear from all quarters that I have a very valuable property in coals, etc. I then intend to accept an invitation to Cambridge in October, and shall, perhaps, run up to town. I have four invitations--to Wales, Dorset, Cambridge, and Chester; but I must be a man of business. I am quite alone, as these long letters sadly testify. I perceive, by referring to your letter, that the Ode is from the author; make my thanks acceptable to him. His muse is worthy a nobler theme. You will write as usual, I hope. I wish you good evening, and am, etc. [Footnote 1: The lines, which are parodied in Byron's unpublished 'Barmaid', are from Sir W. Jones's translation of a song by Hafiz ('Works, vol. x. p. 251): "Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight, And bid these arms thy neck infold; That rosy cheek, that lily hand, Would give thy poet more delight, Than all Bocara's vaunted gold, Than all the gems of Samarcand."] [Footnote 2: Vauxhall Gardens (1661 to July 25, 1859) were still not only a popular but a fashionable resort, though fireworks and masquerades threatened to expel musicians and vocalists. At this time the principal singers were Charles Dignum (1765-1827); Maria Theresa Bland (1769-1838), a famous ballad-singer; Rosoman Mountain, 'née' Wilkinson (1768-1841), whose husband was a violinist and leader at Vauxhall.--('The London Pleasure Gardens', pp. 286-326.)] [Footnote 3: On June 29, 1811, the Duke of Gloucester was installed as Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. The Installation Ode, written by W. Smyth, of Peterhouse (1765-1849), Professor of Modern History at Cambridge, and author of 'English Lyrics' (1797) and other works, was set to music by Hague, and performed in the Senate House, Braham and Ashe, it is said, particularly distinguishing themselves among the performers. The Ode is given in the 'Annual Register' for 1811, pp. 593-596. The rival Ode, which Byron preferred, was by Walter Rodwell Wright.] [Footnote 4: For Walter Rodwell Wright, author of 'Horæ Ionicæ' (1809), see Letters, vol. i. p. 336, 'note' 1. [Footnote 2 of Letter 167]] * * * * * 181.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Six Mile Bottom, Newmarket.] Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9th, 1811. My Dear Augusta,--My Rochdale affairs are understood to be settled as far as the Law can settle them, and indeed I am told that the most valuable part is that which was never disputed; but I have never reaped any advantage from them, and God knows if I ever shall. Mr. H., my agent, is a good man and able, but the most dilatory in the world. I expect him down on the 14th to accompany me to Rochdale, where something will be decided as to selling or working the Collieries. I am Lord of the Manor (a most extensive one), and they want to enclose, which cannot be done without me; but I go there in the worst humour possible and am afraid I shall do or say something not very conciliatory. In short all my affairs are going on as badly as possible, and I have no hopes or plans to better them as I long ago pledged myself never to sell Newstead, which I mean to hold in defiance of the Devil and Man. I am quite alone and never see strangers without being sick, but I am nevertheless on good terms with my neighbours, for I neither ride or shoot or move over my Garden walls, but I fence and box and swim and run a good deal to keep me in exercise and get me to sleep. Poor Murray is ill again, and one of my Greek servants is ill too, and my valet has got a pestilent cough, so that we are in a peck of troubles; my family Surgeon sent an Emetic this morning for _one_ of them, I did not very well know _which_, but I swore _Somebody_ should take it, so after a deal of discussion the Greek swallowed it with tears in his eyes, and by the blessing of it, and the _Virgin_ whom he invoked to assist _it_ and _him_, I suppose he'll be well tomorrow, if not, _another_ shall have the _next_. So your Spouse likes children, _that_ is lucky as he will have to bring them up; for my part (since I lost my Newfoundland dog,) I like nobody except his successor a Dutch Mastiff and three land Tortoises brought with me from Greece. I thank you for your letters and am always glad to hear from you, but if you won't come here before Xmas, I very much fear we shall not meet _here_ at all, for I shall be off somewhere or other very soon out of this land of Paper credit (or rather no credit at all, for every body seems on the high road to Bankruptcy), and if I quit it again I shall not be back in a hurry. However, I shall endeavour to see you somewhere, and make my bow with decorum before I return to the Ottomans, I believe I shall turn Mussulman in the end. You ask after my health; I am in tolerable leanness, which I promote by exercise and abstinence. I don't know that I have acquired any thing by my travels but a smattering of two languages and a habit of chewing Tobacco. [1] Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: To appease the pangs of hunger, and keep down his fat, Byron was in the habit of chewing gum-mastic and tobacco. For the same reason, at a later date, he took opium. The mistake which he makes in his letter to Hodgson (December 8,1811), "I do nothing but eschew tobacco," is repeated in 'Don Juan' (Canto XII. stanza xiiii.)-- "In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve, As that abominable tittle-tattle, Which is the cud eschewed by human cattle."] * * * * * 182.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9, 1811. Dear Hodgson,--I have been a good deal in your company lately, for I have been reading 'Juvenal' and 'Lady Jane', [1] etc., for the first time since my return. The Tenth Sat'e has always been my favourite, as I suppose indeed of everybody's. It is the finest recipe for making one miserable with his life, and content to walk out of it, in any language. I should think it might be redde with great effect to a man dying without much pain, in preference to all the stuff that ever was said or sung in churches. But you are a deacon, and I say no more. Ah! you will marry and become lethargic, like poor Hal of Harrow, [2] who yawns at 10 o' nights, and orders caudle annually. I wrote an answer to yours fully some days ago, and, being quite alone and able to frank, you must excuse this subsequent epistle, which will cost nothing but the trouble of deciphering. I am expectant of agents to accompany me to Rochdale, a journey not to be anticipated with pleasure; though I feel very restless where I am, and shall probably ship off for Greece again; what nonsense it is to talk of Soul, when a cloud makes it _melancholy_ and wine makes it _mad_. Collet of Staines, your "most kind host," has lost that girl you saw of his. She grew to five feet eleven, and might have been God knows how high if it had pleased Him to renew the race of Anak; but she fell by a ptisick, a fresh proof of the folly of begetting children. You knew Matthews. Was he not an intellectual giant? I knew few better or more intimately, and none who deserved more admiration in point of ability. Scrope Davies has been here on his way to Harrowgate; I am his guest in October at King's, where we will "drink deep ere we depart." "Won't you, won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?" [3] We did not amalgamate properly at Harrow; it was somehow rainy, and then a wife makes such a damp; but in a seat of celibacy I will have revenge. Don't you hate helping first, and losing the wings of chicken? And then, conversation is always flabby. Oh! in the East women are in their proper sphere, and one has--no conversation at all. My house here is a delightful matrimonial mansion. When I wed, my spouse and I will be so happy!--one in each wing. I presume you are in motion from your Herefordshire station, [4] and Drury must be gone back to Gerund Grinding. I have not been at Cambridge since I took my M.A. degree in 1808. _Eheu fugaces!_ I look forward to meeting you and Scrope there with the feelings of other times. Capt. Hobhouse is at Enniscorthy in Juverna. I wish he was in England. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 195, 'note' I. [Footnote 1 of Letter 102]] [Footnote 2: For Henry Drury, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 41, 'note' 2. [Footnote 1 of Letter 14]] [Footnote 3: Byron may possibly allude to "Matthew Mug," a character in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt', said to be intended for the Duke of Newcastle. In act ii. sc. 2 of the comedy occurs this passage-- "'Heel-Tap'. Now, neighbours, have a good caution that this Master Mug does not cajole you; he is a damn'd palavering fellow." But there is no passage in the play which exactly corresponds with Byron's quotation.] [Footnote 4: Hodgson was staying with his uncle, the Rev. Richard Coke, of Lower Moor, Herefordshire.] * * * * * 183.--To R.C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 10, 1811. Dear Sir,--I rather think in one of the opening stanzas of 'Childe Harold' there is this line: 'Tis said at times the sullen tear would start. Now, a line or two after, I have a repetition of the epithet "_sullen_ reverie;" so (if it be so) let us have "speechless reverie," or "silent reverie;" but, at all events, do away the recurrence. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 184.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, September 13, 1811. My Dear Hodgson,--I thank you for your song, or, rather, your two songs,--your new song on love, and your _old song_ on _religion_. [1] I admire the _first_ sincerely, and in turn call upon you to _admire_ the following on Anacreon Moore's new operatic farce, [2] or farcical opera--call it which you will: Good plays are scarce, So Moore writes _Farce_; Is Fame like his so brittle? We knew before That "_Little's" Moore_, But now _'tis Moore_ that's _Little_. I won't dispute with you on the Arcana of your new calling; they are Bagatelles like the King of Poland's rosary. One remark, and I have done; the basis of your religion is _injustice_; the _Son_ of _God_, the _pure_, the _immaculate_, the _innocent_, is sacrificed for the _Guilty_. This proves _His_ heroism; but no more does away _man's_ guilt than a schoolboy's volunteering to be flogged for another would exculpate the dunce from negligence, or preserve him from the Rod. You degrade the Creator, in the first place, by making Him a begetter of children; and in the next you convert Him into a Tyrant over an immaculate and injured Being, who is sent into existence to suffer death for the benefit of some millions of Scoundrels, who, after all, seem as likely to be damned as ever. As to miracles, I agree with Hume that it is more probable men should _lie_ or be _deceived_, than that things out of the course of Nature should so happen. Mahomet wrought miracles, Brothers [3] the prophet had _proselytes_, and so would Breslaw [4] the conjuror, had he lived in the time of Tiberius. Besides I trust that God is not a _Jew_, but the God of all Mankind; and as you allow that a virtuous Gentile may be saved, you do away the necessity of being a Jew or a Christian. I do not believe in any revealed religion, because no religion is revealed: and if it pleases the Church to damn me for not allowing a _nonentity_, I throw myself on the mercy of the "_Great First Cause, least understood_," who must do what is most proper; though I conceive He never made anything to be tortured in another life, whatever it may in this. I will neither read _pro_ nor _con_. God would have made His will known without books, considering how very few could read them when Jesus of Nazareth lived, had it been His pleasure to ratify any peculiar mode of worship. As to your immortality, if people are to live, why die? And our carcases, which are to rise again, are they worth raising? I hope, if mine is, that I shall have a better _pair of legs_ than I have moved on these two-and-twenty years, or I shall be sadly behind in the squeeze into Paradise. Did you ever read "Malthus on Population"? If he be right, war and pestilence are our best friends, to save us from being eaten alive, in this "best of all possible Worlds." [5] I will write, read, and think no more; indeed, I do not wish to shock your prejudices by saying all I do think. Let us make the most of life, and leave dreams to Emanuel Swedenborg. Now to dreams of another genus--Poesies. I like your song much; but I will say no more, for fear you should think I wanted to scratch you into approbation of my past, present, or future acrostics. I shall not be at Cambridge before the middle of October; but, when I go, I should certes like to see you there before you are dubbed a deacon. Write to me, and I will rejoin. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: The lines in which Hodgson answered Byron's letter on his religious opinions are quoted in the 'Memoir of the Rev. F. Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 199, 200.] [Footnote 2: Moore's 'M.P., or The Bluestocking', was played at the Lyceum, September 9, 1811, but was soon withdrawn.] [Footnote 3: Richard Brothers (1757-1824) believed that, in 1795, he was to be revealed as Prince of the Hebrews and ruler of the world. In that year he was arrested, and confined first as a criminal lunatic, afterwards in a private asylum, where he remained till 1806. A portrait of "Richard Brothers, Prince of the Hebrews," was engraved, April, 1795, by William Sharp, with the following inscription: "Fully believing this to be the Man whom God has appointed, I engrave this likeness. William Sharp."] [Footnote 4: See 'Breslaw's Last Legacy; or, the Magical Companion'. Including the various exhibitions of those wonderful Artists, Breslaw, Sieur Comus, Jonas, etc. (1784).] [Footnote 5: 'Candide, ou l'Optimisms' (chapitre xxx.): "et Pangloss disait quelquefois à Candide; Tous les événements sont enchainés dans le meilleur des mondes possibles," etc. Hodgson replies (September 18, 1811): "Your last letter has unfeignedly grieved me. Believing, as I do from my heart, that you would be better and happier by thoroughly examining the evidences for Christianity, how can I hear you say you will not read any book on the subject, without being pained? But God bless you under all circumstances. I will say no more. Only do not talk of 'shocking my prejudices,' or of 'rushing to see me 'before' I am a Deacon.' I wish to see you at all times; and as to our different opinions, we can easily keep them to ourselves." The next day he writes again: "Let me make one other effort. You mentioned an opinion of Hume's about miracles. For God's sake,--hear me, Byron, for God's sake--examine Paley's answer to that opinion; examine the whole of Paley's 'Evidences'. The two volumes may be read carefully in less than a week. Let me for the last time by our friendship, implore you to read them."] * * * * * 185.--To John Murray. [1] Newstead Abbey, Notts., Sept. 14, 1811. Sir,--Since your former letter, Mr. Dallas informs me that the MS. has been submitted to the perusal of Mr. Gifford, most contrary to my wishes, as Mr. D. could have explained, and as my own letter to you did, in fact, explain, with my motives for objecting to such a proceeding. Some late domestic events, of which you are probably aware, prevented my letter from being sent before; indeed, I hardly conceived you would have so hastily thrust my productions into the hands of a Stranger, who could be as little pleased by receiving them, as their author is at their being offered, in such a manner, and to such a Man. My address, when I leave Newstead, will be to "Rochdale, Lancashire;" but I have not yet fixed the day of departure, and I will apprise you when ready to set off. You have placed me in a very ridiculous situation, but it is past, and nothing more is to be said on the subject. You hinted to me that you wished some alterations to be made; if they have nothing to do with politics or religion, I will make them with great readiness. I am, Sir, etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: As soon as Byron came to town, he was a frequent visitor at 32, Fleet Street, while the sheets of 'Childe Harold' were passing through the press. "Fresh from the fencing rooms of Angelo and Jackson, he used to amuse himself by renewing his practice of 'Carte et Tierce', with his walking-cane directed against the bookshelves, while Murray was reading passages from the poem with occasional ejaculations of admiration, on which Byron would say, 'You think that a good idea, do you, Murray?' Then he would fence and lunge with his walking-stick at some special book which he had picked out on the shelves before him. As Murray afterwards said, 'I was often very glad to get rid of him!'" (Smiles's 'Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 207).] * * * * * 186.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 15, 1811. My dear Sir,--My agent will not he here for at least a week, and even afterwards my letters will be forwarded to Rochdale. I am sorry that Murray should _groan_ on my account, tho' _that_ is better than the anticipation of applause, of which men and books are generally disappointed. The notes I sent are _merely matter_ to be divided, arranged, and published for _notes_ hereafter, in proper places; at present I am too much occupied with earthly cares to waste time or trouble upon rhyme, or its modern indispensables, annotations. Pray let me hear from you, when at leisure. I have written to abuse Murray for showing the MS. to Mr. G., who must certainly think it was done by my wish, though you know the contrary.--Believe me, Yours ever, B-- * * * * * 187.--To John Murray. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811. DEAR SIR,--I return the proof, which I should wish to be shown to Mr. Dallas, who understands typographical arrangements much better than I can pretend to do. The printer may place the notes in his _own way_, or any _way_, so that they are out of _my way_; I care nothing about types or margins. If you have any communication to make, I shall be here at least a week or ten days longer. I am, Sir, etc., etc., BYRON. * * * * * 188--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 16, 1811. DEAR SIR,--I send you a 'motto': "L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais, ni les fatigues." "Le Cosmopolite." [1] If not too long, I think it will suit the book. The passage is from a little French volume, a great favourite with me, which I picked up in the Archipelago. I don't think it is well known in England; Monbron is the author; but it is a work sixty years old. Good morning! I won't take up your time. Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Fougeret de Monbron, born at Péronne, served in the 'Gardes du Corps', but abandoned the sword for the pen, and published 'Henriade Travestie' (1745); 'Préservatif Centre l'Anglomanie' (1787); and 'Le Cosmopolite' (1750). His novels, 'Margot la Ravaudeuse, Thérlsé Philosophe', and others, appeared under the name of Fougeret. He died in 1761. In that year was published in London an edition of 'Le Cosmopolite, ou le Citoyen du Monde', par Mr. de Monbron, with the motto, "Patria est ubicunque est bene" (Cic. 5, Tusc. 37). Byron's quotation is the opening paragraph of the book. The author, who had travelled in England, returns to France a complete "Jacques Rôt-de-Bif." He then visits Holland, the Low Countries, Constantinople, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and England a second time. He finds that the charm has vanished, and that the English are no better than their neighbours. It is a cynical little book, abounding in such sayings as. "Make acquaintances, not friends; intimacy breeds disgust;" "The best fruit of travelling is the justification of instinctive dislikes." Monbron, like Byron, ridicules the traveller's passion for collecting broken statues and antiques.] * * * * * 189.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 17, 1811. I can easily excuse your not writing, as you have, I hope, something better to do, and you must pardon my frequent invasions on your attention, because I have at this moment nothing to interpose between you and my epistles. I cannot settle to any thing, and my days pass, with the exception of bodily exercise to some extent, with uniform indolence, and idle insipidity. I have been expecting, and still expect, my agent, when I shall have enough to occupy my reflections in business of no very pleasant aspect. Before my journey to Rochdale, you shall have due notice where to address me--I believe at the post-office of that township. From Murray I received a second proof of the same pages, which I requested him to show you, that any thing which may have escaped my observation may be detected before the printer lays the corner-stone of an _errata_ column. I am now not quite alone, having an old acquaintance and school-fellow [1] with me, so _old_, indeed, that we have nothing _new_ to say on any subject, and yawn at each other in a sort of _quiet inquietude_. I hear nothing from Cawthorn, or Captain Hobhouse; and _their quarto_--Lord have mercy on mankind! We come on like Cerberus with our triple publications. [2] As for _myself_, by _myself_, I must be satisfied with a comparison to _Janus_. I am not at all pleased with Murray for showing the MS.; and I am certain Gifford must see it in the same light that I do. His praise is nothing to the purpose: what could he say? He could not spit in the face of one who had praised him in every possible way. I must own that I wish to have the impression removed from his mind, that I had any concern in such a paltry transaction. The more I think, the more it disquiets me; so I will say no more about it. It is bad enough to be a scribbler, without having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or deprecate censure. It is anticipating, it is begging, kneeling, adulating,--the devil! the devil! the devil! and all without my wish, and contrary to my express desire. I wish Murray had been tied to _Payne's_ neck when he jumped into the Paddington Canal, [3] and so tell him,--_that_ is the proper receptacle for publishers. You have thought of settling in the country, why not try Notts.? I think there are places which would suit you in all points, and then you are nearer the metropolis. But of this anon. I am, yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: John Claridge. (See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 267, 'note' 2.) [Footnote 4 of Letter 136]] [Footnote 2: i. e. 'Childe Harold', 'Hints from Horace', and 'Travels in Albania.'] [Footnote 3: Mr. Payne, of the firm of Payne and Mackinlay, the publishers of Hodgson's 'Juvenal', committed suicide by drowning himself in the Paddington Canal. Byron, in a note to 'Hints from Horace', line 657, thus applies the incident: "A literary friend of mine, walking out one lovely evening last summer, on the eleventh bridge of the Paddington canal, was alarmed by the cry of 'one in jeopardy:' he rushed along, collected a body of Irish haymakers (supping on buttermilk in an adjacent paddock), procured three rakes, one eel spear and a landing-net, and at last ('horresco referens') pulled out--his own publisher. The unfortunate man was gone for ever, and so was a large quarto wherewith he had taken the leap, which proved, on inquiry, to have been Mr. Southey's last work. Its 'alacrity of sinking' was so great, that it has never since been heard of; though some maintain that it is at this moment concealed at Alderman Birch's pastry-premises, Cornhill. Be this as it may, the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of ''Felo de Bibliopolâ'' against a quarto unknown,' and circumstantial evidence being since strong against the 'Curse of Kehama' (of which the above words are an exact description), it will be tried by its peers next session, in Grub Street--Arthur, Alfred, Davideis, Richard Coeur de Lion, Exodus, Exodiad, Epigoniad, Calvary, Fall of Cambria, Siege of Acre, Don Roderick, and Tom Thumb the Great, are the names of the twelve jurors. The judges are Pye, Bowles, and the bell-man of St. Sepulchre's." * * * * * 190.--To R.C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 17, 1811. Dear Sir,--I have just discovered some pages of observations on the modern Greeks, written at Athens by me, under the title of 'Noctes Atticæ'. They will do to _cut up_ into notes, and to be _cut up_ afterwards, which is all that notes are generally good for. They were written at Athens, as you will see by the date. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 191.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept, 21, 1811. I have shown my respect for your suggestions by adopting them; but I have made many alterations in the first proof, over and above; as, for example: Oh Thou, in _Hellas_ deem'd of heavenly birth, etc., etc. Since _shamed full oft_ by _later lyres_ on earth, Mine, etc. Yet there _I've wandered_ by the vaunted rill; and so on. So I have got rid of Dr. Lowth and "drunk" to boot, and very glad I am to say so. I have also sullenised the line as heretofore, and in short have been quite conformable. Pray write; you shall hear when I remove to Lancashire. I have brought you and my friend Juvenal Hodgson upon my back, on the score of revelation. You are fervent, but he is quite _glowing_; and if he take half the pains to save his own soul, which he volunteers to redeem mine, great will be his reward hereafter. I honour and thank you both, but am convinced by neither. Now for notes. Besides those I have sent, I shall send the observations on the Edinburgh Reviewer's remarks on the modern Greek, an Albanian song in the Albanian (_not Greek_) language, specimens of modern Greek from their New Testament, a comedy of Goldoni's translated, _one scene_, a prospectus of a friend's book, and perhaps a song or two, _all_ in Romaic, besides their Pater Noster; so there will be enough, if not too much, with what I have already sent. Have you received the "Noctes Atticæ"? I sent also an annotation on Portugal. Hobhouse is also forthcoming. [1] [Footnote 1: That is, with his 'Travels in Albania', in part of which Byron and his Greek servant, Demetrius, were assisting him with notes and other material.] * * * * * 192.--TO R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 23, 1811. _Lisboa_ [1] is the Portuguese word, consequently the very best. Ulissipont is pedantic; and as I have _Hellas_ and _Eros_ not long before, there would be something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wish to avoid, since I shall have a perilous quantity of _modern_ Greek in my notes, as specimens of the tongue; therefore Lisboa may keep its place. You are right about the _Hints_; they must not precede the _Romaunt_; but Cawthorn will be savage if they don't; however, keep _them_ back, and _him_ in _good humour_, if we can, but do not let him publish. I have adopted, I believe, most of your suggestions, but "Lisboa" will be an exception to prove the rule. I have sent a quantity of notes, and shall continue; but pray let them be copied; no devil can read my hand. By the by, I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the "Good Night." [2] I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and _Argus_ we know to be a fable. The _Cosmopolite_ was an acquisition abroad. I do not believe it is to be found in England. It is an amusing little volume, and full of French flippancy. I read, though I do not speak the language. I _will_ be angry with Murray. It was a bookselling, back-shop, Paternoster-row, paltry proceeding; and if the experiment had turned out as it deserved, I would have raised all Fleet Street, and borrowed the giant's staff from St. Dunstan's church, [3] to immolate the betrayer of trust. I have written to him as he never was written to before by an author, I'll be sworn, and I hope you will amplify my wrath, till it has an effect upon him. You tell me always you have much to write about. Write it, but let us drop metaphysics;--on that point we shall never agree. I am dull and drowsy, as usual. I do nothing, and even that nothing fatigues me. Adieu. [Footnote 1: See 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xvi., and Byron's 'note'.] [Footnote 2: See 'Childe Harold', Canto I. The "Good Night" is placed between stanzas xiii. and xiv. "And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands."] [Footnote 3: St. Dunstan's in the West, before its rebuilding by Shaw (1831-33), was one of the oldest churches in London. The clock, which projected over the street, and had two wooden figures of wild men who struck the hours with their clubs, was set up in 1671. Unless there was a similar clock before this date, as is not improbable, Scott is wrong in 'The Fortunes of Nigel', where he makes Moniplies stand "astonished as old Adam and Eve ply their ding-dong." The figures, the removal of which, it is said, brought tears to the eyes of Charles Lamb, were bought by the Marquis of Hertford to adorn his villa in Regent's Park, still called St. Dunstan's. Murray's shop at 32, Fleet Street, stood opposite the church, the yard of which was surrounded with stationers' shops, where many famous books of the seventeenth century were published.] * * * * * 193.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 25, 1811. MY DEAR HODGSON,--I fear that before the latest of October or the first of November, I shall hardly be able to make Cambridge. My everlasting agent puts off his coming like the accomplishment of a prophecy. However, finding me growing serious he hath promised to be here on Thursday, and about Monday we shall remove to Rochdale. I have only to give discharges to the tenantry here (it seems the poor creatures must be raised, though I wish it was not necessary), and arrange the receipt of sums, and the liquidation of some debts, and I shall be ready to enter upon new subjects of vexation. I intend to visit you in Granta, and hope to prevail on you to accompany me here or there or anywhere. I am plucking up my spirits, and have begun to gather my little sensual comforts together. Lucy is extracted from Warwickshire; some very bad faces have been warned off the premises, and more promising substituted in their stead; the partridges are plentiful, hares fairish, pheasants not quite so good, and the Girls on the Manor * * * * Just as I had formed a tolerable establishment my travels commenced, and on my return I find all to do over again; my former flock were all scattered; some married, not before it was needful. As I am a great disciplinarian, I have just issued an edict for the abolition of caps; no hair to be cut on any pretext; stays permitted, but not too low before; full uniform always in the evening; Lucinda to be commander--'vice' the present, about to be wedded ('mem'. she is 35 with a flat face and a squeaking voice), of all the makers and unmakers of beds in the household. My tortoises (all Athenians), my hedgehog, my mastiff and the other live Greek, are all purely. The tortoises lay eggs, and I have hired a hen to hatch them. I am writing notes for 'my' quarto (Murray would have it a 'quarto'), and Hobhouse is writing text for 'his' quarto; if you call on Murray or Cawthorn you will hear news of either. I have attacked De Pauw, [1] Thornton, [1] Lord Elgin, [2] Spain, Portugal, the 'Edinburgh Review', [3] travellers, Painters, Antiquarians, and others, so you see what a dish of Sour Crout Controversy I shall prepare for myself. It would not answer for me to give way, now; as I was forced into bitterness at the beginning, I will go through to the last. 'Væ Victis'! If I fall, I shall fall gloriously, fighting against a host. 'Felicissima Notte a Voss. Signoria,' B. [Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto II. note D, part ii.] [Footnote 2: 'Ibid'., note A.] [Footnote 3: 'Ibid'., note D, part iii.] * * * * * 194.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Sept. 26, 1811. MY DEAR SIR,-In a stanza towards the end of canto 1st, there is in the concluding line, Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings. I have altered it as follows: Full from the heart of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. If you will point out the stanzas on Cintra [1] which you wish recast, I will send you mine answer. Be good enough to address your letters here, and they will either be forwarded or saved till my return. My agent comes tomorrow, and we shall set out immediately. The press must not proceed of course without my seeing the proofs, as I have much to do. Pray, do you think any alterations should be made in the stanzas on Vathek? [2] I should be sorry to make any improper allusion, as I merely wish to adduce an example of wasted wealth, and the reflection which arose in surveying the most desolate mansion in the most beautiful spot I ever beheld. Pray keep Cawthorn back; he was not to begin till November, and even that will be two months too soon. I am so sorry my hand is unintelligible; but I can neither deny your accusation, nor remove the cause of it.--It is a sad scrawl, certes.--A perilous quantity of annotation hath been sent; I think almost _enough_, with the specimens of Romaic I mean to annex. I will have nothing to say to your metaphysics, and allegories of rocks and beaches; we shall all go to the bottom together, so "let us eat and drink, for tomorrow, etc." I am as comfortable in my creed as others, inasmuch as it is better to sleep than to be awake. I have heard nothing of Murray; I hope he is ashamed of himself. He sent me a vastly complimentary epistle, with a request to alter the two, and finish another canto. I sent him as civil an answer as if I had been engaged to translate by the sheet, declining altering anything in sentiment, but offered to tag rhymes, and mend them as long as he liked. I will write from Rochdale when I arrive, if my affairs allow me; but I shall be so busy and savage all the time with the whole set, that my letters will, perhaps, be as pettish as myself. If so, lay the blame on coal and coal-heavers. Very probably I may proceed to town by way of Newstead on my return from Lancs. I mean to be at Cambridge in November, so that, at all events, we shall be nearer. I will not apologise for the trouble I have given and do give you, though I ought to do so; but I have worn out my politest periods, and can only say that I am much obliged to you. Believe me, yours always, BYRON. [Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xviii.] [Footnote 2: 'i.e.' on Bedford (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 228, 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 125]; and 'Childe Harold', Canto I, stanza xxii.).] * * * * * 195.-To James Wedderburn Webster. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 10th, 1811. DEAR WEBSTER,--I can hardly invite a gentleman to my house a second time who walked out of it the first in so singular a mood, but if you had thought proper to pay me a visit, you would have had a "Highland Welcome." I am only just returned to it out of Lancashire, where I have been on business to a Coal manor of mine near Rochdale, and shall leave it very shortly for Cambridge and London. My companions, or rather companion, (for Claridge alone has been with me) have not been very amusing, and, as to their "_Sincerity_," they are doubtless sincere enough for a man who will never put them to the trial. Besides you talked so much of your conjugal happiness, that an invitation from home would have seemed like Sacrilege, and my rough Bachelor's Hall would have appeared to little advantage after the "Bower of Armida" [1] where you have been reposing. I cannot boast of my social powers at any time, and just at present they are more stagnant than ever. Your Brother-in-law [2] means to stand for Wexford, but I have reasons for thinking the Portsmouth interest will be against him; however I wish him success. Do _you_ mean to stand for any place next election? What are your politics? I hope Valentia's Lord is for the Catholics. You will find Hobhouse at Enniscorthy in the contested County. Pray what has seized you? your last letter is the only one in which you do not rave upon matrimony. Are there no symptoms of a young W.W.? and shall I never be a Godfather? I believe I must be married myself soon, but it shall be a secret and a Surprise. However, knowing your exceeding discretion I shall probably entrust the secret to your silence at a proper period. You have, it is true, invited me repeatedly to Dean's Court [3] and now, when it is probable I might adventure there, you wish to be off. Be it so. If you address your letters to this place they will be forwarded wherever I sojourn. I am about to meet some friends at Cambridge and on to town in November. The papers are full of Dalrymple's Bigamy [4] (I know the man). What the Devil will he do with his _Spare-rib_? He is no beauty, but as lame as myself. He has more ladies than legs, what comfort to a cripple! _Sto sempre umilissimo servitore_. BYRON. [Footnote 1: Armida is the Sorceress, the niece of Prince Idreotes, in Tasso's 'Jerusalem Delivered', in whose palace Rinaldo forgets his vow as a crusader. Byron, in 'Don Juan' (Canto I. stanza lxxi.), says: "But ne'er magician's wand Wrought change, with all Armida's fairy art, Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart." In the Catalogue of Byron's books, sold April 5, 1816, appear four editions of Tasso's 'Gerusalemme Liberata', being those of 1776, 1785, 1813, and one undated.] [Footnote 2: For George Annesley, Lord Valentia, afterwards Earl of Mountnorris (1769-1844), see 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 378, and 'note 5'.] [Footnote 3: Near Wimborne, Dorset.] [Footnote 4: The suit of 'Dalrymple' v. 'Dalrymple' was tried before Sir William Scott, in the Consistory Court, Doctors' Commons, July 16, 1811. The suit was brought by Mrs. Dalrymple ('née' Joanna Gordon) against Captain John William Henry Dalrymple. By Scottish law he was held to have been married to Miss Gordon, and his subsequent marriage with Miss Manners, sister of the Duchess of St. Albans, was held to be illegal.] * * * * * 196.--To R.C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, October 10th, 1811. DEAR SIR,--Stanzas 24, 26, 29, [1] though _crossed_ must _stand_, with their _alterations_. The other three [2] are cut out to meet your wishes. We must, however, have a repetition of the proof, which is the first. I will write soon. Yours ever, B. P.S.--Yesterday I returned from Lancs. [Footnote 1: The stanzas are xxiv., xxv., xxvi. of Canto I.] [Footnote 2: The following are the three deleted stanzas: XXV. "In golden characters, right well designed, First on the list appeareth one 'Junot;' Then certain other glorious names we find; (Which rhyme compelleth me to place below--) Dull victors! baffled by a vanquished foe, Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due, Stand, worthy of each other, in a row Sirs Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of 'tother tew." XXVII. "But when Convention sent his handy work, Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar; Mayor, Alderman, laid down th' uplifted fork; The bench of Bishops half forgot to snore; Stern Cobbett, who for one whole week forbore To question aught, once more with transport leapt, And bit his dev'lish quill agen, and swore With foe such treaty never should be kept. Then burst the blatant beast, and roared and raged and--slept!!!" XXVIII. "Thus unto heaven appealed the people; heaven, Which loves the lieges of our gracious King, Decreed that ere our generals were forgiven, Inquiry should be held about the thing. But mercy cloaked the babes beneath her wing; And as they spared our foes so spared we them. (Where was the pity of our sires for Byng?) Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn. Then live ye, triumph gallants! and bless your judges' phlegm."] * * * * * 197.--To R.C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811. I have returned from Lancashire, and ascertained that my property there may be made very valuable, but various circumstances very much circumscribe my exertions at present. I shall be in town on business in the beginning of November, and perhaps at Cambridge before the end of this month; but of my movements you shall be regularly apprised. Your objections I have in part done away by alterations, which I hope will suffice; and I have sent two or three additional stanzas for both _"Fyttes."_ I have been again shocked with a _death_, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times [1]; but "I have almost forgot the taste of grief," and "supped full of horrors" [2] till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered. Other men can always take refuge in their families; I have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. I am indeed very wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know I am not apt to cant of sensibility. Instead of tiring yourself with _my_ concerns, I should be glad to hear _your_ plans of retirement. I suppose you would not like to be wholly shut out of society? Now I know a large village, or small town, about twelve miles off, where your family would have the advantage of very genteel society, without the hazard of being annoyed by mercantile affluence; where _you_ would meet with men of information and independence; and where I have friends to whom I should be proud to introduce you. There are, besides, a coffee-room, assemblies, etc., etc., which bring people together. My mother had a house there some years, and I am well acquainted with the economy of Southwell, the name of this little commonwealth. Lastly, you will not be very remote from me; and though I am the very worst companion for young people in the world, this objection would not apply to _you_, whom I could see frequently. Your expenses, too, would be such as best suit your inclinations, more or less, as you thought proper; but very little would be requisite to enable you to enter into all the gaieties of a country life. You could be as quiet or bustling as you liked, and certainly as well situated as on the lakes of Cumberland, unless you have a particular wish to be _picturesque_. Pray, is your Ionian friend in town? You have promised me an introduction. You mention having consulted some friend on the MSS. Is not this contrary to our usual way? Instruct Mr. Murray not to allow his shopman to call the work _Child of Harrow's Pilgrimage_!!!!! [3] as he has done to some of my astonished friends, who wrote to inquire after my _sanity_ on the occasion, as well they might. I have heard nothing of Murray, whom I scolded heartily. Must I write more notes? Are there not enough? Cawthorn must be kept back with the _Hints_. I hope he is getting on with Hobhouse's quarto. Good evening. Yours ever, etc. [Footnote 1: The reference is to Edleston (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 130, note 3 [Footnote 2 of Letter 74]), of whose death Miss Edleston had recently sent Byron an account.] [Footnote 2: "I have almost forgot the taste of fears: ... I have supp'd full with horrors." 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 3: Francis Hodgson, writing to Byron, October 8, 1811, says, "Murray's shopman, taught, I presume, by himself, calls 'Psyche' 'Pishy,' 'The Four Slaves of Cythera' 'The Four do. of Cythera,' and 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' 'Child of Harrow's Pilgrimage.' This misnomering Vendor of Books must have been misbegotten in some portentous union of the Malaprops and the Slipslops."] * * * * * 198.--To Francis Hodgson. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 13, 1811. You will begin to deem me a most liberal correspondent; but as my letters are free, you will overlook their frequency. I have sent you answers in prose and verse to all your late communications; and though I am invading your ease again, I don't know why, or what to put down that you are not acquainted with already. I am growing _nervous_ (how you will laugh!)--but it is true,--really, wretchedly, ridiculously, fine-ladically _nervous_. Your climate kills me; I can neither read, write, nor amuse myself, or any one else. My days are listless, and my nights restless; I have very seldom any society, and when I have, I run out of it. At "this present writing," there are in the next room three _ladies_, and I have stolen away to write this grumbling letter.--I don't know that I sha'n't end with insanity, for I find a want of method in arranging my thoughts that perplexes me strangely; but this looks more like silliness than madness, as Scrope Davies would facetiously remark in his consoling manner. I must try the hartshorn of your company; and a session of Parliament would suit me well,--any thing to cure me of conjugating the accursed verb "_ennuyer_." When shall you be at Cambridge? You have hinted, I think, that your friend Bland [1] is returned from Holland. I have always had a great respect for his talents, and for all that I have heard of his character; but of me, I believe he knows nothing, except that he heard my sixth form repetitions ten months together at the average of two lines a morning, and those never perfect. I remembered him and his _Slaves_ as I passed between Capes Matapan, St. Angelo, and his Isle of Ceriga, and I always bewailed the absence of the _Anthology_. I suppose he will now translate Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare, and _Gysbert van Amsteli_ [2] will easily be accommodated to our stage in its present state; and I presume he saw the Dutch poem, where the love of Pyramus and Thisbe is compared to the passion of Christ; also the love of Lucifer for Eve, and other varieties of Low Country literature. No doubt you will think me crazed to talk of such things, but they are all in black and white and good repute on the banks of every canal from Amsterdam to Alkmaar. Yours ever, B. My poesy is in the hands of its various publishers; but the _Hints from Horace_ (to which I have subjoined some savage lines on Methodism, [3] and ferocious notes on the vanity of the triple Editory of the _Edin. Annual Register_ [4]), my _Hints_, I say, stand still, and why?--I have not a friend in the world (but you and Drury) who can construe Horace's Latin or my English well enough to adjust them for the press, or to correct the proofs in a grammatical way. So that, unless you have bowels when you return to town (I am too far off to do it for myself), this ineffable work will be lost to the world for--I don't know how many _weeks_. _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_ must wait till _Murray's_ is finished. He is making a tour in Middlesex, and is to return soon, when high matter may be expected. He wants to have it in quarto, which is a cursed unsaleable size; but it is pestilent long, and one must obey one's bookseller. I trust Murray will pass the Paddington Canal without being seduced by Payne and Mackinlay's example,--I say Payne and Mackinlay, supposing that the partnership held good. Drury, the villain, has not written to me; "I am never (as Mrs. Lumpkin [5] says to Tony) to be gratified with the monster's dear wild notes." So you are going (going indeed!) into orders. You must make your peace with the Eclectic Reviewers--they accuse you of impiety, I fear, with injustice. Demetrius, the "Sieger of Cities," is here, with "Gilpin Horner." [6] The painter [7] is not necessary, as the portraits he already painted are (by anticipation) very like the new animals.--Write, and send me your "Love Song"--but I want _paulo majora_ from you. Make a dash before you are a deacon, and try a _dry_ publisher. Yours always, B. [Footnote 1: For Robert Bland, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 271, 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 137]. In his 'Four Slaves of Cythera' (1809), Canto I., occur the following lines: "Now full in sight the Paphian gardens smile, And thence by many a green and summer isle, Whose ancient walls and temples seem to sleep, Enshadowed on the mirror of the deep, They coast along Cythera's happy ground, Gem of the sea, for love's delight renown'd."] [Footnote 2: Bland had been acting as English Chaplain in Holland. Joost Van Vondel (1587-1679), born at Cologne of Anabaptist parents, became a Roman Catholic in 1641. Most of his thirty-two tragedies are on classical or religious subjects, and in the latter may be traced his gradual change of faith. 'Gysbrecht van Amstel'(1637) is a play, the action of which takes place on Christmas Day in the thirteenth century. The scene is laid at Amsterdam, which is captured by a ruse like that of the Greeks at Troy. The play appealed strongly to the patriotic instincts of the Dutch by its prophecy of the future greatness of Amsterdam. Vondel's 'Lucifer' (1654) has been often compared to 'Paradise Lost'. It also bears some affinities to 'Cain'. In it the Archangel Lucifer rebels against God on learning the Divine intention to take on Himself the nature, not of Angels, but of Man.] [Footnote 3: 'Hints from Horace', lines 371-382.] [Footnote 4: 'The Edinburgh Annual Register' (1808-26) was published by John Ballantyne and Co. The prospectus promised a general history of Europe; a collection of State papers; a chronicle of events; original essays on morality, literature, and science; and articles on biography, the useful arts, and meteorology. The Editor was Scott, and Southey was responsible for the historical department. The first two parts, giving the history of 1808, did not appear till July, 1810, and then with an editorial apology for the omission of the articles on biography, the useful arts, and meteorology; also with an explanation that the idea of original essays on morality, literature, and science had been abandoned. The venture, thus unfortunately launched, never succeeded. For Byron's attack, see 'Hints from Horace', line 657, and his 'note'.] [Footnote 5: This is an obvious slip for "Mrs. Hardcastle," who, in 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.), says, "I'm never to be delighted with your agreeable wild notes, unfeeling monster!"] [Footnote 6: Probably Demetrius, his Greek servant, whom he nicknames after Demetrius Poliorcetes, and Claridge, who had bored Byron during a long stay of three weeks.] [Footnote 7: Barber, whom he had brought down to Newstead to paint his wolf and his bear.] * * * * * 199.--To R. C. Dallas. Oct. 14, 1811. DEAR SIR,--Stanza 9th, for Canto 2nd, somewhat altered, to avoid recurrence in a former stanza. STANZA 9. There, thou! whose love and life together fled, Have left me here to love and live in vain:-- Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, When busy Memory flashes o'er my brain? Well--I will dream that we may meet again, And woo the vision to my vacant breast; If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Be as it may Whate'er beside Futurity's behest; or,-- Howe'er may be For me 'twere bliss enough to see thy spirit blest! I think it proper to state to you, that this stanza alludes to an event which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the death of any _male_ friend. Yours, B. * * * * * 200.--To R. C. Dallas. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 16, 1811. I am on the wing for Cambridge. Thence, after a short stay, to London. Will you be good enough to keep an account of all the MSS. you receive, for fear of omission? Have you adopted the three altered stanzas of the latest proof? I can do nothing more with them. I am glad you like the new ones. Of the last, and of the _two_, I sent for a new edition, to-day a _fresh note_. The lines of the second sheet I fear must stand; I will give you reasons when we meet. Believe me, yours ever, BYRON. * * * * * 201.--To R. C. Dallas. Cambridge, Oct. 25, 1811. DEAR SIR,--I send you a conclusion to the _whole_. In a stanza towards the end of Canto I. in the line, Oh, known the earliest and _beloved_ the most, I shall alter the epithet to "_esteemed_ the most." The present stanzas are for the end of Canto II. For the beginning of the week I shall be at No. 8, my old lodgings, in St. James' Street, where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 202.--To Thomas Moore. [1] Cambridge, October 27, 1811. SIR,--Your letter followed me from Notts, to this place, which will account for the delay of my reply. Your former letter I never had the honour to receive;--be assured in whatever part of the world it had found me, I should have deemed it my duty to return and answer it in person. The advertisement you mention, I know nothing of.--At the time of your meeting with Mr. Jeffrey, I had recently entered College, and remember to have heard and read a number of squibs on the occasion; and from the recollection of these I derived all my knowledge on the subject, without the slightest idea of "giving the lie" to an address which I never beheld. When I put my name to the production, which has occasioned this correspondence, I became responsible to all whom it might concern,--to explain where it requires explanation, and, where insufficiently or too sufficiently explicit, at all events to satisfy. My situation leaves me no choice; it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain reparation in their own way. With regard to the passage in question, _you_ were certainly _not_ the person towards whom I felt personally hostile. On the contrary, my whole thoughts were engrossed by one, whom I had reason to consider as my worst literary enemy, nor could I foresee that his former antagonist was about to become his champion. You do not specify what you would wish to have done: I can neither retract nor apologise for a charge of falsehood which I never advanced. In the beginning of the week, I shall be at No. 8, St. James's Street.--Neither the letter nor the friend to whom you stated your intention ever made their appearance. Your friend, Mr. Rogers, [2] or any other gentleman delegated by you, will find me most ready to adopt any conciliatory proposition which shall not compromise my own honour,--or, failing in that, to make the atonement you deem it necessary to require. I have the honour to be, Sir, Your most obedient, humble servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Thomas Moore (1779-1852), by his literary and social gifts, had made his name several years before 1811, when he first became personally acquainted with Byron. His precocity was as remarkable as his versatility. The son of a Dublin grocer, for whom his political interest secured the post of barrack-master, he went, like Sheridan, to Samuel Whyte's school, and was afterwards at Trinity College, Dublin. Before he was fifteen he had written verses, including lines to Whyte, himself a poet, the publication of which, in the 'Anthologia Hibernica' (October, 1793; February, March, and June, 1794), gained him a local reputation. Coming to London in 1799, he read law at the Middle Temple. His 'Odes' translated from Anacreon (1800), dedicated to the Prince of Wales, opened to him the houses of the Whig aristocracy; and his powers as a singer, an actor, a talker, and, later, as a satirist, made him a favourite in society. In 1801 appeared his 'Poems: by the late Thomas Little', amatory verses which Byron read, and imitated in some of the silliest of his youthful lines. The review of Moore's 'Odes, Epistles, and Other Poems' (1806), which appeared in the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1806, provoked Moore to challenge Jeffrey. Their duel with "leadless pistols" led, not only to Moore's friendship with Jeffrey, but, indirectly, as is seen from the following letters, to Moore's acquaintance with Byron. Moore himself contributed to the 'Edinburgh', between the years 1814 and 1834, essays on multifarious subjects, from poetry to German Rationalism, from the Fathers to French official life. In 1807 the first of the 'Irish Melodies' was published; they continued to appear at irregular intervals till 1834, when 122 had been printed. A master of the art of versification, Moore sings, with graceful fancy, in a tone of mingled mirth and melancholy, his love of his country, of the wine of other countries, and the women of all countries. But, except in his patriotism, he shows little depth of feeling. The 'Melodies' are the work of a brilliantly clever man, endowed with an exquisite musical ear, and a temperament that is rather susceptible than intense. With them may be classed his 'National Airs' (1815) and 'Sacred Song' (1816). Moore had already found one field in which he excelled; it was not long before he discovered another. His serious satires, 'Corruption' (1808), 'Intolerance' (1808), and 'The Sceptic' (1809), failed. His nature was neither deep enough nor strong enough for success in such themes. In the ephemeral strife of party politics he found his real province. Nothing can be better of their kind than the metrical lampoons collected in 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag, by Thomas Brown the Younger' (1813). In his hands the bow and arrows of Cupid become formidable weapons of party warfare; nor do their ornaments impede the movements of the archer. The shaft is gaily winged and brightly polished; the barb sharp and dipped in venom; and the missile hums music as it flies to its mark. Moore's satire is the satire of the Clubs at its best; but it is scarcely the satire of literature. 'The Twopenny Post-bag' was the parent of many similar productions, beginning with 'The Fudge Family in Paris' (1818), and ending with 'Fables for the Holy Alliance' (1823), which he dedicated to Byron. As a serious poet, and the author of 'Lalla Rookh' (1817), 'The Loves of the Angels' (1823), and 'Alciphron' (1839), Moore was perhaps overrated by his contemporaries. In spite of their brightness of fancy, metrical skill, and brilliant cleverness, they lack the greater elements of the highest poetry. Moore's prose work begins, apart from his contributions to periodical literature, with the 'Memoirs of Captain Rock' (1824), 'The Epicurean' (1827), 'The Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion' (1834), 'The History of Ireland' (1846); and a succession of biographies--the life of 'Sheridan' (1825), of 'Byron' (1830), and 'Lord Edward Fitzgerald' (1831)--complete the list. In the midst of his biographical work, Moore was advised by Lord Lansdowne to write nine lives at once, and print them together under the title of 'The Cat'. In 1811 Moore married Miss Elizabeth Dyke (born 1793), an actress who fascinated him at the Kilkenny private theatricals in 1809. To the outer world, Mrs. Moore's bird, as she called him, was a sprightly little songster, who lived in a whirl of dinners, suppers, concerts, and theatricals. These, as well as his private anxieties and misfortunes, are recorded in the eight volumes of his 'Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence', which were edited by Lord John Russell, in 1853. Moore was an excellent son, a good husband, an affectionate father, and to Byron a loyal friend, neither envious nor subservient. Clare, Hobhouse, and Moore were (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', 2nd edition, 1850, pp. 393, 394) the only persons whose friendship Byron never disclaimed. He spoke of Moore ('ibid'., pp. 322, 323) as "a delightful companion, gay without being boisterous, witty without effort, comic without coarseness, and sentimental without being lachrymose. He reminds one of the fairy who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her lips. My 'tête-à-tête' suppers with Moore are among the most agreeable impressions I retain of the hours passed in London." In July, 1806, in consequence of the article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on his recent volume of 'Poems', Moore sent, through his friend Hume, a challenge to Jeffrey, who was seconded by Francis Horner, and a meeting was arranged. Moore, who had only once in his life discharged a firearm of any kind, and then nearly blew his thumb off, borrowed a case of pistols from William Spencer, and bought in Bond Street enough powder and bullets for a score of duels. The parties met at Chalk Farm; the seconds loaded the pistols, placed the men at their posts, and were about to give the signal to fire, when the police officers, rushing upon them from behind a hedge, knocked Jeffrey's weapon from his hand, disarmed Moore, and conveyed the whole party to Bow Street. They were released on bail; but, on Moore returning to claim the borrowed pistols, the officer refused to give them up, because only Moore's pistol was loaded with ball. Horner, however, gave evidence that he had seen both pistols loaded; and there, but for the reports circulated in the newspapers, the affair would have ended. But the joke was too good to be allowed to drop, and, in spite of Moore's published letter, he was for months a target for the wits ('Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence', vol. i. pp. 199-208). In 'English Bards, etc.', lines 466, 467, and his 'note', Byron made merry over "Little's leadless pistol," with the result that, when the second edition o£ the satire was published, with his name attached, Moore sent him the following letter:-- "Dublin, January 1, 1810. "My Lord,--Having just seen the name of 'Lord Byron' prefixed to a work entitled 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', in which, as it appears to me, 'the lie is given' to a public statement of mine, respecting an affair with Mr. Jeffrey some years since, I beg you will have the goodness to inform me whether I may consider your Lordship as the author of this publication. "I shall not, I fear, be able to return to London for a week or two; but, in the mean time, I trust your Lordship will not deny me the satisfaction of knowing whether you avow the insult contained in the passages alluded to. "It is needless to suggest to your Lordship the propriety of keeping our correspondence secret. "I have the honour to be, "Your Lordship's very humble servant, "THOMAS MOORE. "22, Molesworth Street." Owing to Byron's absence abroad, the letter never reached him; it was, in fact, kept back by Hodgson. On his return to England, Moore, who in the interval had married, sent him a second letter, restating the nature of the insult he had received in 'English Bards'. "'It is now useless,' I continued ('Life', p. 143), 'to speak of the steps with which it was my intention to follow up that letter. The time which has elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injury nor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered my situation; and the only object which I have now in writing to your Lordship is to preserve some consistency with that former letter, and to prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, however circumstances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates, at present. When I say "injured feeling," let me assure your Lordship that there is not a single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you. I mean but to express that uneasiness, under (what I consider to be) a charge of falsehood, which must haunt a man of any feeling to his grave, unless the insult be retracted or atoned for; and which, if I did 'not' feel, I should, indeed, deserve far worse than your Lordship's satire could inflict upon me.' In conclusion I added, that so far from being influenced by any angry or resentful feeling towards him, it would give me sincere pleasure if, by any satisfactory explanation, he would enable me to seek the honour of being henceforward ranked among his acquaintance." Byron's letter of October 27, 1811. was written in reply to this second letter from Moore.] [Footnote 2: For Samuel Rogers, see p. 67, note 1.] * * * * * 203.--To R. C. Dallas. 8, St. James's Street, 29th October, 1811. DEAR SIR,--I arrived in town last night, and shall be very glad to see you when convenient. Yours very truly, BYRON. 204.--To Thomas Moore. [1] 8, St. James's Street, October 29, 1811. SIR,--Soon after my return to England, my friend, Mr. Hodgson, apprised me that a letter for me was in his possession; but a domestic event hurrying me from London immediately after, the letter (which may most probably be your own) is still _unopened in his keeping_. If, on examination of the address, the similarity of the handwriting should lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened in your presence, for the satisfaction of all parties. Mr. H. is at present out of town;--on Friday I shall see him, and request him to forward it to my address. With regard to the latter part of both your letters, until the principal point was discussed between us, I felt myself at a loss in what manner to reply. Was I to anticipate friendship from one, who conceived me to have charged him with falsehood? Were not _advances_, under such circumstances, to be misconstrued,--not, perhaps, by the person to whom they were addressed, but by others? In _my_ case such a step was impracticable. If you, who conceived yourself to be the offended person, are satisfied that you had no cause for offence, it will not be difficult to convince me of it. My situation, as I have before stated, leaves me no choice. I should have felt proud of your acquaintance, had it commenced under other circumstances; but it must rest with you to determine how far it may proceed after so _auspicious_ a beginning. I have the honour to be, etc. [Footnote 1: Moore had replied, accepting Byron's explanation, and adding, "As your Lordship does not show any wish to proceed beyond the rigid formulary of explanation, it is not for me to make any further advances. We Irishmen, in businesses of this kind, seldom know any medium between decided hostility and decided friendship; but, as any approaches towards the latter alternative must now depend entirely on your Lordship, I have only to repeat that I am satisfied with your letter, and that I have the honour to be," etc., etc.] * * * * * 205.--To Thomas Moore. [1] 8, St. James's Street, October 30, 1811. SIR,--You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasant subject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think to yourself, that the unopened letter in Mr. Hodgson's possession (supposing it to prove your own) should be returned _in statu quo_ to the writer; particularly as you expressed yourself "not quite easy under the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage." A few words more, and I shall not trouble you further. I felt, and still feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did not meet them in the first instance as perhaps I ought, let the situation I was placed in be my defence. You have _now_ declared yourself _satisfied_, and on that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, I shall be most happy to meet you, when, where, and how you please, and I presume you will not attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive. I have the honour to remain, etc. [Footnote 1: "Piqued," says Moore ('Life', 144), "at the manner in which my efforts towards a more friendly understanding were received," he had briefly expressed his satisfaction at Byron's explanation, and added that the correspondence might close.] * * * * * 206.--To R. C. Dallas. 8, St. James's Street, October 31, 1811. DEAR SIR,--I have already taken up so much of your time that there needs no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present interruption. I have altered the passages according to your wish. With this note I send a few stanzas on a subject which has lately occupied much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you are a _stranger_, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean them to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the conclusion of the poem. I by no means intend to identify myself with 'Harold', but to _deny_ all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that. As to the _Monastic dome_, etc., [1] I thought those circumstances would suit him as well as any other, and I could describe what I had seen better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for all the world. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto II. stanza xlviii.] * * * * * 207.--To Thomas Moore. 8, St. James's Street, November 1, 1811. Sir,--As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sunday's engagement, if Monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself and friend, I will then have the honour of accepting his invitation. [1] Of the professions of esteem with which Mr. Rogers [2] has honoured me, I cannot but feel proud, though undeserving. I should be wanting to myself, if insensible to the praise of such a man; and, should my approaching interview with him and his friend lead to any degree of intimacy with both or either, I shall regard our past correspondence as one of the happiest events of my life. I have the honour to be, Your very sincere and obedient servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Rogers has left an account of this dinner. "Neither Moore nor myself had ever seen Byron when it was settled that he should dine at my house to meet Moore; nor was he known by sight to Campbell, who, happening to call upon me that morning, consented to join the party. I thought it best that I alone should be in the drawing-room when Byron entered it; and Moore and Campbell accordingly withdrew. Soon after his arrival, they returned; and I introduced them to him severally, naming them as Adam named the beasts. When we sat down to dinner, I asked Byron if he would take soup? 'No; he never took soup.' 'Would he take some fish?' 'No; he never took fish.' Presently I asked if he would eat some mutton? 'No; he never ate mutton.' I then asked if he would take a glass of wine? 'No; he never tasted wine.' It was now necessary to inquire what he 'did' eat and drink; and the answer was, 'Nothing but hard biscuits and soda-water.' Unfortunately, neither hard biscuits nor soda-water were at hand; and he dined upon potatoes bruised down on his plate and drenched with vinegar. My guests stayed very late, discussing the merits of Walter Scott and Joanna Baillie. Some days after, meeting Hobhouse, I said to him, 'How long will Lord Byron persevere in his present diet? 'He replied, 'Just as long as you continue to notice it.' I did not then know, what I now know to be a fact, that Byron, after leaving my house, had gone to a Club in St. James's Street and eaten a hearty meat-supper" ('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 231, 232). Moore's ('Life', p. 145) first impressions of Byron were "the nobleness of his air, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and manners, and--what was naturally not the least attraction--his marked kindness to myself. Being in mourning for his mother, the colour, as well of his dress, as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in repose."] [Footnote 2: Samuel Rogers (1763-1855), the third son of a London banker, was born at Stoke Newington. Shortly after his father's death, in 1793, he withdrew from any active part in the management of the bank, and devoted himself for the rest of his long life to literature, art, and society. In 1803 he moved from chambers in the Temple to a house in St. James's Place, overlooking the Green Park. Here he lived till his death, in December, 1855, and here he gathered round him, at his celebrated breakfasts, the most distinguished men and women of his time. An excellent account of the "Town Mouse" entertaining the "Country Mouse" is given by Dean Stanley ('Life', vol. i. p. 298), who met Wordsworth at breakfast with Rogers, in 1841, and describes "the town mouse a sleek, well-fed, sly, 'white' mouse, and the country mouse with its rough, weather-worn face and grey hairs; the town mouse displaying its delicate little rolls and pyramids of glistening strawberries, the country mouse exulting in its hollow tree, its crust of bread and liberty, and rallying its brother on his late hours and frequent dinners." One of his earliest recollections was the sight of a rebel's head upon a pole at Temple Bar. He had talked with a Thames boatman who remembered Pope; had seen Garrick in 'The Suspicious Husband'; had heard Sir Joshua Reynolds deliver his last lecture as President of the Royal Academy; had seen John Wesley "lying in state" in the City Road; had gone to call on Dr. Johnson, but, when his hand was on the knocker, found his courage fled. He lived to be offered the laureateship in 1850, on the death of Wordsworth, and to decline it in favour of Tennyson. "Time was," wrote Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', note, p. 360, ed. 1808), "when bankers were as stupid as their guineas could make them; they were neither orators, nor painters, nor poets. But now. .. Mr. Rogers dreams on Parnassus; and, if I am rightly informed, there is a great demand among his brethren for the 'Pleasures of Memory'." Rogers began to write poetry at an early age, and continued to write it all his life. His 'Ode to Superstition' was published in 1786; the 'Pleasures of Memory', in 1792; the 'Epistle to a Friend', in 1798; 'Columbus', in 1812; 'Jacqueline', in 1813; 'Human Life', in 1819; 'Italy', in 1822-34. His later years were occupied in revising, correcting, or amplifying his published poems, and in preparing the notes to 'Italy', which are admirable studies in compactness and precision of language. A disciple of Pope, an imitator of Goldsmith, Rogers was rather a skilful adapter than an original poet. His chief talent was his taste; if he could not originate, he could appreciate. The fastidious care which he lavished on his work has preserved it. In his commonplace-book he has entered the number of years which he spent in composing and revising his poems. His 'Pleasures of Memory' occupied seven years, 'Columbus' fourteen, and 'Italy' fifteen. An excellent judge of art, he employed Flaxman, Stothard, and Turner at a time when their powers were little appreciated by his fellow-countrymen. Of his taste Byron speaks enthusiastically in his Journal (see p. 331). But the following passage (hitherto unpublished) from his 'Detached Thoughts' (Ravenna, 1821) gives his later opinion of the man: "When Sheridan was on his death-bed, Rogers aided him with purse and person. This was particularly kind of Rogers, who always spoke ill of Sheridan (to me, at least), but, indeed, he does that of everybody to anybody. Rogers is the reverse of the line: 'The _best good man_ with the _worst_ natured Muse,' being: 'The _worst_ good man with the _best_ natured Muse.' His Muse being all Sentiment and Sago and Sugar, while he himself is a venomous talker. I say 'worst good man' because he is (perhaps) a 'good' man; at least he does good now and then, as well he may, to purchase himself a shilling's worth of salvation for his slanders. They are so 'little', too--small talk--and old Womanny, and he is malignant too--and envious--and--he be damned!" In a manuscript note to these passages Sir Walter Scott writes, "I never heard Rogers say a single word against Byron, which is rather odd too. Byron wrote a bitter and undeserved satire on Rogers. This conduct must have been motived by something or other." Speaking of Rogers and Sheridan, he says, "He certainly took pennyworths out of his friend's character. I sat three hours for my picture to Sir Thomas Lawrence, during which the whole conversation was filled up by Rogers with stories of Sheridan, for the least of which, if true, he deserved the gallows. One respected his committing a rape on his sister-in-law on the day of her husband's funeral. Others were worse." In politics Rogers was a Whig, in religion a Presbyterian. But he meddled little with either. In private life he was as kindly in action as he was caustic in speech. A sensitive man himself, he studied to be satirical to others. When Ward condemned 'Columbus' in the 'Quarterly Review', Rogers repaid his critic in the stinging epigram: "Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it; He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it." Byron warmly admired Rogers's poetry. To him he dedicated 'The Giaour', in "admiration for his genius, respect for his character, and gratitude for his friendship." The 'Quarterly Review', in an article on 'The Corsair' and 'Lara', mentions "the highly refined, but somewhat insipid, pastoral tale of 'Jacqueline'." Byron, on reading the review, said to Lady Byron, "The man's a fool. 'Jacqueline' is as superior to 'Lara' as Rogers is to me" ('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 154, 'note'). "The 'Pleasures of Memory'," he said (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 153), "is a very beautiful poem, harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament. If Rogers has not fixed himself in the higher fields of Parnassus, he has, at least, cultivated a very pretty flower-garden at its base." But he goes on to speak of the poem (p. 354) as "a 'hortus siccus' of pretty flowers," and an illustration of "the difference between inspiration and versification." If Rogers ever saw Byron's 'Question and Answer' (1818), he was generous enough to forget the satire. In 'Italy' he paid a noble tribute to the genius of the dead poet: "He is now at rest; And praise and blame fall on his ear alike, Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone, Gone like a star that through the firmament Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks, Was generous, noble--noble in its scorn Of all things low or little; nothing there Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do Things long regretted, oft, as many know, None more than I, thy gratitude would build On slight foundations; and, if in thy life Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert, Thy wish accomplished; dying in the land Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire, Dying in Greece, and in a cause so glorious! They in thy train--ah, little did they think, As round we went, that they so soon should sit Mourning beside thee, while a Nation mourned, Changing her festal for her funeral song; That they so soon should hear the minute-gun, As morning gleamed on what remained of thee, Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering Thy years of joy and sorrow. Thou art gone; And he who would assail thee in thy grave, Oh, let him pause! For who among us all, Tried as thou wert--even from thy earliest years, When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy-- Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame; Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek, Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine, Her charmed cup--ah, who among us all Could say he had not erred as much, and more?"] * * * * * 208.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, November 17, 1811. Dear Hodgson,--I have been waiting for the letter [1] which was to have been sent by you _immediately_, and must again jog your memory on the subject. I believe I wrote you a full and true account of poor--'s proceedings. Since his reunion to--, [2] I have heard nothing further from him. What a pity! a man of talent, past the heyday of life, and a clergyman, to fall into such imbecility. I have heard from Hobhouse, who has at last sent more copy to Cawthorn for his _Travels_. I franked an enormous cover for you yesterday, seemingly to convey at least twelve cantos on any given subject. I fear the I aspect of it was too _epic_ for the post. From this and other coincidences I augur a publication on your part, but what, or when, or how much, you must disclose immediately. I don't know what to say about coming down to Cambridge at present, but live in hopes. I am so completely superannuated there, and besides feel it something brazen in me to wear my magisterial habit, after all my buffooneries, that I hardly think I shall venture again. And being now an [Greek: ariston men hydôr] disciple I won't come within wine-shot of such determined topers as your collegiates. I have not yet subscribed to Bowen. I mean to cut Harrow "_enim unquam_" as somebody classically said for a farewell sentence. I am superannuated there too, and, in short, as old at twenty-three as many men at seventy. Do write and send this letter that hath been so long in your custody. It is important that Moore should be certain that I never received it, if it be _his_. Are you drowned in a bottle of Port? or a Kilderkin of Ale? that I have never heard from you, or are you fallen into a fit of perplexity? Cawthorn has declined, and the MS. is returned to him. This is all at present from yours in the faith, [Greek: Mpairon]. [Footnote 1: On November 17, 1811, Hodgson writes to Byron: "I enclose you the long-delayed letter, which, from the similarity of hands alone, Davies and I will go shares in a bet of ten to one is the cartel in question."] [Footnote 2: The names are carefully erased by Hodgson.] * * * * * 209.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, December 4, 1811. MY DEAR HODGSON,--I have seen Miller, [1] who will see Bland, [2] but I have no great hopes of his obtaining the translation from the crowd of candidates. Yesterday I wrote to Harness, who will probably tell you what I said on the subject. Hobhouse has sent me my Romaic MS., and I shall require your aid in correcting the press, as your Greek eye is more correct than mine. But these will not come to type this month, I dare say. I have put some soft lines on ye Scotch in the 'Curse of Minerva'; take them; "Yet Caledonia claims some native worth," etc. [3] If you are not content now, I must say with the Irish drummer to the deserter who called out, "Flog high, flog low" "The de'il burn ye, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will." Have you given up wine, even British wine? I have read Watson to Gibbon. [4] He proves nothing, so I am where I was, verging towards Spinoza; and yet it is a gloomy Creed, and I want a better, but there is something Pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything. The post brings me to a conclusion. Bland has just been here. Yours ever, BN. [Footnote 1: See Letters', vol. i. p. 319, 'note' 2 [Footnote 1 of Letter 158]] [Footnote 2: Byron was endeavouring to secure for Bland (see 'Letters, vol. i. p. 271, 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 137]), the work of translating Lucien Buonaparte's poem of 'Charlemagne'. He did not succeed. The poem, translated by Dr. Butler, Head-master of Shrewsbury, afterwards Bishop of Lichfield, and Francis Hodgson, was published in 1815.] [Footnote 3: Lines 149-156.] [Footnote 4: 'An Apology for Christianity, in a Series of Letters to Edward Gibbon, Esq.', by Richard Watson, D.D. (1776). Gibbon had a great respect for Watson, at this time Professor of Divinity at Cambridge, afterwards Bishop of Llandaff, whom he describes as "a prelate of a large mind and liberal spirit." In a letter to Holroyd (November 4, 1776), he speaks of the 'Apology' as "feeble," but "uncommingly genteel." To his stepmother he writes, November 29, 1776, that Watson's answer is "civil" and "too dull to deserve your notice."] * * * * * 210.--To William Harness. [1] 8, St. James's Street, Dec. 6, 1811. My Dear Harness,--I write again, but don't suppose I mean to lay such a tax on your pen and patience as to expect regular replies. When you are inclined, write: when silent, I shall have the consolation of knowing that you are much better employed. Yesterday, Bland and I called on Mr. Miller, who, being then out, will call on Bland to-day or to-morrow. I shall certainly endeavour to bring them together.--You are censorious, child; when you are a little older, you will learn to dislike every body, but abuse nobody. With regard to the person of whom you speak, your own good sense must direct you. I never pretend to advise, being an implicit believer in the old proverb. This present frost is detestable. It is the first I have felt for these three years, though I longed for one in the oriental summer, when no such thing is to be had, unless I had gone to the top of Hymettus for it. I thank you most truly for the concluding part of your letter. I have been of late not much accustomed to kindness from any quarter, and am not the less pleased to meet with it again from one where I had known it earliest. I have not changed in all my ramblings,--Harrow, and, of course, yourself, never left me, and the "_Dulces reminiscitur Argos_" attended me to the very spot to which that sentence alludes in the mind of the fallen Argive.--Our intimacy began before we began to date at all, and it rests with you to continue it till the hour which must number it and me with the things that _were_. Do read mathematics.--I should think _X plus Y_ at least as amusing as the 'Curse of Kehama' [2], and much more intelligible. Master Southey's poems _are_, in fact, what parallel lines might be--viz. prolonged _ad infinitum_ without meeting anything half so absurd as themselves. "What news, what news? Queen Orraca, What news of scribblers five? S----, W----, C----, L----d, and L----e? All damn'd, though yet alive." Coleridge is lecturing. [3] "Many an old fool," said Hannibal to some such lecturer, "but such as this, never." [4] Ever yours, etc. [Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 177, 'note' 1. [Footnote 1 of Letter 92]] [Footnote 2: Robert Southey (1774-1843) published his 'Curse of Kehama' in 1810. It formed a part of a series of heroic poems in which he intended to embody the chief mythologies of the world. In spite of Byron's adverse opinion, it contains magnificent passages, and disputes with 'Roderick, the Last of the Goths' (1814), the claim to be the finest of his longer poems. Southey's literary activity was immense. He had already produced 'Joan of Arc' (1796), 'Thalaba' (1801), 'Madoc' (1805), and many other works in prose and verse. At this time he was personally unknown to Byron, who had ridiculed his "annual strains." They met for the first time at Holland House, in September, 1813. (See Byron's letter to Moore, September 27, 1813, and Journal, p. 331.) The animosity between the two men belongs to a later date, and in its origin was partly political, partly personal. Southey, in early life, had been a republican and a Unitarian, if not a deist. He collaborated with Coleridge in the 'Fall of Robespierre' (1794), wrote a portion of the 'Conciones ad Populum' (1795), which the Government considered seditious; and, according to Poole ('Thomas Pools and his Friends', vol. i. chap, vi.), wavered "between Deism and Atheism." He became a champion of monarchical principles and of religious orthodoxy, and attacked the views, which he had once held and expressed in 'Wat Tyler' (written in 1794, and piratically published in 1817), with the bitterness of a reactionary. He had also, as Byron believed, circulated, if not invented, a report that Byron and Shelley had formed "a league of incest" at Geneva, in 1816-17, with "two girls," Mary Godwin (Mrs. Shelley) and Jane Clairmont. Byron not only denied the charge, but retorted upon him, in his "Observations upon an Article in 'Blackwood's Magazine'" (March 15, 1820), as the author of 'Wat Tyler' and poet laureate, the man who "wrote treason and serves the King," the ex-pantisocrat who advocated "all things, including women, in common." Southey's 'Vision of Judgment', an apotheosis of George III., published in 1821, gave Byron a second provocation and a second opportunity, by speaking in the preface of his "Satanic spirit of pride and audacious impiety." Byron again replied in prose; and Southey (January 5, 1820), in a letter to the 'London Courier', invited him to attack him in rhyme. In Byron's 'Vision of Judgment' he found his invitation accepted, and himself pilloried in that tremendous satire. Southey overvalued his own narrative poetry. It is as a man, a prominent figure in literary history, a leader in the romantic revival, a master of prose, and the author of the best short biography in the English language--the 'Life of Nelson' (1813)--that he lives at the present day. His name also deserves to be remembered with gratitude by all who have read the nursery classic of "'The Three Bears'." Byron parodies a stanza in Southey's "Queen Orraca and the Five Martyrs of Morocco" ('Works', vol. vi. pp. 166-173): "What news, O King Affonso, What news of the Friars five? Have they preached to the Miramamolin; And are they still alive?" The blanks stand for Scott or Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lloyd, and Lamb(e), with the lines from 'New Morality' in his mind: "Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd and Lamb and Co., Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux."] [Footnote 3: Coleridge, beginning November 18, 1811, and ending January 27, 1812, delivered a course of seventeen lectures on Shakespeare and Milton, "in illustration of the principles of poetry." The lectures were given under the auspices of the London Philosophical Society, in the Scot's Corporation Hall, Crane Court, Fleet Street. Single tickets for the whole course were two guineas, or three guineas "with the privilege of introducing a lady." J. Payne Collier took shorthand notes of the lectures and published a portion of his material, the rest being lost ('Lectures on Shakespear', from notes by J.P. Collier), The notes, with other contemporary reports from the 'Times', 'Morning Chronicle', 'Dublin Chronicle', Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', and other sources, were republished in 1883 by Mr. Ashe ('Lectures and Notes on Shakspere and other English Poets'). Collier, in his notes of Coleridge's conversation (November I, 1811), gives the substance, in all probability, of the attack on Campbell alluded to in the next letter. Coleridge said that "neither Southey, Scott, nor Campbell would by their poetry survive much beyond the day when they lived and wrote. Their works seemed to him not to have the seeds of vitality, the real germs of long life. The two first were entertaining as tellers of stories in verse; but the last, in his 'Pleasures of Hope', obviously had no fixed design, but when a thought (of course, not a very original one) came into his head, he put it down in couplets, and afterwards strung the 'disjecta membra' (not 'poetæ') together. Some of the best things in it were borrowed; for instance the line: 'And freedom shriek'd when Kosciusko fell,' was taken from a much-ridiculed piece by Dennis, a pindaric on William III.: 'Fair Liberty shriek'd out aloud, aloud Religion groaned.' It is the same production in which the following much-laughed-at specimen of bathos is found: 'Nor Alps nor Pyreneans keep him out, Nor fortified redoubt.' Coleridge had little toleration for Campbell, and considered him, as far as he had gone, a mere verse-maker."(Ashe's Introduction to 'Lectures on Shakspere', pp. 16, 17).] [Footnote 4: Hannibal, in exile at Ephesus, was taken to hear a lecture by a peripatetic philosopher named Phormio. The lecturer ('homo copiosus') discoursed for some hours on the duties of a general, and military subjects generally. The delighted audience asked Hannibal his opinion of the lecture. He replied in Greek, "I have seen many old fools often, but such an old fool as Phormio, never ('Multos se deliros senes s¾pe vidisse; sed qui magis, quam Phormio, deliraret, vidisse neminem')" (Cicero, 'De Oratore', ii. 18).] * * * * * 211.--To James Wedderburn Webster. 8, St. James's St., Dec. 7th, 1811. My Dear W.,--I was out of town during the arrival of your letters, but forwarded all on my return. I hope you are going on to your satisfaction, and that her Ladyship is about to produce an heir with all his mother's Graces and all his Sire's good qualities. You know I am to be a Godfather. Byron Webster! a most heroic name, say what you please. Don't be alarmed; my "_caprice_" won't lead me in to Dorset. No, _Bachelors_ for me! I consider you as dead to us, and all my future _devoirs_ are but tributes of respect to your _Memory_. Poor fellow! he was a facetious companion and well respected by all who knew him; but he is gone. Sooner or later we must all come to it. I see nothing of you in the _papers_, the only place where I don't wish to see you; but you will be in town in the Winter. What dost thou do? shoot, hunt, and "wind up y'e Clock" as Caleb Quotem says? [1] That thou art vastly happy, I doubt not. I see your brother in law at times, and like him much; but we miss you much; I shall leave town in a fortnight to pass my Xmas in Notts. Good afternoon, Dear W. Believe me, Yours ever most truly, B. [Footnote 1: Byron alludes to Caleb Quotem's song in 'The Review, or Wags of Windsor' (act ii. sc. 2), by George Colman the Younger: "I'm parish clerk and sexton here, My name is Caleb Quotem, I'm painter, glazier, auctioneer, In short, I am factotum." ... "At night by the fire, like a good, jolly cock, When my day's work is done and all over, I tipple, I smoke, and I wind up the clock, With my sweet Mrs. Quotem in clover."] * * * * * 212.--To William Harness. St. James's Street, Dec. 8, 1811. Behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of your precision; but this being Sunday, I can procure no better, and will atone for its length by not filling it. Bland I have not seen since my last letter; but on Tuesday he dines with me, and will meet Moore, the epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or personal accomplishments. How Bland has settled with Miller, I know not. I have very little interest with either, and they must arrange their concerns according to their own gusto. I have done my endeavours, _at your request_, to bring them together, and hope they may agree to their mutual advantage. Coleridge has been lecturing against Campbell. [1] Rogers was present, and from him I derive the information. We are going to make a party to hear this Manichean of poesy. Pole [2] is to marry Miss Long, and will be a very miserable dog for all that. The present ministers are to continue, and his Majesty _does_ continue in the same state; so there's folly and madness for you, both in a breath. I never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was Beaumarchais, [3] the author of _Figaro_, who buried two wives and gained three lawsuits before he was thirty. And now, child, what art thou doing? _Reading, I trust_. I want to see you take a degree. Remember, this is the most important period of your life; and don't disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all your kin--besides myself. Don't you know that all male children are begotten for the express purpose of being graduates? and that even I am an A.M., [4] though how I became so the Public Orator only can resolve. Besides, you are to be a priest; and to confute Sir William Drummond's late book about the Bible [5] (printed, but not published), and all other infidels whatever. Now leave Master H.'s gig, and Master S.'s Sapphics, and become as immortal as Cambridge can make you. You see, _Mio Carissimo_, what a pestilent correspondent I am likely to become; but then you shall be as quiet at Newstead as you please, and I won't disturb your studies as I do now. When do you fix the day, that I may take you up according to contract? Hodgson talks of making a third in our journey; but we can't stow him, inside at least. Positively you shall go with me as was agreed, and don't let me have any of your _politesse_ to H. on the occasion. I shall manage to arrange for both with a little contrivance. I wish H. was not quite so fat, and we should pack better. You will want to know what I am doing--chewing tobacco. You see nothing of my allies, Scrope Davies and Matthews [6]--they don't suit you; and how does it happen that I--who am a pipkin of the same pottery--continue in your good graces? Good night,--I will go on in the morning. Dec. 9th.--In a morning I am always sullen, and to-day is as sombre as myself. Rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in a beef-eating and beer-drinking country. My bookseller, Cawthorne, has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, for which 1000 guineas are asked! [7] He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it), which I shall do with pleasure; but I should be very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose _Cecilia_ Dr. Johnson superintended. [8] If he lends it to me, I shall put it in the hands of Rogers and Moore, who are truly men of taste. I have filled the sheet, and beg your pardon; I will not do it again. I shall, perhaps, write again; but if not, believe, silent or scribbling, that I am, My dearest William, ever, etc. [Footnote 1: See p. 75, 'note' 1. In the application to Coleridge of the phrase, "Manichean of poesy," Byron may allude to Cowper's 'Task' (bk. v. lines 444, 445): "As dreadful as the Manichean God, Adored through fear, strong only to destroy."] [Footnote 2: William Wellesley Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (1788-1857), one of the most worthless of the bloods of the Regency, son of Lord Maryborough, and nephew of the Duke of Wellington, became in 1845 the fourth Earl of Mornington. He married in March, 1812, Catherine, daughter and co-heir, with her brother, of Sir James Tylney Long, Bart., of Draycot, Wilts. On his marriage he added his wife's double name to his own, and so gave a point to the authors of Rejected Addresses: "Long may Long-Tilney-Wellesley-Long-Pole live." For Byron's allusion to him in 'The Waltz', see 'Poems', 1898, vol. i. p. 484, note 1. Having run through his wife's large fortune by his extravagant expenditure at Wanstead Park and elsewhere, he was obliged, in 1822, to escape from his creditors to the Continent. There (1823-25) he lived with Mrs. Bligh, wife of Captain Bligh, of the Coldstream Guards. His wife died in 1825, after filing a bill for divorce, and making her children wards of Chancery. Wellesley subsequently (1828) married Mrs. Bligh; but the second wife was as ill treated as the first, and he left her so destitute that she was a frequent applicant for relief at the metropolitan police-courts. He died of heart-disease in July, 1857, a pensioner on the charity of his cousin, the second Duke of Wellington.] [Footnote 3: Byron's statement is incorrect. Pierre-Auguste Caron de Beaumarchais (1732-1799) married, in 1756, as his first wife, Madeleine-Catherine Aubertin, widow of the sieur Franquet. She died in 1757. He married, in 1768, as his second wife, Geneviève-Magdaleine Wattebled, widow of the sieur Lévêque. She died in 1770. The only lawsuit which he won "before he was thirty," was that against Lepaute, who claimed as his own invention the escapement for watches and clocks, which Beaumarchais had discovered. The case was decided in favour of Beaumarchais in 1754. Out of his second lawsuit--with Count de la Blache, legatee of his patron Duverney, who died in 1770--sprang his action against Goëzman, with which began the publication of his 'Mémoires'. (See Loménie, 'Beaumarchais and his Times', tr. by H.S. Edwards, 4 vols., London, 1855-6.)] [Footnote 4: Byron took his M. A. degree at Cambridge July 4, 1808.] [Footnote 5: Sir William Drummond (1770-1828), Tory M.P. for St. Mawes (1795-96) and for Lostwithiel (1796-1801), held from 1801 to 1809 several diplomatic posts: ambassador to the Court of Naples 1801-3; to the Ottoman Porte 1803-6; to the Court of Naples for the second time, 1806-9. From 1809, at which date his political and diplomatic career closed, he devoted himself to literature. He had already published 'Philosophical Sketches on the Principles of Society and Government' (1793); 'A Review of the Governments of Sparta and Athens' (1795); 'The Satires of Persius', translated (1798); 'Byblis, a Tragedy', in verse (1802); 'Academical Questions' (1805). In 1810 he published 'Herculanensia'; and, in the following year, printed for private circulation his 'OEdipus Judaicus', a bold attempt to explain many parts of the Old Testament as astronomical allegories. In 1817 appeared the first part of his 'Odin', a poem in blank verse; in 1824-29 his 'Origines, or Remarks on the Origin of several Empires, States, and Cities', was published. Sir William, who died at Rome in 1828, lived much of his later life abroad. Drummond, as a member of the Alfred Club, is described in the 'Sexagenarian' (vol. ii. chap, xxiv.), where Beloe, speaking of the ('Edipus Judaicus'), says that "he appeared to have employed his leisure in searching for objections and arguments as they related to Scripture, which had been so often refuted, that they were considered by the learned and wise as almost exploded." He refers to 'Byblis' as evidence of his "perverted and fantastical taste" in poetry, praises his "spirited translation" of Persius, commends the "sound sense and very extensive reading" of his 'Philosophical' 'Sketches', and scoffs at the "metaphysical labyrinth" of his 'Academical Questions'. "When you go to Naples," said Byron to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', pp. 238, 239), "you must make acquaintance with Sir William Drummond, for he is certainly one of the most erudite men and admirable philosophers now living. He has all the wit of Voltaire, with a profundity that seldom appertains to wit, and writes so forcibly, and with such elegance and purity of style, that his works possess a peculiar charm. Have you read his 'Academical Questions'? If not, get them directly, and I think you will agree with me, that the preface to that work alone would prove Sir William Drummond an admirable writer. He concludes it by the following sentence, which I think one of the best in our language: "'Prejudice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while Reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other; he who will not reason is a bigot; he who cannot is a fool; and he who dares not is a slave.' "Is not the passage admirable? How few could have written it! and yet how few read Drummond's works! They are too good to be popular. His 'Odin' is really a fine poem, and has some passages that are beautiful, but it is so little read that it may be said to have dropped still-born from the press--a mortifying proof of the bad taste of the age. His translation of Persius is not only very literal, but preserves much of the spirit of the original... he has escaped all the defects of translators, and his Persius resembles the original as nearly, in feeling and sentiment, as two languages so dissimilar in idiom will admit."] [Footnote 6: Henry Matthews (1789-1828) of Eton and King's College, Cambridge, younger brother of Charles Skinner Matthews, and author of the 'Diary of an Invalid' (1820).] [Footnote 7: 'The Wanderer, or Female Difficulties', Madame d'Arblay's fourth and last novel ('Evelina', 1778; 'Cecilia', 1782; 'Camilla', 1796), was published in 1814. "I am indescribably occupied," she writes to Dr. Burney, October 12, 1813, "in giving more and more last touches to my work, about which I begin to grow very anxious. I am to receive merely £500 upon delivery of the MS.; the two following £500 by instalments from nine months to nine months, that is, in a year and a half from the day of publication. If all goes well, the whole will be £3000, but only at the end of the sale of eight thousand copies." The book failed; but rumour magnified the sum received by the writer. Mrs. Piozzi, shortly after the publication of 'The Wanderer' and of Byron's lines, "Weep, daughter of a royal line," writes to Samuel Lysons, February 17, 1814: "Come now, do send me a kind letter and tell me if Madame d'Arblaye gets £3000 for her book or no, and if Lord Byron is to be called over about some verses he has written, as the papers hint" ('Autobiography, Letters, and Literary Remains', vol. ii. p. 246).] [Footnote 8: Dr. Johnson never saw 'Cecilia' (1782) till it was in print. A day or two before publication, Miss Burney sent three copies to the three persons who had the best claim to them--her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr. Johnson.] * * * * * 213.--To Francis Hodgson. London, Dec. 8, 1811. I sent you a sad Tale of Three Friars the other day, and now take a dose in another style. I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former days. "Away, away, ye notes of woe," etc., etc. [1] I have gotten a book by Sir W. Drummond (printed, but not published), entitled _OEdipus Judaicus_ in which he attempts to prove the greater part of the Old Testament an allegory, particularly Genesis and Joshua. He professes himself a theist in the preface, and handles the literal interpretation very roughly. I wish you could see it. Mr. Ward [2] has lent it me, and I confess to me it is worth fifty Watsons. You and Harness must fix on the time for your visit to Newstead; I can command mine at your wish, unless any thing particular occurs in the interim. Master William Harness and I have recommenced a most fiery correspondence; I like him as Euripides liked Agatho, or Darby admired Joan, as much for the past as the present. Bland dines with me on Tuesday to meet Moore. Coleridge has attacked the _Pleasures of Hope_, and all other pleasures whatsoever. Mr. Rogers was present, and heard himself indirectly _rowed_ by the lecturer. We are going in a party to hear the new Art of Poetry by this reformed schismatic [3]; and were I one of these poetical luminaries, or of sufficient consequence to be noticed by the man of lectures, I should not hear him without an answer. For you know, "an a man will be beaten with brains, he shall never keep a clean doublet." [4] Campbell [5] will be desperately annoyed. I never saw a man (and of him I have seen very little) so sensitive;--what a happy temperament! I am sorry for it; what can _he_ fear from criticism? I don't know if Bland has seen Miller, who was to call on him yesterday. To-day is the Sabbath,--a day I never pass pleasantly, but at Cambridge; and, even there, the organ is a sad remembrancer. Things are stagnant enough in town; as long as they don't retrograde, 'tis all very well. Hobhouse writes and writes and writes, and is an author. I do nothing but eschew tobacco. [6] I wish parliament were assembled, that I may hear, and perhaps some day be heard;--but on this point I am not very sanguine. I have many plans;--sometimes I think of the East again, and dearly beloved Greece. I am well, but weakly. Yesterday Kinnaird [7] told me I looked very ill, and sent me home happy. You will never give up wine. See what it is to be thirty! if you were six years younger, you might leave off anything. You drink and repent; you repent and drink. Is Scrope still interesting and invalid? And how does Hinde with his cursed chemistry? To Harness I have written, and he has written, and we have all written, and have nothing now to do but write again, till Death splits up the pen and the scribbler. The Alfred [8] has three hundred and fifty-four candidates for six vacancies. The cook has run away and left us liable, which makes our committee very plaintive. Master Brook, our head serving-man, has the gout, and our new cook is none of the best. I speak from report,--for what is cookery to a leguminous-eating Ascetic? So now you know as much of the matter as I do. Books and quiet are still there, and they may dress their dishes in their own way for me. Let me know your determination as to Newstead, and believe me, Yours ever, [Greek: Mpairon.] [Footnote 1: Here follows one of the 'Thyrza' poems.] [Footnote 2: The Hon. John William Ward, afterwards fourth Earl of Dudley. Byron said of him (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', p. 197), "Ward is one of the best-informed men I know, and, in a 'tête-à-tête', is one of the most agreeable companions. He has great originality, and, being 'très distrait', it adds to the piquancy of his observations, which are sometimes somewhat 'trop naïve', though always amusing. This 'naïveté' of his is the more piquant from his being really a good-natured man, who unconsciously thinks aloud. Interest Ward on a subject, and I know no one who can talk better. His expressions are concise without being poor, and terse and epigrammatic without being affected," etc. Of somewhat the same opinion was Lady H. Leveson Gower ('Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville', vol. i. pp. 41, 42): "The charm of Mr. Ward's conversation is exactly what Mr. Luttrell wants, a sort of 'abandon', and being entertaining because it is his nature and he cannot help it. I only mean Mr. Ward in his happier hour, for what I have said of him is the very reverse of what he is when vanity or humour seize upon him."] [Footnote 3: Crabb Robinson, in his 'Diary' for January 20, 1812, has the following entry: "In the evening at Coleridge's lecture. Conclusion of Milton. Not one of the happiest of Coleridge's efforts. Rogers was there, and with him was Lord Byron. He was wrapped up, but I recognized his club foot, and, indeed, his countenance and general appearance."] [Footnote 4: "'Benedict': No; if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome about him." 'Much Ado about Nothing', act v. sc. 4.] [Footnote 5: Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) lectured at the Royal Institution in 1811 on poetry. The lectures were afterwards published in the 'New Monthly Magazine', of which he was editor (1820-30). Campbell also apparently read his lectures aloud at private houses. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 502) mentions a dinner-party on June 26, 1812, at the Princess of Wales's, where she heard him read his "first discourse," delivered at the Institution. Again (ibid., vol. iii. p. 6), she dined with Madame de Stael, March 9, 1814: "Nobody but Campbell the poet, Rocca, and her own daughter. After dinner, Campbell read to us a discourse of his upon English poetry, and upon some of the great poets. There are always signs of a poet and critic of genius in all he does, often encumbered by too ornate a style." Campbell's best work was done between 1798 and 1810. Within that period were published 'The Pleasures of Hope' (1799), 'Gertrude of Wyoming' (1809), and such other shorter poems as "Hohenlinden," "Ye Mariners of England," "The Battle of the Baltic," and "O'Connor's Child." His "Ritter Bann," a reminiscence of his sojourn abroad (1800-1), was not published till later; both it and "The Last Man" were published in the 'New Monthly Magazine', during the period of his editorship. An excellent judge of verse, he collected 'Specimens of the British Poets' (1819), to which he added a valuable essay on poetry and short biographies. His 'Theodoric' (1824), 'Pilgrim of Glencoe' (1842), and Lives of Mrs. Siddons, Petrarch, and Shakespeare added nothing to his reputation. The judgment of contemporary poets in the main agreed with Coleridge's estimate of Campbell's work. "There are some of Campbell's lyrics," said Rogers ('Table-Talk', etc., pp. 254, 255), "which will never die. His 'Pleasures of Hope' is no great favourite with me. The 'feeling' throughout his 'Gertrude' is very beautiful." Wordsworth also thought the 'Pleasures of Hope' "strangely over-rated; its fine words and sounding lines please the generality of readers, who never stop to ask themselves the meaning of a passage." Byron, who calls Campbell "a warm-hearted and honest man," thought that his "'Lochiel' and 'Mariners' are spirit-stirring productions; his 'Gertrude of Wyoming' is beautiful; and some of the episodes in his 'Pleasures of Hope' pleased me so much that I know them by heart". (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', p. 353). George Ticknor, who met Campbell in 1815 ('Life', vol. i. p. 63), says, "He is a short, small man, and has one of the roundest and most lively faces I have seen amongst this grave people. His manners seemed as open as his countenance, and his conversation as spirited as his poetry. He could have kept me amused till morning." Shortly afterwards, Ticknor went to see him at Sydenham (ibid., p. 65): "Campbell had the same good spirits and love of merriment as when I met him before,--the same desire to amuse everybody about him; but still I could see, as I partly saw then, that he labours under the burden of an extraordinary reputation, too easily acquired, and feels too constantly that it is necessary for him to make an exertion to satisfy expectation. The consequence is that, though he is always amusing, he is not always quite natural." Sir Walter Scott made a similar remark about the numbing effect of Campbell's reputation upon his literary work; his deference to critics ruined his individuality. It was Scott's admiration for "Hohenlinden" which induced Campbell to publish the poem. The two men, travelling in a stage-coach alone, beguiled the way by repeating poetry. At last Scott asked Campbell for something of his own. He replied that there was one thing he had never printed, full of "drums and trumpets and blunderbusses and thunder," and that he did not know if there was any good in it. He then repeated "Hohenlinden." When he had finished, Scott broke out with, "But, do you know, that's devilish fine! Why, it's the finest thing you ever wrote, and it 'must' be printed!"] [Footnote 6: See p. 31, note 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 181].] [Footnote 7: Douglas James William Kinnaird (1788-1830), fifth son of the seventh Baron Kinnaird, was educated at Eton, Gottingen, and Trinity College, Cambridge. He was an intimate friend of Hobhouse, with whom he travelled on the Continent (1813-14), and was in political sympathy. He represented Bishop's Castle from July, 1819, to March, 1820, but losing his seat at the general election, did not again attempt to enter Parliament. He was famous for his "mob dinners," to which Moore probably refers when he writes to Byron, in an undated letter, of the "Deipnosophist Kinnaird." He was a partner in the bank of Ransom and Morland, a member of the committee for managing Drury Lane Theatre, author of the acting version of 'The Merchant of Bruges, or Beggar's Bush' (acted at Drury Lane, December 14, 1815), and a member of the Radical Rota Club. Kinnaird was Byron's "trusty and trustworthy trustee and banker, and crown and sheet anchor." It was at his suggestion that Byron wrote the 'Hebrew Melodies' and the 'Monody on the Death of Sheridan'. Talking of Kinnaird to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 215), Byron said, "My friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot compensate for an irritable temper; whenever he is named, people dwell on the last and pass over the first; and yet he really has an excellent heart, and a sound head, of which I, in common with many others of his friends, have had various proofs. He is clever, too, and well informed, and I do think would have made a figure in the world, were it not for his temper, which gives a dictatorial tone to his manner, that is offensive to the 'amour propre' of those with whom he mixes."] [Footnote 8: The Alfred Club (1808-55), established at 23, Albemarle Street, was the Savile of the day. Beloe, in his 'Sexagenarian' (vol. ii. chaps, xx.-xxv.), describes among the members of the Symposium, as he calls it, Sir James Mackintosh, George Ellis, William Gifford, John Reeves, Sir W. Drummond, and himself. Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts', says, "I was a member of the Alfred. It was pleasant; a little too sober and literary, and bored with Sotheby and Sir Francis d'Ivernois; but one met Peel, and Ward, and Valentia, and many other pleasant or known people; and it was, upon the whole, a decent resource in a rainy day, in a dearth of parties, or parliament, or in an empty season." It was, says Mr. Wheatley ('London Past and Present'), known as the 'Half-read'. In a manuscript note, now for the first time printed as written, on the above passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', Sir Walter Scott writes, "The Alfred, like all other clubs, was much haunted with boars, a tusky monster which delights to range where men most do congregate. A boar, or bore, is always remarkable for something respectable, such as wealth, character, high birth, acknowledged talent, or, in short, for something that forbids people to turn him out by the shoulders, or, in other words, to cut him dead. Much of this respectability is supplied by the mere circumstance of belonging to a certain society of clubists, within whose districts the bore obtains free-warren, and may wallow or grunt at pleasure. Old stagers in the club know and avoid the fated corner and arm-chair which he haunts; but he often rushes from his lair on the inexperienced."] * * * * * 214.--To Thomas Moore. December 11, 1811. My Dear Moore,--If you please, we will drop our former monosyllables, and adhere to the appellations sanctioned by our godfathers and godmothers. If you make it a point, I will withdraw your name; at the same time there is no occasion, as I have this day postponed your election 'sine die', till it shall suit your wishes to be amongst us. I do not say this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would occasion to _me_, but simply such is the state of the case; and, indeed, the longer your name is up, the stronger will become your probability of success, and your voters more numerous. Of course you will decide--your wish shall be my law. If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive. I wish you would go down with me to Newstead. Hodgson will be there, and a young friend, named Harness, the earliest and dearest I ever had from the third form at Harrow to this hour. I can promise you good wine, and, if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres, fires, books, your own free will, and my own very indifferent company. 'Balnea, vina, Venus' [1]. Hodgson will plague you, I fear, with verse;--for my own part I will conclude, with Martial, 'nil recitabo tibi' [2]; and surely the last inducement, is not the least. Ponder on my proposition, and believe me, my dear Moore, Yours ever, BYRON. [Footnote 1: "Balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora nostra." The words are thus given in Grüter ('Corpus Inscriptionum' (1603), p. DCCCCXII. 10).] [Footnote 2: Martial (xi. lii. 16), 'Ad Julium Cerealem': "Plus ego polliceor: nil recitabo tibi."] * * * * * 215.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, Dec. 12, 1811. Why, Hodgson! I fear you have left off wine and me at the same time,--I have written and written and written, and no answer! My dear Sir Edgar [1], water disagrees with you--drink sack and write. Bland did not come to his appointment, being unwell, but Moore supplied all other vacancies most delectably. I have hopes of his joining us at Newstead. I am sure you would like him more and more as he developes,--at least I do. How Miller and Bland go on, I don't know. Cawthorne talks of being in treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, and if he obtains it (at 1500 guineas!!) wishes me to see the MS. This I should read with pleasure,-- not that I should ever dare to venture a criticism on her whose writings Dr. Johnson once revised, but for the pleasure of the thing. If my worthy publisher wanted a sound opinion, I should send the MS. to Rogers and Moore, as men most alive to true taste. I have had frequent letters from Wm. Harness, and _you_ are silent; certes, you are not a schoolboy. However, I have the consolation of knowing that you are better employed, viz. reviewing. You don't deserve that I should add another syllable, and I won't. Yours, etc. P.S.--I only wait for your answer to fix our meeting. [Footnote 1: Hodgson published, in 1810, 'Sir Edgar, a Tale'.] * * * * * 216.--To R. C. Dallas. [Undated, Dec.? 1811] [1] DEAR SIR,--I have only this scrubby paper to write on--excuse it. I am certain that I sent some more notes on Spain and Portugal, particularly one on the latter. Pray rummage, and don't mind my _politics_. I believe I leave town next week. Are you better? I hope so. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: Dallas's answer is dated December 14, 1811] * * * * * 217.--To William Harness. 8, St. James's Street, Dec. 15, 1811. I wrote you an answer to your last, which, on reflection, pleases me as little as it probably has pleased yourself. I will not wait for your rejoinder; but proceed to tell you, that I had just then been greeted with an epistle of * *'s, full of his petty grievances, and this at the moment when (from circumstances it is not necessary to enter upon) I was bearing up against recollections to which _his_ imaginary sufferings are as a scratch to a cancer. These things combined, put me out of humour with him and all mankind. The latter part of my life has been a perpetual struggle against affections which embittered the earliest portion; and though I flatter myself I have in a great measure conquered them, yet there are moments (and this was one) when I am as foolish as formerly. I never said so much before, nor had I said this now, if I did not suspect myself of having been rather savage in my letter, and wish to inform you this much of the cause. You know I am not one of your dolorous gentlemen: so now let us laugh again. Yesterday I went with Moore to Sydenham to visit Campbell [1]. He was not visible, so we jogged homeward merrily enough. To-morrow I dine with Rogers, and am to hear Coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present. Last night I saw Kemble in Coriolanus [2];--he _was glorious_, and exerted himself wonderfully. By good luck I got an excellent place in the best part of the house, which was more than overflowing. Clare [3] and Delawarr [4], who were there on the same speculation, were less fortunate. I saw them by accident,--we were not together. I wished for you, to gratify your love of Shakspeare and of fine acting to its fullest extent. Last week I saw an exhibition of a different kind in a Mr. Coates, [5] at the Haymarket, who performed Lothario in a _damned_ and damnable manner. I told you the fate of B[land] and H[odgson] in my last. So much for these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the loss--the never to be recovered loss--the despair of the refined attachment of a couple of drabs! You censure _my_ life, Harness,--when I compare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin to conceive myself a monument of prudence--a walking statue--without feeling or failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud pre-eminence over them in profligacy. Yet I like the men, and, God knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked when they dignify all this by the name of _love_--romantic attachments for things marketable for a dollar! Dec. 16th.--I have just received your letter;--I feel your kindness very deeply. The foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will, I hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. I do _like_ to hear from you--more than _like_. Next to seeing you, I have no greater satisfaction. But you have other duties, and greater pleasures, and I should regret to take a moment from either. H * * was to call to-day, but I have not seen him. The circumstances you mention at the close of your letter is another proof in favour of my opinion of mankind. Such you will always find them--selfish and distrustful. I except none. The cause of this is the state of society. In the world, every one is to stir for himself--it is useless, perhaps selfish, to expect any thing from his neighbour. But I do not think we are born of this disposition; for you find _friendship_ as a schoolboy, and _love_ enough before twenty. I went to see * *; he keeps me in town, where I don't wish to be at present. He is a good man, but totally without conduct. And now, my dearest William, I must wish you good morrow, and remain ever, Most sincerely and affectionately yours, etc. [Footnote 1: Campbell lived at Sydenham from 1804 to 1820. Moore (Life, p. 148) adds the following note: "On this occasion, another of the noble poet's peculiarities was, somewhat startlingly, introduced to my notice. When we were on the point of setting out from his lodgings in St. James's Street, it being then about midday, he said to the servant, who was shutting the door of the 'vis-a-vis', 'Have you put in the pistols?' and was answered in the affirmative. It was difficult,--more especially taking into account the circumstances under which we had just become acquainted,-- to keep from smiling at this singular noonday precaution."] [Footnote 2: On December 14, 1811, at Covent Garden, Kemble acted "Coriolanus" with Mrs. Siddons as "Volumnia." It was Kemble's great part, and in it he made his last appearance on the stage (June 23, 1817).] [Footnote 3: For Lord Clare, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 116, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 65.]] [Footnote 4: For Lord Delawarr, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 41, note 1 [Footnote 5 of Letter 13.]] [Footnote 5: Robert Coates, "the Amateur of Fashion," known as "Romeo" Coates, sometimes as "Diamond" Coates, sometimes as "Cock-a-doodle-doo" Coates (1772-1848), was the only surviving son of a wealthy West Indian planter. He made his first appearance on the stage at Bath (February 9, 1810), as "Romeo." In the play-bill he was announced as "a Gentleman, 1st Appearance on any stage." Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. p. 207) says, "Many gentlemen have been weak enough to fancy themselves actors, but no one ever persevered in obtruding himself for so long a time on the notice of the public in spite of laughter, hissing, etc." On December 9, 1811, he appeared at the Haymarket as "Lothario" in Rowe's 'Fair Penitent'. Mathews, at Covent Garden, imitated his performance, in Bate Dudley's 'At Home', as "Mr. Romeo Rantall," appearing in the "pink silk vest and cloak, white satin breeches and stockings, Spanish hat, with a rich high plume of ostrich feathers," in which Coates had played "Lothario" 'Memoirs of Charles Mathews', (vol. ii. pp. 238, 239).] * * * * * 218.--To Robert Rushton. [1] 8, St. James's Street, Jan. 21, 1812. Though I have no objection to your refusal to carry _letters_ to Mealey's, you will take care that the letters are taken by _Spero_ at the proper time. I have also to observe, that Susan is to be treated with civility, and not _insulted_ by any person over whom I have the smallest controul, or, indeed, by any one whatever, while I have the power to protect her. I am truly sorry to have any subject of complaint against _you_; I have too good an opinion of you to think I shall have occasion to repeat it, after the care I have taken of you, and my favourable intentions in your behalf. I see no occasion for any communication whatever between _you_ and the _women_, and wish you to occupy yourself in preparing for the situation in which you will be placed. If a common sense of decency cannot prevent you from conducting yourself towards them with rudeness, I should at least hope that your _own interest_, and regard for a master who has _never_ treated you with unkindness, will have some weight. Yours, etc., BYRON. P.S.--I wish you to attend to your arithmetic, to occupy yourself in surveying, measuring, and making yourself acquainted with every particular relative to the _land_ of Newstead, and you will _write_ to me _one letter every week_, that I may know how you go on. [Footnote 1: The two following letters, and a suppressed passage in the letter to Moore of January 29, 1812, refer to a quarrel among his dependents, in which Rushton, the "little page" of Childe Harold (see 'Letters', vol. i. pp. 224, 242), played a part. The story is told at considerable length in a letter to Hodgson, dated January 28, 1812. To the same affair probably belong the following scrap and Byron's note: "Pray don't forget me, as I shall never cease thinking of you, my Dearest 'and only Friend, (signed) S. H. V.'" To this Byron has added this note: "This was written on the 11th of January, 1812; on the 28th I received ample proof that the Girl had forgotten _me_ and _herself_ too. Heigho! B." The letters show, writes Moore ('Life', p. 152), "how gravely and coolly the young lord could arbitrate on such an occasion, and with what considerate leaning towards the servant whose fidelity he had proved, in preference to any new liking or fancy by which it might be suspected he was actuated toward the other." In a MS. book written by Mrs. Heath of Newstead ('née' Rebekah Beardall), it is stated that the elder Rushton had as his farm-servant Fletcher, afterwards Byron's valet. Byron watched Fletcher and young Robert Rushton ploughing, took a fancy to both, and engaged them as his servants. Rushton accompanied Byron to Geneva, but afterwards entered the service of James Wedderburn Webster (see p. 2, 'note' 1). In 1827 he married a woman of the name of Bagnall, and with her help kept a school at Arnold, near Nottingham. Subsequently he took a farm on the Newstead estate, named Hazelford, and shortly afterwards died, leaving a widow and three children.] * * * * * 219.--To Robert Rushton. 8, St. James's Street, January 25, 1812. Your refusal to carry the letter was not a subject of remonstrance: it was not a part of your business; but the language you used to the girl was (as _she_ stated it) highly improper. You say, that you also have something to complain of; then state it to me immediately: it would be very unfair, and very contrary to my disposition, not to hear both sides of the question. If any thing has passed between you _before_ or since my last visit to Newstead, do not be afraid to mention it. I am sure _you_ would not deceive me, though _she_ would. Whatever it is, _you_, shall be forgiven. I have not been without some suspicions on the subject, and am certain that, at your time of life, the blame could not attach to you. You will not _consult_, any one as to your answer, but write to me immediately. I shall be more ready to hear what you have to advance, as I do not remember ever to have heard a word from you before _against_, any human being, which convinces me you would not maliciously assert an untruth. There is not any one who can do the least injury to you, while you conduct yourself properly. I shall expect your answer immediately. Yours, etc., BYRON. * * * * * 220.--To Thomas Moore. January 29, 1812. My Dear Moore,--I wish very much I could have seen you; I am in a state of ludicrous tribulation.*** Why do you say that I dislike your poesy [1]? I have expressed no such opinion, either in _print_ or elsewhere. In scribbling myself, it was necessary for me to find fault, and I fixed upon the trite charge of immorality, because I could discover no other, and was so perfectly qualified in the innocence of my heart, to "pluck that mote from my neighbour's eye." I feel very, very much obliged by your approbation; but, at _this moment_, praise, even _your_ praise, passes by me like "the idle wind." I meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication; but now I can think of nothing but damned, deceitful,--delightful woman, as Mr. Liston says in the 'Knight of Snowdon' [2]? Believe me, my dear Moore, Ever yours, most affectionately, BYRON. [Footnote: 1. Of Moore's early poems Byron was an admirer. The influence of "Little" and "Anacreon" is strongly marked throughout 'Hours of Idleness'. For the "trite charge of immorality," see 'English Bards, etc.', lines 283-294; and 'Letters', vol. i. p. 113. Byron's opinion of Moore's later poetry was thus stated by him to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', pp. 354, 355): "Having compared Rogers's poems to a flower-garden, to what shall I compare Moore's?--to the Valley of Diamonds, where all is brilliant and attractive, but where one is so dazzled by the sparkling on every side that one knows not where to fix, each gem beautiful in itself, but overpowering to the eye from their quantity."] [Footnote 2: 'The Knight of Snowdoun', a musical drama, written by Thomas Morton (1764-1838), and founded on 'The Lady of the Lake', was produced at Covent Garden, Feb. 5, 1811, and published the same year. John Liston (1776-1846), the most famous comedian of the century, played the part of "Macloon," his wife that of "Isabel." In act iii. sc. 3 Macloon says, "Oh, woman! woman! deceitful, damnable, (_changing into a half-smile_) delightful woman! do all one can, there's nothing else worth thinking of."] * * * * * 221.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, Feb. 1, 1812. MY DEAR HODGSON,-I am rather unwell with a vile cold, caught in the House of Lords last night. Lord Sligo and myself, being tired, _paired off_, being of opposite sides, so that nothing was gained or lost by _our_ votes. I did not speak: but I might as well, for nothing could have been inferior to the Duke of Devonshire, Marquis of Downshire, and the Earl of Fitzwilliam. The Catholic Question comes on this month, and perhaps I may then commence. I must "screw my courage to the sticking-place," and we'll _not_ fail. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 222.--To Samuel Rogers. February 4, 1812. MY DEAR SIR,--With my best acknowledgments to Lord Holland [1], I have to offer my perfect concurrence in the propriety of the question previously to be put to ministers. If their answer is in the negative, I shall, with his Lordship's approbation, give notice of a motion for a Committee of Inquiry. I would also gladly avail myself of his most able advice, and any information or documents with which he might be pleased to intrust me, to bear me out in the statement of facts it may be necessary to submit to the House. From all that fell under my own observation during my Christmas visit to Newstead, I feel convinced that, if _conciliatory_ measures are not very soon adopted, the most unhappy consequences may be apprehended. [2] Nightly outrage and daily depredation are already at their height; and not only the masters of frames, who are obnoxious on account of their occupation, but persons in no degree connected with the malecontents or their oppressors, are liable to insult and pillage. I am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken on my account, and beg you to believe me, Ever your obliged and sincere, etc. [Footnote 1: For Lord Holland, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 184, 'note' 1 [Footnote 3 of Letter 94]. He was Recorder of Nottingham; hence his special interest in the proposed legislation against frame-breaking.] [Footnote 2: Owing to the state of trade, numbers of stocking-weavers had lost work. The discontent thus produced was increased by the introduction of a wide frame for the manufacture of gaiters and stockings, which, it was supposed, would further diminish the demand for manual labour. In November, 1811, organized bands of men began to break into houses and destroy machinery. For several days no serious effort was made to check the riots, which extended to a considerable distance round Nottingham. But on November 14 the soldiers were called out. Between that date and December 9, 900 cavalry and 1000 infantry were sent to Nottingham; and, on January 8, 1812, these forces were increased by two additional regiments. The rioters assumed the name of Luddites, and their leader was known as General Lud. The name is said to have originated in 1779, in a Leicestershire village, where a half-witted lad, named Ned Lud, broke a stocking-frame in a fit of passion; hence the common saying, when machinery was broken, that "Ned Lud" did it. A Bill was introduced in the House of Commons (February 14) increasing the severity of punishments for frame-breaking. On the second reading (February 17) Sir Samuel Romilly strongly opposed the measure, which passed its third reading (February 20) without a division. The Bill, as introduced into the Upper House by Lord Liverpool, (1) rendered the offence of frame-breaking punishable by death; and (2) compelled persons in whose houses the frames were broken to give information to the magistrates. On the second reading of the Bill (February 27, 1812), Byron spoke against it in his first speech in the House of Lords (see Appendix II. (i)). The Bill passed its third reading on March 5, and became law as 52 Geo. III. c. 16. Byron did not confine his opposition to a speech in the House of Lords. He also addressed "An Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill," which appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' on Monday, March 2, 1812. The following letter to Perry, the editor, is published by permission of Messrs. Ellis and Elvey, in whose possession is the original: "Sir,--I take the liberty of sending an alteration of the two last lines of Stanza 2'd which I wish to run as follows, "'Gibbets on Sherwood will _heighten_ the Scenery Shewing how Commerce, _how_ Liberty thrives!' "I wish you could insert it tomorrow for a particular reason; but I feel much obliged by your inserting it at all. Of course, do not put _my name_ to the thing. Believe me, Your obliged and very obed't Serv't, BYRON. "8, St. James Street, Sunday, March 1st, 1812."] * * * * * 223.--To Master John Cowell. [1] 8, St. James's Street, February 12, 1812. MY DEAR JOHN,--You have probably long ago forgotten the writer of these lines, who would, perhaps, be unable to recognize _yourself_, from the difference which must naturally have taken place in your stature and appearance since he saw you last. I have been rambling through Portugal, Spain, Greece, etc., etc., for some years, and have found so many changes on my return, that it would be very unfair not to expect that you should have had your share of alteration and improvement with the rest. I write to request a favour of you: a little boy of eleven years, the son of Mr. **, my particular friend, is about to become an Etonian, and I should esteem any act of protection or kindness to him as an obligation to myself: let me beg of you then to take some little notice of him at first, till he is able to shift for himself. I was happy to hear a very favourable account of you from a schoolfellow a few weeks ago, and should be glad to learn that your family are as well as I wish them to be. I presume you are in the upper school;--as an _Etonian_, you will look down upon a _Harrow_ man; but I never, even in my boyish days, disputed your superiority, which I once experienced in a cricket match, where I had the honour of making one of eleven, who were beaten to their hearts' content by your college in _one innings_. [2] Believe me to be, with great truth, etc., etc., B. [Footnote 1: "Breakfasted with Mr. Cowell," writes Moore, in his Diary, June 11, 1828, "having made his acquaintance for the purpose of gaining information about Lord Byron. Knew Byron for the first time when he himself was a little boy, from being in the habit of playing with B.'s dogs. Byron wrote to him to school to bid him mind his prosody. Gave me two or three of his letters to him. Saw a good deal of B. at Hastings; mentioned the anecdote about the ink-bottle striking one of the lead Muses. These Muses had been brought from Holland; and there were, I think, only eight of them arrived safe. Fletcher had brought B. a large jar of ink, and, not thinking it was full, B. had thrust his pen down to the very bottom; his anger at finding it come out all besmeared with ink made him chuck the jar out of the window, when it knocked down one of the Muses in the garden, and deluged her with ink. In 1813, when B. was at Salt Hill, he had Cowell over from Eton, and 'pouched' him no less than ten pounds. Cowell has ever since kept one of the notes. Told me a curious anecdote of Byron's mentioning to him, as if it had made a great impression on him, their seeing Shelley (as they thought) walking into a little wood at Lerici, when it was discovered afterwards that Shelley was at that time in quite another direction. 'This,' said Byron, in a sort of awe-struck voice, 'was about ten days before his death.' Cowell's imitation of his look and manner very striking. Thinks that in Byron's speech to Fletcher, when he was dying, threatening to appear to him, there was a touch of that humour and fun which he was accustomed to mix up with everything". ('Memoirs, Journals, etc'., vol. v. pp. 302, 303).] [Footnote 2: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 70, and 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 30.]] * * * * * 224.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, February 16, 1812. Dear Hodgson,--I send you a proof. Last week I was very ill and confined to bed with stone in the kidney, but I am now quite recovered. The women are gone to their relatives, after many attempts to explain what was already too clear. If the stone had got into my heart instead of my kidneys, it would have been all the better. However, I have quite recovered _that_ also, and only wonder at my folly in excepting my own strumpets from the general corruption,--albeit a two months' weakness is better than ten years. I have one request to make, which is, never mention a woman again in any letter to me, or even allude to the existence of the sex. I won't even read a word of the feminine gender;--it must all be 'propria quæ maribus'. In the spring of 1813 I shall leave England for ever. Every thing in my affairs tends to this, and my inclinations and health do not discourage it. Neither my habits nor constitution are improved by your customs or your climate. I shall find employment in making myself a good Oriental scholar. I shall retain a mansion in one of the fairest islands, and retrace, at intervals, the most interesting portions of the East. In the mean time, I am adjusting my concerns, which will (when arranged) leave me with wealth sufficient even for home, but enough for a principality in Turkey. At present they are involved, but I hope, by taking some necessary but unpleasant steps, to clear every thing. Hobhouse is expected daily in London: we shall be very glad to see him; and, perhaps, you will come up and "drink deep ere he depart," if not, "Mahomet must go to the mountain;" [1]--but Cambridge will bring sad recollections to him, and worse to me, though for very different reasons. I believe the only human being, that ever loved me in truth and entirely, was of, or belonging to, Cambridge, and, in that, no change can now take place. There is one consolation in death--where he sets his seal, the impression can neither be melted nor broken, but endureth for ever. Yours always, B. P.S.--I almost rejoice when one I love dies young, for I could never bear to see them old or altered. [Footnote 1: See Bacon's 'Essays' ("Of Boldness"): "Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. The people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, 'If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.'"] * * * * * 225.--To Francis Hodgson. London, February 21, 1812. My Dear Hodgson,--There is a book entituled _Galt, his Travels in ye Archipelago_, [1] daintily printed by Cadell and Davies, ye which I could desiderate might be criticised by you, inasmuch as ye author is a well-respected esquire of mine acquaintance, but I fear will meet with little mercy as a writer, unless a friend passeth judgment. Truth to say, ye boke is ye boke of a cock-brained man, and is full of devises crude and conceitede, but peradventure for my sake this grace may be vouchsafed unto him. Review him myself I can not, will not, and if you are likewize hard of heart, woe unto ye boke! ye which is a comely quarto. Now then! I have no objection to review, if it pleases Griffiths [2] to send books, or rather _you_, for you know the sort of things I like to [play] with. You will find what I say very serious as to my intentions. I have every reason to induce me to return to Ionia. Believe me, yours always, B. [Footnote 1: John Galt (1779-1839) published in 1812 his 'Voyages and Travels in the Years 1809, 1810, and 1811'. For his meeting with Byron at Gibraltar in 1809, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 130]; see also 'ibid.', p. 304, 'note' 2 [Footnote 2 of Letter 131]. Galt's novels were, in later years, liked by Byron, who "praised the 'Annals of the Parish' very highly, as also 'The Entail' ... some scenes of which, he said, had affected him very much. 'The characters in Mr. Galt's novels have an identity,' added Byron, 'that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures'" (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', p. 74). "When I knew Galt, years ago," said Byron to Lady Blessington, "I was not in a frame of mind to form an impartial opinion of him: his mildness and equanimity struck me even then; but, to say the truth, his manner had not deference enough for my then aristocratical taste, and finding I could not awe him into a respect sufficiently profound for my sublime self, either as a peer or an author, I felt a little grudge towards him that has now completely worn off," etc., etc. ('ibid.', p. 249).] [Footnote 2: George Edward Griffiths (circ. 1769-1829), son of Ralph Griffiths, who founded, owned, and published the 'Monthly Review', and boarded and lodged Oliver Goldsmith as a contributor, succeeded to the management of the 'Review' on the death of his father in 1803. He edited it till 1825, when he sold the property. He lived at Linden House, Turnham Green. Francis Hodgson wrote for the 'Monthly Review', and, March 2, 1814, he writes to Byron, "I have already read a review of Safie in the 'British Critic', and will undertake it in the 'Monthly' if Griffiths, with whom I am in very bad odour from my late shameful idleness, will allow me. Oh that you would write a good smart critique of something to get both 'yourself and me' in high repute at Turnham Green!!!!" In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' occurs the following passage: "I have been a reviewer. In the 'Monthly Review' I wrote some articles which were inserted. This was in the latter part of 1811. In 1807, in a Magazine called 'Monthly Literary Recreations', I reviewed Wordsworth's trash of that time. "Excepting these, I cannot accuse myself of anonymous Criticism (that I recollect), though I have been 'offered' more than one review in our principal Journals." In the Bodleian Library is a copy of the 'Monthly Review', in which Griffiths has entered the initials of the authors of each article. Two articles from the 'Review', attributed to Byron on this authority, are given in Appendix I.] * * * * * 226.--To Lord Holland. 8, St. James's Street, February 25, 1812. MY LORD,--With my best thanks, I have the honour to return the Notts, letter to your Lordship. I have read it with attention, but do not think I shall venture to avail myself of its contents, as my view of the question differs in some measure from Mr. Coldham's. I hope I do not wrong him, but _his_ objections to the bill appear to me to be founded on certain apprehensions that he and his coadjutors might be mistaken for the "_original advisers_" (to quote him) of the measure. For my own part, I consider the manufacturers as a much injured body of men, sacrificed to the views of certain individuals who have enriched themselves by those practices which have deprived the frame-workers of employment. For instance;--by the adoption of a certain kind of frame, one man performs the work of seven--six are thus thrown out of business. But it is to be observed that the work thus done is far inferior in quality, hardly marketable at home, and hurried over with a view to exportation. Surely, my Lord, however we may rejoice in any improvement in the arts which may be beneficial to mankind, we must not allow mankind to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. The maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor is an object of greater consequence to the community than the enrichment of a few monopolists by any improvement in the implements of trade, which deprives the workman of his bread, and renders the labourer "unworthy of his hire." My own motive for opposing the bill is founded on its palpable injustice, and its certain inefficacy. I have seen the state of these miserable men, and it is a disgrace to a civilized country. Their excesses may be condemned, but cannot be subject of wonder. The effect of the present bill would be to drive them into actual rebellion. The few words I shall venture to offer on Thursday will be founded upon these opinions formed from my own observations on the spot. By previous inquiry, I am convinced these men would have been restored to employment, and the county to tranquillity. It is, perhaps, not yet too late, and is surely worth the trial. It can never be too late to employ force in such circumstances. I believe your Lordship does not coincide with me entirely on this subject, and most cheerfully and sincerely shall I submit to your superior judgment and experience, and take some other line of argument against the bill, or be silent altogether, should you deem it more advisable. Condemning, as every one must condemn, the conduct of these wretches, I believe in the existence of grievances which call rather for pity than punishment. I have the honour to be, with great respect, my Lord, your Lordship's Most obedient and obliged servant, BYRON. P.S.--I am a little apprehensive that your Lordship will think me too lenient towards these men, and half a _frame-breaker myself_. * * * * * 227.--To Francis Hodgson. 8, St. James's Street, March 5, 1812. MY DEAR HODGSON,--_We_ are not answerable for reports of speeches in the papers; they are always given incorrectly, and on this occasion more so than usual, from the debate in the Commons on the same night. The _Morning Post_ should have said _eighteen years_. However, you will find the speech, as spoken, in the Parliamentary Register, when it comes out. Lords Holland and Grenville, particularly the latter, paid me some high compliments in the course of their speeches, as you may have seen in the papers, and Lords Eldon and Harrowby answered me. I have had many marvellous eulogies [1] repeated to me since, in person and by proxy, from divers persons _ministerial_--yea, _ministerial!_--as well as oppositionists; of them I shall only mention Sir F. Burdett. _He_ says it is the best speech by a _lord_ since the "_Lord_ knows when," probably from a fellow-feeling in the sentiments. Lord H. tells me I shall beat them all if I persevere; and Lord G. remarked that the construction of some of my periods are very like _Burke's!!_ And so much for vanity. I spoke very violent sentences with a sort of modest impudence, abused every thing and every body, and put the Lord Chancellor very much out of humour: and if I may believe what I hear, have not lost any character by the experiment. As to my delivery, loud and fluent enough, perhaps a little theatrical. I could not recognize myself or any one else in the newspapers [2]. I hire myself unto Griffiths, and my poesy [3] comes out on Saturday. Hobhouse is here; I shall tell him to write. My stone is gone for the present, but I fear is part of my habit. We _all_ talk of a visit to Cambridge. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: For Byron's speech, February 27, 1812, see Appendix II. (i).] Grenville said, "There never was a maxim of greater wisdom than that uttered by the noble lord [Byron] who had so ably addressed their lordships that night for the first time" ('Hansard', vol. xxi. p. 977). Moore quotes a passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts': "Sheridan's liking for me (whether he was not mystifying me I do not know, but Lady Caroline Lamb and others told me that he said the same both before and after he knew me) was founded upon 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. He told me that he did not care about poetry (or about mine--at least, any but 'that' poem of mine), but he was sure, from 'that' and other symptoms, I should make an orator, if I would but take to speaking, and grow a parliament man. He never ceased harping upon this to me to the last; and I remember my old tutor, Dr. Drury, had the same notion when I was a 'boy'; but it never was my turn of inclination to try. I spoke once or twice, as all young peers do, as a kind of introduction into public life; but dissipation, shyness, haughty and reserved opinions, together with the short time I lived in England after my majority (only about five years in all), prevented me from resuming the experiment. As far as it went, it was not discouraging, particularly my 'first' speech (I spoke three or four times in all); but just after it, my poem of 'Childe Harold' was published, and nobody ever thought about my 'prose' afterwards, nor indeed did I; it became to me a secondary and neglected object, though I sometimes wonder to myself if I should have succeeded."] [Footnote 2: Byron, writing to John Hanson, February 28, 1812, says: "Dear Sir,--In the report of my speech (which by the bye is given very incorrectly) in the 'M[orning] Herald', 'Day', and 'B[ritish] Press', they state that I mentioned 'Bristol', a place I never saw in my life and knew nothing of whatever, nor 'mentioned' at all last night. Will you be good enough to send to these 'papers' 'immediately', and have the mistake corrected, or I shall get into a scrape with the Bristol people? "I am, yours very truly, "B."] [Footnote 3: 'Childe Harold', Cantos I., II.] * * * * * 228.--To Lord Holland. St. James's Street, March 5, 1812. MY LORD,--May I request your Lordship to accept a copy of the thing which accompanies this note [1]? You have already so fully proved the truth of the first line of Pope's couplet [2], "Forgiveness to the injured doth belong," that I long for an opportunity to give the lie to the verse that follows. If I were not perfectly convinced that any thing I may have formerly uttered in the boyish rashness of my misplaced resentment had made as little impression as it deserved to make, I should hardly have the confidence--perhaps your Lordship may give it a stronger and more appropriate appellation--to send you a quarto of the same scribbler. But your Lordship, I am sorry to observe to-day, is troubled with the gout; if my book can produce a _laugh_ against itself or the author, it will be of some service. If it can set you to _sleep_, the benefit will be yet greater; and as some facetious personage observed half a century ago, that "poetry is a mere drug," [3] I offer you mine as a humble assistant to the _eau medicinale_. I trust you will forgive this and all my other buffooneries, and believe me to be, with great respect, Your Lordship's obliged and sincere servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold' was published March 1, 1812. Another copy of 'Childe Harold' was sent to Mrs. Leigh, with the following inscription: "To Augusta, my dearest sister, and my best friend, who has ever loved me much better than I deserved, this volume is presented by her _father's_ son, and most affectionate brother, B." The effect which the poem instantly produced is best expressed in Byron's own memorandum: "I awoke one morning and found myself famous." He was only just twenty-three years old. "The subject," says Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire ('Two Duchesses', pp. 375, 376), "of conversation, of curiosity, of enthusiasm almost, one might say, of the moment is not Spain or Portugal, Warriors or Patriots, but Lord Byron!" "He returned," she continues, "sorry for the severity of some of his lines (in the 'English Bards'), and with a new poem, 'Childe Harold', which he published. This poem is on every table, and himself courted, visited, flattered, and praised whenever he appears. He has a pale, sickly, but handsome countenance, a bad figure, and, in short, he is really the only topic almost of every conversation--the men jealous of him, the women of each other." "Lord Byron," writes Lady Harriet Leveson Gower to the Duke of Devonshire, May 10, 1812 ('Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville', vol. i. p. 34), "is still upon a pedestal, and Caroline William doing homage. I have made acquaintance with him. He is agreeable, but I feel no wish for any further intimacy. His countenance is fine when it is in repose; but the moment it is in play, suspicious, malignant, and consequently repulsive. His manner is either remarkably gracious and conciliatory, with a tinge of affectation, or irritable and impetuous, and then, I am afraid, perfectly natural." Rogers ('Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 232, 233) says, "After Byron had become the 'rage', I was frequently amused at the manoeuvres of certain noble ladies to get acquainted with him by means of me; for instance, I would receive a note from Lady----, requesting the pleasure of my company on a particular evening, with a postscript, 'Pray, could you not contrive to bring Lord Byron with you?' Once, at a great party given by Lady Jersey, Mrs. Sheridan ran up to me and said, 'Do, as a favour, try if you can place Lord Byron beside me at supper!'"] [Footnote 2: "Forgiveness to the injured does belong, But they ne'er pardon, who have done the wrong." Dryden's 'Conquest of Grenada', part ii. act i. sc. 2.] [Footnote 3: Murphy, in sc. 1 of 'The Way to Keep Him' (1760), uses the word in the same sense; "A wife's a drug now; mere tar-water, with every virtue under heaven, but nobody takes it."] * * * * * CHAPTER VI. MARCH, 1812--MAY, 1813. THE IDOL OF SOCIETY--THE DRURY LANE ADDRESS--SECOND SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. * * * * * 229.--To Thomas Moore. With regard to the passage on Mr. Way's loss, no unfair play was hinted at, as may be seen by referring to the book [1]; and it is expressly added that the managers _were ignorant_ of that transaction. As to the prevalence of play at the Argyle, it cannot be denied that there were _billiards_ and _dice_;--Lord B. has been a witness to the use of both at the Argyle Rooms. These, it is presumed, come under the denomination of play. If play be allowed, the President of the Institution can hardly complain of being termed the "Arbiter of Play,"--or what becomes of his authority? Lord B. has no personal animosity to Colonel Greville. A public institution, to which he himself was a subscriber, he considered himself to have a right to notice _publickly_. Of that institution Colonel Greville was the avowed director;--it is too late to enter into the discussion of its merits or demerits. Lord B. must leave the discussion of the reparation, for the real or supposed injury, to Colonel G.'s friend and Mr. Moore, the friend of Lord B.--begging them to recollect that, while they consider Colonel G.'s honour, Lord B. must also maintain his own. If the business can be settled amicably, Lord B. will do as much as can and ought to be done by a man of honour towards conciliation;--if not, he must satisfy Colonel G. in the manner most conducive to his further wishes. [Footnote 1: Byron, in 'English Bards, etc.' (lines 638-667), had alluded to Colonel Greville, Manager of the Argyle Institution: "Or hail at once the patron and the pile Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle," etc. In a note he had also referred to "Billy" Way's loss of several thousand pounds in the Rooms. On his return from abroad, Colonel Greville demanded satisfaction through his friend Gould Francis Leckie. Byron referred Leckie to Moore, and sent Moore the above paper for his guidance. The affair was amicably settled. In his 'Detached Thoughts' occurs the following passage:-- "I have been called in as mediator, or second, at least twenty times, in violent quarrels, and have always contrived to settle the business without compromising the honour of the parties, or leading them to mortal consequences, and this, too, sometimes in very difficult and delicate circumstances, and having to deal with very hot and haughty spirits,--Irishmen, gamesters, guardsmen, captains, and cornets of horse, and the like. This was, of course, in my youth, when I lived in hot-headed company. I have had to carry challenges from gentlemen to noblemen, from captains to captains, from lawyers to counsellors, and once from a clergyman to an officer in the Life Guards; but I found the latter by far the most difficult: "'to compose The bloody duel without blows,' "the business being about a woman: I must add, too, that I never saw a _woman_ behave so ill, like a cold-blooded, heartless b----as she was,--but very handsome for all that. A certain Susan C----was she called. I never saw her but once; and that was to induce her but to say two words (which in no degree compromised herself), and which would have had the effect of saving a priest or a lieutenant of cavalry. She would _not_ say them, and neither Nepean nor myself [the son of Sir Evan Nepean, and a friend to one of the parties] could prevail upon her to say them, though both of us used to deal in some sort with womankind. At last I managed to quiet the combatants without her talisman, and, I believe, to her great disappointment: she was the damnedest b----that I ever saw, and I have seen a great many. Though my clergyman was sure to lose either his life or his living, he was as warlike as the Bishop of Beauvais, and would hardly be pacified; but then he was in love, and that is a martial passion." One challenge from a gentleman to a nobleman was that of Scrope Davies to Lord Foley, in 1813; but Byron succeeded in arranging the matter. That from a lawyer to a counsellor was in 1815, from John Hanson to Serjeant Best, afterwards Lord Wynford, and arose out of the marriage of Miss Hanson to Lord Portsmouth; this quarrel was also settled by Byron. The case of the clergyman was that of the Rev. Robert Bland, whose mistress, during his absence in Holland, left him for an officer in the Guards (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 197, end of 'note' [Footnote 1 of Letter 102] on Francis Hodgson). Byron was himself a fair shot with a pistol. "When in London," writes Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 152), "Byron used to go to Manton's shooting-gallery, in Davies Street, to try his hand, as he said, at a wafer. Wedderburn Webster was present when the poet, intensely delighted with his own skill, boasted to Joe Manton that he considered himself the best shot in London. 'No, my lord,' replied Manton, 'not the best; but your shooting to-day was respectable.' Whereupon Byron waxed wroth, and left the shop in a violent passion."] * * * * * 230.--To William Bankes. My dear Bankes,--My eagerness to come to an explanation has, I trust, convinced you that whatever my unlucky manner might inadvertently be, the change was as unintentional as (if intended) it would have been ungrateful. I really was not aware that, while we were together, I had evinced such caprices; that we were not so much in each other's company as I could have wished, I well know, but I think so _acute an observer_ as yourself must have perceived enough to _explain this_, without supposing any slight to one in whose society I have pride and pleasure. Recollect that I do not allude here to "extended" or "extending" acquaintances, but to circumstances you will understand, I think, on a little reflection. And now, my dear Bankes, do not distress me by supposing that I can think of you, or you of me, otherwise than I trust we have long thought. You told me not long ago that my temper was improved, and I should be sorry that opinion should be revoked. Believe me, your friendship is of more account to me than all those absurd vanities in which, I fear, you conceive me to take too much interest. I have never disputed your superiority, or doubted (seriously) your good will, and no one shall ever "make mischief between us" without the sincere regret on the part of your ever affectionate, etc. P.S.--I shall see you, I hope, at Lady Jersey's [1]. Hobhouse goes also. [Footnote 1: George Child-Villiers (1773-1859), "in manners and appearance 'le plus grand seigneur' of his time," succeeded his father, "the Prince of Maccaronies," in 1805, as fifth Earl of Jersey. He was twice Lord Chamberlain to William IV., and twice Master of the Horse to Queen Victoria. He married, in 1804, Lady Sarah Sophia Fane, eldest daughter of John, tenth Earl of Westmorland, and heiress, through her mother, 'née' Sarah Anne Child, of the fortune of her grandfather, Robert Child, the banker. Lady Jersey for many years reigned supreme, by her beauty and wit, in London society, "the veriest tyrant," said Byron, "that ever governed Fashion's fools, and compelled them to shake their caps and bells as she willed it." At Almack's, where, according to Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 32), she introduced the quadrille after Waterloo, she was a despot. 'Almack's', the very clever and personal picture of fashionable life, published in 1826, is dedicated "To that most Distinguished and Despotic Conclave, composed of their High Mightinesses the Ladies Patronesses of the Balls at Almack's, the Rulers of Fashion, the Arbiters of Taste, the Leaders of 'Ton', and the Makers of Manners, whose Sovereign sway over 'the world' of London has long been established on the firmest basis, whose Decrees are Laws, and from whose judgment there is no appeal." Over this "Willis Coalition Cabinet" Lady Jersey, as "Lady Hauton," is described as reigning supreme. "She knew more than any person I ever met with, and both everything and everybody; she could quiz and she could flatter." "Treat people like fools," she is supposed to say, "and they will worship you; stoop to make up to them, and they will directly tread you underfoot." Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 269) speaks of her as a "beautiful creature, with a great deal of talent, taste, and elegant knowledge." He was at Almack's, in 1819, and standing close to Lady Jersey, then at the height of beauty and brilliant talent, a leader in society, and with decided political opinions, when she refused the Duke of Wellington admittance. The lady patronesses had made a rule to admit no one after eleven o'clock. When the rule first came into operation, Ticknor heard one of the attendants announce that the Duke of Wellington was at the door. "What o'clock is it?" Lady Jersey asked. "Seven minutes after eleven, your ladyship." She paused a moment, and then said, with emphasis and distinctness, "Give my compliments,--give Lady Jersey's compliments to the Duke of Wellington, and say that she is very glad that the first enforcement of the rule of exclusion is such that hereafter no one can complain of its application. He cannot be admitted" ('ibid'., vol. i. pp. 296, 297). Politically, Lady Jersey was a power. Such an entry as the following sounds strange to modern readers: Dining at Lord Holland's, in 1835, in company with Lord Melbourne, Lord Grey, and other prominent politicians, Ticknor notes that "public business was much talked about--the corporation bill, the motion for admitting Dissenters to the universities, etc., etc.; and as to the last, when the question arose whether it would be debated on Tuesday night, it was admitted to be doubtful whether Lady Jersey would not succeed in getting it postponed, as she has a grand dinner that evening" ('Life', vol. i. pp. 409, 410). Lady Jersey, whose mother-in-law, 'née' Frances Twyden, had been a bitter opponent of the Princess of Wales, provoked the wrath of the Regent by espousing the cause of his wife. The Prince was determined to break off this friendship with his wife's champion, and sent a letter to her by the hand of Colonel Willis, announcing his determination. Some time later they met at a great party given by Henry Hope in Cavendish Square. Lady Jersey was walking with Rogers in the gallery, when they met the Prince, who "stopped for a moment, and then, drawing himself up, marched past her with a look of the utmost disdain. Lady Jersey returned the look to the full; and, as soon as the Prince was gone, said to me, with a smile, 'Didn't I do it well?'" ('Table Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 267, 268). From this same change of feeling arose the incident which Byron celebrated in his Condolatory Address "On the Occasion of the Prince Regent Returning her Picture to Mrs. Mee." The lines were enclosed with a letter which is printed at the date May 29, 1814. "Pegasus is, perhaps, the only horse of whose paces," said Byron ('Conversations with Lady Blessington', p. 51), "Lord [Jersey] could not be a judge." Of Lady Jersey he says ('ibid'., p. 50), "Of all that coterie, Madame [de Stael], after Lady [Jersey], was the best; at least I thought so, for these two ladies were the only ones who ventured to protect me when all London was crying out against me on the separation, and they behaved courageously and kindly ... Poor dear Lady [Jersey]! Does she still retain her beautiful cream-coloured complexion and raven hair? I used to long to tell her that she spoiled her looks by her excessive animation; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms were all in movement at once, and were only relieved from their active service by want of respiration," etc., etc.] * * * * * 231.--To Thomas Moore. March 25, 1812. Know all men by these presents, that you, Thomas Moore, stand indicted--no--invited, by special and particular solicitation, to Lady Caroline Lamb's [1] tomorrow evening, at half-past nine o'clock, where you will meet with a civil reception and decent entertainment. Pray, come--I was so examined after you this morning, that I entreat you to answer in person. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Lady Caroline Lamb (1785-1828), the "Calantha Avondale" of her own 'Glenarvon', was the daughter of Frederick Ponsonby, third Earl of Bessborough, by his wife, Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer, sister of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She was brought up, partly in Italy under the care of a servant, partly by her grandmother, the wife of John, first Earl Spencer. She married, June 3, 1805, William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne. Her manuscript commonplace-book is in the possession of the Hon. G. Ponsonby. A few pages are taken up with a printed copy of the 'Essay on the Progressive Improvement of Mankind', with which her husband won the declamation prize at Trinity, Cambridge, in 1798. The rest of the volume consists of some 200 pages filled with prose, and verse, and sketches. It begins with a list of her nicknames--"Sprite," "Young Savage," "Ariel," "Squirrel," etc. Then follow the secret language of an imaginary order; her first verses, written at the age of thirteen; scraps of poetry, original and extracted, in French, Italian, and English; a long fragment of a wild romantic story of a girl's seduction by an infidel nobleman. A clever sketch in water-colour of William Lamb and of herself, after their marriage, is followed by verses on the birth of her son, "little "Augustus," August 23, 1807. The last stanza of a poem, which has nothing to commend it except the feelings of the wife and mother which it expresses, runs thus: "His little eyes like William's shine; How great is then my joy, For, while I call this darling mine, I see 'tis William's boy!" The most ambitious effort in the volume is a poem, illustrated with pictures in water colours, such as 'L'Amour se cache sous le voile d'Amitié, or l'Innocence le recoit dans ses bras'; a third, in the style of Blake, bears the inscription 'le Désespoir met fin à ses jours'. The poem opens with the following lines: "Winged with Hope and hushed with Joy, See yon wanton, blue-eyed Boy,-- Arch his smile, and keen his dart,-- Aim at Laura's youthful heart! How could he his wiles disguise? How deceive such watchful eyes? How so pure a breast inspire, Set so young a Mind on fire? 'Twas because to raise the flame Love bethought of friendship's name. Under this false guise he told her That he lived but to behold her. How could she his fault discover When he often vowed to love her? How could she her heart defend When he took the name of friend?" Dates are seldom affixed to the compositions, and it is impossible to say whether any are autobiographical. But, taken as a whole, they reveal a clever, romantic, impulsive, imaginative woman, whose pet names describe at once the charm of her character and the fascination of her small, slight figure, "golden hair, large hazel eyes," and low musical voice. Her marriage with William Lamb, June 3, seems to have been at first kept secret. Lord Minto in August, 1805 ('Life and Letters', vol. iii. p. 361), speaks of her as unmarried, and adds that she is "a lively and rather a pretty girl; they say she is very clever." Augustus Foster, writing to his mother, Lady Elizabeth Foster, July 30, 1805 ('The Two Duchesses', p. 233), says, "I cannot fancy Lady Caroline married. I cannot be glad of it. How changed she must be--the delicate Ariel, the little Fairy Queen become a wife and soon perhaps a mother." Lady Elizabeth replies, September 30, 1805 ('ibid'., p. 242): "You may retract all your sorrow about Caro Ponsonby's marriage, for she is the same wild, delicate, odd, delightful person, unlike everything." Lady Caroline and William Lamb are described by Lady Elizabeth, three months later, as "flirting all day long 'è felice adesso'." The phrase, perhaps, correctly expresses Lady Caroline's conception of love as an episode; but no breach occurred till 1813. In the previous year, when Byron had suddenly risen to the height of his fame, she had refused to be introduced by Lady Westmorland to the man of whom she made the famous entry in her Diary "mad, bad, and dangerous to know." But they met, a few days later, at Holland House, and Byron called on her in Whitehall, where for the next four months he was a daily visitor. On blue-bordered paper, embossed at the corners with scallop-shells, she wrote to Byron at an early stage in their acquaintance, the letter numbered 1 in Appendix III. For the sequel to the story of their friendship, see Byron's letter to Lady Caroline, p. 135, 'note' 1, and Appendix III.] * * * * * 232.--To Lady Caroline Lamb. [Undated.] I never supposed you artful: we are all selfish,--nature did that for us. But even when you attempt deceit occasionally, you cannot maintain it, which is all the better; want of success will curb the tendency. Every word you utter, every line you write, proves you to be either _sincere_ or a _fool_. Now as I know you are not the one, I must believe you the other. I never knew a woman with greater or more pleasing talents, _general_ as in a woman they should be, something of everything, and too much of nothing. But these are unfortunately coupled with a total want of common conduct. [1] For instance, the _note_ to your _page_--do you suppose I delivered it? or did you mean that I should? I did not of course. Then your heart, my poor Caro (what a little volcano!), that pours _lava_ through your veins; and yet I cannot wish it a bit colder, to make a _marble slab_ of, as you sometimes see (to understand my foolish metaphor) brought in vases, tables, etc., from Vesuvius, when hardened after an eruption. To drop my detestable tropes and figures, you know I have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now, or ought to have lived 2000 years ago. I won't talk to you of beauty; I am no judge. But our beauties cease to be so when near you, and therefore you have either some, or something better. And now, Caro, this nonsense is the first and last compliment (if it be such) I ever paid you. You have often reproached me as wanting in that respect; but others will make up the deficiency. Come to Lord Grey's; at least do not let me keep you away. All that you so often _say_, I _feel_. Can more be said or felt? This same prudence is tiresome enough; but one _must_ maintain it, or what _can_ one do to be saved? Keep to it. [Footnote 1: The following letter from Lady Caroline to Fletcher, Byron's valet, illustrates the statement in the text: "FLETCHER,--Will you come and see me here some evening at 9, and no one will know of it. You may say you bring a letter, and wait the answer. I will send for you in. But I will let you know first, for I wish to speak with you. I also want you to take the little Foreign Page I shall send in to see Lord Byron. Do not tell him before-hand, but, when he comes with flowers, shew him in. I shall not come myself, unless just before he goes away; so do not think it is me. Besides, you will see this is quite a child, only I wish him to see my Lord if you can contrive it, which, if you tell me what hour is most convenient, will be very easy. I go out of Town to-morrow for a day or two, and I am now quite well--at least much better."] * * * * * 233.--To William Bankes. April 20, 1812. MY DEAR BANKES,--I feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you made to me last night, and my hope is that it was only one of your _profane_ jests. I should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour should give you cause to suppose that I think higher of myself, or otherwise of you than I have always done. I can assure you that I am as much the humblest of your servants as at Trin. Coll.; and if I have not been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine than yours. In the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no rational conversation; but when I can enjoy it, there is nobody's I can prefer to your own. Believe me, ever faithfully and most affectionately yours, BYRON. * * * * * 234.--To Thomas Moore. Friday noon. I should have answered your note yesterday, but I hoped to have seen you this morning. I must consult with you about the day we dine with Sir Francis [1]. I suppose we shall meet at Lady Spencer's [2] to-night. I did not know that you were at Miss Berry's [3] the other night, or I should have certainly gone there. As usual, I am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a martial description. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Probably with Sir Francis Burdett, at 77, Piccadilly.] [Footnote 2: Grandmother of Lady Caroline Lamb.] [Footnote 3: Mary Berry (1763-1852), the friend and editor of Horace Walpole, whom she might have married, lived at Little Strawberry Hill, and in North Audley Street, London. In her Journal Miss Berry mentions two occasions on which she met Byron. The first was Thursday, April 2, 1812, at Lord Glenbervie's. "I had a quarter of an hour's conversation, which, I own, gave me a great desire to know him better, and he seemed willing that I should do so." The second occasion was May 7, 1812. "At the end of the evening I had half an hour's conversation with Lord Byron, principally on the subject of the Scotch Review, with which he is very much pleased. He is a singular man, and pleasant to me but I very much fear that his head begins to be turned by all the adoration of the world, especially the women" ('Journal and Correspondence of Miss Berry', vol. ii. pp. 496, 497).] * * * * * 235.--To Lady Caroline Lamb. May 1st, 1812. MY DEAR LADY CAROLINE,-I have read over the few poems of Miss Milbank [1] with attention. They display fancy, feeling, and a little practice would very soon induce facility of expression. Though I have an abhorrence of Blank Verse, I like the lines on Dermody [2] so much that I wish they were in rhyme. The lines in the Cave at Seaham have a turn of thought which I cannot sufficiently commend, and here I am at least candid as my own opinions differ upon such subjects. The first stanza is very good indeed, and the others, with a few slight alterations, might be rendered equally excellent. The last are smooth and pretty. But these are all, has she no others? She certainly is a very extraordinary girl; who would imagine so much strength and variety of thought under that placid Countenance? It is not necessary for Miss M. to be an authoress, indeed I do not think publishing at all creditable either to men or women, and (though you will not believe me) very often feel ashamed of it myself; but I have no hesitation in saying that she has talents which, were it proper or requisite to indulge, would have led to distinction. A friend of mine (fifty years old, and an author, but not _Rogers_) has just been here. As there is no name to the MSS. I shewed them to him, and he was much more enthusiastic in his praises than I have been. He thinks them beautiful; I shall content myself with observing that they are better, much better, than anything of Miss M.'s protegee ('sic') Blacket. You will say as much of this to Miss M. as you think proper. I say all this very sincerely. I have no desire to be better acquainted with Miss Milbank; she is too good for a fallen spirit to know, and I should like her more if she were less perfect. Believe me, yours ever most truly, B. [Footnote 1: This letter refers to the future Lady Byron, the "Miss Monmouth" of 'Glenarvon' (see vol. iii. p. 100), who was first brought to Byron's notice by Lady Caroline Lamb. Anna Isabella (often shortened into Annabella) Milbanke (born May 17, 1792; died May 16, 1860) was the only child of Sir Ralph Milbanke, Bart., and the Hon. Judith Noel, daughter of Lord Wentworth. Her childhood was passed at Halnaby, or at Seaham, where her father had "a pretty villa on the cliff." In 1808 Seaham "was the most primitive hamlet ever met with--a dozen or so of cottages, no trade, no manufacture, no business doing that we could see; the owners were mostly servants of Sir Ralph Milbanke's" ('Memoirs of a Highland Lady', p. 71). It was here that Blacket the poet (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 314, 'note' 2; p. 6, 'note' 5, of the present volume; and 'English Bards, etc'., line 770, and Byron's 'note') died, befriended by Miss Milbanke. Byron (Medwin's 'Conversations with Lord Byron', pp. 44, 45) thus describes the personal appearance of his future wife: "There was something piquant and what we term pretty in Miss Milbanke. Her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height; and there was a simplicity, a retired modesty, about her, which was very characteristic, and formed a happy contrast to the cold, artificial formality and studied stiffness which is called fashion." The roundness of her face suggested to Byron the pet name of "Pippin." High-principled, guided by a strong sense of duty, imbued with deep religious feeling, Miss Milbanke lived to impress F. W. Robertson as "the noblest woman he ever knew" ('Diary of Crabb Robinson' (1852), vol. iii. p. 405). She was also a clever, well-read girl, fond of mathematics, a student of theology and of Greek, a writer of meritorious verse, which, however, Byron only allowed to be "good by accident" (Medwin, p. 60). Among her mother's friends were Mrs. Siddons, Joanna Baillie, and Maria Edgeworth. The latter, writing, May, 1813, to Miss Ruxton, says, "Lady Milbanke is very agreeable, and has a charming, well-informed daughter." With all her personal charms, virtues, and mental gifts, she shows, in many of her letters, a precision, formality, and self-complacency, which suggest the female pedant. Byron says of her that "she was governed by what she called fixed rules and principles, squared mathematically" (Medwin, p. 60); at one time he used to speak of her as his "Princess of Parallelograms," and at a later period he called her his "Mathematical Medea." Before Miss Milbanke met Byron, she had a lover in Augustus Foster, son of Lady Elizabeth Foster, afterwards Duchess of Devonshire. The duchess, writing to her son, February 29, 1812, says that Mrs. George Lamb (?) would sound Miss Milbanke as to her feelings: "Caro means to see 'la bella' Annabelle before she writes to you ... I shall almost hate her if she is blind to the merits of one who would make her so happy" ('The Two Duchesses', p. 358). Apparently Mr. Foster's love was not returned. "She persists in saying," writes the duchess, May 4, 1812 ('ibid'., p. 362), "that she never suspected your attachment to her; but she is so odd a girl that, though she has for some time rather liked another, she has decidedly refused them, because she thinks she ought to marry a person with a good fortune; and this is partly, I believe, from generosity to her parents, and partly owning that fortune is an object to herself for happiness. In short, she is good, amiable, and sensible, but cold, prudent, and reflecting. Lord Byron makes up to her a little; but she don't seem to admire him except as a poet, nor he her except for a wife." Again, June 2, 1812, she says, "Your Annabella is a mystery; liking, not liking; generous-minded, yet afraid of poverty; there is no making her out. I hope you don't make yourself unhappy about her; she is really an icicle." Miss Milbanke's unaffected simplicity attracted Byron; even her coldness was a charm. When he came to know her, he probably found her not only agreeable, but the best woman he had ever met. Lady Melbourne, who knew him most intimately, and was also Miss Milbanke's aunt, may well have thought that, if her niece once gained control over Byron, her influence would be the making of his character. She encouraged the match by every means in her power. It is unnecessary to suppose that she did so to save Lady Caroline Lamb; that danger was over. At some time before the autumn of 1812, Byron proposed to Miss Milbanke, and was refused. He still, however, continued to correspond with her, and his 'Journal' shows that his affection for her was steadily growing during the years 1813-14. In September, 1814, he proposed a second time, and was accepted. Byron professed to believe (Medwin, p. 59) that Miss Milbanke was not in love with him. "I was the fashion when she first came out; I had the character of being a great rake, and was a great dandy--both of which young ladies like. She married me from vanity, and the hope of reforming and fixing me." Byron was not the man to unbosom himself to Medwin on such a subject. Moore asked the same question--whether Lady Byron really loved Byron--of Lady Holland, who "seemed to think she must. He was such a loveable person. I remember him (said she) sitting there with that light upon him, looking so beautiful!'" ('Journals, etc.', vol. ii. p. 324). The letters that will follow seem to show beyond all question that the marriage was one of true affection on both sides.] [Footnote 2: Thomas Dermody (1775-1802), a precocious Irish lad, whose dissipated habits weakened his mind and body, published poems in 1792, 1800, and 1802. His collected verses appeared in 1807 under the title of 'The Harp of Erin', edited by J. G. Raymond, who had published the previous year (1806) 'The Life of Thomas Dermody' in two volumes.] * * * * * 236.--To Thomas Moore. May 8, 1812. I am too proud of being your friend, to care with whom I am linked in your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than at any other. I am "taking care of myself" to no great purpose. If you knew my situation in every point of view, you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect. I shall leave town, I think; but do not you leave it without seeing me. I wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it. Peace be with you! I fear she has abandoned me. Ever, etc. * * * * * 237.--To Thomas Moore. May 20, 1812. On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw Bellingham launched into eternity [1], and at three the same day I saw * * * launched into the country. I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall be down for a few days in Notts. If so, I shall beat you up 'en passant' with Hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes. I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find I cannot. If any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me--if good; if _bad_, there are plenty to tell it. In the mean time, do you be happy. Ever yours, etc. P.S.--My best wishes and respects to Mrs. Moore;--she is beautiful. I may say so even to you, for I was never more struck with a countenance. [Footnote 1: Bellingham, while engaged in the timber trade at Archangel, fancied himself wronged by the Russian Government, and the British Ambassador at St. Petersburg, Lord G. Leveson-Gower. Returning to England, he set up in Liverpool as an insurance broker, continuing to press his claims against Russia on the Ministry without success. On May 11, 1812, he shot Spencer Perceval, First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, dead in the lobby of the House of Commons. Bellingham was hanged before Newgate on May 18. Byron took a window, says Moore ('Life', p. 164), to see the execution. He "was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, Mr. Bailey and Mr. John Madocks. They went together from some assembly, and, on their arriving at the spot, about three o'clock in the morning, not finding the house that was to receive them open, Mr. Madocks undertook to rouse the inmates, while Lord Byron and Mr. Bailey sauntered, arm in arm, up the street. During this interval, rather a painful scene occurred. Seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door, Lord Byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few shillings; but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the lameness of his gait. He did not utter a word; but 'I could feel,' said Mr. Bailey, 'his arm trembling within mine, as we left her.'" In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' is an anecdote of Baillie, whose name is here misspelt by Moore: "Baillie (commonly called 'Long' Baillie, a very clever man, but odd) complained in riding, to our friend Scrope Davies, that he had a 'stitch' in his side. 'I don't wonder at it,' said Scrope, 'for you ride like a _tailor_.' Whoever has seen B. on horseback, with his very tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justice of the repartee."] * * * * * 238.--To Bernard Barton [1]. 8, St. James's St., June 1, 1812. The most satisfactory answer to the concluding part of your letter is that Mr. Murray will republish your volume, if you still retain your inclination for the experiment, which I trust will be successful. Some weeks ago my friend Mr. Rogers showed me some of the stanzas in MS., and I then expressed my opinion of their merit, which a further perusal of the printed volume has given me no reason to revoke. I mention this, as it may not be disagreeable to you to learn that I entertained a very favourable opinion of your powers, before I was aware that such sentiments were reciprocal. Waiving your obliging expressions as to my own productions, for which I thank you very sincerely, and assure you that I think not lightly of the praise of one whose approbation is valuable, will you allow me to talk to you candidly, not critically, on the subject of yours? You will not suspect me of a wish to discourage, since I pointed out to the publisher the propriety of complying with your wishes. I think more highly of your poetical talents than it would, perhaps, gratify you to hear expressed, for I believe, from what I observe of your mind, that you are above flattery. To come to the point, you deserve success, but we know, before Addison wrote his Cato', that desert does not always command it. But, suppose it attained: "You know what ills the author's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail." [2] Do not renounce writing, but never trust entirely to authorship. If you have a possession, retain it; it will be, like Prior's fellowship [3], a last and sure resource. Compare Mr. Rogers with other authors of the day; assuredly he is amongst the first of living poets, but is it to that he owes his station in society, and his intimacy in the best circles? No, it is to his prudence and respectability; the world (a bad one, I own) courts him because he has no occasion to court it. He is a poet, nor is he less so because he was something more. I am not sorry to hear that you are not tempted by the vicinity of Capel Loft, Esq're. [4], though, if he had done for you what he has done for the Bloomfields, I should never have laughed at his rage for patronising. But a truly constituted mind will ever be independent. That you may be so is my sincere wish, and, if others think as well of your poetry as I do, you will have no cause to complain of your readers. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Bernard Barton (1784-1849), the friend of Charles Lamb, and the Quaker poet, to whose 'Poems and Letters' (1849) Edward FitzGerald prefixed a biographical introduction, published 'Metrical Effusions' (1812), 'Poems by an Amateur' (1817), 'Poems' (1820), and several other works. He was for many years a clerk in a bank at Woodbridge, in Suffolk. Byron's advice to him was that of Lamb: "Keep to your bank, and your bank will keep you." Two letters, written by him to Byron in 1814, showing his admiration of the poet, and his appreciation of the generosity of his character, and part of the draft of Byron's answer, are given in Appendix IV.] [Footnote 2: "There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,-- Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail." Johnson's 'Vanity of Human Wishes', line 159.] [Footnote 3: Matthew Prior (1664-1721) became a Fellow of St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1688.] [Footnote 4: For Capell Lofft and the Bloomfields, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 337, 'notes' I and 2 [Footnotes 4 and 5 of Letter 167.]] * * * * * 239.--To Lord Holland. June 25, 1812. MY DEAR LORD,--I must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been very negligent, but till last night I was not apprised of Lady Holland's restoration, and I shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, I trust, of hearing that she is well.--I hope that neither politics nor gout have assailed your Lordship since I last saw you, and that you also are "as well as could be expected." The other night, at a ball, I was presented by order to our gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation, and professed a predilection for poetry [1].--I confess it was a most unexpected honour, and I thought of poor Brummell's [2] adventure, with some apprehension of a similar blunder. I have now great hope, in the event of Mr. Pye's [3] decease, of "warbling truth at court," like Mr. Mallet [4] of indifferent memory.--Consider, one hundred marks a year! besides the wine and the disgrace; but then remorse would make me drown myself in my own butt before the year's end, or the finishing of my first dithyrambic.--So that, after all, I shall not meditate our laureate's death by pen or poison. Will you present my best respects to Lady Holland? and believe me, hers and yours very sincerely. [Footnote 1: The ball was given in June, 1812, at Miss Johnson's (see 'Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 212). In the words "predilection for poetry" Byron probably refers to the phrase in the Regent's letter to the Duke of York (February 13, 1812): "I have no predilections to indulge, no resentments to gratify." Moore, in the 'Twopenny Post-bag', twice fastens on the phrase. In "The Insurrection of the Papers", a dream suggested by Lord Castlereagh's speech--"It would be impossible for His Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it"--he writes: "But, oh, the basest of defections! His Letter about 'predilections'-- His own dear Letter, void of grace, Now flew up in its parent's face!" And again, in the "Parody of a Celebrated Letter": "I am proud to declare I have no predilections, My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections Are just danc'd about for a moment or two, And the 'finer' they are, the more sure to run through."] [Footnote 2: The grandfather of Beau Brummell, who was in business in Bury Street, St. James's, also let lodgings. One of his lodgers, Charles Jenkinson, afterwards Earl of Liverpool, obtained for his landlord's son, William Brummell, a clerkship in the Treasury. The Treasury clerk became so useful to Lord North that he obtained several lucrative offices; and, dying in 1794, left £65,000 in the hands of trustees for division among his three children. The youngest of these was George Bryan Brummell (1788-1840), the celebrated Beau. George Brummell went from Eton to Oriel College, Oxford, where his undergraduate career is traced in "Trebeck," a character in Lister's 'Granby' (1826). From Oxford Brummell entered the Tenth Hussars, a favourite regiment of the Prince of Wales. Well-built and well-mannered, possessed of admirable tact, witty and original in conversation, inexhaustible in good temper and good stories, a master of impudence and banter, the new cornet made himself so agreeable to the prince that, at the latter's marriage, Brummell attended him, both at St. James's and to Windsor, as "a kind of 'chevalier d'honneur." In 1798 Brummell left the army with the rank of captain. A year later he came of age, and settled at 4, Chesterfield Street, Mayfair. On his intimacy with the Prince Regent, Brummell founded the extraordinary position which he achieved in society. Fashion was in those days a power; and he was its dictator--the oracle, both for men and women, of taste, manners, and dress. His ascendency rested in some degree on solid foundations. He was not a mere fop, but conspicuous for the quiet neatness of his dress--for "a certain exquisite propriety," as Byron described it to Leigh Hunt--and, at a time when the opposite was common, for the scrupulous cleanliness of his person and his linen. An excellent dancer, clever at 'vers de société', an agreeable singer, a talented artist, a judge of china, buhl, and other objects of 'virtù', a collector of snuff-boxes, a connoisseur in canes, he had gifts which might have raised him above the Bond Street 'flaneur', or the idler at Watier's Club. Well-read in a desultory fashion, he wrote verses which were not without merit in their class. The following are the first and last stanzas of 'The Butterfly's Funeral', a poem which was suggested by Mrs. Dorset's 'Peacock at Home' and Roscoe's 'Butterfly's Ball':-- "Oh ye! who so lately were blythsome and gay, At the Butterfly's banquet carousing away; Your feasts and your revels of pleasure are fled, For the soul of the banquet, the Butterfly's dead! * * * * * And here shall the daisy and violet blow, And the lily discover her bosom of snow; While under the leaf, in the evenings of spring, Still mourning his friend, shall the grasshopper sing." In the days of his prosperity (1799-1816), Brummell knew everybody to whose acquaintance he condescended. His Album, in which he collected 226 pieces of poetry, many by himself, others by celebrities of the day, is a curious proof of his popularity. It contains contributions from such persons as the Duchess of Devonshire, Erskine, Lord John Townshend, Sheridan, General Fitzpatrick, William Lamb (afterwards Lord Melbourne) and his brother George, and Byron. Lady Hester Stanhope ('Memoirs', vol. i. pp. 280-283) knew him well. She describes him "riding in Bond Street, with his bridle between his fore-finger and thumb, as if he held a pinch of snuff;" gives many instances of his audacious effrontery, and yet concludes that "the man was no fool," and that she "should like to see him again." The story that Brummell told the Prince Regent to ring the bell was denied by him. A more probable version of the story is given in Jesse's 'Life of Beau Brummell' (vol. i. p. 255), "that one evening, when Brummell and Lord Moira were engaged in earnest conversation at Carlton House, the prince requested the former to ring the bell, and that he replied without reflection, 'Your Royal Highness is close to it,' upon which the prince rang the bell and ordered his friend's carriage, but that Lord Moira's intervention caused the unintentional liberty to be overlooked." The rupture between them is attributed by Jesse to Mrs. Fitzherbert's influence. Whatever the cause, the prince cut his former friend. A short time afterwards, Brummell, walking with Lord Alvanley, met the prince leaning on the arm of Lord Moira. As the prince, who stopped to speak to Lord Alvanley, was moving on, Brummell said to his companion, "Alvanley, who's your fat friend?" In the 'Twopenny Postbag' Moore makes the Regent say, in the "Parody of a Celebrated Letter": "Neither have I resentments, or wish there should come ill To mortal--except, now I think on it, Beau Brummell, Who threatened last year, in a superfine passion, To cut me, and bring the old king into fashion." Brummell's position withstood the loss of the Regent's friendship. He became one of the most frequent visitors to the Duke and Duchess of York, at Oatlands Park ('Journal of T. Raikes', vol. i. p. 146); and his friendship with the duchess lasted till her death. He was ruined by gambling at Watier's Club, of which he was perpetual president. This club, which was in Piccadilly, at the corner of Bolton Street, was originally founded, in 1807, by Lord Headfort, John Madocks, and other young men, for musical gatherings. But glees and snatches soon gave way to superlative dinners and gambling at macao. Byron, Moore, and William Spencer belonged to Watier's--the only men of letters admitted within its precincts. From 1814 to 1816 Brummell lost heavily; he could obtain no further supplies, and was completely ruined. In his distress he wrote to Scrope Davies, in May, 1816: "MY DEAR SCROPE,--Lend me two hundred pounds; the banks are shut, and all my money is in the three per cents. It shall be repaid to-morrow morning. Yours, GEORGE BRUMMELL." The reply illustrates Byron's remark that "Scrope Davies is a wit, and a man of the world, and feels as much as such a character can do." "MY DEAR GEORGE,--'Tis very unfortunate, but all my money is in the three per cents. Yours, S. DAVIES." On May 17, "obliged," says Byron ('Detached Thoughts'), "by that affair of poor Meyler, who thence acquired the name of 'Dick the Dandykiller'--(it was about money and debt and all that)--to retire to France," Brummell took flight to Dover, and crossed to Calais. Watier's Club died a natural death, in 1819, from the ruin of most of its members. Amongst Brummell's effects at Chesterfield Street was a screen which he was making for the Duchess of York. The sixth panel was occupied by Byron and Napoleon, placed opposite each other; the former, surrounded with flowers, had a wasp in his throat (Jesse's 'Life', vol. i. p. 361). At Calais Brummell bought a French grammar to study the language. When Scrope Davies was asked, says Byron ('Detached Thoughts'), "what progress Brummell had made in French, he responded 'that Brummell had been stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the 'Elements'' I have put this pun into 'Beppo', which is 'a fair exchange and no robbery;' for Scrope made his fortune at several dinners (as he owned himself) by repeating occasionally as his own some of the buffooneries with which I had encountered him in the morning." Brummell died, in 1840, at Caen, after making acquaintance with the inside of the debtor's prison in that town--imbecile, and in the asylum of the 'Bon Sauveur'. He is buried in the Protestant cemetery of Caen. France has raised a more lasting monument to his fame in Barbey d'Aurevilly's 'Du Dandysme et de Georges Brummell' (1845).] [Footnote 3: Henry James Pye (1745-1813) was, from 1790 to his death, poet laureate, in which post he succeeded Thomas Warton, and was followed by Southey. Mathias, in the 'Pursuits of Literature' (Dialogue ii. lines 69, 70), says: "With Spartan Pye lull England to repose, Or frighten children with Lenora's woes;" and again ('ibid'., lines 79, 80): "Why should I faint when all with patience hear, And laureat Pye sings more than twice a year?" His birthday odes were so full of "vocal groves and feathered choirs," that George Steevens broke out with the lines: "When the 'pie' was opened," etc. Pye's 'magnum opus' was 'Alfred' (1801), an epic poem in six books.] [Footnote 4: David Mallet, or Malloch (1705-1765), is best known for his ballad of 'William and Margaret', his unsubstantiated claim to the authorship of 'Rule, Britannia', and his edition of Bolingbroke's works. He was appointed, in 1742, under-secretary to Frederick, Prince of Wales.] * * * * * 240.--To Professor Clarke [1]. St. James's Street, June 26, 1812. Will you accept my very sincere congratulations on your second volume, wherein I have retraced some of my old paths, adorned by you so beautifully, that they afford me double delight? The part which pleases me best, after all, is the preface, because it tells me you have not yet closed labours, to yourself not unprofitable, nor without gratification, for what is so pleasing as to give pleasure? I have sent my copy to Sir Sidney Smith, who will derive much gratification from your anecdotes of Djezzar, [1] his "energetic old man." I doat upon the Druses; but who the deuce are they with their Pantheism? I shall never be easy till I ask _them_ the question. How much you have traversed! I must resume my seven leagued boots and journey to Palestine, which your description mortifies me not to have seen more than ever. I still sigh for the Ægean. Shall not you always love its bluest of all waves, and brightest of all skies? You have awakened all the gipsy in me. I long to be restless again, and wandering; see what mischief you do, you won't allow gentlemen to settle quietly at home. I will not wish you success and fame, for you have both, but all the happiness which even these cannot always give. [Footnote 1: Edward Daniel Clarke (1769-1822), appointed Professor of Mineralogy at Cambridge, in 1808, was the rival whose travels Hobhouse was anxious to anticipate. He is described by Miss Edgeworth, in 1813 ('Letters', vol. i. p. 205), as "a little, square, pale, flat-faced, good-natured-looking, fussy man, with very intelligent eyes, yet great credulity of countenance, and still greater benevolence." Byron met Clarke at Cambridge in November, 1811, discussed Greece with him, and was relieved to find that he knew "no Romaic." Clarke was an indefatigable traveller, and, as he was a botanist, mineralogist, antiquary, and numismatist, he made good use of his opportunities. The marbles, including the Eleusinian Ceres, which he brought home, are in the Fitzwilliam Museum. His mineralogical collections were purchased, after his death, by the University of Cambridge; and his coins by Payne Knight. His 'Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa' appeared at intervals, from 1810 to 1823, in six quarto volumes. The following letter was written by Clarke to Byron, after the appearance of 'Childe Harold': "Trumpington, Wednesday morning. "DEAR LORD BYRON,--From the eagerness which I felt to make known my opinions of your poem before others had expressed _any_ upon the subject, I waited upon you to deliver my hasty, although hearty, commendation. If it be worthy your acceptance, take it once more, in a more deliberate form! Upon my arrival in town I found that Mathias entirely coincided with me. 'Surely,' said I to him, 'Lord Byron, at this time of life, cannot have experienced such keen anguish as those exquisite allusions to what older men _may_ have felt seem to denote!' This was his answer: 'I fear he has--he could not else have written such a poem.' This morning I read the second canto with all the attention it so highly merits, in the peace and stillness of my study; and I am ready to confess I was never so much affected by any poem, passionately fond of poetry as I have been from my earliest youth.... "The eighth stanza, '_Yet if as holiest men_,' etc., has never been surpassed. In the twenty-third, the sentiment is at variance with Dryden: 'Strange cozenage! _none_ would live past years again.' "And it is perhaps an instance wherein, for the first time, I found not within my own breast an echo to your thought, for I would not '_be once more a boy_;' but the generality of men will agree with you, and wish to tread life's path again. "In the twelfth stanza of the same canto, you might really add a very curious note to these lines: 'Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains,' "by stating this fact: When the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving it, a great part of the superstructure with one of the triglyphs, was thrown down by the work men whom Lord Elgin employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe out of his mouth, dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri--[Greek: Télos]! I was present at the time. "Once more I thank you for the gratification you have afforded me. "Believe me, ever yours most truly, "E. D. CLARKE."] [Footnote 2: In Clarke's 'Travels' (Part II. sect. i. chap, xii., "Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land") will be found an account of Djezzar Pasha, who fortified Acre in 1775, and with Sir Sidney Smith, defended it against Buonaparte, March 16 to May 20, 1799. Clarke ('ibid'.) mentions the Druses detained by Djezzar as hostages.] * * * * * 241.--To Walter Scott. [1] St. James's Street, July 6, 1812. SIR,--I have just been honoured with your letter.--I feel sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the "evil works of my nonage," as the thing is suppressed _voluntarily_, and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire was written when I was very young and very angry, and fully bent on displaying my wrath and my wit, and now I am haunted by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot sufficiently thank you for your praise; and now, waving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities: he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the 'Lay'. He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly the poet of _Princes_, as _they_ never appeared more fascinating than in 'Marmion' and the 'Lady of the Lake'. He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both; so that (with the exception of the Turks [2] and your humble servant) you were in very good company. I defy Murray to have exaggerated his Royal Highness's opinion of your powers, nor can I pretend to enumerate all he said on the subject; but it may give you pleasure to hear that it was conveyed in language which would only suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which I had hitherto considered as confined to _manners_, certainly superior to those of any living _gentleman_ [3]. This interview was accidental. I never went to the levee; for having seen the courts of Mussulman and Catholic sovereigns, my curiosity was sufficiently allayed; and my politics being as perverse as my rhymes, I had, in fact, "no business there." To be thus praised by your Sovereign must be gratifying to you; and if that gratification is not alloyed by the communication being made through me, the bearer of it will consider himself very fortunately and sincerely, Your obliged and obedient servant, BYRON. P.S.--Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry, and just after a journey. [Footnote 1: The correspondence which begins with this letter laid the foundation of a firm friendship between the two poets. Scott was naturally annoyed by the attack upon him in 'English Bards, etc'. (lines 171-174), made by "a young whelp of a Lord Byron." Though 'Childe Harold' seemed to him "a clever poem," it did not raise his opinion of Byron's character. Murray, hoping to heal the breach between them, wrote to Scott, June 27, 1812 ('Memoir of John Murray', vol. i. p. 213), giving Byron's account of the conversation with the Prince Regent. "But the Prince's great delight," says Murray, "was Walter Scott, whose name and writings he dwelt upon and recurred to incessantly. He preferred him far beyond any other poet of the time, repeated several passages with fervour, and criticized them faithfully.... Lord Byron called upon me, merely to let off the raptures of the Prince respecting you, thinking, as he said, that if I were likely to have occasion to write to you, it might not be ungrateful for you to hear of his praises." Scott's answer (July 2) enclosed the following letter from himself to Byron: "Edinburgh, July 3d, 1812. "MY LORD,--I am uncertain if I ought to profit by the apology which is afforded me, by a very obliging communication from our acquaintance, John Murray, of Fleet Street, to give your Lordship the present trouble. But my intrusion concerns a large debt of gratitude due to your Lordship, and a much less important one of explanation, which I think I owe to myself, as I dislike standing low in the opinion of any person whose talents rank so highly in my own, as your Lordship's most deservedly do. "The first 'count', as our technical language expresses it, relates to the high pleasure I have received from the 'Pilgrimage of Childe Harold', and from its precursors; the former, with all its classical associations, some of which are lost on so poor a scholar as I am, possesses the additional charm of vivid and animated description, mingled with original sentiment; but besides this debt, which I owe your Lordship in common with the rest of the reading public, I have to acknowledge my particular thanks for your having distinguished by praise, in the work which your Lordship rather dedicated in general to satire, some of my own literary attempts. And this leads me to put your Lordship right in the circumstances respecting the sale of 'Marmion', which had reached you in a distorted and misrepresented form, and which, perhaps, I have some reason to complain, were given to the public without more particular inquiry. The poem, my Lord, was _not_ written upon contract for a sum of money--though it is too true that it was sold and published in a very unfinished state (which I have since regretted), to enable me to extricate myself from some engagements which fell suddenly upon me by the unexpected misfortunes of a very near relation. So that, to quote statute and precedent, I really come under the case cited by Juvenal, though not quite in the extremity of the classic author: 'Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven.' "And so much for a mistake, into which your Lordship might easily fall, especially as I generally find it the easiest way of stopping sentimental compliments on the beauty, etc., of certain poetry, and the delights which the author must have taken in the composition, by assigning the readiest reason that will cut the discourse short, upon a subject where one must appear either conceited or affectedly rude and cynical. "As for my attachment to literature, I sacrificed for the pleasure of pursuing it very fair chances of opulence and professional honours, at a time of life when I fully knew their value; and I am not ashamed to say, that in deriving advantages in compensation from the partial favour of the public, I have added some comforts and elegancies to a bare independence. I am sure your Lordship's good sense will easily put this unimportant egotism to the right account, for--though I do not know the motive would make me enter into controversy with a fair or an 'unfair' literary critic--I may be well excused for a wish to clear my personal character from any tinge of mercenary or sordid feeling in the eyes of a contemporary of genius. Your Lordship will likewise permit me to add that you would have escaped the trouble of this explanation, had I not understood that the satire alluded to had been suppressed, not to be reprinted. For in removing a prejudice on your Lordship's own mind, I had no intention of making any appeal by or through you to the public, since my own habits of life have rendered my defence as to avarice or rapacity rather too easy. "Leaving this foolish matter where it lies, I have to request your Lordship's acceptance of my best thanks for the flattering communication which you took the trouble to make Mr. Murray on my behalf, and which could not fail to give me the gratification which I am sure you intended. I dare say our worthy bibliopolist overcoloured his report of your Lordship's conversation with the Prince Regent, but I owe my thanks to him nevertheless, for the excuse he has given me for intruding these pages on your Lordship. Wishing you health, spirit, and perseverance, to continue your pilgrimage through the interesting countries which you have still to pass with 'Childe Harold', I have the honour to be, my Lord, "Your Lordship's obedient servant, "WALTER SCOTT. "P.S.--Will your Lordship permit me a verbal criticism on 'Childe Harold', were it only to show I have read his Pilgrimage with attention? 'Nuestra Dama de la Pena' means, I suspect, not our Lady of Crime or Punishment, but our Lady of the Cliff; the difference is, I believe, merely in the accentuation of 'peña'." To Scott Byron replied with the letter given in the text. Scott's answer, which followed in due course, will be found in Appendix V. The Prince Regent, it may be added, showed his appreciation of Scott's poetry by offering him, on the death of Pye, the post of poet laureate. Scott refused, on the ground, apparently, that the office had been made ridiculous by the previous holder. "At the time when Scott and Byron were the two 'lions' of London, Hookham Frere observed, 'Great poets formerly (Homer and Milton) were blind; now they are lame'" ('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', P. 194).] [Footnote 2: The Turkish ambassador and suite were at the ball.] [Footnote 3: Byron had already written his "Stanzas to a Lady Weeping," suggested by the rumour that Princess Charlotte had burst into tears, on being told that there would be no change of Ministry when the Prince of Wales assumed the Regency. They appeared anonymously in the 'Morning Chronicle' for March 7, 1812, under the title of a "Sympathetic 'Address' to a Young Lady." They were published, as Byron's work, with 'The Corsair', in February, 1814. The verses rather betray the influence of Moore than express his own feelings at the time. In 'Don Juan' (Canto XII. stanza lxxxiv.) he thus speaks of the Regent: "There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now) A Prince, the prince of princes at the time, With fascination in his very bow, And full of promise, as the spring of prime. Though royalty was written on his brow, He had 'then' the grace, too, rare in every clime, Of being, without alloy of fop or beau, A finish'd gentleman from top to toe." Dallas found him, shortly after his introduction to the prince, "in a full-dress court suit of clothes, with his fine black hair in powder," prepared to attend a levee. But the levee was put off, and the subsequent avowal of the authorship of the stanzas rendered it impossible for him to go ('Recollections', p. 234).] * * * * * 242.--To Lady Caroline Lamb. [August, 1812?] MY DEAREST CAROLINE, [1]--If tears which you saw and know I am not apt to shed,--if the agitation in which I parted from you,--agitation which you must have perceived through the _whole_ of this most _nervous_ affair, did not commence until the moment of leaving you approached,--if all I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my real feelings are, and must ever be towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer. God knows, I wish you happy, and when I quit you, or rather you, from a sense of duty to your husband and mother, quit me, you shall acknowledge the truth of what I again promise and vow, that no other in word or deed, shall ever hold the place in my affections, which is, and shall be, most sacred to you, till I am nothing. I never knew till _that moment_ the _madness_ of my dearest and most beloved friend; I cannot express myself; this is no time for words, but I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure, in suffering what you yourself can scarcely conceive, for you do not know me. I am about to go out with a heavy heart, because my appearing this evening will stop any absurd story which the event of the day might give rise to. Do you think _now_ I am _cold_ and _stern_ and _artful_? Will even _others_ think so? Will your _mother_ ever--that mother to whom we must indeed sacrifice much, more, much more on my part than she shall ever know or can imagine? "Promise not to love you!" ah, Caroline, it is past promising. But I shall attribute all concessions to the proper motive, and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed, and more than can ever be known but to my own heart,--perhaps to yours. May God protect, forgive, and bless you. Ever, and even more than ever, Your most attached, BYRON. P.S.--These taunts which have driven you to this, my dearest Caroline, were it not for your mother and the kindness of your connections, is there anything on earth or heaven that would have made me so happy as to have made you mine long ago? and not less _now_ than _then_, but _more_ than ever at this time. You know I would with pleasure give up all here and all beyond the grave for you, and in refraining from this, must my motives be misunderstood? I care not who knows this, what use is made of it,--it is to _you_ and to _you_ only that they are _yourself (sic)_. I was and am yours freely and most entirely, to obey, to honour, love,--and fly with you when, where, and how you yourself _might_ and _may_ determine. [Footnote 1: Lady Caroline's infatuation for Byron, expressed in various ways--once (in July, 1813) by a self-inflicted stab with a table-knife, or a broken glass--became the talk of society. "Your little friend, Caro William," writes the Duchess of Devonshire, May 4, 1812, "as usual, is doing all sorts of imprudent things for him and with him." Again she writes, six days later, of Byron: "The ladies, I hear, spoil him, and the gentlemen are jealous of him. He is going back to Naxos, and then the husbands may sleep in peace. I should not be surprised if Caro William were to go with him, she is so wild and imprudent" (The 'Two Duchesses', pp. 362, 364). But Lady Caroline's extravagant adoration wearied Byron, who felt that it made him ridiculous; Lady Melbourne gave him sound advice about her daughter-in-law; and he was growing attached to Miss Milbanke, and, when rejected by her, at first to Lady Oxford, and later to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster. When Lady Bessborough endeavoured to persuade her daughter to leave London for Ireland, Lady Caroline is said to have forced herself into Byron's room, and implored him to fly with her. Byron refused, conducted her back to Melbourne House, wrote her the letter printed above, and, as she herself admits, kept the secret. In December, 1812, Lady Caroline burned Byron in effigy, with "his book, ring, and chain," at Brocket Hall. The lines which she wrote for the ceremony are preserved in Mrs. Leigh's handwriting, and given in Appendix III., 2. From Ireland Lady Caroline continued the siege, threatening to follow him into Herefordshire, demanding interviews, and writing about him to Lady Oxford. At length Byron sent her the letter, probably in November, 1812, which she professes to publish in 'Glenarvon' (vol. iii. chap. ix.). The words are acknowledged by Byron to have formed part at least of the real document, which is here quoted as printed in the novel: "Mortanville Priory, November the 9th. "LADY AVONDALE,--I am no longer your lover; and since you oblige me to confess it, by this truly unfeminine persecution, ... learn, that I am attached to another; whose name it would, of course, be dishonourable to mention. I shall ever remember with gratitude the many instances I have received of the predilection you have shown in my favour. I shall ever continue your friend, if your ladyship will permit me so to style myself; and, as a first proof of my regard, I offer you this advice, correct your vanity, which is ridiculous; exert your absurd caprices upon others; and leave me in peace. "Your most obedient servant, "GLENARVON." The first effect of this letter and her unrequited passion was, as she told Lady Morgan, to deprive her temporarily of reason, and it may be added that, when she was a child, her grandmother was so alarmed by her eccentricities as to consult a doctor on the state of her mind. The second effect was to render her temper so ungovernable that William Lamb decided on a separation. All preliminaries were arranged; the solicitor arrived with the documents; but the old charm reasserted itself, and she was found seated by her husband, "feeding him with tiny scraps of transparent bread and butter" (Torrens, 'Memoirs of Lord Melbourne', vol. i. p. 112). The separation did not take place till 1825. Throughout 1812-14 Lady Caroline continued to write to Byron, at first asking for interviews. Two of her last letters to him, written apparently on the eve of his leaving England, in 1816, are worth printing, though they increase the mystery of 'Glenarvon'. (See Appendix III., 4 and 5.) In Isaac Nathan's 'Fugitive Pieces' (1829), a section is devoted to "Poetical Effusions, Letters, Anecdotes, and Recollections of Lady Caroline Lamb." Lady Caroline wrote three novels: 'Glenarvon' (1816); 'Graham Hamilton' (1822); and 'Ada Reis; a Tale' (1823). 'Glenarvon', apart from its biographical interest, is unreadable. "I do not know," writes C. Lemon to Lady H. Frampton ('Journal of Mary Frampton', pp. 286, 287), "all the characters in 'Glenarvon', but I will tell you all I do know. I am not surprised at your being struck with a few detached passages; but before you have read one volume, I think you will doubt at which end of the book you began. There is no connection between any two ideas in the book, and it seems to me to have been written as the sages of Laputa composed their works. 'Glenarvon' is Lord Byron; 'Lady Augusta,' the late Duchess of Devonshire; 'Lady Mandeville'--I think it is Lady Mandeville, but the lady who dictated Glearvon's farewell letter to Calantha--is Lady Oxford. This letter she really dictated to Lord Byron to send to Lady Caroline Lamb, and is now very much offended that she has treated the matter so lightly as to introduce it into her book. The best character in it is the 'Princess of Madagascar' (Lady Holland), with all her Reviewers about her. The young Duke of Devonshire is in the book, but I forget under what name. I need not say that the heroine is Lady Caroline's own self." In July, 1824, she was out riding, when she accidentally met Byron's funeral on its way to Newstead. "I am sure," she wrote to Murray, July 13, 1824, "I am very sorry I ever said one unkind word against him." Her mind never recovered the shock, and she died in January, 1828, in the presence of her husband, at Melbourne House. (See also Appendix III., 6.)] * * * * * 243.--To John Murray. High Street, Cheltenham, Sept. 5, 1812. DEAR SIR,--Pray have the goodness to send those despatches, and a No. of the _E.R._ with the rest. I hope you have written to Mr. Thompson, thanked him in my name for his present, and told him that I shall be truly happy to comply with his request.--How do you go on? and when is the graven image, "with _bays and wicked rhyme upon't_," to grace, or disgrace, some of our tardy editions? Send me "_Rokeby_" [1] who the deuce is he?--no matter, he has good connections, and will be well introduced. I thank you for your inquiries: I am so so, but my thermometer is sadly below the poetical point. What will you give _me_ or _mine_ for a poem [2] of six cantos, (_when complete--no_ rhyme, _no_ recompense,) as like the last two as I can make them? I have some ideas which one day may be embodied, and till winter I shall have much leisure. Believe me, yours very sincerely, BYRON. P. S.--My last question is in the true style of Grub Street; but, like _Jeremy Diddler_ [3], I only "ask for information."--Send me Adair on _Diet and Regimen_, just republished by Ridgway [4]. [Footnote 1: 'Rokeby', completed December 31, 1812, was published in the following year, with a dedication to John Morritt, to whom Rokeby belonged. It was, as Scott admits in the Preface to the edition of 1830, comparatively a failure. In the popularity of Byron he finds the chief cause of the small success which his poem obtained. "To have kept his ground at the crisis when 'Rokeby' appeared," he writes, "its author ought to have put forth his utmost strength, and to have possessed all his original advantages, for a mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on the stage--a rival not in poetical powers only, but in that art of attracting popularity, in which the present writer had hitherto preceded better men than himself. The reader will easily see that Byron is here meant, who, after a little velitation of no great promise, now appeared as a serious candidate, in the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold'." On this rivalry Byron wrote the passage in his Diary for November 17, 1813. A further cause for the cold reception of 'Rokeby' was its inferiority both to the 'Lay' and to 'Marmion'. In Letter vii. of the 'Twopenny Post-bag', Moore writes thus of 'Rokeby' "Should you feel any touch of 'poetical' glow, We've a Scheme to suggest--Mr. Sc--tt, you must know, (Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the 'Row') Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown, Is coming by long Quarto stages, to Town; And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay) Means to 'do' all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. Now the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him) To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to 'meet' him; Who, by means of quick proofs--no revises--long coaches-- May do a few Villas before Sc--tt approaches-- Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn Abbey."] [Footnote 2: 'The Giaour', published in 1813, for which Murray paid, not Byron, but Dallas, 500 guineas.] [Footnote 3: Kenney's 'Raising the Wind', act i. sc. 1: "'Diddler'. O Sam, you haven't got such a thing as tenpence about you, have you? "'Sam'. Yes. 'And I mean to keep it about me, you see'. "'Diddler'. Oh, aye, certainly. I only asked for information."] [Footnote 4: James MacKittrick (1728-1802), who assumed the name of Adair, published, in 1804, 'An Essay on Diet and Regimen, as indispensable to the Recovery and Preservation of Firm Health, especially to Indolent, Studious, Delicate and Invalid; with appropriate cases'.] * * * * * 244.--To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, September 10, 1812. My Dear Lord,--The lines which I sketched off on your hint are still, or rather _were_, in an unfinished state, for I have just committed them to a flame more decisive than that of Drury [1]. Under all circumstances, I should hardly wish a contest with Philodrama--Philo-Drury--Asbestos, H----, and all the anonymes and synonymes of Committee candidates. Seriously, I think you have a chance of something much better; for prologuising is not my forte, and, at all events, either my pride or my modesty won't let me incur the hazard of having my rhymes buried in next month's Magazine, under "Essays on the Murder of Mr. Perceval." and "Cures for the Bite of a Mad Dog," as poor Goldsmith complained of the fate of far superior performances [2]. I am still sufficiently interested to wish to know the successful candidate; and, amongst so many, I have no doubt some will be excellent, particularly in an age when writing verse is the easiest of all attainments. I cannot answer your intelligence with the "like comfort," unless, as you are deeply theatrical, you may wish to hear of Mr. Betty [3], whose acting is, I fear, utterly inadequate to the London engagement into which the managers of Covent Garden have lately entered. His figure is fat, his features flat, his voice unmanageable, his action ungraceful, and, as Diggory [4] says, "I defy him to extort that damned muffin face of his into madness." I was very sorry to see him in the character of the "Elephant on the slack rope;" for, when I last saw him, I was in raptures with his performance. But then I was sixteen--an age to which all London condescended to subside. After all, much better judges have admired, and may again; but I venture to "prognosticate a prophecy" (see the 'Courier') that he will not succeed. So, poor dear Rogers has stuck fast on "the brow of the mighty Helvellyn" [5]--I hope not for ever. My best respects to Lady H.:--her departure, with that of my other friends, was a sad event for me, now reduced to a state of the most cynical solitude. "By the waters of Cheltenham I sat down and _drank_, when I remembered thee, oh Georgiana Cottage! As for our _harps_, we hanged them up upon the willows that grew thereby. Then they said, Sing us a song of Drury Lane," etc.; --but I am dumb and dreary as the Israelites. The waters have disordered me to my heart's content--you _were_ right, as you always are. Believe me, ever your obliged and affectionate servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Drury Lane Theatre was reopened, after the fire of February 24, 1809, on Saturday, October 10, 1812. In the previous August the following advertisement was issued: "'Rebuilding of Drury-Lane Theatre.' "The Committee are desirous of promoting a fair and free competition for an Address, to be spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which will take place on the 10th of October next: They have therefore thought fit to announce to the Public, that they will be glad to receive any such Compositions, addressed to their Secretary at the Treasury Office in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of September, sealed up, with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with the inscription, on a separate sealed paper, containing the name of the Author, which will not be opened, unless containing the name of the successful Candidate. Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane, August 13, 1812. "Owing to an accidental delay in the publication of the above Advertisement, the Committee have thought proper to extend the time for receiving Addresses, from the last day of August to the 10th of September." Byron, on the suggestion of Lord Holland, intended to send in an 'Address' in competition with other similar productions. He afterwards changed his mind, and refused to compete. After all the 'Addresses' had been received and rejected, the Committee applied to him to write an 'Address'. This he consented to do.] [Footnote 2: "The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet was thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays upon liberty, Eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog." 'Vicar of Wakefield', chap. xx.] [Footnote 3: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 63, 'note' 2.[Footnote 2 of Letter 24]] [Footnote 4: "Diggory," one of Liston's parts, a character in Jackman's 'All the World's a Stage', asks (act i. sc. 2), "But how can you extort that damned pudding-face of yours to madness?"] [Footnote 5: Rogers had gone for a tour in the North. Byron alludes to Scott's poem 'Helvellyn': "I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn," etc., etc. The poem was occasioned, as Scott's note states, by the death of "a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition," who was killed on the mountain in 1805.] * * * * * 245.--To John Murray. Cheltenham, Sept. 14, 1812. DEAR SIR,--The parcels contained some letters and verses, all (but one) anonymous and complimentary, and very anxious for my conversion from certain infidelities into which my good-natured correspondents conceive me to have fallen. The books were presents of a _convertible_ kind also,--'Christian Knowledge' and the 'Bioscope' [1], a religious Dial of Life explained:--to the author of the former (Cadell, publisher,) I beg you will forward my best thanks for his letter, his present, and, above all, his good intentions. The 'Bioscope' contained an MS. copy of very excellent verses, from whom I know not, but evidently the composition of some one in the habit of writing, and of writing well. I do not know if he be the author of the 'Bioscope' which accompanied them; but whoever he is, if you can discover him, thank him from me most heartily. The other letters were from ladies, who are welcome to convert me when they please; and if I can discover them, and they be young, as they say they are, I could convince them perhaps of my devotion. I had also a letter from Mr. Walpole on matters of this world, which I have answered. So you are Lucien's publisher! [2] I am promised an interview with him, and think I shall ask _you_ for a letter of introduction, as "the gods have made him poetical." From whom could it come with a better grace than from _his_ publisher and mine? Is it not somewhat treasonable in you to have to do with a relative of the "direful foe," as the 'Morning Post' calls his brother? But my book on 'Diet and Regimen', where is it? I thirst for Scott's 'Rokeby'; let me have y'e first-begotten copy. The 'Anti-Jacobin Review' [3] is all very well, and not a bit worse than the 'Quarterly', and at least less harmless. By the by, have you secured my books? I want all the Reviews, at least the Critiques, quarterly, monthly, etc., Portuguese and English, extracted, and bound up in one volume for my _old age_; and pray, sort my Romaic books, and get the volumes lent to Mr. Hobhouse--he has had them now a long time. If any thing occurs, you will favour me with a line, and in winter we shall be nearer neighbours. Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--I was applied to to write the _Address_ for Drury Lane, but the moment I heard of the contest, I gave up the idea of contending against all Grub Street, and threw a few thoughts on the subject into the fire. I did this out of respect to you, being sure you would have turned off any of your authors who had entered the lists with such scurvy competitors; to triumph would have been no glory, and to have been defeated--'sdeath!--I would have choked myself, like Otway, with a quartern loaf [4]; so, remember I had, and have, nothing to do with it, upon _my Honour!_ [Footnote 1: Granville Penn (1761-1844) was the author of numerous works on religious subjects. 'The Bioscope, or Dial of Life Explained' appeared in 1812. The other work referred to by Byron is probably Penn's 'Christian's Survey of all the Primary Events and Periods of the World' (1811), of which a second edition was published in 1812.] [Footnote 2: Lucien Buonaparte (1775-1840), Prince of Canino, since 1810 a landed proprietor in Shropshire, wrote an epic poem, 'Charlemagne, ou l'Église délivrée'. It was translated (1815) by Dr. Butler of Shrewsbury and Francis Hodgson.] [Footnote 3: 'The Anti-Jacobin Review' criticized 'Childe Harold' in August, 1812; the 'Quarterly', in March, 1812.] [Footnote 4: Otway died April, 1685, at the age of thirty-three, from a fever contracted by drinking water when heated by running after an assassin (Spence's 'Anecdotes', p. 44). Theophilus Cibber ('Lives of the Poets', ed. 1753, vol. ii. pp. 333, 334) gives another account of his death, viz. that he begged a shilling of a gentleman, and, being given a guinea, bought a roll, with which he was choked.] * * * * * 246.--To Lord Holland. September 22, 1812. My Dear Lord,--In a day or two I will send you something which you will still have the liberty to reject if you dislike it. I should like to have had more time, but will do my best,--but too happy if I can oblige _you_, though I may offend a hundred scribblers and the discerning public. Ever yours. Keep _my name_ a _secret_; or I shall be beset by all the rejected, and, perhaps, damned by a party. * * * * * 247.--To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, September 23, 1812. Ecco!--I have marked some passages with _double_ readings--choose between them--_cut--add--reject_--or _destroy_--do with them as you will--I leave it to you and the Committee--you cannot say so called "a _non committendo_." What will _they_ do (and I do) with the hundred and one rejected Troubadours? [1] "With trumpets, yea, and with shawms," will you be assailed in the most diabolical doggerel. I wish my name not to transpire till the day is decided. I shall not be in town, so it won't much matter; but let us have a _good deliverer_. I think Elliston [2] should be the man, or Pope [3]; not Raymond [4], I implore you, by the love of Rhythmus! The passages marked thus = =, above and below, are for you to choose between epithets, and such like poetical furniture. Pray write me a line, and believe me Ever, etc. My best remembrances to Lady H. Will you be good enough to decide between the various readings marked, and erase the other; or our _deliverer_ may be as puzzled as a commentator, and belike repeat both. If these _versicles_ won't do, I will hammer out some more endecasyllables. P.S.--Tell Lady H. I have had sad work to keep out the Phoenix--I mean the Fire Office of that name. It has insured the theatre, and why not the Address? [Footnote 1: The genuine rejected addresses were advertised for by B. McMillan, of Bow Street, Covent Garden, and forty-two of them were published by him in November, 1812, with the following title: 'The Genuine Rejected Addresses presented to the Committee of Management for Drury Lane Theatre; preceded by that written by Lord Byron and adopted by the Committee'. The youngest competitor was "Anna, a young lady in the fifteenth year of her age." The actual number sent in was 112, and sixty-nine of the competitors invoked the Phoenix. Among the competitors were Peter Pindar, whose 'Address' was printed in 1813; Whitbread, the manager, who gave the "poulterer's description" of the Phoenix; and Horace Smith, who published his 'Address without a Phoenix', By S. T. P., in 'Rejected Addresses'.] [Footnote 2: Robert William Elliston (1774-1831), according to Genest ('English Stage', vol. ix. p. 338), made his first appearance at Bath in April, 1791, as "Tressel" in 'Richard III'., and from 1796 to 1803 Bath remained his head-quarters. An excellent actor both in tragedy and comedy, he became in 1803 a member of the Haymarket Company. From 1804 to 1809, and again from 1812 to 1815, he acted at Drury Lane. Byron's Prologue was spoken by him on October 10, 1812, at the reopening of the new theatre. It was at Drury Lane in April, 1821, while he was lessee (1819-26), that Byron's 'Marino Faliero' was acted. His last appearance was as "Sheva" in 'The Jew', at the Surrey Theatre, of which (1826-31) he was lessee. In spite of his drunken habits, he won the enthusiastic praise of Charles Lamb as the "joyousest of once embodied spirits" (see 'Essays of Elia', "To the Shade of Elliston" and "Ellistoniana").] [Footnote 3: Alexander Pope (1763-1835), miniaturist, 'gourmand', and actor, was for years the principal tragedian at Covent Garden. Opinion was divided as to his merits as an actor. He owed much to his voice, which had a "mellow richness ... superior to any other performer on the stage." Genest, who quotes the above (vol. ix. p. 377), adds that "in his better days he had more pathos about him than any other actor." He made his first appearance in Cork as "Oroonoko," and subsequently (January, 1785) at Covent Garden in the same part. He ceased acting at Covent Garden in June, 1827.] [Footnote 4: In the cast for 'Hamlet', with which Drury Lane reopened, Raymond played the Ghost. Raymond was also the stage manager of the theatre.] * * * * * 248.--To Lord Holland. September 24. I send a recast of the four first lines of the concluding paragraph. This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, The drama's homage by her Herald paid, Receive _our welcome too_, whose every tone Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own. The curtain rises, etc., etc. And do forgive all this trouble. See what it is to have to do even with the _genteelest_ of us. Ever, etc. * * * * * 249.--To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, Sept. 25, 1812. Still "more matter for a May morning." [1] Having patched the middle and end of the Address, I send one more couplet for a part of the beginning, which, if not too turgid, you will have the goodness to add. After that flagrant image of the _Thames_ (I hope no unlucky wag will say I have set it on fire, though Dryden [2], in his _Annus Mirabilis_, and Churchill [3], in his _Times_, did it before me), I mean to insert this: As flashing far the new Volcano shone {_meteors_} And swept the skies with {lightnings} not their own, While thousands throng'd around the burning dome, Etc., etc. I think "thousands" less flat than "crowds collected"--but don't let me plunge into the bathos, or rise into Nat. Lee's _Bedlam metaphors_ [4]. By the by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a house-top in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection on the Thames. Perhaps the present couplet had better come in after "trembled for their homes," the two lines after;--as otherwise the image certainly sinks, and it will run just as well. The lines themselves, perhaps, may be better thus--("choose," or "refuse"--but please _yourself_, and don't mind "Sir Fretful" [5]): As flash'd the volumed blaze, and {_sadly_/ghastly} shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own. The last _runs_ smoothest, and, I think, best; but you know _better_ than _best_. "Lurid" is also a less indistinct epithet than "livid wave," and, if you think so, a dash of the pen will do. I expected one line this morning; in the mean time, I shall remodel and condense, and, if I do not hear from you, shall send another copy. I am ever, etc. [Footnote 1: 'Twelfth Night', act iii. sc. 4.] [Footnote 2: Dryden's 'Annus Mirabilis', stanza 231: "A key of fire ran all along the shore, And lightened all the river with a blaze; The wakened tides began again to roar, And wondering fish in shining waters gaze."] [Footnote 3: Churchill's 'Times', lines 701, 702: "Bidding in one grand pile this Town expire, Her towers in dust, her Thames a Lake of fire."] [Footnote 4: Nathaniel Lee (circ. 1653-1692), the dramatist, wrote 'The Rival Queens' (1677), in which occurs the line: "When Greek join'd Greek then was the tug of war." He collaborated with Dryden in 'OEdipus' (1679) and 'The Duke of Guise' (1682). His numerous dramas were distinguished, in his own day, for extravagance and bombast. His mind failing, he was confined from 1684 to 1688 in Bethlehem Hospital, where he is said to have composed a tragedy in 25 acts.] [Footnote 5: 'The Critic', act i. sc. I. "Sneer," speaking of "Sir Fretful Plagiary," says, "He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six and thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations."] * * * * * 250.--To Lord Holland. September 26, 1812. You will think there is no end to my villanous emendations. The fifth and sixth lines I think to alter thus: Ye who beheld--oh sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd; because "night" is repeated the next line but one; and, as it now stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, "worthy him (Shakspeare) and _you_," appears to apply the "_you_" to those only who were out of bed and in Covent Garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended to be comprised in that comprehensive and, I hope, comprehensible pronoun. By the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom: When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write. Ceasing to _live_ is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore I will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes "sought" and "wrote." [1] Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come amiss. I am very anxious on this business, and I do hope that the very trouble I occasion you will plead its own excuse, and that it will tend to show my endeavour to make the most of the time allotted. I wish I had known it months ago, for in that case I had not left one line standing on another. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as I can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning. When I began _Childe Harold_, I had never tried Spenser's measure, and now I cannot scribble in any other. After all, my dear Lord, if you can get a decent _Address_ elsewhere, don't hesitate to put this aside [2]. Why did you not trust your own Muse? I am very sure she would have been triumphant, and saved the Committee their trouble--"'tis a joyful one" to me, but I fear I shall not satisfy even myself. After the account you sent me, 'tis no compliment to say you would have beaten your candidates; but I mean that, in _that_ case, there would have been no occasion for their being beaten at all. There are but two decent prologues in our tongue--Pope's to 'Cato' [3]--Johnson's to Drury-Lane [4]. These, with the epilogue to 'The Distrest Mother' [5] and, I think, one of Goldsmith's [6], and a prologue of old Colman's to Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Philaster' [7], are the best things of the kind we have. P.S.--I am diluted to the throat with medicine for the stone; and Boisragon wants me to try a warm climate for the winter--but I won't. [Footnote 1: "Such are the names that here your plaudits sought, When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote." At present the couplet stands thus: "Dear are the days that made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write."] [Footnote 2: "I am almost ashamed," writes Lord Holland to Rogers, October 22, 1812 (Clayden's 'Rogers and his Contemporaries', vol. i. p. 115), "of having induced Lord Byron to write on so ungrateful a theme (ungrateful in all senses) as the opening of a theatre; he was so good-humoured, took so much pains, corrected so good-humouredly, and produced, as I thought and think, a prologue so superior to the common run of that sort of trumpery, that it is quite vexatious to see him attacked for it. Some part of it is a little too much laboured, and the whole too long; but surely it is good and poetical.... You cannot imagine how I grew to like Lord Byron in my critical intercourse with him, and how much I am convinced that your friendship and judgment have contributed to improve both his understanding and his happiness."] [Footnote 3: Pope wrote the Prologue to Addison's 'Cato' when it was acted at Drury Lane, April 13, 1713.] [Footnote 4: Johnson wrote the Prologue when Garrick opened Drury Lane, September 15, 1747, with 'The Merchant of Venice'. "It is," says Genest ('English Stage', vol. iv. p. 231), "the best Prologue that was ever written." Johnson wrote the Prologue to Milton's 'Comus', played at Drury Lane, April 5, 1750; to Goldsmith's 'Good-Natured Man', played at Covent Garden, January 29, 1769; and to Hugh Kelly's 'A Word to the Wise', played at Drury Lane, March 3, 1770.] [Footnote 5: 'The Distrest Mother', adapted from Racine by Ambrose Philips, was first played at Drury Lane, March 17, 1712. Addison is supposed (Genest, 'English Stage', vol. ii. p. 496) to have written the epilogue.] [Footnote 6: It is impossible to say to which of Goldsmith's epilogues Byron refers. A previous editor of Moore's 'Life, etc'., identified it with his epilogue to Charlotte Lennox's unsuccessful comedy, 'The Sister', which was once played at Covent Garden, February 18, 1769, and then withdrawn.] [Footnote 7: George Colman the Elder, who edited an edition of Beaumont and Fletcher (10 vols., 1778), wrote the prologue to 'Philaster', when it was produced at Drury Lane, October 8, 1763.] * * * * * 251.--To Lord Holland. Sept. 27, 1812. I believe this is the third scrawl since yesterday--all about epithets. I think the epithet "intellectual" won't convey the meaning I intend; and though I hate compounds, for the present I will try (_col' permesso_) the word "genius gifted patriots of our line" [1] instead. Johnson has "many coloured life," a compound----but they are always best avoided. However, it is the only one in ninety lines [2], but will be happy to give way to a better. I am ashamed to intrude any more remembrances on Lady H. or letters upon you; but you are, fortunately for me, gifted with patience already too often tried by Your etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: This, as finally altered, stood thus: "Immortal names emblazon'd on our line."] [Footnote 2: Reduced to seventy-three lines.] * * * * * 252.--To Lord Holland. September 27, 1812. I have just received your very kind letter, and hope you have met with a second copy corrected and addressed to Holland House, with some omissions and this new couplet, As glared each rising flash, [1] and ghastly shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own. As to remarks, I can only say I will alter and acquiesce in any thing. With regard to the part which Whitbread [2] wishes to omit, I believe the 'Address' will go off _quicker_ without it, though, like the agility of the Hottentot, at the expense of its vigour. I leave to your choice entirely the different specimens of stucco-work; and a _brick_ of your own will also much improve my Babylonish turret. I should like Elliston to have it, with your leave. "Adorn" and "mourn" are lawful rhymes in Pope's 'Death of the Unfortunate Lady'.--Gray has "forlorn" and "mourn"--and "torn" and "mourn" are in Smollett's famous 'Tears of Scotland' [3]. As there will probably be an outcry amongst the rejected, I hope the Committee will testify (if it be needful) that I sent in nothing to the congress whatever, with or without a name, as your Lordship well knows. All I have to do with it is with and through you; and though I, of course, wish to satisfy the audience, I do assure you my first object is to comply with your request, and in so doing to show the sense I have of the many obligations you have conferred upon me. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: At present: "As glared the volumed blaze."] [Footnote 2: Samuel Whitbread (1758-1815) married, in 1789, Elizabeth, daughter of General Sir Charles Grey, created (1806) Earl Grey, and sister of the second Earl Grey, of Reform Bill fame. The son of a wealthy brewer, whose fortune he inherited, he entered Parliament as M.P. for Bedford in 1790. Raikes, in his 'Journal' (vol. iv. PP. 50, 51), speaks of him, at the outset of his career, as a staunch Foxite, and "much remarked in society." Comparing him with his brother-in-law Grey, he says, "Mr. Whitbread was a more steady character; his appearance was heavy; he was fond of agriculture, and was very plain and simple in his tastes. Both were reckoned good debaters in the House, but Grey was the most eloquent." An independent Whig, and an advocate for peace with France, Whitbread supported Fox against Pitt throughout the Napoleonic War, strongly opposed its renewal after the return of the emperor from Elba, and interested himself in such measures as moderate Parliamentary reform, the amendment of the poor law, national education, and retrenchment of public expenditure. On April 8, 1805, he moved the resolutions which ended in the impeachment of Lord Melville, and took the lead in the inquiries, which were made, March, 1809, into the conduct of the Duke of York. He was a plain, business-like speaker, and a man of such unimpeachable integrity that Mr., afterwards Lord, Plunket, in a speech on the Roman Catholic claims, February 28, 1821, called him "the incorruptible sentinel of the constitution." When he moved the articles of impeachment against Lord Melville, Canning scribbled the following impromptu parody of his speech ('Anecdotal History of the British Parliament', p. 222): "I'm like Archimedes for science and skill; I'm like a young prince going straight up a hill; I'm like--(with respect to the fair be it said)-- I'm like a young lady just bringing to bed. If you ask why the 11th of June I remember Much better than April, or May, or November, On that day, my lords, with truth I assure ye, My sainted progenitor set up his brewery; On that day, in the morn, he began brewing beer; On that day, too, commenced his connubial career;] On that day he received and he issued his bills; On that day he cleared out all the cash from his tills; On that day he died, having finished his summing, And the angels all cried, 'Here's old Whitbread a-coming!' So that day still I hail with a smile and a sigh, For his beer with an E, and his bier with an I; And still on that day, in the hottest of weather, The whole Whitbread family dine all together.-- So long as the beams of this house shall support The roof which o'ershades this respectable Court, Where Hastings was tried for oppressing the Hindoos; So long as that sun shall shine in at those windows, My name shall shine bright as my ancestor's shines, 'Mine' recorded in journals, 'his' blazoned on signs!" An active member of Parliament, a large landed proprietor, the manager of his immense brewery in Chiswell Street, Whitbread also found time to reduce to order the chaotic concerns of Drury Lane Theatre. He was, with Lord Holland and Harvey Combe, responsible for the request to Byron to write an address, having first rejected his own address with its "poulterer's description of the Phoenix." He was fond of private theatricals, and Dibdin ('Reminiscences', vol. ii. pp. 383, 384) gives the play-bill of an entertainment given by him at Southill. In the first play, 'The Happy Return', he took the part of "Margery;" and in the second, 'Fatal Duplicity', that of "Eglantine," a very young lady, loved by "Sir Buntybart" and "Sir Brandywine." In his capacity as manager of Drury Lane, Whitbread is represented by the author of 'Accepted Addresses' (1813) as addressing "the M--s of H--d"-- "My LORD,-- "As I now have the honour to be By 'Man'ging' a 'Playhouse' a double M.P., In this my address I think fit to complain Of certain encroachments on great Drury Lane," etc., etc. Whitbread strongly supported the cause of the Princess of Wales. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. iii. p. 25) says that he dictated the letters which the Princess wrote to the Queen, who had desired that she should not attend the two drawing-rooms to be held in June, 1814. "They were good," she adds, "but too long, and sometimes marked by Whitbread's want of taste." The strain of his multifarious activities affected both his health and his mind, and he committed suicide July 6, 1815.] [Footnote 3: "By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd." (Pope.) "Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn, Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn." (Gray.) "Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn." (Smollett.)] * * * * * 253.--To John Murray. Cheltenham, September 27, 1812. Dear Sir,--I sent in no 'Address' whatever to the Committee; but out of nearly one hundred (this is _confidential_), none have been deemed worth acceptance; and in consequence of their _subsequent_ application to _me_, I have written a prologue, which _has_ been received, and will be spoken. The MS. is now in the hands of Lord Holland. I write this merely to say, that (however it is received by the audience) you will publish it in the next edition of _Childe Harold_; and I only beg you at present to keep my name secret till you hear further from me, and as soon as possible I wish you to have a correct copy, to do with as you think proper. I am, yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--I should wish a few copies printed off _before_, that the Newspaper copies may be correct _after_ the _delivery_. * * * * * 254.--To Lord Holland. September 28, 1812. Will this do better? The metaphor is more complete. Till slowly ebb'd the {_lava of the_/spent volcanic} wave, And blackening ashes mark'd the Muse's grave. If not, we will say "burning wave," and instead of "burning clime," in the line some couplets back, have "glowing." Is Whitbread determined to castrate all my _cavalry_ lines [1]? I don't see why t'other house should be spared; besides it is the public, who ought to know better; and you recollect Johnson's was against similar buffooneries of Rich's--but, certes, I am not Johnson. [2] Instead of "effects," say "labours"--"degenerate" will do, will it? Mr. Betty is no longer a babe, therefore the line cannot be personal. Will this do? Till ebb'd the lava of {_the burning_}/{that molten} wave [3] with "glowing dome," in case you prefer "burning" added to this "wave" metaphorical. The word "fiery pillar" was suggested by the "pillar of fire" in the book of Exodus, which went before the Israelites through the Red Sea. I once thought of saying "like Israel's pillar," and making it a simile, but I did not know,--the great temptation was leaving the epithet "fiery" for the supplementary wave. I want to work up that passage, as it is the only new ground us prologuizers can go upon-- This is the place where, if a poet Shined in description, he might show it. If I part with the possibility of a future conflagration, we lessen the compliment to Shakspeare. However, we will e'en mend it thus: Yes, it shall be--the magic of that name, That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame, On the same spot, etc., etc. There--the deuce is in it, if that is not an improvement to Whitbread's content. Recollect, it is the "name," and not the "magic," that has a noble contempt for those same weapons. If it were the "magic," my metaphor would be somewhat of the maddest--so the "name" is the antecedent. But, my dear Lord, your patience is not quite so immortal--therefore, with many and sincere thanks, I am, Yours ever most affectionately. P.S.--I foresee there will be charges of partiality in the papers; but you know I sent in no _Address_; and glad both you and I must be that I did not, for, in that case, their plea had been plausible. I doubt the Pit will be testy; but conscious innocence (a novel and pleasing sensation) makes me bold. [Footnote 1: The lines which were omitted by the Committee ran thus: "'Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours. When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse, If you command, the steed must come in course. If you decree, the Stage must condescend' To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend. _Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce, And gratify you more by showing less_. Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws, Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause; _That public praise be ne'er again disgraced, From_ {brutes to man recall}/{_babes and brutes redeem} a nation's taste_; Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers, When Reason's voice is echoed back by ours." The last couplet but one was altered in a subsequent copy, thus: "'The past reproach let present scenes refute, Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute'." On February 18, 1811, at Covent Garden, a troop of horses were introduced in 'Bluebeard'. For the manager, Juvenal's words, "_Lucri bonus est odor ex re Qualibet_" ('Sat'. xiv. 204) may have been true; but, as the dressing-room of the equine comedians was under the orchestra, the stench on the first night was to the audience intolerable. At the same theatre, April 29, 1811, the horses were again brought on the stage in Lewis's 'Timour the Tartar'. At the same theatre, on the following December 26, a live elephant appeared. The novelty had, however, been anticipated in the Dublin Theatre during the season of 1771-72 (Genest's 'English Stage', vol. viii. p. 287). At the Haymarket, and Drury Lane, the introduction of live animals was ridiculed. 'The Quadrupeds of Quedlinburgh' was given at the Haymarket, July 26, 1811, as a burlesque on 'Timour the Tartar' and the horses. The Prologue, by Colman the Younger, attacks the passion for German plays and animal actors: "Your taste, recover'd half from foreign quacks, Takes airings, now, on English horses' backs; While every modern bard may raise his name, If not on _lasting praise_, on _stable fame_." At the Lyceum, during the season 1811-12, 'Quadrupeds, or the Manager's Last Kick', in which the tailors were mounted on asses and mules, was given by the Drury Lane Company with success. It was this introduction of animal performers which Byron wished to attack.] [Footnote 2: The following are the lines in Johnson's 'Prologue' to which Byron refers: "Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, For years the power of Tragedy declined; From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, Till Declamation roared, whilst Passion slept. Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, Philosophy remained though Nature fled. But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit, She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; Exulting Folly hailed the joyous Day, And Pantomime and Song confirmed her sway. But who the coming changes can presage, And mark the future periods of the Stage? Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store; Perhaps, where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died, On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; Perhaps (for who can guess th' effects of chance?) Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance." John Rich (circ. 1682-1761) was the creator of pantomime in England, which he introduced at Lincoln's Inn Fields in April, 1716, and in which, under the stage name of Lun, he played the part of Harlequin. At Lincoln's Inn Fields, January 29, 1728, he produced 'The Beggar's Opera', which, after being refused at Drury Lane, made "Gay 'rich', and Rich 'gay'." "Great Faustus" probably alludes to the war between the two theatres, and the rival productions of 'Harlequin Dr. Faustus' at Drury Lane in 1723, and of 'The Necromancer, or the History of Dr. Faustus' at Lincoln's Inn Fields in December of the same year. On December 7, 1732, Rich opened the new theatre at Covent Garden, of which he remained manager till his death in 1761.] [Footnote 3: The form of this couplet, as printed, is as follows: "Till blackening ashes and lonely wall Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall."] * * * * * 255.--To Lord Holland. September 28. I have altered the _middle_ couplet, so as I hope partly to do away with W.'s objection. I do think, in the present state of the stage, it had been unpardonable to pass over the horses and Miss Mudie [1], etc. As Betty is no longer a boy, how can this be applied to him? He is now to be judged as a man. If he acts still like a boy, the public will but be more ashamed of their blunder. I have, you see, _now_ taken it for granted that these things are reformed. I confess, I wish that part of the _Address_ to stand; but if W. is inexorable, e'en let it go. I have also new-cast the lines, and softened the hint of future combustion, and sent them off this morning. Will you have the goodness to add, or insert, the _approved_ alterations as they arrive? They "come like shadows, so depart," [2] occupy me, and, I fear, disturb you. Do not let Mr. W. put his _Address_ into Elliston's hands till you have settled on these alterations. E. will think it too long:--much depends on the speaking. I fear it will not bear much curtailing, without _chasms_ in the sense. It is certainly too long in the reading; but if Elliston exerts himself, such a favourite with the public will not be thought tedious. _I_ should think it so, if _he_ were not to speak it. Yours ever, etc. P.S.--On looking again, I doubt my idea of having obviated W.'s objection. To the other House allusion is _non sequitur_--but I wish to plead for this part, because the thing really is not to be passed over. Many afterpieces of the Lyceum by the _same company_ have already attacked this "Augean _Stable_"--and Johnson, in his prologue against "Lunn" (the harlequin manager, Rich),--"Hunt,"--"Mahomet," etc. is surely a fair precedent. [3] [Footnote 1: For the horses, see p. 156, 'note' 1. Miss Mudie, another "Phenomenon," with whom the Covent Garden manager hoped to rival the success of Master Betty, was announced in the 'Morning Post', July 29, 1805, as the "Young Roscia of the Dublin Stage." She appeared at Covent Garden, November 23, 1805, in the part of "Peggy" in 'The Country Girl', Miss Brunton being "Alithea," C. Kemble "Harcourt," and Moody "Murray." Being hissed by the audience, she walked with great composure to the front of the stage, and said, as reported in the 'Morning Post' (November 25, 1805) "Ladies and gentlemen,--I know nothing I have done to offend you, and has set ('sic') those who are sent here to hiss me; I will be very much obliged to you to turn them out." This unfortunate speech made matters worse; the audience refused to hear her, and her part was finished by Miss Searle. Miss Mudie was said to be only eight years old. But J. Kemble, being asked if she were really such a child, answered, "'Child'! Why, sir, when I was a very young actor in the York Company, that little creature kept an inn at Tadcaster, and had a large family" (Clark Russell's 'Representative Actors', p. 363, 'note' 2). The 'Morning Post' (April 5, 1806) says that Miss Mudie afterwards joined a children's troupe in Leicester Place, where, "though deservedly discountenanced at a great theatre, she will, no doubt, prove an acquisition to the infant establishment" (Ashton's 'Dawn of the XIXth Century in England', pp. 333-336).] [Footnote 2: Macbeth, act iv. sc. 1.] [Footnote 3: For Lun, or Rich, see p. 157, end of 'note' 1. Hunt, in the notes to Johnson's 'Prologue' (Gilfillan's edition of Johnson's 'Poestical Works', p. 38), is said to be "a famous stage-boxer, Mahomet, a rope-dancer."] * * * * * 256.--To William Bankes. Cheltenham, September 28, 1812. MY DEAR BANKES,--When you point out to one how people can be intimate at the distance of some seventy leagues, I will plead guilty to your charge, and accept your farewell, but not _wittingly_, till you give me some better reason than my silence, which merely proceeded from a notion founded on your own declaration of _old_, that you hated writing and receiving letters. Besides, how was I to find out a man of many residences? If I had addressed you _now_, it had been to your borough, where I must have conjectured you were amongst your constituents. So now, in despite of Mr. N. and Lady W., you shall be as "much better" as the Hexham post-office will allow me to make you. I do assure you I am much indebted to you for thinking of me at all, and can't spare you even from amongst the superabundance of friends with whom you suppose me surrounded. You heard that Newstead [1] is sold--the sum £140,000; sixty to remain in mortgage on the estate for three years, paying interest, of course. Rochdale is also likely to do well--so my worldly matters are mending. I have been here some time drinking the waters, simply because there are waters to drink, and they are very medicinal, and sufficiently disgusting. In a few days I set out for Lord Jersey's [2], but return here, where I am quite alone, go out very little, and enjoy in its fullest extent the _dolce far niente_. What you are about I cannot guess, even from your date;--not dauncing to the sound of the gitourney in the Halls of the Lowthers? one of whom is here, ill, poor thing, with a phthisic. I heard that you passed through here (at the sordid inn where I first alighted) the very day before I arrived in these parts. We had a very pleasant set here; at first the Jerseys, Melbournes [3], Cowpers [4], and Hollands, but all gone; and the only persons I know are the Rawdons [5] and Oxfords [6], with some later acquaintances of less brilliant descent. But I do not trouble them much; and as for your rooms and your assemblies "they are not dreamed of in our philosophy!!"--Did you read of a sad accident in the Wye t'other day [7]? A dozen drowned; and Mr. Rossoe, a corpulent gentleman, preserved by a boat-hook or an eel-spear, begged, when he heard his wife was saved--no--_lost_--to be thrown in again!!--as if he could not have thrown himself in, had he wished it; but this passes for a trait of sensibility. What strange beings men are, in and out of the Wye! I have to ask you a thousand pardons for not fulfilling some orders before I left town; but if you knew all the cursed entanglements I _had_ to wade through, it would be unnecessary to beg your forgiveness.--When will Parliament (the new one) meet [8]?--in sixty days, on account of Ireland, I presume: the Irish election will demand a longer period for completion than the constitutional allotment. Yours, of course, is safe, and all your side of the question. Salamanca is the ministerial watchword, and all will go well with you. I hope you will speak more frequently, I am sure at least you _ought_, and it will be expected. I see Portman means to stand again. Good night. Ever yours most affectionately, [Greek: Mpairon.] [Footnote 1: Newstead was put up at Garraway's in the autumn of 1812; but only £90,000 were bid, and the property was therefore withdrawn. Subsequently it was privately sold to a Mr. Claughton, who found himself unable to complete the purchase, and forfeited £25,000 on the contract. Newstead was eventually sold, in November, 1817, to Colonel Wildman, Byron's Harrow schoolfellow, for £94,500.] [Footnote 2: For Lady Jersey, see p. 112, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 230]. The following passage, from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', gives an account of the party at Middleton: "In 1812 at Middelton (Lord Jersey's), amongst a goodly company of Lords, Ladies, and wits, etc., there was poor old Vice Leach, the lawyer, attempting to play off the fine gentleman. His first exhibition, an attempt on horseback, I think, to escort the women--God knows where--in the month of November, ended in a fit of the Lumbago--as Lord Ogleby says, 'a grievous enemy to Gallantry and address'--and if he could have but heard Lady Jersey quizzing him (as I did) next day for the _cause_ of his malady, I don't think that he would have turned a 'Squire of dames' in a hurry again. He seemed to me the greatest fool (in that line) I ever saw. This was the last I saw of old Vice Leach, except in town, where he was creeping into assemblies, and trying to look young--and gentlemanly. "Erskine too!--Erskine was there--good but intolerable. He jested, he talked, he did everything admirably, but then he 'would' be applauded for the same thing twice over. He would read his own verses, his own paragraphs, and tell his own story again and again; and then 'the trial by Jury!!!'--I almost wished it abolished, for I sate next him at dinner, and, as I had read his published speeches, there was no occasion to repeat them to me. Chester (the fox-hunter), surnamed 'Cheek Chester,' and I sweated the Claret, being the only two who did so. Cheek, who loves his bottle, and had no notion of meeting with a 'bonvivant' in a scribbler, in making my eulogy to somebody one evening, summed it up in 'by G-d, he 'drinks like a Man'!'"] [Footnote 3: Sir Peniston Lamb, created an Irish baron as Lord Melbourne in 1770, an Irish viscount in 1780, and an English peer in 1815, married, in 1769, Elizabeth, only daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, of Halnaby, Yorkshire, one of the cleverest and most beautiful women of the day. Horace Walpole, writing to Mason, May 12, 1778, mentions her when she was at the height of her beauty. "On Tuesday," he says, "I supped, after the opera, at Mrs. Meynel's with a set of the most fashionable company, which, take notice, I very seldom do now, as I certainly am not of the age to mix often with young people. Lady Melbourne was standing before the fire, and adjusting her feathers in the glass. Says she, 'Lord, they say the stocks will blow up! That will be very comical.'" Greville ('Memoirs', ed. 1888, vol. vi. p. 248) associates her name with that of Lord Egremont. Reynolds painted her with her eldest son in his well-known picture 'Maternal Affection'. Her second son, William, afterwards Prime Minister, used to say, "Ah! my mother was a most remarkable woman; not merely clever and engaging, but the most sagacious woman I ever knew" ('Memoirs of Viscount Melbourne', vol. i. p. 135). Lady Melbourne, whom Byron spoke of as "the best, the kindest, and ablest female I have ever known, old or young," died in 1818, her husband in 1828. He thus described her to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 225): "Lady M., who might have been my mother, excited an interest in my feelings that few young women have been able to awaken. She was a charming person--a sort of modern Aspasia, uniting the energy of a man's mind with the delicacy and tenderness of a woman's. She wrote and spoke admirably, because she felt admirably. Envy, malice, hatred, or uncharitableness, found no place in her feelings. She had all of philosophy, save its moroseness, and all of nature, save its defects and general 'faiblesse'; or if some portion of 'faiblesse' attached to her, it only served to render her more forbearing to the errors of others. I have often thought, that, with a little more youth, Lady M. might have turned my head, at all events she often turned my heart, by bringing me back to mild feelings, when the demon passion was strong within me. Her mind and heart were as fresh as if only sixteen summers had flown over her, instead of four times that number."] [Footnote 4: Peter, fifth Earl Cowper (1778-1837), married, in 1805 Emily Mary Lamb, daughter of Lord Melbourne; she married, secondly, in 1839, Lord Palmerston.] [Footnote 5: Francis Rawdon, second Earl of Moira (1754-1826), created Lord Rawdon (1783), and Marquis of Hastings (1817), married, in 1804, the Countess of Loudoun.] [Footnote 6: Edward Harley (1773-1848) succeeded his uncle as fifth Earl of Oxford in 1790, and married, in 1794, Jane Elizabeth, daughter of the Rev. James Scott, Vicar of Itchin, Hants. It is probably of Lady Oxford, whose picture was painted by Hoppner, that Byron spoke to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 255), "Even now the autumnal charms of Lady----are remembered by me with more than admiration. She resembled a landscape by Claude Lorraine, with a setting sun, her beauties enhanced by the knowledge that they were shedding their last dying beams, which threw a radiance around. A woman... is only grateful for her 'first' and 'last' conquest. The first of poor dear Lady----'s was achieved before I entered on this world of care; but the 'last', I do flatter myself, was reserved for me, and a 'bonne bouche' it was." The following passage certainly relates to Lady Oxford: "There was a lady at that time," said Byron (Medwin's 'Conversations', pp. 93, 94), "double my own age, the mother of several children who were perfect angels, with whom I had formed a 'liaison' that continued without interruption for eight months. The autumn of a beauty like her's is preferable to the spring in others. She told me she was never in love till she was thirty; and I thought myself so with her when she was forty. I never felt a stronger passion; which she returned with equal ardour.... She had been sacrificed, almost before she was a woman, to one whose mind and body were equally contemptible in the scale of creation; and on whom she bestowed a numerous family, to which the law gave him the right to be called father. Strange as it may seem, she gained (as all women do) an influence over me so strong, that I had great difficulty in breaking with her, even when I knew she had been inconstant to me: and once was on the point of going abroad with her, and narrowly escaped this folly." To be near the Oxfords at Eywood, in Herefordshire, Byron took Kinsham Court, a dower-house of the family, where Bishop Harley died in 1788. At one time, as is evident from his correspondence with Hanson, he was bent on going abroad with Lady Oxford. In the end he only accompanied her to Portsmouth. Of Lady Oxford, Uvedale Price wrote thus to Rogers (Clayden, 'Rogers and his Contemporaries', vol. i. pp. 397, 398): "This is a melancholy subject"--[the death, by consumption of Lord Aberdeen's children]--"and I must go to another. Poor Lady Oxford! I had heard with great concern of her dangerous illness, but hoped she might get through it, and was much, very much grieved to hear that it had ended fatally. I had, as you know, lived a great deal with her from the time she came into this country, immediately after her marriage; but for some years past, since she went abroad, had scarcely had any correspondence or intercourse with her, till I met her in town last spring. I then saw her twice, and both times she seemed so overjoyed to see an old friend, and expressed her joy so naturally and cordially, that I felt no less overjoyed at seeing her after so long an absence. She talked, with great satisfaction, of our meeting for a longer time this next spring, little thinking of an eternal separation. There could not, in all respects, be a more ill-matched pair than herself and Lord Oxford, or a stronger instance of the cruel sports of Venus, or, rather, of Hymen-- 'Cui placet impares Formas atque animos sub juga ahenea Sævo mittere cum joco.' "It has been said that she was, in some measure, forced into the match. Had she been united to a man whom she had loved, esteemed, and respected, she herself might have been generally respected and esteemed, as well as loved; but in her situation, to keep clear of all misconduct required a strong mind or a cold heart; perhaps both, and she had neither. Her failings were in no small degree the effect of circumstances; her amiable qualities all her own. There was something about her, in spite of her errors, remarkably attaching, and that something was not merely her beauty. 'Kindness has resistless charms,' and she was full of affectionate kindness to those she loved, whether as friends or as lovers. As a friend, I always found her the same, never at all changeful or capricious. As I am not a very rigid moralist, and am extremely open to kindness, 'I could have better spared a better woman.'"] [Footnote 7: An account of the accident is given in the Chronicle of the 'Annual Register', September 21, 1812. The party consisted of ten people, three of whom were saved. Among those rescued was Mr. Rothery--not Rossoe, as Byron gives it.] [Footnote 8: The new Parliament met November 30, 1812. Wellington won the battle of Salamanca on the previous July 22.] * * * * * 257.--To Lord Holland. September 29, 1812. Shakespeare certainly ceased to reign in _one_ of his kingdoms, as George III. did in America, and George IV. [1] may in Ireland? Now, we have nothing to do out of our own realms, and when the monarchy was gone, his majesty had but a barren sceptre. I have _cut away_, you will see, and altered, but make it what you please; only I do implore, for my _own_ gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds--"a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me." [2] I have altered "wave," etc., and the "fire," and so forth for the timid. Let me hear from you when convenient, and believe me, etc. P.S.--Do let _that_ stand, and cut out elsewhere. I shall choke, if we must overlook their damned menagerie. [Footnote 1: Some objection, it appears, had been made to the passage, "and Shakspeare _ceased to reign_."] [Footnote 2: Bob Acres, in 'The Rivals' (act v. se. 3), says, "A long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me."] * * * * * 258.--To Lord Holland. September 30, 1812. I send you the most I can make of it; for I am not so well as I was, and find I "pull in resolution." [1] I wish much to see you, and will be at Tetbury by twelve on Saturday; and from thence I go on to Lord Jersey's. It is impossible not to allude to the degraded state of the Stage, but I have lightened _it_, and endeavoured to obviate your _other_ objections. There is a new couplet for Sheridan, allusive to his Monody [2]. All the alterations I have marked thus ],--as you will see by comparison with the other copy. I have cudgelled my brains with the greatest willingness, and only wish I had more time to have done better. You will find a sort of clap-trap laudatory couplet inserted for the quiet of the Committee [3], and I have added, towards the end, the couplet you were pleased to _like_. The whole Address is seventy-three lines, still perhaps too long; and, if shortened, you will save time, but, I fear, a little of what I meant for sense also. With myriads of thanks, I am ever, etc. My sixteenth edition of respects to Lady H.--How she must laugh at all this! I wish Murray, my publisher, to print off some copies as soon as your Lordship returns to town--it will ensure correctness in the papers afterwards. [Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 2: Sheridan's 'Monody on Garrick'.] [Footnote 3: The Committee of Selection consisted, says the 'Satirist' (November 1, 1812, p. 395), "of one peer and two commoners, one poet and two prosers, one Lord and two Brewers; and the only points in which they coincided were in being all three parliament men, all three politicians, all three in opposition to the Government of the country. Their names, as we understand, were Vassal Holland, Samuel Whitbread, and Harvey Christian Combe."] * * * * * 259.--To Lord Holland. Far be from him that hour which asks in vain Tears such as flow for Garrick in his strain; _or_, Far be that hour that vainly asks in turn Such verse for him as {_crown'd his_/wept o'er} Garrick's urn. September 30, 1812. Will you choose between these added to the lines on Sheridan [1]? I think they will wind up the panegyric, and agree with the train of thought preceding them. Now, one word as to the Committee--how could they resolve on a rough copy of an _Address_ never sent in, unless you had been good enough to retain in memory, or on paper, the thing they have been good enough to adopt? By the by, the circumstances of the case should make the Committee less _avidus gloriæ_, for all praise of them would look plaguy suspicious. If necessary to be stated at all, the simple facts bear them out. They surely had a right to act as they pleased. My sole object is one which, I trust, my whole conduct has shown; viz. that I did nothing insidious--sent in no Address _whatever_--but, when applied to, did my best for them and myself; but, above all, that there was no undue partiality, which will be what the rejected will endeavour to make out. Fortunately--most fortunately--I sent in no lines on the occasion. For I am sure that had they, in that case, been preferred, it would have been asserted that _I_ was known, and owed the preference to private friendship. This is what we shall probably have to encounter; but, if once spoken and approved, we sha'n't be much embarrassed by their brilliant conjectures; and, as to criticism, an _old_ author, like an old bull, grows cooler (or ought) at every baiting. The only thing would be to avoid a party on the night of delivery--afterwards, the more the better, and the whole transaction inevitably tends to a good deal of discussion. Murray tells me there are myriads of ironical Addresses [2] ready--_some_, in imitation of what is called _my style_. If they are as good as the 'Probationary Odes' [3], or Hawkins's 'Pipe of Tobacco' [4], it will not be bad fun for the imitated. Ever, etc. [Footnote 1: These added lines, as may be seen by reference to the printed Address, were not retained.] [Footnote 2: Probably the reference is to 'Rejected Addresses, or the New Theatrum Poetarum' (1812), by James (1775-1839) and Horace (1779-1849) Smith. "Cui Bono?" the parody on Byron, is the joint composition of James and Horace. The manuscript was offered to Murray for £20, but declined by him. It was afterwards published by John Miller, of Bow Street, Covent Garden, who also published 'Horace in London'.] [Footnote 3: 'Probationary Odes', which generally forms, with 'Political Eclogues', the third portion of the 'Rolliad', is really distinct from that work. It is the result of an imaginary contest for the laureate-ship. Each candidate was to deliver a "Probationary Birthday Ode," and among the candidates are Dr. Pretyman, Archbishop Markham, Thomas and Joseph Warton, Sir Cecil Wray, Sir Joseph Mawbey, Henry Dundas, Lord Thurlow, and other Tories of the day. The plan of the work is said to have been suggested by Joseph Richardson (1755-1803), who wrote Odes iv. (Sir Richard Hill) and xix. (Lord Mountmorres).] [Footnote 4: 'In Praise of a Pipe of Tobacco' (1736), written by Isaac Hawkins Browne (1705-1760), was an ode in imitation of Swift, Pope, Thomson, and other contemporary poets. Browne represented Wenlock in the Whig interest in the Parliaments of 1744 and 1747. Johnson spoke of him (Boswell, 'Johnson', April 5, 1775) as "one of the first wits of this country," who "got into Parliament, and never opened his mouth."] * * * * * 260.--To Lord Holland. October 2, 1812. A copy of this _still altered_ is sent by the post, but this will arrive first. It must be "humbler"--"_yet aspiring_" does away the modesty, and, after all, _truth is truth_. Besides, there is a puff direct altered, to please your _plaguy renters_. I shall be at Tetbury by 12 or 1--but send this for you to ponder over. There are several little things marked thus / altered for your perusal. I have dismounted the cavalry, and, I hope, arranged to your general satisfaction. Ever, etc. At Tetbury by noon.--I hope, after it is sent, there will be no more elisions. It is not now so long--73 lines--two less than allotted. I will alter all Committee objections, but I hope you won't permit _Elliston_ to have any _voice_ whatever,--except in speaking it. * * * * * 261.--To John Murray. Cheltenham, Oct. 12, 1812. DEAR SIR,--I have a _very strong objection_ to the engraving of the portrait [1], and request that it may, on no account, be prefixed; but let _all_ the proofs be burnt, and the plate broken. I will be at the expense which has been incurred; it is but fair that _I_ should, since I cannot permit the publication. I beg, as a particular favour, that you will lose no time in having this done, for which I have reasons that I will state when I see you. Forgive all the trouble I have occasioned you. I have received no account of the reception of the _Address_ [2], but see it is vituperated in the papers, which does not much embarrass an _old author_. I leave it to your own judgment to add it, or not, to your next edition when required. Pray comply _strictly_ with my wishes as to the engraving, and believe me, etc. Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.--Favour me with an answer, as I shall not be easy until I hear that the _proofs_, etc., are destroyed. I hear that the _Satirist_ has reviewed _Childe Harold_ [3], in what manner I need not ask; but I wish to know if the old personalities are revived? I have a better reason for asking this than any that merely concerns myself; but in publications of that kind, others, particularly female names, are sometimes introduced. [Footnote 1: A miniature by Sanders. Besides this miniature, Sanders had also painted a full-length of Byron, from which the portrait prefixed to the quarto edition of Moore's 'Life' is engraved. In reference to the latter picture, Byron says, in a note to Rogers, "If you think the picture you saw at Murray's worth your acceptance, it is yours; and you may put a glove or mask on it, if you like" (Moore).] [Footnote 2: On Saturday, October 10, Drury Lane reopened with 'The Devil to Pay' and 'Hamlet'. Then, after the whole body of actors had sung "God save the King" and "Rule, Britannia," Elliston delivered Byron's address.] [Footnote 3: 'The Satirist, a Monthly Meteor' (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 321, 'note' 3 [Footnote 3 of Letter 159]), ran from October, 1807, to 1814. Up to 1812 it was the property of George Manners, who sold it in that year to W. Jerdan. It reviewed 'Childe Harold' in October, 1812 (pp. 344-358); and again in December of the same year (pp. 542-550). In the first of the two notices, the 'Satirist' quotes the "judgment of our predecessors," that unless Byron "improved wonderfully, he could never be a poet," and continues thus: "It is with unaffected satisfaction we find that he has improved wonderfully, and that he is a poet. Indeed, when we consider the comparatively short interval which has elapsed, and contrast the character of his recent with that of his early work, we confess ourselves astonished at the intellectual progress which Lord Byron has made, and are happy to hold him up as another example of the extraordinary effects of study and cultivation, 'even' on minds apparently of the most unpromising description." The reviewer severely condemns the morbid bitterness of the poet's thought and feeling, but yet affirms that the poems "abound with beautiful imagery, clothed in a diction free, forcible, and various. 'Childe Harold', although avowedly a fragment, contains many fragments which would do honour to any poet, of any period, in any country."] * * * * * 262.--To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, Oct. 14, 1812. MY DEAR LORD,--I perceive that the papers, yea, even Perry's [1], are somewhat ruffled at the injudicious preference of the Committee. My friend Perry has, indeed, 'et tu, Brute'-d me rather scurvily, for which I will send him, for the 'Morning Chronicle', the next epigram I scribble, as a token of my full forgiveness. Do the Committee mean to enter into no explanation of their proceedings? You must see there is a leaning towards a charge of partiality. You will, at least, acquit me of any great anxiety to push myself before so many elder and better anonymous, to whom the twenty guineas (which I take to be about two thousand pounds 'Bank' currency) and the honour would have been equally welcome. "Honour," I see, "hath skill in paragraph-writing." I wish to know how it went off at the second reading, and whether any one has had the grace to give it a glance of approbation. I have seen no paper but Perry's and two Sunday ones. Perry is severe, and the others silent. If, however, you and your Committee are not now dissatisfied with your own judgments, I shall not much embarrass myself about the brilliant remarks of the journals. My own opinion upon it is what it always was, perhaps pretty near that of the public. Believe me, my dear Lord, etc., etc. P.S.--My best respects to Lady H., whose smiles will be very consolatory, even at this distance. [Footnote 1: James Perry (1756-1821) purchased, in 1789, the 'Morning Chronicle', originally established by Woodfall in 1769. In Perry's hands the paper became the leading organ of the Whigs. He was the first editor to introduce a succession of parliamentary reporters. He gathered round him a remarkable staff of contributors, including Ricardo, Sir James Mackintosh, Porson (who married his sister), Charles Lamb, Sheridan, Coleridge, Hazlitt, Lord Campbell, Moore, Campbell, Byron, and Burns. The 'Morning Chronicle' (October 12, 1812) says: "Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered the following 'Prize' Address. We cannot boast of the eloquence of the delivery. It was neither gracefully nor correctly recited. The merits of the production itself we submit to the criticism of our readers. We cannot suppose that it was selected as the most poetical composition of all the scores that were submitted to the Committee. But, perhaps by its tenor, by its allusions to the fire, to Garrick, to Siddons, and to Sheridan, it was thought most applicable to the occasion, notwithstanding its being in parts unmusical, and in general tame." Again (October 14), in a notice of 'Rejected Addresses', the 'Morning Chronicle' returns to the subject: "A wag has already published a small volume of 'Addresses rejected', in which, with admirable wit, all the poets of the day are assembled, contesting for the Prize Address at Drury Lane. And certainly he has assigned to the pen of Lord B. a superior 'poem' to that which has gained the prize." The Address was also severely handled in 'A Critique on the Address written by Lord Byron, which was Spoken at the opening of the New Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, October' 10, 1812. By Lord--------(London, no date). The author is "astonished at the glaring faults and general insipidity" of the address, and, after a detailed criticism, concludes that "public indignation" will sympathize with the rejected poets, and "pursue the rival patrons and the rival bard." Rogers, writing to Moore, October 22, 1812 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moore', vol. viii. p. 123), says, "Poor Byron! what I hear and read of his prologue makes me very angry. Of such value is public favour! So a man is to be tried by a copy of verses thrown off perhaps at hazard, and 'invitâ Minervâ!'"] * * * * * 263.--To John Hanson. Cheltenham, Octr. 18th, 1812. Dear Sir,--With perfect confidence in you I sign the note; but is not Claughton's delay very strange? let us take care what we are about. I answered his letter, which I enclose to you, very _cautiously;_ the wines and China, etc., I will not demur much upon; but the _vase_ and cup (not the _skull cup_) and some little coffee things brought from the East, or made for the purpose of containing relics brought from thence, I will not part with, and if he refuses to ratify, I will take such steps as the Law will allow on the form of the contract for compelling him to ratify it. Pray write. I am invited to Lord O.'s and Lord H.'s; but if you wish very much to meet me I can come to town. I suppose the tythe purchase will be made in my name. What is to be done with Deardon? [1] Mrs. M[assingberd] [2] is dead, and I would wish something settled for the Daughter who is still responsible. Will you give a glance into that business, and if possible first settle something about the Annuities. I shall perhaps draw within a £100 next week, but I will delay for your answer on C.'s business. Ever yours, sincerely and affectionately, BYRON. My love to all the family. I wish to do something for young Rushton, if practicable at _Rochdale_; if not, think of some situation where he might occupy himself to avoid Idleness, in the mean time. [Footnote 1: Deardon was the lessee of the Rochdale coal-pits. "When Mr. France was here," writes Mrs. Byron to Hanson, July 13, 1811 (Kölbing's 'Englische Studien', vol. xxv. p. I53), "he told me there had been an injunction procured to prevent Deardin from working the Coal Pits that was in dispute between Lord Byron and him, but since France was here, there has been a Man from Lancashire who says they are worked by Deardin the same as ever. I also heard that the Person you sent down to take an account of the Coals was bribed by Deardin, and did not give an account of half of what was got."] [Footnote 2: For Mrs. Massingberd, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 100, at end of 'note' 3 [Footnote 1 of Letter 52]. Byron's pecuniary transactions, though not unimportant in their influence on his career, are difficult to unravel. The following statement, in his own handwriting, with regard to the Annuities was apparently prepared for some legal proceedings, and is dated January 16, 1812: "Lord Byron, to the best of his knowledge and recollection, in Dec., 1805--January, 1806 applied to King, in consequence of an advertisement in the papers, who acquainted Lord Byron that his minority prevented all money transactions without the security of competent persons. Through Mr. K. he became acquainted with Mr. Dellevelly, another of the tribe of Israel, and subsequently with a Mr. Howard of Golden Square. "After many delays, during which Lord B. had interviews with Howard, once, he thinks, in Golden Square, but more frequently in Piccadilly, Mrs. M[assingberd] agreed to become security jointly with her daughter. Lord B. knows Howard's person perfectly well, has not seen him subsequent to the transaction, but recollects Howard's mentioning to him that he, Lord B., was acting imprudently, stating that he made it a rule to advise young men against such proceedings. Lord B. recollects, on the day on which the money was paid, that he remained in the next room till the papers were signed, Mrs. M[assingberd] having stated that the parties wished him to be kept out of sight during the business, and wished to avoid even mentioning his name. Mrs. M[assingberd] deducted the interest for two years and a half, and £100 for Howard's papers." Two other Annuities were effected, in both of which Mrs. Massingberd figured as a security, and in one the manager of Dorant's Hotel. It was the interest on these minority loans which crippled Byron. Two were still unpaid in 1817.] * * * * * 264.--To John Murray. Cheltenham, Oct. 18, 1812, Dear Sir,--Will you have the goodness to get this Parody of a peculiar kind [1] (for all the first lines are _Busby's_ entire), inserted in several of the papers (_correctly_--and copied _correctly; my hand_ is difficult)--particularly the 'Morning Chronicle'? Tell Mr. Perry I forgive him all he has said, and may say against _my address_, but he will allow me to deal with the Doctor--(_audi alteram partem_)--and not _betray_ me. I cannot think what has befallen Mr. Perry, for of yore we were very good friends;--but no matter, only get this inserted. I have a poem on Waltzing for _you_, of which I make _you_ a present; but it must be anonymous. It is in the old style of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. Ever yours, BYRON. P.S.--With the next edition of 'Childe Harold' you may print the first fifty or a hundred opening lines of the 'Curse of Minerva' [2] down to the couplet beginning Mortal ('twas thus she spake), etc. Of course, the moment the Satire begins, there you will stop, and the opening is the best part. [Footnote 1: The 'Parenthetical Address', "By Dr. Plagiary," is a parody by Byron of Dr, Busby's 'Address', the original of which will be found in the 'Genuine Rejected Addresses', as well as parodied in 'Rejected Addresses' ("Architectural Atoms"). On October 14 young Busby forced his way on to the stage of Drury Lane, attempted to recite his father's address, and was taken into custody. On the next night, Dr. Busby, speaking from one of the boxes, obtained a hearing for his son, who could not, however, make his voice heard in the theatre. Then another "rejected" author tried to recite his composition, but was hooted down. Order was restored by Raymond reminding the audience that the Chamberlain's licence was necessary for all stage speeches. To the failure of the younger Busby (himself a competitor and the author of an "Unalogue" of fifty-six lines) to make himself heard, Byron alludes in the stage direction to the 'Parenthetical Address'--"to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master P." The 'Parenthetical Address' appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' for October 23, 1812. In the same issue was printed a long statement by Dr. Busby, in which, after paying a compliment to Byron's "poetical genius," he insisted that the Committee of Drury Lane had broken faith by not choosing one of the addresses sent in by competitors. (See references to Dr. Busby in 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 481 and 485, 'note' 1.) Dr. Thomas Busby (1755-1838) composed the music for Holcroft's 'Tale of Mystery', the first musical melodrama produced on the English stage (Covent Garden, November 13, 1802). He was for some time assistant editor of the 'Morning Post', and Parliamentary reporter for the 'London Courant'; wrote on musical subjects, taught languages and music, and translated Lucretius into rhymed verse (1813).] [Footnote 2: 'The Curse of Minerva,' written at Athens, in 1811, was not published as a whole till 1828. But the first fifty-four lines appeared in Canto III. of 'The Corsair' (1814). (See 'The Curse of Minerva:' Introductory note, 'Poems,' 1898, vol. i. p. 453.)] * * * * * 265.--To Robert Rushton. Cheltenham, Oct. 18th, 1812. Robert,--I hope you continue as much as possible to apply yourself to _Accounts_ and Land-Measurement, etc. Whatever change may take place about Newstead, there will be none as to you and Mr. Murray. It is intended to place you in a situation in Rochdale for which your pursuance of the Studies I recommend will best fit you. Let me hear from you; is your health improved since I was last at the Abbey? In the mean time, if any accident occur to me, you are provided for in my will, and if not, you will always find in your Master a sincere Friend. B. * * * * * 266.--To John Murray. Oct. 19, 1812. Dear Sir,--Many thanks, but I _must_ pay the 'damage', and will thank you to tell me the amount for the engraving. I think the 'Rejected Addresses' by far the best thing of the kind since the 'Rolliad', and wish _you_ had published them. Tell the author "I forgive him, were be twenty times our satirist;" and think his imitations not at all inferior to the famous ones of Hawkins Browne. He must be a man of very lively wit, and much less scurrilous than Wits often are: altogether, I very much admire the performance, and wish it all success. The 'Satirist' has taken a _new_ tone, as you will see: we have now, I think, finished with 'C. H.'s' critics. I have in 'hand' a 'Satire' on 'Waltzing', which you must publish anonymously: it is not long, not quite 200 lines, but will make a very small boarded pamphlet. In a few days you shall have it. Ever yours, BYRON. P.S.--The editor of the 'Satirist' almost ought to be thanked for his revocation; it is done handsomely, after five years' warfare. * * * * * 267.--To John Hanson. Octr. 22d, 1812. DEAR SIR,--I enclose you Mr. C[laughton]'s letter, from which you yourself will judge of my own. I insisted on the _contract_, and said, _if_ I gave up the wines, etc., it would be as a _gift_. He admits the validity, as you perceive. I told him that _I_ wished to avoid raising difficulties and in all respects to fulfil the bargain. I am going to Lord Oxford's, _Eywood, Presteigne, Hereford_. In my way back I will take Farleigh, if you are not returned to London before. I wish to take a small _house_ for the winter any where not remote from St. James's. Will you arrange this for me?--and think of young Rushton, whom I promised to provide for, and must begin to think of it; he might be a _sub_-Tythe _collector_, or a Bailiff to our agent at Rochdale, or many other things. He has had a fair education and was well disposed; at all events, he must no longer remain in idleness. Let the Mule be sold and the dogs. Pray let me hear from you when convenient, and Believe me, ever yours truly, BYRON. My best remembrances to all. I shall draw for _fifty_ this week. Is anything done about Miss M[assingberd]? You have not mentioned her. * * * * * 268.--To John Murray. Oct. 23, 1812. DEAR SIR,--Thanks, as usual. You go on boldly; but have a care of _glutting_ the public, who have by this time had enough of 'C. H.' 'Waltz' shall be prepared. It is rather above 200 lines, with an introductory letter to the Publisher. I think of publishing, with 'C. H.', the opening lines of the '_Curse of Minerva_' as far as the first speech of Pallas,--because some of the readers like that part better than any I have ever written; and as it contains nothing to affect the subject of the subsequent portion, it will find a place as a _descriptive fragment_. The _plate_ is _broken_? between ourselves, it was unlike the picture; and besides, upon the whole, the frontispiece of an author's visage is but a paltry exhibition. At all events, _this_ would have been no recommendation to the book. I am sure Sanders would not have _survived_ the engraving. By the by, the _picture_ may remain with _you_ or _him_ (which you please), till my return. The _one_ of two remaining copies is at your service till I can give you a _better_; the other must be _burned peremptorily_. Again, do not forget that I have an account with you, and _that_ this is _included_. I give you too much TROUBLE to allow you to incur EXPENSE also. You best know how far this "Address Riot" will affect the future sale of 'C. H.' I like the volume of "_rejected A._" better and better. The other parody which Perry has received is _mine_ also (I believe). It is Dr. Busby's speech versified. You are removing to Albemarle Street, I find, and I rejoice that we shall be nearer neighbours. I am going to Lord Oxford's, but letters here will be forwarded. When at leisure, all communications from you will be willingly received by the humblest of your scribes. Did Mr. Ward write the review of H. Tooke's Life? [1] It is excellent. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: See 'Quarterly Review', vol. vii. p. 313. The article alluded to was written by the Hon. J. W. Ward, afterwards Earl of Dudley.] * * * * * 269.--To John Hanson. Eywood, Presteign, Hereford, Octr. 31st, 1812. DEAR SIR,--The inclosed bill [1] will convince you how anxious I must be for the payment of Claughton's first instalment; though it has been sent in without due notice, I cannot blame Mr. Davies who must feel very anxious to get rid of the business. Press C., and let me have an answer whenever you can to this Place. Yours ever, B. P.S.--I am at _Lord Oxford's_, Eywood, as above. [Footnote 1: The bill was Byron's for £1500, and the enclosure ran as follows: "Lord Byron. "A Bill for £1500, drawn by Scrope B. Davies, lies due at Sir _James Esdaile_ and Co's., No. 21, _Lombard-Street_. "All Drafts intended for the Payment of Bills, to be brought before Half past Three o'Clock. "Please to call between 3 and Five o'Clock." The same day Byron writes a second letter to Hanson: "Do pray press Claughton, as Mr. D.'s business must be settled at all events. I send you his letter, and I am more uncomfortable than I can possibly express myself upon the subject. Pray write."] * * * * * 270.--To John Hanson. Presteign, Novr. 8th, 1812. DEAR SIR,--Not being able (and to-day being Sunday also) to procure a stamp, as the Post town is very remote, I must request this letter to be considered as an Order for paying fifteen hundred pounds to S.B. Davies, Esq., and the same sum to your own account for the Tythe purchase. Mr. D.'s receipt can be indorsed on the bond. I shall be in London the latter end of the week. I set out from this place on the 12th. As to Mr. C., the Law must decide between us; I shall abide by the Contract. Your answer will not reach me in time, so do not write to me while here. Pray let Mr. D. be paid and you also--come what may.[1] I always foresaw that C. would _shirk_; but he did it with his eyes open. What question can arise as to the title? has it never been examined? I never heard of it before, and surely, in all our law suits, that question must have come to issue. I hope we shall meet in town. I will wait on you the moment I arrive. My best respects to your family; believe me, Ever yours sincerely, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Byron was prepared to make some sacrifices to extricate himself from debt, or go abroad. The following letter to Hanson is dated December 10, 1812: "DEAR SIR,--I have to request that you will pay the bearer (my Groom) the wages due to him (12 pds. 10s.), and dismiss him immediately, as I have given up my horses, and place the sum to my account. "Ever yours, "BYRON." Four days later, December 14, 1812, he writes again to Hanson: "DEAR SIR,--I request your attention to the enclosed. See what can be done with Howard, and urge Claughton. If this kind of thing continues, I must quit a country which my debts render uninhabitable, notwithstanding every sacrifice on my part. "Yours ever, "B."] * * * * * 271.--To John Hanson. Presteign, Novr. 16th, 1812. DEAR SIR,--The floods having rendered the road impassable, I am detained here, but trust by the latter end of the week to proceed to Cheltenham, where I shall expect a letter from you to tell me if I am wanted in town. I shall not be in time for the Prince's address; but I wish you to write down for my _Parliamentary_ robes (Mrs. Chaworth had them, at least Mrs. Clarke the mother); though I rather think those were the Coronation and not the House robes. At least enquire. I hope Mr. D. is paid; and, if Mr. C. demurs, we must bring an action according to Contract. I trust you are well, and well doing in my behalf and your own. Ever yours most sincerely, B. * * * * * 272.--To John Murray. Cheltenham, November 22, 1812. DEAR SIR,--On my return here from Lord Oxford's, I found your obliging note, and will thank you to retain the letters, and any other subsequent ones to the same address, till I arrive in town to claim them, which will probably be in a few days. I have in charge a curious and very long MS. poem, written by Lord Brooke (the _friend_ of Sir _Philip Sidney_), which I wish to submit to the inspection of Mr. Gifford, with the following queries:--first, whether it has ever been published, and secondly (if not), whether it is worth publication? It is from Lord Oxford's Library, and must have escaped or been overlooked amongst the MSS. of the Harleian Miscellany. The writing is Lord Brooke's, except a different hand towards the close. It is very long, and in the six-line stanza. It is not for me to hazard an opinion upon its merits; but I would take the Liberty, if not too troublesome, to submit it to Mr. Gifford's judgment, which, from his excellent edition of Massinger, I should conceive to be as decisive on the writings of that age as on those of our own. Now for a less agreeable and important topic.--How came Mr. Mac-Somebody [1], without consulting you or me, to prefix the Address to his volume of "_dejected addresses?"_ Is not this somewhat larcenous? I think the ceremony of leave might have been asked, though I have no objection to the thing itself; and leave the "hundred and eleven" to tire themselves with "base comparisons." I should think the ingenuous public tolerably sick of the subject, and, except the parodies, I have not interfered, nor shall; indeed I did not know that Dr. Busby had published his apologetical letter and postscript [2], or I should have recalled them. But, I confess, I looked upon his conduct in a different light before its appearance. I see some mountebank has taken Alderman Birch's name [3] to vituperate the Doctor; he had much better have pilfered his pastry, which I should imagine the more valuable ingredient--at least for a Puff.--Pray secure me a copy of Woodfall's new 'Junius' [4], and believe me, Dear Sir, yours very sincerely, B. [Footnote 1: B. McMillan] [Footnote 2: This probably refers to Busby's apologetic letter in the 'Morning Chronicle' for October 23, 1812.] [Footnote 3: Alderman Birch was a pastry-cook in Cornhill.] [Footnote 4: In the Catalogue of Byron's books, sold April 5, 1816, appear two copies of 'Junius': "Junius's Letters, 2 vol. _russia_, 1806." "Junius's Letters, by Woodfall, 3 vol., _Large Paper_, 1812."] * * * * * 273.--To William Bankes. December 26, [1812]. The multitude of your recommendations has already superseded my humble endeavours to be of use to you; and, indeed, most of my principal friends are returned, Leake from Joannina, Canning and Adair from the city of the Faithful, and at Smyrna no letter is necessary, as the consuls are always willing to do every thing for personages of respectability. I have sent you _three_; one to Gibraltar, which, though of no great necessity, will, perhaps, put you on a more intimate footing with a very pleasant family there. You will very soon find out that a man of any consequence has very little occasion for any letters but to ministers and bankers, and of them we have already plenty, I will be sworn. It is by no means improbable that I shall go in the spring; and if you will fix any place of rendezvous about August, I will _write_ or _join_ you.--When in Albania, I wish you would inquire after Dervise Tahiri and Vascillie (or Bazil), and make my respects to the viziers, both there and in the Morea. If you mention my name to Suleyman of Thebes, I think it will not hurt you; if I had my dragoman, or wrote Turkish, I could have given you letters of _real service;_ but to the English they are hardly requisite, and the Greeks themselves can be of little advantage. Liston [1] you know already, and I do not, as he was not then minister. Mind you visit Ephesus and the Troad, and let me hear from you when you please. I believe G. Forresti is now at Yanina; but if not, whoever is there will be too happy to assist you. Be particular about _firmauns;_ never allow yourself to be bullied, for you are better protected in Turkey than any where; trust not the Greeks; and take some knicknackeries for _presents--watches, pistols,_ etc., etc., to the Beys and Pachas. If you find one Demetrius, at Athens or elsewhere, I can recommend him as a good dragoman. I hope to join you, however; but you will find swarms of English now in the Levant. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Robert Liston, afterwards Sir Robert Liston (1742-1836), succeeded Adair as Ambassador at Constantinople in 1811.] * * * * * 274.--To John Murray. Eywood, Presteign, January 8, 1813. Dear Sir,--You have been imposed upon by a letter forged in my name to obtain the picture left in your possession. This I know by the confession of the culprit [1] and as she is a woman (and of rank), with whom I have unfortunately been too much connected, you will for the present say very little about it; but if you have the letter _retain_ it--write to me the particulars. You will also be more cautious in future, and not allow anything of mine to pass from your hands without my _Seal_ as well as Signature. I have not been in town, nor have written to you since I left it. So I presume the forgery was a skilful performance.--I shall endeavour to get back the picture by fair means, if possible. Yours ever, BYRON. P.S.--Keep the letter if you have it. I did not receive your parcel, and it is now too late to send it on, as I shall be in town on the 17th. The _delinquent_ is one of the first families in this kingdom; but, as Dogberry says, this is "flat burglary." [2] Favour me with an answer. I hear I am scolded in the 'Quarterly'; but you and it are already forgiven. I suppose that made you bashful about sending it. [Footnote 1: The culprit was Lady Caroline Lamb, who imitated Byron's handwriting with remarkable skill.] [Footnote 2: 'Much Ado about Nothing', act iv. sc. 2.] * * * * * 275.--To Francis Hodgson. February 3, 1813. My Dear Hodgson,--I will join you in any bond for the money you require, be it that or a larger sum. With regard to security, as Newstead is in a sort of abeyance between sale and purchase, and my Lancashire property very unsettled, I do not know how far I can give more than personal security, but what I can I will. At any rate you can try, and as the sum is not very considerable, the chances are favourable. I hear nothing of my own concerns, but expect a letter daily. Let me hear from you where you are and will be this month. I am a great admirer of the 'R. A.' ['Rejected Addresses'], though I have had so great a share in the cause of their publication, and I like the 'C. H.' ['Childe Harold'] imitation one of the best. [1] Lady Oxford has heard me talk much of you as a relative of the Cokes, etc., and desires me to say she would be happy to have the pleasure of your acquaintance. You must come and see me at K[insham]. I am sure you would like _all_ here if you knew them. The "Agnus" is furious. You can have no idea of the horrible and absurd things she has said and done [2] since (really from the best motives) I withdrew my homage. "Great pleasure" is, certes, my object, but "_why brief_, Mr. Wild?" [3] I cannot answer for the future, but the past is pretty secure; and in it I can number the last two months as worthy of the gods in 'Lucretius'. I cannot review in the "_Monthly;_" in fact I can just now do nothing, at least with a pen; and I really think the days of Authorship are over with me altogether. I hear and rejoice in Eland's and Merivale's intentions [4]. Murray has grown great, and has got him new premises in the fashionable part of the town [5]. We live here so shut out of the _monde_ that I have nothing of general import to communicate, and fill this up with a "happy new year," and drink to you and Drury. Ever yours, dear H., B. I have no intention of continuing "_Childe Harold._" There are a few additions in the "body of the book" of description, which will merely add to the number of pages in the next edition. I have taken Kinsham Court. The business of last summer I broke off [6], and now the amusement of the gentle fair is writing letters literally threatening my life, and much in the style of "Miss Mathews" in "_Amelia_," or "Lucy" in the "_Beggar's Opera_." Such is the reward of restoring a woman to her family, who are treating her with the greatest kindness, and with whom I am on good terms. I am still in _palatia Circes_, and, being no Ulysses, cannot tell into what animal I may be converted; as you are aware of the turn of both parties, your conjectures will be very correct, I daresay, and, seriously, I am very much _attached_. She has had her share of the denunciations of the brilliant Phryne, and regards them as much as I do. I hope you will visit me at K. which will not be ready before spring, and I am very sure you would like my neighbours if you knew them. If you come down now to Kington [7], pray come and see me. [Footnote 1: "Byron often talks of the authors of the 'Rejected Addresses', and always in terms of unqualified praise. He says that the imitations, unlike all other imitations, are full of genius. 'Parodies,' he said, 'always give a bad impression of the original, but in the 'Rejected Addresses' the reverse was the fact;' and he quoted the second and third stanzas, in imitation of himself, as admirable, and just what he could have wished to write on a similar subject" (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 134).] [Footnote 2: "The Bessboroughs," writes Lady H. Leveson Gower to Lady G. Morpeth, September 12, 1812 ('Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville', vol. i. pp. 40, 41), "have been unpacked about a couple of hours. My aunt looks stout and well, but poor Caroline most terribly the contrary. She is worn to the bone, as pale as death and her eyes starting out of her head. She seems indeed in a sad way, alternately in tearing spirits and in tears. I hate her character, her feelings, and herself when I am away from her, but she interests me when I am with her, and to see her poor careworn face is dismal, in spite of reason and speculation upon her extraordinary conduct. She appears to me in a state very (little) short of insanity, and my aunt describes it as at times having been decidedly so."] [Footnote 3: The context and allusion seem to require another word than "_brief_;" but the sentence is written as printed. In Fielding's 'Life of Mr. Jonathan Wild' (Bk. III. chap. viii.) and in "a dialogue matrimonial, which passed between Jonathan Wild, Esquire, and Laetitia his wife" ('née' Laetitia Snap), "Laetitia asks, 'But pray, Mr. Wild, why b--ch? Why did you suffer such a word to escape you?'"] [Footnote 4: The republication of the 'Anthology'] [Footnote 5: Murray's removal from 32, Fleet Street, to 50, Albemaile Street.] [Footnote 6: With Lady Caroline Lamb.] [Footnote 7: Near Lower Moor, the residence of Hodgson's relatives, the Cokes.] * * * * * 276.--To John Hanson. 3d Feb'y, 1813. Dear Sir,--Will you forward the inclosed immediately to Corbet, whose address I do not exactly remember? It is of consequence, relative to a foolish woman [1] I never saw, who fancies I want to marry her. Yours ever, B. P.S.--I wish you would see Corbet and talk to him about it, for she plagues my soul out with her damned letters. [Footnote 1: The lady in question seems to have been Lady Falkland (see 'Letters', vol. 1, p. 216, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 117], and the letter dated March 5, 1813 [Letter 281 in this volume.])] * * * * * 277.--To John Murray. February 20, 1813. Dear Sir,--In "_Horace in London_" [1] I perceive some stanzas on Lord Elgin in which (waving the kind compliment to myself [2]) I heartily concur. I wish I had the pleasure of Mr. Smith's acquaintance, as I could communicate the curious anecdote you read in Mr. T.'s letter. If he would like it, he can have the _substance_ for his second Edition; if not, I shall add it to _our_ next, though I think we already have enough of Lord Elgin. What I have read of this work seems admirably done. My praise, however, is not much worth the Author's having; but you may thank him in my name for _his_. The idea is new--we have excellent imitations of the Satires, etc. by Pope; but I remember but one imitative Ode in his works, and _none_ any where else. I can hardly suppose that _they_ have lost any fame by the fate of the Farce [3]; but even should this be the case, the present publication will again place them on their pinnacle. Yours truly, B. [Footnote 1: 'Horace in London; consisting of Imitations of the First Two Books of the Odes of Horace', by James and Horace Smith (1813), was a collection of imitations, the best of which are by James Smith, republished from Hill's 'Monthly Mirror', where they originally appeared.] [Footnote 2: In Book 1. ode xv. of 'Horace in London', entitled "The Parthenon," Minerva thus speaks: "All who behold my mutilated pile Shall brand its ravager with classic rage, And soon a titled bard from Britain's Isle, Thy country's praise and suffrage shall engage, And fire with Athens' wrongs an angry age!" [Footnote 3: Horace Smith's unsuccessful comedy, 'First Impressions; or, Trade in the West', was performed at Drury Lane. The prologue, spoken by Powell, beseeches a judgment from the audience: "Such as mild Justice might herself dispense, To _Inexperience and a First Offence_."] * * * * * 278.--To Robert Rushton. 4, Bennet Street, St. James's, Feb. 24th, 1813. I feel rather surprised to have heard nothing from you or your father in answer to Fletcher's last letter. I wish to know whether you intend taking a share in a farm with your brother, or prefer to wait for some other situation in Lancashire;--the first will be the best, because, at your time of life, it is highly improper to remain idle. If this _marriage_ which is spoken of for you is at all advantageous, I can have no objection; but I should suppose, after being in my service from your infancy, you will at least let me know the name of your _intended_, and her expectations. If at all respectable, nothing can be better for your settlement in life, and a proper provision will be made for you; at all events let me hear something on the subject, for, as I have some intention of leaving England in the Summer, I wish to make my arrangements with regard to yourself before that period. As you and Mr. Murray have not received any money for some time, if you will draw on _me_ for _fifty_ pounds (payable at Messrs. Hoare's, Bankers, Fleet Street), and tell Mr. J[oseph] Murray to draw for the _same sum_ on his _own_ account, both will be paid by me. Etc., etc., B. * * * * * 279.--To John Hanson. F'y. 27th, 1813. Dear Sir,--I have called several times, and you may suppose am very anxious to hear something from or of Mr. Claughton. It is my determination, on account of a malady to which I am subject, and for other weighty reasons, to go abroad again almost immediately. To this you will object; but, as my intention cannot be altered, I have only to request that you will assist me as far as in your power to make the necessary arrangements. I have every confidence in you, and will leave the fullest powers to act in my absence. If this man still hesitates, I must sell my part of Rochdale for what it will bring, even at a loss, and fight him out about Newstead; without this, I have no funds to go on with, and I do not wish to incur further debts if possible. Pray favour me with a short reply to this, and say when I can see you. Excuse me to Mrs. H. for my non-appearance last night; I was detained in the H. of L. till too late to dress for her party. Compliments to all. Ever yours, BN. * * * * * 280.--To John Hanson. March 1st, 1813. Dear Sir,--I am sorry that I could not call today but will tomorrow. Your objections I anticipated and can only repeat that I cannot act otherwise; so pray hasten some arrangement--for with, or without, I must go. A person told me yesterday there was one who would give within 10000 of C.'s price and take the title as it was. C. is a fool or is shuffling. Think of what I said about _Rochdale_, for I will sell it for what I can get, and will not stay three months longer in this country. I again repeat I will leave all with full powers to you. I commend your objection which is a proof of an honourable mind--which however I did not need to convince me of your character. If you have any news send a few lines. Ever yours, BN. * * * * * 281.--To----Corbet. Mh. 5th, 1813. Dear Sir,--Lady F[alkland?] has returned by Mr. Hanson the only two letters I ever wrote her, both some time ago, and neither containing the least allusion which could make any person suppose that I had any intention further than regards the children of her husband. My servant returned the packet and letter of yesterday at the moment of receiving them; by her letter to Mr. H. it should seem they have not been redelivered. I am sorry for this, but it is not my fault, and they ought never to have been sent. After her Ladyship's mistakes, so often repeated, you will not blame me for declining all further interference in her affairs, and I rely much upon your word in contradicting her foolish assertions, and most absurd imaginations. She now says that "I need not leave the country on her account." How the devil she knew that I was about to leave it I cannot guess; but, however, for the first time she has _dreamed_ right. But _her_ being the cause is still more ludicrous than the rest. First, she would have it that I returned here for love of a woman I _never saw_, and now that I am going, for the same whom I _have never seen_, and certainly never wished, nor wish, to see! The maddest _consistency_ I ever heard of. I trust that she has regained her senses, as she tells Mr. H. she will not scribble any more, which will also save _you_ from the troublesome correspondence of Your obliged and obedient servant, BYRON. * * * * * 282.--To John Hanson. March 6th, 1813. Dear Sir,--I must be ready in April at whatever risk,--at whatever loss. You will therefore advertize Rochdale; if you decline this, I will sell it for what it will bring, even though but a few thousand pounds. With regard to Claughton, I shall only say that, if he knew the ruin,--the misery, he occasions by his delay, he would be sorry for his conduct, and I only hope that he and I may not meet, or I shall say something he will not like to hear. I have called often. I shall call today at three or between three and four; again and again, I can only beg of you to forward my plans, for here no power on earth shall make me remain six weeks longer. Ever yours, B. * * * * * 283.--To Charles Hanson. Mh. 24th, 1813. My Dear Charles,--This is very evasive and dissatisfactory. What is to be done I cannot tell, but your father had better see his letter and this of mine. A long litigation neither suits my inclination nor circumstances; it were better to take back the estate, and raise it to what it will bear, which must be at least double, to dismantle the house and sell the materials, and sell Rochdale. Something I must determine on and that quickly. I want to go abroad immediately; it is utterly impossible for me to remain here; every thing I have done to extricate myself has been useless. Your father said "_sell_;" I have sold, and see what has become of it! If I go to Law with this fellow, after five years litigation at the present depreciation of money, the _price_ will not be worth the _property_; besides how much of it will be spent in the contest! and how am I to live in the interim? Every day land rises and money falls. I shall tell Mr. Cn. he is a _scoundrel_, and have done with him, and I only hope he will have spirit enough to resent the appellation, and defend his own rascally conduct. In the interim of his delay in his journey, I shall leave town; on Sunday I shall set out for Herefordshire, from whence, when wanted, I will return. Pray tell your father to get the money on Rochdale, or I must sell it directly. I must be ready by the last week in _May_, and am consequently pressed for time. I go first to Cagliari in Sardinia, and on to the Levant. Believe me, dear Charles, Yours truly, B. * * * * * 284.--To Samuel Rogers. [1] March 25, 1813. I enclose you a draft for the usurious interest due to Lord B[oringdon]'s _protégé_;--I also could wish you would state thus much for me to his Lordship. Though the transaction speaks plainly in itself for the borrower's folly and the lender's usury, it never was my intention to _quash_ the demand, as I _legally_ might, nor to withhold payment of principal, or, perhaps, even _unlawful_ interest. You know what my situation has been, and what it is. I have parted with an estate (which has been in my family for nearly three hundred years, and was never disgraced by being in possession of a _lawyer_, a _churchman_, or a _woman_, during that period,) to liquidate this and similar demands; and the payment of the purchase is still withheld, and may be, perhaps, for years. If, therefore, I am under the necessity of making those persons _wait_ for their money, (which, considering the terms, they can afford to suffer,) it is my misfortune. When I arrived at majority in 1809,1 offered my own security on _legal_ interest, and it was refused. _Now_, I will not accede to this. This man I may have seen, but I have no recollection of the names of any parties but the _agents_ and the securities. The moment I can, it is assuredly my intention to pay my debts. This person's case may be a hard one; but, under all circumstances, what is mine? I could not foresee that the purchaser of my estate was to demur in paying for it. I am glad it happens to be in my power so far to accommodate my Israelite, and only wish I could do as much for the rest of the Twelve Tribes. Ever yours, dear R., BN. [Footnote 1: The following was Rogers's reply:-- "Friday Morning. "My Dearest Byron,--I have just received your note, but I _will not_ execute your Commission; and, moreover, I will tell Lord Boringdon that I refused to do it. I know your situation; and I should never sleep again, if by any interference of mine, for by so harsh a word I must call it, you should be led by your generosity, your pride, or any other noble motive, to do more than you are called upon to do. "I mentioned the thing to Lord Holland last night, and he entirely agreed with me, that you are not called upon to do it. The Principal and the legal interest are all that these extortioners are entitled to; and, you must forgive me, but I will not do as you require. I shall keep the draft till I see you. "Yours ever and ever, "SAML. ROGERS."] * * * * * 285.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. 4, Bennet Street, St. James's, March 26th, 1813. My Dearest Augusta,--I did not answer your letter, because I could not answer as I wished, but expected that every week would bring me some tidings that might enable me to reply better than by apologies. But Claughton has not, will not, and, I think, cannot pay his money, and though, luckily, it was stipulated that he should never have possession till the whole was paid, the estate is still on my hands, and your brother consequently not less embarrassed than ever. This is the truth, and is all the excuse I can offer for inability, but not unwillingness, to serve you. I am going abroad again in June, but should wish to see you before my departure. You have perhaps heard that I have been fooling away my time with different "_regnantes_;" but what better can be expected from me? I have but one _relative_, and her I never see. I have no connections to domesticate with, and for marriage I have neither the talent nor the inclination. I cannot fortune-hunt, nor afford to marry without a fortune. My parliamentary schemes are not much to my taste--I spoke twice last Session, [1] and was told it was well enough; but I hate the thing altogether, and have no intention to "strut another hour" on that stage. I am thus wasting the best part of life, daily repenting and never amending. On Sunday, I set off for a fortnight for Eywood, near Presteign, in Herefordshire--with the _Oxfords_. I see you put on a _demure_ look at the name, which is very becoming and matronly in you; but you won't be sorry to hear that I am quite out of a more serious scrape with another singular personage which threatened me last year, and trouble enough I had to steer clear of it I assure you. I hope all my nieces are well, and increasing in growth and number; but I wish you were not always buried in that bleak common near Newmarket. I am very well in health, but not happy, nor even comfortable; but I will not bore you with complaints. I am a fool, and deserve all the ills I have met, or may meet with, but nevertheless very _sensibly_, dearest Augusta, Your most affectionate brother, BYRON. [Footnote 1: What is generally supposed to have been Byron's second speech (see Appendix II. (2)) was made, April 21, 1813, on Lord Donoughmore's motion for a Committee on Roman Catholic claims. The following impressions of his short parliamentary career are recorded by Byron himself: "I have never heard any one who fulfilled my ideal of an orator. Grattan would have been near it, but for his harlequin delivery. Pitt I never heard. Fox but once, and then he struck me as a debater, which to me seems as different from an orator as an improvisatore, or a versifier, from a poet. Grey is great, but it is not oratory. Canning is sometimes very like one. Windham I did not admire, though all the world did; it seemed sad sophistry. Whitbread was the Demosthenes of bad taste and vulgar vehemence, but strong, and English. Holland is impressive from sense and sincerity. Lord Lansdowne good, but still a debater only. Grenville I like vastly, if he would prune his speeches down to an hour's delivery. Burdett is sweet and silvery as Belial himself, and I think the greatest favourite in Pandemonium; at least I always heard the country gentlemen and the ministerial devilry praise his speeches _up_ stairs, and run down from Bellamy's when he was upon his legs. I heard Bob Milnes make his _second_ speech; it made no impression. I like Ward--studied, but keen, and sometimes eloquent. Peel, my school and form fellow (we sat within two of each other), strange to say, I have never heard, though I often wished to do so; but, from what I remember of him at Harrow, he _is_, or _should_ be, among the best of them. Now I do _not_ admire Mr. Wilberforce's speaking; it is nothing but a flow of words--'words, words, alone.' "I doubt greatly if the English _have_ any eloquence, properly so called; and am inclined to think that the Irish _had_ a great deal, and that the French _will_ have, and have had in Mirabeau. Lord Chatham and Burke are the nearest approaches to orators in England. I don't know what Erskine may have been at the _bar_, but in the House, I wish him at the bar once more. Lauderdale is shrill, and Scotch, and acute. Of Brougham I shall say nothing, as I have a personal feeling of dislike to the man. "But amongst all these, good, bad, and indifferent, I never heard the speech which was not too long for the auditors, and not very intelligible, except here and there. The whole thing is a grand deception, and as tedious and tiresome as maybe to those who must be often present. I heard Sheridan only once, and that briefly, but I liked his voice, his manner, and his wit: and he is the only one of them I ever wished to hear at greater length. "The impression of Parliament upon me was, that its members are not formidable as _speakers_, but very much so as an _audience_; because in so numerous a body there may be little eloquence, (after all, there were but _two_ thorough orators in all antiquity, and I suspect still _fewer_ in modern times,) but there must be a leaven of thought and good sense sufficient to make them _know_ what is right, though they can't express it nobly. "Horne Tooke and Roscoe both are said to have declared that they left Parliament with a higher opinion of its aggregate integrity and abilities than that with which they entered it. The general amount of both in most Parliaments is probably about the same, as also the number of _speakers_ and their talent. I except _orators_, of course, because they are things of ages, and not of septennial or triennial reunions. Neither House ever struck me with more awe or respect than the same number of Turks in a divan, or of Methodists in a barn, would have done. Whatever diffidence or nervousness I felt (and I felt both, in a great degree) arose from the number rather than the quality of the assemblage, and the thought rather of the _public without_ than the persons within,--knowing (as all know) that Cicero himself, and probably the Messiah, could never have altered the vote of a single lord of the bedchamber, or bishop. I thought _our_ House dull, but the other animating enough upon great days. "I have heard that when Grattan made his first speech in the English Commons, it was for some minutes doubtful whether to laugh at or cheer him. The _débût_ of his predecessor, Flood, had been a complete failure, under nearly similar circumstances. But when the ministerial part of our senators had watched Pitt (their thermometer) for the cue, and saw him nod repeatedly his stately nod of approbation, they took the hint from their huntsman, and broke out into the most rapturous cheers. Grattan's speech, indeed, deserved them; it was a _chef-d'oeuvre_. I did not hear _that_ speech of his (being then at Harrow), but heard most of his others on the same question--also that on the war of 1815. I differed from his opinions on the latter question, but coincided in the general admiration of his eloquence. "When I met old Courtenay, the orator, at Rogers's the poet's, in 1811-12, I was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure, and the still acute quickness of his conversation. It was _he_ who silenced Flood in the English House by a crushing reply to a hasty _débût_ of the rival of Grattan in Ireland. I asked Courtenay (for I like to trace motives) if he had not some personal provocation; for the acrimony of his answer seemed to me, as I read it, to involve it. Courtenay said 'he had; that, when in Ireland (being an Irishman), at the bar of the Irish House of Commons, Flood had made a personal and unfair attack upon _himself_, who, not being a member of that House, could not defend himself, and that some years afterwards, the opportunity of retort offering in the English Parliament, he could not resist it.' He certainly repaid Flood with interest, for Flood never made any figure, and only a speech or two afterwards, in the English House of Commons. I must except, however, his speech on Reform in 1790, which Fox called 'the best he ever heard upon that subject.'"] * * * * * 286.--To John Murray. March 29th, 1813. Dear Sir,--Westall has, I believe, agreed to illustrate your book [1], and I fancy one of the engravings will be from the pretty little girl [2] you saw the other day, though without her name, and merely as a model for some sketch connected with the subject. I would also have the portrait (which you saw to-day) of the friend who is mentioned in the text at the close of Canto 1st, and in the notes,--which are subjects sufficient to authorise that addition. Believe me, yours truly, B'N. [Footnote 1: An edition of the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold', to be illustrated by Richard Westall (1765-1836), who painted Byron's portrait in 1813-14.] [Footnote 2: Lady Charlotte Harley, daughter of Lord Oxford, to whom, under the name of Ianthe, the introductory lines to 'Childe Harold' were afterwards addressed. Lady Charlotte married, in 1820, Brigadier-General Bacon.] * * * * * 287.--To John Hanson. Presteigne, April 15th, 1813. Dear Sir,--I wrote to you requesting an answer last week, and again apprising you of my determination of leaving England early in May, and proceeding no further with Claughton. Now, having arrived, I shall write to that person immediately to give up the whole business. I am sick of the delays attending it, and can wait no longer, and I have had too much of _law_ already at Rochdale to place Newstead in the same predicament. I shall only be able to see you for a few days in town, as I shall sail before the 20th of May. Believe me, yours ever, B. P.S.--My best compliments to Mrs. H. and the family. * * * * * 288.--To John Hanson. Presteigne, April 17th, 1813. Dear Sir,--I shall follow your advice and say nothing to our shuffling purchaser, but leave him to you, and the fullest powers of _Attorney_, which I hope you will have ready on my arrival in town early next week. I wish, if possible, the arrangement with Hoare to be made immediately, as I must set off forthwith. I mean to remain _incog_. in London for the short time previous to my embarkation. I have not written to Claughton, nor shall, of course, after your counsel on the subject. I wish you would turn in your mind the expediency of selling Rochdale. I shall never make any thing of it, as it is. I beg you will provide (as before my last voyage) the fullest powers to act in my absence, and bring my cursed concerns into some kind of order. You must at least allow that I have acted according to your advice about Newstead, and I shall take no step without your being previously consulted. I hope I shall find you and Mrs. H., etc., well in London, and that you have heard something from this dilatory gentleman. Believe me, ever yours truly, B. * * * * * 289.--To John Murray. April 21, 1813. Dear Sir,--I shall be in town by Sunday next, and will call and have some conversation on the subject of Westall's proposed designs. I am to sit to him for a picture at the request of a friend of mine [1]; and as Sanders's is not a good one, you will probably prefer the other. I wish you to have Sanders's taken down and sent to my lodgings immediately--before my arrival. I hear that a certain malicious publication on Waltzing [2] is attributed to me. This report, I suppose, you will take care to contradict, as the Author, I am sure, will not like that I should wear his cap and bells. Mr. Hobhouse's quarto will be out immediately; pray send to the author for an early copy which I wish to take abroad with me. Dear Sir, I am, yours very truly, B. P.S.--I see the 'Examiner' [3] threatens some observations upon you next week. What can you have done to share the wrath which has heretofore been principally expended upon the Prince? I presume all your Scribleri will be drawn up in battle array in defence of the modern Tonson--Mr. Bucke [4], for instance. Send in my account to Bennet Street, as I wish to settle it before sailing. [Footnote 1: This picture, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1815, is now in the possession of the Baroness Burdett-Coutts.] [Footnote 2: Byron's 'Waltz' was published anonymously in the spring of 1813, not, apparently, by Murray, but by Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, Paternoster Row.] [Footnote 3: In the 'Examiner' for April, 1813, occurs the paragraph: "A word or two on Mr. Murray's (the 'splendid bookseller') judgment in the Fine Arts--next week, 'if room'."] [Footnote 4: Charles Bucke (1781-1846), a voluminous writer of verse, plays, and miscellaneous subjects, published, in 1813, his 'Philosophy of Nature; or, the Influence of Scenery on the Mind and Heart'. He supported himself by his pen, and that indifferently. Byron seems to suggest that he was a dependent of Murray's. In 1817 he sent to the Committee of Management at Drury Lane his tragedy, 'The Italians; or, the Fatal Accusation', and it was accepted. In February, 1819, he withdrew the play, in consequence of a quarrel with Edmund Kean, and published it with extracts from the correspondence and a Preface, which sent it through numerous editions. The play itself was, after being withdrawn, played at Drury Lane, April 3, 1819. Bucke and his Preface were answered in 'The Assailant Assailed', and in 'A Defence of Edmund Kean, Esq'. (both in 1819), and the opinion of the town condemned both him and his tragedy.] * * * * * CHAPTER VII. MAY, 1813-DECEMBER, 1813. THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS'. * * * * * 290.--To John Murray. May 13, 1813. Dear Sir,--I send a corrected, and, I hope, amended copy of the lines for the "fragment" already sent this evening. [1] Let the enclosed be the copy that is sent to the Devil (the printers) and burn the other. Yours, etc., B'N. [Footnote 1: 'The Giaour', which was now in the press, was expanded, either in the course of printing, or in the successive editions, from 400 lines to 1400. It was published in May, 1813.] * * * * * 291.--To Thomas Moore. May 19, 1813. Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town, Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, [1]-- For hang me if I know of which you may most brag, Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag; * * * * * But now to my letter--to _yours_ 'tis an answer-- To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon [2]-- Pray Phoebus at length our political malice May not get us lodgings within the same palace! I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers, And for Sotheby's [3] Blues have deserted Sam Rogers; And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got, Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote. But to-morrow at four, we will both play the _Scurra_, And you'll be Catullus, the Regent, Mamurra. [4] Dear M.,--having got thus far, I am interrupted by----. 10 o'clock. Half-past 11.----is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.--Addio. [Footnote 1: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag. By Thomas Brown, the Younger', was published in 1813.] [Footnote 2: The "wit in the dungeon" was James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859), who was educated at Christ's Hospital, and began his literary life with "a collection of poems, written between the ages of twelve and sixteen," and published in 1801 as 'Juvenilia'. In 1808 he and his brother John started a weekly newspaper called the 'Examiner', which advocated liberal principles with remarkable independence. On February 24, 1811, Hunt published an article in defence of Peter Finnerty, convicted for a libel on Castlereagh, and exhorting public writers to be bold in the cause of individual liberty. The same number contained an article on the savagery of military floggings, for which he was prosecuted, defended by Brougham, and acquitted. His acquittal drew from Shelley a letter of congratulation, addressed to Hunt as "one of the most fearless enlighteners of the public mind" (Dowden's 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 113). In March, 1812, the 'Morning Post' printed a poem, speaking of the Prince Regent as the "Mæcenas of the Age," the "Exciter of Desire," the "Glory of the People," an "Adonis of Loveliness," etc. The 'Examiner' for March 12, 1812, thus translated this adulation into "the language of truth:" "What person, unacquainted with the true state of the case, would imagine, in reading these astounding eulogies, that this 'Glory of the People' was the subject of millions of shrugs and reproaches!... that this 'Exciter of Desire' (bravo! Messieurs of the 'Post'!), this 'Adonis in Loveliness,' was a corpulent man of fifty!--in short, this 'delightful, blissful, wise, pleasureable, honourable, virtuous, true', and 'immortal' prince was a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or the respect of posterity." Crabb Robinson, who met Leigh Hunt, four days later, at Charles Lamb's, says ('Diary', vol. i. p. 376), "Leigh Hunt is an enthusiast, very well intentioned, and, I believe, prepared for the worst. He said, pleasantly enough, 'No one can accuse me of not writing a libel. Everything is a libel, as the law is now declared, and our security lies only in their shame.'" For this libel John and Leigh Hunt were convicted in the Court of King's Bench on December 9, 1812. In the following February they were sentenced to two years' imprisonment and a fine of £500 a-piece. John was imprisoned in Coldbath-fields, Leigh in the Surrey County Gaol. They were released on February 2 or 3, 1815. Shelley, on reading the sentence, proposed a subscription for "the brave and enlightened man... to whom the public owes a debt as the champion of their liberties and virtues" (Dowden, 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 325). Keats wrote a sonnet to Hunt on the day he left his prison, beginning: "What though for showing truth to flatter'd state, Kind Hunt was shut in prison." A political alliance was thus cemented, which, for the time, was disastrous to the literary prospects of Shelley and Keats. To Hunt Shelley dedicated the 'Cenci', and Keats his first volume of 'Poems' (1817). He is the "gentlest of the wise" in Shelley's 'Adonais'; and, in a suppressed stanza of the same poem, the poet speaks of Hunt's "sweet and earnest looks," "soft smiles," and "dark and night-like eyes." The words inscribed on Shelley's tomb--"_Cor Cordium_"--were Hunt's choice. In his various papers Hunt zealously championed his friends. In the 'Examiner' for September to October, 1819, he defended Shelley's personal character; in the same paper for June to July, 1817, he praised Keats's first volume of 'Poems'; he reviewed "Lamia" in the 'Indicator' for August 2-9, 1820, and "La Belle Dame sans Merci" in that for May 10, 1820. In his 'Foliage' (1818) are three sonnets addressed to Keats. Shelley believed in Hunt to the end. It was mainly through him that Hunt came to Pisa in June, 1822, to join with Byron in 'The Liberal'. But he doubted whether the alliance between the "wren and the eagle" could continue ('Life of Shelley', vol. ii. p. 519). Keats, on the other hand, lost his faith in Hunt. In a letter to Haydon (May, 1817), speaking of Hunt, he says, "There is no greater Sin after the seven deadly than to flatter oneself into an idea of being a great Poet." Again (March, 1818) he writes, "It is a great Pity that People should, by associating themselves with the finest things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead, and masks, and sonnets, and Italian tales." He writes still more severely (December, 1818-January, 1819), "If I were to follow my own inclinations, I should never meet any one of that set again, not even Hunt, who is certainly a pleasant fellow in the main when you are with him; but in reality he is vain, egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste and morals. Hunt does one harm by making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful. Through him I am indifferent to Mozart. I care not for white Busts--and many a glorious thing when associated with him becomes a nothing." Haydon considered that Hunt was the "great unhinger" of Keats's best dispositions ('Works of Keats', ed. H.B. Forman, vol. iv. p. 359); and Severn attributes Keats's temporary "mawkishness" to Hunt's society ('ibid'., p. 376). Nathaniel Hawthorne ('Our Old Home', p. 229, ed. 1884) says of Hunt, and means it as high praise, that "there was not an English trait in him from head to foot--morally, intellectually, or physically. Beef, ale or stout, brandy or port-wine, entered not at all into his composition." He was, in fact, a man of weak fibre, who allowed himself to sponge upon his friends, such as Talfourd, Haydon, and Shelley. Though Dickens denied ('All the Year Round', Dec. 24, 1859) that "Harold Skimpole" was intended for Hunt, the picture was recognized as a portrait. On the other hand, Hunt was a man of kindly and genial disposition. "He loves everything," says Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. ii. p. 192), "he catches the sunny side of everything, and, excepting that he has a few polemical antipathies, finds everything beautiful." In his essays, the best of which appeared in the 'Indicator' (1819-21), he communicates some of his own sense of enjoyment to those of his readers who are content to take him as he is. His circle is limited; but in it his observation is minute and suggestive. The Vale of Health is to him, in a degree proportioned to their respective powers, what the Temple was to Lamb. His style is neat, pretty, and would be affected if it were not the man himself. As a literary journalist, a dramatic critic, and an essayist, he has a place in literature. His poetry is less successful; his affectations, innate vulgarity, and habit of pawing his subjects repel even those who are attracted by its sweetness. Yet his 'Story of Rimini' (1816), which he dedicated to Byron, was admired in its day. Byron, though he condemned its affected style, thought the poem a "devilish good one." Moore held the same opinion; and Jeffrey, writing to him May 28, 1816 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moon,' vol. ii. p. 100), says, "I certainly shall not be ill-natured to 'Rimini'. It is very sweet and very lively in many places, and is altogether piquant, as being by far the best imitation of Chaucer and some of his Italian contemporaries that modern times have produced." No two men could be more unlike than Byron and Hunt, or have less in common. Yet, with a singular capacity for self-delusion, Hunt told his wife that the texture of Byron's mind resembled his to a thread ('Correspondence of L. Hunt', vol. i. p. 88). The friendship began in political sympathy; but two years later (see Byron's letter to Moore, June 1, 1818) it had, on one side at least, cooled. In June, 1822, Hunt came to Pisa to launch The Liberal, with the aid of Shelley and Byron. 'The Liberal: Verse and Prose from the South', started in 1822, lived through four numbers, and died in July, 1823. During that time Byron expressed to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 77) "a very good opinion of the talents and principle of Mr. Hunt, though, as he said, 'our tastes are so opposite that we are totally unsuited to each other ... in short, we are more formed to be friends at a distance, than near.'" For the best part of two years Hunt was Byron's guest: he repaid his hospitality by publishing his 'Lord Byron and Some of his Contemporaries' (1828). Though Lady Blessington said the book "gave, in the main, a fair account" of Byron (Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', vol. iii. p. 13), its publication was a breach of honour. As such it was justly attacked by Moore in "The 'Living Dog' and the 'Dead Lion'": "Next week will be published (as 'Lives' are the rage) The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange, Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. "Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 'sad,' 'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends; And few dogs have such opportunities had Of knowing how Lions behave--among friends. "How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, Is all noted down by this Boswell so small; And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks That the Lion was no such great things after all. "Though he roared pretty well--this the puppy allows-- It was all, he says, borrowed--all second-hand roar; And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. "'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a 'Cynic' could ask, To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits. "Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) With sops every day from the Lion's own pan, He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, And--does all a dog, so diminutive, can. "However, the book's a good book, being rich in Examples and warnings to lions high-bred, How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen, Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead. "Exeter 'Change'. T. PIDCOCK." For the reply of Hunt or one of his friends, "The Giant and the Dwarf," see Appendix VI.] [Footnote 3: William Sotheby (1757-1833), once a cavalry officer, afterwards a man of letters and of fortune, published his 'Oberon' in 1798, and his 'Georgics' in 1800 (see 'English Bards, etc.', line 818, and 'note'). The following passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) refers to him: "Sotheby is a good man; rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout, at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me (something about Agamemnon or Orestes--or some of his plays), notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress, (for I was in love and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the Statues of the Gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I say, had seized upon me by the button, and the heart-strings, and spared neither. W. Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took me by the hand and pathetically bade me farewell, 'for,' said he, 'I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went away. 'Sic me servavit Apollo.'"] [Footnote 4: See Catullus, xxix. 3: "Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest pati, Nisi impudicus et vorax, et aleo, Mamurram habere, quod Comata Gallia Habebat uncti et ultima Britannia?" See also xli. 4, xliii. 5 (compare Horace, 'Sat'. i. 5. 37), and lvii. 2.] * * * * * 292.--To John Murray. May 22nd, 1813. Dear Sir,--I return the "_Curiosities of Literature_." [1] Pray is it fair to ask if the "_Twopenny Postbag_" is to be reviewed in this No.? because, if not, I should be glad to undertake it, and leave it to Chance and the Editor for a reception into your pages. Yours truly, B. P.S.--You have not sent me Eustace's 'Travels'. [2] [Footnote 1: The first volume of Isaac Disraeli's 'Curiosities of Literature' was published in 1791. The remaining volumes were published at intervals: vol. ii., 1793; vol. iii., 1817; vols. iv. and v., in 1823; vol. vi., 1834.] [Footnote 2: John Chetwode Eustace ('circ'. 1762-1815) published his 'Tour through Italy' in 1813.] * * * * * 293.--To John Murray. May 23rd, 1813. Dear Sir,--I question whether ever author before received such a compliment from his _master_. I am glad you think the thing is tolerably _vamped_ and will be _vendible_. Pray look over the proof again. I am but a careless reviser, and let me have 12 struck off, and one or two for yourself to serve as MS. for the thing when published in the body of the volume. If Lady Caroline Lamb sends for it, do _not_ let her have it, till the copies are all ready, and then you can send her one. Yours truly, [Greek: Mpairon]. P.S.--H.'s book is out at last; I have my copy, which I have lent already. * * * * * 294.--To John Murray. June 2, 1813. Dear Sir,--I presented a petition to the house yesterday, [1] which gave rise to some debate, and I wish you to favour me for a few minutes with the 'Times' and 'Herald' to look on their hostile report. You will find, if you like to look at my 'prose', my words nearly 'verbatim' in the 'M. Chronicle'. B'N. [Footnote 1: The petition was from Major Cartwright, and was presented June 1, 1813. (For Byron's speech, see Appendix II. (3).) Returning from the House, he called on Moore, and, while the latter was dressing for dinner, walked up and down the next room, "spouting in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the speech he had just been delivering. 'I told them,' he said, 'that it was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution--that, if such things were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and that--' "'But what was this dreadful grievance?' asked Moore. "'The grievance?' he repeated, pausing as if to consider, 'oh, _that_ I forget.'"] * * * * * 295.--To Thomas Moore. My Dear Moore,--"When Rogers" [1] must not see the inclosed, which I send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit. Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The "Poulterer" was the first and best. [2] Ever yours, etc. 1. When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent, (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he meant. 2. And since not ev'n our Rogers' praise To common sense his thoughts could raise-- Why _would_ they let him print his lays? 3. * * * * * 4. * * * * * 5. To me, divine Apollo, grant--O! Hermilda's first and second canto, I'm fitting up a new portmanteau; 6. And thus to furnish decent lining, My own and others' bays I'm twining-- So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in. * * * * * 296.--To John Hanson. June 3d, 1813. Dear Sir,--When you receive this I shall have left town for a week, and, as it is perfectly right we should understand each other, I think you will not be surprised at my persisting in my intention of going abroad. If the Suit can be carried on in my absence,--_well_; if not, it must be given up. One word, one letter, to Cn. would put an end to it; but this I shall not do, at all events without acquainting you before hand; nor at all, provided I am able to go abroad again. But at all hazards, at all losses, on this last point I am as determined as I have been for the last six months, and you have always told me that you would endeavour to assist me in that intention. Every thing is ordered and ready now. Do not trifle with me, for I am in very solid serious earnest, and if utter ruin _were_, or _is_ before me, on the one hand--and wealth at home on the other,--I have made my choice, and go I will. If you wish to write, address a line before Saturday to Salthill Post Office; Maidenhead, I believe, but am not sure, is the Post town; but I shall not be in town till Wednesday next. Believe me, yours ever, BN. P.S.--Let all the books go to Mr. Murray's immediately, and let the plate, linen, etc., which I find _excepted_ by the _contract_, be sold, particularly a large silver vase--with the _contents_ not removed as they are curious, and a silver cup (not the skull) be sold also--both are of value. The Pictures also, and every moveable that is mine, and can be converted into cash; all I want is a few thousand pounds, and then adieu. You shan't be troubled with me these ten years, if ever. * * * * * 297.--To Francis Hodgson. June 6, 1813. MY DEAR HODGSON,--I write to you a few lines on business. Murray has thought proper at his own risk, and peril, and profit (if there be any) to publish 'The Giaour'; and it may possibly come under your ordeal in the 'Monthly' [1] I merely wish to state that in the published copies there are additions to the amount of ten pages, _text_ and _margin_ (_chiefly_ the last), which render it a little less unfinished (but more unintelligible) than before. If, therefore, you review it, let it be from the published copies and not from the first sketch. I shall not sail for this month, and shall be in town again next week, when I shall be happy to hear from you but more glad to see you. You know I have no time or turn for correspondence(!). But you also know, I hope, that I am not the less Yours ever, [Greek: MPAIRON]. [Footnote 1: 'The Giaour' was reviewed in the 'Monthly Review' for June, 1813 (N.S. vol. lxxi. p. 202). In the Editor's copy is added in MS. at the end of the article, as indicating the author of the review, the word "Den."] * * * * * 298.--To Francis Hodgson. June 8th, 1813. My dear Hodgson,--In town for a night I find your card. I had written to you at Cambridge merely to say that Murray has thought it expedient to publish 'The Giaour' at his own risk (and reimbursement, if he can), and that, as it will probably be in your department in the 'Monthly', I wished to state that, in the published copies, there are additions to the tune of 300 lines or so towards the end, and, if reviewed, it should _not_ be from the privately printed copy. So much for scribbling. I shall manage to see you somewhere before I sail, which will be next month; till then I am yours here, and afterwards any where and every where, Dear H., _tutto tuo_, BN. * * * * * 299.--To John Murray. Je. 9, 1813. Dear Sir,--I regret much that I have no profane garment to array you with for the masquerade. As my motions will be uncertain, you need not write nor send the proofs till my return. Yours truly, BN. P.S.--My wardrobe is out of town--or I could have dressed you as an Albanian--or a Turk--or an officer--or a Waggoner. * * * * * 300.--To John Murray. June 12, 1813. Dear Sir,--Having occasion to send a servant to London, I will thank you to inform me whether I left with the other things 3 miniatures in your care (--if not--I know where to find them), and also to "report progress" in unpacking the books? The bearer returns this evening. How does Hobhouse's work go on, or rather off--for that is the essential part? In yesterday's paper, immediately under an advertisement on "Strictures in the Urethra," I see--most appropriately consequent--a poem with "_strictures_ on Ld B., Mr. Southey and others,"[1] though I am afraid neither "Mr. S.'s" poetical distemper, nor "mine," nor "others," is of the suppressive or stranguary kind. You may read me the prescription of this kill or cure physician. The medicine is compounded at White and Cochrane's, Fleet Street. As I have nothing else to do, I may enjoy it like Sir Fretful, or the Archbishop of Grenada, or any other personage in like predicament. Recollect that my lacquey returns in the Evening, and that I set out for Portsmouth [2] to-morrow. All here are very well, and much pleased with your politeness and attention during their stay in town. Believe me, yours truly, B. P.S.--Are there anything but books? If so, let those _extras_ remain untouched for the present. I trust you have not stumbled on any more "Aphrodites," and have burnt those. I send you both the advertisements, but don't send me the first treatise--as I have no occasion for _Caustic_ in that quarter. [Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle' (June 10, 1813) appeared advertisements of the two following books:--'Practical Observations on the best mode of curing Strictures, etc., with Remarks on Inefficacy, etc., of Caustic Applications'. By William Wadd. Printed for J. Callow, Soho. 'Modern Poets; a Dialogue in Verse, containing some Strictures on the Poetry of Lord Byron, Mr. Southey, and Others'. Printed for White, Cochrane, and Co., Fleet Street. In a note on 'Modern Poets' (p. 7) occurs the following passage: "In 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' the same respectable corps of critics is successively exhibited, in the course of only ten lines, under the following significant but somewhat incongruous forms, viz. (1) Northern Wolves, (2) Harpies, (3) Bloodhounds." In proof the writer quotes lines 426-437 of the Satire. Then follows a long review of 'Childe Harold', in which the critic condemns Harold, the hero, as "an uncouth incumbrance of this flighty Lord;" the want of "plot ... action and fable, interest, order, end;" and asks: "Shall he immortal bays aspire to wear Who immortality from man would tear, Repress the sigh which hopes a happier home, And chase the visions of a life to come?"] [Footnote 2: For Byron's intention to go abroad with Lord and Lady Oxford, see p. 164, 'note' 3 [Footnote 6 of Letter 256.]] * * * * * 301.--To John Murray. [Maidenhead], June 13, 1813. Dear Sir,--Amongst the books from Bennet St. is a small vol. of abominable poems by the Earl of Haddington which must not be in ye Catalogue on Sale--also--a vol. of French Epigrams in the same predicament. On the title page of Meletius is an inscription in writing which must be _erased_ and made illegible. I have read the strictures, which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, but one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of 'E. Bds'., page 23., but which edition I do not know. In the _sole_ copy in your possession--I mean the _fifth_ edition--you may make these alterations, that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:--For "_hellish_ instinct," substitute "_brutal_ instinct;" "_harpies_" alter to "_felons_;" and for "blood-hounds" write "hell-hounds." These be "very bitter words, by my troth," and the alterations not much sweeter; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only 12 lines. You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to say anything unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, till _called_ for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on 'Columbus' [1] which is not _too_ fair; and I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures', which surely entitles the author to a higher rank than that assigned to him in the 'Quarterly'. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the _invisible infallibles_; and the article is very well written. The general horror of "_fragments_" [2] makes me tremulous for "_The Giaour_;" but you would publish it--I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pye without apprehension for some weeks. The Books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's 'Naufragia' [3]? I am told that he asserts the _first_ volume of 'Robinson Crusoe' was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth. Ever yours, etc., Bn. [Footnote 1: Rogers's _Columbus_ was reviewed by Ward in the _Quarterly_ for March, 1813. The reviewer detects "evident marks of haste" in the poem.] [Footnote 2: _The Giaour_, like _Columbus_, was written in fragments.] [Footnote 3: James Stanier Clarke, a Navy Chaplain (1765-1834), published, in 1805, 'Naufragia, or Historical Memoirs of Shipwrecks'. In that work he does not himself attribute the _first_ volume of 'Robinson Crusoe' to Lord Oxford. The following is the passage to which Byron refers ('Naufragia', vol. i. pp. 12, 13): "But before I conclude this Section, I wish to make the admirers of this Nautical Romance mindful of a Report, which prevailed many years ago; that Defoe, after all, was not the real author of Robinson Crusoe. This assertion is noticed in an article in the seventh volume of the 'Edinburgh Magazine' [vol. vii. p. 269]. Dr. Towers, in his 'Life' of Defoe in the 'Biographia', is inclined to pay no attention to it; but was that writer aware of the following letter, which also appeared in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1788? (vol. lviii. part i. p. 208). At least no notice is taken of it in his 'Life' of Defoe: "'Dublin, February 25. "Mr. Urban,--In the course of a late conversation with a nobleman of the first consequence and information in this kingdom, he assured me, that Mr. Benjamin Holloway, of Middleton Stony, assured him, some time ago: that he knew for fact, that the celebrated Romance of 'Robinson Crusoe' was really written by the Earl of Oxford, when confined in the Tower of London: that his Lordship gave the manuscript to Daniel Defoe, who frequently visited him during his confinement: and that Defoe, having afterwards added the second volume, published the whole as his own production. This anecdote I would not venture to send to your valuable magazine, if I did not think my information good, and imagine it might be acceptable to your numerous readers, not-withstanding the work has heretofore been generally attributed to the latter. W. W.' "It is impossible for me to enter on a discussion of this literary subject; though I thought the circumstance ought to be more generally known. And yet I must observe, that I always discerned a very striking falling off between the composition of the first and second volumes of this Romance--they seem to bear evident marks of having been the work of different writers." A volume of memoranda in the handwriting of Warton, the Laureate, preserved in the British Museum, contains the following: "Mem. Jul. 10, 1774. In the year 1759, I was told by the Rev. Mr. Benjamin Holloway, rector of Middleton Stony, in Oxfordshire, then about 70 years old, and in the early part of his life domestic Chaplain to Lord Sunderland, that he had often heard Lord Sunderland say that Lord Oxford, while a prisoner in the Tower of London, wrote the first volume of the History of Robinson Crusoe, merely as an amusement under confinement; and gave it to Daniel De Foe, who frequently visited Lord Oxford in the Tower, and was one of his Pamphlet writers. That De Foe, by Lord Oxford's permission, printed it as his own, and, encouraged by its extraordinary success, added himself the second volume, the inferiority of which is generally acknowledged. Mr. Holloway also told me, from Lord Sunderland, that Lord Oxford dictated some parts of the manuscript to De Foe. Mr. Holloway was a grave conscientious clergyman, not vain of telling anecdotes, very learned, particularly a good orientalist, author of some theological tracts, bred at Eton School, and a Master of Arts at St. John's College, Cambridge. He lived many years with great respect in Lord Sunderland's family, and was like to the late Duke of Marlborough. He died, as I remember, about the year 1761." ] * * * * * 302.--To John Murray. June 18, 1813. Dear Sir,--Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else? Ever yours, B'N. * * * * * 303.--To W. Gifford. June 18, 1813. My Dear Sir,--I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all--still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you. Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the 'Baviad', or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, [1] would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if I shall be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your Gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome. To your advice on Religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather _strongly_ interpreted. I am no Bigot to Infidelity, and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of Man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insignificance of ourselves and _our world_, when placed in competition with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated. This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where I was cudgelled to Church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria. I regret to hear you talk of ill-health. May you long exist! not only to enjoy your own fame, but outlive that of fifty such ephemeral adventurers as myself. As I do not sail quite so soon as Murray may have led you to expect (not till July) I trust I have some chance of taking you by the hand before my departure, and repeating in person how sincerely and affectionately I am Your obliged servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 198 [Footnote 4 of Letter 192.]] * * * * * 304.--To John Murray. June 22, 1813. Dear Sir,--I send you a _corrected_ copy of the lines with several _important_ alterations,--so many that this had better be sent for proof rather than subject the other to so many blots. You will excuse the eternal trouble I inflict upon you. As you will see, I have attended to your Criticism, and softened a passage you proscribed this morning. Yours veritably, B. * * * * * 305.--To Thomas Moore. June 22, 1813. Yesterday I dined in company with Stael, the "Epicene," [1] whose politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of Liverpool--a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory--talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the government will help her to a pension. Murray, the [Greek: anax] of publishers, the Anak of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be bound, like "Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the _Universal Visitor?_" [2] Seriously, he talks of hundreds a year, and--though I hate prating of the beggarly elements--his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure. I don't know what to say about "friendship." I never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am "too old;" [3] but nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than Yours, etc. [Footnote 1: "'And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien, Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen, Neckar's fair daughter, Staël the 'Epicene'! Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple nose The bloom of young desire unceasing glows! Fain would the Muse--but ah! she dares no more, A mournful voice from lone 'Guyana's' shore, Sad Quatremer, the bold presumption checks, Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.' "These lines contain the Secret History of Quatremer's deportation. He presumed, in the Council of Five Hundred, to arraign Madame de Staël's conduct, and even to hint a doubt of her sex. He was sent to 'Guyana'. The transaction naturally brings to one's mind the dialogue between Falstaff and Hostess Quickly in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV'." 'Canning's New Morality', lines 293-301 (Edmonds' edition of the 'Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin', pp. 282, 283). Anne Louise Germaine Necker (1766-1817), only child of the Minister Necker and his wife Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love, married, in 1786, the Swedish Ambassador Baron de Staël Holstein, who died in 1802. She married, as her second husband, in 1811, M. de Rocca, a young French officer, who had been severely wounded in Spain, but survived her by a year (Madame de Récamier, 'Souvenirs', vol. i. p. 272). Her book, 'De l'Allemagne', seized and destroyed by Napoleon, was brought out in June, 1813, by John Murray. Byron thought her "certainly the cleverest, though not the most agreeable woman he had ever known. 'She declaimed to you instead of conversing with you,' said he, 'never pausing except to take breath; and if during that interval a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her discourse as though it had not been interrupted'" (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 26). Croker ('Croker Papers', vol. i. p. 327) describes her as "ugly, and not of an intellectual ugliness. Her features were coarse, and the ordinary expression rather vulgar, she had an ugly mouth, and one or two irregularly prominent teeth, which perhaps gave her countenance an habitual gaiety. Her eye was full, dark, and expressive; and when she declaimed, which was almost whenever she spoke, she looked eloquent, and one forgot that she was plain." Madame de Staël "did not affect to conceal her preference for the society of men to that of her own sex," and was entirely above, or below, studying the feminine arts of pleasing. In 1802 Miss Berry called on her in Paris. "Found her in an excessively dirty 'cabinet'--sofa singularly so; her own dress, a loose spencer with a bare neck" ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 145). A similar experience is mentioned by Crabb Robinson ('Diary', 1804). "On the 28th of January," he writes, "I first waited on Madame de Staël. I was shown into her bedroom, for which, not knowing Parisian customs, I was unprepared. She was sitting, most decorously, 'in' her bed, and writing. She had her night-cap on, and her face was not made up for the day. It was by no means a captivating spectacle; but I had a very cordial reception, and two bright black eyes smiled benignantly on me." Of her political opinions Sir John Bowring ('Autobiographical Recollections', pp. 375, 376) has left a sketch. "Madame de Staël was a perfect aristocrat, and her sympathies were wholly with the great and prosperous. She saw nothing in England but the luxury, stupidity, and pride of the Tory aristocracy, and the intelligence and magnificence of the Whig aristocracy. These latter talked about truth, and liberty and herself, and she supposed it was all as it should be. As to the millions, the people, she never inquired into their situation. She had a horror of the 'canaille', but anything of 'sangre asul' had a charm for her. When she was dying she said, 'Let me die in peace; let my last moments be undisturbed.' Yet she ordered the cards of every visitor to be brought to her. Among them was one from the Duc de Richelieu. 'What!' exclaimed she indignantly, 'What! have you sent away the 'Duke'? Hurry! Fly after him. Bring him back. Tell him that, though I die for all the world, I live for 'him'.'" Napoleon's hatred of her was intense. "Do not allow that jade, Madame de Staël," he writes to Fouché, December 31, 1806 ('New Letters of Napoleon I.', p. 35), "to come near Paris." Again, March 15, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 39), "You are not to allow Madame de Staël to come within forty leagues of Paris. That wicked schemer ought to make up her mind to behave herself at last." In a third letter, April 19, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 40), he speaks of her as "paying court, one day to the great--a patriot, a democrat, the next!... a fright, ... a worthless woman" (Léon Lecestre's 'Lettres inédites de Napoléon I'er', 2nd ed. vol. i. pp. 84, 88, 93).] [Footnote 2: "Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart to write a monthly miscellany called the 'Universal Visitor'. There was a formal written contract, which Allen the printer saw.... They were bound to write nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of the profits of his sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for ninety-nine years" (Boswell's 'Life of Dr. Johnson', ed. Birrell, vol. iii. p. 192).] [Footnote 3: "But first the Monarch, so polite, Ask'd Mister Whitbread if he'd be a 'Knight'. Unwilling in the list to be enroll'd, Whitbread contemplated the Knights of 'Peg', Then to his generous Sov'reign made a leg, And said, 'He was afraid he was 'too old','" etc. Peter Pindar's 'Instructions to a Laureat'.] * * * * * 306.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. 4, Bennet Street, June 26th, 1813. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--Let me know when you arrive, and when, and where, and how, you would like to see me,--any where in short but at _dinner_. I have put off going into ye country on purpose to _waylay_ you. Ever yours, Byron * * * * * 307.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [June, 1813.] MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--And if you knew _whom_ I had put off besides my journey--you would think me grown strangely fraternal. However I won't overwhelm you with my _own praises_. Between one and two be it--I shall, in course, prefer seeing you all to myself without the incumbrance of third persons, even of _your_ (for I won't own the relationship) fair cousin of _eleven page_ memory [1], who, by the bye, makes one of the finest busts I have seen in the Exhibition, or out of it. Good night! Ever yours, BYRON. P.S.--Your writing is grown like my Attorney's, and gave me a qualm, till I found the remedy in your signature. [Footnote 1: 'Letters', vol. i. p. 54 [end of Footnote 3 of Letter 13.], Lady Gertrude Howard married, in 1806, William Sloane Stanley, and died in 1870.] * * * * * 308.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Sunday], June 27th, 1813. MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--If you like to go with me to ye Lady Davy's [1] [ to-night, I _have_ an invitation for you. There you will see the _Stael_, some people whom you know, and _me_ whom you do _not_ know,--and you can talk to which you please, and I will watch over you as if you were unmarried and in danger of always being so. Now do as you like; but if you chuse to array yourself before or after half past ten, I will call for you. I think our being together before 3d people will be a new _sensation_ to _both_. Ever yours, B. [Footnote 1: Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), the son of a wood-carver of Penzance, was apprenticed to John Borlase, a surgeon at Penzance, in whose dispensary he became a chemist. He wrote poetry as a young man, but soon abandoned the pursuit for science. Two poems on Byron by Davy, one written in 1823, the other in 1824, will be found in Dr. Davy's 'Memoirs of the Life of Sir H. Davy', vol. ii. pp. 168, 169. In October, 1798, he joined Dr. Beddoes at Bristol, where he superintended the laboratory at his Pneumatic Institution. His 'Researches, Chemical and Philosophical' (1799), made him famous. At the Royal Institution in London, founded in 1799, Davy became assistant-lecturer in chemistry, and director of the chemical laboratory. There his lecture-room was crowded by some of the most distinguished men and women of the day. Within the next few years his discoveries in electricity and galvanism, (1806-7) brought him European celebrity; his lectures on agricultural chemistry (1810) marked a fresh era in farming, and inaugurated the new movement of "science with practice." His famous discovery of the Safety Lamp was made in 1816. He was created a baronet in 1818. A skilful fisherman, he wrote, when in declining health, 'Salmonia, or Days of Fly-fishing', published in 1827. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 57), speaking of Davy in 1815, says, "He is now about thirty-three, but with all the freshness and bloom of five-and-twenty, and one of the handsomest men I have seen in England. He has a great deal of vivacity, talks rapidly, though with great precision, and is so much interested in conversation, that his excitement amounts to nervous impatience, and keeps him in constant motion." Davy married, in 1812, a rich widow, Jane Aprecce, 'née' Kerr (1780-1855). The marriage brought him wealth; but it also, it is said, impaired the simplicity of his character, and made him ambitious of social distinction. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 535) supped with Lady Davy in May, 1813, to meet the Princess of Wales, and notes that among the other guests was Byron. Lady Davy, who was so dark a brunette that Sydney Smith said she was as brown as a dry toast, was for many years a prominent figure in the society of London and Rome. It was of her that Madame de Staël said that she had "all Corinne's talents without her faults or extravagances." Ticknor, who called on her in June, 1815, "found her in her parlour, working on a dress, the contents of her basket strewed about the table, and looking more like home than anything since I left it. She is small, with black eyes and hair, a very pleasant face, an uncommonly sweet smile, and, when she speaks, has much spirit and expression in her countenance. Her conversation is agreeable, particularly in the choice and variety of her phraseology, and has more the air of eloquence than I have ever heard before from a lady." ('Life of George Ticknor', vol. i. P. 57).] * * * * * 309.--To John Murray. July 1st, 1813. DEAR SIR,--There is an error in my dedication. [1] The word "_my_" must be struck out--"my" admiration, etc.; it is a false construction and disagrees with the signature. I hope this will arrive in time to prevent a _cancel_ and serve for a proof; recollect it is only the "my" to be erased throughout. There is a critique in the 'Satirist', [2] which I have read,--fairly written, and, though _vituperative_, very fair in judgment. One part belongs to you, _viz_., the 4_s_. and 6_d_ charge; it is unconscionable, but you have no conscience. Yours truly, B. [Footnote 1: The dedication was originally printed thus: "To Samuel Rogers, Esq., as a slight but most sincere token of my admiration of his genius."] [Footnote 2: 'The Satirist' for July 1, 1813 (pp. 70-88), reviews the 'Giaour' at length. It condemns it for its fragmentary character and consequent obscurity, its carelessness and defects of style; but it also admits that the poem "abounds with proofs of genius:" "A word in conclusion. The noble lord appears to have an aristocratical solicitude to be read only by the opulent. Four shillings and sixpence for forty-one octavo pages of poetry! and those pages verily happily answering to Mr. Sheridan's image of a rivulet of text flowing through a meadow of margin. My good Lord Byron, while you are revelling in all the sensual and intellectual luxury which the successful sale of Newstead Abbey has procured for you, you little think of the privations to which you have subjected us unfortunate Reviewers, ... in order to enable us to purchase your lordship's expensive publication."] * * * * * 310.--To Thomas Moore. 4, Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8, 1813. I presume by your silence that I have blundered into something noxious in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from you in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as the _nonchalant_ deities of Lucretius), that you are the last person I want to offend. So, if I have,--why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen? Rogers is out of town with Madame de Stael, who hath published an Essay against Suicide, [1] which, I presume, will make somebody shoot himself;--as a sermon by Blenkinsop, in _proof_ of Christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me what _I_ have done, pray say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you _before_ I go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife,--without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from infection. The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort,--for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. [2] We are just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a large _M.W._, which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't answer this, I sha'n't say what _you_ deserve, but I think _I_ deserve a reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? [3] Sunburn me, if you are not too bad. [Footnote 1: "Madame de Stael treats me as the person whom she most delights to honour; I am generally ordered with her to dinner, as one orders beans and bacon: she is one of the few persons who surpass expectation; she has every sort of talent, and would be universally popular, if, in society, she were to confine herself to her inferior talents-- pleasantry, anecdote, and literature. I have reviewed her 'Essay on Suicide' in the last 'Edinburgh Review': it is not one of her best, and I have accordingly said more of the author and the subject than of the work." Sir J. Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 269).] [Footnote 2: One result of the illuminations in honour of the battle of Vittoria (June 21, 1813), which took place July 7, was a great fire at Woolwich. Moore was at this time living at Mayfield Cottage near Ashbourne, in Derbyshire.] [Footnote 3: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag', was published, without his name, in 1813.] * * * * * 311.--To Thomas Moore. July 13, 1813. Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your susceptibility) that I had said--I know not what--but something I should have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;--though I don't see how a man with a beautiful wife--_his own_ children,--quiet--fame --competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing. Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined--remember I say but _inclined_--to be seriously enamoured with Lady A[delaide] F[orbes] [1]--but this----has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her; is she _clever_, or sensible, or good-tempered? either _would_ do--I scratch out the _will_. I don't ask as to her beauty--that I see; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do not yet know her much, but better than I did. I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the word--"nay, an they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they." [2] Now, what are you doing?--writing, we all hope, for our own sakes. Remember you must edit my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author, for which I will send you Confessions, dated "Lazaretto," Smyrna, Malta, or Palermo--one can die any where. There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fête [3]. The Regent and----are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene--there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic. P. S.--The Stael last night attacked me most furiously--said that I had "no right to make love--that I had used----barbarously--that I had no feeling, and was totally _in_sensible to _la belle passion_, and _had_ been all my life." I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. Let me hear from you anon. [Footnote 1: "Lady A. F----'was' also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of women in the past tense. What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade so soon as beauty! Poor Lady A. F--has not got married. Do you know, I once had some thoughts of her as a wife; not that I was in love, as people call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that I ought to marry, and, meeting her very often in society, the notion came into my head, not heart, that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so much of her good qualities--all which was, I believe, quite true--that I felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, whether 'tant mieux' or 'tant pis', God knows, supposing my proposal accepted." (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', pp. 108, 109). Lady Adelaide Forbes, whom Byron in Rome compared to the "Belvedere Apollo," was the daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard, and his wife, Lady Selina Rawdon, daughter of the first Earl of Moira. Born in 1789, she died at Dresden, in 1858, unmarried. Lord Moira was Moore's patron, and, through this connection and political sympathies, Moore was acquainted with Lord Granard and his family.] [Footnote 2: Byron possibly quoted the actual words from 'Hamlet' (act v. sc. 1), referring to Moore's attack on the Regent in 'The Two-penny Post-bag': "Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou." But the letter is destroyed.] [Footnote 3: The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 12 contains the announcement that "the Prince Regent has projected a 'Grand National Fête' in honour of the battle of Vittoria. It is to be held at Vauxhall Gardens." The 'fête' was held on Tuesday, July 20, beginning with a banquet, at which such toasts were drunk as "The Marquis of Wellington," "Sir Thomas Graham and the other officers engaged," "The Spanish Armies and the brave Guerillas." The 'báton' of Marshal Jourdan was "disposed among the plate, so as to be obvious to all." The proceedings ended with illuminations and dancing.] * * * * * 312.--To John Hanson. Sunday, July 18th, 1813. DEAR SIR,--A Report is in general circulation (which has distressed my friends, and is not very pleasing to me), that the Purchaser of Newstead is a _young_ man, who has been over-reached, ill-treated, and ruined, by me in this transaction of the sale, and that I take an unfair advantage of the _law_ to enforce the contract. This must be contradicted by a true and open statement of the circumstances attending, and subsequent to, the sale, and that immediately and publicly. Surely, if anyone is ill treated it is myself. He bid his own price; he took time before he bid at all, and now, when I am actually granting him further time as a favour, I hear from all quarters that I have acted unfairly. Pray do not delay on this point; see him, and let a proper and true statement be drawn up of the sale, etc., and inserted in the papers. Ever yours, B. P.S.--Mr. C. himself, if he has either honour or feeling, will be the first to vindicate me from so unfounded an implication. It is surely not for his credit to be supposed _ruined_ or _over-reached_. * * * * * 313.--To John Murray. July 22nd, 1813. Dear Sir,--I have great pleasure in accepting your invitation to meet anybody or nobody as you like best. Pray what should you suppose the book in the inclosed advertisement to be? is it anything relating to Buonaparte or Continental Concerns? If so, it may be worth looking after, particularly if it should turn out to be your purchase--Lucien's _Epic_. Believe me, very truly yours, BYRON. * * * * * 314.--To Thomas Moore. July 25, 1813. I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress. I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley [1] for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the Daltons:--she sang one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else. I must tell you a story. Morris [2] (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old wassailers. D'Israeli (a learned Jew) bored him with questions--why this? and why that? "Why did the Prince act thus?"--"Why, sir, on account of Lord----, who ought to be ashamed of himself."--"And why ought Lord----to be ashamed of himself?"--"Because the Prince, sir, --------"--"And why, sir, did the Prince cut _you_?"--"Because, G--d d--mme, sir, I stuck to my principles."--"And why did you stick to your principles?" Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? It nearly killed Morris. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, [3] it was a very good joke when I heard it--as I did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my narration. The season has closed with a dandy ball; [4]--but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh [5], where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till "too much canaries" wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his [----]--the true throne of a Tory [6]. Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. "I have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive," [7] and they are for the _Townsend_ (_query_, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life. Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number XIX--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians [8] of the post from peeping. You once complained of my _not_ writing;--I will "heap coals of fire upon your head" by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading. Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?), BYRON. [Footnote 1: Under the title of "An excellent Ballad of a most dreadful combat, fought between Moore of Moore-Hall and the Dragon of Wantley," this ballad forms (in the 12th edition) the Argument of 'The Dragon of Wantley, a Burlesque Opera', performed at Covent Garden, the libretto of which is by Sig. Carini, 'i.e.' Henry Carey: "Have you not heard of the 'Trojan' Horse; With Seventy Men in his Belly? This Dragon was not quite so big, But very near, I'll tell you; Devoured he poor Children three, That could not with him grapple; And at one sup he eat them up, As one would eat an Apple. "All sorts of Cattle this Dragon did eat, Some say he eat up Trees, And that the Forest sure he would Devour by degrees. For Houses and Churches were to him Geese and Turkies; He eat all, and left none behind, But some Stones, dear Jack, which he could not crack, Which on the Hills you'll find."] [Footnote 2: Charles Morris (1745-1838) served in the 17th Foot, the Royal Irish Dragoons, and finally in the Second Life Guards. He was laureate and punch-maker to the Beef-steak Club, founded in 1735 by John Rich, patentee of Covent Garden Theatre. The Prince of Wales became a member of the Club in 1785, and Morris was a frequent guest at Carlton House. Another member of the Club was the Duke of Norfolk, who gave Morris the villa at Brockham, near Betchworth, where he lived and died. Morris, who was an admirable song-writer and singer, attached himself politically to the Prince's party, and attacked Pitt in such popular ballads as "Billy's too young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the Farmer." He was, however, disappointed in his hope of reward from his political patrons, and vented his spleen in his ode, "The Old Whig Poet to his Old Buff Waistcoat" "Farewell, thou poor rag of the Muse! In the bag of the clothesman go lie; A farthing thou'lt fetch from the Jews, Which the hard-hearted Christians deny," etc. Some of his poems deserve the censure of 'The Shade of Pope' (line 225): "There reeling Morris and his bestial songs." But others, in their ease and vivacity, hold their own with all but the best of Moore's songs. A collection of them was printed in two volumes by Bentley, in 1840, under the title of 'Lyra Urbanica'.] [Footnote 3: In Forster's 'Life of Goldsmith' (vol. i. p. 34) it is related that Goldsmith ran away from Trinity College, Dublin, because he had been beaten by one of the Fellows. He started for Cork with a shilling in his pocket, on which he lived for three days. He told Reynolds that he thought "a handful of grey pease, given him by a girl at a wake (after fasting for twenty-four hours) the most comfortable repast he had ever made." Byron may mean that any joke seems good to a man who had not heard one for a day.] [Footnote 4: "I liked the Dandies," says Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts'; "they were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madme. de Staël, Lewis, Horace Twiss, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madme. de Staël that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a year, etc., etc., till she praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty!_ and made a set at him for Albertine ('Libertine', as Brummell baptized her, though the poor girl was, and is, as correct as maid or wife can be, and very amiable withal), and a hundred other fooleries besides. The truth is, that, though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at four and twenty. I had gamed and drunk and taken my degrees in most dissipations, and, having no pedantry, and not being overbearing, we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made me a member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being, I take it, the only literary man (except 'two' others, both men of the world, M[oore] and S[pencer]) in it. Our Masquerade was a grand one; so was the Dandy Ball too--at the Argyle,--but 'that' (the latter) was given by the four chiefs--B[rummel?], M[idmay?], A[lvanley?], and P[ierreoint?], if I err not."] [Footnote 5: Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), after studying medicine, was called to the English Bar in 1795. Originally a supporter of the French Revolution, he answered Burke's 'Reflections' with his 'Vindiciæ Gallicæ' (1791). He is "Mr. Macfungus" in the 'Anti-Jacobin's' account of the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." But his revolutionary sympathies rapidly cooled, and he publicly disavowed them in his 'Introductory Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations' (1799). He remained, however, throughout his life, a Whig. His lectures on "'The Law of Nature and Nations'," delivered at Lincoln's Inn, in 1799, brought him into prominence, both at the Bar and in society. In 1803 he was knighted on accepting the Recordership of Bombay. He returned to England in 1812, entered Parliament as member for Nairn, advocated some useful measures, became a Privy Councillor in 1828, and held office in the Whig Ministry of 1830 as Commissioner of the Board of Control. In politics, as well as in literature, he disappointed expectation. His principal works, besides those mentioned above, were his 'Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830), and his 'History of the Revolution in England in 1688' (1834). His great intellectual powers were shown to most advantage in society. Rogers ('Table-Talk', pp. 197, 198) thought him one of the three acutest men he had ever known. "He had a prodigious memory, and could repeat by heart more of Cicero than you could easily believe.... I never met a man with a fuller mind than Mackintosh,--such readiness on all subjects, such a talker." "Till subdued by age and illness," wrote Sydney Smith ('Life of Mackintosh', vol. ii. p. 500), "his conversation was more brilliant and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the good fortune to be acquainted with." As in political life, so in society, he was too much of the lecturer. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 265) thought him "a little too precise, a little too much made up in his manners and conversation." But on all sides there is evidence to confirm the testimony of Rogers ('Table-Talk', p. 207) that he was a man "who had not a particle of envy or jealousy in his nature."] [Footnote 6: George Canning (1770-1827) had been offered the Foreign Office in 1812 after the assassination of Perceval, on condition that Castlereagh should lead the House of Commons. He refused the offer. Elected M.P. for Liverpool in 1812, he had, in July, 1813, disbanded his followers, and in 1814 left England. He supported Lord Liverpool in carrying the repressive measures known as the Six Acts (1817-20), and, on the death of Lord Londonderry, in 1822, entered the Government as Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It is to the private speech to his followers, in July, 1813, that Byron refers. The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 29, 1813, has the following paragraph: "Mr. Canning it seems has (to use a French phrase) 'reformed' his political corps. He assembled them at the close of the Session, and with many expressions of regret for the failure of certain negociations, which might have been favourable to them as a body, relieved them from their oaths of allegiance, and recommended them to pursue in future their objects separately. The Right Honourable gentleman, perhaps, finds it more convenient for himself to act unencumbered; and both he and one or two others may find their interest in disbanding the squad; but some of them are turned off 'without a character'." The 'Courier' for July 29, quoting the first part of the statement, adds, "We believe ... that Mr. Canning is not indisposed to join the present Cabinet, and may wish one or two of his particular friends to come in with him."] [Footnote 7: "I have led my ragamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life." ('Henry IV'., Part I. act v. sc. 3). Townshend, the Bow Street officer, is described by Cronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 286) as "a little fat man with a flaxen wig, Kersey-mere breeches, a blue straight-cut coat, and a broad-brimmed white hat. To the most daring courage he added great dexterity and cunning; and was said, 'in propria persona', to have taken more thieves than all the other Bow Street officers put together."] [Footnote 8: "Epistolam, quam attulerat Phileros tabellarius." (Cic., 'Fam'.,9, 15).] * * * * * 315.--To Thomas Moore. July 27, 1813. When you next imitate the style of "Tacitus," pray add, _de moribus Germannorum_;--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from the _Woods_, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero [1]; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer. Believe me, ever yours _ indignantly_, BN. [Footnote 1: _i. e._ Samuel Rogers.] * * * * * 316.--To Thomas Moore. July 28, 1813. Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may I be curst if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you--I disclaim you--and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you--or dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends. P.S.--I am in training to dine with Sheridan [1] and Rogers this evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his "Clary wines pottle-deep." [2] This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it. [Footnote 1: In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has noted the following impressions of Sheridan: "In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, as he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Staël, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. Poor fellow! he got drunk very thoroughly and very soon. It occasionally fell to my lot to pilot him home--no sinecure, for he was so tipsy that I was obliged to put on his cocked hat for him. To be sure, it tumbled off again, and I was not myself so sober as to be able to pick it up again. "The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time was at Douglas Kinnaird's. I have met him in all places and parties--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphry Davy's, at Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful. "I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see 'From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expire a driveller and a show'? "Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned round: 'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either 'presently' derived, or 'inherited' in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept. "There was something odd about Sheridan. One day, at dinner, he was slightly praising that pert pretender and impostor, Lyttelton (the Parliamentary puppy, still alive, I believe). I took the liberty of differing from him; he turned round upon me, and said, 'Is that your real opinion?' I confirmed it. Then said he, 'Fortified by this concurrence, I beg leave to say that it, in fact, is 'my' opinion also, and that he is a person whom I do absolutely and utterly despise, abhor, and detest.' He then launched out into a description of his despicable qualities, at some length, and with his usual wit, and evidently in earnest (for he hated Lyttelton). His former compliment had been drawn out by some preceding one, just as its reverse was by my hinting that it was unmerited. "I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's. "In 1815 I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane; he was with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first. Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring 'that' of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I, 'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good gifts of conversation. "Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment. "Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been nothing like it since the days of Orpheus. "One day I saw him take up his own ''Monody on Garrick'.' He lighted upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady Spencer. On seeing it, he flew into a rage, and exclaimed 'that it must be a forgery, that he had never dedicated any thing of his to such a damned canting bitch,' etc., etc.--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally sincere, it would be ludicrous. "He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his 'School for Scandal' he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen. Latterly, when found drunk one night in the kennel, and asked his name by the watchmen, he answered, 'Wilberforce.' "When dying he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture." "I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that 'I' saw, and I watched him), but Colman did. If I had to 'choose' and could not have both at a time I should say, 'Let me begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman for supper; Sheridan for claret or port but Colman for every thing, from the madeira and champagne at dinner the claret with a 'layer' of 'port' between the glasses up to the punch of the night, and down to the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life guards, but Colman a whole regiment--of 'light infantry', to be sure, but still a regiment."] [Footnote 2: "Potations pottle deep" 'Othello', act ii. sc. 3, line 54.] * * * * * 317.--To John Murray. July 31, 1813. Dear Sir--As I leave town early tomorrow, the proof must be sent to-night, or many days will be lost. If you have any _reviews_ of the 'Giaour' to send, let me have them now. I am not very well to day. I thank you for the 'Satirist', which is short but savage on this unlucky affair, and _personally_ facetious on me which is much more to the purpose than a tirade upon other peoples' concerns [1]. Ever yours, B. [Footnote 1: In the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. pp. 150, 151) is an article headed "Scandalum Magnatum," with the motto from 'Rejected Addresses': With horn-handled knife, To kill a tender lamb as dead as mutton." "A short time back (say the newspapers, and newspapers never say 'the thing which is not') Lady H. gave a ball and supper. Among the company were Lord B--n, Lady W--, and Lady C. L--b. Lord B., it would appear, is a favourite with the latter Lady; on this occasion, however, he seemed to lavish his attention on another fair object. This preference so enraged Lady C. L. that in a paroxysm of jealousy she took up a dessert-knife and stabbed herself. The gay circle was, of course, immediately plunged in confusion and dismay, which however, was soon succeeded by levity and scandal. The general cry for medical assistance was from Lady W--d: Lady W--d!!! And why? Because it was said that, early after her marriage, Lady W--also took a similar liberty with her person for a similar cause, and was therefore considered to have learned from experience the most efficacious remedy for the complaint. It was also whispered that the Lady's husband had most to grieve, that the attempt had not fully succeeded. Lady C. L. is still living. "The poet has told us how 'Ladies wish to be who love their Lords;' but this is the first public demonstration in our times to show us how Ladies wish to be who love, not their own, but others' Lords. 'Better be with the dead than thus,' cried the jealous fair; and, casting a languishing look at Lord B--, who, Heaven knows, is more like Pan than Apollo, she whipt up as pretty a little dessert-knife as a Lady could desire to commit suicide with, 'And stuck it in her wizzard.' "The desperate Lady was carried out of the room, and the affair endeavoured to be hushed up, etc., etc." ] * * * * * 318.--To John Wilson Croker [1]. Bt. Str., August 2, 1813. Dear Sir,--I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday--and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, Your obliged and most obedient servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: J. W. Croker (1780-1857),--the "Wenham" of Thackeray, the "Rigby" of Disraeli, and the "Con Crawley" of Lady Morgan's 'Florence Macarthy', had been made Secretary to the Admiralty in 1809. At his request Captain Carlton of the 'Boyne', "just then ordered to re-enforce Sir Edward Pellew" in the Mediterranean, had consented to receive Byron into his cabin for the voyage,] * * * * * 319.--To John Murray. If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal story--"_Ecce signum_"--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage. B. * * * * * 320.--To John Murray. Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813. Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_, for I am _bitten_ again, and have _quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. Yours ever, B. P. S.--You shall have them in the course of the day. * * * * * 321.--To James Wedderburn Webster. August 12, 1813. My Dear Webster,--I am, you know, a detestable correspondent, and write to no one person whatever; you therefore cannot attribute my silence to any thing but want of good breeding or good taste, and not to any more atrocious cause; and as I confess the fault to be entirely mine--why--you will pardon it. I have ordered a copy of the 'Giaour' (which is nearly doubled in quantity in this edition) to be sent, and I will first scribble my name in the title page. Many and sincere thanks for your good opinion of book, and (I hope to add) author. Rushton shall attend you whenever you please, though I should like him to stay a few weeks, and help my other people in forwarding my chattels. Your taking him is no less a favor to me than him; and I trust he will behave well. If not, your remedy is very simple; only don't let him be idle; honest I am sure he is, and I believe good-hearted and quiet. No pains has been spared, and a good deal of expense incurred in his education; accounts and mensuration, etc., he ought to know, and I believe he does. I write this near London, but your answer will reach me better in Bennet Street, etc. (as before). I am going very soon, and if you would do the same thing--as far as Sicily--I am sure you would not be sorry. My sister, Mrs. L. goes with me--her spouse is obliged to retrench for a few years (but _he_ stays at home); so that his _link boy_ prophecy (if ever he made it) recoils upon himself. I am truly glad to hear of Lady Frances's good health. Have you added to your family? Pray make my best respects acceptable to her Ladyship. Nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear from you as soon and as fully as you please. Ever most truly yours, BYRON. * * * * * 322.--To Thomas Moore. Bennet Street, August 22, 1813. As our late--I might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the town-life leaven in it, we will now, _paulo majora_, prattle a little of literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. The Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having, I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite neighbourhood [1]. Mad'e. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons [2], who has been carbonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be,--but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could--write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance--and somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior observation. In a "mail-coach copy" of the _Edinburgh_ [3] I perceive _The Giaour_ is second article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack--_pray which way is the wind?_ The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that it must be written by Jeffrey _in love_ [4];--you know he is gone to America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several _quarters, éperdument amoureux_. Seriously--as Winifred Jenkins [5] says of Lismahago--Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) "has done the handsome thing by me," and I say _nothing_. But this I will say, if you and I had knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our posthumous works. By the by, I was call'd _in_ the other day to mediate between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and--after a long struggle between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--I got one to make an apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever after [6]. One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high play;--and one, I can swear for, though very mild, "not fearful," and so dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselves very well, and I put them out of _pain_ as soon as I could. There is an American _Life_ of G. F. Cooke [7], _Scurra_ deceased, lately published. Such a book!--I believe, since _Drunken Barnaby's Journal_ [8] nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_, toddy, overflow every page. Two things are rather marvellous,--first, that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have found a sober biographer. There are some very laughable things in it, nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed, are too regularly registered. All this time you wonder I am not gone; so do I; but the accounts of the plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from England. It is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability, be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one likes to have one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty; but not the worse for that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to do;--not stay, if I can help it, but where to go? Sligo is for the North;--a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in September, with one's ears and nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or pocket-handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--Give me a _sun_, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and _my_ Heaven is as easily made as your Persian's [9]. _The Giaour_ is now a thousand and odd lines. "Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day," [10] eh, Moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but I forgive it. Yours ever, BYRON. P. S.--I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted letter! let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape [11] than any of the last twelve months,--and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither live with nor without these women. I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you reside near it. Did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a bath and a _vault_--and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. I remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which I can repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author, when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if I should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with that volume. Adieu--I commit you to the care of the gods--Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic! P.S. 2d.--There is an excellent review of Grimm's _Correspondence_ and Madame de Stael in this No. of the _E[dinburgh] R[eview]_ [12]. Jeffrey, himself, was my critic last year; but this is, I believe, by another hand. I hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that damned Lucien Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his poem in MS., and he really surpasses every thing beneath Tasso. Hodgson is translating him _against_ another bard. You and (I believe Rogers,) Scott, Gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the twain,--that is, if you accept the office. Conceive our different opinions! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and Scott certainly have. [Footnote 1: The fight, in which Harry Harmer, "the Coppersmith" (1784-1834), beat Jack Ford, took place at St. Nicholas, near Margate, August 23, 1813. Francis Charles Seymour Conway, Earl of Yarmouth (1777-1842), succeeded his father as second Marquis of Hertford in 1822. The colossal libertinism and patrician splendour of his life inspired Disraeli to paint him as "Monmouth" in 'Coningsby', and Thackeray as "Steyne" in 'Vanity Fair'. He married, in 1798, Maria Fagniani, claimed as a daughter by George Selwyn and by "Old Q.," and enriched by both. Yarmouth, as an intimate friend of the Regent, and the son of the Prince's female favourite, was the butt of Moore and the Whig satirists. Byron gibes at Yarmouth's red whiskers, which helped to gain him the name of "Red Herrings" in the 'Waltz', line 142, 'note' 1. Yarmouth, like Byron, patronized the fancy, and, like him also, was a frequenter of Manton's shooting-gallery in Davies Street; but there is no record of their being acquainted, though the house, which Byron occupied (13, Piccadilly Terrace) during his brief married life, was in the occupation of Lord Yarmouth before Byron took it from the Duchess of Devonshire.] [Footnote 2: Albert de Staël "led an irregular life, and met a deplorable death at Doberan, a small city of the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the coast of the Baltic Sea, a favourite resort in summer for bathing, gambling, etc. Some officers of the état-major of Bernadotte had gone to try their luck in this place of play and pleasure. They quarrelled over some louis, and a duel immediately ensued. I well remember that the Grand-Duke Paul of Mecklenburg-Schwerin told me he was there at the time, and, while walking with his tutors in the park, suddenly heard the clinking of swords in a neighbouring thicket. They ran to the place, and reached it just in time to see the head of Albert fall, cleft by one of those long and formidable sabres which were carried by the Prussian cavalry." The above passage is quoted from the unpublished 'Souvenirs' of M. Pictet de Sergy, given by A. Stevens in his 'Life of Madame de Staël', vol. ii. pp. 204, 205.] [Footnote 3: Only special copies of books published in Edinburgh came to London by coach: the bulk was forwarded in Leith smacks. In the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1813, the 'Giaour' was reviewed as a poem "full of spirit, character, and originality," and producing an effect at once "powerful and pathetic." But the reviewer considers that "energy of character and intensity of emotion... presented in combination with worthlessness and guilt," are "most powerful corrupters and perverters of our moral nature," and he deplores Byron's exclusive devotion to gloomy and revolting subjects.] [Footnote 4: Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) succeeded Sidney Smith as editor of the 'Edinburgh Review' (founded 1802), and held the editorship till 1829. The first number of the 'Review', says Francis Horner, brought to light "the genius of that little man." During the first six years of its existence, he wrote upwards of seventy articles. At the same time, he was a successful lawyer. Called to the Scottish Bar in 1794, he became successively Dean of the Faculty of Advocates (1829), Lord Advocate (1830), and a Judge of the Court of Sessions (1834) with the title of Lord Jeffrey. He married, as his second wife, at New York, in October, 1813, Charlotte Wilkes, a grandniece of John Wilkes. Jeffrey is described at considerable length by Ticknor, in a letter, dated February 8, 1814 ('Life of G. Ticknor', vol. i. pp. 43-47): "You are to imagine, then, before you a short, stout, little gentleman, about five and a half feet high, with a very red face, black hair, and black eyes. You are to suppose him to possess a very gay and animated countenance, and you are to see in him all the restlessness of a will-o'-wisp ... He enters a room with a countenance so satisfied, and a step so light and almost fantastic, that all your previous impressions of the dignity and severity of the 'Edinburgh Review' are immediately put to flight ... It is not possible, however, to be long in his presence without understanding something of his real character, for the same promptness and assurance which mark his entrance into a room carry him at once into conversation. The moment a topic is suggested--no matter what or by whom--he comes forth, and the first thing you observe is his singular fluency," etc., etc. By the side of this description may be set that given of Jeffrey by Francis Horner ('Life of Jeffrey', 2nd edition, vol. i. p. 212): "His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of levity and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man whose real character is so much the reverse." The secret of his success, both as editor and critic, is that he made the 'Review' the expression of the Whig character, both in its excellences and its limitations. A man of clear, discriminating mind, of cool and placid judgment, he refused to accept the existing state of things, was persuaded that it might be safely improved, saw the practical steps required, and had the courage of his convictions. He was suspicious of large principles, somewhat callous to enthusiasm or sentiment, intolerant of whatever was incapable of precise expression. His intellectual strength lay not in the possession of one great gift, but in the simultaneous exercise of several well-adjusted talents. His literary taste was correct; but it consisted rather in recognizing compliance with accepted rules of proved utility than in the readiness to appreciate novelties of thought and treatment. Hence his criticism, though useful for his time, has not endured beyond his day. It may be doubted whether more could be expected from a man who was eminently successful in addressing a jury. "He might not know his subject, but he knew his readers" (Bagehot's 'Literary Studies', vol. i. p. 30). Byron, believing him to have been the author of the famous article on 'Hours of Idleness', attacked him bitterly in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'; (lines 460-528). He afterwards recognized his error. 'Don Juan' (Canto X. stanza xvi.) expresses his mature opinion of a critic who, whatever may have been his faults, was as absolutely honest as political prejudice would permit: "And all our little feuds, at least all 'mine', Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe (As far as rhyme and criticism combine To make such puppets of us things below), Are over; Here's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!' I do not know you, and may never know Your face--but you have acted, on the whole, Most nobly; and I own it from my soul." Jeffrey reviewed 'Childe Harold' in the 'Edinburgh Review', No. 38, art. 10; the 'Giaour', No. 42, art. 2; the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos', No. 45, art. 9; Byron's 'Poetry', No. 54, art. I; 'Manfred', No. 56, art. 7; 'Beppo', No. 58, art. 2; 'Marino Faliero', No. 70, art. I; Byron's 'Tragedies', No. 72, art. 5.] [Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.] [Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.] [Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as "Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago" and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite, especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible habits of drinking." Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was published in 1813] [Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford. But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The title of the second edition (1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which is added, Bessy Bell'. "Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by Haslewood: "Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking, I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking; Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover, Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over. Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning, Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"] [Footnote 9: "A Persian's Heav'n is easily made-- 'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."] [Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.] [Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.] [Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Staël's 'Germany' was by Mackintosh.] * * * * * 323.--To John Murray. August 26, 1813. Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or _com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive. The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself. Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day? if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not W's), or we shall be buffeted. I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness. Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by themselves; but this is the age of criticism. Ever yours, B. * * * * * 324.--To Thomas Moore. August 28, 1813. Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks, when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1] I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815, that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid. Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,---- Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_ or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour [3]. I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an _entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful, I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles. Stick to the East;--the oracle, Staël, told me it was the only poetical policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalising, and pave the path for you. I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's _Diable Amoureux_ [6]. It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte. For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think it a subject you might make much of [7]. If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six small tomes [8]. I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives. [Footnote 1: Jerry Sneak, in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt' (act ii.), says to Major Sturgeon, "I heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy."] [Footnote 2: "The Ode of Horace-- 'Natis in usum lætitiæ,' etc.; some passages of which I told him might be parodied, in allusion to some of his late adventures: 'Quanta laboras in Charybdi! Digne puer meliore flammâ!'" (Moore.)] [Footnote 3: "In his first edition of 'The Giaour' he had used this word as a trisyllable--'Bright as the gem of Giamschid'--but on my remarking to him, upon the authority of Richardson's Persian Dictionary, that this was incorrect, he altered it to 'Bright as the ruby of Giamschid.' On seeing this, however, I wrote to him, 'that, as the comparison of his heroine's eye to a "ruby" might unluckily call up the idea of its being bloodshot, he had better change the line to "Bright as the jewel of Giamschid;"' which he accordingly did in the following edition" (Moore). In the 'Sháh Námeh', Giamschid is the fourth sovereign of the ancient Persians, and ruled seven hundred years. His jewel was a green chrysolite, the reflection of which gives to the sky its blue-green colour. Byron probably changed to "ruby" on the authority of 'Vathek' (p. 58, ed. 1856), where Beckford writes, "Then all the riches this place contains, as well as the carbuncle of Giamschid, shall be hers."] [Footnote 4: Moore's reference (see 'note' 1) to John Richardson's 'Dictionary of Persian, Arabic, and English' (1777), suggests to Byron that Moore was at work on an Oriental poem, probably 'Lalla Rookh', which would surpass the 'Charlemagne' of Lucien Buonaparte.] [Footnote 5: The 'Sháh Námeh' is a rhymed history of Persia, in which occurs the famous episode of Sohrab and Rustem. It was written in thirty years by Abul Kásim Firdausí, the last name being given to him by Sultan Mahmúd because he had shed over the court at Ghizni the delights of "Paradise." Firdausí is said to have lived about 950 to 1030. (See The 'Sháh Námeh', translated and abridged by James Atkinson.)] [Footnote 6: Jacques Cazotte (1720-1792) wrote 'La Patte du Chat' (1741); 'Mille et une Fadaises' (1742); 'Observations sur la lettre de Rousseau au sujet de la Musique Française' (1754); and other works. 'Le Diable Amoureux' appeared in 1772. Cazotte escaped the September Massacres at the Abbaye in 1792, through the heroism of his daughter, but was executed on the twenty-fifth of the same month.] [Footnote 7: "I had already, singularly enough, anticipated this suggestion, by making the daughter of a Peri the heroine of one of my stories, and detailing the love adventures of her aërial parent in an episode. In acquainting Lord Byron with this circumstance, in my answer to the above letter, I added, 'All I ask of your friendship is--not that you will abstain from Peris on my account, for that is too much to ask of human (or, at least, author's) nature--but that, whenever you mean to pay your addresses to any of these aërial ladies, you will, at once, tell me so, frankly and instantly, and let me, at least, have my choice whether I shall be desperate enough to go on, with such a rival, or at once surrender the whole race into your hands, and take, for the future, to Antediluvians with Mr. Montgomery'" (Moore).] [Footnote 8: Brunet, 's.v.' "Breton de la Martinière," gives the title of the work: 'Moeurs, usages costumes des Othomans, et abrégé de leur histoire'. Par A.L. Castellan, Paris, 1812.] [Footnote 9: Maxime LXXXV.: "Nous nous persuadons souvent d'aimer les gens plus puissans que nous, et néanmoins c'est l'interêt seul qui produit notre amitié; nous ne nous donnons pas à eux pour le bien que nous leur voulons faire, mais pour celui que nous en voulons recevoir."] * * * * * 325.--To Thomas Moore. August--September, I mean--1, 1813. I send you, begging your acceptance, Castellan, and three vols. on Turkish literature [1], not yet looked into. The _last_ I will thank you to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent to me by that brightest of Northern constellations, Mackintosh [2],--amongst many other kind things into which India has warmed him; for I am sure your _home_ Scotsman is of a less genial description. Your Peri, my dear M., is sacred and inviolable; I have no idea of touching the hem of her petticoat. Your affectation of a dislike to encounter me is so flattering, that I begin to think myself a very fine fellow. But you are laughing at me--"Stap my vitals, Tam! thou art a very impudent person;" [3] and, if you are not laughing at me, you deserve to be laughed at. Seriously, what on earth can you, or have you, to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? It really puts me out of humour to hear you talk thus. _The Giaour_ I have added to a good deal; but still in foolish fragments. It contains about 1200 lines, or rather more--now printing. You will allow me to send you a copy. You delight me much by telling me that I am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper; for, unluckily, I have the reputation of a very bad one. But they say the devil is amusing when pleased, and I must have been more venomous than the old serpent, to have hissed or stung in your company. It may be, and would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but I know _you_ will believe me when I say, that I am as anxious for your success as one human being can be for another's,--as much as if I had never scribbled a line. Surely the field of fame is wide enough for all; and if it were not, I would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. Now you have a pretty property of some thousand acres there, and when you have passed your present Inclosure Bill, your income will be doubled, (there's a metaphor, worthy of a Templar, namely, pert and low,) while my wild common is too remote to incommode you, and quite incapable of such fertility. I send you (which return per post, as the printer would say) a curious letter from a friend of mine [4], which will let you into the origin of _The Giaour_. Write soon. Ever, dear Moore, yours most entirely, etc. P.S.--This letter was written to me on account of a _different story_ circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a little too close to the text. The part erased contained merely some Turkish names, and circumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very important or decorous. [Footnote 1: Giovanni Battista Toderini (1728-1799) published his work 'Della Letteratura Turchesca', at Venice in 1787. Brunet says, "Cet ouvrage curieux a été traduit en Français, par Cournand. Paris, 1789 ('De La Littérature des Turcs')."] [Footnote 2: "Yes, his manner was cold; his shake of the hand came under the genus 'mortmain;' but his heart was overflowing with benevolence" (Lady Holland's 'Memoir of Sydney Smith', 4th edition, vol. i. p. 440).] [Footnote 3: A reminiscence of Sheridan's 'Trip to Scarborough' (act v. sc. 2), itself borrowed from Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' (act iv. sc. 6), in both of which passages Lord Foppington says, "Strike me dumb, Tam, thou art a very impudent fellow."] [Footnote 4: The following is the letter to which Byron refers: Albany, Monday, August 31, 1813. "MY DEAR BYRON,--You have requested me to tell you all that I heard at Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to while you were there; you have asked me to remember every circumstance, in the remotest degree relating to it, which I heard. In compliance with your wishes, I write to you all I heard, and I cannot imagine it to be very far from the fact, as the circumstances happened only a day or two before I arrived at Athens, and, consequently, was a matter of common conversation at the time. "The new governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the Christians as his predecessor, had, of course, the barbarous Turkish ideas with regard to women. In consequence, and in compliance with the strict letter of the Mohammedan law, he ordered this girl to be sewed up in a sack, and thrown into the sea--as is, indeed, quite customary at Constantinople. As you were returning from bathing in the Piræus, you met the procession going down to execute the sentence of the Waywode on this unhappy girl. Report continues to say, that on finding out what the object of their journey was, and who was the miserable sufferer, you immediately interfered; and on some delay in obeying your orders, you were obliged to inform the leader of the escort that force should make him comply; that, on further hesitation, you drew a pistol, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders, and come back with you to the Aga's house, you would shoot him dead. On this the man turned about and went with you to the governor's house; here you succeeded, partly by personal threats, and partly by bribery and entreaty, in procuring her pardon, on condition of her leaving Athens. I was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off at night to Thebes, where she found a safe asylum. Such is the story I heard, as nearly as I can recollect it at present. Should you wish to ask me any further questions about it, I shall be very ready and willing to answer them. "I remain, my dear Byron, "Yours very sincerely, "Sligo".] * * * * * 326.--To James Wedderburn Webster. September 2nd, 1813. My dear Webster,--You are just the same generous and I fear careless gentleman of the years of _indifferent_ memory 1806. I--; but I must not burthen you with my entire household. Joe [1] is, I believe, necessary for the present as a fixture, to keep possession till every thing is arranged; and were it otherwise, you don't know what a perplexity he would prove--honest and faithful, but fearfully superannuated: now _this_ I ought and do bear, but as he has not been fifty years in your family, it would be rather hard to convert your mansion into a hospital for decayed domestics. Rushton is, or may be made useful, and I am less _compunctious_ on his account. "Will I be Godfather?" [2] Yea, verily! I believe it is the only species of parentage I shall ever encounter, for all my acquaintance, Powerscourt, Jocelyn, yourself, Delawarr, Stanhope, with a long list of happy _etceteras_, are married; most of them my juniors too, and I as single and likely to remain so as, nay more than, if I were seventy. If it is a _girl_ why not also? Georgina, or even _Byron_ will make a classical name for a spinster, if Mr. Richardson's _Sir Charles Grandison_ is any authority in your estimation. My ship is not settled. My passage in the _Boyne_ was only for _one_ Servant, and would not do, of course. You ask after the expense, a question no less interesting to the married than the single. Unless things are much altered, no establishment in the Mediterranean Countries could amount to the quarter of the expenditure requisite in England for the same or an inferior household. I am interrupted, and have only time to offer my best thanks for all your good wishes and intentions, and to beg you will believe me, Equally yours ever, B. P.S.--Rushton shall be sent on Saturday next. [Footnote 1: Joseph Murray] [Footnote 2: Webster's eldest son was christened "Byron Wedderburn." He died young, and when his father told Byron of the child's death, the godfather "almost chuckled with joy or irony," and said, "Well, I cautioned you, and told you that my name would almost damn any thing or creature." (MS. note by Wedderburn Webster.)] * * * * * 327.--To Thomas Moore. Sept. 5, 1813. You need not tie yourself down to a day with Toderini, but send him at your leisure, having anatomised him into such annotations as you want; I do not believe that he has ever undergone that process before, which is the best reason for not sparing him now. Rogers has returned to town, but not yet recovered of the 'Quarterly'. What fellows these reviewers are! "these bugs do fear us all." [1] They made you fight, and me (the milkiest of men) a satirist, and will end by making Rogers madder than Ajax. I have been reading 'Memory' again, the other day, and _Hope_ together, and retain all my preference of the former [2]. His elegance is really wonderful--there is no such thing as a vulgar line in his book. What say you to Buonaparte? Remember, I back him against the field, barring catalepsy and the Elements. Nay, I almost wish him success against all countries but this,--were it only to choke the 'Morning Post', and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious bastard of Scandinavian adoption, Bernadotte. Rogers wants me to go with him on a crusade to the Lakes, and to besiege you on our way. This last is a great temptation, but I fear it will not be in my power, unless you would go on with one of us somewhere--no matter where. It is too late for Matlock, but we might hit upon some scheme, high life or low,--the last would be much the best for amusement. I am so sick of the other, that I quite sigh for a cider-cellar [3], or a cruise in a smuggler's sloop. You cannot wish more than I do that the Fates were a little more accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong _ad infinitum_ without coming a jot nearer. I almost wish I were married, too--which is saying much. All my friends, seniors and juniors, are in for it, and ask me to be godfather,--the only species of parentage which, I believe, will ever come to my share in a lawful way; and, in an unlawful one, by the blessing of Lucina, we can never be certain,--though the parish may. I suppose I shall hear from you to-morrow. If not, this goes as it is; but I leave room for a P.S., in case any thing requires an answer. Ever, etc. No letter--_n'importe_. Rogers thinks the _Quarterly_ will be at _me_ this time; if so, it shall be a war of extermination--no _quarter_. From the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that review, all shall perish by one fatal lampoon. The ties of nature shall be torn asunder, for I will not even spare my bookseller; nay, if one were to include readers also, all the better. [Footnote 1: "Warwick was a bug that feared us all" ('Henry VI'., Part III. act v. se. 2).] [Footnote 2: Byron quoted to Lady Blessington "some passages from the 'Pleasures of Hope', which he said was a poem full of beauties... 'The 'Pleasures of Memory' is a very beautiful poem' (said Byron), 'harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament'" ('Conversations', pp. 352, 353).] [Footnote 3: No. 20, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, was a tavern called the 'Cider Cellars'. Over the entrance was the motto, 'Honos erit huic quoque homo', supplied by Porson, who frequented the house. There Lord Campbell heard him "recite from memory to delighted listeners the whole of Anstey's 'Pleader's Guide'" ('Lives of the Chief Justices', vol. iii. p. 271, note). Mr. Wheatley, in 'London Past and Present, sub voce' "Maiden Lane," says that the "tavern continued to be frequented by young men, and 'much in vogue for devilled kidneys, oysters, and Welch rabbits, cigars, "goes" of brandy, and great supplies of London stout' (also for comic songs), till it was absorbed in the extensions of the Adelphi Theatre."] * * * * * 328.--To Thomas Moore. September 8, 1813. I am sorry to see Toderini again so soon, for fear your scrupulous conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful pamphlet _The Giaour_, which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that I have added much in quantity,--a circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the subject. You stand certainly in great need of a "lift" with Mackintosh. My dear Moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. I should conceive it an affectation in any other; but I think I know you well enough to believe that you don't know your own value. However, 'tis a fault that generally mends; and, in your case, it really ought. I have heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish; and enough to give all your friends the jaundice. Yesterday I had a letter from _Ali Pacha!_ brought by Dr. Holland, who is just returned from Albania [1]. It is in Latin, and begins "Excellentissime _nec non_ Carissime," and ends about a gun he wants made for him;--it is signed "Ali Vizir." What do you think he has been about? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunigunde [2] was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit--children, grandchildren, etc. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree [3],--which is more than I would. So much for "dearest friend." [Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 246 [Letter 131], and 'note' [Footnote 1 of Letter 131]. Dr., afterwards Sir Henry, Holland (1788-1873) published his 'Travels in the Ionian Islands, Albania, etc.', in 1815.] [Footnote: Voltaire's 'Candide', ch. vii.: "On ne vous a done pas violé? on ne vous a point fendu le ventre, comme le philosophe Pangloss me l'avait assuré? Si fait, dit la belle Cunégonde; mais on ne meurt pas toujours de ces deux accidents."] [Footnote 3: The "false Sextus... that wrought the deed of shame," and violated Lucretia.] * * * * * 329.--To Thomas Moore. Sept. 9, 1813. I write to you from Mr. Murray's, and I may say, from Murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work. I can safely recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point of reputation, he stands among the first of "the trade." I am sure he would do you justice. I have written to you so much lately, that you will be glad to see so little now. Ever, etc., etc. * * * * * 330.--To James Wedderburn Webster. September 15th, 1813. My dear Webster,--I shall not resist your second invitation, and shortly after the receipt of this you may expect me. You will excuse me from the races. As a guest I have no "antipathies" and few preferences.... You won't mind, however, my _not_ dining with you--every day at least. When we meet, we can talk over our respective plans: mine is very short and simple; viz. to sail when I can get a passage. If I remained in England I should live in the Country, and of course in the vicinity of those whom I knew would be most agreeable. I did not know that Jack's graven image [1] was at Newstead. If it be, pray transfer it to Aston. It is my hope to see you so shortly, tomorrow or next day, that I will not now trouble you with my speculations. Ever yours very faithfully, BYRON. P.S.--I don't know how I came to sign myself with the "i." It is the old spelling, and I sometimes slip into it. When I say I can't _dine_ with you, I mean that sometimes I don't dine at all. Of course, when I do, I conform to all hours and domestic arrangements. [Footnote 1: "Jack's graven image" means the portrait of John Jackson the pugilist.] * * * * * 331.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Wednesday], Sept'r. 15th, 1813. My dear Augusta,--I joined my friend Scrope about 8, and before eleven we had swallowed six bottles of his burgundy and Claret, which left him very unwell and me rather feverish; we were 'tête à tête'. I remained with him next day and set off last night for London, which I reached at three in the morning. Tonight I shall leave it again, perhaps for Aston or Newstead. I have not yet determined, nor does it much matter. As you perhaps care more on the subject than I do, I will tell you when I know myself. When my departure is arranged, and I can get this long-evaded passage, you will be able to tell me whether I am to expect a visit or not, and I can come for or meet you as you think best. If you write, address to Bennet Street. Yours very truly, B. * * * * * 332.--To John Murray. Sept. 15, 1813. Dear Sir,--Will you pray enquire after any ship with a convoy _taking passengers_ and get me one if possible? I mean not in a ship of war, but anything that may be _paid_ for. I have a friend and 3 servants --Gibraltar or Minorca--or Zante. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 333.--To James Wedderburn Webster. Stilton, September 25th, 1813. My Dear W.,--Thus far can I "report progress," and as a solid token of my remembrance I send you a 'cheese' of 13 lbs. to enable your digestion to go through the race week. It will go to night; pray let your retainers enquire after it. The date of this letter will account for so homely a present. On my arrival in town I will write more on our different concerns. In the mean time I wish you and yours all the gratification on Doncaster you can wish for yourselves. My love to the faithless Nettle [1] (who I dare say is 'wronging' me during my absence), and my best Compliments to all in your house who will receive them. Ever, dear W., yours truly, B. [Footnote 1: A dog given by Webster to Byron. (Note by J. W. W.)] * * * * * 334.--To Sir James Mackintosh. Sept. 27, 1813. Dear Sir James,--I was to have left London on Friday, but will certainly remain a day longer (and believe I _would a year_) to have the honour of meeting you. My best respects to Lady Mackintosh. Ever your obliged and faithful servant, BYRON. * * * * * 335.--To Thomas Moore. September 27, 1813. Thomas Moore,--(Thou wilt never be called "_true_ Thomas," [1] like he of Ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?--as you won't, I must. I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so, you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in _flash_ dialect, is poetically termed "a lark," with Rogers and me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey--the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and--_there_ is his eulogy. ----read me _part_ of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and _looked_--I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have _had_ to defend you--an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending themselves by saying--"Ay, ay, _I_ gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on." But do you know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse;--and do you suppose I will forgive _that_? I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncaster races. It is odd,--I was a visitor in the same house [2] which came to my sire as a residence with Lady Carmarthen (with whom he adulterated before his majority--by the by, remember _she_ was not my mamma),--and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which I should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well--though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have _coveted_, is a sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't "snub me when I'm in spirits." [3] Ever yours, BN. Here's an impromptu for you by a "person of quality," written last week, on being reproached for low spirits: When from the heart where Sorrow sits, Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye: Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink; My Thoughts their dungeon know too well-- Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And bleed within their silent cell. [Footnote 1: Thomas Learmont, of Ercildoune, called "Thomas the Rhymer," is to reappear on earth when Shrove Tuesday and Good Friday change places. He sleeps beneath the Eildon Hills.] [Footnote 2: Aston Hall, Rotherham, at that time rented by J. Wedderburn Webster.] [Footnote 3: In 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.) Tony Lumpkin says, "I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then--snubbing this way when I'm in spirits."] * * * * * 336.--To John Murray. Sept. 29, 1813. Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_ for I am bitten again and have quantities for other parts of _The Giaour_. Yours ever, B. P. S.--You shall have these in the course of the day. * * * * * 337.--To James Wedderburn Webster. September 30th, 1813. My dear Webster,--Thanks for your letter. I had answered it by _anticipation_ last night, and this is but a postscript to my reply. My yesterday's contained some advice, which I now see you don't want, and hope you never will. So! Petersham [1] has not joined you. I pity the poor women. No one can properly repair such a deficiency; but rather than such a chasm should be left utterly unfathomable, I, even I, the most awkward of attendants and deplorable of danglers, would have been of your forlorn hope, on this expedition. Nothing but business, and the notion of my being utterly superfluous in so numerous a party, would have induced me to resign so soon my quiet apartments never interrupted but by the sound, or the more harmonious barking of Nettle, and clashing of billiard balls. On Sunday I shall leave town and mean to join you immediately. I have not yet had my sister's answer to Lady Frances's very kind invitation, but expect it tomorrow. Pray assure Lady Frances that I never can forget the obligation conferred upon me in this respect, and I trust that even Lady Catherine [2] will, in this instance, not question my "stability." I yesterday wrote you rather a long tirade about La Comptesse, but you seem in no immediate peril; I will therefore burn it. Yet I don't know why I should, as you may relapse: it shall e'en go. I have been passing my time with Rogers and Sir James Mackintosh; and once at Holland House I met Southey; he is a person of very _epic_ appearance, and has a fine head--as far as the outside goes, and wants nothing but taste to make the inside equally attractive. Ever, my dear W., yours, Biron. P.S.--I read your letter thus: "the Countess is _miserable_" instead of which it is "_inexorable_" a very different thing. The best way is to let her alone; she must be a _diablesse_ by what you told me. You have probably not _bid_ high enough. _Now_ you are not, perhaps, of my opinion; but I would not give the tithe of a Birmingham farthing for a woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman _quoad mere woman_; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than her sex. If she _loves_, a little _pique_ is not amiss, nor even if she don't; the next thing to a woman's _love_ in a man's favour is her _hatred_,--a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of _indifference_ and circumstance, and their passions will do wonders for a _dasher_ which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or patience to follow them up. [Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day. Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him "making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually supersede every other." His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to a fashionable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the year. Gronow ('ibid'.) "heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sèvres box he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.'" Lord Petersham, who never went out of doors before 6 p.m., was celebrated for his brown carriages, brown horses, brown harness, and brown liveries.] [Footnote 2: Lady Catherine Annesley, sister of Lady F. W. Webster, afterwards Lady John Somerset.] * * * * * 338.--To Francis Hodgson. October 1, 1813. My Dear H.,--I leave town again for Aston on Sunday, but have messages for you. Lord Holland desired me repeatedly to bring you; he wants to know you much, and begged me to say so: you will like him. I had an invitation for you to dinner there this last Sunday, and Rogers is perpetually screaming because you don't call, and wanted you also to dine with him on Wednesday last. Yesterday we had Curran there--who is beyond all conception! and Mackintosh and the wits are to be seen at H. H. constantly, so that I think you would like their society. I will be a judge between you and the attorneo. So B[utler] may mention me to Lucien if he still adheres to his opinion. Pray let Rogers be one; he has the best taste extant. Bland's nuptials delight me; if I had the least hand in bringing them about it will be a subject of selfish satisfaction to me these three weeks. Desire Drury--if he loves me--to kick Dwyer thrice for frightening my horses with his flame-coloured whiskers last July. Let the kicks be hard, etc. * * * * * 339.--To Thomas Moore. October 2, 1813. You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that--I swear by all the saints--I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran [1] at Holland House--he beats every body;--his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics--I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I should make my Scamander [2]. He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you--a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his! He absolutely changes it entirely. I have done--for I can't describe him, and you know him. On Sunday I return to Aston, where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night. Saturday morn.--Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did _not suspect_ you in _earnest_. Modest again! Because I don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, I "don't fear your competition." If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I _should_ dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Go on--it will soon be my turn to forgive. To-day I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. _Stale_--as John Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne--whom I saw last night, at Covent Garden, yawning over the humour of Falstaff. The reputation of "gloom," if one's friends are not included in the _reputants_, is of great service; as it saves one from a legion of impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. But thou know'st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely _larmoyant_. Murray shall reinstate your line forthwith. [3] I believe the blunder in the motto was mine;--and yet I have, in general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first. I do "blush" very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M.;--but luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu. [Footnote 1: Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc'., p. 161) regretted "that so little of Curran's brilliant talk has been preserved." John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), after accepting the Mastership of the Rolls in Ireland (1806), spent much of his time in England. He retired from the Bench, where he never shone, in 1814. In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs the following passage: "I was much struck with the simplicity of Grattan's manners in private life. They were odd, but they were natural. Curran used to take him off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking God that he had no peculiarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly ludicrous. Rogers used to call him a 'Sentimental Harlequin;' but Rogers backbites everybody, and Curran, who used to quiz his great friend Godwin to his very face, would hardly respect a fair mark of mimicry in another. To be sure, Curran _was_ admirable! to hear his description of the examination of an Irish witness was next to hearing his own speeches; the latter I never heard, but I have the former." Elsewhere ('ibid'.) he returns to the subject: "Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most--such imagination! There never was anything like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His _published_ life--his published speeches--give you no idea of the man; none at all. He was a _Machine_ of imagination, as some one said that Piron was an 'Epigrammatic Machine.' I did not see a great deal of Curran,--only in 1813; but I met him at home (for he used to call on me), and in society, at Mackintosh's, Holland House, etc., etc. And he was wonderful, even to me, who had seen many remarkable men of the time." The following notes on this passage are in the handwriting of Walter Scott: "When Mathews first began to imitate Curran in Dublin--in society, I mean,--Curran sent for him and said, the moment he entered the room, 'Mr. Mathews, you are a first-rate artist, and, since you are to do my picture, pray allow me to give you a sitting.' Everyone knows how admirably Mathews succeeded in furnishing at last the portraiture begun under these circumstances. No one was more aware of the truth than Curran himself. In his latter and feeble days, he was riding in Hyde Park one morning, bowed down over the saddle and bitterly dejected in his air. Mathews happened to observe and saluted him. Curran stopped his horse for a moment, squeezed Charles by the hand, and said in that deep whisper which the comedian so exquisitely mimics, 'Don't speak to me, my dear Mathews; you are the only Curran now!'" "Did you know Curran?" asked Byron of Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 176); "he was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In him was combined an imagination the most brilliant and profound, with a flexibility and wit that would have justified the observation applied to----, that his heart was in his head." Moore ('Journal, etc.', vol. i. p. 40) quotes a couplet by Mrs. Battier upon Curran, which "commemorates in a small compass two of his most striking peculiarities, namely, his very unprepossessing personal appearance, and his great success, notwithstanding, in pursuits of gallantry...: "'For though his monkey face might fail to woo her, Yet, ah! his monkey tricks would quite undo her.'"] [Footnote 2: In the spurious letters of Æschines (Letter x.) is a passage which explains the allusion. "It is the custom of maidens, on the eve of their marriage, to wash in the waters of the Scamander, and then to utter this almost sacred formula, 'Take, O Scamander, my virginity' ([Greek: to èpos toûto hosper hierón ti epilégein, Lhabé mou Scámandre tàen parthénian)."] [Footnote 3: "The motto to 'The Giaour': One fatal remembrance--one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,' etc. "which is taken from one of the 'Irish Melodies', had been quoted by him incorrectly in the first editions of the poem". (Moore).] * * * * * 340.--To John Murray. Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813. Dear Sir,--I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof to be sent to Aston.--Among the lines on Hassan's Serai, not far from the beginning, is this: Unmeet for Solitude to share. Now to share implies more than _one_, and Solitude is a single gentlewoman; it must be thus: For many a gilded chamber's there, Which Solitude might well forbear; and so on.--My address is Aston Hall, Rotherham. Will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your trouble. Ever yours, B. P.S.--I leave this to your discretion; if any body thinks the old line a good one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But, in that case, the word _share_ is repeated soon after in the line: To share the Master's "bread and salt;" and must be altered to: To break the Master's bread and salt. This is not so well, though--confound it! If the old line stands, let the other run thus: Nor there will weary traveller halt, To bless the sacred "bread and salt." _Note_.--To partake of food--to break bread and taste salt with your host--ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred. There is another additional note sent yesterday--on the Priest in the Confessional. * * * * * 341.--To John Hanson. Nottingham, Octr. 10th, 1813. Dear Sir,--I am disposed to advance a loan of £1000 to James Webster Wedderburne Webster, Esqre., of Aston Hall, York County, and request you will address to me _there a bond_ and _judgement_ to be signed by the said as soon as possible. Of Claughton's payments I know nothing further, and the demands on myself I know also; but W. is a very old friend of mine, and a man of property, and, as I can command the money, he shall have it. I do not at all wish to inconvenience you, and I also know that, when we balance accounts, it will be much in your favour; but if you could replace the sum at Hoare's from my advance of two thousand eight hundred in July, it would be a favour; or, still better, if C. makes further payments, which will render it unnecessary. Don't let the first part of the last sentence embarrass you at all; the last part about Claughton I would wish you to attend to. I have written this day--about his opening the cellar. Pray send the bond and judgement to Aston as directed. Ever, dear Sir, B. P.S.--Many, many thanks for your kind invitation; but it was too late. I was in this county before it arrived. My best remembrances to Mrs. H. and all the family. * * * * * 342.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. [Sunday], October 10th, 1813. My dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I am not in the least angry, and that my silence has merely arisen from several circumstances which I cannot now detail. I trust you are better, and will continue _best_. Ever, my dearest, Yours, B. * * * * * 343.--To John Murray. Oct. 12, 1813. Dear Sir,--You must look 'The Giaour' again over carefully; there are a few lapses, particularly in the last page,--"I _know_ 'twas false; she could not die;" it was, and ought to be--"_knew_." Pray observe this and similar mistakes. I have received and read the 'British Review' [1]. I really think the writer in most parts very right. The only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation. _Crabbe's passage_ I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his _lyric_ measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. 'The Giaour' is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous: and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few proselytes. I shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you please; but don't put yourself out of your way on my account. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: 'The British Review' (No. ix.) criticized 'The Giaour' severely (pp. 132-145). "Lord Byron," it says, "has had the bad taste to imitate Mr. Walter Scott" (p. 135). Further on (p. 139) it charges him with borrowing a simile from Crabbe's 'Resentment'. The passage to which the reviewer alludes will be found in lines 11-16 of that poem: "Those are like wax--apply them to the fire, Melting, they take th' impressions you desire: Easy to mould, and fashion as you please, And again moulded with an equal ease: Like smelted iron these the forms retain; But, once impress'd, will never melt again."] * * * * * 344.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh. (Monday), Nov'r. 8th, 1813. My Dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I shall write tomorrow, and that my present and long silence has been occasioned by a thousand things (with which _you_ are not concerned). It is not L'y C. nor O.; but perhaps you may _guess_, and, if you do, do not tell. You do not know what mischief your being with me might have prevented. You shall hear from me tomorrow; in the mean time don't be alarmed. I am in _no immediate_ peril. Believe me, ever yours, B. * * * * * 345.--To John Murray. (Nov. 12, 1813. With first proof of _Bride of Abydos_ correct.) Dear Sir,--I have looked over--corrected--and added--_all_ of which you may do too--at least _certainly_ the _two_ first. There is more MS. _within_. Let me know tomorrow at your leisure _how_ and _when_ we shall proceed! It looks better than I thought at first. _Look over_ again. I suspect some omissions on my part and on the printers'. Yours ever, B. Always print "een" "even." I utterly abhor "een"--if it must be contracted, be it "ev'n." * * * * * 346.--To William Gifford. November 12, 1813. My Dear Sir,--I hope you will consider, when I venture on any request, that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and is addressed, _not_ to "The Editor of the 'Quarterly Review'" but to Mr. Gifford. You will understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther. You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.--a Turkish story, and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor "obliged by hunger and request of friends," [1] but in a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to "us youth," that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was composed. Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to you. He has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter. I beg you will _not_ send me any answer. I assure you very sincerely I know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers. A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames or "A hundred hawkers' load, On wings of wind to fly or fall abroad." It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' [2], (by the by, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each. Believe me ever, Your obliged and affectionate servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Pope, 'Epistle to Arbuthnot', l. 44.] [Footnote 2: Horace, 'Sat'. 1. iv. 10.] * * * * * 347.--To John Murray. Nov. 12, 1813. Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons. As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation. You say all the last of 'The Giaour' [1] are gone--at least out of your hands. Now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the reader (I mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add "'The Bride of Abydos'," which will thus steal quietly into the world [2]: if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of former "Giaours;" and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication. What think you? I really am no judge of those things; and, with all my natural partiality for one's own productions, I would rather follow any one's judgment than my own. P.S.--Pray let me have the proofs. I sent _all_ to-night. I have some alterations that I have thought of that I wish to make speedily. I hope the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a mile-long, ballad-singing sheet, as those of 'The Giaour' sometimes are: for then I can't read them distinctly. [Footnote 1: In 'Accepted Addresses; or, Premium Poetarum', pp. 50-52 (1813), 'Address' xvii. is from "Lord B----n to J. M----y, Book-seller." The address itself runs as follows: "A Turkish tale I shall unfold, A sweeter tale was never told; But then the facts, I must allow, Are in the east not common now; Tho' in the 'olden time,' the scene My Goaour (_sic_) describes had often been. What is the cause! Perhaps the fair Are now more cautious than they were; Perhaps the Christians not so bold, So enterprising as of old. No matter what the cause may be, It is a subject fit for me. "Take my disjointed fragments then, The offspring of a willing pen. And give them to the public, pray, On or before the month of May. Yes, my disjointed fragments take, But do not ask _how much they'll make_. Perhaps not fifty pages--well, I in a little space can tell Th' adventures of an infidel; Of _quantity_ I never boast, For _quality_'s, approved of most. "It is a handsome sum to touch, Induces authors to write much; But in this much, alas! my friend, How little is there to commend. So, Mr. M----y, I disdain, To sacrifice my muse for gain. I wish it to be understood, The little which I write is good. "I do not like the quarto size, Th' octavo, therefore, I advise. Then do not, Mr. M----y, fail, To publish this, my Turkish Tale; For tho' the volume may be thin, A thousand readers it will win; And when my pages they explore, They'll gladly read them o'er and o'er; And all the ladies, I engage, With tears will moisten every page."] [Footnote 2: John Murray writes, in an undated letter to Byron, "Mr. Canning returned the poem to-day with very warm expressions of delight. I told him your delicacy as to separate publication, of which he said you should remove every apprehension."] * * * * * 348.--To John Murray. Nov. 13, 1813. Will you forward the letter to Mr. Gifford with the proof? There is an alteration I may make in Zuleika's speech, in second canto (the only one of _hers_ in that canto). It is now thus: And curse--if I could curse--the day. It must be: And mourn--I dare not curse--the day, That saw my solitary birth, etc., etc. Ever yours, B. In the last MS. lines sent, instead of "living heart," correct to "quivering heart." It is in line 9th of the MS. passage. Ever yours again, B. * * * * * 349.--To John Murray. Alteration of a line in Canto 2nd. Instead of: And tints to-morrow with a _fancied_ ray Print: And tints to-morrow with _prophetic_ ray. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray; Or, And {_gilds_/tints} the hope of Morning with its ray; Or, And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray. Dear Sir,--I wish you would ask Mr. G. which of them is best, or rather _not worst_. Ever yours, B. You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the _revise, after_ I have seen the _said revise_. * * * * * 350.--To John Murray. Nov. 13, 1813. Certainly. Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with _Adam_, and _Eve_, and _Cain,_ [1] and _Noah_?--Surely, I might have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses, or the other. When you know that _Zuleika_ is the _Persian poetical_ name for _Potiphar's_ wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem in the Persian, this will not surprise you. If you want authority look at Jones, D'Herbelot, 'Vathek', or the notes to the 'Arabian Nights'; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a _note_. Alter, in the inscription, "the most affectionate respect," to "with every sentiment of regard and respect," [Footnote 1: "Some doubt had been expressed by Murray as to the propriety of his putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman." (Moore).] * * * * * 351.--To John Murray. Nov. 14, 1813. I send you a note for the _ignorant_, but I really wonder at finding _you_ among them. I don't care one lump of Sugar for my _poetry_; but for my _costume_, and my _correctness_ on those points (of which I think the _funeral_ was a proof), I will combat lustily. Yours ever, B. * * * * * 352.--To John Murray. November 15, 1813. DEAR SIR,--Mr. Hodgson has looked over and _stopped_, or rather _pointed_, this revise, which must be the one to print from. He has also made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flattering critic of mine. _He_ likes it (you will think _flatteringly_, in this instance) better than 'The Giaour', but doubts (and so do I) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others, advises a separate publication. On this we can easily decide. I confess I like the _double_ form better. Hodgson says, it is _better versified_ than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more _hours_ at a time) than any attempt I ever made. Yours ever, B. P.S.--Do attend to the punctuation: I can't, for I don't know a comma--at least where to place one. That Tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and _perhaps more_, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy? I have reinserted the 2, but they were in the manuscript, I can swear. * * * * * 353.--To John Murray. November 17, 1813. My Dear Sir,--That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like "the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more," [1] makes conversation not very pleasant, I think it as well to _write_ a few lines on the topic.--Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of 'The Giaour'; and my answer was--from which I do not mean to recede--that we would discuss the point at Christmas. The new story may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its expences--but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or the other, we will say nothing about it. Thus then be it: I will postpone all arrangement about it, and 'The Giaour' also, till Easter, 1814; and you shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two. At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own estimation at half 'The Giaour'; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first, which has already had its success [2]. My account with you since my last payment (which I believe cleared it off within five pounds) I presume has not _much_ increased--but whatever it is have the goodness to send it to me--that I may at least meet you on even terms. The pictures of Phillips I consider as _mine_, all three; and the one (not the Arnaut) of the two best is much at _your service_, if you will accept it as a present, from Yours very truly, BIRON. P.S.--The expence of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that detestable print from it immediately. [Footnote 1: 'The What d'ye call't?' by John Gay (act ii. sc. 9): "So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more."] [Footnote 2: Murray replies, November 18, 1813, "I restore the 'Giaour' to your Lordship entirely, and for 'it', the 'Bride of Abydos', and the miscellaneous poems intended to fill up the volume of the small edition, I beg leave to offer you the sum of One Thousand Guineas, and I shall be happy if you perceive that my estimation of your talents in my character of a man of business is not much under my admiration of them as a man."] * * * * * 354.--To John Murray. November 20, 1813. More work for the _Row_. I am doing my best to beat "_The Giaour_"--_no_ difficult task for any one but the author. Yours truly, B. * * * * * 355.--To John Murray. November 22, 1813. DEAR SIR,--I have no time to _cross_-investigate, but I believe and hope all is right. I care less than you will believe about its success, but I can't survive a single _misprint_; it _choaks_ me to see words misused by the Printers. Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me. Ever yours, B. P.S.--Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Canning, Mr. Heber, Mr. Gifford, Lord Holland, Lady Melbourne (Whitehall), Lady C. L. (Brocket), Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge), Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author. * * * * * 356.--To John Murray. November 23, 1813. DEAR SIR,--You wanted some _reflections_, and I send you _per Selim_ (see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46.), eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an _ethical_ tendency. One more revise--poz. the _last_, if decently done--at any rate the _pen_ultimate. Mr. Canning's approbation (_if_ he did approve) I need not say makes me proud [1]. As to printing, print as you will and how you will--by itself, if you like; but let me have a few copies in _sheets_. Ever yours, B. [Footnote 1: Canning wrote the following note to Murray: "I received the books, and, among them, 'The Bride of Abydos'. It is very, very beautiful. Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at dinner at Mr. Ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. I mention this, not to save my purchase, but because I should be really flattered by the present. I can now say that I have read enough of Mad. de Staël to be highly pleased and instructed by her. The second volume delights me particularly. I have not yet finished the third, but am taking it with me on my journey to Liverpool."] * * * * * 357.--To John Murray. November 24, 1813. You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good: it must be thus: He makes a Solitude, and calls it Peace. "_Makes_" is closer to the passage of Tacitus [1], from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than "_leaves_." Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease-- He makes a Solitude, and calls it--peace. You will perceive that the sense is now clearer, the "_He_" refers to "_Man_" in the preceding couplet. Yours ever, B. [Footnote 1: "Solitudinem faciunt--pacem appellant." Tacitus, 'Agricola', 30.] * * * * * 358.--To John Murray. November 27, 1813. Dear Sir,--If you look over this carefully by the _last proof_ with my corrections, it is probably right; this _you_ can _do_ as well or better;--I have not now time. The copies I mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new Giaours, if it also is ready. If not, send 'The Giaour' afterwards. The 'Morning Post' says _I_ am the author of 'Nourjahad' [1]!! This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not worth a _formal contradiction_. Besides, the criticisms on the _supposition_ will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. The _Orientalism_--which I hear is very splendid--of the Melodrame (whosever it is, and I am sure I don't know) is as good as an Advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling their heads with glitter. Yours ever, B. P.S.--You will of course _say_ the truth, that I am _not_ the Melo-dramatist--if any one charges me in your presence with the performance. [Footnote 1: The same charge is made in the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. p. 508). 'Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad', was acted at Drury Lane, November 25, 1813. It is described by Genest ('The English Stage', vol. viii. p. 403) as "a Melo-dramatic spectacle in three acts by an anonymous author." "Nourjahad" was acted by Elliston; "Mandane," his wife, by Mrs. Horn.] * * * * * 359.--To John Murray. November 28, 1813. Dear Sir,--Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady Holland of the _Journal_ [1], in my name, when you receive this; it is for _Earl Grey_--and I will relinquish my own. Also to Mr. Sharpe, Lady Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of _The Bride_, as soon as convenient. Ever yours, BIRON. P.S.--Mr. W. and myself still continue our purpose; but I shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of _The Giaour_ and _The Bride_ till our return,--or, at any rate, before _May_, 1814,--that is, six months from hence: and before that time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one: if so, you can deduct proportionably; and if not, I shall not at any rate allow you to go higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair. I have had--but this must be _entre nous_--a very kind note, on the subject of _The Bride_, from Sir James Mackintosh, and an invitation to go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept [2]. [Footnote 1: The Rev. John Eagles (1783-1855), scholar, artist, and contributor (1831-55) to 'Blackwood's Magazine', edited 'The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman', which Murray published in 1815.] [Footnote 2: "Lord Byron is the author of the day; six thousand of his 'Bride of Abydos' have been sold within a month." Sir James Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 271).] * * * * * 360.--To John Murray. November 29, 1813. Sunday--Monday morning--three o'clock--in my doublet and hose,--_swearing_. Dear Sir,--I send you in time an Errata page, containing an omission of mine [1], which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text. The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines. Pray let this be done, and directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book(-_making_), and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the _public_. Answer me, thou Oracle, in the affirmative. You can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the _Critical_ copyholders. Ever yours, BIRON. P.S.--I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep, whether I had amended this or not), and so good morning. I am trying whether _De l'Allemagne_ will act as an opiate, but I doubt it. [Footnote 1: 'The Bride of Abydos', Canto II. stanza xx. The lines were: "Then, if my lip once murmurs, it must be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee."] * * * * * 361.--To John Murray. November 29, 1813. "_You have looked at it!_" to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand; it is _not_ "_courage_" but "_carnage_;" and if you don't want me to cut my own throat, see it altered. I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden. * * * * * 362.--To John Murray. Nov. 29, 1813, Monday. Dear Sir,--You will act as you please upon that point; but whether I go or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May--nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself. I have many things I wish to leave to your care, principally papers. The _vases_ need not be now sent, as Mr. W. is gone to Scotland. You are right about the Er[rata] page; place it at the beginning. Mr. Perry is a little premature in his compliments [1]: these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think _we_ ought to be above it--though I see the next paragraph is on the 'Journal' [2], which makes me suspect _you_ as the author of both. Would it not have been as well to have said in 2 cantos in the advertisement? they will else think of _fragments_, a species of composition very well for _once_, like _one ruin_ in a _view_; but one would not build a town of them. 'The Bride', such as it is, is my first _entire_ composition of any length (except the Satire, and be damned to it), for 'The Giaour' is but a string of passages, and 'Childe Harold' is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded. I return Mr. Hay's note, with thanks to him and you. There have been some epigrams on Mr. W[ard]: one I see to-day [3]. The first I did not see, but heard yesterday. The second seems very bad and Mr. P[erry] has placed it over _your_ puff. I only hope that Mr. W. does not believe that I had any connection with either. The Regent is the only person on whom I ever expectorated an epigram, or ever should; and even if I were disposed that way, I like and value Mr. W. too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intended to annoy him or his. You need not take the trouble to answer this, as I shall see you in the course of the afternoon. Yours very truly, B. P.S.--I have said this much about the epigrams, because I live so much in the _opposite camp_, and, from my post as an Engineer, might be suspected as the flinger of these hand Grenadoes; but with a worthy foe I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have [not] had, nor will have, any thing to do with it. I do not know the author. [Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle', November 29, 1813, appeared the following paragraph: "Lord Byron's muse is extremely fruitful. He has another poem coming out, entitled 'The Bride of Abydos', which is spoken of in terms of the highest encomium."] [Footnote 2: 'Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman.'] [Footnote 3: "Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it;-- He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."] * * * * * 363.--To John Murray. Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813. Dear Sir,--For the sake of correctness, particularly in an Errata page, the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the _proof_ early to-morrow. I found out _murmur_ to be a neuter _verb_, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus: The deepest murmur of this life shall be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee! Don't send the copies to the _country_ till this is all right. Yours, B. * * * * * 364.--To Thomas Moore. November 30, 1813. Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and indifferent,--not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to whom _your_ thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. We were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your French quotation [1] was confoundedly to the purpose,--though very _unexpectedly_ pertinent, as you may imagine by what I _said_ before, and my silence since. However, "Richard's himself again," [2] and except all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about the matter. All convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, I have scribbled another Turkish story [3]--not a Fragment--which you will receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in the least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. You will think, and justly, that I run some risk of losing the little I have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written this, and published it, for the sake of the _employment_,--to wring my thoughts from reality, and take refuge in "imaginings," however "horrible;" [4] and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a failure--excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less,--and so, let it go----. P.S.--Ward and I _talk_ of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch canal looks after the Bosphorus. Pray respond. [Footnote 1: Moore wrote to Byron in 1813 an undated letter, in which the following passage occurs: "I am sorry I must wait till 'we are veterans' before you will open to me 'the story of your wandering life, wherein you find more hours _due to repentance_ ... than time hath told you yet.' Is it so with you, or are you, like me, reprobate enough to look back with complacency on what you have done? I suppose repentance _must bring up the rear_ with us all; but at present I should say with old Fontenelle, _Si je recommençais ma carrière, je ferais tout ce que j'ai fait_."] [Footnote 2: Colley Cibber's 'Richard III', act v. sc. 3: "Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again."] [Footnote 3: 'The Bride of Abydos' was published December, 1813.] [Footnote 4: "Horrible imaginings." 'Macbeth', act i. sc. 3.] * * * * * 365.--To Francis Hodgson. Nov'r--Dec'r 1st, 1813. I have just heard that _Knapp_ is acquainted with what I was but too happy in being enabled to do for you [1]. Now, my dear Hn., you, or Drury, must have told this, for, upon my own honour, not even to Scrope, nor to one soul, (Drury knew it before) have I said one syllable of the matter. So don't be out of humour with me about it, but you can't be more so than I am. I am, however, glad of one thing; if you ever conceived it to be in the least an obligation, this disclosure most fairly and fully releases you from it: "To John I owe some obligation, But John unluckily thinks fit To publish it to all the nation, So John and I are more than quit." And so there's an end of the matter. Ward _wavers_ a little about the Dutch, till matters are more sedative, and the French more sedentary. The 'Bride' will blush upon you in a day or two; there is _much_, at least a _little_ addition. I am happy to say that Frere and Heber, and some other "good men and true," have been kind enough to adopt the same opinion that you did. Pray write when you like, and believe me, Ever yours, BYRON. P.S.--Murray has _offered_ me a thousand guineas for the _two_ ('Giaour' and 'Bride'), and told M'e. de Stael that he had _paid_ them to me!! I should be glad to be able to tell her so too. But the truth is, he would; but I thought the fair way was to decline it till May, and, at the end of 6 months, he can safely say whether he can afford it or not--without running any risk by Speculation. If he paid them now and lost by it, it would be hard. If he gains, it will be time enough when he has already funded his profits. But he needed not have told "_la Baronne_" such a devil of an uncalled for piece of--premature _truth_, perhaps--but, nevertheless, a _lie_ in the mean time. [Footnote 1: Hodgson, now engaged to Miss Tayler, was anxious to clear off his father's liabilities. Byron gave him from first to last the sum of £1500 for the purpose. Hodgson, in a letter to his uncle, thus describes the gift ('Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 268, 269): "My noble-hearted friend, Lord Byron, after many offers of a similar kind, which I felt bound to refuse, has irresistibly in my present circumstances ... volunteered to pay all my debts, and within a few pounds it is done! Oh, if you knew (but _you_ do know) the exultation of heart, aye, and of head too, I feel at being free from these depressing embarrassments, you would, as I do, bless my dearest friend and brother Byron."] * * * * * 366.--To John Murray. Dec. 2, 1813. Dear Sir,--When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the Errata page. I trust it is in time for some of the copies. This alteration is in the same part--the page _but one_ before the last correction sent. Yours, etc., B. P.S.--I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped. This comes of Mr. Perry and one's wise friends; but do not _you_ wind _your_ hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and I have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both. * * * * * 367.--To Leigh Hunt. 4, Bennet St., Dec. 2, 1813. My dear Sir,--Few things could be more welcome than your note, and on Saturday morning I will avail myself of your permission to thank you for it in person. My time has not been passed, since we met, either profitably or agreeably. A very short period after my last visit, an incident occurred with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic. That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness. Then I nearly incurred a lawsuit on the sale of an estate; but that is now arranged: next--but why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details? I merely wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a mind, occupied by what is called pleasure (_not_ in the true sense of Epicurus), that kept me away; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease. I hate being _larmoyant_, and making a serious face among those who are cheerful. It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent. I have been lucky enough to preserve some friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now) select them lightly, I shall not lose them capriciously. I have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit [1] which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering. You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were composing, when Moore and I partook of your hospitality in the summer. I hope a time will come when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the _latter_--for the rhyme, at least in _quantity_, you are in arrear to both. Believe me, very truly and affectionately yours, Byron. [Footnote 1: The following is Leigh Hunt's answer: "My dear Lord,--I need not tell you how much your second letter has gratified me, for I am apt to speak as sincerely as I think (you must suffer me to talk in this way after what you have been kind enough to say of my independence), and it always rejoices me to find that those whom I wish to regard will take me at my word. But I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship's good opinion. I shall be heartily glad to see you on Saturday morning, and perhaps shall prevail upon you to take a luncheon with us at our dinner-time(3). The nature of your letter would have brought upon you a long answer, filled perhaps with an enthusiasm that might have made you smile; but I am keeping your servant in the cold, and so, among other good offices, you see what he has done for you. However, I would not make a light thing of so good a matter as I mean my enthusiasm to be, and intend, before I have done, that you shall have as sound a regard for it, as I have for the feelings on your Lordship's part that have called it forth. "Yours, my dear Lord, most sincerely and cordially, "Leigh Hunt. "Surrey Jail, 2'd Dec'r., 1813."] * * * * * 368.--To John Murray. Dec. 3, 1813. I send you a _scratch_ or _two_, the which _heal_. The _Christian Observer_ [1] is very savage, but certainly uncommonly well written--and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author. I rather suspect you won't much like the _present_ to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes. Let me see a proof of the _six_ before _incorporation_. [Footnote 1: The 'Christian Observer' for November, 1813 (pp. 731-737) felt compelled to review 'The Giaour', because of its extraordinary popularity; but it found that some of the passages savoured "too much of Newgate and Bedlam for our expurgated pages." It acknowledged one obligation to Byron. "He never attempts to deceive the world by representing the profligate as happy.... And his testimony is of the more value, as his situation in life must have permitted him to see the experiment tried under the most favourable circumstances. He has probably seen more than one example of young men of high birth, talents, and expectancies, ... sink under the burden of unsubdued tempers, licentious alliances, and ennervating indulgence.... He has _seen_ all this; nay, perhaps--But we check our pen," etc., etc.] * * * * * 369.--To John Murray. Dec. 3, 1813. My dear Sir,--Look out the Encyclopedia article _Mecca_ whether it is there or at _Medina_ the Prophet is entombed, if at Medina the first lines of my alteration must run: Blest as the call which from Medina's dome Invites Devotion to her Prophet's tomb, etc. If at "Mecca" the lines may stand as before. Page 45, C°. 2nd, 'Bride of Abydos'. Yours, B. You will find this out either by Article _Mecca, Medina_ or _Mahommed_. I have no book of reference by me. * * * * * 370.--To John Murray. [No date.] Did you look out? is it _Medina_ or _Mecca_ that contains the _holy_ Sepulchre? don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. I have no books of reference or I would save you the trouble. I _blush_ as a good Mussulman to have confused the point. Yours, B. * * * * * 371.--To John Murray. Dec. 4, 1813. Dear Sir,--I have redde through your Persian Tales [1], and have taken the liberty of making some remarks on the _blank_ pages. There are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and I cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the _date_ of the _hour--two o'clock_,--till which it has kept me awake _without a yawn_. The conclusion is not quite correct in _costume_: there is no _Mussulman suicide_ on record--at least for _love_. But this matters not. The tale must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish him, and he deserves, success. Will you apologise to the author for the liberties I have taken with his MS.? Had I been less awake to, and interested in, his theme, I had been less obtrusive; but you know _I_ always take this in good part, and I hope he will. It is difficult to say what _will_ succeed, and still more to pronounce what _will not_. _I_ am at this moment in _that uncertainty_ (on your _own_ score); and it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to _charm_ and _fix_ a _mind's_ attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament. That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the _doubt_, of Yours truly, B. [Footnote 1: Henry Gally Knight (1786-1846), who was with Byron at Trinity, Cambridge, and afterwards distinguished himself by his architectural writings (e.g. 'The Normans in Sicily,' 1838), began his literary career with 'Ilderim, a Syrian Tale' (1816). 'Phrosyne, a Grecian Tale'; 'Alashtar, an Arabian Tale' (1817), was followed, after a considerable interval, by 'Eastern Sketches' (about 1829-30). If the manuscript of the first-mentioned volume is that to which Byron refers, he seems to have changed his mind as to its merits (March 25, 1817): "I tried at 'Ilderim;' Ahem!"] * * * * * 372.--To John Murray. Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813. Dear Sir,--It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which _must_ be corrected with the _pen_, if no other way remains; it is the omission of "_not_" before "_disagreeable_" in the _note_ on the _amber_ rosary. This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the Threshold--I mean the _misnomer_ of bride. Pray do not let a copy go without the "_not_;" it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense, as it now stands. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire. Yours ever, B. P.S.--It is still _hath_ instead of _have_ in page 20.; never was any one so _misused_ as I am by your Devils of printers. P.S.--I hope and trust the "_not_" was inserted in the first Edition. We must have something--any thing--to set it right. It is enough to answer for one's own bulls, without other people's. * * * * * 373.--To Thomas Moore. December 8, 1813. Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you,--not in a formal inscription, as to one's _elders_,--but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of _your_ poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than _once_ repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which _ecce signum!_ When I was at Aston, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of--I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to myself--but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your "Oh breathe not," "When the last glimpse," and "When he who adores thee," with others of the same minstrel;--they are my matins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not _La Donna_, but _Il Marito_, with a very grave face, saying, "Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least of those songs." I stared, and said, "Certainly, but why?"--"To tell you the truth," quoth he, "they make my wife _cry_, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them." Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases--at least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire,--and surely no one was ever so popular in both,--I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all _you_ can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a _Cossac_ like me can appal a _cuirassier_. Your story I did not, could not, know,--I thought only of a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, I yet hope, this _clashing_ will not even now deprive them of [1]. Mine is the work of a week, written, _why_ I have partly told you, and partly I cannot tell you by letter--some day I will. Go on--I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for 'The Giaour' and such "horrid mysteries." The only advantage I have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If _your chamber_ was furnished in the same way, you have no need to _go there_ to describe--I mean only as to _accuracy_--because I drew it from recollection. This last thing of mine _may_ have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. Come out--"screw your courage to the sticking-place." [2] Except the _Post Bag_ (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been _regularly_ out for some years. No man stands higher,--whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat. "Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a été, peut-être, plus complètement le poëte du coeur et le poëte des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir représenté le monde ní tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit être; _mais les femmes répondent qu'il l'a représenté tel qu'elles le désirent._" I should have thought Sismondi [3] had written this for you instead of Metastasio. Write to me, and tell me of _yourself_. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one--"Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself." P.S.--The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism,--but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was _mutual_. I have met with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not--at least the bad part--be applied to you or me, though _one_ of us has certainly an indifferent name--but this it is:--"Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives". I need not add it is a woman's saying--a Mademoiselle de Sommery's [4]. [Footnote 1: "Among the stories intended to be introduced into 'Lalla Rookh', which I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of 'The Bride', and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject--the Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to whom I had even given the name of 'Zelim,' and who was a descendant of Ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord Byron on the subject: 'I chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to aim at vigour and strong feeling after 'you' is hopeless;--that region "was made for Cæsar."'" (Moore).] [Footnote 2: 'Macbeth', act i. sc. 7.] [Footnote 3: 'De la Littérature du Midi de l'Europe', ed. 1813, tom. ii. p. 436.] [Footnote 4: Grimm ('Correspondance Littéraire', ed. 1813, part iii. tom ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790, "Que de gens ont la réputation d'être méchans, avec lesquels on serait trop heureux de passer sa vie." The 'Biographie Universelle' says of her, "Elle avait du talent pour écrire; mais elle ne l'exerça que fort tard .... Le premier livre qu'elle publia, n'étant plus très jeune, fut un recueil de pensées détachées, dédié aux mânes de Saurin, qu'elle intitula 'Doutes sur differentes Opinions reçues dans la Societé'. Ce recueil eut un véritable succés." Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the 'Doutes' (1782), 'Lettres de Madame la Comtesse de L. à M. le Comte de R'. (1785); 'Lettres de Mlle. de Tourville à Madame la Comtesse de Lénoncourt' (1788); 'L'Oreille, conte Asiatique' (1789).] * * * * * 374.--To John Galt [1]. Dec. 11, 1813. My dear Galt,--There was no offence--there _could_ be none. I thought it by no means impossible that we might have hit on something similar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious to assure you of the truth, viz., that I had not wittingly seized upon plot, sentiment, or incident; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched upon your subjects. Something still more singular is, that the _first_ part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your observations on _life_, was _drawn_ from _observations_ of mine also, and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on _second_ thoughts, I thought myself _two centuries_ at least too late for the subject; which, though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of the Greeks, one of Schiller's and Alfieri's in modern times, besides several of our _old_ (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similar cast. I therefore altered it as you perceive, and in so doing have weakened the whole, by interrupting the train of thought: and in composition I do not think _second_ thoughts are the best, though _second_ expressions may improve the first ideas. I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who have met together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased: but I always look forward to renewing my travels; and though _you_, I think, are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits _there_ as well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity. Ever yours very sincerely, B. P.S.--I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but after that I am always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two. [Footnote 1: For John Galt, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243 [Footnote 1 of Letter 130], and vol. ii. p. 101, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 255]. Galt wrote to Byron in 1813, pointing out that "there was a remarkable coincidence in the story" (of 'The Bride of Abydos') "with a matter in which I had been interested" ('Life of Byron', p. 180, ed. 1830). Byron, imagining himself charged with plagiarism, wrote a somewhat angry reply, to which Gait answered by stating that the coincidence was not one of ideas, sentiment, or story, but of real fact. He received the above answer ('Life of Byron', pp. 181, 182). On this poem Byron seems to have been particularly sensitive. He is accused of borrowing the opening lines from Mignon's song in Goethe's 'Wilhelm Meister': "Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühn?" Cyrus Redding ('Yesterday and To-day', vol. ii. pp. 14, 15) suggests that Byron used the translation of the poem which he himself had made and published in 1812 or 1813. Byron was also charged with pilfering them from Madame de Staël. "Do you know de Staël's lines?" he asked Lady Blessington ('Conversations', pp. 326, 327); "for if I am a thief, she must be the plundered, as I don't read German and do French: yet I could almost swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote mine, nor do I even now remember them. I think the first began with 'Cette terre,' etc., etc.; but the rest I forget. As you have a good memory, perhaps you would repeat them." "I did so," says Lady Blessington, "and they are as follows: "'Cette terre, où les myrtes fleurissent, Où les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour, Où des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent, Où la plus douce nuit succéde au plus beau jour,' etc."] * * * * * 375.--To John Murray. Decr. y'r 14th, 1813. Deare Sir,--Send y'e E'r of ye new R'w a copy as he hath had y'e trouble of two walks on y't acct. As to the man of the _Satirist_--I hope you have too much spirit to allow a single Sheet to be offered as a peace offering to him or any one. If you _do_, expect _never_ to be _forgiven_ by me--if he is not personal he is quite welcome to his opinion--and if he is, I have my own remedy. Send a copy _double_ to Dr. Clarke (y'e traveller) Cambrigge by y'e first opportunitie--and let me see you in y'e morninge y't I may mention certain thinges y'e which require sundrie though slight alterations. Sir, your Servitor, Biroñ * * * * * 376.--To Thomas Ashe [1]. 4, Bennet Street, St. James's, Dec. 14, 1813. Sir,--I leave town for a few days to-morrow. On my return, I will answer your letter more at length. Whatever may be your situation, I cannot but commend your resolution to abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as those to which you have alluded. Depend upon it they amuse _few_, disgrace both _reader_ and _writer_, and benefit _none_. It will be my wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such a bondage. In your answer, inform me what sum you think would enable you to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain, at least, temporary independence, and I shall be glad to contribute my mite towards it. At present, I must conclude. Your name is not unknown to me, and I regret, for your own sake, that you have ever lent it to the works you mention. In saying this, I merely repeat your _own words_ in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable that may appear to insult your misfortunes. If I have, excuse me; it is unintentional. Yours, etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: Thomas Ashe (1770-1835) had already written books of travel in North and South America, and two novels--'The Spirit of "The Book'"(1811), and 'The Liberal Critic, or Henry Percy' (1812). He was a man of more ability than character, but possessed little of either. His 'Memoirs' (1815) describe his literary undertakings, one at least of which was of a blackmailing kind, and are interspersed with protestations of his desire for independence, and of regrets for the wretched stuff that dropped from his pen. His first novel, 'The Spirit of "The Book,"' gained some success from its subject. In 1806-7 Lady Douglas brought certain charges against the Princess of Wales, which were answered on her behalf by Spencer Perceval. The extraordinary secrecy with which this defence, called "The Book," was printed, and its complete suppression, excited curiosity, which was increased by the following advertisement in the 'Times' for March 27, 1809: "'A Book'--Any Person having in their possession a COPY of a CERTAIN BOOK, printed by Mr. Edwards, in 1807, but 'never published', with W. Lindsell's Name as the Seller of the same on the title page, and will bring it to W. Lindsell, Bookseller, Wimpole-Street, will receive a handsome gratuity." The subject-matter of this book, then unknown to the public, Ashe professes to embody in 'The Spirit of "The Book;" or, Memoirs of Caroline, Princess of Hasburgh, a Political and Amatory Romance' (3 vols., 1811). The letters, which purport to be written from Caroline to Charlotte, and contain (vol. ii. pp. 152-181) an attack on the Lady Jersey, who attended the princess, are absolutely dull, and scarcely even indecent. Ashe's 'Memoirs and Confessions' (3 vols., 1815) are dedicated to the Duke of Northumberland and to Byron, to whom, in a preface written at Havre, he acknowledges his "transcendent obligations."] * * * * * 377.--To Professor Clarke [1]. Dec. 15, 1813. Your very kind letter is the more agreeable, because, setting aside talents, judgment, and the _laudari a laudato_, etc., you have been on the spot; you have seen and described more of the East than any of your predecessors--I need not say how ably and successfully; and (excuse the bathos) you are one of the very few men who can pronounce how far my costume (to use an affected but expressive word) is correct. As to poesy, that is, as "men, gods, and columns," please to decide upon it; but I am sure that I am anxious to have an observer's, particularly a famous observer's, testimony on the fidelity of my manners and dresses; and, as far as memory and an oriental twist in my imagination have permitted, it has been my endeavour to present to the Franks, a sketch of that of which you have and will present them a complete picture. It was with this notion, that I felt compelled to make my hero and heroine relatives, as you well know that none else could there obtain that degree of intercourse leading to genuine affection; I had nearly made them rather too much akin to each other; and though the wild passions of the East, and some great examples in Alfieri, Ford, and Schiller (to stop short of antiquity), might have pleaded in favour of a copyist, yet the time and the north (not Frederic, but our climate) induced me to alter their consanguinity and confine them to cousinship. I also wished to try my hand on a female character in Zuleika, and have endeavoured, as far as the grossness of our masculine ideas will allow, to preserve her purity without impairing the ardour of her attachment. As to criticism, I have been reviewed about a hundred and fifty times--praised and abused. I will not say that I am become indifferent to either eulogy or condemnation, but for some years at least I have felt grateful for the former, and have never attempted to answer the latter. For success equal to the first efforts, I had and have no hope; the novelty was over, and the "Bride," like all other brides, must suffer or rejoice for and with her husband. By the bye, I have used "bride" Turkishly, as affianced, not married; and so far it is an English bull, which, I trust, will be at least a comfort to all Hibernians not bigotted to monopoly. You are good enough to mention your quotations in your third volume. I shall not only be indebted to it for a renewal of the high gratification received from the two first, but for preserving my relics embalmed in your own spices, and ensuring me readers to whom I could not otherwise have aspired. I called on you, as bounden by duty and inclination, when last in your neighbourhood; but I shall always take my chance; you surely would not have me inflict upon you a formal annunciation; I am proud of your friendship, but not so fond of myself as to break in upon your better avocations. I trust that Mrs. Clarke is well; I have never had the honour of presentation, but I have heard so much of her in many quarters, that any notice she is pleased to take of my productions is not less gratifying than my thanks are sincere, both to her and you; by all accounts I may safely congratulate you on the possession of "a bride" whose mental and personal accomplishments are more than poetical. P. S.--Murray has sent, or will send, a double copy of the _Bride_ and _Giaour_; in the last one, some lengthy additions; pray accept them, according to old custom, "from the author" to one of his better brethren. Your Persian, or any memorial, will be a most agreeable, and it is my fault if not an useful present. I trust your third will be out before I sail next month; can I say or do anything for you in the Levant? I am now in all the agonies of equipment, and full of schemes, some impracticable, and most of them improbable; but I mean to fly "freely to the green earth's end," [2] though not quite so fast as Milton´s sprite. P. S. 2nd.--I have so many things to say.--I want to show you Lord Sligo's letter to me detailing, as he heard them on the spot, the Athenian account of our adventure (a personal one), which certainly first suggested to me the story of _The Giaour_. It was a strange and not a very long story, and his report of the reports (he arrived just after my departure, and I did not know till last summer that he knew anything of the matter) is not very far from the truth. Don't be alarmed. There was nothing that led further than to the water's edge; but one part (as is often the case in life) was more singular than any of the _Giaour's_ adventures. I never have, and never should have, alluded to it on my own authority, from respect to the ancient proverb on Travellers. [Footnote 1: Dr. Clark, in October, 1814, was a candidate for the Professorship of Anatomy, and Byron went to Cambridge to vote for his friend. Writing to Miss Tayler, Hodgson ('Memoir', vol. i. p. 292) adds a postscript: "I open my letter to say that when Lord Byron went to give his vote just now in the Senate House, the young men burst out into the most rapturous applause." The next day he writes again: "I should add that as I was going to vote I met him coming away, and presently saw that something had happened, by his extreme paleness and agitation. Dr. Clark, who was with him, told me the cause, and I returned with B. to my room. There I begged him to sit down and write a letter and communicate this event, which he did not feel up to, but wished 'I' would. So down I sate, and commenced my acquaintance with Miss Milbanke by writing her an account of this most pleasing event, which, although nothing at Oxford, is here very unusual indeed." The following was Miss Milbanke's answer ('ibid'., pp. 296, 297), dated, "Seaham, November 25, 1814:" "Dear Sir,--It will be easier for you to imagine than for me to express the pleasure which your very kind letter has given me. Not only on account of its gratifying intelligence, but also as introductory to an acquaintance which I have been taught to value, and have sincerely desired. Allow me to consider Lord Byron's friend as not 'a stranger,' and accept, with my sincerest thanks, my best wishes for your own happiness. "I am, dear sir, your faithful servant, "A. I. MlLBANKE." ] [Footnote 2: The Spirit in Milton´s 'Comus, a Mask' (lines 1012, 1013), says: "I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth´s end."] * * * * * 378.--To Leigh Hunt. Dec. 22, 1813. My Dear Sir,--I am indeed "in your debt,"--and, what is still worse, am obliged to follow _royal_ example (he has just apprised _his_ creditors that they must wait till the next meeting), and intreat your indulgence for, I hope, a very short time. The nearest relation and almost the only friend I possess, has been in London for a week, and leaves it tomorrow with me for her own residence. I return immediately; but we meet so seldom, and are so _minuted_ when we meet at all, that I give up all engagements till _now_, without reluctance. On my return, I must see you to console myself for my past disappointment. I should feel highly honoured in Mr. B.'s permission to make his acquaintance, and _there_ you are in _my_ debt; for it is a promise of last summer which I still hope to see performed. Yesterday I had a letter from Moore; you have probably heard from him lately; but if not, you will be glad to learn that he is the same in heart, head, and health. * * * * * 379.--To John Murray. December 27, 1813. Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D'Arblay's (or even Miss Edgeworth's) new work. I know they are not out; but it is perhaps possible for your _Majesty_ to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet. I need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged. I would almost fall sick myself to get at Madame D'Arblay's writings. P.S.--You were talking to-day of the American E'n of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days [1]. As it can't be helped now, I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of transatlantic typography. This you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but I must beg that you will not _import more_, because, _seriously_, I _do wish_ to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven. If you send to the 'Globe' E'r, say that I want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge. I never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last anchor. [Footnote 1: 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'.] * * * * * CHAPTER VIII. JOURNAL: NOVEMBER 14, 1813--APRIL 19, 1814. If this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept!!!--heigho! there are too many things I wish never to have remembered, as it is. Well,--I have had my share of what are called the pleasures of this life, and have seen more of the European and Asiatic world than I have made a good use of. They say "Virtue is its own reward,"--it certainly should be paid well for its trouble. At five-and-twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be _something_;--and what am I? nothing but five-and-twenty--and the odd months. What have I seen? the same man all over the world,--ay, and woman too. Give _me_ a Mussulman who never asks questions, and a she of the same race who saves one the trouble of putting them. But for this same plague--yellow fever--and Newstead delay, I should have been by this time a second time close to the Euxine. If I can overcome the last, I don't so much mind your pestilence; and, at any rate, the spring shall see me there,--provided I neither marry myself, nor unmarry any one else in the interval. I wish one was--I don't know what I wish. It is odd I never set myself seriously to wishing without attaining it--and repenting. I begin to believe with the good old Magi, that one should only pray for the nation, and not for the individual;--but, on my principle, this would not be very patriotic. No more reflections.--Let me see--last night I finished "Zuleika," my second Turkish Tale. I believe the composition of it kept me alive--for it was written to drive my thoughts from the recollection of: "Dear sacred name, rest ever unreveal'd." [1] At least, even here, my hand would tremble to write it. This afternoon I have burnt the scenes of my commenced comedy. I have some idea of expectorating a romance, or rather a tale in prose;--but what romance could equal the events: "quæque ipse......vidi, Et quorum pars magna fui." [2] To-day Henry Byron [3] called on me with my little cousin Eliza. She will grow up a beauty and a plague; but, in the mean time, it is the prettiest child! dark eyes and eyelashes, black and long as the wing of a raven. I think she is prettier even than my niece, Georgina,--yet I don't like to think so neither: and though older, she is not so clever. Dallas called before I was up, so we did not meet. Lewis [4], too,--who seems out of humour with every thing. What can be the matter? he is not married--has he lost his own mistress, or any other person's wife? Hodgson, too, came. He is going to be married, and he is the kind of man who will be the happier. He has talent, cheerfulness, every thing that can make him a pleasing companion; and his intended is handsome and young, and all that. But I never see any one much improved by matrimony. All my coupled contemporaries are bald and discontented. W[ordsworth] and S[outhey] have both lost their hair and good humour; and the last of the two had a good deal to lose. But it don't much signify what falls _off_ a man's temples in that state. Mem. I must get a toy to-morrow for Eliza, and send the device for the seals of myself and----Mem. too, to call on the Stael and Lady Holland to-morrow, and on----, who has advised me (without seeing it, by the by) not to publish "Zuleika;" [5] I believe he is right, but experience might have taught him that not to print is _physically_ impossible. No one has seen it but Hodgson and Mr. Gifford. I never in my life _read_ a composition, save to Hodgson, as he pays me in kind. It is a horrible thing to do too frequently;--better print, and they who like may read, and if they don't like, you have the satisfaction of knowing that they have, at least, _purchased_ the right of saying so. I have declined presenting the Debtors' Petition [6], being sick of parliamentary mummeries. I have spoken thrice; but I doubt my ever becoming an orator. My first was liked; the second and third--I don't know whether they succeeded or not. I have never yet set to it _con amore_;--one must have some excuse to one's self for laziness, or inability, or both, and this is mine. "Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me;" [7]--and then, I "have drunk medicines," not to make me love others, but certainly enough to hate myself. Two nights ago I saw the tigers sup at Exeter 'Change. Except Veli Pacha's lion in the Morea,--who followed the Arab keeper like a dog,--the fondness of the hyæna for her keeper amused me most. Such a conversazione!--There was a "hippopotamus," like Lord Liverpool in the face; and the "Ursine Sloth" had the very voice and manner of my valet--but the tiger talked too much. The elephant took and gave me my money again--took off my hat--opened a door--_trunked_ a whip--and behaved so well, that I wish he was my butler. The handsomest animal on earth is one of the panthers; but the poor antelopes were dead. I should hate to see one _here:_--the sight of the _camel_ made me pine again for Asia Minor. _"Oh quando te aspiciam?_" [Footnote 1: "Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed, Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed." Pope's 'Eloisa to Abelard', lines 9, 10.] [Footnote 2: Virgil, 'Æneid', ii. 5: ". ... quoeque ipse miserrima vidi Et quorum pars magna fui."] [Footnote 3: The Rev. Henry Byron, second son of the Rev. and Hon. Richard Byron, and nephew of William, fifth Lord Byron, died in 1821. His daughter Eliza married, in 1830, George Rochford Clarke. Byron's "niece Georgina" was the daughter of Mrs. Leigh.] [Footnote 4: Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818), intended by his father for the diplomatic service, was educated at Westminster and Christ Church, Weimar, and Paris. He soon showed his taste for literature. At the age of seventeen he had translated a play from the French, and written a farce, a comedy called 'The East Indian' (acted at Drury Lane, April 22, 1799), "two volumes of a novel, two of a romance, besides numerous poems" ('Life, etc., of M. G. Lewis', vol. i. p. 70). In 1794 he was attached to the British Embassy at the Hague. There, stimulated ('ibid'., vol. i. p. 123) by reading Mrs. Radcliffe's 'Mysteries of Udolpho', he wrote 'Ambrosio, or the Monk'. The book, published in 1795, made him famous in fashionable society, and decided his career. Though he sat in Parliament for Hindon from 1796 to 1802, he took no part in politics, but devoted himself to literature. The moral and outline of 'The Monk' are taken, as Lewis says in a letter to his father ('Life, etc.', vol. i. pp. 154-158), and as was pointed out in the 'Monthly Review' for August, 1797, from Addison's "Santon Barsisa" in the 'Guardian' (No. 148). The book was severely criticized on the score of immorality. Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', Dialogue iv.) attacks Lewis, whom he compares to John Cleland, whose 'Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure' came under the notice of the law courts: "Another Cleland see in Lewis rise. Why sleep the ministers of truth and law?" An injunction was, in fact, moved for against the book; but the proceedings dropped. Lewis had a remarkable gift of catching the popular taste of the day, both in his tales of horror and mystery, and in his ballads. In the latter he was the precursor of Scott. Many of his songs were sung to music of his own composition. His 'Tales of Terror' (1799) were dedicated to Lady Charlotte Campbell, afterwards Bury, with whom he was in love. To his 'Tales of Wonder' (1801) Scott, Southey, and others contributed. His most successful plays were 'The Castle Spectre' (Drury Lane, December 14, 1797), and 'Timour the Tartar' (Covent Garden, April 29, 1811). In 1812, by the death of his father, "the Monk" became a rich man, and the owner of plantations in the West Indies. He paid two visits to his property, in 1815-16 and 1817-18. On the voyage home from the last visit he died of yellow fever, and was buried at sea. His 'Journal of a West Indian Proprietor', published in 1834, is written in sterling English, with much quiet humour, and a graphic power of very high order. Among his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has the following notes on Lewis: "Sheridan was one day offered a bet by M. G. Lewis: 'I will bet you, Mr. Sheridan, a very large sum--I will bet you what you owe me as Manager, for my 'Castle Spectre'.' "'I never make _large bets_,' said Sheridan, 'but I will lay you a _very small_ one. I will bet you _what it is_ WORTH!'" "Lewis, though a kind man, hated Sheridan, and we had some words upon that score when in Switzerland, in 1816. Lewis afterwards sent me the following epigram upon Sheridan from Saint Maurice: "'For worst abuse of finest parts Was Misophil begotten; There might indeed be _blacker_ hearts, But none could be more _rotten_.'" Lewis at Oatlands was observed one morning to have his eyes red, and his air sentimental; being asked why? he replied 'that when people said anything 'kind' to him, it affected him deeply, and just now the Duchess had said something so kind to him'--here tears began to flow again. 'Never mind, Lewis,' said Col. Armstrong to him, 'never mind--don't cry, she could not mean it'.' "Lewis was a good man--a clever man, but a bore--a damned bore, one may say. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the ears with some vivacious person who hated bores especially--Me. de Staël or Hobhouse, for example. But I liked Lewis; he was a Jewel of a Man had he been better set, I don't mean _personally_, but less _tiresome_, for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to everything and everybody. Being short-sighted, when we used to ride out together near the Brenta in the twilight in summer, he made me go _before_ to pilot him. I am absent at times, especially towards evening, and the consequence of this pilotage was some narrow escapes to the Monk on horseback. Once I led him into a ditch, over which I had passed as usual, forgetting to warn my convoy; once I led him nearly into the river instead of on the 'moveable' bridge which _in_commodes passengers; and twice did we both run against the diligence, which, being heavy and slow, did communicate less damage than it received in its leaders, who were 'terrasséd' by the charge. Thrice did I lose him in the gray of the gloaming and was obliged to bring to, to his distant signals of distance and distress. All the time he went on talking without intermission, for he was a man of many words. Poor fellow, he died a martyr to his new riches--of a second visit to Jamaica. "'I'd give the lands of Deloraine Dark Musgrave were alive again!' _that is_ 'I would give many a Sugar Cane Monk Lewis were alive again!' "Lewis said to me, 'Why do you talk 'Venetian' (such as I could talk, not very fine to be sure) to the Venetians, and not the usual Italian?' I answered, partly from habit and partly to be understood, if possible. 'It may be so,' said Lewis, 'but it sounds to me like talking with a 'brogue' to an _Irishman_.'" In a MS. note by Sir Walter Scott on these passages from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', he says, "Mat had queerish eyes; they projected like those of some insect, and were flattish in their orbit. His person was extremely small and boyish; he was, indeed, the least man I ever saw to be strictly well and neatly made. I remember a picture of him by Saunders being handed round at Dalkeith House. The artist had ungenerously flung a dark folding mantle round the form, under which was half hid a dagger, or dark lanthorn, or some such cut-throat appurtenance. With all this the features were preserved and ennobled. It passed from hand to hand into that of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, who, hearing the general voice affirm that it was very like, said aloud, 'Like Mat Lewis? Why, that picture is like a 'man'.' He looked, and lo! Mat Lewis's head was at his elbow. His boyishness went through life with him. He was a child, and a spoiled child, but a child of high imagination, so that he wasted himself in ghost stories and German nonsense. He had the finest ear for the rhythm of verse I ever heard--finer than Byron's. "Lewis was fonder of great people than he ought to have been, either as a man of talent or a man of fortune. He had always dukes and duchesses in his mouth, and was particularly fond of any one who had a title. You would have sworn he had been a 'parvenu' of yesterday, yet he had been all his life in good society. "He was one of the kindest and best creatures that ever lived. His father and mother lived separately. Mr. Lewis allowed his son a handsome income; but reduced it more than one half when he found that he gave his mother half of it. He restricted himself in all his expenses, and shared the diminished income with his mother as before. He did much good by stealth, and was a most generous creature. "I had a good picture drawn me, I think by Thos. Thomson, of Fox, in his latter days, suffering the fatigue of an attack from Lewis. The great statesman was become bulky and lethargic, and lay like a fat ox which for sometime endures the persecution of a buzzing fly, rather than rise to get rid of it; and then at last he got up, and heavily plodded his way to the other side of the room." Referring to Byron's story of Lewis near the Brenta, Scott adds, "I had a worse adventure with Mat Lewis. I had been his guide from the cottage I then had at Laswade to the Chapel of Roslin. We were to go up one side of the river and come down the other. In the return he was dead tired, and, like the Israelites, he murmured against his guide for leading him into the wilderness. I was then as strong as a poney, and took him on my back, dressed as he was in his shooting array of a close sky-blue jacket, and the brightest 'red' pantaloons I ever saw on a human breech. He also had a kind of feather in his cap. At last I could not help laughing at the ridiculous figure we must both have made, at which my rider waxed wroth. It was an ill-chosen hour and place, for I could have served him as Wallace did Fawden--thrown him down and twisted his head off. We returned to the cottage weary wights, and it cost more than one glass of Noyau, which he liked in a decent way, to get Mat's temper on its legs again."] [Footnote 5: 'The Bride of Abydos' was originally called 'Zuleika'. ] [Footnote 6: The petition, directed against Lord Redesdale's Insolvent Debtors Act, was presented by Romilly in the House of Commons, November 11, 1813, and by Lord Holland in the House of Lords, November 15, 1813.] [Footnote 7: Henry IV., Part I. act in. sc. 3.] * * * * * November 16. Went last night with Lewis to see the first of 'Antony and Cleopatra' [1]. It was admirably got up, and well acted--a salad of Shakspeare and Dryden. Cleopatra strikes me as the epitome of her sex--fond, lively, sad, tender, teasing, humble, haughty, beautiful, the devil!--coquettish to the last, as well with the "asp" as with Antony. After doing all she can to persuade him that--but why do they abuse him for cutting off that poltroon Cicero's head? Did not Tully tell Brutus it was a pity to have spared Antony? and did he not speak the Philippics? and are not "_words things_?" [2] and such "_words_" very pestilent "_things_" too? If he had had a hundred heads, they deserved (from Antony) a rostrum (his was stuck up there) apiece--though, after all, he might as well have pardoned him, for the credit of the thing. But to resume--Cleopatra, after securing him, says, "yet go--it is your interest," etc.--how like the sex! and the questions about Octavia--it is woman all over. To-day received Lord Jersey's invitation to Middleton--to travel sixty miles to meet Madame De Stael! I once travelled three thousand to get among silent people; and this same lady writes octavos, and _talks_ folios. I have read her books--like most of them, and delight in the last; so I won't hear it, as well as read. Read Burns to-day. What would he have been, if a patrician? We should have had more polish--less force--just as much verse, but no immortality--a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as long as Sheridan, and outlived as much as poor Brinsley. What a wreck is that man! and all from bad pilotage; for no one had ever better gales, though now and then a little too squally. Poor dear Sherry! I shall never forget the day he and Rogers and Moore and I passed together; when _he_ talked, and _we_ listened, without one yawn, from six till one in the morning. Got my seals----. Have again forgot a play-thing for _ma petite cousine_ Eliza; but I must send for it to-morrow. I hope Harry will bring her to me. I sent Lord Holland the proofs of the last "_Giaour_" and "_The Bride of Abydos_" He won't like the latter, and I don't think that I shall long. It was written in four nights to distract my dreams from----. Were it not thus, it had never been composed; and had I not done something at that time, I must have gone mad, by eating my own heart,--bitter diet;--Hodgson likes it better than "_The Giaour_" but nobody else will,--and he never liked the Fragment. I am sure, had it not been for Murray, _that_ would never have been published, though the circumstances which are the ground-work make it----heigh-ho! To-night I saw both the sisters of----; my God! the youngest so like! I thought I should have sprung across the house, and am so glad no one was with me in Lady H.'s box. I hate those likenesses--the mock-bird, but not the nightingale--so like as to remind, so different as to be painful [3]. One quarrels equally with the points of resemblance and of distinction. [Footnote 1: 'Antony and Cleopatra' was revived at Covent Garden, November 15, 1813, with additions from Dryden's 'All for Love, or the World Well Lost'(1678). "Cleopatra" was acted by Mrs. Fawcit; "Marc Antony" by Young. (See for the allusions, act v. se. 2, and act i. sc. 3.)] [Footnote 2: "But words are things; and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think." 'Don Juan', Canto III. stanza lxxxviii.] [Footnote 3: "-----my weal, my woe, My hope on high--my all below; Earth holds no other like to thee, Or, if it doth, in vain for me: For worlds I dare not view the dame Resembling thee, yet not the same." 'The Giaour'.] * * * * * Nov. 17. No letter from----; but I must not complain. The respectable Job says, "Why should a _living man_ complain?" [1] I really don't know, except it be that a _dead man_ can't; and he, the said patriarch, _did_ complain, nevertheless, till his friends were tired and his wife recommended that pious prologue,"Curse--and die;" the only time, I suppose, when but little relief is to be found in swearing. I have had a most kind letter from Lord Holland on "_The Bride of Abydos_," which he likes, and so does Lady H. This is very good-natured in both, from whom I don't deserve any quarter. Yet I _did_ think, at the time, that my cause of enmity proceeded from Holland House, and am glad I was wrong, and wish I had not been in such a hurry with that confounded satire, of which I would suppress even the memory;--but people, now they can't get it, make a fuss, I verily believe, out of contradiction. George Ellis [2] and Murray have been talking something about Scott and me, George _pro Scoto_,--and very right too. If they want to depose him, I only wish they would not set me up as a competitor. Even if I had my choice, I would rather be the Earl of Warwick than all the _kings_ he ever made! Jeffrey and Gifford I take to be the monarch-makers in poetry and prose. The 'British Critic', in their Rokeby Review, have presupposed a comparison which I am sure my friends never thought of, and W. Scott's subjects are injudicious in descending to. I like the man--and admire his works to what Mr. Braham calls _Entusymusy_. All such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good. Many hate his politics--(I hate all politics); and, here, a man's politics are like the Greek _soul_--an [Greek: eidolon], besides God knows what _other soul_; but their estimate of the two generally go together. Harry has not brought _ma petite cousine_. I want us to go to the play together;--she has been but once. Another short note from Jersey, inviting Rogers and me on the 23d. I must see my agent to-night. I wonder when that Newstead business will be finished. It cost me more than words to part with it--and to _have_ parted with it! What matters it what I do? or what becomes of me?--but let me remember Job's saying, and console myself with being "a living man." I wish I could settle to reading again,--my life is monotonous, and yet desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy, and burnt it because the scene ran into _reality_;--a novel, for the same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts; but the thought always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. I have had a letter from Lady Melbourne--the best friend I ever had in my life, and the cleverest of women. Not a word from----[Lady F. W. Webster], Have they set out from----? or has my last precious epistle fallen into the lion's jaws? If so--and this silence looks suspicious--I must clap on my "musty morion" and "hold out my iron." [3] I am out of practice--but I won't begin again at Manton's now. Besides, I would not return his shot. I was once a famous wafer-splitter; but then the bullies of society made it necessary. Ever since I began to feel that I had a bad cause to support, I have left off the exercise. What strange tidings from that Anakim of anarchy--Buonaparte [4]! Ever since I defended my bust of him at Harrow against the rascally time-servers, when the war broke out in 1803, he has been a _Héros de Roman_ of mine--on the Continent; I don't want him here. But I don't like those same flights--leaving of armies, etc., etc. I am sure when I fought for his bust at school, I did not think he would run away from himself. But I should not wonder if he banged them yet. To be beat by men would be something; but by three stupid, legitimate-old-dynasty boobies of regular-bred sovereigns--O-hone-a-rie!--O-hone-a-rie! It must be, as Cobbett says, his marriage with the thick-lipped and thick-headed _Autrichienne_ brood. He had better have kept to her who was kept by Barras. I never knew any good come of your young wife, and legal espousals, to any but your "sober-blooded boy" who "eats fish" and drinketh "no sack." [5] Had he not the whole opera? all Paris? all France? But a mistress is just as perplexing--that is, _one_--two or more are manageable by division. I have begun, or had begun, a song, and flung it into the fire. It was in remembrance of Mary Duff, [6] my first of flames, before most people begin to burn. I wonder what the devil is the matter with me! I can do nothing, and--fortunately there is nothing to do. It has lately been in my power to make two persons (and their connections) comfortable, _pro tempore_, and one happy, _ex tempore_,--I rejoice in the last particularly, as it is an excellent man. [7] I wish there had been more convenience and less gratification to my self-love in it, for then there had been more merit. We are all selfish--and I believe, ye gods of Epicurus! I believe in Rochefoucault about _men_, and in Lucretius (not Busby's translation) about yourselves. [8] Your bard has made you very _nonchalant_ and blest; but as he has excused _us_ from damnation, I don't envy you your blessedness much--a little, to be sure. I remember, last year,----[Lady Oxford] said to me, at----[Eywood], "Have we not passed our last month like the gods of Lucretius?" And so we had. She is an adept in the text of the original (which I like too); and when that booby Bus. sent his translating prospectus, she subscribed. But, the devil prompting him to add a specimen, she transmitted him a subsequent answer, saying, that "after perusing it, her conscience would not permit her to allow her name to remain on the list of subscribblers." Last night, at Lord H.'s--Mackintosh, the Ossulstones, Puységur, [9] etc., there--I was trying to recollect a quotation (as _I_ think) of Stael's, from some Teutonic sophist about architecture. "Architecture," says this Macoronico Tedescho, "reminds me of frozen music." It is somewhere--but where?--the demon of perplexity must know and won't tell. I asked M., and he said it was not in her: but Puységur said it must be _hers_, it was so _like_. H. laughed, as he does at all "_De l'Allemagne_"--in which, however, I think he goes a little too far. B., I hear, contemns it too. But there are fine passages;--and, after all, what is a work--any--or every work--but a desert with fountains, and, perhaps, a grove or two, every day's journey? To be sure, in Madame, what we often mistake, and "pant for," as the "cooling stream," turns out to be the "_mirage_" (criticè _verbiage_); but we do, at last, get to something like the temple of Jove Ammon, and then the waste we have passed is only remembered to gladden the contrast. Called on C--, to explain----. She is very beautiful, to my taste, at least; for on coming home from abroad, I recollect being unable to look at any woman but her--they were so fair, and unmeaning, and _blonde_. The darkness and regularity of her features reminded me of my "Jannat al Aden." But this impression wore off; and now I can look at a fair woman, without longing for a Houri. She was very good-tempered, and every thing was explained. To-day, great news--"the Dutch have taken Holland,"--which, I suppose, will be succeeded by the actual explosion of the Thames. Five provinces have declared for young Stadt, and there will be inundation, conflagration, constupration, consternation, and every sort of nation and nations, fighting away, up to their knees, in the damnable quags of this will-o'-the-wisp abode of Boors. It is said Bernadotte is amongst them, too; and, as Orange will be there soon, they will have (Crown) Prince Stork and King Log in their Loggery at the same time. Two to one on the new dynasty! Mr. Murray has offered me one thousand guineas for _The Giaour_ and _The Bride of Abydos_. I won't--it is too much, though I am strongly tempted, merely for the _say_ of it. No bad price for a fortnight's (a week each) what?--the gods know--it was intended to be called poetry. I have dined regularly to-day, for the first time since Sunday last--this being Sabbath, too. All the rest, tea and dry biscuits--six _per diem_. I wish to God I had not dined now!--It kills me with heaviness, stupor, and horrible dreams; and yet it was but a pint of Bucellas, and fish.[10] Meat I never touch,--nor much vegetable diet. I wish I were in the country, to take exercise,--instead of being obliged to _cool_ by abstinence, in lieu of it. I should not so much mind a little accession of flesh,--my bones can well bear it. But the worst is, the devil always came with it,--till I starved him out,--and I will _not_ be the slave of _any_ appetite. If I do err, it shall be my heart, at least, that heralds the way. Oh, my head--how it aches?--the horrors of digestion! I wonder how Buonaparte's dinner agrees with him? Mem. I must write to-morrow to "Master Shallow, who owes me a thousand pounds," [11] and seems, in his letter, afraid I should ask him for it; [12]--as if I would!--I don't want it (just now, at least,) to begin with; and though I have often wanted that sum, I never asked for the repayment of £10. in my life--from a friend. His bond is not due this year, and I told him when it was, I should not enforce it. How often must he make me say the same thing? I am wrong--I did once ask----[13] to repay me. But it was under circumstances that excused me _to him_, and would to any one. I took no interest, nor required security. He paid me soon,--at least, his _padre_. My head! I believe it was given me to ache with. Good even. [Footnote 1: "Wherefore doth a living man complain?" ('Lam'. iii. 39).] [Footnote 2: George Ellis (1753-1815), a contributor to the 'Rolliad' and the 'Anti-Jacobin', and "the first converser" Walter Scott "ever knew."] [Footnote 3: "I dare not fight; but I will wink, and hold out mine iron." 'Henry V.', act ii. sc. I.] [Footnote 4: Byron was not always, even at Harrow, attached to Buonaparte, for, if we may trust Harness, he "roared out" at a Buonapartist schoolfellow: "Bold Robert Speer was Bony's bad precursor. Bob was a bloody dog, but Bonaparte a worser." His feeling for him was probably that which is expressed in the following passage from an undated letter, written to him by Moore: "We owe great gratitude to this thunderstorm of a fellow for clearing the air of all the old legitimate fogs that have settled upon us, and I sincerely trust his task is not yet over." Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 60) describes Byron's reception of the news of the battle of Waterloo: "After an instant's pause, Lord Byron replied, 'I am damned sorry for it;' and then, after another slight pause, he added, 'I didn't know but I might live to see Lord Castlereagh's head on a pole. But I suppose I shan't now.'" Byron's liking for Buonaparte was probably increased by his dislike of Wellington and Blucher. The following passages are taken from the 'Detached Thoughts'(1821): "The vanity of Victories is considerable. Of all who fell at Waterloo or Trafalgar, ask any man in company to 'name you ten off hand'. They will stick at Nelson: the other will survive himself. 'Nelson was' a hero, the other is a mere Corporal, dividing with Prussians and Spaniards the luck which he never deserved. He even--but I hate the fool, and will be silent." "The Miscreant Wellington is the Cub of Fortune, but she will never lick him into shape. If he lives, he will be beaten; that's certain. Victory was never before wasted upon such an unprofitable soil as this dunghill of Tyranny, whence nothing springs but Viper's eggs." "I remember seeing Blucher in the London Assemblies, and never saw anything of his age less venerable. With the voice and manners of a recruiting Sergeant, he pretended to the honours of a hero; just as if a stone could be worshipped because a man stumbled over it."] [Footnote 5: Henry IV., Part II. act iv. se. 3.] [Footnote 6: Mary Duff, his distant cousin, who lived not far from the "Plain-Stanes" of Aberdeen, in Byron's childhood. She married Mr. Robert Cockburn, a wine-merchant in Edinburgh and London.] [Footnote 7: The first is, perhaps, Dallas; the second probably is Francis Hodgson, to whom he gave, from first to last, £1500.] [Footnote 8: "L'intérêt est l'ame de l'amour-propre, de sorte que comme le corps, privé de son ame, est sans vue, sans ouïe, sans connoissance, sans sentiment, et sans mouvement; de même l'amour-propre, séparé, s'il le faut dire ainsi, de son intérêt, ne voit, n'entend, ne sent, et ne se remue plus," etc., etc. (Rochefoucault, Lettre à Madame Sablé). The passage in Lucretius probably is 'De Rerum Naturâ', i. 57-62.] [Footnote 9: "Monsieur de Puységur," says Lady H. Leveson Gower ('Letters of Harriet, Countess of Granville', vol. i. p. 23), "is really 'concentré' into one wrinkle. It is the oldest, gayest, thinnest, most withered, and most brilliant thing one can meet with. When there are so many young, fat fools going about the world, I wish for the transmigration of souls. Puységur might animate a whole family." The phrase, of which Byron was in search, is Goethe's, 'eine erstarrte Musik' (Stevens's 'Life of Madame de Staël', vol. ii. p. 195).] [Footnote 10: That the poet sometimes dined seems evident from the annexed bill: Lord Byron. To M. Richold 1813-- £ s. d. Ballance of last bill 0 13 10 Aug. 9. To dinner bill 1 6 0 10. To do. do. 4 13 6 11. To do. do. 1 4 0 14. To do. do. 1 6 0 15. To share of do. 4 4 6 16. To dinner bill 1 6 0 17. To do. do. 1 6 6 19. To do. do. 1 2 6 20. To share of do. 4 19 0 21. To dinner bill 1 1 6 22. To do. do. 1 2 0 23. To do. do. 1 2 0 25. To do. do. 1 9 0 Aug. 26. To dinner bill 1 1 6 27. To do. do. 1 8 6 Sept 2. To do. do. 1 4 0 3. To do. do. 1 2 0 4. To do. do. 1 11 0 5. To do. do. 1 6 6 7. To do. do. 5 7 0 9. To do. do. 1 6 6 26. To do. do. 1 9 0 Nov. 14. To do. do. 1 0 6 21. To do. do. 0 19 0 -- -- -- £44 11 10] [Footnote 11: Henry IV., Part II. act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 12: James Wedderburn Webster (see p. 2, note 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 170]).] [Footnote 13: Probably John Cam Hobhouse, whose expenses on the tour of 1809-10 were paid by Byron, and repaid by Sir Benjamin Hobhouse.] * * * * * Nov. 22, 1813. "Orange Boven!" [1] So the bees have expelled the bear that broke open their hive. Well,--if we are to have new De Witts and De Ruyters, God speed the little republic! I should like to see the Hague and the village of Brock, where they have such primitive habits. Yet, I don't know,--their canals would cut a poor figure by the memory of the Bosphorus; and the Zuyder Zee look awkwardly after "Ak-Denizi" [2]. No matter,--the bluff burghers, puffing freedom out of their short tobacco-pipes, might be worth seeing; though I prefer a cigar or a hooka, with the rose-leaf mixed with the milder herb of the Levant. I don't know what liberty means,--never having seen it,--but wealth is power all over the world; and as a shilling performs the duty of a pound (besides sun and sky and beauty for nothing) in the East,--_that_ is the country. How I envy Herodes Atticus [3]!--more than Pomponius. And yet a little _tumult_, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation; such as a revolution, a battle, or an _aventure_ of any lively description. I think I rather would have been Bonneval, Ripperda, Alberoni, Hayreddin, or Horuc Barbarossa, or even Wortley Montague, than Mahomet himself. [4] Rogers will be in town soon?--the 23d is fixed for our Middleton visit. Shall I go? umph!--In this island, where one can't ride out without overtaking the sea, it don't much matter where one goes. I remember the effect of the _first Edinburgh Review_ on me. I heard of it six weeks before,--read it the day of its denunciation,--dined and drank three bottles of claret, (with S. B. Davies, I think,) neither ate nor slept the less, but, nevertheless, was not easy till I had vented my wrath and my rhyme, in the same pages, against every thing and every body. Like George, in the _Vicar of Wakefield_,--"the fate of my paradoxes" [5] would allow me to perceive no merit in another. I remembered only the maxim of my boxing-master, which, in my youth, was found useful in all general riots,--"Whoever is not for you is against you--_mill_ away right and left," and so I did;--like Ishmael, my hand was against all men, and all men's anent me. I did wonder, to be sure, at my own success: "And marvels so much wit is all his own," [6] as Hobhouse sarcastically says of somebody (not unlikely myself, as we are old friends);--but were it to come over again, I would _not_. I have since redde the cause of my couplets, and it is not adequate to the effect. C----told me that it was believed I alluded to poor Lord Carlisle's nervous disorder in one of the lines. I thank Heaven I did not know it--and would not, could not, if I had. I must naturally be the last person to be pointed on defects or maladies. Rogers is silent,--and, it is said, severe. When he does talk, he talks well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house--his drawing-room--his library--you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor. But this very delicacy must be the misery of his existence. Oh the jarrings his disposition must have encountered through life! Southey, I have not seen much of. His appearance is _Epic_; and he is the only existing entire man of letters. All the others have some pursuit annexed to their authorship. His manners are mild, but not those of a man of the world, and his talents of the first order. His prose is perfect. Of his poetry there are various opinions: there is, perhaps, too much of it for the present generation; posterity will probably select. He has _passages_ equal to any thing. At present, he has _a party_, but no _public_--except for his prose writings. The life of Nelson is beautiful. Sotheby [7] is a _Littérateur_, the Oracle of the Coteries, of the----s [8], Lydia White (Sydney Smith's "Tory Virgin") [9], Mrs. Wilmot [10] (she, at least, is a swan, and might frequent a purer stream,) Lady Beaumont, [11] and all the Blues, with Lady Charlemont [12] at their head--but I say nothing of _her_--"look in her face and you forget them all," and every thing else. Oh that face!--by _te, Diva potens Cypri_, I would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another Troy. Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents,--poetry, music, voice, all his own; and an expression in each, which never was, nor will be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still higher flights in poetry. By the by, what humour, what--every thing, in the "_Post-Bag!_" There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seriously set about it. In society, he is gentlemanly, gentle, and, altogether, more pleasing than any individual with whom I am acquainted. For his honour, principle, and independence, his conduct to----speaks "trumpet-tongued." He has but one fault--and that one I daily regret--he is not _here_. [Footnote 1: Holland, constituted a kingdom for Louis Napoleon (1806), was (1810) incorporated with the French Empire. On November 15, 1813, the people of Amsterdam raised the cry of "Orange Boven!", donned the Orange colours, and expelled the French from the city. Their example was followed in other provinces, and on November 21, deputies arrived in London, asking the Prince of Orange to place himself at the head of the movement. He landed in Holland, November 30, and entered Amsterdam the next day in state. A play was announced at Drury Lane, December 8, 1813, under the title of 'Orange Boven', but it was suppressed because no licence had been obtained for its performance. It was produced December 10, 1813, and ran about ten nights.] [Footnote 2: The Lake of Ak-Deniz, north-east of Antioch, into and out of which flows the Nahr-Ifrin to join the Nahr-el-Asy or Orontes.] [Footnote 3: A typically wealthy Greek, as Pomponius Atticus was a typically wealthy Roman.] [Footnote 4: Bonneval (1675-1747) was a French soldier of fortune, who served successively in the Austrian, Russian, and Turkish armies. Ripperda (died 1737) a Dutch adventurer, became Prime Minister of Spain under Philip V., and after his fall turned Mohammedan. Alberoni (1664-1752) was an Italian adventurer, who became Prime Minister of Spain in 1714. Hayreddin (died 1547) and Horuc Barbarossa (died 1518) were Algerine pirates. Edward Wortley Montague (1713-1776), son of Lady Mary, saw the inside of several prisons, served at Fontenoy, sat in the British Parliament, was received into the Roman Catholic Church at Jerusalem (1764), lived at Rosetta as a Mohammedan with his mistress, Caroline Dormer, till 1772, and died at Padua, from swallowing a fish-bone.] [Footnote 5: 'Vicar of Wakefield' (chap. xx.). The Vicar's eldest son, George, "resolved to write a book that should be wholly new. I therefore dressed up three paradoxes with some ingenuity.... 'Well,' asks the Vicar, 'and what did the learned world say to your paradoxes?' 'Sir,' replied my son, 'the learned world said nothing to my paradoxes, nothing at all.... I found that no genius in another could please me. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.'"] [Footnote 6: From Boileau ('Imitations, etc.', by J.C. Hobhouse): "With what delight rhymes on the scribbling dunce. He's ne'er perplex'd to choose, but right at once; With rapture hails each work as soon as done, And wonders so much wit was all his own."] [Footnote 7: At Sotheby's house, Miss Jane Porter, author of 'The Scottish Chiefs', etc., etc., met Byron. She made the following note of his appearance, and after his death sent it to his sister: "I once had the gratification of Seeing Lord Byron. He was at Evening party at the Poet Sotheby's. I was not aware of his being in the room, or even that he had been invited, when I was arrested from listening to the person conversing with me by the Sounds of the most melodious Speaking Voice I had ever heard. It was gentle and beautifully modulated. I turned round to look for the Speaker, and then saw a Gentleman in black of an Elegant form (for nothing of his lameness could be discovered), and with a face I never shall forget. The features of the finest proportions. The Eye deep set, but mildly lustrous; and the Complexion what I at the time described to my Sister as a Sort of moonlight paleness. It was so pale, yet with all so Softly brilliant. "I instantly asked my Companion who that Gentleman was. He replied, 'Lord Byron.' I was astonished, for there was no Scorn, no disdain, nothing in that noble Countenance _then_ of the proud Spirit which has since soared to Heaven, illuminating the Horizon far and wide."] [Footnote 8: Probably the Berrys.] [Footnote 9: Miss Lydia White, the "Miss Diddle" of Byron's 'Blues', of whom Ticknor speaks ('Life', vol. i. p. 176) as "the fashionable blue-stocking," was a wealthy Irishwoman, well known for her dinners and conversaziones "in all the capitals of Europe. At one of her dinners in Park Street (all the company except herself being Whigs), the desperate prospects of the Whig party were discussed. Yes,' said Sydney Smith, who was present, 'we are in a most deplorable condition; we must do something to help ourselves. I think,' said he, looking at Lydia White, 'we had better sacrifice a Tory Virgin'" (Lady Morgan's 'Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 236). Miss Berry, in her 'Journal' (vol. iii. p. 49, May 8, 1815), says, "Lord and Lady Byron persuaded me to go with them to Miss White. Never have I seen a more imposing convocation of ladies arranged in a circle than when we entered, taking William Spencer with us. Lord Byron brought me home. He stayed to supper." Miss White's last years were passed in bad health. Moore called upon Rogers, May 7, 1826: "Found him in high good humour. In talking of Miss White, he said, 'How wonderfully she does hold out! They may say what they will, but Miss White and 'Miss'olongi are the most remarkable things going" ('Memoirs, etc.', vol. v. p. 62). Lydia White died in February, 1827.] [Footnote 10: Barberina Ogle (1768-1854), daughter of Sir Chaloner Ogle, widow of Valentia Wilmot, married, in 1819, Lord Dacre. Her tragedy, 'Ina', was produced at Drury Lane, April 22, 1815. Her literary work was, for the most part, privately printed: 'Dramas, Translations, and Occasional Poems' (1821); 'Translations from the Italian' (1836). She also edited her daughter's 'Recollections of a Chaperon' (1831), and 'Tales of the Peerage and Peasantry' (1835).] [Footnote 11: Margaret Willes, granddaughter of Chief Justice Willes, married, in 1778, Sir George Beaumont, Bart. (1753-1827), the landscape-painter, art critic, and picture-collector, who founded the National Gallery, was a friend of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of Dr. Johnson, and of Wordsworth, and is mentioned by Byron in the 'Blues': "Sir George thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle."] [Footnote 12: Francis William Caulfield, who succeeded his father, in 1799, as second Earl of Charlemont, married, in 1802, Anne, daughter of William Bermingham, of Ross Hill, co. Galway. She died in 1876. Of Lady Charlemont's beauty Byron was an enthusiastic admirer. In his 'Letter on the Rev. W.L. Bowles's Strictures on Pope' (February 7, 1821) he says, "The head of Lady Charlemont (when I first saw her, nine years ago) seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal." Moore ('Journals, etc.', vol. iii. p. 78) has the following entry in his Diary for November 21, 1819: "Called upon Lady Charlemont, and sat with her some time. Lady Mansfield told me that the effect she produces here with her beauty is wonderful; last night, at the Comtesse d'Albany's, the Italians were ready to fall down and worship her." For the two quotations, see Horace, 'Odes', I. iii. 1, and 'The Rape of the Lock', ii. 18.] * * * * * Nov. 23. Ward--I like Ward. By Mahomet! I begin to think I like every body;--a disposition not to be encouraged;--a sort of social gluttony that swallows every thing set before it. But I like Ward. He is _piquant_; and, in my opinion, will stand very _high_ in the House, and every where else, if he applies _regularly_. By the by, I dine with him to-morrow, which may have some influence on my opinion. It is as well not to trust one's gratitude _after_ dinner. I have heard many a host libelled by his guests, with his burgundy yet reeking on their rascally lips. I have taken Lord Salisbury's box at Covent Garden for the season; and now I must go and prepare to join Lady Holland and party, in theirs, at Drury Lane, _questa sera_. Holland doesn't think the man is _Junius_; but that the yet unpublished journal throws great light on the obscurities of that part of George the Second's reign.--What is this to George the Third's? I don't know what to think. Why should Junius be yet dead? If suddenly apoplexed, would he rest in his grave without sending his [Greek: eidolon] to shout in the ears of posterity, "Junius was X.Y.Z., Esq., buried in the parish of ----. Repair his monument, ye churchwardens! Print a new edition of his Letters, ye booksellers!" Impossible,--the man must be alive, and will never die without the disclosure. I like him;--he was a good hater. Came home unwell and went to bed,--not so sleepy as might be desirable. Tuesday morning. I awoke from a dream!--well! and have not others dreamed?--Such a dream!--but she did not overtake me. I wish the dead would rest, however. Ugh! how my blood chilled,--and I could not wake--and--and--heigho! "Shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than could the substance of ten thousand----s, Arm'd all in proof, and led by shallow----." [1] I do not like this dream,--I hate its "foregone conclusion." And am I to be shaken by shadows? Ay, when they remind us of--no matter--but, if I dream thus again, I will try whether _all_ sleep has the like visions. Since I rose, I've been in considerable bodily pain also; but it is gone, and now, like Lord Ogleby [2], I am wound up for the day. A note from Mountnorris [3]--I dine with Ward;--Canning is to be there, Frere [4] and Sharpe [5], perhaps Gifford. I am to be one of "the five" (or rather six), as Lady----said a little sneeringly yesterday. They are all good to meet, particularly Canning, and--Ward, when he likes. I wish I may be well enough to listen to these intellectuals. No letters to-day;--so much the better,--there are no answers. I must not dream again;--it spoils even reality. I will go out of doors, and see what the fog will do for me. Jackson has been here: the boxing world much as usual;--but the club increases. I shall dine at Crib's [6] to-morrow. I like energy--even animal energy--of all kinds; and I have need of both mental and corporeal. I have not dined out, nor, indeed, _at all_, lately: have heard no music--have seen nobody. Now for a _plunge_--high life and low life. _Amant_ alterna _Camoenæ!_ [7]. I have burnt my _Roman_--as I did the first scenes and sketch of my comedy--and, for aught I see, the pleasure of burning is quite as great as that of printing. These two last would not have done. I ran into _realities_ more than ever; and some would have been recognised and others guessed at. Redde the _Ruminator_--a collection of Essays, by a strange, but able, old man [Sir Egerton Brydges] [8], and a half-wild young one, author of a poem on the Highlands, called _Childe Alarique_ [9]. The word "sensibility" (always my aversion) occurs a thousand times in these Essays; and, it seems, is to be an excuse for all kinds of discontent. This young man can know nothing of life; and, if he cherishes the disposition which runs through his papers, will become useless, and, perhaps, not even a poet, after all, which he seems determined to be. God help him! no one should be a rhymer who could be any thing better. And this is what annoys one, to see Scott and Moore, and Campbell and Rogers, who might have all been agents and leaders, now mere spectators. For, though they may have other ostensible avocations, these last are reduced to a secondary consideration.----, too, frittering away his time among dowagers and unmarried girls. If it advanced any _serious_ affair, it were some excuse; but, with the unmarried, that is a hazardous speculation, and tiresome enough, too; and, with the veterans, it is not much worth trying, unless, perhaps, one in a thousand. If I had any views in this country, they would probably be parliamentary [10]. But I have no ambition; at least, if any, it would be _aut Cæsar aut nihil_. My hopes are limited to the arrangement of my affairs, and settling either in Italy or the East (rather the last), and drinking deep of the languages and literature of both. Past events have unnerved me; and all I can now do is to make life an amusement, and look on while others play. After all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it? _Vide_ Napoleon's last twelvemonth. It has completely upset my system of fatalism. I thought, if crushed, he would have fallen, when _fractus illabitur orbis_, [11] and not have been pared away to gradual insignificance; that all this was not a mere _jeu_ of the gods, but a prelude to greater changes and mightier events. But men never advance beyond a certain point; and here we are, retrograding, to the dull, stupid old system,--balance of Europe--poising straws upon kings' noses, instead of wringing them off! Give me a republic, or a despotism of one, rather than the mixed government of one, two, three. A republic!--look in the history of the Earth--Rome, Greece, Venice, France, Holland, America, our short (_eheu!_) Commonwealth, and compare it with what they did under masters. The Asiatics are not qualified to be republicans, but they have the liberty of demolishing despots, which is the next thing to it. To be the first man--not the Dictator--not the Sylla, but the Washington or the Aristides--the leader in talent and truth--is next to the Divinity! Franklin, Penn, and, next to these, either Brutus or Cassius--even Mirabeau--or St. Just. I shall never be any thing, or rather always be nothing. The most I can hope is, that some will say, "He might, perhaps, if he would." 12, midnight. Here are two confounded proofs from the printer. I have looked at the one, but for the soul of me, I can't look over that _Giaour_ again,--at least, just now, and at this hour--and yet there is no moon. Ward talks of going to Holland, and we have partly discussed an _ensemble_ expedition. It must be in ten days, if at all, if we wish to be in at the Revolution. And why not?----is distant, and will be at ----, still more distant, till spring. No one else, except Augusta, cares for me; no ties--no trammels--_andiamo dunque--se torniamo, bene--se non, ch' importa?_ Old William of Orange talked of dying in "the last ditch" of his dingy country. It is lucky I can swim, or I suppose I should not well weather the first. But let us see. I have heard hyeenas and jackalls in the ruins of Asia; and bull-frogs in the marshes; besides wolves and angry Mussulmans. Now, I should like to listen to the shout of a free Dutchman. Alla! Viva! For ever! Hourra! Huzza!--which is the most rational or musical of these cries? "Orange Boven," according to the 'Morning Post'. [Footnote 1: "By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond." 'Richard III'., act v. sc. 3.] [Footnote 2: "Lord Ogleby" is a character in 'The Clandestine Marriage' (by Colman and Garrick, first acted at Drury Lane, February 20, 1766). "Brush," his valet, says (act ii.) of his master, "What with qualms, age, rheumatism, and a few surfeits in his youth, he must have a great deal of brushing, oyling, screwing, and winding up, to set him a-going for the day."] [Footnote 3: Viscount Valentia, created in 1793 Earl of Mountnorris, was the father of Byron's friend, Viscount Valentia (afterwards second and last Earl of Mountnorris, died in 1844); of Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster; of Lady Catherine Annesley, who married Lord John Somerset, and died in 1865; and of Lady Juliana Annesley, who married Robert Bayly, of Ballyduff.] [Footnote 4: John Hookham Frere (1769-1846), educated at Eton, and Caius College, Cambridge (Fellow, 1792), M.P. for West Loe (1796-1802), was a clerk in the Foreign Office. A school-friend of Canning, he joined with him in the 'Anti-Jacobin' (November 20, 1797--July 9, 1798). Among the pieces which he contributed, in whole or part, are "The Loves of the Triangles," "The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder," "The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement," "_La Sainte Guillotine_" "New Morality," and the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." He was British Envoy at Lisbon (1800-1804) and to the Spanish Junta (October, 1808-April, 1809). From this post he was recalled, owing to the fatal effects of his advice to Sir John Moore, and he never again held any public appointment. From 1818 to 1846 he lived at Malta, where he died. His translations of "The Frogs" of Aristophanes (1839), and of "The Acharnians, the Knights, and the Birds" (1840), are masterpieces of spirit and fidelity. His 'Prospectus and Specimen of an intended National Work, by William and Robert Whistlecraft' (cantos i., ii., 1817; cantos iii., iv., 1818), inspired Byron with 'Beppo'. Ticknor describes him in 1819 ('Life', vol. i. p. 267): "Frere is a slovenly fellow. His remarks on Homer, in the 'Classical Journal', prove how fine a Greek scholar he is; his 'Quarterly Reviews', how well he writes; his 'Rovers, or the Double Arrangement,' what humour he possesses; and the reputation he has left in Spain and Portugal, how much better he understood their literatures than they do themselves; while, at the same time, his books left in France, in Gallicia, at Lisbon, and two or three places in England; his manuscripts, neglected and lost to himself; his manners, lazy and careless; and his conversation, equally rich and negligent, show how little he cares about all that distinguishes him in the eyes of the world. He studies as a luxury, he writes as an amusement, and conversation is a kind of sensual enjoyment to him. If he had been born in Asia, he would have been the laziest man that ever lived."] [Footnote 5: For "Conversation" Sharp, see p. 341, 'note' 2 [Footnote 2 of Journal entry for 24 November, 1813.]] [Footnote 6: Thomas Cribb (1781-1848), born at Bitton, near Bristol, began life as a bell-hanger, became first a coal-porter, then a sailor, and finally found his vocation as a pugilist. In his profession he was known, from one of his previous callings, as the "Black Diamond." His first big fight was against George Maddox (January 7, 1805), whom he defeated after seventy-six rounds. He twice beat the ex-champion, the one-eyed Jem Belcher (April 8, 1807, and February 1, 1809), and with his victory over Bob Gregson (October 25, 1808; see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 207, 'note' 1 [Footnote 2 of Letter 108]) became champion of England. His two defeats of Molineaux, the black pugilist (December 18, 1810, and September 28, 1811), established his title, which was never again seriously challenged, and in 1821 it was conferred upon him for life. Cribb was one of the prize-fighters, who, dressed as pages, kept order at the Coronation of George IV. In 1813 he was landlord of the King's Arms, Duke Street, St. James's, and universally respected as the honest head of the pugilistic profession. He died in 1848 at Woolwich; three years later a monument was erected to his memory by public subscription in Woolwich Churchyard. It represents "a British lion grieving over the ashes of a British hero," and on the plinth is the inscription, "Respect the ashes of the brave."] [Footnote 7: Virgil, 'Eclogues', iii. 59.] [Footnote 8: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges (1762-1837), poet, novelist, genealogist, and bibliographer, published, in 1813, 'The Ruminator: containing a series of moral, critical, and sentimental Essays'. Of the 104 Essays, 72 appeared in the 'Censura Literaria' between January, 1807, and June, 1809. The remainder were by Gillies, except two by the Rev. Francis Wrangham and two by the Rev. Montagu Pennington. No. 50 is a review of some original poems by Capell Lofft, including a Greek ode on Eton College. Gillies, in his 'Memoirs of a Literary Veteran' (vol. ii. p. 4), says that in 1809 he addressed an anonymous letter to Brydges, containing some thoughts on the advantages of retirement (the subject of 'Childe Alarique'). The letter, printed in 'The Ruminator', began his literary career and introduced him to Brydges. 'The Ruminator', 2 vols. (1813), and 'Childe Alarique' (1813), are among the books included in the sale catalogue of Byron's books, April 5, 1816.] [Footnote 9: Robert Pearse Gillies (1788-1858) wrote 'Wallace, a Fragment' (1813); 'Childe Alarique, a Poet's Reverie, with other Poems' (1813); 'Confessions of Sir Henry Longueville, a Novel' (1814); and numerous other works and translations. His 'Memoirs of a Literary Veteran' was published in 1851. He was the founder and first editor of the 'Foreign Quarterly Review' (1827).] [Footnote 10: The following additional notes on Byron's Parliamentary career are taken from his 'Detached Thoughts':-- "At the Opposition meeting of the peers, in 1812, at Lord Grenville's, when Lord Grey and he read to us the correspondence upon Moira's negociation, I sate next to the present Duke of Grafton. When it was over, I turned to him and said, 'What is to be done next?' 'Wake the Duke of Norfolk' (who was snoring away near us), replied he. 'I don't think the Negociators have left anything else for us to do this turn.'" "In the debate, or rather discussion, afterwards, in the House of Lords, upon that very question, I sate immediately behind Lord Moira, who was extremely annoyed at G.'s speech upon the subject, and while G. was speaking, turned round to me repeatedly and asked me whether I agreed with him? It was an awkward question to me, who had not heard both sides. Moira kept repeating to me, 'It was 'not so', it was so and so,' etc. I did not know very well what to think, but I sympathized with the acuteness of his feelings upon the subject." "Lord Eldon affects an Imitation of two very different Chancellors--Thurlow and Loughborough--and can indulge in an oath now and then. On one of the debates on the Catholic question, when we were either equal or within one (I forget which), I had been sent for in great haste from a Ball, which I quitted, I confess somewhat reluctantly, to emancipate five Millions of people. I came in late, and did not go immediately into the body of the house, but stood just behind the Woolsack. Eldon turned round, and, catching my eye, immediately said to a peer (who had come to him for a few minutes on the Woolsack, as is the custom of his friends), 'Damn them! they'll have it now, by God!--the vote that is just come in will give it them.'"] [Footnote 11: Horace, 'Odes', III. iii. 7.] * * * * * Wednesday, 24. No dreams last night of the dead, nor the living; so--I am "firm as the marble, founded as the rock," [1] till the next earthquake. Ward's dinner went off well. There was not a disagreeable person there--unless _I_ offended any body, which I am sure I could not by contradiction, for I said little, and opposed nothing. Sharpe [2] (a man of elegant mind, and who has lived much with the best--Fox, Horne Tooke, Windham, Fitzpatrick, and all the agitators of other times and tongues,) told us the particulars of his last interview with Windham, [3] a few days before the fatal operation which sent "that gallant spirit to aspire the skies." [4] Windham,--the first in one department of oratory and talent, whose only fault was his refinement beyond the intellect of half his hearers,--Windham, half his life an active participator in the events of the earth, and one of those who governed nations,--_he_ regretted,--and dwelt much on that regret, that "he had not entirely devoted himself to literature and science!!!" His mind certainly would have carried him to eminence there, as elsewhere;--but I cannot comprehend what debility of that mind could suggest such a wish. I, who have heard him, cannot regret any thing but that I shall never hear him again. What! would he have been a plodder? a metaphysician?--perhaps a rhymer? a scribbler? Such an exchange must have been suggested by illness. But he is gone, and Time "shall not look upon his like again." [5] I am tremendously in arrear with my letters,--except to----, and to her my thoughts overpower me:--my words never compass them. To Lady Melbourne I write with most pleasure--and her answers, so sensible, so _tactique_--I never met with half her talent. If she had been a few years younger, what a fool she would have made of me, had she thought it worth her while,--and I should have lost a valuable and most agreeable _friend_. Mem. a mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and, when it is over, any thing but friends. I have not answered W. Scott's last letter,--but I will. I regret to hear from others, that he has lately been unfortunate in pecuniary involvements. He is undoubtedly the Monarch of Parnassus, and the most _English_ of bards. I should place Rogers next in the living list (I value him more as the last of the best school)--Moore and Campbell both _third_--Southey and Wordsworth and Coleridge--the rest, [Greek: hoi polloi]--thus: W. SCOTT. ^ ROGERS. MOORE.--CAMPBELL. SOUTHEY.--WORDSWORTH.--COLERIDGE. < THE MANY. > There is a triangular _Gradus ad Parnassum_!--the names are too numerous for the base of the triangle. Poor Thurlow has gone wild about the poetry of Queen Bess's reign--_c'est dommage_. I have ranked the names upon my triangle more upon what I believe popular opinion, than any decided opinion of my own. For, to me, some of Moore's last _Erin_ sparks--"As a beam o'er the face of the waters"--"When he who adores thee"--"Oh blame not"--and "Oh breathe not his name"--are worth all the Epics that ever were composed. Rogers thinks the 'Quarterly' will attack me next. Let them. I have been "peppered so highly" in my time, _both_ ways, that it must be cayenne or aloes to make me taste. I can sincerely say, that I am not very much alive _now_ to criticism. But--in tracing this--I rather believe that it proceeds from my not attaching that importance to authorship which many do, and which, when young, I did also. "One gets tired of every thing, my angel," says Valmont [6]. The "angels" are the only things of which I am not a little sick--but I do think the preference of _writers_ to _agents_--the mighty stir made about scribbling and scribes, by themselves and others--a sign of effeminacy, degeneracy, and weakness. Who would write, who had any thing better to do? "Action--action--action"--said Demosthenes: "Actions--actions," I say, and not writing,--least of all, rhyme. Look at the querulous and monotonous lives of the "genus;"--except Cervantes, Tasso, Dante, Ariosto, Kleist (who were brave and active citizens), Æschylus, Sophocles, and some other of the antiques also--what a worthless, idle brood it is! [Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act iii. sc. 4-- "Whole as the marble, founded as the rock."] [Footnote 2: Richard Sharp (1759-1835), a wealthy hat-manufacturer, was a prominent figure in political and literary life. A consistent Whig, he was one of the "Friends of the People," and in the House of Commons (1806-12) was a recognized authority on questions of finance. Essentially a "club-able man," he was a member of many clubs, both literary and political. In Park Lane and at Mickleham he gathered round him many friends--Rogers, Moore, Mackintosh, Macaulay, Coleridge, Horner, Grattan, Horne Tooke, and Sydney Smith, who was so frequently his guest in the country that he was called the "Bishop of Mickleham." Horner (May 20, 1816) speaks of a visit paid to Sharp in Surrey, in company with Grattan ('Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 355). Ticknor, who, in 1815, breakfasted with Sharp in Park Lane ('Life', vol. i. pp. 55, 56), says of a party of "men of letters:" "I saw little of them, excepting Mr. Sharp, formerly a Member of Parliament, and who, from his talents in society, has been called 'Conversation Sharp.' He has been made an associate of most of the literary clubs in London, from the days of Burke down to the present time. He told me a great many amusing anecdotes of them, and particularly of Burke, Porson, and Grattan, with whom he had been intimate; and occupied the dinner-time as pleasantly as the same number of hours have passed with me in England.... 'June 7'.--This morning I breakfasted with Mr. Sharp, and had a continuation of yesterday,--more pleasant accounts of the great men of the present day, and more amusing anecdotes of the generation that has passed away." Miss Berry, who met Sharp often, writes, in her Journal for March 26, 1808 ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 344), "He is clever, but I should suspect of little real depth of intellect." Sharp published anonymously a volume of 'Epistles in Verse' (1828). These were reproduced, with additions, in his 'Letters and Essays', published with his name in 1834. His "Epistle to an Eminent Poet" is evidently addressed to his lifelong friend, Samuel Rogers: "Yes! thou hast chosen well 'the better part,' And, for the triumphs of the noblest art, Hast wisely scorn'd the sordid cares of life."] [Footnote 3: William Windham, of Felbrigg Hall (1750-1810), educated at Eton, Glasgow, and University College, Oxford, became M.P. for Norwich in 1784. In the following year he was made chief secretary to Lord Northington, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. Expressing some doubts to Dr. Johnson whether he possessed the arts necessary for Parliamentary success, the Doctor said, "You will become an able negotiator; a very pretty rascal." He resigned the secretaryship within the year, according to Gibbon, on the plea of ill health. He was one of the managers of the impeachment of Warren Hastings in 1788, Secretary at War from 1794 to 1801, and War and Colonial Secretary, 1806-7. Windham, a shrewd critic of other speakers, called Pitt's style a "State-paper style," because of its combined dignity and poverty, and "verily believed Mr. Pitt could speak a king's speech off-hand." As a speaker he was himself remarkably effective, a master of illustration and allusion, delighting in "homely Saxon," and affecting provincial words and pronunciation. Lord Sheffield, writing to Gibbon, February 5, 1793, says, "As to Windham, I should think he is become the best, at least the most sensible, speaker of the whole." His love of paradox, combined with his political independence and irresolution, gained him the name of "Weathercock Windham;" but he was respected by both sides as an honest politician. Outside the house it was his ambition to be known as a thorough Englishman--a patron of horse-racing, cock-fighting, bull-baiting, pugilism, and football. He was also a scholar, a man of wide reading, an admirable talker, and a friend of Miss Berry and of Madame d'Arblay, in whose Diaries he is a prominent figure. His own 'Diary' (1784-1810) was published in 1866. On the 8th of July, 1809, he saw a fire in Conduit Street, which threatened to spread to the house of his friend North, who possessed a valuable library. In his efforts to save the books, he fell and bruised his hip. A tumour formed, which was removed; but he sank under the operation, and died June 4, 1810.] [Footnote 4: "O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds." 'Romeo and Juliet', act iii. sc. 1.] [Footnote 5: "He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again." 'Hamlet', act i. sc. 2.] [Footnote 6: The allusion probably is to 'The Foundling of the Forest' (1809), by William Dimond the Younger. But no passage exactly corresponds to the quotation.] * * * * * 12, Mezza Notte. Just returned from dinner with Jackson (the Emperor of Pugilism) and another of the select, at Crib's, the champion's. I drank more than I like, and have brought away some three bottles of very fair claret--for I have no headach. We had Tom Crib up after dinner;--very facetious, though somewhat prolix. He don't like his situation--wants to fight again--pray Pollux (or Castor, if he was the _miller_) he may! Tom has been a sailor--a coal-heaver--and some other genteel profession, before he took to the cestus. Tom has been in action at sea, and is now only three-and-thirty. A great man! has a wife and a mistress, and conversations well--bating some sad omissions and misapplications of the aspirate. Tom is an old friend of mine; I have seen some of his best battles in my nonage. He is now a publican, and, I fear, a sinner;--for Mrs. Crib is on alimony, and Tom's daughter lives with the champion. _This_ Tom told me,--Tom, having an opinion of my morals, passed her off as a legal spouse. Talking of her, he said, "she was the truest of women"--from which I immediately inferred she could _not_ be his wife, and so it turned out. These panegyrics don't belong to matrimony;--for, if "true," a man don't think it necessary to say so; and if not, the less he says the better. Crib is the only man except----, I ever heard harangue upon his wife's virtue; and I listened to both with great credence and patience, and stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth, when I found yawning irresistible--By the by, I am yawning now--so, good night to thee.--[Greek: Noairon] [1] [Footnote 1: It is doubtful whether this is not a mistake for [Greek: Npairon], a variant of [Greek: Mpairon], which is the correct transliteration into modern Greek of 'Byron', but the MS. is destroyed.] * * * * * Thursday, November 26. Awoke a little feverish, but no headach--no dreams neither, thanks to stupor! Two letters; one from----, the other from Lady Melbourne--both excellent in their respective styles.----'s contained also a very pretty lyric on "concealed griefs;" if not her own, yet very like her. Why did she not say that the stanzas were, or were not, of her own composition? I do not know whether to wish them _hers_ or not. I have no great esteem for poetical persons, particularly women; they have so much of the "ideal" in _practics_, as well as _ethics_. I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that I should have been so utterly, devotedly fond of that girl, at an age when I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the word. And the effect! My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour; and, at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day, "Oh, Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercromby, and your old sweetheart Mary Duff is married to a Mr. Co'e." And what was my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at that moment; but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmed my mother so much, that after I grew better, she generally avoided the subject--to _me_--and contented herself with telling it to all her acquaintance. Now, what could this be? I had never seen her since her mother's _faux pas_ at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal to her grandmother's at Banff; we were both the merest children. I had and have been attached fifty times since that period; yet I recollect all we said to each other, all our caresses, her features, my restlessness, sleeplessness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for me to her, which she at last did, to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and, as I could not write for myself, became my secretary. I remember, too, our walks, and the happiness of sitting by Mary, in the children's apartment, at their house not far from the Plain-stanes at Aberdeen, while her lesser sister Helen played with the doll, and we sat gravely making love, in our way. How the deuce did all this occur so early? where could it originate? I certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterwards; and yet my misery, my love for that girl were so violent, that I sometimes doubt if I have ever been really attached since. Be that as it may, hearing of her marriage several years after was like a thunder-stroke--it nearly choked me--to the horror of my mother and the astonishment and almost incredulity of every body. And it is a phenomenon in my existence (for I was not eight years old) which has puzzled, and will puzzle me to the latest hour of it; and lately, I know not why, the _recollection_ (_not_ the attachment) has recurred as forcibly as ever. I wonder if she can have the least remembrance of it or me? or remember her pitying sister Helen for not having an admirer too? How very pretty is the perfect image of her in my memory--her brown, dark hair, and hazel eyes; her very dress! I should be quite grieved to see _her now_; the reality, however beautiful, would destroy, or at least confuse, the features of the lovely Peri which then existed in her, and still lives in my imagination, at the distance of more than sixteen years. I am now twenty-five and odd months.... I think my mother told the circumstances (on my hearing of her marriage) to the Parkynses, and certainly to the Pigot family, and probably mentioned it in her answer to Miss A., who was well acquainted with my childish _penchant_, and had sent the news on purpose for _me_,--and thanks to her! Next to the beginning, the conclusion has often occupied my reflections, in the way of investigation. That the facts are thus, others know as well as I, and my memory yet tells me so, in more than a whisper. But, the more I reflect, the more I am bewildered to assign any cause for this precocity of affection. Lord Holland invited me to dinner to-day; but three days' dining would destroy me. So, without eating at all since yesterday, I went to my box at Covent Garden. Saw----looking very pretty, though quite a different style of beauty from the other two. She has the finest eyes in the world, out of which she pretends _not_ to see, and the longest eyelashes I ever saw, since Leila's and Phannio's Moslem curtains of the light. She has much beauty,--just enough,--but is, I think, _méchante_. I have been pondering on the miseries of separation, that--oh how seldom we see those we love! yet we live ages in moments, _when met_. The only thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection that no mental or personal estrangement, from ennui or disagreement, can take place; and when people meet hereafter, even though many changes may have taken place in the mean time, still, unless they are _tired_ of each other, they are ready to reunite, and do not blame each other for the circumstances that severed them. * * * * * Saturday 27 (I believe or rather am in _doubt_, which is the _ne plus ultra_ of mortal faith.) I have missed a day; and, as the Irishman said, or Joe Miller says for him, "have gained a loss," or _by_ the loss. Every thing is settled for Holland, and nothing but a cough, or a caprice of my fellow-traveller's, can stop us. Carriage ordered, funds prepared, and, probably, a gale of wind into the bargain. _N'importe_--I believe, with Clym o' the Clow, or Robin Hood, "By our Mary, (dear name!) thou art both Mother and May, I think it never was a man's lot to die before his day." [1] Heigh for Helvoetsluys, and so forth! To-night I went with young Henry Fox to see _Nourjahad_, a drama, which the _Morning Post_ hath laid to my charge, but of which I cannot even guess the author. I wonder what they will next inflict upon me. They cannot well sink below a melodrama; but that is better than a satire, (at least, a personal one,) with which I stand truly arraigned, and in atonement of which I am resolved to bear silently all criticisms, abuses, and even praises, for bad pantomimes never composed by me, without even a contradictory aspect. I suppose the root of this report is my loan to the manager of my Turkish drawings for his dresses, to which he was more welcome than to my name. I suppose the real author will soon own it, as it has succeeded; if not, Job be my model, and Lethe my beverage! ----has received the portrait safe; and, in answer, the only remark she makes upon it is, "indeed it is like"--and again, "indeed it is like." With her the likeness "covered a multitude of sins;" for I happen to know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark and stern,--even black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last July, when I sat for it. All the others of me, like most portraits whatsoever, are, of course, more agreeable than nature. Redde the 'Edinburgh Review' of Rogers. He is ranked highly; but where he should be. There is a summary view of us all--_Moore_ and _me_ among the rest; [2] and both (the _first_ justly) praised--though, by implication (justly again) placed beneath our memorable friend. Mackintosh is the writer, and also of the critique on the Stael. [3] His grand essay on Burke, I hear, is for the next number. But I know nothing of the 'Edinburgh', or of any other _Review_, but from rumour; and I have long ceased; indeed, I could not, in justice, complain of any, even though I were to rate poetry, in general, and my rhymes in particular, more highly than I really do. To withdraw _myself_ from _myself_ (oh that cursed selfishness!) has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all; and publishing is also the continuance of the same object, by the action it affords to the mind, which else recoils upon itself. If I valued fame, I should flatter received opinions, which have gathered strength by time, and will yet wear longer than any living works to the contrary. But, for the soul of me, I cannot and will not give the lie to my own thoughts and doubts, come what may. If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. All are inclined to believe what they covet, from a lottery-ticket up to a passport to Paradise,--in which, from the description, I see nothing very tempting. My restlessness tells me I have something "within that passeth show." [4] It is for Him, who made it, to prolong that spark of celestial fire which illuminates, yet burns, this frail tenement; but I see no such horror in a "dreamless sleep," and I have no conception of any existence which duration would not render tiresome. How else "fell the angels," even according to your creed? They were immortal, heavenly, and happy, as their _apostate Abdiel_ [5] is now by his treachery. Time must decide; and eternity won't be the less agreeable or more horrible because one did not expect it. In the mean time, I am grateful for some good, and tolerably patient under certain evils--_grace à Dieu et mon bon tempérament_. [Footnote 1: "Ah, deere ladye, said Robin Hood, thou That art both Mother and May, I think it was never man's destinye To die before his day." 'Ballad of Robin Hood' [Footnote 2: The following is the passage to which Byron alludes: "Greece, the mother of freedom and of poetry in the West, which had long employed only the antiquary, the artist, and the philologist, was at length destined, after an interval of many silent and inglorious ages, to awaken the genius of a poet. Full of enthusiasm for those perfect forms of heroism and liberty which his imagination had placed in the recesses of antiquity, he gave vent to his impatience of the imperfections of living men and real institutions, in an original strain of sublime satire, which clothes moral anger in imagery of an almost horrible grandeur; and which, though it cannot coincide with the estimate of reason, yet could only flow from that worship of perfection which is the soul of all true poetry." 'Edin. Rev'., vol. xxii. p. 37.] [Footnote 3: "In the last 'Edinburgh Review' you will find two articles of mine, one on Rogers, and the other on Madame de Staël: they are both, especially the first, thought too panegyrical. I like the praises which I have bestowed on Lord Byron and Thomas Moore. I am convinced of the justness of the praises given to Madame de Staël." 'Mackintosh's Life', vol. ii. p. 271.] [Footnote 4: "I have that within which passeth show." 'Hamlet', act i. sc. 2.] [Footnote 5: "... the seraph Abdiel, faithful found Among the faithless." Milton, 'Paradise Lost', v. 896.] * * * * * Tuesday, 30th. Two days missed in my log-book;--_hiatus_ haud _deflendus_. They were as little worth recollection as the rest; and, luckily, laziness or society prevented me from _notching_ them. Sunday, I dined with the Lord Holland in St. James's Square. Large party--among them Sir S. Romilly [1] and Lady R'y.--General Sir Somebody Bentham, [2] a man of science and talent, I am told--Horner [3]--_the_ Horner, an Edinburgh Reviewer, an excellent speaker in the "Honourable House," very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company, as far as I have seen--Sharpe--Philips of Lancashire [4]--Lord John Russell, and others, "good men and true." Holland's society is very good; you always see some one or other in it worth knowing. Stuffed myself with sturgeon, and exceeded in champagne and wine in general, but not to confusion of head. When I _do_ dine, I gorge like an Arab or a Boa snake, on fish and vegetables, but no meat. I am always better, however, on my tea and biscuit than any other regimen, and even _that_ sparingly. Why does Lady H. always have that damned screen between the whole room and the fire? I, who bear cold no better than an antelope, and never yet found a sun quite _done_ to my taste, was absolutely petrified, and could not even shiver. All the rest, too, looked as if they were just unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that day only. When she retired, I watched their looks as I dismissed the screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the anticipated glow. Saturday, I went with Harry Fox to _Nourjahad_; and, I believe, convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. I wish the precious author would own it, and release me from his fame. The dresses are pretty, but not in costume;--Mrs. Horn's, all but the turban, and the want of a small dagger (if she is a sultana), _perfect_. I never saw a Turkish woman with a turban in my life--nor did any one else. The sultanas have a small poniard at the waist. The dialogue is drowsy--the action heavy--the scenery fine--the actors tolerable. I can't say much for their seraglio--Teresa, Phannio, or----, were worth them all. Sunday, a very handsome note from Mackintosh, who is a rare instance of the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature. To-day (Tuesday) a very pretty billet from M. la Baronne de Stael Holstein. [5] She is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. Her works are my delight, and so is she herself, for--half an hour. I don't like her politics--at least, her _having changed_ them; had she been _qualis ab incepto_, it were nothing. But she is a woman by herself, and has done more than all the rest of them together, intellectually;--she ought to have been a man. She _flatters_ me very prettily in her note;--but I _know_ it. The reason that adulation is not displeasing is, that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie, to make us their friend:--that is their concern. ----is, I hear, thriving on the repute of a _pun_ which was _mine_ (at Mackintosh's dinner some time back), on Ward, who was asking, "how much it would take to _re-whig_ him?" I answered that, probably, "he must first, before he was _re-whigged_, be re-_warded_." [6] This foolish quibble, before the Stael and Mackintosh, and a number of conversationers, has been mouthed about, and at last settled on the head of----, where long may it remain! George [7] is returned from afloat to get a new ship. He looks thin, but better than I expected. I like George much more than most people like their heirs. He is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor. I would do any thing, _but apostatise_, to get him on in his profession. Lewis called. It is a good and good-humoured man, but pestilently prolix and paradoxical and _personal_ [8]. If he would but talk half, and reduce his visits to an hour, he would add to his popularity. As an author he is very good, and his vanity is _ouverte_, like Erskine's, and yet not offending. Yesterday, a very pretty letter from Annabella [9], which I answered. What an odd situation and friendship is ours!--without one spark of love on either side, and produced by circumstances which in general lead to coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. She is a very superior woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress--a girl of twenty--a peeress that is to be, in her own right--an only child, and a _savante_, who has always had her own way. She is a poetess--a mathematician--a metaphysician, and yet, withal, very kind, generous, and gentle, with very little pretension. Any other head would be turned with half her acquisitions, and a tenth of her advantages. [Footnote 1: Sir Samuel Romilly (1757-1818), Solicitor-General (1806-7), distinguished himself in Parliament by his consistent advocacy of Catholic Emancipation, the abolition of the slave-trade, Parliamentary reform, and the mitigation of the harshness of the criminal law. Writing of Romilly's 'Observations on the Criminal Law of England' (1810), Sir James Mackintosh says, "It does the very highest honour to his moral character, which, I think, stands higher than that of any other conspicuous Englishman now alive. Probity, independence, humanity, and liberality breathe through every word; considered merely as a composition, accuracy, perspicuity, discretion, and good taste are its chief merits; great originality and comprehension of thought, or remarkable vigour of expression, it does not possess." The death of his wife, October 29, 1818, so affected Romilly's mind that he committed suicide four days later. "Romilly," said Lord Lansdowne to Moore ('Memoirs, etc'., vol. ii. p. 211), "was a stern, reserved sort of man, and she was the only person in the world to whom he wholly unbent and unbosomed himself; when he lost her, therefore, the very vent of his heart was stopped up."] [Footnote 2: Sir Samuel Bentham (1757-1831), naval architect and engineer, like his brother Jeremy, was a strong reformer. He was a Knight of the Russian Order of St. George, and, like Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges, who was a Knight of the Swedish Order of St. Joachim before he was created a baronet (1814), assumed the title in England.] [Footnote 3: Francis Horner (1778-1817), called to the Scottish Bar in 1800, and to the English Bar in 1807, was one of the founders of the 'Edinburgh Review', and acted as second to Jeffrey in his duel with Moore. In the House of Commons (M.P. for St. Ives, 1806-7; Wendover, 1807-12; St. Mawes, 1812-17) he was one of the most impressive speakers of the day, especially on financial questions. When Lord Morpeth moved (March 3, 1817) for a new writ for the borough of St. Mawes, striking tributes were paid to his character from both sides of the House ('Memoirs and Correspondence of Francis Horner', vol. ii. pp. 416-426), and further proof was given of public esteem by the statue erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey. The speeches delivered in the Lower House on March 3, 1817, were translated by Ugo Foscolo, and published with a dedication 'al nobile giovinetto, Enrico Fox, figlio di Lord Holland'.] [Footnote 4: George Philips, only son of Thomas Philips of Sedgley, Lancashire (born March 24, 1766), was created a baronet in February, 1828. He sat for South Warwickshire in the first reformed House of Commons.] [Footnote 5: In a note to 'The Bride of Abydos' (Canto I. st. vi.), Byron had written, "For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any, age, on the analogy (and the immediate comparison excited by that analogy) between 'painting and music,' see vol. iii. cap. 10, 'De l'Allemagne'." The passage is as follows (Part III. chap, x.): "Sans cesse nous comparons la peinture à la musique, et la musique à la peinture, parceque les émotions que nous eprouvons nous révèlent des analogies où l'observation froide ne verroit que des différences," etc., etc. The following is Madame de Staël's "very pretty billet:" "Argyll St., No. 31. "Je ne saurais vous exprímer, my lord, à quel point je me trouve honorée d'être dans une note de votre poëme, et de quel poëme! il me semble que pour la première fois je me crois certaine d'un nom d'avenir et que vous avez disposé pour moi de cet empire de reputation qui vous sera tous les jours plus soumis. Je voudrais vous parler de ce poëme que tout le monde admire, mais j'avouerai que je suis trop suspecte en le louant, et je ne cache pas qu' une louage de vous m'a fait épreuver un sentiment de fierté et de réconaissance qui me rendrait incapable de vous juger; mais heureusement vous êtes au dessus du jugement. "Donnez moi quelquefois le plaisir de vous voir; il-y-a un proverbe français qui dit qu'un bonheur ne va jamais sans d'autre. "DE STAËL."] [Footnote 6: "Byron," writes Sir Walter Scott, in a hitherto unpublished note, "occasionally said what are called good things, but never studied for them. They came naturally and easily, and mixed with the comic or serious, as it happened. A professed wit is of all earthly companions the most intolerable. He is like a schoolboy with his pockets stuffed with crackers. "No first-rate author was ever what is understood by a 'great conversational wit'. Swift's wit in common society was either the strong sense of a wonderful man unconsciously exerting his powers, or that of the same being wilfully unbending, wilfully, in fact, degrading himself. Who ever heard of any fame for conversational wit lingering over the memory of a Shakespeare, a Milton, even of a Dryden or a Pope? "Johnson is, perhaps, a solitary exception. More shame to him. He was the most indolent great man that ever lived, and threw away in his talk more than he ever took pains to embalm in his writings. "It is true that Boswell has in great measure counteracted all this. But here is no defence. Few great men can expect to have a Boswell, and none 'ought' to wish to have one, far less to trust to having one. A man should not keep fine clothes locked up in his chest only that his valet may occasionally show off in them; no, nor yet strut about in them in his chamber, only that his valet may puff him and his finery abroad. "What might not he have done, who wrote 'Rasselas' in the evenings of eight days to get money enough for his mother's funeral expenses? As it is, what has Johnson done? Is it nothing to be the first intellect of 'an age'? and who seriously talks even of Burke as having been more than a clever boy in the presence of old Samuel?"] [Footnote 7: George Anson Byron, R. N., afterwards Lord Byron.] [Footnote 8: Scott has this additional note on Lewis: "Nothing was more tiresome than Lewis when he began to harp upon any extravagant proposition. He would tinker at it for hours without mercy, and repeat the same thing in four hundred different ways. If you assented in despair, he resumed his reasoning in triumph, and you had only for your pains the disgrace of giving in. If you disputed, daylight and candle-light could not bring the discussion to an end, and Mat's arguments were always 'ditto repeated'."] [Footnote 9: Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron.] * * * * * Wednesday, December 1, 1813. To-day responded to La Baronne de Stael Holstein, and sent to Leigh Hunt (an acquisition to my acquaintance--through Moore--of last summer) a copy of the two Turkish tales. Hunt is an extraordinary character, and not exactly of the present age. He reminds me more of the Pym and Hampden times--much talent, great independence of spirit, and an austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. If he goes on _qualis ab incepto_, I know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. I must go and see him again;--the rapid succession of adventure, since last summer, added to some serious uneasiness and business, have interrupted our acquaintance; but he is a man worth knowing; and though, for his own sake, I wish him out of prison, I like to study character in such situations. He has been unshaken, and will continue so. I don't think him deeply versed in life;--he is the bigot of virtue (not religion), and enamoured of the beauty of that "empty name," as the last breath of Brutus pronounced [1], and every day proves it. He is, perhaps, a little opinionated, as all men who are the _centre_ of _circles_, wide or narrow--the Sir Oracles, in whose name two or three are gathered together--must be, and as even Johnson was; but, withal, a valuable man, and less vain than success and even the consciousness of preferring "the right to the expedient" might excuse. To-morrow there is a party of _purple_ at the "blue" Miss Berry's. Shall I go? um!--I don't much affect your blue-bottles;--but one ought to be civil. There will be, "I guess now" (as the Americans say), the Staels and Mackintoshes--good--the----s and----s--not so good--the----s, etc., etc.--good for nothing. Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning [2], Lady Charlemont, will be there. I hope so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces. Wrote to H.:--he has been telling that I------[3] I am sure, at least, _I_ did not mention it, and I wish he had not. He is a good fellow, and I obliged myself ten times more by being of use than I did him,--and there's an end on't. Baldwin [4] is boring me to present their King's Bench petition. I presented Cartwright's last year; and Stanhope and I stood against the whole House, and mouthed it valiantly--and had some fun and a little abuse for our opposition. But "I am not i' th' vein" [5] for this business. Now, had----been here, she would have _made_ me do it. _There_ is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to usefulness or glory. Had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius. Baldwin is very importunate--but, poor fellow, "I can't get out, I can't get out--said the starling." [6] Ah, I am as bad as that dog Sterne, who preferred whining over "a dead ass to relieving a living mother" [7]--villain--hypocrite--slave--sycophant! but _I_ am no better. Here I cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates, and three words and half a smile of----had she been here to urge it (and urge it she infallibly would--at least she always pressed me on senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of weakness) would have made me an advocate, if not an orator. Curse on Rochefoucault for being always right! In him a lie were virtue,--or, at least, a comfort to his readers. George Byron has not called to-day; I hope he will be an admiral, and, perhaps, Lord Byron into the bargain. If he would but marry, I would engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship. He would be happier, and I should like nephews better than sons. I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d., 1814). Is there any thing in the future that can possibly console us for not being always _twenty-five_? "Oh Gioventu! Oh Primavera! gioventu dell' anno. Oh Gioventu! primavera della vita." [Footnote 1: "'Strato'. For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honour by his death. * * * * * 'Octavius'. According to his virtue let us use him, With all respect and rites of burial." 'Julius Cæsar', act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 2: In 'The Giaour' (lines 388-392) occurs the following passage: "As rising on its purple wing The insect-queen of Eastern spring O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near," etc. To line 389 is appended this note: "The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of the species."] [Footnote 3: See letter [Letter 365] to Francis Hodgson, p. 294.] [Footnote 4: The letters which W.J. Baldwin, a debtor in the King's Bench prison, wrote to Byron are preserved. Byron seems to have refused to present the petition from diffidence, but he interested himself in the subject, and probably induced Lord Holland to take up the question. (See p. 318, 'note' 2 [Footnote 6 of the initial journal entry which forms the beginning of Chapter VIII.]) In the list of abuses enumerated by Baldwin is mentioned a "strong room," in which prisoners were confined, without fires or glass to the windows, in the depth of winter.] [Footnote 5: 'Richard III'., act iv, sc. 2.] [Footnote 6: 'Sentimental Journey' (ed. 1819), vol. ii. p. 379.] [Footnote 7: 'Ibid.', vol. ii. p. 337.] * * * * * Sunday, December 5. Dallas's nephew (son to the American Attorney-general) is arrived in this country, and tells Dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like _Fame_ to my ears--to be redde on the banks of the Ohio! The greatest pleasure I ever derived, of this kind was from an extract, in Cooke the actor's life, from his journal [1], stating that in the reading-room at Albany, near Washington, he perused _English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers_. To be popular in a rising and far country has a kind of _posthumous feel_, very different from the ephemeral _éclat_ and fête-ing, buzzing and party-ing compliments of the well-dressed multitude. I can safely say that, during my _reign_ in the spring of 1812, I regretted nothing but its duration of six weeks instead of a fortnight, and was heartily glad to resign. Last night I supped with Lewis; and, as usual, though I neither exceeded in solids nor fluids, have been half dead ever since. My stomach is entirely destroyed by long abstinence, and the rest will probably follow. Let it--I only wish the _pain_ over. The "leap in the dark" is the least to be dreaded. The Duke of----called. I have told them forty times that, except to half-a-dozen old and specified acquaintances, I am invisible. His Grace is a good, noble, ducal person; but I am content to think so at a distance, and so--I was not at home. Galt called.--Mem.--to ask some one to speak to Raymond in favour of his play. We are old fellow-travellers, and, with all his eccentricities, he has much strong sense, experience of the world, and is, as far as I have seen, a good-natured philosophical fellow. I showed him Sligo's letter on the reports of the Turkish girl's _aventure_ at Athens soon after it happened. He and Lord Holland, Lewis, and Moore, and Rogers, and Lady Melbourne have seen it. Murray has a copy. I thought it had been _unknown_, and wish it were; but Sligo arrived only some days after, and the _rumours_ are the subject of his letter. That I shall preserve,--_it is as well_. Lewis and Gait were both _horrified_; and L. wondered I did not introduce the situation into _The Giaour_. He _may_ wonder;--he might wonder more at that production's being written at all. But to describe the _feelings_ of _that situation_ were impossible--it is _icy_ even to recollect them. The _Bride of Abydos_ was published on Thursday the second of December; but how it is liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against whom I can have no complaint. But I am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever be to the most partial reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination--from selfish regrets to vivid recollections--and recalled me to a country replete with the _brightest_ and _darkest_, but always most _lively_ colours of my memory. Sharpe called, but was not let in, which I regret. Saw [Rogers] yesterday. I have not kept my appointment at Middleton, which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with [Ward] will, perhaps, please him less. But I wish to keep well with both. They are instruments that don't do in concert; but, surely, their separate tones are very musical, and I won't give up either. It is well if I don't jar between these great discords. At present I stand tolerably well with all, but I cannot adopt their _dislikes_;--so many _sets_. Holland's is the first;--every thing _distingué_ is welcome there, and certainly the _ton_ of his society is the best. Then there is Madame de Stael's--there I never go, though I might, had I courted it. It is composed of the----s and the----family, with a strange sprinkling,--orators, dandies, and all kinds of _Blue_, from the regular Grub Street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the _Littérateur_ [2]? To see----and----sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and they--the Reviewer and the Reviewée--the Rhinoceros and Elephant--the Mammoth and Megalonyx--all will lie quietly together. They now _sit_ together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were already immured. I did not go to the Berrys' the other night. The elder is a woman of much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful. To-night asked to Lord H.'s--shall I go? um!--perhaps. Morning, two o'clock. Went to Lord H.'s--party numerous--_mi_lady in perfect good humour, and consequently _perfect_. No one more agreeable, or perhaps so much so, when she will. Asked for Wednesday to dine and meet the Stael--asked particularly, I believe, out of mischief to see the first interview after the _note_, with which Corinne professes herself to be so much taken. I don't much like it; she always talks of _my_self or _her_self, and I am not (except in soliloquy, as now,) much enamoured of either subject--especially one's works. What the devil shall I say about _De l'Allemagne_? I like it prodigiously; but unless I can twist my admiration into some fantastical expression, she won't believe me; and I know, by experience, I shall be overwhelmed with fine things about rhyme, etc., etc. The lover, Mr.----[Rocca], was there to-night, and C----said "it was the only proof _he_ had seen of her good taste." Monsieur L'Amant is remarkably handsome; but _I_ don't think more so than her book. C----[Campbell] looks well,--seems pleased, and dressed to _sprucery_. A blue coat becomes him,--so does his new wig. He really looked as if Apollo had sent him a birthday suit, or a wedding-garment, and was witty and lively. He abused Corinne's book, which I regret; because, firstly, he understands German, and is consequently a fair judge; and, secondly, he is _first-rate_, and, consequently, the best of judges. I reverence and admire him; but I won't give up my opinion--why should I? I read _her_ again and again, and there can be no affectation in this. I cannot be mistaken (except in taste) in a book I read and lay down, and take up again; and no book can be totally bad which finds _one_, even _one_ reader, who can say as much sincerely. Campbell talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were eminently successful. Moore thought of it, but gave it up,--I don't know why.----had been prating _dignity_ to him, and such stuff; as if a man disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time. Introduced to Marquis Buckingham--saw Lord Gower [3]--he is going to Holland; Sir J. and Lady Mackintosh and Horner, G. Lamb [4], with I know not how many (Richard Wellesley, one--a clever man), grouped about the room. Little Henry Fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and manner,--he went away to bed, before I had time to talk to him. I am sure I had rather hear him than all the _savans_. [Footnote 1: In Dunlap's 'Memoirs of George Frederick Cooke' (vol. ii. p. 313), the following passage is quoted from the actor's journal: "Read 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', by Lord Byron. It is well written. His Lordship is rather severe, perhaps justly so, on Walter Scott, and most assuredly justly severe upon Monk Lewis."] [Footnote 2: In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs this passage: "In general I do not draw well with literary men. Not that I dislike them, but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. There are several exceptions, to be sure; but then they have always been men of the world, such as Scott and Moore, etc., or visionaries out of it, such as Shelley, etc. But your literary every-day man and I never went well in company, especially your foreigner, whom I never could abide,--except Giordani, and--and--and (I really can't name any other); I do not remember a man amongst them whom I ever wished to see twice, except, perhaps, Mezzophanti, who is a Monster of Languages, the Briareus of parts of speech, a walking Polyglott, and more--who ought to have existed at the time of the Tower of Babel as universal Interpreter. He is, indeed, a Marvel, --unassuming also. I tried him in all the tongues of which I have a single oath (or adjuration to the Gods against Postboys, Savages, Tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, Gondoliers, Muleteers, Cameldrivers, Vetturini, Postmasters, post-horses, post-houses, post-everything) and Egad! he astounded me even to my English." On this passage Sir Walter Scott makes the following note: "I suspect Lord Byron of some self-deceit as to this matter. It appears that he liked extremely the only 'first-rate' men of letters into whose society he happened to be thrown in England. They happened to be men of the world, it is true; but how few men of very great eminence in literature, how few intellectually Lord B.'s peers, have 'not' been men of the world? Does any one doubt that the topics he had most pleasure in discussing with Scott or Moore were literary ones, or had at least some relation to literature? "As for the foreign 'literati', pray what 'literati' anything like his own rank did he encounter abroad? I have no doubt he would have been as much at home with an Alfieri, a Schiller, or a Goethe, or a Voltaire, as he was with Scott or Moore, and yet two of these were very little of men of the world in the sense in which he uses that phrase. "As to 'every-day men of letters,' pray who does like their company? Would a clever man like a prosing 'captain, or colonel, or knight-in-arms' the 'better' for happening to be himself the Duke of Wellington?"] [Footnote 3: George Granville Leveson Gower (1786-1861) succeeded his father in 1833 as second Duke of Sutherland.] [Footnote 4: George Lamb (1784-1834), the fourth son of the first Lord Melbourne, married, in 1809, Caroline Rosalie St. Jules. As one of the early contributors to the 'Edinburgh Review', he was attacked by Byron in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 57 and 516 (see 'Poems', ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 301, 'note' I). A clever amateur actor, his comic opera 'Whistle for It' was produced at Covent Garden, April 10, 1807, and he was afterwards on the Drury Lane Committee of Management. His translation of the 'Poems of Catullus' was published in 1821. In 1819, as the representative of the official Whigs, he was elected for Westminster against Hobhouse; but was defeated at the next election (1820).] * * * * * Monday, Dec. 6. Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing was called the _Bride_ of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. _She_ is not a _bride_, only about to be one; but for, etc., etc., etc. I don't wonder at his finding out the _Bull_; but the detection----is too late to do any good. I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an Irishman. Campbell last night seemed a little nettled at something or other--I know not what. We were standing in the ante-saloon, when Lord H. brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition similar to that which is used in Catholic churches, and, seeing us, he exclaimed, "Here is some _incense_ for you." Campbell answered--"Carry it to Lord Byron, _he is used to it_." Now, this comes of "bearing no brother near the throne." [1] I, who have no throne, nor wish to have one _now_, whatever I may have done, am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity; or, at least, if I dislike any, it is not _poetically_, but _personally_. Surely the field of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is before or behind in a race where there is no _goal_? The temple of fame is like that of the Persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of mountains. I should be equally content with Mount Caucasus, or Mount Anything; and those who like it, may have Mount Blanc or Chimborazo, without my envy of their elevation. I think I may _now_ speak thus; for I have just published a poem, and am quite ignorant whether it is _likely_ to be _liked_ or not. I have hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can _downright_ abuse it to one's face, except in print. It can't be good, or I should not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title. But I began it with my heart full of----, and my head of oriental_ities_ (I can't call them _isms_), and wrote on rapidly. This journal is a relief. When I am tired--as I generally am--out comes this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor. Another scribble from Martin Baldwin the petitioner; I have neither head nor nerves to present it. That confounded supper at Lewis's has spoiled my digestion and my philanthropy. I have no more charity than a cruet of vinegar. Would I were an ostrich, and dieted on fire-irons,--or any thing that my gizzard could get the better of. To-day saw Ward. His uncle [2] is dying, and W. don't much affect our Dutch determinations. I dine with him on Thursday, provided _l'oncle_ is not dined upon, or peremptorily bespoke by the posthumous epicures before that day. I wish he may recover--not for _our_ dinner's sake, but to disappoint the undertaker, and the rascally reptiles that may well wait, since they _will_ dine at last. Gell called--he of Troy--after I was out. Mem.--to return his visit. But my Mems. are the very landmarks of forgetfulness;--something like a light-house, with a ship wrecked under the nose of its lantern. I never look at a Mem. without seeing that I have remembered to forget. Mem.--I have forgotten to pay Pitt's taxes, and suppose I shall be surcharged. "An I do not turn rebel when thou art king "--oons! I believe my very biscuit is leavened with that impostor's imposts. Lady Melbourne returns from Jersey's to-morrow;--I must call. A Mr. Thomson has sent a song, which I must applaud. I hate annoying them with censure or silence;--and yet I hate _lettering_. Saw Lord Glenbervie [3] and this Prospectus, at Murray's, of a new Treatise on Timber. Now here is a man more useful than all the historians and rhymers ever planted. For, by preserving our woods and forests, he furnishes materials for all the history of Britain worth reading, and all the odes worth nothing. Redde a good deal, but desultorily. My head is crammed with the most useless lumber. It is odd that when I do read, I can only bear the chicken broth of--_any thing_ but Novels. It is many a year since I looked into one, (though they are sometimes ordered, by way of experiment, but never taken,) till I looked yesterday at the worst parts of the _Monk_. These descriptions ought to have been written by Tiberius at Caprea--they are forced--the _philtered_ ideas of a jaded voluptuary. It is to me inconceivable how they could have been composed by a man of only twenty--his age when he wrote them. They have no nature--all the sour cream of cantharides. I should have suspected Buffon of writing them on the death-bed of his detestable dotage. I had never redde this edition, and merely looked at them from curiosity and recollection of the noise they made, and the name they had left to Lewis. But they could do no harm, except----. Called this evening on my agent--my business as usual. Our strange adventures are the only inheritances of our family that have not diminished. I shall now smoke two cigars, and get me to bed. The cigars don't keep well here. They get as old as a _donna di quaranti anni_ in the sun of Africa. The Havannah are the best;--but neither are so pleasant as a hooka or chiboque. The Turkish tobacco is mild, and their horses entire--two things as they should be. I am so far obliged to this Journal, that it preserves me from verse,--at least from keeping it. I have just thrown a poem into the fire (which it has relighted to my great comfort), and have smoked out of my head the plan of another. I wish I could as easily get rid of thinking, or, at least, the confusion of thought. [Footnote 1: Pope's 'Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot', line 197.] [Footnote 2: William Bosville (1745-1813), called colonel, but really only lieutenant in the Coldstream Guards, was a noted 'bon vivant', whose maxim for life was "Better never than late." He was famous for his hospitality in Welbeck Street. A friend of Horne Tooke, he dined with him at Wimbledon every Sunday in the spring and autumn. See 'Diversions of Purley', ed. 1805, ii. 490: "Your friend Bosville and I have entered into a strict engagement to belong for ever to the established government, to the Established Church, and to the established language of our country, because they are established."] [Footnote 3: Sylvester Douglas (1743-1823), created in 1800 Baron Glenbervie, married, in September, 1789, Catherine, eldest daughter of Lord North, afterwards Earl of Guildford. He was educated at Leyden for the medical profession, a circumstance to which Sheridan alludes in the lines: "Glenbervie, Glenbervie, What's good for the scurvy? For ne'er be your old trade forgot." Gibbon writes of him, October 4, 1788 ('Letters', vol. ii. p. 180), "He has been curious, attentive, agreeable; and in every place where he has resided some days, he has left acquaintance who esteem and regret him; I never knew so clear and general an impression." Glenbervie was Surveyor-General of Woods and Forests, 1803-1806, and again from 1807 to 1810. In that year he became First Commissioner of Land Revenue and Woods and Forests, and held the appointment till August, 1814.] * * * * * Tuesday, December 7. Went to bed, and slept dreamlessly, but not refreshingly. Awoke, and up an hour before being called; but dawdled three hours in dressing. When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation),--sleep, eating, and swilling--buttoning and unbuttoning--how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse. Redde the papers and _tea_-ed and soda-watered, and found out that the fire was badly lighted. Lord Glenbervie wants me to go to Brighton--um! This morning, a very pretty billet from the Stael about meeting her at Ld. H.'s to-morrow. She has written, I dare say, twenty such this morning to different people, all equally flattering to each. So much the better for her and those who believe all she wishes them, or they wish to believe. She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note annexed to _The Bride_. This is to be accounted for in several ways,--firstly, all women like all, or any, praise; secondly, this was unexpected, because I have never courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub [1] says, those who have been all their lives regularly praised, by regular critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature, which is the best reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only one. A knock--knocks single and double. Bland called. He says Dutch society (he has been in Holland) is second-hand French; but the women are like women every where else. This is a bore: I should like to see them a little _un_like; but that can't be expected. Went out--came home--this, that, and the other--and "all is vanity, saith the preacher," and so say I, as part of his congregation. Talking of vanity, whose praise do I prefer? Why, Mrs. Inchbald's [2], and that of the Americans. The first, because her _Simple Story_ and _Nature and Art_ are, to me, _true_ to their _titles_; and, consequently, her short note to Rogers about _The Giaour_ delighted me more than any thing, except the _Edinburgh Review_. I like the Americans, because _I_ happened to be in _Asia_, while the _English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers_ were redde in _America_. If I could have had a speech against the _Slave Trade in Africa_, and an epitaph on a dog in _Europe_ (i.e. in the _Morning Post_), my _vertex sublimis_ [3] would certainly have displaced stars enough to overthrow the Newtonian system. [Footnote 1: The reference is only to the form of the sentence. "Scrub," in 'The Beaux' Stratagem' (act iv. se. 2), says, "First, it must be a plot, because there's a woman in't; secondly, it must be a plot, because there's a priest in't; thirdly, it must be a plot, because there's French gold in't; and fourthly, it must be a plot, because I don't know what to make on't."] [Footnote 2: Elizabeth Simpson (1753-1821), daughter of a Suffolk farmer, married (1772) Joseph Inchbald, actor and portrait-painter. Actress, dramatist, and novelist, she was one of the most attractive women of the day. Winning in manner, quick in repartee, an admirable teller of stories, she always gathered all the men round her chair. "It was vain," said Mrs. Shelley, "for any other woman to attempt to gain attention." Miss Edgeworth wished to see her first among living celebrities; her charm fascinated Sheridan, and overcame the prejudice of Lamb; even Peter Pindar wrote verse in her praise. From the age of eighteen she was wooed on and off the stage, where her slight stammer hindered her complete success; but no breath of scandal tarnished her name. Had John Kemble, the hero of 'A Simple Story', proposed to her, she probably would have married him. Mrs. Butler records that her uncle John once asked the actress, when matrimony was the subject of green-room conversation, "Well, Mrs. Inchbald, would you have had me?" "Dear heart," said the stammering beauty, turning her sunny face up at him," I'd have j-j-j-jumped at you." Mrs. Inchbald's 'Simple Story' (1791) wears a more modern air than any previously written novel. Her dramatic experience stood her in good stead. "Dorriforth," the priest, educated, like Kemble, at Douay, impressed himself upon Macaulay's mind as the true type of the Roman Catholic peer. 'Nature and Art' (1796) was written when Mrs. Inchbald was most under the influence of the French Revolution. Of two boys who come to London to seek their fortunes, Nature makes one a musician, and Art raises the other into a dean. The trial and condemnation of "Agnes" perhaps suggested to Lytton the scene in 'Paul Clifford', where "Brandon" condemns his own son.] [Footnote 3: Horace, 'Odes', I. i. 36.] * * * * * Friday, December 10, 1813. I am _ennuyé_ beyond my usual tense of that yawning verb, which I am always conjugating; and I don't find that society much mends the matter. I am too lazy to shoot myself--and it would annoy Augusta, and perhaps ----; but it would be a good thing for George, on the other side, and no bad one for me; but I won't be tempted. I have had the kindest letter from Moore. I _do_ think that man is the best-hearted, the only _hearted_ being I ever encountered; and, then, his talents are equal to his feelings. Dined on Wednesday at Lord H.'s--the Staffords, Staels, Cowpers, Ossulstones, Melbournes, Mackintoshes, etc., etc.--and was introduced to the Marquis and Marchioness of Stafford [1],--an unexpected event. My quarrel with Lord Carlisle (their or his brother-in-law) having rendered it improper, I suppose, brought it about. But, if it was to happen at all, I wonder it did not occur before. She is handsome, and must have been beautiful--and her manners are _princessly_. The Stael was at the other end of the table, and less loquacious than heretofore. We are now very good friends; though she asked Lady Melbourne whether I had really any _bonhommie_. She might as well have asked that question before she told C. L. "_c'est un demon_." True enough, but rather premature, for _she_ could not have found it out, and so--she wants me to dine there next Sunday. Murray prospers, as far as circulation. For my part, I adhere (in liking) to my Fragment. It is no wonder that I wrote one--my mind is a fragment. Saw Lord Gower, Tierney [2], etc., in the square. Took leave of Lord Gower, who is going to Holland and Germany. He tells me that he carries with him a parcel of _Harolds_ and _Giaours_, etc., for the readers of Berlin, who, it seems, read English, and have taken a caprice for mine. Um!--have I been _German_ all this time, when I thought myself _Oriental_? Lent Tierney my box for to-morrow; and received a new comedy sent by Lady C. A.--but _not hers_. I must read it, and endeavour not to displease the author. I hate annoying them with cavil; but a comedy I take to be the most difficult of compositions, more so than tragedy. Galt says there is a coincidence between the first part of _The Bride_ and some story of his--whether published or not, I know not, never having seen it. He is almost the last person on whom any one would commit literary larceny, and I am not conscious of any _witting_ thefts on any of the genus. As to originality, all pretensions are ludicrous,--"there is nothing new under the sun." [3] Went last night to the play. Invited out to a party, but did not go;--right. Refused to go to Lady----'s on Monday;--right again. If I must fritter away my life, I would rather do it alone. I was much tempted;--C----looked so Turkish with her red turban, and her regular, dark, and clear features. Not that _she_ and _I_ ever were, or could be, any thing; but I love any aspect that reminds me of the "children of the sun." To dine to-day with Rogers and Sharpe, for which I have some appetite, not having tasted food for the preceding forty-eight hours. I wish I could leave off eating altogether. [Footnote 1: George Granville Leveson Gower (1758-1833) succeeded his father, in 1803, as second Marquis of Stafford. He married, in 1785, Elizabeth, Countess of Sutherland, and was created, in 1833, first Duke of Sutherland. Lord Carlisle had married, in 1770 Margaret Caroline, sister of the second Marquis of Stafford.] [Footnote 2: George Tierney (1761-1830) entered Parliament as Member for Colchester in 1789. In 1796 he was returned for Southwark. A useful speaker and political writer, he was Treasurer of the Navy in the Addington administration, and President of the Board of Control in that of "All the Talents." His drafting of the petition of the "Society of the Friends of the People," his duel with Pitt in 1798, and his leadership of the Opposition after 1817, are almost forgotten; but he is remembered as the "Friend of Humanity" in 'The Needy Knife-Grinder'.] [Footnote 3: 'Eccles'. i. 9.] * * * * * Saturday, December 11. * * * * * Sunday, December 12. By Galt's answer, I find it is some story in _real life_, and not any work with which my late composition coincides. It is still more singular, for mine is drawn from _existence_ also. I have sent an excuse to Madame de Stael. I do not feel sociable enough for dinner to-day;--and I will not go to Sheridan's on Wednesday. Not that I do not admire and prefer his unequalled conversation; but--that "_but_" must only be intelligible to thoughts I cannot write. Sheridan was in good talk at Rogers's the other night, but I only stayed till _nine_. All the world are to be at the Stael's to-night, and I am not sorry to escape any part of it. I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone. Went out--did not go to the Stael's but to Ld. Holland's. Party numerous--conversation general. Stayed late--made a blunder--got over it--came home and went to bed, not having eaten. Rather empty, but _fresco_, which is the great point with me. * * * * * Monday, December 13, 1813. Called at three places--read, and got ready to leave town to-morrow. Murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who says, "he is lucky in having such a _poet_"--something as if one was a packhorse, or "ass, or any thing that is his;" or, like Mrs. Packwood, [1] who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors,--"Laws, sir, we keeps a poet." The same illustrious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript--"The _Harold and Cookery_ [2] are much wanted." Such is fame, and, after all, quite as good as any other "life in others' breath." 'Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More. Some editor of some magazine has _announced_ to Murray his intention of abusing the thing "_without reading it_." So much the better; if he redde it first, he would abuse it more. Allen [3] (Lord Holland's Allen--the best informed and one of the ablest men I know--a perfect Magliabecchi [4]--a devourer, a _Helluo_ of books, and an observer of men,) has lent me a quantity of Burns's [5] unpublished and never-to-be-published Letters. They are full of oaths and obscene songs. What an antithetical mind!--tenderness, roughness--delicacy, coarseness--sentiment, sensuality--soaring and grovelling, dirt and deity--all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay! It seems strange; a true voluptuary will never abandon his mind to the grossness of reality. It is by exalting the earthly, the material, the _physique_ of our pleasures, by veiling these ideas, by forgetting them altogether, or, at least, never naming them hardly to one's self, that we alone can prevent them from disgusting. [Footnote 1: Mrs. Packwood is the wife of George Packwood, "the celebrated Razor Strop Maker and Author of 'The Goldfinch's Nest'," whose shop was at 16, Gracechurch Street. 'Packwood's Whim; The Goldfinch's Nest, or the Way to get Money and be Happy', by George Packwood, was published in 1796, and reached a second edition in 1807. It is a collection of his advertisements in prose and verse. The poet, whom Packwood kept, apparently lived in Soho (p. 21), from his verses which appeared in the 'True Briton' for November 9, 1795: "If you wish, Sir, to Shave--nay, pray look not grave, Since nothing on earth can be worse, To P--d repair, you're shaved to a hair, Which I mean to exhibit in verse. "When in moving the beard--I wish to be heard-- The dull razor occasions a curse, The strop that I view will its merits renew; Behold I record it in verse. "Some in fashion's tontine disperse all their spleen, And others their destinies curse; But P--d's fine taste, with his Strops and his Paste, Which I'll show you in Prose and in Verse. "I have taken this plan to comment on a man, Whose merit I'm proud to rehearse; For a razor and knife he will sharpen for life, And deserves every praise in my verse. "Soho, Nov. 6, 1795."] [Footnote 2: 'The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy', "By a Lady," was published anonymously in 1747. The 4th edition (1751) bears the name of H. Glasse. The book was at one time supposed to be the work of Dr. John Hill (1716-1775), and to contain the proverb, "First catch your hare, then cook it." But Hill's claim is untenable, and the proverb is not in the book. Mrs. Rundell's 'Domestic Cookery' was one of Murray's most successful publications. In Byron's lines, "To Mr. Murray" (March 25, 1818), occurs the following passage: "Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine The works thou deemest most divine-- The 'Art of Cookery,' and mine, My Murray."] [Footnote 3: John Allen, M.D. (1771-1843), accompanied Lord Holland to Spain (1801-5 and 1808-9), and lived with him at Holland House. His 'Inquiry into the Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative in England', his numerous articles in the 'Edinburgh Review', and his life of Fox in the 'Encyclopedia Britannica', and many other works, justify Byron's praise. In the social life of Holland House he was a prominent figure, and to it, perhaps, he sacrificed his literary powers and acquirements. He was Warden of Dulwich College (1811-20), and Master (1820-43). Allen was the author of the article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on Payne Knight's 'Taste', in which he severely criticized Pindar's Greek, and which Byron, probably trusting to Hodgson (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 196, 'note' 1), or possibly misled by similarity of sound (H. Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', vol. i. p. 277), attributed to "classic Hallam, much renowned for Greek" ('English Bards, etc.', line 513).] [Footnote 4: Antonio Magliabecchi (1633-1714) was appointed, in 1673, Librarian to the Grand-Duke of Tuscany, to whom he bequeathed his immense collection of 30,000 volumes. In Burton's 'Book-hunter' (p. 229) it is said that Magliabecchi "could direct you to any book in any part of the world, with the precision with which the metropolitan policeman directs you to St. Paul's or Piccadilly. It is of him that the stories are told of answers to inquiries after books, in these terms: 'There is but one copy of that book in the world. It is in the Grand Seignior's library at Constantinople, and is the seventh book in the second shelf on the right hand as you go in.'"] [Footnote 5: Byron himself was "likened to Burns," and Sir Walter Scott, commenting on the comparison in a manuscript note, says, "Burns, in depth of poetical feeling, in strong shrewd sense to balance and regulate this, in the 'tact' to make his poetry tell by connecting it with the stream of public thought and the sentiment of the age, in 'commanded' wildness of fancy and profligacy or recklessness as to moral and 'occasionally' as to religious matters, was much more like Lord Byron than any other person to whom Lord B. says he had been compared. "A gross blunder of the English public has been talking of Burns as if the character of his poetry ought to be estimated with an eternal recollection that he was a 'peasant'. It would be just as proper to say that Lord Byron ought always to be thought of as a 'Peer'. Rank in life was nothing to either in his true moments. Then, they were both great Poets. Some silly and sickly affectations connected with the accidents of birth and breeding may be observed in both, when they are not under the influence of 'the happier star.' Witness Burns's prate about independence, when he was an exciseman, and Byron's ridiculous pretence of Republicanism, when he never wrote sincerely about the Multitude without expressing or insinuating the very soul of scorn."] * * * * * December 14, 15, 16. Much done, but nothing to record. It is quite enough to set down my thoughts,--my actions will rarely bear retrospection. * * * * * December 17, 18. Lord Holland told me a curious piece of sentimentality in Sheridan. The other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions on him and other _hommes marquans_, and mine was this:--"Whatever Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been, _par excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. He has written the _best_ comedy (_School for Scandal_), the _best_ drama (in my mind, far before that St. Giles's lampoon, the _Beggar's Opera_), the best farce (the _Critic_--it is only too good for a farce), and the best Address (Monologue on Garrick), and, to crown all, delivered the very best Oration (the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or heard in this country." Somebody told S. this the next day, and on hearing it he burst into tears! Poor Brinsley! if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said these few, but most sincere, words than have written the Iliad or made his own celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own comedy never gratified me more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any praise of mine, humble as it must appear to "my elders and my betters." Went to my box at Covent Garden to-night; and my delicacy felt a little shocked at seeing S----'s mistress (who, to my certain knowledge, was actually educated, from her birth, for her profession) sitting with her mother, "a three-piled b----d, b----d Major to the army," in a private box opposite. I felt rather indignant; but, casting my eyes round the house, in the next box to me, and the next, and the next, were the most distinguished old and young Babylonians of quality;--so I burst out a laughing. It was really odd; Lady----_divorced_--Lady----and her daughter, Lady----, both _divorceable_--Mrs.----, in the next the _like_, and still nearer------! [1] What an assemblage to _me_, who know all their histories. It was as if the house had been divided between your public and your _understood_ courtesans;--but the intriguantes much outnumbered the regular mercenaries. On the other side were only Pauline and _her_ mother, and, next box to her, three of inferior note. Now, where lay the difference between _her_ and _mamma_, and Lady----and daughter? except that the two last may enter Carleton and any _other house_, and the two first are limited to the opera and b----house. How I do delight in observing life as it really is!--and myself, after all, the worst of any. But no matter--I must avoid egotism, which, just now, would be no vanity. I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called "_The Devil's Drive_" the notion of which I took from Person's "_Devil's Walk_." [2] Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets on----. I never wrote but one sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise--and I will never write another. They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions. I detest the Petrarch so much, that I would not be the man even to have obtained his Laura, which the metaphysical, whining dotard never could. [Footnote 1: "These names are all left blank in the original" (Moore).] [Footnote 2: Richard Person did not write 'The Devil's Walk', which was written by Coleridge and Southey, and published in the 'Morning Post' for September 6, 1799, under the title of 'The Devil's Thoughts'.] * * * * * January 16, 1814. To-morrow I leave town for a few days. I saw Lewis to-day, who is just returned from Oatlands, where he has been squabbling with Mad. de Stael about himself, Clarissa Harlowe, Mackintosh, and me. My homage has never been paid in that quarter, or we would have agreed still worse. I don't talk--I can't flatter, and won't listen, except to a pretty or a foolish woman. She bored Lewis with praises of himself till he sickened--found out that Clarissa was perfection, and Mackintosh the first man in England. There I agree, at least _one_ of the first--but Lewis did not. As to Clarissa, I leave to those who can read it to judge and dispute. I could not do the one, and am, consequently, not qualified for the other. She told Lewis wisely, he being my friend, that I was affected, in the first place; and that, in the next place, I committed the heinous offence of sitting at dinner with my _eyes_ shut, or half shut. I wonder if I really have this trick. I must cure myself of it, if true. One insensibly acquires awkward habits, which should be broken in time. If this is one, I wish I had been told of it before. It would not so much signify if one was always to be checkmated by a plain woman, but one may as well see some of one's neighbours, as well as the plate upon the table. I should like, of all things, to have heard the Amabæan eclogue between her and Lewis--both obstinate, clever, odd, garrulous, and shrill. In fact, one could have heard nothing else. But they fell out, alas!--and now they will never quarrel again. Could not one reconcile them for the "nonce?" Poor Corinne--she will find that some of her fine sayings won't suit our fine ladies and gentlemen. I am getting rather into admiration of [Lady C. Annesley] the youngest sister of [Lady F. Webster]. A wife would be my salvation. I am sure the wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good. Catherine is beautiful, but very young, and, I think, a fool. But I have not seen enough to judge; besides, I hate an _esprit_ in petticoats. That she won't love me is very probable, nor shall I love her. But, on my system, and the modern system in general, that don't signify. The business (if it came to business) would probably be arranged between papa and me. She would have her own way; I am good-humoured to women, and docile; and, if I did not fall in love with her, which I should try to prevent, we should be a very comfortable couple. As to conduct, _that_ she must look to. But _if_ I love, I shall be jealous;--and for that reason I will not be in love. Though, after all, I doubt my temper, and fear I should not be so patient as becomes the _bienséance_ of a married man in my station. Divorce ruins the poor _femme_, and damages are a paltry compensation. I do fear my temper would lead me into some of our oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any rate, into a summary appeal to the court of twelve paces. So "I'll none on't," but e'en remain single and solitary;--though I should like to have somebody now and then to yawn with one. Ward, and, after him,----, has stolen one of my buffooneries about Mde. de Stael's Metaphysics and the Fog, and passed it, by speech and letter, as their own. As Gibbet says, "they are the most of a gentleman of any on the road." [1] W. is in sad enmity with the Whigs about this Review of Fox [2] (if he _did_ review him);--all the epigrammatists and essayists are at him. I hate _odds_, and wish he may beat them. As for me, by the blessing of indifference, I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better nor worse for a _people_ than another. I shall adhere to my party, because it would not be honourable to act otherwise; but, as to _opinions_, I don't think politics _worth_ an _opinion_. _Conduct_ is another thing:--if you begin with a party, go on with them. I have no consistency, except in politics; and _that_ probably arises from my indifference on the subject altogether. [Footnote 1: The 'Beaux' Stratagem', by George Farquhar (act iv. sc. 3): "'Gibbet'. "And I can assure you, friend, there's a great deal of address and good manners in robbing a lady: I am most a gentleman that way that ever travelled the road."] [Footnote 2: An article by Ward on 'The Correspondence of Gilbert Wakefield with Mr. Fox', in the 'Quarterly Review' for July, 1813.] * * * * * Feb. 18. Better than a month since I last journalised:--most of it out of London and at Notts., but a busy one and a pleasant, at least three weeks of it. On my return, I find all the newspapers in hysterics, and town in an uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on Princess Charlotte's weeping at Regency's speech to Lauderdale in 1812. [1] They are daily at it still;--some of the abuse good, all of it hearty. They talk of a motion in our House upon it--be it so. Got up--redde the _Morning Post_ containing the battle of Buonaparte, [2] the destruction of the Customhouse, [3] and a paragraph on me as long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual. [4] Hobhouse is returned to England. He is my best friend, the most lively, and a man of the most sterling talents extant. 'The Corsair' has been conceived, written, published, etc., since I last took up this journal. They tell me it has great success;--it was written _con amore_, and much from _existence_. Murray is satisfied with its progress; and if the public are equally so with the perusal, there's an end of the matter. Nine o'clock. Been to Hanson's on business. Saw Rogers, and had a note from Lady Melbourne, who says, it is said I am "much out of spirits." I wonder if I really am or not? I have certainly enough of "that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart," [5] and it is better they should believe it to be the result of these attacks than of the real cause; but--ay, ay, always _but_, to the end of the chapter. Hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of Napoleon, all good and true. My friend H. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine fellow to boot. Redde a little--wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke says is bad company. "Be not solitary, be not idle." [6]--Um!--the idleness is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to wither them,--and yet--and yet--always _yet_ and _but_--"Excellent well, you are a fishmonger--get thee to a nunnery." [7]--"They fool me to the top of my bent." [8] Midnight. Began a letter, which I threw into the fire. Redde--but to little purpose. Did not visit Hobhouse, as I promised and ought. No matter, the loss is mine. Smoked cigars. Napoleon!--this week will decide his fate. All seems against him; but I believe and hope he will win--at least, beat back the invaders. What right have we to prescribe sovereigns to France? Oh for a Republic! "Brutus, thou sleepest." [9] Hobhouse abounds in continental anecdotes of this extraordinary man; all in favour of his intellect and courage, but against his _bonhommie_. No wonder;--how should he, who knows mankind well, do other than despise and abhor them? The greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and becomes lighter by the division among so many--therefore, a Republic! [10] More notes from Madame de Stael unanswered--and so they shall remain. [11] I admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming--an avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense--all snow and sophistry. Shall I go to Mackintosh's on Tuesday? um!--I did not go to Marquis Lansdowne's nor to Miss Berry's, though both are pleasant. So is Sir James's,--but I don't know--I believe one is not the better for parties; at least, unless some _regnante_ is there. I wonder how the deuce any body could make such a world; for what purpose dandies, for instance, were ordained--and kings--and fellows of colleges--and women of "a certain age"--and many men of any age--and myself, most of all! "Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho Nil interest, an pauper et infimâ De gente, sub dio ('sic') moreris, Victima nil miserantis Orci. Omnes eodem cogimur," etc. [12] Is there any thing beyond?--_who_ knows? _He_ that can't tell. Who tells that there _is_? He who don't know. And when shall he know? perhaps, when he don't expect, and generally when he don't wish it. In this last respect, however, all are not alike: it depends a good deal upon education,--something upon nerves and habits--but most upon digestion. [Footnote 1: See p. 134, 'note' 2 [Footnote 3 of Letter 241], and Appendix VII.] [Footnote 2: The battle of Brienne was fought February 1, 1814.] [Footnote 3: By fire, on the 12th of February.] [Footnote 4: "We are informed from very good authority, that as soon as the House of Lords meet again, a Peer of very independent principles and character intends to give notice of a motion occasioned by a late spontaneous avowal of a copy of verses by Lord Byron, addressed to the Princess Charlotte of Wales, in which he has taken the most unwarrantable liberties with her august father's character and conduct: this motion being of a personal nature, it will be necessary to give the noble Satirist some days' notice, that he may prepare himself for his defence against a charge of so aggravated a nature," etc. 'Morning Post', February 18.] [Footnote 5: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 3.] [Footnote 6: These words close the penultimate paragraph of Burton's 'Anatomy of Melancholy'.] [Footnote 7: 'Hamlet', act ii. sc. 2, and act iii. sc. 1.] [Footnote 8: 'Ibid'., sc. 2.] [Footnote 9: "Brutus, thou sleepest, awake." 'Julius Cæsar', act ii. sc. 1.] [Footnote 10: The following extract from 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) implies that this expression of opinion was no passing thought (but see Scott's note, p. 376 [Footnote 5 of Journal entry for December 13th, 1813]): "There is nothing left for Mankind but a Republic, and I think that there are hopes of such. The two Americas (South and North) have it; Spain and Portugal approach it; all thirst for it. Oh Washington!"] [Footnote 11: Here is one of Madame de Staël's notes: "Je renonce à vos visites, pourvu que vous acceptiez mes diners, car enfin à quoi servirait il de vivre dans le même tems que vous, si l'on ne vous voyait pas? Dinez chez moi dimanche avec vos amis,--je ne dirai pas vos admirateurs, car je n'ai rencontré que cela de touts parts. "A dimanche, "DE STAËL. "Mardi. "Je prends le silence pour oui."] [Footnote 12: Horace, 'Odes', II. iii. 21, 'et seqq.'] * * * * * Saturday, Feb. 19. Just returned from seeing Kean [1] in Richard. By Jove, he is a soul! Life--nature--truth without exaggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet is perfect;--but Hamlet is not Nature. Richard is a man; and Kean is Richard. Now to my own concerns. Went to Waite's. Teeth are all right and white; but he says that I grind them in my sleep and chip the edges. That same sleep is no friend of mine, though I court him sometimes for half the twenty-four. [Footnote 1: Edmund Kean (1787-1833), after acting in provincial theatres, appeared at the Haymarket in June, 1806, as "Ganem" in 'The Mountaineers', but again returned to the country. His performance of "Shylock" in the 'Merchant of Venice', at Drury Lane, on January 26, 1814, made him famous. He appeared in "Richard III" on February 12, and still further increased his reputation. In the 'Courier', February 26, 1814, appears this paragraph: "Mr. Kean's attraction is unprecedented in the annals of theatricals--even Cooke's performances are left at an immeasurable distance; his first three nights of 'Richard' produced upwards of £1800, and on repeating that character on Thursday night for the fourthth ('sic') time, the receipts were upwards of £700." On March 1 the same paper says, "Drury Lane Theatre again overflowed last night, at an early hour. Such is the continued and increasing attraction of that truly great actor Mr. Kean." After the retirement of John Kemble (June 23, 1817), he had no rival on the stage, especially in such parts as "Othello," "Lear," "Hamlet," "Sir Giles Overreach," and the two already mentioned. His last appearance on the stage was in "Othello" at Covent Garden, March 25, 1833. "To see Kean act," said Coleridge, "is like reading Shakespeare by flashes of lightning." "Garrick's nature," writes Leigh Hunt, in the 'Tatler', July 25, 1831, "displaced Quin's formalism; and in precisely the same way did Kean displace Kemble. ... Everything with Kemble was literally a 'personation'--it was a mask and a sounding-pipe. It was all external and artificial.... Kean's face is full of light and shade, his tones vary, his voice trembles, his eye glistens, sometimes with a withering scorn, sometimes with a tear." It was the realism and nature of Kean which so strongly appealed to Byron, and enabled the actor, to the last, in spite of his drunken habits, poor figure, and weak voice, to sway his audiences. The same qualities at first repelled more timid critics, and perhaps justified Hazlitt's saying that Kean was "not much relished in the upper circles." Miss Berry, for example, who saw him in all his principal parts in 1814--in "Richard III," "Hamlet," "Othello," and "Sir Giles Overreach"--remained cold. "His 'Richard III.' pleased me, but I was not enthusiastic. His expression of the passions is natural and strong, but I do not like his declamation; his voice, naturally not agreeable, becomes monotonous" ('Diary', vol. iii. p. 7). Of his "Hamlet" she says, "To my mind he is without grace and without elevation of mind, because he never seems to rise with the poet in those sublime passages which abound in 'Hamlet'" ('ibid.', p. 9). Miss Berry's criticism is supported by good authority. Lewes ('On Actors and the Art of Acting', pp. 6, 11), while calling him "a consummate master of passionate expression," denies his capacity for representing "the intellectual side of heroism." Kean preferred the Coal-Hole Tavern in the Strand, and the society of the Wolf Club, to Lord Holland's dinner-parties. Though he never fell so low as Cooke, his recklessness, irregularities, eccentricities, and habits of drinking, in spite of the large sums of money that passed through his hands, made his closing days neither prosperous nor reputable. Such effect had the passionate energy of Kean's acting on Byron's mind, that, once, in seeing him play "Sir Giles Overreach," he was so affected as to be seized with a sort of convulsive fit. Some years later, in Italy, when the representation of Alfieri's tragedy of 'Mirra' had agitated him in the same violent manner, he compared the two instances as the only ones in his life when "any thing under reality" had been able to move him so powerfully. "To such lengths," says Moore, "did he, at this time, carry his enthusiasm for Kean, that when Miss O'Neil appeared, and, by her matchless representation of feminine tenderness, attracted all eyes and hearts, he was not only a little jealous of her reputation, as interfering with that of his favourite, but, in order to guard himself against the risk of becoming a convert, refused to go to see her act. I endeavoured sometimes to persuade him into witnessing, at least, one of her performances; but his answer was (punning upon Shakspeare's word, 'unanealed'), 'No--I am resolved to continue 'un-Oneiled'.' " In his 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) Byron says, "Of actors Cooke was the most natural, Kemble the most supernatural, Kean the medium between the two. But Mrs. Siddons was worth them all put together."] * * * * * February 20. Got up and tore out two leaves of this Journal--I don't know why. Hodgson just called and gone. He has much _bonhommie_ with his other good qualities, and more talent than he has yet had credit for beyond his circle. An invitation to dine at Holland House to meet Kean. He is worth meeting; and I hope, by getting into good society, he will be prevented from falling like Cooke. He is greater now on the stage, and off he should never be less. There is a stupid and underrating criticism upon him in one of the newspapers. I thought that, last night, though great, he rather under-acted more than the first time. This may be the effect of these cavils; but I hope he has more sense than to mind them. He cannot expect to maintain his present eminence, or to advance still higher, without the envy of his green-room fellows, and the nibbling of their admirers. But, if he don't beat them all, why then--merit hath no purchase in "these coster-monger days." [1] I wish that I had a talent for the drama; I would write a tragedy _now_. But no,--it is gone. Hodgson talks of one,--he will do it well;--and I think M---e [Moore] should try. He has wonderful powers, and much variety; besides, he has lived and felt. To write so as to bring home to the heart, the heart must have been tried,--but, perhaps, ceased to be so. While you are under the influence of passions, you only feel, but cannot describe them,--any more than, when in action, you could turn round and tell the story to your next neighbour! When all is over,--all, all, and irrevocable,--trust to memory--she is then but too faithful. Went out, and answered some letters, yawned now and then, and redde the 'Robbers'. Fine,--but 'Fiesco' is better [2]; and Alfieri, and Monti's 'Aristodemo' [3] _best_. They are more equal than the Tedeschi dramatists. Answered--or rather acknowledged--the receipt of young Reynolds's [4] poem, _Safie_. The lad is clever, but much of his thoughts are borrowed,--whence, the Reviewers may find out. I hate discouraging a young one; and I think,--though wild and more oriental than he would be, had he seen the scenes where he has placed his tale,--that he has much talent, and, certainly fire enough. Received a very singular epistle; and the mode of its conveyance, through Lord H.'s hands, as curious as the letter itself. But it was gratifying and pretty. [Footnote 1: 'Henry IV.', Part II. act i. sc. 2.] [Footnote 2: Schiller's 'Robbers' was first produced at Mannheim, January 13, 1782; his 'Fiesco' was published in 1783. The 'Robbers' is included in Benjamin Thompson's 'German Theatre' (1801). 'Fiesco' was translated by G. H. Noehden and John Stoddart in 1798.] [Footnote 3: Monti's three tragedies, 'Caio Gracco', 'Aristodemo', and 'Manfredi', were written in rivalry of Alfieri's tragedies between the years 1788 and 1799.] [Footnote 4: For John Hamilton Reynolds, see 'Letters', vol. iii. (February 20, 1814, 'note' 1).] * * * * * Sunday, February 27. Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was asked,--but not inclined to go any where. Hobhouse says I am growing a _loup garou_,--a solitary hobgoblin. True;--"I am myself alone." [1] The last week has been passed in reading--seeing plays--now and then visitors--sometimes yawning and sometimes sighing, but no writing,--save of letters. If I could always read, I should never feel the want of society. Do I regret it?--um!--"Man delights not me," [2] and only one woman--at a time. There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman,--some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them--which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet,--I always feel in better humour with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken. Even Mrs. Mule [3], my firelighter,--the most ancient and withered of her kind,--and (except to myself) not the best-tempered--always makes me laugh,--no difficult task when I am "i' the vein." Heigho! I would I were in mine island!--I am not well; and yet I look in good health. At times, I fear, "I am not in my perfect mind;" [4]--and yet my heart and head have stood many a crash, and what should ail them now? They prey upon themselves, and I am sick--sick--"Prithee, undo this button--why should a cat, a rat, a dog have life--and thou no life at all?" [5] Six-and-twenty years, as they call them, why, I might and should have been a Pasha by this time. "I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun." [6] Buonaparte is not yet beaten; but has rebutted Blucher, and repiqued Schwartzenburg [7]. This it is to have a head. If he again wins, _Væ victis!_ [Footnote 1: "I am myself alone." 'Henry VI.', Part III. act v. sc. 6.] [Footnote 2: 'Hamlet', act ii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 3: "This ancient housemaid, of whose gaunt and witch-like appearance it would be impossible to convey any idea but by the pencil, furnished one among the numerous instances of Lord Byron's proneness to attach himself to any thing, however homely, that had once enlisted his good nature in its behalf, and become associated with his thoughts. He first found this old woman at his lodgings in Bennet Street, where, for a whole season, she was the perpetual scarecrow of his visitors. When, next year, he took chambers in Albany, one of the great advantages which his friends looked to in the change was, that they should get rid of this phantom. But, no,--there she was again--he had actually brought her with him from Bennet Street. The following year saw him married, and, with a regular establishment of servants, in Piccadilly; and here,--as Mrs. Mule had not made her appearance to any of the visitors,--it was concluded, rashly, that the witch had vanished. One of those friends, however, who had most fondly indulged in this persuasion, happening to call one day when all the male part of the establishment were abroad, saw, to his dismay, the door opened by the same grim personage, improved considerably in point of babiliments since he last saw her, and keeping pace with the increased scale of her master's household, as a new peruke, and other symptoms of promotion, testified. When asked 'how he came to carry this old woman about with him from place to place,' Lord Byron's only answer was, 'The poor old devil was so kind to me'". (Moore).] [Footnote 4: 'King Lear', act iv. sc. 7.] [Footnote 5: "Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all?" 'King Lear', act v. sc. 3.] [Footnote 6: "I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate of the world were now undone." 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 7: Napoleon fought the battle of Nangis against Blucher on the 17th of February, 1814, and that of Montereau against Prince Schwartzenberg on the following day.] * * * * * Sunday, March 6. On Tuesday last dined with Rogers,--Madame de Staël, Mackintosh, Sheridan, Erskine [1], and Payne Knight, Lady Donegal, and Miss R. there. Sheridan told a very good story of himself and Madame de Recamier's handkerchief; Erskine a few stories of himself only. _She_ is going to write a big book about England, she says;--I believe her. Asked by her how I liked Miss Edgeworth's thing, called _Patronage_ [2], and answered (very sincerely) that I thought it very bad for _her_, and worse than any of the others. Afterwards thought it possible Lady Donegal [3], being Irish, might be a patroness of Miss Edgeworth, and was rather sorry for my opinion, as I hate putting people into fusses, either with themselves or their favourites; it looks as if one did it on purpose. The party went off very well, and the fish was very much to my gusto. But we got up too soon after the women; and Mrs. Corinne always lingers so long after dinner that we wish her in--the drawing-room. To-day Campbell called, and while sitting here in came Merivale [4]. During our colloquy, C. (ignorant that Merivale was the writer) abused the "mawkishness of the _Quarterly Review_ of Grimm's _Correspondence_." I (knowing the secret) changed the conversation as soon as I could; and C. went away, quite convinced of having made the most favourable impression on his new acquaintance. Merivale is luckily a very good-natured fellow, or God he knows what might have been engendered from such a malaprop. I did not look at him while this was going on, but I felt like a coal--for I like Merivale, as well as the article in question. Asked to Lady Keith's [5] to-morrow evening--I think I will go; but it is the first party invitation I have accepted this "season," as the learned Fletcher called it, when that youngest brat of Lady----'s cut my eye and cheek open with a misdirected pebble--"Never mind, my Lord, the scar will be gone before the _season_;" as if one's eye was of no importance in the mean time. Lord Erskine called, and gave me his famous pamphlet, with a marginal note and corrections in his handwriting. Sent it to be bound superbly, and shall treasure it. Sent my fine print of Napoleon [6] to be framed. It _is_ framed; and the Emperor becomes his robes as if he had been hatched in them. [Footnote 1: Thomas, Lord Erskine (1750-1823), youngest son of the tenth Earl of Buchan, a midshipman in the Royal Navy (1764-67), an ensign, and subsequently a lieutenant in the First Foot (1767-75), was called to the Bar in 1778, and became Lord Chancellor in 1806. As an advocate he was unrivalled. "Even the great luminaries of the law," says Wraxall ('Posthumous Memoirs', vol. i. p. 86), "when arrayed in their ermine, bent under his ascendancy, and seemed to be half subdued by his intelligence, or awed by his vehemence, pertinacity, and undaunted character." With a jury he was particularly successful, though he lived to write the lines quoted by Lord Campbell ('Lives of the Chancellors', ed. 1868, vol. viii. p. 233): "The monarch's pale face was with blushes suffused, To observe right and wrong by twelve villains confused, And, kicking their----s all round in a fury, Cried, ''Curs'd be the day I invented a jury!''" A Whig in politics, and in sympathy with the doctrines of the French Revolution, he defended Paine, Frost, Hardy, and other political offenders, and did memorable service to the cause of constitutional liberty. In the House of Commons, which he entered as M. P. for Portsmouth in 1783, he was a failure; his maiden speech on Fox's India Bill fell flat, and he was crushed by Pitt's contempt. As Lord Chancellor (1806-7) he proved a better judge than was expected. At the time when Byron made his acquaintance, he had practically retired from public life, and devoted himself to literature, society, and farming, writing on the services of rooks, and attending the Holkham sheep-shearings. Lord Campbell has collected many of his verses and jokes in vol. ix. chap. cxc. of his 'Lives of the Chancellors'. His famous pamphlet, 'On the Causes and Consequences of the War with France' (1797), was written, as he told Miss Berry ('Journal of Miss Berry', vol. ii. p. 340), "on slips of paper in the midst of all the business which I was engaged in at the time--not at home, but in open court, whilst the causes were trying. When it was not my turn to examine a witness, or to speak to the Jury, I wrote a little bit; and so on by snatches." His 'Armata' was published by Murray in 1817. In society Erskine was widely known for his brilliancy, his puns, and his extraordinary vanity. His egotism gained him such titles as Counsellor Ego, Baron Ego of Eye, and supplied Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature') with an illustration: "A vain, pert prater, bred in Erskine's school."] [Footnote 2: Miss Edgeworth's 'Patronage' was published in 1813-4. In 1813 she had been in London with her father and stepmother. The following entries respecting the family are taken from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts': "Old Edgeworth, the fourth or fifth Mrs. Edgeworth, and 'the' Miss Edgeworth were in London, 1813. Miss Edgeworth liked, Mrs. Edgeworth not disliked, old Edgeworth a bore, the worst of bores--a boisterous Bore. I met them in Society--once at a breakfast of Sir H.D.'s. Old Edgeworth came in late, boasting that he had given 'Dr. Parr a dressing the night before' (no such easy matter by the way). I thought her pleasant. They all abused Anna Seward's memory. When on the road they heard of her brother's--and his son's--death. What was to be done? Their 'London' apparel was all ordered and made! so they sunk his death for the six weeks of their sojourn, and went into mourning on their way back to Ireland. 'Fact!' "While the Colony were in London, there was a book with a subscription for the 'recall of Mrs. Siddons to the Stage' going about for signatures. Moore moved for a similar subscription for the 'recall of 'Mr. Edgeworth to Ireland!'' "Sir Humphry Davy told me that the scene of the French Valet and Irish postboy in 'Ennui' was taken from his verbal description to the Edgeworths in Edgeworthtown of a similar fact on the road occurring to himself. So much the better--being 'life'."] [Footnote 3: The Marquis of Donegal married, in 1795, Anna, daughter of Sir Edward May, Bart.] [Footnote 4: For J. H. Merivale, see 'Letters', vol. iii. (January, 1814. 'note' 1).] [Footnote 5: Hester Maria, eldest daughter and co-heir of Henry Thrale, of Streatham, the friend of Dr. Johnson, married, in 1808, Viscount Keith.] [Footnote 6: Byron's "Portrait of Bonaparte, engraved by Morghen, _very fine impression, in a gilt frame_," was sold at his sale, April 5, 1816.] * * * * * March 7. Rose at seven--ready by half-past eight--went to Mr. Hanson's, Bloomsbury Square--went to church with his eldest daughter, Mary Anne (a good girl), and gave her away to the Earl of Portsmouth. [1] Saw her fairly a countess--congratulated the family and groom (bride)--drank a bumper of wine (wholesome sherris) to their felicity, and all that--and came home. Asked to stay to dinner, but could not. At three sat to Phillips for faces. Called on Lady M. [Melbourne]--I like her so well, that I always stay too long. (Mem. to mend of that.) Passed the evening with Hobhouse, who has begun a poem, which promises highly;--wish he would go on with it. Heard some curious extracts from a life of Morosini, [2] the blundering Venetian, who blew up the Acropolis at Athens with a bomb, and be damned to him! Waxed sleepy--just come home--must go to bed, and am engaged to meet Sheridan to-morrow at Rogers's. Queer ceremony that same of marriage--saw many abroad, Greek and Catholic--one, at _home_, many years ago. There be some strange phrases in the prologue (the exhortation), which made me turn away, not to laugh in the face of the surpliceman. Made one blunder, when I joined the hands of the happy--rammed their left hands, by mistake, into one another. Corrected it--bustled back to the altar-rail, and said "Amen." Portsmouth responded as if he had got the whole by heart; and, if any thing, was rather before the priest. It is now midnight and----. [Footnote 1: Lord Portsmouth (see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 9, 'note' 2 [Footnote 3 of Letter 3]), who had long known the Hansons, from whose house he married his first wife, married, March 7, 1814, Mary Anne, eldest daughter of John Hanson. A commission of lunacy was taken out by the brother and next heir, the Hon. Newton Fellowes; but Lord Chancellor Eldon decided that Lord Portsmouth was capable of entering into the marriage contract and managing his own affairs. The commission was, however, ultimately granted. Byron swore an affidavit on the first occasion. "Denman mentioned Lord Byron's affidavit about Lord Portsmouth as a proof of the influence of Hanson over him; Lord B. swearing that Lord P. had 'rather a 'superior' mind than otherwise'" ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moore', vol. vi. p. 47). The following is the note which Byron sent Hanson to embody in his affidavit: "I have been acquainted with Mr. Hanson and his family for many years. He is my solicitor. About the beginning of March last he sent to me to ask my opinion on the subject of Lord Portsmouth, who, as I understood from Mr. H., was paying great attention to his eldest daughter. He stated to me that Mr. Newton Fellowes (with whom I have no personal acquaintance) was particularly desirous that Lord Portsmouth should marry some 'elderly woman' of his (Mr. Fellowes's) selection--that the title and family estates might thereby devolve on Mr. F. or his children; but that Lord P. had expressed a dislike to old women, and a desire to choose for himself. I told Mr. Hanson that, if Miss Hanson's affections were not pre-engaged, and Lord Portsmouth appeared attached to her, there could be, in my opinion, no objection to the match. I think, but cannot be positive, that I saw Lord Portsmouth at Mr. Hanson's two or three times previous to the marriage; but I had no conversation with him upon it. "The night before the ceremony, I received an invitation from Mr. Hanson, requesting me, as a friend of the family, to be present at the marriage, which was to take place next morning. I went next morning to Bloomsbury Square, where I found the parties. Lady Portsmouth, with her brother and sister and another gentleman, went in the carriage to St. George's Church; Lord Portsmouth and myself walked, as the carriage was full, and the distance short. On my way Lord Portsmouth told me that he had been partial to Miss Hanson from her childhood, and that, since she grew up, and more particularly subsequent to the decease of the late Lady P., this partiality had become attachment, and that he thought her calculated to make him an excellent wife. I was present at the ceremony and gave away the bride. Lord Portsmouth's behaviour seemed to me perfectly calm and rational on the occasion. He seemed particularly attentive to the priest, and gave the responses audibly and very distinctly. I remarked this because, in ordinary conversation, his Lordship has a hesitation in his speech. After the ceremony, we returned to Mr. Hanson's, whence, I believe, they went into the country--where I did not accompany them. Since their return I have occasionally seen Lord and Lady Portsmouth in Bloomsbury Square. They appeared very happy. I have never been very intimate with his Lordship, and am therefore unqualified to give a decided opinion of his general conduct. But had I considered him insane, I should have advised Mr. Hanson, when he consulted me on the subject, not to permit the marriage. His preference of a young woman to an old one, and of his own wishes to those of a younger brother, seemed to me neither irrational nor extraordinary." There is nothing in the note itself, or in the draft affidavit, to bear out Moore's report of Denman's statement. Byron, according to the account given by Newton Hanson, is wrong in saying that Mrs. Hanson approved of the marriage. On the contrary, it was the cause of her death, a fortnight later. In 1828 the marriage was annulled, a jury having decided that Lord Portsmouth was 'non compos mentis' when he contracted it.] [Footnote 2: Francesco Morosini (1618-1694) occupied the Morea for Venice (1687), besieged Athens, and bombarded the Parthenon, which had been made a powder-magazine. He became Doge of Venice in 1688.] * * * * * March 10, Thor's Day. On Tuesday dined with Rogers,--Mackintosh, Sheridan, Sharpe,--much talk, and good,--all, except my own little prattlement. Much of old times--Horne Tooke--the Trials--evidence of Sheridan, and anecdotes of those times, when _I_, alas! was an infant. If I had been a man, I would have made an English Lord Edward Fitzgerald. Set down Sheridan at Brookes's,--where, by the by, he could not have well set down himself, as he and I were the only drinkers. Sherry means to stand for Westminster, as Cochrane [1] (the stock-jobbing hoaxer) must vacate. Brougham [2] is a candidate. I fear for poor dear Sherry. Both have talents of the highest order, but the youngster has _yet_ a character. We shall see, if he lives to Sherry's age, how he will pass over the redhot plough-shares of public life. I don't know why, but I hate to see the _old_ ones lose; particularly Sheridan, notwithstanding all his _méchanceté_. Received many, and the kindest, thanks from Lady Portsmouth, _père_ and _mère_, for my match-making. I don't regret it, as she looks the countess well, and is a very good girl. It is odd how well she carries her new honours. She looks a different woman, and high-bred, too. I had no idea that I could make so good a peeress. Went to the play with Hobhouse. Mrs. Jordan superlative in Hoyden, [3] and Jones well enough in Foppington. _What plays_! what wit!--_hélas_! Congreve and Vanbrugh are your only comedy. Our society is too insipid now for the like copy. Would _not_ go to Lady Keith's. Hobhouse thought it odd. I wonder _he_ should like parties. If one is in love, and wants to break a commandment and covet any thing that is there, they do very well. But to go out amongst the mere herd, without a motive, pleasure, or pursuit--'sdeath! "I'll none of it." He told me an odd report,--that _I_ am the actual Conrad, the veritable Corsair, and that part of my travels are supposed to have passed in privacy. Um!--people sometimes hit near the truth; but never the whole truth. H. don't know what I was about the year after he left the Levant; nor does any one--nor-- --nor--nor--however, it is a lie--but, "I doubt the equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth!" [4] I shall have letters of importance to-morrow. Which,----,----, or ----? heigho!------is in my heart,----in my head,----in my eye, and the _single_ one, Heaven knows where. All write, and will be answered. "Since I have crept in favour with myself, I must maintain it;" [5] but I never "mistook my person," [6] though I think others have. ----called to-day in great despair about his mistress, who has taken a freak of----. He began a letter to her, but was obliged to stop short--I finished it for him, and he copied and sent it. If _he_ holds out, and keeps to my instructions of affected indifference, she will lower her colours. If she don't, he will, at least, get rid of her, and she don't seem much worth keeping. But the poor lad is in love--if that is the case, she will win. When they once discover their power, _finita è la musica_. Sleepy, and must go to bed. [Footnote 1: Thomas, Lord Cochrane (1775-1860), eldest son of the ninth Earl of Dundonald, a captain in the Royal Navy, and M. P. for Westminster, had done brilliant service in his successive commands--the 'Speedy', 'Pallas', 'Impérieuse', and the flotilla of fire-ships at Basque Roads in 1809. In the House of Commons he had been a strong opponent of the Government, an advocate of Parliamentary Reform, and a vigorous critic of naval administration. In February, 1814, he had been appointed to the 'Tonnant' for the American Station, and it was while he was on a week's leave of absence in London, before sailing, that the stock-jobbing hoax occurred. During the days February 8-26, 1814, it seemed possible that Napoleon might defeat the Allied Armies, and the Funds were sensitive to every rumour. At midnight on Sunday, February 20, a man calling himself Du Bourg brought news to Admiral Foley, at Dover, that Napoleon had been killed by a party of Cossacks. Hurrying towards London, Du Bourg, whose real name was Berenger, spread the news as he went. Arrived in London soon after daybreak, he went to Cochrane's house, and there changed his uniform. When the Stock Exchange opened at ten on February 21, 1814, the Funds rose rapidly, and among those who sold on the rise was Cochrane. The next day, when the swindle had been discovered, the Stocks fell. A Stock Exchange Committee sat to investigate the case, and their report (March 7) threw grave suspicion on Cochrane. He, his uncle, Cochrane Johnstone, a Mr. Butt, and Berenger, were indicted for a conspiracy, tried before Lord Ellenborough, June 8-9, and convicted. Cochrane was sentenced to a year's imprisonment and a fine of £1000. On the back of the note for £1000 (still kept in the Bank of England) with which he paid his fine on July 3, 1815, he wrote: "My health having suffered by long and close confinement, and my oppressors being resolved to deprive me of property or life, I submit to robbery to protect myself from murder, in the hope that I shall live to bring the delinquents to justice." Cochrane was also expelled from the House of Commons and from the Order of the Bath. There is little doubt that the circumstances were extremely suspicious. Those who wish to form an opinion as to Cochrane's guilt or innocence will find the subject of the trial exhaustively treated in Mr. J.B. Atlay's 'Lord Cochrane's Trial before Lord Ellenborough' (1897).] [Footnote 2: Henry, Lord Brougham (1778-1868) acknowledged that he wrote the famous article on Byron's 'Hours of Idleness' in the 'Edinburgh Review' (Sir M.E. Grant-Duff's 'Notes from a Diary', vol. ii. p. 189). He lost his seat for Camelford in September, 1812, and did not re-enter the House till July, 1815, when he sat for Winchelsea. In the postscript of a letter written by him to Douglas Kinnaird, December 9, 1814, he speaks of Byron thus: "Your friend, Lord B., is, in my opinion, a singularly agreeable person, which is very rarely the case with eminent men. His independent principles give him a great additional charm." But the part which Brougham played in the separation, both as counsel and in society, infuriated Byron, who wrote of him in his letters with the utmost bitterness. (See also the passage, now for the first time published, from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', on his Parliamentary experiences, p. 198, first paragraph of 'note'. [2md paragraph of Footnote 1 of Letter 285])] [Footnote 3: Dorothy Jordan (1762-1816) first appeared as "Phoebe" in 'As You Like It' at the Crow Street Theatre, Dublin, in 1777. After acting in provincial theatres, she made her 'début' on the London stage at Drury Lane (October 18, 1785) as "Peggy" in Garrick's 'Country Girl', an expurgated version of Wycherley's 'Country Wife'. During the season she appeared also in six of her best parts: "Miss Hoyden" in 'The Trip to Scarborough', "Priscilla Tomboy" in 'The Romp', "Hypolita" in 'She would and she would not', "Mrs. Brady" in 'The Irish Widow', "Viola" in 'Twelfth Night', and "Rosalind" in 'As You Like It'. Her last appearance on the London stage was as "Lady Teazle" in 'The School for Scandal', at Covent Garden, June 1, 1814. A list of her principal characters is given by Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. pp. 432-434). As a comic actress, Mrs. Jordan was unrivalled; her voice was perfect; and her natural gaiety irresistible. Sir Joshua Reynolds preferred her to all other actresses as a being "who ran upon the stage as a playground, and laughed from sincere wildness of delight." In genteel comedy, critics like Genest ('English Stage', vol. viii. p. 431) and Leigh Hunt ('Dramatic Essays', ed. 1894, p. 82) agree that she failed, perhaps, as the latter suggests, because she was so "perpetually employed" in "broad and romping characters." In private life Mrs. Jordan was chiefly known as the mistress of the Duke of Clarence, to whom she bore ten children. She died at St. Cloud, July 3, 1816. The play acted at Covent Garden, March 10, 1814, was Sheridan's 'Trip to Scarborough', which is a close adaptation of Vanbrugh's 'Relapse'. The performance is thus described in the 'Courier', March 11, 1814: "Mrs. Jordan, the only 'Miss Hoyden' on the stage, supported that character with unabated spirit. In every scene, from her soliloquy on being locked up, which was delivered with extraordinary 'naïveté', both with reference to her tones, her emphasis, and her action, until the consummation of the piece, the house was shaken by loud and quick-succeeding peals of laughter. The style in which she expressed 'Hoyden's' rustic arithmetic, 'Now, 'Nursey', if he gives me 'six hundred pounds' a-year to buy 'pins', what will he give me to buy petticoats?' was uncommonly fine. The frock waving in her hand, the backward bound of two or three steps, the gravity of countenance, induced by a mental glance at the magnitude of the sum, all spoke expectation, delight, and astonishment."] [Footnote 4: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5.] [Footnote 5: 'Richard III', act i. sc. 2, line 259.] [Footnote 6: 'Ibid.', line 253.] * * * * * Tuesday, March 15. Dined yesterday with Rogers, Mackintosh, and Sharpe. Sheridan could not come. Sharpe told several very amusing anecdotes of Henderson, the actor. [1] Stayed till late, and came home, having drunk so much _tea_, that I did not get to sleep till six this morning. R. says I am to be in _this Quarterly_--cut up, I presume, as they "hate us youth." [2] _N'importe_. As Sharpe was passing by the doors of some debating society (the Westminster Forum), in his way to dinner, he saw rubricked on the wall _Scott's_ name and _mine_--"Which the best poet?" being the question of the evening; and I suppose all the Templars and _would-bes_ took our rhymes in vain in the course of the controversy. Which had the greater show of hands, I neither know nor care; but I feel the coupling of the names as a compliment--though I think Scott deserves better company. Wedderburn Webster called--Lord Erskine, Lord Holland, etc., etc. Wrote to----_The Corsair_ report. She says she don't wonder, since "Conrad is so _like_." It is odd that one, who knows me so thoroughly, should tell me this to my face. However, if she don't know, nobody can. Mackintosh is, it seems, the writer of the defensive letter in the _Morning Chronicle_. If so, it is very kind, and more than I did for myself. Told Murray to secure for me Bandello's Italian Novels [3] at the sale to-morrow. To me they will be _nuts_. Redde a satire on myself, called "Anti-Byron," and told Murray to publish it if he liked. The object of the author is to prove me an atheist and a systematic conspirator against law and government. Some of the verse is good; the prose I don't quite understand. He asserts that my "deleterious works" have had "an effect upon civil society, which requires," etc., etc., etc., and his own poetry. It is a lengthy poem, and a long preface, with an harmonious title-page. Like the fly in the fable, I seem to have got upon a wheel which makes much dust; but, unlike the said fly, I do not take it all for my own raising. A letter from _Bella_, [4] which I answered. I shall be in love with her again if I don't take care. I shall begin a more regular system of reading soon. [Footnote 1: John Henderson, the Bath Roscius (1747-1785), without any great personal advantages, was, according to Mrs. Siddons, "a fine actor ... the soul of intelligence." Rogers ('Table-Talk', ed. 1887, p. 110) says, "Henderson was a truly great actor: his Hamlet and his Falstaff were equally good. He was a very fine reader too: in his comic readings, superior, of course, to Mrs. Siddons: his John Gilpin was marvellous." In Sharp's 'Letters and Essays' (ed. 1834, pp. 16-18) will be found an interesting letter to Henderson, written a few days before his death, giving an account of John Kemble's first appearance on the London boards, in the character of "Hamlet." "There has not," says Sharp, "been such a first appearance since yours; yet Nature, though she has been bountiful to him in figure and feature, has denied him a voice.... You have been so long without a 'brother near the throne,' that it will perhaps be serviceable to you to be obliged to bestir yourself in Hamlet, Macbeth, Lord Townley, and Maskwell; but in Lear, Richard, Falstaff, and Benedict, you have nothing to fear, not-withstanding the known fickleness of the public and its love of novelty."] [Footnote 2: 'Henry IV', Part I. act ii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 3: Matteo Bandello (1480-1562), a native of Piedmont, became in 1550 Bishop of Agen. His 214 tales, in the manner of Boccaccio, were published at Milan (1554-73). In the Catalogue of Byron's books, "sold by auction by Mr. Evans, at his house, No. 26, Pall Mall, on Friday, April 5, 1816, and following day," appears "Bandello, 'Novelle', 8 vol., wanting vol. 9, 'Livorn', 1791."] [Footnote 4: Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron.] * * * * * Thursday, March 17. I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning; and mean to continue and renew my acquaintance with the muffles. My chest, and arms, and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. I used to be a hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height (5 feet 8 1/2 inches). At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all; fencing and the broad-sword never fatigued me half so much. Redde the 'Quarrels of Authors' [1] (another sort of _sparring_)--a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. "I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat." [2] What the devil had I to do with scribbling? It is too late to inquire, and all regret is useless. But, an it were to do again,--I should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share of it;--though I shall think better of myself, if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son--by any body--I will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way--make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or--any thing. But, if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him off with a Bank token. Must write a letter--three o'clock. [Footnote 1: Disraeli's 'Curiosities of Literature', 2 vols. (1807); 'Calamities of Authors', 2 vols. (1812); and 'Quarrels of Authors', 3 vols. (1814), appear in the Sale Catalogue.] [Footnote 2: 'Henry IV'., Part I. act iv. sc. 2.] * * * * * Sunday, March 20. I intended to go to Lady Hardwicke's, [1] but won't. I always begin the day with a bias towards going to parties; but, as the evening advances, my stimulus fails, and I hardly ever go out--and, when I do, always regret it. This might have been a pleasant one;--at least, the hostess is a very superior woman. Lady Lansdowne's [2] to-morrow--Lady Heathcote's [3] Wednesday. Um!--I must spur myself into going to some of them, or it will look like rudeness, and it is better to do as other people do--confound them! Redde Machiavel, [4] parts of Chardin, and Sismondi, and Bandello--by starts. Redde the _Edinburgh_, 44, just come out. In the beginning of the article on Edgeworth's _Patronage_, I have gotten a high compliment, I perceive. [5] Whether this is creditable to me, I know not; but it does honour to the editor, because he once abused me. Many a man will retract praise; none but a high-spirited mind will revoke its censure, or _can_ praise the man it has once attacked. I have often, since my return to England, heard Jeffrey most highly commended by those who know him for things independent of his talents. I admire him for _this_--not because he has _praised me_ (I have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me as indifferent to both as a man at twenty-six can be to any thing), but because he is, perhaps, the _only man_ who, under the relations in which he and I stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the liberality to act thus; none but a great soul dared hazard it. The height on which he stands has not made him giddy;--a little scribbler would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter. As to the justice of his panegyric, that is matter of taste. There are plenty to question it, and glad, too, of the opportunity. Lord Erskine called to-day. He means to carry down his reflections on the war--or rather wars--to the present day. I trust that he will. Must send to Mr. Murray to get the binding of my copy of his pamphlet finished, as Lord E. has promised me to correct it, and add some marginal notes to it. Any thing in his handwriting will be a treasure, which will gather compound interest from years. Erskine has high expectations of Mackintosh's promised History. Undoubtedly it must be a classic, when finished. [6] Sparred with Jackson again yesterday morning, and shall to-morrow. I feel all the better for it, in spirits, though my arms and shoulders are very stiff from it. Mem. to attend the pugilistic dinner:--Marquess Huntley [7] is in the chair. Lord Erskine thinks that ministers must be in peril of going out. So much the better for him. To me it is the same who are in or out;--we want something more than a change of ministers, and some day we will have it. I remember, in riding from Chrisso to Castri (Delphos), along the sides of Parnassus, I saw six eagles in the air. It is uncommon to see so many together; and it was the number--not the species, which is common enough--that excited my attention. The last bird I ever fired at was an _eaglet_, on the shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, near Vostitza. It was only wounded, and I tried to save it, the eye was so bright; but it pined, and died in a few days; and I never did since, and never will, attempt the death of another bird. I wonder what put these two things into my head just now? I have been reading Sismondi, and there is nothing there that could induce the recollection. I am mightily taken with Braccio di Montone, Giovanni Galeazzo, and Eccelino. But the last is _not_ Bracciaferro (of the same name), Count of Ravenna, whose history I want to trace. There is a fine engraving in Lavater, from a picture by Fuseli, of _that_ Ezzelin, over the body of Meduna, punished by him for a _hitch_ in her constancy during his absence in the Crusades. He was right--but I want to know the story. [8] [Footnote 1: Philip Yorke, third Earl of Hardwicke, married, in 1782, Elizabeth, daughter of the fifth Earl of Balcarres.] [Footnote 2: Louisa Emma, daughter of the second Earl of Ilchester, was married, in 1808, to the Marquis of Lansdowne, at that time Lord Henry Petty.] [Footnote 3: Katherine Sophia, daughter of John Manners, of Grantham Grange, co. Lincoln, was married, in 1793, to Sir Gilbert Heathcote.] [Footnote 4: Machiavelli's 'Opere', 13 vols., 'in russia, Milan' (1804); Sismondi's 'De la Littérature du Midi', 4 vols., 'in russia', Paris (1813); and Chardin's 'Voyages en Perse', 10 vols. and Atlas (1811), appear in the Catalogue of Sale.] [Footnote 5: "It is no slight consolation to us, while suffering under alternate reproaches for ill-timed severity, and injudicious praise, to reflect that no very mischievous effects have as yet resulted to the literature of the country, from this imputed misbehaviour on our part. Powerful genius, we are persuaded, will not be repressed even by unjust castigation; nor will the most excessive praise that can be lavished by sincere admiration ever abate the efforts that are fitted to attain to excellence. Our alleged severity upon a youthful production has not prevented the noble author from becoming the first poet of his time." 'Edinburgh Review', vol. xxii. p. 416.] [Footnote 6: Mackintosh wrote (1) a 'History of England' for Lardner's 'Cabinet Cyclopaedia' (1830); (2) a 'History of the Revolution in England' (1834).] [Footnote 7: Afterwards fifth, and last, Duke of Gordon. He died in May, 1836.] [Footnote 8: "Fuseli's picture of Ezzelin Bracciaferro musing over Meduna, slain by him for disloyalty during his absence in the Holy Land, was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1780. Mr. Knowles, in his 'Life' of the painter, relates the following anecdote: 'Fuseli frequently invented the subject of his pictures without the aid of the poet or historian, as in his composition of Ezzelin, Belisaire, and some others: these he denominated "philosophical ideas intuitive, or sentiment personified." On one occasion he was much amused by the following inquiry of Lord Byron: "I have been looking in vain, Mr. Fuseli, for some months, in the poets and historians of Italy, for the subject of your picture of Ezzelin: pray where is it to be found?" "Only in my brain, my Lord," was the answer: "for I invented it"' (vol. i. p. 403)" (Moore).] * * * * * Tuesday, March 22. Last night, _party_ at Lansdowne House. To-night, _party_ at Lady Charlotte Greville's [1]--deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparted--nothing acquired--talking without ideas:--if any thing like _thought_ in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which we were gabbling. Heigho!--and in this way half London pass what is called life. To-morrow there is Lady Heathcote's--shall I go? yes--to punish myself for not having a pursuit. Let me see--what did I see? The only person who much struck me was Lady S--d's [Stafford's] eldest daughter, Lady C. L. [2] [Charlotte Leveson]. They say she is _not_ pretty. I don't know--every thing is pretty that pleases; but there is an air of _soul_ about her--and her colour changes--and there is that shyness of the antelope (which I delight in) in her manner so much, that I observed her more than I did any other woman in the rooms, and only looked at any thing else when I thought she might perceive and feel embarrassed by my scrutiny. After all, there may be something of association in this. She is a friend of Augusta's, and whatever she loves I can't help liking. Her mother, the Marchioness, talked to me a little; and I was twenty times on the point of asking her to introduce me to _sa fille_, but I stopped short. This comes of that affray with the Carlisles. Earl Grey told me laughingly of a paragraph in the last _Moniteur_, which has stated, among other symptoms of rebellion, some particulars of the _sensation_ occasioned in all our government gazettes by the "tear" lines,--_only_ amplifying, in its re-statement, an epigram (by the by, no epigram except in the _Greek_ acceptation of the word) into a _roman_. I wonder the _Couriers_, etc., etc., have not translated that part of the _Moniteur_, with additional comments. [3] The Princess of Wales has requested Fuseli to paint from 'The Corsair'--leaving to him the choice of any passage for the subject: so Mr. Locke tells me. Tired, jaded, selfish, and supine--must go to bed. _Roman_, at least _Romance_, means a song sometimes, as in the Spanish. I suppose this is the _Moniteur's_ meaning, unless he has confused it with 'The Corsair'. [Footnote 1: Daughter of William Henry Cavendish, third Duke of Portland, married, in 1793, to Charles Greville.] [Footnote 2: Afterwards Countess of Surrey.] [Footnote 3: "Londres le 9 Mars... On vient de publier une caricature insolente et grossiere centre le mariage projeté (de la Princesse de Galles) et centre le Prince d'Orange. En commentant cette gravure, le 'Town Talk' a osé avancer que la Princesse Charlotte détestait son époux futur, et que ses véritables affections étaient sacrifices à des vues politiques. Le Lord Byron a fait de ce bruit populaire le sujet d'une romance." 'Moniteur', 17 Mars, 1814.] * * * * * Albany, March 28. This night got into my new apartments, [1] rented of Lord Althorpe, on a lease of seven years. Spacious, and room for my books and sabres. _In_ the _house_, too, another advantage. The last few days, or whole week, have been very abstemious, regular in exercise, and yet very _un_well. Yesterday, dined _tête-à-tête_ at the Cocoa with Scrope Davies--sat from six till midnight--drank between us one bottle of champagne and six of claret, neither of which wines ever affect me. Offered to take Scrope home in my carriage; but he was tipsy and pious, and I was obliged to leave him on his knees praying to I know not what purpose or pagod. No headach, nor sickness, that night nor to-day. Got up, if any thing, earlier than usual--sparred with Jackson _ad sudorem_, and have been much better in health than for many days. I have heard nothing more from Scrope. Yesterday paid him four thousand eight hundred pounds, a debt of some standing, and which I wished to have paid before. My mind is much relieved by the removal of that _debit_. Augusta wants me to make it up with Carlisle. I have refused _every_ body else, but I can't deny her any thing;--so I must e'en do it, though I had as lief "drink up Eisel--eat a crocodile." [2] Let me see--Ward, the Hollands, the Lambs, Rogers, etc., etc.,--every body, more or less, have been trying for the last two years to accommodate this _couplet_ quarrel, to no purpose. I shall laugh if Augusta succeeds. Redde a little of many things--shall get in all my books to-morrow. Luckily this room will hold them--with "ample room and verge, etc., the characters of hell to trace." [3] I must set about some employment soon; my heart begins to eat _itself_ again. [Footnote 1: In 1804 Albany House, in Piccadilly, long occupied by the Duke of York and Albany, was converted into sets of bachelor chambers, and the gardens behind were also built over with additional suites of rooms. Byron's were in the original house on the ground floor, No. 2. Moore, writing to Rogers, April 12, 1814 ('Memoirs, etc'., vol. viii. p. 176), says, "Lord Byron, as you know, has removed into Albany, and lives in an apartment, I should think thirty by forty feet."] [Footnote 2: 'Hamlet', act v. sc. 1, line 299.] [Footnote 3: "Give ample room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace." Gray, 'The Bard', lines 51, 52.] * * * * * April 8. Out of town six days. On my return, found my poor little pagod, Napoleon, pushed off his pedestal;--the thieves are in Paris. It is his own fault. Like Milo, he would rend the oak; [1] but it closed again, wedged his hands, and now the beasts--lion, bear, down to the dirtiest jackal--may all tear him. That Muscovite winter _wedged_ his arms;--ever since, he has fought with his feet and teeth. The last may still leave their marks; and "I guess now" (as the Yankees say) that he will yet play them a pass. He is in their rear--between them and their homes. Query--will they ever reach them? [Footnote 1: He adopted this thought afterwards in his 'Ode to Napoleon', as well as most of the historical examples in the following paragraph: "He who of old would rend the oak, Dream'd not of the rebound; Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke-- Alone--how look'd he round?"] * * * * * Saturday, April 9, 1814. I mark this day! Napoleon Buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the world. "Excellent well." Methinks Sylla did better; for he revenged and resigned in the height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes--the finest instance of glorious contempt of the rascals upon record. Dioclesian did well too--Amurath not amiss, had he become aught except a dervise--Charles the Fifth but so so--but Napoleon, worst of all. What! wait till they were in his capital, and then talk of his readiness to give up what is already gone!! "What whining monk art thou--what holy cheat?" [1] 'Sdeath!--Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to this. The "Isle of Elba" to retire to!--Well--if it had been Caprea, I should have marvelled less. "I see men's minds are but a parcel of their fortunes." [2] I am utterly bewildered and confounded. I don't know--but I think _I_, even _I_ (an insect compared with this creature), have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's. But, after all, a crown may be not worth dying for. Yet, to outlive _Lodi_ for this!!! Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise from the dead! _Expende--quot libras in duce summo invenies_? [3] I knew they were light in the balance of mortality; but I thought their living dust weighed more _carats_. [4] Alas! this imperial diamond hath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil:--the pen of the historian won't rate it worth a ducat. Psha! "something too much of this." [5] But I won't give him up even now; though all his admirers have, "like the thanes, fallen from him." [6] [Footnote 1: In Otway's 'Venice Preserved' (act iv. sc. 2), Pierre says to Jaffier, who had betrayed him: "What whining monk art thou? What holy cheat? That would'st encroach upon my credulous ears, And cant'st thus vilely! Hence! I know thee not!"] [Footnote 2: "I see, men's judgements are a parcel of their fortunes." 'Antony and Cleopatra', act iii. sc. II, line 32.] [Footnote 3: "Expende Hannibalem: quot libras in duce summo Invenies?" Juvenal, 'Sat'. x. 147. "Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains: 'And is this all?'" Gifford's 'Juvenal' (ed. 1802), vol. ii. pp. 338, 339.] [Footnote 4: "In the Statistical Account of Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson had the curiosity to collect, and weigh, the ashes of a person discovered a few years since in the parish of Eccles. Wonderful to relate, he found the whole did not exceed in weight one ounce and a half! 'And is this all'!" Gifford's 'Juvenal, ut supra'.] [Footnote 5: 'Hamlet', act iii. sc. 2.] [Footnote 6: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 3, "Doctor, the thanes fly from me!"] * * * * * April 10. I do not know that I am happiest when alone; but this I am sure of, that I never am long in the society even of _her_ I love, (God knows too well, and the devil probably too,) without a yearning for the company of my lamp and my utterly confused and tumbled-over library. Even in the day, I send away my carriage oftener than I use or abuse it. _Per esempio_,--I have not stirred out of these rooms for these four days past: but I have sparred for exercise (windows open) with Jackson an hour daily, to attenuate and keep up the ethereal part of me. The more violent the fatigue, the better my spirits for the rest of the day; and then, my evenings have that calm nothingness of languor, which I most delight in. To-day I have boxed an hour--written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte--copied it--eaten six biscuits--drunk four bottles of soda water [1]--redde away the rest of my time--besides giving poor [? Webster] a world of advice about this mistress of his, who is plaguing him into a phthisic and intolerable tediousness. I am a pretty fellow truly to lecture about "the sect." No matter, my counsels are all thrown away. [Footnote 1: The following is one of Byron's bills for soda water: Lord Byron to R. Shipwash, 27 St. Albans St. 1814-- s. d. 4 Octr. 2 Doz. Soda Water 11 0 7 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 13 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 20 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 25 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 30 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 9 Decr. 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 14 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 17 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 22 " 2 Doz. do. do. 11 0 6 1 0 [overstrike 1 7 6] [overstrike 4 13 6] 25th Decr. 1814 Recd. R. Shipwash. * * * * * April 19, 1814. There is ice at both poles, north and south--all extremes are the same--misery belongs to the highest and the lowest only, to the emperor and the beggar, when unsixpenced and unthroned. There is, to be sure, a damned insipid medium--an equinoctial line--no one knows where, except upon maps and measurement. "And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death." [1] I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch-light; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume, and write, in _Ipecacuanha_, --"that the Bourbons are restored!!!"--"Hang up philosophy." [2] To be sure, I have long despised myself and man, but I never spat in the face of my species before--"O fool! I shall go mad." [3] [Footnote 1: 'Macbeth', act v. sc. 5, line 22.] [Footnote 2: 'Romeo and Juliet', act iii. sc. 3.] [Footnote 3: 'King Lear', act ii. sc. 4.] * * * * * APPENDIX I. ARTICLES FROM 'THE MONTHLY REVIEW'. 1. 'POEMS', BY W. R. SPENCER. (VOL. 67, 1812, PP. 54-60.) Art. VII. Poems by William Robert Spencer. 8vo. 10s. Boards. Cadell and Davies. 1811. The author of this well-printed volume has more than once been introduced to our readers, and is known to rank among that class of poetical persons who have never been highly favoured by stern criticism. The "mob of gentlemen who write with ease" has indeed of late years (like other mobs) become so importunate, as to threaten an alarming rivalry to the regular body of writers who are not fortunate enough to be either easy or genteel. Hence the jaundiced eye with which the real author regards the red Morocco binding of the presumptuous "Littérateur;" we say, _the binding_, for into the book itself he cannot condescend to look, at least not beyond the frontispiece.--Into Mr. Spencer's volume, however, he may dip farther, and will find sufficient to give him pleasure or pain, in proportion to his own candour. It consists chiefly of "_Vers de Société_," calculated to prove very delightful to a large circle of fashionable acquaintance, and pleasing to a limited number of vulgar purchasers. These last, indeed, may be rude enough to expect something more for their specie during the present scarcity of change, than lines to "Young Poets and Poetesses," "Epitaphs upon Years," Poems "to my Grammatical Niece," "Epistle from Sister Dolly in Cascadia to Sister Tanny in Snowdonia," etc.: but we doubt not that a long list of persons of quality, wit, and honour, "in town and country," who are here addressed, will be highly pleased with themselves and with the poet who has _shewn them off_ in a very handsome volume: as will doubtless the "Butterfly at the end of Winter," provided that he is fortunate enough to survive the present inclemencies. We are, however, by no means convinced that the Bellman will relish Mr. S.'s usurpation of a "Christmas Carol;" which looks so very like his own, that we advise him immediately to put in his claim, and it will be universally allowed. With the exception of these and similar productions, the volume contains poems eminently beautiful; some which have been already published, and others that are well worthy of present publication. Of "Leonora," with which it opens, we made our report many years ago (in vol. xx. N.S. p. 451): but our readers, perhaps, will not be sorry to see another short extract. We presume that they are well acquainted with the story, and therefore select one of the central passages: "See, where fresh blood-gouts mat the green, Yon wheel its reeking points advance; There, by the moon's wan light half seen, Grim ghosts of tombless murderers dance. 'Come, spectres of the guilty dead, With us your goblin morris ply, Come all in festive dance to tread, Ere on the bridal couch we lie.' "Forward th' obedient phantoms push, Their trackless footsteps rustle near, In sound like autumn winds that rush Through withering oak or beech-wood sere. With lightning's force the courser flies, Earth shakes his thund'ring hoofs beneath, Dust, stones, and sparks, in whirlwind rise, And horse and horseman heave for breath. "Swift roll the moon-light scenes away, Hills chasing hills successive fly; E'en stars that pave th' eternal way, Seem shooting to a backward sky. 'Fear'st thou, my love? the moon shines clear; Hurrah! how swiftly speed the dead! The dead does Leonora fear? Oh God! oh leave, oh leave the dead!'" Such a specimen of "the Terrible" will place the merit of the poem in a proper point of view: but we do not think that some of the alterations in this copy of Leonora are altogether so judicious as Mr. S.'s well-known taste had led us to expect. "Reviving Friendship" (p. 5) is perhaps less expressive than "Relenting," as it once stood; and the phrase, "ten thousand _furlowed_ heroes" ('ibid'.), throws a new light on the heroic character. It is extremely proper that heroes should have "furlows," since school-boys have holidays, and lawyers have long vacations: but we very much question whether young gentlemen of the scholastic, legal, or heroic calling, would be flattered by any epithet derived from the relaxation of their respectable pursuits. We should feel some hesitation in telling an interesting youth, of any given battalion from Portugal, that he was a "furlowed hero," lest he should prove to us that his "furlow" had by no means impaired his "heroism." The old epithet, "war-worn," was more adapted to heroism and to poetry; and, if we mistake not, it has very recently been superseded by an epithet which precludes "otium cum dignitate" from the soldier, without imparting either ease or dignity to the verse. Why is "horse and horsemen _pant_ for breath" changed to "_heave_ for breath," unless for the alliteration of the too tempting aspirate? "Heaving" is appropriate enough to coals and to sighs, but "panting" _belongs_ to successful lovers and spirited horses; and why should Mr. S.'s horse and horseman not have panted as heretofore? The next poem in arrangement as well as in merit is the "Year of Sorrow;" to which we offered a tribute of praise in our 45th vol. N.S. p. 288.--We are sorry to observe that the compliment paid to Mr. Wedgewood by a "late traveller" (see note, p. 50), viz. that "an Englishman in journeying from Calais to Ispahan may have his dinner served every day on Wedgewood's ware," is no longer a matter of fact. It has lately been the good or evil fortune of one of our travelling department to pass near to Calais, and to have journeyed through divers Paynim lands to no very remote distance from Ispahan; and neither in the palace of the Pacha nor in the caravanserai of the traveller, nor in the hut of the peasant, was he so favoured as to masticate his pilaff from that fashionable service. Such is, in this and numerous other instances, the altered state of the continent and of Europe, since the annotation of the "late traveller;" and on the authority of a _later_, we must report that the ware has been all broken since the former passed that way. We wish that we could efficiently exhort Mr. Wedgewood to send out a fresh supply, on all the _turnpike roads_ by the route of Bagdad, for the convenience of the "latest travellers." Passing over the "Chorus from Euripides," which might as well have slept in quiet with the rest of the author's school-exercises, we come to "the Visionary," which we gladly extract as a very elegant specimen of the lighter poems: "When midnight o'er the moonless skies Her pall of transient death has spread, When mortals sleep, when spectres rise, And nought is wakeful but the dead! "No bloodless shape my way pursues, No sheeted ghost my couch annoys. Visions more sad my fancy views, Visions of long departed joys! "The shade of youthful hope is there, That linger'd long, and latest died; Ambition all dissolved to air, With phantom honours at her side. "What empty shadows glimmer nigh! They once were friendship, truth, and love! Oh, die to thought, to mem'ry die, Since lifeless to my heart ye prove!" We cannot forbear adding the beautiful stanzas in pages 166, 167: "To THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. "Too late I staid, forgive the crime, Unheeded flew the hours; How noiseless falls the foot of Time, That only treads on flow'rs! "What eye with clear account remarks The ebbing of his glass, When all its sands are di'mond sparks, That dazzle as they pass? "Ah! who to sober measurement Time's happy swiftness brings, When birds of Paradise have lent Their plumage for his wings?" The far greater part of the volume, however, contains pieces which can be little gratifying to the public:--some are pretty; and all are besprinkled with "gems," and "roses," and "birds," and "diamonds," and such like cheap poetical adornments, as are always to be obtained at no great expense of thought or of metre.--It is happy for the author that these _bijoux_ are presented to persons of high degree; countesses, foreign and domestic; "Maids of Honour to Louisa Landgravine of Hesse D'Armstadt;" Lady Blank, and Lady Asterisk, besides---, and---, and others anonymous; who are exactly the kind of people to be best pleased with these sparkling, shining, fashionable trifles. We will solace our readers with three stanzas of the soberest of these odes: "ADDRESSED TO LADY SUSAN FINCASTLE, NOW COUNTESS OF DUNMORE. "What ails you, Fancy? you're become Colder than Truth, than Reason duller! Your wings are worn, your chirping's dumb, And ev'ry plume has lost its colour. "You droop like geese, whose cacklings cease When dire St. Michael they remember, Or like some _bird_ who just has heard That Fin's preparing for September? "Can you refuse your sweetest spell When I for Susan's praise invoke you? What, sulkier still? you pout and swell As if that lovely name would choke you." We are to suppose that "Fin preparing for September" is the lady with whose "lovely name" Fancy runs some risk of being "choked;" and, really, if _killing partridges_ formed a part of her Ladyship's accomplishments, both "Fancy" and Feeling were in danger of a quinsey. Indeed, the whole of these stanzas are couched in that most exquisite irony, in which Mr. S. has more than once succeeded. All the songs to "persons of quality" seem to be written on that purest model, "the song by a person of quality;" whose stanzas have not been fabricated in vain. This sedulous imitation extends even to the praise of things inanimate: "When an Eden zephyr hovers O'er a slumb'ring cherub's lyre, Or when sighs of seraph lovers Breathe upon th' unfinger'd wire." If namby-pamby still leads to distinction, Mr. S., like Ambrose Phillips, will be "preferred for wit." "Heav'n must hear--a bloom more tender Seems to tint the wreath of May, Lovelier beams the noon-day splendour, Brighter dew-drops gem the spray! "Is the breath of angels moving O'er each flow'ret's heighten'd hue? Are their smiles the day improving, Have their tears enrich'd the dew?" Here we have "angels' tears," and "breath," and "smiles," and "Eden zephyrs," "sighs of seraph lovers," and "lyres of slumbering cherubs," dancing away to "the Pedal Harp!" How strange it is that Thomson, in his stanzas on the Æolian lyre (see the 'Castle of Indolence'), never dreamed of such things, but left all these prettinesses to the last of the Cruscanti! One of the best pieces in the volume is an "Epistle to T. Moore, Esq.," which though disfigured with "Fiends on sulphur nurst," and "_Hell's chillest Winter_" ("poor Tom's a'-cold!"), and some other vagaries of the same sort, forms a pleasant specimen of poetical friendship.--We give the last ten lines: "The triflers think your varied powers Made only for life's gala bow'rs, To smooth Reflection's mentor-frown, Or Pillow joy on softer down.-- Fools!--yon blest orb not only glows To chase the cloud, or paint the rose; _These_ are the pastimes of his might, Earth's torpid bosom drinks his light; Find there his wondrous pow'r's true measure, Death turn'd to life, and dross to treasure!" We have now arrived at Mr. Spencer's French and Italian poesy; the former of which is written sometimes in new and sometimes in old French, and, occasionally, in a kind of tongue neither old nor new. We offer a sample of the two former: "'QU'EST CE QUE C'EST QUE LE GENIE?' "Brillant est cet esprit privé de sentiment; Mais ce n'est qu'un soleil trop vif et trop constant, Tendre est ce sentiment qu' aucun esprit n'anime, Mais ce n'est qu'un jour doux, que trop de pluie abime! Quand un brillant esprit de ses rares couleurs, Orne du sentiment les aimables douleurs, Un _Phenomêne_ en nait, le plus beau de la vie! C'est alors que les ris en se mélant aux pleurs, Font ces _Iris de l'ame_, appellê le Genie!" "C'y gist un povre menestrel, Occis par maint ennuict cruel-- Ne plains pas trop sa destinée-- N'est icy que son corps mortel: Son ame est toujours à Gillwell, Et n'est ce pas là l'Elyséé?" We think that Mr. Spencer's Italian rhymes are better finished than his French; and indeed the facility of composing in that most poetical of all languages must be obvious: but, as a composer in Italian, he and all other Englishmen are much inferior to Mr. Mathias. It is very perceptible in many of Mr. S.'s smaller pieces that he has suffered his English versification to be vitiated with Italian 'concetti'; and we should have been better pleased with his compositions in a foreign language, had they not induced him to corrupt his mother-tongue. Still we would by no means utterly proscribe these excursions into other languages; though they remind us occasionally of that aspiring Frenchman who placed in his grounds the following inscription in honour of Shenstone and the Leasowes: "See this stone For William Shenstone-- Who planted groves rural, And wrote verse natural!" The above lines were displayed by the worthy proprietor, in the pride of his heart, to all English travellers, as a tribute of respect for the resemblance of his paternal chateau to the Leasowes, and a striking coincidence between Shenstone's versification and his own.--We do not mean to insinuate that Mr. Spencer's French verses ("_Cy gist un povre menestrel,"_ with an Urn inscribed W. R. S. at the top) are _precisely_ a return in kind for the quatrain above quoted: but we place it as a beacon to all young gentlemen of poetical propensities on the French Parnassus. Few would proceed better on the Gallic Pegasus, than the Anglo-troubadour on ours. We now take our leave of Mr. Spencer, without being blind to his errors or insensible to his merits. As a poet, he may be placed rather below Mr. Moore and somewhat above Lord Strangford; and if his volume meet with half their number of purchasers, he will have no reason to complain either of our judgment or of his own success. * * * * * ARTICLES FROM THE MONTHLY REVIEW. 2. NEGLECTED GENIUS, BY W.H. IRELAND. (VOL. 70, 1813, PP. 203-205.) Art. XV. 'Neglected Genius:' a Poem. Illustrating the untimely and unfortunate Fall of many British Poets; from the Period of Henry VIII. to the Æra of the unfortunate Chatterton. Containing Imitations of their different Styles, etc., etc. By W.H. Ireland, Author of the 'Fisher-Soy', 'Sailor-Boy', 'Cottage-Girl', etc., etc., etc. 8vo. pp. 175. 8s. Boards. Sherwood & Co. 1812. This volume, professing in a moderately long title-page to be "illustrative of the untimely and unfortunate fate of _many_ British Poets," might with great propriety include the author among the number; for if his "imitations of their different styles" resemble the originals, the consequent starvation of "many British poets" is a doom which is calculated to excite pity rather than surprize. The book opens with a dedication to the present, and a Monody on the late Duke of Devonshire (one of the neglected bards, we presume, on whom the author holds his inquest), in which it were difficult to say whether the "enlightened understanding" of the living or the "intellect" of the deceased nobleman is more justly appreciated or more elegantly eulogized. Lest the Monody should be mistaken for anything but itself, of which there was little danger, it is dressed in marginal mourning, like a dying speech, or an American Gazette after a defeat. The following is a specimen--the poet is addressing the Duchess: "Chaste widow'd Mourner, still with tears bedew That sacred Urn, which can imbue Thy worldly thoughts, thus kindling mem'ry's glow: Each retrospective virtue, fadeless beam, Embalms thy _Truth_ in heavenly dream, To soothe the bosom's agonizing woe. "Yet soft--more poignantly to wake the soul, And ev'ry pensive thought controul, Truth shall with energy his worth proclaim; Here I'll record his _philanthropic mind_, Eager to bless all human kind, Yet _modest shrinking_ from the voice of _Fame_. "As _Patriot_ view him shun the courtly crew, And dauntless ever keep in view That bright palladium, England's dear renown. The people's Freedom and the Monarch's good, Purchas'd with Patriotic blood, The surest safeguard of the state and crown. "Or now behold his glowing soul extend, To shine the polish'd social _friend_; His country's _matchless Prince_ his worth rever'd; _Gigantic Fox_, true Freedom's darling child, By kindred excellence beguil'd, To lasting _amity_ the temple rear'd. "As _Critic_ chaste, his judgment could explore The beauties of poetic lore, Or classic strains mellifluent infuse; Yet glowing genius and expanded sense Were crown'd with _innate diffidence_, The sure attendant of a genuine muse." Page 9 contains, forsooth, a very correct imitation of Milton: "To thee, gigantic genius, next I'll sound; The clarion string, and fill fame's vasty round; 'Tis _Milton_ beams upon the wond'ring sight, Rob'd in the splendour of Apollo's light; As when from ocean bursting on the view, His orb dispenses ev'ry brilliant hue, Crowns with resplendent gold th' horizon wide, And cloathes with countless gems the buoyant tide; While through the boundless realms of æther blaze, On spotless azure, streamy saffron rays:-- So o'er the world of genius _Milton_ shone, Profound in science--as the bard--alone." We must not pass over the imitative specimen of "Nahum Tate," because in this the author approximates nearest to the style of his original: "Friend of great _Dryden_, though of humble fame, The Laureat Tate, shall here record his name; Whose sorrowing numbers breath'd a nation's pain, When death from mortal to immortal reign Translated royal _Anne_, our island's boast, Victorious sov'reign, dread of Gallia's host; Whose arms by land and sea with fame were crown'd, Whose statesmen grave for wisdom were renown'd, Whose reign with science dignifies the page; Bright noon of genius--_great Augustan age_. Such was thy Queen, and such th' illustrious time That nurs'd thy muse, and tun'd thy soul to rhyme; Yet wast thou fated sorrow's shaft to bear, Augmenting still this catalogue of care; The gripe of penury thy bosom knew, A gloomy jail obscur'd bright freedom's view; So life's gay visions faded to thy sight, Thy brilliant hopes enscarf'd in sorrow's night." Where did Mr. Ireland learn that _hold fast_ and _ballâst_, _stir_ and _hungêr_, _please_ and _kidnêys_, _plane_ and _capstâne_, _expose_ and _windôws_, _forgot_ and _pilôt_, _sail on_ _and Deucalôn!_ (Lemprière would have saved him a scourging at school by telling him that there was an _i_ in the word), were legitimate Hudibrastic rhymes? (see pp. 116, etc.). Chatterton is a great favourite of this imitative gentleman; and Bristol, where he appears to have been held in no greater estimation than Mr. Ireland himself deserves, is much vituperated in some sad couplets, seemingly for this reason, "All for love, and a little for the bottle," as Bannister's song runs,--"All for Chatterton, and a little for myself," thinks Mr. Ireland. The notes communicate, among other novelties, the new title of "Sir Horace" to the Honourable H. Walpole: surely a perusal of the life of the unfortunate boy, whose fate Mr. I. deplores, might have prevented this piece of ignorance, twice repeated in the same page; and we wonder at the malicious fun of the printer's devil in permitting it to stand, for _he_ certainly knew better. We must be excused from a more detailed notice of Mr. Ireland for the present; and indeed we hope to hear no more of his lamentations, very sure that none but reviewers ever will peruse them: unless, perhaps, the unfortunate persons of quality whom he may henceforth single out as proper victims of future dedication. Though his dedications are enough to kill the living, his anticipated monodies, on the other hand, must add considerably to the natural dread of death in such of his patrons as may be liable to common sense or to chronic diseases. * * * * * APPENDIX II. PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 1. DEBATE ON THE FRAME-WORK BILL, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, FEBRUARY 27, 1812. The order of the day for the second reading of this Bill being read, Lord BYRON rose, and (for the first time) addressed their Lordships as follows: My Lords,--The subject now submitted to your Lordships for the first time, though new to the House, is by no means new to the country. I believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of persons, long before its introduction to the notice of that legislature, whose interference alone could be of real service. As a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only to this House in general, but to almost every individual whose attention I presume to solicit, I must claim some portion of your Lordships' indulgence, whilst I offer a few observations on a question in which I confess myself deeply interested. To enter into any detail of the riots would be superfluous: the House is already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected with them, have been liable to insult and violence. During the short time I recently passed in Nottinghamshire, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act of violence; and on the day I left the county I was informed that forty frames had been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without resistance and without detection. Such was then the state of that county, and such I have reason to believe it to be at this moment. But whilst these outrages must be admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress: the perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community. At the time to which I allude, the town and county were burdened with large detachments of the military; the police was in motion, the magistrates assembled; yet all the movements, civil and military, had led to--nothing. Not a single instance had occurred of the apprehension of any real delinquent actually taken in the fact, against whom there existed legal evidence sufficient for conviction. But the police, however useless, were by no means idle: several notorious delinquents had been detected,--men, liable to conviction, on the clearest evidence, of the capital crime of poverty; men, who had been nefariously guilty of lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to the times! they were unable to maintain. Considerable injury has been done to the proprietors of the improved frames. These machines were to them an advantage, inasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing a number of workmen, who were left in consequence to starve. By the adoption of one species of frame in particular, one man performed the work of many, and the superfluous labourers were thrown out of employment. Yet it is to be observed, that the work thus executed was inferior in quality; not marketable at home, and merely hurried over with a view to exportation. It was called, in the cant of the trade, by the name of "Spider-work." The rejected workmen, in the blindness of their ignorance, instead of rejoicing at these improvements in arts so beneficial to mankind, conceived themselves to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. In the foolishness of their hearts they imagined that the maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor were objects of greater consequence than the enrichment of a few individuals by any improvement, in the implements of trade, which threw the workmen out of employment, and rendered the labourer unworthy of his hire. And it must be confessed that although the adoption of the enlarged machinery in that state of our commerce which the country once boasted might have been beneficial to the master without being detrimental to the servant; yet, in the present situation of our manufactures, rotting in warehouses, without a prospect of exportation, with the demand for work and workmen equally diminished, frames of this description tend materially to aggravate the distress and discontent of the disappointed sufferers. But the real cause of these distresses and consequent disturbances lies deeper. When we are told that these men are leagued together not only for the destruction of their own comfort, but of their very means of subsistence, can we forget that it is the bitter policy, the destructive warfare of the last eighteen years, which has destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's comfort? that policy, which, originating with "great statesmen now no more," has survived the dead to become a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth generation! These men never destroyed their looms till they were become useless, worse than useless; till they were become actual impediments to their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. Can you, then, wonder that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed felony are found in a station not far beneath that of your Lordships, the lowest, though once most useful portion of the people, should forget their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of their representatives? But while the exalted offender can find means to baffle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of death must be spread for the wretched mechanic, who is famished into guilt. These men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands: they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employments pre-occupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject of surprise. It has been stated that the persons in the temporary possession of frames connive at their destruction; if this be proved upon inquiry, it were necessary that such material accessories to the crime should be principals in the punishment. But I did hope, that any measure proposed by his Majesty's government for your Lordships' decision, would have had conciliation for its basis; or, if that were hopeless, that some previous inquiry, some deliberation, would have been deemed requisite; not that we should have been called at once, without examination and without cause, to pass sentences by wholesale, and sign death-warrants blindfold. But, admitting that these men had no cause of complaint; that the grievances of them and their employers were alike groundless; that they deserved the worst;--what inefficiency, what imbecility has been evinced in the method chosen to reduce them! Why were the military called out to be made a mockery of, if they were to be called out at all? As far as the difference of seasons would permit, they have merely parodied the summer campaign of Major Sturgeon; and, indeed, the whole proceedings, civil and military, seemed on the model of those of the mayor and corporation of Garratt.--Such marchings and countermarchings! --from Nottingham to Bullwell, from Bullwell to Banford, from Banford to Mansfield! And when at length the detachments arrived at their destination, in all "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," they came just in time to witness the mischief which had been done, and ascertain the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the "'spolia opima'" in the fragments of broken frames, and return to their quarters amidst the derision of old women, and the hootings of children. Now, though, in a free country, it were to be wished that our military should never be too formidable, at least to ourselves, I cannot see the policy of placing them in situations where they can only be made ridiculous. As the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last. In this instance it has been the first; but providentially as yet only in the scabbard. The present measure will, indeed, pluck it from the sheath; yet had proper meetings been held in the earlier stages of these riots, had the grievances of these men and their masters (for they also had their grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, I do think that means might have been devised to restore these workmen to their avocations, and tranquillity to the county. At present the county suffers from the double infliction of an idle military and a starving population. In what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that now for the first time the House has been officially apprised of these disturbances? All this has been transacting within 130 miles of London; and yet we, "good easy men, have deemed full sure our greatness was a-ripening," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the midst of domestic calamity. But all the cities you have taken, all the armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land divides against itself, and your dragoons and your executioners must be let loose against your fellow-citizens.--You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and ignorant; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the "'Bellua multorum capitum'" is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. But even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of conciliation and firmness, than by additional irritation and redoubled penalties. Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labour in your fields and serve in your houses,--that man your navy, and recruit your army,--that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair! You may call the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people. And here I must remark, with what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving the distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or--the parish. When the Portuguese suffered under the retreat of the French, every arm was stretched out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's largess to the widow's mite, all was bestowed, to enable them to rebuild their villages and replenish their granaries. And at this moment, when thousands of misguided but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are struggling with the extremes of hardships and hunger, as your charity began abroad it should end at home. A much less sum, a tithe of the bounty bestowed on Portugal, even if those men (which I cannot admit without inquiry) could not have been restored to their employments, would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the bayonet and the gibbet. But doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to admit a prospect of domestic relief; though never did such objects demand it. I have traversed the seat of war in the Peninsula, I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey; but never under the most despotic of infidel governments did I behold such squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return in the very heart of a Christian country. And what are your remedies? After months of inaction, and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of all state physicians, from the days of Draco to the present time. After feeling the pulse and shaking the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of warm water and bleeding,--the warm water of your mawkish police, and the lancets of your military,--these convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all political Sangrados. Setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of the Bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? Is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you? How will you carry the Bill into effect? Can you commit a whole county to their own prisons? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows? or will you proceed (as you must to bring this measure into effect) by decimation? place the county under martial law? depopulate and lay waste all around you? and restore Sherwood Forest as an acceptable gift to the crown, in its former condition of a royal chase and an asylum for outlaws? Are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace? Will the famished wretch who has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets? When death is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity? Will that which could not be effected by your grenadiers be accomplished by your executioners? If you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices when transportation only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when death is the penalty. With all due deference to the noble lords opposite, I think a little investigation, some previous inquiry, would induce even them to change their purpose. That most favourite state measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, temporising, would not be without its advantages in this. When a proposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temporise and tamper with the minds of men; but a death-bill must be passed off-hand, without a thought of the consequences. Sure I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have seen, that to pass the Bill under all the existing circumstances, without inquiry, without deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and barbarity to neglect. The framers of such a bill must be content to inherit the honours of that Athenian law-giver whose edicts were said to be written not in ink but in blood. But suppose it passed; suppose one of these men, as I have seen them,--meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame; --suppose this man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support;--suppose this man--and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your victims--dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new law; still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him; and these are, in my opinion,--twelve butchers for a jury, and a Jeffreys for a judge! * * * * * 2. DEBATE ON THE EARL OF DONOUGHMORE'S MOTION FOR A COMMITTEE ON THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CLAIMS, APRIL 21, 1812. [Byron's notes for a portion of his speech are in the possession of Mr. Murray.] Lord BYRON rose and said: My Lords,--The question before the House has been so frequently, fully, and ably discussed, and never perhaps more ably than on this night, that it would be difficult to adduce new arguments for or against it. But with each discussion difficulties have been removed, objections have been canvassed and refuted, and some of the former opponents of Catholic emancipation have at length conceded to the expediency of relieving the petitioners. In conceding thus much, however, a new objection is started; it is not the time, say they, or it is an improper time, or there is time enough yet. In some degree I concur with those who say it is not the time exactly; that time is past; better had it been for the country that the Catholics possessed at this moment their proportion of our privileges, that their nobles held their due weight in our councils, than that we should be assembled to discuss their claims. It had indeed been better: "Non tempore tali Cogere concilium cum muros obsidet hostis." The enemy is without, and distress within. It is too late to cavil on doctrinal points, when we must unite in defence of things more important than the mere ceremonies of religion. It is indeed singular, that we are called together to deliberate, not on the God we adore, for in that we are agreed; not about the king we obey, for to him we are loyal; but how far a difference in the ceremonials of worship, how far believing not too little, but too much (the worst that can be imputed to the Catholics), how far too much devotion to their God may incapacitate our fellow-subjects from effectually serving their king. Much has been said, within and without doors, of church and state; and although those venerable words have been too often prostituted to the most despicable of party purposes, we cannot hear them too often: all, I presume, are the advocates of church and state,--the church of Christ, and the state of Great Britain; but not a state of exclusion and despotism; not an intolerant church; not a church militant, which renders itself liable to the very objection urged against the Romish communion, and in a greater degree, for the Catholic merely withholds its spiritual benediction (and even that is doubtful), but our church, or rather our churchmen, not only refuse to the Catholic their spiritual grace, but all temporal blessings whatsoever. It was an observation of the great Lord Peterborough, made within these walls, or within the walls where the Lords then assembled, that he was for a "parliamentary king and a parliamentary constitution, but not a parliamentary God and a parliamentary religion." The interval of a century has not weakened the force of the remark. It is indeed time that we should leave off these petty cavils on frivolous points, these Lilliputian sophistries, whether our "eggs are best broken at the broad or narrow end." The opponents of the Catholics may be divided into two classes; those who assert that the Catholics have too much already, and those who allege that the lower orders, at least, have nothing more to require. We are told by the former, that the Catholics never will be contented: by the latter, that they are already too happy. The last paradox is sufficiently refuted by the present as by all past petitions: it might as well be said, that the negroes did not desire to be emancipated; but this is an unfortunate comparison, for you have already delivered them out of the house of bondage without any petition on their part, but many from their taskmasters to a contrary effect; and for myself, when I consider this, I pity the Catholic peasantry for not having the good fortune to be born black. But the Catholics are contented, or at least ought to be, as we are told; I shall, therefore, proceed to touch on a few of those circumstances which so marvellously contribute to their exceeding contentment. They are not allowed the free exercise of their religion in the regular army; the Catholic soldier cannot absent himself from the service of the Protestant clergyman; and unless he is quartered in Ireland, or in Spain, where can he find eligible opportunities of attending his own? The permission of Catholic chaplains to the Irish militia regiments was conceded as a special favour, and not till after years of remonstrance, although an Act, passed in 1793, established it as a right. But are the Catholics properly protected in Ireland? Can the church purchase a rood of land whereon to erect a chapel? No! all the places of worship are built on leases of trust or sufferance from the laity, easily broken, and often betrayed. The moment any irregular wish, any casual caprice of the benevolent landlord meets with opposition, the doors are barred against the congregation. This has happened continually, but in no instance more glaringly than at the town of Newton Barry, in the county of Wexford. The Catholics enjoying no regular chapel, as a temporary expedient hired two barns; which, being thrown into one, served for public worship. At this time, there was quartered opposite to the spot an officer whose mind appears to have been deeply imbued with those prejudices which the Protestant petitions now on the table prove to have been fortunately eradicated from the more rational portion of the people; and when the Catholics were assembled on the Sabbath as usual, in peace and good-will towards men, for the worship of their God and yours, they found the chapel door closed, and were told that if they did not immediately retire (and they were told this by a yeoman officer and a magistrate), the Riot Act should be read, and the assembly dispersed at the point of the bayonet! This was complained of to the middle-man of government, the secretary at the Castle in 1806, and the answer was (in lieu of redress), that he would cause a letter to be written to the colonel, to prevent, if possible, the recurrence of similar disturbances. Upon this fact no very great stress need be laid; but it tends to prove that while the Catholic church has not power to purchase land for its chapels to stand upon, the laws for its protection are of no avail. In the mean time, the Catholics are at the mercy of every "pelting petty officer," who may choose to play his "fantastic tricks before high heaven," to insult his God, and injure his fellow-creatures. Every schoolboy, any footboy (such have held commissions in our service), any footboy who can exchange his shoulder-knot for an epaulette, may perform all this and more against the Catholic by virtue of that very authority delegated to him by his sovereign for the express purpose of defending his fellow-subjects to the last drop of his blood, without discrimination or distinction between Catholic and Protestant. Have the Irish Catholics the full benefit of trial by jury? They have not; they never can have until they are permitted to share the privilege of serving as sheriffs and under-sheriffs. Of this a striking example occurred at the last Enniskillen assizes. A yeoman was arraigned for the murder of a Catholic named Macvournagh; three respectable, uncontradicted witnesses, deposed that they saw the prisoner load, take aim, fire at, and kill the said Macvournagh. This was properly commented on by the judge; but, to the astonishment of the bar, and indignation of the court, the Protestant jury acquitted the accused. So glaring was the partiality, that Mr. Justice Osborne felt it his duty to bind over the acquitted, but not absolved assassin, in large recognizances; thus for a time taking away his licence to kill Catholics. Are the very laws passed in their favour observed? They are rendered nugatory in trivial as in serious cases. By a late Act, Catholic chaplains are permitted in gaols; but in Fermanagh county the grand jury lately persisted in presenting a suspended clergyman for the office, thereby evading the statute, notwithstanding the most pressing remonstrances of a most respectable magistrate named Fletcher to the contrary. Such is law, such is justice, for the happy, free, contented Catholic! It has been asked, in another place, Why do not the rich Catholics endow foundations for the education of the priesthood? Why do you not permit them to do so? Why are all such bequests subject to the interference, the vexatious, arbitrary, peculating interference of the Orange commissioners for charitable donations? As to Maynooth college, in no instance, except at the time of its foundation, when a noble Lord (Camden), at the head of the Irish administration, did appear to interest himself in its advancement, and during the government of a noble Duke (Bedford), who, like his ancestors, has ever been the friend of freedom and mankind, and who has not so far adopted the selfish policy of the day as to exclude the Catholics from the number of his fellow-creatures; with these exceptions, in no instance has that institution been properly encouraged. There was indeed a time when the Catholic clergy were conciliated, while the Union was pending, that Union which could not be carried without them, while their assistance was requisite in procuring addresses from the Catholic counties; then they were cajoled and caressed, feared and flattered, and given to understand that "the Union would do every thing"; but the moment it was passed, they were driven back with contempt into their former obscurity. In the conduct pursued towards Maynooth college, every thing is done to irritate and perplex--every thing is done to efface the slightest impression of gratitude from the Catholic mind; the very hay made upon the lawn, the fat and tallow of the beef and mutton allowed, must be paid for and accounted upon oath. It is true, this economy in miniature cannot sufficiently be commended, particularly at a time when only the insect defaulters of the Treasury, your Hunts and your Chinnerys, when only those "gilded bugs" can escape the microscopic eye of ministers. But when you come forward, session after session, as your paltry pittance is wrung from you with wrangling and reluctance, to boast of your liberality, well might the Catholic exclaim, in the words of Prior: "To John I owe some obligation, But John unluckily thinks fit To publish it to all the nation, So John and I are more than quit." Some persons have compared the Catholics to the beggar in 'Gil Blas': who made them beggars? Who are enriched with the spoils of their ancestors? And cannot you relieve the beggar when your fathers have made him such? If you are disposed to relieve him at all, cannot you do it without flinging your farthings in his face? As a contrast, however, to this beggarly benevolence, let us look at the Protestant Charter Schools; to them you have lately granted £41,000: thus are they supported; and how are they recruited? Montesquieu observes on the English constitution, that the model may be found in Tacitus, where the historian describes the policy of the Germans, and adds, "This beautiful system was taken from the woods;" so in speaking of the charter schools, it may be observed, that this beautiful system was taken from the gipsies. These schools are recruited in the same manner as the Janissaries at the time of their enrolment under Amurath, and the gipsies of the present day, with stolen children, with children decoyed and kidnapped from their Catholic connections by their rich and powerful Protestant neighbours: this is notorious, and one instance may suffice to show in what manner:--The sister of a Mr. Carthy (a Catholic gentleman of very considerable property) died, leaving two girls, who were immediately marked out as proselytes, and conveyed to the charter school of Coolgreny; their uncle, on being apprised of the fact, which took place during his absence, applied for the restitution of his nieces, offering to settle an independence on these his relations; his request was refused, and not till after five years' struggle, and the interference of very high authority, could this Catholic gentleman obtain back his nearest of kindred from a charity charter school. In this manner are proselytes obtained, and mingled with the offspring of such Protestants as may avail themselves of the institution. And how are they taught? A catechism is put into their hands, consisting of, I believe, forty-five pages, in which are three questions relative to the Protestant religion; one of these queries is, "Where was the Protestant religion before Luther?" Answer: "In the Gospel." The remaining forty-four pages and a half regard the damnable idolatry of Papists! Allow me to ask our spiritual pastors and masters, is this training up a child in the way which he should go? Is this the religion of the Gospel before the time of Luther? that religion which preaches "Peace on earth, and glory to God"? Is it bringing up infants to be men or devils? Better would it be to send them any where than teach them such doctrines; better send them to those islands in the South Seas, where they might more humanely learn to become cannibals; it would be less disgusting that they were brought up to devour the dead, than persecute the living. Schools do you call them? call them rather dung-hills, where the viper of intolerance deposits her young, that when their teeth are cut and their poison is mature, they may issue forth, filthy and venomous, to sting the Catholic. But are these the doctrines of the Church of England, or of churchmen? No, the most enlightened churchmen are of a different opinion. What says Paley? "I perceive no reason why men of different religious persuasions should not sit upon the same bench, deliberate in the same council, or fight in the same ranks, as well as men of various religious opinions upon any controverted topic of natural history, philosophy, or ethics." It may be answered, that Paley was not strictly orthodox; I know nothing of his orthodoxy, but who will deny that he was an ornament to the church, to human nature, to Christianity? I shall not dwell upon the grievance of tithes, so severely felt by the peasantry; but it may be proper to observe, that there is an addition to the burden, a percentage to the gatherer, whose interest it thus becomes to rate them as highly as possible, and we know that in many large livings in Ireland the only resident Protestants are the tithe proctor and his family. Amongst many causes of irritation, too numerous for recapitulation, there is one in the militia not to be passed over,--I mean the existence of Orange lodges amongst the privates. Can the officers deny this? And if such lodges do exist, do they, can they tend to promote harmony amongst the men, who are thus individually separated in society, although mingled in the ranks? And is this general system of persecution to be permitted; or is it to be believed that with such a system the Catholics can or ought to be contented? If they are, they belie human nature; they are then, indeed, unworthy to be any thing but the slaves you have made them. The facts stated are from most respectable authority, or I should not have dared in this place, or any place, to hazard this avowal. If exaggerated, there are plenty as willing, as I believe them to be unable, to disprove them. Should it be objected that I never was in Ireland, I beg leave to observe, that it is as easy to know something of Ireland, without having been there, as it appears with some to have been born, bred, and cherished there, and yet remain ignorant of its best interests. But there are who assert that the Catholics have already been too much indulged. See (cry they) what has been done: we have given them one entire college; we allow them food and raiment, the full enjoyment of the elements, and leave to fight for us as long as they have limbs and lives to offer; and yet they are never to be satisfied!--Generous and just declaimers! To this, and to this only, amount the whole of your arguments, when stript of their sophistry. Those personages remind me of a story of a certain drummer, who, being called upon in the course of duty to administer punishment to a friend tied to the halberts, was requested to flog high, he did--to flog low, he did--to flog in the middle, he did,--high, low, down the middle, and up again, but all in vain; the patient continued his complaints with the most provoking pertinacity, until the drummer, exhausted and angry, flung down his scourge, exclaiming, "The devil burn you, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will!" Thus it is, you have flogged the Catholic high, low, here, there, and every where, and then you wonder he is not pleased. It is true that time, experience, and that weariness which attends even the exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog a little more gently; but still you continue to lay on the lash, and will so continue, till perhaps the rod may be wrested from your hands, and applied to the backs of yourselves and your posterity. It was said by somebody in a former debate, (I forget by whom, and am not very anxious to remember,) if the Catholics are emancipated, why not the Jews? If this sentiment was dictated by compassion for the Jews, it might deserve attention, but as a sneer against the Catholic, what is it but the language of Shylock transferred from his daughter's marriage to Catholic emancipation: "Would any of the tribe of Barabbas Should have it rather than a Christian!" I presume a Catholic is a Christian, even in the opinion of him whose taste only can be called in question for his preference of the Jews. It is a remark often quoted of Dr. Johnson, (whom I take to be almost as good authority as the gentle apostle of intolerance, Dr. Duigenan,) that he who could entertain serious apprehensions of danger to the church in these times, would have "cried fire in the deluge." This is more than a metaphor; for a remnant of these antediluvians appear actually to have come down to us, with fire in their mouths and water in their brains, to disturb and perplex mankind with their whimsical outcries. And as it is an infallible symptom of that distressing malady with which I conceive them to be afflicted (so any doctor will inform your Lordships), for the unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually flashing before their eyes, particularly when their eyes are shut (as those of the persons to whom I allude have long been), it is impossible to convince these poor creatures that the fire against which they are perpetually warning us and themselves is nothing but an 'ignis fatuus' of their own drivelling imaginations. What rhubarb, senna, or "what purgative drug can scour that fancy thence?"--It is impossible, they are given over,--theirs is the true "Caput insanabile tribus Anticyris." These are your true Protestants. Like Bayle, who protested against all sects whatsoever, so do they protest against Catholic petitions, Protestant petitions, all redress, all that reason, humanity, policy, justice, and common sense can urge against the delusions of their absurd delirium. These are the persons who reverse the fable of the mountain that brought forth a mouse; they are the mice who conceive themselves in labour with mountains. To return to the Catholics: suppose the Irish were actually contented under their disabilities; suppose them capable of such a bull as not to desire deliverance,--ought we not to wish it for ourselves? Have we nothing to gain by their emancipation? What resources have been wasted? What talents have been lost by the selfish system of exclusion? You already know the value of Irish aid; at this moment the defence of England is intrusted to the Irish militia; at this moment, while the starving people are rising in the fierceness of despair, the Irish are faithful to their trust. But till equal energy is imparted throughout by the extension of freedom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the strength which you are glad to interpose between you and destruction. Ireland has done much, but will do more. At this moment the only triumph obtained through long years of continental disaster has been achieved by an Irish general: it is true he is not a Catholic; had he been so, we should have been deprived of his exertions: but I presume no one will assert that his religion would have impaired his talents or diminished his patriotism; though, in that case, he must have conquered in the ranks, for he never could have commanded an army. But he is fighting the battles of the Catholics abroad; his noble brother has this night advocated their cause, with an eloquence which I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my panegyric; whilst a third of his kindred, as unlike as unequal, has been combating against his Catholic brethren in Dublin, with circular letters, edicts, proclamations, arrests, and dispersions;--all the vexatious implements of petty warfare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas of government, clad in the rusty armour of their obsolete statutes. Your Lordships will doubtless divide new honours between the Saviour of Portugal, and the Disperser of Delegates. It is singular, indeed, to observe the difference between our foreign and domestic policy; if Catholic Spain, faithful Portugal, or the no less Catholic and faithful king of the one Sicily, (of which, by the by, you have lately deprived him,) stand in need of succour, away goes a fleet and an army, an ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty hardly, generally to negotiate very badly, and always to pay very dearly for our Popish allies. But let four millions of fellow-subjects pray for relief, who fight and pay and labour in your behalf, they must be treated as aliens; and although their "father's house has many mansions," there is no resting-place for them. Allow me to ask, are you not fighting for the emancipation of Ferdinand VII, who certainly is a fool, and, consequently, in all probability a bigot? and have you more regard for a foreign sovereign than your own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your interest better than you know your own; who are not bigots, for they return you good for evil; but who are in worse durance than the prison of an usurper, inasmuch as the fetters of the mind are more galling than those of the body? Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims of the petitioners, I shall not expatiate; you know them, you will feel them, and your children's children when you are passed away. Adieu to that Union so called, as "'Lucus a non lucendo'" an Union from never uniting, which in its first operation gave a death-blow to the independence of Ireland, and in its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from this country. If it must be called an Union, it is the union of the shark with his prey; the spoiler swallows up his victim, and thus they become one and indivisible. Thus has great Britain swallowed up the Parliament, the constitution, the independence of Ireland, and refuses to disgorge even a single privilege, although for the relief of her swollen and distempered body politic. And now, my Lords, before I sit down, will his Majesty's ministers permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, for that would be superfluous, but on the degree of estimation in which they are held by the people of these realms? The esteem in which they are held has been boasted of in a triumphant tone on a late occasion within these walls, and a comparison instituted between their conduct and that of noble lords on this side of the House. What portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of my noble friends (if such I may presume to call them), I shall not pretend to ascertain; but that of his Majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. It is, to be sure, a little like the wind, "no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth;" but they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it. Indeed, modest and unostentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph which pursues them? If they plunge into the midland counties, there will they be greeted by the manufacturers, with spurned petitions in their hands, and those halters round their necks recently voted in their behalf, imploring blessings on the heads of those who so simply, yet ingeniously, contrived to remove them from their miseries in this to a better world. If they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to John o' Groat's, every where will they receive similar marks of approbation. If they take a trip from Portpatrick to Donaghadee, there will they rush at once into the embraces of four Catholic millions, to whom their vote of this night is about to endear them for ever. When they return to the metropolis, if they can pass under Temple Bar without unpleasant sensations at the sight of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway, they cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the more tremulous, but not less sincere, applause, the blessings, "not loud, but deep," of bankrupt merchants and doubting stock-holders. If they look to the army, what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are preparing for the heroes of Walcheren! It is true, there are few living deponents left to testify to their merits on that occasion; but a "cloud of witnesses" are gone above from that gallant army which they so generously and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of martyrs." What if in the course of this triumphal career (in which they will gather as many pebbles as Caligula's army did on a similar triumph, the prototype of their own,) they do not perceive any of those memorials which a grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors; what although not even a sign-post will condescend to depose the Saracen's head in favour of the likeness of the conquerors of Walcheren, they will not want a picture who can always have a caricature, or regret the omission of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted into effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the narrow bounds of an island; there are other countries where their measures, and, above all, their conduct to the Catholics, must render them pre-eminently popular. If they are beloved here, in France they must be adored. There is no measure more repugnant to the designs and feelings of Bonaparte than Catholic emancipation; no line of conduct more propitious to his projects than that which has been pursued, is pursuing, and, I fear, will be pursued towards Ireland. What is England without Ireland, and what is Ireland without the Catholics? It is on the basis of your tyranny Napoleon hopes to build his own. So grateful must oppression of the Catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately permitted some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to this country cargoes of Sevres china and blue ribands, (things in great request, and of equal value at this moment,) blue ribands of the Legion of Honour for Dr. Duigenan and his ministerial disciples. Such is that well-earned popularity, the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to ourselves, and so useless to our allies; of those singular inquiries, so exculpatory to the accused, and so dissatisfactory to the people; of those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as we are told, to the British name, and so destructive to the best interests of the British nation: above all, such is the reward of the conduct pursued by ministers towards the Catholics. I have to apologise to the House, who will, I trust, pardon one not often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their attention. My most decided opinion is, as my vote will be, in favour of the motion. * * * * * 3. DEBATE ON MAJOR CARTWRIGHT'S PETITION. JUNE 1,1813. Lord BYRON rose and said: My Lords,--he petition which I now hold for the purpose of presenting to the House is one which, I humbly conceive, requires the particular attention of your Lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a single individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most serious investigation. The grievance of which the petitioner complains is neither selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it has been and is still felt by numbers. No one without these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow be made liable to the same insult and obstruction, in the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration of the true constitution of these realms, by petitioning for reform in Parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished; and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to his political tenets, few will be found to question the integrity of his intentions. Even now oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and unshaken in spirit--"'frangas non flectes'"--he has received many a wound in the combat against corruption; and the new grievance, the fresh insult, of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright; and it was in behalf of the people and Parliament, in the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation which is the best service to be rendered both to Parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage which forms the subject-matter of his petition to your Lordships. It is couched in firm, yet respectful language--in the language of a man, not regardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, I trust, equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this House. The petitioner states, amongst other matter of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are British in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, himself and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him merely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and abusive insinuation from the commanding officer, relative to the character of the petitioner; that he (the petitioner) was finally carried before a magistrate, and not released till an examination of his papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never until this hour been granted. The names and condition of the parties will be found in the petition. To the other topics touched upon in the petition I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the House; but I do most sincerely call the attention of your Lordships to its general contents--it is in the cause of the Parliament and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been violated, and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the House, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now commits himself. Whatever may be the fate of his remonstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret for the occasion, that I have this opportunity of publicly stating the obstruction to which the subject is liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition reform in Parliament. I have shortly stated his complaint; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. Your Lordships will, I hope, adopt some measure fully to protect and redress him, and not him alone, but the whole body of the people, insulted and aggrieved in his person, by the interposition of an abused civil and unlawful military force between them and their right of petition to their own representatives. His Lordship then presented the petition from Major Cartwright, which was read, complaining of the circumstances at Huddersfield, and of interruptions given to the right of petitioning in several places in the northern parts of the kingdom, and which his Lordship moved should be laid on the table. Several lords having spoken on the question, Lord BYRON replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this petition to their Lordships' consideration. The noble Earl had contended that it was not a petition, but a speech; and that, as it contained no prayer, it should not be received. What was the necessity of a prayer? If that word were to be used in its proper sense, their Lordships could not expect that any man should pray to others. He had only to say, that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of address, but was couched in respectful language towards their Lordships; he should therefore trust their Lordships would allow the petition to be received. * * * * * APPENDIX III. LADY CAROLINE LAMB AND BYRON. 1. The following letter is one of the first which Lady Caroline wrote to Byron, in the spring of 1812: "The Rose Lord Byron gave Lady Caroline Lamb died in despight of every effort made to save it; probably from regret at its fallen Fortunes. Hume, at least, who is no great believer in most things, says that many more die of broken hearts than is supposed. When Lady Caroline returns from Brocket Hall, she will dispatch the _Cabinet Maker_ to Lord Biron, with the Flower she wishes most of all others to resemble, as, however deficient its beauty and even use, it has a noble and aspiring mind, and, having once beheld in its full lustre the bright and unclouded sun that for one moment condescended to shine upon it, never while it exists could it think any lower object worthy of its worship and Admiration. Yet the sunflower was punished for its temerity; but its fate is more to be envied than that of many less proud flowers. It is still permitted to gaze, though at the humblest distance, on him who is superior to every other, and, though in this cold foggy atmosphere it meets no doubt with many disappointments, and though it never could, never will, have reason to boast of any peculiar mark of condescension or attention from the bright star to whom it pays constant homage, yet to behold it sometimes, to see it gazed at, to hear it admired, will repay all. She hopes, therefore, when brought by the little Page, it will be graciously received without any more Taunts and cuts about 'Love of what is New.' "Lady Caroline does not plead guilty to this most unkind charge, at least no further than is laudable, for that which is rare and is distinguished and singular ought to be more prized and sought after than what is commonplace and disagreeable. How can the other accusation, of being easily pleased, agree with this? The very circumstance of seeking out that which is of high value shows at least a mind not readily satisfied. But to attempt excuses for faults would be impossible with Lady Caroline. They have so long been rooted in a soil suited to their growth that a far less penetrating eye than Lord Byron's might perceive them--even on the shortest acquaintance. There is not one, however, though long indulged, that shall not be instantly got rid of, if L'd Byron thinks it worth while to name them. The reproof and abuse of some, however severe and just, may be valued more than the easily gained encomiums of the rest of the world. "Miss Mercer, were she here, would join with Lady Caroline in a last request during their absence, that, besides not forgetting his new acquaintances, he would eat and drink like an English man till their return. The lines upon the only dog ever loved by L'd Byron are beautiful. What wrong then, that, having such proof of the faith and friendship of this animal, L'd Byron should censure the whole race by the following unjust remarks: "'Perchance my dog will whine in vain Till fed by stranger hands; But long e'er I come back again, He'd tear me where he stands.' "March 27th, 1812, _Good Friday_." * * * * * 2. The following are the lines written by Lady Caroline when she burned Byron in effigy at Brocket Hall (endorsed, in Mrs. Leigh's handwriting, "December, 1812"): "ADDRESS SPOKEN BY THE PAGE AT BROCKET HALL, BEFORE THE BONFIRE. "Is this Guy Faux you burn in effigy? Why bring the Traitor here? What is Guy Faux to me? Guy Faux betrayed his country, and his laws. England revenged the wrong; his was a public cause. But I have private cause to raise this flame. Burn also those, and be their fate the same. [_Puts the Basket in the fire under the figure_. See here are locks and braids of coloured hair Worn oft by me, to make the people stare; Rouge, feathers, flowers, and all those tawdry things, Besides those Pictures, letters, chains, and rings-- All made to lure the mind and please the eye, And fill the heart with pride and vanity-- Burn, fire, burn; these glittering toys destroy. While thus we hail the blaze with throats of joy. Burn, fire, burn, while wondering Boys exclaim, And gold and trinkets glitter in the flame. Ah! look not thus on me, so grave, so sad; Shake not your heads, nor say the Lady's mad. Judge not of others, for there is but one To whom the heart and feelings can be known. Upon my youthful faults few censures cast. Look to the future--and forgive the past. London, farewell; vain world, vain life, adieu! Take the last tears I e'er shall shed for you. Young tho' I seem, I leave the world for ever, Never to enter it again--no, never--never!" * * * * * 3. The following letter was apparently written in the summer of 1812: "You have been very generous and kind if you have not betray'd me, and I do _not think you have_. My remaining in Town and seeing you thus is sacrificing the last chance I have left. I expose myself to every eye, to every unkind observation. You think me weak, and selfish; you think I do not struggle to withstand my own feelings, but indeed it is exacting more than human nature can bear, and when I came out last night, which was of itself an effort, and when I heard your name announced, the moment after I saw nothing more, but seemed in a dream. Miss Berry's very loud laugh and penetrating eyes did not restore me. She, however, [was] good natur'd and remain'd near me, and Mr. Moor (_sic_), though he really does not approve one feeling I have, had kindness of heart to stay near me. Otherwise I felt so ill I could not have struggled longer. Lady Cahir said, 'You are ill; shall we go away?' which I [was] very glad to accept; but we could not get through, and so I fear it caus'd you pain to see me intrude again. I sent a groom to Holmes twice yesterday morning, to prevent his going to you, or giving you a letter full of flippant jokes, written in one moment of gaiety, which is quite gone since. I am so afraid he has been to you; if so, I entreat you to forgive it, and to do just what you think right about the Picture. "I have been drawing you Mad. de Staël, as the last I sent was not like. If you do not approve this, give it Murray, and pray do not be angry with me. "Do not marry yet, or, if you do, let me know it first. I shall not suffer, if she you chuse be worth you, but she will never love you as I did. I am going to the Chapple Royal at St. James. Do you ever go there? It begins at 1/2 past 5, and lasts till six; it is the most beautiful singing I ever heard; the choristers sing 'By the waters of Babylon.' "The Peers sit below; the Women quite apart. But for the evening service very few go; I wonder that more do not,--it is really most beautiful, for those who like that style of music. If you never heard it, go there some day, but not when it is so cold as this. How very pale you are! What a contrast with Moore! '_Mai io l'ho veduto piu bello che jeri, ma e la belta della morte_,' or a statue of white marble so colourless, and the dark brow and hair such a contrast. I never see you without wishing to cry; if any painter could paint me that face as it is, I would give them any thing I possess on earth,--not one has yet given the countenance and complexion as it is. I only could, if I knew how to draw and paint, because one must feel it to give it the real expression." * * * * * 4. The following letter was evidently written at the time when the separation of Lord and Lady Byron was first rumoured: "Melbourne House, Thursday. "When so many wiser and better surround you, it is not for me to presume to hope that anything I can say will find favour in your sight; but yet I must venture to intrude upon you, even though your displeasure against me be all I gain for so doing. All others may have some object or interest in their's; I have none, but the wish to save you. Will you generously consent to what is for the peace of both parties? and will you act in a manner worthy of yourself? I am sure in the end you will consent. Even were everything now left to your own choice, you never could bring yourself to live with a person who felt desirous of being separated from you. I know you too well to believe this possible, and I am sure that a separation nobly and generously arranged by you will at once silence every report spread against either party. Believe me, Lord Byron, you will feel happier when you act thus, and all the world will approve your conduct, which I know is not a consideration with you, but still should in some measure be thought of. They tell me that you have accused me of having spread injurious reports against you. Had you the heart to say this? I do not greatly believe it; but it is affirmed and generally thought that you said so. You have often been unkind to me, but never as unkind as this. "Those who are dear to you cannot feel more anxious for your happiness than I do. They may fear to offend you more than I ever will, but they cannot be more ready to serve you. I wish to God that I could see one so superior in mind and talents and every grace and power that can fascinate and delight, happier. You might still be so, Lord Byron, if you would believe what some day you will find true. Have you ever thought for one moment seriously? Do you wish to heap such misery upon yourself that you will no longer be able to endure it? Return to virtue and happiness, for God's sake, whilst it is yet time. Oh, Lord Byron, let one who has loved you with a devotion almost profane find favour so far as to incline you to hear her. Sometimes from the mouth of a sinner advice may be received that a proud heart disdains to take from those who are upon an equality with themselves. If this is so, may it now, even now, have some little weight with you. Do not drive things to desperate extremes. Do not, even though you may have the power, use it to ill. God bless and sooth you, and preserve you. I cannot see all that I once admired and loved so well ruining himself and others without feeling it deeply. If what I have said is unwise, at least believe the motive was a kind one; and would to God it might avail. "I cannot believe that you will not act generously in this instance. "Yours, unhappily as it has proved for me, "CAROLINE. "Those of my family who have seen Lady Byron have assured me that, whatever her sorrow, she is the last in the world to reproach or speak ill of you. She is most miserable. What regret will yours be evermore if false friends or resentment impel you to act harshly on this occasion? Whatever my feelings may be towards you or her, I have, with the most scrupulous care for both your sakes, avoided either calling, or sending, or interfering. To say that I have spread reports against either is, therefore, as unjust as it is utterly false. I fear no enquiry." * * * * * 5. The following letter probably refers to the publication of the lines, "Fare thee Well," in April, 1816: "At a moment of such deep agony, and I may add shame--when utterly disgraced, judge, Byron, what my feelings must be at Murray's shewing me some beautiful verses of yours. I do implore you for God sake not to publish them. Could I have seen you one moment, I would explain why. I have only time to add that, however those who surround you may make you disbelieve it, you will draw ruin on your own head and hers if at this moment you shew these. I know not from what quarter the report originates. You accused _me_, and falsely; but if you could hear all that is said at this moment, you would believe one, who, though your enemy, though for ever alienated from you, though resolved never more, whilst she lives, to see or speak to or forgive you, yet would perhaps die to save you. "Byron, hear me. My own misery I have scarce once thought of. What is the loss of one like me to the world? But when I see such as you are ruined for ever, and utterly insensible of it, I must [speak out]. Of course, I cannot say to Murray what I think of those verses, but to you, to you alone, I will say I think they will prove your ruin." * * * * * 6. In 1824, after the death of Byron, and after the publication of Captain Medwin's 'Recollections of Lord Byron', Lady Caroline Lamb sent a letter to Mr. Henry Colburn, the publisher, enclosing one to be given to Medwin and published. Both are given here, and the latter should be read in substantiation or correction of what is stated in the notes. The letter is printed 'verbatim et literati'. (1) Lady Caroline Lamb to Henry Colburn. "[November (?), 1824.] "MY DEAR SIR,--Walter who takes this will explain my wishes. Will you enable him to deliver my letter to Captain Medwin, and will you publish it? you are to give him ten pound for it; I will settle it with you. I am on my death bed, do not fail to obey my wishes. I send you my journals but do not publish them until I am dead. "Yours, "CAROLINE LAMB." (2) Lady Caroline Lamb to Captain Thomas Medwin. [Endorsed, "This copy to be carefully preserved." Hy. Cn. (Henry Colburn?).] "[November (?), 1824.] "SIR,--I hope you will excuse my intruding upon your time, with the most intense interest I have just finished your book which does you credit as to the manner in which it is executed and after the momentary pain in part which it excites in many a bosom, will live in despight of censure--and be gratefully accepted by the Public as long as Lord Byron's name is remembered--yet as you have left to one who adored him a bitter legacy, and as I feel secure the lines 'remember thee--thou false to him thou fiend to me'--were his--and as I have been very ill & am not likely to trouble any one much longer--you will I am sure grant me one favour--let me to you at least confide the truth of the past--you owe it to me--you will not I know refuse me. "It was when the first Child Harold came out upon Lord Byron's return from Greece that I first had the misfortune to be acquainted with him--at that time I was the happiest and gayest of human beings I do believe without exception--_I had married for love_ and love the most romantic and ardent--my husband and I were so fond of each other that false as I too soon proved he never would part with me. Devonshire House was at that time closed from my Uncle's death for one year--at Melbourne House where I lived the Waltzes and Quadrilles were being daily practised, Lady Jersey, Lady Cowper, the Duke of Devonshire, Miss Milbanke and a number of foreigners coming there to learn--You may imagine what forty or fifty people dancing from 12 in the morning until near dinner time all young gay and noisy were--in the evenings we either had opposition suppers or went out to Balls and routs--such was the life I then led when Moore and Rogers introduced Lord Byron to me--What you say of his falling upstairs and of Miss Milbanke is all true. Lord Byron 3 days after this brought me a Rose and Carnation and used the very words I mentioned in Glenarvon--with a sort of half sarcastic smile--saying, 'Your Ladyship I am told likes all that is new and rare for a moment'--I have them still, and the woman who through many a trial has kept these relics with the romance of former ages--deserves not that you should speak of her as you do. Byron never never could say I had no heart. He never could say, either, that I had not loved my husband. In his letters to me he is perpetually telling me I love him the best of the two; and my only charm, believe me, in his eyes was, that I was innocent, affectionate, and enthusiastic. Recall those words, and let me not go down with your book as heartless. Tell the truth; it is bad enough; but not what is worse. It makes me so nervous to write that I must stop--will it tire you too much if I continue? I was not a woman of the world. Had I been one of that sort, why would he have devoted nine entire months almost entirely to my society; have written perhaps ten times in a day; and lastly have press'd me to leave all and go with him--and this at the very moment when he was made an Idol of, and when, as he and you justly observe, I had few personal attractions. Indeed, indeed I tell the truth. Byron did not affect--but he loved me as never woman was loved. I have had one of his letters copied in the stone press for you; one just before we parted. See if it looks like a mere lesson. Besides, he was then very good, to what he grew afterwards; &, his health being delicate, he liked to read with me & stay with me out of the crowd. Not but what we went about everywhere together, and were at last invited always as if we had been married--It was a strange scene--but it was not vanity misled me. I grew to love him better than virtue, Religion--all prospects here. He broke my heart, & still I love him--witness the agony I experienced at his death & the tears your book has cost me. Yet, sir, allow me to say, although you have unintentionally given me pain, I had rather have experienced it than not have read your book. Parts of it are beautiful; and I can vouch for the truth of much, as I read his own Memoirs before Murray burnt them. Keep Lord Byron's letter to me (I have the original) & some day add a word or two to your work from his own words, not to let every one think I am heartless. The cause of my leaving Lord Byron was this; my dearest Mother, now dead, grew so terrified about us--that upon hearing a false report that we were gone off together she was taken dangerously ill & broke a blood vessel. Byron would not believe it, but it was true. When he was convinced, we parted. I went to Ireland, & remained there 3 months. He wrote, every day, long kind entertaining letters; it is these he asked Murray to look out, and extract from, when he published the journal; but I would not part with them--I have them now--they would only burn them, & nothing of his should be burnt. At Dublin, God knows why, he wrote me the cruel letter part of which he acknowledges in Glenarvon (the 9th of November, 1812)--He knew it would destroy my mind and all else--it did so--Lady Oxford was no doubt the instigator. What will not a woman do to get rid of a rival? She knew that he still loved me--I need not tire you with every particular. I was brought to England a mere wreck; & in due time, Lady Melbourne & my mother being seriously alarmed for me, brought me to town, and allowed me to see Lord Byron. Our meeting was not what he insinuates--he asked me to forgive him; he looked sorry for me; he cried. I adored him still, but I felt as passionless as the dead may feel.--Would I had died there!--I should have died pitied, & still loved by him, & with the sympathy of all. I even should have pardoned myself--so deeply had I suffered. But, unhappily, we continued occasionally to meet. Lord Byron liked others, I only him--The scene at Lady Heathcote's is nearly true--he had made me swear I was never to Waltz. Lady Heathcote said, Come, Lady Caroline, you must begin, & I bitterly answered--oh yes! I am in a merry humour. I did so--but whispered to Lord Byron 'I conclude I may waltz _now_' and he answered sarcastically, 'with every body in turn--you always did it better than any one. I shall have a pleasure in seeing you."--I did so you may judge with what feelings. After this, feeling ill, I went into a small inner room where supper was prepared; Lord Byron & Lady Rancliffe entered after; seeing me, he said, 'I have been admiring your dexterity.' I clasped a knife, not intending anything. 'Do, my dear,' he said. 'But if you mean to act a Roman's part, mind which way you strike with your knife--be it at your own heart, not mine--you have struck there already.' 'Byron,' I said, and ran away with the knife. I never stabbed myself. It is false. Lady Rancliffe & Tankerville screamed and said I would; people pulled to get it from me; I was terrified; my hand got cut, & the blood came over my gown. I know not what happened after--but this is the very truth. After this, long after, Ld. Byron abused by every one, made the theme of every one's horror, yet pitied me enough to come & see me; and still, in spight of every one, William Lamb had the generosity to retain me. I never held my head up after--never could. It was in all the papers, and put not truly. It is true I burnt Lord Byron in Effigy, & his book, ring & chain. It is true I went to see him as a Carman, after all that! But it is also true, that, the last time we parted for ever, as he pressed his lips on mine (it was in the Albany) he said 'poor Caro, if every one hates me, you, I see, will never change--No, not with ill usage!' & I said, 'yes, I _am_ changed, & shall come near you no more.'--For then he showed me letters, & told me things I cannot repeat, & all my attachment went. This was our last parting scene--well I remember it. It had an effect upon me not to be conceived--3 years I had _worshipped_ him. "Shortly after he married, once, Lady Melbourne took me to see his Wife in Piccadilly. It was a cruel request, but Lord Byron himself made it. It is to this wedding visit he alludes. Mrs. Leigh, myself, Lady Melbourne, Lady Noel, & Lady Byron, were in the room. I never looked up. Annabella was very cold to me. Lord Byron came in & seemed agitated--his hand was cold, but he seemed kind. This was the last time upon this earth I ever met him. Soon after, the battle of Waterloo took place. My Brother was wounded, & I went to Brussels. I had one letter while at Paris from Ld. Byron; a jesting one; hoping I was as happy with the regiment as he was with his 'Wife Bell.' When I returned, the parting between them occurred--& my page affair--& Glenarvon. I wrote it in a month under circumstances would surprise every body, but which I am not at liberty to mention. Besides, it has nothing to do with your book and would only tire you. Previous to this, I once met, & once only, Lady Byron. It was just after the separation occurred. She was so altered I could hardly know her--she appeared heart broken. What she then said to me _I may not repeat_--she was however sent away, she did not go willingly. "She accused me of knowing every thing, & reproached me for not having stopped the marriage. How could I! She had been shewn my letters, and every one else. It is utterly false that she ever opened the desk--the nurse had nothing to do with the separation-- "From that hour, Lady Byron & I met no more, & it was after this, that, indignant & miserable, I wrote Glenarvon. Lady B. was more angry at it than he was--From that time, I put the whole as much as I could from my mind. Ld. Byron never once wrote to me--and always spoke of me with contempt. I was taken ill in March this year--Mrs. Russell Hunter & a nurse sat up with me. In the middle of the night I fancied I saw Ld. Byron--I screamed, jumped out of bed & desired them to save me from him. He looked horrible, & ground his teeth at me; he did not speak; his hair was straight; he was fatter than when I knew him, & not near so handsome. I felt convinced I was to die. This dream took possession of my mind. I had not dreamed of him since we had parted. It was, besides, like no other dream except one of my Mother that I ever had. I am glad to think it occurred before his death as I never did & hope I never shall see a Ghost. I have even avoided enquiring about the exact day for fear I should believe it--it made enough impression as it was. I told William, and my Brother & Murray at the time. Judge what my horror was, as well as grief, when, long after, the news came of his death, it was conveyed to me in two or 3 words--'Caroline, behave properly, I know it will shock you--Lord Byron is dead'--This letter I received when laughing at Brockett Hall. Its effect or some other cause produced a fever from which I never yet have recovered--It was also singular that the first day I could go out in an open Carriage, as I was slowly driving up the hill here,--Lord Byron's Hearse was at that moment passing under these very walls, and rested at Welwyn. William Lamb, who was riding on before me, met the procession at the Turnpike, & asked whose funeral it was. He was very much affected and shocked--I of course was not told; but, as I kept continually asking where & when he was to be buried, & had read in the papers it was to be at Westminster Abbey, I heard it too soon, & it made me very ill again." * * * * * APPENDIX IV. LETTERS OF BERNARD BARTON. The two following letters were written to Byron in 1814, by Bernard Barton, the Quaker poet (see Letter 238, [Foot]note 1):-- I "Woodbridge, Suffolk, Apl. 14th, 1814. "MY LORD,--I received this morning the reply with which your Lordship honour'd my last, and now avail myself of the permission you have so kindly granted to state as briefly as I can the circumstances which have induced me to make this application, and the extent of my wishes respecting your Lordship's interference. "Eight years since, I went into business in this place as a Merchant. I was then just of age, and, shortly after, married. The business in which I was engaged was of a very precarious Nature; and after vainly trying for 4 Years to make the best of it, I was compell'd to relinquish it altogether. Just then, to add to my distress, I lost my best, my firmest, my tenderest friend--the only being for whose sake I ever desir'd wealth, and the only one who could have cheer'd the gloom of Poverty. My Capital being a borrow'd one, I returned it as far as I could to the person who had lent it. Since that time, my Lord, I have been struggling to make the best of a Clerkship of £80 per ann., out of which I have to meet every expence, and still to maintain a respectable appearance in a Place where I have resided under different circumstances. Had I enter'd my present Situation free of all debts, I should have made it an inviolable rule to have limited my expenditure to my Income; but beginning in debt, compell'd by peculiar circumstances to mix with those much superior to myself, I have gone on till I find it quite impossible to go on any longer, and I am compelled to seek for some asylum where, by rigid frugality and indefatigable exertion, I may free myself from my present humiliating embarrassments; but while I am here the thing seems impracticable. Your Lordship will naturally inquire why I do not avail myself of the influence of those friends by whom I am known. As you have, my Lord, done me the honour to encourage me to state my position frankly, I will, without hesitation, inform you. I am, nominally at least, a Quaker. The persons to whom I should, in my present difficulties, naturally look for assistance are among the most respectable of that body; but my attachments to literary and metaphysical studies, and a line of conduct not compatible with the strictness of Quaker discipline, have, I am afraid, brought me into disrepute with those to whom I should otherwise have confided my situation. Were I to disclose it, it would only be consider'd as a fit judgment on me for my scepticism and infidelity. "This, my Lord, is a brief but faithful statement of my present situation; it is, as I before told your Lordship, in every respect an untenable one. I must relinquish it, and throw myself an outcast on society. _Can you, will you_, my Lord, exert _your influence_ to save me from irretrievable ruin? Can you, my Lord, in any possible way, afford employment to me? Can you take me into your service--a young man, not totally destitute of talents, eager to exert them, and willing to do anything or be anything in his power? If you can, my Lord, I will promise to serve you not servilely, but faithfully in any manner you shall point out. Do not, I beg of you, my Lord, refuse my application the moment you peruse it. The mouse, you know, once was able to show its gratitude to the lion; and it may be in my power, if your Lordship will but give me the opportunity, to evince my deep gratitude for any kindness you may show me, not by _words_, but _deeds_. Be assur'd you will not have cause to repent any interest you have taken or may take in my concerns. For the civility you shewed me on a former occasion, my Lord, I felt, as I ought, much indebted; but infinitely more for the generosity of feeling and soundness of judgment which dictated the letter you then did me the honour to address to me. Ever since then I have entertain'd the highest opinion both of your head and your heart. Is it, then, strange, my Lord, that, surrounded by difficulties, perplexed at every step I take, I should look up to your Lordship for _advice_, and, if possible, for assistance? Be the consequences what they may, I have ventur'd on the presumption of doing so. If I have taken too great a liberty, I beg you, my Lord, to forgive me, and let the tale of my perplexities and my misfortunes, my impertinence and its punishment, be alike forgotten; it can, at any rate, only give your Lordship the trouble of reading a letter. If, on the other hand, your Lordship can in any way realize the hopes I have long enthusiastically cherished, why, the 'blessing of him who is ready to perish shall fall on you.' Be the event what it may, '_Crede Byron_' is, your Lordship sees, my motto. "I am, my Lord, "Your Lordship's very obt. servt, "B. BARTON. "P. S.--I shall wait with no common anxiety to see whether your Lordship will so far forgive this intrusion as to answer it." * * * * * 2. "Woodbridge, April 15th, 1814. "My Lord,--I should be truly sorry if my importunity should defeat its own purpose, and, instead of interesting your Lordship on my behalf, should make you regret the indulgence you have already granted me; but I really feel as if I had staked every remaining hope on the cast of the die, and, therefore, before it is thrown, I wish, my Lord, to make one or two more observations. "Although in my last, which, as I before observed, was hastily written, I express'd my wish to be allow'd, _in some capacity or other_, to serve your Lordship, yet I am not so foolish as to think of fastening myself on you, my Lord, _bon gré ou malgré_. One reason for my expressing that wish, was an idea that your Lordship might go abroad before long; and, added to my own wish to see something of the world on which fate has thrown me, it occurred to me at the moment, that on such an occasion the services of one who is warmly attach'd to you, perhaps _romantically_, for I know nothing of your Lordship but by your writings, might be acceptable. "But, my Lord, although I have thus alluded to what would most gratify my own wishes, it was not intended to dictate to you the manner in which you might promote my interest. If your Lordship's superior judgment and greater knowledge of the world can suggest anything else for my consideration, it shall receive every attention. "One more remark, my Lord, and I have done. I am very sensible that in this application to your Lordship I have been guilty of what would be term'd by some a piece of great impertinence, and by most an act of consummate folly. Will you allow me, my Lord, frankly to state to you the arguments on which my resolutions were founded? "I have not address'd you, my Lord, on the impulse of the moment, dictated by desperation, and adopted without reflection. No, my Lord; I had, or, at least, I thought I had, better reasons. I remembered that you had once condescended to address me _'candidly, not critically,'_ that you had even kindly interested yourself on my behalf. I thought that, amid all the keenness and poignancy of your habitual feelings, as powerfully pourtrayed in your writings, I could discern the workings of a heart _truly noble_. I imagin'd that what to a superficial observer appear'd only the overflowings of misanthropy, were, in reality, the effusions of deep sensibility. I convinc'd myself, by repeated perusals of your different productions, that though disappointments the most painful, and sensations the most acute, might have stung your heart to its very core, it had yet many feelings of the most exalted kind. From these I hoped everything. Those hopes may be disappointed, but the opinions which gave rise to them have not been hastily form'd, nor will any selfish feeling of mortification be able to alter them. "I do not, my Lord, intend the above as any idle complimentary apology for what I have done. I am not, God knows, just now in a complimentary mood; and if I were, you, my Lord, are one of the last persons on earth on whom I should be tempted to play off such trash as idle panegyrics. I esteem you, my Lord, not merely for your rank, still less for your personal qualities. The former I respect as I ought; of the latter I know nothing. But I feel something more than mere respect for your genius and your talents; and from your past conduct towards myself I cannot be insensible to your kindness. For these reasons, my Lord, I acted as I have done. I before told you that I consider'd you _no common character_, and I think your Lordship will admit that I have not treated you as such. "Permit me once more, my Lord, to take my leave by assuring you that I am, "With the truest esteem, "Your very obt. and humble servt., "BERNARD BARTON. "P. S.--I hope your Lordship will find no difficulty in making out this scrawl; but really, not being able to mend my pen, I am forced to write with it backwards. When I have the good luck to find my pen-knife, I will endeavour to furnish myself with a better tool." * * * * * Part of the draft of Byron's answer to these two letters is in existence, and runs as follows: "Albany, April 16th, 1814. "Sir,--All offence is out of the question. My principal regret is that it is not in my power to be of service. My own plans are very unsettled, and at present, from a variety of circumstances, embarrassed, and, even were it otherwise, I should be both to offer anything like dependence to one, who, from education and acquirements, must doubly feel sensible of such a situation, however I might be disposed to render it tolerable. "As an adviser I am rather qualified to point out what should be avoided than what may be pursued, for my own life has been but a series of imprudences and conflicts of all descriptions. From these I have only acquired experience; if repentance were added, perhaps it might be all the better, since I do not find the former of much avail without it." * * * * * APPENDIX V. CORRESPONDENCE WITH WALTER SCOTT. The following is Walter Scott's reply to Byron's letter of July 6, 1812: "Abbotsford, near Melrose, 16th July, 1812. "MY LORD,--I am much indebted to your Lordship for your kind and friendly letter; and much gratified by the Prince Regent's good opinion of my literary attempts. I know so little of courts or princes, that any success I may have had in hitting off the Stuarts is, I am afraid, owing to a little old Jacobite leaven which I sucked in with the numerous traditionary tales that amused my infancy. It is a fortunate thing for the Prince himself that he has a literary turn, since nothing can so effectually relieve the ennui of state, and the anxieties of power. "I hope your Lordship intends to give us more of 'Childe Harold'. I was delighted that my friend Jeffrey--for such, in despite of many a feud, literary and political, I always esteem him--has made so handsomely the 'amende honorable' for not having discovered in the bud the merits of the flower; and I am happy to understand that the retractation so handsomely made was received with equal liberality. These circumstances may perhaps some day lead you to revisit Scotland, which has a maternal claim upon you, and I need not say what pleasure I should have in returning my personal thanks for the honour you have done me. I am labouring here to contradict an old proverb, and make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, namely, to convert a bare 'haugh' and 'brae', of about 100 acres, into a comfortable farm. Now, although I am living in a gardener's hut, and although the adjacent ruins of Melrose have little to tempt one who has seen those of Athens, yet, should you take a tour which is so fashionable at this season, I should be very happy to have an opportunity of introducing you to anything remarkable in my fatherland. My neighbour, Lord Somerville, would, I am sure, readily supply the accommodations which I want, unless you prefer a couch in a closet, which is the utmost hospitality I have at present to offer. The fair, or shall I say the sage, Apreece that was, Lady Davy that is, is soon to show us how much science she leads captive in Sir Humphrey; so your Lordship sees, as the citizen's wife says in the farce, 'Thread-needle Street has some charms,' since they procure us such celebrated visitants. As for me, I would rather cross-question your Lordship about the outside of Parnassus, than learn the nature of the contents of all the other mountains in the world. Pray, when under 'its cloudy canopy' did you hear anything of the celebrated Pegasus? Some say he has been brought off with other curiosities to Britain, and now covers at Tattersal's. I would fain have a cross from him out of my little moss-trooper's Galloway, and I think your Lordship can tell one how to set about it, as I recognise his true paces in the high-mettled description of Ali Pacha's military court. "A wise man said--or, if not, I, who am no wise man, now say--that there is no surer mark of regard than when your correspondent ventures to write nonsense to you. Having, therefore, like Dogberry, bestowed all my tediousness upon your Lordship, you are to conclude that I have given you a convincing proof that I am very much "Your Lordship's obliged and very faithful servant, "WALTER SCOTT." * * * * * APPENDIX VI. "THE GIANT AND THE DWARF." The reply of Leigh Hunt's friends to Moore's squib, "The 'Living Dog' and the 'Dead Lion'" (see Letter 291, p. 205, note 1 [Footnote 2]), ran as follows: "THE GIANT AND THE DWARF. "Humbly inscribed to T. Pidcock, Esq., of Exeter 'Change. "A Giant that once of a Dwarf made a friend, (And their friendship the Dwarf took care shouldn't be hid), Would now and then, out of his glooms, condescend To laugh at his antics,--as every one did. "This Dwarf-an extremely diminutive Dwarf,-- In birth unlike G--y, though his pride was as big, Had been taken, when young, from the bogs of Clontarf, And though born quite a Helot, had grown up a Whig. "He wrote little verses--and sung them withal, And the Giant's dark visions they sometimes could charm, Like the voice of the lute which had pow'r over Saul, And the song which could Hell and its legions disarm. "The Giant was grateful, and offered him gold, But the Dwarf was indignant, and spurn'd at the offer: 'No, never!' he cried, 'shall _my_ friendship be sold For the sordid contents of another man's coffer! "'What would Dwarfland, and Ireland, and every land say? To what would so shocking a thing be ascribed? _My Lady_ would think that I was in your pay, And the _Quarterly_ say that I must have been bribed. "'You see how I'm puzzled; I don't say it wouldn't Be pleasant just now to have just that amount: But to take it in gold or in bank-notes!--I couldn't, I _wouldn't_ accept it--on any account. "'But couldn't you just write your Autobiography, All fearless and personal, bitter and stinging? Sure _that_, with a few famous heads in lithography, Would bring me far more than my Songs or my singing. "'You know what I did for poor Sheridan's Life; _Your's_ is sure of my very best superintendence; I'll expunge what might point at your sister or wife,-- And I'll thus keep my priceless, unbought independence!' "The Giant smiled grimly: he couldn't quite see What diff'rence there was on the face of the earth, Between the Dwarf's taking the money in fee, And his taking the same thing _in that money's worth_. "But to please him he wrote; and the business was done: The Dwarf went immediately off to 'the Row;' And ere the next night had pass'd over the sun, The MEMOIRS were purchas'd by Longman and Co. "W. GYNGELL, Showman, Bartholomew Fair." * * * * * APPENDIX VII. ATTACKS UPON BYRON IN THE NEWSPAPERS FOR FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1814. I. 'THE COURIER'. (1) LORD BYRON ('The Courier', February 1, 1814). A new Poem has just been published by the above Nobleman, and the 'Morning Chronicle' of to-day has favoured its readers with his Lordship's Dedication of it to THOMAS MOORE, Esq., in what that paper calls "an elegant eulogium." If the elegance of an eulogium consist in its extravagance, the 'Chronicle's' epithet is well chosen. But our purpose is not with the Dedication, nor the main Poem, 'The Corsair', but with one of the pieces called Poems, published at the end of the 'Corsair'. Nearly two years ago (in March, 1812), when the REGENT was attacked with a bitterness and rancour that disgusted the whole country; when attempts were made day after day to wound every feeling of the heart; there appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' an anonymous 'Address to a Young Lady weeping', upon which we remarked at the time ('Courier of March' 7, 1812), considering it as tending to make the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES view the PRINCE REGENT her father as an object of suspicion and disgrace. Few of our readers have forgotten the disgust which this address excited. The author of it, however, unwilling that it should sleep in the oblivion to which it had been consigned with the other trash of that day, has republished it, and, placed the first of what are called Poems at the end of this newly published work the Corsair, we find this very address: "Weep daughter of a _royal_ line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;" _Lord Byron thus avows himself to be the Author._ To be sure the Prince has been extremely _disgraced_ by the policy he has adopted, and the events which that policy has produced; and the realm has experienced _great decay_, no doubt, by the occurrences in the Peninsula, the resistance of Russia, the rising in Germany, the counter-revolution in Holland, and the defeat, disgrace, and shame of BUONAPARTE. But, instead of continuing our observations, suppose we parody his Lordship's Address, and apply it to February 1814: TO A YOUNG LADY. February, 1814. "View! daughter of a royal line, A father's fame, a realm's renown: Ah! happy that that realm is thine, And that its father is thine own! "View, and exulting view, thy fate, Which dooms thee o'er these blissful Isles To reign, (but distant be the date!) And, like thy Sire, deserve thy People's smiles." * * * * * (2) 'The Courier', February 2, 1814. Lord BYRON, as we stated yesterday, has discovered and promulgated to the world, in eight lines of choice doggrel, that the realm of England is in decay, that her Sovereign is disgraced, and that the situation of the country is one which claims the tears of all good patriots. To this very indubitable statement, the 'Morning Chronicle' of this day exhibits an admirable companion picture, a _genuine_ letter from _Paris_, of the 25th ult. * * * * * (3) 'The Courier', February 3, 1814. "'The Courier' is indignant," says the 'Morning Chronicle', "at the discovery now made by Lord BYRON, that he was the author of 'the Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which were inserted about a twelvemonth ago in the 'Morning Chronicle'. The Editor thinks it audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the KING to admonish the 'Heir Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly' but it is certainly 'British', and we wish the kingdom had more such honest advisers." The discovery of the author of the verses in question was not made by Lord BYRON. How could it be? When he sent them to the 'Chronicle, without' his name, he was just as well informed about the author as he is now that he has published them in a pamphlet, 'with' his name. The discovery was made to the public. They did not know in March, 1812, what they know in February, 1814. They did not suspect then what they now find avowed, that a Peer of the Realm was the Author of the attack upon the PRINCE; of the attempt to induce the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES to think that her father was an object not of reverence and regard, but of disgrace. But we "think it audacious in an hereditary Counsellor of the KING to admonish the Heir Apparent." No! we do not think it audacious: it is constitutional and proper. But are anonymous attacks the constitutional duty of a Peer of the Realm? Is that the mode in which he should admonish the Heir Apparent? If Lord BYRON had desired to admonish the PRINCE, his course was open, plain, and known--he could have demanded an audience of the PRINCE; or, he could have given his admonition in Parliament. But to level such an attack--What!--"Kill men i' the dark!" This, however, is called by the 'Chronicle' "certainly 'British'," though it might not be 'courtly', and a strong wish is expressed that "the country had many more such honest advisers" or admonishers. --Admonishers indeed! A pretty definition of admonition this, which consists not in giving advice, but in imputing blame, not in openly proffering counsel, but in secretly pointing censure. * * * * * (4) BYRONIANA NO. I ('The Courier', February 5, 1814). The Lord BYRON has assumed such a poetico-political and such a politico-poetical air and authority, that in our double capacity of men of letters and politicians, he forces himself upon our recollection. We say 'recollection' for reasons which will bye and by, be obvious to our readers, and will lead them to wonder why this young Lord, whose greatest talent it is to forget, and whose best praise it would be to be forgotten, should be such an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. SAM ROGERS'S 'Pleasures of Memory'. The most virulent satirists have ever been the most nauseous panegyrists, and they are for the most part as offensive by the praise as by the abuse which they scatter. His Lordship does not degenerate from the character of those worthy persons, his poetical ancestors: "The mob of Gentlemen who wrote with ease" who of all authors dealt the most largely in the alternation of flattery and filth. He is the severest satirical and the civilest dedicator of our day; and what completes his reputation for candour, good feeling, and honesty, is that the persons whom he most reviles, and to whom he most fulsomely dedicates, are identically the same. We shall indulge our readers with a few instances:--the most obvious case, because the most recent, is that of Mr. THOMAS MOORE, to whom he has dedicated, as we have already stated, his last pamphlet; but as we wish to proceed orderly, we shall postpone this and revert to some instances prior in order of time; we shall afterwards show that his Lordship strictly adheres to HORACE'S rule, in maintaining to the end the ill character in which he appeared at the outset. His Lordship's first dedication was to his guardian and relative, the Earl of CARLISLE. So late as the year 1808, we find that Lord BYRON was that noble Lord's "most affectionate kinsman, etc., etc." Hear how dutifully and affectionately this ingenuous young man celebrates, in a few months after (1809), the praises of his friend: "No Muse will cheer with renovating smile, The _paralytic puling_ of CARLISLE; What heterogeneous honours deck the Peer, Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer! So _dull_ in youth, so _drivelling_ in age, _His_ scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage. But Managers, for once, cried 'hold, enough,' Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff. Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh, And case his volumes in _congenial calf_: Yes! doff that covering where Morocco shines, And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines." And in explanation of this affectionate effusion, our lordly dedicator subjoins a note to inform us that Lord CARLISLE'S works are splendidly bound, but that "the rest is all but leather and prunella," and a little after, in a very laborious note, in which he endeavours to defend his consistency, he out-Herods Herod, or to speak more forcibly, out-Byrons Byron, in the virulence of his invective against "his guardian and relative, to whom he dedicated his volume of puerile poems." Lord CARLISLE has, it seems, if we are to believe his word, for a series of years, beguiled "the public with reams of most orthodox, imperial _nonsense_," and Lord BYRON concludes by asking, "What can ennoble knaves, or _fools_, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards." "So says POPE," adds Lord BYRON. But POPE does not say so; the words "_knaves and fools_," are not in POPE, but interpolated by Lord BYRON, in favour of his "guardian and relative." Now, all this might have slept in oblivion with Lord CARLISLE'S Dramas, and Lord BYRON'S Poems; but if this young Gentleman chooses to erect himself into a spokesman of the public opinion, it becomes worth while to consider to what notice he is entitled; when he affects a tone of criticism and an air of candour, he obliges us to enquire whether he has any just pretensions to either, and when he arrogates the high functions of public praise and public censure, we may fairly inquire what the praise or censure of such a being is worth: "Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind." * * * * * (5) BYRONIANA NO. 2 ('The Courier', February 8, 1814). "_Crede Byron_" is Lord Byron's armorial motto; 'Trust Byron' is the translation in the Red-book. We cannot but admire the ingenuity with which his Lordship has converted the good faith of his ancestors into a sarcasm on his own duplicity. "Could nothing but your chief reproach, Serve for a motto on your coach?" Poor Lord Carlisle; he, no doubt, _trusted_ in his affectionate ward and kinsman, and we have seen how the affectionate ward and kinsman acknowledged, like _Macbeth_, "_the double trust_" only to abuse it. We shall now show how much another Noble Peer, Lord Holland, has to trust to from his _ingenuous_ dedicator. Some time last year Lord Byron published a Poem, called _The Bride of Abydos_, which was inscribed to Lord Holland, "_with every sentiment of regard and respect by his gratefully obliged and sincere friend_, BYRON." "_Grateful and sincere!_" Alas! alas; 'tis not even so good as what Shakespeare, in contempt, calls "the sincerity of a cold heart." "_Regard and respect!"_ Hear with what regard, and how much respect, he treats this identical Lord Holland. In a tirade against literary assassins (a class of men which Lord Byron may well feel entitled to describe), we have these lines addressed to the Chief of the Critical Banditti: "Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway, Thy _Holland's_ banquets shall each toil repay, While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes, _To Hollands hirelings_, and to _learnings foes!_" By which it appears, that "--These wolves that still in darkness prowl; This coward brood, which mangle, as their prey, By hellish instinct, all that cross their way;" are hired by Lord Holland, and it follows, very naturally, that the "_hirelings_" of Lord Holland must be the "_foes of learning_." This seems sufficiently caustic; but hear, how our dedicator proceeds: "Illustrious Holland! hard would be his lot, His hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot! Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, Where Scotchmen feed, and Critics may carouse! Long, long, beneath that hospitable roof Shall _Grub-street_ dine, while duns are kept aloof, And _grateful_ to the founder of the feast Declare the Landlord can _translate_, at least!" Lord Byron has, it seems, very accurate notions of _gratitude_, and the word "_grateful_" in these lines, and in his dedication of 'The Bride of Abydos', has a delightful similarity of meaning. His Lordship is pleased to add, in an explanatory note to this passage, that Lord Holland's life of Lopez de Vega, and his translated specimens of that author, are much "BEPRAISED _by these disinterested guests_." Lord Byron well knows that _bepraise_ and _bespatter_ are almost synonimous. There was but one point on which he could have any hope of touching Lord Holland more nearly; and of course he avails himself, in the most gentlemanly and generous manner, of the golden opportunity. When his club of literary assassins is assembled at Lord Holland's table, Lord Byron informs us "That lest when heated with the unusual grape, Some _glowing_ thoughts should to the press escape, And tinge with red the _female_ reader's cheek, My LADY skims the _cream_ of each critique; Breathes o'er each page _her purity_ of soul, Reforms each error, and refines the whole." Our readers will, no doubt, duly appreciate the manliness and generosity of these lines; but, to encrease their admiration, we beg to remind them that the next time Lord Byron addresses Lord Holland, it is to dedicate to him, in all friendship, _sincerity_, and gratitude, the story of a young, a pure, an amiable, and an affectionate bride! The verses were bad enough, but what shall be said, after _such_ verses, of the insult of _such_ a dedication! We forbear to extract any further specimens of this peculiar vein of Lord Byron's satire; our "gorge rises at it," and we regret to have been obliged to say so much. And yet Lord Byron is, "with all regard and _respect_, Lord Holland's sincere and grateful friend!" It reminds us of the _respect_ which Lear's daughters shewed their father, and which the poor old king felt to be "worse than murder." Some of our readers may perhaps observe that, personally, Lord Holland was not so ill-treated as Lord Carlisle; but let it be recollected, that Lord Holland is only an acquaintance, while Lord Carlisle was "guardian and relation," and had therefore _peculiar_ claims to the ingratitude of a mind like Lord Byron's. _Trust Byron_, indeed! "him," as Hamlet says "_Him_, I would trust as I would _adders_ fang'd." * * * * * (6) BYRONIANA No. 3 ('The Courier', February 12, 1814). "Crede Byron"--"Trust Byron." We have seen Lord Byron's past and present opinions of two Noble Persons whom he has honoured with his satire, and vilified by his dedications; let us now compare the evidence which he has given at different and yet not distant times, on the merits of his third _Dedicatee_, Mr. Thomas Moore. To him Lord Byron has inscribed his last poem as a person "of unshaken _public principle_, and the most undoubted and various talents; as the firmest of Irish _patriots_, and the first of Irish bards." Before we proceed to give Lord Byron's own judgment of this "firmest of patriots," and this "best of poets," we must be allowed to say, that though we consider Mr. Moore as a very good writer of songs, we should very much complain of the poetical supremacy assigned to him, if Lord Byron had not qualified it by calling him the first only of _Irish_ poets, and, as we suppose his Lordship must mean, of _Irish_ poets of the _present_ day. The title may be, for aught we know to the contrary, perfectly appropriate; but we cannot conceive how Mr. Moore comes by the high-sounding name of "_patriot_;" what pretence there is for such an appellation; by what effort of intellect or of courage he has placed his name above those idols of Irish worship, Messrs. Scully, Connell, and Dromgoole. Mr. Moore has written words to Irish tunes; so did Burns for _his_ national airs; but who ever called Burns the "firmest of patriots" on the score of his contributions to the _Scots Magazine_? Mr. Moore, we are aware, has been accused of tuning his harpsichord to the key-note of a faction, and of substituting, wherever he could, a party spirit for the spirit of poetry: this, in the opinion of most persons, would derogate even from his _poetical_ character, but we hope that Lord Byron stands alone in considering that such a prostitution of the muse entitles him to the name of patriot. Mr. Moore, it seems, is an Irishman, and, we believe, a Roman Catholic; he appears to be, at least in his poetry, no great friend to the connexion of Ireland with England. One or two of his ditties are quoted in Ireland as _laments_ upon certain worthy persons whose lives were terminated by the hand of the law, in some of the unfortunate disturbances which have afflicted that country; and one of his most admired songs begins with a stanza, which we hope the Attorney-General will pardon us for quoting: "Let Erin remember the days of old, Ere her _faithless sons betrayed her_, When Malachy wore the collar of gold, Which he won from her proud Invader; When her Kings, with standard of green unfurl'd, Led the Red Branch Knights to danger, Ere, the emerald gem of the western world, _Was set in the crown of a Stranger_." This will pretty well satisfy an English reader, that, if it be any ingredient of patriotism to promote the affectionate connexion of the English isles under the constitutional settlement made at the revolution and at the union; and if the foregoing verses speak Mr. Moore's sentiments, he has the same claims to the name of "_patriot_" that Lord Byron has to the title of "trustworthy;" but if these and similar verses do not speak Mr. Moore's political sentiments, then undoubtedly he has never written, or at least published any thing relating to public affairs; and Lord Byron has no kind of pretence for talking of the political character and public principles of an humble individual who is only known as the translator of Anacreon, and the writer, composer, and singer of certain songs, which songs do not (_ex-hypothesi_) speak the sentiments even of the writer himself. But, hold--we had forgot one circumstance: Mr. Moore has been said to be one of the authors of certain verses on the highest characters of the State, which appeared from time to time in the 'Morning Chronicle', and which were afterwards collected into a little volume; this may, probably, be in Lord Byron's opinion, a clear title to the name of _patriot_, in which case, his Lordship has also his claim to the same honour; and, indeed that sagacious and loyal person, the Editor of the 'Morning Chronicle', seems to be of this notion; for when some one ventured to express some, we think not unnatural, indignation at Lord Byron's having been the author of some impudent doggrels, of the same vein, which appeared anonymously in that paper reflecting on his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and her Royal Highness his daughter, the Editor before-mentioned exclaimed--"What! and is not a Peer, an hereditary councillor of the Crown, to be permitted to give his constitutional advice?!!!" If writing such vile and anonymous stuff as one sometimes reads in the 'Morning Chronicle' be the duty of a good subject, or the privilege of a Peer of Parliament, then indeed we have nothing to object to Mr. Moore's title of Patriot, or Lord Byron's open, honourable, manly, and constitutional method of advising the Crown. To return, however, to our main object, Lord Byron's _consistency, truth_, and trustworthiness. His Lordship is pleased to call Mr. Moore not only Patriot and Poet, but he acquaints us also, that "he is the delight alike of his readers and his friends; the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own." Let us now turn to Lord Byron's thrice-recorded opinion of "_this Poet of all Circles_." We shall quote from a Poem which was republished, improved, amended, and reconsidered, not more than _three_ years ago; since which time Mr. Moore has published no Poem whatsoever; therefore, Lord Byron's former and his present opinions are founded upon the same data, and if they do not agree, it really is no fault of Mr. Moore's, who has published nothing to alter them. "Now look around and turn each _trifling_ page, Survey the _precious_ works that please the age, While Little's lyrics shine in hot-pressed twelves." Here, by no great length of induction, we find Little's, _i.e._ Mr. Thomas Moore's lyrics, are _trifling, "precious_ works," his Lordship ironically adds, that "please times from which," as his Lordship says, "taste and reason are passed away!" Bye and by his Lordship delivers a still more plain opinion on Mr. Moore's fitness to be the "_Poet of ALL circles_." "Who in soft guise, surrounded by a quire Of virgins _melting_, not to _Vesta's_ fire, With sparkling eyes, and cheek by _passion_ flush'd, Strikes his wild lyre, while listening dames are hush'd? 'Tis Little, young Catullus of his day, As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay; Griev'd to condemn, the Muse must yet be just, Nor spare melodious _advocates of lust!_" "_O calum et terra!_" as _Lingo_ says. What! this purest of Patriots is _immoral?_ What! "the Poet of _all_ circles" is "the advocate of lust"? Monstrous! But who can doubt Byron? And his Lordship, in a subsequent passage, does not hesitate to speak still more plainly, and to declare, in plain round terms (we shudder while we copy) that Moore, the Poet, the Patriot "Moore, is lewd"!!! After this, we humbly apprehend that if we were to "trust Byron," Mr. Moore, however he may be the idol of his own circle, would find some little difficulty in obtaining admittance into any other. Lord Byron having thus disposed, as far as depended upon him, of the moral character of the first of Patriots and Poets, takes an early opportunity of doing justice to the personal honour of this dear "friend;" one, as his Lordship expresses it, of "the magnificent and fiery spirited" sons of Erin. "In 1806," says Lord Byron, "Messrs. Jeffery and Moore met at Chalk Farm--the duel was prevented by the interference of the Magistracy, and on examination, the balls of the pistols, _like the courage of the combatants_, were found to have _evaporated!_" "Magnificent and fiery spirit," with a vengeance! We are far from thinking of Mr. Moore as Lord Byron either did or does; not so degradingly as his Lordship did in 1810; not so extravagantly as he does in 1813. But we think that Mr. Moore has grave reason of complaint, and almost just cause, to exert "his fiery spirit" against Lord Byron, who has the effrontery to drag him twice before the public, and overwhelm him, one day with odium, and another with ridicule. We regret that Lord Byron, by obliging us to examine the value of his censures, has forced us to contrast his past with his present judgments, and to bring again before the public the objects of his lampoons and his flatteries. We have, however, much less remorse in quoting his satire than his dedications; for, by this time, we believe, the whole world is inclined to admit that his Lordship can pay no compliment so valuable as his censure, nor offer any insult so intolerable as his praise. * * * * * (7) BYRONIANA No. 4 ('The Courier', February 17, 1814). "'Don Pedro.' What offence have these men done? "'Dogberry.' Many, Sir; they have committed false reports; moreover they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixthly and lastly, they have belied a Lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things, and, to conclude, they are lying knaves." 'Much Ado about Nothing.' We have already seen how scurvily Lord Byron has treated _three_ of the four persons to whom he has successively dedicated his Poems; but for the fourth he reserved a species of contumely, which we are confident our readers will think more degrading than all the rest. _He has uniformly praised him! and him alone!!!_--The exalted rank, the gentle manners, the polished taste of his guardian and relation, Lord Carlisle; the considerations due to Lord Holland, from his family, his personal character, and his love of letters; the amiability of Mr. Moore's society, the sweetness of his versification, and the vivacity of his imagination;--all these could not save their possessors from the _brutality_ of Lord Byron's personal satire. It was, then, for a person only, who should have _none_ of these titles to his envy that his Lordship could be expected to reserve the fullness and steadiness of his friendship; and if we had any respect or regard for that small poet and very disagreeable person, Mr. Sam Rogers, we should heartily pity him for being "_damned_" to such "_fame_" as Lord Byron's uninterrupted praise can give. But Mr. Sam Rogers has another cause of complaint against Lord Byron, and which he is of a taste to resent more. His Lordship has not deigned to call _him_ "the firmest of patriots," though we have heard that his claims to that title are not much inferior to Mr. Moore's. Mr. Sam Rogers is reported to have clubb'd with the Irish Anacreon in that scurrilous collection of verses, which we have before mentioned, and which were published under the title of the _Twopenny Post-bag_, and the assumed name of "Thomas Brown." The rumour may be unfounded; if it be, Messrs. Rogers and Moore will easily forgive us for saying that, much as we are astonished at the effrontery with which Lord Byron has acknowledged his lampoon, we infinitely prefer it to the cowardly prudence of the author or authors of the _Twopenny Post-bag_ lurking behind a fictitious name, and "devising impossible slanders," which he or they have not the spirit to avow. But, to return to the more immediate subject of our lucubrations: It seems almost like a fatality, that Lord Byron has hardly ever praised any thing that he has not at some other period censured, or censured any thing that he has not, by and bye, praised or _practised_. It does not often happen that booksellers are assailed for their too great liberality to authors; yet, in Lord Byron's satire, while Mr. Scott is abused, his publisher, Mr. Murray, is sneered at, in the following lines: "And think'st them, Scott, by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance; Though _Murray_ with his Miller may combine, _To yield thy Muse just_ HALF-A-CROWN A LINE? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former _laurels fade_. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who _rack_ their _brains_ for _lucre_, not for fame: Low may they sink to _merited contempt_, And _scorn_ remunerate the _mean_ attempt." Now, is it not almost incredible that this very Murray (the only remaining one of the booksellers whom his Lordship had attacked; Miller has left the trade)--is it not, we say, almost incredible that this very Murray should have been soon after selected, by this very Lord Byron, to be his own publisher? But what will our readers say, when we assure them, that not only was Murray so selected, but that this magnanimous young Lord has actually _sold_ his works to this same Murray? and, what is a yet more singular circumstance, has received and pocketted, for one of his own "stale romances," a sum amounting, not to "_half-a-crown_," but to _a whole crown, a line!!!_ This fact, monstrous as it seems in the author of the foregoing lines, is, we have the fullest reason to believe, accurately true. And the "_faded laurel_," "_the brains rac'd for lucre_," "_the merited contempt_," "_the scorn_," and the "_meanness_," which this impudent young man dared to attribute to Mr. Scott, appear to have been a mere anticipation of his own future proceedings; and thus, "--Even-handed Justice Commends the ingredients of his _poison'd_ chalice To his own lips." How he now likes the taste of it we do not know; about as much, we suspect, as the "incestuous, murderous, damned Dane" did, when _Hamlet_ obliged him to "_drink off the potion_" which he had treacherously drugged for the destruction of others. * * * * * (8) BYRONIANA No. 5 ('The Courier', February 19, 1814). "He professes no keeping oaths; in breaking them he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool." 'All's Well that ends Well'. We have, we should hope, sufficiently exposed the audacious levity and waywardness of Lord Byron's mind, and yet there are a few touches which we think will give a finish to the portrait, and add, if it be at all wanting, to the strength of the resemblance. * * * * * It must be amusing to those who know anything of Lord Byron in the circles of London, to find him magnanimously defying in very stout heroics, "--all the din of _Melbourne_ House And _Lambes'_ resentment--" and adding that he is "_unscared_" even by "_Holland's spouse_." * * * * * To those who may be in the habit of hearing his Lordship's political descants, the following extract will appear equally curious: "Mr. Brougham, in No. 25 of the 'Edinburgh Review', throughout the article concerning Don Pedro Cevallos, has displayed more politics than policy; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so _incensed at the_ INFAMOUS _principles it evinces_, as to have withdrawn their subscriptions;" and in the text of this poem, to which the foregoing is a note, he advises the Editor of the Review to "Beware, lest _blundering Brougham_ destroy the sale; Turn beef to bannacks, cauliflower to kail." Those who have attended to his Lordship's progress as an author, and observed that he has published _four_ poems, in little more than two years, will start at the following lines: "--Oh cease thy song! A bard may chaunt too often and too long; As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare; A FOURTH, alas, were more than we could bear." And as the scene of each of these _four_ Poems is laid in the Levant, it is curious to recollect, that when his Lordship informed the world that he was about to visit "Afric's coast," and "Calpe's height," and "Stamboul's minarets," and "Beauty's native clime," he enters into a voluntary and solemn engagement with the public, "That should he back return, no letter'd rage Shall drag _his_ common-place book on the stage; Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell, He'll leave topography to classic Cell, And, _quite content_, no more shall interpose, To _stun_ mankind with _poetry or prose_." And yet we have already had, growing out of this "Tour," four volumes of _poetry_, enriched with copious notes in _prose_, selected from his "_common-place book_." The whole interspersed every here and there with the most convincing proofs that instead of being "_quite content_," his Lordship has returned, as he went out, the most discontented and peevish thing that breathes. But the passage of all others which gives us the most delight is that in which his Lordship attacks his critics, and declares that "Our men in buckram shall have blows enough, And feel they _too_ are penetrable stuff." and adds, "--I have-- Learn'd to deride the Critic's stern decree, And _break him on the wheel he meant for me_." We should now, with all humility, ask his Lordship whether _he_ yet feels that "he _too_ is penetrable stuff;" and we should further wish to know how he likes being "_broken on the wheel he meant for others?_" When his Lordship shall have sufficiently pondered on those questions, we may perhaps venture to propound one or two more. * * * * * (9) From 'The Courier' (March 15, 1814). The republication of some _Satires_, which the humour of the moment now disposes the writer to recall, was strenuously censured, the other day, in a Morning Paper. It was there said, amongst other things, that such a republication "contributes to exasperate and perpetuate the divisions of those whom _nature_ and friendship have joined!" This is within six weeks after the deliberate _republication_ of "Weep, daughter," etc., etc.; and thus we are informed of the exact moment at which all retort is to cease; at which misrepresentation towards the public and outrage towards the Personages much more than insulted in those lines, is to be no longer remembered. What privileges does this writer claim for his friends! They are to live in all "the swill'd insolence" of attack upon those on whose character, union, and welfare, the public prosperity mainly depends; they are to instruct the DAUGHTER to hold the FATHER disgraced, because he does not surrender the prime Offices of the State to their ambition. And if, after this, public disgust make the author feel, in the midst of the little circle of flatterers that remains to him, what an insight he has given into the guilt of satire _before_ maturity, _before_ experience, _before_ knowledge; if the original unprovoked intruder upon the peace of others be thus taught a love of privacy and a facility of retraction; if Turnus have found the time, "magno cum optaverit emptum Intactum Pallanta, et cum spolia ista, diemque Oderit;" if triumphing arrogance be changed into a sentimental humility, O! then 'Liberality' is to call out for him in the best of her hacknied tones; the contest is to cease at the instant when his humour changes from mischief to melancholy; 'affetuoso' is to be the only word; and he is to be allowed his season of sacred torpidity, till the venom, new formed in the shade, make him glisten again in the sunshine he envies! * * * * * II. MORNING POST. (1) VERSES ('Morning Post', February 5, 1814). Suggested by reading some lines of Lord Byron's at the end of his newly published work, entitled "_The Corsair_" which begin: "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line._" "'Far better be the thing that crawls, [1] Disgustful on a dungeon's walls; Far better be the worm that creeps, In icy rings o'er him who sleeps;'" "Far better be the reptile scorn'd, Unseen, unheeded, unadorn'd, Than him, to whom indulgent heav'n, Has talents and has genius giv'n; If stung by envy, warp'd by pride, Such gifts, alas! are misapplied; Not all by nature's bounty blest In beauty's dazzling hues are drest; But who shall play the critic's part, If for the form atones the heart? But if the gloomiest thoughts prevail, And Atheist doctrines stain the tale; If calumny to pow'r addrest, Attempts to wound its Sovereign's breast; If impious it shall try to part, The Father from the Daughter's heart; If it shall aim to wield a brand, To fire our fair and native land; If hatred for the world and men, Shall dip in gall the ready pen: "'Oh then far better 'tis to crawl, Harmless upon a dungeon's wall; And better far the worm that creeps, In icy rings o'er him who sleeps.'" [Footnote 1: 'Vide' Lord Byron's works.] * * * * * (2) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 7, 1814). "Bard of ungentle wayward mood! 'Tis said of thee, when in the lap, Thy nurse to tempt thee to thy food, Would squeeze a _lemon_ in thy pap. "At _vinegar_ how danc'd thine eyes, Before thy tongue a want could utter, And oft the dame to stop thy cries, Strew'd _wormwood_ on thy bread and butter. "And when in childhood's frolic hour, Thou'dst plait a garland for thy hair; The _nettle_ bloom'd a chosen flow'r, And native thistles flourish'd there. "For _sugar-plum_ thou ne'er did'st pine, Thy teeth no _sweet-meat_ ever hurt-- The _sloe's juice_ was thy favourite wine, And _bitter almonds_ thy desert. "Mustard, how strong so e'er the sort is, Can draw no moisture from thine eye; Not vinegar nor aqua-fortis Could ever set thy face awry. "Thus train'd a Satirist--thy mind Soon caught the bitter, sharp, and sour, And all their various pow'rs combin'd, Produc'd 'Childe Harold', and the 'Giaour'." * * * * * (3) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814). We are very much surprized, and we are not the only persons who feel disgust as well as astonishment, at the uncalled for avowal Lord Byron has made of being the Author of some insolent lines, by inserting them at the end of his new Poem, entitled "_The Corsair_." The lines we allude to begin "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." Nothing can be more repugnant to every good heart, as well as to the moral and religious feelings of a country, which we are proud to say still cherishes every right sentiment, than an attempt to lower a father in the eyes of his child. Lord Byron is a young man, and from the tenor of his writings, has, we fear, adopted principles very contrary to those of Christianity. But as a man of honour and of _feeling_, which latter character he affects _outrageously_, he ought never to have been guilty of so unamiable and so unprovoked an attack. Should so gross an insult to her Royal Father ever meet the eyes of the illustrious young Lady, for whose perusal it was intended, we trust her own good sense and good heart will teach her to consider it with the contempt and abhorrence it so well merits. Will she _weep for the disgrace of a Father_ who has saved Europe from bondage, and has accumulated, in the short space of two years, more glory than can be found in any other period of British history? Will she "_weep for a realm's decay_," when that realm is hourly emerging under the Government of her father, from the complicated embarrassments in which he found it involved? But all this is too evident to need being particularised. What seems most surprising is, that Lord Byron should chuse to avow Irish trash at a moment when every thing conspires to give it the lie. It is for the _organ of the Party_ alone, or a few insane admirers of Bonaparte and defamers of their own country and its rulers, to applaud him. We know it is now the fashion for our young Gentlemen to become Poets, and a very innocent amusement it is, while they confine themselves to putting their travels into verse, like _Childe Harolde_, and Lord Nugent's _Portugal_. Nor is there any harm in Turkish tales, nor wonderful ditties, of ghosts and hobgoblins. We cannot say so much for all Mr. Moore's productions, admired as he is by Lord Byron. In short, the whole galaxy of minor poets, Lords Nugent and Byron, with Messrs. Rogers, Lewis, and Moore, would do well to keep to rhyme, and not presume to meddle with politics, for which they seem mighty little qualified. We must repeat, that it is innocent to write tales and travels in verse, but calumny can never be so, whether written by poets in St. James's-street, Albany, or Grub-street. * * * * * (4) LINES ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814). Written on reading the insolent verses published by Lord Byron at the end of his new poem, "_The Corsair_" beginning "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." "Unblest by nature in thy mien, Pity might still have play'd her part, For oft compassion has been seen, To soften into love the heart. But when thy gloomy lines we read, And see display'd without controul, Th' ungentle thought, the Atheist creed, And all the rancour of the soul. When bold and shameless ev'ry tie, That GOD has twin'd around the heart, Thy malice teaches to defy, And act on earth a Demon's part. Oh! then from misanthropic pride We shrink--but pity too the fate Of youth and talents misapplied, Which, _if admired_, [1] we still must hate." [Footnote 1: We say, _if admired_, as there is a great variety of opinions respecting Lord Byron's Poems. Some certainly extol them much, but most of the best judges place his Lordship rather low in the list of our minor Poets.] * * * * * (5) LINES ('Morning Post', February 11, 1814). Suggested by perusing Lord Byron's small Poem, at the end of his "_Corsair_" addressed to a Lady weeping, beginning: "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." "To LORD BYRON. "Were he the man thy verse would paint, '_A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay_;' Art thou the meek, the pious saint, That _prates_ of feeling night and day? "Stern as the Pirate's [1] heart is thine, Without one ray to cheer its gloom; And shall that Daughter once repine, Because thy rude, unhallow'd line, Would on her virtuous cause presume? "Hide, BYRON! in the shades of night-- Hide in thy own congenial cell The mind that would a fiend affright, _And shock the dunnest realms of hell!_ "No; she will never weep the tears Which thou would'st Virtue's deign to call; Nor will they, in remoter years, Molest her Father's heart at all. "Dark-vision'd man! thy moody vein Tends only to thy mental pain, And cloud the talents Heav'n had meant To prove the source of true content; Much better were it for thy soul, Both here and in the realms of bliss, To check the glooms that now controul Those talents, which might still repay The wrongs of many a luckless day, In such a _cheerless_[2] clime as this. "But never strive to lure the heart From _one_ to which 'tis ever nearest, Lest from its duty it depart, And shun the Pow'r which should be dearest: For heav'n may sting thy heart in turn, And rob thee of thy sweetest treasure But, BYRON! thou hast yet to learn, _That Virtue is the source of pleasure!_" TYRTÆUS. G--n-street, Feb. 9, 1814. [Footnote 1: 'The Corsair'.] [Footnote 2: In allusion to the general melancholy character of his Lordship's poetical doctrines.] * * * * * (6) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 15, 1814). Occasioned by reading his Poem, at the end of 'The Corsair', beginning: "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." Shame on the verse that dares intrude On Virtue's uncorrupted way-- That smiles upon Ingratitude, And charms us only to betray! For this does BYRON'S muse employ The calm unbroken hours of night? And wou'd she basely thus destroy The source of all that's just-upright? Traitor to every moral law! Think what thy own cold heart wou'd feel, If some insidious mind should draw Thy daughter [1] from her filial zeal. And dost thou bid the offspring shun Its father's fond, incessant care? Why, every sister, sire, and son, Must loathe thee as the poison'd air! BYRON! thy dark, unhallow'd mind, Stor'd as it is with Atheist writ, Will surely, never, never find, One convert to admire its wit! Thou art a planet boding woe, Attractive for thy novel mien-- A calm, but yet a deadly foe, Most baneful when thou'rt most serene! Tho' fortune on thy course may shine, Strive not to lead the mind astray, Nor let one impious verse of thine, The unsuspecting heart betray! But rather let thy talents aim To lead incautious youth aright; Thus shall thy works acquire that fame, Which ought to be thy chief delight. "The verse, however smooth it flow, Must be abhorr'd, abjur'd, despis'd, When Virtue feels a secret blow, And order finds her course surpris'd." HORATIO. Fitzroy-square, Feb. 13. [Footnote 1: Supposing LORD BYRON to have a daughter.] * * * * * (7) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814). "Bard of the pallid front, and curling hair, To London taste, and northern critics dear, Friend of the dog, companion of the bear, APOLLO drest in trimmest Turkish gear. "'Tis thine to eulogize the fell Corsair, Scorning all laws that God or man can frame; And yet so form'd to please the gentle fair, That reading misses wish their Loves the same. "Thou prov'st that laws are made to aid the strong, That murderers and thieves alone are brave, That all religion is an idle song, Which troubles life, and leaves us at the grave. "That men and dogs have equal claims on Heav'n, Though dogs but bark, and men more wisely prate, That to thyself one friend alone was giv'n, That Friend a Dog, now snatch'd away by Fate. "And last can tell how daughters best may shew Their love and duty to their fathers dear, By reckoning up what stream of filial woe Will give to every crime a cleansing tear. "Long may'st thou please this wonder-seeking age, By MURRAY purchas'd, and by MOORE admir'd; May fashion never quit thy classic page, Nor e'er be with thy Turkomania tir'd." UNUS MULTORUM. * * * * * (8) VERSES ADDRESSED TO LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814). "Lord _Byron_! Lord _Byron_! Your heart's made of iron, As hard and unfeeling as cold. Half human, half bird, From _Virgil_ we've heard, Were form'd the fam'd harpies of old. "Like those monsters you chatter, Friends and foes you bespatter, And dirty, like them, what you eat: The _Hollands_, your muse Does most grossly abuse, Tho' you feed on their wine and their meat. "Your friend, little _Moore_, You have dirtied before, But you know that in safety you write: You've declared in your lines, That revenge he declines, For the poor little man will not fight. "At _Carlisle_ you sneer, That worthy old Peer, Though united by every tie; But you act as you preach, And do what you teach, And your _God_ and your duty defy. "As long as your aim Was alone to defame, The nearest relation you own; At your malice he smil'd, But he won't see defil'd, By your harpy bespatt'rings, the Throne." * * * * * (9) PATRONAGE EXTRAORDINARY ('Morning Post', February 17, 1814). "Procul este profani--!" "A friendship subsisted, no friendship was closer, 'Twixt the heir of a Peer and the son of a Grocer; 'Tis _true_, though so wide was their difference of station, For, we _always_ find _truth_ in a _long dedication_. Atheistical doctrines in verse we are told, The former sold _wholesale_, was daring and bold; While the latter (whatever _he_ offer'd for sale) Like papa, he disposed of--of course by _retail!_ First--_scraps_ of _indecency_, next _disaffection_, Disguised by the knave from his fear of detection; To court _party favour_, then, sonnets he wrote; Set political squibs to the harpsichord's note. One, as _patron_ was chosen by his brother Poet, The Peer, to be sure, from his rank we may know it; Not the low and indecent composer of jigs-- Yes! yes! 'twas the son of the seller of Figs!! Did the Peer then possess _no respectable friend_ To add weight to his name, and his works recommend?! Atheistical writings we well may believe, None of _worth_ from the Author would deign to receive; So--to cover the faults of his friend he essays, By _daubing_ him _thickly all over with praise_. But, _parents_, attend! if your _daughters_ you _love_, The works of _these serpents_ take _care_ to remove: Their _infernal attacks_ from your _mansions_ repel, Where _filial affection_ and _modesty_ dwell." VERAX. * * * * * (10) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 18, 1814). If it was the object of Lord BYRON to stamp his character, and to bring his name forward by a single act of his life into general notoriety, it must be confessed that he has completely succeeded. We do not recollect any former instance in which a Peer has stood forth as the libeller of his Sovereign. If he disapproves the measures of his Ministers, the House of Parliament, in which he has an hereditary right to sit, is the place where his opinions may with propriety be uttered. If he thinks he can avert any danger to his country by a personal conference with his Sovereign, he has a right to demand it. The Peers are the natural advisers of the Crown, but the Constitution which has granted them such extraordinary privileges, makes it doubly criminal in them to attack the authority from which it is derived, and to insult the power which it is their peculiar province to uphold and protect. What then must we think of the foolish vanity, or the bad taste of a titled Poet, who is the first to proclaim himself the Author of a Libel, because he is fearful it will not be sufficiently read without his avowal. We perfectly remember having read the verses in question a year ago; but we could not then suppose them the offspring of patrician bile, nor should we now believe it without the Author's special authority. It seems by some late quotations from his Lordship's works, which have been rescued from that oblivion to which they were hastening with a rapid step, by one of our co-equals, that this peerless Peer has already gone through a complete course of private ingratitude. The inimitable Hogarth has traced the gradual workings of an unfeeling heart in his progress of cruelty. He has shewn, that malevolence is progressive in its operation, and that a man who begins life by impaling flies, will find a delight in torturing his fellow creatures before he closes it. We have heard that even at school these poetical propensities were strongly manifested in Lord BYRON, and that he began his satirical career against those persons to whom the formation of his mind was entrusted. From his schoolmaster he turned the oestrum of his opening genius to his guardian and uncle, the Earl of CARLISLE. We cannot believe that the Noble Person's conduct has in this instance been a perfect contrast to the general tenor of his life. We have heard, that during his guardianship he tripled the amount of his nephew's fortune. If the Earl of CARLISLE was satisfied with his own 'conscia mens recti', if he wanted no thanks, he must at least have been much surprised to find such attentions and services rewarded with a libel, in which not only his literary accomplishments, but his bodily infirmities, were made the subject of public ridicule. The Noble Earl was certainly at liberty to treat such personal attacks with the contempt which they deserve, but since his Sovereign is become the object of a vile and unprovoked libel, he will no doubt draw the attention of his Peers to a new case of outrage to good order and government, which has been unfortunately furnished by his own nephew. * * * * * III. THE SUN. (1) LORD BYRON AND THE 'MORNING CHRONICLE' ('The Sun', February 4, 1814). That poetical Peer, Lord BYRON, knowing full well that anything insulting to his Prince or injurious to his country would be most thankfully received and published by the 'Morning Chronicle', did in March, 1812, send the following loyal and patriotic lines to that loyal and patriotic Paper, in which of course they appeared: "To A LADY WEEPING. "Weep, daughter of a Royal line, _A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay:_ Ah! happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's _fault_ away! "Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears-- Auspicious to these suffering isles: And be each drop, in future years, Repaid thee by thy people's smiles!" These lines the 'Morning Chronicle', in the following paragraph of yesterday, informs us were aimed at the PRINCE REGENT, and addressed to the Princess CHARLOTTE: "'The Courier' is indignant at the discovery now made by Lord BYRON, that he was the author of 'the Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which were inserted about a twelvemonth ago in 'the Morning Chronicle'. The Editor thinks it audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the King to admonish the 'Heir Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly', but it is certainly 'British', and we wish the kingdom had more such honest advisers." No wonder the 'Courier', and every loyal man, should be indignant at the discovery (made by the republication of these worthless lines, in the Noble Lord's new Volume) that this gross insult came from the pen of "a hereditary Counsellor of the KING! "No wonder every good subject should execrate this novel and disagreeable mode of "'admonishing' the Heir Apparent," which is further from being British than it is from being Courtly; for, from Courtier baseness may be expected, but from a Briton no such infamous dereliction of his duty as is involved in a malignant, 'anonymous' attack by a Peer of the Realm upon the person exercising the Sovereign Authority of his Country. But the assertions of Lord BYRON are as false as they are audacious. What was the "Sire's Disgrace" to be thus bewept? He preferred the independence of the Crown to the arrogant dictation of a haughty Aristocracy, who desired to hold him in Leading-strings. It was then, amid a "Realm's (fancied) decay," because this Faction were not admitted to supreme power, that his Royal Highness's early friends drunk his health in contemptuous silence, while their more vulgar partizans "at the lower end of the Hall" hissed and hooted the royal name. But mark the reverse since March, 1812, a reverse which it might have been thought would have induced the Noble Lord, from prudent motives, to have withheld this ill-timed publication! How is his Royal Highness's health toasted 'now'? With universal shouts and acclamations. Treason itself dare not interpose a single discordant sound save in its own private orgies! Where is 'now' the realm's decay? oh short-sighted prognosticators of the prophecies! look around, and dread the fate of the speakers of falsehood among the Jews of old, who were stoned to death by the people! The wide world furnishes the answer to your selfish croakings, and tells Lord BYRON that he is destitute of at least one of the qualities of an inspired Bard. Perhaps we might add another, viz. honesty in acknowledging his plagiarisms, one of which (as we have already said more than his silly verse above quoted deserves, except from the rank of its author) we shall take the liberty of stating to the Public. The 'Bride of Abydos' begins, something in the stile of an old ballad, thus: "Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture--the love of the turtle-- Now melt into sorrow--now madden to crime?-- Know ye the land of the cedar and vine? Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine, Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye." The whole of which passage we take to be a paraphrase, and a bad paraphrase too, of a song of the German of Göthe, of which the following translation was published at Berlin in 1798: "Know'st thou the land, where citrons scent the gale, Where glows the orange in the golden vale, Where softer breezes fan the azure skies, Where myrtles spring and prouder laurels rise? "Know'st them the pile, the colonnade sustains, Its splendid chambers and its rich domains, Where breathing statues stand in bright array, And seem, 'What ails thee, hapless maid?' to say? "Know'st thou the mount, where clouds obscure the day; Where scarce the mule can trace his misty way; Where lurks the dragon and her scaly brood; And broken rocks oppose the headlong flood?" * * * * * (2) EPIGRAM ('The Sun', February 8, 1814). On the Detection of Lord BYRON'S Plagiarism, in 'The Sun' of Friday last. "That BYRON _borrows verses_ is well known, But his _misanthropy_ is all his own." * * * * * (3) LORD BYRON ('The Sun', February 11, 1814). We are informed from very good authority, that as soon as the House of Lords meets again, a Peer of very independent principles and character intends to give notice of a motion, occasioned by the late spontaneous avowal of a copy of verses by Lord BYRON, addressed to the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES, in which he has taken the most unwarrantable liberties with her august Father's character and conduct; this motion being of a personal nature, it will be necessary to give the Noble Satirist some days notice, that he may prepare himself for his defence against a charge of so aggravated a nature, which may perhaps not be a fit subject for a criminal prosecution, as the laws of the country, not forseeing the probability of such a case ever occurring, under all the present circumstances, have not made a provision against it; but we know that each House of Parliament has a controul over its own members, and that there are instances on the Journals of Parliament, where an individual Peer has been suspended from all the privileges of the high situation to which his birth entitled him, when by any flagrant offence against good order and government, he has rendered himself unworthy of exercising so important a trust. 'Morning Post'. * * * * * (4) PARODY ('The Sun', February 16, 1814). "'WEEP, DAUGHTER OF A ROYAL LINE!' "MOURN, dabbler in dull party rhyme, Thy mind's disease, thy name's disgrace. Ah, lucky! if the hand of Time Should all thy Muse's crimes efface! "MOURN--for thy lays are Rancour's lays-- Disgraceful to a Briton born; And hence each theme of factious praise Consigns thee to thy Country's scorn." 
7878	----	PASSAGES FROM THE ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. I. To Francis Bennoch, Esq., The dear and valued friend, who, by his generous and genial hospitality and unfailing sympathy, contributed so largely (as is attested by the book itself) to render Mr. Hawthorne's residence in England agreeable and homelike, these ENGLISH NOTES are dedicated, with sincere respect and regard, by The Editor. PREFACE It seems justly due to Mr. Hawthorne that the occasion of any portion of his private journals being brought before the Public should be made known, since they were originally designed for his own reference only. There had been a constant and an urgent demand for a life or memoir of Mr. Hawthorne; yet, from the extreme delicacy and difficulty of the subject, the Editor felt obliged to refuse compliance with this demand. Moreover, Mr. Hawthorne had frequently and emphatically expressed the hope that no one would attempt to write his Biography; and the Editor perceived that it would be impossible for any person, outside of his own domestic circle, to succeed in doing it, on account of his extreme reserve. But it was ungracious to do nothing, and therefore the Editor, believing that Mr. Hawthorne himself was alone capable of satisfactorily answering the affectionate call for some sketch of his life, concluded to publish as much as possible of his private records, and even extracts from his private letters, in order to gratify the desire of his friends and of literary artists to become more intimately acquainted with him. The Editor has been severely blamed and wondered at, in some instances, for allowing many things now published to see the light; but it has been a matter both of conscience and courtesy to withhold nothing that could be given up. Many of the journals were doubtless destroyed; for the earliest date found in his American papers was that of 1835. The Editor has transcribed the manuscripts just as they were left, without making any new arrangement or altering any sequence,--merely omitting some passages, and being especially careful to preserve whatever could throw any light upon his character. To persons on a quest for characteristics, however, each of his books reveals a great many, and it is believed that with the aid of the Notes (both American and English) the Tales and Romances will make out a very complete and true picture of his individuality; and the Notes are often an open sesame to the artistic works. Several thickly written pages of observations--fine and accurate etchings--have been omitted, sometimes because too personal with regard to himself or others, and sometimes because they were afterwards absorbed into one or another of the Romances or papers in Our Old Home. It seemed a pity not to give these original cartoons fresh from his mind, because they are so carefully finished at the first stroke. Yet, as Mr. Hawthorne chose his own way of presenting them to the public, it was thought better not to exhibit what he himself withheld. Besides, to any other than a fellow-artist they might seem mere repetitions. It is very earnestly hoped that these volumes of notes--American, English, and presently Italian--will dispel an often-expressed opinion that Mr. Hawthorne was gloomy and morbid. He had the inevitable pensiveness and gravity of a person who possessed what a friend of his called "the awful power of insight"; but his mood was always cheerful and equal, and his mind peculiarly healthful, and the airy splendor of his wit and humor was the light of his home. He saw too far to be despondent, though his vivid sympathies and shaping imagination often made him sad in behalf of others. He also perceived morbidness, wherever it existed, instantly, as if by the illumination of his own steady cheer; and he had the plastic power of putting himself into each person's situation, and of looking from every point of view, which made his charity most comprehensive. From this cause he necessarily attracted confidences, and became confessor to very many sinning and suffering souls, to whom he gave tender sympathy and help, while resigning judgment to the Omniscient and All-wise. Throughout his journals it will be seen that Mr. Hawthorne is entertaining, and not asserting, opinions and ideas. He questions, doubts, and reflects with his pen, and, as it were, instructs himself. So that these Note-Books should be read, not as definitive conclusions of his mind, but merely as passing impressions often. Whatever conclusions be arrived at are condensed in the works given to the world by his own hand, in which will never be found a careless word. He was so extremely scrupulous about the value and effect of every expression that the Editor has felt great compunction in allowing a single sentence to be printed. unrevised by himself; but, with the consideration of the above remarks always kept in mind, these volumes are intrusted to the generous interpretation of the reader. If any one must be harshly criticised, it ought certainly to be the Editor. When a person breaks in, unannounced, upon the morning hours of an artist, and finds him not in full dress, the intruder, and not the surprised artist, is doubtless at fault. S. H. Dresden, April, 1870. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS Liverpool, August 4th, 1853.--A month lacking two days since we left America,--a fortnight and some odd days since we arrived in England. I began my services, such as they are, on Monday last, August 1st, and here I sit in my private room at the Consulate, while the Vice-Consul and clerk are carrying on affairs in the outer office. The pleasantest incident of the morning is when Mr. Pearce (the Vice-Consul) makes his appearance with the account-books, containing the receipts and expenditures of the preceding day, and deposits on my desk a little rouleau of the Queen's coin, wrapped up in a piece of paper. This morning there were eight sovereigns, four half-crowns, and a shilling,--a pretty fair day's work, though not more than the average ought to be. This forenoon, thus far, I have had two calls, not of business,--one from an American captain and his son, another from Mr. H---- B----, whom I met in America, and who has showed us great attention here. He has arranged for us to go to the theatre with some of his family this evening. Since I have been in Liverpool we have hardly had a day, until yesterday, without more or less of rain, and so cold and shivery that life was miserable. I am not warm enough even now, but am gradually getting acclimated in that respect. Just now I have been fooled out of half a crown by a young woman, who represents herself as an American and destitute, having come over to see an uncle whom she found dead, and she has no means of getting back again. Her accent is not that of an American, and her appearance is not particularly prepossessing, though not decidedly otherwise. She is decently dressed and modest in deportment, but I do not quite trust her face. She has been separated from her husband, as I understand her, by course of law, has had two children, both now dead. What she wants is to get back to America, and perhaps arrangements may be made with some shipmaster to take her as stewardess or in some subordinate capacity. My judgment, on the whole, is that she is an English woman, married to and separated from an American husband,--of no very decided virtue. I might as well have kept my half-crown, and yet I might have bestowed it worse. She is very decent in manner, cheerful, at least not despondent. At two o'clock I went over to the Royal Rock Hotel, about fifteen or twenty minutes' steaming from this side of the river. We are going there on Saturday to reside for a while. Returning, I found that, Mr. B., from the American Chamber of Commerce, had called to arrange the time and place of a visit to the Consul from a delegation of that body. Settled for to-morrow at quarter past one at Mr. Blodgett's. August 5th.--An invitation this morning from the Mayor to dine at the Town Hall on Friday next. Heaven knows I had rather dine at the humblest inn in the city, inasmuch as a speech will doubtless be expected from me. However, things must be as they may. At a quarter past one I was duly on hand at Mr. Blodgett's to receive the deputation from the Chamber of Commerce. They arrived pretty seasonably, in two or three carriages, and were ushered into the drawing-room,--seven or eight gentlemen, some of whom I had met before. Hereupon ensued a speech from Mr. B., the Chairman of the delegation, short and sweet, alluding to my literary reputation and other laudatory matters, and occupying only a minute or two. The speaker was rather embarrassed, which encouraged me a little, and yet I felt more diffidence on this occasion than in my effort at Mr. Crittenden's lunch, where, indeed, I was perfectly self-possessed. But here, there being less formality, and more of a conversational character in what was said, my usual diffidence could not so well be kept in abeyance. However, I did not break down to an intolerable extent, and, winding up my eloquence as briefly as possible, we had a social talk. Their whole stay could not have been much more than a quarter of an hour. A call, this morning, at the Consulate, from Dr. Bowrug, who is British minister, or something of the kind, in China, and now absent on a twelvemonth's leave. The Doctor is a brisk person, with the address of a man of the world,--free, quick to smile, and of agreeable manners. He has a good face, rather American than English in aspect, and does not look much above fifty, though he says he is between sixty and seventy. I should take him rather for an active lawyer or a man of business than for a scholar and a literary man. He talked in a lively way for ten or fifteen minutes, and then took his leave, offering me any service in his power in London,--as, for instance, to introduce me to the Athenaeum Club. August 8th.--Day before yesterday I escorted my family to Rock Ferry, two miles either up or down the Mersey (and I really don't know which) by steamer, which runs every half-hour. There are steamers going continually to Birkenhead and other landings, and almost always a great many passengers on the transit. At this time the boat was crowded so as to afford scanty standing-room; it being Saturday, and therefore a kind of gala-day. I think I have never seen a populace before coming to England; but this crowd afforded a specimen of one, both male and female. The women were the most remarkable; though they seemed not disreputable, there was in them a coarseness, a freedom, an--I don't know what, that was purely English. In fact, men and women here do things that would at least make them ridiculous in America. They are not afraid to enjoy themselves in their own way, and have no pseudo-gentility to support. Some girls danced upon the crowded deck, to the miserable music of a little fragment of a band which goes up and down the river on each trip of the boat. Just before the termination of the voyage a man goes round with a bugle turned upwards to receive the eleemosynary pence and half-pence of the passengers. I gave one of them, the other day, a silver fourpence, which fell into the vitals of the instrument, and compelled the man to take it to pieces. At Rock Ferry there was a great throng, forming a scene not unlike one of our muster-days or a Fourth of July, and there were bands of music and banners, and small processions after them, and a school of charity children, I believe, enjoying a festival. And there was a club of respectable persons, playing at bowls on the bowling-green of the hotel, and there were children, infants, riding on donkeys at a penny a ride, while their mothers walked alongside to prevent a fall. Yesterday, while we were at dinner, Mr. B. came in his carriage to take us to his residence, Poulton Hall. He had invited us to dine; but I misunderstood him, and thought he only intended to give us a drive. Poulton Hall is about three miles from Rock Ferry, the road passing through some pleasant rural scenery, and one or two villages, with houses standing close together, and old stone or brick cottages, with thatched roofs, and now and then a better mansion, apart among trees. We passed an old church, with a tower and spire, and, half-way up, a patch of ivy, dark green, and some yellow wall-flowers, in full bloom, growing out of the crevices of the stone. Mr. B. told us that the tower was formerly quite clothed with ivy from bottom to top, but that it had fallen away for lack of the nourishment that it used to find in the lime between the stones. This old church answered to my Transatlantic fancies of England better than anything I have yet seen. Not far from it was the Rectory, behind a deep grove of ancient trees; and there lives the Rector, enjoying a thousand pounds a year and his nothing-to-do, while a curate performs the real duty on a stipend of eighty pounds. We passed through a considerable extent of private road, and finally drove over a lawn, studded with trees and closely shaven, till we reached the door of Poulton Hall. Part of the mansion is three or four hundred years old; another portion is about a hundred and fifty, and still another has been built during the present generation. The house is two stories high, with a sort of beetle-browed roof in front. It is not very striking, and does not look older than many wooden houses which I have seen in America. There is a curious stately staircase, with a twisted balustrade much like that of the old Province House in Boston. The drawing-room is a handsome modern apartment, being beautifully painted and gilded and paper-hung, with a white marble fireplace and rich furniture, so that the impression is that of newness, not of age. It is the same with the dining-room, and all the rest of the interior so far as I saw it. Mr. B. did not inherit this old hall, nor, indeed, is he the owner, but only the tenant of it. He is a merchant of Liverpool, a bachelor, with two sisters residing with him. In the entrance-hall, there was a stuffed fox with glass eyes, which I never should have doubted to be an actual live fox except for his keeping so quiet; also some grouse and other game. Mr. B. seems to be a sportsman, and is setting out this week on an excursion to Scotland, moor-fowl shooting. While the family and two or three guests went to dinner, we walked out to see the place. The gardener, an Irishman, showed us through the garden, which is large and well cared for. They certainly get everything from Nature which she can possibly be persuaded to give them, here in England. There were peaches and pears growing against the high brick southern walls,--the trunk and branches of the trees being spread out perfectly flat against the wall, very much like the skin of a dead animal nailed up to dry, and not a single branch protruding. Figs were growing in the same way. The brick wall, very probably, was heated within, by means of pipes, in order to re-enforce the insufficient heat of the sun. It seems as if there must be something unreal and unsatisfactory in fruit that owes its existence to such artificial methods. Squashes were growing under glass, poor things! There were immensely large gooseberries in the garden; and in this particular berry, the English, I believe, have decidedly the advantage over ourselves. The raspberries, too, were large and good. I espied one gigantic hog-weed in the garden; and, really, my heart warmed to it, being strongly reminded of the principal product of my own garden at Concord. After viewing the garden sufficiently, the gardener led us to other parts of the estate, and we had glimpses of a delightful valley, its sides shady with beautiful trees, and a rich, grassy meadow at the bottom. By means of a steam-engine and subterranean pipes and hydrants, the liquid manure from the barn-yard is distributed wherever it is wanted over the estate, being spouted in rich showers from the hydrants. Under this influence, the meadow at the bottom of the valley had already been made to produce three crops of grass during the present season, and would produce another. The lawn around Poulton Hall, like thousands of other lawns in England, is very beautiful, but requires great care to keep it so, being shorn every three or four days. No other country will ever have this charm, nor the charm of lovely verdure, which almost makes up for the absence of sunshine. Without the constant rain and shadow which strikes us as so dismal, these lawns would be as brown as an autumn leaf. I have not, thus far, found any such magnificent trees as I expected. Mr. B. told me that three oaks, standing in a row on his lawn, were the largest in the county. They were very good trees, to be sure, and perhaps four feet in diameter near the ground, but with no very noble spread of foliage. In Concord there are, if not oaks, yet certainly elms, a great deal more stately and beautiful. But, on the whole, this lawn, and the old Hall in the midst of it, went a good way towards realizing some of my fancies of English life. By and by a footman, looking very quaint and queer in his livery coat, drab breeches, and white stockings, came to invite me to the table, where I found Mr. B. and his sisters and guests sitting at the fruit and wine. There were port, sherry, madeira, and one bottle of claret, all very good; but they take here much heavier wines than we drink now in America. After a tolerably long session we went to the tea-room, where I drank some coffee, and at about the edge of dusk the carriage drew up to the door to take us home. Mr. B. and his sisters have shown us genuine kindness, and they gave us a hearty invitation to come and ramble over the house whenever we pleased, during their absence in Scotland. They say that there are many legends and ghost-stories connected with the house; and there is an attic chamber, with a skylight, which is called the Martyr's chamber, from the fact of its having, in old times, been tenanted by a lady, who was imprisoned there, and persecuted to death for her religion. There is an old black-letter library, but the room containing it is shut, barred, and padlocked,--the owner of the house refusing to let it be opened, lest some of the books should be stolen. Meanwhile the rats are devouring them, and the damps destroying them. August 9th.--A pretty comfortable day, as to warmth, and I believe there is sunshine overhead; but a sea-cloud, composed of fog and coal-smoke, envelops Liverpool. At Rock Ferry, when I left it at half past nine, there was promise of a cheerful day. A good many gentlemen (or, rather, respectable business people) came in the boat, and it is not unpleasant, on these fine mornings, to take the breezy atmosphere of the river. The huge steamer Great Britain, bound for Australia, lies right off the Rock Ferry landing; and at a little distance are two old hulks of ships of war, dismantled, roofed over, and anchored in the river, formerly for quarantine purposes, but now used chiefly or solely as homes for old seamen, whose light labor it is to take care of these condemned ships. There are a great many steamers plying up and down the river to various landings in the vicinity; and a good many steam-tugs; also, many boats, most of which have dark-red or tan-colored sails, being oiled to resist the wet; also, here and there, a yacht or pleasure-boat, and a few ships riding stately at their anchors, probably on the point of sailing. The river, however, is by no means crowded; because the immense multitude of ships are ensconced in the docks, where their masts make an intricate forest for miles up and down the Liverpool shore. The small black steamers, whizzing industriously along, many of them crowded with passengers, snake up the chief life of the scene. The Mersey has the color of a mud-puddle, and no atmospheric effect, as far as I have seen, ever gives it a more agreeable tinge. Visitors to-day, thus far, have been H. A. B., with whom I have arranged to dine with us at Rock Ferry, and then he is to take us on board the Great Britain, of which his father is owner (in great part). Secondly, Monsieur H., the French Consul, who can speak hardly any English, and who was more powerfully scented with cigar-smoke than any man I ever encountered; a polite, gray-haired, red-nosed gentleman, very courteous and formal. Heaven keep him from me! At one o'clock, or thereabouts, I walked into the city, down through Lord Street, Church Street, and back to the Consulate through various untraceable crookednesses. Coming to Chapel Street, I crossed the graveyard of the old Church of St. Nicholas. This is, I suppose, the oldest sacred site in Liverpool, a church having stood here ever since the Conquest, though, probably, there is little or nothing of the old edifice in the present one, either the whole of the edifice or else the steeple, being thereto shaken by a chime of bells,-- perhaps both, at different times,--has tumbled down; but the present church is what we Americans should call venerable. When the first church was built, and long afterwards, it must have stood on the grassy verge of the Mersey; but now there are pavements and warehouses, and the thronged Prince's and George's Docks, between it and the river; and all around it is the very busiest bustle of commerce, rumbling wheels, hurrying men, porter-shops, everything that pertains to the grossest and most practical life. And, notwithstanding, there is the broad churchyard extending on three sides of it, just as it used to be a thousand years ago. It is absolutely paved from border to border with flat tombstones, on a level with the soil and with each other, so that it is one floor of stone over the whole space, with grass here and there sprouting between the crevices. All these stones, no doubt, formerly had inscriptions; but as many people continually pass, in various directions, across the churchyard, and as the tombstones are not of a very hard material, the records on many of them are effaced. I saw none very old. A quarter of a century is sufficient to obliterate the letters, and make all smooth, where the direct pathway from gate to gate lies over the stones. The climate and casual footsteps rub out any inscription in less than a hundred years. Some of the monuments are cracked. On many is merely cut "The burial place of" so and so; on others there is a long list of half-readable names; on some few a laudatory epitaph, out of which, however, it were far too tedious to pick the meaning. But it really is interesting and suggestive to think of this old church, first built when Liverpool was a small village, and remaining, with its successive dead of ten centuries around it, now that the greatest commercial city in the world has its busiest centre there. I suppose people still continue to be buried in the cemetery. The greatest upholders of burials in cities are those whose progenitors have been deposited around or within the city churches. If this spacious churchyard stood in a similar position in one of our American cities, I rather suspect that long ere now it would have run the risk of being laid out in building-lots, and covered with warehouses; even if the church itself escaped,--but it would not escape longer than till its disrepair afforded excuse for tearing it down. And why should it, when its purposes might be better served in another spot? We went on board the Great Britain before dinner, between five and six o'clock,--a great structure, as to convenient arrangement and adaptation, but giving me a strong impression of the tedium and misery of the long voyage to Australia. By way of amusement, she takes over fifty pounds' worth of playing-cards, at two shillings per pack, for the use of passengers; also, a small, well-selected library. After a considerable time spent on board, we returned to the hotel and dined, and Mr. B. took his leave at nine o'clock. August 10th.--I left Rock Ferry for the city at half past nine. In the boat which arrived thence, there were several men and women with baskets on their heads, for this is a favorite way of carrying burdens; and they trudge onward beneath them, without any apparent fear of an overturn, and seldom putting up a hand to steady them. One woman, this morning, had a heavy load of crockery; another, an immense basket of turnips, freshly gathered, that seemed to me as much as a man could well carry on his back. These must be a stiff-necked people. The women step sturdily and freely, and with not ungraceful strength. The trip over to town was pleasant, it being a fair morning, only with a low-hanging fog. Had it been in America, I should have anticipated a day of burning heat. Visitors this morning. Mr. Ogden of Chicago, or somewhere in the Western States, who arrived in England a fortnight ago, and who called on me at that time. He has since been in Scotland, and is now going to London and the Continent; secondly, the Captain of the Collins steamer Pacific, which sails to-day; thirdly, an American shipmaster, who complained that he had never, in his heretofore voyages, been able to get sight of the American Consul. Mr. Pearce's customary matutinal visit was unusually agreeable to-day, inasmuch as he laid on my desk nineteen golden sovereigns and thirteen shillings. It being the day of the steamer's departure, an unusual number of invoice certificates had been required,--my signature to each of which brings me two dollars. The autograph of a living author has seldom been so much in request at so respectable a price. Colonel Crittenden told me that he had received as much as fifty pounds on a single day. Heaven prosper the trade between America and Liverpool! August 15th.--Many scenes which I should have liked to record have occurred; but the pressure of business has prevented me from recording them from day to day. On Thursday I went, on invitation from Mr. B., to the prodigious steamer Great Britain, down the harbor, and some miles into the sea, to escort her off a little way on her voyage to Australia. There is an immense enthusiasm among the English people about this ship, on account of its being the largest in the world. The shores were lined with people to see her sail, and there were innumerable small steamers, crowded with men, all the way out into the ocean. Nothing seems to touch the English nearer than this question of nautical superiority; and if we wish to hit them to the quick, we must hit them there. On Friday, at 7 P.M., I went to dine with the Mayor. It was a dinner given to the Judges and the Grand Jury. The Judges of England, during the time of holding an Assize, are the persons first in rank in the kingdom. They take precedence of everybody else,--of the highest military officers, of the Lord Lieutenants, of the Archbishops,--of the Prince of Wales,--of all except the Sovereign, whose authority and dignity they represent. In case of a royal dinner, the Judge would lead the Queen to the table. The dinner was at the Town Hall, and the rooms and the whole affair were all in the most splendid style. Nothing struck me more than the footmen in the city livery. They really looked more magnificent in their gold-lace and breeches and white silk stockings than any officers of state. The rooms were beautiful; gorgeously painted and gilded, gorgeously lighted, gorgeously hung with paintings,--the plate was gorgeous, and the dinner gorgeous in the English fashion. After the removal of the cloth the Mayor gave various toasts, prefacing each with some remarks,--the first, of course, the Sovereign, after which "God save the Queen" was sung, the company standing up and joining in the chorus, their ample faces glowing with wine, enthusiasm, and loyalty. Afterwards the Bar, and various other dignities and institutions were toasted; and by and by came the toast to the United States, and to me, as their Representative. Hereupon either "Hail Columbia," or "Yankee Doodle," or some other of our national tunes (but Heaven knows which), was played; and at the conclusion, being at bay, and with no alternative, I got upon my legs, and made a response. They received me and listened to my nonsense with a good deal of rapping, and my speech seemed to give great satisfaction; my chief difficulty being in not knowing how to pitch my voice to the size of the room. As for the matter, it is not of the slightest consequence. Anybody may make an after-dinner speech who will be content to talk onward without saying anything. My speech was not more than two or three inches long; and, considering that I did not know a soul there, except the Mayor himself, and that I am wholly unpractised in all sorts of oratory, and that I had nothing to say, it was quite successful. I hardly thought it was in me, but, being once started, I felt no embarrassment, and went through it as coolly as if I were going to be hanged. Yesterday, after dinner, I took a walk with my family. We went through by-ways and private roads, and saw more of rural England, with its hedge-rows, its grassy fields, and its whitewashed old stone cottages, than we have before seen since our arrival. August 20th.--This being Saturday, there early commenced a throng of visitants to Rock Ferry. The boat in which I came over brought from the city a multitude of factory-people. They had bands of music, and banners inscribed with the names of the mills they belong to, and other devices: pale-looking people, but not looking exactly as if they were underfed. They are brought on reduced terms by the railways and steamers, and come from great distances in the interior. These, I believe, were from Preston. I have not yet had an opportunity of observing how they amuse themselves during these excursions. At the dock, the other day, the steamer arrived from Rock Ferry with a countless multitude of little girls, in coarse blue gowns, who, as they landed, formed in procession, and walked up the dock. These girls had been taken from the workhouses and educated at a charity-school, and would by and by be apprenticed as servants. I should not have conceived it possible that so many children could have been collected together, without a single trace of beauty or scarcely of intelligence in so much as one individual; such mean, coarse, vulgar features and figures betraying unmistakably a low origin, and ignorant and brutal parents. They did not appear wicked, but only stupid, animal, and soulless. It must require many generations of better life to wake the soul in them. All America could not show the like. August 22d.--A Captain Auld, an American, having died here yesterday, I went with my clerk and an American shipmaster to take the inventory of his effects. His boarding-house was in a mean street, an old dingy house, with narrow entrance,--the class of boarding-house frequented by mates of vessels, and inferior to those generally patronized by masters. A fat elderly landlady, of respectable and honest aspect, and her daughter, a pleasing young woman enough, received us, and ushered us into the deceased's bedchamber. It was a dusky back room, plastered and painted yellow; its one window looking into the very narrowest of back-yards or courts, and out on a confused multitude of back buildings, appertaining to other houses, most of them old, with rude chimneys of wash-rooms and kitchens, the bricks of which seemed half loose. The chattels of the dead man were contained in two trunks, a chest, a sail-cloth bag, and a barrel, and consisted of clothing, suggesting a thickset, middle-sized man; papers relative to ships and business, a spyglass, a loaded iron pistol, some books of navigation, some charts, several great pieces of tobacco, and a few cigars; some little plaster images, that he had probably bought for his children, a cotton umbrella, and other trumpery of no great value. In one of the trunks we found about twenty pounds' worth of English and American gold and silver, and some notes of hand, due in America. Of all these things the clerk made an inventory; after which we took possession of the money and affixed the consular seal to the trunks, bag, and chest. While this was going on, we heard a great noise of men quarrelling in an adjoining court; and, altogether, it seemed a squalid and ugly place to live in, and a most undesirable one to die in. At the conclusion of our labors, the young woman asked us if we would not go into another chamber, and look at the corpse, and appeared to think that we should be rather glad than otherwise of the privilege. But, never having seen the man during his lifetime, I declined to commence his acquaintance now. His bills for board and nursing amount to about the sum which we found in his trunk; his funeral expenses will be ten pounds more; the surgeon has sent in a bill of eight pounds, odd shillings; and the account of another medical man is still to be rendered. As his executor, I shall pay his landlady and nurse; and for the rest of the expenses, a subscription must be made (according to the custom in such cases) among the shipmasters, headed by myself. The funeral pomp will consist of a hearse, one coach, four men, with crape hatbands, and a few other items, together with a grave at five pounds, over which his friends will be entitled to place a stone, if they choose to do so, within twelve months. As we left the house, we looked into the dark and squalid dining-room, where a lunch of cold meat was set out; but having no associations with the house except through this one dead man, it seemed as if his presence and attributes pervaded it wholly. He appears to have been a man of reprehensible habits, though well advanced in years. I ought not to forget a brandy-flask (empty) among his other effects. The landlady and daughter made a good impression on me, as honest and respectable persons. August 24th.--Yesterday, in the forenoon, I received a note, and shortly afterwards a call at the Consulate from Miss H----, whom I apprehend to be a lady of literary tendencies. She said that Miss L. had promised her an introduction, but that, happening to pass through Liverpool, she had snatched the opportunity to make my acquaintance. She seems to be a mature lady, rather plain, but with an honest and intelligent face. It was rather a singular freedom, methinks, to come down upon a perfect stranger in this way,--to sit with him in his private office an hour or two, and then walk about the streets with him, as she did; for I did the honors of Liverpool, and showed her the public buildings. Her talk was sensible, but not particularly brilliant nor interesting; a good, solid personage, physically and intellectually. She is an English woman. In the afternoon, at three o'clock, I attended the funeral of Captain Auld. Being ushered into the dining-room of his boarding-house, I found brandy, gin, and wine set out on a tray, together with some little spicecakes. By and by came in a woman, who asked if I were going to the funeral; and then proceeded to put a mourning-band on my hat,--a black-silk band, covering the whole hat, and streaming nearly a yard behind. After waiting the better part of an hour, nobody else appeared, although several shipmasters had promised to attend. Hereupon, the undertaker was anxious to set forth; but the landlady, who was arrayed in shining black silk, thought it a shame that the poor man should be buried with such small attendance. So we waited a little longer, during which interval I heard the landlady's daughter sobbing and wailing in the entry; and but for this tender-heartedness there would have been no tears at all. Finally we set forth,--the undertaker, a friend of his, and a young man, perhaps the landlady's son, and myself, in the black-plumed coach, and the landlady, her daughter, and a female friend, in the coach behind. Previous to this, however, everybody had taken some wine or spirits; for it seemed to be considered disrespectful not to do so. Before us went the plumed hearse, a stately affair, with a bas-relief of funereal figures upon its sides. We proceeded quite across the city to the Necropolis, where the coffin was carried into a chapel, in which we found already another coffin, and another set of mourners, awaiting the clergyman. Anon he appeared,--a stern, broad-framed, large, and bald-headed man, in a black-silk gown. He mounted his desk, and read the service in quite a feeble and unimpressive way, though with no lack of solemnity. This done, our four bearers took up the coffin, and carried it out of the chapel; but, descending the steps, and, perhaps, having taken a little too much brandy, one of them stumbled, and down came the coffin,--not quite to the ground, however; for they grappled with it, and contrived, with a great struggle, to prevent the misadventure. But I really expected to see poor Captain Auld burst forth among us in his grave-clothes. The Necropolis is quite a handsome burial-place, shut in by high walls, so overrun with shrubbery that no part of the brick or stone is visible. Part of the space within is an ornamental garden, with flowers and green turf; the rest is strewn with flat gravestones, and a few raised monuments; and straight avenues run to and fro between. Captain Auld's grave was dug nine feet deep. It is his own for twelve months; but, if his friends do not choose to give him a stone, it will become a common grave at the end of that time; and four or five more bodies may then be piled upon his. Every one seemed greatly to admire the grave; the undertaker praised it, and also the dryness of its site, which he took credit to himself for having chosen. The grave-digger, too, was very proud of its depth, and the neatness of his handiwork. The clergyman, who had marched in advance of us from the chapel, now took his stand at the head of the grave, and, lifting his hat, proceeded with what remained of the service, while we stood bareheaded around. When he came to a particular part, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the undertaker lifted a handful of earth, and threw it rattling on the coffin,--so did the landlady's son, and so did I. After the funeral the undertaker's friend, an elderly, coarse-looking man, looked round him, and remarked that "the grass had never grown on the parties who died in the cholera year"; but at this the undertaker laughed in scorn. As we returned to the gate of the cemetery, the sexton met us, and pointed to a small office, on entering which we found the clergyman, who was waiting for his burial-fees. There was now a dispute between the clergyman and the undertaker; the former wishing to receive the whole amount for the gravestone, which the undertaker, of course, refused to pay. I explained how the matter stood; on which the clergyman acquiesced, civilly enough; but it was very strange to see the worldly, business-like way in which he entered into this squabble, so soon after burying poor Captain Auld. During our drive back in the mourning-coach, the undertaker, his friend, and the landlady's son still kept descanting on the excellence of the grave,--"Such a fine grave,"--"Such a nice grave,"--"Such a splendid grave,"--and, really, they seemed almost to think it worth while to die, for the sake of being buried there. They deemed it an especial pity that such a grave should ever become a common grave. "Why," said they to me, "by paying the extra price you may have it for your own grave, or for your family!" meaning that we should have a right to pile ourselves over the defunct Captain. I wonder how the English ever attain to any conception of a future existence, since they so overburden themselves with earth and mortality in their ideas of funerals. A drive with an undertaker, in a sable-plumed coach!--talking about graves!--and yet he was a jolly old fellow, wonderfully corpulent, with a smile breaking out easily all over his face,--although, once in a while, he looked professionally lugubrious. All the time the scent of that horrible mourning-coach is in my nostrils, and I breathe nothing but a funeral atmosphere. Saturday, August 27th.--This being the gala-day of the manufacturing people about Liverpool, the steamboats to Rock Ferry were seasonably crowded with large parties of both sexes. They were accompanied with two bands of music, in uniform; and these bands, before I left the hotel, were playing, in competition and rivalry with each other in the coach-yard, loud martial strains from shining brass instruments. A prize is to be assigned to one or to the other of these bands, and I suppose this was a part of the competition. Meanwhile the merry-making people who thronged the courtyard were quaffing coffee from blue earthen mugs, which they brought with them,--as likewise they brought the coffee, and had it made in the hotel. It had poured with rain about the time of their arrival, notwithstanding which they did not seem disheartened; for, of course, in this climate, it enters into all their calculations to be drenched through and through. By and by the sun shone out, and it has continued to shine and shade every ten minutes ever since. All these people were decently dressed; the men generally in dark clothes, not so smartly as Americans on a festal day, but so as not to be greatly different as regards dress. They were paler, smaller, less wholesome-looking and less intelligent, and, I think, less noisy, than so many Yankees would have been. The women and girls differed much more from what American girls and women would be on a pleasure-excursion, being so shabbily dressed, with no kind of smartness, no silks, nothing but cotton gowns, I believe, and ill-looking bonnets,-- which, however, was the only part of their attire that they seemed to care about guarding from the rain. As to their persons, they generally looked better developed and healthier than the men; but there was a woful lack of beauty and grace, not a pretty girl among them, all coarse and vulgar. Their bodies, it seems to me, are apt to be very long in proportion to their limbs,--in truth, this kind of make is rather characteristic of both sexes in England. The speech of these folks, in some instances, was so broad Lancashire that I could not well understand it. A WALK TO BEBBINGTON. Rock Ferry, August 29th.--Yesterday we all took a walk into the country. It was a fine afternoon, with clouds, of course, in different parts of the sky, but a clear atmosphere, bright sunshine, and altogether a Septembrish feeling. The ramble was very pleasant, along the hedge-lined roads in which there were flowers blooming, and the varnished holly, certainly one of the most beautiful shrubs in the world, so far as foliage goes. We saw one cottage which I suppose was several hundred years old. It was of stone, filled into a wooden frame, the black-oak of which was visible like an external skeleton; it had a thatched roof, and was whitewashed. We passed through a village,--higher Bebbington, I believe,--with narrow streets and mean houses all of brick or stone, and not standing wide apart from each other as in American country villages, but conjoined. There was an immense almshouse in the midst; at least, I took it to be so. In the centre of the village, too, we saw a moderate-sized brick house, built in imitation of a castle with a tower and turret, in which an upper and an under row of small cannon were mounted,--now green with moss. There were also battlements along the roof of the house, which looked as if it might have been built eighty or a hundred years ago. In the centre of it there was the dial of a clock, but the inner machinery had been removed, and the hands, hanging listlessly, moved to and fro in the wind. It was quite a novel symbol of decay and neglect. On the wall, close to the street, there were certain eccentric inscriptions cut into slabs of stone, but I could make no sense of them. At the end of the house opposite the turret, we peeped through the bars of an iron gate and beheld a little paved court-yard, and at the farther side of it a small piazza, beneath which seemed to stand the figure of a man. He appeared well advanced in years, and was dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches, with a white or straw hat on his head. Behold, too, in a kennel beside the porch, a large dog sitting on his hind legs, chained! Also, close beside the gateway, another man, seated in a kind of arbor! All these were wooden images; and the whole castellated, small, village-dwelling, with the inscriptions and the queer statuary, was probably the whim of some half-crazy person, who has now, no doubt, been long asleep in Bebbington churchyard. The bell of the old church was ringing as we went along, and many respectable-looking people and cleanly dressed children were moving towards the sound. Soon we reached the church, and I have seen nothing yet in England that so completely answered my idea of what such a thing was, as this old village church of Bebbington. It is quite a large edifice, built in the form of a cross, a low peaked porch in the side, over which, rudely cut in stone, is the date 1300 and something. The steeple has ivy on it, and looks old, old, old; so does the whole church, though portions of it have been renewed, but not so as to impair the aspect of heavy, substantial endurance, and long, long decay, which may go on hundreds of years longer before the church is a ruin. There it stands, among the surrounding graves, looking just the same as it did in Bloody Mary's days; just as it did in Cromwell's time. A bird (and perhaps many birds) had its nest in the steeple, and flew in and out of the loopholes that were opened into it. The stone framework of the windows looked particularly old. There were monuments about the church, some lying flat on the ground, others elevated on low pillars, or on cross slabs of stone, and almost all looking dark, moss-grown, and very antique. But on reading some of the inscriptions, I was surprised to find them very recent; for, in fact, twenty years of this climate suffices to give as much or more antiquity of aspect, whether to gravestone or edifice, than a hundred years of our own,--so soon do lichens creep over the surface, so soon does it blacken, so soon do the edges lose their sharpness, so soon does Time gnaw away the records. The only really old monuments (and those not very old) were two, standing close together, and raised on low rude arches, the dates on which were 1684 and 1686. On one a cross was rudely cut into the stone. But there may have been hundreds older than this, the records on which had been quite obliterated, and the stones removed, and the graves dug over anew. None of the monuments commemorate people of rank; on only one the buried person was recorded as "Gent." While we sat on the flat slabs resting ourselves, several little girls, healthy-looking and prettily dressed enough, came into the churchyard, and began to talk and laugh, and to skip merrily from one tombstone to another. They stared very broadly at us, and one of them, by and by, ran up to U. and J., and gave each of them a green apple, then they skipped upon the tombstones again, while, within the church, we heard them singing, sounding pretty much as I have heard it in our pine-built New England meeting-houses. Meantime the rector had detected the voices of these naughty little girls, and perhaps had caught glimpses of them through the windows; for, anon, out came the sexton, and, addressing himself to us, asked whether there had been any noise or disturbance in the churchyard. I should not have borne testimony against these little villagers, but S. was so anxious to exonerate our own children that she pointed out these poor little sinners to the sexton, who forthwith turned them out. He would have done the same to us, no doubt, had my coat been worse than it was; but, as the matter stood, his demeanor was rather apologetic than menacing, when he informed us that the rector had sent him. We stayed a little longer, looking at the graves, some of which were between the buttresses of the church and quite close to the wall, as if the sleepers anticipated greater comfort and security the nearer they could get to the sacred edifice. As we went out of the churchyard, we passed the aforesaid little girls, who were sitting behind the mound of a tomb, and busily babbling together. They called after us, expressing their discontent that we had betrayed them to the sexton, and saying that it was not they who made the noise. Going homeward, we went astray in a green lane, that terminated in the midst of a field, without outlet, so that we had to retrace a good many of our footsteps. Close to the wall of the church, beside the door, there was an ancient baptismal font of stone. In fact, it was a pile of roughly hewn stone steps, five or six feet high, with a block of stone at the summit, in which was a hollow about as big as a wash-bowl. It was full of rainwater. The church seems to be St. Andrew's Church, Lower Bebbington, built in 1100. September 1st.--To-day we leave the Rock Ferry Hotel, where we have spent nearly four weeks. It is a comfortable place, and we have had a good table and have been kindly treated. We occupied a large parlor, extending through the whole breadth of the house, with a bow-window, looking towards Liverpool, and adown the intervening river, and to Birkenhead, on the hither side. The river would be a pleasanter object, if it were blue and transparent, instead of such a mud-puddly hue; also, if it were always full to its brine; whereas it generally presents a margin, and sometimes a very broad one, of glistening mud, with here and there a small vessel aground on it. Nevertheless, the parlor-window has given us a pretty good idea of the nautical business of Liverpool; the constant objects being the little black steamers puffing unquietly along, sometimes to our own ferry, sometimes beyond it to Eastham, and sometimes towing a long string of boats from Runcorn or otherwhere up the river, laden with goods, and sometimes gallanting a tall ship in or out. Some of these ships lie for days together in the river, very majestic and stately objects, often with the flag of the stars and stripes waving over them. Now and then, after a gale at sea, a vessel comes in with her masts broken short off in the midst, and with marks of rough handling about the hull. Once a week comes a Cunard steamer, with its red funnel pipe whitened by the salt spray; and, firing off cannon to announce her arrival, she moors to a large iron buoy in the middle of the river, and a few hundred yards from the stone pier of our ferry. Immediately comes poring towards her a little mail-steamer, to take away her mail-bags and such of the passengers as choose to land; and for several hours afterwards the Cunard lies with the smoke and steam coming out of her, as if she were smoking her pipe after her toilsome passage across the Atlantic. Once a fortnight comes an American steamer of the Collins line; and then the Cunard salutes her with cannon, to which the Collins responds, and moors herself to another iron buoy, not far from the Cunard. When they go to sea, it is with similar salutes; the two vessels paying each other the more ceremonious respect, because they are inimical and jealous of each other. Besides these, there are other steamers of all sorts and sizes, for pleasure-excursions, for regular trips to Dublin, the Isle of Man, and elsewhither; and vessels which are stationary, as floating lights, but which seem to relieve one another at intervals; and small vessels, with sails looking as if made of tanned leather; and schooners, and yachts, and all manner of odd-looking craft, but none so odd as the Chinese junk. This junk lies by our own pier, and looks as if it were copied from some picture on an old teacup. Beyond all these objects we see the other side of the Mersey, with the delectably green fields opposite to us, while the shore becomes more and more thickly populated, until about two miles off we see the dense centre of the city, with the dome of the Custom House, and steeples and towers; and, close to the water, the spire of St. Nicholas; and above, and intermingled with the whole city scene, the duskiness of the coal-smoke gushing upward. Along the bank we perceive the warehouses of the Albert dock, and the Queen's tobacco warehouses, and other docks, and, nigher, to us, a shipyard or two. In the evening all this sombre picture gradually darkens out of sight, and in its place appear only the lights of the city, kindling into a galaxy of earthly stars, for a long distance, up and down the shore; and, in one or two spots, the bright red gleam of a furnace, like the "red planet Mars"; and once in a while a bright, wandering beam gliding along the river, as a steamer cones or goes between us and Liverpool. ROCK PARK. September 2d.--We got into our new house in Rock Park yesterday. It is quite a good house, with three apartments, beside kitchen and pantry on the lower floor; and it is three stories high, with four good chambers in each story. It is a stone edifice, like almost all the English houses, and handsome in its design. The rent, without furniture, would probably have been one hundred pounds; furnished, it is one hundred and sixty pounds. Rock Park, as the locality is called, is private property, and is now nearly covered with residences for professional people, merchants, and others of the upper middling class; the houses being mostly built, I suppose, on speculation, and let to those who occupy them. It is the quietest place imaginable, there being a police station at the entrance, and the officer on duty allows no ragged or ill-looking person to pass. There being a toll, it precludes all unnecessary passage of carriages; and never were there more noiseless streets than those that give access to these pretty residences. On either side there is thick shrubbery, with glimpses through it of the ornamented portals, or into the trim gardens with smooth-shaven lawns, of no large extent, but still affording reasonable breathing-space. They are really an improvement on anything, save what the very rich can enjoy, in America. The former occupants of our house (Mrs. Campbell and family) having been fond of flowers, there are many rare varieties in the garden, and we are told that there is scarcely a month in the year when a flower will not be found there. The house is respectably, though not very elegantly, furnished. It was a dismal, rainy day yesterday, and we had a coal-fire in the sitting-room, beside which I sat last evening as twilight came on, and thought, rather sadly, how many times we have changed our home since we were married. In the first place, our three years at the Old Manse; then a brief residence at Salem, then at Boston, then two or three years at Salem again; then at Lenox, then at West Newton, and then again at Concord, where we imagined that we were fixed for life, but spent only a year. Then this farther flight to England, where we expect to spend four years, and afterwards another year or two in Italy, during all which time we shall have no real home. For, as I sat in this English house, with the chill, rainy English twilight brooding over the lawn, and a coal-fire to keep me comfortable on the first evening of September, and the picture of a stranger--the dead husband of Mrs. Campbell--gazing down at me from above the mantel-piece,--I felt that I never should be quite at home here. Nevertheless, the fire was very comfortable to look at, and the shape of the fireplace--an arch, with a deep cavity--was an improvement on the square, shallow opening of an American coal-grate. September 7th.--It appears by the annals of Liverpool, contained in Gore's Directory, that in 1076 there was a baronial castle built by Roger de Poictiers on the site of the present St. George's Church. It was taken down in 1721. The church now stands at one of the busiest points of the principal street of the city. The old Church of St. Nicholas, founded about the time of the Conquest, and more recently rebuilt, stood within a quarter of a mile of the castle. In 1150, Birkenhead Priory was founded on the Cheshire side of the Mersey. The monks used to ferry passengers across to Liverpool until 1282, when Woodside Ferry was established,--twopence for a horseman, and a farthing for a foot-passenger. Steam ferry-boats now cross to Birkenhead, Monk's Ferry, and Woodside every ten minutes; and I believe there are large hotels at all these places, and many of the business men of Liverpool have residences in them. In 1252 a tower was built by Sir John Stanley, which continued to be a castle of defence to the Stanley family for many hundred years, and was not finally taken down till 1820, when its site had become the present Water Street, in the densest commercial centre of the city. There appear to have been other baronial castles and residences in different parts of the city, as a hall in old Hall Street, built by Sir John de la More, on the site of which a counting-house now stands. This knightly family of De la More sometimes supplied mayors to the city, as did the family of the Earls of Derby. About 1582, Edward, Earl of Derby, maintained two hundred and fifty citizens of Liverpool, fed sixty aged persons twice a day, and provided twenty-seven hundred persons with meat, drink, and money every Good Friday. In 1644, Prince Rupert besieged the town for twenty-four days, and finally took it by storm. This was June 26th, and the Parliamentarians, under Sir John Meldrum, repossessed it the following October. In 1669 the Mayor of Liverpool kept an inn. In 1730 there was only one carriage in town, and no stage-coach came nearer than Warrington, the roads being impassable. In 1734 the Earl of Derby gave a great entertainment in the tower. In 1737 the Mayor was George Norton, a saddler, who frequently took, the chair with his leather apron on. His immediate predecessor seems to have been the Earl of Derby, who gave the above-mentioned entertainment during his mayoralty. Where George's Dock now is, there used to be a battery of fourteen eighteen-pounders for the defence of the town, and the old sport of bull-baiting was carried on in that vicinity, close to the Church of St. Nicholas. September 12th.--On Saturday a young man was found wandering about in West Derby, a suburb of Liverpool, in a state of insanity, and, being taken before a magistrate, he proved to be an American. As he seemed to be in a respectable station of life, the magistrate sent the master of the workhouse to me, in order to find out whether I would take the responsibility of his expenses, rather than have him put in the workhouse. My clerk went to investigate the matter, and brought me his papers. His name proves to be ---- ------, belonging to ------, twenty-five years of age. One of the papers was a passport from our legation in Naples; likewise there was a power of attorney from his mother (who seems to have been married a second time) to dispose of some property of hers abroad; a hotel bill, also, of some length, in which were various charges for wine; and, among other evidences of low funds, a pawnbroker's receipt for a watch, which he had pledged at five pounds. There was also a ticket for his passage to America, by the screw steamer Andes, which sailed on Wednesday last. The clerk found him to the last degree incommunicative; and nothing could be discovered from him but what the papers disclosed. There were about a dozen utterly unintelligible notes among the papers, written by himself since his derangement. I decided to put him into the insane hospital, where he now accordingly is, and to-morrow (by which time he may be in a more conversable mood) I mean to pay him a visit. The clerk tells me that there is now, and has been for three years, an American lady in the Liverpool almshouse, in a state of insanity. She is very accomplished, especially in music; but in all this time it has been impossible to find out who she is, or anything about her connections or previous life. She calls herself Jenny Lind, and as for any other name or identity she keeps her own secret. September 14th.--It appears that Mr. ------ (the insane young gentleman) being unable to pay his bill at the inn where he was latterly staying, the landlord had taken possession of his luggage, and satisfied himself in that way. My clerk, at my request, has taken his watch out of pawn. It proves to be not a very good one, though doubtless worth more than five pounds, for which it was pledged. The Governor of the Lunatic Asylum wrote me yesterday, stating that the patient was in want of a change of clothes, and that, according to his own account, he had left his luggage at the American Hotel. After office-hours, I took a cab, and set out with my clerk, to pay a visit to the Asylum, taking the American Hotel in our way. The American Hotel is a small house, not at all such a one as American travellers of any pretension would think of stopping at, but still very respectable, cleanly, and with a neat sitting-room, where the guests might assemble, after the American fashion. We asked for the landlady, and anon down she came, a round, rosy, comfortable-looking English dame of fifty or thereabouts. On being asked whether she knew a Mr. ------, she readily responded that he had been there, but, had left no luggage, having taken it away before paying his bill; and that she had suspected him of meaning to take his departure without paying her at all. Hereupon she had traced him to the hotel before mentioned, where she had found that he had stayed two nights,--but was then, I think, gone from thence. Afterwards she encountered him again, and, demanding her due, went with him to a pawnbroker's, where he pledged his watch and paid her. This was about the extent of the landlady's knowledge of the matter. I liked the woman very well, with her shrewd, good-humored, worldly, kindly disposition. Then we proceeded to the Lunatic Asylum, to which we were admitted by a porter at the gate. Within doors we found some neat and comely servant-women, one of whom showed us into a handsome parlor, and took my card to the Governor. There was a large bookcase, with a glass front, containing handsomely bound books, many of which, I observed, were of a religious character. In a few minutes the Governor came in, a middle-aged man, tall, and thin for an Englishman, kindly and agreeable enough in aspect, but not with the marked look of a man of force and ability. I should not judge from his conversation that he was an educated man, or that he had any scientific acquaintance with the subject of insanity. He said that Mr. ------ was still quite incommunicative, and not in a very promising state; that I had perhaps better defer seeing him for a few days; that it would not be safe, at present, to send him home to America without an attendant, and this was about all. But on returning home I learned from my wife, who had had a call from Mrs. Blodgett, that Mrs. Blodgett knew Mr. ------ and his mother, who has recently been remarried to a young husband, and is now somewhere in Italy. They seemed to have boarded at Mrs. Blodgett's house on their way to the Continent, and within a week or two, an acquaintance and pastor of Mr. ------, the Rev. Dr. ------, has sailed for America. If I could only have caught him, I could have transferred the care, expense, and responsibility of the patient to him. The Governor of the Asylum mentioned, by the way, that Mr. ------ describes himself as having been formerly a midshipman in the navy. I walked through the St. James's cemetery yesterday. It is a very pretty place, dug out of the rock, having formerly, I believe, been a stone-quarry. It is now a deep and spacious valley, with graves and monuments on its level and grassy floor, through which run gravel-paths, and where grows luxuriant shrubbery. On one of the steep sides of the valley, hewn out of the rock, are tombs, rising in tiers, to the height of fifty feet or more; some of them cut directly into the rock with arched portals, and others built with stone. On the other side the bank is of earth, and rises abruptly, quite covered with trees, and looking very pleasant with their green shades. It was a warm and sunny day, and the cemetery really had a most agreeable aspect. I saw several gravestones of Americans; but what struck me most was one line of an epitaph on an English woman, "Here rests in peace a virtuous wife." The statue of Huskisson stands in the midst of the valley, in a kind of mausoleum, with a door of plate-glass, through which you look at the dead statesman's effigy. September 22d.--. . . . Some days ago an American captain came to the office, and said he had shot one of his men, shortly after sailing from New Orleans, and while the ship was still in the river. As he described the event, he was in peril of his life from this man, who was an Irishman; and he fired his pistol only when the man was coming upon him, with a knife in one hand, and some other weapon of offence in the other, while he himself was struggling with one or two more of the crew. He was weak at the time, having just recovered from the yellow fever. The shots struck the man in the pit of the stomach, and he lived only about a quarter of an hour. No magistrate in England has a right to arrest or examine the captain, unless by a warrant from the Secretary of State, on the charge of murder. After his statement to me, the mother of the slain man went to the police officer, and accused him of killing her son. Two or three days since, moreover, two of the sailors came before me, and gave their account of the matter; and it looked very differently from that of the captain. According to them, the man had no idea of attacking the captain, and was so drunk that he could not keep himself upright without assistance. One of these two men was actually holding him up when the captain fired two barrels of his pistol, one immediately after the other, and lodged two balls in the pit of his stomach. The man sank down at once, saying, "Jack, I am killed,"--and died very shortly. Meanwhile the captain drove this man away, under threats of shooting him likewise. Both the seamen described the captain's conduct, both then and during the whole voyage, as outrageous, and I do not much doubt that it was so. They gave their evidence like men who wished to tell the truth, and were moved by no more than a natural indignation at the captain's wrong. I did not much like the captain from the first,--a hard, rough man, with little education, and nothing of the gentleman about him, a red face and a loud voice. He seemed a good deal excited, and talked fast and much about the event, but yet not as if it had sunk deeply into him. He observed that he "would not have had it happen for a thousand dollars," that being the amount of detriment which he conceives himself to suffer by the ineffaceable blood-stain on his hand. In my opinion it is little short of murder, if at all; but what would be murder on shore is almost a natural occurrence when done in such a hell on earth as one of these ships, in the first hours of the voyage. The men are then all drunk,-- some of them often in delirium tremens; and the captain feels no safety for his life except in making himself as terrible as a fiend. It is the universal testimony that there is a worse set of sailors in these short voyages between Liverpool and America than in any other trade whatever. There is no probability that the captain will ever be called to account for this deed. He gave, at the time, his own version of the affair in his log-book; and this was signed by the entire crew, with the exception of one man, who had hidden himself in the hold in terror of the captain. His mates will sustain his side of the question; and none of the sailors would be within reach of the American courts, even should they be sought for. October 1st.--On Thursday I went with Mr. Ticknor to Chester by railway. It is quite an indescribable old town, and I feel at last as if I had had a glimpse of old England. The wall encloses a large space within the town, but there are numerous houses and streets not included within its precincts. Some of the principal streets pass under the ancient gateways; and at the side there are flights of steps, giving access to the summit. Around the top of the whole wall, a circuit of about two miles, there runs a walk, well paved with flagstones, and broad enough for three persons to walk abreast. On one side--that towards the country--there is a parapet of red freestone three or four feet high. On the other side there are houses, rising up immediately from the wall, so that they seem a part of it. The height of it, I suppose, may be thirty or forty feet, and, in some parts, you look down from the parapet into orchards, where there are tall apple-trees, and men on the branches, gathering fruit, and women and children among the grass, filling bags or baskets. There are prospects of the surrounding country among the buildings outside the wall; at one point, a view of the river Dee, with an old bridge of arches. It is all very strange, very quaint, very curious to see how the town has overflowed its barrier, and how, like many institutions here, the ancient wall still exists, but is turned to quite another purpose than what it was meant for,--so far as it serves any purpose at all. There are three or four towers in the course of the circuit; the most interesting being one from the top of which King Charles the First is said to have seen the rout of his army by the Parliamentarians. We ascended the short flight of steps that led up into the tower, where an old man pointed out the site of the battle-field, now thickly studded with buildings, and told us what we had already learned from the guide-book. After this we went into the cathedral, which I will perhaps describe on some other occasion, when I shall have seen more of it, and to better advantage. The cloisters gave us the strongest impression of antiquity; the stone arches being so worn and blackened by time. Still an American must always have imagined a better cathedral than this. There were some immense windows of painted glass, but all modern. In the chapter-house we found a coal-fire burning in a grate, and a large heap of old books--the library of the cathedral--in a discreditable state of decay,--mildewed, rotten, neglected for years. The sexton told us that they were to be arranged and better ordered. Over the door, inside, hung two failed and tattered banners, being those of the Cheshire regiment. The most utterly indescribable feature of Chester is the Rows, which every traveller has attempted to describe. At the height of several feet above some of the oldest streets, a walk runs through the front of the houses, which project over it. Back of the walk there are shops; on the outer side is a space of two or three yards, where the shopmen place their tables, and stands, and show-cases; overhead, just high enough for persons to stand erect, a ceiling. At frequent intervals little narrow passages go winding in among the houses, which all along are closely conjoined, and seem to have no access or exit, except through the shops, or into these narrow passages, where you can touch each side with your elbows, and the top with your hand. We penetrated into one or two of them, and they smelt anciently and disagreeably. At one of the doors stood a pale-looking, but cheerful and good-natured woman, who told us that she had come to that house when first married, twenty-one years before, and had lived there ever since; and that she felt as if she had been buried through the best years of her life. She allowed us to peep into her kitchen and parlor,--small, dingy, dismal, but yet not wholly destitute of a home look. She said that she had seen two or three coffins in a day, during cholera times, carried out of that narrow passage into which her door opened. These avenues put me in mind of those which run through ant-hills, or those which a mole makes underground. This fashion of Rows does not appear to be going out; and, for aught I can see, it may last hundreds of years longer. When a house becomes so old as to be uutenantable, it is rebuilt, and the new one is fashioned like the old, so far as regards the walk running through its front. Many of the shops are very good, and even elegant, and these Rows are the favorite places of business in Chester. Indeed, they have many advantages, the passengers being sheltered from the rain, and there being within the shops that dimmer light by which tradesmen like to exhibit their wares. A large proportion of the edifices in the Rows must be comparatively modern; but there are some very ancient ones, with oaken frames visible on the exterior. The Row, passing through these houses, is railed with oak, so old that it has turned black, and grown to be as hard as stone, which it might be mistaken for, if one did not see where names and initials have been cut into it with knives at some bygone period. Overhead, cross-beams project through the ceiling so low as almost to hit the head. On the front of one of these buildings was the inscription, "GOD'S PROVIDENCE IS MINE INHERITANCE," said to have been put there by the occupant of the house two hundred years ago, when the plague spared this one house only in the whole city. Not improbably the inscription has operated as a safeguard to prevent the demolition of the house hitherto; but a shopman of an adjacent dwelling told us that it was soon to be taken down. Here and there, about some of the streets through which the Rows do not run, we saw houses of very aged aspect, with steep, peaked gables. The front gable-end was supported on stone pillars, and the sidewalk passed beneath. Most of these old houses seemed to be taverns,--the Black Bear, the Green Dragon, and such names. We thought of dining at one of them, but, on inspection, they looked rather too dingy and close, and of questionable neatness. So we went to the Royal Hotel, where we probably fared just as badly at much more expense, and where there was a particularly gruff and crabbed old waiter, who, I suppose, thought himself free to display his surliness because we arrived at the hotel on foot. For my part, I love to see John Bull show himself. I must go again and again and again to Chester, for I suppose there is not a more curious place in the world. Mr. Ticknor, who has been staying at Rock Park with us since Tuesday, has steamed away in the Canada this morning. His departure seems to make me feel more abroad, more dissevered from my native country, than before. October 3d.--Saturday evening, at six, I went to dine with Mr. Aiken, a wealthy merchant here, to meet two of the sons of Burns. There was a party of ten or twelve, Mr. Aiken and his two daughters included. The two sons of Burns have both been in the Indian army, and have attained the ranks of Colonel and Major; one having spent thirty, and the other twenty-seven years in India. They are now old gentlemen of sixty and upwards, the elder with a gray head, the younger with a perfectly white one,--rather under than above the middle stature, and with a British roundness of figure,--plain, respectable, intelligent-looking persons, with quiet manners. I saw no resemblance in either of them to any portrait of their father. After the ladies left the table, I sat next to the Major, the younger of the two, and had a good deal of talk with him. He seemed a very kindly and social man, and was quite ready to speak about his father, nor was he at all reluctant to let it be seen how much he valued the glory of being descended from the poet. By and by, at Mr. Aiken's instance, he sang one of Burns's songs,--the one about "Annie" and the "rigs of barley." He sings in a perfectly simple style, so that it is little more than a recitative, and yet the effect is very good as to humor, sense, and pathos. After rejoining the ladies, he sang another, "A posie for my ain dear May," and likewise "A man's a man for a' that." My admiration of his father, and partly, perhaps, my being an American, gained me some favor with him, and he promised to give me what he considered the best engraving of Burns, and some other remembrance of him. The Major is that son of Burns who spent an evening at Abbotsford with Sir Walter Scott, when, as Lockhart writes, "the children sang the ballads of their sires." He spoke with vast indignation of a recent edition of his father's works by Robert Chambers, in which the latter appears to have wronged the poet by some misstatements.--I liked them both and they liked me, and asked me to go and see there at Cheltenham, where they reside. We broke up at about midnight. The members of this dinner-party were of the more liberal tone of thinking here in Liverpool. The Colonel and Major seemed to be of similar principles; and the eyes of the latter glowed, when he sang his father's noble verse, "The rank is but the guinea's stamp," etc. It would have been too pitiable if Burns had left a son who could not feel the spirit of that verse. October 8th.--Coning to my office, two or three mornings ago, I found Mrs. ------, the mother of Mr. ------, the insane young man of whom I had taken charge. She is a lady of fifty or thereabouts, and not very remarkable anyway, nor particularly lady-like. However, she was just come off a rapid journey, having travelled from Naples, with three small children, without taking rest, since my letter reached her. A son (this proved to be her new husband) of about twenty had come with her to the Consulate. She was, of course, infinitely grieved about the young man's insanity, and had two or three bursts of tears while we talked the matter over. She said he was the hope of her life,--the best, purest, most innocent child that ever was, and wholly free from every kind of vice. But it appears that he had a previous attack of insanity, lasting three months, about three years ago. After I had told her all I knew about him, including my personal observations at a visit a week or two since, we drove in a cab to the Asylum. It must have been a dismal moment to the poor lady, as we entered the gateway through a tall, prison-like wall. Being ushered into the parlor, the Governor soon appeared, and informed us that Mr. ------ had had a relapse within a few days, and was not now so well as when I saw him. He complains of unjust confinement, and seems to consider himself, if I rightly understand, under persecution for political reasons. The Governor, however, proposed to call him down, and I took my leave, feeling that it would be indelicate to be present at his first interview with his mother. So here ended my guardianship of the poor young fellow. In the afternoon I called at the Waterloo Hotel, where Mrs. ------ was staying, and found her in the coffee-room with the children. She had determined to take a lodging in the vicinity of the Asylum, and was going to remove thither as soon as the children had had something to eat. They seemed to be pleasant and well-behaved children, and impressed me more favorably than the mother, whom I suspect to be rather a foolish woman, although her present grief makes her appear in a more respectable light than at other times. She seemed anxious to impress me with the respectability and distinction of her connections in America, and I had observed the same tendency in the insane patient, at my interview with him. However, she has undoubtedly a mother's love for this poor shatterbrain, and this may weigh against the folly of her marrying an incongruously youthful second husband, and many other follies. This was day before yesterday, and I have heard nothing of her since. The same day I had applications for assistance in two other domestic affairs; one from an Irishman, naturalized in America, who wished me to get him a passage thither, and to take charge of his wife and family here, at my own private expense, until he could remit funds to carry them across. Another was from an Irishman, who had a power of attorney from a countrywoman of his in America, to find and take charge of an infant whom she had left in the Liverpool work-house, two years ago. I have a great mind to keep a list of all the business I am consulted about and employed in. It would be very curious. Among other things, all penniless Americans, or pretenders to Americanism, look upon me as their banker; and I could ruin myself any week, if I had not laid down a rule to consider every applicant for assistance an impostor until he prove himself a true and responsible man,--which it is very difficult to do. Yesterday there limped in a very respectable-looking old man, who described himself as a citizen of Baltimore, who had been on a trip to England and elsewhere, and, being detained longer than he expected, and having had an attack of rheumatism, was now short of funds to pay his passage home, and hoped that I would supply the deficiency. He had quite a plain, homely, though respectable manner, and, for aught I know, was the very honestest man alive; but as he could produce no kind of proof of his character and responsibility, I very quietly explained the impossibility of my helping him. I advised him to try to obtain a passage on board of some Baltimore ship, the master of which might be acquainted with him, or, at all events, take his word for payment, after arrival. This he seemed inclined to do, and took his leave. There was a decided aspect of simplicity about this old man, and yet I rather judge him to be an impostor. It is easy enough to refuse money to strangers and unknown people, or whenever there may be any question about identity; but it will not be so easy when I am asked for money by persons whom I know, but do not like to trust. They shall meet the eternal "No," however. October 13th.--In Ormerod's history of Chester it is mentioned that Randal, Earl of Chester, having made an inroad into Wales about 1225, the Welshmen gathered in mass against him, and drove him into the castle of Nothelert in Flintshire. The Earl sent for succor to the Constable of Chester, Roger Lacy, surnamed "Hell," on account of his fierceness. It was then fair-time at Chester, and the constable collected a miscellaneous rabble of fiddlers, players, cobblers, tailors, and all manner of debauched people, and led them to the relief of the Earl. At sight of this strange army the Welshmen fled; and forever after the Earl assigned to the constable of Chester power over all fiddlers, shoemakers, etc., within the bounds of Cheshire. The constable retained for himself and his heirs the control of the shoemakers; and made over to his own steward, Dutton, that of the fiddlers and players, and for many hundreds of years afterwards the Duttons of Dutton retained the power. On midsummer-day, they used to ride through Chester, attended by all the minstrels playing on their several instruments, to the Church of St. John, and there renew their licenses. It is a good theme for a legend. Sir Peter Leycester, writing in Charles the Second's time, copies the Latin deed from the constable to Dutton; rightly translated, it seems to mean "the magisterial power over all the lewd people . . . . in the whole of Cheshire," but the custom grew into what is above stated. In the time of Henry VII., the Duttons claimed, by prescriptive right, that the Cheshire minstrels should deliver them, at the feast of St. John, four bottles of wine and a lance, and that each separate minstrel should pay fourpence halfpenny. . . . . Another account says Ralph Dutton was the constable's son-in-law, and "a lusty youth." October 19th.--Coming to the ferry this morning a few minutes before the boat arrived from town, I went into the ferry-house, a small stone edifice, and found there an Irishman, his wife and three children, the oldest eight or nine years old, and all girls. There was a good fire burning in the room, and the family was clustered round it, apparently enjoying the warmth very much; but when I went in both husband and wife very hospitably asked me to come to the fire, although there was not more than room at it for their own party. I declined on the plea that I was warm enough, and then the woman said that they were very cold, having been long on the road. The man was gray-haired and gray-bearded, clad in an old drab overcoat, and laden with a huge bag, which seemed to contain bedclothing or something of the kind. The woman was pale, with a thin, anxious, wrinkled face, but with a good and kind expression. The children were quite pretty, with delicate faces, and a look of patience and endurance in them, but yet as if they had suffered as little as they possibly could. The two elder were cuddled up close to the father, the youngest, about four years old, sat in its mother's lap, and she had taken off its small shoes and stockings, and was warming its feet at the fire. Their little voices had a sweet and kindly sound as they talked in low tones to their parents and one another. They all looked very shabby, and yet had a decency about them; and it was touching to see how they made themselves at home at this casual fireside, and got all the comfort they could out of the circumstances. By and by two or three market-women came in and looked pleasantly at them, and said a word or two to the children. They did not beg of me, as I supposed they would; but after looking at them awhile, I pulled out a piece of silver, and handed it to one of the little girls. She took it very readily, as if she partly expected it, and then the father and mother thanked me, and said they had been travelling a long distance, and had nothing to subsist upon, except what they picked up on the road. They found it impossible to live in England, and were now on their way to Liverpool, hoping to get a passage back to Ireland, where, I suppose, extreme poverty is rather better off than here. I heard the little girl say that she should buy bread with the money. There is not much that can be caught in the description of this scene; but it made me understand, better than before, how poor people feel, wandering about in such destitute circumstances, and how they suffer; and yet how they have a life not quite miserable, after all, and how family love goes along with them. Soon the boat arrived at the pier, and we all went on board; and as I sat in the cabin, looking up through a broken pane in the skylight, I saw the woman's thin face, with its anxious, motherly aspect; and the youngest child in her arms, shrinking from the chill wind, but yet not impatiently; and the eldest of the girls standing close by with her expression of childish endurance, but yet so bright and intelligent that it would evidently take but a few days to make a happy and playful child of her. I got into the interior of this poor family, and understand, through sympathy, more of them than I can tell. I am getting to possess some of the English indifference as to beggars and poor people; but still, whenever I come face to face with them, and have any intercourse, it seems as if they ought to be the better for me. I wish, instead of sixpence, I had given the poor family ten shillings, and denied it to a begging subscriptionist, who has just fleeced me to that amount. How silly a man feels in this latter predicament! I have had a good many visitors at the Consulate from the United States within a short time,--among others, Mr. D. D. Barnard, our late minister to Berlin, returning homeward to-day by the Arctic; and Mr. Sickles, Secretary of Legation to London, a fine-looking, intelligent, gentlemanly young man. . . . . With him came Judge Douglas, the chosen man of Young America. He is very short, extremely short, but has an uncommonly good head, and uncommon dignity without seeming to aim at it, being free and simple in manners. I judge him to be a very able man, with the Western sociability and free-fellowship. Generally I see no reason to be ashamed of my countrymen who come out here in public position, or otherwise assuming the rank of gentlemen. October 20th.--One sees incidents in the streets here, occasionally, which could not be seen in an American city. For instance, a week or two since, I was passing a quiet-looking, elderly gentleman, when, all of a sudden, without any apparent provocation, he uplifted his stick, and struck a black-gowned boy a smart blow on the shoulders. The boy looked at him wofully and resentfully, but said nothing, nor can I imagine why the thing was done. In Tythebarne Street to-day I saw a woman suddenly assault a man, clutch at his hair, and cuff him about the ears. The man, who was of decent aspect enough, immediately took to his heels, full speed, and the woman ran after him, and, as far as I could discern the pair, the chase continued. October 22d.--At a dinner-party at Mr. Holland's last evening, a gentleman, in instance of Charles Dickens's unweariability, said that during some theatrical performances in Liverpool he acted in play and farce, spent the rest of the night making speeches, feasting, and drinking at table, and ended at seven o'clock in the morning by jumping leap-frog over the backs of the whole company. In Moore's diary he mentions a beautiful Guernsey lily having been given to his wife, and says that the flower was originally from Guernsey. A ship from there had been wrecked on the coast of Japan, having many of the lilies on board, and the next year the flowers appeared,--springing up, I suppose, on the wave-beaten strand. Wishing to send a letter to a dead man, who may be supposed to have gone to Tophet,--throw it into the fire. Sir Arthur Aston had his brains beaten out with his own wooden leg, at the storming of Tredagh in Ireland by Cromwell. In the county of Cheshire, many centuries ago, there lived a half-idiot, named Nixon, who had the gift of prophecy, and made many predictions about places, families, and important public events, since fulfilled. He seems to have fallen into fits of insensibility previous to uttering his prophecies. The family of Mainwaring (pronounced Mannering), of Bromborough, had an ass's head for a crest. "Richard Dawson, being sick of the plague, and perceiving he must die, rose out of his bed and made his grave, and caused his nephew to cast straw into the grave, which was not far from the house, and went and laid him down in the said grave, and caused clothes to be laid upon him, and so departed out of this world. This he did because he was a strong man, and heavier than his said nephew and a serving-wench were able to bury. He died about the 24th of August. Thus was I credibly told he did, 1625." This was in the township of Malpas, recorded in the parish register. At Bickley Hall, taken down a few years ago, used to be shown the room where the body of the Earl of Leicester was laid for a whole twelvemonth,--1659 to 1660,--he having been kept unburied all that time, owing to a dispute which of his heirs should pay his funeral expenses. November 5th.--We all, together with Mr. Squarey, went to Chester last Sunday, and attended the cathedral service. A great deal of ceremony, and not unimposing, but rather tedious before it was finished,--occupying two hours or more. The Bishop was present, but did nothing except to pronounce the benediction. In America the sermon is the principal thing; but here all this magnificent ceremonial of prayer and chanted responses and psalms and anthems was the setting to a short, meagre discourse, which would not have been considered of any account among the elaborate intellectual efforts of New England ministers. While this was going on, the light came through the stained glass windows and fell upon the congregation, tingeing them with crimson. After service we wandered about the aisles, and looked at the tombs and monuments,--the oldest of which was that of some nameless abbot, with a staff and mitre half obliterated from his tomb, which was under a shallow arch on one side of the cathedral. There were also marbles on the walls, and lettered stones in the pavement under our feet; but chiefly, if not entirely, of modern date. We lunched at the Royal Hotel, and then walked round the city walls, also crossing the bridge of one great arch over the Dee, and penetrating as far into Wales as the entrance of the Marquis of Westminster's Park at Eaton. It was, I think, the most lovely day as regards weather that I have seen in England. I passed, to-day, a man chanting a ballad in the street about a recent murder, in a voice that had innumerable cracks in it, and was most lugubrious. The other day I saw a man who was reading in a loud voice what seemed to be an account of the late riots and loss of life in Wigan. He walked slowly along the street as he read, surrounded by a small crowd of men, women, and children; and close by his elbow stalked a policeman, as if guarding against a disturbance. November 14th.--There is a heavy dun fog on the river and over the city to-day, the very gloomiest atmosphere that ever I was acquainted with. On the river the steamboats strike gongs or ring bells to give warning of their approach. There are lamps burning in the counting-rooms and lobbies of the warehouses, and they gleam distinctly through the windows. The other day, at the entrance of the market-house, I saw a woman sitting in a small hand-wagon, apparently for the purpose of receiving alms. There was no attendant at hand; but I noticed that one or two persons who passed by seemed to inquire whether she wished her wagon to be moved. Perhaps this is her mode of making progress about the city, by the voluntary aid of boys and other people who help to drag her. There is something in this--I don't yet well know what--that has impressed me, as if I could make a romance out of the idea of a woman living in this manner a public life, and moving about by such means. November 29th.--Mr. H. A. B. told me of his friend Mr. ------ (who was formerly attache to the British Legation at Washington, and whom I saw at Concord), that his father, a clergyman, married a second wife. After the marriage, the noise of a coffin being nightly carried down the stairs was heard in the parsonage. It could be distinguished when the coffin reached a certain broad lauding and rested on it. Finally, his father had to remove to another residence. Besides this, Mr. ------ had had another ghostly experience,--having seen a dim apparition of an uncle at the precise instant when the latter died in a distant place. The attache is a credible and honorable fellow, and talks of these matters as if he positively believed them. But Ghostland lies beyond the jurisdiction of veracity. In a garden near Chester, in taking down a summer-house, a tomb was discovered beneath it, with a Latin inscription to the memory of an old doctor of medicine, William Bentley, who had owned the place long ago, and died in 1680. And his dust and bones had lain beneath all the merry times in the summer-house. December 1st.--It is curious to observe how many methods people put in practice here to pick up a halfpenny. Yesterday I saw a man standing bareheaded and barelegged in the mud and misty weather, playing on a fife, in hopes to get a circle of auditors. Nobody, however, seemed to take any notice. Very often a whole band of musicians will strike up,-- passing a hat round after playing a tune or two. On board the ferry, until the coldest weather began, there were always some wretched musicians, with an old fiddle, an old clarinet, and an old verdigrised brass bugle, performing during the passage, and, as the boat neared the shore, sending round one of their number to gather contributions in the hollow of the brass bugle. They were a very shabby set, and must have made a very scanty living at best. Sometimes it was a boy with an accordion, and his sister, a smart little girl, with a timbrel,--which, being so shattered that she could not play on it, she used only to collect halfpence in. Ballad-singers, or rather chanters or croakers, are often to be met with in the streets, but hand-organ players are not more frequent than in our cities. I still observe little girls and other children barelegged and barefooted on the wet sidewalks. There certainly never was anything so dismal as the November weather has been; never any real sunshine; almost always a mist; sometimes a dense fog, like slightly rarefied wool, pervading the atmosphere. An epitaph on a person buried on a hillside in Cheshire, together with some others, supposed to have died of the plague, and therefore not admitted into the churchyards:-- "Think it not strange our bones ly here, Thine may ly thou knowst not where." Elizabeth Hampson. These graves were near the remains of two rude stone crosses, the purpose of which was not certainly known, although they were supposed to be boundary marks. Probably, as the plague-corpses were debarred from sanctified ground, the vicinity of these crosses was chosen as having a sort of sanctity. "Bang beggar,"--an old Cheshire term for a parish beadle. Hawthorne Hall, Cheshire, Macclesfield Hundred, Parish of Wilmslow, and within the hamlet of Morley. It was vested at an early period in the Lathoms of Irlam, Lancaster County, and passed through the Leighs to the Pages of Earlshaw. Thomas Leigh Page sold it to Mr. Ralph Bower of Wilmslow, whose children owned it in 1817. The Leighs built a chancel in the church of Wilmslow, where some of them are buried, their arms painted in the windows. The hall is an "ancient, respectable mansion of brick." December 2d.--Yesterday, a chill, misty December day, yet I saw a woman barefooted in the street, not to speak of children. Cold and uncertain as the weather is, there is still a great deal of small trade carried on in the open air. Women and men sit in the streets with a stock of combs and such small things to sell, the women knitting as if they sat by a fireside. Cheap crockery is laid out in the street, so far out that without any great deviation from the regular carriage-track a wheel might pass straight through it. Stalls of apples are innumerable, but the apples are not fit for a pig. In some streets herrings are very abundant, laid out on boards. Coals seem to be for sale by the wheelbarrowful. Here and there you see children with some small article for sale,--as, for instance, a girl with two linen caps. A somewhat overladen cart of coal was passing along and some small quantity of the coal fell off; no sooner had the wheels passed than several women and children gathered to the spot, like hens and chickens round a handful of corn, and picked it up in their aprons. We have nothing similar to these street-women in our country. December 10th.--I don't know any place that brings all classes into contiguity on equal ground so completely as the waiting-room at Rock Ferry on these frosty days. The room is not more than eight feet, square, with walls of stone, and wooden benches ranged round them, and an open stove in one corner, generally well furnished with coal. It is almost always crowded, and I rather suspect that many persons who have no fireside elsewhere creep in here and spend the most comfortable part of their day. This morning, when I looked into the room, there were one or two gentlemen and other respectable persons; but in the best place, close to the fire, and crouching almost into it, was an elderly beggar, with the raggedest of overcoats, two great rents in the shoulders of it disclosing the dingy lining, all bepatched with various stuff covered with dirt, and on his shoes and trousers the mud of an interminable pilgrimage. Owing to the posture in which he sat, I could not see his face, but only the battered crown and rim of the very shabbiest hat that ever was worn. Regardless of the presence of women (which, indeed, Englishmen seldom do regard when they wish to smoke), he was smoking a pipe of vile tobacco; but, after all, this was fortunate, because the man himself was not personally fragrant. He was terribly squalid,--terribly; and when I had a glimpse of his face, it well befitted the rest of his development,-- grizzled, wrinkled, weather-beaten, yet sallow, and down-looking, with a watchful kind of eye turning upon everybody and everything, meeting the glances of other people rather boldly, yet soon shrinking away; a long thin nose, a gray beard of a week's growth; hair not much mixed with gray, but rusty and lifeless;--a miserable object; but it was curious to see how he was not ashamed of himself, but seemed to feel that he was one of the estates of the kingdom, and had as much right to live as other men. He did just as he pleased, took the best place by the fire, nor would have cared though a nobleman were forced to stand aside for him. When the steamer's bell rang, he shouldered a large and heavy pack, like a pilgrim with his burden of sin, but certainly journeying to hell instead of heaven. On board he looked round for the best position, at first stationing himself near the boiler-pipe; but, finding the deck damp underfoot, he went to the cabin-door, and took his stand on the stairs, protected from the wind, but very incommodiously placed for those who wished to pass. All this was done without any bravado or forced impudence, but in the most quiet way, merely because he was seeking his own comfort, and considered that he had a right to seek it. It was an Englishman's spirit; but in our country, I imagine, a beggar considers himself a kind of outlaw, and would hardly assume the privileges of a man in any place of public resort. Here beggary is a system, and beggars are a numerous class, and make themselves, in a certain way, respected as such. Nobody evinced the slightest disapprobation of the man's proceedings. In America, I think, we should see many aristocratic airs on such provocation, and probably the ferry people would there have rudely thrust the beggar aside; giving him a shilling, however, which no Englishman would ever think of doing. There would also have been a great deal of fun made of his squalid and ragged figure; whereas nobody smiled at him this morning, nor in any way showed the slightest disrespect. This is good; but it is the result of a state of things by no means good. For many days there has been a great deal of fog on the river, and the boats have groped their way along, continually striking their bells, while, on all sides, there are responses of bell and gong; and the vessels at anchor look shadow-like as we glide past them, and the master of one steamer shouts a warning to the master of another which he meets. The Englishmen, who hate to run any risk without an equivalent object, show a good deal of caution and timidity on these foggy days. December 13th.--Chill, frosty weather; such an atmosphere as forebodes snow in New England, and there has been a little here. Yet I saw a barefooted young woman yesterday. The feet of these poor creatures have exactly the red complexion of their hands, acquired by constant exposure to the cold air. At the ferry-room, this morning, was a small, thin, anxious-looking woman, with a bundle, seeming in rather poor circumstances, but decently dressed, and eying other women, I thought, with an expression of slight ill-will and distrust; also, an elderly, stout, gray-haired woman, of respectable aspect, and two young lady-like persons, quite pretty, one of whom was reading a shilling volume of James's "Arabella Stuart." They talked to one another with that up-and-down intonation which English ladies practise, and which strikes an unaccustomed ear as rather affected, especially in women of size and mass. It is very different from an American lady's mode of talking: there is the difference between color and no color; the tone variegates it. One of these young ladies spoke to me, making some remark about the weather,--the first instance I have met with of a gentlewoman's speaking to an unintroduced gentleman. Besides these, a middle-aged man of the lower class, and also a gentleman's out-door servant, clad in a drab great-coat, corduroy breeches, and drab cloth gaiters buttoned from the knee to the ankle. He complained to the other man of the cold weather; said that a glass of whiskey, every half-hour, would keep a man comfortable; and, accidentally hitting his coarse foot against one of the young lady's feet, said, "Beg pardon, ma'am,"--which she acknowledged with a slight movement of the head. Somehow or other, different classes seem to encounter one another in an easier manner than with us; the shock is less palpable. I suppose the reason is that the distinctions are real, and therefore need not be continually asserted. Nervous and excitable persons need to talk a great deal, by way of letting off their steam. On board the Rock Ferry steamer, a gentleman coming into the cabin, a voice addresses him from a dark corner, "How do you do, sir?"--"Speak again!" says the gentleman. No answer from the dark corner; and the gentleman repeats, "Speak again!" The speaker now comes out of the dark corner, and sits down in a place where he can be seen. "Ah!" cries the gentleman, "very well, I thank you. How do you do? I did not recognize your voice." Observable, the English caution, shown in the gentleman's not vouchsafing to say, "Very well, thank you!" till he knew his man. What was the after life of the young man, whom Jesus, looking on, "loved," and bade him sell all that he had, and give to the poor, and take up his cross and follow him? Something very deep and beautiful might be made out of this. December 31st.--Among the beggars of Liverpool, the hardest to encounter is a man without any legs, and, if I mistake not, likewise deficient in arms. You see him before you all at once, as if he had sprouted halfway out of the earth, and would sink down and reappear in some other place the moment he has done with you. His countenance is large, fresh, and very intelligent; but his great power lies in his fixed gaze, which is inconceivably difficult to bear. He never once removes his eye from you till you are quite past his range; and you feel it all the same, although you do not meet his glance. He is perfectly respectful; but the intentness and directness of his silent appeal is far worse than any impudence. In fact, it is the very flower of impudence. I would rather go a mile about than pass before his battery. I feel wronged by him, and yet unutterably ashamed. There must be great force in the man to produce such an effect. There is nothing of the customary squalidness of beggary about him, but remarkable trimness and cleanliness. A girl of twenty or thereabouts, who vagabondizes about the city on her hands and knees, possesses, to a considerable degree, the same characteristics. I think they hit their victims the more effectually from being below the common level of vision. January 3d, 1854.--Night before last there was a fall of snow, about three or four inches, and, following it, a pretty hard frost. On the river, the vessels at anchor showed the snow along their yards, and on every ledge where it could lie. A blue sky and sunshine overhead, and apparently a clear atmosphere close at hand; but in the distance a mistiness became perceptible, obscuring the shores of the river, and making the vessels look dim and uncertain. The steamers were ploughing along, smoking their pipes through the frosty air. On the landing stage and in the streets, hard-trodden snow, looking more like my New England Home than anything I have yet seen. Last night the thermometer fell as low as 13 degrees, nor probably is it above 20 degrees to-day. No such frost has been known in England these forty years! and Mr. Wilding tells me that he never saw so much snow before. January 6th.--I saw, yesterday, stopping at a cabinet-maker's shop in Church Street, a coach with four beautiful white horses, and a postilion on each near-horse; behind, in the dicky, a footman; and on the box a coachman, all dressed in livery. The coach-panel bore a coat-of-arms with a coronet, and I presume it must have been the equipage of the Earl of Derby. A crowd of people stood round, gazing at the coach and horses; and when any of them spoke, it was in a lower tone than usual. I doubt not they all had a kind of enjoyment of the spectacle, for these English are strangely proud of having a class above them. Every Englishman runs to "The Times" with his little grievance, as a child runs to his mother. I was sent for to the police court the other morning, in the case of an American sailor accused of robbing a shipmate at sea. A large room, with a great coal-fire burning on one side, and above it the portrait of Mr. Rushton, deceased, a magistrate of many years' continuance. A long table, with chairs, and a witness-box. One of the borough magistrates, a merchant of the city, sat at the head of the table, with paper and pen and ink before him; but the real judge was the clerk of the court, whose professional knowledge and experience governed all the proceedings. In the short time while I was waiting, two cases were tried, in the first of which the prisoner was discharged. The second case was of a woman,--a thin, sallow, hard-looking, careworn, rather young woman,--for stealing a pair of slippers out of a shop: The trial occupied five minutes or less, and she was sentenced to twenty-one days' imprisonment,--whereupon, without speaking, she looked up wildly first into one policeman's face, then into another's, at the same time wringing her hands with no theatric gesture, but because her torment took this outward shape,--and was led away. The Yankee sailor was then brought up,--an intelligent, but ruffian-like fellow,--and as the case was out of the jurisdiction of the English magistrates, and as it was not worth while to get him sent over to America for trial, he was forthwith discharged. He stole a comforter. If mankind were all intellect, they would be continually changing, so that one age would be entirely unlike another. The great conservative is the heart, which remains the same in all ages; so that commonplaces of a thousand years' standing are as effective as ever. Monday, February 20th.--At the police court on Saturday, I attended the case of the second mate and four seamen of the John and Albert, for assaulting, beating, and stabbing the chief mate. The chief mate has been in the hospital ever since the assault, and was brought into the court to-day to give evidence,--a man of thirty, black hair, black eyes, a dark complexion, disagreeable expression; sallow, emaciated, feeble, apparently in pain, one arm disabled. He sat bent and drawn upward, and had evidently been severely hurt, and was not yet fit to be out of bed. He had some brandy-and-water to enable him to sustain himself. He gave his evidence very clearly, beginning (sailor-like) with telling in what quarter the wind was at the time of the assault, and which sail was taken in. His testimony bore on one man only, at whom he cast a vindictive look; but I think he told the truth as far as he knew and remembered it. Of the prisoners the second mate was a mere youth, with long sandy hair, and an intelligent and not unprepossessing face, dressed as neatly as a three or four weeks' captive, with small, or no means, could well allow, in a frock-coat, and with clean linen,--the only linen or cotton shirt in the company. The other four were rude, brutish sailors, in flannel or red-baize shirts. Three of them appeared to give themselves little concern; but the fourth, a red-haired and red-bearded man,--Paraman, by name,--evidently felt the pressure of the case upon himself. He was the one whom the mate swore to have given him the first blow; and there was other evidence of his having been stabbed with a knife. The captain of the ship, the pilot, the cook, and the steward, all gave their evidence; and the general bearing of it was, that the chief mate had a devilish temper, and had misused the second mate and crew,--that the four seamen had attacked him, and that Paraman had stabbed him; while all but the steward concurred in saying that the second mate had taken no part in the affray. The steward, however, swore to having seen him strike the chief mate with a wooden marlinspike, which was broken by the blow. The magistrate dismissed all but Paraman, whom I am to send to America for trial. In my opinion the chief mate got pretty nearly what he deserved, under the code of natural justice. While business was going forward, the magistrate, Mr. Mansfield, talked about a fancy ball at which he had been present the evening before, and of other matters grave and gay. It was very informal; we sat at the table, or stood with our backs to the fire; policemen came and went; witnesses were sworn on the greasiest copy of the Gospels I ever saw, polluted by hundreds and thousands of perjured kisses; and for hours the prisoners were kept standing at the foot of the table, interested to the full extent of their capacity, while all others were indifferent. At the close of the case, the police officers and witnesses applied to me about their expenses. Yesterday I took a walk with my wife and two children to Bebbington Church. A beautifully sunny morning. My wife and U. attended church, J. and I continued our walk. When we were at a little distance from the church, the bells suddenly chimed out with a most cheerful sound, and sunny as the morning. It is a pity we have no chimes of bells, to give the churchward summons, at home. People were standing about the ancient church-porch and among the tombstones. In the course of our walk, we passed many old thatched cottages, built of stone, and with what looked like a cow-house or pigsty at one end, making part of the cottage; also an old stone farm-house, which may have been a residence of gentility in its day. We passed, too, a small Methodist chapel, making one of a row of low brick edifices. There was a sound of prayer within. I never saw a more unbeautiful place of worship; and it had not even a separate existence for itself, the adjoining tenement being an alehouse. The grass along the wayside was green, with a few daisies. There was green holly in the hedges, and we passed through a wood, up some of the tree-trunks of which ran clustering ivy. February 23d.--There came to see me the other day a young gentleman with a mustache and a blue cloak, who announced himself as William Allingham, and handed me a copy of his poems, a thin volume, with paper covers, published by Routledge. I thought I remembered hearing his name, but had never seen any of his works. His face was intelligent, dark, pleasing, and not at all John-Bullish. He said that he had been employed in the Customs in Ireland, and was now going to London to live by literature,-- to be connected with some newspaper, I imagine. He had been in London before, and was acquainted with some of the principal literary people,-- among others, Tennyson and Carlyle. He seemed to have been on rather intimate terms with Tennyson. We talked awhile in my dingy and dusky Consulate, and he then took leave. His manners are good, and he appears to possess independence of mind. Yesterday I saw a British regiment march down to George's Pier, to embark in the Niagara for Malta. The troops had nothing very remarkable about them; but the thousands of ragged and squalid wretches, who thronged the pier and streets to gaze on them, were what I had not seen before in such masses. This was the first populace I have beheld; for even the Irish, on the other side of the water, acquire a respectability of aspect. John Bull is going with his whole heart into the Turkish war. He is very foolish. Whatever the Czar may propose to himself, it is for the interest of democracy that he should not be easily put down. The regiment, on its way to embark, carried the Queen's colors, and, side by side with them, the banner of the 28th,--yellow, with the names of the Peninsular and other battles in which it had been engaged inscribed on it in a double column. It is a very distinguished regiment; and Mr. Henry Bright mentioned as one of its distinctions, that Washington had formerly been an officer in it. I never heard of this. February 27th.--We walked to Woodside in the pleasant forenoon, and thence crossed to Liverpool. On our way to Woodside, we saw the remains of the old Birkenhead Priory, built of the common red freestone, much time-worn, with ivy creeping over it, and birds evidently at hone in its old crevices. These ruins are pretty extensive, and seem to be the remains of a quadrangle. A handsome modern church, likewise of the same red freestone, has been built on part of the site occupied by the Priory; and the organ was sounding within, while we walked about the premises. On some of the ancient arches, there were grotesquely carved stone faces. The old walls have been sufficiently restored to make them secure, without destroying their venerable aspect. It is a very interesting spot; and so much the more so because a modern town, with its brick and stone houses, its flags and pavements, has sprung up about the ruins, which were new a thousand years ago. The station of the Chester railway is within a hundred yards. Formerly the monks of this Priory kept the only ferry that then existed on the Mersey. At a dinner at Mr. Bramley Moore's a little while ago, we had a prairie-hen from the West of America. It was a very delicate bird, and a gentleman carved it most skilfully to a dozen guests, and had still a second slice to offer to them. Aboard the ferry-boat yesterday, there was a laboring man eating oysters. He took them one by one from his pocket in interminable succession, opened them with his jack-knife, swallowed each one, threw the shell overboard, and then sought for another. Having concluded his meal, he took out a clay tobacco-pipe, filled it, lighted it with a match, and smoked it,--all this, while the other passengers were looking at him, and with a perfect coolness and independence, such as no single man can ever feel in America. Here a man does not seem to consider what other people will think of his conduct, but only whether it suits his own convenience to do so and so. It may be the better way. A French military man, a veteran of all Napoleon's wars, is now living, with a false leg and arm, both movable by springs, false teeth, a false eye, a silver nose with a flesh-colored covering, and a silver plate replacing part of the skull. He has the cross of the Legion of Honor. March 18th.--On Saturday I went with Mr. B---- to the Dingle, a pleasant domain on the banks of the Mersey almost opposite to Rock Ferry. Walking home, we looked into Mr. Thorn's Unitarian Chapel, Mr. B----'s family's place of worship. There is a little graveyard connected with the chapel, a most uninviting and unpicturesque square of ground, perhaps thirty or forty yards across, in the midst of back fronts of city buildings. About half the space was occupied by flat tombstones, level with the ground, the remainder being yet vacant. Nevertheless, there were perhaps more names of men generally known to the world on these few tombstones than in any other churchyard in Liverpool,--Roscoe, Blanco White, and the Rev. William Enfield, whose name has a classical sound in my ears, because, when a little boy, I used to read his "Speaker" at school. In the vestry of the chapel there were many books, chiefly old theological works, in ancient print and binding, much mildewed and injured by the damp. The body of the chapel is neat, but plain, and, being not very large, has a kind of social and family aspect, as if the clergyman and his people must needs have intimate relations among themselves. The Unitarian sect in Liverpool have, as a body, great wealth and respectability. Yesterday I walked with my wife and children to the brow of a hill, overlooking Birkenhead and Tranmere, and commanding a fine view of the river, and Liverpool beyond. All round about new and neat residences for city people are springing up, with fine names,--Eldon Terrace, Rose Cottage, Belvoir Villa, etc., etc., with little patches of ornamented garden or lawn in front, and heaps of curious rock-work, with which the English are ridiculously fond of adorning their front yards. I rather think the middling classes--meaning shopkeepers, and other respectabilities of that level--are better lodged here than in America; and, what I did not expect, the houses are a great deal newer than in our new country! Of course, this can only be the case in places circumstanced like Liverpool and its suburbs. But, scattered among these modern villas, there are old stone cottages of the rudest structure, and doubtless hundreds of years old, with thatched roofs, into which the grass has rooted itself, and now looks verdant. These cottages are in themselves as ugly as possible, resembling a large kind of pigsty; but often, by dint of the verdure on their thatch and the shrubbery clustering about them, they look picturesque. The old-fashioned flowers in the gardens of New England--blue-bells, crocuses, primroses, foxglove, and many others--appear to be wild flowers here on English soil. There is something very touching and pretty in this fact, that the Puritans should have carried their field and hedge flowers, and nurtured theme in their gardens, until, to us, they seem entirely the product of cultivation. March 16th.--Yesterday, at the coroner's court, attending the inquest on a black sailor who died on board an American vessel, after her arrival at this port. The court-room is capable of accommodating perhaps fifty people, dingy, with a pyramidal skylight above, and a single window on one side, opening into a gloomy back court. A private room, also lighted with a pyramidal skylight, is behind the court-room, into which I was asked, and found the coroner, a gray-headed, grave, intelligent, broad, red-faced man, with an air of some authority, well mannered and dignified, but not exactly a gentleman,--dressed in a blue coat, with a black cravat, showing a shirt-collar above it. Considering how many and what a variety of cases of the ugliest death are constantly coming before him, he was much more cheerful than could be expected, and had a kind of formality and orderliness which I suppose balances the exceptionalities with which he has to deal. In the private room with him was likewise the surgeon, who professionally attends the court. We chatted about suicide and such matters,--the surgeon, the coroner, and I,--until the American case was ready, when we adjourned to the court-room, and the coroner began the examination. The American captain was a rude, uncouth Down-Easter, about thirty years old, and sat on a bench, doubled and bent into an indescribable attitude, out of which he occasionally straightened himself, all the time toying with a ruler, or some such article. The case was one of no interest; the man had been frost-bitten, and died from natural causes, so that no censure was deserved or passed upon the captain. The jury, who had been examining the body, were at first inclined to think that the man had not been frostbitten, but that his feet had been immersed in boiling water; but, on explanation by the surgeon, readily yielded their opinion, and gave the verdict which the coroner put into their mouths, exculpating the captain from all blame. In fact, it is utterly impossible that a jury of chance individuals should not be entirely governed by the judgment of so experienced and weighty a man as the coroner. In the court-room were two or three police officers in uniform, and some other officials, a very few idle spectators, and a few witnesses waiting to be examined. And while the case was going forward, a poor-looking woman came in, and I heard her, in an undertone, telling an attendant of a death that had just occurred. The attendant received the communication in a very quiet and matter-of-course way, said that it should be attended to, and the woman retired. THE DIARY OF A CORONER would be a work likely to meet with large popular acceptance. A dark passageway, only a few yards in extent, leads from the liveliest street in Liverpool to this coroner's court-room, where all the discussion is about murder and suicide. It seems, that, after a verdict of suicide, the corpse can only be buried at midnight, without religious rites. "His lines are cast in pleasant places,"--applied to a successful angler. A woman's chastity consists, like an onion, of a series of coats. You may strip off the outer ones without doing much mischief, perhaps none at all; but you keep taking off one after another, in expectation of coming to the inner nucleus, including the whole value of the matter. It proves however, that there is no such nucleus, and that chastity is diffused through the whole series of coats, is lessened with the removal of each, and vanishes with the final one, which you supposed would introduce you to the hidden pearl. March 23d.--Mr. B. and I took a cab Saturday afternoon, and drove out of the city in the direction of Knowsley. On our way we saw many gentlemen's or rich people's places, some of them dignified with the title of Halls,--with lodges at their gates, and standing considerably removed from the road. The greater part of them were built of brick,--a material with which I have not been accustomed to associate ideas of grandeur; but it was much in use here in Lancashire, in the Elizabethan age,--more, I think, than now. These suburban residences, however, are of much later date than Elizabeth's time. Among other places, Mr. B. called at the Hazels, the residence of Sir Thomas Birch, a kinsman of his. It is a large brick mansion, and has old trees and shrubbery about it, the latter very fine and verdant,--hazels, holly, rhododendron, etc. Mr. B. went in, and shortly afterwards Sir Thomas Birch came out,--a very frank and hospitable gentleman,--and pressed me to enter and take luncheon, which latter hospitality I declined. His house is in very nice order. He had a good many pictures, and, amongst them, a small portrait of his mother, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, when a youth. It is unfinished, and when the painter was at the height of his fame, he was asked to finish it. But Lawrence, after looking at the picture, refused to retouch it, saying that there was a merit in this early sketch which he could no longer attain. It was really a very beautiful picture of a lovely woman. Sir Thomas Birch proposed to go with us and get us admittance into Knowsley Park, where we could not possibly find entrance without his aid. So we went to the stables, where the old groom had already shown hospitality to our cabman, by giving his horse some provender, and himself some beer. There seemed to be a kindly and familiar sort of intercourse between the old servant and the Baronet, each of them, I presume, looking on their connection as indissoluble. The gate-warden of Knowsley Park was an old woman, who readily gave us admittance at Sir Thomas Birch's request. The family of the Earl of Derby is not now at the Park. It was a very bad time of year to see it; the trees just showing the earliest symptoms of vitality, while whole acres of ground were covered with large, dry, brown ferns,--which I suppose are very beautiful when green. Two or three hares scampered out of these ferns, and sat on their hind legs looking about them, as we drove by. A sheet of water had been drawn off, in order to deepen its bed. The oaks did not seem to me so magnificent as they should be in an ancient noble property like this. A century does not accomplish so much for a tree, in this slow region, as it does in ours. I think, however, that they were more individual and picturesque, with more character in their contorted trunks; therein somewhat resembling apple-trees. Our forest-trees have a great sameness of character, like our people,-- because one and the other grow too closely. In one part of the Park we came to a small tower, for what purpose I know not, unless as an observatory; and near it was a marble statue on a high pedestal. The statue had been long exposed to the weather, and was overgrown and ingrained with moss and lichens, so that its classic beauty was in some sort gothicized. A half-mile or so from this point, we saw the mansion of Kuowsley, in the midst of a very fine prospect, with a tolerably high ridge of hills in the distance. The house itself is exceedingly vast, a front and two wings, with suites of rooms, I suppose, interminable. The oldest part, Sir Thomas Birch told us, is a tower of the time of Henry VII. Nevertheless, the effect is not overwhelming, because the edifice looks low in proportion to its great extent over the ground; and besides, a good deal of it is built of brick, with white window-frames, so that, looking at separate parts, I might think them American structures, without the smart addition of green Venetian blinds, so universal with us. Portions, however, were built of red freestone; and if I had looked at it longer, no doubt I should have admired it more. We merely drove round it from the rear to the front. It stands in my memory rather like a college or a hospital, than as the ancestral residence of a great English noble. We left the Park in another direction, and passed through a part of Lord Sefton's property, by a private road. By the by, we saw half a dozen policemen, in their blue coats and embroidered collars, after entering Knowsley Park; but the Earl's own servants would probably have supplied their place, had the family been at home. The mansion of Croxteth, the seat of Lord Sefton, stands near the public road, and, though large, looked of rather narrow compass after Knowsley. The rooks were talking together very loquaciously in the high tops of the trees near Sir Thomas Birch's house, it being now their building-time. It was a very pleasant sound, the noise being comfortably softened by the remote height. Sir Thomas said that more than half a century ago the rooks used to inhabit another grove of lofty trees, close in front of the house; but being noisy, and not altogether cleanly in their habits, the ladies of the family grew weary of them and wished to remove them. Accordingly, the colony was driven away, and made their present settlement in a grove behind the house. Ever since that time not a rook has built in the ancient grove; every year, however, one or another pair of young rooks attempt to build among the deserted tree-tops, but the old rooks tear the new nest to pieces as often as it is put together. Thus, either the memory of aged individual rooks or an authenticated tradition in their society has preserved the idea that the old grove is forbidden and inauspicious to them. A soil of General Arnold, named William Fitch Arnold, and born in 1794, now possesses the estate of Little Messenden Abbey, Bucks County, and is a magistrate for that county. He was formerly Captain of the 19th Lancers. He has now two sons and four daughters. The other three sons of General Arnold, all older than this one, and all military men, do not appear to have left children; but a daughter married to Colonel Phipps, of the Mulgrave family, has a son and two daughters. I question whether any of our true-hearted Revolutionary heroes have left a more prosperous progeny than this arch-traitor. I should like to know their feelings with respect to their ancestor. April 3d.--I walked with J-----, two days ago, to Eastham, a village on the road to Chester, and five or six miles from Rock Ferry. On our way we passed through a village, in the centre of which was a small stone pillar, standing on a pedestal of several steps, on which children were sitting and playing. I take it to have been an old Catholic cross; at least, I know not what else it is. It seemed very ancient. Eastham is the finest old English village I have seen, with many antique houses, and with altogether a rural and picturesque aspect, unlike anything in America, and yet possessing a familiar look, as if it were something I had dreamed about. There were thatched stone cottages intermixed with houses of a better kind, and likewise a gateway and gravelled walk, that perhaps gave admittance to the Squire's mansion. It was not merely one long, wide street, as in most New England villages, but there were several crooked ways, gathering the whole settlement into a pretty small compass. In the midst of it stood a venerable church of the common red freestone, with a most reverend air, considerably smaller than that of Bebbington, but more beautiful, and looking quite as old. There was ivy on its spire and elsewhere. It looked very quiet and peaceful, and as if it had received the people into its low arched door every Sabbath for many centuries. There were many tombstones about it, some level with the ground, some raised on blocks of stone, on low pillars, moss-grown and weather-worn; and probably these were but the successors of other stones that had quite crumbled away, or been buried by the accumulation of dead men's dust above them. In the centre of the churchyard stood an old yew-tree, with immense trunk, which was all decayed within, so that it is a wonder how the tree retains any life,--which, nevertheless, it does. It was called "the old Yew of Eastham," six hundred years ago! After passing through the churchyard, we saw the village inn on the other side. The doors were fastened, but a girl peeped out of the window at us, and let us in, ushering us into a very neat parlor. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, a straw carpet on the floor, a mahogany sideboard, and a mahogany table in the middle of the room; and, on the walls, the portraits of mine host (no doubt) and of his wife and daughters,--a very nice parlor, and looking like what I might have found in a country tavern at home, only this was an ancient house, and there is nothing at home like the glimpse, from the window, of the church, and its red, ivy-grown tower. I ordered some lunch, being waited on by the girl, who was very neat, intelligent, and comely,--and more respectful than a New England maid. As we came out of the inn, some village urchins left their play, and ran to me begging, calling me "Master!" They turned at once from play to begging, and, as I gave them nothing, they turned to their play again. This village is too far from Liverpool to have been much injured as yet by the novelty of cockney residences, which have grown up almost everywhere else, so far as I have visited. About a mile from it, however, is the landing-place of a steamer (which runs regularly, except in the winter months), where a large, new hotel is built. The grounds about it are extensive and well wooded. We got some biscuits at the hotel, and I gave the waiter (a splendid gentleman in black) four halfpence, being the surplus of a shilling. He bowed and thanked me very humbly. An American does not easily bring his mind to the small measure of English liberality to servants; if anything is to be given, we are ashamed not to give more, especially to clerical-looking persons, in black suits and white neckcloths. I stood on the Exchange at noon, to-day, to see the 18th Regiment, the Connaught Rangers, marching down to embark for the East. They were a body of young, healthy, and cheerful-looking men, and looked greatly better than the dirty crowd that thronged to gaze at them. The royal banner of England, quartering the lion, the leopard, and the harp, waved on the town-house, and looked gorgeous and venerable. Here and there a woman exchanged greetings with an individual soldier, as he marched along, and gentlemen shook hands with officers with whom they happened to be acquainted. Being a stranger in the land, it seemed as if I could see the future in the present better than if I had been an Englishman; so I questioned with myself how many of these ruddy-cheeked young fellows, marching so stoutly away, would ever tread English ground again. The populace did not evince any enthusiasm, yet there could not possibly be a war to which the country could assent more fully than to this. I somewhat doubt whether the English populace really feels a vital interest in the nation. Some years ago, a piece of rude marble sculpture, representing St. George and the Dragon, was found over the fireplace of a cottage near Rock Ferry, on the road to Chester. It was plastered over with pipe-clay, and its existence was unknown to the cottagers, until a lady noticed the projection and asked what it was. It was supposed to have originally adorned the walls of the Priory at Birkenhead. It measured fourteen and a half by nine inches, in which space were the heads of a king and queen, with uplifted hands, in prayer; their daughters also in prayer, and looking very grim; a lamb, the slain dragon, and St. George, proudly prancing on what looks like a donkey, brandishing a sword over his head. The following is a legend inscribed on the inner margin of a curious old box:-- "From Birkenhead into Hilbree A squirrel might leap from tree to tree." I do not know where Hilbree is; but all round Birkenhead a squirrel would scarcely find a single tree to climb upon. All is pavement and brick buildings now. Good Friday.--The English and Irish think it good to plant on this day, because it was the day when our Saviour's body was laid in the grave. Seeds, therefore, are certain to rise again. At dinner the other day, Mrs. ------ mentioned the origin of Franklin's adoption of the customary civil dress, when going to court as a diplomatist. It was simply that his tailor had disappointed him of his court suit, and he wore his plain one with great reluctance, because he had no other. Afterwards, gaining great success and praise by his mishap, he continued to wear it from policy. The grandmother of Mrs. ------ died fifty years ago, at the age of twenty-eight. She had great personal charms, and among them a head of beautiful chestnut hair. After her burial in the family tomb, the coffin of one of her children was laid on her own, so that the lid seems to have decayed, or been broken from this cause; at any rate, this was the case when the tomb was opened about a year ago. The grandmother's coffin was then found to be filled with beautiful, glossy, living chestnut ringlets, into which her whole substance seems to have been transformed, for there was nothing else but these shining curls, the growth of half a century in the tomb. An old man, with a ringlet of his youthful mistress treasured on his heart, might be supposed to witness this wonderful thing. Madam ------, who is now at my house, and very infirm, though not old, was once carried to the grave, and on the point of being buried. It was in Barbary, where her husband was Consul-General. He was greatly attached to her, and told the pall-bearers at the grave that he must see her once more. When her face was uncovered, he thought he discerned signs of life, and felt a warmth. Finally she revived, and for many years afterwards supposed the funeral procession to have been a dream; she having been partially conscious throughout, and having felt the wind blowing on her, and lifting the shroud from her feet,--for I presume she was to be buried in Oriental style, without a coffin. Long after, in London, when she was speaking of this dream, her husband told her the facts, and she fainted away. Whenever it is now mentioned, her face turns white. Mr. ------, her son, was born on shipboard, on the coast of Spain, and claims four nationalities,--those of Spain, England, Ireland, and the United States; his father being Irish, his mother a native of England, himself a naturalized citizen of the United States, and his father having registered his birth and baptism in a Catholic church of Gibraltar, which gives him Spanish privileges. He has hereditary claims to a Spanish countship. His infancy was spent in Barbary, and his lips first lisped in Arabic. There has been an unsettled and wandering character in his whole life. The grandfather of Madam ------, who was a British officer, once horsewhipped Paul Jones,--Jones being a poltroon. How singular it is that the personal courage of famous warriors should be so often called in question! May 20th.--I went yesterday to a hospital to take the oath of a mate to a protest. He had met with a severe accident by a fall on shipboard. The hospital is a large edifice of red freestone, with wide, airy passages, resounding with footsteps passing through them. A porter was waiting in the vestibule. Mr. Wilding and myself were shown to the parlor, in the first instance,--a neat, plainly furnished room, with newspapers and pamphlets lying on the table and sofas. Soon the surgeon of the house came,--a brisk, alacritous, civil, cheerful young man, by whom we were shown to the apartment where the mate was lying. As we went through the principal passage, a man was borne along in a chair looking very pale, rather wild, and altogether as if he had just been through great tribulation, and hardly knew as yet whereabouts he was. I noticed that his left arm was but a stump, and seemed done up in red baize,--at all events it was of a scarlet line. The surgeon shook his right hand cheerily, and he was carried on. This was a patient who had just had his arm cut off. He had been a rough person apparently, but now there was a kind of tenderness about him, through pain and helplessness. In the chamber where the mate lay, there were seven beds, all of them occupied by persons who had met with accidents. In the centre of the room was a stationary pine table, about the length of a man, intended, I suppose, to stretch patients upon for necessary operations. The furniture of the beds was plain and homely. I thought that the faces of the patients all looked remarkably intelligent, though they were evidently men of the lower classes. Suffering had educated them morally and intellectually. They gazed curiously at Mr. Wilding and me, but nobody said a word. In the bed next to the mate lay a little boy with a broken thigh. The surgeon observed that children generally did well with accidents; and this boy certainly looked very bright and cheerful. There was nothing particularly interesting about the mate. After finishing our business, the surgeon showed us into another room of the surgical ward, likewise devoted to cases of accident and injury. All the beds were occupied, and in two of them lay two American sailors who had recently been stabbed. They had been severely hurt, but were doing very well. The surgeon thought that it was a good arrangement to have several cases together, and that the patients kept up one another's spirits,--being often merry together. Smiles and laughter may operate favorably enough from bed to bed; but dying groans, I should think, must be somewhat of a discouragement. Nevertheless, the previous habits and modes of life of such people as compose the more numerous class of patients in a hospital must be considered before deciding this matter. It is very possible that their misery likes such bedfellows as it here finds. As we were taking our leave, the surgeon asked us if we should not like to see the operating-room; and before we could reply he threw open the door, and behold, there was a roll of linen "garments rolled in blood,"-- and a bloody fragment of a human arm! The surgeon glanced at me, and smiled kindly, but as if pitying my discomposure. Gervase Elwes, son of Sir Gervase Elwes, Baronet, of Stoke, Suffolk, married Isabella, daughter of Sir Thomas Hervey, Knight, and sister of the first Earl of Bristol. This Gervase died before his father, but left a son, Henry, who succeeded to the Baronetcy. Sir Henry died without issue, and was succeeded by his sister's son, John Maggott Twining, who assumed the name of Elwes. He was the famous miser, and must have had Hawthorne blood in him, through his grandfather, Gervase, whose mother was a Hawthorne. It was to this Gervase that my ancestor, William Hawthorne, devised some land in Massachusetts, "if he would come over, and enjoy it." My ancestor calls him his nephew. June 12th.--Barry Cornwall, Mr. Procter, called on me a week or more ago, but I happened not to be in the office. Saturday last he called again, and as I had crossed to Rock Park he followed me thither. A plain, middle-sized, English-looking gentleman, elderly, with short, white hair, and particularly quiet in his manners. He talks in a somewhat low tone without emphasis, scarcely distinct. His head has a good outline, and would look well in marble. I liked him very well. He talked unaffectedly, showing an author's regard to his reputation, and was evidently pleased to hear of his American celebrity. He said that in his younger days he was a scientific pugilist, and once took a journey to have a sparring encounter with the Game-Chicken. Certainly, no one would have looked for a pugilist in this subdued old gentleman. He is now Commissioner of Lunacy, and makes periodical circuits through the country, attending to the business of his office. He is slightly deaf, and this may be the cause of his unaccented utterance,--owing to his not being able to regulate his voice exactly by his own ear. He is a good man, and much better expressed by his real name, Procter, than by his poetical one, Barry Cornwall. . . . . He took my hand in both of his at parting. . . . . June 17th.--At eleven, at this season (and how much longer I know not), there is still a twilight. If we could only have such dry, deliciously warm evenings as we used to have in our own land, what enjoyment there might be in these interminable twilights! But here we close the window-shutters, and make ourselves cosey by a coal-fire. All three of the children, and, I think, my wife and myself, are going through the hooping-cough. The east-wind of this season and region is most horrible. There have been no really warm days; for though the sunshine is sometimes hot, there is never any diffused heat throughout the air. On passing from the sunshine into the shade, we immediately feel too cool. June 20th.--The vagabond musicians about town are very numerous. On board the steam ferry-boats, I have heretofore spoken of them. They infest them from May to November, for very little gain apparently. A shilling a day per man must be the utmost of their emolument. It is rather sad to see somewhat respectable old men engaged in this way, with two or three younger associates. Their instruments look much the worse for wear, and even my unmusical ear can distinguish more discord than harmony. They appear to be a very quiet and harmless people. Sometimes there is a woman playing on a fiddle, while her husband blows a wind instrument. In the streets it is not unusual to find a band of half a dozen performers, who, without any provocation or reason whatever, sound their brazen instruments till the houses re-echo. Sometimes one passes a man who stands whistling a tune most unweariably, though I never saw anybody give him anything. The ballad-singers are the strangest, from the total lack of any music in their cracked voices. Sometimes you see a space cleared in the street, and a foreigner playing, while a girl-- weather-beaten, tanned, and wholly uncomely in face and shabby in attire dances ballets. The common people look on, and never criticise or treat any of these poor devils unkindly or uncivilly; but I do not observe that they give them anything. A crowd--or, at all events, a moderate-sized group--is much more easily drawn together here than with us. The people have a good deal of idle and momentary curiosity, and are always ready to stop when another person has stopped, so as to see what has attracted his attention. I hardly ever pause to look at a shop-window, without being immediately incommoded by boys and men, who stop likewise, and would forthwith throng the pavement if I did not move on. June 30th.--If it is not known how and when a man dies, it makes a ghost of him for many years thereafter, perhaps for centuries. King Arthur is an example; also the Emperor Frederic, and other famous men, who were thought to be alive ages after their disappearance. So with private individuals. I had an uncle John, who went a voyage to sea about the beginning of the War of 1812, and has never returned to this hour. But as long as his mother lived, as many as twenty years, she never gave up the hope of his return, and was constantly hearing stories of persons whose description answered to his. Some people actually affirmed that they had seen him in various parts of the world. Thus, so far as her belief was concerned, he still walked the earth. And even to this day I never see his name, which is no very uncommon one, without thinking that this may be the lost uncle. Thus, too, the French Dauphin still exists, or a kind of ghost of him; the three Tells, too, in the cavern of Uri. July 6th.--Mr. Cecil, the other day, was saying that England could produce as fine peaches as any other country. I asked what was the particular excellence of a peach, and he answered, "Its cooling and refreshing quality, like that of a melon!" Just think of this idea of the richest, most luscious, of all fruits! But the untravelled Englishman has no more idea of what fruit is than of what sunshine is; he thinks he has tasted the first and felt the last, but they are both alike watery. I heard a lady in Lord Street talking about the "broiling sun," when I was almost in a shiver. They keep up their animal heat by means of wine and ale, else they could not bear this climate. July 19th.--A week ago I made a little tour in North Wales with Mr. Bright. We left Birkenhead by railway for Chester at two o'clock; thence for Bangor; thence by carriage over the Menai bridge to Beaumaris. At Beaumaris, a fine old castle,--quite coming up to my idea of what an old castle should be. A gray, ivy-hung exterior wall, with large round towers at intervals; within this another wall, the place of the portcullis between; and again, within the second wall the castle itself, with a spacious green court-yard in front. The outer wall is so thick that a passage runs in it all round the castle, which covers a space of three acres. This passage gives access to a chapel, still very perfect, and to various apartments in the towers,--all exceedingly dismal, and giving very unpleasant impressions of the way in which the garrison of the castle lived. The main castle is entirely roofless, but the hall and other rooms are pointed out by the guide, and the whole is tapestried with abundant ivy, so that my impression is of gray walls, with here and there a vast green curtain; a carpet of green over the floors of halls and apartments; and festoons around all the outer battlement, with an uneven and rather perilous foot-path running along the top. There is a fine vista through the castle itself, and the two gateways of the two encompassing walls. The passage within the wall is very rude, both underfoot and on each side, with various ascents and descents of rough steps,--sometimes so low that your head is in danger; and dark, except where a little light comes through a loophole or window in the thickness of the wall. In front of the castle a tennis-court was fitted up, by laying a smooth pavement on the ground, and casing the walls with tin or zinc, if I recollect aright. All this was open to the sky; and when we were there, some young men of the town were playing at the game. There are but very few of these tennis-courts in England; and this old castle was a very strange place for one. The castle is the property of Sir Richard Bulkely, whose seat is in the vicinity, and who owns a great part of the island of Anglesea, on which Beaumaris lies. The hotel where we stopped was the Bulkely Arms, and Sir Richard has a kind of feudal influence in the town. In the morning we walked along a delightful road, bordering on the Menai Straits, to Bangor Ferry. It was really a very pleasant road, overhung by a growth of young wood, exceedingly green and fresh. English trees are green all about their stems, owing to the creeping plants that overrun them. There were some flowers in the hedges, such as we cultivate in gardens. At the ferry, there was a whitewashed cottage; a woman or two, some children, and a fisherman-like personage, walking to and fro before the door. The scenery of the strait is very beautiful and picturesque, and directly opposite to us lay Bangor,--the strait being here almost a mile across. An American ship from Boston lay in the middle of it. The ferry-boat was just putting off for the Bangor side, and, by the aid of a sail, soon neared the shore. At Bangor we went to a handsome hotel, and hired a carriage and two horses for some Welsh place, the name of which I forget; neither can I remember a single name of the places through which we posted that day, nor could I spell them if I heard them pronounced, nor pronounce them if I saw them spelt. It was a circuit of about forty miles, bringing us to Conway at last. I remember a great slate-quarry; and also that many of the cottages, in the first part of our drive, were built of blocks of slate. The mountains were very bold, thrusting themselves up abruptly in peaks,--not of the dumpling formation, which is somewhat too prevalent among the New England mountains. At one point we saw Snowdon, with its bifold summit. We also visited the smaller waterfall (this is a translation of an unpronounceable Welsh name), which is the largest in Wales. It was a very beautiful rapid, and the guide-book considers it equal in sublimity to Niagara. Likewise there were one or two lakes which the guide-book greatly admired, but which to me, who remembered a hundred sheets of blue water in New England, seemed nothing more than sullen and dreary puddles, with bare banks, and wholly destitute of beauty. I think they were nowhere more than a hundred yards across. But the hills were certainly very good, and, though generally bare of trees, their outlines thereby were rendered the stronger and more striking. Many of the Welsh women, particularly the older ones, wear black beaver hats, high-crowned, and almost precisely like men's. It makes them look ugly and witchlike. Welsh is still the prevalent language, and the only one spoken by a great many of the inhabitants. I have had Welsh people in my office, on official business, with whom I could not communicate except through an interpreter. At some unutterable village we went into a little church, where we saw an old stone image of a warrior, lying on his back, with his hands clasped. It was the natural son (if I remember rightly) of David, Prince of Wales, and was doubtless the better part of a thousand years old. There was likewise a stone coffin of still greater age; some person of rank and renown had mouldered to dust within it, but it was now open and empty. Also, there were monumental brasses on the walls, engraved with portraits of a gentleman and lady in the costumes of Elizabeth's time. Also, on one of the pews, a brass record of some persons who slept in the vault beneath; so that, every Sunday, the survivors and descendants kneel and worship directly over their dead ancestors. In the churchyard, on a flat tombstone, there was the representation of a harp. I supposed that it must be the resting-place of a bard; but the inscription was in memory of a merchant, and a skilful manufacturer of harps. This was a very delightful town. We saw a great many things which it is now too late to describe, the sharpness of the first impression being gone; but I think I can produce something of the sentiment of it hereafter. We arrived at Conway late in the afternoon, to take the rail for Chester. I must see Conway, with its old gray wall and its unrivalled castle, again. It was better than Beaumaris, and I never saw anything more picturesque than the prospect from the castle-wall towards the sea. We reached Chester at 10 P. M. The next morning, Mr. Bright left for Liverpool before I was awake. I visited the Cathedral, where the organ was sounding, sauntered through the Rows, bought some playthings for the children, and left for home soon after twelve. Liverpool, August 8th.--Visiting the Zoological Gardens the other day with J-----, it occurred to me what a fantastic kind of life a person connected with them might be depicted as leading,--a child, for instance. The grounds are very extensive, and include arrangements for all kinds of exhibitions calculated to attract the idle people of a great city. In one enclosure is a bear, who climbs a pole to get cake and gingerbread from the spectators. Elsewhere, a circular building, with compartments for lions, wolves, and tigers. In another part of the garden is a colony of monkeys, the skeleton of an elephant, birds of all kinds. Swans and various rare water-fowl were swimming on a piece of water, which was green, by the by, and when the fowls dived they stirred up black mud. A stork was parading along the margin, with melancholy strides of its long legs, and came slowly towards its, as if for companionship. In one apartment was an obstreperously noisy society of parrots and macaws, most gorgeous and diversified of hue. These different colonies of birds and beasts were scattered about in various parts of the grounds, so that you came upon them unexpectedly. Also, there were archery and shooting-grounds, and a sewing. A theatre, also, at which a rehearsal was going on,--we standing at one of the doors, and looking in towards the dusky stage where the company, in their ordinary dresses, were rehearsing something that had a good deal of dance and action in it. In the open air there was an arrangement of painted scenery representing a wide expanse of mountains, with a city at their feet, and before it the sea, with actual water, and large vessels upon it, the vessels having only the side that would be presented to the spectator. But the scenery was so good that at a first casual glance I almost mistook it for reality. There was a refreshment-room, with drinks and cakes and pastry, but, so far as I saw, no substantial victual. About in the centre of the garden there was an actual, homely-looking, small dwelling-house, where perhaps the overlookers of the place live. Now this might be wrought, in an imaginative description, into a pleasant sort of a fool's paradise, where all sorts of unreal delights should cluster round some suitable personage; and it would relieve, in a very odd and effective way, the stern realities of life on the outside of the garden-walls. I saw a little girl, simply dressed, who seemed to have her habitat within the grounds. There was also a daguerreotypist, with his wife and family, carrying on his business in a shanty, and perhaps having his home in its inner room. He seemed to be an honest, intelligent, pleasant young man, and his wife a pleasant woman; and I had J-----'s daguerreotype taken for three shillings, in a little gilded frame. In the description of the garden, the velvet turf, of a charming verdure, and the shrubbery and shadowy walks and large trees, and the slopes and inequalities of ground, must not he forgotten. In one place there was a maze and labyrinth, where a person might wander a long while in the vain endeavor to get out, although all the time looking at the exterior garden, over the low hedges that border the walks of the maze. And this is like the inappreciable difficulties that often beset us in life. I will see it again before long, and get some additional record of it. August 10th.--We went to the Isle of Man, a few weeks ago, where S----- and the children spent a fortnight. I spent two Sundays with them. I never saw anything prettier than the little church of Kirk Madden there. It stands in a perfect seclusion of shadowy trees,--a plain little church, that would not be at all remarkable in another situation, but is most picturesque in its solitude and bowery environment. The churchyard is quite full and overflowing with graves, and extends down the gentle slope of a hill, with a dark mass of shadow above it. Some of the tombstones are flat on the ground, some erect, or laid horizontally on low pillars or masonry. There were no very old dates on any of these stones; for the climate soon effaces inscriptions, and makes a stone of fifty years look as old as one of five hundred,--unless it be slate, or something harder than the usual red freestone. There was an old Runic monument, however, near the centre of the churchyard, that had some strange sculpture on it, and an inscription still legible by persons learned in such matters. Against the tower of the church, too, there is a circular stone, with carving on it, said to be of immemorial antiquity. There is likewise a tall marble monument, as much as fifty feet high, erected some years ago to the memory of one of the Athol family by his brother-officers of a local regiment of which he was colonel. At one of the side-entrances of the church, and forming the threshold within the thickness of the wall, so that the feet of all who enter must tread on it, is a flat tombstone of somebody who felt himself a sinner, no doubt, and desired to be thus trampled upon. The stone is much worn. The structure is extremely plain inside and very small. On the walls, over the pews, are several monumental sculptures,--a quite elaborate one to a Colonel Murray, of the Coldstreamn Guards; his military profession being designated by banners and swords in marble.--Another was to a farmer. On one side of the church-tower there was a little penthouse, or lean-to,--merely a stone roof, about three or four feet high, and supported by a single pillar, beneath which was once deposited the bier. I have let too much time pass before attempting to record my impressions of the Isle of Man; but, as regards this church, no description can come up to its quiet beauty, its seclusion, and its every requisite for an English country church. Last Sunday I went to Eastham, and, entering the churchyard, sat down on a tombstone under the yew-tree which has been known for centuries as the Great Tree of Eastham. Some of the village people were sitting on the graves near the door; and an old woman came towards me, and said, in a low, kindly, admonishing tone, that I must not let the sexton see me, because he would not allow any one to be there in sacrament-time. I inquired why she and her companions were there, and she said they were waiting for the sacrament. So I thanked her, gave her a sixpence, and departed. Close under the eaves, I saw two upright stones, in memory of two old servants of the Stanley family,--one over ninety, and the other over eighty years of age. August 12th.--J----- and I went to Birkenhead Park yesterday. There is a large ornamental gateway to the Park, and the grounds within are neatly laid out, with borders of shrubbery. There is a sheet of water, with swans and other aquatic fowl, which swim about, and are fed with dainties by the visitors. Nothing can be more beautiful than a swan. It is the ideal of a goose,--a goose beautified and beatified. There were not a great many visitors, but some children were dancing on the green, and a few lover-like people straying about. I think the English behave better than the Americans at similar places. There was a camera-obscure, very wretchedly indistinct. At the refreshment-room were ginger-beer and British wines. August 21st.--I was in the Crown Court on Saturday, sitting in the sheriff's seat. The judge was Baron ------, an old gentleman of sixty, with very large, long features. His wig helped him to look like some strange kind of animal,--very queer, but yet with a sagacious, and, on the whole, beneficent aspect. During the session some mischievous young barrister occupied himself with sketching the judge in pencil; and, being handed about, it found its way to me. It was very like and very laughable, but hardly caricatured. The judicial wig is an exceedingly odd affair; and as it covers both ears, it would seem intended to prevent his Lordship, and justice in his person, from hearing any of the case on either side, that thereby he may decide the better. It is like the old idea of blindfolding the statue of Justice. It seems to me there is less formality, less distance between the judge, jury, witnesses, and bar, in the English courts than in our own. The judge takes a very active part in the trial, constantly asking a question of the witness on the stand, making remarks on the conduct of the trial, putting in his word on all occasions, and allowing his own sense of the matter in hand to be pretty plainly seen; so that, before the trial is over, and long before his own charge is delivered, he must have exercised a very powerful influence over the minds of the jury. All this is done, not without dignity, yet in a familiar kind of way. It is a sort of paternal supervision of the whole matter, quite unlike the cold awfulness of an American judge. But all this may be owing partly to the personal characteristics of Baron ------. It appeared to me, however, that, from the closer relations of all parties, truth was likely to be arrived at and justice to be done. As an innocent man, I should not be afraid to be tried by Baron ------. EATON HALL. August 24th.--I went to Eaton Hall yesterday with my wife and Mr. G. P. Bradford, via Chester. On our way, at the latter place, we visited St. John's Church. It is built of the same red freestone as the cathedral, and looked exceedingly antique, and venerable; this kind of stone, from its softness, and its liability to be acted upon by the weather, being liable to an early decay. Nevertheless, I believe the church was built above a thousand years ago,--some parts of it, at least,--and the surface of the tower and walls is worn away and hollowed in shallow sweeps by the hand of Time. There were broken niches in several places, where statues had formerly stood. All, except two or three, had fallen or crumbled away, and those which remained were much damaged. The face and details of the figure were almost obliterated. There were many gravestones round the church, but none of them of any antiquity. Probably, as the names become indistinguishable on the older stones, the graves are dug over again, and filled with new occupants and covered with new stones, or perhaps with the old ones newly inscribed. Closely connected with the church was the clergyman's house, a comfortable-looking residence; and likewise in the churchyard, with tombstones all about it, even almost at the threshold, so that the doorstep itself might have been a tombstone, was another house, of respectable size and aspect. We surmised that this might be the sexton's dwelling, but it proved not to be so; and a woman, answering our knock, directed us to the place where he might be found. So Mr. Bradford and I went in search of him, leaving S----- seated on a tombstone. The sexton was a jolly-looking, ruddy-faced man, a mechanic of some sort, apparently, and he followed us to the churchyard with much alacrity. We found S----- standing at a gateway, which opened into the most ancient, and now quite ruinous, part of the church, the present edifice covering much less ground than it did some centuries ago. We went through this gateway, and found ourselves in an enclosure of venerable walls, open to the sky, with old Norman arches standing about, beneath the loftiest of which the sexton told us the high altar used to stand. Of course, there were weeds and ivy growing in the crevices, but not so abundantly as I have seen them elsewhere. The sexton pointed out a piece of a statue that had once stood in one of the niches, and which he himself, I think, had dug up from several feet below the earth; also, in a niche of the walls, high above our heads, he showed us an ancient wooden coffin, hewn out of a solid log of oak, the hollow being made rudely in the shape of a human figure. This too had been dug up, and nobody knew how old it was. While we looked at all this solemn old trumpery, the curate, quite a young man, stood at the back door of his house, elevated considerably above the ruins, with his young wife (I presume) and a friend or two, chatting cheerfully among themselves. It was pleasant to see them there. After examining the ruins, we went inside of the church, and found it a dim and dusky old place, quite paved over with tombstones, not an inch of space being left in the aisles or near the altar, or in any nook or corner, uncovered by a tombstone. There were also mural monuments and escutcheons, and close against the wall lay the mutilated statue of a Crusader, with his legs crossed, in the style which one has so often read about. The old fellow seemed to have been represented in chain armor; but he had been more battered and bruised since death than even during his pugnacious life, and his nose was almost knocked away. This figure had been dug up many years ago, and nobody knows whom it was meant to commemorate. The nave of the church is supported by two rows of Saxon pillars, not very lofty, but six feet six inches (so the sexton says) in diameter. They are covered with plaster, which was laid on ages ago, and is now so hard and smooth that I took the pillars to be really composed of solid shafts of gray stone. But, at one end of the church, the plaster had been removed from two of the pillars, in order to discover whether they were still sound enough to support the building; and they prove to be made of blocks of red freestone, just as sound as when it came from the quarry; for though this stone soon crumbles in the open air, it is as good as indestructible when sheltered from the weather. It looked very strange to see the fresh hue of these two pillars amidst the dingy antiquity of the rest of the structure. The body of the church is covered with pews, the wooden enclosures of which seemed of antique fashion. There were also modern stoves; but the sexton said it was very cold there, in spite of the stoves. It had, I must say, a disagreeable odor pervading it, in which the dead people of long ago had doubtless some share,--a musty odor, by no means amounting to a stench, but unpleasant, and, I should think, unwholesome. Old wood-work, and old stones, and antiquity of all kinds, moral and physical, go to make up this smell. I observed it in the cathedral, and Chester generally has it, especially under the Rows. After all, the necessary damp and lack of sunshine, in such a shadowy old church as this, have probably more to do with it than the dead people have; although I did think the odor was particularly strong over some of the tombstones. Not having shillings to give the sexton, we were forced to give him half a crown. The Church of St. John is outside of the city walls. Entering the East gate, we walked awhile under the Rows, bought our tickets for Eaton Hall and its gardens, and likewise some playthings for the children; for this old city of Chester seems to me to possess an unusual number of toy-shops. Finally we took a cab, and drove to the Hall, about four miles distant, nearly the whole of the way lying through the wooded Park. There are many sorts of trees, making up a wilderness, which looked not unlike the woods of our own Concord, only less wild. The English oak is not a handsome tree, being short and sturdy, with a round, thick mass of foliage, lying all within its own bounds. It was a showery day. Had there been any sunshine, there might doubtless have been many beautiful effects of light and shadow in these woods. We saw one or two herds of deer, quietly feeding, a hundred yards or so distant. They appeared to be somewhat wilder than cattle, but, I think, not much wilder than sheep. Their ancestors have probably been in a half-domesticated state, receiving food at the hands of man, in winter, for centuries. There is a kind of poetry in this, quite as much as if they were really wild deer, such as their forefathers were, when Hugh Lupus used to hunt them. Our miserable cab drew up at the steps of Eaton Hall, and, ascending under the portico, the door swung silently open, and we were received very civilly by two old men,--one, a tall footman in livery; the other, of higher grade, in plain clothes. The entrance-hall is very spacious, and the floor is tessellated or somehow inlaid with marble. There was statuary in marble on the floor, and in niches stood several figures in antique armor, of various dates; some with lances, and others with battle-axes and swords. There was a two-handed sword, as much as six feet long; but not nearly so ponderous as I have supposed this kind of weapon to be, from reading of it. I could easily have brandished it. I don't think I am a good sight-seer; at least, I soon get satisfied with looking at the sights, and wish to go on to the next. The plainly dressed old man now led us into a long corridor, which goes, I think, the whole length of the house, about five hundred feet, arched all the way, and lengthened interminably by a looking-glass at the end, in which I saw our own party approaching like a party of strangers. But I have so often seen this effect produced in dry-goods stores and elsewhere, that I was not much impressed. There were family portraits and other pictures, and likewise pieces of statuary, along this arched corridor; and it communicated with a chapel with a scriptural altar-piece, copied from Rubens, and a picture of St. Michael and the Dragon, and two, or perhaps three, richly painted windows. Everything here is entirely new and fresh, this part having been repaired, and never yet inhabited by the family. This brand-newness makes it much less effective than if it had been lived in; and I felt pretty much as if I were strolling through any other renewed house. After all, the utmost force of man can do positively very little towards making grand things or beautiful things. The imagination can do so much more, merely on shutting one's eyes, that the actual effect seems meagre; so that a new house, unassociated with the past, is exceedingly unsatisfactory, especially when you have heard that the wealth mud skill of man has here done its best. Besides, the rooms, as we saw them, did not look by any means their best, the carpets not being down, and the furniture being covered with protective envelopes. However, rooms cannot be seen to advantage by daylight; it being altogether essential to the effect, that they should be illuminated by artificial light, which takes them somewhat out of the region of bare reality. Nevertheless, there was undoubtedly great splendor, for the details of which I refer to the guide-book. Among the family portraits, there was one of a lady famous for her beautiful hand; and she was holding it up to notice in the funniest way, --and very beautiful it certainly was. The private apartments of the family were not shown us. I should think it impossible for the owner of this house to imbue it with his personality to such a degree as to feel it to be his home. It must be like a small lobster in a shell much too large for him. After seeing what was to be seen of the rooms, we visited the gardens, in which are noble conservatories and hot-houses, containing all manner of rare and beautiful flowers, and tropical fruits. I noticed some large pines, looking as if they were really made of gold. The gardener (under-gardener I suppose he was) who showed this part of the spectacle was very intelligent as well as kindly, and seemed to take an interest in his business. He gave S----- a purple everlasting flower, which will endure a great many years, as a memento of our visit to Eaton Hall. Finally, we took a view of the front of the edifice, which is very fine, and much more satisfactory than the interior,--and returned to Chester. We strolled about under the unsavory Rows, sometimes scudding from side to side of the street, through the shower; took lunch in a confectioner's shop, and drove to the railway station in time for the three-o'clock train. It looked picturesque to see two little girls, hand in hand, racing along the ancient passages of the Rows; but Chester has a very evil smell. At the railroad station, S----- saw a small edition of "Twice-Told Tales," forming a volume of the Cottage Library; and, opening it, there was the queerest imaginable portrait of myself,--so very queer that we could not but buy it. The shilling edition of "The Scarlet Letter" and "Seven Gables" are at all the book-stalls and shop-windows; but so is "The Lamplighter," and still more trashy books. August 26th.--All past affairs, all home conclusions, all people whom I have known in America and meet again here, are strangely compelled to undergo a new trial. It is not that they suffer by comparison with circumstances of English life and forms of English manhood or womanhood; but, being free from my old surroundings, and the inevitable prejudices of home, I decide upon them absolutely. I think I neglected to record that I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face that she is pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray, and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook, and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks, she moves the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and yourself. The ear-trumpet seems a sensible part of her, like the antennae of some insects. If you have any little remark to make, you drop it in; and she helps you to make remarks by this delicate little appeal of the trumpet, as she slightly directs it towards you; and if you have nothing to say, the appeal is not strong enough to embarrass you. All her talk was about herself and her affairs; but it did not seem like egotism, because it was so cheerful and free from morbidness. And this woman is an Atheist, and thinks that the principle of life will become extinct when her body is laid in the grave! I will not think so; were it only for her sake. What! only a few weeds to spring out of her mortality, instead of her intellect and sympathies flowering and fruiting forever! September 13th.--My family went to Rhyl last Thursday, and on Saturday I joined them there, in company with O'Sullivan, who arrived in the Behama from Lisbon that morning. We went by way of Chester, and found S----- waiting for us at the Rhyl station. Rhyl is a most uninteresting place, --a collection of new lodging-houses and hotels, on a long sand-beach, which the tide leaves bare almost to the horizon. The sand is by no means a marble pavement, but sinks under the foot, and makes very heavy walking; but there is a promenade in front of the principal range of houses, looking on the sea, whereon we have rather better footing. Almost all the houses were full, and S----- had taken a parlor and two bedrooms, and is living after the English fashion, providing her own table, lights, fuel, and everything. It is very awkward to our American notions; but there is an independence about it, which I think must make it agreeable on better acquaintance. But the place is certainly destitute of attraction, and life seems to pass very heavily. The English do not appear to have a turn for amusing themselves. Sunday was a bright and hot day, and in the forenoon I set out on a walk, not well knowing whither, over a very dusty road, with not a particle of shade along its dead level. The Welsh mountains were before me, at the distance of three or four miles,--long ridgy hills, descending pretty abruptly upon the plain; on either side of the road, here and there, an old whitewashed, thatched stone cottage, or a stone farm-house, with an aspect of some antiquity. I never suffered so much before, on this side of the water, from heat and dust, and should probably have turned back had I not espied the round towers and walls of an old castle at some distance before me. Having looked at a guide-book, previously to setting out, I knew that this must be Rhyddlan Castle, about three miles from Rhyl; so I plodded on, and by and by entered an antiquated village, on one side of which the castle stood. This Welsh village is very much like the English villages, with narrow streets and mean houses or cottages, built in blocks, and here and there a larger house standing alone; everything far more compact than in our rural villages, and with no grassy street-margin nor trees; aged and dirty also, with dirty children staring at the passenger, and an undue supply of mean inns; most, or many of the men in breeches, and some of the women, especially the elder ones, in black beaver hats. The streets were paved with round pebbles, and looked squalid and ugly. The children and grown people stared lazily at me as I passed, but showed no such alert and vivacious curiosity as a community of Yankees would have done. I turned up a street that led me to the castle, which looked very picturesque close at hand,--more so than at a distance, because the towers and walls have not a sufficiently broken outline against the sky. There are several round towers at the angles of the wall very large in their circles, built of gray stone, crumbling, ivy-grown, everything that one thinks of in an old ruin. I could not get into the inner space of the castle without climbing over a fence, or clambering down into the moat; so I contented myself with walking round it, and viewing it from the outside. Through the gateway I saw a cow feeding on the green grass in the inner court of the castle. In one of the walls there was a large triangular gap, where perhaps the assailants had made a breach. Of course there were weeds on the ruinous top of the towers, and along the summit of the wall. This was the first castle built by Edward I. in Wales, and he resided here during the erection of Conway Castle, and here Queen Eleanor gave birth to a princess. Some few years since a meeting of Welsh bards was held within it. After viewing it awhile, and listening to the babble of some children who lay on the grass near by, I resumed my walk, and, meeting a Welshman in the village street, I asked him my nearest way back to Rhyl. "Dim Sassenach," said he, after a pause. How odd that an hour or two on the railway should have brought me amongst a people who speak no English! Just below the castle, there is an arched stone bridge over the river Clwyd, and the best view of the edifice is from hence. It stands on a gentle eminence, commanding the passage of the river, and two twin round towers rise close beside one another, whence, I suppose, archers have often drawn their bows against the wild Welshmen, on the river-banks. Behind was the line of mountains; and this was the point of defence between the hill country and the lowlands. On the bridge stood a good many idle Welshmen, leaning over the parapet, and looking at some small vessels that had come up the river from the sea. There was the frame of a new vessel on the stocks near by. As I returned, on my way home, I again inquired my way of a man in breeches, who, I found, could speak English very well. He was kind, and took pains to direct me, giving me the choice of three ways, viz. the one by which I came, another across the fields, and a third by the embankment along the river-side. I chose the latter, and so followed the course of the Clwyd, which is very ugly, with a tidal flow and wide marshy banks. On its farther side was Rhyddlan marsh, where a battle was fought between the Welsh and Saxons a thousand years ago. I have forgotten to mention that the castle and its vicinity was the scene of the famous battle of the fiddlers, between De Blandeville, Earl of Chester, and the Welsh, about the time of the Conqueror. CONWAY CASTLE. September 13th.--On Monday we went with O'Sullivan to Conway by rail. Certainly this must be the most perfect specimen of a ruinous old castle in the whole world; it quite fills up one's idea. We first walked round the exterior of the wall, at the base of which are hovels, with dirty children playing about them, and pigs rambling along, and squalid women visible in the doorways; but all these things melt into the picturesqueness of the scene, and do not harm it. The whole town of Conway is built in what was once the castle-yard, and the whole circuit of the wall is still standing in a delightful state of decay. At the angles, and at regular intervals, there are round towers, having half their circle on the outside of the walls, and half within. Most of these towers have a great crack pervading them irregularly from top to bottom; the ivy hangs upon them,--the weeds grow on the tops. Gateways, three or four of them, open through the walls, and streets proceed from them into the town. At some points, very old cottages or small houses are close against the sides, and, old as they are, they must have been built after the whole structure was a ruin. In one place I saw the sign of an alehouse painted on the gray stones of one of the old round towers. As we entered one of the gates, after making the entire circuit, we saw an omnibus coming down the street towards us, with its horn sounding. Llandudno was its place of destination; and, knowing no more about it than that it was four miles off, we took our seats. Llandudno is a watering-village at the base of the Great Orme's Head, at the mouth of the Conway River. In this omnibus there were two pleasant-looking girls, who talked Welsh together,--a guttural, childish kind of a babble. Afterwards we got into conversation with them, and found them very agreeable. One of them was reading Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy." On reaching Llandudno, S----- waited at the hotel, while O'Sullivan, U----, and I ascended the Great Orme's Head. There are copper-mines here, and we heard of a large cave, with stalactites, but did not go so far as that. We found the old shaft of a mine, however, and threw stones down it, and counted twenty before we heard them strike the bottom. At the base of the Head, on the side opposite the village, we saw a small church with a broken roof, and horizontal gravestones of slate within the stone enclosure around it. The view from the hill was most beautiful,--a blue summer sea, with the distant trail of smoke from a steamer, and many snowy sails; in another direction the mountains, near and distant, some of them with clouds below their peaks. We went to one of the mines which are still worked, and boys came running to meet us with specimens of the copper ore for sale. The miners were not now hoisting ore from the shaft, but were washing and selecting the valuable fragments from great heaps of crumbled stone and earth. All about this spot there are shafts and well-holes, looking fearfully deep and black, and without the slightest protection, so that we might just as easily have walked into them as not. Having examined these matters sufficiently, we descended the hill towards the village, meeting parties of visitors, mounted on donkeys, which is a much more sensible way of ascending in a hot day than to walk. On the sides and summit of the hill we found yellow gorse,--heath of two colors, I think, and very beautiful,--and here and there a harebell. Owing to the long-continued dry weather, the grass was getting withered and brown, though not so much so as on American hill-pastures at this season. Returning to the village, we all went into a confectioner's shop, and made a good luncheon. The two prettiest young ladies whom I have seen in England came into the shop and ate cakes while we were there. They appeared to be living together in a lodging-house, and ordered some of their housekeeping articles from the confectioner. Next we went into the village bazaar,--a sort of tent or open shop, full of knick-knacks and gewgaws, and bought some playthings for the children. At half past one we took our seats in the omnibus, to return to Conway. We had as yet only seen the castle wall and the exterior of the castle; now we were to see the inside. Right at the foot of it an old woman has her stand for the sale of lithographic views of Conway and other places; but these views are ridiculously inadequate, so that we did not buy any of them. The admittance into the castle is by a wooden door of modern construction, and the present seneschal is, I believe, the sexton of a church. He remembered me as having been there a month or two ago; and probably, considering that I was already initiated, or else because he had many other visitors, he left us to wander about the castle at will. It is altogether impossible to describe Conway Castle. Nothing ever can have been so perfect in its own style, and for its own purposes, when it was first built; and now nothing else can be so perfect as a picture of ivy-grown, peaceful ruin. The banqueting-hall, all open to the sky and with thick curtains of ivy tapestrying the walls, and grass and weeds growing on the arches that overpass it, is indescribably beautiful. The hearthstones of the great old fireplaces, all about the castle, seem to be favorite spots for weeds to grow. There are eight large round towers, and out of four of them, I think, rise smaller towers, ascending to a much greater height, and once containing winding staircases, all of which are now broken, and inaccessible from below, though, in at least one of the towers, the stairs seemed perfect, high aloft. It must have been the rudest violence that broke down these stairs; for each step was a thick and heavy slab of stone, built into the wall of the tower. There is no such thing as a roof in any part; towers, hall, kitchen, all are open to the sky. One round tower, directly overhanging the railway, is so shattered by the falling away of the lower part, that you can look quite up into it and through it, while sitting in the cars; and yet it has stood thus, without falling into complete ruin, for more than two hundred years. I think that it was in this tower that we found the castle oven, an immense cavern, big enough to bake bread for an army. The railway passes exactly at the base of the high rock, on which this part of the castle is situated, and goes into the town through a great arch that has been opened in the castle wall. The tubular bridge across the Conway has been built in a style that accords with the old architecture, and I observed that one little sprig of ivy had rooted itself in the new structure. There are numberless intricate passages in the thickness of the castle walls, forming communications between tower and tower,--damp, chill passages, with rough stone on either hand, darksome, and very likely leading to dark pitfalls. The thickness of the walls is amazing; and the people of those days must have been content with very scanty light, so small were the apertures,--sometimes merely slits and loopholes, glimmering through many feet of thickness of stone. One of the towers was said to have been the residence of Queen Eleanor; and this was better lighted than the others, containing an oriel-window, looking out of a little oratory, as it seemed to be, with groined arches and traces of ornamental sculpture, so that we could dress up some imperfect image of a queenly chamber, though the tower was roofless and floorless. There was another pleasant little windowed nook, close beside the oratory, where the Queen might have sat sewing or looking down the river Conway at the picturesque headlands towards the sea. We imagined her stately figure in antique robes, standing beneath the groined arches of the oratory. There seem to have been three chambers, one above another, in these towers, and the one in which was the embowed window was the middle one. I suppose the diameter of each of these circular rooms could not have been more than twenty feet on the inside. All traces of wood-work and iron-work are quite gone from the whole castle. These are said to have been taken away by a Lord Conway in the reign of Charles II. There is a grassy space under the windows of Queen Eleanor's tower,--a sort of outwork of the castle, where probably, when no enemy was near, the Queen used to take the open air in summer afternoons like this. Here we sat down on the grass of the ruined wall, and agreed that nothing in the world could be so beautiful and picturesque as Conway Castle, and that never could there have been so fit a time to see it as this sunny, quiet, lovely afternoon. Sunshine adapts itself to the character of a ruin in a wonderful way; it does not "flout the ruins gray," as Scott says, but sympathizes with their decay, and saddens itself for their sake. It beautifies the ivy too. We saw, at the corner of this grass-plot around Queen Eleanor's tower, a real trunk of a tree of ivy, with so stalwart a stem, and such a vigorous grasp of its strong branches, that it would be a very efficient support to the wall, were it otherwise inclined to fall. O that we could have ivy in America! What is there to beautify us when our time of ruin comes? Before departing, we made the entire circuit of the castle on its walls, and O'Sullivan and I climbed by a ladder to the top of one of the towers. While there, we looked down into the street beneath, and saw a photographist preparing to take a view of the castle, and calling out to some little girl in some niche or on some pinnacle of the walls to stand still that he might catch her figure and face. I think it added to the impressiveness of the old castle, to see the streets and the kitchen-gardens and the homely dwellings that had grown up within the precincts of this feudal fortress, and the people of to-day following their little businesses about it. This does not destroy the charm; but tourists and idle visitors do impair it. The earnest life of to-day, however, petty and homely as it may be, has a right to its place alongside of what is left of the life of other days; and if it be vulgar itself, it does not vulgarize the scene. But tourists do vulgarize it; and I suppose we did so, just like others. We took the train back to Rhyl, where we arrived at about four o'clock, and, having dined, we again took the rail for Chester, and thence to Rock Park (that is, O'Sullivan and I), and reached home at about eleven o'clock. Yesterday, September 13th, I began to wear a watch from Bennet's, 65 Cheapside, London. W. C. Bennet warrants it as the best watch which they can produce. If it prove as good and as durable as he prophesies, J----- will find it a perfect time-keeper long after his father has done with Time. If I had not thought of his wearing it hereafter, I should have been content with a much inferior one. No. 39,620. September 20th.--I went back to Rhyl last Friday in the steamer. We arrived at the landing-place at nearly four o'clock, having started at twelve, and I walked thence to our lodgings, 18 West Parade. The children and their mother were all gone out, and I sat some time in our parlor before anybody came. The next morning I made an excursion in the omnibus as far as Ruthin, passing through Rhyddlan, St. Asaph, Denbigh, and reaching Ruthin at one o'clock. All these are very ancient places. St. Asaph has a cathedral which is not quite worthy of that name, but is a very large and stately church in excellent repair. Its square battlemented tower has a very fine appearance, crowning the clump of village houses on the hill-top, as you approach from Rhyddlan. The ascent of the hill is very steep; so it is at Denbigh and at Ruthin,--the steepest streets, indeed, that I ever climbed. Denbigh is a place of still more antique aspect than St. Asaph; it looks, I think, even older than Chester, with its gabled houses, many of their windows opening on hinges, and their fronts resting on pillars, with an open porch beneath. The castle makes an admirably ruinous figure on the hill, higher than the village. I had come hither with the purpose of inspecting it, but as it began to rain just then, I concluded to get into the omnibus and go to Ruthin. There was another steep ascent from the commencement of the long street of Ruthin, till I reached the market-place, which is of nearly triangular shape, and an exceedingly old-looking place. Houses of stone or plastered brick; one or two with timber frames; the roofs of an uneven line, and bulging out or sinking in; the slates moss-grown. Some of them have two peaks and even three in a row, fronting on the streets, and there is a stone market-house with a table of regulations. In this market-place there is said to be a stone on which King Arthur beheaded one of his enemies; but this I did not see. All these villages were very lively, as the omnibus drove in; and I rather imagine it was market-day in each of them,--there being quite a bustle of Welsh people. The old women came round the omnibus courtesying and intimating their willingness to receive alms,--witch-like women, such as one sees in pictures or reads of in romances, and very unlike anything feminine in America. Their style of dress cannot have changed for centuries. It was quite unexpected to me to hear Welsh so universally and familiarly spoken. Everybody spoke it. The omnibus-driver could speak but imperfect English; there was a jabber of Welsh all through the streets and market-places; and it flowed out with a freedom quite different from the way in which they expressed themselves in English. I had had an idea that Welsh was spoken rather as a freak and in fun than as a native language; it was so strange to find another language the people's actual and earnest medium of thought within so short a distance of England. But English is scarcely more known to the body of the Welsh people than to the peasantry of France. However, they sometimes pretend to ignorance, when they might speak it fairly enough. I took luncheon at the hotel where the omnibus stopped, and then went to search out the castle. It appears to have been once extensive, but the remains of it are now very few, except a part of the external wall. Whatever other portion may still exist, has been built into a modern castellated mansion, which has risen within the wide circuit of the fortress,--a handsome and spacious edifice of red freestone, with a high tower, on which a flag was flying. The grounds were well laid out in walks, and really I think the site of the castle could not have been turned to better account. I am getting tired of antiquity. It is certainly less interesting in the long run than novelty; and so I was well content with the fresh, warm, red hue of the modern house, and the unworn outline of its walls, and its cheerful, large windows; and was willing that the old ivy-grown ruins should exist now only to contrast with the modernisms. These ancient walls, by the by, are of immense thickness. There is a passage through the interior of a portion of them, the width from this interior passage to the outer one being fifteen feet on one side, and I know not how much on the other. It continued showery all day; and the omnibus was crowded. I had chosen the outside from Rhyl to Denbigh, but, all the rest of the journey, imprisoned myself within. On our way home, an old lady got into the omnibus,--a lady of tremendous rotundity; and as she tumbled from the door to the farthest part of the carriage, she kept advising all the rest of the passengers to get out. "I don't think there will be much rain, gentlemen," quoth she, "you'll be much more comfortable on the outside." As none of us complied, she glanced along the seats. "What! are you all Saas'uach?" she inquired. As we drove along, she talked Welsh with great fluency to one of the passengers, a young woman with a baby, and to as many others as could understand her. It has a strange, wild sound, like a language half blown away by the wind. The lady's English was very good; but she probably prided herself on her proficiency in Welsh. My excursion to-day had been along the valley of the Clwyd, a very rich and fertile tract of country. The next day we all took a long walk on the beach, picking up shells. On Monday we took an open carriage and drove to Rhyddlan; whence we sent back the carriage, meaning to walk home along the embankment of the river Clwyd, after inspecting the castle. The fortress is very ruinous, having been dismantled by the Parliamentarians. There are great gaps,--two, at least, in the walls that connect the round towers, of which there were six, one on each side of a gateway in front, and the same at a gateway towards the river, where there is a steep descent to a wall and square tower, at the water-side. Great pains and a great deal of gunpowder must have been used in converting this castle into a ruin. There were one or two fragments lying where they had fallen more than two hundred years ago, which, though merely a conglomeration of small stones and mortar, were just as hard as if they had been solid masses of granite. The substantial thickness of the walls is composed of these agglomerated small stones and mortar, the casing being hewn blocks of red freestone. This is much worn away by the weather, wherever it has been exposed to the air; but, under shelter, it looks as if it might have been hewn only a year or two ago. Each of the round towers had formerly a small staircase turret rising beside and ascending above it, in which a warder might be posted, but they have all been so battered and shattered that it is impossible for an uninstructed observer to make out a satisfactory plan of then. The interior of each tower was a small room, not more than twelve or fifteen feet across; and of these there seem to have been three stories, with loop-holes for archery and not much other light than what came through them. Then there are various passages and nooks and corners and square recesses in the stone, some of which must have been intended for dungeons, and the ugliest and gloomiest dungeons imaginable, for they could not have had any light or air. There is not, the least, splinter of wood-work remaining in any part of the castle,--nothing but bare stone, and a little plaster in one or two places, on the wall. In the front gateway we looked at the groove on each side, in which the portcullis used to rise and fall; and in each of the contiguous round towers there was a loop-hole, whence an enemy on the outer side of the portcullis might be shot through with an arrow. The inner court-yard is a parallelogram, nearly a square, and is about forty-five of my paces across. It is entirely grass-grown, and vacant, except for two or three trees that have been recently set out, and which are surrounded with palings to keep away the cows that pasture in and about the place. No window looks from the walls or towers into this court-yard; nor are there any traces of buildings having stood within the enclosure, unless it be what looks something like the flue of a chimney within one of the walls. I should suppose, however, that there must have been, when the castle was in its perfect state, a hall, a kitchen, and other commodious apartments and offices for the King and his train, such as there were at Conway and Beaumaris. But if so, all fragments have been carried away, and all hollows of the old foundations scrupulously filled up. The round towers could not have comprised all the accommodation of the castle. There is nothing more striking in these ruins than to look upward from the crumbling base, and see flights of stairs, still comparatively perfect, by which you might securely ascend to the upper heights of the tower, although all traces of a staircase have disappeared below, and the upper portion cannot be attained. On three sides of the fortress is a moat, about sixty feet wide, and cased with stone. It was probably of great depth in its day, but it is now partly filled up with earth, and is quite dry and grassy throughout its whole extent. On the inner side of the moat was the outer wall of the castle, portions of which still remain. Between the outer wall and the castle itself the space is also about sixty feet. The day was cloudy and lowering, and there were several little spatterings of rain, while we rambled about. The two children ran shouting hither and thither, and were continually clambering into dangerous places, racing along ledges of broken wall. At last they altogether disappeared for a good while; their voices, which had heretofore been plainly audible, were hushed, nor was there any answer when we began to call them, while making ready for our departure. But they finally appeared, coming out of the moat, where they had been picking and eating blackberries,--which, they said, grew very plentifully there, and which they were very reluctant to leave. Before quitting the castle, I must not forget the ivy, which makes a perfect tapestry over a large portion of the walls. We walked about the village, which is old and ugly; small, irregular streets, contriving to be intricate, though there are few of them; mean houses, joining to each other. We saw, in the principal one, the parliament house in which Edward I. gave a Charter, or allowed rights of some kind to his Welsh subjects. The ancient part of its wall is entirely distinguishable from what has since been built upon it. Thence we set out to walk along the embankment, although the sky looked very threatening. The wind, however, was so strong, and had such a full sweep at us, on the top of the bank, that we decided on taking a path that led from it across the moor. But we soon had cause to repent of this; for, which way soever we turned, we found ourselves cut off by a ditch or a little stream; so that here we were, fairly astray on Rhyddlan moor, the old battle-field of the Saxons and Britons, and across which, I suppose, the fiddlers and mountebanks had marched to the relief of the Earl of Chester. Anon, too, it began to shower; and it was only after various leaps and scramblings that we made our way to a large farm-house, and took shelter under a cart-shed. The back of the house to which we gained access was very dirty and ill-kept; some dirty children peeped at us as we approached, and nobody had the civility to ask us in; so we took advantage of the first cessation of the shower to resume our way. We were shortly overtaken by a very intelligent-looking and civil man, who seemed to have come from Rhyddlan, and said he was going to Rhyl. We followed his guidance over stiles and along hedge-row paths which we never could have threaded rightly by ourselves. By and by our kind guide had to stop at an intermediate farm; but he gave us full directions how to proceed, and we went on till it began to shower again pretty briskly, and we took refuge in a little bit of old stone cottage, which, small as it was, had a greater antiquity than any mansion in America. The door was open, and as we approached, we saw several children gazing at us; and their mother, a pleasant-looking woman, who seemed rather astounded at the visit that was about to befall her, tried to draw a tattered curtain over a part of her interior, which she fancied even less fit to be seen than the rest. To say the truth, the house was not at all better than a pigsty; and while we sat there, a pig came familiarly to the door, thrust in his snout, and seemed surprised that he should he driven away, instead of being admitted as one of the family. The floor was of brick; there was no ceiling, but only the peaked gable overhead. The room was kitchen, parlor, and, I suppose, bedroom for the whole family; at all events, there was only the tattered curtain between us and the sleeping accommodations. The good woman either could not or would not speak a word of English, only laughing when S----- said, "Dim Sassenach?" but she was kind and hospitable, and found a chair for each of us. She had been making some bread, and the dough was on the dresser. Life with these people is reduced to its simplest elements. It is only a pity that they cannot or do not choose to keep themselves cleaner. Poverty, except in cities, need not be squalid. When the shower abated a little, we gave all the pennies we had to the children, and set forth again. By the by, there were several colored prints stuck up against the walls, and there was a clock ticking in a corner and some paper-hangings pinned upon the slanting roof. It began to rain again before we arrived at Rhyl, and we were driven into a small tavern. After staying there awhile, we set forth between the drops; but the rain fell still heavier, so that we were pretty well damped before we got to our lodgings. After dinner, I took the rail for Chester and Rock Park, and S----- and the children and maid followed the next day. September 22d.--I dined on Wednesday evening at Mr. John Heywood's, Norris Green. Mr. Mouckton Mimes and lady were of the company. Mr. Mimes is a very agreeable, kindly man, resembling Longfellow a good deal in personal appearance; and he promotes, by his genial manners, the same pleasant intercourse which is so easily established with Longfellow. He is said to be a very kind patron of literary men, and to do a great deal of good among young and neglected people of that class. He is considered one of the best conversationists at present in society: it may very well be so; his style of talking being very simple and natural, anything but obtrusive, so that you might enjoy its agreeableness without suspecting it. He introduced me to his wife (a daughter of Lord Crewe), with whom and himself I had a good deal of talk. Mr. Milnes told me that he owns the land in Yorkshire, whence some of the pilgrims of the Mayflower emigrated to Plymouth, and that Elder Brewster was the Postmaster of the village. . . . . He also said that in the next voyage of the Mayflower, after she carried the Pilgrims, she was employed in transporting a cargo of slaves from Africa,--to the West Indies, I suppose. This is a queer fact, and would be nuts for the Southerners. Mem.--An American would never understand the passage in Bunyan about Christian and Hopeful going astray along a by-path into the grounds of Giant Despair,--from there being no stiles and by-paths in our country. September 26th.--On Saturday evening my wife and I went to a soiree given by the Mayor and Mrs. Lloyd at the Town Hall to receive the Earl of Harrowby. It was quite brilliant, the public rooms being really magnificent, and adorned for the occasion with a large collection of pictures, belonging to Mr. Naylor. They were mostly, if not entirely, of modern artists,--of Turner, Wilkie, Landseer, and others of the best English painters. Turner's seemed too ethereal to have been done by mortal hands. The British Scientific Association being now in session here, many distinguished strangers were present. September 29th.--Mr. Monekton Milnes called on me at the Consulate day before yesterday. He is pleasant and sensible. Speaking of American politicians, I remarked that they were seldom anything but politicians, and had no literary or other culture beyond their own calling. He said the case was the same in England, and instanced Sir ------, who once called on him for information when an appeal had been made to him respecting two literary gentlemen. Sir ------ had never heard the names of either of these gentlemen, and applied to Mr. Milnes as being somewhat conversant with the literary class, to know whether they were distinguished and what were their claims. The names of the two literary men were James Sheridan Knowles and Alfred Tennyson. October 5th.--Yesterday I was present at a dejeuner on board the James Barnes, on occasion of her coming under the British flag, having been built for the Messrs. Barnes by Donald McKay of Boston. She is a splendid vessel, and magnificently fitted up, though not with consummate taste. It would be worth while that ornamental architects and upholsterers should study this branch of art, since the ship-builders seem willing to expend a good deal of money on it. In fact, I do not see that there is anywhere else so much encouragement to the exercise of ornamental art. I saw nothing to criticise in the solid and useful details of the ship; the ventilation, in particular, being free and abundant, so that the hundreds of passengers who will have their berths between decks, and at a still lower depth, will have good air and enough of it. There were four or five hundred persons, principally Liverpool merchants and their wives, invited to the dejeuner; and the tables were spread between decks, the berths for passengers not being yet put in. There was not quite light enough to make the scene cheerful, it being an overcast day; and, indeed, there was an English plainness in the arrangement of the festal room, which might have been better exchanged for the flowery American taste, which I have just been criticising. With flowers, and the arrangement of flags, we should have made something very pretty of the space between decks; but there was nothing to hide the fact that in a few days hence there would be crowded berths and sea-sick steerage passengers where we were now feasting. The cheer was very good,--cold fowl and meats; cold pies of foreign manufacture very rich, and of mysterious composition; and champagne in plenty, with other wines for those who liked them. I sat between two ladies, one of them Mrs. ------, a pleasant young woman, who, I believe, is of American provincial nativity, and whom I therefore regarded as half a countrywoman. We talked a good deal together, and I confided to her my annoyance at the prospect of being called up to answer a toast; but she did not pity me at all, though she felt, much alarm about her husband, Captain ------, who was in the same predicament. Seriously, it is the most awful part of my official duty,-- this necessity of making dinner-speeches at the Mayor's, and other public or semi-public tables. However, my neighborhood to Mrs. ------ was good for me, inasmuch as by laughing over the matter with her came to regard it in a light and ludicrous way; and so, when the time actually came, I stood up with a careless dare-devil feeling. The chairman toasted the president immediately after the Queen, and did me the honor to speak of myself in a most flattering manner, something like this: "Great by his position under the Republic,--greater still, I am bold to say, in the Republic of letters!" I made no reply at all to this; in truth, I forgot all about it when I began to speak, and merely thanked the company in behalf of the President, and my countrymen, and made a few remarks with no very decided point to them. However, they cheered and applauded, and I took advantage of the applause to sit down, and Mrs. ------ informed me that I had succeeded admirably. It was no success at all, to be sure; neither was it a failure, for I had aimed at nothing, and I had exactly hit it. But after sitting down, I was conscious of an enjoyment in speaking to a public assembly, and felt as if I should like to rise again. It is something like being under fire,--a sort of excitement, not exactly pleasure, but more piquant than most pleasures. I have felt this before, in the same circumstances; but, while on my legs, my impulse is to get through with my remarks and sit down again as quickly as possible. The next speech, I think, was by Rev. Dr. ------, the celebrated Arctic gentleman, in reply to a toast complimentary to the clergy. He turned aside from the matter in hand, to express his kind feelings towards America, where he said he had been most hospitably received, especially at Cambridge University. He also made allusions to me, and I suppose it would have been no more than civil in me to have answered with a speech in acknowledgment, but I did not choose to make another venture, so merely thanked him across the corner of the table, for he sat near me. He is a venerable-looking, white-haired gentleman, tall and slender, with a pale, intelligent, kindly face. Other speeches were made; but from beginning to end there was not one breath of eloquence, nor even one neat sentence; and I rather think that Englishmen would purposely avoid eloquence or neatness in after-dinner speeches. It seems to be no part of their object. Yet any Englishman almost, much more generally than Americans, will stand up and talk on in a plain way, uttering one rough, ragged, and shapeless sentence after another, and will have expressed himself sensibly, though in a very rude manner, before he sits down. And this is quite satisfactory to his audience, who, indeed, are rather prejudiced against the man who speaks too glibly. The guests began to depart shortly after three o'clock. This morning I have seen two reports of my little speech,--one exceedingly incorrect; another pretty exact, but not much to my taste, for I seem to have left out everything that would have been fittest to say. October 6th.--The people, for several days, have been in the utmost anxiety, and latterly in the highest exultation about Sebastopol,--and all England, and Europe to boot, have been fooled by the belief that it had fallen. This, however, now turns out to be incorrect; and the public visage is somewhat grim, in consequence. I am glad of it. In spite of his actual sympathies, it is impossible for a true American to be otherwise than glad. Success makes an Englishman intolerable; and, already, on the mistaken idea that the way was open to a prosperous conclusion of the war, The Times had begun to throw out menaces against America. I shall never love England till she sues to us for help, and, in the mean time, the fewer triumphs she obtains, the better for all parties. An Englishman in adversity is a very respectable character; he does not lose his dignity, but merely comes to a proper conception of himself. It is rather touching to an observer to see how much the universal heart is in this matter,--to see the merchants gathering round the telegraphic messages, posted on the pillars of the Exchange news-room, the people in the street who cannot afford to buy a paper clustering round the windows of the news-offices, where a copy is pinned up,--the groups of corporals and sergeants at the recruiting rendezvous, with a newspaper in the midst of them and all earnest and sombre, and feeling like one man together, whatever their rank. I seem to myself like a spy or a traitor when I meet their eyes, and am conscious that I neither hope nor fear in sympathy with them, although they look at me in full confidence of sympathy. Their heart "knoweth its own bitterness," and as for me, being a stranger and all alien, I "intermeddle not with their joy." October 9th.--My ancestor left England in 1630. I return in 1853. I sometimes feel as if I myself had been absent these two hundred and twenty-three years, leaving England just emerging from the feudal system, and finding it, on my return, on the verge of republicanism. It brings the two far-separated points of time very closely together, to view the matter thus. October 16th.--A day or two ago arrived the sad news of the loss of the Arctic by collision with a French steamer off Newfoundland, and the loss also of three or four hundred people. I have seldom been more affected by anything quite alien from my personal and friendly concerns, than by the death of Captain Luce and his son. The boy was a delicate lad, and it is said that he had never been absent from his mother till this time, when his father had taken him to England to consult a physician about a complaint in his hip. So his father, while the ship was sinking, was obliged to decide whether he would put the poor, weakly, timorous child on board the boat, to take his hard chance of life there, or keep him to go down with himself and the ship. He chose the latter; and within half an hour, I suppose, the boy was among the child-angels. Captain Luce could not do less than die, for his own part, with the responsibility of all those lost lives upon him. He may not have been in the least to blame for the calamity, but it was certainly too heavy a one for him to survive. He was a sensible man, and a gentleman, courteous, quiet, with something almost melancholy in his address and aspect. Oftentimes he has come into my inner office to say good-by before his departures, but I cannot precisely remember whether or no he took leave of me before this latest voyage. I never exchanged a great many words with him; but those were kind ones. October 19th.--It appears to be customary for people of decent station, but in distressed circumstances, to go round among their neighbors and the public, accompanied by a friend, who explains the case. I have been accosted in the street in regard to one of these matters; and to-day there came to my office a grocer, who had become security for a friend, and who was threatened with an execution,--with another grocer for supporter and advocate. The beneficiary takes very little active part in the affair, merely looking careworn, distressed, and pitiable, and throwing in a word of corroboration, or a sigh, or an acknowledgment, as the case may demand. In the present instance, the friend, a young, respectable-looking tradesman, with a Lancashire accent, spoke freely and simply of his client's misfortunes, not pressing the case unduly, but doing it full justice, and saying, at the close of the interview, that it was no pleasant business for himself. The broken grocer was an elderly man, of somewhat sickly aspect. The whole matter is very foreign to American habits. No respectable American would think of retrieving his affairs by such means, but would prefer ruin ten times over; no friend would take up his cause; no public would think it worth while to prevent the small catastrophe. And yet the custom is not without its good side as indicating a closer feeling of brotherhood, a more efficient sense of neighborhood, than exists among ourselves, although, perhaps, we are more careless of a fellow-creature's ruin, because ruin with us is by no means the fatal and irretrievable event that it is in England. I am impressed with the ponderous and imposing look of an English legal document,--an assignment of real estate in England, for instance,-- engrossed on an immense sheet of thickest paper, in a formal hand, beginning with "This Indenture" in German text, and with occasional phrases of form, breaking out into large script,--very long and repetitious, fortified with the Mayor of Manchester's seal, two or three inches in diameter, which is certified by a notary-public, whose signature, again, is to have my consular certificate and official seal. November 2d.--A young Frenchman enters, of gentlemanly aspect, with a grayish cloak or paletot overspreading his upper person, and a handsome and well-made pair of black trousers and well-fitting boots below. On sitting down, he does not throw off nor at all disturb the cloak. Eying him more closely, one discerns that he has no shirt-collar, and that what little is visible of his shirt-bosom seems not to be of to-day nor of yesterday,--perhaps not even of the day before. His manner is not very good; nevertheless, he is a coxcomb and a jackanapes. He avers himself a naturalized citizen of America, where he has been tutor in several families of distinction, and has been treated like a son. He left America on account of his health, and came near being tutor in the Duke of Norfolk's family, but failed for lack of testimonials; he is exceedingly capable and accomplished, but reduced in funds, and wants employment here, of the means of returning to America, where he intends to take a situation under government, which he is sure of obtaining. He mentioned a quarrel which he had recently had with an Englishman in behalf of America, and would have fought a duel had such been the custom of the country. He made the Englishman foam at the mouth, and told him that he had been twelve years at a military school, and could easily kill him. I say to him that I see little or no prospect of his getting employment here, but offer to inquire whether any situation, as clerk or otherwise, can be obtained for him in a vessel returning to America, and ask his address. He has no address. Much to my surprise, he takes his leave without requesting pecuniary aid, but hints that he shall call again. He is a very disagreeable young fellow, like scores of others who call on me in the like situation. His English is very good for a Frenchman, and he says he speaks it the least well of five languages. He has been three years in America, and obtained his naturalization papers, he says, as a special favor, and by means of strong interest. Nothing is so absolutely odious as the sense of freedom and equality pertaining to an American grafted on the mind of a native of any other country in the world. A naturalized citizen is HATEFUL. Nobody has a right to our ideas, unless born to them. November 9th.--I lent the above Frenchman a small sum; he advertised for employment as a teacher; and he called this morning to thank me for my aid, and says Mr. C------ has engaged him for his children, at a guinea a week, and that he has also another engagement. The poor fellow seems to have been brought to a very low ebb. He has pawned everything, even to his last shirt, save the one he had on, and had been living at the rate of twopence a day. I had procured him a chance to return to America, but he was ashamed to go back in such poor circumstances, and so determined to seek better fortune here. I like him better than I did,--partly, I suppose, because I have helped him. November 14th.--The other day I saw an elderly gentleman walking in Dale Street, apparently in a state of mania; for as he limped along (being afflicted with lameness) he kept talking to himself, and sometimes breaking out into a threat against some casual passenger. He was a very respectable-looking man; and I remember to have seen him last summer, in the steamer, returning from the Isle of Man, where he had been staying at Castle Mona. What a strange and ugly predicament it would be for a person of quiet habits to be suddenly smitten with lunacy at noonday in a crowded street, and to walk along through a dim maze of extravagances,-- partly conscious of then, but unable to resist the impulse to give way to them! A long-suppressed nature might be represented as bursting out in this way, for want of any other safety-valve. In America, people seem to consider the government merely as a political administration; and they care nothing for the credit of it, unless it be the administration of their own political party. In England, all people, of whatever party, are anxious for the credit of their rulers. Our government, as a knot of persons, changes so entirely every four years, that the institution has come to be considered a temporary thing. Looking at the moon the other evening, little R----- said, "It blooms out in the morning!" taking the moon to be the bud of the sun. The English are a most intolerant people. Nobody is permitted, nowadays, to have any opinion but the prevalent one. There seems to be very little difference between their educated and ignorant classes in this respect; if any, it is to the credit of the latter, who do not show tokens of such extreme interest in the war. It is agreeable, however, to observe how all Englishmen pull together,--how each man comes forward with his little scheme for helping on the war,--how they feel themselves members of one family, talking together about their common interest, as if they were gathered around one fireside; and then what a hearty meed of honor they award to their soldiers! It is worth facing death for. Whereas, in America, when our soldiers fought as good battles, with as great proportionate loss, and far more valuable triumphs, the country seemed rather ashamed than proud of them. Mrs. Heywood tells me that there are many Catholics among the lower classes in Lancashire and Cheshire,--probably the descendants of retainers of the old Catholic nobility and gentry, who are more numerous in these shires than in other parts of England. The present Lord Sefton's grandfather was the first of that race who became Protestant. December 25th.--Commodore P------ called to see me this morning,--a brisk, gentlemanly, offhand, but not rough, unaffected and sensible man, looking not so elderly as he ought, on account of a very well made wig. He is now on his return from a cruise in the East Indian seas, and goes home by the Baltic, with a prospect of being very well received on account of his treaty with Japan. I seldom meet with a man who puts himself more immediately on conversable terms than the Commodore. He soon introduced his particular business with me,--it being to inquire whether I would recommend some suitable person to prepare his notes and materials for the publication of an account of his voyage. He was good enough to say that he had fixed upon me, in his own mind, for this office; but that my public duties would of course prevent me from engaging in it. I spoke of Herman Melville, and one or two others; but he seems to have some acquaintance with the literature of the day, and did not grasp very cordially at any name that I could think of; nor, indeed, could I recommend any one with full confidence. It would be a very desirable task for a young literary man, or, for that matter, for an old one; for the world can scarcely have in reserve a less hackneyed theme than Japan. This is a most beautiful day of English winter; clear and bright, with the ground a little frozen, and the green grass along the waysides at Rock Ferry sprouting up through the frozen pools of yesterday's rain. England is forever green. On Christmas day, the children found wall-flowers, pansies, and pinks in the garden; and we had a beautiful rose from the garden of the hotel grown in the open air. Yet one is sensible of the cold here, as much as in the zero atmosphere of America. The chief advantage of the English climate is that we are not tempted to heat our rooms to so unhealthy a degree as in New England. I think I have been happier this Christmas than ever before,--by my own fireside, and with my wife and children about me,--more content to enjoy what I have,--less anxious for anything beyond it in this life. My early life was perhaps a good preparation for the declining half of life; it having been such a blank that any thereafter would compare favorably with it. For a long, long while, I have occasionally been visited with a singular dream; and I have an impression that I have dreamed it ever since I have been in England. It is, that I am still at college,--or, sometimes, even at school,--and there is a sense that I have been there unconscionably long, and have quite failed to make such progress as my contemporaries have done; and I seem to meet some of them with a feeling of shame and depression that broods over me as I think of it, even when awake. This dream, recurring all through these twenty or thirty years, must be one of the effects of that heavy seclusion in which I shut myself up for twelve years after leaving college, when everybody moved onward, and left me behind. How strange that it should come now, when I may call myself famous and prosperous!--when I am happy, too! January 3d, 1855.--The progress of the age is trampling over the aristocratic institutions of England, and they crumble beneath it. This war has given the country a vast impulse towards democracy. The nobility will never hereafter, I think, assume or be permitted to rule the nation in peace, or command armies in war, on any ground except the individual ability which may appertain to one of their number, as well as to a commoner. And yet the nobles were never positively more noble than now; never, perhaps, so chivalrous, so honorable, so highly cultivated; but, relatively to the rest of the world, they do not maintain their old place. The pressure of the war has tested and proved this fact, at home and abroad. At this moment it would be an absurdity in the nobles to pretend to the position which was quietly conceded to them a year ago. This one year has done the work of fifty ordinary ones; or, more accurately, it has made apparent what has long been preparing itself. January 6th.--The American ambassador called on me to-day and stayed a good while,--an hour or two. He is visiting at Mr. William Browne's, at Richmond Hill, having come to this region to bring his niece, who is to be bride's-maid at the wedding of an American girl. I like Mr. ------. He cannot exactly be called gentlemanly in his manners, there being a sort of rusticity about him; moreover, he has a habit of squinting one eye, and an awkward carriage of his head; hut, withal, a dignity in his large person, and a consciousness of high position and importance, which gives him ease and freedom. Very simple and frank in his address, he may be as crafty as other diplomatists are said to be; but I see only good sense and plainness of speech,--appreciative, too, and genial enough to make himself conversable. He talked very freely of himself and of other public people, and of American and English affairs. He returns to America, he says, next October, and then retires forever from public life, being sixty-four years of age, and having now no desire except to write memoirs of his times, and especially of the administration of Mr. Polk. I suggested a doubt whether the people would permit him to retire; and he immediately responded to my hint as regards his prospects for the Presidency. He said that his mind was fully made up, and that he would never be a candidate, and that he had expressed this decision to his friends in such a way as to put it out of his own power to change it. He acknowledged that he should have been glad of the nomination for the Presidency in 1852, but that it was now too late, and that he was too old,--and, in short, he seemed to be quite sincere in his nolo episcopari; although, really, he is the only Democrat, at this moment, whom it would not be absurd to talk of for the office. As he talked, his face flushed, and he seemed to feel inwardly excited. Doubtless, it was the high vision of half his lifetime which he here relinquished. I cannot question that he is sincere; but, of course, should the people insist upon having him for President, he is too good a patriot to refuse. I wonder whether he can have had any object in saying all this to me. He might see that it would be perfectly natural for me to tell it to General Pierce. But it is a very vulgar idea,--this of seeing craft and subtlety, when there is a plain and honest aspect. January 9th.--I dined at Mr. William Browne's (M. P.) last, evening with a large party. The whole table and dessert service was of silver. Speaking of Shakespeare, Mr. ------ said that the Duke of Somerset, who is now nearly fourscore, told him that the father of John and Charles Kemble had made all possible research into the events of Shakespeare's life, and that he had found reason to believe that Shakespeare attended a certain revel at Stratford, and, indulging too much in the conviviality of the occasion, he tumbled into a ditch on his way home, and died there! The Kemble patriarch was an aged man when he communicated this to the Duke; and their ages, linked to each other; would extend back a good way; scarcely to the beginning of the last century, however. If I mistake not, it was from the traditions of Stratford that Kemble had learned the above. I do not remember ever to have seen it in print,--which is most singular. Miss L---- has an English rather than an American aspect,--being of stronger outline than most of our young ladies, although handsomer than English women generally, extremely self-possessed and well poised without affectation or assumption, but quietly conscious of rank, as much so as if she were an Earl's daughter. In truth, she felt pretty much as an Earl's daughter would do towards the merchants' wives and daughters who made up the feminine portion of the party. I talked with her a little, and found her sensible, vivacious, and firm-textured, rather than soft and sentimental. She paid me some compliments; but I do not remember paying her any. Mr. J-----'s daughters, two pale, handsome girls, were present. One of them is to be married to a grandson of Mr. ------, who was also at the dinner. He is a small young man, with a thin and fair mustache, . . . . and a lady who sat next me whispered that his expectations are 6,000 pounds per annum. It struck me, that, being a country gentleman's son, he kept himself silent and reserved, as feeling himself too good for this commercial dinner-party; but perhaps, and I rather think so, he was really shy and had nothing to say, being only twenty-one, and therefore quite a boy among Englishmen. The only man of cognizable rank present, except Mr. ------ and the Mayor of Liverpool, was a Baronet, Sir Thomas Birch. January 17th.--S---- and I were invited to be present at the wedding of Mr. J-------'s daughter this morning, but we were also bidden to the funeral services of Mrs. G------, a young American lady; and we went to the "house of mourning," rather than to the "house of feasting." Her death was very sudden. I crossed to Rock Ferry on Saturday, and met her husband in the boat. He said his wife was rather unwell, and that he had just been sent for to see her; but he did not seem at all alarmed. And yet, on reaching home, he found her dead! The body is to be conveyed to America, and the funeral service was read over her in her house, only a few neighbors and friends being present. We were shown into a darkened room, where there was a dim gaslight burning, and a fire glimmering, and here and there a streak of sunshine struggling through the drawn curtains. Mr. G------ looked pale, and quite overcome with grief,--this, I suppose, being his first sorrow,--and he has a young baby on his hands, and no doubt, feels altogether forlorn in this foreign land. The clergyman entered in his canonicals, and we walked in a little procession into another room, where the coffin was placed. Mr. G------ sat down and rested his head on the coffin: the clergyman read the service; then knelt down, as did most of the company, and prayed with great propriety of manner, but with no earnestness,--and we separated. Mr. G------ is a small, smooth, and pretty young man, not emphasized in any way; but grief threw its awfulness about him to-day in a degree which I should not have expected. January 20th.--Mr. Steele, a gentleman of Rock Ferry, showed me this morning a pencil-case formerly belonging to Dr. Johnson. It is six or seven inches long, of large calibre, and very clumsily manufactured of iron, perhaps plated in its better days, but now quite bare. Indeed, it looks as rough as an article of kitchen furniture. The intaglio on the end is a lion rampant. On the whole, it well became Dr. Johnson to have used such a stalwart pencil-case. It had a six-inch measure on a part of it, so that it must have been at least eight inches long. Mr. Steele says he has seen a cracked earthen teapot, of large size, in which Miss Williams used to make tea for Dr. Johnson. God himself cannot compensate us for being born for any period short of eternity. All the misery endured here constitutes a claim for another life, and, still more, all the happiness; because all true happiness involves something more than the earth owns, and needs something more than a mortal capacity for the enjoyment of it. After receiving an injury on the head, a person fancied all the rest of his life that he heard voices flouting, jeering, and upbraiding him. February 19th.--I dined with the Mayor at the Town Hall last Friday evening. I sat next to Mr. W. J------, an Irish-American merchant, who is in very good standing here. He told me that he used to be very well acquainted with General Jackson, and that he was present at the street fight between him and the Bentons, and helped to take General Jackson off the ground. Colonel Benton shot at him from behind; but it was Jesse Benton's ball that hit him and broke his arm. I did not understand him to infer any treachery or cowardice from the circumstance of Colonel Benton's shooting at Jackson from behind, but, suppose it occurred in the confusion and excitement of a street fight. Mr. W. J------ seems to think that, after all, the reconciliation between the old General and Benton was merely external, and that they really hated one another as before. I do not think so. These dinners of the Mayors are rather agreeable than otherwise, except for the annoyance, in my case, of being called up to speak to a toast, and that is less disagreeable than at first. The suite of rooms at the Town House is stately and splendid, and all the Mayors, as far as I have seen, exercise hospitality in a manner worthy of the chief magistrates of a great city. They are supposed always to spend much more than their salary (which is 2,000 pounds) in these entertainments. The town provides the wines, I am told, and it might be expected that they should be particularly good,--at least, those which improve by age, for a quarter of a century should be only a moderate age for wine from the cellars of centuries-long institutions, like a corporate borough. Each Mayor might lay in a supply of the best vintage he could find, and trust his good name to posterity to the credit of that wine; and so he would be kindly and warmly remembered long after his own nose had lost its rubicundity. In point of fact, the wines seem to be good, but not remarkable. The dinner was good, and very handsomely served, with attendance enough, both in the hall below--where the door was wide open at the appointed hour, notwithstanding the cold--and at table; some being in the rich livery of the borough, and some in plain clothes. Servants, too, were stationed at various points from the hall to the reception-room; and the last one shouted forth the name of the entering guest. There were, I should think, about fifty guests at this dinner. Two bishops were present. The Bishops of Chester and New South Wales, dressed in a kind of long tunics, with black breeches and silk stockings, insomuch that I first fancied they were Catholics. Also Dr. McNeil, in a stiff-collared coat, looking more like a general than a divine. There were two officers in blue uniforms; and all the rest of us were in black, with only two white waistcoats,--my own being one,--and a rare sprinkling of white cravats. How hideously a man looks in them! I should like to have seen such assemblages as must have gathered in that reception-room, and walked with stately tread to the dining-hall, in times past, the Mayor and other civic dignitaries in their robes, noblemen in their state dresses, the Consul in his olive-leaf embroidery, everybody in some sort of bedizenment,--and then the dinner would have been a magnificent spectacle, worthy of the gilded hall, the rich table-service, and the powdered and gold-laced servitors. At a former dinner I remember seeing a gentleman in small-clothes, with a dress-sword; but all formalities of the kind are passing away. The Mayor's dinners, too, will no doubt be extinct before many years go by. I drove home from the Woodside Ferry in a cab with Bishop Burke and two other gentlemen. The Bishop is nearly seven feet high. After writing the foregoing account of a civic banquet, where I ate turtle-soup, salmon, woodcock, oyster patties, and I know not what else, I have been to the News-room and found the Exchange pavement densely thronged with people of all ages and of all manner of dirt and rags. They were waiting for soup-tickets, and waiting very patiently too, without outcry or disturbance, or even sour looks,--only patience and meekness in their faces. Well, I don't know that they have a right to he impatient of starvation; but, still there does seem to be an insolence of riches and prosperity, which one day or another will have a downfall. And this will be a pity, too. On Saturday I went with my friend Mr. Bright to Otterpool and to Larkhill to see the skaters on the private waters of those two seats of gentlemen; and it is a wonder to behold--and it is always a new wonder to me--how comfortable Englishmen know how to make themselves; locating their dwellings far within private grounds, with secure gateways and porters' lodges, and the smoothest roads and trimmest paths, and shaven lawns, and clumps of trees, and every bit of the ground, every hill and dell, made the most of for convenience and beauty, and so well kept that even winter cannot cause disarray; and all this appropriated to the same family for generations, so that I suppose they come to believe it created exclusively and on purpose for them. And, really, the result is good and beautiful. It is a home,--an institution which we Americans have not; but then I doubt whether anybody is entitled to a home in this world, in so full a sense. The day was very cold, and the skaters seemed to enjoy themselves exceedingly. They were, I suppose, friends of the owners of the grounds, and Mr. Bright said they were treated in a jolly way, with hot luncheons. The skaters practise skating more as an art, and can perform finer manoeuvres on the ice, than our New England skaters usually can, though the English have so much less opportunity for practice. A beggar-woman was haunting the grounds at Otterpool, but I saw nobody give her anything. I wonder how she got inside of the gate. Mr. W. J------ spoke of General Jackson as having come from the same part of Ireland as himself, and perhaps of the same family. I wonder whether he meant to say that the General was born in Ireland,--that having been suspected in America. February 21st.--Yesterday two companies of work-people came to our house in Rock Park, asking assistance, being out of work and with no resource other than charity. There were a dozen or more in each party. Their deportment was quiet and altogether unexceptionable,--no rudeness, no gruffness, nothing of menace. Indeed, such demonstrations would not have been safe, as they were followed about by two policemen; but they really seem to take their distress as their own misfortune and God's will, and impute it to nobody as a fault. This meekness is very touching, and makes one question the more whether they have all their rights. There have been disturbances, within a day or two, in Liverpool, and shops have been broken open and robbed of bread and money; but this is said to have been done by idle vagabonds, and not by the really hungry work-people. These last submit to starvation gently and patiently, as if it were an every-day matter with them, or, at least, nothing but what lay fairly within their horoscope. I suppose, in fact, their stomachs have the physical habit that makes hunger not intolerable, because customary. If they had been used to a full meat diet, their hunger would be fierce, like that of ravenous beasts; but now they are trained to it. I think that the feeling of an American, divided, as I am, by the ocean from his country, has a continual and immediate correspondence with the national feeling at home; and it seems to be independent of any external communication. Thus, my ideas about the Russian war vary in accordance with the state of the public mind at home, so that I am conscious whereabouts public sympathy is. March 7th.--J----- and I walked to Tranmere, and passed an old house which I suppose to be Tranmere Hall. Our way to it was up a hollow lane, with a bank and hedge on each side, and with a few thatched stone cottages, centuries old, their ridge-poles crooked and the stones time-worn, scattered along. At one point there was a wide, deep well, hewn out of the solid red freestone, and with steps, also hewn in solid rock, leading down to it. These steps were much hollowed by the feet of those who had come to the well; and they reach beneath the water, which is very high. The well probably supplied water to the old cotters and retainers of Tranmere Hall five hundred years ago. The Hall stands on the verge of a long hill which stretches behind Tranmere and as far as Birkenhead. It is an old gray stone edifice, with a good many gables, and windows with mullions, and some of them extending the whole breadth of the gable. In some parts of the house, the windows seem to have been built up; probably in the days when daylight was taxed. The form of the Hall is multiplex, the roofs sloping down and intersecting one another, so as to make the general result indescribable. There were two sun-dials on different sides of the house, both the dial-plates of which were of stone; and on one the figures, so far as I could see, were quite worn off, but the gnomon still cast a shadow over it in such a way that I could judge that it was about noon. The other dial had some half-worn hour-marks, but no gnomon. The chinks of the stones of the house were very weedy, and the building looked quaint and venerable; but it is now converted into a farm-house, with the farm-yard and outbuildings closely appended. A village, too, has grown up about it, so that it seems out of place among modern stuccoed dwellings, such as are erected for tradesmen and other moderate people who have their residences in the neighborhood of a great city. Among these there are a few thatched cottages, the homeliest domiciles that ever mortals lived in, belonging to the old estate. Directly across the street is a Wayside Inn, "licensed to sell wine, spirits, ale, and tobacco." The street itself has been laid out since the land grew valuable by the increase of Liverpool and Birkenhead; for the old Hall would never have been built on the verge of a public way. March 27th.--I attended court to day, at St. George's Hall, with my wife, Mr. Bright, and Mr. Channing, sitting in the High Sheriff's seat. It was the civil side, and Mr. Justice Cresswell presided. The lawyers, as far as aspect goes, seemed to me inferior to an American bar, judging from their countenances, whether as intellectual men or gentlemen. Their wigs and gowns do not impose on the spectator, though they strike him as an imposition. Their date is past. Mr. Warren, of the "Ten Thousand a Year," was in court,--a pale, thin, intelligent face, evidently a nervous man, more unquiet than anybody else in court,--always restless in his seat, whispering to his neighbors, settling his wig, perhaps with an idea that people single him out. St. George's Hall--the interior hall itself, I mean--is a spacious, lofty, and most rich and noble apartment, and very satisfactory. The pavement is made of mosaic tiles, and has a beautiful effect. April 7th.--I dined at Mr. J. P. Heywood's on Thursday, and met there Mr. and Mrs. ------ of Smithell's Hall. The Hall is an old edifice of some five hundred years, and Mrs. ------ says there is a bloody footstep at the foot of the great staircase. The tradition is that a certain martyr, in Bloody Mary's time, being examined before the occupant of the Hall, and committed to prison, stamped his foot, in earnest protest against the injustice with which he was treated. Blood issued from his foot, which slid along the stone pavement, leaving a long footmark, printed in blood. And there it has remained ever since, in spite of the scrubbings of all succeeding generations. Mrs. ------ spoke of it with much solemnity, real or affected. She says that they now cover the bloody impress with a carpet, being unable to remove it. In the History of Lancashire, which I looked at last night, there is quite a different account,--according to which the footstep is not a bloody one, but is a slight cavity or inequality in the surface of the stone, somewhat in the shape of a man's foot with a peaked shoe. The martyr's name was George Marsh. He was a curate, and was afterwards burnt. Mrs. ------ asked me to go and see the Hall and the footmark; and as it is in Lancashire, and not a great way off, and a curious old place, perhaps I may. April 12th.--The Earl of ------, whom I saw the other day at St. George's Hall, has a somewhat elderly look,--a pale and rather thin face, which strikes one as remarkably short, or compressed from top to bottom. Nevertheless, it has great intelligence, and sensitiveness too, I should think, but a cold, disagreeable expression. I should take him to be a man of not very pleasant temper,--not genial. He has no physical presence nor dignity, yet one sees him to be a person of rank and consequence. But, after all, there is nothing about him which it need have taken centuries of illustrious nobility to produce, especially in a man of remarkable ability, as Lord ------ certainly is. S-----, who attended court all through the Hapgood trial, and saw Lord ------ for hours together every day, has come to conclusions quite different from mine. She thinks him a perfectly natural person, without any assumption, any self-consciousness, any scorn of the lower world. She was delighted with his ready appreciation and feeling of what was passing around him,-- his quick enjoyment of a joke,--the simplicity and unaffectedness of his emotion at whatever incidents excited his interest,--the genial acknowledgment of sympathy, causing him to look round and exchange glances with those near him, who were not his individual friends, but barristers and other casual persons. He seemed to her all that a nobleman ought to be, entirely simple and free from pretence and self-assertion, which persons of lower rank can hardly help bedevilling themselves with. I saw him only for a very few moments, so cannot put my observation against hers, especially as I was influenced by what I had heard the Liverpool people say of him. I do not know whether I have mentioned that the handsomest man I have seen in England was a young footman of Mr. Heywood's. In his rich livery, he was a perfect Joseph Andrews. In my Romance, the original emigrant to America may have carried away with him a family secret, whereby it was in his power, had he so chosen, to have brought about the ruin of the family. This secret he transmits to his American progeny, by whom it is inherited throughout all the intervening generations. At last, the hero of the Romance comes to England, and finds, that, by means of this secret, he still has it in his power to procure the downfall of the family. It would be something similar to the story of Meleager, whose fate depended on the firebrand that his mother had snatched from the flames. April 24th.--On Saturday I was present at a dejeuner on board the Donald McKay; the principal guest being Mr. Layard, M. P. There were several hundred people, quite filling the between decks of the ship, which was converted into a saloon for the occasion. I sat next to Mr. Layard, at the head of the table, and so had a good opportunity of seeing and getting acquainted with him. He is a man in early middle age,--of middle stature, with an open, frank, intelligent, kindly face. His forehead is not expansive, but is prominent in the perceptive regions, and retreats a good deal. His mouth is full,--I liked him from the first. He was very kind and complimentary to me, and made me promise to go and see him in London. It would have been a very pleasant entertainment, only that my pleasure in it was much marred by having to acknowledge a toast, in honor of the President. However, such things do not trouble me nearly so much as they used to do, and I came through it tolerably enough. Mr. Layard's speech was the great affair of the day. He speaks with much fluency (though he assured me that he had to put great force upon himself to speak publicly), and, as he warms up, seems to engage with his whole moral and physical man,--quite possessed with what he has to say. His evident earnestness and good faith make him eloquent, and stand him instead of oratorical graces. His views of the position of England and the prospects of the war were as dark as well could be; and his speech was exceedingly to the purpose, full of common-sense, and with not one word of clap-trap. Judging from its effect upon the audience, he spoke the voice of the whole English people,--although an English Baronet, who sat next below me, seemed to dissent, or at least to think that it was not exactly the thing for a stranger to hear. It concluded amidst great cheering. Mr. Layard appears to be a true Englishman, with a moral force and strength of character, and earnestness of purpose, and fulness of common-sense, such as have always served England's turn in her past successes; but rather fit for resistance than progress. No doubt, he is a good and very able man; but I question whether he could get England out of the difficulties which he sees so clearly, or could do much better than Lord Palmerston, whom he so decries. April 25th.--Taking the deposition of sailors yesterday, in a case of alleged ill-usage by the officers of a vessel, one of the witnesses was an old seaman of sixty. In reply to some testimony of his, the captain said, "You were the oldest man in the ship, and we honored you as such." The mate also said that he never could have thought of striking an old man like that. Indeed, the poor old fellow had a kind of dignity and venerableness about him, though he confessed to having been drunk, and seems to have been a mischief-maker, what they call a sea-preacher,-- promoting discontent and grumbling. He must have been a very handsome man in his youth, having regular features of a noble and beautiful cast. His beard was gray; but his dark hair had hardly a streak of white, and was abundant all over his head. He was deaf, and seemed to sit in a kind of seclusion, unless when loudly questioned or appealed to. Once he broke forth from a deep silence thus, "I defy any man!" and then was silent again. It had a strange effect, this general defiance, which he meant, I suppose, in answer to some accusation that he thought was made against him. His general behavior throughout the examination was very decorous and proper; and he said he had never but once hitherto been before a consul, and that was in 1819, when a mate had ill-used him, and, "being a young man then, I gave him a beating,"--whereupon his face gleamed with a quiet smile, like faint sunshine on an old ruin. "By many a tempest has his beard been shook"; and I suppose he must soon go into a workhouse, and thence, shortly, to his grave. He is now in a hospital, having, as the surgeon certifies, some ribs fractured; but there does not appear to have been any violence used upon him aboard the ship of such a nature as to cause this injury, though he swears it was a blow from a rope, and nothing else. What struck me in the case was the respect and rank that his age seemed to give him, in the view of the officers; and how, as the captain's expression signified, it lifted him out of his low position, and made him a person to be honored. The dignity of his manner is perhaps partly owing to the ancient mariner, with his long experience, being an oracle among the forecastle men. May 3d.--It rains to-day, after a very long period of east-wind and dry weather. The east-wind here, blowing across the island, seems to be the least damp of all the winds; but it is full of malice and mischief, of an indescribably evil temper, and stabs one like a cold, poisoned dagger. I never spent so disagreeable a spring as this, although almost every day for a month has been bright. Friday, May 11th.--A few weeks ago, a sailor, a most pitiable object, came to my office to complain of cruelty from his captain and mate. They had beaten him shamefully, of which he bore grievous marks about his face and eyes, and bruises on his head and other parts of his person: and finally the ship had sailed, leaving him behind. I never in my life saw so forlorn a fellow, so ragged, so wretched; and even his wits seemed to have been beaten out of him, if perchance he ever had any. He got an order for the hospital; and there he has been, off and on, ever since, till yesterday, when I received a message that he was dying, and wished to see the Consul; so I went with Mr. Wilding to the hospital. We were ushered into the waiting-room,--a kind of parlor, with a fire in the grate, and a centre-table, whereon lay one or two medical journals, with wood engravings; and there was a young man, who seemed to be an official of the house, reading. Shortly the surgeon appeared,--a brisk, cheerful, kindly sort of person, whom I have met there on previous visits. He told us that the man was dying, and probably would not be able to communicate anything, but, nevertheless, ushered us up to the highest floor, and into the room where he lay. It was a large, oblong room, with ten or twelve beds in it, each occupied by a patient. The surgeon said that the hospital was often so crowded that they were compelled to lay some of the patients on the floor. The man whom we came to see lay on his bed in a little recess formed by a projecting window; so that there was a kind of seclusion for him to die in. He seemed quite insensible to outward things, and took no notice of our approach, nor responded to what was said to him,--lying on his side, breathing with short gasps,--his apparent disease being inflammation of the chest, although the surgeon said that he might be found to have sustained internal injury by bruises. he was restless, tossing his head continually, mostly with his eyes shut, and much compressed and screwed up, but sometimes opening them; and then they looked brighter and darker than when I first saw them. I think his face was not at any time so stupid as at his first interview with me; but whatever intelligence he had was rather inward than outward, as if there might be life and consciousness at a depth within, while as to external matters he was in a mist. The surgeon felt his wrist, and said that there was absolutely no pulsation, and that he might die at any moment, or might perhaps live an hour, but that there was no prospect of his being able to communicate with me. He was quite restless, nevertheless, and sometimes half raised himself in bed, sometimes turned himself quite over, and then lay gasping for an instant. His woollen shirt being thrust up on his arm, there appeared a tattooing of a ship and anchor, and other nautical emblems, on both of them, which another sailor-patient, on examining them, said must have been done years ago. This might be of some importance, because the dying man had told me, when I first saw him, that he was no sailor, but a farmer, and that, this being his first voyage, he had been beaten by the captain for not doing a sailor's duty, which he had had no opportunity of learning. These sea-emblems indicated that he was probably a seaman of some years' service. While we stood in the little recess, such of the other patients as were convalescent gathered near the foot of the bed; and the nurse came and looked on, and hovered about us,--a sharp-eyed, intelligent woman of middle age, with a careful and kind expression, neglecting nothing that was for the patient's good, yet taking his death as coolly as any other incident in her daily business. Certainly, it was a very forlorn death-bed; and I felt--what I have heretofore been inclined to doubt-- that it might, be a comfort to have persons whom one loves, to go with us to the threshold of the other world, and leave us only when we are fairly across it. This poor fellow had a wife and two children on the other side of the water. At first he did not utter any sound; but by and by he moaned a little, and gave tokens of being more sensible to outward concerns,--not quite so misty and dreamy as hitherto. We had been talking all the while--myself in a whisper, but the surgeon in his ordinary tones--about his state, without his paying any attention. But now the surgeon put his mouth down to the man's face and said, "Do you know that you are dying?" At this the patient's head began to move upon the pillow; and I thought at first that it was only the restlessness that he had shown all along; but soon it appeared to be an expression of emphatic dissent, a negative shake of the head. He shook it with all his might, and groaned and mumbled, so that it was very evident how miserably reluctant he was to die. Soon after this he absolutely spoke. "O, I want you to get me well! I want to get away from here!" in a groaning and moaning utterance. The surgeon's question had revived him, but to no purpose; for, being told that the Consul had come to see him, and asked whether he had anything to communicate, he said only, "O, I want him to get me well!" and the whole life that was left in him seemed to be unwillingness to die. This did not last long; for he soon relapsed into his first state, only with his face a little more pinched and screwed up, and his eyes strangely sunken. And lost in his head; and the surgeon said that there would be no use in my remaining. So I took my leave. Mr. Wilding had brought a deposition of the man's evidence, which he had clearly made at the Consulate, for him to sign, and this we left with the surgeon, in case there should be such an interval of consciousness and intelligence before death as to make it possible for him to sign it. But of this there is no probability. I have just received a note from the hospital, stating that the sailor, Daniel Smith, died about three quarters of an hour after I saw him. May 18th.--The above-mentioned Daniel Smith had about him a bundle of letters, which I have examined. They are all very yellow, stained with sea-water, smelling of bad tobacco-smoke, and much worn at the folds. Never were such ill-written letters, nor such incredibly fantastic spelling. They seem to be from various members of his family,--most of them from a brother, who purports to have been a deck-hand in the coasting and steamboat trade between Charleston and other ports; others from female relations; one from his father, in which he inquires how long his son has been in jail, and when the trial is to come on,--the offence, however, of which he was accused, not being indicated. But from the tenor of his brother's letters, it would appear that he was a small farmer in the interior of South Carolina, sending butter, eggs, and poultry to be sold in Charleston by his brother, and receiving the returns in articles purchased there. This was his own account of himself; and he affirmed, in his deposition before me, that he had never had any purpose of shipping for Liverpool, or anywhere else; but that, going on board the ship to bring a man's trunk ashore, he was compelled to remain and serve as a sailor. This was a hard fate, certainly, and a strange thing to happen in the United States at this day,--that a free citizen should be absolutely kidnapped, carried to a foreign country, treated with savage cruelty during the voyage, and left to die on his arrival. Yet all this has unquestionably been done, and will probably go unpunished. The seed of the long-stapled cotton, now cultivated in America, was sent there in 1786 from the Bahama Islands, by some of the royalist refugees, who had settled there. The inferior short-stapled cotton had been previously cultivated for domestic purposes. The seeds of every other variety have been tried without success. The kind now grown was first introduced into Georgia. Thus to the refugees America owes as much of her prosperity as is due to the cotton-crops, and much of whatever harm is to result from slavery. May 22d.--Captain J------ says that he saw, in his late voyage to Australia and India, a vessel commanded by an Englishman, who had with him his wife and thirteen children. This ship was the home of the family, and they had no other. The thirteen children had all been born on board, and had been brought up on board, and knew nothing of dry land, except by occasionally setting foot on it. Captain J------ is a very agreeable specimen of the American shipmaster, --a pleasant, gentlemanly man, not at all refined, and yet with fine and honorable sensibilities. Very easy in his manners and conversation, yet gentle,--talking on freely, and not much minding grammar; but finding a sufficient and picturesque expression for what he wishes to say; very cheerful and vivacious; accessible to feeling, as yesterday, when talking about the recent death of his mother. His voice faltered, and the tears came into his eyes, though before and afterwards he smiled merrily, and made us smile; fond of his wife, and carrying her about the world with him, and blending her with all his enjoyments; an excellent and sagacious man of business; liberal in his expenditure; proud of his ship and flag; always well dressed, with some little touch of sailor-like flashiness, but not a whit too much; slender in figure, with a handsome face, and rather profuse brown beard and whiskers; active and alert; about thirty-two. A daguerreotype sketch of any conversation of his would do him no justice, for its slang, its grammatical mistakes, its mistaken words (as "portable" for "portly"), would represent a vulgar man, whereas the impression he leaves is by no means that of vulgarity; but he is a character quite perfect within itself, fit for the deck and the cabin, and agreeable in the drawing-room, though not amenable altogether to its rules. Being so perfectly natural, he is more of a gentleman for those little violations of rule, which most men, with his opportunities, might escape. The men whose appeals to the Consul's charity are the hardest to be denied are those who have no country,---Hungarians, Poles, Cubans, Spanish-Americans, and French republicans. All exiles for liberty come to me, if the representative of America were their representative. Yesterday, came an old French soldier, and showed his wounds; to-day, a Spaniard, a friend of Lopez,--bringing his little daughter with him. He said he was starving, and looked so. The little girl was in good condition enough, and decently dressed.--May 23d. May 30th.--The two past days have been Whitsuntide holidays; and they have been celebrated at Tranmere in a manner very similar to that of the old "Election" in Massachusetts, as I remember it a good many years ago, though the festival has now almost or quite died out. Whitsuntide was kept up on our side of the water, I am convinced, under pretence of rejoicings at the election of Governor. It occurred at precisely the same period of the year,--the same week; the only difference being, that Monday and Tuesday are the Whitsun festival days, whereas, in Massachusetts, Wednesday was "Election day," and the acme of the merry-making. I passed through Tranmere yesterday forenoon, and lingered awhile to see the sports. The greatest peculiarity of the crowd, to my eye, was that they seemed not to have any best clothes, and therefore had put on no holiday suits,--a grimy people, as at all times, heavy, obtuse, with thick beer in their blood. Coarse, rough-complexioned women and girls were intermingled, the girls with no maiden trimness in their attire, large and blowsy. Nobody seemed to have been washed that day. All the enjoyment was of an exceedingly sombre character, so far as I saw it, though there was a richer variety of sports than at similar festivals in America. There were wooden horses, revolving in circles, to be ridden a certain number of rounds for a penny; also swinging cars gorgeously painted, and the newest named after Lord Raglan; and four cars balancing one another, and turned by a winch; and people with targets and rifles,-- the principal aim being to hit an apple bobbing on a string before the target; other guns for shooting at the distance of a foot or two, for a prize of filberts; and a game much in fashion, of throwing heavy sticks at earthen mugs suspended on lines, three throws for a penny. Also, there was a posture-master, showing his art in the centre of a ring of miscellaneous spectators, and handing round his bat after going through all his attitudes. The collection amounted to only one halfpenny, and, to eke it out, I threw in three more. There were some large booths with tables placed the whole length, at which sat men and women drinking and smoking pipes; orange-girls, a great many, selling the worst possible oranges, which had evidently been boiled to give them a show of freshness. There were likewise two very large structures, the walls made of boards roughly patched together, and rooted with canvas, which seemed to have withstood a thousand storms. Theatres were there, and in front there were pictures of scenes which were to be represented within; the price of admission being twopence to one theatre, and a penny to the other. But, small as the price of tickets was, I could not see that anybody bought them. Behind the theatres, close to the board wall, and perhaps serving as the general dressing-room, was a large windowed wagon, in which I suppose the company travel and live together. Never, to my imagination, was the mysterious glory that has surrounded theatrical representation ever since my childhood brought down into such dingy reality as this. The tragedy queens were the same coarse and homely women and girls that surrounded me on the green. Some of the people had evidently been drinking more than was good for them; but their drunkenness was silent and stolid, with no madness in it. No ebullition of any sort was apparent. May 31st.--Last Sunday week, for the first time, I heard the note of the cuckoo. "Cuck-oo--cuck-oo" it says, repeating the word twice, not in a brilliant metallic tone, but low and flute-like, without the excessive sweetness of the flute,--without an excess of saccharine juice in the sound. There are said to be always two cuckoos seen together. The note is very soft and pleasant. The larks I have not yet heard in the sky; though it is not infrequent to hear one singing in a cage, in the streets of Liverpool. Brewers' draymen are allowed to drink as much of their master's beverage as they like, and they grow very brawny and corpulent, resembling their own horses in size, and presenting, one would suppose, perfect pictures of physical comfort and well-being. But the least bruise, or even the hurt of a finger, is liable to turn to gangrene or erysipelas, and become fatal. When the wind blows violently, however clear the sky, the English say, "It is a stormy day." And, on the other hand, when the air is still, and it does not actually rain, however dark and lowering the sky may be, they say, "The weather is fine!" June 2d.--The English women of the lower classes have a grace of their own, not seen in each individual, but nevertheless belonging to their order, which is not to be found in American women of the corresponding class. The other day, in the police court, a girl was put into the witness-box, whose native graces of this sort impressed me a good deal. She was coarse, and her dress was none of the cleanest, and nowise smart. She appeared to have been up all night, too, drinking at the Tranmere wake, and had since ridden in a cart, covered up with a rug. She described herself as a servant-girl, out of place; and her charm lay in all her manifestations,--her tones, her gestures, her look, her way of speaking and what she said, being so appropriate and natural in a girl of that class; nothing affected; no proper grace thrown away by attempting to appear lady-like,--which an American girl would have attempted,--and she would also have succeeded in a certain degree. If each class would but keep within itself, and show its respect for itself by aiming at nothing beyond, they would all be more respectable. But this kind of fitness is evidently not to be expected in the future; and something else must be substituted for it. These scenes at the police court are often well worth witnessing. The controlling genius of the court, except when the stipendiary magistrate presides, is the clerk, who is a man learned in the law. Nominally the cases are decided by the aldermen, who sit in rotation, but at every important point there comes a nod or a whisper from the clerk; and it is that whisper which sets the defendant free or sends him to prison. Nevertheless, I suppose the alderman's common-sense and native shrewdness are not without their efficacy in producing a general tendency towards the right; and, no doubt, the decisions of the police court are quite as often just as those of any other court whatever. June 11th.--I walked with J----- yesterday to Bebington Church. When I first saw this church, nearly two years since, it seemed to me the fulfilment of my ideal of an old English country church. It is not so satisfactory now, although certainly a venerable edifice. There used some time ago to be ivy all over the tower; and at my first view of it, there was still a little remaining on the upper parts of the spire. But the main roots, I believe, were destroyed, and pains were taken to clear away the whole of the ivy, so that now it is quite bare,--nothing but homely gray stone, with marks of age, but no beauty. The most curious thing about the church is the font. It is a massive pile, composed of five or six layers of freestone in an octagon shape, placed in the angle formed by the projecting side porch and the wall of the church, and standing under a stained-glass window. The base is six or seven feet across, and it is built solidly up in successive steps, to the height of about six feet,--an octagonal pyramid, with the basin of the font crowning the pile hewn out of the solid stone, and about a foot in diameter and the same in depth. There was water in it from the recent rains,--water just from heaven, and therefore as holy as any water it ever held in old Romish times. The aspect of this aged font is extremely venerable, with moss in the basin and all over the stones; grass, and weeds of various kinds, and little shrubs, rooted in the chinks of the stones and between the successive steps. At each entrance of Rock Park, where we live, there is a small Gothic structure of stone, each inhabited by a policeman and his family; very small dwellings indeed, with the main apartment opening directly out-of-doors; and when the door is open, one can see the household fire, the good wife at work, perhaps the table set, and a throng of children clustering round, and generally overflowing the threshold. The policeman walks about the Park in stately fashion, with his silver-laced blue uniform and snow-white gloves, touching his hat to gentlemen who reside in the Park. In his public capacity he has rather an awful aspect, but privately he is a humble man enough, glad of any little job, and of old clothes for his many children, or, I believe, for himself. One of the two policemen is a shoemaker and cobbler. His pay, officially, is somewhere about a guinea a week. The Park, just now, is very agreeable to look at, shadowy with trees and shrubs, and with glimpses of green leaves and flower-gardens through the branches and twigs that line the iron fences. After a shower the hawthorn blossoms are delightfully fragrant. Golden tassels of the laburnum are abundant. I may have mentioned elsewhere the traditional prophecy, that, when the ivy should reach the top of Bebbington spire, the tower was doomed to fall. It lies still, therefore, a chance of standing for centuries. Mr. Turner tells me that the font now used is inside of the church, but the one outside is of unknown antiquity, and that it was customary, in papistical time, to have the font without the church. There is a little boy often on board the Rock Ferry steamer with an accordion,--an instrument I detest; but nevertheless it becomes tolerable in his hands, not so much for its music, as for the earnestness and interest with which he plays it. His body and the accordion together become one musical instrument on which his soul plays tunes, for he sways and vibrates with the music from head to foot and throughout his frame, half closing his eyes and uplifting his face, as painters represent St. Cecilia and other famous musicians; and sometimes he swings his accordion in the air, as if in a perfect rapture. After all, my ears, though not very nice, are somewhat tortured by his melodies, especially when confined within the cabin. The boy is ten years old, perhaps, and rather pretty; clean, too, and neatly dressed, very unlike all other street and vagabond children whom I have seen in Liverpool. People give him their halfpence more readily than to any other musicians who infest the boat. J-----, the other day, was describing a soldier-crab to his mother, he being much interested in natural history, and endeavoring to give as strong an idea as possible of its warlike characteristics, and power to harm those who molest it. Little R----- sat by, quietly listening and sewing, and at last, lifting her head, she remarked, "I hope God did not hurt himself, when he was making him!" LEAMINGTON. June 21st.--We left Rock Ferry and Liverpool on Monday the 18th by the rail for this place; a very dim and rainy day, so that we had no pleasant prospects of the country; neither would the scenery along the Great Western Railway have been in any case very striking, though sunshine would have made the abundant verdure and foliage warm and genial. But a railway naturally finds its way through all the common places of a country, and is certainly a most unsatisfactory mode of travelling, the only object being to arrive. However, we had a whole carriage to ourselves, and the children enjoyed the earlier part of the journey very much. We skirted Shrewsbury, and I think I saw the old tower of a church near the station, perhaps the same that struck Falstaff's "long hour." As we left the town I saw the Wrekin, a round, pointed hill of regular shape, and remembered the old toast, "To all friends round the Wrekin!" As we approached Birmingham, the country began to look somewhat Brummagemish, with its manufacturing chimneys, and pennons of flame quivering out of their tops; its forges, and great heaps of mineral refuse; its smokiness and other ugly symptoms. Of Birmingham itself we saw little or nothing, except the mean and new brick lodging-houses, on the outskirts of the town. Passing through Warwick, we had a glimpse of the castle,--an ivied wall and two turrets, rising out of imbosoming foliage; one's very idea of an old castle. We reached Leamington at a little past six, and drove to the Clarendon Hotel,--a very spacious and stately house, by far the most splendid hotel I have yet seen in England. The landlady, a courteous old lady in black, showed my wife our rooms, and we established ourselves in an immensely large and lofty parlor, with red curtains and ponderous furniture, perhaps a very little out of date. The waiter brought me the book of arrivals, containing the names of all visitors for from three to five years back. During two years I estimated that there had been about three hundred and fifty persons only, and while we were there, I saw nobody but ourselves to support the great hotel. Among the names were those of princes, earls, countesses, and baronets; and when the people of the house heard from R-----'s nurse that I too was a man of office, and held the title of Honorable in my own country, they greatly regretted that I entered myself as plain "Mister" in the book. We found this hotel very comfortable, and might doubtless have made it luxurious, had we chosen to go to five times the expense of similar luxuries in America; but we merely ordered comfortable things, and so came off at no very extravagant rate,--and with great honor, at all events, in the estimation of the waiter. During the afternoon we found lodgings, and established ourselves in them before dark. This English custom of lodgings, of which we had some experience at Rhyl last year, has its advantages; but is rather uncomfortable for strangers, who, in first settling themselves down, find that they must undertake all the responsibility of housekeeping at an instant's warming, and cannot get even a cup of tea till they have made arrangements with the grocer. Soon, however, there comes a sense of being at home, and by our exclusive selves, which never can be attained at hotels nor boarding-houses. Our house is well situated and respectably furnished, with the dinginess, however, which is inseparable from lodging-houses,--as if others had used these things before and would use them again after we had gone,--a well-enough adaptation, but a lack of peculiar appropriateness; and I think one puts off real enjoyment from a sense of not being truly fitted. July 1st.--On Friday I took the rail with J----- for Coventry. It was a bright and very warm day, oppressively so, indeed; though I think that there is never in this English climate the pervading warmth of an American summer day. The sunshine may be excessively hot, but an overshadowing cloud or the shade of a tree or of a building at once affords relief; and if the slightest breeze stirs, you feel the latent freshness of the air. Coventry is some nine or ten miles from Leamington. The approach to it from the railway presents nothing very striking,--a few church-towers, and one or two tall steeples; and the houses first seen are of modern and unnoticeable aspect. Getting into the interior of the town, however, you find the streets very crooked, and some of them very narrow. I saw one place where it seemed possible to shake hands from one jutting storied old house to another. There were whole streets of the same kind of houses, one story impending over another, such as used to be familiar to me in Salem, and in some streets of Boston. In fact, the whole aspect of the town--its irregularity and continual indirectness--reminded me very much of Boston, as I used to see it, in rare visits thither, when a child. These Coventry houses, however, many of them, are much larger than any of similar style that I have seen elsewhere, and they spread into greater bulk as they ascend, by means of one story jutting over the other. Probably the New-Englanders continued to follow this fashion of architecture after it had been abandoned in the mother country. The old house built, by Philip English, in Salem, dated about 1692; and it was in this style,--many gabled, and impending. Here the edifices of such architecture seem to be Elizabethan, and of earlier date. A woman in Stratford told us that the rooms, very low on the ground-floor, grew loftier from story to story to the attic. The fashion of windows, in Coventry, is such as I have not hitherto seen. In the highest story, a window of the ordinary height extends along the whole breadth of the house, ten, fifteen, perhaps twenty feet, just like any other window of a commonplace house, except for this inordinate width. One does not easily see what the inhabitants want of so much window-light; but the fashion is very general, and in modern houses, or houses that have been modernized, this style of window is retained. Thus young people who grow up amidst old people contract quaint and old-fashioned manners and aspect. I imagine that these ancient towns--such as Chester and Stratford, Warwick and Coventry--contain even a great deal more antiquity than meets the eye. You see many modern fronts; but if you peep or penetrate inside, you find an antique arrangement,--old rafters, intricate passages, and ancient staircases, which have put on merely a new outside, and are likely still to prove good for the usual date of a new house. They put such an immense and stalwart ponderosity into their frameworks, that I suppose a house of Elizabeth's time, if renewed, has at least an equal chance of durability with one that is new in every part. All the hotels in Coventry, so far as I noticed them, are old, with new fronts; and they have an archway for the admission of vehicles into the court-yard, and doors opening into the rooms of the building on each side of the arch. Maids and waiters are seen darting across the arched passage from door to door, and it requires a guide (in my case, at least) to show you the way to the coffee-room or the bar. I have never been up stairs in any of them, but can conceive of infinite bewilderment of zigzag corridors between staircase and chamber. It was fair-day in Coventry, and this gave what no doubt is an unusual bustle to the streets. In fact, I have not seen such crowded and busy streets in any English town; various kinds of merchandise being for sale in the open air, and auctioneers disposing of miscellaneous wares, pretty much as they do at musters and other gatherings in the United States. The oratory of the American auctioneer, however, greatly surpasses that of the Englishman in vivacity and fun. But this movement and throng, together with the white glow of the sun on the pavements, make the scene, in my recollection, assume an American aspect, and this is strange in so antique and quaint a town as Coventry. We rambled about without any definite aim, but found our way, I believe, to most of the objects that are worth seeing. St. Michael's Church was most magnificent,--so old, yet enduring; so huge, so rich; with such intricate minuteness in its finish, that, look as long as you will at it, you can always discover something new directly before your eyes. I admire this in Gothic architecture,--that you cannot master it all at once, that it is not a naked outline; but, as deep and rich as human nature itself, always revealing new ideas. It is as if the builder had built himself and his age up into it, and as if the edifice had life. Grecian temples are less interesting to me, being so cold and crystalline. I think this is the only church I have seen where there are any statues still left standing in the niches of the exterior walls. We did not go inside. The steeple of St. Michael's is three hundred and three feet high, and no doubt the clouds often envelop the tip of the spire. Trinity, another church with a tall spire, stands near St. Michael's, but did not attract me so much; though I, perhaps, might have admired it equally, had I seen it first or alone. We certainly know nothing of church-building in America, and of all English things that I have seen, methinks the churches disappoint me least. I feel, too, that there is something much more wonderful in them than I have yet had time to know and experience. In the course of the forenoon, searching about everywhere in quest of Gothic architecture, we found our way into St. Mary's Hall. The doors were wide open; it seemed to be public,--there was a notice on the wall desiring visitors to give nothing to attendants for showing it, and so we walked in. I observed, in the guide-books, that we should have obtained an order for admission from some member of the town council; but we had none, and found no need of it. An old woman, and afterwards an old man, both of whom seemed to be at home on the premises, told us that we might enter, and troubled neither themselves nor us any further. St. Mary's Hall is now the property of the Corporation of Coventry, and seems to be the place where the Mayor and Council hold their meetings. It was built by one of the old guilds or fraternities of merchants and tradesmen The woman shut the kitchen door when I approached, so that I did not see the great fireplaces and huge cooking-utensils which are said to be there. Whether these are ever used nowadays, and whether the Mayor of Coventry gives such hospitable banquets as the Mayor of Liverpool, I do not know. We went to the Red Lion, and had a luncheon of cold lamb and cold pigeon-pie. This is the best way of dining at English hotels,--to call the meal a luncheon, in which case you will get as good or better a variety than if it were a dinner, and at less than half the cost. Having lunched, we again wandered about town, and entered a quadrangle of gabled houses, with a church, and its churchyard on one side. This proved to be St. John's Church, and a part of the houses were the locality of Bond's Hospital, for the reception of ten poor men, and the remainder was devoted to the Bablake School. Into this latter I peered, with a real American intrusiveness, which I never found in myself before, but which I must now assume, or miss a great many things which I am anxious to see. Running along the front of the house, under the jut of the impending story, there was a cloistered walk, with windows opening on the quadrangle. An arched oaken door, with long iron hinges, admitted us into a school-room about twenty feet square, paved with brick tiles, blue and red. Adjoining this there is a larger school-room which we did not enter, but peeped at, through one of the inner windows, from the cloistered walk. In the room which we entered, there were seven scholars' desks, and an immense arched fireplace, with seats on each side, under the chimney, on a stone slab resting on a brick pedestal. The opening of the fireplace was at least twelve feet in width. On one side of the room were pegs for fifty-two boys' hats and clothes, and there was a boy's coat, of peculiar cut, hanging on a peg, with the number "50" in brass upon it. The coat looked ragged and shabby. An old school-book was lying on one of the desks, much tattered, and without a title; but it seemed to treat wholly of Saints' days and festivals of the Church. A flight of stairs, with a heavy balustrade of carved oak, ascended to a gallery, about eight or nine feet from the lower floor, which runs along two sides of the room, looking down upon it. The room is without a ceiling, and rises into a peaked gable, about twenty feet high. There is a large clock in it, and it is lighted by two windows, each about ten feet wide,--one in the gallery, and the other beneath it. Two benches or settles, with backs, stood one on each side of the fireplace. An old woman in black passed through the room while I was making my observations, and looked at me, but said nothing. The school was founded in 1563, by Thomas Whealby, Mayor of Coventry; the revenue is about 900 pounds, and admits children of the working-classes at eleven years old, clothes and provides for them, and finally apprentices them for seven years. We saw some of the boys playing in the quadrangle, dressed in long blue coats or gowns, with cloth caps on their heads. I know not how the atmosphere of antiquity, and massive continuance from age to age, which was the charm to me in this scene of a charityschool-room, can be thrown over it in description. After noting down these matters, I looked into the quiet precincts of Bond's Hospital, which, no doubt, was more than equally interesting; but the old men were lounging about or lolling at length, looking very drowsy, and I had not the heart nor the face to intrude among them. There is something altogether strange to an American in these charitable institutions,--in the preservation of antique modes and customs which is effected by them, insomuch that, doubtless, without at all intending it, the founders have succeeded in preserving a model of their own long-past age down into the midst of ours, and how much later nobody can know. We were now rather tired, and went to the railroad, intending to go home; but we got into the wrong train, and were carried by express, with hurricane speed, to Bradon, where we alighted, and waited a good while for the return train to Coventry. At Coventry again we had more than an hour to wait, and therefore wandered wearily up into the city, and took another look at its bustling streets, in which there seems to be a good emblem of what England itself really is,--with a great deal of antiquity in it, and which is now chiefly a modification of the old. The new things are based and supported on the sturdy old things, and often limited and impeded by them; but this antiquity is so massive that there seems to be no means of getting rid of it without tearing society to pieces. July 2d.--To-day I shall set out on my return to Liverpool, leaving my family here. TO THE LAKES. July 4th.--I left Leamington on Monday, shortly after twelve, having been accompanied to the railway station by U---- and J-----, whom I sent away before the train started. While I was waiting, a rather gentlemanly, well-to-do, English-looking man sat down by me, and began to talk of the Crimea, of human affairs in general, of God and his Providence, of the coming troubles of the world, and of spiritualism, in a strange free way for an Englishman, or, indeed, for any man. It was easy to see that he was an enthusiast of some line or other. He being bound for Birmingham and I for Rugby, we soon had to part; but he asked my name, and told me his own, which I did not much attend to, and immediately forgot. [Here follows a long account of a visit to Lichfield and Uttoxeter, condensed in "Our Old Home."] July 6th.--The day after my arrival, by way of Lichfield and Uttoxeter, at Liverpool, the door of the Consulate opened, and in came the very sociable personage who accosted me at the railway station at Leamington. He was on his way towards Edinburgh, to deliver a course of lectures or a lecture, and had called, he said, to talk with me about spiritualism, being desirous of having the judgment of a sincere mind on the subject. In his own mind, I should suppose, he is past the stage of doubt and inquiry; for he told me that in every action of his life he is governed by the counsels received from the spiritual world through a medium. I did not inquire whether this medium (who is a small boy) had suggested his visit to me. My remarks to him were quite of a sceptical character in regard to the faith to which he had surrendered himself. He has formerly lived in America, and had had a son born there. He gave me a pamphlet written by himself, on the cure of consumption and other diseases by antiseptic remedies. I hope he will not bore me any more, though he seems to be a very sincere and good man; but these enthusiasts who adopt such extravagant ideas appear to one to lack imagination, instead of being misled by it, as they are generally supposed to be. NEWBY BRIDGE.--FOOT OF WINDERMERE. July 13th.--I left Liverpool on Saturday last, by the London and Northwestern Railway, for Leamington, spent Sunday there, and started on Monday for the English lakes, with the whole family. We should not have taken this journey just now, but I had an official engagement which it was convenient to combine with a pleasure-excursion. The first night we arrived at Chester, and put up at the Albion Hotel, where we found ourselves very comfortable. We took the rail at twelve the next day, and went as far as Milnethorpe station, where we engaged seats in an old-fashioned stage-coach, and came to Newby Bridge. I suppose there are not many of these coaches now running on any road in Great Britain; but this appears to be the genuine machine, in all respects, and especially in the round, ruddy coachman, well moistened with ale, good-natured, courteous, and with a proper sense of his dignity and important position. U----, J-----, and I mounted atop, S-----, nurse, and R----- got inside, and we bowled off merrily towards the hearts of the hills. It was more than half past nine when we arrived at Newby Bridge, and alighted at the Swan Hotel, where we now are. It is a very agreeable place: not striking as to scenery, but with a pleasant rural aspect. A stone bridge of five arches crosses the river Severn (which is the communication between Windermere Lake and Morecambe Bay) close to the house, which sits low--and well sheltered in the lap of hills,--an old-fashioned inn, where the landlord and his people have a simple and friendly way of dealing with their guests, and yet provide them with all sorts of facilities for being comfortable. They load our supper and breakfast tables with trout, cold beef, ham, toast, and muffins; and give us three fair courses for dinner, and excellent wine, the cost of all which remains to be seen. This is not one of the celebrated stations among the lakes; but twice a day the stage-coach passes from Milnethorpe towards Ulverton, and twice returns, and three times a little steamer passes to and fro between our hotel and the head of the lake. Young ladies, in broad-brimmed hats, stroll about, or row on the river in the light shallops, of which there are abundance; sportsmen sit on the benches under the windows of the hotel, arranging their fishing-tackle; phaetons and post-chaises, with postilions in scarlet jackets and white breeches, with one high-topped boot, and the other leathered far up on the leg to guard against friction between the horses, dash up to the door. Morning and night comes the stage-coach, and we inspect the outside passengers, almost face to face with us, from our parlor-windows, up one pair of stairs. Little boys, and J----- among them, spend hours on hours fishing in the clear, shallow river for the perch, chubs, and minnows that may be seen flashing, like gleams of light over the flat stones with which the bottom is paved. I cannot answer for the other boys, but J----- catches nothing. There are a good many trees on the hills and roundabout, and pleasant roads loitering along by the gentle river-side, and it has been so sunny and warm since we came here that we shall have quite a genial recollection of the place, if we leave it before the skies have time to frown. The day after we came, we climbed a high and pretty steep hill, through a path shadowed with trees and shrubbery, up to a tower, from the summit of which we had a wide view of mountain scenery and the greater part of Windermere. This lake is a lovely little pool among the hills, long and narrow, beautifully indented with tiny bays and headlands; and when we saw it, it was one smile (as broad a smile as its narrowness allowed) with really brilliant sunshine. All the scenery we have yet met with is in excellent taste, and keeps itself within very proper bounds,-- never getting too wild and rugged to shock the sensibilities of cultivated people, as American scenery is apt to do. On the rudest surface of English earth, there is seen the effect of centuries of civilization, so that you do not quite get at naked Nature anywhere. And then every point of beauty is so well known, and has been described so much, that one must needs look through other people's eyes, and feels as if he were seeing a picture rather than a reality. Man has, in short, entire possession of Nature here, and I should think young men might sometimes yearn for a fresher draught. But an American likes it. FURNESS ABBEY. Yesterday, July 12th, we took a phaeton and went to Furness Abbey,--a drive of about sixteen miles, passing along the course of the Leam to Morecambe Bay, and through Ulverton and other villages. These villages all look antique, and the smallest of them generally are formed of such close, contiguous clusters of houses, and have such narrow and crooked streets, that they give you an idea of a metropolis in miniature. The houses along the road (of which there are not many, except in the villages) are almost invariably old, built of stone, and covered with a light gray plaster; generally they have a little flower-garden in front, and, often, honeysuckles, roses, or some other sweet and pretty rustic adornment, are flowering over the porch. I have hardly had such images of simple, quiet, rustic comfort and beauty, as from the look of these houses; and the whole impression of our winding and undulating road, bordered by hedges, luxuriantly green, and not too closely clipped, accords with this aspect. There is nothing arid in an English landscape; and one cannot but fancy that the same may be true of English rural life. The people look wholesome and well-to-do,--not specimens of hard, dry, sunburnt muscle, like our yeomen,--and are kind and civil to strangers, sometimes making a little inclination of the head in passing. Miss Martineau, however, does not seem to think well of their mental and moral condition. We reached Furness Abbey about twelve. There is a railway station close by the ruins; and a new hotel stands within the precincts of the abbey grounds; and continually there is the shriek, the whiz, the rumble, the bell-ringing, denoting the arrival of the trains; and passengers alight, and step at once (as their choice may be) into the refreshment-room, to get a glass of ale or a cigar,--or upon the gravelled paths of the lawn, leading to the old broken walls and arches of the abbey. The ruins are extensive, and the enclosure of the abbey is stated to have covered a space of sixty-five acres. It is impossible to describe them. The most interesting part is that which was formerly the church, and which, though now roofless, is still surrounded by walls, and retains the remnants of the pillars that formerly supported the intermingling curves of the arches. The floor is all overgrown with grass, strewn with fragments and capitals of pillars. It was a great and stately edifice, the length of the nave and choir having been nearly three hundred feet, and that of the transept more than half as much. The pillars along the nave were alternately a round, solid one and a clustered one. Now, what remains of some of them is even with the ground; others present a stump just high enough to form a seat; and others are, perhaps, a man's height from the ground,--and all are mossy, and with grass and weeds rooted into their chinks, and here and there a tuft of flowers, giving its tender little beauty to their decay. The material of the edifice is a soft red stone, and it is now extensively overgrown with a lichen of a very light gray line, which, at a little distance, makes the walls look as if they had long ago been whitewashed, and now had partially returned to their original color. The arches of the nave and transept were noble and immense; there were four of them together, supporting a tower which has long since disappeared,--arches loftier than I ever conceived to have been made by man. Very possibly, in some cathedral that I have seen, or am yet to see, there may be arches as stately as these; but I doubt whether they can ever show to such advantage in a perfect edifice as they do in this ruin,--most of them broken, only one, as far as I recollect, still completing its sweep. In this state they suggest a greater majesty and beauty than any finished human work can show; the crumbling traces of the half-obliterated design producing somewhat of the effect of the first idea of anything admirable, when it dawns upon the mind of an artist or a poet,--an idea which, do what he may, he is sure to fall short of in his attempt to embody it. In the middle of the choir is a much-dilapidated monument of a cross-legged knight (a crusader, of course) in armor, very rudely executed; and, against the wall, lie two or three more bruised and battered warriors, with square helmets on their heads and visors down. Nothing can be uglier than these figures; the sculpture of those days seems to have been far behind the architecture. And yet they knew how to put a grotesque expression into the faces of their images, and we saw some fantastic shapes and heads at the lower points of arches which would do to copy into Punch. In the chancel, just at the point below where the high altar stands, was the burial-place of the old Barons of Kendal. The broken crusader, perhaps, represents one of them; and some of their stalwart bones might be found by digging down. Against the wall of the choir, near the vacant space where the altar was, are some stone seats with canopies richly carved in stone, all quite perfectly preserved, where the priests used to sit at intervals, during the celebration of mass. Conceive all these shattered walls, with here and there an arched door, or the great arched vacancy of a window; these broken stones and monuments scattered about; these rows of pillars up and down the nave; these arches, through which a giant might have stepped, and not needed to bow his head, unless in reverence to the sanctity of the place,--conceive it all, with such verdure and embroidery of flowers as the gentle, kindly moisture of the English climate procreates on all old things, making them more beautiful than new,--conceive it with the grass for sole pavement of the long and spacious aisle, and the sky above for the only roof. The sky, to be sure, is more majestic than the tallest of those arches; and yet these latter, perhaps, make the stronger impression of sublimity, because they translate the sweep of the sky to our finite comprehension. It was a most beautiful, warm, sunny day, and the ruins had all the pictorial advantage of bright light and deep shadows. I must not forget that birds flew in and out among the recesses, and chirped and warbled, and made themselves at home there. Doubtless, the birds of the present generation are the posterity of those who first settled in the ruins, after the Reformation; and perhaps the old monks of a still earlier day may have watched them building about the abbey, before it was a ruin at all. We had an old description of the place with us, aided by which we traced out the principal part of the edifice, such as the church, as already mentioned, and, contiguous to this, the Chapter-house, which is better preserved than the church; also the kitchen, and the room where the monks met to talk; and the range of wall, where their cells probably were. I never before had given myself the trouble to form any distinct idea of what an abbey or monastery was,--a place where holy rites were daily and continually to be performed, with places to eat and sleep contiguous and convenient, in order that the monks might always be at hand to perform those rites. They lived only to worship, and therefore lived under the same roof with their place of worship, which, of course, was the principal object in the edifice, and hallowed the whole of it. We found, too, at one end of the ruins, what is supposed to have been a school-house for the children of the tenantry or villeins of the abbey. All round this room is a bench of stone against the wall, and the pedestal also of the master's seat. There are, likewise, the ruins of the mill; and the mill-stream, which is just as new as ever it was, still goes murmuring and babbling, and passes under two or three old bridges, consisting of a low gray arch overgrown with grass and shrubbery. That stream was the most fleeting and vanishing thing about the ponderous and high-piled abbey; and yet it has outlasted everything else, and might still outlast another such edifice, and be none the worse for wear. There is not a great deal of ivy upon the walls, and though an ivied wall is a beautiful object, yet it is better not to have too much,--else it is but one wall of unbroken verdure, on which you can see none of the sculptural ornaments, nor any of the hieroglyphics of Time. A sweep of ivy here and there, with the gray wall everywhere showing through, makes the better picture; and I think that nothing is so effective as the little bunches of flowers, a mere handful, that grow in spots where the seeds have been carried by the wind ages ago. I have made a miserable botch of this description; it is no description, but merely an attempt to preserve something of the impression it made on me, and in this I do not seem to have succeeded at all. I liked the contrast between the sombreness of the old walls, and the sunshine falling through them, and gladdening the grass that floored the aisles; also, I liked the effect of so many idle and cheerful people, strolling into the haunts of the dead monks, and going babbling about, and peering into the dark nooks; and listening to catch some idea of what the building was from a clerical-looking personage, who was explaining it to a party of his friends. I don't know how well acquainted this gentleman might be with the subject; but he seemed anxious not to impart his knowledge too extensively, and gave a pretty direct rebuff to an honest man who ventured an inquiry of him. I think that the railway, and the hotel within the abbey grounds, add to the charm of the place. A moonlight solitary visit might be very good, too, in its way; but I believe that one great charm and beauty of antiquity is, that we view it out of the midst of quite another mode of life; and the more perfectly this can be done, the better. It can never be done more perfectly than at Furness Abbey, which is in itself a very sombre scene, and stands, moreover, in the midst of a melancholy valley, the Saxon name of which means the Vale of the Deadly Nightshade. The entrance to the stable-yard of the hotel is beneath a pointed arch of Saxon architecture, and on one side of this stands an old building, looking like a chapel, but which may have been a porter's lodge. The Abbot's residence was in this quarter; and the clerical personage, before alluded to, spoke of these as the oldest part of the ruins. About half a mile on the hither side of the abbey stands the village of Dalton, in which is a castle built on a Roman foundation, and which was afterwards used by the abbots (in their capacity of feudal lords) as a prison. The abbey was founded about 1027 by King Stephen, before he came to the throne; and the faces of himself and of his queen are still to be seen on one of the walls. We had a very agreeable drive home (our drive hither had been uncomfortably sunny and hot), and we stopped at Ulverton to buy a pair of shoes for J----- and some drawing-books and stationery. As we passed through the little town in the morning, it was all alive with the bustle and throng of the weekly market; and though this had ceased on our return, the streets still looked animated, because the heat of the day drew most of the population, I should imagine, out of doors. Old men look very antiquated here in their old-fashioned coats and breeches, sunning themselves by the wayside. We reached home somewhere about eight o'clock,--home I see I have called it; and it seems as homelike a spot as any we have found in England,--the old inn, close by the bridge, beside the clear river, pleasantly overshadowed by trees. It is entirely English, and like nothing that one sees in America; and yet. I feel as if I might have lived here a long while ago, and had now come back because I retained pleasant recollections of it. The children, too, make themselves at home. J----- spends his time from morning to night fishing for minnows or trout, and catching nothing at all, and U---- and R----- have been riding between fields and barn in a hay-cart. The roads give us beautiful walks along the river-side, or wind away among the gentle hills; and if we had nothing else to look at in these walks, the hedges and stone fences would afford interest enough, so many and pretty are the flowers, roses, honeysuckles, and other sweet things, and so abundantly does the moss and ivy grow among the old stones of the fences, which would never have a single shoot of vegetation on them in America till the very end of time. But here, no sooner is a stone fence built, than Nature sets to work to make it a part of herself. She adopts it and adorns it, as if it were her own child. A little sprig of ivy may be seen creeping up the side, and clinging fast with its many feet; a tuft of grass roots itself between two of the stones, where a little dust from the road has been moistened into soil for it: a small bunch of fern grows in another such crevice; a deep, soft, green moss spreads itself over the top and all along the sides of the fence; and wherever nothing else will grow, lichens adhere to the stones and variegate their lines. Finally, a great deal of shrubbery is sure to cluster along its extent, and take away all hardness from the outline; and so the whole stone fence looks as if God had had at least as much to do with it as man. The trunks of the trees, too, exhibit a similar parasitical vegetation. Parasitical is an unkind phrase to bestow on this beautiful love and kindness which seems to exist here between one plant and another; the strong thing--being always ready to give support and sustenance, and the weak thing to repay with beauty, so that both are the richer,--as in the case of ivy and woodbine, clustering up the trunk of a tall tree, and adding Corinthian grace to its lofty beauty. Mr. W------, our landlord, has lent us a splendid work with engravings, illustrating the antiquities of Furness Abbey. I gather from it that the hotel must have been rebuilt or repaired from an old manor-house, which was itself erected by a family of Prestons, after the Reformation, and was a renewal from the Abbot's residence. Much of the edifice probably, as it exists now, may have been part of the original one; and there are bas-reliefs of Scripture subjects, sculptured in stone, and fixed in the wall of the dining-room, which have been there since the Abbot's time. This author thinks that what we had supposed to be the school-house (on the authority of an old book) was really the building for the reception of guests, with its chapel. He says that the tall arches in the church are sixty feet high. The Earl of Burlington, I believe, is the present proprietor of the abbey. THE LAKES. July 16th.--On Saturday, we left Newby Bridge, and came by steamboat up Windermere Lake to Lowwood Hotel, where we now are. The foot of the lake is just above Newby Bridge, and it widens from that point, but never to such a breadth that objects are not pretty distinctly visible from shore to shore. The steamer stops at two or three places in the course of its voyage, the principal one being Bowness, which has a little bustle and air of business about it proper to the principal port of the lake. There are several small yachts, and many skiffs rowing about. The banks are everywhere beautiful, and the water, in one portion, is strewn with islands; few of which are large enough to be inhabitable, but they all seem to be appropriated, and kept in the neatest order. As yet, I have seen no wildness; everything is perfectly subdued and polished and imbued with human taste, except, indeed, the outlines of the hills, which continue very much the same as God made them. As we approached the head of the lake, the congregation of great hills in the distance became very striking. The shapes of these English mountains are certainly far more picturesque than those which I have seen in Eastern America, where their summits are almost invariably rounded, as I remember them. They are great hillocks, great bunches of earth, similar to one another in their developments. Here they have variety of shape, rising into peaks, falling in abrupt precipices, stretching along in zigzag outlines, and thus making the most of their not very gigantic masses, and producing a remarkable effect. We arrived at the Lowwood Hotel, which is very near the head of the lake, not long after two o'clock. It stands almost on the shore of Windermere, with only a green lawn between,--an extensive hotel, covering a good deal of ground; but low, and rather village-inn-like than lofty. We found the house so crowded as to afford us no very comfortable accommodations, either as to parlor or sleeping-rooms, and we find nothing like the home-feeling into which we at once settled down at Newby Bridge. There is a very pretty vicinity, and a fine view of mountains to the northwest, sitting together in a family group, sometimes in full sunshine, sometimes with only a golden gleam on one or two of them, sometimes all in a veil of cloud, from which here and there a great, dusky head raises itself, while you are looking at a dim obscurity. Nearer, there are high, green slopes, well wooded, but with such decent and well-behaved wood as you perceive has grown up under the care of man; still no wildness, no ruggedness,--as how should there be, when, every half-mile or so, a porter's lodge or a gentleman's gateway indicates that the whole region is used up for villas. On the opposite shore of the lake there is a mimic castle, which I suppose I might have mistaken for a real one two years ago. It is a great, foolish toy of gray stone. A steamboat comes to the pier as many as six times a day, and stage-coaches and omnibuses stop at the door still oftener, communicating with Ambleside and the town of Windermere, and with the railway, which opens London and all the world to us. We get no knowledge of our fellow-guests, all of whom, like ourselves, live in their own circles, and are just as remote from us as if the lake lay between. The only words I have spoken since arriving here have been to my own family or to a waiter, save to one or two young pedestrians who met me on a walk, and asked me the distance to Lowwood Hotel. "Just beyond here," said I, and I might stay for months without occasion to speak again. Yesterday forenoon J----- and I walked to Ambleside,--distant barely two miles. It is a little town, chiefly of modern aspect, built on a very uneven hillside, and with very irregular streets and lanes, which bewilder the stranger as much as those of a larger city. Many of the houses look old, and are probably the cottages and farm-houses which composed the rude village a century ago; but there are stuccoed shops and dwellings, such as may have been built within a year or two; and three hotels, one of which has the look of a good old village inn; and the others are fashionable or commercial establishments. Through the midst of the village comes tumbling and rumbling a mountain streamlet, rushing through a deep, rocky dell, gliding under an old stone inch, and turning, when occasion calls, the great block of a water-mill. This is the only very striking feature of the village,--the stream taking its rough pathway to the lake as it used to do before the poets had made this region fashionable. In the evening, just before eight o'clock, I took a walk alone, by a road which goes up the hill, back of our hotel, and which I supposed might be the road to the town of Windermere. But it went up higher and higher, and for the mile or two that it led me along, winding up, I saw no traces of a town; but at last it turned into a valley between two high ridges, leading quite away from the lake, within view of which the town of Windermere is situated. It was a very lonely road, though as smooth, hard, and well kept as any thoroughfare in the suburbs of a city; hardly a dwelling on either side, except one, half barn, half farm-house, and one gentleman's gateway, near the beginning of the road, and another more than a mile above. At, two or three points there were stone barns, which are here built with great solidity. At one place there was a painted board, announcing that a field of five acres was to be sold, and referring those desirous of purchasing to a solicitor in London. The lake country is but a London suburb. Nevertheless, the walk was lonely and lovely; the copses and the broad hillside, the glimpses of the lake, the great misty company of pikes and fells, beguiled me into a sense of something like solitude; and the bleating of the sheep, remote and near, had a like tendency. Gaining the summit of the hill, I had the best view of Windermere which I have yet attained,--the best, I should think, that can be had, though, being towards the south, it brings the softer instead of the more striking features of the landscape into view. But it shows nearly the whole extent of the lake, all the way from Lowwood, beyond Newby Bridge, and I think there can hardly be anything more beautiful in the world. The water was like a strip and gleam of sky, fitly set among lovely slopes of earth. It was no broader than many a river, and yet you saw at once that it could be no river, its outline being so different from that of a running stream, not straight nor winding, but stretching to one side or the other, as the shores made room for it. This morning it is raining, and we are not very comfortable nor contented, being all confined to our little parlor, which has a broken window, against which I have pinned The Times to keep out the chill damp air. U---- has been ill, in consequence of having been overheated at Newby Bridge. We have no books, except guide-books, no means of amusement, nothing to do. There are no newspapers, and I shall remember Lowwood not very agreeably. As far as we are concerned, it is a scrambling, ill-ordered hotel, with insufficient attendance, wretched sleeping-accommodations, a pretty fair table, but German-silver forks and spoons; our food does not taste very good, and yet there is really no definite fault to be found with it. Since writing the above, I have found the first volume of Sir Charles Grandison, and two of G. P. R. James's works, in the coffee-room. The days pass heavily here, and leave behind them a sense of having answered no very good purpose. They are long enough, at all events, for the sun does not set till after eight o'clock, and rises I know not when. One of the most remarkable distinctions between England and the United States is the ignorance into which we fall of whatever is going on in the world the moment we get away from the great thoroughfares and centres of life. In Leamington we heard no news from week's end to week's end, and knew not where to find a newspaper; and here the case is neither better nor worse. The rural people really seem to take no interest in public affairs; at all events, they have no intelligence on such subjects. It is possible that the cheap newspapers may, in time, find their way into the cottages, or, at least, into the country taverns; but it is not at all so now. If they generally know that Sebastopol is besieged, it is the extent of their knowledge. The public life of America is lived through the mind and heart of every man in it; here the people feel that they have nothing to do with what is going forward, and, I suspect, care little or nothing about it. Such things they permit to be the exclusive concern of the higher classes. In front of our hotel, on the lawn between us and the lake, there are two trees, which we have hitherto taken to be yews; but on examining them more closely, I find that they are pine-trees, and quite dead and dry, although they have the aspect of dark rich life. But this is caused by the verdure of two great ivy-vines, which have twisted round them like gigantic snakes, and, clambering up and throttling the life out of them, have put out branches, and made crowns of thick green leaves, so that, at a little distance, it is quite impossible not to take them for genuine trees. The trunks of the ivy-vines must be more than a foot in circumference, and one feels they have stolen the life that belonged to the pines. The dead branches of one of the pines stick out horizontally through the ivy-boughs. The other shows nothing but the ivy, and in shape a good deal resembles a poplar. When the pine trunks shall have quite crumbled away, the ivy-stems will doubtless have gained sufficient strength to sustain themselves independently. July 19th.--Yesterday S----- went down the lake in the steamboat to take U----, baby, and nurse to Newby Bridge, while the three rest of us should make a tour through the lake region. After mamma's departure, and when I had finished some letters, J----- and I set out on a walk, which finally brought us to Bowness, through much delightful shade of woods, and past beautiful rivulets or brooklets, and up and down many hills. This chief harbor of the lakes seemed alive and bustling with tourists, it being a sunny and pleasant day, so that they were all abroad, like summer insects. The town is a confused and irregular little place, of very uneven surface. There is an old church in it, and two or three large hotels. We stayed there perhaps half an hour, and then went to the pier, where shortly a steamer arrived, with music sounding,--on the deck of which, with her back to us, sat a lady in a gray travelling-dress. J----- cried out, "Mamma! mamma!" to which the lady deigned no notice, but, he repeating it, she turned round, and was as much surprised, no doubt, to see her husband and son, as if this little lake had been the great ocean, and we meeting each other from opposite shores of it. We soon steamed back to Lowwood, and took a car thence for Rydal and Grasmere, after a cold luncheon. At Bowness I met Miss Charlotte Cushman, who has been staying at the Lowwood Hotel with us since Monday, without either party being aware of it. Our road to Rydal lay through Ambleside, which is certainly a very pretty town, and looks cheerfully in a sunny day. We saw Miss Martineau's residence, called "The Knoll," standing high up on a hillock, and having at its foot a Methodist chapel, for which, or whatever place of Christian worship, this good lady can have no occasion. We stopped a moment in the street below her house, and deliberated a little whether to call on her; but concluded we would not. After leaving Ambleside, the road winds in and out among the hills, and soon brings us to a sheet (or napkin, rather than a sheet) of water, which the driver tells us is Rydal Lake! We had already heard that it was but three quarters of a mile long, and one quarter broad; still, it being an idea of considerable size in our minds, we had inevitably drawn its ideal, physical proportions on a somewhat corresponding scale. It certainly did look very small; and I said, in my American scorn, that I could carry it away easily in a porringer; for it is nothing more than a grass-bordered pool among the surrounding hills which ascend directly from its margin; so that one might fancy it, not, a permanent body of water, but a rather extensive accumulation of recent rain. Moreover, it was rippled with a breeze, and so, as I remember it, though the sun shone, it looked dull and sulky, like a child out of humor. Now, the best thing these small ponds can do is to keep perfectly calm and smooth, and not attempt to show off any airs of their own, but content themselves with serving as a mirror for whatever of beautiful or picturesque there may be in the scenery around them. The hills about Rydal Water are not very lofty, but are sufficiently so as objects of every-day view,-- objects to live with; and they are craggier than those we have hitherto seen, and bare of wood, which indeed would hardly grow on some of their precipitous sides. On the roadside, as we reach the foot of the lake, stands a spruce and rather large house of modern aspect, but with several gables and much overgrown with ivy,--a very pretty and comfortable house, built, adorned, and cared for with commendable taste. We inquired whose it was, and the coachman said it was "Mr. Wordsworth's," and that "Mrs. Wordsworth was still residing there." So we were much delighted to have seen his abode, and as we were to stay the night at Grasmere, about two miles farther on, we determined to come back and inspect it as particularly as should be allowable. Accordingly, after taking rooms at Brown's Hotel, we drove back in our return car, and, reaching the head of Rydal Water, alighted to walk through this familiar scene of so many years of Wordsworth's life. We ought to have seen De Quincey's former residence and Hartley Coleridge's cottage, I believe, on our way, but were not aware of it at the time. Near the lake there is a stone-quarry, and a cavern of some extent, artificially formed, probably by taking out the stone. Above the shore of the lake, not a great way from Wordsworth's residence, there is a flight of steps hewn in a rock and ascending to a rock seat where a good view of the lake may be attained; and, as Wordsworth has doubtless sat there hundreds of times, so did we ascend and sit down, and look at the hills and at the flags on the lake's shore. Reaching the house that had been pointed out to us as Wordsworth's residence, we began to peer about at its front and gables, and over the garden wall, on both sides of the road, quickening our enthusiasm as much as we could, and meditating to pilfer some flower or ivy-leaf from the house or its vicinity, to be kept as sacred memorials. At this juncture a man approached, who announced himself as the gardener of the place, and said, too, that this was not Wordsworth's house at all, but the residence of Mr. Ball, a Quaker gentleman; but that his ground adjoined Wordsworth's, and that he had liberty to take visitors through the latter. How absurd it would have been if we had carried away ivy-leaves and tender recollections from this domicile of a respectable Quaker! The gardener was an intelligent man, of pleasant, sociable, and respectful address; and as we went along he talked about the poet, whom he had known, and who, he said, was very familiar with the country people. He led us through Mr. Ball's grounds, up a steep hillside, by winding, gravelled walks, with summer-houses at points favorable for them. It was a very shady and pleasant spot, containing about an acre of ground, and all turned to good account by the manner of laying it out; so that it seemed more than it really is. In one place, on a small, smooth slab of slate, let into a rock, there is an inscription by Wordsworth, which I think I have read in his works, claiming kindly regards from those who visit the spot after his departure, because many trees had been spared at his intercession. His own grounds, or rather his ornamental garden, is separated from Mr. Ball's only by a wire fence, or some such barrier, and the gates have no fastening, so that the whole appears like one possession, and doubtless was so as regarded the poet's walks and enjoyments. We approached by paths so winding that I hardly know how the house stands in relation to the road; but, after much circuity, we really did see Wordsworth's residence,--an old house with an uneven ridge-pole, built of stone, no doubt, but plastered over with some neutral tint,--a house that would not have been remarkably pretty in itself, but so delightfully situated, so secluded, so hedged about with shrubbery, and adorned with flowers, so ivy-grown on one side, so beautified with the personal care of him who lived in it and loved it, that it seemed the very place for a poet's residence; and as if, while he lived so long in it, his poetry had manifested itself in flowers, shrubbery, and ivy. I never smelt such a delightful fragrance of flowers as there was all through the garden. In front of the house there is a circular terrace of two ascents, in raising which Wordsworth had himself performed much of the labor; and here there are seats, from which we obtained a fine view down the valley of the Rothay, with Windermere in the distance,--a view of several miles, and which we did not suppose could be seen, after winding among the hills so far from the lake. It is very beautiful and picture-like. While we sat here, S----- happened to refer to the ballad of little Barbara Lewthwaite, and J----- began to repeat the poem concerning her, and the gardener said that "little Barbara" had died not a great while ago, an elderly woman, leaving grown-up children behind her. Her marriage-name was Thompson, and the gardener believed there was nothing remarkable in her character. There is a summer-house at one extremity of the grounds, in deepest shadow, but with glimpses of mountain views through trees which shut it in, and which have spread intercepting boughs since Wordsworth died. It is lined with pine-cones, in a pretty way enough, but of doubtful taste. I rather wonder that people of real taste should help Nature out, and beautify her, or perhaps rather prettify her so much as they do,--opening vistas, showing one thing, hiding another, making a scene picturesque, whether or no. I cannot rid myself of the feeling that there is something false--a kind of humbug--in all this. At any rate, the traces of it do not contribute to my enjoyment, and, indeed, it ought to be done so exquisitely as to leave no trace. But I ought not to criticise in any way a spot which gave me so much pleasure, and where it is good to think of Wordsworth in quiet, past days, walking in his home-shadow of trees which he knew, and training flowers, and trimming shrubs, and chanting in an undertone his own verses up and down the winding walks. The gardener gave J----- a cone from the summer-house, which had fallen on the seat, and S----- got some mignonette, and leaves of laurel and ivy, and we wended our way back to the hotel. Wordsworth was not the owner of this house; it being the property of Lady Fleming. Mrs. Wordsworth still lives there, and is now at home. Five o'clock.---All day it has been cloudy and showery, with thunder now and then; the mists hang low on the surrounding hills, adown which, at various points, we can see the snow-white fall of little streamlets ("forces" they call them here) swollen by the rain. An overcast day is not so gloomy in the hill-country as in the lowlands; there are more breaks, more transfusion of skylight through the gloom, as has been the case to-day, and as I found in Lenox; we get better acquainted with clouds by seeing at what height they be on the hillsides, and find that the difference betwixt a fair day and a cloudy and rainy one is very superficial, after all. Nevertheless, rain is rain, and wets a man just as much among the mountains as anywhere else; so we have been kept within doors all day, till an hour or so ago, when J----- and I went down to the village in quest of the post-office. We took a path that leads from the hotel across the fields, and, coming into a wood, crosses the Rothay by a one-arched bridge and passes the village church. The Rothay is very swift and turbulent to-day, and hurries along with foam-specks on its surface, filling its banks from brim to brim,--a stream perhaps twenty feet wide, perhaps more; for I am willing that the good little river should have all it can fairly claim. It is the St. Lawrence of several of these English lakes, through which it flows, and carries off their superfluous waters. In its haste, and with its rushing sound, it was pleasant both to see and hear; and it sweeps by one side of the old churchyard where Wordsworth lies buried,--- the side where his grave is made. The church of Grasmere is a very plain structure, with a low body, on one side of which is a small porch with a pointed arch. The tower is square and looks ancient; but the whole is overlaid with plaster of a buff or pale yellow hue. It was originally built, I suppose, of rough shingly stones, as many of the houses hereabouts are now, and, like many of them, the plaster is used to give a finish. We found the gate of the churchyard wide open; and the grass was lying on the graves, having probably been mowed yesterday. It is but a small churchyard, and with few monuments of any pretension in it, most of them being slate headstones, standing erect. From the gate at which we entered, a distinct foot-track leads to the corner nearest the riverside, and I turned into it by a sort of instinct, the more readily as I saw a tourist-looking man approaching from that point, and a woman looking among the gravestones. Both of these persons had gone by the time I came up, so that J----- and I were left to find Wordsworth's grave all by ourselves. At this corner of the churchyard there is a hawthorn bush or tree, the extremest branches of which stretch as far as where Wordsworth lies. This whole corner seems to be devoted to himself and his family and friends; and they all lie very closely together, side by side, and head to foot, as room could conveniently be found. Hartley Coleridge lies a little behind, in the direction of the church, his feet being towards Wordsworth's head, who lies in the row of those of his own blood. I found out Hartley Coleridge's grave sooner than Wordsworth's; for it is of marble, and, though simple enough, has more of sculptured device about it, having been erected, as I think the inscription states, by his brother and sister. Wordsworth has only the very simplest slab of slate, with "William Wordsworth" and nothing else upon it. As I recollect it, it is the midmost grave of the row. It is or has been well grass-grown, but the grass is quite worn away from the top, though sufficiently luxuriant at the sides. It looks as if people had stood upon it, and so does the grave next to it, which I believe is one of his children. I plucked some grass and weeds from it, and as he was buried within so few years they may fairly be supposed to have drawn their nutriment from his mortal remains, and I gathered them from just above his head. There is no fault to be found with his grave,--within view of the hills, within sound of the river, murmuring near by,--no fault except that he is crowded so closely with his kindred; and, moreover, that, being so old a churchyard, the earth over him must all have been human once. He might have had fresh earth to himself; but he chose this grave deliberately. No very stately and broad-based monument can ever be erected over it without infringing upon, covering, and overshadowing the graves, not only of his family, but of individuals who probably were quite disconnected with him. But it is pleasant to think and know--were it but on the evidence of this choice of a resting-place--that he did not care for a stately monument. After leaving the churchyard, we wandered about in quest of the post-office, and for a long time without success. This little town of Grasmere seems to me as pretty a place as ever I met with in my life. It is quite shut in by hills that rise up immediately around it, like a neighborhood of kindly giants. These hills descend steeply to the verge of the level on which the village stands, and there they terminate at once, the whole site of the little town being as even as a floor. I call it a village; but it is no village at all,--all the dwellings standing apart, each in its own little domain, and each, I believe, with its own little lane leading to it, independently of the rest. Most of these are old cottages, plastered white, with antique porches, and roses and other vines trained against them, and shrubbery growing about them; and some are covered with ivy. There are a few edifices of more pretension and of modern build, but not so strikingly so as to put the rest out of countenance. The post-office, when we found it, proved to be an ivied cottage, with a good deal of shrubbery round it, having its own pathway, like the other cottages. The whole looks like a real seclusion, shut out from the great world by these encircling hills, on the sides of which, whenever they are not too steep, you see the division lines of property, and tokens of cultivation,--taking from them their pretensions to savage majesty, but bringing them nearer to the heart of man. Since writing the above, I have been again with S----- to see Wordsworth's grave, and, finding the door of the church open, we went in. A woman and little girl were sweeping at the farther end, and the woman came towards us out of the cloud of dust which she had raised. We were surprised at the extremely antique appearance of the church. It is paved with bluish-gray flagstones, over which uncounted generations have trodden, leaving the floor as well laid as ever. The walls are very thick, and the arched windows open through them at a considerable distance above the floor. There is no middle aisle; but first a row of pews next either wall, and then an aisle on each side of the pews, occupying the centre of the church,--then, two side aisles, but no middle one. And down through the centre or the church runs a row of five arches, very rude and round-headed, all of rough stone, supported by rough and massive pillars, or rather square, stone blocks, which stand in the pews, and stood in the same places probably, long before the wood of those pews began to grow. Above this row of arches is another row, built upon the same mass of stone, and almost as broad, but lower; and on this upper row rests the framework, the oaken beams, the black skeleton of the roof. It is a very clumsy contrivance for supporting the roof, and if it were modern, we certainly should condemn it as very ugly; but being the relic of a simple age it comes in well with the antique simplicity of the whole structure. The roof goes up, barn-like, into its natural angle, and all the rafters and cross-beams are visible. There is an old font; and in the chancel is a niche, where (judging from a similar one in Furness Abbey) the holy water used to be placed for the priest's use while celebrating mass. Around the inside of the porch is a stone bench, against the wall, narrow and uneasy, but where a great many people had sat, who now have found quieter resting-places. The woman was a very intelligent-looking person, not of the usual English ruddiness, but rather thin and somewhat pale, though bright, of aspect. Her way of talking was very agreeable. She inquired if we wished to see Wordsworth's monument, and at once showed it to us,--a slab of white marble fixed against the upper end of the central row of stone arches, with a pretty long inscription, and a profile bust, in bas-relief, of his aged countenance. The monument, is placed directly over Wordsworth's pew, and could best be seen and read from the very corner seat where he used to sit. The pew is one of those occupying the centre of the church, and is just across the aisle from the pulpit, and is the best of all for the purpose of seeing and hearing the clergyman, and likewise as convenient as any, from its neighborhood to the altar. On the other side of the aisle, beneath the pulpit, is Lady Fleming's pew. This and one or two others are curtained, Wordsworth's was not. I think I can bring up his image in that corner seat of his pew--a white-headed, tall, spare man, plain in aspect--better than in any other situation. The woman said that she had known him very well, and that he had made some verses on a sister of hers. She repeated the first lines, something about a lamb, but neither S----- nor I remembered them. On the walls of the chancel there are monuments to the Flemings, and painted escutcheons of their arms; and along the side walls also, and on the square pillars of the row of arches, there are other monuments, generally of white marble, with the letters of the inscription blackened. On these pillars, likewise, and in many places in the walls, were hung verses from Scripture, painted on boards. At one of the doors was a poor-box,--an elaborately carved little box, of oak, with the date 1648, and the name of the church--St. Oswald's--upon it. The whole interior of the edifice was plain, simple, almost to grimness,--or would have been so, only that the foolish church-wardens, or other authority, have washed it over with the same buff color with which they have overlaid the exterior. It is a pity; it lightens it up, and desecrates it greatly, especially as the woman says that there were formerly paintings on the walls, now obliterated forever. I could have stayed in the old church much longer, and could write much more about it, but there must be an end to everything. Pacing it from the farther end to the elevation before the altar, I found that it was twenty-five paces long. On looking again at the Rothay, I find I did it some injustice; for at the bridge, in its present swollen state, it is nearer twenty yards than twenty feet across. Its waters are very clear, and it rushes along with a speed which is delightful to see, after an acquaintance with the muddy and sluggish Avon and Leam. Since tea I have taken a stroll from the hotel in a different direction from heretofore, and passed the Swan Inn, where Scott used to go daily to get a draught of liquor, when he was visiting Wordsworth, who had no wine nor other inspiriting fluid in his house. It stands directly on the wayside,--a small, whitewashed house, with an addition in the rear that seems to have been built since Scott's time. On the door is the painted sign of a swan, and the name "Scott's Swan Hotel." I walked a considerable distance beyond it, but, a shower cooling up, I turned back, entered the inn, and, following the mistress into a snug little room, was served with a glass of bitter ale. It is a very plain and homely inn, and certainly could not have satisfied Scott's wants if he had required anything very far-fetched or delicate in his potations. I found two Westmoreland peasants in the room, with ale before them. One went away almost immediately; but the other remained, and, entering into conversation with him, he told me that he was going to New Zealand, and expected to sail in September. I announced myself as an American, and he said that a large party had lately gone from hereabouts to America; but he seemed not to understand that there was any distinction between Canada and the States. These people had gone to Quebec. He was a very civil, well-behaved, kindly sort of person, of a simple character, which I took to belong to the class and locality, rather than to himself individually. I could not very well understand all that he said, owing to his provincial dialect; and when he spoke to his own countrymen, or to the women of the house, I really could but just catch a word here and there. How long it takes to melt English down into a homogeneous mass! He told me that there was a public library in Grasmere to which he has access in common with the other inhabitants, and a reading-room connected with it, where he reads The Times in the evening. There was no American smartness in his mind. When I left the house, it was showering briskly; but the drops quite ceased, and the clouds began to break away before I reached my hotel, and I saw the new moon over my right shoulder. July 21st.--We left Grasmere yesterday, after breakfast; it being a delightful morning, with some clouds, but the cheerfullest sunshine on great part of the mountainsides and on ourselves. We returned, in the first place, to Ambleside, along the border of Grasmere Lake, which would be a pretty little piece of water, with its steep and high surrounding hills, were it not that a stubborn and straight-lined stone fence, running along the eastern shore, by the roadside, quite spoils its appearance. Rydal Water, though nothing can make a lake of it, looked prettier and less diminutive than at the first view; and, in fact, I find that it is impossible to know accurately how any prospect or other thing looks, until after at least a second view, which always essentially corrects the first. This, I think, is especially true in regard to objects which we have heard much about, and exercised our imagination upon; the first view being a vain attempt to reconcile our idea with the reality, and at the second we begin to accept the thing for what it really is. Wordsworth's situation is really a beautiful one; and Nab Scaur behind his house rises with a grand, protecting air. We passed Nab's cottage, in which De Quincey formerly lived, and where Hartley Coleridge lived and died. It is a small, buff-tinted, plastered stone cottage, immediately on the roadside, and originally, I should think, of a very humble class; but it now looks as if persons of taste might some time or other have sat down in it, and caused flowers to spring up about it. It is very agreeably situated under the great, precipitous hill, and with Rydal Water close at band, on the other side of the road. An advertisement of lodgings to let was put up on this cottage. I question whether any part of the world looks so beautiful as England-- this part of England, at least--on a fine summer morning. It makes one think the more cheerfully of human life to see such a bright universal verdure; such sweet, rural, peaceful, flower-bordered cottages,--not cottages of gentility, but dwellings of the laboring poor; such nice villas along the roadside, so tastefully contrived for comfort and beauty, and adorned more and more, year after year, with the care and after-thought of people who mean to live in them a great while, and feel as if their children might live in them also, and so they plant trees to overshadow their walks, and train ivy and all beautiful vines up against their walls, and thus live for the future in another sense than we Americans do. And the climate helps them out, and makes everything moist, and green, and full of tender life, instead of dry and arid, as human life and vegetable life is so apt to be with us. Certainly, England can present a more attractive face than we can; even in its humbler modes of life, to say nothing of the beautiful lives that might be led, one would think, by the higher classes, whose gateways, with broad, smooth gravelled drives leading through them, one sees every mile or two along the road, winding into some proud seclusion. All this is passing away, and society most assume new relations; but there is no harm in believing that there has been something very good in English life,-- good for all classes while the world was in a state out of which these forms naturally grew. Passing through Ambleside, our phaeton and pair turned towards Ullswater, which we were to reach through the Pass of Kirkstone. This is some three or four miles from Ambleside, and as we approached it the road kept ascending higher and higher, the hills grew more bare, and the country lost its soft and delightful verdure. At last the road became so steep that J----- and I alighted to walk. This is the aspiring road that Wordsworth speaks of in his ode; it passes through the gorge of precipitous hills,--or almost precipitous,--too much so for even the grass to grow on many portions, which are covered with gray smugly stones; and I think this pass, in its middle part, must have looked just the same when the Romans marched through it as it looks now. No trees could ever have grown on the steep hillsides, whereon even the English climate can generate no available soil. I do not know that I have seen anything more impressive than the stern gray sweep of these naked mountains, with nothing whatever to soften or adorn them. The notch of the White Mountains, as I remember it in my youthful days, is more wonderful and richly picturesque, but of quite a different character. About the centre and at the highest point of the pass stands an old stone building of mean appearance, with the usual sign of an alehouse, "Licensed to retail foreign spirits, ale, and tobacco," over the door, and another small sign, designating it as the highest inhabitable house in England. It is a chill and desolate place for a residence. They keep a visitor's book here, and we recorded our names in it, and were not too sorry to leave the mean little hovel, smelling as it did of tobacco-smoke, and possessing all other characteristics of the humblest alehouse on the level earth. The Kirkstone, which gives the pass its name, is not seen in approaching from Ambleside, until some time after you begin to descend towards Brothers' Water. When the driver first pointed it out, a little way up the hill on our left, it looked no more than a bowlder of a ton or two in weight, among a hundred others nearly as big; and I saw hardly any resemblance to a church or church-spire, to which the fancies of past generations have likened it. As we descended the pass, however, and left the stone farther and farther behind, it continued to show itself, and assumed a more striking and prominent aspect, standing out clearly relieved against the sky, so that no traveller would fail to observe it, where there are so few defined objects to attract notice, amid the naked monotony of the stern hills; though, indeed, if I had taken it for any sort of an edifice, it would rather have been for a wayside inn or a shepherd's hut than for a church. We lost sight of it, and again beheld it more and more brought out against the sky, by the turns of the road, several times in the course of our descent. There is a very fine view of Brothers' Water, shut in by steep hills, as we go down Kirkstone Pass. At about half past twelve we reached Patterdale, at the foot of Ullswater, and here took luncheon. The hotels are mostly very good all through this region, and this deserved that character. A black-coated waiter, of more gentlemanly appearance than most Englishmen, yet taking a sixpence with as little scruple as a lawyer would take his fee; the mistress, in lady-like attire, receiving us at the door, and waiting upon us to the carriage-steps; clean, comely housemaids everywhere at hand,-- all appliances, in short, for being comfortable, and comfortable, too, within one's own circle. And, on taking leave, everybody who has done anything for you, or who might by possibility have done anything, is to be feed. You pay the landlord enough, in all conscience; and then you pay all his servants, who have been your servants for the time. But, to say the truth, there is a degree of the same kind of annoyance in an American hotel, although it is not so much an acknowledged custom. Here, in the houses where attendance is not charged in the bill, no wages are paid by the host to those servants--chambermaid, waiter, and boots--who come into immediate contact with travellers. The drivers of the cars, phaetons, and flys are likewise unpaid, except by their passengers, and claim threepence a mile with the same sense of right as their masters in charging for the vehicles and horses. When you come to understand this claim, not as an appeal to your generosity, but as an actual and necessary part of the cost of the journey, it is yielded to with a more comfortable feeling; and the traveller has really option enough, as to the amount which he will give, to insure civility and good behavior on the driver's part. Ullswater is a beautiful lake, with steep hills walling it about, so steep, on the eastern side, that there seems hardly room for a road to run along the base. We passed up the western shore, and turned off from it about midway, to take the road towards Keswick. We stopped, however, at Lyulph's Tower, while our chariot went on up a hill, and took a guide to show us the way to Airey Force,--a small cataract, which is claimed as private property, and out of which, no doubt, a pretty little revenue is raised. I do not think that there can be any rightful appropriation, as private property, of objects of natural beauty. The fruits of the land, and whatever human labor can produce from it, belong fairly enough to the person who has a deed or a lease; but the beautiful is the property of him who can hive it and enjoy it. It is very unsatisfactory to think of a cataract under lock and key. However, we were shown to Airey Force by a tall and graceful mountain-maid, with a healthy cheek, and a step that had no possibility of weariness in it. The cascade is an irregular streak of foamy water, pouring adown a rude shadowy glen. I liked well enough to see it; but it is wearisome, on the whole, to go the rounds of what everybody thinks it necessary to see. It makes me a little ashamed. It is somewhat as if we were drinking out of the same glass, and eating from the same dish, as a multitude of other people. Within a few miles of Keswick, we passed along at the foot of Saddleback, and by the entrance of the Vale of St. John, and down the valley, on one of the slopes, we saw the Enchanted Castle. Thence we drove along by the course of the Greta, and soon arrived at Keswick, which lies at the base of Skiddaw, and among a brotherhood of picturesque eminences, and is itself a compact little town, with a market-house, built of the old stones of the Earl of Derwentwater's ruined castle, standing in the centre,--the principal street forking into two as it passes it. We alighted at the King's Arms, and went in search of Southey's residence, which we found easily enough, as it lies just on the outskirts of the town. We inquired of a group of people, two of whom, I thought, did not seem to know much about the matter; but the third, an elderly man, pointed it out at once,--a house surrounded by trees, so as to be seen only partially, and standing on a little eminence, a hundred yards or so from the road. We went up a private lane that led to the rear of the place, and so penetrated quite into the back-yard without meeting anybody,--passing a small kennel, in which were two hounds, who gazed at us, but neither growled nor wagged their tails. The house is three stories high, and seems to have a great deal of room in it, so as not to discredit its name, "Greta Hall,"--a very spacious dwelling for a poet. The windows were nearly all closed; there were no signs of occupancy, but a general air of neglect. S-----, who is bolder than I in these matters, ventured through what seemed a back garden gate, and I soon heard her in conversation with some man, who now presented himself, and proved to be a gardener. He said he had formerly acted in that capacity for Southey, although a gardener had not been kept by him as a regular part of his establishment. This was an old man with an odd crookedness of legs, and strange, disjointed limp. S----- had told him that we were Americans, and he took the idea that we had come this long distance, over sea and land, with the sole purpose of seeing Southey's residence, so that he was inclined to do what he could towards exhibiting it. This was but little; the present occupant (a Mr. Radday, I believe the gardener called him) being away, and the house shut up. But he showed us about the grounds, and allowed us to peep into the windows of what had been Southey's library, and into those of another of the front apartments, and showed us the window of the chamber in the rear, in which Southey died. The apartments into which we peeped looked rather small and low,--not particularly so, but enough to indicate an old building. They are now handsomely furnished, and we saw over one of the fireplaces an inscription about Southey; and in the corner of the same room stood a suit, of bright armor. It is taller than the country-houses of English gentlemen usually are, and it is even stately. All about, in front, beside it and behind, there is a great profusion of trees, most of which were planted by Southey, who came to live here more than fifty years ago, and they have, of course, grown much more shadowy now than he ever beheld them; for he died about fourteen years since. The grounds are well laid out, and neatly kept, with the usual lawn and gravelled walks, and quaint little devices in the ornamental way. These may be of later date than Southey's time. The gardener spoke respectfully of Southey, and of his first wife, and observed that "it was a great loss to the neighborhood when that family went down." The house stands directly above the Greta, the murmur of which is audible all about it; for the Greta is a swift little river, and goes on its way with a continual sound, which has both depth and breadth. The gardener led us to a walk along its banks, close by the Hall, where he said Southey used to walk for hours and hours together. He might, indeed, get there from his study in a moment. There are two paths, one above the other, well laid out on the steep declivity of the high bank; and there is such a very thick shade of oaks and elms, planted by Southey himself over the bank, that all the ground and grass were moist, although it had been a sunny day. It is a very sombre walk; not many glimpses of the sky through those dense boughs. The Greta is here, perhaps, twenty yards across, and very dark of hue, and its voice is melancholy and very suggestive of musings and reveries; but I should question whether it were favorable to any settled scheme of thought. The gardener told us that there used to be a pebbly beach on the margin of the river, and that it was Southey's habit to sit and write there, using a tree of peculiar shape for a table. An alteration in the current of the river has swept away the beach, and the tree, too, has fallen. All these things were interesting to me, although Southey was not, I think, a picturesque man, --not one whose personal character takes a strong hold on the imagination. In these walks he used to wear a pair of shoes heavily clamped with iron; very ponderous they must have been, from the particularity with which the gardener mentioned them. The gardener took leave of us at the front entrance of the grounds, and, returning to the King's Arms, we ordered a one-horse fly for the fall of Lodore. Our drive thither was along the banks of Derwentwater, and it is as beautiful a road, I imagine, as can be found in England or anywhere else. I like Derwentwater the best of all the lakes, so far as I have yet seen them. Skiddaw lies at the head of a long even ridge of mountains, rising into several peaks, and one higher than the rest. On the eastern side there are many noble eminences, and on the west, along which we drove, there is a part of the way a lovely wood, and nearly the whole distance a precipitous range of lofty cliffs, descending sheer down without any slope, except what has been formed in the lapse of ages by the fall of fragments, and the washing down of smaller stones. The declivity thus formed along the base of the cliffs is in some places covered with trees or shrubs; elsewhere it is quite bare and barren. The precipitous parts of the cliffs are very grand; the whole scene, indeed, might be characterized as one of stern grandeur with an embroidery of rich beauty, without lauding it too much. All the sternness of it is softened by vegetative beauty wherever it can possibly be thrown in; and there is not here, so strongly as along Windermere, evidence that human art has been helping out Nature. I wish it were possible to give any idea of the shapes of the hills; with these, at least, man has nothing to do, nor ever will have anything to do. As we approached the bottom of the lake, and of the beautiful valley in which it lies, we saw one hill that seemed to crouch down like a Titanic watch-dog, with its rear towards the spectator, guarding the entrance to the valley. The great superiority of these mountains over those of New England is their variety and definiteness of shape, besides the abundance everywhere of water prospects, which are wanting among our own hills. They rise up decidedly, and each is a hill by itself, while ours mingle into one another, and, besides, have such large bases that you can tell neither where they begin nor where they end. Many of these Cumberland mountains have a marked vertebral shape, so that they often look like a group of huge lions, lying down with their backs turned toward each other. They slope down steeply from narrow ridges; hence their picturesque seclusions of valleys and dales, which subdivide the lake region into so many communities. Our hills, like apple-dumplings in a dish, have no such valleys as these. There is a good inn at Lodore,--a small, primitive country inn, which has latterly been enlarged and otherwise adapted to meet the convenience of the guests brought thither by the fame of the cascade; but it is still a country inn, though it takes upon itself the title of hotel. We found pleasant rooms here, and established ourselves for the night. From this point we have a view of the beautiful lake, and of Skiddaw at the head of it. The cascade is within three or four minutes' walk, through the garden gate, towards the cliff, at the base of which the inn stands. The visitor would need no other guide than its own voice, which is said to be audible sometimes at the distance of four miles. As we were coming from Keswick, we caught glimpses of its white foam high up the precipice; and it is only glimpses that can be caught anywhere, because there is no regular sheet of falling water. Once, I think, it must have fallen abruptly over the edge of the long line of precipice that here extends along parallel with the shore of the lake; but, in the course of time, it has gnawed and sawed its way into the heart of the cliff,--this persistent little stream,--so that now it has formed a rude gorge, adown which it hurries and tumbles in the wildest way, over the roughest imaginable staircase. Standing at the bottom of the fall, you have a far vista sloping upward to the sky, with the water everywhere as white as snow, pouring and pouring down, now on one side of the gorge, now on the other, among immense bowlders, which try to choke its passage. It does not attempt to leap over these huge rocks, but finds its way in and out among then, and finally gets to the bottom after a hundred tumbles. It cannot be better described than in Southey's verses, though it is worthy of better poetry than that. After all, I do not know that the cascade is anything more than a beautiful fringe to the grandeur of the scene; for it is very grand,--this fissure through the cliff,--with a steep, lofty precipice on the right hand, sheer up and down, and on the other hand, too, another lofty precipice, with a slope of its own ruin on which trees and shrubbery have grown. The right-hand precipice, however, has shelves affording sufficient hold for small trees, but nowhere does it slant. If it were not for the white little stream falling gently downward, and for the soft verdure upon either precipice, and even along the very pathway of the cascade, it would be a very stern vista up that gorge. I shall not try to describe it any more. It has not been praised too much, though it may have been praised amiss. I went thither again in the morning, and climbed a good way up, through the midst of its rocky descent, and I think I could have reached the top in this way. It is remarkable that the bounds of the water, from one step of its broken staircase to another, give an impression of softness and gentleness; but there are black, turbulent pools among the great bowlders, where the stream seems angry at the difficulties which it meets with. Looking upward in the sunshine, I could see a rising mist, and I should not wonder if a speck of rainbow were sometimes visible. I noticed a small oak in the bed of the cascade, and there is a lighter vegetation scattered about. At noon we took a car for Portinscale, and drove back along the road to Keswick, through which we passed, stopping to get a perhaps of letters at the post-office, and reached Portinscale, which is a mile from Keswick. After dinner we walked over a bridge, and through a green lane, to the church where Southey is buried. It is a white church, of Norman architecture, with a low, square tower. As we approached, we saw two persons entering the portal, and, following them in, we found the sexton, who was a tall, thin old man, with white hair, and an intelligent, reverent face, showing the edifice to a stout, red-faced, self-important, good-natured John Bull of a gentleman. Without any question on our part, the old sexton immediately led us to Southey's monument, which is placed in a side aisle, where there is not breadth for it to stand free of the wall; neither is it in a very good light. But, it seemed to me a good work of art,--a recumbent figure of white marble, on a couch, the drapery of which he has drawn about him,--being quite enveloped in what may be a shroud. The sculptor has not intended to represent death, for the figure lies on its side, and has a book in its hand, and the face is lifelike, and looks full of expression,--a thin, high-featured, poetic face, with a finely proportioned head and abundant hair. It represents Southey rightly, at whatever age he died, in the full maturity of manhood, when he was strongest and richest. I liked the statue, and wished that it lay in a broader aisle, or in the chancel, where there is an old tomb of a knight and lady of the Ratcliffe family, who have held the place of honor long enough to yield it now to a poet. Southey's sculptor was Lough. I must not forget to mention that John Bull, climbing on a bench, to get a better view of the statue, tumbled off with a racket that resounded irreverently through the church. The old, white-headed, thin sexton was a model man of his class, and appeared to take a loving and cheerful interest in the building, and in those who, from age to age, have worshipped and been buried there. It is a very ancient and interesting church. Within a few years it has been thoroughly repaired as to the interior, and now looks as if it might endure ten more centuries; and I suppose we see little that is really ancient, except the double row of Norman arches, of light freestone, that support the oaken beams and rafters of the roof. All the walls, however, are venerable, and quite preserve the identity of the edifice. There is a stained-glass window of modern manufacture, and in one of the side windows, set amidst plain glass, there is a single piece, five hundred years old, representing St. Anthony, very finely executed, though it looks a little faded. Along the walls, on each side, between the arched windows, there are marble slabs affixed, with inscriptions to the memories of those who used to occupy the seats beneath. I remember none of great antiquity, nor any old monument, except that in the chancel, over the knight and lady of the Ratcliffe family. This consists of a slab of stone, on four small stone pillars, about two feet high. The slab is inlaid with a brass plate, on which is sculptured the knight in armor, and the lady in the costume of Elizabeth's time, exceedingly well done and well preserved, and each figure about eighteen inches in length. The sexton showed us a rubbing of them on paper. Under the slab, which, supported by the low stone pillars, forms a canopy for them, lie two sculptured figures of stone, of life size, and at full length, representing the same persons; but I think the sculptor was hardly equal in his art to the engraver. The most-curious antique relic in the church is the font. The bowl is very capacious, sufficiently so to admit of the complete immersion of a child of two or three months old. On the outside, in several compartments, there are bas-reliefs of Scriptural and symbolic subjects, --such as the tree of life, the word proceeding out of God's mouth, the crown of thorns,--all in the quaintest taste, sculptured by some hand of a thousand years ago, and preserving the fancies of monkish brains, in stone. The sexton was very proud of this font and its sculpture, and took a kindly personal interest, in showing it; and when we had spent as much time as we could inside, he led us to Southey's grave in the churchyard. He told us that he had known Southey long and well, from early manhood to old age; for he was only twenty-nine when he came to Keswick to reside. He had known Wordsworth too, and Coleridge, and Lovell; and he had seen Southey and Wordsworth walking arm in arm together in that churchyard. He seemed to revere Southey's memory, and said that he had been much lamented, and that as many as a hundred people came to the churchyard when he was buried. He spoke with great praise of Mrs. Southey, his first wife, telling of her charity to the poor, and how she was a blessing to the neighborhood; but he said nothing in favor of the second Mrs. Southey, and only mentioned her selling the library, and other things, after her husband's death, and going to London. Yet I think she was probably a good woman, and meets with less than justice because she took the place of another good woman, and had not time and opportunity to prove herself as good. As for Southey himself, my idea is, that few better or more blameless men have ever lived; but he seems to lack color, passion, warmth, or something that should enable me to bring him into close relation with myself. The graveyard where his body lies is not so rural and picturesque as that where Wordsworth is buried; although Skiddaw rises behind it, and the Greta is murmuring at no very great distance away. But the spot itself has a somewhat bare and bold aspect, with no shadow of trees, no shrubbery. Over his grave there is a ponderous, oblong block of slate, a native mineral of this region, as hard as iron, and which will doubtless last quite as long as Southey's works retain any vitality in English literature. It is not a monument fit for a poet. There is nothing airy or graceful about it,--and, indeed, there cannot he many men so solid and matter-of-fact as to deserve a tomb like that. Wordsworth's grave is much better, with only a simple headstone, and the grass growing over his mortality, which, for a thousand years, at least, it never can over Southey's. Most of the monuments are of this same black slate, and some erect headstones are curiously sculptured, and seem to have been recently erected. We now returned to the hotel, and took a car for the valley of St. John. The sky seemed to portend rain in no long time, and Skiddaw had put on his cap; but the people of the hotel and the driver said that there would be no rain this afternoon, and their opinion proved correct. After driving a few miles, we again cane within sight of the Enchanted Castle. It stands rather more than midway adown the declivity of one of the ridges that form the valley to the left, as you go southward, and its site would have been a good one for a fortress, intended to defend the lower entrance of this mountain defile. At a proper distance, it looks not unlike the gray dilapidation of a Gothic castle, which has been crumbling and crumbling away for ages, until Time might be supposed to have imperceptibly stolen its massive pile from man, and given it back to Nature; its towers and battlements and arched entrances being so much defaced and decayed that all the marks of human labor had nearly been obliterated, and the angles of the hewn stone rounded away, while mosses and weeds and bushes grow over it as freely as over a natural ledge of rocks. It is conceivable that in some lights, and in some states of the atmosphere, a traveller, at the entrance of the valley, might really imagine that he beheld a castle here; but, for myself, I must acknowledge that it required a willing fancy to make me see it. As we drew nearer, the delusion did not immediately grow less strong; but, at length, we found ourselves passing at the foot of the declivity, and, behold! it was nothing but an enormous ledge of rock, coming squarely out of the hillside, with other parts of the ledge cropping out in its vicinity. Looking back, after passing, we saw a knoll or hillock, of which the castled rock is the bare face. There are two or three stone cottages along the roadside, beneath the magic castle, and within the enchanted ground. Scott, in the Bridal of Triermain, locates the castle in the middle of the valley, and makes King Arthur ride around it, which any mortal would have great difficulty in doing. This vale of St. John has very striking scenery. Blencathra shuts it in to the northward, lying right across the entrance; and on either side there are lofty crags and declivities, those to the west being more broken and better wooded than the ridge to the eastward, which stretches along for several miles, steep, high, and bare, producing only grass enough for sheep pasture, until it rises into the dark brow of Helvellyn. Adown this ridge, seen afar, like a white ribbon, comes here and there a cascade, sending its voice before it, which distance robs of all its fury, and makes it the quietest sound in the world; and while you see the foamy leap of its upper course a mile or two away, you may see and hear the selfsame little brook babbling through a field, and passing under the arch of a rustic bridge beneath your feet. It is a deep seclusion, with mountains and crags on all sides. About a mile beyond the castle we stopped at a little wayside inn, the King's Head, and put up for the night. This, I believe, is the only inn which I have found in England--the only one where I have eaten and slept --that does not call itself a hotel. It is very primitive in its arrangements,--a long, low, whitewashed, unadorned, and ugly cottage of two stories. At one extremity is a barn and cow-house, and next to these the part devoted to the better class of guests, where we had our parlor and chambers, contiguous to which is the kitchen and common room, paved with flagstones,--and, lastly, another barn and stable; all which departments are not under separate roofs, but under the same long contiguity, and forming the same building. Our parlor opens immediately upon the roadside, without any vestibule. The house appears to be of some antiquity, with beams across the low ceilings; but the people made us pretty comfortable at bed and board, and fed us with ham and eggs, veal-steaks, honey, oatcakes, gooseberry-tarts, and such cates and dainties,--making a moderate charge for all. The parlor was adorned with rude engravings. I remember only a plate of the Duke of Wellington, at three stages of his life; and there were minerals, delved, doubtless, out of the hearts of the mountains, upon the mantel-piece. The chairs were of an antiquated fashion, and had very capacious seats. We were waited upon by two women, who looked and acted not unlike the countryfolk of New England,--say, of New Hampshire,--except that these may have been more deferential. While we remained here, I took various walks to get a glimpse of Helvellyn, and a view of Thirlmere,--which is rather two lakes than one, being so narrow at one point as to be crossed by a foot-bridge. Its shores are very picturesque, coming down abruptly upon it, and broken into crags and prominences, which view their shaggy faces in its mirror; and Helvellyn slopes steeply upward, from its southern shore, into the clouds. On its eastern bank, near the foot-bridge, stands Armboth House, which Miss Martineau says is haunted; and I saw a painted board at the entrance of the road which leads to it advertising lodgings there. The ghosts, of course, pay nothing for their accommodations. At noon, on the day after our arrival, J----- and I went to visit the Enchanted Castle; and we were so venturesome as to turn aside from the road, and ascend the declivity towards its walls, which indeed we hoped to surmount. It proved a very difficult undertaking, the site of the fortress being much higher and steeper than we had supposed; but we did clamber upon what we took for the most elevated portion, when lo! we found that we had only taken one of the outworks, and that there was a gorge of the hill betwixt us and the main walls; while the citadel rose high above, at more than twice the elevation which we had climbed. J----- wished to go on, and I allowed him to climb, till he appeared to have reached so steep and lofty a height that he looked hardly bigger than a monkey, and I should not at all have wondered had he come rolling down to the base of the rock where I sat. But neither did he get actually within the castle, though he might have done so but for a high stone fence, too difficult for him to climb, which runs from the rock along the hillside. The sheep probably go thither much oftener than any other living thing, and to them we left the castle of St. John, with a shrub waving from its battlements, instead of a banner. After dinner we ordered a car for Ambleside, and while it was getting ready, I went to look at the river of St. John, which, indeed, flows close beside our inn, only just across the road, though it might well be overlooked unless you specially sought for it. It is a brook brawling over the stones, very much as brooks do in New England, only we never think of calling them rivers there. I could easily have made a leap from shore to shore, and J----- scrambled across on no better footing than a rail. I believe I have complained of the want of brooks in other parts of England, but there is no want of them here, and they are always interesting, being of what size they may. We drove down the valley, and gazed at the vast slope of Helvellyn, and at Thirlmere beneath it, and at Eagle's Crag and Raven's Crag, which beheld themselves in it, and we cast many a look behind at Blencathra, and that noble brotherhood of mountains out of the midst of which we came. But, to say the truth, I was weary of fine scenery, and it seemed to me that I had eaten a score of mountains, and quaffed as many lakes, all in the space of two or three days,--and the natural consequence was a surfeit. There was scarcely a single place in all our tour where I should not have been glad to spend a month; but, by flitting so quickly from one point to another, I lost all the more recondite beauties, and had come away without retaining even the surface of much that I had seen. I am slow to feel,--slow, I suppose, to comprehend, and, like the anaconda, I need to lubricate any object a great deal before I can swallow it and actually make it my own. Yet I shall always enjoy having made this journey, and shall wonder the more at England, which comprehends so much, such a rich variety, within its narrow bounds. If England were all the world, it still would have been worth while for the Creator to have made it, and mankind would have had no cause to find fault with their abode; except that there is not room enough for so many as might be happy here. We left the great inverted arch of the valley behind us, looking back as long as we could at Blencathra, and Skiddaw over its shoulder, and the clouds were gathering over them at our last glimpse. Passing by Dummail Raise (which is a mound of stones over an old British king), we entered Westmoreland, and soon had the vale of Grasmere before us, with the church where Wordsworth lies, and Nab Scaur and Rydal Water farther on. At Ambleside we took another car for Newby Bridge, whither we drove along the eastern shore of Windermere. The superb scenery through which we had been passing made what we now saw look tame, although a week ago we should have thought it more than commonly interesting. Hawkshead is the only village on our road,--a small, whitewashed old town, with a whitewashed old Norman church, low, and with a low tower, on the same pattern with others that we have seen hereabouts. It was between seven and eight o'clock when we reached Newby Bridge, and heard U----'s voice greeting us, and saw her head, crowned with a wreath of flowers, looking down at us, out of the window of our parlor. And to-day, July 23d, I have written this most incomplete and unsatisfactory record of what we have done and seen since Wednesday last. I am pretty well convinced that all attempts at describing scenery, especially mountain scenery, are sheer nonsense. For one thing, the point of view being changed, the whole description, which you made up from the previous point of view, is immediately falsified. And when you have done your utmost, such items as those setting forth the scene in a play,--"a mountainous country, in the distance a cascade tumbling over a precipice, and in front a lake; on one side an ivy-covered cottage,"-- this dry detail brings the matter before one's mind's eyes more effectually than all the art of word-painting. July 27th.--We are still at Newby Bridge, and nothing has occurred of remarkable interest, nor have we made any excursions, beyond moderate walks. Two days have been rainy, and to-day there is more rain. We find such weather as tolerable here as it would probably be anywhere; but it passes rather heavily with the children,--and for myself, I should prefer sunshine. Though Mr. White's books afford me some entertainment, especially an odd volume of Ben Jonson's plays, containing "Volpone," "The Alchemist," "Bartholomew Fair," and others. "The Alchemist" is certainly a great play. We watch all arrivals and other events from our parlor window,--a stage-coach driving up four times in the twenty-four hours, with its forlorn outsiders, all saturated with rain; the steamer, from the head of the lake, landing a crowd of passengers, who stroll up to the hotel, drink a glass of ale, lean over the parapet of the bridge, gaze at the flat stones which pave the bottom of the Liver, and then hurry back to the steamer again; cars, phaetons, horsemen, all damped and disconsolate. There are a number of young men staying at the hotel, some of whom go forth in all the rain, fishing, and come back at nightfall, trudging heavily, but with creels on their backs that do not seem very heavy. Yesterday was fair, and enlivened us a good deal. Returning from a walk in the forenoon, I found a troop of yeomanry cavalry in the stable-yard of the hotel. They were the North Lancashire Regiment, and were on their way to Liverpool for the purpose of drill. Not being old campaigners, their uniforms and accoutrements were in so much the finer order, all bright, and looking span-new, and they themselves were a body of handsome and stalwart young men; and it was pleasant to look at their helmets, and red jackets and carbines, and steel scabbarded swords, and gallant steeds,--all so martial in aspect,--and to know that they were only play-soldiers, after all, and were never likely to do nor suffer any warlike mischief. By and by their bugles sounded, and they trotted away, wheeling over the ivy-grown stone bridge, and disappearing behind the trees on the Milnethorpe road. Our host comes forth from the bar with a bill, which he presents to an orderly-sergeant. He, the host, then tells me that he himself once rode many years, a trooper, in this regiment, and that all his comrades were larger men than himself. Yet Mr. Thomas White is a good-sized man, and now, at all events, rather overweight for a dragoon. Yesterday came one of those bands of music that seem to itinerate everywhere about the country. It consisted of a young woman who played the harp, a bass-viol player, a fiddler, a flutist, and a bugler, besides a little child, of whom, I suppose, the woman was the mother. They sat down on a bench by the roadside, opposite the house, and played several tunes, and by and by the waiter brought them a large pitcher of ale, which they quaffed with apparent satisfaction; though they seemed to be foreigners by their mustachios and sallow hue, and would perhaps have preferred a vinous potation. One would like to follow these people through their vagrant life, and see them in their social relations, and overhear their talk with each other. All vagrants are interesting; and there is a much greater variety of them here than in America,--people who cast themselves on Fortune, and take whatever she gives without a certainty of anything. I saw a travelling tinker yesterday,--a man with a leather apron, and a string of skewers hung at his girdle, and a pack over his shoulders, in which, no doubt, were his tools and materials of trade. It is remarkable what a natural interest everybody feels in fishing. An angler from the bridge immediately attracts a group to watch his luck. It is the same with J-----, fishing for minnows, on the platform near which the steamer lands its passengers. By the by, U---- caught a minnow last evening, and, immediately after, a good-sized perch,--her first fish. July 30th.--We left Newby Bridge, all of us, on Saturday, at twelve o'clock, and steamed up the lake to Ambleside; a pretty good day as to weather, but with a little tendency to shower. There was nothing new on the lake, and no new impressions, as far as I can remember. At Ambleside, S----- and nurse went shopping, after which we took a carriage for Grasmere, and established ourselves at Brown's Hotel. I find that my impressions from our previous sight of all these scenes do not change on revision. They are very beautiful; but, if I must say it, I am a little weary of them. We soon tire of things which we visit merely by way of spectacle, and with which we have no real and permanent connection. In such cases we very quickly wish the spectacle to be taken away, and another substituted; at all events I do not care about seeing anything more of the English lakes for at least a year. Perhaps a part of my weariness is owing to the hotel-life which we lead. At an English hotel the traveller feels as if everybody, from the landlord downward, united in a joint and individual purpose to fleece him, because all the attendants who come in contact with him are to be separately considered. So, after paying, in the first instance, a very heavy bill, for what would seem to cover the whole indebtedness, there remain divers dues still to be paid, to no trifling amount, to the landlord's servants,--dues not to be ascertained, and which you never can know whether you have properly satisfied. You can know, perhaps, when you have less than satisfied them, by the aspect of the waiter, which I wish I could describe, not disrespectful in the slightest degree, but a look of profound surprise, a gaze at the offered coin (which he nevertheless pockets) as if he either did not see it, or did not know it, or could not believe his eyesight;--all this, however, with the most quiet forbearance, a Christian-like non-recognition of an unmerited wrong and insult; and finally, all in a moment's space indeed, he quits you and goes about his other business. If you have given him too much, you are made sensible of your folly by the extra amount of his gratitude, and the bows with which he salutes you from the doorstep. Generally, you cannot very decidedly say whether you have been right or wrong; but, in almost all cases, you decidedly feel that you have been fleeced. Then the living at the best of English hotels, so far as my travels have brought me acquainted with them, deserves but moderate praise, and is especially lacking in variety. Nothing but joints, joints, joints; sometimes, perhaps, a meat-pie, which, if you eat it, weighs upon your conscience, with the idea that you have eaten the scraps of other people's dinners. At the lake hotels, the fare is lamb and mutton and grout,--the latter not always fresh, and soon tired of. We pay like nabobs, and are expected to be content with plain mutton. We spent the day yesterday at Grasmere, in quiet walks about the hotel; and at a little past six in the afternoon, I took my departure in the stage-coach for Windermere. The coach was greatly overburdened with outside passengers,--fifteen in all, besides the four insiders, and one of the fifteen formed the apex of an immense pile of luggage on the top. It seems to me miraculous that we did not topple over, the road being so hilly and uneven, and the driver, I suspect, none the steadier for his visits to all the tap-rooms along the route from Cockermouth. There was a tremendous vibration of the coach now and then; and I saw that, in case of our going over, I should be flung headlong against the high stone fence that bordered most of the road. In view of this I determined to muffle my head in the folds of my thick shawl at the moment of overturn, and as I could do no better for myself, I awaited my fate with equanimity. As far as apprehension goes, I had rather travel from Maine to Georgia by rail, than from Grasmere to Windermere by stage-coach. At Lowwood, the landlady espied me from the window, and sent out a large packet that had arrived by mail; but as it was addressed to some person of the Christian name of William, I did not venture to open it. She said, also, that a gentleman had been there, who very earnestly desired to see me, and I have since had reason to suppose that this was Allingham, the poet. We arrived at Windermere at half past seven, and waited nearly an hour for the train to start. I took a ticket for Lancaster, and talked there about the war with a gentleman in the coffee-room, who took me for an Englishman, as most people do nowadays, and I heard from him--as you may from all his countrymen--an expression of weariness and dissatisfaction with the whole business. These fickle islanders! How differently they talked a year ago! John Bull sees now that he never was in a worse predicament in his life; and yet it would not take much to make him roar as bellicosely as ever. I went to bed at eleven, and slept unquietly on feathers. I had purposed to rise betimes, and see the town of Lancaster before breakfast. But here I reckoned without my host; for, in the first place, I had no water for my ablutions, and my boots were not brushed; and so I could not get down stairs till the hour I named for my coffee and chops; and, secondly, the breakfast was delayed half an hour, though promised every minute. In fine, I had but just time to take a hasty walk round Lancaster Castle, and see what I could of the town on my way,--a not very remarkable town, built of stone, with taller houses than in the middle shires of England, narrow streets up and down an eminence on which the castle is situated, with the town immediately about it. The castle is a satisfactory edifice, but so renovated that the walls look almost entirely modern, with the exception of the fine old front, with the statue of an armed warrior, very likely John of Gaunt himself, in a niche over the Norman arch of the entrance. Close beside the castle stands an old church. The train left Lancaster at half past nine, and reached Liverpool at twelve, over as flat and uninteresting a country as I ever travelled. I have betaken myself to the Rock Ferry Hotel, where I am as comfortable as I could be anywhere but at home; but it is rather comfortless to think of hone as three years off, and three thousand miles away. With what a sense of utter weariness, not fully realized till then, we shall sink down on our own threshold, when we reach it. The moral effect of being without a settled abode is very wearisome. Our coachman from Grasmere to Windermere looked like a great beer-barrel, oozy with his proper liquor. I suppose such solid soakers never get upset. THE LAUNCH. August 2d.--Mr. ------ has urged me very much to go with his father and family to see the launch of a great ship which has been built for their house, and afterwards to partake of a picnic; so, on Tuesday morning I presented myself at the landing-stage, and met the party, to take passage for Chester. It was a showery morning, and looked wofully like a rainy day; but nothing better is to be expected in England; and, after all, there is seldom such a day that you cannot glide about pretty securely between the drops of rain. This, however, did not turn out one of those tolerable days, but grew darker and darker, and worse and worse; and was worst of all when we had passed about six miles beyond Chester, and were just on the borders of Wales, on the hither side of the river Dee, where the ship was to be launched. Here the train stopped, and absolutely deposited our whole party of excursionists, under a heavy shower, in the midst of a muddy potato-field, whence we were to wade through mud and mire to the ship-yard, almost half a mile off. Some kind Christian, I know not whom, gave me half of his umbrella, and half of his cloak, and thereby I got to a shed near the ship, without being entirely soaked through. The ship had been built on the banks of the Dee, at a spot where it is too narrow for her to be launched directly across, and so she lay lengthwise of the river, and was so arranged as to take the water parallel with the stream. She is, for aught I know, the largest ship in the world; at any rate, longer than the Great Britain,--an iron-screw steamer,--and looked immense and magnificent, and was gorgeously dressed out in flags. Had it been a pleasant day, all Chester and half Wales would have been there to see the launch; and, in spite of the rain, there were a good many people on the opposite shore, as well as on our side; and one or two booths, and many of the characteristics of a fair,--that is to say, men and women getting intoxicated without any great noise and confusion. The ship was expected to go off at about twelve o'clock, and at that juncture all Mr. ------'s friends assembled under the bows of the ship, where we were a little sheltered from the rain by the projection of that part of the vessel over our heads. The bottle of port-wine with which she was to be christened was suspended from the bows to the platform where we stood by a blue ribbon; and the ceremony was to be performed by Mrs. ------, who, I could see, was very nervous in anticipation of the ceremony. Mr. ------ kept giving her instructions in a whisper, and showing her how to throw the bottle; and as the critical moment approached, he took hold of it along with her. All this time we were waiting in momentary expectation of the ship going off, everything being ready, and only the touch of a spring, as it were, needed to make her slide into the water. But the chief manager kept delaying a little longer, and a little longer; though the pilot on board sent to tell him that it was time she was off. "Yes, yes; but I want as much water as I can get," answered the manager; and so he held on till, I suppose, the tide had raised the river Dee to its very acme of height. At last the word was given; the ship began slowly to move; Mrs. ------ threw the bottle against the bow with a spasmodic effort that dashed it into a thousand pieces, and diffused the fragrance of the old port all around, where it lingered several minutes. I did not think that there could have been such a breathless moment in an affair of this kind. The ship moved majestically down toward the river; and unless it were Niagara, I never saw anything grander and more impressive than the motion of this mighty mass as she departed from us. We on the platform, and everybody along both shores of the Dee, took off our hats in the rain, waved handkerchiefs, cheered, shouted,--"Beautiful!" "What a noble launch!" "Never was so fair a sight!"--and, really, it was so grand, that calm, majestic movement, that I felt the tears come into my eyes. The wooden pathway adown which she was gliding began to smoke with the friction; when all at once, when we expected to see her plunge into the Dee, she came to a full stop. Mr. ------, the father of my friend, a gentleman with white hair, a dark, expressive face, bright eyes, and an Oriental cast of features, immediately took the alarm. A moment before his countenance had been kindled with triumph; but now he turned pale as death, and seemed to grow ten years older while I was looking at him. Well he might, for his noble ship was stuck fast in the land of the Dee, and without deepening the bed of the river, I do not see how her vast iron hulk is ever to be got out. [This steamer was afterwards successfully floated off on the 29th of the same month.] There was no help for it. A steamboat was hitched on to the stranded vessel, but broke two or three cables without stirring her an inch. So, after waiting long after we had given up all hope, we went to the office of the ship-yard, and there took a lunch; and still the rain was pouring, pouring, pouring, and I never experienced a blacker affair in all my days. Then we had to wait a great while for a train to take us back, so that it was almost five o'clock before we arrived at Chester, where I spent an hour in rambling about the old town, under the Rows; and on the walls, looking down on the treetops, directly under my feet, and through their thick branches at the canal, which creeps at the base, and at the cathedral; walking under the dark intertwining arches of the cloisters, and looking up at the great cathedral tower, so wasted away externally by time and weather that it looks, save for the difference of color between white snow and red freestone, like a structure of snow, half dissolved by several warm days. At the lunch I met with a graduate of Cambridge (England), tutor of a grandson of Percival, with his pupil (Percival, the assassinated minister, I mean). I should not like this position of tutor to a young Englishman; it certainly has an ugly twang of upper servitude. I observed that the tutor gave his pupil the best seat in the railway carriage, and in all respects provided for his comfort before thinking of his own; and this, not as a father does for his child, out of love, but from a sense of place and duty, which I did not quite see how a gentleman could consent to feel. And yet this Mr. C------ was evidently a gentleman, and a quiet, intelligent, agreeable, and, no doubt, learned man. K------ being mentioned, Mr. C------ observed that he had known him well at college, having been his contemporary there. He did not like him, however,--thought him a "dangerous man," as well as I could gather; he thinks there is some radical defect in K------'s moral nature, a lack of sincerity; and, furthermore, he believes him to be a sensualist in his disposition, in support of which view he said Mr. K------ had made drawings, such as no pure man could have made, or could allow himself to show or look at. This was the only fact which Mr. C------ adduced, bearing on his opinion of K------; otherwise, it seemed to be one of those early impressions which a collegian gets of his fellow-students, and which he never gets rid of, whatever the character of the person may turn out to be in after years. I have judged several persons in this way, and still judge them so, though the world has cone to very different conclusions. Which is right?--the world, which has the man's whole mature life on its side; or his early companion, who has nothing for it but some idle passages of his youth? Mr. M------ remarked of newspaper reporters, that they may be known at all celebrations, and of any public occasion, by the enormous quantity of luncheon they eat. August 12th.--Mr. B------ dined with us at the Rock Ferry Hotel the day before yesterday. Speaking of Helvellyn, and the death of Charles Cough, about whom Wordsworth and Scott have both sung, Mr. B------ mentioned a version of that story which rather detracts from the character of the faithful dog. But somehow it lowers one's opinion of human nature itself, to be compelled so to lower one's standard of a dog's nature. I don't intend to believe the disparaging story, but it reminds me of the story of the New-Zealander who was asked whether he loved a missionary who had been laboring for his soul and those of his countrymen. "To be sure I loved him. Why, I ate a piece of him for my breakfast this morning!" For the last week or two I have passed my time between the hotel and the Consulate, and a weary life it is, and one that leaves little of profit behind it. I am sick to death of my office,--brutal captains and brutal sailors; continual complaints of mutual wrong, which I have no power to set right, and which, indeed, seem to have no right on either side; calls of idleness or ceremony from my travelling countrymen, who seldom know what they are in search of at the commencement of their tour, and never have attained any desirable end at the close of it; beggars, cheats, simpletons, unfortunates, so mixed up that it is impossible to distinguish one from another, and so, in self-defence, the Consul distrusts them all. . . . . At the hotel, yesterday, there was a large company of factory people from Preston, who marched up from the pier with a band of military music playing before them. They spent the day in the gardens and ball-room of the hotel, dancing and otherwise merry-making; but I saw little of them, being at the Consulate. Towards evening it drizzled, and the assemblage melted away gradually; and when the band marched down to the pier, there were few to follow, although one man went dancing before the musicians, flinging out his arms, and footing it with great energy and gesticulation. Some young women along the road likewise began to dance as the music approached. Thackeray has a dread of servants, insomuch that he hates to address them, or to ask them for anything. His morbid sensibility, in this regard, has perhaps led him to study and muse upon them, so that he may be presumed to have a more intimate knowledge of this class than any other man. Carlyle dresses so badly, and wears such a rough outside, that the flunkies are rude to him at gentlemen's doors. In the afternoon J----- and I took a walk towards Tranmere Hall, and beyond, as far as Oxton. This part of the country, being so near Liverpool and Birkenhead, is all sprinkled over with what they call "Terraces," "Bellevues," and other pretty names for semi-detached villas ("Recluse Cottage" was one) for a somewhat higher class. But the old, whitewashed stone cottage is still frequent, with its roof of slate or thatch, which perhaps is green with weeds or grass. Through its open door, you see that it has a pavement of flagstones, or perhaps of red freestone; and hogs and donkeys are familiar with the threshold. The door always opens directly into the kitchen, without any vestibule; and, glimpsing in, you see that a cottager's life must be the very plainest and homeliest that ever was lived by men and women. Yet the flowers about the door often indicate a native capacity for the beautiful; but often there is only a pavement of round stones or of flagstones, like those within. At one point where there was a little bay, as it were, in the hedge fence, we saw something like a small tent or wigwam,--an arch of canvas three or four feet high, and open in front, under which sat a dark-complexioned woman and some children. The woman was sewing, and I took them for gypsies. August 17th.--Yesterday afternoon J----- and I went to Birkenhead Park, which I have already described. . . . . It so happened that there was a large school spending its holiday there; a school of girls of the lower classes, to the number of a hundred and fifty, who disported themselves on the green, under the direction of the schoolmistresses and of an old gentleman. It struck me, as it always has, to observe how the lower orders of this country indicate their birth and station by their aspect and features. In America there would be a good deal of grace and beauty among a hundred and fifty children and budding girls, belonging to whatever rank of life. But here they had universally a most plebeian look,--stubbed, sturdy figures, round, coarse faces, snub-noses,--the most evident specimens of the brown bread of human nature. They looked wholesome and good enough, and fit to sustain their rough share of life; but it would have been impossible to make a lady out of any one of them. Climate, no doubt, has most to do with diffusing a slender elegance over American young-womanhood; but something, perhaps, is also due to the circumstance of classes not being kept apart there as they are here: they interfuse, amid the continual ups and downs of our social life; and so, in the lowest stations of life, you may see the refining influence of gentle blood. At all events, it is only necessary to look at such an assemblage of children as I saw yesterday, to be convinced that birth and blood do produce certain characteristics. To be sure, I have seen no similar evidence in England or elsewhere of old gentility refining and elevating the race. These girls were all dressed in black gowns, with white aprons and neckerchiefs, and white linen caps on their heads,--a very dowdyish attire, and well suited to their figures. I saw only two of their games,--in one, they stood in a circle, while two of their number chased one another within and without the ring of girls, which opened to let the fugitive pass, but closed again to impede the passage of the pursuer. The other was blind-man's-buff on a new plan: several of the girls, sometimes as many as twenty, being blinded at once, and pursuing a single one, who rang a hand-bell to indicate her whereabouts. This was very funny; the bell-girl keeping just beyond their reach, and drawing them after her in a huddled group, so that they sometimes tumbled over one another and lay sprawling. I think I have read of this game in Strutt's "English Sports and Pastimes." We walked from the Park home to Rock Ferry, a distance of three or four miles,--a part of which was made delightful by a foot-path, leading us through fields where the grass had just been mown, and others where the wheat harvest was commenced. The path led us into the very midst of the rural labor that was going forward; and the laborers rested a moment to look at us; in fact, they seemed to be more willing to rest than American laborers would have been. Children were loitering along this path or sitting down beside it; and we met one little maid, passing from village to village, intent on some errand. Reaching Tranmere, I went into an alehouse, nearly opposite the Hall, and called for a glass of ale. The doorstep before the house, and the flagstone floor of the entry and tap-room, were chalked all over in corkscrew lines,--an adornment that gave an impression of care and neatness, the chalked lines being evidently freshly made. It was a low, old-fashioned room ornamented with a couple of sea-shells, and an earthen-ware figure on the mantel-piece; also with advertisements of Allsop's ale, and other drinks, and with a pasteboard handbill of "The Ancient Order of Foresters"; any member of which, paying sixpence weekly, is entitled to ten shillings per week, and the attendance of a first-rate physician in sickness, and twelve pounds to be paid to his friends in case of death. Any member of this order, when travelling, is sure (says the handbill) to meet with a brother member to lend him a helping hand, there being nearly three thousand districts of this order, and more than a hundred and nine thousand members in Great Britain, whence it has extended to Australia, America, and other countries. Looking up at the gateway of Tranmere Hall, I discovered an inscription on the red freestone lintel, and, though much time-worn, I succeeded in reading it. "Labor omnia vincit. 1614." There were likewise some initials which I could not satisfactorily make out. The sense of this motto would rather befit the present agricultural occupants of the house than the idle gentlefolks who built and formerly inhabited it. SMITHELL'S HALL. August 25th.--On Thursday I went by invitation to Smithell's Hall in Bolton le Moors to dine and spend the night. The Hall is two or three miles from the town of Bolton, where I arrived by railway from Liverpool, and which seems to be a pretty large town, though the houses are generally modern, or with modernized fronts of brick or stucco. It is a manufacturing town, and the tall brick chimneys rise numerously in the neighborhood, and are so near Smithell's Hall that I suspect the atmosphere is somewhat impregnated with their breath. Mr. ------ can comfort himself with the rent which he receives from the factories erected upon his own grounds; and I suppose the value of his estate has greatly increased by the growth of manufactories; although, unless he wish to sell it, I do not see what good this can do him. Smithell's Hall is one of the oldest residences of England, and still retains very much the aspect that it must have had several centuries ago. The house formerly stood around all four sides of a quadrangle, enclosing a court, and with an entrance through an archway. One side of this quadrangle was removed in the time of the present Mr. ------'s father, and the front is now formed by the remaining three sides. They look exceedingly ancient and venerable, with their range of gables and lesser peaks. The house is probably timber-framed throughout, and is overlaid with plaster, and its generally light line is painted with a row of trefoils in black, producing a very quaint effect. The wing, forming one side of the quadrangle, is a chapel, and has been so from time immemorial; and Mr. ------ told me that he had a clergyman, and even a bishop, in his own diocese. The drawing-room is on the opposite side of the quadrangle; and through an arched door, in the central portion, there is a passage to the rear of the house. It is impossible to describe such an old rambling edifice as this, or to get any clear idea of its plan, even by going over it, without the aid of a map. Mr. ------ has added some portions, and altered others, but with due regard to harmony with the original structure, and the great body of it is still mediaeval. The entrance-hall opens right upon the quadrangular court; and is a large, low room, with a settle of carved old oak, and other old oaken furniture,--a centre-table with periodicals and newspapers on it,--some family pictures on the walls,--and a large, bright coal-fire in the spacious grate. The fire is always kept up, throughout summer and winter, and it seemed to me an excellent plan, and rich with cheerful effects; insuring one comfortable place, and that the most central in the house, whatever may be the inclemency of the weather. It was a cloudy, moist, showery day, when I arrived; and this fire gave me the brightest and most hospitable smile, and took away any shivery feeling by its mere presence. The servant showed me thence into a low-studded dining-room, where soon Mrs. ------ made her appearance, and, after some talk, brought me into the billiard-room, opening from the hall, where Mr. ------ and a young gentleman were playing billiards, and two ladies looking on. After the game was finished, Mr. ------ took me round to see the house and grounds. The peculiarity of this house is what is called "The Bloody Footstep." In the time of Bloody Mary, a Protestant clergyman--George Marsh by name --was examined before the then proprietor of the Hall, Sir Roger Barton, I think, and committed to prison for his heretical opinions, and was ultimately burned at the stake. As his guards were conducting him from the justice-room, through the stone-paved passage that leads from front to rear of Smithell's Hall, he stamped his foot upon one of the flagstones in earnest protestation against the wrong which he was undergoing. The foot, as some say, left a bloody mark in the stone; others have it, that the stone yielded like wax under his foot, and that there has been a shallow cavity ever since. This miraculous footprint is still extant; and Mrs. ------ showed it to me before her husband took me round the estate. It is almost at the threshold of the door opening from the rear of the house, a stone two or three feet square, set among similar ones, that seem to have been worn by the tread of many generations. The footprint is a dark brown stain in the smooth gray surface of the flagstone; and, looking sidelong at it, there is a shallow cavity perceptible, which Mrs. ------ accounted for as having been worn by people setting their feet just on this place, so as to tread the very spot, where the martyr wrought the miracle. The mark is longer than any mortal foot, as if caused by sliding along the stone, rather than sinking into it; and it might be supposed to have been made by a pointed shoe, being blunt at the heel, and decreasing towards the toe. The blood-stained version of the story is more consistent with the appearance of the mark than the imprint would be; for if the martyr's blood oozed out through his shoe and stocking, it might have made his foot slide along the stone, and thus have lengthened the shape. Of course it is all a humbug,--a darker vein cropping up through the gray flagstone; but, it is probably a fact, and, for aught I know, may be found in Fox's Book of Martyrs, that George Marsh underwent an examination in this house [There is a full and pathetic account of the examination and martyrdom of George Marsh in the eleventh section of Fox's Book of Martyrs, as I have just found (June 9, 1867). He went to Smithell's hall, among other places, to be questioned by Mr. Barton.--ED.]; and the tradition may have connected itself with the stone within a short time after the martyrdom; or, perhaps, when the old persecuting knight departed this life, and Bloody Mary was also dead, people who had stood at a little distance from the Hall door, and had seen George Marsh lift his hand and stamp his foot just at this spot,--perhaps they remembered this action and gesture, and really believed that Providence had thus made an indelible record of it on the stone; although the very stone and the very mark might have lain there at the threshold hundreds of years before. But, even if it had been always there, the footprint might, after the fact, be looked upon as a prophecy, from the time when the foundation of the old house was laid, that a holy and persecuted man should one day set his foot here, on the way that was to lead him to the stake. At any rate, the legend is a good one. Mrs. ------ tells me that the miraculous stone was once taken up from the pavement, and flung out of doors, where it remained many years; and in proof of this, it is cracked quite across at one end. This is a pity, and rather interferes with the authenticity, if not of the stone itself, yet of its position in the pavement. It is not far from the foot of the staircase, leading up to Sir Roger Barton's examination-room, whither we ascended, after examining the footprint. This room now opens sideways on the Chapel, into which it looks down, and which is spacious enough to accommodate a pretty large congregation. On one of the walls of the Chapel there is a marble tablet to the memory of one of the present family,--Mr.------'s father, I suppose; he being the first of the name who possessed the estate. The present owners, however, seem to feel pretty much the same pride in the antiquity and legends of the house as if it had come down to them in an unbroken succession of their own forefathers. It has, in reality, passed several times from one family to another, since the Conquest. Mr. ------ led me through a spacious old room, which was formerly panelled with carved oak, but which is converted into a brew-house, up a pair of stairs, into the garret of one of the gables, in order to show me the ancient framework of the house. It is of oak, and preposterously ponderous,--immense beams and rafters, which no modern walls could support,--a gigantic old skeleton, which architects say must have stood a thousand years; and, indeed, it is impossible to ascertain the date of the original foundation, though it is known to have been repaired and restored between five and six centuries ago. Of course, in the lapse of ages, it must continually have been undergoing minor changes, but without at all losing its identity. Mr. ------ says that this old oak wood, though it looks as strong and as solid as ever, has really lost its strength, and that it would snap short off, on application of any force. After this we took our walk through the grounds, which are well wooded, though the trees will bear no comparison with those which I have seen in the midland parts of England. It takes, I suspect, a much longer time for trees to attain a good size here than in America; and these trees, I think Mr. ------ told me, were principally set out by himself. He is upwards of sixty,--a good specimen of the old English country-gentleman, sensible, loving his land and his trees and his dogs and his game, doing a little justice-business, and showing a fitness for his position; so that you feel satisfied to have him keep it. He was formerly a member of Parliament. I had met him before at dinner at Mrs. H------'s. . . . . He took pleasure in showing me his grounds, through which he has laid out a walk, winding up and down through dells and over hillocks, and now and then crossing a rustic bridge; so that you have an idea of quite an extensive domain. Beneath the trees there is a thick growth of ferns, serving as cover for the game. A little terrier-dog, who had hitherto kept us company, all at once disappeared; and soon afterwards we heard the squeak of some poor victim in the cover, whereupon Mr. ------ set out with agility, and ran to the rescue.--By and by the terrier came back with a very guilty look. From the wood we passed into the open park, whence we had a distant view of the house; and, returning thither, we viewed it in other aspects, and on all sides. One portion of it is occupied by Mr. ------'s gardener, and seems not to have been repaired, at least as to its exterior, for a great many years,--showing the old wooden frame, painted black, with plaster in the interstices; and broad windows, extending across the whole breadth of the rooms, with hundreds of little diamond-shaped panes of glass. Before dinner I was shown to my room, which opens from an ancient gallery, lined with oak, and lighted by a row of windows along one side of the quadrangle. Along this gallery are the doors of several sleeping-chambers, one of which--I think it is here--is called "The Dead Man's Chamber." It is supposed to have been the room where the corpses of persons connected with the household used to be laid out. My own room was called "The Beam Chamber," from am immense cross-beam that projects from the ceiling, and seems to be an entire tree, laid across, and left rough-hewn, though at present it is whitewashed. The but of the tree (for it diminishes from one end of the chamber to the other) is nearly two feet square, in its visible part. We dined, at seven o'clock, in a room some thirty-five or forty feet long, and proportionably broad, all panelled with the old carved oak which Mr. ------ took from the room which he had converted into a brew-house. The oak is now of a very dark brown hue, and, being highly polished, it produces a sombre but rich effect. It is supposed to be of the era of Henry the Seventh, and when I examined it the next morning, I found it very delicately and curiously wrought. There are carved profiles of persons in the costume of the times, done with great skill; also foliage, intricate puzzles of intersecting lines, sacred devices, anagrams, and, among others, the device of a bar across a tun, indicating the name of Barton. Most of the carving, however, is less elaborate and intricate than these specimens, being in a perpendicular style, and on one pattern. Before the wood grew so very dark, the beauty of the work must have been much more easily seen than now, as to particulars, though I hardly think that the general effect could have been better; at least, the sombre richness that overspreads the entire square of the room is suitable to such an antique house. An elaborate Gothic cornice runs round the whole apartment. The sideboard and other furniture are of Gothic patterns, and, very likely, of genuine antiquity; but the fireplace is perhaps rather out of keeping, being of white marble with the arms of this family sculptured on it. Though hardly sunset when we sat down to dinner, yet, it being an overcast day, and the oaken room so sombre, we had candles burning on the table; and, long before dinner was over, the candle-light was all the light we had. It is always pleasanter to dine by artificial light. Mrs. ------'s dinner was a good one, and Mr. ------'s wines were very good. I had Mrs. ------ on one side, and another lady on the other side. . . . . After dinner there were two card-parties formed in the dining-room, at one of which there was a game of Vingt-et-un, and at the other a game of whist, at which Mrs. ------ and I lost several shillings to a Mrs. Halton and Mr. Gaskell. . . . . After finishing our games at cards, Mrs. Halton drove off in a pony-chaise to her own house; the other ladies retired, and the gentlemen sat down to chat awhile over the hall fire, occasionally sipping a glass of wine-and-water, and finally we all went off to our rooms. It was past twelve o'clock when I composed myself to sleep, and I could not have slept long, when a tremendous clap of thunder woke me just in time to see a vivid flash of lightning. I saw no ghosts, though Mrs. ------ tells me there is one, which makes a disturbance, unless religious services are regularly kept up in the Chapel. In the morning, before breakfast, we had prayers, read by Mr. ------, in the oak dining-room, all the servants coming in, and everybody kneeling down. I should like to know how much true religious feeling is indicated by this regular observance of religious rites in English families. In America, if people kneel down to pray, it is pretty certain that they feel a genuine interest in the matter, and their daily life is supposed to be in accordance with their devotions. If an American is an infidel, he knows it; but an Englishman is often so without suspecting it,--being kept from that knowledge by this formality of family prayer, and his other regularities of external worship. . . . . There was a parrot in a corner of the dining-room, and, when prayers were over, Mrs. ------ praised it very highly for having been so silent; it being Poll's habit, probably, to break in upon the sacred exercises with unseemly interjections and remarks. While we were at breakfast, Poll began to whistle and talk very vociferously, and in a tone and with expressions that surprised me, till I learned that the bird is usually kept in the kitchen and servants' hall, and is only brought into the dining-room at prayer-time and breakfast. Thus its mouth is full of kitchen talk, which flows out before the gentlefolks with the queerest effect. After breakfast I examined the carvings of the room. Mr. ------ has added to its decorations the coats of arms of all the successive possessors of the house, with those of the families into which they married, including the Ratcliffes, Stanleys, and others. From the dining-room I passed into the library, which contains books enough to make a rainy day pass pleasantly. I remember nothing else that I need to record; and as I sat by the hall fire, talking with Mr. Gaskell, at about eleven o'clock, the butler brought me word that a fly, which I had bespoken, was ready to convey me to the railway. I took leave of Mrs. ------, her last request being that I would write a ghost-story for her house,--and drove off. SHREWSBURY September 5th.--Yesterday we all of us set forth from Rock Ferry at half past twelve, and reached Shrewsbury between three and four o'clock, and took up our quarters at the Lion Hotel. We found Shrewsbury situated on an eminence, around which the Severn winds, making a peninsula of it, quite densely covered by the town. The streets ascend, and curve about, and intersect each other with the customary irregularity of these old English towns, so that it is quite impossible to go directly to any given point, or for a stranger to find his way to a place which he wishes to reach, though, by what seems a singular good fortune, the sought-for place is always offering itself when least expected. On this account I never knew such pleasant walking as in old streets like those of Shrewsbury. And there are passages opening under archways, and winding up between high edifices, very tempting to the explorer, and generally leading to some court, or some queer old range of buildings or piece of architecture, which it would be the greatest pity to miss seeing. There was a delightful want of plan in the laying out of these ancient towns. In fact, they never were laid out at all, nor were restrained by any plan whatever, but grew naturally, with streets as eccentric as the pathway of a young child toddling about the floor. The first curious thing we particularly noticed, when we strolled out after dinner, was the old market-house, which stands in the midst of an oblong square; a gray edifice, elevated on pillars and arches, and with the statue of an armed knight, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, in a central niche, in its front. The statue is older than the market-house, having been moved thither from one of the demolished towers of the city wall in 1795. The market-house was erected in 1595. There are other curious sculptures and carvings and quirks of architecture about this building; and the houses that stand about the square are, many of them, very striking specimens of what dwelling-houses used to be in Elizabeth's time, and earlier. I have seen no such stately houses, in that style, as we found here in Shrewsbury. There were no such fine ones in Coventry, Stratford, Warwick, Chester, nor anywhere else where we have been. Their stately height and spaciousness seem to have been owing to the fact that Shrewsbury was a sort of metropolis of the country round about, and therefore the neighboring gentry had their town-houses there, when London was several days' journey off, instead of a very few hours; and, besides, it was once much the resort of kings, and the centre-point of great schemes of war and policy. One such house, formerly belonging to a now extinct family, that of Ireland, rises to the height of four stories, and has a front consisting of what look like four projecting towers. There are ranges of embowered windows, one above another, to the full height of the house, and these are surmounted by peaked gables. The people of those times certainly did not deny themselves light; and while window-glass was an article of no very remote introduction, it was probably a point of magnificence and wealthy display to have enough of it. One whole side of the room must often have been formed by the window. This Ireland mansion, as well as all the rest of the old houses in Shrewsbury, is a timber house,--that is, a skeleton of oak, filled up with brick, plaster, or other material, and with the beams of the timber marked out with black paint; besides which, in houses of any pretension, there are generally trefoils, and other Gothic-looking ornaments, likewise painted black. They have an indescribable charm for me,--the more, I think, because they are wooden; but, indeed, I cannot tell why it is that I like them so well, and am never tired of looking at them. A street was a development of human life, in the days when these houses were built, whereas a modern street is but the cold plan of an architect, without individuality or character, and without the human emotion which a man kneads into the walls which he builds on a scheme of his own. We strolled to a pleasant walk under a range of trees, along the shore of the Severn. It is called the Quarry Walk. The Severn is a pretty river, the largest, I think (unless it be such an estuary as the Mersey), that I have met with in England; that is to say, about a fair stone's-throw across. It is very gentle in its course, and winds along between grassy and sedgy banks, with a good growth of weeds in some part of its current. It has one stately bridge, called the English Bridge, of several arches, and, as we sauntered along the Quarry Walk, we saw a ferry where the boat seemed to be navigated across by means of a rope, stretched from bank to bank of the river. After leaving the Quarry Walk, we passed an old tower of red freestone, the only one remaining of those formerly standing at intervals along the whole course of the town wall; and we also went along what little is now left of the wall itself. And thence, through the irregular streets, which gave no account of themselves, we found our way, I know not how, back to our hotel. It is an uncheerful old hotel, which takes upon itself to be in the best class of English country hotels, and charges the best price; very dark in the lower apartments, pervaded with a musty odor, but provided with a white-neckclothed waiter, who spares no ceremony in serving the joints of mutton. J----- and I afterwards walked forth again, and went this time to the castle, which stands exactly above the railway station. A path, from its breadth quite a street, leads up to the arched gateway; but we found a board, giving notice that these are private grounds, and no strangers admitted; so that we only passed through the gate a few steps, and looked about us, and retired, on perceiving a man approaching us through the trees and shrubbery. A private individual, it seems, has burrowed in this old warlike den, and turned the keep, and any other available apartment, into a modern dwelling, and laid out his pleasure-grounds within the precincts of the castle wall, which allows verge enough for the purpose. The ruins have been considerably repaired. This castle was built at various times, the keep by Edward I., and other portions at an earlier period, and it stands on the isthmus left by the Severn in its wandering course about the town. The Duke of Cleveland now owns it. I do not know who occupies it. In the course of this walk, we passed St. Mary's Church,--a very old church indeed, no matter how old, but say, eight hundred or a thousand years. It has a very tall spire, and the spire is now undergoing repairs; and, seeing the door open, I went into the porch, but found no admission further. Then, walking around it, through the churchyard, we saw that all the venerable Gothic windows--one of them grand in size-- were set with stained glass, representing coats of arms and ancient armor, and kingly robes, and saints with glories about their heads, and Scriptural people; but all of these, as far as our actual perception was concerned, quite colorless, and with only a cold outline, dimly filled up. Yet, had we been within the church, and had the sunlight been streaming through, what a warm, rich, gorgeous, roseate, golden life would these figures have showed! In the churchyard, close upon the street, so that its dust must be continually scattered over the spot, I saw a heavy gray tombstone, with a Latin inscription, purporting that Bishop Butler, the author of the Analogy, in his lifetime had chosen this as a burial-place for himself and his family. There is a statue of him within the church. From the top of the spire a man, above a hundred years ago, attempted to descend, by means of a rope, to the other side of the Severn; but the rope broke, and he fell in his midway flight, and was killed. It was an undertaking worthy of Sam Patch. There is a record of the fact on the outside of the tower. I remember nothing more that we saw yesterday; but, before breakfast, J----- and I sallied forth again, and inspected the gateway and interior court of the Council House,--a very interesting place, both in itself and for the circumstances connected with it, it having been the place where the councillors for the Welsh marches used to reside during their annual meetings; and Charles the First also lived here for six weeks in 1612. James II. likewise held his court here in 1687. The house was originally built in 1501,--that is, the Council House itself,--the gateway, and the house through which it passes, being of as late date as 1620. This latter is a fine old house, in the usual style of timber architecture, with the timber lines marked out, and quaint adornments in black paint; and the pillars of the gateway which passes beneath the front chamber are of curiously carved oak, which has probably stood the action of English atmosphere better than marble would have done. Passing through this gateway, we entered a court, and saw some old buildings more or less modernized, but without destroying their aged stateliness, standing round three sides of it, with arched entrances and bow-windows, and windows in the roofs, and peaked gables, and all the delightful irregularity and variety that these houses have, and which make them always so fresh,--and with so much detail that every minute you see something heretofore unseen. It must have been no unfit residence for a king and his court, when those three sides of the square, all composing one great fantastic house, were in their splendor. The square itself, too, must have been a busy and cheerful scene, thronged with attendants, guests, horses, etc. After breakfast, we all walked out, and, crossing the English Bridge, looked at the Severn over its parapet. The river is here broader than elsewhere, and very shallow, and has an island covered with bushes, about midway across. Just over the bridge we saw a church, of red freestone, and evidently very ancient. This is the Church of the Holy Cross, and is a portion of the Abbey of St. Peter and St. John, which formerly covered ten acres of ground. We did not have time to go into the church; but the windows and other points of architecture, so far as we could discern them, and knew how to admire them, were exceedingly venerable and beautiful. On the other side of the street, over a wide space, there are other remains of the old abbey; and the most interesting was a stone pulpit, now standing in the open air, seemingly in a garden, but which originally stood in the refectory of the abbey, and was the station whence one of the monks read to his brethren at their meals. The pulpit is much overgrown with ivy. We should have made further researches among these remains, though they seem now to be in private grounds; but a large mastiff came nut of his kennel, and, approaching us to the length of his iron chain, began barking very fiercely. Nor had we time to see half that we would gladly have seen and studied here and elsewhere about Shrewsbury. It would have been very interesting to have visited Hotspur's and Falstaff's battle-field, which is four miles from the town; too distant, certainly, for Falstaff to have measured the length of the fight by Shrewsbury clock. There is now a church, built there by Henry IV., and said to cover the bones of those slain in the battle. Returning into the town, we penetrated some narrow lanes, where, as the old story goes, people might almost shake hands across from the top windows of the opposite houses, impending towards each other. Emerging into a wider street, at a spot somewhat more elevated than other parts of the town, we went into a shop to buy some Royal Shrewsbury cakes, which we had seen advertised at several shop windows. They are a very rich cake, with plenty of eggs, sugar, and butter, and very little flour. A small public building of stone, of modern date, was close by; and asking the shopwoman what it was, she said it was the Butter Cross, or market for butter, eggs, and poultry. It is a remarkable site, for here, in ancient times, stood a stone cross, where heralds used to make proclamation, and where criminals of state used to be executed. David, the last of the Welsh princes, was here cruelly put to death by Edward I., and many noblemen were beheaded on this spot, after being taken prisoners in the battle of Shrewsbury. I can only notice one other memorable place in Shrewsbury, and that is the Raven Inn, where Farquhar wrote his comedy of "The Recruiting Officer" in 1701. The window of the room in which he wrote is said to look into the inn yard, and I went through the arched entrance to see if I could distinguish it. The hostlers were currying horses in the yard, and so stared at me that I gave but the merest glance. The Shrewsbury inns have not only the customary names of English inns,--as the Lion, the Stag,--but they have also the carved wooden figures of the object named, whereas, in all other towns, the name alone remains. We left Shrewsbury at half past ten, and arrived in London at about four in the afternoon. LONDON. September 7th.--On Wednesday, just before dusk, J----- and I walked forth, for the first time, in London. Our lodgings are in George Street, Hanover Square, No. 21; and St. George's Church, where so many marriages in romance and in fashionable life have been celebrated, is a short distance below our house, in the same street. The edifice seems to be of white marble, now much blackened with London smoke, and has a Grecian pillared portico. In the square, just above us, is a statue of William Pitt. We went down Bond Street, and part of Regent Street, just estraying a little way from our temporary nest, and taking good account of landmarks and corners, so as to find our way readily back again. It is long since I have had such a childish feeling; but all that I had heard and felt about the vastness of London made it seem like swimming in a boundless ocean, to venture one step beyond the only spot I knew. My first actual impression of London was of stately and spacious streets, and by no means so dusky and grimy as I had expected,--not merely in the streets about this quarter of the town, which is the aristocratic quarter, but in all the streets through which we had passed from the railway station. If I had not first been so imbued with the smoke and dinginess of Liverpool, I should doubtless have seen a stronger contrast betwixt dusky London and the cheerful glare of our American cities. There are no red bricks here; all are of a dark hue, and whatever of stone or stucco has been white soon clothes itself in mourning. Yesterday forenoon I went out alone, and plunged headlong into London, and wandered about all day, without any particular object in view, but only to lose myself for the sake of finding myself unexpectedly among things that I had always read and dreamed about. The plan was perfectly successful, for, besides vague and unprofitable wanderings, I saw, in the course of the day, Hyde Park, Regent's Park, Whitehall, the two new Houses of Parliament, Charing Cross, St. Paul's, the, Strand, Fleet Street, Cheapside, Whitechapel, Leadenhall Street, the Haymarket, and a great many other places, the names of which were classic in my memory. I think what interests me most here, is the London of the writers of Queen Anne's age,--whatever Pope, The Spectator, De Foe, and down as late as Johnson and Goldsmith, have mentioned. The Monument, for instance, which is of no great height nor beauty compared with that on Bunker Hill, charmed me prodigiously. St. Paul's appeared to me unspeakably grand and noble, and the more so from the throng and bustle continually going on around its base, without in the least disturbing the sublime repose of its great dome, and, indeed, of all its massive height and breadth. Other edifices may crowd close to its foundation, and people may tramp as they like about it; but still the great cathedral is as quiet and serene as if it stood in the middle of Salisbury Plain. There cannot be anything else in its way so good in the world as just this effect of St. Paul's in the very heart and densest tumult of London. I do not know whether the church is built of marble, or of whatever other white or nearly white material; but in the time that it has been standing there, it has grown black with the smoke of ages, through which there are nevertheless gleams of white, that make a most picturesque impression on the whole. It is much better than staring white; the edifice would not be nearly so grand without this drapery of black. I did not find these streets of the old city so narrow and irregular as I expected. All the principal ones are sufficiently broad, and there are few houses that look antique, being, I suppose, generally modern-fronted, when not actually of modern substance. There is little or no show or pretension in this part of London; it has a plain, business air,--an air of homely, actual life, as of a metropolis of tradesmen, who have been carrying on their traffic here, in sober earnest, for hundreds of years. You observe on the sign-boards, "Established ninety years in Threadneedle Street," "Established in 1109,"--denoting long pedigrees of silk-mercers and hosiers,--De Foe's contemporaries still represented by their posterity, who handle the hereditary yardstick on the same spot. I must not forget to say that I crossed the Thames over a bridge which, I think, is near Charing Cross. Afterwards, I found my way to London Bridge, where there was a delightful density of throng. The Thames is not so wide and majestic as I had imagined,--nothing like the Mersey, for example. As a picturesque object, however, flowing through the midst of a city, it would lose by any increase of width. Omnibuses are a most important aid to wanderers about London. I reached home, well wearied, about six o'clock. In the course of the day, I had seen one person whom I knew,--Mr. Clarke, to whom Henry B------ introduced me, when we went to see the great ship launched on the Dee. This, I believe, was in Regent Street. In that street, too, I saw a company of dragoons, beautifully mounted, and defensively armed, in brass helmets and steel cuirasses, polished to the utmost excess of splendor. It was a pretty sight. At one of the public edifices, on each side of the portal, sat a mounted trooper similarly armed, and with his carbine resting on his knee, just as motionless as a statue. This, too, as a picturesque circumstance, was very good, and really made an impression on me with respect to the power and stability of the government, though I could not help smiling at myself for it. But then the thought, that for generations an armed warrior has always sat just there, on his war-steed, and with his weapon in his hand, is pleasant to the imagination,-- although it is questionable whether his carbine be loaded; and, no doubt, if the authorities had any message to send, they would choose some other messenger than this heavy dragoon,--the electric wire, for instance. Still, if he and his horse were to be withdrawn from their post, night or day (for I suppose the sentinels are on duty all night), it seems as if the monarchy would be subverted, and the English constitution crumble into rubbish; and, in honest fact, it will signify something like that, when guard is relieved there for the last time. September 8th.--Yesterday forenoon S-----, the two eldest children, and I went forth into London streets, and proceeded down Regent Street, and thence to St. James's Park, at the entrance of which is a statue of somebody,--I forget whom. On the very spacious gravel-walks, covering several acres, in the rear of the Horse Guards, some soldiers were going through their exercise; and, after looking at them awhile, we strolled through the Park, alongside of a sheet of water, in which various kinds of ducks, geese, and rare species of waterfowl were swimming. There was one swan of immense size, which moved about among the lesser fowls like a stately, full-rigged ship among gunboats. By and by we found ourselves near what we since have discovered to be Buckingham Palace,--a long building, in the Italian style, but of no impressiveness, and which one soon wearies of looking at. The Queen having gone to Scotland the day before, the palace now looked deserted, although there was a one-horse cab, of shabby aspect, standing at the principal front, where doubtless the carriages of princes and the nobility draw up. There is a fountain playing before the palace, and water-fowl love to swim under its perpetual showers. These ducks and geese are very tame, and swim to the margin of the pond to be fed by visitors, looking up at you with great intelligence. S----- asked a man in a sober suit of livery (of whom we saw several about the Park), whose were some of the large mansions which we saw, and he pointed out Stafford House, the residence of the Duke of Sutherland, --a very noble edifice, much more beautiful than the palace, though not so large; also the house of the Earl of Ellesmere, and residences of other noblemen. This range of mansions, along the park, from the spot whence we viewed them, looks very much like Beacon Street, in Boston, bordering on the Common, allowing for a considerable enlargement of scale in favor of the Park residences. The Park, however, has not the beautiful elms that overshadow Boston Common, nor such a pleasant undulation of surface, nor the fine off-view of the country, like that across Charles River. I doubt whether London can show so delightful a spot as that Common, always excepting the superiority of English lawns, which, however, is not so evident in the London parks, there being less care bestowed on the grass than I should have expected. From this place we wandered into what I believe to be Hyde Park, attracted by a gigantic figure on horseback, which loomed up in the distance. The effect of this enormous steed and his rider is very grand, seen in the misty atmosphere. I do not understand why we did not see St. James's Palace, which is situated, I believe, at the extremity of the same range of mansions of which Stafford House is the opposite end. From the entrance of Hyde Park, we seem to have gone along Piccadilly, and, making two or three turns, and getting bewildered, I put S----- and the children into a cab, and sent them home. Continuing my wanderings, I went astray among squares of large aristocratic-looking edifices, all apparently new, with no shops among them, some yet unfinished, and the whole seeming like a city built for a colony of gentlefolks, who might be expected to emigrate thither in a body. It was a dreary business to wander there, turning corner after corner, and finding no way of getting into a less stately and more genial region. At last, however, I passed in front of the Queen's Mews, where sentinels were on guard, and where a jolly-looking man, in a splendidly laced scarlet coat and white-topped boots, was lounging at the entrance. He looked like the prince of grooms or coachmen. . . . . The corner of Hyde Park was within a short distance, and I took a Hansom at the cab-stand there, and drove to the American Despatch Agency, 26 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, having some documents of state to be sent by to-day's steamer. The business of forwarding despatches to America, and distributing them to the various legations and consulates in Europe, must be a pretty extensive one; for Mr. Miller has a large office, and two clerks in attendance. From this point I went through Covent Garden Market, and got astray in the city, so that I can give no clear account of my afternoon's wanderings. I passed through Holborn, however, and I think it was from that street that I passed through an archway (which I almost invariably do, when I see one), and found myself in a very spacious, gravelled square, surrounded on the four sides by a continuous edifice of dark brick, very plain, and of cold and stern aspect. This was Gray's Inn, all tenanted by a multitude of lawyers. Passing thence, I saw "Furnival's Inn" over another archway, but, being on the opposite side of the street, I did not go thither. In Holborn, still, I went through another arched entrance, over which was "Staples Inn," and here likewise seemed to be offices; but, in a court opening inwards from this, there was a surrounding seclusion of quiet dwelling-houses, with beautiful green shrubbery and grass-plots in the court, and a great many sunflowers in full bloom. The windows were open; it was a lovely summer afternoon, and I have a sense that bees were humming in the court, though this may have been suggested by my fancy, because the sound would have been so well suited to the scene. A boy was reading at one of the windows. There was not a quieter spot in England than this, and it was very strange to have drifted into it so suddenly out of the bustle and rumble of Holborn; and to lose all this repose as suddenly, on passing through the arch of the outer court. In all the hundreds of years since London was built, it has not been able to sweep its roaring tide over that little island of quiet. In Holborn I saw the most antique-looking houses that I have yet met with in London, but none of very remarkable aspect. I think I must have been under a spell of enchantment to-day, connecting me with St. Paul's; for, trying to get away from it by various avenues, I still got bewildered, and again and again saw its great dome and pinnacles before me. I observe that the smoke has chiefly settled on the lower part of the edifice, leaving its loftier portions and its spires much less begrimed. It is very beautiful, very rich. I did not think that anything but Gothic architecture could so have interested me. The statues, the niches, the embroidery, as it were, of sculpture traced around it, produced a delightful effect. In front of St. Paul's there is a statue of Queen Anne, which looks rather more majestic, I doubt not, than that fat old dame ever did. St. Paul's churchyard had always been a place of immense interest in my imagination. It is merely the not very spacious street, running round the base of the church,--at least, this street is included in the churchyard, together with the enclosure immediately about the church, sowed with tombstones. I meant to look for the children's book-shop, but forgot it, or neglected it, from not feeling so much interest in a thing near at hand as when it seemed unattainable. I watched a man tearing down the brick wall of a house that did not appear very old; but it surprised me to see how crumbly the brick-work was, one stroke of his pick often loosening several bricks in a row. It is my opinion that brick houses, after a moderate term of years, stand more by habit and courtesy than through any adhesive force of the old mortar. I recommenced my wanderings; but I remember nothing else particularly claiming to be mentioned, unless it be Paternoster Row,--a little, narrow, darksome lane, in which, it being now dusk in that density of the city, I could not very well see what signs were over the doors. In this street, or thereabouts, I got into an omnibus, and, being set down near Regent's Circus, reached home well wearied. September 9th.--Yesterday, having some tickets to the Zoological Gardens, we went thither with the two eldest children. It was a most beautiful sunny day, the very perfection of English weather,--which is as much as to say, the best weather in the world, except, perhaps, some few days in an American October. These gardens are at the end of Regent's Park, farthest from London, and they are very extensive; though, I think, not quite worthy of London,--not so good as one would expect them to be,--not so fine and perfect a collection of beasts, birds, and fishes, as one might fairly look for, when the greatest metropolis of the world sets out to have such a collection at all.--My idea was, that here every living thing was provided for, in the way best suited to its nature and habits, and that the refinement of civilization had here restored a garden of Eden, where all the animal kingdom had regained a happy home. This is not quite the case; though, I believe, the creatures are as comfortable as could he expected, and there are certainly a good many strange beasts here. The hippopotamus is the chief treasure of the collection,--an immense, almost misshapen, mass of flesh. At this moment I do not remember anything that interested me except a sick monkey,--a very large monkey, and elderly he seemed to be. His keeper brought him some sweetened apple and water, and some tea; for the monkey had quite lost his appetite, and refused all ordinary diet. He came, however, quite eagerly, and smelt of the tea and apple, the keeper exhorting him very tenderly to eat. But the poor monkey shook his head slowly, and with the most pitiable expression, at the same time extending his hand to take the keeper's, as if claiming his sympathy and friendship. By and by the keeper (who is rather a surly fellow) essayed harsher measures, and insisted that the monkey should eat what had been brought for him, and hereupon ensued somewhat of a struggle, and the tea was overturned upon the straw of the bed. Then the keeper scolded him, and, seizing him by one arm, drew him out of his little bedroom into the larger cage, upon which the wronged monkey began a loud, dissonant, reproachful chatter, more expressive of a sense of injury than any words could be. Observing the spectators in front of the cage, he seemed to appeal to them, and addressed his chatter thitherward, and stretched out his long, lean arm and black hand between the bars, as if claiming the grasp of any one friend he might have in the whole world. He was placable, however; for when the keeper called him in a gentler tone, he hobbled towards him with a very stiff and rusty movement, and the scene closed with their affectionately hugging one another. But I fear the poor monkey will die. In a future state of being, I think it will be one of my inquiries, in reference to the mysteries of the present state, why monkeys were made. The Creator could not surely have meant to ridicule his own work. It might rather be fancied that Satan had perpetrated monkeys, with a malicious purpose of parodying the masterpiece of creation! The Aquarium, containing, in some of its compartments, specimens of the animal and vegetable life of the sea, and, in others, those of the fresh water, was richly worth inspecting; but not nearly so perfect as it might be. Now I think we have a right to claim, in a metropolitan establishment of this kind, in all its departments, a degree of perfection that shall quite outdo the unpractised thought of any man on that particular subject. There were a good many well-dressed people and children in the gardens, Saturday being a fashionable day for visiting them. One great amusement was feeding some bears with biscuits and cakes, of which they seemed exceedingly fond. One of the three bears clambered to the top of a high pole, whence he invited the spectators to hand him bits of cake on the end of a stick, or to toss them into his mouth, which he opened widely for that purpose. Another, apparently an elderly bear, not having skill nor agility for these gymnastics, sat on the ground, on his hinder end, groaning most pitifully. The third took what stray bits he could get, without earning them by any antics. At four o'clock there was some music from the band of the First Life-Guards, a great multitude of chairs being set on the greensward in the sunshine and shade, for the accommodation of the auditors. Here we had the usual exhibition of English beauty, neither superior nor otherwise to what I have seen in other parts of England. Before the music was over, we walked slowly homeward, along beside Regent's Park, which is very prettily laid out, but lacks some last touch of richness and beauty; though, after all, I do not well see what more could be done with grass, trees, and gravel-walks. The children, especially J-----, who had raced from one thing to another all day long, grew tired; so we put them into a cab, and walked slowly through Portland Place, where are a great many noble mansions, yet no very admirable architecture; none that possessed, nor that ever can possess, the indefinable charm of some of those poor old timber houses in Shrewsbury. The art of domestic architecture is lost. We can rear stately and beautiful dwellings (though we seldom do), but they do not seem proper to the life of man, in the same way that his shell is proper to the lobster; nor, indeed, is the mansion of the nobleman proper to him, in the same kind and degree, that a hut is proper to a peasant. From Portland Place we passed into Regent Street, and soon reached home. September 10th.--Yesterday forenoon we walked out with the children, intending for Charing Cross; but, missing our way, as usual, we went down a rather wide and stately street, and saw before us an old brick edifice with a pretty extensive front, over which rose a clock-tower,--the whole dingy, and looking both gloomy and mean. There was an arched entrance beneath the clock-tower, at which two Guardsmen, in their bear-skin caps, were stationed as sentinels; and from this circumstance, and our having some guess at the locality, we concluded the old brick building to be St. James's Palace. Otherwise we might have taken it for a prison, or for a hospital, which, in truth, it was at first intended for. But, certainly, there are many paupers in England who live in edifices of far more architectural pretension externally than this principal palace of the English sovereigns. Seeing other people go through the archway, we also went, meeting no impediment from the sentinels, and found ourselves in a large paved court, in the centre of which a banner was stuck down, with a few soldiers standing near it. This flag was the banner of the regiment of guards on duty. The aspect of the interior court was as naked and dismal as the outside, the brick being of that dark hue almost universal in England. On one side of the court there was a door which seemed to give admission to a chapel, into which several persons went, and probably we might have gone too, had we liked. From this court, we penetrated into at least two or three others; for the palace is very extensive, and all of it, so far as I could see, on the same pattern,--large, enclosed courts, paved, and quite bare of grass, shrubbery, or any beautiful thing,--dark, stern, brick walls, without the slightest show of architectural beauty, or even an ornament over the square, commonplace windows, looking down on those forlorn courts. A carriage-drive passes through it, if I remember aright, from the principal front, emerging by one of the sides; and I suppose that the carriages roll through the palace, at the levees and drawing-rooms. There was nothing to detain us here any long time, so we went from court to court, and came out through a side-opening. The edifice is battlemented all round, and this, with somewhat of fantastic in the shape of the clock-tower, is the only attempt at ornament in the whole. Then we skirted along St. James's Park, passing Marlborough House,--a red brick building,--and a very long range of stone edifices, which, whether they were public or private, one house or twenty, we knew not. We ascended the steps of the York column, and soon reached Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square, where there are more architectural monuments than in any other one place in London; besides two fountains, playing in large reservoirs of water, and various edifices of note and interest. Northumberland House, now, and for a long while, the town residence of the Percys, stands on the Strand side,--over the entrance a lion, very spiritedly sculptured, flinging out his long tail. On another side of the square is Morley's Hotel, exceedingly spacious, and looking more American than anything else in the hotel line that I have seen here. The Nelson monument, with Lord Nelson, in a cocked hat, on its top, is very grand in its effect. All about the square there were sundry loungers, people looking at the bas-reliefs on Nelson's Column, children paddling in the reservoirs of the fountains; and, it being a sunny day, it was a cheerful and lightsome, as well as an impressive scene. On second thoughts, I do not know but that London should have a far better display of architecture and sculpture than this, on its finest site, and in its very centre; for, after all, there is nothing of the very best. But I missed nothing at the time. In the afternoon S----- and I set out to attend divine service in Westminster Abbey. On our way thither we passed through Pall Mall, which is full of club-houses, and we were much struck with the beauty of the one lately erected for the Carleton Club. It is built of a buff-colored or yellowish stone, with pillars or pilasters of polished Aberdeen granite, wonderfully rich and beautiful; and there is a running border of sculptured figures all round the upper part of the building, besides other ornament and embroidery, wherever there was room or occasion for it. It being an oblong square, the smooth and polished aspect in this union of two rich colors in it,--this delicacy and minuteness of finish, this lavish ornament--made me think of a lady's jewel-box; and if it could be reduced to the size of about a foot square, or less, it would make the very prettiest one that ever was seen. I question whether it have any right to be larger than a jewel-box; but it is certainly a most beautiful edifice. We turned down Whitehall, at the head of which, over the very spot where the Regicides were executed, stands the bronze equestrian statue of Charles I.,--the statue that was buried under the earth during the whole of Cromwell's time, and emerged after the Restoration. We saw the Admiralty and the Horse-Guards, and, in front of the latter, the two mounted sentinels, one of whom was flirting and laughing with some girls. On the other side of the street stands the Banqueting-House, built by Inigo Jones; from a window of which King Charles stepped forth, wearing a kingly head, which, within a few minutes afterwards, fell with a dead thump on the scaffold. It was nobly done,-- and nobly suffered. How rich is history in the little space around this spot! I find that the day after I reached London, I entirely passed by Westminster Abbey without knowing it, partly because my eyes were attracted by the gaudier show of the new Houses of Parliament, and partly because this part of the Abbey has been so much repaired and renewed that it has not the marks of age. Looking at its front, I now found it very grand and venerable; but it is useless to attempt a description: these things are not to be translated into words; they can be known only by seeing them, and, until seen, it is well to shape out no idea of them. Impressions, states of mind, produced by noble spectacles of whatever kind, are all that it seems worth while to attempt reproducing with the pen. After coming out of the Abbey, we looked at the two Houses of Parliament, directly across the way,--an immense structure, and certainly most splendid, built of a beautiful warm-colored stone. The building has a very elaborate finish, and delighted me at first; but by and by I began to be sensible of a weariness in the effect, a lack of variety in the plan and ornament, a deficiency of invention; so that instead of being more and more interested the longer one looks, as is the case with an old Gothic edifice, and continually reading deeper into it, one finds that one has seen all in seeing a little piece, and that the magnificent palace has nothing better to show one or to do for one. It is wonderful how the old weather-stained and smoke-blackened Abbey shames down this brand-newness; not that the Parliament houses are not fine objects to look at, too. Yesterday morning we walked to Charing Cross, with U---- and J-----, and there took a cab to the Tower, driving thither through the Strand, Fleet Street, past St. Paul's, and amid all the thickest throng of the city. I have not a very distinct idea of the Tower, but remember that our cab drove within an outer gate, where we alighted at a ticket-office; the old royal fortress being now a regular show-place, at sixpence a head, including the sight of armory and crown-jewels. We saw about the gate several warders or yeomen of the guard, or beefeaters, dressed in scarlet coats of antique fashion, richly embroidered with golden crowns, both on the breast and back, and other royal devices and insignia; so that they looked very much like the kings on a pack of cards, or regular trumps, at all events. I believe they are old soldiers, promoted to this position for good conduct. One of them took charge of us, and when a sufficient number of visitors had collected with us, he led us to see what very small portion of the Tower is shown. There is a great deal of ground within the outer precincts; and it has streets and houses and inhabitants and a church within it; and, going up and down behind the warder, without any freedom to get acquainted with the place by strolling about, I know little more about it than when I went in,--only recollecting a mean and disagreeable confusion of brick walls, barracks, paved courts, with here and there a low bulky turret, of rather antique aspect, and, in front of one of the edifices, a range of curious old cannon, lying on the ground, some of them immensely large and long, and beautifully wrought in brass. I observed by a plan, however, that the White Tower, containing the armory, stands about in the centre of the fortress, and that it is a square, battlemented structure, having a turret at each angle. We followed the warder into the White Tower, and there saw, in the first place, a long gallery of mounted knights, and men at arms, which has been so often described that when I wish to recall it to memory I shall turn to some other person's account of it. I was much struck, however, with the beautiful execution of a good many of the suits of armor, and the exquisite detail with which they were engraved. The artists of those days attained very great skill, in this kind of manufacture. The figures of the knights, too, in full array, undoubtedly may have shown a combination of stateliness and grace which heretofore I have not believed in,--not seeing how it could be compatible with iron garments. But it is quite incomprehensible how, in the time of the heaviest armor, they could strike a blow, or possess any freedom of movement, except such as a turtle is capable of; and, in truth, they are said not to have been able to rise up when overthrown. They probably stuck out their lances, and rode straight at the enemy, depending upon upsetting him by their mass and weight. In the row of knights is Henry VIII.; also Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who must have been an immensely bulky man; also, a splendid suit of armor, gilded all over, presented by the city of London to Charles I.; also, two or three suits of boys' armor, for the little princes of the House of Stuart. They began to wear these burdens betimes, in order that their manhood might be the more tolerant of them. We went through this gallery so hastily that it would have been about as well not to have seen it at all. Then we went up a winding stair to another room, containing armor and weapons, and beautiful brass cannon, that appeared to have been for ornament rather than use, some of them being quite covered with embossed sculpture, marvellously well wrought. In this room was John of Gaunt's suit, indicating a man seven feet high, and the armor seems to bear the marks of much wear; but this may be owing to great scrubbing, throughout the centuries since John of Gaunt died. There, too, we saw the cloak in which Wolfe fell, on the Plains of Abraham,--a coarse, faded, threadbare, light-colored garment, folded up under a glass case. Many other things we might have seen, worthy of being attended to, had there been time to look at them. Following into still another room, we were told that this was Sir Walter Raleigh's apartment, while confined in the Tower, so that it was within these walls that he wrote the History of the World. The room was formerly lighted by lancet windows, and must have been very gloomy; but, if he had the whole length of it to himself, it was a good space to walk and meditate in. On one side of the apartment is a low door, giving admittance, we were told, to the cell where Raleigh slept; so we went in, and found it destitute of any window, and so dark that we could not estimate its small extent except by feeling about. At the threshold of this sleeping-kennel, there were one or two inscriptions, scratched in the wall, but not, I believe, by Raleigh. In this apartment, among a great many other curious things, are shown the devilish instruments of torture which the Spaniards were bringing to England in their Armada; and, at the end of the room, sits Queen Elizabeth on horseback, in her high ruff and faded finery. Very likely none of these clothes were ever on her actual person. Here, too, we saw a headsman's block,--not that on which Raleigh was beheaded, which I would have given gold to see, but the one which was used for the Scotch Lords Kilmarnock, Lovat, and others, executed on account of the Rebellion of 1745. It is a block of oak, about two feet high, with a large knot in it, so that it would not easily be split by a blow of the axe; hewn and smoothed in a very workmanlike way, and with a hollow to accommodate the head and shoulders on each side. There were two or three very strong marks of the axe in the part over which the neck lay, and several smaller cuts; as if the first stroke nearly severed the head, and then the chopping off was finished by smaller blows, as we see a butcher cutting meat with his cleaver. A headsman's axe was likewise shown us,--its date unknown. In the White Tower we were shown the Regalia, under a glass, and within an iron cage. Edward the Confessor's golden staff was very finely wrought; and there were a great many pretty things; but I have a suspicion, I know not why, that these are not the real jewels,--at least, that such inestimable ones as the Koh-i-noor (or however it is spelt) are less freely exhibited. The warder then led us into a paved court, which he said was the place of execution of all royal personages and others, who, from motives of fear or favor, were beheaded privately. Raleigh was among these, and so was Anne Boleyn. We then followed to the Beauchamp Tower, where many state prisoners of note were confined, and where, on the walls of one of the chambers, there are several inscriptions and sculptures of various devices, done by the prisoners,--and very skilfully done, too, though perhaps with no better instrument than an old nail. These poor wretches had time and leisure enough to spend upon their work. This chamber is lighted by small lancet windows, pierced at equal intervals round the circle of the Beauchamp Tower; and it contains a large, square fireplace, in which is now placed a small modern stove. We were hurried away, before we could even glance at the inscriptions, and we saw nothing else, except the low, obscure doorway in the Bloody Tower, leading to the staircase, under which were found the supposed bones of the little princes; and lastly, the round, Norman arch, opening to the water passage, called the Traitor's Gate. Finally, we ate some cakes and buns in the refreshment-room connected with the ticket-office, and then left the fortress. The ancient moat, by the way, has been drained within a few years, and now forms a great hollow space, with grassy banks, round about the citadel. We now wished to see the Thames, and therefore threaded our way along Thames Street, towards London Bridge, passing through a fish-market, which I suppose to be the actual Billingsgate, whence originated all the foul language in England. Under London Bridge there is a station for steamers running to Greenwich and Woolwich. We got on board one of these, not very well knowing, nor much caring, whither it might take us, and steamed down the river, which is bordered with the shabbiest, blackest, ugliest, meanest buildings: it is the back side of the town; and, in truth, the muddy tide of the Thames deserves to see no better. There was a great deal of shipping in the river, and many steamers, and it was much more crowded than the Mersey, where all the ships go into docks; but the vessels were not so fine. By and by we reached Greenwich, and went ashore there, proceeding up from the quay, past beer-shops and eating-houses in great numbers and variety. Greenwich Hospital is here a very prominent object, and after passing along its extensive front, facing towards the river, we entered one of the principal gates, as we found ourselves free to do. We now left the hospital, and steamed back to London Bridge, whence we went up into the city, and, to finish the labors of the day, ascended the Monument. This seems to be still a favorite adventure with the cockneys; for we heard one woman, who went up with us, saying that she had been thinking of going up all her life, and another said that she had gone up thirty years ago. There is an iron railing, or rather a cage, round the top, through which it would be impossible for people to force their way, in order to precipitate themselves, as six persons have heretofore done. There was a mist over London, so that we did not gain a very clear view, except of the swarms of people running about, like ants, in the streets at the foot of the Monument. Descending, I put S----- and the children into a cab, and I myself wandered about the city. Passing along Fleet Street, I turned in through an archway, which I rightly guessed to be the entrance to the Temple. It is a very large space, containing many large, solemn, and serious edifices of dark brick, and no sooner do you pass under the arch than all the rumble and bustle of London dies away at once; and it seems as if a person might live there in perfect quiet, without suspecting that it was not always a Sabbath. People appear to have their separate residences here; but I do not understand what is the economy of their lives. Quite in the deepest interior of this region, there is a large garden, bordering on the Thames, along which it has a gravel-walk, and benches where it would be pleasant to sit. On one edge of the garden, there is some scanty shrubbery, and flowers of no great brilliancy; and the greensward, with which the garden is mostly covered, is not particularly rich nor verdant. Emerging from the Temple, I stopped at a tavern in the Strand, the waiter of which observed to me, "They say Sebastopol is taken, sir!" It was only such an interesting event that could have induced an English waiter to make a remark to a stranger, not called for in the way of business. The best view we had of the town--in fact, the only external view, and the only time we really saw the White Tower--was from the river, as we steamed past it. Here the high, square, battlemented White Tower, with the four turrets at its corners, rises prominently above all other parts of the fortress. September 13th.--Mr. ------, the American Minister, called on me on Tuesday, and left his card; an intimation that I ought sooner to have paid my respects to him; so yesterday forenoon I set out to find his residence, 56 Harley Street. It is a street out of Cavendish Square, in a fashionable quarter, although fashion is said to be ebbing away from it. The ambassador seems to intend some little state in his arrangements; but, no doubt, the establishment compares shabbily enough with those of the legations of other great countries, and with the houses of the English aristocracy. A servant, not in livery, or in a very unrecognizable one, opened the door for me, and gave my card to a sort of upper attendant, who took it in to Mr. ------. He had three gentlemen with him, so desired that I should be ushered into the office of the legation, until he should be able to receive me. Here I found a clerk or attache, Mr. M------, who has been two or three years on this side of the water; an intelligent person, who seems to be in correspondence with the New York Courier and Enquirer. By and by came in another American to get a passport for the Continent, and soon the three gentlemen took leave of the ambassador, and I was invited to his presence. The tall, large figure of Mr. ------ has a certain air of state and dignity; he carries his head in a very awkward way, but still looks like a man of long and high authority, and, with his white hair, is now quite venerable. There is certainly a lack of polish, a kind of rusticity, notwithstanding which you feel him to be a man of the world. I should think he might succeed very tolerably in English society, being heavy and sensible, cool, kindly, and good-humored, with a great deal of experience of life. We talked about various matters, politics among the rest; and he observed that if the President had taken the advice which he gave him in two long letters, before his inauguration, he would have had a perfectly quiet and successful term of office. The advice was, to form a perfectly homogeneous cabinet of Union men, and to satisfy the extremes of the party by a fair distribution of minor offices; whereas he formed his cabinet of extreme men, on both sides, and gave the minor offices to moderate ones. But the antislavery people, surely, had no representative in the cabinet. Mr. ------ further observed, that he thought the President had a fair chance of re-nomination, for that the South could not, in honor, desert him; to which I replied that the South had been guilty of such things heretofore. Mr. ------ thinks that the next Presidential term will be more important and critical, both as to our foreign relations and internal affairs, than any preceding one,--which I should judge likely enough to be the case, although I heard the sane prophecy often made respecting the present term. The ambassador dined with us at Rock Park a year or two ago, and I then felt, and always feel, as if he were a man of hearty feeling and simplicity, and certainly it would be unjust to conclude otherwise, merely from the fact (very suspicious, it is true) of his having been a life-long politician. After we had got through a little matter of business (respecting a young American who has enlisted at Liverpool), the Minister rang his bell, and ordered another visitor to be admitted; and so I took my leave. In the other room I found the Secretary of Legation,--a tall, slender man of about forty, with a small head and face,--gentlemanly enough, sensible, and well informed, yet I should judge, not quite up to his place. There was also a Dr. B------ from Michigan present, and I rather fancy the ambassador is quite as much bored with visitors as the consul at Liverpool. Before I left the office, Mr. ------ came in with Miss Sarah Clarke on his arm. She had come thither to get her passport vised; and when her business was concluded, we went out together. She was going farther towards the West End, and I into the city; so we soon parted, and I lost myself among the streets and squares, arriving at last at Oxford Street, though even then I did not know whether my face were turned cityward or in the opposite direction. Crossing Regent Street, however, I became sure of my whereabout, and went on through Holborn, and sought hither and thither for Grace Church Street, in order to find the American Consul, General Campbell; for I needed his aid to get a bank post-bill cashed. But I could not find the street, go where I would; so at last I went to No. 65 Cheapside, and introduced myself to Mr. ------, whom I already knew by letter, and by a good many of his poems, which he has sent me, and by two excellent watches, which I bought of him. This establishment, though it has the ordinary front of dingy brick, common to buildings in the city, looks like a time-long stand, the old shop of a London tradesman, with a large figure of a watch over the door, a great many watches (and yet no gorgeous show of them) in the window, a low, dark front shop, and a little room behind, where there was a chair or two. Mr. ------ is a small, slender young man, quite un-English in aspect, with black, curly hair, a thin, dark, colorless visage, very animated and of quick expression, with a nervous temperament. . . . . He dismounted from a desk when my card was handed to him, and turned to me with a vivid, glad look of recognition. We talked, in the first place, about poetry and such matters, about England and America, and the nature and depth of their mutual dislike, and, of course, the slavery question came up, as it always does, in one way or another. Anon, I produced my bank post-bill; and Mr. ------ kindly engaged to identify me at the bank, being ready to swear to me, he said, on the strength of my resemblance to my engraved portrait. So we set out for the Bank of England, and, arriving there, were directed to the proper clerk, after much inquiry; but he told us that the bill was not yet due, having been drawn at seven days, and having two still to run,--which was the fact. As I was almost shillingless, Mr. ------ now offered to cash it for me. He is very kind and good. . . . . Arriving at his shop again, he went out to procure the money, and soon returned with it. At my departure he gave me a copy of a new poem of his, entitled "Verdicts," somewhat in the manner of Lowell's satire. . . . . Mr. ------ resides now at Greenwich, whither he hoped I would come and see him on my return to London. Perhaps I will, for I like him. It seems strange to see an Englishman with so little physical ponderosity and obtuseness of nerve. After parting from him, it being three o'clock or thereabouts, I resumed my wanderings about the city, of which I never weary as long as I can put one foot before the other. Seeing that the door of St. Paul's, under one of the semicircular porches, was partially open, I went in, and found that the afternoon service was about to be performed; so I remained to hear it, and to see what I could of the cathedral. What a total and admirable contrast between this and a Gothic church! the latter so dim and mysterious, with its various aisles, its intricacy of pointed arches, its dark walls and columns and pavement, and its painted glass windows, bedimming even what daylight might otherwise get into its eternal evening. But this cathedral was full of light, and light was proper to it. There were no painted windows, no dim recesses, but a wide and airy space beneath the dome; and even through the long perspective of the nave there was no obscurity, but one lofty and beautifully rounded arch succeeding to another, as far as the eye could reach. The walls were white, the pavement constructed of squares of gray and white marble. It is a most grand and stately edifice, and its characteristic stems to be to continue forever fresh and new; whereas such a church as Westminster Abbey must have been as venerable as it is now from the first day when it grew to be an edifice at all. How wonderful man is in his works! How glad I am that there can be two such admirable churches, in their opposite styles, as St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey! The organ was played while I was there, and there was an anthem beautifully chanted by voices that came from afar off and remotely above, as if out of a sunny sky. Meanwhile I looked at such monuments as were near; chiefly those erected to military or naval men,--Picton, General Ponsonby, Lord St. Vincent, and others; but against one of the pillars stands a statue of Dr. Johnson,--a noble and thoughtful figure, with a development of muscle befitting an athlete. I doubt whether sculptors do not err in point of taste, by making all their statues models of physical perfection, instead of expressing by them the individual character and habits of the man. The statue in the market-place at Lichfield has more of the homely truth of Johnson's actual personality than this. St. Paul's, as yet, is by no means crowded with monuments; there is, indeed, plenty of room for a mob of the illustrious, yet to come. But it seems to me that the character of the edifice would be injured by allowing the monuments to be clustered together so closely as at Westminster, by incrusting the walls with them, or letting the statues throng about the pedestals of columns. There must be no confusion in such a cathedral as this, and I question whether the effect will ever be better than it is now, when each monument has its distinct place, and as your eye wanders around, you are not distracted from noting each marble man, in his niche against the wall, or at the base of a marble pillar. Space, distance, light, regularity, are to be preserved, even if the result should be a degree of nakedness. I saw Mr. Appleton of the Legation, and Dr. Brown, on the floor of the cathedral. They were about to go over the whole edifice, and had engaged a guide for that purpose; but, as I intend to go thither again with S-----, I did not accompany them, but went away the quicker that one of the gentlemen put on his hat, and I was ashamed of being seen in company with a man who could wear his hat in a cathedral. Not that he meant any irreverence; but simply felt that he was in a great public building,--as big, nearly, as all out of doors,--and so forgot that it was a consecrated place of worship. The sky is the dome of a greater cathedral than St. Paul's, and built by a greater architect than Sir Christopher Wren, and yet we wear our hats unscrupulously beneath it. I remember no other event of importance, except that I penetrated into a narrow lane or court, either in the Strand or Fleet Street, where was a tavern, calling itself the "Old Thatched House," and purporting to have been Nell Gwyn's dairy. I met with a great many alleys and obscure archways, in the course of the day's wanderings. September 14th.--Yesterday, in the earlier part of the day, it poured with rain, and I did not go out till five o'clock in the afternoon; nor did I then meet with anything interesting. I walked through Albemarle Street, for the purpose of looking at Murray's shop, but missed it entirely, at my first inquisition. The street is one of hotels, principally, with only a few tradesmen's shops, and has a quiet, aristocratic aspect. On my return, down the other sidewalk, I did discover the famous publisher's locality; but merely by the name "Mr. Murray," engraved on a rather large brass plate, such as doctors use, on the door. There was no sign of a book, nor of its being a place of trade in any way; and I should have taken the house to be, if not a private mansion, then a lawyer's office. At seven o'clock S-----, U----, and I went to dine with Mr. R---- S------ in Portland Place. . . . . Mr. S------'s house is a very fine one, and he gave us a very quiet, elegant, and enjoyable dinner, in much better taste and with less fuss than some others we have attended elsewhere. Mr. S------ is a friend of Thackeray, and, speaking of the last number of The Newcomes,--so touching that nobody can read it aloud without breaking down,--he mentioned that Thackeray himself had read it to James Russell Lowell and William Story in a cider-cellar! I read all the preceding numbers of The Newcomes to my wife, but happened not to have an opportunity to read this last, and was glad of it,--knowing that my eyes would fill, and my voice quiver. Mr. S------ likes Thackeray, and thinks him a good fellow. Mr. S------ has a--or I don't know but I ought better to say the--beautiful full-length picture of Washington by Stuart, and I was proud to see that noblest face and figure here in England. The picture of a man beside whom, considered physically, any English nobleman whom I have seen would look like common clay. Speaking of Thackeray, I cannot but wonder at his coolness in respect to his own pathos, and compare it with my emotions, when I read the last scene of The Scarlet Letter to my wife, just after writing it,--tried to read it rather, for my voice swelled and heaved, as if I were tossed up and down on an ocean as it subsides after a storm. But I was in a very nervous state then, having gone through a great diversity of emotion, while writing it, for many months. I think I have never overcome my own adamant in any other instance. Tumblers, hand-organists, puppet-showmen, bagpipers, and all such vagrant mirth-makers, are very numerous in the streets of London. The other day, passing through Fleet Street, I saw a crowd filling up a narrow court, and high above their heads a tumbler, standing on his head, on the top of a pole, that reached as high as the third story of the neighboring Houses. Sliding down the pole head foremost, he disappeared out of my sight. A multitude of Punches go the mounds continually. Two have passed through Hanover Street, where we reside, this morning. The first asked two shillings for his performance; so we sent him away. The second demanded, in the first place, half a crown; but finally consented to take a shilling, and gave us the show at that price, though much maimed in its proportions. Besides the spectators in our windows, he had a little crowd on the sidewalk, to whom he went round for contributions, but I did not observe that anybody gave him so much as a halfpenny. It is strange to see how many people are aiming at the small change in your pocket. In every square a beggar-woman meets you, and turns back to follow your steps with her miserable murmur. At the street-crossings there are old men or little girls with their brooms; urchins propose to brush your boots; and if you get into a cab, a man runs to open the door for you, and touches his hat for a fee, as he closes it again. September 15th.--It was raining yesterday, and I kept within doors till after four o'clock, when J----- and I took a walk into the city. Seeing the entrance to Clement's Inn, we went through it, and saw the garden, with a kneeling bronze figure in it; and when just in the midst of the Inn, I remembered that Justice Shallow was of old a student there. I do not well understand these Inns of Court, or how they differ from other places. Anybody seems to be free to reside in them, and a residence does not seem to involve any obligation to study law, or to have any connection therewith. Clement's Inn consists of large brick houses, accessible by narrow lanes and passages, but, by some peculiar privilege or enchantment, enjoying a certain quiet and repose, though in close vicinity to the noisiest part of the city. I got bewildered in the neighborhood of St. Paul's, and, try how I might to escape from it, its huge dusky dome kept showing itself before me, through one street and another. In my endeavors to escape it, I at one time found myself in St. John's Street, and was in hopes to have seen the old St. John's gate, so familiar for above a century on the cover of the Gentleman's Magazine. But I suppose it is taken down, for we went through the entire street, I think, and saw no trace of it. Either afterwards or before this we came upon Smithfield, a large irregular square, filled up with pens for cattle, of which, however, there were none in the market at that time. I leaned upon a post, at the western end of the square, and told J----- how the martyrs had been burnt at Smithfield in Bloody Mary's days. Again we drifted back to St. Paul's; and, at last, in despair of ever getting out of this enchanted region, I took a Hansom cab to Charing Cross, whence we easily made our way home. LIVERPOOL. September 16th.--I took the ten-o'clock train yesterday morning from the Euston station, and arrived at Liverpool at about five, passing through the valley of Trent, without touching at Birmingham. English scenery, on the tracks, is the tamest of the tame, hardly a noticeable hill breaking the ordinary gentle undulation of the landscape, but still the verdure and finish of the fields and parks make it worth while to throw out a glance now and then, as you rush by. Few separate houses are seen, as in America; but sometimes a village, with the square, gray, battlemented tower of its Norman church, and rows of thatched cottages, reminding one of the clustered mud-nests of swallows, under the eaves of a barn; here and there a lazy little river, like the Trent; perhaps, if you look sharply where the guide-book indicates, the turrets of an old castle in the distance; perhaps the great steeple and spires of a cathedral; perhaps the tall chimney of a manufactory; but, on the whole, the traveller comes to his journey's end unburdened with a single new idea. I observe that the harvest is not all gathered in as yet, and this rainy weather must look very gloomy to the farmer. I saw gleaners, yesterday, in the stubble-fields. There were two gentlemen in the same railway-carriage with me, and we did not exchange half a dozen words the whole day. I am here, established at Mrs. Blodgett's boarding-house, which I find quite full; insomuch that she had to send one of her sea-captains to sleep in another house, in order to make room for me. It is exclusively American society: four shipmasters, and a doctor from Pennsylvania, who has been travelling a year on the Continent, and who seems to be a man of very active intelligence, interested in everything, and especially in agriculture. . . . . He asserted that we are fifty years ahead of England in agricultural science, and that he could cultivate English soil to far better advantage than English farmers do, and at vastly less expense. Their tendency to cling to old ideas, which retards them in everything else, keeps them behindhand in this matter too. Really, I do not know any other place in England where a man can be made so sensible that he lives in a progressive world as here in Mrs. Blodgett's boarding-house. The captains talk together about their voyages, and how they manage with their unruly mates and crews; and how freights are in America, and the prospects of business; and of equinoctial gales, and the qualities of different ships, and their commanders, and how crews, mates, and masters have all deteriorated since their remembrance. . . . . But these men are alive, and talk of real matters, and of matters which they know. The shipmasters who come to Mrs. Blodgett's are favorable specimens of their class; being all respectable men, in the employ of good houses, and raised by their capacity to the command of first-rate ships. In my official intercourse with them, I do not generally see their best side; as they are seldom before me except as complainants, or when summoned to answer to some complaint made by a seaman. But hearing their daily talk, and listening to what is in their minds, and their reminiscences of what they have gone through, one becomes sensible that they are men of energy and ability, fit to be trusted, and retaining a hardy sense of honor, and a loyalty to their own country, the stronger because they have compared it with many others. Most of them are gentlemen, too, to a certain extent,--some more than others, perhaps; and none to a very exquisite point, or, if so, it is none the better for them as sailors or as men. September 17th.--It is singular to feel a sense of my own country returning upon me with the intercourse of the people whom I find here. . . . . The doctor is much the most talkative of our company, and sometimes bores me thereby; though he seldom says anything that is not either instructive or amusing. He tells a curious story of Prince Albert, and how he avails himself of American sharp-shooting. During the doctor's tour in Scotland, which he has just finished, he became acquainted with one of the Prince's attaches, who invited him very earnestly to join his Royal highness's party, promising him a good gun, and a keeper to load it for him, two good dogs, besides as many cigars as he could smoke and as much wine as he could drink, on the condition that whatever game he shot should be the Prince's. "The Prince," said the attache, "is very fond of having Americans in his shooting-parties, on account of their being such excellent shots; and there was one with him last year who shot so admirably that his Royal Highness himself left off shooting in utter astonishment." The attache offered to introduce the doctor to the Prince, who would be certain to receive him very graciously. . . . . I think, perhaps, we talk of kings and queens more at our table than people do at other tables in England; not, of course, that we like them better, or admire them more, but that they are curiosities. Yet I would not say that the doctor may not be susceptible on the point of royal attentions; for he told us with great complacency how emphatically, on two or three occasions, Louis Napoleon had returned his bow, and the last time had turned and made some remark (evidently about the doctor) to the Empress. . . . . I ought not to omit mentioning that he has been told in France that he personally resembles the Emperor, and I suspect he is trying to heighten the resemblance by training his mustache on the pattern of that which adorns the imperial upper lip. He is a genuine American character, though modified by a good deal of travel; a very intelligent man, full of various ability, with eyes all over him for any object of interest,--a little of the bore, sometimes,--quick to appreciate character, with a good deal of tact, gentlemanly in his manners, but yet lacking a deep and delicate refinement. Not but that Americans are as capable of this last quality as other people are; but what with the circumstances amid which we grow up, and the peculiar activity of our minds, we certainly do often miss it. By the by, he advanced a singular proposition the other evening, namely, that the English people do not so well understand comfort, or attain it so perfectly in their domestic arrangements, as we do. I thought he hardly supported this opinion so satisfactorily as some of his other new ideas. I saw in an American paper yesterday, that an opera, still unfinished, had been written on the story of The Scarlet Letter, and that several scenes of it had been performed successfully in New York. I should think it might possibly succeed as an opera, though it would certainly fail as a play. LONDON. September 24th.--On Saturday, at half past three o'clock, I left Liverpool by the London and Northwest Railway for London. Mrs. Blodgett's table had been thinned by several departures during the week. . . . . My mind had been considerably enlivened, and my sense of American superiority renewed, by intercourse with these people; and there is no danger of one's intellect becoming a standing pool in such society. I think better of American shipmasters, too, than I did from merely meeting them in my office. They keep up a continual discussion of professional matters, and of all things having any reference to their profession; the laws of insurance, the rights of vessels in foreign ports, the authority and customs of vessels of war with regard to merchantmen, etc.,--with stories and casual anecdotes of their sea-adventures, gales, shipwrecks, icebergs, and collisions of vessels, and hair-breadth escapes. Their talk runs very much on the sea, and on the land as connected with the sea; and their interest does not seem to extend very far beyond the wide field of their professional concerns. Nothing remarkable occurred on the journey to London. The greater part of the way there were only two gentlemen in the same compartment with me; and we occupied each our corner, with little other conversation than in comparing watches at the various stations. I got out of the carriage only once, at Rugby, I think, and for the last seventy or eighty miles the train did not stop. There was a clear moon the latter part of the journey, and the mist lay along the ground, looking very much like a surface of water. We reached London at about ten, and I found S----- expecting me. Yesterday the children went with Fanny to the Zoological Gardens; and, after sending them off, S----- and I walked to Piccadilly, and there took a cab for Kensington Gardens. It was a delightful day,--the best of all weather, the real English good weather,--more like an Indian summer than anything else within my experience; a mellow sunshine, with great warmth in it,--a soft, balmy air, with a slight haze through it. If the sun made us a little too warm, we had but to go into the shade to be immediately refreshed. The light of these days is very exquisite, so gently bright, without any glare,--a veiled glow. In short, it is the kindliest mood of Nature, and almost enough to compensate for chill and dreary months. Moreover, there is more of such weather here than the English climate has ever had credit for. Kensington Gardens form an eminently beautiful piece of artificial woodland and park scenery. The old palace of Kensington, now inhabited by the Duchess of Inverness, stands at one extremity; an edifice of no great mark, built of brick, covering much ground, and low in proportion to its extent. In front of it, at a considerable distance, there is a sheet of water; and in all directions there are vistas of wide paths among noble trees, standing in groves, or scattered in clumps; everything being laid out with free and generous spaces, so that you can see long streams of sunshine among the trees, and there is a pervading influence of quiet and remoteness. Tree does not interfere with tree; the art of man is seen conspiring with Nature, as if they had consulted together how to make a beautiful scene, and had taken ages of quiet thought and tender care to accomplish it. We strolled slowly along these paths, and sometimes deviated from them, to walk beneath the trees, many of the leaves of which lay beneath our feet, yellow and brown, and with a pleasant smell of vegetable decay. These were the leaves of chestnut-trees; the other trees (unless elms) have yet, hardly begun to shed their foliage, although you can discern a sober change of line in the woodland masses; and the trees individualize themselves by assuming each its own tint, though in a very modest way. If they could have undergone the change of an American autumn, it would have been like putting on a regal robe. Autumn often puts one on in America, but it is apt to be very ragged. There were a good many well-dressed people scattered through the grounds,--young men and girls, husbands with their wives and children, nursery-maids and little babes playing about in the grass. Anybody might have entered the gardens, I suppose; but only well-dressed people were there not, of the upper classes, but shop-keepers, clerks, apprentices, and respectability of that sort. It is pleasant to think that the people have the freedom, and therefore the property, of parks like this, more beautiful and stately than a nobleman can keep to himself. The extent of Kensington Gardens, when reckoned together with Hyde Park, from which it is separated only by a fence of iron rods, is very great, comprising miles of greensward and woodland. The large artificial sheet of water, called the Serpentine River, lies chiefly in Hyde Park, but comes partly within the precincts of the gardens. It is entitled to honorable mention among the English lakes, being larger than some that are world-celebrated,--several miles long, and perhaps a stone's-throw across in the widest part. It forms the paradise of a great many ducks of various breeds, which are accustomed to be fed by visitors, and come flying from afar, touching the water with their wings, and quacking loudly when bread or cake is thrown to them. I bought a bun of a little hunchbacked man, who kept a refreshment-stall near the Serpentine, and bestowed it pied-meal on these ducks, as we loitered along the bank. We left the park by another gate, and walked homeward, till we came to Tyburnia, and saw the iron memorial which marks where the gallows used to stand. Thence we turned into Park Lane, then into Upper Grosvenor Street, and reached Hanover Square sooner than we expected. In the evening I walked forth to Charing Cross, and thence along the Strand and Fleet Street, where I made no new discoveries, unless it were the Mitre Tavern. I mean to go into it some day. The streets were much thronged, and there seemed to be a good many young people,--lovers, it is to be hoped,--who had spent the day together, and were going innocently home. Perhaps so,--perhaps not. September 25th.--Yesterday forenoon J----- and I walked out, with no very definite purpose; but, seeing a narrow passageway from the Strand down to the river, we went through it, and gained access to a steamboat, plying thence to London Bridge. The fare was a halfpenny apiece, and the boat almost too much crowded for standing-room. This part of the river presents the water-side of London in a rather pleasanter aspect than below London Bridge,--the Temple, with its garden, Somerset House,--and generally, a less tumble-down and neglected look about the buildings; although, after all, the metropolis does not see a very stately face in its mirror. I saw Alsatia betwixt the Temple and Blackfriar's Bridge. Its precincts looked very narrow, and not particularly distinguishable, at this day, from the portions of the city on either side of it. At London Bridge we got aboard of a Woolwich steamer, and went farther down the river, passing the Custom-House and the Tower, the only prominent objects rising out of the dreary range of shabbiness which stretches along close to the water's edge. From this remote part of London we walked towards the heart of the city; and, as we went, matters seemed to civilize themselves by degrees, and the streets grew crowded with cabs, omnibuses, drays, and carts. We passed, I think, through Whitechapel, and, reaching St. Paul's, got into an omnibus, and drove to Regent Street, whence it was but a step or two home. In the afternoon, at four o'clock, S----- and I went to call on the American Ambassador and Miss L------. The lady was not at home, but we went in to see Mr. ------ and were shown into a stately drawing-room, the furniture of which was sufficiently splendid, but rather the worse for wear,--being hired furniture, no doubt. The ambassador shortly appeared, looking venerable, as usual,--or rather more so than usual,--benign, and very pale. His deportment towards ladies is highly agreeable and prepossessing, and he paid very kind attention to S-----, thereby quite confirming her previous good feeling towards him. She thinks that he is much changed since she saw him last, at dinner, at our house,--more infirm, more aged, and with a singular depression in his manner. I, too, think that age has latterly come upon him with great rapidity. He said that Miss L------ was going home on the 6th of October, and that he himself had long purposed going, but had received despatches which obliged him to put off his departure. The President, he said, had just written, requesting him to remain till April, but this he was determined not to do. I rather think that he does really wish to return, and not for any ambitious views concerning the Presidency, but from an old man's natural desire to be at home, and among his own people. S----- spoke to him about an order from the Lord Chamberlain for admission to view the two Houses of Parliament; and the ambassador drew from his pocket a colored silk handkerchief, and made a knot in it, in order to remind himself to ask the Lord Chamberlain. The homeliness of this little incident has a sort of propriety and keeping with much of Mr. ------'s manner, but I would rather not have him do so before English people. He arranged to send a close carriage for us to come and see him socially this evening. After leaving his house we drove round Hyde Park, and thence to Portland Place, where we left cards for Mrs. Russell Sturgis; thence into Regent's Park, thence home. U---- and J----- accompanied us throughout these drives, but remained in the carriage during our call on Mr. ------. In the evening I strolled out, and walked as far as St. Paul's,--never getting enough of the bustle of London, which may weary, but can never satisfy me. By night London looks wild and dreamy, and fills me with a sort of pleasant dread. It was a clear evening, with a bright English moon,--that is to say, what we Americans should call rather dim. September 26th.--Yesterday, at eleven, I walked towards Westminster Abbey, and as I drew near the Abbey bells were clamorous for joy, chiming merrily, musically, and, obstreperously,--the most rejoicing sound that can be conceived; and we ought to have a chime of bells in every American town and village, were it only to keep alive the celebration of the Fourth of July. I conjectured that there might have been another victory over the Russians, that perhaps the northern side of Sebastopol had surrendered; but soon I saw the riddle that these merry bells were proclaiming. There were a great many private carriages, and a large concourse of loungers and spectators, near the door of the church that stands close under the eaves of the Abbey. Gentlemen and ladies, gayly dressed, were issuing forth, carriages driving away, and others drawing up to the door in their turn; and, in short, a marriage had just been celebrated in the church, and this was the wedding-party. The last time I was there, Westminster was flinging out its great voice of joy for a national triumph; now, for the happy union of two lovers. What a mighty sympathizer is this old Abbey! It is pleasant to recognize the mould and fashion of English features through the marble of many of the statues and busts in the Abbey, even though they may be clad in Roman robes. I am inclined to think them, in many cases, faithful likenesses; and it brings them nearer to the mind, to see these original sculptures,--you see the man at but one remove, as if you caught his image in a looking-glass. The bust of Gay seemed to me very good,--a thoughtful and humorous sweetness in the face. Goldsmith has as good a position as any poet in the Abbey, his bust and tablet filling the pointed arch over a door that seems to lead towards the cloisters. No doubt he would have liked to be assured of so conspicuous a place. There is one monument to a native American, "Charles Wragg, Esq., of South Carolina,"--the only one, I suspect, in Westminster Abbey, and he acquired this memorial by the most un-American of qualities, his loyalty to his king. He was one of the refugees leaving America in 1777, and being shipwrecked on his passage the monument was put up by his sister. It is a small tablet with a representation of Mr. Wragg's shipwreck at the base. Next to it is the large monument of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, which I think Addison ridicules,--the Admiral, in a full-bottomed wig and Roman dress, but with a broad English face, reclining with his head on his hand, and looking at you with great placidity. I stood at either end of the nave, and endeavored to take in the full beauty and majesty of the edifice; but apparently was not in a proper state of mind, for nothing came of it. It is singular how like an avenue of overarching trees are these lofty aisles of a cathedral. Leaving the Abbey about one o'clock, I walked into the city as far as Grace Church Street, and there called on the American Consul, General ------, who had been warmly introduced to me last year by a letter from the President. I like the General; a kindly and honorable man, of simple manners and large experience of life. Afterwards I called on Mr. Oakford, an American connected in business with Mr. Crosby, from whom I wanted some information as to the sailing of steamers from Southampton to Lisbon. Mr. Crosby was not in town. . . . . At eight o'clock Mr. ------ sent his carriage, according to previous arrangement, to take us to spend the evening socially. Miss L------ received us with proper cordiality, and looked quite becomingly,--more sweet and simple in aspect than when I have seen her in full dress. Shortly the ambassador appeared, and made himself highly agreeable; not that he is a brilliant conversationist, but his excellent sense and good-humor, and all that he has seen and been a part of, are sufficient resources to draw upon. We talked of the Queen, whom he spoke of with high respect; . . . . of the late Czar, whom he knew intimately while minister to Russia,--and he quite confirms all that has been said about the awful beauty of his person. Mr. ------'s characterization of him was quite favorable; he thought better of his heart than most people, and adduced his sports with a school of children,--twenty of whom, perhaps, he made to stand rigidly in a row, like so many bricks,--then, giving one a push, would laugh obstreperously to see the whole row tumble down. He would lie on his back, and allow the little things to scramble over him. His Majesty admitted Mr. ------ to great closeness of intercourse, and informed him of a conspiracy which was then on foot for the Czar's murder. On the evening, when the assassination was to take place, the Czar did not refrain from going to the public place where it was to be perpetrated, although, indeed, great precautions had been taken to frustrate the schemes of the conspirators. Mr. ------ said, that, in case the plot had succeeded, all the foreigners, including himself, would likewise have been murdered, the native Russians having a bitter hatred against foreigners. He observed that he had been much attached to the Czar, and had never joined in the English abuse of him. His sympathies, however, are evidently rather English than Russian, in this war. Speaking of the present emperor, he said that Lord Heytebury, formerly English ambassador in Russia, lately told him that he complimented the Czar Nicholas on the good qualities of his son, saying that he was acknowledged by all to be one of the most amiable youths in the world. "Too amiable, I fear, for his position," answered the Czar. "He has too much of his mother in him." September 27th.--Yesterday, much earlier than English people ever do such things, General ------ made us a call on his way to the Consulate, and sat talking a stricken hour or thereabouts. Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Oakford and her daughter came. After sitting a long while, they took U---- to their house, near St. John's Wood, to spend the night. I had been writing my journal and official correspondence during such intervals as these calls left me; and now, concluding these businesses, S-----, J-----, and I went out and took a cab for the terminus of the Crystal Palace Railway, whither we proceeded over Waterloo Bridge, and reached the palace not far from three o'clock. It was a beautifully bright day, such as we have in wonderful succession this month. The Crystal Palace gleamed in the sunshine; but I do not think a very impressive edifice can be built of glass,--light and airy, to be sure, but still it will be no other than an overgrown conservatory. It is unlike anything else in England; uncongenial with the English character, without privacy, destitute of mass, weight, and shadow, unsusceptible of ivy, lichens, or any mellowness from age. The train of carriages stops within the domain of the palace, where there is a long ascending corridor up into the edifice. There was a very pleasant odor of heliotrope diffused through the air; and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the Crystal Palace is sweet with various flower-scents, and mild and balmy, though sufficiently fresh and cool. It would be a delightful climate for invalids to spend the winter in; and if all England could be roofed over with glass, it would be a great improvement on its present condition. The first thing we did, before fairly getting into the palace, was to sit down in a large ante-hall, and get some bread and butter and a pint of Bass's pale ale, together with a cup of coffee for S-----. This was the best refreshment we could find at that spot; but farther within we found abundance of refreshment-rooms, and John Bull and his wife and family at fifty little round tables, busily engaged with cold fowl, cold beef, ham, tongue, and bottles of ale and stout, and half-pint decanters of sherry. The English probably eat with more simple enjoyment than any other people; not ravenously, as we often do, and not exquisitely and artificially, like the French, but deliberately and vigorously, and with due absorption in the business, so that nothing good is lost upon them. . . . . It is remarkable how large a feature the refreshment-rooms make in the arrangements of the Crystal Palace. The Crystal Palace is a gigantic toy for the English people to play with. The design seems to be to reproduce all past ages, by representing the features of their interior architecture, costume, religion, domestic life, and everything that can be expressed by paint and plaster; and, likewise, to bring all climates and regions of the earth within these enchanted precincts, with their inhabitants and animals in living semblance, and their vegetable productions, as far as possible, alive and real. Some part of the design is already accomplished to a wonderful degree. The Indian, the Egyptian, and especially the Arabian, courts are admirably executed. I never saw or conceived anything so gorgeous as the Alhambra. There are Byzantine and mediaeval representations, too,-- reproductions of ancient apartments, decorations, statues from tombs, monuments, religious and funereal,--that gave me new ideas of what antiquity has been. It takes down one's overweening opinion of the present time, to see how many kinds of beauty and magnificence have heretofore existed, and are now quite passed away and forgotten; and to find that we, who suppose that, in all matters of taste, our age is the very flower-season of the time,--that we are poor and meagre as to many things in which they were rich. There is nothing gorgeous now. We live a very naked life. This was the only reflection I remember making, as we passed from century to century, through the succession of classic, Oriental, and mediaeval courts, adown the lapse of time,--seeing all these ages in as brief a space as the Wandering Jew might glance along them in his memory. I suppose a Pompeian house with its courts and interior apartments was as faithfully shown as it was possible to do it. I doubt whether I ever should feel at home in such a house. In the pool of a fountain, of which there are several beautiful ones within the palace, besides larger ones in the garden before it, we saw tropical plants growing,--large water-lilies of various colors, some white, like our Concord pond-lily, only larger, and more numerously leafed. There were great circular green leaves, lying flat on the water, with a circumference equal to that of a centre-table. Tropical trees, too, varieties of palm and others, grew in immense pots or tubs, but seemed not to enjoy themselves much. The atmosphere must, after all, be far too cool to bring out their native luxuriance; and this difficulty can never be got over at a less expense than that of absolutely stewing the visitors and attendants. Otherwise, it would be very practicable to have all the vegetable world, at least, within these precincts. The palace is very large, and our time was short, it being desirable to get home early; so, after a stay of little more than two hours, we took the rail back again, and reached Hanover Square at about six. After tea I wandered forth, with some thought of going to the theatre, and, passing the entrance of one, in the Strand, I went in, and found a farce in progress. It was one of the minor theatres, very minor indeed; but the pieces, so far as I saw them, were sufficiently laughable. There were some Spanish dances, too, very graceful and pretty. Between the plays a girl from the neighboring saloon came to the doors of the boxes, offering lemonade and ginger-beer to the occupants. A person in my box took a glass of lemonade, and shared it with a young lady by his side, both sipping out of the same glass. The audience seemed rather heavy,--not briskly responsive to the efforts of the performers, but good-natured, and willing to be pleased, especially with some patriotic dances, in which much waving and intermingling of the French and English flags was introduced. Theatrical performances soon weary me of late years; and I came away before the curtain rose on the concluding piece. September 28th.--8---- and I walked to Charing Cross yesterday forenoon, and there took a Hansom cab to St. Paul's Cathedral. It had been a thick, foggy morning, but had warmed and brightened into one of the balmiest and sunniest of noons. As we entered the cathedral, the long bars of sunshine were falling from its upper windows through the great interior atmosphere, and were made visible by the dust, or mist, floating about in it. It is a grand edifice, and I liked it quite as much as on my first view of it, although a sense of coldness and nakedness is felt when we compare it with Gothic churches. It is more an external work than the Gothic churches are, and is not so made out of the dim, awful, mysterious, grotesque, intricate nature of man. But it is beautiful and grand. I love its remote distances, and wide, clear spaces, its airy massiveness; its noble arches, its sky-like dome, which, I think, should be all over light, with ground-glass, instead of being dark, with only diminutive windows. We walked round, looking at the monuments, which are so arranged, at the bases of columns and in niches, as to coincide with the regularity of the cathedral, and be each an additional ornament to the whole, however defective individually as works of art. We thought that many of these monuments were striking and impressive, though there was a pervading sameness of idea,--a great many Victorys and Valors and Britannias, and a great expenditure of wreaths, which must have cost Victory a considerable sum at any florist's whom she patronizes. A very great majority of the memorials are to naval and military men, slain in Bonaparte's wars; men in whom one feels little or no interest (except Picton, Abercrombie, Moore, Nelson, of course, and a few others really historic), they having done nothing remarkable, save having been shot, nor shown any more brains than the cannonballs that killed them. All the statues have the dust of years upon then, strewn thickly in the folds of their marble garments, and on any limb stretched horizontally, and on their noses, so that the expression is much obscured. I think the nation might employ people to brush away the dust from the statues of its heroes. But, on the whole, it is very fine to look through the broad arches of the cathedral, and see, at the foot of some distant pillar, a group of sculptured figures, commemorating some man and deed that (whether worth remembering or not) the nation is so happy as to reverence. In Westminster Abbey, the monuments are so crowded, and so oddly patched together upon the walls, that they are ornamental only in a mural point of view; and, moreover, the quaint and grotesque taste of many of them might well make the spectator laugh,--an effect not likely to be produced by the monuments in St. Paul's. But, after all, a man might read the walls of the Abbey day after day with ever-fresh interest, whereas the cold propriety of the cathedral would weary him in due time. We did not ascend to the galleries and other points of interest aloft, nor go down into the vaults, where Nelson's sarcophagus is shown, and many monuments of the old Gothic cathedral, which stood on this site, before the great fire. They say that these lower regions are comfortably warm and dry; but as we walked round in front, within the iron railing of the churchyard, we passed an open door, giving access to the crypt, and it breathed out a chill like death upon us. It is pleasant to stand in the centre of the cathedral, and hear the noise of London, loudest all round this spot,--how it is calmed into a sound as proper to be heard through the aisles as the tones of its own organ. If St. Paul's were to be burnt again (having already been bunt and risen three or four times since the sixth century), I wonder whether it would ever be rebuilt in the same spot! I doubt whether the city and the nation are so religious as to consecrate their midmost heart for the site of a church, where land would be so valuable by the square inch. Coming from the cathedral, we went through Paternoster Row, and saw Ave Mary Lane; all this locality appearing to have got its nomenclature from monkish personages. We now took a cab for the British Museum, but found this to be one of the days on which strangers are not admitted; so we slowly walked into Oxford Street, and then strolled homeward, till, coming to a sort of bazaar, we went in and found a gallery of pictures. This bazaar proved to be the Pantheon, and the first picture we saw in the gallery was Haydon's Resurrection of Lazarus,--a great height and breadth of canvas, right before you as you ascend the stairs. The face of Lazarus is very awful, and not to be forgotten; it is as true as if the painter had seen it, or had been himself the resurrected man and felt it; but the rest of the picture signified nothing, and is vulgar and disagreeable besides. There are several other pictures by Haydon in this collection,--the Banishment of Aristides, Nero with his Harp, and the Conflagration of Rome; but the last is perfectly ridiculous, and all of them are exceedingly unpleasant. I should be sorry to live in a house that contained one of them. The best thing of Haydon was a hasty dash of a sketch for a small, full-length portrait of Wordsworth, sitting on the crag of a mountain. I doubt whether Wordsworth's likeness has ever been so poetically brought out. This gallery is altogether of modern painters, and it seems to be a receptacle for pictures by artists who can obtain places nowhere else,--at least, I never heard of their names before. They were very uninteresting, almost without exception, and yet some of the pictures were done cleverly enough. There is very little talent in this world, and what there is, it seems to me, is pretty well known and acknowledged. We don't often stumble upon geniuses in obscure corners. Leaving the gallery, we wandered through the rest of the bazaar, which is devoted to the sale of ladies' finery, jewels, perfumes, children's toys, and all manner of small and pretty rubbish. . . . . In the evening I again sallied forth, and lost myself for an hour or two; at last recognizing my whereabouts in Tottenham Court Road. In such quarters of London it seems to be the habit of people to take their suppers in the open air. You see old women at the corners, with kettles of hot water for tea or coffee; and as I passed a butcher's open shop, he was just taking out large quantities of boiled beef, smoking hot. Butchers' stands are remarkable for their profuse expenditure of gas; it belches forth from the pipes in great flaring jets of flame, uncovered by any glass, and broadly illuminating the neighborhood. I have not observed that London ever goes to bed. September 29th.--Yesterday we walked to the British Museum. A sentinel or two kept guard before the gateway of this extensive edifice in Great Russell Street, and there was a porter at the lodge, and one or two policemen lounging about, but entrance was free, and we walked in without question. Officials and policemen were likewise scattered about the great entrance-hall, none of whom, however, interfered with us; so we took whatever way we chose, and wandered about at will. It is a hopeless, and to me, generally, a depressing business to go through an immense multifarious show like this, glancing at a thousand things, and conscious of some little titillation of mind from them, but really taking in nothing, and getting no good from anything. One need not go beyond the limits of the British Museum to be profoundly accomplished in all branches of science, art, and literature; only it would take a lifetime to exhaust it in any one department; but to see it as we did, and with no prospect of ever seeing it more at leisure, only impressed me with the truth of the old apothegm, "Life is short, and Art is long." The fact is, the world is accumulating too many materials for knowledge. We do not recognize for rubbish what is really rubbish; and under this head might be reckoned very many things one sees in the British Museum; and, as each generation leaves its fragments and potsherds behind it, such will finally be the desperate conclusion of the learned. We went first among some antique marbles,--busts, statues, terminal gods, with several of the Roman emperors among them. We saw here the bust whence Haydon took his ugly and ridiculous likeness of Nero,--a foolish thing to do. Julius Caesar was there, too, looking more like a modern old man than any other bust in the series. Perhaps there may be a universality in his face, that gives it this independence of race and epoch. We glimpsed along among the old marbles,--Elgin and others, which are esteemed such treasures of art;--the oddest fragments, many of them smashed by their fall from high places, or by being pounded to pieces by barbarians, or gnawed away by time; the surface roughened by being rained upon for thousands of years; almost always a nose knocked off; sometimes a headless form; a great deficiency of feet and hands,--poor, maimed veterans in this hospital of incurables. The beauty of the most perfect of them must be rather guessed at, and seen by faith, than with the bodily eye; to look at the corroded faces and forms is like trying to see angels through mist and cloud. I suppose nine tenths of those who seem to be in raptures about these fragments do not really care about them; neither do I. And if I were actually moved, I should doubt whether it were by the statues or by my own fancy. We passed, too, through Assyrian saloons and Egyptian saloons,--all full of monstrosities and horrible uglinesses, especially the Egyptian, and all the innumerable relics that I saw of them in these saloons, and among the mummies, instead of bringing me closer to them, removed me farther and farther; there being no common ground of sympathy between them and us. Their gigantic statues are certainly very curious. I saw a hand and arm up to the shoulder fifteen feet in length, and made of some stone that seemed harder and heavier than granite, not having lost its polish in all the rough usage that it has undergone. There was a fist on a still larger scale, almost as big as a hogshead. Hideous, blubber-lipped faces of giants, and human shapes with beasts' heads on them. The Egyptian controverted Nature in all things, only using it as a groundwork to depict, the unnatural upon. Their mummifying process is a result of this tendency. We saw one very perfect mummy,--a priestess, with apparently only one more fold of linen betwixt us and her antique flesh, and this fitting closely to her person from head to foot, so that we could see the lineaments of her face and the shape of her limbs as perfectly as if quite bare. I judge that she may have been very beautiful in her day,--whenever that was. One or two of the poor thing's toes (her feet were wonderfully small and delicate) protruded from the linen, and, perhaps, not having been so perfectly embalmed, the flesh had fallen away, leaving only some little bones. I don't think this young woman has gained much by not turning to dust in the time of the Pharaohs. We also saw some bones of a king that had been taken out of a pyramid; a very fragmentary skeleton. Among the classic marbles I peeped into an urn that once contained the ashes of dead people, and the bottom still had an ashy hue. I like this mode of disposing of dead bodies; but it would be still better to burn them and scatter the ashes, instead of hoarding them up,--to scatter them over wheat-fields or flowerbeds. Besides these antique halls, we wandered through saloons of antediluvian animals, some set up in skeletons, others imprisoned in solid stone; also specimens of still extant animals, birds, reptiles, shells, minerals,-- the whole circle of human knowledge and guess-work,--till I wished that the whole Past might be swept away, and each generation compelled to bury and destroy whatever it had produced, before being permitted to leave the stage. When we quit a house, we are expected to make it clean for the next occupant; why ought we not to leave a clean world for the next generation? We did not see the library of above half a million of volumes; else I suppose I should have found full occasion to wish that burnt and buried likewise. In truth, a greater part of it is as good as buried, so far as any readers are concerned. Leaving the Museum, we sauntered home. After a little rest, I set out for St. John's Wood, and arrived thither by dint of repeated inquiries. It is a pretty suburb, inhabited by people of the middling class. U---- met me joyfully, but seemed to have had a good time with Mrs. Oakford and her daughter; and, being pressed to stay to tea, I could not well help it. Before tea I sat talking with Mrs. Oakford and a friend of hers, Miss Clinch, about the Americans and the English, especially dwelling on the defects of the latter,--among which we reckoned a wretched meanness in money transactions, a lack of any embroidery of honor and liberality in their dealings, so that they require close watching, or they will be sure to take you at advantage. I hear this character of them from Americans on all hands, and my own experience confirms it as far as it goes, not merely among tradespeople, but among persons who call themselves gentlefolks. The cause, no doubt, or one cause, lies in the fewer chances of getting money here, the closer and sharper regulation of all the modes of life; nothing being left to liberal and gentlemanly feelings, except fees to servants. They are not gamblers in England, as we to some extent are; and getting their money painfully, or living within an accurately known income, they are disinclined to give up so much as a sixpence that they can possibly get. But the result is, they are mean in petty things. By and by Mr. Oakford came in, well soaked with the heaviest shower that I ever knew in England, which had been rattling on the roof of the little side room where we sat, and had caught him on the outside of the omnibus. At a little before eight o'clock I came home with U---- in a cab,--the gaslight glittering on the wet streets through which we drove, though the sky was clear overhead. September 30th.--Yesterday, a little before twelve, we took a cab, and went to the two Houses of Parliament,--the most immense building, methinks, that ever was built; and not yet finished, though it has now been occupied for years. Its exterior lies hugely along the ground, and its great unfinished tower is still climbing towards the sky; but the result (unless it be the riverfront, which I have not yet seen) seems not very impressive. The interior is much more successful. Nothing can be more magnificent and gravely gorgeous than the Chamber of Peers,--a large oblong hall, panelled with oak, elaborately carved, to the height of perhaps twenty feet. Then the balustrade of the gallery runs around the hall, and above the gallery are six arched windows on each side, richly painted with historic subjects. The roof is ornamented and gilded, and everywhere throughout there is embellishment of color and carving on the broadest scale, and, at the same time, most minute and elaborate; statues of full size in niches aloft; small heads of kings, no bigger than a doll; and the oak is carved in all parts of the panelling as faithfully as they used to do it in Henry VII's time,--as faithfully and with as good workmanship, but with nothing like the variety and invention which I saw in the dining-room of Smithell's Hall. There the artist wrought with his heart and head; but much of this work, I suppose, was done by machinery. Be that as it may, it is a most noble and splendid apartment, and, though so fine, there is not a touch of finery; it glistens and glows with even a sombre magnificence, owing to the rich, deep lines, and the dim light, bedimmed with rich colors by coming through the painted windows. In arched recesses, that serve as frames, at each end of the hall, there are three pictures by modern artists from English history; and though it was not possible to see them well as pictures, they adorned and enriched the walls marvellously as architectural embellishments. The Peers' seats are four rows of long sofas on each side, covered with red morocco; comfortable seats enough, but not adapted to any other than a decorously exact position. The woolsack is between these two divisions of sofas, in the middle passage of the floor,--a great square seat, covered with scarlet, and with a scarlet cushion set up perpendicularly for the Chancellor to lean against. In front of the woolsack there is another still larger ottoman, on which he might be at full length,--for what purpose intended, I know not. I should take the woolsack to be not a very comfortable seat, though I suppose it was originally designed to be the most comfortable one that could be contrived, in view of the Chancellor's much sitting. The throne is the first object you see on entering the hall, being close to the door; a chair of antique form, with a high, peaked back, and a square canopy above, the whole richly carved and quite covered with burnished gilding, besides being adorned with rows of rock crystals,-- which seemed to me of rather questionable taste. It is less elevated above the floor than one imagines it ought to be. While we were looking at it, I saw two Americans,--Western men, I should judge,--one of them with a true American slouch, talking to the policeman in attendance, and describing our Senate Chamber in contrast with the House of Lords. The policeman smiled and ah-ed, and seemed to make as courteous and liberal responses as he could. There was quite a mixed company of spectators, and, I think, other Americans present besides the above two and ourselves. The Lord Chamberlain's tickets appear to be distributed with great impartiality. There were two or three women of the lower middle class, with children or babies in arms, one of whom lifted up its voice loudly in the House of Peers. We next, after long contemplating this rich hall, proceeded through passages and corridors to a great central room, very beautiful, which seems to be used for purposes of refreshment, and for electric telegraphs; though I should not suppose this could be its primitive and ultimate design. Thence we went into the House of Commons, which is larger than the Chamber of Peers, and much less richly ornamented, though it would have appeared splendid had it come first in order. The speaker's chair, if I remember rightly, is loftier and statelier than the throne itself. Both in this hall and in that of the Lords, we were at first surprised by the narrow limits within which the great ideas of the Lords and Commons of England are physically realized; they would seem to require a vaster space. When we hear of members rising on opposite sides of the House, we think of them as but dimly discernible to their opponents, and uplifting their voices, so as to be heard afar; whereas they sit closely enough to feel each other's spheres, to note all expression of face, and to give the debate the character of a conversation. In this view a debate seems a much more earnest and real thing than as we read it in a newspaper. Think of the debaters meeting each other's eyes, their faces flushing, their looks interpreting their words, their speech growing into eloquence, without losing the genuineness of talk! Yet, in fact, the Chamber of Peers is ninety feet long and half as broad, and high, and the Chamber of Commons is still larger. Thence we went to Westminster Hall, through a gallery with statues on each side,--beautiful statues too, I thought; seven of them, of which four were from the times of the civil wars,--Clarendon, Falkland, Hampden, Selden, Somers, Mansfield, and Walpole. There is room for more in this corridor, and there are niches for hundreds of their marble brotherhood throughout the edifice; but I suppose future ages will have to fill the greater part of them. Yet I cannot help imagining that this rich and noble edifice has more to do with the past than with the future; that it is the glory of a declining empire; and that the perfect bloom of this great stone flower, growing out of the institutions of England, forbodes that they have nearly lived out their life. It sums up all. Its beauty and magnificence are made out of ideas that are gone by. We entered Westminster Hall (which is incorporated into this new edifice, and forms an integral part of it) through a lofty archway, whence a double flight of broad steps descends to the stone pavement. After the elaborate ornament of the rooms we had just been viewing, this venerable hall looks extremely simple and bare,--a gray stone floor, gray and naked stone walls, but a roof sufficiently elaborate, its vault being filled with carved beams and rafters of chestnut, very much admired and wondered at for the design and arrangement. I think it would have pleased me more to have seen a clear vaulted roof, instead of this intricacy of wooden points, by which so much skylight space is lost. They make (be it not irreverently said) the vast and lofty apartment look like the ideal of an immense barn. But it is a noble space, and all without the support of a single pillar. It is about eighty of my paces from the foot of the steps to the opposite end of the hall, and twenty-seven from side to side; very high, too, though not quite proportionately to its other dimensions. I love it for its simplicity and antique nakedness, and deem it worthy to have been the haunt and home of History through the six centuries since it was built. I wonder it does not occur to modern ingenuity to make a scenic representation, in this very hall, of the ancient trials for life or death, pomps, feasts, coronations, and every great historic incident in the lives of kings, Parliaments, Protectors, and all illustrious men, that have occurred here. The whole world cannot show another hall such as this, so tapestried with recollections of whatever is most striking in human annals. Westminster Abbey being just across the street, we went thither from the hall, and sought out the cloisters, which we had not yet visited. They are in excellent preservation,--broad walks, canopied with intermingled arches of gray stone, on which some sort of lichen, or other growth of ages (which seems, however, to have little or nothing vegetable in it), has grown. The pavement is entirely made of flat tombstones, inscribed with half-effaced names of the dead people beneath; and the wall all round bears the marble tablets which give a fuller record of their virtues. I think it was from a meditation in these cloisters that Addison wrote one of his most beautiful pieces in the Spectator. It is a pity that this old fashion of a cloistered walk is not retained in our modern edifices; it was so excellent for shelter and for shade during a thoughtful hour,--this sombre corridor beneath an arched stone roof, with the central space of richest grass, on which the sun might shine or the shower fall, while the monk or student paced through the prolonged archway of his meditations. As we came out from the cloisters, and walked along by the churchyard of the Abbey, a woman came begging behind us very earnestly. "A bit of bread," she said, "and I will give you a thousand blessings! Hunger is hard to bear. O kind gentleman and kind lady, a penny for a bit of bread! It is a hard thing that gentlemen and ladies should see poor people wanting bread, and make no difference whether they are good or bad." And so she followed us almost all round the Abbey, assailing our hearts in most plaintive terms, but with no success; for she did it far too well to be anything but an impostor, and no doubt she had breakfasted better, and was likely to have a better dinner, than ourselves. And yet the natural man cries out against the philosophy that rejects beggars. It is a thousand to one that they are impostors, but yet we do ourselves a wrong by hardening our hearts against them. At last, without turning round, I told her that I should give her nothing,--with some asperity, doubtless, for the effort to refuse creates a bitterer repulse than is necessary. She still followed us a little farther, but at last gave it up, with a deep groan. I could not have performed this act of heroism on my first arrival from America. Whether the beggar-woman had invoked curses on us, and Heaven saw fit to grant some slight response, I know not, but it now began to rain on my wife's velvet; so I put her and J----- into a cab, and hastened to ensconce myself in Westminster Abbey while the shower should last. Poets' Corner has never seemed like a strange place to me; it has been familiar from the very first; at all events, I cannot now recollect the previous conception, of which the reality has taken the place. I seem always to have known that somewhat dim corner, with the bare brown stone-work of the old edifice aloft, and a window shedding down its light on the marble busts and tablets, yellow with time, that cover the three walls of the nook up to a height of about twenty feet. Prior's is the largest and richest monument. It is observable that the bust and monument of Congreve are in a distant part of the Abbey. His duchess probably thought it a degradation to bring a gentleman among the beggarly poets. I walked round the aisles, and paced the nave, and came to the conclusion that Westminster Abbey, both in itself and for the variety and interest of its monuments, is a thousand times preferable to St. Paul's. There is as much difference as between a snow-bank and a chimney-corner in their relation to the human heart. By the by, the monuments and statues in the Abbey seem all to be carefully dusted. The shower being over, I walked down into the city, where I called on Mr. B------ and left S-----'s watch to be examined and put in order. He told me that he and his brother had lately been laying out and letting a piece of land at Blackheath, that had been left them by their father, and that the ground-rent would bring them in two thousand pounds per annum. With such an independent income, I doubt whether any American would consent to be anything but a gentleman,--certainly not an operative watchmaker. How sensible these Englishmen are in some things! Thence I went at a venture, and lost myself, of course. At one part of my walk I came upon St. Luke's Hospital, whence I returned to St. Paul's, and thence along Fleet Street and the Strand. Contiguous to the latter is Holywell Street,--a narrow lane, filled up with little bookshops and bookstalls, at some of which I saw sermons and other works of divinity, old editions of classics, and all such serious matters, while at stalls and windows close beside them (and, possibly, at the same stalls) there were books with title-pages displayed, indicating them to be of the most indecent kind. October 2d.--Yesterday forenoon I went with J----- into the city to 67 Grace Church Street, to get a bank post-note cashed by Mr. Oakford, and afterwards to the offices of two lines of steamers, in Moorgate Street and Leadenhall Street. The city was very much thronged. It is a marvel what sets so many people a going at all hours of the day. Then it is to be considered that these are but a small portion of those who are doing the business of the city; much the larger part being occupied in offices at desks, in discussions of plans of enterprise, out of sight of the public, while these earnest hurriers are merely the froth in the pot. After seeing the steam-officials, we went to London Bridge, which always swarms with more passengers than any of the streets. Descending the steps that lead to the level of the Thames, we took passage in a boat bound up the river to Chelsea, of which there is one starting every ten minutes, the voyage being of forty minutes' duration. It began to sprinkle a little just as we started; but after a slight showeriness, lasting till we had passed Westminster Bridge, the day grew rather pleasant. At Westminster Bridge we had a good view of the river-front of the two Houses of Parliament, which look very noble from this point,--a long and massive extent, with a delightful promenade for the legislative people exactly above the margin of the river. This is certainly a magnificent edifice, and yet I doubt whether it is so impressive as it might and ought to have been made, considering its immensity. It makes no more impression than you can well account to yourself for, and you rather wonder that it does not make more. The reason must be that the architect has not "builded better than he knew." He felt no power higher and wiser than himself, making him its instrument. He reckoned upon and contrived all his effects with malice aforethought, and therefore missed the crowning glory,--that being a happiness which God, out of his pure grace, mixes up with only the simple-hearted, best efforts of men. October 3d.--I again went into the city yesterday forenoon, to settle about the passages to Lisbon, taking J----- with me. From Hungerford Bridge we took the steamer to London Bridge, that being an easy and speedy mode of accomplishing distances that take many footsteps through the crowded thoroughfares. After leaving the steamer-office, we went back through the Strand, and, crossing Waterloo Bridge, walked a good way on to the Surrey side of the river; a coarse, dingy, disagreeable suburb, with shops apparently for country produce, for old clothes, second-hand furniture, for ironware, and other things bulky and inelegant. How many scenes and sorts of life are comprehended within London! There was much in the aspect of these streets that reminded me of a busy country village in America on an immensely magnified scale. Growing rather weary anon, we got into an omnibus, which took us as far as the Surrey Zoological Gardens, which J----- wished very much to see. They proved to be a rather poor place of suburban amusement; poor, at least, by daylight, their chief attraction for the public consisting in out-of-door representations of battles and sieges. The storming of Sebastopol (as likewise at the Cremorne Gardens) was advertised for the evening, and we saw the scenery of Sebastopol, painted on a vast scale, in the open air, and really looking like miles and miles of hill and water; with a space for the actual manoeuvring of ships on a sheet of real water in front of the scene, on which some ducks were now swimming about, in place of men-of-war. The climate of England must often interfere with this sort of performance; and I can conceive of nothing drearier for spectators or performers than a drizzly evening. Convenient to this central spot of entertainment there were liquor and refreshment rooms, with pies and cakes. The menagerie, though the ostensible staple of the gardens, is rather poor and scanty; pretty well provided with lions and lionesses, also one or two giraffes, some camels, a polar bear,--who plunged into a pool of water for bits of cake,--and two black bears, who sat on their haunches or climbed poles; besides a wilderness of monkeys, some parrots and macaws, an ostrich, various ducks, and other animal and ornithological trumpery; some skins of snakes so well stuffed that I took them for living serpents till J----- discovered the deception, and an aquarium, with a good many common fishes swimming among sea-weed. The garden is shaded with trees, and set out with greensward and gravel-walks, from which the people were sweeping the withered autumnal leaves, which now fall every day. Plaster statues stand here and there, one of them without a head, thus disclosing the hollowness of the trunk; there were one or two little drizzly fountains, with the water dripping over the rock-work, of which the English are so fond; and the buildings for the animals and other purposes had a flimsy, pasteboard aspect of pretension. The garden was in its undress; few visitors, I suppose, coming hither at this time of day,--only here and there a lady and children, a young man and girl, or a couple of citizens, loitering about. I take pains to remember these small items, because they suggest the day-life or torpidity of what may look very brilliant at night. These corked-up fountains, slovenly greensward, cracked casts of statues, pasteboard castles, and duck-pond Bay of Balaclava then shining out in magic splendor, and the shabby attendants whom we saw sweeping and shovelling probably transformed into the heroes of Sebastopol. J----- thought it a delightful place; but I soon grew very weary, and came away about four o'clock, and, getting into a city omnibus, we alighted on the hither side of Blackfriar's Bridge. Turning into Fleet Street, I looked about for a place to dine at, and chose the Mitre Tavern, in memory of Johnson and Boswell. It stands behind a front of modern shops, through which is an archway, giving admittance into a narrow court-yard, which, I suppose, was formerly open to Fleet Street. The house is of dark brick, and, comparing it with other London edifices, I should take it to have been at least refronted since Johnson's time; but within, the low, sombre coffee-room which we entered might well enough have been of that era or earlier. It seems to be a good, plain, respectable inn; and the waiter gave us each a plate of boiled beef, and, for dessert, a damson tart, which made up a comfortable dinner. After dinner, we zigzagged homeward through Clifford's link passage, Holborn, Drury Lane, the Strand, Charing Cross, Pall Mall, and Regent Street; but I remember only an ancient brick gateway as particularly remarkable. I think it was the entrance to Lincoln's Inn. We reached home at about six. There is a woman who has several times passed through this Hanover Street, in which we live, stopping occasionally to sing songs under the windows; and last evening, between nine and ten o'clock, she came and sang "Kathleen O'Moore" richly and sweetly. Her voice rose up out of the dim, chill street, and made our hearts throb in unison with it as we sat in our comfortable drawing-room. I never heard a voice that touched me more deeply. Somebody told her to go away, and she stopped like a nightingale suddenly shot; but, finding that S----- wished to know something about her, Fanny and one of the maids ran after her, and brought her into the hall. It seems she was educated to sing at the opera, and married an Italian opera-singer, who is now dead; lodging in a model lodging-house at threepence a night, and being a penny short to-night, she tried this method, in hope of getting this penny. She takes in plain sewing when she can get any, and picks up a trifle about the street by means of her voice, which, she says, was once sweet, but has now been injured by the poorness of her living. She is a pale woman, with black eyes, Fanny says, and may have been pretty once, but is not so now. It seems very strange, that with such a gift of Heaven, so cultivated, too, as her voice is, making even an unsusceptible heart vibrate like a harp-string, she should not have had an engagement among the hundred theatres and singing-rooms of London; that she should throw away her melody in the streets for the mere chance of a penury, when sounds not a hundredth part so sweet are worth from other lips purses of gold. October 5th.--It rained almost all day on Wednesday, so that I did not go out till late in the afternoon, and then only took a stroll along Oxford Street and Holborn, and back through Fleet Street and the Strand. Yesterday, at a little after ten, I went to the ambassador's to get my wife's passport for Lisbon. While I was talking with the clerk, Mr. ------ made his appearance in a dressing-gown, with a morning cheerfulness and alacrity in his manner. He was going to Liverpool with his niece, who returns to America by the steamer of Saturday. She has had a good deal of success in society here; being pretty enough to be remarked among English women, and with cool, self-possessed, frank, and quiet manners, which look very like the highest breeding. I next went to Westminster Abbey, where I had long promised myself another quiet visit; for I think I never could be weary of it; and when I finally leave England, it will be this spot which I shall feel most unwilling to quit forever. I found a party going through the seven chapels (or whatever their number may be), and again saw those stately and quaint old tombs,--ladies and knights stretched out on marble slabs, or beneath arches and canopies of stone, let into the walls of the Abbey, reclining on their elbows, in ruff and farthingale or riveted armor, or in robes of state, once painted in rich colors, of which only a few patches of scarlet now remain; bearded faces of noble knights, whose noses, in many cases, had been smitten off; and Mary, Queen of Scots, had lost two fingers of her beautiful hands, which she is clasping in prayer. There must formerly have been very free access to these tombs; for I observed that all the statues (so far as I examined them) were scratched with the initials of visitors, some of the names being dated above a century ago. The old coronation-chair, too, is quite covered, over the back and seat, with initials cut into it with pocket-knives, just as Yankees would do it; only it is not whittled away, as would have been its fate in our hands. Edward the Confessor's shrine, which is chiefly of wood, likewise abounds in these inscriptions, although this was esteemed the holiest shrine in England, so that pilgrims still come to kneel and kiss it. Our guide, a rubicund verger of cheerful demeanor, said that this was true in a few instances. There is a beautiful statue in memory of Horace Walpole's mother; and I took it to be really a likeness, till the verger said that it was a copy of a statue which her son had admired in Italy, and so had transferred it to his mother's grave. There is something characteristic in this mode of filial duty and honor. In all these chapels, full of the tombs and effigies of kings, dukes, arch-prelates, and whatever is proud and pompous in mortality, there is nothing that strikes me more than the colossal statue of plain Mr. Watt, sitting quietly in a chair, in St. Paul's Chapel, and reading some papers. He dwarfs the warriors and statesmen; and as to the kings, we smile at them. Telford is in another of the chapels. This visit to the chapels was much more satisfactory than my former one; although I in vain strove to feel it adequately, and to make myself sensible how rich and venerable was what I saw. This realization must come at its own time, like the other happinesses of life. It is unaccountable that I could not now find the seat of Sir George Downing's squire, though I examined particularly every seat on that side of Henry VII's Chapel, where I before found it. I must try again. . . . . October 6th.--Yesterday was not an eventful day. I took J----- with me to the city, called on Mr. Sturgis at the Barings' House, and got his checks for a bank post-note. The house is at 8 Bishopsgate Street, Within. It has no sign of any kind, but stands back from the street, behind an iron-grated fence. The firm appears to occupy the whole edifice, which is spacious, and fit for princely merchants. Thence I went and paid for the passages to Lisbon (32 pounds) at the Peninsular Steam Company's office, and thence to call on General ------. I forgot to mention, that, first of all, I went to Mr. B------'s, whom I found kind and vivacious as usual. It now rained heavily, and, being still showery when we came to Cheapside again, we first stood under an archway (a usual resort for passengers through London streets), and then betook ourselves to sanctuary, taking refuge in St. Paul's Cathedral. The afternoon service was about to begin, so, after looking at a few of the monuments, we sat down in the choir, the richest and most ornamented part of the cathedral, with screens or partitions of oak, cunningly carved. Small white-robed choristers were flitting noiselessly about, making preparations for the service, which by and by began. It is a beautiful idea, that, several times in the course of the day, a man can slip out of the thickest throng and bustle of London into this religious atmosphere, and hear the organ, and the music of young, pure voices; but, after all, the rites are lifeless in our day. We found, on emerging, that we had escaped a very heavy shower, and it still sprinkled and misted as we went homeward through Holborn and Oxford Street. SOUTHAMPTON October 11th.--We all left London on Sunday morning, between ten and eleven, from the Waterloo station, and arrived in Southampton about two, without meeting with anything very remarkable on the way. We put up at Chapple's Castle Hotel, which is one of the class styled "commercial," and, though respectable, not such a one as the nobility and gentry usually frequent. I saw little difference in the accommodation, except that young women attended us instead of men,--a pleasant change. It was a showery day, but J----- and I walked out to see the shore and the town and the docks, and, if possible, the ship in which S----- was to sail. The most noteworthy object was the remains of an old castle, near the water-side; the square, gray, weed grown, weird keep of which shows some modern chimney-pots above its battlements, while remaining portions of the fortress are made to seem as one of the walls for coal-depots, and perhaps for small dwellings. The English characteristically patch new things into old things in this manner, materially, legally, constitutionally, and morally. Walking along the pier, we observed some pieces of ordnance, one of which was a large brass cannon of Henry VIII.'s time, about twelve feet long, and very finely made. The bay of Southampton presents a pleasant prospect, and I believe it is the great rendezvous of the yacht-club. Old and young seafaring people were strolling about, and lounging at corners, just as they do on Sunday afternoons in the minor seaports of America. From the shore we went up into the town, which is handsome, and of a cheerful aspect, with streets generally wide and well paved,--a cleanly town, not smoke-begrimed. The houses, if not modern, are, at least with few exceptions, new fronted. We saw one relic of antiquity,--a fine mediaeval gateway across the principal street, much more elevated than the gates of Chester, with battlements at the top, and a spacious apartment over the great arch for the passage of carriages, and the smaller one on each side for foot-passengers. There were two statues in armor or antique costume on the hither side of the gateway, and two old paintings on the other. This, so far as I know, is the only remnant of the old wall of Southampton. On Monday the morning was bright, alternating with a little showeriness. U----, J-----, and I went into the town to do some shopping before the steamer should sail; and a little after twelve we drove down to the dock. The Madeira is a pleasant-looking ship enough, not very large, but accommodating, I believe, about seventy passengers. We looked at my wife's little stateroom, with its three berths for herself and the two children; and then sat down in the saloon, and afterwards on deck, to spend the irksome and dreary hour or two before parting. Many of the passengers seemed to be Portuguese, undersized, dark, mustachioed people, smoking cigars. John Bull was fairly represented too. . . . . U---- was cheerful, and R----- seemed anxious to get off. Poor Fanny was altogether cast down, and shed tears, either from regret at leaving her native land, or dread of sea-sickness, or general despondency, being a person of no spring of spirits. I waited till the captain came on board, --a middle-aged or rather elderly man, with a sensible expression, but, methought, with a hard, cold eye, to whom I introduced my wife, recommending her to his especial care, as she was unattended by any gentleman; and then we thought it best to cut short the parting scene. So we bade one another farewell; and, leaving them on the deck of the vessel, J----- and I returned to the hotel, and, after dining at the table d'hote, drove down to the railway. This is the first great parting that we have ever had. It was three o'clock when we left Southampton. In order to get to Worcester, where we were to spend the night, we strode, as it were, from one line of railway to another, two or three times, and did not arrive at our journey's end till long after dark. At Worcester we put ourselves into the hands of a cabman, who drove us to the Crown Hotel,--one of the old-fashioned hotels, with an entrance through an arched passage, by which vehicles were admitted into the inn-yard, which has also an exit, I believe, into another street. On one side of the arch was the coffee-room, where, after looking at our sleeping-chambers on the other side of the arch, we had some cold pigeon-pie for supper, and for myself a pint of ale. It should be mentioned, that, in the morning, before embarking S----- and the children on board the steamer, I saw a fragment of a rainbow among the clouds, and remembered the old adage bidding "sailors take warning." In the afternoon, as J----- and I were railing from Southampton, we saw another fragmentary rainbow, which, by the same adage, should be the "sailor's delight." The weather has rather tended to confirm the first omen, but the sea-captains tell me that the steamer must have gone beyond the scope of these winds. WORCESTER. October 14th.---In the morning of Tuesday, after breakfast in the coffee-room, J----- and I walked about to see the remarkables of Worcester. It is not a particularly interesting city, compared with other old English cities; the general material of the houses being red brick, and almost all modernized externally, whatever may be the age of their original framework. We saw a large brick jail in castellated style, with battlements,--a very barren and dreary-looking edifice; likewise, in the more central part of the town, a Guildhall with a handsome front, ornamented with a statue of Queen Anne above the entrance, and statues of Charles I. and Charles II. on either side of the door, with the motto, "Floreat semper civitas fidelis." Worcester seems to pride itself upon its loyalty. We entered the building, and in the large interior hall saw some old armor hanging on the wall at one end,-- corselets, helmets, greaves, and a pair of breeches of chain mail. An inscription told us that these suits of armor had been left by Charles I. after the battle of Worcester, and presented to the city at a much later date by a gentleman of the neighborhood. On the stone floor of the hall, under the armor, were two brass cannon, one of which had been taken from the French in a naval battle within the present century; the other was a beautiful piece, bearing, I think, the date of 1632, and manufactured in Brussels for the Count de Burgh, as a Latin inscription testified. This likewise was a relic of the battle of Worcester, where it had been lost by Charles. Many gentlemen--connected with the city government, I suppose--were passing through the hall; and, looking through its interior doors, we saw stately staircases and council-rooms panelled with oak or other dark wood. There seems to be a good deal of state in the government of these old towns. Worcester Cathedral would have impressed me much had I seen it earlier; though its aspect is less venerable than that of Chester or Lichfield, having been faithfully renewed and repaired, and stone-cutters and masons were even now at work on the exterior. At our first visit, we found no entrance; but coming again at ten o'clock, when the service was to begin, we found the door open, and the chorister-boys, in their white robes, standing in the nave and aisles, with elder people in the same garb, and a few black-robed ecclesiastics and an old verger. The interior of the cathedral has been covered with a light-colored paint at some recent period. There is, as I remember, very little stained glass to enrich and bedim the light; and the effect produced is a naked, daylight aspect, unlike what I have seen in any other Gothic cathedral. The plan of the edifice, too, is simple; a nave and side aisles, with great clustered pillars, from which spring the intersecting arches; and, somehow or other, the venerable mystery which I have found in Westminster Abbey and elsewhere does not lurk in these arches and behind these pillars. The choir, no doubt, is richer and more beautiful; but we did not enter it. I remember two tombs, with recumbent figures on there, between the pillars that divide the nave from the side aisles, and there were also mural monuments,--one, well executed, to an officer slain in the Peninsular war, representing him falling from his horse; another by a young widow to her husband, with an inscription of passionate grief, and a record of her purpose finally to sleep beside him. He died in 1803. I did not see on the monument any record of the consummation of her purpose; and so perhaps she sleeps beside a second husband. There are more antique memorials than these two on the wall, and I should have been interested to examine them; but the service was now about to begin in the choir, and at the far-off end of the nave the old verger waved his hand to banish us from the cathedral. At the same time he moved towards us, probably to say that he would show it to us after service; but having little time, and being so moderately impressed with what I had already seen, I took my departure, and so disappointed the old man of his expected shilling or half-crown. The tomb of King John is somewhere in this cathedral. We renewed our rambles through the town, and, passing the Museum of the Worcester Natural History Society, I yielded to J-----'s wish to go in. There are three days in the week, I believe, on which it is open to the public; but this being one of the close days, we were admitted on payment of a shilling. It seemed a very good and well-arranged collection in most departments of Natural History, and J-----, who takes more interest in these matters than I do, was much delighted. We were left to examine the hall and galleries quite at our leisure. Besides the specimens of beasts, birds, shells, fishes, minerals, fossils, insects, and all other natural things before the flood and since, there was a stone bearing a Roman inscription, and various antiquities, coins, and medals, and likewise portraits, some of which were old and curious. Leaving the museum, we walked down to the stone bridge over the Severn, which is here the largest river I have seen in England, except, of course, the Mersey and the Thames. A flight of steps leads from the bridge down to a walk along the river-side, and this we followed till we reached the spot where an angler was catching chubs and dace, under the walls of the bishop's palace, which here faces the river. It seems to be an old building, but with modern repairs and improvements. The angler had pretty good success while we were looking at him, drawing out two or three silvery fish, and depositing them in his basket, which was already more than half full. The Severn is not a transparent stream, and looks sluggish, but has really movement enough to carry the angler's float along pretty fast. There were two vessels of considerable size (that is, as large as small schooners) lying at the bridge. We now passed under an old stone archway, through a lane that led us from the river-side up past the cathedral, whence a gentleman and lady were just emerging, and the verger was closing the door behind them. We returned to our hotel, and ordered luncheon,--some cold chicken, cold ham, and ale, and after paying the bill (about fifteen shillings, to which I added five shillings for attendance) we took our departure in a fly for the railway. The waiter (a young woman), chambermaid, and boots, all favored us with the most benign and deferential looks at parting, whence it was easy to see that I had given them more than they had any claim to receive. Nevertheless, this English system of fees has its good side, and I never travel without finding the advantage of it, especially on railways, where the officials are strictly forbidden to take fees, and where, in consequence, a fee secures twice as much good service as anywhere else. Be it recorded, that I never knew an Englishman to refuse a shilling,--or, for that matter, a halfpenny. From Worcester we took tickets to Wolverhampton, and thence to Birkenhead. It grew dark before we reached Chester, and began to rain; and when we got to Birkenhead it was a pitiless, pelting storm, under which, on the deck of the steamboat, we crossed the detestable Mersey, two years' trial of which has made me detest it every day more and more. It being the night of rejoicing for the taking of Sebastopol and the visit of the Duke of Cambridge, we found it very difficult to get a cab on the Liverpool side; but after much waiting in the rain, and afterwards in one of the refreshment-rooms, on the landing stage, we took a Hansom and drove off. The cloudy sky reflected the illuminations, and we saw some gas-lighted stars and other devices, as we passed, very pretty, but much marred by the wind and rain. So we finally arrived at Mrs. Blodgett's, and made a good supper of ham and cold chicken, like our luncheon, after which, wet as we were, and drizzling as the weather was, and though it was two hours beyond his bedtime, I took J----- out to see the illuminations. I wonder what his mother would have said. But the boy must now begin to see life and to feel it. There was a crowd of people in the street; such a crowd that we could hardly make a passage through them, and so many cabs and omnibuses that it was difficult to cross the ways. Some of the illuminations were very brilliant; but there was a woful lack of variety and invention in the devices. The star of the garter, which kept flashing out from the continual extinguishment of the wind and rain,--V and A, in capital letters of light,--were repeated a hundred times; as were loyal and patriotic mottoes,--crowns formed by colored lamps. In some instances a sensible tradesman had illuminated his own sign, thereby at once advertising his loyalty and his business. Innumerable flags were suspended before the houses and across the streets, and the crowd plodded on, silent, heavy, and without any demonstration of joy, unless by the discharge of pistols close at one's ear. The rain, to be sure, was quite sufficient to damp any joyous ebullition of feeling; but the next day, when the rain had ceased, and when the streets were still thronged with people, there was the same heavy, purposeless strolling from place to place, with no more alacrity of spirit than while it rained. The English do not know how to rejoice; and, in their present circumstances, to say the truth, have not much to rejoice for. We soon came home; but I believe it was nearly, if not quite, eleven. At Mrs. Blodgett's, Mr. Archer (surgeon to some prison or house of correction here in Liverpool) spoke of an attorney who many years ago committed forgery, and, being apprehended, took a dose of prussic acid. Mr. Archer came with the stomach-pump, and asked the patient how much prussic acid he had taken. "Sir," he replied, attorney-like, "I decline answering that question!" He recovered, and afterwards arrived at great wealth in New South Wales. November 14th.--At dinner at Mr. Bright's, a week or two ago, Mr. Robertson Gladstone spoke of a magistrate of Liverpool, many years since, Sir John ------. Of a morning, sitting on the bench in the police court, he would take five shillings out of his pocket and say, "Here, Mr. Clerk, so much for my fine. I was drunk last night!" Mr. Gladstone witnessed this personally. November 16th.--I went to the North Hospital yesterday, to take the deposition of a dying man as to his ill treatment by the second and third mates of the ship Assyria, on the voyage from New Orleans. This hospital is a very gloomy place, with its wide bleak entries and staircases, which may be very good for summer weather, but which are most congenial at this bleak November season. I found the physicians of the house laughing and talking very cheerfully with Mr. Wilding, who had preceded me. We went forthwith, up two or three pairs of stairs, to the ward where the sick man lay, and where there were six or eight other beds, in almost each of which was a patient,--narrow beds, shabbily furnished. The man whom I came to see was the only one who was not perfectly quiet; neither was he very restless. The doctor, informing him of my presence, intimated that his disease might be lethal, and that I was come to hear what he had to say as to the causes of his death. Afterwards, a Testament was sought for, in order to swear him, and I administered the oath, and made him kiss the book. He then (in response to Mr. Wilding's questions) told how he had been beaten and ill-treated, hanged and thwacked, from the moment he came on board, to which usage he ascribed his death. Sometimes his senses seemed to sink away, so that I almost thought him dead; but by and by the questions would appear to reach him, and bring him back, and he went on with his evidence, interspersing it, however, with dying groans, and almost death rattles. In the midst of whatever he was saying, he often recurred to a sum of four dollars and a half, which he said he had put into the hands of the porter of the hospital, and which he wanted to get back. Several times he expressed his wish to return to America (of which he was not a native), and, on the whole, I do not think he had any real sense of his precarious condition, notwithstanding that he assented to the doctor's hint to that effect. He sank away so much at one time, that they brought him wine in a tin cup, with a spout to drink out of, and he mustered strength to raise himself in his bed and drink; then hemmed, with rather a disappointed air, as if it did not stimulate and refresh him, as drink ought to do. When he had finished his evidence (which Mr. Wilding took down in writing from his mouth), he marked his cross at the foot of the paper, and we ceased to torment him with further question. His deposition will probably do no good, so far as the punishment of the persons implicated is concerned; for he appears to have come on board in a sickly state, and never to have been well during the passage. On a pallet, close by his bed, lay another seaman of the same ship, who had likewise been abused by the same men, and bore more ostensible marks of ill usage than this man did, about the head and face. There is a most dreadful state of things aboard our ships. Hell itself can be no worse than some of them, and I do pray that some New-Englander with the rage of reform in him may turn his thoughts this way. The first step towards better things--the best practicable step for the present--is to legalize flogging on shipboard; thereby doing away with the miscellaneous assaults and batteries, kickings, fisticuffings, ropes'-endings, marline-spikings, which the inferior officers continually perpetrate, as the only mode of keeping up anything like discipline. As in many other instances, philanthropy has overshot itself by the prohibition of flogging, causing the captain to avoid the responsibility of solemn punishment, and leave his mates to make devils of themselves, by habitual and hardly avoidable ill treatment of the seamen. After I left the dying sailor, his features seemed to contract and grow sharp. Some young medical students stood about the bed, watching death creep upon him, and anticipating, perhaps, that in a day or two they would have the poor fellow's body on the dissecting-table. Dead patients, I believe, undergo this fate, unless somebody chooses to pay their funeral expenses; but the captain of the Assyria (who seems to be respectable and kind-hearted, though master of a floating hell) tells me that he means to bury the man at his own cost. This morning there is a note from the surgeon of the hospital, announcing his death, and likewise the dangerous state of his shipmate whom I saw on the pallet beside him. Sea-captains call a dress-coat a "claw-hammer." November 22d.--I went on board the ship William Lapscott, lying in the river, yesterday, to take depositions in reference to a homicide committed in New York. I sat on a sofa in the cabin, and Mr. Wilding at a table, with his writing-materials before him, and the crew were summoned, one by one,--rough, piratical-looking fellows, contrasting strongly with the gewgaw cabin in which I received them. There is no such finery on land as in the cabin of one of these ships in the Liverpool trade, finished off with a complete panelling of rosewood, mahogany, and bird's-eye maple, polished and varnished, and gilded along the cornices and the edges of the panels. It is all a piece of elaborate cabinet-work; and one does not altogether see why it should be given to the gales, and the salt-sea atmosphere, to be tossed upon the waves, and occupied by a rude shipmaster in his dreadnaught clothes, when the fairest lady in the land has no such boudoir. A telltale compass hung beneath the skylight, and a clock was fastened near it, and ticked loudly. A stewardess, with the aspect of a woman at home, went in and out of the cabin, about her domestic calls. Through the cabin door (it being a house on deck) I could see the arrangement of the ship. The first sailor that I examined was a black-haired, powerful fellow, in an oil-skin jacket, with a good face enough, though he, too, might have been taken for a pirate. In the affray in which the homicide occurred, he had received a cut across the forehead, and another slantwise across his nose, which had quite cut it in two, on a level with the face, and had thence gone downward to his lower jaw. But neither he nor any one else could give any testimony elucidating the matter into which I had come to inquire. A seaman had been stabbed just before the vessel left New York, and had been sent on shore and died there. Most of these men were in the affray, and all of then were within a few yards of the spot where it occurred; but those actually present all pleaded that they were so drunk that the whole thing was now like a dream, with no distinct images; and, if any had been sober, they took care to know nothing that could inculpate any individual. Perhaps they spoke truth; they certainly had a free and honest-like way of giving their evidence, as if their only object was to tell all the truth they knew. But I rather think, in the forecastle, and during the night-watches, they have whispered to one another a great deal more than they told me, and have come to a pretty accurate conclusion as to the man who gave the stab. While the examination proceeded, there was a drawing of corks in a side closet; and, at its conclusion, the captain asked us to stay to dinner, but we excused ourselves, and drank only a glass of wine. The captain apologized for not joining us, inasmuch as he had drunk no wine for the last seventeen years. He appears to be a particularly good and trustworthy man, and is the only shipmaster whom I have met with, who says that a crew can best be governed by kindness. In the inner closet there was a cage containing two land-birds, who had come aboard him, tired almost to death, three or four hundred miles from shore; and he had fed them and been tender of them, from a sense of what was due to hospitality. He means to give them to J-----. November 28th.--I have grown wofully aristocratic in my tastes, I fear, since coming to England; at all events, I am conscious of a certain disgust at going to dine in a house with a small entrance-hall and a narrow staircase, parlor with chintz curtains, and all other arrangements on a similar scale. This is pitiable. However, I really do not think I should mind these things, were it not for the bustle, the affectation, the intensity, of the mistress of the house. It is certain that a woman in England is either decidedly a lady or decidedly not a lady. There seems to be no respectable medium. Bill of fare: broiled soles, half of a roast pig, a haricot of mutton, stewed oysters, a tart, pears, figs, with sherry and port wine, both good, and the port particularly so. I ate some pig, and could hardly resist the lady's importunities to eat more; though to my fancy it tasted of swill,--had a flavor of the pigsty. On the parlor table were some poor editions of popular books, Longfellow's poems and others. The lady affects a literary taste, and bothered me about my own productions. A beautiful subject for a romance, or for a sermon, would be the subsequent life of the young man whom Jesus bade to sell all he had and give to the poor; and he went away sorrowful, and is not recorded to have done what he was bid. December 11th.--This has been a foggy morning and forenoon, snowing a little now and then, and disagreeably cold. The sky is of an inexpressibly dreary, dun color. It is so dark at times that I have to hold my book close to my eyes, and then again it lightens up a little. On the whole, disgustingly gloomy; and thus it has been for a long while past, although the disagreeableness seems to be very near the earth, and just above the steeples and house-tops very probably there may be a bright, sunshiny day. At about twelve there is a faint glow of sunlight, like the gleaming reflection from a not highly polished copper kettle. December 26th.--On Christmas eve and yesterday, there were little branches of mistletoe hanging in several parts of the house, in the kitchen, the entries, the parlor, and the smoking-room,--suspended from the gas-fittings. The maids of the house did their utmost to entrap the gentlemen boarders, old and young; under the privileged places, and there to kiss them, after which they were expected to pay a shilling. It is very queer, being customarily so respectful, that they should assume this license now, absolutely trying to pull the gentlemen into the kitchen by main force, and kissing the harder and more abundantly the more they were resisted. A little rosy-checked Scotch lass--at other times very modest --was the most active in this business. I doubt whether any gentleman but myself escaped. I heard old Mr. S------ parleying with the maids last evening, and pleading his age; but he seems to have met with no mercy, for there was a sound of prodigious smacking immediately afterwards. J----- was assaulted, and fought, most vigorously; but was outrageously kissed,--receiving some scratches, moreover, in the conflict. The mistletoe has white, wax-looking berries, and dull green leaves, with a parasitical stem. Early in the morning of Christmas day, long before daylight, I heard music in the street, and a woman's voice, powerful and melodious, singing a Christmas hymn. Before bedtime I presume one half of England, at a moderate calculation, was the worse for liquor. The market-houses, at this season, show the national taste for heavy feeding,--carcasses of prize oxen, immensely fat, and bulky; fat sheep, with their woolly heads and tails still on, and stars and other devices ingeniously wrought on the quarters; fat pigs, adorned with flowers, like corpses of virgins; hares, wild-fowl, geese, ducks, turkeys; and green boughs and banners suspended about the stalls,--and a great deal of dirt and griminess on the stone floor of the market-house, and on the persons of the crowd. There are some Englishmen whom I like,--one or two for whom I might say I have an affection; but still there is not the same union between us as if they were Americans. A cold, thin medium intervenes betwixt our most intimate approaches. It puts me in mind of Alnaschar and his princess, with the cold steel blade of his scimitar between them. Perhaps if I were at home I might feel differently; but in a foreign land I can never forget the distinction between English and American. January 1st, 1856.--Last night, at Mrs. Blodgett's, we sat up till twelve o'clock to open the front door, and let the New Year in. After the coming guest was fairly in the house, the back door was to be opened, to let the Old Year out; but I was tired, and did not wait for the latter ceremony. When the New Year made its entrance, there was a general shaking of hands, and one of the shipmasters said that it was customary to kiss the ladies all round; but to my great satisfaction, we did not proceed to such extremity. There was singing in the streets, and many voices of people passing, and when twelve had struck, all the bells of the town, I believe, rang out together. I went up stairs, sad and lonely, and, stepping into J-----'s little room, wished him a Happy New Year, as he slept, and many of them. To a cool observer, a country does not show to best advantage during a time of war. All its self-conceit is doubly visible, and, indeed, is sedulously kept uppermost by direct appeals to it. The country must be humbugged, in order to keep its courage up. Sentiment seems to me more abundant in middle-aged ladies in England than in the United States. I don't know how it may be with young ladies. The shipmasters bear testimony to the singular delicacy of common sailors in their behavior in the presence of women; and they say that this good trait is still strongly observable even in the present race of seamen, greatly deteriorated as it is. On shipboard, there is never an indecorous word or unseemly act said or done by sailors when a woman can be cognizant of it; and their deportment in this respect differs greatly from that of landsmen of similar position in society. This is remarkable, considering that a sailor's female acquaintances are usually and exclusively of the worst kind, and that his intercourse with them has no relation whatever to morality or decency. For this very reason, I suppose, he regards a modest woman as a creature divine and to be reverenced. January 16th.---I have suffered wofully from low spirits for some time past; and this has not often been the case since I grew to be a man, even in the least auspicious periods of my life. My desolate bachelor condition, I suppose, is the cause. Really, I have no pleasure in anything, and I feel my tread to be heavier, and my physical movement more sluggish, than in happier times. A weight is always upon me. My appetite is not good. I sleep ill, lying awake till late at night, to think sad thoughts and to imagine sombre things, and awaking before light with the same thoughts and fancies still in my mind. My heart sinks always as I ascend the stairs to my office, from a dim augury of ill news from Lisbon that I may perhaps hear,--of black-sealed letters, or some such horrors. Nothing gives me any joy. I have learned what the bitterness of exile is, in these days; and I never should have known it but for the absence of "Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,"--I can perfectly appreciate that line of Goldsmith; for it well expresses my own torpid, unenterprising, joyless state of mind and heart. I am like an uprooted plant, wilted and drooping. Life seems so purposeless as not to be worth the trouble of carrying it on any further. I was at a dinner, the other evening, at Mr. B------'s, where the entertainment was almost entirely American,--New York oysters, raw, stewed, and fried; soup of American partridges, particularly good; also terrapin soup, rich, but not to my taste; American pork and beans, baked in Yankee style; a noble American turkey, weighing thirty-one pounds; and, at the other end of the table, an American round of beef, which the Englishmen present allowed to be delicious, and worth a guinea an ounce. I forget the other American dishes, if there were any more,--O yes! canvas-back ducks, coming on with the sweets, in the usual English fashion. We ought to have had Catawba wine; but this was wanting, although there was plenty of hock, champagne, sherry, madeira, port, and claret. Our host is a very jolly man, and the dinner was a merrier and noisier one than any English dinner within my experience. February 8th.--I read to-day, in the little office-Bible (greasy with perjuries) St. Luke's account of the agony, the trial, the crucifixion, and the resurrection; and how Christ appeared to the two disciples, on their way to Emmaus, and afterwards to a company of disciples. On both these latter occasions he expounded the Scriptures to them, and showed the application of the old prophecies to himself; and it is to be supposed that he made them fully, or at least sufficiently, aware what his character was,--whether God, or man, or both, or something between, together with all other essential points of doctrine. But none of this doctrine or of these expositions is recorded, the mere facts being most simply stated, and the conclusion to which he led them, that, whether God himself, or the Son of God, or merely the Son of man, he was, at all events, the Christ foretold in the Jewish Scriptures. This last, therefore, must have been the one essential point. February 18th.--On Saturday there called on me an elderly Robinson-Crusoe sort of man, Mr. H------, shipwright, I believe, of Boston, who has lately been travelling in the East. About a year ago he was here, after being shipwrecked on the Dutch coast, and I assisted him to get home. Again, I have supplied him with five pounds, and my credit for an outside garment. He is a spare man, with closely cropped gray, or rather white hair, close-cropped whiskers fringing round his chin, and a close-cropped white mustache, with his under lip and a portion of his chin bare beneath,--sunburnt and weather-worn. He has been in Syria and Jerusalem, through the Desert, and at Sebastopol; and says he means to get Ticknor to publish his travels, and the story of his whole adventurous life, on his return home. A free-spoken, confiding, hardy, religious, unpolished, simple, yet world-experienced man; very talkative, and boring me with longer visits than I like. He has brought home, among other curiosities, "a lady's arm," as he calls it, two thousand years old,--a piece of a mummy, of course; also some coins, one of which, a gold coin of Vespasian, he showed me, and said he bought it of an Arab of the desert. The Bedouins possess a good many of these coins, handed down immemorially from father to son, and never sell them unless compelled by want. He had likewise a Hebrew manuscript of the Book of Ruth, on a parchment roll, which was put into his care to be given to Lord Haddo. He was at Sebastopol during the siege, and nearly got his head knocked off by a cannon-ball. His strangest statement is one in reference to Lord Raglan. He says that an English officer told him that his Lordship shut himself up, desiring not to be disturbed, as he needed sleep. When fifteen hours had gone by, his attendants thought it time to break open the door; and Lord Raglan was found dead, with a bottle of strychnine by the bedside. The affair, so far as the circumstances indicated suicide, was hushed up, and his death represented as a natural one. The English officer seems to have been an unscrupulous fellow, jesting thus with the fresh memory of his dead commander; for it is impossible to believe a word of the story. Even if Lord Raglan had wished for death, he would hardly have taken strychnine, when there were so many chances of being honorably shot. In Wood's Narrative of the Campaign, it is stated that he died surrounded by the members of his staff, after having been for some time ill. It appears, however, by the same statement, that no serious apprehensions had been entertained, until, one afternoon, he shut himself in, desiring not to be disturbed till evening. After two or three hours he called Lord Burghersh,--"Frank, Frank!" and was found to be almost in a state of collapse, and died that evening. Mr. H------'s story might very well have been a camp rumor. It seems to me that the British Ministry, in its notion of a life-peerage, shows an entire misunderstanding of what makes people desire the peerage. It is not for the immediate personal distinction; but because it removes the peer and his consanguinity from the common rank of men, and makes a separate order of them, as if they should grow angelic. A life-peer is but a mortal amid the angelic throng. February 28th.--I went yesterday with Mrs. ------ and another lady, and Mr. M------, to the West Derby Workhouse. . . . . [Here comes in the visit to the West Derby Workhouse, which was made the subject of a paper in Our Old Home, called "Outside Glimpses of English Poverty." As the purpose in publishing these passages from the private note-books is to give to those who ask for a memoir of Mr. Hawthorne every possible incident recorded by himself which shows his character and nature, the editor thinks it proper to disclose the fact that Mr. Hawthorne was himself the gentleman of that party who took up in his arms the little child, so fearfully repulsive in its condition. And it seems better to quote his own words in reference to it, than merely to say it was he. Under date February 28, 1856. "After this, we went to the ward where the children were kept, and, on entering this, we saw, in the first place, two or three unlovely and unwholesome little imps, who were lazily playing together. One of them (a child about six years old, but I know not whether girl or boy) immediately took the strangest fancy for me. It was a wretched, pale, half-torpid little thing, with a humor in its eyes which the Governor said was the scurvy. I never saw, till a few moments afterwards, a child that I should feel less inclined to fondle. But this little, sickly, humor-eaten fright prowled around me, taking hold of my skirts, following at my heels, and at last held up its hands, smiled in my face, and, standing directly before me, insisted on my taking it up! Not that it said a word, for I rather think it was underwitted, and could not talk; but its face expressed such perfect confidence that it was going to be taken up and made much of, that it was impossible not to do it. It was as if God had promised the child this favor on my behalf, and that I must needs fulfil the contract. I held my undesirable burden a little while; and, after setting the child down, it still followed me, holding two of my fingers and playing with them, just as if it were a child of my own. It was a foundling, and out of all human kind it chose me to be its father! We went up stairs into another ward; and, on coming down again, there was this same child waiting for me, with a sickly smile round its defaced mouth, and in its dim red eyes. . . . . I never should have forgiven myself if I had repelled its advances."--ED.] After leaving the workhouse, we drove to Norris Green; and Mrs. ------ showed me round the grounds, which are very good and nicely kept. O these English homes, what delightful places they are! I wonder how many people live and die in the workhouse, having no other home, because other people have a great deal more home than enough. . . . . We had a very pleasant dinner, and Mr. M------ and I walked back, four miles and a half, to Liverpool, where we arrived just before midnight. Why did Christ curse the fig-tree? It was not in the least to blame; and it seems most unreasonable to have expected it to bear figs out of season. Instead of withering it away, it would have been as great a miracle, and far more beautiful, and, one would think, of more beneficent influence, to have made it suddenly rich with ripe fruit. Then, to be sure, it might have died joyfully, having answered so good a purpose. I have been reminded of this miracle by the story of a man in Heywood, a town in Lancashire, who used such horribly profane language that a plane-tree in front of his cottage is said to have withered away from that hour. I can draw no moral from the incident of the fig-tree, unless it be that all things perish from the instant when they cease to answer some divine purpose. March 6th.--Yesterday I lunched on board Captain Russell's ship, the Princeton. These daily lunches on shipboard might answer very well the purposes of a dinner; being, in fact, noontide dinners, with soup, roast mutton, mutton-chops, and a macaroni pudding,--brandy, port and sherry wines. There were three elderly Englishmen at table, with white heads, which, I think, is oftener the predicament of elderly heads here than in America. One of these was a retired Custom-House officer, and the other two were connected with shipping in some way. There is a satisfaction in seeing Englishmen eat and drink, they do it so heartily, and, on the whole, so wisely,--trusting so entirely that there is no harm in good beef and mutton, and a reasonable quantity of good liquor; and these three hale old men, who had acted on this wholesome faith for so long, were proofs that it is well on earth to live like earthly creatures. In America, what squeamishness, what delicacy, what stomachic apprehension, would there not be among three stomachs of sixty or seventy years' experience! I think this failure of American stomachs is partly owing to our ill usage of our digestive powers, and partly to our want of faith in them. After lunch, we all got into an omnibus, and went to the Mersey Iron Foundry, to see the biggest piece of ordnance in the world, which is almost finished. The overseer of the works received us, and escorted us courteously throughout the establishment; which is very extensive, giving employment to a thousand men, what with night-work and day-work. The big gun is still on the axle, or turning-machine, by means of which it has been bored. It is made entirely of wrought and welded iron, fifty tons of which were originally used; and the gun, in its present state, bored out and smoothed away, weighs nearly twenty-three tons. It has, as yet, no trunnions, and does not look much like a cannon, but only a huge iron cylinder, immensely solid, and with a bore so large that a young man of nineteen shoved himself into it, the whole length, with a light, in order to see whether it is duly smooth and regular. I suppose it will have a better effect, as to the impression of size, when it is finished, polished, mounted, aid fully equipped, after the fashion of ordinary cannon. It is to throw a ball of three hundred pounds' weight five miles, and woe be to whatever ship or battlement shall bear the brunt! After inspecting the gun we went through other portions of the establishment, and saw iron in various stages of manufacture. I am not usually interested in manufacturing processes, being quite unable to understand them, at least in cotton-machinery and the like; but here there were such exhibitions of mighty strength, both of men and machines, that I had a satisfaction in looking on. We saw lumps of iron, intensely white-hot, and in all but a melting state, passed through rollers of various size and pressure, and speedily converted into long bars, which came curling and waving out of the rollers like great red ribbons, or like fiery serpents wriggling out of Tophet; and finally, being straightened out, they were laid to cool in heaps. Trip-hammers are very pleasant things to look at, working so massively as they do, and yet so accurately; chewing up the hot iron, as it were, and fashioning it into shape, with a sort of mighty and gigantic gentleness in their mode of action. What great things man has contrived, and is continually performing! What a noble brute he is! Also, I found much delight in looking at the molten iron, boiling and bubbling in the furnace, and sometimes slopping over, when stirred by the attendant. There were numberless fires on all sides, blinding us with their intense glow; and continually the pounding strokes of huge hammers, some wielded by machinery and others by human arms. I had a respect for these stalwart workmen, who seemed to be near kindred of the machines amid which they wrought,--mighty men, smiting stoutly, and looking into the fierce eyes of the furnace fearlessly, and handling the iron at a temperature which would have taken the skin off from ordinary fingers. They looked strong, indeed, but pale; for the hot atmosphere in which they live cannot but be deleterious, and I suppose their very strength wears them quickly out. But I would rather live ten years as an iron-smith than fifty as a tailor. So much heat can be concentrated into a mass of iron, that a lump a foot square heats all the atmosphere about it, and burns the face at a considerable distance. As the trip-hammer strikes the lump, it seems still more to intensify the heat by squeezing it together, and the fluid iron oozes out like sap or juice. "He was ready for the newest fashions!"--this expression was used by Mrs. Blodgett in reference to Mr. ------ on his first arrival in England, and it is a very tender way of signifying that a person is rather poorly off as to apparel. March 15th.--Mr. ------, our new ambassador, arrived on Thursday afternoon by the Atlantic, and I called at the Adelphi Hotel, after dinner, to pay him my respects. I found him and his family at supper. . . . . They seem to be plain, affable people. . . . . The ambassador is a venerable old gentleman, with a full head of perfectly white hair, looking not unlike an old-fashioned wig; and this, together with his collarless white neckcloth and his brown coat, gave him precisely such an aspect as one would expect in a respectable person of pre-revolutionary days. There was a formal simplicity, too, in his manners, that might have belonged to the same era. He must have been a very handsome man in his youthful days, and is now comely, very erect, moderately tall, not overburdened with flesh; of benign and agreeable address, with a pleasant smile; but his eyes, which are not very large, impressed me as sharp and cold. He did not at all stamp himself upon me as a man of much intellectual or characteristic vigor. I found no such matter in his conversation, nor did I feel it in the indefinable way by which strength always makes itself acknowledged. B------, though, somehow, plain and uncouth, yet vindicates himself as a large man of the world, able, experienced, fit to handle difficult circumstances of life; dignified, too, and able to hold his own in any society. Mr. ------ has a kind of venerable dignity; but yet, if a person could so little respect himself as to insult him, I should say that there was no innate force in Mr. ------ to prevent it. It is very strange that he should have made so considerable a figure in public life, filling offices that the strongest men would have thought worthy of their highest ambition. There must be something shrewd and sly under his apparent simplicity; narrow, cold, selfish, perhaps. I fancied these things in his eyes. He has risen in life by the lack of too powerful qualities, and by a certain tact, which enables him to take advantage of circumstances and opportunities, and avail himself of his unobjectionableness, just at the proper time. I suppose he must be pronounced a humbug, yet almost or quite an innocent one. Yet he is a queer representative to be sent from brawling and boisterous America at such a critical period. It will be funny if England sends him back again, on hearing the news of ------'s dismissal. Mr. ------ gives me the impression of being a very amiable man in his own family. He has brought his son with him, as Secretary of Legation,--a small young man, with a little mustache. It will be a feeble embassy. I called again the next morning, and introduced Mrs. ------, who, I believe, accompanied the ladies about town. This simplicity in Mr. ------'s manner puzzles and teases me; for, in spite of it, there was a sort of self-consciousness, as if he were being looked at,--as if he were having his portrait taken. LONDON. March 22d.--Yesterday,--no, day before yesterday,--I left Liverpool for London by rail, from the Lime Street station. The journey was a dull and monotonous one, as usual. Three passengers were in the same carriage with me at starting; but they dropped off; and from Rugby I was alone. We reached London after ten o'clock; and I took a cab for St. James's Place, No. 32, where I found Mr. B------ expecting me. He had secured a bedroom for me at this lodging-house, and I am to be free of his drawing-room during my stay. We breakfasted at nine, and then walked down to his counting-room, in Old Broad Street, in the city. It being a dim, dingy morning, London looked very dull, the more so as it was Good Friday, and therefore the streets were comparatively thin of people and vehicles, and had on their Sunday aspect. If it were not for the human life and bustle of London, it would be a very stupid place, with a heavy and dreary-monotony of unpicturesque streets. We went up Bolt Court, where Dr. Johnson used to live; and this was the only interesting site we saw. After spending some time in the counting-room, while Mr. ------ read his letters, we went to London Bridge, and took the steamer for Waterloo Bridge, with partly an intent to go to Richmond, but the day was so damp and dusky that we concluded otherwise. So we came home, visiting, on our way, the site of Covent Garden Theatre, lately burnt down. The exterior walls still remain perfect, and look quite solid enough to admit of the interior being renewed, but I believe it is determined to take them down. After a slight lunch and a glass of wine, we walked out, along Piccadilly, and to Hyde Park, which already looks very green, and where there were a good many people walking and driving, and rosy-faced children at play. Somehow or other the shine and charm are gone from London, since my last visit; and I did not very much admire, nor feel much interested in anything. We returned (and I, for my part, was much wearied) in time for dinner at five. The evening was spent at home in various talk, and I find Mr. ------ a very agreeable companion, and a young man of thought and information, with a self-respecting character, and I think him a safe person to live with. This St. James's Place is in close vicinity to St. James's Palace, the gateway and not very splendid front of which we can see from the corner. The club-houses and the best life of the town are near at hand. Addison, before his marriage, used to live in St. James's Place, and the house where Mr. Rogers recently died is up the court, not that this latter residence excites much interest in my mind. I remember nothing else very noteworthy in this first day's experience, except that on Sir Watkins Williams Wynn's door, not far from this house, I saw a gold knocker, which is said to be unscrewed every night lest it should be stolen. I don't know whether it be really gold; for it did not look so bright as the generality of brass ones. I received a very good letter from J----- this morning. He was to go to Mr. Bright's at Sandhays yesterday, and remain till Monday. After writing the above, I walked along the Strand, Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill and Cheapside to Wood Street,--a very narrow street, insomuch that one has to press close against the wall to escape being grazed when a cart is passing. At No. 77 I found the place of business of Mr. Bennoch, who came to see me at Rock Ferry with Mr. Jerdan, not long after my arrival in England. I found him in his office; but he did not at first recognize me, so much stouter have I grown during my residence in England,--a new man, as he says. Mr. Bennoch is a kindly, frank, very good man, and was bounteous in his plans for making my time pass pleasantly. We talked of ------, from whom he has just received a letter, and who says he will fight for England in case of a war. I let Bennoch know that I, at least, should take the other side. After arranging to go to Greenwich Fair, and afterwards to dine with Bennoch, I left him and went to Mr. ------'s office, and afterwards strayed forth again, and crossed London Bridge. Thence I rambled rather drearily along through several shabby and uninteresting streets on the other side of the Thames; and the dull streets in London are really the dullest and most disheartening in the world. By and by I found my way to Southwark Bridge, and so crossed to Upper Thames Street, which was likewise very stupid, though I believe Clenman's paternal house in "Little Dorrit" stands thereabouts. . . . . Next, I got into Ludgate Hill, near St. Paul's, and being quite foot-weary, I took a Paddington omnibus, and rode up into Regent Street, whence I came home. March 24th.--Yesterday being a clear day for England, we determined upon an expedition to Hampton Court; so walked out betimes towards the Waterloo station; but first crossed the Thames by Westminster Bridge, and went to Lambeth Palace. It stands immediately on the bank of the river, not far above the bridge. We merely walked round it, and saw only an old stone tower or two, partially renewed with brick, and a high connecting wall, within which appeared gables and other portions of the palace, all of an ancient plan and venerable aspect, though evidently much patched up and restored in the course of the many ages since its foundation. There is likewise a church, part of which looks old, connected with the palace. The streets surrounding it have many gabled houses, and a general look of antiquity, more than some other parts of London. We then walked to the Waterloo station, on the same side of the river; and at twenty minutes past one took the rail for Hampton Court, distant some twelve or fifteen miles. On arriving at the terminus, we beheld Hampton Palace, on the other side of the Thames,--an extensive structure, with a front of red brick, long and comparatively low, with the great Hall which Wolsey built rising high above the rest. We crossed the river (which is here but a narrow stream) by a stone bridge. The entrance to the palace is about half a quarter of a mile from the railway, through arched gates, which give a long perspective into the several quadrangles. These quadrangles, one beyond another, are paved with stone, and surrounded by the brick walls of the palace, the many windows of which look in upon them. Soldiers were standing sentinel at the exterior gateways, and at the various doors of the palace; but they admitted everybody without question and without fee. Policemen, or other attendants, were in most of the rooms, but interfered with no one; so that, in this respect, it was one of the pleasantest places to visit that I have found in England. A good many people, of all classes, were strolling through the apartments. We first went into Wolsey's great Hall, up a most spacious staircase, the walls and ceiling of which were covered with an allegorical fresco by Verrio, wonderfully bright and well preserved; and without caring about the design or execution, I greatly liked the brilliancy of the colors. The great Hall is a most noble and beautiful room, above a hundred feet long and sixty high and broad. Most of the windows are of stained or painted glass, with elaborate designs, whether modern or ancient I know not, but certainly brilliant in effect. The walls, from the floor to perhaps half their height, are covered with antique tapestry, which, though a good deal faded, still retains color enough to be a very effective adornment, and to give an idea of how rich a mode of decking a noble apartment this must have been. The subjects represented were from Scripture, and the figures seemed colossal. On looking closely at this tapestry, you could see that it was thickly interwoven with threads of gold, still glistening. The windows, except one or two that are long, do not descend below the top of this tapestry, and are therefore twenty or thirty feet above the floor; and this manner of lighting a great room seems to add much to the impressiveness of the enclosed space. The roof is very magnificent, of carved oak, intricately and elaborately arched, and still as perfect to all appearance as when it was first made. There are banners, so fresh in their hues, and so untattered, that I think they must be modern, suspended along beneath the cornice of the hall, and exhibiting Wolsey's arms and badges. On the whole, this is a perfect sight, in its way. Next to the hall there is a withdrawing-room, more than seventy feet long, and twenty-five feet high. The walls of this apartment, too, are covered with ancient tapestry, of allegorical design, but more faded than that of the hall. There is also a stained-glass window; and a marble statue of Venus on a couch, very lean and not very beautiful; and some cartoons of Carlo Cignani, which have left no impression on my memory; likewise, a large model of a splendid palace of some East Indian nabob. I am not sure, after all, that Verrio's frescoed grand staircase was not in another part of the palace; for I remember that we went from it through an immensely long suite of apartments, beginning with the Guard-chamber. All these rooms are wainscoted with oak, which looks new, being, I believe, of the date of King William's reign. Over many of the doorways, or around the panels, there are carvings in wood by Gibbons, representing wreaths of flowers, fruit, and foliage, the most perfectly beautiful that can be conceived; and the wood being of a light hue (lime-wood, I believe), it has a fine effect on the dark oak panelling. The apartments open one beyond another, in long, long, long succession,-- rooms of state, and kings' and queens' bedchambers, and royal closets bigger than ordinary drawing-rooms, so that the whole suite must be half a mile, or it may be a mile, in extent. From the windows you get views of the palace-grounds, broad and stately walks, and groves of trees, and lawns, and fountains, and the Thames and adjacent country beyond. The walls of all these rooms are absolutely covered with pictures, including works of all the great masters, which would require long study before a new eye could enjoy them; and, seeing so many of them at once, and having such a nothing of time to look at them all, I did not even try to see any merit in them. Vandyke's picture of Charles I., on a white horse beneath an arched gateway, made more impression on me than any other, and as I recall it now, it seems as if I could see the king's noble, melancholy face, and armed form, remembered not in picture, but in reality. All Sir Peter Lely's lewd women, and Kneller's too, were in these rooms; and the jolly old stupidity of George III. and his family, many times repeated; and pictures by Titian, Rubens, and other famous hands, intermixed with many by West, which provokingly drew the eye away from their betters. It seems to me that a picture, of all other things, should be by itself; whereas people always congregate them in galleries. To endeavor really to see them, so arranged, is like trying to read a hundred poems at once,--a most absurd attempt. Of all these pictures, I hardly recollect any so well as a ridiculous old travesty of the Resurrection and Last Judgment, where the dead people are represented as coming to life at the sound of the trumpet,--the flesh re-establishing itself on the bones, one man picking up his skull, and putting it on his shoulders,--and all appearing greatly startled, only half awake, and at a loss what to do next. Some devils are dragging away the damned by the heels and on sledges, and above sits the Redeemer and some angelic and sainted people, looking complacently down upon the scene! We saw, in one of the rooms, the funeral canopy beneath which the Duke of Wellington lay in state,--very gorgeous, of black velvet embroidered with silver and adorned with escutcheons; also, the state bed of Queen Anne, broad, and of comfortable appearance, though it was a queen's,--the materials of the curtains, quilt, and furniture, red velvet, still brilliant in hue; also King William's bed and his queen Mary's, with enormously tall posts, and a good deal the worse for time and wear. The last apartment we entered was the gallery containing Raphael's cartoons, which I shall not pretend to admire nor to understand. I can conceive, indeed, that there is a great deal of expression in them, and very probably they may, in every respect, deserve all their fame; but on this point I can give no testimony. To my perception they were a series of very much faded pictures, dimly seen (for this part of the palace was now in shadow), and representing figures neither graceful nor beautiful, nor, as far as I could discern, particularly grand. But I came to them with a wearied mind and eye; and also I had a previous distaste to them through the medium of engravings. But what a noble palace, nobly enriched, is this Hampton Court! The English government does well to keep it up, and to admit the people freely into it, for it is impossible for even a Republican not to feel something like awe--at least a profound respect--for all this state, and for the institutions which are here represented, the sovereigns whose moral magnificence demands such a residence; and its permanence, too, enduring from age to age, and each royal generation adding new splendors to those accumulated by their predecessors. If one views the matter in another way, to be sure, we may feel indignant that such dolt-heads, rowdies, and every way mean people, as many of the English sovereigns have been, should inhabit these stately halls, contrasting its splendors with their littleness; but, on the whole, I readily consented within myself to be impressed for a moment with the feeling that royalty has its glorious side. By no possibility can we ever have such a place in America. Leaving Hampton Court at about four o'clock, we walked through Bushy Park,--a beautiful tract of ground, well wooded with fine old trees, green with moss, all up their twisted trunks,--through several villages, Twickenham among the rest, to Richmond. Before entering Twickenham, we passed a lath-and-plaster castellated edifice, much time-worn, and with the plaster peeling off from the laths, which I fancied might be Horace Walpole's toy-castle. Not that it really could have been; but it was like the image, wretchedly mean and shabby, which one forms of such a place, in its decay. From Hampton Court to the Star and Garter, on Richmond Hill, is about six miles. After glancing cursorily at the prospect, which is famous, and doubtless very extensive and beautiful if the English mistiness would only let it be seen, we took a good dinner in the large and handsome coffee-room of the hotel, and then wended our way to the rail-station, and reached home between eight and nine o'clock. We must have walked not far from fifteen miles in the course of the day. March 25th.--Yesterday, at one o'clock, I called by appointment on Mr. Bennoch, and lunched with him and his partners and clerks. This lunch seems to be a legitimate continuation of the old London custom of the master living at the same table with his apprentices. The meal was a dinner for the latter class. The table was set in an upper room of the establishment; and the dinner was a large joint of roast mutton, to which ten people sat down, including a German silk-merchant as a guest besides myself. Mr. Bennoch was at the head of the table, and one of his partners at the foot. For the apprentices there was porter to drink, and for the partners and guests some sparkling Moselle, and we had a sufficient dinner with agreeable conversation. Bennoch said that G. G------ used to be very fond of these lunches while in England. After lunch, Mr. Bennoch took me round the establishment, which is quite extensive, occupying, I think, two or three adjacent houses, and requiring more. He showed me innumerable packages of ribbons, and other silk manufactures, and all sorts of silks, from the raw thread to the finest fabrics. He then offered to show me some of the curiosities of old London, and took me first to Barber-Surgeons' Hall, in Monkwell Street. It was at this place that the first anatomical studies were instituted in England. At the time of its foundation, the Barbers and Surgeons were one company; but the latter, I believe, are now the exclusive possessors of the Hall. The edifice was built by Inigo Jones, and the principal room is a fine one, with finely carved wood-work on the ceiling and walls. There is a skylight in the roof, letting down a sufficient radiance on the long table beneath, where, no doubt, dead people have been dissected, and where, for many generations, it has been the custom of the society to hold its stated feasts. In this room hangs the most valuable picture by Holbein now in existence, representing the company of Barber-Surgeons kneeling before Henry VIII., and receiving their charter from his hands. The picture is about six feet square. The king is dressed in scarlet, and quite fulfils one's idea of his aspect. The Barber-Surgeons, all portraits, are an assemblage of grave-looking personages, in dark costumes. The company has refused five thousand pounds for this unique picture; and the keeper of the Hall told me that Sir Robert Peel had offered a thousand pounds for liberty to take out only one of the heads, that of a person named Pen, he conditioning to have a perfect fac-simile painted in. I did not see any merit in this head over the others. Beside this great picture hung a most exquisite portrait by Vandyke; an elderly, bearded man, of noble and refined countenance, in a rich, grave dress. There are many other pictures of distinguished men of the company, in long past times, and of some of the kings and great people of England, all darkened with age, and producing a rich and sombre effect, in this stately old hall. Nothing is more curious in London than these ancient localities and customs of the City Companies,--each trade and profession having its own hall, and its own institutions. The keeper next showed us the plate which is used at the banquets. I should like to be present at one of these feasts. I saw also an old vellum manuscript, in black-letter, which appeared to be a record of the proceedings of the company; and at the end there were many pages ruled for further entries, but none had been made in the volume for the last three or four hundred years. I think it was in the neighborhood of Barber-Surgeons' Hall, which stands amid an intricacy of old streets, where I should never have thought of going, that I saw a row of ancient almshouses, of Elizabethan structure. They looked wofully dilapidated. In front of one of them was an inscription, setting forth that some worthy alderman had founded this establishment for the support of six poor men; and these six, or their successors, are still supported, but no larger number, although the value of the property left for that purpose would now suffice for a much larger number. Then Mr. Bennoch took me to Cripplegate, and, entering the door of a house, which proved to be a sexton's residence, we passed by a side entrance into the church-porch of St. Giles, of which the sexton's house seems to be an indivisible contiguity. This is a very ancient church, that escaped the great fire of London. The galleries are supported by arches, the pillars of which are cased high upwards with oak; but all this oaken work and the oaken pews are comparatively modern, though so solid and dark that they agree well enough with the general effect of the church. Proceeding to the high altar, we found it surrounded with many very curious old monuments and memorials, some in carved oak, some in marble; grim old worthies, mostly in the costume of Queen Elizabeth's time. Here was the bust of Speed, the historian; here was the monument of Fox, author of The Book of Martyrs. High up on the wall, beside the altar, there was a black wooden coffin, and a lady sitting upright within it, with her hands clasped in prayer, it being her awakening moment at the Resurrection. Thence we passed down the centre aisle, and about midway we stopped before a marble bust, fixed against one of the pillars. And this was the bust of Milton! Yes, and Milton's bones lay beneath our feet; for he was buried under the pew over the door of which I was leaning. The bust, I believe, is the original of the one in Westminster Abbey. Treading over the tombstones of the old citizens of London, both in the aisles and the porch, and within doors and without, we went into the churchyard, one side of which is fenced in by a portion of London Wall, very solid, and still high, though the accumulation of human dust has covered much of its base. This is the most considerable portion now remaining of the ancient wall of London. The sexton now asked us to go into the tower of the church, that he might show us the oldest part of the structure, and we did so, and, looking down from the organ gallery, I saw a woman sitting alone in the church, waiting for the rector, whose ghostly consolation, I suppose, she needed. This old church-tower was formerly lighted by three large windows,--one of them of very great size; but the thrifty church-wardens of a generation or two ago had built them up with brick, to the great disfigurement of the church. The sexton called my attention to the organ-pipe, which is of sufficient size, I believe, to admit three men. From Cripplegate we went to Milton Street (as it is now called), through which we walked for a very excellent reason; for this is the veritable Grub Street, where my literary kindred of former times used to congregate. It is still a shabby-looking street, with old-fashioned houses, and inhabited chiefly by people of the poorer classes, though not by authors. Next we went to Old Broad Street, and, being joined by Mr. B------, we set off for London Bridge, turning out of our direct course to see London stone in Watling Street. This famous stone appears now to be built into the wall of St. Swithin's Church, and is so encased that you can only see and touch the top of it through a circular hole. There are one or two long cuts or indentations in the top, which are said to have been made by Jack Cade's sword when he struck it against the stone. If so, his sword was of a redoubtable temper. Judging by what I saw, London stone was a rudely shaped and unhewn post. At the London Bridge station, we took the rail for Greenwich, and, it being only about five miles off, we were not long in reaching the town. It was Easter Monday; and during the first three days of Easter, from time immemorial, a fair has been held at Greenwich, and this was what we had come to see. [This fair is described in Our Old Home, in "A Loudon Suburb."] Reaching Mr. Bennoch's house, we found it a pretty and comfortable one, and adorned with many works of art; for he seems to be a patron of art and literature, and a warm-hearted man, of active benevolence and vivid sympathies in many directions. His face shows this. I have never seen eyes of a warmer glow than his. On the walls of one room there were a good many sketches by Haydon, and several artists' proofs of fine engravings, presented by persons to whom he had been kind. In the drawing-room there was a marble bust of Mrs. ------, and one, I think, of himself, and one of the Queen, which Mr. Bennoch said was very good, and it is unlike any other I have seen. It is intended as a gift, from a number of subscribers, to Miss Nightingale. Likewise a crayon sketch of ------, looking rather morbid and unwholesome, as the poor lady really is. Also, a small picture of Mr. Bennoch in a military dress, as an officer, probably of city-horse. By and by came in a young gentleman, son of Haydon, the painter of high art, and one or two ladies staying in the house, and anon Mrs. ------. And so we went in to dinner. Bennoch is an admirable host, and warms his guests like a household fire by the influence of his kindly face and glowing eyes, and by such hospitable demeanor as best suits this aspect. After the cloth was removed, came in Mr. Newton Crosland, a young man who once called on me in Liverpool,--the husband of a literary lady, formerly Camilla Toulmin. The lady herself was coming to spend the evening. The husband (and I presume the wife) is a decided believer in spiritual manifestations. We talked of politics and spiritualism and literature; and before we rose from table, Mr. Bennoch drank the health of the ladies, and especially of Mrs. ------, in terms very kind towards her and me. I responded in her behalf as well as I could, and left it to Mr. Bowman, as a bachelor, to respond for the ladies generally,--which he did briefly, toasting Mrs. B------. We had heard the sound of the piano in the drawing-room for some time, and now adjourning thither, I had the pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Newton Crosland,--a rather tall, thin, pale, and lady-like person, looking, I thought, of a sensitive character. She expressed in a low tone and quiet way great delight at seeing my distinguished self! for she is a vast admirer of The Scarlet Letter, and especially of the character of Hester; indeed, I remember seeing a most favorable criticism of the book from her pen, in one of the London magazines. . . . . At eleven o'clock Mrs. Crosland entered the tiniest pony-carriage, and set forth for her own residence, with a lad walking at the pony's head, and carrying a lantern. . . . . March 26th.--Yesterday was not a very eventful day. After writing in my journal I went out at twelve, and visited, for the first time, the National Gallery. It is of no use for me to criticise pictures, or to try to describe them, but I have an idea that I might acquire a taste, with a little attention to the subject, for I find I already begin to prefer some pictures to others. This is encouraging. Of those that I saw yesterday, I think I liked several by Murillo best. There were a great many people in the gallery, almost entirely of the middle, with a few of the lower classes; and I should think that the effect of the exhibition must at least tend towards refinement. Nevertheless, the only emotion that I saw displayed was in broad grins on the faces of a man and two women, at sight of a small picture of Venus, with a Satyr peeping at her with an expression of gross animal delight and merriment. Without being aware of it, this man and the two women were of that same Satyr breed. If I lived in London, I would endeavor to educate myself in this and other galleries of art; but as the case stands, it would be of no use. I saw two of Turner's landscapes; but did not see so much beauty in them as in some of Claude's. A view of the grand canal in Venice, by Canaletto, seemed to me wonderful,--absolutely perfect,--a better reality, for I could see the water of the canal moving and dimpling; and the palaces and buildings on each side were quite as good in their way. Leaving the gallery, I walked down into the city, and passed through Smithfield, where I glanced at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. . . . . Then I went into St. Paul's, and walked all round the great cathedral, looking, I believe, at every monument on the floor. There is certainly nothing very wonderful in any of them, and I do wish it would not so generally happen that English warriors go into battle almost nude; at least, we must suppose so, from their invariably receiving their death-wounds in that condition. I will not believe that a sculptor or a painter is a man of genius unless he can wake the nobleness of his subject, illuminate and transfigure any given pattern of coat and breeches. Nevertheless, I never go into St. Paul's without being impressed anew with the grandeur of the edifice, and the general effect of these same groups of statuary ranged in their niches and at the bases of the pillars as adornments of the cathedral. Coming homeward, I went into the enclosure of the Temple, and near the entrance saw "Dr. Johnson's staircase" printed over a doorway; so I not only looked in, but went up the first flight, of some broad, well-worn stairs, passing my hand over a heavy, ancient, broken balustrade, on which, no doubt, Johnson's hand had often rested. It was here that Boswell used to visit him, in their early acquaintance. Before my lunch, I had gone into Bolt Court, where he died. This morning there have been letters from Mr. Wilding, enclosing an invitation to me to be one of the stewards of the anniversary dinner of the Literary Fund. No, I thank you, gentlemen! March 27th.--Yesterday I went out at about twelve, and visited the British Museum; an exceedingly tiresome affair. It quite crushes a person to see so much at once, and I wandered from hall to hall with a weary and heavy heart, wishing (Heaven forgive me!) that the Elgin marbles and the frieze of the Parthenon were all burnt into lime, and that the granite Egyptian statues were hewn and squared into building-stones, and that the mummies had all turned to dust two thousand years ago; and, in fine, that all the material relics of so many successive ages had disappeared with the generations that produced them. The present is burdened too much with the past. We have not time, in our earthly existence, to appreciate what is warm with life, and immediately around us; yet we heap up these old shells, out of which human life has long emerged, casting them off forever. I do not see how future ages are to stagger onward under all this dead weight, with the additions that will be continually made to it. After leaving the Museum, I went to see Bennoch, and arrange with him our expedition of to-day; and he read me a letter from Topper, very earnestly inviting me to come and spend a night or two with him. Then I wandered about the city, and was lost in the vicinity of Holborn; so that for a long while I was under a spell of bewilderment, and kept returning, in the strangest way, to the same point in Lincoln's Inn Fields. . . . . Mr. Bowman and I went to the Princess's Theatre in the evening. Charles Kean performed in Louis XI. very well indeed,--a thoughtful and highly skilled actor,--much improved since I saw him, many years ago, in America. ALDERSHOTT CAMP. April 1st.--After my last date on Thursday, I visited the National Gallery. At three o'clock, having packed a travelling-bag, I went to Bennoch's office, and lunched with him; and at about five we took the rail from the Waterloo station for Aldershott Camp. At Tamborough we were cordially received by Lieutenant Shaw, of the North Cork Rifles, and were escorted by him, in a fly, to his quarters. The camp is a large city, composed of numberless wooden barracks, arranged in regular streets, on a wide, bleak heath, with an extensive and dreary prospect on all sides. Lieutenant Shaw assigned me one room in his hut, and Bennoch another, and made us as comfortable as kind hospitality could; but the huts are very small, and the rooms have no size at all; neither are they air-tight, and the sharp wind whistles in at the crevices; and, on the whole, of all discomfortable places, I am inclined to reckon Aldershott Camp the most so. I suppose the government has placed the camp on that windy heath, and built such wretched huts, for the very purpose of rendering life as little desirable as may be to the soldiers, so that they should throw it away the more willingly. At seven o'clock we dined at the regimental mess, with the officers of the North Cork. The mess-room is by far the most endurable place to be found in camp. The hut is large, and the mess-room is capable of receiving between thirty and forty guests, besides the officers of the regiment, when a great dinner-party is given. As I saw it, the whole space was divided into a dining-room and two anterooms by red curtains drawn across; and the second anteroom seems to be a general rendezvous for the officers, where they meet at all times, and talk, or look over the newspapers and the army-register, which constitute the chief of their reading. The Colonel and Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment received Bennoch and me with great cordiality, as did all the other officers, and we sat down to a splendid dinner. All the officers of the regiment are Irishmen, and all of them, I believe, men of fortune; and they do what they can towards alleviating their hardships in camp by eating and drinking of the best that can be obtained of all good things. The table service and plate were as fine as those in any nobleman's establishment; the dishes numerous and admirably got up; and the wines delectable and genuine,--as they had need to be; for there is a great consumption of them. I liked these Irish officers exceedingly;--not that it would be possible to live long among them without finding existence a bore; for they have no thought, no intellectual movement, no ideas, that I was aware of, beyond horses, dogs, drill, garrisons, field-days, whist, wine, cigars, and all that kind of thing; yet they were really gentlemen living on the best terms with one another,--courteous, kind, most hospitable, with a rich Irish humor, softened down by social refinements,--not too refined either, but a most happy sort of behavior, as natural as that of children, and with a safe freedom that made one feel entirely at my ease. I think well of the Irish gentlemen, for their sakes; and I believe I might fairly attribute to Lieutenant-Colonel Stowell (next whom I sat) a higher and finer cultivation than the above description indicates. Indeed, many of them may have been capable of much more intellectual intercourse than that of the mess-table; but I suppose it would not have been in keeping with their camp life, nor suggested by it. Several of the elder officers were men who had been long in the army; and the Colonel--a bluff, hearty old soldier, with a profile like an eagle's head and beak--was a veteran of the Peninsula, and had a medal on his breast with clasps for three famous battles besides that of Waterloo. The regimental band played during dinner, and the Lieutenant-Colonel apologized to me for its not playing "Hail Columbia," the tune not coning within their musical accomplishments. It was no great matter, however; for I should not have distinguished it from any other tune; but, to do me what honor was possible, in the way of national airs, the band was ordered to play a series of negro melodies, and I was entirely satisfied. It is really funny that the "wood-notes wild" of those poor black slaves should have been played in a foreign laud as an honorable compliment to one of their white countrymen. After dinner we played whist, and then had some broiled bones for supper, and finally went home to our respective huts not much earlier than four o'clock. But I don't wonder these gentlemen sit up as long as they can keep their eyes open; for never was there anything so utterly comfortless as their camp-beds. They are really worse than the bed of honor, no wider, no softer, no warmer, and affording not nearly so sound sleep. Indeed, I got hardly any sleep at all, and almost as soon as I did close my eyes, the bugles sounded, and the drums beat reveille, and from that moment the camp was all astir; so I pretty soon uprose, and went to the mess-room for my breakfast, feeling wonderfully fresh and well, considering what my night had been. Long before this, however, this whole regiment, and all the other regiments, marched off to take part in a general review, and Bennoch and I followed, as soon as we had eaten a few mutton-chops. It was a bright, sunshiny day; but with a strong east-wind, as piercing and pitiless as ever blew; and this wide, undulating plain of Aldershott seemed just the place where the east-wind was at home. Still, it acted, on the whole, like an invigorating cordial; and whereas in pleasanter circumstances I should have lain down, and gone to sleep, I now felt as if I could do without sleep for a month. In due time we found out the place of the North Cork Regiment in the general battle-array, and were greeted as old comrades by the Colonel and other officers. Soon the soldiers (who, when we first reached them, were strolling about, or standing at ease) were called into order; and anon we saw a group of mounted officers riding along the lines, and among them a gentleman in a civilian's round hat, and plain frock and trousers, riding on a white horse. This group of riders turned the front of the regiment, and then passed along the rear, coming close to where we stood; and as the plainly dressed gentleman rode by, he bent towards me, and I tried to raise my hat, but did not succeed very well, because the fierce wind had compelled me to jam it tightly upon my head. The Duke of Cambridge (for this was he) is a comely-looking gentlemanly man, of bluff English face, with a great deal of brown beard about it. Though a pretty tall man, he appears, on horseback, broad and round in proportion to his height. I looked at him with a certain sort of interest, and a feeling of kindness; for one does feel kindly to whatever human being is anywise marked out from the rest, unless it be by his disagreeable qualities. The troops, from twelve to fifteen thousand, now fell into marching order, and went to attack a wood, where we were to suppose the enemy to be stationed. The sham-fight seemed to me rather clumsily managed, and without any striking incident or result. The officers had prophesied, the night before, that General K------, commanding in the camp, would make a muddle of it; and probably he did. After the review, the Duke of Cambridge with his attendant officers took their station, and all the regiments marched in front of him, saluting as they passed. As each colonel rode by, and as the banner of each regiment was lowered, the Duke lifted his hat. The most splendid effect of this parade was the gleam of the sun upon the long line of bayonets,--the sheen of all that steel appearing like a wavering fringe of light upon the dark masses of troops below. It was very fine. But I was glad when all was done, and I could go back to the mess-room, whither I carried an excellent appetite for luncheon. After this we walked about the camp,--looked at some model tents, inspected the arrangements and modes of living in the huts of the privates; and thus gained more and more adequate ideas of the vile uncomfortableness of a military life. Finally, I went to the anteroom and turned over the regimental literature,--a peerage and baronetage,--an army and militia register, a number of the Sporting Magazine, and one of the United Service, while Bennoch took another walk. Before dinner we both tried to catch a little nap by way of compensation for last night's deficiencies; but, for my part, the attempt was fruitless. The dinner was as splendid and as agreeable as that of the evening before; and I believe it was nearly two o'clock when Bennoch and I bade farewell to our kind entertainers. For my part I fraternized with these military gentlemen in a way that augurs the very best things for the future peace of the two countries. They all expressed the warmest sympathies towards America and it was easy to judge from their conversation that there is no real friendliness on the part of the military towards the French. The old antipathy is just as strong as ever,--stronger than ever, perhaps, on account of the comparatively more brilliant success of the French in this Russian war. So, with most Christian sentiments of peace and brotherly love, we returned to our hut, and lay down, each in his narrow bed. Early in the morning the drums and bugles began the usual bedevilment; and shortly after six I dressed, and we had breakfast at the mess-room, shook hands with Lieutenant Shaw (our more especial host), and drove off to the railway station at Ash. I know not whether I have mentioned that the villages neighboring to the camp have suffered terribly as regards morality from the vicinity of the soldiers. Quiet old English towns, that till within a little time ago had kept their antique simplicity and innocence, have now no such thing as female virtue in them, so far as the lower classes are concerned. This is expressing the matter too strongly, no doubt; but there is too much truth in it, nevertheless; and one of the officers remarked that even ladies of respectability had grown much more free in manners and conversation than at first. I have heard observations similar to this from a Nova-Scotian, in reference to the moral influence of soldiers when stationed in the provinces. WOOTON. Wooton stands in a hollow, near the summit of one of the long swells that here undulate over the face of the country. There is a good deal of wood behind it, as should be the case with the residence of the author of the Sylva; but I believe few, if any, of these trees are known to have been planted by John Evelyn, or even to have been coeval with his time. The house is of brick, partly ancient, and consists of a front and two projecting wings, with a porch and entrance in the centre. It has a desolate, meagre aspect, and needs something to give it life and stir and jollity. The present proprietor is of the old Evelyn family, and is now one of the two members of Parliament for Surrey; but he is a very shy and retiring man, unmarried, sees little company, and seems either not to know how to make himself comfortable or not to care about it. A servant told us that Mr. ------ had just gone out, but Tupper, who is apparently on intimate terms with him, thought it best that we should go into the house, while he went in search of the master. So the servant ushered us through a hall,--where were many family pictures by Lely, and, for aught I know, by Vandyke, and by Kneller, and other famous painters,--up a grand staircase, and into the library, the inner room of which contained the ponderous volumes which John Evelyn used to read. Nevertheless, it was a room of most barren aspect, without a carpet on the floor, with pine bookcases, with a common whitewashed ceiling, with no luxurious study-chairs, and without a fire. There was an open folio on the table, and a sheet of manuscript that appeared to have been recently written. I took down a book from the shelves (a volume of annals, connected with English history), and Tupper afterwards told us that this one single volume, for its rarity, was worth either two or three hundred pounds. Against one of the windows of this library there grows a magnolia-tree, with a very large stem, and at least fifty years old. Mrs. Tupper and I waited a good while, and then Bennoch and Tupper came back, without having found Mr. ------. Tupper wished very much to show the prayer-book used by King Charles at his execution, and some curious old manuscript volumes; but the servant said that his master always kept these treasures locked up, and trusted the key to nobody. We therefore had to take our leave without seeing them; and I have not often entered a house that one feels to be more forlorn than Wooton,--although we did have a glimpse of a dining-room, with a table laid for three or four guests, and looking quite brilliant with plate and glass and snowy napery. There was a fire, too, in this one room. Mr. ------ is making extensive alterations in the house, or has recently done so, and this is perhaps one reason of its ungenial meagreness and lack of finish. Before our departure from Wooton, Tupper had asked me to leave my card for Mr. ------; but I had no mind to overstep any limit of formal courtesy in dealing with an Englishman, and therefore declined. Tupper, however, on his own responsibility, wrote his name, Bennoch's, and mine on a piece of paper, and told the servant to show them to Mr. ------. We soon had experience of the good effect of this; for we had scarcely got back before somebody drove up to Tupper's door, and one of the girls, looking out, exclaimed that there was Mr. ------ himself, and another gentleman. He had set out, the instant he heard of our call, to bring the three precious volumes for me to see. This surely was most kind; a kindness which I should never have dreamed of expecting from a shy, retiring man like Mr. ------. So he and his friend were ushered into the dining-room, and introduced. Mr. ------ is a young-looking man, dark, with a mustache, rather small, and though he has the manners of a man who has seen the world, it evidently requires an effort in him to speak to anybody; and I could see his whole person slightly writhing itself, as it were, while he addressed me. This is strange in a man of his public position, member for the county, necessarily mixed up with life in many forms, the possessor of sixteen thousand pounds a year, and the representative of an ancient name. Nevertheless, I liked him, and felt as if I could become intimately acquainted with him, if circumstances were favorable; but, at a brief interview like this, it was hopeless to break through two great reserves; so I talked more with his companion--a pleasant young man, fresh from college, I should imagine--than with Mr. ------ himself. The three books were really of very great interest. One was an octavo volume of manuscript in John Evelyn's own hand, the beginning of his published diary, written as distinctly as print, in a small, clear character. It can be read just as easily as any printed book. Another was a Church of England prayer-book, which King Charles used on the scaffold, and which was stained with his sacred blood, and underneath are two or three lines in John Evelyn's hand, certifying this to be the very book. It is an octavo, or small folio, and seems to have been very little used, scarcely opened, except in one spot; its leaves elsewhere retaining their original freshness and elasticity. It opens most readily at the commencement of the common service; and there, on the left-hand page, is a discoloration, of a yellowish or brownish hue, about two thirds of an inch large, which, two hundred years ago and a little more, was doubtless red. For on that page had fallen a drop of King Charles's blood. The other volume was large, and contained a great many original letters, written by the king during his troubles. I had not time to examine them with any minuteness, and remember only one document, which Mr. ------ pointed out, and which had a strange pathos and pitifulness in it. It was a sort of due-bill, promising to pay a small sum for beer, which had been supplied to his Majesty, so soon as God should enable him, or the distracted circumstances of his kingdom make it possible,--or some touching and helpless expression of that kind. Prince Hal seemed to consider it an unworthy matter, that a great prince should think of "that poor creature, small beer," at all; but that a great prince should not be able to pay for it is far worse. Mr. ------ expressed his regret that I was not staying longer in this part of the country, as he would gladly have seen me at Wooten, and he succeeded in saying something about my books; and I hope I partly succeeded in showing him that I was very sensible of his kindness in letting me see those relics. I cannot say whether or no I expressed it sufficiently. It is better with such a man, or, indeed, with any man, to say too little than too much; and, in fact, it would have been indecorous in me to take too much of his kindness to my own share, Bennoch being likewise in question. We had a cup of coffee, and then took our leave; Tupper accompanying us part way down the village street, and bidding us an affectionate farewell. BATTLE ABBEY. Bennoch and I recommenced our travels, and, changing from one railway to another, reached Tunbridge Wells at nine or ten in the evening. . . . . The next day was spent at Tunbridge Wells, which is famous for a chalybeate spring, and is a watering-place of note, most healthily situated on a high, breezy hill, with many pleasant walks in the neighborhood. . . . . From Tunbridge Wells we transported ourselves to Battle,--the village in which is Battle Abbey. It is a large village, with many antique houses and some new ones; and in its principal street, on one side, with a wide, green space before it, you see the gray, embattled, outer wall, and great, square, battlemented entrance tower (with a turret at each corner), of the ancient Abbey. It is the perfect reality of a Gothic battlement and gateway, just as solid and massive as when it was first built, though hoary and venerable with the many intervening centuries. There are only two days in the week on which visitors are allowed entrance, and this was not one of them. Nevertheless, Bennoch was determined to get in, and he wished me to send Lady Webster my card with his own; but this I utterly refused, for the honor of America and for my own honor; because I will not do anything to increase the reputation we already have as a very forward people. Bennoch, however, called at a bookshop on the other side of the street, near the gateway of the castle; and making friends, as he has a marvellous tact in doing, with the bookseller, the latter offered to take in his card to the housekeeper, and see if Lady Webster would not relax her rule in our favor. Meanwhile, we went into the old church of Battle, which was built in Norman times, though subsequently to the Abbey. As we entered the church door, the bell rang for joy at the news of peace, which had just been announced by the London papers. The church has been whitewashed in modern times, and does not look so venerable as it ought, with its arches and pillared aisles. In the chancel stands a marble tomb, heavy, rich, and elaborate, on the top of which lie the broken-nosed statues of Sir Anthony Browne and his lady, who were the Lord and Lady of Battle Abbey in Henry VIII.'s time. The knight is in armor, and the lady in stately garb, and (save for their broken noses) they are in excellent preservation. The pavement of the chancel and aisles is all laid with tombstones, and on two or three of these there were engraved brasses, representing knights in armor, and churchmen, with inscriptions in Latin. Some of them are very old. On the walls, too, there are various monuments, principally of dignitaries connected with the Abbey. Two hatchments, in honor of persons recently dead, were likewise suspended in the chancel. The best pew of the church is, of course, that of the Webster family. It is curtained round, carpeted, furnished with chairs and footstools, and more resembles a parlor than a pew; especially as there is a fireplace in one of the pointed archways, which I suppose has been bricked up in order to form it. On the opposite side of the aisle is the pew of some other magnate, containing a stove. The rest of the parishioners have to keep themselves warm with the fervor of their own piety. I have forgotten what else was interesting, except that we were shown a stone coffin, recently dug up, in which was hollowed a place for the head of the corpse. Returning to the bookshop, we found that Lady Webster had sent her compliments, and would be very happy to have us see the Abbey. How thoroughly kind these English people can be when they like, and how often they like to be so! We lost no time in ringing the bell at the arched entrance, under the great tower, and were admitted by an old woman who lives, I believe, in the thickness of the wall. She told us her room used to be the prison of the Abbey, and under the great arch she pointed to a projecting beam, where she said criminals used to be hanged. At two of the intersecting points of the arches, which form the roof of the gateway, were carved faces of stone, said to represent King Harold and William the Conqueror. The exterior wall, of which this tower is the gateway, extends far along the village street, and encloses a very large space, within which stands the mansion, quite secluded from unauthorized visitors, or even from the sight of those without, unless it be at very distant eyeshot. We rang at the principal door of the edifice (it is under a deep arch, in the Norman style, but of modern date), and a footman let its in, and then delivered us over to a respectable old lady in black. She was a Frenchwoman by birth, but had been very long in the service of the family, and spoke English almost without an accent; her French blood being indicated only by her thin and withered aspect, and a greater gentility of manner than would have been seen in an Englishwoman of similar station. She ushered us first into a grand and noble hall, the arched and carved oaken roof of which ascended into the gable. It was nearly sixty feet long, and its height equal to its length,--as stately a hall, I should imagine, as is anywhere to be found in a private mansion. It was lighted, at one end, by a great window, beneath which, occupying the whole breadth of the hall, hung a vast picture of the Battle of Hastings; and whether a good picture or no, it was a rich adornment of the hall. The walls were wainscoted high upward with oak: they were almost covered with noble pictures of ancestry, and of kings and great men, and beautiful women; there were trophies of armor hung aloft; and two armed figures, one in brass mail, the other in bright steel, stood on a raised dais, underneath the great picture. At the end of the hall, opposite the picture, a third of the way up towards the roof, was a gallery. All these things that I have enumerated were in perfect condition, without rust, untouched by decay or injury of any kind; but yet they seemed to belong to a past age, and were mellowed, softened in their splendor, a little dimmed with time,--toned down into a venerable magnificence. Of all domestic things that I have seen in England, it satisfied me most. Then the Frenchwoman showed us into various rooms and offices, most of which were contrived out of the old abbey-cloisters, and the vaulted cells and apartments in which the monks used to live. If any house be haunted, I should suppose this might be. If any church-property bring a curse with it, as people say, I do not see how the owners of Battle Abbey can escape it, taking possession of and dwelling in these holy precincts, as they have done, and laying their kitchen hearth with the stones of overthrown altars. The Abbey was first granted, I believe, to Sir Anthony Browne, whom I saw asleep with his lady in the church. It was his first wife. I wish it had been his second; for she was Surrey's Geraldine. The posterity of Sir Anthony kept the place till 1719, and then sold it to the Websters, a family of Baronets, who are still the owners and occupants. The present proprietor is Sir Augustus Webster, whose mother is the lady that so kindly let us into the Abbey. Mr. Bennoch gave the nice old French lady half a crown, and we next went round among the ruined portions of the Abbey, under the gardener's guidance. We saw two ivied towers, insulated from all other ruins; and an old refectory, open to the sky, and a vaulted crypt, supported by pillars; and we saw, too, the foundation and scanty remains of a chapel, which had been long buried out of sight of man, and only dug up within present memory,--about forty years ago. There had always been a tradition that this was the spot where Harold had planted his standard, and where his body was found after the battle; and the discovery of the ruined chapel confirmed the tradition. I might have seen a great deal more, had there been time; and I have forgotten much of what I did see; but it is an exceedingly interesting place. There is an avenue of old yew-trees, which meet above like a cloistered arch; and this is called the Monks' Walk. I rather think they were ivy, though growing unsupported. As we were retiring, the gardener suddenly stopped, as if he were alarmed, and motioned to us to do the same, saying, "I believe it is my lady!" And so it was,--a tall and stately lady in black, trimming shrubs in the garden. She bowed to us very graciously,--we raised our hats, and thus we met and parted without more ado. As we went through the arch of the entrance tower, Bennoch gave the old female warder a shilling, and the gardener followed us to get half a crown. HASTINGS. We took a fly and driver from the principal hotel of Battle, and drove off for Hastings, about seven miles distant. Hastings is now a famous watering and sea-bathing place, and seems to be well sheltered from the winds, though open to the sea, which here stretches off towards France. We climbed a high and steep hill, terraced round its base with streets of modern lodging-houses, and crowned on its summit with the ruins of a castle, the foundation of which was anterior to the Conquest. This castle has no wall towards the sea, the precipice being too high and sheer to admit of attack on that side. I have quite exhausted my descriptive faculty for the present, so shall say nothing of this old castle, which indeed (the remains being somewhat scanty and scraggling) is chiefly picturesque and interesting from its bold position on such a headlong hill. Clambering down on another side from that of our ascent, we entered the town of Hastings, which seems entirely modern, and made up of lodging-houses, shops, hotels, parades, and all such makings up of watering-places generally. We took a delightful warm bath, washing off all weariness and naughtiness, and coming out new men. Then we walked to St. Leonard's,--a part of Hastings, I believe, but a mile or two from the castle, and there called at the lodgings of two friends of Bennoch. These were Mr. Martin, the author of Bon Gaultier's ballads, and his wife, the celebrated actress, Helen Faucett. Mr. Martin is a barrister, a gentleman whose face and manners suited me at once; a simple, refined, sincere, not too demonstrative person. His wife, too, I liked; a tall, dark, fine, and lady-like woman, with the simplest manners, that give no trouble at all, and so must be perfect. With these two persons I felt myself, almost in a moment, on friendly terms, and in true accord, and so I talked, I think, more than I have at any time since coming to London. We took a pleasant lunch at their house; and then they walked with us to the railway station, and there they took leave of Bennoch affectionately and of me hardly less so; for, in truth, we had grown to be almost friends in this very little while. And as we rattled away, I said to Bennoch earnestly, "What good people they are!"--and Bennoch smiled, as if he had known perfectly well that I should think and say so. And thus we rushed onward to London; and I reached St. James's Place between nine and ten o'clock, after a very interesting tour, the record of which I wish I could have kept as we went along, writing each day's history before another day's adventures began. END OF VOL. I. PASSAGES FROM THE ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS OF NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE VOL. II. PASSAGES FROM HAWTHORNE'S ENGLISH NOTE-BOOKS. LONDON.--MILTON-CLUB DINNER. April 4th, 1856.--On Tuesday I went to No. 14 Ludgate Hill, to dine with Bennoch at the Milton Club; a club recently founded for dissenters, nonconformists, and people whose ideas, religious or political, are not precisely in train with the establishment in church and state. I was shown into a large reading-room, well provided with periodicals and newspapers, and found two or three persons there; but Bennoch had not yet arrived. In a few moments, a tall gentleman with white hair came in,--a fine and intelligent-looking man, whom I guessed to be one of those who were to meet me. He walked about, glancing at the periodicals; and soon entered Mr. Tupper, and, without seeing me, exchanged warm greetings with the white-haired gentleman. "I suppose," began Mr. Tupper, "you have come to meet--" Now, conscious that my name was going to be spoken, and not knowing but the excellent Mr. Tupper might say something which he would not, quite like me to overhear, I advanced at once, with outstretched hand, and saluted him. He expressed great joy at the recognition, and immediately introduced me to Mr. Hall. The dining-room was pretty large and lofty, and there were sixteen guests at table, most of them authors, or people connected with the press; so that the party represented a great deal of the working intellect of London at this present day and moment,--the men whose plays, whose songs, whose articles, are just now in vogue. Mr. Tom Taylor was one of the very few whose writings I had known anything about. He is a tall, slender, dark young man, not English-looking, and wearing colored spectacles, so that I should readily have taken him for an American literary man. I did not have much opportunity of talking with him, nor with anybody else, except Dr. ------, who seemed a shrewd, sensible man, with a certain slight acerbity of thought. Mr. Herbert Ingram, recently elected member of Parliament, was likewise present, and sat on Bennoch's left. It was a very good dinner, with an abundance of wine, which Bennoch sent round faster than was for the next day's comfort of his guests. It is singular that I should thus far have quite forgotten W------ H--------, whose books I know better than those of any other person there. He is a white-headed, stout, firm-looking, and rather wrinkled-faced old gentleman, whose temper, I should imagine, was not the very sweetest in the world. There is all abruptness, a kind of sub-acidity, if not bitterness, in his address; he seemed not to be, in short, so genial as I should have anticipated from his books. As soon as the cloth was removed, Bennoch, without rising from his chair, made a speech in honor of his eminent and distinguished guest, which illustrious person happened to be sitting in the selfsame chair that I myself occupied. I have no recollection of what he said, nor of what I said in reply, but I remember that both of us were cheered and applauded much more than the occasion deserved. Then followed about fifty other speeches; for every single individual at table was called up (as Tupper said, "toasted and roasted"), and, for my part, I was done entirely brown (to continue T-----'s figure). Everybody said something kind, not a word or idea of which can I find in my memory. Certainly, if I never get any more praise in my life, I have had enough of it for once. I made another little bit of a speech, too, in response to something that was said in reference to the present difficulties between England and America, and ended, as a proof that I deemed war impossible, with drinking success to the British army, and calling on Lieutenant Shaw, of the Aldershott Camp, to reply. I am afraid I must have said something very wrong, for the applause was vociferous, and I could hear the gentlemen whispering about the table, "Good!" "Good!" "Yes, he is a fine fellow,"--and other such ill-earned praises; and I took shame to myself, and held my tongue (publicly) the rest of the evening. But in such cases something must be allowed to the excitement of the moment, and to the effect of kindness and goodwill, so broadly and warmly displayed; and even a sincere man must not be held to speak as if he were under oath. We separated, in a blessed state of contentment with one another, at about eleven; and (lest I should starve before morning) I went with Mr. D------ to take supper at his house in Park Lane. Mr. D------ is a pale young gentleman, of American aspect, being a West-Indian by birth. He is one of the principal writers of editorials for the Times. We were accompanied in the carriage by another gentleman, Mr. M------, who is connected with the management of the same paper. He wrote the letters from Scutari, which drew so much attention to the state of the hospitals. Mr. D------ is the husband of the former Miss ------, the actress, and when we reached his house, we found that she had just come home from the theatre, and was taking off her stage-dress. Anon she came down to the drawing-room,--a seemingly good, simple, and intelligent lady, not at all pretty, and, I should think, older than her husband. She was very kind to me, and told me that she had read one of my books--The House of the Seven Gables--thirteen years ago; which I thought remarkable, because I did not write it till eight or nine years afterwards. The principal talk during supper (which consisted of Welsh-rabbit and biscuits, with champagne and sodawater) was about the Times, and the two contributors expressed vast admiration of Mr. ------, who has the chief editorial management of the paper. It is odd to find how little we outsiders know of men who really exercise a vast influence on affairs, for this Mr. ------ is certainly of far more importance in the world than a minister of state. He writes nothing himself; but the character of the Times seems to depend upon his intuitive, unerring judgment; and if ever he is absent from his post, even for a day or two, they say that the paper immediately shows it. In reply to my questions, they appeared to acknowledge that he was a man of expediency, but of a very high expediency, and that he gave the public the very best principles which it was capable of receiving. Perhaps it may be so: the Times's articles are certainly not written in so high a moral vein as might be wished; but what they lack in height they gain in breadth. Every sensible man in England finds his own best common-sense there; and, in effect, I think its influence is wholesome. Apropos of public speaking, Dr. ------ said that Sir Lytton Bulwer asked him (I think the anecdote was personal to himself) whether he felt his heart beat when he was going to speak. "Yes." "Does your voice frighten you?" "Yes." "Do all your ideas forsake you?" "Yes." "Do you wish the floor to open and swallow you?" "Yes." "Why, then, you'll make an orator!" Dr. ------ told of Canning, too, how once, before rising to speak in the House of Commons, he bade his friend feel his pulse, which was throbbing terrifically. "I know I shall make one of my best speeches," said Canning, "because I'm in such an awful funk!" President Pierce, who has a great deal of oratorical power, is subject to a similar horror and reluctance. REFORM-CLUB DINNER. April 5th.--On Thursday, at eight o'clock, I went to the Reform Club, to dine with Dr. ------. The waiter admitted me into a great basement hall, with a tessellated or mosaic or somehow figured floor of stone, and lighted from a dome of lofty height. In a few minutes Dr. ------ appeared, and showed me about the edifice, which is very noble and of a substantial magnificence that was most satisfactory to behold,--no wood-work imitating better materials, but pillars and balustrades of marble, and everything what it purports to be. The reading-room is very large, and luxuriously comfortable, and contains an admirable library: there are rooms and conveniences for every possible purpose; and whatever material for enjoyment a bachelor may need, or ought to have, he can surely find it here, and on such reasonable terms that a small income will do as much for him as a far greater one on any other system. In a colonnade, on the first floor, surrounding the great basement hall, there are portraits of distinguished reformers, and black niches for others yet to come. Joseph Hume, I believe, is destined to fill one of these blanks; but I remarked that the larger part of the portraits, already hung up, are of men of high rank,--the Duke of Sussex, for instance; Lord Durham, Lord Grey; and, indeed, I remember no commoner. In one room, I saw on the wall the fac-simile, so common in the United States, of our Declaration of Independence. Descending again to the basement hall, an elderly gentleman came in, and was warmly welcomed by Dr. ------. He was a very short man, but with breadth enough, and a back excessively bent,--bowed almost to deformity; very gray hair, and a face and expression of remarkable briskness and intelligence. His profile came out pretty boldly, and his eyes had the prominence that indicates, I believe, volubility of speech, nor did he fail to talk from the instant of his appearance; and in the tone of his voice, and in his glance, and in the whole man, there was something racy,--a flavor of the humorist. His step was that of an aged man, and he put his stick down very decidedly at every footfall; though as he afterwards told me that he was only fifty-two, he need not yet have been infirm. But perhaps he has had the gout; his feet, however, are by no means swollen, but unusually small. Dr. ------ introduced him as Mr. Douglas Jerrold, and we went into the coffee-room to dine. The coffee-room occupies one whole side of the edifice, and is provided with a great many tables, calculated for three or four persons to dine at; and we sat down at one of these, and Dr. ------ ordered some mulligatawny soup, and a bottle of white French wine. The waiters in the coffee-room are very numerous, and most of them dressed in the livery of the Club, comprising plush breeches and white-silk stockings; for these English Reformers do not seem to include Republican simplicity of manners in their system. Neither, perhaps, is it anywise essential. After the soup, we had turbot, and by and by a bottle of Chateau Margaux, very delectable; and then some lambs' feet, delicately done, and some cutlets of I know not what peculiar type; and finally a ptarmigan, which is of the same race of birds as the grouse, but feeds high up towards the summits of the Scotch mountains. Then some cheese, and a bottle of Chambertin. It was a very pleasant dinner, and my companions were both very agreeable men; both taking a shrewd, satirical, yet not ill-natured, view of life and people, and as for Mr. Douglas Jerrold, he often reminded me of E---- C------, in the richer veins of the latter, both by his face and expression, and by a tincture of something at once wise and humorously absurd in what he said. But I think he has a kinder, more genial, wholesomer nature than E----, and under a very thin crust of outward acerbity I grew sensible of a very warm heart, and even of much simplicity of character in this man, born in London, and accustomed always to London life. I wish I had any faculty whatever of remembering what people say; but, though I appreciate anything good at the moment, it never stays in my memory; nor do I think, in fact, that anything definite, rounded, pointed, separable, and transferable from the general lump of conversation was said by anybody. I recollect that they laughed at Mr. ------, and at his shedding a tear into a Scottish river, on occasion of some literary festival. . . . . They spoke approvingly of Bulwer, as valuing his literary position, and holding himself one of the brotherhood of authors; and not so approvingly of Charles Dickens, who, born a plebeian, aspires to aristocratic society. But I said that it was easy to condescend, and that Bulwer knew he could not put off his rank, and that he would have all the advantages of it in spite of his authorship. We talked about the position of men of letters in England, and they said that the aristocracy hated and despised and feared them; and I asked why it was that literary men, having really so much power in their hands, were content to live unrecognized in the State. Douglas Jerrold talked of Thackeray and his success in America, and said that he himself purposed going and had been invited thither to lecture. I asked him whether it was pleasant to a writer of plays to see them performed; and he said it was intolerable, the presentation of the author's idea being so imperfect; and Dr. ------ observed that it was excruciating to hear one of his own songs sung. Jerrold spoke of the Duke of Devonshire with great warmth, as a true, honest, simple, most kind-hearted man, from whom he himself had received great courtesies and kindnesses (not, as I understood, in the way of patronage or essential favors); and I (Heaven forgive me!) queried within myself whether this English reforming author would have been quite so sensible of the Duke's excellence if his Grace had not been a duke. But indeed, a nobleman, who is at the same time a true and whole-hearted man, feeling his brotherhood with men, does really deserve some credit for it. In the course of the evening, Jerrold spoke with high appreciation of Emerson; and of Longfellow, whose Hiawatha he considered a wonderful performance; and of Lowell, whose Fable for Critics he especially admired. I mentioned Thoreau, and proposed to send his works to Dr. ------, who, being connected with the Illustrated News, and otherwise a writer, might be inclined to draw attention to then. Douglas Jerrold asked why he should not have them too. I hesitated a little, but as he pressed me, and would have an answer, I said that I did not feel quite so sure of his kindly judgment on Thoreau's books; and it so chanced that I used the word "acrid" for lack of a better, in endeavoring to express my idea of Jerrold's way of looking at men and books. It was not quite what I meant; but, in fact, he often is acrid, and has written pages and volumes of acridity, though, no doubt, with an honest purpose, and from a manly disgust at the cant and humbug of the world. Jerrold said no more, and I went on talking with Dr. ------; but, in a minute or two, I became aware that something had gone wrong, and, looking at Douglas Jerrold, there was an expression of pain and emotion on his face. By this time a second bottle of Burgundy had been opened (Clos Vougeot, the best the Club could produce, and far richer than the Chambertin), and that warm and potent wine may have had something to do with the depth and vivacity of Mr. Jerrold's feelings. But he was indeed greatly hurt by that little word "acrid." "He knew," he said, "that the world considered him a sour, bitter, ill-natured man; but that such a man as I should have the sane opinion was almost more than he could bear." As he spoke, he threw out his arms, sank back in his seat, and I was really a little apprehensive of his actual dissolution into tears. Hereupon I spoke, as was good need, and though, as usual, I have forgotten everything I said, I am quite sure it was to the purpose, and went to this good fellow's heart, as it came warmly from my own. I do remember saying that I felt him to be as genial as the glass of Burgundy which I held in my hand; and I think that touched the very right spot; for he smiled, and said he was afraid the Burgundy was better than he, but yet he was comforted. Dr. ------ said that he likewise had a reputation for bitterness; and I assured him, if I might venture to join myself to the brotherhood of two such men, that I was considered a very ill-natured person by many people in my own country. Douglas Jerrold said he was glad of it. We were now in sweetest harmony, and Jerrold spoke more than it would become me to repeat in praise of my own books, which he said he admired, and he found the man more admirable than his books! I hope so, certainly. We now went to the Haymarket Theatre, where Douglas Jerrold is on the free list; and after seeing a ballet by some Spanish dancers, we separated, and betook ourselves to our several homes. I like Douglas Jerrold very much. April 8th.--On Saturday evening, at ten o'clock, I went to a supper-party at Mr. D------'s, and there met five or six people,--Mr. Faed, a young and distinguished artist; Dr. Eliotson, a dark, sombre, taciturn, powerful-looking man, with coal-black hair, and a beard as black, fringing round his face; Mr. Charles Reade, author of Christie Johnstone and other novels, and many plays,--a tall man, more than thirty, fair-haired, and of agreeable talk and demeanor. On April 6th, I went to the Waterloo station, and there meeting Bennoch and Dr. ------, took the rail for Woking, where we found Mr. Hall's carriage waiting to convey us to Addlestone, about five miles off. On arriving we found that Mr. and Mrs. Hall had not yet returned from church. Their place is an exceedingly pretty one, and arranged in very good taste. The house is not large; but is filled, in every room, with fine engravings, statuettes, ingenious prettinesses or beautifulnesses in the way of flower-stands, cabinets, and things that seem to have bloomed naturally out of the characters of its occupants. There is a conservatory connected with the drawing-room, and enriched with lovely plants, one of which has a certain interest as being the plant on which Coleridge's eyes were fixed when he died. This conservatory is likewise beautified with several very fine casts of statues by modern sculptors, among which was the Greek Slave of Powers, which my English friends criticised as being too thin and meagre; but I defended it as in accordance with American ideas of feminine beauty. From the conservatory we passed into the garden, but did not minutely examine it, knowing that Mr. Hall would wish to lead us through it in person. So, in the mean time, we took a walk in the neighborhood, over stiles and along by-paths, for two or three miles, till we reached the old village of Chertsey. In one of its streets stands an ancient house, gabled, and with the second story projecting over the first, and bearing an inscription to the purport that the poet Cowley had once resided, and, I think, died there. Thence we passed on till we reached a bridge over the Thames, which at this point, about twenty-five miles from London, is a narrow river, but looks clean and pure, and unconscious what abominations the city sewers will pour into it anon. We were caught in two or three showers in the course of our walk; but got back to Firfield without being very much wetted. Our host and hostess had by this time returned from church, and Mrs. Hall came frankly and heartily to the door to greet us, scolding us (kindly) for having got wet. . . . . I liked her simple, easy, gentle, quiet manners, and I liked her husband too. He has a wide and quick sympathy, and expresses it freely. . . . . The world is the better for him. The shower being now over, we went out upon the beautiful lawn before his house, where there were a good many trees of various kinds, many of which have been set out by persons of great or small distinction, and are labelled with their names. Thomas Moore's name was appended to one; Maria Edgeworth's to another; likewise Fredrika Bremer's, Jenny Lind's; also Grace Greenwood's, and I know not whose besides. This is really a pleasant method of enriching one's grounds with memorials of friends, nor is there any harm in making a shrubbery of celebrities. Three holes were already dug, and three new trees lay ready to be planted, and for me there was a sumach to plant,--a tree I never liked; but Mr. Hall said that they had tried to dig up a hawthorn, but found it clung too fast to the soil. So, since better might not be, and telling Mr. Hall that I supposed I should have a right to hang myself on this tree whenever I chose, I seized a spade, and speedily shovelled in a great deal of dirt; and there stands my sumach, an object of interest to posterity! Bennoch also and Dr. ------ set out their trees, and indeed, it was in some sense a joint affair, for the rest of the party held up each tree, while its godfather shovelled in the earth; but, after all, the gardener had more to do with it than we. After this important business was over, Mr. Hall led us about his rounds, which are very nicely planned and ordered; and all this he has bought, and built, and laid out, from the profits of his own and his wife's literary exertions. We dined early, and had a very pleasant dinner, and, after the cloth was removed, Mr. Hall was graciously pleased to drink my health, following it with a long tribute to my genius. I answered briefly; and one half of my short speech was in all probability very foolish. . . . . After the ladies (there were three, one being a girl of seventeen, with rich auburn hair, the adopted daughter of the Halls) had retired, Dr. ------ having been toasted himself, proposed Mrs. Hall's health. I did not have a great deal of conversation with Mrs. Hall; but enough to make me think her a genuine and good woman, unspoilt by a literary career, and retaining more sentiment than even most girls keep beyond seventeen. She told me that it had been the dream of her life to see Longfellow and myself! . . . . Her dream is half accomplished now, and, as they say Longfellow is coming over this summer, the remainder may soon be rounded out. On taking leave, our kind hosts presented me with some beautiful flowers, and with three volumes of a work, by themselves, on Ireland; and Dr. ------ was favored also with some flowers, and a plant in a pot, and Bennoch too had his hands full, . . . . and we went on our way rejoicing. [Here follows an account of the Lord Mayor's dinner, taken mostly for Our Old Home; but I think I will copy this more exact description of the lady mentioned in "Civic Banquets."--ED.] . . . . My eyes were mostly drawn to a young lady, who sat nearly opposite me, across the table. She was, I suppose, dark, and yet not dark, but rather seemed to be of pure white marble, yet not white; but the purest and finest complexion, without a shade of color in it, yet anything but sallow or sickly. Her hair was a wonderful deep raven-black, black as night, black as death; not raven-black, for that has a shiny gloss, and hers had not, but it was hair never to be painted nor described,--wonderful hair, Jewish hair. Her nose had a beautiful outline, though I could see that it was Jewish too; and that, and all her features, were so fine that sculpture seemed a despicable art beside her, and certainly my pen is good for nothing. If any likeness could be given, however; it must be by sculpture, not painting. She was slender and youthful, and yet had a stately and cold, though soft and womanly grace; and, looking at her, I saw what were the wives of the old patriarchs in their maiden or early-married days,--what Judith was, for, womanly as she looked, I doubt, not she could have slain a man in a just cause,--what Bathsheba was, only she seemed to have no sin in her,-- perhaps what Eve was, though one could hardly think her weak enough to eat the apple. . . . . Whether owing to distinctness of race, my sense that she was a Jewess, or whatever else, I felt a sort of repugnance, simultaneously with my perception that she was an admirable creature. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. At ten o'clock the next day [after the Lord Mayor's dinner] I went to lunch with Bennoch, and afterwards accompanied him to one of the government offices in Downing Street. He went thither, not on official business, but on a matter connected with a monument to Miss Mitford, in which Mr. Harness, a clergyman and some sort of a government clerk, is interested. I gathered from this conversation that there is no great enthusiasm about the monumental affair among the British public. It surprised me to hear allusions indicating that Miss Mitford was not the invariably amiable person that her writings would suggest; but the whole drift of what they said tended, nevertheless, towards the idea that she was an excellent and generous person, loved most by those who knew her best. From Downing Street we crossed over and entered Westminster Hall, and passed through it, and up the flight of steps at its farthest end, and along the avenue of statues, into the vestibule of the House of Commons. It was now somewhat past five, and we stood at the inner entrance of the House, to see the members pass in, Bennoch pointing out to me the distinguished ones. I was not much impressed with the appearance of the members generally; they seemed to me rather shabbier than English gentlemen usually, and I saw or fancied in many of them a certain self-importance, as they passed into the interior, betokening them to be very full of their dignity. Some of them looked more American--more like American politicians--than most Englishmen do. There was now and then a gray-headed country gentleman, the very type of stupidity; and two or three city members came up and spoke to Bennoch, and showed themselves quite as dull, in their aldermanic way, as the country squires. . . . . Bennoch pointed out Lord John Russell, a small, very short, elderly gentleman, in a brown coat, and so large a hat--not large of brim, but large like a peck-measure--that I saw really no face beneath it. By and by came a rather tall, slender person, in a black frock-coat, buttoned up, and black pantaloons, taking long steps, but I thought rather feebly or listlessly. His shoulders were round, or else he had a habitual stoop in them. He had a prominent nose, a thin face, and a sallow, very sallow complexion; . . . . and had I seen him in America I should have taken him for a hard-worked editor of a newspaper, weary and worn with night-labor and want of exercise,--aged before his time. It was Disraeli, and I never saw any other Englishman look in the least like him; though, in America, his appearance would not attract notice as being unusual. I do not remember any other noteworthy person whom we saw enter; in fact, the House had already been some time in session, and most of the members were in their places. We were to dine at the Refectory of the House with the new member for Boston; and, meanwhile, Bennoch obtained admittance for us into the Speaker's gallery, where we had a view of the members, and could hear what was going on. A Mr. Muntz was speaking on the Income Tax, and he was followed by Sir George Cornewall Lewis and others; but it was all very uninteresting, without the slightest animation or attempt at oratory,--which, indeed, would have been quite out of place. We saw Lord Palmerston; but at too great a distance to distinguish anything but a gray head. The House had daylight in it when we entered, and for some time afterwards; but, by and by, the roof, which I had taken to be a solid and opaque ceiling, suddenly brightened, and showed itself to be transparent; a vast expanse of tinted and figured glass, through which came down a great, mild radiance on the members below. The character of the debate, however, did not grow more luminous or vivacious; so we went down into the vestibule, and there waited for Mr. ------, who soon came and led us into the Refectory. It was very much like the coffee-room of a club. The strict rule forbids the entrance of any but members of Parliament; but it seems to be winked at, although there is another room, opening beyond this, where the law of seclusion is strictly enforced. The dinner was good, not remarkably so, but good enough,--a soup, some turbot or salmon, cutlets, and I know not what else, and claret, sherry, and port; for, as Mr. ------ said, "he did not wish to be stingy." Mr. ------ is a self-made man, and a strong instance of the difference between the Englishman and the American, when self-made, and without early education. He is no more a gentleman now than when he began life, --not a whit more refined, either outwardly or inwardly; while the American would have been, after the same experience, not distinguishable outwardly, and perhaps as refined within, as nine tenths of the gentlemen born, in the House of Commons. And, besides, an American comes naturally to any distinctions to which success in life may bring him; he takes them as if they were his proper inheritance, and in no wise to be wondered at. Mr. ------, on the other hand, took evidently a childish delight in his position, and felt a childish wonder in having arrived at it; nor did it seem real to him, after all. . . . . We again saw Disraeli, who has risen from the people by modes perhaps somewhat like those of Mr. ------. He came and stood near our table, looking at the bill of fare, and then sat down on the opposite side of the room with another gentleman, and ate his dinner. The story of his marriage does him much credit; and indeed I am inclined to like Disraeli, as a man who has made his own place good among a hostile aristocracy, and leads instead of following them. From the House of Commons we went to Albert Smith's exhibition, or lecture, of the ascent of Mont Blanc, to which Bennoch had orders. It was very amusing, and in some degree instructive. We remained in the saloon at the conclusion of the lecture; and when the audience had dispersed, Mr. Albert Smith made his appearance. . . . . Nothing of moment happened the next day, at least, not till two o'clock, when I went with Mr. Bowman to Birch's eating-house (it is not Birch's now, but this was the name of the original founder, who became an alderman, and has long been dead) for a basin of turtle-soup. It was very rich, very good, better than we had at the Lord Mayor's, and the best I ever ate. In the evening, Mr. J. B. Davis, formerly our Secretary of Legation, called to take us to dine at Mr. ------'s in Camden Town. Mr. ------ calls his residence Vermont House; but it hardly has a claim to any separate title, being one of the centre houses of a block. I forget whether I mentioned his calling on me. He is a Vermonter, a graduate of Yale College, who has been here several years, and has established a sort of book brokerage, buying libraries for those who want them, and rare works and editions for American collectors. His business naturally brings him into relations with literary people; and he is himself a kindly and pleasant man. On our arrival we found Mr. D------ and one of his sisters already there; and soon came a Mr. Peabody, who, if I mistake not, is one of the Salem Peabodys, and has some connection with the present eminent London Mr. Peabody. At any rate, he is a very sensible, well-instructed, and widely and long travelled man. Mr. Tom Taylor was also expected; but, owing to some accident or mistake, he did not come for above an hour, all which time our host waited. . . . . But Mr. Tom Taylor, a wit, a satirist, and a famous diner out, is too formidable and too valuable a personage to be treated cavalierly. In the interim Mr. ------ showed us some rare old books, which he has in his private collection, a black-letter edition of Chaucer, and other specimens of the early English printers; and I was impressed, as I have often been, with the idea that we have made few, if any, improvements in the art of printing, though we have greatly facilitated the modes of it. He showed us Dryden's translation of Virgil, with Dr. Johnson's autograph in it and a large collection of Bibles, of all dates,--church Bibles, family Bibles of the common translation, and older ones. He says he has written or is writing a history of the Bible (as a printed work, I presume). Many of these Bibles had, no doubt, been in actual and daily use from generation to generation; but they were now all splendidly bound, and were likewise very clean and smooth,--in fact, every leaf had been cleansed by a delicate process, a part of which consisted in soaking the whole book in a tub of water, during several days. Mr. ------ is likewise rich in manuscripts, having a Spanish document with the signature of the son of Columbus; a whole little volume in Franklin's handwriting, being the first specimen of it; and the original manuscripts of many of the songs of Burns. Among these I saw "Auld Lang Syne," and "Bruce's Address to his Army." We amused ourselves with these matters as long as we could; but at last, as there was to be a party in the evening, dinner could no longer be put off; so we took our seats at table, and immediately afterwards Mr. Taylor made his appearance with his wife and another lady. Mr. Taylor is reckoned a brilliant conversationist; but I suppose he requires somebody to draw him out and assist him; for I could hear nothing that I thought very remarkable on this occasion. He is not a kind of man whom I can talk with, or greatly help to talk; so, though I sat next to him, nothing came of it. He told me some stories of his life in the Temple,--little funny incidents, that he afterwards wrought into his dramas; in short, a sensible, active-minded, clearly perceptive man, with a humorous way of showing up men and matters. . . . . I wish I could know exactly what the English style good conversation. Probably it is something like plum-pudding,--as heavy, but seldom so rich. After dinner Mr. Tom Taylor and Mr. D------, with their respective ladies, took their leave; but when we returned to the drawing-room, we found it thronged with a good many people. Mr. S. C. Hall was there with his wife, whom I was glad to see again, for this was the third time of meeting her, and, in this whirl of new acquaintances, I felt quite as if she were an old friend. Mr. William Howitt was also there, and introduced me to his wife,--a very natural, kind, and pleasant lady; and she presented me to one or two daughters. Mr. Marston, the dramatist, was also introduced to me; and Mr. Helps, a thin, scholarly, cold sort of a man. Dr. Mackay and his wife were there, too; and a certain Mr. Jones, a sculptor,--a jolly, large, elderly person, with a twinkle in his eye. Also a Mr. Godwin, who impressed me as quite a superior person, gentlemanly, cultivated, a man of sensibility; but it is quite impossible to take a clear imprint from any one character, where so many are stamped upon one's notice at once. This Mr. Godwin, as we were discussing Thackeray, said that he is most beautifully tender and devoted to his wife, whenever she can be sensible of his attentions. He says that Thackeray, in his real self, is a sweet, sad man. I grew weary of so many people, especially of the ladies, who were rather superfluous in their oblations, quite stifling me, indeed, with the incense that they burnt under my nose. So far as I could judge, they had all been invited there to see me. It is ungracious, even hoggish, not to be gratified with the interest they expressed in me; but then it is really a bore, and one does not know what to do or say. I felt like the hippopotamus, or-- to use a more modest illustration--like some strange insect imprisoned under a tumbler, with a dozen eyes watching whatever I did. By and by, Mr. Jones, the sculptor, relieved me by standing up against the mantel-piece, and telling an Irish story, not to two or three auditors, but to the whole drawing-room, all attentive as to a set exhibition. It was very funny. The next day after this I went with Mr. Bowman to call on our minister, and found that he, and four of the ladies of his family, with his son, had gone to the Queen's Drawing-room. We lunched at the Wellington; and spent an hour or more in looking out of the window of that establishment at the carriages, with their pompous coachmen and footmen, driving to and from the Palace of St. James, and at the Horse Guards, with their bright cuirasses, stationed along the street. . . . . Then I took the rail for Liverpool. . . . . While I was still at breakfast at the Waterloo, J----- came in, ruddy-cheeked, smiling, very glad to see me, and looking, I thought, a good deal taller than when I left him. And so ended my London excursion, which has certainly been rich in incident and character, though my account of it be but meagre. SCOTLAND.--GLASGOW. May 10th.--Last Friday, May 2d, I took the rail, with Mr. Bowman, from the Lime Street station, for Glasgow. There was nothing of much interest along the road, except that, when we got beyond Penrith, we saw snow on the tops of some of the hills. Twilight came on as we were entering Scotland; and I have only a recollection of bleak and bare hills and villages dimly seen, until, nearing Glasgow, we saw the red blaze of furnace-lights at frequent iron-founderies. We put up at the Queen's Hotel, where we arrived about ten o'clock; a better hotel than I have anywhere found in England,--new, well arranged, and with brisk attendance. In the morning I rambled largely about Glasgow, and found it to be chiefly a modern-built city, with streets mostly wide and regular, and handsome houses and public edifices of a dark gray stone. In front of our hotel, in an enclosed green space, stands a tall column surmounted by a statue of Sir Walter Scott,--a good statue, I should think, as conveying the air and personal aspect of the man. There is a bronze equestrian statue of the Queen in one of the streets, and one or two more equestrian or other statues of eminent persons. I passed through the Trongate and the Gallow-Gate, and visited the Salt-Market, and saw the steeple of the Tolbooth, all of which Scott has made interesting; and I went through the gate of the University, and penetrated into its enclosed courts, round which the College edifices are built. They are not Gothic, but of the age, I suppose, of James I.,--with odd-looking, conical-roofed towers, and here and there the bust of a benefactor in niches round the courts, and heavy stone staircases ascending from the pavement, outside the buildings, all of dark gray granite, cold, hard, and venerable. The University stands in High Street, in a dense part of the town, and a very old and shabby part, too. I think the poorer classes of Glasgow excel even those in Liverpool in the bad eminence of filth, uncombed and unwashed children, drunkenness, disorderly deportment, evil smell, and all that makes city poverty disgusting. In my opinion, however, they are a better-looking people than the English (and this is true of all classes), more intelligent of aspect, with more regular features. I looked for the high cheek-bones, which have been attributed, as a characteristic feature, to the Scotch, but could not find them. What most distinguishes them front the English is the regularity of the nose, which is straight, or sometimes a little curved inward; whereas the English nose has no law whatever, but disports itself in all manner of irregularity. I very soon learned to recognize the Scotch face, and when not too Scotch, it is a handsome one. In another part of the High Street, up a pretty steep slope, and on one side of a public green, near an edifice which I think is a medical college, stands St. Mungo's Cathedral. It is hardly of cathedral dimensions, though a large and fine old church. The price of a ticket of admittance is twopence; so small that it might be as well to make the entrance free. The interior is in excellent repair, with the nave and side aisles, and clustered pillars, and intersecting arches, that belong to all these old churches; and a few monuments along the walls. I was going away without seeing any more than this; but the verger, a friendly old gentleman, with a hearty Scotch way of speaking, told me that the crypts were what chiefly interested strangers; and so he guided me down into the foundation-story of the church, where there is an intricacy and entanglement of immensely massive and heavy arches, supporting the structure above. The view through these arches, among the great shafts of the columns, was very striking. In the central part is a monument; a recumbent figure, if I remember rightly, but it is not known whom it commemorates. There is also a monument to a Scotch prelate, which seems to have been purposely defaced, probably in Covenant times. These intricate arches were the locality of one of the scenes in "Rob Roy," when Rob gives Frank Osbaldistone some message or warning, and then escapes from him into the obscurity behind. In one corner is St. Mungo's well, secured with a wooden cover; but I should not care to drink water that comes from among so many old graves. After viewing the cathedral, I got back to the hotel just in time to go from thence to the steamer wharf, and take passage up the Clyde. There was nothing very interesting in this little voyage. We passed many small iron steamers, and some large ones; and green fields along the river-shores, villas, villages, and all such suburban objects; neither am I quite sure of the name of the place we landed at, though I think it was Bowling. Here we took the railway for Balloch; and the only place or thing I remember during this transit was a huge bluff or crag, rising abruptly from a river-side, and looking, in connection with its vicinity to the Highlands, just such a site as would be taken for the foundation of a castle. On inquiry it turned out that this abrupt and double-headed hill (for it has two summits, with a cleft between) is the site of Dumbarton Castle, for ages one of the strongest fortresses in Scotland, and still kept up as a garrisoned place. At the distance and point of view at which we passed it, the castle made no show. Arriving at Balloch, we found it a small village, with no marked features, and a hotel, where we got some lunch, and then we took a stroll over the bridge across the Levers, while waiting for the steamer to take us up Loch Lomond. It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and sunny; and after walking about a mile, we had a fine view of Loch Lomond, and of the mountains around and beyond it,--Ben Lomond among the rest. It is vain, at a week's distance, to try to remember the shapes of mountains; so I shall attempt no description of them, and content myself with saying that they did not quite come up to my anticipations. In due time we returned to our hotel, and found in the coffee-room a tall, white-haired, venerable gentleman, and a pleasant-looking young lady, his daughter. They had been eating lunch, and the young lady helped her father on with his outside garment, and his comforter, and gave him his stick, just as any other daughter might do,--all of which I mention because he was a nobleman; and, moreover, had engaged all the post-horses at the inn, so that we could not continue our travels by land, along the side of Loch Lomond, as we had first intended. At four o'clock the railway train arrived again, with a very moderate number of passengers, who (and we among them) immediately embarked on board a neat little steamer which was waiting for us. The day was bright and cloudless; but there was a strong, cold breeze blowing down the lake, so that it was impossible, without vast discomfort, to stand in the bow of the steamer and look at the scenery. I looked at it, indeed, along the sides, as we passed, and on our track behind; and no doubt it was very fine; but from all the experience I have had, I do not think scenery can be well seen from the water. At any rate, the shores of Loch Lomond have faded completely out of my memory; nor can I conceive that they really were very striking. At a year's interval, I can recollect the cluster of hills around the head of Lake Windermere; at twenty years' interval, I remember the shores of Lake Champlain; but of the shores of this Scottish lake I remember nothing except some oddly shaped rocks, called "The Cobbler and his Daughter," on a mountain-top, just before we landed. But, indeed, we had very imperfect glimpses of the hills along the latter part of the course, because the wind had grown so very cold that we took shelter below, and merely peeped at Loch Lomond's sublimities from the cabin-windows. The whole voyage up Loch Lomond is, I think, about thirty-two miles; but we landed at a place called Tarbet, much short of the ultimate point. There is here a large hotel; but we passed it, and walked onward a mile or two to Arroquhar, a secluded glen among the hills, where is a new hotel, built in the old manor-house style, and occupying the site of what was once a castle of the chief of the MacFarlanes. Over the portal is a stone taken from the former house, bearing the date 1697. There is a little lake near the house, and the hills shut in the whole visible scene so closely that there appears no outlet nor communication with the external world; but in reality this little lake is connected with Loch Long, and Loch Long is an arm of the sea; so that there is water communication between Arroquhar and Glasgow. We found this a very beautiful place; and being quite sheltered from all winds that blew, we strolled about late into the prolonged twilight, and admired the outlines of the surrounding hills, and fancied resemblances to various objects in the shapes of the crags against the evening sky. The sun had not set till nearly, if not quite, eight o'clock; and before the daylight had quite gone, the northern lights streamed out, and I do not think that there was much darkness over the glen of Arroquhar that night. At all events, before the darkness came, we withdrew into the coffee-room. We had excellent beds and sleeping-rooms in this new hotel, and I remember nothing more till morning, when we were astir betimes, and had some chops for breakfast. Then our host, Mr. Macregor, who is also the host of our hotel at Glasgow, and has many of the characteristics of an American landlord, claiming to be a gentleman and the equal of his guests, took us in a drosky, and drove us to the shore of Loch Lomond, at a point about four miles from Arroquhar. The lake is here a mile and a half wide, and it was our object to cross to Inversnaid, on the opposite shore; so first we waved a handkerchief, and then kindled some straw on the beach, in order to attract the notice of the ferryman at Inversnaid. It was half an hour before our signals and shoutings resulted in the putting off of a boat, with two oarsmen, who made the transit pretty speedily; and thus we got across Loch Lomond. At Inversnaid there is a small hotel, and over the rock on which it stands a little waterfall tumbles into the lake,--a very little one, though I believe it is reckoned among the other picturesque features of the scene. We were now in Rob Roy's country, and at the distance of a mile or so, along the shore of the lake, is Rob Roy's cave, where he and his followers are supposed to have made their abode in troublous times. While lunch was getting ready, we again took the boat, and went thither. Landing beneath a precipitous, though not very lofty crag, we clambered up a rude pathway, and came to the mouth of the cave, which is nothing but a fissure or fissures among some great rocks that have tumbled confusedly together. There is hardly anywhere space enough for half a dozen persons to crowd themselves together, nor room to stand upright. On the whole, it is no cave at all, but only a crevice; and, in the deepest and darkest part, you can look up and see the sky. It may have sheltered Rob Roy for a night, and might partially shelter any Christian during a shower. Returning to the hotel, we started in a drosky (I do not know whether this is the right name of the vehicle, or whether it has a right name, but it is a carriage in which four persons sit back to back, two before and two behind) for Aberfoyle. The mountain-side ascends very steeply from the inn door, and, not to damp the horse's courage in the outset, we went up on foot. The guide-book says that the prospect from the summit of the ascent is very fine; but I really believe we forgot to turn round and look at it. All through our drive, however, we had mountain views in plenty, especially of great Ben Lomond, with his snow-covered head, round which, since our entrance into the Highlands, we had been making a circuit. Nothing can possibly be drearier than the mountains at this season; bare, barren, and bleak, with black patches of withered heath variegating the dead brown of the herbage on their sides; and as regards trees the hills are perfectly naked. There were no frightful precipices, no boldly picturesque features, along our road; but high, weary slopes, showing miles and miles of heavy solitude, with here and there a highland hut, built of stone and thatched; and, in one place, an old gray, ruinous fortress, a station of the English troops after the rebellion of 1715; and once or twice a village of hills, the inhabitants of which, old and young, ran to their doors to stare at us. For several miles after we left Inversnaid, the mountain-stream which makes the waterfall brawled along the roadside. All the hills are sheep-pastures, and I never saw such wild, rough, ragged-looking creatures as the sheep, with their black faces and tattered wool. The little lambs were very numerous, poor things, coming so early in the season into this inclement region; and it was laughable to see how invariably, when startled by our approach, they scampered to their mothers, and immediately began to suck. It would seem as if they sought a draught from the maternal udder, wherewith to fortify and encourage their poor little hearts; but I suppose their instinct merely drove them close to their dams, and, being there, they took advantage of their opportunity. These sheep must lead a hard life during the winter; for they are never fed nor sheltered. The day was sunless, and very uncomfortably cold; and we were not sorry to walk whenever the steepness of the road gave us cause. I do not remember what o'clock it was, but not far into the afternoon, when we reached the Baillie Nicol-Jarvie Inn at Aberfoyle; a scene which is much more interesting in the pages of Rob Roy than we found it in reality. Here we got into a sort of cart, and set out, over another hill-path, as dreary as or drearier than the last, for the Trosachs. On our way, we saw Ben Venue, and a good many other famous Bens, and two or three lochs; and when we reached the Trosachs, we should probably have been very much enraptured if our eyes had not already been weary with other mountain shapes. But, in truth, I doubt if anybody ever does really see a mountain, who goes for the set and sole purpose of seeing it. Nature will not let herself be seen in such cases. You must patiently bide her time; and by and by, at some unforeseen moment, she will quietly and suddenly unveil herself, and for a brief space allow you to look right into the heart of her mystery. But if you call out to her peremptorily, "Nature! unveil yourself this very moment!" she only draws her veil the closer; and you may look with all your eyes, and imagine that you see all that she can show, and yet see nothing. Thus, I saw a wild and confused assemblage of heights, crags, precipices, which they call the Trosachs, but I saw them calmly and coldly, and was glad when the drosky was ready to take us on to Callender. The hotel at the Trosachs, by the by, is a very splendid one, in the form of an old feudal castle, with towers and turrets. All among these wild hills there is set preparation for enraptured visitants; and it seems strange that the savage features do not subside of their own accord, and that there should still be cold winds and snow on the top of Ben Lomond, and rocks and heather, and ragged sheep, now that there are so many avenues by which the commonplace world is sluiced in among the Highlands. I think that this fashion of the picturesque will pass away. We drove along the shore of Lake Vennachar, and onward to Callender, which I believe is either the first point in the Lowlands or the last in the Highlands. It is a large village on the river Teith. We stopped here to dine, and were some time in getting any warmth into our benumbed bodies; for, as I said before, it was a very cold day. Looking from the window of the hotel, I saw a young man in Highland dress, with bare thighs, marching through the village street towards the Lowlands, with a martial and elastic step, as if he were going forth to conquer and occupy the world. I suppose he was a soldier who had been absent on leave, returning to the garrison at Stirling. I pitied his poor thighs, though he certainly did not look uncomfortable. After dinner, as dusk was coming on and we had still a long drive before us (eighteen miles, I believe), we took a close carriage and two horses, and set off for Stirling. The twilight was too obscure to show many things along the road, and by the time we drove into Stirling we could but dimly see the houses in the long street in which stood our hotel. There was a good fire in the coffee-room, which looked like a drawing-room in a large old-fashioned mansion, and was hung round with engravings of the portraits of the county members, and a master of fox-hounds, and other pictures. We made ourselves comfortable with some tea, and retired early. In the morning we were stirring betimes, and found Stirling to be a pretty large town, of rather ancient aspect, with many gray stone houses, the gables of which are notched on either side, like a flight of stairs. The town stands on the slope of a hill, at the summit of which, crowning a long ascent, up which the paved street reaches all the way to its gate, is Stirling Castle. Of course we went thither, and found free entrance, although the castle is garrisoned by five or six hundred men, among whom are barelegged Highlanders (I must say that this costume is very fine and becoming, though their thighs did look blue and frost-bitten) and also some soldiers of other Scotch regiments, with tartan trousers. Almost immediately on passing the gate, we found an old artillery-man, who undertook to show us round the castle. Only a small portion of it seems to be of great antiquity. The principal edifice within the castle wall is a palace, that was either built or renewed by James VI.; and it is ornamented with strange old statues, one of which is his own. The old Scottish Parliament House is also here. The most ancient part of the castle is the tower, where one of the Earls of Douglas was stabbed by a king, and afterwards thrown out of the window. In reading this story, one imagines a lofty turret, and the dead man tumbling headlong from a great height; but, in reality, the window is not more than fifteen or twenty feet from the garden into which he fell. This part of the castle was burned last autumn; but is now under repair, and the wall of the tower is still stanch and strong. We went up into the chamber where the murder took place, and looked through the historic window. Then we mounted the castle wall, where it broods over a precipice of many hundred feet perpendicular, looking down upon a level plain below, and forth upon a landscape, every foot of which is richly studded with historic events. There is a small peep-hole in the wall, which Queen Mary is said to have been in the habit of looking through. It is a most splendid view; in the distance, the blue Highlands, with a variety of mountain outlines that I could have studied unweariably; and in another direction, beginning almost at the foot of the Castle Hill, were the Links of Forth, where, over a plain of miles in extent the river meandered, and circled about, and returned upon itself again and again and again, as if knotted into a silver chain, which it was difficult to imagine to be all one stream. The history of Scotland might be read from this castle wall, as on a book of mighty page; for here, within the compass of a few miles, we see the field where Wallace won the battle of Stirling, and likewise the battle-field of Bannockburn, and that of Falkirk, and Sheriffmuir, and I know not how many besides. Around the Castle Hill there is a walk, with seats for old and infirm persons, at points sheltered from the wind. We followed it downward, and I think we passed over the site where the games used to be held, and where, this morning, some of the soldiers of the garrison were going through their exercises. I ought to have mentioned, that, passing through the inner gateway of the castle, we saw the round tower, and glanced into the dungeon, where the Roderic Dhu of Scott's poem was left to die. It is one of the two round towers, between which the portcullis rose and fell. EDINBURGH.--THE PALACE OF HOLYROOD. At eleven o'clock we took the rail for Edinburgh, and I remember nothing more, except that the cultivation and verdure of the country were very agreeable, after our experience of Highland barrenness and desolation, until we found the train passing close at the base of the rugged crag of Edinburgh Castle. We established ourselves at Queen's Hotel, in Prince's Street, and then went out to view the city. The monument to Sir Walter Scott--a rather fantastic and not very impressive affair, I thought-- stands almost directly in front of a hotel. We went along Prince's Street, and thence, by what turns I know not, to the Palace of Holyrood, which stands on a low and sheltered site, and is a venerable edifice. Arthur's Seat rises behind it,--a high hill, with a plain between. As we drew near the Palace, Mr. Bowman, who has been here before, pointed out the windows of Queen Mary's apartments, in a circular tower on the left of the gateway. On entering the enclosed quadrangle, we bought tickets for sixpence each, admitting us to all parts of the Palace that are shown to visitors; and first we went into a noble hall or gallery, a long and stately room, hung with pictures of ancient Scottish kings; and though the pictures were none of them authentic, they, at least, answer an excellent purpose in the way of upholstery. It was here that the young Pretender gave the ball which makes one of the scenes in Waverley. Thence we passed into the old historic rooms of the Palace,--Darnley's and Queen Mary's apartments, which everybody has seen and described. They are very dreary and shabby-looking rooms, with bare floors, and here and there a piece of tapestry, faded into a neutral tint; and carved and ornamented ceilings, looking shabbier than plain whitewash. We saw Queen Mary's old bedstead, low, with four tall posts,--and her looking-glass, which she brought with her from France, and which has often reflected the beauty that set everybody mad,--and some needlework and other womanly matters of hers; and we went into the little closet where she was having such a cosey supper-party with two or three friends, when the conspirators broke in, and stabbed Rizzio before her face. We saw, too, the blood-stain at the threshold of the door in the next room, opening upon the stairs. The body of Rizzio was flung down here, and the attendant told us that it lay in that spot all night. The blood-stain covers a large space,--much larger than I supposed,--and it gives the impression that there must have been a great pool and sop of blood on all the spot covered by Rizzio's body, staining the floor deeply enough never to be washed out. It is now of a dark brown hue; and I do not see why it may not be the genuine, veritable stain. The floor, thereabouts, appears not to have been scrubbed much; for I touched it with my finger, and found it slightly rough; but it is strange that the many footsteps should not have smoothed it, in three hundred years. One of the articles shown us in Queen Mary's apartments was the breastplate supposed to have been worn by Lord Ruthven at the murder, a heavy plate of iron, and doubtless a very uncomfortable waistcoat. HOLYROOD ABBEY. From the Palace, we passed into the contiguous ruin of Holyrood Abbey; which is roofless, although the front, and some broken columns along the nave, and fragments of architecture here and there, afford hints of a magnificent Gothic church in bygone times. It deserved to be magnificent; for here have been stately ceremonials, marriages of kings, coronations, investitures, before the high altar, which has now been overthrown or crumbled away; and the floor--so far as there is any floor --consists of tombstones of the old Scottish nobility. There are likewise monuments, bearing the names of illustrious Scotch families; and inscriptions, in the Scotch dialect, on the walls. In one of the front towers,--the only remaining one, indeed,--we saw the marble tomb of a nobleman, Lord Belhaven, who is represented reclining on the top,--with a bruised nose, of course. Except in Westminster Abbey, I do not remember ever to have seen an old monumental statue with the nose entire. In all political or religious outbreaks, the mob's first impulse is to hit the illustrious dead on their noses. At the other end of the Abbey, near the high altar, is the vault where the old Scottish kings used to be buried; but, looking in through the window, I saw only a vacant space,--no skull, nor bone, nor the least fragment of a coffin. In fact, I believe the royal dead were turned out of their last home, on occasion of the Revolutionary movements, at the accession of William III. HIGH STREET AND THE GRASS-MARKET. Quitting the Abbey and the Palace, we turned into the Canongate, and passed thence into High Street, which, I think, is a continuation of the Canongate; and being now in the old town of Edinburgh, we saw those immensely tall houses, seven stories high, where the people live in tiers, all the way from earth to middle air. They were not so quaint and strange looking as I expected; but there were some houses of very antique individuality, and among them that of John Knox, which looks still in good repair. One thing did not in the least fall short of my expectations,--the evil odor, for which Edinburgh has an immemorial renown,--nor the dirt of the inhabitants, old and young. The town, to say the truth, when you are in the midst of it, has a very sordid, grimy, shabby, upswept, unwashen aspect, grievously at variance with all poetic and romantic associations. From the High Street we turned aside into the Grass-Market, the scene of the Porteous Mob; and we found in the pavement a cross on the site where the execution of Porteous is supposed to have taken place. THE CASTLE. Returning thence to the High Street, we followed it up to the Castle, which is nearer the town, and of more easy access from it, than I had supposed. There is a large court or parade before the castle gate, with a parapet on the abrupt side of the hill, looking towards Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags, mud overhanging a portion of the old town. As we leaned over this parapet, my nose was conscious of the bad odor of Edinburgh, although the streets, whence it must have come, were hundreds of feet below. I have had some experience of this ugly smell in the poor streets of Liverpool; but I think I never perceived it before crossing the Atlantic. It is the odor of an old system of life; the scent of the pine forests is still too recent with us for it to be known in America. The Castle of Edinburgh is free (as appears to be the case with all garrisoned places in Great Britain) to the entrance of any peaceable person. So we went in, and found a large space enclosed within the walls, and dwellings for officers, and accommodation for soldiers, who were being drilled, or loitering about; and as the hill still ascends within the external wall of the castle, we climbed to the summit, and there found an old soldier whom we engaged to be our guide. He showed us Mons Meg, a great old cannon, broken at the breech, but still aimed threateningly from the highest ramparts; and then he admitted us into an old chapel, said to have been built by a Queen of Scotland, the sister of Harold, King of England, and occupying the very highest part of the hill. It is the smallest place of worship I ever saw, but of venerable architecture, and of very solid construction. The old soldier had not much more to show us; but he pointed out the window whence one of the kings of Scotland is said, when a baby, to have been lowered down, the whole height of the castle, to the bottom of the precipice on which it stands,--a distance of seven hundred feet. After the soldier had shown us to the extent of his jurisdiction, we went into a suite of rooms, in one of which I saw a portrait of Queen Mary, which gave me, for the first time, an idea that she was really a very beautiful woman. In this picture she is wonderfully so,--a tender womanly grace, which was none the less tender and graceful for being equally imbued with queenly dignity and spirit. It was too lovely a head to be cut off. I should be glad to know the authenticity of this picture. I do not know that we did anything else worthy of note, before leaving Edinburgh. There is matter enough, in and about the town, to interest the visitor for a very long time; but when the visit is calculated on such brevity as ours was, we get weary of the place, before even these few hours come to an end. Thus, for my part, I was not sorry when, in the course of the afternoon, we took the rail for Melrose, where we duly arrived, and put up at the George Inn. MELROSE. Melrose is a village of rather antique aspect, situated on the slope and at the bottom of the Eildon Hills, which, from this point of view, appear like one hill, with a double summit. The village, as I said, has an old look, though many of the houses have at least been refronted at some recent date; but others are as ancient, I suppose, as the days when the Abbey was in its splendor,--a rustic and peasant-like antiquity, however, low-roofed, and straw-thatched. There is an aged cross of stone in the centre of the town. Our first object, of course, was to see the Abbey, which stands just on the outskirts of the village, and is attainable only by applying at a neighboring house, the inhabitant of which probably supports himself, and most comfortably, too, as a showman of the ruin. He unlocked the wooden gate, and admitted us into what is left of the Abbey, comprising only the ruins of the church, although the refectory, the dormitories, and the other parts of the establishment, formerly covered the space now occupied by a dozen village houses. Melrose Abbey is a very satisfactory ruin, all carpeted along its nave and transepts with green grass; and there are some well-grown trees within the walls. We saw the window, now empty, through which the tints of the painted glass fell on the tombstone of Michael Scott, and the tombstone itself, broken in three pieces, but with a cross engraven along its whole length. It must have been the monument of an old monk or abbot, rather than a wizard. There, too, is still the "marble stone" on which the monk and warrior sat them down, and which is supposed to mark the resting-place of Alexander of Scotland. There are remains, both without and within the Abbey, of most curious and wonderfully minute old sculpture,--foliage, in places where it is almost impossible to see them, and where the sculptor could not have supposed that they would be seen, but which yet are finished faithfully, to the very veins of each leaf, in stone; and there is a continual variety of this accurate toil. On the exterior of the edifice there is equal minuteness of finish, and a great many niches for statues; all of which, I believe, are now gone, although there are carved faces at some points and angles. The graveyard around the Abbey is still the only one which the village has, and is crowded with gravestones, among which I read the inscription of one erected by Sir Walter Scott to the memory of Thomas Pardy, one of his servants. Some sable birds--either rooks or jackdaws-- were flitting about the ruins, inside and out. Mr. Bowman and I talked about revisiting Melrose by moonlight; but, luckily, there was to be no moon that evening. I do not myself think that daylight and sunshine make a ruin less effective than twilight or moonshine. In reference to Scott's description, I think he deplorably diminishes the impressiveness of the scene by saying that the alternate buttresses, seen by moonlight, look as if made of ebon and ivory. It suggests a small and very pretty piece of cabinet-work; not these gray, rough walls, which Time has gnawed upon for a thousand years, without eating them away. Leaving the Abbey, we took a path or a road which led us to the river Tweed, perhaps a quarter of a mile off; and we crossed it by a foot-bridge,--a pretty wide stream, a dimpling breadth of transparent water flowing between low banks, with a margin of pebbles. We then returned to our inn, and had tea, and passed a quiet evening by the fireside. This is a good, unpretentious inn; and its visitors' book indicates that it affords general satisfaction to those who come here. In the morning we breakfasted on broiled salmon, taken, no doubt, in the neighboring Tweed. There was a very coarse-looking man at table with us, who informed us that he owned the best horse anywhere round the Eildon Hills, and could make the best cast for a salmon, and catch a bigger fish than anybody,--with other self-laudation of the same kind. The waiter afterwards told us that he was the son of an Admiral in the neighborhood; and soon, his horse being brought to the door, we saw him mount and ride away. He sat on horseback with ease and grace, though I rather suspect, early as it was, that he was already in his cups. The Scotch seem to me to get drunk at very unseasonable hours. I have seen more drunken people here than during all my residence in England, and, generally, early in the day. Their liquor, so far as I have observed, makes them good-natured and sociable, imparting a perhaps needed geniality to their cold natures. After breakfast we took a drosky, or whatever these fore-and-aft-seated vehicles are called, and set out for DRYBURGH ABBEY, three miles distant. It was a cold though rather bright morning, with a most shrewd and bitter wind, which blew directly in my face as I sat beside the driver. An English wind is bad enough, but methinks a Scotch one, is rather worse; at any rate, I was half frozen, and wished Dryburgh Abbey in Tophet, where it would have been warmer work to go and see it. Some of the border hills were striking, especially the Cowden Knowe, which ascends into a prominent and lofty peak. Such villages as we passed did not greatly differ from English villages. By and by we came to the banks of the Tweed, at a point where there is a ferry. A carriage was on the river-bank, the driver waiting beside it; for the people who came in it had already been ferried across to see the Abbey. The ferryman here is a young girl; and, stepping into the boat, she shoved off, and so skilfully took advantage of the eddies of the stream, which is here deep and rapid, that we were soon on the other side. She was by no means an uncomely maiden, with pleasant Scotch features, and a quiet intelligence of aspect, gleaming into a smile when spoken to; much tanned with all kinds of weather, and, though slender, yet so agile and muscular that it was no shame for a man to let himself be rowed by her. From the ferry we had a walk of half a mile, more or less, to a cottage, where we found another young girl, whose business it is to show the Abbey. She was of another mould than the ferry-maiden,--a queer, shy, plaintive sort of a body,--and answered all our questions in a low, wailing tone. Passing through an apple-orchard, we were not long in reaching the Abbey, the ruins of which are much more extensive and more picturesque than those of Melrose, being overrun with bushes and shrubbery, and twined about with ivy, and all such vegetation as belongs, naturally, to old walls. There are the remains of the refectory, and other domestic parts of the Abbey, as well as the church, and all in delightful state of decay,--not so far gone but that we had bits of its former grandeur in the columns and broken arches, and in some portions of the edifice that still retain a roof. In the chapter-house we saw a marble statue of Newton, wofully maltreated by damps and weather; and though it had no sort of business there, it fitted into the ruins picturesquely enough. There is another statue, equally unauthorized; both having been placed here by a former Earl of Buchan, who seems to have been a little astray in his wits. On one side of the church, within an arched recess, are the monuments of Sir Walter Scott and his family,--three ponderous tombstones of Aberdeen granite, polished, but already dimmed and dulled by the weather. The whole floor of the recess is covered by these monuments, that of Sir Walter being the middle one, with Lady (or, as the inscription calls her, Dame) Scott beyond him, next to the church wall, and some one of his sons or daughters on the hither side. The effect of his being buried here is to make the whole of Dryburgh Abbey his monument. There is another arched recess, twin to the Scott burial-place, and contiguous to it, in which are buried a Pringle family; it being their ancient place of sepulture. The spectator almost inevitably feels as if they were intruders, although their rights here are of far older date than those of Scott. Dryburgh Abbey must be a most beautiful spot of a summer afternoon; and it was beautiful even on this not very genial morning, especially when the sun blinked out upon the ivy, and upon the shrubberied paths that wound about the ruins. I think I recollect the birds chirruping in this neighborhood of it. After viewing it sufficiently,--sufficiently for this one time,--we went back to the ferry, and, being set across by the same Undine, we drove back to Melrose. No longer riding against the wind, I found it not nearly so cold as before. I now noticed that the Eildon Hills, seen from this direction, rise from one base into three distinct summits, ranged in a line. According to "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," they were cleft into this shape by the magic of Michael Scott. Reaching Melrose . . . . without alighting, we set off for ABBOTSFORD, three miles off. The neighborhood of Melrose, leading to Abbotsford, has many handsome residences of modern build and very recent date,--suburban villas, each with its little lawn and garden ground, such as we see in the vicinity of Liverpool. I noticed, too, one castellated house, of no great size, but old, and looking as if its tower were built, not for show, but for actual defence in the old border warfare. We were not long in reaching Abbotsford. The house, which is more compact, and of considerably less extent than I anticipated, stands in full view from the road, and at only a short distance from it, lower down towards the river. Its aspect disappointed me; but so does everything. It is but a villa, after all; no castle, nor even a large manor-house, and very unsatisfactory when you consider it in that light. Indeed, it impressed me, not as a real house, intended for the home of human beings,--a house to die in or to be born in,--but as a plaything,-- something in the same category as Horace Walpole's Strawberry Hill. The present owner seems to have found it insufficient for the actual purposes of life; for he is adding a wing, which promises to be as extensive as the original structure. We rang at the front door (the family being now absent), and were speedily admitted by a middle-aged or somewhat elderly man,--the butler, I suppose, or some upper servant,--who at once acceded to our request to be permitted to see the house. We stepped from the porch immediately into the entrance-hall; and having the great Hall of Battle Abbey in my memory, and the ideal of a baronial hall in my mind, I was quite taken aback at the smallness and narrowness and lowness of this; which, however, is a very fine one, on its own little scale. In truth, it is not much more than a vestibule. The ceiling is carved; and every inch of the walls is covered with claymores, targets, and other weapons and armor, or old-time curiosities, tastefully arranged, many of which, no doubt, have a history attached to them,--or had, in Sir Walter's own mind. Our attendant was a very intelligent person, and pointed out much that was interesting; but in such a multitudinous variety it was almost impossible to fix the eye upon any one thing. Probably the apartment looked smaller than it really was, on account of being so wainscoted and festooned with curiosities. I remember nothing particularly, unless it be the coal-grate in the fireplace, which was one formerly used by Archbishop Sharpe, the prelate whom Balfour of Burley murdered. Either in this room or the next one, there was a glass case containing the suit of clothes last worn by Scott,--a short green coat, somewhat worn, with silvered buttons, a pair of gray tartan trousers, and a white hat. It was in the hall that we saw these things; for there too, I recollect, were a good many walking-sticks that had been used by Scott, and the hatchet with which he was in the habit of lopping branches from his trees, as he walked among them. From the hall we passed into the study;--a small room, lined with the books which Sir Walter, no doubt, was most frequently accustomed to refer to; and our guide pointed out some volumes of the Moniteur, which he used while writing the history of Napoleon. Probably these were the driest and dullest volumes in his whole library. About mid-height of the walls of the study there is a gallery, with a short flight of steps for the convenience of getting at the upper books. A study-table occupied the centre of the room, and at one end of the table stands an easy-chair, covered with morocco, and with ample space to fling one's self back. The servant told me that I might sit down in this chair, for that Sir Walter sat there while writing his romances, "and perhaps," quoth the man, smiling, "you may catch some inspiration." What a bitter word this would have been if he had known me to be a romance-writer! "No, I never shall be inspired to write romances!" I answered, as if such an idea had never occurred to me. I sat down, however. This study quite satisfied me, being planned on principles of common-sense, and made to work in, and without any fantastic adaptation of old forms to modern uses. Next to the study is the library, an apartment of respectable size, and containing as many books as it can hold, all protected by wire-work. I did not observe what or whose works were here; but the attendant showed us one whole compartment full of volumes having reference to ghosts, witchcraft, and the supernatural generally. It is remarkable that Scott should have felt interested in such subjects, being such a worldly and earthly man as he was; but then, indeed, almost all forms of popular superstition do clothe the ethereal with earthly attributes, and so make it grossly perceptible. The library, like the study, suited me well,--merely the fashion of the apartment, I mean,--and I doubt not it contains as many curious volumes as are anywhere to be met with within a similar space. The drawing-room adjoins it; and here we saw a beautiful ebony cabinet, which was presented to Sir Walter by George IV.; and some pictures of much interest,--one of Scott himself at thirty-five, rather portly, with a heavy face, but shrewd eyes, which seem to observe you closely. There is a full-length of his eldest son, an officer of dragoons, leaning on his charger; and a portrait of Lady Scott,--a brunette, with black hair and eyes, very pretty, warm, vivacious, and un-English in her aspect. I am not quite sure whether I saw all these pictures in the drawing-room, or some of them in the dining-room; but the one that struck me most--and very much indeed--was the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, literally the head cut off and lying on a dish. It is said to have been painted by an Italian or French artist, two days after her death. The hair curls or flows all about it; the face is of a death-like hue, but has an expression of quiet, after much pain and trouble,--very beautiful, very sweet and sad; and it affected me strongly with the horror and strangeness of such a head being severed from its body. Methinks I should not like to have it always in the room with me. I thought of the lovely picture of Mary that I had seen at Edinburgh Castle, and reflected what a symbol it would be,--how expressive of a human being having her destiny in her own hands,--if that beautiful young Queen were painted as carrying this dish, containing her own woful head, and perhaps casting a curious and pitiful glance down upon it, as if it were not her own. Also, in the drawing-room, there was a plaster cast of Sir Walter's face, taken after death; the only one in existence, as our guide assured us. It is not often that one sees a homelier set of features than this; no elevation, no dignity, whether bestowed by nature or thrown over them by age or death; sunken cheeks, the bridge of the nose depressed, and the end turned up; the mouth puckered, and no chin whatever, or hardly any. The expression was not calm and happy; but rather as if he were in a perturbed slumber, perhaps nothing short of nightmare. I wonder that the family allow this cast to be shown,--the last record that there is of Scott's personal reality, and conveying such a wretched and unworthy idea of it. Adjoining the drawing-room is the dining-room, in one corner of which, between two windows, Scott died. It was now a quarter of a century since his death; but it seemed to me that we spoke with a sort of hush in our voices, as if he were still dying here, or had but just departed. I remember nothing else in this room. The next one is the armory, which is the smallest of all that we had passed through; but its walls gleam with the steel blades of swords, and the barrels of pistols, matchlocks, firelocks, and all manner of deadly weapons, whether European or Oriental; for there are many trophies here of East Indian warfare. I saw Rob Roy's gun, rifled and of very large bore; and a beautiful pistol, formerly Claverhouse's; and the sword of Montrose, given him by King Charles, the silver hilt of which I grasped. There was also a superb claymore, in an elaborately wrought silver sheath, made for Sir Walter Scott, and presented to him by the Highland Society, for his services in marshalling the clans when George IV. came to Scotland. There were a thousand other things, which I knew must be most curious, yet did not ask nor care about them, because so many curiosities drive one crazy, and fret one's heart to death. On the whole, there is no simple and great impression left by Abbotsford; and I felt angry and dissatisfied with myself for not feeling something which I did not and could not feel. But it is just like going to a museum, if you look into particulars; and one learns from it, too, that Scott could not have been really a wise man, nor an earnest one, nor one that grasped the truth of life; he did but play, and the play grew very sad toward its close. In a certain way, however, I understand his romances the better for having seen his house; and his house the better for having read his romances. They throw light on one another. We had now gone through all the show-rooms; and the next door admitted us again into the entrance-hall, where we recorded our names in the visitors' book. It contains more names of Americans, I should judge, from casting my eyes back over last year's record, than of all other people in the world, including Great Britain. Bidding farewell to Abbotsford, I cannot but confess a sentiment of remorse for having visited the dwelling-place--as just before I visited the grave of the mighty minstrel and romancer with so cold a heart and in so critical a mood,--his dwelling-place and his grave whom I had so admired and loved, and who had done so much for my happiness when I was young. But I, and the world generally, now look at him from a different point of view; and, besides, these visits to the actual haunts of famous people, though long dead, have the effect of making us sensible, in some degree, of their human imperfections, as if we actually saw them alive. I felt this effect, to a certain extent, even with respect to Shakespeare, when I visited Stratford-on-Avon. As for Scott, I still cherish him in a warm place, and I do not know that I have any pleasanter anticipation, as regards books, than that of reading all his novels over again after we get back to the Wayside. [This Mr. Hawthorne did, aloud to his family, the year following his return to America.--ED.] It was now one or two o'clock, and time for us to take the rail across the borders. Many a mile behind us, as we rushed onward, we could see the threefold Eildon Hill, and probably every pant of the engine carried us over some spot of ground which Scott has made fertile with poetry. For Scotland--cold, cloudy, barren little bit of earth that it is--owes all the interest that the world feels in it to him. Few men have done so much for their country as he. However, having no guide-book, we were none the wiser for what we saw out of the window of the rail-carriage; but, now and then, a castle appeared, on a commanding height, visible for miles round, and seemingly in good repair,--now, in some low and sheltered spot, the gray walls of an abbey; now, on a little eminence, the ruin of a border fortress, and near it the modern residence of the laird, with its trim lawn and shrubbery. We were not long in coming to BERWICK, a town which seems to belong both to England and Scotland, or perhaps is a kingdom by itself, for it stands on both sides of the boundary river, the Tweed, where it empties into the German Ocean. From the railway bridge we had a good view over the town, which looks ancient, with red roofs on all the gabled houses; and it being a sunny afternoon, though bleak and chill, the sea-view was very fine. The Tweed is here broad, and looks deep, flowing far beneath the bridge, between high banks. This is all that I can say of Berwick (pronounced Berrick), for though we spent above an hour at the station waiting for the train, we were so long in getting our dinner, that we had not time for anything else. I remember, however, some gray walls, that looked like the last remains of an old castle, near the railway station. We next took the train for NEWCASTLE, the way to which, for a considerable distance, lies within sight of the sea; and in close vicinity to the shore we saw Holy Isle, on which are the ruins of an abbey. Norham Castle must be somewhere in this neighborhood, on the English shore of the Tweed. It was pretty late in the afternoon--almost nightfall--when we reached Newcastle, over the roofs of which, as over those of Berwick, we had a view from the railway, and like Berwick, it was a congregation of mostly red roofs; but, unlike Berwick (the atmosphere over which was clear and transparent), there came a gush of smoke from every chimney, which made it the dimmest and smokiest place I ever saw. This is partly owing to the iron founderies and furnaces; but each domestic chimney, too, was smoking on its own account,--coal being so plentiful there, no doubt, that the fire is always kept freshly heaped with it, reason or none. Out of this smoke-cloud rose tall steeples; and it was discernible that the town stretched widely over an uneven surface, on the banks of the Tyne, which is navigable up hither ten miles from the sea for pretty large vessels. We established ourselves at the Station Hotel, and then walked out to see something of the town; but I remember only a few streets of duskiness and dinginess, with a glimpse of the turrets of a castle to which we could not find our way. So, as it was getting twilightish and very cold, we went back to the hotel, which is a very good one, better than any one I have seen in the South of England, and almost or quite as good as those of Scotland. The coffee-room is a spacious and handsome apartment, adorned with a full-length portrait of Wellington, and other pictures, and in the whole establishment there was a well-ordered alacrity and liberal provision for the comfort of guests that one seldom sees in English inns. There are a good many American guests in Newcastle, and through all the North. An old Newcastle gentleman and his friend came into the smoking-room, and drank three glasses of hot whiskey-toddy apiece, and were still going on to drink more when we left them. These respectable persons probably went away drunk that night, yet thought none the worse of themselves or of one another for it. It is like returning to times twenty years gone by for a New-Englander to witness such simplicity of manners. The next morning, May 8th, I rose and breakfasted early, and took the rail soon after eight o'clock, leaving Mr. Bowman behind; for he had business in Newcastle, and would not follow till some hours afterwards. There is no use in trying to make a narrative of anything that one sees along an English railway. All I remember of this tract of country is that one of the stations at which we stopped for an instant is called "Washington," and this is, no doubt, the old family place, where the De Wessyngtons, afterwards the Washingtons, were first settled in England. Before reaching York, first one old lady and then another (Quaker) lady got into the carriage along with me; and they seemed to be going to York, on occasion of some fair or celebration. This was all the company I had, and their advent the only incident. It was about eleven o'clock when I beheld York Cathedral rising huge above the old city, which stands on the river Ouse, separated by it from the railway station, but communicating by a ferry (or two) and a bridge. I wandered forth, and found my way over the latter into the ancient and irregular streets of YORK, crooked, narrow, or of unequal width, puzzling, and many of them bearing the name of the particular gate in the old walls of the city to which they lead. There were no such fine, ancient, stately houses as some of those in Shrewsbury were, nor such an aspect of antiquity as in Chester; but still York is a quaint old place, and what looks most modern is probably only something old, hiding itself behind a new front, as elsewhere in England. I found my way by a sort of instinct, as directly as possible, to YORK MINSTER. It stands in the midst of a small open space,--or a space that looks small in comparison with the vast bulk of the cathedral. I was not so much impressed by its exterior as I have usually been by Gothic buildings; because it is rectangular in its general outline and in its towers, and seems to lack the complexity and mysterious plan which perplexes and wonder-strikes me in most cathedrals. Doubtless, however, if I had known better how to admire it, I should have found it wholly admirable. At all events, it has a satisfactory hugeness. Seeking my way in, I at first intruded upon the Registry of Deeds, which occupies a building patched up against the mighty side of the cathedral, and hardly discernible, so small the one and so large the other. I finally hit upon the right door, and I felt no disappointment in my first glance around at the immensity of enclosed space;--I see now in my mind's eye a dim length of nave, a breadth in the transepts like a great plain, and such an airy height beneath the central tower that a worshipper could certainly get a good way towards heaven without rising above it. I only wish that the screen, or whatever they call it, between the choir and nave, could be thrown down, so as to give us leave to take in the whole vastitude at once. I never could understand why, after building a great church, they choose to sunder it in halves by this mid-partition. But let me be thankful for what I got, and especially for the height and massiveness of the clustered pillars that support the arches on which rests the central tower. I remember at Furness Abbey I saw two tall pillars supporting a broken arch, and thought it, the most majestic fragment of architecture that could possibly be. But these pillars have a nobler height, and these arches a greater sweep. What nonsense to try to write about a cathedral! There is a great, cold bareness and bleakness about the interior; for there are very few monuments, and those seem chiefly to be of ecclesiastical people. I saw no armed knights, asleep on the tops of their tombs; but there was a curious representation of a skeleton, at full length, under the table-slab of one of the monuments. The walls are of a grayish hue, not so agreeable as the rich dark tint of the inside of Westminster Abbey; but a great many of the windows are still filled with ancient painted glass, the very small squares and pieces of which are composed into splendid designs of saints and angels, and scenes from Scripture. There were a few watery blinks of sunshine out of doors, and whenever these came through the old painted windows, some of the more vivid colors were faintly thrown upon the pavement of the cathedral,--very faintly, it is true; for, in the first place, the sunshine was not brilliant; and painted glass, too, fades in the course of the ages, perhaps, like all man's other works. There were two or three windows of modern manufacture, and far more magnificent, as to brightness of color and material beauty, than the ancient ones; but yet they looked vulgar, glaring, and impertinent in comparison, because such revivals or imitations of a long-disused art cannot have the good faith and earnestness of the originals. Indeed, in the very coloring, I felt the same difference as between heart's blood and a scarlet dye. It is a pity, however, that the old windows cannot be washed, both inside and out, for now they have the dust of centuries upon them. The screen or curtain between the nave and choir has eleven carved figures, at full length, which appeared to represent kings, some of them wearing crowns, and bearing sceptres or swords. They were in wood, and wrought by some Gothic hand. These carvings, and the painted windows, and the few monuments, are all the details that the mind can catch hold of in the immensity of this cathedral; and I must say that it was a dreary place on that cold, cloudy day. I doubt whether a cathedral is a sort of edifice suited to the English climate. The first buildings of the kind were probably erected by people who had bright and constant sunshine, and who desired a shadowy awfulness--like that of a forest, with its arched wood-paths--into which to retire in their religious moments. In America, on a hot summer's day, how delightful its cool and solemn depths would be! The painted windows, too, were evidently contrived, in the first instance, by persons who saw how effective they would prove when a vivid sun shone through them. But in England, the interior of a cathedral, nine days out of ten, is a vast sullenness, and as chill as death and the tomb. At any rate, it was so to-day, and so thought one of the old vergers, who kept walking as briskly as he could along the width of the transepts. There were several of these old men when I first came in, but they went off, all but this one, before I departed. None of them said a word to me, nor I to them; and admission to the Minster seems to be entirely free. After emerging from this great gloom, I wandered to and fro about York, and contrived to go astray within no very wide space. If its history be authentic, it is an exceedingly old city, having been founded about a thousand years before the Christian era. There used to be a palace of the Roman emperors here, and the Emperor Severus died here, as did some of his successors; and Constantine the Great was born here. I know not what, if any, relics of those earlier times there may be; but York is still partly surrounded with a wall, and has several gates, which the city authorities take pains to keep in repair. I grow weary in my endeavor to find my way back to the railway, and inquired it of one of the good people of York,--a respectable, courteous, gentlemanly person,-- and he told me to walk along the walls. Then he went on a considerable distance; but seemed to repent of not doing more for me; so he waited till I came up, and, walking along by my side, pointed out the castle, now the jail, and the place of execution, and directed me to the principal gateway of the city, and instructed me how to reach the ferry. The path along the wall leads, in one place, through a room over the arch of a gateway,--a low, thick-walled, stone apartment, where doubtless the gatekeeper used to lodge, and to parley with those who desired entrance. I found my way to the ferry over the Ouse, according to this kind Yorkist's instructions. The ferryman told me that the fee for crossing was a halfpenny, which seemed so ridiculously small that I offered him more; but this unparalleled Englishman declined taking anything beyond his rightful halfpenny. This seems so wonderful to me that I can hardly trust my own memory. Reaching the station, I got some dinner, and at four o'clock, just as I was starting, came Mr. Bowman, my very agreeable and sensible travelling companion. Our journeying together was ended here; for he was to keep on to London, and I to return to Liverpool. So we parted, and I took the rail westward across England, through a very beautiful, and in some degree picturesque, tract of country, diversified with hills, through the valleys and vistas of which goes the railroad, with dells diverging from it on either hand, and streams and arched bridges, and old villages, and a hundred pleasant English sights. After passing Rochdale, however, the dreary monotony of Lancashire succeeded this variety. Between nine and ten o'clock I reached the Tithebarn station in Liverpool. Ever since until now, May 17th, I have employed my leisure moments in scribbling off the journal of my tour; but it has greatly lost by not having been written daily, as the scenes and occurrences were fresh. The most picturesque points can be seized in no other way, and the hues of the affair fade as quickly as those of a dying dolphin; or as, according to Audubon, the plumage of a dead bird. One thing that struck me as much as anything else in the Highlands I had forgotten to put down. In our walk at Balloch, along the road within view of Loch Lomond and the neighboring hills, it was a brilliant sunshiny afternoon, and I never saw any atmosphere so beautiful as that among the mountains. It was a clear, transparent, ethereal blue, as distinct as a vapor, and yet by no means vaporous, but a pure, crystalline medium. I have witnessed nothing like this among the Berkshire hills nor elsewhere. York is full of old churches, some of them very antique in appearance, the stones weather-worn, their edges rounded by time, blackened, and with all the tokens of sturdy and age-long decay; and in some of them I noticed windows quite full of old painted glass, a dreary kind of minute patchwork, all of one dark and dusty hue, when seen from the outside. Yet had I seen them from the interior of the church, there doubtless would have been rich and varied apparitions of saints, with their glories round their heads, and bright-winged angels, and perhaps even the Almighty Father himself, so far as conceivable and representable by human powers. It requires light from heaven to make them visible. If the church were merely illuminated from the inside,--that is, by what light a man can get from his own understanding,--the pictures would be invisible, or wear at best but a miserable aspect. LIVERPOOL. May 24th.--Day before yesterday I had a call at the Consulate from one of the Potentates of the Earth,--a woolly-haired negro, rather thin and spare, between forty and fifty years of age, plainly dressed; at the first glimpse of whom, I could readily have mistaken him for some ship's steward, seeking to enter a complaint of his captain. However, this was President Roberts, of Liberia, introduced by a note from Mrs. O'Sullivan, whom he has recently met in Madeira. I was rather favorably impressed with him; for his deportment was very simple, and without any of the flourish and embroidery which a negro might be likely to assume on finding himself elevated from slavery to power. He is rather shy, reserved, at least, and undemonstrative, yet not harshly so,--in fine, with manners that offer no prominent points for notice or criticism; although I felt, or thought I felt, that his color was continually before his mind, and that he walks cautiously among men, as conscious that every new introduction is a new experiment. He is not in the slightest degree an interesting man (so far as I discovered in a very brief interview), apart from his position and history; his face is not striking, nor so agreeable as if it were jet black; but there may be miles and miles of depth in him which I know nothing of. Our conversation was of the most unimportant character; for he had called merely to deliver the note, and sat only a few minutes, during which he merely responded to my observations, and originated no remarks. Intelligence, discretion, tact,-- these are probably his traits; not force of character and independence. The same day I took the rail from the Little Street station for MANCHESTER, to meet Bennoch, who had asked me thither to dine with him. I had never visited Manchester before, though now so long resident within twenty miles of it; neither is it particularly worth visiting, unless for the sake of its factories, which I did not go to see. It is a dingy and heavy town, with very much the aspect of Liverpool, being, like the latter, built almost entirely within the present century. I stopped at the Albion Hotel, and, as Bennoch was out, I walked forth to view the city, and made only such observations as are recorded above. Opposite the hotel stands the Infirmary,--a very large edifice, which, when erected, was on the outskirts, or perhaps in the rural suburbs, of the town, but it is now almost in its centre. In the enclosed space before it stands the statue of Peel, and sits a statue of Dr. Dalton, the celebrated chemist, who was a native of Manchester. Returning to the hotel, I sat down in the room where we were to dine, and in due time Bennoch made his appearance, with the same glow and friendly warmth in his face that I had left burning there when we parted in London. If this man has not a heart, then no man ever had. I like him inexpressibly for his heart and for his intellect, and for his flesh and blood; and if he has faults, I do not know them, nor care to know them, nor value him the less if I did know them. He went to his room to dress; and in the mean time a middle-aged, dark man, of pleasant aspect, with black hair, black eyebrows, and bright, dark eyes came in, limping a little, but not much. He seemed not quite a man of the world, a little shy in manner, yet he addressed me kindly and sociably. I guessed him to be Mr. Charles Swain, the poet, whom Mr. Bennoch had invited to dinner. Soon came another guest whom Mr. Swain introduced to me as Mr. ------, editor of the Manchester Examiner. Then came Bennoch, who made us all regularly acquainted, or took for granted that we were so; and lastly appeared a Mr. W------, a merchant in Manchester, and a very intelligent man; and the party was then complete. Mr. Swain, the poet, is not a man of fluent conversation; he said, indeed, very little, but gave me the impression of amiability and simplicity of character, with much feeling. Mr. W------ is a very sensible man. He has spent two or three years in America, and seems to have formed juster conclusions about us than most of his countrymen do. He is the only Englishman, I think, whom I have met, who fairly acknowledges that the English do cherish doubt, jealousy, suspicion, in short, an unfriendly feeling, towards the Americans. It is wonderful how every American, whatever class of the English he mingles with, is conscious of this feeling, and how no Englishman, except this sole Mr. W------, will confess it. He expressed some very good ideas, too, about the English and American press, and the reasons why the Times may fairly be taken as the exponent of British feeling towards us, while the New York Herald, immense as its circulation is, can be considered, in no similar degree or kind, the American exponent. We sat late at table, and after the other guests had retired, Bennoch and I had some very friendly talk, and he proposed that on my wife's return we should take up our residence in his house at Blackheath, while Mrs. Bennoch and himself were absent for two months on a trip to Germany. If his wife and mine ratify the idea, we will do so. The next morning we went out to see the Exchange, and whatever was noticeable about the town. Time being brief, I did not visit the cathedral, which, I believe, is a thousand years old. There are many handsome shops in Manchester; and we went into one establishment, devoted to pictures, engravings, and decorative art generally, which is most perfect and extensive. The firm, if I remember, is that of the Messrs. Agnew, and, though originating here, they have now a house in London. Here I saw some interesting objects, purchased by them at the recent sale of the Rogers collection; among other things, a slight pencil and water-color sketch by Raphael. An unfinished affair, done in a moment, as this must have been, seems to bring us closer to the hand that did it than the most elaborately painted picture can. Were I to see the Transfiguration, Raphael would still be at the distance of centuries. Seeing this little sketch, I had him very near me. I know not why,-- perhaps it might be fancied that he had only laid down the pencil for an instant, and would take it up again in a moment more. I likewise saw a copy of a handsome, illustrated edition of Childe Harold, presented by old John Murray to Mr. Rogers, with an inscription on the fly-leaf, purporting that it was a token of gratitude from the publisher, because, when everybody else thought him imprudent in giving four hundred guineas for the poem, Mr. Rogers told him it would turn out the best bargain he ever made. There was a new picture by Millais, the distinguished Pre-Raphaelite artist, representing a melancholy parting between two lovers. The lady's face had a great deal of sad and ominous expression; but an old brick wall, overrun with foliage, was so exquisitely and elaborately wrought that it was hardly possible to look at the personages of the picture. Every separate leaf of the climbing and clustering shrubbery was painfully made out; and the wall was reality itself, with the weather-stains, and the moss, and the crumbling lime between the bricks. It is not well to be so perfect in the inanimate, unless the artist can likewise make man and woman as lifelike, and to as great a depth, too, as the Creator does. Bennoch left town for some place in Yorkshire, and I for Liverpool. I asked him to come and dine with me at the Adelphi, meaning to ask two or three people to meet him; but he had other engagements, and could not spare a day at present, though he promises to come before long. Dining at Mr. Rathbone's one evening last week (May 21st), it was mentioned that BORROW, author of the Bible in Spain, is supposed to be of gypsy descent by the mother's side. Hereupon Mr. Martineau mentioned that he had been a schoolfellow of Borrow, and though he had never heard of his gypsy blood, he thought it probable, from Borrow's traits of character. He said that, Borrow had once run away from school, and carried with him a party of other boys, meaning to lead a wandering life. If an Englishman were individually acquainted with all our twenty-five millions of Americans, and liked every one of them, and believed that each man of those millions was a Christian, honest, upright, and kind, he would doubt, despise, and hate them in the aggregate, however he might love and honor the individuals. Captain ------ and his wife Oakum; they spent all evening at Mrs. B------'s. The Captain is a Marblehead man by birth, not far from sixty years old; very talkative and anecdotic in regard to his adventures; funny, good-humored, and full of various nautical experience. Oakum (it is a nickname which he gives his wife) is an inconceivably tall woman,-- taller than he,--six feet, at least, and with a well-proportioned largeness in all respects, but looks kind and good, gentle, smiling,--and almost any other woman might sit like a baby on her lap. She does not look at all awful and belligerent, like the massive English women one often sees. You at once feel her to be a benevolent giantess, and apprehend no harm from her. She is a lady, and perfectly well mannered, but with a sort of naturalness and simplicity that becomes her; for any the slightest affectation would be so magnified in her vast personality that it would be absolutely the height of the ridiculous. This wedded pair have no children, and Oakum has so long accompanied her husband on his voyages that I suppose by this time she could command a ship as well as he. They sat till pretty late, diffusing cheerfulness all about them, and then, "Come, Oakum," cried the Captain, "we must hoist sail!" and up rose Oakum to the ceiling, and moved tower-like to the door, looking down with a benignant smile on the poor little pygmy women about her. "Six feet," did I say? Why, she must he seven, eight, nine; and, whatever be her size, she is as good as she is big. June 11th.--Monday night (9th), just as I was retiring, I received a telegraphic message announcing my wife's arrival at SOUTHAMPTON. So, the next day, I arranged the consular business for an absence of ten days, and set forth with J-----, and reached Birmingham, between eight and nine, evening. We put up at the Queen's Hotel, a very large establishment, contiguous to the railway. Next morning we left Birmingham, and made our first stage to Leamington, where we had to wait nearly an hour, which we spent in wandering through some of the streets that had been familiar to us last year. Leamington is certainly a beautiful town, new, bright, clean, and as unlike as possible to the business towns of England. However, the sun was burning hot, and I could almost have fancied myself in America. From Leamington we took tickets for Oxford, where we were obliged to make another stop of two hours; and these we employed to what advantage we could, driving up into town, and straying hither and thither, till J-----'s weariness weighed upon me, and I adjourned with him to a hotel. Oxford is an ugly old town, of crooked and irregular streets, gabled houses, mostly plastered of a buff or yellow hue; some new fronts; and as for the buildings of the University, they seem to be scattered at random, without any reference to one another. I passed through an old gateway of Christ Church, and looked at its enclosed square, and that is, in truth, pretty much all I then saw of the University of Oxford. From Christ Church we rambled along a street that led us to a bridge across the Isis; and we saw many row-boats lying in the river,--the lightest craft imaginable, unless it were an Indian canoe. The Isis is but a narrow stream, and with a sluggish current. I believe the students of Oxford are famous for their skill in rowing. To me as well as to J----- the hot streets were terribly oppressive; so we went into the Roebuck Hotel, where we found a cool and pleasant coffee-room. The entrance to this hotel is through an arch, opening from High Street, and giving admission into a paved court, the buildings all around being part of the establishment,--old edifices with pointed gables and old-fashioned projecting windows, but all in fine repair, and wearing a most quiet, retired, and comfortable aspect. The court was set all round with flowers, growing in pots or large pedestalled vases; on one side was the coffee-room, and all the other public apartments, and the other side seemed to be taken up by the sleeping-chambers and parlors of the guests. This arrangement of an inn, I presume, is very ancient, and it resembles what I have seen in the hospitals, free schools, and other charitable establishments in the old English towns; and, indeed, all large houses were arranged on somewhat the same principle. By and by two or three young men came in, in wide-awake hats, and loose, blouse-like, summerish garments; and from their talk I found them to be students of the University, although their topics of conversation were almost entirely horses and boats. One of them sat down to cold beef and a tankard of ale; the other two drank a tankard of ale together, and went away without paying for it,--rather to the waiter's discontent. Students are very much alike, all the world over, and, I suppose, in all time; but I doubt whether many of my fellows at college would have gone off without paying for their beer. We reached Southampton between seven and eight o'clock. I cannot write to-day. June 15th.--The first day after we reached Southampton was sunny and pleasant; but we made little use of the fine weather, except that S----- and I walked once along the High Street, and J----- and I took a little ramble about town in the afternoon. The next day there was a high and disagreeable wind, and I did not once stir out of the house. The third day, too, I kept entirely within doors, it being a storm of wind and rain. The Castle Hotel stands within fifty yards of the water-side; so that this gusty day showed itself to the utmost advantage,--the vessels pitching and tossing at their moorings, the waves breaking white out of a tumultuous gray surface, the opposite shore glooming mistily at the distance of a mile or two; and on the hither side boatmen and seafaring people scudding about the pier in waterproof clothes; and in the street, before the hotel door, a cabman or two, standing drearily beside his horse. But we were sunny within doors. Yesterday it was breezy, sunny, shadowy, showery; and we ordered a cab to take us to Clifton Villa, to call on Mrs. ------, a friend of B------'s, who called on us the day after our arrival. Just, as we were ready to start, Mrs. ------ again called, and accompanied us back to her house. It is in Shirley, about two miles from Southampton pier, and is a pleasant suburban villa, with a pretty ornamented lawn and shrubbery about it. Mrs. ------ is an instructress of young ladies; and at B------'s suggestion, she is willing to receive us for two or three weeks, during the vacation, until we are ready to go to London. She seems to be a pleasant and sensible woman, and to-morrow we shall decide whether to go there. There was nothing very remarkable in this drive; and, indeed, my stay hereabouts thus far has been very barren of sights and incidents externally interesting, though the inner life has been rich. Southampton is a very pretty town, and has not the dinginess to which I have been accustomed in many English towns. The High Street reminds me very much of American streets in its general effect; the houses being mostly stuccoed white or light, and cheerful in aspect, though doubtless they are centuries old at heart. The old gateway, which I presume I have mentioned in describing my former visit to Southampton, stands across High Street, about in the centre of the town, and is almost the only token of antiquity that presents itself to the eye. June 17th.--Yesterday morning, June 16th, S-----, Mrs. ------, and I took the rail for Salisbury, where we duly arrived without any accident or anything noticeable, except the usual verdure and richness of an English summer landscape. From the railway station we walked up into Salisbury, with the tall spire (four hundred feet high) of the cathedral before our eyes. Salisbury is an antique city, but with streets more regular than I have seen in most old towns, and the houses have a more picturesque aspect than those of Oxford, for instance, where almost all are mean-looking alike,--though I could hardly judge of Oxford on that hot, weary day. Through one or more of the streets there runs a swift, clear little stream, which, being close to the pavement, and bordered with stone, may be called, I suppose, a kennel, though possessing the transparent purity of a rustic rivulet. It is a brook in city garb. We passed under the pointed arch of a gateway, which stands in one of the principal streets, and soon came in front of THE CATHEDRAL. I do not remember any cathedral with so fine a site as this, rising up out of the centre of a beautiful green, extensive enough to show its full proportions, relieved and insulated from all other patchwork and impertinence of rusty edifices. It is of gray stone, and looks as perfect as when just finished, and with the perfection, too, that could not have come in less than six centuries of venerableness, with a view to which these edifices seem to have been built. A new cathedral would lack the last touch to its beauty and grandeur. It needs to be mellowed and ripened, like some pictures; although I suppose this awfulness of antiquity was supplied, in the minds of the generation that built cathedrals, by the sanctity which they attributed to them. Salisbury Cathedral is far more beautiful than that of York, the exterior of which was really disagreeable to my eye; but this mighty spire and these multitudinous gray pinnacles and towers ascend towards heaven with a kind of natural beauty, not as if man had contrived them. They might be fancied to have grown up, just as the spires of a tuft of grass do, at the same time that they have a law of propriety and regularity among themselves. The tall spire is of such admirable proportion that it does not seem gigantic; and indeed the effect of the whole edifice is of beauty rather than weight and massiveness. Perhaps the bright, balmy sunshine in which we saw it contributed to give it a tender glory, and to soften a little its majesty. When we went in, we heard the organ, the forenoon service being near conclusion. If I had never seen the interior of York Cathedral, I should have been quite satisfied, no doubt, with the spaciousness of this nave and these side aisles, and the height of their arches, and the girth of these pillars; but with that recollection in my mind they fell a little short of grandeur. The interior is seen to disadvantage, and in a way the builder never meant it to be seen; because there is little or no painted glass, nor any such mystery as it makes, but only a colorless, common daylight, revealing everything without remorse. There is a general light hue, moreover, like that of whitewash, over the whole of the roof and walls of the interior, pillars, monuments, and all; whereas, originally, every pillar was polished, and the ceiling was ornamented in brilliant colors, and the light came, many-hued, through the windows, on all this elaborate beauty, in lieu of which there is nothing now but space. Between the pillars that separate the nave from the side aisles, there are ancient tombs, most of which have recumbent statues on them. One of these is Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, son of Fair Rosamond, in chain mail; and there are many other warriors and bishops, and one cross-legged Crusader, and on one tombstone a recumbent skeleton, which I have likewise seen in two or three other cathedrals. The pavement of the aisles and nave is laid in great part with flat tombstones, the inscriptions on which are half obliterated, and on the walls, especially in the transepts, there are tablets, among which I saw one to the poet Bowles, who was a canon of this cathedral. The ecclesiastical dignitaries bury themselves and monument themselves to the exclusion of almost everybody else, in these latter times; though still, as of old, the warrior has his place. A young officer, slain in the Indian wars, was memorialized by a tablet, and may be remembered by it, six hundred years hence, as we now remember the old Knights and Crusaders. It deserves to be mentioned that I saw one or two noses still unbroken among these recumbent figures. Most of the antique statues, on close examination, proved to be almost, entirely covered with names and initials, scratched over the once polished surface. The cathedral and its relics must have been far less carefully watched, at some former period, than now. Between the nave and the choir, as usual, there is a screen that half destroys the majesty of the building, by abridging the spectator of the long vista which he might otherwise have of the whole interior at a glance. We peeped through the barrier, and saw some elaborate monuments in the chancel beyond; but the doors of the screen are kept locked, so that the vergers may raise a revenue by showing strangers through the richest part of the cathedral. By and by one of these vergers came through the screen, with a gentleman and lady whom he was taking round, and we joined ourselves to the party. He showed us into the cloisters, which had long been neglected and ruinous, until the time of Bishop Dennison, the last prelate, who has been but a few years dead. This Bishop has repaired and restored the cloisters in faithful adherence to the original plan; and they now form a most delightful walk about a pleasant and verdant enclosure, in the centre of which sleeps good Bishop Dennison, with a wife on either side of him, all three beneath broad flat stones. Most cloisters are darksome and grim; but these have a broad paved walk beneath the vista of arches, and are light, airy, and cheerful; and from one corner you can get the best possible view of the whole height and beautiful proportion of the cathedral spire. One side of this cloistered walk seems to be the length of the nave of the cathedral. There is a square of four such sides; and of places for meditation, grave, yet not too sombre, it seemed to me one of the best. While we stayed there, a jackdaw was walking to and fro across the grassy enclosure, and haunting around the good Bishop's grave. He was clad in black, and looked like a feathered ecclesiastic; but I know not whether it were Bishop Dennison's ghost, or that of some old monk. On one side of the cloisters, and contiguous to the main body of the cathedral, stands the chapter-house. Bishop Dennison had it much at heart to repair this part of the holy edifice; and, if I mistake not, did begin the work; for it had been long ruinous, and in Cromwell's time his dragoons stationed their horses there. Little progress, however, had been made in the repairs when the Bishop died; and it was decided to restore the building in his honor, and by way of monument to him. The repairs are now nearly completed; and the interior of this chapter-house gave me the first idea, anywise adequate, of the splendor of these Gothic church edifices. The roof is sustained by one great central pillar of polished marble,--small pillars clustered about a great central column, which rises to the ceiling, and there gushes out with various beauty, that overflows all the walls; as if the fluid idea had sprung out of that fountain, and grown solid in what we see. The pavement is elaborately ornamented; the ceiling is to be brilliantly gilded and painted, as it was of yore, and the tracery and sculptures around the walls are to be faithfully renewed from what remains of the original patterns. After viewing the chapter-house, the verger--an elderly man of grave, benign manner, clad in black and talking of the cathedral and the monuments as if he loved them--led us again into the nave of the cathedral, and thence within the screen of the choir. The screen is as poor as possible,--mere barren wood-work, without the least attempt at beauty. In the chancel there are some meagre patches of old glass, and some of modern date, not very well worth looking at. We saw several interesting monuments in this part of the cathedral,--one belonging to the ducal family of Somerset, and erected in the reign of James I.; it is of marble, and extremely splendid and elaborate, with kneeling figures and all manner of magnificence,--more than I have seen in any monument except that of Mary of Scotland in Westminster Abbey. The more ancient tombs are also very numerous, and among them that of the Bishop who founded the cathedral. Within the screen, against the wall, is erected a monument, by Chantrey, to the Earl of Malmesbury; a full-length statue of the Earl in a half-recumbent position, holding an open volume and looking upward,--a noble work,--a calm, wise, thoughtful, firm, and not unbenignant face. Beholding its expression, it really was impossible not to have faith in the high character of the individual thus represented; and I have seldom felt this effect from any monumental bust or statue, though I presume it is always aimed at. I am weary of trying to describe cathedrals. It is utterly useless; there is no possibility of giving the general effect, or any shadow of it, and it is miserable to put down a few items of tombstones, and a bit of glass from a painted window, as if the gloom and glory of the edifice were thus to be reproduced. Cathedrals are almost the only things (if even those) that have quite filled out my ideal here in this old world; and cathedrals often make me miserable from my inadequacy to take them wholly in; and, above all, I despise myself when I sit down to describe them. We now walked around the Close, which is surrounded by some of the quaintest and comfortablest ecclesiastical residences that can be imagined. These are the dwelling-houses of the Dean and the canons, and whatever other high officers compose the Bishop's staff; and there was one large brick mansion, old, but not so ancient as the rest, which we took to be the Bishop's palace. I never beheld anything--I must say again so cosey, so indicative of domestic comfort for whole centuries together,--houses so fit to live in or to die in, and where it would be so pleasant to lead a young wife beneath the antique portal, and dwell with her till husband and wife were patriarchal,--as these delectable old houses. They belong naturally to the cathedral, and have a necessary relation to it, and its sanctity is somehow thrown over them all, so that they do not quite belong to this world, though they look full to overflowing of whatever earthly things are good for man. These are places, however, in which mankind makes no progress; the rushing tumult of human life here subsides into a deep, quiet pool, with perhaps a gentle circular eddy, but no onward movement. The same identical thought, I suppose, goes round in a slow whirl from one generation to another, as I have seen a withered leaf do in the vortex of a brook. In the front of the cathedral there is a most stately and beautiful tree, which flings its verdure upward to a very lofty height; but far above it rises the tall spire, dwarfing the great tree by comparison. When the cathedral had sufficiently oppressed us with its beauty, we returned to sublunary matters, and went wandering about Salisbury in search of a luncheon, which we finally took in a confectioner's shop. Then we inquired hither and thither, at various livery-stables, for a conveyance to Stonehenge, and at last took a fly from the Lamb Hotel. The drive was over a turnpike for the first seven miles, over a bare, ridgy country, showing little to interest us. We passed a party of seven or eight men, in a coarse uniform dress, resembling that worn by convicts and apparently under the guardianship of a stout, authoritative, yet rather kindly-looking man with a cane. Our driver said that they were lunatics from a neighboring asylum, out for a walk. Seven miles from Salisbury, we turned aside from the turnpike, and drove two miles across Salisbury Plain, which is an apparently boundless extent of unenclosed land, treeless and houseless. It is not exactly a plain, but a green sea of long and gentle swells and subsidences, affording views of miles upon miles to a very far horizon. We passed large flocks of sheep, with the shepherds watching them; but the dogs seemed to take most of the care of the flocks upon their own shoulders, and would scamper to turn the sheep when they inclined to stray whither they should not; and then arose a thousand-fold bleating, not unpleasant to the ear; for it did not apparently indicate any fear or discomfort on the part of the flock. The sheep and lambs are all black-faced, and have a very funny expression. As we drove over the plain (my seat was beside the driver), I saw at a distance a cluster of large gray stones, mostly standing upright, and some of them slightly inclined towards each other, --very irregular, and so far off forming no very picturesque or noteworthy spectacle. Of course I knew at once that this was STONEHENGE, and also knew that the reality was going to dwindle wofully within my ideal, as almost everything else does. When we reached the spot, we found a picnic-party just finishing their dinner, on one of the overthrown stones of the druidical temple; and within the sacred circle an artist was painting a wretched daub of the scene, and an old shepherd --the very Shepherd of Salisbury Plain sat erect in the centre of the ruin. There never was a ruder thing than Stonehenge made by mortal hands. It is so very rude that it seems as if Nature and man had worked upon it with one consent, and so it is all the stranger and more impressive from its rudeness. The spectator wonders to see art and contrivance, and a regular and even somewhat intricate plan, beneath all the uncouth simplicity of this arrangement of rough stones; and certainly, whatever was the intellectual and scientific advancement of the people who built Stonehenge, no succeeding architects will ever have a right to triumph over them; for nobody's work in after times is likely to endure till it becomes a mystery as to who built it, and how, and for what purpose. Apart from the moral considerations suggested by it, Stonehenge is not very well worth seeing. Materially, it is one of the poorest of spectacles, and when complete, it must have been even less picturesque than now,--a few huge, rough stones, very imperfectly squared, standing on end, and each group of two supporting a third large stone on their tops; other stones of the same pattern overthrown and tumbled one upon another; and the whole comprised within a circuit of about a hundred feet diameter; the short, sheep-cropped grass of Salisbury Plain growing among all these uncouth bowlders. I am not sure that a misty, lowering day would not have better suited Stonehenge, as the dreary midpoint of the great, desolate, trackless plain; not literally trackless, however, for the London and Exeter Road passes within fifty yards of the ruins, and another road intersects it. After we had been there about an hour, there came a horseman within the Druid's circle,--evidently a clerical personage by his white neckcloth, though his loose gray riding pantaloons were not quite in keeping. He looked at us rather earnestly, and at last addressed Mrs. ------, and announced himself as Mr. Hinchman,--a clergyman whom she had been trying to find in Salisbury, in order to avail herself of him as a cicerone; and he had now ridden hither to meet us. He told us that the artist whom we found here could give us more information than anybody about Stonehenge; for it seems he has spent a great many years here, painting and selling his poor sketches to visitors, and also selling a book which his father wrote about the remains. This man showed, indeed, a pretty accurate, acquaintance with these old stones, and pointed out, what is thought to be the altar-stone, and told us of some relation between this stone and two other stones, and the rising of the sun at midsummer, which might indicate that Stonehenge was a temple of solar worship. He pointed out, too, to how little depth the stones were planted in the earth, insomuch that I have no doubt the American frosts would overthrow Stonehenge in a single winter; and it is wonderful that it should have stood so long, even in England. I have forgotten what else he said; but I bought one of his books, and find it a very unsatisfactory performance, being chiefly taken up with an attempt to prove these remains to be an antediluvian work, constructed, I think the author says, under the superintendence of Father Adam himself! Before our departure we were requested to write our names in the album which the artist keeps for the purpose; and he pointed out Ex-President Fillmore's autograph, and those of one or two other Americans who have been here within a short time. It is a very curious life that this artist leads, in this great solitude, and haunting Stonehenge like the ghost of a Druid; but he is a brisk little man, and very communicative on his one subject. Mr. Hinchman rode with us over the plain, and pointed out Salisbury spire, visible close to Stonehenge. Under his guidance we returned by a different road from that which brought us thither,--and a much more delightful one. I think I never saw such continued sylvan beauty as this road showed us, passing through a good deal of woodland scenery,--fine old trees, standing each within its own space, and thus having full liberty to outspread itself, and wax strong and broad for ages, instead of being crowded, and thus stifled and emaciated, as human beings are here, and forest-trees are in America. Hedges, too, and the rich, rich verdure of England; and villages full of picturesque old houses, thatched, and ivied, or perhaps overrun with roses,--and a stately mansion in the Elizabethan style; and a quiet stream, gliding onward without a ripple from its own motion, but rippled by a large fish darting across it; and over all this scene a gentle, friendly sunshine, not ardent enough to crisp a single leaf or blade of grass. Nor must the village church be forgotten, with its square, battlemented tower, dating back to the epoch of the Normans. We called at a house where one of Mrs. ------'s pupils was residing with her aunt,--a thatched house of two stories high, built in what was originally a sand-pit, but which, in the course of a good many years, has been transformed into the most delightful and homelike little nook almost that can be found in England. A thatched cottage suggests a very rude dwelling indeed; but this had a pleasant parlor and drawing-room, and chambers with lattice-windows, opening close beneath the thatched roof; and the thatch itself gives an air to the place as if it were a bird's nest, or some such simple and natural habitation. The occupants are an elderly clergyman, retired from professional duty, and his sister; and having nothing else to do, and sufficient means, they employ themselves in beautifying this sweet little retreat,-- planting new shrubbery, laying out new walks around it, and helping Nature to add continually another charm; and Nature is certainly a more genial playfellow in England than in my own country. She is always ready to lend her aid to any beautifying purpose. Leaving these good people, who were very hospitable, giving tea and offering wine, we reached Salisbury in time to take the train for Southampton. June 18th.--Yesterday we left the Castle Hotel, after paying a bill of twenty pounds for a little more than a week's board. In America we could not very well have lived so simply, but we might have lived luxuriously for half the money. This Castle Hotel was once an old Roman castle, the landlord says, and the circular sweep of the tower is still seen towards the street, although, being painted white, and built up with modern additions, it would not be taken for an ancient structure. There is a dungeon beneath it, in which the landlord keeps his wine. J----- and I, quitting the hotel, walked towards Shinley along the water-side, leaving the rest of the family to follow in a fly. There are many traces, along the shore, of the fortifications by which Southampton was formerly defended towards the water, and very probably their foundations may be as ancient as Roman times. Our hotel was no doubt connected with this chain of defences, which seems to have consisted of a succession of round towers, with a wall extending from one to another. We saw two or three of these towers still standing, and likely to stand, though ivy-grown and ruinous at the summit, and intermixed and even amalgamated with pot-houses and mean dwellings; and often, through an antique arch, there was a narrow doorway, giving access to the house of some sailor or laborer or artisan, and his wife gossiping at it with her neighbor, or his children playing about it. After getting beyond the precincts of Southampton our walk was not very interesting, except to J-----, who kept running down to the verge of the water, looking for shells and sea-insects. June 29th.--Yesterday, 28th, I left Liverpool from the Lime Street station; an exceedingly hot day for England, insomuch that the rail carriages were really uncomfortable. I have now passed over the London and Northwestern Railway so often that the northern part of it is very wearisome, especially as it has few features of interest even to a new observer. At Stafford--no, at Wolverhampton--we diverged to a track which I have passed over only once before. We stopped an hour and a quarter at Wolverhampton, and I walked up into the town, which is large and old,--old, at least, in its plan, or lack of plan,--the streets being irregular, and straggling over an uneven surface. Like many of the English towns, it reminds me of Boston, though dingier. The sun was so hot that I actually sought the shady sides of the streets; and this, of itself, is one long step towards establishing a resemblance between an English town and an American one. English railway carriages seem to me more tiresome than any other; and I suppose it is owing to the greater motion, arising from their more elastic springs. A slow train, too, like that which I was now in, is more tiresome than a quick one, at least to the spirits, whatever it may be to the body. We loitered along through afternoon and evening, stopping at every little station, and nowhere getting to the top of our speed, till at last, in the late dusk, we reached GLOUCESTER, and I put up at the Wellington Hotel, which is but a little way from the station. I took tea and a slice or two of ham in the coffee-room, and had a little talk with two people there; one of whom, on learning that I was an American, said, "But I suppose you have now been in England some time?" He meant, finding me not absolutely a savage, that I must have been caught a good while ago. . . . . The next morning I went into the city, the hotel being on its outskirts, and rambled along in search of the cathedral. Some church-bells were chiming and clashing for a wedding or other festal occasion, and I followed the sound, supposing that it might proceed from the cathedral, but this was not the case. It was not till I had got to a bridge over the Severn, quite out of the town, that I saw again its tower, and knew how to shape my course towards it. I did not see much that was strange or interesting in Gloucester. It is old, with a good many of those antique Elizabethan houses with two or three peaked gables on a line together; several old churches, which always cluster about a cathedral, like chickens round a hen; a hospital for decayed tradesmen; another for bluecoat boys; a great many butcher's shops, scattered in all parts of the town, open in front, with a counter or dresser on which to display the meat, just in the old fashion of Shakespeare's house. It is a large town, and has a good deal of liveliness and bustle, in a provincial way. In short, judging by the sheep, cattle, and horses, and the people of agricultural aspect that I saw about the streets, I should think it must have been market-day. I looked here and there for the old Bell Inn, because, unless I misremember, Fielding brings Tom Jones to this inn, while he and Partridge were travelling together. It is still extant; for, on my arrival the night before, a runner from it had asked me to go thither; but I forgot its celebrity at the moment. I saw nothing of it in my rambles about Gloucester, but at last I found THE CATHEDRAL, though I found no point from which a good view of the exterior can be seen. It has a very beautiful and rich outside, however, and a lofty tower, very large and ponderous, but so finished off, and adorned with pinnacles, and all manner of architectural devices,--wherewith these old builders knew how to alleviate their massive structures,--that it seems to sit lightly in the air. The porch was open, and some workmen were trundling barrows into the nave; so I followed, and found two young women sitting just within the porch, one of whom offered to show me round the cathedral. There was a great dust in the nave, arising from the operations of the workmen. They had been laying a new pavement, and scraping away the plaster, which had heretofore been laid over the pillars and walls. The pillars come out from the process as good as new,--great, round, massive columns, not clustered like those of most cathedrals; they are twenty-one feet in circumference, and support semicircular arches. I think there are seven of these columns, on each side of the nave, which did not impress me as very spacious; and the dust and racket of the work-people quite destroyed the effect which should have been produced by the aisles and arches; so that I hardly stopped to glance at this part, though I saw some mural monuments and recumbent statues along the walls. The choir is separated from the nave by the usual screen, and now by a sail-cloth or something of that kind, drawn across, in order to keep out the dust, while the repairs are going on. When the young woman conducted me hither, I was at once struck by the magnificent eastern window, the largest in England, which fills, or looks vast enough to fill, all that end of the cathedral,--a most splendid window, full of old painted glass, which looked as bright as sunshine, though the sun was not really shining through it. The roof of the choir is of oak and very fine, and as much as ninety feet high. There are chapels opening from the choir, and within them the monuments of the eminent people who built them, and of benefactors or prelates, or of those otherwise illustrious in their day. My recollection of what I saw here is very dim and confused; more so than I anticipated. I remember somewhere within the choir the tomb of Edward II. with his effigy upon the top of it, in a long robe, with a crown on his head, and a ball and sceptre in his hand; likewise, a statue of Robert, son of the Conqueror, carved in Irish oak and painted. He lolls in an easy posture on his tomb, with one leg crossed lightly over the other, to denote that he was a Crusader. There are several monuments of mitred abbots who formerly presided over the cathedral. A Cavalier and his wife, with the dress of the period elaborately represented, lie side by side in excellent preservation; and it is remarkable that though their noses are very prominent, they have come down from the past without any wear and tear. The date of the Cavalier's death is 1637, and I think his statue could not have been sculptured until after the Restoration, else he and his dame would hardly have come through Cromwell's time unscathed. Here, as in all the other churches in England, Cromwell is said to have stabled his horses, and broken the windows, and belabored the old monuments. There is one large and beautiful chapel, styled the Lady's Chapel, which is, indeed, a church by itself, being ninety feet long, and comprising everything that appertains to a place of worship. Here, too, there are monuments, and on the floor are many old bricks and tiles, with inscriptions on them, or Gothic devices, and flat tombstones, with coats of arms sculptured on them; as, indeed, there are everywhere else, except in the nave, where the new pavement has obliterated them. After viewing the choir and the chapels, the young woman led me down into the crypts below, where the dead persons who are commemorated in the upper regions were buried. The low ponderous pillars and arches of these crypts are supposed to be older than the upper portions of the building. They are about as perfect, I suppose, as when new, but very damp, dreary, and darksome; and the arches intersect one another so intricately, that, if the girl had deserted me, I might easily have got lost there. These are chapels where masses used to be said for the souls of the deceased; and my guide said that a great many skulls and bones had been dug up here. No doubt a vast population has been deposited in the course of a thousand years. I saw two white skulls, in a niche, grinning as skulls always do, though it is impossible to see the joke. These crypts, or crypts like these, are doubtless what Congreve calls the "aisles and monumental caves of Death," in that passage which Dr. Johnson admired so much. They are very singular,--something like a dark shadow or dismal repetition of the upper church below ground. Ascending from the crypts, we went next to the cloisters, which are in a very perfect state, and form an unbroken square about the green grass-plot, enclosed within. Here also it is said Cromwell stabled his horses; but if so, they were remarkably quiet beasts, for tombstones, which form the pavement, are not broken, nor cracked, nor bear any hoof-marks. All around the cloisters, too, the stone tracery that shuts them in like a closed curtain, carefully drawn, remains as it was in the days of the monks, insomuch that it is not easy to get a glimpse of the green enclosure. Probably there used to be painted glass in the larger apertures of this stone-work; otherwise it is perfect. These cloisters are very different from the free, open, and airy ones of Salisbury; but they are more in accordance with our notions of monkish habits; and even at this day, if I were a canon of Gloucester, I would put that dim ambulatory to a good use. The library is adjacent to the cloisters, and I saw some rows of folios and quartos. I have nothing else to record about the cathedral, though if I were to stay there a month, I suppose it might then begin to be understood. It is wicked to look at these solemn old churches in a hurry. By the by, it was not built in a hurry; but in full three hundred years, having been begun in 1188 and only finished in 1498, not a great many years before Papistry began to go out of vogue in England. From Gloucester I took the rail for Basingstoke before noon. The first part of the journey was through an uncommonly beautiful tract of country, hilly, but not wild; a tender and graceful picturesqueness,--fine, single trees and clumps of trees, and sometimes wide woods, scattered over the landscape, and filling the nooks of the hills with luxuriant foliage. Old villages scattered frequently along our track, looking very peaceful, with the peace of past ages lingering about them; and a rich, rural verdure of antique cultivation everywhere. Old country-seats--specimens of the old English hall or manor-house--appeared on the hillsides, with park-scenery surrounding the mansions; and the gray churches rose in the midst of all the little towns. The beauty of English scenery makes me desperate, it is so impossible to describe it, or in any way to record its impression, and such a pity to leave it undescribed; and, moreover, I always feel that I do not get from it a hundredth or a millionth part of the enjoyment that there really is in it, hurrying past it thus. I was really glad when we rumbled into a tunnel, piercing for a long distance through a hill; and, emerging on the other side, we found ourselves in a comparatively level and uninteresting tract of country, which lasted till we reached Southampton. English scenery, to be appreciated and to be reproduced with pen and pencil, requires to be dwelt upon long, and to be wrought out with the nicest touches. A coarse and hasty brush is not the instrument for such work. July 6th.--Monday, June 30th, was a warm and beautiful day, and my wife and I took a cab from Southampton and drove to NETLEY ABBEY, about three or four miles. The remains of the Abbey stand in a sheltered place, but within view of Southampton Water; and it is a most picturesque and perfect ruin, all ivy-grown, of course, and with great trees where the pillars of the nave used to stand, and also in the refectory and the cloister court; and so much soil on the summit of the broken walls, that weeds flourish abundantly there, and grass too; and there was a wild rosebush, in full bloom, as much as thirty or forty feet from the ground. S----- and I ascended a winding stair, leading up within a round tower, the steps much foot-worn; and, reaching the top, we came forth at the height where a gallery had formerly run round the church, in the thickness of the wall. The upper portions of the edifice were now chiefly thrown down; but I followed a foot-path, on the top of the remaining wall, quite to the western entrance of the church. Since the time when the Abbey was taken from the monks, it has been private property; and the possessor, in Henry VIII.'s days, or subsequently, built a residence for himself within its precincts out of the old materials. This has now entirely disappeared, all but some unsightly old masonry, patched into the original walls. Large portions of the ruin have been removed, likewise, to be used as building-materials elsewhere; and this is the Abbey mentioned, I think, by Dr. Watts, concerning which a Mr. William Taylor had a dream while he was contemplating pulling it down. He dreamed that a part of it fell upon his head; and, sure enough, a piece of the wall did come down and crush him. In the nave I saw a large mass of conglomerated stone that had fallen from the wall between the nave and cloisters, and thought that perhaps this was the very mass that killed poor Mr. Taylor. The ruins are extensive and very interesting; but I have put off describing them too long, and cannot make a distinct picture of them now. Moreover, except to a spectator skilled in architecture, all ruined abbeys are pretty much alike. As we came away, we noticed some women making baskets at the entrance, and one of them urged us to buy some of her handiwork; for that she was the gypsy of Netley Abbey, and had lived among the ruins these thirty years. So I bought one for a shilling. She was a woman with a prominent nose, and weather-tanned, but not very picturesque or striking. TO BLACKHEATH. On the 6th July, we left the Villa, with our enormous luggage, and took our departure from Southampton by the noon train. The main street of Southampton, though it looks pretty fresh and bright, must be really antique, there being a great many projecting windows, in the old-time style, and these make the vista of the street very picturesque. I have no doubt that I missed seeing many things more interesting than the few that I saw. Our journey to London was without any remarkable incident, and at the Waterloo station we found one of Mr. Bennoch's clerks, under whose guidance we took two cabs for the East Kent station at London Bridge, and there railed to Blackheath, where we arrived in the afternoon. On Thursday I went into London by one of the morning trains, and wandered about all day,--visiting the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, and Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, the two latter of which I have already written about in former journals. On Friday, S-----, J-----, and I walked over the heath, and through the Park to Greenwich, and spent some hours in the Hospital. The painted hall struck me much more than at my first view of it; it is very beautiful indeed, and the effect of its frescoed ceiling most rich and magnificent, the assemblage of glowing hues producing a general result of splendor. . . . . In the evening I went with Mr. and Mrs. ------ to a conversazione at Mrs. Newton Crosland's, who lives on Blackheath. . . . . I met with one person who interested me,--Mr. Bailey, the author of Festus; and I was surprised to find myself already acquainted with him. It is the same Mr. Bailey whom I met a few months ago, when I first dined at Mr. -----'s,--a dark, handsome, rather picturesque-looking man, with a gray beard, and dark hair, a little dimmed with gray. He is of quiet and very agreeable deportment, and I liked him and believed in him. . . . . There is sadness glooming out of him, but no unkindness nor asperity. Mrs. Crosland's conversazione was enriched with a supper, and terminated with a dance, in which Mr. ------ joined with heart and soul, but Mrs. ------ went to sleep in her chair, and I would gladly have followed her example if I could have found a chair to sit upon. In the course of the evening I had some talk with a pale, nervous young lady, who has been a noted spiritual medium. Yesterday I went into town by the steamboat from Greenwich to London Bridge, with a nephew of Mr. ------'s, and, calling at his place of business, he procured us an order from his wine-merchants, by means of which we were admitted into THE WINE-VAULTS OF THE LONDON DOCKS. We there found parties, with an acquaintance, who was going, with two French gentlemen, into the vaults. It is a good deal like going down into a mine, each visitor being provided with a lamp at the end of a stick; and following the guide along dismal passages, running beneath the streets, and extending away interminably,--roughly arched overhead with stone, from which depend festoons of a sort of black fungus, caused by the exhalations of the wine. Nothing was ever uglier than this fungus. It is strange that the most ethereal effervescence of rich wine can produce nothing better. The first series of vaults which we entered were filled with port-wine, and occupied a space variously estimated at from eleven to sixteen acres,--which I suppose would hold more port-wine than ever was made. At any rate, the pipes and butts were so thickly piled that in some places we could hardly squeeze past them. We drank from two or three vintages; but I was not impressed with any especial excellence in the wine. We were not the only visitors, for, far in the depths of the vault, we passed a gentleman and two young ladies, wandering about like the ghosts of defunct wine-bibhers, in a Tophet specially prepared for then. People employed here sometimes go astray, and, their lamps being extinguished, they remain long in this everlasting gloom. We went likewise to the vaults of sherry-wine, which have the same characteristics as those just described, but are less extensive. It is no guaranty for the excellence or even for the purity of the wine, that it is kept in these cellars, under the lock and key of the government; for the merchants are allowed to mix different vintages, according to their own pleasure, and to adulterate it as they like. Very little of the wine probably comes out as it goes in, or is exactly what it pretends to be. I went back to Mr. ------'s office, and we drove together to make some calls jointly and separately. I went alone to Mrs. Heywood's; afterwards with Mr. ------ to the American minister's, whom we found at home; and I requested of him, on the part of the Americans at Liverpool, to tell me the facts about the American gentleman being refused admittance to the Levee. The ambassador did not seem to me to make his point good for having withdrawn with the rejected guest. July 9th. (Our wedding-day.)--We were invited yesterday evening to Mrs. S. C. Hall's, where Jenny Lind was to sing; so we left Blackheath at about eight o'clock in a brougham, and reached Ashley Place, as the dusk was gathering, after nine. The Halls reside in a handsome suite of apartments, arranged on the new system of flats, each story constituting a separate tenement, and the various families having an entrance-hall in common. The plan is borrowed from the Continent, and seems rather alien to the traditionary habits of the English; though, no doubt, a good degree of seclusion is compatible with it. Mr. Hall received us with the greatest cordiality before we entered the drawing-room. Mrs. Hall, too, greeted us with most kindly warmth. Jenny Lind had not yet arrived; but I found Dr. Mackay there, and I was introduced to Miss Catherine Sinclair, who is a literary lady, though none of her works happen to be known to me. Soon the servant announced Madam Goldschmidt, and this famous lady made her appearance, looking quite different from what I expected. Mrs. Hall established her in the inner drawing-room, where was a piano and a harp; and shortly after, our hostess came to me, and said that Madam Goldschmidt wished to be introduced to me. There was a gentle peremptoriness in the summons, that made it something like being commanded into the presence of a princess; a great favor, no doubt, but yet a little humbling to the recipient. However, I acquiesced with due gratitude, and was presented accordingly. She made room for me on the sofa, and I sat down, and began to talk. Jenny Lind is rather tall,--quite tall, for a woman,--certainly no beauty, but with sense and self-reliance in her aspect and manners. She was suffering under a severe cold, and seemed worn down besides, so probably I saw her under disadvantages. Her conversation is quite simple, and I should have great faith in her sincerity; and there is about her the manner of a person who knows the world, and has conquered it. She said something or other about The Scarlet Letter; and, on my part, I paid her such compliments as a man could pay who had never heard her sing. . . . . Her conversational voice is an agreeable one, rather deep, and not particularly smooth. She talked about America, and of our unwholesome modes of life, as to eating and exercise, and of the ill-health especially of our women; but I opposed this view as far as I could with any truth, insinuating my opinion that we are about as healthy as other people, and affirming for a certainty that we live longer. In good faith, so far as I have any knowledge of the matter, the women of England are as generally out of health as those of America; always something has gone wrong with them; and as for Jenny Lind, she looks wan and worn enough to be an American herself. This charge of ill-health is almost universally brought forward against us nowadays,--and, taking the whole country together, I do not believe the statistics will bear it out. The rooms, which were respectably filled when we arrived, were now getting quite full. I saw Mr. Stevens, the American man of libraries, and had some talk with him; and Durham, the sculptor; and Mr. and Mrs. Hall introduced me to various people, some of whom were of note,--for instance, Sir Emerson Tennent, a man of the world, of some parliamentary distinction, wearing a star; Mr. Samuel Lover, a most good-natured, pleasant Irishman, with a shining and twinkling visage; Miss Jewsbury, whom I found very conversable. She is known in literature, but not to me. We talked about Emerson, whom she seems to have been well acquainted with while he was in England; and she mentioned that Miss Martineau had given him a lock of hair; it was not her own hair, but a mummy's. After our return, Mrs. ------ told us that Miss Jewsbury had written, among other things, three histories, and as she asked me to introduce her to S-----, and means to cultivate our acquaintance, it would be well to know something of them. We were told that she is now employed in some literary undertaking of Lady Morgan's, who, at the age of ninety, is still circulating in society, and is as brisk in faculties as ever. I should like to see her ladyship, that is, I should not be sorry to see her; for distinguished people are so much on a par with others, socially, that it would be foolish to be overjoyed at seeing anybody whomsoever. Leaving out the illustrious Jenny Lind, I suspect that I was myself the greatest lion of the evening; for a good many persons sought the felicity of knowing me, and had little or nothing to say when that honor and happiness was conferred on them. It is surely very wrong and ill-mannered in people to ask for an introduction unless they are prepared to make talk; it throws too great an expense and trouble on the wretched lion, who is compelled, on the spur of the moment, to convert a conversable substance out of thin air, perhaps for the twentieth time that evening. I am sure I did not say--and I think I did not hear said-- one rememberable word in the course of this visit; though, nevertheless, it was a rather agreeable one. In due season ices and jellies were handed about; and some ladies and gentlemen--professional, perhaps--were kind enough to sing songs, and play on the piano and harp, while persons in remote corners went on with whatever conversation they had in hand. Then came supper; but there were so many people to go into the supper-room that we could not all crowd thither together, and, coming late, I got nothing but some sponge-cake and a glass of champagne, neither of which I care for. After supper, Mr. Lover sang some Irish songs, his own in music and words, with rich, humorous effect, to which the comicality of his face contributed almost as much as his voice and words. The Lord Mayor looked in for a little while, and though a hard-featured Jew enough, was the most picturesque person there. July 10th.--Mrs. Heywood had invited me to dinner last evening. . . . . Her house is very finely situated, overlooking Hyde Park, and not a great way from where Tyburn tree used to stand. When I arrived, there were no guests but Mr. and Mrs. D------; but by and by came Mr. Monckton Milnes and lady, the Bishop of Lichfield, Mr. Tom Taylor, Mr. Ewart, M. P., Sir Somebody Somerville, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave, and others. Mr. Milnes, whom I had not seen for more than a year, greeted me very cordially, and so did Mr. Taylor. I took Mrs. Musgrave in to dinner. She is an Irish lady, and Mrs. Heywood had recommended her to me as being very conversable; but I had a good deal more talk with Mrs. M------, with whom I was already acquainted, than with her. Mrs. M------ is of noble blood, and therefore not snobbish,--quite unaffected, gentle, sweet, and easy to get on with, reminding me of the best-mannered American women. But how can anything characteristic be said or done among a dozen people sitting at table in full dress? Speaking of full dress, the Bishop wore small-clothes and silk stockings, and entered the drawing-room with a three-cornered hat, which he kept flattened out under his arm. He asked the briefest blessing possible, and, sitting at the ultra end of the table, I heard nothing further from him till he officiated as briefly before the cloth was withdrawn. Mrs. M------ talked about Tennyson, with whom her husband was at the University, and whom he continues to know intimately. She says that he considers Maud his best poem. He now lives in the Isle of Wight, spending all the year round there, and has recently bought the place on which he resides. She was of opinion that he would have been gratified by my calling on him, which I had wished to do, while we were at Southampton; but this is a liberty which I should hardly venture upon with a shy man like Tennyson,--more especially as he might perhaps suspect me of doing it on the score of my own literary character. But I should like much to see him Mr. Tom Taylor, during dinner, made some fun for the benefit of the ladies on either side of him. I liked him very well this evening. When the ladies had not long withdrawn, and after the wine had once gone round, I asked Mr. Heywood to make my apologies to Mrs. Heywood, and took leave; all London lying betwixt me and the London Bridge station, where I was to take the rail homeward. At the station I found Mr. Bennoch, who had been dining with the Lord Mayor to meet Sir William Williams, and we railed to Greenwich, and reached home by midnight. Mr. and Mrs. Bennoch have set out on their Continental journey to-day,--leaving us, for a little space, in possession of what will be more like a home than anything that we shall hereafter find in England. This afternoon I had taken up the fourth volume of Jerdan's Autobiography,--wretched twaddle, though it records such constant and apparently intimate intercourse with distinguished people,--and was reading it, between asleep and awake, on the sofa, when Mr. Jerdan himself was announced. I saw him, in company with Mr. Bennoch, nearly three years ago, at Rock Park, and wondered then what there was in so uncouth an individual to get him so freely into polished society. He now looks rougher than ever,--time-worn, but not reverend; a thatch of gray hair on his head; an imperfect set of false teeth; a careless apparel, checked trousers, and a stick, for he had walked a mile or two from his own dwelling. I suspect--and long practice at the Consulate has made me keen-sighted-- that Mr. Jerdan contemplated some benefit from my purse; and, to the extent of a sovereign or so, I would not mind contributing to his comfort. He spoke of a secret purpose of Mr. ------ and himself to obtain me a degree or diploma in some Literary Institution,--what one I know not, and did not ask; but the honor cannot be a high one, if this poor old fellow can do aught towards it. I am afraid he is a very disreputable senior, but certainly not the less to be pitied on that account; and there was something very touching in his stiff and infirm movement, as he resumed his stick and took leave, waving me a courteous farewell, and turning upon me a smile, grim with age, as he went down the steps. In that gesture and smile I fancied some trace of the polished man of society, such as he may have once been; though time and hard weather have roughened him, as they have the once polished marble pillars which I saw so rude in aspect at Netley Abbey. Speaking of Dickens last evening, Mr. ------ mentioned his domestic tastes,--how he preferred home enjoyments to all others, and did not willingly go much into society. Mrs. ------, too, the other day told us of his taking on himself all possible trouble as regards his domestic affairs. . . . . There is a great variety of testimony, various and varied, as to the character of Dickens. I must see him before I finally leave England. July 13th.--On Friday morning (11th), at nine o'clock, I took the rail into town to breakfast with Mr. Milnes. As he had named a little after ten as the hour, I could not immediately proceed to his house, and so walked moderately over London Bridge and into the city, meaning to take a cab from Charing Cross, or thereabouts. Passing through some street or other, contiguous to Cheapside, I saw in a court-yard the entrance to the Guildhall, and stepped in to look at it. It is a spacious hall, about one hundred and fifty feet long, and perhaps half as broad, paved with flagstones which look worn and some of them cracked across; the roof is very lofty and was once vaulted, but has been shaped anew in modern times. There is a vast window partly filled with painted glass, extending quite along each end of the hall, and a row of arched windows on either side, throwing their light from far above downward upon the pavement. This fashion of high windows, not reaching within twenty or thirty feet of the floor, serves to give great effect to the large enclosed space of an antique hall. Against the walls are several marble monuments; one to the Earl of Chatham, a statue of white marble, with various allegorical contrivances, fronting an obelisk or pyramid of dark marble; and another to his son, William Pitt, of somewhat similar design and of equal size; each of them occupying the whole space, I believe, between pavement and ceiling. There is likewise a statue of Beckford, a famous Lord Mayor,--the most famous except Whittington, and that one who killed Wat Tyler; and like those two, his fame is perhaps somewhat mythological, though he lived and bustled within less than a century. He is said to have made a bold speech to the King; but this I will not believe of any Englishman--at least, of any plebeian Englishman--until I hear it. But there stands his statue in the Guildhall in the act of making his speech, as if the monstrous attempt had petrified him. Lord Nelson, too, has a monument, and so, I think, has some other modern worthy. At one end of the hall, under one of the great painted windows, stand three or four old statues of mediaeval kings, whose identities I forget; and in the two corners of the opposite end are two gigantic absurdities of painted wood, with grotesque visages, whom I quickly recognized as Gog and Magog. They stand each on a pillar, and seem to be about fifteen feet high, and look like enormous playthings for the children of giants; and it is strange to see them in this solemn old hall, among the memorials of dead heroes and statesmen. There is an annual banquet in the Guildhall, given by the Lord Mayor and sheriffs, and I believe it is the very acme of civic feasting. After viewing the hall, as it still lacked something of ten, I continued my walk through that entanglement of city streets, and quickly found myself getting beyond my reckoning. I cannot tell whither I went, but I passed through a very dirty region, and I remember a long, narrow, evil-odored street, cluttered up with stalls, in which were vegetables and little bits of meat for sale; and there was a frowzy multitude of buyers and sellers. Still I blundered on, and was getting out of the density of the city into broader streets, but still shabby ones, when, looking at my watch, I found it to be past ten, and no cab-stand within sight. It was a quarter past when I finally got into one; and the driver told me that it would take half an hour to go from thence to Upper Brook Street; so that I was likely to exceed the license implied in Mr. Milnes's invitation. Whether I was quite beyond rule I cannot say; but it did not lack more than ten minutes of eleven when I was ushered up stairs, and I found all the company assembled. However, it is of little consequence, except that if I had come early, I should have been introduced to many of the guests, whom now I could only know across the table. Mrs. Milnes greeted me very kindly, and Mr. Milnes came towards me with an elderly gentleman in a blue coat and gray pantaloons,--with a long, rather thin, homely visage, exceedingly shaggy eyebrows, though no great weight of brow, and thin gray hair, and introduced me to the Marquis of Lansdowne. The Marquis had his right hand wrapped up in a black-silk handkerchief; so he gave me his left, and, from some awkwardness in meeting it, when I expected the right, I gave him only three of my fingers,--a thing I never did before to any person, and it is droll that I should have done it to a Marquis. He addressed me with great simplicity and natural kindness, complimenting me on my works, and speaking about the society of Liverpool in former days. Lord Lansdowne was the friend of Moore, and has about him the aroma communicated by the memories of many illustrious people with whom he has associated. Mr. Ticknor, the Historian of Spanish Literature, now greeted me. Mr. Milnes introduced me to Mrs. Browning, and assigned her to me to conduct into the breakfast-room. She is a small, delicate woman, with ringlets of dark hair, a pleasant, intelligent, and sensitive face, and a low, agreeable voice. She looks youthful and comely, and is very gentle and lady-like. And so we proceeded to the breakfast-room, which is hung round with pictures; and in the middle of it stood a large round table, worthy to have been King Arthur's, and here we seated ourselves without any question of precedence or ceremony. On one side of me was an elderly lady, with a very fine countenance, and in the course of breakfast I discovered her to be the mother of Florence Nightingale. One of her daughters (not Florence) was likewise present. Mrs. Milnes, Mrs. Browning, Mrs. Nightingale, and her daughter were the only ladies at table; and I think there were as many as eight or ten gentlemen, whose names--as I came so late--I was left to find out for myself, or to leave unknown. It was a pleasant and sociable meal, and, thanks to my cold beef and coffee at home, I had no occasion to trouble myself much about the fare; so I just ate some delicate chicken, and a very small cutlet, and a slice of dry toast, and thereupon surceased from my labors. Mrs. Browning and I talked a good deal during breakfast, for she is of that quickly appreciative and responsive order of women with whom I can talk more freely than with any man; and she has, besides, her own originality, wherewith to help on conversation, though, I should say, not of a loquacious tendency. She introduced the subject of spiritualism, which, she says, interests her very much; indeed, she seems to be a believer. Mr. Browning, she told me, utterly rejects the subject, and will not believe even in the outward manifestations, of which there is such overwhelming evidence. We also talked of Miss Bacon; and I developed something of that lady's theory respecting Shakespeare, greatly to the horror of Mrs. Browning, and that of her next neighbor,--a nobleman, whose name I did not hear. On the whole, I like her the better for loving the man Shakespeare with a personal love. We talked, too, of Margaret Fuller, who spent her last night in Italy with the Brownings; and of William Story, with whom they have been intimate, and who, Mrs. Browning says, is much stirred about spiritualism. Really, I cannot help wondering that so fine a spirit as hers should not reject the matter, till, at least, it is forced upon her. I like her very much. Mrs. Nightingale had been talking at first with Lord Lansdowne, who sat next her, but by and by she turned to nee, and began to speak of London smoke Then, there being a discussion about Lord Byron on the other side of the table, she spoke to me about Lady Byron, whom she knows intimately, characterizing her as a most excellent and exemplary person, high-principled, unselfish, and now devoting herself to the care of her two grandchildren,--their mother, Byron's daughter, being dead. Lady Byron, she says, writes beautiful verses. Somehow or other, all this praise, and more of the same kind, gave me an idea of an intolerably irreproachable person; and I asked Mrs. Nightingale if Lady Byron were warm-hearted. With some hesitation, or mental reservation,--at all events, not quite outspokenly,--she answered that she was. I was too much engaged with these personal talks to attend much to what was going on elsewhere; but all through breakfast I had been more and more impressed by the aspect of one of the guests, sitting next to Milnes. He was a man of large presence,--a portly personage, gray-haired, but scarcely as yet aged; and his face had a remarkable intelligence, not vivid nor sparkling, but conjoined with great quietude,--and if it gleamed or brightened at one time more than another, it was like the sheen over a broad surface of sea. There was a somewhat careless self-possession, large and broad enough to be called dignity; and the more I looked at him, the more I knew that he was a distinguished person, and wondered who. He might have been a minister of state; only there is not one of them who has any right to such a face and presence. At last,--I do not know how the conviction came,--but I became aware that it was Macaulay, and began to see some slight resemblance to his portraits. But I have never seen any that is not wretchedly unworthy of the original. As soon as I knew him, I began to listen to his conversation, but he did not talk a great deal, contrary to his usual custom; for I am told he is apt to engross all the talk to himself. Probably he may have been restrained by the presence of Ticknor, and Mr. Palfrey, who were among his auditors and interlocutors; and as the conversation seemed to turn much on American subjects, he could not well have assumed to talk them down. I am glad to have seen him,--a face fit for a scholar, a man of the world, a cultivated intelligence. After we left the table, and went into the library, Mr. Browning introduced himself to me,--a younger man than I expected to see, handsome, with brown hair. He is very simple and agreeable in manner, gently impulsive, talking as if his heart were uppermost. He spoke of his pleasure in meeting me, and his appreciation of my books; and--which has not often happened to me--mentioned that The Blithedale Romance was the one he admired most. I wonder why. I hope I showed as much pleasure at his praise as he did at mine; for I was glad to see how pleasantly it moved him. After this, I talked with Ticknor and Miles, and with Mr. Palfrey, to whom I had been introduced very long ago by George Hillard, and had never seen him since. We looked at some autographs, of which Mr. Milnes has two or three large volumes. I recollect a leaf from Swift's Journal to Stella; a letter from Addison; one from Chatterton, in a most neat and legible hand; and a characteristic sentence or two and signature of Oliver Cromwell, written in a religious book. There were many curious volumes in the library, but I had not time to look at them. I liked greatly the manners of almost all,--yes, as far as I observed,-- all the people at this breakfast, and it was doubtless owing to their being all people either of high rank or remarkable intellect, or both. An Englishman can hardly be a gentleman, unless he enjoy one or other of these advantages; and perhaps the surest way to give him good manners is to make a lord of him, or rather of his grandfather or great-grandfather. In the third generation, scarcely sooner, he will be polished into simplicity and elegance, and his deportment will be all the better for the homely material out of which it is wrought and refined. The Marquis of Lansdowne, for instance, would have been a very commonplace man in the common ranks of life; but it has done him good to be a nobleman. Not that his tact is quite perfect. In going up to breakfast, he made me precede him; in returning to the library, he did the same, although I drew back, till he impelled me up the first stair, with gentle persistence. By insisting upon it, he showed his sense of condescension much more than if, when he saw me unwilling to take precedence, he had passed forward, as if the point were not worth either asserting or yielding. Heaven knows, it was in no humility that I would have trodden behind him. But he is a kind old man; and I am willing to believe of the English aristocracy generally that they are kind, and of beautiful deportment; for certainly there never can have been mortals in a position more advantageous for becoming so. I hope there will come a time when we shall be so; and I already know a few Americans, whose noble and delicate manners may compare well with any I have seen. I left the house with Mr. Palfrey. He has cone to England to make some researches in the State Paper Office, for the purposes of a work which he has in hand. He mentioned to me a letter which he had seen, written from New England in the time of Charles II. and referring to the order sent by the minister of that day for the appearance of Governor Bellingham and my ancestor on this side of the water. The signature of this letter is an anagram of my ancestor's name. The letter itself is a very bold and able one, controverting the propriety of the measure above indicated; and Mr. Palfrey feels certain that it was written by my aforesaid ancestor. I mentioned my wish to ascertain the place in England whence the family emigrated; and Mr. Palfrey took me to the Record Office, and introduced me to Mr. Joseph Hunter,--a venerable and courteous gentleman, of antiquarian pursuits. The office was odorous of musty parchments, hundreds of years old. Mr. Hunter received me with great kindness, and gave me various old records and rolls of parchment, in which to seek for my family name; but I was perplexed with the crabbed characters, and soon grew weary and gave up the quest. He says that it is very seldom that an American family, springing from the early settlers, can be satisfactorily traced back to their English ancestry. July 16th.--Monday morning I took the rail from Blackheath to London. It is a very pleasant place, Blackheath, and far more rural than one would expect, within five or six miles of London,--a great many trees, making quite a mass of foliage in the distance; green enclosures; pretty villas, with their nicely kept lawns, and gardens, with grass-plots and flower borders; and village streets, set along the sidewalks with ornamental trees; and the houses standing a little back, and separated one from another,--all this within what is called the Park, which has its gateways, and the sort of semi-privacy with which I first became acquainted at Rock Park. From the London Bridge station I took a cab for Paddington, and then had to wait above two hours before a train started for Birkenhead. Meanwhile I walked a little about the neighborhood, which is very dull and uninteresting; made up of crescents and terraces, and rows of houses that have no individuality, and second-rate shops,--in short, the outskirts of the vast city, when it begins to have a kind of village character but no rurality or sylvan aspect, as at Blackheath. My journey, when at last we started, was quite unmarked by incident, and extremely tedious; it being a slow train, which plods on without haste and without rest. At about ten o'clock we reached Birkenhead, and there crossed the familiar and detestable Mersey, which, as usual, had a cloudy sky brooding over it. Mrs. Blodgett received me most hospitably, but was impelled, by an overflow of guests, to put me into a little back room, looking into the court, and formerly occupied by my predecessor, General Armstrong. . . . . She expressed a hope that I might not see his ghost,--nor have I, as yet. Speaking of ghosts, Mr. H. A. B------ told me a singular story to-day of an apparition that haunts the Times Office, in Printing-House Square. A Mr. W------ is the engineer of the establishment, and has his residence in the edifice, which is built, I believe, on the site of Merchant Taylor's school,--an old house that was no longer occupied for its original purpose, and, being supposed haunted, was left untenanted. The father-in-law of Mr. W------, an old sea-captain, came on a visit to him and his wife, and was put into their guest-chamber, where he passed the night. The next morning, assigning no very satisfactory reason, he cut his visit short and went away. Shortly afterwards, a young lady came to visit the W------'s; but she too went away the next morning,--going first to make a call, as she said, to a friend, and sending thence for her trunks. Mrs. W------ wrote to this young lady, asking an explanation. The young lady replied, and gave a singular account of an apparition,-- how she was awakened in the night by a bright light shining through the window, which was parallel to the bed; then, if I remember rightly, her curtains were withdrawn, and a shape looked in upon her,--a woman's shape, she called it; but it was a skeleton, with lambent flames playing about its bones, and in and out among the ribs. Other persons have since slept in this chamber, and some have seen the shape, others not. Mr. W------ has slept there himself without seeing anything. He has had investigations by scientific people, apparently under the idea that the phenomenon might have been caused by some of the Times's work-people, playing tricks on the magic-lantern principle; but nothing satisfactory has thus far been elucidated. Mr. B------ had this story from Mrs. Gaskell. . . . . Supposing it a ghost, nothing else is so remarkable as its choosing to haunt the precincts of the Times newspaper. July 29th.--On Saturday, 26th, I took the rail from the Lime Street station for London, via the Trent Valley, and reached Blackheath in the evening. . . . . Sunday morning my wife and I, with J-----, railed into London, and drove to the Essex Street Chapel, where Mr. Channing was to preach. The Chapel is the same where Priestley and Belsham used to preach,--one of the plainest houses of worship I was ever in, as simple and undecorated as the faith there inculcated. They retain, however, all the form and ceremonial of the English Established Church, though so modified as to meet the doctrinal views of the Unitarians. There may be good sense in this, inasmuch as it greatly lessens the ministerial labor to have a stated form of prayer, instead of a necessity for extempore outpourings; but it must be, I should think, excessively tedious to the congregation, especially as, having made alterations in these prayers, they cannot attach much idea of sanctity to them. [Here follows a long record of Mr. Hawthorne's visit to Miss Bacon,-- condensed in Our Old Hone, in the paper called "Recollections of a Gifted Woman."] August 2d.--On Wednesday (30th July) we went to Marlborough House to see the Vernon gallery of pictures. They are the works, almost entirely of English artists of the last and present century, and comprise many famous paintings; and I must acknowledge that I had more enjoyment of them than of those portions of the National Gallery which I had before seen,-- including specimens of the grand old masters. My comprehension has not reached their height. I think nothing pleased me more than a picture by Sir David Wilkie,--The Parish Beadle, with a vagrant boy and a monkey in custody; it is exceedingly good and true throughout, and especially the monkey's face is a wonderful production of genius, condensing within itself the whole moral and pathos of the picture. Marlborough House was the residence of the Great Duke, and is to be that of the Prince of Wales, when another place is found for the pictures. It adjoins St. James's Palace. In its present state it is not a very splendid mansion, the rooms being small, though handsomely shaped, with vaulted ceilings, and carved white-marble fireplaces. I left S----- here after an hour or two, and walked forth into the hot and busy city with J-----. . . . . I called at Routledge's bookshop, in hopes to make an arrangement with him about Miss Bacon's business. But Routledge himself is making a journey in the north, and neither of the partners was there, so that I shall have to go thither some other day. Then we stepped into St. Paul's Cathedral to cool ourselves, and it was delightful so to escape from the sunny, sultry turmoil of Fleet Street and Ludgate, and find ourselves at once in this remote, solemn, shadowy seclusion, marble-cool. O that we had cathedrals in America, were it only for the sensuous luxury! We strolled round the cathedral, and I delighted J----- much by pointing out the monuments of three British generals, who were slain in America in the last war,--the naughty and bloodthirsty little man! We then went to Guildhall, where I thought J----- would like to see Gog and Magog; but he had never heard of those illustrious personages, and took no interest in them. . . . . But truly I am grateful to the piety of former times for raising this vast, cool canopy of marble [St. Paul's] in the midst of the feverish city. I wandered quite round it, and saw, in a remote corner, a monument to the officers of the Coldstream Guards, slain in the Crimea. It was a mural tablet, with the names of the officers on an escutcheon; and two privates of the Guards, in marble bas-relief, were mourning over them. Over the tablet hung two silken banners, new and glossy, with the battles in which the regiment has been engaged inscribed on them,--not merely Crimean but Peninsular battles. These banners will bang there till they drop away in tatters. After thus refreshing myself in the cathedral, I went again to Routledge's in Farrington Street, and saw one of the firm. He expressed great pleasure at seeing me, as indeed he might, having published and sold, without any profit on my part, uncounted thousands of my books. I introduced the subject of Miss Bacon's work; and he expressed the utmost willingness to do everything in his power towards bringing it before the world, but thought that his firm--it being their business to publish for the largest circle of readers--was not the most eligible for the publication of such a book. Very likely this may be so. At all events, however, I am to send him the manuscript, and he will at least give me his advice and assistance in finding a publisher. He was good enough to express great regret that I had no work of my own to give him for publication; and, truly, I regret it too, since, being a resident in England, I could now have all the publishing privileges of a native author. He presented me with a copy of an illustrated edition of Longfellow's Poems, and I took my leave. Thence I went to the Picture Gallery at the British Institution, where there are three rooms full of paintings by the first masters, the property of private persons. Every one of them, no doubt, was worth studying for a long, long time; and I suppose I may have given, on an average, a minute to each. What an absurdity it would seem, to pretend to read two or three hundred poems, of all degrees between an epic and a ballad, in an hour or two! And a picture is a poem, only requiring the greater study to be felt and comprehended; because the spectator must necessarily do much for himself towards that end. I saw many beautiful things,--among them some landscapes by Claude, which to the eye were like the flavor of a rich, ripe melon to the palate. August 7th.--Yesterday we took the rail for London, it being a fine, sunny day, though not so very warm as many of the preceding days have been. . . . . We went along Piccadilly as far as the Egyptian Hall. It is quite remarkable how comparatively quiet the town has become, now that the season is over. One can see the difference in all the region west of Temple Bar; and, indeed, either the hot weather or some other cause seems to have operated in assuaging the turmoil in the city itself. I never saw London Bridge so little thronged as yesterday. At the Egyptian Hall, or in the same edifice, there is a gallery of pictures, the property of Lord Ward, who allows the public to see them, five days of the week, without any trouble or restriction,--a great kindness on his Lordship's part, it must be owned. It is a very valuable collection, I presume, containing specimens of many famous old masters; some of the early and hard pictures by Raphael and his master and fellow-pupils,--very curious, and nowise beautiful; a perfect, sunny glimpse of Venice, by Canaletto; and saints, and Scriptural, allegorical, and mythological people, by Titian, Guido, Correggio, and many more names than I can remember. There is likewise a dead Magdalen by Canova, and a Venus by the same, very pretty, and with a vivid light of joyous expression in her face; . . . . also Powers's Greek Slave, in which I see little beauty or merit; and two or three other statues. We then drove to Ashley Place, to call on Mrs. S. C. Hall, whom we found at home. In fact, Wednesday is her reception-day; although, as now everybody is out of town, we were the only callers. She is an agreeable and kindly woman. She told us that her husband and herself propose going to America next year, and I heartily wish they may meet with a warm and friendly reception. I have been seldom more assured of the existence of a heart than in her; also a good deal of sentiment. She had been visiting Bessie, the widow of Moore, at Sloperton, and gave S----- a rose from his cottage. Such things are very true and unaffected in her. The only wonder is that she has not lost such girlish freshness of feeling as prompts them. We did not see Mr. Hall, he having gone to the Crystal Palace. Taking our leave, we returned along Victoria Street--a new street, penetrating through what was recently one of the worst parts of the town, and now bordered with large blocks of buildings, in a dreary, half-finished state, and left so for want of funds--till we came to Westminster Abbey. We went in and spent an hour there, wandering all round the nave and aisles, admiring the grand old edifice itself, but finding more to smile at than to admire in the monuments. . . . . The interior view of the Abbey is better than can be described; the heart aches, as one gazes at it, for lack of power and breadth enough to take its beauty and grandeur in. The effect was heightened by the sun shining through the painted window in the western end, and by the bright sunshine that came through the open portal, and lay on the pavement,--that space so bright, the rest of the vast floor so solemn and sombre. At the western end, in a corner from which spectators are barred out, there is a statue of Wordsworth, which I do not recollect seeing at any former visit. Its only companion in the same nook is Pope's friend, Secretary Craggs. Downing Street, that famous official precinct, took its name from Sir George Downing, who was proprietor or lessee of property there. He was a native of my own old native town, and his descendants still reside there,--collateral descendants, I suppose,--and follow the drygoods business (drapers). August 10th.--I journeyed to Liverpool via Chester. . . . . One sees a variety of climate, temperature, and season in a ride of two hundred miles, north and south, through England. Near London, for instance, the grain was reaped, and stood in sheaves in the stubble-fields, over which girls and children might be seen gleaning; farther north, the golden, or greenish-golden, crops were waving in the wind. In one part of our way the atmosphere was hot and dry; at another point it had been cooled and refreshed by a heavy thunder-shower, the pools of which still lay along our track. It seems to me that local varieties of weather are more common in this island, and within narrower precincts, than in America. . . . . I never saw England of such a dusky and dusty green before,--almost sunbrowned, indeed. Sometimes the green hedges formed a marked framework to a broad sheet of golden grain-field. As we drew near Oxford, just before reaching the station I had a good view of its domes, towers, and spires,--better, I think, than when J----- and I rambled through the town a month or two ago. Mr. Frank Scott Haydon, of the Record Office, London, writes me that he has found a "Henry Atte Hawthorne" on a roll which he is transcribing, of the first Edward III. He belonged to the Parish of Aldremeston, in the hundred of Blakenhurste, Worcester County. August 21st.--Yesterday, at twelve o'clock, I took the steamer for Runcorn, from the pier-head. In the streets, I had noticed that it was a breezy day; but on the river there was a very stiff breeze from the northeast, right ahead, blowing directly in our face the whole way; and truly this river Mersey is never without a breeze, and generally in the direction of its course,--an evil-tempered, unkindly, blustering wind, that you cannot meet without being exasperated by it. As it came straight against us, it was impossible to find a shelter anywhere on deck, except it were behind the stove-pipe; and, besides, the day was overcast and threatening rain. I have undergone very miserable hours on the Mersey, where, in the space of two years, I voyaged thousands of miles,--and this trip to Runcorn reminded me of them, though it was less disagreeable after more than a twelvemonth's respite. We had a good many passengers on board, most of whom were of the second class, and congregated on the forward deck; more women than men, I think, and some of them with their husbands and children. Several produced lunch and bottles, and refreshed themselves very soon after we started. By and by the wind became so disagreeable that I went below, and sat in the cabin, only occasionally looking out, to get a peep at the shores of the river, which I had never before seen above Eastham. However, they are not worth looking at; level and monotonous, without trees or beauty of any kind,--here and there a village, and a modern church, on the low ridge behind; perhaps, a windmill, which the gusty day had set busily to work. The river continues very wide--no river indeed, but an estuary--during almost the whole distance to Runcorn; and nearly at the end of our voyage we approached some abrupt and prominent hills, which, many a time, I have seen on my passages to Rock Ferry, looking blue and dim, and serving for prophets of the weather; for when they can be distinctly seen adown the river, it is a token of coming rain. We met many vessels, and passed many which were beating up against the wind, and which keeled over, so that their decks must have dipped,--schooners and vessels that come from the Bridgewater Canal. We shipped a sea ourselves, which gave the fore-deck passengers a wetting. Before reaching Runcorn, we stopped to land some passengers at another little port, where there was a pier and a lighthouse, and a church within a few yards of the river-side,--a good many of the river-craft, too, in dock, forming quite a crowd of masts. About ten minutes' further steaming brought us to Runcorn, where were two or three tall manufacturing chimneys, with a pennant of black smoke from each; two vessels of considerable size on the stocks; a church or two; and a meagre, uninteresting, shabby, brick-built town, rising from the edge of the river, with irregular streets,--not village-like, but paved, and looking like a dwarfed, stunted city. I wandered through it till I came to a tall, high-pedestalled windmill on the outer verge, the vans of which were going briskly round. Thence retracing my steps, I stopped at a poor hotel, and took lunch, and, finding that I was in time to take the steamer back, I hurried on board, and we set sail (or steam) before three. I have heard of an old castle at Runcorn, but could discover nothing of it. It was well that I returned so promptly, for we had hardly left the pier before it began to rain, and there was a heavy downfall throughout the voyage homeward. Runcorn is fourteen miles from Liverpool, and is the farthest point to which a steamer runs. I had intended to come home by rail,--a circuitous route,--but the advice of the landlady of the hotel, and the aspect of the weather, and a feeling of general discouragement prevented me. An incident in S. C. Hall's Ireland, of a stone cross, buried in Cromwell's time, to prevent its destruction by his soldiers. It was forgotten, and became a mere doubtful tradition, but one old man had been told by his father, and he by his father, etc., that it was buried near a certain spot; and at last, two hundred years after the cross was buried, the vicar of the parish dug in that spot and found it. In my (English) romance, an American might bring the tradition from over the sea, and so discover the cross, which had been altogether forgotten. August 24th.--Day before yesterday I took the rail for Southport,--a cool, generally overcast day, with glimmers of faint sunshine. The ride is through a most uninteresting tract of country, at first, glimpses of the river, with the thousands of masts in the docks; the dismal outskirts of a great town, still spreading onward, with beginnings of streets, and insulated brick buildings and blocks; farther on, a wide monotony of level plain, and here and there a village and a church; almost always a windmill in sight, there being plenty of breeze to turn its vans on this windy coast. The railway skirts along the sea the whole distance, but is shut out from the sight of it by the low sand-hills, which seem to have been heaped up by the waves. There are one or two lighthouses on the shore. I have not seen a drearier landscape, even in Lancashire. Reaching Southport at three, I rambled about, with a view to discover whether it be a suitable residence for my family during September. It is a large village, or rather more than a village, which seems to be almost entirely made up of lodging-houses, and, at any rate, has been built up by the influx of summer visitors,--a sandy soil, level, and laid out with well-paved streets, the principal of which are enlivened with bazaars, markets, shops, hotels of various degrees, and a showy vivacity of aspect. There are a great many donkey-carriages,--large vehicles, drawn by a pair of donkeys; bath-chairs, with invalid ladies; refreshment-rooms in great numbers,--a place where everybody seems to be a transitory guest, nobody at home. The main street leads directly down to the sea-shore, along which there is an elevated embankment, with a promenade on the top, and seats, and the toll of a penny. The shore itself, the tide being then low, stretched out interminably seaward, a wide waste of glistering sands; and on the dry border, people were riding on donkeys, with the drivers whipping behind; and children were digging with their little wooden spades; and there were donkey-carriages far out on the sands,--a pleasant and breezy drive. A whole city of bathing-machines was stationed near the shore, and I saw others in the seaward distance. The sea-air was refreshing and exhilarating, and if S----- needs a seaside residence, I should think this might do as well as any other. I saw a large brick edifice, enclosed within a wall, and with somewhat the look of an almshouse or hospital; and it proved to be an Infirmary, charitably established for the reception of poor invalids, who need sea-air and cannot afford to pay for it. Two or three of such persons were sitting under its windows. I do not think that the visitors of Southport are generally of a very opulent class, but of the middle rank, from Manchester and other parts of this northern region. The lodging-houses, however, are of sufficiently handsome style and arrangement. OXFORD. [Mr. Hawthorne extracted from his recorded Oxford experiences his excursion to Blenheim, but left his observations of the town itself untouched,--and these I now transcribe.--ED.] August 31st.--. . . . Yesterday we took the rail for London, and drove across the city to the Paddington station, where we met Bennoch, and set out with him for Oxford. I do not quite understand the matter, but it appears that we were expected guests of Mr. Spiers, a very hospitable gentleman, and Ex-Mayor of Oxford, and a friend of Bennoch and of the Halls. Mr. S. C. Hall met us at the Oxford station, and under his guidance we drove to a quiet, comfortable house in St. Giles Street, where rooms had been taken for us. Durham, the sculptor, is likewise of the party. After establishing ourselves at these lodgings, we walked forth to take a preliminary glimpse of the city, and Mr. Hall, being familiar with the localities, served admirably as a guide. If I remember aright, I spoke very slightingly of the exterior aspect of Oxford, as I saw it with J----- during an hour or two's stay here, on my way to Southampton (to meet S----- on her return from Lisbon). I am bound to say that my impressions are now very different; and that I find Oxford exceedingly picturesque and rich in beauty and grandeur and in antique stateliness. I do not remember very particularly what we saw,--time-worn fronts of famous colleges and halls of learning everywhere about the streets, and arched entrances; passing through which, we saw bits of sculpture from monkish hands,--the most grotesque and ludicrous faces, as if the slightest whim of these old carvers took shape in stone, the material being so soft and manageable by them; an ancient stone pulpit in the quadrangle of Maudlin College (Magdalen), one of only three now extant in England; a splendid--no, not splendid, but dimly magnificent--chapel, belonging to the same College, with painted windows of rare beauty, not brilliant with diversified hues, but of a sombre tint. In this chapel there is an alabaster monument,--a recumbent figure of the founder's father, as large as life,--which, though several centuries old, is as well preserved as if fresh from the chisel. In the High Street, which, I suppose, is the noblest old street in England, Mr. Hall pointed out, the Crown Inn, where Shakespeare used to spend the night, and was most hospitably welcomed by the pretty hostess (the mother of Sir William Davenant) on his passage between Stratford and London. It is a three-story house, with other houses contiguous,--an old timber mansion, though now plastered and painted of a yellowish line. The ground-floor is occupied as a shoe-shop; but the rest of the house is still kept as a tavern. . . . . It is not now term time, and Oxford loses one of its most characteristic features by the absence of the gownsmen; but still there is a good deal of liveliness in the streets. We walked as far as a bridge beyond Maudlin College, and then drove homeward. At six we went to dine with the hospitable Ex-Mayor, across the wide, tree-bordered street; for his house is nearly opposite our lodgings. He is an intelligent and gentlemanly person, and was Mayor two years ago, and has done a great deal to make peace between the University and the town, heretofore bitterly inimical. His house is adorned with pictures and drawings, and he has an especial taste for art. . . . . The dinner-table was decorated with pieces of plate, vases, and other things, which were presented to him as tokens of public or friendly regard and approbation of his action in the Mayoralty. After dinner, too, he produced a large silver snuff-box, which had been given him on the same account; in fact, the inscription affirmed that it was one of five pieces of plate so presented. The vases are really splendid,--one of them two feet high, and richly ornamented. It will hold five or six bottles of wine, and he said that it had been filled, and, I believe, sent round as a loving-cup at some of his entertainments. He cordially enjoys these things, and his genuine benevolence produces all this excellent hospitality. . . . . But Bennoch proposed a walk, and we set forth. We rambled pretty extensively about the streets, sometimes seeing the shapes of old edifices dimly and doubtfully, it being an overcast night; or catching a partial view of a gray wall, or a pillar, or a Gothic archway, by lamplight. . . . . The clock had some time ago struck eleven, when we were passing under a long extent of antique wall and towers, which were those of Baliol College. Mr. D------ led us into the middle of the street, and showed us a cross, which was paved into it, on a level with the rest of the road. This was the spot where Latimer and Ridley and another Bishop were martyred in Bloody Mary's time. There is a memorial to them in another street; but this, where I set my foot at nearly midnight, was the very spot where their flesh burned to ashes, and their bones whitened. It has been a most beautiful morning, and I have seen few pleasanter scenes than this street in which we lodge, with its spacious breadth, its two rows of fine old trees, with sidewalks as wide as the whole width of some streets; and, on the opposite side, the row of houses, some of them ancient with picturesque gables, partially disclosed through the intervening foliage. . . . . From our window we have a slantwise glimpse, to the right, of the walls of St. John's College, and the general aspect of St. Giles. It is of an antiquity not to shame those mediaeval halls. Our own lodgings are in a house that seems to be very old, with panelled walls, and beams across the ceilings, lattice-windows in the chambers, and a musty odor such as old houses inevitably have. Nevertheless, everything is extremely neat, clean, and comfortable; and in term time our apartments are occupied by a Mr. Stebbing, whose father is known in literature by some critical writings, and who is a graduate and an admirable scholar. There is a bookcase of five shelves, containing his books, mostly standard works, and indicating a safe and solid taste. After lunch to-day we (that is, Mrs. Hall, her adopted daughter, S-----, and I, with the Ex-Mayor) set forth, in an open barouche, to see the remarkables of Oxford, while the rest of the guests went on foot. We first drew up at New College (a strange name for such an old place, but it was new some time since the Conquest), and went through its quiet and sunny quadrangles, and into its sunny and shadowy gardens. I am in despair about the architecture and old edifices of these Oxford colleges, it is so impossible to express them in words. They are themselves--as the architect left them, and as Time has modified and improved them--the expression of an idea which does not admit of being otherwise expressed, or translated into anything else. Those old battlemented walls around the quadrangles; many gables; the windows with stone pavilions, so very antique, yet some of them adorned with fresh flowers in pots,--a very sweet contrast; the ivy mantling the gray stone; and the infinite repose, both in sunshine and shadow,--it is as if half a dozen bygone centuries had set up their rest here, and as if nothing of the present time ever passed through the deeply recessed archway that shuts in the College from the street. Not but what people have very free admittance; and many parties of young men and girls and children came into the gardens while we were there. These gardens of New College are indescribably beautiful,--not gardens in an American sense, but lawns of the richest green and softest velvet grass, shadowed over by ancient trees, that have lived a quiet life here for centuries, and have been nursed and tended with such care, and so sheltered from rude winds, that certainly they must have been the happiest of all trees. Such a sweet, quiet, sacred, stately seclusion-- so age-long as this has been, and, I hope, will continue to be--cannot exist anywhere else. One side of the garden wall is formed by the ancient wall of the city, which Cromwell's artillery battered, and which still retains its pristine height and strength. At intervals, there are round towers that formed the bastions; that is to say, on the exterior they are round towers, but within, in the garden of the College, they are semicircular recesses, with iron garden-seats arranged round them. The loop-holes through which the archers and musketeers used to shoot still pierce through deep recesses in the wall, which is here about six feet thick. I wish I could put into one sentence the whole impression of this garden, but it could not be done in many pages. We looked also at the outside of the wall, and Mr. Parker, deeply skilled in the antiquities of the spot, showed us a weed growing,--here in little sprigs, there in large and heavy festoons,--hanging plentifully downward from a shallow root. It is called the Oxford plant, being found only here, and not easily, if at all, introduced anywhere else. It bears a small and pretty blue flower, not altogether unlike the forget-me-not, and we took some of it away with us for a memorial. We went into the chapel of New College, which is in such fresh condition that I think it must be modern; and yet this cannot be, since there are old brasses inlaid into tombstones in the pavement, representing mediaeval ecclesiastics and college dignitaries; and busts against the walls, in antique garb; and old painted windows, unmistakable in their antiquity. But there is likewise a window, lamentable to look at, which was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and exhibits strikingly the difference between the work of a man who performed it merely as a matter of taste and business, and what was done religiously and with the whole heart; at least, it shows that the artists and public of the last age had no sympathy with Gothic art. In the chancel of this church there are more painted windows, which I take to be modern, too, though they are in much better taste, and have an infinitely better effect, than Sir Joshua's. At any rate, with the sunshine through them, they looked very beautiful, and tinted the high altar and the pavement with brilliant lines. The sacristan opened a tall and narrow little recess in the wall of the chancel, and showed it entirely filled with the crosier of William of Wickham. It appears to be made of silver gilt, and is a most rich and elaborate relic, at least six feet high. Modern art cannot, or does not, equal the chasing and carving of this splendid crosier, which is enriched with figures of saints and, apostles, and various Gothic devices,--very minute, but all executed as faithfully as if the artist's salvation had depended upon every notch he made in the silver. . . . . Leaving New College, Bennoch and I, under Mr. Parker's guidance, walked round Christ Church meadows, part of our way lying along the banks of the Cherwell, which unites with the Isis to form the Thames, I believe. The Cherwell is a narrow and remarkably sluggish stream; but is deep in spots, and capriciously so,--so that a person may easily step from knee-deep to fifteen feet in depth. A gentleman present used a queer expression in reference to the drowning of two college men; he said "it was an awkward affair." I think this is equal to Longfellow's story of the Frenchman who avowed himself very much "displeased" at the news of his father's death. At the confluence of the Cherwell and Isis we saw a good many boats, belonging to the students of the various colleges; some of them being very large and handsome barges, capable of accommodating a numerous party, with room on board for dancing and merry-making. Some of them are calculated to be drawn by horses, in the manner of canal-boats; others are propellable by oars. It is practicable to perform the voyage between Oxford and London--a distance of about one hundred and thirty miles--in three days. The students of Oxford are famous boatmen; there is a constant rivalship, on this score, among the different colleges; and annually, I believe, there is a match between Oxford and Cambridge. The Cambridge men beat the Oxonians in this year's trial. On our return into the city, we passed through Christ Church, which, as regards the number of students, is the most considerable college of the University. It has a stately dome; but my memory is confused with battlements, towers, and gables, and Gothic staircases and cloisters. If there had been nothing else in Oxford but this one establishment, my anticipations would not have been disappointed. The bell was tolling for worship in the chapel; and Mr. Parker told us that Dr. Pusey is a canon, or in some sort of dignity, in Christ Church, and would soon probably make his appearance in the quadrangle, on his way to chapel; so we walked to and fro, waiting an opportunity to see him. A gouty old dignitary, in a white surplice, came hobbling along from one extremity of the court; and by and by, from the opposite corner, appeared Dr. Pusey, also in a white surplice, and with a lady by his side. We met him, and I stared pretty fixedly at him, as I well might; for he looked on the ground, as if conscious that he would be stared at. He is a man past middle life, of sufficient breadth and massiveness, with a pale, intellectual, manly face. He was talking with the lady, and smiled, but not jollily. Mr. Parker, who knows him, says that he is a man of kind and gentle affections. The lady was his niece. Thence we went through High Street and Broad Street, and passing by Baliol College,--a most satisfactory pile and range of old towered and gabled edifices,--we came to the cross on the pavement, which is supposed to mark the spot where the bishops were martyred. But Mr. Parker told us the mortifying fact, that he had ascertained that this could not possibly have been the genuine spot of martyrdom, which must have taken place at a point within view, but considerably too far off to be moistened by any tears that may be shed here. It is too bad. We concluded the rambles of the day by visiting the gardens of St. John's College; and I desire, if possible, to say even more in admiration of them than of those of New College,--such beautiful lawns, with tall, ancient trees, and heavy clouds of foliage, and sunny glimpses through archways of leafy branches, where, to-day, we could see parties of girls, making cheerful contrast with the sombre walls and solemn shade. The world, surely, has not another place like Oxford; it is a despair to see such a place and ever to leave it, for it would take a lifetime and more than one, to comprehend and enjoy it satisfactorily. At dinner, to-day, the golden vases were all ranged on the table, the largest and central one containing a most magnificent bouquet of dahlias and other bright-hued flowers. On Tuesday, our first visit was to Christ Church, where we saw the large and stately hall, above a hundred feet long by forty wide, and fifty to the top of its carved oaken roof, which is ornamented with festoons, as it were, and pendants of solid timber. The walls are panelled with oak, perhaps half-way upward, and above are the rows of arched windows on each side; but, near the upper end, two great windows come nearly to the floor. There is a dais, where the great men of the College and the distinguished guests sit at table, and the tables of the students are arranged along the length of the hall. All around, looking down upon those who sit at meat, are the portraits of a multitude of illustrious personages who were members of the learned fraternity in times past; not a portrait being admitted there (unless it he a king, and I remember only Henry VIII.) save those who were actually students on the foundation, receiving the eleemosynary aid of the College. Most of them were divines; but there are likewise many statesmen, eminent during the last three hundred years, and, among many earlier ones, the Marquis of Wellesley and Canning. It is an excellent idea, for their own glory, and as examples to the rising generations, to have this multitude of men, who have done good and great things, before the eyes of those who ought to do as well as they, in their own time. Archbishops, Prime Ministers, poets, deep scholars,--but, doubtless, an outward success has generally been their claim to this position, and Christ Church may have forgotten a better man than the best of them. It is not, I think, the tendency of English life, nor of the education of their colleges, to lead young men to high moral excellence, but to aim at illustrating themselves in the sight of mankind. Thence we went into the kitchen, which is arranged very much as it was three centuries ago, with two immense fireplaces. There was likewise a gridiron, which, without any exaggeration, was large enough to have served for the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. The college dinners are good, but plain, and cost the students one shilling and eleven pence each, being rather cheaper than a similar one could be had at an inn. There is no provision for breakfast or supper in commons; but they can have these meals sent to their rooms from the buttery, at a charge proportioned to the dishes they order. There seems to be no necessity for a great expenditure on the part of Oxford students. From the kitchen we went to the chapel, which is the cathedral of Oxford, and well worth seeing, if there had not been so many other things to see. It is now under repair, and there was a great heap of old wood-work and panelling lying in one of the aisles, which had been stripped away from some of the ancient pillars, leaving them as good as new. There is a shrine of a saint, with a wooden canopy over it; and some painted glass, old and new; and a statue of Cyril Jackson, with a face of shrewdness and insight; and busts, as mural monuments. Our next visit was to MERTON COLLEGE, which, though not one of the great colleges, is as old as any of them, and looks exceedingly venerable. We were here received by a friend of Mr. Spiers, in his academic cap, but without his gown, which is not worn, except in term time. He is a very civil gentleman, and showed us some antique points of architecture,--such as a Norman archway, with a passage over it, through which the Queen of Charles I. used to go to chapel; and an edifice of the thirteenth century, with a stone roof, which is considered to be very curious. How ancient is the aspect of these college quadrangles! so gnawed by time as they are, so crumbly, so blackened, and so gray where they are not black,--so quaintly shaped, too, with here a line of battlement and there a row of gables; and here a turret, with probably a winding stair inside; and lattice-windows, with stone mullions, and little panes of glass set in lead; and the cloisters, with a long arcade, looking upon the green or pebbled enclosure. The quality of the stone has a great deal to do with the apparent antiquity. It is a stone found in the neighborhood of Oxford, and very soon begins to crumble and decay superficially, when exposed to the weather; so that twenty years do the work of a hundred, so far as appearances go. If you strike one of the old walls with a stick, a portion of it comes powdering down. The effect of this decay is very picturesque, and is especially striking, I think, on edifices of classic architecture, such as some of the Oxford colleges are, greatly enriching the Grecian columns, which look so cold when the outlines are hard and distinct. The Oxford people, however, are tired of this crumbly stone, and when repairs are necessary, they use a more durable material, which does not well assort with the antiquity into which it is intruded. Mr. E------ showed us the library of Merton College. It occupies two sides of an old building, and has a very delightful fragrance of ancient books. The halls containing it are vaulted, and roofed with oak, not carved and ornamented, but laid flat, so that they look very like a grand and spacious old garret. All along, there is a row of alcoves on each side, with rude benches and reading-desks, in the simplest style, and nobody knows how old. The books look as old as the building. The more valuable were formerly chained to the bookcases; and a few of them have not yet broken their chains. It was a good emblem of the dark and monkish ages, when learning was imprisoned in their cloisters, and chained in their libraries, in the days when the schoolmaster had not yet gone abroad. Mr. E------ showed us a very old copy of the Bible; and a vellum manuscript, most beautifully written in black-letter and illuminated, of the works of Duns Scotus, who was a scholar of Merton College. He then showed us the chapel, a large part of which has been renewed and ornamented with pictured windows and other ecclesiastical splendor, and paved with encaustic tiles, according to the Puseyite taste of the day; for Merton has adopted the Puseyite doctrines, and is one of their chief strongholds in Oxford. If they do no other good, they at least do much for the preservation and characteristic restoration of the old English churches; but perhaps, even here, there is as much antiquity spoiled as retained. In the portion of the chapel not yet restored, we saw the rude old pavement, inlaid with gravestones, in some of which were brasses, with the figures of the college dignitaries, whose dust slumbered beneath; and I think it was here that I saw the tombstone of Anthony-a-Wood, the gossiping biographer of the learned men of Oxford. From the chapel we went into the college gardens, which are very pleasant, and possess the advantage of looking out on the broad verdure of Christ Church meadows and the river beyond. We loitered here awhile, and then went to Mr. ------'s rooms, to which the entrance is by a fine old staircase. They had a very comfortable, aspect,--a wainscoted parlor and bedroom, as nice and cosey as a bachelor could desire, with a good collection of theological books; and on a peg hung his gown, with a red border about it, denoting him to be a proproctor. He was kind enough to order a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, college ale, and a certain liquor called "Archdeacon." . . . . We ate and drank, . . . . and, bidding farewell to good Mr. E------, we pursued our way to the RATCLIFFE LIBRARY. This is a very handsome edifice, of a circular shape; the lower story consisting altogether of arches, open on all sides, as if to admit anybody to the learning here stored up. I always see great beauty and lightsomeness in these classic and Grecian edifices, though they seem cold and intellectual, and not to have had their mortar moistened with human life-blood, nor to have the mystery of human life in them, as Gothic structures do. The library is in a large and beautiful room, in the story above the basement, and, as far as I saw, consisted chiefly or altogether of scientific works. I saw Silliman's Journal on one of the desks, being the only trace of American science, or American learning or ability in any department, which I discovered in the University of Oxford. After seeing the library, we went to the top of the building, where we had an excellent view of Oxford and the surrounding country. Then we went to the Convocation Hall, and afterwards to the theatre, where S----- sat down in the Chancellor's chair, which is very broad, and ponderously wrought of oak. I remember little here, except the amphitheatre of benches, and the roof, which seems to be supported by golden ropes, and on the wall, opposite the door, some full-length portraits, among which one of that ridiculous coxcomb, George IV., was the most prominent. These kings thrust themselves impertinently forward by bust, statue, and picture, on all occasions, and it is not wise in them to show their shallow foreheads among men of mind. THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY. Mr. Spiers tried to get us admittance to the Bodleian Library; but this is just the moment when it is closed for the purpose of being cleaned; so we missed seeing the principal halls of this library, and were only admitted into what was called the Picture Gallery. This, however, satisfied all my desires, so far as the backs of books are concerned, for they extend through a gallery, running round three sides of a quadrangle, making an aggregate length of more than four hundred feet,--a solid array of bookcases, full of books, within a protection of open iron-work. Up and down the gallery there are models of classic temples; and about midway in its extent stands a brass statue of Earl Pembroke, who was Chancellor of the University in James I's time; not in scholarly garb, however, but in plate and mail, looking indeed like a thunderbolt of war. I rapped him with my knuckles, and he seemed to be solid metal, though, I should imagine, hollow at heart. A thing which interested me very much was the lantern of Guy Fawkes. It was once tinned, no doubt, but is now nothing but rusty iron, partly broken. As this is called the Picture Gallery, I must not forget the pictures, which are ranged in long succession over the bookcases, and include almost all Englishmen whom the world has ever heard of, whether in statesmanship or literature, I saw a canvas on which had once been a lovely and unique portrait of Mary of Scotland; but it was consigned to a picture-cleaner to be cleansed, and, discovering that it was painted over another picture, he had the curiosity to clean poor Mary quite away, thus revealing a wishy-washy woman's face, which now hangs in the gallery. I am so tired of seeing notable things that I almost wish that whatever else is remarkable in Oxford could he obliterated in some similar manner. From the Bodleian we went to THE TAYLOR INSTITUTE, which was likewise closed; but the woman who had it in charge had formerly been a servant of Mr. Spiers, and he so overpersuaded her that she finally smiled and admitted us. It would truly have been a pity to miss it; for here, on the basement floor, are the original models of Chantrey's busts and statues, great and small; and in the rooms above are a far richer treasure,--a large collection of original drawings by Raphael and Michael Angelo. These are far better for my purpose than their finished pictures,--that is to say, they bring me much closer to the hands that drew them and the minds that imagined them. It is like looking into their brains, and seeing the first conception before it took shape outwardly (I have somewhere else said about the same thing of such sketches). I noticed one of Raphael's drawings, representing the effect of eloquence; it was a man speaking in the centre of a group, between whose ears and the orator's mouth connecting lines were drawn. Raphael's idea must have been to compose his picture in such a way that their auricular organs should not fail to be in a proper relation with the eloquent voice; and though this relation would not have been individually traceable in the finished picture, yet the general effect--that of deep and entranced attention--would have been produced. In another room there are some copies of Raphael's cartoons, and some queer mediaeval pictures, as stiff and ugly as can well be conceived, yet successful in telling their own story. We looked a little while at these, and then, thank Heaven! went home and dressed for dinner. I can write no more to-day. Indeed, what a mockery it is to write at all! [Here follows the drive to Cumnor Place, Stanton Harcourt, Nuneham Courtney, Godstowe, etc.,--already published in Our Old Home.--ED.] September 9th.--The morning after our excursion on the Thames was as bright and beautiful as many preceding ones had been. After breakfast S----- and I walked a little about the town, and bought Thomas a Kempis, in both French and English, for U----. . . . . Mr. De la Motte, the photographer, had breakfasted with us, and Mr. Spiers wished him to take a photograph of our whole party. So, in the first place, before the rest were assembled, he made an experimental group of such as were there; and I did not like my own aspect very much. Afterwards, when we were all come, he arranged us under a tree in the garden,--Mr. and Mrs. Spiers, with their eldest son, Mr. and Mrs. Hall and Fanny, Mr. Addison, my wife and me,--and stained the glass with our figures and faces in the twinkling of an eye; not S-----'s face, however, for she turned it away, and left only a portion of her bonnet and dress,--and Mrs. Hall, too, refused to countenance the proceeding. But all the rest of us were caught to the life, and I was really a little startled at recognizing myself so apart from myself, and done so quickly too. This was the last important incident of our visit to Oxford, except that Mr. Spiers was again most hospitable at lunch. Never did anybody attend more faithfully to the comfort of his friends than does this good gentleman. But he has shown himself most kind in every possible way, and I shall always feel truly grateful. No better way of showing our sense of his hospitality, and all the trouble he has taken for us (and our memory of him), has occurred to us, than to present him with a set of my Tales and Romances; so, by the next steamer, I shall write to Ticknor and Fields to send them, elegantly bound, and S----- will emblazon his coat of arms in each volume. He accompanied us and Mr. and Mrs. Hall to the railway station, and we left Oxford at two o'clock. It had been a very pleasant visit, and all the persons whom we met were kind and agreeable, and disposed to look at one another in a sunny aspect. I saw a good deal of Mr. Hall. He is a thoroughly genuine man, of kind heart and true affections, a gentleman of taste and refinement, and full of humor. On the Saturday after our return to Blackheath, we went to HAMPTON COURT, about which, as I have already recorded a visit to it, I need say little here. But I was again impressed with the stately grandeur of Wolsey's great Hall, with its great window at each end, and one side window, descending almost to the floor, and a row of windows on each side, high towards the roof, and throwing down their many-colored light on the stone pavement, and on the Gobelin tapestry, which must have been gorgeously rich when the walls were first clothed with it. I fancied, then, that no modern architect could produce so fine a room; but oddly enough, in the great entrance-hall of the Euston station, yesterday, I could not see how this last fell very much short of Wolsey's Hall in grandeur. We were quite wearied in passing through the endless suites of rooms in Hampton Court, and gazing at the thousands of pictures; it is too much for one day,--almost enough for one life, in such measure as life can be bestowed on pictures. It would have refreshed us had we spent half the time in wandering about the grounds, which, as we glimpsed at them from the windows of the Palace, seemed very beautiful, though laid out with an antique formality of straight lines and broad gravelled paths. Before the central window there is a beautiful sheet of water, and a fountain upshooting itself and plashing into it, with a continuous and pleasant sound. How beautifully the royal robe of a monarchy is embroidered! Palaces, pictures, parks! They do enrich life; and kings and aristocracies cannot keep these things to themselves, they merely take care of them for others. Even a king, with all the glory that can be shed around him, is but the liveried and bedizened footman of his people, and the toy of their delight. I am very glad that I came to this country while the English are still playing with such a toy. Yesterday J----- and I left Blackheath, and reached Liverpool last night. The rest of my family will follow in a few days; and so finishes our residence in Bennoch's house, where I, for my part, have spent some of the happiest hours that I have known since we left our American home. It is a strange, vagabond, gypsy sort of life,--this that we are leading; and I know not whether we shall finally be spoiled for any other, or shall enjoy our quiet Wayside, as we never did before, when once we reach it again. The evening set in misty and obscure; and it was dark almost when J----- and I arrived at the landing stage on our return. I was struck with the picturesque effect of the high tower and tall spire of St. Nicholas, rising upward, with dim outline, into the duskiness; while midway of its height the dial-plates of an illuminated clock blazed out, like two great eyes of a giant. September 13th.--On Saturday my wife, with all her train, arrived at Mrs. B------'s; and on Tuesday--vagabonds as we are--we again struck our tent, and set out for SOUTHPORT. I do not know what sort of character it will form in the children,--this unsettled, shifting, vagrant life, with no central home to turn to, except what we carry in ourselves. It was a windy day, and, judging by the look of the trees, on the way to Southport, it must be almost always windy, and with the blast in one prevailing direction; for invariably their branches, and the whole contour and attitude of the tree, turn from seaward, with a strangely forlorn aspect. Reaching Southport, we took an omnibus, and under the driver's guidance came to our tall stone house, fronting on the sands, and styled "Brunswick Terrace." . . . . The English system of lodging-houses has its good points; but it is, nevertheless, a contrivance for bearing the domestic cares of home about with you whithersoever you go; and immediately you have to set about producing your own bread and cheese. However, Fanny took most of this trouble off our hands, though there was inevitably the stiffness and discomfort of a new housekeeping on the first day of our arrival; besides that, it was cool, and the wind whistled and grumbled and eddied into the chinks of the house. Meanwhile, in all my experience of Southport, I have never yet seen the sea, but only an interminable breadth of sands, looking pooly or plashy in some places, and barred across with drier reaches of sand, but no expanse of water. It must be miles and miles, at low water, to the veritable sea-shore. We are about twenty miles north of Liverpool, on the border of the Irish Sea; and Ireland and, I suppose, the Isle of Man intervene betwixt us and the ocean, not much to our benefit; for the air of the English coast, under ocean influences, is said to be milder than when it comes across the land,--milder, therefore, above or below Ireland, because then the Gulf Stream ameliorates it. Betimes, the forenoon after our arrival, I had to take the rail to Liverpool, but returned, a little after five, in the midst of a rain,-- still low water and interminable sands; still a dreary, howling blast. We had a cheerful fireside, however, and should have had a pleasant evening, only that the wind on the sea made us excessively drowsy. This morning we awoke to hear the wind still blustering, and blowing up clouds, with fitful little showers, and soon blowing them away again, and letting the brightest of sunshine fall over the plashy waste of sand. We have already walked forth on the shore with J----- and R-----, who pick up shells, and dig wells in the sand with their little wooden spades; but soon we saw a rainbow on the western sky, and then a shower came spattering down upon us in good earnest. We first took refuge under the bridge that stretches between the two portions of the promenade; but as there was a chill draught there, we made the best of our way home. The sun has now again come out brightly, though the wind is still tumbling a great many clouds about the sky. Evening.--Later, I walked out with U----, and, looking seaward, we saw the foam and spray of the advancing tide, tossed about on the verge of the horizon,--a long line, like the crests and gleaming helmets of an army. In about half an hour we found almost the whole waste of sand covered with water, and white waves breaking out all over it; but, the bottom being so nearly level, and the water so shallow, there was little of the spirit and exultation of the sea in a strong breeze. Of the long line of bathing-machines, one after another was hitched to a horse, and trundled forth into the water, where, at a long distance from shore, the bathers found themselves hardly middle deep. September 19th.--The wind grumbled and made itself miserable all last night, and this morning it is still howling as ill-naturedly as ever, and roaring and rumbling in the chimneys. The tide is far out, but, from an upper window, I fancied, at intervals, that I could see the plash of the surf-wave on the distant limit of the sand; perhaps, however, it was only a gleam on the sky. Constantly there have been sharp spatters of rain, hissing and rattling against the windows, while a little before or after, or perhaps simultaneously, a rainbow, somewhat watery of texture, paints itself on the western clouds. Gray, sullen clouds hang about the sky, or sometimes cover it with a uniform dulness; at other times, the portions towards the sun gleam almost lightsomely; now, there may be an airy glimpse of clear blue sky in a fissure of the clouds; now, the very brightest of sunshine comes out all of a sudden, and gladdens everything. The breadth of sands has a various aspect, according as there are pools, or moisture enough to glisten, or a drier tract; and where the light gleams along a yellow ridge or bar, it is like sunshine itself. Certainly the temper of the day shifts; but the smiles come far the seldomest, and its frowns and angry tears are most reliable. By seven o'clock pedestrians began to walk along the promenade, close buttoned against the blast; later, a single bathing-machine got under way, by means of a horse, and travelled forth seaward; but within what distance it finds the invisible margin I cannot say,--at all events, it looks like a dreary journey. Just now I saw a sea-gull, wheeling on the blast, close in towards the promenade. September 21st.--Yesterday morning was bright, sunny and windy, and cool and exhilarating. I went to Liverpool at eleven, and, returning at five, found the weather still bright and cool. The temperature, methinks, must soon diminish the population of Southport, which, judging from appearances, must be mainly made up of temporary visitors. There is a newspaper, The Southport Visitor, published weekly, and containing a register of all the visitants in the various hotels and lodging-houses. It covers more than two sides of the paper, to the amount of some hundreds. The guests come chiefly from Liverpool, Manchester, and the neighboring country-towns, and belong to the middle classes. It is not a fashionable watering-place. Only one nobleman's name, and those of two or three baronets, now adorn the list. The people whom we see loitering along the beach and the promenade have, at best, a well-to-do, tradesmanlike air. I do not find that there are any public amusements; nothing but strolling on the sands, donkey-riding, or drives in donkey-carts; and solitary visitors must find it a dreary place. Yet one or two of the streets are brisk and lively, and, being well thronged, have a holiday aspect. There are no carriages in town save donkey-carts; some of which are drawn by three donkeys abreast, and are large enough to hold a whole family. These conveyances will take you far out on the sands through wet and dry. The beach is haunted by The Flying Dutchman, --a sort of boat on wheels, schooner-rigged with sails, and which sometimes makes pretty good speed, with a fair wind. This morning we have been walking with J----- and R----- out over the "ribbed sea sands," a good distance from shore. Throughout the week, the tides will be so low as not to cover the shallow basin of this bay, if a bay it be. The weather was sullen, with now and then a faint gleam of sunshine, lazily tracing our shadows on the sand; the wind rather quieter than on preceding days. . . . . In the sunshine the sands seem to be frequented by great numbers of gulls, who begin to find the northern climate too wintry. You see their white wings in the sunlight, but they become almost or quite invisible in the shade. We shall soon have an opportunity of seeing how a watering-place looks when the season is quite over; for we have concluded to remain here till December, and everybody else will take flight in a week or two. A short time ago, in the evening, in a street of Liverpool, I saw a decent man, of the lower orders, taken much aback by being roughly brushed against by a rowdy fellow. He looked after him, and exclaimed indignantly, "Is that a Yankee?" It shows the kind of character we have here. October 7th.--On Saturday evening, I gave a dinner to Bennoch, at the Adelphi Hotel. The chief point or characteristic of English customs was, that Mr. Radley, our landlord, himself attended at table, and officiated as chief waiter. He has a fortune of 100,000 pounds,--half a million of dollars,--and is an elderly man of good address and appearance. In America, such a man would very probably be in Congress; at any rate, he would never conceive the possibility of changing plates, or passing round the table with hock and champagne. Some of his hock was a most rich and imperial wine, such as can hardly be had on the Rhine itself. There were eight gentlemen besides Bennoch. A donkey, the other day, stubbornly refusing to come out of a boat which had brought him across the Mersey; at last, after many kicks had been applied, and other persecutions of that kind, a man stepped forward, addressing him affectionately, "Come along, brother,"--and the donkey obeyed at once. October 26th.--On Thursday, instead of taking the rail for Liverpool, I set out, about eleven, for a long walk. It was an overcast morning, such as in New England would have boded rain; but English clouds are not nearly so portentous as American in that respect. Accordingly, the sun soon began to peep through crevices, and I had not gone more than a mile or two when it shone a little too warmly for comfort, yet not more than I liked. It was very much like our pleasant October days at home; indeed, the climates of the two countries more nearly coincide during the present month than at any other season of the year. The air was almost perfectly still; but once in a while it stirred, and breathed coolly in my face; it is very delightful, this latent freshness, in a warm atmosphere. The country about Southport has as few charms as it is possible for any region to have. In the close neighborhood of the shore, it is nothing but sand-hillocks, covered with coarse grass; and this is the original nature of the whole site on which the town stands, although it is now paved, and has been covered with soil enough to make gardens, and to nourish here and there a few trees. A little farther inland the surface seems to have been marshy, but has been drained by ditches across the fields and along the roadside; and the fields are embanked on all sides with parapets of earth which appear as if intended to keep out inundations. In fact, Holland itself cannot be more completely on a level with the sea. The only dwellings are the old, whitewashed stone cottages, with thatched roofs, on the brown straw of which grow various weeds and mosses, brightening it with green patches, and sprouting along the ridgepole,--the homeliest hovels that ever mortals lived in, and which they share with pigs and cows at one end. Hens, too, run in and out of the door. One or two of these hovels bore signs, "Licensed to sell beer, ale, and tobacco," and generally there were an old woman and some children visible. In all cases there was a ditch, full of water, close at hand, stagnant, and often quite covered with a growth of water-weeds,--very unwholesome, one would think, in the neighborhood of a dwelling; and, in truth, the children and grown people did look pale. In the fields, along the roadside, men and women were harvesting their carrots and other root-crops, especially digging potatoes,--the pleasantest of all farm labor, in my opinion, there being such a continual interest in opening the treasures of each hill. As I went on, the country began to get almost imperceptibly less flat, and there was some little appearance of trees. I had determined to go to Ormskirk, but soon got out of the way, and came to a little hamlet that looked antique and picturesque, with its small houses of stone and brick, built, with the one material and repaired with the other perhaps ages afterward. Here I inquired my way of a woman, who told me, in broad Lancashire dialect, "that I main go back, and turn to my left, till I came to a finger-post"; and so I did, and found another little hamlet, the principal object in which was a public-house, with a large sign, representing a dance round a Maypole. It was now about one o'clock; so I entered, and, being ushered into what, I suppose, they called the coffee-room, I asked for some cold neat and ale. There was a jolly, round, rather comely woman for a hostess, with a free, hospitable, yet rather careless manner. The coffee-room smelt rather disagreeably of bad tobacco-smoke, and was shabbily furnished with an old sofa and flag-bottomed chairs, and adorned with a print of "Old Billy," a horse famous for a longevity of about sixty years; and also with colored engravings of old-fashioned hunting-scenes, conspicuous with scarlet coats. There was a very small bust of Milton on the mantel-piece. By and by the remains of an immense round of beef, three quarters cut away, were put on the table; then some smoking-hot potatoes; and finally the hostess told me that their own dinner was just ready, and so she had brought me in some hot chops, thinking I might prefer them to the cold meat. I did prefer them; and they were stewed or fried chops, instead of broiled, and were very savory. There was household bread too, and rich cheese, and a pint of ale, home brewed, not very mighty, but good to quench thirst, and, by way of condiment, some pickled cabbage; so, instead of a lunch, I made quite a comfortable dinner. Moreover, there was a cold pudding on the table, and I called for a clean plate, and helped myself to some of it. It was of rice, and was strewn over, rather than intermixed, with some kinds of berries, the nature of which I could not exactly make out. I then set forth again. It was still sunny and warm, and I walked more slowly than before dinner; in fact, I did little more than lounge along, sitting down, at last, on the stone parapet of a bridge. The country grew more pleasant, more sylvan, and, though still of a level character, not so drearily flat. Soon appeared the first symptom that I had seen of a gentleman's residence,--a lodge at a park gate, then a long stretch of wall, with a green lawn, and afterwards an extent of wooded land; then another gateway, with a neat lodge on each side of it, and, lastly, another extent of wood. The Hall or Mansion-house, however, was nowhere apparent, being, doubtless, secluded deep and far within its grounds. I inquired of a boy who was the owner of the estate, and he answered, "Mr. Scarisbrick"; and no doubt it is a family of local eminence. Along the road,--an old inn; some aged stone houses, built for merely respectable occupants; a canal, with two canal-boats, heaped up with a cargo of potatoes; two little girls, who were watching lest some cows should go astray, and had their two little chairs by the roadside, and their dolls and other playthings, and so followed the footsteps of the cows all day long. I met two boys, coming from Ormskirk, mounted on donkeys, with empty panniers, on which they had carried vegetables to market. Finally, between two and three o'clock, I saw the great tower of Ormskirk Church, with its spire, not rising out of the tower, but sprouting up close beside it; and, entering the town, I directed my steps first to this old church. ORMSKIRK CHURCH. It stands on a gentle eminence, sufficient to give it a good site, and has a pavement of flat gravestones in front. It is doubtless, as regards its foundation, a very ancient church, but has not exactly a venerable aspect, being in too good repair, and much restored in various parts; not ivy-grown, either, though green with moss here and there. The tower is square and immensely massive, and might have supported a very lofty spire; so that it is the more strange that what spire it has should be so oddly stuck beside it, springing out of the church wall. I should have liked well enough to enter the church, as it is the burial-place of the Earls of Derby, and perhaps may contain some interesting monuments; but as it was all shut up, and even the iron gates of the churchyard closed and locked, I merely looked at the outside. From the church, a street leads to the market-place, in which I found a throng of men and women, it being market-day; wares of various kinds, tin, earthen, and cloth, set out on the pavements; droves of pigs; ducks and fowls; baskets of eggs; and a man selling quack medicines, recommending his nostrums as well as he could. The aspect of the crowd was very English,--portly and ruddy women; yeomen with small-clothes and broad-brimmed hats, all very quiet and heavy and good-humored. Their dialect was so provincial that I could not readily understand more than here and there a word. But, after all, there were few traits that could be made a note of. I soon grew weary of the scene, and so I went to the railway station, and waited there nearly an hour for the train to take me to Southport. Ormskirk is famous for its gingerbread, which women sell to the railway passengers at a sixpence for a rouleau of a dozen little cakes. November 30th.--A week ago last Monday, Herman Melville came to see me at the Consulate, looking much as he used to do, and with his characteristic gravity and reserve of manner. . . . . We soon found ourselves on pretty much our former terms of sociability and confidence. . . . . He is thus far on his way to Constantinople. I do not wonder that he found it necessary to take an airing through the world, after so many years of toilsome pen-labor, following upon so wild and adventurous a youth as his was. I invited him to come and stay with us at Southport, as long as he might remain in this vicinity, and accordingly he did come the next day. . . . . On Wednesday we took a pretty long walk together, and sat down in a hollow among the sand-hills, sheltering ourselves from the high cool wind. Melville, as he always does, began to reason of Providence and futurity, and of everything else that lies beyond human ken. . . . . He has a very high and noble nature, and is better worth immortality than the most of us. . . . . On Saturday we went to Chester together. I love to take every opportunity of going to Chester; it being the one only place, within easy reach of Liverpool, which possesses any old English interest. We went to THE CATHEDRAL. Its gray nave impressed me more than at any former visit. Passing into the cloisters, an attendant took possession of us, and showed us about. Within the choir there is a profusion of very rich oaken carving, both on the screen that separates it from the nave, and on the seats and walls; very curious and most elaborate, and lavished (one would say) most wastefully, where nobody would think of looking for it,--where, indeed, amid the dimness of the cathedral, the exquisite detail of the elaboration could not possibly be seen. Our guide lighted some of the gas-burners, of which there are many hundreds, to help us see them; but it required close scrutiny, even then. It must have been out of the question, when the whole means of illumination were only a few smoky torches or candles. There was a row of niches, where the monks used to stand, for four hours together, in the performance of some of their services; and to relieve them a little, they were allowed partially to sit on a projection of the seats, which were turned up in the niche for that purpose; but if they grew drowsy, so as to fail to balance themselves, the seat was so contrived as to slip down, thus bringing the monk to the floor. These projections on the seats are each and all of them carved with curious devices, no two alike. The guide showed us one, representing, apparently, the first quarrel of a new-married couple, wrought with wonderful expression. Indeed, the artist never failed to bring out his idea in the most striking manner,--as, for instance, Satan, under the guise of a lion, devouring a sinner bodily; and again in the figure of a dragon, with a man halfway down his gullet, the legs hanging out. The carver may not have seen anything grotesque in this, nor intended it at all by way of joke; but certainly there would appear to be a grim mirthfulness in some of the designs. One does not see why such fantasies should be strewn about the holy interior of a cathedral, unless it were intended to contain everything that belongs to the heart of man, both upward and downward. In a side aisle of the choir, we saw a tomb, said to be that of the Emperor Henry IV. of Germany, though on very indistinct authority. This is an oblong tomb, carved, and, on one side, painted with bright colors and gilded. During a very long period it was built and plastered into the wall, and the exterior side was whitewashed; but, on being removed, the inner side was found to have been ornamented with gold and color, in the manner in which we now see it. If this were customary with tombs, it must have added vastly to the gorgeous magnificence, to which the painted windows and polished pillars and ornamented ceilings contributed so much. In fact, a cathedral in its fresh estate seems to have been like a pavilion of the sunset, all purple and gold; whereas now it more resembles deepest and grayest twilight. Afterwards, we were shown into the ancient refectory, now used as the city grammar-school, and furnished with the usual desks and seats for the boys. In one corner of this large room was the sort of pulpit or elevated seat, with a broken staircase of stone ascending to it, where one of the monks used to read to his brethren, while sitting at their meals. The desks were cut and carved with the scholars' knives, just as they used to be in the school-rooms where I was a scholar. Thence we passed into the chapter-house, but, before that, we went through a small room, in which Melville opened a cupboard, and discovered a dozen or two of wine-bottles; but our guide told us that they were now empty, and never were meant for jollity, having held only sacramental wine. In the chapter-house, we saw the library, some of the volumes of which were antique folios. There were two dusty and tattered banners hanging on the wall, and the attendant promised to make us laugh by something that he would tell us about them. The joke was that these two banners had been in the battle of Bunker Hill; and our countrymen, he said, always smiled on hearing this. He had discovered us to be Americans by the notice we took of a mural tablet in the choir, to the memory of a Lieutenant-Governor Clarke, of New York, who died in Chester before the Revolution. From the chapter-house he ushered us back into the nave, ever and anon pointing out some portion of the edifice more ancient than the rest, and when I asked him how he knew this, he said that he had learnt it from the archaeologists, who could read off such things like a book. This guide was a lively, quick-witted man, who did his business less by rote, and more with a vivacious interest, than any guide I ever met. After leaving the cathedral we sought out the Yacht Inn, near the water-gate. This was, for a long period of time, the principal inn of Chester, and was the house at which Swift once put up, on his way to Holyhead, and where he invited the clergy to come and sup with him. We sat down in a small snuggery, conversing with the landlord. The Chester people, according to my experience, are very affable, and fond of talking with strangers about the antiquities and picturesque characteristics of their town. It partly lives, the landlord told us, by its visitors, and many people spend the summer here on account of the antiquities and the good air. He showed us a broad, balustraded staircase, leading into a large, comfortable, old-fashioned parlor, with windows looking on the street and on the Custom House that stood opposite. This was the room where Swift expected to receive the clergy of Chester; and on one of the window-panes were two acrid lines, written with the diamond of his ring, satirizing those venerable gentlemen, in revenge for their refusing his invitation. The first line begins rather indistinctly; but the writing grows fully legible, as it proceeds. The Yacht Tavern is a very old house, in the gabled style. The timbers and framework are still perfectly sound. In the same street is the Bishop's house (so called as having been the residence of a prelate long ago), which is covered with curious sculpture, representing Scriptural scenes. And in the same neighborhood is the county court, accessible by an archway, through which we penetrated, and found ourselves in a passage, very ancient and dusky, overlooked from the upper story by a gallery, to which an antique staircase ascended, with balustrades and square landing-places. A printer saw us here, and asked us into his printing-office, and talked very affably; indeed, he could have hardly been more civil, if he had known that both Melville and I have given a good deal of employment to the brethren of his craft. December 15th.--An old gentleman has recently paid me a good many visits,--a Kentucky man, who has been a good deal in England and Europe generally without losing the freshness and unconventionality of his earlier life. He was a boatman, and afterwards captain of a steamer on the Ohio and Mississippi; but has gained property, and is now the owner of mines of coal and iron, which he is endeavoring to dispose of here in England. A plain, respectable, well-to-do-looking personage, of more than seventy years; very free of conversation, and beginning to talk with everybody as a matter of course; tall, stalwart, a dark face, with white curly hair and keen eyes; and an expression shrewd, yet kindly and benign. He fought through the whole War of 1812, beginning with General Harrison at the battle of Tippecanoe, which he described to me. He says that at the beginning of the battle, and for a considerable time, he heard Tecumseh's voice, loudly giving orders. There was a man named Wheatley in the American camp, a strange, incommunicative person,--a volunteer, making war entirely on his own book, and seeking revenge for some relatives of his, who had been killed by the Indians. In the midst of the battle this Wheatley ran at a slow trot past R------ (my informant), trailing his rifle, and making towards the point where Tecumseh's voice was heard. The fight drifted around, and R------ along with it; and by and by he reached a spot where Wheatley lay dead, with his head on Tecumseh's breast. Tecumseh had been shot with a rifle, but, before expiring, appeared to have shot Wheatley with a pistol, which he still held in his hand. R------ affirms that Tecumseh was flayed by the Kentucky men on the spot, and his skin converted into razor-straps. I have left out the most striking point of the narrative, after all, as R------ told it, viz. that soon after Wheatley passed him, he suddenly ceased to hear Tecumseh's voice ringing through the forest, as he gave his orders. He was at the battle of New Orleans, and gave me the story of it from beginning to end; but I remember only a few particulars in which he was personally concerned. He confesses that his hair bristled upright--every hair in his head--when he heard the shouts of the British soldiers before advancing to the attack. His uncomfortable sensations lasted till he began to fire, after which he felt no more of them. It was in the dusk of the morning, or a little before sunrise, when the assault was made; and the fight lasted about two hours and a half, during which R------ fired twenty-four times; and said he, "I saw my object distinctly each time, and I was a good rifle-shot." He was raising his rifle to fire the twenty-fifth time, when an American officer, General Carroll, pressed it down, and bade him fire no more. "Enough is enough," quoth the General. For there needed no more slaughter, the British being in utter rout and confusion. In this retreat many of the enemy would drop down among the dead, then rise, run a considerable distance, and drop again, thus confusing the riflemen's aim. One fellow had thus got about four hundred and fifty yards from the American line, and, thinking himself secure, he made a derisive gesture. "I'll have a shot at him anyhow," cried a rifleman; so he fired, and the poor devil dropped. R------ himself, with one of his twenty-four shots, hit a British officer, who fell forward on his face, about thirty paces from our line, and as the enemy were then retreating (they advanced and were repelled two or three times) he ran out, and turned him over on his back. The officer was a man about thirty-eight, tall and fine-looking; his eyes were wide open, clear and bright, and were fixed full on R------ with a somewhat stern glance, but there was the sweetest and happiest smile over his face that could be conceived. He seemed to be dead;--at least, R------ thinks that he did not really see him, fixedly as he appeared to gaze. The officer held his sword in his hand, and R------ tried in vain to wrest it from him, until suddenly the clutch relaxed. R------ still keeps the sword hung up over his mantel-piece. I asked him how the dead man's aspect affected him. He replied that he felt nothing at the time; but that ever since, in all trouble, in uneasy sleep, and whenever he is out of tune, or waking early, or lying awake at night, he sees this officer's face, with the clear bright eyes and the pleasant smile, just as distinctly as if he were bending over him. His wound was in the breast, exactly on the spot that R------ had aimed at, and bled profusely. The enemy advanced in such masses, he says, that it was impossible not to hit them unless by purposely firing over their heads. After the battle, R------ leaped over the rampart, and took a prisoner who was standing unarmed in the midst of the slain, having probably dropped down during the heat of the action, to avoid the hail-storm of rifle-shots. As he led him in, the prisoner paused, and pointed to an officer who was lying dead beside his dead horse, with his foot still in the stirrup. "There lies our General," said he. The horse had been killed by a grape-shot, and Pakenham himself, apparently, by a six-pounder ball, which had first struck the earth, covering him from head to foot with mud and clay, and had then entered his side, and gone upward through his breast. His face was all besmirched with the moist earth. R------ took the slain General's foot out of the stirrup, and then went to report his death. Much more he told me, being an exceedingly talkative old man, and seldom, I suppose, finding so good a listener as myself. I like the man,--a good-tempered, upright, bold and free old fellow; of a rough breeding, but sufficiently smoothed by society to be of pleasant intercourse. He is as dogmatic as possible, having formed his own opinions, often on very disputable grounds, and hardened in them; taking queer views of matters and things, and giving shrewd and not ridiculous reasons for them; but with a keen, strong sense at the bottom of his character. A little while ago I met an Englishman in a railway carriage, who suggests himself as a kind of contrast to this warlike and vicissitudinous backwoodsman. He was about the same age as R------, but had spent, apparently, his whole life in Liverpool, and has long occupied the post of Inspector of Nuisances,--a rather puffy and consequential man; gracious, however, and affable, even to casual strangers like myself. The great contrast betwixt him and the American lies in the narrower circuit of his ideas; the latter talking about matters of history of his own country and the world,--glancing over the whole field of politics, propounding opinions and theories of his own, and showing evidence that his mind had operated for better or worse on almost all conceivable matters; while the Englishman was odorous of his office, strongly flavored with that, and otherwise most insipid. He began his talk by telling me of a dead body which he had lately discovered in a house in Liverpool, where it had been kept about a fortnight by the relatives, partly from want of funds for the burial, and partly in expectation of the arrival of some friends from Glasgow. There was a plate of glass in the coffin-lid, through which the Inspector of Nuisances, as he told me, had looked and seen the dead man's face in an ugly state of decay, which he minutely described. However, his conversation was not altogether of this quality; for he spoke about larks, and how abundant they are just now, and what a good pie they make, only they must be skinned, else they will have a bitter taste. We have since had a lark-pie ourselves, and I believe it was very good in itself; only the recollection of the Nuisance-man's talk was not a very agreeable flavor. A very racy and peculiarly English character might be made out of a man like this, having his life-concern wholly with the disagreeables of a great city. He seemed to be a good and kindly person, too, but earthy,--even as if his frame had been moulded of clay impregnated with the draining of slaughter-houses. December 21st.--On Thursday evening I dined for the first time with the new Mayor at the Town Hall. I wish to preserve all the characteristic traits of such banquets, because, being peculiar to England, these municipal feasts may do well to picture in a novel. There was a big old silver tobacco-box, nearly or quite as large round as an ordinary plate, out of which the dignitaries of Liverpool used to fill their pipes, while sitting in council or after their dinners. The date "1690" was on the lid. It is now used as a snuff-box, and wends its way, from guest to guest, round the table. We had turtle, and, among other good things, American canvasback ducks. . . . . These dinners are certainly a good institution, and likely to be promotive of good feeling; the Mayor giving them often, and inviting, in their turn, all the respectable and eminent citizens of whatever political bias. About fifty gentlemen were present that evening. I had the post of honor at the Mayor's right hand; and France, Turkey, and Austria were toasted before the Republic, for, as the Mayor whispered me, he must first get his allies out of the way. The Turkish Consul and the Austrian both made better English speeches than any Englishman, during the evening; for it is inconceivable what shapeless and ragged utterances Englishmen are content to put forth, without attempting anything like a wholeness; but inserting a patch here and a patch there, and finally getting out what they wish to say, indeed, but in most disorganized guise. . . . . I can conceive of very high enjoyment in making a speech; one is in such a curious sympathy with his audience, feeling instantly how every sentence affects them, and wonderfully excited and encouraged by the sense that it has gone to the right spot. Then, too, the imminent emergency, when a man is overboard, and must sink or swim, sharpens, concentrates, and invigorates the mind, and causes matters of thought and sentiment to assume shape and expression, though, perhaps, it seemed hopeless to express them, just before you rose to speak. Yet I question much whether public speaking tends to elevate the orator, intellectually or morally; the effort, of course, being to say what is immediately received by the audience, and to produce an effect on the instant. I don't quite see how an honest man can be a good and successful orator; but I shall hardly undertake to decide the question on my merely post-prandial experience. The Mayor toasted his guests by their professions,--the merchants, for instance, the bankers, the solicitors,--and while one of the number responded, his brethren also stood up, each in his place, thus giving their assent to what he said. I think the very worst orator was a major of Artillery, who spoke in a meek, little, nervous voice, and seemed a good deal more discomposed than probably he would have been in the face of the enemy. The first toast was "The Ladies," to which an old bachelor responded. December 31st.--Thus far we have come through the winter, on this bleak and blasty shore of the Irish Sea, where, perhaps, the drowned body of Milton's friend Lycidas might have been washed ashore more than two centuries ago. This would not be very likely, however, so wide a tract of sands, never deeply covered by the tide, intervening betwixt us and the sea. But it is an excessively windy place, especially here on the Promenade; always a whistle and a howl,--always an eddying gust through the corridors and chambers,--often a patter of hail or rain or snow against the windows; and in the long evenings the sounds outside are very much as if we were on shipboard in mid-ocean, with the waves dashing against the vessel's sides. I go to town almost daily, starting at about eleven, and reaching Southport again at a little past live; by which time it is quite dark, and continues so till nearly eight in the morning. Christmas time has been marked by few characteristics. For a week or two previous to Christmas day, the newspapers contained rich details respecting market-stalls and butchers' shops,--what magnificent carcasses of prize oxen and sheep they displayed. . . . . The Christmas Waits came to us on Christmas eve, and on the day itself, in the shape of little parties of boys or girls, singing wretched doggerel rhymes, and going away well pleased with the guerdon of a penny or two. Last evening came two or three older choristers at pretty near bedtime, and sang some carols at our door. They were psalm tunes, however. Everybody with whom we have had to do, in any manner of service, expects a Christmas-box; but, in most cases, a shilling is quite a satisfactory amount. We have had holly and mistletoe stuck up on the gas-fixtures and elsewhere about the house. On the mantel-piece in the coroner's court the other day, I saw corked and labelled phials, which it may be presumed contained samples of poisons that have brought some poor wretches to their deaths, either by murder or suicide. This court might be wrought into a very good and pregnant description, with its grimy gloom illuminated by a conical skylight, constructed to throw daylight down on corpses; its greasy Testament covered over with millions of perjured kisses; the coroner himself, whose life is fed on all kinds of unnatural death; its subordinate officials, who go about scenting murder, and might be supposed to have caught the scent in their own garments; its stupid, brutish juries, settling round corpses like flies; its criminals, whose guilt is brought face to face with them here, in closer contact than at the subsequent trial. O---- P------, the famous Mormonite, called on me a little while ago,--a short, black-haired, dark-complexioned man; a shrewd, intelligent, but unrefined countenance, excessively unprepossessing; an uncouth gait and deportment; the aspect of a person in comfortable circumstances, and decently behaved, but of a vulgar nature and destitute of early culture. I think I should have taken him for a shoemaker, accustomed to reflect in a rude, strong, evil-disposed way on matters of this world and the next, as he sat on his bench. He said he had been residing in Liverpool about six months; and his business with me was to ask for a letter of introduction that should gain him admittance to the British Museum, he intending a visit to London. He offered to refer me to respectable people for his character; but I advised him to apply to Mr. Dallas, as the proper person for his purpose. March 1st, 1857.--On the night of last Wednesday week, our house was broken into by robbers. They entered by the back window of the breakfast-room, which is the children's school-room, breaking or cutting a pane of glass, so as to undo the fastening. I have a dim idea of having heard a noise through my sleep; but if so, it did not more than slightly disturb me. U---- heard it, she being at watch with R-----; and J-----, having a cold, was also wakeful, and thought the noise was of servants moving about below. Neither did the idea of robbers occur to U----. J-----, however, hearing U---- at her mother's door, asking for medicine for R-----, called out for medicine for his cold, and the thieves probably thought we were bestirring ourselves, and so took flight. In the morning the servants found the hall door and the breakfast-room window open; some silver cups and some other trifles of plate were gone from the sideboard, and there were tokens that the whole lower part of the house had been ransacked; but the thieves had evidently gone off in a hurry, leaving some articles which they would have taken, had they been more at leisure. We gave information to the police, and an inspector and constable soon came to make investigations, taking a list of the missing articles, and informing themselves as to all particulars that could be known. I did not much expect ever to hear any more of the stolen property; but on Sunday a constable came to request my presence at the police-office to identify the lost things. The thieves had been caught in Liverpool, and some of the property found upon them, and some of it at a pawnbroker's where they had pledged it. The police-office is a small dark room, in the basement story of the Town Hall of Southport; and over the mantel-piece, hanging one upon another, there are innumerable advertisements of robberies in houses, and on the highway,--murders, too, and garrotings; and offences of all sorts, not only in this district, but wide away, and forwarded from other police-stations. Bring thus aggregated together, one realizes that there are a great many more offences than the public generally takes note of. Most of these advertisements were in pen and ink, with minute lists of the articles stolen; but the more important were in print; and there, too, I saw the printed advertisement of our own robbery, not for public circulation, but to be handed about privately, among police-officers and pawnbrokers. A rogue has a very poor chance in England, the police being so numerous, and their system so well organized. In a corner of the police-office stood a contrivance for precisely measuring the heights of prisoners; and I took occasion to measure J-----, and found him four feet seven inches and a half high. A set of rules for the self-government of police-officers was nailed on the door, between twenty and thirty in number, and composing a system of constabulary ethics. The rules would be good for men in almost any walk of life; and I rather think the police-officers conform to them with tolerable strictness. They appear to be subordinated to one another on the military plan. The ordinary constable does not sit down in the presence of his inspector, and this latter seems to be half a gentleman; at least, such is the bearing of our Southport inspector, who wears a handsome uniform of green and silver, and salutes the principal inhabitants, when meeting them in the street, with an air of something like equality. Then again there is a superintendent, who certainly claims the rank of a gentleman, and has perhaps been an officer in the army. The superintendent of this district was present on this occasion. The thieves were brought down from Liverpool on Tuesday, and examined in the Town Hall. I had been notified to be present, but, as a matter of courtesy, the police-officers refrained from calling me as a witness, the evidence of the servants being sufficient to identify the property. The thieves were two young men, not much over twenty,--James and John Macdonald, terribly shabby, dirty, jail-bird like, yet intelligent of aspect, and one of them handsome. The police knew them already, and they seemed not much abashed by their position. There were half a dozen magistrates on the bench,--idle old gentlemen of Southport and the vicinity, who lounged into the court, more as a matter of amusement than anything else, and lounged out again at their own pleasure; for these magisterial duties are a part of the pastime of the country gentlemen of England. They wore their hats on the bench. There were one or two of them more active than their fellows; but the real duty was done by the Clerk of the Court. The seats within the bar were occupied by the witnesses, and around the great table sat some of the more respectable people of Southport; and without the bar were the commonalty in great numbers; for this is said to be the first burglary that has occurred here within the memory of man, and so it has caused a great stir. There seems to be a strong case against the prisoners. A boy attached to the railway testified to having seen them at Birchdale on Wednesday afternoon, and directed them on their way to Southport; Peter Pickup recognized them as having applied to him for lodgings in the course of that evening; a pawnbroker swore to one of them as having offered my top-coat for sale or pledge in Liverpool; and my boots were found on the feet of one of them,--all this in addition to other circumstances of pregnant suspicion. So they were committed for trial at the Liverpool assizes, to be holden some time in the present month. I rather wished them to escape. February 27th.--Coming along the promenade, a little before sunset, I saw the mountains of the Welsh coast shadowed very distinctly against the horizon. Mr. Channing told me that he had seen these mountains once or twice during his stay at Southport; but, though constantly looking for them, they have never before greeted my eyes in all the months that we have spent here. It is said that the Isle of Man is likewise discernible occasionally; but as the distance must be between sixty and seventy miles, I should doubt it. How misty is England! I have spent four years in a gray gloom. And yet it suits me pretty well. TO YORK. April 10th.--At Skipton. My wife, J-----, and I left Southport to-day for a short tour to York and its neighborhood. The weather has been exceedingly disagreeable for weeks past, but yesterday and to-day have been pleasant, and we take advantage of the first glimpses of spring-like weather. We came by Preston, along a road that grew rather more interesting as we proceeded to this place, which is about sixty miles from Southport, and where we arrived between five and six o'clock. First of all, we got some tea; and then, as it was a pleasant sunset, we set forth from our old-fashioned inn to take a walk. Skipton is an ancient town, and has an ancient though well-repaired aspect, the houses being built of gray stone, but in no picturesque shapes; the streets well paved; the site irregular and rising gradually towards Skipton Castle, which overlooks the town, as an old lordly castle ought to overlook the feudal village which it protects. The castle was built shortly after the Conquest by Robert de Romeli, and was afterwards the property and residence of the famous Cliffords. We met an honest man, as we approached the gateway, who kindly encouraged us to apply for admittance, notwithstanding it was Good Friday; telling us how to find the housekeeper, who would probably show us over the castle. So we passed through the gate, between two embattled towers; and in the castle court we met a flock of young damsels, who had been rambling about the precincts. They likewise directed us in our search for the housekeeper, and S-----, being bolder than I in such assaults on feudal castles, led the way down a dark archway, and up an exterior stairway, and, knocking at a door, immediately brought the housekeeper to a parley. She proved to be a nowise awful personage, but a homely, neat, kindly, intelligent, and middle-aged body. She seemed to be all alone in this great old castle, and at once consented to show us about,--being, no doubt, glad to see any Christian visitors. The castle is now the property of Sir R. Tufton; but the present family do not make it their permanent residence, and have only occasionally visited it. Indeed, it could not well be made an eligible or comfortable residence, according to modern ideas; the rooms occupying the several stories of large round towers, and looking gloomy and sombre, if not dreary,--not the less so for what has been done to modernize them; for instance, modern paper-hangings, and, in some of the rooms, marble fireplaces. They need a great deal more light and higher ceilings; and I rather imagine that the warm, rich effect of glowing tapestry is essential to keep one's spirit cheerful in these ancient rooms. Modern paper-hangings are too superficial and wishy-washy for the purpose. Tapestry, it is true, there is now, completely covering the walls of several of the rooms, but all faded into ghastliness; nor could some of it have been otherwise than ghastly, even in its newness, for it represented persons suffering various kinds of torture, with crowds of monks and nuns looking on. In another room there was the story of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, and other subjects not to be readily distinguished in the twilight that was gathering in these antique chambers. We saw, too, some very old portraits of the Cliffords and the Thanets, in black frames, and the pictures themselves sadly faded and neglected. The famous Countess Anne of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomery was represented on one of the leaves of a pair of folding doors, and one of her husbands, I believe, on the other leaf. There was the picture of a little idiot lordling, who had choked himself to death; and a portrait of Oliver Cromwell, who battered this old castle, together with almost every other English or Welsh castle that I ever saw or heard of. The housekeeper pointed out the grove of trees where his cannon were planted during the siege. There was but little furniture in the rooms; amongst other articles, an antique chair, in which Mary, Queen of Scots, is said to have rested. The housekeeper next took us into the part of the castle which has never been modernized since it was repaired, after the siege of Cromwell. This is a dismal series of cellars above ground, with immensely thick walls, letting in but scanty light, and dim staircases of stone; and a large hall, with a vast fireplace, where every particle of heat must needs have gone up chimney,--a chill and heart-breaking place enough. Quite in the midst of this part of the castle is the court-yard,--a space of some thirty or forty feet in length and breadth, open to the sky, but shut completely in on every side by the buildings of the castle, and paved over with flat stones. Out of this pavement, however, grows a yew-tree, ascending to the tops of the towers, and completely filling, with its branches and foliage, the whole open space between them. Some small birds--quite a flock of them--were twittering and fluttering among the upper branches. We went upward, through two or three stories of dismal rooms,--among others, through the ancient guard-room,--till we came out on the roof of one of the towers, and had a very fine view of an amphitheatre of ridgy hills which shut in and seclude the castle and the town. The upper foliage was within our reach, close to the parapet of the tower; so we gathered a few twigs as memorials. The housekeeper told us that the yew-tree is supposed to be eight hundred years old, and, comparing it with other yews that I have seen, I should judge that it must measure its antiquity by centuries, at all events. It still seems to be in its prime. Along the base of the castle, on the opposite side to the entrance, flows a stream, sending up a pleasant murmur from among the trees. The housekeeper said it was not a stream, but only a "wash," whatever that may be; and I conjecture that it creates the motive-power of some factory-looking edifices, which we saw on our first arrival at Skipton. We now took our leave of the housekeeper, and came homeward to our inn, where I have written the foregoing pages by a bright fire; but I think I write better descriptions after letting the subject lie in my mind a day or two. It is too new to be properly dealt with immediately after coming from the scene. The castle is not at all crumbly, but in excellent repair, though so venerable. There are rooks cawing about the shapeless patches of their nests, in the tops of the trees. In the castle wall, as well as in the round towers of the gateway, there seem to be little tenements, perhaps inhabited by the servants and dependants of the family. They looked in very good order, with tokens of present domesticity about them. The whole of this old castle, indeed, was as neat as a new, small dwelling, in spite of an inevitable musty odor of antiquity. April 11th.--This morning we took a carriage and two horses, and set out for BOLTON PRIORY, a distance of about six miles. The morning was cool, with breezy clouds, intermingled with sunshine, and, on the whole, as good as are nine tenths of English mornings. J----- sat beside the driver, and S----- and I in the carriage, all closed but one window. As we drove through Skipton, the little town had a livelier aspect than yesterday when it wore its Good Friday's solemnity; but now its market-place was thronged, principally with butchers, displaying their meat under little movable pent-houses, and their customers. The English people really like to think and talk of butcher's meat, and gaze at it with delight; and they crowd through the avenues of the market-houses and stand enraptured round a dead ox. We passed along by the castle wall, and noticed the escutcheon of the Cliffords or the Thanets carved in stone over the portal, with the motto Desormais, the application of which I do not well see; these ancestral devices usually referring more to the past, than to the future. There is a large old church, just at the extremity of the village, and just below the castle, on the slope of the hill. The gray wall of the castle extends along the road a considerable distance, in good repair, with here and there a buttress, and the semicircular bulge of a tower. The scenery along the road was not particularly striking,--long slopes, descending from ridges; a generally hard outline of country, with not many trees, and those, as yet, destitute of foliage. It needs to be softened with a good deal of wood. There were stone farm-houses, looking ancient, and able to last till twice as old. Instead of the hedges, so universal in other parts of England, there were stone fences of good height and painful construction, made of small stones, which I suppose have been picked up out of the fields through hundreds of years. They reminded me of old Massachusetts, though very unlike our rude stone walls, which, nevertheless, last longer than anything else we build. Another New England feature was the little brooks, which here and there flowed across our road, rippling over the pebbles, clear and bright. I fancied, too, an intelligence and keenness in some of the Yorkshire physiognomies, akin to those characteristics in my countrymen's faces. We passed an ancient, many-gabled inn, large, low, and comfortable, bearing the name of the Devonshire House, as does our own hotel, for the Duke of Devonshire is a great proprietor in these parts. A mile or so beyond, we came to a gateway, broken through what, I believe, was an old wall of the Priory grounds; and here we alighted, leaving our driver to take the carriage to the inn. Passing through this hole in the wall, we saw the ruins of the Priory at the bottom of the beautiful valley about a quarter of a mile off; and, well as the monks knew how to choose the sites of their establishments, I think they never chose a better site than this,--in the green lap of protecting hills, beside a stream, and with peace and fertility looking down upon it on every side. The view down the valley is very fine, and, for my part, I am glad that some peaceable and comfort-loving people possessed these precincts for many hundred years, when nobody else knew how to appreciate peace and comfort. The old gateway tower, beneath which was formerly the arched entrance into the domain of the Priory, is now the central part of a hunting-seat of the Duke of Devonshire, and the edifice is completed by a wing of recent date on each side. A few hundred yards from this hunting-box are the remains of the Priory, consisting of the nave of the old church, which is still in good repair, and used as the worshipping-place of the neighborhood (being a perpetual curacy of the parish of Skipton), and the old ruined choir, roofless, with broken arches, ivy-grown, but not so rich and rare a ruin as either Melrose, Netley, or Furness. Its situation makes its charm. It stands near the river Wharfe,--a broad and rapid stream, which hurries along between high banks, with a sound which the monks must have found congenial to their slumberous moods. It is a good river for trout, too; and I saw two or three anglers, with their rods and baskets, passing through the ruins towards its shore. It was in this river Wharfe that the boy of Egremont was drowned, at the Strid, a mile or two higher up the stream. In the first place, we rambled round the exterior of the ruins; but, as I have said, they are rather bare and meagre in comparison with other abbeys, and I am not sure that the especial care and neatness with which they are preserved does not lessen their effect on the beholder. Neglect, wildness, crumbling walls, the climbing and conquering ivy; masses of stone lying where they fell; trees of old date, growing where the pillars of the aisles used to stand,--these are the best points of ruined abbeys. But, everything here is kept with such trimness that it gives you the idea of a petrifaction. Decay is no longer triumphant; the Duke of Devonshire has got the better of it. The grounds around the church and the ruins are still used for burial, and there are several flat tombstones and altar tombs, with crosiers engraved or carved upon them, which at first I took to be the memorials of bishops or abbots, and wondered that the sculpture should still be so distinct. On one, however, I read the date 1850 and the name of a layman; for the tombstones were all modern, the humid English atmosphere giving them their mossy look of antiquity, and the crosier had been assumed only as a pretty device. Close beside the ruins there is a large, old stone farm-house, which must have been built on the site of a part of the Priory,--the cells, dormitories, refectory, and other portions pertaining to the monks' daily life, I suppose, and built, no doubt, with the sacred stones. I should imagine it would be a haunted house, swarming with cowled spectres. We wished to see the interior of the church, and procured a guide from this farm-house,--the sexton, probably,--a gray-haired, ruddy, cheery, and intelligent man, of familiar though respectful address. The entrance of the church was undergoing improvement, under the last of the abbots, when the Reformation occurred; and it has ever remained in an unfinished state, till now it is mossy with age, and has a beautiful tuft of wall-flowers growing on a ledge over the Gothic arch of the doorway. The body of the church is of much anterior date, though the oaken roof is supposed to have been renewed in Henry VIII's time. This, as I said before, was the nave of the old Abbey church, and has a one-sided and unbalanced aspect, there being only a single aisle, with its row of sturdy pillars. The pavement is covered with pews of old oak, very homely and unornamental; on the side opposite the aisle there are two or three windows of modern stained glass, somewhat gaudy and impertinent; there are likewise some hatchments and escutcheons over the altar and elsewhere. On the whole, it is not an impressive interior; but, at any rate, it had the true musty odor which I never conceived of till I came to England,--the odor of dead men's decay, garnered up and shut in, and kept from generation to generation; not disgusting nor sickening, because it is so old, and of the past. On one side of the altar there was a small square chapel,--or what had once been a chapel, separated from the chancel by a partition about a man's height, if I remember aright. Our guide led us into it, and observed that some years ago the pavement had been taken up in this spot, for burial purposes; but it was found that it had already been used in that way, and that the corpses had been buried upright. Inquiring further, I found that it was the Clapham family, and another that was called Morley, that were so buried; and then it occurred to me that this was the vault Wordsworth refers to in one of his poems,--the burial-place of the Claphams and Mauleverers, whose skeletons, for aught I know, were even then standing upright under our feet. It is but a narrow place, perhaps a square of ten feet. We saw little or nothing else that was memorable, unless it were the signature of Queen Adelaide in a visitors' book. On our way back to Skipton it rained and hailed, but the sun again shone out before we arrived. We took the train for Leeds at half past ten, and arrived there in the afternoon, passing the ruined Abbey of Kirkstall on our way. The ruins looked more interesting than those of Bolton, though not so delightfully situated, and now in the close vicinity of manufactories, and only two or three miles from Leeds. We took a dish of soup, and spent a miserable hour in and about the railway station of Leeds; whence we departed at four, and reached YORK in an hour or two. We put up at the Black Swan, and before tea went out, on the cool bright edge of evening, to get a glimpse of the cathedral, which impressed me more grandly than when I first saw it, nearly a year ago. Indeed, almost any object gains upon me at the second sight. I have spent the evening in writing up my journal,--an act of real virtue. After walking round the cathedral, we went up a narrow and crooked street, very old and shabby, but with an antique house projecting as much as a yard over the pavement on one side,--a timber house it seemed to be, plastered over and stained yellow or buff. There was no external door, affording entrance into this edifice; but about midway of its front we came to a low, Gothic, stone archway, passing right through the house; and as it looked much time-worn, and was sculptured with untraceable devices, we went through. There was an exceedingly antique, battered, and shattered pair of oaken leaves, which used doubtless to shut up the passage in former times, and keep it secure; but for the last centuries, probably, there has been free ingress and egress. Indeed, the portal arch may never have been closed since the Reformation. Within, we found a quadrangle, of which the house upon the street formed one side, the others being composed of ancient houses, with gables in a row, all looking upon the paved quadrangle, through quaint windows of various fashion. An elderly, neat, pleasant-looking woman now came in beneath the arch, and as she had a look of being acquainted here, we asked her what the place was; and she told us, that in the old Popish times the prebends of the cathedral used to live here, to keep them from doing mischief in the town. The establishment, she said, was now called "The College," and was let in rooms and small tenements to poor people. On consulting the York Guide, I find that her account was pretty correct; the house having been founded in Henry VI.'s time, and called St. William's College, the statue of the patron saint being sculptured over the arch. It was intended for the residence of the parsons and priests of the cathedral, who had formerly caused troubles and scandals by living in the town. We returned to the front of the cathedral on our way homeward, and an old man stopped us, to inquire if we had ever seen the Fiddler of York. We answered in the negative, and said that we had not time to see him now; but the old gentleman pointed up to the highest pinnacle of the southern front, where stood the Fiddler of York, one of those Gothic quaintnesses which blotch the grandeur and solemnity of this and other cathedrals. April 12th.--This morning was bleak and most ungenial; a chilly sunshine, a piercing wind, a prevalence of watery cloud,--April weather, without the tenderness that ought to be half revealed in it. This is EASTER SUNDAY, and service at the cathedral commenced at half past ten; so we set out betimes and found admittance into the vast nave, and thence into the choir. An attendant ushered S----- and J----- to a seat at a distance from me, and then gave me a place in one of the stalls where the monks used to sit or kneel while chanting the services. I think these stalls are now appropriated to the prebends. They are of carved oaken wood, much less elaborate and wonderfully wrought than those of Chester Cathedral, where all was done with head and heart, each a separate device, instead of cut, by machinery like this. The whole effect of this carved work, however, lining the choir with its light tracery and pinnacles, is very fine. The whole choir, from the roof downward, except the old stones of the outer walls, is of modern renovation, it being but a few years since this part of the cathedral was destroyed by fire. The arches and pillars and lofty roof, however, have been well restored; and there was a vast east window, full of painted glass, which, if it be modern, is wonderfully chaste and Gothic-like. All the other windows have painted glass, which does not flare and glare as if newly painted. But the light, whitewashed aspect of the general interior of the choir has a cold and dreary effect. There is an enormous organ, all clad in rich oaken carving, of similar pattern to that of the stalls. It was communion day, and near the high altar, within a screen, I saw the glistening of the gold vessels wherewith the services were to be performed. The choir was respectably filled with a pretty numerous congregation, among whom I saw some officers in full dress, with their swords by their sides, and one, old white-bearded warrior, who sat near me, seemed very devout at his religious exercises. In front of me and on the corresponding benches, on the other side of the choir, sat two rows of white-robed choristers, twenty in all, and these, with some women; performed the vocal part of the music. It is not good to see musicians, for they are sometimes coarse and vulgar people, and so the auditor loses faith in any fine and spiritual tones that they may breathe forth. The services of Easter Sunday comprehend more than the ordinary quantity of singing and chanting; at all events, nearly an hour and a half were thus employed, with some intermixture of prayers and reading of Scriptures; and, being almost congealed with cold, I thought it would never come to an end. The spirit of my Puritan ancestors was mighty within me, and I did not wonder at their being out of patience with all this mummery, which seemed to me worse than papistry because it was a corruption of it. At last a canon gave out the text, and preached a sermon about twenty minutes long,--the coldest, driest, most superficial rubbish; for this gorgeous setting of the magnificent cathedral, the elaborate music, and the rich ceremonies seem inevitably to take the life out of the sermon, which, to be anything, must be all. The Puritans showed their strength of mind and heart by preferring a sermon an hour and a half long, into which the preacher put his whole soul, and lopping away all these externals, into which religious life had first leafed and flowered, and then petrified. After the service, while waiting for my wife in the nave, I was accosted by a young gentleman who seemed to be an American, and whom I have certainly seen before, but whose name I could not recollect. This, he said, was his first visit to York, and he was evidently inclined to join me in viewing the curiosities of the place, but, not knowing his name, I could not introduce him to my wife, and so made a parting salute. After dinner, we set forth and took a promenade along the wall, and a ramble through some of the crooked streets, noting the old, jutting-storied houses, story above story, and the old churches, gnawed like a bone by the tooth of Time, till we came suddenly to the Black Swan before we expected it. . . . . I rather fancy that I must have observed most of the external peculiarities at my former visit, and therefore need not make another record of them in this journal. In the course of our walk we saw a procession of about fifty charity-school boys, in flat caps, each with bands under his chin, and a green collar to his coat; all looking unjoyous, and as if they had no home nor parents' love. They turned into a gateway, which closed behind them; and as the adjoining edifice seemed to be a public institution,--at least, not private,--we asked what it was, and found it to be a hospital or residence for Old Maiden ladies, founded by a gentlewoman of York; I know not whether she herself is of the sisterhood. It must be a very singular institution, and worthy of intimate study, if it were possible to make one's way within the portal. After writing the above, J----- and I went out for another ramble before tea; and, taking a new course, we came to a grated iron fence and gateway, through which we could see the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey. They are very extensive, and situated quite in the midst of the city, and the wall and then a tower of the Abbey seem to border more than one of the streets. Our walk was interesting, as it brought us unexpectedly upon several relics of antiquity,--a loop-holed and battlemented gateway; and at various points fragments of the old Gothic stone-work, built in among more recent edifices, which themselves were old; grimness intermixed with quaintness and grotesqueness; old fragments of religious or warlike architecture mingled with queer domestic structures,--the general effect sombre, sordid, and grimy; but yet with a fascination that makes us fain to linger about such scenes, and come to them again. We passed round the cathedral, and saw jackdaws fluttering round the pinnacles, while the bells chimed the quarters, and little children played on the steps under the grand arch of the entrance. It is very stately, very beautiful, this minster; and doubtless would be very satisfactory, could I only know it long and well enough,--so rich as its front is, even with almost all the niches empty of their statues; not stern in its effect, which I suppose must be owing to the elaborate detail with which its great surface is wrought all over, like the chasing of a lady's jewel-box, and yet so grand! There is a dwelling-house on one side, gray with antiquity, which has apparently grown out of it like an excrescence; and though a good-sized edifice, yet the cathedral is so large that its vastness is not in the least deformed by it. If it be a dwelling-house, I suppose it is inhabited by the person who takes care of the cathedral. This morning, while listening to the tedious chanting and lukewarm sermon, I depreciated the whole affair, cathedral and all; but now I do more justice, at least to the latter, and am only sorry that its noble echoes must follow at every syllable, and re-reverberate at the commas and semicolons, such poor discourses as the canon's. But, after all, it was the Puritans who made the sermon of such importance in religious worship as we New-Englanders now consider it; and we are absurd in considering this magnificent church and all those embroidered ceremonies only in reference to it. Before going back to the hotel, I went again up the narrow and twisted passage of College Street, to take another glance at St. William's College. I underestimated the projection of the front over the street; it is considerably more than three feet, and is about eight or nine feet above the pavement. The little statue of St. William is an alto-relievo over the arched entrance, and has an escutcheon of arms on each side, all much defaced. In the interior of the quadrangle, the houses have not gables nor peaked fronts, but have peaked windows on the red-tiled roofs. The doorway, opposite the entrance-arch, is rather stately; and on one side is a large, projecting window, which is said to belong to the room where the printing-press of Charles I. was established in the days of the Parliament. THE MINSTER. Monday, April 13th.--This morning was chill, and, worse, it was showery, so that our purposes to see York were much thwarted. At about ten o'clock, however, we took a cab, and drove to the cathedral, where we arrived while service was going on in the choir, and ropes were put up as barriers between us and the nave; so that we were limited to the south transept, and a part of one of the aisles of the choir. It was dismally cold. We crept cheerlessly about within our narrow precincts (narrow, that is to say, in proportion to the vast length and breadth of the cathedral), gazing up into the hollow height of the central tower, and looking at a monumental brass, fastened against one of the pillars, representing a beruffed lady of the Tudor times, and at the canopied tomb of Archbishop de Grey, who ruled over the diocese in the thirteenth century. Then we went into the side aisle of the choir, where there were one or two modern monuments; and I was appalled to find that a sermon was being preached by the ecclesiastic of the day, nor were there any signs of an imminent termination. I am not aware that there was much pith in the discourse, but there was certainly a good deal of labor and earnestness in the preacher's mode of delivery; although, when he came to a close, it appeared that the audience was not more than half a dozen people. The barriers being now withdrawn, we walked adown the length of the nave, which did not seem to me so dim and vast as the recollection which I have had of it since my visit of a year ago. But my pre-imaginations and my memories are both apt to play me false with all admirable things, and so create disappointments for me, while perhaps the thing itself is really far better than I imagine or remember it. We engaged an old man, one of the attendants pertaining to the cathedral, to be our guide, and he showed us first the stone screen in front of the choir, with its sculptured kings of England; and then the tombs in the north transept,-- one of a modern archbishop, and one of an ancient one, behind which the insane person who set fire to the church a few years ago hid himself at nightfall. Then our guide unlocked a side door, and led us into the chapter-house,--an octagonal hall, with a vaulted roof, a tessellated floor, and seven arched windows of old painted glass, the richest that I ever saw or imagined, each looking like an inestimable treasury of precious stories, with a gleam and glow even in the sullen light of this gray morning. What would they be with the sun shining through them! With all their brilliancy, moreover, they were as soft as rose-leaves. I never saw any piece of human architecture so beautiful as this chapter-house; at least, I thought so while I was looking at it, and think so still; and it owed its beauty in very great measure to the painted windows: I remember looking at these windows from the outside yesterday, and seeing nothing but an opaque old crust of conglomerated panes of glass; but now that gloomy mystery was radiantly solved. Returning into the body of the cathedral, we next entered the choir, where, instead of the crimson cushions and draperies which we had seen yesterday, we found everything folded in black. It was a token of mourning for one of the canons, who died on Saturday night. The great east window, seventy-five feet high, and full of old painted glass in many exquisitely wrought and imagined Scriptural designs, is considered the most splendid object in the Minster. It is a pity that it is partially hidden from view, even in the choir, by a screen before the high altar; but indeed, the Gothic architects seem first to imagine beautiful and noble things, and then to consider how they may best be partially screened from sight. A certain secrecy and twilight effect belong to their plan. We next went round the side aisles of the choir, which contain many interesting monuments of prelates, and a specimen of the very common Elizabethan design of an old gentleman in a double ruff and trunk breeches, with one of his two wives on either side of him, all kneeling in prayer; and their conjoint children, in two rows, kneeling in the lower compartments of the tomb. We saw, too, a rich marble monument of one of the Strafford family, and the tombstone of the famous Earl himself,--a flat tombstone in the pavement of the aisle, covering the vault where he was buried, and with four iron rings fastened into the four corners of the stone whereby to lift it. And now the guide led us into the vestry, where there was a good fire burning in the grate, and it really thawed my heart, which was congealed with the dismal chill of the cathedral. Here we saw a good many curious things,--for instance, two wooden figures in knightly armor, which had stood sentinels beside the ancient clock before it was replaced by a modern one; and, opening a closet, the guide produced an old iron helmet, which had been found in a tomb where a knight had been buried in his armor; and three gold rings and one brass one, taken out of the graves, and off the finger-bones of mediaeval archbishops,--one of them with a ruby set in it; and two silver-gilt chalices, also treasures of the tombs; and a wooden head, carved in human likeness, and painted to the life, likewise taken from a grave where an archbishop was supposed to have been buried. They found no veritable skull nor bones, but only this block-head, as if Death had betrayed the secret of what the poor prelate really was. We saw, too, a canopy of cloth, wrought with gold threads, which had been borne over the head of King James I., when he came to York, on his way to receive the English Crown. There were also some old brass dishes, In which pence used to be collected in monkish times. Over the door of this vestry were hung two banners of a Yorkshire regiment, tattered in the Peninsular wars, and inscribed with the names of the battles through which they had been borne triumphantly; and Waterloo was among them. The vestry, I think, occupies that excrescential edifice which I noticed yesterday as having grown out of the cathedral. After looking at these things, we went down into the crypts, under the choir. These were very interesting, as far as we could see them; being more antique than anything above ground, but as dark as any cellar. There is here, in the midst of these sepulchral crypts, a spring of water, said to be very pure and delicious, owing to the limestone through which the rain that feeds its source is filtered. Near it is a stone trough, in which the monks used to wash their hands. I do not remember anything more that we saw at the cathedral, and at noon we returned to the Black Swan. The rain still continued, so that S----- could not share in any more of my rambles, but J----- and I went out again, and discovered the Guildhall. It is a very ancient edifice of Richard II.'s time, and has a statue over the entrance which looks time-gnawed enough to be of coeval antiquity, although in reality it is only a representation of George II. in his royal robes. We went in, and found ourselves in a large and lofty hall, with an oaken roof and a stone pavement, and the farther end was partitioned off as a court of justice. In that portion of the hall the Judge was on the bench, and a trial was going forward; but in the hither portion a mob of people, with their hats on, were lounging and talking, and enjoying the warmth of the stoves. The window over the judgment-seat had painted glass in it, and so, I think, had some of the hall windows. At the end of the hall hung a great picture of Paul defending himself before Agrippa, where the Apostle looked like an athlete, and had a remarkably bushy black beard. Between two of the windows hung an Indian bell from Burmah, ponderously thick and massive. Both the picture and the bell had been presented to the city as tokens of affectionate remembrance by its children; and it is pleasant to think that such failings exist in these old stable communities, and that there are permanent localities where such gifts can be kept from generation to generation. At four o'clock we left the city of York, still in a pouring rain. The Black Swan, where we had been staying, is a good specimen of the old English inn, sombre, quiet, with dark staircases, dingy rooms, curtained beds,--all the possibilities of a comfortable life and good English fare, in a fashion which cannot have been much altered for half a century. It is very homelike when one has one's family about him, but must be prodigiously stupid for a solitary man. We took the train for Manchester, over pretty much the same route that I travelled last year. Many of the higher hills in Yorkshire were white with snow, which, in our lower region, softened into rain; but as we approached Manchester, the western sky reddened, and gave promise of better weather. We arrived at nearly eight o'clock, and put up at the Palatine Hotel. In the evening I scrawled away at my journal till past ten o'clock; for I have really made it a matter of conscience to keep a tolerably full record of my travels, though conscious that everything good escapes in the process. In the morning we went out and visited the MANCHESTER CATHEDRAL, a particularly black and grimy edifice, containing some genuine old wood carvings within the choir. We stayed a good while, in order to see some people married. One couple, with their groomsman and bride's-maid, were sitting within the choir; but when the clergyman was robed and ready, there entered five other couples, each attended by groomsman and bride's-maid. They all were of the lower orders; one or two respectably dressed, but most of them poverty-stricken,--the men in their ordinary loafer's or laborer's attire, the women with their poor, shabby shawls drawn closely about them; faded untimely, wrinkled with penury and care; nothing fresh, virgin-like, or hopeful about them; joining themselves to their mates with the idea of making their own misery less intolerable by adding another's to it. All the six couple stood up in a row before the altar, with the groomsmen and bride's-maids in a row behind them; and the clergyman proceeded to marry them in such a way that it almost seemed to make every man and woman the husband and wife of every other. However, there were some small portions of the service directed towards each separate couple; and they appeared to assort themselves in their own fashion afterwards, each one saluting his bride with a kiss. The clergyman, the sexton, and the clerk all seemed to find something funny in this affair; and the woman who admitted us into the church smiled too, when she told us that a wedding-party was waiting to be married. But I think it was the saddest thing we have seen since leaving home; though funny enough if one likes to look at it from a ludicrous point of view. This mob of poor marriages was caused by the fact that no marriage fee is paid during Easter. This ended the memorable things of our tour; for my wife and J----- left Manchester for Southport, and I for Liverpool, before noon. April 19th.--On the 15th, having been invited to attend at the laying of the corner-stone of MR. BROWNE'S FREE LIBRARY, I went to the Town Hall, according to the programme, at eleven o'clock. There was already a large number of people (invited guests, members of the Historical Society, and other local associations) assembled in the great hall-room, and one of these was delivering an address to Mr. Browne as I entered. Approaching the outer edge of the circle, I was met and cordially greeted by Monckton Milnes, whom I like, and who always reminds me of Longfellow, though his physical man is more massive. While we were talking together, a young man approached him with a pretty little expression of surprise and pleasure at seeing him there. He had a slightly affected or made-up manner, and was rather a comely person. Mr. Milnes introduced him to me as Lord ------. Hereupon, of course, I observed him more closely; and I must say that I was not long in discovering a gentle dignity and half-imperceptible reserve in his manner; but still my first impression was quite as real as my second one. He occupies, I suppose, the foremost position among the young men of England, and has the fairest prospects of a high course before him; nevertheless, he did not impress me as possessing the native qualities that could entitle him to a high public career. He has adopted public life as his hereditary profession, and makes the very utmost of all his abilities, cultivating himself to a determined end, knowing that he shall have every advantage towards attaining his object. His natural disadvantages must have been, in some respects, unusually great; his voice, for instance, is not strong, and appeared to me to have a more positive defect than mere weakness. Doubtless he has struggled manfully against this defect; and it made me feel a certain sympathy, and, indeed, a friendliness, for which he would not at all have thanked me, had he known it. I felt, in his person, what a burden it is upon human shoulders, the necessity of keeping up the fame and historical importance of an illustrious house; at least, when the heir to its honors has sufficient intellect and sensibility to feel the claim that his country and his ancestors and his posterity all have upon him. Lord ------ is fully capable of feeling these claims; but I would not care, methinks, to take his position, unless I could have considerably more than his strength. In a little while we formed ourselves into a procession, four in a row, and set forth from the Town Hall, through James Street, Lord Street, Lime Street, all the way through a line of policemen and a throng of people; and all the windows were alive with heads, and I never before was so conscious of a great mass of humanity, though perhaps I may often have seen as great a crowd. But a procession is the best point of view from which to see the crowd that collects together. The day, too, was very fine, even sunshiny, and the streets dry,--a blessing which cannot be overestimated; for we should have been in a strange trim for the banquet, had we been compelled to wade through the ordinary mud of Liverpool. The procession itself could not have been a very striking object. In America, it would have had a hundred picturesque and perhaps ludicrous features,--the symbols of the different trades, banners with strange devices, flower-shows, children, volunteer soldiers, cavalcades, and every suitable and unsuitable contrivance; but we were merely a trail of ordinary-looking individuals, in great-coats, and with precautionary umbrellas. The only characteristic or professional costume, as far as I noticed, was that of the Bishop of Chester, in his flat cap and black-silk gown; and that of Sir Henry Smith, the General of the District, in full uniform, with a star and half a dozen medals on his breast. Mr. Browne himself, the hero of the day, was the plainest and simplest man of all,--an exceedingly unpretending gentleman in black; small, white-haired, pale, quiet, and respectable. I rather wondered why he chose to be the centre of all this ceremony; for he did not seem either particularly to enjoy it, or to be at all incommoded by it, as a more nervous and susceptible man might have been. The site of the projected edifice is on one of the streets bordering on St. George's Hall; and when we came within the enclosure, the corner-stone, a large square of red freestone, was already suspended over its destined place. It has a brass plate let into it, with an inscription, which will perhaps not be seen again till the present English type has grown as antique as black-letter is now. Two or three photographs were now taken of the site, the corner-stone, Mr. Browne, the distinguished guests, and the crowd at large; then ensued a prayer from the Bishop of Chester, and speeches from Mr. Holme, Mr. Browne, Lord ------, Sir John Pakington, Sir Henry Smith, and as many others as there was time for. Lord ------ acquitted himself very creditably, though brought out unexpectedly, and with evident reluctance. I am convinced that men, liable to be called on to address the public, keep a constant supply of commonplaces in their minds, which, with little variation, can be adapted to one subject about as well as to another; and thus they are always ready to do well enough, though seldom to do particularly well. From the scene of the corner-stone, we went to St. George's Hall, where a drawing-room and dressing-room had been prepared for the principal guests. Before the banquet, I had some conversation with Sir James Kay Shuttleworth, who had known Miss Bronte very intimately, and bore testimony to the wonderful fidelity of Mrs. Gaskell's life of her. He seemed to have had an affectionate regard for her, and said that her marriage promised to have been productive of great happiness; her husband being not a remarkable man, but with the merit of an exceeding love for her. Mr. Browne now took me up into the gallery, which by this time was full of ladies; and thence we had a fine view of the noble hall, with the tables laid, in readiness for the banquet. I cannot conceive of anything finer than this hall: it needs nothing but painted windows to make it perfect, and those I hope it may have one day or another. At two o'clock we sat down to the banquet, which hardly justified that name, being only a cold collation, though sufficiently splendid in its way. In truth, it would have been impossible to provide a hot dinner for nine hundred people in a place remote from kitchens. The principal table extended lengthwise of the hall, and was a little elevated above the other tables, which stretched across, about twenty in all. Before each guest, besides the bill of fare, was laid a programme of the expected toasts, among which appeared my own name, to be proposed by Mr. Monckton Milnes. These things do not trouble me quite as much as they used, though still it sufficed to prevent much of the enjoyment which I might have had if I could have felt myself merely a spectator. My left-hand neighbor was Colonel Campbell of the Artillery; my right-hand one was Mr. Picton, of the Library Committee; and I found them both companionable men, especially the Colonel, who had served in China and in the Crimea, and owned that he hated the French. We did not make a very long business of the eatables, and then came the usual toasts of ceremony, and afterwards those more peculiar to the occasion, one of the first of which was "The House of Stanley," to which Lord ------ responded. It was a noble subject, giving scope for as much eloquence as any man could have brought to bear upon it, and capable of being so wrought out as to develop and illustrate any sort of conservative or liberal tendencies which the speaker might entertain. There could not be a richer opportunity for reconciling and making friends betwixt the old system of society and the new; but Lord ------ did not seem to make anything of it. I remember nothing that he said excepting his statement that the family had been five hundred years connected with the town of Liverpool. I wish I could have responded to "The House of Stanley," and his Lordship could have spoken in my behalf. None of the speeches were remarkably good; the Bishop of Chester's perhaps the best, though he is but a little man in aspect, not at all filling up one's idea of a bishop, and the rest were on an indistinguishable level, though, being all practised speakers, they were less hum-y and ha-y than English orators ordinarily are. I was really tired to death before my own turn came, sitting all that time, as it were, on the scaffold, with the rope round my neck. At last Monckton Milnes was called up and made a speech, of which, to my dismay, I could hardly hear a single word, owing to his being at a considerable distance, on the other side of the chairman, and flinging his voice, which is a bass one, across the hall, instead of adown it, in my direction. I could not distinguish one word of any allusions to my works, nor even when he came to the toast, did I hear the terms in which he put it, nor whether I was toasted on my own basis, or as representing American literature, or as Consul of the United States. At all events, there was a vast deal of clamor; and uprose peers and bishop, general, mayor, knights and gentlemen, everybody in the hall greeting me with all the honors. I had uprisen, too, to commence my speech; but had to sit down again till matters grew more quiet, and then I got up, and proceeded to deliver myself with as much composure as I ever felt at my own fireside. It is very strange, this self-possession and clear-sightedness which I have experienced when standing before an audience, showing me my way through all the difficulties resulting from my not having heard Monckton Milnes's speech; and on since reading the latter, I do not see how I could have answered it better. My speech certainly was better cheered than any other; especially one passage, where I made a colossus of Mr. Browne, at which the audience grew so tumultuous in their applause that they drowned my figure of speech before it was half out of my mouth. After rising from table, Lord ------ and I talked about our respective oratorical performances; and he appeared to have a perception that he is not naturally gifted in this respect. I like Lord ------, and wish that it were possible that we might know one another better. If a nobleman has any true friend out of his own class, it ought to be a republican. Nothing further of interest happened at the banquet, and the next morning came out the newspapers with the reports of my speech, attributing to me a variety of forms of ragged nonsense, which, poor speaker as I am, I was quite incapable of uttering. May 10th.--The winter is over, but as yet we scarcely have what ought to be called spring; nothing but cold east-winds, accompanied with sunshine, however, as east-winds generally are in this country. All milder winds seem to bring rain. The grass has been green for a month,--indeed, it has never been entirely brown,--and now the trees and hedges are beginning to be in foliage. Weeks ago the daisies bloomed, even in the sandy grass-plot bordering on the promenade beneath our front windows; and in the progress of the daisy, and towards its consummation, I saw the propriety of Burns's epithet, "wee, modest, crimson-nipped flower,"--its little white petals in the bud being fringed all round with crimson, which fades into pure white when the flower blooms. At the beginning of this month I saw fruit-trees in blossom, stretched out flat against stone walls, reminding me of a dead bird nailed against the side of a barn. But it has been a backward and dreary spring; and I think Southport, in the course of it, has lost its advantage over the rest of the Liverpool neighborhood in point of milder atmosphere. The east-wind feels even rawer here than in the city. Nevertheless, the columns, of the Southport Visitor begin to be well replenished with the names of guests, and the town is assuming its aspect of summer life. To say the truth, except where cultivation has done its utmost, there is very little difference between winter and summer in the mere material aspect of Southport; there being nothing but a waste of sand intermixed with plashy pools to seaward, and a desert of sand-hillocks on the land side. But now the brown, weather-hardened donkey-women haunt people that stray along the reaches, and delicate persons face the cold, rasping, ill-tempered blast on the promenade, and children dig in the sands; and, for want of something better, it seems to be determined that this shall be considered spring. Southport is as stupid a place as I ever lived in; and I cannot but bewail our ill fortune to have been compelled to spend so many months on these barren sands, when almost every other square yard of England contains something that would have been historically or poetically interesting. Our life here has been a blank. There was, indeed, a shipwreck, a month or two ago, when a large ship came ashore within a mile from our windows; the larger portion of the crew landing safely on the hither sands, while six or seven betook themselves to the boat, and were lost in attempting to gain the shore, on the other side of the Ribble. After a lapse of several weeks, two or three of their drowned bodies were found floating in this vicinity, and brought to Southport for burial; so that it really is not at all improbable that Milton's Lycidas floated hereabouts, in the rise and lapse of the tides, and that his bones may still be whitening among the sands. In the same gale that wrecked the above-mentioned vessel, a portion of a ship's mast was driven ashore, after evidently having been a very long time in and under water; for it was covered with great barnacles, and torn sea-weed, insomuch that there was scarcely a bare place along its whole length; clusters of sea-anemones were sticking to it, and I know not what strange marine productions besides. J----- at once recognized the sea-anemones, knowing them by his much reading of Gosse's Aquarium; and though they must now have been two or three days high and dry out of water, he made an extempore aquarium out of a bowl, and put in above a dozen of these strange creatures. In a little while they bloomed out wonderfully, and even seemed to produce young anemones; but, from some fault in his management, they afterwards grew sickly and died. S----- thinks that the old storm-shattered mast, so studded with the growth of the ocean depths, is a relic of the Spanish Armada which strewed its wrecks along all the shores of England; but I hardly think it would have taken three hundred years to produce this crop of barnacles and sea-anemones. A single summer might probably have done it. Yesterday we all of us except R----- went to Liverpool to see the performances of an American circus company. I had previously been, a day or two before, with J-----, and had been happy to perceive that the fact of its being an American establishment really induced some slight swelling of the heart within me. It is ridiculous enough, to be sure, but I like to find myself not wholly destitute of this noble weakness, patriotism. As for the circus, I never was fond of that species of entertainment, nor do I find in this one the flash and glitter and whirl which I remember in other American exhibitions. [Here follow the visits to Lincoln and Boston, printed in Our Old Home. --ED.] May 27th.--We left Boston by railway at noon, and arrived in PETERBOROUGH in about an hour and a quarter, and have put up at the Railway Hotel. After dinner we walked into the town to see THE CATHEDRAL, of the towers and arches of which we had already had a glimpse from our parlor window. Our journey from Boston hitherward was through a perfectly level country,--the fens of Lincolnshire,--green, green, and nothing else, with old villages and farm-houses and old church-towers; very pleasant and rather wearisomely monotonous. To return to Peterborough. It is a town of ancient aspect; and we passed, on our way towards the market-place, a very ancient-looking church, with a very far projecting porch, opening in front and on each side through arches of broad sweep. The street by which we approached from our hotel led us into the market-place, which had what looked like an old Guildhall on one side. On the opposite side, above the houses, appeared the towers of the cathedral, and a street leads from the market-place to its front, through an arched gateway, which used to be the external entrance to the abbey, I suppose, of which the cathedral was formerly the church. The front of the cathedral is very striking, and unlike any other that I have seen; being formed by three lofty and majestic arches in a row, with three gable peaks above them, forming a sort of colonnade, within which is the western entrance of the nave. The towers are massive, but low in proportion to their bulk. There are no spires, but pinnacles and statues, and all the rich detail of Gothic architecture, the whole of a venerable gray line. It is in perfect repair, and has not suffered externally, except by the loss of multitudes of statues, gargoyles, and miscellaneous eccentricities of sculpture, which used to smile, frown, laugh, and weep over the faces of these old fabrics. We entered through a side portal, and sat down on a bench in the nave, and kept ourselves quiet; for the organ was sounding, and the choristers were chanting in the choir. The nave and transepts are very noble, with clustered pillars and Norman arches, and a great height under the central tower; the whole, however, being covered with plaster and whitewash, except the roof, which is of painted oak. This latter adornment has the merit, I believe, of being veritably ancient; but certainly I should prefer the oak of its native hue, for the effect of the paint is to make it appear as if the ceiling were covered with imitation mosaic-work or an oil-cloth carpet. After sitting awhile, we were invited by a verger, who came from within the screen, to enter the choir and hear the rest of the service. We found the choristers there in their white garments, and an audience of half a dozen people, and had time to look at the interior of the choir. All the carved wood-work of the tabernacle, the Bishop's throne, the prebends' stalls, and whatever else, is modern; for this cathedral seems to have suffered wofully from Cromwell's soldiers, who hacked at the old oak, and hammered and pounded upon the marble tombs, till nothing of the first and very few of the latter remain. It is wonderful how suddenly the English people lost their sense of the sanctity of all manner of externals in religion, without losing their religion too. The French, in their Revolution, underwent as sudden a change; but they became pagans and atheists, and threw away the substance with the shadow. I suspect that the interior arrangement of the choir and the chancel has been greatly modernized; for it is quite unlike anything that I have seen elsewhere. Instead of one vast eastern window, there are rows of windows lighting the Lady Chapel, and seen through rows of arches in the screen of the chancel; the effect being, whoever is to have the credit of it, very rich and beautiful. There is, I think, no stained glass in the windows of the nave, though in the windows of the chancel there is some of recent date, and from fragments of veritable antique. The effect of the whole interior is grand, expansive, and both ponderous and airy; not dim, mysterious, and involved, as Gothic interiors often are, the roundness and openness of the arches being opposed to this latter effect. When the chanting came to a close, one verger took his stand at the entrance of the choir, and another stood farther up the aisle, and then the door of a stall opened, and forth came a clerical dignity of much breadth and substance, aged and infirm, and was ushered out of the choir with a great deal of ceremony. We took him for the bishop, but he proved to be only a canon. We now engaged an attendant to show us through the Lady Chapel and the other penetralia, which it did not take him long to accomplish. One of the first things he showed us was the tombstone, in the pavement of the southern aisle, beneath which Mary, Queen of Scots, had been originally buried, and where she lay for a quarter of a century, till borne to her present resting-place in Westminster Abbey. It is a plain marble slab, with no inscription. Near this, there was a Saxon monument of the date 870, with sculpture in relief upon it,--the memorial of an Abbot Hedda, who was killed by the Danes when they destroyed the monastery that preceded the abbey and church. I remember, likewise, the recumbent figure of the prelate, whose face has been quite obliterated by Puritanic violence; and I think that there is not a single tomb older than the parliamentary wars, which has not been in like manner battered and shattered, except the Saxon abbot's just mentioned. The most pretentious monument remaining is that of a Mr. Deacon, a gentleman of George I.'s time, in wig and breeches, leaning on his elbow, and resting one hand upon a skull. In the north aisle, precisely opposite to that of Queen Mary, the attendant pointed out to us the slab beneath which lie the ashes of Catharine of Aragon, the divorced queen of Henry VIII. In the nave there was an ancient font, a venerable and beautiful relic, which has been repaired not long ago, but in such a way as not to lessen its individuality. This sacred vessel suffered especial indignity from Cromwell's soldiers; insomuch that if anything could possibly destroy its sanctity, they would have effected that bad end. On the eastern wall of the nave, and near the entrance, hangs the picture of old Scarlet, the sexton who buried both Mary of Scotland and Catharine of Aragon, and not only these two queens, but everybody else in Peterborough, twice over. I think one feels a sort of enmity and spite against these grave-diggers, who live so long, and seem to contract a kindred and partnership with Death, being boon companions with him, and taking his part against mankind. In a chapel or some side apartment, there were two pieces of tapestry wretchedly faded, the handiwork of two nuns, and copied from two of Raphael's cartoons. We now emerged from the cathedral, and walked round its exterior, admiring it to our utmost capacity, and all the more because we had not heard of it beforehand, and expected to see nothing so huge, majestic, grand, and gray. And of all the lovely closes that I ever beheld, that of Peterborough Cathedral is to me the most delightful; so quiet it is, so solemnly and nobly cheerful, so verdant, so sweetly shadowed, and so presided over by the stately minster, and surrounded by ancient and comely habitations of Christian men. The most enchanting place, the most enviable as a residence in all this world, seemed to me that of the Bishop's secretary, standing in the rear of the cathedral, and bordering on the churchyard; so that you pass through hallowed precincts in order to come at it, and find it a Paradise, the holier and sweeter for the dead men who sleep so near. We looked through the gateway into the lawn, which really seemed hardly to belong to this world, so bright and soft the sunshine was, so fresh the grass, so lovely the trees, so trained and refined and mellowed down was the whole nature of the spot, and so shut in and guarded from all intrusion. It is in vain to write about it; nowhere but in England can there be such a spot, nor anywhere but in the close of Peterborough Cathedral. May 28th.--I walked up into the town this morning, and again visited the cathedral. On the way, I observed the Falcon Inn, a very old-fashioned hostelry, with a thatched roof, and what looked like the barn door or stable door in a side front. Very likely it may have been an inn ever since Queen Elizabeth's time. The Guildhall, as I supposed it to be, in the market-place, has a basement story entirely open on all sides, but from its upper story it communicates with a large old house in the rear. I have not seen an older-looking town than Peterborough; but there is little that is picturesque about it, except within the domain of the cathedral. It was very fortunate for the beauty and antiquity of these precincts, that Henry VIII. did not suffer the monkish edifices of the abbey to be overthrown and utterly destroyed, as was the case with so many abbeys, at the Reformation; but, converting the abbey church into a cathedral, he preserved much of the other arrangement of the buildings connected with it. And so it happens that to this day we have the massive and stately gateway, with its great pointed arch, still keeping out the world from those who have inherited the habitations of the old monks; for though the gate is never closed, one feels himself in a sacred seclusion the instant he passes under the archway. And everywhere there are old houses that appear to have been adapted from the monkish residences, or from their spacious offices, and made into convenient dwellings for ecclesiastics, or vergers, or great or small people connected with the cathedral; and with all modern comfort they still retain much of the quaintness of the olden time,--arches, even rows of arcades, pillars, walls, beautified with patches of Gothic sculpture, not wilfully put on by modern taste, but lingering from a long past; deep niches, let into the fronts of houses, and occupied by images of saints; a growth of ivy, overspreading walls, and just allowing the windows to peep through,--so that no novelty, nor anything of our hard, ugly, and actual life comes into these limits, through the defences of the gateway, without being mollified and modified. Except in some of the old colleges of Oxford, I have not seen any other place that impressed me in this way; and the grounds of Peterborough Cathedral have the advantage over even the Oxford colleges, insomuch that the life is here domestic,--that of the family, that of the affections,--a natural life, which one deludes himself with imagining may be made into something sweeter and purer in this beautiful spot than anywhere else. Doubtless the inhabitants find it a stupid and tiresome place enough, and get morbid and sulky, and heavy and obtuse of head and heart, with the monotony of their life. But still I must needs believe that a man with a full mind, and objects to employ his affection, ought to be very happy here. And perhaps the forms and appliances of human life are never fit to make people happy until they cease to be used for the purposes for which they were directly intended, and are taken, as it were, in a sidelong application. I mean that the monks, probably, never enjoyed their own edifices while they were a part of the actual life of the day, so much as these present inhabitants now enjoy them when a new use has grown up apart from the original one. Towards noon we all walked into the town again, and on our way went into the old church with the projecting portal, which I mentioned yesterday. A woman came hastening with the keys when she saw us looking up at the door. The interior had an exceeding musty odor, and was very ancient, with side aisles opening by a row of pointed arches into the nave, and a gallery of wood on each side, and built across the two rows of arches. It was paved with tombstones, and I suppose the dead people contributed to the musty odor. Very naked and unadorned it was, except with a few mural monuments of no great interest. We stayed but a little while, and amply rewarded the poor woman with a sixpence. Thence we proceeded to the cathedral, pausing by the way to look at the old Guildhall, which is no longer a Guildhall, but a butter-market; and then we bought some prints of exterior and interior views of the Minster, of which there are a great variety on note-paper, letter-sheets, large engravings, and lithographs. It is very beautiful; there seems to be nothing better than to say this over again. We found the doors most hospitably open, and every part entirely free to us,--a kindness and liberality which we have nowhere else experienced in England, whether as regards cathedrals or any other public buildings. My wife sat down to draw the font, and I walked through the Lady Chapel meanwhile, pausing over the empty bed of Queen Mary, and the grave of Queen Catharine, and looking at the rich and sumptuous roof, where a fountain, as it were, of groins of arches spouts from numberless pilasters, intersecting one another in glorious intricacy. Under the central tower, opening to either transept, to the nave, and to the choir, are four majestic arches, which I think must equal in height those of which I saw the ruins, and one, all but perfect, at Furness Abbey. They are about eighty feet high. I may as well give up Peterborough here, though I hate to leave it undescribed even to the tufts of yellow flowers, which grow on the projections high out of reach, where the winds have sown their seeds in soil made by the aged decay of the edifice. I could write a page, too, about the rooks or jackdaws that flit and clamor about the pinnacles, and dart in and out of the eyelet-holes, the piercings,--whatever they are called,--in the turrets and buttresses. On our way back to the hotel, J----- saw an advertisement of some knights in armor that were to tilt to-day; so he and I waited, and by and by a procession appeared, passing through the antique market-place, and in front of the abbey gateway, which might have befitted the same spot three hundred years ago. They were about twenty men-at-arms on horseback, with lances and banners. We were a little too near for the full enjoyment of the spectacle; for, though some of the armor was real, I could not help observing that other suits were made of silver paper or gold tinsel. A policeman (a queer anomaly in reference to such a mediaeval spectacle) told us that they were going to joust and run at the ring, in a field a little beyond the bridge. TO NOTTINGHAM. May 28th.--We left Peterborough this afternoon, and, however reluctant to leave the cathedral, we were glad to get away from the hotel; for, though outwardly pretentious, it is a wretched and uncomfortable place, with scanty table, poor attendance, and enormous charges. The first stage of our journey to-day was to Grantham, through a country the greater part of which was as level as the Lincolnshire landscapes have been, throughout our experience of them. We saw several old villages, gathered round their several churches; and one of these little communities, "Little Byforth," had a very primitive appearance,--a group of twenty or thirty dwellings of stone and thatch, without a house among them that could be so modern as a hundred years. It is a little wearisome to think of people living from century to century in the same spot, going in and out of the same doors, cultivating the same fields, meeting the same faces, and marrying one another over and over again; and going to the same church, and lying down in the same churchyard,--to appear again, and go through the same monotonous round in the next generation. At Grantham, our route branches off from the main line; and there was a delay of about an hour, during which we walked up into the town, to take a nearer view of a tall gray steeple which we saw from the railway station. The streets that led from the station were poor and commonplace; and, indeed, a railway seems to have the effect of making its own vicinity mean. We noticed nothing remarkable until we got to the marketplace, in the centre of which there is a cross, doubtless of great antiquity, though it is in too good condition not to have been recently repaired. It consists of an upright pillar, with a pedestal of half a dozen stone steps, which are worn hollow by the many feet that have scraped their hobnailed shoes upon them. Among these feet, it is highly probable, may have been those of Sir Isaac Newton, who was a scholar of the free school of this town; and when J----- scampered up the steps, we told him so. Visible from the market-place also stands the Angel Inn, which seems to be a wonderfully old inn, being adorned with gargoyles and other antique sculpture, with projecting windows, and an arched entrance, and presenting altogether a frontispiece of so much venerable state that I feel curious to know its history. Had I been aware that the chief hotel of Grantham were such a time-honored establishment, I should have arranged to pass the night there, especially as there were interesting objects enough in the town to occupy us pleasantly. The church--the steeple of which is seen over the market-place, but is removed from it by a street or two--is very fine; the tower and spire being adorned with arches, canopies, and niches,--twelve of the latter for the twelve Apostles, all of whom have now vanished,--and with fragments of other Gothic ornaments. The jackdaws have taken up their abodes in the crevices and crannies of the upper half of the steeple. We left Grantham at nearly seven, and reached NOTTINGHAM just before eight. The castle, situated on a high and precipitous rock, directly over the edge of which look the walls, was visible, as we drove from the station to our hotel. We followed the advice of a railway attendant in going first to the May Pole, which proved to be a commercial inn, with the air of a drinking-shop, in a by-alley; and, furthermore, they could not take us in. So we drove to the George the Fourth, which seems to be an excellent house; and here I have remained quiet, the size of the town discouraging me from going out in the twilight which was fast coming on after tea. These are glorious long days for travel; daylight fairly between four in the morning and nine at night, and a margin of twilight on either side. May 29th.--After breakfast, this morning, I wandered out and lost myself; but at last found the post-office, and a letter from Mr. Wilding, with some perplexing intelligence. Nottingham is an unlovely and uninteresting town. The castle I did not see; but, I happened upon a large and stately old church, almost cathedralic in its dimensions. On returning to the hotel, we deliberated on the mode of getting to Newstead Abbey, and we finally decided upon taking a fly, in which conveyance, accordingly, we set out before twelve. It was a slightly overcast day, about half intermixed of shade and sunshine, and rather cool, but not so cool that we could exactly wish it warmer. Our drive to Newstead lay through what was once a portion of Sherwood Forest, though all of it, I believe, has now become private property, and is converted into fertile fields, except where the owners of estates have set out plantations. We have now passed out of the fen-country, and the land rises and falls in gentle swells, presenting a pleasant, but not striking, character of scenery. I remember no remarkable object on the road,--here and there an old inn, a gentleman's seat of moderate pretension, a great deal of tall and continued hedge, a quiet English greenness and rurality, till, drawing near NEWSTEAD ABBEY, we began to see copious plantations, principally of firs, larches, and trees of that order, looking very sombre, though with some intermingling of lighter foliage. It was after one when we reached "The Hut,"--a small, modern wayside inn, almost directly across the road from the entrance-gate of Newstead. The post-boy calls the distance ten miles from Nottingham. He also averred that it was forbidden to drive visitors within the gates; so we left the fly at the inn, and set out to walk from the entrance to the house. There is no porter's lodge; and the grounds, in this outlying region, had not the appearance of being very primly kept, but were well wooded with evergreens, and much overgrown with ferns, serving for cover for hares, which scampered in and out of their hiding-places. The road went winding gently along, and, at the distance of nearly a mile, brought us to a second gate, through which we likewise passed, and walked onward a good way farther, seeing much wood, but as yet nothing of the Abbey. At last, through the trees, we caught a glimpse of its battlements, and saw, too, the gleam of water, and then appeared the Abbey's venerable front. It comprises the western wall of the church, which is all that remains of that fabric,--a great, central window, entirely empty, without tracery or mullions; the ivy clambering up on the inside of the wall, and hanging over in front. The front of the inhabited part of the house extends along on a line with this church wall, rather low, with battlements along its top, and all in good keeping with the ruinous remnant. We met a servant, who replied civilly to our inquiries about the mode of gaining admittance, and bade us ring a bell at the corner of the principal porch. We rang accordingly, and were forthwith admitted into a low, vaulted basement, ponderously wrought with intersecting arches, dark and rather chilly, just like what I remember to have seen at Battle Abbey; and, after waiting here a little while, a respectable elderly gentlewoman appeared, of whom we requested to be shown round the Abbey. She courteously acceded, first presenting us to a book in which to inscribe our names. I suppose ten thousand people, three fourths of them Americans, have written descriptions of Newstead Abbey; and none of them, so far as I have read, give any true idea of the place; neither will my description, if I write one. In fact, I forget very much that I saw, and especially in what order the objects came. In the basement was Byron's bath,--a dark and cold and cellarlike hole, which it must have required good courage to plunge into; in this region, too, or near it, was the chapel, which Colonel Wildman has decorously fitted up, and where service is now regularly performed, but which was used as a dog's kennel in Byron's time. After seeing this, we were led to Byron's own bedchamber, which remains just as when he slept in it,--the furniture and all the other arrangements being religiously preserved. It was in the plainest possible style, homely, indeed, and almost mean,--an ordinary paper-hanging, and everything so commonplace that it was only the deep embrasure of the window that made it look unlike a bedchamber in a middling-class lodging-house. It would have seemed difficult, beforehand, to fit up a room in that picturesque old edifice so that it should be utterly void of picturesqueness; but it was effected in this apartment, and I suppose it is a specimen of the way in which old mansions used to be robbed of their antique character, and adapted to modern tastes, before mediaeval antiquities came into fashion. Some prints of the Cambridge colleges, and other pictures indicating Byron's predilections at the time, and which he himself had hung there, were on the walls. This, the housekeeper told us, had been the Abbot's chamber, in the monastic time. Adjoining it is the haunted room, where the ghostly monk, whom Byron introduces into Don Juan, is said to have his lurking-place. It is fitted up in the same style as Byron's, and used to be occupied by his valet or page. No doubt in his Lordship's day, these were the only comfortable bedrooms in the Abbey; and by the housekeeper's account of what Colonel Wildman has done, it is to be inferred that the place must have been in a most wild, shaggy, tumble-down condition, inside and out, when he bought it. It is very different now. After showing us these two apartments of Byron and his servant, the housekeeper led us from one to another and another magnificent chamber fitted up in antique style, with oak panelling, and heavily carved bedsteads, of Queen Elizabeth's time, or of the Stuarts, hung with rich tapestry curtains of similar date, and with beautiful old cabinets of carved wood, sculptured in relief, or tortoise-shell and ivory. The very pictures and realities, these rooms were, of stately comfort; and they were called by the name of kings,--King Edward's, King Charles II's, King Henry VII's chamber; and they were hung with beautiful pictures, many of them portraits of these kings. The chimney-pieces were carved and emblazoned; and all, so far as I could judge, was in perfect keeping, so that if a prince or noble of three centuries ago were to come to lodge at Newstead Abbey, he would hardly know that he had strayed out of his own century. And yet he might have known by some token, for there are volumes of poetry and light literature on the tables in these royal bedchambers, and in that of Henry VII. I saw The House of the Seven Gables and The Scarlet Letter in Routledge's edition. Certainly the house is admirably fitted up; and there must have been something very excellent and comprehensive in the domestic arrangements of the monks, since they adapt themselves so well to a state of society entirely different from that in which they originated. The library is a very comfortable room, and provocative of studious ideas, though lounging and luxurious. It is long, and rather low, furnished with soft couches, and, on the whole, though a man might dream of study, I think he would be most likely to read nothing but novels there. I know not what the room was in monkish times, but it was waste and ruinous in Lord Byron's. Here, I think, the housekeeper unlocked a beautiful cabinet, and took out the famous skull which Lord Byron transformed into a drinking-goblet. It has a silver rim and stand, but still the ugly skull is bare and evident, and the naked inner bone receives the wine. I should think it would hold at least a quart,--enough to overpower any living head into which this death's-head should transfer its contents; and a man must be either very drunk or very thirsty, before he would taste wine out of such a goblet. I think Byron's freak was outdone by that of a cousin of my own, who once solemnly assured me that he had a spittoon made out of the skull of his enemy. The ancient coffin in which the goblet-skull was found was shown us in the basement of the Abbey. There was much more to see in the house than I had any previous notion of; but except the two chambers already noticed, nothing remained the least as Byron left it. Yes, another place there was,--his own small dining-room, with a table of moderate size, where, no doubt, the skull-goblet has often gone its rounds. Colonel Wildman's dining-room was once Byron's shooting-gallery, and the original refectory of the monks. It is now magnificently arranged, with a vaulted roof, a music-gallery at one end, suits of armor and weapons on the walls, and mailed arms extended, holding candelabras. There are one or two painted windows, commemorative of the Peninsular war, and the battles in which the Colonel and his two brothers fought,--for these Wildmen seem to have been mighty troopers, and Colonel Wildman is represented as a fierce-looking mustachioed hussar at two different ages. The housekeeper spoke of him affectionately, but says that he is now getting into years, and that they fancy him failing. He has no children. He appears to have been on good terms with Byron, and had the latter ever returned to England, he was under promise to make his first visit to his old home, and it was in such an expectation that Colonel Wildman had kept Byron's private apartments in the same condition in which he found them. Byron was informed of all the Colonel's fittings up and restorations, and when he introduces the Abbey in Don Juan, the poet describes it, not as he himself left it, but as Colonel Wildman has restored it. There is a beautiful drawing-room, and all these apartments are adorned with pictures, the collection being especially rich in portraits by Sir Peter Lely,--that of Nell Gwynn being one, who is one of the few beautiful women whom I have seen on canvas. We parted with the housekeeper, and I with a good many shillings, at the door by which we entered; and our next business was to see the private grounds and gardens. A little boy attended us through the first part of our progress, but soon appeared the veritable gardener,--a shrewd and sensible old man, who has been very many years on the place. There was nothing of special interest as concerning Byron until we entered the original old monkish garden, which is still laid out in the same fashion as the monks left it, with a large, oblong piece of water in the centre, and terraced banks rising at two or three different stages with perfect regularity around it; so that the sheet of water looks like the plate of an immense looking-glass, of which the terraces form the frame. It seems as if, were there any giant large enough, he might raise up this mirror and set it on end. In the monks' garden, there is a marble statue of Pan, which, the gardener told us, was brought by the "Wicked Lord" (great-uncle of Byron) from Italy, and was supposed by the country people to represent the Devil, and to be the object of his worship,--a natural idea enough, in view of his horns and cloven feet and tail, though this indicates, at all events, a very jolly devil. There is also a female statue, beautiful from the waist upward, but shaggy and cloven-footed below, and holding a little cloven-footed child by the hand. This, the old gardener assured us, was Pandora, wife of the above-mentioned Pan, with her son. Not far from this spot, we came to the tree on which Byron carved his own name and that of his sister Augusta. It is a tree of twin stems,--a birch-tree, I think,--growing up side by side. One of the stems still lives and flourishes, but that on which he carved the two names is quite dead, as if there had been something fatal in the inscription that has made it forever famous. The names are still very legible, although the letters had been closed up by the growth of the bark before the tree died. They must have been deeply cut at first. There are old yew-trees of unknown antiquity in this garden, and many other interesting things; and among them may be reckoned a fountain of very pure water, called the "Holy Well," of which we drank. There are several fountains, besides the large mirror in the centre of the garden; and these are mostly inhabited by carp, the genuine descendants of those which peopled the fish-ponds in the days of the monks. Coming in front of the Abbey, the gardener showed us the oak that Byron planted, now a vigorous young tree; and the monument which he erected to his Newfoundland dog, and which is larger than most Christians get, being composed of a marble, altar-shaped tomb, surrounded by a circular area of steps, as much as twenty feet in diameter. The gardener said, however, that Byron intended this, not merely as the burial-place of his dog, but for himself too, and his sister. I know not how this may have been, but this inconvenience would have attended his being buried there, that, on transfer of the estate, his mortal remains would have become the property of some other man. We had now come to the empty space,--a smooth green lawn, where had once been the Abbey church. The length had been sixty-four yards, the gardener said, and within his remembrance there had been many remains of it, but now they are quite removed, with the exception of the one ivy-grown western wall, which, as I mentioned, forms a picturesque part of the present front of the Abbey. Through a door in this wall the gardener now let us out. . . . . In the evening our landlady, who seems to be a very intelligent woman, of a superior class to most landladies, came into our parlor, while I was out, and talked about the present race of Byrons and Lovelaces, who have often been at this house. There seems to be a taint in the Byron blood which makes those who inherit it wicked, mad, and miserable. Even Colonel Wildman comes in for a share of this ill luck, for he has almost ruined himself by his expenditure on the estate, and by his lavish hospitality, especially to the Duke of Sussex, who liked the Colonel, and used often to visit him during his lifetime, and his Royal Highness's gentlemen ate and drank Colonel Wildman almost up. So says our good landlady. At any rate, looking at this miserable race of Byrons, who held the estate so long, and at Colonel Wildman, whom it has ruined in forty years, we might see grounds for believing in the evil fate which is supposed to attend confiscated church property. Nevertheless, I would accept the estate, were it offered me. . . . . Glancing back, I see that I have omitted some items that were curious in describing the house; for instance, one of the cabinets had been the personal property of Queen Elizabeth. It seems to me that the fashion of modern furniture has nothing to equal these old cabinets for beauty and convenience. In the state apartments, the floors were so highly waxed and polished that we slid on them as if on ice, and could only make sure of our footing by treading on strips of carpeting that were laid down. June 7th.--We left Nottingham a week ago, and made our first stage to Derby, where we had to wait an hour or two at a great, bustling, pell-mell, crowded railway station. It was much thronged with second and third class passengers, coming and departing in continual trains; for these were the Whitsuntide holidays, which set all the lower orders of English people astir. This time of festival was evidently the origin of the old "Election" holidays in Massachusetts; the latter occurring at the same period of the year, and being celebrated (so long as they could be so) in very much the same way, with games, idleness, merriment of set purpose, and drunkenness. After a weary while we took the train for MATLOCK, via Ambergate, and arrived of the former place late in the afternoon. The village of Matlock is situated on the banks of the Derwent, in a delightful little nook among the hills, which rise above it in steeps, and in precipitous crags, and shut out the world so effectually that I wonder how the railway ever found it out. Indeed, it does make its approach to this region through a long tunnel. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon when we arrived, and my present impressions are, that I have never seen anywhere else such exquisite scenery as that which surrounds the village. The street itself, to be sure, is commonplace enough, and hot, dusty, and disagreeable; but if you look above it, or on either side, there are green hills descending abruptly down, and softened with woods, amid which are seen villas, cottages, castles; and beyond the river is a line of crags, perhaps three hundred feet high, clothed with shrubbery in some parts from top to bottom, but in other places presenting a sheer precipice of rock, over which tumbles, as it were, a cascade of ivy and creeping plants. It is very beautiful, and, I might almost say, very wild; but it has those characteristics of finish, and of being redeemed from nature, and converted into a portion of the adornment of a great garden, which I find in all English scenery. Not that I complain of this; on the contrary, there is nothing that delights an American more, in contrast with the roughness and ruggedness of his native scenes,--to which, also, he might be glad to return after a while. We put up at the old Bath Hotel,--an immense house, with passages of such extent that at first it seemed almost a day's journey from parlor to bedroom. The house stands on a declivity, and after ascending one pair of stairs, we came, in travelling along the passageway, to a door that opened upon a beautifully arranged garden, with arbors and grottos, and the hillside rising steep above. During all the time of our stay at Matlock there was brilliant sunshine, and, the grass and foliage being in their freshest and most luxuriant phase, the place has left as bright a picture as I have anywhere in my memory. The morning after our arrival we took a walk, and, following the sound of a church-bell, entered what appeared to be a park, and, passing along a road at the base of a line of crags, soon came in sight of a beautiful church. I rather imagine it to be the place of worship of the Arkwright family, whose seat is in this vicinity,--the descendants of the famous Arkwright who contributed so much towards turning England into a cotton manufactory. We did not enter the church, but passed beyond it, and over a bridge, and along a road that ascended among the hills and finally brought us out by a circuit to the other end of Matlock village, after a walk of three or four miles. In the afternoon we took a boat across the Derwent,--a passage which half a dozen strokes of the oars accomplished, --and reached a very pleasant seclusion called "The Lovers' Walk." A ferriage of twopence pays for the transit across the river, and gives the freedom of these grounds, which are threaded with paths that meander and zigzag to the top of the precipitous ridge, amid trees and shrubbery, and the occasional ease of rustic seats. It is a sweet walk for lovers, and was so for us; although J-----, with his scramblings and disappearances, and shouts from above, and headlong scamperings down the precipitous paths, occasionally frightened his mother. After gaining the heights, the path skirts along the precipice, allowing us to see down into the village street, and, nearer, the Derwent winding through the valley so close beneath us that we might have flung a stone into it. These crags would be very rude and harsh if left to themselves, but they are quite softened and made sweet and tender by the great deal of foliage that clothes their sides, and creeps and clambers over them, only letting a stern face of rock be seen here and there, and with a smile rather than a frown. The next day, Monday, we went to see the grand cavern. The entrance is high up on the hillside, whither we were led by a guide, of whom there are many, and they all pay tribute to the proprietor of the cavern. There is a small shed by the side of the cavern mouth, where the guide provided himself and us with tallow candles, and then led us into the darksome and ugly pit, the entrance of which is not very imposing, for it has a door of rough pine boards, and is kept under lock and key. This is the disagreeable phase-one of the disagreeable phases--of man's conquest over nature in England,--cavern mouths shut up with cellar doors, cataracts under lock and key, precipitous crags compelled to figure in ornamented gardens,--and all accessible at a fixed amount of shillings or pence. It is not possible to draw a full free breath under such circumstances. When you think of it, it makes the wildest scenery look like the artificial rock-work which Englishmen are so fond of displaying in the little bit of grass-plot under their suburban parlor windows. However, the cavern was dreary enough and wild enough, though in a mean sort of way; for it is but a long series of passages and crevices, generally so narrow that you scrape your elbows, and so low that you hit your head. It has nowhere a lofty height, though sometimes it broadens out into ample space, but not into grandeur, the roof being always within reach, and in most places smoky with the tallow candles that have been held up to it. A very dirty, sordid, disagreeable burrow, more like a cellar gone mad than anything else; but it served to show us how the crust of the earth is moulded. This cavern was known to the Romans, and used to be worked by them as a lead-mine. Derbyshire spar is now taken from it; and in some of its crevices the gleam of the tallow candles is faintly reflected from the crystallizations; but, on the whole, I felt like a mole, as I went creeping along, and was glad when we came into the sunshine again. I rather think my idea of a cavern is taken from the one in the Forty Thieves, or in Gil Blas,--a vast, hollow womb, roofed and curtained with obscurity. This reality is very mean. Leaving the cavern, we went to the guide's cottage, situated high above the village, where he showed us specimens of ornaments and toys manufactured by himself from Derbyshire spar and other materials. There was very pretty mosaic work, flowers of spar, and leaves of malachite, and miniature copies of Cleopatra's Needle, and other Egyptian monuments, and vases of graceful pattern, brooches, too, and many other things. The most valuable spar is called Blue John, and is only to be found in one spot, where, also, the supply is said to be growing scant. We bought a number of articles, and then came homeward, still with our guide, who showed us, on the way, the Romantic Rocks. These are some crags which have been rent away and stand insulated from the hillside, affording a pathway between it and then; while the places can yet be seen where the sundered rocks would fit into the craggy hill if there were but a Titan strong enough to adjust them again. It is a very picturesque spot, and the price for seeing it is twopence; though in our case it was included in the four shillings which we had paid for seeing the cavern. The representative men of England are the showmen and the policemen; both very good people in their way. Returning to the hotel, J----- and his mother went through the village to the river, near the railway, where J----- set himself to fishing, and caught three minnows. I followed, after a while, to fetch them back, and we called into one or two of the many shops in the village, which have articles manufactured of the spar for sale. Some of these are nothing short of magnificent. There was an inlaid table, valued at sixty guineas, and a splendid ornament for any drawing-room; another, inlaid with the squares of a chess-board. We heard of a table in the possession of the Marquis of Westminster, the value of which is three hundred guineas. It would be easy and pleasant to spend a great deal of money in such things as we saw there; but all our purchases in Matlock did not amount to more than twenty shillings, invested in brooches, shawl-pins, little vases and toys, which will be valuable to us as memorials on the other side of the water. After this, we visited a petrifying cave, of which there are several hereabouts. The process of petrifaction requires some months, or perhaps a year or two, varying with the size of the article to be operated upon. The articles are placed in the cave, under the drippings from the roof, and a hard deposit is formed upon them, and sometimes, as in the case of a bird's-nest, causes a curious result,-- every straw and hair being immortalized and stiffened into stone. A horse's head was in process of petrifaction; and J----- bought a broken eggshell for a penny, though larger articles are expensive. The process would appear to be entirely superficial,--a mere crust on the outside of things,--but we saw some specimens of petrified oak, where the stony substance seemed to be intimately incorporated with the wood, and to have really changed it into stone. These specimens were immensely ponderous, and capable of a high polish, which brought out beautiful streaks and shades. One might spend a very pleasant summer in Matlock, and I think there can be no more beautiful place in the world; but we left it that afternoon, and railed to Manchester, where we arrived between ten and eleven at night. The next day I left S----- to go to the Art Exhibition, and took J----- with me to Liverpool, where I had an engagement that admitted of no delay. Thus ended our tour, in which we had seen but a little bit of England, yet rich with variety and interest. What a wonderful land! It is our forefathers' land; our land, for I will not give up such a precious inheritance. We are now back again in flat and sandy Southport, which, during the past week, has been thronged with Whitsuntide people, who crowd the streets, and pass to and fro along the promenade, with a universal and monotonous air of nothing to do, and very little enjoyment. It is a pity that poor folks cannot employ their little hour of leisure to better advantage, in a country where the soil is so veined with gold. These are delightfully long days. Last night, at half past nine, I could read with perfect ease in parts of the room remote from the window; and at nearly half past eleven there was a broad sheet of daylight in the west, gleaming brightly over the plashy sands. I question whether there be any total night at this season. June 21st.--Southport, I presume, is now in its most vivid aspect; there being a multitude of visitors here, principally of the middling classes, and a frequent crowd, whom I take to be working-people from Manchester and other factory towns. It is the strangest place to come to for the pleasures of the sea, of which we scarcely have a glimpse from month's end to mouth's end, nor any fresh, exhilarating breath from it, but a lazy, languid atmosphere, brooding over the waste of sands; or even if there be a sulky and bitter wind blowing along the promenade, it still brings no salt elixir. I never was more weary of a place in all my life, and never felt such a disinterested pity as for the people who come here for pleasure. Nevertheless, the town has its amusements; in the first place, the daylong and perennial one of donkey-riding along the sands, large parties of men and girls pottering along together; the Flying Dutchman trundles hither and thither when there is breeze enough; an arch cry-man sets up his targets on the beach; the bathing-houses stand by scores and fifties along the shore, and likewise on the banks of the Ribble, a mile seaward; the hotels have their billiard-rooms; there is a theatre every evening; from morning till night comes a succession of organ-grinders, playing interminably under your window; and a man with a bassoon and a monkey, who takes your pennies and pulls off his cap in acknowledgment; and wandering minstrels, with guitar and voice; and a Highland bagpipe, squealing out a tangled skein of discord, together with a Highland maid, who dances a hornpipe; and Punch and Judy,--in a word, we have specimens of all manner of vagrancy that infests England. In these long days, and long and pleasant ones, the promenade is at its liveliest about nine o'clock, which is but just after sundown; and our little R----- finds it difficult to go to sleep amid so much music as comes to her ears from bassoon, bagpipe, organ, guitar, and now and then a military band. One feature of the place is the sick and infirm people, whom we see dragged along in bath-chairs, or dragging their own limbs languidly; or sitting on benches; or meeting in the streets, and making acquaintance on the strength of mutual maladies,--pale men leaning on their ruddy wives; cripples, three or four together in a ring, and planting their crutches in the centre. I don't remember whether I have ever mentioned among the notabilities of Southport the Town Crier,--a meek-looking old man, who sings out his messages in a most doleful tone, as if he took his title in a literal sense, and were really going to cry, or crying in the world's behalf; one other stroller, a foreigner with a dog, shaggy round the head and shoulders, and closely shaven behind. The poor little beast jumped through hoops, ran about on two legs of one side, danced on its hind legs, or on its fore paws, with its hind ones straight up in the air,--all the time keeping a watch on his master's eye, and evidently mindful of many a beating. June 25th.--The war-steamer Niagara came up the Mersey a few days since, and day before yesterday Captain Hudson called at my office,--a somewhat meagre, elderly gentleman, of simple and hearty manners and address, having his purser, Mr. Eldredge, with him, who, I think, rather prides himself upon having a Napoleonic profile. The captain is an old acquaintance of Mrs. Blodgett, and has cone ashore principally with a view to calling on her; so, after we had left our cards for the Mayor, I showed these naval gentlemen the way to her house. Mrs. Blodgett and Miss W------ were prodigiously glad to see him and they all three began to talk of old times and old acquaintances; for when Mrs. Blodgett was a rich lady at Gibraltar, she used to have the whole navy-list at her table,--young midshipmen and lieutenants then perhaps, but old, gouty, paralytic commodores now, if still even partly alive. It was arranged that Mrs. Blodgett, with as many of the ladies of her family as she chose to bring, should accompany me on my official visit to the ship the next day; and yesterday we went accordingly, Mrs. Blodgett, Miss W------, and six or seven American captains' wives, their husbands following in another boat. I know too little of ships to describe one, or even to feel any great interest in the details of this or of any other ship; but the nautical people seemed to see much to admire. She lay in the Sloyne, in the midst of a broad basin of the Mersey, with a pleasant landscape of green England, now warm with summer sunshine, on either side, with churches and villa residences, and suburban and rural beauty. The officers of the ship are gentlemanly men, externally very well mannered, although not polished and refined to any considerable extent. At least, I have not found naval men so, in general; but still it is pleasant to see Americans who are not stirred by such motives as usually interest our countrymen,--no hope nor desire of growing rich, but planting their claims to respectability on other grounds, and therefore acquiring a certain nobleness, whether it be inherent in their nature or no. It always seems to me they look down upon civilians with quiet and not ill-natured scorn, which one has the choice of smiling or being provoked at. It is not a true life which they lead, but shallow and aimless; and unsatisfactory it must be to the better minds among them; nor do they appear to profit by what would seem the advantages presented to them in their world-wide, though not world-deep experience. They get to be very clannish too. After seeing the ship, we landed, all of us, ladies and captain, and went to the gardens of the Rock Ferry Hotel, where J----- and I stayed behind the rest. TO SCOTLAND. June 28th.--On the 26th my wife, J-----, and I left Southport, taking the train for Preston, and as we had to stop an hour or two before starting for Carlisle, I walked up into the town. The street through which most of my walk lay was brick-built, lively, bustling, and not particularly noteworthy; but, turning a little way down another street, the town had a more ancient aspect. The day was intensely hot, the sun lying bright and broad as ever I remember it in an American city; so that I was glad to get back again to the shade and shelter of the station. The heat and dust, moreover, made our journey to Carlisle very uncomfortable. It was through very pretty, and sometimes picturesque scenery, being on the confines of the hill-country, which we could see on our left, dim and blue; and likewise we had a refreshing breath from the sea in passing along the verge of Morecambe Bay. We reached Carlisle at about five o'clock, and, after taking tea at the Bush Hotel, set forth to look at the town. The notable objects were a castle and a cathedral; and we first found our way to the castle, which stands on elevated ground, on the side of the city towards Scotland. A broad, well-constructed path winds round the castle at the base of the wall, on the verge of a steep descent to the plain beneath, through which winds the river Eden. Along this path we walked quite round the castle, a circuit of perhaps half a mile,-- pleasant, being shaded by the castle's height and by the foliage of trees. The walls have been so much rebuilt and restored that it is only here and there that we see an old buttress, or a few time-worn stones intermixed with the new facing with which the aged substance is overlaid. The material is red freestone, which seems to be very abundant in this part of the country. We found no entrance to the castle till the path had led us from the free and airy country into a very mean part of the town, where the wretched old houses thrust themselves between us and the castle wall, and then, passing through a narrow street, we walked up what appeared like a by-lane, and the portal of the castle was before us. There was a sentry-box just within the gate, and a sentinel was on guard, for Carlisle Castle is a national fortress, and has usually been a depot for arms and ammunition. The sergeant, or corporal of the guard, sat reading within the gateway, and, on my request for admittance, he civilly appointed one of the soldiers to conduct us to the castle. As I recollect, the chief gateway of the castle, with the guard-room in the thickness of the wall, is situated some twenty yards behind the first entrance where we met the sentinel. It was an intelligent young soldier who showed as round the castle, and very civil, as I always find soldiers to be. He had not anything particularly interesting to show, nor very much to say about it; and what be did say, so far as it referred to the history of the castle, was probably apocryphal. The castle has an inner and outer ward on the descent of the hill; and included within the circuit of the exterior wall. Having been always occupied by soldiers, it has not been permitted to assume the picturesque aspect of a ruin, but the buildings of the interior have either been constantly repaired, as they required it, or have been taken down when past repair. We saw a small part of the tower where Mary, Queen of Scots, was confined on her first coming to England; these remains consist only of a portion of a winding stone staircase, at which we glanced through a window. The keep is very large and massive, and, no doubt, old in its inner substance. We ascended to the castle walls, and looked out over the river towards the Scottish hills, which are visible in the distance,--the Scottish border being not more than eight or nine miles off. Carlisle Castle has stood many sieges, and witnessed many battles under its walls. There are now, on its ramparts, only some half a dozen old-fashioned guns, which our soldier told us had gone quite out of use in these days. They were long iron twelve-pounders, with one or two carronades. The soldier was of an artillery regiment, and wore the Crimean medal. He said the garrison now here consists only of about twenty men, all of whom had served in the Crimea, like himself. They seem to lead a very dull and monotonous life, as indeed it must be, without object or much hope, or any great employment of the present, like prisoners, as indeed they are. Our guide showed us on the rampart a place where the soldiers had been accustomed to drop themselves down at night, hanging by their hands from the top of the wall, and alighting on their feet close beside the path on the outside. The height seemed at least that of an ordinary house, but the soldier said that nine times out of ten the fall might be ventured without harm; and he spoke from experience, having himself got out of the castle in this manner. The place is now boarded up, so as to make egress difficult or impossible. The castle, after all, was not particularly worth seeing. The soldier's most romantic story was of a daughter of Lord Scroope, a former governor of the castle, when Mary of Scotland was confined here. She attempted to assist the Queen in escaping, but was shot dead in the gateway by the warder; and the soldier pointed out the very spot where the poor young lady fell and died;--all which would be very interesting were there a word of truth in the story. But we liked our guide for his intelligence, simplicity, and for the pleasure which he seemed to take, as an episode of his dull daily life, in talking to strangers. He observed that the castle walls were solid, and, indeed, there was breadth enough to drive a coach and four along the top; but the artillery of the Crimea would have shelled them into ruins in a very few hours. When we got back to the guard-house, he took us inside, and showed the dismal and comfortless rooms where soldiers are confined for drunkenness, and other offences against military laws, telling us that he himself had been confined there, and almost perished with cold. I should not much wonder if he were to get into durance again, through misuse of the fee which I put into his hand at parting. The cathedral is at no great distance from the castle; and though the streets are mean and sordid in the vicinity, the close has the antique repose and shadowy peace, at once domestic and religious, which seem peculiar and universal in cathedral closes. The foundation of this cathedral church is very ancient, it having been the church portion of an old abbey, the refectory and other remains of which are still seen around the close. But the whole exterior of the building, except here and there a buttress, and one old patch of gray stones, seems to have been renewed within a very few years with red freestone; and, really, I think it is all the more beautiful for being new,--the ornamental parts being so sharply cut, and the stone, moreover, showing various shadings, which will disappear when it gets weatherworn. There is a very large and fine east window, of recent construction, wrought with delicate stone tracery. The door of the south transept stood open, though barred by an iron grate. We looked in, and saw a few monuments on the wall, but found nobody to give us admittance. The portal of this entrance is very lovely with wreaths of stone foliage and flowers round the arch, recently carved; yet not so recently but that the swallows have given their sanction to it, as if it were a thousand years old, and have built their nests in the deeply carved recesses. While we were looking, a little bird flew into the small opening between two of these petrified flowers, behind which was his nest, quite out of sight. After some attempts to find the verger, we went back to the hotel. . . . . In the morning my wife and J----- went back to see the interior of the cathedral, while I strayed at large about the town, again passing round the castle site, and thence round the city, where I found some inconsiderable portions of the wall which once girt it about. It was market-day in Carlisle, and the principal streets were much thronged with human life and business on that account; and in as busy a street as any stands a marble statue, in robes of antique state, fitter for a niche in Westminster Abbey than for the thronged street of a town. It is a statue of the Earl of Lonsdale, Lord Lieutenant of Cumberland, who died about twenty years ago. [Here follows the record of the visits to the "Haunts of Burns," already published in Our Old Home.--ED.] GLASGOW. July 1st.--Immediately after our arrival yesterday, we went out and inquired our way to the cathedral, which we reached through a good deal of Scotch dirt, and a rabble of Scotch people of all sexes and ages. The women of Scotland have a faculty of looking exceedingly ugly as they grow old. The cathedral I have already noticed in the record of my former visit to Scotland. I did it no justice then, nor shall do it any better justice now; but it is a fine old church, although it makes a colder and severer impression than most of the Gothic architecture which I have elsewhere seen. I do not know why this should be so; for portions of it are wonderfully rich, and everywhere there are arches opening beyond arches, and clustered pillars and groined roofs, and vistas, lengthening along the aisles. The person who shows it is an elderly man of jolly aspect and demeanor; he is enthusiastic about the edifice, and makes it the thought and object of his life; and being such a merry sort of man, always saying something mirthfully, and yet, in all his thoughts, words, and actions, having reference to this solemn cathedral, he has the effect of one of the corbels or gargoyles,--those ludicrous, strange sculptures which the Gothic architects appended to their arches. The upper portion of the minster, though very stately and beautiful, is not nearly so extraordinary as the crypts. Here the intricacy of the arches, and the profound system on which they are arranged, is inconceivable, even when you see them,--a whole company of arches uniting in one keystone; arches uniting to form a glorious canopy over the shrine or tomb of a prelate; arches opening through and beyond one another, whichever way you look,-- all amidst a shadowy gloom, yet not one detail wrought out the less beautifully and delicately because it could scarcely be seen. The wreaths of flowers that festoon one of the arches are cut in such relief that they do but just adhere to the stone on which they grow. The pillars are massive, and the arches very low, the effect being a twilight, which at first leads the spectator to imagine himself underground; but by and by I saw that the sunshine came in through the narrow windows, though it scarcely looked like sunshine then. For many years these crypts were used as burial-ground, and earth was brought in, for the purpose of making graves; so that the noble columns were half buried, and the beauty of the architecture quite lost and forgotten. Now the dead men's bones and the earth that covered them have all been removed, leaving the original pavement of the crypt, or a new one in its stead, with only the old relics of saints, martyrs, and heroes underneath, where they have lain so long that they have become a part of the spot. . . . . I was quite chilled through, and the old verger regretted that we had not come during the late hot weather, when the everlasting damp and chill of the spot would have made us entirely comfortable. These crypts originated in the necessity of keeping the floor of the upper cathedral on one level, the edifice being built on a declivity, and the height of the crypt being measured by the descent of the site. After writing the above, we walked out and saw something of the newer portion of Glasgow; and, really, I am inclined to think it the stateliest of cities. The Exchange and other public buildings, and the shops in Buchanan Street, are very magnificent; the latter, especially, excelling those of London. There is, however, a pervading sternness and grimness resulting from the dark gray granite, which is the universal building-material both of the old and new edifices. Later in the forenoon we again walked out, and went along Argyle Street, and through the Trongate and the Salt-Market. The two latter were formerly the principal business streets, and together with High Street, the abode of the rich merchants and other great people of the town. High Street, and, still more, the Salt-Market, now swarm with the lower orders to a degree which I never witnessed elsewhere; so that it is difficult to make one's way among the sullen and unclean crowd, and not at all pleasant to breathe in the noisomeness of the atmosphere. The children seem to have been unwashed from birth. Some of the gray houses appear to have once been stately and handsome, and have their high gable ends notched at the edges, like a flight of stairs. We saw the Tron steeple, and the statue of King William III., and searched for the Old Tolbooth. . . . . Wandering up the High Street, we turned once more into the quadrangle of the University, and mounted a broad stone staircase which ascends square, and with right-angular turns on one corner, on the outside of the edifices. It is very striking in appearance, being ornamented with a balustrade, on which are large globes of stone, and a great lion and unicorn curiously sculptured on the opposite side. While we waited here, staring about us, a man approached, and offered to show us the interior. He seemed to be in charge of the College buildings. We accepted his offer, and were led first up this stone staircase, and into a large and stately hall, panelled high towards the ceiling with dark oak, and adorned with elaborately carved cornices, and other wood-work. There was a long reading-table towards one end of the hall, on which were laid pamphlets and periodicals; and a venerable old gentleman, with white head and bowed shoulders, sat there reading a newspaper. This was the Principal of the University, and as he looked towards us graciously, yet as if expecting some explanation of our entrance, I approached and apologized for intruding on the plea of our being strangers and anxious to see the College. He made a courteous response, though in exceedingly decayed and broken accents, being now eighty-six years old, and gave us free leave to inspect everything that was to be seen. This hall was erected two years after the Restoration of Charles II., and has been the scene, doubtless, of many ceremonials and high banquetings since that period; and, among other illustrious personages, Queen Victoria has honored it with her presence. Thence we went into several recitation or lecture rooms in various parts of the buildings; but they were all of an extreme plainness, very unlike the rich old Gothic libraries and chapels and halls which we saw in Oxford. Indeed, the contrast between this Scotch severity and that noble luxuriance, and antique majesty, and rich and sweet repose of Oxford, is very remarkable, both within the edifices and without. But we saw one or two curious things,--for instance, a chair of mahogany, elaborately carved with the arms of Scotland and other devices, and having a piece of the kingly stone of Scone inlaid in its seat. This chair is used by the Principal on certain high occasions, and we ourselves, of course, sat down in it. Our guide assigned to it a date preposterously earlier than could have been the true one, judging either by the character of the carving or by the fact that mahogany has not been known or used much more than a century and a half. Afterwards he led us into the Divinity Hall, where, he said, there were some old portraits of historic people, and among them an original picture of Mary, Queen of Scots. There was, indeed, a row of old portraits at each end of the apartment,--for instance, Zachariah Boyd, who wrote the rhyming version of the Bible, which is still kept, safe from any critical eye, in the library of the University to which he presented this, besides other more valuable benefactions,--for which they have placed his bust in a niche in the principal quadrangle; also, John Knox makes one of the row of portraits; and a dozen or two more of Scotch worthies, all very dark and dingy. As to the picture of Mary of Scotland, it proved to be not hers at all, but a picture of Queen Mary, the consort of William III., whose portrait, together with that of her sister, Queen Anne, hangs in the same row. We told our guide this, but he seemed unwilling to accept it as a fact. There is a museum belonging to the University; but this, for some reason or other, could not be shown to us just at this time, and there was little else to show. We just looked at the gardens, but, though of large extent, they are so meagre and bare--so unlike that lovely shade of the Oxford gardens--that we did not care to make further acquaintance with them. Then we went back to our hotel, and if there were not already more than enough of description, both past and to come, I should describe George's Square, on one side of which the hotel is situated. A tall column rises in the grassy centre of it, lifting far into the upper air a fine statue of Sir Walter Scott, which we saw to great advantage last night, relieved against the sunset sky; and there are statues of Sir John Moore, a native of Glasgow, and of James Watt, at corners of the square. Glasgow is certainly a noble city. After lunch we embarked on board the steamer, and came up the Clyde. Ben Lomond, and other Highland hills, soon appeared on the horizon; we passed Douglas Castle on a point of land projecting into the river; and, passing under the precipitous height of Dumbarton Castle, which we had long before seen, came to our voyage's end at this village, where we have put up at the Elephant Hotel. July 2d.--After tea, not far from seven o'clock, it being a beautiful decline of day, we set out to walk to DUMBARTON CASTLE, which stands apart from the town, and is said to have been once surrounded by the waters of the Clyde. The rocky height on which the castle stands is a very striking object, bulging up out of the Clyde, with abrupt decision, to the elevation of five hundred feet. The summit is cloven in twain, the cleft reaching nearly to the bottom on the side towards the river, but not coming down so deeply on the landward side. It is precipitous all around; and wherever the steepness admits, or does not make assault impossible, there are gray ramparts round the hill, with cannon threatening the lower world. Our path led its beneath one of these precipices several hundred feet sheer down, and with an ivied fragment of ruined wall at the top. A soldier who sat by the wayside told us that this was called the "Lover's Leap," because a young girl, in some love-exigency, had once jumped down from it, and came safely to the bottom. We reached the castle gate, which is near the shore of the Clyde, and there found another artillery soldier, who guided us through the fortress. He said that there were now but about a dozen soldiers stationed in the castle, and no officer. The lowest battery looks towards the river, and consists of a few twelve-pound cannon; but probably the chief danger of attack was from the land, and the chief pains have been taken to render the castle defensible in that quarter. There are flights of stone stairs ascending up through the natural avenue, in the cleft of the double-summited rock; and about midway there is an arched doorway, beneath which there used to be a portcullis,--so that if an enemy had won the lower part of the fortress, the upper portion was still inaccessible. Where the cleft of the rock widens into a gorge, there are several buildings, old, but not appertaining to the ancient castle, which has almost entirely disappeared. We ascended both summits, and, reaching the loftiest point on the right, stood upon the foundation of a tower that dates back to the fifth century, whence we had a glorious prospect of Highlands and Lowlands; the chief object being Ben Lomond, with its great dome, among a hundred other blue and misty hills, with the sun going down over them; and, in another direction, the Clyde, winding far downward through the plain, with the headland of Dumbeck close at hand, and Douglas Castle at no great distance. On the ramparts beneath us the soldier pointed out the spot where Wallace scaled the wall, climbing an apparently inaccessible precipice, and taking the castle. The principal parts of the ancient castle appear to have been on the other and lower summit of the hill, and thither we now went, and traced the outline of its wall, although none of it is now remaining. Here is the magazine, still containing some powder, and here is a battery of eighteen-pound guns, with pyramids of balls, all in readiness against an assault; which, however, hardly any turn of human affairs can hereafter bring about. The appearance of a fortress is kept up merely for ceremony's sake; and these cannon have grown antiquated. Moreover, as the soldier told us, they are seldom or never fired, even for purposes of rejoicing or salute, because their thunder produces the singular effect of depriving the garrison of water. There is a large tank, and the concussion causes the rifts of the stone to open, and thus lets the water out. Above this battery, and elsewhere about the fortress, there are warders' turrets of stone, resembling great pepper-boxes. When Dr. Johnson visited the castle, he introduced his bulky person into one of these narrow receptacles, and found it difficult to get out again. A gentleman who accompanied him was just stepping forward to offer his assistance, but Boswell whispered him to take no notice, lest Johnson should be offended; so they left him to get out as he could. He did finally extricate himself, else we might have seen his skeleton in the turret. Boswell does not tell this story, which seems to have been handed down by local tradition. The less abrupt declivities of the rock are covered with grass, and afford food for a few sheep, who scamper about the heights, and seem to have attained the dexterity of goats in clambering. I never knew a purer air than this seems to be, nor a lovelier golden sunset. Descending into the gorge again, we went into the armory, which is in one of the buildings occupying the space between the two hill-tops. It formerly contained a large collection of arms; but these have been removed to the Tower of London, and there are now only some tattered banners, of which I do not know the history, and some festoons of pistols, and grenades, shells, and grape and canister shot, kept merely as curiosities; and, far more interesting than the above, a few battle-axes, daggers, and spear-heads from the field of Bannockburn; and, more interesting still, the sword of William Wallace. It is a formidable-looking weapon, made for being swayed with both hands, and, with its hilt on the floor, reached about to my chin; but the young girl who showed us the armory said that about nine inches had been broken off the point. The blade was not massive, but somewhat thin, compared with its great length; and I found that I could blandish it, using both hands, with perfect ease. It is two-edged, without any gaps, and is quite brown and lustreless with old rust, from point to hilt. These were all the memorables of our visit to Dumbarton Castle, which is a most interesting spot, and connected with a long series of historical events. It was first besieged by the Danes, and had a prominent share in all the warfare of Scotland, so long as the old warlike times and manners lasted. Our soldier was very intelligent and courteous, but, as usual with these guides, was somewhat apocryphal in his narrative; telling us that Mary, Queen of Scots, was confined here before being taken to England, and that the cells in which she then lived are still extant, under one of the ramparts. The fact is, she was brought here when a child of six years old, before going to France, and doubtless scrambled up and down these heights as freely and merrily as the sheep we saw. We now returned to our hotel, a very nice one, and found the street of Dumbarton all alive in the summer evening with the sports of children and the gossip of grown people. There was almost no night, for at twelve o'clock there was still a golden daylight, and Yesterday, before it died, must have met the Morrow. In the lower part of the fortress there is a large sun-dial of stone, which was made by a French officer imprisoned here during the Peninsular war. It still numbers faithfully the hours that are sunny, and it is a lasting memorial of him, in the stronghold of his enemies. INVERANNAN. Evening.--After breakfast at Dumbarton, I went out to look at the town, which is of considerable size, and possesses both commerce and manufactures. There was a screw-steamship at the pier, and many sailor-looking people were seen about the streets. There are very few old houses, though still the town retains an air of antiquity which one does not well see how to account for, when everywhere there is a modern front, and all the characteristics of a street built to-day. Turning from the main thoroughfare I crossed a bridge over the Clyde, and gained from it the best view of the cloven crag of Dumbarton Castle that I had yet found. The two summits are wider apart, more fully relieved from each other, than when seen from other points; and the highest ascends into a perfect pyramid, the lower one being obtusely rounded. There seem to be iron-works, or some kind of manufactory, on the farther side of the bridge; and I noticed a quaint, chateau-like mansion, with hanging turrets standing apart from the street, probably built by some person enriched by business. We left Dumbarton at noon, taking the rail to Balloch, and the steamer to the head of Loch Lomond. Wild mountain scenery is not very good to describe, nor do I think any distinct impressions are ever conveyed by such attempts; so I mean to be brief in what I saw about this part of our tour, especially as I suspect that I have said whatever I knew how to say in the record of my former visit to the Highlands. As for Loch Lomond, it lies amidst very striking scenery, being poured in among the gorges of steep and lofty mountains, which nowhere stand aside to give it room, but, on the contrary, do their best to shut it in. It is everywhere narrow, compared with its length of thirty miles; but it is the beauty of a lake to be of no greater width than to allow of the scenery of one of its shores being perfectly enjoyed from the other. The scenery of the Highlands, so far as I have seen it, cannot properly be called rich, but stern and impressive, with very hard outlines, which are unsoftened, mostly, by any foliage, though at this season they are green to their summits. They have hardly flesh enough to cover their bones,--hardly earth enough to lie over their rocky substance,--as may be seen by the minute variety,--the notched and jagged appearance of the profile of their sides and tops; this being caused by the scarcely covered rocks wherewith these great hills are heaped together. Our little steamer stopped at half a dozen places on its voyage up the lake, most of them being stations where hotels have been established. Morally, the Highlands must have been more completely sophisticated by the invention of railways and steamboats than almost any other part of the world; but physically it can have wrought no great change. These mountains, in their general aspect, must be very much the same as they were thousands of years ago; for their sides never were capable of cultivation, nor even with such a soil and so bleak an atmosphere could they have been much more richly wooded than we see them now. They seem to me to be among the unchangeable things of nature, like the sea and sky; but there is no saying what use human ingenuity may hereafter put them to. At all events, I have no doubt in the world that they will go out of fashion in due time; for the taste for mountains and wild scenery is, with most people, an acquired taste, and it was easy to see to-day that nine people in ten care nothing about them. One group of gentlemen and ladies--at least, men and women--spent the whole time in listening to a trial for murder, which was read aloud by one of their number from a newspaper. I rather imagine that a taste for trim gardens is the most natural and universal taste as regards landscape. But perhaps it is necessary for the health of the human mind and heart that there should be a possibility of taking refuge in what is wild and uncontaminated by any meddling of man's hand, and so it has been ordained that science shall never alter the aspect of the sky, whether stern, angry, or beneficent,-- nor of the awful sea, either in calm or tempest,--nor of these rude Highlands. But they will go out of general fashion, as I have said, and perhaps the next fashionable taste will be for cloud land,--that is, looking skyward, and observing the wonderful variety of scenery, that now constantly passes unnoticed, among the clouds. At the head of the lake, we found that there was only a horse-cart to convey our luggage to the hotel at Inverannan, and that we ourselves must walk, the distance being two miles. It had sprinkled occasionally during our voyage, but was now sunshiny, and not excessively warm; so we set forth contentedly enough, and had an agreeable walk along an almost perfectly level road; for it is one of the beauties of these hills, that they descend abruptly down, instead of undulating away forever. There were lofty heights on each side of us, but not so lofty as to have won a distinctive name; and adown their sides we could see the rocky pathways of cascades, which, at this season, are either quite dry, or mere trickles of a rill. The hills and valleys abound in streams, sparkling through pebbly beds, and forming here and there a dark pool; and they would be populous with trout if all England, with one fell purpose, did not come hither to fish them. A fisherman must find it difficult to gratify his propensities in these days; for even the lakes and streams in Norway are now preserved. J-----, by the way, threatens ominously to be a fisherman. He rode the latter portion of the way to the hotel on the luggage-cart; and when we arrived, we found that he had already gone off to catch fish, or to attempt it (for there is as much chance of his catching a whale as a trout), in a mountain stream near the house. I went in search of him, but without success, and was somewhat startled at the depth and blackness of some of the pools into which the stream settled itself and slept. Finally, he came in while we were at dinner. We afterwards walked out with him, to let him play at fishing again, and discovered on the bank of the stream a wonderful oak, with as many as a dozen holes springing either from close to the ground or within a foot or two of it, and looking like twelve separate trees, at least, instead of one. INVERSNAID. July 3d.--Last night seemed to close in clear, and even at midnight it was still light enough to read; but this morning rose on us misty and chill, with spattering showers of rain. Clouds momentarily settled and shifted on the hill-tops, shutting us in even more completely than these steep and rugged green walls would be sure to do, even in the clearest weather. Often these clouds came down and enveloped us in a drizzle, or rather a shower, of such minute drops that they had not weight enough to fall. This, I suppose, was a genuine Scotch mist; and as such it is well enough to have experienced it, though I would willingly never see it again. Such being the state of the weather, my wife did not go out at all, but I strolled about the premises, in the intervals of rain-drops, gazing up at the hillsides, and recognizing that there is a vast variety of shape, of light and shadow, and incidental circumstance, even in what looks so monotonous at first as the green slope of a hill. The little rills that come down from the summits were rather more distinguishable than yesterday, having been refreshed by the night's rain; but still they were very much out of proportion with the wide pathways of bare rock adown which they ran. These little rivulets, no doubt, often lead through the wildest scenery that is to be found in the Highlands, or anywhere else, and to the formation and wildness of which they have greatly contributed by sawing away for countless ages, and thus deepening the ravines. I suspect the American clouds are more picturesque than those of Great Britain, whatever our mountains may be; at least, I remember the Berkshire hills looking grander, under the influence of mist and cloud, than the Highlands did to-day. Our clouds seem to be denser and heavier, and more decided, and form greater contrasts of light and shade. I have remarked in England that the cloudy firmament, even on a day of settled rain, always appears thinner than those I had been accustomed to at home, so as to deceive me with constant expectations of better weather. It has been the same to-day. Whenever I looked upward, I thought it might be going to clear up; but, instead of that, it began to rain more in earnest after midday, and at half past two we left Inverannan in a smart shower. At the head of the lake, we took the steamer, with the rain pouring more heavily than ever, and landed at Inversnaid under the same dismal auspices. We left a very good hotel behind us, and have come to another that seems also good. We are more picturesquely situated at this spot than at Inverannan, our hotel being within a short distance of the lake shore, with a glen just across the water, which will doubtless be worth looking at when the mist permits us to see it. A good many tourists were standing about the door when we arrived, and looked at us with the curiosity of idle and weather-bound people. The lake is here narrow, but a hundred fathoms deep; so that a great part of the height of the mountains which beset it round is hidden beneath its surface. July 4th.--This morning opened still misty, but with a more hopeful promise than yesterday, and when I went out, after breakfast, there were gleams of sunshine here and there on the hillsides, falling, one did not exactly see how, through the volumes of cloud. Close beside the hotel of Inversnaid is the waterfall; all night, my room being on that side of the house, I had heard its voice, and now I ascended beside it to a point where it is crossed by a wooden bridge. There is thence a view, upward and downward, of the most striking descents of the river, as I believe they call it, though it is but a mountain-stream, which tumbles down an irregular and broken staircase in its headlong haste to reach the lake. It is very picturesque, however, with its ribbons of white foam over the precipitous steps, and its deep black pools, overhung by black rocks, which reverberate the rumble of the falling water. J----- and I ascended a little distance along the cascade, and then turned aside; he going up the hill, and I taking a path along its side which gave me a view across the lake. I rather think this particular stretch of Loch Lomond, in front of Inversnaid, is the most beautiful lake and mountain view that I have ever seen. It is so shut in that you can see nothing beyond, nor would suspect anything more to exist than this watery vale among the hills; except that, directly opposite, there is the beautiful glen of Invernglass, which winds away among the feet of Ben Crook, Ben Ein, Ben Vain, and Ben Voirlich, standing mist-inwreathed together. The mists, this morning, had a very soft and beautiful effect, and made the mountains tenderer than I have hitherto felt them to be; and they lingered about their heads like morning-dreams, flitting and retiring, and letting the sunshine in, and snatching it away again. My wife came up, and we enjoyed it together, till the steamer came smoking its pipe along the loch, stopped to land some passengers, and steamed away again. While we stood there, a Highlander passed by us, with a very dark tartan, and bare shanks, most enormously calved. I presume he wears the dress for the sole purpose of displaying those stalwart legs; for he proves to be no genuine Gael, but a manufacturer, who has a shooting-box, or a share in one, on the hill above the hotel. We now engaged a boat, and were rowed to Rob Roy's cave, which is perhaps half a mile distant up the lake. The shores look much more striking from a rowboat, creeping along near the margin, than from a steamer in the middle of the loch; and the ridge, beneath which Rob's cave lies, is precipitous with gray rocks, and clothed, too, with thick foliage. Over the cave itself there is a huge ledge of rock, from which immense fragments have tumbled down, ages and ages ago, and fallen together in such a way as to leave a large irregular crevice in Rob Roy's cave. We scrambled up to its mouth by some natural stairs, and scrambled down into its depths by the aid of a ladder. I suppose I have already described this hole in the record of my former visit. Certainly, Rob Roy, and Robert Bruce, who is said to have inhabited it before him, were not to be envied their accommodations; yet these were not so very intolerable when compared with a Highland cabin, or with cottages such as Burns lived in. J----- had chosen to remain to fish. On our return from the cave, we found that he had caught nothing; but just as we stepped into the boat, a fish drew his float far under water, and J------ tugging at one end of the line, and the fish at the other, the latter escaped, with the hook in his month. J------ avers that he saw the fish, and gives its measurement as about eighteen inches; but the fishes that escape us are always of tremendous size. The boatman thought, however, that it might have been a pike. THE TROSACHS' HOTEL.--ARDCHEANOCHROCHAN. July 5th.--Not being able to get a post-chaise, we took places in the omnibus for the bead of Loch Katrine. Going up to pay a parting visit to the waterfall before starting, I met with Miss C------, as she lately was, who is now on her wedding tour as Mrs. B------. She was painting the falls in oil, with good prospect of a successful picture. She came down to the hotel to see my wife, and soon afterwards J----- and I set out to ascend the steep hill that comes down upon the lake of Inversnaid, leaving the omnibus to follow at leisure. The Highlander who took us to Rob Roy's cave had foreboded rain, from the way in which the white clouds hung about the mountain-tops; nor was his augury at fault, for just at three o'clock, the time he foretold, there were a few rain-drops, and a more defined shower during the afternoon, while we were on Loch Katrine. The few drops, however, did not disturb us; and, reaching the top of the hill, J----- and I turned aside to examine the old stone fortress which was erected in this mountain pass to bridle the Highlanders after the rebellion of 1745. It stands in a very desolate and dismal situation, at the foot of long bare slopes, on mossy ground, in the midst of a disheartening loneliness, only picturesque because it is so exceedingly ungenial and unlovely. The chief interest of this spot in the fact that Wolfe, in his earlier military career, was stationed here. The fortress was a very plain structure, built of rough stones, in the form of a parallelogram, one side of which I paced, and found it between thirty and forty of my paces long. The two ends have fallen down; the two sides that remain are about twenty feet high, and have little port-holes for defence, but no openings of the size of windows. The roof is gone, and the interior space overgrown with grass. Two little girls were at play in one corner, and, going round to the rear of the ruin, I saw that a small Highland cabin had been built against the wall. A dog sat in the doorway, and gave notice of my approach, and some hens kept up their peculiarly domestic converse about the door. We kept on our way, often looking back towards Loch Lomond, and wondering at the grandeur which Ben Vain and Ben Voirlich, and the rest of the Ben fraternity, had suddenly put on. The mists which had hung about them all day had now descended lower, and lay among the depths and gorges of the hills, where also the sun shone softly down among them, and filled those deep mountain laps, as it were, with a dimmer sunshine. Ben Vain, too, and his brethren, had a veil of mist all about them, which seemed to render them really transparent; and they had unaccountably grown higher, vastly higher, than when we viewed them from the shore of the lake. It was as if we were looking at them through the medium of a poet's imagination. All along the road, since we left Inversnaid, there had been the stream, which there formed the waterfall, and which here was brawling down little declivities, and sleeping in black pools, which we disturbed by flinging stones into them from the roadside. We passed a drunken old gentleman, who civilly bade me "good day"; and a man and woman at work in a field, the former of whom shouted to inquire the hour; and we had come in sight of little Loch Arklet before the omnibus came up with us. It was about five o'clock when we reached the head of LOCH KATRINE, and went on board the steamer Rob Roy; and, setting forth on our voyage, a Highland piper made music for us the better part of the way. We did not see Loch Katrine, perhaps, under its best presentment; for the surface was roughened with a little wind, and darkened even to inky blackness by the clouds that overhung it. The hill-tops, too, wore a very dark frown. A lake of this size cannot be terrific, and is therefore seen to best advantage when it is beautiful. The scenery of its shores is not altogether so rich and lovely as I had preimagined; not equal, indeed, to the best parts of Loch Lomond,--the hills being lower and of a more ridgy shape, and exceedingly bare, at least towards the lower end. But they turn the lake aside with headland after headland, and shut it in closely, and open one vista after another, so that the eye is never weary, and, least of all, as we approach the end. The length of the loch is ten miles, and at its termination it meets the pass of the Trosachs, between Ben An and Ben Venue, which are the rudest and shaggiest of hills. The steamer passes Ellen's Isle, but to the right, which is the side opposite to that on which Fitz-James must be supposed to have approached it. It is a very small island, situated where the loch narrows, and is perhaps less than a quarter of a mile distant from either shore. It looks like a lump of rock, with just soil enough to support a crowd of dwarf oaks, birches, and firs, which do not grow so high as to be shadowy trees. Our voyage being over, we landed, and found two omnibuses, one of which took us through the famous pass of the Trosachs, a distance of a mile and a quarter, to a hotel, erected in castellated guise by Lord Willoughby d'Eresby. We were put into a parlor within one of the round towers, panelled all round, and with four narrow windows, opening through deep embrasures. No play-castle was ever more like the reality, and it is a very good hotel, like all that we have had experience of in the Highlands. After tea we walked out, and visited a little kirk that stands near the shore of Loch Achray, at a good point of view for seeing the hills round about. This morning opened cloudily; but after breakfast I set out alone, and walked through the pass of the Trosachs, and thence by a path along the right shore of the lake. It is a very picturesque and beautiful path, following the windings of the lake,--now along the beach, now over an impending bank, until it comes opposite to Ellen's Isle, which on this side looks more worthy to be the island of the poem than as we first saw it. Its shore is craggy and precipitous, but there was a point where it seemed possible to land, nor was it too much to fancy that there might be a rustic habitation among the shrubbery of this rugged spot. It is foolish to look into these matters too strictly. Scott evidently used as much freedom with his natural scenery as he did with his historic incidents; and he could have made nothing of either one or the other if he had been more scrupulous in his arrangement and adornment of them. In his description of the Trosachs, he has produced something very beautiful, and as true as possible, though certainly its beauty has a little of the scene-painter's gloss on it. Nature is better, no doubt, but Nature cannot be exactly reproduced on canvas or in print; and the artist's only resource is to substitute something that may stand instead of and suggest the truth. The path still kept onward, after passing Ellen's Isle, and I followed it, finding it wilder, more shadowy with overhanging foliage of trees, old and young,--more like a mountain-path in Berkshire or New Hampshire, yet still with an Old World restraint and cultivation about it,--the farther I went. At last I came upon some bars, and though the track was still seen beyond, I took this as a hint to stop, especially as I was now two or three miles from the hotel, and it just then began to rain. My umbrella was a poor one at best, and had been tattered and turned inside out, a day or two ago, by a gust on Loch Lomond; but I spread it to the shower, and, furthermore, took shelter under the thickest umbrage I could find. The rain came straight down, and bubbled in the loch; the little rills gathered force, and plashed merrily over the stones; the leaves of the trees condensed the shower into large drops, and shed them down upon me where I stood. Still I was comfortable enough in a thick Skye Tweed, and waited patiently till the rain abated; then took my way homeward, and admired the pass of the Trosachs more than when I first traversed it. If it has a fault, it is one that few scenes in Great Britain share with it,--that is, the trees and shrubbery, with which the precipices are shagged, conceal them a little too much. A crag, streaked with black and white, here and there shows its head aloft, or its whole height from base to summit, and suggests that more of such sublimity is bidden than revealed. I think, however, that it is this unusual shagginess which made the scene a favorite with Scott, and with the people on this side of the ocean generally. There are many scenes as good in America, needing only the poet. July 6th.--We dined yesterday at the table d'hote, at the suggestion of the butler, in order to give less trouble to the servants of the hotel, and afford them an opportunity to go to kirk. The dining-room is in accordance with the rest of the architecture and fittings up of the house, and is a very good reproduction of an old baronial hall, with high panellings and a roof of dark, polished wood. There were about twenty guests at table; and if they and the waiters had been dressed in mediaeval costume, we might have imagined ourselves banqueting in the Middle Ages. After dinner we all took a walk through the Trosachs' pass again, and by the right-hand path along the lake as far as Ellen's Isle. It was very pleasant, there being gleams of calm evening sunshine gilding the mountain-sides, and putting a golden crown occasionally on the Tread of Ben Venue. It is wonderful how many aspects a mountain has,--how many mountains there are in every single mountain!---how they vary too, in apparent attitude and bulk. When we reached the lake its surface was almost unruffled, except by now and then the narrow pathway of a breeze, as if the wing of an unseen spirit had just grazed it in flitting across. The scene was very beautiful, and, on the whole, I do not know that Walter Scott has overcharged his description, although he has symbolized the reality by types and images which it might not precisely suggest to other minds. We were reluctant to quit the spot, and cherish still a hope of seeing it again, though the hope does not seem very likely to be gratified. This was a lowering and sullen morning, but soon after breakfast I took a walk in the opposite direction to Loch Katrine, and reached the Brig of Turk, a little beyond which is the new Trosachs' Hotel, and the little rude village of Duncraggan, consisting of a few hovels of stone, at the foot of a bleak and dreary hill. To the left, stretching up between this and other hills, is the valley of Glenfinlas,--a very awful region in Scott's poetry and in Highland tradition, as the haunt of spirits and enchantments. It presented a very desolate prospect. The walk back to the Trosachs showed me Ben Venue and Ben An under new aspects,--the bare summit of the latter rising in a perfect pyramid, whereas from other points of view it looks like quite a different mountain. Sometimes a gleam of sunshine came out upon the rugged side of Ben Venue, but his prevailing mood, like that of the rest of the landscape, was stern and gloomy. I wish I could give an idea of the variety of surface upon one of these hillsides,--so bulging out and hollowed in, so bare where the rock breaks through, so shaggy in other places with heath, and then, perhaps, a thick umbrage of birch, oak, and ash ascending from the base high upward. When I think I have described them, I remember quite a different aspect, and find it equally true, and yet lacking something to make it the whole or an adequate truth. J----- had gone with me part of the way, but stopped to fish with a pin-hook in Loch Achray, which bordered along our path. When I returned, I found him much elated at having caught a fish, which, however, had got away, carrying his pin-hook along with it. Then he had amused himself with taking some lizards by the tail, and had collected several in a small hollow of the rocks. We now walked home together, and at half past three we took our seats in a genuine old-fashioned stage-coach, of which there are few specimens now to be met with. The coachman was smartly dressed in the Queen's scarlet, and was a very pleasant and affable personage, conducting himself towards the passengers with courteous authority. Inside we were four, including J-----, but on the top there were at least a dozen, and I would willingly have been there too, but had taken an inside seat, under apprehension of rain, and was not allowed to change it. Our drive was not marked by much describable incident. On changing horses at Callender, we alighted, and saw Ben Ledi behind us, making a picturesque background to the little town, which seems to be the meeting-point of the Highlands and Lowlands. We again changed horses at Doune, an old town, which would doubtless have been well worth seeing, had time permitted. Thence we kept on till the coach drew up at a spacious hotel, where we alighted, fancying that we had reached Stirling, which was to have been our journey's end; but, after fairly establishing ourselves, we found that it was the BRIG OF ALLAN. The place is three miles short of Stirling. Nevertheless, we did not much regret the mistake, finding that the Brig of Allan is the principal Spa of Scotland, and a very pleasant spot, to all outward appearance. After tea we walked out, both up and down the village street, and across the bridge, and up a gentle eminence beyond it, whence we had a fine view of a glorious plain, out of which rose several insulated headlands. One of these was the height on which stands Stirling Castle, and which reclines on the plain like a hound or a lion or a sphinx, holding the castle on the highest part, where its head should be. A mile or two distant from this picturesque hill rises another, still more striking, called the Abbey Craig, on which is a ruin, and where is to be built the monument to William Wallace. I cannot conceive a nobler or more fitting pedestal. The sullenness of the day had vanished, the air was cool but invigorating, and the cloud scenery was as fine as that below it. . . . . Though it was nearly ten o'clock, the boys of the village were in full shout and play, for these long and late summer evenings keep the children out of bed interminably. STIRLING. July 7th.--We bestirred ourselves early this morning, . . . . and took the rail for Stirling before eight. It is but a few minutes' ride, so that doubtless we were earlier on the field than if we had slept at Stirling. After our arrival our first call was at the post-office, where I found a large package containing letters from America, but none from U----. We then went to a bookseller's shop, and bought some views of Stirling and the neighborhood; and it is surprising what a quantity and variety of engravings there are of every noted place that we have visited. You seldom find two sets alike. It is rather nauseating to find that what you came to see has already been looked at in all its lights, over and over again, with thousand-fold repetition; and, beyond question, its depictment in words has been attempted still oftener than with the pencil. It will be worth while to go back to America, were it only for the chance of finding a still virgin scene. We climbed the steep slope of the Castle Hill, sometimes passing an antique-looking house, with a high, notched gable, perhaps with an ornamented front, until we came to the sculptures and battlemented wall, with an archway, that stands just below the castle. . . . . A shabby-looking man now accosted us, and could hardly be shaken off. I have met with several such boors in my experience of sight-seeing. He kept along with us, in spite of all hints to the contrary, and insisted on pointing out objects of interest. He showed us a house in Broad Street, below the castle and cathedral, which he said had once been inhabited by Henry Darnley, Queen Mary's husband. There was little or nothing peculiar in its appearance; a large, gray, gabled house standing lengthwise to the street, with three windows in the roof, and connected with other houses on each side. Almost directly across the street, he pointed to an archway, through the side of a house, and, peeping through it, we found a soldier on guard in a court-yard, the sides of which were occupied by an old mansion of the Argyle family, having towers at the corners, with conical tops, like those reproduced in the hotel at the Trosachs. It is now occupied as a military hospital. Shaking off our self-inflicted guide, we now made our way to the castle parade, and to the gateway, where a soldier with a tremendously red nose and two medals at once took charge of us. Beyond all doubt, I have written quite as good a description of the castle and Carse of Stirling in a former portion of my journal as I can now write. We passed through the outer rampart of Queen Anne; through the old round gate-tower of an earlier day, and beneath the vacant arch where the portcullis used to fall, thus reaching the inner region, where stands the old palace on one side, and the old Parliament House on the other. The former looks aged, ragged, and rusty, but makes a good appearance enough pictorially, being adorned all round about with statues, which may have been white marble once, but are as gray as weather-beaten granite now, and look down from between the windows above the basement story. A photograph would give the idea of very rich antiquity, but as it really stands, looking on a gravelled court-yard, and with "CANTEEN" painted on one of its doors, the spectator does not find it very impressive. The great hall of this palace is now partitioned off into two or three rooms, and the whole edifice is arranged to serve as barracks. Of course, no trace of ancient magnificence, if anywise destructible, can be left in the interior. We were not shown into this palace, nor into the Parliament House, nor into the tower, where King James stabbed the Earl of Douglas. When I was here a year ago, I went up the old staircase and into the room where the murder was committed, although it had recently been the scene of a fire, which consumed as much of it as was inflammable. The window whence the Earl's body was thrown then remained; but now the whole tower seems to have been renewed, leaving only the mullions of the historic window. We merely looked up at the new, light-colored freestone of the restored tower in passing, and ascended to the ramparts, where we found one of the most splendid views, morally and materially, that this world can show. Indeed, I think there cannot be such a landscape as the Carse of Stirling, set in such a frame as it is,--the Highlands, comprehending our friends, Ben Lomond, Ben Venue, Ben An, and the whole Ben brotherhood, with the Grampians surrounding it to the westward and northward, and in other directions some range of prominent objects to shut it in; and the plain itself, so worthy of the richest setting, so fertile, so beautiful, so written over and over again with histories. The silver Links of Forth are as sweet and gently picturesque an object as a man sees in a lifetime. I do not wonder that Providence caused great things to happen on this plain; it was like choosing a good piece of canvas to paint a great picture upon. The battle of Bannockburn (which we saw beneath us, with the Gillie's Hill on the right) could not have been fought upon a meaner plain, nor Wallace's victory gained; and if any other great historic act still remains to be done in this country, I should imagine the Carse of Stirling to be the future scene of it. Scott seems to me hardly to have done justice--to this landscape, or to have bestowed pains enough to put it in strong relief before the world; although it is from the light shed on it, and so much other Scottish scenery, by his mind, that we chiefly see it, and take an interest in it. . . . . I do not remember seeing the hill of execution before,--a mound on the same level as the castle's base, looking towards the Highlands. A solitary cow was now feeding upon it. I should imagine that no person could ever have been unjustly executed there; the spot is too much in the sight of heaven and earth to countenance injustice. Descending from the ramparts, we went into the Armory, which I did not see on my former visit. The superintendent of this department is an old soldier of very great intelligence and vast communicativeness, and quite absorbed in thinking of and handling weapons; for he is a practical armorer. He had few things to show us that were very interesting,--a helmet or two, a bomb and grenade from the Crimea; also some muskets from the same quarter, one of which, with a sword at the end, he spoke of admiringly, as the best weapon in the collection, its only fault being its extreme weight. He showed us, too, some Minie rifles, and whole ranges of the old-fashioned Brown Bess, which had helped to win Wellington's victories; also the halberts of sergeants now laid aside, and some swords that had been used at the battle of Sheriffmuir. These latter were very short, not reaching to the floor, when I held one of them, point downward, in my hand. The shortness of the blade and consequent closeness of the encounter must have given the weapon a most dagger-like murderousness. Ranging in the hall of arms, there were two tattered banners that had gone through the Peninsular battles, one of them belonging to the gallant 42d Regiment. The armorer gave my wife a rag from each of these banners, consecrated by so much battle-smoke; also a piece of old oak, half burned to charcoal, which had been rescued from the panelling of the Douglas Tower. We saw better things, moreover, than all these rusty weapons and ragged flags; namely, the pulpit and communion-table of John Knox. The frame of the former, if I remember aright, is complete; but one or two of the panels are knocked out and lost, and, on the whole, it looks as if it had been shaken to pieces by the thunder of his holdings forth,--much worm-eaten, too, is the old oak wood, as well it may be, for the letters MD (1500) are carved on its front. The communion-table is polished, and in much better preservation. Then the armorer showed us a Damascus blade, of the kind that will cut a delicate silk handkerchief while floating in the air; and some inlaid matchlock guns. A child's little toy-gun was lying on a workbench among all this array of weapons; and when I took it up and smiled, he said that it was his son's. So he called in a little fellow four years old, who was playing in the castle yard, and made him go through the musket exercise, which he did with great good-will. This small Son of a Gun, the father assured us, cares for nothing but arms, and has attained all his skill with the musket merely by looking at the soldiers on parade. . . . . Our soldier, who had resigned the care of us to the armorer, met us again at the door, and led us round the remainder of the ramparts, dismissing us finally at the gate by which we entered. All the time we were in the castle there had been a great discordance of drums and fifes, caused by the musicians who were practising just under the walls; likewise the sergeants were drilling their squads of men, and putting them through strange gymnastic motions. Most, if not all, of the garrison belongs to a Highland regiment, and those whom we saw on duty, in full costume, looked very martial and gallant. Emerging from the castle, we took the broad and pleasant footpath, which circles it about midway on the grassy steep which descends from the rocky precipice on which the walls are built. This is a very beautiful walk, and affords a most striking view of the castle, right above our heads, the height of its wall forming one line with the precipice. The grassy hillside is almost as precipitous as the dark gray rock that rises out of it, to form the foundations of the castle; but wild rose-bushes, both of a white and red variety, are abundant here, and all in bloom; nor are these the only flowers. There is also shrubbery in some spots, tossing up green waves against the precipice; and broad sheets of ivy here and there mantle the headlong rock, which also has a growth of weeds in its crevices. The castle walls above, however, are quite bare of any such growth. Thus, looking up at the old storied fortress, and looking down over the wide, historic plain, we wandered half-way round the castle, and then, retracing our steps, entered the town close by an old hospital. A hospital it was, or had been intended for; but the authorities of the town had made some convenient arrangement with those entitled to its charity, and had appropriated the ancient edifice to themselves. So said a boy who showed us into the Guildhall,--an apartment with a vaulted oaken roof, and otherwise of antique aspect and furniture; all of which, however, were modern restorations. We then went into an old church or cathedral, which was divided into two parts; one of them, in which I saw the royal arms, being probably for the Church-of-England service, and the other for the Kirk of Scotland. I remember little or nothing of this edifice, except that the Covenanters had uplifted it with pews and a gallery, and whitewash; though I doubt not it was a stately Gothic church, with innumerable enrichments and incrustations of beauty, when it passed from popish hands into theirs. Thence we wandered downward, through a back street, amid very shabby houses, some of which bore tokens of having once been the abodes of courtly and noble personages. We paused before one that displayed, I think, the sign of a spirit-retailer, and looked as disreputable as a house could, yet was built of stalwart stone, and had two circular towers in front, once, doubtless, crowned with conical tops. We asked an elderly man whether he knew anything of the history of this house; and he said that he had been acquainted with it for almost fifty years, but never knew anything noteworthy about it. Reaching the foot of the hill, along whose back the streets of Stirling run, and which blooms out into the Castle Craig, we returned to the railway, and at noon took leave of Stirling. I forgot to tell of the things that awakened rather more sympathy in us than any other objects in the castle armory. These were some rude weapons--pikes, very roughly made; and old rusty muskets, broken and otherwise out of order; and swords, by no means with Damascus blades-- that had been taken from some poor weavers and other handicraft men who rose against the government in 1820. I pitied the poor fellows much, seeing how wretched were their means of standing up against the cannon, bayonets, swords, shot, shell, and all manner of murderous facilities possessed by their oppressors. Afterwards, our guide showed, in a gloomy quadrangle of the castle, the low windows of the dungeons where two of the leaders of the insurrectionists had been confined before their execution. I have not the least shadow of doubt that these men had a good cause to fight for; but what availed it with such weapons! and so few even of those! . . . . I believe I cannot go on to recount any further this evening the experiences of to-day. It has been a very rich day; only that I have seen more than my sluggish powers of reception can well take in at once. After quitting Stirling, we came in somewhat less than an hour to LINLITHGOW, and, alighting, took up our quarters at the Star and Garter Hotel, which, like almost all the Scottish caravan-saries of which we have had experience, turns out a comfortable one. . . . . We stayed within doors for an hour or two, and I busied myself with writing up my journal. At about three, however, the sky brightened a little, and we set forth through the ancient, rusty, and queer-looking town of Linlithgow, towards the palace and the ancient church, which latter was one of St. David's edifices, and both of which stand close together, a little removed from the long street of the village. But I can never describe them worthily, and shall make nothing of the description if I attempt it now. July 8th.--At about three o'clock yesterday, as I said, we walked forth through the ancient street of Linlithgow, and, coming to the market-place, stopped to look at an elaborate and heavy stone fountain, which we found by an inscription to be the fac-simile of an old one that used to stand on the same site. Turning to the right, the outer entrance to the palace fronts on this market-place, if such it be; and close to it, a little on one side, is the church. A young woman, with a key in her hand, offered to admit us into the latter; so we went in, and found it divided by a wall across the middle into two parts. The hither portion, being the nave, was whitewashed, and looked as bare and uninteresting as an old Gothic church of St. David's epoch possibly could do. The interior portion, being the former choir, is covered with pews over the whole floor, and further defaced by galleries, that unmercifully cut midway across the stately and beautiful arches. It is likewise whitewashed. There were, I believe, some mural monuments of Bailies and other such people stuck up about the walls, but nothing that much interested me, except an ancient oaken chair, which the girl said was the chair of St. Crispin, and it was fastened to the wall, in the holiest part of the church. I know not why it was there; but as it had been the chair of so distinguished a personage, we all sat down in it. It was in this church that the apparition of St. James appeared to King James IV., to warn him against engaging in that war which resulted in the battle of Flodden, where he and the flower of his nobility were slain. The young woman showed us the spot where the apparition spake to him,--a side chapel, with a groined roof, at the end of the choir next the nave. The Covenanters seem to have shown some respect to this one chapel, by refraining from drawing the gallery across its height; so that, except for the whitewash, and the loss of the painted glass in the window, and probably of a good deal of rich architectural detail, it looks as it did when the ghostly saint entered beneath its arch, while the king was kneeling there. We stayed but a little while in the church, and then proceeded to the palace, which, as I said, is close at hand. On entering the outer enclosure through an ancient gateway, we were surprised to find how entire the walls seemed to be; but the reason is, I suppose, that the ruins have not been used as a stone-quarry, as has almost always been the case with old abbeys and castles. The palace took fire and was consumed, so far as consumable, in 1745, while occupied by the soldiers of General Hawley; but even yet the walls appear so stalwart that I should imagine it quite possible to rebuild and restore the stately rooms on their original plan. It was a noble palace, one hundred and seventy-five feet in length by one hundred and sixty-five in breadth, and though destitute of much architectural beauty externally, yet its aspect from the quadrangle which the four sides enclose is venerable and sadly beautiful. At each of the interior angles there is a circular tower, up the whole height of the edifice and overtopping it, and another in the centre of one of the sides, all containing winding staircases. The walls facing upon the enclosed quadrangle are pierced with many windows, and have been ornamented with sculpture, rich traces of which still remain over the arched entrance-ways; and in the grassy centre of the court there is the ruin and broken fragments of a fountain, which once used to play for the delight of the king and queen, and lords and ladies, who looked down upon it from hall and chamber. Many old carvings that belonged to it are heaped together there; but the water has disappeared, though, had it been a natural spring, it would have outlasted all the heavy stone-work. As far as we were able, and could find our way, we went through every room of the palace, all round the four sides. From the first floor upwards it is entirely roofless. In some of the chambers there is an accumulation of soil, and a goodly crop of grass; in others there is still a flooring of flags or brick tiles, though damp and moss-grown, and with weeds sprouting between the crevices. Grass and weeds, indeed, have found soil enough to flourish in, even on the highest ranges of the walls, though at a dizzy height above the ground; and it was like an old and trite touch of romance, to see how the weeds sprouted on the many hearth-stones and aspired under the chimney-flues, as if in emulation of the long-extinguished flame. It was very mournful, very beautiful, very delightful, too, to see how Nature takes back the palace, now that kings have done with it, and adopts it as a part of her great garden. On one side of the quadrangle we found the roofless chamber where Mary, Queen of Scots, was born, and in the same range the bedchamber that was occupied by several of the Scottish Jameses; and in one corner of the latter apartment there is a narrow, winding staircase, down which I groped, expecting to find a door, either into the enclosed quadrangle or to the outside of the palace. But it ends in nothing, unless it be a dungeon; and one does not well see why the bedchamber of the king should be so convenient to a dungeon. It is said that King James III. once escaped down this secret stair, and lay concealed from some conspirators who had entered his chamber to murder him. This range of apartments is terminated, like the other sides of the palace, by a circular tower enclosing a staircase, up which we mounted, winding round and round, and emerging at various heights, until at last we found ourselves at the very topmost point of the edifice; and here there is a small pepper-box of a turret, almost as entire as when the stones were first laid. It is called Queen Margaret's bower, and looks forth on a lovely prospect of mountain and plain, and on the old red roofs of Linlithgow town, and on the little loch that lies within the palace grounds. The cold north-wind blew chill upon us through the empty window-frames, which very likely were never glazed; but it must be a delightful nook in a calmer and warmer summer evening. Descending from this high perch, we walked along ledges and through arched corridors, and stood, contemplative, in the dampness of the banqueting-hall, and sat down on the seats that still occupy the embrasures of the deep windows. In one of the rooms, the sculpture of a huge fireplace has recently been imitated and restored, so as to give an idea of what the richness of the adornments must have been when the building was perfect. We burrowed down, too, a little way, in the direction of the cells, where prisoners used to be confined; but these were too ugly and too impenetrably dark to tempt us far. One vault, exactly beneath a queen's very bedchamber, was designated as a prison. I should think bad dreams would have winged up, and made her pillow an uncomfortable one. There seems to be no certain record as respects the date of this palace, except that the most recent part was built by James I., of England, and bears the figures 1620 on its central tower. In this part were the kitchens and other domestic offices. In Robert Bruce's time there was a castle here, instead of a palace, and an ancestor of our friend Bennoch was the means of taking it from the English by a stratagem in which valor went halves. Four centuries afterwards, it was a royal residence, and might still have been nominally so, had not Hawley's dragoons lighted their fires on the floors of the magnificent rooms; but, on the whole, I think it more valuable as a ruin than if it were still perfect. Scotland, and the world, needs only one Holyrood; and Linlithgow, were it still a perfect palace, must have been second in interest to that, from its lack of association with historic events so grand and striking. After tea we took another walk, and this time went along the High Street, in quest of the house whence Bothwellhaugh fired the shot that killed the Regent Murray. It has been taken down, however; or, if any part of it remain, it has been built into and incorporated with a small house of dark stone, which forms one range with two others that stand a few feet back from the general line of the street. It is as mean-looking and commonplace an edifice as is anywhere to be seen, and is now occupied by one Steele, a tailor. We went under a square arch (if an arch can be square), that goes quite through the house, and found ourselves in a little court; but it was not easy to identify anything as connected with the historic event, so we did but glance about us, and returned into the street. It is here narrow, and as Bothwellhaugh stood in a projecting gallery, the Regent must have been within a few yards of the muzzle of his carbine. The street looks as old as any that I have seen, except, perhaps, a vista here and there in Chester,--the houses all of stone, many of them tall, with notched gables, and with stone staircases going up outside, the steps much worn by feet now dust; a pervading ugliness, which yet does not fail to be picturesque; a general filth and evil odor of gutters and people, suggesting sorrowful ideas of what the inner houses must be, when the outside looks and smells so badly; and, finally, a great rabble of the inhabitants, talking, idling, sporting, staring about their own thresholds and those of dram-shops, the town being most alive in the long twilight of the summer evening. There was nothing uncivil in the deportment of these dirty people, old or young; but they did stare at us most unmercifully. We walked very late, entering, after all that we had seen, into the palace grounds, and skirting along Linlithgow Loch, which would be very beautiful if its banks were made shadowy with trees, instead of being almost bare. We viewed the palace on the outside, too, and saw what had once been the principal entrance, but now looked like an arched window, pretty high in the wall; for it had not been accessible except by a drawbridge. I might write pages in telling how venerable the ruin, looked, as the twilight fell deeper and deeper around it; but we have had enough of Linlithgow, especially as there have been so many old palaces and old towns to write about, and there will still be more. We left Linlithgow early this morning, and reached Edinburgh in half an hour. To-morrow I suppose I shall try to set down what I see; at least, some points of it. July 9th.--Arriving at EDINBURGH, and acting under advice of the cabman, we drove to Addison's Alma Hotel, which we find to be in Prince's Street, having Scott's monument a few hundred yards below, and the Castle Hill about as much above. The Edinburgh people seem to be accustomed to climb mountains within their own houses; so we had to mount several staircases before we reached our parlor, which is a very good one, and commands a beautiful view of Prince's Street, and of the picturesque old town, and the valley between, and of the castle on its hill. Our first visit was to the castle, which we reached by going across the causeway that bridges the valley, and has some edifices of Grecian architecture on it, contrasting strangely with the nondescript ugliness of the old town, into which we immediately pass. As this is my second visit to Edinburgh, I surely need not dwell upon describing it at such length as if I had never been here before. After climbing up through various wards of the castle to the topmost battery, where Mons Meg holds her station, looking like an uncouth dragon,--with a pile of huge stone balls beside her for eggs,--we found that we could not be admitted to Queen Mary's apartments, nor to the crown-room, till twelve o'clock; moreover, that there was no admittance to the crown-room without tickets from the crown-office, in Parliament Square. There being no help for it, I left my wife and J----- to wander through the fortress, and came down through High Street in quest of Parliament Square, which I found after many inquiries of policemen, and after first going to the Justiciary Court, where there was a great throng endeavoring to get in; for the trial of Miss Smith for the murder of her lover is causing great excitement just now. There was no difficulty made about the tickets, and, returning, found S----- and J-----; but J----- grew tired of waiting, and set out to return to our hotel, through the great strange city, all by himself. Through means of an attendant, we were admitted into Queen Margaret's little chapel, on the top of the rock; and then we sat down, in such shelter as there was, to avoid the keen wind, blowing through the embrasures of the ramparts, and waited as patiently as we could. Twelve o'clock came, and we went into the crown-room, with a throng of other visitors,--so many that they could only be admitted in separate groups. The Regalia of Scotland lie on a circular table within an iron railing, round and round which the visitors pass, gazing with all their eyes. The room was dark, however, except for the dim twinkle of a candle or gaslight; and the regalia did not show to any advantage, though there are some rich jewels, set in their ancient gold. The articles consist of a two-handed sword, with a hilt and scabbard of gold, ornamented with gems, and a mace, with a silver handle, all very beautifully made; besides the golden collar and jewelled badge of the Garter, and something else which I forget. Why they keep this room so dark I cannot tell; but it is a poor show, and gives the spectator an idea of the poverty of Scotland, and the minuteness of her sovereignty, which I had not gathered from her royal palaces. Thence we went into Queen Mary's room, and saw that beautiful portrait-- that very queen and very woman--with which I was so much impressed at my last visit. It is wonderful that this picture does not drive all the other portraits of Mary out of the field, whatever may be the comparative proofs of their authenticity. I do not know the history of this one, except that it is a copy by Sir William Gordon of a picture by an Italian, preserved at Dunrobin Castle. After seeing what the castle had to show, which is but little except itself, its rocks, and its old dwellings of princes and prisoners, we came down through the High Street, inquiring for John Knox's house. It is a strange-looking edifice, with gables on high, projecting far, and some sculpture, and inscriptions referring to Knox. There is a tobacconist's shop in the basement story, where I learned that the house used to be shown to visitors till within three months, but it is now closed, for some reason or other. Thence we crossed a bridge into the new town, and came back through Prince's Street to the hotel, and had a good dinner, as preparatory to fresh wearinesses; for there is no other weariness at all to be compared to that of sight-seeing. In mid afternoon we took a cab and drove to Holyrood Palace, which I have already described, as well as the chapel, and do not mean to meddle with either of them again. We looked at our faces in the old mirrors that Queen Mary brought from France with her, and which had often reflected her own lovely face and figure; and I went up the winding stair through which the conspirators ascended. This, I think, was not accessible at my former visit. Before leaving the palace, one of the attendants advised us to see some pictures in the apartments occupied by the Marquis of Breadalbane during the queen's residence here. We found some fine old portraits and other paintings by Vandyke, Sir Peter Lely, Sir Godfrey Kneller, and a strange head by Rubens, amid all which I walked wearily, wishing that there were nothing worth looking at in the whole world. My wife differs altogether from me in this matter; . . . . but we agreed, on this occasion, in being tired to death. Just as we got through with the pictures, I became convinced of what I had been dimly suspecting all the while, namely, that at my last visit to the palace I had seen these selfsame pictures, and listened to the selfsame woman's civil answers, in just the selfsame miserable weariness of mood. We left the palace, and toiled up through the dirty Canongate, looking vainly for a fly, and employing our time, as well as we could, in looking at the squalid mob of Edinburgh, and peeping down the horrible vistas of the closes, which were swarming with dirty life, as some mouldy and half-decayed substance might swarm with insects,--vistas down alleys where sin, sorrow, poverty, drunkenness, all manner of sombre and sordid earthly circumstances, had imbued the stone, brick, and wood of the habitations for hundreds of years. And such a multitude of children too; that was a most striking feature. After tea I went down into the valley between the old town and the new, which is now laid out as an ornamental garden, with grass, shrubbery, flowers, gravelled walks, and frequent seats. Here the sun was setting, and gilded the old town with its parting rays, making it absolutely the most picturesque scene possible to be seen. The mass of tall, ancient houses, heaped densely together, looked like a Gothic dream; for there seemed to be towers and all sorts of stately architecture, and spires ascended out of the mass; and above the whole was the castle, with a diadem of gold on its topmost turret. It wanted less than a quarter of nine when the last gleam faded from the windows of the old town, and left the crowd of buildings dim and indistinguishable, to reappear on the morrow in squalor, lifting their meanness skyward, the home of layer upon layer of unfortunate humanity. The change symbolized the difference between a poet's imagination of life in the past--or in a state which he looks at through a colored and illuminated medium--and the sad reality. This morning we took a cab, and set forth between ten and eleven to see Edinburgh and its environs; driving past the University, and other noticeable objects in the old town, and thence out to Arthur's Seat. Salisbury Crags are a very singular feature of the outskirts. From the heights, beneath Arthur's Seat, we had a fine prospect of the sea, with Leith and Portobello in the distance, and of a fertile plain at the foot of the hill. In the course of our drive our cabman pointed out Dumbiedikes' house; also the cottage of Jeanie Deans,--at least, the spot where it formerly stood; and Muschat's Cairn, of which a small heap of stones is yet remaining. Near this latter object are the ruins of St. Anthony's Chapel, a roofless gable, and other remains, standing on the abrupt hillside. We drove homeward past a parade-ground on which a body of cavalry was exercising, and we met a company of infantry on their route thither. Then we drove near Calton Hill, which seems to be not a burial-ground, although the site of stately monuments. In fine, we passed through the Grass-Market, where we saw the cross in the pavement in the street, marking the spot, as I recorded before, where Porteous was executed. Thence we passed through the Cowgate, all the latter part of our drive being amongst the tall, quaint edifices of the old town, alike venerable and squalid. From the Grass-Market the rock of the castle looks more precipitous than as we had hitherto seen it, and its prisons, palaces, and barracks approach close to its headlong verge, and form one steep line with its descent. We drove quite round the Castle Hill, and returned down Prince's Street to our hotel. There can be no other city in the world that affords more splendid scenery, both natural and architectural, than Edinburgh. Then we went to St. Giles's Cathedral, which I shall not describe, it having been kirkified into three interior divisions by the Covenanters; and I left my wife to take drawings, while J----- and I went to Short's Observatory, near the entrance of the castle. Here we saw a camera-obscura, which brought before us, without our stirring a step, almost all the striking objects which we had been wandering to and fro to see. We also saw the mites in cheese, gigantically magnified by a solar microscope; likewise some dioramic views, with all which I was mightily pleased, and for myself, being tired to death of sights, I would as lief see them as anything else. We found, on calling for mamma at St. Giles's, that she had gone away; but she rejoined us between four and five o'clock at our hotel, where the next thing we did was to dine. Again after dinner we walked out, looking at the shop-windows of jewellers, where ornaments made of cairngorm pebbles are the most peculiar attraction. As it was our wedding-day, . . . . I gave S----- a golden and amethyst-bodied cairngorm beetle with a ruby head; and after sitting awhile in Prince's Street Gardens, we came home. July 10th.--Last evening I walked round the castle rock, and through the Grass-Market, where I stood on the inlaid cross in the pavement, thence down the High Street beyond John Knox's house. The throng in that part of the town was very great. There is a strange fascination in these old streets, and in the peeps down the closes; but it doubtless would be a great blessing were a fire to sweep through the whole of ancient Edinburgh. This system of living on flats, up to I know not what story, must be most unfavorable to cleanliness, since they have to fetch their water all that distance towards heaven, and how they get rid of their rubbish is best known to themselves. My wife has gone to Roslin this morning, and since her departure it has been drizzly, so that J----- and I, after a walk through the new part of the town, are imprisoned in our parlor with little resource except to look across the valley to the castle, where Mons Meg is plainly visible on the upper platform, and the lower ramparts, zigzagging about the edge of the precipice, which nearly in front of us is concealed or softened by a great deal of shrubbery, but farther off descends steeply down to the grass below. Somewhere on this side of the rock was the point where Claverhouse, on quitting Edinburgh before the battle of Killiecrankie, clambered up to hold an interview with the Duke of Gordon. What an excellent thing it is to have such striking and indestructible landmarks and time-marks that they serve to affix historical incidents to, and thus, as it were, nail down the Past for the benefit of all future ages! The old town of Edinburgh appears to be situated, in its densest part, on the broad back of a ridge, which rises gradually to its termination in the precipitous rock, on which stands the castle. Between the old town and the new is the valley, which runs along at the base of this ridge, and which, in its natural state, was probably rough and broken, like any mountain gorge. The lower part of the valley, adjacent to the Canongate, is now a broad hollow space, fitted up with dwellings, shops, or manufactories; the next portion, between two bridges, is converted into an ornamental garden free to the public, and contains Scott's beautiful monument,--a canopy of Gothic arches and a fantastic spire, beneath which he sits, thoughtful and observant of what passes in the contiguous street; the third portion of the valley, above the last bridge, is another ornamental garden, open only to those who have pass-keys. It is an admirable garden, with a great variety of surface, and extends far round the castle rock, with paths that lead up to its very base, among leafy depths of shrubbery, and winds beneath the sheer, black precipice. J----- and I walked there this forenoon, and took refuge from a shower beneath an overhanging jut of the rock, where a bench had been placed, and where a curtain of hanging ivy helped to shelter us. On our return to the hotel, we found mamma just alighting from a cab. She had had very bad fortune in her excursion to Roslin, having had to walk a long distance to the chapel, and being caught in the rain; and, after all, she could only spend seven minutes in viewing the beautiful Roslin architecture. MELROSE. July 11th.--We left Edinburgh, where we had found at Addison's, 87 Prince's Street, the most comfortable hotel in Great Britain, and went to Melrose, where we put up at the George. This is all travelled ground with me, so that I need not much perplex myself with further description, especially as it is impossible, by any repetition of attempts, to describe Melrose Abbey. We went thither immediately after tea, and were shown over the ruins by a very delectable old Scotchman, incomparably the best guide I ever met with. I think he must take pains to speak the Scotch dialect, he does it with such pungent felicity and effect, and it gives a flavor to everything he says, like the mustard and vinegar in a salad. This is not the man I saw when here before. The Scotch dialect is still, in a greater or less degree, universally prevalent in Scotland, insomuch that we generally find it difficult to comprehend the answers to our questions, though more, I think, from the unusual intonation than either from strange words or pronunciation. But this old man, though he spoke the most unmitigated Scotch, was perfectly intelligible,--perhaps because his speech so well accorded with the classic standard of the Waverley Novels. Moreover, he is thoroughly acquainted with the Abbey, stone by stone; and it was curious to see him, as we walked among its aisles, and over the grass beneath its roofless portions, pick up the withered leaves that had fallen there, and do other such little things, as a good housewife might do to a parlor. I have met with two or three instances where the guardian of an old edifice seemed really to love it, and this was one, although the old man evidently had a Scotch Covenanter's contempt and dislike of the faith that founded the Abbey. He repeated King David's dictum that King David the First was "a sair saint for the crown," as bestowing so much wealth on religious edifices; but really, unless it be Walter Scott, I know not any Scotchman who has done so much for his country as this same St. David. As the founder of Melrose and many other beautiful churches and abbeys, he left magnificent specimens of the only kind of poetry which the age knew how to produce; and the world is the better for him to this day,--which is more, I believe, than can be said of any hero or statesman in Scottish annals. We went all over the ruins, of course, and saw the marble stone of King Alexander, and the spot where Bruce's heart is said to be buried, and the slab of Michael Scott, with the cross engraved upon it; also the exquisitely sculptured kail-leaves, and other foliage and flowers, with which the Gothic artists inwreathed this edifice, bestowing more minute and faithful labor than an artist of these days would do on the most delicate piece of cabinet-work. We came away sooner than we wished, but we hoped to return thither this morning; and, for my part, I cherish a presentiment that this will not be our last visit to Scotland and Melrose. . . . . J----- and I then walked to the Tweed, where we saw two or three people angling, with naked legs, or trousers turned up, and wading among the rude stones that make something like a dam over the wide and brawling stream. I did not observe that they caught any fish, but J----- was so fascinated with the spectacle that he pulled out his poor little fishing-line, and wished to try his chance forthwith. I never saw the angler's instinct stronger in anybody. We walked across the foot-bridge that here spans the Tweed; and J----- observed that he did not see how William of Deloraine could have found so much difficulty in swimming his horse across so shallow a river. Neither do I. It now began to sprinkle, and we hastened back to the hotel. It was not a pleasant morning; but we started immediately after breakfast for ABBOTSFORD, which is but about three miles distant. The country between Melrose and that place is not in the least beautiful, nor very noteworthy,--one or two old irregular villages; one tower that looks principally domestic, yet partly warlike, and seems to be of some antiquity; and an undulation, or rounded hilly surface of the landscape, sometimes affording wide vistas between the slopes. These hills, which, I suppose, are some of them on the Abbotsford estate, are partly covered with woods, but of Scotch fir, or some tree of that species, which creates no softened undulation, but overspreads the hill like a tightly fitting wig. It is a cold, dreary, disheartening neighborhood, that of Abbotsford; at least, it has appeared so to me at both of my visits,--one of which was on a bleak and windy May morning, and this one on a chill, showery morning of midsummer. The entrance-way to the house is somewhat altered since my last visit; and we now, following the direction of a painted finger on the wall, went round to a side door in the basement story, where we found an elderly man waiting as if in expectation of visitors. He asked us to write our names in a book, and told us that the desk on the leaf of which it lay was the one in which Sir Walter found the forgotten manuscript of Waverley, while looking for some fishing-tackle. There was another desk in the room, which had belonged to the Colonel Gardiner who appears in Waverley. The first apartment into which our guide showed us was Sir Walter's study, where I again saw his clothes, and remarked how the sleeve of his old green coat was worn at the cuff,--a minute circumstance that seemed to bring Sir Walter very near me. Thence into the library; thence into the drawing-room, whence, methinks, we should have entered the dining-room, the most interesting of all, as being the room where he died. But this room seems not to be shown now. We saw the armory, with the gun of Rob Roy, into the muzzle of which I put my finger, and found the bore very large; the beautifully wrought pistol of Claverhouse, and a pair of pistols that belonged to Napoleon; the sword of Montrose, which I grasped, and drew half out of the scabbard; and Queen Mary's iron jewel-box, six or eight inches long, and two or three high, with a lid rounded like that of a trunk, and much corroded with rust. There is no use in making a catalogue of these curiosities. The feeling in visiting Abbotsford is not that of awe; it is little more than going to a museum. I do abhor this mode of making pilgrimages to the shrines of departed great men. There is certainly something wrong in it, for it seldom or never produces (in me, at least) the right feeling. It is an odd truth, too, that a house is forever after spoiled and ruined as a home, by having been the abode of a great man. His spirit haunts it, as it were, with a malevolent effect, and takes hearth and hall away from the nominal possessors, giving all the world the right to enter there because he had such intimate relations with all the world. We had intended to go to Dryburgh Abbey; but as the weather more than threatened rain, . . . . we gave up the idea, and so took the rail for Berwick, after one o'clock. On our road we passed several ruins in Scotland, and some in England,--one old castle in particular, beautifully situated beside a deep-banked stream. The road lies for many miles along the coast, affording a fine view of the German Ocean, which was now blue, sunny, and breezy, the day having risen out of its morning sulks. We waited an hour or more at Berwick, and J----- and I took a hasty walk into the town. It is a rough and rude assemblage of rather mean houses, some of which are thatched. There seems to have been a wall about the town at a former period, and we passed through one of the gates. The view of the river Tweed here is very fine, both above and below the railway bridge, and especially where it flows, a broad tide, and between high banks, into the sea. Thence we went onward along the coast, as I have said, pausing a few moments in smoky Newcastle, and reaching Durham about eight o'clock. DURHAM. I wandered out in the dusk of the evening,--for the dusk comes on comparatively early as we draw southward,--and found a beautiful and shadowy path along the river-side, skirting its high banks, up and adown which grow noble elms. I could not well see, in that obscurity of twilight boughs, whither I was going, or what was around me; but I judged that the castle or cathedral, or both, crowned the highest line of the shore, and that I was walking at the base of their walls. There was a pair of lovers in front of me, and I passed two or three other tender couples. The walk appeared to go on interminably by the river-side, through the same sweet shadow; but I turned and found my way into the cathedral close, beneath an ancient archway, whence, issuing again, I inquired my way to the Waterloo Hotel, where we had put up. ITEMS.--We saw the Norham Castle of Marmion, at a short distance from the station of the same name. Viewed from the railway, it has not a very picturesque appearance,--a high, square ruin of what I suppose was the keep.--At Abbotsford, treasured up in a glass case in the drawing-room, were memorials of Sir Walter Scott's servants and humble friends,--for instance, a brass snuff-box of Tom Purdie,--there, too, among precious relics of illustrious persons.--In the armory, I grasped with some interest the sword of Sir Adam Ferguson, which he had worn in the Peninsular war. Our guide said, of his own knowledge, that "he was a very funny old gentleman." He died only a year or two since. July 11th.--The morning after our arrival in Durham being Sunday, we attended service in the cathedral. . . . . We found a tolerable audience, seated on benches, within and in front of the choir; and people continually strayed in and out of the sunny churchyard and sat down, or walked softly and quietly up and down the side aisle. Sometimes, too, one of the vergers would come in with a handful of little boys, whom he had caught playing among the tombstones. DURHAM CATHEDRAL has one advantage over the others which I have seen, there being no organ-screen, nor any sort of partition between the choir and nave; so that we saw its entire length, nearly five hundred feet, in one vista. The pillars of the nave are immensely thick, but hardly of proportionate height, and they support the round Norman arch; nor is there, as far as I remember, a single pointed arch in the cathedral. The effect is to give the edifice an air of heavy grandeur. It seems to have been built before the best style of church architecture had established itself; so that it weighs upon the soul, instead of helping it to aspire. First, there are these round arches, supported by gigantic columns; then, immediately above, another row of round arches, behind which is the usual gallery that runs, as it were, in the thickness of the wall, around the nave of the cathedral; then, above all, another row of round arches, enclosing the windows of the clere-story. The great pillars are ornamented in various ways,--some with a great spiral groove running from bottom to top; others with two spirals, ascending in different directions, so as to cross over one another; some are fluted or channelled straight up and down; some are wrought with chevrons, like those on the sleeve of a police-inspector. There are zigzag cuttings and carvings, which I do not know how to name scientifically, round the arches of the doors and windows; but nothing that seems to have flowered out spontaneously, as natural incidents of a grand and beautiful design. In the nave, between the columns of the side aisles, I saw one or two monuments. . . . . The cathedral service is very long; and though the choral part of it is pleasant enough, I thought it not best to wait for the sermon, especially as it would have been quite unintelligible, so remotely as I sat in the great space. So I left my seat, and after strolling up and down the aisle a few times, sallied forth into the churchyard. On the cathedral door there is a curious old knocker, in the form of a monstrous face, which was placed there, centuries ago, for the benefit of fugitives from justice, who used to be entitled to sanctuary here. The exterior of the cathedral, being huge, is therefore grand; it has a great central tower, and two at the western end; and reposes in vast and heavy length, without the multitude of niches, and crumbling statues, and richness of detail, that make the towers and fronts of some cathedrals so endlessly interesting. One piece of sculpture I remember,--a carving of a cow, a milk-maid, and a monk, in reference to the legend that the site of the cathedral was, in some way, determined by a woman bidding her cow go home to Dunholme. Cadmus was guided to the site of his destined city in some such way as this. It was a very beautiful day, and though the shadow of the cathedral fell on this side, yet, it being about noontide, it did not cover the churchyard entirely, but left many of the graves in sunshine. There were not a great many monuments, and these were chiefly horizontal slabs, some of which looked aged, but on closer inspection proved to be mostly of the present century. I observed an old stone figure, however, half worn away, which seemed to have something like a bishop's mitre on its head, and may perhaps have lain in the proudest chapel of the cathedral before occupying its present bed among the grass. About fifteen paces from the central tower, and within its shadow, I found a weather-worn slab of marble, seven or eight feet long, the inscription on which interested me somewhat. It was to the memory of Robert Dodsley, the bookseller, Johnson's acquaintance, who, as his tombstone rather superciliously avers, had made a much better figure as an author than "could have been expected in his rank of life." But, after all, it is inevitable that a man's tombstone should look down on him, or, at all events, comport itself towards him "de haut en bas." I love to find the graves of men connected with literature. They interest me more, even though of no great eminence, than those of persons far more illustrious in other walks of life. I know not whether this is because I happen to be one of the literary kindred, or because all men feel themselves akin, and on terms of intimacy, with those whom they know, or might have known, in books. I rather believe that the latter is the case. My wife had stayed in the cathedral, but she came out at the end of the sermon, and told me of two little birds, who had got into the vast interior, and were in great trouble at not being able to find their way out again. Thus, two winged souls may often have been imprisoned within a faith of heavy ceremonials. We went round the edifice, and, passing into the close, penetrated through an arched passage into the crypt, which, methought, was in a better style of architecture than the nave and choir. At one end stood a crowd of venerable figures leaning against the wall, being stone images of bearded saints, apostles, patriarchs, kings,--personages of great dignity, at all events, who had doubtless occupied conspicuous niches in and about the cathedral till finally imprisoned in this cellar. I looked at every one, and found not an entire nose among them, nor quite so many heads as they once had. Thence we went into the cloisters, which are entire, but not particularly interesting. Indeed, this cathedral has not taken hold of my affections, except in one aspect, when it was exceedingly grand and beautiful. After looking at the crypt and the cloisters, we returned through the close and the churchyard, and went back to the hotel through a path by the river-side. This is the same dim and dusky path through which I wandered the night before, and in the sunshine it looked quite as beautiful as I knew it must,-- a shadow of elm-trees clothing the high bank, and overarching the paths above and below; some of the elms growing close to the water-side, and flinging up their topmost boughs not nearly so high as where we stood, and others climbing upward and upward, till our way wound among their roots; while through the foliage the quiet river loitered along, with this lovely shade on both its banks, to pass through the centre of the town. The stately cathedral rose high above us, and farther onward, in a line with it, the battlemented walls of the old Norman castle, gray and warlike, though now it has become a University. This delightful walk terminates at an old bridge in the heart of the town; and the castle hangs immediately over its busiest street. On this bridge, last night, in the embrasure, or just over the pier, where there is a stone seat, I saw some old men seated, smoking their pipes and chatting. In my judgment, a river flowing through the centre of a town, and not too broad to make itself familiar, nor too swift, but idling along, as if it loved better to stay there than to go, is the pleasantest imaginable piece of scenery; so transient as it is, and yet enduring,--just the same from life's end to life's end; and this river Wear, with its sylvan wildness, and yet so sweet and placable, is the best of all little rivers,--not that it is so very small, but with a bosom broad enough to be crossed by a three-arched bridge. Just above the cathedral there is a mill upon its shore, as ancient as the times of the Abbey. We went homeward through the market-place and one or two narrow streets; for the town has the irregularity of all ancient settlements, and, moreover, undulates upward and downward, and is also made more unintelligible to a stranger, in its points and bearings, by the tortuous course of the river. After dinner J----- and I walked along the bank opposite to that on which the cathedral stands, and found the paths there equally delightful with those which I have attempted to describe. We went onward while the river gleamed through the foliage beneath us, and passed so far beyond the cathedral that we began to think we were getting into the country, and that it was time to return; when all at once we saw a bridge before us, and beyond that, on the opposite bank of the Wear, the cathedral itself! The stream had made a circuit without our knowing it. We paused upon the bridge, and admired and wondered at the beauty and glory of the scene, with those vast, ancient towers rising out of the green shade, and looking as if they were based upon it. The situation of Durham Cathedral is certainly a noble one, finer even than that of Lincoln, though the latter stands even at a more lordly height above the town. But as I saw it then, it was grand, venerable, and sweet, all at once; and I never saw so lovely and magnificent a scene, nor, being content with this, do I care to see a better. The castle beyond came also into the view, and the whole picture was mirrored in the tranquil stream below. And so, crossing the bridge, the path led us back through many a bower of hollow shade; and we then quitted the hotel, and took the rail for YORK, where we arrived at about half past nine. We put up at the Black Swan, with which we had already made acquaintance at our previous visit to York. It is a very ancient hotel; for in the coffee-room I saw on the wall an old printed advertisement, announcing that a stage-coach would leave the Black Swan in London, and arrive at the Black Swan in York, with God's permission, in four days. The date was 1706; and still, after a hundred and fifty years, the Black Swan receives travellers in Coney Street. It is a very good hotel, and was much thronged with guests when we arrived, as the Sessions come on this week. We found a very smart waiter, whose English faculties have been brightened by a residence of several years in America. In the morning, before breakfast, I strolled out, and walked round the cathedral, passing on my way the sheriff's javelin-men, in long gowns of faded purple embroidered with gold, carrying halberds in their hands; also a gentleman in a cocked hat, gold-lace, and breeches, who, no doubt, had something to do with the ceremonial of the Sessions. I saw, too, a procession of a good many old cabs and other carriages, filled with people, and a banner flaunting above each vehicle. These were the piano-forte makers of York, who were going out of town to have a jollification together. After breakfast we all went to the cathedral, and no sooner were we within it than we found how much our eyes had recently been educated, by our greater power of appreciating this magnificent interior; for it impressed us both with a joy that we never felt before. J----- felt it too, and insisted that the cathedral must have been altered and improved since we were last here. But it is only that we have seen much splendid architecture since then, and so have grown in some degree fitted to enjoy it. York Cathedral (I say it now, for it is my present feeling) is the most wonderful work that ever came from the hands of man. Indeed, it seems like "a house not made with hands," but rather to have come down from above, bringing an awful majesty and sweetness with it and it is so light and aspiring, with all its vast columns and pointed arches, that one would hardly wonder if it should ascend back to heaven again by its mere spirituality. Positively the pillars and arches of the choir are so very beautiful that they give the impression of being exquisitely polished, though such is not the fact; but their beauty throws a gleam around them. I thank God that I saw this cathedral again, and I thank him that he inspired the builder to make it, and that mankind has so long enjoyed it, and will continue to enjoy it. July 14th.--We left York at twelve o'clock, and were delayed an hour or two at Leeds, waiting for a train. I strolled up into the town, and saw a fair, with puppet-shows, booths of penny actors, merry-go-rounds, clowns, boxers, and other such things as I saw, above a year ago, at Greenwich fair, and likewise at Tranmere, during the Whitsuntide holidays. We resumed our journey, and reached Southport in pretty good trim at about nine o'clock. It has been a very interesting tour. We find Southport just as we left it, with its regular streets of little and big lodging-houses, where the visitors perambulate to and fro without any imaginable object. The tide, too, seems not to have been up over the waste of sands since we went away; and far seaward stands the same row of bathing-machines, and just on the verge of the horizon a gleam of water, --even this being not the sea, but the mouth of the river Ribble, seeking the sea amid the sandy desert. But we shall soon say good-by to Southport. OLD TRAFFORD, MANCHESTER. July 22d.--We left Southport for good on the 20th, and have established ourselves in this place, in lodgings that had been provided for us by Mr. Swain; our principal object being to spend a few weeks in the proximity of the Arts' Exhibition. We are here, about three miles from the Victoria Railway station in Manchester on one side, and nearly a mile from the Exhibition on the other. This is a suburb of Manchester, and consists of a long street, called the Stratford Road, bordered with brick houses two stories high, such as are usually the dwellings of tradesmen or respectable mechanics, but which are now in demand for lodgings, at high prices, on account of the Exhibition. It seems to be rather a new precinct of the city, and the houses, though ranged along a continuous street, are but a brick border of the green fields in the rear. Occasionally you get a glimpse of this country aspect between two houses; but the street itself, even with its little grass-plots and bits of shrubbery under the front windows, is as ugly as it can be made. Some of the houses are better than I have described; but the brick used here in building is very unsightly in hue and surface. Betimes in the morning the Exhibition omnibuses begin to trundle along, and pass at intervals of two and a half minutes through the day,--immense vehicles constructed to carry thirty-nine passengers, and generally with a good part of that number inside and out. The omnibuses are painted scarlet, bordered with white, have three horses abreast, and a conductor in a red coat. They perform the journey from this point into town in about half an hour; and yesterday morning, being in a hurry to get to the railway station, I found that I could outwalk them, taking into account their frequent stoppages. We have taken the whole house (except some inscrutable holes, into which the family creeps), of respectable people, who never took lodgers until this juncture. Their furniture, however, is of the true lodging-house pattern, sofas and chairs which have no possibility of repose in them; rickety tables; an old piano and old music, with "Lady Helen Elizabeth" somebody's name written on it. It is very strange how nothing but a genuine home can ever look homelike. They appear to be good people; a little girl of twelve, a daughter, waits on table; and there is an elder daughter, who yesterday answered the door-bell, looking very like a young lady, besides five or six smaller children, who make less uproar of grief or merriment than could possibly be expected. The husband is not apparent, though I see his hat in the hall. The house is new, and has a trim, light-colored interior of half-gentility. I suppose the rent, in ordinary times, might be 25 pounds per annum; but we pay at the rate of 335 pounds for the part which we occupy. This, like all the other houses in the neighborhood, was evidently built to be sold or let; the builder never thought of living in it himself, and so that subtile element, which would have enabled him to create a home, was entirely left out. This morning, J----- and I set forth on a walk, first towards the palace of the Arts' Exhibition, which looked small compared with my idea of it, and seems to be of the Crystal Palace order of architecture, only with more iron to its glass. Its front is composed of three round arches in a row. We did not go in. . . . . Turning to the right, we walked onward two or three miles, passing the Botanic Garden, and thence along by suburban villas, Belgrave terraces, and other such prettinesses in the modern Gothic or Elizabethan style, with fancifully ornamented flower-plats before them; thence by hedgerows and fields, and through two or three villages, with here and there an old plaster and timber-built thatched house, among a street full of modern brick-fronts,--the alehouse, or rural inn, being generally the most ancient house in the village. It was a sultry, heavy day, and I walked without much enjoyment of the air and exercise. We crossed a narrow and swift river, flowing between deep banks. It must have been either the Mersey, still an infant stream, and little dreaming of the thousand mighty ships that float on its farther tide, or else the Irwell, which empties into the Mersey. We passed through the village beyond this stream, and went to the railway station, and then were brought back to Old Trafford, and deposited close by the Exhibition. It has showered this afternoon; and I beguiled my time for half an hour by setting down the vehicles that went past; not that they were particularly numerous, but for the sake of knowing the character of the travel along the road. July 26th.--Day before yesterday we went to the Arts' Exhibition, of which I do not think that I have a great deal to say. The edifice, being built more for convenience than show, appears better in the interior than from without,--long vaulted vistas, lighted from above, extending far away, all hung with pictures; and, on the floor below, statues, knights in armor, cabinets, vases, and all manner of curious and beautiful things, in a regular arrangement. Scatter five thousand people through the scene, and I do not know how to make a better outline sketch. I was unquiet, from a hopelessness of being able to enjoy it fully. Nothing is more depressing to me than the sight of a great many pictures together; it is like having innumerable books open before you at once, and being able to read only a sentence or two in each. They bedazzle one another with cross lights. There never should be more than one picture in a room, nor more than one picture to be studied in one day. Galleries of pictures are surely the greatest absurdities that ever were contrived, there being no excuse for them, except that it is the only way in which pictures can be made generally available and accessible. We went first into the Gallery of British Painters, where there were hundreds of pictures, every one of which would have interested me by itself; but I could not fix nay mind on one more than another, so I wandered about, to get a general idea of the Exhibition. Truly it is very fine; truly, also, every great show is a kind of humbug. I doubt whether there were half a dozen people there who got the kind of enjoyment that it was intended to create,--very respectable people they seemed to be, and very well behaved, but all skimming the surface, as I did, and none of them so feeding on what was beautiful as to digest it, and make it a part of themselves. Such a quantity of objects must be utterly rejected before you can get any real profit from one! It seemed like throwing away time to look twice even at whatever was most precious; and it was dreary to think of not fully enjoying this collection, the very flower of Time, which never bloomed before, and never, by any possibility, can bloom again. Viewed hastily, moreover, it is somewhat sad to think that mankind, after centuries of cultivation of the beautiful arts, can produce no more splendid spectacle than this. It is not so very grand, although, poor as it is, I lack capacity to take in even the whole of it. What gave me most pleasure (because it required no trouble nor study to come at the heart of it) were the individual relics of antiquity, of which there are some very curious ones in the cases ranged along the principal saloon or nave of the building. For example, the dagger with which Felton killed the Duke of Buckingham,--a knife with a bone handle and a curved blade, not more than three inches long; sharp-pointed, murderous-looking, but of very coarse manufacture. Also, the Duke of Alva's leading staff of iron; and the target of the Emperor Charles V., which seemed to be made of hardened leather, with designs artistically engraved upon it, and gilt. I saw Wolsey's portrait, and, in close proximity to it, his veritable cardinal's hat in a richly ornamented glass case, on which was an inscription to the effect that it had been bought by Charles Kean at the sale of Horace Walpole's collection. It is a felt hat with a brim about six inches wide all round, and a rather high crown; the color was, doubtless, a bright red originally, but now it is mottled with a grayish hue, and there are cracks in the brim, as if the hat had seen a good deal of wear. I suppose a far greater curiosity than this is the signet-ring of one of the Pharaohs, who reigned over Egypt during Joseph's prime ministry,--a large ring to be worn on the thumb, if at all,--of massive gold, seal part and all, and inscribed with some characters that looked like Hebrew. I had seen this before in Mr. Mayer's collection in Liverpool. The mediaeval and English relics, however, interested me more,--such as the golden and enamelled George worn by Sir Thomas More; or the embroidered shirt of Charles I.,--the very one, I presume, which he wore at his execution. There are no blood-marks on it, it being very nicely washed and folded. The texture of the linen cloth--if linen it be--is coarser than any peasant would wear at this day, but the needle-work is exceedingly fine and elaborate. Another relic of the same period,--the Cavalier General Sir Jacob Astley's buff-coat, with his belt and sword; the leather of the buff-coat, for I took it between my fingers, is about a quarter of an inch thick, of the same material as a wash-leather glove, and by no means smoothly dressed, though the sleeves are covered with silver-lace. Of old armor, there are admirable specimens; and it makes one's head ache to look at the iron pots which men used to thrust their heads into. Indeed, at one period they seem to have worn an inner iron cap underneath the helmet. I doubt whether there ever was any age of chivalry. . . . . It certainly was no chivalric sentiment that made men case themselves in impenetrable iron, and ride about in iron prisons, fearfully peeping at their enemies through little slits and gimlet-holes. The unprotected breast of a private soldier must have shamed his leaders in those days. The point of honor is very different now. I mean to go again and again, many times more, and will take each day some one department, and so endeavor to get some real use and improvement out of what I see. Much that is most valuable must be immitigably rejected; but something, according to the measure of my poor capacity, will really be taken into my mind. After all, it was an agreeable day, and I think the next one will be more so. July 28th.--Day before yesterday I paid a second visit to the Exhibition, and devoted the day mainly to seeing the works of British painters, which fill a very large space,--two or three great saloons at the right side of the nave. Among the earliest are Hogarth's pictures, including the Sigismunda, which I remember to have seen before, with her lover's heart in her hand, looking like a monstrous strawberry; and the March to Finchley, than which nothing truer to English life and character was ever painted, nor ever can be; and a large stately portrait of Captain Coram, and others, all excellent in proportion as they come near to ordinary life, and are wrought out through its forms. All English painters resemble Hogarth in this respect. They cannot paint anything high, heroic, and ideal, and their attempts in that direction are wearisome to look at; but they sometimes produce good effects by means of awkward figures in ill-made coats and small-clothes, and hard, coarse-complexioned faces, such as they might see anywhere in the street. They are strong in homeliness and ugliness, weak in their efforts at the beautiful. Sir Thomas Lawrence attains a sort of grace, which you feel to be a trick, and therefore get disgusted with it. Reynolds is not quite genuine, though certainly he has produced some noble and beautiful heads. But Hogarth is the only English painter, except in the landscape department; there are no others who interpret life to me at all, unless it be some of the modern Pre-Raphaelites. Pretty village scenes of common life,--pleasant domestic passages, with a touch of easy humor in them,--little pathoses and fancynesses, are abundant enough; and Wilkie, to be sure, has done more than this, though not a great deal more. His merit lies, not in a high aim, but in accomplishing his aim so perfectly. It is unaccountable that the English painters' achievements should be so much inferior to those of the English poets, who have really elevated the human mind; but, to be sure, painting has only become an English art subsequently to the epochs of the greatest poets, and since the beginning of the last century, during which England had no poets. I respect Haydon more than I once did, not for his pictures, they being detestable to see, but for his heroic rejection of whatever his countrymen and he himself could really do, and his bitter resolve to achieve something higher,-- failing in which, he died. No doubt I am doing vast injustice to a great many gifted men in what I have here written,--as, for instance, Copley, who certainly has painted a slain man to the life; and to a crowd of landscape-painters, who have made wonderful reproductions of little English streams and shrubbery, and cottage doors and country lanes. And there is a picture called "The Evening Gun" by Danby,--a ship of war on a calm, glassy tide, at sunset, with the cannon-smoke puffing from her porthole; it is very beautiful, and so effective that you can even hear the report breaking upon the stillness, with so grand a roar that it is almost like stillness too. As for Turner, I care no more for his light-colored pictures than for so much lacquered ware or painted gingerbread. Doubtless this is my fault, my own deficiency; but I cannot help it,--not, at least, without sophisticating myself by the effort. The only modern pictures that accomplish a higher end than that of pleasing the eye--the only ones that really take hold of my mind, and with a kind of acerbity, like unripe fruit--are the works of Hunt, and one or two other painters of the Pre-Raphaelite school. They seem wilfully to abjure all beauty, and to make their pictures disagreeable out of mere malice; but at any rate, for the thought and feeling which are ground up with the paint, they will bear looking at, and disclose a deeper value the longer you look. Never was anything so stiff and unnatural as they appear; although every single thing represented seems to be taken directly out of life and reality, and, as it were, pasted down upon the canvas. They almost paint even separate hairs. Accomplishing so much, and so perfectly, it seems unaccountable that the picture does not live; but Nature has an art beyond these painters, and they leave out some medium,--some enchantment that should intervene, and keep the object from pressing so baldly and harshly upon the spectator's eyeballs. With the most lifelike reproduction, there is no illusion. I think if a semi-obscurity were thrown over the picture after finishing it to this nicety, it might bring it nearer to nature. I remember a heap of autumn leaves, every one of which seems to have been stiffened with gum and varnish, and then put carefully down into the stiffly disordered heap. Perhaps these artists may hereafter succeed in combining the truth of detail with a broader and higher truth. Coming from such a depth as their pictures do, and having really an idea as the seed of them, it is strange that they should look like the most made-up things imaginable. One picture by Hunt that greatly interested me was of some sheep that had gone astray among heights and precipices, and I could have looked all day at these poor, lost creatures,--so true was their meek alarm and hopeless bewilderment, their huddling together, without the slightest confidence of mutual help; all that the courage and wisdom of the bravest and wisest of them could do being to bleat, and only a few having spirits enough even for this. After going through these modern masters, among whom were some French painters who do not interest me at all, I did a miscellaneous business, chiefly among the water-colors and photographs, and afterwards among the antiquities and works of ornamental art. I have forgotten what I saw, except the breastplate and helmet of Henry of Navarre, of steel, engraved with designs that have been half obliterated by scrubbing. I remember, too, a breastplate of an Elector of Saxony, with a bullet-hole through it. He received his mortal wound through that hole, and died of it two days afterwards, three hundred years ago. There was a crowd of visitors, insomuch that, it was difficult to get a satisfactory view of the most interesting objects. They were nearly all middling-class people; the Exhibition, I think, does not reach the lower classed at all; in fact, it could not reach them, nor their betters either, without a good deal of study to help it out. I shall go to-day, and do my best to get profit out of it. July 30th.--We all, with R----- and Fanny, went to the Exhibition yesterday, and spent the day there; not J-----, however, for he went to the Botanical Gardens. After some little skirmishing with other things, I devoted myself to the historical portraits, which hang on both sides of the great nave, and went through them pretty faithfully. The oldest are pictures of Richard II. and Henry IV. and Edward IV. and Jane Shore, and seem to have little or no merit as works of art, being cold and stiff, the life having, perhaps, faded out of them; but these older painters were trustworthy, inasmuch as they had no idea of making a picture, but only of getting the face before them on canvas as accurately as they could. All English history scarcely supplies half a dozen portraits before the time of Henry VIII.; after that period, and through the reigns of Elizabeth and James, there are many ugly pictures by Dutchmen and Italians; and the collection is wonderfully rich in portraits of the time of Charles I. and the Commonwealth. Vandyke seems to have brought portrait-painting into fashion; and very likely the king's love of art diffused a taste for it throughout the nation, and remotely suggested, even to his enemies, to get their pictures painted. Elizabeth has perpetuated her cold, thin visage on many canvases, and generally with some fantasy of costume that makes her ridiculous to all time. There are several of Mary of Scotland, none of which have a gleam of beauty; but the stiff old brushes of these painters could not catch the beautiful. Of all the older pictures, the only one that I took pleasure in looking at was a portrait of Lord Deputy Falkland, by Vansomer, in James I.'s time,--a very stately, full-length figure in white, looking out of the picture as if he saw you. The catalogue says that this portrait suggested an incident in Horace Walpole's Castle of Otranto; but I do not remember it. I have a haunting doubt of the value of portrait-painting; that is to say, whether it gives you a genuine idea of the person purporting to be represented. I do not remember ever to have recognized a man by having previously seen his portrait. Vandyke's pictures are full of grace and nobleness, but they do not look like Englishmen,--the burly, rough, wine-flushed and weather-reddened faces, and sturdy flesh and blood, which we see even at the present day, when they must naturally have become a good deal refined from either the country gentleman or the courtier of the Stuarts' age. There is an old, fat portrait of Gervoyse Holles, in a buff-coat,--a coarse, hoggish, yet manly man. The painter is unknown; but I honor him, and Gervoyse Holles too,--for one was willing to be truly rendered, and the other dared to do it. It seems to be the aim of portrait-painters generally, especially of those who have been most famous, to make their pictures as beautiful and noble as can anywise consist with retaining the very slightest resemblance to the person sitting to them. They seldom attain even the grace and beauty which they aim at, but only hit some temporary or individual taste. Vandyke, however, achieved graces that rise above time and fashion, and so did Sir Peter Lely, in his female portraits; but the doubt is, whether the works of either are genuine history. Not more so, I suspect, than the narrative of a historian who should seek to make poetry out of the events which he relates, rejecting those which could not possibly be thus idealized. I observe, furthermore, that a full-length portrait has seldom face enough; not that it lacks its fair proportion by measurement, but the artist does not often find it possible to make the face so intellectually prominent as to subordinate the figure and drapery. Vandyke does this, however. In his pictures of Charles I., for instance, it is the melancholy grace of the visage that attracts the eye, and it passes to the rest of the composition only by an effort. Earlier and later pictures are but a few inches of face to several feet of figure and costume, and more insignificant than the latter because seldom so well done; and I suspect the same would generally be the case now, only that the present simplicity of costume gives the face a chance to be seen. I was interrupted here, and cannot resume the thread; but considering how much of his own conceit the artist puts into a portrait, how much affectation the sitter puts on, and then again that no face is the same to any two spectators; also, that these portraits are darkened and faded with age, and can seldom be more than half seen, being hung too high, or somehow or other inconvenient, on the whole, I question whether there is much use in looking at them. The truest test would be, for a man well read in English history and biography, and himself an observer of insight, to go through the series without knowing what personages they represented, and write beneath each the name which the portrait vindicated for itself. After getting through the portrait-gallery, I went among the engravings and photographs, and then glanced along the old masters, but without seriously looking at anything. While I was among the Dutch painters, a gentleman accosted me. It was Mr. J------, whom I once met at dinner with Bennoch. He told me that "the Poet Laureate" (as he called him) was in the Exhibition rooms; and as I expressed great interest, Mr. J------ was kind enough to go in quest of him. Not for the purpose of introduction, however, for he was not acquainted with Tennyson. Soon Mr. J------ returned, and said that he had found the Poet Laureate,--and, going into the saloon of the old masters, we saw him there, in company with Mr. Woolner, whose bust of him is now in the Exhibition. Gazing at him with all my eyes, I liked him well, and rejoiced more in him than in all the other wonders of the Exhibition. How strange that in these two or three pages I cannot get one single touch that may call him up hereafter! I would most gladly have seen more of this one poet of our day, but forbore to follow him; for I must own that it seemed mean to be dogging him through the saloons, or even to look at him, since it was to be done stealthily, if at all. He is as un-English as possible; indeed an Englishman of genius usually lacks the national characteristics, and is great abnormally. Even the great sailor, Nelson, was unlike his countrymen in the qualities that constituted him a hero; he was not the perfection of an Englishman, but a creature of another kind,--sensitive, nervous, excitable, and really more like a Frenchman. Un-English as he was, Tennyson had not, however, an American look. I cannot well describe the difference; but there was something more mellow in him,--softer, sweeter, broader, more simple than we are apt to be. Living apart from men as he does would hurt any one of us more than it does him. I may as well leave him here, for I cannot touch the central point. August 2d.--Day before yesterday I went again to the Exhibition, and began the day with looking at the old masters. Positively, I do begin to receive some pleasure from looking at pictures; but as yet it has nothing to do with any technical merit, nor do I think I shall ever get so far as that. Some landscapes by Ruysdael, and some portraits by Murillo, Velasquez, and Titian, were those which I was most able to appreciate; and I see reason for allowing, contrary to my opinion, as expressed a few pages back, that a portrait may preserve some valuable characteristics of the person represented. The pictures in the English portrait-gallery are mostly very bad, and that may be the reason why I saw so little in them. I saw too, at this last visit, a Virgin and Child, which appeared to me to have an expression more adequate to the subject than most of the innumerable virgins and children, in which we see only repetitions of simple maternity; indeed, any mother, with her first child, would serve an artist for one of them. But, in this picture the Virgin had a look as if she were loving the infant as her own child, and at the same time rendering him an awful worship, as to her Creator. While I was sitting in the central saloon, listening to the music, a young man accosted me, presuming that I was so-and-so, the American author. He himself was a traveller for a publishing firm; and he introduced conversation by talking of Uttoxeter, and my description of it in an annual. He said that the account had caused a good deal of pique among the good people of Uttoxeter, because of the ignorance which I attribute to them as to the circumstance which connects Johnson with their town. The spot where Johnson stood can, it appears, still be pointed out. It is on one side of the market-place, and not in the neighborhood of the church. I forget whether I recorded, at the time, that an Uttoxeter newspaper was sent me, containing a proposal that a statue or memorial should be erected on the spot. It would gratify me exceedingly if such a result should come from my pious pilgrimage thither. My new acquaintance, who was cockneyish, but very intelligent and agreeable, went on to talk about many literary matters and characters; among others, about Miss Bronte, whom he had seen at the Chapter Coffee-House, when she and her sister Anne first went to London. He was at that time connected with the house of ------ and ------, and he described the surprise and incredulity of Mr.------, when this little, commonplace-looking woman presented herself as the author of Jane Eyre. His story brought out the insignificance of Charlotte Bronte's aspect, and the bluff rejection of her by Mr. ------, much more strongly than Mrs. Gaskell's narrative. Chorlton Road, August 9th.--We have changed our lodgings since my last date, those at Old Trafford being inconvenient, and the landlady a sharp, peremptory housewife, better fitted to deal with her own family than to be complaisant to guests. We are now a little farther from the Exhibition, and not much better off as regards accommodation, but the housekeeper is a pleasant, civil sort of a woman, auspiciously named Mrs. Honey. The house is a specimen of the poorer middle-class dwellings as built nowadays,--narrow staircase, thin walls, and, being constructed for sale, very ill put together indeed,--the floors with wide cracks between the boards, and wide crevices admitting both air and light over the doors, so that the house is full of draughts. The outer walls, it seems to me, are but of one brick in thickness, and the partition walls certainly no thicker; and the movements, and sometimes the voices, of people in the contiguous house are audible to us. The Exhibition has temporarily so raised the value of lodgings here that we have to pay a high price for even such a house as this. Mr. Wilding having gone on a tour to Scotland, I had to be at the Consulate every day last week till yesterday; when I absented myself from duty, and went to the Exhibition. U---- and I spent an hour together, looking principally at the old Dutch masters, who seem to me the most wonderful set of men that ever handled a brush. Such lifelike representations of cabbages, onions, brass kettles, and kitchen crockery; such blankets, with the woollen fuzz upon them; such everything I never thought that the skill of man could produce! Even the photograph cannot equal their miracles. The closer you look, the more minutely true the picture is found to be, and I doubt if even the microscope could see beyond the painter's touch. Gerard Dow seems to be the master among these queer magicians. A straw mat, in one of his pictures, is the most miraculous thing that human art has yet accomplished; and there is a metal vase, with a dent in it, that is absolutely more real than reality. These painters accomplish all they aim at,--a praise, methinks, which can be given to no other men since the world began. They must have laid down their brushes with perfect satisfaction, knowing that each one of their million touches had been necessary to the effect, and that there was not one too few nor too many. And it is strange how spiritual and suggestive the commonest household article--an earthen pitcher, for example-- becomes, when represented with entire accuracy. These Dutchmen got at the soul of common things, and so made them types and interpreters of the spiritual world. Afterwards I looked at many of the pictures of the old masters, and found myself gradually getting a taste for them; at least, they give me more and more pleasure the oftener I come to see them. Doubtless, I shall be able to pass for a man of taste by the time I return to America. It is an acquired taste, like that for wines; and I question whether a man is really any truer, wiser, or better for possessing it. From the old masters, I went among the English painters, and found myself more favorably inclined towards some of them than at my previous visits; seeing something wonderful even in Turner's lights and mists and yeasty waves, although I should like him still better if his pictures looked in the least like what they typify. The most disagreeable of English painters is Etty, who had a diseased appetite for woman's flesh, and spent his whole life, apparently, in painting them with enormously developed busts. I do not mind nudity in a modest and natural way; but Etty's women really thrust their nudity upon you with malice aforethought, . . . . and the worst of it is they are not beautiful. Among the last pictures that I looked at was Hogarth's March to Finchley; and surely nothing can be covered more thick and deep with English nature than that piece of canvas. The face of the tall grenadier in the centre, between two women, both of whom have claims on him, wonderfully expresses trouble and perplexity; and every touch in the picture meant something and expresses what it meant. The price of admission, after two o'clock, being sixpence, the Exhibition was thronged with a class of people who do not usually come in such large numbers. It was both pleasant and touching to see how earnestly some of them sought to get instruction from what they beheld. The English are a good and simple people, and take life in earnest. August 14th.--Passing by the gateway of the Manchester Cathedral the other morning, on my way to the station, I found a crowd collected, and, high overhead, the bells were chiming for a wedding. These chimes of bells are exceedingly impressive, so broadly gladsome as they are, filling the whole air, and every nook of one's heart with sympathy. They are good for a people to rejoice with, and good also for a marriage, because through all their joy there is something solemn,--a tone of that voice which we have heard so often at funerals. It is good to see how everybody, up to this old age of the world, takes an interest in weddings, and seems to have a faith that now, at last, a couple have come together to make each other happy. The high, black, rough old cathedral tower sent out its chime of bells as earnestly as for any bridegroom and bride that came to be married five hundred years ago. I went into the churchyard, but there was such a throng of people on its pavement of flat tombstones, and especially such a cluster along the pathway by which the bride was to depart, that I could only see a white dress waving along, and really do not know whether she was a beauty or a fright. The happy pair got into a post-chaise that was waiting at the gate, and immediately drew some crimson curtains, and so vanished into their Paradise. There were two other post-chaises and pairs, and all three had postilions in scarlet. This is the same cathedral where, last May, I saw a dozen couples married in the lump. In a railway carriage, two or three days ago, an old merchant made rather a good point of one of the uncomfortable results of the electric telegraph. He said that formerly a man was safe from bad news, such as intelligence of failure of debtors, except at the hour of opening his letters in the morning; and then he was in some degree prepared for it, since, among (say) fifteen letters, he would be pretty certain to find some "queer" one. But since the telegraph has come into play, he is never safe, and may be hit with news of failure, shipwreck, fall of stocks, or whatever disaster, at all hours of the day. I went to the Exhibition on Wednesday with U----, and looked at the pencil sketches of the old masters; also at the pictures generally, old and new. I particularly remember a spring landscape, by John Linnell the younger. It is wonderfully good; so tender and fresh that the artist seems really to have caught the evanescent April and made her permanent. Here, at least, is eternal spring. I saw a little man, behind an immense beard, whom I take to be the Duke of Newcastle; at least, there was a photograph of him in the gallery, with just such a beard. He was at the Palace on that day. August 16th.--I went again to the Exhibition day before yesterday, and looked much at both the modern and ancient pictures, as also at the water-colors. I am making some progress as a connoisseur, and have got so far as to be able to distinguish the broader differences of style,-- as, for example, between Rubens and Rembrandt. I should hesitate to claim any more for myself thus far. In fact, however, I do begin to have a liking for good things, and to be sure that they are good. Murillo seems to me about the noblest and purest painter that ever lived, and his "Good Shepherd" the loveliest picture I have seen. It is a hopeful symptom, moreover, of improving taste, that I see more merit in the crowd of painters than I was at first competent to acknowledge. I could see some of their defects from the very first; but that is the earliest stage of connoisseurship, after a formal and ignorant admiration. Mounting a few steps higher, one sees beauties. But how much study, how many opportunities, are requisite to form and cultivate a taste! The Exhibition must be quite thrown away on the mass of spectators. Both they and I are better able to appreciate the specimens of ornamental art contained in the Oriental Room, and in the numerous cases that are ranged up and down the nave. The gewgaws of all Time are here, in precious metals, glass, china, ivory, and every other material that could be wrought into curious and beautiful shapes; great basins and dishes of embossed gold from the Queen's sideboard, or from the beaufets of noblemen; vessels set with precious stones; the pastoral staffs of prelates, some of them made of silver or gold, and enriched with gems, and what have been found in the tombs of the bishops; state swords, and silver maces; the rich plate of colleges, elaborately wrought,--great cups, salvers, tureens, that have been presented by loving sons to their Alma Mater; the heirlooms of old families, treasured from generation to generation, and hitherto only to be seen by favored friends; famous historical jewels, some of which are painted in the portraits of the historical men and women that hang on the walls; numerous specimens of the beautiful old Venetian glass, some of which looks so fragile that it is a wonder how it could bear even the weight of the wine, that used to be poured into it, without breaking. These are the glasses that tested poison, by being shattered into fragments at its touch. The strangest and ugliest old crockery, pictured over with monstrosities,--the Palissy ware, embossed with vegetables, fishes, lobsters, that look absolutely real; the delicate Sevres china, each piece made inestimable by pictures from a master's hand;--in short, it is a despair and misery to see so much that is curious and beautiful, and to feel that far the greater portion of it will slip out of the memory, and be as if we had never seen it. But I mean to look again and again at these things. We soon perceive that the present day does not engross all the taste and ingenuity that has ever existed in the mind of man; that, in fact, we are a barren age in that respect. August 20th.--I went to the Exhibition on Monday, and again yesterday, and measurably enjoyed both visits. I continue to think, however, that a picture cannot be fully enjoyed except by long and intimate acquaintance with it, nor can I quite understand what the enjoyment of a connoisseur is. He is not usually, I think, a man of deep, poetic feeling, and does not deal with the picture through his heart, nor set it in a poem, nor comprehend it morally. If it be a landscape, he is not entitled to judge of it by his intimacy with nature; if a picture of human action, he has no experience nor sympathy of life's deeper passages. However, as my acquaintance with pictures increases, I find myself recognizing more and more the merit of the acknowledged masters of the art; but, possibly, it is only because I adopt the wrong principles which may have been laid down by the connoisseurs. But there can be no mistake about Murillo,-- not that I am worthy to admire him yet, however. Seeing the many pictures of Holy Families, and the Virgin and Child, which have been painted for churches and convents, the idea occurs, that it was in this way that the poor monks and nuns gratified, as far as they could, their natural longing for earthly happiness. It was not Mary and her heavenly Child that they really beheld, or wished for; but an earthly mother rejoicing over her baby, and displaying it probably to the world as an object worthy to be admired by kings,--as Mary does, in the Adoration of the Magi. Every mother, I suppose, feels as if her first child deserved everybody's worship. I left the Exhibition at three o'clock, and went to Manchester, where I sought out Mr. C S------- in his little office. He greeted me warmly, and at five we took the omnibus for his house, about four miles from town. He seems to be on pleasant terms with his neighbors, for almost everybody that got into the omnibus exchanged kindly greetings with him, and indeed his kindly, simple, genial nature comes out so evidently that it would be difficult not to like him. His house stands, with others, in a green park,--a small, pretty, semi-detached suburban residence of brick, with a lawn and garden round it. In close vicinity, there is a deep clough or dell, as shaggy and wild as a poet could wish, and with a little stream running through it, as much as five miles long. The interior of the house is very pretty, and nicely, even handsomely and almost sumptuously, furnished; and I was very glad to find him so comfortable. His recognition as a poet has been hearty enough to give him a feeling of success, for he showed me various tokens of the estimation in which he is held,--for instance, a presentation copy of Southey's works, in which the latter had written "Amicus amico,--poeta poetae." He said that Southey had always been most kind to him. . . . . There were various other testimonials from people of note, American as well as English. In his parlor there is a good oil-painting of himself, and in the drawing-room a very fine crayon sketch, wherein his face, handsome and agreeable, is lighted up with all a poet's ecstasy; likewise a large and fine engraving from the picture. The government has recognized his poetic merit by a pension of fifty pounds,--a small sung, it is true, but enough to mark him out as one who has deserved well of his country. . . . . The man himself is very good and lovable. . . . . I was able to gratify him by saying that I had recently seen many favorable notices of his poems in the American newspapers; an edition having been published a few months since on our side of the ocean. He was much pleased at this, and asked me to send him the notices. . . . . August 30th.--I have been two or three times to the Exhibition since my last date, and enjoy it more as I become familiar with it. There is supposed to be about a third of the good pictures here which England contains; and it is said that the Tory nobility and gentry have contributed to it much more freely and largely than the Whigs. The Duke of Devonshire, for instance, seems to have sent nothing. Mr. Ticknor, the Spanish historian, whom I met yesterday, observed that we should not think quite so much of this Exhibition as the English do after we have been to Italy, although it is a good school in which to gain a preparatory knowledge of the different styles of art. I am glad to hear that there are better things still to be seen. Nevertheless, I should suppose that certain painters are better represented here than they ever have been or will be elsewhere. Vandyke, certainly, can be seen nowhere else so well; Rembrandt and Rubens have satisfactory specimens; and the whole series of English pictorial achievement is shown more perfectly than within any other walls. Perhaps it would be wise to devote myself to the study of this latter, and leave the foreigners to be studied on their own soil. Murillo can hardly have done better than in the pictures by him which we see here. There is nothing of Raphael's here that is impressive. Titian has some noble portraits, but little else that I care to see. In all these old masters, Murillo only excepted, it is very rare, I must say, to find any trace of natural feeling and passion; and I am weary of naked goddesses, who never had any real life and warmth in the painter's imagination,--or, if so, it was the impure warmth of an unchaste woman, who sat for him. Last week I dined at Mr. F. Heywood's to meet Mr. Adolphus, the author of a critical work on the Waverley Novels, published long ago, and intended to prove, from internal evidence, that they were written by Sir Walter Scott. . . . . His wife was likewise of the party, . . . . and also a young Spanish lady, their niece, and daughter of a Spaniard of literary note. She herself has literary tastes and ability, and is well known to Prescott, whom, I believe, she has assisted in his historical researches, and also to Professor Ticknor; and furthermore she is very handsome and unlike an English damsel, very youthful and maiden-like; and her manners have all ardor and enthusiasm that were pleasant to see, especially as she spoke warmly of my writings; and yet I should wrong her if I left the impression of her being forthputting and obtrusive, for it was not the fact in the least. She speaks English like a native, insomuch that I should never have suspected her to be anything else. My nerves recently have not been in an exactly quiet and normal state. I begin to weary of England and need another clime. September 6th.--I think I paid my last visit to the Exhibition, and feel as if I had had enough of it, although I have got but a small part of the profit it might have afforded me. But pictures are certainly quite other things to me now from what they were at my first visit; it seems even as if there were a sort of illumination within them, that makes me see them more distinctly. Speaking of pictures, the miniature of Anne of Cleves is here, on the faith of which Henry VIII. married her; also, the picture of the Infanta of Spain, which Buckingham brought over to Charles I. while Prince of Wales. This has a delicate, rosy prettiness. One rather interesting portion of the Exhibition is the Refreshment-room, or rather rooms; for very much space is allowed both to the first and second classes. I have looked most at the latter, because there John Ball and his wife may be seen in full gulp aid guzzle, swallowing vast quantities of cold boiled beef, thoroughly moistened with porter or bitter ale; and very good meat and drink it is. At my last visit, on Friday, I met Judge Pollock of Liverpool, who introduced me to a gentleman in a gray slouched hat as Mr. Du Val, an artist, resident in Manchester; and Mr. Du Val invited me to dine with him at six o'clock. So I went to Carlton Grove, his residence, and found it a very pretty house, with its own lawn and shrubbery about it. . . . . There was a mellow fire in the grate, which made the drawing-room very cosey and pleasant, as the dusk came on before dinner. Mr. Du Val looked like an artist, and like a remarkable man. . . . . We had very good talk, chiefly about the Exhibition, and Du Val spoke generously and intelligently of his brother-artists. He says that England might furnish five exhibitions, each one as rich as the present. I find that the most famous picture here is one that I have hardly looked at, "The Three Marys," by Annibal Caracci. In the drawing-room there were several pictures and sketches by Du Val, one of which I especially liked,--a misty, moonlight picture of the Mersey, near Seacombe. I never saw painted such genuine moonlight. . . . . I took my leave at half past ten, and found my cab at the door, and my cabman snugly asleep inside of it; and when Mr. Du Val awoke him, he proved to be quite drunk, insomuch that I hesitated whether to let him clamber upon the box, or to take post myself, and drive the cabman home. However, I propounded two questions to him: first, whether his horse would go of his own accord; and, secondly, whether be himself was invariably drunk at that time of night, because, if it were his normal state, I should be safer with him drunk than sober. Being satisfied on these points, I got in, and was driven home without accident or adventure; except, indeed, that the cabman drew up and opened the door for me to alight at a vacant lot on Stratford Road, just as if there had been a house and home and cheerful lighted windows in that vacancy. On my remonstrance he resumed the whip and reins, and reached Boston Terrace at last; and, thanking me for an extra sixpence as well as he could speak, he begged me to inquire for "Little John" whenever I next wanted a cab. Cabmen are, as a body, the most ill-natured and ungenial men in the world; but this poor little man was excellently good-humored. Speaking of the former rudeness of manners, now gradually refining away, of the Manchester people, Judge ------ said that, when he first knew Manchester, women, meeting his wife in the street, would take hold of her dress and say, "Ah, three and sixpence a yard!" The men were very rough, after the old Lancashire fashion. They have always, however, been a musical people, and this may have been a germ of refinement in them. They are still much more simple and natural than the Liverpool people, who love the aristocracy, and whom they heartily despise. It is singular that the great Art-Exhibition should have come to pass in the rudest great town in England. LEAMINGTON. Lansdowne Cirrus, September 10th.--We have become quite weary of our small, mean, uncomfortable, and unbeautiful lodgings at Chorlton Road, with poor and scanty furniture within doors, and no better prospect from the parlor windows than a mud-puddle, larger than most English lakes, on a vacant building-lot opposite our house. The Exhibition, too, was fast becoming a bore; for you must really love a picture, in order to tolerate the sight of it many times. Moreover, the smoky and sooty air of that abominable Manchester affected my wife's throat disadvantageously; so, on a Tuesday morning, we struck our tent and set forth again, regretting to leave nothing except the kind disposition of Mrs. Honey, our housekeeper. I do not remember meeting with any other lodging-house keeper who did not grow hateful and fearful on short acquaintance; but I attribute this, not so much to the people themselves, as, primarily, to the unfair and ungenerous conduct of some of their English guests, who feel so sure of being cheated that they always behave as if in an enemy's country, and therefore they find it one. The rain poured down upon us as we drove away in two cabs, laden with mountainous luggage to the London Road station; and the whole day was grim with cloud and moist with showers. We went by way of Birmingham, and stayed three hours at the great dreary station there, waiting for the train to Leamington, whither Fanny had gone forward the day before to secure lodgings for us (as she is English, and understands the matter) We all were tired and dull by the time we reached the Leamington station, where a note from Fanny gave us the address of our lodgings. Lansdowne Circus is really delightful after that ugly and grimy suburb of Manchester. Indeed, there could not possibly be a greater contrast than between Leamington and Manchester,--the latter built only for dirty uses, and scarcely intended as a habitation for man; the former so cleanly, so set out with shade trees, so regular in its streets, so neatly paved, its houses so prettily contrived and nicely stuccoed, that it does not look like a portion of the work-a-day world. KENILWORTH. September 13th.--The weather was very uncertain through the last week, and yesterday morning, too, was misty and sunless; notwithstanding which we took the rail for Kenilworth before eleven. The distance from Leamington is less than five miles, and at the Kenilworth station we found a little bit of an omnibus, into which we packed ourselves, together with two ladies, one of whom, at least, was an American. I begin to agree partly with the English, that we are not a people of elegant manners. At all events there is sometimes a bare, hard, meagre sort of deportment, especially in our women, that has not its parallel elsewhere. But perhaps what sets off this kind of behavior, and brings it into alto relievo, is the fact of such uncultivated persons travelling abroad, and going to see sights that would not be interesting except to people of some education and refinement. We saw but little of the village of Kenilworth, passing through it sidelong fashion, in the omnibus; but I learn that it has between three and four thousand inhabitants, and is of immemorial antiquity. We saw a few old, gabled, and timber-framed houses; but generally the town was of modern aspect, although less so in the immediate vicinity of the castle gate, across the road from which there was an inn, with bowling-greens, and a little bunch of houses and shops. Apart from the high road there is a gate-house, ancient, but in excellent repair, towered, turreted, and battlemented, and looking like a castle in itself. Until Cromwell's time, the entrance to the castle used to be beneath an arch that passed through this structure; but the gate-house being granted to one of the Parliament officers, he converted it into a residence, and apparently added on a couple of gables, which now look quite as venerable as the rest of the edifice. Admission within the outer grounds of the castle is now obtained through a little wicket close beside the gate-house, at which sat one or two old men, who touched their hats to us in humble willingness to accept a fee. One of them had guide-books for sale; and, finding that we were not to be bothered by a cicerone, we bought one of his books. The ruins are perhaps two hundred yards from the gate-house and the road, and the space between is a pasture for sheep, which also browse in the inner court, and shelter themselves in the dungeons and state apartments of the castle. Goats would be fitter occupants, because they would climb to the tops of the crumbling towers, and nibble the weeds and shrubbery that grow there. The first part of the castle which we reach is called Caesar's Tower, being the oldest portion of the ruins, and still very stalwart and massive, and built of red freestone, like all the rest. Caesar's Tower being on the right, Leicester's Buildings, erected by the Earl of Leicester, Queen Elizabeth's favorite, are on the left; and between these two formerly stood other structures which have now as entirely disappeared as if they had never existed; and through the wide gap, thus opened, appears the grassy inner court, surrounded on three sides by half-fallen towers and shattered walls. Some of these were erected by John of Gaunt; and among these ruins is the Banqueting-Hall,-- or rather was,--for it has now neither floor nor roof, but only the broken stone-work of some tall, arched windows, and the beautiful, old ivied arch of the entrance-way, now inaccessible from the ground. The ivy is very abundant about the ruins, and hangs its green curtains quite from top to bottom of some of the windows. There are likewise very large and aged trees within the castle, there being no roof nor pavement anywhere, except in some dungeon-like nooks; so that the trees having soil and air enough, and being sheltered from unfriendly blasts, can grow as if in a nursery. Hawthorn, however, next to ivy, is the great ornament and comforter of these desolate ruins. I have not seen so much nor such thriving hawthorn anywhere else,--in the court, high up on crumbly heights, on the sod that carpets roofless rooms,--everywhere, indeed, and now rejoicing in plentiful crops of red berries. The ivy is even more wonderfully luxuriant; its trunks being, in some places, two or three feet in diameter, and forming real buttresses against the walls, which are actually supported and vastly strengthened by this parasite, that clung to them at first only for its own convenience, and now holds them up, lest it should be ruined by their fall. Thus an abuse has strangely grown into a use, and I think we may sometimes see the same fact, morally, in English matters. There is something very curious in the close, firm grip which the ivy fixes upon the wall, closer and closer for centuries. Neither is it at all nice as to what it clutches, in its necessity for support. I saw in the outer court an old hawthorn-tree, to which a plant of ivy had married itself, and the ivy trunk and the hawthorn trunk were now absolutely incorporated, and in their close embrace you could not tell which was which. At one end of the Banqueting-Hall, there are two large bay-windows, one of which looks into the inner court, and the other affords a view of the surrounding country. The former is called Queen Elizabeth's Dressing-room. Beyond the Banqueting-Hall is what is called the Strong Tower, up to the top of which we climbed principally by the aid of the stones that have tumbled down from it. A lady sat half-way down the crumbly descent, within the castle, on a camp-stool, and before an easel, sketching this tower, on the summit of which we sat. She said it was Amy Robsart's Tower; and within it, open to the day, and quite accessible, we saw a room that we were free to imagine had been occupied by her. I do not find that these associations of real scenes with fictitious events greatly heighten the charm of them. By this time the sun had come out brightly, and with such warmth that we were glad to sit down in the shadow. Several sight-seers were now rambling about, and among them some school-boys, who kept scrambling up to points whither no other animal, except a goat, would have ventured. Their shouts and the sunshine made the old castle cheerful; and what with the ivy and the hawthorn, and the other old trees, it was very beautiful and picturesque. But a castle does not make nearly so interesting and impressive a ruin as an abbey, because the latter was built for beauty, and on a plan in which deep thought and feeling were involved; and having once been a grand and beautiful work, it continues grand and beautiful through all the successive stages of its decay. But a castle is rudely piled together for strength and other material conveniences; and, having served these ends, it has nothing left to fall back upon, but crumbles into shapeless masses, which are often as little picturesque as a pile of bricks. Without the ivy and the shrubbery, this huge Kenilworth would not be a pleasant object, except for one or two window-frames, with broken tracery, in the Banqueting-Hall. . . . . We stayed from eleven till two, and identified the various parts of the castle as well as we could by the guide-book. The ruins are very extensive, though less so than I should have imagined, considering that seven acres were included within the castle wall. But a large part of the structures have been taken away to build houses in Kenilworth village and elsewhere, and much, too, to make roads with, and a good deal lies under the green turf in the court-yards, inner and outer. As we returned to the gate, my wife and U---- went into the gate-house to see an old chimney-piece, and other antiquities, and J----- and I proceeded a little way round the outer wall, and saw the remains of the moat, and Lin's Tower,--a real and shattered fabric of John of Gaunt. The omnibus now drove up, and one of the old men at the gate came hobbling up to open the door, and was rewarded with a sixpence, and we drove down to the King's Head. . . . . We then walked out and bought prints of the castle, and inquired our way to the church and to the ruins of the Priory. The latter, so far as we could discover them, are very few and uninteresting; and the church, though it has a venerable exterior, and an aged spire, has been so modernized within, and in so plain a fashion, as to have lost what beauty it may once have had. There were a few brasses and mural monuments, one of which was a marble group of a dying woman and her family by Westmacott. The sexton was a cheerful little man, but knew very little about his church, and nothing of the remains of the Priory. The day was spent very pleasantly amid this beautiful green English scenery, these fine old Warwickshire trees, and broad, gently swelling fields. LIVERPOOL. September 17th.--I took the train for Rugby, and thence to Liverpool. The most noticeable character at Mrs. Blodgett's now is Mr. T------, a Yankee, who has seen the world, and gathered much information and experience already, though still a young man,--a handsome man, with black curly hair, a dark, intelligent, bright face, and rather cold blue eyes, but a very pleasant air and address. His observing faculties are very strongly developed in his forehead, and his reflective ones seem to be adequate to making some, if not the deepest, use of what he sees. He has voyaged and travelled almost all over the world, and has recently published a book of his peregrinations, which has been well received. He is of exceeding fluent talk, though rather too much inclined to unfold the secret springs of action in Louis Napoleon, and other potentates, and to tell of revolutions that are coming at some unlooked-for moment, but soon. Still I believe in his wisdom and foresight about as much as in any other man's. There are no such things. He is a merchant, and meditates settling in London, and making a colossal fortune there during the next ten or twenty years; that being the period during which London is to hold the exchanges of the world, and to continue its metropolis. After that, New York is to be the world's queen city. There is likewise here a young American, named A------, who has been at a German University, and favors us with descriptions of his student life there, which seems chiefly to have consisted in drinking beer and fighting duels. He shows a cut on his nose as a trophy of these combats. He has with him a dog of St. Bernard, who is a much more remarkable character than himself,--an immense dog, a noble and gentle creature; and really it touches my heart that his master is going to take him from his native snow-mountain to a Southern plantation to die. Mr. A------ says that there are now but five of these dogs extant at the convent; there having, within two or three years, been a disease among them, with which this dog also has suffered. His master has a certificate of his genuineness, and of himself being the rightful purchaser; and he says that as he descended the mountain, every peasant along the road stopped him, and would have compelled him to give up the dog had he not produced this proof of property. The neighboring mountaineers are very jealous of the breed being taken away, considering them of such importance to their own safety. This huge animal, the very biggest dog I ever saw, though only eleven months old, and not so high by two or three inches as he will be, allows Mr. ------ to play with him, and take him on his shoulders (he weighs, at least, a hundred pounds), like any lapdog. LEAMINGTON. Lansdowne Circus, October 10th.--I returned hither from Liverpool last week, and have spent the time idly since then, reposing myself after the four years of unnatural restraint in the Consulate. Being already pretty well acquainted with the neighborhood of Leamington, I have little or nothing to record about the prettiest, cheerfullest, cleanest of English towns. On Saturday we took the rail for Coventry, about a half-hour's travel distant. I had been there before, more than two years ago. . . . . No doubt I described it on my first visit; and it is not remarkable enough to be worth two descriptions,--a large town of crooked and irregular streets and lanes, not looking nearly so ancient as it is, because of new brick and stuccoed fronts which have been plastered over its antiquity; although still there are interspersed the peaked gables of old-fashioned, timber-built houses; or an archway of worn stone, which, if you pass through it, shows like an avenue from the present to the past; for just in the rear of the new-fangled aspect lurks the old arrangement of court-yards, and rustiness, and grimness, that would not be suspected from the exterior. Right across the narrow street stands St. Michael's Church with its tall, tall tower and spire. The body of the church has been almost entirely recased with stone since I was here before; but the tower still retains its antiquity, and is decorated with statues that look down from their lofty niches seemingly in good preservation. The tower and spire are most stately and beautiful, the whole church very noble. We went in, and found that the vulgar plaster of Cromwell's time has been scraped from the pillars and arches, leaving them all as fresh and splendid as if just made. We looked also into Trinity Church, which stands close by St. Michael's, separated only, I think, by the churchyard. We also visited St. John's Church, which is very venerable as regards its exterior, the stone being worn and smoothed--if not roughened, rather--by centuries of storm and fitful weather. This wear and tear, however, has almost ceased to be a charm to my mind, comparatively to what it was when I first began to see old buildings. Within, the church is spoiled by wooden galleries, built across the beautiful pointed arches. We saw nothing else particularly worthy of remark except Ford's Hospital, in Grey Friars' Street. It has an Elizabethan front of timber and plaster, facing on the street, with two or three peaked gables in a row, beneath which is a low, arched entrance, giving admission into a small paved quadrangle, open to the sky above, but surrounded by the walls, lozenge-paned windows, and gables of the Hospital. The quadrangle is but a few paces in width, and perhaps twenty in length; and, through a half-closed doorway, at the farther end, there was a glimpse into a garden. Just within the entrance, through an open door, we saw the neat and comfortable apartment of the Matron of the Hospital; and, along the quadrangle, on each side, there were three or four doors, through which we glanced into little rooms, each containing a fireplace, a bed, a chair or two,--a little, homely, domestic scene, with one old woman in the midst of it; one old woman in each room. They are destitute widows, who have their lodging and home here,--a small room for each one to sleep, cook, and be at home in,--and three and sixpence a week to feed and clothe themselves with,--a cloak being the only garment bestowed on them. When one of the sisterhood dies each old woman has to pay twopence towards the funeral; and so they slowly starve and wither out of life, and claim each their twopence contribution in turn. I am afraid they have a very dismal time. There is an old man's hospital in another part of the town, on a similar plan. A collection of sombre and lifelike tales might be written on the idea of giving the experiences of these Hospitallers, male and female; and they might be supposed to be written by the Matron of one, who had acquired literary taste and practice as a governess,--and by the Master of the other, a retired school-usher. It was market-day in Coventry, and far adown the street leading from it there were booths and stalls, and apples, pears, toys, books, among which I saw my Twice-Told Tales, with an awful portrait of myself as frontispiece,--and various country produce, offered for sale by men, women, and girls. The scene looked lively, but had not much vivacity in it. October 27th.--The autumn has advanced progressively, and is now fairly established, though still there is much green foliage, in spite of many brown trees, and an enormous quantity of withered leaves, too damp to rustle, strewing the paths,--whence, however, they are continually swept up and carried off in wheelbarrows, either for neatness or for the agricultural worth, as manure, of even a withered leaf. The pastures look just as green as ever,--a deep, bright verdure, that seems almost sunshine in itself, however sombre the sky may be. The little plats of grass and flowers, in front of our circle of houses, might still do credit to an American midsummer; for I have seen beautiful roses here within a day or two; and dahlias, asters, and such autumnal flowers, are plentiful; and I have no doubt that the old year's flowers will bloom till those of the new year appear. Really, the English winter is not so terrible as ours. October 30th.--Wednesday was one of the most beautiful of all days, and gilded almost throughout with the precious English sunshine,--the most delightful sunshine ever made, both for its positive fine qualities and because we seldom get it without too great an admixture of water. We made no use of this lovely day, except to walk to an Arboretum and Pinetum on the outskirts of the town. U---- and Mrs. Shepard made an excursion to Guy's Cliff. [Here comes in the visit to Leicester's Hospital and Redfern's Shop, and St. Mary's Church, printed in Our Old Home.--ED.] From Redfern's we went back to the market-place, expecting to find J----- at the Museum, but the keeper said he had gone away. We went into this museum, which contains the collections in Natural History, etc., of a county society. It is very well arranged, and is rich in specimens of ornithology, among which was an albatross, huge beyond imagination. I do not think that Coleridge could have known the size of the fowl when he caused it to be hung round the neck of his Ancient Mariner. There were a great many humming-birds from various parts of the world, and some of their breasts actually gleamed and shone as with the brightest lustre of sunset. Also, many strange fishes, and a huge pike taken from the river Avon, and so long that I wonder how he could turn himself about in such a little river as the Avon is near Warwick. A great curiosity was a bunch of skeleton leaves and flowers, prepared by a young lady, and preserving all the most delicate fibres of the plant, looking like inconceivably fine lace-work, white as snow, while the substance was quite taken away. In another room there were minerals, shells, and a splendid collection of fossils, among which were remains of antediluvian creatures, several feet long. In still another room, we saw some historical curiosities,--the most interesting of which were two locks of reddish-brown hair, one from the head and one from the beard of Edward IV. They were fastened to a manuscript letter which authenticates the hair as having been taken from King Edward's tomb in 1739. Near these relics was a seal of the great Earl of Warwick, the mighty kingmaker; also a sword from Bosworth Field, smaller and shorter than those now in use; for, indeed, swords seem to have increased in length, weight, and formidable aspect, now that the weapon has almost ceased to be used in actual warfare. The short Roman sword was probably more murderous than any weapon of the same species, except the bowie-knife. Here, too, were Parliamentary cannon-balls, etc. . . . . [The visit to Whitnash intervenes here.--ED.] LONDON. 24 Great Russell Street, November 10th.--We have been thinking and negotiating about taking lodgings in London lately, and this morning we left Leamington and reached London with no other misadventure than that of leaving the great bulk of our luggage behind us,--the van which we hired to take it to the railway station having broken down under its prodigious weight, in the middle of the street. On our journey we saw nothing particularly worthy of note,--but everywhere the immortal verdure of England, scarcely less perfect than in June, so far as the fields are concerned, though the foliage of the trees presents pretty much the same hues as those of our own forests, after the gayety and gorgeousness have departed from them. Our lodgings are in close vicinity to the British Museum, which is the great advantage we took them for. I felt restless and uncomfortable, and soon strolled forth, without any definite object, and walked as far as Charing Cross. Very dull and dreary the city looked, and not in the least lively, even where the throng was thickest and most brisk. As I trudged along, my reflection was, that never was there a dingier, uglier, less picturesque city than London; and that it is really wonderful that so much brick and stone, for centuries together, should have been built up with so poor a result. Yet these old names of the city--Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill, the Strand-used to throw a glory over these homely precincts when I first saw them, and still do so in a less degree. Where Farrington Street opens upon Fleet Street, moreover, I had a glimpse of St. Paul's, along Ludgate Street, in the gathering dimness, and felt as if I saw an old friend. In that neighborhood--speaking of old friends--I met Mr. Parker of Boston, who told me sad news of a friend whom I love as much as if I had known him for a lifetime, though he is, indeed, but of two or three years' standing. He said that my friend's bankruptcy is in to-day's Gazette. Of all men on earth, I had rather this misfortune should have happened to any other; but I hope and think he has sturdiness and buoyancy enough to rise up beneath it. I cannot conceive of his face otherwise than with a glow on it, like that of the sun at noonday. Before I reached our lodgings, the dusk settled into the streets, and a mist bedewed and bedamped me, and I went astray, as is usual with me, and had to inquire my way; indeed, except in the principal thoroughfares, London is so miserably lighted that it is impossible to recognize one's whereabouts. On my arrival I found our parlor looking cheerful with a brisk fire; . . . . but the first day or two in new lodgings is at best an uncomfortable time. Fanny has just come in with more unhappy news about ------. Pray Heaven it may not be true! . . . . Troubles are a sociable brotherhood; they love to come hand in hand, or sometimes, even, to come side by side, with long looked-for and hoped-for good fortune. . . . . November 11th.--This morning we all went to the British Museum, always a most wearisome and depressing task to me. I strolled through the lower rooms with a good degree of interest, looking at the antique sculptures, some of which were doubtless grand and beautiful in their day. . . . . The Egyptian remains are, on the whole, the more satisfactory; for, though inconceivably ugly, they are at least miracles of size and ponderosity,--for example, a hand and arm of polished granite, as much as ten feet in length. The upper rooms, containing millions of specimens of Natural History, in all departments, really made my heart ache with a pain and woe that I have never felt anywhere but in the British Museum, and I hurried through them as rapidly as I could persuade J----- to follow me. We had left the rest of the party still intent on the Grecian sculptures; and though J----- was much interested in the vast collection of shells, he chose to quit the Museum with me in the prospect of a stroll about London. He seems to have my own passion for thronged streets, and the utmost bustle of human life. We went first to the railway station, in quest of our luggage, which we found. Then we made a pretty straight course down to Holborn, and through Newgate Street, stopping a few moments to look through the iron fence at the Christ's Hospital boys, in their long blue coats and yellow petticoats and stockings. It was between twelve and one o'clock; and I suppose this was their hour of play, for they were running about the enclosed space, chasing and overthrowing one another, without their caps, with their yellow petticoats tucked up, and all in immense activity and enjoyment. They were eminently a healthy and handsome set of boys. Then we went into Cheapside, where I called at Mr. Bennett's shop, to inquire what are the facts about ------. When I mentioned his name, Mr. Bennett shook his head and expressed great sorrow; but, on further talk, I found that he referred only to the failure, and had heard nothing about the other rumor. It cannot, therefore, be true; for Bennett lives in his neighborhood, and could not have remained ignorant of such a calamity. There must be some mistake; none, however, in regard to the failure, it having been announced in the Times. From Bennett's shop--which is so near the steeple of Bow Church that it would tumble upon it if it fell over--we strolled still eastward, aiming at London Bridge; but missed it, and bewildered ourselves among many dingy and frowzy streets and lanes. I bore towards the right, however, knowing that that course must ultimately bring me to the Thames; and at last I saw before me ramparts, towers, circular and square, with battlemented summits, large sweeps and curves of fortification, as well as straight and massive walls and chimneys behind them (all a great confusion--to my eye), of ancient and more modern structure, and four loftier turrets rising in the midst; the whole great space surrounded by a broad, dry moat, which now seemed to be used as an ornamental walk, bordered partly with trees. This was the Tower; but seen from a different and more picturesque point of view than I have heretofore gained of it. Being so convenient for a visit, I determined to go in. At the outer gate, which is not a part of the fortification, a sentinel walks to and fro, besides whom there was a warder, in the rich old costume of Henry VIII's time, looking very gorgeous indeed,--as much so as scarlet and gold can make him. As J----- and I were not going to look at the Jewel-room, we loitered about in the open space, before the White Tower, while the tall, slender, white-haired, gentlemanly warder led the rest of the party into that apartment. We found what one might take for a square in a town, with gabled houses lifting their peaks on one side, and various edifices enclosing the other sides, and the great White Tower,--now more black than white,--rising venerable, and rather picturesque than otherwise, the most prominent object in the scene. I have no plan nor available idea of it whatever in my mind, but it seems really to be a town within itself, with streets, avenues, and all that pertains to human life. There were soldiers going through their exercise in the open space, and along at the base of the White Tower lay a great many cannon and mortars, some of which were of Turkish manufacture, and immensely long and ponderous. Others, likewise of mighty size, had once belonged to the famous ship Great Harry, and had lain for ages under the sea. Others were East-Indian. Several were beautiful specimens of workmanship. The mortars--some so large that a fair-sized man might easily be rammed into them--held their great mouths slanting upward to the sky, and mostly contained a quantity of rain-water. While we were looking at these warlike toys,--for I suppose not one of them will ever thunder in earnest again,--the warder reappeared with his ladies, and, leading us all to a certain part of the open space, he struck his foot on the small stones with which it is paved, and told us that we were standing on the spot where Anne Boleyn and Catharine Parr were beheaded. It is not exactly in the centre of the square, but on a line with one of the angles of the White Tower. I forgot to mention that the middle of the open space is occupied by a marble statue of Wellington, which appeared to me very poor and laboriously spirited. Lastly, the warder led us under the Bloody Tower, and by the side of the Wakefield Tower, and showed us the Traitor's Gate, which is now closed up, so as to afford no access to the Thames. No; we first visited the Beauchamp Tower, famous as the prison of many historical personages. Some of its former occupants have left their initials or names, and inscriptions of piety and patience, cut deep into the freestone of the walls, together with devices--as a crucifix, for instance--neatly and skilfully done. This room has a long, deep fireplace; it is chiefly lighted by a large window, which I fancy must have been made in modern times; but there are four narrow apertures, throwing in a little light through deep alcoves in the thickness of the octagon wall. One would expect such a room to be picturesque; but it is really not of striking aspect, being low, with a plastered ceiling,--the beams just showing through the plaster,--a boarded floor, and the walls being washed over with a buff color. A warder sat within a railing, by the great window, with sixpenny books to sell, containing transcripts of the inscriptions on the walls. We now left the Tower, and made our way deviously westward, passing St. Paul's, which looked magnificently and beautifully, so huge and dusky as it was, with here and there a space on its vast form where the original whiteness of the marble came out like a streak of moonshine amid the blackness with which time has made it grander than it was in its newness. It is a most noble edifice; and I delight, too, in the statues that crown some of its heights, and in the wreaths of sculpture which are hung around it. November 12th.--This morning began with such fog, that at the window of my chamber, lighted only from a small court-yard, enclosed by high, dingy walls, I could hardly see to dress. It kept alternately darkening, and then brightening a little, and darkening again, so much that we could but just discern the opposite houses; but at eleven or thereabouts it grew so much clearer that we resolved to venture out. Our plan for the day was to go in the first place to Westminster Abbey; and to the National Gallery, if we should find time. . . . . The fog darkened again as we went down Regent Street, and the Duke of York's Column was but barely visible, looming vaguely before us; nor, from Pall Mall, was Nelson's Pillar much more distinct, though methought his statue stood aloft in a somewhat clearer atmosphere than ours. Passing Whitehall, however, we could scarcely see Inigo Jones's Banqueting-House, on the other side of the street; and the towers and turrets of the new Houses of Parliament were all but invisible, as was the Abbey itself; so that we really were in some doubt whither we were going. We found our way to Poets' Corner, however, and entered those holy precincts, which looked very dusky and grim in the smoky light. . . . . I was strongly impressed with the perception that very commonplace people compose the great bulk of society in the home of the illustrious dead. It is wonderful how few names there are that one cares anything about a hundred years after their departure; but perhaps each generation acts in good faith in canonizing its own men. . . . . But the fame of the buried person does not make the marble live,--the marble keeps merely a cold and sad memory of a man who would else be forgotten. No man who needs a monument ever ought to have one. The painted windows of the Abbey, though mostly modern, are exceedingly rich and beautiful; and I do think that human art has invented no other such magnificent method of adornment as this. Our final visit to-day was to the National Gallery, where I came to the conclusion that Murillo's St. John was the most lovely picture I have ever seen, and that there never was a painter who has really made the world richer, except Murillo. November 12th.--This morning we issued forth, and found the atmosphere chill and almost frosty, tingling upon our cheeks. . . . . The gateway of Somerset House attracted us, and we walked round its spacious quadrangle, encountering many government clerks hurrying to their various offices. At least, I presumed them to be so. This is certainly a handsome square of buildings, with its Grecian facades and pillars, and its sculptured bas-reliefs, and the group of statuary in the midst of the court. Besides the part of the edifice that rises above ground, there appear to be two subterranean stories below the surface. From Somerset House we pursued our way through Temple Bar, but missed it, and therefore entered by the passage from what was formerly Alsatia, but which now seems to be a very respectable and humdrum part of London. We came immediately to the Temple Gardens, which we walked quite round. The grass is still green, but the trees are leafless, and had an aspect of not being very robust, even at more genial seasons of the year. There were, however, large quantities of brilliant chrysanthemums, golden, and of all hues, blooming gorgeously all about the borders; and several gardeners were at work, tending these flowers, and sheltering them from the weather. I noticed no roses, nor even rose-bushes, in the spot where the factions of York and Lancaster plucked their two hostile flowers. Leaving these grounds, we went to the Hall of the Middle Temple, where we knocked at the portal, and, finding it not fastened, thrust it open. A boy appeared within, and the porter or keeper, at a distance, along the inner passage, called to us to enter; and, opening the door of the great hall, left us to view it till he should be at leisure to attend to us. Truly it is a most magnificent apartment; very lofty,--so lofty, indeed, that the antique oak roof was quite hidden, as regarded all its details, in the sombre gloom that brooded under its rafters. The hall was lighted by four great windows, I think, on each of the two sides, descending half-way from the ceiling to the floor, leaving all beneath enclosed by oaken panelling, which, on three sides, was carved with escutcheons of such members of the society as have held the office of reader. There is likewise, in a large recess or transept, a great window, occupying the full height of the hall, and splendidly emblazoned with the arms of the Templars who have attained to the dignity of Chief Justices. The other windows are pictured, in like manner, with coats of arms of local dignitaries connected with the Temple; and besides all these there are arched lights, high towards the roof, at either end full of richly and chastely colored glass, and all the illumination that the great hall had come through these glorious panes, and they seemed the richer for the sombreness in which we stood. I cannot describe, or even intimate, the effect of this transparent glory, glowing down upon us in that gloomy depth of the hall. The screen at the lower end was of carved oak, very dark and highly polished, and as old as Queen Elizabeth's time. The keeper told us that the story of the Armada was said to be represented in these carvings, but in the imperfect light we could trace nothing of it out. Along the length of the apartment were set two oaken tables for the students of law to dine upon; and on the dais, at the upper end, there was a cross-table for the big-wigs of the society; the latter being provided with comfortable chairs, and the former with oaken benches. From a notification, posted near the door, I gathered that the cost of dinners is two shillings to each gentleman, including, as the attendant told me, ale and wine. I am reluctant to leave this hall without expressing how grave, how grand, how sombre, and how magnificent I feel it to be. As regards historical association, it was a favorite dancing-hall of Queen Elizabeth, and Sir Christopher Hatton danced himself into her good graces here. We next went to the Temple Church, and, finding the door ajar, made free to enter beneath its Norman arches, which admitted us into a circular vestibule, very ancient and beautiful. In the body of the church beyond we saw a boy sitting, but nobody either forbade or invited our entrance. On the floor of the vestibule lay about half a score of Templars,--the representatives of the warlike priests who built this church and formerly held these precincts,--all in chain armor, grasping their swords, and with their shields beside them. Except two or three, they lay cross-legged, in token that they had really fought for the Holy Sepulchre. I think I have seen nowhere else such well-preserved monumental knights as these. We proceeded into the interior of the church, and were greatly impressed with its wonderful beauty,--the roof springing, as it were, in a harmonious and accordant fountain, out of the clustered pillars that support its groined arches; and these pillars, immense as they are, are polished like so many gems. They are of Purbeck marble, and, if I mistake not, had been covered with plaster for ages until latterly redeemed and beautified anew. But the glory of the church is its old painted windows; and, positively, those great spaces over the chancel appeared to be set with all manner of precious stones,--or it was as if the many-colored radiance of heaven were breaking upon us,--or as if we saw the wings of angels, storied over with richly tinted pictures of holy things. But it is idle to talk of this marvellous adornment; it is to be seen and wondered at, not written about. Before we left the church, the porter made his appearance, in time to receive his fee,-- which somebody, indeed, is always ready to stretch out his hand for. And so ended our visit to the Temple, which, by the by, though close to the midmost bustle of London, is as quiet as if it were always Sunday there. We now went to St. Paul's. U---- and Miss Shepard ascended to the Whispering Gallery, and we, sitting under the dome, at the base of one of the pillars, saw them far above us, looking very indistinct, for those misty upper-depths seemed almost to be hung with clouds. This cathedral, I think, does not profit by gloom, but requires cheerful sunshine to show it to the best advantage. The statues and sculptures in St. Paul's are mostly covered with years of dust, and look thereby very grim and ugly; but there are few memories there from which I should care to brush away the dust, they being, in nine cases out of ten, naval and military heroes of second or third class merit. I really remember no literary celebrity admitted solely on that account, except Dr. Johnson. The Crimean war has supplied two or three monuments, chiefly mural tablets; and doubtless more of the same excrescences will yet come out upon the walls. One thing that I newly noticed was the beautiful shape of the great, covered marble vase that serves for a font. From St. Paul's we went down Cheapside, and, turning into King Street, visited Guildhall, which we found in process of decoration for a public ball, to take place next week. It looked rather gewgawish thus gorgeous, being hung with flags of all nations, and adorned with military trophies; and the scene was repeated by a range of looking-glasses at one end of the room. The execrably painted windows really shocked us by their vulgar glare, after those of the Temple Hall and Church; yet, a few years ago, I might very likely have thought them beautiful. Our own national banner, I must remember to say, was hanging in Guildhall, but with only ten stars, and an insufficient number of stripes. November 15th.--Yesterday morning we went to London Bridge and along Lower Thames Street, and quickly found ourselves in Billingsgate Market, --a dirty, evil-smelling, crowded precinct, thronged with people carrying fish on their heads, and lined with fish-shops and fish-stalls, and pervaded with a fishy odor. The footwalk was narrow,--as indeed was the whole street,--and filthy to travel upon; and we had to elbow our way among rough men and slatternly women, and to guard our heads from the contact of fish-trays; very ugly, grimy, and misty, moreover, is Billingsgate Market, and though we heard none of the foul language of which it is supposed to be the fountain-head, yet it has its own peculiarities of behavior. For instance, U---- tells me that one man, staring at her and her governess as they passed, cried out, "What beauties!"--another, looking under her veil, greeted her with, "Good morning, my love!" We were in advance, and heard nothing of these civilities. Struggling through this fishy purgatory, we caught sight of the Tower, as we drew near the end of the street; and I put all my party under charge of one of the Trump Cards, not being myself inclined to make the rounds of the small part of the fortress that is shown, so soon after my late visit. When they departed with the warder, I set out by myself to wander about the exterior of the Tower, looking with interest at what I suppose to be Tower Hill,--a slight elevation of the large open space into which Great Tower Street opens; though, perhaps, what is now called Trinity Square may have been a part of Tower Hill, and possibly the precise spot where the executions took place. Keeping to the right, round the Tower, I found the moat quite surrounded by a fence of iron rails, excluding me from a pleasant gravel-path, among flowers and shrubbery, on the inside, where I could see nursery-maids giving children their airings. Possibly these may have been the privileged inhabitants of the Tower, which certainly might contain the population of a large village. The aspect of the fortress has so much that is new and modern about it that it can hardly be called picturesque, and yet it seems unfair to withhold that epithet from such a collection of gray ramparts. I followed the iron fence quite round the outer grounds, till it approached the Thames, and in this direction the moat and the pleasure-ground terminate in a narrow graveyard, which extends beneath the walls, and looks neglected and shaggy with long grass. It appeared to contain graves enough, but only a few tombstones, of which I could read the inscription of but one; it commemorated a Mr. George Gibson, a person of no note, nor apparently connected with the place. St. Katharine's Dock lies along the Thames, in this vicinity; and while on one side of me were the Tower, the quiet gravel-path, and the shaggy graveyard, on the other were draymen and their horses, dock-laborers, sailors, empty puncheons, and a miscellaneous spectacle of life,--including organ-grinders, men roasting chestnuts over small ovens on the sidewalk, boys and women with boards or wheelbarrows of apples, oyster-stands, besides pedlers of small wares, dirty children at play, and other figures and things that a Dutch painter would seize upon. I went a little way into St. Katharine's Dock, and found it crowded with great ships; then, returning, I strolled along the range of shops that front towards this side of the Tower. They have all something to do with ships, sailors, and commerce; being for the sale of ships' stores, nautical instruments, arms, clothing, together with a tavern and grog-shop at every other door; bookstalls, too, covered with cheap novels and song-books; cigar-shops in great numbers; and everywhere were sailors, and here and there a soldier, and children at the doorsteps, and women showing themselves at the doors or windows of their domiciles. These latter figures, however, pertain rather to the street up which I walked, penetrating into the interior of this region, which, I think, is Blackwall--no, I forget what its name is. At all events, it has an ancient and most grimy and rough look, with its old gabled houses, each of them the seat of some petty trade and business in its basement story. Among these I saw one house with three or four peaks along its front,--a second story projecting over the basement, and the whole clapboarded over. . . . . There was a butcher's stall in the lower story, with a front open to the street, in the ancient fashion, which seems to be retained only by butchers' shops. This part of London having escaped the Great Fire, I suppose there may be many relics of architectural antiquity hereabouts. At the end of an hour I went back to the Refreshment-room, within the outer gate of the Tower, where the rest of us shortly appeared. We now returned westward by way of Great Tower Street, Eastcheap, and Cannon Street, and, entering St. Paul's, sat down beneath the misty dome to rest ourselves. The muffled roar of the city, as we heard it there, is very soothing, and keeps one listening to it, somewhat as the flow of a river keeps us looking at it. It is a grand and quiet sound; and, ever and anon, a distant door slammed somewhere in the cathedral, and reverberated long and heavily, like the roll of thunder or the boom of cannon. Every noise that is loud enough to be heard in so vast an edifice melts into the great quietude. The interior looked very sombre, and the dome hung over us like a cloudy sky. I wish it were possible to pass directly from St. Paul's into York Minster, or from the latter into the former; that is, if one's mind could manage to stagger under both in the same day. There is no other way of judging of their comparative effect. Under the influence of that grand lullaby,--the roar of the city,--we sat for some time after we were sufficiently rested; but at last plunged forth again, and went up Newgate Street, pausing to look through the iron railings of Christ's Hospital. The boys, however, were not at play; so we went onward, in quest of Smithfield, and on our way had a greeting from Mr. Silsbee, a gentleman of our own native town. Parting with him, we found Smithfield, which is still occupied with pens for cattle, though I believe it has ceased to be a cattle-market. Except it be St. Bartholomew's hospital on one side, there is nothing interesting in this ugly square; though, no doubt, a few feet under the pavement there are bones and ashes as precious as anything of the kind on earth. I wonder when men will begin to erect monuments to human error; hitherto their pillars and statues have only been for the sake of glorification. But, after all, the present fashion may be the better and wholesomer. . . . . November 16th.--Mr. Silsbee called yesterday, and talked about matters of art, in which he is deeply interested, and which he has had good opportunities of becoming acquainted with, during three years' travel on the Continent. He is a man of great intelligence and true feeling, and absolutely brims over with ideas,--his conversation flowing in a constant stream, which it appears to be no trouble whatever to him to keep up. . . . . He took his leave after a long call, and left with us a manuscript, describing a visit to Berlin, which I read to my wife in the evening. It was well worth reading. He made an engagement to go with us to the Crystal Palace, and came rather for that purpose this morning. We drove to the London Bridge station, where we bought return tickets that entitled us to admission to the Palace, as well as conveyance thither, for half a crown apiece. On our arrival we entered by the garden front, thus gaining a fine view of the ornamental grounds, with their fountains and stately pathways, bordered with statues; and of the edifice itself, so vast and fairy-like, looking as if it were a bubble, and might vanish at a touch. There is as little beauty in the architecture of the Crystal Palace, however, as was possible to be with such gigantic use of such a material. No doubt, an architectural order of which we have as yet little or no idea is to be developed from the use of glass as a building-material, instead of brick and stone. It will have its own rules and its own results; but, meanwhile, even the present Palace is positively a very beautiful object. On entering we found the atmosphere chill and comfortless,--more so, it seemed to me, than the open air itself. It was not a genial day; though now and then the sun gleamed out, and once caused fine effects in the glasswork of a crystal fountain in one of the courts. We were under Mr. Silshee's guidance for the day, . . . . and first we looked at the sculpture, which is composed chiefly of casts or copies of the most famous statues of all ages, and likewise of those crumbs and little fragments which have fallen from Time's jaw,--and half-picked bones, as it were, that have been gathered up from spots where he has feasted full,--torsos, heads and broken limbs, some of them half worn away, as if they had been rolled over and over in the sea. I saw nothing in the sculptural way, either modern or antique, that impressed me so much as a statue of a nude mother by a French artist. In a sitting posture, with one knee over the other, she was clasping her highest knee with both hands; and in the hollow cradle thus formed by her arms lay two sweet little babies, as snug and close to her heart as if they had not yet been born,--two little love-blossoms,--and the mother encircling them and pervading them with love. But an infinite pathos and strange terror are given to this beautiful group by some faint bas-reliefs on the pedestal, indicating that the happy mother is Eve, and Cain and Abel the two innocent babes. Then we went to the Alhambra, which looks like an enchanted palace. If it had been a sunny day, I should have enjoyed it more; but it was miserable to shiver and shake in the Court of the Lions, and in those chambers which were contrived as places of refuge from a fervid temperature. Furthermore, it is not quite agreeable to see such clever specimens of stage decoration; they are so very good that it gets to be past a joke, without becoming actual earnest. I had not a similar feeling in respect to the reproduction of mediaeval statues, arches, doorways, all brilliantly colored as in the days of their first glory; yet I do not know but that the first is as little objectionable as the last. Certainly, in both cases, scenes and objects of a past age are here more vividly presented to the dullest mind than without such material facilities they could possibly be brought before the most powerful imagination. Truly, the Crystal Palace, in all its departments, offers wonderful means of education. I marvel what will come of it. Among the things that I admired most was Benvenuto Cellini's statue of Perseus holding the head of Medusa, and standing over her headless and still writhing body, out of which, at the severed neck, gushed a vast exuberance of snakes. Likewise, a sitting statue, by Michel Angelo, of one of the Medici, full of dignity and grace and reposeful might. Also the bronze gate of a baptistery in Florence, carved all over with relieves of Scripture subjects, executed in the most lifelike and expressive manner. The cast itself was a miracle of art. I should have taken it for the genuine original bronze. We then wandered into the House of Diomed, which seemed to me a dismal abode, affording no possibility of comfort. We sat down in one of the rooms, on an iron bench, very cold. It being by this time two o'clock, we went to the Refreshment-room and lunched; and before we had finished our repast, my wife discovered that she had lost her sable tippet, which she had been carrying on her arm. Mr. Silsbee most kindly and obligingly immediately went in quest of it, . . . . but to no purpose. . . . . Upon entering the Tropical Saloon, we found a most welcome and delightful change of temperature among those gigantic leaves of banyan-trees, and the broad expanse of water-plants, floating on lakes, and spacious aviaries, where birds of brilliant plumage sported and sang amid such foliage as they knew at home. Howbeit, the atmosphere was a little faint and sickish, perhaps owing to the odor of the half-tepid water. The most remarkable object here was the trunk of a tree, huge beyond imagination, --a pine-tree from California. It was only the stripped-off bark, however, which had been conveyed hither in segments, and put together again beyond the height of the palace roof; and the hollow interior circle of the tree was large enough to contain fifty people, I should think. We entered and sat down in all the remoteness from one another that is attainable in a good-sized drawing-room. We then ascended the gallery to get a view of this vast tree from a more elevated position, and found it looked even bigger from above. Then we loitered slowly along the gallery as far as it extended, and afterwards descended into the nave; for it was getting dusk, and a horn had sounded, and a bell rung a warning to such as delayed in the remote regions of the building. Mr. Silsbee again most kindly went in quest of the sables, but still without success. . . . . I have not much enjoyed the Crystal Palace, but think it a great and admirable achievement. November 19th.--On Tuesday evening Mr. Silsbee came to read some letters which he has written to his friends, chiefly giving his observations on Art, together with descriptions of Venice and other cities on the Continent. They were very good, and indicate much sensibility and talent. After the reading we had a little oyster-supper and wine. I had written a note to ------, and received an answer, indicating that he was much weighed down by his financial misfortune. . . . . However, he desired me to come and see him; so yesterday morning I wended my way down into the city, and after various reluctant circumlocutions arrived at his house. The interior looked confused and dismal. It seems to me nobody else runs such risks as a man of business, because he risks everything. Every other man, into whatever depth of poverty he may sink, has still something left, be he author, scholar, handicraftman, or what not; the merchant has nothing. We parted with a long and strong grasp of the hand, and ------ promised to come and see us soon. . . . . On my way home I called at Truebner's in Pater Noster Row. . . . . I waited a few minutes, he being busy with a tall, muscular, English-built man, who, after he had taken leave, Truebner told me was Charles Reade. I once met him at an evening party, but should have been glad to meet him again, now that I appreciate him so much better after reading Never too Late to Mend. December 6th.--All these days, since my last date, have been marked by nothing very well worthy of detail and description. I have walked the streets a great deal in the dull November days, and always take a certain pleasure in being in the midst of human life,--as closely encompassed by it as it is possible to be anywhere in this world; and in that way of viewing it there is a dull and sombre enjoyment always to be had in Holborn, Fleet Street, Cheapside, and the other busiest parts of London. It is human life; it is this material world; it is a grim and heavy reality. I have never had the same sense of being surrounded by materialisms and hemmed in with the grossness of this earthly existence anywhere else; these broad, crowded streets are so evidently the veins and arteries of an enormous city. London is evidenced in every one of them, just as a megatherium is in each of its separate bones, even if they be small ones. Thus I never fail of a sort of self-congratulation in finding myself, for instance, passing along Ludgate Hill; but, in spite of this, it is really an ungladdened life to wander through these huge, thronged ways, over a pavement foul with mud, ground into it by a million of footsteps; jostling against people who do not seem to be individuals, but all one mass, so homogeneous is the street-walking aspect of them; the roar of vehicles pervading me,--wearisome cabs and omnibuses; everywhere the dingy brick edifices heaving themselves up, and shutting out all but a strip of sullen cloud, that serves London for a sky,--in short, a general impression of grime and sordidness; and at this season always a fog scattered along the vista of streets, sometimes so densely as almost to spiritualize the materialism and make the scene resemble the other world of worldly people, gross even in ghostliness. It is strange how little splendor and brilliancy one sees in London,--in the city almost none, though some in the shops of Regent Street. My wife has had a season of indisposition within the last few weeks, so that my rambles have generally been solitary, or with J----- only for a companion. I think my only excursion with my wife was a week ago, when we went to Lincoln's Inn Fields, which truly are almost fields right in the heart of London, and as retired and secluded as if the surrounding city were a forest, and its heavy roar were the wind among the branches. We gained admission into the noble Hall, which is modern, but built in antique style, and stately and beautiful exceedingly. I have forgotten all but the general effect, with its lofty oaken roof, its panelled walls, with the windows high above, and the great arched window at one end full of painted coats of arms, which the light glorifies in passing through them, as if each were the escutcheon of some illustrious personage. Thence we went to the chapel of Lincoln's Inn, where, on entering, we found a class of young choristers receiving instruction from their music-master, while the organ accompanied their strains. These young, clear, fresh, elastic voices are wonderfully beautiful; they are like those of women, yet have something more birdlike and aspiring, more like what one conceives of the singing of angels. As for the singing of saints and blessed spirits that have once been human, it never can resemble that of these young voices; for no duration of heavenly enjoyments will ever quite take the mortal sadness out of it. In this chapel we saw some painted windows of the time of James I., a period much subsequent, to the age when painted glass was in its glory; but the pictures of Scriptural people in these windows were certainly very fine,--the figures being as large as life, and the faces having much expression. The sunshine came in through some of them, and produced a beautiful effect, almost as if the painted forms were the glorified spirits of those holy personages. After leaving Lincoln's Inn, we looked at Gray's Inn, which is a great, quiet domain, quadrangle beyond quadrangle, close beside Holborn, and a large space of greensward enclosed within it. It is very strange to find so much of ancient quietude right in the monster city's very jaws, which yet the monster shall not eat up,--right in its very belly, indeed, which yet, in all these ages, it shall not digest and convert into the same substance as the rest of its bustling streets. Nothing else in London is so like the effect of a spell, as to pass under one of these archways, and find yourself transported from the jumble, mob, tumult, uproar, as of an age of week-days condensed into the present hour, into what seems an eternal sabbath. Thence we went into Staple Inn, I think it was,--which has a front upon Holborn of four or five ancient gables in a row, and a low arch under the impending story, admitting you into a paved quadrangle, beyond which you have the vista of another. I do not understand that the residences and chambers in these Inns of Court are now exclusively let to lawyers; though such inhabitants certainly seem to preponderate there. Since then J----- and I walked down into the Strand, and found ourselves unexpectedly mixed up with a crowd that grew denser as we approached Charing Cross, and became absolutely impermeable when we attempted to make our way to Whitehall. The wicket in the gate of Northumberland House, by the by, was open, and gave me a glimpse of the front of the edifice within,--a very partial glimpse, however, and that obstructed by the solid person of a footman, who, with some women, were passing out from within. The crowd was a real English crowd, perfectly undemonstrative, and entirely decorous, being composed mostly of well-dressed people, and largely of women. The cause of the assemblage was the opening of Parliament by the Queen, but we were too late for any chance of seeing her Majesty. However, we extricated ourselves from the multitude, and, going along Pall Mall, got into the Park by the steps at the foot of the Duke of York's Column, and thence went to the Whitehall Gateway, outside of which we found the Horse Guards drawn up,--a regiment of black horses and burnished cuirasses. On our way thither an open carriage came through the gateway into the Park, conveying two ladies in court dresses; and another splendid chariot pressed out through the gateway,--the coachman in a cocked hat and scarlet and gold embroidery, and two other scarlet and gold figures hanging behind. It was one of the Queen's carriages, but seemed to have nobody in it. I have forgotten to mention what, I think, produced more effect on me than anything else, namely, the clash of the bells from the steeple of St. Martin's Church and those of St. Margaret. Really, London seemed to cry out through them, and bid welcome to the Queen. December 7th.--This being a muddy and dismal day, I went only to the BRITISH MUSEUM, which is but a short walk down the street (Great Russell Street). I have now visited it often enough to be on more familiar terms with it than at first, and therefore do not feel myself so weighed down by the many things to be seen. I have ceased to expect or hope or wish to devour and digest the whole enormous collection; so I content myself with individual things, and succeed in getting now and then a little honey from them. Unless I were studying some particular branch of history or science or art, this is the best that can be done with the British Museum. I went first to-day into the Townley Gallery, and so along through all the ancient sculpture, and was glad to find myself able to sympathize more than heretofore with the forms of grace and beauty which are preserved there,--poor, maimed immortalities as they are,--headless and legless trunks, godlike cripples, faces beautiful and broken-nosed,-- heroic shapes which have stood so long, or lain prostrate so long, in the open air, that even the atmosphere of Greece has almost dissolved the external layer of the marble; and yet, however much they may be worn away, or battered and shattered, the grace and nobility seem as deep in them as the very heart of the stone. It cannot be destroyed, except by grinding them to powder. In short, I do really believe that there was an excellence in ancient sculpture, which has yet a potency to educate and refine the minds of those who look at it even so carelessly and casually as I do. As regards the frieze of the Parthenon, I must remark that the horses represented on it, though they show great spirit and lifelikeness, are rather of the pony species than what would be considered fine horses now. Doubtless, modern breeding has wrought a difference in the animal. Flaxman, in his outlines, seems to have imitated these classic steeds of the Parthenon, and thus has produced horses that always appeared to me affected and diminutively monstrous. From the classic sculpture, I passed through an Assyrian room, where the walls are lined with great slabs of marble sculptured in bas-relief with scenes in the life of Senmacherib, I believe; very ugly, to be sure, yet artistically done in their own style, and in wonderfully good preservation. Indeed, if the chisel had cut its last stroke in them yesterday, the work could not be more sharp and distinct. In glass cases, in this room, are little relics and scraps of utensils, and a great deal of fragmentary rubbish, dug up by Layard in his researches,-- things that it is hard to call anything but trash, but which yet may be of great significance as indicating the modes of life of a long-past race. I remember nothing particularly just now, except some pieces of broken glass, iridescent with certainly the most beautiful hues in the world,--indescribably beautiful, and unimaginably, unless one can conceive of the colors of the rainbow, and a thousand glorious sunsets, and the autumnal forest-leaves of America, all condensed upon a little fragment of a glass cup,--and that, too, without becoming in the least glaring or flagrant, but mildly glorious, as we may fancy the shifting lines of an angel's wing may be. I think this chaste splendor will glow in my memory for years to come. It is the effect of time, and cannot be imitated by any known process of art. I have seen it in specimens of old Roman glass, which has been famous here in England; but never in anything is there the brilliancy of these Oriental fragments. How strange that decay, in dark places, and underground, and where there are a billion chances to one that nobody will ever see its handiwork, should produce these beautiful effects! The glass seems to become perfectly brittle, so that it would vanish, like a soap-bubble, if touched. Ascending the stairs, I went through the halls of fossil remains,--which I care little for, though one of them is a human skeleton in limestone,-- and through several rooms of mineralogical specimens, including all the gems in the world, among which is seen, not the Koh-i-noor itself, but a fac-simile of it in crystal. I think the aerolites are as interesting as anything in this department, and one piece of pure iron, laid against the wall of the room, weighs about fourteen hundred pounds. Whence could it have come? If these aerolites are bits of other planets, how happen they to be always iron? But I know no more of this than if I were a philosopher. Then I went through rooms of shells and fishes and reptiles and tortoises, crocodiles and alligators and insects, including all manner of butterflies, some of which had wings precisely like leaves, a little withered and faded, even the skeleton and fibres of the leaves represented; and immense hairy spiders, covering, with the whole circumference of their legs, a space as big as a saucer; and centipedes little less than a foot long; and winged insects that look like jointed twigs of a tree. In America, I remember, when I lived in Lenox, I found an insect of this species, and at first really mistook it for a twig. It was smaller than these specimens in the Museum. I suppose every creature, almost, that runs or creeps or swims or flies, is represented in this collection of Natural History; and it puzzles me to think what they were all made for, though it is quite as mysterious why man himself was made. By and by I entered the room of Egyptian mummies, of which there are a good many, one of which, the body of a priestess, is unrolled, except the innermost layer of linen. The outline of her face is perfectly visible. Mummies of cats, dogs, snakes, and children are in the wall-cases, together with a vast many articles of Egyptian manufacture and use,--even children's toys; bread, too, in flat cakes; grapes, that have turned to raisins in the grave; queerest of all, methinks, a curly wig, that is supposed to have belonged to a woman,--together with the wooden box that held it. The hair is brown, and the wig is as perfect as if it had been made for some now living dowager. From Egypt we pass into rooms containing vases and other articles of Grecian and Roman workmanship, and funeral urns, and beads, and rings, none of them very beautiful. I saw some splendid specimens, however, at a former visit, when I obtained admission to a room not indiscriminately shown to visitors. What chiefly interested me in that room was a cast taken from the face of Cromwell after death; representing a wide-mouthed, long-chinned, uncomely visage, with a triangular English nose in the very centre. There were various other curiosities, which I fancied were safe in my memory, but they do not now come uppermost. To return to my to-day's progress through the Museum;--next to the classic rooms are the collections of Saxon and British and early English antiquities, the earlier portions of which are not very interesting to me, possessing little or no beauty in themselves, and indicating a kind of life too remote from our own to be readily sympathized with. Who cares for glass beads and copper brooches, and knives, spear-heads, and swords, all so rusty that they look as much like pieces of old iron hoop as anything else? The bed of the Thames has been a rich treasury of antiquities, from the time of the Roman Conquest downwards; it seems to preserve bronze in considerable perfection, but not iron. Among the mediaeval relics, the carvings in ivory are often very exquisite and elaborate. There are likewise caskets and coffers, and a thousand other Old World ornamental works; but I saw so many and such superior specimens of them at the Manchester Exhibition, that I shall say nothing of them here. The seal-ring of Mary, Queen of Scots, is in one of the cases; it must have been a thumb-ring, judging from its size, and it has a dark stone, engraved with armorial bearings. In another case is the magic glass formerly used by Dr. Doe, and in which, if I rightly remember, used to be seen prophetic visions or figures of persons and scenes at a distance. It is a round ball of glass or crystal, slightly tinged with a pinkish hue, and about as big as a small apple, or a little bigger than an egg would be if perfectly round. This ancient humbug kept me looking at it perhaps ten minutes; and I saw my own face dimly in it, but no other vision. Lastly, I passed through the Ethnographical Rooms; but I care little for the varieties of the human race,--all that is really important and interesting being found in our own variety. Perhaps equally in any other. This brought me to the head of one of the staircases, descending which I entered the library. Here--not to speak of the noble rooms and halls--there are numberless treasures beyond all price; too valuable in their way for me to select any one as more curious and valuable than many others. Letters of statesmen and warriors of all nations, and several centuries back,--among which, long as it has taken Europe to produce them, I saw none so illustrious as those of Washington, nor more so than Franklin's, whom America gave to the world in her nonage; and epistles of poets and artists, and of kings, too, whose chirography appears to have been much better than I should have expected from fingers so often cramped in iron gauntlets. In another case there were the original autograph copies of several famous works,--for example, that of Pope's Homer, written on the backs of letters, the direction and seals of which appear in the midst of "the Tale of Troy divine," which also is much scratched and interlined with Pope's corrections; a manuscript of one of Ben Jonson's masques; of the Sentimental Journey, written in much more careful and formal style than might be expected, the book pretending to be a harum-scarum; of Walter Scott's Kenilworth, bearing such an aspect of straightforward diligence that I shall hardly think of it again as a romance;--in short, I may as well drop the whole matter here. All through the long vista of the king's library, we come to cases in which--with their pages open beneath the glass--we see books worth their weight in gold, either for their uniqueness or their beauty, or because they have belonged to illustrious men, and have their autographs in them. The copy of the English translation of Montaigne, containing the strange scrawl of Shakespeare's autograph, is here. Bacon's name is in another book; Queen Elizabeth's in another; and there is a little devotional volume, with Lady Jane Grey's writing in it. She is supposed to have taken it to the scaffold with her. Here, too, I saw a copy, which was printed at a Venetian press at the time, of the challenge which the Admirable Crichton caused to be posted on the church doors of Venice, defying all the scholars of Italy to encounter him. But if I mention one thing, I find fault with myself for not putting down fifty others just as interesting,--and, after all, there is an official catalogue, no doubt, of the whole. As I do not mean to fill any more pages with the British Museum, I will just mention the hall of Egyptian antiquities on the ground-floor of the edifice, though I did not pass through it to-day. They consist of things that would be very ugly and contemptible if they were not so immensely magnified; but it is impossible not to acknowledge a certain grandeur, resulting from the scale on which those strange old sculptors wrought. For instance, there is a granite fist of prodigious size, at least a yard across, and looking as if it were doubled in the face of Time, defying him to destroy it. All the rest of the statue to which it belonged seems to have vanished; but this fist will certainly outlast the Museum, and whatever else it contains, unless it be some similar Egyptian ponderosity. There is a beetle, wrought out of immensely hard black stone, as big as a hogshead. It is satisfactory to see a thing so big and heavy. Then there are huge stone sarcophagi, engraved with hieroglyphics within and without, all as good as new, though their age is reckoned by thousands of years. These great coffins are of vast weight and mass, insomuch that when once the accurately fitting lids were shut down, there might have seemed little chance of their being lifted again till the Resurrection. I positively like these coffins, they are so faithfully made, and so black and stern,--and polished to such a nicety, only to be buried forever; for the workmen, and the kings who were laid to sleep within, could never have dreamed of the British Museum. There is a deity named Pasht, who sits in the hall, very big, very grave, carved of black stone, and very ludicrous, wearing a dog's head. I will just mention the Rosetta Stone, with a Greek inscription, and another in Egyptian characters which gave the clew to a whole field of history; and shall pretermit all further handling of this unwieldy subject. In all the rooms I saw people of the poorer classes, some of whom seemed to view the objects intelligently, and to take a genuine interest in them. A poor man in London has great opportunities of cultivating himself if he will only make the best of them; and such an institution as the British Museum can hardly fail to attract, as the magnet does steel, the minds that are likeliest to be benefited by it in its various departments. I saw many children there, and some ragged boys. It deserves to be noticed that some small figures of Indian Thugs, represented as engaged in their profession and handiwork of cajoling and strangling travellers, have been removed from the place which they formerly occupied in the part of the Museum shown to the general public. They are now in the more private room, and the reason of their withdrawal is, that, according to the Chaplain of Newgate, the practice of garroting was suggested to the English thieves by this representation of Indian Thugs. It is edifying, after what I have written in the preceding paragraph, to find that the only lesson known to have been inculcated here is that of a new mode of outrage. December 8th.--This morning, when it was time to rise, there was but a glimmering of daylight, and we had candles on the breakfast-table at nearly ten o'clock. All abroad there was a dense dim fog brooding through the atmosphere, insomuch that we could hardly see across the street. At eleven o'clock I went out into the midst of the fog-bank, which for the moment seemed a little more interfused with daylight; for there seem to be continual changes in the density of this dim medium, which varies so much that now you can but just see your hand before you, and a moment afterwards you can see the cabs dashing out of the duskiness a score of yards off. It is seldom or never, moreover, an unmitigated gloom, but appears to be mixed up with sunshine in different proportions; sometimes only one part sun to a thousand of smoke and fog, and sometimes sunshine enough to give the whole mass a coppery line. This would have been a bright sunny day but for the interference of the fog; and before I had been out long, I actually saw the sun looking red and rayless, much like the millionth magnification of a new halfpenny. I was bound towards Bennoch's; for he had written a note to apologize for not visiting us, and I had promised to call and see him to-day. I went to Marlborough House to look at the English pictures, which I care more about seeing, here in England, than those of foreign artists, because the latter will be found more numerously and better on the Continent. I saw many pictures that pleased me; nothing that impressed me very strongly. Pictorial talent seems to be abundant enough, up to a certain point; pictorial genius, I should judge, is among the rarest of gifts. To be sure, I very likely might not recognize it where it existed; and yet it ought to have the power of making itself known even to the uninstructed mind, as literary genius does. If it exist only for connoisseurs, it is a very suspicious matter. I looked at all Turner's pictures, and at many of his drawings; and must again confess myself wholly unable to understand more than a very few of them. Even those few are tantalizing. At a certain distance you discern what appears to be a grand and beautiful picture, which you shall admire and enjoy infinitely if you can get within the range of distinct vision. You come nearer, and find only blotches of color and dabs of the brush, meaning nothing when you look closely, and meaning a mystery at the point where the painter intended to station you. Some landscapes there were, indeed, full of imaginative beauty, and of the better truth etherealized out of the prosaic truth of Nature; only it was still impossible actually to see it. There was a mist over it; or it was like a tract of beautiful dreamland, seen dimly through sleep, and glimmering out of sight, if looked upon with wide-open eyes. These were the more satisfactory specimens. There were many others which I could not comprehend in the remotest degree; not even so far as to conjecture whether they purported to represent earth, sea, or sky. In fact, I should not have known them to be pictures at all, but might have supposed that the artist had been trying his brush on the canvas, mixing up all sorts of hues, but principally white paint, and now and then producing an agreeable harmony of color without particularly intending it. Now that I have done my best to understand them without an interpreter, I mean to buy Ruskin's pamphlet at my next visit, and look at them through his eyes. But I do not think that I can be driven out of the idea that a picture ought to have something in common with what the spectator sees in nature. Marlborough House may be converted, I think, into a very handsome residence for the young Prince of Wales. The entrance from the court-yard is into a large, square central hall, the painted ceiling of which is at the whole height of the edifice, and has a gallery on one side, whence it would be pleasant to look down on a festal scene below. The rooms are of fine proportions, with vaulted ceilings, and with fireplaces and mantel-pieces of great beauty, adorned with pillars and terminal figures of white and of variegated marble; and in the centre of each mantel-piece there is a marble tablet, exquisitely sculptured with classical designs, done in such high relief that the figures are sometimes almost disengaged from the background. One of the subjects was Androcles, or whatever was his name, taking the thorn out of the lion's foot. I suppose these works are of the era of the first old Duke and Duchess. After all, however, for some reason or other, the house does not at first strike you as a noble and princely one, and you have to convince yourself of it by examining it more in detail. On leaving Marlborough House, I stepped for a few moments into the National Gallery, and looked, among other things, at the Turners and Claudes that hung there side by side. These pictures, I think, are quite the most comprehensible of Turner's productions; but I must say I prefer the Claudes. The latter catches "the light that never was on sea or land" without taking you quite away from nature for it. Nevertheless, I will not be quite certain that I care for any painter except Murillo, whose St. John I should like to own. As far as my own pleasure is concerned, I could not say as much for any other picture; for I have always found an infinite weariness and disgust resulting from a picture being too frequently before my eyes. I had rather see a basilisk, for instance, than the very best of those old, familiar pictures in the Boston Athenaeum; and most of those in the National Gallery might soon affect me in the same way. From the Gallery I almost groped my way towards the city, for the fog seemed to grow denser and denser as I advanced; and when I reached St. Paul's, the sunny intermixture above spoken of was at its minimum, so that, the smoke-cloud grew really black about the dome and pinnacles, and the statues of saints looked down dimly from their standpoints on high. It was very grand, however, to see the pillars and porticos, and the huge bulk of the edifice, heaving up its dome from an obscure foundation into yet more shadowy obscurity; and by the time I reached the corner of the churchyard nearest Cheapside, the whole vast cathedral had utterly vanished, leaving "not a wrack behind," unless those thick, dark vapors were the elements of which it had been composed, and into which it had again dissolved. It is good to think, nevertheless,--and I gladly accept the analogy and the moral,--that the cathedral was really there, and as substantial as ever, though those earthly mists had hidden it from mortal eyes. I found ------ in better spirits than when I saw him last, but his misfortune has been too real not to affect him long and deeply. He was cheerful, however, and his face shone with almost its old lustre. It has still the cheeriest glow that I ever saw in any human countenance. I went home by way of Holborn, and the fog was denser than ever,--very black, indeed more like a distillation of mud than anything else; the ghost of mud,--the spiritualized medium of departed mud, through which the dead citizens of London probably tread in the Hades whither they are translated. So heavy was the gloom, that gas was lighted in all the shop-windows; and the little charcoal-furnaces of the women and boys, roasting chestnuts, threw a ruddy, misty glow around them. And yet I liked it. This fog seems an atmosphere proper to huge, grimy London; as proper to London as that light neither of the sun nor moon is to the New Jerusalem. On reaching home, I found the same fog diffused through the drawing-room, though how it could have got in is a mystery. Since nightfall, however, the atmosphere is clear again. December 20th.--Here we are still in London, at least a month longer than we expected, and at the very dreariest and dullest season of the year. Had I thought of it sooner, I might have found interesting people enough to know, even when all London is said to be out of town; but meditating a stay only of a week or two (on our way to Rome), it did not seem worth while to seek acquaintances. I have been out only for one evening; and that was at Dr. ------'s, who had been attending all the children in the measles. (Their illness was what detained us.) He is a homoeopathist, and is known in scientific or general literature; at all events, a sensible and enlightened man, with an un-English freedom of mind on some points. For example, he is a Swedenborgian, and a believer in modern spiritualism. He showed me some drawings that had been made under the spiritual influence by a miniature-painter who possesses no imaginative power of his own, and is merely a good mechanical and literal copyist; but these drawings, representing angels and allegorical people, were done by an influence which directed the artist's hand, he not knowing what his next touch would be, nor what the final result. The sketches certainly did show a high and fine expressiveness, if examined in a trustful mood. Dr. ------ also spoke of Mr. Harris, the American poet of spiritualism, as being the best poet of the day; and he produced his works in several volumes, and showed me songs, and paragraphs of longer poems, in support of his opinion. They seemed to me to have a certain light and splendor, but not to possess much power, either passionate or intellectual. Mr. Harris is the medium of deceased poets, Milton and Lord Byron among the rest; and Dr. ------ said that Lady Byron--who is a devoted admirer of her husband, in spite of their conjugal troubles--pronounced some of these posthumous strains to be worthy of his living genius. Then the Doctor spoke of various strange experiences which he himself has had in these spiritual matters; for he has witnessed the miraculous performances of Home, the American medium, and he has seen with his own eyes, and felt with his own touch, those ghostly hands and arms the reality of which has been certified to me by other beholders. Dr. ------ tells me that they are cold, and that it is a somewhat awful matter to see and feel them. I should think so, indeed. Do I believe in these wonders? Of course; for how is it possible to doubt either the solemn word or the sober observation of a learned and sensible man like Dr. ------? But again, do I really believe it? Of course not; for I cannot consent to have heaven and earth, this world and the next, beaten up together like the white and yolk of an egg, merely out of respect to Dr. ------'s sanity and integrity. I would not believe my own sight, nor touch of the spiritual hands; and it would take deeper and higher strains than those of Mr. Harris to convince me. I think I might yield to higher poetry or heavenlier wisdom than mortals in the flesh have ever sung or uttered. Meanwhile, this matter of spiritualism is surely the strangest that ever was heard of; and yet I feel unaccountably little interest in it,--a sluggish disgust, and repugnance to meddle with it,--insomuch that I hardly feel as if it were worth this page or two in my not very eventful journal. One or two of the ladies present at Dr. ------'s little party seemed to be mediums. I have made several visits to the picture-galleries since my last date; and I think it fair towards my own powers of appreciation to record that I begin to appreciate Turner's pictures rather better than at first. Not that I have anything to recant as respects those strange, white-grounded performances in the chambers at the Marlborough House; but some of his happier productions (a large landscape illustrative of Childe Harold, for instance) seem to me to have more magic in them than any other pictures. I admire, too, that misty, morning landscape in the National Gallery; and, no doubt, his very monstrosities are such as only he could have painted, and may have an infinite value for those who can appreciate the genius in them. The shops in London begin to show some tokens of approaching Christmas; especially the toy-shops, and the confectioners',--the latter ornamenting their windows with a profusion of bonbons and all manner of pygmy figures in sugar; the former exhibiting Christmas-trees, hung with rich and gaudy fruit. At the butchers' shops, there is a great display of fat carcasses, and an abundance of game at the poulterers'. We think of going to the Crystal Palace to spend the festival day, and eat our Christmas dinner; but, do what we may, we shall have no home feeling or fireside enjoyment. I am weary, weary of London and of England, and can judge now how the old Loyalists must have felt, condemned to pine out their lives here, when the Revolution had robbed them of their native country. And yet there is still a pleasure in being in this dingy, smoky, midmost haunt of men; and I trudge through Fleet Street and Ludgate Street and along Cheapside with an enjoyment as great as I ever felt in a wood-path at home; and I have come to know these streets as well, I believe, as I ever knew Washington Street in Boston, or even Essex Street in my stupid old native town. For Piccadilly or for Regent Street, though more brilliant promenades, I do not care nearly so much. December 27th.--Still leading an idle life, which, however, may not be quite thrown away, as I see some things, and think many thoughts. The other day we went to Westminster Abbey, and through the chapels; and it being as sunny a day as could well be in London, and in December, we could judge, in some small degree, what must have been the splendor of those tombs and monuments when first erected there. I presume I was sufficiently minute in describing my first visit to the chapels, so I shall only mention the stiff figure of a lady of Queen Elizabeth's court, reclining on the point of her elbow under a mural arch through all these dusty years; . . . . and the old coronation-chair, with the stone of Scone beneath the seat, and the wood-work cut and scratched all over with names and initials. . . . . I continue to go to the picture-galleries. I have an idea that the face of Murillo's St. John has a certain mischievous intelligence in it. This has impressed me almost from the first. It is a boy's face, very beautiful and very pleasant too, but with an expression that one might fairly suspect to be roguish if seen in the face of a living boy. About equestrian statues, as those of various kings at Charing Cross, and otherwhere about London, and of the Duke of Wellington opposite Apsley House, and in front of the Exchange, it strikes me as absurd, the idea of putting a man on horseback on a place where one movement of the steed forward or backward or sideways would infallibly break his own and his rider's neck. The English sculptors generally seem to have been aware of this absurdity, and have endeavored to lessen it by making the horse as quiet as a cab-horse on the stand, instead of rearing rampant, like the bronze group of Jackson at Washington. The statue of Wellington, at the Piccadilly corner of the Park, has a stately and imposing effect, seen from far distances, in approaching either through the Green Park, or from the Oxford Street corner of Hyde Park. January 3d, 1858.--On Thursday we had the pleasure of a call from Mr. Coventry Patmore, to whom Dr. Wilkinson gave me a letter of introduction, and on whom I had called twice at the British Museum without finding him. We had read his Betrothal and Angel in the House with unusual pleasure and sympathy, and therefore were very glad to make his personal acquaintance. He is a man of much more youthful aspect than I had expected, . . . . a slender person to be an Englishman, though not remarkably so had he been an American; with an intelligent, pleasant, and sensitive face,--a man very evidently of refined feelings and cultivated mind. . . . . He is very simple and agreeable in his manners; a little shy, yet perfectly frank, and easy to meet on real grounds. . . . . He said that his wife had proposed to come with him, and had, indeed, accompanied him to town, but was kept away. . . . . We were very sorry for this, because Mr. Patmore seems to acknowledge her as the real "Angel in the House," although he says she herself ignores all connection with the poem. It is well for her to do so, and for her husband to feel that the character is her real portrait; and both, I suppose, are right. It is a most beautiful and original poem,--a poem for happy married people to read together, and to understand by the light of their own past and present life; but I doubt whether the generality of English people are capable of appreciating it. I told Mr. Patmore that I thought his popularity in America would be greater than at home, and he said that it was already so; and he appeared to estimate highly his American fame, and also our general gift of quicker and more subtle recognition of genius than the English public. . . . . We mutually gratified each other by expressing high admiration of one another's works, and Mr. Patmore regretted that in the few days of our further stay here we should not have time to visit him at his home. It would really give me pleasure to do so. . . . . I expressed a hope of seeing him in Italy during our residence there, and he seemed to think it possible, as his friend, and our countryman, Thomas Buchanan Read, had asked him to come thither and be his guest. He took his leave, shaking hands with all of us because he saw that we were of his own people, recognizing him as a true poet. He has since given me the new edition of his poems, with a kind rote. We are now making preparations for our departure, which we expect will take place on Tuesday; and yesterday I went to our Minister's to arrange about the passport. The very moment I rang at his door, it swung open, and the porter ushered me with great courtesy into the anteroom; not that he knew me, or anything about me, except that I was an American citizen. This is the deference which an American servant of the public finds it expedient to show to his sovereigns. Thank Heaven, I am a sovereign again, and no longer a servant; and really it is very singular how I look down upon our ambassadors and dignitaries of all sorts, not excepting the President himself. I doubt whether this is altogether a good influence of our mode of government. I did not see, and, in fact, declined seeing, the Minister himself, but only his son, the Secretary of Legation, and a Dr. P------, an American traveller just from the Continent. He gave a fearful account of the difficulties that beset a person landing with much luggage in Italy, and especially at Civita Vecchia, the very port at which we intended to debark. I have been so long in England that it seems a cold and shivery thing to go anywhere else. Bennoch came to take tea with us on the 5th, it being his first visit since we came to London, and likewise his farewell visit on our leaving for the Continent. On his departure, J----- and I walked a good way down Oxford Street and Holborn with him, and I took leave of him with the kindest wishes for his welfare. END OF VOL. II.